terf Kansas Olitg fubltr Hibrarg 3 This Volume is for REFERENCE USE ONLY MUNSEY S MAGAZIN VOLUME XIX. APRIL TO SEPTEMBER, 1898. NEW YORK : FRANK A. MUNSEY, PUBLISHER, in .FIFTH AVENUE. 1/898. INDEX TO VOLUME XIX, Peri - SPECIAL ARTICLES. AMERICAN CATHEDRAL, AN AMERICA S BIG GUNS BALTIMORE BELLES BETTER NEW YORK, THE BRITAIN AND AMERICA CALIFORNIA SCULPTOR, A CIVIL SERVICE REFORM COTTAGE LIFE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE DANIEL CHESTER FRENCH; SCULPTOR DEWEY S INVINCIBLE SQUADRON DOWNMAN AND HIS PORTRAITS FAMOUS WAR PICTURES FLAG OF OUR COUNTRY, THE GETTING ON IN JOURNALISM HAVANA HISTORIC NAVAL ENGAGEMENTS - INTO BATTLE AND THROUGH IT - LEADERS OF OUR ARMY, THE MY FAVORITE NOVELIST AND HIS BEST BOOK NEW YORK NAVY YARD, THE OLD NEW YORK ONE OF MANY ON NIPPERSINK OPPORTUNITY S BALD SPOT OUR FIGHTING NAVY OUR FLYING SQUADRON OUR NATIVE ARISTOCRACY - OUR PACIFIC PARADISE OUT OF HIS PAST PARISIAN ETCHER, A PENSION PROBLEM, THE POSTAL SAVINGS DEPOSITORIES - PRAISHMONGERS, THE PRIZES OF VICTOR v, THE RISE AND FALL OF SPAIN, THE ROMANOFFS OF TODAY, THE SCULPTOR AND STUDENT SIX QUEENS OF HENRY VIII, THE SOME SOCIAL PESTS THEATRICAL FIRST NIGHT, A TWO MILES OF MILLIONAIRES UNITED STATES SENATE, THE WEALTH OF THE PHILIPPINES, THE WHY IS NEW YORK DISLIKED? WOMEN IN JOURNALISM RIGHT REV. H. C. POTTER GEORGE GRANTHAM BAIN FREDERIC TAYLOR ELIZABETH K. TOMPKINS LYMAN J. GAGE EDWIN WILDMAN - .- F. VAN RENSSELAKR DRY FRANK A. MUNSEY ELLIOTT F. SHAW RUFUS R. WILSON JEROME K. JEROME PERCIE W. HART - SAMUEL MERWIN - CLARINDA P. LAMAR RUFUS R. WILSON - JAMES L. FORD KATHRYN JARBOE H. L. HAWTHORNE HENRY CLAY EVANS JAMES A. GARY JAMES L. FORD R. H. TlTHERINGTOX GEOKGK HOLME CHARLES C. SARGENT, JR. JAMES L. FORD JAMES L- FORD WILLIAM E. MASON- JOHN ALDEN ADAMS ARTHUR MCEWEN ANNE O HAGAN PAGE - 242 - 205 - 264 - 917 - 603 - 9 4 - 171 - 194 - 234 - 401 I - 569 - 518 - 214 - 43 - 323 - 394 - 643 - 28 - 105 - 43 - 2IO - 833 - 26l - 485 ~ 425 - "06 - 837 - 606 - 226 - 697 - 387 - 181 - 522 - 713 - 99 - 43 6 - 73 - 943 - 121 - 345 - 504 - 665 SERIAL STORIES. CASTLE INN, THE SWALLOW WOMAN OF KRONSTADT. THE STANLEY J. WEYMAN 57, 250, 410, 581, 761, 921 H. RIDER HAGGARD - 362, 554, 733, 86t MAX PEMBERTON - 81,284,441 SHORT STORIES. ANNOUNCEMENT DINNER, THE BAR HARBOR EPISODE, A BY THE BRASSARD OF MERCY CASEY S CLAIM DOLLAR SCOOP, A DUFFER, THE FIVE LETTERS AND A CALL FOR THE LIVERPOOL ORPHANS GOOD SITUATION, A GUARD No. 10 INTERNATIONAL MARRIAGE, AN - JOKE CLUB, THE LACK IN A LIFE, A LIKE SOLDIERS ALL MRS. BLIMBER S LITERARY EVENING RICKSHAW COOLIE No. 72 TWO WOMEN AND A THEORIST JULIET W. TOMPKINS FLORENCE C. ABBOTT MAUD H. PETERSON W. M. CHAUVENET JULIET W. TOMPKINS FRANK H. SPEARMAN WILLIAM FREDERICK Dix ANNE O HAGAN JULIET W. TOMPKINS JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER - ANNA LEACH JULIET W. TOMPKINS J. E. V. COOKE TOM HALL - - - JAMES L. FORD R. CLYDE FORD PAUL ARMSTRONG 774 825 821 126 9 895 709 93 177 95 70 1 59 577 397 f5S 422 5 5 956 MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. STORIETTES. AMERICAN MADE IN FRANCE, AN AT DAYBREAK BIT OF CLAY, A CASE OF HERO WORSHIP, A - " CONGRATULATIONS " FABLE FOR WOMEN, A HIS GREAT AUNT DEBORAH HIS MOTHER LAZY LOVER. A LITTLE EXCITEMENT. A MARRIAGE ON FRIENDSHIP - MR. PRESTON S DINNER "OH, PROMISE ME" OLD GLORY ONE WAY TO SUCCEED PEMBERTON S WIFE PUNCH AND JUDY SIDE TRACKED AT BANFF SOCIAL ATTEMPT OF THE YUENGENFELDT FAMILY STEPPING STONE OF A DEAD SELF, THE STILL WATERS AND BABBLING BROOKS SURSUM CORDA! TELLING SHOT, A THREE S A CROWD TO WHAT END? WAR EXTRA No. 13 WHAT IS DEATH? ------ THOMAS CADY J. FREDKRIC THORNE ZOE ANDERSON NORRIS JULIET W. TOMPKINS DOUGLAS Z. DOTY E. GARDNER BKNTLKY KATHRYN JARHOE HARRIET CARYL Cox HATTIE WHITNEY JULIET W. TOMPKINS L. B. QUIMBY A. S. DUANE MARGUERITE TRACY JULIET W. TOMPKINS WARREN MCVEIGH JOHN W. HARRINGTON KATHRYN JAR HOE KATHRYN JARHOE JAMES L. FORD JUDITH SPENCER KATHERINE S. BROWN N. L. PRITCHARD MARY A. KING HOWARD SHEDD HARRIET CARYL Cox KATHRYN JARHOI-: ANNA LEACH 787 133 630 904 130 130 908 134 3" 306 628 902 788 470 35 4/2 789 467 792 307 905 468 79 1 469 309 627 902 POEMS. CLORINDA S VIOLIN COMMUTATION OF SENTENCE, A EASTER FANCY, AN EASTER S CHORALE GRATITUDE IDEAL, THE JUST TO BE ALIVE LIFE S PARADOX - MASKS MESSAGE OF THE ROSE, THE PEACE PRAISE OF HOPE, THE - REVOLT SAND HOUSES SHELL, THE - SONG FOR THE SAILORS, A - SONG OF THE OLD MILL WHEEL, THE SPELL OF NIGHT, THE SPIRIT OF SEVENTY SIX, THE SUNSET SURRENDER TIDINGS <>! Till-: PAST TO DIE AND LEAVE IT ALL - TWO FANCIES WAR WAY OF A MAN. THE - WHEN GEORGE WAS KING. - LULAH RAGSDALI; - 712 DOUGLAS Z. DOTY - 225 MINNA IRVING 32 MARTHA McCuLLOCH-WlLLlAMS 97 GRACE BOUTELLE - 421 HENRY J. STOCKARD - 616 EMMA C. Down - 184 SlIALER G. HlLLYER 3 ERNEST McGAKn y - 610 JAMES KING DUFFY - 483 FRANK ROE BATCHKLDKR - - 233 CLARENCE UK. MY - 916 MARIAN WEST - 400 ALBERT 1!. PAINE - 361 GUSTAV KOBIIK - 700 CLINTON SCOLLAKD - 596 OGDEN WARD - 776 IlATTIE Will TNI-.Y - 393 MINNA IRVING - 514 FREDKRIC F. SHERMAN - - 521 MARY F. NIXON - 705 WOOD L. WILSON - 224 HUNTER MACCULLOCII - 454 TOM HALL - 508 CLINTON SCOLLARD - 696 CATHARINE YOUNG GLEN - 5 THKODOSI.Y PICKERING - 409 DEPARTMENTS. ARTISTS AND THEIR WORK ETCHINGS IN THE PUBLIC EVE IN VANITY FAIR LITERARY CHAT PUI .I.ISHER S DESK, THE STAGE, THE WAR TIME SNAP SHOTS 5, 163, 377, 876 - i,sS. 319, 479, 638, 799, 955 33, 1 86, 330, 597, 885 154, 3 3 - 147. 273, 474, 633, 794, 946 3 7 - 136, 296, 457, 617, 777, 933 746, 803 "THE SPIRIT S NAME WAS LOVE. Dravn by Albert E. Sterner. LIFE S PARADOX. ""THEY told me Wealth, was all in all, and then, "With greed that comes alone to famished men, I strove for wealth ; by day and night I toiled, Nor recked how others fared, what hopes were spoiled. And when twas gained I stopped to count my store, To count, exult, and, eager, wish it more ; But as each piece fell on the vault s hard stone, Mixed with its ring I heard a human groan. I started up from the accusing pile, Now worse than vain, that did so late beguile ! They told me Pleasure was the chiefest good, And so I followed wheresoe er she would ; "Where light feet led, where mocking lips allured, And black eyes told my hopes were half assured. "When all was gained, then blight fell on my isle- I had been dreaming on a wanton s smile. They told me only Knowledge was divine, And so I strove straightway to make it mine. I read all books, held converse with the wise, Traveled all lands, and searched the distant skies. Then, standing in the edge of Learning s sea, I heard the breakers calling thus to me : "In vain, O man, my depths thou wouldst explore; Thy soundings all lie close within the shore." Wealth, Pleasure, Knowledge, all in turn were tried, Yet in the dust it seemed I must abide. A spirit came and whispered in my ear, And raised me up; then led me to a height From which we had a vision far and clear Of all the world, its peace and joy and light. The spirit said : "If thou wilt follow me, "Wilt seek not self, but look beyond, above, All that thou seest will I give to thee." I raised my eyes the spirit s name was Love. Sha/er C. "A LOVE POTION." From the painting by Mile. Consuclo FouldBy permission of Jean Boussod, Manzt, Joyant & Co MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. VOL. XIX. APRIL, 1898. No. i. ARTISTS AND THEIR WORK. The prominence of Fortuny as the central figure of the great Stewart sale Notes on American and foreign painters, with a series of engravings of representative canvases. FORTUNY AND MR. STEWART. The Stewart collection has been sold and scattered, but its short existence in America was a lesson to art collectors and to students. The students were there in force, and generally found some pro fessor near by to point out the greatness of the pictures which Mr. Stewart had selected with such care. The peculiarity of the collection lay in the fact that one great artist had his very best representation before the world con centrated here. Mariano Fortuny was Mr. Stewart s friend. The American "OX THE WRUNG SIDE OF THE FENCE. From the painting by Charles Herrmann Lion By permission of Jean Botissod, M,i izi, Joyani &= Co. MUXSEY S MAGAZINE. "AT A PARISIAN MILLINER S." :iic fainting by Victor Gilbert By permission of Jean Boussod, Matizi, Joyant &* Co. collector admired the Spanish painter extravagantly, and purchased as man}- of his paintings as he could, including his most famous work, "The Choice of the Model." Besides his purchases, several of Fortuny s canvases came to him as gifts most of them pictures which the artist had painted for his own pleasure, without anj thought of selling. One of these was the fine life size head of the negro Farragi, "One of the King s Moors, " with his head dress of white and red. In all, the collection contained twenty five Fortunys. Fortuny was a remarkable instance of the impossibility of keeping genius out MUXSKY S MAGAZINE. "SHELTER FROM THE SHOWER." From the painting by P. Out in By permission of Jean Boussod, Afanzi, Joyant & Co. of its chosen path. He was the son of a cabinet maker in Reus in Tarragona. His father and mother died when lie was a child, and he went over the country with his grandfather, exhibiting wax figures, and making pictures of even- thing he saw. When the boy was four teen, the old man took him to the Spanish artist Talarn, by whose assistance For- tuny was put in the Academy of Fine Arts in Barcelona. He remained there three years, and won the coveted Prix de Rome a prize like the celebrated one of the same name in Paris. During one of the Spanish campaigns in Morocco, the town council of Bar celona sent Fortuny to the front to make sketches, and it was there that he dis- 10 MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. " I5LACK DIAMONDS." From the painting by Jean J. Benjamin-Constant. covered the great field of character and color which he made all his own. He was twenty three years old, strong, sturdy, an ideal figure for an artist. He came home from Africa to .study in Italy and in Paris, making friends everywhere. Then he went to Algiers, where he filled his mind with more of those brilliant pictures which he gave to the world. He could do almost am thing. He painted magnificent vases, glowing with color ; he forged swords inlaid with gold, and he lived a man} sided life. Mr. Stewart s earliest purchases were four water colors. The first oil painting of Fortuny s that he saw was the " Fantasia Arabe, " which was sold for twelve thousand dollars at the sale the other day. The artist was 12 MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. "A FIRE ALARM IN PARIS." From the painting by Georges Busson. then quite unknown, and Mr. Stewart said that he purchased the painting " for a song." One of the most interesting of the Fortunys was "The Antiquary." This picture was given to a dealer in Rome in exchange for an Arab gun and some bits of Venetian glass, and afterward pur chased by Mr. Stewart. It shows a room littered with bric-a-brac and a con noisseur admiring a print, while a friend leans over his shoulder. One day For- tuny told Mr. Stewart that he would like to take the picture home and touch tip the background. \Vhen he returned it, he had introduced a portrait of his patron hanging on the wall of the room. This introduction of the portraits of "EXPECTATION." From the j>ainti>:g ly Charles Aye-s Whipple. ARTISTS AND THEIR WORK. 15 friends was one of Fortuny s pet fancies. "The Choice of a Model" was the In "An Arab Street," Henri Regnault most widely discussed picture in the sale, stood for the central figure, and the por- and its purchaser, Mr. \V. A. Clark, COPYRIGHT, 1897, SV PHOTOGRAPHISCHE GESELLSCHAFT. "TICXDKR AND TRUE." From the painting by E. Blair Leighton By permission of the Berlin Photographic Company, 14 East 1$J St., NtV York. trait of Meissonier which went in the sale secured what has generally been regarded was an elaboration of a sketch made for as Fortuny s master work. Whether it another picture. will always be so considered is a moot " HOSNAH." From the painting ly Jacqueline Cojiierre-Pato ARTISTS AND THEIR WORK. question. It represents a amber of the artists of the Academy of St. Luke, in Rome, gathered at the Palazzo Colonna to inspect a model. The. nude figure standing on the table is admirably painted, and is brilliantly contrasted with the elaborate dress of the eighteenth centuty dandies. The whole picture glows like a jewel, and is marvelous in the perfection perhaps a little overdone of its detail. Its new owner has some of Mr. Stewart s characteristics. He too is known in most of the studios abroad, where his judgment is much regarded. It is said that he studied pictures for seven years before he presumed to purchase one, but he has sufficient confidence now to buy what strikes his fancy. To go back to Mr. Stewart, it is won derful to think of the influence this keen- lover of art exerted upon men like For- tuny, Madrazo, Rico, Zamacois, and some of their associates. He fairly brought masterpieces into being. "The Choice of a Model " was one of the many canvases that were painted for him. It was largely through his influence that Fortuny, from being quite unknown, became famous. The brilliant painter was able to indulge his luxurious tastes, to surround himself with the things he loved, to live in the Alhambra at Granada, and to be a center of the cleverest artists of his day. He died in Rome in 1874, and his fame has been growing every year since. THE WATER COLOR SOCIETY. . The American Water Color Society s exhibitors seem to have a predilection for landscapes, and landscapes without any thing particularly cheerful about them. Mr. Lathrop, for instance, with his lowering skies, his gray atmospheres, and his general depression, makes pictures which are sometimes true to nature, and are always clever, but if he had more sense of color we should like him better. We do like the fact that he paints land scapes which we can locate in America. Our artists are not national enough. We are continually hearing that Americans buy foreign pictures. They are likely to continue to do so just as long as our artists paint imitation foreign pictures. They can get the Dutch or the English 3 or the French landscape rendered by a man \y*io understands it, who is native to it. Cfctr American artists should inter pret our own nature, not only in form but in feeling. Until they do that we shall have no national art. One of the most interesting pictures in the recent exhibition was Mr. Herter s "Sorrow." It was the chief figure pic ture shown there. Mr. Charles Curran is an artist whose work is not as well known as it deserves. This 3 r ear he exhibited two small figures in water color ; but his best things have been done in oil. Hang one of his views on Lake Erie not always showing any part of Lake Erie, but the light, high toned summer atmosphere of that region reflected on the face of a girl, or out lining her figure and you have thrown a flood of sunshine into the dullest room. Mr. Curran reminds you of nobody but himself, and he is one of the few distinct ively American artists among the young men. ANOTHER FOREIGN PORTRAIT PAINTER. The Gandara portraits were chiefly in teresting to Americans as studies in style. Like other portrait painters in New York this winter, M. de la Gandara suf fered from the vogue of Boldini. He has been made much of in Paris for several seasons, and his portraits at the Salon have attracted a great deal of attention. He has over here a portrait of Sarah Bernhardt which is very striking ; but taking him altogether, he seems a little artificial to us. His women lack human ity. They are like figures passing before us, remote. They are artistic, decorative, everything except just the real, con vincing human being that we want in a portrait. M. de la Gandara s work is more truly artistic than that of almost any portrait painter who has ever exhibited here. He has never painted a canvas that might not be considered as a picture without any relation to the sitter. The figures he shows us are beautiful, and in that way satisfying ; but as a portrait, a con vincing analytic presentation of one human being different from every other human being, a personality which causes 18 MUXSEY S MAGAZINE. you to forget its background, not one of his pictures is truly great. * * * * One of the notable pictures now on ex hibition in New York is a "Hamlet" by Edwin A. Abbey. It is more ambi tious than anything he has shown here since the "Holy Grail" series, which was exhibited in the metropolis before it found its final resting place in the Boston Public Library. The picture is shown in the A very galleries and is offered for sale at eleven thousand dollars. It represents Hamlet lying on a rug before the throne, with the poor, beautiful, vacantly staring Ophelia sitting beside him. The king and queen sit side by side, and the queen is the most interesting figure in the pic ture. She draws her hair forward as if to cover her face, and fairly cowers in the corner of her throne. Mr. Abbey has succeeded in painting a remarkable pic ture of terrified guilt. Surrounding this picture are several pastels left over from Mr. Abbey s last year s exhibition. The best is a delight ful portrait surely it is a portrait of " Mrs. Malaprop. " * * * * Leopold Flameng, the celebrated etcher, has just made an important etching of Edwin A. Abbey s "Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and Lady Anne," one of the pictures of last year in London. Every 3~ear Abbey s art grows, and it is probable that the next generation, which will have lost sight of his begin nings, and will know him only as a great painter, will accept him without criticism as one of the greatest. He is certain of touch and always splendidlj fine in con ception. There is no pettiness mingled with his art. He is never commonplace. * * % # M. Chartran has brought together his usual number of portraits of Americans for the inspection of the piiblic, and has added to the group several paintings which are not portraits. One of these is fairly pretty, but there is nothing to approach his monks of last year. The large portrait of Archbishop Corrigan, in his episcopal robes of a delicately painted purple, is the notable picture of the col lection, and it is not by any means great. It may be that M. Chartran did not find such interesting people to paint this year, but certainly there is a great falling off in his portraits. Compared with Madrazo s or Boldini s they appear at a divSadvantage. There is nothing to ap proach his brilliant portrait of Mme. Calve, or that of Mrs. De La Mar, which we saw in other years. * * * * The Madrazo collection is particu larly interesting just now on account of the prominence given to some of this artist s paintings in the Stewart collec tion. He was the artist whom Mr. Stewart chose to paint his own portrait. The most interesting of the Madrazo portraits is a large one of Mrs. Harry Payne Whitney, who was Miss Gertrude Vanderbilt. She lends herself admirably to portraiture, having a face full of color and animation. The portrait is life size and full length, and represents her in a gown of white and lavender satin, seated on a garden bench, with a wide hat beside her. It is painted somewhat after the poses Sir Joshua was wont to employ for his sitters, but essentially modernized. Madrazo s sister was the wife of For- tuny, and the two men were close friends. The student of portraiture may always find examples of the old masters in New York. It is seldom that some of the dealers have not portraits by the great men, particularly of the English school. Just now there are a very strong Raeburn and a good Sir Joshua Reynolds at the Blakeslee galleries. * -:: * * Boldini has added two or three pictures to his New York exhibition, but since his arrival he has painted many that will be seen only by the originals and their friends. One of the new ones, and a very strik ing one, is a sketch of Miss Elsie de Wolfe, the actress. It is very broadly painted, with no attention to detail, and a notice is placed in the frame telling us that it is the work of one afternoon. Like everything Boldini does, it is bril liant and clever, but for all that, it is a little hard. One cannot but wish to see it a hundred years from now, when those whites will be toned down. A DOLLAR SCOOP. BY JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS. The story of a business partnership between two small mice of the San Francisco wharves, who undertook to gnaw through ropes that the great lions of the city could not break. IT was not only Rita s sex that made the boys so angry: They could have forgiven her for being a girl if she had not taken an unfair advantage of the fact, and made it a source of capital. No one had a right to bring undue influence to bear on patrons. As if the authorized cry of the trade were not good enough for her, she had to go on adding feminine flyers utterly out of place in a business transaction. "Papers, papers ! All about the suey- cide ! " her voice would blare out, not unlike a feminine brass band, and rich with superfluous r s. If she had stopped there it would have been all right ; but who ever heard of a woman that knew when she d said enough? "Don t you want one? It s only five cents, you know, " she would bleat coaxingly, look ing so pretty in her short blue gown and braided pigtail that not one man in six could resist her. And she did not con sider the business ended the minute the nickel touched her grubby little palm, either, but looked up and smiled and said, "Oh, thank yon! 1 so earnestly that many a customer bought another (to drop in the gutter a block or two further on), or looked out for her next time, when the boys were at his heels. And Rita, puffed up with the jingle of the nickels in her pocket, strutted proudly about the ferry, blithely calling her wares, while the boys lounged in forced con tempt against the walls, and scorned to cry their papers till she had passed, watching her much as St. Bernards might watch the antics of a Japanese poodle. They were far too proud to compete openly with her ; also too wi.se. Rita was not what you would call sen sitive. In the intervals of business she hung around her rivals, and listened frankly to what they were talking about. When they made fun of her, she smiled with the air of one who understands and tolerates, and their insults passed over her as if she had been oiled. It was one of those days when the fog muffled the bay like a gray blanket, and the ferry boats ran only once an hour, that they might feel their way across in comparative safety. Business was dull, and Rita, seeing what looked like an in teresting conversation going on among half a dozen boys perched on a baggage truck, came and seated herself on the other end of the obtuse angle, dangling her feet in happy independence. "Haven t sprained your calliope, have you ? " queried one of the bo} S, in mock anxiety. Rita merely grinned. Repar tee was not her strong point. The others ignored her completely. "I tell you, fellers, get onto a real good thing before the reporters do, and you re made," went on the one who had been holding forth. "When Billy saw Black Mary bobbing around in the bay, he had the savey to chase right up to the Recorder office while the others was fish ing her out, and they just had time to squeeze in a bully article before they went to press. You oughter seen it On the Face of the Waters Suicide of a No torious Character The Last Chapter in the Career of Black Mary and all that. The other papers didn t get it, so it was a scoop ; and they give Billy a dollar. " "But she came to all right, and it wasn t no suicide," objected one of the others. "She just fell off in a drunk." " That don t matter," insisted the first speaker. So long as the other papers don t get it it s a scoop, whether it s true or fake. Say, isn t it most time for that boat ? 20 MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. Rita looked over her shoulder at the clock, peering dimly down through the fog, and the boys seized the chance to all jump up at once, letting her end of the truck seesaw down to earth with a dislo cating bump. She sprang up with a stinging funny bone in every joint, and stuck out her tongue at them, which was, with her, the alternative of a grin, then soothed her feelings by selling three papers right in front of their eyes, before she strolled away along the dripping wharves. A big idea was puffing in her brain, and she wanted to get it in work ing order ; but it is hard to think all by yourself. For the first time, Rita wished she had a partner. A dismal little figure was sitting on the edge of one of the piers, all alone in the fog, staring down at the dirty scows that bumped forlornly at their moorings be low. " Hello, Shavings ! " Rita called, with the glimmer of a new idea. Shavings did not hear. Beside him lay a soggy -pile of unsold papers. The pale, spiral curls that had won him his name dangled down to the two rear buttons of his overalls in back, and dripped limply from his shoulders. These curls stood for the tragedy of a life. Shavings suffered a daily martyrdom that no grown person would have endured, and wandered a sad but plucky little outcast among his fel lows, all because his mother thought the ringlets were " cunning " or perhaps it was cute and refused to have them clipped. They hurt his business with their foolish fluttering around his dingy, high backed overalls, they scorched his pride, and walled him away from his kind with their unmanliness. And law abiding little Shavings never dreamed that there was any way out of it, or that they would not cling to him until he was seventy times seven, if he had the mis fortune to live that long. One of the boys had just started up a refrain to the effect that Shavings head was coming un raveled, and knowing how it would pur sue him, he had crept away to look into the idea of suicide. The water beneath had an opalescent gleam that did not sug gest cleanliness, but it would probably do as well as any other to drown in. He was wondering if he would bump against the wharf as persistently as the Mattie C. was doing, when Rita s voice sent the dark thought scurrying back to its hole. "What s the matter, Shavey ? " she said sympathetically, sitting down be side him and letting her feet dangle over the edge, a couple of inches lower than his stubby boots, thanks to her three years seniority. The kindly words sent a glow through the chilled and aching heart of Shavings. For a moment, he could almost have told her his trouble. Not quite, though. It still lay too deep for words. So he stared into the slimy water and said nothing. Do yon know what a scoop is ? " pur sued Rita. " Well, it s when you tell a newspaper something it doesn t know. Then it prints it in big letters, and you yell it on the street, and none of the other papers can print it till the next day. It s an awful big thing to make a scoop. Shavings began to hold up his head. It was so beautiful to be talked to just as if he were a regular person, with no de formity to disqualify his right to trousers. I was thinking, said Rita ; what if you and me should club together and find out things that nobody knows, and then tell the Recorder about them. If we got something good, they d give us a dollar, and maybe more. What do you say ? For the first time in his seven years, Shavings had forgotten his curls. His eyes were as big as silver dollars with ex citement. " Great ! " he shouted. It wasn t onl}- the money and the importance of helping a big paper that was swelling his chest to the bursting point and pushing his heart up into his throat and spreading delicious, warm tears under his eyelids. It was this first recognition that he, even he, had his place in the brotherhood of man. At that moment he could have died for Rita. He jumped to his feet. "And I know something this very second," he cried. Not long after, two panting figures scuffled up the long, dark stairs that led to the Recorder s editorial rooms. A slight complication had arisen on the first flight. As every one knows, if you say "I choose to tell" before the other person does, you have an inviolable right, as sacred as "King s X" or " Mis for- A DOI^AR SCOOP. 21 givings," to give out the cream of the news. But Rita and Shavings having both said it at exactly the same second, the only way to settle the matter was to see which could get to the top first. Shavings breath held out best, but he feckoned without his bashfulness, which swooped down on his soaring spirit and brought it cowering to earth the instant he found himself in the gaslit apartment at the top, with men scurry- hig past in every direction, and three iordly office boys lounging around a table. He stood tongue tied and crimson while Rita came confidently forward. " We want to see the editor," she an nounced. The three boys stared with widening mouths at the small couple. " Which editor ? said one. " Would you prefer the managing editor, the news editor, the city editor, the Sundaj editor, the sporting " Rita broke in impatiently. " I want the editor you tell scoops to, " she said. A general smile went around the room. Hurrying men paused, holding the doors with their feet, to hear the rest. " You ve brought in a story, have you?" said the boy. "Well, perhaps you d better tell it to me, and I ll take it in. The editors are all too busy to see people just now." "Well, but you know it s our scoop. We get the dollar, "said Rita earnestly. It s about Mrs. Mulligan, and she had twins this very morning at nine o clock. It s true, for her Katy told Shavings about it herself, and they re a boy and a uirl, and " The rest was buried in an avalanche of laughter. Rita stood stanchly in the midst of it, red and defiant. "Well, it s true," .she shrieked. "If you don t believe me, you can go and see them for yourself. And I ll never tell your old paper another thing ! " The uproar tried to subdue itself a little under this, and a young man, whose face was now very grave, stepped forward, taking out his cigar with appeasing deference. "Of course we believe you," he said. " It was very nice of you to come and tell us. Who gave you the idea of doing it ? " "Why, they gave Billy a dollar for telling about Black Mary, and I should think two babies was worth as much as one old black dago that didn t drownd after all, "said Rita, still resentful. "A great deal more, " said the young man ; but, you see, twins happen very often, and people like to read about sui cides better. Now, suppose you keep your eyes out for anything very queer and surprising that you see, and then you come and tell me about it. Ask for Mr. Baker. I ll guarantee the dollar if you bring anything good. How does that suit you ?" The children were delighted, and beamed proudly on the subdued crowd. "You mustn t come running in with just anything, you know," Mr. Baker warned. It must be something very- queer. Dead good copy, there," he addea to the man beside him. "Um. But, for heaven s sake, don t shove it into the Supp.," said the other tiredly. " We have thirty seven remark able kids on the files now." During the next few days Rita and Shavings explored every nook and cranny of the water front in the hope of finding something queer and interesting enough to suit the Recorder, but from the Fish erman s Wharf to the Potrero there seemed to be nothing worthy of a big silver dollar. The boys jeered at the part nership, shouting "Two little girls in blue ! " with insulting emphasis ; at which Shavings flushed to the edge of his hated curls, and longed with all the ardor of his still unbroken spirit to fight. But he was as handicapped as an undocked ter rier, and the puniest little scrub in the profession could get the better of him while his head offered a score of handles, each with a separate anguish at its base. Rita stuck out her tongue till it threat ened to come up by the roots, but cared little, not divining the torture it meant to the sensitive spirit beside her. Late one afternoon, when they were least expecting it, something queer enough for any paper came in their wa}-. They were sitting in the shadow of a huge pile of lumber at the end of a forlorn, dingy street which they had been explor ing. An occasional electric car hummed down it, switched its trollev around, ;md 22 MUNSKY S MAGAZINE. hurried away, glad to be out of such a neighborhood. Dust and sand whirled chokingly from the empty lots, and beat like rain on a few staggering houses and a couple of saloons. Between them and the desolate wharf stretched endless squares of lumber, piled log cabin fashion, and offering fine opportunities for play ing house to any one not burdened with business cares. Rita was stumbling through the Re corder s lurid accotint of the fire at the Hotel Broderick, in which the Spanish dancer Teresita had lost all her beautiful gowns and laces and jewels, when the car, contrary to its custom, produced two passengers, an elderly woman and a } r oung one, who alighted and strolled aimlessly along until the car had disappeared again. Then their manner changed. They looked up and down, and when satisfied that there was no one in sight, hurried towards the lumber piles. The children inferred a mystery, and set their eyes to the chinks of their hiding place. The young woman wore a trim little hat and a mackintosh with big capes, and walked with a qtiick, short step that was at once nervous and resolute. She carried a straw traveling basket. The other was worn and shabby, yet it was a different sort of shabbiness from what the children knew, and roused a vague respect. Her face, as well as her clothes, suggested that when it was new it had been accustomed to better sur roundings. Just now it wore a look of repressed anxiety. "Here s a good place, mother, " said the girl, leading the way into an angle of the lumber piles, close to where the children lay. They could catch broken glimpses of her movements as she knelt down and unstrapped her bag, and occa sional fragments of conversation. Sud denly the girl s voice rose a little. Mother, you are making it so hard for me ! Don t you suppose I m fright ened, too ? I d back out this minute if I could see any other way. " And again, impatiently: "But I want to live, whether you do or not. And I intend to. This is my chance, and I don t mean to throw it away. I m ready now. Will you see if the coast is clear ? " The elder woman stepped outside and looked about the forlorn neighborhood. The children were so near they could see how wet her eyes were. " There is no one in sight, but a car is coming, she said. " Well, you take it and go home now, " said the other. "I ll wait here till you re gone. Here is the bag. Don t worry; I ll get through all right. Good by." The elder woman went wearily away, and there was silence till the car had whirled out of sight. ^Then the girl came slowly out from her hiding place, and the chil dren nearly screamed at the transforma tion. Instead of the mackintosh, she wore a limp, ragged gown of blue cotton that flapped weakly around battered shoes. A disreputable straw hat with a wisp of aigret shooting out rakishly from a burst crown was tipped over her face? which was further concealed by strag gling locks of her dark hair. Her decided walk had slipped into an aimless sham ble. The children squeezed each other s hands, and as the uncouth figure started along the wharves, followed as stealthily as two little Indians, keeping in the shadow as much as possible. The girl was evidently anxious to slip along unseen in the gathering dusk. When a crowd of boys approached, she hid behind a great truck till the3 had passed, and her face looked frightened. A sauntering policeman sent her scurry ing up a side street, but she kept to the water front as much as possible. At the end of a grimy street, given over chiefly to sailors boarding houses and saloons, stood Black Mary s cottage. Passing close to it, as if to escape the notice of a group on the other side, the girl stumbled over the step and fell with a crash against the very door which the neighbors hurried past as respectfully as the width of the street allowed. It flung open, and a .scowling, swarthy- figure stood in the doorway. The chil dren drew as near as they dared, forget ting even-thing in the excitement of a good look at Black Mary, the dreaded, the mysterious, into whose cabin no one ever went by daylight, whatever the dark ness covered ; to whose door the law had come a score of times, only to be cleverly evaded under the mocking glint of the wicked old eves. A ring of A DOLLAR SCOOP. curious people gathered as she stood scowling at the forlorn figure on the step. She was as seamed and gnarled as a scrub oak, and the police knew that she was part Mexican and part Indian, with a dash of negro in the background not a pleasant combination to run in single handed. The girl on the step did not even look up. She was clutching her ankle with both hands and rocking as though in pain. When she saw that a crowd was gather ing, she shrank and turned imploringly to the unfriendly face above her. The children had crept to the corner of the but. Please let me come in for a second just till they go," she exclaimed nerv ously. " My foot will be all right in a minute. It s only a twist." "They won t eat you," said Black Mary crossly, preparing to shut the door. The crowd pressed closer. " I ve two bits you can have, if you ll just let me in till they go," whispered the girl. " Let s see it," was the gruff answer. Well, 3 ? ou can stay ten minutes. Tain t most people that would want to, she added with a chuckle, as she shut the door on the spectators. It was growing dark, and the loiterers soon began to dwindle away in search of other excitements. The children waited in awed suspense. She could get out now, whispered Shavings, after an interval. " Nobody d see her. Couldn t we whistle or some thing?" "But do we want her to?" said Rita thoughtfully. " If she has done some thing awful and is fleeing for her life, why, we ought to catch her. That s the scoop, } ou know. I guess she s mur dered her lover, don t you?" A course of big black " scare heads had decidedly rubbed the bloom off Rita s childish in nocence. " I don t care if she did. I guess he needed it, said Shavings excitedly. I ain t going to give her away. I ll I ll I ll "Well, all right, we won t, " said Rita easily. "We ll see just where she goes and tell Mr. Baker about it, and he can do what he likes. My, I wouldn t be alone with Black Mary ! Shouldn t won der if she d killed her by this time. " "Let s peek in," whispered Shavings, pointing to a grimy little window at the side, through which a dull light flickered. With hearts that pounded fearfully, the two climbed on top of a broken wheel barrow that lay beneath the window, and peered in. A flaring candle showed a dreary, dirty room, littered with rubbish. On a bench sat the girl, holding her ankle in both hands. Her face -was pale, but her eyes were alert and eager, seem ing to see on every side of her at once. Black Mary sat by the table, and was just refilling a tumbler from a tall bottle. She put the latter down between the candle and the window, and Rita squinted knowingly at the line of the dark con tents. "She ll talk, this glass, and be real friendly ; but the next, she ll be cross as two sticks, and her legs will begin to go. " she whispered. And poor little Shavings, envying her her worldly knowledge, nodded as though he knew all about it. Rita was right. Black Mary talked volubly it seemed to be about politics .till the bottom of the glass appeared ; then she grew morose, and poured out another in sullen silence. "Oh- why don t she go? " whispered Shavings, with chattering teeth. The girl inside, not having had Rita s advantages, was unwise enough to repeat some unanswered question, and the old woman turned on her furiously, with a stream of language that made the dim light of the candle shudder and shrink. The girl started up, but Black Mary came towards her, lurching, and threatened her with the now empty glass. "Move, and I ll smash you," the chil dren heard her shout. " You don t go till you tell me what you re about, sneak ing into my house for fear some one woxild look at you. What have you done ? What do you want ? Speak up, or I ll " There was a sudden crash against the window. In the terror of the moment, the children had leaned breathlessly for ward, till the old wheelbarrow, losing its balance, had flung them out. Black Mary sprang towards the sound, then stood as though turned to stone, the glass -MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. still upraised. The girl darted up, and a second later the cabin door banged. There she goes ! Come, come ! gasped Rita, dragging Shavings to his feet and plunging forward. Tripping, falling, sobbing with excitement, they started after the scudding footsteps, but the girl was too fleet for them, and disap peared hopelessly in the dark streets. Meanwhile Black Mary still gazed stu pidly at the window. Then she swore in a new 7 way, that might almost have been called half hearted, and getting out another bottle that she had intended for the next day, proceeded to get very drunk indeed ; but she coiild not quite drown out the sight of a little pale face in a nimbus of golden hair that had appeared at her window for one awful second. For the first time in forty 3~ears Black Mary crossed herself. A cruel blow awaited the children at the Recorder office. Mr. Baker was up in Sacramento, and would not be back until the following afternoon. The next day crawled away by inches, and the firm did not sell half a dozen papers between them, they were so absorbed in discuss ing the mysterious girl. Shavings was , inclined to the injured innocence theory, but Rita would not give up the murdered lover, and made out an elaborate case, based largely on Recorder head lines. When they were finally admitted, they found the editor seated at a big desk in a little office, with a pile of letters and manuscripts in front of him. He nodded to the children with a pleas ant, "Just a minute," and turned to speak to a young woman who had fol lowed them in. "Your stuff is very good, Miss Har rison, " he said. " We shall run it in the Sunday. I m sure we shall have plenty of regular work for you." I m very glad, " said the girl. At the sound of her voice, Rita clutched Shav ings by the arm, and both stared open mouthed. "I wish you would get an interview with Teresita about what she lost in the fire," Mr. Baker went on. "She wants sixty thousand dollars insurance, and the companies are trying to persuade her that some of the valuables were stolen, not burned. You won t have am* trouble with her, if you could work Black Mar} . How did you get her to let you in ? You re the fifth woman who has tried it, and the first who has succeeded, or even got a word out of her. " It was strategy, " said Miss Harrison, with a laugh. But the children knew. She went out, and Mr. Baker turned with businesslike gravity. "Well, have 3 ou found something very strange and in teresting?" he asked. The children stood flushed and mute. Their wonderful scoop had been snatched away before their eyes. The patient track ing and the shivering fright and the green and yellow bruises had all been for noth ing. They had neglected their legitimate business, disappointed their regular patrons, let others proclaim the murders and fires, while they were off on a wild goose chase, trying to report a reporter. It was too hard. Shavings stared at the wall with eyes that did not dare wink, and two big tears rolled down Rita s cheeks. My dear kids, what is the matter ? exclaimed the editor, and then the whole thing came out pell mell. He was kind and sympathetic, and sent them away com forted, each with ten cents firm in a moist clasp. They never knew what strange sounds echoed through that little office, and several other offices in turn, after they had gone. One morning, a few days later, after the rush of business was over, Rita strolled along the wharves to take a fur tive stare at Black Mary s cottage, which drew her as the blood stained floor does a murderer. Shavings came, too, but he was morose and unresponsive, swamped in bitter memories. The very Billy who had won the historic dollar had greeted him that morning with a cry of " Gee ! I see snakes ! and a realistic attack of delirium tremens, and the joke had flown back and forth about the ferries with a hundred witty variations wherever the poor little Medusa head had appeared. Shavings had sold his papers and said nothing, but his endurance was strained to the breaking point. He wanted to massacre Billy and all his jeering crew, then creep into a corner and die quietly by himself, where no one would ever again see and laugh at the foolish, dan gling curls. A DOLLAR SCOOP. " There s Black Mary going out, " ex claimed Rita. "She s locked her door and she s got a hat on, so she must be going some ways. Let s go and peek in. They watched Black Mary walk with unusual steadiness up the street and board a car before they ventured to come near. The cabin looked more bleary and squalid than ever. The wheelbarrow lay on its side just as they had left it. "That girl came up this way, and then she just fell down kerchunk, on purpose, said Rita, acting it out as she spoke. The step, being merely a rakish board on two dissolute supports, bounced up with her, landing her in the dirt, but she picked herself up unresentfully. "She didn t really hurt herself, but she did hurt this old step. The top board is most off. Let s fix it straight. Why, what s this?" She lifted a small object that was lying in the dirt under the step, a narrow tarnished case two or three inches long with a piece of broken chain attached. There were two elabarate rings at the top. Rita pulled them, and out came a pair of tiny scissors, their blades still bright and new, thanks to their close sheath. "Scissors! Did you ever?" she ex claimed. "Isn t that a funny way to keep them, in a brass box ? How do you suppose they got under there ?" Shavings sat down on the other end of the step with his back to his partner, and kicked up the dust in sullen silence. " You mad, Shavey ?" The friendly, anxious tone did what nothing else could have done ; it dragged his grief right up to the surface. " Yes, I am. I wisht I was dead," he burst forth. I can t stand it no longer. "Stand what?" He seized his hair in both hands and faced her with tragic eyes. 11 Them curls. " Rita pondered some seconds. "You mean because the boys josh you?" she finally asked, with a pu//.led frown. He nodded and turned away, sick with disappointment. She did not under stand. "Why don t you cut em off?" asked Rita. He looked at her much as if she had suggested scuttling an ocean liner. " But my mother "he stammered. "She d be mad, of course, but she couldn t put em back," was the brazen answer. The knowledge of sedition, privy con spiracy, and rebellion dawned on the soul of Shavings. His eyes widened and his cheeks blazed. He breathed hard. "I ll cut em off for you, if you want. We ve got the scissors right here," Rita continued, in an every day voice. "Oh, Rita, will you?" he shouted, jumping to his feet in such excitement that the board tipped up again. "I jus soon. If I had a hammer, I could fix this old step. " "Oh, come on, come quick!" urged Shavings, tugging at his doomed curls in an agony of impatience. " Nobody 11 see us around here behind the wheelbar row. Cut em off, quick ! He flung himself down on the ground, on the very spot where he had fallen the night they had dreamed of a great scoop, and Rita knelt beside him. She took one long curl in her hand, then paused, con sidering. "You know, Shavey, your mother 11 be madder n hops, she said. He nodded , but did not change his position. " You ve got to be sure, " she pursued, settling back on her heels. " Which would you drather, curls or a licking? " Shavings held up his head gloriously. " Fourteen lickings," he said. " All right, then ;" and the little blades grated thrillingly through their first vic tim. A few moments later there was a shimmering heap on Shavings news papers, and his head had a strange, patchy look that would have given a bar ber hysterics. But his face was beautiful. He stood feeling his head while Rita tore out an advertisement page to wrap his curls in. " You can sell the paper just the same. No one will know it s gone," she said. "But that wouldn t be fair, " he pro tested. " Well, then, we ll give it to some poor person who can t buy one," amended Rita. " Now, do you know what I d do, if I was you ? I d go right home and get it over. Shavings straightened up, his eyes .shining bravelv. Then he grew rather 26 MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. pale and slipped his hand into hers, for, after all, he was only a very little boy. " Walk as far as the corner with me, " he whispered. Rita had a lonely afternoon. She tried hard to find an excuse for a call on Mr. Baker, and finally wandered into the neighborhood without one. I don t suppose Shavings curls would be a scoop, but I should think he d like to hear about it, any way, " she argued, as *he climbed the stairs. " Tell Mr. Baker it s me," she said to the office boy, who grinned as he obeyed. !n a minute or two Miss Harrison came out. " Mr. Baker is ver_y sorry, but he is too Mi.sy to see any one," she said. " But I want to thank you for helping me so the ->ther night. If you hadn t banged against Black Mary s house, I don t know how I should have got away. It w r as very nice of you. Was it anything very special you wanted to tell Mr. Baker ? " "No, it wasn t a scoop," admitted Rita. " I just thought he d like to know about Shavings curls being cut off. We fcmnd these funny little scissors." Miss Harrison took the case with an ex clamation, and examined it on every side. "Where did you find this ? " she de manded. "Down there at Black Mary s cabin. And I told Shavings " " Come with me," interrupted the re porter, and hurried Rita straight into the little office with the big desk. "Mr. Baker, I think we ve got a big thing," she exclaimed. "That was found at Black Mary s cabin, and I m almost cer tain it belongs to a chatelaine Teresita was wearing when I interviewed her a big, jingling thing with lorgnettes and mirrors and purses dangling from it. I noticed they were all in this queer pat tern it s gold, you see and that one chain had nothing on it. " "And 3 T ou think -" said Mr. Baker. This ma}- prove that some of the jewels were stolen, not burned, and that Black Mary had a hand in it." "Good work!" exclaimed the editor. "I ll look into that myself, but I can t do anything for an hour. Suppose, Rita, YOU and Shavings come here at six, and we ll get some dinner together if your parents will let you, of course." Rita grinned at this, but made no comment. " And then you can show me just where you found it, and tell me all you know. Leave the scissors with me, and don t you breathe a hint of this to a living soul. Six o clock, remember ;" and he attacked the yellow paper in front of him with a flying pencil, while Rita went joyfully away in search of her partner. At five by the ferry clock Shavings had marched down Market Street with his papers over his arm. He held his head very high, and looked around him with the air of one who has the full rights of citizenship. A barber had done his best to smooth and even what was left b} Rita s shearing, and the round head looked very small and naked. Shavings walked a trifle stiffly, but that might have been from pride. As he sauntered up to the ferry, an astonished cat call from one newsboy drew the attention of the rest. " Shavings head hasn t got its clothes on ! " he shouted. It was the boy who had started the tor turing refrain of " Shavings head is coin ing unraveled," and the memory of past suffering acted on the present exaltation like a spark on nitrogl> T cerin. With a savage " You would, would you?" Shavings flung down his papers and plunged like a fury on his adversary. The latter was slightly the bigger, but he was taken by surprise, and he had not the pent up passion of seven years to relieve. He struck out wildly, but Shavings was working w T ith fists and feet and the top of his head, beating, pounding, butting, his face crimson, and his heart ready to burst with the freedom and the glory of the fight. The boys gathered in a de lighted ring, and as the white head rammed the last gasp of breath out of the adversary s bruised body, a shout went up, the sweetest cry that ever fell on human ears : " Bully for Shavings !" The tide had tvirned, and all the in glorious past was wiped out. He was one of the crowd forever more. Rita found her partner with a purple cheek and a swollen nose, fraternizing with the most exclusive set of the enemy, and for a minute her heart sank. But it THK COMPASS. 27 never occurred to Shavings to go back on her, even though she belonged to a sex with which he was no longer allied. He waved his cap and went over to tell her about it, and the boys, newly respectful, made no comments. It was dark when the two children guided Mr. Baker down to Black Mary s cabin, and showed him, with excited whispers, how the scissors had lain in the dirt under the loose step. He talked to them just as if they were grown up. "If we can prove that the scissors be longed on Teresita s chatelaine, we can be pretty sure there are more of her things in that little house," he said; and perhaps we can get them back for her. We may even prove that Black Mary set fire to the Broderick so that she could steal the jewels. And if it all comes out right and no other paper gets hold of it, that will be a real dollar scoop. But you ll spoil it all if you tell." The children would have sewn up their mouths with black shoe thread to prove their good faith. Just then they had to grasp each other s hands and stand very still in the darkness, for the cabin door opened. " Look again some time. I think I must have lost them down here, " said a low voice. Then some one, young and light footed, came down the rickety step and hurried away. As she walked, there was a swish of silk and a slight clanking. The editor muttered .something that would have shocked well brought up children. " What is it ? Why will you be damned ? " whispered Rita. "Because that was Teresita herself." answered the editor. "Children, this scoop is getting curiouser and curiouser, but I think I can promise that you ll get your dollar all right. Now you must go home and not open your mouths. I ve got to hustle." And he did hustle, so cleverly and effectively that the next morning the Recorder delighted the insurance com panies and exasperated the rival dailies by announcing that a large part of the jewels and laces of Teresita had been stolen, not burned, and that the thief was no other than Teresita herself, aided and abetted by her aged grandmother, a notorious character who went by the name of Black Mary. The evening papers avenged themselves by denying it as a "Recorder fake," and the morning papers tried to make light of it, but it was a big discovery, and in the end they all acknowledged the fact by the size and blackness of the headlines they gave it. Mr. Baker was promoted, Miss Harrison became a regular member of the staff on a good salary, and Rita and Shavings received tw r o dollars apiece and tickets to the circiis. And no one ever hinted that their part in it was only a" acci dent. During the sensational trial which fol lowed the Recorder had a glorious time puffing and pluming itself and pointing out its own adroitness ; but it never could match with its pride the little girl who strutted about the ferry, crying, "All about the stolen jewels! " and selling more papers than any three boys put to gether. THE COMPASS. A THING so fragile that one feather s weight Might break its poise or turn the point aside, The mightiest vessel, with her tons of freight, O er pathless seas from port to port will guide. What wonder, then, if lodged within the breast, Some simple, yet unwavering faith may lit- To guide the laden soul to ports of rest And, like the compass, point it to the sky ? John Trot and. MY FAVORITE NOVELIST AND HIS BEST BOOK BY JEROME K. JEROME. The clever English author names "David Copperf ield " as an especial favorite in fiction, telk of its influence upon his own life, and passes in review Dickens wonderful picture gallery of characters. RE was once upon a time a charm- . ing young lady, possessed of much taste, who was asked by an anxious parent, the years going on and family expenditure not decreasing, which of the numerous and eligible young men then paying court to her, she liked the best. She replied that that was her difficulty ; she could not make up her mind which she Jiked the best. They were all so nice. She could not possibly select one to the ex clusion of all the others. What she would have liked would be to marry the lot, but that, she presumed, was impracticable. I feel I resemble that young lady, not so much in charm and beauty as in inde cision of mind, when the question is that of my favorite author and my favorite hook. It is as if one were asked one s favorite food. There are times when one fancies an egg with one s tea. On other occasions one dreams of a kipper. Today one clamors for lobsters. Tomorrow one feels one never wishes to see a lobster again. One determines to settle down, for a time, to a diet of bread and milk and rice pudding. Asked suddenl} r to say whether I preferred ices to soup, or beef steaks to caviare, I should be complete^ 7 nonplussed. There may be readers who care for only one literary diet. I am a person of gross appetites, requiring many authors to satisfy me. There are moods when the savage strength of the Bronte sisters is companionable to me. One rejoices in the unrelieved gloom of " Wuthering Heights " as in the lowering skies of a stormy autumn. Perhaps part of the marvel of the book comes from the knowl edge that the authoress was a slight, delicate young girl. One wonders what her future work would have been had she lived to gain a wider experience of life ; or was it well for her fame that nature took the pen so soon from her hand ? Her suppressed vehemence may have been better suited to these tangled Yorkshire byways than to the more open, cultivated fields of life. There is not much similarity between the two books, yet when recalling Emily Bronte my thoughts always run on to Olive Schreiner. Here again was a young girl with the voice of a strong man. Olive Schreiner, more fortunate, has lived, but I doubt if she will ever write a book that will remirrd us of her first. " The Story of an African Farm " is not a work to be repeated. We have advanced in literature of late. I can well remember the storm of indignation with which the " African Farm " was received by Mrs. Grundy and her then numerous, but now happily diminishing school. It was a book that was to be kept from the hands of every young man and woman. But the hands of the young men and women .stretched out and grasped it, to their help. It is a curious idea, this of Mrs. Grundy s, that the young man and woman must never think that all litera ture that does anything more than echo the conventions must be hidden away. Then there are times when I love to gallop through history on Sir Walter s broomstick, At other hours it is pleas ant to sit in converse with wise George Eliot. From her garden terrace we look on Loamshireand its commonplace people, MY FAVORITE NOVELIST. 29 and in her quiet, deep voice she tells me of the hidden hearts that beat and throb beneath these velveteen jackets and lace " falls." Who can help loving Thackeray, wit tiest, gentlest of men, in spite of the faint suspicion of snobbishness that clings to him ? There is something pathetic in the good man s horror of this snobbishness, to which he himself was a victim. May it not have been an affectation, born un consciously of self consciousness ? His heroes and heroines must needs be all fine folk, fit company for lady and gentle men readers. To him the livery was too often the man. Under his stuffed calves even Jeames de la Phiche himself stood upon the legs of a man, but Thackeray coiild never see deeper than the silk stock ings. Thackeray lived and died in Club land. One feels that the world was bounded for him by Temple Bar on the east and Park Lane on the west ; but what there was good in Clubland he showed us, and for the sake of the great gentlemen and sweet ladies that his kindly eyes fotind in that narrow region, not too overpeopled with great gentlemen and sweet women, let us honor him. "Tom Jones," "Peregrine Pickle," and Tristram Shandy are books a man is the better for reading, if he read them wisely. They teach him that literature, to be a living force, must deal with all sides of life, and that little help comes to us from that silly pretense of ours that we are perfect in all things, leading perfect lives, and that only the villain of the story ever deviates from the path of rectitude. This is a point that needs to be con sidered by both the makers and the buyers of stories. If literature is to be regarded solely as the amusement of an idle hour, then the less relationship it has to life the better. Looking into a truthful mir ror of nature we are compelled to think ; and when thought comes in at the win dow drowsy idleness goes out by the door. Should a novel or play call us to ponder upon the problems of existence, or lure us from the dust\ high road of the world, fora while, into the pleasant meadows of dreamland ? If only the latter, then let our heroes and heroines be, not what men and women are, but what they should be. Let Angclin a be always spot less and Edwin always true. Let virtue ever triumph over villainy in the last chapter ; and let us assume that the mar riage service answers all the questions of the Sphinx. Very pleasant are these fairy tales, where the prince is always brave and handsome ; where the princess is always the best and most beautiful princess that ever lived ; where one knows the wicked people at a glance by their ugliness and ill temper, mistakes being thus rendered impossible ; where the good fairies are, by nature, more powerful than the bad ; where gloomy paths lead ever to fair palaces ; where the dragon is ever van quished ; and where well behaved hus bands and wives can rely upon living happily ever afterwards. The world is too much with us, late and soon." It is wise to slip away from it at times to fairy land. But, alas, we cannot live in fairy land, and knowledge of its geography is of little help to us on our return to the rugged country of reality. Are not both branches of literature needful ? By all means let us dream, on midsummer nights, of fond lovers led through devious paths to happiness by Puck ; of virtuous dukes one finds such in fairyland ; of fate subdued by faith and gentleness. But may we not also, in our more serious humors, find satisfac tion in thinking with Hamlet or Corio- lanus ? May not both Dickens and Zola have their booths in Vanity Fair ? If lit erature is to be a help to us as well as a pastime, it must deal with the ugly as well as with the beautiful ; it must show us ourselves, not as we wish to appear, but as we know ourselves to be. Man has been described as an animal with as pirations reaching up to heaven and in stincts rooted elsewhere. Is literature to flatter him, or reveal him to himself? Of living writers it is not safe, I sup pose, to speak, except, perhaps, of those who have been with us .so long that we have come to forget they are not of the past. Has justice ever been done to Ouida s undoubted genius by our shallow school of criticism, always very clever in discovering faults as obvious as pimples on a fine face ? Her guardsmen " toy " with their food. Her horses win the Derby three years running. Her very MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. wicked women throw guinea peaches from the windows of the Star and Garter into the Thames at Richmond. The dis tance being about three hundred and fifty yards, it is "a good throw. Well, well, books are not made worth reading by the absence of absurdities. Ouida possesses strength, tenderness, truth, passion ; and these be qualities in a writer capable of carrying many more faults than Ouida is burdened with. But that is the method of our little criticism. It views an artist as Gulliver saw the Brobdingnag ladies. It -is too small to see them in their en tirety ; a mole or a wart absorbs all its vision. Have Mark Twain s literary qualities, apart altogether from his humor, been recognized in literary circles as they ought to be? " Huck Finn" would be a great work were there not a laugh in it from cover to cover. Among the Indians and some other savage tribes the fact that A member of the community has lost one of his senses makes greatly to his ad vantage ; he is regarded altogether as a superior person. So among a school of 4nglo Saxon readers, it is necessar} to a man, if he would gain literary credit, ihat he should lack the sense of humor. One or two curious modern examples oc cur to me, of literary success secured rhiefly by this failing. All these authors are my favorites ; but such catholic taste is held nowadays to be no taste. One is told that if one loves Shakspere, one must of necessity hate Ibsen ; that one cannot appreciate Wag ner and tolerate Beethoven ; that if we admit any merit in Dore, we are incapable of understanding Whistler. How can I say which is my favorite novel ? I can only ask myself which lives clearest in my memory, which is the book I run to more often than to another, in that pleas ant half hour before the dinner bell, \vhen, with all apologies to good Mr. Smiles, it is useless to think of work. I find, on examination, that my " David Copperfield" is more dilapidated than any other novel upon my shelves. As I turn its dog eared pages, reading the familiar headlines: "Mr. Micaifber in difficul ties, " " Mr. Micaii bcr in prison, " I fall in love with Dora," 1 " Mr. Barkis goes otit with the tide," "My child wife," " Traddlcs in a nest of roses" pages of my own life recur to me, so many of my sorrows, so many of my joys, are woven in my mind with this chapter or the other. That day how well I remem ber it ! I read of David s wooing, but Dora s death I was careful to skip. Poor, pretty little Mrs. Copperfield at the gate, holding up her baby in her arms, is al ways associated in my memory with a child s cry, long listened for. I found the book, face downwards on a chair, weeks afterwards, not moved from where I had hastily laid it. Old friends, all of you, how many times have I not slipped away from my worries into your pleasant company ! Pcggotty, you dear soul, the sight of your kind eyes is so good to me. Our mutual friend, Mr. Charles Dickens, is prone, we know, just ever so slightly, to gush. The friends he introduces to one are so very perfect. Good fellow that he is, he can see no flaw in those he loves, but yon, dear lady, if you will permit me to call you by a name much abused, he has drawn in true colors. I know you well, with 3 our big heart, your quick temper, your homely, human ways of thought. You yourself will never guess your worth how much the world is better for such as you ! You think of yourself as of a commonplace person, useful only for the making of pastry, the darning of stockings, and if a man not a young man, with only dim, half opened eyes, but a man whom life had made keen to see the beauty that lies hidden behind plain faces were to kneel and kiss your red, coarse hand. } ; ou would be much aston ished. But he would be a wise man, Peggoity, knowing what things a man should take carelessly, and for what things he should thank God, who has fashioned fairness in many shapes. Mr. Wilkins Micawber, and you, most excellent of faithful wives, Mrs. Emma Micawbcr, to you I also raise my hat. How often has the example of your phi losophy saved me, when I, likewise, have suffered under the temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities ; when the sun of my prosperity, too, has sunk beneath the dark horizon of the world in short, when I, also, have found myself in a tight corner ! I have asked myself what MY FAVORITE NOVKUST. would the Micaivbers have done in my place. And I have answered myself. They would have .sat down to a dish of lamb s fry, cooked and breaded by the deft hands of Emma, followed by a brew of punch, concocted by the beaming Wilkins, and have forgotten all their troubles for the time being. Whereupon, seeing first that sufficient small change was in my pocket, I have entered the nearest restaurant, and have treated nry- self to a repast of such sumptuousness as the aforesaid small change would go to, emerging from that restaurant stronger and more fit for battle. And lo, the sun of my prosperity has peeped at me from over the clouds with a sly wink, as if to say : Cheer up ; I am only round the corner. " Cheery, elastic Mr. and Mrs. Micaw- ber, how would half the world face their fate but by the help of a kindly, shallow nature such as yours ? I love to think that your sorrows can be drowned in nothing more harmful than a bowl of punch. Here s to }^ou, Emma, and to you, Wilkins, and to the twins ! May you and such child-like folk trip lightly over the stones xipon your path ! May something ever turn up for you, my dears ! May the rain of life ever fall as April showers upon your simple, bald head, Micawber ! And you, sweet Dora, let me confess I love you, though sensible friends deem you foolish. Ah, silly Dora, fashioned by wise mother nature, who knows that weakness and helplessness are as a talis man calling forth strength and tender ness in man, trouble yourself not unduly about the oysters and the underdone mutton, little woman. Good plain cooks at twenty pounds a year will see to these things for us. Your work is to teach us gentleness and kindness. Lay your fool ish curls just here, child. It is from such as you we learn wisdom. Foolish wise folk sneer at you. Foolish wise folk would pull up the laughing lilies, the needless roses, from the garden, would plant in their places only useful, whole some cabbage. But the gardener, know ing better, plants the silly, short lived flowers, foolish wise folk asking for what purpose. Gallant Traddlcs, of the strong heart and the unruly hair ; Sophy, dearest of girls ; Betsy Trotwood, with your gentle manly manners and your woman s heart, you have come to me in shabby rooms, making the dismal place seem bright. In dark hours your kindly faces have looked out at me from the shadows, vour kindly voices have cheered me. Little Em ly and Agnes, it may be my bad taste, but I cannot share my friend Dickens enthusiasm for them. Dickens good women are all too good for human nature s daily food. Esther Summerson, Florence Dombey, Little Nell you have no faults to love you by. Scott s women were likewise mere illu minated texts. Scott only drew one live young heroine Catherine Seton. His other women were merely the prizes the hero had to win in the end, like the suck ing pig or the leg of nmtton for which the yokel climbs the greasy pole. That Dickens could draw a woman to some likeness he proved by Bella Wilfer, and Estella in "Great Expectations." But real women have never been popular in fiction. Men readers prefer the false, and women readers object to the truth. From an artistic point of view, David Copperfield " is undoubtedly -Dickens best work. Its humor is less boisterous ; its pathos less highly colored. One of Leech s pictures represents a cabman calmly sleeping in the gutter. "Oh, poor dear, he s ill," says a tender hearted lady in the crowd. " 111 ! " re torts a male bystander indignantly. " 111 ! E s ad too much of what I ain t ad enough of. " Dickens suffered from too little of what some of us have too much of criticism. His work met with too little resistance to call forth his powers. Too often his pathos sinks to bathos, and this not from want of skill, but from want of care. It is difficult to believe that the popular writer who allowed his sentimentality or rather the public s sentimentality to run away with him in such scenes as the death of Paul Dombey and Little Nell was the artist who painted the death of Sydney Carton and of Barkis, "the will ing." Barkis death, next to the passing of Colonel Ncivcontc, is, to my thinking, one of the most perfect pieces of pathos in English literature. The surroundings MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. are so commonplace, so simple. No very deep emotion is concerned. He is a com monplace old man, clinging foolishly to a commonplace box. His simple wife and the old boatmen stand by, waiting calmly for the end. There is no straining after effect of any kind. One feels death enter, dignifying all things ; and, touched by that hand, foolish old Barkis grows great. In Uriah Heep and Mrs. Gummidge, Dickens draws types rather than char acters. Pecksniff, Podsnap, Dolly Varden, Mr. Bumble, Mrs. Gamp, Mark Tapley, Turvcydrop, Mrs. Jellyby these are not characters ; they are human characteris tics personified. We have to go back to Shakspere to find a writer who, through fiction, has so enriched the thought of the people. Ad mit all Dickens faults twice over, we still have one of the greatest writers of modern times. Such people as these creations of Dickens never lived, says your little critic. Nor was Prometheus, type of the spirit of man, nor was Niobe, mother of all mothers, a truthful picture of the citizen one could meet a thousand times during an hour s march through Athens. Nor grew there ever a wood like to the Forest of Arden, though even/ Rosalind and Orlando knows the path to glades having much resemblance to it. Steerforth, upon whom Dickens evi dently prided himself, I must confess, never laid hold of me. He is a melodra matic young man. The worst I could have wished him would have been that he should marry Rosa Dartle and live with his mother. It would have served him right for being so attractive. Old Peg- gotty and Ham are, of course, impossible. One must accept these also as types. These Brothers Cheeryble, these Kits, Joe Gargeries, Boffins, Garlands, John Peery- bingles, we will accept as types of the goodness that is in men though in real life the amount of virtue that Dickens often wastes upou a single individual would, by more economically minded nature, be made to serve for fifty. To sum up, "David Copperfield " is a plain tale, simply told ; and such are all books that live. Eccentricities of style, artistic trickery, may please the critic of a day, but literature is a story that inter ests us, boys and girls, men and women. It is a sad book, too ; and that, again, gives it an added charm in the sad later days. Humanity is nearing its old age, and we have come to love sadness, as the friend who has been longest with us. In the young days of our vigor we were merry. With Ulysses boatmen, we took alike the sunshine and the thunder of life with a frolic welcome. The red blood flowed in our veins, and we laughed, and our tales were of strength and hope. Now we sit like old men, watching faces in the fire ; and the stories that we love are sad stories like the stories that we ourselves have lived. Jerome K. Jerome. AN EASTER FANCY. IN church on Easter morning The lilies in a row Uplifted buds of beauty And cups of fragrant snow. Between the organ s shadow And the altar s purple gloom I heard them speaking softly In the language of perfume. " We are the souls of maidens Who died in early youth, Translated by the Saviour In blossoms white as truth. Out of the dust and darkness, He called us, and we came, In joyous resurrection, To glorify His name ! " Minna Irritu IN THE PUBLIC EYE THE NEW SUPREME COURT JUDGE. The accompanying portrait shows Judge McKenna in the robes of his new office as an associate justice of the United States Supreme Court. Little more seems to be heard of the opposition aroused by his appointment to the highest Federal bench, and it may, before long, be practically forgotten, as has been the case with other contested nominations. Such is the power and importance of the Supreme Court that the selection of its personnel has always been jealously watched. Not a few previous nomina tions have been challenged in the Senate, JOSEPH E. MCKEXXA, ASSOCIATE JUSTICE OF THE UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT. From his latest photograph by Thors, San Francisco. 34 MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. the usual ground for criticism being that they were made as part of a political bar gain, or for partisan purposes. The charge brought against Mr. McKenna was the rather indefinite one that he lacked the judicial temperament which and a pension follows the period of active service. Few men have had the ambition to seek higher honors. But Mr. McKenna is still in the prime of life, and if he should discover that his critics in the Senate are right, and that he has not COLONEL P. C. HAINS, SENIOR ENGINEER OF THE NICARAGUA CANAL COMMISSION. From a photograph by Blessing, Baltimore. seems strange in view of the fact that for four years, before entering the cabinet, he wore the judge s robe, and is generally admitted to have made an excellent record. Almost invariably a public man s ap pointment to the Supreme Court has marked the limit of his political pro motion. The work of the Federal bench is not light, but it is dignified and Tegular ; the position is one of social and legal prestige ; the salary is by no means large ten thousand dollars a year but it suffices for the necessities, found his vocation, he may be seen again in the political arena. AX AMERICAN ENGINEER. The construction of a canal between the Atlantic and the Pacific will be one of the great engineering operations of the com ing century; and no other is likely to be of more supreme importance to American interests. The isthmus may be pierced at Panama, where the French company is still at work upon its colossal task, or by the Nicaragua route, where American capital and enterprise are already enlisted. IN THE PUBLIC EYE. 35 CHARLES F. ROE, MAJOR GENERAL OF THE NEW YORK NATIONAL GUARD. From a photograph by 11 ilhclm, Neiv York. Much depends upon the report to be made by the commission of inquiry no\v making surveys and investigations in Nicaragua on behalf of the United States govern ment. As senior engineer of this American commission, Colonel P. C. Hains has an important part in its work. Colonel Hains left West Point to go to the front at the outbreak of the Civil War, through which he served as an artillery officer, from Bull Run to Appomattox. He is now the ranking colonel in the engineer corps, and his regular duty is the com mand of the Soittheast division, which, roughly speaking, includes the defenses of the vast territory between Baltimore and Galveston. A NATIONAL GUARD LEADER. General Charles F. Roe, recently ap pointed major general of the Xew York National Guard, is a soldier of practical experience. He was a plebe at West Point when Lee surrendered at Appo mattox, but he has seen active service involving hardships as great as those of the civil war, with far less chance of MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. the expedition of 1876 against Sitting Bull, and several other Indian campaigns in the West. After twenty years as a cavalry officer he resigned National Guard. A notable instance of its efficiency was given during the Brook- lyn labor troubles, in 1895, when the troopers did really valuable service, dis- SANFOKU B. DOLE, PRESIDENT OF HAWAII. From a photograph by Stalee, Washington. from the regular army and settled in New York, where he was elected to the captaincy of Troop A, then newly formed. When the troop was increased to a squadron, Captain Roe took the cor respondingly higher rank of major. Under his command, Squadron A has become the model cavalry body of the persing thousands of rioters without firing a shot. THE PRESIDENT OF HAWAII. Rulers sometimes meet as host and guest, but it is seldom that the official head of a government goes abroad upon a business errand. President Dole s visit to the United States is an incident of a IN THE PUBLIC EYE. 37 MRS. SANFORU B. DOLK. from a photograph by Stalee, Washington sort that is rare in diplomatic annals, and one that shows the supreme impor tance to Hawaii of the mission on which he came. Still more unique is the fact that what is understood to be his purpose is to terminate the existence of his own government, and surrender the independ ence of his diminutive country. If he succeeds, he will go down in history as the first and last President of Hawaii. But if his rule in the Pacific island group should be ended thus, Mr. Dole might find before him the ampler possi bilities of a career in American politics. Whatever form of representation Hawaii might have at Washington, he would very probably be chosen for the post. He would be a striking and interesting figure at the Capitol. He is fully six feet tall, with a silvery beard which is more patri archal and impressive than that of Senator Peffer. His features are of strong but kindly mold, his utterances direct, digni fied, and courteous. Mr. Dole s father was a New Bedford man, who went to Hawaii as a missionary in 1840. The son was born in the islands, but was educated at a Massachusetts MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. college, and admitted to the bar of the Bay State. Going back to Honolulu, he was appointed judge of the Hawaiian supreme court by the late King Kala- kaua, and this position he held up to the Mr. Dole was married twenty five 3 ears ago to Miss Annie P. Gate, of Castine, Maine. Mrs. Dole s social duties in Hawaii are similar though of course upon a smaller scale to those of our own CHARLES G. DAWES, COMPTROLLER OF THE CURRENCY. From a photograph by Root, Chicago. time of the revolution of five years ago. He was not one of the active promoters of that much discussed upheaval, and his selection as president which was brought about by proclamation, without any form of election was due to the fact that he was recognized as a " safe man " a man of character and known ability, not an extremist, but one who commanded the respect of all parties. "first lady." She is also actively inter ested in educational and philanthropic work. THE COMPTROLLER OP THE CURRENCY. Charles G. Dawes, who recently suc ceeded Mr. Eckels as comptroller of the currency, is the youngest man who ever held that office. He is a politician to whom success came early and quickly. IN THE PUBLIC EYE. 39 H. HASTINGS, GOVERNOR OF PEXXSYL From a photograph by Gutekiuist, Philadelphia. He was twenty eight years old, and had lived only two years in Illinois, when he became recognized as a leader of the political forces whose aim was to insure the nomination of Major McKinley for the Presidency, in 1896 ; and it was largely due to his tact and skilful man agement that instructions for the Ohio candidate were given to the delegates elected at the State convention at Spring field. During the campaign he served as a member of the Republican executive committee, where he was regarded as per haps the ablest and most active of all Mr. Hanna s lieutenants. Mr. Dawes is an Ohioan by birth, a native of the old town of Marietta. He was educated for the bar, and went West to hang out his shingle in Lincoln, Nebraska. In 1894 he moved to Evans- ton, near Chicago, where he is interested in the gas business. He has always been a student of financial subjects, and his book on The Banking System of the United States" is a manual that has won high praise from authorities on this im portant and much controverted theme. His friends promise that his administra tion of his present office will be a very successful one. THE GOVERNOR OF PENNSYLVANIA. Governor Daniel Hartman Hastings, of Pennsylvania, has several claims upon 4 o MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. fame, one of the latest being his leader ship of a faction in the politics of his State in opposition to Senator Qua} . He first came into national notice in iSSS, when he put John Sherman in nomina- election followed by an overwhelming majority. Governor Hastings is a native Penn- sylvanian of Scotch Irish ancestry. He has been both a teacher and a lawyer. JOHN R. ROGERS, GOVERNOR OF WASHINGTON. From a photograph by llis, Whatcom, H ashing tou. tion for the Presidency. Although his eloquence was as futile as that of those who did a like service for Mr. Sherman in other years, his prominence in the Republican convention paved the way to Mr. Hastings promotion to the chief magistracy of Pennsylvania. He was once an unsuccessful candidate for the nomination, but when he secured it his Later, he served for several years as ad jutant general of the State, and was con spicuous in the relief work at Johnstown after the great flood of 1889. A WESTERN GOVERNOR. Governor Rogers, of the young State of Washington, is one of the men who are dissatisfied with existing social con- IN THE PUBLIC EYE. ditions and are not afraid to say so. He declares that noble as was the past of the American republic, its present " is a frightful picture. " " Mammon , " he says, "rides roughshod over the hopes and heaven born aspirations of the poor. Vast numbers of men are despairing. The occupants of many of our pulpits are so debased that they have forgotten the precepts of Christ. The accepted ideas of political economy are evidently all wrong. The late Henry George had a nostrum for reforming all this, but his proposition Governor Rogers summarily dismisses as insufferable rot. The field thus cleared, he produces a little scheme of his own. He would change the face of the world by allowing to every family twenty five hundred dollars worth of land free of taxation. We presume that the reformer purposes to have each and every home stead conspicuously labeled " Not Trans ferable, as otherwise the greed and gul libility of the human race would be almost certain to defeat his amiable object. These reformers are the best intentioned and most hopeful people on earth.. For thousands of years humanity has toiled on under the burdens of its primal curse, but it need do so no longer. Every one of these modern prophets has a plan for the extir pation of existing evils. Each plan is different from all other plans, but all are guaranteed to be absolutely infallible. Poverty is to disappear. Sickness and sorrow, vice and crime, are to be forgot ten. Floods, earthquakes, and tornadoes are to cease. A beautiful dream who can help sympathizing with the dreamer of it? The career of Governor Rogers has been typically American, if we may use that overworked phrase once more. He was born in New England almost sixty years ago, the great grandson of a Captain John Rogers who commanded a Yankee priva teer in the Revolutionary war. He has lived in half a dozen States, and has turned his ready hand to three or four callings besides those of politics and authorship. As a boy of fourteen he went to Boston to become a clerk in a Tremont Street drug store. At eighteen he was in business at Jackson, Missis sippi. A few years later he settled in Illinois, where he was first a school teacher and then a farmer. Next he migrated to Kansas, where from tilling the soil he drifted into Farmers Alliance politics and journalism ; and his most recent move was to follow the star of Empire to the Pacific slope in 1890. In the "grand young commonwealth" of which he is chief magistrate he sees a new Eden prepared for the habitation of man as truly and with as much regard for his future happiness and well being as was the first and fabled garden of Adam and Eve. Governor Rogers has three sons, the eldest of whom is an assistant professor of physics at Cornell. Emperor William of Germany compels the recognition of his own dignity by every one within his dominion with an insistency that is creating no small amount of comment. His long list of arrests for lese majeste, reaching five thousand sentences, inflicted since his accession, seems to indicate an autocratic assumption of sovereign dignity that comports ill with the modern spirit. It is singularly in keeping with his character that he should start upon a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in the royal yacht Hohenzollern, as it is reported that he is intending to do. Even if he decided to go afoot, we should expect to see his penitential sackcloth garments lined with silk and trimmed with the imperial ermine. # * * * The Iron Chancellor has long been suffering from neuralgia, particularly in the facial nerves, and to obtain relief from the sharp pain he sits for long periods with his hands pressed firmly against his mouth and cheeks. A visitor to Friedrichsruh found him thus one day recently, and expressed sympathy. Bismarck, who had been ruminating upon his old student days as well as his long public career, replied : "This is justice. During my life I have sinned most with my month eat ing, drinking, and talking. " * # * * Almost everybody has heard of the eminent English reformer, Lady Henry Somerset, but the existence of Lord Henry Somerset has been merely an inference. MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. It has been discovered that Lord Henry who seems to be a reformer s husband and nothing more has resided for many years in Florence, upon an income of two thousand pounds a 3 - ear, granted him by his distinguished wife. An irreverent paragrapher suggests that if he had con sented to live further away from London, his allowance might have been propor tionately larger. * * # # The enthusiastic enterprise of New York s " new "or " yellow " journalism, whichever we ma} choose to call it, not long ago encountered an iceberg in the person of ex President Grover Cleveland, the resultant shock being distinct!}- felt along Park Row. The publishers of the sensational newspapers seem to be great believers in the magic power of distin guished names, and to care a great deal more for the signature to an article than for the article itself. They will pay more for an article by Archbishop Corrigan on How They Open Oysters in Fulton Market," or a treatise on "Cuban Ama zons Who Wage Relentless War Clad in Connecticut Wrappers, by the celebrated Deacon Squash of the Methodist confer ence, than for a legitimate and interesting news story from the pen of the best news paper writer in the city. As a rule, they find it easy enough to get well known signatures, for Ne\v York is fairly over flowing with celebrities who are willing to sign their names to anything, from a profession of faith in a proprietary pill to an editorial about Cuba ; but Mr. Cleve land is less obliging. One of the one cent morning dailies was vehemently opposing the construction of a certain trolley line in which it had detected an invasion of popular rights. It had taken the matter into court, and it was deemed desirable to have the case argued by a lawyer of national reputa tion some one whose mere presence in the court house would attract an idle crowd from the adjacent saloons and barber shops, and spread abroad through the different boroughs of Greater New York the fame of the newspaper s enter prise. A member of the staff was des patched to Princeton, with instructions to offer the ex President a sum of money that was said to be not much short of three thousand dollars for one da} s work in court. To the intense surprise of the munificent publisher, the offer was peremptorily re fused by Mr. Cleveland on the ground that it would be an injustice to the other members of his profession to emerge from his retirement and come into the great white light of newspaper fame for a single moment, merely for the sake of a large fee which oxight really to be given to some lawyer in active practice. #*,.* Strange are the vagaries of interna tional fame. The late Professor Huxley was accepted as the inspired apostle of modern science in America as he never was in his native country. Charles Reade, esteemed in England, was far more popu lar on this side of the Atlantic. Mrs. Hungerford, famous as " the Duchess " in every American servants parlor, was quite unknown to her fellow country men. On the other hand, Max Miiller, one of the famous and interesting figures of contemporary England, is known here to scholars only. Max Miiller was born in Germany, but settled in England more than fifty years ago, and has long been professor of com parative philology at Oxford. He has known all the great men of his day, and of some of them he tells amusing personal details in a recently published volume of reminiscences. One day when Tennyson was visiting him, the laureate, coming down to the breakfast table, whipped off the cover of the hot dish and exclaimed : Mutton chops ! The staple of every bad inn in England ! " The poet s abruptness was soon forgiven, however, for his hosts found his conversation simply delightful. " v *.#: : Another of Max Miiller s friends was Matthew Arnold. For some years before his sudden death Arnold knew that the thread of his life might snap at any mo ment. Taking leave of Robert Browning, he hinted that they might never meet again, and playfully warned the volu minous poet : Now one promise, Brown ing. Please not more than ten lines. " " Browning, " says Max Miiller, " un derstood, and went away with a solemn smile." The story of New York s growth from a frontier settlement to the metropolis of the western world Pictures of the city and its life in Colonial times, and in the early days of independence. IT was, historically speaking, only the other day that New York was the settlement of New Amsterdam, and the placid Dutch burghers in their wide breeches walked about the grassy streets and counted the geese and calves that flocked about them. They had a town of fifteen hundred inhabitants when the fortunes of war made them turn over their prosperous village to the English, to be renamed after the Duke of York, who was afterwards the last Stuart mon arch of Britain. They had a stockade where Wall Street now runs ; they had a weekly market "near Mr. Hans Kier- sted s house," as the town advertised, and they had a herder who went about the streets every morning with a loud tin horn, collecting the cattle. The cows were pastured in the meadows beyond Maiden Lane the latter being then De Maagde Paatje, the path by which the Dutch lassies went down to the water s edge to wash their clothes. Governor Stuyvesant, who lost his post when the Dutch flag was hauled down before the British guns, had a farm, or " bowerie, " on the road that led north ward ; and his neighborhood was so much sought that a small village of five houses sprang up there, and a half way tavern was erected by Wolfert Webber for the accommodation of the sedate Dutch in their long journey from town. It stood at Chatham Square. The embryo metropolis had its promi- FORT AMSTERDAM, AS FINISHED BY GOVERNOR WOl TER VAN TWILI.KK, IN 1635. From an old engr.tving printed in Hi Hand. 44 MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. THE DUTCH COLONY OF NEW AMSTERDAM. From an old engraving m the State Library. nent business men even then. One of these was Cornelius Clopper, a black smith, who established a shop at what is now the corner of Maiden Lane and Pearl Street. All the country people who came that way stopped to have their horses shod and to smoke and gossip. It was one of New York s early landmarks, and the road which led to it was known as "De Sink s Vly," or "The Smith s Valle\-. " When Cornelius died he was one of the wealthiest men on the island. His fortune of ten thousand dollars caused his widow, Hielke Pieters, to be much sought. Under the English many changes came NEW AMSTERDAM, NOW CALLED NEW YORK. From a print dated 1667. - -" .. k s; A 3 s MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. DE SMIT S VLY, AT THE FOOT OF MAIDEN LANE. in. HeereStraat, which lay to the westward of the town s principal line of develop ment, became Broadway, and a fashion able residence street. At the close of the seventeenth century, when New York had about four thousand inhabitants, Madam Knight, an English lad}-, who came over on a visit, wrote back that the place had " an agreeable character. The build ings," she said, " are of brick generally, in some houses of divers colors and laid in checks. Being glazed, they look very well. On the inside they are neat to ad miration. " The sidewalks were paved with cobblestones, but as there was no sewerage the streets were left unpaved in- the center that they might absorb water. Here and there were public wells to supply the citizens with water. There are many romantic traditions of NO. I BROADWAY, IN 1850 (SITE NOW OCCUPIED BY THE WASHINGTON BUILDING.) MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. these late days of the seventeenth cen tury. Queer ships came into the harbor, and men who were believed to be pirates and slave dealers walked about the town. There is a pathetic tale of the first slave Lord Somers, the Earls of Romney and Or ford, and some New York gentlemen made up a purse for the expenses of the expedition, and with the great seal of England on his papers Captain Kidd set ;5^ THE COLLECT POND. wj^ girl sold in New York, who died of grief as she was being led home by her pur chaser, Nicholas Boot. The friends of the man who made so unlucky a bargain stood about and looked at her, and shook her, and said it was all nonsense for her to be dead, for "she was sound." There was one scandal that shook not only New York, but the world. Piracy had become so common on the high seas that Colonel Robert Livingstone went to England and introduced his intimate personal friend, Captain Willian Kidd, to the English government and recom mended that he be sent out on an expedi tion to put down pirates. The king, sail from Plymouth in 1696111 the Adven ture. By and by, when it was learned that Kidd was himself a pirate, it almost upset the government, and the noblemen concerned were indelibly disgraced. Poor Kidd, as everybody knows, after burying his treasure where it has never been found, sailed peacefully into Boston harbor, supposing that he was protected, or that nobody knew ; was arrested, taken back to England, and hanged in chains. Some body had to suffer. For most of two centuries, New York itilfflfflin!ffl{?H<WaW HI! BVCKHORN TAVERN, BROADWAY AND TWENTY SECOND STREET, l8l2. OLD NEW YORK. 49 was merely an adjunct to the fort at the Battery, and had all the characteristics of a garrison town. This fort had eight names previous to its final christening of Fort George. It was laid out by an engi neer named Kryn Frederick, and his ideas of fort building were decidedly primitive. When Stuyvesant was induced to sur render it without a shot, he called atten tion to the fact that it was so low that on two sides, within pistol shot, was ground The fort was demolished in 1788, with the intention of building upon its site a house for the President of the United States. Before it was completed, the capital was transferred to Philadelphia, and the house subsequently became the custom house. The old tavern of Mrs. Kocks, on the site of No. i Broadway, now occupied by the Washington Building, had stood there fof a century when it was taken THE JUNCTION OF PEARL AND CHATHAM STRKKTS, IX COLONIAL DAYS. so much higher that it made the position defenseless. Almost every time a new sovereign sat on the throne of England, or a new ruler came to New York, the old fort was renamed. It seems to have been as useless as some of our coast forti fications today. In 1738 the governor wrote of it : " It is a fort of little defense. We have guns, but no carriages ; ball, but no powder." He had an indignant reply from England. Where, the gov ernment asked, "is the powder we sent you in 1711 ?" But if the governors had no powder in the magazines, they had plenty for their footmen s heads. They lived in state in the mansion in the fort, and made the provincial court a center of gaiety. The aristocracy of the English administration kept up a great deal more ceremony than New York knows today, and 1898 cannot show many more liveried servants. In the governor s stables were state coaches, and in his boat house state barges. down to make way for the residence of Archibald Kennedy. Mr. Kenned}- was at that time collector of the port, but he afterward went home to Scotland to be come Earl of Cassilis. In Colonial times this house was the scene of the greatest festivities in town. Sir Henry Clinton had his official residence there. After the Revolution it became the home of several prominent citizens in turn. Broadway, as it stretched further northward, was a fashionable street for shopping and residences. During Dutch times, the site of the present City Hall Park was known as the " Vlacte, or Flat ; a little later it became the Com mons or Fields, and lastly, the Park. Here bonfires were made on the king s birthday, Coronation Day, and other holidays. The first public building erected there was a poorhouse, built in 1736, but this did not deter the gatherings. The rec ords tel of the burning of a press gang s boat there in 1764 ; of a meeting to oppose MUNSKY S MAGAZINE. JOHN JACOB ASTOR S COUNTRY PLACE, NEAR THE EAST RIVER AT EIGHTY EIGHTH STREET. the Stamp Act, and the burning of Gover nor Cadwallader Golden in effigy. When the Stamp Act was repealed, the people met in the Fields to roast an ox and drink twenty five barrels of ale a quantity of beef and ale that tells of a not very numerous crowd. The Fields, too, were the scene of many head breaking battles between the soldiers and the people over the Liberty Pole, an emblem which was several times demolished and as often restored. On the 9th of July, 1776, the Conti nental troops were drawn up here in a hollow square about General Washington on horseback, and the Declaration of Independence was read to them. Then came the disastrous battle of Long Island. THE BULL S HEAD TAVERN ON THE BOWERY, BETWEEN BAYARD AND PI Ml (NOW CANAL) STREETS, 1783. MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. _ THE STONE BRIDGE TAVERN AND GARDEN, BROADWAY AND CANAL STREET, l8l2. and the city was in possession of the king s forces. In September, the young country schoolmaster, Nathan Hale, was hanged as a sp}% not far from the spot where his statue stands today. The first improvement of the Park it was then far uptown, in the country, in fact was made in 1785, when it was in closed by a post and rail fence. A jail and bridewell had been erected before this. The old log barracks built in Colonial days had long been deserted, and had become the homes of bands of roving Indians, who sold beads and baskets up and down Broadway. Beyond the Park lay a piece of ground which was given over to the negroes for a burying ground. It was a desolate spot, descending toward the Collect. Of all the old topographical features of Manhattan Island that have been obliter ated by the city s growth, this Kalchhook or Collect Pond was the most notable. WALL STREET, ABOUT 1650. MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. It was a fresh water lake, as much as sixty feet deep, in a swampy depression that cut entirely across the island. It was connected with the East River by a creek that ran through marshy fields, while between it and the Hudson were Lispenard s Meadows, afterwards drained by a deep ditch that gave its name to Canal Street. It was on the Collect that the first screw propelled steamboat was tried, in 1796. There was a plan to make erected by Walter Langdon, son in law of John Jacob Astor, the prosperous fur merchant. One of the notable improvements on Broadway was on the east side of the street, between Howard and Grand. This was a building designed for a circus, which was afterwards called the Olympic Theater. In 1825 it was a circus, owned by Mr. Pierre Lorillard. New York can not support a permanent circus now, but TAMMANY HALL, 1830 (NOW THE OFFICE OF THE NEW YORK "SUN"). a park of the land about it. but it was regarded as too distant from the city. Finally it was filled in, and the old Tombs prison was built in the center of its site. The first account of a bridge over the canal between the Collect and the North River occurs in a map made during the Revolution. It was evidently a military work built of solid stone, and designed to connect the fortifications on the Collect with those further north. It was on the line of Broadway at Canal Street, and stood there for many years. Here, too, was a famous tavern with a garden. From this stone bridge, Broadway was called "The Middle Road," and in 1802 a survey was ordered from the bridge to Dr. Livingstone s house," at the corner of Prince Street. Near Dr. Livingstone s were the homes of the Beekmans and the Motts, and a " ver} T superior residence" she could then. The site of the old Niblo s Garden and the Metropolitan Hotel, landmarks which have disappeared- in the past five j-ears, was once a circus owned by Mr. Van Rensselaer, and called the Stadium. The old building was left in Niblo s Garden, and used for light per formances, which were so successful that Mr. Niblo, who was a coffee house pro prietor and never dreamed of becoming a dramatic manager, was encouraged to build his famous theater. James Feni- more Cooper lived next door. Year by year New York grew north ward, and each }-ear the inhabitants be lieved that the limit had almost been reached, just as people think nowadays that Yonkers, nearly twenty miles from the Battery, is far out of tow 7 n and can never become a second Greenwich Village, lost in the expansion of the American metropolis. THE CASTLE INN.* BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN. Mr. Weyman, whose "Gentleman of France" created a new school of historical romance, has found in the England of George HI a field for a story that is no less strong in action, and much stronger in its treatment of the human drama of character and emotion, than his tales of French history. SYNOPSIS OF CHAPTERS ALREADY PUBLISHED. IN the spring of 1767, on his way from Bath, Lord Chatham, the great English statesman, stops at the Castle Inn, at Marlborough, where he is detained by an attack of the gout. While here he sends for Sir George Soane, a young knight who has squandered his fortune at the gaming tables, to inform him that a claimant has appeared for the ^"50,000 which were left with him by his grand father in trust for the heirs of his uncle Anthony Soane, and which, according to the terms of the will, would have become Soane s own in nine months more. "Sir George arrives in time to find Lady Dunborough, the mother of a man whom he has recently wounded in a duel, vehemently denouncing as impostors a party of three who have taken possession of Soane s rooms. Sir George recognizes them as Julia Masterson, a young girl reputed to be the daughter of a dead college servant at Oxford, her mother, and an attorney named Fishwick, who once rendered some slight professional services to him. Though ignorant of the cause of their presence, the shrewish vis countess is repugnant to him, so, to her great disgust, he sides with the humbler travelers, and relinquishes his rooms to them. As if to annoy Lady Dunborough still further, her son now comes to the Castle in search of Julia, of whom he is deeply enamored, and her attempted interference so enrages him that, when he finally secures speech with the girl and she refuses him, he vows he will carry her off by force. In the mean time, ignoratit that she is the mysterious claimant, Soane also falls in love with Julia, despite the apparent difference in their stations. Before Mr. P ishwick succeeds in gaining an audience with Lord Chatham, Mr. Thomasson, a tutor, who is traveling with Lady Dunborough, blunders into the attorney s room during his absence, and there finds the will proving that Julia is the heir of Anthony Soane. XIV. have married me she would have gone on her knees to marry me ! And with ft "VKN minutes later Mr. Thomasson all that money I would have lived to be JL slid back the bolt, and, opening bishop of Oxford ! It is monstrous ! the door, glanced furtively up and down Positively, I am fit to kill myself when I the passage. Seeing no one, he came think of it!" out, closed the door behind him, and, He paused a while to roll the morsel on humming an air from the " Buona Figli- the palate of his imagination, and found ola, " which was then the fashion, re- that the pathos of it almost moved him turned slowly and with apparent delibera- to tears. But by and by he fell from the tion to the east wing. There he hastened clouds to more practical matters. The to hide himself in a small closet of a secret was his, but what was he going to chamber which he had that morning se- do with it ? Where make his market of cured, plumped down on the scanty bed, it ? For assuredly the opportunity was and stared at the wall. He was the prey too good to be lost. One by one he con- of a vast amazement. sidered all the persons concerned. To "Jupiter ! " he muttered at last, " what begin with, there was her ladyship. The a a Pactolus I have missed ! Three knowledge did not affect her, one way or months, two months ago, she would the other ; and he did not trust her. He * Copyright, i8g8, by Stanley J. M eyiiinn. MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. dismissed the thought of applying to her. It was the same with Dunborough ; money or no money was all one to him, he would take the girl if he could get her. He was dismissed as equally hope less. Soane came next ; but Sir George either knew the secret, or must know it soon, and though his was a case the tutor pondered long, turn it as he might he could see no profit he could claim from him. Moreover, he had not much stom ach for driving a bargain with him ; so in the end Soane, too, was set aside. There remained only the Buona Figli- ola the girl herself. I might pay my court to her, the tutor thought ; but she will have a spite against me for last night s work, and I doubt I could not do much. To be sure, I might put her on her guard against Dunborough, and trust to her gratitude ; but it is ten to one she would not believe me. Or I could let him play his trick if he is fool enough to put his neck in a noose and step in and save her at the last moment. Ah ! Mr. Thomasson exclaimed, looking up in an ecstasy of appreciation, " if I had the courage ! That were a game to play in deed, Frederick Thomasson ! " But it was hazardous ; and the plotter rose and walked the floor, striving to dis cover a safer mode of founding his claim. He found none ; and presently he took out a letter which he had received the day before his departure from Oxford a letter from a dun, threatening process and ar rest. The sum was one which a year s stipend of a fat living would discharge, and until the receipt of the letter, the tutor, long familiar with embarrassment, had taken the matter lightly ; but the letter meant business, and with the cold shade of the rules in immediate prospect, he was at his wits end. He thought and thought, and presently despair bred in him a bastard courage. Buoyed up by this, he tried to picture the scene : the lonel} r road, the carriage, the shrieking girl, the .ruffians looking fearfully up and down as they strove to silence her and himself running to the rescue as Mr. Burchell ran in Mr. Gold smith s novel, which he had read a few months before. Then the struggle ; he saw himself knocked well, pushed down. After all, with care, he might play a fine part without much risk. The men might fly at sight of him, or when he drew nearer and added his shouts to the girl s cries ; or or some one else might come up, by chance, or summoned by the uproar ! In a minute it would be over ; in a minute and what a rich re ward he might reap ! Nevertheless, he did not feel sure he would be able to do it. His heart thumped and his smile grew sickty, and he passed his tongue again and again over his dry lips, as he thought of the venture. But do it or not, when the time came he would at least give himself the chance. He would attend the girl wherever she went, dog her, watch her, hang on her skirts ; so if the thing happened and he had the courage, he would be at hand to save her. " It should it should stand me in a thousand," he muttered, wiping his damp brow ; " and that would put me on my legs. He put it at that ; and it was a great sum, a great bribe. He thought of the money lovingly, and of the feat with trembling ; and took his hat and unlocked the door and went down stairs. He spied about him cautiously till he learned in the hall that Mr. Dunborough had de parted ; then he went out boldly to the stables, and inquired and found that the gentleman had started for Bristol in a postchaise. "In a middling black tem per, "the hostler added, saving your rev erence s presence." That learned, the tutor needed to ask no more. He was aware that Dunborcmgh, on his way to foreign service, had lain ten days in Bristol whistling for a wind ; and had also landed there on his return, and made on his own authority some queer friends. Bristol, too, was the port for the plantations ; a slave mart under the rose, with the roughest of all the Eng lish sea town population. There were houses at Bristol where crimping was the least of the crimes committed ; and in the docks, where the great sugar ships sailed in and out in their season, were sloops and skippers ready to carry all comers, criminal and victim alike, beyond the reach of the law. The very name gave Mr. Thomasson pause. He could have done with Gretna, or Berwick, or Har wich, or Dover ; but Bristol had a grisly THE CASTLE INN. 59 sound. From Marlborough it lay but forty miles away, by the Chippenham and Marshfield road ; a postchaise and four stovit horses might cover the distance in four hours. He felt, as he sneaked into the house, that the die was cast. The other meant to do it, then. And that meant "Oh, lord! " he muttered, wiping his brow, " I shall never dare. If he is there himself, I shall never dare ! " As he crawled up stairs, he went hot one mo ment and shivered the next ; and did not know whether he was glad or sorry that the chance would be his to take. Fortunately, on reaching the first floor, lie remembered that earlier in the day Lady Dunborough had requested him to convey her compliments to Dr. Adding- ton, and inquire how Lord Chatham did. The tutor felt that a commonplace com mission of this kind would settle his nerves ; and having learned the position of Dr. Addington s apartments, found his way down the snug passage and knocked at the door. A voice, disagree ably raised, was speaking on the other side of the door, but paused at the sound of his summons ; some one .said Come in, " and he entered. He found his host standing on the hearth, stiff as a poker, and swelling with dignity. Facing him stood Mr. Fishwick. The attorne}^ flustered, hot, and excited, cast a look at Mr. Thomasson as if his entrance were an added griev ance ; but he instantly resumed his com plaint. " I tell you, sir with all respect," he said "I do not understand this. His lordship was able to travel yesterday, and last evening he was well enough to see Sir George Soane " "He did not see him, " the physician answered stiffly. There is no class which extends less indulgence to an inferior class, than the higher grade of profes sional men to the lower grade. While to Sir George, Mr. Fishwick was an odd little man ,. comic and not altogether in estimable, to Dr. Addington he was anathema. "I said, sir, only that he was well enough to see him," the lawyer retorted querulously. "But, be that as it may, his lordship was not seriously ill yester day. Today I have business of the ut most importance with him, and am will ing to attend upon him at any hour. Nevertheless you tell me that I cannot see him today, nor tomorrow - " Nor, in all probability, the next day, the doctor answered grimly. Mr. Fishwick s voice rose almost to a shriek. Nor the next day ? " he cried. "No, nor the next day, so far as I can judge." " But I must see him ! I tell you, sir, I must see him ! " the lawyer ejaculated. " I have the most important business with him. " " My dear sir," Dr. Addington said, raising his hand and clearly near the end of his patience, "my answer is that you shall see him when he is well enough to be seen, and chooses to see you ; and not before. For myself, whether you see him now or never see him is no business of mine. But it is my business to be sure that his lordship does not risk a life which is of inestimable value to his country. " But but yesterday he was well enough to travel ! " murmured the law yer, somewhat awed. "I I do not like this! " The doctor looked at the door. "I I believe I am being kept from his lordship !" Mr. Fishwick stuttered. " And there are people whose interest it is to keep me from his lordship. I warn you, sir, that if anything happens in the mean time - " The doctor rang the bell. I shall hold you responsible ! cried Mr. Fishwick passionately. " I consider this a most mysterious illness. I repeat, But apparently that was the last straw. " Mysterious? " the doctor cried fiercely. " Leave the room, sir ! You are not sane, sir ! By God, you ought to be shut up, sir ! You oxight not to be allowed to go about. Do you think that you are the only person who wants to see the minis ter ? Here is a courier from his grace the Duke of Grafton, and tomorrow there will be a score, and one from his majesty among them and all this trouble is given by a miserable, little paltry begone, sir, before I say too much ! John, the door ! The door ! And see that this person does bo MUNSEY S MAGAZINE. not trouble uie again. Be good enough to communicate by message, sir, if you have anything to say." And with that poor Mr. Fishwick was hustled out, protesting, but not convinced. It is seldom the better side of human nature which lawyers see ; nor is an at torney s office the soil in which a luxu riant crop of confidence is grown. With man} persons of warm feeling, but narrow education, Mr. Fishwick was ready to believe on the smallest evidence, or on no evidence, that the rich and powerful were leagued against his client ; that justice, if he was not very sharp, would be denied him ; that the heavy purse had a knack of outweighing the righteous cause even in England and in the eighteenth century. And the fact that all his hopes were staked on this case, that all his resources were embarked in it, that it had fallen as it were from heaven into his hands where fore the greater the pity, if things went amiss rendered him peculiarly captious and impracticable. Every day nay, every hour that passed after this without bringing him to Lord Chat ham s presence augmented the suspense. To be put off, not one day, but two days, three days and what might not happen in three days ! was a thing intolerable, insufferable, a thing to bring the heavens down in pity on his head ! What won der, then, if he rebelled ; and being routed as we have seen him routed shut him self up in his sleeping place, and there brooded miserably over his suspicions and surmises. Even when the lapse of twenty four hours brought the swarm of couriers, messengers, and expresses which Dr. Ad- dington had foretold ; when the High Street of Marlborough a name hence forth written on the page of history became one slowly moving line of coaches and chariots bearing the select of the county to pay their respects to the great minister ; when the very town began to throb with unusual life, and to take on airs of fashion, by reason of the crowd that lay there, all ostensibly drawn thither by his presence ; when the Duke of Grafton was reported to be but one stage distant, and there detained by the earl s express refusal to see him ; when the very king, it was rumored, was com ing on the same business ; when, in a word, it became evident that the eyes of half England were turned to the Castle Inn at Marlborough, where England s great statesman lay helpless and gave no sign, though the wheels of state creaked and all but stood still even then Mr. Fishwick refused to be satisfied, de clined to be comforted. In place of view ing the stir and bustle, the coming and going, as a perfect confirmation of Dr. Addington s statement and as a proof of his integrity, he looked askance at it. He saw in it a demonstration of the powers ranked against him and the prin cipalities he had to combat ; he felt, in face of it, how weak and insignificant he was ; and at one time despaired, and at another was in a frenzy. The reader may laugh; but if he has ever staked his all on a cast, if he has ever taken up a hand of twelve trumps only to hear the omi nous word misdeal ! " he will find some thing in Mr. Fishwick s attitude, neither unnatural nor blameworthy. XV. DURING those stirring daj S of the earl s illness, when, as we have said, all the political world of England seemed to be turning their horses heads towards the Castle Inn, it came to be the custom for Julia to go every morning after breakfast to the little bridge over the Kennet, thence to watch the panorama of de partures and arrivals ; and for Sir George to join her there without excuse or ex planation, and as if, indeed, nothing in the world were more natural. The min ister s illness continuing to detain all who desired to see him from the Duke of Grafton s parliamentary secretary to the humblest aspirant to a Tide waiter- ship Soane was not the only one who had time and leisure on his hands ; nor the only one who sought to while it awa%- in the company of the fair. The shades of Preshute churchyard, which lies in the bosom of the leafy vale, not three bow shots from the Castle Inn, formed the chosen haunt of one couple. A second pair favored a .seat situate on the west side of the Castle Mound, and well protected by shrubs from the gaze of the vulgar. THE CASTLE INN. 61 But these Corydons were at ease; they basked free from care in the smiles of their Phyllises. Soane, in his philander ing, had to do with black care that would be ever at his elbow ; black care that always, when he was not with Julia, and sometimes even while he talked to her, would jog his thoughts and draw a veil before his face. The prospect of losing Kstcombe, of seeing the family Lares broken and cast out, and the family stem, tender and young, yet not ungra cious, snapped off short, wrung a heart that belied his cold exterior. Moreover, he was his own judge how far he could without means pursue the life which he had been living. Suspense, anxiety, sordid calculation, were ever twitching his sleeve, and would have his attention. Was the claim a valid claim, and must it prevail ? If it did, how was he to live, and where, and on what? Would the minister grant his suit for a place or a pension ? Or might he still by one deep night and one great hand at hazard win back the thirty thousand guineas he had lost in five years ? Such qiiestions troubling him whether he would or no, and forcing themselves on his attention when they w T ere least wel come, ruffled at last even the outward composure on which he plumed himself as a man of fashion. He would fall silent in Julia s company ; and turning his eyes from her, in momentary forgetfulness, would trace patterns in the dust with his cane, or stare by the minute together at the quiet stream that oozed sluggishly beneath them. On these occasions she made no attempt to rouse him. But when he again awoke to the world, to the passing coach or the gaping urchin, or the clang of the dis tant dinner bell, he would find her con sidering him with an enigmatical smile that lay in the region between amuse ment and pity, her shapely chin resting on her hand, and the lace falling back from the whitest wrist in the world. One day the smile lasted so long, was so strange and dubious and so full of a weird intelligence, that it chilled him ; it crept to his bones, disconcerted him, and set him wondering. The tineas} questions that had haunted him at first, recurred. Why was this girl so facile who seemed so proud, whose full lips curved so naturally ? Was she really won, or was she only playing with him with some hidden motive ? The notion was not flattering to his vanity ; and in any other case he would have given him self credit for conquest. But he had dis covered that this girl was not as other girls; and then, that puzzling smile? He had surprised it half a dozen times before. What is it ? " he said abruptly, de termined to clear up the matter. "What? " she asked, in apparent in nocence. But he saw that she under stood . " What does that smile mean, Pulcher- rima ? Only that I was reading your thoughts, Sir George," she answered. And they were not of me. "Impossible!" he said. "I vow, Julia "Don t vow, " she answered quickly. " or when you vow some other time I shall not be able to believe you ! You were not thinking of me, but of your house, and the avenue of which you told me, and the trees, and the river in which you used to fish. You were wondering to whom they would go, and who would possess them, and who would be born in the room in which you were born, and who would die in the room in whicli your father died." " You are a witch ! "he said. "Thank you," she answered, looking gravely over her fan. " Last time you said, Confound the girl ! It is clear that I am improving your manners, Sir George. You are now so polite that pres ently you will consult me. " So she could read his thoughts ! Could deliberately set him on the rack ! Could perceive when pain, and not irritation, underlay the oath or the compliment. He was always discovering something new in her, something that piqued his curiosity and kept him amused. "Suppose I con sult you now ? " he said. She swung her fan to and fro, playing with it childishly, looking at the light through it and again dropping it. "As your highness pleases," she said at last. "Only I warn 3-011 that 1 a