Skip to main content

Full text of "The Californian and overland monthly"

See other formats 


'0*5    \ 


FREE 

PUBLIC  LIBRARY 
DECATUR 

ILLINOIS 


„      „  $1.50  Per  Year 

15  Cents  Per  Copy 

Established  1868 

OVERLAND     MONTHLY 


Illustrated  cTWagazine  of  the  West 
VOLUME  XLIX 


JANUARY-JUNE  1907 


Overland  Monthly  Company 

Publishers 

AN    FRANCISCO CALIFORNIA 


FREE  PUBLIC  LIBRARY, 
OECATUR,  ILL. 


INDEX 


A  Ten  Million  Dollar  World's  Fair Frank  L.  Merrick 349 

Across  the  Mer  De  Glace  (111.) Fred  Gilbert  Blakeslee 525 

Across  the  Blue  (Poem)  Marion  Cook  27 

Ah  Gin  (111.)  Eunice  Ward  393 

American  Wastefulness Austin  Bierbower  358 

An  Attempted  Massacre — Or  Keal  Football  (111.)  

Arthur  Inkersley  77 

Anniversary  Poem,  An  Edna  Heald  McCoy  112 

At  the  Lone  Star  Corral  Donald  Kennicott  335 

Barometric  Morality  (111.)  John  L.  Cowan  283 

Birds,  The  (Poem)  Edward  Wilbur  Mason 225 

Bliss  After  Pain  (Poem)  Clarence  H.  Urner  176 

Blunder,  The  (Poem)  Aloysius  Coll  250 

Bohemians  to  their  Mistress,  San  Francisco  (Poem) 

Charles  S.  Ross  69 

Caged  (Poem)  Edward  Wilbur  Mason  416 

Cat  Farming  in  California  (111.)  Kate  H.  Hall 299 

Child  Workers,  The  (Poem) Mvles  Tyler  Frisbie  140 

City  of  Mexico,  The  (Illustrated) Nathaniel  J.  Hanson  167 

City  of  the  Lord  of  Two  Seas,  The  (111.) . .  .Katherine  Elwes  Thomas 501 

Coming  of  Winter,  The  (Poem)  Samuel  G.  Hoffenstein  166 

Committees  of  Vigilance  of  California  (111.) .  .Rockwell  D.  Hunt 31 

Contra  Costa  (Poem)  Innie  Ellsworth  Caldwell  320 

Copa  De  Ora — a  California  Poppy  (Poem) .  .Edith  Church  Burke  328 

Craftsman  Movement  and  What  it  Means.  .Helen  Fitzgerald  Sanders 226 

Crossing  the  Bav Kelley  Predmore  74 

Challenge  of  the  Mountain,  The  (111.) . .  C.  J.  Lee  Warner  435 

Charcoal  Sketch,  A  (Poem)  G.  L.  F 454 

Club  Xight  (Poem)  Harley  R.  WHey  338 

Conservative  Triumph,  A Caroline  Ladd  Crew  522 

Dandelions  (Poem) Mary  Ogden  Vaughan  290 

Daughter  of  David,  The Elliott  Flower  423 

Daughter  of  David,  The Elliott  Flower  548 

Dead  Cypress  on  the  Coast  of  Monterey  (Poem)  

Sophia  D.  Lane  21 

Derelict,  The  (Poem)  Ruth  G.  Porter  304 

Dolce  Far  Xiente  (Poem)  Agnes  Lockhart  Hughes  215 

Dowdan's  Patent  Scarecrow  Emily  Stevens  Smith  316 

Down  the  Coast  (111.)  Gibson  Adams  329 

Dreamer,  The  (Poem)  Charlton  Lawrence  Edholm  188 

Dving  Colony  of  Jews  at  Kai-Fung-Fu,  China,  The  . 

Alfred  Kingsley  Glover 409 

Easter  Customs  Here  and  There Anne  E.  Neville  , 303 

Easter  on  the  Mojave  Desert  (111.) Mary  H.  Coates 281 

Education  and  the  Working  Classes. . .  .Austin  Lewis  57 

Evening  (Poem)  Mary  Ogden  Vaughan  324 

Evening  in  Chinatown,  An  (111.)  D.  E.  Kessler 445 

Explorers,  The  (Poem)  Olive  Vincent  Marsh  139 

S3730 


INDEX. 

Festival  of  the  Lantern  Kites,  The  (111.)  .Charles  Lorrimer 251 

Four  Men  in  Company   (Poem) Charles  S.  Ross  135 

Fleecing  Tourists  on  the  Grand  Tour  at  Much-Threatened  Niagara   

Felix  J.  Koch 417 

Filigree  Workers  of  the  Southwest  (111.) .  .John  L.  Cowan   518 

Foundation  of  Muscular  Strength,  The.  .L.  E.  Eubanks  49G 

From  a  Shut-in's  Window  (111.)   "Jac"  Lowell  53-4 

Fruit  Blossoms,  The  (Poem)   Eva  E.  Stahl   517 

God's  Candles  (Poem)    Marion   Cook 11 

Goldfish  of  Avalon   Ralph  L.  Harmon  532 

Grasshopper  Trust,  The  Walter  Scott  Haskell   164 

Grove  of  Peace,  The  (Poem)   Geraldine  Meyrick 413 

Guardian  of  the  Gate,  The   (111.) Fred  A.  Hunt   63 

Heaping  Coals  of  Fire  (Poem)   Aloysius  Coll 521 

Heimweh  (Poem) Marie  Parish    229 

Her  Faults   (Poem)    Aloysius  Coll   76 

Home  of  the  Mist  Maidens,  The  (111.) .  .Eloise  J.  Roorbach 189 

Hints  on  London  for  American  Tourists  (111.)  •  -Fred  Gilbert  Blakeslee 221 

Hour  in  the  Cleanest  Town  in  the  World,  An  (111.) 

Felix  J.  Koch 542 

Houses  that  Came  Around  the  Horn  for  the  "Alameda  Gardens"   (111.)    

Rockwell  D.  Hunt 210 

Hybrid,  The  Aloysius  Coll   514 

"II  Ne  Pense  Que  Je  Comprehends"  (Poem) .  .Henry  W.  Noyes   39 

Illustrated  by  Eloise  J.  Roorbach. 

Impressions  of  the  Gogebic  Eange Margaret  Ashmun  325 

"Ina  Coolbrith  Day"    Kate  M.  Kennedy   339 

In  the  Camp  of  the  Enemy  (111.)   Bunker  Klueger 461 

In  Luzon  (Poem)    H.  W.  Noyes 464 

Jamestown  Exposition,  The  (111.) Henry    Williams    14 

Kinship   (Poem)    Etta  Lucia  Loring    8 

Knight  of  the  Forest,  A  (111.)    F.    G.   Martin    1 

-"La  Danza"    (Poem)    W.  H.  Noyes 527 

Lafcadio  Hearn   (Poem)    Ruth    Sterry    179 

Land  of  Bamboo,  The Mary  Ogden   Vaughan    554 

Land  of  My  Dreams  (Poem) Helen  Fitzgerald  Sanders 208 

Lark  and  the  Dove,  The  (Poem)   Louise  Ayres  Garnett 490 

Last  of  the  Five  Tribes,  The Grant   Forman    196 

Last  of  the  Buffalo,  The  (111.) H&len   Fitzgerald    Sanders 12 

Lazy  Languor  of  the  East,  The  (111) Felix   J.   Koch    321 

Legend  of  Alcatraz,  A Felix  J.  Koch 216 

Legend  of  the  Trinity,  The Leona  Curry  Smith    468 

Lions  in  the  Way,  The Clara  Ainsworth    450 

Love  Time  and  Nesting  Time  (Poem) .  .  .Emma  Playter  Seabury   408 

Miadonna   (Poem)    Edward  Wilbur  Mason   357 

March  (Poem.    111.) L.   Clare  Davis    272 

Mardi  Gras  Days  and  the  Mardi  Gras  City.  .Felix  J.  Koch   199 

Mark  Twain   (111.)    Henry  Meade  Bland   23 

Mazama's  Ascent  of  Mount  Baker  (111.)  .Asahel  Curtis  305 

Memories  of  New  England Kate  S.  Hamlin 397 

Memory  of  the  Soul,  The   Charles  Burrows    428 

Moon  of  Hyacinth,  The  (Poem)   Edward  Wilbur  Mason  547 

Motoring  Along  a  King's  Highway  (111.) .  .Katherine  Elwes  Thomas 49 

Mountain  Anemones  (111.)   Margaret  Ashman   267 

More  Than  Soldier   W.  B.  Compton   453 

Mr.  Scoggs :  Deceased Raymond   Russ    403 


I  X  D  E  X. 

Mystery  of  the  Chinese  Idol,  The Charles   W.   Cuno    491 

Old  Plymouth  Path  New  Trod  (Illustrated) .  .F.   S.   Drenning    153 

Old  Stone  House,  The  (Poem)   Mrs.  Z.  T.  Crvwell 553 

Phyllis    (Poem)     Louisa  Ayres   Garnett    444 

Planning  a  European  Trip .Fred  Gilbert  Blakeslee   426 

Politics  in  Hawaii Edward   P.   Irwin    9 

Poverty    ( Poem)    Edward  Wilbur  Mason 73 

Presenting  the  Footlight  Favorites  for  March 277 

Presenting  April's  Actresses  and  Actors 361 

Presenting  June's  Actresses  and  Actors 557 

Presenting  May's  Actresses  and  Actors 455 

Prince  Albert  of  Nowhere  Helen  Fitzgerald  Sanders 439 

Quo  Fata  Vocant Lannie  Haynes  Martin 241 

San  Francisco's  Wonder  Year  (111.) . . .  .Pierre   N.   Beringer    375 

Sanskrit  Play  in  the  Greek  Theatre  of  the  University  of  California  (111.),  The 

Gurden  Edwards   48o 

Saint  Valentine's  Day   (Illustrated) ...  .Katherine   Elwes   Thomas 115 

Sarah  Amanda,  Substitute Edna  Gearhart   70 

Scaling  Mount  Shasta  (A  Novel  Vacation  Jaunt) — Illustrated 

Felix  J.  Koch,  A.  B 127 

Sea  Gull,  The  (Poem)    Helen   Fitzgerald   Sanders    162 

(Illustrated  by  F.  Soule  CampbeU.) 

Sonnet  for  Memorial  Day  (Poem) Charlton  Lawrence  Edholm 425 

Story  of  the  Little  Big  Horn,  The  (111.)  .D.  W.  Branson    49 

Street  Violets  (Poem)    Marie  Parish    89 

Silver  Lining  of  the  Clouds,  The Alice  Louise  Lee 205 

Slumber  Song  (Poem)    Charles  Francis  Saunders 298 

Smile  of  the  Princess,  The Florence  Jackson  Stoddard  291 

Song  of  Springtime   (Poem)    Clarence   HawTces    368 

Songs  of  Springtime  (Poem)    Josephine  Mildred  Blanch   282 

Spring   Song    Helen  Fitzgerald  Saunders   36( 

Streak  of  Yellow,  A Charles  Ellis  Newell 544 

Struggle  On   (Poem)    C.  H.   Urner   Ill 

Sunset   (Poem)   111 Philip  Warren  Alexander 62 

Swastika,  The Adelia  H.  Taffinder 265 

Tales  of  the  Sea— III Arthur  H.  Dutton 67 

Tales  of  the  Sea— II Arthur  H.  Dutton    177 

Tales  of  the  Sea,  VI.— The  Death  of  Somers.  .Capt.  Arthur  H.  Dutton 420 

Tales  of  the  Sea — V Arthur  H.  Dutton 551 

"The  Kid's"  Atonement John  Richelsen    414 

Thomas,  Jr.,  and  the  Pretty  Cousin. . .  .Charlton  Lawrence  Edholm  533 

Thoughtlessness    (Poem)    Donald  A.  Fraser  126 

Three  Knots  (Poem)    Andrew  John  MacKnight 254 

Titian  Masterpiece  in  the  Wilds  of  Mexico,  The   (111.)    

C.  F.  Paul 261 

To  a  California  Poppy  (Poem)   H.  Felix  Cross 240 

To  a  Bluebird  (Poem)    Helen  Fitzgerald  Sanders 498 

Tournament  of  Eoses,  The  (Illustrated)  .Alvick  A.  Pearson   97 

Tundra  of  Alaska,  The J.   E.   Game    465 

Unenrolled    Aloysius  Coll   147 

University  and  the  Working  Classes,  The. Austin  Lewis 255 

Unwritten  Epics    John  L.  Cowan 268 

Valentine,   The    (Poem)    Emma   Playter   Seabury    122 

Wally's  Crusade   IV.  E.  Schemerhorn 246 

Wanderlust,  The  (Poem)   John  A.  Henshall   433 

War  Cloud,  A   James  E.  Free    136 


INDEX. 

What  the  Most  Wonderful  City  in  the  World  is  doing.    A  series  of  full-page  il- 
lustrations from  photographs  taken  for  the  Overland  Monthly 

.  141-142-143-144-145-146 

What  the  Stars  Foretold  Emma   Playter   Seabury    113 

When  Day  is  Done Mary  D.  Barber 449 

Where  Love  is  Not   (Poem) Laura  Brewer 260 

When  the  Cards  are  Stacked Burton  Jackson   Wyman    499 

Waste  Heap  of  Industry   Clarence  H.  Mark  123 

Without  the  Pale «/.  Gordon  Smith 523 

Willow  Pattern  Tea  House,  The  (111.) . .  Charles   Lorrimer    28 

Winter  Motoring  in  California Oxoniensis    231 

Winter's  Way   (Poem)    Margaret  Ashmun   402 

DEPARTMENTS. 

In  the  Kealm  of  Bookland 276 

In  the  Realm  of  Bookland Eleanore  F.  Lewys  and  Staff 93 

In  the  Eealm  of  Bookland 183 

In  the  Lair  of  the  Bear  (Japanese  Question) .  .John  L.  Cowan 87 

Pousse  Cafe  (The  Daughter  of  David) .  .Elliott  Flower   90 

Pousse  Cafe — The  Daughter  of  David.  .Elliott  Flower    180 

Pousse  Cafe— "The  Daughter  of  David". Elliott  Flower   273 


PUBLIC  LIBRARV 
PECATUR 


0  Umg  as 
me  Ume,  me 
seme;  00  Umg 
me  are  I0ueli  bg 
0tljera  J  umuto 
almost  satf  tljat 
me  are  tnbta- 
penaable;  anb  n0 
man 

mlftle  Ije     ajS  a 
friend. 


ft/I.. 


A   rift   in   the   mountain   forest. 

THE  summer  of  1920  found  Henry 
Campbell,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
two,  holding  a  university  diploma 
and  face  to  face  with  the  future,  with  no 
career  definitely  decided  upon.  Poor,  as 
the  world  measures  possessions,  he  was 
rich  in  optimism,  ambition  and  manly 
impulses.  Born  and  reared  in  California, 
he  loved  his  native  State  with  a  passion- 
ate ardor.  A  report  of  the  State  Forester 
falling  into  his  hands,  he  was  struck  with 
this  closing  paragraph. 

'TJnless  the  Legislature  comes  to  our 
aid  with  remedial  legislation  at  once,  the 
remnants  of  the  magnificent  forests  of 
California  are  doomed.  We  tremble  for 
the  agricultural  future  of  the  common- 
wealth. Already  the  sources  of  water 
supply  for  irrigation  are  failing  in  the 
denuded  mountains.  Unless  we  can  save 
the  forests  we  have  and  restore  those  de- 
stroyed, vast  tracts  of  productive  land 


must  be  abandoned.  The  water  supply 
of  several  cities  is  threatened.  Only 
prompt  action  will  avert  a  general  calam- 
ity to  the  State." 

The  more  Henry  Campbell  meditated 
upon  the  alarming  situation  thus  graphi- 
cally portrayed,  the  more  he  was  stirred. 
Would  not  this  be  a  noble  life  work — to 
stay  the  Delilah  hands  that  were  ruthless- 
ly stripping  his  native  State  of  her  glory 
and  strength  by  indiscriminate  denuda- 
tion of  her  forests  for  sordid  gain?  He 
was  impressed  that  here  was  a  work  heroic 
in  its  proportions  and  an  opportunity  to 
achieve  a  lasting  and  beneficent  fame.  His 
decision  soon  was  made,  and  he  -set  him- 
self resolutely  to  the  work.. 

Herculean  the  task,  and  seemingly  in- 
superable the  obstacles.  On  the  one 
hand,  there  was  to  be  overcome  the  dis- 
couraging indifference  of  the  people  to 
their  own  best  interests;  on  the  other, 
there  was  the  organized  opposition  of  self- 
aggrandizing  corporations  to  be  combat- 
ted. 

Young  Campbell  had  little  practical 
knowledge  of  forestry.  His  first  assay 
was  to  familiarize  himself  with  the  sub- 
ject to  the  minutest  detail.  Betaking 
himself  to  a  lumbering  camp  in  the 
Sierra  Xevadas,  he  hired  out  as  a  laborer 
and  studied  every  feature  of  cutting  tim- 
ber and  preparing  it  for  market.  Finding 
a  timbered  tract  on  the  market  at  a  low 
figure,  he  borrowed  the  money,  bought  it 
and  put  his  theories  into  practice  for  him- 
self. 

He  went  through  his  forest  as  though 
moved  by  friendship  for  each  individual 
tree.  He  culled  those  that  were  mature 
and  sound  and  cut  them  for  market,  al- 
ways careful  to  safeguard  the  growing 
saplings,  and  for  every  tree  that  was  hewn 
down  a  new  one  was  planted  in  its  stead. 
The  project  worked  wonders.  Not  only 
was  this  exponent  of  sane  forestry  profit- 
ing financially  beyond  even  the  soulless 
destroyers  of  trees  about  him,  but  he  was 
leaving  his  woodland  in  such  thrifty 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


condition  as  to  be  a  striking  object  lesson 
of  the  merits  of  conservation. 

Henry  Campbell's  ambition  grew  with 
his  growth.  He  was  now  an  enthusiast  on 
practical  forest  preservation.  He  had 
heard  and  was  resolved  to  heed  the  Mace- 
donian cry  for  water,  which  was  going  up 
from  all  parts  of  the  State.  He  knew  the 
potency  of  forests  not  only  in  restraining 
floods,  but  in  producing  conditions  favor- 
able to  precipitation  of  rain.  He  firmly 
believed  that,  with  general  reforestation, 
the  State  would  be  redeemed  from  water 
famine,  and  the  desert  would  literally 
"blossom  as  the  rose"  under  the  sufficient 
normal  rainfall  which  would  ensue. 


ests,  but  they  either  died  in  committee  or 
were  openly  defeated  with  unblushing 
evidences  of  the  corrupt  influence  of  the 
trust  lobby. 

Repeatedly  did  Representative  Camp- 
bell flay  this  lobby,  expose  its  methods 
and  plead  with  fellow-legislators  to  save 
the  State  from  the  monopolistic  vampire, 
The  legislators  were  deaf  to  his  appeals; 
but  the  thinking  men  of  the  State,  long 
apathetic,  were  aroused  by  his  sturdy 
stand.  Consequently,  when  the  State 
convention  of  his  party  assembled,  pliant 
politicians  were  swept  aside  by  the  hon- 
:est,  intelligent  mass  of  the  .delegates, 
who  stampeded  the  convention  for  Henry 


Mariposa    Big    Trees. 

He  turned  to  politics  as  the  most  effec- 
tive channel  through  which  to  prosecute 
his  ambition.  He  hewed  his  way  through 
formidable  opposition  into  the  Legisla- 
ture on  a  forest  preservation  platform. 
There  he  found  himself  derided  as  a 
crank,  and  ignored  in  the  make-up  of  the 
important  legislative  committees. 

He  was  astounded  at  the  hold  the  cor- 
porations had  upon  the  general  assem- 
bly. The  timber  trust  maintained  a  brazen 
lobby,  which  hitherto  had  throttled  all  at- 
tempts to  stay  its  ravages  upon  the  for- 
ested sections  of  the  State.  Representa- 
tive Campbell  introduced  bill  after  bill 
providing  for  the  conservation  of  the  for- 


Campbell,  and  he  was  nominated  for 
Governor. 

It  was  a  memorable  campaign.  From 
Shasta  to  the  Mexican  line,  from  the 
Sierras  to  the  sea,  the  voice  of  Henry 
Campbell  was  heard  in  eloquent  plea  for 
the  safeguarding  of  California's  forests. 
He  was  laughed  to  scorn  as  a  man  of  one 
idea,  an  extremist  and  a  vissionary,  and 
the  corporations,  at  the  root  of  whose 
greed  he  was  laying  the  axe  so  vigorously, 
raised  a  great  campaign  fund  to  defeat 
him. 

rlhe  knightly  champion  of  tha  forests 
had  been  so  deeply  absorbed  with  his  am- 
bitious life-work  that.  ^"  T>t>H  given  h"* 


A  mountain  forest  thinned  by  fire. 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


little  thought  to  love-making.  But  Cupid 
was  soon  to  make  test  of  his  archery  with 
Henry  Campbell's  heart  as  a  target. 

Stumping  in  Southern  California,  and 
belated  by  a  storm  the  strenuous  candi- 
date stopped  for  the  night  at  a  ranch 
house  hard  by.  And  here  developed  a 
coincidence  which  he  ever  after  ascribed 
to  the  intermediary  offices  of  his  good  an- 
gel. 

At  an  alumni  banquet  the  year  before, 
he  was  so  twitted  for  his  inordinate  fond- 
ness for  forestry — treeomania,  one  ban- 


daughter  to  come  and  meet  "the  next 
Governor"  caused  Henry  Campbell  to 
start,  and  then  smile  as  he  heard  Sequoia 
Seward's  name  pronounced. 

Now,  Miss  Seward  was  peculiarly  sen- 
sitive about-  her  name.  She  could  never 
understand  why,  in  the  eternal  fitness  of 
things,  petite  as  she  was,  she  should  be 
burdened  with  the  name  of  the  largest 
tree  on  earth.  The  name  had  been  so 
much  derided  and  jested  upon  it  was  a 
source  of  constant  annoyance  to  her. 
Hence  when  she  saw  "the  next  Governor" 


Source  of  the  Owens  river;  Mt.  Whitney  in  the  center  background;   sage   brush  where   forests 
ought  to  be. 


queter  termed  it — that  he,  with  mock 
solemnity,  while  responding  to  the  toast 
"Our  Forests,"  announced  that,  as  he  was 
already  wedded  to  the  woods  of  his  native 
State,  he  would  never  break  the  bonds  of 
that  wedlock  unless  he  should  meet  a  lady 
fair  who  not  only  fulfilled  his  ideal  of 
womanhood,  but  should  bear  the  name 
of  a  forest  tree  indigenous  to  California. 
.  The  jest  had  been  all  but  forgotten 
when  the  ranch  owner's  summons  to  his 


smile  on  first  hearing  her  flame,  she  sup- 
posed he,  too,  was  making  fun  of  it.  She 
resented  it  by  affecting  dignified  silence. 

But  the  "next  Governor"  was  interest- 
ed, and  drew  her  into  conversation,  find- 
ing her  well-informed,  gracious  and  al- 
together charming. 

Eancher  Seward  was  more  of  a  prophet 
than  he  wot  of  when  he  presented  his 
guest  to  his  daughter  as  "the  next  Gov- 
ernor." The  slogan :  "Save  the  forests," 


6 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


swept  the  State  like  a  tidal  wave,  and 
bore  Henry  Campbell  upon  its  crest  into 
the  Gubernatorial  chair. 

The  heat  and  burden  of  the  campaign 
had  left  the  victorious  standard-bearer 
exhausted.  He  needed  rest  in  some  quiet 
nook  away  from  the  importunities  of 
office-seekers.  Mr.  Seward  had  pressed 
him  to  repeat  his  visit  to  the  Seward 
ranch.  Why  not  go  to  this  hospitable 
retreat  for  rest  and  relaxation  ?  The  visit 
was  arranged,  and  the  Governor-elect 
was  soon  immured  in  rustic  retirement 
"far  from  the  madding  crowd"  of  report- 
ers and  sycophantic  self-servers. 

Sequoia  Seward  grew  in  the  esteem  of 
"the  next  Governor."  Modest,  retiring 
and  womanly,  she  was  possessed  of  a  cul- 
tured mind  and  a  good  heart;  and  re- 
fined impulses  directed  her  every  thought 
and  deed. 

In  their  long  strolls  together  beneath 
tlje  shadows  of  the  great  trees,  the  Gov- 
ernor-elect was  not  only  imbibing  fresh 
fonts  of  love  for  the  monarchs  of  the  for- 
est, but  he  was  drinking  deep  of  a  new- 
vintaged  love  potion — love  for  this  wo- 
manly woman  whose  ideals  harmonized, 
with  his  own. 

Miss  Seward  blushingly  forgave  him 
when  he  related  his  jesting  vow  at  the 
banquet,  and  thus  explained  what  she  had 
misinterpreted — why  he  smiled  when  first 
he  heard  her  name. 

One  evening,  as  the  •  mellow,  golden 
rays  of  the  sinking  sun  filtered  through 
the  filmy  pepper  boughs,  the  beautiful 
old  story  was  repeated,  the  fateful  pledge 
was  given,  and  the  man  soon  to  become 
the  chief  magistrate  of  a  great  State  had 
the  promise  of  the  country  maiden  to  be- 
come his  companion  in  the  joys,  sorrows 
and  responsibilities  of  the  future. 

Under  the  green  canopy  of  the  spread- 
ing trees,  near  the  ranch  home,  they  chose 
to  be  wedded,  and  the  winds  in  the  sough- 
ing boughs  harped  the  wedding  march. 

Governor  Campbell's  was  an  historic 
administration.  His  vigorous  policies 
soon  drove  the  timber  trust  to  cover,  and 
his  pungent  messages,  placing  the  respon- 
sibility for  non  action  on  them,  forced 
legislators  to  enact  legislation  to  save  the 
forests.  The  Governor  aroused  renewed 
interest  in  Arbor  Day;  he  encouraged 
systematic  planting  of  trees,  and  upon 
his  recommendation,  the  Legislature 


passed  a  law  making  it  compulsory  that 
school  children  be  taught  the  urgent  ne- 
cessity of  planting  and  preserving  forest 
trees.  Before  Governor  Campbell  sur- 
rendered office,  the  enemies  of  the  forests 
had  been  outlawed,  and  millions  of  young 
trees,  planted  at  his  behest,  were  rising 
up  to  mutely  proclaim  him  blessed. 

Laying  down  the  burdens  of  the  Gov- 
ernorship, he  retired  with  his  family  to 
his  forest  tract  upon  which  he  had  built 
a  beautiful  home.  His  model  woodland 
became  the  Mecca  of  students  of  forestry 
of  this  and  other  lands.  His  carefully 
conserved  forest  yielded  him  an  enormous 
fortune,  and  abundantly  demonstrated 
that  sanity  was  the  best  policy  in  the 
quest  of  gain  from  timber. 

To  crowd  his  life  ambition  and  leave 
the  impress  of  the  work  he  had  so  muni- 
ficently inaugurated  upon  generations  to 
come,  ex-Governor  Campbell  founded  and 
endowed  Forest  College,  whose  specific 
purpose  was  the  training  of  young  men  in 
practical  forestry.  His  own  wooded  acres 
supplied  a  site  for  the  noble  institution 
whose  influence  was  soon  widely  felt. 

When,  in  1905,  ey-Governor  Campbell 
was  gathered  to  his  fathers,  not  only  his 
native  State  but  the  nation  mourned  the 
demise  of  a  man  whose  life  was  a  syno- 
nym of  public  benefaction. 

He  had  lived  to  see  his  native  State 
grown  to  a  population  of  six  million  souls. 
Her  vast  grain  fields  were  the  granary  of 
America,  and  the  fruits  of  her  Hesperi- 
dean  orchards -ladened  the  tables  of  every 
civilized  land.  Her  lofty  mountains  and 
fertile  plains  were  crowned  with  luxu- 
riant forest  trees,  and  their  timber, 
of  which  the  supply  was  practically  inex- 
haustible, because  constantly  replenished, 
found  ready  market  in  both  hemispheres. 

The  manifold  products  of  her  teeming 
acres  floated  argosies  through  the  Panama 
Canal  to  the  welcoming  marts  of  the  At- 
lantic seaboard,  or,  across  the  Pacific, 
found  inviting  entrance  through  the 
"open  door"  of  the  Far  East. 

Dotting  the  State  were  remnants  of 
vast  irrigation  works,  melancholy  re- 
minders of  millions  needlessly  spent — 
needlessly,  because  the  real  remedy  had 
not  been  sooner  sought  and  applied.  A 
leader  had  been  raised  up  who  smote  the 
sterile  rocks  and  living  waters  gushed 
forth.  Untold  millions  of  trees,  origin- 


8  ' 


KINSHIP 


ally  'preserved  or  newly  planted,  had 
transformed  California's  Marah  of  bitter- 
ness into  fountains  of  rejoicing. 

No  longer  was  heard  the  wail  of  inade- 
quate water  supply.  With  forests  re- 
stored and  desert  areas,  forested,  the  ele- 
ments had  been  wooed  into  auspicious 
mood,  and  the  normal  rainfall  over  vast 
tracts  hitherto  desert,  sufficed  to  grow  all 
crops  without  irrigation.  Every  towering 


tree  seemed  a  wand  to  conjure  the  magic 
element,  water,  for  a  thirsty  land.  And 
all  this  was  a  living  monument  to  the 
purposeful  career  of  patriotic  Henry 
Campbell. 

At  his  request,  they  buried  him  beneath 
a  great  live  oak  on  the  borders  of  his  be- 
loved forest.  On  the  body  of  the  tree  a 
tablet  bore  these  words: 

"He  was  my  friend." 


BY    LUCIA    ETTA    LOR1NG 


A  long,  low  stretch,  where  winding  rivers  shine, 
The  sleepy  call  of  birds,  the  low  of  kine, 
A  toiler,  black  against  a  sky  aflame. 
Look  at  this  picture.    Can  you  give  the  name  ? 

If  near  that  sail  boat,  seen  as  if  on  land, 

A  windmill  stirred,  then  Holland  were  at  hand. 

If  loomed  a  camel  'thwart  that  sunset  sky, 

A  distant  caravan,  and  palm  trees  high, 

It  would  be  Egypt  and  the  Nile,  no  doubt. 

It  is  our  San  Joaquin  with  these  left  out. 


A  long,  low  stretch,  where  winding  rivers  shine, 

The  sleepy  call  of  birds,  the  low  of  kine, 

A  toiler,  black  against  a  sky  aflame. 

All  men  are  kin ;  their  lives  and  views  the 


Mow 


BY    EDWARD    P.    IRWIN 


POLITICS  in  Hawaii  is  still  in  the 
primitive  stage;  the  people  take  it 
seriously.  They  are  intensely  in- 
terested in  the  game.  Unlike  many  of  the 
free-born  American  voters  of  the  main- 
land, they  have  not  yet  become  politically 
blase.  They  have  not  found  out  yet  that 
behind  the  burning,  impassioned  plea  of 
the  political  orator  may  lie  a  vast  indif- 
ference to  the  real  principles  of  the  cause 
he  so  ardently  advocates.  They  still  look 
upon  the  spell-binder  as  the  real  apostle 
of  government — and  they  are  his  dis- 
ciples. There  are  no  scoffers;  there  is 
none  who  sits  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful. 
Political  issues  are,  to  the  people  of  Ha- 
waii, very  real  problems  to  be  solved. 

There  is  no  Hawaiian  who  is  too  indif- 
ferent to  vote — who  reasons  that  it  does 
not  make  any  difference,  anyway,  whether 
he  casts  his  ballot  or  not,  and  so  stays 
away  from  the  polls.  Some  of  the  hao- 
les,  the  white  men,  may  do  that,  but  not 
the  native  Hawaiians. 

The  Hawaiian  takes  to  politics  as  a 
duck  takes  to  the  water.  Every  one  of 
them  is  a  natural  born  stump  speaker. 
There  is  hardly  one  who  cannot,  on  a 
moment's  notice,  mount  the  first  box  or 
barrel  he  can  find,  and  make  the  most 
fiery  address,  marked  by  all  the  tricks 
and  gestures  of  the  old-time  orator.  They 
are  never  at  loss  for  words.  All  they 
need  to  do  is  to  open  their  mouths,  and 
the  words  gush  out  in  a  bubbling,  rush- 
ing flow.  They  never  hesitate,  are  never 
without  something  to  say.  It  does  not 
matter  that  often  the  speaker  says  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  again.  His 
listeners  do  not  mind  that. 

It  is  not  merely  the  better  educated  who 
feel  the  call  of  the  stump.  At  any  time 
he  can  find  an  audience—during  a  politi- 
cal campaign,  a  stevedore  on  the  wharf,  .1 
hack  driver,  a  fisherman,  is  ready  to  turn 
orator.  In  the  campaign  now  on  (Oc- 
tober), one  of  the  most  prominent  candi- 


dates for  the  Legislature,  a  particularly 
forceful  speaker,  spends  his  days  driving 
a  hack,  as  he  has  done  for  many  years. 
Other  candidates  are  of  the  same  class. 

There  are  no  broad  party  lines  here  in 
Hawaii  as  there  are  on  the  mainland. 
True,  there  is  a  Republican  party  and  a 
Democratic  party,  in  addition  to  a  third 
party  called  the  Home  Rule  party,  which, 
as  its  name  indicates,  is  purely  local  in 
aim  and  character.  And  the  Republican 
and  Democratic  parties  profess,  at  least, 
to  uphold  the  principles  of  Republican- 
ism and  Democracy  as  represented  by 
prominent  leaders  of  those  parties  in  the 
States.  But  in  realitv,  issues  upon  which 
a  political  campaign  is  based  on  the  main- 
land play  but  a  small  part  here.  Local 
issues,  having  nothing  to  do  with  the  two 
old  parties,  are  most  dominant,  and  the 
campaign  is  very  largely  personal  in  char- 
acter. The  candidates  count  more  than 
the  principles  which  they  ostensibly  rep- 
resent. The  voters  vote  for  the  man — 
the  one  they  like  best,  or  who  they  think 
will  aid  them  most  in  individual  interests 
and  make  it  easier  for  them  to  get  fish 
and  poi. 

In  a  political  campaign  in  Hawaii  one 
hears  little  of  tariff  reform  or  standing- 
pat.  The  question  of  local  and  county 
Government  is  of  more  interest  to  the 
voters  than  Government  regulation  of 
railroad  rates.  The  Hawaiian  is  more 
concerned  about  getting  a  dollar  and  -i 
half  for  a  day's  work  than  he  is  in  up- 
holding or  condemning  the  administra- 
tion's policy  in  the  matter  of  the  Panama, 
canal.  He  doesn't  care  whether  Arizona 
and  Xew  Mexico  are  to  be  admitted  a* 
one  State  or  two,  but  he  wants  to  know 
whether  or  riot  the  candidates  for  the  of- 
fice of  county  supervisor  are  going  to  in- 
stall more  street  lights  in  Kalihi  or  Kai- 
muki. 

The  only  question  of  national  import- 
ance that  holds  any  great  and  immediate 


10 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


interest  for  the  people  of  Hawaii  is  as  to 
whether  or  not  Cuba  is  going  to  become  a 
part  of  the  United  States.  This  question 
is  a  very  vital  one  to  Hawaii,  for  upon  its 
solution  depends  the  future  prosperity  of 
tnese  islands  of  the  Pacific. 

The  chief  industry  of  Hawaii  is  the 
manufacture  of  sugar.  In  this  is  bound 
up  many  millions  of  dollars  of  capital. 
The  prosperity  of  the  territory  depends 
almost  entirely  upon  that  of  the  sugar 
interests.  If  the  sugar  planters  prosper, 
all  other  inhabitants  of  the  islands  profit 
directly  or  indirectly.  The  destruction 
of  the  industry  would  mean  the  demorali- 
zation of  business,  with  the  consequent, 
loss  of  work  upon  which  so  large  a  pro- 
portion of  the  inhabitants  are  depend- 
ent. 

Cuba,  also,  is  a  sugar  country.  And 
Cuba  can  make  sugar  more  cheaply  than 
Hawaii,  chiefly  on  account  of  the  greater 
abundance  and  cheapness  of  labor  there. 
At  present  the  tariff  laws  operate  to 
place  Cuba  on  a  par  with  Hawaii  and 
prevent  Cuban  sugar  from  being  sold  at 
a  less  price  than  that  from  Hawaii.  But 
if  Cuba  becomes  a  part  of  the  United 
States,  and  the  tariff  on  sugar  is  with- 
drawn. Hawaii  is  ruined,  for  its  sugar 
planters  and  manufacturers  cannot  hope 
to  compete  successfully  with  the  Cubans. 

Yet,  vitally  as  Hawaii  is  interested  in 
this  matter,  which  seems  bound  to  come 
up  before  long  for  final  solution,  at  only 
one  of  the  many  political  meetings  of  the 
present  campaign,  which  he  has  attended, 
has  the  writer  of  this  heard  a  word  said 
about  Cuba  and  Cuban  annexation.  The 
spell-binders  talk  of  the  County  Act,  of 
the  efficiency  or  inefficiency  of  the  police 
department,  of  increase  in  the  wages  paid 
Hawaiians  employed  on  the  roads.  An 
appropriation  for  leprosy  investigation  is 
discussed.  The  candidacy  of  ex-Prince 
Kalanianaole  for  Delegate  to  Congress  is 
a  subject  for  burning  speeches  by  the  na- 
tive Hawaiians,  who  still  retain  an  im- 
mense reverence  and  love  for  any  member 
of  the  former  royal  family.  But  of  mat- 
ters outside  of  the  islands,  they  know 
little  and  care  less. 

The  Eepublican  party,  then,  consists 
for  the  most  part  of  one  set  of  candidates 
who  want  to  hold  office,  and  of  their  per- 
sonal friends  and  adherents;  the  Demo- 
cratic party  is  made  up  of  other  candi- 


dates, with  similar  ambitions,  and  of 
their  friends. 

There  is  a  third  party  which,  looking  at 
the  matter  from  a  purely  Hawaiian  point 
of  view,  is  perhaps  the  only  one  of  the 
three  which  has  any  real  and  legitimate 
excuse  for  existence.  It  is  the  Home 
Rule  party,  made  up  for  the  most  part  of 
native  Hawaiians,  with  the  exception  of 
a  few  haoles  who  are  in  for  personal  rea- 
sons and  what  they  hope  to  get  out  of  it. 
The  campaign  cry  of  this  party  may  be 
tersely  condensed  into  "Hawaii  for  the 
Hawaiians."  "The  land  once  belonged 
to  the  Hawaiians,"  they  say,  "but  the 
haoles  have  come  and  taken  it  away  from 
us.  Let  us  regain  control  of  the  reins  of 
Government  and  all  will  be  well." 

Vain  hope !  When  did  the  white  man 
ever  leave  go  of  that  which  he  had  seized  ? 
How  many  other  peoples,  brown,  black, 
red  and  yellow,  have  uttered  that  same 
cry !  And  what  did  it  ever  avail  any  of 
them?  What  race  of  them  all  ever  again 
regained  its  supremacy?  The  Caucasian 
must  rule. 

The  Home  Rule  party,  as  its  name  in- 
dicates, is  the  direct  continuation  of  that 
party  which,  before  Hawaii  became  a 
part  of  the  United  States,  opposed  an- 
nexation. At  that  time  it  was  fighting 
for  a  definite  object.  Now  it  is  little 
more  than  a  party  of  protest.  It  is  in 
the  hopeless  minority,  and  can  never  hope 
to  attain  its  object,  which  is  to  fill  all  or 
most  of  the  offices  with  native  Hawaiians. 
It  is  doubtful  if  there  is  one  of  its  candi- 
dates, unless  he  happens  also  to  be  a 
candidate  on  one  of  the  other  tickets,  who 
has  the  smallest  chance  of  being  elected 
to  the  office  for  which  he  is  running. 

But  in  Hawaii,  the  haole  does  not  yet 
rule  alone.  The  county  and  local  offices 
are  filled  by  about  half  and  half — whites 
and  Hawaiians,  counting  the  hapa-ha- 
oles,  or  half  whites,  as  Hawaiians.  And 
in  the  present  campaign  the  candidates 
on  the  Republican  and  Democratic  tickets 
are  proportioned  about  the  same. 

The  fact  that  it  is  the  personal  ele- 
ment which  so  largely  governs  in  Ha- 
waiian politics  accounts  to  a  great  extent 
for  the  fickleness  of  the  voters.  One  never 
knows  where  to  find  them.  The  winds 
that  blow  from  the  sea  are  not  more 
variable.  The  man  who  to-day  is  shout- 
ing himself  hoarse  for  the  Republican 


GOD'S  CANDLES. 


11 


candidate  is  liable  to  be  found  in  the 
Democratic  column  to-morrow.  The  home 
ruler  of  yesterday  is  the  ardent  Ee- 
publican  of  to-day.  It  is  the  last  speaker 
whose  address  counts  most.  "Vote  for 
me,"  says  Kalauokalani.  "I  will  see  to 
it  that  you  get  plenty  of  fish  and  poi." 
"Hurray  for  Kalauokalani,"  yells  the 
crowd. 

"Vote  for  me,"  pleads  Makate,  the  next 
day,  "and  I  will  see  to  it  that  your  wages 
are  raised.  "Makate,  he's  the  man,"  vo- 
ciferates the  same  fickle  crowd. 

Perhaps  the  changeableness  of  the  Ha- 
waiian voter  may  be  accounted  for  partly 
by  the  fact  that  the  ballot  is  still  novel 
to  him.  Its  newness  has  not  yet  worn 
off,  and  he  looks  upon  it  as  more  or  less 
of  a  toy,  something  to  be  experimented 
with. 

It  is  but  a  few  years  since  the  Hawaiian 
islands  were  annexed,  and  the  right  of 
franchise  given  to  the  native  population. 
And  so  they  turned  it  over  and  over  and 


try  it  first  on  this  side  and  then  on  the 
other,  to  see  what  will  happen.  Like  the 
small  boy  with  the  new  watch,  they  want 
to  see  what  is  inside. 

And  yet,  no  race  has  shown  itself  more 
capable  of  self-government  or  has  made 
greater  advances  in  the  science  of  gov- 
ernment in  the  same  time. 

No  one  of  the  brown-skinned  races 
is  as  intelligent  or  as  capable  as  the  Ha- 
waiian. In  the  few  years  since  he  has 
had  the  right  of  choosing  his  own  officials, 
he  has  made  greater  advances  than  other 
races  have  in  many  times  as  long.  He 
may  not  understand  the  game  of  politics 
as  it  is  played  on  the  mainland,  but  if  he 
keeps  on  as  he  has  started,  it  will  not  be 
many  years  before  the  politicians  of  Chi- 
cago and  New  York  may  be  able  to  come 
to  these  islands  in  the  Pacific  and  learn  a 
few  new  wrinkles.  The  younger  genera- 
tion is  learning  the  game  fast,  and  once 
learned,  is  capable  of  playing  it,  and  play- 
ing it  well. 


BY    MARION    COOK 


When  God  puts  out  our  larger  light, 

And  leaves  the  heart 
All  darkly  steeped,  as  is  the  night, 

In  gloom  apart; 

At  first,  accustomed  to  the  day. 

We  blindly  stare, 
And  strain  our  eyes  to  see  the  way — 

Xor  find  it  there. 

But  soon;  ere  selfish  fears  are  done, 

It  grows  more  bright; 
God  lights  His  candles,  one  by  one — 

'Tis  no  more  night ! 


'He  stamps  his  ckallenge  and  breathes  forth  his  hate. 


BY    HELEN    FITZGERALD    SANDERS 

He  stamps  his  hoof  in  anger  on  the  plain, 

Bends  his  proud  neck  and  shakes  his  shaggy  mane; 

Like  lightning  flashing  in  the  stormy  skies, 

The  bolts  of  ire  dart  from  his  blood-shot  eyes. 

A   King  dethroned,  but  unsublued,  he  stands, 

Once  Master  of  these  untamed  Western  lands, 

And  spurning  e'en  the  dark  decree  of  Fate 

He  stamps  his  challenge  and  breathes  forth  his  hate. 

He  of  the  earth,  the  eagle  of  the  air. 
Reigned  here  supreme,  a  free  and  fearless  pair. 
He  knew  no  bound  nor  force  to   circumvent 
His  mad  career  o'er  half  a  continent, 
Until  a   Shadow  flitted  through  the  land, 
An  unseen  bolt,  hurled  by  an  unseen  hand, 
Laid  low  his  lordly  brothers  of  the  herd, 
Their  bleaching  bones  a  prey  ro  wolf  and  bird. 

A   captive  now,  upon  his  native  sod, 
He  chafes  beneath  a  master's  goading  rod; 
He  sees  the  forests  slowly  hewn  awa}% 
And  cities  rise  from  wastes  of  yesterday. 
Ah !  everywhere,  on  mountain  height  and  plain, 
O'er  thrown   his  power,  usurped  his  domain, 
And  where  he  challenged  all  the  forest  clan, 
He  bows  his  head  and  yields  nis  right  to — Man. 

But  in  his  heart  the  same  wiid  lust  of  power, 
The  plunging  onslaught  of  the  glorious  hour, 
When  he  and  his  great  fathers  like  a  tide, 
O'er-ran  the  plain  in  all  their  might  of  pride, 
From  thundering  ocean  to  sublimest  steep, 
Strong  as  the  tempest  in  their  onward  sweep, 
Still  lives  in  him,  and  in  his  bitter   day, 
He  stands  defiant,  sullen  and  at  bay. 

He  stamps  his  hoof  and  shakes  his  shaggy  crest, 

And   lo !   from  out   the   fastness  of  the  West, 

The  scattered  scions  of  the  ancient  race. 

All  gaunt  and  spectral,  come  and  take  their  place. 

The  slumbering  spirit  of  their  kingly  kind 

Leaps  into  life  like  fire  lashed  by  wind; 

The  world-old  longing  to  be  wild  and  free 

Cries  down  their  bondage  as  they  charge  and  flee! 

A  roll  of  hoof-beats  like  an  earthquake  shock; 
A  mighty  echo  from  each  trembling  rock: 
A  cloud  of  dust  as  though  a  hurricane 
Were  driving,  in  its  fury,  o'oi  the  plain; 
And  they  are  massed,  the  mad,  retreating  band, 
O'er  vale  and  foothill,  crag  and  mountain  land. 
On,  on  and  on,  to  doom  and  death  thev  go, 
To  gain  the  freedom  of  the  Buffalo. 


Old  court  house  in  Williamsburg.     Designed  by  Sir  Christopher  Wren. 


BY    HENRY    WILLIAMS 


THE  three  hundredth  anniversary  of 
the  first  permanent  English  settle- 
ment in  the  new  world,  made  on 
Jamestown  Island,  in  the  James  River,  on 
May  13,  1607,  is  to  be  celebrated  during 
the  summer  of  1907  by  an  exposition. 

The  grounds  selected  are  situated  on 
Hampton  Roads,  the  scene  of  the  battle 
between  the  Monitor  and  the  Mjerrimac. 
The  site  was  chosen  because  it  is  easily  ac- 
cessible to  Jamestown,  Yorktown  and 
Williamsburg,  all  places  of  historical  im- 
portance, and  because  of  the  fine  anchor- 
age afforded  by  the  waters  of  the  Roads. 
The  exposition  will  be  the  occasion  of 
a  great  international  naval  review,  and 
the  gathering  of  the  largest  fleet  of  war 
vessels  ever  seen  in  these  waters.  Con- 
gress passed  a  resolution  authorizing  the 
President  to  issue  a  proclamation  inviting 


foreign  countries  to  participate,  and  all 
of  the  principal  ones  will  do  so  by  send- 
ing fleets.  Indeed,  the  exposition  is  ex- 
citing a  great  deal  of  attention  abroad 
—particularly  in  England.  It  is  even 
said  that  King  Edward  is  personally  in- 
terested in  it. 

Congress  has  appropriated  five  hundred 
thousand  dollars  for  a  pier  to  be  a  per- 
manent structure  and  a  monument  of  the 
exposition,  and  to  be  used  during  it  by 
the  vessels  of  the  visiting  fleets  and  the 
visitors. 

Ihe  exposition  grounds  are  a  short  dis- 
tance overland  from  Norfolk  and  across 
the  Roads' from  Old  Point  Comfort,  For- 
tress Monroe  and  Newport  News. 

Fortress  Monroe  is  one  of  the  most 
modern  and  complete  of  our  sea-coast  for- 
tifications, and  has  a  formidable  battery 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


15 


of  disappearing  guns.  In-  picturesque 
contrast,  it  possesses  features  which  are 
almost  mediaeval — a  moat,  kept  continu- 
ally flooded,  that  surrounds  the  fortress 
proper,  and  casemates  from  which  peer 
100  pounder  smooth-bore  guns.  The 
casemates  are  in  their  original  condition, 
but  most  of  the  guns  have  been  dis- 
mounted. 

Farther  up  the  Roads  is  Newport 
News,  a  town  which  was  brought  into  ex- 
istence about  twenty  years  ago,  when  the 
late  Colis  P.  Huntington  decided  to  ex- 
tend the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  railroad  to 
tidewater  and  chose  its  site  as  the  ter- 
minal. 

Visitors  to  the  exposition  will  be  re- 
minded at  every  turn  of  the  historical  in- 
cident which  is  being  celebrated,  and  its 
great  importance  to  this  country.  Had 
the  expedition  sent  out  from  London,  De- 
cember 20,  1606,  failed  of  a  footing,  the 
opportunity  for  establishing  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  Colony  might  have  gone,  never  to 
return;  the  Spaniards,  who  claimed  all 


North  America  by  right  of  some  success- 
ful colonization,  might  have  prevented 
further  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  Eng- 
lish. While  Jamestown  was  never  more 
than  a  mere  village,  its  history  as  the 
"first  plantation,''  gives  it  paramount  in- 
terest in  this  country. 

On  Saturday,  December  20,  1606,  three 
small  Vessels,  having  on  board  one  hun- 
dred souls,  adventurers  and  mariners, 
sailed  from  London.  They  had  orders  to 
establish  a  colony  as  far  inland  as  pos- 
sible, so  as  to  be  out  of  the  line  of  Span- 
ish attack.  They  passed  the  Virginia 
capes  April  26,  1607,  and  landed  to  raise 
a  cross  at  Cape  Henry.  They  spent  some 
days  cruising  about  and  visiting  the  sur- 
rounding country,  and  finally,  selecting 
an  island  where  the  depth  of  the  water 
permitted  mooring  their  vessels  to  the 
trees  on  the  shore,  they  founded  their 
settlement,  Jamestown.  The  island  is  so 
low-lying  that  it  seems  scarcely  to  rise 
above  the  water;  it  is  about  thirty-two 
miles  from  the-mouth  of  the  James  river. 


Bruton  parish  church,    the  oldest  church  in  the   United    States. 


16 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


The  church   tower  at  Jamestown. 

It  is  two  and  one-half  miles  in  length  and 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  in  breadth. 

Such  were  the  hardships  that  the  col- 
onists were  subjected  to  at  first,  that  they 
decided  to  abandon  the  settlement  and 
had  boarded  their  ship  and  were  ready  to 
embark  when  the  arrival  of  vessels  from 
England  with  fresh  recruits  and  supplies 
gave  them  heart  to  continue  the  colony. 

In  the  early  days,  that  the  colonists 
might  be  encouraged  to  make  homes  in 
the  new  land,  the  authorities  sent  over 
ninety  maids  from  England.  Each  colon- 
ist was  allowed  to  select  a  wife  from 
among  them  upon  the  payment  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty  pounds  of  tobacco, 
the  equivalent  of  eighty  dollars  in  our 
money.  The  plan  worked  so  well  that  Jt 
was  later  repeated  with  equal  success. 

It  was  in  the  old  church  at  Jamestown, 
the  ruins  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen,  that 
Pocahontas  was  baptized.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  Powhatan,  head  war-chief  of 
all  the  Indians  in  tidewater  Virginia.  She 
is  said  to  have  been  of  gentle  and  loving 
disposition,  and  by  her  influence  with  her 
father  and  her  intercedence,  to  have  saved 
the  lives  of  both  Captain  John  Smith 
and  Captain  Henry  Spelman.  Pocahon- 
tas was  married  at  'Jamestown  in  April, 
in  the  year  1614,  to  John  Rolfe,  an  Eng- 


lish gentleman.  Numbers  of  her  de- 
scendants live  in  Virginia;  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  was  John  Randolph,, 
of  Roanoke. 

In  Jamestown  in  1619,  a  Dutch  man- 
of-war,  which  previously  had  been  en- 
gaged in  robbing  Spanish  plantations  in 
the  West  Indies,  sold  the  first  African 
slaves  in  this  country. 

In  1697  the  Governor  of  Virginia, 
Colonel  Francis  Nicholson,  who  was  am- 
bitious to  found  a  city,  removed  the  seat 
of  government  to  Middle  Plantation, 
which  name  he  changed  to  Williamsburg ; 
thus  began  the  downfall  of  James- 
town. As  far  back  as  1722,  it  was  de- 
scribed as  "an  abundance  of  brick  rub- 
bish, with  three  or  four  inhabitable 
houses."  At  the  present  time,  there  is 
nothing  left  of  the  old  town  except  the 
brick  tower  of  the  church  and  the  grave- 
yard. The  island  is  under  the  protection 
of  a  society  of  ladies,  the  Association  for 
the  Preservation  of  Virginia  Antiquities. 

In  1807,  the  second  centennial  anniver- 
sary of  the  landing  of  the  colonists  was 
celebrated  by  citizens  of  the  surrounding 
country.  In  Williamsburg  the  celebration 
was  marked  by  a  banquet  in  the  Raleigh 


The    "Powder  Horn,"   Colonial   powder   maga- 
zine  at   Williamsburg. 


Colonial  house  at  Williamsburg,  built  by  founder  of  William   and  Mary  College. 


Tavern,  held  in  the  room  where,  it  :.s 
said,  Thomas  Jefferson  made  the  original 
draft  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

Visitors  will  find  much  of  tangible  his- 
torical interest  in  Williamsburg,  about 
seven  miles  distant  from  Jamestown.  It 
became  the  capital  in  1697,  under  Gov- 
ernor Nicholson;  a  number  of  important 
buildings  were  then  constructed,  some  of 
which  stand  now  in  good  condition. 

Duke  of  Gloucester  street,  the  main 
thoroughfare,  runs  straight  and  wide  and 
tree-bordered  through  the  town.  At  one 
end  are  the  venerable  and  imposing  build- 
ings of  William  and  Mary  College,  which 
were  designed  by  Sir  Christopher  Wren, 
though  it  is  thought  that  the  plans  were 
altered  somewhat  in  execution.  In  front 
of  the  college  is  the  statue  of  "Norborne 
Berkeley,  Baron  de  Botetourt,  Governor 
General  of  Virginia."  William  and  Mary 
is  the  next  to  the  oldest  of  American  col- 
leges, Harvard  being  oldest.  Its  history 
is  closely  allied  to  that  of  Virginia.  It 
began  its  career  in  1693  before  the  capital 
was  removed  to  Williamsburg,  and  dur- 
ing the  two  centuries  of  its  existence  it 


has  played  an  important  part  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  colony  and  the  commonwealth. 
From  its  position  at  the  colonial  capital  it 
witnessed  all  that  was  brilliant  and  attrac- 
tive in  A7irginia  society.  Almost  every 
distinguished  Virginian  in  the  eighteenth 
century  was  trained  in  it.  It  gave  three 
Presidents  to  the  United  States,  the  moat 
eminent  of  the  Chief  Justices,  John  Mar- 
shall; seventeen  governors,  fifteen  United 
States  Senators;  four  signers  of  the  De- 
da  nil  ion  of  Independence,  and  the  chief 
draftsman  of  the  Constitution,  Edmund 
Randolph. 

The  college  was  the  first  Indian  school 
in  America,  and  was  in  fact  instituted  for 
that  purpose,  and  for  a  divinity  school. 
When  the  Kevcrend  James  Blair,  first 
President  of  the  college,  ,  approached 
Lord  Seymour,  Attorney-General  of  Eng- 
land, relative  to  a  charter  for  the  college, 
and  argued  that  •  the  people  of  Virginia, 
as  well  as  those  of  England,  had  souls  to 
be  saved,  Lord  Seymour  replied  : 

."Souls !  Damn  your  souls !  Make  to- 
bacco !" 

In- spite,  however,  of  his  lordship's  hos- 


.1 AMEST0WN  EXPOSITION. 


i'J 


tility,  the  king  and  queen  ordered  the 
Charter  of  the  college. 

The  buildings  of  William  and  Mary 
were  twice  burned,  and  each  time  rebuilt 
after  the  original  plans.  The  college  is 
in  full  vigor  at  the  present  time.  Its 
library  and  chapel  contain  many  interest- 
ing portraits  and  books,  some  of  which 
are  unique.  In  it  are  files  of  old  Wil- 
liamsburg  newspapers,  giving  the  daily 
happenings  at  the  period  when  the  royal 
Governors  held  their  audiences;  the  news 
of  the  doings  of  the  House  of  Burgesses; 
and  the  announcement  of  the  plays  held 
in  the  theatre  long  since  disappeared, 
which  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  in  this 
country. 

There  are  many  fine  colonial  residences 
on  Duke  of  Gloucester  street,  among  them 
those  of  John  Randolph,  Beverly  Tucker 
and  Chancellor  Wythe;  the  last  was  used 
by  General  Washington  as  his  head-quar- 
ters during  the  siege  of  Yorktown. 

The  Bruton  Parish  Church  in  Wil- 
liamsburg  is  the  oldest  church  in  this 
country.  Its  plans,  also,  were  drawn  by 
Sir  Christopher  AVren,  and  recently  its  in- 
terior has  been  restored  to  the  original 
airangement.  In  it  is  pointed  out  the 
font  from  the  church  at  Jamestown, 
said  to  be  the  one  in  which  Pocu- 


houtas  was  baptized.  Bruton  Church's 
silver  service,  like  those  of  many  other 
colonial  churches,  was  presented  by  Queen 
Anne.  It  has  also  the  silver  service  from 
the  Jamestown  Church  and  another  pre- 
sented by  King  George  III.  The  Royal 
Governor's  Palace,  which  was  .  destroyed 
during  the  Civil  War,  stood  on  the  Palae<- 
green;  opposite  is  the  "Powder  Horn," 
the  powder  magazine  of  colonial  days. 
This  was  erected  by  colonists  to  hold  am- 
munition for  protecting  themselves 
against  the  Indians.  In  1775,  when  war 
clouds  were  gathering,  Royal  Governor 
Durnnore,  on  the  night  of  April  20th,  re- 
moved the  powder  to  an  English  man-of- 
war  in  the  James  River.  This  precipi- 
tated the  trouble  that  led  to  his  flight  and 
to  the  installation  of  Patrick  Henry  in 
the  palace  as  the  first  Governor  of  the 
State  of  Virginia. 

Beyond  the  Palace  is  the  colonial  Court 
House,  a  building  that  was  considered 
very  fine  in  its  day,  but  which  compares 
poorly  with  modern  structures.  On  the 
same  street  is  the  site,  now  marked  by  a 
tablet,  of  the  first  capitol  of  Virginia;  in 
it  the  House  of  Burgesses  met.  Nearby 
stood  the  Raleigh  Tavern,  the  scene  of 
much  of  the  revelry  and  high  life  of 
Colonial  days.  Old  accounts  tell  of  the 


Old  house  at  Williamsburg,  used  by  Colonial   Governor   for   guests. 


A  DEAD  CYPRESS  ON  THE  COAST  OF  MONTEREY. 


21 


grand  banquets  given  in  the  Apollo  room 
which,  tradition  claims,  witnessed  the 
drawing  up  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. 

In  Williamsburg  much  is  heard  of  Eve- 
lyn Byrd,  a  famous  beauty,  and  the  house 
in  which  she  lived  is  pointed  out.  Gos- 
sip has  it  that  she  was  ambitious  to  make 
a  grand  marriage,  and  so  refused  Wash- 
ington when  he  was  a  lieutenant  of  pro- 
vincial troops,  but  was  so  overcome  with 
regret  that  she  fainted  as,  from  her  win- 
dow, she  saw  him  ride  by  the  victorious 
General  of  the  American  forces. 

Another  curiosity  is  Martha  Washing- 
ton's kitchen,  still  standing.  There  is  also 
a -comfortable  chimney  defying  decay  and 
upright  amid  ruins,  worthy  of  notice  be- 
cause in  its  now  crumbled  corner  seat, 
Washington  is  supposed  to  have  success- 
fully courted  Mistress  Custis. 

About  twelve  miles  distant  from  Wil- 
liamsburg is  Yorktown,  where  in  the  au- 
tumn of  1871  the  Revolutionary  War  was 
decided  at  a  time  when  the  cause  looked 
most  doubtful.  Cornwallis  with  his  army 
was  marching  triumphantly  through  Vir- 
ginia trying  to  bring  on  an  engagement 
with  Lafayette;  finally  tiring  of  his  un- 
successful efforts  he  intrenched  himself 


to  await  reinforcements.  It  was  at  this 
period  that  the  French  Admiral,  De 
Grasse,  anchored  his  fleet  in  the  Chesa- 
peake ;  and  Washington,  in  the  north, 
finding  himself  in  command  of  a  larger 
force  than  ever  before  he  had,  withdrew 
from  New  York.  By  a  feint,  he  de- 
ceived Cornwallis,  and  succeeded  in  be- 
sieging •  him  in  Yorktown ;  after  three 
weeks  of  the  siege  Cornwallis  surrendered 
his  entire  force,  practically  ending  the 
war.  A  monument  has  been  recently 
erected  to  commemorate  this  event. 

Yorktown  is  now  the  sleepiest  of  sleepy 
villages,  but  pilgrims  enjoy  it  for  its  his- 
torical memories,  its  picturesque  streets, 
and  because  situated  there  are  a  national 
cemetery,  a  customs  house,  said  to  be  the 
first  in  this  country,  and  the  colonial 
mansion  of  the  Nelsons,  where  the  ar- 
ticles of  surrender  were  drawn  up  by 
Washington  and  Cornwallis. 

The  rugged  bravery  of  the  little  James- 
town band,  and  the  wonderful  outcome 
of  their  expedition,  have  inspired  Ameri- 
cans to  organize  a  celebration  at  which 
the  whole  world  will  assist  in  commemo- 
rating the  ter-centennial  of  the  birth  of 
the  nation,  in  the  Jamestown  Exposition 
of  1907. 


BY    SOPHIA    D.    LANE 


Upon  a  desert  strip  of  sandy  shore, 

Girt  round  by  wind-swept  dunes  that  stretch  away 
To  meet  the  low-hung  heavens,  cold  and  gray; 

Where  all  is  lost  in  ocean's  angry  roar, 

Incessant,  railing  at  the  weary  shore, 

As  mighty  surges  break  and  dash  their  spray 
Into  the  face  of  heaven,  at  war  alway; 
A  lonely  cypress  stands,  a  thing  of  yore. 

The  storms  of  centuries  have  beat  it  there, 

The  fogs  have  sought  in  fond  embrace  to  be; 

Its  arms  outflung  mute  testimony  bear 
Of  stout  defiance  meeting  stern  decree; 

But  now  the  sea-birds  scream  and  pass  it  by, 

And  only  sobbing  reeds  its  requiem  sigh. 


Mark  Twain,  drawn  by  Alice  Resor  from  latest  copyrighted 
portrait  by  EocTfwood,  N.  Y. 


BY    HENRY    MEADE    BLAND 


THE  friendship  of  Mark  Twain  and 
Charles  Warren  Stoddard,  recent- 
ly referred  to  most  inimitably  by 
Mr.  Clemens,  recalls  that  Mark  Twain's 
literary  fortunes  began  in  the  West.  The 
San  Francisco  Call,  the  'Sacramento 
Union,  and  the  Alta  California  all  nur- 
tured the  humorist;  but  it  was  in  the 
mines  of  Calaveras  that  the  inspiration 
came  for  the  "Jumping  Frog,"  Mark 
Twain's  first  story.  Stoddard  and  Mark 
Twain  were  traveling  companions  in  Eng- 
land during  the  seventies,  and  it  is  of 
this  association  that  the  humorist  has  re- 
cently written  for  a  young  friend  in  Cali- 
fornia : 

"Mr.  Clemens  was  lecturing  in  London 
in  1873,  and  had  engaged  MV.  George 
Dolby  (formerly  with  Charles  Dickens), 
as  his  agent. 

"Mr.  Clemens  had  also  engaged  Chas. 
Warren  Stoddard  as  his  secretary, 
it  being  Mr.  Stoddard's  duty  to  attend  to 
such  correspondence  and  engagements  as 
did  not  require  Mr.  Clemen's  personal 
attention.  Mr.  Stoddard  also  helped 
to  entertain  Mr.  Clemens,  and  keep 
him  cheerful  between  the  time  when 
one  lecture  closed  and  the  next  began.  It 
was  not  required  of  Mr.  Stoddard  that  he 
furnish  any  conversation — it  was  simply 
his  duty  to  be,  or  at  least  seem  to  be, 
amused  at  the  conversation  of  Mr.  Clem- 
ens and  Mr.  Dolby.  This  duty,  however, 
he  did  not  adequately  perform.  Instead 
of  laughing  boisterously  at  the  conversa- 
tion, he  merely  chuckled  now  and  then, 
and  in  no  wise  earned  his  salary  in  this 
respect.  It  was  expected  that  he  should 
at  least  keep  awake  and  listen.  Again  he 
failed.  He  did  not  listen  and  he  did  not 
keep  awake.  He  went  to  sleep  and  in- 
terrupted the  conversation  with  a  species 
of  snore  which  he  had  acquired  in  some 
foreign  part.  Aside  from  these  trifling 
defects,  Mr.  Clemens  found  him  a  most 
delightful  companion  and  comrade." 

When  I  showed  them  to  him,  Mr.  Stod- 
dard read  these  lines  through  slowly;  and 


then  the  "chuckles"  began  to  appear,  and 
he  said: 

"Dear  old  Mark;  isn't  it  killingly 
funny?  I  could  tell  something  of  those 
old  times,  too,  but  wait!" 

Clemens  at  the  time  he  and  Stoddard 
were  in  London  was  thirty-eight  years 
old.  It  had  been  six  years  since  the 
"Jumping  Frog"  brought  him  consider- 
able fame  as  a  humorist,  and  assured  him 
success.  His  life  to  this  time  had  been 
as  checkered  as  it  was  possible  for  West- 
ern pioneer  life  to  make  it.  He  had  lived 
as  a  child  on  the  Mississippi  before  it  had 
been  possible  to  dream  of  the  metropolises 
of  St.  Louis  or  Chicago.  It  is  almost  im- 
possible to  analyze  the  influence  of  the 
early  southern  home  upon  his  character. 
One  thing  is  certain:  the  wide  stretches 
of  the  great  river  rolling  not  far  from  his 
birth-place,  the  village  of  Florida,  and 
spreading  away  as  the  sea  from  the  town 
of  Hannibal,  where,  at  thirteen,  he  got 
his  first  taste  of  the  printing  office,  were 
the  strongest  elements  in  arousing  his 
latent  imagination. 

In  boyish  dreams,  he  saw  the  river  com- 
ing from  the  north  from  a  land  of  won- 
derful cities  and  peoples,  and  leading 
away  again  to  the  south  to  magic  countries 
vying  with  the  glories  of  ancient  Cathay. 
To  board  a  steamer  going  north  or  south 
was  to  sail  away  to  the  Fortunate  Isles. 
But  the  boy  had  a  real  touch,  too,  with 
river  life,  for  nine  times  he  barely  es- 
caped drowning  in  the  neighboring  Bear 
Creek,  or  in  the  Mississippi,  from  which 
he  was  dragged  all  but  dead.  His  parents 
seem  to  have  wisely  given  free  range 
to  his  adventurous  spirit,  knowing  that 
wh  n  he  was  close  to  nature  he  was  away 
from  the  good-for-nothingness  of  the 
town. 

The  spirit  of  adventure  he  seems  to 
have  inherited.  His  mother  came  of  the 
Montgomerys,  who  were  with  Daniel 
Boone,  and  lived  the  tragedies  of  the 
dark  and  bloody  ground.  She  was  born 
"twenty-nine  years  after  the  first  log 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


cabin  was  built,"  and  was  among  the  most 
beautiful  rtf  the  beautiful  Kentucky  wo- 
men. Her  agility  of  mind  and  shrewdness 
of  repartee  have  been  pointed  out  as  a 
chief  source  of  her  son's  genius.  John 
Marshall  Clemens,  Samuel  Langhorne?s 
father,  was  descended  from  Gregory  Cle- 
ment, who  lost  his  head  at  the  English 
Restoration  in  consequence  of  being  one 
of  the  judges  who  condemned  to  death 
the  king,  Charles  the  First.  The  elder 
Clemens  was  trained  in  law,  and  occupied 
a  judgeship  at  Hannibal,  the  family 
home. 

"Born  in  Virginia,  moved  to  Kentucky, 
and  lived  in  Missouri,"  with  a  dream  of 
an  eighty  thousand  acre  plantation  in 
Tennessee  and  the  Missouri  judgships,  is 
an  epitome  of  John  Clemens'  history.  He, 
too,  imbibed  much  of  the  pioneer  spirit. 
He  was  anxious  for  his  sons  to  be  well 
educated,  and  while  he  lived,  did  well  by 
the  boys. 

When  Samuel  was  thirteen  years  old, 
his  father  died,  and  the  orphan  entered 
the  newspaper  office  of  his  elder  brother, 
Orion.  He  learned  every  side  of  the 
country  newspaper  business,  even  getting 
out  the  paper  in  Orion's  absence.  He  then 
had  leanings  to  intense  personalities,  and 
his  skits  he  illustrated  with  wood-cuts 
carved  by  himself  with  his  jack-knife. 
The  issuance  of  two  or  three  editions  by 
him  made  exciting  times  in  Hannibal; 
and  many  a  jolt  the  older  brother  re- 
ceived on  account  of  Samuel's  yellow  jour- 
nal proclivities.  In  his  printer  appren- 
ticeship he  was  gaining  a  most  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  mechanical  side  of  liter- 
ature, which  shows  itself  in  the  exactness 
of  punctuation  and  other  niceties  of  form 
appearing  in  his  books.  More  than  this, 
he  was  even  this  early  meeting  many 
phases  of  human  nature — a  valuable  pre- 
paration for  the  work  he  was  later  to  ac- 
complish. 

Commonplace  Hannibal  could,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  hold  him  but  a  short 
time.  He  shook  the  river  dust  from  his 
feet,  and,  a  runaway,  he  began  an  adven- 
turous career  as  a  journeyman  printer. 
This  took  him  to  Cincinnati,  to  Philadel- 
phia, to  New  York,  and  without  doubt  to 
many  other  places,  but  we  do  not  know 
the  details  of  his  itinerary.  He  saw  the 
World's  Fair  at  New  York.  We  may 
mark  these  wander-years  as  the  beginning 


of  the  long  series  of  travel  running 
through  his  life. 

After  the  season  in  sight-seeing  came 
to  an  end,  he  decided  to  be  a  river-pilo^. 
The  renowned  Horace  Bixby  became  his 
teacher.  It  was  the  romance  of  the 
pilot's  occupation  that  enraptured  his 
mind;  for  to  move  away  on  the  mighty 
stream  in  absolute  command  of  a  great 
Mississippi  palace  seemed  to  Clemens  to 
body  forth  that  acme  of  power  and  posi- 
tion which  only  the  favored  few  attain. 
The  actual  work  on  the  river,  however, 
meant  a  severe  life-discipline,  which 
shaped  Mark  Twain  into  a  careful  ob- 
server and  a  man.  He  became  an  expert 
at  the  wheel,-  and  knew  every  sunken  log, 
changing  sand  bar,  and  tricky  shallow  on 
the  river  route.  "Life  on  the  Mississippi" 
gives  an  account  of  the  wonderful  mem- 
ory and  power  of  observation  demanded 
of  the  successful  pilot : 

"First  of  all,  there  is  one  faculty  which 
a  pilof  must  incessantly  cultivate,  until 
he  has  brought  it  to  absolute  perfection. 
Nothing  short  of  perfection  will  do.  That 
faculty  is  memory.  He  cannot  stop  with 
merely  thinking  a  thing  is  so  and  so;  he 
must  know  it ;  for  this  is  eminently  one 
of  the  exact  sciences.  With  what  scorn 
a  pilot  was  looked  upon  in  the  old  times 
if  he  ever  ventured  to  deal  in  tliat  feeble 
phrase  'I  think'  instead  of  the  vigorous 
one  'I  know !'  One  cannot  easily  real- 
ize what  a  tremendous  thing  it  is  to 
know  every  trivial  detail  of  1,200  miles  of 
river,  and  know  it  with  absolute  exactness. 
If  you  will  take  the  longest  street  in  New 
York  and  travel  up  and  down  it,  conning 
its  features  patiently,  until  you  know 
every  house,  and  window,  and  door,  and 
lamp  post,  and  big  and  little  sign  by 
heart,  and  know  them  so  accurately  that 
you  can  instantly  name  the  one  you  are 
abreast  of  when  you  are  set  down  at  ran- 
dom in  that  street,  in  the  middle  of  an 
inky  black  night,  you  will  then  have  a 
tolerable  notion  of  the  amount  and  exact- 
ness of  a  pilot's  knowledge  who  carries 
the  Mississippi  River  in  his  head.  And 
then,  if  you  will  go  on  until  you  know 
every  street-crossing,  the  character,  size 
and  position  of  the  crossing-stones,  and 
the  varying  depth  of  mud  in  each  of  those 
numberless  places,  you  will  have  some  idea 
of  what  the  pilot  must  know  in  order  to 
keep  a  Mississippi  steamer  out  of  trouble. 


MARK  TWAIN. 


Next,  if  you  will  take  half  of  the  signs 
on  that  long  street  and  change  their 
places  once  a  month,  and  still  manage  to 
know  their  new  positions  accurately  on 
dark  nights,  and  keep  up  with  their  re- 
peated changes  without  making  any  mis- 
takes, you  will  understand  what  is  re- 
quired of  a  pilot's  peerless  memory  by  the 
fickle  Mississippi." 

The  Civil  War  put  an  end  to  piloting 
the  splendid  barges  of  the  Mississippi,  for 
remorseless  Union  gunboats  patrolled  the 
stream  instead  of  the  magic  river  palaces 
which  had  so  often  captivated  the  eye 
of  the  printer  boy  of  Hannibal. 

At  the  outbreak  of  hostilities  he  found 
himself  allied  with  the  South;  but  his 
soldier  service  was  of  short  duration.  He 
barely  escaped  capture  by  his  later  fam- 
ous friend,  General  Grant,  and  after- 
wards was  taken  a  prisoner.  He  was 
speedily  reconstructed,  and  came  into  the 
employ  of  hi$  brother,  Orion,  who  had  re- 
ceived the  secretaryship  of  the  territory 
of  Nevada  from  the  Lincoln  administra- 
tion. 

Samuel  was  his  brother's  private  secre- 
tary, and  had  few  duties  and  no  salary. 
In  his  leisure  while  in  Nevada  he  tried 
mining,  but  the  "diggings  did  not  pay." 
Then  he  became  city  editor  of  the  "Vir- 
ginia City  Enterprise."  The  proprietors 
of  this  journal  are  said  to  have  been 
model  newspapermen,  and  their  influence 
did  much  to  prune  the  writer's  style.  The 
most  noted  point  growing  out  of  the  city 
editorship  of  the  Enterprise  is  the  first 
appearance  of  the  name,  Mark  Twain,  in 
its  columns.  The  name  had  been  sug- 
gested to  Clemens  when  he  was  a  pilot;  it 
being  the  familiar  call  of  the  leadsman  to 
indicate  that  the  steamer  was  in  two 
fathoms  of  water.  In  his  column  of  cor- 
respondence dealing  with  the  political  af- 
fairs of  Nevada,  there  were  clear  inti- 
mations of  the  powers  which  were  soon 
to  give  him  an  international  fame. 

Mark's  exit  from  Nevada  was  rather 
sudden.  He  had  become  involved  in  a 
nuarrel  with  the  editor  of  the  Virginia 
Union.  A  challenge  to  a  duel  was  the  re- 
sult It  was  a  bloodless  affair.  For,  as 
luck  would  have  it,  the  Union  man,  Mr. 
Laird,  having  seen  a  small  bird  dropped 
at  a  distance  of  thirty  yards  by  a  revolver, 
which  he  thought  to  be  in  the  hands  of 
his  opponent,  concluded  to  call  a  peace- 


meeting,  and  the  fight  was  off,  Clemens 
having  the  honors  of  victory.  But  to 
fight  a  duel  or  challenge,  or  carry  a  chal- 
lenge, was  against  a  new  law  of  Nevada. 
Governor  North  ordered  both  parties  ar- 
rested. The  duellists  heard  of  this,  and 
retreated  over  the  border  into  California 
before  arrests  could  be  made. 

Clemens  now  found  a  place  on  the  San 
Francisco  Call,  but  did  not  work  long  be- 
fore he  again  sought  fortune  in  the  mines 
of  Calaveras.  Again  luck  failed,  and 
again  he  went  to  San  Francisco.  This 
time  he  embarked  permanently  on  a  lit- 
erary career.  He  wrote  for  his  old  paper 
in  Virginia  City,  then  undertook  to 
write  up  Hawaii  and  the  sugar  interests 
for  the  Sacramento  Union.  It  was  while 
in  Hawaii  that  he  sent  to  his  paper  a  re- 
markable account  of  the  burning  of  the 
clipper  Hornet,  whose  crew  arrived  at 
the  Islands,  their  vessel  burned  to  the 
water's  edge.  Clemens  interviewed  the 
starved,  gaunt-eyed  sailors,  and  working 
for  two  days  without  sleep,  managed  to 
get  his  story  aboard  a  ship  that  had  just 
cast  moorings  for  San  Francisco.  His 
account  of  the  wreck  was  the  only  one 
that  reached  California,  and  it  proved  a 
genuine  "scoop."  His  employers,  in  rec- 
ognition of  this  good'  service,  paid  him 
tenfold  the  current  correspondent  rates. 

His  next  work  was  as  representative  of 
the  Alta  California  on  the  excursion 
steamer,  "The  Quaker  City."  The  party 
for  six  months  toured  the  Mediterranean 
and  Black  Seas  visiting  the  famous  classic 
cities  of  Southern  Europe.  Twain's  first 
great  book,  "Innocents  Abroad,"  grew  out 
of  this  voyage.  The  publisher,  even  after 
he  had  agreed  to  take  the  book,  was  doubt- 
ful of  its  success,  and  it  was  not  until 
the  author  persistently  insisted  that  it 
came  out.  Eesults  were  astounding  and 
immediate.  Eightv-five  thousand  copies 
were  sold  before  a  year  and  a  half.  And 
afterwards  the  sales  went  into  the  hun- 
dreds of  thousands.  The  reputation  ol 
Clemens  as  a  humorist  was  made. 

His  high  school,  the  drudgery  of  the 
newspaper  office  was  at  last  finished,  and 
he  was  far  advanced  in  his  university,  the- 
great  world. 

The  "Quaker  City"  expedition  was  im- 
portant to  Mr.  Clemens  in  another  re- 
spect. He  met  on  the  trip  and  became  en- 
gaged to  Miss  Olivia  Langdon  of  Elmira, 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


New  York.  The  humorist  was  wedded  to 
Miss  Langdon  in  1870.  All  the  good  an- 
gels presided  over  the  new  family,  for 
the  union  was  an  ideal  one.  There  have 
been  four  children  in  all,  three  girls  and 
one  boy;  two  girls  are  still  alive. 

Mr.  Clemens's  home  after  marriage 
was  at  Buffalo,  New  York.  After  a  year 
or  more  of  nominal  editorship  of  the  Buf- 
falo Express,  of  which  he  was  a  part 
owner,  he  left  New  York  to  settle  in  Hart- 
ford, Connecticut.  At  Hartford  he  has 
lived  in  comfort  with  famous  neighbors, 
Charles  Dudley  Warner  and  Harriett 
Beecher  Stowe.  His  summer  home  is  still 
in  Elmira,  and  at  his  summer  home  he 
does  the  most  of  his  writing.  His  work- 
room is  in  a  building  detached  from  the 
house.  In  this  he  locks  himself  in  with 
his  billiard  table,  and  shoving  the  balls 
around  aimlessly  for  a  while,  his  mind 
finally  gets  to  work,  and  he  begins  to 
write.  He  writes  the  better  part  of  the 
day,  beginning  immediately  after  break- 
fast. He  is  a  painstaking  craftsman  with 
his  pen,  pruning  and  cutting  incessantly 
till  his  instinct  tells  him  the  right  effect 
is  reached. 

One  does  not  read  far  in  the  works  of 
Mark  Twain  before  he  discovers  a  clearly 
dual  nature  in  his  style.  The  first  phase 
is  humor — humor  in  its  ordinary  sense, 
which  amuses  and  is  extremely  compan- 
ionable. The  second  phase  is  a  serious- 
ness which  discloses  a  mind  strongly 
philosophic.  His  first  story,  "The  Jump- 
ing Frog"  is  evidently  a  picture  of  a  type 
of  man  whose  talk  goes  on  interminably 
over  infinitely  small  as  well  as  other  de- 
tails of  a  story  he  may  be  telling. 

The  character,  even  here  portrayed,  is 
true  to  life. 

This  very  ability  to  strongly  paint  char- 
acter is  the  essence  of  Mark  Twain's 
power.  To  this  genuine  power,  his  wit 
(humor  in  the  ordinary  sense)  is  the 
hand-maiden.  His  humor,  which  is  'a 
higher  power  than  wit,  is  the  outgrowth 
of  his  soul's  philosophy.  Genuine  humor 
sees  and  depicts  the  incongruities  of  life 
realistically.  There  is  nothing  in  true 
humor  which  prevents  an  author  from 
being  serious  on  occasion;  for  humor  is 
life.  Hence  a  piece  of  philosophy  is  not 
minimized  in  seriousness  by  a  humorous? 
treatment.  The  great  humorists  have  all 
been  deeply  philosophic. 


Mlark  Twain  can  be  strikingly  pathetic, 
as  may  be  seen  in  the  following  from  the 
lepers  of  Molokai:  "Would  you  expect  to 
find  in  that  awful  leper  settlement  a  cus- 
tom worthy  to  be  transplanted  to  your 
own  country  ?  They  have  one,  and  it  is  in- 
expressibly touching  and  beautiful.  When 
death  sets  open  the  prison  door  of  life 
there,  the  band  salutes  the  freed  soul  with 
a  burst  of  glad  music." 

It  is,  however,  true  that  Mark  Twain, 
in  literary  growth,  has  developed  more  and 
more  the  sternly  philosophic  side.  Humor 
has  become  more  and  more  a  means — the 
lightning  flash  used  to  illuminate  his  pic- 
tures i of  human  life;  and  it  is  this  phase 
of  his  art  that  has  given  Mr.  Clemens  his 
steadily  increasing  hold  on  the  Ameri- 
jan  people.  This  makes  him  count  as  a 
noralist,  and  gives  his  writings  their 
lealthful  tone.  We  are  not  surprised, 
therefore,  when  we  find  him  a  despiser  of 
the  superficial,  a  hater  of  sham  and  cant, 
and  delighting  in  puncturing  the  garments 
of  selfishness  and  superstition. 

A  further  analysis  of  Mark  Twain's 
style  reveals  two  things.  First,  a  trans- 
parent clearness.  The  primary  aim  is  to 
make  thought  understood.  One  is  there- 
fore seldom  conscious  of  the  beauties  DI 
language,  while  perusing  his  volumes.  It 
is  only  when  we  go  back  over  what  we 
have  read  that  the  art  appears.  This  is  a 
high  test  of  style.  No  useless  word  is  re- 
tained by  the  humorist,  and  every  word 
used  is  made  to  do  full  duty. 

Second,  he  has  a  way  of  saying  a  thing 
in  a  startling  manner,  apparently  irrev- 
erent, perhaps  ethically  questionable  at 
first,  but  it  soon  comes  out  that  he  is 
merely  ironical. 

It  was  Charles  Warren  Stoddard  that 
first  suggested  to  Mark  Twain  the  writing 
of  a  consciously  serious  book.  The  two 
were  on  a  train  together,  when  Stoddard 
made  the  proposal.  Clemens  protested 
that  the  idea  was  impossible.  Neverthe- 
less, the  suggestion  bore  fruit,  for  in  a 
short  time  the  "Personal  Eecollections  of 
Joan  of  Arc"  appeared  anonymously,  as 
Twain  wished  the  "Recollections"  to  stand 
on  their  own  merit,  without  prejudice  or 
favor  from  his  reputation. 

There  was  no  question  as  to  their  merit, 
for  they  demonstrated  the  possession  of  a 
spiritual  quality  not  evident  in  the 
"Jumping  Frog"  or  "Innocents  Abroad.  ' 


ACROSS  THE  BLUE. 


27 


Xo  American  author  has  touched  life  at 
more  points  than  Mark  Twain.  A  world- 
wanderer,  he  has  not  only  traveled  most 
extensively  in  the  Orient,  but  in  Europe, 
in  the  Isles  of  the  Pacific,  but  he  has  lec- 
tured in  every  country  where  there  is  an 
English-speaking  people.  His  books  have 
been  successfully  translated  into  seven  dif- 
ferent languages.  He  knew  Western  pio- 
neer life,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Mississippi 
boatman,  while  his  work  as  a  journalist 
brought  him  into  contact  with  all  classes. 
He  has  interested  himself  in  the  most  hu- 
man of  problems.  His  service  to  General 
Grant  in  the  publication  of  the  General'.? 
"Memoirs*'  is  well  known.  Three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  was  the  first  sum  from 
the  sale  of  the  "Memoirs"  placed  in  the 
bank  to  Mrs.  Grant's  order,  and  this  was 
but  a  part  of  the  amount  the  Grants  re- 
ceived instead  of  a  paltry  original  offer 
from  others  of  twenty-five  thousand. 

His  variety  of  interests  become  evident 
in  his  successful  financiering  of  a  large 
publishing  house;  in  his  attempts  to  in- 


vent a  workable  type-setting  machine,  and 
again  in  toiling  enormously  to  pay  off  the 
debts  of  his  firm,  contracted  through  mis- 
management while  he  was  in  Europe.  The 
paying  off  of  ninety-three  thousand  dol- 
lars of  debt  of  the  firm  of  Webster  &  Com- 
pany was  his  most  strenuous  life  battle. 
Xor  was  he  under  legal  obligations  to.  pay 
this  amount.  But  he  felt  morally  bound. 
It  took  a  two-year  lecture  tour  to  complete 
the  payment. 

This  heavy  task,  together  with  the 
death  of  his  wife  not  long  ago,  has  borne 
heavily  upon  him;  yet  his  '  spiritual 
strength  has  not  abated,  and  the  eye  of 
his  kindliness  ha?  not  been  dimmed.  I 
can  imagine  a  certain  friend  of  his  heart, 
whom  I  well  know,  saying  of  him  the 
words  he  has  recentlv  so  beautifully  said 
of  W.  D.  Howells: 

"I  have  held  him  in  admiration  and  af- 
fection so  many  years  that  I  know  by  the 
number  of  those  years  that  he  is  old ;  but 
his  heart  isn't,  nor  his  pen,  and  years  do 
not  count." 


BY    MARION    COOK 

Far  out,  far  out,  across  the  blue 
Of  waters  deep,  my  little  ship  doth  ride, 
So  glad,  so  gay  and  buoyant !     By  its  side 
Thy  ship,  oh,  love,  fast  rideth,  too ! 
Clear  skies  above — 
Ah,  Love!     My  love! 

Cool  night-winds  fan  the  floating  sails 
And  plaintive  moan  among  the  shrouds  and  spars : 
While  countless  points  of  light  from  dripping  stars 
Reflect  and  shine.    The  young  moon  pales 
And  droops  apart — 
Dear  heart!     Sweet  heart! 

It  doth  not  fill  my  soul  with  fears 
To  know  that  storms  may  break  and  skies  be  gray ; 
Since  haply,  love,  through  all  the  coming  way, 
For  aye,  we  two  adown  the  years, 
Shall  touch,  shall  meet! 
My  sweet !    My  sweet ! 


A  Chinese  street  passing  under  the  gate- way  of  the  city  wall,  on  the  way  to  the  Willow 
Pattern   Tea   House. 


BY  CHARLES  LORRIMER 


IN"  the  native  city  of  Shanghai  is  a  very 
quaint  and  curious  old  tea  house 
called  by  the  Chinese  "Woo  Sing 
Ding."  It  is  the  original  building  which 
suggested  the  beautiful  and  famous  "wil- 
low pattern"  crockery  prized  by  connois- 
seurs all  over  the  world. 

To  be  appreciated,  it  should  be  visited 
in  the  season  of  very  clear  days  when  the 
shadows  lie  deep  in  the  old  gateways  that 
lead  to  it,  and  when  the  hundred  curves 
and  peaks  of  its  roofs  are  sharp1}-  out- 
lined by  a  glory  of  light.  For  half  the 
charm  of  the  old  building,  apart  from  its 
associations,  lies  in  these  sharp  contrasts. 
We  need  the  narrow,  crowded  street- 
which  pass  under  the  heavy  towers  of  thn 
old  mud  city  wall  to  throw  into  relief 
the  quaint  airiness  of  the  pavilion  itself. 

All  around  it  lies  a  broad  moat  of  black 
svater  filled  with  innumerable,  century- 
aid  carp  and  sprinkled  here  and  there 


patches  of  fine,  green  water-weeds. 
Wherever  a  free  space  of  dark  surface 
permits,  the  pool  reflects  as  in  a  bronze 
mirror,  the  curled  eaves  with  their  sug- 
gestion of  elasticity  and  joyfulness,  and 
the  fantastic  ornamentation  of  the  ti7es. 
A  zigzag  bridge  crosses  to  the  pleasure 
house — a  bridge  built  like  a  jointed  snake. 
Hideous  beggars  take  refuge  in  its  cor- 
ners and  scream  for  cash,  holding  up 
their  maimed  limbs  to  excite  the  pity  of 
passers-by. 

Were  it  not  for  these  horrible  sights 
there  would  be  genuine  pleasure  «n  lin- 
gering to  look  across  at  the  fine  old  build- 
ings, now,  of  course,  like  all  the  monu- 
ments of  China,  falling  into  decay.  It 
stands  there  in  the  sunshine  mournful, 
yet  contented,  dying  serenely  but  tran- 
quilly with  a  great  and  noble  dignity. 
The  scene  is  full  of  a  sweet  soluiniiitv,  a 
satisfying  gravity,  and  we  are  irresistibly 


The  Willow  Pattern   Tea  House  from   the  north  side. 


reminded  of  a  beautiful  old  face  tlat 
testifies  to  a  calm  spirit  which  has  learned 
patience  and  peace  from  the  passing 
years.  Behind  the  little  paper  windows 


set  in  a  carved  wood  trellis  work  of  ele- 
gant design  (the  tiny  fantastically- 
shaped  openings  of  the  panes  are  said  to 
have  first  suggested  the  well  known 


Another  view  of  the  Willow  Pattern  Tea  House,    showing    the    delicate    tile-work    of    the 
roof. 


30 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


"cracked  ice"  design  to  Chinese  porcelain 
makers),  a  bent,  brown  guardian  servos 
fragrant  tea  to  visitors  with  ancient  lei- 
sureliiiess.  He  seems  almost  as  old  as  his 
medieval  pavilion,  and  the  umbers  and 
chocolates  and  chestnuts  of  its  polished 
timbers  are  faithfully  repeated  in  ihe 
folds  and  wrinkles  of  his  face. 

Down  to  the  very  shores  of  the  quiet 
lake  stretch  busy  streets  aglow  with  a  rich 
medley  of  light  and  shade,  of  interlacing 
curves  and  decorated  beam  ends.  Pretty 
houses  overlook  it,  and  many  an  artist 
has  peered  through  their  carved  and  gild- 
ed windows  across  to  the  quaint  kiosque, 
spreading  the  white  silk  for  his  first 
drawing  in  their  bright  and  quiet  upper 
rooms. 

Jao  Tzu-jau,  in  his  old  treatise  on 
painting,  gives  exact  directions  to  be  fol- 
lowed when  a  picture  is  begun.  "Where 
landscape  is  in  question,  an  artist  should 
absorb  in  some  quiet  rest-house  the  gen- 
eral contour  of  his  subject.  He  should 
then  wait  until  his  mind  is  absolutely" 
tranquil  and  his  ideas  have  taken  shape 
before  beginning  his  work.  Then  he  must 
not  fail  to  make  clear  the  distinction  be- 


tween what  is  near  and  what  is  fa?  away. 
His  scenery  must  not  be  without  levels 
and  risings.  His  roads  must  have  begin- 
nings and  ends.  His  buildings  must  be 
scattered  irregularly.  His  human  figures 
must  have  their  heads  and  shoulders 
bent.  His  light  and  dark  effects  must  be 
appropriately  used.  His  coloring  must 
be  guided  by  fixed  laws." 

All  this  prescribed  conventionality  we 
find  in  the  fashionable  willow  -pattern. 
Though  now  and  then  a  Chinese  artist 
gives  us  such  a  wonderful  life-like  draw- 
ing of  the  old,  pavilion  that  the  water  in 
the  pool  even  seems  to  murmur,  the  old 
masters  usually  stiffened  all  they  touched, 
despising  the  natural  taste  that  an  an- 
cient writer  mocks  in  the  following  old 
poem : 

"He  who  values  a  picture  for  its  resem- 
blance, 

Has  a  critical  faculty  near  to  that  of  a 
child. 

He  who  writes  a  poem  according  to  a 
pre-arranged  scheme 

Has  certainly  no  claim  to  the  title  of 
poet," 


The   zigzag   "Snake"   bridge. 


ROCKWELL    D,    HUNT 


THE  abstract  study  of  institutions 
and  laws,  in  which  there  is  war  .- 
ing  the  vital  touch  with  concrete 
reality,  magnifies  out  of  their  true  pro- 
portion the  devices  or  contrivances  of 
Governmental  machinery.  Government  is 
at  best  but  the  means  by  use  of  which  tin- 
State  attains  its  ends:  to  make  of  it  an 
end  in  itself,  or  even  a  fetish — as  some 
do — is  a  manifest  perversion. 

Infinitely  wider  than  the  field  of  law  is 
the  domain  of  morality.  Quid  leges  sine 
moribus?  is  a  question  that  not  only  fur- 
nishes a  commentary  on  imperial  Rome, 
but  finds  applicability  in  all  lands,  in 
every  age.  "A  man  may  be  a  bad  i'.us- 
band,  a  bad  father,  a  bad  guardian,  with- 
out coming  into  conflict  with  the  rules  of 
a  single  law.  He  may  be  an  extortionate 
landlord,  a  wasteful  tenant,  a  hard  dealer, 
an  unreliable  tradesman,  and  yet  the  le- 
gal machinery  of  the  country  may  be 
quite  powerless  to  chastise  him.  Mere 
literal  obedience  to  the  law  is  only  a  mark 
of  passive  or  negative  virtue  as  a  citizen 
and  in  no  wise  compensates  for  the  ab- 
sence of  the  positive  virtues  of  active 
citizenship.  A  man  may  contrive  to 
evade  the  clutches  of  the  law,  and  at  thd 
same  time  be  at  heart  the  community's 
most  lawless  member. 

It  not  infrequently  happens  that  the 
normal  growth  of  law  is  violently  inter- 
fered with;  as  in  the  case  of  the  super- 
position of  a  completed  system  upon  an 
unprepared  people,  or  the  usurpation  of 
the  Government  and  administration  by  a 
foreign  or  alien  power,  or  by  an  unwor- 
thy or  unscrupulous  class  not  truly  rep- 
resentative of  the  State  or  the  community. 

It  is  but  commonplace  to  remark  that 
in  all  frontier  settlements,  to  which  un- 
usual conditions  attract  a  heterogenous 
population,  popular 'tribunals  of  some 
sort  have  been  erected.  It  may  be  the 
civil  Government  has  not  been  established 
sufficiently  early,  and  thus  statutory  law 
is  wanting,  or  the  judicial  tribunals  have 
not  been  put  in  good  working  order  for  the 


timely  execution  of  justice,  or  the  per- 
netuation  of  inadequate  and  perhaps  ef- 
fete laws  of  an  earlier  civilization  has  cost 
the  office-holding  fraternity  the  contemp- 
tuous disregard  of  the  community,  for 
some  cause  sufficient  in  itself,  or  in  the 
presence  of  certain  exceptional  conditions 
usually  rendered  complex  by  the  charac- 
ter of  the  population,  the  citizens'  tribu- 
nal in  some  form  has  been  inevitable. 

It  would  be  inaccurate  to  speak  of  the 
Vigilance  Committee  as  everywhere 
synonymous  with  Mobocracy  or  Lynch 
Law.  A  mob  is  a  tumultuous  rabble, 
through  which  surges  a  common  passion, 
overmastering  in  its  power  and  usually 
tending  to  the  subversion  of  both  order 
and  reason.  A  vigilance  committee, 
properly  so-called,  not  only  recognizes 
the  majesty  of  the  law,  but  constitutes  it- 
self "the  champion  of  justice  and  of 
right."  It  actively  seeks  to  reinforce  the 
civil  authorities,  and  thus  to  bring  crimi- 
nals to  speedy  justice  where  the  regular 
officials  have  failed;  or  if  in  its  judgment 
the  circumstances  demand,  it  rises  above 
the  legal  system  and  becomes  a  law  to  it- 
self, holding  that  unfaithful  servants 
should  be  removed  by  an  afflicted  commu- 
nity, and  insisting  that  since  a  statute  is 
no  more  sacred  than  the  men  that  made 
it,  "vicious  technicalities"  must  not  be 
permitted  to  thwart  the  ends  of  justice. 

Eecall  California's  unique  position  in 
the  world.  Euthlessly  seized  by  United 
States  forces  in  1846,  with  an  undoubted 
view  to  slavery  extension,  increasing  num- 
bers of  Americans  began  to  enter  her  bor- 
ders, bringing  with  them  the  English  lan- 
guage and  American  notions  of  law  and 
Government.  Three  times  did  Congress 
fail  to  provide  even  a  temporary  scheme 
of  civil  Government.  Meanwhile  the  ef- 
fete Mexican  law,  so  inadequately  applied 
to  the  administration  of  affairs  in  Cali- 
fornia before  the  conquest,  became  almost 
wholly  ineffective;  so  that,  as  a  contem- 
porary writer  expressed  it,  they  wer3  left, 
"after  two  years  of  anarchy,  precisely  as 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


(they)  stood  at  the  start — sans  law,  sans 
order,  sans  Government." 

If  there  had  been  a  crying  need  for 
Governmental  provision  previous  to  the 
gold  discovery,  that  momentous  fact  al- 
most infinitely  increased  the  need.  Be- 
fore the  coming  ol  the  argonauts,  the  im- 
migrants, who  generally  expected  to  set- 
tle permanently,  were,  as  a  rule,  honest, 
sturdy,  resourceful,  American  pioneers. 
But  in  the  days  of  '49  the  sudden  influx 
numbered  also  hundreds  of  deserters  from 
all  offices,  ignorant  elements  from  Mexico, 
Chili,  China,  and  where  not,  and  unprin- 
cipled adventurers  from  the  United  States 
—"loose  fish"  and  "bad  whites."— not 
one-tenth  of  all  of  whom  expected  ro  re- 
main permanently  in  California. 

Such  an  element  in  a  frontier  popula- 
tion may  be  depended  upon  to  exploit  the 
labors  of  other  men  and  reap  where  they 
sow  not.  A  more  perfect  type  of  social 
parasite  could  not  be  found.  We  aie  Jirt 
surprised,  therefore,  that  about  the  mid- 
dle of  1849  an  organized  band  of  des- 
peradoes, known  as  the  Hounds,  terror- 
ized San  Francisco  by  their  aggressions 
and  high-handed  crimes. 

The  gang  paralyzed  the  town  with  ter- 
ror. Their  outrages,  for  a  time  somewhat 
covert  and  usually  perpetrated  at  night, 
grew  bolder  and  more  defiant,  but  yet 
the  long-suffering,  peace-loving  citizens, 
absorbed  in  their  individual  concerns, 
paid  little  attention  to  the  aggressions 
or  the  organization. 

But  when  at  length  the  excesses  be- 
came so  violent  that  there  was  no  safety 
and  no  apparent  protection,  the  feeling 
spread  out  and  deepened  that  somehow 
the  lawlessness  must  cease,  that  bounds 
must  be  set  beyond  which  the  self -styled 
"Kegulators"  must  not  be  permitted  to 
go.  When  the  news  of  the  dastardly  as- 
sault on  the  Chilenos  spread,  the  town 
rose  to  the  greatest  pitch  of  excitement. 
By  dint  of  the  energy  of  Sam  Brannan 
and  others,  the  community  was  promptly 
organized  for  self-protection.  Nearly 
twenty  of  the  desperadoes  were  speedily 
arrested  and  tried,  and  the  leader  of  the 
gang,  Sam  Roberts,  was  found  guilty  of 
the  eight  counts  against  him.  The  Regu- 
lators were  routed  and  the  incident  closed. 

The  lesson  of  the  affair  of  the  Hounds 
was  imperfectly  learned  and  too  little 
taken  to  heart.  Almost  immediately  San 


Francisco  plunged  again  into  her  social 
insanity.  Few  cities  indeed  have  ever 
been  socially  and  morally  tried  as  was 
San  Francisco  from  1849  to  1853.  The 
strangely  disordered  and  pathologically 
nervous,  but  withal  rapturous  life  of  those 
days  seemed  to  men  looking  back  upon  it 
for  even  the  brief  space  of  half  a  dozen 
years  like  a  whirl  of  wild  dreams,  a  fan- 
tastic imreality.  The  regular  business  of 
the  city,  where  market  quotations  were 
as  fabulous  as  the  tales  of  Arabian 
Nights,  and  interest  on  money  at  the  rate 
of  ten  per  cent  a  month  and  even  higher 
was  not  uncommon,  seemed  to  be  but 
slightly  removed  from  the  professional 
gambling  that  flourished  so  amazingly  an-1 
sent  many  a  once  innocent  youth  the  quick 
way  to  perdition.  The  infection  was 
everywhere;  comparatively  few  were 
wholly  immune. 

Most  of  the  citizens  were  young  men 
away  from  home,  in  an  environment  that 
offered  every  inducement  to  turn  liberty 
into  license.  Few  women  were  there,  and 
of  those  perhaps  a  majority  were  not 
wholly  respectable  while  many  were  utter- 
ly vile  and  abandoned. 

The  good  men — for  such  there  always 
were,  and  they  constituted  a  strong  ma- 
jority— neglected  tha  duties  of  their  citi- 
zenship by  their  very  apathy  and  absorp- 
tion in  their  private  affairs,  while  the 
base  and  criminal  became  boldly  aggres- 
sive, and  accordingly  more  dangerous  to 
the  public  weal. 

The  social  and  moral  forecast — if  men 
had  taken  the  time  to  consult  the  oracles 
— plainly  indicated  a  great  conflagration. 
The  failure  of  justice  is  indicated  by  the 
fact  that  scores  of  robbers  and  murderers 
were  allowed  to  go  scot  free.  Not  one 
murder  of  the  hundreds  in  California  had 
as  yet  been  expatiated  on  the  gallows, 
hence  we  are  not  surprised  to  be  told  that 
"the  very  courts  had  become  a  bye-word." 

In  the  meantime,  California  was  called 
upon  to  undergo  awful  baptism  by  fire. 
The  series  of  fiery  ordeals  was  due  in 
large  measure  to  the  moral  and  social 
conflagrations  then  raging,  although  out 
of  them  sprang  ultimate  good  to  the  city. 
The  first  great  San  Francisco  fire  oc- 
curred in  December,  1849,  when  cloth 
houses  and  the  wealth  stored  in  them  to 
the  extent  of  $1,000,000,  were  consume:!. 
The  second,  third  and  fourth  followed  a  I 


THE   COMMITTEE   OF  VIGILANCE   OF   CALIFORNIA. 


quick  intervals.  The  fire  of  May  4,  1851. 
proved  most  disastrous  of  all,  destroying 
at  least  $7,000,000  worth  of  property.  Af- 
ter this  costly  lesson,  and  especially  after 
the  Sunday  fire  of  June  22d,  known  as 
the  sixth  great  fire,  the  buildings  erected 
— in  the  words  of  a  contemporary — "show 
a  wonderful  improvement  in  strength  and 
grandeur." 

In  San  Francisco,  if  anywhere,  and  in 
those  days,  if  ever,  were  needed  sound 
law  and  strong  government,  sustained  by 
a  high  and  dynamic  morality.  Those 
were  anomalous  days,  the  days  of  para- 
doxes. As  the  city  Government  grew  more 
expensive,  it  became  less  efficient;  theft 
was  punished  more  severely  than  murder, 
''because  men  carried  their  lives  about 
with  them,  and  might  defend  them,  bat 
property  left  to  itself  was  defenseless." 
The  establishment  of  new  courts  seemed 
to  foster  crime,  for  in  the  hands  of 
demagogues,  office  was  prostituted  to  the 
spirit  of  lawlessness.  i 

While  to  the  superficial  observer  all 
seems  unhallowed  strife  and  worship  of 
mammon,  a  careful  examination  reveals 
conservative  forces  of  great  potentiality. 
Those  faithful  ministers  of  the  gospel  of 
peace— "Father"  Taylor  the  Methodist, 
Dwight  Hunt  the  Congregationalist,  Al- 
bert Williams  the  Presbyterian,  Wheeler 
the  Baptist,  Ver  Mehr  the  Episcopalian, 
and  the  rest  of  them — these  present  a 
page  in  our  pioneer  history  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  record  of  sordid  motive? 
and  unworthy  deeds.  "Happily,  the  long 
record  of  vice  and  immorality  (as  we  read 
in  the  Annals)  has  a  bright  and  noble 
counterpart,  like  the  gold-dust  among 
the  muddy  atoms  of  our  own  river  bed?, 
that  redeems  outer  character  from  whole- 
sale condemnation." 

Among  men  of  all  classes,  striving  with 
might  and  main  for  gold,  there  existed, 
especially  in  the  mining  days  of  '49,  an 
incredible  indifference  to  money,  large 
sums  of  dust  being  recklessly  left,  per- 
chance, in  an  old  oyster  can,  or  under  the 
pillow  in  the  open  tent,  while  the  owner 
was  at  his  day's  work. 

The  community  of  San  Francisco  was. 
as  a  whole,  undoubtedly  reckless :  yet 
there  was  ever  a  powerful  element  of  vir- 
tue and  conservatism.  Whence,  then, 
came  all  the  mischief?  What  was  the 
besetting  social  sin?  Professor  Eoyce 


cannot  have  been  far  wrong  when  he  pro- 
nounced it  to  be  the  "tolerance  of  the 
open  vices  of  those  who  chose  to  be  vi- 
cious." 

Public  sentiment  "  was  not  stern 
enough  toward  social  offenses,  but  be- 
lieved in  a  sort  of  irreligious  liberty,  that 
considered  every  men's  vices  *  *  *  *  as 
a  private  concern  between  his  own  soul 
and  Satan."  The  increasing  magnitude 
of  private  business  and  the  growing  mul- 
tiplicity of  individual  relations  excluded 
the  vision  to  the  community's  imperative 
demands.  Good  men  forgot  or  ignored 
the  duties  of  citizenship,  and  all  but 
abandoned  the  municipality  to  sin  and 
Satan.  While  these  good  men — these  bad 
citizens — wrought,  and  while  they  slept, 
colossal  Wrong  lifted  up  its  head  and 
stalked  abroad.  Robbery  became  bolder, 
incendiarism  less  covert,  and  organized 
crime  arrogant  and  defiant,  for  Govern- 
ment itself  seemed  wrenched  into  the  tool 
of  outlawry,  while  the  courts  of  law 
seemed  to  be  the  fountain  heads  of  injus- 
tice and  anarchy. 

At  length  the  civic  conscience  was  fully 
aroused.  With  a  mighty  effort  it  shook 
off  its  long  lethargy  and  stood,  as  it  were, 
suddenly  erect  and  militant.  The  par- 
ticular act  that  thus  proved  efficacious 
was  the  Jansen  robbery,  in  February. 
1851.  The  consequent  intense  agitation 
of  the  city  should  have  proved  a  timely 
warning  to  those  bent  on  crime,  but  in- 
stead, they  became  still  bolder — there  ap- 
peared to  be  no  likelihood  that  any  single 
offender  would  be  brought  to  justice  by 
the  regular  agencies. 

The  need  of  the  hour  was  some  form  of 
strong  organization  among  lovers  of  ord?r 
that  should  prove  adaquate  to  the  pre- 
servation of  peace  and  the  enforcement 
of  law.  Otherwise,  there  was  extreme 
danger  of  mob  control  and  downright  an- 
archy. Accordingly,  "on  the  10th  of 
June,  1851,  an  organization  of  promi- 
nent business  men  was  effected  and  about 
two  hundred  names  were  enrolled  under 
what  was  styled  "The  Committee  of 
Vigilance  of  San  Francisco."  Its  specific 
objects  were  "to  watch,  pursue  and  bring 
to  justice  the  outlaws  infesting  the  city, 
through  the  regularly  constituted  courts, 
if  possible ;  through  more  summary  course 
if  necessary."  For  mutual  protection  and 
for  purging  the  city  of  its  bad  characters, 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


each  member  pledged  his  word  of  honor, 
his  fortune,  and  his  life. 

Great  work  there  was  for  the  commit- 
tee. Scarcely  had  the  organization  been 
effected  and  an  adjournment  taken  when, 
about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  two  sharp  taps 
on  the  fire  bell  brought  the  members 
quickly  back  to  headquarters.  One  John 
Jenkins,  a  powerful,  vicious-looking  man, 
an  ex-convict  from  Sydney,  had  burglar- 
ized a  store  on  Commercial  street,  and 
failing  to  make  good  his  escape,  was 
promptly  taken  to  the  room  of  the  com- 
mittee. 

The  committee  did  not  hesitate,  but 
].  ursued  its  straight  path.  In  an  hour 
Jenkins  had  been  tried  for  his  offense ; 
in  two  hours,  at  the  stroke  of  midnight, 
he  was  pronounced  guilty  of  murder  and 
sentenced  to  be  hanged.  Two  hours  later 
a  solemn  procession  marched  to  Ports- 
mouth Square,  where  the  condemned  man 
in  the  presence  of  one  thousand  grim- 
visaged  but  approving  witnesses,  expi- 
ated his  crime  by  hanging  until  dead. 

The  work  of  Vigilance  was  heralded 
quickly  abroad  throughout  the  State. 
Scores  of  San  Francisco's  best  citizens 
came  forward  to  be  enrolled  as  rr.enibers 
of  the  committee,  thus  endorsing  its  acts 
and  pledging  their  support;  while  men 
of  Jenkins's  class  were  filled  with  con- 
sternation at  the  unwonted  procedure  of 
his  prompt  arrest  and  quick  execution. 

The  Alta  California,  only  five  days  af- 
ter the  terrible  scene  enacted  at  Ports- 
mouth Square,  says:  "It  is  certainly  a 
fact  that  since  the  excitement  which  re- 
sulted in  the  execution  *  *  *  crimes  of 
the  more  heinous  nature  have  visibly  de- 
creased. *  *  Whereas,  previously  scarce 
a  night  occurred  that  we  had  not  oc?tv- 
sion  to  note  down  a  knocking  down,  drug- 
ging, robbery  or  burglary;  since  that 
night,  there  has  been  but  one  case  of  rob- 
bery of  which  we  have  heard." 

On  the  llth  of  July  following,  at  about 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  bell  <A 
the  Monumental  Engine  House  again 
solemnly  summoned  the  Vigilance  Com- 
mittee to  the  consideration  of  a  case  that 
meant  death  to  the  culprit.  This  time  H 
was  James  Stuart,  whose  confession  re- 
vealed him  as  perhaps  the  most  colossal 
villain  .in  California,  and  deeply  impli- 
cated several  others  in  a  long  catalogue  of 
atrocious  crimes.  The  wretch  was  con- 


demned to  death,  and  after  two  hours' 
grace  was  led  forth  to  the  Market  street 
wharf,  where 'he  was  hanged,  by  means  OL 
an  improvised  derrick. 

'\  he  work  of  purging  was  not  yet  com- 
plete. Samuel  Whittaker  and  Robert  Mc- 
Kenzie  were  brought  to  trial  for  a  list  of 
crimes  including  burglary,  robbery  and 
arson;  they  confessed  their  guilt  and 
were  condemned  to  die. 

rlhe  six  thousand  assembled  men  main- 
tained an  awful  silence  during  the  brief 
preparation.  "But  so  soon  as  the  wretches 
were  swung  off,  one  tremendous  shout  of 
satisfaction  burst  from  the  excited  multi- 
tude; and  then  there  was  silence  again.'' 

These  were  the  last  of  the  four  execu- 
tions conducted  by  the  San  Francisco 
'Vigilance  Committee  of  1851 ;  but  thes^ 
do  not  at  all  exhaust  the  activities  of  the 
committee.  During  its  active  operations- 
?ome  thirty  bad  characters  were  banished 
from  California,  and  many  more  than 
that  number  recognizing  that  San  Fran- 
cisco was  no  longer  a  safe  lurking  place 
for  rogues,  advisedly  took  their  departure 
for  various  points  in  the  interior,  only  to 
find  themselves  again  thwarted  in  their 
career  of  crime  by  the  spirit  of  watchful- 
ness and  vigilance  that  had  spread  to 
every  quarter.  The  last  entry  in  the 
book  of  the  committee  bears  the  date  of 
June  30,  1852,  but  even  then  the  associa- 
tion was  not  formally  dissolved.  The 
members  stood  ready,  on  occasion,  to  as- 
sert themselves  and  speak  out  their  un- 
doubted supremacy  with  no  uncertain 
voice. 

That  the  work  accomplished  was  <>ne 
of  magnitude  and  splendor,  who  can  now 
question?  The  well-nigh  unlimited  power 
enjoyed  by  the  committee,  by  virtue  of 
numbers  and  wealth,  as  well  as  influence 
and  energy,  were  used  with  calmness  and 
solemn  moderation  without  the  spirit  of 
mobocracy.  None  deplored  the  necessity 
for  their  acts  of  terrible  retribution  more 
than  themselves. 

The  local  contemporaneous  press,  ex- 
cept one  newspaper,  cordially  endowed 
the  movement  and  rendered  effective  ai  1 ; 
while  in  the  Eastern  press  opinion  WH.S 
divided,  several  of  the  most  .influential 
papers  justifying  the  committee  in  strong 
terms.  Note,  for  example,  an  editorial 
utterance  in  the  New  York  Tribune,  for 
July  19th:  "We  are  sufficiently  familiar 


36 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


with  the  characters  of  the  men  composing 
the  Committee  of  Vigilance  to  acquit 
them  of  any  other  motive  than  that  of 
maintaining  public  order  and  individual 
security.  *  *  *  In  spite  of  these  violent 
exhibitions  of  popular  sentiment,  the  in- 
stinct of  order,  the  capacity  for  self-Gov- 
ernment, t's  manifested  more  strongly  in 
California  at  this  moment  than  in  an:/ 
other  part  of  the  world." 

An  altogether  natural  consequence  of 
the  activities  in  San  Francisco  was  the  in- 
spiration and  encouragement  of  similar 
movements  in  the  interior  towns  an  1 
everywhere  in  the  mining  camps,  where 
the  self-dependence  of  isolated  communi- 
ties rendered  vigilance  perhaps  even  more 
needful  than  in  large  centers  of  popula- 
tion. 

One  of  the  first  instances  of  a  vigilance 
committee  was  the  "Rough  and  Ready,'' 
in  Nevada  City,  in  1850,  which  succeeded 
so  well  that  one  of  the  miners  conceived 
the  fatuous  idea  of  an  independent  sov- 
ereignty, which  should  be  called  the 
"State  of  Rough  and  Ready." 

In  the  files  of  the  Alta  California  I 
have  read  the  contemporaneous  accounts 
of  many  crimes  and  many  cases  of  the  ar- 
bitrary administration  of  justice.  The 
issue  of  June  28,  1851,  announces  that  "a 
Vigilance  Committee  of  213  signers  has 
been  formed  in  Sacramento."  In  the  fol- 
lowing November,  it  was  stated  that  sev- 
enteen murders  had  been  announced  with- 
in a  d?y  or  two  about  Marysville,  and 
that  the  Vigilance  committee  would 
"take  prompt  steps  in  the  ^remises." 
During  the  next  spring,  robberies  were 
of  frequent  and  alarming  occurrence," 
about  Mokelumne  Hill,  and  not  until  the 
Vigilance  Committee  executed  Carlos  Es- 
clava  in  the  presence  of  nearly  1000  wit- 
nesses were  people  satisfied.  Under  date 
of  May  31,  1852,  we  read:  "The  citizens 
of  Jackson  have  formed  a  Vigilance 
Committee,  for  the  protection  of  life 
and  property,  and  the  summary  punish- 
ment of  offenders.  Nearly  all  the  most 
respectable  citizens  of  that  town  and 
vicinity  have  joined  it."  Finally,  May 
24,  1854:  "The  unearthing  of  a  gang  of 
thieves  and  vagabonds,  last  week,  at  Dow- 
nieville  ,  has  led  to  the  organization  of  ;i 
vigilance  committee  for  the  better  preser- 
vation of  life  and  property."  These  are 
mere  samples  taken  wholly  at  random  of 


what  was  being  done  in  towns  and  camps 
in  all  directions  within  and  beyond  the 
borders  of  California." 

The  raison  d'etre  of  Vigilance  is  not 
far  to  seek.  The  absence  of  settled  law 
and  legal  precedent  thrust  upon  each  min- 
ing camp  the  necessity  of  formulating 
rules  and  regulations  for  their  govern- 
ment, the  fundamental  propositions  usu- 
ally being  the  equality  of  all  before  the 
bar  of  justice  and  the  right  of  every  man 
to  have  a  fair  and  equal  chance.  While 
every  camp  bore  a  general  resemblance 
to  every  other,  each  was  different  in  de- 
tail, and  to  some  extent,  a  law  unto  it- 
self. Often  those  who  got  themselves 
chosen  judge  (or  alcalde)  were  corrupt; 
in  other  instances  they  lacked  technical 
preparation,  and  so  were  largely  under 
the  domination  of  sharp  lawyers  who 
could  often  cause  vexatious  delay  at  will. 

By  no  means  were  all  instances  of 
popular  justice  in  pioneer  California 
worthy  of  respect,  much  less  of  approba- 
tion. The  distinction  between  a  Vigi- 
lance Committee  and  a  mob  or  lynch 
law,  was  frequently  lost  sight  of,  and 
many  heinous  crimes  were  committed  in 
the  name  of  popular  justice.  Indeed  the 
horrible  spectacle  of  the  hanging  of  Bar- 
clay at  Chinese  Camp  in  1855,  under  pe- 
culiarly revolting  circumstances,  de- 
servedly brought  on  a  feeling  of  revul- 
sion and  disgust  for  lynch  law.  The  con- 
duct of  the  crowd  was  brutal,  disgrace- 
ful, savage. 

For  many  months  after  its  active  opera- 
tions had  ceased,  the  first  San  Francisco 
committee  continued  a  potential  check  to 
vicious  or  unscrupulous  elements  of  the 
city.  But  as  the  terrible  warnings  of  tb.3 
hangman's  noose  began  to  fade  in  the 
memory  and  vigilance  began  to  relax, 
while  other  human  vultures  swept  down 
upon  the  city,  greedy  for  their  prey,  the 
law  again  fell  on  evil  times.  The  forces 
of  villainy  and  crime,  taking  a  lesson 
from  recent  history,  showed  themselves 
more  intelligent,  if  equally  unprincipled, 
more  crafty,  if  at  the  same  time  more 
utterly  demoralizing. 

The  method  was  to  capture  primaries, 
stuff  ballot  boxes,  and  become  intrenched 
in  public  office.  The  forces  of  corrup- 
tion wrought  mightily  while  the  virtuous 
slept.  Sadly  must  it  be  confessed — it 
was  ever  thus.  By  means  of  ingeniously 


THE   COMMITTEE   OF  VIGILANCE   OF   CALIFORNIA. 


37 


contrived  false-bottomed  ballot-boxes,  in- 
iquitous men  were  voting  themselves  into 
office.  It  became  unsafe  for  honest  voters 
to  approach  the  polls,  for  if  too  many 
such  appeared,  a  set  of  bullies  and  shoul- 
der-strikers were  on  hand  to  knock  them 
down,  and  render  life  itself  unsafe. 

As  in  1851,  the  chief  besetting  social 
sin  was  that  of  being  engrossed  in  the 
strife  for  gold  and  kindred  private  ends, 
to  the  sad  neglect  of  social  and  civic  du- 
ties. Accordingly  the  voice  of  the  honest 
voter  was  smothered  by  the  mid-night 
frauds,  and  the  arm  of  law  was  struck 
down  by  the  slung-shot  of  a  corrupt  offi- 
ciary. 

The  event  that  was  made  the  occasion 
for  the  organization  of  the  Vigilance 
Committee,  as  everybody  knows,  was 
James  Casey's  attack  on  James  King  of 
William,  the  free  lance  editor  of  the  Bul- 
letin. William  T.  Coleman  was  asked  to 
head  the  new  movement ;  and  being  as- 
sured of  absolute  obedience  and  absolute 
secrecy,  he  accepted  the  awful  responsi- 
bility. Here  I  must  be  pardoned  wh'le  I 
pause  to  remark  that  in  any  calendar  of 
great  Californians,  the  name  of  W.  T. 
Coleman  should  find  a  conspicuous  place 
of  honor.  His  supreme  courage,  his  con- 
summate ability  in  generalship,  his  abso- 
lute personal  honesty,  and  the  poise  of 
his  judgment,  and  withal  his  noble,  self- 
sacrificing  devotion  to  public  duty  mark 
him  as  one  of  the  truly  great,  whether  we 
view  these  as  qualities  of  the  man  himself 
or  measured  by  their  beneficent  results. 

During  its  first  twenty-four  hours  some 
1500  members  enrolled  in  the  great  com- 
mittee. Organization  went  forward  with 
amazing  rapidity;  by  a  complete  system 
of  drills  military  precision  was  attained 
in  an  incredibly  short  time. 

When  on  the  afternoon  of  May  20th, 
the  sad  intelligence  of  King's  death  from 
his  wound  spread  through  the  city,  all 
places  of  business  were  closed,  the  streets 
rapidly  filled  with  sorrowful  faces,  and 
on  the  arm  of  almost  every  man  was  a 
badge  of  mourning.  Such  a  demonstra- 
tion had  never  been  witnessed  in  San 
Francisco.  While  the  funeral  cortege  of 
King  marched  four  abreast,  and  a  mile 
in  length,  moving  solemnly  through  the 
streets,  the  committee  was  engaged  in  the 
stern  business  of  the  execution  of  Casey 
and  another  condemned  criminal  named 


Cora,  in  front  of  Vigilance  headquarters. 
The  work  of  purging  the  city  had  been 
begun;  there  could  be  no  receding  now. 

So  completely  did  the  movement  cap- 
tivate the  sympathy  and  co-operation  of 
the  city  that  in  July  the  committee  num- 
bered 6,000  men  under  arms,  well 
equipped,  and  organized  into  one  bat- 
talion, four  companies  of  artillery,  one 
squadron,  two  troops  of  dragoons,  four 
regiments  and  thirty-two  companies  of  in- 
fantry. A  full  corps  of  officers  were 
chosen,  the  executive  committee  of 
twenty-six  members  named,  and  a  police 
force  equipped. 

Not  only  were  the  great  body  of  San 
Franciscans  heart  and  mind  with  the 
movement,  but  it  met  with  prompt  and 
hearty  endorsement  from  the  leading 
town  of  the  interior.  From  San  Jose  an 
offer  of  1,000  men  for  the  Vigilance  Com- 
mittee was  telegraphed. 

The  committee  comprised  every  nation- 
ality, all  political  parties  and  religious 
denominations,  without  distinction  of 
trade  or  occupation. 

There  was  opposition,  to  be  sure;  there 
were  those  who  professed  to  believe  that 
there  was  no  real  need  of  organized  vigi- 
lance. In  fact,  the  contest  between  J.i.e 
Law  and  Order  Party  and  the  committee 
became  very  bitter,  and  at  times  threat- 
ened results  too  terrible  to  contemplate. 
What  rendered  the  situation  the  more 
delicate  and  difficult  was  the  inconsistent 
and  pusillanimous  course  of  Governor 
Johnson,  who  seemed  quite  incapable  of 
rising  to  the  occasion  in  the  broad  spirit 
of  fairness  and  conciliation. 

The  motives  of  those  brave  men  who 
willingly  sacrificed  private  interest  in  or- 
der to  discharge  this  social  duty  are  un- 
impeachable. Hundreds  of  prominent 
members  might  say,  as  did  James  D.  Far- 
well:  "I  went  into  that  committee  with 
as  earnest  a  sense  of  duty  as  I  ever  em- 
barked in  anything  in  my  life."  In  the 
address  of  the  committee,  dated  June  9th, 
are  these  straightforward  words:  "We 
have  no  friends  to  reward,  no  enemies  to 
punish,  no  private  ends  to  accomplish. 
Our  single,  heart-felt  aim  is  the  public 
peood,  the  purging,  from  our  community, 
of  those  abandoned  characters." 

Finally  came  the  day  of  adjournment 
of  the  committee,  and  its  active  work 
came  to  an  end  in  a  most  imposing  dem- 


"IL  NE  PEXSE  PAS  QUE  JE  COMPRENDS." 


onst  ration.  The  military  review,  on  Au- 
gust 18th,  formed  a  fitting  close  to  "one 
of  the  grandest  moral  revolutions  the 
world  has  ever  witnessed." 

The  fruits  of  vigilance  continued  to 
abide.  Four  men  had  been  hanged,  thirty 
banished,  and  some  eight  hundred  of 
the  worst  characters  deemed  it  wise  to 


leave  the     community     without     further 
ceremony. 

Once  more  the  atmosphere  was  cleai, 
the  vigilantes  dropped  quietlv  and  loy- 
ally back  to  their  respective  callings,  an  I 
the  inherent  capacity  of  the  American- 
people  for  self-government  was  openly 
vindicated. 


661 


(Stag  J( 


BY    HENRY    W.    NOYES 

You  stooped  and  took  my  passive  hand, 

And  lowly  at  my  feet  you  knelt; 
You  whispered  of  a  Wonderland 

Where  Cupid  once  with  Psyche  dwelt, 
And  all  the  time  you  held  my  hand ! 
(II  ne  pense  pas  que  je  comprends.) 

You  spoke  of  rose  and  lilac  blooms, 

That  'round  about  Love's  garden  cling; 

You  whispered  low  of  scented  glooms, 

Where  nightingales  their  heart's  love  sing; 

And  all  the  while  you  held  my  hand ! 

(II  ne  pense  pas  que  je  comprends.) 


Think  you  I  thought  of  lily  blooms 
That  in  fair  Psyche's  garden  float, 

Or  of  the  scented  starlit  glooms 
And  nightingales  of  liquid  note? 

I  only  know  you  held  my  hand ! 

(II  ne  pense  pas  que  je  comprends.) 


BY   KATHERINE    ELWES    THOMAS 


North    Gateway — Royal   Pavilion. 

THE  most  perfect  motor  road  in  all 
England  is  through  the  fifty-two 
miles  of  Surrey  and  Sussex  leading 
down  from  London  to  Brighton.  .Unlike 
the  majority  of  English  roads,  this  par- 
ticular one  owes  nothing  to  the  industrious 
old  Roman.  It  is  essentially  a  King's 
Highway,  the  achievement  of  George  IVj 
who,  if  he  did  nothing  else  that  was  wise 
in  his  day,  has  assuredly  this  record  of 
road  building  to  his  credit. 

Up  to  this  ruler's  time,  there  was, 
broadly  speaking,  no  road  from  London 
to  the  delightful  coast 'resort  that  is  now 
unmistakably  the  most  popular  in  Great 


Britain.  Beloved  by  the  masses  through- 
out the  summer  months,  it  is  as  ardently 
sought  by  the  classes  throughout  the  au- 
tumn and  springtime. 

One  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  it  was 
practically  impossible  to  drive  fifty  miles 
in  any  direction  from  the  English  me- 
tropolis. Sussex  was  especially  famed  for 
its  atrocious  roadways,  so  that  coaches 
and  horsemen  gave  it  widest  possible 
berth. 

All  this  has  changed  after  the  first 
memorable  visit  of  the  then  Prince  of 
Wales,  who,  while  being  entertained  by  his 
profligate  old  Uncle,  the  Duke  of  Cum- 
berland at  his  Brighton  residence,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  pretty  young  siren  ac- 
tress sunning  herself  on  the  beach. 
Straightway  so  enamored  did  he  become 
of  the  place  as  literally  to  cause  to  spring 
up  at  his  royal  command  a  city  by  the 
sea,  where  for  several  preceding  centuries 
had  existed  merely  a  struggling  village 
and  wide  waste  of  sand  dunes. 

For  the  purpose  of  tooling  his  own 
coaches,  the  then  Prince  of  Wales  forth- 
with set  to  work  an  army  of  skilled  work- 
men, who  have  left  it  what  it  is  to-day,  the 
perfection  of  English  highways. 

The  most  notable  coaching  feat  was 
that  of  February  4,  1834,  when  Charles 
Harbor,  driving  the  coach  Criterion,  put 
her  to  such  test  speed  in  carrying  the 
speech  of  William  IV  upon  opening  of 
Parliament  as  to  cover  the  distance  in 
three  hours  and  forty  minutes. 

In  the  early  days  following  construc- 
tion of  the  road,  the  revenue  derived  from 
public  coaching  averaged  £100,000  for  a 
single  season.  This  presumably  included 
the  gain  derived  from  private  as  well  as 
public  coaches.  Whenever  the  royal  coach 
bearing  the  gay  parties  passed  over  the 
road,  it  was  to  leave  in  its  wake  among  the 
excellent  wayside  inns  a  floodtide  of  yel- 
low gold  scattered  broadcast  with  the  lav- 
ishness  characteristic  of  all  expenditures 
of  that  prince  of  spendthrifts. 

Within  the  past  few  years,  motor  meets 


MOTORIXG  ALOXG  A  KING'S  HIGHWAY. 


have  been  frequ'ent  with  the  start  from 
London  and  finish  at  the  famous  Old  Ship 
Tavern  on  the  wide  sea  front  esplanade, 
the  King's  Road.  Several  yearg  since  oc- 
curred the  Stock  Exchange  "Walk,  in 
which  at  half  past  six  in  the  morning  sev- 
eral hundred  competitors  setting  forth 
from  London,  seventy-six  of  this  number 
finally  qualified  for  medals  by  completing 
the  course,  the  winner  of  first  prize  mak- 
ing a  record  of  nine  and  a  half  hours. 

With  the  highway  built  by  George  IV, 
and  the' city  sprung  up  at  his  bidding,  it 
is  natural  that  upon  Brighton,  of  all 
places  in  England,  there  should  be  es- 
sentially his  individuality,  and  upon  all 
things  his  stamp  of  personality. 

The  pavilion,  his  playtime  palace,  built 
at  such  fearful  recklessness  of  cost  to  the 
British  nation,  is,  whatever  may  be  ones 
views  with  regard  to  its  architectural 
merit,  the  most  interesting  place  in  this 
City  by  the  Sea.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that 
the  municipality  should  countenance  such 
an  amount  of  rubbish  as  that  now  gath- 
ered in  the  upper  rooms  of  the  Pavilion 
under  guise  of  an  historical  museum. 
Happily,  the  four  imposing  lower  apart- 
ments on  the  entrance  floor  where  so  many 
equally  famous  and  infamous  entertain- 
ments marked  the  profligate  monarch's 
reign  have  been  left  with  regard  to  deco- 
ration of  walls  and  ceiling  quite  as  they 
were  when  their  original  completion  start- 


led the  nation  by  dazzling  magnificence 
of  grotesqueness. 

From  the  primitive  beginning  of  an  old 
farmhouse  on  the  Steyne,  the  pavilion 
grew  in  size  and  splendor  as  from  time  to 
time  more  land  was  acquired  and  archi- 
tects set  to  work  to  extend  the  palace  over 
greater  surface  of  ground.  At  the  same 
time,  the  sky  line  was  pierced  with  ad- 
ditional Byzantine  domes  and  spires,  un- 
til the  place  gradually  assumed  the  ap- 
pearance of  what  it  eventually  became,  a 
royal  seraglio.  And  to  furnish  it,  Europe 
was  ransacked  with  a  disregard  to  cost 
that  simply  stunned  the  indignant  nation. 

In  the  Dome,  the  costliest  stable  ever 
built  by  madcap  king  to  gratify  his  inor- 
dinate extravagance,  George  IV  has  left 
to  futurity  in  this  roof,  a  circular  dome 
that  in  extent  and  beauty  of  stained  glass 
effect  has  nowhere  else  an  equal.  LTsed  at 
the  present  time  as  a  public  concert  hall, 
the  Dome  is  approached  either  by  a  short 
walk  across  the  royal  gardens  or  by  un- 
derground passage  constructed  for  the 
king's  special  use.  The  latter  way  is  now 
used  only  on  occasions  of  large  balls  at 
the  pavilion,  when  the  passage,  being  bril- 
liantly illuminated,  connects  it  with  the 
Dome,  thus  allowing  passage  for  guests  in 
full  evening  costume  from  one  place  to 
the  other.  • 

Queen  Victoria  made  only  a  few  brief 
visits  to  the  pavilion,  finally  selling  it  to 


Old  Ship  Hotel  in  Motor  week,   Brighton. 


The   "Brighton   Queen,"    'cross   channel   steamer;  speed,  20  knots  an  hour. 


the  city  for  £53,000.  The  fine  north  gate 
was  constructed  in  1832  by  William  IV, 
who,  upon  succeeding  his  brother,  contin- 
iied  to  keep  the  pavilion  as  a  favorite 
royal  residence.  Formerly  commanding 
a"n  unobstructed  view  of  the  ocean,  much 
of  the  ground  that  in  time  of  George  IV 
constituted  the  royal  gardens  has  since 
been  sold  and  built  upon. 

The  old  Steyne  facing  the  pavilion  in 
hemi-circular  form,  and  opening  out  on 
the  sea  side,  was  formerly  the  most  fash- 
ionable place  of  residence  •  and  royal 
promenade  in  Brighton,  retaining  to-day 
an  aspect  that  renders  it  the  most  quaint- 
ly interesting  locality  in  the  city. 

Toward  construction  of  the  splendid 
boulevard  along  the  entire  sea  front,  200 
guineas  were  donated  by  George  IV,  who, 
while  he  was  a  hopeless  spendthrift,  was 
also  at  times  famously  charitable  and  gen- 
erous. The  scene  along  Brighton  Beach 
during  the  season  is  one  of  the  liveliest 
possible  description.  Particularly  inter- 
esting to  American  eyes  are  the  bathing 
houses  which  on  wheels  are  moved  up  and 
down  the  beach  or  run  far  out  into  the 
water,  as  desired  by  the  occupant.  When 
to  intermittent  groups  of  these  is  added 
an  array  of  high  scoop  top  wicker  beach 
chairs,  goat  and  pony  carriages  for  child- 
ren constantly  going  up  and  down  with 
their  happy  laughing  freight,  gaily  cos- 
tumed gypsies  foretelling  the  future  to 


groups  of  merrymakers,  the  week-end 
"trippers"  from  London  picnicking  on 
the  sands,  with  an  amazingly  bewildering 
aggregation  of  mountebank  performers 
and  catch-penny  shows  of  every  descrip- 
tion, one  may  gain  some  idea  of  the  gen- 
eral appearance  of  the  place. 

The  narrow,  hilly  winding  West  street, 
main  business  thoroughfare,  holds  older 
historic  connection  with  an  English 
crowned  head  than  can  be  affirmed  of  tho 
pavilion.  At  the  old  tavern,  known  at  that 
time  as  The  George,  but  ever  since  in  com- 
memoration called  the  King's  Head  Tav- 
ern, Charles  II  fleeing  from  the  field  of 
Worcester,  sought  refuge.  Recognized 
under  his  disguise  by  the  inn-keeper,  who 
had  once  been  about  the  royal  palace  in 
London,  the  loyal  fellow  arranged  a  plan 
of  escape  to  the  Continent  through  the 
trusty  sailing  master,  Nicholas  Tattersall, 
subsequently  pensioned  by  the  crown,  and 
whose  imposing  tomb  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
graveyard  of  St.  ISTicholos  Church. 

This  graveyard,  situated  upon  the 
Queen's  Road,  has  been  the  scene  of  more 
remarkably  daring  escapades  of  the  living 
than  can  be  recorded  of  most  habitations 
of  the  dead.  It  was  behind  the  tall  tomb- 
stones and  imposing  monuments  that  in 
the  old  days  when  Brighton  was  a  hot-bed 
of  smuggling  there  were  hidden  with 
varying  safety  innumerable  casks  of  the 
precious  Holland  gin  over  which  so  many 


MOTOKIXG  ALOXG  A  KIXG'S  HIGHWAY. 


coast  guardsmen  and  smugglers  lost  their 
lives. 

Another  tombstone  of  as  great  interest 
as  that  of  Nicholas  Tattersall  is  that  of 
Martha  Gunn,  famed  for  seventy  years  as 
a  public  bather.  Several  pencil  sketches 
of  her  are  to  be  seen  upon  the  pavilion 
walls.  The  third  grave  of  an  unusual 
character  is  that  of  Phoebe  Hessell, 
dubbed  by  George  IV  "a  jolly  old  fellow,"' 
and  by  him  gallantly  granted  a  pension 
because  of  her  having  served  for  seven- 
teen years  in  various  parts  of  Europe  and 
the  West  Indies  disguised  as  a  common 
soldier  in  order  to  be  near  her  .  lover. 
Wounded  in  gallant  fight  at  the  battle  of 
Fontenoy,  she  well  deserved  her  pension  of 
£18  per  annum,  which  she  lived  to  the 
age  of  108  to  enjoy. 

Dickens  and  Thackeray  loved  Brighton 
as  "Dombey  &  Son"  and  "The  Xewcomes" 
amply  testify,  and  it  was  until  his  death 
in  1903  the  home  of  Herbert  Spencer,  as 
also  for  long  periods  the  home  of  the  well- 
known  writers,  George  Augustus  Sala  and 
William  Black.  Four  miles  to  the  west 
of  Brighton  at  Rottingdean,  Kudyard  Kip- 
ling lived  for  some  time. 

For  lovers  of  sport,  the  Brighton  race 
course  is  too  well  known  to  expatiate  upon. 
The  meets  of  the  Southdown  Foxhounds 
and  Brighton  harriers  has  perhaps  brought 
together  a  greater  number  of  prominent 


hunting  men  than  at  any  other  one  place 
in  England.  By  cricketers,  lawn  tennis 
players  and  cyclists,  the  place  is  beloved. 

For  shoppers,  a  veritable  sinking  fund 
will  be  found  in  the  long,  sinuous  line  of 
amazingly  attractive  shops  on  the  sea 
front,  where  some  of  the  smartest  London 
firms  are  represented.  Therefore  with  a 
surprisingly  full  corps  of  theatres,  music 
halls  and  other  popular  forms  of  amuse- 
ment, no  day  need  be  dull,  nor  an  even- 
ing without  its  quota  of  enjoyment  along 
such  lines. 

Leading  from  Brighton  to  the  north  at 
a  distance  of  five  and  one-half  miles,  the 
Devil's  Dyke  is  a  beautiful  bit  adored  by 
professional  and  amateur  artists.  Eiveu 
chalk  cliffs  rise  three  hundred  feet  in 
height  with,  at  the  base,  an  egg-shaped 
expanse  of  hillside,  copse  and  dale.  The 
view  from  the  top  of  the  Dyke  is  an  Eng- 
lishman's pride,  extending  as  it  does  for 
one  hundred  and  twenty  miles,  and  upon  a 
clear  day  rendering  the  Isle  of  Wight  per- 
fectly visible.  The  origin  of  this  Dyke 
is  accounted  for  by  a  legend  to  the  effect 
that  the  Devil,  overcome  with  rage  at  the 
increase  of  Christianity  in  Sussex,  essayed 
to  dig  a  vast  hole  into  which  all  churches 
should  tumble  to  the  bottomless  depths. 
Suddenly  arrested  in  his  work  by  the  ac- 
tion of  a  pious  old  dame  holding  a  taper 
out  from  her  window  to  ascertain  what  the 


Brighton   Front.     Looking  east  from  Hove. 


Brighton  Beach  and  West  Pier,  looking  west. 

noise  meant,  the  Evil  One  decamped,  to 
forever  abandon  his  devastating  work 
when  scarcely  more  than  begun. 

Eight  miles  to  the  east  of  Brighton  is 
Lewes,  the  capital  of  lovely  Sussex.  This 
as  a  place  of  interest  antedates  the  Nor- 
man conquest.  The  mound  and  castle 
crowning  it  were  built  during  Roman  oc- 
cupancy. In  the  distribution  of  booty  fol- 
lowing the  battle  of  Hastings,  Lewes  was 
portioned  by  William  the  Conqueror  to  his 
daughter,  Gundrada,  and  her  husband, 
Earl  William  de  Warrenne.  It  is  this 
particular  spot  that  William  Black  select- 
ed for  the  setting  of  his  novel,  "In  Silk 
Attire."  To  the  south  of  the  town  (a  dis- 
tance of  a  half  mile)  are  the  ruins  of  St. 
Pancras  Priory,  founded  by  this  couple, 
who  thereupon  installed  therein  a  dozen 
Cluniac  monks. 

From  here,  following  the  course  of  the 
river  Ouse  to  the  coast  line,  the  motorist 
reaches  Newhaven,  where,  if  desired/  the 
crossing  can  be  made  to  Normandy 
through  the  port  of  Dieppe. 

Seaford,  several  miles  to  the  south  on 
the  coast  indentation,  is  famed  for  its 
magnificent  downs  and  bold  scenery;  the 
chalk  cliffs,  "The  Seven  Sisters,"  is  well 
known  as  a  show  place.  It  was  at  Seaford 
that  Tennyson  wrote  his  ode  on  the  fun- 
eral of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

By  far  the  most  interesting  motor  route 
leading  out  from  Brighton  along  the  coast 


is  that  to  the  west,  with  Eottingdean  in 
the  immediate  foreground.  At  this  place, 
the  interest  of  Europeans,  as  well  as 
Americans,  centers  in  the  early  English 
church,  where  are  the  incinerated  remains 
of  Burne-Jones,  one  of  whose  masterpieces 
is  the  stained  glass  window  portraying  the 
trinity  of  Archangels — Gabriel,  Raphael 
and  Michael.  William  Black  is  also  in- 
terred at  this  place. 

Passing  through  the  village  of  Oving- 
dean,  Stanmer  Park  and  Ditchling,  tha 
motorist  comes  to  Shoreham,  where,  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Edward  III  were  assem- 
bled twenty-six  ships  intended  for  the  in- 
vasion of  France. 

Beyond  here,  for  two  miles  along  th % 
road  to  Lancing,  is  Bungalow  Town,  so 
called  because  of  the  singular  fancy  of  its 
inhabitants  for  utilizing  abandoned  rail- 
way carriages.  Three  of  these  .arranged 
in  the  form  of  the  letter  "H,"  all  covered 
by  a  common  roof,  with  occasionally  an 
attempt  at  gables,  towers,  Swiss  Chalet  ef- 
fects, constitute  a  single  dwelling.  Bought 
for  £10  each,  the  old  carriages  are  for  th« 
most  part  taken  to  Bungalow  Town  by 
speculators,  who,  to  attract  the  summer 
visitor,  gaily  decorate  them  without  and 
comfortably  furnish  them  within,  after 
which  a  rental  of  f r,om  thirty-five  shil- 
lings to  five  guineas  a  week  is  readily  ob- 
tainable. 

Somewhat  to  the  north     of     Bramber 


MOTORING  ALONG  A  KING'S  HIGHWAY. 


stand  the  remains  of  the  Castle  built  by 
William  the  Conqueror,  and  by  him  given 
to  one  of  his  nobles.  At  the  present  timo, 
it  is  the  property  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk. 
The  castle  stands  in  1200  acres  of  well- 
wooded  park,  and  is  one  of  the  most  his- 
toric in  the  United  Kingdom.  Erected 
prior  to  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.,  it  was 
in  1102  captured  after  a  long  siege  by 
Henry  I,  to  be  again  wrested  from  its 
owners  in  1139  by  Stephen,  only  later  on 
to  become  the  prize  of  war  to  Parliamen- 
tary forces  under  Sir  William  Waller, 
who  for  seventeen  days  vigorously  brought 
the  then  up-to-dateness  of  warfare  to  ac- 
complish this  end.  . 

Further  on  is  Cowfield,  where  is  the 
Carthusian  monastery.  The  monks  con- 
secrated to  silence  occupy  their  time  for 
the  most  part  in  artistic  work,  in  which 
carving  holds  prominent  place.  Each  oc- 
cupies a  solitary  cell  with  a  strip  of  gar- 
den attached,  which  he  cultivates.  At 
meal  times  food  is  thrust  through  the  cell 
window  by  a  lay  brother. 

To  the  west  of  Shoreham  is  Worthing, 
a  great  winter  resort  for  persons  with  lung 
troubles.  With  a  climate  similar  to  that 
of  Torquay,  it  is  from  this  seaside  place 
that  the  London  markets  are  supplied 
with  earh"  vegetables  and  fruits,  as  any 
one  looking  over  the  twenty  miles  of  hot- 
houses and  forcing  beds  can  easily  credit. 


Wheat  -is  cut  at  Worthing  from  two  to 
three  weeks  in  advance  of  the  crops  in  the 
north  of  England.  That  the  markets  are 
no  modern  outcropping  of  the  twentieth 
century  demand  is  shown  by  the  charter 
granted  for  holding  a  market  there  by 
Edward  III.  It  was  in  those  early  days, 
in  common  with  all  of  the  coast  places,  a 
famous  abode  of  smugglers. 

As  a  health  resort,  it  was  patronized  in 
the  reign  of  George  III,  when  his  daugh- 
ter, the  Princess  Amelia,  vainly  sought  to 
re-establish  her  health  during  the  winter 
spent  there.  Later,  George  IV's  contemp- 
tuously discarded  Queen  Caroline  of 
Brunswick,  and  her  ill-fated  daughter,  the 
Princess  Charlotte,  spent  some  time  there 
while  the  king  held  high  carnival  at 
Brighton. 

At  West  Tarring  are  the  celebrated  fig 
gardens  planted  by  Thomas  a  Becket,  the 
place  having  in  his  time  belonged  to  the 
See  of  Canterbury.  The  cottages  belong 
for  the  most  part  to  the  Elizabethan 
period,  in  consequence  of  which  quaint- 
ness  is  the  all-prevailing  charm  of  the  sim- 
ple little  village. 

The  Automobile  Club  of  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland,  with  sumptuous  headquar- 
ters at  119  Piccadilly,  London,  W.  (male 
membership  only)  is  the  leading  organi- 
zation of  the  kind  in  Europe,  and  makes 
frequent  notable  runs  to  Brighton.  The 


Royal    Pavilion — Main    entrance. 


Rough   sea  at  Brighton. 

membership  of  this  club,  obtained  in  iden- 
tical manner  with  that  of  any  in  the 
United  States  entitles  one  to  full  privil- 
eges of  all  similar  Continental  clubs.  The 
fact  that  an  American  belongs  to  a  club 
of  good  standing  in  the  United  States 
serves  in  place  of  a  second  for  him  after 
his  name  has  been  set  up  on  the  London 
Board  by  a  member  of  this  English  or- 
ganization. Under  direct  patronage  of 


the  King,  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  of  Wales  is 
vice-president.  The  Duke  of  Sutherland 
is  President,  with  as  vice-president  the 
Earl  of  Onslow,  Lord  Stanley  and  Sir  Ed- 
ward Salomons. 

For  town  members,  the  entrance  fee  is 
£6  6s. ;  subscription  £8  8s. ;  for  country 
members,  £6  6s. ;  subscription,  £5  5s. ;  for 
life  members,  £84. 

A  member  cannot  become  a  life  member 


The  Dome,   Royal  Pavilion,   where  large  concerts  take  place,  accommodating  3,000  people. 


Brighton  Beach  and  Palace  Pier,  looking  east. 

until  at  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  his 
membership,  as  all  members  are  subject  to 
re-election  at  the  end  of  the  first  year. 

The  Ladies'  Automobile  Club  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,  while  not  identical 
with  the  above  is  affiliated  with  it,  and 
enjoys  the  same  privileges  and  benefits 
while  touring.  The  headquarters  of  the 
Ladies'  Club  is  at  Claridges  Hotel,  Brooke 
street,  Grosvenor  Square,  London.  To 


this  the  admission  fee  is  £5  5s.,  with  sub- 
scription fee  of  the  same  amount. 

When  a  person  is  admitted  to  -member- 
ship in  either  the  Men's  or  Ladies'  Auto- 
mobile Club  of  Great  Britain,  the  elec- 
tions, when  made  prior  to  October,  expires 
with  the  following  31st  of  December. 
Where,  however,  it  is  made  on  or  after 
October  1st,  the  membership  extends  to  a 
year  from  the  following  1st  of  January. 


Metropole  and  Grand   Hotels. 


ha 

6 


LM® 


BY    D.    W.    BRONSON 


HISTORY  does  not  tell  us  of  a  bat- 
tle, with  the  exception  of  Water- 
loo, that  has  been  so  grossly  mis- 
represented, and  over  which  there  has  been 
such  a  controversy,  as  the  "Custer  Mas- 
sacre." It  is  a  record  of  shame  and  a  blot 
that  can  never  be  erased,  for  the  death  of 
brave  General  George  A.  Custer,  in  his 
fight  with  the  Sioux  Indians,  on  the  Little 
Big  Horn,  can  be  traced  directly  to  the 
pledged  word  of  the  Government,  at 
Washington.  The  Indians  were,  beyond 
a  doubt  better  equipped  than  the  soldiers 
under  the  command  of  Custer,  and  this 
equipment  was  received  from  the  Govern- 
ment's established  Indian  Agencies.  It 
is  practically  the  same  as  a  king  furnish- 
ing an  enemy  with  better  arms  than  those 
carried  by  his  own  soldiers.  In  the  mind 
of  the  person  who  has  made  this  memor- 
able battle  a  study,  the  Government  com- 
mitted no  criminal  act,  but  was  simply 
negligent  in  not  interfering  with  the  post 
soldiers  who  sold  the  Indians  their  fire- 
arms. 

Bancroft  in  his  "History  of  the.  United 
States"  holds  Custer  up  as  a  suicide,  and 
holds  him  responsible  for  the  lives  of  the 
soldiers  he  took  into  action  with  him.  Al- 
most any  old  soldier  who  knows  Custer 
will  say  of  him  that  "Custer  was  a  fine 
officer  during  the  rebellion,  but  after  its 
close,  having  had  his  head  turned  by  rapid 
promotion,  he  made  many  enemies  by  his 
disagreeable  conceit.  This  conceit  was 
only  increased  by  his  success  as  an  Indian 
fighter.  Then  he  got  into  trouble  with  the 
headquarters  at  Washington.  When  he 
was  on  this  last  campaign,  he  was  especial- 
ly anxious  to  do  something  brilliant,  so  as 
to  re-instate  himself  as  a  hero,  and  get 
back  on  safe  ground  with  his  relations 
with  the  authorities.  He  only  wanted  to 
see  Indians ;  that  was  enough.  The  larger 
the  body  he  whipped,  and  the  fewer  men 
he  had  to  do  it  with,  the  greater  his  glory. 
He  was  ready  to  stake  everything  on  the 
throw,  and  he  did  so.  He  was  a  gambler 
for  glory,  and  he  lost.  Custer's  soldiers 


did  not  swear  by  him,  for  he  was  too 
strict  a  disciplinarian. 

There  are  very  few  people  who  believe 
in  Glister's  good  generalship  and  judg- 
ment, except  it  be  Frederick  Whittaker, 
his  biographer,  and  Mrs.  Custer.  The 
consequence  of  this  misrepresentation  are 
far-reaching  and  almost  universal. 

General  Grant  was,  in  a  measure,  per- 
sonally responsible  for  Custer's  death,  and 
from  a  cause  that  was  decidedly  unwor- 
thy a  man  of  his  calibre — personal  spite. 
In  the  process  of  working  this  out  on  Cus- 
ter, he  took  away  a  large  amount  of  the 
latter's  prestige  and  authority.  The  bear- 
ing of  this  appears  in  the  story  of  the  fight 
— which  in  brief  is  as  follows :  Custer  was 
with  the  expedition  under  command  of 
General  Terry,  against  hostile  Indians.  By 
General  Terry's  orders,  he  took  his  own 
regiment — the  Seventh  Cavalry — and 
started  on  a  scout.  He  found  the  trail 
of  a  large  band  of  Indians,  and  separated 
his  command  into  four  parts,  giving  Cap- 
tain Benteen  and  Major  Reno  each  com- 
mand of  three  companies,  leaving  one 
company  in  charge  of  the  packs,  and 
taking  five  companies  himself. 

Reno  and  Benteen  were  to  make  detours 
and  the  three  commands  were  to  fall  upon 
the  Indians  simultaneously  from  different 
directions,  this  being  the  usual  method, 
proved  by  many  trials  to  be  the  best,  of 
fighting  Indians.  After  the  companies 
separated,  Custer  came,  upon  the  village. 
He  sent  word  to  Benteen  to  hurry  up. 
Reno  got  no  message.  Now,  unfortunate- 
ly, these  two  men  came  out  alive,  and 
Custer  didn't.  Reno  wrote  afterwards 
that  he  went  in,  and  met  the  Indians  in 
such  tremendous  numbers  that  it  was  fool- 
hardy to  attempt  to  go  further.  He  seemed 
to  have  been  badly  flustered,  for  he  mount- 
ed and  dismounted  his  men  four  times,  in 
a  miserable  state  of  indecision.  He  finally 
retreated  to  a  safe  spot  and  remained  there 
until  General  Gibbons  came  up  and  re- 
lieved him.  Benteen  met  Reno  that  day, 
but  he  did  not  make  a  verv  determined 


50 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


effort  to  get  to  Custer  and  help  him  out. 
"Reno's  cowardice  and  Benteen's  disobed- 
ience," says  Ouster's  biographers,  "lost  the 
Custer  fight."  What  he  hints  at  is,  that 
but  for  President  Grant's  action  in  hu- 
miliating Custer,  neither  Reno  or  Ben- 
teen  would  have  dared  to  do  anything  but 
obey  Custer  to  the  letter,  and  that  then, 
Custer's  plans  being  carried  out,  the  fight 
would  have  had  the  same  victorious  end- 
ing that  had  characterized  all  previous 
fights  where  Custer  had  been  in  the  com- 
mand. 

The  Indians  think  that  this  would  have 
made  no  difference,  and  that  the  white 
men  were  simply  out-generaled  by  Sitting 
Bull.  Rain-in-the-Face  (Itiomagaju)  the 
slayer  of  Captain  Tom  Custer,  is  a  very 
peaceable  and  law-abiding  citizen  now,  but 
when  he  was  a  young  man  he  was  danger- 
ous and  had  a  heart  of  iron.  The  squaws 
were  great  admirers  of  him,  for  his  dar- 
ing, but  all  the  bucks  were  afraid  of  him, 
for  to  displease  him  meant  death.  He 
loves  whiskey,  and  the  only  possible  way  to 
persuade  him  to  talk  about  the  Custer 
Massacre  is  to  get  him  drunk,  and  even 
then,  sometimes,  he  will  refuse  to  say  a 
single  word.  He  measures  forty-six  inches 
around  his  chest,  stands  five  feet  nine  in- 
ches and  weighs  one  hundred  and  ninety- 
five  pounds.  His  great  daring  is  shown  in 
an  incident  that  occurred  while  he  was 
encamped  at  Standing  Rock  with  Chief 
Gall  and  Sitting  Bull.  One  night  a  girl 
dared  him  to  go  to  Fort  Lincoln  and  kill 
a  white  man.  He  told  her  it  was  too  risky, 
,  as  the  white  men  always  kept  watch.  Be- 
sides, the  Rees  (another  tribe  of  Indians 
employed  by  the  Government  as  scouts) 
had  their  lodges  on  the  hill  back  of  the 
fort.  She  said  to  him :  "A  brave  man  fears 
nothing.  If  you  are  a  coward,  don't  go. 
I'll  ask  some  other  young  man  who  isn't 
afraid,  if  he  hasn't  danced  in  the  sun- 
dance/'  (This  was  a  torture  dance  in 
which  "Rain-in-the-Face,"  in  1872,  un- 
derwent the  most  horrible  self-torture 
ever  inflicted.)  The  other  young  girls 
laughed,  but  the  men  who  heard  it  did  not. 
They  feared  him,  for  they  knew  he  would 
have  killed  them  for  laughing.  He  went 
to  his  lodge  and  painted  himself  black,  the 
color  used  by  an  Indian  on  the  war-path, 
took  his  gun,  bow  and  pony,  and  slipped 
out  of  camp,  for  Sitting  Bull  had  forbid- 
den any  one  to  leave  without  his  permis- 


sion. He  rode  forty-five  miles  north  to 
Lincoln,  opposite  the  present  site  of  Bis- 
marck, North  Dakota.  One  morning,  af- 
ter he  had  been  there  about  a  week,  the 
sutler,  or  store-keeper,  and  United  States 
Veterinary  Surgeon  Huntsinger,  rode  out 
to  a  spring  to  water  their  horses,  but  be- 
fore they  reached  it,  Rain-in-the-Face 
rushed  from  his  ambush  and  shot  them 
both,  brained  the  horse  of  the  sutler,  cut 
some  brass  buttons  from  the  surgeon's 
coat,  and  then  retreated.  Custer  heard 
the  shots,  and  had  his  troop  charge  back, 
but  Rain-in-the-Face  was  on  his  pony  far 
in  advance  by  this  time.  They  pursued 
him  twenty-five  miles  to  the  Cannon  Ball, 
where  they  gave  up  the  pursuit.  Charlie 
Reynolds,  a  scout,  knew  him,  and  in- 
formed Custer  who  committed  the  deed. 
Next  winter  "Rain-in-the-Face"  went  to 
the  agency  store  at  Standing  Rock.  If 
he  had  consented  to  sign  the  peace  treaty, 
which  would  have  compelled  him  to  live 
on  the  reservation,  under  military  super- 
vision, he  could  have  drawn  rations,  fur- 
nished by  the  Government  twice  a  month, 
but  this  he  would  never  consent  to  do. 
Tom  Custer  was  in  the  store  one  evening 
.when  he  happened  to  come  in,  and  cap- 
tured him,  and  took  him  in  an  ambulance 
to  a  guard  house  in  Lincoln.  He  was 
chained  to  the  wall,  and  given  one  blan- 
ket to  keep  the  snow  off  him,  which  blew 
through  the  cracks  in  the  wall.  On  one 
occasion,  he  was  taken  out  and  told  that 
he  could  run  away  if  he  wanted  to,  but 
that  the  soldiers  would  begin  to  shoot  at 
him  after  he  had  went  one  hundred  yards. 
He  told  Tom  Custer  that  he  was  not  ready 
to  break  away  yet,  but  that  when  he  did, 
he  would  come  back  and  cut  his  'heart  out 
and  eat  it.  One  night,  with  the  assistance 
of  a  white  man,  he  escaped.  The  soldiers 
on  duty  fired  on  him,  but  missed,  and  he 
made  good  his  escape.  He  hid  in  the  brush 
on  the  Hart  river,  and  filed  his  chains  off 
with  a  file  the  white  man  had  given  him. 
Next  day  he  joined  Gall  and  Sitting  Bull, 
where  the  soldiers  were  afraid  to  follow 
and  attempt  his  capture.  He  sent, a  draw- 
ing of  a  bloody  heart,  on  a  piece  of  buck- 
skin to  Tom  Custer,  to  remind  him  of  hin 
oath,  and  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  next 
time  they  met  it  was  in  that  famous  bat- 
tle, and  he  fulfilled  his  vow  by  killing 
Tom,  tearing  his  heart  out,  and  chewing  it 
as  he  rode  away  on  his  pony. 


'Crazy  Horse"  and  son. 


John  R.   Selover,  Photo. 


OVERLAND   MONTHLY. 


Before  the  battle,  Sitting  Bull  made 
medicine  on  a  hill,  and  when  he  returned, 
he  had  it  in  a  bag  on  the  end  of  a  stick. 
He  made  a  speech  to  the  six  thousand  In- 
dians under  his  command,  and  told  them 
that  Waukantonka,  the  great  spirit,  had 
come  to  him  riding  on  an  eagle,  and  told 
him  that  the  white  men  were  coming,  but 
that  the  Indians  would  wipe  them  off  the 
face  of  the  earth.  The  next  day,  Sitting 
Bull's  scouts  came  in  and  reported  the 
white  men  at  hand.  He  then  had  his  In- 
dians construct  lodges  along  the  bend  of 
the  river  to  deceive  the  Eee  scouts,  who 
were  employed  by  the  Government,  when 
they  came  up  and  looked  down  over  the 
bluff.  The  brush  and  the  bend  in  the 
river  hid  the  lodges  the  Indians  were  oc- 
cupying. Then  Sitting  Bull  went  away  to 
make  more  medicine,  and  did  not  come 
back  until  the  fight  was  over.  Gall  was 
the  head  chief;  Crazy  Horse  led  the 
Cheyennes;  Goose  the  Bannocks.  Rain- 
in-the-Face  was  not  a  head  chief;  his 
brother,  Iron  Horse,  was,  but  he  had  a 
band  of  the  worst  Uncapapas,  all  of 
whom  had  killed  more  enemies  than  they 
had  fingers  and  toes. 

When  the  white  men  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance, the  Indians  knew  their  ponLs 
were  tired  out,  and  they  also  knew  they 
were  fooled  by  the  false  lodges  that  had 
been  put  up.  Ouster  thought  that  the  In- 
dians were  but  a  handful,  so  he  separated 
his  command,  sending  Reno  around  to  at- 
tack them  in  the  rear.  Chief  Gall  took 
most  of  the  Indians  up  the  river  to  sepa- 
rate Ouster  and  Reno,  which  feat  he  suc- 
ceeded in  accomplishing,  and  it  was  Gall's 
party  that  attacked  Reno's  command  and 
drove  them  across  the  river.  Gall  had 
them  surrounded  on  top  of  a  hill  for  three 
days,  and  they  would  have  been  extermi- 
nated if  it  had  not  been  for  the  bravery 
of  the  officers  under  Reno,  who  virtually 
took  command  until  finally  rescued  'by 
General  Gibbons. 

The  Indians  were  very  much  elated 
when  the  Ree  scouts  remained  with  Ous- 
ter, they  being  especially  anxious  to  kill 
them  on  account  of  their  loyalty  to  the 
United  States  Government. 

The  Indians  now  showed  themselves, 
and  the  white  men  charged,  but  wece 
obliged  to  fall  back  from  the  terrific  fire 
that  was  opened  up  on  them.  Another 
band  of  Indians  who  had  cut  Ouster  off 


in  the  rear,  now  opened  fire,  and  the  entire 
Indian  force  closed  around  his  little  band 
of  brave  men  and  swept  upon  them  like 
breakers  on  a  lonely  isle.  Every  fourth 
man  held  the  ponies  of  the  other  threo. 
The  first  thing  the  Indians  did  was  to 
stampede  the  ponies  by  waving  blankets 
in  their  faces,  and  shooting  the  men  who 
were  holding  them.  The  ponies  were  cap- 
tured by  the  squaws. 

Rain-in-the-Face  now  rushed  upon  the 
field  of  battle,  and  took  their  flag,  braining 
the  soldier  who  held  it  with  his  war-club. 
His  horse  had  been  shot  from  under  him 
a  few  moments  before,  but  he  had  cut  the 
thongs  that  bound  him  to  it  before  any 
soldier  could  kill  him.  The  Indians  al- 
ways tie  themselves  to  their  horses  when 
they  go  into  battle,  so  if  they  are  killed 
the  horse  will  carry  their  body  away,  and 
it  will  not  be  left  on  the  field.  In  a  short 
time,  Rain-in-the-Face  had  another  pony 
shot  from  under  him,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  go  back  and  get  another.  It  was  after 
he  returned  with  this  last  horse  that  he 
first  saw  Tom  Ouster,  and  remembered  his 
vow.  He  was  obliged  to  kill  several  sol- 
diers before  he  got  to  him,  and  when  he 
was  quite  close  he  shot  him  with  his  revol- 
ver, his  gun  having  been  lost.  After  he 
had  killed  Tom,  he  cut  his  heart  out,  and 
biting  out  a  piece  of  it,  spit  it  in  the  face 
of  a  wounded  soldier  who  was  lying  near- 
by. He  then  rode  away,  waving  what  was 
left  of  Tom  Ouster's  heart  in  the  air,  and 
did  not  come  back  until  the  fight  was  over. 

The  squaws  now  came  on  the  field  and 
killed  the  wounded,  taking  their  money, 
watches,  rings  and  their  boot-legs  for  moc- 
casin soles.  They  cut  off  the  soldiers'  fin- 
gers to  get  the  rings  they  wore  off  quicker. 
The  Indians  made  a  fruitless  search  for 
General  Ouster,  but  could  not  find  him. 
He  did  not  have  on  his  uniform,  and  had 
his  long  yellow  curls  cut  off  some  weeks 
before,  and  it  was  for  these  reasons  that 
the  Indians  did  not  find  him,  and  he  was 
not  scalped. 

The  night  after  the  battle,  the  Indians 
had  a  feast  and  scalp-dance.  Sitting  Bull 
made  them  a  speech,  telling  them  he  kne\v 
how  the  battle  was  going  to  turn  out,  and 
that  it  was  he  who  had  made  their  hearts 
brave.  The  same  night,  Gall  and  Sitting 
Bull  had  a  quarrel  because  Gall  command- 
ed in  the  battle,  while  Sitting  Bull  only 
made  medicine,  and  yet  Sitting  Bull 


A.   young   Sioux  warrior. 


John  R.  Selover,  Photo. 


-  0¥-EKL  ANB   MONTHLY. 


"Rain    in    the    Face,"    the    slayer    of    Captain 
Tom   Custer. 

Drawn    by    Bolmar. 


wanted  to  be  chief -after  that.  Some  of 
the  Indians  thought  Gall  was  in  the  right 
and  went  with  him,  and  the  ones  who 
were  in  favor  of  Sitting  Bull  rallied  to  his 
support.  The  quarrel  was  the  only  thing 
that  saved  Eeno's  command  on  the  hill, 
for  the  Indians  could  easily  have  sur- 
rounded and  killed  them  all. 

Kain-in-the-Face  says  he  does  not  know 
who  killed  General  Custer,  and  that  Cur- 
ley,  the  Crow  scout,  who  claimed  to  have 
escaped,  is  a  liar,  and  that  he  was  never 
in  the  fight,  but  he  admits  that  "one  sol- 
dier did  escape.  He  said  his  horse  rail 
away  with  him  and  took  him  past  the  In- 
dian lodges,  and  that  he  was  shot  at  by 
several  squaws. 

Bain-in-the-Face  is  about  sixty  years 
old  now,  and  can  write  his  name  in  Eng- 
lish, but  he  does  not  know  what  it  stands 
for  after  he  has  written  it.  His  vocabu- 
lary consists  of  about  thirty  words,  and 
he  cannot  speak  these  very  plainly,  al- 
though he  can  understand  almost  anything 
spoken  to  him  in  English.  He  is  very 
grateful  for  the  favors  to  come,  but  has 
little  gratitude  for  the  ones  already  shown 
him.  He  is  a  man  absolutely  heartless, 
has  no  principle, .  is  physically  brave,  but 
he  is  a  coward  morally.  When  he  makes 
a  promise  he  will  stand  by  it,  but  it  takes 
a  great  deal  of  persuasion  to  make  him 
promise  to  do  anything.  His  appearance 
reminds  one  of  a  Hercules.  He  says  that 
the  Indians  were  better  armed  than  the 


white  men,  and  that  their  guns  would  not 
shoot  but  once,  and  then  the  ejector  would 
not  throw  out  the  empty  shell.  This  is 
correct,  as  dozens  of  guns  were  picked  up 
by  General  Gibbons'  command,  two  days 
after,  with  the  shell  still  in  trie" gun,  show- 
ing that  the  ejectors  would  not  work,,.  Con' 
sequently  the  Indians  saved  their  Imllets 
and  killed  the  whites  with  their  war  clubs 
just  as  they  would  kill  corralled  sheep. 

The  feud  between  Custer  and  President 
Grant  began  in  the  year  1876,  and  arose 
over  the  trial  of  Secretary  of  War  Bel- 
knap,  a  personal  friend  of  President 
Grant,  for  dishonesty  in  office,  in  connec- 
tion with  supplies  for  the  army,  and  his 
conduct  was  being  looked  into  by  a  com- 
mittee, authorized  by  Congress.  Some 
grain  was  sent  to  Custer,  who  refused  to 
accept  it  because  it  was  in  the  stamped 
bags  of  the  Indian  Bureau.  He  was  after- 
ward compelled  to  accept  the  grain  by  an 
"0.  K."  order  which  he  thought  came 
from  Belknap.  Not  thinking  what  he  was 
doing,  he  mentioned  the  affair  to  an  inti- 
mate friend,  who  repeated  it,  and  the  re- 
sult was  that  Custer  was  summoned  to 
Washington  to  testify  in  the  case.  He  left 
the  border  very  reluctantly,  as  the  cam- 
paign was  about  to  begin.  After  being- 
detained  in  Washington  several  months, 
very  much  against  his  will,  he  gave  his 
testimony  in  the  case.  Belknap  was  about 
the  warmest  friend  Grant  ever  had,  and  he 
never  forgave  anybody  who  injured  him. 
After  some  investigation,  Custer  found 
that  the  "0.  K."  order  had  come  from 
General  Terry,  and  communicated  this  to 
the  investigating  committee,  thereby  re- 
tracting his  belief  that  Belknap  had  been 
the  signer.  Grant  was  terribly  provoked 
at  Custer  for  this  act,  and  thought  that 
Gustef  Jiad  really  tried  to  injure  Belknap. 
He  made  things  very  disagreeable  and  un- 
comfortable for  Custer  the  rest  of  his  stay 
in  Washington.  Custer  was  compelled 
to  remain  a  long  time  after  his  duties  were 
performed,  by  Grant,  the  latter  refusing 
to  see  Custer  three  times  when  he  called 
on  him.  These  calls  were  required  by  the 
etiquette  of  the  service.  At  one  time  Cus- 
ter was  patiently  waiting  in  the  ante-room 
among  callers  of  no  importance,  when 
Senator  Ingalls  saw  him,  and  was  told  of 
his  treatment  at  the  hands  of  the  Presi- 
dent, by  Custer  himself.  He  immediately 
interceded  with  the  President,  but  all  he 


THE  STORY  OF  THE   LITTLE  BIG  HORX. 


55 


could  persuade  Grant  to  do  was  to  dismiss 
Ouster,  absolutely  refusing  to  give  him  an 
audience.  Custer  now  went  over  and 
called  on  Sherman,  the  commander-in- 
chief,  but  could  not  see  him,  as  he  was 
in  Xew  York.  He  and  Sherman  had  an 
agreement,  however,  that  he  was  to  leave 
for  the  West  the  same  night  he  was  dis- 
missed. He  left  his  card  and  took  the 
evening  train.  When  he  arrived  in  Chi- 
cago, he  received  a  telegraphed  order  from 
Sherman,  by  which  he  was  practically 
placed  under  arrest;  his  offense,  as  stated, 
was  "neglecting  to  call  on  the  commander- 
in-chief  and  the  President."  It  was  no 
fault  of  his  that  he  had  not,  for  he  tried 
time  and  again  to,  but  was  refused  an  au- 
dience. Sherman  and  Custer  were  warm 
friends,  and  Sherman  was  too  much  of  a 
soldier  to  keep  Custer  away  from  his  regi- 
ment when  it  was  just  taking  the  field. 
There  is  hardly  any  doubt  but  that  Grant 
dictated  the  order.  This  caused  a  great 
commotion  in  the  army,  and  all  the  offi- 
cers in  the  expedition  joined  in  a  petition 
to  permit  Custer  to  accompany  his  regi- 
ment, as  he  was  recognized  to  be  one  of 
the  best  Indian  fighters  in  the  country. 
After  a  prolonged  delay  he  was  finally 
given  permission  to  go,  but  his  authority 
was  gone,  and  men  of  Reno's  calibre  knew 
it,  and  taking  advantage  of  it,  left  him  to 
die  when  they  should  have  gone  to  his  res- 
cue. Custer  saw  more  Indians  than  Reno 
did,  and  could  easily  have  retreated,  but 
held  on  and  fought  while  Reno  retreated, 
as  he  says,  "before  an  overwhelming 
force." 

The  Government  broke  the  treaty  of 
1868,  in  which  they  had  promised  the 
Sioux  that  the  Black  Hills  and  vicinity 
should  not  be  invaded  by  the  whito  man. 
as  the  Indians  regarded  this  territory  as 
sacred. 

When  the  report  became  generally 
known  that  there  were  large  quantities  of 
gold  in  the  Black  Hills,  this  locality  was 
immediately  filled  with  miners. 

In  July,  1874,  the  Government  violated 
its  pledged  word  by  sending  Custer  as  an 
escort  to  a  scientific  expedition  to  spy  out 
the  land.  It  was  reported  by  General 
Hazen  to  be  uninhabitable  and  extremely 
desolate,  but  Custer  found  it  to  be  a  para- 
dise. The  matter  was  to  be  determined  by 
this  expedition  in  1874,  and  there  is  little 
doubt  but  that  the  Government  intended 


to  confiscate  this  territory  if  it  was  found 
to  be  worth  it. 

"All  subsequent  acts  of  the  Govern- 
ment," says  Custer's  biographer,  "were 
merely  attempts  at  palliation  of  this  first 
offense  and  it  is  an  example  of  poetic  jus- 
tice that  the  man,  obeying  his  orders,  car- 
ried out  the  act  of  treachery:  should  be 
the  very  man  to  be  overwhelmed  and  lose 
his  life  in  the  outcome." 

The  detractors  of  Custer  say  he  was 
rash  to  a  degree,  and  in  proof  of  it  say 
that  he  attacked  a  vastly  larger  force  of 
Indians  than  he  should  with  the  limited 
number  of  men  under  his  command,  but 
this  is  no  argument  at  all,  for  the  Indians 
were  not  more  than  six  to  one,  and  he  had 
beaten  them  at  larger  odds  than  this  be- 
fore. Of  course,  nobody  can  tell  how 
the  battle  would  have  turned  out  if  Reno 
and  Benteen  had  done  what  Custer  expect- 
ed them  to.  Rain-in-the-Face  says  it  would 
have  been  an  Indian  victory  anyway,  but 
there  is  the  record  of  the  battle  of  the  Wa- 
shita  against  this,  for  at  that  engagement 
Custer  whipped  a  force  of  Indians  that 
had  ten  times  the  number  of  men  he  did. 
The  facts  are  simply  these:  "By  a  combi- 
nation of  treachery  on  the  part  of  the 
Government  he  was  faithfully  serving, 
spite  from  the  President  whom  he  had  un- 
wittingly and  unwillingly  offended,  and 
disobedience  and  cowardice  on  the  part  of 
his  inferior  officers,  General  Custer  was 
killed."  And  the  worst  of  it  all  is,  that 


"Sitting  Bull,"  the  Sioux  medicine  man. 
Through  his  predictions,  the  Indians  were 
spurred  to  victory. 

Drawn    by    Bolmar. 


Sioux  Indian's  home. 

having  nobody  to  defend  his  name,  Ous- 
ter will  probably  go  down  in  history  as  a 
rash,  head-strong  man,  who  was  to  be 
blamed  for  his  own  death  and  for  the  ex- 
termination of  his  whole  command. 

In  1876,  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
was  appropriated,  for  which  consideration 
the  Sioux  agreed  to  surrender  their  treaty 
privilege  of  hunting  in  Nebraska.  They 
were  also  induced  to  relinquish  such  claim 
as  they  possessed  to  that  portion  of  Ne- 
braska, lying  south  of  the  south  divide  of 
the  Niobrara  Eiver,  which,  by  the  terms 
of  the  treaty  of  1868,  "should  be  held  and 
considered  unceded  Indian  territory,  and 
no  white  person  or  persons  should  be -per- 
mitted to  settle  on  or  occupy  any  portion 
of  the  same,  or,  without  the  consent  of 
the  Indian  first,  had  and  obtained,  should 
pass  through  the  same." 

The  Sioux  never  having  made  a  clear 
distinction  between  the  territory  described 
by  the  treaty  of  1868  as  neutral  and  that 
designated  as  their  permanent  reservation, 
were  very  unwilling  to  accede  to  the  wishes 
of  the  department,  and  consented  to  the 
cession  of  their  rights  in  the  above-de- 
scribed territory  only  on  receiving  the 


pledge,  given  by  the  Secretary  of  the  In- 
terior, that  their  request  for  an  additional 
$25,000  in  consideration  of  such  cession 
should  be  presented  to  Congress,  which 
was  done,  and  it  was  granted. 

The  Indians  expended  their  money  in 
the  purchase  of  cows,  horses,  harness  and 
wagons,  and  this  was  certainly  a  guarantee 
that  all  amounts  that  should  be  hereafter 
appropriated  would  be  of  direct  assistance 
to  the  Government  in  carrying  out  its  pur- 
poses for  their  civilization. 

All  the  brave  men  who  fell  in  the  "Cus- 
ter  Massacre"  are  interred  around  a  monu- 
ment which  was  erected  by  the  United 
States  Government  in  1879,  and  the  battle 
field  was  made  a  National  Cemetery.  The 
monument  is  on  the  spot  where  Custer  fell . 
On  it  are  inscribed  the  names  and  titles 
of  the  men  who  lost  their  lives  in  the  bat- 
tle. The  General's  remains  were  removed 
to  the  United  States  Cemetery  at  West 
Point,  New  York.  Summed  up,  Custer's 
qualities  were  as  follows :  "Truth  and  sin- 
cerity, honor  and  bravery,  tenderness  and 
sympathy,  unassuming  piety  and  temper- 
ance." These  were  the  mainspring  of  Cus- 
ter, the  man. 


BY    AUSTIN    LEWIS 


WE  all  remember  \Vfclt  Whitman's 
prophecy  of  the  future  of  the 
United  States,  and  of  the  kind 
of  men  and  women  who  were  to  make  the 
country  the  crowning  nower  of  all  the  best 
that  the  world  has  ever  seen.  The  results 
of  the  few  years  which  have  elapsed  since 
Whitman  wrote  have  not  been  kind  to  his 
prophecy.  Instead  of  being  a  nation 
whose  sons  and  daughters  are  advancing 
to  the  brilliant  destiny  which  the  apostle 
of  democracy  considered  would  be  natur- 
ally theirs,  we  are  confronted  by  deterio- 
ration in  the  national  education,  by  in- 
crease in  crime,  an  increase,  indeed,  un- 
paralleled in  the  records  of  other  peoples, 
and  by  a  display  of  those  evils  which  spell 
destruction  to  a  Government  founded  on 
democracy,  for  they  strike  at  the  very 
root  of  democratic  rule.  So  evident  have 
been  the  tendencies  towards  crime  in  this 
country  that  one  authority  has  in  all 
gravity  recommended  a  return  to  lynch 
law  in  order  to  make  up  for  the  deficien- 
cies of  the  courts;  and  another,  no  less  a 
person  than  the  President,  has  recom- 
mended the  restoration  of  the  whipping- 
post. Neither  of  these  recommendations, 
it  may  be  noted,  are  in  line  with  modern 
ideals,  nor  are  they  to  be  considered  as  in 
keeping  with  the  distinguished  position 
of  their  authors.  Still  the  facts  are  such 
as  to  require  apparently  some  sort  of  he- 
roic treatment. 

We  have  relied  upon  education  to  fur- 
nish the  material  for  the  manufacture  of 
good  citizens.  Our  Dublic  school  system 
has  received  perhaps  greater  laudatioa 
than  any  part  of  our  administrative  struc- 
ture, but  after  all  these  years  of  experience 
can  it  confidently  be  proclaimed  that  our 
public  school  system  is  a  success?  The 
very  suggestion  at  the  hands  of  an  out- 
sider would  provoke  us  to  wrathful  de- 
fense in  support  of  our  pet  institution, 
but  there  are  evidences  that  the  effects  of 
the  public  school  training  were  creating 
misgivings  in  the  minds  of  observant  citi- 
zens over  twenty  years  ago.  Thus,  Cardi- 


nal Manning,  in  an  article,  about  that 
length  of  time  since,  quoted  the  Alta 
California  to  the  following  effect:  "If  we 
are  to  judge  this  system  bv  its  apparent 
fruits,  we  shall  have  to  pronounce  it  not 
only  a  melancholy  but  a  most  disastrous 
failure,  and  that  it  would  be  idle  to  look 
for  the  cause  of  the  general  idleness  and 
viciousness  anywhere  but  in  the  training 
which  it  has  received."  And  Arch-deacon 
Farrar  directs  his  attacks  against  the 
English  national  school  education  in 
somewhat  similar  language,  when  he 
says :  "After  twenty  years  of  education  we 
have  taught  neither  self-respect  nor  the 
means  of  earning  a  livelihood.  Our 
streets  are  filled  with  a  mob  of  careless 
youth  and  our  labor  market  is  over-stocked 
with  workers  whose  work  is  not  worth  four 
pence  an  hour."  It  hence  appears  that 
those  good  citizens  which  should  have  been 
turned  out  in  such  quantities  by  our  edu- 
cational mill  are  not  forthcoming,  and 
that  the  system  has  not  worked,  as  a 
means  of  national  regeneration,,  at  least, 
to  any  very  appreciable  extent. 

People  expected  something  different. 
The  anticipations  of  the  benefits  to  be  de- 
rived from  a  free  and  extensive  system  of 
public  education  are  not  confined  to  this 
country.  Even  in  the  days  of  the  French 
Directory  we  find  Quinette  full  of  educa- 
tional ideals  and  absolutely  limitless  con- 
ceptions of  the  good  which  would  accrue 
to  the  community  at  large  from  the  new 
educational  plans.  Eoussean  states  the 
purposes  of  public  education  to  be  the 
giving  to  people  "healthy  principles  of 
public  and  private  morality  with  the  de- 
velopment necessary  to  make  virtuous 
citizens,  enlightened  with  regard  to  their 
own  interests  and  those  of  the  country." 
Fenelon,  in  "Education  of  a  Prince,"  says 
that  "education  ought  to  develop  the  soul 
as  well  as  the  body,  and  to  prepare  them 
for  the  struggle  of  life."  Hence,  educa- 
tion is  regarded  as  a  social  function  by 
which  the  educated  person  becomes  more 
fitted  to  discharge  his  duties  as  a  member 


58 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


of  society.  And  this  has  indeed  been  the 
purpose  of  education  in  all  anterior  com- 
munities. Even  among  the  primitive  In- 
dians, the  boy  was  trained,  not  that  he 
might  become  a  clever  boy,  and  thus  out- 
wit his  fellows,  but  that  he  might  be  a 
social  asset,  a  person  of  value  to  the  tribe. 
How  far  we  have  fallen  behind  such  a  con- 
ception may  be  easily  seen  from  the  peru- 
sal of  the  daily  press.  We  have  no  need  to 
rely  upon  the  opinions  of  the  ecclesiastics 
above  quoted,  valuable  and  undoubtedly 
true  as  they  are.  There  cannot  be  any 
question  that  the  anticipations  of  the 
most  enthusiastic  democrats  and  defend- 
ers of  the  public  school  system  have  been 
grievously  disappointed  in  the  results  of 
the  working  of  the  system,  and  it  becomes 
necessary  to  see  in  what  respect  it  may  be 
considered  as  deficient. 

There  is  no  lack  of  discontent  with  the 
present  condition  of  things.  All  sorts  of 
attacks  are  made  upon  our  present  meth- 
ods from  the  pop-gun  quibblings  of  the 
mere  pedagogues  who  find  salvation  in  a 
system  to  the  broader  charges  of  the  soci- 
ologists who  quarrel  with  the  entire  sys- 
tem. Of  the  former  class  we  may  per- 
haps in  particular  note  Prof.  Barrett  Wen- 
dell of  Harvard,  who  says  that  "the  pres- 
ent mood  of  our  country  concerning  edu- 
cation is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
mood  of  blind  medieval  superstition."  He 
finds  his  solution  in  change  of  technique, 
and  considers  the  old  classical  education 
'of  the  ante-independence  days  to  be  prob- 
ably better  fitted  to  produce  educational  . 
results  than  the  present  methods.  It  may 
be  observed,  however,  that  we  are  not 
here  particularly  concerned  with  the  pro- 
duction of  learned  students,  but  rather 
with  the  making  of  useful  and  law-abiding 
citizens,  and  under  such  conditions,  the 
mere  technique  of  the  education  becomes 
a  matter  of  comparatively  small  concern. 
No  amount  of  educational  technique  .can 
be  looked  to  to  make  Mississippi  as  safe  a 
country  to  live  in  as  Southern  Italy,  for 
example,  where  life  is  at  present,  accor-1- 
ing  to  the  Chicago  Eecord  Herald,  aboat 
twice  as  safe  as  it  is  in  the  State  just 
named. 

Apart  from  the  mere  techinque  of  edu- 
cation, there  are  certain  broad  lines  which 
must  determine  the  current  of  educational 
achievement,  and  upon  which  the  future 
of  the  citizen  will  largely  depend,  and  in 


this  sense,  it  is  obvious  that  an  apprecia- 
tion of  the  ideals  of  our  leading  educa- 
tors is  essential  to  any  proper  understand- 
ing of  the  matter.  Comptroller  Grant  of 
New  York  recently  stated  his  views  on  a 
popular  system  of  education  to  the  sending 
forth  from  the  elementary  school  of 
"graduates  having  a  practical  knowledge 
and  habitual  correct  use  of  the  English 
language,  together  with  such  knowledge 
of  mathematics,  geography  and  history  as 
may  be  reasonably  expected."  He  says 
further:  "Ihere  can  be  no  knowledge, 
training  or  accomplishment,  however  de- 
sirable, of  sufficient  relative  importance  to 
warrant  its  acquirement  in  the  public 
schools  at  the  expense  of  what  is  called  n 
common  school  education."  Chancellor 
W,hitelaw  Reid  of  the  University  of  New 
York,  and  the  New  York  Times,  enthusi- 
astically approved  of  this  view  of  the  mai- 
ter,  which  may  be  taken,  therefore,  as  typi- 
cal of  the  educational  aspirations  for  the 
mass  among  the  higher  classes  of  the  rul- 
ing faction.  The  Nation,  whose  authority 
on  educational  matters  is  probably  be- 
yond cavil,  criticises  these  educational 
ideals  in  the  following  severe  language: 
"Intelligent  citizenship !  Is  that  to  be 
nurtured  by  an  education  adapted  to  the 
production  of  tally  clerks  and  shop  girls — 
an  education  which  gives  no  outlook  upon 
the  vast  industrial  civilization  of  our  time, 
quickens  and  aids  no  aptitudes  other  than 
those  of  pen  and  the  tape  measure,  awak- 
ens and  feeds  no  interests  that  are  human- 
izing and  civic?  Genuine  education  is 
scarce  begun;  the  tools  of  education  are 
furnished — little  more — to  be  used  selfish- 
ly or  socially,  criminally  or  worthily,  ac- 
cording as  the  development  of  the  moral 
faculties,  the  sentiments,  the  energies,  the 
aspirations  of  the  child  is  directed."  Then 
the  Nation  takes  upon  itself  to  solve  the 
problem  of  modern  proletarian  education, 
or  at  least  to  take  those  steps  in  discover- 
ing the  causes  of  the  present  state  of 
things  which  are  essential  to  any  compre- 
hension of  the  problem  and  preliminary 
to  the  recommendation  of  remedies.  The 
paper  in  question  declares :  "There  is  too 
much  naive  ignoring  of  the  real  and  well 
known  causes  of  our  present  failure  to 
accomplish  the  results  we  have  hoped  for 
in  the  elementary  school — namely,  greatly 
over-crowded  classes,  which  preclude  indi- 
vidual attention;  the  poor  physical  condi- 


EDUCATION  AXP  THE  WOKKING  CLASS. 


,59 


tion  of  the  children,  due  to  underfeeding 
£nd  unsanitary  conditions  in  the  tene- 
ments; the  foreign  nationalities  (twenty- 
seven  in  one  school),  and  their  varying 
standards  of  living  and  manners,  and  we 
must  add  the  still  insufficient  equipment 
of  our  teachers,  for  which  the  too  low 
standards  of  our  training  schools  are 
partly  responsible."  The  editor  goes  on 
to  say,  with  a  comprehension  which  does 
him  infinite  credit:  "It  will  no  doubt  be 
said  in  reply  that  the  old  education  at 
any  rate  succeeded  in  producing  worthy 
and  powerful  men  and  women.  Un- 
doubtedly; but  mainly  because  co-operat- 
ing with  the  meagre  forces  of  the  school 
were  other  forces  mightier  than  they — 
the  old-fashioned  home,  gone  from  the 
city  and  so  fast  disappearing  even  from 
the  country;  the  old  forms  of  domestic- 
industry;  the  old  trades  and  crafts;  the 
old  free  life,  with  nature  at  the  door,  the 
direct  contact  with  the  simpler  produc- 
tive activities  of  the  world,  the  old  folk 
lore  and  folk  song  and  all  the  popular 
arts.  We  have  discovered  that  we  must 
find  substitutes  for  these  educational 
forces." 

In  other  words,  when  the  educational 
deficiencies  are  traced  to  their  source, 
they  are  found  not  to  rest  upon  the  par- 
ticular deficiencies  of  pedagogic  tech- 
nique, but  arise  from  and  out  of  the  eco- 
nomic system  in  which  we  are  placed. 
The  educational  question,  like  every  other 
social  question,  is  fundamentally  an  eco- 
nomic question.  It  arises  from  and  out 
of  the  present  economic  system.  Its  de- 
ficiencies are  those  of  the  system  which 
has  produced  it.  Xo  amount  of  tinker- 
ing with  the  pedagogic  philosophy  or  the 
ideals  of  pseudo  educationalists  can  meet 
the  issue.  Nothing  short  of  a  revolution 
in  the  economic  system  is  sufficient  for 
the  situation.  The  power  which  destroys 
the.  effectiveness  of  the  public  educational 
system  is  capitalism. 

The  effects  of  present  economic  meth- 
ods upon  the  children  and  the  consequent 
reaction  upon  education  are  seen  in  the 
following  facts :  It  is  estimated  that  there 
are  in  Xew  York  at  least  half  a  million 
children  whose  playground  is  the  street. 
There  are  81,000  children  in  Xew  York 
in  part-time  classes,  there  being  no  proper 
accommodation  for  them  in  the  school*;. 
Of  the  children  who  should  be  in  school. 


.fourteen  per  cent,  of  .  the  children  of 
eleven  and  twelve  years  of  age,  and  more 
than  twenty-five  per.  cent  of  those  of 
thirteen  are  out  of  school,  and  of  those  of 
fourteen,  the  number  runs  up  to  more 
than  one-half.  Illiteracy  is  actually 
growing,  and  there  are  to-day  in  the 
United  States  6,180,000  people  who  can 
neither  read  nor  write.  Of  these  illiter- 
ates, 3,200,000  are  whites.  Large  as  is 
the  number  of  foreign  illiterates,  particu- 
larly from  the  Southern  countries  of  Eu- 
rope, it  comes  as  a  surprise  to  learn  that 
there  are  in  New  York  State  47,000  na- 
tive illiterates.  In  1899  the  school  popu- 
lation amounted  to  twenty-two  millions, 
of  which  the  average  daily  attendance  was 
ten  millions.  One-half  of  the  entire 
school  population  attended  irregularly, 
and  six  millions  never  went  to  school  at 
all.  In  face  of  these  facts,  it  seems  ab- 
surd to  decry  the  public  school  system  and 
to  lay  the  fault  of  the  increasing  crime 
and  civic  dishonesty  upon  the  backs  of 
the  teachers.  The  public  school  system 
has  not  even  a  chance.  It  is  harried  and 
troubled  by  political  boards  arid  grafting 
managers,  and  the  workings  of  the  sys- 
tem are  such  that  it  does  not  even  obtain 
the  material  to  work  upon  nor  yet  the  in- 
struments with  which  to  work.  The  ne- 
cessities of  the  parents  limit  the  opportu- 
nities of  the  child  and  the  economic  de- 
terioration evidenced  in  the  increase  in 
child  labor  cannot  be  without  a  corre- 
sponding influence  upon  the  education  of 
the  country. 

And  of  those,  who  go  to  school,  of  the 
children  who  are  subjected  to  the  disci- 
pline and  instruction  of  the  teachers,  how 
many  of  them  are  capable  of  profiting  by 
the  instruction?  Badly  fed  and  insuffi- 
ciently clad,  their  little  bodies  have  no 
force  with  which  to  furnish  their  brains. 
They  have  not  the  vitality  to  profit  by 
their  instruction,  and  in  their  case  the 
expensive  educational  system  is  worse 
than  wasted,  for  the  hours  spent  in  the 
school-room  tend  to  still  further  devital- 
ize the  child  and  to  make  such  inroads  on 
his  energies  as  cannot  be  restored  under 
the  conditions  in  which  he  is  obliged  to 
exist.  The  starvation  of  children  has 
proceeded  so  far  in  England  that  the  most 
fadical  proposals  for  their  feeding  are 
made  even  by  political  conservatives,  and 
the  thoughtful  are  so  terrified  by  the 


60 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


threats  of  national  deterioration  involved 
in  the  condition  of  the  children  who  at- 
tend the  public  schools  that  laisser  faire 
will  have  to  break  down  here  as  it  has 
done  in  other  respects.  On  of  the  leading 
papers  thus  states  the  case:  "Philan- 
thropists interested  in  the  subject  assert 
that  one  hundred  thousand  underfed  and 
starving  children  are  being  daily  forced 
to  attend  school.  Are  they,  it  is  asked, 
in  a  fit  state  to  begin  work?  When  the 
morning  session  ends,  they  have  to  trudge 
home,  eat  something  called  dinner,  and 
trudge  to  school  for  another  session.  What 
they  eat  and  how  much,  the  State  neither 
knows  nor  cares,  though  it  is  urged  the 
efficiency  of  the  school  largely  depends 
upon  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  food 
consumed  by  the  children."  Horrible  as 
such  conditions  are,  they  are  by  no  means 
peculiar  to  the  country  just  mentioned. 
Every  country  in  which  the  modern  indus- 
trial system  has  taken  root,  and  that 
means,  of  course,  every  civilized  country 
of  to-day,  has  to  face  the  same  problem. 
In  the  United  States,  according  to  Eobert 
Hunter,  the  conditions  are  hardly  less 
pressing  than  in  England.  The  same  de- 
mand is  being  made  for  free  meals  for 
the  school  children,  so  that  they  may  have 
the  strength  to  carry  on  their  school  work. 
In  France  and  in  Italy,  in  many  places, 
cantines  scolaires,  or  meals  for  school 
children,  have  been  regularly  instituted. 
Some  efforts  are  being  made  in  this  direc- 
tion, both  in  the  United  States  and  Great 
Britain,  but  the  English-speaking  peo- 
ples would  rather  see  their  children  per- 
ish by  slow  deterioration  than  take  any 
steps  which  might  possibly  interfere  with 
the  free  play  of  individual  liberty.  So 
deeply  engrained  in  our  minds  are  the 
teachings  of  the  economists  that  we  are 
willing  to  risk  national  extinction,  at  least 
in  theory,  for  their  sake.  There  are 
some  grounds,  however,  for  thinking  that 
this  attitude  of  mind  is  being  changed 
by  the  gravity  of  the  conditions,  and  that 
the  shame  of  hungry  children  working  in 
our  public  schools  will  before  long  be 
taken  away. 

If  this  is  not  the  case,  it  will  not  be  for 
the  want  of  the  warnings  of  experts,  and 
those  who  have  made  a  special  study  of 
this  question.  Spargo,  in  his  book,  al- 
ready mentioned,  says:  "For  the  school 
child,  the  progress  should  be  based  on 


education  after  bread,  and  include  school 
dinners  and  medical  inspection  that  real- 
ly discovers  defects  in  eyes,  ears,  teeth, 
nerves  and  lungs,  and  remedies,  if  possi- 
ble, as  well."  This  programme,  if  a  little 
comprehensive,  in  the  eyes  of  those  who 
have  given  no  particular  thought  to  the 
question,  and  who  are  governed  by  old- 
fashioned  ideas  of  the  limitation  of  State 
action,  will  be  found  to  represent  a  mini- 
mum if  the  real  interests  of  the  children 
are  considered.  The  alternative  is  be- 
tween the  education  of  the  children  and 
no  education.  It  is  evidently  folly  to  go 
half  way  in  a  scheme  of  education  and  to 
lay  out  vast  sums  of  money  in  an  attempt 
at  intellectual  training,  which  are  simply 
thrown  away  from  failure  on  the  part  of 
the  children  to  take  the  intellectual  train- 
ing, owing  to  poor  nourishment. 

Prof.  William  D.  Northrup,  M.  D.,  of 
New  York  University,  writes  as  follows 
(New  York  Medical  Journal,  January 
6th,  1906)  :  "The  subject  of  school  hy- 
giene is  large,  and  I  have  purposely  re- 
frained from  attacking  it  as  a  whole. 
Much  is  being  thought  out  in  the  line  of 
ventilation,  air  space  for  each  scholar, 
etc.  My  special  interest  is  providing  roof 
gardens  where  the  children  can  play 
games  in  an  upper  air,  comparatively  free 
from  dust,  free  from  dangers  of  collision 
and  accident  of  the  street,  free  from  the 
contact  of  vicious  and  unclean  passengers, 
or  worse,  those  who  do  not  pass — loafers. 
The  subject  of  dividing  the  hours  so  that 
the  youngest  children  shall  have  short 
consecutive  hours  and  frequent  intervals 
of  air  and  exercise,  needs  consideration. 
This  is  now  under  collective  investigation. 
In  large  cities,  where  it  is  a  choice  of 
two  evils,  it  is  often  better  to  corral  the 
small  children  frequently  and  briefly  than 
leave  them  to  roll  in  tenement  halls  or 
play  under  feet  in  crowded  and  squalid 
thoroughfares." 

It  is  easy  to  say  that  these  conditions  of 
child  education  do  not  concern  the  com- 
munity. The  opponents  of  the  action  of 
the  State  in  such  matters  are  always 
quick  to  throw  the  blame  of  the  neglect  of 
the  children  upon  their  parents,  and  de- 
clare that  the  State  cannot  assist  neg- 
lectful parents  to  bring  up  their  off- 
spring. But  this  argument  overlooks  the 
essential  fact  that  this  neglected  offspring 
is  to  constitute  a  fraction  of  the  future 


EDUCATION  OF  THE  WOBKING  CLASS. 


State,  and  the  more  neglected  the  child, 
the  worse  for  the  State.  In  fact,  the 
whole  system  of  public  education  provides 
the  answer  to  this  argument.  If  it  is 
the  duty  of  the  State  to  see  that  the  child 
is  sufficiently  well  trained,  to  be  able  to 
discharge  the  duties  of  citizenship,  it  at 
least  appears  reasonable  that  the  State 
should  also  see  that  this  instruction  can 
be  properly  taken  advantage  of.  Besides, 
the  responsibility  of  the  parents  for  the 
physical  neglect  of  the  child  is  by  no 
means  thoroughly  established  as  a  gen- 
eral truth.  In  a  paper  written  by  Geo. 
Herbert  Sargent  at  the  meeting  of  the 
British  Association,  held  at  Manchester, 
September,  1887,  he  says:  "As  to  home 
life,  there  are  an  appreciable  number  of 
families  where  the  influences  are  so  hope- 
lessly bad  that  it  is  useless  to  try  to  do 
any  lasting  good  to  the  children  as  long 
as  they  are  with  their  parents.  But 
wretched  as  the  home  life  must  always 
be,  it  is  in  most  cases  by  no  means  an  in- 
fluence for  evil.  The  parents  generally 
owe  their  poverty  far  more  to  misfortune 
than  misconduct."  Very  clear  evidence 
in  support  of  this  position  is  forthcoming, 
but  hardly  comes  within  the  scope  of 
such  an  article  as  the  present.  But  the 
general  conclusion  is,  that  the  economic 
system  is  the  cause  of  the  lowered  stand- 
ard of  physical  and  intellectual  life  on 
the  part  of  large  numbers  of  the  working 
class. 

Lines  of  suggested  improvement  have 
been  sketched  above,  but  it  does  not  seem 
probable  that  they  can  be  carried  out  un- 
der existing  conditions.  If  the  manufac- 
turing interests  have  made  up  their 
minds  that  child  labor  is  necessary  to 
their  welfare,  we  shall  have  child  labor, 
and  all  the  concommitant  ills  of  a  neg- 
lected and  ill-educated  child  proletariat, 
unless,  indeed,  the  working  class  takes 


the  matter  into  its  own  hands  and  by  dint 
of  its  political  superiority  defeats  the 
present  dominating  class  and  insists  upon 
its  children  having  at  least  an  opportu- 
nity to  grow  up  to  healthy  and  decently 
equipped  maturity.  Such  action  on  the 
part  of  the  proletariat  does  not  appear 
to  be  speedily  forthcoming,  although  the 
tendency  of  the  working  class  to  engage 
in  the  fight  expressly  in  its  own  behalf  is 
growing  more  and  more  evident.  On 
Broad  line  of  solution,  this  fight  is  the 
necessary  preliminary  to  any  effective 
dealing  with  the  situation.  As  long  as 
the  present  economic  system  lasts,  the 
present  crushing  out  of  child  life  will  be 
maintained  by  all  the  force  of  the  indus- 
trial magnates  and  the  commercial  lords. 
They  will  release  their  hold  on  the  throat 
of  the  child  only  unwillingly,  and  after 
a  great  deal  of  persuasion.  But  that  they 
can  be  persuaded  is  not  unlikely.  An  agi- 
tation which  would  have  the  effect  of 
making  them  see  that  the  deprivation  and 
degradation  of  the  children  of  the  land 
cannot  be  for  the  continued  advantage  of 
even  the  manufacturer,  should  not  be  al- 
together without  effect. 

In  the  meantime,  the  community  can 
enforce  a  compulsory  school  law,  and  in 
the  course  of  inquiries  into  the  reasons  of 
non-attendance  will  unquestionably  dis- 
cover the  exploitation  of  the  child  to  be 
the  fundamental  cause  and  not  the  neg- 
lect of  the  parent.  When  this  underlying 
and  economic  cause  is  thoroughly  appre- 
ciated, there  will  be  a  decided  move  on 
the  part  of  men  of  good  will  to  remove  it, 
and  the  future  of  the  child  will  be  bound 
up  in  the  victory  of  the  class  to  which 
the  child  belongs.  In  the  meantime  the 
children  of  the  country  are  suffering  ill- 
treatment  and  deprivation  of  the  educa- 
tion provided  by  the  State  in  the  interests 
of  one  class. 


ver  Ifk  sifc  runs  &  p&ttj}L  of  l 
f\  c  b^rpcT  e  jold  tKfct  tlrh 

re&ltn 

^  itltlf 

•mists  |lo&t  ovtt  tlif 
Tit  tAJ?xvc5  tAf'itB  IBcir  l73olTtn 
Whik  The  ^um  c&iU  btxck 
smks  bn^tli  Tli?  l 


BY    FRED    A.    HUNT 


THAT  which  we  most  commonly  per- 
ceive, that  is  the  thing  we  are  least 
likely  to  inquire  into.  This  sage 
remark  is  occasioned  because  of  the  com- 
prehensive ignorance  of  the  need  for,  and 
duties  performed  at,  the  Quarantine  Sta- 
tion at  Angel  Island;  and  but  a  very  few 
people  are  aware  that  the  sleepless  vigi- 
lance of  the  officers  at  that  station  pre- 
serves us  from  a  myriad  unseen  dangers 
and  precludes  the  entrance  of  deadly  dis- 
eases to  our  port,  whose  infection  or  conta- 
gion would  spread  all  over  the  country  and 
find  its  victims  in  incalculable  numbers. 

The  sally-port  of  the  quarantine  station 
is  at  Meiggs'  Wharf,  at  the  foot  of  Powell 
street,  and  is  termed  the  Boarding  Sta- 
tion, being  under  the  supervision  of  Dr. 
William  P.  Mclntosh,  since  June  15,  1891, 
and  the  vigilance  of  the  inspectors  is  ex- 
ercised from  sunrise  to  sunset  against  the 
quarantinable  diseases' — cholera,  yellow 
fever,  small-pox,  typhus  fever,  lep- 
rosy and  plague.  The  following 
are  the  vessels  that  receive  the  special 
courtesies  of  Dr.  Mclntosh  and  his  men: 
All  vessels  from  foreign  ports  save  those 
specially  excepted  by  the  rulings  of  the 
Treasury  Department;  any  vessel  with 
sickness  on  board;  vessels  from  domestic 
ports  where  cholera,  plague  or  yellow 
fever  prevails,  or  where  small-pox  or  ty- 
phus fever  prevails  in  epidemic  form; 
vessels  from  ports  suspected  of  infection 
with  yellow  fever,  having  entered  a  port 
north  of  the  southern  boundary  of  Mary- 
land without  disinfection,  shall  be  sub- 
jected to  a  second  inspection  before  en- 
tering any  port  south  of  said  latitude 
during  the  quarantine  season  of  such 
port. 

The  following  unfortunate  vessels  are 
placed  in  quarantine : 

(a)  With  quarantinable  disease  on 
board  or  having  had  such  disease  on 
board  during  the  voyage;  (b)  Any  ves- 
sel which  the  quarantine  officer  considers 
infected;  (c)  If  arriving  at  a  port  south 
of  the  southern  boundary  of  Maryland 


in  the  season  of  close  quarantine,  May  1 
to  November  1,  directly  or  via  a  northern 
port,  from  a  tropical  American  port,  un- 
less said  port  is  known  to  be  free  from 
yellow  fever;  (6)  In  the  case  of  vessels 
arriving  at  a  northern  port  without  sick- 
ness on  board  from  ports  where  yellow 
fever  prevails,  the  personnel  shall  be  de- 
tained under  observation  at  quarantine 
to  complete  five  days  from  the  port  of  de- 
parture; (e)  Towboats  and  other  vessels 
having  had  communication  with  vessels 
subject  to  quarantine  shall  themselves  be 
quarantined  if  they  have  been  exposed  to 
infection. 

So  far  the  matter  reads  quite  officially, 
and  the  quarantine  officials  have  an  ap- 
parently easy  time,  but  a  vessel  is  found 
whose  status  requires  her  being  quaran- 
tined, and  then  the  minute  care  and  mi- 
croscopic vigilance  of  the  quarantiniew, 
or  quarantinieres  (there  are  officials  of 
both  sexes),  becomes  stirred  to  tense  ac- 
tivity, and  the  passengers  are  ordered  to 
the  quarantine  station.  There  are  ex- 
cellent barracks  for  the  lower  class  of  pas- 
senger, and  suites  of  extremely  nice  rooms  j 
for  the  cabin  passengers,  and  the  disin-l 
fection  of  the  quarantined  commences.  ! 

At  the  barracks  the  Chinese  or  Japs' 
are  stripped — males  in  one  locality  and 
females  in  another — and  thoroughly 
washed  (antiseptically),  undergoing  a 
course  of  purification  that  must  be  a 
revelation  to  them  of  the  fatherly  care  of 
Uncle  Sam,  who  thus  kindly  gives  them  a 
"Cotter's  Saturday  Xight"  in  such  scru- 
pulous fashion.  While  they  are  proceed- 
ing through  their  routine  of  lustration, 
their  baggage  is  being  loaded  into  wire 
cages,  which  are  wheeled  on  tramways  in- 
to immense  iron  tubular  receptacles,  and 
there  subjected  to  a  thorough  cooking  in 
dry  steam  at  very  high  pressure  that  so 
thoroughly  permeates  all  the  substances 
in  the  boilers  (or  tubes) that  it  will  cook 
an  egg  in  a  sailor's  bag  of  clothes.  The 
coolies  are  then  taken  to  the  barracks — 
there  are  accommodations  for  144  Jap« 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


and  288  Chinese — and  there  isolated  un- 
til the  designated  period  of  incubation 
has  passed  without  any  sporadic  case  ap- 
pearing when  they  are  taken  in  hand  by 
the  transportation  company  by  which 
they  were  imported  and  transmitted  to 
their  destination. 

The  cabin  passengers  are  subjected  to 
just  as  comprehensive  a  series  of  cleans- 
ing as  the  coolies  (an  especial  necessity, 
that  is  especially  observed  by  the  Quaran- 
tine Service  is  strict  and  utter  impartial- 
ity in  the  carrying  out  of  their  duties) 
only  not  in  such  wholesale  fashion,  and 


not   nearly   so   healthful,      cheerful     nor 
beautiful.     "Asinus  Tiominem  est." 

After  the  disembarking  of  the  passen- 
gers for  the  Angel  Island  quarantine  sta- 
tion, where  the  process  above  outlined  is 
carried  on,  the  vessel  receives  the  atten- 
tion of  the  officials.  The  disinfecting 
hulk  at  the  quarantine  anchorage  is  fas- 
tened alongside  the  vessel,  and  the  par- 
ticular mode  of  disinfection  requisite  to 
the  exigency  resorted  to.  Dry  steam  at 
100  deg.  C.  is  always  a  mode  of  render- 
ing contagion  or  infection  from  germs 
impracticable.  But  germs  are  by  no 


Quarantine   station   at   Angel   Island. 

then  they  are  secluded  in  their  admirable 
and  comfortable  private  rooms,  until  all 
danger  of  developing  or  communicating 
disease  has  passed,  and  then  they  go  on 
their  way  rejoicing.  Truly  rejoicing,  al- 
though their  quarters  are  very  pleasant, 
the  site  being  as  beautiful  as  the  view, 
but  enforced  hospitality  is  always  irk- 
some. Yet  these  same  compulsory  guests 
will  pay  all  kinds  of  charges  at  an  al- 
iened summer  resort  for  quarters  not  one 
tithe  as  cleanly,  commodious  or  comfort- 
able, where  the  cuisine  is  not  nearly  as 
good,  and  where  the  surroundings  are 


means  the  only  danger.  Rats  are  a  fruit- 
ful means  of  spreading  disease,  and  af- 
ter the  ballast  from  a  quarantined  vesse1 
has  been  discharged  some  five  miles  up 
the  bay,  sulphurous  acid  (S  02)  is 
poured'  through  the  pumps  into  the  ves- 
sel, and  the  rats  gathered  and  subsequent- 
ly burned.  In  the  hold  of  one  schooner 
suspected  of  possible  infection,  ten  tubs 
of  water  were  aligned  in  the  center  and 
in  each  of  them  an  iron  pot  of  sulphur 
was. placed  and  ignited.  (Of  course  the 
hatches  had  all  been  battened  down  and 
crevices  stopped.)  On  opening  ihc 


THE  GUABDIAX  OF  THE  GATE. 


65 


hatches  and  investigating,  two  rows  of 
rats  were  found  on  each  side  of  the  line 
of  tubs.  The  sulphurous  fumes  had  fol- 
lowed the  line  of  the  sub-deck  of  the 
schooner,  and  then  curved  down  the  sides 
of  the  vessel  and  to  the  flooring,  the  rats 
retreating  before  the  poisonous  gas  until 
the  fumes,  meeting  in  the  center,  had  lett 
them  no  place  for  escape,  and  had  then 
asphyxiated  them.  And  the  number  of 
rats  taken  from  that  hold  would  lead  one 
to  infer  that  the  Pied  Piper  of  Haniclin 
had  taken  ship  with  his  rodent  retinue  in 
that  schooner.  A  gross  of  rats  is  a  very 


ants,  flees  and  other  animals  also  come 
under  the  ban,  but  the  insect  whereon  the 
most  pernicious  war  is  waged  is  the  mos- 
quito. This  is  mainly  the  result  of  the 
investigations  of  the  TJ.  S.  Army  sur- 
geons in  Cuba  in  1900,  which  proved  that 
yellow  fever  was  transmitted  by  the  spe- 
cies of  mosquito  known  as  stegomyia  fas- 
ciata.  On  the  back  of  this  specimen  of 
mosquito  is  a  distinct  two-stringed  lyre 
with  the  base  of  the  instrument  toward 
the  head  of  the  insect.  So  patent  has 
this  fact  of  mosquito  infection  of  the  yel- 
low fever  protozoan  become,  that  the  pas- 


ordinary  killing  in  a  vessel  of  small  size. 
This  is  the  official  pronunciamento 
relative  to  the  rat  question:  "The  vessel 
shall  be  submitted  to  a  simultaneous  dis- 
infection in  all  parts  with  sulphur  diox- 
ide to  insure  the  destruction  of  rats  and 
vermin.  The  rats  shall  be  subsequently 
gathered  and  burned,  due  precaution  be- 
ing taken  not  to  touch  them  with  the  bare 
hands,  and  the  places  where  found  disin- 
fected with  a  germicidal  solution;  -md 
the  quarantine  officer  shall  assure  himself 
that  the  vessel  is  free  of  rats  and  vermin 
before  granting  free  pratique."  Mice,  flies, 


sengers'  baggage  from  yellow  fever  in- 
fected ports  is  only  fumigated  for  the 
purpose  of  destroying  these  mosquitoes  or 
their  larvae. 

So  in  malaria,  the  anopheles  mosquitos 
are  the  means  of  transmission,  and  in  all 
diseases  communicable  by  mosquitoes  the 
mode  is  the  same:  the  germ  is  obtained 
with  the  blood  from  an  infected  person 
and  is  retained  in  the  body  of  the  mos- 
quito, whence,  after  a  varied  period  of 
fecundation,  it  passes  into  the  person  bit- 
ten. Thus  in  yellow  fever  the  blood  must 
be  abstracted  by  the  mosquito  during  the 


66 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


first  three  days  of  the  disease,  which  then 
lays  latent  in  the  mosquito  for  eleven 
days,  and  the  fever  is  then  transmissible 
to  the  person  bitten;  if  the  blood  of  the 
fever-smitten  patient  is  abstracted  by  the 
mosquito  after  the  first  three  days  of  in- 
fection, the  blood  is  innocuous.  Why? 
Quien  sabe? 

And  the  periods  of  incubation,  after 
taking  the  disease,  vary,  e.  g.,  in  plague, 
seven  days;  in  small-pox  fourteen  days; 
in  typhus  twelve  days,  and  in  cholera  five 
days.  As  an  interesting  scientific  demon- 
stration, readers  where  malaria  is  preva- 
lent can  ascertain  if  an  anophele-  has  bit- 
ten them,  by  scrutinizing  the  insect  after 
he  has  bitten  and  buzzed  away  into  quie- 
tude, if  he  rests  with  his  head  bowed 
down  with  weight  of  woe  and  his  nether 
extremity  pointing  upward  at  an  angle  of 
about  45  degrees  he  is  an  anophele;  if  he 
rests  otherwise,  he  isn't. 


ANOPHELES 

Just  so  minutely  careful  in  other  mat- 
ters than  the  rats  and  mosquitoes  are  the 
quarantine  officials  as  in  the  extermina- 
tion of  the  comma  bacillus,  the  active 
principle  of  cholera,  which,  under  some 
phases  is  harmless  and  under  others 
deadly;  but  under  all  circumstances  ne- 
cessitating scrupulous  care.  Flies  are  a 
common  mode  of  cholera  distribution. 

Jn  leprosy,  the  leper  is  deported  on  the 
vessel  he  arrived  in;  the  exact  communi- 
cability  of  leprosy  is  a  mooted  question 
among  scientists  of  the  present  day. 

In  plague  this  special  feature  obtains, 
in  addition  to  all  the  other  modes  of  pre- 
cluding the  spread  of  the  infection:  "In 
inspecting  vessels  from  plague-infected 
ports,  or  vessels  with  plague  on  board  at 
port  of  departure,  en  route  or  on  arrival, 
the  personnel  of  the  vessel  should  be  ex- 
amined with  special  reference  to  the  glan- 
dular regions,  cervical,  axillary  and  in- 
guinal, and  for  such  examination  as  much 
clothing  should  be  removed  as  may  inter- 


fere with  the  thoroughness  of  the  process. 
When  possible,  females  should  be  exam- 
ined by  female  inspectors.  The  examina- 
tion herein  provided  being  an  exceeding- 
ly delicate  matter,  the  greatest  possible 
care  is  to  be  used  by  the  quarantine  offi- 
cer to  avoid  any  grounds  for  complaint 
of  indecent  exposure,  and  more  particu- 
larly with  regard  to  females." 

It  may  perhaps  be  a  matter  of  conjec- 
ture why  the  regulations  are  so  strict  and 
mandatory  relative  to  the  destruction  and 
incineration  of  rats  and  mice.  These 
animals  contract,  diseases  just  like  hurr|m 
beings,  and  are  foci  of  distribution  just 
like  them,  rats  being  largely  responsible 
for  bubonic  plague.  Fleas  also  are  dis- 
seminators of  disease  by  the  same  route 
as  mosquitoes,  by  incision  and  inocula- 
tion, and  flies  carry  infection  as  bees 
carry  pollen. 

Results   have   demonstrated,     however, 


THEOBALDIA 

that  we  are  efficiently  protected  by  the 
Quarantine  Station,  the  officers  on  duty 
there  being:  Past  Assistant  Surgeon 
William  Colt  Hobdy  in  command;  Don- 
ald-H.  Curry,  past  assistant  surgeon; 
Acting  Assistant  Surgeon  A.  D.  Drew; 
Medical  Inspectrix  Jeannette  McDonald; 
Pharmacist,  M.  R.  Mason,  and  a  corps 
of  twenty  men. 

A  steam  hull  is  also  kept  at  the  Angel 
Island  station,  and  an  alleged  launch  for 
the  transportation  of  officials,  etc. 
Whether  this  cranky  means  of  convey- 
ance is  kept  by  the  Government  as  the 
death's  head  at  a  Roman  feast,  a  me- 
mento of  mortality  to  those  who  ride  in 
it,  is  unknowable,  but  it  surely  is  a  sug- 
gestion to  the  quarantine  officials  that, 
although  they  may  elude  all  kinds_  of 
bacilli  and  protozoans,  they  are  in  mo- 
mentary danger  of  a  watery  grave.  I  am 
unaware  of  the  official  name  for  goose 
pimples,  but  that's  what  you  get  on  that 
old  snorting  tub — yclept  launch. 


BY    ARTHUR    H.    DUTTON 


IN"  the  summer  of  1886,  while  a  mid- 
shipman serving  as  aide  on  the  staff 
of  the  commander-in-chief  of  the 
United  States  squadron  on  the  European 
Station,  it  was  my  good  fortune 
to  accompany  that  officer,  Hear- Admiral 
S.  R.  Franklin,  upon  a  trip  to  ConstaT-:.- 
nople,  to  reach  which  place  he  was  com- 
pelled to  transfer  his  flag  temporarily 
from  his  flagship,  the  old  Pensacola,  now 
the  station  ship  at  Goat  Island,  San  Fran- 
cisco, to  the  old  wooden  corvette,  Kear- 
sarge,  the  same  vessel  that  sank  the  Ala- 
bama and  was  subsequently  lost  on  Ron- 
cador  reef,  in  the  West  Indies.  The 
change  was  made  necessary  by  the  treaty 
rule  that  no  vessels  of  war  carrying  more 
than  seven  guns  shall  pass  through  the 
Dardanelles. 

During  our  stay  in  Constantinople,  we 
received  many  hospitalities  from  the  Sul- 
tan, Abdul  Hamid,  whom  I  managed  fo 
see  twice: — once  at  the  impressive  Salaam- 
lik  and  once  at  the  spectacular  Bairam 
ceremony  in  the  Dolma-Baghche  Palace, 
at  the  end  of  the  Ramadan,  or  Moham- 
medan Lent. 

The  most  interesting  of  the  Sultan's 
hospitalities,  however,  was  a  banquet  he 
gave  to  the  Admiral,  the  other  officers 
and  the  crew  of  our  ship.  Although  he 
did  not  appear  in  person  at  the  banquet — 
so  great  is  his  fear  of  assassination — he 
was  personally  represented  by  his  Minis- 
ter of  Marine,  a  dignified  but  cordial, 
portly  old  Turk,  and  took  care  to  have 
some  of  his  most  distinguished  army  and 
navy  officers  at  the  affair. 

The  banquet  took  place  in  the  palace 
of  the  Minister  of  Marine  on  the  Golden 
Horn.  We  left  the  Kearsarge  about  7 
p.  m.,  the  officers  in  a  steam  launch, 
which  towed  two  cutters  bearing  a  dele- 
gation of  our  crew.  This  was  a  peculiar 
feature  of  the  event:  The  Sultan,  perhaps 
the  most  absolute  tyrant  in  Europe,  rec- 
ognized American  democracy  sufficiently 


to  include  the  enlisted  men  of  our  ship  in 
his  invitation.  He  wanted  all  ranks  rep- 
resented. 

Upon  arrival  at  the  landing  in  front  of 
the  Minister  of  Marine's  palace,  a  mag- 
nificent band  struck  up  one  of  Sousa's 
marches — if  I  remember  aright  it  was  the 
"Washington  Post"  march — and  two  long 
lines  of  picturesquely  atired  Turkish  ma- 
rines were  drawn  up  facing  each  other, 
forming  a  lane  through  which  we  were  to 
pass.  It  being  after  sunset,  no  gun  sa- 
lute was  fired,  but  the  display  of  gold  lace, 
bright  steel  arms,  and  brilliant  accoutre- 
ments by  our  hosts  made  up  for  the  omis- 
sion. 

The  Minister  of  Marine  gave  his  arm 
to  Hon.  S.  S.  Cox,  then  U.  S.  Minister, 
and  to  our  Admiral,  and  the  three  led  the 
way  to  the  handsome  palace,  to  the  lausic 
of  the  Turkish  band.  The  rest  of  us  fol- 
lowed in  pairs,  in  order  of  rank,  ciuh 
American  officer  having  a  Turkish  c  nicer 
of  similar  rank  as  his  escort.  The  crew 
.brought  up  the  rear,  well-attended  by 
Turkish  petty  officers  and  seamen. 

The  interior  of  the  palace  was  beauti- 
fully decorated  with  greens,  and  with  the 
American  and  Turkish  flags  entwined. 
There  were  flags,  bunting  and  greens,  al- 
so numberless  flowers,  everywhere.  A  big 
fountain  in  the  courtyard  was  so  arranged 
that  electric  lights  of  various  colors  play- 
ing upon  it  made  an  effective  display. 

After  a  sip  of  some  delicious  cordial, 
the  name  of  which  I  do  not  know,  in  an 
ante  room,  we  were  ushered  into  the  din- 
ing hall.  It,  too,  was  handsomely  deco- 
rated, but  the  two  great  features  of  the 
meal  were  the  delicious  dishes  and  the 
magnificent  table  service.  The  latter  was 
the  Sultan's  own  personal  property,  sent 
to  the  Minister  of  Marine  for  use  express- 
ly on  this  occasion.  The  cut  glass  and 
the  silverware  were  extremely  handsome, 
although  not  surpassing  those  of  many 
Americans  of  means.  The  gold  plate, 


68 


OVEKLAND   MONTHLY. 


however,  was  a  wonderful  creation.  It 
consisted  of  many  pieces,  some  repousse, 
some  severely  plain  in  their  simplicity, 
yet  all  massive.  Our  after-dinner  coffee 
was  served  in  small  cups  of  solid  gold, 
studded  with  precious  stones. 

The  menu  was  a  wonder.  Of  course, 
there  were  many  conventional  dishes, 
but  there  were  also  some  culinary  crea- 
tions the  like  of  which  I  never  tasted. 
Some  birds  that  we  had  for  one  course 
were,  I  was  told  afterwards,  of  a  rare 
species,  of  which  the  Sultan  was  espe- 
cially fond.  He  had  them  brought  alive 
from  a  great  distance  for  his  personal 
table.  Everything  was  delightfully  cooked 
and  the  wines  were  admirable,  some  be- 
ing of  great  age,  I  learned. 

During  the  meal,  I  was  surprised  as 
well  as  pleased  to  see  what  fine  fellows 
some  of  the  Turkish  officers  were.  E.very 
one  at  the  table  spoke  English  fluently, 
and  the  party  was  a  jolly,  one.  There  was 
nothing  stiff  or  unduly  formal  about  it, 
in  spite  of  its  formal  character.  During 
its  progress,  the  Turkish  marine  band  al- 
ternated with  our  ship's  band  in  furnish- 
ing music,  and  the  delight  of  our  sailorsj 
who  were  in  a  large  room  adjoining  ours, 
when  the  Turkish  band  played  the  old 
Southern  plantation  melodies,  was  so  sin- 
cere and  spontaneous  that  they  burst  into 
a  ringing  cheer.  The  meal  served  the 
sailors  was  a  fine  one,  also,  and  with  a 
Turkish  sailor  or  marine  between  each 
pair  of  Americans,  the  men's  room  was 
the  scene  of  genuine  enjoyment.  To  the 
credit  of  our  men,  be  it  said  that,  in  spite 
of  the  novel  experience  and  of  the  ample 
supply  of  wine  furnished  them,  not  one 
misbehaved  himself  in  any  way.  Towards 
the  end  of  the  meal,  Minister  Cox  made  a 
brief  address  to  the  men,  and  introduced 
the  Minister  of  Marine,  whose  well- 
chosen  words  evoked  a  ringing  cheer  from 
the  men,  a  loud  American  three-times- 
three-and-a-tiger.  This  American  cheer 
was  a  novelty  to  the  Turks.  They  had 
never  heard  it  before. 

Our  way  back  to  the  ship  was  a  trium- 
phal procession.  It  was  long  after  dark — 
probably  about  11  p.  m.,  when  we  were 
escorted  down  to  our  boats,  through  the 
long  lines  of  marines  at  "present  arms/"' 
with  the  band  playing  lustily  and  our  Mo- 
hammedan hosts  shaking  hands  cordially 
with  us.  We  shoved  off  with  a  cheer  from 


our  men,  which  the  Turks  tried  to  imi- 
tate. 

The  Golden  Horn  was  brilliantly 
lighted,  and  as  we  reached  the  Stamboul 
bridge  it  was  instantly  illuminated  from 
shore  to  shore  with  a  long  row  of  huge 
calcium  lights — red,  white  and  blue — 
the  whole  forming  a  grand  spectacle. 

On  the  way  back  our  men  in  the  boats 
towed  astern  awakened  the  echoes  with 
their  choruses,  which  varied  all  the  way 
from  "Hail  Columbia"  to  old-fashioned 
"chanty"  songs. 

As  we  neared  the  Kearsarge,  we  were 
surprised  to  hear  sounds  of  merriment 
coming  from  her  likewise.  That  the  mem- 
bers of  the  crew  left  behind  should  be  out 
of  their  hammocks  and  awake  at  that 
hour  of  the  night  was  decidedly  strange, 
but  as  we  drew  up  alongside,  we  learned 
the  reason. 

The  hospitable  Sultan,  hearing  that 
every  officer  and  man  of  the  crew  could 
not,  for  reasons  of  discipline  and  the 
safety  of  the  ship,  partake  of  his  bounty 
at  the  palace  of  the  Minister  of  Marino, 
gave  directions  that  the  identical  meal, 
as  far  as  its  food  and  drink  were  con- 
cerned, which  had  been  served  at  the  pal- 
ace, should  be  sent  out  on  board  the  Kear- 
sarge, and  served  there  to  those  who  were 
compelled  to  remain.  The  astonished  offi- 
cers and  men  could  hardly  believe  their 
eyes  and  nostrils  when  the  savory  viands 
came  alongside,  but  when  convinced  it  was 
no  dream  fell  to  with  a  will,  some  stringed 
instruments  from  caiques  floating  about 
the  ship  furnishing  the  music  for  the  re- 
past. 

It  was  as  if  the  Sultan  wished  every 
American  in  his  domain  to  have  a  night 
of  it,  and  it  was  well  along  in  the  mid- 
watch  before  the  ship  had  settled  down 
to  her  normal  quiet.  The  next  morning 
there  was  a  lively  cleaning  up  to  be  done, 
for  the  dinner  on  board  had  been  served 
to  the  men  on  the  open  deck,  beneath  the 
bright  stars,  on  that  warm  June  evening. 

During  our  visit  to  Constantinople, 
which  lasted  for  about  six  weeks,  the  Sul- 
tan did  everything  in  his  power  to  add  to 
our  enjoyment.  We  practically  had  the 
freedom  of  the  city.  Special  staff  officers 
of  the  Sultan  were  in  attendance  upon 
"our  Admiral  nearly  every  day,  and  parties 
of  our  officers  were  taken  around  to  the 
palaces,  the  seraglio  and  other  places  of 


BOHEMIANS  TO  THEIR  MISTRESS,  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


69 


interest,  being  borne  around  the  waters 
of  the  Bosphorus  or  the  Golden  Horn  in 
luxurious  caiques,  pulled  by  stalwart,  be- 
fezzed  oarsmen,  and  entertained  from 
place  to  place  with  refreshments  of  all 
kinds,  including  the  delicious  rose-leaf 
jam  which  none  but  a  Turk  can  concoct 
at  its  best. 

As  said  before,  our  men  were  never  for- 
gotten. Their  pleasure  was  consulted  near- 
ly as  much  as  that  of  the  officers.  This  is 
a  fact  to  be  carefully  noted,  for  it  is  the 


exception  when  the  enlisted  men  are  con- 
sidered in  international  entertainments, 
except  between  the  British  and  American 
nations — and  not  always  between  them. 

The  Kearsarge  was  commanded  at  the 
time  described  by  Commander,  now  Rear- 
Admiral,  C.  D.  Sigsbee,  who  later  com- 
manded the  ill-fated  Mcine,  when  she  was 
blown  up  in  Havana  Harbor.  The  flag- 
lieutenant  was  Sidney  H.  Staunton,  who 
was  Sampson's  flag  lieutenant  during  th.» 
Spanish  war. 


BY    CHARLES    S.    ROSS 

Led  hitherward  in  Art's  pursuit  we  came — 
Thy  smiles  allured,  thy  highways  offered  Fame. 
We  gathered  gold  within  our  careless  hands 
As  children  gather  shells  upon  the  sands. 
Wfe  uttered  thy  fair  name  in  other  days 
In  love  and  admiration  and  in  praise. 
Upon  thy  shrine  we  laid  our  offering  then — 
The  soul-born  work  of  chisel,  brush  and  pen. 
Adown  thy  rose-blown  paths  and  lily  ways 
We  walked  and  wrought  and  blessed  thee  all  our 

0  queenly  daughter  of  the  setting  sun — 
Majestic  sister  of  the  purple  hills! 

In  this  thy  brief  eclipse  we  stand  as  one 

To  bear  thy  guidons  wheresoe'er  Fate  wills. 


BY    EDNA    GEARHART 


MRS.  Fennel  stood  by  the  kitchen 
stove,  an  egg  in  her  hand,  her 
•  eye  fixed  expectantly  on  the  clock. 
The  egg  had  been  laid  at  seven  by  the 
faithful  Fennel  hen,  that  for  nine  years 
had  not  failed  to  lay  an  egg  in  time  for 
Sarah  Fennel's  breakfast.  At  three  min- 
utes before  the  half  hour,  Mrs.  Fennel 
would  break  it  in  the  skillet,  and  at  half 
past  Sarah  would  eat  it.  With  such  hy- 
gienic regularity  was  the  Fennel  estab- 
lishment conducted. 

At  the  exact  second,  Mrs.  Fennel 
cracked  the  egg  and  deposited  it  pre- 
cisely, cooked  to  a  nicety,  on  a  hot  plate. 
But  Saiah  did  not  come.  The  clock 
ticked.  Mrs.  Fennel  grew  nervous,  then 
exasperated.  Suddenly  the  door  that  im- 
pudently presumed  to  interfere  with  Sarah 
Amanda  Fennel's  unobstructed  passage 
through  life  and' duty  was  thrust  aside  and 
in  short,  Sarah,  clad  all  neatly  and  .exact-^ 
ly  in  a  blue  costume,  carrying  in  every 
line  and  fold  the  authority  of  a  mounted 
policeman. 

"You  have  kept  the  egg  waiting,"  said 
her  mother  in  an  injured  tone.  It  im- 
plied an  insult  to  the  devoted  hen. 

"This  is  an  egg — this  is  toast — you 
better  butter  it  now — salt  and  pepper  the 
egg-" 

Mrs.  Fennel  supplied  for  Sarah  the 
necessary  mental  processes  for  such  mun- 
dane decisions,  feeling  that  Sarah's  in- 
telligence should  be  reserved  for  more  lu- 
crative fields. 

With  the  air  of  conveying  a  great  favor 
upon  the  hen,  the  skillet,  and  the  cook, 
Sarah  tasted  the  egg,  then  laid  her  spoon 
down,  looked  as  near  like  Joan  of  Arc  at 
the  stake  as  she  could  recall,  and  decided 
to  cry.  Immediately,  yet  silently,  with- 
out any  unnecessary  disturbance,  large 
tears  ran  gently  down  her  flushed  cheeks 
and  dripped  slowly  on  the  oil  cloth. 

With  an  instinctive  carefulness  that  was 
always  aroused  by  flood,  fire  or  the  door 
bell,  Mrs.  Fennel  turned  off  the  gasoline 
fire  and  sat  slowly  and  heavily  down  on 


the  cat,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Sarah  Amanda. 
In  spite  of  many  years'  experience,  she 
never  questioned  'the  horrible,  tragic  sig- 
nificance of  her  daughter's  tears. 

"What's  the  matter?  Is  something 
wrong  with  your  breakfast?  Isn't  'the 
egg  good?  I'm  sure  it's  perfectly  fresh. 
I  do  take  the  best  care  of  those  chickens: 
hot  bran  every  morning  and  the  hen-coop 
whitewashed  only  yesterday !" 

Having  established  the  atmosphere  of 
uncertainty  and  anxiety  which  Sarah 
Amanda's  highly  developed  moral  percep- 
tions demanded  as  essential  in  this  world 
of  pitfalls  and  treachery,  she  decided  to 
cease  weeping  and  removed  her  handker- 
chief. Weeping  was  her  accomplishment, 
amounting  to  a  positive  genius.  It  left 
her  nose  quite  unreddened,  added  a  dewy 
lustre  to  her  large  browrr  eyes,  and  settled 
the  dust  of  her  .difficulties. 

"I'm  perfectly  wretched,"  she  snorted 
"with  relish.  "Everything  combines  to 
thwart  me.  The  color  schemes  here  at 
home  are  frightful;  that  gamboge  cat  on 
a  vermillion  cushion.  No,  no,  not  there; 
here,  you're  sitting  on  it;  and  last  night 
yellow  ochre  carrots  in  a  raw  sienna  bowl, 
and  then,  too,  I  know  I'll  never  get  a 
permanent  position.  The  superintendent 
didn't  .smile  at  me  yesterday  when  he 
saw  me  on  the  street  car,  and  I'm  horribly 
unpopular.  One  shoe  is  too  tight,  and 
this  morning  the  end  of  my  nose  hurts/' 

With  her  mother  reduced  to  the  verge 
of  suicide,  she  prepared  to  depart  for 
school,  feeling  a  little  encouraged  in  her 
ability  to  produce  extreme  misery  and 
virtue.  'Provided  with  a  bird  cage,  a 
glass  bowl  of  gold-fish,  an  assorted  tin 
pail  of  vegetables,  a  large,  framed  Michael 
Angelo,  and  a  few  other  little  trifles  for 
nature  work  and  drawing  lessons,  she 
waited  impatiently  on  the  steps  till  the 
janitor  should  come  to  unlock  the  door. 

It  should  be  explained  that  Sarah 
Amanda  had,  the  year  before,  taught  in  a 
small  town  where  the  work  was  so  pleas- 
ant and  agreeable,  she  had  nothing  tan- 


SABAH   AMANDA,   SUBSTITUTE. 


71 


gible  to  worry  about.  This  sense  of  some- 
thing familiar  lacking  distressed  her  so 
greatly  that  she  cast  about  for  some 
place  where  all  her  faculties  might  be 
profitably  employed.  She  obtained  a 
place  as  substitute  in  the  third  grade  in 
Fresno,  with  the  prospect  of  a  permanent 
position  if  she  were  successful.  This  was 
the  first  day  of  her  work,  and  she  repented 
dearly  her  Sunday  afternoon  nap  as  she 
surveyed  the  meagre  supply  of  educa- 
tional pabulum  she  had  brought  with  het, 
It  lacked  an  hour  till  school  time,  so 
Sarah  Amanda  had  to  exercise  her  in- 
genuity and  work  hard  to  create  some  ne- 
cessity for  labor.  Finally,  ten  minutes  be- 
fore, nine,  she  sat  down  at  her  desk  and 
took  out  her  worrying.  Other  women  re- 
sort to  fancy  work,  but  she  was  spared 
this  expense  and  trouble.  Her  pastime 
and  consolation,  without  price  and  ever 
present,  was  worrying.  By  nine,  every 
emergency  known  or  possible  to  an  educa- 
tional gathering  of  the  young,  was  mar- 
shaled in  order  in  her  brain.  If  there  is 
any  power  in  mental  suggestion,  the  child- 
ren could  not  be  held  accountable  for  any- 
thing that  followed.  Acute  curiosity  put 
other  symptoms  in  the  background  until 
they  had  taken  their  seats,  surveyed  the 
new  teacher,  and  taken  an  inventory  of 
the  indications.  According  to  the  pro- 
gramme on  the  board,  singing  came  first, 
lasting  twenty  minutes.  When  asked  what 
they  wished,  with  one  accord  they  shrieked 
"The  Froggie's  Swimming  School."  The 
title  seemed  harmless,  but  as  the  rendi- 
tion proceeded,  the  swimming  pool  seemed 
to  overflow  its  banks  and  become  a  raging 
cataract.  In  vain  Sarah  Amanda,  des- 
perate lest  the  other  teachers  should  hear, 
endeavored  to  stem  the  flood  of  song.  Un- 
heeding her  stern  command  and  rising 
color,  they  shouted  with  joyous  abandon 
through  the  entire  seventeen  verses.  Then 
only  temporary  lung  failure  produced  a 
lull.  Good  heavens,  this  must  not  be  re- 
peated; cut  short  the  opening  exercises 
and  begin  more  solid  instruction!  That 
day  was  duplicated  three  times  that  week, 
in  spirit  and  aim,  though  not,  alas,  in  de- 
tail, else,  perhaps,  one  might  have  learned 
to  cope  with  them.  Yet  it  was  odd,  was 
not  to  be  explained,  in  fact,  that  Sarah 
Amanda  was  not  satisfied  with  the  results. 
She  applied  literally  and  frantically,  with 
hot  haste,  every  precept  and  adage  to  be 


found  in  the  infallible  legends  of  Miss 
Merrythought  and  Miss  Youngteacher,  as 
set  forth  in  the  International  School 
Journal. 

The  children,  on  their  part,  supplied 
every  phase  of  spontaneity,  suggestion, 
imagination  and  variety  recommended  by 
Professor  James  in  his  advanced  psy- 
chology. In  the  geography  lesson,  one 
was  supposed  to  develop  the  idea  of  lakes, 
peninsulas  and  volcanoes  and  other  ter- 
restrial phenomena  by  tactful  questions 
and  modeling  in  the  sand  pile  on  the  big 
table.  Then  one  should  state  the  defini- 
tion and  surprise  the  delighted  child  into 
learning  it.  At  the  end  of  an  hour,  the 
appearance  of  the  room  gave  ample  testi- 
mony that  the  thirsters  for  knowledge 
had  elucidated,  to  their  complete  satisfac- 
tion, the  causes  and  effects  of  sand  storms 
and  hydraulic  mining.  But  the  petty 
considerations  offered  by  their  tiresome 
teacher  had  been  entirely  ignored.  The 
nature  study  class  was,  at  present,  sup- 
posed to  train  future  recruits  for  the  hu- 
mane society,  by  arousing  interest  in  ani- 
mal life,  and  inculcating  noble  sentiments 
of  kindness  and  protection.  To  this  end, 
a  bedraggled  pigeon  in  a  canary  cage  was 
placed  in  their  midst.  Its  tail  feathers, 
being  the  only  detachable  portions  of  its 
anatomy,  speedily  adorned  the  stubby  tops 
of  several  small  boys,  and  afforded  a 
profitable  lesson  in  atavism,  if  only  Sarah 
Amanda  had  been  sufficiently  scientific  to 
appreciate  it.  The  teacher  and  the  pigeon 
felt  very  sympathetically  inclined  toward 
each  other. 

Sarah  Amanda's  theorv  that  little 
children  love  only  the  purely  imaginative 
and  poetical  in  life,  and  shun  the  practi- 
cal and  commonplace  received  a  rude  jar 
when  the  only  lull  in  the  day  came  during 
the  arithmetic  class.  They  scratched  away 
madly,  intent  on  their  long  division,  and 
performed  the  task  really  conscientiously. 
In  the  warm  afternoon  a  restless  weari- 
ness took  the  place  of  their  glad  enthusi- 
asm, and  they  craned  their  necks  toward 
the  open  windows  like  pathetic  lions  in 
captivity.  During  the  reading  lesson, 
their  conduct  was  irreproachable,  accord- 
ing to  an  adult  point  of  view.  They  tit- 
tered and  whispered  politely  for  all  the 
world  as  their  mammas  did  at  the  club. 
The  demands  of  justice  were  satisfied  bv 
keeping  three- fourths  of  the  room  after 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


school.  When  they  had  gone,  the  princi- 
pal came  in  to  inquire  how  the  day  had 
gone,  and  offer  a  little  advice  and  sympa- 
thy. But  so  fearful  was  Sarah  Amanda 
of  seeming  incapable  that,  with  Spartan 
cheerfulness,  she  assured  the  surprised 
lady  that  the  work  and  order  had  been  all 
that  one  could  wish. 

Finally,  loaded  with  spelling  papers, 
number  work  and  a  crushing  burden  of 
care,  she  walked  home.  She  was  fright- 
fully tired.  But  she  could  not  ride  on 
the  street  car.  She  must  save  her  money. 
There  was  no  hope  now  of  ever  securing  a 
place.  Probably  clerking  at  the  hair-pin 
counter  in  the  People's  Department  Store 
was  all  she  could  look  forward  to  next 
year.  No  one  had  ever  told  her  that  sub- 
stitutes always  underwent  such  a  proba- 
tion. Perhaps  the  children  were  not 
blindly  malicious,  but  were  impelled  by 
some  recognition  of  the  law  of  the  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest. 

The  odoriferous  sizzle  of  ham  greeted 
lier  nose  at  the  back  door.  Mrs.  Pennel 
was  cooking  supper. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you're  here.  Where 
liave  you  been  ?  What  kept  you  late  ?  I've 
been  so  worried  I  could  scarcely  cook.  Did 
anything  happen?" 

The  absent  Sarah  of  Mrs.  Fennel's 
imagination  always  pursued  a  dangerous, 
often  a  fatally  gory,  path. 

"I  have  been  at  school.  I  have  just 
come  home,"  Sarah  Amanda  elucidated  in 
such  chilling  accents  that  the  tea  kettle 
shivered  and  stopped  singing.  Can  one 
who  has  signed  his  own  death  warrant  be 
patient  and  merry  ? 

"Well,  hurry.  The  biscuits  are  done. 
The  potatoes  won't  keep  hot,  and  they  are 
not  good  cold." 

Sarah  Amanda  changed  her  new  blue 
silk  waist  for  an  old  faded  percale,  con- 
siderably shrunk,  and  sleeked  her  hair 
back  viciously.  A  three  dollar  clerk  must 
save  her  clothes,  and  what  business-  had 
her  hair  to  wave  so  cheerfully  when  her 
heart  was  like  lead?  She  was  hungry, 
and  ate  fast  and  fiercely,  as  she  had 
worked  all  day.  Yet  it  surprised  and  ir- 
ritated her  that  in  the  presence  of  such 
grief  food  could  please.  Her  mother 
waited  on  her  assiduously,  and  at  inter- 
vals brought  in  relays  of  jam  and  cookies 
to  tempt  her  appetite.  In  response  to  her 
anxious  questioning,  Sarah  Amanda 


stated  briefly,  with  the  ominous  quiet  of 
absolute  despair,  that  everything  was 
worse  than  it  possibly  could  be.  Mrs. 
Pennel  was  so  distressed  that  she  couldn't 
eat  a  bite. 

"Would  you  like  some  honey?  Here, 
that  biscuit  is  burned.  Take  this  one. 
Now,  couldn't  I  go  with  you  to-morrow 
morning  and  make  them  behave  while 
you  teach?" 

"No !" 

"Well,  shan't  I  go  to  the  Superintend- 
ent about  it?  Such  children  mustn't  be 
allowed  in  the  schools." 

"Mercy,  no.  I  didn't  mean  a  thing  I 
said.  I  was  just  talking." 

"Well,"  said  her  mother,  "you  always 
were  too  modest.  I  guess  you're  bilious. 
I'll  make  up  some  hoarhound  tea  for 
you." 

After  supper,  Sarah  Amanda  sat  in 
stony  silence  by  the  stove  and  chewed  her 
thumbs.  This  was  the  infallible  barome- 
ter by  which  one  could  always  gauge  her 
mental  atmosphere.  A  "aw,  ragged  digit 
betokened  black  storms  brewing. 

If  she  had  only  confided  her  troubles  in 
one  of  the  other  teachers,  she  would  have 
understood  the  temporary  nature  of  the 
insurrection.  But  instead,  she  hoarded 
her  dark  secret  as  though  her  room  were 
infected  with  bubonic  plague. 

For  two  days  longer  she  desperately 
strove  to  carry  out  the  programme  and 
hold  her  own.  But  by  Wednesday  evening 
the  conviction  was  forced  upon  her  that 
the  only  quiet  hour  in  the  day  was  the 
arithmetic  lesson,  and  the  only  work  ac- 
complished the  numbers.  With  a  con- 
suming fear  lest  she  be  discovered,  and 
a  sense  of  guilt  as  though  she  were 
slowly  poisoning  them,  she  accepted  the 
inevitable  and  gradually  gave  more  and 
more  time  to  number  work. 

By  the  second  week,  the  entire  day  was 
thus  spent,  as  fast  as  paper  could  be 
passed  and  examples  put  on  the  board. 
Such  a  drill  in  multiplication,  addition 
and  subtraction  had  never  been  heard  of, 
and  the  very  weirdness  of  the  notion 
seemed  to  catch  the  children.  The  only 
difficulty  was  that  they  could  work  almost 
as  fast  as  she  could  put  the  examples  on 
the  board.  All  the  blackboards  were  cov- 
ered. Desks  and  waste  paper  baskets 
could  not  hold  the  completed  papers.  A 
very  delirium  of  figuring  seemed  to  pos- 


POYEKTY. 


sess  the  room.  What  effect  it  was  having 
on  their  brains  she  could  not,  would  not, 
even  try  to  guess.  It  became  an  exciting 
rivalry  to  see  who  could  cover  the  most 
paper.  Undoubtedly  it  was  unsurpassed 
in  criminal  annals.  Sarah  Amanda  felt 
as  though  she  were  yielding  to  an  unholy 
thirst  for  morphine,  as  she  ignored  the 
elevating  claims  of  reading  and  nature 
work,  and  continued  to  supply  arithmeti- 
cal dissipation. 

Friday  evening  of  the  second  week,  she 
went  home  in  a  daze,  too  tired,  too  miser- 
able, for  human  sensation.  Failure,  ruin, 
spread  behind,  before,  below,  above,  like 
a  dead,  cold,  gray,  engulfing  flood.  Mon- 
day the  regular  teacher  was  to  return. 
All  would  be  discovered,  but  the  end  had 
really  already  come.  What  might  happen 
now  could  not  matter. 

She  went  to  bed  early.  Her  head  was 
hot,  but  she  was  very  sleepy.  Probably 
she  would  die  of  brain  fever.  It  was  bet- 
ter so.  A  clerk  would  have  to  make 
change  and  do  sums.  But  brain  fever 
failed  to  do  its  worst.  Sarah  Amanda 
still  lived.  She  even  listlessly  submitted 
to  her  mother's  anxious  solicitude  and 
drank  hoarhound  tea.  Onlv  her  thumb 


was  reduced  to  a  mere  shred. 

Wednesday  morning  the  postman  left 
a  letter  on  the  front  porch.  Mrs.  Fennel 
bustled  out  to  tell  him  not  to  track  mud 
up  her  clean  walk.  Then  she  took  the 
letter  in  to  Sarah  Amanda.  It  was  from 
the  principal,  and  the  last  paragraph 
said:  'Tour  success  with  the  third  grade 
was  so  marked  that  I  have  recommended 
that  you  be  given  a  permanent  place,  the 
second  grade,  in  my  building.  The  trus- 
tees will  vote  the  position  for  you  at  their 
meeting  this  evening.  The  regular 
teacher  of  the  third  grade  tells  me  that 
she  has  had  such  trouble  teaching  them 
their  numbers,  but  while  you  were  there 
they  made  such  remarkable  progress  that 
she  feels  you  must  have  unusual  ability 
and  resource  in  handling  children,  and 
I,  for  myself,  am  much  gratified  that  you 
did  not  have  to  report  any  cases  for  dis- 
cipline." 

Sarah  Amanda  turned  on  the  spigot 
and  wept.  Mrs.  Fennel  put  on  her  glasses 
and  read  the  letter  out  loud. 

"Well,  well,"  she  said,  triumphantly, 
"I'm  not  surprised.  I  thought  that  hoar- 
hound  tea  would  help  you.  I  knew  you 
were  bilious." 


BY    EDWARD    WILBUR    MASON 

I  am  the  giant  tree  whose  boughs  unstirred, 
Conceal  no  happy  nest  of  singing  bird. 

I  am  the  perfect  rose  whose  hundredth  leaf 
Remains  uncrumpled  by  the  touch  of  grief. 

I  am  the  nightingale  that  eve  and  morn 
Escapes  unwounded  from  the  lyric  thorn. 

I  am  the  cloud  that  moves  in  light  august 
Without  a  tear  of  pearl  to  fling  the  diist. 

I  am  the  sun  that  in  uncrimson  wave, 
Sinks  down  without  a  battle  to  the  grave. 


I  am  the  night  that  knows  not  near  or  far, 
The  tragic  splendor  of  a  falling  star ! " 


BY    KELLEY    PREDMORE 


I  HAD  been  watching  them  several 
months  when  the  trouble  came.  They 
always  sat  in  the  same  corner  of  the 
7:30  boat,  a  nice  secluded  corner,  partly 
scraened  from  the  gaze  of  too  inquisitive 
passers-by.  Apparently  they  didn't  mind 
an  old  fellow  who  sat  near  them,  and  no 
wonder,  for  his  nose  was  always  buried 
in  the  morning  paper. 

You  see,  I  am  a  commuter.  For  twenty 
years  I  have  crossed  from  Oakland  to  San 
Francisco  in  the  morning,  from  San 
Francisco  back  to  Oakland  at  night,  al- 
ways at  the  same  time,  six  days  in  a 
week,  fair  weather  or  foul,  rheumatism 
or  gout  regardless.  I  am  a  lonely  old  fel- 
low in  my  home  life,  a  homely,  fanciful 
old  man  in  many  ways.  Perhaps  that  is 
why  I  take  more  than  usual  interest  in  my 
fellow  passengers. 

It  was  my  custom  to  sit  and  speculate 
behind  my  paper  on  the  life  story  of  the 
patient  little  woman -with  the  weary  face 
and  sad  eyes,  who  has  crossed  the  bay  al- 
most as  many  years  as  I,  and  I  would 
like  to  ask  her  if  she  has  no  friends  or 
kindred  to  lift  the  burden  of  life  a  little 
from  her  tired  shoulders.  Then  there  is 
the  scornful  blonde  beauty  whose  scowl- 
ing brows  tell  me  plainly  what  a  martyr 
she  considers  herself  for  traveling  on  the 
7  :30.  I  sympathize  with  her ;  it  must  be 
an  unholy  hour  for  a  blonde  beauty  who 
has  to  curl  her  hair,  powder  her  face,  and 
attend  to  a  dozen  little  fripperies  a  mere 
man  knows  nothing  about. 

But  the  Boy  and  Girl  held  the  first 
place  in  my  heart.  I  called  them  the 'Boy 
and  Girl  for  lack  of  a  better  name.  The 
Girl  came  first  to  the  quiet  corner,  always 
with  a  book.  At  first  it  was  "Ben  Hur," 
then  came  "When  Knighthood  was  in 
Flower."  It  warmed  the  cockles  of  my 
old  heart  just  to  look  at  her,  so  sweet  and 
pink  and  altogether  dainty  was  she.  Al- 
ways wearing  the  same  grey  dress  and 
plain  hat,  but  with  now  and  then  a  bright 
new  ribbon  or  a  brilliant  flower  to  relieve 
their  plainness. 


By-and-bye  the  Boy  appeared.  He  just 
passed  along  each  day  and  raised  his  hat 
from  his  sleek  head  in  passing,  but  we 
soon  began  to  watch  for  him,  the  Girl  and 
I.  She  had  her  book  and  I  my  paper,  but 
neither  one  of  us  turned  a  page  until 
the  tall,  straight  young  fellow  had  passed 
to  the  forward  deck.  Sometimes  after  he 
had  passed,  even,  she  just  sat  and  looked 
at  her  book  in  a  dreamy  way,  smiling  now 
and  then  as  if  her  thoughts  were  far  better 
company  than  any  book  ever  printed. 

Then  one  morning,  quite  as  unexpect- 
ed to  her  as  to  me,  I  am  sure,  the  Boy 
stopped.  Her  face  reflected  the  flush  on 
his  as  he  did  so.  He  was  very  ceremo- 
nious and  asked  if  she  allowed  intruders 
in  her  quiet  corner.  He  sat  down  beside 
her — not  too  near — and  inquired  how  she 
liked  crossing  the  bay  every  day.  She 
liked  it  (I  knew  she  did.)  She  loved  the 
bay  in  sunshine  and  in  storm;  it  was 
variable,  but  always  beautiful  to  her.  He, 
too,  thought  crossing  very  pleasant,  es- 
pecially if  one  had  congenial  companion- 
ship. 

Well,  that  was  the  beginning.  As  they 
became  better  acquainted  we  had  some 
gay  times  in  our  quiet  corner.  I  say  we, 
for  I  am  sure  I  enjoyed  them  quite  as 
much  as  they.  Whenever  he  laughed  at 
one  of  her  quick  little  sallies  I  laughed, 
too,  only  silently;  if  he  told  a  particu- 
larly good  joke,  I  entered  into  it  as  much 
as  she.  Ah,  those  were  indeed  happy 
times  for  a  lonely  old  fellow ! 

One  morning  as  I  sat  down,  I  found 
them  talking  with  unusual  animation. 

"I  enjoyed  the  play  so  much,"  from 
the  Girl. 

"So  did  I,"  from  the  Boy. 

"She  certainly  is  a  wonderful  actress." 

"Well,"  hesitatingly,  "I  suppose  so." 

"Why,    I    thought  you   admired   her !" 

"So  I  do,"  he  declared,  "but  you  see  I 
didn't  look  at  her  very  much.  I  had — 
something  better  to  look  at." 

At  this,  the  Girl  glanced  quickly  out 
over  the  bay.  "The  seagulls  are  very  ac- 


CROSSING  THE  BAY. 


tive  this  morning,"  she  said,  demurely. 

"Aha!"  thinks  I,  "we  have  been  to  the 
theatre  together.  Matters  are  getting  in- 
teresting !" 

After  that,  we  often  had  intimate  little 
talks  about  parties,  friends,  theatres  and 
what  not;  foolish,  inconsequential  con- 
versations, perhaps,  of  no  earthly  interest 
to  any  one  but  two  absorbed  young  people 
and  one  foolish  old  one.  Sometimes  the 
Boy  brought  a  bunch  of  violets  "to  match 
her  eyes,"  or  a  long-stemmed  rose  "to 
vie  with  her  cheeks."  Then  it  was  a  new 
book  that  had  been  discussed  the  day  be- 
fore or  a  box  of  candy,  "sweets  to  the 
sweet." 

Just  before  the  holidays  the  crisis  came. 
They  sat  in  the  quiet ,  corner,  outwardly 
the  same,  but  to  my  experienced  eyes 
there  was  a  certain  subtle  difference,  a 
proprietory  air  in  his  manner,  in  hers  a 
quaint  mixture  of  shyness  and  confidence. 
They  talked  in  low  tones;  by  and  bye 
she  held  out  her  left  hand;  on  its  third 
finger  shone  a  new  ring — a  simple  little 
gold  ring  set  with  one  small  pearl.  He 
took  the  hand  in  both  his  own,  and  to- 
gether they  examined  the  tiny  symbol  of 
live  and  trust,  forgetful,  apparently,  that 
a  certain  old  fellow  sat  not  far  from  them 
with  nothing  to  interest  him  but  a  pro- 
saic newspaper. 

"I  wish  it  had  been  a  diamond,"  the 
Boy  said,  "as  large,  oh,  as  large  as  a 
cherry,"  at  which  they  both  laughed  hap- 
pily. "But  you  shall  have  diamonds  some 
day — diamond  rings,  diamond  pins,  dia- 
mond necklaces !"  More  laughter. 

"You  silly !"  said  the  Girl,  fondly.  "I 
wouldn't  give  my  one  wee  pearl  for  all 
the  diamonds  in  San  Francisco." 

After  that  they  played  a  great  game 
of  "make  believe"  each  day.  "Just  sup- 
pose" they  were  building  a  house,  what 
kind  would  she  like  ?  Why,  any  kind  that 
he  built,  to  be  sure.  Oh,  yes,  of  course, 
but  she  surely  had  some  preference  in  re- 
gard to  size  and  shape?  After  much 
persuasion  she  confessed  that  she  really 
liked  best  the  tiniest  of  bungaloes  on  the 
hillside,  with  a  rose  vine  clambering  over 
it,  and  perhaps  a  bit  of  lawn  in  front. 
Her  tastes  were  so  very  simple  that  once 
or  twice  he  looked  at  her  half-doubtfully, 
as  if  he  suspected  what  I  knew,  that  she 
was  pruning  those  tastes  to  fit  his  pocket- 
book.  Then  he  began  to  have  fears  that 


she  might  be  lonely,  staying  at  home  all 
day  when  she  was  used  to  the  life  of  the 
city.  At  which  she  looked  at  him  re- 
proachfully and  asked  if  he  thought  she 
worked  in  the  city  because  she  liked  it,  or 
because  she  must  have  bread  and  butter. 
Which  gave  him  the  finest  opening  in  the 
world  to  remark  that,  in  his  opinion, 
January  1st  was  an  ideal  day  on  which 
to  begin  married  life.  To  which  she  had 
nothing  to  say,  but  the  pink  sprang  into 
her  cheeks. 

So  the  foolish  talk  dowed  on  and  weeks 
passed.  Then,  suddenly,  it  was  all  over. 
They  came  no  more  to  the  quiet  corner, 
neither  the  Boy  nor  the  Girl.  The  Girl 
now  sat  in  the  cabin,  a  tremulous  droop 
to  her  lips,  her  eyes  cast  down.  She  held 
a  book  in  her  hands,  but  seldom  turned 
its  leaves.  Perhaps  it  was  the  old  "Ben 
H^ur,"  and  gazing  so  steadfastly  at  the 
familiar  pages,  perhaps  she  lived  again 
the  joys  of  the  quiet  corner.  Day  by  day 
the  Boy  marched  past  her,  his  head  well 
up,  his  lips  firm.  At  such  times,  the  old 
pink  fluttered  again  in  her  cheeks,  bul 
her  eyes  were  never  raised.  I  was  indeed 
a  lonely,  miserable  old  fellow  in  those 
days.  I  wandered  from  the  cabin,  where 
the  Girl  sat  with  her  downcast  eyes,  to 
the  forward  deck  where  the  Boy  paced 
back  and  forth.  0  foolish  Boy  and  fool- 
ish Girl,  and  foolish  old  fellow  to  trou- 
ble your  foolish  old  heart  about  them! 

One  morning  in  late  winter,  I  went 
aboard  the  7:30  boat  and  found  one  of 
San  Francisco's  blackest  fogs  lying  on  the 
bay.  Most  of  the  passengers  sat  in  the 
cabin,  but  I  went  forward,  where  I  leaned 
against  a  post  ana  watched  the  boat  plow 
her  way  through  di.rk  waters  beneath  and 
dense  fog^above.  Every  few  minutes  shs 
emitted  a  warning  cry;  from  all  parts  of 
the  bay  answering  cries  came  back  to  her 
— at  the  right,  at  the  left,  before,  behind, 
they  sounded.  Somewhere  in  the  dis- 
tance a  bell  was  ringing,  sharply,  rhyth- 
mically, beat  on  beat. 

The  murky  wall  of  mist  held  a  curious 
fascination  for  me,  the  constant,  mourn- 
ful call  of  fog  horns  suggested  possible 
danger.  Suddenly,  just  in  front  of  us, 
a  whistle  began  to  blow,  persistently, 
warningly.  Our  own  whistle  answered  it, 
cry  for  cry.  Almost  at  the  same  instant, 
there  appeared  before  my  eyes  the  dim 
outlines  of  a  huge  monster,  bearing  down 


76 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


upon  us.  Another  second  and  the  out- 
lines grew  into  the  semblance  of  a  phan- 
tom ship,  veiled  in  mist.  She  was  headed 
across  our  path.  I  took  a  firmer  hold  of 
my  post;  in  an  instant  the  shock  came. 
Our  boat  gave  a  mighty  lurch,  paused  a 
moment,  then  quivered  like  a  thing  alive. 
Still  uttering  her  warning  cry,  the  phan- 
tom ship  sailed  off  into  the  mist  and  a 
wall  of  gray  closed  in  after  her. 

I  turned  toward  the  cabin.  Frightened 
passengers  were  crowding  through  its 
doorway,  among  them  a  familiar  figure  in 


grey — a  pale  little  Girl,  with  big,  ques- 
tioning eyes.  The  Boy  rushed  past  me. 

"Don't  be  afraid — it  was  only  a  slight 
collision,"  he  cried.  He  clasped  her  out- 
stretched hands  and  smiled  reassuringly 
down  at  her.  Into  her  pale  face  came  H 
flood  of  pink,  into  her  eyes  a  glow.  I 
pushed  on  toward  the  cabin. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  the  Girl. 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  Boy. 

At  which  a  certain  homely  old  fellow 
rubbed  his  hands  gleefully  and  chuckled 
to  himself. 


BY    ALOYSIUS    COLL 

Her  faults  are  like  the  cloth  of  cherry  bloom, 
Deft-fingered  May  hath  hung  upon  the  tree, 

Hiding  the  leaf  and  fibre  with  a  loom 
Of  fragrant  mystery. 

Some  follies  blossom,  wither  and  are  done, 
Like  broken  petals  lost  upon  a  breeze; 

Some  are  the  children  of  the  rain  and  sun — 
And  ripen  on  the  trees. 

What  hand  would  rend  the  velvet  cloth  of  snow 
To  pry  into  the  branches  and  the  root? — 

This  beauty  is  a  burning  sign  to  show 
The  tree  is  bearing  fruit. 

And  if  to  cull  a  single  barren  flower 

One  promise  be  endangered  in  the  doom, 

Suffer  a  million  blossoms  of  an  hour 
For  one  enduring  bloom ! 


Ana  Afttoi 


BY  ARTHUR    INKERSLEY 


A  Rugby  footballer  of  the  University  of  Call 
fornia.  Needham  Bros.,   Photo. 

THE  real  era  of  football  began  in 
about  the  year  1820  in  England, 
the  game  continually  increasing  in 
favor  until  about  1860,  when  the  "public 
schools"  took  it  up  and  have  maintained 
it  ever  since  with  great  energy.  Inas- 
much, however,  as  the  playing-grounds  of 
the  various  schools  differed  in  extent. 
Eton,  Winchester,  Harrow,  Rugby,  West- 
minster and  Charterhouse  each  developed 
its  own  game  peculiar  to  itself,  and  played 
nowhere  else  except  by  "old  boys"  at  the 
universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge. 
For  this  reason,  though  teams  represent- 
ing the  great  "public  schools"  meet  in 
competition  on  the  cricket-field  and  at  the 
shooting  range,  there  are  no  inter- 


scholastic  football  matches.  Eton  College 
has  two  games  peculiar  to  itself — the  wail 
and  the  field  game.  The  former  is 
played  on  a  ground  120  yards  long  and 
6  yards  wide,  a  wall  ten  feet  high  bound- 
ing its  whole  length  on  one  side.  A  door 
at  one  end,  and  an  elm  tree  at  the  other 
are  the  goals.  The  game  is  played  only 
at  Eton,  and  occasionally  by  old  Eton- 
ians. The  field  game  is  played  on  a 
ground  100  to  120  yards  long,  and  80 
to  100  yards  wide.  It  is  chiefly  a  kicking 
game,  scoring  being  by  goals  and 
"rouges."  There  is  a  good  deal  of  scrim- 
maging, each  side  "forming  up"  and 
"forming  down"  alternately. 

In  the  Harrow  game  there  is  catching 
and  free  kicking,  but  no  running  with  the 
ball,  and  consequently  no  tackling.  At 
Charterhouse  and  Westminster.  In  the 
early  days  the  boys  played  in  the  cloisters 
and  naturally  developed  a  dribbling  game. 
The  Winchester  game  is  played  on  a  field 
about  80  yards  long  and  25  yards  wide, 
surrounded  by  a  high  net.  There  is  no 
dribbling,  the  game  being  a  series  of 
scrimmages,  which  are  termed,  not  inap- 
propriately, "hots."  Rugby  School  was 
the  only  one  that  provided  abundant  space 
in  its  playing  fields  for  football,  and 
there  running  with  the  ball  and  tackling 
became  important  parts  of  the  game. 

As  each  of  the  great  schools,  which 
would  naturally  supply  the  most  promis- 
ing recruits  for  university  teams  played 
a  game  of  its  own,  football  was  slow  in 
gaining  a  hold  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge. 
In  1863  some  men  who  played  a  drib- 
bling game  organized,  but  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  "off  side"  until  1867.  The 
Rugby  players  were  not  associated,  but 
had  an  off-side  rule.  Early  in  the  seven- 
ties of  the  19th  Century,  all  the  "public- 
schools"  had  teams  playing  football  of 
some  kind,  and  the  Rugby  Union  Associa- 
tion was  formed.  International  cham- 
pionship matches  with  Scotland,  and  later 
with  Ireland,  were  •  arranged.  Rugby 
Union  gained  rapidly  in  general  esteem. 


78 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


and  in  1873  (the  year  of  my  matricula- 
tion at  Brasenose  College,  Oxford)  the 
first  match  was  played  between  teams  rep- 
resenting the  Universities  of  Oxford  and 
Cambridge.  Year  by  year  the  game  be- 
came more  popular,  until  it  spread  to  the 
remotest  corners  of  the  United  Kingdom. 

In  the  United  States,  football  was 
played  at  Yale  from  1840  to  1858,  when 
it  lapsed  because  the  Newhaven  officials 
refused  to  permit  it  to  be  played  on  the 
town  green.  Harvard  men  also  engaged 
in  the  game  during  this  period.  In  1871 
the  game  revived,  and  in  1872  the  Yale 
Football  Association  won  a  match  against 
Columbia.  In  1874,  the  Intercollegiate 
Football  Association  was  formed  by  Yale, 
Columbia,  Princeton  and  Eutgers,  Yale 
winning  the  championship.  From  that 
time,  football  developed  rapidly  in  the 
United  States.  Ths  modern  football  be- 
gan at  practically  the  same  time  in  the 
English  and  American  universities. 

Nearly  every  college  at  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  (there  is  about  a  score  at 
each  university)  maintains  two  football 
teams — a  Rugby  Union  and  an  Associa- 
tion; and  there  are  also  two  teams  repre- 
senting each  university.  The  mere  fact 
of  there  being  two  university  football 
matches,  one  of  which  may  be  won  and 
the  other  lost,  and  each  of  which  has  its 
own  adherents  among  the  undergraduates, 
deprives  the  matches  of  that  high  interest 
that  American  undergraduates  feel  in  the 
one  supreme  contest  of  the  season.  Ox- 
ford and  Cambridge  men  regard  the  in- 
ter-university football  encounters  with  a. 
very  philosophical  mind.  Many  under- 
graduates, and  a  still  larger  proportion  of 
graduates,  could  not  tell  you  off-hand 
whether  their  own  university  teams  won 
both,  one  or  neither  of  the  two  football 
matches  of  the  year.  There  is  no  hysteri- 
cal love  of  football,  and  no  extravagant 
admiration  of  the  football  player  at  Ox- 
ford or  Cambridge.  Those  two  ancient 
universities  have  so  many  varied  interests 
and  activities  that  no  one  sport  can  usurp 
the  universal  attention.  The  contest  .that 
excites  the  most  widespread  interest  is 
the  annual  eight-oared  boat-race  from 
Putney  to  Mortlake,  and  the  most  coveted 
athletic  distinction  is  the  rowing  "blue." 
Next  in  general  esteem  comes  the  cricket 
eleven,  the  annual  match  at  Lord's 
Ground  between  the  Oxford  and  Cam- 


bridge elevens  being  one  of  the  most  fash- 
ionable events   of   the   London  season. 

The  training  of  college  and  university 
football  teams,  and  of  athletes  generally, 
is  a  very  different  thing  in  England  from 
what  it  is  in  the  United  States.  It  is 
never  very  strict,  and  only  for  the  last  ten 
days  or  two  weeks  before  a  match  is  any 
serious  attention  devoted  to  it.  But  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  men  are 
natural  athletes,  the  sons  and  grandsons 
of  athletes,  and  that  they  are  always  in 
condition.  When  they  are  not  playing- 
football  they  are  playing  cricket,  rac- 
quets, lawn  tennis,  fives  or  some  other 
game.  They  are  fox-hunters,  good  shots, 
fishermen,  golfers.  As  an  example  of  the 
all-round  excellence  of  university  athletes, 
C.  J.  Ottaway,  of  Brasenose  College,  Ox- 
ford, in  the  early  seventies,  may  be  cited. 
He  was  captain  of  the  Oxford  University 
Cricket  Club,  Captain  of  the  Oxford  Uni- 
versity Association  football  team,  and 
was  one  of  the  most  skillful  billiard- 
players  of  his  day.  He  was  for  several 
years  the  best  racquet-player  in  Oxford  or 
Cambridge,  and  with  all  this  athletic 
achievement  was  a  Scholar  of  his  college. 
In  more  recent  times,  C.  B.  Fry,  of  Wad- 
ham  College,  Oxford,  was  President  of 
the  Oxford  University  Athletic  Club, 
holder  of  the  running  broad  jump  record, 
a  representative  of  his  university  in  the 
100-yards  race,  and  a  good  man  over  hur- 
dles; he  also  was  captain  of  the  Oxford 
University  Cricket  Eleven,  and  is  now 
the  best  amateur  batsman  in  Great  Brit- 
ain. He  was  also  a  Scholar  of  his  college 
and  took  first-class  honors  in  Classical 
Moderations. 

Though  most  of  the  men  at  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  come  from  homes  kept  up  in 
luxurious  style,  a  very  small  amount  of 
money  is  expended  on  the  maintenance  of 
university  sports.  Less  than  $2,500  is 
spent  on  the  university  Rugby  Union 
football  team  in  a  season,  and  less  than 
$1,500  serves  to  maintain  the  Association 
eleven.  An  American  university  football 
team  costs  $15,000  or  more  each  season. 
It  is  the  "handling"  of  large  sums  like 
this  that  causes  the  scramble  for  the  post 
of  manager  of  the  athletic  sports  of 
American  universities,  and  starts  young 
"Napoleons  of  Finance"  on  their  way  to 
becoming  presidents  of  life  insurance  com- 
panies and  looters  of  the  public  funds.  It 


80 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


is  evident  that  the  beggarly  sums  "hand- 
led" by  the  managers  of  sports  at  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  afford  no  opportunities  of 
this  sort. 

Another  source  of  great  expense  in" 
American  colleges  is  the  graduate  coach, 
who  is  hired  at  an  extravagant  salary  to 
get  together  in  any  way  that  he  can  a  team 
that  will  beat  his  rivals.  The  preparatory 
schools  are  carefully  searched  and  "in- 
ducements" (of  a  delicate  or  coarse  kind, 
as  may  be  found  necessary)  are  offered  to 
the  promising  footballers  to  join  this  or 
that  college.  A  boy  of  eighteen,  already 
intoxicated  by  the  absurd  adulation  of  his 
schoolmates,  finds  great  institutions  of 
learning  begging  for  the  honor  of  his  pres- 
ence, that  he  may  strengthen  the  football 
eleven.  If  he  is  (as  is  very  likely  the 
case)  a  business-like  youth,  he  keeps  the 
managers  bidding  against  each  other,  and 
finally  knocks  himself  down  to  the  high- 
est bidder.  At  Oxford  or  Cambridge  ths 
coaching  of  the  oarsmen,  cricketers,  foot- 
ballers and  track  men  is  done  wholly  by 
graduates  who  in  their  day  achieved  dis- 
tinction and  won  their  "blue"  as  repre- 
sentatives of  their  university.  The  only 
professionals  found  at  the  English  uni- 
versities are  the  care-takers  of  the  boat- 
houses,  the  cricket  grounds  and  the  run- 
ning tracks.  These  men  are  regarded  as 
employees,  and  not  as  companions  or  ad- 
visors, except  in  so  far  as  their  advice 
may  be  directly  asked.  They  do  not  asso- 
ciate in  daily  intimacy  with  the  under- 
graduates as  do  the  professional  coaches  of 
an  American  college  team,  nor  do  they 
imbue  them  with  professional  ideas  of 
sport. 

While  a  representative  of  one  univer- 
sity likes  to  beat  a  representative  of  the 
other,  he  does  not  break  his  heart  if  he 
is  defeated.  It  is  felt  that,  whether  an 
Oxford  or  a  Cambridge  man  wins  an 
event  is, '  after  all,  a  matter  of  •  small 
moment;  whichever  wins,  the  victory  is 
that  of  a  Britisher  and  a  gentleman.  The 
practice  rows  of  the  university  crew  and 
the  preliminary  games  of  the  football 
teams  are  open  to  all  who  care  to  witness 
them;  there  is  no  secret  coaching,  and 
not  the  slightest  attempt  at  concealment. 
Everybody  is  welcome  to  watch  the  whole 
process,  to  use  a  stop-watch  or  do  any- 
thing else  he  pleases.  A  captain  of  the 
Cambridge  University  crew,  when  asked 


by  Caspar  Whitney  whether  he  had  any 
objection  to  having  his  eight-oared  boat 
followed  by  observers  in  a  steam-launch, 
replied :  "Not  a  bit.  Follow  all  you  like." 
After  a  stubborn  contest  is  over,  it  is  hard 
to  tell  the  winners  from  the  losers;  the 
former  are  not  beside  themselves  with  joy 
and  the  latter  are  not  hysterical  with 
grief.  The  idea  of  a  fully-grown  young 
man,  measuring  six  feet  and  weighing 
from  180  to  200  pounds,  falling  on  his 
face  and  blubbering  like  a  child  because 
some  one  can  run  a  hundred  yards  one- 
fifth  of  a  second  faster  than  he  can,  would 
seem  not  only  absurd  but  absolutely  in- 
conceivable to  an  Oxford  or  Cambridge 
man.  He  would  not  believe  that  such 
a  thing  could  happen  anywhere;  he  would 
think  it  a  story  to  tell  to  the  marines. 

However,  to  get  back  to  the  question  of 
football.  Inasmuch  as  all  my  records 
and  literary  data  were  consumed  in  the 
great  fire,  I  am  not  able  to  quote  the  exact 
words  of  those  to  whom  I  refer,  much  as  I 
should  like  to  do  so.  But,  having  written 
a  rough  copy  of  the  burnt  article,  which 
was  then  dictated  to  a  typist,  corrected 
and  set  up  in  type,  the  printed  proof  be- 
ing read  and  corrected,  I  can  recall  pretty 
well  the  general  sense.  The  modern  inter- 
collegiate game  of  football,  as  played  in 
the  United  States  is,  of  course,  an  out- 
growth of  the  Rugby  Union  game,  of 
which  it  has  taken  the  worst  features  and 
developed  them  to  an  extravagant  extent. 
As  Dr.  D.  S.  Jordan  has  said,  the  modern 
game  consists  in  hurling  an  irresistible 
wedge  against  an  unbreakable  line,  till 
something  gives.  As  soon  as  the  weak 
spot  in  a  team  is  discovered,  it  is  battered 
continually.  Interference  and  tackling 
have  been  developed  until  they  have  be- 
come the  whole  game.  So  much  of  the 
play  is  done  while  the  players  are  squirm- 
ing on  the  ground  in  an  undistinguishable 
mass  that  the  referee,  even  were  he  so 
inclined,  must  fail  to  see  just  what  is  go- 
ing on.  Great  opportunities  are  thus  af- 
forded to  the  blackguard  and  cad  to  get 
in  his  dirty  work;  which  he  does,  ad  libi- 
tum. 

The  highly-paid  coach  enters  into  the 
thing  as  a  business,  and  teaches  his  team 
to  do  anything  that  -conduces  to  victory. 
His  influence  on  a  team  is  almost  wholly 
bad.  As  his  own  lucrative  employment 
depends  upon  his  success  in  getting  to- 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


gether  a  victorious  eleven,  he  resorts  to 
any  tactics,  fair  or  foul.  He  becomes 
an  advocate  of  anything  that  tends  to 
elaborate  and  complicate  the  game,  and 
so  to  make  his  employment  more  indis- 
pensable. He  is  opposed  to  any  tendency 
to  simplify  the  game  or  to  adopt  another 
that  is  more  easily  learned.  With  him, 
football  is  a  highly  serious  matter,  the 
business  of  his  life;  it  has  long  ceased  10 
be  a  sport  or  a  recreation;  and  it  is  any- 
thing but  sport  for  his  pupils.  It  is  hard, 
dreary,  uninteresting  work;  grind  from 
first  to  last.  No  one  dreams  of  playing 
intercollegiate  football  for  fun  or  for  any 
pleasure  to  be  derived  from  it.  Boys  play 
it  because  they  want  to  get  into  their  pre- 
paratory school  eleven,  and  young  men 
play  it  because  they  wish  to  earn  their 
'Varsity  colors  and  the  admiration  of  their 
fellow  undergraduates  and  female  rela- 
tives. 

Great  crowds  go  to  view  the  intercol- 
legiate matches  not  because  there  is  really 
anything  interesting  to  see,  but  because 
of  the  intense  rivalry  existing  between 
such  institutions  as  Harvard  and  Yale, 
or  in  this  State  between  Stanford  and 
the  University  of  California.  The  crowd 
itself  is  vastly  more  entertaining  than  tho 
performers,  and  foreigners  go  to  an  inter- 
collegiate match  to  view  the  riot  of  color 
and  the  waving  of  flags;  to  listen  to  the 
concerted  cheering  of  the  rooters;  to  see 
for  themselves  to  what  lengths  enthusiasm 
carries  its  devotees.  They  do  not  go  to 
see  the  game;  indeed,  they  know  nothing 
about  it;  it  seems  to  them  merely  an  ab- 
surd exhibition  and  they  wonder  that 
twenty-two  men  can  be  found  to  go  to 
such  vast  trouble  and  suffer  so  much  dis- 
comfort for  an  infinitely  unimportant  re- 
sult. 

Now,  contrast  all  this  with  such  an  ex- 
hibition of  Rugby  Union  football  as  was 
given  by  the  New  Zealand  team  in  Feb- 
ruary of  this  year.  Even  so  pronounced 
an  advocate  of  intercollegiate  football  as 
"Jimmie"  Hopper,  coach  of  the  University 
of  California  team,  was  taken  off  his  feet 
by  the .  marvelous  play  of  the  New  Zea- 
janders;  he  said  that  it  was  clean,  swift, 
beautiful,  clever  football.  Even  the  con- 
certed cheering  to  which  American  under- 
graduates devote  so  much  attention,  and 
which  they  believe  they  have  developed  to 
the  highest  point  was  knocked  into  a 


cocked  hat  bv  the  Maori  war-cry  of  the 
Antipodean  footballers.  The  rooters  on 
the  bleachers  hugged  each  other  when  they 
heard  it;  it  so  utterly  surpassed  any  ideas 
they  had  of  organized  yelling.  And  as  to 
the  game  itself,  it  was  lively  and  en- 
grossing from  start  to  finish;  there  w.is 
always  somethin-  good  to  look  a±,  and,  ;f 
^n  took  your  eyes  off  for  a  moment,  von 
missed  something.  Of  the  intercollegiate 
game,  Jimmie  Hopper  savs  that  it  is  a 
fierce,  tense,  concentrated  effort  to  be-it 
the  opposing  team;  it  is  "an  attempted 
massacre." 

The  wide-spread  outcry  against  the 
many  evils  attendant  upon  intercollegiate 
football  has  resulted  in  an  attempt  to  re- 
form and  purify  it  in  the  Eastern  States, 
and  in  its  abolition  (for  a  time,  at  least) 
in  California.  In  considering  what  should 
be  adopted  in  its  stead,  footballers  natu- 
rally dismissed  at  once  games  of  so  limited 
distribution  and  so  many  local  peculiari- 
ties as  those  in  vogue  at  Eton,  Winches- 
ter and  Harrow.  The  game  played  in  the 
State  of  Victoria,  Australia,  is  a  lively 
one  and  is  esteemed  highly  by  those  who 
have  been  brought  up  to  play  it,  but  it 
has  never  spread  beyond  the  limits  of  tho 
Australian  continent.  This  probably 
never  entered  the  consideration  of  Ameri- 
can footballers  at  all.  There  remained 
two  games  that  rank  high  in  public  es- 
teem and  are  played  by  thousands  in 
many  parts  of  the  world.  These  aro 
Rugby  Union  and  Association.  The  for- 
mer is  now  being  played  at  Stanford  and 
the  University  of  California,  but  is  open 
to  the  serious  objection  that  it  is  the 
parent  game  of  which  intercollegiate  is  the 
bastard  offspring.  Splendid  as  the  game 
is  when  played  in  a  right  spirit,  there  is 
good  reason  for  fearing  that  it  will  be 
strangely  transformed  by  the  intercolle- 
giate players,  and  that  eventually  some- 
thing as  bad  as  the  present  villainous  in- 
tercollegiate will  be  evolved.  The  col- 
leges need  coaches,  and  these  will  tend  to 
corrupt  the  game.  The  old  and  vicious 
idea  that  anything  is  fair,  provided  the 
referee  doesn't  see  you  is  likely  to  prevail, 
and  in  a  few  years  the  evils  now  com- 
plained of  as  intolerable  will  be  as  ram- 
pant as  ever.  That  is,  there  is  danger  of 
all  this,  though  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the 
discipline  of  playing  a  game  intrinsically 
decent  will  develop  a  race  of  decent  play- 


_—  fl) 


--<-=, 


Two   Intercollegiate   football   players    of   the   University   of   California.      Needham   Bros.,    Photo. 


ers  and  that  this  Cassandra-like  prophecy 
will  not  be  fulfilled. 

The  Association  game  is,  as  its  advo- 
cates truly  assert,  "real  football;"  no 
player  is  permitted  to  pick  up  the  ball 
and  run  with  it,  or  (unless  he  be  the  goal- 
keeper) to  touch  it  with  his  hands.  Even 
an  accidental  touching  of  the  ball  with 
the  hands  gives  a  free  kick  to  the  opposite 
side.  The  ball  is  propelled  towards  the 
goal  wholly  with  the  feet  or  by  bunting  it 
with  the  head.  The  Association  football 
field  is  120  yards  by  £0  yards  wide,  and 
is  bounded  at  the  two  sides  by  side  lines, 
and  at  the  two  ends  by  goal  lines.  If  the 
ball  crosses  either  of  the  side  lines,  it  ia 
thrown  back  into  play  by  a  member  of 
the  opposing  team  to  that  which  kicked 
it.  The  player  who  throws  it  in  must 
stand  on  both  feet  and  throw  the  ball  with 
both  hands  over  his  head.  Eleven  men 
constitute  a  team,  and  are  divided  as  fol- 
lows: Goal-keeper;  right  and  left  back;}; 
right,  center  and  left  half-backs;  outside 
right,  inside  right,  center,  inside  left  and 
outside  left — the  last  five  being  forwards. 
The  ball  is  kicked  off  from  the  middle  of 
the  ground  by  a  forward  and  remains  in 


play  until  it  crosses  a  side  line  or  goal 
line,  or  until  the  referee  blows  his  whistle 
for  a  foul,  the  penalty  for  which  is  a  free 
kick  for  the  opposing  side.  If  the  ball 
is  kicked  across  a  goal  line,  one  of  the 
team  which  is  defending  that  goal  kicks  il 
off  from  in  front  of  goal  if  it  went  in  off 
one  of  the  opposing  team;  but  if  it  was 
last  touched  by  one  of  the  defending  team 
the  attacking  team  gets  a  "corner  kick," 
that  is,  the  ball  is  taken  to  the  nearest 
corner  of  the  ground  and  is  kicked  so  as 
to  drop  as  nearly  as  possible  right  in  front 
of  goal,  when  the  forwards  of  the  attack- 
ing team  make  a  determined  effort  to 
kick  it  into  goal.  The  scoring  is  wholly 
by  goals,  each  counting  one  point,  and  a 
goal  is  made  when  the  ball  passes  between 
the  goal  posts  and  under  the  cross-bar. 

The  forwards  do  the  attacking  work; 
the  half-backs  try  to  rob  the  opposing  for- 
wards of  the  ball,  and  to  feed  their  own 
forwards ;  the  backs  stop  dangerous  rushes 
of  the  opposing  forwards  and  must  be 
sure,  steady  kickers,  able  to  kick  equally 
well  with  toe,  instep  or  either  side  of  their 
feet.  The  inside  and  outside  right  for- 
wards constitute  the  right  wing,  and  the 


AN  ATTEMPTED  MASSACEE— OK    REAL    FOOTBALL. 


inside  and  outside  left  forwards  make  up 
the  left  wing.  The  wing-men  play  to- 
gether, making  short  passes  to  each  other, 
or  sometimes,  if  a  good  opportunity  offers, 
kicking  the  ball  clear  over  to  the  other 
wing.  When  the  men  on  either  wing  get 
near  the  opponent's  goal,  the  ball  -is 
played  to  the  middle  of  the  field,  where 
the  center  forward  takes  it  and  tries  to 
kick  it  into  goal.  The  goal-keeper  may 
defend  the  goal  with  his  feet,  head,  hands 
or  any  part  of  his  body:  he  generally 
catches  the  ball  in  his  hands  and  kicks  it 
out;  or,  if  hard  pressed,  he  may  head  it  or 
fist  it.  If  a  swift,  high  shot  comes  to- 
wards him,  he  may  touch  it  with  his  fin- 
gers so  that  it  passes  over  and  not  under 
the  croc,'3-bar.  The  area  of  a  goal-keeper's 
activity  is  limited,  but  within  that  area  he 
must  be  alert  and  full  of  rssource.  It  is 
not  a  spectacular  position,  but  a  highly 
important  one,  demanding  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  game  and  quick  de- 
cision. 

Association  football  is  not  only  inter- 
esting to  the  players,  but  also  in  a  high 
degree  to  the  spectators.  It  is  full  of 
variety,  activity  and  kaleidoscopic  changes 
— there  is  "something  doing"  every  min- 
ute of  the  two  45  minute  pjriods  that  a 


match  lasts.  At  one  moment  the  ball  is 
threatening  one  goal ;  a  few  moments  later 
the  situation  is  changed  entirely  and  the 
other  goal  is  in  danger.  In  the  Associa- 
tion game,  as  played  in  the  seventies  and 
eighties  of  the  last  century  "dribbling" 
was  the  principal  feature,  and  in  this  de- 
partment some  of  the  players  attained 
great  excellence.  They  could  run  along 
at  good  speed,  keeping  the  ball  well  un- 
der control,  dodging  and  twisting  between 
their  adversaries  in  the  cleverest  way,  and 
when  they  were  all  but  cornered,  passing 
to  one  of  their  own  side.  Nowadays,  team 
play  has  been  developed  highly,  and  the 
game  consists  largely  of  short  passes:  it's 
generally  not  good  policy  for  one  player 
to  keep  the  ball  long.  As  in  other  team 
games,  unselfishness  and  a  willingness  to 
sacrifice  an  opportunity  for  spectacular 
play  to  the  general  interest  are  highly  im- 
portant. During  the  progress  of  the  game 
the  players  observe  the  same  relative  posi- 
tions; the  forwards  are  in  the  lead,  the 
half-backs  support  them,  while  the  full- 
backs stop  dangerous  rushes,  and  the  goal- 
keeper defends  the  goal.  If  the  half- 
backs are  passed  by  the  opposing  forwards 
they  must  keep  after  them,  harrying  and 
bothering  them.  '1  hough  the  greater  num- 


A   squad  of   Rugby  footballers   at   Berkeley. 


Needham  Bros..    Fhoto. 


86 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


ber  of  goals  is  generally  obtained  by  the 
stronger  team,  there  is  an  element  of  luck 
about  obtaining  a  goal  that  often  enables 
a  weaker  team  to  score  against  a  stronger 
and  provides  an  element  of  surprise.  The 
team  that  keeps  peppering  its  opponents' 
goal  is  likely  to  put  the  ball  between  the 
posts  sooner  or  later,  but  the  actual  goal 
is  often  obtained  by  a  lucky  shot.  The  at- 
tention is  thus  kept  on  the  stretch.  A 
strong,  point  in  favor  of  Association  foot- 
ball is,  that  the  whole  game  is  open  and 
easily  observed  by  officials  and  spectators; 
there  is  little  opportunity  for  foul  or  dirty 
play.  The  penalty  for  such  play,  if  per- 
sisted in  after  caution  from  the  referee,  is 
dismissal  from  the  field.  As  no  substi- 
tutes are  allowed,  the  offending  team  loses 
one  man,  and  whether  that  man  be  a  for- 
ward, half-back  or  back,  is  crippled.  The 
captain  of  a  team  is  in  this  way  made  an 
assistant  of  the  referee  in  checking  foul 
play,  as  he  is  anxious  not  to  have  the 
number  of  his  team  reduced. 

The  principal  qualities  required  in  an 
Association  football  player  are  agility, 
cleverness  and  speed;  a  man  of  light 
weight  may  be  an  exceedingly  valuable 
member  of  an  Association  team.  The 
game  offers  no  premium  (as  the  Inter- 
collegiate game  does)  to  mere  "beef"  and 
brutality;  it  does  not  foster,  either  in  the 
players  or  the  spectators,  that  blackguard- 
ly instinct  which  prompts  otherwise  de- 
cent people  to  yell  "Jump  on  his  neck," 
"Break  his  back,"  "Put  him  out  of  busi- 
ness," etc.  It  is  a  game  that  can  be  played 
bv  a  gentleman  without  forgetting  that  he 
is  a  gentleman.  Of  course,  as  in  all  games 
where  a  considerable  number  of  players 
are  striving  for  the  possession  of  one  ob- 
i°ct,  collisions  and  hard  knocks  will  occur, 
but  they  are  not  essential  parts  of  the 
game;  they  are  unavoidable  incidents. 
Any  attempt  on  the  part  of  a  brutally-dis- 
posed player  to  put  a  small  but  brilliant 
opponent  out  of  commission  would  inevi- 
tably result  in  the  assailant's  dismissal 
from  the  field.  The  game  is  entirely  un- 
der the  control  of  the  referee,  who  has 
wide  powers  of  discretion.  The  bee'fy  louts 
who  make  up  intercollegiate  teams  are  not 
wanted  on  an  Association  team;  indeed, 
most  of  them  could  not  earn  a  place  in 
any  good  Association  eleven. 

Association  football  is  a  most  desirable 
game  for  schools,  colleges  and  aniversities 


since  it  fosters  unselfishness,  control  of 
temper  (if  you  can't  control  your  own 
temper,  the  referee  will  do  it  for  you  with 
great  promptitude)  and  esprit  de  corps. 
It  demands  skill  in  contra-distinction  to 
brute  force.  It  is'  a  simple  game,  easily 
understood  both  by  player  and  spectator; 
it  is  also  full  of  varietv  and  interest.  If  it 
were  generally  adopted  throughout  the 
State  or  the  country,  a  public  capable  of 
appreciating  it  would  soon  be  educated. 
In  Great  Britain  it  has  to  a  great  extent 
dispossessed  Eugby  Union,  the  important 
Association  matches  attracting  enormous 
crowds.  The  final  tie  for  the  Association 
Football  Cup  has  been  watched  by  125,- 
000  spectators.  There  must  be  something 
in  a  game  that  can  do  this. 

Even  if  a  modified  and  expurgated  in- 
tercollegiate game  should  be  adopted  at 
American  colleges,  it  would  be  well  to 
take  up  Association  football  as  well.  The 
Association  game  would  afford  healthy, 
vigorous,  manly  exercise  and  recreation  to 
men  of  light  weight,  who  would  never  have 
a  chance  of  netting  into  an  intercollegiate 
team  and  would  permit  them  to  earn  their 
colors  as  representatives  of  their  college. 
By  distributing  the  interest  over  two 
games,  it  would  tend  to  diminish  the  ex- 
ao-o-erated  importance  attached  to  the  in- 
tercollegiate footballer,  and  to  draw  pub- 
lic attention  to  a  game  in  which  skill  and 
activity  are  paramount,  while  mere  "beef" 
and  pugnacitv  are  at  a  discount.  We  may 
hope,  too,  that  the  adoption  of  a  more 
sensible  e^ame  than  intercollegiate  will  put 
an  end  forever  to  the  ludicrous  sight,  fa- 
miliar (as  Caspar  Whitney  says  to  Ameri- 
cans'! of  the  great,  husky,  six-foot,  200- 
pound  "members  of  a  defeated  football 
eleven  throwing  themselves  prostrate  on 
the  erround  in  the  agony  of  bitter  disap- 
pointment." A  state  of  mind  and  body 
that  causes  athletes,  who  should  be  in  the 
pink  of  phvsical  condition,  so  full  of  ani- 
mal spirits  as  to  be  incapable  of  being  de- 
nressed  by  anything,  to  blubber  like  babios 
because  a  rival  team  of  good  fellows  has 
scored  three  goals  to  their  two  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly unhealthy  one.  The  object  and 
ultimate  end  of  all  manly  recreations  is  to 
produce  the  "mens  sana  in  corpore  sano" 
and  to  regard  defeat  in  a  football  match 
as  an  irretrievable  disaster  indicates  a  con- 
dition so  marked  and  unusual  as  to  bor- 
der on  insanity. 


BY    JOHN    L.    COWAN 


"For  close  designs  and  crooked  counsels 
fit, 

Sagacious,  bold  and  turbulent  of  wit; 

Kestless,  unfix'd  in  principles  and  place; 

In  power  unpleased,  impatient  of  dis- 
grace ; 

In  friendship  false,  implaccable  in  hate; 

Eesolv'd  to  ruin  or  to  rule  the  State." 

It  is  not  meant,  by  this  quotation  of 
Dryden's  offensive  characterization  of  the 
Earl  of  Shaftesbury  to  insinuate  that  it 
has  any  direct  personal  application.  It 
is  quoted -simply  because  it  is  highly  sug- 
gestive. Xo  one  questions  the  good  inten- 
tions of  our  present  Chief  Executive.  Th.3 
lengths  to  which  he  will  go  to  "get  things 
done,"  however,  often  makes  some  of  us 
stand  aghast.  This  is  a  big  country — so 
big,  in  fact,  that  no  man  is  big  enough  to 
be  capable  of  judging  of  what  is  best  for 
every  section  of  it.  Local  conditions  are 
beyond  the  ken  of  even  the  broadest-mind- 
ed statesmanship,  without  personal  study 
on  the  spot;  and  the  corner  grocery  phil- 
osopher, born  and  reared  in  the  village  of 
Hardscrabble,  is  likely  to  know  more 
about  the  needs  and  requirements  of  the 
Hardscrabble  people  than  the  statesman 
or  political  economist  who  knows  no  more 
about  Hardscrabble  than  that  there  is 
such  a  place  on  the  map. 

In  the  trite  and  time-old  tale  of  Pro- 
crustes, the  attic  robber,  there  is  a  moral 
that  never  becomes  stale  or  pointless.  It 
will  be  recalled  that  Procrustes  was  in  the 
habit  of  placing  every  wayfarer  who  fell 
into  his  hands  upon  his  own  bed,  which 
was  just  long  enough  to  permit  him  to  re- 
pose upon  it  in  comfort.  If  the  traveler 
happened  to  fit  the  bed,  all  was  well.  If 


the  victim  was  too  short,  however,  he  was 
stretched;  if  too  long,  he  was  trimmed 
down  to  fit.  A  great  many  people — nearly 
all  well  meaning  and  literally  crammed 
with  good  intentions — habitually  emu- 
late this  practice  of  the  old  chief  and- 
freebooter  of  Attica.  The  manner  of  life 
of  every  one  else  must  conform  to  their 
standard;  and  the  convictions  and  prac- 
tices of  others  must  be  trimmed  or 
stretched  to  suit  their  passions  and  preju- 
dices, however  ill-equipped  for  judgment 
they  may  happen  to  be. 

The  yellow  race  (the  enterprising  Jap- 
anese as  well  as  the  sluggish  and  sleepy 
Chinese)  havfe  not  scrupled  to  chop  off 
the  heads  of  unwelcome  missionaries, 
teachers,  traders  and  travelers.  When 
these  unwelcome  intruders  were  not  guar- 
anteed protection  by  solemn  treaty  en- 
gagements, perhaps  the  Japanese  and  Chi- 
nese were  ethically  justified  in  making 
mince  meat  of  them.  There  is  no  moral 
or  ethical  justification  for  the  Christian 
practice  of  trying  to  cut  the  whole  world 
after  the  same  religious  pattern;  and  a 
missionary  or  teacher  who  is  politely  re- 
quested to  "move  on"  should  do  so,  or 
take  the  consequences.  Personally,  the 
writer  of  these  haphazard  observations  be- 
lieves in  permitting  the  Mongolians  to 
work  out  their  own  destiny,  without  out- 
side interference,  excepting  as  that  inter- 
ference is  welcomed  and  desired.  If  they 
want  American  missionaries,  American 
teachers,  American  machinery  and 
American  pork  and  beans,  by  all  means 
let  them  have  them,  if  the  American  mis- 
sionaries and  teachers  want  to  go,  and  if 
we  have  the  machinery,  pork  and  beans 
to  spare.  But  these  good  things  should 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


not  be  forced  upon  them  if  their  con- 
sciences or  their  stomachs  revolt.  Con- 
versely, if  Californians  don't  want  the 
Japs,  let  the  Japs  keep  their  distance. 

To  use  an  expression  that  no  reputable 
newspaper  or  magazine  will  permit  in  its 
columns,  excepting  under  strong  provo- 
cation, no  one  wants  the  shifty  Orientals 
"in  their  midst."  And  very  few  want 
them  in  very  close  proximity.  Those 
who  love  them  best  are  those  who  know 
them  only  from  afar.  Loving  the  heathen, 
like  loving  our  enemies,  is  a  fine  figure 
of  speech  for  a  prayer  or  a  sermon  in- 
tended for  the  delectation  of  a  weary  and 
hungry  congregation,  but  never  expected 
to  pass  higher  than  the  ceiling.  To  love 
them  at  the  same  table,  in  the  same  house, 
in  the  same  school,  or  even  as  next-door 
neighbors,  is  physically  impossible,  ex- 
cepting to  persons  of  perverted  and  abnor- 
mal natures  and  dispositions.  In  this, 
Nature  ought  to  be  accepted  as  the  only 
safe  and  infallible  guide,  and  when  Na- 
ture made  one  race  black,  another  white, 
another  red,  another  yellow  and  another 
brown,  giving  to  each  a  distinctive  phy- 
siognomy, a  distinctive  odor  and  distinc- 
tive moral  and  mental  traits,  then  their 
commingling  is  nothing  less  than  a  viola- 
tion of  nature's  elemental  laws.  Like  all 
violation  of  natural  laws,  this  brings  in- 
evitable retribution.  It  is  to  miscegena- 
tion that  Mexico,  Cuba  and  the  States  of 
Central  and  South  America  over  the  most 
of  their  troubles.  This,  too,  is  at  the 
bottom  of  the  race  problem  in  the  South. 
In  the  new  State  of  Oklahoma  the  mon- 
grel mixture  of  three  races  that  composes 
the  five  civilized  tribes  (so-called),  pre- 
sents possibilities  of  trouble  that  will 
worry  statesmen  for  centuries.  In  New 
Mexico,  the  commingling  of  two  unequ&l 
and  uncongenial  races  has  placed  a  blight 
upon  the  material  welfare  and  moral 
growth  of  the  whole  territory,  that  will 
leave  its  mark  for  uncounted  generations 
to  come.  To  place  our  sons  and  daugh- 
ters in  enforced  close  personal  contact 
with  children  of  another  race  is  to  encour- 
age miscegenation — to  make  it  inevi- 
table. It  is  a  crime  against  nature,  and 
against  the  children  of  both  races.  It  is 
sowing  the  wind.  Posterity  will  reap  the 
whirlwind. 

In  these  race  questions,  everything 
seems  to  depend  upon  whose  ox  is  gored. 


Ihe  good  people  of  Boston,  for  example, 
dearly  love  the  Indian,  mainly  because 
they  know  him  at  such  long  range  that 
they  really  don't  know  him  at  all.  They 
should  spend  a  brief  while  in  Arizona, 
and  listen  to  the  tales  of  ranchmen  whose 
wives  were  murdered  and  whose  children 
were  brained  in  cold  blood  not  twenty-five 
years  ago  by  these  "noble  red  men,"  and 
visit  a  few  cemeteries  in  the  Southwest 
and  read  the  inscriptions  on  the  stones. 
Then  they  would  know  the  Indian  better. 
The  people  of  the  North  dearly  love  thj 
negro,  it  is  beyond  their  comprehension 
that  the  men  of  the  South  feel  perfectly 
justified  in  resorting  to  lynch  law  and 
every  form  of  mob  violence  to  protect 
womanhood  from  outrage — a  task  for 
which  the  laws  have  been  proven  to  be 
unequal.  They  are  horrified  when  the 
South  resorts  to  extreme  legislation,  in- 
timidation at  the  polls,  and  other  meas- 
ures that  do  not  square  with  the  Fifteenth 
Amendment  to  dispel  the  spectre  of  black 
domination.  They  have  not  come  in 
touch  with  conditions  in  Georgia,  Missis- 
sippi and  other  States  in  the  black  belt. 
They  don't  know  how  fatal  was  the  blun- 
der that  conferred  upon  a  degraded  race 
of  slaves  the  rights  of  citizenship,  and  they 
pass  very  rash  and  ridiculous  judgment 
upon  the  South,  which  is  bravely  facing  a 
very  serious  situation.  Yet  it  is  note- 
worthy that  the  Northern  man  who  moves 
to  the  South  soon  becomes  the  most  rabid 
"nigger-baiter"  in  his  community.  He 
knows.  That  makes  all  the  difference.  So 
it  is  with  Eastern  sentiment  on  the  sub- 
ject of  educating  the  children  of  Japan- 
ese and  Chinese  parentage  on  the  Pacific 
Coast.  Their  knowledge  of  the  Japanese 
is  derived  from  the  books  of  Lafcadio 
Hearn,  from  newspaper  despatches,  pub- 
lished during  the  recent  Oriental  unpleas- 
antness, and  from  a  semi-occasional 
glimpse  of  a  Japanese  college  student. 
Nevertheless,  they  assume  that  they  know 
it  all,  and  think  Californians  very  narrow- 
minded  and  prejudiced  because  they  re- 
fuse to  receive  the  Japs  as  social  equals. 
The  negro  problem  is  largely  a  problem 
for  the  South,  and  the  South  must  work 
out  its  own  salvation.  That  it  may  do  so, 
its  hands  must  not  be  tied  by  well  meaning 
Northern  philanthropists,  who  spend  most 
of  their  time  in  futile  "talking  through 
their  hats."  The  problem  of  the  yellow 


STREET-VIOLETS. 


89 


race  in  the  United  States  is  (as  yet)  main- 
ly a  problem  facing  the  people  of  the  Pa- 
cific Coast.  It  is  purely  local.  Why 
make  of  it  a  national  issue  ?  What  right 
have  the  people  of  Eastern  States,  oj 
even  the  President,  to  attempt  to  judge 
or  dictate? 

Eeally,  the  time  appears  to  have  come 
when  the  people  of  the  United  States 
ought  to  stop  in  the  race  for  wealth  and 
material  advancement  long  enough  to  ask, 
Whither  are  we  drifting?  Theoretically, 
this  is  a  union  of  forty-six  sovereign 
States,  bound  together  in  a  confederation 
for  mutual  benefit;  and  controlled  in 
matters  that  affect  the  whole  people  by  a 
general  Government  that  consists  of  three 
co-ordinate  departments — the  executive, 
the  legislative  and  the  judicial.  In  the 
light  of  recent  developments,  the  theory 
looks  almost  ridiculous.  Centralization  of 
power  has  gone  so  far  that  the  term,  the 
"American  Czar,"  might  be  applied  to  our 
Chief  Executive  without  any  intention  of 
perpetrating  a  joke.  Xo  crowned  and 
sceptered  despot  of  the  old  world  wields 
an  authority  so  great,  or  interferes  per- 
sonally in  places  so  unlooked-for.  Prece- 
dents have  been  created  that,  if  permitted 
to  crystallize  into  fixed  and  permanent 
rules,  will  leave  us  hardly  the  husk  of  Re- 
publican institutions.  Of  the  three  de- 
partments of  the  general  Government,  the 


executive  is  now  of  such  overshadowing 
importance  that  the  others  seem  like  mere 
appendages.  The  Supreme  Court  yet  re- 
ta.as  its  independence,  but  it  has  no  power 
of  initiative.  It  is  a  bulwark  of  defense, 
but  of  no  avail  excepting  to  repel  an  open 
attack.  The  Senate  has  become  a  joker 
and  the  House  often  permits  itself  to  be 
a  mere  puppet,  bouncing  at  the  bark  of  its 
master.  Hardly  the  shadow  of  State  au- 
tonomy is  left,  and  even  municipal  affairs 
are  no  longer  safe  from  interference  from 
the  overpowering  personality  that  domi- 
nates the  national  Capitol,  and  casts  its 
shadow  into  the  most  remote  and  secluded 
corners  of  the  decadent  Republic. 

If  this  be  true,  where  lies  the  fault? 
Not  with  the  President  wholly.  A  strong 
and  vigorous  personality  is  sure  to  make 
its  influence  felt  at  every  point  of  contact. 
If  the  executive  department  of  the  Gov- 
ernment has  encroached  upon  the  rights 
and  prerogatives  of  Congress,  and  seems 
to  be  making  of  State  sovereignty  a  mock- 
ery and  the  unsubstantial  shadow  of  a 
name,  the  blame  lies  wholly  with  the  peo- 
ple. A  man,  a  community,  a  State  or  a 
legislative  body  unable  or  unwilling  to 
defend  his  or  its  rights  "to  the  last  ditch" 
is  unworthy  of  those  rights.  It  is  a  hopa- 
ful  sign  that  California  in  general  and 
San  Francisco  in  particular,  are  not  In 
that  category. 


BY    MARIE    PARISH 

Perfume  of  violets — suddenly  I  hear 

The  pulsing  clang  and  clamor  of  the  street; 

The  manifold,  incessant  sounds  that  beat 

Like  some  great  rhythmic  ocean  on  the  ear, 

In  waves  that  rise  afar,  and  surging  near, 

Break  into  rippling  laughter  at  the  feet. 

Perfume  of  violets — magic  subtly  sweet, 

Potent  to  make  beloved  visions  clear 

To  yearning  hearts.     To  mine  no  dream  it  brings 

Of  sloping  meadows  fresh  with  April  showers, 

Of  winding  lanes,  or  hidden  forest  springs, 

Of  shaded  nooks  removed  from  worldly  care — 

Only  a  street,  gray-paved  and  wind-swept,  \vhere 

A  merry  city  pauses  to  buy  flowers. 


•••••  ••••     ' 

Pouss 


BY    ELLIOTT    FLOWER 


//. — Her  Matrimonial  Problem. 

THE  Daughter  of  David  Kiggs  had 
been  silent  for  so  long  that  they 
all  knew  she  was  thinking  deep, 
and  brother  Tom  was  frankly  fearful  that 
the  strain  might  have  injurious  effects. 

"Better  open  the  valve,  Estelle,"  he  ad- 
vised. "The  pressure  is  getting  too 
strong."  Then,  as  she  opened  her  mouth 
to  reply,  he  added,  "That's  right;  keep 
it  open,  and  ease  off  a  little.  You're 
carrying  too  much  steam  for  safety." 

Thereupon,  the  Daughter  of  David 
gave  him  a  scornful  look  and  turned  to 
her  father. 

"What's  the  paper  this  week,  Estelle?" 
asked  David. 

"None,  for  me,"  she  answered.  "A  wo- 
man cannot  settle  one  of  the  great  prob- 
lems of  life  every  week." 

"Such  modesty !"  exclaimed  Tom. 

"I  am  disappointed,"  said  David,  sad- 
ly. "The  other  girls'  clubs  will  have  you 
beaten  by  a  block.  Most  of  them  are 
solving  all  existing  problems  so  rapidly 
that  they'll  soon  have  us  hustling  hard 
for  food  for  thought." 

"In  my  girlhood  days,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Eiggs,  thoughtfully,  "we  used  to  make 
sure  of  results  by  sewing  while  we  talked. 
Then  there  was  always  something  done 
when  we  were  through. 

"Wte  can't,"  said  Estelle,  decidedly. 

"I  can  readily  understand  that  you 
can't  sew  while  you  talk,"  said  David, 
"but  you  surely  can  talk  while  you  sew. 
It  is  absurd  to  say  that  a  woman  can't 
talk  while  she's  doing  anything.  Of 
course,  if  you  begin  talking  first,  there's 


no  chance  for  the  sewing,  but  by  begin- 
ning with  the  sewing — 

"You're  joking,"  asserted  Esteile,  of- 
fended, "and  we  are  engaged  in  a  great 
work  at  our  club.  You  ought  to  be  glad 
that  your  daughter  is  not  of  the  frivolous 
kind." 

"I  am,"  said  David,  penitently,  "but  I 
am  occasionally  led  astray  by  the  title  of 
your  justly  famous  club.  Don't  you  think 
The  Psyche  Club  rather  light  and  airy 
for  an  association  that  is  putting  a  clamp 
on  the  world?" 

"About  as  appropriate  as  giving  the 
name  of  Venus  to  an  article  of  feminine 
apparel  that  Venus  would  not  have  known 
how  to  put  on,"  commented  Tom. 

"I  can't  •  discover  that  Venus  knew  how 
to  put  on  anything  more  modest  than 
draped  eye-lashes,"  said  David. 

"Well,  we  wanted  to  give  our  club  a 
pretty  name,"  declared  Estelle  defensive- 
ly, "and  the  name  doesn't  count,  anyhow. 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  a  paper  that 
Mabel  Griggs  read  at  the  last  meeting.  It 
was  on  Marriage,  and  she  discussed  the 
various  methods  of  choosing  a  mate  from 
the  very  earliest  of  times." 

"Adam  and  Eve  didn't  have  much 
choice,"  remarked  David  reflectively.  "I 
sometimes  wonder  what  would  have  hap- 
pened to  the  human  race*  if  Eve  had  been 
a  bachelor  girl  with  a  future  more  im- 
portant than  babies." 

"Oh,  that's  easy  to  answer,"  exclaimed 
the  girl,  confidently.  "Adam  would  have 
grabbed  her  by  the  hair  and  beaten  her  in- 
to submission.  Mabel's  paper  didn't  take 
up  that  particular  point — I  guess  she  did 
not  happen  to  think  of  it — but  it  covered 


POUSSE  CAFE. 


91 


the  subject.  The  evolution  of  marriage 
begins  with  marriage  by  force.  The  man, 
being  the  stronger,  simply  took  the  girl 
he  wanted,  and  she  had  nothing  to  say 
about  it."' 

"So  different,"  laughed  Tom. 

"How  different?"  asked  Estelle. 

"I  don't  see  anybody  stealing  you,"  said 
Tom.  "A  financial  prize-package  has  to 
go  with  the  modern  girl." 

"You  like  to  hear  yourself  talk !"  ex- 
claimed Estelle,  hotly. 

"Yes,"  acquiesced  David,  "and  Tom 
has  a  good  voice.  He  trains  it  by  calling 
'Put  another  bottle  on  ice!'  It  takes 
early  training  to  do  that  well,  but  Tom 
can  sing  it  better  than  some  boys  with 
much  richer  fathers.  We're  drifting  from 
our  subject,  however.  What  did  Mabel 
say  was  the  next  plan?" 

"Marriage  by  purchase.  The  man  sim- 
ply bought  the  girl  he  wanted." 

"Didn't  try  to  buy  a  whole  comic  opera 
chorus  and  charge  it  up  to  automobile  re- 
pairs, did  he?"  asked  David. 

"Of  course  not." 

"Then  he  was  slow,"  said  David.  "Some 
of  our  modern  rich  young  men  are  cap- 
tains of  industry  in  that  line.  Did  Mabel 
tackle  that  in  her  paper?" 

"No,  she  did  not,"  replied  Estelle, 
rather  sharply,  "and  it  isn't  the  same 
thing,  anyhow.  Xowadays  the  girls  some- 
times buy  the  men." 

"No,"  said  David,  decidedly.  "The 
girls  may  buy  titles  or  social  position, 
but  they  don't  buy  men — at  least,  not 
knowingly.  Woman  is  foolish  enough 
anyway,  without  charging  that  against 
her.  Well,  what  was  the  next  number 
on  the  programme?" 

"Marriage  by  fascination,  and  there 
has  been  a  further  evolution  in  that.  First 
there  was  the  fascination  of  valor  and 
physical  prowess,  and  the  man  sought  to 
win  the  girl  by  brave  deeds,  even  to  the 
point  of  vanquishing  her  other  suitors  in 
personal  combat.  Gradually  this 
changed,  with  our  ideals,  to  something 
less  barbarous •" 

"Football,  for  instance,"  suggested 
Tom. 

"Same  old  prowess,"  added  David,  "but 
we  look  out  for  the  gate  receipts  before 
we  get  into  the  scrimmage  these  days.  If 
two  men  were  going  to  fight  for  a  girl 
now  some  one  would  jump  in  with  the  of- 


fer  of   a   purse   and  a   demand   for   the 
kinetoscope  concession." 

"Anyhow,"  persisted  Eetelle,  desper- 
ately, determined  to  stick  to  the  main 
subject,  "through  all  the  ages,  in  one 
form  or  another,  the  man  has  chased  the 
maid." 

"Until  now,"  asserted  David.  "The 
maid  now  does  the  chasing.  She  even 
follows  man  into  his  masculine  sports,  to 
make  sure  he  won't  get  away.  Why,  I 
have  even  heard  of  a  football  game  be- 
tween a  team  of  college  boys  and  a  team 
of  seminary  girls." 

"It  must  have  been  a  great  game,  too  P 
exclaimed  Tom,  with  enthusiasm.  "I  un- 
derstand the  referee  wanted  to  penalize 
the  boys  for  holding,  and  the  girls  said 
they  wouldn't  play  if  they  couldn't  be 
held.  It  took  thirty-eight  minutes  to  un- 
tangle the  teams  after  the  next  scrim- 
mage. Then  the  referee  quit  because 
there  was  no  girl  for  him.  I  read  about 
it." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  declared  Estelle. 
"Well,  it's  the  maid  that  does  the  chas- 
ing a  good  part  of  the  time,  anyhow,"  as- 
serted David.  "She's  after  the  prize.  If 
she  looks  like  a  prize-winner,  her  mother 
puts  the  glad  blankets  on  her  and  gives 
her  a  try-out  over  the  home  track,  just 
to  see  what  class  she's  in.  Then,  if  all 
is  well,  the  old  lady  takes  her  over  the 
circuit,  carefully  picking  the  tracks  that 
look  most  promising  to  her.  You  find 
these  girls  and  their  trainers  at  the  resorts 
and  everywhere  else  where  society  con- 
gregates. Sometimes  it  makes  me  think 
of  the  horse-show." 

"Horrible!"  exclaimed  Estelle. 
"Society  isn't  much  but  a  girl  show/' 
insisted  David.  "The  society  girl  is 
trained  for  it  from  the  time  she  gets  in 
long  dresses — sometimes  before.  When 
she's  old  enough  to  be  entered  for  a  prize, 
she's  trotted  out  to  show  her  paces,  and 
everybody's  invited  to  come  and  size  her 
up.  Some  are  high-steppers,  some  never 
do  take  kindly  to  the  bridle;  some  are  so 
gentle  that  any  fool  driver  can  manage  . 
them,  and  some  work  well  on  the  farm. 
Well,  they  get  their  prizes — booby  prizes 
very  often — and  then  they  circle  the  ring 
some  more  to  show  what  prizes  they've 
got.  That's  society." 

"But  you  said  the  bachelor  girl " 

"Oh,  the  bachelor  girl  merely  doesn't 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


train  well  at  first,"  interrupted  David. 
"She  balks  and  breaks  out  of  the  pasture, 
and  decides  that  the  wild,  free  life  is  the 
life  for  her.  But  she  usually  comes  back 
in  time,  and  the  judges  look  her  over  and 
say,  'Looks  as  if  she  might  have  been  a 
winner  a  few  years  ago,  but  she's  getting 
a  little  old  now.'  Oh,  yes,  they  usually 
come  back  and  look  sorrowfully  over  the 
fence,  and  they're  sometimes  doped  into 
prize-winning  shape." 

"It's  a  good  deal  easier  to  say  'No' 
when  the  boys  are  sending  you  the  bon- 
bons than  it  is  to  get  a  chance  to  say 
'Yes'  after  they've  quit,"  remarked  Tom. 

"And  yet,"  said  Estelle,  thoughtfully, 
"the  bachelor  girl  may  be  the  antidote  for 
matrimonial  ills." 

"Great  medicine !"  exclaimed  Tom. 

"A  faith  cure,  apparently,"  corrected 
David.  "You're  expected  to  be  cured  by 
the  mere  information  that  the  remedy  ex- 
ists." 

"No,  no,"  protested  Estelle.  "Their 
thoughtful  caution  is  an  offset  to  the  fool- 
ishness of  match-making  mothers  and 
flighty,  irresponsible  •  girls.  And  you 
don't  state  the  case  fairly,  either.  You 
know  very  well  that  people  don't  sell  their 
daughters  in  these  enlightened  days.  They 
get  nothing  for  them,  even  when  they 
marry  well." 

"No-o;  nothing  but  a  release  from  tho 
carrying  charges,"  admitted  David,  "and 
not  always  that.  I've  known  men  to  find 
that  they  simply  had  one  more  to  carry 
financially.  But  all  business  deals  have, 
an  element  of  speculative  uncertainty 
about  them." 

"That's  a  very  unkind  way  to  put  it — 
not  at  all  the  way  Mabel  put  it,"  said  the 
girl.  "She  plainly  saw  the  evils  of  the 
present  day — hasty  marriages  and  com- 
mercial marriages — and  she  said  the 
bachelor  girl  was  trying  to  counteract 
that.  There  should  be  no  haste,  no  harsh 
worldly  consideration,  and  no  silly  senti- 
ment. That's  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
about.  We  decided  that  it  was  almost: 
criminal  for  a  girl  to  marry  a  man  to 
reform  him;  she  should  reform  him  first. 
So  we  passed  a  resolution  advocating  a 
law  forbidding  the  marriage  of  people 
who  had  not  been  intimately  acquainted 
for  at  least  one  year,  and  also  forbidding 
a  girl  to  marry  a  man  who  had  not  been 


reformed  for  the  same  length  of  time — 
in  case  he  needed  reforming." 
,     "As  all  men  do,"  remarked  Mrs.  Riggs, 
quietly. 

"Very  simple,"  said  David,  ignoring 
this  thrust.  "Where's  the  trouble?" 

"Why,  Mabel,  who  got  us  to  do  this, 
afterwards  eloped  from  a  summer  resort 
with  a  scandalous  profligate  that  she  had 
known  less  than  a  month,  and  she  wrote 
us  that  she  was  sure  her  influence  would 
make  a  good  man  of  him.  It  made  us  a 
little  doubtful  as  to  whether  we  could 
do  all  that  we  expected.  What  do  you 
think  ?" 

"Think!"  exclaimed  David.  "Why,  1 
think  that  Mabel  is  so  earnest  and  self- 
sacrificing  that  she  has  deliberately  made 
a  horrible  example  of  herself  to  help  the 
cause  along." 

"How  noble  of  her!"  cried  Estelle. 
"Wb  never  thought  of  that." 

"And  think  what  she  has  already  dem- 
onstrated," added  David. 

"What?"  asked  the  girl. 

"That  the  verbal  part  of  a  reform  is  al- 
ways easy." 


RURAL  DEGENERATION. 

The  quail  had  just  been  scolding  the 
grasshopper  for  chewing  tobacco,  when 
the  rooster  remarked:  "The  pot  mustn't 
call  the  kettle  black.  You've  a  pipe  your- 
self." 

"And  doesn't  Mr.  Rooster  flaunt  his 
cocktail  in  the  face  of  the  public?"  asked 
the  little  plum  tree. 

"You,  too,"  answered  the  onion.  "You 
get  plum  full  at  least  once  a  year." 

"And  Sally  Onion  squanders  every 
scent  she  has,"  snickered  the  radish. 

"And  Raphael  Radish  couldn't  get 
along  at  all  without  his  pull,"  came  from 
the  white-blackberry  bush.  But  before 
any  one  could  remind  this  last  speaker 
of  "Graft,"  the  gardener  came  down  the 
path  and  silence  ruled  again. 

— Warwick  James  Price. 


SO  CARELESS! 

A  girl  whose  cognomen  was  Psyche, 
Got  excited,  and  shouted  "Oh,  cryche ! 
The  doors  are  all  locked, 
And  I'm  terribly  shocked 
To  find  that  I  haven't  got  myche !" 

— G.  F.  Morgan. 


BY    ELEANORE    F.    LEWYS    AND    STAFF 


WE  can  add  to  Chas.  Keeler's  his- 
tory of  the  earthquake  and  fire, 
brought  out  by  Paul  Elder  & 
Company  (which  in  a  former  issue  of  the 
Overland  Monthly  was  recognized  as  the 
only  authentic,  unexaggerated  version 
printed  of  the  calamity),  the  volume  re- 
cently published  by  the  firm  of  Edward 
Hilton  Company,  San  Francisco,  and 
written  jointly  by  Frank  W.  Aitken  and 
Edward  Hilton. 

This  is  well  illustrated  by  photographs 
taken  at  the  time,  and  which  are  not  made 
to  lie. 

We  especially  notice  that  the  Mayor  and 
his  committee  of  forty  are  given  their  due 
for  the  splendid  work  they  accomplished 
in  a  crisis  when  any  other  municipal  offi- 
cers would  have  called  upon  the  assistance 
of  the  outside  world  for  aid.  To  quote 
from  this  book: 

"Ignorant,  as  they  of  course  were,  of 
when  the  end  would  come,  or  what  it 
would  be,  these  men  undertook  to  work 
out  the  city's  salvation  among  themselves. 
There  is  no  other  case  in  history  where  a 
stricken  city  held  continuous  control  of 
its  own  affairs." 

And  again,  in  telling  of  the  Belief  Com- 
mittee and  how  it  was  systematized : 

"When  Dr.  Devine  arrived,  he  found  a 
perfect  organization,  and  had  only  to  co- 
operate with  the  local  relief  committee. 
Xever  before  had  a  city  struck  down  by 
calamity  undertaken  to  direct  its  own  re- 
lief work.  San  Francisco  made  itself 
unique" 

In  this  connection,  and  dealing  with 
our  Mayor's  calm  control  of  events  that 
would  have  caused  some  men  to  be  utterly 
helpless,  the  repeated  attacks  of  the  dai- 
lies, their  ridiculous  headlines,  the  only 
too-apparent  personal  spite  of  those  who 
are  jealous  of  the  world-renowned  repu- 


tation Schmitz  has  made  through  his  ad- 
ministration during  that  most  awful  per- 
iod, the  words  'grafting'  and  *boodling' 

'ssed  around  so  continuouslv  from  lip  to 
lip  until  the  very  sound  nauseates  one 
with  its  idiotic  repetition  by  people  who, 
narrot-like,  hardly  could  give  their  correct 
definitions,  appear  somewhat  like  the 

OT>S  and  shrill  barkinsrs  of  insipnificant 
mongrel  curs,  around  a  big,  indifferent 
mastiff. 

"When  the  present  prosecution  runs  its 
length,  when  the  newspapers  (the  only  me- 
diums whereby  the  ignorant  public  can 
be  informed,  no  matter  from  what  preju- 
diced, dictated  policy),  cease  printing 
their  fool  head-lines,  when  certain  politi- 
cal legs  will  be  allowed  to  ease  up,  after 
the  most  strenuous  "pulling"  they  ever  re- 
ceived, will  we  not  find  that  the  dailies, 
the  owners  of  the  much-pulled  legs,  the 
'pullers'  themselves,  are  not  wholly  guilt- 
less of  moves  and  schemes  that  could  per- 
haps come  under  the  head  of  the  potent 
but  chestnutty  little  verbs,  'grafting*  and 
'boodling?' 

Prosecution  has  become  persecution, 
and  the  wonder  is,  that  the  man  who 
brought  order  out  of  chaos,  who  had  the 
interests  of  his  citizens  most  at  heart  at 
a  time  when  they  sorely  needed  him,  does 
not  look  back  with  regret  upon  the  good 
work  done  for  a  thankless  people." 

And  now,  after  this  digression,  we 
certainly  recommend  this  latest  history  of 
the  earthquake  and  fire  as  a  book  whose 
every  line  can  be  believed. 

"A  Historv  of  the  Earthquake  and  Fire 
in  San  Francisco,"  by  Frank  W.  Aitken 
and  Edward  Hilton. 

Edward  Hilton  Company,  publishers, 
San  Francisco,  California. 

— Eleanore  F.  Lewys. 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


After  reading  Walter  Malone's  book  of 
verse,  entitled  "Songs  of  East  and  West/' 
we  agree  with  one  of  his  sonnets  contained 
therein : 

The  Death  of  Poetry. 
They  tell  us  that  the  poet's  day  is  past, 
That   song   no   more    shall   gush   from 

human  heart; 
They  tell  us  all  the  old  dreams  must 

depart, 

The  old  ideals  by  the  way  be  cast. 
What    babbling    folly !      Frailest    dreams 

outlast 

The  noisy  jargon  of  the  mightiest  mart, 
Great  empires  crumble,  yet  the  realm 

of  Art 

Unconquered,    glorious,      stands     forever 
fast. 

When  spring  comes  not  in  triumph  as  of 

yore, 
When  earth's  last  rose  her  last  sweet 

leaf  hath  shed; 
When  oceans  cease  to  swell,  and  peaks  to 

soar, 
When  man  and  maid  no  longer  woo  and 

wed, 
When  starry  skies  proclaim  their  God  no 

more — 
Not  till  that  day  shall  Poesy  be  dead." 

Especially  fine  is  Malone's  poem,  "Op- 
portunity," a  convincing  answer  to  In- 
gall's  world-renowned  sonnet  of  the  same 
title.  The  first  stanza  alone  could  fill 
with  hope  the  hopeless: 

"Thev  do  me  wrong  who  say  I  come  no 

more 
When  once  I  knock  and  fail  to  find  you 

in; 

For  every  day  I  stand  outside  your  door 
And  bid  you  wake,  and  rise  and  fight 
and  win!" 

"Songs  of  the  East  and  West,"  by  Wal- 
ter Malone.    John  P.  Morton  &  Co.,  Pub- 
lishers, Louisville,  Ky. 
*  *  * 

Great  sorrow  brings  the  full  expression 
of  great  genius ;  a  rapturously  happy  con- 
dition of  life  is  not  instrumental  in  bring- 
ing forth  the  best  of  one's  talent;  these 
are  deductions  that  we  make  when  we 
finish  the  pathetic  little  story,  "The 
Dragon  Painter,"  by  Mary  McNeil  Fenol- 
losa. 

This  portrayal  of  the  love  of  two  Ori- 


entals is  one  of  the  few  well-written  books 
of  the  year;  intensely  interesting,  dealing 
with  strong  characters,  virile,  passionate, 
portrayed  in  such  realistic  style  that  we 
suffer  with  "Tatsu"  the  loss  of  "Ume-ko," 
and  yet  feel  "Kano's"  protest  against  his 
son-in-law's  indifference  to  his  art  after 
the  possession  of  the  "Dragon  M'aid." 

The  indifference  to  everything  but  the 
loved  one,  who,  symbolizing  all  that  is 
beautiful  in  one  breathing  soul,  so  thor- 
oughly satisfying  that  there  is  no  need  of 
anything  else  in  the  whole  wide  world : 
who  has  not,  at  one  time  or  another,  ex- 
perienced this? 

"Ume-ko,"  convinced  that  only  a  great 
sorrow  (the  loss  of  herself)  will  bring 
back  the  "divine  inflatus"  to  her  husband, 
apparently  commits  suicide.  Then  follows 
"Tatsu's"  months  of  illness  and  despair, 
his  dream  of  bliss  shattered,  and  we  rail 
with  him  at  fate,  unreconciled. 

Nature  has  her  way,  however.  "Tatsu" 
recovers  gradually  in  health  and  spirits, 
and  accomplishes  in  time  the  best  works 
of  his  life. 

And  then  comes  the  meeting  with  his 
beloved  wife,  who  has  in  the  interval 
taken  refuge  in  a  nunnery,  instead  of  hav- 
ing drowned  herself,  as  supposed,  and 
who,  her  mission  accomplished,  is  willing 
to  come  back.  And  so  all  ends  well,  and 
we  rejoice  with  "Tatsu." 

"The  Dragon  Painter,"  by  Mary  Mc- 
Neil Fenollosa.  Little,  Brown  &  Co., 

Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 
*  *  * 

"The  Odyssey  for  Boys  and  Girls,"  by 
Rev.  Alfred  J.  Church,  M.  A.,  is  a  wel- 
come addition  to  juvenile  literature.  It  is 
a  popular,  condensed  collection  of  the 
tales  told  by  Homer  about  the  Cyclops,. 
Telemachus  and  Nestor,  Menelaus,  Alci- 
nous,  Ulysses  and  other  noted  figures  of 
mythology.  It  is  in  pleasant  style,  cal- 
culated to  attract  and  hold  the  interest  of 
the  young.  Perhaps  its  best  feature  lies 
in  the  fact  that  it  tells,  briefly  and  in  out- 
line, the  various  stories  which  are  usually 
read  by  the  young  in  Greek,  seldom  save 
in  part,  and  with  the  distaste  with  which 
the  young  too  often  regard  the  subjects 
of  their  studies.  Indeed,  it  is  more  like 
a  collection  of  pretty  fairy  tales  than  any- 
thing else.  It  is  copiously  illustrated 
with  tinted  cuts. 

The  Macmillan  Company,  New  York. 


IN  THE  REALM  OF  BOOKLAND. 


95 


In  "Across  the  Plains,"  Kandall  H. 
Hewitt  tells  an  always  interesting  and 
graphic,  and  at  times  thrilling,  story  of 
the  adventures  of  an  emigrant  train,  to 
which  he  was  attached,  which  crossed  the 
"Great  Divide"  in  1862,  at  a  time  when 
the  country  was  in  the  throes  of  civil 
strife,  the  great  West  was  a  wilderness,  its 
trails  little  known,  and  predatory  bands 
of  murderous  Indians  infesting  it  every- 
where, save  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  few  army  posts.  It  is  in  the  form  of 
a  diary,  the  author  having  kept  a  rough 
diary  during  the  trip,  which  he  later 
elaborated  for  publication.  .  The  itiner- 
ary of  the  train  was  a  notable  one,  start- 
ing from  Dundee,  111.,  thence  going  by 
way  of  Hannibal  and  St.  Joseph,  Mo., 
Omaha,  along  the  Platte  and  Sweet  Water 
rivers,  crossing  the  Eockies  at  South  Pass, 
thence  moving  North  and  West  to  Coeur 
d'Alene  and  Spokane,  then  striking  west 
and  south  to  Walla  Walla,  the  journey 
ending  at  Olympia,  Wash.  The  numerous 
illustrations  are  taken  from  old  pictures 
of  the  times  when  the  trip  was  made,  and 
the  entire  book  constitutes  a  valuable  ad- 
dition to  the  literature  of  western  pioneer 
and  frontier  life.  The  author  has  a  vig- 
orous, succinct  stvle,  and  describes  the 
scenes  and  incidents  of  the  long  journey 
in  a  manner  calculated  to  impress  his  ex- 
periences upon  the  mind  of  the  reader. 

Broadway  Publishing  Company,  New 
York. 

*  *  * 

Annie  Payson  Call,  author  of  "Power 
Through  Repose,"  "As  a  Matter  of 
Course,"  and  other  popular  works,  has 
produced  another,  entitled  "Every  Day 
Living,"  which  gives  in  clear  language 
some  wholesome  advice  to  both  sexes  re- 
garding the  manner  in  which  to  extract 
the  greatest  satisfaction  out  of  life.  The 
book,  indeed,  may  be  regarded  as  a  key  to 
contentment,  advising  much  that  is  cal- 
culated to  elevate  the  general  standard  of 
nappiness.  There  is  a  variety  of  rational 
advice  as  to  how  the  nervous  strains  un- 
der which  we  all  suffer  more  or  less  may 
be  materially  reduced  by  a  little  common- 
sense  reduction  of  our  customary  high 
pressure. 

Frederick  A.  Stokes  Companv,  New 
York. 

*  *  * 

"Dalton's  Complete  Bridge"  comes  at 


a  time  when  the  world,  particularly  the 
fashionable  world,  is  bridge-mad.  W. 
Dalton,  its  author,  is  the  greatest  expert 
on  bridge  in  England,  and  the  writer  of 
other  authoritative  works  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  the  fascinating  game.  This  latest 
book  is  an  improvement  upon  its  prede- 
cessors, and  is  thoroughly  up-to-date,  con- 
taining the  revised  rules  of  bridge  which 
came  into  force  January  1,  1905.  The 
method  of  playing  bridge  is  explained 
clearly,  and  any  one  ignorant  of  the  game 
may  speedily  understand  it  by  reading 
Mr.  Dalton's  new  book. 

Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company,  New 
York. 

*  *  * 

A  new  and  revised  edition  of  "A  Short 
History  of  Modern  English  Literature," 
by  Edmund  Gosse,  M.  A.,  L.  L.  D.,  has 
just  made  its  appearance.  In  addition  to 
all  the  merits  that  made  the  earlier  edition 
so  popular  and  valuable,  the  new  one  con- 
tains many  changes  and  is  corrected  in 
the  light  of  the  latest  researches  and  criti- 
cisms. It  is  illustrated  with  eight  photo- 
gravures and  64  halftone  portraits,  mak- 
ing it  in  every  way  a  desirable  addition 
to  the  libraries  of  the  cultured. 

Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company,  New 
York. 

*  *  * 

"Tiffany  Blue  Book"  is  a  catalogue  full 
of  helpful  suggestions.  The  1907  edition 
of  the  Tiffany  Blue  Book  comes  in  season 
to  be  of  substantial  assistance  to  pur- 
chasers of  wedding  presents.  This  latest 
issue  of  the  widely-known  publication  has 
grown  to  over  six  hundred  pages,  nearly  a 
hundred  more  than  last  year,  which  sug- 
gests the  expansion  of  the  business  since 
its  removal  to  Fifth  avenue.  As  usual  the 
Blue  Book  emphasizes  the  fact  that  Tif- 
fany &  Co.  find  it  inexpedient  to  issue  an 
illustrated  catalogue,  as  their  richer  goods 
are  not  frequently  duplicated,  and  most 
designs  are  soon  superceded  by  new  pat- 
terns. The  catalogue  is  a  veritable  store- 
house of  information,  with  range  of  prices 
of  practically  everything  in  Tiffany  & 
Co.'s  establishment,  all  instantly  available 
through  a  convenient  side  index.  This  fea- 
ture, and  the  wealth  of  suggestions  to  be 
gathered  from  its  pages,  make  it  particu- 
larly useful  for  people  at  a  distance,  who 
must  do  their  shopping:  by  mail.  The 
Blue  Book  empahsizes  the  fact  that  Tif- 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


fany  &  Co.  always  welcome  a  comparison 
of  prices.  A  copy  of  the  book  will  be  sent 
upon  request  by  addressing  Tiffany  &  Co., 

Fifth  avenue  and  3?th  street,  New  York. 

*  *  * 

"Foster's  Skat  Manual"  is  a  treatise  on 
the  alluring  game  of  skat,  gotten  up  in 
such  attractive  style  in  every  way  that  it 
is  an  ornament  to  the  drawing  room  or 
library  table.  It  is,  as  its  name  implies, 
of  handy  size,  making  it  a  ready  book  of 
reference.  The  author  is  E.  F.  Foster, 
whose  "Complete  Bridge,"  "Whist  Man- 
ual," and  other  works  have  already  made 
him  an  authority  on  games  of  cards.  Scor- 
ing, bidding,  tournee,  tenace,  passt-mir- 
nicht,  solo,  ramsch,  nullo,  gucki  grand, 
and  all  the  other  strange  technicalities  of 
the  game  are  elucidated  so  that  the  reader 
may  have  no  excuse  for  not  quickly  com- 
prehending the  game. 

McClure,  Philipps  &  Co.,  New  York. 

*  *  * 

"A  Knight  of  the  Cumberland,"  by 
John  Fox,  Jr.,  author  of  "The  Little 
Shepherd  of  Kingdom  Come,"  is  a  fasci- 
nating little  story  of  life  in  the  Cumber- 
land mountains,  with  the  quaint  folks 
who  dwell  there,  their  ancient  customs, 
handed  down  from  generations  of  cavalier 
ancestors,  their  emotions  and  prejudices 
described  with  accuracy  and  charm.  It  is 
entertaining  throughout,  the  crux  of  the 
tale  being  reached  when  a  noted  outlaw, 
masked,  appears  at  one  of  those  time-hon- 
ored institutions  of  the  South — the  tour- 
tnent — wins  the  victor's  chaplet  from  the 
fayre  ladye  chosen  to  bestow  it,  and  is 
commanded  to  uncover.  His  identity  is 
quickly  discovered,  and  in  the  uproar  that 
succeeds,  he  makes  his  escape,  in  ancient 
armor,  which  first  won  him  attention.  The 
other  "knights,"  the  mounted  police,  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  male  portion  of  the  erst- 
while gay  throng  take  after  him,  but  he 
is  lost  in  the  waters  of  the  river. 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York. 

*  *  * 

It  is  certainly  a  privilege  to  have  pub- 
lishers for  relatives,  especially  if  one  has 
literary  aspirations.  "Miserere,"  written 
by  Mabel  Wagnalls,  and  brought  out  by 
the  Funk-Wagnalls  Company,  is  a  musical 
story,  but  that  is  about  all  one  can  say  of 
it.  It  is  told  in  an  amateurish  manner, 
and  bears  the  hall-marks  of  a  beginner  in 
the  literary  field. 


"Miserere,"  by  Mabel  Wkgnalls.    Funk 

&  Wagnalls  Co.,  New  York. 

*  *  * 

We  feel,  when  we  close  F.  Berkeley 
Smith's  "In  London  Town,"  as  if  we  had 
been  his  companion  through  all  his  wan- 
derings in  the  labyrinths  of  the  English 
metropolis.  In  no  way  or  place  does  it 
read  like  a  guide  book,  as  so  many  books 
of  travel  do;  from  start  to  finish  it  is 
written  in  a  breezy,  "racy"  way,  whether 
the  "Devil's  Highway"  (which  chapter 
begins  with  a  quotation  from  Shelley: 
"Hell  is  a  place  much  like  London")  is 
being  described,  or  the  "End  of  the  Cock 
and  Bell,"  one  of  London's  famous  old 
landmarks  of  taverns.  So,  when  we  finish 
with  this  most  interesting  volume,  we  can 
congratulate  ourselves  upon  having  seen 
London,  with  none  of  the  disadvantages  of 
travel  to  contend  with,  the  horrors  of  mal 
de  mer  in  crossing  the  "pond,"  the  de- 
pendence upon  cabbies  for  transportation 
to  and  from  points  of  interest,  and  lastly, 
the  wet  blanket  of  a  London  fog. 

"In  London  Town,"  by  F.  Berkeley 
Smith.  Funk  &  Wagnalls  Co.,  New  York. 
$1.50. 

The  plot  of  this  "Story  of  Old  Califor- 
nia" is  woven  around  the  adventures  of  a 
Spanish-American  highwayman,  who,  full 
of  vengeance  towards  the  Mexicans  who 
murdered  his  parents  and  sister,  and  de- 
str,yed  the  home  ranchero,  assumes  the 
role  of  an  outlaw,  and  mercilessly  robs 
every  dark-skinned  native  that  he  comes 
in  contact  with.  This  road-agent,  who, 
tLrough  his  Doliteness  in  dealing  with  the 
enemy  (even  when  he  is  picking  their 
pockets)  is  known  as  "Captain  Courtesy," 
claims  the  reader's  close  attention  through- 
out the  book,  which  is  verbose  with  "se- 
nors,"  "senoras"  and  "senoritas." 

"Captain  Courtesy,"  by  Edward  Childs 
Carpenter.  George  W.  Jacobs  &  Co.,  Pub- 
lishers, Philadelphia,  Pa. 

*  *  * 

The  Examiner  made  "Buster  Brown" 
famous,  so  E.  F.  Outcault,  "Buster's'^ 
creator,  needed  no  qualms  as  to  the  sale 
of  this  minute  volume  of  philosophic  con- 
clusions. However,  when  it  is  compared 
to  "The  Letters  of  a  Self-Made  Man  to 
His  Son,"  and  to  "David  Harum,"  we 
think  the  mark  has  been  a  little  over-shot. 

Frederick  A.  Stokes,  New  York. 


tmwuiaiua 
gxmft 


(Elimb 

aufc  get 

iuga. 

mill  fl0ui  mt0  gnu 


mill  blnui  %tr  0iun 
frcaljneaa     tntn 
tlj^  atnrma  tljnr 


0ff 


autumn 


Tte 


BY    ALV1CK    A.    PEARSON 


ABSOLUTELY  unique  is  the  an- 
nual Tournament  of  Eoses  at 
Pasadena.  As  far  as  known,  there 
is  not  another  flower  festival  on  New 
Year's  Day  in  the  world.  It  is  hardly 
probable  that  there  is  such  another  flower 
carnival  anywhere  at  any  time.  But  that 
is  another  question.  It  is  enough,  to  know 
that  in  a  residence  city  of  hardly  thirty 
thousand  people  a  Xew  Year's  Day  out- 
door flower  parade  is  held  annually,  so 
extensive  and  so  elaborate  that  it  has 
made  the  name  '"Pasadena"  known  all 
over  the  world. 

Eighteen  years  ago  the  tournament  had 
it?  small  beginning.,  a  modest  outdoor 
flower  picnic  given  by  the  still  famous 
Valley  Hunt  Club.  Then  the  yelping 
pack  of  grayhounds  belonging  to  the  club 
was  more  the  center  of  attraction  than 
were  the  few  private  carriages  prettily 
adorned  with  natural  flowers.  Professor 
Charles  Frederick  Holder,  the  noted 
naturalist  and  author,  was  President  of 
the  club  in  those  days,  and  he  it  was  who 
suggested  the  holding  of  the  outdoor  fes- 
tival. Afterwards  he  named  it  the  tour- 
ment  of  roses.  The  suggestion  was  a 
popular  one;  the  name  struck  the  general 
fancy,  and  the  tournament  immediately 
took  its  place  as  the  distinctive  annual 
holiday  of  the  year. 

After  a  few  years,  the  Valley  Hunt 
Club  relinquished  control,  the  lusty 
youngster  proving  a  bit  too  troublesome 
for  the  huntsmen  of  whom  the  club  was 
ihen  composed,  and  for  a  time  the  Pasa- 
dena Board  of  Trade,  ever  foremost  in 


projects  of  civic  concern,  looked  after  its 
growth.  A  few  years  ago  the  management 
was  finally  entrusted  to  an  association  of 
public  spirited  citizens,  the  Pasadena 
Tournament  of  Roses  Association,  and  it 
is  now  so  governed. 

On  January  1st.  Xew  Year's  day,  1907, 
occurred  the  Eighteenth  Annual  Tourna- 
ment of  Eoses  at  Pasadena.  Eighty  thou- 
sand people  witnessed  a  magnificent  floral 
parade  two  miles  long  and  twenty  thou- 
sand people  viewed  the  sports  at  Tourna- 
ment Park,  a  splendid  revival  of  the  an- 
cient Roman  chariot  races  being  of  this 
last  the  principal  feature.  The  "Crown 
City"  (as  Pasadena  is  now  called  because 
of  its  regal  position  upon  the  foothills 
of  the  Sierra  Madre  Mountains),  has 
grown  from  a  struggling  colony  of  East- 
ern health-seekers  to  a  magnificent  city 
of  princely  residences,  world  famed  hotels 
and  ideal  sun-lit  homes  of  a  cultured, 
happy  and  prosperous  people.  It  is  said 
that  here  millionaires  are  so  common 
that  they  are  no  longer  counted,  but  are 
measured  by  the  mile,  and  the  visitor  who 
drives  the  length  of  some  of  the  show 
streets,  notably  South  Orange  Grove  Bou- 
levard and  Grand  Avenue,  and  views  the 
palatial  residences  of  Adolphus  Busch, 
Benjamin  Blossom.  John  C.  Cravens.  L. 
Stimson.  Fred  F/Wilcox.  A.  H.  Flem- 
ing, Beverend  R.  J.  Burdett.  W.  E. 
Starts,  Todd  Ford,  John  B.  Miller  and 
many  others,  will  be  surprised  and 
charmed  at  the  wealth  and  magnificence 
here  displayed.  There  is  no  less  charm, 
however,  in  viewing  the  miles  upon  miles 


100 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


of  flower-embowered  cottages  or  bunga- 
lows which  indicate  even  more  plainly 
than  anything  else  that  while  wealthy 
people  are  coming  to  Pasadena  from  all 
over  the  country,  the  city  is  still  pre-emi- 
nently the  home  city  of  the  great  middle 
class.  One  is  struck  with  the  absence  of 
factories,  and  particularly  the  absence  of 
the  open  saloon;  the  scores  of  substantial 
and  costly  church  edifices,  the  refined  and 
contented  appearance  of  the  people  on  the 
streets  and  the  absence  of  poverty-stricken 
homes,  and  of  the  poor  or  the  criminal.  A 
moral  city,  with  every  advantage  of  a 
great  metropolis,  and  with  most  of  its 
glaring  vices  eliminated — such  is  the 
Pasadena  of  to-day. 

It  has  pleased  the  writer  to  digress  thus 


of  these  is  naturally  the  chiefest  in  in- 
terest, being  the  more  popular  in  char- 
acter. For  the  parade  just  given  a  line 
of  march  was  laid  out  extending  from 
South  Orange  Grove  Boulevard  on  the 
west  to  Tournament  Park  on  the  east,  a 
distance  of  between  three  and  four  miles, 
past  the  main  business  parts  of  the  city, 
and  through  a  number  of  handsome  resi- 
dence sections.  Business  houses  entered 
into  lively  competition  as  to  which  should 
show  the  most  elaborate  floral  decorations 
for  the  day  of  the  parade,  the  association 
offering  liberal  cash  prizes  to  add  zest  to 
the  Contest.  Private  residences,  not  only 
along  the  line  of  march,  but  all  over  the 
city,  put  on  gala  attire  and  the  principal 
streets  were  strung  with  red  and  white 


Adolphus  Busch,  Fleming  and  Blossom  residences. 


far  in  providing  a  setting  to  a  modest  de- 
scription of  the  Eighteenth  Tournament 
as  it  was  carried  out  on  January  1,  1907. 
That  this  great  event  may  be  a  success, 
people  of  all  classes  in  the  Crown  City 
join  hands  and  work  single-heartedly  to- 
gether. This  it  is  which  has  made  the 
annual  tournaments  the  wonder  of  the 
country,  and  of  the  part  of  the  country 
where  nothing  is  considered  impossible 
of  accomplishment  if  only  there  be  united 
effort. 

The  tournament  divided  itself  naturally 
into  three  parts :  the  floral  parade  in  the 
forenoon,  the  Roman  chariot  races  and 
outdoor  sports  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
tournament  ball  in  the  evening.  The  first 


streamers,  the  trolley  poles  adorned  with 
American  flags  and  with  great,  fern-like 
fronds  of  the  date  palm,  while  from  ve- 
hicles of  all  kinds  fluttered  ribbons  of 
red  and  white,  the  tournament  colors. 

During  the  week  before  New  Year's 
day  the  mildest  and  brightest  weather 
prevailed,  but  on  the  last  day  of  the  okl 
year  came  a  flood  of  rain,  which  threw 
all  into  confusion.  Shortly  after  noon, 
however,  the  clouds  vanished  as  though 
by  magic,  the  warm  sun  peered  out,  and 
with  a  rush  preparations  for  the  tourna- 
ment of  the  next  day  were  begun  again 
where  they  had  been  left  off.  During  all 
its  eighteen  years  of  existence,  inclement 
weather  has  not  once  blocked  or  prevented 


re? 


104 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


the  giving  of  this  great  festival,  and  dur- 
ing the  sweep  of  the  storm  preparations 
went  cheerfully  forward  indoors. 

New  Year's  day  dawned  bright  anj 
warm,  and  with  the  early  dawn  began  to 
come  the  crowds.  At  10 :45,  when  the 
head  of  the  parade  appeared  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  West  Colorado  street  hill,  the 
streets  along  which  it  was  to  pass  were 
closely  packed  with  people,  held  back  by 
ropes  and  a  swarm  of  special  police.  It 
was  a  master  parade,  beautiful  as  a  whole 
almost  beyond  description.  Tribute  had 
been  exacted  from  hundreds  of  the  city's 
fairest  flower  gardens,  and  almost  every 


purple  bourgainvillea  and  golden  poppy 
made  up  the  lavish  decorations  of  the 
equipage,  and  the  same  colors  in  flowers 
and  feathery  pampas  were  carried  through 
the  decorations  and  robing  of  those  asso- 
ciated with  the  queen. 

A  score  of  scarcely  less  regal  floats  fol- 
lowed the  royal  equipage,  mingled  with 
which  were  marching  clubs,  horsemen 
and  horsewomen,  automobiles,  burro  char- 
iots, fashionable  carts  and  blooded  driv- 
ing horses — all  decorated  in  elaborate  de- 
signs with  natural  flowers  and  robes  of 
living  green.  The  high  school  float,  for 
instance,  was  designed  to  represent  a 


A  portion   of  Pasadena,   looking  towards   the   Sierra  Madres. 


variety  of  blossom  grown  in  Southern 
California  at  this  time  of  the  year  was 
welded  into  the  decorations  of  the  vehi- 
cles and  animals  and  participants  in  the 
great  parade.  One  of  the  city's  fairest 
matrons,  Mrs.  Elmer  F.  Woodbury,  queen 
in  carnival  times  in  San  Francisco,  was 
the  gracious  queen  of  the  tournament,  and 
her  court  was  chosen  from  among  the 
most  beautiful  maids  and  matrons  of  the 
city.  Six  white  horses  drew  the  gorgeous 
throne  upon  which  sate  the  queen,  sur- 
rounded by  her  ladies-in-waiting.  Pinkish 


Masque  of  Folly.  Thousands  of  pink  and 
white  carnations,,  hundreds  of  yards  of 
smilax  and  asparagus  fern  were  used  on 
coach  and  horses,  and  in  this  beautiful 
equipage  thirteen  appropriately  dressed 
girls  en  masque  rode  in  state.  Another 
school  float  represented  a  royal  Chinese 
procession,  the  effect  of  the  gorgeous 
clothing  being  accentuated  by  the  brilliant 
hued  flowers  which  were  used  in  great 
profusion.  A  giant  daisy,  fourteen  feet 
across,  each  of  the  petals  formed  of  thou- 
sands of  golden-hearted  marguerites,  the 


\l 

-  I 


108 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


great  heart  of  the  flower  consisting  of  six- 
teen little  girls  gowned  in  yellow,  was  an- 
other attractive  school  entry.  A  sun- 
flower chariot  covered  with  thousands  of 
wild  sun  blossoms,  the  wheels  done  in 
magnificent  white  roses,  deserved  the  ap- 
plause it  received. 

The  tally-ho  of  the  Pintoresca  Hotel, 
drawn  by  six  horses,  was  a  very  artistic 
creation.  The  coach  was  almost  entirely 
covered  with  pink  geraniums — the  wheels 
in  the  shape  of  stars.  A  pink  tulle  canopy 
over  the  top  lent  a  becoming  shade  to  the 
young  girl  occupants,  who  were  also 
gowned  in  pink. 

"The  Old  Woman  Who  Lived  in  a 
Shoe"  served  as  a  novel  representation, 
for  the  shoe  dealers  of  the  city,  the  im- 
mense shoe  being  done  in  white  margue- 
rites, red  geraniums  and  smilax,  and  be- 
ing full  of  noisy,  happy  children.  The 
real  estate  dealers  of  the  city  showed  a 
dual  scene,  an  Eastern  snow  storm,  with 
all  its  accompanying  discomforts,  set 
over  against  a  Pasadena  garden  with  rip- 
ening fruit  and  fragrant  flowers,  among 
which  played  white  robed  women  and 
barefooted  children.  Another  entry  con- 
sisted of  an  overland  coach,  done  in  smi- 
lax and  bright-hued  blossoms. 

Cinderella's  coach,  made  of  palm  bark 
and  papyrus,  herbs  and  woodsy-looking 
ferns,  the  color  tones  being  of  cream  and 
brown  and  yellow,  spoke  of  the  druggists 
of  the  city.  One  victoria  was  buried 
in  thousands  of  crimson  and  white  carna- 
tions. A  runabout  showed  a  great  yellow 
blur  of  golden  chrysanthemums.  A  hotel 
six-in-hand  was  buried  in  white  and  yel- 
low narcissus  blossoms,  the  sacred  flower 
of  China.  A  prairie  schooner,  covered 
•  with  blossoms,  and  drawn  by  four  mules, 
was  driven  by  a  pioneer,  and  with  his 
wife  knitting  at  his  side,  who  crossed  the 
plains  in  1845.  Venice  of  America,  the 
little  seaside  town  near  Long  Beach,  sent 
a  veritable  Venetian  gondola  on  wheels, 
drawn  by  two  great  camels,  both  gon- 
dola and  caine^  blanketed  and  canopied 
with  rose  buds,  white  marguerites  and  red 
holly  berries.  These  brief  descriptions 
give  something  of  an  idea  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  floral  parade  was  made  most 
effective  and  attractive.  Arrived  at  the 
park,  the  prize  winners  in  each  class  were 
announced,  the  prizes  in  every  case  being 
liberal  cash  awards,  and  the  Queen  of  the 


Bungalows  and  artistic  homes  in  Pasadena. 


C  t- 

C   - 

s:  ~ 


§• 

tc 


110 


OYEELAND  MONTHLY. 


tournament  bestowing  the  banners  which 
indicated  the  prizes  won. 

Then  came  the  Eoman  chariot  races,  in- 
termingled with  bronco  busting  relay 
races — the  riders  representing  the  leading 
hotels  of  the  city,  and  of  Long  Beach,  tent 
pegging  and  other  sports  by  the  Gym- 
khana Club  of  expert  horsemen,  and  a 


introduced,  the  fame  of  the  sports  has 
been  assured,  and  ever  increasing  crowds 
have  gathered  at  the  park  to  be  thrilled 
with  magnificent  contests  between  run- 
ning horses.  All  of  the  old-time  panoply 
of  the  Eoman  chariot  races  has  been 
brought  into  play — the  wooden  chariot, 
the  flowing  robe  of  the  charioteer,  the 


A  glimpse  of  Hotel  La  Pintoresca. 


burlesque  chariot  race  between  two  fours 
of  meek  and  lowly  burros,  in  which  the 
drivers  goaded  on  their  steeds  by  the  use 
of  stage  thunder  and  other  dreadful  noise 
laaking  machines.  Since  three  years  ago, 
wh^n  the  Eoman  chariot  races  were  first 


rules  of  the  race,  and  the  cash  prize  has 
been  made  large  enough  to  attract  the  best 
horseflesh  the  section  affords.  Profession- 
alism is,  however,  barred.  Four  heats  are 
needed  to  settle  the  merits  of  the  entries, 
two  fours  contesting  in  each  heat.  The 


<  I 


'2.'^  — 


11SS 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


winner  of  first  prize  this  year  received 
a  cash  prize  of  $750,  the  winner  of  the 
second  prize  $500,  the  third  $300,  and 
the  fourth  $200,  the  four  races  on  this 
occasion  were  closely  contested,  one  of 
the  fourth  events  being  enlivened  by  the 
fact  that  the  four  belonging  to  a  driver 
from  a  neighboring  city  broke  all  bounds 
and  ran  away,  only  being  captured  after 
a  hard  race  by  the  trained  vacqueros  em- 
ployed at  the  track  for  the  purpose.  The 
capital  prize  was  won  by  a  length,  and  in 
the  prettiest  finish  imaginable. 

With  the  giving  of  the  annual  tourna- 
ment ball  in  the  evening  at  the  Hotel 
Green,  Pasadena's  single  great  fete  day 


came  to  an  end.  Aside  from  the  presence 
of  the  queen  of  the  tournament  in  all  of 
her  regal  splendor,  and  of  a  number  of 
the  prize-winners  in  costume,  the  singing 
of  a  selection  from  "Tannhauser"  by  a 
chorus  composed  of  the  ladies-in-waiting, 
the  ball  was  not  far  removed  from  similar 
society  events  elsewhere.  The  exclusive 
social  set  for  the  nonce  lent  its  aid,  and 
several  hundred  couples  thus  whiled 
away  the  closing  hours  of  the  New  Year's 
day. 

Competent  critics  assert  that  in  no  es- 
sential detail  was  the  tournament  of  1907 
inferior  to  its  predecessors,  but  that  it 
may  well  rank  as  the  greatest  of  Ihe  series. 


Two  immense  palms  guarding  the  entrance  to  Hotel  Pintoresca. 


By     Edna     Heald     McCoy 

Not  the  first  kiss  that  blush  doth  bring, 

(Sweeter  the  full-blown  rose,  than  bud  of  spring) ; 

Not  the  long  kiss  that  .kindleth  desire, 

Fiercer  the  heat  when  burned  to  coals  the  fire; 

Not  that  sweet  moon,  when  Love,  new  wed, 

Lost  in  his  passion,  he  his  fond  vows  s£ld; 

But  that  still  time  when  pulses  cool  and  slow, 

When  reminiscences  as  shadows  go 

With  us  forever.     No  foolish  thing  we  would  forget, 

No  thing  Dear  Love  that  leaves  with  us  regret; 

When  lip  to  lip,  your  eyes  to  my  eyes  said: 

•'Dear  Love,  remembering  all, 

I  ask  no  more,  nor  aught  would  wish  away." 


BY    EMMA    PLAYTER    SEABURY 


THIS  was  the  fifth  time  Mildred 
Moulton  had  read  her  horoscope 
that  June.  The  astrologer  had 
said:  "In  June  there  is  a  powerful  mas- 
culine influence  that  usually  brings  new 
male  friends  into  one's  life  permanently. 
It  is  rare  this  influence  passes  a  woman's 
horoscope,  but  she  marries  or  has  a  favor- 
able opportunity  to  do  so." 

And  nothing  had  happened,  not  the 
glimmer  of  a  man's  straw  hat  on  her  hori- 
zon. Work  every  day  with  restless  child- 
ren— life  a  humdrum  outside.  Men  never 
had  seemed  so  impossible  and  so  unin- 
teresting. One  smoked  cigarettes;  one 
was  sporty,  and  his  breath  was  tainted 
with  liquor.  "I  shall  have  a  pure,  sweet 
breath  and  an  educated,  high-minded 
gentleman,  or  teach  till  I  am  sixty,  an.l 
then  be  pensioned,"  she  said,  with  reso- 
lution. "But  all  the  same,  I  hope  it  won't 
be  necessary.  I  shall  go  and  see  Madame 
Solis  and  ask  her  if  there  is  any  mis- 
take." 

She  put  on  her  white  linen  dress  and 
apple  blossom  hat,  gave  a  touch  to  the  lit- 
tle curls  on  her  forehead,  and  smiled  back 
at  the  face  in  the  mirror,  with  its  gray 
eyes  and  high-bred  individuality,  its  roses 
and  dimples,  a  face  of  character  and  deli- 
cacy. 

The  astrologer  sat  in  her  dainty  room 
on  the  top  floor  of  a  sky-scraper.  There 
were  roses  on  her  table,  lace  curtains  at 
her  windows,  and  the  walls  were  covered 
with  portraits,  photographs  of  hands,  and 
astrological  charts.  Screens,  easy  chairs 
and  divans  were  scattered  artistically 
around.  The  Madame  was  in  white,  also. 
A  woman  perhaps  thirty-five,  with  soft, 
brown  hair  parted  in  the  middle,  and  the 
kindest,  truest  eyes.  A  winning  smile, 
a  charming  personality. 

She  greeted  Mildred  effusively. 

"Good  morning,  madame.  Yon  reallv 
remember  me?  Well,  of  course,  you  don't 
remember  my  horoscope.  I  brought  it 
with  me.  You  thought  it  possible  I  should 
meet  a  masculine  affinity  in  June.  Throe 


weeks  gone.  I  am  anxious.  I'm  awful 
tired  of  kindergarten  babies!"  with  a 
musical  gurgle  of  laughter. 

"And  you  have  met  no  one?"  asked 
Madame,  smiling. 

"Not  a  soul.  I've  even  lost  or  dis- 
missed all  the  old  beaux.  I  am  adrift 
without  a  sail  in  sight.  Look  at  my  horo- 
scope and  see  if  destiny  is  postponed,  or 
what  the  horrid  old  stars  are  doing." 

"You  must  remember  this  is  only  thr^e 
weeks  of  June — there  is  another  one," 
said  Madame,  opening  and  glancing  down 
the  horoscope. 

"I  believe  I  never  was  so  discouraged. 
Mamma  has  been  ill  again;  finances  are 
so  hard  to  manage,  bank  people  so  un- 
reasonable. Somehow  I  never  felt  so  un- 
fitted to  fight  this  great  world.  You  al- 
ways give  me  a  word  of  cheer  and  hope.  I 
couldn't  stay  away." 

"My  dear,  be  comforted.  If  I  were  a 
man  I  should  propose  to  you  this  minute. 
You  always  make  me  think  of  apple-blos- 
soms." 

"If  you  were  a  man,"  said  Mildred, 
"you  dear,  dimpled  thing,  I'd  marry  you, 
but  you  are  not.  Then  there  is  the  sum- 
mer to  face,  and  no  salary.  If  there  is 
a  twentieth  century  knight,  I  call  on  you, 
psychic  and  astrologer,  to  produce  him 
instanter,"  and  there  was  another  ripple 
of  laughter. 

For  answer,  a  screen  reeled  a  little  and 
fell  over  against  Mildred.  A  seemingly 
discomposed  young  man  stumbled  from 
behind  it.  Madame  rose  laughing  and  ad- 
justed Mildred's-  pretty  hat.  "Why,  Mr. 
Xonnan,  I  am  so  glad.  I  did  not  know 
you  were  in  the  city." 

"Just  going  through  and  thought  I'd 
like  to  see  what  my  stars  are  doing.  I 
would  not  let  your  maid  disturb  you,  and 
I  sat  down  behind  that  screen,  and  my 

feet "  he  glanced  six  feet  down  at  the 

large,  offending  members,  "knocked  the 
screen  down." 

He  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  of  Mil- 
dred. "I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  ad- 


114 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


dressing  himself  directly  to  her,  "I  hope 
my  awkwardness  has  not  hurt  even  the  be- 
coming hat." 

He  had  the  frankest  blue  eyes,  a  boy- 
ish face  and  charming  manner;  he  was 
Avell  dressed  and  exceedingly  good-look- 
ing. 

"And  you  heard  all  I  have  been  say- 
ing!" said  Mildred,  blushing  painfully, 
which  only  made  her  prettier. 

"Forgive  me,  I  couldn't  help  it.  You 
see,  Madame  Solis  promised  me  an  affin- 
ity this  June  also.  I  haven't  seen  any — 
or  hadn't  till  I  came  up  here  this  morn- 
ing," he  said,  bowing  and  smiling.  "I 
came  on  a  similar  errand,  and  to  have 
her  tell  me  some  business  matters  also. 
I  heard  you,  and  your  voice  attracted  me, 
your  laugh  bewitched  me,  as  well  as  your 
ingenuousness,  your  demand  for  some- 
thing higher  and  better  than  you  had  met 
in  your  friends." 

"And  you  thought — oh,  what  did  you 
think?"  faltered  Mildred. 

"I  thought  you  were  rising  to  go;  as 
you  pushed  back  your  chair  I  knocked 
over  the  screen." 

"Oh,  how  could  you — how  dare  you !" 
said  Mildred,  but  her  eyes  were  laugh- 
ing. 

"Madame  Solis,  you  promised  us  both 


the  same  thing.  Please  look  up  the  stars 
and  see  what  rules  each  house  of  mar- 
riage, and  please  look  up  the  dates  of  our 
birth  and  give  us  your  astrological  bless- 
ing." 

"I  think  you  are  very  presuming,"  said 
Mildred,  with  dignity. 

"No,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  am  here 
to  claim  my  own.  Madame  knows  me ; 
she  can  tell  you  I  am  of  good  family, 
with  good  prospects,  and  she  owes  me 
what  I  demand  at  her  hands.  Is  it  not 
so?" 

The  Madame  laughed  and  said:  "This 
is  the  most  delicious  episode  in  my  astro- 
logical experience.  Miss  Moulton,  let  me 
introduce  you  formally;  the  rest  I  leave 
to  June  and  fate.  I  believe  you  were 
made  for  each  other.  I  shall  look  up  the 
dates." 

"But  I  shall  never  leave  my  mother," 
said  Mildred. 

"Go  and  get  acquainted  with  her,  Mr. 
Norman ;  she  is  as  charming  as  her  daugh- 
ter." 

The  Madame  returned  in  an  hour.  "Tho 
dates  are  all  right,  the  same  stars  are  in 
conjunction.  God  bless  you,  my  child- 
ren," and  Madame  Solis  dismissed  the 
glowing  faces  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh  for 
her  lost  girlhood  dreams. 


By    C.     H,     Urner 

Coy  victory  may  be  won, 
It  yields,  not  always  soon : 

The  dawn  before  the  sun, 

The  morn  and  then  the  noon. 

Fruition  hath  its  hour, 
But  challenges  pursuit: 

The  leaf  before  the  flower, 

The  bud  and  then  the  fruit. 

Then  forward,  shine  or  gloom, 
Tho'  fortune  smile  or  frown 

The  spray  may  be  in  bloom 
Whereof  to  make  thy  crown. 

The  hour  may  be  in  dawn 
That  shall  reveal  the  goal: 

Pause  not,  but  struggle  on 
With  body,  mind  and  soul. 


"Un   sauvetage"    (A   rescue). 


F.    Munier,    Artist. 

Copyrighted  by  Braun,  Clement  &  Co.,  Paris,  Photo. 


BY    KATHERI&E    ELWES    THOMAS 


SAIXT  Valentine's  day,  with  its 
typical  customs,  emerges  to  us 
from  the  cloud-land  of  early 
Greek  mythology,  encircled  as  it  de- 
scends with  the  halo  of  fluttering  doves 
of  Venus  and  love-tipped  arrows  of  Cu- 
pid. 

This  tutelary  God  of  the  City  of  Rome, 
identical  with  Aphrodite,  worshiped  by 
the  Romans  as  the  Goddess  of  Spring, 
was  among  Olympian  deities  ever  coupled 
with  the  perennial  youth  of  her  son,  that 
tiny  yet  titanic  Cupid,  God  of  Love. 

It  was  with  vast  form  that  the  early 
Romans  annually  observed  this  vernal  fes- 
tival as  one  of  peculiarly  sacred  rites 
from  number  and  importance  of  their 
Gods  concerned  therein.  The  middle  of 
February  was  the  time  appropriated  alike 
b-'  Juno  and  Pan  to  be  marked  with 
elaborate  celebration  by  their  respective 
votaries.  On  this  date,  therefore,  Greek 


and  Roman  youths,  resorting  to  the  tem- 
ple wherein  was  kept  the  Sacred  Urn, 
d.-ew  each  from  thence  in  turn  a  slip  in- 
scribed with  the  name  of  a  maiden.  This 
one  it  was  in  accordance  with  the  pagan 
ritual  to  whom  as  his  daily  partner  for 
the  ensuing  twelvemonth  he  must  plan  all 
pleasant  happening. 

The  custom  prevalent  among  shepherd 
youths  and  maids  of  the  Campagnia  was 
alike  current  in  highest  imperial  and 
Christian  Rome,  until  eventually  degen- 
erating into  orgies  that  became  the  scan- 
dal of  the  times,  Pope  Gelasius,  A.  D., 
496,  sought  to  abolish  it. 

But  so  enamored  had  the  ^pnlace  be- 
come of  this  particular  festival  that, 
mighty  as  was  this  Spiritual  Highness,  he 
found  it  expedient  not  onlv  to  make 
lengthy  explanation  of  his  bull,  but  ac- 
tually to  rive  a  definite  Quid  pro  quo. 
This  was  accomplished  in  the  formal  in- 


116 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


stallation  of  St.  Valentine's  Day  by  the 
Pope,  who,  searching  through  ecclesias- 
tical history  to  meet  the  emergency,  hap- 
pily made  the  following  discovery. 

On  the  site  of  that  very  altar  whereon 
the  great  Juno  and  Pan  originally  burned 
sacrificial  amatory  fires,  there  had  been 
crucified  in  the  Forum  on  the  14th  of 
February,  A.  D.  270,  Saint  Valentine,  a 
Christian  Bishop  of  exceeding  piety.  Up- 
on the  self-same  spot  also,  it  was  affirmed 
Romulus  and  Remus  had  been  suckled  by 


thenceforth  with  drastic  change  of  sig- 
nification. Upon  the  new  ones  given  en- 
tirely pure  import,  upon  St.  Valentine's 
Day,  there  was  thus  for  all  time  poured 
the  chrism  of  Christianity. 

This  ruling  was  indorsed  centuries  later 
bv  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  who  sensibly 
faced  the  incontrovertible  truth  that 
nature's  strength  is  incompatible  by  man 
and  therefore  rises  supreme  above  sup- 
pressionary  edicts.  That  from  the  dawn 
of  Eden  the  plan  of  creation  whereby  mea 


"A  nymph  drawing  her  bow  on  a  swain."  Angelica    Kauffman,    artist. 

Copyrighted  by  W.   A.   Mansell  &   Co.,  London,   Photo. 


that  fierce  beast  long  since  canonized  by 
the  Church  as  the  Sacred  Wolf. 

The  clever  ecclesiastic,  alive  to  the  fact 
that  the  ancient  ordinances  of  the  feast 
of  Juno  and  Pan  had  become  too  firmly 
established  in  the  Latinian  temperament 
to  be  effectually  abolished  or  even  tem- 
porarily dislodged,  hit  upon  that  felici- 
tous expedient  which  many  times  before 
and  since  his  era  has  proved  efficacious. 

The  pagan  rights  to  which  his  people 
so  firmly  clung  were,  the  Pope  graciously 
announced,  to  be  retained,  but  from 


and  women  fall  in  love  may  be  stayed 
neither  by  Papal  bull  nor  churchly  nun- 
cio. That  into  the  highest  of  earthly  love 
there  must  ever  enter  between  the  sex?s 
distinct  element  of  the  romantic  and  sen- 
timental. Therefore  to  hold  the  popu- 
lace, he  must  sanction  retention  of  this 
pagan  observance  with  its  sensuous  crea- 
tions of  mortal  love. 

Pocketing  his  saintly  antipathy  to  the 
Olympian  deities,  and  refraining  from 
further  wordy  detractions  of  the  popular 
practices  the  better  to  seize  and  hold  his 


SAINT  VALENTINE'S  DAY. 


117 


people,  he  met  the  issue  by  enveloping  it, 
as  had  Pope  Gelasius,  with  the  cloak  of 
Christian  significance. 

Annually  upon  the  14th  of  February, 
he  announced  there  would  be  observed 
with  all  churchly  form  the  anniversary  of 
the  martyrdom  of  St.  Valentine.  And 
thereupon  he  caused  to  be  inscribed  upon 
slips  the  titles  and  sufferings  of  this  early 
Christian  martyr.  These  slips,  domin- 
ated "Valentines,"  were  drawn  from  a 
consecrated  urn  by  the  boys  of  Rome,  who, 
admonished  to  admire  and  emulate  the 
Saint  from  whom  the  day  derived  its 
name,  read  also  upon  the  slips  words  of 
feminine  purport. 

The  selection  of  Saint  Valentine  was 
curiously  inappropriate,  as  there  is  no  in- 
cident of  his  life  wherewith  to  warrant 
choice  of  him.  Portrayed  in  the  univer- 
sal mind  as  a  rollicking  personage  given 
over  to  rhyming,  descriptive  of  pierced 
hearts  and  quivering  darts,  he  is  ac- 
credited an  ardent  temperament  intent 
upon  bringing  life  and  love  and  youth  into 
happy  oneness  through  the  potent  agency 
of  immortal  spring-time  appeal  of  poesy 
and  romance.  In  song  and  story  deline- 
ated as  re-uniting  sundered  hearts  by 
gathering  together  tangled  ends  of  chords 
in  riven  lutes,  and  "knitting  up  the  rav- 
eled sleeve  of  care"  in  love's  rent  and  tat- 
tered garment  of  despair,  St.  Valentine 
was  in  reality  of  directly  opposite  per- 
sonality— a  man  of  notable  austerity. 

While  in  a  measure  the  two  Papal  dig- 
nitaries succeeded  in  purifying  the  old 
Roman  ceremonials  of  undesired  charac- 
teristics, they  were  wholly  unable  to  alto 
gether  do  away  with  this  human  outburst 
of  springtime  rejoicing  at  which,  from 
ages  immemorial,  men  and  women  have 
drawn  lots  for  sweethearts  and  sent  affec- 
tionate greetings  far  and  wide  to  friends 
ind  lovers. 

Saint  Valentine's  Day  is,  according  to 
ancient  tradition,  not  only  the  date  upon 
which  human  hearts  unite,  but  that  on 
which  the  birds  of  the  air,  following  myth- 
ologic  rites,  fly  hither  and  thither  seeking 
their  mates.  This  is  the  view  taken  of  the 
day  by  Chaucer  and  Shakespeare.  And 
as  in  all  love  affairs  Cupid  prominently 
figures,  so  he  was  elected  patron  saint  for 
this  vernal  feast,  with,  as  natural  attend- 
ant, appropriate  flutter  of  the  doves  of 
Venus. 


Chaucer's  version  of  this  legendary  ord- 
nance is: 


know  well  how  on  St.  Valentine's 

Day, 
By  my  statute  and  through  my  gouver- 

nance, 
Ye  doe  chese  your  mates,  and  after  flie 

away 
With     hem     as     I     pricke     you     with 

pleasuance." 

Shakespeare  says  of  the  day: 

"St.  Valentine's  is  past, 
Begin  the  wood  birds  but  to  couple  now.'' 
Times  innumerable     there     has     been 
used  as  a  Valentine  Shakespeare's  famil- 
iar lines: 

"Doubt  thou  the  stars  are  fire: 
Doubt  that  the  sun  doth  move, 

Doubt  Truth  to  be  a  Liar; 
But  never  doubt  I  Love." 

And  again,  Shakespeare  gives  a  world- 
wide Valentine  in  the  verse: 

"I  swear  to  thee  by  Cupid's  strongest  bow, 
By  his  best  arrow  with^the  golden  head, 
By  the  simplicity  of  Venus'  doves, 
By  that  which  kindleth  Souls  and  prospers 
Loves." 


Grose  gives  the  word  "Valentine"  to 
signify  the  first  man  seen  by  a  woman  on 
the  14th  of  February  and  vice  versa.  In 
Scotland  the  children  take  this  augury  in 
most  serious  fashion.  There  the  little 
girls  going  to  and  from  school  on  Saint 
Valentine's  Day,  counting  as  they  walk 
the  various  buttons  upon  their  frocks  and 
coats,  call  in  sing-song  childish  metre: 

"Tinker,    tailor, 
Soldier,   sailor, 
Apothecary, 
Ploughboy,  thief!" 

If,  after  uttering  these  sybillic  words, 
they  should  first  chance  to  meet  other  than 
a  soldier  or  sailor  upon  which  the  hearts 
of  these  sonsy  little  lassies  are  ever  set, 
they  turn  and  fly  in  shrieking  affright. 


"Admiration."     W.    Bouguereau,    artist. 


Copyrighted  by  Braun,    Clement  &   Co.,   Paris,    Photo. 


"The  rose  is  red, 

The  violet  blue; 
Sugar  is  sweet, 

And  so  are  .you." 

These  little  jingling  lines,  older  than 
the  memory  of  man,  paraphrased  from 
Grecian  epics,  form  the  earliest  Saint 
Valentine's  day  couplet.  Known  the 
world  over,  sung  by  every  race,  written  in 
every  language  dead  and  alive,  they  have 
come  to  us  of  the  present  day  along  with 
the  mass  of  alluring,  deathlessly  fasci- 
nating mythological  practices  alleged 
through  the  mists  of  ages  to  have  been 
current  of  high  Olympus.  Beloved  by 
childish  hearts  the  universe  over,  adored 
by  untutored  country  swains,  'tis  by  these 
lines  every  Daphne  has  wooed  his  Chloe. 
The  Primer  of  Life's  aftermath  of  love- 
making,  the  jingle  rims  the  dial  plate  up- 
on which  runs  fond  inscription  of  infancy, 
youth  and  old  age. 

There  is  yet  extant  in  Norfolk,  Eng- 
land, the  old  custom  of  sending  gifts  up- 


on the  14th  of  February.  These,  generally 
assuming  substantial  proportions,  are 
placed  in  baskets  which,  being  well  cov- 
ered, have  pinned  to  them  a  slip  of  paper 
on  which  is  written  "Good  Morrow,  Val- 
entine." Such  a  basket  having  been  de- 
posited upon  the  doorsteps,  the  donor 
ringing  the  bell,  quickly  runs  away,  leav- 
ing the  recipient  to  puzzle  over  the  iden- 
tity of  the  sender.  Another  whimsical 
custom  in  Norfolk  is  for  the  children  to 
"catch"  Valentines,  or  lure  them  by  ac- 
costing those  they  meet  with  "Good-mor- 
row, Valentine."  But  this,  unless  done 
before  sunrise,  is  not  efficacious,  as  the 
one  thus  greeted  may  jeeringly  reply  that 
having  waited  for  the  sun  to  rise,  the 
children  have  allowed  themselves  to  be 
"sunburnt,"  and  so  are  no  longer  eligible 
for  the  suggested  gift  or  Valentine. 

In  Oxfordshire,  the  children,  merrily 
trooping  about  on  the  morning  of  Febru- 
ary 14th,  gleefully  shout  a  greeting  to 
each  likely  person  met  upon  the  high- 
way. 


SAINT  VALENTINE'S  DAY. 


119 


"Good-morrow,  Valentine! 
First  'tis  yours,  then  'tis  mine, 
80  please  give  me  a  Valentine." 

Valentine  customs  and  usages  became 
emblemmatic  in  England,  Scotland  and 
France  in  the  loth  century,  when  they 
were  especially  in  vogue  with  the  gay 
courts  of  those  countries,  and  from  thence 
were  brought  by  the  early  settlers  to 
America. 

It  was  in  that  era  customary  for  parties 
of  men  and  women  to  meet  on  Saint  Val- 
entine's eve  and  each  write  upon  a  slip 
of  paper  the  name  of  one  of  the  opposite 
sex.  These  slips,  cast  indiscriminately  in- 
to a  basket,  were  again  drawn  in  fashion 
identical  with  that  of  the  Bomans  from 
the  Sacred  Urn. 

In  such  manner  each  had  his  or  her 
Valentine  lor  the  following  year,  the 
swains  wearing  upon  their  sleeves  or 
fastened  to  their  breast  their  lady's  Valen- 
tine as  of  old  knights  wore  the  colors 
of  their  ladys  faire  when  they  rode -forth 
to  battle  or  tilting  bout. 

MJssion,  in  his  "Travels  in  England,'" 
makes  prominent  mention  of  this  phase, 
and  states  that  the  little  game  frequently 
ends  in  genuine  love  and  marriage. 

These  mock  betrothals  of  St.  Valen- 
tine's -Day  were  by  no  means  confined  to 
the  lads  and  lassies.  The  indefatigable 
Pepys,  in  his  famous  diary,  mentions 
having  himself  drawn  by  lot  for  his  Val- 
entine the  little  daughter  of  his  friend 
Pierce,  whom  the  fates  willed  it  was  upon 
that  identical  occasion  to  draw  for  his 
3'ear's  Valentine  Mistress  Pepys,  upon 
whose  slip  there  was,  moreover,  the  ap- 
propriate motto,  "Most  constant  and  fair." 

Eoses,  forget-me-nots  and  heartsease 
are  the  season's  emblematic  flowers,  with 
doves,  as  golden  arrows  aim  broadcast  re- 
gardless of  age  or  conditions  of  life.  Hap- 
m'ly  that  cowardly  thrust  of  the  malicious 
in  sending  comic  Valentines  designed  to 
make  cruel  sport  of  humanity's  deformi- 
ties and  pet  foibles  has  been  so  properly 
frowned  upon  by  the  public  as  practically 
to  have  become  inoperative. 

It  is,  in  truth,  no  far  cry  from  those 
early  Valentines  of  the  purifying  St. 
Frances  de  Sales  to  the  modern  gracefully 
ardent  rhyming  couplets  adorned  with  ar- 
chery meets  of  Cupid  and  game  bags  of 
arrowed  doves  which  now  mark  St.  Valen- 


tine's day  in  such  generous  measure  as  al- 
most to  dismember  long  suffering  post- 
men. 

The  present  practice  of  sending  Valen- 
tines, departing  from  ancient  direct  sim- 
plicity marks  a  highroad  of  well-nigh 
boundless  extravagance  in  jewels,  elabo- 
rately bound  books,  bon-bons  and  a  prac- 
tically limitless  array  of  expensive  gifts. 

In  Poor  Robin's  Almanack  for  1676 
occur  the  facetious  lines : 

"Now  Andrew,  Antho- 
ny and  William, 
For  Valentines  draw 
Prue,  Kate,  Julian." 

And  in  the  same  publication  for  1757 
there  runs: 

"This     month     bright     Phoebus      enters 

Pisces. 

The  maids  will  have  good  store  of  kisses, 
For  always  when  the  fun  comes  there, 
Valentine's  day  is  drawing  near, 
And  both  the  men  and  maids  incline 
To  chuse  them  each  a  Valentine; 
And  if  a  man  gets  one  he  loves, 
He  gives  her  first  a  pair  of  gloves, 
And  by  the  way  remember  this, 
To  seal  the  favor  with  a  kiss. 

This  kiss  begets  more  love,  and  then 
That  love  begets  a -kiss  again, 
Until  this  trade  the  man  doth  catch, 
And  then  he  doth  propose  the  match. 
The  woman's  willing,  tho'  she's  shy, 
She  gives  the  man  this  soft  reply: 
"I'll  not  resolve  one  thing  or  other 
Until  I  first  consult  my  mother!" 
When  she  says  so,  'tis  half  a  grant 
And  may  be  taken  for  consent. 

John  Ludwig,  Monk  of  Bury,  enthusi- 
astic over  that  lovely  young  Frenchwo- 
man, Queen  Katherine,  consort  of  Henry 
V,  puts  his  feelings  into  quaint  verse  up- 
on a  certain  14th  of  February : 

"Seynte   Valentine,   of  custom  yeere   by 

yeere, 

Men  have  an  usuance  in  this  religioun 
To  look  and  serche  Cupid's  Kalendare 
And  chose  theyr  choyse  by  grete  affec- 

cioun, 

Such  as  ben  prike  with  Cupid's  mocioun : 
Takyne  thevre  choyse  as  theyr  sort  doth 

f  alle : 
But  I  love  one  which  excelleth  alle." 


120 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


There  is  to  be  found  in  The  Satyrs  of 
Boileau  Imitated  (1696)  : 

"To  Dorinda  on  St.  Valentine's  Day. 
"Look  here,  my  dear,  the  feather'd  kind 
Bv  mutual  caresses  join'd 
Bill,  and  seem  to  teach  us  two 
What  we  to  love  and  custom  owe. 


My  heart  I  dedicate  in  vain 

The  too  mean  present  you  disdain. 


"Yet  since  the  solemn  time  allows 
To  choose  the  object  of  our  vows, 
Boldly  I  dare  profess  my  flame, 
Proud  to  be  your's  by  any  name." 


"L'Amour    desarme"     (Cupid    disarmed.)      G.   Leignac,    artist. 

Copyrighted  by  Braun,  Clement  &  Co.,  Paris,  Photo. 


"Shall  only  you  and  I  forbear 
To  meet  and  make  a  happy  pair  ? 
Shall  we  alone  delay  to  live? 
This  day  an  age  of  bliss  may  give. 


Herrick,  in  his  Hesperides,  thus  alludes 
to  the  ancient  belief  in  February  14th 
being  "the  date  of  bird  mating  and  so 
for  Valentines :" 


"But  ah,  when  I  the  proffer  make, 
Still  coyly  you  refuse  to  take. 


"There  is  an  old  proverb 
That  birds  of  a  feather 


ST.  VALENTINE'S  DAY. 


121 


Upon  St.  Valentine's  day 
Will  meet  together." 


Birds  choose  their  mates  and  couples  too 

this  day, 

But  by  their  flight  I  never  can  divine 
In  the  same  work,  referring  to  suitable     When  I  shall  couple  with  my  Valentine." 
conduct  in  such  matters  for  a  bride,  he 

writes :  Goldsmith,  in  the  "Vicar  of  Wakefield," 

gives  an  interesting  description  of  rustics 
"She  must  no  more  a-Maying  sending  true  lovers'  knots  on  Saint  Val- 


"The   Fountain  of  Love."      J.    H.   Fragonard,   Artist. 

Copyrighted  by  W.  A.  Mansell  &  Co.,   London,   Photo. 


Or  by  Rose-buds  divine 
Who'll  be  her  Valentine." 


entine's  morning. 

It  is  to  Gay  we  are  indebted  for  the 
Valentine : 

Later   on,   he   makes   doleful   personal      "Last  Valentine,  the  day  when  birds  of 
plaint :  kind 

Their  paramours  with  mutual  chirpings 
"Oft  have  I  heard  both  youths  and  virgins  find, 

say,  I  early  rose,  just  at  the  break  of  day 


122 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


Before  the  sun  had  chased  the  stars  away. 

Afield  I  went,  amid  the  morning's  dew, 

To  milk  my  kine  (for  so  should  house- 
wives do), 

Thee  first  I  spied,  and  the  first  swain  we 
see, 

In  spite  of  fortune,  shall  our  true  love  be." 

Byron  sings: 

"The  sweetest  song-birds  nestle  in  a  pair.'' 
The  remorselessness  of  Fate,  when  it 


"Valentines"  too  long  delayed,   Matthew 
Arnold  exquisitely  rhymes  in  his  verses : 

"Too  late 

Each  on  his  own  strict  line  we  move, 
And  some  find  death  ere  they  find  love : 
So  far  apart  their  lives  are  thrown 
From  the  twin  soul  that  halves  their  own. 

And  sometimes,  by  still  harder  fate. 
The  lovers  meet,  but  meet  too  late. 
Thy  heart  is  mine !    True,  true !  ah,  true  ! 
Then,  love,  thy  hand !  Ah,  ho !  adieu !" 


By  Emma   Playter  Seabury 


He  sent  her  a  box  of  roses  red, 

Pulsing  with  love  for  his  lady  fair, 
They  would  meet  that  night  at  the  ball,  he  said, 

If  her  answer  was  "Yes,"  his  rose  she'd  wear. 
He  called  that  day  in  his  automobile, 

His  gifts  were  costly  and  rich  and  fine, 
His  stocks  and  bonds  were  of  gold  and  steel, 

And  he  offered  all  to  his  Valentine. 

And  another  came  in  the  people's  car, 

With  a  dainty  book  that  was  marked  with  grace, 
Fearlessly  seeking  his  love  afar, 

And  a  love  that  spoke  in  his  lifted  face; 
Manly  and  tender,  and  honest  and  true, 

Unafraid  in  the  world  of  men, 
And  what  could  my  sweet  Milady  do. 

But  give  him  his  answer  there  and  then. 


BY    CLARENCE    H.    MARK 


Comparison  between  unused  wealth  in 
''dumps"  of  abandoned  mines  and  the  eco- 
nomic loss  resulting  from  accidents  in  in- 
dustry.— Present  industrial  prosperity 
and  disregard  of  human  life  as  an  eco- 
nomic  asset. — Question  of  accidents  in  in- 
dustry and  the  cost  in  terms  of  money  and 
misery. — Loss  in  earning  and  productive 
power. — Prevention  of  accidents  and 
working  men's  insurance  as  remedies. 

NO  one  familiar  with  mining  opera- 
tions needs  to  be  told  that  in  the 
"dumps"  of  many  mines  in  the  sil- 
ver and  gold  belts  of  the  West  there  lie 
vast  treasures,  at  one  time  abandoned  as 
worthless.  Throughout  Colorado,  Mexico, 
Utah  and  other  States  there-  are  many 
"abandoned"  and  "worked  out"  mines, 
the  dumps  of  which  contain  millions  of 
dollars  worth  of  valuable  ore.  Why  have 
the  dumps,  as  well  as  the  mines,  been 
abandoned,  if  this  is  true  ?  Because  at  the 
time  the  mines  were  worked,  the  milling 
process  used  was  not  suited  to  a  complete 
reduction  of  the  ore,  and  hence  much  was 
run  through  as  worthless  tailings.  Re- 
cently, however,  with  the  invention  of  new 
milling  processes,  many  of  these  old, 
abandoned  dumps  are  being  worked  over, 
and  many  a  wise  investor,  who  has  discov- 
ered and  re-milled  this  waste,  has  been  en- 
riched during  the  past  few  decades. 

Briefly,  the  mine  dump  compares  clear- 
ly with  the  waste  heap  of  industry,  or  bet- 
ter, the  human  waste  heap  resulting  from 
industrial  conditions.  While  the  average 
American  can  readily  understand  that 
wealth  lies  buried  in  the  mine  dumps,  the 
same  wide-awake  citizen  could  not  so  eas- 
ily be  convinced  that  the  waste  heap  of  in- 
dustry contains  treasures  in  the  form  of 
unused  productive  power,  and  hence,  of 
economic  value ;  or  he  may  not  know  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  an  industrial  scrap 
pile  at  all. 

Concretely  expressing  the  above  com- 
parison between  the  mineral  and  indus- 
trial waste  heap,  let  us  first  get  a  clear 


understanding  of  the  latter  term.  Even 
the  humblest  citizen  knows  that  this  coun- 
try is  rapidly  gaining  the  industrial 
supremacy  of  the  world.  With  our  seem- 
ingly inexhaustible  resources  we  have  in 
the  past  few  decades  been  converting  the 
raw  material  into  salable  commodities  in 
our  mills  and  factories,  and  so  success- 
fully have  we  competed  with  foreign  coun- 
tries that  last  year  our  exports  amounted 
to  over  seven  hundred  million  dollars.  This 
struggle  for  industrial  supremacy  has 
made  us  a  nation  of  factory  toilers  and 
mill  hands,  instead  of  agriculturists  and 
individual  producers  as  our  forefathers 
were.  Of  the  twenty-nine  million  wage 
earners  in  this  country,  the  majority  are 
toiling  in  the  mills,  factories  and  mines, 
and  not  on  the  farms  or  even  in  the 
offices.  The  artisan  has  become  depend- 
ent almost  entirely  upon  machinery  for 
his  daily  bread — he  no  longer  owns  his 
own  tools,  but  has  become  a  cog  in  the 
machinery  of  industry,  and  now  makes 
one-sixtieth  part  of  a  shoe,  whereas  for- 
merly he  made  the  whole. 

The  cost  of  production  has  been  re- 
duced to  a  science — the  principle  that  it 
is  easier  and  cheaper  to  conduct  a  large 
business  rather  than  a  small  one,  now 
dominates  our  industrial  life,  and  the  in- 
dividual has  become  almost  an  atom  in 
the  condensation  of  productive  power.  By 
the  cost  of  production  is  meant  the  com- 
bined cost  of  raw  material,  labor,  etc.  The 
successful  purchasing  agent  must  know 
how  to  buy  material  at  the  lowest  prices, 
and  the  successful  employment  superin- 
tendent must  know  how  to  manipulate 
labor  on  the  closest  possible  margin,  for 
the  cost  of  labor  is  the  largest  item  in  the 
cost  of  production. 

Sir  Thomas  Lipton  has  just  said  that 
the  United  States  is  now  enjoying  a  wave 
of  prosperity,  based  on  sound  industrial 
progress,  such  as  the  world  has  never  be- 
fore witnessed.  This  is  the  truth.  We  all  ' 
feel  it — each  one  is  a  part  of  it,  and  proud 
of  the  fact.  But  how  many  of  us  stop  to 


124 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


think  of  the  economic  and  human  waste 
incident  to  our  present  industrial  pro- 
gress; how  many  of  us  have  had  a  real 
vision  of  the  industrial  human  waste  heap 
in  which  are  buried  rich  economic  assets, 
and  on  which  are  whitening  the  bones  of 
hapless  artisans  injured  in  the  struggle. 

In  other  words,  how  many  people  know 
that  over  half  a  million  wage  earners  ara 
annually  killed  or  injured  in  industry  in 
the  United  States  alone?  The  speed  with 
which  we  have  been  moving  industrially 
has  blinded  us  to  the  sacrifice  of  human 
life  and  the  resulting  loss  in  productive 
power.  The  "dump"  created  by  the  mills, 
factories,  railroads,  etc.,  has  for  years  been 
growing,  but  the  killed  or  crippled  artisan 
thrown  thereon  by  a  profligate  system  of 
production  has  long  been  considered  as 
mere  human  tailings — worthless  and  un- 
workable. Expressed  otherwise,  it  means 
that  when  a  man,  woman  or  a  child  has 
been  maimed  or  killed  in  the  mill  or  fac- 
tory, the  innocent  sufferer  has  been  turned 
out  to  join  the  ranks  of  those  similarly 
situated,  and  sooner  or  later  to  drift  into 
charity's  niggardly  maw,  after  being  de- 
nied the  right  to  earn  a  living.  Hence, 
the  negligent  and  profligate  methods  of 
the  days  of  '49  and  '81,  when  rich  min- 
eral was  allowed  to  remain  unused,,  are  be- 
ing duplicated  on  a  vast  scale  in  the  in- 
dustrial world  of  a  later  day.  In  those 
days  men  got  rich  quick  at  the  expense 
of  nature,  who  is  a  patient  sufferer.  To- 
day it  would  seem  that  the  pioneers  of  a 
new  industrial  era  are  enriching  themsel- 
ves by  wasteful  use  of  the  energies  of  men, 
women  and  children,  only  to  cast  them 
upon  the  waste  heap  when  they  are  killed, 
injured  or  worn  out  in  the  fierce  struggle 
for  a  livelihood.  They,  too,  have  been 
patient  sufferers.  It  remains  to  be  seen 
how  long  they  can  bear  the  burden. 

Looking  a  little  closer  at  the  modern 
industrial  waste  heap,  let  us  examine  its 
component  parts.  Of  what  is  it  made,  and 
from  what  sources  is  it  created  ?  By  trac- 
ing the  questions  of  accidents  in  industry 
as  they  have  been  investigated  at  home  and 
abroad,  we  find  that  the  five  great  indus- 
tries, railroading,  manufacturing,  mining, 
building  and  construction  and  agriculture, 
are  the  main  contributors.  The  steam 
railroads  in  the  United  States  annually 
maim  and  kill  one  hundred  thousand  em- 
ploye,es  and  passengers-,  about  fifteen  per 


cent  of  which  number  are  killed.  The  fac- 
tories and  mills  conservatively  add  225 
thousand  to  the  list  annually.  With  the 
rush  of  building  and  construction,  it  is 
not  surprising  to  find  that  over  235,000 
are  derived  from  this  source.  John  Mit- 
chell has  estimated  the  loss  in  mining  at 
12,000  lives  yearly,  this  number  being 
based  on  incomplete  reports  of  only  fifteen 
of  the  thirty  mining  states.  To  complete 
the  list,  agriculture  adds  over  9,000  acci- 
dents, resulting  largely  from  the  introduc- 
tion of  modern  machinery. 

In  this  way  the  grand  total  of  the  in- 
jured and  killed  amounts  to  over  575,000. 
These  figures  are  based  on  the  best  au- 
thorities in  the  United  States,  on  the 
thorough  studies  of  the  accident  question 
made  in  Germany,  France,  Switzerland, 
etc.,  and  upon  investigations  in  the  large 
industrial  centers  among  us.  They  are 
admittedly  incomplete,  and  it  is  believed 
that,  were  a  complete  census  of  accidents 
taken,  the  real  number  would  exceed  the 
above  total  many  fold. 

The  productive  power  lying  dormant 
upon  the  industrial  waste  heap  is  arrived 
at  by  comparative  statistics,  and  by  ac- 
tual experiments  in  re-establishing  the  in- 
jured artisan,  as  carried  on  in  New  York 
and  Chicago.  It  has  been  found,  for  in- 
stance, that  about  40  per  cent  of  indus- 
try's cripples  possess  a  certain  earning 
power,  but  under  present  conditions,  em- 
ployers do  not  hire  cripples,  though  they 
might  do  some  things  well.  The  increased 
liability  to  accident  is  the  main  reason 
for  this  discrimination. 

It  is  apparent,  therefore,  that  the  en- 
tire number  of  both  partially  and  totally 
disabled  are  not  re-established  in  other 
lines  of  employment.  Fifteen  per  cent 
are  killed,  and  the  remainder,  or  about 
500,000,  are  compelled  to  fight  a  one- 
sided battle  for  existence,  or  give  up  the 
struggle  as  hopeless,  for  those  who  can 
are  denied  the  right  to  work.  This  mod- 
ern "slaughter  of  the  innocents"  consti- 
tutes one  of  the  saddest  blots  upon  our 
nation's  fair  name. 

Unconsciously,  the  industrial  system  ac- 
countable for  this  slaughter  is  also  forced 
to  meet  the  economic  loss.  Considering 
that  the  average  annual  wage  of  the  arti- 
san is  $500,  the  loss  in  earning  power  is 
something  like  two  hundred  and  fifty 
million  dollars  yearly.  In  addition  to 


WASTE  HEAP  OF  INDUSTRY. 


125 


this,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  loss  in  pro- 
duction, through  enforced  idleness,  is 
twice  the  above  sum.  So  the  industrial 
scheme  must  bear  this  burden,  and  at- 
tempt to  save  the  waste  in  other  ways — by 
raising  the  price  of  food  stuffs  and  rent, 
and  by  reducing  the  wage  scale,  or  at  best, 
increasing  the  latter  but  slightly.  As  A 
matter  of  fact,  inflation  of  prices  and 
other  methods  are  false  palliatives,  and 
only  tend  to  confuse  the  real  issue. 

But  the  above  loss  is  only  a  part  of  the 
evil  resulting  from  the  creation  of  indus- 
try's waste  heap.  If  its  half  million  in- 
tegral parts  are  not  re-established — and 
there  is  little  chance  that  they  will  be, 
— they  must  sooner  or  later  become  pub- 
lic charges — forced  into  poverty.  And 
here,  again,  the  economic  loss  is  terri- 
fying— if  they  are  driven  into  poverty — 
as  they  are  every  day.  We  know  that  it 
costs  .$6,000  yearly  to  support  a  pauper 
throughout  his  natural  life-time.  This 
means  that  by  crippling  and  killing  a 
half-million  wage  earners  annually,  the 
United  States  guarantees  to  pay  over  one 
and  a  half  billion  dollars  for  their  sup- 
port during  their  natural  life-time.  Un- 
consciously, again,  the  employer,  the  cap- 
tain of  industry,  and  even  the  philan- 
thropist, to  say  nothing  of  the  general 
public,  help  to  bear  this  heavy  burden  by 
an  increased  tax  rate. 

The  economic  loss  is  appalling  enough, 
but  the  cost  in  misery  and  suffering,  the 
demoralization  of  the  home,  the  enforced 
poverty  and  the  loss  of  self-respect — in 
a  word,  the  social  loss — cannot  be  esti- 
mated for  the  present,  nor  as  to  the  ef- 
fects upon  future  generations. 

With  the  above  significant  facts  con- 
fronting the  wage  earners  and  the  gen- 
eral public  with  equal  force,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  the  attention  of  labor  lead- 
ers, manufacturers  and  economists  is  be- 
ing directed  to  the  question  of  accidents 
in  industry  and  remedies  to  obviate  the 
resulting  evils.  Along  preventative  lines, 
the  American  Institute  of  Social  Ser- 
vice is  about  to  establish  a  "Social  Mu- 
seum" modeled  after  foreign  institutions 
of  the  same  kind.  An  exhibition  of  pro- 
tective devices  for  machinery  is  to  be 
held  in  New  York  City  in  January,  and 
in  Chicago  in  March,  1907.  Constructive 
employment  agencies,  seeking  to  re-es- 
tablish the  partially  disabled,  have  been 


inaugurated  with  success  in  New  York, 
Chicago  and  Cleveland.  Legislation  on 
the  prevention  of  accidents  is  notoriously 
defective — only  seven  States  having  any 
semblance  of  laws  on  this  important  sub- 
ject. The  only  national  law  is  the  one 
covering  safety  devices  on  railroads,  and 
it  has  never  been  fully  enforced.  In  the 
many  dangerous  trades,  but  little  legisla- 
tion exists  to  make  employment  condi- 
tions more  healthful  and  operation  safer. 
As  a  nation  of  greedy  toilers,  in  search  of 
the  almighty  dollar,  we  have  not  yet 
awakened  to  the  enormity  of  the  slaugh- 
tering process  going  on  all  about  us.  The 
fact  that  eleven  per  cent  of  all  the  pau- 
pers in  the  United  States  have  been  re- 
duced to  dependence  through  needless  ac- 
cidents is  either  generally  unknown  or 
not  considered  in  the  rush  for  gain.  The 
fact  that  fully  two  million  people — 
wage  earners  and  their  dependent  famil- 
ies— are  annually  crowded  to  the  verge  of 
.  poverty,  and  that  a  large  percentage  are 
actually  forced  into  the  abyss  through 
accidents  that  might  largely  have  been 
prevented,  is  only  beginning  to  awaken  an 
interest  among  thoughtful  men  and  wo- 
men in  this  country.  In  itself,  this  de- 
plorable condition  is  a  sad  commentary 
on  our  national  morals,  in  defense  of 
which  we  arose  en  masse  a  generation  ago 
to  free  the  black  slaves,  by  which  we  are 
not  now  actuated  to  free  this  modern 
host — who  are  none  the  less  slaves  to  ma- 
chinery and  the  prevailing  industrial  sys- 
tem. 

If  we  are  derelict  in  instituting  a  cam- 
paign of  prevention,  we  are  even  more  so 
in  attempting  to  recompense  the  sufferers 
from  accidents.  The  time  may  be  far  dis- 
tant, but  it  is  certain  to  come,  when  the 
injured  artisan,  now  thrown  ruthlessly 
upon  an  inadequate  and  vicious  charitable 
system  for  support,  will  be  indemnified 
for  his  loss  and  the  denial  of  the  right 
to  work. 

In  this  respect  we  have  much  to  learn 
from  foreign  countries  and  especially 
Germany,  where  the  system  of  accident, 
sickness  and  old  age  insurance  has 
reached  its  highest  perfection  as  a 
national  compulsory  measure.  In  the 
above  country,  19,876,0^5  workers,  in  all 
lines,  were  insured  in  1904,  representing 
the  great  bulk  of  the  wage  earning  popu- 
lation. The  insurance  is  of  three  kinds — 


126 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


accident,  sickness  and  old  age.  The  first 
two  are  giving  complete  satisfaction.  The 
latter,  however,  has  not  yet  been  fully 
tested.  In  1904  about  thirty  million  dol- 
lars were  paid  out  in  accident  insurance, 
the  expense  being  borne  largely  by  the 
employer.  In  the  sickness  class,  the  ex- 
pense is  shared  alike  by  the  employer, 
employee  and  the  Government.  The  con- 
census of  opinion  in  Germany  is  that 
compulsory  industrial  insurance  has  como 
to  stay.  The  main  reasons  for  its  re- 
tention and  enlargement  is  the  fact  that 
it  is  yearly  lessening  the  friction  between 
caj.jT.al  and  labor,  tending  to  decrease  the 
number  of  accidents  and  adequately  car- 
ing for  those  injured. ' 

In  our'  own  country,  Massachusetts  and 


Illinois  are  the  only  States  that  have  in- 
vestigated the  subject  of  workingmen's 
insurance.  At  the  recent  convention  of 
the  American  Federation  of  Labor,  strong 
resolutions  were  adopted  favoring  more 
effective  legislation  on  this  question,  an:l 
gradually  the  press  is  taking  it  up  in 
earnest,  as  its  principles  are  better  un- 
derstood. By  such  a  system  of  indemni- 
fication, coupled  with  adequate  preventive 
measures  only,  can  the  present  waste  of 
money  and  energy  be  saved. 

The  plea  that  the  sacrifice  of  human 
life  on  such  a  scale  is  but  the  price  tlint 
we  are  compelled  to  pay  for  our  remark- 
able industrial  progress  will  soon  k> 
looked  upon  as  barbarous  and  unwo:l!iy 
of  an  enlightened  people. 


By     Donald    A.     Fraser 

One  strained  to  reach  a  shining  height, 

But  perished  e'er  he  could  attain; 
Another  o'er  his  levelled  corse 

Stretched  out  his  hand;  but  stretched  in  vain. 

On,  on  they  thronged  to  gain  the  goal; 

One  fails;  another  follows  fast; 
His  clay  but  swells  the  pile  that  brings 

The  next  still  nearer  than  the  last. 

Xo\v  one  arrives  who  mounts  the  heap, 
And  with  a  bound  the  height  is  won; 

Then,  thoughtless,  proud,  erect,  he  cries: 
"0  World,  Behold  what  7  have  done." 


BY    FELIX    J.    KOCH,    A.    B. 


MORE  rugged  than  any  of  the  peaks 
left  in  the  White  Mountains  to 
climb,  almost  more  rugged,  one  is 
tempted  to  say,  than  any  of  the  monsters 
left  upon  the  western  half  of  the  conti- 
nent in  the  itinerary  of  the  mountain 
climber,  is  Shasta,  the  White  Giant  of  the 
Oregon-California  line.  To  climb  Mi. 
Shasta  is  unlike  climbing  any  other  moun- 
tain in  this  country,  if  not  in  the  world. 
Not  alone  that  it  is  more  strenuous,  more 
fatigueing,  wholly  different  in  its  per- 
spectives— but  because,  once  the  top  is 
attained,  the  chances  for  a  view  are  much 
the  same  as  those  obtained  when  long 
ways  from  the  peak,  and  at  this  peak  un- 
til quite  recently  all  that  there  was  left 
to  do  was  to  inscribe  one's  name  in  a  little 
book. 

That  book  is  memorable.  For  years, 
well  nigh  decades,  it  reposed  under  a  rock 
on  the  top  of  the  mountain.  Its  story  is 
inseparably  bound  up  with  the  climbs  and 
traditions  of  Shasta. 

Away  back  in  the  early  fifties,  which  is 
far  back,  indeed,  in  California,  there  came 
to  Eldorado  one  Justin  Hinkley  Sisson,  a 
man  overcome  with  the  gold  fever.  Sisson 
mined  first  in  Nevada  County,  east  of  the 
great  mountain,  in  the  Truckee  region; 
then  down  in  Grass  Valley,  where  is  sunk 
the  deepest  well  in  the  world,  and  else- 
where. Then  he  pushed  on,  despite  the 
protests  of  his  friends,  following  what  has 
since  become  the  line  of  the  Southern 
Pacific,  up  to  Sisson,  a  town  now  bearing 
his  name.  His  path  seems  to  have  marked 
the  path  of  wealth  in  California,  for  here, 
too,  was  the  starting  point  for  the  for- 
tunes of  the  Mackays  and  Stuarts  and 
other  western  plutocrats. 

In  those  days,  however,  there  was  only 
a  little  trail  into  the  Indian  country 
which  the  pioneer  took  for  guide.  Mak- 
ing friends  in  turn  with  the  Pit,  the 
Modoc  and  the  Sacramento  Indians,  Sis- 
son  soon  found  it  safe  to  settle  at  Sisson- 
town.  There  he  proceeded  to  mine,  but 


found  gold  scarce.  Sisson,  however,  was 
a  nature  lover  to  the  core,  and  the  wild-, 
wood  enchanted  him.  Nine  years  he 
lived  there  in  the  wilderness,  almost  en- 
tirely alone. 

Then  he  made  the  long  overland  jour- 
ney back  to  Illinois  to  claim  a  promised 
bride.  Their  wooing  had  been  a  trav- 
eler's romance  in  itself.  Sisson  was  born 
in  Connecticut  and  reared  in  New  York. 
Later  he  trekked  it  to  Illinois,  and  began 
teaching  school.  There  he  met  the  future 
Mrs.  Sisson,  a  relative  of  Cyrus  Field, 
and  they  became  engaged.  Then  the  gold 
craze  swept  through  the  Middle  West,  and 
plighted  though  he  was,  Sisson  took 
Horace  Greeley's  advice  and  followed  the 
sunset. 

That  honeymoon  trip,  however,  was 
more  stern  reality  than  romance.  Sisson 
took  his  bride  across  the  plains  in  a 
wagon,  with  a  span  or  two  of  horses.  They 
left  the  farm  in  Illinois  in  the  month  of 
April,  and  reached  Sisson  town  during 
the  month  of  September,  here  they  occu- 
pied a  house  built  by  a  Madam  Clark,  an 
eccentric  woman  who  had  preceded  them 
into  the  wilderness.  Then  they  hired  the 
Indians  to  pick  huckleberries  for  selling 
over  the  county,  and  in  the  winter,  when 
the  family  nest-egg  had  grown  sufficiently 
large,  purchased  the  Clarke  cabin,  to  es- 
tablish themselves  firmly  therein.  Six 
children  were  born  there  in  the  cabin  in 
the  wilds,  and  one  grand-child  can  also 
claim  this  her  birthplace. 

Old  man  Sisson  became,  thence  on,  in 
a  sense  the  warder  of  Mt.  Shasta.  Not 
that  he  was  the  first  man  to  scale  the 
peak,  although  he  ranks  among  the  very 
earliest.  Some  man,  and  in  fact  even  a 
woman,  had  scaled  the  monster  before 
Si3son  came.  The  woman,  a  Mrs.  Eddy, 
of  Shasta  Valley,  was  a  pioneer,  now  dead 
just  a  year,  who  had  made  it  a  point  to 
climb  the  monster  to  the  top  once  every 
ten  years,  on  the  decennial,  and  went  up. 
in  consequence,  in  1855,  1865,  1875,  and, 


Old    crater   on    Mt.    Shasta. 

it  is  believed,  in  1885,  after  which  her  age 
refused  to  permit. 

Since  the  '50's,  moreover,  the  mountain 
was  a  noted  tourist  place  of  California. 
After  1870  the  stages  ran  in  from  Bed- 
ding, and  one  could  leave  that  town  in 
the  evening  and  arrive  at  Sisson  the  next 
afternoon.  The  distance  is  seventy-six 
miles,  uneven  country,  and  the.  horses 
kept  at  it  all  night.  The  fare  then  was 
ten  cents  a  mile,  quite  a  difference  from 
the  ease  and  cheapness  with  which  Sisson, 
still  the  starting  place,  is  now  reached  by 
Shasta  route  railways. 

Little  by  little,  old  man  Sisson  found 
the  mountain  a  more  paying  investment 
than  mining  or  the  farm.  Of  course,  even 
to  this  day,  Mt.  Shasta  is  Government 
property,  and  grazing  on  its  slopes  is  re- 
stricted. In  fact,  there  have  been  move- 
ments to  make  a  national  park  out  of  it, 
for  fifty  miles  in  either  direction,  but  the 
timber  men  have  acquired  forestry  rights 
that  will  probably  preclude  this  for  some 
time  to  come.  All  of  the  rights  to  timber 
on  the  mountain,  in  fact,  are  now  sold, 
and  great  quantities  of  sugar  and  pitch 
pine,  and  of  red  and  white  fir,  have  been 
taken  from  off  Mt.  Shasta.  To  be  correct, 
the  greater  part  of  the  timber  has  been 
cleaned  out,  and  although  the  January 
logging  season  still  brings  in  the  lumber- 
men, there  are  no  longer  any  mills  about 
Sisson. 

"When  there  were  no  tourists  for  climb- 


ing the  mountain,  there  would  be  hunters 
out  after  deer  or  the  great  brown  bear, 
who  desired  guides,  and  likewise  board 
and  lodging.  The  brown  bear  about  Sis- 
son  are  wary  fellows,  running  from  man 
faster  than  do  even  the  deer,  even  now 
when  they  are  partly  protected,  so  that  in 
early  times  their  chase  was  a  great  sport. 
Then,  too,  there  are  quail  and  grouse, 
and  doves,  at  least,  to  recompense  the  un- 
successful hunter. 

But,  above  all,  folk  came  to  scale  Mt. 


"The    Crag's" — Mt.    Shasta. 


.Shasta,  and  these,  one  and  all,  wanted 
guides.  Gradually,  with  Sisson,  it  became 
a  regular  business.  In  the  summer  sea- 
son he  arranged  the  trip,  so  that  it  took 
just  a  day  and  a  half.  You  left  his  home, 
or  the  tavern  that  was  later  built  of  it, 
an<l  which  still  stands,  one  of  several  com- 
peting for  favors  at  Sisson — immediately 
after  lunch.  The  afternoon's  ascent  was 
made  to  the  timber  line.  There  folks 
camped  out,  sleeping  on  blankets  in  the 
open,  spread  upon  the  earth  itself.  In 


the  summer  it  was  not  so  cold,  compara- 
tively speaking,  on  this  section  of  the 
mountain-side,  and  so  a  refreshing  night's 
tourist  for  the  more  rugged  ascent,  and 
later  descent,  on  the  morrow. 

Sisson  charged  twenty  dollars  a  person 
for  making  the  ascent  in  the  olden  time, 
as  they  do  now,  and  the  per  cent  of  profit 
was  large.  Ihe  one  item  of  expense,  prac- 
tically, was  food,  and  while  bread,  meat 
and  canned  goods  were  taken  along,  few 
ate  much  on  the  upward  climb,  owing  to 
the  excitement  of  wanting  to  reach  tha 
top,  and  on  the  return,  many  were  too 
tired  to  care  whether  life  kept  or  not. 
Forty  to  fifty  people  went  to  the  top  each 
summer  season,  and  a  great  many  more 
got  as  far  as  the  tree  line,  but  no  serious 
accident  was  ever  recorded  upon  Mt. 
Sliasta. 

The  climb  up  Mt.  Shasta  ended  at  the 
old  monument  on  the  very  top,  which  has 
since  blown  down  and  disappeared.  Jn  its 
place  has  been  erected  another,  of  boiler 
iron,  which  was  taken  up  by  Indians  and 
whites,  piece-meal,  and  riveted  together 
on  the  summit.  There,  then,  a  cap  was 
affixed,  and  on  the  sides  from  time  to 
time,  names  and  fanciful  designs  were 
scratched.  Boulders,  too,  were  heaped 
about  it  from  the  boulder  fields  all  about. 
What  with  these,  and  the  perpetual  snow 
Iving  deep  about  the  spot,  it  is  probable 
that  this  monument  will  remain  here  for 
all  time,  a  beacon,  invisible  from  below, 


130 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


but  standing  forth  to  wind  and  skies, 
14,444  feet  above  the  sea. 

Just  at  the  foot  of  the  old  monument, 
whose  site  the  new  pillar  occupies,  many 
years  ago  Mr.  Sisson  placed  a  book,  a  bat- 
tered little  register,  which  was  held  down 
by  a  boulder  and  otherwise  left  exposed 
to  the  elements.  Decade  after  decade 
came  and  went;  long  winters  passed  when 
1.0  human  eye,  and  scarcely  anything  ani- 
mate, caught  sight  of  that  record,  but  it 
remained,  unspoiled,  patient,  in  its  await- 
ing of  the  next  pilgrim's  autograph  and 
sentiment. 

Last  summer,  however,  the  Sissons 
brought  the  book  down,  after  thirty  years 
of  service  on  the  top,  that  it  might  be  re- 
bound, and  now  it  is  again  to  be  placed 
)ack  on  the  summit,  almost,  of  Shasta. 

To  peep  in  at  the  pages  of  this  small, 
blue-paged  register  is  to  hold  communion 
\uth  the  pioneers  in  the  out-door  life  of 
tie  West,  of  what  out  West  is  long  ago. 

On  the  title  page,  almost,  you  read: 

"1  he  undersigned*  *  *  July  20,  1868. 
rihe  first  year  guided  by  John  Sisson," 
.ind  then  the  names  of  a  company  from 
.\3  vicinity. 

Turning  the  leaf,  another  record  is 
found— that  of  August  12,  1870— a  party 
of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey 
exploration  of  the  40th  parallel,  on  de- 
tached duty,  among  the  extinct  volcanoes 
of  California  and  Oregon.  "This  com- 
pany," the  register  states,  "left '  Sisson's 
half-way  camp  on  September  llth,  and 
climbed  to  the  crater  cone  of  the  main 
peak.  After  examining  it,  we  camped  on 
the  rim  to-day,  when  we  climbed  to  the 
top,  and  will  remain  here  all  night,  de- 
scending on  the  Squaw  Valley  side  to- 
morrow." 

There  is  romance  and  glamor,  joy  and 
sorrow,  to  be  gleaned  from  the  epigra- 
matical  register.  Here,  in  one  place,  back 
thirty-five  years,  we  find  the  account  of  a 
party  that  went  up  minus  guide  or  ad- 
vice. Valley  obscured  by  fogs."  All  th" 
hardship  of  a  trip,  all  the  joy  of  explora- 
tion, spoiled,  after  all,  by  a  fog !  One .  in 
that  party  was  old  Indian  Jim,  a  figure  in 
Shasta  history,  who  signs  "His  X  mark/'' 

No  two  people  tell  the  same  story  of 
the  ascent  of  Shasta,  even  when,  away 
from  Sisson,  you  can  ever  chance  on  any 
two,  simultaneously,  who  have  made  the 
trip.  Starting  right  after  lunch,  from  a 


point  twelve  miles  by  air-line  to  the  top. 
the  route  begins  in  a  long  trail  up  the 
mountain  side,  winding  ever  from  1 :00  p. 
m.,  the  usual  starting  time,  until  dusk. 
At  first  there  is  but  little  to  .interest.  The 
guides  point  out  the  Devil's  Garden,  a  sec- 
tion where  the  rocks  lie  very  thick.  Then, 
at  the  timber  line,  where  the  night  is  to 
be  spent,  the  Horse  Camp  always  interests. 
Here  the  saddle  and  pack  horses  are  to  be 
left  behind,  and  while  releasing  himself 
of  all  unnecessary  burdens,  the  traveler 
makes  his  final  selection  of  What  he  will 
bear  with  him  to  the  top. 

Ihere  is  a  very  early  breakfast,  and 
the  Horse  Camp  in  the  morning,  for  we 
set  olf  at  half-past  three.  In  the  summer 
it  is  light  so  early  here,  and  the  advance 
to  the  top  cannot  be  begun  too  soon. 
\\  hen  it  is  to  be  reached  depends  entirely 
on  the  degree  of  endurance  of  the  party 
— anywhere  between  ten  a.  m.  and  two  in 
the  afternoon. 

You  go  up  the  south  slope  of  the  moun- 
tain to  Thumb  Rock  first.  This  is  a  queer 
peak,  standing  out  of  the  main  slope  like 
a  thumb,  pointing  backward.  Yesterday, 
already,  in  the  canyons  snow  was  encoun- 
tered in  the  timber  line;  to-day,  though  it 
may  be  July,  there  is  no  end  of  it.  Snow- 
balls to  oranges  is  no  fiction,  therefore, 
in  lovely  California. 

Behind  the  two  forested  foothills  lying 
before  the  main  mountain,  and  which 
were  crossed  unconscious  of  their  not  be- 
ing the  peak  itself,  now  repose,  green  in 
contrast  to  these  fields  of  white. 

From  the  Thumb  Book  and  its  perspec- 
tive, the  trail  leads  to  the  famous  Red 
Banks,  and  on  toward  the  high  black  hills 
on  the  nearer  peak.  From  there,  by 
heavy  stages,  the  path  makes  the  ascent  to 
the  topmost  peak,  where  stood  the  monu- 
ment, crowning  the  tallest  ridge  of  the 
Shasta  triumvirate. 

A  few  hundred  feet  from  this  summit  is 
a  hot  spring,  which  recalls  recollections  of 
John  Muir,  the  naturalist,  on  the  part  of 
the  guide,  for  Muir  was  fond  of  wandering- 
alone  over  this  and  other  sections  of  the 
mountains,  and_  once,  early  in  April,  he 
came  here  against  the  advice  of  the  guides 
at  the  base.  As  a  result,  he  was  caught  in 
a  snow  storm,  he  and  a  guide  who,  against 
his  will,  had  dogged  his  steps,  and  re- 
mained even  when  the  naturalist  insisted 
on  staying  on  the  mountain  until  three 


At    th3    foot   of   the    mountain. 


132 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


in  the  afternoon  to  perfect  his  observa- 
tions. By  that  time  the  storm  had  broken 
in  all  its  fury,  and  there  could  be  nothing 
for  it  but  to  stay  all  night.  To  flee  would 
be  impossible — not  alone  was  the  snow  de- 
ceptive, but  it  hid  endless  crevasses,  a 
plunge  into  which  must  be  fatal.  Shelter 
on  Mt.  Shasta  there  is  none,  and  in  order 
to  keep  from  freezing,  the  naturalist  and 
John  Fary,  the  plucky  guide,  lay  in  the 
mud  of  the  hot  spring,  steaming  the  one 
side  of  the  body,  and  simultaneously  f  reef- 
ing the  other,  until  they  could  no  longer 
stand  it,  then  reversing  to  the  other  side, 
and  so  continuing  until  dawn.  Hie  hor- 
ror of  that  night  on  Mt.  Shasta  cannot 
be  forgotten  by  those  who  have  ever 
climbed  the  great  mountains.  Both  Muir 
and  Fary,  the  guide,  were  sick  for  several 
days  thereafter,  and  Fary,  who  is  now  liv- 
ing, passed  seventy-eight,  at  his  home  at 
Edson  Springs,  vows  that  nothing  would 
tempt  him  to  undergo  such  an  experience 
again. 

Turning  the  pages  of  the  register,  one 
wonders  that  there  are  not  more  accounts 
of  Indian  guides  to  the  mountain,  f  el- 
even to-day  there  are  still  scattered  rem- 
nants of  the  Indians  about  here,  civilized, 
true,  but  in  a  civilization  of  their  own. 
Old  Charley,  or,  as  his  Sacramento  kin 
call  him,  "Jumping  Deer,"  tells  of  the 
cause  for  the  lack  of  guides  among  the  In- 
dians on  Shasta.  There  is  an  Indian  le- 
gend that  the  Great  Spirit  makes  his 
abode  on  the  mountain  top  from  time  to 
time,  and  is  averse  to  being  disturbed  by 
humans.  How  this  legend  arose  is  not 
difficult  to  divine.  Shasta  itself  was 
never  densely  populated  by  Indians,  owing 
to  the  cold,  for  while  it  seldom  gets  below 
fifteen  below  zero  at  the  bottom,  and  such 
spells  only  last  two  or  three  days  at  a 
time,  they  will  occur  frequently.  More- 
over, ten  or  eleven  degress  above  zero  are 
common  here,  while  but  a  few  hundred 
miles  to  the  south  the  Indian,  who  was  a 
nomad,  could  find  perpetual  summer.  So 
Shasta,  in  the  summer  time,  eighty  to 
ninety  degrees  will  come,  but  even  then 
the  heat  is  not  oppressive. 

The  old  register,  too,  serves  to  reveal  a 
multitude  of  causes  for  folk  ascending 
Shasta. 

Here,  for  example,  is  Major  Powell, 
who  went  up  years  ago  to  substantiate  In- 
dian legends  and  collect  other  folk-lore 


of  the  neighborhood. 

There,  on  another  page,  the  names  of 
men  who  came  to  study  the  glaciers,  for 
Shasta  has  a  ring  of  these,  given  pictur- 
esque Indian  names — Wiinturn,  Hothem, 
Bulam,  Whitney,  and  another  small  one, 
while  to  one  side  falls  the  Shastimi 
Crater. 

Clarence  King,  who  made  the  ascent  in 
1870,  was  the  first  to  give  an  accurate 
account  of  this  glacier,  his  trip  having 
been  made  in  company  with  several  mem- 
bers of  that  Fortieth  Parallel  Survey  ex- 
pedition. 

"September  llth,  climbed  to  the  top 
of  the  Lesser  Shasta,"  he  writes,  "a  coni- 
cal secondary  crater,  jutting  out  from  the 
main  mass  of  the  mountain  on  the  north- 
west side.  Eeached  the  rim  of  the  cone, 
and  looked  down  into  a  deep  gorge,  lying 
between  the  secondary  crater  and  the  main 
mass  of  the  mountain,  and  saw,  directly 
beneath  us,  a  fine  glacier,  starting  almost 
at  the  crest  of  the  main  mountain,  fol- 
lowing toward  us,  and  curving  about  the 
circular  base  of  our  cone.  Its  length,  in 
view,  was  three  miles;  its  width  opposite 
our  station  about  four  thousand  feet.  The 
surface  was  here  and  there  terribly  broken 
in  cascades,  and  representing  glaciers 
everywhere.  The  region  of  the  terminal 
moraine  is  more  extended  than  is  usual 
in  the  Alps.  After  observing  this  side 
crater  and  spending  the  night  on  the  sharp 
edge  of  its  rim,  next  morning  we  climbed 
over  the  divide  to  the  main  cone,  and  up 
to  the  extreme  summit  of  Shasta,  14,4-14 
feet  over  the  sea. 

"From  this  crest  we  packed  out  to  the 
north  edge  of  a  prominent  spur  and  looked 
down  on  the  system  of  three  great  gla- 
ciers, the  greatest  about  four  and  a  half 
miles  long  by  from  two  to  three  miles 
wide. 

"Then,  the  following  day,  we  descended 
on  the  south  side  of  the  cone,  following 
the  ordinary  track.  From  the  moment 
that  we  left  the  top,  we  met  less  and  less 
snow,  and  at  no  part  of  the  mountain  did 
we  encounter  glaciers." 

This  man's  description  of  Mt.  Shasta  is 
probably  as  accurate  and  concise  as  any 
obtainable. 

"Shasta,"  he  writes,  "is  a  volcanic  peak 
situated  in  latitude  41  deg.  24  min.  30  sec. 
longitude  122  deg.  11  min.  34  sec.,  with 
an  altitude  of  14,511  feet  over  the  sea. 


134 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


The  mountain  stands  alone,  and  has  no 
connection  with  the  neighboring  moun- 
tains, none  of  which,  in  a  radius  of  forty 
miles,  attain  two-thirds  of  its  height.  The 
great  length  of  its  northwest  slope,  ter- 
minated by  the  Little  Shasta  Valley  (al- 
titude 3,000  feet),  is  sixteen  miles.  The 
southwest  slope  reaches  Elk  Flat,  thereby 
descending  ten  thousand  feet  in  eight 
miles.  The  highest  divide  to  the  north- 
west is  six  miles  away,  and  has  an  alti- 
tude of  six  thousand  feet.  The  divide  of 
the  Sacramento  Eiver,  ten  miles  to  the 
west,  is  3,500  feet  .over  the  sea. 

"Timber  begins  to  stop  on  Mt.  Shasta 
at  8,200  feet;  the  last  tree,  so  tiny  that 
it  can  be  taken  up  in  the  hand,  is  situated 
at  10,130  feet. 

"Mt.  Shasta  is  visible,  in  all  the  repose 
and  grandeur  of  its  isolation,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  one  hundred  miles. 

"The  glaciers  on  its  summit  do  not  ex- 
ist in  the  shelter  of  protecting  cliffs,  or  in 
deep  canyons,  but  on  the  flanks  of  the 
mountain,  so  as  to  be  exposed  to  the  sun 
for  a  full  three-quarters  of  the  day. 
Streams  that  originate  in  these,  and  in  the 
melting  snows,  appear  suddenly  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain  as  rushing  torrents, 
loaded  with  silt,  and  these  subside  fre- 
quently in  the  night,  leaving  pools  of  clear 
water  that  also  gradually  disappear. 
Water  then  again  reaches  the  surface  in 
unexpected  places,  many  miles  away,  as 
great  streams.  The  stream  channels  are, 
therefore,  flooded  once  a  day,  in  the  sum- 
mer, while  after  the  first  snow  (in  Oc- 
tober) no  more  water  descends  from  the 
snow  fields." 

These  facts  lend  especial  interest  to  the 
little  old  register.  Mrs.  Sisson,  wife  of 
the  pioneer,  knits  as  she  recalls  the  days 
long  gone. 

At  random,  you  have  chanced  on  a 
lady's  hand  in  the  register,  July  19,  1878 : 
"The  first  to  reach  the  top  of  my  party.'" 
Where  is  that  woman  now?  If  alive,  -per- 
haps an  aged  matron !  Does  she  recall  the 
hopes,  the  aspirations,  of  that  memorable 
day  on  Mt.  Shasta !  And  the  "company," 
scattered,  broadcast,  over  the  land,  and 
perhaps  in  its  Gods-acres ! 

Another:  "We  hereby  promise  not  to 
come  again."  Like  the  trip  through  the 
Mammoth  Cave,  or  the  scaling  of  Bunker 
Hill  Monument,  you  are  glad  you  have 
done  it,  but  do  it  again — never ! 


When  the  history  of  the  mountain 
comes  to  be  written,  the  register  will  be 
.invaluable.  Here  is  another  entry  that 
tells  a  tale  in  itself:  "Left  with  Camp- 
bell of  Soda  Springs,  the  23d.  Camped 
at  Camp  Shasta.  Took  horse  this  morn- 
ing as  far  as  I  could  go.  Walked  the 
balance  of  the  way  in  five  hours,  taking 
a  thirty  minute  lunch  on  the  way.  All 
alone,  and  not  sick  or  dizzy,  although  I 
expected  to  be.  Little  cloudy  and  smoky, 
yet  fine  view." 

Nor  is  it  all  in  notes  of  exultation,  such 
as  those  of  him  who  "rode  the  horse 
higher  than  they'd  ever  been  ridden  be- 
fore. Take  this  one,  for  example :  "I  wish 
to  say,  further,  that  by  the  most  excellent 
and  careful  care  of  our  landlord,  Mr. 
Jerome  Fay,  he,  by  allowing  his  New 
England  prejudices  to  get  the  best  of  him, 
forced  us  to  go  up  without  a  drop  of 
brandy  or  whisky.  I  consider  this  an 
outrage,  for  any  man  who  pretends  to  fit 
up  parties  for  a  trip  like  this."  (To-day 
raisins  or  cold  tea  are  frequently  taken 
along  by  the  guides.) 

Another  party  attempts  to  perpetuate 
his  erudition  in  this  language :  "Had  a 
good  trip  until  we  reached  snow,  and  had 
hard  time  passing  it,  due  to  the  glace 
state  of  the  ice." 

Nor  can  you  read  the  old  register  un- 
interrupted. Out  of  the  snow  storm,  In- 
dian Charley  again  enters — a  character  of 
Mt.  Shasta  too  typical  to  be  passed  aside 
unnoticed.  If  one  would  hear  of  the 
placer  or  hydraulic  mining  days  about 
•  Shasta — of  which  there  are  still  a  few 
survivals;  of  the  times  when  the  great 
white  and  sugar  pines — trees  six  to  eight 
feet  in  diameter,  which  supplant  the  red- 
wood hereabouts — were-  cut  down  *  *  * 
you  interview  Indian  Charlie.  How  many 
travelers  have  paid  him  the  twenty  dollars 
for  guiding,  and  the  five  dollars  per  horse, 
in  his  day,  is  a  question,  for  Charley  was 
the  exception  among  Indians  in  regard  1-o 
climbing  the  mountain.  Hard  on  the  eyes 
and  on  the  man  generally  is  the  climb,  es- 
pecially when  one  went  with  specialists, 
such  as  insect  collectors — but  Charley 
seems  none  the  worse  for  his  jaunts. 

Charley's  dark  eyes  sparkle  beneath  the 
chestnut  lids  as  he  strokes  back  the  black 
hair  and  toys,  with  his  beard — and  then 
tells  of  the  tales  of  Shasta. 

"My  uncle  told  me  the  Indian  come  by 


FOUR  MEX  IX  COMPANY.  135 

the  waters,  and  that  washed  him  up  on  country.    You  are  away  from  beaten  paths, 

Mt.   Shasta,  but  if  the  tribes  live  there  away  from  what  the  Californian  terms  the 

they  are  washed  down."  "common  tourist,"  when  you  come  so  far 

Charley  is  only  one  of  the  many  pic-  north.     As  a  result,  the  excursion  is  just 

tuivsque  features  of  the  unknown  Shasta  so  much  the  more  delightful. 


By     Chailes    S.     Roa 

Three  times  to  Dead  Man's  Canyon 

I  rode  in  company, 
And  on  the  first  wild  gallop 

I  had  companions  three. 

\\1hen  homeward  on  the   fateful  trail 

I  turned  my  horse's  head, 
Two  friends  alone  were  with  me — 

The  third  had  joined  the  dead. 

When  next  to  Dead  Man's  Canyon 

I  spurred  my  jaded  roan, 
One  other  crossed  the  Great  Divide — 

We  two  were  left  alone. 

When  last  along  that  sombre  path 

We  rode,  with  paling  cheek. 
My  comrade  gasped  for  breath,  and  died 

Beside  the  Bitter  Creek. 

Once  more  to  Dead  Man's  Canyon 

I'll  ride  and  ride  alone, 
And  smile  at  foes  that  lurking  hide 

Behind  each  bush  and  stone. 

I'll  sit  erect  and  fearless, 

As  we  were  wont  to  ride 
In  the  days  of  our  strong  endeavor — 

In  the  time  of  our  youthful  pride. 

I  shall  watch  till  the  glow  of  sunset 

Dies  out  of  the  Western  sky, 
And  I'll  take  one  look  at  the  mountains 

And  one  at  the  stars  on  high. 

Then  I'll  ride  through  the  mists  of  the  evening 

To  where  my  dead  friends  be, 
And  we'll  gallop  the  trails  of  the  Great  Unknown — 

We  four  in  company. 


BY    JAMES    E.    FREE 


PROGRESS  is  cutting  a  wide  swath 
in  Japan.  In  the  United  States, 
democracy  claims  the  credit  for 
public  improvement.  Aristocracy  can  do 
things,  too.  The  revival  in  Japan  was 
brought  about  by  the  original  conversion 
•of  the  ruling  class.  Isolation,  with  its 
moss-grown  institutions,  had  dwarfed 
the  entire  nation.  Underlying  causes 
were  searched  for,  and  when  found, 
weighed  on  the  scales  of  truth.  Once  the 
determination  to  uproot  the  real  evil  was 
formed  it  required  sacrifice  on  the  part  of 
an  absolute  ruler.  The  Mikado  became 
liberal.  He  was  able  to  convince  the  aris- 
tocracy that  liberality  would  pay  immense 
dividends.  The  leaven  leavened  the  whole 
lump  of  population.  Here  was  a  nation 
accustomed  to  a  treadmill  existence.  The 
average  individual  never  had  a  thought 
above  his  father's  plantation,  and  some 
conservatives  were  so  stubborn  in  their  re- 
fusal of  reforms  that  their  heads  had  to 
be  cut  off.  Once  the  fires  of  radicalism 
were  kindled,  the  bellows  of  constructive 
statesmanship  kept  the  draft  turned  on. 

Equality  was  the  goal.  Nearly  every 
nation  under  the  sun  discriminated 
against  the  Asiatic.  That  hard  fact  was 
worm-wood  and  gall  to  intelligent  Japan- 
ese. World  power  would  bring  the  other 
nations  to  their  senses.  A  genuine  turn- 
ing upside  down  of  customs,  manners  and 
laws  had  taken  place.  *  Modern  civiliza- 
tion rests  upon  jurisprudence.  Promises 
to  accept  Western  methods  had  to  be 
backed  up  by  performances.  The  tools 
were  put  into  inexperienced  'hands  at 
first,  but  with  use  came  unexpected  adapt- 
ability. It  was  easy  to  learn  how  the -peo- 
ple could  enjoy  themselves  under  the  new 
system.  Results  justified  the  reformers, 
and  the  yellow  race  gained  self-confi- 
dence. Meek  and  sheep-like  timidity 
was  soon  replaced  by  lion-like  assertive- 
ness. 

China  hugged  the  delusion  of  suprem- 
acv  and  spent  the  centuries  in  huddling 
in  closer  to  her  capital  for  protection. 


From  the  northwest,  a  nation  began  to 
practice  the  opposite  policy.  Russia  be- 
lieved there  was  no  danger  in  benevolent- 
lv  assimilating  the  natural  warehouse 
full  of  raw  material.  The  Japanese  were 
alert,  and  wanted  the  very  things  they 
saw  Russia  absorbing.  Diplomacy 
sparred  for  time;  but  it  was  the  sudden 
coming  up  out  of  the  sea  of  North 
America  which  fully  persuaded  the  Jap- 
anese that  the  clock  of  destiny  had 
struck. 

National  asphyxiation  was  the  alter- 
native to  an  ultimatum.  Forging  braces 
as  they  ran,  the  Japanese  advanced  on  the 
double-quick.  Nice  regard  for  the  rules 
of  warfare  were  abandoned.  War  is  hell, 
and  a  day's  delay  might  lose  a  battle. 
Years  of  concentrated  energy  on  the  part 
of  leaders  who  possessed  genius  soon  told 
the  usual  story  of  success.  Preparation 
pays  big  dividends. 

Battered,  but  determined,  Japan  has 
turned  her  attention  in  the  opposite 
direction.  She  is  rapidly  laying  the  foun- 
dation for  paramountcy  in  Manchuria. 
The  war  with  Russia  was  undertaken,  not 
to  prevent  the  dismemberment  of  China, 
but  to  get  possession  of  the  pieces.  Hav- 
ing Manchuria,  it  seems  incredible  that 
the  United  States  could  separate  Cuba 
from  her  body  politic;  but  Japan  does  not 
give  prominence  to  the  small  calibre  of 
Cuba.  Manchuria  is  almost  continental 
in  its  proportions.  A  better  field  for  ex- 
perimental self-government  with  Japan- 
ese embroidery  could  hardly  be  discov- 
ered. The  open  door  would  not  supply 
public  revenue  so  readily  as  that  darling 
attribute  of  Government  in  the  United 
States :  to  wit,  the  stiff  protective  tariff. 
Reciprocity  might  have  magnetic  force  if 
it  were  offered  by  an  equal  to  an  equal. 
Government  retention  of  title  to  'natural 
resources  will  be  the  law  very  probably. 
Japan  in  this  instance  will  begin  where 
the  United  States  has  stopped  after  a  cen- 
tury of  marching  and  counter-marching. 

The  public  school  issue  is  small  com- 


A   WAE   CLOUD. 


isr 


pared  to  the  momentous  questions  in- 
volved. Its  opportune  character  is  em- 
phasized by  its  fundamental  civic  right- 
eousness. Lincoln  had  faith  in  the  judg- 
ment of  the  people.  They  usually  wob- 
ble right,  was  his  homely  way  of  express- 
ing the  idea  that  an  issue  must  needs  ring 
true.  Just  as  Eussia  was  caught  in  the 
act  of  welching,  in  spite  of  her  Peking 
promise,  so  the  Japanese  believe  the 
Yankees  are  trying  to  spew  out  of  their 
mouths  a  treaty  obligation.  Japanese 
statesmen  understand  the  difficulty  the 
United  States  labors  against  in  disciplin- 
ing San  Francisco.  Centralized  Govern- 
ment would  have  no  difficulty,  in  saying 
to  a  subordinate  power  what  the  Roman, 
centurion,  who  ran  across  Jesus  Christ, 
said:  "I  say  unto  this  man:  'do  this!' 
and  he  doeth  it." 

Secretary  Root  has  found  a  way  to  cir- 
cumnavigate the  difficulty.  Article  VI 
of  the  Constitution  is  the  finger  board  to 
justice;  but  a  disobedient  unit  of  sover- 
eignty cannot  be  dealt  with  as  a  brigade 
of  black  soldiers.  Then  again,  Califor- 
nia will  find  a  refuge  in  the  plea  that 
room  for  a  difference  of  opinion  exists 
since  a  somewhat  analogous  case  was  set- 
tled with  Italy  on  another  basis.  Yankee 
statesmanship  would  be  perfectly  willing 
to  abide  the  decision  of  the  Supreme 
Court;  but  Japan's  business  requires 
haste.  While  the  mills  of  the  courts  are 
grinding,  the  dirt  is  flying  on  the  Panama 
canal. 

Washington  diplomacy  is  busy  at  pres- 
ent fashioning  its  new  interpretation  of 
the  Monroe  Doctrine.  Patient  analysis 
of  recent  official  utterances  fails  to  give 
birth  to  the  conviction  that  they  are  like 
as  two  peas  when  measured  with  Chicago 
Monroeism.  The  new  square  deal  may 
not  last  longer  than  the  older  square  deal. 
It  is  evident  that  agonizing  effort  has 
been  made  to  weld  stiff  protection  and 
reciprocity  together.  At  the  joint  is  the 
usual  capitalistic  subsidv;  this  time  to 
tl.  i  merchant  marine. 

Interest  in  the  future  of  the  Philip- 
pines is  at  a  low  ebb  in  the  United  States. 
The  Cuban  flash  in  the  pan  gives  au- 
tonomy for  a  colony  in  the  Pacific  a  heart 
blow.  Something  just  as  £ood  needs  to 
be  found  at  once.  Japanese  suzerainty 
would  be  good  enough  for  the  Filipinos. 
NV>  better  ?ohition  can  be  found  if  war 


should  suddenly  stare  the  nation  in  the 
face.  After  the  Philippines  are  charged 
to  profit  and  loss,  the  gain  of  breaking 
out  in  a  new  place  could  be  estimated. 

South  America,  deep  down  in  her  se- 
cret heart,  is  astonished  at  the  fervor  of 
Yankee  affection.  The  Plumed  Knight 
in  his  palmy  days  did  not  play  the  dip- 
lomatic game  more  shrewdly.  A  poinr 
on  which  South  Americans  keep  silent  is. 
Panama.  By  right,  the  canal  zone  was  a 
possession  of  Colombia.  Its  name  should 
have  been  the  Pan-American  canal.  Be- 
cause Root's  administration  has  the 
money  to  cut  the  ditch,  the  grab  is  un- 
atoned  for  unless  it  is  made  a  democratic 
form  of  subsidy  to  all  American-built 
and  owned  vessels.  Unrestricted  passage 
for  a  Pan-American  merchant  marine 
would  put  the  burden  of  maintenance  on 
the  United  States  treasury.  This  alter- 
native is  less  expensive  than  a  bonus  to 
a  few  influential  politicians  interested  in 
the  shipping  trust.  The  capitalistic 
form  of  subsidy  to  the  merchant  marine 
would  not  have  an  appreciable  effect  up- 
on the  ship-building  industry.  A  sub- 
sidy would  cause  ships  td  be  built  and 
navigated,  just  as  irrigation  causes  homes 
to  be  built  on  what  used  to  be  called  th.? 
great  American  desert. 

Most  American  citizens  are  indifferent 
to  a  Japanese  peril.  Lack  of  interest 
makes  votes  cheap  in  many  localities. 
When  an  effect  upon  the  pocket-book  and 
cost  in  manhood  can  be  demonstrated, 
citizens  will  take  notice.  North  Dakota, 
for  example,  is  an  agricultural  State.  Fair 
treatment  for  the  Japanese  might  result 
in  a  peaceful  swarming  of  these  people 
into  home-seeking  hives  within  her  bor- 
ders. Assessment  of  the  improvements 
they  are  capable  of  making  on  the  free- 
holds allowed  to  desirable  immigrants 
certainly  would  swell  the  State  revenue. 
If  the  choice  lies  between  permitting  the 
Japanese  to  become  taxpayers  or  enemies 
our  national  Government  cannot  afford 
to  halt  between  two  opinions. 

The  idea  of  war  resulting  over  the 
school  issue  is  dubbed  a  pipe  dream,  but 
those  who  think  they  stand  should  take 
heed  lest  they  fall.  All  the  world  re- 
garded the  Russian  advance  across  the 
Asiatic  continent  as  the  steady  progress 
of  a  glacier.  A  few  keen  observers  did 
confess  that  Russia  was  liable  to  severe 


138 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


pains  if  she  swallowed  Japan.  Most  in- 
dividuals, among  them  the  writer,  be- 
lieved in  the  far  distant  future,  when  the 
glacier  had  melted  the  well-preserved  re- 
mains of  the  Japanese  mastodon  might 
be  recovered. 

Sage  lessons  were  drawn  from  the 
South  African  war  and  dove-tailed  into 
the  Eastern  situation.  The  possessors  of 
the  strategic  points  in  a  land  could  not 
be  dislodged  except  by  overwhelming 
odds.  A  reputable  New  York  periodical 
compared  Jap  and  Russ  to  a  terrier  and 
bulldog.  Hannibal  crossing  the  Alps  is 
not  a  greater  event  in  history  than  the 
conquering  of  the  Manchurian  mountain 
trails  by  the  Japanese.  Port  Arthur  was 
the  half-way  house  of  the  skeptics. 
Everybody  but  the  St.  Petersburg  au- 
thorities saw  the  handwriting  on  the  wall 
as  the  curtain  went  up  for  the  astonish- 
ing act  at  Mukden.  Japan  gave  collat- 
eral security  there  for  first  class  world 
power. 

She  had  at  that  time  what  she  did  not 
seem  to  particularly  need,  namely,  Brit- 
ish support.  It  is  still  behind  the  brush 
ready  to  march  up  in  case  of  an  attack. 
While  Canada  is  growing  into  a  first- 
rank  power,  this  alliance  may  be  useful. 
Reciprocity  and  the  Monroe  Doctrine  do 
not  strike  English  statesmen  as  favorable 
to  British  interests.  They  see  stars  in 
Japan's  direction.  Purchase  of  Alaska 
from  Russia  through  Seward's  initiative 
exchanged  a  lumbering  giant  as  owner  of 
that  storehouse  of  sinews,  for  an  alert 
and  growing  rival.  Saghalien  is  a  step 
for  Japan  in  the  direction  of  Alaska.  Her 
trap  would  snap  promptly  in  that  direc- 
tion in  case  of  a  declaration  of  hostili- 
ties against  the  United  States.  The 
United  States  tried  the  same  scheme  dur- 
ing the  war  with  Spain,  and  took  the 
Philippines.  Supported  on  the  right  hand 
by  Great  Britain  and  on  the  left  hand 
by  Germany,  Japan  could  almost  rip  up 
the  Monroe  Doctrine.  Diplomacy  may 
have  inspired  the  declaration  of  Burgess 
that  the  Monroe  Doctrine  was  obsolete. 
Our  American  diplomats  wove  a  tangled 
web  when  they  offended  Japan  by  poach- 
ing on  her  sphere  of  influence.  The  con- 
sequences of  that  rash  play  are  soon  io 
crack  the  shell  and  grow. 

The  spectacle  of  a  cabinet  official 
scurrying  across  the  continent  to  redress 


a  grievance  at  the  behest  of  Japanesb 
statesmen  emphasizes  the  increase  in 
weight  of  the  Orient  since  the  day  Com- 
modore Perry  knocked  on  the  barred  gate 
of  the  hermit  nation.  Asiatic  diplomacy 
has  planned  its  campaign  skillfully. 
White  men  have  never  before  seriously 
considered  the  claims  of  another  race  to 
equality.  Japan's  challenge  to  the  United 
States  is  an  eye-opener. 

Asia's  new  suzerain  needs  the  billion 
dollar  foreign  commerce  of  that  continent 
in  its  business  of  industrial  development. 
Not  content  with  getting  into  Japanese 
sunshine  by  seizure  of  the  Philippines, 
the  Western  giant  added  a  second  experi- 
ment to  the  first.  Roosevelt's  plea  for  can- 
celling the  demand  for  indemnity  from 
Russia  was  such  a  clean,  manly,  straight- 
forward thing,  and  so  strongly  backed  by 
international  public  opinion,  that  it 
could  not  be  ignored.  Some  other  way  to 
get  revenue  has  since  become  all  the  more 
imperative.  Taxation  of  trade  is  one  of 
the  lessons  taught  to  all  comers  in  North 
America.  Arid  Northern  Asia  is  as  rich 
in  resources  and  products  as  arid  North- 
ern America.  A  trans-continental  rail- 
way and  a  homestead  law  patterned  after 
the  first  great  example  of  the  democratic 
form  of  subsidy  granted  in  the  United 
States  will  initiate  trade  hunting  guaran- 
teed to  be  profitable  to  buyer  and  seller. 

Japanese  statesmen  think  in  conti- 
nents. Justice  for  citizens  in  an  alien 
land  is  only  the  cow-catcher  on  her  world 
politics. 

Protection  and  the  Monroe  Doctrine 
have  been  the  long  bones  of  paramountcy. 
Reciprocity  is  a  terrifying  comet  to  stiff 
protectionists.  So  far  head  hunting  in 
South  America  for  violators  of  the  Mon- 
roe Doctrine  has  not  resulted  in  commer- 
cial supremacy.  This  phase  of  the  prob- 
lem was  in  the  mind  of  Root  when  he 
made  his  gold  dollar  chase  round  Cape 
Horn.  The  publicly  delivered  messages 
were  not  more  carefully  adjusted  to 
Spanish-American  temper  than  were  the 
intellectual  chunks  thrown  at  the  diplo- 
mats of  the  Southern  continent  behind 
closed  doors. 

Failure  of  tariff  concession  to  the  Phil- 
ippines, in  the  United  States  Senate,  re- 
gardless of  pledges  was  a  straw  which 
showed  Japan  the  direction  of  the  pre- 
vailing wind.  Denial  of  equalitv.  plus 


THE  EXPLORERS. 


race  suicide  and  lack  of  iron  in  the  blood, 
argues  timidity.  A  prolific  race  taught 
to  handle  with  consummate  skill  the  tools 
of  world  power  stands  a  fair  chance  of 
getting  anything  reasonable.  In  the  light 
of  events,  the  powers  which  held  the 
clothes  of  the  United  States  while  Spain 
was  stoned  out  of  the  Philippines  played 
the  game  well. 

One  peculiarity  of  the  Japanese  is  his 
<;uickness  to  recognize  a  good  thing. 
"Vhether  it  is  the  white  race  or  white  in- 
otltutions  which  impress  the  new-comer 
most  favorably  is  a  mooted  point. 

James  J.  Hill  damned  the  Panama 
Ca  ml  with  faint  praise  in  Chicago  the 
other  day.  He  made  two  proposals  of 


equal  merit;  so  he  would  have  it  under- 
stood. The  first  was  to  construct  a  fif- 
teen feet  waterway  from  St.  Louis  to 
Xew  Orleans.  If  this  enterprise  could 
be  metered  by  a  corporation,  so  much  the 
better.  His  second  proposal  was  in  the 
nature  of  an  arc  light  for  reciprocity  in 
the  Xorth.  Roosevelt's  method  at  Pan- 
ama will  bring  reciprocity  by  a  short  cut. 
Development  of  industry  in  the  arid  West 
is  in  full  blast.  The  day  is  coming  when 
Eastern  markets  will  be  needed  for  other 
products  besides  wool.  In  lieu  of  com- 
petition with  the  Atlantic  coast  country, 
trade  relations  to  the  south  and  north 
must  be  cultivated.  Necessity  is  the 
mother  of  constructive  statesmanship. 


*Tc=* 


By    OKve  Vincent    Marsh 


"Through  that  weird  land 
Beyond  the  fabled  river  and  the  bark 
Of  Charon" 

Forward  faring,  one  by  one. 
With  outward  look  and  fearless  eye, 
Into  lands  with  twilight  sky 
Where  swift  night  birds  in  silence  fly. 
With  steady  tread  they  pass  us  by. 
One  by  one. 

Outward  standing,  one  by  one, 
Without  touch  of  tide,  or  breeze, 
They  move  as  forms  on  sculptured  frieze 
To  music  slow.     Explorers  these, 
Floating  out  on  wide,  still  seas, 
One  by  one. 

Onward  pressing,  one  by  one, 
Caring  naught  for  mists  and  rains, 
Called  by  wild,  unknown  refrains, 
They  ride  afar  from  streets  and  lanes 
Into  open,  wind-swept  plains, 
One  by  one. 


BY    MYLES    TYLER    FRISBIE 

Come,  sing  ye  the  song  of  the  children, 

Of  the  little  ones  doomed  to  die, 
Who  are  barred  from  the  air  and  the  sunshine 

And  barred  from  the  blue  of  the  sky; 
Of  the  puny  and  bloodless  and  stunted 

Who,  ere  they  are  young,  are  made  old ; 
Their  minds  and  their  senses  are  blunted 

But  their  hands  are  our  winners  of  gold. 

They  are  watchers  of  whirling  spindles, 

They  are  slaves  of  the  racketing  loom; 
You  can  see  how  their  life-sap  dwindles 

In  the  choke  of  the  dust-filled  room. 
There  are  more  in  the  streets  of  the  city, 

The  countryside  teems  with  them  still;  • 
Crowd  them  in !    Does  the  miller  waste  pity 

On  the  corn  that  is  grist  for  his  mill? 

Bv  the  thick,  black  dust  of  the  breaker, 

By  the  deeper  murk  of  the  mine, 
They  are  hid  from  the  eyes  of  their  Maker — 

(God's  truth!    We  are  cutting  it  fine, 
For  we  rob  Him  coming  and  going), 

Life  is  cheap  when  it  booms  our  shares, 
How  cheap  there's  nobody  knowing 

And,  God  knows,  nobody  cares. 

They  are  learning  death's  trade  in  the  sweat-shop, 

They  are  practicing  it  in  the  store; 
Never  mind !    There's  a  surplus  of  children 

And  the  homes  of  the  poor  will  yield  more. 
In  devil-den,  tenement,  hovel, 

Here  for  our  use  they  are  bred; 
For  our  miserly  pittance  they  grovel — 

Living  hands — and  souls  that  are  dead. 

Our  greed  and  our  harshness  inbreathing, 

Outbreathing  sickness  and  crime, 
But  what  to  the  future  bequeathing? 

Ah!  that  will  not  fall  in  our  time. 
Let  it  come  if  it  must!     We'll  not  worry, 

Our  coffers  are  full  and  their  pow'r 
Will  carry  us  well  through  the  flurry; 

We  dread  not  the  day  or  the  hour. 

Have  a  care  ye,  who,  mad  with  your  gaining, 

Are  mocking  the  coffin  and  shroud; 
The  life-blood,  from  Abel's  wounds  draining, 

For  vengeance  to  God  cries  aloud! 
Nor  your  wealth  nor  your  power  shall  aid  you — 

You  shall  find  no  protection  in  them 
From  the  wrath  of  the  stern  G*od  who  made  you 

When  the  children  rise  up  to  condemn ! 


o  = 

z  - 

6  o 

Q   c 


o 


o  = 
^  I 


>  t 

t  * 

O   o 


CO  « 

o  = 


I  w 

I-  £ 


§1 


BY    ALOYSIUS    COLL 


WHERE  are  c-limaxes  in  the  life 
of  every  man  when  even  wo- 
man's love  must  bow  to  the 
overwhelming  influences  that  may  sway 
him  for  good  or  evil,  for  life  or  death — 
war  is  one  of  these,  Catherine." 

"But  war  needs  women,  Cyril.  Where 
men  go.  there  is  danger,  and  wherever 
danger  is,  woman  should  be." 

"It  is  not  bandages  and  ointments  Port 
Arthur  needs,  but  cannon:  not  nurse?, 
but  soldiers.  I  may  arrive  too  late  to 
slip  in.  even  as  it  is." 

"Why  go,  then?'' 

An  amused  smile  passed  over  the  bar- 
rack-browned face.  "A  Petrofsky  dare 
not  stay  away — a  Petrofsky  in  this  would 
not."  He  tapped  his  uniform,  that  of  a 
lieutenant  in  the  Russian  army.  ''Then," 
he  added,  striving  to  peer  through  the 
fosr  which  encompassed  on  all  sides  the 
little  boat  in  which  they  were  sailing, 
"the  fighting  will  be  done  at  Port  Ar- 
thur/' 

"Yes."  she  said  bitterly.  "For  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  can  wholly  understand 
wlp-  women  love  a  warrior— and  hate 
war !" 

'1  shall  return,"  he   said  cheerily. 

"Yes,  you  may  return',"  she  repeated, 
softly,  looking  far  out  where,  if  the  mist 
had  lifted,  she  would  have  seen  that  line 
where  the  jaws  of  Chemitlpo  harbor 
opened  as  if  to  swallow  the  waters  of  the 
sea.  The  mist  was  lifting  now,  driven 
'  :.ek  into  the  bay  by  a  sudden  brisk 
breeze  from  the  sea.  Here  and  there  rifts 
began  to  open  as  if  carved  by  a  knife. 

"Why  look  so  solemn,  my  girl?  Look 
back  over  the  days  we  have  been  to- 
gether in  Seoul ;  that  day  Bergman 
pricked  me  with  his  saber,  and  you  took 
such  fiendish  delight  in  putting  in  nine 
stitches  where  I  know  three  would  have 
sufficed!  And  how  secretly  delighted  I 
was  the  night  I  thought  I  had  bidden  you 
good-bye,  only  to  find  you  riding  on  the 
train  down  to  Chemulpo  !  Poor  Yariag ! 
— that  was  your  last  visit  to  her  decks '" 


"Has  she  no  chance  in  the  fight?" 

"With  a  whole  fleet  waiting  outside  for 
her  to-day!  About  as  much  chance 
as " 

"Look!  Look!"  As  she  glanced  back, 
she  leaped  to  her  feet  in  the  boat.  Her 
face  had  lost  even  the  faintest  tinge  of 
-^'nk. 

As  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  he  saw, 
not  a  hundred  feet  away,  slipping  out  of 
the  fog,  a  big  cruiser,  stript  and  clean  as 
a  lamb  going  forth  for  the  sacrifice.  The 
look-out  on  deck  was  shouting. 

"The  Yariag!"  he  gasped,  with  com- 
pressed lips,  jerking  the  tiller  from  the 
hands  of  the  Chinese  youth,  and  bringing 
the  little  boat  about  with  a  sudden  toss  of 
wind. 

He  cleared  the  danger  of  actual  col- 
lision with  the  steel  bow,  but  as  the 
srreat  roll  of  foam  surged  up  to  the  little 
boat,  it  gripped  it  like  a  sparrow  toying 
with  a  feather,  beat  down  one  side  with' 
an  overflowing  cataract,  and  poured  in 
with  a  deep  sound  of  flood. 

Petrofsky  caught  the  girl  as  the  boat 
overturned,  and  sinking  with  the  sub- 
merged rim,  found  himself  struggling  in 
the  sea.  one  arm  supporting  Catherine, 
the  other  clinging  to  the  edge  of  the 
boat.  The  boy  was  holding  to  the  over- 
turned mast.  Even  as  the  water  ran 
from  Petrofskv  s  ears,  he  heard  the  shouts 
of  the  sailors  and  gunners  on  the  decks 
of  the  Yariag.  And  having  succeeded  in 
getting  the  girl  up  onto  the  rim  of  the 
boat,  he  turned  to  the  crew,  and  lifting 
his  hand,  waved  to  them  as  if  in  fare- 
well. But  even  as  he  did  so,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  cruiser's  speed  had  consid- 
erably slackened.  A  boat  was  swung  out 
on  its  davits,  the  gibes  had  been  cut. 

"They  have  noticed  you,"  said  Cyril. 

"It's  the  uniform,"  she  answered,  with 
a  shiver. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  three  wet  pas- 
sengers of  the  little  sailboat  were  on  the 
deck  of  the  cruiser,  which  was  ploughing 
her  wav  out  to  sea. 


148 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


"For  Heaven's  sake,  Lieutenant," 
cried  the  Captain,  "where  were  you  go- 
ing?" 

"Port  Arthur,  sir.  A  junk  outside  is 
waiting  to  take  me  on." 

"But  the  young  lady  ?" 

"My  betrothed,  Miss  Herschiff,  who 
has  been  doing  nurse  work  at  Seoul— 

"Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  the  officer,  "I 
met  her  the  other  evening  on  the  deck, 
didn't  I?  She  was  not  trying  to  smuggle 
herself  into  Port  Arthur,  too !" 

"The  boy  was  to  bring  her  back  from 
the  junk,"  answered  Cyril. 

The  captain  turned  to  a  navy  lieuten- 
ant. "Take  the  young  lady  to  my  quar- 
ters. I'm  sorry  we  cannot  supply  you 
with  dry  clothing.  Our  wardrobes  are  all 
filled  with  shells." 

Catherine  and  the  young  lieutenant 
went  below.  "What  will  we  do  with  her  ?" 
said  the  captain  to  Petrofsky.  "We  might 
let  you  off  on  one  of  the  boats,  if  you 
cared  to  risk  such  a  long  row.  Perhaps 
it  is  safer  on  board." 

"She  may  be  helpful  below,"  suggested 
the  other.  The  old  lust  for  battle  had 
gotten  hold  of  him.  To  desert  a  battle- 
ship going  into  action  was  not  one  of  the 
fibres  in  Cyril  Petrofsky's  make-up. 
*  "At  any  rate,  lieutenant,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, "this  is  not  your  fight.  You  may  re- 
tire below  and  entertain  the  lady.  We 
have  something  else  to  entertain  just 
now."  He  was  scanning  the  horizon  with 
his  glasses;  he  handed  them  to  Cyril. 
Far  out,  even  with  the  naked  eye,  could 
be  seen  several  specks,  with  dark  linos 
trailing  from  them. 

"You  saved  my  life,  captain;  it  be- 
longs to  the  Variag."  The  commander 
could  not  misinterpret  the  look  in  Petrof- 
sky's eye  as  he  said  these  words.  The 
older  man  took  his  hand  warmly,  but 
smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 

A  sharp,  chill  wind  was  blowing  now 
thai  cut  the  wet-clothed  young  lieuten- 
ant to  -the  marrow.  The  captain  men- 
tioned a  change  of  uniform. 

"I'm  not  enrolled  in  the  navy,"  said 
Cyril. 

A  few  lonely  sea-birds  flitted  by.  Was 
this  war?  To  Petrofsky  it  did  not  seem 
like  war;  nothing  of  the  rush  and  thun- 
der of  horses  galloping  into  position  with 
the  field  guns;  no  long,  yellow  worms 
swinging  around  on  the  pivots  of  battle 


formation;  no  scurrying  of  scouts;  no 
dashing  up  of  couriers;  no  intermittent 
rattle  of  rifles  opening  on  the  picket 
lines !  Nothing  save  a  few  specks  out  on 
the  horizon,  drawing  nearer  and  more 
distinct;  the  trembling  of  the  big  cruiser 
as  she  went  bravely  on  to  answer  the  chal- 
lenge, the  churn  and  swish  of  the  foam  at 
her  bows,  behind  her  the  long  curl  of 
heavy  smoke.  Silent  men  were  already 
adjusting  the  range  finders.  The  guns 
were  manned;  the  ammunition  hoists 
had  already  been  at  work.  A  gull  piloted 
himself  close  to  the  Variag,  crossing  the 
deck  with  slow,  bending  wings,  craned 
his  neck  and  squawked.  The  gunners 
forward  laughed. 

"He's  saying  farewell,"  said  one. 

"It's  a  God-speed,"  said  another. 

From  one  of  the  men-of-war  off  in  the 
distance  a  great  puff  of  smoke  bubbled 
out  and  spread  in  giant  curls.  Then  over 
the  waters  a  boom  was  heard,  as  if  a 
thing  apart  from  the  smoke.  And  far  be- 
hind the  Variag  the  sea  was  churned  as 
if  the  crater  of  a  submerged  volcano 
had  belched  forth  the  wrath  of  the  under- 
world !' 

Then  sounded  the  first  direct  orders  of 
the  battle  aboard  the  Variag.  Her  for- 
ward batteries  let  go.  There  was  a 
snatch  of  song  here  and  there,  the  meas- 
ures of  refrains  that  had  sounded  across 
the  harbor  as  the  gallant  cruiser  started 
out  to  do  battle — refrains  of  national  an- 
thems that  still  hummed  in  the  minds 
and  hearts  of  the  crew. 

One,  two,  four,  a  dozen  fountains  in 
the  sea  showed  where  the  enemy's  pro- 
jectiles were  striking  the  water;  others 
hurtled  overhead,  singing  and  whist- 
ling as  they  went.  Hell  was  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer ! 

The  rapid-fire  guns  in  the  fighting  tops 
began  to  spit  and  sputter.  Cyril's  blood 
began  to  warm  and  boil.  He  felt  the 
fever  swelling  in  his  veins;  the  zest  of 
slaughter  took  a  bull-dog  grip  on  his 
every  power.  The  light  began  to  burn  in 
his  eye  that  had  never  been  kindled  there 
before,  save  once — when,  at  the  head  '.f 
a  company  of  Siberian  Eifles,  he  had 
mowed  down  a  band  of  Manchus  in  re- 
volt. He  craved  the  control  of  one  of 
the  sleek,  shiny  guns. 

He  saw  a  young  officer  hastening  to- 
wards him  from  amidships,  with  a  little 


UNENKOLLED. 


paper  in  his  hand.  Even  as  he  was  about 
to  speak,  he  seemed  to  double  before  Cy- 
ril's eyes;  behind  him,  by  one  of  the 
forward  ventilators,  there  was  a  blinding 
crash,  a  rip  of  iron — the  stump  of  a  man 
and  the  stump  of  the  ventilator  were  left 
on  the  deck !  In  the  fist  of  a  mangled 
arm  the  little  paper  was  still  clutched. 
Petrofsky  stooped  down  and  took  it  from 
the  relaxed  fingers.  He  read  it: 

"Lieutenant  Petrofsky  assigned  to 
forward  port  eight  inch  gun." 

The  captain's  signature  was  attached. 
Petrofsky  went  forward.  To  the  gunners 
working  at  the  gun  designated  he  said: 
"Where's  your  officer  in  command?" 

"Killed!"  more  than  one  answered. 

They  glanced  at  the  order,  saluted,  and 
turned  to  their  work  with  a  cheer. 

Shells  began  to  burst  on  deck;  shrap- 
nel peeled  the  paint  from  the  iron  and 
steel,  poured  across  the  decks  like  a 
whirlwind  of  giant  sand,  and  riddled  the 
smoke  stacks.  Ere  five  minutes  more 
had  passed,  the  deck  seemed  to  flow  with 
blood.  The  gunners  were  poorly  pro- 
tected from  this  hail,  and  the  men  seemed 
to  be  the  target  of  the  enemy's  fire, 
rather  than  the  ship  herself.  Here  and 
there  men  crawled  out  of  their  positions 
and  sank  wearily  down,  their  clothes  torn, 
their  bodies  lacerated  in  so  many  placss 
they  knew  not  to  which  wound  to  clap 
their  quivering  hands.  To  Cyril  this 
was  horror — but  horror  that  is  at  the 
same  time  fascination,  the  enchantment 
of  things  that  come  only  to  the  lucky  sons 
of  whole  generations.  And  as  he  worked 
with  his  men,  calming  the  excitable,  excit- 
ing the  dogged,  strengthening  all  that 
faltered,  he  seemed  unconscious  of  the 
truth  that  this  was  defeat — for  defeat  it- 
self seemed  so  glorious.  For  the  time  he 
even  forgot  the  girl  in  the  captain's 
stateroom  below.  Mother,  wife,  sweet- 
heart for  the  hearts  of  men  just  before 
battle;  mother,  wife,  sweetheart  in  the 
hearts  of  men  after  battle — but  in  the 
heat  of  battle,  only  the  wild  madness  of 
war,  the  outburst  of  the  savage  in  man, 
the  indifference  to  anguish,  the  court- 
ship of  death.  Cyril  the  lover  had  been 
swallowed  up  in  Cyril  trie  demon.  With 

his  foot  he  kicked  aside  a  piece  of  meat ! 
*  *  *  * 

Down  in  the  captain's  stateroom  Cath- 
erine Herschieff  was  learning  what  the 


anguish  of  war  is  to  the  stout  hearts  of 
the  world.  When  escorted  below,  at  first 
she  heard  nothing  but  the  muffled  trem- 
olo of  the  great  engines;  but  as  the  crui- 
ser went  into  acton,  sha  heard  also  the 
boom  of  the  guns  c ,  :;r head,  the  crash  and 
rending  of  iron,  the  explosion  of  great 
shells  as  they  bored  into  the  steel  vitals 
of  the  ship.  Ere  long  she  thought  she 
heard  voices  out  in  the  officers'  mess 
room.  She  opened  the  door  and  stood  in 
the  midst  of  the  workers.  These  quar- 
ters had  been  fitted  up  as  a  temporary  re- 
treat for  the  wounded. 

A  man  with  a  pointed  beard  and  wear- 
ing glasses  looked  up  from  a  shoulder 
that  was  bubbling  blood.  "This  is  not 
a  sight  for  women,  I'm  afraid,"  he  said. 

"I  am  an  army  nurse,"  she  replied. 

"But  this  is  the  navy,"  he  said,  with 
that  emphasis  of  pride  on  the  word  that 
endears  every  Jackie  and  gunner  and  ma- 
rine to  the  floating  armaments  of  the 
world.  She  realized  that  one  stern  word 
from  him  would  send  her  back  to  the  cap- 
tain's cabin,  back  to  prison,  to  inactivity. 
The  surgeon  had  not  halted  in  his  work; 
his  few  words  had  been  spoken  like  eo 
many  bolts  turned  out  from  a  machine. 
When  next  he  glanced  up,  he  beheld  the 
girl  standing  before  him  wearing  the  one 
extra  white  jacket  that  had  hung  in  the 
room.  She  was  so  close  to  the  surgeon 
that  a  throb  of  blood  from  a  severed  ar- 
tery spurted  onto  the  white  jacket,  and 
spread  out  in  a  crimson  stain.  Through 
the  glasses  darted  one  discerning  glance 
at  the  red  badge,  then  one  into  the  eyes 
of  the  girl  herself. 

"Some  will  die,"  she  pleaded,  softly. 
"There  will  be  little  things  to  do — I  am 
a  woman." 

For  the  first  time  the  bloody  hands 
rested,  barely  paused  while  he  spoke: 
"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "Not  this  one, 
though;  that  poor  fellow  there."  He 
pointed  to  a  gunner  lying,  not  on  one  of 
the  operating  tables,  but  on  a  temporary 
bunk  in  the  corner.  Beside  this  man  she 
knelt.  His  eyes  opened,  showing  the 
only  light  on  a  face  already  dull  with  the 
stigma  of  death.  "Is  there  anything  I 
can  do?"  she  asked,  close  to  his  ear. 
"Your  wife — any  message?" 

She  saw  that  he  was  striving  to  use  his 
arm,  and  endeavored  to  assist  him.  His 
hand  barely  indicated  his  hip  pocket.  The 


150 


OVERLAID  MONTHLY. 


white  tip  of  a  letter  showed;  she  pulled 
it  forth.  It  was  addressed,  ready  for 
mailing. 

"Your  wife?"  she  questioned. 

His  lips  uttered  no  sound,  but  the  word 
he  tried  to  speak  was  "mother." 

"I  shall  send  it,"  she  murmured.  She 
thought  his  breath  would  never  return. 
"Hear  me?  I  shall  send  it  to  your 
mother,  and  write  her  another,  telling 
her  that  you  died  happy — bravely !" 

The  eyes  could  riot  respond;  but  the 
mouth  widened  into  a  tender  smile  that 
let  out  his  soul,  just  as  a  storm-staid  bee 
goes  forth  from  the  golden  throat  of  a 
flower  that  opens  up  to  the  returning 
sunshine ! 

Feet  scuffled  on  the  hatchway,  and  legs, 
visible  only  to  the  knees,  began  to  step 
down;  another  wounded  man  was  borne 
below,  then  another  and  another. 

And  as  each  figure  was  carried  into 
view,  or  tottered  down  the  hatch,  Cath- 
erine devoured  the  uniform  he  wore  with 
eager  eyes.  For  she  knew  that,  bloody, 
grimed  and  soiled  as  these  men  were,  by 
no  other  sign  might  she  know  the  one 
man  who,  though  forgetting  her  above, 
was  constantly  in  her  mind  below.  As 
they  came  and  came,  torn  with  shrapnel, 
shattered  with  exploding  shells,  and  he 
came  not,  she  continued  to  work  and 
work,  thankful  that  he  was  not  of  these. 

Then  came  one  with  clothing  soaked 
in  purple.  "The  water  pipe's  cut  some 
place  with  a  shell  and  we  can't  use  -the 
hose,"  said  one  of  the  men  who  had 
helped  bear  the  patient  below  decks. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  th<3 
others  ?"  asked  the  surgeon  in  a  low  voice 

Catherine  overheard  the  question.  "The 
others !"  A  shudder  shook  her  from  head 
to  foot.  So  only  the  wounded  were 
brought  below !  A  great  fear  had  caught 
her  as  in  a  vice.  How  she  longed  to 
see  him  come  down  the  iron  steps — even 
if  he  were 

It  was  the  stripe  on  the  trouser  leg 
that  caught  her  eye;  then  the  strong  grip 
that  one  hand  took  on  the  railing  as  the 
man  descended.  Ere  she  had  seen  his 
face  she  understood  why  that  single  grip 
was  one  of  tense,  drawn  sinew — the  other 
hand  was  hidden  up  under  his  coat. 

She  flew  to  him,  a  look  of  entreaty  in 
her  eyes,  a  question  of  pity,  a  sun-burst 
of  gladness  that  he  still  lived. 


"Your  arm?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"A  part  of  it,"  he  answered  grimly. 

Nerving  herself  for  the  shock  she  knew 
was  inevitable,  she  pressed  after  him  as 
he  walked  steadily  to  the  surgeon,  who, 
seeing  the  lieutenant,  turned  from  his 
work  with  a  look  of  revived  interest.  He 
drew  the  coat  open.  Catherine  closed 
her  eyes ;  a  little  gasp  broke  from  her  lips, 
and  she  buried  her  face,  suddenly  palid, 
in  her  hands. 

An  assistant  began  to  bathe  the  stump. 

"Fix  him  in  a  comfortable  position," 
said  the  surgeon.  "I'll  be  there  in  a 
moment." 

The  assistant  tapped  the  only  table  not 
burdened  with  its  weight  of  pain,  and 
began  to  spread  upon  it  some  discarded 
clothing. 

"No,  there  are  worse  wounds  than 
mine,"  said  Cyril,  with  a  dim,  indifferent 
look  in  his  eyes,  as  he  refused  to  allow 
them  to  lay  him  back  on  the  cushions. 
"I'll  sit  here." 

Catherine  was  rolling  back  the  sleeve 
of  his  shirt.  She  saw  the  quick  yellowish- 
green  color  that  spread  over  his  face,  and 
managed  to  stand  so  that  a  portion  of  his 
weight  rested  against  her.  He  swallowed 
greedily  the  stimulant  administered  him, 
then  weary  with  the  pain  and  shock  and 
loss  of  blood,  dropped  his  head  on  her 
shoulder  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"Doctor,"  she  said. 

"Eight  now,"  he  answered,  coming  for- 
ward. His  white  jacket  and  apron  was 
splattered  with  blood;  great  beads  of  per- 
spiration poured  down  his  face. 

"Did  it  as  clean  as  I  could  do  it!"  he 
continued,  examining  the  arm,  severed  at 
the  wrist.  "What  did  that?" 

Cyril  opened  his  eyes,  but  seemed  too 
tired  to  vouchsafe  an  explanation. 

Another  spoke  up.  "He'd  just  stepped 
back  with  a  swab,  when  a  shot  caught 
him  clean  before  striking  the  forward 
mast — six  inch,  I  think,  doctor." 

The  arm  was  dressed.  "We'll  do  better 
later  on,"  said  the  surgeon,  "if  we  get  the 
chance." 

The  man  in  red  and  white  went  about 
his  indefatigable  labor.  Catherine  did  not 
leave  Cyril.  He  grew  heavy — but  she  was 
strong.  His  severed  arm  she  nestled  in 
the  hollow  of  her  own,  holding  it  up  to 
ease  the  throbbing  of  the  cleft  nerves. 
From  time  to  time  she  pressed  a  cold,  wet 


UNENBOLLED. 


151 


cloth  to  his  forehead,  and  moistened  his 
lips.  The  stimulant  given  him  began  to 
show  its  effects  in  the  returning  color  in 
his  cheeks.  A  great  content  began  10 
steal  over  her.  His  shirt  had  been  opened 
at  the  throat;  she  had  never  known  that 
his  skin  was  so  white  and  satiny  as  now 
she  saw  it  was  below  the  bronze  of  cam- 
paigns in  the  field.  And  never  had  she 
known  how  soft  his  black  hair  was,  how 
firm  his  shoulders — ah,  he  had  been  saved 
to  her ;  saved,  even  by  this  red  horror  un- 
der the  white  lumb  of  bandages.  What 
was  the  loss  of  his  hand — to  her,  that 
loved  every  fibre  in  his  whole  bodv.  every 
bone,  every  drop  of  blood  in  his  veins, 
every  thought  under  the  black  hair? 

As  the  minutes  went  by,  iowcv  and 
fewer  were  the  wounded  borne  below.  Of 
the  corps  of  assistants  detailed  to  bear 
the  wounded  down  the  hatchways,  less 
than  half  remained  on  duty.  Th<;  sur- 
geon looked  up  with  inquiry  behind  his 
glasses.  One  young  man  interpreted  hi? 
glance.  "We  can't  get  them  down,*1  he 
said. 

"Why?" 

"Xot  enough  left  to  do  it— -we  had  to 
expose  ourselves  on  the " 

"A  corps  was  detailed  to  do  thfs  work 
— and  only  this  work,"  snapped  the  sur- 
geon. 

"Some  have  been  promoted,  sir." 

"To  what?'' 

"To  the  guns— to  glory." 

Cyril  sat  up,  an  irresistible  resolve  in 
his  eyes,  and  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
Knowing  that  an  effort  would  be  made 
to  detain  him,  he  bounded  off  the  table, 
up  the  hatchway.  The  girl  started  to 
follow. 

The  surgeon  caught  her  by  the  arm. 
"It  would  be  disgrace  for  us  all  if  we  al- 
lowed you  to  go."  he  said.  "You  have 
done  noble  work  for  us." 

"Oh.  I  thought  he  was  saved  to  me!*' 
she  murmured,  ^lowly  sinking  against 
the  railing  of  the  steps. 

A  hospital  attendant  dashed  down  the 
hatchway.  "We  are  going  back  into  thj 
harbor,"  he  announced. 

"What!"  cried  the  surgeon.  "Victori- 
ous r 

"Xo— to  sink  !" 

The  surgeon  released  his  hold  on  the 
girl.  "See !  He  lias  been  saved  to  you — 
this  is  the  end." 


She  broke  away  and  darted  up  the 
steps.  On  the  deck  above  she  saw  every- 
where the  wreck  of  battle,  defeat,  the 
odor  of  powder,  steam,  scorched  paint, 
twisted  machinery,  darkness  and  a  sul- 
phurous haze  over  all  and  through  all. 
She  did  not  hesitate,  but  in  the  dim  and 
dusk  she  lost  her  bearings,  stumbled  on 
blindly,  and  blundered  to  the  foot  of  a 
hatchway  leading  to  the  rear  fighting 
deck.  As  she  raised  her  head  above  the 
level  of  this,  she  halted. 

All  her  knowledge  of  war,  her  wildest 
dreams  of  it, .  her  fancies  of  its  glories, 
its  horrors,  could  not  have  prepared  her 
for  the  picture  that  spread  out  before  her. 
Onlv  a  moment  was  given  her  to  contem- 
plate it,  yet  it  flashed  into  her  eyes,  back 
to  her  brain,  like  a  searing  flame,  an  im- 
perishable, unfading  scar.  To  her  it  was 
not  a  grand  generalizing  of  carnage — it 
was  a  masterpiece  of  details,  a  cameo 
carved  out  of  the  stern  magnificence  of 
war! 

Xot  the  heaps  of  dead  men  appalled 
her;  there  was  a  gunner  lying  with  his 
face  close  to  the  railing  of  the  hatch — 
he  must  have  lain  down  to  take  a  sun 
bath,  he  was  so  comfortably  huddled  up 
on  the  deck,  but  the  lightning  had  bur- 
rowed in  the  back  of  his  neck ! 

A  tall,  middle  aged  gunner  clung  to 
the  rail  and  spat  into  the  sea — even  his 
very  sandy  whiskers  did  not  seem  to 
match  the  blood! 

Then  there  was  something  down  in  the 
wreck  of  the  rear  ventilators  that  looked 
like  the  pictures  Catherine  had  seen  of 
the  trophies  of  the  Borneo  head-hunters, 
with  a  thick  mat  of  dark  red  grass  over 
the  top  of  it! 

But  even  these — the  things  that  were 
dead,  the  silent,  motionless  immolations 
of  battle,  seemed  mild,  tame,  to  the  pic- 
ture of  that  other  thing  that  moved  out 
there  by  the  stern  gun.  He  was  stooping 
b~  the  breach  of  a  gun  abandoned  by  all 
save  himself:  at  his  feet  lay  a  heap  as  if 
nrostrated  to  worship  him.  He  had  flung 
the  breech-block  open,  and  was  striving 
to  lift  with  one  hand  and  a  bandaged 
stump  the  last  shell  fhat  had  been  sent  up 
the  ammunition  hoist. 

He  looked  up  suddenly,  and  for  one 
short  glance  Catherine  saw  that  look  on 
his  face  that  his  soldiers  had  said  was 
not  good  to  see:  it  made  them  think  they 


152 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


were  fighting  under  command  of  the 
devil. 

"Come  help  me,  girl!"  he  yelled,  with 
a  beckoning  of  the  stump.  "One  last 
crack  at  'em !" 

She  hesitated,  transfixed  by  the  demon 
that  was  working  in  him. 

"Quick,   I  tell  you!"   he  commanded. 

As  one  in  a  dream,  obeying  the  call  of 
something  supernatural,  she  hurried  to 
him.  With  her  two  hands  and  his  one 
they  lifted  the  shell  into  the  breech.  He 
slammed  the  block  shut,  and  ordered  her 
away.  With  miserly  precision,  lest  ho 
waste  this  last  bolt  of  vengeance,  he  tin- 
kered with  the  sights  and  then  fired  the 
gun. 

It  seemed  to  the  girl  that  there  was  a 
double  discharge  from  the  gun,  and  with 
the  second,  a  blinding  flash  that  enveloped 
everything,  even  herself!  This  was  the 
flash-pan  of  a  dream  that  she  lived  in 
from  that  time  on — a  dream  that  was  not 
unconsciousness  whollv,  a  dream  filled 
with  sounds  that  she  heard  talk,  groans, 
the  last  intermittent  shots  of  the  batteries 
aft,  as  the  Variag  crept  back  to  her  tomb 
in  the  harbor;  orders  of  command,  pools 
of  blood — and  him! 

Somebody  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and 
started  down  the  hatch  with  her.  But 
even  as  she  dropped  below,  her  face  was 
turned  back  over  the  bearer's  shoulder. 
She  saw  the  smoke  where  the  shell  had 
burst.  Under  the  cloud  a  big  man  was 
crawling  away  from  the  gun  like  a 
gorilla  on  all  fours;  a  ragged  white  ban- 
dage was  torn  from  his  arm,  and  he  was 
using  the  fresh  stump  as  if  the  hand  were 
still  there! 

When  she  was  borne  below  she  could 
hear  again  the  throb  of  the  engines.  The 
surgeon  had  sat  down  for  the  first  tin™, 
not  even  glancing  at  the  bandaged  fig- 
ures that  were  all  about.  Others  worked 
by  them. 

"I  can  do  no  more,"  he  said,  wearily,  to 
Catherine,  as  if  to  apologize  for  his  neg- 
lect. "I  am  gone." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Shrapnel — everything    shrapnel,"     he 


continued.  "Some  of  them  have  as  many 
as  fifty  holes !"  Still  she  made  no  reply. 
"Your  lieutenant  got  off  easy,"  he  added. 

Did  he  know  the  truth?  Or  was  the 
truth  kinder  than  she  herself  imagined? 
Had  he  followed  her  to  the  fighting  deck' 
and  seen  the  end?  Her  eyes  softened  for 
the  first  time,  then  melted  into  tears. 
Dropping  her  head  on  to  the  table  beside 
the  limp  hand  of  a  very  young  ensign 
whose  coat  had  been  buttoned  up  tight 
about  him  to  hide  the  gaping  doorway  of 
death  in  his  breast,  she  wept  quietly. 

It  seemed  an  eternity  before  they 
brought  him  down  to  her.  She  lifted 
her  head  when  she  heard  the  scuffling  of 
feet  on  the  stairway.  Behind  those  that 
bore  the  heavy  burden  walked  another, 
holding  up  the  dying  man's  head  BO  that 
she  could  see  his  face.  His  eyes  were 
looking  at  her ! 

As  they  laid  him  down,  the  surgeon, 
with  a  look  of  sudden  understanding, 
pain,  regret,  sorrow,  bent  over  him.  He 
took  note  of  the  tremor  that  lifted  every 
muscle  of  his  whole  body — and  knew  what 
that  was. 

"Bid  him  good-bye,"  he  said,  turning 
aside.  He  was  glad  that  she  was  de- 
ceived, for  he  knew  that  the  words  of  en- 
dearment that  poured  from  her  lips  were 
spoken  to  dumb  clay ! 

An  assistant  took  her  gently  by  the 
arm.  The  surgeon  turned  savagely  on 
him.  "Let  her  be!" 

"We  are  going  off,  sir!"  said  the  other 
respectfully. 

The  Variag  dropped  anchor.  The 
wounded  crawled  to  the  railings,  or  were 
borne  thither  by  others.  Another  cruiser 
drew  up  alongside.  On  deck  the  remnant 
of  the  Variag's  crew  drew  up  in  a  double 
line.  As  the  surgeon  came  forward  with 
the  girl  on  his  arm,  and  passed  between 
the  lines,  the  men  lifted  their  caps  and  a 
faint  cheer  arose  from  the  floating  sepul- 
chre of  the  sea. 

Behind  the  girl  and  the  surgeon  fol- 
lowed two  bearing  a  litter.  On  it  was  the 
body  of  a  man  not  in  the  uniform  of  the 
Russian  navy! 


Manomet   Bluffs. 


IBY    F.    S.    DRENNING 


IT  seemed  a  happy  circumstance  that 
Captain's  Hill,  cutting  the  sky  with 
the  point  of  its  obelisk-,  so  keenly  as  to 
call  to  mind  Standish's  celebrated  "Da- 
mascus blade,"  should  acquaint  us  of  our 
swift  approach  from  Plymouth.  It  was 
as  if  the  peppery  warrior  with  uisheath-.i 
sword  at  outpost  still  kept  watch  ana 
ward  over  the  object  of  his  ancient  care. 
^Tiat  though  Duxbury  call  him  its 
founder,  bear  the  name  of  his  ancestral 
hall,  multiply  fact  and  legend  of  his  lat- 
ter days?  For  all  that,  he  seems  much 
less  Duxbury  than  Plymouth. 

What  the  fairest  of  fair  days  might  do 
to  make  this  our  first  acquaintance  with 
Plymouth,  the  harmony  we  wished,  our 
dav  there  realized;  aglow  throughout, 
warm  with  the  sun,  cool  with  the  sea, 
gleaming  as  a  jewel  crystal  to  its  heart. 
In  unison,  too,  with  our  wish,  the  closely- 
encircling  town  below  appeared  from  the 


hilltop  to  stir  with  a  Sabbath  quietuda. 
The  ridge  that  Massasoit  and  his  Indians 
crossed  to  parley  with  the  Pilgrims,  rose 
on  our  right,  tradition-haunted,  inducing 
reverie.  In  the  offing — historic,  all— the 
Gurnet  flung  itself  up  boldly  from  thvj 
azure  of  tranquil  waters,  Saquish,  as  well, 
and  Mahomet;  Clark's  Island  stretched 
out  plain  to  view  in  the  clear  atmosphere, 
and  nearer,  Plymouth  Beach,  curiously 
detached  from  the  shore,  ribboning  the 
harbor  across  with  its  narrow  yellow  strip 
of  sand. 

History  and  romance  saturated  the 
ground  we  stood  on.  Not  an  inch  of  the 
hillside  dropping  down  from  it  to  the 
shore  and  its  rock  but  had  its  tale,  sung 
or  unsung.  Plymouth  was  a  much-be- 
thumbed  story-book,  with  now  a  page 
missing  and  now  one  blank,  spread  wide 
open  at  our  feet,  ours  for  the  picking  up. 
Old,  neglected  by-way;  curving  waters 


Site  of  the  watch  tower,   Burial  Hill,   erected 
son,    the   celebrated   missionary   to    Burmah. 


edge,  the  scene  of  recorded  and  of  for- 
gotten drama;  antique  dwelling  lichened 
with  most  intimate  associations  of  human 
life;  these  were  the  pictures  that  illus- 
trated the  worn  volume. 

But  this  is  anticipating,  for  hardly  did 


in  1643.     Also  shows  lot  of  Rev.  Adoniram  Jud- 

our  heads  show  above  the  topmost  step 
of  the  long  flight  leading  up  from  Ley- 
den  street,  when  a  conductor  took  posses- 
sion of  us  and  our  impressions,  and  forth- 
with bore  us  hither  and  thither  to  the 
sepulchres  of  Plymouth's  famous  dead. 


Captain's  Hill,  Duxbury,  the  home  of  Miles  Standish,  showing  Standish  house  and  monument 

Copyright,  1892,  A.  S.  Burbank,  Plymouth,  Mass. 


Old  trunk  of  legend. 


Epitaph  upon  epitaph  he  recited  as  he  honorable  folk,  but  quaint  and  amusing 

led  us  among  the  tombstones:  not  only  ones  he  read  or  had  learned  from  chance 

Bradford's  and  Rowland's  and  Cushman's  visitors  to  the  hill ;  waxing  the  glibber 

and  Warren's,  and  those  of  like  good  and  the  more  lengthy  and  involved  the   in- 


Treaty  with  Massasoit.  alto-relief  on  Xationa 


Copyright.  1S92.  A.  S.  Burbank,  Plymouth,  Mass. 


156 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


F.  W.  B.  Standish,  in  facsimile  of 
Elder  Brewster's  chair,  with  hat  of 
the  fashion  of  more  than  200  years 
ago. 


scription,  and  enjoying  with  restrained 
relish  our  wide-eyed  astonishment  at  his 
powers  of  memory. 


Sauntering  hence  to  the  house,  built, 
we  dare  not  even  guess  how  many  years 
ago,  where  the  "Common  House"  of  the 
Pilgrims  had  stood,  we  saw  a  child,  hard- 
ly more  than  a  baby,  peeping  at  us  shyly 
and  inquiringly  through  the  fence.  This 
blossom-faced  girl  with  smiling  eyes,  we 
learned  from  the  grandmother  who  came 
into  the  yard,  was  descended  from  no  less 
a  dignitary  than  Governor  Bradford  him- 
self, after  whose  wife  Dorothy,  drowned 
in  Provincetown  harbor,  the  little  one  was 
named.  Dorothy,  the  grandmother  said, 
frequently  stood  for  her  picture  to  passers- 
by— or,  more  exactly,  perhaps,  was  caught 
on  the  wing.  So  that  we  may  not  say 
how  remotely  the  likeness  of  this  small 
Dorothy  of  the  Bradfprds  has  not  trav- 
eled. 

Dorothy  lives  at  the  harbor  end  of  old 
Leyden  street,  of  course,  that  with  a 
pause  or  two  for  breath,  goes  climbing  up 
to  Burial  Hill.  Ascending  this,  the  firsl. 
thoroughfare  of  the  Pilgrim  settlement, 
ve  were  mindful  that  we  passed  through 
veritable  thickets  of  historic  sites — that 
here  to  the  right,  Howland  had  his  por- 


Cann   street,   looking  toward  the  sea. 


OLD  PLYMOUTH  PATH  NEW  TEOD. 


157 


tion  of  land;  there,  to  the  left,  Brewster 
had  his;  farthest  beyond  him,  under  the 
lee  of  the  hill,  Winslow  had  dwelt,  neigh- 
bored by  Governor  Bradford  across  the 
roadway.  Stopping  at  the  Elder  Brew- 
ster spring  to  test  the  quality  of  its  waters 
we  pronounced  it  to  be  indeed  "delicate/" 
as  did  the  Pilgrims  before  us. 

Xear  the  spot  where  we  performed  this 
rite  in  water,  stood  the  inn,  in  an  upper 
chamber  of  which  ''Mistress  Tilly"  lay 
shrieking  in  loud  protest,  when,  happily 
for  her,  "Le  Baron"  appeared.  Next  door 
the  "French  physician"  and  his  "Mary" 
built  their  house  with  the  offending  "se- 
cret stair."  Part  of  the  "smithy"  over 
the  way  still  exists,  so  it  is  said,  in  the 
queer,  old,  shingled  gable-end  emerging 
from  the  rear  of  the  modern  block  on  the 
corner.  Though  staunch  enough,  no 
doubt,  it  looks  so  out  of  joint  with  its 
surroundings,  so  misapplied  in  use,  so 
gray,  we  should  not  have  been  surprised 
to  hear  the  clatter  of  its  parting  shingles 
or  see  it  vanish  in  a  cloud  of  its  own  crum- 
lling  dust. 


View   of   harbor,    from   Burial   Hill. 


Winslow   house,   built   1734. 


OLD  PLYMOUTH  PATH  XEW  TROD. 


159 


Hearing  that  there  lived  in  Plymouth 
a  Standish  of  the  lines  of  Miles  Standish. 
dealer  in  antiques.  \ve  wandered  down  to 
the  "Old  Curiosity  Shop."  Winslow 
Brewster  Standish.  veteran  soldier,  for- 
merly "Yankee  peddler,"1  now  enthusias- 
tic antiquarian,  himself  opened  the  door 
and  bade  us  enter.  We  had  been  told 
that  in  person  he  so  much  resembled  his 
ancestor  that  for  the  figure  of  the  watch- 


belonged   to    the    Pilgrim,    whatever   his 
humor. 

Fate  could  not  have  been  kinder  to  our 
wish  than  to  give  us  the  hour  we  spent 
in  the  dim  interior  of  the  little  shop. 
.Had  the  place  been  one  less  crowded — 
nay.  crammed  and  jammed — our  content, 
too.  had  been  less.  We  went  up  the 
roughly-finished  stairway  to  the  loft, 
entertainer  showed  us  piece  after  piece  of 


Harlow    House. 


f  ul  captain  in  the  bas-relief  of  Plymouth's 
big  monument,  the  sculptor  chose  him  as 
his  model,  and  tracing  in  fancy  the  linea- 
ments of  that  other  face  in  his,  the  coun- 
tenance we  conjured  up,  whether  a  faith- 
ful portraiture  or  not,  might  well  have 
been  that  of  "Standish  of  Standish"  in 
pacific  mood.  The  firm  line,  the  candid 
brow,  the  play  of  intelligent  expression 
where  our  good  antiquary  and  courteous 


beautiful  old  furniture.  Mr.  Standish 
has  the  unaffected  pride  of  the  collector, 
and  we  recall  the  loving  satisfaction  with 
which  he  softly  drew  his  hand  across  th* 
sheen  of  a  Chippendale,  exquisite  in  out- 
line. 

He  also  showed  us,  too,  just  such  an- 
other chest,  brought  over  seas,  as  im- 
prisoned the  hapless  bride  of  the  tragic 
tale ;  of  black  oak,  huge,  with  rounded  top, 


OLD  PLYMOUTH  PATH  XEW  TKOD. 


161 


Grave  of  Governor  Bradford. 


and  bound  with  hand- wrought  iron.  Had 
we  noticed  its  lock?  And  he  explained 
how  it  was  that  when  the  lid  of  the  chest 
closed  upon  the  luckless  lady  of  the  le- 
gend, the  peculiar  device  of  the  fastening 
prevented  her  escape. 

Graciously  acceding  to  our  request,  be- 
fore we  came  away  Mr.  Standish  sat  to 
us  for  his  portrait,  to  which  he  gave  his- 
toric emphasis  by  placing  himself  in  a 
facsimile  of  the  familiar  Elder  Brewster 
chair,  whence  he  looked  forth  with  medi- 
tative kindliness. 

Again  slowly  mounting  Burial  Hill,  we 
lingered  awhile  to  gaze  across  the  brood- 
ing roofs  of  Plymouth  and  its  rimpling 
bay.  Where  the  shallop  long  time  ago 
took  its  hesitating,  fateful  course,  a  sin- 
gle sail  whitened  upon  the  blue.  Yester- 
day or  to-day,  heartsick  venture  of  some 
weary  Pilgrims  or  gay  passage  of  pleas- 
ure, it  was  one  to  the  shifting,  forgetful 
sea ;  but  its  smooth  and  smiling  denial  of 
v»hat  had  been  was  belied  by  the  verging 
.  shore  with  its  enduring  traces  of  the  past. 


"The    lovca.   Liook." 


By   Helen   Fitzgerald  Sanders 


Afar  in  the  azure  distance, 

O'er  the  bridge  of  the  East  and  West, 
Shines  a  point  of  perfect  whiteness 

Like  the  soul  of  a  virgin  blest. 

'Tis  not  a  mist-wreath  ascending 
To  wanton  with  the  sun — 

'Tis  the  white  Sea  Gull  returning, 
His  trackless  journey  done. 


Upborne  on  the  fresh'ning  zephyr, 
Poised  high  on  his  outspread  wings, 

He  comes  from  beyond  the  distance 
Where  the  am'rous  East  Wind  sings. 


The  sweep  of  the  sea  he  has  circled, 
He  has  sat  on  the  splint' ring  wreck, 

The  shrieking  gale  he  has  answered, 
He  has  followed  the  storm  clouds'  beck. 


THE  SEA  GULL. 

On  the  swell,  in  -the  lang'rous  tropics, 

He  has  drifted  in  the  calm, 
On  the  West  coast  he  has  listed 

To  the  thunder's  loud  alarm. 

He  has  seen  the  ice  bergs  shiver 

In  the  arctic  realm  of  night. 
He  has  perched  on  isles  of  coral 

In  the  course  of  his  world-wide  flight. 

He  has  seen  the  lightening  springing 
From  out  the  dark  sky's  womb, 

He  has  ridden  the  hoar  waves  rising 
In  clouds  of  lashing  spume. 

The  elements  in  convulsion, 
The  bite  of  the  stinging  spray, 

The  wedding  of  wind  and  ocean 
And  the  fruit  of  their  awful  play, 

Have  rung  in  his  heart  and  wakened 

His  lust  for  the  reinless,  free 
Disport  of  the  storm-wrenched  ocean 

That  speaks  of  eternity. 

The  shrill  note  his  deep  throat  utters 

Sounds  of  the  wind  and  wave, 
Sounds  of  the  sweep  of  the  ocean 

And  the  rush  of  the  tides  that  rave. 

Bird  of  the  awful  water, 

Thou  traveler  of  pathless  seas, 
Marker  of  courses  unmarked 

Through  two  infinities; 

0  !  thou  in  the  still  air  drifting 
Like  Hope  in  a  peaceful  breast, 

Set  like  a  promise  above  us, 
A  promise  of  final  rest: 

Safe  from  thy  measureless  journey, 

Homeward  thou  cometh  once  more. 
May  Man  not  hope  for  such  mercy  . 
When  the  voyage  of  Life  is  o'er? 


163 


Trasft 


BY    WALTER    SCOTT    HASKELL 


DEAD-Snake-Come-to-Life  trans- 
ferred the  piece  of  government 
tripe  from  the  tin  plate  to  his 
mouth,  and,  with  a  few  preliminary  jaw 
contortions,  did  the  swallowing  act.  After 
which  he  rubbed  his  stomach  with  a  con- 
tented grunt,  and  regarded  the  agent  who 
had  just  entered,  with  a  complacent  stare 
inviting  speech. 

"I  have  come — "  began  the  Agent. 

"Sit!"  said  Dead-Snake-Come-to-Life 
pointing  to  a  wooden  bench  in  the  corner 
of  the  room. 

The  Agent  accepted  this  mark  of  good 
breeding  and  deposited  his  two  hundred 
pounds  of  avoirdupois  in  the  middle  of 
the  long  bench — he  always  took  the  mid- 
dle of  everything,  when  he  could  get  it. 

"I  have  come,"  resumed  the  Agent,  "to 
settle  up  that  little  land  affair.  You  say 
you  'will  take  five  acres  of  improved  land 
and  sign  the  papers  ?  I  will  give  you  five 
acres  providing  you  will  accept  any  piece 
in  the  reservation  that  I  choose  to  allot. 
Here  are  the  papers,  now  sign  if  you  want 
to  make  the  trade." 

The  old  Indian  hitched  his  pants  and 
looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment.  He  had 
just  dined  and  the  world  seemed  good  to 
him,  he  wasn't  particular  about  terms  so 
long  as  he  had  a  piece  of  land  on  which  to 
erect  his  tepee,  do  a  little  truck  farming 
and  provide  for  his  squaw  and  papooses. 
That  was  better  than  his  interest  in  an 
unimproved  section,  and  he  accepted  the 
Agent's  terms  and  made  his  cross  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses.  The  Agent  smiled, 
folded  and  pocketed  the  paper,  then 
walked  away. 

Dead-Snake-Come-to-Life  watched  the 
white  man  until  he  disappeared  around 
the  corner  of  a  neighboring  shack  near 
the  depot  where  the  puffing  engine  was 
backing  freight  cars  into  a  switch.  Then 
the  Indian  leisurely  arose  and  walked  out 
to  view  his  late  acquired  possessions.  He 
knew  the  North,  South  and  West  boundary 
linos,  for  the  agent  had  explained  it  to  him 
and  also  that  the  land  extended  East  to  a 


red  stake  driven  in  the  ground.  He  rubbed 
his  stomach  in  anticipation  as  he  walked 
toward  the  west  line,  but  his  countenance 
fell  when  he  found  the  corner  stakes,  one 
on  each  side  of  a  fence.  His  land  was  all 
long,  and  no  wide;  and  the  improvements 
were  the  fence  which  run  the  entire 
length.  His  land  was  just  one  foot  wide, 
six  inches  on  each  side  of  the  fence,  a  wire 
i'ence  at  that. 

"Ugh !  white  man  heap  cheat  I"  mut- 
tered the  old  Indian  as  he  gazed  ruefully 
at  the  situation.  He  seemed  dazed,  and 
at  a  loss  to  find  swear  words  in  any  lan- 
guage that  quite  expressed  his  feelings. 
He  finally  resorted  to  silence,  and  medita- 
tions of  revenge. 

The  next  dav  when  Dead-Snake-Come- 
to-Life  met  the  agent  in  their  casual  deal- 
ings, his  demeanor  was  stiff  politeness. 
Nothing  more,  but  in  the  left  corner  of 
his  drooping  eye  there  was  an  occasional 
flash  as  of  a  tiny  spark;  just  as  a  volcano 
will  throw  out  little  shoots  as  a  prelim- 
inary to  something  of  more  consequence. 

The  season  wore  on,  the  fall  came,  and 
with  the  great  Eailroad  strike  in  which 
all  the  roads  were  tied  up.  There  were  no 
supplies  for  the  Indian  camp,  and  they 
were  already  on  short  rations.  What  was 
to  be  done,  or  how  soon  the  strike  would 
end,  nobody  knew.  One  thing  was  certain 
they  must  have  something  to  eat.  Up 
to  this,  the  Indians  had  fared  better  than 
the  few  white  men  at  the  reservation;  for 
the  Indians  could  eat  locusts,  of  which 
there  were  a  supply.  In  fact  grasshoppers 
seemed  about  the  only  crop  that  the  land 
produced,  and  it  was  overrun  with  them. 

Dead-Snake-Come-to-Life  viewed  the 
situation.  He  heard  the  Agent  say:  "no 
more  government  supplies  until  the  strike 
is  over."  He  figured  out  that  locustes 
would  be  in  demand,  and  decided  to  lay 
in  a  supply.  He  did.  He  also  made  a 
discovery.  His  fence,  a  fine  wire  affair, 
was  a  locust-catcher.  All  he  had  to  do 
was  to  drive  them  up  against  the  fence 
where  they  got  tangled ;  and  then  he 


THE  GKASSHOPPEK  TRUST. 


165 


would  bag  them.  He  thought  it  just  as 
well  to  do  this  all  by  himself,  he  and  his 
subordinates,  and  did  not  take  the  white 
men  into  confidence.  It  leaked  out,  how- 
ever, and  the  Agent  knew  that  old  Dead- 
Snake-Come-to-Life  was  laying  in  sup- 
plies of  locusts  on  the  quiet.  He  had 
reason  to  believe  that  this  was  a  wise  pre- 
caution, and  that  the  Indian's  intuition 
was  at  times,  almost  infallible.  In  fact 
the  Agent  felt  very  uneasy,  for  he,  him- 
self was  reduced  to  eating  locusts.  They 
wasn't  bad,  the  way  the  Indians  fixed  them 
and  they  sometimes  ate  them  raw;  but 
still  they  were  grasshoppers,  and  it  was 
humiliating  to  say  the  least. 

The  drought  came  along  with  the  strike 
and  the  grasshoppers  died,  there  were  no 
more  to  be  had,  except  what  the  wire 
fence  had  caught  and  that  was  a  secret. 
When  the  agent  put  on  a  long  face,  old 
Dead-Snake-Come-to-Life  rubbed  his  sat- 
isfied stomach  and  smiled.  He  knew. 

One  day  the  chief  had  a  visitor  in  his 
cabin.  It  was  the  Agent.  "I  hear  that 
you  have  a  supply  of  locusts  cached  some- 
where around  here.  I  want  them,"  began 
tl  e  latter  with  a  braggadocio  air  that  he 
didn't  feel. 

"Una !  locusts  good,"  commented  the 
chief  eyeing  his  guest. 

"Can  I  'have  some?  If  you  don't  give 
them  up  you'll  be  made  to,  you  know/' 

Dead-Snake-Come-to-Life  knew  very 
well  that  there  were  more  than  one  hun- 
dred Indians  ready  to  take  up  the  toma- 
hawk at  the  word  and  only  about  a  dozen 
white  men ;  and  the  Agent  knew  that  the 
Indian  knew. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  Agent  with  a 
sickly  hue  settling  over  his  rotund  face, 
"the  government  will  pay  well  for  your 
locusts.  How  much  do  you  want  for  say, 
twenty-five  large  ones?" 

"Eighteen  dollars,"  peremptorily  de- 
manded the  chief  with  a  sly  rub  at  his 
abdomen. 

"Eighteen  dollars !"  fairly  screamed  the 
Agent  as  h3  realized  to  what  extent  he 
vraj  "up  against  it."  "Eighteen  dollars 
is  too  much.  I'll  pay  you  two  dollars  and 
a  half—" 

The  -red  man  didn't  move  an  eyelash  at 
th^  offer;  he  simply  grinned,  an  exasper- 
ating I've-got-you-now  sort  of  grin.  It 
maddened  the  white  man,  and  he  would 
liked  to  have  done  things,  but,  us  it  was 


he  smothered  his  wrath,  and — paid  the 
eighteen  dollars  and  took  away  twenty- 
five  fat  grasshoppers.  It  served  to  keep 
life  in  the  Reservation  Overseers  until  the 
next  day.  Then  hunger  drove  the  Agent 
back  to  the  plutocrat  chief  with  his  corner 
en  grasshoppers. 

"Say,  look  a  here,  chief.  We  got  to 
have  some  more  grasshoppers  and  what'll 
you  take  for  a  bushel.  The  strike  is  liable 
to  be  over  any  time.  I  think  the  rain  will 
be  through  by  to-morrow  or  next  dav  at 
the  latest.  I've  telegraphed  for  supplies, 
you  know  ?  And  when  the  supplies  come, 
and  the  government  soldiers — why,  there'll 
be  plenty. 

"Not  much  plenty  now!"  grunted  the 
chief  twisting  in  his  seat  and  showing  the 
whites  of  his  eyes.  "Grasshoppers'  riz. 
One  thousand  dollars  bushel — heap  good.'' 

"Dam !  I  mean — well,  ain't  you  a  little 
steep?  I'll  pay  you  anything  reasonable, 
say—" 

"Nothin'  doin'  "  said  the  Indian  air- 
ing his  knowledge  of  acquired  slang,  anil 
looking  extremely  pleased  about  some- 
thing. 

The  Agent  took  out  his  wallet  and  paid 
the  money  without  a  word  of  protest  fur- 
ther. Dead-Snake-Come-to-Life  lifted  a 
flag  from  the  floor  of  the  cabin  and  took 
from  his  cache  one  bushel  of  the  meat 
supply  and  turned  it  over  to  his  purchaser. 
The  Agent  went  away  inwardly  cussing. 

Three  days  passed,  during  which  the 
wires  were  kept  hot  with  messages  to  the 
East  from  the  locust-fed  Agent,  demand- 
ing immediate  supplies — starving,  was  one 
of  the  words  that  the  Morse  code  spelled 
out.  The  inevitable  reply  was,  ."Strike 
still  on — road  tied  up.  Will  send  first 
chance." 

The  bushel  of  locusts  was  consumed, 
and  the  white  men  went  without  food  for 
one  day,  for  the  sake  of  their  dignity. 
Nature  was  too  pressing,  and  at  last  the 
Agent  stole  softly  to  the  wigwam  of  old 
Dead-Snake-Come-to-Life.  When  com- 
manded to  "sit"  the  Agent  did  not  take 
the  usual  "middle-of-the-bench."  He  sat 
on  the  extreme  end. 

"I  have  come,"  said  the  Agent  as  ne 
stroked  the  little  moustache  on  his  emaci- 
ated face,  "to — to — get — a — few — locusts. 
I  want  say,  a  bushel  and  a  half.  I  think 
the  train  will  be  in  by  to-morrow 
noon  sure." 


166 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


"Locusts  riz,"  answered  the  chief  shak- 
ing his  belly  'and  looking  happy  and 
mirthful. 

"How  much?" 

"Five  thousand  dollars  a  bushel." 

"By  hell,  this  is  too  much !  I  swear !  Oh, 
say,  chief,  don't  be  a  hog — I — I — I'll  give 
you — " 

"Locusts  heap  good,"  commented  the 
chief  smacking  his  lips  to  accompany  his 
remarks. 

"Say,  chief,  I  haven't  got  the  money,  I 
couldn't  give  you  so  much — but  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  give  you  a  quarter 
section  of  land  and  make  out  the  papers 
now." 

The  chief's  eyes  sparkled  and  he  could 
not  resist  a  sly  rub  at  his  ^tomach,  which 
seemed  to  be  laughing  all  within  itself. 
Little  waves  of  mirth  rose  up  from  some- 
where in  his  anatomy,  and  tickled  his 
palate  immensely. 

"Good !"  said  the  chief.  "Me  take  quar- 
ter section." 

The  right  of  deed  was  made  out  and 
signed  and  the  locusts  delivered  from  a 
big  cache  just  back  of  the  tepee.  The 
land  in  question  included  that  on  which 
all  the  government  buildings  were  builded, 
for  there  was  no  other  land  at  the  Agent's 
command.  Dead-Snake-Come-to-Life  in 


a  moment  of  generosity  assured  the  Agent 
that  he  could  occupy  his  present  quarters 
until  further  notice,  but  that  he,  the  In- 
dian would  doubtless  make  some  changes 
in  the  near  future,  necessitating  a  removal 
of  the  white  man's  buildings. 

The  Agent  turned  away  in  sadness  of 
heart  and  contriteness  of  spirit.  As  he 
approached  the  station  a  long  whistle 
sounded,  and  a  heavy  train  came  rolling  hi 
laden  with  provisions.  The  agonizing 
grasshopper-eating  period  was  past.  The 
Agent  resumed  his  swagger,  and  familiar 
cuss  words.  He  tried  to  make  trouble  for 
the  chief,  but  the  lawyer  who  pled  his  case 
wasn't  as  good  as  the  government  lawyer 
who  looked  after  the  Indians'  affairs.  It 
was  made  to  appear  to  Uncle  Sam  that  the 
Agent  made  a  bona  fide  bargain  in  trading 
off  the  quarter  section,  and  that  it  be- 
longed to  the  Indian  fair  and  square,  that 
grasshoppers  were  really  worth  that 
amount  under  stress  of  starvation.  The 
wily  Agent  soon  after  got  his  discharge 
from  government  service,  and  there  were 
those  who  said,  "served  him  right." 

Dead-Snake-Come-to  Life  is  now  en- 
joying his  one  hundred  and  third  year, 
and  often  tells  with  much  rubbing  of  his 
stomach,  how  he  got  even  with  the  tricky 
Agent  by  instituting  a  Grasshopper  Trust. 


Tte 


By    Samuel    G.     Hoffenstein 
I. 

Now  at  the  frosted  portals  of  the  year, 

His  snowy  locks  toss'd  by  attendant  winds, 

Hoar  winter  stands,  while  autumn,  aged  and  sear, 
Upon  the  threshold  lingering,  slow  unbinds 

The  russet  cords  from  earth,  and  sad  at  heart, 
Blows  his  last  blast  all  ready  to  depart. 

II. 

Then  winter's  clarions  ring  thro'  chill  air, 
And  all  the  land  in  sombre  pride  arrayed, 

Bows  to  the  victor,  as  his  chargers  tear 

O'er  the  unflower'd  ground  in  swift  parade 

And  claim  dominion;  now  he  rules  in  state, 

-Till  spring's  light  laughter  trembles  at  the  gate. 


BY    NATHANIEL    J.    MANSON 

(Continued  from  November  Number.) 


The   fair   maid   of    Chapala. 

WHILE  many  of  the  streets  of 
Mexico  are  excellent,  particu- 
larly those  named  in  a  previ- 
ous article,  as  well  as  those  in  the  Ameri- 
can quarter,  yet  if  one  threads  his  way 
into  the  poorer  sections  of  the  city,  he 
finds  not  only  very  narrow  but  muddy, 
unpaved  and  filthy  streets.  This  condi- 
tion may  tempt  even  a  stranger  to  inquire 
whether  the  duties  and  obligations  *  of 
Government  extend  to  the  poorest  classes. 
Their  streets  should  be  at  least  sanitary. 
The  commonest  regard  for  even  the  higher 
classes  requires  this.  An  epidemic  of 
typhus  or  of  typhoid,  once  well  under 
way.  might  reach  every  quarter  of  the 
city.  The  physical  condition  prevailing 
in  and  near  the  City  of  Mexico,  namely, 
water  from  the  lakes,  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  surface  of  the  ground,  and  the 
rarified  atmosphere,  seem  to  imperatively 
require  not  only  such  constructions  as  the 
Viga  Canal,  but,  what  is  well  done  in 


some  quarters,  asphalt  or  bituminous  rock 
pavement  throughout  every  street  in  the 
city. 

If  the  poorest  citizens  of  Mexico  were 
given  wide  and  paved  streets,  and  were 
required  to  sweep  them  or  have  them 
swept,  twice  a  day,  it  would  tend  in  a 
short  while,  among  other  good  results,  to 
cause,  perhaps  to  fix,  habits  of  personal 
cleanliness.  If  in  addition  to  this  Gov- 
ernmental work  the  wealthy  and  philan- 
thropic citizens  should  endow  hospitals, 
baths,  schools,  etc.,  what  a  lustration, 
what  an  awakening  there  would  be !  After 
all,  it  is  the  men,  women  and  children  of 
a  country  which  make  that  country  great 
and  good  or  small  and  bad. 

The  method  adopted  for  naming  and 
numbering  streets  is  antiquated  and  con- 
fusing. On  most  streets,  you  cannot 
travel  more  than  a  block  or  two  before 
the  name  of  the  street  changes.  For  in- 
stance, you  start  on  Patoni  street,  and  go 
a  block,  and  the  street  is  Avanida 
Juarez.  You  go  three  blocks  further  and 
the  name  changes  to  San  Francisco  street, 
and  later  to  Professor  street.  The  num- 
bering is  as  confusing  as  the  changes  in 
name. 

But  while  the  streets  of  Mexico  have 
too  many  names  and  the  numbering  is  ex- 
asperating, no  complaint  can  be  made 
about  the  cleanliness  of  the  boulevards 
and  main  business  streets.  WMte  wings 
are  numerous,  and  they  are  workers.  Each 
man  seems  to  be  held  responsible  for  the 
condition  of  just  so  much  of  the  street, 
and  he  keeps  it  clean. 

The  method  of  handling  goods  and  mer- 
chandise of  all  kinds  has,  of  course, 
changed  greatly  with  the  advent  of  rail- 
roads and  of  express  and  transfer  com- 
panies, yet  throughout  the  Republic  the 
fact  can  be  recognized  that  long  before 
the  conquest,  the  Indians  employed  and 
used  an  immense  number  of  human  pack- 
ers or  porters.  The  work  at  this  day 
done  by  the  descendants  of  the  ancient 
porter,  who  not  infrequently  carried  on 


Cathedral  of  Guadalajara  and  the  square  or  plaza  for  parades. 


his  shoulders  or  back  from  300  to  400 
pounds  from  sea  to  sea,  is  simply  as- 
tounding. If  you  want  a  piano  moved, 
four  men  will  pick  it  up  and  carry  it 
three  or  four  miles.  They  move  with  it  in 
a  peculiar  and  light  trot.  Do  you  want 
your  trunk  moved?  Call  for  a  carga- 
dore.  He  will  carry  it  on  his  back  to  any 
place  in  the  city  quicker  than  you  can 
walk  there.  These  porters  or  cargadores 
carry  anything,  stone,  brick,  ore,  fre- 


quently the  sick  while  seated  in  a  kind 
of  chair,  even  a  dead  man  in  his  coffin. 
It  is  a  question  which  is  the  greater  pack 
animal,  the  Indian  or  his  burro.  The  skill 
and  extent,  however,  with  which  the  In- 
dian can  tie  innumerable  things  on  to  the 
back  of  the  burro,  and  the  docility  of  this 
animal,  leads  to  the  somewhat  doubtful 
conclusion  that  the  burro  carries  most. 

When  Cortez  besieged  Mexico,  in  addi- 
tion to  his  host  of  porters  carrying  army 


A  village  In  the  hot  country. 


THE  CITY  OF  MEXICO. 


169 


supplies,  he  employed  3,000  Indian  por- 
ters, furnished  by  his  Tlaxcalan  allies, 
to  carry  the  material  with  which  to  build 
his  brigantines  on  the  lakes  surrounding 
Mexico.  This  material  had  to  be  carried 
through  an  extremely  rough  country  for 
one  hundred  miles. 

The  Indian  carrier,  or  cargadore,  even 
when  heavily  loaded,  moves  in  a  light 
and  springy  trot,  not  unlike  that  of  the 
Chinese  vegetable  peddler  that  is  seen  in 
and  around  San  Francisco.  There  are 
many  respects  in  which  the  Indian  re- 
sembles the  Oriental.  The  chief  doubt 
now  seems  to  be.  not  whence  his  origin, 


Any  well  informed  or  observant  traveler 
must  say  that  there  is  not  in  America  a 
more  orderly  city  than  Mexico.  Its  police 
are  numerous,  vigilant  and  well  armed. 
They  are  strictly  accountable  for  order. 
You  cannot  pass  a  single  block  without 
meeting  at  least  one  policeman.  He  car- 
ries a  pistol  strapped  around  his  waist, 
and  the  usual  police  club.  At  night, 
though  the  streets  are  well  lighted  by 
electricity,  he  carries  a  lantern.  However 
late  you  may  be  out,  you  will  find  a  police- 
man every  block,  standing  usually  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  crossings  with  his 
lighted  lantern  in  his  hand.  Though  you 


The  boat  house  on  Chapala. 

but  how  did  he  get  here?  By  Behring 
Straits?  Or  was  some  early  adventur- 
ous or  unfortunate  Asiatic  or  Egyptian 
mariner  storm  swept  far  from  his  course 
to  these  shores?  Did  both  routes  con- 
tribute to  the  early  passenger  transporta- 
tion from  Asia  to  America,  and  is  the 
Indian  a  kind  of  cross  between  the  Tar- 
tar, the  Malay,  the  Chinaman  and  the 
Jap? 

It  was  not  a  great  many  years  ago  that 
Mexico  had  the  reputation  of  being  badly 
policed,  and  of  not  safeguarding  either 
life  or  property.  This  is  all  changed. 


are  a  stranger  in  a  strange  city,  and  out 
late,  you  feel  no  fear  of  being  held  up. 
There  is  also  a  large  force  of  mounted  po- 
lice on  duty  night  and  day.  They  in  a 
measure  supervise  the  infantry  police. 
Throughout  the  Kepublic  brigandage, 
once  the  scourge  of  Mexico,  has  been  quite 
as  nearly  extinguished  as  in  other  coun- 
tries, by  the  operation  of  the  severe,  but 
salutary  law  which  condemned  every  bri- 
gand to  death,  and  made  his  trial  sum- 
mary. The  great  improvement  in  this- 
country  in  the  la^t  forty  years  is  shown  in 
the  marked  decrease  in  crime.  The  laws 


Types  of  Indians. 


are  now  effectively  administered  in  all  ex- 
cept the  wildest  regions. 

On  the  northern  frontier,  particularly 
the  frontier  section  in  the  State  of  So- 


A  mail  carrier  from  Huatusco  to  Jalapa. 


nora,  there  is  more  crime  and  less  recog- 
nition of  legal  authority  than  as  you  pro- 
ceed southward.  The  reason  is  not  far 
to  seek.  The  brigands  and  law  defiers  of 
one  country  take  shelter  in  the  other. 
Xear  the  dividing  line  is  the  port  of 
refuge.  The  region  south  and  east  of 
Guymas  in  the  vicinity  of  the  upper 
reaches  of  the  Yaqui  river,  is  wild  and 
largely  unexplored.  Danger  confronts 
the  traveler,  prospector  or  settler  here 
from  two  sources — the  robber  and  the 
Yaqui  Indian,  and,  unless  caught  in  the 
act,  the  one  shifts  the  responsibility  for 
his  crime  on  the  other. 

The  population  of  the  Eepublic  is  ap- 
proximately between  thirteen  and  four- 
teen millions.  Of  this,  about  5,000,000 
are  the  native  aborigine  or  Indian. 
About  7,000,000  are  mixed  or  Mestizos. 
The  stock  of  this  mixed  population  is  In- 
dian; on  it  is  grafted  the  European, 
chiefly  the  Spaniard.  There  are  between 
one  and  two  millions  of  the  white  race, 
and  tbeir  descendants. 

Class  and  caste  abound  in  Mexico.  Yet 
a  certain  politeness  and  consideration  is 
shown  the  poor  man — much  more  than  in 
most  countries.  Indeed,  the  ideal  of  the 
Mexican  appears  to  be  politeness.  If, 
like  the  white  man,  he  is  after  dollars, 
he  does  not  make  it  quite  so  prominent. 
The  children,  at  home,  in  school,  or  in 
the  street,  have  usually  a  certain  grace 


Evidently  not  a  believer  in  race  suicide. 


of  manner  that  is  inherently  polite  and 
charming.  The  parents  and  teachers  of 
these  children  must  be  polite. 

The  Young  Men's  Christian  Associa- 
tion seems  to  have  become  a  recognized 
institution  of  the  city.  Its  membership 
is  widely  distributed  and  quite  numerous, 
over  one  thousand.  It  includes  among  its 
members  cabinet  officers.  Senators,  rail- 
road presidents,  bank  presidents,  engi- 
neers, clerks,  etc.  Theoretically,  at  least, 
and  notwithstanding  caste,  it  is  open  to 
all  men  irrespective  of  religious  views 
and  beliefs,  as  well  as  occupation  or  na- 
tionality. 

There  are  two  branches  of  this  asso- 
ciation :  one  the  English  speaking  branch, 
at  Puente  Alvarado,  Xo.  4,  and  the  other 
the  Spanish  speaking  or  Mexican  branch 
at  Patoni  Xo.  1,  near  the  Paseo  de  la  Re- 
forma.  The  organization  seems  to  com- 
bine the  features  of  a  club,  with  those 
of  a  school,  gymnasium,  library,  billiard 
and  game  rooms,  bowling  alleys,  etc.,  in 
one  ensemble.  Its  motto  seems  to  be  good 
fellowship,  and  its  end  right  living.  Its 
schools  of  Spanish  supply  a  need.  They 
are  cheap  and  good.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  its  English  schools,  which  are 
usually  combined  with  an  English  or  com- 
mercial course.  There  are  frequent  lec- 
tures upon  practical  and  technical  topics 
by  trained  men.  The  Mexicans  do  well 
in  these  branches;  they  also  take  a  keen 


interest  in  athletic  sports,  both  in  the 
gymnasium  and  in  the  field,  and  the  as- 
sociation numbers  among  its  members 
some  first  class  athletes.  Their  fondness 
for  these  sports  is  perhaps  in  part  due 
to  the  fact  that  few  games  and  fewer  out- 


Guadalajara. 


172 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


door  sports  have  hitherto  been  provided 
for  them. 

Much  might  be  written  of  the  old 
churches  and  cathedrals,  their  higlj 
domes  and  lofty  towers,  their  rich  adorn- 
ment's, the  Indian  worshipers,  their  de- 
voutness,  but  for  these  to  be  appreciated 
they  should  be  visited.  Something  should 
be  said,  however,  about  the  cathedral, 
the  Saint  Peters  of  Mexico.  It  fronts  on 
the  Zocalo,  or  plaza  de  armas,  and  it  is 
but  a  short  distance  from  the  National 
Palace  also  fronting  on  the  Zocalo.  Cor- 
tez  founded  the  original  church  in  1525. 
He  built  it  chiefly  from  material  taken 
from  the  temple  near-by.  King  Philip 
II  of  Spain,  in  1573,  undertook  the  erec- 
tion of  a  larger  and  more  dignified  cathe- 
dral in  its  place.  The  whole  building 
now  covers  a  vast  area  of  about  400  by 
200  feet,  with  about  175  feet  from  the 
floor  to  the  key  of  the  dome.  It  was 
pretty  well  completed  in  1656.  The  tow- 
ers were  not  finished,  however,  until  over 
one  hundred  years  later.  From  these 
towers  a  splendid  bird's-eye  view  is  ob- 
tained of  the  city;  indeed,  of  the  whole 
valley  of  Mexico,  including  the  l?kes. 

The  cathedral  stands  on  the  site  of  the 
ancient  Teocalli,  or  temple  of  the  Aztecs 
— the  temple  with  120  steps  which  over- 
looked the  camp  of  Cortez  while  he  held 
Moctezuma  prisoner,  and  from  the  top  of 
which  his  troops  were  so  severely  har- 
assed by  the  natives;  Cortez  finally  took 
the  temple  by  storm,  and  in  the  hand  to 
hand  fight  on  the  top  was  nearly  thrown 
to  the  pavement  below  and  killed,  as  were 
manv  of  the  combattants,  his  strength 
and  agility  alone  saving  him.  It  occu- 
pies what  is  even  now  the  heart  of  the 
city— the  point  from  which  travel  and 
much  business  radiates,  but  of  late  years 
Mexico  has  grown  very  considerably  to- 
wards the  west  and  south,  and  the  Palace, 
Cathedral  and  Zocalo  no  longer  occupy 
either  the  business  or  geographical  center 
of  the  city. 

The  Cathedral  has  in  times  past  been 
the  recipient  of  immense  donations  from 
wealthy  Spaniards  and  mining  kings, 
as  well  as  other  kings,  notably  Carlos  the 
Fourth  of  Spain,  and  it  is  enriched  and 
embellished  with  numerous  gildings,  stat- 
ues, frescoes,  golden  candelabra,  onyx  col- 
umns, pulpits  and  basins,  and  with  many 
fine  paintings,  some  of  which  are  said  to 


be  by  Murillo.  The  entrance  to  the 
choir  is  before  the  fourth  pair  of  columns 
and  is  separated  by  a  high  grating  of  tum- 
bago,  a  combination  of  gold,  silver  and 
copper,  which,  with  the  ballustrade  of  the 
passageway  to  the  choir  and  tabernacle, 
weighs  twenty-six  tons. 

It  may  to  some  appear  sacrilegious  to 
estimate  in  money  the  value  of  this  site, 
the  vast  edifice  and  its  massive  and  in 
some  respects  rude  adornments,  yet  it 
has  been  placed  as  high  as  one  hundred 
millions  of  dollars.  The  churches  cer- 
tainly grow  immensely  wealthy,  and  ths 
people  correspondingly  poor.  Is  it  much 
to  be  wondered  at  that  the  Government, 
during  the  Juarez  administration,  found 
it  necessary,  as  did  Henry  the  Eighth  of 
England,  to  sequester  the  property  of 
the  churches? 

No  tourist  should  fail  to  visit  the  Pan- 
teon  de  San  Fernando  and  the  tomb  of 
Juarez,  made  beautiful  and  eloquent  of 
national  grief  by  the  chisel  of  Islas.  Of 
all  Mexico's  great  patriots,  no  name  is 
dearer  to  the  hearts  of  her  people  than 
that  of  Benito  Juarez.  Busts,  paintings 
and  statues  of  him  are  seen  everywhere. 
Plazas,  avenues  and  cities  are  named  af- 
ter him.  He  was  an  Indian,  as  is  Dia/,. 
At  twelve  years  he  was  unable  to  read  or 
write.  He  became  a  hard  student.  He 
rose  to  the  Chief  Justiceship.  He  rose 
higher — he  was  the  leader  of  the  liberal 
party  and  President  of  the  Eepublic.  Dur- 
ing the  war  between  the  States,  in  the 
United  States,  Maximillian,  aided  by  Na- 
poleon- III,  of  France,  drove  Juarez  out 
of  the  country,  established  the  empire  un- 
der Maximillian,  and  proscribed  the 
Juarez  adherents.  His  measures  were 
unpopular.  Juarez,  gaining  strength,  re- 
turned, and  Maximillian's  French  troops 
having  sailed  from  Mexico,  chiefly  because 
of  the  demands  and  firm  attitude  of  the 
United  States,  Maximillian  found  himself 
besieged  by  Juarez  at  Queretaro,  where 
he  was  finally  defeated  and  captured. 
Juarez  caused  him  and  his  two  principal 
generals,  Miramon  and  Mejia,  to  be  tried. 
All  were  convicted  and  shot.  Maximil- 
lian's body  lies  with  those  of  his  ances- 
tors, in  Vienna,  but  Miramon  and  Mejia 
are  entombed  in  the  Panteon. 

Juarez,  like  Jackson  and  Lincoln,  was 
probably  more  distinguished  for  wisdom 
than  learning.  He  is  said  to  have  been 


A  washwoman  of  Mexico. 


174 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


cheerful    even    amid    reverses.      He    was 
staunch      and      incorruptible — he       died 

poor. 

*  *  *  * 

Among  the  places  of  interest  are  the 
BibUoteca  Nacional  (National  Library) 
with  about  170,000  volumes  and  an  al- 
most priceless  collection  of  historical 
manuscripts;  the  National  Palace,  front- 
ing 590  feet  on  the  Zocalo,  which,  besides 
being  the  official  residence  of  the  Presi- 
dent, contains  the  principal  Governmental 
offices,  Senate  chamber,  army  headquar- 
ters, Hall  of  Ambassadors,  etc.  The  Es- 
cuela  de  bellas  artes,  or  Art  Gallery,  called 
generally  the  San  Carlos  Academy,  con- 
tains some  notable  paintings,  the  most 


to  the  gallery  from  the  sequestered 
churches.  It  is  said  of  this  gallery  that  n 
contains  more  valuable  paintings  by  the 
old  masters  than  any  other  art  gallery  m 
America.  The  national  museum  is  es- 
pecially rich  in  antiquities,  including  the 
sacrificial  stone,  the  calendar  stone,  hide- 
ous idols,  and  sculptures  and  carvings 
from  the  Southern  States  of  Mexico  and 
Yucatan,  of  remote  and  pre-historic  an- 
tiquity. Interesting  as  is  the  archaeo- 
logical department  of  the  National  Mu- 
seum, the  historical  department,  which 
contains  a  vast  collection  of  materials  and 
objects  of  much  more  modern  date,  com- 
mencing about  the  time  of  the  coming  of 
the  Spaniards  or  the  sailing  of  Columbus, 


Juarez   avenue,    City  of  Mexico. 

striking  by  Mexican  artists  being  one 
of  Cortez  before  Moctezuma,  by  Artega. 
Las  Casas,  Protector  of  the  Indians,  by  F. 
Para;  The  Torture  of  Cuauhtemoc,  by 
Luis  Azaguirre.  The  paintings  of  the 
older  Mexican  school  are  chiefly  sacred 
and  biblical.  There  are  also  originals 
and  copies  bv  such  European  masters  as 
Van  Dyke,  Murillo  and  Eubins.  This 
academy  was  founded  by  Carlos  III  as  a 
school  of  engraving.  In  1846  the  forma- 
tion of  a  gallery  of  fine  arts  was  com- 
menced. Since  the  year  1861,  many  large 
and  some  fine  paintings  have  been  added 


and  extending  down  to  the  present  era, 
will,  be  found  equally  if  not  more  attrac- 
tive. There  is  so  much  of  romance  con- 
nected with  Cortez  and  his  handful  of 
audacious  adventurers,  and  so  much  of 
interest  felt  in  Moctezuma,  his  predeces- 
sors and  their  subjects  that  historic  remin- 
iscences of  that  period  seem  to  charm  and 
fascinate  the  mind. 

Amid  such  reminiscences  one  cannot 
forbear  speculating  as  to  the  possible  fu- 
ture of  the  Aztec  had  he  successfully  re- 
sisted the  famous  Spaniard,  his  enforced 
Government  and  civilization.  Is  it  not 


.THE  CITY  OF  MEXICO. 


a  question,  the  strong  probabilities  of 
which  lean  towards  the  affirmative,  that 
the  children  of  Anahuac — the  Aztecs — 
would,  if  left  to  themselves,  have  attained 
the  successive  stages  of  a  progressive  and 
advanced  civilization  ?  May  it  not  be  that 
some  of  their  barbarous  and  cruel  prac- 
tices were  little  understood  and  greatly 
exaggerated?  May  not  those  practices 
have  been  on  the  wane — disappearing 
from  among  them?  While  those  qualities 
which  they  possessed  and  which  went  to 
make  up  some  of  the  decencies  and  civili- 
ties of  life,  may  they  not  have  been  in  a 
liks  degree  minimized?  Civilization  seems 


studying  the  splendid  archaeological  de- 
partment of  the  National  museum,  and. 
indeed,  cannot  be  had  without  such  visit 
and  study,  yet  one  who  is  much  inter- 
ested in  the  subject  should  see  if  possible 
Teotihuacan  (the  sacred  city  of  the  gods) 
and  Cholula,  both  near  Mexico.  Xochi- 
calco,  half  a  day's  ride  on  horseback  from 
Cuernavaca,  in  the  State  of  Morelos,  and 
the  ruins  of  Mitla,  near  Oaxaca. 

The  most  striking  features  of  most  of 
these  ruins  are  pyramids  and  pyramidal 
masses  of  stone,  cement  and  earth.  These 
structures  sometimes  cover  an  area  near- 
ly, if  not  quite,  as  large  as  those  covered 


Oxen    teams,    Mexico. 

to  be  a  growth.  If  we  are  evolutionists, 
a  ud  who  is  not,  -we  were  all  worse  than 
barbarians  once.  Xow  and  then,  it  is 
true,  we  seem  to  relapse  and  take  on  some 
r~jre  or  less  hindering  and  retarding  in- 
fluences, but  they  are  removed  by  an  en- 
lightened and  progressive  people,  and  the 
sum  of  our  advances  becomes  greater  than 
tin  sum  of  our  retrogressions,  and  thus, 
si  wly,  some  progress  is  made.  Is  civili- 
zation, as  thus  denned,  for  the  white  race 
alone  ? 

While  a  fair  idea  may  be  had  of  the 
antiquities  of  Mexico   by     visiting     and 


by  the  Egyptian  pyramids;  they  are  not, 
however,  nearly  so  high,  the  pyramid  of 
the  sun,  at  Teotihuacan,  being  only  216 
feet  high,  while  that  of  the  moon  at  the 
same  place  is  150  feet  high.  The  ancient 
pottery  found  shows  richness  of  color, 
and  is  marked  with  symbolic  and  fre- 
quently aesthetic  designs.  Different  sec- 
tions possess  different  groups  of  ware, 
probably  indicative  of  tribal  individuali- 
ties and  distinctions. 

The  mural  remains  of  Mexico  are  char- 
acterized by  great  massiveness ;  the  plans 
are  sometimes  complex  and  the  area  large. 


ire 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Elaborate  figures  in  low  'relief  are  of  com- 
mon occurrence  upon  the  walls.  The  an- 
cient builders  of  this  ancient  masonry 
handled  slabs  and  columns  of  stone, 
some  of  which  were  of  enormous  size, 
weighing  over  twenty  tons.  The  Alma- 
raz  monolith  weighs  more  than  eighteen 
tons. 

About  sixty  miles  due  south  of  Mexico 
is  Cuernavaca,  4,700  feet  above  sea  level, 
capital  of  the  State  of  Morelos,  and  of  in- 
terest chiefly  because  of  its  almost  perfect 
climate,  splendid  views,  and  the  bluest  of 
blue  skies.  The  view  of  Popocatapetl 
and  of  Ixtaccihuatl  is  of  the  opposite  side 
from  that  obtained  from  Mexico,  and,  as 
you  are  nearly  3,000  feet  lower  than 
Mexico,  as  well  as  considerably  nearer 
those  volcanoes,  they  appear  higher  and 
the  view  of  them  is  finer  from  Cuerna- 
vaca than  from  Mexico.  In  passing 
southward  towards  Cuernavaca  from  the 
valley  of  Mexico,  the  route  lies  through 
the  lowest  saddle  in  the  range  of  moun- 
tains surrounding  that  valley.  This  gap 
is  at  an  elevation  of  about  10,000  feet, 
and  the  descent  from  it  to  Cuernavaca  is 


very  rapid.  In  about  35  miles  you  de- 
scend nearly  5,000  feet,  or  about  150  feet 
to  the  mile.  You  will  expect  and  find 
therefore,  a  marked  transition  in  climate. 
Here  Cortez,  master  of  the  country, 
and  free  to  choose  its  most  favored  locali- 
ties, built  his  palace  in  1530  and  founded 
a  cathedral  about  -the  same  time.  Both 
are  in  an  excellent  state  of  preservation. 
The  former  is  used  as  the  City  Hall. 
Maximillian  also  chose  a  hacienda  or 
country-seat  near  by.  The  falls  of  San 
Antonio,  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
from  the  plaza  and  hotels,  are  about  125 
feet  high,  and  are  pretty  and  attractive. 
Among  other  points  of  interest  at  Cuerna- 
vaca are  the  Borda  Gardens,  built  in  1762 
at  a  cost  of  over  $2,000,000,  by  the  old 
mining  king  of  that  name.  His  land- 
scape gardener  appears  to  have  done 
nearly  all  that  could  be  done  for  that  sum 
to  destroy  the  natural  beauties  of  the 
place.  To  see  how  effectively  this  has 
been  accomplished,  an  admission  of  25 
cents  is  charged.  The  hotels  in  Cuernavaca 
are  excellent — so  far  as  the  cuisine  is  con- 
cerned— as  good  as  any  in  the  Republic. 


By    Clarence    H.    Urner 

Passing   brief 
Are  the  tears  of  a  child, 
As  the  breath  on  a  glass, 
Or  the  dew  on  the  grass. 

But  the  grief 
Of  the  man,  passion- wild. 
Is  the  rage  of  the  sea, 
Or  the  storm  on  the  lea. 


But  relief 

Comes  to  hearts  undefiled; 
And  the  bliss  follows  paiii 
As  the  shine  after  rain. 


BY    ARTHUR    H.    DUTTON 


PROBABLY  ninety-nine  out  of 
every  one  hundred  Americans  take 
it  for  granted,  without  an  instant's 
hesitation,  that  the  names  of  the  jColum- 
bia  river  and  the  State  of  Washington 
were  inspired  by  patriotism.  Nothing 
seems  more  natural  than  the  impulse  to 
name  a  newly  discovered  river  of  impos- 
ing beauty  and  a  tract  of  picturesque 
land  after  things  so  dear  to  the  American 
heart  as  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  and  the 
Father  of  his  country. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  names  were 
due,  not  to  patriotism,  but  to  pelf.  The 
river  and  the  territory,  now  the  State, 
were  named  after  two  vessels,  the  ship 
Columbia  and  the  sloop  Washington, 
which  visited  the  northwest  coast  of  what 
is  now  the  United  States  on  a  trading  trip 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, at  the  beginning  of  the  period  when 
the  maritime  calling  was  the  favorite  of 
the  American  youth,  ocean  commerce  the 
principal  industry  of  the  new-born  coun- 
try; the  period  when  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  were  borne  to  all  parts  of  the 
earth  by  a  race  of  sturdy  sailors  which 
lives  yet  in  song  and  story. 

The  vessels  went  all  the  way  from 
New  England  to  the  far  away  Northwest 
in  search  of  the  fur-bearing  animals,  ac- 
counts of  which  had  reached  the  Eastern 
coast  a  few  years  before.  Inspired  by  the 
narratives  of  the  famous  Captain  Cook, 
whose  explorations  into  the  unknown 
waters  of  the  Pacific  had  aroused  the  civ- 
ilized world,  particularly  the  maritime 
community,  some  enterprising  merchants 
fitted  out  the  good  ship  Columbia,  under 
command  of  Captain  Kendrick,  and  the 
sloop  Washington,  Captain  Gray,  and 
despatched  them  on  the  distant  and  haz- 
ardous voyage  around. Cape  Horn,  up  the 
west  coast  of  South  and  North  America. 
The  main  object  of  the  voyage  was  to  se- 
cure the  valuable  furs  of  seals  and  sea- 
otters  with  which  the  waters  of  the  North- 
wrest  then  teemed,  even  so  far  south  as 


Cape  Flattery.  The  demand  for  the  furs 
of  these  mammals  were  highly  prized,  not 
only  in  America,  but  in  Asia  and  Europe, 
and  a  cargo  of  them  meant  a  fortune  to 
the  lucky  speculators. 

For  it  was  a  hazardous  speculation  in 
those  days.  Uncharted  waters,  along  the 
shores  of  which  there  was  but  a  vague 
knowledge,  and  regions  where  storm  and 
fog  abounded,  of  themselves  offered  great 
dangers,  added  to  which  were  the  risks 
from  the  privateers  and  pirates  which 
t-Len  swarmed  the  seas  and  from  the  sav- 
ages who  inhabited  the  lands  apt  to 
be  visited.  It  is  characteristic  of  the 
hardy  mariners  of  the  American  mer- 
chant service  of  those  days  that  they  did 
not  flinch  from  these  dangers,  but  on  the 
contrary,  rather  courted  them.  To  the 
hardships  of  rough  and  scanty  food,  in- 
different water  and  the  other  discomforts 
of  life  in  the  old  sailing  ship  days,  they 
were  already  inured. 

It  was  on  a  gloomy  autumn  day  in  1787 
that  the  Columbia  and  her  little  consort, 
the  Washington — the  latter  taken  to  enter 
shallow  harbors  where  the  large  Columbia 
could  not  go — took  their  departure  from 
Cape  Cod  and  started  on  their  long  trip. 
They  were  not  expected  back  for  three 
or  four  years  at  the  earliest.  Perhaps 
thev  would  not  return  at  all,  and  it  was 
with  a  gamblers  spirit  that  the  backers 
of  the  enterprise  watched  the  hulls  dis- 
appear beneath  the  horizon.  The  pro- 
gramme outlined  was  an  ambitious  one. 
If  the  vessels  succeeded  in  getting  a  good- 
ly cargo  of  furs,  they  were  to  proceed  to 
China  and  there  exchange  most  of  the 
furs  for  Chinese  fabrics,  tea  and  other 
prized  Oriental  fabrics.  With  the  latter 
they  were  to  return  home  by  way  of  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope,  thus  circumnavi- 
gating the  globe  on  the  voyage.  Tempest, 
treacherous  rock  and  reef,  marine  marau- 
ders and  scurvy  threatened  the  bold  sail- 
ors, but  they  cared  not. 

In  spite  of  storm,  good  fortune  favored 


178 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


the  little  expedition.  Through  the 
tropics  the  two  vessels  went  without  inci- 
dent— the  time  of  departure  had  been 
wisely  fixed  to  escape  the  hurricane  sea- 
son in  the  West  Indies.  Yet,  although 
the  Horn  was  weathered  during  the  sum- 
mer of  the  southern  hemisphere,  heavy 
gales  were  experienced,  the  little  Wash- 
ington, hardly  larger  than  a  pilot  boat, 
having  a  severe  experience,  from  which, 
however,  she  escaped  without  material 
damage. 

The  long  trip  up  the  western  coast  of 
the  two  continents  was  varied  with  an  oc- 
casional stop  for  water  and  fresh  pro- 
visions of  which  the  crews  were  sorely  in 
need.  For  thousands  of  miles  the  vessels 
traversed  the  trackless  seas,  where  few 
ships  had  ever  preceded  them.  Such  a 
thing  as  an  accurate  chart  of  the  Pacific 
was  unknown.  Captain  Cook,  Magellan, 
Vancouver  and  a  few  others  had  given 
the  world  a  general  idea  of  the  western 
coast,  and  had  determined  the  positions  of 
a  few  islands  and  headlands,  but  only  a 
few.  It  was  a  trip  into  the  unknown. 

San  Francisco — Yerba  Buena,  as  it 
was  then  known — was  passed  by,  and  the 
shore  approached  farther  north.  One  fine 
morning,  as  the  vessels  were  close  in- 
shore seeking  a  snug  anchorage,  a  great 
river  was  discovered.  Sending  boats  in  to 
reconnoiter,  Captain  Kendrick  remained 
outside,  laying  off  and  on,  for  a  couple 
of  days,  when  the  boats  returned  with  the 
tidings  that  the  stream  extended  indefin- 
itely, with  deep  water,  into  the  interior. 
Watching  for  a  favorable  opportunity, 
the  Columbia  and  the  Washington  crossed 
the  bar  and  sailed  up  the  river,  to  which 
Captain  Kendrick  gave  the  name  Colum- 
bia, in  honor  of  the  stout  ship  in  which  he 
sailed.  Landings  were  made  farther 
north,  and  the  Washington  entered  a  har- 
bor which  has  since  been  called  Gray's 
harbor,  after  Captain  Gray,  who  .gave  to 
the  surrounding  land  the  name  of  his 
sloop,  Washington. 

The  names  of  both  river  and  land  have 
been  retained  ever  since.  The  appropri- 
ateness of  them  was  never  questioned.  The 
public  at  large,  and  possibly  most  geo- 
graphers, no  doubt,  imagined  that  the 
titles  were  derived  from  those  of  the  god- 
dess and  the  President,  and  let  them 
stand,  as,  indeed,  they  would  probably 
have  done  in  any  case,  for  the  right  of 


discoverers  to  name  the  localities  they  dis- 
cover is  generally  conceded.  Yet  few  to 
this  day  suspect  that  two  vessels  of  the 
eighteenth  century  were  the  real  causes  of 
the  names. 

Naturally,  Captains  Kendrick  and 
Gray  hoisted  the  American  flag  in  the 
Columbia  river  region,  taking  possession 
in  the  name  of  the  United  States,  and  it 
is  not  unlikely  that  this  was  the  founda- 
tion, in  reality,  of  the  claim  of  this  coun- 
trv  to  the  great  territories  of  Oregon  and 
Washington. 

The  voyage  of  the  Columbia  and  the 
Washington  was  a  singularly  successful 
one  in  every  way.  Not  only  did  they  es- 
cape disaster,  and  make  valuable  geo- 
graphic discoveries,  but  they  also  earned 
handsome  profits  for  those  who  had  the 
'courage  to  send  them  forth  on  the  risky 
errand.  After  a  successful  season  on  the 
Northwest  coast,  they  crossed  the  Pacific 
and  went  to  China,  where  they  bartered 
with  the  Chinese  and  carried  back  to 
Loston  a  rich  cargo  of  rare  fabrics  and 
other  goods. 

The  Columbia  and  the  Washington 
were  the  first  American  ships  to  circum- 
navigate the  globe.  Few  of  any  nation 
had  done  so  before  them,  and  there  was 
much  doubt  as  to  whether  they  would  do 
so,  but  they  triumphantly  upheld  the 
standards  of  courage,  endurance  and  skill 
of  the  American  seaman,  which  had  al- 
ready been  established.  Upon  their  re- 
turn to  New  England,  Captains  Kendrick 
and  Gray  became  heroes.  They  came  back 
a  year  or  more  before  they  were  expected, 
and  as  the  tidings  that  they  had  been 
sighted  were  borne  to  Boston,  there  was 
a  general  outpouring  of  the  populace, 
guns  were  fired,  bands  paraded  and  the 
gallant  ships  were  gaily  decorated  in 
honor  of  the  great  achievement. 

The  Columbia  and  the  Washington 
were  the  pioneers  in  this  trade  between 
New  England  and  the  Northwest.  Af- 
ter their  return,  other  vessels  were  fitted 
out  in  rapid  succession,  and  sent  on  simi- 
lar voyages,  the  trade  as  a  general  thing 
proving  highly  profitable,  although  some 
of  the  vessels  engaged  in  it  were  lost  at 
sea,  others  were  wrecked  on  the  rugged 
coast,  and  one  or  two  fell  prey  to  hostile 
Indians.  It  was  not  until  the  war  of  1812 
that  any  great  blow  was  given  the  trade, 
but  even  from  this  it  speedily  recovered 


LAFCADIO  HEAKX. 


179 


as  soon  as  peace  had  been  declared.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
there  were  about  80  ships  and  a  number 
of  smaller  vessels  engaged  in  the  trade 
with  the  Xorthwest  from  Xew  England, 
and  it  is  recorded  that  from  June,  1800, 
to  January,  1803,  34,357  sea  otter  skins 
and  over  a  million  seal  skins  were  im- 
ported into  China  by  means  of  American 
vessels. 

It  is  related  that  ihe  Columbia,  in  en- 
tering the  river  bearing  her  name,  barely 
escaped  stranding  almost  in  the  same  spot 
where  the  United  States  sloop-of-war  Pea- 
cock came  to  grief  in  after  years.  The 
Peacock — the  same  vessel  that  was  cap- 
tured from  the  British  by  the  Hornet  in 
the  war  of  1812 — was  cruising  off  the 
Oregon  Coast,  under  command  of  Lieu- 
tenant-Commander Hudson,  U.  S.  X.,  and 


on  July  18,  1841,  while  endeavoring  to 
enter  the  river  in  thick  weather,  ran 
afehore  and  was  lost,  the  rocks  tearing 
great  holes  in  her  bottom,  but  not  before 
her  crew  was  saved.  The  men  took  to 
the  boats  and  reached  shore  without  mis- 
hap. They  were  cared  for  by  the  fur 
tiaders  and  others,  and  Hudson  managed 
to  purchase  an  American  brig,  which  was 
lying  in  the  river,  naming  her  the  Ore- 
gon, the  first  Oregon  of  the  American 
navy.  In  this  vessel  he  continued  his 
explorations,  and  made  a  survey  of  a 
large  part  of  the  Oregon  coast. 

Many  tales  could  be  told  of  the  early 
navigators  of  the  Xorthwest  coast,  but 
none  save  Magellan,  Vancouver  and  Cook 
performed  the  acts  of  Kendrick  and 
Gray;  acts,  at  least,  so  beneficial  to  the 
citizens  of  the  United  States. 


BY    RUTH    STERRY 


0  eyes  that  saw  for  half  the  world,  I  pray, 
What  wondrous  vista  didst  thou  see  to-day ; 
What  tints  of  amber  with  the  dawn  begun? 
What  shades  of  purple  when  the  day  was  done  ? 

0  eyes  that  saw  for  half  the  world,  behold, 

Our  gaze  is  shortened  since  thy  eyes  are  cold : 

Where  is  the  glorious  mirage  on  life's  sea — 

0  where  the  gleaming  light  which  beckoned  thee? 

0  eyes  that  saw  for  half  the  world  to-day, 
We  glory  with  thee  that  thy  tent  of  clay 
Is  rent  asunder:  that  thy  vision  clear 
Can  ever  range  untrammeled  There  as  Here. 


Fbuss 


BY    ELLIOTT    FLOWER 

III. — Her   Emotional   Problem. 


THE  Daughter  of  David  Riggs  had 
been  making  notes,  but  with  pen- 
cil poised,  she  now  looked  up  at 
her  father. 

"Look  out!"  cautioned  her  brother 
Tom.  "Estelle  is  going  to  uncork  an 
idea." 

"Tom,"  said  David,  reprovingly,  "you 
shouldn't  use  the  shop-talk  of  your  assr>- 
ciates.  You  mustn't  think  that  every- 
thing worth  having  lies  under  a  cork." 

"I've  been  wondering,"  said  Estelle,  ig- 
noring her  brother's  remark,  "whether 
we,  as  a  nation,  are  not  disposed  to  be 
too  excitable." 

"We  as  a  nation,"  repeated  Tom.  "That 
is  good.  I  heard  a  man  get  that  off  once 
real  well." 

"What  office  did  he  want,"  asked  David. 
"The  man  who  learns  to  roll  that  out  im- 
pressively usually  has  his  eye  on  a  place 
in  the  Congressional  delegation,  but  some- 
times he's  only  a  theoretical  reformer.  T 
have  known  a  man  to  get  a  reputation  for 
oratory  on  nothing  more  than  that." 

"Tom  couldn't,"  asserted  Estelle, 
sharply. 

"No,"  admitted  David.  "Tom's  'repu- 
tation for  oratory  has  got  to  rest  on  the 
way  he  says  'Fifty  on  Early  Bird  to  win.' '; 

"One  would  think,"  grumbled  Tom, 
"that  I  didn't  do  anything  but  enjoy  my- 
self, and  I  do." 

"Well,"  said  David,  "the  cashier  tells 
me  that  you  draw  salary,  but  that  isn't  al- 
together a  disagreeable  operation.  Some 
day  I'm  going  to  be  on  hand  when  the 
envelopes  are  passed  out,  just  for  the 


pleasure  of  seeing  you  on  the  premises." 

"You're  drifting  away  from  the  sub- 
ject," pouted  the  girl.  "Our  club  has 
been  having  a  discussion  that  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  all  the  people  of 
the  world." 

"The  Psyche  Club  ?"  asked  Tom. 

"Of  course." 

"I'll  bet  Shakespeare  had  that  club  in 
mind  when  he  said  there  was  nothing  in 
a  name." 

"I  don't  seem  to  remember  Psyche  very 
well,"  remarked  David,  "but  I  have  a 
sort  of  hazy  idea  that  she  was  a  girl  who 
dressed  in  an  open-work  sheet." 

"Psyche,"  said  Mrs.  Riggs,  looking  up 
from  her  sewing,  "was  a  girl  with  red 
hair  who  did  washing  for  us  once.  I  re- 
member her  quite  well." 

"Our  club,"  said  Estelle,  holding  fast 
to  her  main  purpose,  in  spite  of  all  ob- 
stacles, "heard  that  the  Mayor  was  going 
to  drop  all  the  women  now  on  the  city 
payroll,  so  we " 

"Where  did  you  hear  that?"  inter- 
rupted David. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  One  of  the  girls 
heard  it  somewhere.  Do  you  think  we 
would  have  been  hasty  in  taking  action 
on  the  strength  of  it?" 

"Hasty!"  exclaimed  David.  "Not  for 
this  country.  Wie're  like  the  mule  that 
kicks  first,  and  then  looks  to  see  what  he 
hit.  We're  a  mighty  thoughtful  people, 
but  we  do  our  thinking  the  day  after." 

"We  thought  it  might  seem  emotional.'' 

"Emotional  nothing!"  said  David. 
"American — purely  American.  Why, 


POUSSE  CAFE. 


181 


when  others  do  not  start  enough  rumors 
to  keep  us  active,  we  start  them  ourselves 
so  as  to  have  an  excuse  for  turning  hand- 
springs. That's  the  way  we  get  some  of 
our  issues  in  politics — put  up  something 
of  our  own  to  throw  rocks  at.  A  fool 
rumor  at  a  critical  moment  has  had  the 
whole  country  standing  on  its  head  and 
changed  a  Presidential  election  before  we 
could  decide  which  end  of  us  really  be- 
longed on  the  ground.*' 

"That's  why  women  never  will  be  a 
success  in  politics,"  remarked  Tom.  "She 
doesn't  look  pretty  in  that  attitude." 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  David 
quickly,  and  Tom  as  quickly  subsided. 

"Well,  we  thought  of  calling  on  the 
M*ayor  in  a  body,"  explained  Estelle,  "but 
Jessie  Meredith  said  it  would  be  too  much 
like  the  act  of  emotional  women." 

"Why  women?"  demanded  David. 
"Didn't  President  McKinley  have  to  sit 
on  the  reverse  lever  to  keep  us  from  rush- 
ing into  a  war  with  Spain  before  we  had 
enough  ammunition  for  our  guns?  Did 
we  not  give  a  good  imitation  of  the  little 
boy  who's  so  mad  he  can't  think  ?  Didn't 
we  get  busy  pawing  up  the  dust  just  to 
ease  our  feelings?  Why,  we  barely 
stopped  short  of  calling  McKinley  a  trai- 
tor because  he  wouldn't  let  us  go  at 
Spain  with  our  naked  fists." 

"And  the  stock  market,"  suggested 
Tom. 

"Yes,  the  stock  market's  a  man's  af- 
fair, and  it's  all  emotions — nothing  but 
emotions.  It  gets  so  emotionally  over- 
wrought one  day  that  it  has  that  tired 
feeling  the  next.  If  a  man  six  blocks 
from  the  stock  exchange  yells  'Whoop!' 
the  market  jumps  four  points,  and  nobody 
ever  thinks  of  verifying  anything.  It's 
all  rumors." 

"Somebody  must  have  said  'Boo!' 
when  I  got  in  the  market,"  said  Tom. 

"Oh,  no;  they  said  'Baa  baa!'  retorted 
David,  "and  then  they  settled  down  to  the 
job  of  shearing." 

"Well,  we  thought  we  ought  to  be  sure 
of  our  facts,"  explained  Estelle. 

"Very  un-American,"  said  David. 
"Why,  even  some  of  our  preachers  will 
jump  at  a  sensational  rumor  like  a  starv- 
ing dog  at  a  piece  of  meat.  If  a  news- 
paper should  gently  hint  to-day  that 
President  Eoosevelt  gained  pleasure  and 
relaxation  by  having  a  hundred  cats 


chained  up  back  of  the  White  House  so 
that  he  could  pick  them  off  with  an  air- 
gun,  there  would  be  preachers  who  would 
viciously  assail  him  for  cruelty  to  animals 
from  their  pulpits  next  Sunday.  We're 
too  busy  to  wait  for  verification  of  any- 
thing that  we  can  use  unverified.  Most 
of  our  reforms  are  killed  by  the  sensa- 
tional lunatics  who  make  them  ridicu- 
lous." 

"We're  not  as  emotional  as  the 
French,"  argued  Estelle. 

"Xot  from  this  side  of  the  Atlantic," 
answered  David,  "but  look  at  it  from  the 
other  side,  and  you'll  find  that  we  are. 
The  ocean  makes  the  view.  Wfe  can  see 
the  emotionalism  in  France,  the  imperial- 
ism in  England,  the  militarism  in  Ger- 
many, and  the  ignorance  and  egoism  in 
Bussia,  but  there's  only  a  halo  here  at 
home.  We're  about  as  unreasoningly 
emotional  as  any  people  on  earth.  Why. 
what  happens  when  an  automobile  runs 
down  a  man?" 

"The  poor  fellow  gets  hurt,"  volun- 
teered Mrs.  Riggs.  "I  don't  see  why  you 
ask  silly  questions,  David." 

"Yes;  and  the  mob  tries  to  lynch  the 
chauffeur,"  said  David.  "The  very  first 
thing  to  be  done  is  to  find  a  vent  for  its 
emotionalism;  investigation  can  come 
later.  It's  not  unusual  for  a  street-car 
motor-man  or  a  teamster  or  a  railway  en- 
gineer to  have  to  make  a  new  sprinting 
record  to  save  enough  of  himself  to  take 
home  to  his  wife  after  an  accident  for 
which  he  was  in  no  way  to  blame.  And 
the  very  people  who  want  to  hang  him 
will  be  kicking  the  next  day  because  the 
cars  don't  make  better  time." 

"They  are  unreasonable,"  agreed  Tom. 

"Some  of  them  are  so  unreasonable 
that  they  think  a  man  ought  to  work  for 
his  living."  said  David,  "and  they  don't 
like  it  when  some  young  fellow  merely 
makes  a  holy  show  of  himself  and  his 
monev." 

"Isn't  that  work?"  asked  Tom,  face- 
tiously. 

"Xot  when  it  comes  natural  to  him/' 
answered  David,  significantly. 

"Inherited,  perhaps,"  suggested  Tom, 
and  David  hastily  changed  the  subject. 

"Our  emotionalism  may  be  of  use  is 
the  man  who  craves  notoriety,"  he  said 
"Any  one  can  get  the  center  of  the  stage 
for  a  day  or  so  by  calling  upon  a  Legis- 


182 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


lator  or  alderman  or  other  public  official 
in  relation  to  some  matter,  and  then 
quoting  him  as  asking:  ^What  is  there  in 
it  ?'  The  public  is  always  ready  to  believe 
the  worst  of  the  men  it  elects  to  office.  'I 
know  you  must  be  a  thief/  it  says,  in  ef- 
fect, 'because  I  whooped  it  up  and  voted 
for  you/  Anyhow,  a  public  official  is 
fair  game  for  anybody  who  wants  a  little 
notoriety,  and  it's  emotionalism  that 
makes  this  the  case.  Any  fool  can  start 
a  rumor  that  will  come  close  to  making 
the  public  ride  the  object  of  it  on  a  rail." 

"Another  reason  why  women  should 
keep  out  of  politics,"  remarked  Tom. 

"We  don't  want  to  go  into  politics/' 
said  Estelle.  "We  only  want  to  solve,  the 
great  problems,  which  we  couldn't  do  if 
we  were  busy  with  other  things." 

"We  have  had  a  good  illustration  of 
American  emotionalism  in  the  outcry ' 
against  life  insurance,"  David  went  on, 
warming  up  to  his  subject.  "The  public 
fails  to  distinguish  between  the  idea  of 
insurance,  which  is  good,  and  the  prac- 
tices of  certain  insurance  men,  which  are 
.distinctly  bad.  Being  quite  properly 
aroused  against  the  men,  it  whacks  at 
everything  connected  with  insurance,  and 
every  one  who  says  a  good  word  for  even 
the  theory  of  it.  We've  simply  got  to 
be  sensational  in  everything." 

"Oh,  no,"  Estelle  assured  him,  "we 
girls  don't  intend  to  be  sensational.  But 
it  is  rather  nice  to  let  people  know  you 
are  doing  something,  don't  you  think?" 

"Oh,  delightful,"  returned  David,  with 
raillery  that  she  failed  to  detect. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  think  so,"  said  the 
girl,  relieved.  "I've  got  to  consider  that 
in  my  paper.  Do  you  think  it  would 
seem  sensational  if  we  dressed  in  knicker- 


bockers and  cleaned  certain  streets  as  an 
object  lesson  to  the  city?" 

"What !"  gasped  David.  "Oh,  no ;  that 
wouldn't  be  sensational;  that  would  be 
only  a  modest  and  gentle  hint." 
"But  it  would  be  effective?" 
"It  certainly  would  be  effective,"  said 
David  emphatically.  "It  would  have  the 
effect  of  making  a  great  public  outcry  on 
the  part  of  the  masculine  population  to 
have  the  whole  street  cleaning  business 
turned  over  to  the  girls'  clubs  of  the  city. 
But  the  women  might  not  be  so  enthusi- 
astic, and  the  managers  of  burlesque 
shows  would  raise  a  dreadful  wail  about 
unjust  competition." 


THE  GRAFTER'S  "SONG  OF  LIFE." 

Tell  me  not  in  mournful  numbers 
Life  is  but  an  empty  dream, 

Hustle  out  and  get  the  dollars, 
And  you'll  find  it  full  of  cream ! 

Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest, 

And  the  dollar  is  its  goal, 
Dust  thou  art,  the  "dust"  should  gathe'-, 

Aim  and  strive  to  grab  the  whole ! 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

It  is  folly  to  be  poor, 
By  your  Will  you  can  in  some  way 

Make  your  name  for  long  endure — 

Found  a  hospital  or  something, 
With  the  dollars  you  can't  take 

When  you  die — but  while  you're  living 
Always  be  upon  the  make ! 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing 
The  dear  Public  day  and  night, 

Still  a-grabbing,  still  pursuing 
Ev'ry  dollar  there's  in  sight. 

— Henry  Waldorf  Francis. 


tenatdte® 


BY    WARWICK    JAMES    PRICE 

May  Fortune  bring  you  of  her  best, 

May  Life  prove  all  that  you  would  know  it, 
May  Joy  perpetual  play  your  guest, — 
And  may  Love  give  you  to 

Your  Poet. 


THE  name  is  suggestive  of  the 
Southland,  of  the  land  where 
the  air  is  laden  with  the  scent  of 
the  lemon  and  the  orange,  where  balmy 
breezes  blow  and  the  soft  zephyrs  breathe 
"the  dolce  far  niente,"  and  health  is  found 
in  recreation.  The  Pintoresca  is  on  the 
electric  railroad  to  Altadena,  within  ten 
minutes  of  the  main  street  of  Pasadena, 
California.  From  its  commanding  posi- 
tion, one  may  view  a  vast  expanse  dotted 
with  homes,  and  checker-boarded  with  or-' 
ange  groves.  Comfort  is  the  chief  char- 
acteristic within  doors  at  La  Pintoresca, 
and  its  outward  appearance  suggests  the 
Pintoresca  (the  picturesque.) 

The  hotel  formerly  bore  the  name  of 
the  proprietor,  Mr.  M.  D.  Painter,  who 
still  owns  and  .manages  it  under  the 
changed  name  of  "La  Pintoresca."  Mr. 
Painter  has  re-modeled,  changed,  en- 
larged and  refurnished  the  hostelry,  add- 
ing steam  heat,  baths  and  electric  lights, 
and  every  comfort  that  the  ingenuity  of 
the  up-to-date  hotel  man  can  conceive  of 
to  benefit  his  patrons.  La  Pintoresca  is 
perfection  in  every  detail.  The  cuisine  is 
perfect,  and  the  service  unexcelled  by  any 
of  the  many  fine  hotels  of  the  Southland. 
Mr.  Painter  gives  his  personal  super- 
vision to  the  minutest  details  of  man- 
agement, and  every  guest,  be  there  one 
dozen  or  two  hundred  in  the  house  at  one 
time,  feels  that  he  or  she  is  the  one  who 


is  being  individually  cared  for,  and  that 
the  entire  and  well  disciplined  force  had 
his  or  her  particular  comfort  in  mind  as  a 
special  charge. 

Here  you  meet  guests  who  have  made  it 
a  practice  to  winter  at  La  Pintoresca,  for 
the  last  ten  to  twelve  years,  coming  again 
and  again,  with  no  desire  for  a  change. 
Mr.  Painter's  reputation  as  host  extends 
from  ocean  to  ocean,  through  the  com- 
mendations spread  by  the  thousands  who 
have  enjoyed  his  hospitality.  The  loca- 
tion of  the  hotel  has  much  to  do  with  this 
commendation  by  its  guests  and  their  re- 
current visits.  It  is  on  high  ground,  and 
it  is  most  picturesquely  situated,  just  be- 
low the  foot-hills  of  the  Sierra  Madres, 
and  stands  as  a  perfect  jewel  set  in  the 
frame  work  of  the  everlasting  hills.  Its 
proximity  to  the  mountains  gives  it  a 
fine  supply  of  pure  mountain  water. 

Because  of  the  numerous  splendid  roads 
and  the  many  attractive  spots  that  may  be 
visited  from  La  Pintoresca,  it  would  not 
be  possible  for  the  hotel  to  get  along 
without  a  perfect  livery  service,  and  this 
it  certainly  has,  and  here  may  be  secured 
anything  from  a  tally-ho  to  a  wheeled 
vehicle  of  any  kind  for  pleasure  purposes. 
The  individual  who  desires  to  ride  horse- 
back will  be  provided  with  the  best  of 
stock.  Everything  (connected  with  the 
livery  service  will  be  found  of  as  high  a 
standard  as  the  hotel  itself. 


"How  to  Speak  in  Public,"  by  Grenville 
Kleiser,  former  instructor  in  elocution 
and  public  speaking  in  the  Yale  divinity 
school,  is  a  very  readable  and  instructive 
book.  It  covers  a  wide  range,  discussing 
every  kind  of  oratory  in  a  clear  and  sim- 
ple manner,  and  containing  specimens  of 
noted  speeches,  the  delivery  of  which  is 
explained  with  care. 

Funk  &  Wagnalls  Co.,  New  York  and 
London. 


Dickens  told  us  of  a  woman  who,  los- 
ing her  lover  through  death,  just  as  she 
had  finished  arraying  herself  for  her  wed- 
ding, persisted  in  wearing  her  marriage 
garments  until  the  day  of  her  own  death. 
Such  devotion  from  a  woman  is  to  be 
taken  as  a  matter  of  fact  occurrence,  but 
from  one  of  the  masculine  gender  -t 
seems  unusual,  to  say  the  least.  Still, 
the  story  of  "The  Old  Darnman"  is  told 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


in  so  realistic  a  manner  by  Charles  L. 
Goodell,  and  withal  so  pathetically  and 
sweetly,  that  one  must  believe  in  its  sin- 
cerity, and  sympathize  with  the  sorrows 
of  the  "Old  Darnman"  himself. 

Funk  &  Wagnalls,     Publishers,     New 

York. 

*  *  * 

N.  Hudson  Moore's  "Deeds  of  Daring 
Done  by  Girls,"  exquisitely  illustrated,  id 
a  volume  well  worth  the  price  and  read- 
ing of  it.  This  is  a  series  of  stories  told 
in  an  interesting  manner  of  different  wo- 
men characters  in  history,  showing  how 
many  of  the  "gentler  sex"  have  proved 
their  ability  and  courage  in  times  of  great 
stress,  when  valor  and  bravery  were 
needed. 

Frederick    A.    Stokes    Co.,    Publishers, 

New  York. 

*  *  * 

Three  tales  of  the  sea,  one  of  deeply 
emotional  character  ("Wild  Justice"), 
one  a  sweetly  told  little  love  story  ("Blue 
Peter"),  and  the  other  ("Captain 
Christy"),  full  of  humorous  philosophy, 
comprise  the  volume,  "Beached  Keels," 
bv  Henry  M.  Hideout.  The  salty  tang  of 
the  sea,  its  fascination  and  mystery,  en- 
fold these  stories. 

Houghton,  Mjifflin  &  Co.,  Boston  and 

New  York,  Publishers. 

*  *  * 

One  breathes  the  breath  of  the  pines, 
the  spruce,  the  firs  and  the  hemlocks,  in 
reading  Stephen  Edward  White's  book, 
"The  Pass."  One  hears  the  roaring  rush 
of  mighty  waters,  the  mountain  breeze  in 
the  branches,  the  querulous  cry  of  the  jay, 
the  plaintive  note  of  the  wood  dove,  the 
merry  whistle  of  the  quail.  This  is  a 
story  of  the  wonders  of  our  great  Sierras, 
the  most  magnificent  range  of  mountains 
in  the  world. 

The  Outing  Publishing  Company,  New 

York,   Publishers.     Price,  $1.50   net. 
*  *  * 

When  John  Henderson  Miller  wrote, 
"Where  the  Rainbow  Touches  the 
Ground,"  we  wonder  what  possible  object 
he  had  in  doing  so.  This  is  a  book  around 
which  no  particular  plot  centers,  seeming- 
ly simply  a  mixture  of  extremely  foolish 
stories  which  the  principal  character 
("Bobbett")  narrates,  with  some  Indians 
thrown  in  for  a  relish. 

Funk  &  Wagnalls,  Publishers,  N.  Y. 


We  know,  after  reading  Harold  Mc- 
Grath's  "Masks  and  Faces,"  that  any- 
thing from  his  pen  will  prove  of  interest, 
and  we  are  not  disappointed  when  we  fin- 
ish "Half  a  Rogue."  This  is  a  thoroughly 
up-to-date  book,  having  love,  politics, 
jealousy,  strikes  and  unions  all  woven  in- 
to a  well-thought-out  plot  Perhaps  we 
can  cite  one  or  two  small  deficiencies  in 
the  whole  make-up  of  the  book,  and  these 
are  only  minor  ones.  To  quote : 

«  *  *  *  jje  never  speculated,  but  he 
bought  Government  bonds,  railroad  bonds, 
municipal  bonds,  for  he  had  great  faith 
in  his  country.  He  had  the  same  faith  in 
his  native  city,  too,  for  he  secured  all  the 
bank  stock  that  came  his  way." 

Webster's  definition  of  "speculate"  is : 
"To  purchase  with  the  expectation  of  a 
contingent  advance  in  value,  and  a  con- 
sequent sale  at  a  profit — often,  in  a  some- 
what depreciative  sense,  of  unsound  or 
hazardous  transactions;  as,  to  speculate 
in  coffee  or  in  sugar  or  in  bank  stock." 

So,  Harold,  you  are  a  little  mistaken 
in  your  definitions  of  words  in  this  one 
case,  at  least. 

Some  of  the  paragraphs  of  the  letter  the 
elder  Bennington  writes  to  his  son,  are 
worthy  of  mention  (young  Bennington  .is 
the  inheritor  of  the  "shops"  at  Hercula- 
neum,  the  manufacturing  town  of  which 
most  of  the  story  is  written)  as: 

"The  principle  of  unionism  is  a  noble 
thing,  but  ignoble  men,  like  rust  in  gird- 
ers, gnaw  rapidly  into  principles,  and 
quickly  and  treacherously  nullify  their 
good." 

And  again: 

"There  are  cruel  and  grasping  and  dis- 
honest employers,  who  grind  the  heart 
and  soul  out  of  men.  The  banding  to- 
gether of  the  laboring  men  was  done  in 
self-defense;  it  was  a  case  of  survival  or 
perish.  The  man  who  ^inaugurated  union- 
ism was  a  great  philanthropist.  The 
unions  began  well;  that  is  because  their 
leaders  were  honest,  and  because  there 
was  no  wolf  in  the  fold  to  recognize  the 
extent  of  power.  It  was  an  ignorant  man 
who  first  discovered  it,  and  for  the  most 
part  ignorance  still  wears  the  crown  and 
holds  the  scepter.  The  men  who  put 
themselves  under  the  guidance  of  a  dis- 


IX  THE  REALM  OF  BOOKLAXD. 


185 


honest  labor  leader  are  much  to  be  pitied. 
The  individual  laboring  man  always  has 
my  right  hand,  but  I  have  never  had  any 
particular  reason  to  admire  the  union 
leader." 

Bennington's  father  was  a  man  who 
considered  his  employee's  comfort  as  he 
would  his  own,  and  treated  them  accord- 
ingly: he  paid  them  wages  at  a  higher 
rate  than  the  union  called  for;  he  built 
gymnasiums  for  their  pleasure,  and  held 
reasonable  hours.  W[hat  a  crying  shame 
that  all  employers  of  great  and  small 
bodies  of  humans  are  not  all  like  him! 
Unionism  would  be  unnecessary,  and  the 
antagonism  between  labor  and  capital  a 
thing  unheard  of.  But  the  great  majority 
of  employers  resemble  him  not  in  the  re- 
motest respect;  hence  unions.  And  if,  in 
these  unions,  the  spirit  of  politics  and 
bribery  creeps  in,  is  not  the  same  story 
to  be  told  of  any  organization  that  the 
•world  knows  of  ?  In  all  things,  the  doings 
of  unionism  are  criticised,  the  doings  of 
capital  and  corporation  escaping,  for  the 
most  part,  adverse  comment. 

The  heads  of  the  lumber  or  coal  trust 
put  lumber  or  coal  at  so  much  a  foot  or 
ton,  arid  the  world  accepts  their  dictum 
meekly,  with  perhaps  a  few  smothered 
groans.  The  union  man  says  "My  muscle 
is  worth  so  much!"  and  the  world  throws 
up  its  hands,  and  declares  it  is  being 
robbed. 

"Half  a  Rogue"  deals  with  some  of  the 
most  vital  questions  of  the  day,  and  it  is 
•vividly  and  well  written. 

Bobbs-Merrill  Co.,  Publishers,  Indian- 
apolis, Ind. 


Gelett  Burgess  is  always  entertaining, 
•sometimes  witty,  and  his  latest  book, 
•"Are  You  a  Bromide?"  is  fully  up  to  his 
usual  good  style.  \Ve  hear  so  much  lately 
of  "bromides  and  sulphides"  among  those 
who  wish  to  be  strictly  up-to-date  that 
every  one  belonging  to  this  cult  should 
read  what  Burgess  has  to  say  about  this 
latest  word-coining.  The  Smart  Set,  in 
a  spring  issue  of  this  year,  .certainly 
started  the  use  of  these  two  expressions, 
but  it  took  Gelett  to  go  into  details  as 
to  their  exact  meaning,  and  this  he  has 
done  without  at  any  time  becoming  tire- 
some or  prosy. 

"Are  You  a  Bromide?"  by  Gelett  Bur- 


gess.    B.   W.   Huebsch,   Publisher,   Xew 
York. 

*  *  * 

Dear  little  "Merry  Lips!"  From  the 
very  beginning  of  Beulah  Marie  Dix's 
book  of  that  title,  we  become  her  stead- 
fast friend,  to  the  very  end  of  her  check- 
ered career.  Her  persistent  desire  to 
be  a  "little  gentleman"  and  the  way  that 
fate  brings  about  this  desire,  the  different 
characters  that  form  the  plot  of  this 
book,  which  is  woven  around  the  conflict 
between  "Roundheads"  and  "Cavaliers" 
in  old  England,  make  the  story  one  that 
can  be  recommended  to  any  lover  of  a 
good  tale,  well  told. 

"Merrylips,"  by  Beulah  Marie  Dii. 
The  Mbcmillan  Company,  Publishers, 
Xew  York. 

*  *  * 

There  is  just  enough  fiction  in  Alice 
Lounsberry's  "Wild  Flower  Book  for 
Young  People"  to  hold  a  child's  attention 
throughout  and  teach  it  the  lore  of  the 
woods  and  fields  without  tiring.  This 
volume  is  exquisitely  illustrated,  and  we 
recognize  many  of  our  own  wild  blossoms 
that  are  indigenous  to  this  land  of  the 
West 

"The  Wild  Flower  Book  for  Young 
People,"  by  Alice  Lounsberry.  Frederick 

A.  Stokes  Co.,  Publishers,  Xew  York. 

*  *  * 

The  aphorisms  compiled  in  this  small 
volume  of  Philander  C.  Johnson's,  en- 
t'tled  "Senator  Sorghum's  Primer  of 
Politics,"  are  the  usual  satirical,  "tried- 
awfully-hard-to-be-funny"  paragraphs. 

Henry   Altemus   Company,   Publishers, 

Philadelphia,  Pa.     50  cents. 

*  *  * 

Two  women,  one  intensely  self-centered, 
the  other  unselfish,  thoughtful  for  others, 
and  intellectual;  two  men,  one  lucky 
enough  to  win  the  latter,  the  other  un- 
happily tied  to  the  former,  a  most  inter- 
esting character,  the  East  Indian,  called 
"Swami  Ram  Juna,"  with  mention  of  a 
few  minor  characters,  serve  to  make  Alice 
Ames  Winter's  latest  book,  "Jewel  Weed," 
a  very  readable  one.  Although  this  is  the 
tale  of  some  e very-day  people  (with  the 
exception  of  "Ram  Juna"),  there  are 
several  quite  vivid  word-pictures  through- 
out the  book.  For  instance: 

"He  told  them  of  the  lumber  mills 
down  by  the  river,  where  brawny  men, 


186 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


primitive  in  aspect,  fought  with  the  never- 
ending  stream  of  logs  which  came  down 
with  the  current  and  laised  themselves 
like  uncanny  water  monsters,  up  a  long 
incline,  finally  to  meet  their  death  at  the 
hands  of  machinery  that  ripped  and 
snarled  and  clutched. 

"Who  would  dream,  to  look  at  the  great 
commonplace  piles  of  boards  that  lined 
the  river  bank  for  miles,  that  their  birth- 
pangs  had  been  so  picturesque  ?" 

Or,  again: 

"Sometimes,  when  they  walked  home 
together  at  night,  Percival  had  stories  to 
unfold  to  Norris  alone — stories  he  could 
not  tell  Madeline — of  things  found  in  the 
mire,  upon  which  the  healthy,  happy 
world  turns  its  back  when  every  night  it 
goes  'up  town5  to  pleasant  hearthstones 
and  to  normal  life.  These  were  tales  of 
foul  sounds  and  foul  air,  where  men  and 
women  gathered  and  drank  and  gambled 
and  laughed  with  laughter  that  was  like 
the  grinning  of  skulls,  hollow  and  des- 
pairing." 

"Jewel  Weed,"  by  Alice  Ames  Winter. 
Bobbs-Merrill  Co.,  Publishers,  Indian- 
apolis, Ind. 

*  *  * 

This  little  book,  "Foibles  of  the 
Bench,"  by  Henry  S.  Wilcox,  of  the  Chi- 
cago Bar,  and  published  by  Legal  Litera- 
ture Co.,  Chicago,  111.,  is  rather  a  notable 
addition  to  the  numerous  collections  of 
anecdotes  of  the  bench  and  bar  which 
have  been  popular  in  the  legal  profession 
since  the  memorv  of  man  runneth  not  to 
the  contrary.  The  characters  of  the  vari- 
ous judges  who  are  named  as  Judge 
Knowall,  Judge  Doall,  Judge  Wasp, 
Judge  Fearful,  Judge  Wabbler,  Judge 
Graft,  Judge  Whiffet,  Judffe  Wind,  as 
well  as  others,  are  notable  types,  types 
with  which  any  lawyer  who  has  had  much 
experience  must  be  thoroughly  well  ac- 
quainted. The  stories  are  quite  fair, 
some  of  them,  indeed,  are  excellent,  al- 
though a  few  old  favorites  turn  up  now 
and  again,  a  matter  which  presumably 
cannot  be  »vell  avoided  in  a  book  of  this 
sort.  Altogether,  it  is  a  creditable  per- 
formance 

"Foibles  of  the  Bench,"  by  Henry  S. 
Wilcox.  Legal  Literature  Company,  Chi- 
cago, 111. 

*  *  * 

Any  one  interested  in  the  great  study 


of  astronomy  will  take  up  Edward  S. 
Morse's  latest  volume,.  "Mars  and  its  Mys- 
tery," in  anticipation  of  something  good 
to  read,  especially  as  Morse  is  an  undis- 
puted authority  on  the  subject.  A  mem- 
ber of  the  National  Academy  of  Sciences, 
he  handles  the  celestial  "mysteries"  in  a 
masterly  manner,  although  lacking  in 
Camille  Flammarion's  pleasing  gift  of 
making  the  reader  feel  a  heavenly  famil- 
iarity with  the  infinite  universe  of  stars. 
"Mars  and  Its  Mysteries,"  by  Edward 
S.  M;brse.  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Pub- 
lishers, Boston.  Price,  $2  net. 

*  *  * 

S.  N.  D.  North,  Director  of  the  De- 
partment of  Commerce  and  Labor,  Bu- 
reau of  the  Census,  has  brought  out, 
through  the  Government  Printing  Office 
in  Washington,  a  most  comprehensive  re- 
port for  the  year  1900,  on  the  "Blind  and 
Deaf."  This  not  only  gives  statistics, 
but  also  dilates  on  the  causes  of  deafness 
and  blindness,  means  of  communication, 
geographic  distribution,  occupations, 
school  attendance,  etc.,  altogether  going 
over  the  ground  most  thoroughly  and 
painstakingly. 

"The  Blind  and  the  Deaf;  (1900)  De- 
partment of  Commerce  and  Labor,  Gov- 
ernment Printing  Office,  Washington, 
D.  C. 

*  *  * 

"The  Cassowary,"  a  collection  of  stories 
from  the  pen  of  the  author  of  "The  Story 
of  Ab"  (Stanley  Waterloo),  will  appeal 
to  men  and  women  who  care  for  literature 
of  this  sort — a  little  on  the  "dime  novel" 
style,  with  just  enough  of  love  romance 
running  through  it  to  make  it  of  more 
potent  interest.  For  ourselves,  however, 
the  cover,  with  its  bizarre  colors,  would 
be  enough  to  "queer"  the  whole  book. 

"The  Cassowary,"  by  Stanley  Waterloo. 
The  Monarch  Book  Co.,  Publishers,  Chi- 
cago, 111.  $1.50. 

"Historic  Buildings  of  America,"  col- 
lected and  edited  by  Esther  Singleton, 
the  well-known  descriptive  writer,  is  a 
handsomely  bound  volume,  profusely  il- 
lustrated, and  must  prove  pleasing  read- 
ing to  lovers  of  old  "land  marks"  and 
places  of  interest. 

Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.,  Publishers,  New 
York.  Price,  $1.60  net. 


IX  THE  EEALM  OF  BOOKLAND. 


isr 


Are  you  interested  in  babies?  Then, 
of  course,  "Savage  Childhood,"  by  Dud- 
ley Kidd,  will  be  read  with  pleasure,  even 
if  it  is  descriptive  of  little,  fat-bellied 
Kaffirs.  This  book  is  full  of  good  en- 
gravings. 

Macmillan  Co.,  New  York,  and  Adam 
and  Charles  Black,  London,  Publishers. 

Price,  $3.50. 

*  *  * 

In  publishing  "The  New  Art  of  an  An- 
cient People,  the  Work  of  Ephraim  Mose 
Lilien,"  B.  W.  Huebsch  introduces  a  new 
author  to  the  reading  world,  and  a  new 
artist  to  the  world  of  art.  Mr.  M.  S. 
Levussove  writes  this  appreciation  of  the 
awakening  art-spirit  of  the  Jewish  people, 
and  we  believe  no  one  could  handle  the 
subject  in  a  more  sympathetic  and  com- 
prehending manner.  This  book  strikes  a 
new  note  in  the  literature  of  art,  and  the 
pictures  portrayed  in  pen  and  ink  in  its 
pages  entitle  the  artist  to  a  great  place 
among  the  noteworthy  draughtsmen  of 
the  day. 

B.  W.  Huebsch,  Publisher,  New  York. 
Price  in  boards,  75  cents;  limp  leather, 

$2.00. 

*  *  * 

Wouldn't  it  be  an  awfully  nice  (but 
perhaps  tame!)  world  if  we  could  all  live 
up  to  the  sentiments  compiled  by  Walter 
L.  Sheldon  in  the  small  volume,  "A  Sen- 
timent in  Verse  for  Every  Day  in  the 
Year?" 

S.  Burns  Weston,  Philadelphia,  Pub- 
lisher. 50  cents. 

*  *  * 

John  Bain,  Jr.,  is  his  usual  entertain- 
ing self,  in  this  little  volume  from  his 
pen,  "Cigarettes,  in  Fact  and  Fancy." 
H.  M.  Caldwell  Co.,  Boston,  has  gotten 
-up  this  small  book  so  pleasingly,  that  it 
would  make  a  most  attractive  present  to 
some  "lover  of  the  weed." 

"Cigarettes  in  Fact  and  Fancy,"  by 
John  Bain,  Jr.  H.  M.  Caldwell  Co., 

Boston,  Publishers. 

*  *  * 

Prettily  illustrated  by  John  E.  Neill, 
•"The  Magic  Wand  Series,"  by  Tudor 
Jenks,  is  a  most  entertaining  little  set  of 
volumes  for  the  youngsters. 

Henry  Altemus  Co.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Trice,  50  cents  net. 

*  *  * 

Margaret  Bottome  will  always  be  in- 


teresting to  the  ordinary  young  girl,  and 
her  "King's  Daughter's  Year  Book," 
brought  out  by  the  Henry  Altemus  Co., 
expresses  sentiments  that  we  all,  no  doubt, 
would  benefit  by  could  we  live  up  to  them. 
"The  King's  Daughter's  Year  Book," 
bv  Margaret  Bottome.  Henry  Altemus 
Co.,  Publishers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

*  *  * 

"Hieroglyphics  of  Love"  is  a  collection 
of  Amanda  Mathew's  stories,  re-pub- 
lished through  the  courtesy  of  the  "Land 
of  Sunshine,"  the  "Argonaut,"  the  "Over- 
land Monthlv,"  the  "Pacific  Monthly," 
"Pearson's  Magazine,"  and  "Munsey's 
Magazine,"  in  which  publications  some 
of  them  have  already  appeared.  They  are 
stories  of  "Sonoratown,"  and  old  Mexico, 
and  one  interested  in  the  Southland  will 
take  up  the  little  volume  with  pleasure- 
able  anticipations. 

Armetesia  Bindery,  Publishers,  Los 
Angeles,  Cal. 

*  *  * 

"It  is  to  laugh,"  and  we  do  laugh,  as  we 
always  do,  when  we  take  up  anything  f rpm 
Wallace  Irwin's  pen.  "Random  Rhymes 
and  Odd  Numbers,"  is  a  compilation  of 
Irwin's  wit  and  humor,  and  can  be  recom- 
mended to  drive  away  cantankerousness  of 
the  worst  sort.^ 

His  comical*  way  of  dealing  with  ques- 
tions of  the  day  (some  vital  questions,  too 
— child  labor  being  one)  perhaps  jars  a 
little  at  times,  but  we  easily  fall  into  Ir- 
win's manner  of  laughing  at  everything 
in  the  world,  whether  it  be  comedy  or 
tragedy. 

Macmillan  Co.,  New  York. 

*  *  * 

The  New  York  Sun  says  of  Morley  Rob- 
ert's latest  effort,  "The  Idlers" :  "It  is  as 
interesting  as  the  devil,"  and  we  all  know 
that  the  devil,  no  matter  in  what  form  he 
appears,  is  interesting.  This  being  with 
the  forked  tail  leers  at  us  from  the  pages 
of  Mrs.  Wharton's  ''House  of  Mirth,"  and 
so  he  leers  at  us  again  from  the  pages  of 
"The  Idlers."  These  two  books  deal  with 
the  so-called  aristocracy  of  England  and 
America,  and  show  up  its  members  in  a 
most  unflattering  way.  We  of  the  majority 
— the  "middle  class" — can  pat  ourselves 
complacently  on  the  back  and  congratulate 
ourselves  as  being  well  "out  of  it." 
L.  C.  Page  &  Co.,  Boston. 


188 


OVERLAID  MONTHLY. 


Two  more  of  the  "Little  Cousin  Series" 
have  made  their  appearance.  They  are 
"Our  Little  Dutch  Cousin"  and  "Our 
Little  Scotch  Cousin."  They  are  excellent 
books  for  American  children,  being  not 
only  entertaining  in  the  abstract,  but  in- 
structive. Besides,  they  remind  the 
present  growing  generation  of  the  fact 
that  the  Scotch  and  the  Dutch  were  im- 
portant factors  in  the  growth  and  glory 
of  our  composite  nation.  While  most  of 
the  books  of  this  series  are  by  Mary 
Hazelton  Wade,  this  couple  is  by  Blanche 
McManus,  author  of  "Our  Little  Eng- 
lish Cousin"  and  "Our  Little  French 
Cousin." 

L.  C.  Page  Co.,  Boston. 


"The  Diary  of  a  Forty-Niner,"  edited 
by  Chauncey  L.  Canfield,  and  brought  out 
bv  the  Morgan  Shepard  Co.,  San  Fran- 
cisco and  New  York,  brings  us  near  to 
the  old  days  of  California. 

"The  days  of  old,  the  days  of  gold, 
The  days  of  '49." 

The  hardships  of  a  miner's  life,  his  wild 
excitements,  his  disappointments,  the  run- 
ning of  the  "gold  fever"  in  his  veins,  artv 
here  all  portrayed  in  simple  language,  but 
vividly  and  interestingly. 

Morgan  Shepard  Co.,  San  Francisco, 
Publishers.  On  sale  at  Blake's  Book 
Store. 


BY    CHARLTON    LAWRENCE    EDHOLM 

(In  reply  to  poem  by  Charles  8.  Ross,  "The  Unready,"  pub- 
lished in  September  issue  of  Overland  Monthly.} 

Ungirded  sits  the  Dreamer  in  the  sun, 

Wfrile  in  the  vale  men  wage  a  warfare  grim 
And  sordid.     In  that  valley,  choked  and  dim 

With  battle-dust  wherefrom  the  sky  is  dun, 

What  sees  the  warrior  save  another  one, 

His  enemy,  to  crush,  tear  limb  from  limb? 

Bright  Truth,  undraped,  seeks  oft'  the  heights  with  him,, 

Serene  above  all  battles  lost  and  won. 


His  dreams  are  gold  uncovered.     His  golden  dreams 
Enrich  the  starving  soul  of  all  the  world, 

Are  wrought  in  figured  urns  of  loveliest  plan, 
Or  form  a  hilt  from  which  the  good  steel  gleams 
When  worthy  flag  of  battle  is  unfurled 

For  Beauty,  Brotherhood  and  God-in-Man. 


Overland  Monthly 


1907 


-J.    ILL. 


NO.  3 


March,  1907       VOL.XLIX 


BY  ELOISE  j.  ROORBACH; 

0   see   the   Mist  Maidens   in  their 
home,  you  must  leave  the  unrest 
of  the  lowland  world,  some  day  in 
May,  and  climb  to  the  restful  heights  of 
templed  hills. 

Leave  the  glaring,  dazzling  meadows, 
the  rushing,  boisterous  brooks,  the  oft- 
traveled  dusty  highways.  Even  leave  the 
fine  oak  groves  and  push  on  to  the  red- 
wood forests.  Close  to  the  heart  of  the 
hills,  in  nature's  choicest  sanctuaries,  you 
will  find  their  cloistered  dwelling  place. 

These  dainty,  wee  flowers,  ar«  Temple  Maidens,  pure  and 
sweet.  They  play  on  the  very  brink  of  tiny  brooks  that  are 
just  beginning  to  chatter  as  very  little  children  do,  softly,  hao- 
pily  and  very  melodiously. 

•  Xature  guards  these  frail,  lovely  flowers  from  destroying 
•hands  by  the  charming  process  of  'growing  attractive,  showy5, 
brilliant  flowers  and  shrubs  at  the  outer  gate  of  her  sanctuary. 
Azaleas,  lilacs,  lupines,  poppies  and  many  others  protect  the 
Mist  Maidens  by  the  generous  giving  of  their  own  blossoms. 

For  most  people  gather  armfuls  of  these  beautiful  flowers 
and  are  content,  not  knowing  that  they  have  been  sweetly 
persuaded  not  to  cross  the  threshold  of  the'Woodland  Temple. 


It  requires  the  strength  of  a  Parsifal 
to  keep  from  loitering  in  the  outer  court, 
for  it  is  indeed  lovely. 

But  firmly  resist  their  witchery  and 
push  on  in  your  search  for  the  pure,  white 
Mist  Maidens. 

Walk  up  the  vaulted  aisle,  and  rest 
awhile  in  the  grand  nave.  Let  the  sweet 
hush  of  the  forest  refresh  you.  Let  its 
subdued,  rich  beauty  lift  your  thought 
from  the  monotony  of  self.  Drink  deep 
of  the  uplifting  grandeur  of  the  trees. 
Listen  for  their  chant  and  receive  their 
benediction.  Then  leave  an  offering  of 
thankfulness  at  the  altar  and  step  out  in- 
to the  bright  cloister.  There,  in  patches 
of  sunshine,  close  to  the  brook,  you  may 
look  into  the  star  eyes  of  the  Mist  Maid- 
ens. 

If  flowers,  birds,  trees,  are  thoughts 
made  manifest,  as  some  people  love  to 
fancy,  then  these  wee  maidens  sprang  into 
being  as  some  dreamy,  shy,  sweetest  of 
little  girls  sat  with  folded  hands  and  in 
fancy  played  with  the  fairies.  Their  com- 
panions and  their  environment  no  doubt 
sprang  from  the  same  imaginings.  They 
are  most  dainty,  with  pure  white  stars  for 
faces.  They  are  poised  lightly  on  delicate 
stems.  The  clean  green  leaves  are  shape- 
ly and  fairly  cover  the  bank  of  the  wood- 
land rill. 

Like  a  true  cloistress,  the  Mist  Maidens 
choose  the  quiet,  meditative  life  and  fade 
away  at  the  first  hot  breath  of  the  bril- 
liant outside  world. 

There  is  a  spiritual  presence  about 
them,  a  sweet  purity,  a  rare  modesty,  and 
they  seem  so  happy  in  their  retired  life 
with  companions  who  also  love  the  soli- 
tude. 

Some  imaginative  botanist  wandered 
along  the  brooks  of  California 
and  christened  the  flowers  as 
suited  his  purpose,  no  doubt,  but 
his  names  are  often  most  provok- 
ing. 

Fortunately,  a  poet  also  wan- 
dered by  singing  brooks,  and  he 
gave  names  that  show  he  caught 
the  spirit  of  the  flower. 

Even  the  scientist  grew  a  little 
mild  when  he  saw  these  dainty 
flowers,  so  he  refrained  from 
harsh  sounds,  and  said:  "You  be- 
long to  the  Baby-Eyes  Family." 
The  poet  saw  them  and  said: 
"Here  are  some  Mist  Maidens — 


THE   HOME    OF   THE   MIST  MAIDENS. 


191 


over  there  are  the  lanterns  of  the  fairies." 

Lanterns  of  the  fairies !  the  ideal  name 
for  the  satin-textured  white  globes  that 
hang  in  pairs  from  the  tip  of  delicate 
stems.  They  fairly  glow  as  if  with  an  in- 
ner light.  The  soft  fawn-colored  sepals 
hold  a  pearly  white  globe  that,  if  opened, 
reveals  a  surface  of  silky  hairs  and  six 
yellow  stamens  that  perhaps  account  for 
the  glow.  If  the  fairies  really  use  the  ex- 
quisite lanterns,  no  doubt  they  put  in  a 
fire-fly  when  night  comes. 

The  scientist  sees  it  and  says,  "That 
is  a  Calachortus"— and  that  is  very  good 
— for  him. 

The  poet  then  said,  "See !  The  Mission 
Bells."  And  sure  enough,  many  chimes 
of  charmingly  colored  bells  are  hanging 
from  stems  made  pendant  with  their  deli- 
cate weight.  This  lily  is  like  an  orchid 
in  color — soft  browns  and  purples  and 
greens  in  splotches  and  dashes. 

No  doubt  but  that  they  ring  the  Mist 
Maidens  to  vespers. 

The  scientist  at  my  elbow  says :  "Fritil- 
laria."  1  answer,  "All  right — but  be 
careful  what  you  say  next."  That  seemed 
to  offend  him,  for  he  insisted  that  a  most 
wonderful  panicle  of  tiny  white  flowers 
that  spring  from  a  bunch  of  exceptionally 
beautiful  'leaves  is  "Alum-Root."  The 
poet,  alas,  seems  silent. 

The  long,  graceful,  airy,  feathery 
sprays  overhanging  the  brook  in  misty 
clouds  and  often  the  beautiful  leaves 
splotched  or  veined  with  red,  trail  in  the 
water.  It  is  one  of  the  very  prettiest 


192 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


things  growing  amidst  a  profusion  of 
loveliness. 

It  deserves  the  very  best  name  a  poet 
could  give. 

Now  that  the  scientist  has  had  his  way 
to  the  utter  routing  of  the  poet,  he  keeps 
on,  and  pointing  to  a  perfectly  upright, 
slender  stem,  sometimes  two  or  three 


scarlet  elves  that  dance  merrily  about  on 
stems  that  are  almost  invisible. 

These  cheerful  little  fellows  hang  over 
the  most  dangerous  edges  or  squeeze  into 
a  cleft  of  a  rock — in  most  risky  fashion. 
One  little  red-coated  elf  hung  on  to  a 
dead  branch,  reaching  far  over  to  view 
his  nimble  self  in  the  water.  Most  of 


feet  high  and  surrounded  with  incon- 
spicuous but  exceedingly  dainty  flowers, 
he  says,  "False  Alum  Root." 

I  wonder  how  it  is  possible  for  it  to 
stand  so  erect  on  so  slender  a  stem,  and 
though  its  blossom  is  almost  colorless,  yet 
by  reason  of  its  upright  stem  it  is  a  most 
noticeable  plant. 

For  playmates,  the  Mist  Maidens  have 


his  companions  stand  upright,  but  he, 
mocking  an  orchid,  hung  head  down,  with 
his  feet  barely  caught  on  a  mossy  branch. 
He  is  a  Scarlet  Larkspur,  and  the  sight 
of  him  makes  one  laugh  with  joy. 

There  is  only  one  other  flower  as  bright 
as  he  in  this  cloistered  nook,  and  that  is 
a  stately  lily  growing  a  little  way  back 
from  the  stream.  This  flower  is  every  inch 


Five-finger  fern  in  a  bosky  dale. 


THE   HOME   OF  THE  MIST  MAIDENS. 


195 


a  queen,  and  from  the  first  appearance  of 
the  oblong,  polished  leaves  to  the  rich 
lapislazuli  berries,  it  commands  attention. 
The  rose  color  of  the  clustered  blossoms 
catch  ihe  eye  from  the  depths  of  the  for- 
ests. They  shine  out  from  the  deepest 
places,  and  give  the  most  brilliant  touch 
of  color  to  be  seen.  The  many  small 
flowers  form  a  crown  of  jewels  with  some 
few  bells  springing  from  the  side  of  the 
firm,  light  green  stem.  I  am  much  in- 
debted to  this  queenly  lily  (Clintonia) 
for  once  upon  a  time  I  had  a  glorious  jar 
full  of  them  in  a  corner  of  my  woodland 
studio,  when  a  lady,  a  stranger,  came  to 
the  door,  and  seeing  them  glowing  so  won- 
drously,  asked  their  names.  I  told  her  I 
had  but  just  made  their  acquaintance, 
and  though  it  was  a  case  of  love  at  first 
sight,  their  names  were  unknown.  She 
drove  away,  and  some  days  later  this 
daughter  of  wealth  came  back  and  pre- 
sented me  with  a  book  on  California  wild 
flowers,  the  first  I  had  ever  seen. 

I  have  never  seen  her  since  to  tell  her 
how  much  pleasure  she  conferred  on  me, 
a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  Although 
her  kindly  gift  revealed  to  me  the  names 
of  many  flowers,  it  failed  to  reveal  the 
givers. 

At  rare  times  the  poet  and  scientist 
reach  a  happy  combination,  as  the  name 
Heart's  Ease,  given  to  a  white,  nun-like 
violet,  proves.  It  'is  a  dear  little  com- 
forter, and  I  am  sure  it  will  ease  any  op- 
pressed heart  if  placed  near  it.  There 
are  small,  yellow  wood  violets,  creeping 
over  the  banks,  each  bright  little  face 
turned  to  the  sun  in  the  most  fascinating 
way. 

And  there  is  the  Wild  Rose  in  her  most 
graceful,  tall  and  swaying  form. 

The  dainty  columbine,  the  sweet  honey- 
suckle, and  the  pale  star  flower,  find  a 
home  here. 

In  this  temple  enclosure,  the  maiden- 
hair and  five  finger  fern  unfurl  their 
fronds  in  safety.  They  fairly  cover  the 


rocks  at  times,  and  their  delicate,  wiry 
stems  and  incomparably  graceful  leaves 
are  as  charming  as  any  flower  that 
blooms. 

Nearby  are  huge  woodwardias,  who 
seem  to  be  big  brothers  hovering  round 
to  protest  their  frail  little  sisters. 

My  rude  footsteps  startled  a  little 
green  frog  from  his  watery  bed,  and  he 
jumped  on  a»  sturdy  fern  frond  and 
swayed  up  and  down,  as  his  bright  little 
eyes  kept  watch  of  the  monster.  WJiile 
trying  to  catch  him  with  paper  and  pen- 
cil, I  became  almost  motionless,  and  a 
shv  blue  bird,  seeing  a  glint  of  sunlight 
touch  a  shell  comb  in  my  hair,  alighted 
on  it  and  picked  vigorously,  trying  to 
carry  away  the  bright  sparks. 

I  saw  a  flash  of  a  warbler's  wing  and 
heard  a  vireo's  call.  So  there  is  fine  mu- 
sic for  the  matin  and  vesper  hours. 

Do  not  leave  this  cloister  home  until 
you  have  enjoyed  with  the  Mist  Maidens 
the  vesper  music. 

The  rapturous  song  of  an  invisible 
thrush,  the  dear,  soft  song  of  the  happy 
brook,  the  worshipful  song  of  the  priest- 
like  trees. 

Do  not  try  to  carry  away  in  your  hands 
any  of  the  alter  flowers,  for  they  will  not 
survive  the  desocration.  But  let  every- 
thing in  this  sanctuary  be  treasured  in 
your  memory — keep  it  as  a  trysting  place* 
for  your  soul. 

Visit  often  in  thought  its  oratory  and 
find  rest  in  its  beautiful  calm.  Contem- 
plate earnestly  the  uplifting  presence  of 
beauty.  Associate  with  the  trees  until 
you  partake  of  their  nobility.  Listen  to 
the  song  of  the  brook  until  you  catch  its 
rvthm  of  joy. 

Then  improvise  from  this  motif  a  rhap- 
sodic all  your  own. 

Catch  the  secret  of  sweetness  from 
the  flowers  and  of  firmness  from  the  rocks. 
Gather  all  these  treasures  and  bear  them 
away  with  you.  Neither  time  nor  the 
stress  of  the  world  will  dim  their  lustre. 


BY    GRANT    FOREMAN 


THE  year  1906  marks  the  last  page 
in  the  life  history  of  the  five  civi- 
lized tribes  of  Indians.  These 
once  powerful  tribes  have  abandoned 
their  identity  and  institutions,  and  have 
severed  the  bonds  which  for  many  years 
have  held  the  individuals  together  as 
tribes.  Their  condition  was  not  brought 
about  by  their  own  desires;  it  is  but  a 
melancholy  repetition  of  history — the  in- 
evitable result  of  close  contact  of  the 
white  man  with  the  red  man. 

The  five  civilized  tribes  are  kindred, 
and  their  association  is  of  long  standing. 
The  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century 
found  them  occupying  their  own  lands, 
secured  to  them  by  treaty  in  Mississippi, 
Alabama,  Georgia,  Tennessee,  the  Caro- 
linas  and  Florida.  After  the  Eevolution- 
ary  War,  the  increase  of  white  settlement 
in  these  States  led  to  controversies  be- 
tween the  Whites  and  the  Indians.  Set- 
tlers with  little  regard  for  the  rights  of 
the  Indians  coveted  their  fine  lands,  and 
were  continually  encroaching  on  them. 
These  troubles  led  to  efforts  on  the  part  of 
the  Governments  of  some  of  the  States  to 
exercise  legislative  control  of  the  Indians 
within  their  boundaries. 

The  Indians  who  claimed  under  the 
treaties  made  with  the  United  States  the 
right  to  legislate  for  themselves,  suffering 
bv  harsh  legislation  and  irritated  beyond 
endurance  by  the  encroachments  and 
abuses  of  the  whites,  frequently  resented 
the  wrongs  put  upon  them,  and  were  of- 
ten involved  in  contests  that  left  them 
poorer  and  weaker  than  they  were  before. 

The  problem  growing  out  pf  this  situa- 
tion became  more  vexatious  as  white  set- 
tlement increased  and  expanded,  but  a 
solution  was  found  in  the  policy  of  remov- 
ing all  these  Indians  west  of  the  Missis- 
sipi  Eiver  and  locating  them  upon  a  do- 
main which,  it  was  believed,  would  be  am- 
ple for  the  Indians  and  would  never  be 
needed  nor  coveted  by  white  men. 

It  was  agreed  with  these  Indians  that 
if  they  would  relinquish  their  lands  and 


remove  'to  this  Indian  Territory,  they 
should  first  be  vested  with  the  fee  simple 
title  to  this  great  domain;  they  should 
ever  after  make  their  own  laws,  never  be 
subject  to  the  laws  of  any  State  nor  be 
made  part  of  any  State  without  their  con- 
sent, and  that  they  should  forever  or  "as 
long  as  grass  grows  and  water  flows,"  en- 
joy the  possession  of  the  lands  to  be  given 
them,  protected  from  the  intrusions  of 
white  men.  Upon  this  agreement,  the 
Indians  ceded  their  lands  east  of  the  Mis-, 
sissippi,  and  accepted  in  exchange  the 
lands  thereafter  known  as  Indian  Terri- 
tory. Little  did  either  party  to  that  com- 
pact realize  how  soon  civilization  and 
white  settlement  would  overtake  them 
a^ain,  clamoring  for  their  lands  and  de- 
manding that  warrant  be  found  for  vio- 
lating the  agreements  made  with  the  In- 
dians. 

The  removal  of  these  Indians  was  prac- 
tically accomplished  by  1835;  though  a 
considerable  number  of  Seminoles  refused 
to  leave  Florida  and  were  finally  removed 
by  force,  the  process  lasting  until  the  year 
1842. 

After  their  arrival  in  Indian  Territory, 
the  tribes  re-established  their  Governments 
and  began  life  anew,  and,  reassured  by  the 
promise  of  the  Government  of  the  United 
States,  they  believed  that  they  would 
never  again  be  distressed  or  disturbed  by 
the  greed  of  white  men  and  that  their 
simple  laws  and  institutions  would  suffice 
them  for  all  time. 

The  Chocktaw,  Chickasaw,  Cherokee, 
Creek  and  Seminole  tribes  of  Indians  are 
known  as  the  Five  Civilized  Tribes  be- 
cause of  their  civilized  customs  and  insti- 
tutions. Their  scheme  of  Government  is 
modeled  upon  that  of  the  States;  each 
tribe  has  its  written  constitution  and  code 
of  laws,  and  its  three  branches  of  Govern- 
ment— legislative,  executive  and  judicial, 
and  the  offices  are  filled  by  members  of 
the  tribes  at  popular  elections.  The  laws 
are  crude  and  not  always  honestly  exe- 
cuted, though  in  that  respect  they  do  not 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  FIVE  TKIBES. 


197 


suffer  by  comparison  with  their  civilized 
prototypes. 

These  Indians  are  a  deeply  religious 
people,  and  the  Bible  and  hymn  books 
have  been  translated  into  their  tongues. 
Their  devotion  to  their  schools  is  quite 
as  marked,  and  some  of  their  academies 
would  adorn  many  advanced  sections  of 
the  States.  The  Cherokee  nation  is  dis- 
tinguished by  having  its  own  alphabet,  in- 
vented by  the  great  Sequoyah,  which  is 
used  in  the  printing  of  its  official  news- 
paper. The  occupation  of  these  Indians 
almost  solely  is  agriculture,  though  as  a 
rule  they  are  lacking  in  the  skill  and 
thrift  of  the  white  farmer.  As  hunters, 
they  have  little  employment,  for  the  in- 
vasion of  white  people  has  swept  away  all 
game  except  such  as  may  be  found  in 
small  quantity  in  isolated  fastnesses. 

These  tribes  passed  a  tranquil  existence 
until  they  were  harassed  and  their  farms 
devastated  by  the  Civil  War.  Upon  the 
emancipation  of  their  slaves,  of  which 
they  owned  a  great  many,  they  were  com- 
pelled by  our  Government  to  divide  their 
lands  with  them.  The  justice  that  entered 
into  this  distinction  between  these  Indians 
and  other  slave  owners  is  not  obvious; 
they  contend  that  their  weak  and  impov- 
erished condition  offers  the  only  explana- 
tion for  this  practical  confiscation  of  their 
lands  by  our  Government. 

After  the  war,  as  the  West  began  to  be 
settled  up,  rumors  of  the  beautiful  prai- 
ries and  fertile  valleys  in  Indian  Terri- 
tory traveled  over  the  land.  White  peo- 
ple drifted  in  and  tilled  the  generous  soil 
with  the  indulgence  of  the  Indians ;  others 
set  up  merchandise  stores  and  got  rich 
by  selling  goods  to  the  Indians  at  enor- 
mous profits.  With  such  possibilities  open 
to  them,  the  whites  continued  to  crowd 
into  this  country  until  in  1901  the  census 
gave  a  population  for  Indian  Territory 
of  391,960,  of  which  only  90,805  were 
Indians,  including  mixed  as  well  as  full 
bloods :  the  present  population  is  believed 
to  be  750,000. 

Beginning  with  the  treaty  of  1830  made 
with  the  Choctaws  and  Chicakasaws  and 
known  as  the  Treaty  of  Dancing  Babbit 
Creek,  down  to  the  treaty  of  1866,  as  if 
to  accentuate  the  promises  made  to  the 
Indians  of  the  Five  Tribes  to  induce  them 
to  remove  west  of  the  Mississippi,  re- 
peated assurances  were  made  to  them  in 


the  most  solemn  manner  in  which  our 
Government  can  bind  itself  that  they 
should  have  unrestricted  self-government 
and  full  jurisdiction  over  persons  and 
property  within  their  respective  limits; 
that  we  would  protect  them  against  intru- 
sion of  white  people,  and  that  we  would 
not  incorporate  them  in  a  political  organi- 
zation without  their  consent. 

But  these  promises  were  made  before 
it  was  known  to  Congress  what  a  beauti- 
ful domain  had  been  set  apart  to  these 
Indians.  This  region  was  then  practically 
an  unknown  land,  and  in  fact  the  old 
geographies  described  it  as  part  of  a  great 
desert.  So  that  it  could  not  then  be  an- 
ticipated that  before  the  end  of  the  cen- 
tury it  would  be  over-run  with  white  men 
creating  a  condition  demanding,  if  not 
justifying,  an  entirely  different  method  of 
control  of  this  country. 

The  land  was  held  in  fee  in  common 
occupancy  by  the  Indians,  and  no  title 
could  be  acquired  by  the  whites.  The  lat- 
ter, while  owning  not  a  foot  of  land  in 
Indian  Territory,  and  being  there  only  by 
the  sufferance  of  the  Indians  declared 
themselves  not  amenable  to  the  laws  of 
the  Indian  tribes.  To  cope  with  this  pe- 
culiar situation,  Congress  was  compelled 
to  extend  the  jurisdiction  of  the  United 
States  courts  over  this  country,  first  ex- 
tending over  the  whites  and  gradually 
taking  the  jurisdiction  over  the  Indians 
previously  exercised  by  their  courts. 

Congress  did  nothing  to  stem  the  tide 
of  white  immigration  into  this  fertile 
country,  but  in  order  to  establish  a  sys- 
tem of  law  and  order  throughout  Indian 
Territory  in  harmony  with  that  of  the 
States,  agents  and  commissions  have  been 
sent  to  negotiate  treaties  and  agreements 
with  these  Indians,  constantly  diminish- 
ing their  integrity  as  tribes.  These 
treaties  and  agreements  were  reluctantly 
ratified  by  the  Indians  who  knew  that 
without  such  ratification  the  all-powerful 
Congress  would  reach  the  same  end  by 
legislation  in  which  they  would  have  no 
voice. 

As  a  result  of  these  agreements  the 
tribes  have  sold  the  sites  upon  which 
towns  have  been  built,  to  the  owners 
thereof,  vesting  good  titles  in  the  lot  hold- 
ers. The  other  lands  of  the  Indians  have 
been  allotted  to  them  in  severally,  each 
Indian  being  permitted  to  select  land 


198 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


containing  his  home  and  improvements, 
and  securing  a  fee  simple  title  to  his  al- 
lotment. A  part  of  the  allotment  desig- 
nated as  the  homestead,  is  inalienable  for 
twenty-one  years,  and  the  remainder  in 
most  cases  can  be  sold  under  certain  re- 
strictions. 

By  the  successive  treaties,  piece  by  piece 
the  Indians  have  gradually  yielded  up  the 
jurisdiction  and  exercise  of  authority  of 
the  branches  of  their  governments  until 
at  last  they  have  found  themselves  pos- 
sessed of  tribal  Governments  only  in 
name.  But  the  last  and  crowning  act  of 
this  policy  patiently  but  relentlessly  en- 
forced by  the  Government,  was  the  agree- 
ment secured  from  the  Indians  that  all 
their  tribal  Governments  should  be  dis- 
solved on  March  4,  1906.  A  scheme  of 
statehood  for  Indian  Territory,  concern- 
ing which  the  Indians  have  not  been  per- 
mitted to  be  heard  and  to  which  they  are 
opposed,  has  been  adopted  by  Congress, 
which  accentuates  and  completes  the  long 
chapter  of  our  broken  promises  to  these 
wards  of  our  Government. 

Anticipating  the  failure  of  the  passage 
by  March  4,  1906,  of  the  Curtis  Bill— 
an  act  providing  the  machinery  for  the 
winding  up  of  the  affairs  of  the  Five 
Tribes— on  February  28,  1906,  the  Sen- 
ate adopted  a  resolution  which  was  later 
concurred  in  by  the  House,  and  signed 
by  the  President,  extending  the  life  of  the 
tribal  Governments  of  the  Five  Tribes  to 
March  4,  1907.  As  a  concession  to  the 
tribes,  this  act  was  a  matter  of  form 
rather  than  of  substance.  It  continues 
the  tenure  of  office  of  the  chiefs  of  the 
tribes  for  the  purpose  of  signing  deeds, 
and  is  intended  to  facilitate  the  work  of 
the  Interior  Department. 


After  this  year  there  will  be  no  Five 
Civilized  Tribes  to  counsel  for  their  com- 
mon good.  Congress  will  know  them  no 
more,  for  there  will  be  no  tribes  to  nego- 
tiate with.  It  is  planned  that  after  this 
year  the  affairs  of  these  Indians  shall  be 
in  the  hands  of  the  Secretary  of  the  In- 
terior, who  shall  complete  the  rolls  of 
citizenship,  the  allotment  of  land  and  the 
division  of  the  tribal  funds  without  con- 
sulting the  wishes  of  the  Indians,  nomi- 
nally or  otherwise. 

Thus  is  completely  wiped  out  each  of 
the  Five  Civilized  Tribes.  Their  Legisla- 
tures, their  chiefs  and  their  courts  are 
no  longer  in  existence.  Their  schools 
will  pass  under  the  control  of  the  State, 
which  shall  take  the  place  of  this  so- 
called  Indian  Territory.  The  Indians, 
outnumbered  ten  to  one  by  the  whites, 
will  be  absorbed  and  lost.  A  generation 
or  two,  and  few  will  remember  that  we 
are  in  possession  of  the  heritage  of  a  peo- 
ple who  were  too  weak  to  defend  it.  Few 
will  know  or  care  that  this  garden  spot 
we  have  appropriated,  was  safeguarded  to 
forgotten  tribes  of  Indians  by  the  solemn 
promises  of  our  Government  for  a  valu- 
able consideration,  promises  that  were 
ruthlessly  put  aside  that  we  might  adjust 
ourselves  to  an  exigency  that  was  not  fore- 
seen when  they  were  made. 

As  our  Government  is  not  Utopian,  any 
other  result  was,  perhaps,  inevitable;  it  is 
only  another  illustration  of  the  operation 
of  the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  A 
greater  law  than  that  of  Congress  has 
controlled  the  destinies  of  these  Indians; 
had  that  law  been  considered,  we  might 
have  promised  less  and  done  more  for 
them,  though  at  most  we  would  have  only 
postponed  the  inevitable,  unjust  as  it  is. 


BY    FELIX    J.    KOCH 


THEY  were  speaking  of  course  of 
the  Mardi  Gras.  They  had  come 
out  of  the  Golden  West,  where,  on 
New  Year's  Day,  the  Pasadenans  resort 
to  a  rose  parade  to  demonstrate  how  su- 
perior is  the  West  to  the  rest  of  the  coun- 
try, which  cannot  pick  roses  in  the  open 
on  the  first  day  of  the  year.  Incidentally 
they  discussed  Rex  and  Regina,  the  domi- 
noes and  the  periques,  the  floats,  in  fact, 
everything  incidental  to  the  carnival.  One 
would  have  supposed  that  the  Mardi  Gras 
is  an  old,  old  story  'cross  the  breadth  of 
the  Continent,  but  it  wasn't  so  very  long 
before  they  discovered  there  were  quite 
a  few  things  they  didn't  know  about  the 
Southern  fete. 

There  was,  in  fact,  but  one  in  the  party 
who  seemed  at  all  well  informed,  and  as 
for  him — well,  he  spoke  from  a  green- 
backed  pamphlet  which  bore  the  impress 
that  it  had  been  "written  by  the  command 
of  the  king."  As  such,  therefore,  in  itself, 
it  was  interesting : 

"The  New  Orleans  carnival,"  it  said, 
"is  more  than  the  celebration  of  a  holiday. 
It  was  an  institution  of  a  great  city.  In 
common  with  the  people  of  other  cities, 
the  Orleanian  keeps  Christmas  and  New 
Year's  and  Thanksgiving,  but  the  carni- 
val has  a  rank  of  its  own — unlike  any 
other  fete  you  can  imagine.  Other  times 
of  festival  are  marked  by  the  scenes  of  pri- 
vate celebration;  not  so  the  carnival,  for 
at  this  season  the  whole  of  a  populace 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  from  the 
richest  to  the  poorest,  unite  in  a  common 
purpose." 

"Thanks  for  the  platitudes,"  remarked 
the  Cynic;  "now  for  the  facts." 

Heedless  of  the  sarcasm,  the  other  read 
on: 

<fYou  may  grasp  some  slight  and  inade- 
quate idea  of  the  Carnival  when  you  learn 
that  there  are  fourteen  different  organiza- 
tions whose  sole  and  only  purpose  it  is  to 
put  forward  a  parade  or  a  tableau  or  a  ball 
in  connection  with  the  festivities;  you 
would  perhaps  gasp  were  you  told  that  no 


sooner  is  one  carnival  terminated  than 
scores  of  serious-minded  business  men, 
bankers  and  lawyers  began  to  prepare 
plans  for  the  coming  season,  giving  their 
time  and  money  .without  stint  *  *  *  you 
can  scarcely  realize  that  thirty-two  thou- 
sand dollars  has  been  spent  on  a  single 
street  parade  lasting  only  three  hours,  yet 
taking  six  months'  hard  work  to  prepare; 
the  uninitiated  will  wonder  at  the  com- 
mon incentive  which  actuates  every  indi- 
vidual of  the  metropolis  of  the  South." 

Waldo,  who  writes  "by  command  of  the 
king,"  tells  the  story  as  follows: 

"To  begin  with,  Mardi  Gras  and  Car- 
nival have  quite  improperly  become  in 
some  measure  interchangeable  terms. 
'Carnival'  is  the  festive  season  of  two 
weeks  or  ten  days  immediately  preceding 
Lent,  of  which  gay  period  Mardi  Gras  (or 
as  the  translation  would  be  Tat  Tuesday5  ^ 
is  the  last  day.  This  day  is  variously 
called  Pancake  Tuesday,  Shrove  Tuesday- 
or  Mardi  Gras,  and  is  the  day  before  Ash 
Wednesday.  Mardi  Gras,  and  hence  the 
whole  carnival  season,  is  what  is  called  a 
movable  feast,  and  this  date  is  calculated 
upon  rules  laid  down  in  canonical  law,  by 
the  Council  of  Nice. 

"The  celebration  of  the  carnival  season 
is  certainly  of  heathen  origin,  a  period 
set  aside  to  celebrate  the  death  of  winter 
and  the  birth  of  spring,  and  among  the 
Greeks  and  Romans,  festivities  were  held 
more  often  than  not,  ending  in  the  gross- 
est excesses,  in  honor  of  Bacchus,  the  god 
of  wine  and  vine,  and  of  Pan,  the  god  of 
herds  and  flocks.  The  carnival,  however, 
as  we  know  it,  the  time  of  "meat,"  of 
feasting,  of  mirth,  of  sport  and  of  frolic, 
and,  as  fixed  by  the  arbitrary  dictum  of 
the  early  Christian  church,  which  decreed 
the  time  when  Lent  should  begin,  may  be 
traced  to  the  religious  ceremony  of  con- 
fession. Shrove  Tuesday  or  Shrove-tide, 
from  the  Anglo-Saxon  "Sacrifan"  (to 
shrive,  or  to  confess),  for  it  was  the  cus- 
tom of  our  religious  forefathers,  on  this 
day,  to  make  a  solemn  avowal  of  their 


200 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


short-comings,  preparatory  to  entering 
upon  a  season  of  fasting  and  penance,  af- 
ter which,  particularly  in  the  Latin  coun- 
try, the  day  was  given  over  to  merry- 
making generally. 

"Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than 
that,  since  New  Orleans  was  originally 
settled  by  the  French,  and  its  destinies, 
-during  its  early 'history,  guided  by  them 
-and  the  Spanish,  many  of  the  observances 
particularly  peculiar  to  the  Latin  races 
should  be  transplanted  to  its  midst,  and 
•of  all  the  customs  of  the  Old  World 
brought  hither,  the  one  which  the  people 
and  the  world  at  large  have  greatest  rea- 
son to  be  thankful  for,  is  the  celebration 
of  Mardi  Gras  and  the  carnival,  for  while 
many  may  forget  to  observe  the  religious 
duty  attendant  upon  the  day,  there  are 
few  who  do  not  enter  with  zest  and  good- 
will into  the  mirthful  spirit  of  the  time." 

"From  time  immemorial,"  continues 
the  Eoyal  Scribe,  "Mardi  Gras  has  been 
celebrated  in  the  Crescent  City  by  a  gen- 
eral masquerade  of  the  populace  without 
regard  to  age  or  sex,  and  with  a  very 
flight  distinction  as  to  condition.  In 
motley  disguise,  the  harlequin,  the  exag- 
gerated dandy,  the  ape,  the  Indian,  the 
monk  and  the  devil  parade  the  streets, 
singly,  in  couples,  or  groups;  thronging 
public  places,  throwing  flour  on  the  un- 
wary, up  to  the  time  when  the  throwing 
of  flour  or  confetti  was  prohibited  by  law, 
visiting  their  friends  and  performing 
every  species  of  antics  for  the  edification 
of  the  public  and  amusement  of  them- 
selves. 

"Here  will  come  a  tribe  of  Red  men,  re- 
plete with  war  paint,  feathers,  tomahawk 
and  spear,  and  uttering  the  terrifying  war 
whoop.  Perhaps  there  will  be  forty  or 
fifty  of  them.  There  will  go  a  crowd  of 
boys,  disguised  as  girls,  slyly  ogling  the 
passer-by  from  under  their  masks.  Across 
the  street,  in  charge  of  a  colored  mammy 
are  two  little  boys  and  a  girl,  the  former 
<Lessed  as  pages,  and  the  latter  as  Cin- 
derella ;  while  yonder,  brazen  yet  cautious, 
for  they  dare  not  be  offensive,  in  an  open 
carriage,  drive  two  courtezans,  decked 
as  seraphs,  and  escorted  by  two  of  their 
kind  in  men's  garments.  It  is  a  wild 
whirl  of  vivid  color  and  ever  changing 
scene. 

"This  promiscuous  marking  is  one  part 
of  Mardi  Gras  that  has  always  been  *  *  * 


yet  there  is  no  more  than  a  minor  acces- 
sory, for  the  chief  features  of  the  festive 
season  now  center  upon  the  street  pa- 
geants, balls  and  tableaux,  given  under 
the  auspices  of  the  four  great  carnival 
organizations,  Rex,  Comus,  Momus  and 
Proteus. 

"It  was  not  until  1857  that  any  pre- 
concerted movement  was  put  on  foot  to 
give  an  organized  parade.  Seven  gentle- 
men issued  a  call  to  a  number  of  others 
to  meet  on  January  3d  above  the  old  Gem 
saloon,  for  the  purpose  of  laying  plans  for 
such  a  parade.  In  response,  six  of  these 
seven,  and  thirteen  more,  met  and  formed 
themselves  into  the  Mystic  Krewe  of  Co- 
mus. They  were  shortly  joined  by  sixty- 
three  other  kindred  spirits,  and  on  Mardi 
Gras,  February  24th,  they  made  their  de- 
but in  the  disguise  of  a  deputation  from 
the  lower  regions  described  in  Milton's 
"Paradise  Lost."  They  called  on  Mayor 
Waterman,  and  after  parading  the  princi- 
pal streets,  repaired  to  what  is  now  the 
Grand  Opera  House,  where  a  grand  ball 
was  held.  The  Mystic  Krewe,  encouraged 
by  the  success  of  their  first  effort  deter- 
mined next  year  to  surpass  their  first  one. 
Accordingly,  on  February  17,  1858,  they 
assembled  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening 
in  Lafayette  Square,  and  having  formed 
in  procession,  took  up  their  line  of  march, 
representing  the  different  deities  of  myth- 
ology— Comus,  Momus,  Floria,  Diana, 
Janus  and  a  host  of  others,  after  which  a 
ball  was  given  to  their  friends  as  in  the 
preceding  year. 

"The  following  year,  on  March  8th,  Co- 
mus gave  a  representation  of  'Twelfth 
Night,'  and  in  1860,  on  February  21st, 
the  Krewe  introduced  an  innovation  in 
the  form  of  moving  tableaux,  mounted 
upon  cars  and  drawn  through  the  streets 
by  horses.  Each  car  represented  a  block 
of  granite,  and  was  surmounted  by  a 
group  of  living  figures  representing 
American  history  from  the  time  of  Colum- 
bus and  the  Cabots  down  to  Clay,  Cal- 
houn  and  Webster. 

"On  Mardi  Gras  of  '61,  the  Krewe 
again  made  its  appearance,  depicting 
scenes  from  life.  First  came  Childhood — 
an  infant's  cradle,  followed  by  a  nurse; 
then  Boyhood — surrounded  by  maskers, 
representing  a  top,  a  kite,  a  cake  and 
juvenile  sports,  etc.  Then  came  the  Civil 
War,  and  for  five  long  years  Comus  be- 


MAEDI  GEAS  DAYS  AND  THE  MAEDI  GEAS  CITY. 


201 


took  himself  to  the  realms  of  the  gods, 
and  only  returned  when  peace  was  re- 
stored, to  give  to  the  public,  on  February 
16,  1866,  the  Past,  Present  and  Future 
of  the  Court  of  Comus. 

"Again  in  1867  the  Krewe  *  *  *  ex- 
hibited to  the  expectant  public  the  Tri- 
umph of  Comus.  In  1868  the  subject  was 
'The  Senses';  the  next  year  it  was  'Lalla 
Eoohk/  and  in  1870  the  "History  of  Loui- 
siana' was  portrayed." 

To  go  on  is  to  mention  all  manner  of 
galaxies.  One  year  it  was  Spencer's 
"Fairy  Queen,"  the  next  the  "Dreams  of 
Honor." 

"Then  we  come  to  the  red-letter  year  in 
the  history  of  the  New  Orleans  carnival, 
the  ever-memorable  1872,  when  the  Over- 
Lord  and  Master,  His  Sublime  and  Gra- 
cious Majesty,  Eex,  King  of  the  Carnival, 
made  New  Orleans  his  capital  city,  and 
paid  it  his  first  visit  of  State. 

"It  might  be  said  that  the  popularity  of 
the  Mystic  Krewe  of  Comus  was  respon- 
sible for  the  formation  of  the  Eex  Society 
or  Carnival  Host,  or  Court,  as  it  is  called. 
The  Krewe  was  originally  formed  for  the 
entertainment  of  the  public  with  a  proces- 
sion, it  is  true,  but  nevertheless  with  the 
further  idea  of  giving  a  ball  and  tableaux 
to  the  members'  friends  and  families.  As 
its  fame  and  the  glory  of  the  Carnival 
spread,  the  city  was  usually  crowded  with 
guests,  who  sought  hospitality,  that  this 
organization,  no  matter  how  willing,  could 
not  afford;  so  the  necessity  of  another  so- 
ciety was  apparent,  not  only  to  the  Krewe, 
but  to  all  those  who  took  an  interest  in 
the  Carnival.  Accordingly,  a  new  asso- 
ciation was  formed. 

"The  enterprise  was  planned  on  Febru- 
ary 1,  1872,  exactly  twelve  days  before 
Mardi  Gras.  Those  at  the  helm  issued 
edicts  and  proclamations,  levied  taxes  on 
merchants  and  bankers  in  the  King's 
name,  ordered  stores  and  offices  closed  on 
Mardi  Gras,  and  summoned  public  offi- 
cials and  functionaries  by  His  Majesty's 
command.  The  edicts  were  obeyed,  and 
when  Shrove  Tuesday  arrived,  the  King 
made  his  triumphal  entry  into  the  city,  es- 
corted by  his  nobles  and  courtiers." 

So,  however,  step  by  step,  has  evolved 
the  Mardi  Gras. 

And  what  of  the  city  of  the  Mardi  Gras. 
in  its  queer,  interesting  corners?  Surely, 
no  one  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  go  to 


New  Orleans  for  the  Mardi  Gras  and  not 
take  in  the  sights  of  the  city! 

What,  then,  were  the  queer  corners  of 
the  Mardi  Gras  city?  We  thought  we 
would  go  and  explore. 

Obviously,  we  should  have  to  get  away 
from  Canal  street,  for  every  one  had  seen 
that.  On  the  little  side  streets,  narrow  as 
in  France,  and  with  the  damp  rotting  the 
asphalt,  there  we  would  find  our  game. 
The  houses,  one  and  all,  appeared  old, 
down  there,  and  they  had  projecting  rail- 
ings on  the  second  floor  of  iron  work, 
which  reminded  us  at  once  of  Bulgaria. 
Flower-sellers  perambulated  in  the  shad- 
ows cast  by  these  overhanging  galleries, 
and  farther  in  the  depths  were  the  shops. 
Fine  shops,  too,  and  already  in  January 
displaying  the  black,  jet-covered  goods, 
the  face-masks  and  the  like,  for  the  Mardi 
Gras  balls. 

Looking  for  queer  corners,  you  do  not 
take  a  guide.  Otherwise  you  get  only 
listed  sights.  You  ramble  and  amble.  So 
we  ambled  on  into  Eoyal  street,  once 
again  with  narrow  walks  of  French  flag- 
stones, and  over  this,  the  iron  balconies, 
so  that  the  walk  was  protected  from  spring 
showers.  Up  on  the  second  story  the  old 
graystone  wall  began  to  tower ;  the  houses 
were  usually  four  stories,  and  this  wall, 
then  broken  only  by  the  mani-parted  win- 
dows, with  iron  shutters,  or  old  hanger? 
for  such,  at  each.  On  the  lower  floor, 
the  shop  windows  stood  out  perhaps  a  foot 
beyond  the  sill,  rising  straight  up  then, 
and  shining,  a  gentle  contrast  with  the 
bleaker  wall.  Then,  at  the  other  side  of 
the  walk  were  the  poles,  supporting  the 
balconies,  and  sometimes  an  additional 
gallery  up  on  the  third  floor.  Negresses, 
in  dirty  white  bandanas,  lounged  here, 
and  there  were  oysters  piled  in  baskets 
on  the  walk.  Often  there  would  be  some 
fish  on  the  top  of  these,  for  New  Orleans 
is  inordinately  fond  of  both. 

We  were  getting  into  that  queerest  cor- 
ner of  the  Southland,  the  French  quartier. 
Dago  boys,  it  is  true,  were  cleaning  the 
windows,  but  Creole  ladies,  with  a  great 
black  ribbon  running  under  the  chin,  to 
hold  the  bonnet  to  the  head,  passed  up  and 
down.  Men  with  beards  cut  a  la  Napol- 
eon III  were  equally  numerous.  Then, 
too,  there  were  cafes  with  restaurants  and 
billiards,  as  one  found  them  in  Paris. 
Here,  too,  one  entered  the  cafe  through  a 


202 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


and  other  clocks,  are  everywhere.  You 
can  purchase  all  the  vanished  glory  of 
the  Southern  plantations  that  were  before 
the  war  for  a  song — if  you've  a  mind  fo. 

Passing  on,  the  street  turns  to  cobble- 
stones and  is  quiet  and  French-like.  The 
windows  have  bars  at  their  lower  portion 
as  you  turn  the  corner  into  Char  ires.  This 
is  a  commission  district,  it  would  seem, 
but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  given  over  to  pets. 
Shop  after  shop  of  pet  birds  and  animals. 
Parrots  and  pigeons  an.d  Hartz  mountain 
canaries,  little  alligators  and  dogs.  No- 
where in  the  world  in  a  given  amount  of 
space  are  more  pets  sold  than  here.  These 
things — and  for  side  lines — the  little  wax 
Mexican  figures  that  were  once  so  popu- 
lar. 

You  could  linger  long  in  this  nook  of 
New  Orleans  and  find  much  to  interest. 
You,  however,  go  on  into  Creole  land.  De- 
scendants of  French  or  Spanish  settlers, 
mulatto-colored,  but  not  negro,  grow  more 
and  more  numerous.  Their  customs,  too, 
have  a  fascination.  They  need  to  know  a 
man's  whole  ancestry  and  connections  be- 
fore they  admit  him  as  one  of  themselves. 
French  tongues  and  French  signs  hang 
everywhere' in  this  fauburg  of  the  French 
Quartier,  out  beyond  the  alcazar.  Beyond 
is  the  Hotel  San  Luis,  a  four-story,  dilapi- 
dated structure,  to-day  the  hiding  place 
of  bats  and  thieves,  but  still  containing 
the  famous  paintings  of  1841,  when  the 
structure  was  opened,  at  a  cost  of  little 
short  of  a  million.  Here,  in  the  days  be- 
fore the  war,  were  the  mystic  carnival 
balls,  and  here,  too,  in  a  gloomy  corner 
of  the  ground  floor,  is  the  old  block  from 
which  the  slaves  were  sold.  You  peep  in 
at  the  great  circular  dining  room,  eighty 
feet  in  diameter,  a  hundred  feet  in  height, 
to  look  over  the  allegorical  paintings  of 
Canova.  Here,  in  the  reconstruction  days, 
a  fort  for  the  troops  was  held,  and  there 
were  riots  and  blood-shed.  Once  the  camp 
was  the  capitol;  even  now  it  belongs  to 
the  State.  The  section,  however,  is  a  busy 
trading  place,  and  there  are  little  restau- 
rants where  the  planters  meet  over  ab- 
sinthe and  port,  to  discuss  their  several 
transactions. 

Over  the  way,  there  is  more  of  interest. 
The  home  built  to  become  the  American 
home  of  Napoleon.  In  1821  a  plot  was 
formed  at  New  Orleans  to  form  an  expe- 
dition and  rescue  the  Emperor  from  St. 


Helena.  The  fleet  schooner  Seraphine 
was  equipped  with  a  band  of  cut-throats 
and  dare-devils,  under  one  Captain  Bos- 
sier, and  set  sail.  Before  leaving  the  river, 
however,  an  inbound  merchantman 
brought  the  news  of  the  Emperor's  death, 
and  the  trip  was,  of  course,  abandoned. 
There  is  a  queer  watch-tower  to  attract  to 
the  three  story  building,  yellow-walled  and 
of  green  shutters,  and  there  is  a  dirty 
grocery  and  a  bar  within.  In  the  rear, 
one  may  see  the  courtvard,  with  the  arcade 
of  heavy  arches  abounding,  and  the  rails 
at  the  lower  window-sills  that  were  in- 
tended for  the  Emperor. 

Another  olden-time  hotel  is  here,  with 
its  court-yards  and  its  pillars.  The  lobby, 
there,  leads  far  into  the  stair  dividing  the 
hall,  and  at  its  sides,  rooms  wearing  de- 
cadent airs  lead  off  to  chambers  of  ill- 
fame. 

On,  a  dozen  yards  more,  and  vou  are  at 
the  Cabildo,  the  main  square  of  New  Or- 
leans. A  park,  flat  as  a  pan-cake,  and 
graced  with  palms,  amid  which  is  the 
famous  statue  of  General  Jackson  on  his 
horse,  is  this.  Walks  lead  about,  and  two 
roues  are  seated  on  a  bench  beside  one  of 
them.  To  one  side  is  the  Cabildo  build- 
ing, deeply  colonnaded,  where  occurred 
the  formal  delivery  of  the  province  of 
Louisiana  from  France  to  this  country,  in 
December  of  1803.  In  it  sat  the  French 
and  Spanish  Governors  of  Louisiana,  and 
at  the  rear  was  the  calaboose,  or  prison, 
where  the  Spanish  inquisition  worked  its 
terrors  on  the  heretic.  There,  to-day, 
there  is  a  police  station,  and  in  one  cell 
a  pair  of  stocks,  hewn  from  a  cypress  log, 
with  holes  for  the  offenders'  ankles,  sur- 
vive. 

Next  it  is  the  Cathedral,  of  the  yellow 
plastering  that  decays  so  quickly  from  the 
damp.  This  faces  the  park  and  the  statue, 
while  to  right  and  left,  queer  three-story 
red  brick  buildings,  a  block  long  each, 
and  with  heavy  balconies,  complete  the 
plaza.  These  were  erected  by  the 
Baroness  Pontalba,  daughter  of  Don  An- 
dres Roxas,  a  rich  Spanish  noble,  and  Col- 
onel of  the  Provincial  troops,  he  who  built 
the  cathedral  and  gave  it  to  the  colony. 
Each  evening,  at  vespers,  the  chimes  are 
played  and  masses  said  for  the  repose  of 
the  soul  of  the  Don.  In  their  music,  you 
sit  in  the  park  chatting  with  some  Creole 
— chatting  of  the  Mardi  Gras,  of  course. 


MABDI  GRAS  DAYS  AND  THE  MARDI  GRAS  CITY. 


203 


lobby,  but  in  these  there  were  shoe-blacks 
stationed,  and  inside  the  walls  were  hung 
with  theatrical  posters.  Men  sat  long 
over  their  cafe  noir,  reading  the  innumer- 
able papers,  set  as  in  the  French  cabarets 
upon  wicker  poles. 

Sauntering  on,  only  the  boxes  of  the 
Progressive  Union,  to  "help  keep  the  city 
clean,"  reminded  you  of  the  American 


ons  went  along  with  more  oysters,  and 
there  were  other  fruit  stands  set  close  to 
the  walls,  stands  with  dates,  oranges  and 
apples,  pears,  grapes  and  the  tiny  orange, 
while  pine-apples  were  suspended  at  the 
ends  of  strings,  and  there  were  heavy 
bunches  of  bananas  at  the  corners.  By 
and  by  the  streets  seemed  to  grow  empl  ier, 
possibly  every  one  was  in  the  delicatesse 


Ready  to  dance  voodoo  in  carnival  time,  "Mardl  Gras." 


invasion  of  the  French  Quartier.  Not- 
withstanding them,  there  was  still  an  air 
of  dirt  and  grime  about  it  all.  There 
were  little  tables  on  the  walk,  where  the 
boys  sold  newspapers,  and  two  negro  nuns, 
clad  in  white  and  black  robes,  hurried 
past,  as  you  stopped  to  buy.  Chestnut- 
sellers,  with  polished  urns,  seemed  ubiqui- 
tous. In  January,  too,  they  were  hawk- 
ing the  strawberries  on  the  streets.  Wag- 


shops  close  by.  And  the  street  doors  wore 
a  sign  "open"  or  "closed,"  as  the  owner 
was  in  or  out. 

Down  here  were  the  old  antique  shops; 
you  could  not  overlook  them,  of  course 
Silver  purses,  made  up  of  polished  clam- 
shells, old  porcelains  and  the  like  fill  ^heir 
windows.  You  enter  a  shop,  and  an  old 
hall-clock  chimes.  Queer  paper-flowers 
in  glass  bell  jars,  platters  and  andirons, 


204 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


Wary,  however,  is  he  of  the  secrets.  Wary 
are  the  shop-keepers,  one  and  all  of  whom 
take  you  for  the  spy  of  some  other  club. 
Each  club,  you  learn,  keeps  carefully 
guarded  its  plans  for  ball  or  float,  and  in 
order  to  enter  the  building,  months  before 
one  needs  to  have  the  proper  pass-word. 
Inside  the  building  there  will  be  a  patio, 


goes  way  back  in  Louisiana  history,  when 
the  one  getting  the  bean  at  an  entertain- 
ment was  duty  bound  to  entertain  the  as- 
semblage next,  and  then  in  turn  hid  a 
bean  themselves  in  the  cake.  So  a  round 
of  merriment  was  assured  to  all  who  par- 
ticipated in  the  festivities. 

Jewelers,  too,  profit  by  the  Mardi  Gras, 


Halted  to  watch  the  parade,  "Mardi  Gras." 


ruofed  over,  where  floats  are  kept  from 
year  to  year,  in  order  that  these  may  be  re- 
worked. 

But  the  parade  is  but  one  phase  of  the 
jovs  of  the  carnival  time.  Many  of  the 
clubs  have  a  cake,  in  which  is  hidden  a 
bean  of  purest  diver.  The  origin  of  this 


for  the  jewelry  worn  is  given  as  a  souve- 
nir to  Eex  and  his  Queen,  and  to  the 
maids  and  masters.  Each,  however,  sup- 
plies his  or  her  own  garmesto,  so  that  the 
well-to-do  alone  partake. 

But  these  customs  are  old,  old  stories  to 
the  reading  American. 


man 

0rn*at   of  I 
%  anguiah  of  bia  aoul 
tuoulJi  b^  uria? 


BY    ALICE    LOUISE    LEE 


NAT  GOODWIN  sat  in  his  office  on 
Hill  street  one  day  in  February, 
making  a  vain  attempt,  pen  in 
hand,  to  chain  his  thoughts  to  business. 
Behind  him  was  a  window  through  which 
the  sun  usually  sent  brilliant  floods  of 
light  across  his  desk.  Now  the  rain, 
dashing  against  the  pane,  obscured  tho 
little  light  which  was  able  to  penetrate 
the  banks  of  black  clouds.  Across  the 
street,  sitting  dejectedly  in  the  trees  of 
the  park  were  hundreds  of  blackbirds, 
whose  cheerful  conversation  made  the 
park  musical  when  the  sun  shone. 

Xat  had  a  partner  with  whom,  former- 
ly, he  was  wont  to  make  cheerful  conver- 
sation during  dull  days,  but  for  several 
weeks  a  constraint  had  grown  up  between 
the  two.  A  gloom  seemed  to  pervade  the 
atmosphere  of  their  office  in  the  brightest 
of  weather.  This  state  of  affairs  could 
have  easily  been  accounted  for  by  at  least 
a  dozen  people — all  of  whom  sympathized 
with  Nat — in  a  certain  Sixth  street  board- 
ing house  where  the  partners  lived,  and 
where,  also,  temporarily  resided  a  certain 
airy  little  person  beloved  of  all  the  board- 
ers who  still  answered  in  name  and  nature 
to  her  childhood  call  of  "Sprite." 

The  partner  sat  now  at  the  other  desk 
in  front  of  the  second  window  drawing 
pictures  idly.  Nat  saw  them  as  he  con- 
sulted the  unabridged  dictionary  half-way 
between  the  two  desks,  and  the  view  took 
away  what  little  appetite  he  had  left  for 
the  law ;  the  drawings  were  attempts  to 
reproduce  a  small,  animated  face  under  a 
bis:  backward  tilting  hat,  beneath  which 
locks  of  hair  were  continually  escaping 
their  confining  pins  and  curling  up 
against  the  overhanging  feathers. 

"Lucky  dog !"  thought  Xat,  resentfully, 
going  back  to  his  desk.  He  turned  his 
back  squarely  on  his  handsome  partner — 
Xat  was  not  handsome — and  stared  out 
on  the  park,  thinking.  Billings  possessed 
a  glove  with  a  small  hand  and  a  long 
wrist.  Xat  had  seen  him  take  it  from 
his  pocket  that  morning,  and  wondered 


helplessly  how  he  had  managed  to  secure 
it — Xat  was  shy  and  awkward  with  young 
women,  especially  with  Sprite.  Beforo 
this  winter,  he  had  not  minded  his  social 
shortcomings,  but  since  a  certain  party 
of  three  had  taken  rooms  at  the  boarding 
house  and  ate  at  the  same  table  occupied 
b^  the  partners — Sprite  sat  opposite  Nat, 
but  looked  oftener  at  Billings — he  had 
studied  the  latter's  easy  manners  closely, 
without  being  able  to  adopt  any  of  them. 

"Naturally,"  he  thought,  "she  wouldn't 
take  to  such  a  strapping,  big,  homely  fel- 
low as  I."  There  were  those  who  thought 
differently,  but  their  wisdom  did  not 
make  Nat  wise. 

He  smothered  a  sigh,  and,  leaning  far- 
ther forward,  looked  down  on  Hill  street. 
A  car  stopped  at  the  corner,  and  the  con- 
ductor, in  rubber  coat  and  boots,  picked 
a  woman  calmlv  from  the  top  step  and 
carried  her  across  the  gutter  of  ankle  deep 
moisture,  depositing  her  on  the  walk. 

"If  the  City  Fathers  would  put  less 
public  money  in  their  pockets,"  he  re- 
marked aloud,  "and  more  into  the  sewer- 
aere  system,  Los  Angeles  might  be  made 
navigable  during  the  winter  rains !"  He 
was  watching  the  policeman  drooping  un- 
der the  weight  of  a  substantial  matron 
who  plunmed  her  umbrella  into  his  eye 
and  shed  numerous  packages  from  under 
her  arms  in  the  passage  across  the  street. 

rollings  had  stated  the  truth  succinctly. 
On  the  rare  occasions  when  the  flood 
gates  of  heaven  are  drawn  back  over  the 
"Land  of  the  Angels,"  the  torrent  de- 
scends on  a  defenseless  city,  stopping 
traffic,  flooding  the  unpaved  thorough- 
fares, filling  up  all  the  side  gutters 
and  sweeping  a  conglomeration  of  dirt, 
stones  and  other  debris  over  the  walks  in- 
to the  residents'  well-kept  front  yards. 

Billings  had  arisen,  and  leaning  his 
graceful  figure  against  the  window  casing, 
looked  down.  "Beastly  day,"  he  yawned, 
"and  worst  of  all,  it  will  be  a  bad  night." 
He  glanced  over  at  the  other,  ending  with 
an  assumption  of  carelessness,  "I  was  a 


206 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


fool  to  make  a  theatre  engagement — but 
then,  a  fellow  «an  never  undo  such  fool- 
ishness." 

Nat  understood  with  whom  the  en- 
gagement had  been  made,  and  felt  like 
kicking  his.  dapper  partner  down  stairs 
for  his  light  speech.  Nat  knew  that  if 
he  had  such  an  engagement — his  heart 
gave  a  sudden  thump — he  should  walk  on 
air  and  consider  it  a  desecration  to  men- 
tion the  matter  lightly. 

He  frowned  darkly  at  Billings  as  th-3 
latter,  at  the  'phone,  called  up  a  livery 
stable  and  ordered  a  cab  for  the  evening. 
Then  he  picked  up  his  papers,  donned  a 
mackintosh,  not  quite  a  good  fit,  and 
seized  his  umbrella. 

"Wait  there,  old  man,"  called  Billings, 
"and  I'll  walk  over  with  you." 

Nat  waited,  but  not  with  the  best  grace, 
and  watched  Billings  adjust  a  long  coat, 
which  fitted  him  as  though  he  had  been 
melted  and  run  into  it,  put  on  the  latest 
style  of  hat  at  exactly  the  right  angle, 
ascertained  by  a  glance  into  the  mirror 
under  his  desk,  and  draw  on  a  pair  of 
gloves — Nat  habituallv  forgot  his. 

Then  they  sallied  out  into  the  down- 
pour together,  but  they  did  not  long  re- 
main together.  Their  parting  occurred 
at  Sixth  street  and  Hope. 

Here  the  water  races  down  the  Nor- 
mal School  hill  as  it  did  at  Lodore,  tum- 
bling, rushing,  dashing,  twisting,  until  it 
tears  down  Hope  street,  hitting  the  legs 
of  unfortunate  pedestrians  with  mud, 
stones,  and  such  other  obstructions  as 
chance  to  bar  its  path — barrels,  garbage- 
cans  and  boxes. 

At  this  corner  stood  three  women  drag- 
gled and  forlorn,  waiting  for  a  police- 
man, but  none  came.  They  looked  for  a 
cart  to  convey  them  across,  but  traffic  in 
general  had  ceased.  Then  with  one  ac- 
cord they  turned  and  looked  at  the  two 
men  approaching. 

"I  suppose  it's  up  to  us "  Nat  be- 
gan, but  did  not  finish.  He  glanced  at 
Jiis  companion's  umbrella,  and  saw  that 
it  was  discreetly  lowered  to  shut  out  the 
pleading  glances  from  six  eyes.  When 
they  reached  the  corner,  Nat  hesitated. 
Billings  did  not.  He  made  a  flying  jump 
which  landed  him  on  the  high  middle  o? 
the  street  across  the  near  gutter's  flood. 
Another  leap  brought  him  to  the  further 
walk,  and  caused  a  long  sigh  of  envy  to 


arise   from   the   waiting   trio.    Then 

"Ladies,  may  I  assist  you  ?"  asked  Nat, 
cheerfully,  and  a  chorus  of  heartfelt 
"thank  you's"  arose. 

He  furled  his  umbrella  and  set  it 
against  a  neighboring  fence.  He  gave  a 
few  deft  rolls  to  the  bottom  of  his  trou- 
sers, and  manfully  picked  up  the  largest 
of  the  three,  who  frantically  endeavored 
to  shield  him  with  her  umbrella  en  route, 
with  the  result  of  knocking  his  hat  off. 
When  he  set  her  on  the  opposite  walk,  he 
saw  his  derby  gracefully  riding  the  flood 
a  block  down. 

The  next  passenger-in-arms  was  a  ma- 
tron who  was  doing  light  housekeeping, 
and  had  been  visiting  a  "Delicacy  Store,'7 
from  which  she  was  bearing  cooked  viands 
home.  After  she  had  gone  her  thankful 
way,  Nat  discovered  that  his  coat  was 
smeared  with  rice  pudding  and  dripping 
oyster  soup. 

"Confound  it  all!"  he  muttered,  and 
then  laughingly  pushed  his  wet  hair  back 
from  his  forehead  and  went  back  for  the 
third,  only  to  discover  that  a  fourth  had 
joined  her. 

"Guess  this  is  an  evening's  job,"  he 
thought,  shivering  as  his  starched  collar 
succumbed  to  the  elements  and  allowed 
cold  rivulets  to  course  down  his  back. 

Number  three  wore  the  bonnet  of  a 
Salvation  Army  soldier.  "The  Lord  will 
certainly  reward  you  !"  she  exclaimed  with 
fervor  as  she  went  her  way,  little  dream- 
ing that  her  pious  prophecy  was  even  then 
being  fulfilled.. 

For  when  the  fourth  lowered  her  um- 
brella and  stepped  forward,  Nat  was  de- 
lighted, paralyzed — in  his  own  compre- 
hensive speech  "deucedly  rattled,"  to  dis- 
cover a  small,  petite  face  under  a  large 
backward  tilting  hat. 

"Oh,  it's — it's  you,  is  it?"  he  exclaimed 
helplessly  and  inelegantly.  He  seized  her 
umbrella  and  raised  it  over  her  again. 
"You  must  not  get  wet,"  he  added  in 
alarm,  glancing  from  the  plume  covered 
hat  to  two  wee  black  patent  tips  that 
showed  beneath  her  silken  skirts. 

Sprite  laughed  mischievously,  but  with 
a  spot  of  pink  on  either  cheek.  "How 
can  I  help  getting  wet  when  your  sleeves 
are  soaked  through?"  she  dimpled  up  at 
him. 

Then  Nat,  stammering  and  blushing, 
was  under  the  impression  that  the  sun 


THE   SILVER   LINING   OF  THE   CLOUDS. 


207 


had  burst  through  the  clouds,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  the  rain  was  drip- 
ping from  every  crease  in  his  coat,  oozing 
out  of  his  soaked  shoes  and  running 
down  his  hair. 

"Why,  may  I — that  is — will  you  allow 

me "  He  managed  to  get  that  far 

and  stopped,  holding  his  breath. 

Sprite  flushed  a  shade  pinker.  "It's 
the  only  way,  isn't  it?"  Then  with  a 
shade  of  reproach  in  her  voice,  "You  car- 
ried the  others!  It  must  be  hard  work, 
but  if  you  will  please " 

Xat  gathered  her  up  as  though  she  had 
been  a  baby.  "I  wish,"  he  said,  impul- 
sively, "that  Hope  street  were  as  wide  as 
the  Atlantic  ocean!" 

Sprite  laughed  so  gayly  at  this  that  he 
was  forced  to  hold  her  closer  lest  she 
should  fall.  Although  she  was  under  his 
ri  ht  arm,  he  was  sure  she  must  be  an- 
noyed by  the  trip-hammer  that  was 
pounding  away  against  his  left  ribs. 

Once  over  the  flood,  he  started  on, 
holding  the  umbrella  over  her  and  fearing 
to  look  back  lest  he  should  discover  that 
his  services  were  needed  further.  The 
sun,  for  him,  was  still  shining  gloriously 
because  of  the  expression  he  had  surprised 
in  her  eyes  when  he  set  her  on  the  pave- 
ment. His  thought  spun  round  confused- 
ly until  the  boarding  house  was  reached, 
and  Sprite,  turning  at  the  door,  looked 


him  over  with  dancing  eyes. 

"Where  is  your  hat/'  she  asked  de- 
murely, "and  your  umbrella?" 

"I  haven't  once  thought  of  them,"  he 
confessed.  Then  suddenly  and  totally  un- 
expectedly to  himself,  he  blurted  out  hon- 
estly: "I  think  I've  lost  my  head  as  well 
as  my  heart."  After  which  bold  speech 
the  trip-hammer  got  in  heavier  work  un- 
der his  ribs,  and  his  breath  banked  up  in 
his  throat  and  threatened  to  choke  him, 
while  he  expected  to  see  Sprite  disappear 
in  a  whirlwind  of  indignation. 

Her  gaze  did  not  wander  higher  than 
his  wilted  collar,  but  she  did  not  look  at 
all  displeased  with  so  blunt  and  honest 
a  speech.  Instead,  a  little  glad  expression 
crept  into  her  face,  and  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  curved  upward  happily,  as  she  said 
wjth  a  new  shyness  in  her  manner: 

"We — that  is,  mamma  and  papa — 
would  be  glad  to  have  you  spend  the  even- 
ing with  us — and  I,  too,"  she  added, 
softly. 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to,"  cried  Nat, 
the  words  tumbling  over  each  other.  "But 
your  theatre  engagement!"  he  added  in 
dismay. 

Sprite  laughed  demurely.  "After  this 
wetting,  I  think  mamma  will  not  let  me 
go  out  this  evening — in  fact,  I  know 
she  will  not!"  And  glancing  once  at 
Nat's  face  she  ran  up  the  stairs. 


BY    HELEN    FITZGERALD    SANDERS 
I. 

Land  of  my  dreams !     My  childhood's  early  home ! 
Fair  are  thy  peaks,  thy  ocean  flecked  with  foam ! 
Oh,  I  have  known  thy  mountain  steeps  and  shades, 
Thy  vernal  nooks  and  rocky  palissades, 
And  I  have  felt  the  sylvan  poetry 
Well  from  thy  heart  and  then  find  voice  in  me. 
Poor  vessel,  I,  to  sound  the  swelling  chord 
Of  inspiration,  that  is  of  the  Lord. 

II. 

Beneath  the  shade  of  royal  redwood  trees, 
Whose  boughs  are  voiceful  in  the  summer  breeze, 
Whose  gnarled  roots  grip  fast  the  rugged  rock, 
Born  of  the  sea  and  riven  by  earthquake  shock, 
There,  crouched  upon  a  fragrant  lap  of  earth, 
Where  ferns  and  flowers  unfold  in  timid  birth, 
Oft  have  I  lain  and  dreamed  beneath  the  sky, 
While  overhead,  the  white  mist  drifted  by. 

III. 

Down  far  below,  now  purple  in  the  shade, 
Then  pierced  by  sunshine,  like  a  golden  blade, 
Changing  its  mood  beneath  my  fixed  gaze, 
The  valley  lay,  a  checkered,  patchwork  maze 
Of  grape-vine,  orchard  and  rich  husbandry, 
Tilled  and  fruit-bearing,  to  the  gleaming  sea. 
There  man  and  nature  met  in  one  accord 
And  he  hath  reaped  his  labor's  fair  reward. 

IV. 

But  not  for  me  the  orchard  and  the  vine; 
Give  me  the  sea,  the  mountain  and  the  pine, 
The  wild,  sweet  note  of  birds  within  the  trees, 
The  varying  impulse  of  the  blithe,  salt  breeze, 
The  flash  of  chipmunks,  spurred  with  sudden  fright, 
The  distant  sea-birds  circling  in  their  flight, 
The  muffled  roar  of  chafing,  restless  waves 
Echoing  below,  within  deep,  rock-hewn  caves. 


LAXD  OF  MY  DREAMS.  ?1>9 

V. 

0  calm,  serene,  majestic  ocean,  Thou 
Mirror  of  Heaven's  over-arching  brow, 
The  first  uncertain  steps  of  childhood  bore 
My  heart,  awakening,  'long  thy  rugged  shore, 
And  there,  with  wistful  eyes  fixed  on  the  sea 

1  heard  thee  speak  from  out  eternity; 

And  every  white-sailed  ship  that  passed  thy  Gate 
Told  mutely  of  Life's  voyage  on  the  Sea  of  Fate. 

VI. 

Once  more,  methinks,  with  soul  astir  I  stand 
Among  the  rocks  amid  the  yellow  sand. 
Low  in  the  West  the  sun  hangs  radiant  gold, 
A  Pageant  in  the  clouds  that  Prophets  old 
Called  Revelation.    O'er  the  sea  doth  shine 
A  bridge  of  light,  resplendent,  half-divine, 
Spanning  the  space  between  the  sea  and  sun 
So  Heaven  and  earth  seem  welded  into  one. 


VII. 

But  lo!  a  shadow  cold  and  sombre  gray! 
The  mistarises,  the  pale  ghost  of  day, 
The  cold  wind  quickens  and  whines  mournfully, 
And  through  the  darkness  sighs  the  saddened  sea. 
From  out  the  mist  the  sea-fowl  calls  his  mate, 
Deep  bays  the  fog-horn  at  the  Golden  Gate, 
And  like  a  raven  hov'ring  o'er  his  nest, 

Xight  settles  slowly  on  the  water's  breast. 

» 

VIII. 

Land  of  my  dreams !     My  childhood's  early  home ! 
Gone  is  my  vision,  far  away  I  roam ! 
Farewell,  dear  land !     Farewell,  beloved,  shore ! 
Upon  thy  strand  my  feet  shall  tread  no  more, 
But,  ah!  forever  shall  my  yearning  eyes 
Seek  out  thy  image  in  the  sunset  skies, 
And  though  apart.  I  still  may  dwell  with  thee, 
Since  God  hath  left  the  gift  of  memory. 


Residence  of  Judge  A.  L.  Rhodes.     At  present  the  best  type  of  the  entire  group. 

E.   P.   Carey,  Photo. 


BY    ROCKWELL    D.    HUNT 


ON"  February  29,  1844,  one  square 
league  of  land  /was  granted  by 
Governor  Mannel  Micheltorena  to 
James  Alexander  Forbes.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  Portrefo  de  Santa  Clara,  or 
the  Stockton  Eancho,  as  it  was  after- 
wards called.  It  was  bounded  by  the 
Alameda  avenue,  the  Guadalupe  Creek 
and  a  large  ditch  of  running  water  drain- 
ing into  the  creek  at  a  point  slightly  east 
of  north  of  the  town  of  Santa  Clara.  The 
survey  of  1850  showed  193,903  acres. 

Commodore  Stockton,  who  shortly  af- 
ter the  raising  of  the  American  flag  at 
Monterey,  had  followed  Commodore  Sloat 
in  completing  the  American  conquest  of 
California,  acquired  title  to  the  ranch  .it 
an  early  date  by  purchase  from  Forbes, 
the  purchase  price  being  understood  to 


be  $10,000.  Stockton  was  reputed  to  be 
a  very  wealthy  man;  he  called  the  ranch 
the  "Alameda  Gardens,"  and  conceived 
the  idea  of  subdividing  and  selling  or 
leasing  parcels  of  land  to  intending  set- 
tlers. 

To  this  end  he  had  the  place  carefully 
platted,  and  during  his  absence — he  ap- 
parently spent  very  little,  if  any,  time  on 
the  ranch  himself — he  was  represented  in 
all  business  matters  by  his  agent,  Mr. 
James  F.  Kennedy,  who  came  to  Califor- 
nia in  1850  to  act  in  that  capacity,  and 
who  is  well  remembered  as  an  efficient 
sheriff  of  Santa  Clara  County. 

In  early  California  days,  sawed  lumber 
and  other  building  materials,  unless  we 
except  adobe,  were  very  expensive  and 
virtually  impossible  to  secure  at  all  in 


HOUSES  THAT  CAME  ABOUND  THE  HOEX. 


quantities.  It  is  not  strictly  true  that 
there  were  absolutely  no  saw  mills,  for 
in  1847  William  Campbell  commenced 
the  erection  of  a  saw  mill  in  the  western 
part  of  the  county,  which,  however,  on  ac- 
count of  the  scarcity  of  labor,  was  not 
completed  till  late  in  1848.  In  1848,  also, 
Zacheriah  Jones  completed  a  mill.  But 
lumber  was  exceedingly  high,  bringing 
from  $250  to  $700  per  thousand,  and 
the  hauling  alone  cost  $100  per  thousand. 
Burned  bricks  were  made  in  California  by 
Mr.  0 shorn  in  1848,  in  which  memorable 
year  the  first  brick  house  is  believed  to 
have  been  completed.  Carpenters,  brick- 
layers or  mechanics  of  any  sort  were  paid 
$16,  or  in  the  phrase  of  the  times,  "an 
ounce,"  per  day. 

In  view  of  these  conditions,  Commo- 
dore Stockton,  according  to  certain  re- 
ports, had  planned  and  prepared  in  Phila- 
delphia, probably  in  1849,  a  great  cargo 
of  houses,  which  were  shipped  by  sailing 
vessel  to  California  via  Cape  Horn.  This 
cargo,  according  to  my  informants,  con- 
sisted of  sixty  houses.  His  intention  was 
to  set  up  these  houses  on  the  eligible  sites 
along  the  Alameda  avenue  and  Stockton 
avenue,  which  latter,  running  through 
the  heart  of  the  ranch,  was  expected  to 


become  the  leading  avenue  of  his  Alameda 
Gardens  then  about  to  be  realized  by  the 
subdivision  of  the  Stockton  ranch. 

Stockton  had  enclosed  the  entire  ranch 
with  a  strong  fence  of  very  heavy  but 
smooth  wire  stretched  along  iron  posts 
eight  feet  apart.  These  wires,  six  in  num- 
ber, and  inserted  directly  through  holes 
drilled  in  the  posts,  made  a  barrier  that 
was  proof  against  any  force  except  the 
fierce  onslaught  of  a  stampeded  band  of 
cattle.  Eemnants  of  this  fence  are  still 
used  to  enclose  the  campus  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  the  Pacific,  then  a  part  of  the 
Stockton  ranch.  Stockton  avenue  was  en- 
closed also  by  wire  fences  of  the  same  de- 
scription, while  directly  across  the  ave- 
nue and  at  right  angles  to  it  were  a  num- 
ber of  old-style  picket  fences.  These 
small  enclosures  were  necessary  to  the 
cross  roads  or  streets  intersecting  Stock- 
ton avenue  at  right  angles,  and  served 
also  as  corrals  and  the  like,  several  years 
passing  before  the  avenue  as  such  came 
into  general  use. 

The  great  cargo  of  houses  said  to  be 
shipped  from  Philadelphia  suffered  an 
unhappy  fate.  The  report  is,  that  after 
having  successfully  doubled  Cape  Horn 
and  come  to  harbor  in  San  Francisco,  they 


Frederickburg   Resort,   north   side,   showing  original   structure.     Entire   front   has   been    added 
later-  E.   P.  Carey,   Photo. 


The  Watkins  house.     Shows  much  neglect  in      recent  years. 


E.   P.   Carey,   Photo. 


were  destroyed  and  totally  consumed  by 
fire,  together  with  much  shipping  in  the 
harbor,  in  one  of  that  series  of  disastrous 
conflagrations  that  visited  San  Francisco 
in  1849-50.  This  report  of  the  great 
cargo  of  houses  I  have  not  been  able  thus 
far  to  verify  to  my  own  satisfaction. 

But  another  consignment  of  houses,  at 
least  ten  in  number,  soon  followed  those 
that  wftre  said  to  be  destroyed.  These 
houses  not  only  weathered  the  storms  of 
the  long  voyage,  and  safely  reached  har- 
bor, but  they  were  transferred  to  a 
schooner,  landed  at  Alviso,  and  hauled  to 
the  Stockton  Ranch,  where  they  were  put 
up  by  Mr.  Kennedy,  and  where  they 
served  their  purpose.  A  majority  of  them 
are  still  pointed  out  as  no  mean  resi- 
dences, interesting  landmarks  and  sur- 
vivals of  early  days  in  California.  These 
houses  were  in  all  cases,  with  but  one  ex- 
ception, copies  of  the  same  original  or 
duplicates  from  the  same  plans.  The  ex- 
ception was  made  of  the  ranch  house 
proper,  on  what  is  now  Newhall  street, 
which  was  larger  and  more  pretentious 
than  the  others,  and  enjoyed  the  distinc- 
tion of  possessing  a  cupola.  Each  of  the 
other  houses  was  of  two  stories  and  un- 
finished attic,  with  wide  front  porch  ex- 
tending the  full  length  of  the  house.  On 
the  first  floor  the  front  door  opened  into 


a  six-foot  hallway  extending  through  to 
the  rear.  At  the  right  of  this  was  a  sin- 
gle large  living  room  16  by  22  feet.  On 
the  left  were  the  dining  room  and  kitchen 
of  equal  size  (11x16  feet.)  Up-stairs  the 
space  was  equally  divided  into  four  bed- 
rooms. Instead  of  plastering  the  inside, 
the  finish  was  of  very  thin  pine  sheeting 
as  a  base  for  the  wall  paper.  Each  house 
had  one  chimney  with  great  spreading 
fire-places  on  the  first  floor,  the  brick  for 
which  was  imported  with  the  other  mater- 
ials from  the  East.  The  shingles  were  as 
long  as  our  ordinary  shakes,  and  being  of 
sound  lumber  and  dressed  down  as  oar 
shingles,  they  gave  excellent  satisfaction 
for  many  years.  All  doors  and  window 
casings  were  painted  white,  the  solid  out- 
side shutters — one  of  the  striking  features 
of  the  houses — were  a  dark  green. 

These  pioneer  houses  were  regular  old- 
styled  Eastern  frames,  all  clap-boarded 
and  tightly  mortised.  All  the  parts, 
boards,  stairs,  shutters,  wall  sections,  etc., 
were  carefiflly  numbered,  and  a  given 
part  of  one  house  could  readily  be  fitted 
to  corresponding  parts  of  any  other  one. 
With  corner  posts  stoutly  braced  and 
clinched  with  draw-pins,  these  interesting 
dwellings  have  shown  their  merit  in  the 
staunch  manner  in  which  a  majority  of 
them  have  withstood  the  force  of  the  ele- 


HOUSES   THAT   CAME   ABOUXD   THE   HOEX. 


213 


ments  and  the  earthquake  shocks  for  over 
half  a  century.  Doubtless  the  enormous 
locks  and  keys  with  which  they  were  pro- 
vided were  calculated  to  give  added  se- 
curity in  a  border  civilization,  while  to  us 
an  element  of  quaintness  is  added  by  the 
uniformly  tiny  window  panes  shielded  be- 
neath the  solid  green  shutters.  Built  of 
good  materials,  honestly  constructed,  after 
the  style  of  the  Eastern  houses,  conven- 
ient and  commodious  in  their  appoint- 
ments, they  were  not  long  in  finding  pur- 
chasers or  tenants,  and  were  considered 
for  years  as  very  fine  houses,  or  in  later- 
day  phrase,  "quite  swell." 

Of  these  houses,  from  this  consignment 
yet  standing,  I  have  been  able  to  find  and 
identify  the  following  enumerating  from 
south  to  north,  according  to  respective  lo- 
cation: 1.  The  Ehodes  house  on  the  fam- 
ous Alameda  avenue,  which  in  most  re- 
spects is  the  best  existing  type  of  the 
whole  group  in  their  best  days.  Here  re- 
sides our  venerable  and  honored  fellow 
townsman,  Judge  A.  L.  Ehodes,  and  here 
he  has  made  his  home  continuously  for 
forty-eight  years  past  (since  1858.)  Be- 
fore him  was  Baron  von  Bendeleben  von 
ITckermann,  a  Saxon  noble  exiled  during 
the  revolution  of  1848. 

'2.   The  Fredericksburg  Eesort.  on  the 


corner  of  the  Alameda  and  Cinnabar 
street.  This  would  not  readily  be  recog- 
nized as  a  member  of  the  group  because 
of  the  transformation  wrought  in  its 
front,  and  perhaps  also  because  of  the 
use  to  which  it  is  put;  but  closer  scrutiny 
reveals  the  clap-boarding,  the  solid  shut- 
ters and  the  regulation  window  panes  on 
the  inner  sides  of  the  house.  It  was  the 
beginning  of  the  Fredericksburg  Brew- 
ery. For  many  years  since  it  has  been 
used  as  a  drinking  house  and  beer  garden, 
as  an  adjunct  to  the  great  brewery. 

3.  The   Polhemus  house,     corner     of 
Stockton  avenue  and     Polhemus     street, 
which,  with  additions  and  improvements, 
is  yet  the  attractive  home  of  Miss  Xel- 
lie  Polhemus,  daughter  of  John  K.  Pol- 
hemus, who  served  in  the  Eevolutionary 
army  at  Valley  Forge,  and  who  in  turn 
was  the  son-in-law  of  John  Hart,  a  signer 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

Jno.  T.  Bray  is  believed  to  have  been 
the  first  regular  occupant  of  this  house. 

4.  The  Baker-Blanchard  house,  which 
stood  for  many  years  on  the  corner  of 
Polhemus   street  and  the   Alameda,   but 
which  was  moved  in  1901  to  its  present 
location   on   the   corner   of   Asbury   and 
Myrtle  streets,  to  make  room  for  the  new 
and  elegant  residence  of  Mrs.  Lulu  Blan- 


The    Blanchard    house. 


For    years    the    resid  ence   of   Rev.    George    B.    Baker. 

E.   P.   Carey,   Photo. 


The    Polhemus    house.      Excellent    type    of    ranch    house,    surrounded    by    dense    foliage. 

E.   P.    Carey,   Photo. 


chard.  In  this  home  resided  for  many 
years  Eeverend  George  E.  Baker,  a  promi- 
nent member  of  the  California  Confer- 
ence of  the  M.  E.  Church,  and  for  a  time 
the  successful  financial  agent  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  the  Pacific.  It  is  now  offered 
to  tenants  as  a  comfortable  home. 


5.  The  Watkins  house  on  Stockton  ave- 
nue near  Hedding  street.  Want  of  home 
surroundings  and  comely  foliage  give  this 
place  a  somewhat  deserted  appearance 
now,  although  in  itself  it  retains  most  of 
its  characteristic  features — plainness  of 
plan,  outside  shutters,  and  the  tiny  win- 


The    Stockton   ranch   house. 


Home   of   James   F.   Kennedy,   ae-ent   of   Commodore   Stockton. 

E.   P.   Carey,   Photo. 


DOLCE  FAR  XIEXTE. 


215 


dow  panes.  This  place  became  in  1851 
the  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watkins,  the 
parents  of  Mrs.  A.  P.  Hill  of  San  Jose. 
It  was  later  the  property  for  some  years 
of  Mr.  J.  W.  Hines,  one  of  our  most  not- 
able living  pioneers  of  the  Santa  Clara 
Valley. 

6.  The  Kennedy  house,  or  original 
ranch  house,  now  more  commonly  known 
as  the  McLaughlin  house,  situated  near 
the  corner  of  Xewhall  and  Spring  streets. 
This  has  lost  much  of  its  original  appear- 
ance by  reason  of  additions  and  improve- 
ments, and  has  changed  hands  several 
times.  It  was  for  years  the  home  of 
Sheriff  Kennedy,  of  Santa  Clara  County. 
It  is  at  present  owned  by  Mr.  Wiinship,  of 
San  Francisco,  and  is  the  commodious 
home  of  Mrs.  Fosgate,  a  pioneer  of  1853. 

Four  of  the  original  houses  are  not  now 
extant.  Of  these  one  stood  on  the.  pres- 
ent site  of  Judge  Leibe's  beautiful  home 
on  the  Alameda.  This  was  sold  to  the 
Morrisons  about  1866 ;  they  in  turn  sold 
to  D.  M.  Delmas.  The  house  was  de- 
stroved  bv  fire  in  1879. 


The  second  and  third  of  the  houses 
not  now  extant  were  situated  on  opposite 
sides  of  Stockton  avenue,  on  or  near  the 
Brokaw  road,  and  a  short  distance  beyond 
the  present  limits  of  Santa  Clara.  The 
one  on  the  west  side  was '  destroyed  by 
fire  years  ago;  the  other,  on  the  east  side 
of  the  avenue,  after  considerable  neglect, 
underwent  almost  complete  transforma- 
tion, and  still  later  was  torn  down  to  fur- 
nish materials  for  other  houses  now  stand- 
ing in  the  vicinity. 

Lastly,  the  house  that  was  located  just 
adjacent  to  the  Southern  Pacific  Depot, 
Santa  Clara.  Until  April  of  this  year  it 
might  have  been  observed  from 'the  win- 
dows of  the  passing  trains,  and  was  the 
home  of  the  engineer  of  the  municipal 
plant  of  the  city  of  Santa  Clara.  After 
standing  for  56  years,  this  landmark  met 
the  fate  of  many  another  on  the  morning 
of  April  18,  1906.  The  damage  received 
was  so  serious  that  it  was  deemed  wise 
to  remove  the  building,  and  now  the  en- 
gineer has  a  new  and  modern  home  imrnc- 
diatelv  to  the  rear  of  the  site  of  the  old. 


BY    AGNES    LOCKHART    HUGHES 

Summer  led  me  o'er  her  paths, 
Gay  with  gorgeous  flowers — 
And  I  wandered  with  the  maiden 
Through  the  golden  hours. 
But  as  day  began  to  wane, 
Summer  paled  in  fright, 
As  gay  Autumn's  brilliant  gleam 
Flashed  upon  our  sight. 
"I  must  go,"  she  murmured,  now, 
"Through  Time's  narrow  gate — 
Come,"  she  whispered  to  the  bloom, 
"Come,  the  hour  grows  late !" 
Then  she  softly  kissed  my  brow, 
Sighing:  "Love,  good-day!" 
Ah !  I  fain  would  follow  her, 
Could  I  find  the  wav ! 


BY    FELIX    J.    KOCH 


EDITOE'S  NOTE.— It  is  a  fact  not 
generally  known  that  the  United 
States  Government  maintains,  out 
in  the  bay  of  San  Francisco  a  veritable 
Isle  du  Diable,  devoted  to  the  purposes 
of  a  military  prison  alone.  The  place  is 
one  of  the  most  difficult  to  visit  of  any 
over  which  the  flag  now  floats.  From  his 
cell  on  Alcatraz,  high  up  in  the  walls  of 
Prison  West,  where  the  last  rays  of  each 
setting  sun  turned  the  cruel  iron  bars  to 
gold — fool's  gold,  mocking  all  the  more, 
for  its  un-reality — Emanuello  could  sur- 
vey the  sea. 

Each  morning  the  Pacific  rolled  up, 
serene  and  leaden  grey.  Then  the  gulls 
would  veer  out  of  the  depths,  born  of  tho 
sea,  they  said — in  Italy — and  simultane- 
ously, almost,  with  their  flight  each  wave 
crest  gleamed  and  sparkled,  and  the  dull 
grey  became  blue,  and  one  knew,  on  Al- 
catraz,  that  the  sun  had  risen  again. 

And  yet,  what  was  one  day  more  on 
Alcatraz?  Pain  ^torture,  misery — that 
was  all. 

"It  is  the  prison  island,"  he  had  writ- 
tfec  back  to  Napoli,  "and  we  must  work 
and  work  and  work!  Now  it  is  to  tend 
the  Commandant's  family.  Now  it  is  to 
break  stone,  with  the  chain  and  ball  at 
our  feet.  Now  it  is  in  the  dungeon, 
where  is  so  little  light,  Eomana,  so  lit- 
tle!' 

That  letter — it  was  confiscated  by  the 
Commandant,  as  were  so  many  penned  at 
Alcatraz,  in  the  old  regime. 

So  there  came  never  a  letter  from  Italy, 
and  the  lone  man  in  the  cell  wondered 
and  grew  ever  more  serious  and.  impa- 
tient. 

Daily  the  ferry  boats  went  by  on  their 
way  to  and  from  Vallejo. 

Over  the  water  the  breeze  bore  the 
peals  of  merry  laughter  and  the  soft,  dul- 
cet notes  of  a  harp. 

That  harpist  was  an  Italian,  Emanu- 
ello was  certain.  Only  an  Italian  could 
bring  from  the  strings  such  a  Cavallero 
Eusticano,  such  a 


Every  time  the  harp  passed,  the  prison 
faded,  and  one  was  back  again  in  Napoli. 
Where  the  road  winds  out  from  the  city, 
and  the  funicular  starts  for  Vesuvius, 
there  had  been  just  such  another  harpist, 
who  had  played  "Cavallera  Eusticana." 
Bread  and  water  was  often  the  day's  fare 
in  Italy,  but  then  there  was  the  wine,  the 
sweet  Vesuvian  sherry,  grown  over  bur- 
ied cities  and  taking  sugar  from  lava 
and  dust.  And  the  harpist  then  was 
free. 

Then  in,  on  the  image,  one  would  hear 
again  the  sergeant's  voice:  "Prisoner  No. 
16,  bread  and  water,  ten  days!  Prisoner 
No.  25,  twenty  days  solitary  arrest !"  and 
the  voice  of  the  guard  repeating,  to  make 
sure  he  heard  aright. 

After 'that  the  question,  stereotyped,, 
also: 

"By  whose  orders?" 

"The  Commandant  of  Alcatraz." 

"The  Commandant's  orders  shall  be 
obeyed." 

A  clank  of  closing  prison  gates,  and 
the  stern : 

"Forward  march!"  and  the  shuffle  of 
chained  feet. 

One  day — it  was  in  Miarch — Emanuello 
was  at  work  on  the  break-water  at  Alca- 
traz. 

The  boat  was  due,  and  the  guard  was 
at  the  other  end  of  the  beat.  The  pris- 
oner leaned  on  his  pick  to  listen. 

Off  the  ocean  came  again  the  harp 
music. 

Not  alone,  however. 

Over  the  soothing  lap  of  the  sea  floated 
a  voice,  a  soprano,  weak  with  youth,  but 
beautiful. 

"Where  the  love  in  her  eyes  I  could  see, 
And  the  music  I  heard,  like  the  song  of 
a  bird— 

And  then  it  was  gone. 

The  harp  still  sounded  faint  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  Italian  was  transfixed. 

His  eyes,  his  ears  were  glued  to  the 
ship  plowing  on  to  Mare  Island. 


A  LEGEND  OF  ALCATRAZ. 


217 


Back  on  the  liner,  off  the  Azores,  the 
good  angel  of  the  poor,  the  cabin-lady 
who  brought  cake  and  sometimes  candy  to 
the  children  of  the  emigrants,  had  sung 
that  song.  Emanuello  remembered  they 
had  heard  it  coming  from  the  cabin  salon 
the  night  of  the  seamen's  fund  benefit. 

Things  had  seemed  so  rosy  then.  New 
York,  where  bread  and  meat  were  cheap, 
so  cheap !  The  passage  paid  to  San 
Francisco.  Another  land  of  flowers  and 
sun!  No  winter  winds,  and  snow  un- 
known! 

Then  had  come  the  disillusionment. 
There  were  many  others  in  the  Golden 
West  in  search  of  work.  There  were 
others  who  were  strong  and  willing  and 
eager.  There  were  not  places  nearly 
enough,  and  so — Emanuello  had  gone 
from  place  to  place. 

The  consul  had  been  kind,  and  given 
him  a  paper,  in  which  men  advertised  for 
laborers.  When  he  went  to  these,  he 
found  that  some  wanted  this,  and  some 
that;  none  needed  just  that  which  he 
could  give — strength,  pure  strength  alone. 

For  a  man  who  had  played  the  harp 
on  the  road  up  Vesuvius,  where  the  tour- 
ists passed  and  dropped  liras,  there  was 
hardly  place. 

The  little  wallet  that  the  man  wore 
strapped  to  his  chest  was  growing  visibly 
thinner. 

Then  they  suggested  he  try  for  the 
navy — musician  on  the  ships. 

He  tried.  He  put  the  bugle  to  his  lips 
as  he  had  the  King's  in  Italy  for  pure 
sport  in  the  old  service  days — and  they 
accepted  him.  But  the  army  was  not 
Italy ! 

Care-free,  happy  Italy,  where  one 
slept  and  ate  and  played,  and  if  the  larder 
were  empty,  begged  a  centissime  of  some 
tourist  and  bought  a  bit  of  bread  and  gar- 
lic at  the  cantine,  and  then  fed  on  it  and 
the  sunshine. 

"Right  into  line !  Column  wheel !  Left 
about!"  The  spick  and  span  uniform, 
the  daily  polishing  of  the  trumpet,  that 
was  not  in  Italy. 

Finally  the  child  of  impulse  could 
stand  it  no  longer,  and  his  indignation 
burst  forth  at  the  martinet  drill-master. 

For  that  he  was  on  Alcatraz. 

Over  in  Italy  he  had  heard  of  a  place 
called  Siberia,  where  the  Czar  condemned 
murderers  and  thieves  and  anarchists.  AJ1 


that  had  been  told  of  Siberia  was  here  at 
Alcatraz. 

Xo  one  came,  no  one  went,  save  the  offi- 
cers. If  an  inspection  were  ever  made,  it 
was  perfunctory,  and  in  the  presence  of 
those  who  had  just  dined  and  wined  the 
inspectors.  If  the  food  was  bad,  who 
knew?  If  the  cell  damp,  who  cared?  If 
the  cold  wind  or  the  fog  swept  it,  and 
one  was  from  Italy  and  susceptible  to  cold, 
what  mattered  it  ? 

The  officers  had  their  clarets,  and  the 
fat  of  the  land,  and  the  semi-annual  in- 
spector usually  let  them  know  of  his  visit 
that  champagne  could  be  cooled  in  ad- 
vance. 

The  guard  was  returning  now,  and  the 
stone  chips  flew  beneath  the  tools  of  the 
Italian.  His  eyes,  however,  were  off  on 
the  sea.  For  some  unknown  reason  the 
ship  had  turned,  and  was  veering  in  to- 
ward the  island.  The  wind  came  straight 
on  ahead,  and  the  music  sounded  once 
again.  There  was  a  chorus  now: 

''Where  the  love  in  her  eyes  I  could  see. 
*  *  *  * 

Was  bringing  sweet  music  to  me !" 

Life,  freedom,  happiness,  joy,  all  these 
were  out  there  on  the  steamer.  The^y 
were  giving  school  calls  now.  It  was  an 
Oakland  school  off  on  a  day's  outing. 
Emanuel  knew,  for  a  friendly  guard, had 
once  told  him  the  meaning  of  these  slo- 
gans. 

If  only  he  could  be  there,  just  to  hear 
that  song.  Only  the  water  lay  between 
them,  and  the  Italian  had  not  dived  for 
pennies  in  the  harbor  of  Naples  in  his 
boyhood  for  nothing.  But  the  ball  on 
his  leg  and  the  gun  of  the  guard  and  tha 
grape-shot  he  himself  had  helped  place 
in  the  cannon  on  the  parapet  made  all 
thought  of  escape  fly  to  the  winds. 

Italy  is  a  land  of  legends,  and  one  that 
is  told  oftenest  in  the  wine  shops  of  the 
Via  Roma  is  that  of  the  prisoner  who  sent 
his  mail  out  by  a  bird;  of  a  pigeon  that 
he  had  first  tamed  by  feeding  crumbs  from 
his  own  scanty  lunch,  and  then  managed 
to  capture  and  weight  down  with  a  mes- 
sage to  him  who  might  find  it! 

So  Emanuello,  too,  had  his  pet  birds, 
and  he  fed  them  on  the  casement  of  the 
window,  but  paper,  ink  there  were  none. 

Long  since  he     had     abandoned     all 


218 


OVBKLAND  MONTHLY. 


thouglit  of  escape.  That  woman's  voice, 
however,  the  sea  that  rolled  round  the 
Horn  and  on  to  Italy — it  made  him  wild 
at  his  captivity.  His  heart  beat  fast,  the 
blood  rushed  to  his  brain — and  then  he 
heard  the  guard,  and  pick  and  shovel 
plied  once  again  the  accustomed  task. 

The  man,  however,  was  thinking — 
thinking  hard. 

That  night,  in  his  cell,  his  thoughts 
bore  fruit.  With  hands  and  teeth  he  tore 
a  bit  from  his  shirt.  Then,  with  his  tough 
nails,  he  dug  into  the  back  of  his  hand.  A 
match,  dropped  by  a  careless  guard  and 
treasured  long,  served  for  pen. 

Emanuello  knew  to  whom  to  write. 

"The  Commander  in  Chief  of  the 
armies  and  navies  of  the  United  States,'" 
he  had  been  taught,  "can  pardon  any  of- 
fense against  the  Government." 

That  superior  officer  was  in  a  place 
called  Washington.  His  name — what 
mattered  it?  There  would  be  only  one. 

So  Emanuello  wrote,  his  lamp  the 
moon,  silvering  the  bars  so  lately  golden. 

"I  write  in  blood.  My  heart  is  break- 
ing. Free  me,  and  I  will  go  back  to  my 
Italy.  I  did  not  know  what  the  life  was, 
or  I  would  not  have  gone  into  the  army. 
I  am  on  Alcatraz.  Free  me,  or  I  die  of 
the  home-sick." 

Twice,  three  times,  a  fourth  time,  the 
man  had  to  cut  deep  into  the  flesh  to 
bring  forth  the  precious  blood.  But  the 
sacrifice,  it  could  not  make  things  worse 
— there  are  no  comparatives,  no  superla- 
tives on  Alcatraz  Island.  It  might  do 
good. 

When  his  bird  came  again,  and  he  was 
alone,  Emanuel  caught  the  pet  of  many 
months  in  a  net  made  from  his  own  hair, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  bird  nets  of  the 
Campagna.  Then,  with  the  net  itself,  he 
tied  the  bit  of  shirt  to  the  bird's  two  feet, 
so  that  fly  it  might,  but  tear  this  off  it 
could  not. 

While  the  little  messenger  of  'fate 
slipped  from  his  hands,  startled  and 
eager  to  be  off,  the  Neapolitan  went  down 
on  the  dungeon  floor  and  prayed  to  the 
Madonna  of  Fiume  to  take  him  back  to 
Italy. 

As  he  prayed,  the  gloaming  turned  to 
night,  and  the  man  rose  to  feel  his  way 
to  the  cot — no  hard  task,  since  the  path 
was  worn  deep  by  the  tread  of  long-caged 
feet.  The  prison  chill  was  on,  and  the 


stones  gave  forth  their  nightly  miasmatic 
sweat. 

That  night  the  Commandant  gave  a 
dance.  They  were  playing  the  "Carnival 
of  Venice"  and  the  "Blue  Danube"  at  the 
luncheon  at  midnight,  and  the  prisoner 
drew  in  each  chord  with  bated  breath.  It 
was  the  music  of  Europe,  almost  of  Italy, 
the  land  he  might  sometime  see  again. 

Time  passes  slowly,  very  slowly,  when 
one  is  on  bread  and  water  on  a  prison 
island,  without  a  word  of  the  world  be- 
yond. 

Nightly  the  man  dreamed  of  his  bird. 
By  day  he  dreamed^day  dreams  of  that 
little  feathered  messenger.  What  if  it 
had  perished  by  the  wayside?  From  Al- 
catraz to  Sausalito,  or  to  San  Francisco, 
either  one,  it  might  have  made  its  way. 
But  more  likely  it  would  rest  first  on  a 
passing  ship,  and  its  strange  burden  prove 
its  undoing.  Some  one  would  shoot  it — 
some  one  read  its  message,  and,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  send  it  on. 

Still  there  came  no  answer. 

It  was  now  fourteen  days.  Emanuello 
had  kept  careful  count.  Six  days  before 
the  Commandant  had  received  an  order 
from  the  headquarters  of  the  Department 
of  the  West  at  San  Francisco. 

"You  will  forward  at  once  a  full  report 
of  the  case  of  one  Emanuello  Grazio,  of 
Alcatraz,  together  with  detailed  account 
of  conduct  since  confinement." 

He  answered  it,  as  he  of  course  must, 
grudging  the  bit  of  labor  it  cost  him.  It 
was  easier  to  dictate  the  word  "splendid1' 
on  the  prison  record  blank  than  to  look 
up  and  copy  the  facts  that  thrice  Emanu- 
ello had  been  caught  pondering,  day- 
dreaming, at  his  work,  and  that  once  he 
was  seen  watching  the  sea,  rather  than 
the  pile  of  rocks  set  before  him  to  break. 
So  "splendid"  was  the  prison  record. 

It  is  a  matter  of  a  week  at  least  to  get 
a  letter  from  Alcatraz  to  the  Department 
at  Washington  by  way  of  the  head-quar- 
ters in  San  Francisco  and  have  it  be  acted 
on  there. 

Emanuello  knew  nothing  of  that  in- 
quiry. Orders  are  all  secret  when  des- 
tined to  Alcatraz. 

It  was  now  going  into  the  third  week, 
and  no  word — nothing.  The  bird  had  not 
returned — and  that  might  be  a  good  token. 

Emanuello  had  been  sent  to  hoe  the 
Commandant's  garden,  and  put  in  more 


A  LEGEND  OF  ALCATEAZ. 


217 


ooppy  seed.  The  poppies,  golden  here, 
were  red  in  Italy,  and  outside  Naples, 
over  toward  Pompeii,  one  could  gather 
great  handfuls  at  this  season. 

It  was  time  again  for  the  boat.  It 
plies  twice  daily  to  Yallejo  and  the  Xavy 
Yard — and  each  time  he  listened  for  the 
harpist. 

Over  the  blue,  lapping  waters  came  tha 
chords.  The  man  started.  A  snatch  of 
the  same  music — "the  love  in  the  eyes" 
melody,  he  called  it. 

Could  it  be  possible?  There  was  thd 
voice  of  the  lady — his  lady,  he  had  come 
to  call  her  in  his  thoughts — and  again  the 
chorus.  Inter-scholastic  field  days  are 
rather  monthly  affairs  between  the  schools 
around  the  bay,  and  to-day  there  would 
be  another. 

"...  like  the  song  of  a  bird, 
Was  bringing  sweet  music  to  me." 

The  song  of  a  bird — it  was  prophetic. 
There  is  a  vein  of  the  superstitious  in 
every  true  Italian's  nature.  The  song  of  a 
bird,  and  now  it  was  gone. 

The  man  took  a  step  forward  to  catch 
the  fleeting  music — just  one  more  strain 
of  it. 

"Prisoner  Number  Ten,  back  to  line," 
commanded  the  guard. 

"Number  Ten"  did  not  hear.  Out  of 
the  sea  came  another  voice,  the  harp  and 
the  "Cavalleria  Rusticana." 


The  man  stretched  out  his  arms,  and, 
imploring,  sank  to  the  beach. 

"Corporal  of  the  guard,  call  out  the 
guard,"  from  the  sentinel  on  the  parapet 
about  the  dead-line  stockade. 

"Call  out  the  guard,"  from  the  next 
outpost. 

"The  guard,"  from  the  point  of  rock 
high  up  on  the  island. 

The  Commandant  heard  it,  and  rose 
from  his  siesta  in  lazy  wonderment  at 
what  should  call  the  guard  at  such  an  un- 
usual hour. 

"By  the  way,  Babbitt,"  he  remarked,  in 
passing  out,  "there's  a  reprieve  came  last 
night  for  that  Dago,  Number  10.  You 
might  turn  him  loose  when  you've  a  mind 
to." 

He  met  the  guard  bearing  a  man's  body 
toward  the  prison  hospital.  The  corpse 
was  already  stiff  and  cold. 

A  sudden  rupture  of  the  veins  of  the 
heart,  due  to  undue  excitement,"  was  the 
physician's  verdict. 

"Who  in  thunder  is  he,  anyhow?"  the 
Commandant  asked,  half-interested. 

"Prisoner  Number  Ten,  Excellency,"  a 
soldier  explained. 

The  Commandant  rolled  another  cigar- 
ette. 

"Fool  that  he  was.  There  was  a  reprieve 
came  for  him  yesterday,  and  I've  just  or- 
dered his  release." 

He  placed  the  cigarette  between  his  lips 
and  walked  awav. 


Old  house  in  Holborn,  London. 


BY    FRED    GILBERT    BLAKESLEE 


EVERY     summer       thousands      of 
American  tourists     visit     London. 
By  far  the  larger  portion  of  these 
summer   visitors   are   seeing   London   for 
the  first  time,  and  to  them  the  problems 
of  living  and  of  getting  about  are  often 
most  bewildering.    In  view  of  these  facts 
a  few  words  concerning  these  important 
questions  may  not  be  out  of  place  at  this 
time. 

The  first  question  that  confronts  the 
tourist  is  the  matter  of  hotel  accommoda- 
tions, and  it  is  a  most  important  one,  for 
no  matter  what  sights  are  to  be  visited  or 
what  pleasures  indulged  in.  it  is  primarily 
necessary  to  have  a  place  in  which  to 
sleep  and  to  be  able  to  procure  food  as  of- 
ten as  required. 


London  offers  a  wide  range  of  hotel 
accommodation  at  prices  suited  to  all 
purses.  For  the  rich,  there  are  the  Cecil, 
the  Savoy,  the  Metropole,  and  the  Vic- 
toria: enormous  caravarsaries  containing 
every  known  luxury,  with  proportionate 
prices,  while  for  the  less  wealthy,  there 
exists  hundreds  of  less  pretentious  but  al- 
most equally  comfortable  hostelries  where 
one  may  live  very  satisfactorily  for  $2  a 
day.  Persons  desiring  to  combine  econ- 
omy with  convenience  will  find  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  British  museum  admirably 
suited  to  their  purpose.  Southampton 
Row  and  nearby  streets  contain  a  num- 
ber of  small  but  excellent  hotels,  where 
good  board  may  be  obtained  for  $10  a 
week. 


222 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Dragon    cannon,    War    Office,    London. 

As  it  is  often  inconvenient  to  return  to 
the  hotel  in  the  midst  of  a  round  of  sight- 
seeing, many  travelers  effect  a  saving  'n 
time  by  taking  their  mid-day  lunch  in  thj 


various  restaurants  which  are  scattered 
broadcast  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  city.  There  are  many  va- 
rieties of  these,  with  corresponding  prices, 
but  the  average  lunch  at  most  of  them 
will  cost  from  50  cents  to  $1.  Many  of 
these  restaurants  are  of  great  historic  in- 
terest, and  should  be  visited  on  that  ac- 
count, as  well  as  for  their  excellent  ser- 
vice. 

Crossby  Hall  in  Bishopsgate  St.  within 
is  such  a  one.  It  was  formerly  the  pal- 
ace of  Eichard  III,  and  it  was  here  thai 
the  crown  of  England  was  offered  him, 
after  he  had  caused  the  murder  of  the 
princes  who  stood  in  his  way. 
.  All  over  the  city  are  stations  of  the 
Areated  Bread  Company,  which  are  popu- 
larly known  as  A.  B.  C.  shops,  where  light 
refreshments  may  be  obtained  at  most 
reasonable  rates.  These  shops  are  patron- 
ized by  all  classes  and  it  may  with  perfect 
propriety  be  visited  by  ladies. 

English  currency  is  most  confusing  to 
Americans,  and  the  fact  that  some  of  the 


London  omnibus,   showing  advertisement' 


HIXTS  OX  LOXDOX  FOE  AMEEICAX  TOURISTS. 


223 


coins  contain  nothing  to  indicate  their 
value  adds  greatly  to  the  traveler's  confu- 
sion. The  shilling,  which  practically 
equals  our  quarter,  is  the  monetary  unit, 
twenty  shillings  making  one  pound.  The 
lowest  British  coin  is  the  farthing,  which 
equals  half  a  cent  oi'  our  money.  Then 
conies  the  half -penny  (one  cent)  and  the 
penny  (two  cents.) 

The  silver  th'ree  pence  (six  cents) 
comes  next;  then  the  sixpence  (twelve 
cents),  the  shilling  (twenty-five  cents), 
the  florin  (fifty  cents),  the  half  crown 
(sixty-two  cents),  and  the  crown  (one 
dollar.)  The  gold  coins  are  the  half  sov- 
ereign (two  dollars  and  fifty  cents),  and 
the  sovereign  (five  dollars.) 

The  lowest  bank  note  issued  is  for  five 
pounds  (twenty-five  dollars.)  It  will  be 
seen  from  this  that  the  English  monetary 
system  is  widely  at  variance  with  ours.  To 
make  confusion  worse  confounded,  a  sov- 
ereign is  always  computed  as  a  pound,  al- 
though no  such  coin  exists,  and  florin  and 
half-crown  pieces  have  absolutely  nothing 
on  them  to  indicate  their  value.  Certain 
bills  are  also  reckoned  in  guineas  (twenty- 
one  shillings)  although  no  such  coin  has 


'Crosby    Hall,    London. 

been  in  circulation  for  years.  The  best 
way  for  an  American  tourist  to  become 
acquainted  with  English  currency  is  to 
obtain  a  set  of  coins  on  the  steamer  and 
study  them  carefully  before  landing. 

How  to  get  from  one  part  of  London  to 
another  at  a  maximum  speed  with  a  mini- 


Hyde  Park  corner,  London. 


THE  BIRDS. 


225 


mum  of  expense  is  a  problem  that  often 
puzzles  Americans.  For  those  who  can 
afford  it,  the  hansom  cab  is  generally  the 
quickest  and  most  satisfactory  way  of  get- 
ting about. 

Cab  fares  are  charged  according  to 
distance,  one  shilling  for  the  first  mile  and 
sixpence  for  each  additional  mile  or  frac- 
tion thereof,  no  fare,  however,  being  less 
than  one  shilling.  Besides  the  legal  fare, 
the  driver  always  expects  a  tip  of  from 
twopence  to  sixpence.  Another  type  of 
London  cab  is  the  "four  wheeler,"  which, 
being  built  on  the  lines  of  our  coupe,  is 
better  adapted  for  carrying  baggage  than 
is  the  hansom.  There  are  about  .6,000 
hansoms  and  5,000  four  wheelers  in  daily 
use. 

Although  cabs  in  London  are  not  ex- 
pensive when  the  prices  charged  for  them 
are  contrasted  with  those  charged  for 
similar  vehicles  in  the  United  States,  still 
they  are  beyond  the  means  of  the  average 
tourist  as  a  means  of  continual  transpor- 
tation, and  he  must  therefore  do  as  the 
Londoners  do,  and  take  a  'bus  when  he 
wants  to  get  anywhere.  There  are  one 
hundred  and  fifty  'bus  lines  in  operation 
in  London  which  cross  the  city  in  every 
direction,  and  run  daily  from  8  a.  m.  till 


midnight.  Fares  vary  from  a  penny  to 
sixpence,  according  to  distance. 

River  steamboats  form  a  pleasant 
method  of  visiting  points  near  the  Thames 
— there  being  some  fifty  of  these  in  com- 
mission during  the  summer  months.  A 
trip  down  to  Greenwich  is  recommended 
for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  a  view  of 
the  docks  and  shipping. 

The  underground  railway  offers  a  some- 
what disagreeable  and  yet  rapid  method  of 
getting  about.  Fifteen  hundred  trains 
run  daily  over  this  road,  transporting 
nearly  two  million  people  each  week.  For- 
merly these  trains  were  drawn  by  engines 
burning  soft  coal,  thus  making  travel  on 
them  anything  but  pleasant,  but  within 
the  past  year  electricity  has  been  substi- 
tuted as  a  motive  power. 

Undoubtedly  the  best  method  of  rapid 
transit  in  London  is  the  new  subway, 
popularly  known  as  "The  Tube."  This 
was  put  in  two  years  ago  by  an  American 
company,  and  is  in  every  way  up-to-dats 
and  thoroughly  satisfactory. 

The  road  runs  in  a  straight  line  for 
seven  miles  through  the  busiest  part  of 
the  city,  and  well  equipped  trains  pass 
over  it  daily,  at  frequent  intervals,  be- 
tween the  hours  of  6  a.  m.  and  1  p.  m. 


*Tc^ 


BY    EDWARD    WILBUR    MASON 


"What  do  you  hear,  0  radiant,  clear-eyed  youth, 
You  with  the  listening  air,  the  bated  breath?" 

•'I  hear  the  sad  sea  and  the  wailing  wind; 
I  hear  the  nightingale  of  Death  !" 

"What  do  you  hear,  0  lover  strong  and  bold, 
You  with  the  joyous  hope,  the  fond  belief?" 

"I  hear  all  weeping  hearts  and  sobbing  souls; 
I  hear  the  mourning  dove  of  Grief!" 


do  you  hear,  0  graybeard,  calm  and  pale, 
You  with  the  shoulders  stooped,  the  marks  of  strife?" 
"I  hear  the  thunder  of  the  sunrise  gold; 
I  hear  the  raptured  lark  of  life  !" 


(SDMI 

BY    HELEN    FITZGERALD    SANDERS 


isift  nft 


FIVE  years  ago,  in  the  month  of 
October,  a  modest  publication 
made  its  appearance  in  the  world 
of  letters  under  the  title  of  The  Crafts- 
man. I  say  modest  advisedly,  for  the 
motto,  "Als  ik  kan,"  expressing  the  striv- 
ing for,  rather  than  the  attainment  of  an 
end;  the  master  principle  of  simplicity, 
and  finally  the  unostentatious  but  perfect 
mechanical  make-up  of  the  magazine,  all 
bespoke  sincerity  of  purpose  and  earnest 
endeavor  in  the  promotion  of  "better  art, 
better  work  and  a  better  and  more  rea- 
sonable way  of  living."  But.  in  spite  of 
the  lack  of  pomp  and  sounding  of  trum- 
pets, there  was  that  about  the  Craftsman 
which  first  attracted,  then  held,  attention. 
It  was  assuredly  refreshing  to  turn  from 
sensational  periodicals,  setting  forth  the 
infamy  and  debauchery  of  strike  and  mob 
and  voicing  the  doctrine  of  discontent,  to 
this  exemplification  of  the  sufficiency  of 
work.  Its  place  was  unique;  a  journal 
of  the  toiler,  it  held  out  the  broad  prin- 
ciple of  honest  craftsmanship;  a  critical 
review,  it  reflected  the  progress  of  art: 
an  exponent  of  humanity,  it  contained 
the  philosophy  of  modern  thought.  The 
first  number  of  The  Craftsman  was  an 
appreciation  of  William  Morris;  the  sec- 
ond paid  a  like  tribute  to  John  Euskin, 
masters  of  reform  whom,  with  Emerson, 
the  founder  of  the  new  magazine,  Gustav 
Stickley,  considered  models  of  the  prac- 
tical and  the  ideal.  After  that,  the  pub- 
lication assumed  its  normal  form  and  took 
up  independently  and  originally  its  des- 
tined work. 

Gustav  Stickley,  the  spirit  of  .  The 
'Craftsman  Movement,  was  by  trade  a 
cabinet  maker.  In  his  early  boyhood  he 
Tiad  worked  in  a  small  chair  factory  in 
the  mountain  village  of  Brant,  Pennsyl- 
Tania.  Previous  to  this  time  he  had  been 
taxed  with  heavy  labor  on  farms  and  he 
Tiad  also  served  in  the  capacity  of  stone 
mason.  He  tells  of  how  the  grinding  of 
the  mortar  beneath  the  trowel  and  the 
heavy  resistance  of  the  rock  itself, 


aroused  his  antipathy,  as  it  overburdened, 
his  strength.  For  this  reason  he  wel- 
comed the  lighter  and  pleasanter  occupa- 
tion; rejoiced  in  the  yielding  wood  as  op- 
posed to  the  resisting  stone,  and  so  be- 
gan his  love  of  Craftsmanship.  At  that 
time,  and  under  those  conditions,  the 
work  was  of  necessity  carried  on  by  the 
hands,  and  in  this  close  relationship  of 
the  individual  to  his  task,  Stickley  grew 
to  admire  the  beauties  of  the  grain  and 
color  of  the  wood,  and  probably  all  un- 
consciously, he  was  also  learning  to  ad- 
mire the  simplest  of  structural  forms.  lu 
his  case,  necessity  proved  the  best  school- 
mistress, and  later,  after  having  become 
spiritually  a  disciple  of  Euskin,  and  ma- 
terially a  small  furniture  merchant  of 
Binghamton,  New  York,  he  was  forced, 
through  lack  of  machinery,  to  go  more 
deeply  into  craftsmanship,  in  the  little 
factory  he  established  in  connection  with 
his  shop.  Even  then  he  cherished  vague 
thoughts  of  reform  and  rebelled  at  the 
established  "style." 

That  was  the  day  of  the  highly  ornate 
furniture,  turned  out  in  vast  quantities 
by  large  concerns.  It  was  the  age  of 
the  machine,  and  therefore  of  the  arti- 
ficial. The  natural  surface  of  the  wood 
was  marred  by  glazed  finishes,  as  disfig- 
uring as  paint  and  powder  to  the  human 
skin;  the  simple  lines  of  primative  forms 
were  distorted  into  mis-shapen  curves  and 
spindles,  and  all  unity  of  purpose  and 
harmony  of  design  were  destroyed  by  a 
multiplicity  of  cheap,  meaningless  applied 
ornaments.  Such  was  the  condition  of 
affairs,  a  market  glutted  with  machine- 
made  wares,  and  Craftsmanship  fallen  in- 
to the  dark  obscurity  of  a  half-forgotten 
art.  People  no  longer  cared  for  individ- 
uality and  skill.  Invention  was  the  cry, 
and  if  a  man  could  devise  a  cunning  ma- 
chine which  would  receive  in  its  maw  a 
block  of  wood  and  turn  it  out  a  carved 
monstrosity  in  the  form  of  a  table  or  chair 
he  became  accordingly  great  in  the  indus- 
trial scale.  The  tendency  was  to  do  away 


CRAFTSMAN  MOVEMENT  AND  WHAT  IT  MEANS. 


22} 


with  the  intelligent  workingman,  and  re- 
place him  with  a  dullard  who  should  feed 
fuel  to  the  machine,  or,  as  mechanically 
as  the  iron  itself,  turn  a  crank  and  grease 
the  cogs.  What  wonder,  then,  that  there 
should  be  a  lessening  of  the  better  work- 
ing class  and  a  corresponding  growth  of 
ignorant  and  incompetent  labor;  that  as 
the  capacity  of  the  machine  grew  and  the 
necessity  for  workingmen  became  less, 
there  should  be  a  movement  among  them 
to  get  the  most  they  could  for  the  work 
they  did?  Assuredly,  the  element  of  pride 
in  accomplishment  was  eliminated,  and 
the  issue  became  one  of  rapacity  on  both 
sides.  Hence,  possibly,  the  widening 
breach  between  labor  and  capital  and  the 
false  values  existing  to-day,  when,  by  the 
unthinking,  manual  labor  is  counted  de- 
grading, and  the  professions  are  over-run 
by  incompetents.  In  the  language  of 
Ruskin,  from  whom,  as  we  have  seen, 
Stickley  gathered  many  of  his  early  ideals : 

"We  are  always,  in  these  days,  endeavor- 
ing to  separate  intellect  and  manual 
labor;  we  want  one  man  to  be  always 
thinking,  and  another  to  be  always  work- 
ing, and  we  call  one  a  gentleman  and  the 
other  an  operative;  whereas  the  workman 
ought  often  to  be  -thinking,  and  the 
thinker  often  to  be  working,  and  both 
should  be  gentlemen  in  the  best  sense.  As 
it  is,  we  make  both  ungentle,  the  one  en- 
vying, the  other  despising  his  brother; 
and  the  mass  of  society  is  made  up  of 
morbid  thinkers  and  miserable  workers." 

The  unbalanced  relations  of  the  lei- 
sure and  the  working  classes  are  best 
shown  in  the  homes  of  the  rich  and  the 
poor.  The  former,  following  the  dictates 
of  cultivated  taste  and  large  means,  seek 
treasures  of  the  old  world  masters  to 
beautify  their  mansions,  and  the  latter, 
having  no  training  whatever  in  the  values 
of  material  forms,  furnish  their 
dwellings  with  the  only  stuff  hitherto  at 
hand — the  hideous  commonplace  of  the 
factory.  There  has  been,  until  recently, 
no  note  of  national  art  sounding  in  a 
varying  scale,  from  the  humble  to  the 
great ;  from  the  cottage  to  the  manor.  And 
it  is  never  the  cultured  few  that  create  a 
standard  of  excellence;  it  is  the  taste  of 
the  whole  people,  but  especially  of  the 
middle  classes,  that  fixes  the  artistic 
status  of  a  nation. 

Fully  aware  of  the   incongruous  state 


of  our  own  art,  or  more  frankly,  our  con- 
spicuous lack  of  any  harmonious  ideal 
that  could  be  dignified  with  the  name  of 
art,  Gustav  Stickley  went  abroad  in  the 
interests  of  his  work.  On  the  continent 
he  became  impressed  with  the  latest  and 
somewhat  fantastic,  artistic  development 
— L'Art  Nouveau,  but  far  more  import- 
ant than  this,  he  saw  the  originals  of  our 
misplaced  imitations  in  the  places  of 
which  they  were  an  interdependent  part; 
the  delicately  beautiful  and  lavish  models 
of  the  Empire  in  Versailles,  the  more 
massive  English  types  in  South  Kensing- 
ton. What  better  illustration  could  there 
be  of  the  fitness  of  things,  in  sharp  con- 
trast to  the  perverted  unfitness  of  these 
same  things  when  they  were  separated 
from  the  need  which  they  were  created  to 
fulfill!  Fancy  a  practical,  modern  busi- 
ness man  walking  down  the  street  to  his 
daily  toil  in  the  plush  and  brocade  of  a 
courtier  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.;  or 
change  the  vision,  if  you  please,  and  pic- 
ture this  same  twentieth  century  person 
attired  in  the  ostentatious  livery  of  the 
English  nobility  of  a  few  generations 
gone.  How  ridiculously  incongruous  it 
would  be!  Yet  this  eminently  practical 
workman  seated  himself  in  a  foolish  lit- 
tle spindle-backed  chair  of  the  Empire, 
and  he  laid  his  cigar  upon  the  edge  of  a 
copied  English  desk.  Probably  across  the 
room  stood  a  "what-not"  holding  upon  its 
brackets  bisque  shepherds  and  inane 
dancing  girls.  No  one  thought  of  these 
things  being  inappropriate,  even  though 
the  gold-leaf  chairs  were  uncomfortable 
and  occasionally  disastrous  to  well-fed 
visitors  of  more  than  ordinary  weight; 
and  the  bow-legged  tables  of  no  great  de- 
gree of  usefulness.  Still,  the  absurdities 
were  parallel ;  only  our  power  of  discrimi- 
nation was  a  bit  dulled. 

From  the  consideration  of  L'Art  Nou- 
veau and  the  older  French,  English  and 
Flemish  styles,  Gustav  Stickley  turned  to 
the  purer  and  simpler  Greek  art.  So, 
from  perception  of  the  falseness  of  weak 
imitation,  observation  of  the  original 
models  in  their  native  environment,  and 
finally,  from  a  daring  reversion  to  first 
principles,  he  stripped  himself  of  ham- 
pering custom  and  tradition  and  sought, 
independently,  to  create  a  new  standard 
to  meet  a  new  condition.  The  form  in 
which  we  see  Sticklers  ideal  expresse  1, 


228 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


that  is  to  say  the  perfected  "primitive 
structural  form,"  was  not  an  inspiration, 
but  a  growth.  He  tried  many  experi- 
ments; flat  forms,  the  flower  motif  of 
L'Art  N  ouveau,  then  little  by  little  putting- 
aside  all  ornament,  he  evolved  the  pure 
form  of  the  furniture  that  has  made  him 
famous. 

A  democratic  Government  we  possess, 
and  why  not,  in  the  name  of  ethics  a 
democratic  art? 

We  pride  ourselves  on  the  liberality  of 
our  Constitution  and  our  codes;  still, 
there  is  a  subtler  expression  of  the  free- 
dom, thought  and  character  of  a  people, 
and  that  expression  is  in  their  material 
surroundings,  their  homes  and  their  cities 
— in  fine,  their  Art.  And  here  we  must 
accept  the  word  art  in  its  most  compre- 
hensive sense,  which  William  Morris  de- 
fines in  this  language : 

"If  you  accept  art,  it  must  be  part  of 
your  daily  lives,  and  the  daily  life  of 
every  man.  It  will  be  with  us  wherever 
we  go,  in  the  ancient  city  full  of  tradi- 
tions of  past  time,  in  the  newly  cleared 
farm  in  America  or  the  colonies,  where 
no  man  has  dwelt  for  tradition  to  gather 
around  him;  in  the  quiet  country-side,  as 
in  the  busy  town,  no  place  shall  be  with- 
out it.  You  will  have  it  with  you  in  your 
sorrow  as  in  your  joy,  in  your  work-a-day 
as  in  your  leisure.  It  shall  be  no  respec- 
ter of  persons,  but  be  shared  by  gentle  and 
simple,  learned  and  unlearned,  and  be  as 
a  language  that  all  can  understand.  It 
will  not  hinder  any  work  that  is  necessary 
to  the  life  of  man  at  the  best,  but  it  will 
destroy  all  degrading  toil,  all  enervating 
luxury,  all  foppish  frivolity.  It  will  be 
the  deadly  foe  of  ignorance,  dishonesty 
and  tyranny,  and  will  foster  good-will, 
fair  dealing  and  confidence  between  man 
and  man.  It  will  teach  you  to  respect  the 
highest  intellect  with  a  manly  reverence, 
but  not  to  despise  any  man  who  does  not 
pretend  to  be  what  he  is  not." 

And  again:  "I  do  not  want  art  for  a 
few,  any  more  than  education  for  a  few, 
or  freedom  for  a  few." 

Art  thus  becomes  not  an  abstract  thing, 
to  be  sought  out  in  picture  galleries  and 
museums,  but  a  vital  principle  of  life, 
regulating  every-day  habits  and  conduct; 
pointing  the  way  toward  duty,  truth  and 
right  living.  This  being  granted,  one 
must  also  admit  that  the  art  of  a  people 


must  be  the  sincere,  material  expression 
of  its  ideals;  to  the  primitive  it  will  be 
crude,  to  the  idle  inhabitants  of  a  monar- 
chy it  will  be  ornate  and  showy;  to  the 
advanced  democracy  it  will  be  simple, 
and  beautiful  for  that  simplicity.  In  all 
cases,  to  be  art  at  all  it  must  be  consist- 
ent. 

The  existence  of  any  given  form,  be  it 
furniture,  house  or  palace,  presupposes  a 
need,  and  Gustav  Stickley,  having 
thought  well,  set  about  to  fill  the  needs 
of  the  American  people  sanely  and  with 
honesty  of  purpose.  In  addition  to  his 
furniture-making  he  sought  and  found 
appropriate  leather  fittings,  wrought 
metal  and  textiles.  He  went  farther  and 
advocated  the  same  structural  principle 
of  simplicity  and  usefulness  in  the  home. 
He  decried  the  "parlor"  with  drawn 
shades  and  stuffy  furniture.  In  its  place 
he  substituted  the  living  room,  where  the 
family  might  gather  around  the  broad 
hearth  and  enjoy  the  best  that  the  house 
could  afford.  Conspicuous  in  all  of  his 
plans  are  the  goodly  fireplaces  which  take 
one  back  to  our  gentle  Hawthorne's 
"Fire  Worship,"  wherein  he  pays  his 
tribute  to  the  open  fire  and  calls  it  the 
alter  of  the  home. 

Indeed,  a  great  scheme  of  reform  was 
maturing  in  Stickley's  mind.  We  have 
seen  his  devotion  to  Euskin  and  Morris, 
and  he  was  also  in  sympathy  with  the  pre- 
Raphaelite  movement  in  England  of 
which  Morris  was  the  leader.  He  tells  us 
that  the  words  of  a  contemporary  critic, 
describing  the  achievements  of  that  great 
benefactor:  "He  changed  the  look  of  half 
the  houses  in  London  and  substituted 
beauty  for  ugliness  all  over  the  king- 
dom," rang  in  his  mind  with  the  "com- 
pelling force  of  a  battle-cry."  But  if 
Gustav  Stickley  was  an  admirer,  he  was 
no  imitator  of  Morris.  He  took  his  in- 
spiration from  great  examples,  but  there 
the  relationship  ended;  in  the  conception 
and  fulfillment  of  his  reforms  he  was 
original,  and  from  independent  research 
he  arrived  at  independent  results.  Nor 
was  this  material  regeneration  all.  Stick- 
ley  had  become  more  than  a  mere 
worker  in  wood,  for  as  he  designed  and 
built  the  simple,  pure  forms  of  honest 
furniture,  he  was  also  devising  and  build- 
ing the  simple,  pure  and  honest  forms  of 
a  new  philosophy.  As  he  had  discarded 


HEBIWEH. 


229 


the  borrowed  pomp  and  vanity  of  effete 
conceptions  in  wood,  he  likewise  dis- 
carded the  sham  and  falseness  of  modern 
complex  modern  thought,  proclaiming  the 
doctrine  of  simplicity.  Simplicity,  more 
accurately  defined  as  uniformity  and  op- 
posed to  complexity,  more  specifically  de- 
scribed as  heterogeneity. 

It  is  given  some  to  gain  dominion  and 
vassels  through  force  of  arms;  to  others 
is  given  the  gentler  and  nobler  victory  of 
conquest  of  intellect  through  superior 
mentality  and  greater  sympathy.  With 
these  of  the  latter  kind,  I  would  class  Gus- 
tav  Stickley;  of  the  workingmen  he  had 
labored  for  the  workingman.  and  in  so 
laboring  he  has  raised  the  dignity  of  exe- 
cution with  the  hands  to  the  level  of  men- 
tal accomplishment;  he  has  re-awakened 
the  slumbering  interest  in  craftsmanship, 
thus  kindling  the  latent  love  of  the  laborer 
for  his  task;  by  giving  to  this  country  a 


simple  and  useful  form  of  furnishings 
and  more  comfortable  homes,  he  has 
sounded  the  keynote  of  a  praqticafl  national 
art,  by  his  broad  ideas  and  fraternal  doc- 
trines he  is  promoting  a  national  philoso- 
phy. 

The  craftsman  movement  is  pre-emi- 
nently sane,  and  its  hold  upon  the  people 
is  growing.  If  all  of  us  dared  to  follow 
the  precedent  into  our  own  character- 
building  and  our  daily  lives ;  if  we  should 
stand  revealed  in  all  the  honest  simpli- 
city of  our  natures,  unembellished  with 
insincere  and  borrowed  ornaments;  if  we 
would  meet  each  task  with  a  friendliness 
of  spirit,  and  do  it  with  joy  in  the  doing, 
and  if,  lastly,  we  would  stretch  forth  a 
helping  hand  to  the  brother  next  us, 
bending  beneath  his  burden,  we  would  be 
better  men  and  women,  our  toil  would 
bear  richer  fruit  and  our  hearts  would  be 
larger  with  love  for  Humanity. 


BY    MARIE    PARISH 


What  trick  of  the  dead  leaves  is  this,  to  fling 

The  scent  of  amaryllis  on  the  air? 
What  trick  of  dying  leaves,  false-crimsoning, 

To  mock  the  manzanita's  budding  flare? 
Amid  this  hectic  splendor  of  decay 

Which  even  now  the  breath  of  winter  chills, 
What  sudden,  poignant  magic  this,  to  bring 

A  vision  of  the  softly-greening  hills; 
Of  the  wide, '  budding  fields  that  stretch  away 

To  groves  of  eucalyptus,  shimmering 
With  iridescent  lavender  and  grey? 

Sweet  odors  drift  o'er  all,  and  peace  is  there — 
Oh,  winds  that  call,  and  meadow-larks  that  sing. 


Motoring  in   the   Santa  Cruz  Mountains 
Inkersley  in  tonnear. 


W.   P.   Hunt  and  E.   P.   Brinegar  in  front  seat,   Arthur 


BY   OXONIENS1S 


At  the  wheel. 

WHILE  the  Eastern  States  of  the 
Union  are  bound  tightly  in  the 
grip  of  a  severe  winter  and  the 
inhabitants  are  devoting  their  chief  en- 
ergies to  keeping  themselves  as  warm  as 
circumstances  permit,  the  dweller  on  the 
Pacific  Coast,  and  especially  in  Califor- 
nia, is  reveling  in  some  of  the  finest 
weather  of  the  year.  The  terrible  condi- 
tion of  the  Eastern  roads  in  winter  makes 
automobiling  a  strenuous  sport.  It  is 
true  that  some  ardent  motorists,  wrapped 
in  thick  furs,  do  persist  in  an  effort  to 
pursue  their  favorite  pastime,  but  if  one 
may  judge  from  the  pictures  one  sees,  it 
is  hard  to  understand  what  enjoyment 
they  get  out  of  it.  Not  only  are  the  roads 
covered  with  deep  snow,  but  the  freezing 
temperature  causes  additional  anxieties 
(as  though  his  ordinary  ones  were  not 
enough)  to  the  operator  of  a  motor-car. 
The  water  in  the  cooling  coils  may  con- 
geal, and  then  there  is  a  peck  of  trouble. 
A  thaw  brings  with  it  a  milder  and  more 
agreeable  temperature,  but  renders  the 
roads  worse  than  they  were  before.  While 
the  frost  lasts,  the  roads  are  at  least  dry, 
even  though  covered  with  slippery  ice  or 
buried  in  snow,  but  a  thaw  produces  a 


deep  slush  into  which  a  heavy  car  may 
sink  to  the  hubs  of  its  wheels. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  only  hindrance 
to  winter  touring  in  an  automobile  in 
California  is  heavy  rain,  and,  with  suit- 
able protection  against  this,  it  is  not  im- 
possible to  travel  in  a  motor-car  on  any 
day  of  the  year.  For  a  few  days  after 
a  prolonged  rain  some  country  roads,  es- 
pecially where  the  soil  is  adobe,  may  be 
sticky  and  heavy,  but  a  high-powered  ma- 
chine can  force  its  way  even  over  such 
stretches  as  these.  A  rain-storm  of  two  or 
three  days  is  succeeded  by  a  week  or  two 
of  beautiful  weather,  with  a  warm,  bright 
sun  and  a  breeze  that  quickly  dries  the 
roads,  except  in  certain  spots  sheltered 
from  its  influence.  The  fine  winter  days 
of  California  are  really  the  most  beauti- 
ful of  the  year :  the  atmosphere  is  washed 
clean  and  pure  by  the  rain;  the  valleys 
and  hillsides  are  covered  with  rich  ver- 


Cuyler  Lee  (to  right  of  picture),  and  D.  O. 
McNabb,  in  Cadillac,  at  finish  of  run  between 
Del  Monte  and  Oakland,  made  in  6  hours  5  min- 
utes. 


A  change  of  tires.     Clarence  Diehl  and  Ed.  Himmelwright  in  record  run.     Miles   Bros.,    Photo. 


dure,  delightfully  soothing  to  the  eye; 
the  roads  are  hardened  and  compact,  and 
so  soon  as  their  surface  has  become  rea- 
sonably dry  and  free  from  mud,  are  in 
splendid  condition.  The  clouds  of  dust 
that  are  the  most  trying  element  of  a  hot 
summer's  day,  are  entirely  absent,  and 
the  sun's  rays,  while  pleasantly  warm, 


lack  the  scorching  heat  and  blinding  glare 
of  the  dog-days.  Then  is  the  time  to  tra- 
verse the  many  beautiful  roads  of  the 
State,  whether  as  a  pedestrian,  on  horse- 
back, in  a  carriage,  or  in  the  most  modern 
up-to-date  manner,  in  a  heavy,  powerful 
touring  motor-car. 
The  State  of  California  abounds  in 


Crossing    the    rock-strewn    bed    of   a   California   stream    in   a   White   steam    car. 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


lovely  scenery  of  almost  every  kind.  In 
San  Francisco,  Golden  Gate  Park,  the 
United  States  Military  Eeservation  at  the 
Presidio,  and  the  Ocean  Boulevard,  afford 
.cellent  examples  of  good  road-making, 
t  id  a  series  of  marine  views  hardly  to  be 
surpassed.  The  heights  of  the  Reserva- 
tion overlook  the  Golden  Gate,  dotted 
with  sailing  ships  and  steamers,  passing 
in  and  out  of  the  harbor.  Facing  the 
spectator  are  the  Marin  County  hills,  with 
Tamalpais  their  dominant  peak.  To  the 
right,  stretches  the  great  bay  of  San 


on  a  narrow  peninsula,  with  bay  or  ocean 
on  three  sides,  it  is  possible  to  travel 
away  from  the  city  by  land  in  one  direc- 
tion only — to  the  south.  There  is  a  choice 
of  two  roads:  one  inland  and  the  othei 
along  the  shores  of  the  bay.  Neither  is 
good,  but  the  latter  is  the  more  pictur- 
esque. After  passing  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin 
(formerly  Fourteen-Mile  House),  the 
roads  are  much  better,  and  around  San 
Mateo,  Burlingame  and  Menlo  Park  they 
are  excellent.  Many  of  the  richest  citi- 
zens of  San  Francisco  live  in  this  region, 


A  Locomobile  touring  car  on  the  Seventeen  M  ile  Drive  at  Monterey. 


Inkersley,    Photo. 


Francisco,  with  Goat,  Angel"  and  Alca- 
traz  Islands  in  full  view;  and  to  the  left 
the  illimitable  Pacific  Ocean.  Point  Bo- 
nita,  a  bold,  rocky  headland,  guards  one 
entrance  of  the  Golden  Gate,  and  further 
out  is  Point  Reyes,  an  even  more  rugged 
and  precipitous  promontory.  On  clear 
days  the  Farallone  Islands,  about  28 
miles  away,  loom  distinctly  on  the  hori- 
zon. 

Owing  to  the  position  of  San  Francisco 


which  is  exceedingly  pretty,  so  that  the 
motorist  is  constantly  coming  across 
handsome  country-houses  standing  in  the 
midst  of  well-kept  gardens  and  parks.  On 
account  of  the  reckless  driving  of  some 
of  the  early-day  automobilists,  the  peo- 
ple of  San  Mateo  County  for  a  long  time 
cherished  a  strong  dislike  for  the  motor- 
car and  its  operator,  but  this  feeling  has 
now  been  succeeded  by  a  much  more 
friendly  one.  Several  directors  and  well- 


236 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


known  members  of  the  Automobile  Club 
of  California  are  residents  of  San  Mateo 
County,  and  have  used  their  influence  to 
restrain  the  drivers  of  motor-cars  from 
speeding,  and  to  promote  a  pleasant  un- 
derstanding between  the  farmers  and 
other  users  of  the  country  roads.  These 
efforts  have  been  productive  of  good  re- 
sults. 

If  the  touring  automobilist  does  not 
mind  crossing  the  bay  of  San  Francisco 
in  a  ferry  boat,  he  can  take  his  motor-car 
over  to  Oakland,  a  starting  point  for 
many  delightful  excursions.  The  roads 
leading  out  of  Oakland  are  level,  and  in 


many  vistas  of  houses,  surrounded  by 
luxuriant  gardens  containing  palms  and 
other  sub-tropical  plants.  So  character- 
istic is  horticulture  of  San  Jose  that  its 
sobriquet  is  the  "Garden  City."  From 
this  place  the  motorist,  without  going 
back  on  his  course,  may  return  to  San 
Francisco  along  the  opposite  side  of  the 
bav,  of  which  he  will,  on  his  arrival,  have 
made  the  circuit. 

If  the  motorist  wishes  to  go  for  a  trip 
of  some  days,  he  can,  after  spending  a 
night  in  San  Jose,  journey  on  to  Salinas 
and  Monterey,  the  latter  about  eighty 
miles  distant.  Along  good,  oiled  roads 


Aerocar   ploughing   up   a   hard    cinder   driveway  at  the  factory. 


excellent  condition.  It  is  a  pretty  run 
along  the  road  overlooking  Lake  Chabot 
and  ou)t  to  the  Jittie  country-town  of 
Haywards,  where  a  good  luncheon  can  be 
obtained.  The  return  is  generally  made 
in  time  to  catch  the  ferry-boat  leaving 
Oakland  at  four  in  the  afternoon  for  San 
Francisco.  A  longer  and  more  ambitious 
run  is  to  San  Jose,  about  fifty  miles  away, 
along  good  roads  and  past  orchards  that 
in  spring  are  a  bewildering  mass  of  lovely 
bloom.  The  streets  of  San  Jose  are  ex- 
cellently kept,  and  offer  to  the  motorist 


he  speeds  down  the  level  floor  of  the  rich 
Santa  Clara  Valley,  which  is  bounded  on 
either  hand  by  mountain  ranges.  When 
he  has  covered  about  thirty  miles,  he  finds 
himself  in  a  quaint,  old-world  little  place 
named  San  Juan.  It  consists  of  a  few 
houses  grouped  around  the  Mission 
Church  of  San  Juan  Bautista  (Saint 
John  the  Baptist),  founded  about  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  ago  by  the  Spanish  Mis- 
sionary Fathers.  A  mile  from  the  church 
the  car  reaches  the  foot  of  the  San  Juan 
grade,  which,  though  steep  and  rugged.. 


238 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


E.   J.   Bowes  in  a  Locomobile. 

Inkersley,    Photo. 


can  be  surmounted  without  serious  diffi- 
culty. From  the  summit  a  striking  view 
is  obtained  of  the  Santa  Clara  Valley  be- 
hind, and  of  the  Salinas  Valley  in  front. 
The  vista  amply  repays  the  climb.  Santa 
Clara  Valley  is  one  of  the  most  produc- 
tive fruit  growing  regions  in  the  coun- 
try, and  Salinas  Valley  is  a  fertile  wheat 
producing  tract  dotted  with  the  tree-em- 
bosomed homes  of  prosperous  ranchers. 
The  roads  between  Salinas  and  Monterey 
are  somewhat  winding,  but  are  pictur- 
esque and  well  oiled.  Near  the  old  Span- 
ish-Californian  town  of  Monterey  is  the 
famous  Hotel  Del  Monte,  which  the 
motorist  will  find  an  excellent  center  for 
tours.  The  Seventeen  Mile  Drive  is  a 
well-built  road  through  groves  of  forest- 
trees,  and  commands  splendid  views  of 
the  Pacific  Ocean,  the  heavy  surf  of  which 
dashes  ceaselessly  against  the  rock-bound 
coast.  Here  is  found  the  Monterey  cy- 
press— an  ancient  tree,  rent  by  the  storms 
of  hundreds  of  years,  but  still  vigorous. 

If  it  be  desired  to  extend  the  tour  to 
the  southern  part  of  California,  the  mo- 
torist, leaving  Salinas,  will  proceed  to 
King  City,  along  the  old  Camino  Eeal, 
or  royal  road,  and  on  to  Paso  Eobles  Hot 
Springs  whence  many  trips  may 'be  made. 
Thence  to  San  Luis  Obispo,  distant  about 
150  miles  from  Salinas.  Another  day's 
tour  through  varied  scenery  brings  you 
to  Santa  Barbara,  an  ideal  seaside  resort, 
where  is  a  fine  old  Mission  Church.  A 
third  day's  travel  brings  the  tourist  to 
Los  Angeles,  whence  he  can  go  on  to  San 
Diego.  The  whole  journey  is  picturesque 
in  the  highest  degree,  and  while  there  are 
some  pretty  stiff  grades,  there  is  nothing 


that  a  fairly  high-powered  car  cannot 
manage  without  difficulty.  Mr.  A.  H. 
Piepenburg,  using  a  White  touring  car  in 
its  ordinary  condition,  without  prepara- 
tion, made  the  trip  from  San  Diego  to 
San  Francisco  by  way  of  Los  Angeles  in 
five  and  one-half  days.  He  had  with  him 
at  first  three  young  men  from  a  school  at 
Nordhoff,  but  between  San  Diego  and 
Santa  Barbara  they  came  across  a  stalled 
automobile,  in  which  were  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
E.  T.  Crane,  Prentiss  Crane,  a  maid  and 
a  chauffeur.  Loads  were  exchanged,  and 
the  whole  party  reached  Santa  Barbara. 
Here  the  young  men  stayed,  while  Mr. 
Pepenburg  conveyed  the  Cnme  party  to 
Del  Monte  in  his  car.  From  Del  Monte 
Mr.  Pepenburg  drove  alone  to  San  Fian- 
cisco  in  a  heavy  storm,  having  covered  a 
distance  of  750  miles  (as  registered  by 
the  odometer)  from  San  Diego. 

Until  recently,  automobilists — especial- 
ly those  of  the  record-breaking  sort — ex- 
perienced considerable  trouble  in  finding 
the  right  way  between  San  Francisco  and 
Los  Angeles,  but  direction  posts  placed  at 
suitable  points  have  added  greatly  to  their 
comfort.  Signs  for  the  information  of 
tourists  are  to  he  erected  along  other 
high-roads  throughout  the  State. 

There  is  hardly  any  limit  to  the  num- 
ber of  charming  tours  that  the  motorist 
may  make  in  California.  ThougH  there 


J.    A.    Marsh's    Pierce    Arrow    meeting    stage 
near  La  Honda  on  line  of  Ocean   Shore  Road. 


WINTER   MOTORIXG   IX   CALIFORNIA. 


239 


are,  of  course,  some  bad  roads,  an  East- 
ern automobilist  of  wide  experience,  said 
that,  after  covering  about  1,500  miles  in 
his  car  in  Southern  California,  he  felt 
constrained  to  admit  that  the  roads  were 
"much  better  than  his  best  expectation*/' 
To  quote  this  visitor  verbatim:  "The 
condition  of  the  roads  in  general  is  very 
much  better  than  that  of  the  roads  in 
New  England  and  the  village  councils 
have  not  gotten  the  foolish  notion  into 
their  heads  that  automobiles  have  no  right 
to  travel.  All  the  inhabitants  along  the 


thing  that  is  not  grown  in  the  county  is 
brought  in  by  horse-drawn  wagons.  It 
being  impossible  to  get  into  the  county 
without  passing  over  a  mountain  range, 
the  danger  of  meeting  a  stage-coach  la  len 
with  passengers  on  a  steep  grade,  having 
on  its  lower  side  a  ravine  a  hundred  or 
more  feet  deep,  is  too  serious  to  be  in- 
curred lightly.  The  considerate  automo- 
bilist will  scarcely  wish  to  run  the  risk  of 
causing  an  upset  that  might  kill  or  maim 
twenty  or  thirty  people,  to  say  nothing 
of  half  a  dozen  horses  whose  only  fault 


Dr.    Stapler  and   family   in   automobile   trim   at   Del   Monte. 


Inkersley,    Photo. 


country  roads  will  do  anything  to  assist 
one." 

There  is  one  beautiful  county  in  Cali- 
fornia in  which  automobiles  are  unwel- 
come and  undesirable  immigrants.  This 
is  Lake  County,  which  possesses  so  many 
lakes  and  so  much  fine  mountain  scenery 
that  it  has  been  named  the  "Switzerland 
of  America."  As  it  does  not  contain  with- 
in its  limits  a  yard  of  railway  track,  even- 


is  that  they  are  unfamiliar  with  the  mar- 
vels of  modern  invention.  So  many  pic- 
turesque tours  are  open  to  the  motorist 
in  California  that  he  need  not  feel  ag- 
grieved at  being  barred  from  a  few  regions 
that  are  not  yet  quite  ready  for  him. 

The  automobilists  who  have  made 
transcontinental  tours  from  the  Pacific  to 
the  Atlantic  have  experienced  no  trouble 
in  California,  and  with  the  exception  of 


240 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


portions  of  the  Nevada  Desert,  have  found 
their  greatest  trials  and  tribulations  to  the 
east  of  Denver,  Colo.  The  Pacific  Coast 
generally,  and  California  especially,  is  a 
paradise  for  the  touring  motorist.  First- 
class  hotels  are  numerous,  and  their  rates 
are  moderate,  as  compared  with  those 
asked  for  similar  accommodations  else- 
where. Scenery  of  almost  every  kind  can 
be  found — rivers,  valleys,  lakes,  snow- 
capped mountains,  and  if  the  coast  road 


is  pursued,  the  boundless,  changefuJ 
ocean.  You  can  drive  through  olive-or- 
chards, orange  groves  and  great  grain  rais- 
ing tracts  or  climb  to  the  regions  of  per- 
petual snow.  If  you  want  novelty  and  ad- 
venture, you  can  try  to  get  into  the  Yo- 
semite  Valley,  -or  to  traverse  the  Mojave 
Desert  in  your  motor-car.  There  is  hard- 
lv  any  end  to  the  possibilities  presented 
by  California  to  the  enthusiastic  motor- 
ist. 


BY    H.    FELIX    CROSS 

Poppy,  thou  pretty  thing, 

Nodding  beneath  the  shade  of  live  oak's  limb, 
The  purple  Turnus  stills  his  trembling  wing 

To  kiss  thy  golden  brim. 

The  mild,  bloom-laden  breeze 

Fans  jealously  the  pollen  dusted  bee, 

Who  idly  taking  golden-cradled  ease, 
Makes  droning  love  to  thee. 

Each  child  of  nature  tries 

Unto  thine  ear  his  passion  to  confess, 
And  each  one  blithely  with  his  fellow  vies 

The  gentlest  to  caress. 


But  ah,  sweet,  dainty  flower, 

Love's  flame  burns  in  my  bosom  fierce  and  high 
To  have  thee  next  my  heart  for  one  short  hour 

I'd  see  thee  droop  and  die. 


BY    LANNIE    HAYNES    MARTIN 


Her  voice  was  like  the  voice  of  his  own 

soul, 
Heard  in  the  calm  of  thought;  its  music 

long, 
Like  woven  sounds  of  streams  and  breezes, 

held 

His  inmost  sense  suspended  in  its  web 
Of  many-colored  woof  and  shifting  hues. 

— Shelley. 

HAVE  you  ever  been  a  stranger  in 
a  great  city  and  sat  at  the  dingy 
window  of  a  little  fourth-story 
front,  looking  down  at  evening  on  the 
chattering,  hurrying  crowds  that  pass  in 
gay  little  groups  or  that  nutter  by  in  ab- 
stracted, confiding  couples,  like  so  many 
mated  birds  intent  on  nest-building,  and 
felt  that  you,  of  all  the  world,  were  with- 
out mate  or  fellow,  and  wished  there  were 
some  to  whom  you  might  even  say  "Good 
evening?"  Such  was  the  condition  of 
Henri  de  Yilliere  one  evening  in  early 
spring  as  he  leaned  over  his  window-sill, 
too  tired  to  go  out  in  search  of  amusement 
and  with  an  undefined,  ever-increasing 
dissatisfaction,  too  restless  to  read  the 
books  that  had  so  long  been  his  sole  and 
heretofore  satisfying  companions. 

Feeling  so  utterly  dispirited  and  deso- 
late, letter-writing,  his  one  diversion,  was 
out  of  the  question.  What  an  indigo  hue 
he  would  give  to  a  page  in  this  mood ! 
Xo,  he  would  not  write  to-night — he 
would  wait.  And,  being  an  introspective 
sort  of  soul,  at  this  decision,  he  startled 
himself  into  an  upright  posture  with  the 
question :  "Wait  for  what  ?" 

There  was  still  hope,  then — hope  that 
he  would  shake  off  this  loneliness  that 
weighed  so  heavily  to-night?  Hope  that 
he  would  overcome  the  dejection  that, 
growing  imperceptibly  for  months,  had 
now  thrown  a  complete  shadow  over  his 
usually  enthusiastic  temperament.  There 
seemed  not  much  reason  for  hope  or  for 
change,  for,  having  a  diffident  and  retir- 
ing disposition,  he  made  few  friends  any- 
vrhere;  and  situated  as  he  now  was,  not 


even  his  strong  tendency  to  idealize  could 
disguise  the  fact  that  the  men  around  him 
were  coarse  and  common  and  the  women 
impossible. 

From  motives  that  would  have  been 
deemed  noble  had  they  been  known,  and 
with  struggles  that  men  would  have  called 
heroic,  had  they  been  understood,  he  was 
practicing  a  rigid  economy  that  placed 
him  in  this  most  cheerless  of  abodes — a 
cheap  boarding  house.  And  the  dearth 
of  comforts,  the  dreariness  of  the  place, 
the  bare  ugliness  that  everything  wore, 
though  depressing  enough  to  one  of  aes- 
thetic tastes,  was  not  so  overwhelmingly 
disheartening  as  the  utter  lack  of  con- 
geniality and  companionship  which  he  in 
bitterness  felt  were  as  necessary  to  him  as 
food. 

Only  that  he  could  not  work  without 
the  strong  coffee  and  plain  fare  that  place 
afforded.  But  even  were  his  social  con- 
ditions promising,  what  could  ever  recon- 
cile him  to  his  work,  or  even  make  it  bear- 
able? 

Too  well  he  knew  that  "When  men  are 
rightly  occupied  their  amusement  grows 
out  of  their  work  as  color  petals  out  of  a 
fruitful  flower,"  for  when  he  had  been 
acquiring  the  very  mathematical  pro- 
ficiency that  had  gained  him  this  uncon- 
genial position,  it  was  to  far  different  ends 
he  was  striving;  and  the  aim  in  view 
gave  even  that  wearisome  study  an  acute 
interest;  for  it  was,  he  thought,  to  fur- 
ther a  scientific  career  and  not  to  chain 
him  to  an  accountant's  ledger  in  a  bank- 
ing house.  Like  so  many  young  dreamers, 
but  in  a  more  literal  sense,  he  had  hoped 
"to  hitch  his  wagon  to  a  star,"  for  then, 
having  abundant  means,  he  had  expected 
to  spend  his  life  in  astronomical  research. 
But  with  his  father's  death,  bringing  sud- 
den reverses  of  fortune  and  leaving  only 
the  home  and  a  sufficient  income  for  his 
mother,  his  plan  of  life  was  changed.  This 
position  being  offered  him,  he  took  it  as 
a  means  to  an  end,  and  finding  it  as  loath- 
some to  him  as  it  was  exacting,  it  had 


242 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


taken  all  his  vigorous  will  power  to  hold 
him  to  a  course  so  repulsive;  but,  having 
marked  it  out  with  more  than  ordinary 
deliberation,  he  was  adhering  with  equal 
inflexibility.  It  was  the  very  rigidity  of 
the  course,  the  rigorous  adoption  of  the 
unpleasant,  the  long  self-repression  that 
was  now  having  reaction  and  causing  this 
revulsion  of  feeling. 

But  he,  intense  in  everything,  putting 
the  whole  force  of  his  spirit  into  whatever 
he  did,  could  not  understand  why  so  strict 
an  observance  of  duty,  why  such  scrupu- 
lous adherence  to  plans  and  principles, 
had  not  brought  happiness.  And  with 
growing  bitterness  that  brought  abstrac- 
tion and  entire  concentration  of  thought, 
he  now  no  longer  saw  the  passers-by  nor 
heard  the  rumble  of  the  wagons  far  below. 
His  face,  tense  and  drawn,  sank  into  his 
hands,  and  he  looked  deep  into  his  inner 
being  where  the  fogs  of  discontent  so 
blurred  the  prospect  that  he  could  dis- 
cern neither  particular  good  nor  special 
evil;  only  a  nebulous,  incoherent  mass  of 
unsatisfactoriness,  drear,  bleak  and  stag- 
nant. 

But  a  light  broke  upon  him !  Waves  of 
color,  of  harmony,  of  rapture  surged 
round  him.  A  voice — the  rich,  tremulous 
contralto  of  a  woman's  voice — floated  up 
to  him  and  flowed  into  his  being,  rinsing 
out  all  bitterness  and  discontent. 

He  was  not  dreaming — there  rattled  the 
Tenth  street  car — he  had  not  raised  the 
focus  of  his  consciousness  to  a  higher 
plane — the  wonted  onion  odor  still  per- 
vaded the  room — and  the  voice  came  from 
"The  house  across  the  street,"  so  called 
by  the  boarders,  and  the  theme  of  endless 
speculations  and  comments  because  of  the 
wealth  and  exclusiveness  of  its  inmates. 
But  De  Villiere,  being  neither  vulgar  nor 
curious,  had  paid  scant  attention  to  the 
conversation  going  on  around  him,  and 
only  knew  that  the  stone  front  he  looked 
upon  was  a  little  more  artistic  and  attrac- 
tive than  others  in  the  row.  Now  its  very 
stones  seemed  to  palpitate  in  an  ecstacy  of 
rhythm.  But  the  paralax  came  from  his 
own  trembling — he  was  swaying  with  the 
intoxication  of  the  liquid  notes  that  rose 
and  fell  like  a  fountain,  and  on  its  ebb 
he  felt  he  could  float  into  the  very  pres- 
ence of  the  singer;  or  that,  defying  all 
social  customs,  he  could  go  and  ring  for 
admittance.  But  the  massive  stones  and 


closely  drawn  blinds  of  "The  House 
Across  the  Street"  wore  that  forbidding 
air  which  characterizes  the  urban  habita- 
tions of  the  rich,  and  with  a  soberer  look 
he  saw  that  narrow  street  as  an  "impas- 
sable gulf"  over  which  he  might  not  go. 

But  no  barrier,  material  or  conven- 
tional, could  shut  from  his  soul  the  glory 
of  the  song.  Its  radiance  had  not  only 
illumined  those  dark,  murky  depths  into 
which  he  had  been  gazing,  but  from  it  had 
rekindled  his  own  inner  light,  so  that  old 
hopes,  purposes,  aspirations,  shone  out 
again  and  thrilled  as  at  their  birth. 

Wihat  the  song  had  been  he  lay  awake 
that  night  wondering.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  seen  an  angel  and  only  remembered 
its  light — the  form  he  could  not  recall. 
But  in  evenings  that  followed,  he  listened 
to  airs  that  conjured  up  strange  fancies. 
Whence  came  these  visions  of  castle  and 
court?  Of  gilded  walls  and  gay  salons? 
If  the  days  now  were  dreary,  if  work  were 
irksome  or  monotonous,  he  could  not  tell. 
He  worked  mechanically,  and  seemed  to 
live  only  when  he  listened  to  that  voice. 
And  whether  it  brought  preponderance  of 
pleasure  or  of  pain  he  did  not  know — his 
longing  to  see  the  singer  and  his  rapture 
in  the  song  were  so  indissolubly  blended. 
These  conflicting  emotions  were  the  birth- 
pains  of  that  bitter-sweet  called  love.  A 
love  born  to  the  soul,  enshrining  neither 
form  nor  feature,  but  bowing  before  a 
manifestation  of  spirit.  And  in  his  in- 
most heart  he  knew  he  would  worship 
the  singer  were  she  of  beings  the  one  most 
hideous.  But  in  his  fancy  he  did  not  pic- 
ture her  so.  And  it  was  spring!  Spring 
in  Philadelphia !  That  bud-time,  balm- 
time,  dream-time,  and  his  was  a  "young 
man's  fancy." 

Summer  came  and  induced  the  usual 
exodus  to  the  shore;  leaving  behind  rows 
of  desolate  houses  with  their  boarded  win- 
dows and  tomb-like  air,  but  "The  House 
Across  the  Street"  still  remained  tenanted, 
and  still  unabated  each  evening  were  his 
successive  states  of  expectancy,  delight 
and  contentment.  And  though  in  early 
spring  he,  too,  had  planned  a  short  vaca- 
tion, now  Hesperian  gardens  would  not 
have  tempted  him  from  the  sultry  town, 
nor  would  he  have  exchanged  that  cheer- 
less room  for  the  most  luxuriously  ap- 
pointed apartments. 

With  such  continued  concentration  had 


QUO  FATA  VOCAXT. 


243 


his  thought  dwelt  upon  the  singer,  though 
he  had  never  once  beheld  her,  and  with 
such  rapture  had  he  listened  to  her  voice 
he  felt  an  intangible,  inexplicable  con- 
sonance with  the  soul  that  floated  on  those 
vibrant  sound  waves.  And  intuitively  he 
knew,  too,  that  his  thought  vibrations 
reached  the  singer  and  she  was  conscious 
of  the  same  accordance.  That  his  flaring 
gas  jet  displayed  a  classic  picture,  a  pro- 
file pure  Greek  in  outline,  set  in  the  frame 
of  his  curtainless  window,  and  that 
glances  from  behind  the  securely  screened 
windows  opposite  were  frequently  di- 
rected thither  he  did  not  know.  But  his 
days  of  loneliness  were  as  a  time  forgotten 
— and  so  implicit  was  his  faith  in  an 
ethereal  realm  where  mind  in  some  subtle 
form  is  untrammeled  by  the  physical  fet- 
ters of  flesh  and  formalities,  and  so  sure 
was  he  that  in  this  region  he  communed 
with  the  soul  of  her  whom  he  loved ;  that, 
situated  as  he  now  was,  he  was  content, 
and  sought  not  to  establish  a  more  tangi- 
ble relation.  His  transcendental  belief 
was  verified,  he  thought,  from  the  fact 
that,  waking  one  morning  with  the  name 
"Louise"  on  his  lips  he  had  made  inquir- 
ies, and  found  that  the  daughter  of  "The 
House"  was  named  Louise  St.  John,  and 
that,  on  her  mother's  side,  she  was  of 
French  descent. 

One  evening  in  autumn  found  him 
waiting,  as  usual,  at  his  window,  but  with 
a  vague,  unaccountable  foreboding.  The 
usual  feeling  of  rapport  was  wanting.  He 
was  restless,  nervously  impatient,  and 
when  the  wonted  hour  for  the  singing  had 
passed  and  silence  and  darkness  still 
reigned  in  the  house,  he  was  so  eagerly 
watching,  the  tension  and  suspense  be- 
came unbearable,  and  unconsciously  obey- 
ing some  primitive  instinct,  he  left  his 
room  and  wandered  out  into  the  night. 

The  next  morning  he  saw  there  was 
some  unusual  excitement  among  the 
boarders  when  he  entered  the  dining  room, 
and  so  startling  were  their  statements,  and 
so  exhaustive  their  comments,  that  only 
a  deaf  or  an  entirely  uninterested  person 
could  have  gotten  through  breakfast 
without  a  tolerably  coherent  idea  of  what 
they  were  talking  about.  De  Villiere  was 
an  eager,  interested  listener  now  when 
"The  House  Across  the  Street"  was  men- 
tioned, and  he  soon  learned  that  the  head 
of  the  house,  who  was  referred  to  as  "the 


old  gent,"  had  returned  the  night  before 
from  abroad,  and  finding  that  his  daugh- 
ter, against  his  positive  commands,  was 
studying  music  and  preparing  for  the 
stage,  there  had  followed  a  scene,  in  which 
the  father  had  used  very  violent  language, 
threatening  and  abusing  the  daughter  and 
referring  in  an  uncomplimentary  way  to 
her  mother,  who,  it  seems,  was  an  opera 
singer.  What  De  Villiere  would  have  done 
had  he  heard  all  this  first-hand,  he  could 
not  tell.  He  was  sure,  however,  that  he 
would  not  have  sat  calmly  at  his  fourth- 
story  window.  He  spent  the  day  in  re- 
volving in  his  mind  a  thousand  quixotic 
plans  of  action;  but  the  wheel  of  Fate, 
which  for  him  had  so  long  moved  only 
with  slow  and  monotonous  turn  now  made 
some  rapid  revolutions,  too,  and  the  in- 
evitable path  it  marked  for  him  seemed 
to  lead  away  from  all  that  he  had  hoped 
and  dreamed.  In  the  afternoon,  a  tele- 
gram came.  How  often  does  that  baleful 
yellow  envelope,  with  its  ever-puzzling  and 
peremptory  contents,  rise  up  as  a  sudden 
and  insuperable  barrier  to  all  paths  and 
pleasures  we  have  planned! 

The  message  read:  "Come  home  at 
once.  Your  mother  needs  you." 

Not  doubting  that  some  serious,  per- 
haps fatal,  illness  had  prompted  the  sum- 
mons, he  was  soon  on  his  way  to  the  little 
Southern  town  he  called  home. 

After  two  days  of  wearisome  travel, 
tortured  with  suspense  and  anxiety,  he 
found  himself  on  the  pillared  portico  of  a 
picturesque  Southern  mansion.  And,  in 
the  doorway,  with  smiles  and  outstretched 
hands,  stood  his  mother.  In  his  astonish- 
ment at  finding  her  thus,  his  greetings 
were  forgotten,  and  he  exclaimed,  some- 
what reproachfully: 

"I  thought  to  find  you  ill,  mother." 

"Well,  my  son,  you  will  not  be  so  un- 
gracious as  to  say  you  are  sorry  to  find  me 
otherwise?  Your  uncle  Henri  has  re- 
turned and " 

"And  is  that  the  reason  you  have  sum- 
moned me  so  summarily?" 

"Eeason  enough  when  you  hear  what  is 
to  follow." 

Drawing  him  into  the  house,  and  sink- 
ing her  voice  to  an  impressive  whisper,  she 
said: 

"Your  uncle  Henri  has  recovered  the 
De  Villiere  estate,  and  not  only  will  he 
furnish  the  means  for  your  long-cherished 


244 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


plan,  but  on  the  vessel  on  his  way  over 
here  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  an  as- 
tronomer who  is  connected  with  a  famous 
observatory  in  Southern  California,  and 
your  uncle  Henri,  chancing  to  tell  him  of 
your  childish  escapades  and  experiments 
and  your  determination  and  perseverance 
in  the  face  of  discouraging  obstacles,  he 
became  so  interested  in  you  that  he  has 
offered  to  receive  you  as  his  pupil  and  as- 
sistant." 

The  centripetal  force  of  the  spheres, 
which  had  long  ago  marked  an  orbit  for 
him,  drew  now  with  strong  and  subtle 
power,  and  it  was  with  delight  that  he  re- 
ceived this  news  and  prepared  to  enter  on 
tha  duties  as  arranged  for  by  his  uncle. 
But  stronger  still  than  spell  of  sun  or 
star  was  a  magnetic  influence  drawing 
him  back  to  Philadelphia.  His  singing 
friend  was  that  "bright  particular  star," 
and  he  was  the  satellite.  Now,  with  for- 
tune restored,  with  prospects  for  a  career 
before  him,  he  could  enter  the  world  of 
his  Queen  of  Song,  from  which,  on  ac- 
count of  his  poverty,  he  'had  heretofore 
been  a  voluntary  exile.  For  his  birth 
was  such  that  at  any  time  would  have  ad- 
mitted him  to  the  innermost  circles  of  that 
exclusive  city. 

Eeturning,  then,  for  a  brief  visit,  tho 
sole  purpose  of  which  was  to  meet  his 
singing  fairy,  he  would  go  back  to  his  old 
dwelling  place  for  one  night  and  sit  once 
more  at  that  sacred  shrine — otherwise,  the 
dingy  attic  window.  And,  like  a  child 
who,  delaying  to  eat  some  delicious  tempt- 
ing dainty  devours  it  in  anticipation  a 
thousand  times,  so  did  he  in  expectancy 
look  to  the  moment  when  from  that  win- 
dow he  again  would  behold  the  stones  that 
walled  in  Paradise.  And  now  at  last  he 
had  gotten  back;  the  demonstrative,  in- 
quisitive, garrulous  landlady"  was  passed, 
the  three  long  flights  of  stairs  were 
climbed,  and  with  much  deliberation,  he 
had  surveyed  the  room;  then  he  walked 
to  the  window  and  sat  down  before  once 
glancing  out.  Without  being  conscious  of 
it,  he  was  going  through  a  form  of  wor- 
ship, and  with  such  faith,  such  adoration, 
such  reverence,  what  wonder  that  like  a 
blow  the  sight  that  met  his  eyes  struck  his 
hopes  and  happiness  with  cruel  force.  In 
that  house,  once  the  acme  of  exclusive- 
ness,  now  every  wide-flung  window 
flaunted  a  flaming  sign  "To  Let." 


From  that  boundless  information  bu- 
reau, the  landlady,  he  learned  that  the 
"old  gent"  had  died  of  apoplexy  a  few 
days  after  De  Villiere  had  gone  South; 
that  the  daughter  had  inherited  a  vast 
fortune,  had  sold  the  furniture,  put  the 
house  in  the  hands  of  an  agent,  and  had 
gone  abroad,  presumably  to  France,  to 
study  music.  And  thus,  thought  he,  was 
"finis"  written  to  his  symphony. 

On  his  return  South,  he  spent  but  a 
short  time  with  his  mother.  He  was  rest- 
less and  miserable  and  lonely.  Surround- 
ed by  acquaintances,  lifelong  friends  and 
kindred,  he  was  lonelier  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  that  tumultuous  city.  Looking 
forward  to  his  studies  as  a  means  of 
diversion,  he  hastened  his  departure  West, 
and  on  arriving  there,  entered  immediate- 
lv  upon  his  duties.  These,  with  the  gran- 
deur of  the  mountains  and  the  sublimity 
of  the  night  skies,  afforded  some  solace, 
and  two  years  passed.  Persisting  in  un- 
remitting application  to  his  studies,  neg- 
lecting exercise  and  shunning  society,  his 
being  was  on  the  verge  of  another  revo- 
lution. It  was  just  now  the  tourist  sea- 
son. The  mountain  was  thronged  with 
noisy  sightseers,  and  it  was  to  escape 
their  inane  chatter  that  he  one  day  took 
a  burro  to  the  foot  of  the  trail,  and  leav- 
ing the  more  accessible  path,  made  his 
way  into  an  unfrequented  canyon. 
Through  great  gates  of  granite  he  entered 
the  (sinuous  way  that  wound  into  the 
depths  of  the  mountain  fastnesses.  He 
was  a  Theseus  following  the  silken  clue  of 
fancy  into  this  rocky  labyrinth,  there  to 
slay  the  mental  Minotaur  of  loneliness. 
He  was  an  Aladdin  searching  for  the  lamp 
of  happiness;  walking  in  an  enchanted  un- 
derworld, and  half-expecting  to  see  genii 
and  fairy,  the  old  spell  and  glamour  of 
childhood  was  upon  him.  Here  was  the 
magic  stairway,  there  the  sculptured 
urns  and  coffers,  and  there  the  enchanted 
trees  with  their  multi-colored  jeweled 
fruitage.  Now  he  was  a  troubadour  wan- 
dering in  search  of  a  captive  princess.  The 
"Bomaunt  of  the  Eose"  was  in  his  heart, 
and  snatches  of  old  ballads  rose  unbidden 
to  his  lips,  for  yonder,  with  its  turret, 
tower  and  terrace  all  imaged  in  the  rock, 
was  an  old  chateau!  And  at  sight  of  it, 
exuberance  of  life,  of  the  old  wild  life, 
surged  through  him.  He  must  storm  thoso 
heights  and  reach  the  castle  that  stood 


QUO  FATA  VOCANT. 


on  the  crags  above  him.  In  this  moment 
of  exaltation,  he  felt,  was  the  key  to  the 
door,  the  clue  to  the  labyrinth  of  happi- 
ness: and,  springing,  climbing,  clutching 
at  protruding  roots  and  rocks,  he  reached 
a  point  where  a  ledge  of  sheer  precipitous 
granite  seemed  to  bar  the  way.  To  the 
left  of  him,  however  was  a  crevice,,  a  little 
water-worn  gully,  running  almost  straight 
up  and  down,  but  with  rude  steps  formed 
by  the  varying  velocity  of  torrents  which 
had  at  intervals  poured  down  it.  Up  this 
untried  scaling  ladder  he  sprang  with  im- 
petuous haste,  and  had  soon  passed  the  ob- 
structing ledge  that,  like  a  palisade, 
seemed  to  enclose  the  castle  gardens,  for 
now  greenery  was  on  either  side  of  him — 
here  was  a  stately  yucca,  with  its  creamy 
candelabra  illumining  the  garden;  there, 
giant  live  oaks  "cleaving  by  the  spurs  to 
the  precipices,"  and  just  beyond  them 
stood  the  "castle."  Bastion  and  battle- 
ment could  now  be  plainly  seen,  and  was 
that  a  banner  floating  from  the  turret?  A 
long  white  ribbon  was  waving  in  the  wind, 
and  with  renewed  impetus  and  eager  inter- 
est he  sprang  up  his  precarious  pathway; 
but,  with  his  sudden  spring,  a  stone  be- 
'neath  his  feet  gave  way;  loose  dirt  and 
pebbles  from  above  showered  down,  larger 
rocks  became  dislodged,  and  soon  an  ava- 
lanche, gathering  in  fury  each  instant, 
was  rushing  down  upon  him.  To  escape 
its  descent  would  have  been  but  the  space 
of  a  moment,  but  on  either  side  of  him 
there  was  as  yet  no  foothold — only  a 
sloping  tangle  of  slippery  fern  that  pulled 
out  by  the  roots  as  he  clutched  at  it, 
but,  choking  and  blind  from  the  dust  and 
dazed  by  the  pelting  rock,  he  gave  one 
desperate  leap  out  of  the  sliding  stones  on 
to  the  carpeted  earth.  He  fell  on  his  face, 
and  over  the  smooth  ferns  slipped  without 
hurt  down,  down — it  seemed  to  him  an 
endless  descent,  though  in  reality  only  a 
little  way.,  and  his  foot  had  found  a  sup- 
port against  a  small  sturdy  shrub;  but, 
lying  face  downward,  sick  and  dizzy  with 
that"  awful  physical  fear  that  extreme 
height  produces,  his  heart  pressed  close 
to  the  ground  and  beating  so  violently  that 
the  very  earth  seemed  throbbing  to  throw 
him  off  in  space,  he  was  fast  losing  all 
self-control.  The  sky  was  growing  black 
above  him,  and  immeasureable  space 
seemed  to  yawn  beneath  him,  but  out  of 
this  black  abvss  a  voice  recalled  him: 


"Ye  sons  of  France,  awake  to  glory!" 

Oh,  the  resonance,  the  roll,  the  stirring 
strength  of  that  strain !  It  was  the  Mar- 
seillaise! And  it  was  she  who  was  sing- 
ing. 

Just  above  the  castellated  rocks  there 
was  a  trail.  It  was  her  ribbon  that  had 
floated  over  the  turret.  She,  too,  had  felt 
the  spell  of  this  enchanted  castle,  and  by 
a  route  less  dangerous  had  come  to  explore 
it.  Hearing  his  gay  song,  she  had  looked 
down,  recognizing  him,  and  in  an  instant 
perceived,  understood  and  responded  to  all 
his  wild  enthusiasm.  A  moment  later  the 
avalanche,  his  peril,  her  instant,  intuitive 
realization  of  keeping  alive  that  enthusi- 
asm, and  to  the  astonishment  of  her  com- 
panions, who  shrank  back  with  horror  at 
the  scene  below,  she  sprang  far  out  on  a 
jutting  rock,  and  burst  into  a  wild  aban- 
don of  song.  It  was  this  indescribable 
spirit,  ecstacy,  glory,  that  she  put  into  a 
song  that  had  charmed  audiences  more 
even  than  her  marvelous  voice.  But  not  in 
the  Theatre  Francaise,  not.  in  Covent  Gar- 
den, not  in  the  Academy  of  Music,  where 
she  had  looked  in  vain  for  this  one  face, 
had  she  sung  as  she  sang  now.  Xow  a 
consciousness  of  power — a  radiating, 
buoying,  magnetic  power,  vibrated  in  her 
voice.  And  to  the  listener  far  below  that 
buoyancy  gave  new  strength,  and  whether 
by  supernatural  means — sheer  levitation 
— or  whether  in  his  calmer  state  he  found 
roots  and  shrubs  and  trailing  vines  nearer 
than  he  had  before  perceived,  he  never 
knew.  He  only  knew  that  soon  after  he 
had  heard  her  voice  he  stood  beside  her  on 
the  trail. 

That  he  should  know  the  name  of  the 
famous  prima  donna  seemed  nothing 
strange  to  her  companions,  but  of  how  and 
when  she  had  known  him  they  puzzled  not 
a  little,  nor  did  they  understand  the  looks 
and  conversation  that  passed  between  the 
two. 

"And  you  were  one  just  now,  you 
thought?" 

"I  was  one  seven  hundred  years  ago," 
he  said. 

And  she  knew  what  he  meant;  for  she 
had  always  known. 

"That  one  day  out  of  darkness  they  should 

meet, 
And  read  Life's  meaning  in  each  other's 

eyes." 


BY    W.    E.    SCHEMERHORN 


WALLY  was  making  a  manful  ef- 
fort with  the  big  screw  driver. 
The  June  sun,  blazing     upon 
him  unheeded,  was  suddenly  eclipsed  by  a 
red  parasol  sheltering  a  sweet  face  that 
looked  down  at  him  over  the  garden  gate. 
"Working,  Wally?    It's  a  pretty  warm 
afternoon  for  it." 

The  boy  looked  up  at  the  girl  with  a 
flash  of  recognition.  Then  he  turned  his 
great  gray  eyes  towards  the  tall,  smoke- 
less chimneys  of  the  silent  iron  works  near 

bj- 

"Somebody  ought  to  be  doing  some- 
thin',  Miss  Donegan,"  he  answered  stur- 
dily. "Your  father  ain't  givin'  the  men 
much  show  to  work." 

"But,  Wally,"  protested  the  girl,  "if 
tLe  men  choose  to  strike,  they  are  not 
giving  father  much  show,  as  you  call  it, 
to  let  them  work." 

"Of  course  you'd  say  that.  The  men 
don't  want  nothin'  'cept  what's  right." 

"Seems  to  me  you  have  pretty  strong 
opinions  for  a  twelve  year  old  boy,  Wially. 
The  men  will  be  making  you  a  walking 
delegate  or  a  business  agent  for  them 
next." 

"Wish'd  they  would."  Wally  squared 
his  shoulders.  "I'd  never  quit  tellin'  Mr. 
Donegan  the  machines  ain't  safe  to  *T  -,-rk 
with.  But  pop  and  the  rest  just  tells  him 
once  and  then  sets  round  doin'  notlJn'. 
There's  a  c'mittee  of  'em  in  our  parlor 
now  just  settin'  'round  and  talkin'. 
Brother  Eobert'd  do  somethin — 

"We  won't  discuss  Eobert,  please,"  the 
girl  interrupted,  with  a  suggestion  of  em- 
barrassment in  her  manner. 

"Miss  Minnie !"  Wally's  youthful  dig- 
nity had  vanished,  and  his  tone  was  plead- 
ing. "You  ain't  goin'  to  let  this  measly 
strike  break  things  off  between  you  and 
Eobert?  He's  just  miserable.  I  knows. 
He  ain't  sayin'  anythin',  but  he  looks  just 
like  I  felt  when  that  tramp  stole  my  pug 
dog,  and  I  tell  )rou  it  was  awful." 

"Wally  Wood,  you're  a  born  advocate. 
Mark  my  word,  you'll  be  a  lawyer  some 


day.  But  please  don't  say  anything  more 
about  this.  Eobert  has  offended  my  father 

and — and "  tears  momentarily  blurred 

the  brightness  of  her  blue  eyes — "Eobert 
is  not  the  only  one  who  is  miserable." 

The  red  parasol  dropped  over  her  face 
as  she  moved  away,  and  Wally  stood 
watching  the  crimson  disk  until  it  disap- 
peared. 

"Well,  it's  a  mess  all  'round,"  he  com- 
mented, "and  it's  time  somebody  was  do- 
ing somethin'.  If  the  men  won't  do  noth- 
ing, us  boys  will." 

He  plied  the  screw  driver  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  turned  the  large 
wooden  button  he  had  put  on  the  gate. 

"Guess  that'll  keep  Paddy  Glackin's 
goat  out,"  he  said,  as  he  contemplated  the 
finished  task. 

A  playful  "B-r-r-r-k,"  and  the  patter  of 
tinv  hoofs  was  heard  outside  the  gate. 

"Oh,  you'll  stay  there  this  time,"  Wally 
cried  gleefully,  "till  I  choose  to  let  you 
in." 

The  tip  of  a  horn  appeared  through  the 
hole  under  the  latch  of  the  gate,  the  latch 
was  lifted,  and  a  big  goat  bounded  through 
the  open  gate  toward  the  truck  patch  on 
the  other  side. 

Wally  headed  him  off,  caught  and  held 
him  by  the  horns,  and  then  contemplated 
the  gate  and  the  wooden  button  with  an 
air  of  disgust. 

"I'm  a  chump,  that's  what  I  am.  I've 
gone  and  put  that  button  on  the  gate  in- 
stead of  the  post.  It's  that  strike,  that's 
what  'tis.  It's  breakin'  me  all  up." 

Wally  was  dragging  the  unwilling  goat 
toward  the  woodshed  when  Paddy  Glackin, 
red-headed,  freckled  and  wide-mouthed, 
dashed  through  the  gate  at  the  head  of  a 
dozen  boys. 

"And  you've  caught  Larry  all  right,  I 
see,  Wally,"  he  cried,  his  brown  eyes 
dancing,  and  then  continued,  without  los- 
ing breath :  "He  got  away  from  me,  and 
1  was  afraid  I'd  be  too  late  and  he'd  be 
'atin'  all  your  garden  stuff,  and  I've  got 
the  boys  with  me  all  roight;  and  I  said  I'd 


W  ALLY'S  CRUSADE. 


247 


have  them,  didn't  I  now,  and  phwat  is  it 
yez  want  us  to  do  ?"  , 

The  boys  crowded  around  Wally,  while 
he  secured  Larry  in  the  wood-shed,  eagerly 
awaiting  his  answer  to  Paddy's  question. 

"This  is  a  club  I'm  gettin'  up,"  Wally 
explained  loftily,  "and  it's  a  secret.  It's 
a  strikers'  boys'  club,  and  I'm  president. 
We're  goin'  to  hold  a  meetin'  in  the  cel- 
lar." 

"Huh!"  cried  Ed.  Horn,  critically, 
"how  kin  you  be  president  when  we  ain't 
'lected  any,  yet?" 

"'Ain't  I  gettin'  it  up  ?  Did  any  of  you 
fellows  think  of  it?  And  if  I  get  it  up, 
ain't  I  the  one  to  be  president?" 

"Av  coorse  he's  prisidint,"  Paddy  cried 
loyally,  eyeing  the  malcontent.  "If  ye 
don't  kape  quiet,  Ed.  Horn,  I'll  see  if  I 
can't  make  ye." 

"He'll  keep  quiet,  Paddy,"  interposed 
Wally,  soothingly ;  "won't  you,  Ed.  ?" 

"All  right,  I'll  keep  quiet,  but  I  don't 
see " 

"Ah,  ye'll  see  all  roight,"  interrupted 
Paddy,  "if  ye  kape  on  lookin'.  Go  on, 
Wally,  and  till  thim  all  about  it." 

"All  you  fellows'  daddies  is  strikers, 
and  they  ain't  doin'  nothin'  to  stop  the 
strike  and  get  to  work  so's  to  earn  some 
money,"  Wally  explained.  "They're  in 
our  parlor  now,  just  settin'  'round  'nd 
talkin'  'stead  of  doin'  somethin'.  'Nd  my 
pop's  just  as  bad's  the  rest.  Guess  he's 
worse,  'cause  sometimes  I've  heard  him 
sayin'  to  the  men  when  somebody's  wanted 
to  do  somethin',  'No,  no,  men,  that  won't 
do  at  all.  It's  easy  does  it,  and  don't  let's 
do  anything  dishonorable.'  But  somethin's 
just  got  to  be  done,  'cause  Fourth  of 
July's  comin',  and  where  are  we  goin'  to 
get  money  for  fire  crackers?" 

"Let's  go  down  to  the  works  and  stone 
the  windows,"  Ed.  Horn  whispered  eager- 

iy. 

"Furst  av  all,  I'd  loike  to  pizen  that  bull 
pup  o'  Donegan's,"  growled  Paddy.  "He 
thried  to  chaw  up  Larry  the  ither  day." 

"Yes,  and  let's  put  a  'trip-up'  across 
Donegan's  front  door-step  to-night,"  ma- 
liciously suggested  "Yammy"  Matthews, 
whose  soubriquet  was  derived  from  the 
fact  that  his  mother  called  sweet  potatoes 
"yams."  "Then  maybe  the  old  man'd  take 
a  tumble  to  himself." 

"No,  fellows,  we  won't  do  nothin'  like 
that."  Wally  looked  around  upon  his  club 


of  conspirators  with  a  proud  air.  "We'll 
make  a  demingstration." 

"Ah,  what's  that  anyhow?"  cried  Ed. 
Horn,  derisively.  "We  won't  do  nothin' 
but  bust  Donegan's  windows." 

"Horny,"  Paddy's  tone  conveyed  a 
warning.  "Just  kape  quiet.  Ain't  Wially 
prisidint?  And  he'll  have  his  demin-ah — 
phwat  is  it? — if  he  wants  it." 

"I  tell  you,  fellows,  it'll  be  great,"  burst 
in  Wally,  eagerly.  "We'll  make  a  banner 
— and  did  you  all  bring  dinner  pails? — 
and  we'll  parade  with  the  banner  and  din- 
ner pails  to  Donegan's  and  let  him  see 
what  the  boys  thinks  about  the  strike." 

"Yes,  that's  phwat  we'll  do,"  Paddy 
added  conclusively.  "We'll  have  a  dem- 
ing-parade." 

"I've  got  all  the  stuff  for  the  banner 
in  the  cellar,"  said  Wally,  bubbling  with 
enthusiasm.  He  led  the  boys  through  the 
garden  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"Now,  be  as  quiet  as  you  can,  fellows. 
Mom  won't  care  much,  but  we  mustn't 
disturb  pop.  'Sides,  I  don't. think  he'd 
like  what  we're  goin'  to  do." 

Noiselessly  they  tiptoed  across  the  kit- 
chen and  down-stairs  to  the  cellar.  The 
low  rumble  of  men's  gruff  voices  could 
be  heard  above  as  the  committee  in  the 
parlor  discussed  the  strike  situation. 

At  the  sound  of  hammer  and  saw  in 
the  cellar,  as  the  making  of  the  banner 
progressed,  an  occasion  warning  knock 
was  heard  on  the  floor  above,  and  soon 
Mrs.  Wood's  voice  called  from  the  top 
of  the  cellar  stairs: 

"Is  that  you,  Wallace?" 

"Keep  quiet,  fellows,"  whispered 
Wally.  Then  aloud:  "Yes,  mother." 

"Don't  make  any  more  noise  down 
there,  Wallace;  you're  disturbing  your 
father  and  the  committee." 

"Yes,  mother.     I'm  done  now." 

The  banner  was  indeed  finished,  and 
all  preparations  made  for  the  parade. 

"Now,  then,  fellows,  get  your  pails." 
Wally  grasped  the  banner  as  he  gave  his 
instructions.  "Paddy,  you  take  my  drum 
when  you  get  up  in  the  kitchen.  Be  sure 
nobody  makes  any  noise  gettin'  out  of 
the  house." 

The  advancing  banner  was  lifted  up 
the  cellar  way.  A  shower  of  pots,  ket- 
tles and  pans  fell  with  a  bang  and  clat- 
ter and  roar  upon  the  heads  of  Wally  and 
his  astonished  followers. 


248 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


Mrs.  Wood  ran  to  the  cellar  door  with 
a  cry  of  dismay.  The  sound  of  heavy 
and  hurried  footsteps  overhead  warned 
the  young  conspirators  that  other  and 
more-to-be-dreaded  witnesses  of  their 
scrry  plight  were  at  hand. 

"Oh,  Wallace,"  Mrs.  Wiood  whimpered. 

"What  confounded  nonsense  is  this!" 
cried  John  Wood,  amazedly,  as  he  and 
the  committee  reached  the  open  cellar 
door. 

Wedged  between  the  walls  of  the  cel- 
lar was  a  crude  frame,  covered  with  a 
souare  of  white  muslin.  Painted  upon  it 
with  the  juice  of  ripe  pokeberries  were 
four  bold,  staggering  initials :  I.  0.  S.  S. 

In  the  space  beneath  was  this  declara- 
tion of  principles : 

"You   have   the   means, 

Mister   John   Donegan, 
To  buy  new  machines 

And  put  the  men  on  again." 

Below  the  banner,  which  was  upheld 
by  pokeberry  stained  hands,  was  Wally's 
perplexed  face.  A  dozen  frightened  boys 
huddled  behind  their  leader. 

Wally  gave  his  father  no  answer.  He 
made  another  abortive  effort  to  extricate 
the  standard  of  the  strikers'  sons  and  dis- 
lodged more,  pans  and  kettles.  The  com- 
mittee roared  with  laughter.  John  Wood's 
face  was  stern. 

"You  can  never  get  that  thing  out  that 
way,"  he  cried  angrily.  "Back  down  and 
turn  it  about  edgewise." 

Wally  obeyed  the  command,  and,  still 
full  of  courage,  soon  stood  in  the  kitchen 
with  his  abashed  followers  about  him. 

"Now,  what  is  all  this  about?"  Mr. 
Wood  inquired,  harshly.  Then  he  pointed 
to  the  offending  banner.  "What  do 
these  initials  mean,  and  what  is  that 
thing  for?" 

"Please,  pop,"  replied  Wally,  quietly, 
"we're  the  Independent  Order  of  Strik- 
ers' Sons,  and  we're  goin'  to  parade." 

"Parade?  On  the  'street,  (with  that 
thing?  And  why?" 

"To  make  a  demingstration  to  show 
that  we're  in  sympathy  with  our  fathers 
in  the  strike." 

"Gods  and  men!"  cried  Mr.  Wood, 
turning  to  the  beaming  faces  of  his  fel- 
iow  committeemen.  "A  demonstration! 
Think  of  it !" 


"Ah,  Wood,  don't  be  afther  blamin' 
the  -b'ys,"  interposed  Paddy  Glackin's 
father,  giving  the  boy  an  encouraging 
wink.  "They  won't  be  afther  doin'  any 
har-r-m." 

"Bait  what  will  John  Donegan  think  to 
see  my  son  heading  such  an  affair  and 
carrying  a  banner  like  that?"  inquired 
M,T.  Wood.  "He's  angry  enough  with  me 
now,  and  even  more  so  with  Eobert,  be- 
cause of  his  attitude." 

"Sorry  a  bit  will  it  be  worryin'  John 
Donegan,"  cried  Glackin,  good-naturedly. 
"I  wur-r-k'd  with  him  when  he  was 
young,  so  I  did,  and  before  aither  of  us 
did  be  thinkin'  he'd  iver  be  the  big  iron 
master  he  is  now;  and  if  I  know  him 
roight  it's  just  the  same  thing  as  these 
b'yes  are  doin'  that  he'd  be  at  himself 
if  he  was  one  av  thim.  And  don't  you 
be  afther  spoilin'  the  b'ys'  fun  now,  Mr. 
Wood." 

"Well,  I- don't  like  it  one  bit,"  said 
Wally's  father,  after  consenting  to  let 
the  boys  carry  out  their  original  inten- 
tion. "Mind  that  you  behave  yourselves," 
he  admonished.  Paddy  seized  the  drum 
and  the  boys  gladly  escaped  through  the 
door. 

Paddy  released  the  goat  and  led  him 
down  the  garden  with  the  remark :  "Sure, 
and  Larry's  a  strike  sufferer,  too,  and 
why  shouldn't  he  be  afther  paradin'  wid 
us." 

Through  the  gate  and  up  the  street 
the  strange  procession  went,  Wally  ahead 
carrying  the  banner  with  its  uncouth  de- 
vice, Paddy  beating  the  drum,  the  goat 
beside  him,  and  the  boys  in  column  of 
twos,  rhythmically  swinging  the  dinne^ 
pail  tagged  with  the  significant  but  mis- 
spelled word  "emty." 

They  swung  around  the  corner  to  where 
stood  the  great  iron  mill,  with  its  cold 
furnaces,  dumb  hammers,  idle  rollers  and 
empty  cupolas.  The  little  procession 
halted  before  the  office  doors  and  waited, 
while  Paddy  assailed  the  drum  head  furi- 
ously. A  crowd  of  idle  mill  hands  gath- 
ered. 

"What  are  you  kids  mixin'  in  this 
thing  for?"  an  angry  voice  cried. 

"Let  them  alone.  The  kids  is  all  right," 
shouted  half  a  dozen  good  natured  strik- 
ers. "If  you  want  to  see  Boss  Donegan, 
young  fellers,  you  won't  find  him  here. 
He's  at  home  nursin'  his  ugly  temper." 


WALLY'S  CBUSADE. 


Again  the  line  of  march  was  taken  up, 
and  now  the  novel  procession  was  aug- 
mented by  a  straggling  body  of  curious 
strikers. 

Wally's  bearing  was  that  of  an  early 
crusader.  His  face  glowed  with  an  en- 
thusiasm that  contrasted  curiously  with 
the  incongruous  procession  behind  him. 

Up  the  main  avenue  he  led  them  to 
the  great  house  where  John  Donegan 
dwelt.  He  lined  them  up  along  the  curb. 
Then  he  took  his  place  in  the  front  and 
center  holding  his  banner  high  while 
Paddy  beat  the  long  roll,  and  the  increas- 
ing crowd  of  onlookers  cheered  lustily. 

The  uproar  brought  the  mill  owner  to 
his  front  windows.  He  remained  there 
quietly  contemplating  the  strange  demon- 
stration. It  was  impossible  to  judge 
from  his  countenance  whether  he  wanted 
to  laugh  or  swear.  He  frowned  when  he 
saw  his  daughter  Minnie  approach  and 
stand  on  the  sidewalk,  twirling  her  red 
parasol  and  smiling  encouragingly  at  the 
young  leader. 

Wally,  full  of  confidence  in  his  cru- 
sade, waited  for  the  mill  owner  to  come 
out  and  question  him.  Suddenly  a  cry 
of  alarm  arose.  An  angry  steer  swung 
with  lumbering  gait  around  the  nearby 
corner.  The  crowd  of  idle  onlookers  dis- 
appeared instantly.  The  strikers'  sons 
disbanded  and  the  president  was  alone 
with  his  banner. 

The  red  parasol  attracted  the  excited 
animal.  The  steer  stood  a  moment  paw- 
ing the  street  in  his  rage.  Fear  deprived 
Minnie  of  the  power  to  move.  She  fell 
helplessly  upon  her  knees,  the  crimson 
parasol  in  front  of  her.  John  Donegan's 
face  went  white  as  he  dashed  toward  the 
door  knowing  he  would  reach  his  daugh- 
ter too  late. 

The  enraged  steer  with  wicked  snort 
and  bellow  of  rage  changed  directly  for 
the  offending  parasol.  Wally's  lips 
moved.  But  he  was  not  praying. 

"What  you  want  to  come  buttin'  in  for 
and  spoilin'  my  demingstration,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

He  knew  that  his  own  safety  was  en- 
dangered if  he  did  not  flee  as  his  fol- 
lowers had  done.  But  his  brother's 
sweetheart  was  helpless  and  imperiled. 
He  gave  a  regretful  glance  at  the  banner. 
Xo  other  weapon  was  at  hand.  Then 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  little  arms  he 


brought  it  down  on  the  head  of  the  on- 
rushing  brute. 

The  muslin  was  pierced  by  the  long 
horns,  and  the  big  banner  hung  dragging 
over  the  steer's  eyes.  The  astonished  and 
puzzled  animal  was  checked  in  his  ca- 
reer and  began  turning  about  and  toss- 
ing his  head  in  a  vain  effort  to  clear 
away  the  obstruction. 

Before  John  Donegan  could  reach 
th-3  side  of  his  unconscious  daughter, 
Robert  Wood,  present  in  that  coincident 
way  known  only  to  lovers  was  lifting  Min- 
nie from  the  pavement,  the  owner  of  the 
steer  had  appeared  and  secured  a  firmer 
hold  of  the  rope  by  which  he  had  pre- 
viously been  leading  the  animal  to 
slaughter,  and  Wally  was  again  in  pos- 
session of  the  banner,  torn  and  gashed, 
bat  with  its  device  still  legible. 

"Robert  Wood,"  Donegan  commanded, 
holding  out  his  arms,  "release  my  daugh- 
ter." 

Minnie's  eyes  opened  and  she  stood 
erect. 

"She  is  able  to  release  herself,  papa, 
thanks  to  somebody  not  named  Donegan." 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  young  ras- 
cal," cried  Donegan,  turning  upon 
Wally,  "coming  here  making  trouble  and 
endangering  my  daughter's  life?  Who  are 
you,  anyhow?" 

"I  am  Wally  Wood,  sir,  and  I  came 
here " 

"What!  Another  of  John  Wood's 
sons  interfering  with  my  business !" 

"And  saving  my  life,"  interrupted 
Minnie,  warmly.  "Don't  forget  that, 
papa.  He's  a  little  hero." 

John  Donegan  looked  at  the  two 
blankly.  Wally  returned  the  mill  owner's 
gaze  boldly. 

"Please,  sir,"  he  said,  "I'm  president 
of  the  Independent  Order  of  Strikers' 
Sons.  I  came  here  to  tell  you  that  you 
had  ought  to  make  the  machinery  safe 
and  let  the  men  go  to  work  again.  The 
men  wouldn't  do  it.  They  only  set 
'round  and  talked  'bout  it.  Pop  wouldn't 
let  'em  do  anything.  Some  of  'em  wanted 
to  do  bad  things  to  you,  sir,  but  I  heard 
pop  tell  'em  not  to  do  anything  dishonor- 
able, 'cause  the  easiest  way  was  the  best 
and  you  had  the  right  to  do  as  you  pleased 
with  your  old  mill.  But  you  will  put  in 
new  machines,  won't  you,  sir?"  Wally 
glanced  up  at  the  banner,  "and  put  the 


250 


OVERLAID  MONTHLY. 


men  on  again?  The  committee's  at  our 
house  now  talkin'  'bout  it." 

John  Donegan's  eyes  were  twinkling 
with  good  humor  as  he  contemplated  the 
youthful  advocate.  Minnie  was  nodding 
her  head  at  him  in  open  support,  while 
Robert  stared  with  astonishment  at 
Wally's  confidence. 

"Bless  my  soul,"  cried  Donegan,  "but 
you're  a  wonder,  youngster.  I've  half  a 
notion  to  go  and  see  that  precious  pop 
of  vours  and  talk  the  matter  over  with 
him." 

"Oh,  do,  sir,  and — please,  sir,  I'll  go 
with  you." 

"Come  along,  then,"  Donegan  said. 
Wally  looked  longingly  at  his  banner  and 
reluctantly  lowered  it  to  the  ground.  The 
mill  owner  laughed  good  naturedly.  "0 
bring  along  your  blessed  banner,  if  you 


want  to,  my  boy.  It's  done  too  much 
good  to-day  to  be  despised." 

And  so  the  re-gathered  crowd  beheld 
the  astonishing  spectacle  of  Wally  march- 
ing proudly  with  his  accusing  banner  be- 
side the  great  mill  owner  on  the  way  to 
a  reconciliation  with  the  strikers'  com- 
mittee. 

Cheer  after  cheer  rose  from  the  full- 
throated  spectators. 

"Hurrah  for  Wally  Wood!" 

The  words  echoed  from  the  walls  of 
the  empty  mill  and  were  flung  back  to 
the  street  again. 

"Hurrah  for  Boss  Donnegan !"  cried 
an  enthusiastic  on-looker.  As  the  cry 
was  taken  up,  Robert  and  Minnie,  with 
glowing  faces  and  happy  hearts,  passed 
together  into  the  mansion  of  the  mill- 
owner. 


BY    ALOYSIUS    COLL 

A  careless  minstrel  struck  his  harp — 

And  never  a  mortal  ear 
Had  listened  to  a  silver  note 

So  strange  and  sweet  and  clear ! 

The  plaint  of  birds  was  in  the  tone, 
The  roll  of  nearing  thunder, 

The  song  of  Choirs  above  the  world, 
The  Imps  despairing  under; 

The  murmur  of  the  heart's  first  love, 

The  calm  of  old  regret, 
A  woman's  memory  bright  with  joy, 

Ringing  of  girlhood  yet ; 

But  nevermore  that  harp  shall  play 
A  chord  so  strange  and  dear — 

A  blunder  of  the  minstrel's  hand 
Had  struck  it,  full  and  clear. 

And  so  with  life;  the  studied  plan, 
The  will  as  strong  as  thunder 

May  fail  before  a  little  dream, 
Or  some  unconscious  blunder ! 


CHARLES 


LOOKING   out   of   my  window   on 
a  certain  night  of  the  Chinese  Xew 
Year,  I  saw  a  strange  sight — all 
the  stars  one  by  one  slipping  slowly  down- 
ward towards  the  earth.     Some  were  al- 
ready quite  close,  as  large  as  rice  bowls 
and  of  brilliant,  unfamiliar  colors,  blues 
and     greens     and     reds — while     others, 
higher,  appeared  to  hang  back. 


Among  the  constellations,  there  were 
not  only  changes  of  color,  but  of  shape, 
also.  I  saw  far  away  to  the  north,  where 
die  Big  Dipper  should  have  hung,  a  huge 
orange  centipede.  The  Little  Dipper  was 
become  a  purplish  peacock,  and  between 
showed  numberless  fantastic  groups  of 
light,  as  if  parties  of  tiny  stars  from  the 
Way  had  broken  free  and  were  de- 


scending  lazily  towards  us  in  shuddering 
showers. 

The  effect  was  very  beautiful,  if  some- 
what terrifying  at  first,  through  its  un- 
naturalness.  Yet  after  all,  I  was  not  look- 
ing on  the  end  of  the  world,  but  only  on 
the  fairy  phenomenon  which  in  China  al- 
ways takes  place  on  the  loth  day  of  the 
First  Moon — the  festival  of  ''Lantern 
Kites. 

At  the  Hour  of  the  Ox  (the  hour  we 
prosaically  call  midnight),  I  wandered 
out  into  the  streets  in  order  to  see  more 
of  this  miracle  of  bringing  heaven  to 
earth — since  even  miracles  must  have 
some  practical  preparations.  Wherever 
open  spaces  between  the  houses  permitted 
a  crowd  had  gathered — large  or  small  ac- 
cording to  the  kite  to  be  flown.  The 
group  was  never  composed  as  one  might 
have  expected,  dozens  of  little  boys  bent 
on  amusement.  oSTo,  indeed;  kite  flying 
in  China  is  far  too  solemn  and  expensive 
a  pastime  for  children.  Occasionally, 
there  were  only  a  few  private  individuals, 
staid  old  men,  who  had  saved  perhaps  for 
months  to  buy  their  "wind  chicken."  But 
more  often  I  came  upon  the  members  of 
a  Guild  launching  a  particularly  fine  one. 
The  keenest  rivalry  exists  between  the 
weavers  and  the  silversmiths,  the  pottery- 
makers  and  the  tinkers!  Their  member? 
will  contribute  to  a  kite  fund  for  the 
whole  year,  and  then,  naturally,  consider 
themselves  entitled  to  a  hand  and  a  say 
in  the  flying. 

Passing  by  several  insignificant  groups 


V      S  -; 


•;•>> 

<&  '.' 


I  was  attracted  by  a  commotion  of  direc- 
tions, explanations  and  suggestions,  so 
loud  that  it  seemed  a  riot  must  be  taking 
place  near  by.  The  noise  proceeded  from 
a  band  of  brassrworkers  gathered  round 
a  wonderful  gold-fish,  with  marvelously 
compound  tales,  and  of  course  all  talk- 
ing at  once.  Coming  closer,  I  found 
that  the  lanterns  were  being  lighted,  lan- 
terns so  ingeniously  arranged  as  to  out- 
line the  shape  of  the  gold-fish,  even  the 
curves  of  its  many  tails.  The}*  must  be 
lit,  of  course,  in  a  given  order,  sanctified 
by  custom  and  convenience  though  even 
when  all  rules  have  been  followed  it  was 
not  an  easy  task  to  make  the  creature  rise 
perfectly  straight  in  a  fashion  which 
should  effectively  prevent  one  light  inter- 
fering with  the  next.  "Little  flames  are 
such  sociable  creatures/'  an  old  man 
grumbled  to  me  as  he  climbed  on  to  a 
stool  and  held  the  head  of  the  kite  &t 
arms'  length  above  him.  Other  men,  on? 
to  every  joint  of  body  and  fin  mounted 
on  stools  behind  till  the  whole  figure  was 
spread  out.  The  great  moment  ap- 
proached, and  those  at  the  end  of  the 
string  shouted  directions  about  the  best 
way  of  catching  the  wind.  Instead  of 
saying  "More  to  the  right  or  left,"  as 
we  do,  they  always  called  out  according 
to  the  old  Chinese  custom,  "Further  to 
the  north  or  to  the  south."  The  little 
breezes  were  very  fickle,  as  if  suspicious 
of  the  burden  to  be  foisted  on  them,  and 
an  anxious  hour  passed  while  the  men 
co-.xed  and  wheedled.  At  last  the  gold- 


254 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


fish  rose  suddenly.  One  moment  more  of 
anxiety,  lest  the  creature  come  as  sudden- 
ly down  again  and  perhaps  drop  its  pretty 
lanterns  on  the  ground  with  a  rude 
thump  and  spoil  them;  then  the  kite 
went  up  slowly  and  regularly  as  if  swim- 
ming away. 

Further  down  the  same  street,  the 
dyers  struggled  with  a  golden  caterpil- 
lar, jointed  in  ten  places — a  terribly  stub- 
born creature  requiring  a  strong  wind  to 
fly.  But  at  last  it,  too,  was  off,  crawling 
steadily  up  against  the  dark  blue  wall  of 
sky.  The  frame  work  that  formed  it  and 
the  string  that  held  it  were  soon  lost  sight 
of,  only  the  lanterns  remaining  to  pro- 
duce an  effect  of  low-hung  stars  that  the 
rational  mind  must  refuse  to  accept. 

Soon  other  wavy  lights  clustered  about 
the  new-comer — drawn  doubtless  towards 
.it  by  some  wind  too  high  for  us  to  feel. 
Yet  the  distinct  impression  on.  my  imagi- 
nation was  of  mutual  greetings  from  one 
light  creature  to  another.  As  they  drew 
apart  again,  there  was  a  low,  soft  calling 
in  the  air,  a  peculiar  sound  once  heard 
not  easily  forgotten,  a  sighing  of  .wind 
through  a  primitive  Aeolian  string  harp. 
It  began  with  a  stifled  moan,  mounted 
into  a  long  wail,  sank,  quivered  into  a 
L.r  whisper  and  then  rose  again  into  a 
w~.il  far  higher  and  wilder  than  before. 

As  the  night  went  on,  more  and  more 


"paper  eagles"  carried  up  their  little 
lights,  like  cannibals  to  devour  the  dark- 
ness till  they  themselves  rose  high  enough 
and  were  in  their  turn  devoured  by  it. 
Very  seldom  I  saw  a  lantern  burn,  but 
once  a  great  bird,  unskillfully  flown, 
came  into  contact  wrongly  with  the  wind, 
and  where  there  had  been  a  bead  of  light 
there  was  a  spot  of  darkness.  Heavily, 
like  a  wounded  thing,  it  overbalanced, 
and  came  tumbling  down  awkwardly — 
one  wing  invisible  as  though  hanging 
one  wing  invisible  as  though  hanging 
limp  at  the  side  of  the  bird.  For  the 
most  part,  however,  the  guiding  was  ex- 
tremely clever.  The  man  entrusted  with 
a  string  was  invariably  light  of  wrist,  as 
an  expert  fencer,  and  knew  how  to  imi- 
tate the  slow  hovering  of  an  eagle,  as 
well  as  the  quick  dive  of  a  sparrow-hawk. 
Not  every  people  can  harness  the  stars 
for  their  purposes,  and  even  in  China, 
country  of  fantastic  Oriental  devices,  it 
happens  but  once  in  a  year.  For  one 
long  night  I  watched  the  merry  tumbling 
of  frail,  glowing  shapes,  drawn  close, 
scattering  and  combining  under  the  light- 
est impulse  of  the  winds — but  on  the  16th 
day  of  the  moon,  when  I  looked  again 
from  my  window,  all  the  stars  were  as 
distant  as  ever,  fixed  firmly  in  their 
places  again,  and  the  festival  of  lantern 
kites  as  if  it  had  never  been. 


BY    ANDREW    JOHN    MacKNIGHT 

A  little  knot,  dear,  of  your  hair, 
I  treasure  with  the  greatest  care, 
And  guard  it  from  the  common  view 
Because  it  came  to  me  from  you, 
All  fragrant  with  the  summer  air. 

A  little  knot  of  gold,  to  wear. 

Set  with  a  jewel  rich  and  rare; 

A  band  to  bind  in  bondage  new, 

And  give  to  life  a  rosy  hue, 

When  clouds  their  load  of  shadow  bear. 

A  little  knot — the  parson's  share, 
By  tying  into  one  a  pair — 
Brought  joy  supreme  and  sorrows  few 
To  you  and  me,  for  such  was  due 
To  follow  with  a  bride  so  fair. 


BY    AUSTIN    LEWIS 


AMONG  the  modern  institutions 
which  of  necessity  come  into  con- 
flict with  the  working  class  move- 
ment, and  which  may  be  regarded  as  ono 
of  the  strongest  antagonists  of  that  move- 
ment, are  the  universities,  and  more  than 
all  others,  the  American  universities. 
These  latter  institutions  have,  generally 
speaking,  shown  such  a  marked  animus 
against  the  working  class  movement  and 
have  been  so  liberally  endowed  and  cod- 
dled by  the  great  financial  magnates,  that 
a  feeling  of  grave  distrust  of  their  integ- 
rity, and,  indeed,  of  their  actual  social 
value,  is  beginning  to  come  into  the  minds 
of  the  masses.  The  critics  of  modern  con- 
ditions in  the  United  States,  the  radicals 
and  reformers  of  the  country,  have  cov- 
ered the  colleges  with  an  amount  of  abuse 
which  would  seem  to  be  exaggerated  and 
to  be  directed  against  too  insignificant  a  a 
object.  But  the  growth  in  wealth  and 
power  of  the  American  university,  its  con- 
stant encroachment  upon  fields  of  social 
influence  which  have  hitherto  been  un- 
cultivated by  the  colleges,  its  rapid  con- 
version from  an  institution  of  learning  to 
a  social,  and,  indeed,  productive  machine 
of  the  first  importance,  render  it  a  very 
important  part  of  modern  life.  The  uni- 
versity is  constantly  supplying  what  may 
be  called  the  commissioned  officers  of  the 
great  industrial  army  of  to-day.  To  an 
ever  increasing  degree  it  is  laying  its 
work  at  the  feet  of  the  industrial  masters 
who  have  the  production  and  distribution 
of  commodities  in  their  control.  More  and 
more  of  its  tune  is  devoted  to  the  discov- 
ery of  new  forces  and  the  manipulation 
of  those  already  known,  to  the  end  that 
trade  may  be  advanced  and  profits  made 
more  readily.  And  coincident  with  this 
modernization  of  the  American  univer- 
sity there  has  grown  up  a  feeling  of  hos- 
tility to  it  on  the  part  of  the  American 
working  class  and  suspicion  of  it  on  the 
part  of  independent  social  criiics  which 
cannot  be  matched  elsewhere. 

The  attacks  made  upon  the  American 


university  by  the  working  class  advocates 
assuredly  do  not  arise  from  any  antipa- 
thy to  education  as  such  on  the  part  of 
the  working  men.  On  the  contrary,  the 
working  class  has  everywhere  been  the 
earnest  and  enthusiastic  advocates  of 
higher  and  more  complete  education,  al- 
though its  members  could  personally  hope 
to  obtain  but  little  benefit  therefrom.  The 
painstaking  care  of  the  great  number  of 
poor  and  overworked  mechanics  and  arti- 
sans to  obtain  a  better  education  for  them- 
selves has  been  nothing  short  of  pathetic. 
The  records  of  the  modern  working  class 
are  also  the  records  of  laborious  and  pain- 
ful efforts  on  the  part  of  its  members  to 
gain  that  education  of  which  they  have 
felt  the  need.  And  apart  from  the  ef- 
forts of  individuals  the  working  class 
movement  has  itself  taken  a  very  active 
part  in  the  increasing  of  the  facilities  for 
the  acquiring  of  a  better  education  for 
its  members,  even  in  countries  where  the 
State  has  not  made  sufficient  provision  to 
that  end.  Thus  the  formation  of  what 
are  called  universities  populaires  in 
France,  the  spread  of  the  university  ex- 
toision  movement  among  the  artisans  in 
Gieat  Britain  and  the  development  of 
numberless  societies  for  special  study  and 
general  education  among  the  members  of 
the  German  Social  Democracy  are  in 
themselves  proof  of  the  fact  that  there  is 
no  hostility  to  learning  per  se  on  the  part 
of  the  working  class.  The  efforts  made 
by  this  class  in  the  direction  of  the  exten- 
sion of  public  education  and  its  ardent 
support  of  free  education  up  to  the  uni- 
versity tend  to  show  a  respect  for  learn- 
ing which,  if  anything,  is  too  exagger- 
ated. To  the  handworker,  the  dweller  in 
what  he  conceives  to  be  the  pure  and  ex- 
alted atmosphere  of  intellectual  effort  ap- 
pears as  a  sort  of  a  superior  being  to 
whom  he  is  only  too  ready  to  accord  his 
respect.  It  must  unfortunately  be  ad- 
mitted also  that  the  latter  is  not  above 
taking  advantage  of  (this  adoraJtion  of 
mere  learning,  and  while  relying  upon 


256 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


working  class  support  for  the  extension  of 
education,  he  frequently  employs  the  in- 
stitution of  learning  to  the  distinct  detri- 
ment of  the  working  class. 

Like  every  other  institution,  the  uni- 
versity has  become  commercialized.  It  is 
tied  to  the  chariot  wheels  of  the  success- 
ful bourgeoisie.  It  sanctifies  the  money 
of  the  vulgar  to  educational  purposes.  Its 
professors  prostrate  themselves  at  the  feet 
of  brute  wealth  and  honorary  degrees  are 
conferred  readily  upon  ignorant  men 
whose  whole  life  has  been  anti-social  in 
exchange  for  value  received  in  the  shape 
of  large  endowments.  By  this  self-abase- 
ment, the  American  universities  have 
achieved  a  position  of  influence  and  a  de- 
gree of  wealth  never  hitherto  placed  at 
the  disposal  of  learning,  and  at  the  same 
time  they  have  to  a  very  great  extent  for- 
feited the  respect  of  the  discerning  peo- 
ple. 

One  indictment  against  the  university 
is  that  it  has  failed  as  a  means  of  culture. 
This  charge  is  very  generally  made  by 
educational  papers  like  the  "Nation,"  of 
New  York,  which,  with  some  ineradicable 
prejudices  in  some  directions,  preserves 
unsullied  its  educational  ideals,  and  also 
by  other  journals  which  appear  to  possess 
a  greater  appreciation  of  the  real  ends 
of  university  training  than  one  would 
have  supposed  from  their  somewhat  phil- 
istine  attitude  on  most  subjects.  Thus 
the  San  Francisco  "Chronicle,"  a  paper 
which  may  be  generally  said  to  take  the 
side  of  the  greater  industrialism,  says : 
"What  are  our  universities  doing  with 
their  students  to-day?  In  a  large  meas- 
ure their  end  and  aim  is  the  training  of 
specialists  to  achieve  things  in  the  world 
of  affairs.  "We  point  with  pride  to  the 
wonderful  increase  in  attendance  at  the 
University  of  California  as  an  evidence 
of  the  eagerness  of  our  people  for  higher 
learning.  But  in  what  departments  is 
this  increase  most  in  evidence?  In  min- 
ing and  mechanical  engineering,  and  in- 
deed in  all  the  courses  which  offer  special- 
ized training  for  practical  results.  *  *  * 
The  point  to  be  insisted  on  is  that  spec- 
ialized training  is  not  culture,  which  de- 
mands catholicity  of  mind,  and  that  no 
civilization  can,  in  the  last  analysis,  be 
great  which  has  not  this  flower  of  life 
upon  its  branches."  There  is  no  need 
tj  quote  any  further  from  a  somewhat 


lengthy  article.  Any  one  who  knows  at 
all  about  the  matter  must  be  in  agree- 
ment with  the  above  criticism  and  realize 
that  the  first  penalty  which  the  American 
university  has  paid  for  its  unholy  alliance 
with  Midas  has  been  the  loss  of  what  has 
hitherto  been  considered  the  distinguish- 
ing mark  and  the  special  glory  of  the  uni- 
versity. 

But  the  growth  of  a  newly  rich  class  in 
this  country  and  the  piling  up  of  the 
enormous  fortunes  which  have  been  ac- 
cumulated during  the  last  few  years  have 
had  a  deteriorating  effect  upon  the  per- 
sonnel of  the  students,  and  have  led  to 
an  era  of  luxury  which  has  made  the 
great  American  universities  the  laughing 
stock  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  very 
worst  features  of  the  richer  side  of  Eng- 
lish university  life  have  been  copied  and 
exaggerated.  The  American  university 
has  become  as  New  York  society  is  re- 
ported to  have  become,  a  shoddy  imita- 
tion of  the  worst  side  of  British  society. 
The  luxury  of  living  which  has  been  a 
marked  feature  of  English  university  life, 
owing  to  the  practical  monopoly  of  that 
life  by  the  well  to  do,  has  been  completely 
outdone  in  the  American  university.  The 
luxury  in  England  has  of  late  been  much 
curtailed,  for  even  the  upper  classes 
come  in  process  of  time  to  have  decent 
notions.  Here  it  has  burst  into  full 
flower  and  blooms  as  one  of  the  most  poi- 
sonous weeds  in  our  lately  grown  exotic 
garden.  Together  with  the  growth  of  lux- 
ury has  come  the  new  athletic  craze, 
which  has  likewise  been  carried  to  such 
extremes  as  to  seriously  militate  against 
the  particular  work  of  the  university. 
Thus,  Professor  William  Gardner  Hale 
told  the  Freshmen  of  Chicago  university 
in  a  recent  speech  that  the  educational 
system  was  being  turned  topsy-turvy  by 
the  introduction  of  the  newly  rich  ele- 
ment. "Education  in  the  big  Eastern 
institutions  is  not  improving  in  the  least. 
On  the  contrary,  I  think  it  is  deteriorat- 
ing. Scholarship  has  decreased  because 
the  educational  system  is  worm  eaten. 
There  is  too  much  of  the  gentleman  sport 
idea  there.  The  hope  of  education  lies  in 
the  Western  institutions,  where  students 
hope  to  attend  for  the  purpose  of  gaining 
an  education  and  not  for  the  purpose  of 
squandering  a  rich  parent's  money  in  an 
effort  to  'become  a  gentleman.' ';  A  news- 


THE  UXIYEKSITY   AXD   THE   WORKING   CLASS. 


257 


paper,  commenting  on  the  Western  part 
of  the  quotation,  shrewdly  remarks  that 
it  is  a  sop  to  the  institution  which  is  pay- 
ing Professor  Hale's  salary.  Xo  unbiased 
person,  however,  can  doubt  the  applica- 
bility of  the  remarks  to  the  colleges  both 
East  and  West  wherever  a  modern  par- 
venu class  has  established  itself. 

But  besides  its  failure  on  the  educa- 
tional side  as  a  means  of  culture,  the 
American  university  has  shown  a  shock- 
in  fr  tendency  to  accept  funds  from  what- 
ever source,  and  to  regulate  its  teachings 
according  to  the  demands  of  the  wealth}7 
patrons  who  furnish  the  money  and  are 
thus  permitted  to  call  any  educational 
turn  which  they  may  prefer.  Xot  long 
ago,  Mr.  William  J.  Bryan,  whom  we 
new  consider  as  sanely  conservative,  re- 
signed as  trustee  of  the  Illinois  College 
because  of  its  acceptance  of  funds  from 
trust  magnates.  Mr.  Bryan  wrote  in  the 
letter  accompanying  the  resignation  as 
follows:  "The  issue  presented  seems  to  be 
a  vital  one,  and  even  if  Carnegie  refuses 
the  same  question  will  likely  arise  if  some 
other  magnates  invites  requests.  Our  col- 
lege cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon;  it 
cannot  be  a  college  for  the  people  and 
the  same  time  commend  itself  to  the 
commercial  highwavmen  who  are  now 
subsidizing  the  colleges  to  prevent  the 
teaching  of  economic  truths."  Of  course, 
there  is  a  sort  of  belated  ethics  about  these 
remarks  of  Mr.  Bryan's  which  is  refresh- 
ingly naive  and  delightful,  but  if  he  sees 
the  modern  university  problem  as  ethical 
he  is  in  a  dreadfully  embarrassing  posi- 
tion, and  one  can  only  applaud  the  agility 
which  he  has  shown  in  extricating  him- 
self. In  Henry  George,  Jr.'s,  "Menace 
of  Privilege,"  occurs  the  report  of  an  in- 
terview between  the  president  of  a  college 
and  a  wealthy  man.  Says  the  president: 
"Why  don't  you  endow  a  chair  in  econom- 
ics at  our  university."  "Well,"  was  the 
reply,  "I  suppose  it  might  be  because  I 
have  not  much  respect  for  the  kind  of 
economics  the  universities  are  teaching," 
to  which  the  educator  diplomatically  an- 
swered: "Oh,  that  might  easily  be  ar- 
ranged to  suit  you."  President  Hadlev 
of  Yale  thus  describes  the  dilemma  of  the 
modern  university  managers:  "Teaching 
costs  money.  Modern  university  teaching 
costs  more  money  per  capita  than  ever  it 
did  before,  because  the  public  wishes  the 


university  to  maintain  places  of  scien- 
tific research,  and  scientific  research  is 
extremely  (expensive."  A  university  is 
more  likely  to  obtain  this  money  if  it 
gives  the  property  owners  reason  to  believe 
that  vested  rights  will  not  be  interfered 
with.  If  we  recognize  vested  rights  in  or- 
der to  secure  the  means  of  progress  in 
physical  science,  is  there  not  danger  that 
we  shall  stifle  the  spirit  of  independence 
which  is  equally  important  as  a  means 
of  progress  in  moral  science?"  Innumer- 
able instances  to  the  same  effect  might  be 
quoted  which  point  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  modern  university  is  inextricably 
bound  up  with  the  modern  greater  capi- 
talism, and  this  being  the  case,  the  hos- 
tility which  is  arising  against  the  univer- 
sity in  the  minds  of  the  mass  of  the  popu- 
lation, and  particularly  in  the  minds  of 
the  working  class  is  easily  comprehensible, 
and  indeed  could  not  be  avoided.  Be- 
sides the  snobbery  manifested  in  the  con- 
ferring of  honorary  degrees  upon  men 
who  are  notoriously  deficient  in  education 
and  whose  only  claim  to  distinction  is 
the  possession  of  great  wealth,  has  con- 
vinced the  mass  of  citizens  of  the  inher- 
ent snobbery  and  subserviency  of  the  pro- 
fessorial class.  Even  from"  the  earliest 
times,  the  pedagogue  has  always  been  a 
servile  creature,  and  the  modern  univer- 
sity professor  shows  incontestable  evi- 
dence of  his  inherited  snobbery.  To  such 
an  extent  has  this  gone  in  this  country 
that  the  professors  have  practically  aban- 
doned that  stand  for  freedom  of  expies- 
sion  without  which  the  position  of  teacher 
in  all  branches  of  moral  or  political  sci- 
ence becomes  the  merest  mockery.  As 
far  as  academic  freedom  goes,  we  are  in 
a  much  worse  position  than  those  coun- 
tries of  Europe  which  live  under  a  form 
of  absolutism,  and  the  cynicism  with 
which  this  loss  of  the  academic  liberty, 
hitherto  always  highly  prized,  is  regarded, 
appears  from  the  recent  statement  of  a 
university  president  that  if  a  professoi 
wished  to  talk  heterodoxy  it  was  always 
open  to  him  to  resign  his  position  and  to 
make  a  martyr  of  himself. 

The  university  authorities  approach 
the  consideration  of  the  problems  of 
wealth  in  the  most  crawling  and  subser- 
vient fashion,  as  witness  this  extract 
from  a  very  recent  work  by  the  President 
of  Bowdoin.  The  book  in  question  is 


258 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


supposed  to  illustrate  those  ideals  which 
are  the  highest  aspirations  and  the  most 
exalted  thoughts  of  the  college  man  of  to- 
day. He  writes:  "The  man  whose  office 
is  a  pivot  around  which  revolve  in  integ- 
rity and  beneficence  the  wheels  of  indus- 
try and  commerce,  affording  employment 
and  subsistence  to  thousands  of  his  fel- 
lows; the  woman  whose  home  is  a  center 
of  generous  hospitality,  whence  ceaseless 
streams  of  refinement  and  charity  flow 
forth  to  bless  the  world,  the  person  whose 
leisure  and  culture  and  wealth  are  de- 
voted to  the  direction  of  forces,  the  solu- 
tion of  problems,  the  organization  of 
movements  which  require  large  expendi- 
ture of  time  and  money — these  men  and 
women,  who  are  at  the  same  time  rich 
and  Christians,  these  are  the  salt  of  our 
modern  society,  by  such  comes  the  re- 
demption of  the  world,  of  such  no  less 
than  of  the  Christian  poor  is  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven.  ISTo  honest  man  grudges 
these  Christian  rich  their  wealth.  It 
matters  not  whether  their  income  is  five 
hundred  or  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
The  question  is  whether  the  little  or  much 
is  made  organic  to  the  glory  of  God  and 
the  good  of  humanity.  And  the  greater 
the  amount  of  wealth  thus  organized  and 
utilized  the  greater  the  glory,  the  larger 
the  good."  Here  we  get  an  example  of 
the  crudest  adoration  of  wealth  expended 
respectably,  an  adoration  quite  out  of 
sympathy  with  the  modern  tendency  to 
inquire  into  the  sources  of  wealth  and  to 
stigmatize  much  which  is  regarded  as  re- 
spectable as  dangerous  and  anti-social. 

The  same  utter  lack  of  appreciation  of 
the  actual  conditions  of  the  labor  move- 
ment and  the  forces  at  work  in  modern 
society  are  apparent  in  the  hortatory  and 
offensively  patronizing  manner  of  speech 
of  the  university  representatives  whenever 
they  undertake  to  address  workingmen  or 
organized  labor  bodies  on  the  rights  and 
duties  of  the  working  class.  Their  lack 
of  sympathy  is  so  evident  and  their  ignor- 
ance of  all  matters  affecting  the  well-being 
of  the  workers  and  their  differences  with 
their  employers  so  manifest,  that  the 
greatest  irritation  is  produced  and  the 
feeling  slumbering  in  the  proletarian 
mind  against  the  universities  is  fanned 
into  fierce  resentment.  Take,  for  exam- 
ple, the  statement  of  Benjamin  Ide 
Wlheeler,  President  of  the  University  of 


California,  in  Chicago  some  time  ago, 
when  he  said:  "I  do  not  say  that  the 
laboring  man  has  suffered  no  wrongs,  but 
the  laboring  man  cannot  be  too  slow  to 
strike,"  and  he  had  the  curious  taste  and 
discretion  to  quote  Marshall  Field  as  his 
authority.  This  sort  of  advice  could  be 
better  endured  if  the  university  chiefs 
ever  expressed  any  real  sympathy  with  the 
aims  of  the  working  class.  They  never 
do  so.  Their  immediate  interests  are  too 
closely  bound  up  with  those  of  the  greater 
capitalism  to  the  chariot  of  which  they  are 
tied  hand  and  foot,  and  their  attitude  to- 
wards the  working  class  is  one  of  horta- 
tory superciliousness.  They  must  not 
think,  however,  that  this  is  overlooked. 
To  the  contempt  which  the  working  peo- 
ple have  for  their  subserviency  is  added.a 
feeling  of  irritation  at  their  airs  of  super- 
iority and  the  university  will  some  day 
pay  very  dearly  for  this  superiority  of 
tone.  More  worthy  of  respect,  but  no  less 
hostile  than  the  platitudinous  sermonizing 
above  quoted  is  the  admittedly  unfriendly 
attitude  of  President  Eliot  of  Harvard. 
President  Eliot  is  an  old  man,  and  must 
be  expected  to  have  old  fashioned  ideas, 
but  the  degree  of  hostility  expressed  in 
his  speech  is  unaccountable  even  on  the 
grounds  of  entire  absence  of  sympathy 
with  the  working  class.  The  rancorous 
antagonism  is  even  more  evident  than  the 
belated  economics.  Thus  he  disputes 
the  proposition  that'  it  is  the  moral  duty 
of  a  workman  to  help  his  brother  work- 
man; he  discountenances  all  associated 
effort  on  the  part  of  the  working  class 
to  raise  its  standard  of  living;  he  calls 
the -scab  a  hero,  and  he  actually  declares 
against  agreements  between  employers 
and  workmen  for  the  preservation  of  in- 
dustrial peace.  All  this  may  be  very  good 
and  sufficient  doctrine  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  people  whose  sons  are  the 
students  at  Harvard,  but  it  is  most  com- 
pletely opposed  to  the  doctrines  of  the  or- 
dinary trades  union  of  to-day,  and  still 
more  antagonistic  to  what  will  be  the  un- 
ionism of  to-morrow.  In  fact,  the  re- 
marks of  President  Elliot  have  provoked 
savage  and  indignant  reprisals  at  the 
hands  of  Samuel  Gompers,  President  of 
the  American  Federation  of  Labor,  who  is 
under  the  suspicion  of  many  trades  union- 
ists as  being  reactionary  and  not  in  line 
with  the  more  advanced  tenets  of  present- 


THE  UXIYEES1TY   AXD   THE  WOEKIXG   CLASS. 


259 


day  unionism.  Gompers  retorts:  "Long 
after  the  platitudes,  sophistries  and  bitter 
antagonisms  of  the  Eliots,  by  whatever 
name  known,  will  be  obliterated  from  the 
thoughts  of  men,  the  glorious  work  and 
achievements  of  organized  labor  move- 
ments will  be  accepted  by  the  moral  law 
of  man/'  There  is  almost  a  mischievous 
tendency  on  the  part  of  professors  to  de- 
preciate not  alone  the  value  of  the  labor 
movement,  but  to  throw  unnecessary  con- 
tempt upon  the  institutions  of  this  coun- 
try as  democratic  institutions  in  the  in- 
terests of  the  greater  capitalism  whose 
servants  they  are.  There  seems  to  be  a 
sort  of  preconcerted  movement  on  the  part 
of  those  charged  with  university  manage- 
ment to  wean  the  minds  of  the  students 
from  all  faith  in  democracy.  The  whole 
tendency  of  modern  university  teaching 
is  in  the  interest  of  the  exaltation  of  brute 
wealth  and  the  glorification  of  those  who 
possess  material  power.  The  persons  who* 
are  desired  as  professors  and  the  clergy- 
men who  are  selected  to  preach  baccalau- 
reate sermons  must  be  like  the  Eeverend 
Frank  W.  Gundaulus,  whose  bacfcalau- 
reate  address  to  the  students  of  the  Ar- 
mour Institute  was  telegraphed  all  over 
the  country,  and  which  contained  the  fol- 
lowing pregnant  sentences:  "Freedom  is 
something  to  be  won.  Men  are  not  born 
free.  Every  power  into  whose  control  a 
man  comes  is  a  conquered  freedom.  There 
are  no  equals  in  this  universe  of  God's. 
God  is  no  socialist."  If  this  sort  of  thing 
could  be  confined  to  the  callow  youths 
for  which  it  is  intended,  it  is  possible  that 
not  much  harm  would  result.  But  the 
workingmen  who  read  the  reports  of  these 
utterances  are  readers  who  keep  fairly 
well  in  touch  with  the  best  writings  of 
the  day,  and  who  have  nothing  but  con- 
tempt for  the  self-advertising  nonsense 
like  the  above.  The  result  is,  that  the 
better  class  of  workingman  not  only  re- 
sents the  hostile  attitude  of  the  university 
professor,  but  he  also  actually  comes  to 
doubt  his  intellectual  attainments. 

The  purposes  of  modern  education  in 
the  university  are  perhaps  best  shown  by 
a  quotation  from  the  book  of  the  Presi- 
dent of  Bowdoin  College,  already  referred 
to.  After  following  the  youth  through 
his  college  course  by  means  of  a  series  of 
letters  written  to  illustrate  the  develop- 
ment of  the  university  young  man.  the 


worth}'  university  chief  makes  his  pet 
pupil  say,  when  he  has  arrived  at  the 
close  of  his  senior  year:  "In  these  ways 
my  views  on  the  relations  of  capital  and 
labor  have  undergone  a  pretty  radical 
change.  But  suffice  it  to  say,  while  I  still 
believe  that  there  are  grave  defects  in  the 
existing  industrial  system,  and  believe 
that  there  are  many  ways  in  which  it 
might  be  improved,  I  see  that  such  im- 
provement must  be  a 'long,  slow  process 
of  evolution  in  which  one  defect  after  an- 
other must  be  sloughed  off  gradually.  I 
see  that  such  a  desire  to  improve  the  sys- 
tem and  gradually  substitute  better  fea- 
tures in  place  of  those  which  now  exist 
is  not  inconsistent  with  one  as  working 
practically  under  the  system  as  it  is.  Id- 
deed,  I  am  convinced  that  the  desired  im- 
provement must  come,  not  through  agita- 
tors, who  seek  to  apply  abstract  principles 
-from  without,  but  through  manufacturers 
and  merchants  who  understand  the  pres- 
ent system  in  its  practical  internal  work- 
ings, and  are  thus  able  to  develop  the 
new  out  of  the  old.  I  believe  my  proper 
place  is  inside  and  not  outside  the  indus- 
trial system  that  is  to  be  reformed.  That 
is  the  extent  of  the  socialism  there  is  left 
in  me."  This  is  the  familiar  conservative 
note,  and  as  such  it  fails  to  appeal  to  the 
youthful  intellect  in  the  colleges.  Becent 
years  have  been  marked  by  an  exodus  of 
some  of  the  most  promising  university 
men  from  the  ranks  of  the  conservatives. 
Such  a  negative  gospel  will  never  appeal 
to  the  most  ardent  and  best  spirits,  and 
there  is  but  little  question  that  the  main- 
tenance of  this  attitude  will  lose  the  uni- 
versity authorities  the  support  of  their 
students  as  far  as  they  take  any  interest 
in  public  affairs. 

It  must  be  noted,  however,  that  the 
American  university  student  is  by  no 
means  as  eager  with  respect  to  matters  of 
public  concern  as  those  of  other  countries. 
The  continental  university  student  is  far 
ahead  of  him  in  devotion  to  politics,  and 
even  the  careless  English  student  has  far 
stronger  political  beliefs.  This  fact  causes 
a  barrier  to  spring  up  between  the  Ameri- 
can university  man  and  the  rest  of  the 
community^  to  which  he  is  too  prone  to 
adopt  an  attitude  of  superiority.  But 
there  is  another  reason  for  the  develop- 
ment of  a  more  or  less  open  dislike  on  the 
part  of  the  proletarian  of  the  university 


260 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


student,  and  this  is  to  be  found  in  the 
tendency  of  the  university  student  to  take 
sides  in  the  struggle  between  employer 
and  employed,  on  the  side  of  the  employ- 
ing class.  On  more  than  one  occasion,  the 
students  at  the  Eastern  universities  have 
taken  the  places  of  many  st liking  work- 
ingmen. 

Not  long  ago,  two  hundred  Yale  stu- 
dents, according  to  the  daily  press  re- 
ports, applied  to'  the  New  York,  New 
Haven  and  Hartford  Eailroad  for  work 
as  firemen,  there  then  being  a  strike  on 
that  road.  Prior  to  that,  at  a  time  when 
the  teamsters  of  New  Haven  were  on 
strike,  numbers  of  students  enlisted  as 
cab  drivers.  Columbia  and  Ann  Arbor 
have  each  at  different  times  contributed 
their  quota  of  strike  breakers.  It  is  ob- 
vious that  this,  it  must  be  conceived 
thoughtless  behavior  on  the  part  of  the 
students,  has  produced  markedly  hostile 
feeling  on  the  side  of  the  workingman. 
The  students  have  not,  it  will  be  admitted, 
the  excuse  of  the  ordinary  scab,  the  neces- 
sity of  obtaining  a  livelihood,  and  what  is 


regarded  by  them  as  mere  fun  is  a  mat- 
ter of  vital  concern  to  those  whose  work 
they  take. 

There  are  many  grounds,  therefore,  for 
the  suspicion  and  dislike  with  which  the 
ordinary  workingman  regards  the  insti- 
tutions of  learning.  It  is  the  fault  of  the 
university  that  it  has  been  drawn  into 
the  class  war  now  raging  throughout  this 
country.  It  would  have  been  compara- 
tively easy  for  the  colleges  to  have  kept 
out  of  the  fray.  But  they  have  chosen 
deliberately  to  enter  the  conflict  and  must 
pay  the  penalty.  By  the  very  condition 
of  things,  they  have  assumed  an  attitude 
which  will  bring  upon  them  the  indigna- 
tion and  the  opposition  of  the  most  in- 
fluential and  strongest  part  of  the  work- 
ing class.  The  result,  which  cannot  fail 
to  be  disastrous  for  the  universities,  can 
only  be  avoided  by  the  abandonment  of 
this  attitude  of  hostility  and  the  sub- 
stitution for  it  of  one  of  sympathy  on  the 
part  of  the  university,  with  the  progres- 
sive humanitarianism  of  the  working- 
class  movement. 


BY    LAURA    BROWER 


Where  love  is  not,  the  springs  of  life  run  dry, 

And  all  the  regions  that  they  made  so  fair 
Become  a  desert  waste,  the  sweet  flowers  die 

Whose  fragrant  breaths  with  incense  filled  the  air. 
Grim  desolation  sits  beneath  the  boughs 

Of  leafless  .trees,  arms  drooping,  head  hung  low, 
A  mournful  sighing  through  the  branches  soughs, 

No  sounds  are  heard,  save  those  that  speak  of  woe. 
But  let  Love  only  for  a  moment  come 

Beneath  her  footfall — into  life  soon  spring 
All  forms  of  loveliness,  song-birds  long  dumb     • 

Rejoicing  in  her  presence  blithely  sing, 
And  hearts  that  seemed  fast  turning  into,  stone 

Pulsate  with  joyous  life  before  unknown. 


Making  pottery. 


BY    C     F.    PAUL 


FHOPKIXSOX  SMITH,  in  his 
charming  little  volume,  "A 
*  White  Umbrella  in  Mexico,"  has 
told  of  the  beauties  and  oddities  of  a  por- 
tion of  Mexico  that  the  ordinary  traveler 
usually  does  not  get  to  see.  The  artist, 
however,  who  packs  his  kit  and  hies  him- 
self away  to  this  land  of  sunshine  and 
flowers,  will  not  omit  the  unique  trip  to 
Tzinznntzan.  This  ancient  capital  of  the 
State  of  Michoacan,  this  city  with  the 
overwhelming  name,  is  now  famous  only 
as  the  resting  place  of  one  of  Titian's 
great  creations.  "The  Entombment  of 
Christ." 

The  transportation  facilities  from  the 
railroad   town    of    Patzcuaro   are   of    the 


most  primitive  kind.  The  easiest  route 
will  be  found  to  be  across  the  lakes  in 
rude  canoes  hollowed  from  a  single  log. 
These  canoes  are  propelled  by  means  of 
paddles,  the  blade  of  which  is  flat  and 
round,  the  shape  and  size  of  a  dinner- 
plate.  One  of  the  larger  boats  manned 
by  eight  or  ten  paddlers,  all  rigged  out 
in  white  cotton  suits  and  flashing  zarapes, 
make  a  pleasing  sight  to  such  an  outfit 
as  the  Harvard  crew's.  But  if  one  is 
not  a  sea  dog — or  a  lake  dog,  as  the  case 
is  here — the  slow,  round-backed  burro  can 
be  pressed  into  service.  This  sure-footed 
beast  will  undoubtedly  convey  you  safely 
by  a  wide  detour  of  many  miles  around 
marshes  and  over  hills  through  a  strange 


View  in  Morelia,  the  nearest  town  of  note. 


jumble  of  grotesque  scenes  where  the  cam- 
era will  live  a  life-time  in  an  hour. 

After  the  conquest  of  Mexico  by  the 
Spaniards,  Tzinzuntzan  was  the  seat  of 
the  bishopric  of  Tarasco.  Spain's  ruler, 
King  Philip  the  Second,  being  especially 
desirous  of  honoring  this  place,  sent  as  a 
mark  of  favor  the  magnificent  painting 


to  adorn  the  cathedral.  In  the  same  way, 
the  superb  canvas,  Murillo's  Assumption, 
that  hangs  in  the  cathedral  at  Guadala- 
jara, was  a  gift  from  the  Old  World  for 
faithful  service.  The  natives  of  Tzinzunt- 
zan  are  so  poor  that  one  canoe  serves  a 
hundred  in  turn,  and  one  rough  coffin  has 
a  dozen  successive  occupants.  Euin  is 


Old  church  which  contains  the  famous  painting  by  Titian. 


Village  scene  near  Lake  Patzcuaro. 


written  everywhere,  the  march  of  moneyed 
progress  not  having  as  yet  influenced  this 
locality.  Yet  with  all  the  wretchedness 
and  utter  poverty,  the  royal  gift  is  still 
retained.  For  over  three  hundred  and  fifty 
years  it  has  hung  amid  tawdry  surround- 
ings, a  treasure  of  great  price,  an  object 
of  devout  veneration.  Many  oHim  hav; 
been  made  by  shrewd  collectors,  yet  they 


have  all  been  scorned.  One-third  of  the 
sum  offered  would  practically  rebuild 
their  church  and  set  "it  on  a  sound  finan- 
cial foundation,  but  the  natives  do  not 
take  this  material  point  into  considera- 
tion. They  seem  to  regard  the  painring 
as  a  sacred  trust  that  is  at  all  risks  to  be 
protected  and  kept  forever.  If  true,  the 
incident  given  in  "A  White  Umbrella  in 


Boating  on   Lake   Patzuaro. 


264 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Murillo's  Assumption,  Guadalajara  Cathedral. 


sacred  painting  to  have  his  lost  skill  re- 
stored. The  explanation  seemed  plaus- 
ible, and  tl^e  two  visitors  breathed  easily 
again. 

The  old  church  is  fast  tumbling  to  de- 
cay; its  pristine  glory  has  long  since  de- 
parted. Wide,  zigzag  seams  pierce  the 
masonry,  and  tell  of  recurring  earth- 
quakes that  have  sent  a  shiver  through 
the  old  structure.  The  frail  old  campa- 
nile, or  church  tower,  could  not,  if  it 
would,  furnish  a  safe  support  for  the  four 
old  bells.  These  hang  from  massive  tim- 
bers that  reach  across  from  one  huge  olive 
tree  to  another.  The  dark  green  foliage 
of  these  wide-spreading  trees,  the  shim- 
mering brightness  of  the  chapel  walls,  and 
the  sturdy  figure  of  the  bell-ringer  call- 
ing to  devotions,  are  enough  to  hold  any 
painter,  and  to  make  him  hope  in  some 
feeble  degree  to  recall  by  stroke  and  line 
what  is  most  difficult  to  catch  and  re- 
produce-— the  spirit  of  calm  and  sweet 
contentment  that  pervades  the  very  at- 
mosphere. 


Mexico"  would  serve  to  illustrate  the  de- 
votion of  the  natives.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  the  author  and  a  single  com- 
panion are  represented  as  making  the  trip 
to  see  the  painting.  All  hands  had  to 
be  bribed  before  admission  to  the  room 
was  granted.  At  every  turn  an  Indian 
watcher  would  pop  up  to  see  that  the 
prestige  of  the  place  was  not  lessened  by 
the  surreptitious  removal  of  the  painting. 
When  at  last  the  painter-author  stood  be- 
fore the  painting  in  the  darkened  room 
where  it  hung,  he  thoughtlessly  touched 
the  canvas  in  trying  to  determine  the  me- 
chanical side  of  the  masterpiece.  Instant- 
Iv  a  threatening  voice  behind  him  cried 
out,  "Cuidado,  'estrangero,  es  muerte." 
(Beware,  stranger,  it  is  death.)  Tho 
painter's  wily  companion  skillfully  extri- 
cated them  from  the  difficulty  by  saying 
that  his  friend  was  a  famous  painter  who 
had,  by  disease,  lost  his  power  with  the 
brush,  and  hoped  by  merely  touching  the 


A  Tarasco  Indian  Girl . 


BY    ADEUA    H.    TAFFINDER 


THE  Swastika,  the  most  ancient  sym- 
bol, has  recently  sprung  into  popu- 
lar favor  as  an  ornament,  in  the 
form   of  hat  pins,   pendants,   and   other 
dainty   articles   of   personal     adornment. 
How  few  among  the  many  whose  eyes  are 
attracted   by   this   graceful   design  know 
anything  of  its  origin,  significance  or  sym- 
bology. 

When  my  lady  uses  this  ornament  as  a 
hat  pin,  placing  it  most  artistically  in 
the  right  place,  she  may  not  realize  that 
she  is  following  in  form  a  custom  which 
antedates  the  Christian  cross.  That  in 
ages  long  forgotten,  her  pagan  sister  traced 
the  lines  of  the  same  symbol  upon  her 
forehead  with  her  finger  as  an  invocation 
and  a  prayer.  Swastika  is  a  Sanskrit 
word,  meaning  weal-making,  happiness, 
good  luck.  Archaeology  demonstrates 
that  it  was  in  existence  ages  before  the 
origin  of  Sanskrit,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  ancient  languages.  The  Cheops 
pyramids,  the  sphynx,  and  the  tombs  of 
the  Ptolemies  are  modern  in  compari- 
son to  the  antiquity  of  this  sign  of  whirl- 
ing energy,  of  fecundity,  of  creative 
power  in  activity.  In  Hindostan,  China, 
Japan,  Korea  and  Thibet,  this  cross  is 
held  in  highest  reverence.  It  was  the 
emblem  of  Agni,  the  fire  god;  Indra,  the 
god  of  space,  and  Zeus,  the  sun  god.  In 
China  it  is  called  Wan,  and  is  an  import- 
ant emblem  in  the  temples.  It  is  of  such 
significance  that  it  forms  a  part  of  the 
Emperor's  signature  on  royal  gifts.  The 


Japanese  endow  it  with  "ten  thousand 
virtues,"  when  as  a  talisman  it  is  encir- 
cled on  porcelain,  and  is  called  the 
Mauji,  or  embroidered,  marked  or  en- 
graved on  the  wearing  apparel  and  arti- 
cles of  personal  use  of  the  aged  Japanese. 

Some  scholars  see  in  the  Swastika  a 
solar  symbol  which  represent  respectively 
in  its  so-called  male  and  female  forms, 
the  annual  circuit  of  the  sun  to  the  north 
and  south. 

The  arms  of  the  cross,  whirling  to  the 
right,  indicate  the  female,  while  the  re- 
verse direction  denotes  the  male.  The 
whirling  arms  to  the  left  are  found  on 
very  ancient  Japanese  bronzes,  as  well  as 
on  more  modern  Japanese  faience.  In 
Thibet  this  mystic  sign  is  devoutly 
placed  on  the  breasts  of  the  dead.  The 
Swastika  appears  in  ancient  Egyptian 
records  and  pictures,  and  on  the  remains 
of  ancient  Babylonia  and  Assyria.  It  is 
abundantly  found  in  the  terra-cotta  ob- 
jejts  dug  up  by  Dr.  Schliemann  at  Troy 
and  Mycenae,  and  conjectured  to  date 
from  1000  to  1500  B.  C.  The  archaic 
funeral  pottery  of  Greece  bears  this  ubi- 
quitous seal.  It  occurs  in  the  Swiss  Lake 
dwellings,  which  are  set  down  by  compe- 
tent authorities  at  varying  ages  of  from 
3,000  to  6,000  years.  Swastika  relics  have 
been  found,  which  have  been  preserved 
for  ages  under  the  waters  of  Lake  Zurich. 
As  an  Aryan  symbol,  it  represents  tho 
Hindu  Trinity:  Brahma,  Vishnu  and 
Siva,  the  Creator,  Preserver  and  De- 
stroyer. In  the  Buddhist  cave-temples 
of  India  it  is  found  sculptured  thousands 
of  times  on  the  walls  of  rock.  The  faith- 
ful believe  that  Buddha's  footsteps  ap- 
pear as  the  Swastika  wheels  on  the  rocky 
mountain  side.  The  French  call  this 
cross  Croix  Gammee  and  Croix  Crochet. 
In  Great  Britain,  in  the  early  Anglo- 
Saxon  times,  it  was  known  as  the  Fylfot. 

The  Christians  of  the  first  centuries 
after  Christ  adopted  and  diverted  to  their 
own  purpose  this  symbol.  In  the  medie- 
val ages  it  was  particularly  used  as  a  sa- 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


cred  ornamentation  of  the  Bishop's  cha- 
suble. Scandinavia  regards  it  as  the  em- 
blem of  the  god  Thor.  In  Longfellow's 
description  of  King  Olaf  keeping  Christ- 
mas at  Drontheim,  occurs  the  verse : 

"O'er  his  drinking  horn  the  sign 

He  made  of  the  cross  divine 

As  he  drank,  and  muttered  his  prayers; 

But  the  Berserks  ever  more 

Made  the  sign  of  the  hammer  of  Thor 

Over  theirs." 

The  hammer  of  Thor  was  supposed  to 
be  identical  with  the  Swastika.  We  are 
told  that  the  Spanish  conquerors  of 
Mexico  were  astonished  at  finding  this 
cross  used  by  those  whom  they  considered 
heathens,  and  that  they  managed  to  in- 
gratiate themselves  with  the  natives  by 
displaying  the  Christian  cross  upon  their 
standards. 

This  interesting  design  has  been  found 
in  the  ruins  of  Palenque,  in  the  earliest 
remains  that  exist  in  ancient  Peru,  in 
Brazil,  and  in  the  prehistoric  discoveries 
of  the  Central  American  States. 

The  Alaska  Indians  have  woven  it  into 
their  baskets  to  insure  good  luck  and 
carved  it  on  their  totem  poles.  The  Pima 
Indians  of  Arizona  have  also  used  it  as 
a  mystic  symbol  in  their  basketry,  and 
inscribed  it  on  their  leather  shields,  in- 
vocative  of  protection. 

The  swastika  appears  in  a  variety  of 


modifications,  often  Connected  in  a  con- 
tinuous scroll,  similar  to  the  design  on 
the  pottery  of  the  Pueblos  Indians.  There 
are  two  well-defined  patterns,  which  are 
known  as  the  European  and  Asiatic  type 
and  the  American  type.  The  Greek  fret 
or  key  pattern  belongs  to  the  first  class. 
In  architecture  it  has  been  regarded  as  an 
evolution  from  the  lotus  petal.  The  plain 
white  circle  has  ever  typified  the  Absolute 
— without  beginning  or  end.  The  spot 
within  the  circle  represents  the  first  sign 
of  manifestation  or  activity.  The  spot 
broadens  into  a  line  dividing  the  circle 
into  two  parts,  typifying  the  dual  aspect 
of  the  Creator,  spirit — matter;  male — 
female. 

Carrying  this  symbolism  further,  the 
dividing  line  is  crossed  by  another  repre- 
senting the  descent  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
the  Life-giver.  Mr.  Leadbeater  states 
that  the  lines  forming  right  angles  to 
the  arms  of  the  cross  are  supposed  to  rep- 
resent flames  streaming  backwards  as  the 
cross  whirls  round,  and  thus  they  doubly 
indicate  the  eternal  activity  of  the  Uni- 
versal Life.  First  by  the  ceaseless  out- 
pouring of  the  fire  from  the  center 
through  the  arms,  and  secondly  by  the 
rotation  of  the  cross  itself. 

As  the  occult  sign  for  creative  power  in 
activity,  and  as  the  symbol  for  "weal 
making,"  good  luck  and  prosperity,  let 
us  accept  it  as  a  fit  augury  of  the  spirit 
of  San  Francisco. 


SSL 

Dar^ret 

When  downTRj^ped  raouTilah?_si4e 
She  Sprinp  freeze  uhistted, 
I  heard  a  uind-suept  voice  tfiat  cried, 
out!  /tacrooTies 


heafTwitfi  ^oftdesirir^  burned 
/Ind  naiishtl  recKed  of  brestRless  toil.' 
For  hard  mj  eager  jmgers  yearned 
So  pluck  wy  purple  DjouiiUin- 

"ttTe  rocks;  I  raised 
TerapesB  loupTHeiTwrSffi 

Chen  IT)  A  lle^  rwiue  I  ^ound 
Che    Uowers  tfifctTrn)  soiil  h&d 

I  b  w*5  UietT  violet  peHU 

for  rutftUss  har^dtoo  (railhj 

I  could  not  brook  tfiit  h^d  C5ere 

Iknelt,and  touched_  and  left  them  there! 


BY    JOHN    L.    COWAN 


IT  has  been  spoken  of  as  a  national  mis- 
fortune, or  perhaps  as  a  national  dis- 
grace, that  the  most  amazing  event  ia 
the  whole  history  of  civilization,  as  well 
as  one  of  the  most"  profoundly  significant 
and  important,  has  resulted  in  the  pro- 
duction of  no  epic  poem  or  other  record 
at  all  worthy  of  the  theme.  The  annals 
of  mankind  contain  no  parallel  to  the 
Winning  of  the  West — when  the  conquer- 
ing race  swept  across  two  thousand  miles 
of  hostile  territory  and  won  the  half  of 
a  continent  in  less  than  half  a  century. 
Colonial  days,  a  Revolution  and  the  Civil 
War,  have  given  rise  to  libraries  of  litera- 
ture— a. fair  proportion  of  which  deserves 
to  endure,  but  the  larger  theme  has  as  yet 
called  forth  but  little  that  is  worthy. 
True,  Bret  Harte,  Frank  Norris,  Owen 
Wister  and  a  few  others  have  nobly  pros- 
pected the  hidden  mines  that  lie  ready 
to  reward  the  laborer,  but  their  discov- 
eries, though  envied,  have  provoked  no 
rush  of  tried  and  seasoned  "sour  doughs"' 
to  stake  new  claims  in  the  same  rich 
placers. 

The  migrations  of  the  Goths,  Huns  and 
Vandals,  inundating  the  Seven  Hilled 
City,  and  sweeping  away  its  subject  peo- 
ples, were  slow,  sporadic  and  lacking  in 
dramatic  interest  when  compared  with  the 
national  movement  that  swept  across  the 
Buffalo  plains,  the  mountain  barriers  and 
the  Great  Plateau,  brushing  a  whole  race 
of  men  like  dust  into  unconsidered  cor- 
ners, and  supplanting  at  a  single  blow  an 
European  civilization  that  had  enjoyed 
three  centuries  in  which  to  take  root.  Suc- 
cessive waves  of  that  great  tidal  inunda- 
tion still  rise  to  scatter  their  forces  along 
the  bases  of  mountain  ranges,  or  to  spread 
out  in  fertile  valleys,  and  the  conquest  of 
the  Western  Empire  is  now  but  working 
out  its  glorious  fulfillment  in  the  Nevada 
gold  fields,  on  the  plains  of  Wyoming  and 
Idaho,  in  the  irrigable  valleys  of  Arizona, 
Colorado  and  half  a  score  of  undeveloped 
commonwealths.  Irresistible  as  the  Gulf 
Stream,  the  race  movement  has  broken 


across  international  boundary  lines, 
threatens  the  Mexican  States  of  Sonora 
and  Sinaloa  with  inundation,  and  is  sub- 
merging Manitoba,  Assiniboia,  Alberta 
and  the  whole  Canadian  Northwest. 

Incidental  to  the  great  movement  itself 
were  scores  of  episodes  that  might  well 
furnish  the  theme  of  Odyssys,  Lliads, 
Aeneids,  Sagas  and  Border  Ballads,  thai, 
if  half  worthy  of  their  subjects,  would 
give  the  epoch  in  which  they  were  pro- 
duced rank  with  the  age  of  Pericles,  of 
Augustus  and  of  Elizabeth.  The  trage- 
dies of  the  Alamo,  the  Little  Big  Horn 
and  Fort  Phil  Kearney,  the  romantic  ad- 
ventures of  Kit  Carson,  Bowie  and 
Crockett,  the  Indians,  the  road  agents, 
the  Vigilantes,  the  Mormon  pilgrimage, 
the  pony  express,  the  overland  stage,  the 
buffalo  hunters — red  and  white;  the  com- 
ing of  the  cattlemen,  the  "trail  boss/''" 
with  his  army  of  cowboys,  and  then  the 
invasion  of  the  railroad  builders — where 
will  the  dramatist,  the  writer  of  romances, 
the  poet,  or  the  mere  chronicler  of  events, 
find  in  the  musty  tomes  of  the  old  world 
the  human  interest,  the  heart  throbs,  the 
compelling  grasp  upon  the  imagination 
that  crowd  every  page  and  paragraph  of 
the  matchless  story  of  the  West? 

Notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said 
and  written  in  disparagement  or  in  ridi- 
cule of  Wild  West  shows,  cowboy  melo- 
dramas, and  the  dime  and  nickel  novel, 
these  incoherent  productions  are  not  with- 
out a  fitness  and  a  certain  merit  of  their 
own.  Though  they  hold  a  mirror  up  to 
nature  that  reflects  a  crooked  and  dis- 
torted image,  yet  the  image  is  there.  They 
are  crude,  raw  and  elemental;  but  so 
were  the  scenes  and  characters  and  events 
that  they  are  meant  to  portray.  They  are 
regarded  as  abnormal,  fantastic,  gro- 
tesque, and  are  damned  because  they  lack 
the  polish  and  the  artistic  finish  that  the 
skilled  literary  craftsman  regards  as  more 
essential  than  verity.  They  are  really 
only  primitive,  elemental,  incomplete, 
like  the  times  they  reproduce.  Let  .us 


rXWRITTEX  EPICS. 


260 


even  grant  that  they  are  mere  caricatures ; 
it  is  the  salient  points  of  character  or 
physiognomy  that  the  caricaturist  selects 
for  exaggeration,  and  if  his  production  is 
lacking  in  truth,  it  misses  its  mark.  We 
might  not  be  far  wrong  if  we  compared 
them  to  photographs,  in  which  the  image 
is  blurred,  indistinct  and  unsightly,  be- 
cause the  camera  was  out  of  focus.  Even 
now,  perhaps,  the  events  of  this  epic  race 
movement  are  of  too  recent  occurrence 
for  us  to  perceive  them  in  their  proper 
perspective.  Their  relation  to  world  his- 
tory is  not  yet  wholly  apparent,  as  it  will 
be  when  the  theatre  of  the  world's  stir- 
ring events  has  been  shifted  to  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  and  when  the  balance  of  power  in 
the  American  Eepublic  is  held  by  the 
dwellers  between  the  Missouri  river  and 
the  Eocky  mountains. 

That  so  much  of  the  literature  of  an- 
tiquity survived  the  intellectual  eclipse  of 
the  Dark  Ages  was  due  to  a  series  of 
lucky  accidents;  and  when  we  consider 
the  scraps  and  fragments  that  have  been 
recovered  from  medieval  wine  cellars, 
from  the  dungeons  and  lumber  rooms  of 
antique  monasteries  and  castles,  and  from 
palimpsest  manuscripts  that  ignorant 
scribes  and  unlettered  monks  labored  in 
vain  to  destroy,  we  begin  to  wonder  what 
will  become  of  the  flimsy,  ephemeral, 
pauer-pulp  records  and  literary  monu- 
ments of  the  present  age.  Wall  some  anti- 
quarian of  the  twenty-fifth  or  thirtieth 
century  delve  laboriously  in  the  dust 
heaps  that  we  are  creating,  and  piece  to- 
gether with  infinite  pains  the  tattered 
and  defaced  fragments  of  the  blood  and 
thunder  dime  novels  that  we  despise  into 
an  Homeric  mosaic  that  will  pass  current 
for  a  faithful  record  of  life  and  times  in 
the  heroic  age  of  the  West?  It  is  not  un- 
likely; and  surely  the  Deadwood  Dicks, 
Alkali  Ikes  and  Tarantula  Toms  of  that 
amazing  composition  will  be  no  me.m 
rivals  of  Ajax,  Hector,  Achilles  and  that 
long  list  of  Greek  and  Trojan  heroes  who 
contended  on  the  plains  of  Ilios.  Calamity 
Jane — in  this  classic  of  the  future — may 
well  dispute  Cassandra's  honors;  an.l  the 
interfering  god-dess  of  Homer  and  Vir- 
gil may  have  to  look  to  their  laurels  whui 
Amazonian  cow-girls  and  queens  of  the 
mining  camps  come  into  their  own.  Suro- 
ly,  there  is  here  a  sure  foundation  for  the 
erection  of  a  whole  pantheon  of  gods  and 


demi-gods,  and  a  plausible  excuse  for  ;i 
mythology  more  involved  than  that  of 
the  Greeks,  more  true  to  life  and  history 
than  that  of  the  Eomans,  and  more  as- . 
tonishing  than  that  of  the  Norse  and 
Teutons. 

"There  were  giants  in  those  days" — we 
are  often  prone  to  reflect  with  sadness 
when  we  read  the  lays  of  days  long  gone. 
And  yet,  Miles  and  Crook  conquered 
more  nations  than  Caesar,  in  his  memoirs 
of  the  Gallic  wars,  boasts  of  subduing, 
and  the  march  of  the  ten  thousand  Greeks 
that  Xenophon  so  minutely  chronicled, 
was  not  a  circumstance  to  the  pilgrimage 
of  many  a  sore-beset  emigrant  train  in 
the  heroic  days  that  followed  Marshall's 
lucky  find  in  Sutter's  mill  race.  Some 
day  the  prairie  schooner  will  loom  as  large 
as  the  ships  of  the  Vikings  or  the  cara- 
vels of  Columbus;  and  the  battles  that 
marked  the  fall  of  Roman  Nose,  of  Vic- 
torio,  of  Red  Cloud,  of  Crazy  Horse,  of 
Sitting  Bull,  of  Chief  Joseph,  and  of 
other  red  commanders,  will  be  perceived 
to  have  been  no  less  glorious  than  those  of 
the  Scottish  border,  and  no  less  worthy  of 
praise  than  many  an  ancient  skirmish 
that  won  for  Caesar,  Pompey  or  Marius 
the  honor  of  a  triumph  and  of  a  para- 
graph in  Livy's  pictured  page.  In  those 
days,  the  neglected  reminiscences  of  Fin- 
erty,  the  irrepressible  correspondent  of  a 
Chicago  newspaper,  will  be  as  eagerly 
pounced  upon  by  the  curious  delver  after 
truth  as  a  manuscript  of  one  of  the  four 
gospels,  hearing  the  ear-marks  of  the 
lirst  century,  would  be  by  the  leading 
lights  of  the  Higher  Criticism,  should 
such  be  discovered  to-day. 

Nor  has  the  curtain  yet  been  rung 
down  on  the  last  act  of  this  great  im- 
promptu drama.  If  not  quite  so  spec- 
tacular as  in  the  days  of  the  Indian  wars, 
it  is  no  less  thrilling,  no  less  alive  with 
every  element  of  human  interest,  unless  it 
be  the  purely  tragic.  The  sweeping  away 
of  desert  paths  and  mountain  trails  that 
railroads  may  be  built  and  city  pavements 
laid;  the  damming  up  of  rivers  that  the 
parched  and  arid  desert  may  burst  into 
bloom;  the  creation  of  new  common- 
wealths and  the  rescue  of  a  brave  and  war- 
like remnant  of  the  aboriginal  race  from 
imminent  extinction,  are  surely  events 
that  belong  to  universal  history.  They 
are  of  more  import  for  the  working  out  of 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


human  destiny  than  brawls  between  na- 
tions, the  rise  and  fall  of  despots  or  the 
mere  shifting  of  international  boundary 
lines.  And  where  in  musty  records  will  be 
found  a  more  heroic  episode  than  the  de- 
struction and  re-birth  of  San  Francisco 
— where  men  spat  in  the  face  of  Death, 
and  weak  women  rose  superior  to  both 
fear  and  sorrow;  where  the  foundations  of 
future  greatness  were  laid  in  open  graves 
and  grim  catastrophe  is  made  the  stepping 
stone  to  a  higher  destiny? 

The  West  has  always  been  the  land  of 
Hope.  The  hidden  treasures  of  its  mines 
have,  whispered  messages  of  hope  to  the 
anaemic  workers  in  city  sweat  shops, 
mills,  factories  and  foundries.  Its  virgin 
soil  has  beckoned  with  the  hand  of  hope 
to  the  discouraged  and  disheartened  hus- 
bandman of  ten  thousand  barren  farms; 
and  its  pure  and  bracing  air  and  genial 
clime  have  cheered  with  hopeful  promise 
the  victims  of  disease.  To  millions  of 
these  it  has  become  the  land  of  glorious 
fulfillment. 

Nor  is  the  West  less  the  land  of  hope 
now  than  in  the  past.  The  army  of  home 
seekers  and  health  seekers  faces  the  sunset. 
And  to-day  the  great  melodrama  of  the 
Pilgrimage  of  the  Forty-niners  to  Califor- 
nia, of  the  rush  to  old  Washoe,  of  the 
stampede  to  Virginia  City,  to  the  Black 
Hills,  to  Cripple  Creek,  is  being  re-en- 
acted, with  new  stage  settings  and  acces- 
sories, a  little  of  the  old-time  blood  and 
thunder  cut  out  by  the  stage  managers, 
and  a  little  of  the  old  crudeness  elimi- 
nated by  the  scene  shifters,  but  as  lurid,  as 
thrilling,  as  enthralling  as  ever  in  its 
masterly  portrayal  of  the  elemental  pas- 
sions that  have  swayed  mankind  ever 
since  the  flaming  sword  barred  the  gates 
of  Eden.  Bullfrog,  Goldfield,  Tonopah, 
Searchlight,  Crescent,  Ehyolite,  Lida, 
Lodi,  Palmetto  and  Manhattan — these 
are  the  theatres  in  which  this  great  melo- 
drama is  now  focusing  the  eyes  of  civili- 
zation, reared  almost  in  a  night  in  the 
midst  of  the  sage  and  sand  of  southern 
Nevada. 

To  be  sure,  the  moralists  of  the  schools 
tell  us  that  there  is  nothing  noble,  heroic 
or  unselfish  in  the  end  that  inspires  the 
gold  seekers — the  sordid  greed  that  nerves 
them  to  endure  hunger,  thirst,  privation 
and  hardship;  that  sends  them  shivering 
over  bleak  mountain  passes  and  perspir- 


ing across  desolate  plains,  and  shriveling 
up  in  the  ghastly  wastes  of  Death  Valley ; 
that  drives  them  to  fight  and  kill  and 
scheme  and  betray ;  yet  who  shall  say  that 
these  rough  men  who  have  planted  the 
standards  of  civilization  in  places  waste 
and  desolate  have  lived  wholly  in  vain,  or 
have  quite  missed  the  things  that  make 
life  worth  the  living?  These  are  the  true 
empire  builders.  They  blaze  the  way  and 
civilization  follows.  As  "fair-locked" 
Circe  beguiled  Ulysses,  so  does  the  ruddy 
siren  of  the  mines  beguile  ten  thousand 
heroes  of  a  new  Odyssy,  and  lead  them  to 
tarry  long  on  strange  and  distant  shores. 
When  they  weary  of  their  journeyings, 
and  their  stout  barks  bear  them  home, 
may  each  one  find  his  Penelope  still  wait- 
ing, and  the  wanderer's  bow  unbent !  What 
was  Ophir,  or  Golconda  or  Colchis  to 
California  or  Colorado  or  Nevada  ?  What 
were  the  puny  adventures  and  exploits  of 
Jason  and  the  Argonauts  to  the  toils  and 
perils  and  accomplishments  of  that  army 
of  gold  seekers  that  began  its  march  in 
'49,  and  has  explored  every  gulch  and 
canyon  and  arroyo  of  the  Eockies  and 
Sierras;  that  has  scarred  every  ledge  and 
peak  of  the  American  Cordilleras  with 
their  little  pits  and  drifts  and  tunnels? 
And  wherever  success  at  last  has  crowned 
the  efforts  of  the  prospector,  it  has  meant 
a  new  empire  redeemed  from  desolation, 
and  a  new  star  added  to  the  American 
constellation. 

What  wonder,  then,  if  the  mining 
camps  are  crude,  and  their  denizens  care- 
less of  the  airs  and  graces  and  gentler 
joys  of  civilization?  What  wonder  if  the 
prospectors  over  a  thousand  hills,  in  the 
hour  of  supreme  success,  forget  their 
lonely  toil,  their  manifold  dangers,  their 
hasty  meals  of  half-cooked  bacon  singed 
over  a  flickering  fire,  the  maddening 
thirst,  blistering  heat  and  numbing  cold; 
the  discomforts,  dangers,  disappointments 
and  hopes  deferred,  and  strut  the  streets 
of  the  new  cities  their  labors  have  cre- 
ated in  all  the  arrogance  of  kings  who 
have  come  into  their  kingdoms,  unmind- 
ful of  the  effeminacies,  shams  and  hypoc- 
ricies  that  too  often  pass  current  for  cul- 
ture? They  have  lived  too  long  a  life  that 
thrills  with  all  the  magnetic  forces  of  the 
universe.;  that  pulsates  with  undaunted 
courage  and  unfailing  hope,  to  adapt 
themselves  off-hand  to  the  customs  or  to 


UNWRITTEN  EPICS. 


271 


the  understandings  of  those  who  have  re-the  hope  that  an  intelligent  national  sen- 


duced  passion  to  a  state  of  mental  equivo- 
cation, and  who  have  colored  life  a  dull, 
monotonous  gray  in  the  dye  of  conven- 
tionality. Think  you  that  the  records  of 
these  days  can  be  written  in  cold  blood 
bv  chroniclers  whose  inspiration  lies  in 
their  finger-tips,  or  whose  hearts  never 
quickened  to  a  nobler  passion  than  an- 
ticipation of  a  publisher's  check  ?  No,  the 
Epic  of  the  West  will  never  be  written, 
nor  the  "great  American  novel,"  nor  any- 
thing else  that  will  live  after  the  six  best 
sellers  of  the  month  have  gone  the  way 
of  last  year's  popular  songs  until  the 
present  mania  for  cheap  sensationalism, 
for  word-juggling,  for  emotional  titilla- 
tion,  for  the  fanciful  rather  than  the  true, 
has  run  its  course ;  and  until  the  men  and 
women  who  write  hold  ideals  to  which 
they  dare  be  faithful.  For,  though  fash- 
ions change  and  fads  are  fleeting,  yet  the 
heart  of  man  remains  the  same,  and  he 
that  would  touch  it  must  be  prepared  to 
forego  the  success  that  comes  from  pan- 
dering to  the  popular  fancies  of  the  hour, 
and  that  is  measured  in  dimes  and  dol- 
lars. 

When  the  cultured  or  merely  clever 
gentlemen  who  write  smooth  or  fantastic 
romances  and  create  impossible  princi- 
palities "in  the  Balkans/'  begin  to  look 
for  inspiration  and  seek  ideals  in  their 
own  fair  land ;  when  the  American  Society 
of  Archaeology  turns  from  the  worn-out 
fields  of  classic  antiquity  to  exploit  the 
far  more  interesting  and  abundant  re- 
mains of  forgotten  peoples  in  the  South- 
west; when  the  American  traveler  casts 
aside  his  well-thumbed  European  guide- 
book for  American  railroad  time  tables, 
and  forgets  to  rave  over  the  ruined  castles 
on  the  Rhine  and  Danube  until  he  has 
visited  the  equally  picturesque  ruins  in 
Arizona  and  New  Mexico;  when  the 
cathedral  towns  of  England  are  perceived 
to  be  no  more  interesting  than  the  mis- 
sion towns  of  California,  and  the  Alps  no 
more  sublime  than  the  Rockies ;  and  when 
text  books  of  American  history  cease  to 
neglect  or  falsify  the  most  dramatic  and 
significant  events  of  our  country's  history 
— then  we  may  not  unreasonably  entertain 


timent  will  result  in  the  production  of  a 
representative  national  literature  that  will 
be  worthy  of  the  glorious  heritage  of 
achievement  that  is  ours. 

In  neglecting  the  material,  moral  and 
social  achievements  that  have  been  the 
making  of  the  nation,  the  guild  of  writers 
have  proven  themselves,  as  a  class,  the 
most  incompetent  of  American  craftsmen. 
It  is  a  man's  work,  and  the  spirit  with 
which  he  labors  at  it,  that  both  molds 
and  displays  his  character.  So  it  is  with 
a  people.  In  the  expression  of  national 
character,  therefore,  American  literature 
is  singularly  and  sadly  deficient.  We 
have  a  superabundance  of  the  literature 
of  frivolity,  written  with  no  higher  aim 
than  to  sell  and  read  with  no  other  object 
than  to  kill  time.  We  have  a  literature  of 
moral  dissertations,  of  sermonizing,  of 
jeremiads  on  the  depravity  of  the  repub- 
lic and  the  dangers  that  threaten  it;  of 
the  rottenness  of  politics,  the  corruption 
of  the  plutocracy,  and  the  social  sins  that 
are  said  to  threaten  destruction  and  dam- 
nation. We  have  a  literature  of  exposure, 
of  pessimism,  of  evil  prophecy  and  hope- 
less foreboding;  but  we  have  nothing,  or 
next  to  nothing,  that  sets  forth  in  fitting 
terms  the  achievements  that  have  made 
our  country  great,  and  that  are  surely 
making  it  greater.  The  work  of  individu- 
als, of  classes,  of  communities,  of  the 
whole  people — it  is  this  that  shows  of 
what  stuff  the  nation  is  made,  and  in  what 
direction  it  is  traveling.  A  literature  that 
concerns  itself  too  much  with  social  sores, 
and  with  faults  and  imperfections — how- 
ever glaring — to  the  neglect  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  great  dangers  have  been 
faced,  great  obstacles  overcome,  and  great 
deeds  accomplished,  is  neither  national 
nor  representative.  In  its  deliberate  ig- 
noring of  moral,  industrial  and  social  tri- 
umphs, of  unparalleled  progress  towards 
higher  ideals  and  loftier  planes  of  living, 
the  great  body  of  the  literature  of  to-day 
is  both  untrue  and  un-American,  deserv- 
ing of  the  contempt  of  all  who  love  their 
country,  believe  in  its  destiny,  or  have 
faith  in  the  essential  moral  soundness  of 
American  manhood  and  womanhood. 


BY    L.    CLARE    DAVIS 

Across  the  orchard,  white  with  almond  bloom, 

The  wind  sweeps,  cold,  unheeding,  from  the  North ; 

A  season's  fragrance  drifting  swift  to  doom 
Before  its  downy  fruitage  had  put  forth — 

But  lo !  within  each  blossom  had  been  caught 

The  fruit's  full .  promise,  'ere  the  harsh  wind  wrought! 


Across  my  soul  Fate's  storms  have  rudely  rushed, 
Cruel,  uncaring,  as  the  North  wind's  breath ; 

Deep  in  my  heart,  a  precious  memory's  crushed, 
The  day  is  gray  as  ashes  after  death; 

But  ah,  Dear  Heart,  I'm  glad  our  lives  once  crossed— 
The  best  survives ;  Love's  gold  cannot  be  lost. 


Pousse 


BY    ELLIOTT    FLOWER 


THE  Daughter  of  David  Eiggs  hap- 
•  pened  to  catch  the  eye  of  her  father 
and  he  knew  at  once  that  she  had 
another  great  problem  on  her  mind. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Gambling,"  she  replied. 

"Look  out,  Tom,"  cautioned  David, 
turning  to  his  son.  "In  the  words  of  the 
poet,  'they're  a,fter  you.' " 

"Oh,  Tom  doesn't  gamble,"  said  Mrs. 
Riggs  confidently. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Tom. 

"No  doubt  about  it  at  all,"  conceded 
David.  "I  spoke  hastily.  You  can't  call 
a  thing  gambling  unless  a  man  has  a 
chance  to  win,  and  I  can't  find  that  Tom 
ever  has  that  chance.  A  man  comes  along 
and  sizes  Tom  up  as  an  easy  mark. 

"  'I'll  bet  you  ten  dollars  you  don't 
know  how  to  take  care  of  your  money,' 
savs  the  man. 

"  Til  bet  a  hundred  I  do,'  says  Tom. 

"  'That's  proof  that  you  don't,'  says  the 
man. 

"  'What  is  ?'  asks  Tom. 

"  'Betting,'  says  the  man,  and  he  takes 
the  monev  before  Tom  comes  out  of  his 
daze." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort  ever  happened," 
declared  Tom. 

''You  don't  recognize  the  description," 
explained  David.  "Many  an  artist  has 
spoiled  his  refutation  and  ruined  his 
business  by  painting  a  real  portrait  of  a 
woman  who  had  money  enough  to  pay  for 
something  better.  A  fool  is  never  a  fool 
to  himself.  He  can't  be." 

"Why  can't  he  be?"  asked  Estelk 


"Because,  if  he  was,  he'd  be  wise,"  said 
David. 

"Anyhow,"  said  Estelle,  "the  Psyche 
Club " 

"I'll  bet,"  broke  in  Tom,  "that  the 
trouble  with  Psyche  was  that  she'd  bet 
most  of  her  clothes  and  lost." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  silly,"  retorted 
.Estelle.  "The  club  felt  that  something 
really  ought  to  be  done  to  check  the 
frightful  growth  of  the  gambling  evil.  Of 
course,  we  girls  never  do  anything  of  that 
sort " 

"Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  Tom,  sarcasti- 
cally. 

"We  don't,"  protested  Estelle. 

"Didn't  you  win  ten  dollars  on  the  la^t 
?"  demanded  Tom. 

"But  I  didn't  bet,"  she  insisted.  "I 
didn't  even  put  up  any  money.  I  was 
with  Will  Corwin,  and  he  did  it  all.  He 
said  it  would  make  the  race  more  inter- 
esting. Then  he  brought  me  the  money, 
but  that  wasn't  gambling." 

"No,"  admitted  David.  "That  was 
more  like  a  sure  thing." 

"But  it  was  encouraging  gambling," 
asserted  Tom. 

"Certainly  not,"  retorted  David.  "I 
can't  think  of  anything  that  would  razzle- 
dazzle  a  man  more  .than  to  have  to  stand 
the  losses  and  let  somebody  else  have  the 
profits  of  a  gambling  venture.  Estelle 
was  quite  right.  If  she  would  go  to  the 
races  with  Will  regularly  and  get  him  to 
do  this  sort  of  thing  right  along,  she'd 
have  him  broken  of  the  habit  quicker  than 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


a  scared  cat  can  climb  a  tree.  Ifs  a 
sure  cure." 

/'Is  it  I"  exclaimed  Estelle.  "I'll  speak 
to  the  girls  at  the  club  about  it.  It  seems 
like  a  splendid  plan." 

"And  consistent/7  said  David.  "It  has 
the  true  feminine  consistency/' 

"Do  you  speak  from  experience  ?"  asked 
Tom. 

"Indeed  he  does  not/'  interposed  Mrs. 
Riggs,  quickly.  "I  never  would  counte- 
nance gambling  in  any  form  or  in  any 
way." 

"My  dear,"  returned  David,  mildly, 
"you  must  have  forgotten  that  case  of 
champagne  that  I  won  in  a  Christmas 
raffle. 

"  'It's  shameful,  David/  you  said  to 
me. 

"  Til  send  it  back/  said  I. 

"*0h,  well,  now  that  it's  here,  we 
might  as  well  keep  it/  you  answered,  and 
at  Christmas  raffle  time  the  next  year 
you  asked  me  if  I  thought  I'd  be  as 
lucky  as  that  again.  So  I  spent  the 
price  of  two  baskets  of  champagne  trying 
to  win  another." 

"You  never  told  me,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Riggs. 

"A  wise  man  never  admits  to  his  wife 
that  he  gambles  except  when  he  wins," 
explained  David.  "Then  she  forgives 
him.  It's  only  sinful  to  lose." 

"Is  that  really  so?"  asked  Estelle, 
doubtfully. 

"Well,"  returned  David,  "there  is  a 
good  deal  of  business  that  would  pass  for 
common  gambling  if  the  stakes  were 
smaller.  And  there  are  tricks  in  high 
finance  that  wouldn't  be  tolerated  in  a 
first-class  gambling  house." 

"It's  a  more  difficult  problem  than  I 
thought,"  remarked  the  girl. 

"Somewhat  intricate,"  admitted  David. 

"But  we're  very  determined,"  persisted 
the  girl.  "We're  going  to  stamp  .out  this 
evil  before  we  get  through." 

"Going  to  begin  with  your  progres- 
sive cinch  club?"  asked  Tom. 

"Oh,  that  isn't  gambling,"  declared  Es- 
telle. 

"Why  not?  You  play  for  prizes,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes,  but  that's  different." 

"Of  course  it's  different,"  put  in  David. 
"That's  in  a  class  with  the  church  fair 
grab-bag." 


"Why,  yes;  that's  it  exactly,"  said  the 
girl. 

"And  the  church  fair  grab-bag  appeals 
to  the  same  passion  that  the  confidence 
man  does,"  David  went  on.  "It's  the  long- 
ing to  get  something  for  nothing. 

"  'Come  on/  says  the  pretty  girl,  who 
is  working  in  the  interests  of  the  Lord 
and  the  church  debt.  'Only  ten  cents  a 
chance,  and  you  may  get  something  that's 
worth  a  dollar.' 

"They  always  put  forward  a  pretty  girl 
to  lure  your  money  from  you,  in  church 
or  out,  whenever  they  can.  And  the 
children  who  try  the  grab-bag  get  thu 
same  old  thing  in  raffles  later.  Then, 
when  they  grow  up,  there  is  another  simi- 
lar cry. 

"  'Come  on/  says  the  get-rich-quick 
man.  'Here's  where  you  can  put  in  a 
hundred  dollars  and  pull  out  ten'  thou- 
sand.' 

"Same  old  idea,  and  you  wonder  why 
people  won't  accept  in  one  case  and  refuse 
in  the  other.  Why,  most  of  us  are  edu- 
cated to  be  victims  of  confidence  men." 

"But  those  little  things  don't  seem  so 
bad,"  urged  the  girl. 

"I  suppose  not,"  conceded  David.  "It's 
always  what  the  other  fellow  does  that's 
bad.  I've  known  people  to  smile  on 
bridge  whist  and  balk  at  poker.  One  is 
a  diversion,  the  other  a  crime.  A  friend 
of  mine  will  ulay  you  a  game  of  cards  or 
billiards  for  a  bottle  of  wine,  a  box  of 
cigars,  a  hat  or  a  suit  of  clothes,  but  he 
wouldn't  risk  ten  cents  in  cash  on  the 
game,  because  that's  gambling.  Every 
man's  his  own  dictionary  when  it  comes 
to  defining  a  vice." 

"And  every  woman,"  suggested  Tom. 

"No;  every  woman  is  her  own  dream- 
book;  she  doesn't  bother  about  diction- 
aries except  when  she's  writing  a  letter 
to  a  friend  she  doesn't  like." 

"I  think  you're  horrid,"  said  Esteile, 
"but  Maggie  Doolittle,  in  her  paper  on 
gambling,  saw  some  things  very  much  as 
you  do.  She  said  the  young  men  were  be- 
ing educated  in  gambling  Ihese  days,  so 
that  it  was  no  wonder  they  took  to  specu- 
lation later.  They  bet  on  football 
games." 

"That's  enthusiasm,"  said  David. 

"What?" 

"Enthusiasm.  The  kid  yells  for  his 
alma  mater,  but  he's  thinking  of  the  ten 


POUSSE-CAFE. 


275 


dollars  on  the  game.  When  it's  ail  over, 
he  yells  more,  but  thafs  bec-anse  lie  has 
the  price.  Or,  if  he  loses,  you  see  him 
striding  gloomily  out  of  the  gats. 

"  'That  fellow  takes  it  hard/  you  ihiuk. 
'He's  all  wrapped  up  in  his  college,  and 
feels  her  defeat.' 

"If  you  happened  to  be  a  mind-reader, 
you'll  probably  find  that  he  was  all 
wrapped  up  in  his  expense  account,  and 
is  wondering  what  kind  of  a  story  he  can 
put  up  to  get  another  hundred  out  of  the 
old  man,  to  pull  him  through  to  the  end 
of  the  term." 

"That's  no  blooming  prevarication,"  as- 
serted Tom. 

"Except  as  to  the  amount,"  said  David. 
"It  was  two  hundred  in  your  case.  I've 
got  the  letter  yet" 

"For  heaven's  sake " 

"Don't  be  ashamed  of  it,"  broke  in 
David.  "Ifs  the  nearest  to  a  manly 
thing  you  ever  did.  'I've  been  a  fool, 
dad,'  you  wrote,  'and  lost  two  hundred.' 
You  might  have  tried  to  make  me  believe 
that  you  had  to  do  some  extra  tutoring  in 
Latin,  which  is  the  customary  way  of 
pulling  the  old  man's  leg." 

"We're  drifting,"  suggested  Estelle. 

"Ah,  yes,"  returned  David.  "We  were 
talking  about  enthusiasm.  It's  the  same 
in  politics.  A  good  many  people  who 
thought  they  were  yelling  for  Eoosevelt 
at  the  last  election  were  really  yelling  for 
the  political  horse  that  carried  their 
money,  and  a  good  many  who  thought 
they  were  sorry  for  Parker  were  really 
only  sorry  for  their  own  pocket-books."' 

"You  don't  think  they  vote  to  win 
money,  do  you?"  asked  the  girl,  aghast. 

"Oh,  no;  that  doesn't  follow  at  all," 
answered  David,  "but  I  think  there  would 
be  a  whole  lot  less  excitement  on  the 
street  election  night  if  there  was  no 
money  up.  Every  second  man  in  the 
bunch  is  out  to  see  whether  he  won;  he 
could  wait  until  morning  to  find  out 
whether  the  party  won.  The  rest  of  them 
are  out  because  they  want  excitement, 
and  these  winners  and  losers  are  sure  to 
make  it.  From  grab-bag  to  blind  pools, 
we  come  pretty  close  to  being  a  gambling 
nation.  If  you  happen  to  have  the  confi- 
dence of  a  good,  godly  deacon,  and  go  to 
him  with  a  proposition  to  take  him  in  on 


a  blind  pool  deal  that  will  bring  him  five 
hundred  for  a  hundred  invested,  he  will 
cheerfully  go  along,  even  if  he  has  reason 
to  suspect  that  you  have  a  sure  thing  on 
a  horse  race." 

"But  don't  you  think  we  can  stop  this 
sort  of  thing?"  asked  the  girl  earnestly. 

"How?" 

"Why,  we  could  start  a  great  movement:, 
pledging  ourselves  and  other  girls  to 
marry  no  man  who  gambles." 

"Thafs  good!"  exclaimed  David. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  think  so." 

"Thafs  bully!"  said  David,  with  in- 
creasing enthusiasm.  "You  would  lure  a 
man  into  the  biggest  kind  of  a  gamble  as 
a  reward  for  not  gambling.  That's  fine! 
There's  a  theme  for  a  George  Ade  play." 

"But  there  is  one  advantage,"  remarked 
Tom.  "Marriage  is  not  as  irrevocable  as 
a  game  that  is  played." 

"Oh,  there's  divorce,  of  course,"  re- 
turned David,  "but  you  can  play  the  baby 
act  in  any  game  when  you  find  that  you've 
lost,  and  sometimes  make  it  work.  I  do 
not  see  much  difference  myself." 


THE   UNRIPE  CYNIC. 

Love  is  the  only  game  of  cards  in  which 
one  player  may  hold  the  other's  hand. 

A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing — 
especially  in  the  handling  of  an  automo- 
bile or  a  cook  book. 

As  soon  as  a  man  finishes  carving  oat 
his  own  fortune,  he  usually  begins  cutting 
his  friends. 

Education  is  merely  a  varnish  that 
brings  out  more  sharply  the  natural  grain 
of  the  wood. 

The  other  day  a  man  was  held  up  and 
robbed  of  his  watch.  As  usual,  there  was 
a  woman  in  the  case. 

In  the  race  for  a  woman's  favor,  a  little 
smack,  launched  at  the  psychological  mo- 
ment, has  been  known  to  defeat  a  steam 
yacht. 

When  thieves  fall  out,  high  finance 
gets  an  airing. 

He  who  borrows  trouble,  mortgages  his 
peace  of  mind. 

He  is  a  fool  who  thinks  to  drown  the 
crack  of  doom  with  the  popping  of  a  cork. 

— Julian  Josephson. 


"Kenelm's  Desire" — a  Book  of  Thrills. 
BY  JESSIE  JULIET  KNOX. 

THE       new       California       novelist, 
Hughes  Cornell,  is  making  quite  a 
stir  in  literary  circles,  on  account 
of  striking  out  boldly  in  a  field  as  yet 
untrodden. 

Mrs.  Cornell  had  the  unhappy  distinc- 
tion of  knowing  that  her  first-born — 
"Kenelm's  Desire" — arrived  in  San  Fran- 
cisco just  in  time  to  be  burned  with  the 
city — burned  before  it  had  ever  opened  its 
eyes  to  the  light  in  the  Golden  State. 

None  save  those  who  have  felt  the 
pangs  and  the  joy  of  a  literary  "first 
born"  can  ever  realize  what  that  means. 
But  Hughes  Cornell  is  as  forceful  and 
wonderful  as  her  book,  and  it  would  take 
more  than  earthquakes  and  fires  to  con- 
quer her. 

Now  that  things  are  being  restored  to 
their  normal  condition,  her  book  has 
made  a  new  debut.  She  has  taken  the 
startling  theme  of  a  real,  full-blooded 
Alaskan  Indian — Kenelm — daring  to  fall 
in  love  with  a  cultured  and  artistic  society 
girl  of  San  Francisco.  His  love  is  warm 
and  passionate,  as  would  naturally  spring 
from  one  of  his  blood.  The  book  is  full 
of  thrills  and  intense  feeling.  The  In- 
dian "Song  of  Sheewin"  runs  like  a  silver 
thread  through  it  all,  and  is  the  plaintive 
undercurrent  in  the  most  tense  passages. 
"Sheewin"  is  the  Indian  love-god.  Hav- 
ing heard  the  song,  Desire,  the  heroine  of 
the  story,  becomes  interested,  and. wishes 
to  know  more  of  this  strange  people.  She 
visits  British  Columbia,  where  she  meets 
Kenelm,  an  educated  and  brilliant  In- 
dian. 

Love  is  no  light  thing  with  one  of  his 
passionate  nature,  and  "Sheewin"  does 
not  spare  him  in  the  least. 

The  word-pictures  in  this  book  are  ex- 
quisite : 

"  *  *  Every  bit  of  British  Columbia, 
Desire  promptly  loved,  from  the  jagged, 


white-splashed  mountains,  which  cut  into 
the  sky  as  mountains  in  California  never 
cut,  to  the  deep-hued  wild  rose  that 
bloomed  beside  almost  her  first  foot-print 
in  alien  soil  *  *  * 

"As  he  faced  the  moonlight,  the  plaid 
clinging  close  from  his  shoulders  down, 
his  fine  hair  blown  lightly  back  from  his 
dark,  receding  forehead,  the  fact  of  his 
nativity  came  upon  Desire  with  the  im- 
pact of  a  revelation.  So  must  the  chief- 
tains of  his  race  have  looked  throughout 
the  savage  centuries." 

«*  *  *  j  have  always  loved  you,  even 
before  I  saw  you.  When  I  loved  that  other 
girl  it  was  the  You  in  her.  I  knew  you  as 
soon  as  you  came.  I  said  you  were  not 
for  me,  and  yet  I  knew  that  you  would 
always  be  in  my  life.  I  locked  you  up  in 
my  heart." 

Laura  Cornelius,  a  cultured  Oneida  In- 
dian girl,  well  known  in  San  Francisco, 
says  of  the  book,  in  a  letter  to  the  author : 

""Your  delineation  of  the  different  kinds 
of  Indian  character  is  just  and  accurate. 
*  *  *  In  all  pertaining  to  the  Indian, 
writers  want  to  sacrifice  truth  for  effect, 
thus  removing  us  always  from  the  credul- 
ity of  the  'pig-headed'  practical  American. 
Editors  cater  too  much  to  the  ignorant 
public,  which  must  be  fed  always  on  tra- 
dition, and  these  two  factors  combine  to 
our  disadvantage.  But  if  there  is  any- 
thing in  truth  and  anything  left  in  us,  we 
are  going  to  smash  these  bonds  of  the 
American  'cut  and  dried'  ideas  of  us,  be- 
fore many  more  years.  I  am  glad  to 
know  that  you  have  the  courage  to  repre- 
sent a  new  idea,  and  mark  my  words, 
five  years  hence  people  will  read  'Kenelm's 
Desire'  as  a  mark  of  a  new  phase  in  the 
Indian  problem." 

"Kenelm's  Desire"  is  the  kind  of  a 
book  that  holds  you.  You  cannot  put  it 
down  until  it  is  finished,  and  then  you 
want  to  read  it  all  over  again,  for  one  does 
not  get  such  thrills  every  day.  Most 
writers  have  lost  the  art. 

Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  $1.50. 


Presenting 

the 

Footlight 
Favorites 
for  March 


Miss  Odette  Tyler,  as  "Allene  Houstin," 
New  York  City. 


in  "The  Love  Route,"  at  the 


Lincoln   «r<-are  Theatre 
Hall,  Photo,  New  York. 


Caroline  Locke,  in  "The  Social  Whirl,"  at  Casino,  New  York.          Marceau,  Boston,  Photo. 


Orrin  Johnson   in   "Daughters  of  Men,"   Astor  Theatre,   New  York. 


.Effie  Shannon. 


Photo  by  Sands  &  Brady,  Providence,  R.  I. 


Delia   Spray,    in   "The  Social  Whirl,"   Casino,    New   York.  Marceau,   Boston,    Photo. 


"The  meeting  of   the  sublime  and  beautiful." 

(From  article  on  Barometic  Morality.     See  page  282.) 


Easter   flowers   of   the    Mojave   desert. 


IF 

PUBLIC    LIBRARY 


No.  4 


Overland  Monthly 


April,  1907 


VOL.  XLIX 


BY    MARY    H.    COATES 


ON"  the  day  before  Easter,  the  train 
was  speeding  westward  across  the 
Arizona  desert,  the  engine,  with 
breath-to-breath  haste  seemingly  trying 
to  overtake  the  steely  sun-glitter  dancing 
along  the  two,  narrow,  never-ending  lines 
before  it,  will-o'-the-wisp  gleams  which 
always  flashed  and  flitted  just  beyond 
reach,  scurrying  from  an  unending  pro- 
cession "of  cacti,  mesquite  trees,  creosote 
clumps,  gravel  banks  and  sand-washes, 
which  raced  backward  past  the  car  win- 
dow, and  flung  into  the  car  the  stifling, 
pungent  odors  peculiar  to  the  desert. 

"To-morrow  will  be  Easter!"  The 
traveler's  eyes  looked  upon  the  forbidding 
scenes;  but  memory  and  imagination  per- 
versely, willfully,  saw  flowers — loads  of 
flowers — being  banked  about  altar  and 
chancel  and  wreathed  around  column  and 
gallery,  filling  the  air  with  the  fragrance 
of  lilies:  while  on  and  on  toward  the 
west  and  into  the  violet  dusk  of  night 
glided  the  train. 

The  train  was  three  hours  behind  sched- 
ule time,  having  been  delayed  by  a  wash- 
out on  the  track  to  the  eastward:  and  so, 
by  chance  of  these  three  missing  hours, 
it  was  destined  to  halt  just  before  dawn, 
at  a  water-tank  siding  on  the  Mojave,  one 
at  which  passenger  trains  do  not  stop  in 
the  daytime. 

It  was  still  dark,  though  near  the  mo- 
ment of  dawn,  when  the  rhythmic  hum  of 
wheels  ceased.  Some  one  passed  through 
the  car  and  left  the  doors  open.  At  once 
the  wakeful  passengers  became  aware  of  a 
subtle  presence — the  fragrance  of  flowers, 


of  lilies  and  a  strange,  elusive,  yet  deli- 
cious perfume  of  mixed  blooms  was  float- 
ing through  the  car.  The  wakeful  trav- 
elers hurried  out;  light  sleepers  roused 
and  followed.  Flowers!  It  was  Easter 
morn,  but  posies  ?  Memory  mockingly  re- 
produced the  scenes  of  yesterday. 

In  the  dusky  sky  last  stars  were  quiv- 
ering distantly  pale  as  eager  eyes  went 
peering  across  the  land — the  levels  of 
white  sand  bereft  of  its  ocean  birthright. 
Stumbling  feet  hurried  forward,  and  at 
the  first  step  beyond  the  car  track,  trod 
upon  flowers ! 

Flowers  there  were,  tall  ones  and  lowly ; 
large  and  small;  snowy  white  and  gaily 
tinted;  standing  in  solitary  state  and  in 
vast  companies.  Tiny  pink  blooms  only 
an  inch  high  spread  over  the  ground  in 
broad  mats:  bulettes  but  little  higher,  a 
thousand  in  each  batallion;  tropically 
golden  encelias;  primroses  with  heart- 
shaped  petals  of  softest  yellow;  lemon- 
shaded  spring  beauties  and  pearly  white 
ones:  phacelias,  jaunty  lupines  and  the 
familiar  sand  vervain. 

Mingling  with  them  were  several  varie- 
ties of  thick-set  spikes  of  white  blooms, 
whose  petals,  in  maturing,  flamed  pink, 
orange,  ivory,  mauve,  exhaling  the  most 
entrancing  and  enduring  perfume  of  these 
odorous  blossoms  of  the  desert. 

Scattered  here  and  there  were  three 
plants,  conspicuous  because  of  their 
greater  height,  the  size  of  the  bloom  and 
the  color,  which  were  typically  commemo- 
rative of  the  Easter  time.  One  was  a 
white  oenothera.  Surmounting  upright 


282 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


stalks  draped  in  luxuriantly  vivid  green 
foliage,  its  great,  delicate  petals  were  wide 
open,  keeping  the  departure  of  the  last 
morning  star. 

Another  was  the  regal,  thistle-poppy, 
a  tall,  filmy  greyish  shadow  crowned  with 
immense  white  blooms;  it  stood  the  very 
spirit  of  the  grey  wastes  awakened. 

The  third  was  the  desert  lily,  hemero- 
calis  undulata.  Springing  from  sand- 


pure,  clear,  deep  sand — the  wavy  leaves 
formed  a  base  for  slender,  strong  stems, 
which  held  from  ten  to  three  dozen  fra- 
grant white  lilies.  Stems  solitary  or  in 
clusters  of  two  or  three,  each  a  wand  of 
waxen  bloom.  When  the  first  ray  of 
dawn  broke,  it  revealed  acres  and  acres — 
miles  of  sand  and  flowers,  and  everywhere 
the  lilies  standing  sentinels  over  God's 
Easter  Garden  of  the  Mojave. 


BY  JOSEPHINE  MILDRED  BLANCH 


Blossoms. 

Blossoms,  blossoms! 
Pink  and  white, 

Blushing,   bursting   with   delight; 
Beauty's  heralds  come  to  woo, 
Boses,  lilies,  both  are  you — 
Blossoms,  lovely  blossoms! 

Blossoms,  blossoms ! 

Dewey,  fragrant, 
Luring  every  winged  vagrant; 
Merry  mad-caps  of  the  spring, 
To  the  day  your  laughter  fling —  • 
Breeze-tossed,  sun-kissed  blossoms ! 

Daffodils. 

Daffodils  golden, 

Aglint  on  the  lea; 

From  slender  throats  singing, 

Prom  the  yellow  bells  ringing, 

Your  message  to  me 
Sweet  message  of  spring ! 


Daffodils  telling 

Your  joy  to  the  sky; 
To  honey-bees  bending 
To  listening  earth  sending, 

As  zephyrs  go  by, 
A  message  of  spring! 

The  Violet. 

Lift  up  your  shy,  sweet  eyes  of  blue, 
And  tell  me,  violet,  is  it  true 
That  spring  is  here? 

So  long  the  winter  snow  lay  white, 
And  blossoms  slept  through  the  long  night 
On  earth's  cold  heart. 

So  long  were  birdlings  in  their  flight 
Toward  home,  I  can't  believe  it  quite 
That  spring  is  here. 

Thou  art  the  earliest  flower,  I  know, 
So  violet,  dear,  it  must  be  so 
That  spring  is  here. 


'Where   dwell   the   sterner  virtues." 


BY    JOHN    L.    COWAN 


TO  how  many  men  and  women  has 
the  thought  ever  presented  itself 
that  crime  and  climate  bear  to  each 
other  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect? 
That  man's  morals  are  very  often  a  fail- 
index  of  weather  conditions?  Police  rec- 
ords and  a  little  quiet  introspection  will 
prove  to  any  observant  and  unprejudiced 
individual  that  criminal  tendencies  bear 
more  than  a  casual  or  accidental  relation 
to(a  falling  barometer.  A  "low  pressure" 
area  on  the  weather  map  ought  to  be  a 
signal  for  "high  pressure"  activity  on  the 
part  of  the  police  and  detective  forces  of 
the  affected  area.  A  meteorological  storm 
center  marks  the  point  of  greatest  crimi- 
nal activity  with  almost  mathematical 
precision.  The  path  of  falling  barome- 
ter is  the  path  of  falling  virtue,  traced  in 
a  red  trail  of  suicide  and  murder,  and 
outlined  in  burglaries,  assaults,  and  a 


myriad  of  minor  lapses  from  the  straight 
and  narrow  way,  only  a  small  percentage 
of  which  ever  find  their  way  into  the 
newspapers  or  receive  an  airing  in  the 
police  and  divorce  courts. 

What  a  delicate,  complex  and  sensitive 
organ  is  the  brain  of  man !  How  delicate- 
ly balanced,  how  easily  disturbed  and  how 
imperfectly  understood!  Every  one 
knows  the  serious  results  that  are  likely 
to  follow  even  a  slight  local  pressure  on 
that  precious  aggregation  of  gray  matter 
that  nature  has  so  sedulously  covered  with 
its  four-fold  hood  of  bone,  muscle,  hide 
and  hair.  It  may  bring  hysteria,  insan- 
ity, paralysis  or  death.  That  any  or  all 
of  these  ills  are  just  as  likely  to  result 
from  too  much  atmospheric  pressure  as 
from  a  cracked  skull  or  a  blood  clot  ought 
not  to  be  hard  to  believe.  The  normal 
brain  is  constructed  to  sustain  with  com- 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


fort  and  convenience  an  atmospheric 
pressure  of  almost  fifteen  pounds  to  the 
square  inch.  If  one  lives  on  the  moun- 
tain tops,  he  becomes  accustomed  to  a  lit- 
tle less,  and  if  he  dwells  on  the  seashore 
or  in  the  valley  to  a  little  more;  but  any 
considerable  variation  in  either  direction 
from  the  accustomed  mean  is  likely  to  dis- 
turb one's  moral,  as  well  as  physical  and 
mental  equilibrium.  We  all  know  the  ex- 
hilaration that  comes  from  ascending  a 
mountain — provided  one  does  not  climb 
too  high.  We  know  that  a  little  lessening 
of  the  everlasting  pressure  of  miles  of 
superimposed  atmosphere  is  life  to  the 
man  with  weak  lungs,  but  death  to  him 
with  a  weak  heart.  The  effect  on  the 
mind  and  morals  is  just  as  great  and  al- 
most as  obvious.  That  it  has  attracted 
so  little  attention  is  for  the  same  reason 
that  a  drunken  man  can  hardly  ever  be 
brought  to  realize  or  acknowledge  his  con- 
dition. The*  effect  is  universal,  and  for 
that  reason  unremarked. 

"So  delicately  adjusted  is  the  mechanism 
that  preserves  our  mental  balance  that  a 
trifling  variation  in  pressure,  or  a  little 
excess  or  deficiency  in  the  amount  of  oxy- 
gen, nitrogen,  ozone,  carbon  dioxide  or 
any  other  element  or  impurity  in  the  air 
that  sustains  life,  may  cause  one  to  be- 
have in  a  manner  that  he  would  never 
dream  of  under  strictly  normal  conditions. 
An  oxygen  jag  is  nearly  as  bad  as,  and  a 
hundredfold  more  common,  than  a  whis- 
key jag.  Half  the  people  that  flock  from 
inland  cities  to  the  seashore  to  sport  in 
the  surf,  spoon  on  the  sand  and  parade  on 
the  board-walk  are  drunk  from  the  mo- 
ment of  their  arrival  until  they  get  back 
to  their  own  firesides,  although  nothing 
stronger  than  an  ice-cream  soda  may  pass 
their  lips.  Can  any  one  who  has  ever 
been  at  Atlantic  City  and  reflected  upon 
what  he  heard  and  saw  doubt  the  state- 
ment? Those  eager  crowds  of  pleasure- 
seekers  are  drunk  on  the  salt  sea  air.'  The 
old,  old  wine  that  Neptune  bottled  and 
stored  in  his  vaults  when  Venus  was  a 
giddy  girl  sporting  in  the  surf,  and  when 
nymphs  and  nereids  strolled  along  the 
beach,  gets  into  their  veins  and  tangles 
up  their  conventional  habits,  princinles 
and  prejudices  along  with  the  elemental 
passions  and  impulses  of  primitive  man 
in  a  manner  that  is  both  astonishing  and 
disquieting.  The  long-faced  Presbyterian, 


the  leather-lunged  Methodist,  the  rubber- 
conscienced  Episcopalian,  the  hide-bound 
Covenanter,  the  liver-grown  Lutheran, 
and  the  free  and  easy  Baptist  all  forget 
their  creeds  and  dogmas  and  books  of  dis- 
cipline and  condescend  for  the  time  being 
to  be  human.  And  if  one  sees  some  nickel 
pinching  old  Pharisee,  who  goes  at  home 
on  the  theory  that  long  prayers,  loud 
amens  and  a  sanctimonious  demeanor 
will,  enable  him  to  get  passed  inside  the 
pearly  gates  at  reduced  rates,  squandering 
his  substance  on  a  perbxide  blonde  of 
venerable  years  and  kittenish  behavior, 
he  should  not  brand  him  off-hand  as  a 
dyed-in-the-wool  hypocrite  or  think  he 
has  strayed  deliberately  from  the  path  of 
virtue.  Not  at  all.  He  is  simply  dizzy 
with  the  gin  fizz  of  the  ocean  spray.  When 
he  gets  back  home,  he  will  be  just  as 
stingy,  just  as  long-winded  and  just  as 
sanctimonious  as  before,  and  every  quar- 
ter squandered  in  fond  folly  will  haunt 
his  dream  and  rend  his  hearstrings  with 
remorse.  And  if  one  sees  a  strait-laced, 
sour-visaged  school-ma'am  lay  aside  her 
accustomed  austerity;  a  staid  and  stately 
matron  lose  her  prudence ;  and  a  fond  and 
faithful  wife  forget  her  hard-working 
hubby  back  at  home,  and  all  cavort  in  the 
breakers  just  like  spring  calves  on  the 
green  hillside,  with  no  thought  beyond 
the  apish  Willie-boys  ogling  them  from 
thg  beach,  it  does  not  argue  any  moral 
obliquity  on  their  part,  but  simply  proves 
an  excess  of  oxygen  in  the  salt  breeze  that 
enters  their  constricted  lungs  and  that 
puts  their  sluggish  hearts  to  throbbing  a 
little  faster  than  usual,  and  pumping  the 
rich,  warm,  red  blood  of  vigorous  woman- 
hood through  their  wizened  veins  a  little 
more  rapidly  than  is  possible  in  the 
murky,  smoke-laden  atmosphere  of  their 
•home  city. 

Scientists  tell  us  that  far  down  in  the 
ocean  are  multitudes  of  strange  creatures 
constructed  to  live,  move  and  have  their 
being  in  those  profound  and  sunless 
depths,  weighted  down  by  tons  and  tons 
of  water,  and  sustaining  a  pressure  that 
would  crush  like  an  egg-shell  any  creature 
designed  by  nature  to  breathe  the  strenu- 
ous air.  Now  and  then  it  happens  that 
one  of  these  deep-sea  creatures  ventures 
too  close  to  the  surface — perhaps  through 
idle  curiosity,  or  perhaps  in  search  of  a 
new  sensation.  Freed  from  the  tremen- 


286 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


dous  pressure  necessary  to  its  continued 
existence,  its  tissues  expand  beyond  the 
limits  of  safety,  and  are  rent  and  torn, 
and  by  and  by  a  formless  mass  of  jelly 
rises  on  the  waves  to  supply  a  sweet  and 
tender  morsel  to  hungry  sharks  and  fishes. 
If  it  were  possible  to  take  one  of  these- 
creatures  from  the  abysmal  depth  where 
it  belongs  and  lift  it  suddenly  into  the 
attenuated  air,  it  would  literally  explode. 
Now,  this  is  a  good  illustration  of  what 
would  happen  to  men  and  women  when 
thev  leave  the  atmospheric  stratum  to 
which  they  have  become  accustomed,  and 
ascend  to  greater  heights.  If  they  go  too 
far  out  of  their  element,  there  is  likely  to 
be  a  moral,  if  not  a  physical,  explosion. 
But  if  they  do  not  go  too  high,  the  change 
is  likely  to  be  both  pleasant  and  beneficial. 
The  cognac  of  the  mountain  breeze  acts 
like  a  tonic  for  jaded  and  depressed  spir- 
its. A  grateful  exaltation,  a  mild  ex- 
liilaration,  results,  such  as  follows  a  sin- 
gle glass  of  champagne  when  place,  time, 
companionship  and  circumstance  combine 
to  give  one  of  those  perfect  hours  that 
come  not  more  than  once  or  twice  in  a 
life-time.  One  can  now  see  that  there 
is  a  sound  philosophy  underlying  the  im- 
pulse that  prompts  all  primitive  peoples 


to  build  their  altars  and  temples  on  high 
places,  and  to  seek  out  caves  and  deep 
valleys  in  the  hour  of  death  and  mourn- 
ing. 

No  doubt  it  is  the  influence  of  the  dry, 
attenuated  atmosphere  of  the  elevated 
pleateaus,  table-lands  and  plains  of  the 
West  that  must  be  held  responsible  for 
the  exuberance  of  spirit  that  characterizes 
cowboys,  miners  and  plainsmen.  A  "load 
man"  is  not  necessarily  a  drinker  of  "red 
eye"  or  any  other  brand  of  corn  juice.  He 
may  be  habitually  and  unconsciously 
drunk  on  atmosphere.  Promiscuous 
shooting  and  strenuous  jollification  may 
mean  no  more  than  that  the  shooters  and 
jollifiers  are  a  little  out  of  the  atmos- 
pheric stratum  necessary  to  preserve  their 
conventional  Sunday  school  equilibrium. 
A  fish  out  of  water  cannot  be  expected  to 
comport  itself  with  dignity,  nor  to  achieve 
much  of  a  success  in  life.  Neither  can  a 
man  with  gray  matter  constructed  for 
high  pressure  effects  give  a  good  account 
of  himself  in  a  low  pressure  area.  It  is  a 
good  deal  like  running  a  gas  engine  with 
steam  or  playing  a  piano  with  sledge 
hammers.  The  best  results  need  not  be 
;looked  for. 

Like  the  Nebular  Hypothesis,  the  theory 


The    nursery   of    genius. 


of  Barometric  Morality  will  account  for  a 
good  many  things  that  have  long  puzzled 
both  the  wise  and  the  curious.  It  will 
extricate  scientists,  philosophers,  states- 
men, moralists  and  criminologists  from 
the  maze  of  many  difficulties.  It  explains 
why  virtue  varies  directly  and  vice  in- 
versely with  distance  from  the  equator.  It 
shows  that  there  is  a  reason  in  nature 
as  well  as  in  heredity  for  the  duello,  the 
vendetta -and  the  harem ;  and  that  the  sto- 
lid (German,  the  phlegmatic  Scandinavian, 
the  stable  Briton,  the  analytic  Scot,  and 
the  fire-eating  Spaniard,  owe  to  elemental 
activities  the  peculiarities  that  they  boast 
of  or  deplore  as  race  characteristics. 
Climatology  explains  why  the  venerable 
De  Lesseps  and  a  host  of  his  countrymen 
sullied  their  fair  names  and  reputations 
in  saturnalian  revelry  and  unspeakable 
dishonesty  in  perfervid  Panama.  The 
mercurial  character  of  the  French  makes 
them  respond  to  atmospheric  variations 
as  readily  as  the  quicksilver  in  the  bulb, 
and  the  canal  builders  were,  perhaps  as  de- 
void of  moral  free  agency. 

Xow.  also,  we  may  see  an  explanation  of 
the  fact  that  has  long  puzzled  archaeolo- 
gists that  the  earliest  advanced  civiliza- 
tions of  which  we  have  any  record  were  all 


developed  in  arid  or  semi-arid  regions — 
in  the  rainless  valleys  of  the  Nile,  the 
sandy  plains  of  Assyria  and  Babylonia, 
the  bald,  bare  rock  of  Yucatan,  the  ele- 
vated plains  of  Mexico  and  Peru.  It  was 
because  under  those  clear  and  smiling 
skies,  unvexed  bir  fog,  undimmed  by  clouct, 
the  evolution  of  man  progressed  more 
rapidly  than  in  the  compressed  air-strata 
where  the  empires  and  world-powers  of  to- 
day have  their  seats.  The  same  stimulus 
that  brought  them  to  precocious  maturity 
brought  to  pass  also  their  premature  de- 
'cay. 

Now,  also,  it  is  evident  why  so  little 
progress  has  been  made  through  all  past 
ages  in  dealing  with  the  problem  of  crime. 
With  all  due  respect  for  Nordau,  Lom- 
broso.  Byrnes  and  others,  it  is  suggested 
that  criminologists  have  based  their  syl- 
logisms on  wrong  premises.  Jail,  peni- 
tentiaries and  work-house  are  crowded 
with  the  impotent  victims  of  atmospheric 
conditions.  Habitual  criminals  are  really 
as  devoid  of  the  power  of  initiative  as 
jellv  fishes ;  and  the  day  may  come  when 
moral  sanitariums  will  take  the  place  of 
T>resent-day  penal  institutions.  A  board 
of  experts  may  examine  criminals,  decide 
just  what  amount  of  atmospheric  pressure 


'The   cognac  of  the   mountains. 


BAROMETRIC  MORALITY. 


289 


or  what  particular  brand  of  climate  is 
needed  to  restore  their  equilibrium,  and 
send  them  off  to  the  sanitarium  that  fills 
the  bill.  If  the  treatment  proves  success- 
ful, the  criminal  might  then  be  released 
on  parole,  pledging  himself  to  remain  in 
the  atmospheric  stratum  found  necessary 
in  the  restoration  and  preservation  of  his 
moral  and  mental  tone.  Given  the  proper 
physical  conditions,  who  can  doubt  that 
the  safe-cracksman  could  be  metamor- 
phosed into  a  deacon,  the  embezzler  into 
a  philanthropist,  the  murderer  into  a 
packing  house  magnate,  the  pickpocket 
into  a  groceryman,  and  the  highwayman 
into  a  stock-broker  or  trust  promoter,  the 
sneak  thief  into  a  private  detective  and 
the  blackmailer  into  a  reporter  or  muck- 
raker  ? 

In  this  convenient  and  comprehensive 
theory  we  find  a  cogent  reason  for  the  fact 
that  we  must  go  to.  Ohio  for  our  states- 
men, to  Indiana  for  our  poets  and  play- 
wrights, to  Kansas  for  our  cranks,  to 
Massachusetts  for  our  philosophers,  and 
to  New  York  and  Pennsylvania  for  our 
political  bosses.  It  is  in  the  air,  and  no 
man  can  escape  his  destiny,  save  by  a 
chansre  of  climate.  He  inhales  it  with 


every  breath.  It  explains  why  the  cow 
pasture  and  the  hay  field  are  the  nurseries 
of  genius ;  and  the  mill,  factory  and  count- 
ing room  the  cradles  of  mediocrity.  It 
teaches  us  to  expect  nothing  good  or  beau- 
tiful to  come  into  being  in  London,  New 
York  or  Chicago.  The  dwellers  in  the 
world's  great  centers  of  population  bor- 
row the  great  thoughts,  imitate  the  great 
deeds  and  assimilate  the  great  conceptions 
of  all  ages  and  peoples ;  but  if  one  wants 
first-hand  inspiration,  he  must  get  away 
from  the  muggy,  murky  blanket  of  smoke, 
soot  and  all  uncleanliness  that  envelops 
the  city  like  a  wet  dirty  dish-rag,  and 
breathe  the  ozone  of  the  seashore,  the 
oxvgen  of  the  mountains,  the  honey-laden 
air  of  the  farm  or  the  pine-scented  breeze 
of  the  forest. 

Inhabitants  of  very  large  cities  are  good 
blacksmiths. '  They  can  take  the  metals 
that  others  have  delved  for  and  refined, 
and  forge  them  into  a  horse-shoe  or  a 
telescope;  they  can  make  anything,  from 
a  brass  stick-pin  to  an  armored  cruiser, 
from  a  soap  advertisement  to  an  encyclo- 
pedia :  but  creative  genius  dwelleth  not  in 
a  flat,  nor  is  Pegasus  shod  for  cobble- 
stones or  asphalt. 


BY    MARY    OGDEN    VAUGHAN 

Last  night  the  grass  was  starred  with  flowers; 

They  vanished  with  the  set  of  sun. 
To-day  a  miracle  is  ours, 

And  in  their  place  stands,  one  by  one— 

Like  soldiers  in  a  dress  parade — 

High-lifted  stalks  of  wondrous  sheen, 

With  shadowy  spheres,  in  white  arrayed, 
Topping  each  slender  shaft  of  green. 

What  fairy's  wand  has  touched  the  flowers, 
And  turned  their  gold  to  silver  spray  ? 

Or  wandering  elves  from  moonlit  bowers 
Have  stolen  all  their  gold  away  ? 

Some  tiny  toilers,  as  they  roam 
Far,  far  afield  in  zig-zag  flight — 

The  bees — have  brought  the  magic  home. 
That  worked  this  mystery  of  a  night. 

In  crucible  of  Nature's  mold 
The  subtle  alchemy  was  wrought, 

That  turned  the  shining  disks  of  gold, 
To  clustered  crystals,  fondly  sought 

By  vagrant  winds  in  frolic  play, 

And  scattered  far  o'er  lawn  and  mead, 

To  cling  and  grow,  and  bloom  some  day, 
And  change  again  to  winged  seed. 

Oh,  wondrous  power!  that  guards  with  care 

The  lowly  bloom  in  grassy  nest, 
And  lures  the  bee  to  visit  there 

Bringing  the  spoils  from  other  quest, 

To  plant  within  the  waiting  heart 

The  gold-dust  from  some  kindred  flower, 

And  this  accomplished,  bursts  apart 
The  close-set  petals  in  an  hour, 

And  sends  aloft,  to  catch  the  air, 

This  rounded,  feathery,  dusk-white  dome, 

That  bears  within  its  circle  fair 
A  myriad  blossoms  yet  to  come. 


BY    FLORENCE    JACKSON    STODDARD 


IF  you  want  the  history  of  tke  coming 
of  the  king,  here  it  is.  There  was  also, 
and  beforehand,  the  coming  of  the 
princess;  that  story,  too,  is  here.  Be- 
sides that,  there  is  the  story  of  the  prin- 
cess's smile,  and  you  may  read  that  here 
and  nowhere  else,  for  it  is  inside  history 
known  by  but  few,  and  never  revealed  be- 
fore. And  one  of  the  princesses  being  of 
the  blood  royal  of  those  United  States  of 
America  where  you  sit  turning  these 
pages,  has  a  claim  on  your  attention. 

It  was  a  Sunday  morning,  though  had 
you  walked  abroad  in  a  certain  town  of 
southwestern  France  you  would  not  have 
thought  so.  No  bells  rang  to  service,  no 
hush  was  in  the  dancing  spring  air.  The 
country  people  came  toiling  into  town  as 
they  did  every  day,  carrying  their  loads 
of  market  stuff  in  baskets  poised  on  their 
heads  or  in  tiny  carts  drawn  by  diminu- 
tive mules  or. more  diminutive  donkeys. 
They  looked  not  beyond  the  road  before 
them  to  see  what  glories  the  sun  lit  up. 
Their  backs  were  turned  to  the  mountains 
that  dipped  sapphire  slopes  to  emerald 
fields.  They  never  glanced  at  the  gem- 
colored  sea  beneath  the  cliffs.  They  were 
going  where  they  could  put  money  in  their 
purses,  and  all  the  cooks  and  many  of  the 
mistresses  of  the  town  flocked  to  the  mar- 
ket place  to  get  the  better  of  them  if  they 
could. 

Below  the  stairway  that  separated  some 
buildings  on  one  side  of  the  market,  the 
portal  of  the  Anglican  Church  appeared 
in  odd  contrast  to  the  scene  above.  While 
the  noise  of  the  market  was  at  its  height, 
the  portal  opened  wide.  Presently,  from 
all  quarters  of  the  villa  and  chalet  studded 
tcwn,  from  the  great  hotels  fronting  the 
sea  and  the  small  hotels  on  the  cliffs,  from 
pensions  wedged  in  between  towering  man- 
sions and  from  outlying  garden-girdled 
homes,  people  began  to  arrive,  to  enter 
through  the  portal  and  disappear  within 
the  church.  Now  and  then  the  market 
people  stopped  their  occupations  to  look 
and  remark:  "How  many  English  go  to 


mass  to-day,"  for  it  was  rare  to  see  this 
gathering  of  a  great  congregation,  as  the 
foreigners  generally  did  as  others — ran 
into  the  churches  to  stay  only  as  long  as 
one  would  take  to  say  a  few  awes  or  pater 
nosters,  and  out  again,  or  they  went  sight- 
seeing, guide  book  in  hand. 

To-day  was  different,  and  the  market 
people  were  curious.  Then  it  was  whis- 
pered that  the  crowd  came  because  the 
princess  was  coming,  "she  who  is  to  be 
the  queen  of  the  little  king." 

"Who  says  so?"  demanded  one  and  an- 
other, and  the  belief  was  checked  until 
the  cook  of  a  reliable  English  resident 
was  dragged  forward  and  made  to  repeat 
the  news.  Yes,  her  mistress  had  said  so, 
and  all  the  family  were  hurrying  to  church 
— a  thing  that  hadn't  happened  since  she 
had  been  cook  for  them.  The  princess 
was  coming  to  mass  this  morning. 

"It  will  be  her  last  Protestant  mass, 
then,"  cried  a  fierce-looking  Basque,  "for 
a  good  Catholic  she'll  have  to  be  when  she 
marries  with  the  little  king." 

Then  for  a  while  money-getting  was  for- 
gotten, and  everybody  rushed  to  the  stair- 
way to  see  the  princess  alight  at  the  church 
door.  Inside,  the  closely  packed  congre- 
gation were  waiting,  also,  ready  to  get  to 
their  feet  when  the  royal  party  should  pass 
through  the  aisle.  Presently  they  came,  all 
-of  them,  though  there  were  eyes  only  for 
the  little,  modest,  fair-haired  young  girl 
who  was  chosen  to  wear  a  crown.  Simple 
enough  she  was,  in  a  plain  little  green 
gown  that  hinted  at  none  of  the  royal 
splendor  that  might  be  hers  by  and  bye. 
People  looked  and  wondered,  and  if  tie 
congregation  said  nothing  audible,  not 
so  the  market  people.  She  was  "gra- 
cieuse,"  they  said,  and  "mignonne,"  and 
"jolie,"  but  ma  foie,  she  was  over  serious 
and  a  smile  goes  a  long  way  for  prince  or 
peasant. 

While  this  was  happening  in  the  south, 
another  young  girl's  fate  was  sending  her 
from  the  north  to  play  a  part  in  the  prin- 
cess's story. 


292 


OVEPiLAND  MONTHLY. 


When  Clementina  Smith's  recovery 
from  threatened  appendicitis  had  pro- 
gressed to  such  a  point  that  the  doctor 
himself  said  his  visits  could  be  discon- 
tinued, the  final  prescription  was  a  com- 
mand for  the  patient  to  leave  Paris  for 
some  warmer  climate.  The  girl's  mother 
asked  where  to  take  her. 

"Anywhere  in  the  midi,"  the  doctor 
answered,  "except  the  Eiviera — she  won't 
get  enough  ozone  along  that  coast;  go  the 
other  way  to  Pau,  or  somewhere  on  the  At- 
lantic seaboard." 

Then  it  was  that  Mrs.  Smith  remem- 
bered the  little  Basque  woman  who  had 
been  her  daughter's  nurse  for  the  first 
half  dozen  years  of  the  child's  life,  and 
who  had,  ever  since  returning  to  the 
Basses  Pyrenees,  and,  marrying  there, 
ceaselessly  begged  a  visit  from  "Madame 
et  la  chere  petite  mademoiselle." 

Somehow,  after  taking  Clementina  back 
to  America  to  give  her  the  education  that 
could  be  so  much  more  complete  than 
most  girls  of  her  class  would  take  in  Eu- 
rope, the  Smiths  had  thought  their  vaca- 
tion time  spent  on-  the  Continent  too 
short,  and  the  climate  of  Southern  France 
too  warm  in  summer  to  allow  them  to 
make  that  ever-promised  but  always  de- 
ferred visit  to  Gascony,  even  though  the 
attractions  of  beautiful  country  invited  as 
well  as  the  good  old  nurse.  But  now  that 
school  and  college  days  were  over  for  the 
young  girl,  her  music  gave  excuse  for  her 
remaining  in  Paris  for  the  winter,  though 
Mrs.  Smith  withheld  the  real  reason. 

This  was  nothing  less  than  to  keep  the 
girl  from  the  near  neighborhood  of  Fred 
Castro,  whose  devotion  was  too  evidently 
pleasing  to  her.  There  was  nothing 
against  Fred,  except  that  he  had  not  in- 
herited his  father's  millions,  and  was 
Spanish.  Indeed,  being  cut  off  because  he 
had  chosen  a  profession  for  himself,  and 
had  started  on  the  lowest  round,  of  the 
journalistic  ladder  in  New  York,  instead 
of  contenting  himself  with  doing  nothing 
in  a  Mexican  palace,  he  had  ceased  to 
write  himself  Alfonso  Frederico  Castro, 
Jr.,  and  dropping  the  first  name,  was  an 
individual  in  himself.  He  was  bound  to 
make  a  name,  everybody  said,  but  until  he 
did  make  it,  Mrs.  Smith  thought  her 
daughter  should  not  see  too  much  of  him. 
She  was  rather  disconcerted  when  she 
heard  that  he  had  been  sent  to  report  the 


Conference  at  Algeciras,  and  when  he 
called  on  her  and  her  daughter  in  passing 
through  Paris.  Of  course,  it  was  an  aw- 
ful thing  for  Clementina  to  have  been  so 
ill,  and  her  mother  wouldn't  let  herself 
think  it  was  providential  that  it  should 
have  happened  just  when  it  did.  Still  she 
was  not  sorry  of  an  actual  excuse  for  de- 
nying the  young  man  a  sight  of  her  daugh- 
ter. 

And  now  that  the  doctor  said :  "Get  her 

away   from   Paris!"   she  jumped   at  the 

chance  of  taking  her  out  of  the  city  before 

Fred  should  pass  through  it  again,  as  he 

had  said  he  would  do  on  his  way  home. 

.  They  could  go  quietly  down  to  Biarritz, 

and  by  stopping  with  Gabrielle  instead  of 

being  noted  in  hotel  arrivals,  they  could 

quite  naturally  and  easily  avoid  another 

•  visit. 

So  it  was  that  the  Smiths  found  them- 
selves the  third  week  of  the  New  Year  in 
that  beautiful  region  of  France  girded  on 
three  sides  by  purple  mountains  and  an 
opal-tinted  sea,  and  stretching  away  to 
the  pine  forests  that  rim  its  northern 
boundary.  It  was  spring  in  weather,  joy- 
ous, enticing.  The  yellow  tuvau  was 
abloom  among  its  green  spikes  along  the 
dunes ;  daisies  peeped  up  beneath  the  haw- 
thorne  hedges  that  were  beginning  to  show 
preen  buds;  in  gardens,  cherry  and  peach 
trees  were  in  flower.  From  the  windows 
of  Gabrielle's  little  Basque  house  could  be 
seen  the  long  up-slope  and  swift  down- 
drop  of  La  Bhune,  on  the  French  frontier, 
the  dented  pinnacle  of  Les  Trois  Cou- 
ronnes  that  rose  far  on  the  other  side  of 
the  bay  behind  Queen  Nathalie's  villa,  and 
Jaisquivel  guarding  Spain's  boundary, 
where  the  Madrid  highroad  crosses  the 
Bidassoa  and  continues  northward  to 
Paris. 

The  blue  of  the  sky,  the  opal  of  the  sea, 
the  purple  of  the  mountains  and  the  whole 
radiance  of  the  beautiful  land  offered  the 
young  convalescent  such  sweet  sights  that 
she  was  enough  content  to  lie  on  her  chaise 
longe  and  gaze  from  her  window  while 
waiting  quietly  the  increase  of  strength 
that  would  enable  her  to  go  out  again  into 
the  glad  world.  If  missing  Fred's  visit 
was  hard,  at  least  she  was  nearer  to  where 
he  was,  and  if  her  mother  had  not  thought 
of  it,  she  had — that  they  were,  after  all,  on 
the  main  route  between  Spain  and  France. 
So  the  girl  watched  the  frontier  mountain 


THE  SMILE  OF  THE  PBLXCESS. 


293 


range,  and  thought  nothing  at  all  about 
the  gay  town  two  miles  away,  nor  paid  at- 
tention to  the  whirling  automobiles  that 
flashed  by  with  loads  of  pleasure  seekers 
bound  for  the  Casino  or  the  golf  links  or 
the  social  functions  that  join  the  coast 
towns  for  miles.  Her  mother  called  her 
a  good  little  girl  to  set  herself  so  earnestly 
to  getting  well,  and  Gabrielle,  running  in 
from  occupation  about  her  bit  of  a  place, 
said  she  was  the  si  gentUle  petite  she  had 
always  been.  It  was  she  who  brought  the 
girl  all  the  town  gossip  and  pointed  out 
who  was  who  in  the  passing  motors  and 
carriages.  The  day  the  pussy-willows  were 
out,  she  announced  that  all  the  flowers 
were  blooming  early  to  grace  the  fiancial- 
les  of  the  young  king  of  Spain,  and  sa 
gracieuse  altesse,  la  princesse  Ena. 

"So  they  have  come  here  after  all, 
mamma/"'  said  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Smith  laughed.  "And  the  Riviera 
is  wild  with  jealousy — somebody's  started 
a  rumor  that  the  king  will  not  awooing 
come." 

"I  shouldn't  think,"  Clementina  said, 
looking  down  the  road  where  Mouriscot's 
roofs  could  be  seen,  "that  she'd  come  un- 
less  " 

"There  can  be  no  doubt,"  her  mother  as- 
serted, "since  she  has  come.  After  all,  I 
have  brought  you  where  there's  excitement 
unusual,  if  not  great.  There'll  be  a  lot  of 
passing  on  this  road  now.  Perhaps  we 
should  be  more  quiet  at  a  hotel  in  town, 
Ina,  dear." 

"Oh,  no,"  protested  the  daughter.  "I'm 
getting  well  so  fast,  mamma,  it  would  be 
a  pity  to  change  and  disappoint  Gabri- 
elle, too."  She  didn't  add  that  if  this 
was  the  route  for  a  royal  suitor  to  travel 
it  might  be  also  possible  for  an  ordinary 
man,  and  this  time  she  would  not  be  too 
ill  to  see  him.  She  began  to  fret  a  little 
about  going  out  these  fine  days,  especially 
when  she  saw  from  her  window  a  girl  of 
her  own  age  strolling  along  the  greening 
lanes.  It  was  so  much  more  interesting  to 
walk  than  to  ride.  "Look,  Gabrielle,"  she 
said,  as  the  woman  brought  in  her  lunch, 
"'that  must  be  an  English  girl,  and — why, 
she  looks  like  me,  doesn't  she?  Even  her 
gown  is  the  very  color  of  one  of  mine." 

"Yes,  it  is  surely  so,"  agreed  Gabrielle, 
"and  Manrselle,"  impressive!}',  "that  is 
the  Princess  Ena !" 

Clementina  leaned     forward     eagerly. 


"How  strange  we  should  look  alike,"'  she 
said,  "and  the  last  part  of  the  name  thai 
they  call  me  at  home  sounds  the  same  as 
hers !  I  wonder  if  she  can  be  happier  with 
a  king  for  a  lover  than " 

"She  is  tres  gracieuse,  petite,  but  she 
doesn't  smile  as  you  do,"  declared  Gabri- 
elle, as  if  that  should  be  a  comfort. 

"I  shall  forget  how  to  smile  if  I  can't 
go  out  soon,"  fretted  the  girl.  "Do  tease 
mamma  to  let  me,  Gabrielle.  See  how 
strong  I  am  now,  and  I  so  want  to  see  the 
king  when  he  comes." 

*  *  *  * 

A  few  days  after,  Alfonso  XIII  of 
Spain  came  speeding,  not  in  medieval 
fashion  on  a  charger,  but  in  his  swift  au- 
tomobile from  his  own  kingdom  to  claim 
the  English  princess;  a  young  girl  came 
out  of  a  little  chalet  just  off  the  road  to 
Mouriscot  and  looked  up  and  down  ex- 
citedly. She  wore  a  simple  green  tailored 
gown  and  a  little  hat  shrouded  in  a  white 
veil.  Her  hair  caught  the  sun  and  shone 
with  burnished  lustre  that  matched  the 
brightness  of  her  face.  It  was  Clemen- 
tina boldly  escaping  from  the  guardians 
of  her  health,  that  she  might  venture  fur- 
ther than  they  had  yet  permitted  her  to 
walk.  She  had  not  been  able  to  see  the 
king  from  her  window;  she  had  heard 
that  his  dashing  journey  from  San  Se- 
bastian brought  Him  every  morning  about 
this  time  to  greet  the  princess  with  all 
the  ardor  any  lover  might  dare  to  show; 
that  on  the  daily  drive  the  royal  pair  took 
all  about  the  lovely  country,  the  princess 
went  with  unsmiling  face,  although  it 
was  known  she  was  happy  as  girl  might 
be,  to  say  nothing  of  a  queen.  Clementina, 
envying  the  happiness,  if  not  the  royalty, 
wanted  to  see  for  herself. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning,  with  that 
thrill  of  promise  in  the  air  that  makes  all 
hearts  in  springtime  turn  to  thoughts  of 
love.  .  Many  people  were  abroad;  the  lit- 
tle victoria  cabs  rushing  along  at  the 
sharp  crack  of  the  cocker's  whip,  were 
carrying,  to  the  entrance  of  Mouriscot, 
tourists  eager  to  see  the  daily  arrival  of 
the  king,  and  the  newspaper  men  and 
photographers  hastening  to  set  up  their 
cameras  along  the  way.  Automobiles 
whirled  on  towards  the  highroad,  with 
people  who  would  be  the  first  to  greet  the 
royal  visitor.  This  publicity  and  pur- 
suance of  lovers  because  thev  were  of 


294 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


high  rank  repelled  Clementina;'  she 
paused,  almost  turned  back,  then  her  de- 
sire to  see  also  urged  her  on,  but  she 
would  not  add  to  the  gapuig  throng 
around  the  villa  gates.  She  turned  down 
a  lane  that  was  a  short  though  rough  and 
unusually  untraveled  cut,  to  the  Madrid 
highroad,  descending  steeply  between 
high  banks  that  hid.  anything  from  view. 

Clementina  glanced  far  along  the  turn- 
pike below,  making  sure  the  approaching 
king  was  not  in  sight,  then  ran  forward 
quickly  to  reach  the  level  before  any  ve- 
hicle should  appear  on  the  horizon.  The 
rustle  of  her  skirts  against  the  wind 
seemed  to  mingle  with  a  puffing  sound; 
she  stopped  to  listen;  yes,  surely  that 
was  the  pant  of  an  automobile;  she  was 
going  to  miss  the  king  after  all. 

The  king  in  his  motor  had,  in  fact, 
reached  the  hollow  below  the  incline  at 
the  moment  when  Clementina's  eyes  were 
searching  the  distance,  and  with  probably 
a  wish  to  avoid  the  too  curious  crowd,  he 
suddenly  turned  the  machine  up  the.  lane, 
taking  the  rougher  but  quieter  and  shorter 
way  to  reach  his  princess.  Suddenly  be- 
fore his  eyes,  as  he  slowed  down,  appeared 
the  figure  of  a  fair  girl  with  the  lustrous 
hair  and  the  soft  complexion  that  made 
glad  the  heart  of  the  youthful  wooer.^  A 
fluttering  veil  such  as  had  teased  his 
cheek  as  the  princess  sat  beside  him  in 
swift  racings  against  the  wind,  was  tied 
under  the  rosy  chin,  the  grave  mouth  was 
almost  a  smile.  The  king  brought  the 
machine  to  a  swift  stand;  in  a  moment  he 
was  out  of  the  car,  cap  in  hand,  his  boyish 
face  alight  with  eagerness.  To  come  to 
meet  him— how  sweet  of  her!  It  was 
like  the  happy,  new  independence  they 
had  already  shown  the  world,  choosing 
each  other  and  going  about  the  country 
democratically. 

A  few  strides  brought  him  to  the  girl  s 
side.  She  Daled  and  retreated  a  little  be- 
fore his  eagerness;  the  unbending  looks 
carried  by  the  princess  in  public  were  not 
in  the  face  the  king  looked  into  now;  the 
eyes  shone  with  merriment,  but  the 
silence  which  the  world  had  remarked 
with  the  unbendingness  held  her. 

At  this  moment  a  figure  emerging  from 
the  bushes  that  fringed  the  banks  above 
the  lane  sprang  down  and  forward,  and 
the  hand  the  king  had  extended  towards 
the  girl  was  seized.  In  an  instant  the 


gentlemen  who  had  remained  in  the  au- 
tomobile, and  the  chauffeur,  rushed  for- 
ward and  threw  themselves  between  their 
sovereign  and  this  audacious  person.  Ee- 
volvers  were  drawn  and  leveled,  but  no 
one  uttered  a  sound,  not  even  the  two 
young  girls,  for  the  newcomer  was  a  girl 
also,  no  older  in  looks  than  that  other 
towards  whom  the  king  was  hastening 
when  his  way  was  barred. 

"Stay  your  arms,  gentlemen,"  cried  she 
in  Spanish,  throwing  an  imperious  look 
from  flashing  eyes  upon  the  group  of  men. 
"I  have  only  good  to  bring  his  majesty, 
and  he  will  let  me  give  it  him,  for  I  have 
come  all  the  way  from  Granada  to  wish 
him  joy  in  this  hour." 

She  moved  to  lift  the  king's  hand  that 
she  still  held  beneath  the  restraining  hold 
the  chauffeur  had  laid  upon  her.  The 
king  did  not  resist,  but  the  gentlemen  of 
his  suite  began  to  speak  all  at  once;  they 
used  strong  words,  wild  words;  they 
talked  of  the  insolence  in  trapping  the 
king  in  this  way,  and  the  danger  and 
treachery  that  lurked  in  the  black  art 
of  the  Zingali ;  they  begged  his  majesty  to 
allow  them  to  summon  a  gendarme  to  ar- 
rest and  take  off  the  gipsy  girl. 

But  the  king  left  his  hand  in  hers.  He 
would  listen  to  no  remonstrance;  when 
one  of  the  gentlemen  said  it  was  but  an 
excuse  to  detain  him  and  conspirators 
against  his  safety  would  follow,  he 
laughed ;  he  ordered  the  chauffeur  to  re- 
lease his  hand  and  requested  his  suite  to 
retire  a  little.  He  would  hear  what  the 
gipsy  had  to  say,  but  he  reached  forward 
with  his  left  hand  and  gallantly  lifted  a 
hand  of  the  fair  young  girl  who  had  re- 
mained speechless,  looking  with  dismayed 
glance  on  these  strange  happenings. 

"I  ask  only,  senorita,"  said  the  king 
to  the  gipsy,  "that  you  read  first  the  hand 
of  the  princess." 

Without  dropping  the  king's  hand,  the 
gipsy  took  the  trembling  fingers  of  the 
other  girl  and  studied  the  little  hand. 
Clementina,  too  frightened  to  resist,  sub- 
mitted silently.  The  brown  face  and  the 
fair  one  bent  together  over  the  pink  palm, 
and  Alfonso's  eager,  boyish  eyes  were 
fixed  also  on  the  lines  that  marked  it.  The 
gipsy's  looks  traveled  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  hands  she  held,  and  her  ex- 
pression changed;  she  trembled  visibly, 
then  seemed  to  try  to  hide  it,  laughed  a 


THE  SMILE  OF  THE  PRINCESS. 


295 


little  and  began  to  utter  foolish,  lame 
commonplaces. 

"Come,  come,''  said  the  king  shortly, 
''tell  what  you  see,  or,  if  you've  nothing 
more  than  that,  1  shall  have  to  believe 
those  gentlemen  were  right  and  let  them 
have  their  way." 

"Your  majesty  cannot  frighten  me," 
said  the  girl.  *'I  see  much  that  I  have 
not  told — shall  I  tell  you  all  I  see  ?" 

"No,"  cried  Clementina,  suddenly, 
trying  to  withdraw  her  hand;  all  at  once 
she  knew  that  the  gipsy  saw  what  the 
king  did  not. 

"Yes,"  commanded  the  king,  "tell  all 
you  see." 

"In  your  majesty^  hand  I  see  a  clear 
course,  all  coming  as  you  would  have  it — 
a  prosperous  reign,  a  happy  life,  a " 

"But  the  princess?  I  told  you  to  read 
her  highnesses  hand  first." 

"The  princess,"  halted  the  gipsy,  turn- 
ing to  the  small  hand,  "does  not — wed 
with  your  majesty;  she  goes  away,  a  long 
way  over  water;  she  will  live  with  the 
setting  sun;  she  will  sit  upon  no  throne, 
but " 

"Nonsense,"  interrupted  the  king, 
sharply,  "enough,  girl,  you  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  of;  you  don't  know 
your  trade." 

"Your  majesty  ordered  me  to  read  this 
hand,"  answered  the  gipsy  with  a  proud 
look.  "I  came  only  to  bring  good  pro- 
phecy to  your  majesty,  and  I  brought  it; 
but,  though  I  began  to  read  this  hand  at 
your  majesty's  command,  I  must  finish  it 
for  my  own  honor.  The  owner  of  this 
hand  has  a  happy  life  before  her,  but  she 
sits  on  no  throne;  the  owner  of  this  hand 
can  smile;  she  is  not  your  majesty's 
princess." 

The  gipsy  raised  her  head  defiantly, 
regarding  the  young  people.  Clementina's 
daring  suddenly  gave  way,  her  face  turned 
deadly  pale. 

"The  girl  is  right,"  she  said  in  Eng- 
lish. "I  regret  that  your  majesty  has 
mistaken  me  for — : — " 

A  stir  and  suppressed  altercation  in  the 
direction  of  the  automobile,  the  puffing 
of  another  machine  not  visible,  footsteps 
running  forward,  drowned  Clementina's 
voice.  A  man  in  the  fur  coat  of  a  motor- 
ist, hat  in  hand,  and  struggling  to  remove 
his  goggles,  came  hurrying  up. 

"Your  majesty,"  he  began. 


Clementina  gave  a  little  cry,  and  the 
man  glanced  at  her;  'her  face  suffused 
with  color  and  then  went  perfectly  white; 
he  strode  past  the  king.  "Ina,"  he  said. 
"Ina>  is  it  you  here  ?"  His  voice  was  very 
low,  but  the  Latin  pronunciation  of  the 
vowels  in  the  name  reached  the  king's 
ear.  With  an  imprecation,  he  leaped  for- 
ward, grasping  the  man's  wrist. 

"Dios,  mio,  senor,"  he  exclaimed,  "how 
dare  you  address  her  highness  in  such 
fashion  ?" 

"Her  highness!"  cried  the  man,  falling 
back.  "Pardon,  sire,  but " 

"Let  me  speak,"  cried  the  girl,  strug- 
gling to  find  her  voice.  "Your  majesty 
has  mistaken  me  for  the  princess;  until 
this  moment  I  have  not  been  able  to  cor- 
rect the  mistake.  The  gipsy  has  spoken 
truly.  I  shall  sit  upon  no  throne.  I  beg 
your  majesty  to  pardon  the  mistake,"  and 
Clementina  was  too  frightened  to  see  any- 
thing funny  in  what  she  said. 

"Not  the  princess !"  exclaimed  the  king, 
coming  nearer.  "But  what  an  extraordi- 
nary likeness,  though  I  see  the  difference 
now."  For  a  moment  he  seemed  abashed, 
confused,  then  he  looked  up  with  a  smile. 
"Mademoiselle,  it  is  I  who  owe  you  an 
apology,  and  yet  I  would  ask  a  favor  of 
you."  He  had  moved  on  a  few  paces,  his 
hand  on  the  young  girl's  arm,  guiding  her 
up  the  hill.  "I  would  beg  you,"  said  the 
king,  "not  to  betray  my  blunder;  even 
my  suite  there  need  not  know,  if  you  will 
aid  me.  You  can  refuse  to  let  me  take 
you  on  in  the  motor  to  the  villa ;  you  will 
walk.  Therefore  I  back  down  this  hill 
and  take  those  gentlemen  as  usual  to  the 
Hotel  du  Palais  where  I  leave  them  and 
return  to  Mouriscot  and  the  princess,  who 
will  be  waiting  there  for  me  then.  Made- 
moiselle, I  put  myself  in  your  hands; 
your  silence  can  save  me  from  an  awk- 
ward explanation;  we  are  neither  of  us 
to  blame,  and  the  incident  is  not  an  un- 
happy one,  but  that  I  could  mistake  an- 
other for  my  own  princess  would  sound 
strange  indeed." 

"Your  majesty  may  count  on  my 
silence,  if  silence  is  your  wish,  but  may 
I  say  this?"  asked  Clementina.  She  sud- 
denly felt  that  the  year  or  two's  advantage 
in  age  she  had  over  the  young  king 
showed  her  what  ought  to  be  done.  She 
spoke  bravely:  "I  am  a  woman  as  the 
princess  is;  if  my  fiance " 


296 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


"Have  you  a  fiance?"  asked  the  king 
with  eager  sympathy. 

She  nodded,  a  blush  rising  to  her  brow, 
and  glancing  back  down  the  lane  where 
the  fur-coated  motorist  stood  staring 
grimly  after  her,  "if  my  fiance  happened 
to  have  such  an  adventure,  I  should 
rather  he'd  tell  me  than  to  hide  it;  I 
should  be  glad  to  laugh  about  it  with 
him/7 

"Ah,  but  if  he  were  not  sure  you 
would  laugh  at  yourself,  or  if  you  did  not 
laugh  much  in  public." 

"Some  one  .might  teach  me;  perhaps 
the  princess  would  be  glad  to  learn,  and 
every  one  longs  to  see  her  smile.  Does 
your  majesty  pardon  me?"  She  lifted 
eves  brimful  of  laughter  to  the  young 
king's  face;  her  fear  was  gone;  the  two 
looked  at  each  other  like  merry  young 
people  who  have  shared  a  joke. 

"Indeed,  I  have  nothing  to  pardon," 
the  king  declared.  "I  am  rather  indebted 
to  you;  how  may  I  discharge  that  debt?" 

"There  is  nothing  owing  to  me,"  she 
declared.  "But,"  hesitating  and  glancing 
down  the  lane,  "I  will  confide  in  you," 
she  said,  impulsively.  "My  fiance  is  one 
of  the  journalists  sent  to  attend  the  con- 
ference at  Algeciras.  They  have  suddenly 
sent  him  here  to  report  your  majesty's 
visit.  Arriving  after  all  the  other  jour- 
nalists have  found  the  first  news,  he  will 
get  nothing  that  will  satisfy  his  paper? 
He  wrote  me  that  he  was  in  despair, 
though  he  would  come.  I  did  not  exped 
him  so  soon,  but  he  is  there,"  pointing 
down  the  lane,  "the  gentleman  who  an- 
gered your  majesty  by  speaking  to  me;  if 
he  could  have  a  word  with  you 

Alfonso  whirled  round  on  his  heel  and 
beckoned  the  fur-coated  man  who  was 
watching  every  movement  of  the  king 
and  .the  girl.  Fred  Castro  came  up  in 
three  strides. 

"The  lady  tells  me,  sir,"  said  the  king, 
"that  you  seek  an  interview." 

"I  should  not  wish  to  owe  it  to  the  lady, 
sire,"  came  the  grim  reply.  "I  bear  a 
paper  for  your  majesty  from  Algeciras, 
entrusted  to  me  to  deliver  into  your 
hand." 

"As  to  that,"  answered  thp  king,  stiffly, 
"I  receive  such  communications  only  at 
San  Sebastian." 

"I  was  sent  on  from  San  Sebastian 
this  morning,"  Castro  said,  "and  followed 


your  majesty  in  one  of  your  own  automo- 
biles. The  matter  concerns,"  he  dropped 
his  voice  and  talked  so  rapidly  in  Spanish 
that  Clementina's  knowledge  of  it  did  not 
allow  her  to  follow  had  she  been  so  dis- 
posed. She  was  not,  however;  something 
in  Fred's  look  had  chilled  her;  the  laugh- 
ter died  out  of  eyes  and  heart,  and  only 
this  morning  she  had  been  so  joyous, 
hearing  he  was  coming.  She  moved  on, 
thinking  sadly.  Presently  the  voices  of 
the  men  behind  her  drew  nearer,  the  tones 
had  changed;  the  king  was  speaking  with 
boyish  joyousness;  Fred  answered  in  his 
hearty,  sincere  way,  diplomatic  respect 
not  too  visible. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  king.  "I  am 
going  to  take  your  advice  about  telling 
the  princess,  and  Mr.  Castro  shall  have 
the  only  personal  interview  I  have  given 
to  any  journalist  in  Biarritz,  but  I  should 
be  awfully  grateful  if  you  could  do  me 
a  favor,  you  and,"  he  glanced  at  Castro, 
"this  gentleman." 

Clementina  looked  her  consent. 

"We  should  like,"  the  king  went  on, 
"the  princess  and  I,  to  get  away  quite 
unobserved  for  one  walk.  If  you  would 
allow  your  resemblance  to  the  princess  to 
throw  the  people  off  our  track  for  an 
hour,  she  and  I  would  be  most  deeply 
grateful.  Mr.  Castro  will  explain,  and  as 
I  am  late  already,  I  will  rush  on  to  the 
Palais  with  those  other  gentlemen  who 
need  not  know  all  our  joke." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  Clementina, 
placing  hers  in  it,  said,  "I  will  help  your 
majesty  with  all  my  heart,"  and  then, 
without  a  glance  at  Fred,  she  turned  and 
ran  up  the  lane,  disappearing  over  the 
bend  of  the  hill. 

An  hour  later,  Mrs.  Smith  found  her 
daughter  sitting  quietly  by  her  window, 
gazing  as  usual  towards  the  mountains. 
"Where  have  you  been,  dear?"  asked  the 
mother.  "I  thought  you  might  feel  strong 
enough  to-day  to  walk  down  to  the  villa 
and  see  the  kin?  arrive,  but  I  couldn't 
find  you,  so  I  went  on.  It  was  a  pretty 
sight — those  two  young  people.  He 
dashed  up  so  eagerly,  and  she  stood  in 
the  doorway  smiling  so  happily." 

"Then  she  can  smile  in  private?" 
asked  Clementina,  turning  her  head 
away. 

"Smile!  I  should  think  so."  Mrs. 
Smith  was  enthusiastic.  "It  is  just  an 


THE  SMILE  OF  THE 


297 


ideal  match,  and  the  union  of  Latin  and 
Anglo-Saxon  is  sure  to  make  an  influence 
that  will  be  beneficial  all  around. 

"I  am  glad  T'ou  think  that,  mamma/' 
said  Clementina  bringing  a  very  sweet 
smile  back  from  the  window,  "for  Fred 
Castro  is  here,  and  I  am  going  motoring 
with  him  presently."  She  fingered  a  note 
that  had.  come,  from  Fred  just  now,  but 
she  did  not  offer  to  show  it  to  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Smith  gasped.  -Then  she  laughed 
— she  was  fairly  caught,  as  she  admitted 
herself,  and  when  Clementina  had  told 
her  of  the  morning's  adventure,  she 
capitulated  altogether.  "Well,"  she  de- 
clared, "if  he  gets  into  that  favor,  of 
course  his  fortune  is  made,  and  it  is  nar- 
row to  raise  a  difficulty  about  a  difference 
in  race  nowadays.  So  I  am  to  chaperon 
the  princess  this  afternoon,"  she  laughed, 
"and  who  am  I  to  impersonate?" 

But  it  never  was -plain  who  the  second 
lady  was  in  the  king's  automobile  that  af- 
ternoon, so  veiled  was  she  and  so  wrapped 
in  fur.  The  king,  too,  wore  a  great  fur 
coat  instead  of  the  trim  leather  suit  he 
usually  displayed,  and  he  even  had  on  his 
goggles,  so  only  the  smooth,  long  chin 
was  visible  on  his  face.  The  princess, 
however,  was  clad  in  the  green  gown  al- 
ready familiar  to  the  public;  her  veil 
floated  away  from  her  face,  and  the  radi- 
ance of  her  smile  was  contagious.  As  the 
machine  rushed  into  town,  the  watching 
crowds  at  the  Place  de  la  Liberte  cheered 
heartily,  and  when  the  princess  bowed 
and  smiled  by  way  of  acknowledgment, 
the  enthusiasm  reached  its  height.  Peo- 


ple rushed  to  the  baskets  of  the  flower 
girls  who  paraded  in  front  of  the  Grand 
Hotel,  and  rifled  them  to  throw  at  her 
highness  and  the  young  king,  who  was  at- 
tending so  strictly  to  the  business  of  driv- 
ing the  motor  that  he  could  only  lift  his 
hand  in  military  salute,  but  that  was 
enough  to  please  a  people  already  well 
pleased  with  him — it  was  the  princess's 
smile  that  made  them  glad. 

"Bless  their  hearts,"  cried  an  old  lady, 
wiping  sympathetic  tears  from  her  eyes  as 
the  motor  sped  on.  "It  is  indeed  a  great 
day  when  love  and  power  and  youth  all 

go  together." 

*  *  *  * 

When  Clementina  and  Fred  were  sit- 
ting in  the  twilight  that  night  watching 
the  colors  fade  from  sea  and  mountain, 
a  messenger  brought  the  girl  a  note  whose 
inner  covering  was  addressed  to  "Ina,  the 
princess  of  Castro."  Within  were  a  few 
words  of  sweet  gratitude  for  the  beautiful 
hours  she  had  enabled  two  lovers  to  steal 
from  the  madding  crowd. 

"The  hour  that  made  you  a  princess  to 
the  world,"  said  the  man.  "If  only  I 
could  make  you  one  really,  sweet;  and  I 
ought  to,  being  Alfonso,"  he  laughed 
ruefully. 

"I  shall  be  content,"  she  said,  "if  you 
will  never  look  at  me  again  as  you  did 
this  morning  in  the  lane." 

"Ah,"  cried  the  man,  "that  distrust 
and  suspicion  is  the  Latin  trait  your  An- 
srlo-Saxon  frankness  will  cure  me  of,  and 
then " 

And  then  the  "princess"  smiled. 


BY    CHARLES    FRANCIS    SAUNDERS 

Darkness  o'er  the  land  is  spread, 
Hush-a-bye,  curly-head ! 
We're  off  on  the  Starlight  Limited — 
So  soft  and  silently  into  the  night, 
Not  even  watch  suspects  our  flight. 

The  fireflies  light  their  lamps  in  the  air, 

Frogs  are  chorusing  everywhere; 

From  darkening  thickets  the  night  hawks  cry 

"Whip-poor- Will !"  as  we  go  by. 

Crickets  chirp,  and  hark — who  spoke? 

Only  the  screech  owl  from  the  oak. 

Over  the  bridge  of  slumber — so 

Into  the  Valley  of  Dreams  we  go, 

Where  the  Sand  Man  lives  who  every  day 

Comes  to  carry  us  off  from  play ; 

And  far,  far  on  the  other  side 

The  mountains  are  where  the  dawn  clouds  hide. 

Bye,  bye,  drowsy  eyes, 
Sleep  till  the  day  returns  to  the  skies, 
And  the  birds  awake  to  greet  the  sun, 
And  the  Starlight  Limited's  trip  be  done — 
Bye-low,  my  darling  one. 


BY    KATE    A.    HALL 


TO  borrow  a  commandment  from  the 
witty  Charles  Diidley  Warner: 
"Let  us  respect  the  cat!"  for  that 
.gentle,  insinuating,  soft-coated  creature 
has,  within  the  memory  of  the  present 
generation  from  the  servile  condition  of 
a  back-alley  feline  sustaining  his  nine 
lives  on  ancient  bones  or  subsisting  on  the 
charity  of  quiet  spinsters,  to  the  proud 
rank  of  a  zealously  guarded  pet  whose 
value  is  reckoned  at  the  price  of  a  modest 
home.  From  being  regarded  as  a  hoodoo 
and  kicked  off  the  rear  porch,  the  cat  has 
come  to  be  the  cherished  pet  of  kings,  one 
of  whom,  the  sovereign  of  Great  Britain, 
recently  purchased  a  prize  beauty  for  the 
modest  sum  of  three  thousand  five  hun- 
died  dollars.  Eoyal  Norton,  whose  fame 
reaches  to  the  bounds  of  the  world,  has  a 
recognized  value  of  two  thousand  dollars, 
and  many  Californians,  in  whose  State 
the  cat  farm  is  now  proving  worthy  of 


mention  among  leading  industries,  have 
paid  the  sum  of  one  hundred  dollars  for 
a  fine  Angora  or  Persian  puss  within  the 
last  year. 

It  was  in  1871  that  the  cat,  after  cen- 
turies of  dishonor,  came  again  into  his 
own,  for  it  was  in  that  year  that  the  first 
exhibition  of  domestic  cats  was  held  in  the 
Crystal  Palace  in  London.  Not  since  the 
ancient  Egyptians  deified  the  cat  along 
with  the  crocodile,  the  bull  and  the  asp, 
had  the  felis  vulgaris  been  accorded  so 
great  a  degree  of  respect.  The  Persians, 
following  the  Egyptians,  worshiped  the 
purring  creatures,  and  tradition  has  it 
that  a  persian  army  once  went  to  battle 
against  the  Egyptians  with  cats  before 
them  in  place  of  shields,  whereupon  the 
enemy  became  so  struck  with  terror  that 
there  was  a  precipitate  retreat.  But  the 
Greeks  and  the  Romans  had  little  respect 
for  cats,  and  the  nations  that  flourished 


Corner    in    parlors    of    Mrs.    Leland    Morton's  Chicago    home. 


Royal  Apollo. 

after  the  barbaric  hordes  descended  upon 
decaying  Eome  did  not  elevate  them  in 
general  respect. 

The  introduction  of  the  long-haired 
cats  from  Persia  and  Angora  is  responsi- 
ble for  the  first  great  impetus  in  cat  cul- 
ture, while  the  insistent  law  of  evolu- 
tion has  improved  the  original  stock 
brought  across  the  water  to  a  degree  that 
has  rapidly  increased  their  value.  Grow- 
ing appreciation  of  the  foreigner's  su- 
perior points  has  stimulated  the  market 
to  an  appreciable  extent,  and  the  advan- 
tages for  cat  farming  offered  by  the 
equable  temperature  and  abundant  sun- 
shine of  California  has  .made  the  cat- 
raising  industry  particularly  attractive 
in  this  State. 

America's  interest  in  the  marketable 
cat  originated  in  Chicago,  where  Mrs.  Le- 
land  Norton,  owner  of  the  famous  Eoyal 
Norton,  the  prize-winner  of  the  world,  es- 
tablished kennels  adjoining  her  fashion- 
able Drexel  Boulevard  home  not  many 
years  ago.  Mrs.  Norton  secured  two  fine 
imported  animals  as  household  pets  some 


years  ago,  and  several  years  later  decided 
to  give  some  attention  to  cat-raising  as 
an  industry.  The  long-haired  cat  was  then 
so  rare  in  America  that  he  was  a  curios- 
ity, and  distinguished  personages  from 
every  profession,  captains  of  industry  and 
politicians,  found  a  visit  to  the  Drexel 
Kennels  well  worth  their  while.  In  tune, 
the  cat  fanciers  of  the  Lake  City  planned 
a  cat  show,  which  was  quite  as  fashion- 
able at  that  time  as  the  horse  show  is  to- 
day. The  avenue  turned  out  to  view  the 
fluffy  pets,  and  the  alley  spared  some  of 
its  circus  money  for  the  same  purpose. 
The  aristocracy  of  cats  had  been  estab- 
lished. Felis  vulgaris,  in  the  parlance  of 
the  society  editor,  wate  no  longer  a 
"climber."  He  had  "arrived." 

Mrs.  Norton  was  naturally  chosen  the 
first  president  of  the  Chicago  Cat  Club, 
mother  of  the  hundreds  of  cat  clubs  which 
now  flourish  in  America,  and  she  re- 
mained its  president  for  several  seasons. 
Upon  removing  to  California  a  few  win- 
ters ago,  she  brought  Eoyal  Norton  and 
a  small  family  of  pedigreed  cats,  and  the 


CAT  FARMING  IX  CALIFORNIA. 


301 


California  cat  farm  was  brought  to  the  at- 
tention of  the  wide  world.  All  over  the 
Golden  State  there  are  now  maintained 
interesting,  curious  and  profitable  cat 
farms,  and  the  California  pussy  is  shipped 
from  the  Coast  to  the  Far  East,  and  even 
across  the  ocean.  The  cat  show  has  be- 
come commoner  than  the  time-honored 
chicken  show  of  the  county  fair,  and  the 
long-haired  Angora  or  Persian,  with  high 


It  was  at  first  regretted  by  catterers 
that  the  long-haired  cat  had  attained  a 
popularity  greater  than  his  brother,  for 
the  latter  is  rather  delicate,  and  quite  of- 
ten is  defective  in  sight  or  hearing.  It 
was  thought,  therefore,  that  the  purchas- 
ers of  cats  would  be  chary  of  paying  fancy 
prices  for  stock  that  might  live  but  a 
short  time  unless  given  the  most  watchful 
care.  But  such  was  not  the  case.  The 


Royal    Xot-fon,    the   most   famous   cat   in   two  continents,   valued  at   $2,000. 


rutf  and  a  tail  often  sixteen  inches  across 
is  king.  At  the  annual  cat  show  may  be 
found,  besides  the  usual  Persians  and 
Angoras,  the  odd  Manx  or  tailless  cat, 
cross-eyed  cats,  odd-eyed  cats,  civet  cats, 
tamed  wild  cat*.  Mexican  cats.  Japanese 
cats,  and  Siamese  cats,  the  last-named 
having  a  short  coat  and  a  tail  which  has 
a  striking  black  tip. 


cat  market  improved  steadily,  and  a  man 
with  well-filled  pockets  hesitates  no  longer 
about  paying  the  price  of  a  fine  Angora 
than  he  does  about  taking  a  little  flyer  in 
stocks  or  putting  his  pocket  money  on  the 
favorite  horse.  A  Los  Angeles  woman 
purchased  a  fine  white  Persian  cat  a  short 
time  ago  for  eighty  dollars.  The  day  after 
the  cat  arrived,  it  reached  out  its  paw  for 


302 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


forbidden  things,  whereupon  the  owner 
boxed  its  ears  in  mild  reproof.  But  Mas- 
ter Cat  was  high-spirited  and  resented  the 
insult.  He  made  a  precipitate  exit  by  way 
of  the  open  front  door,  and  has  not  been 
seen  since  in  that  neighborhood. 

Probably  the  most  celebrated  cat  in  his- 
tory was  Miss  Frances  Willard's  "Toots." 
"Toots"  was  not  his  name  in  the  begin- 
ning, for  he  was  early  christened  "Glad- 
stone." But  that  was  before  the  great 
Englishman  repudiated  "Certain  princi- 
ples dear  to  the  heart  of  the  great  temper- 
ance leader."  When  the  "grand  old  man" 
fell  from  grace  in  the  eyes  of  the  white- 
ribboners,  "Gladstone  Willard"  became 
"Toots  Wyillard,"  and  a  veil  was  drawn 
over  the  sad  history  of  his  change  of  name. 
"Toot's"  picture  was  sold  all  over  the 
world  for  the  benefit  of  the  temperance 
cause,  and  it  hangs  in  the  humble  cottag- 
er's abode  even  as  far  north  as  Iceland, 
and  it  also  hangs  beside  storied  canvasses 
in  ducal  palaces.  "Toots"  was  white,  and 
he  had  a  passion  for  the  perfume  of  vio- 
lets and  carnations. 

Charles  Dudley  Warner's  pet  cat  re- 
sponded to  the  name  "Calvin,"  and  of 
Calvin  he  said:  "He  has  the  most  irre- 
proachable morals  I  ever  saw  thrown 
away  on  a  cat."  He  further  adds  that  he 
"understands  pretty  much  everything  ex- 
cept the  binomial  theorem  and  the  time 
down  the  cycloidal  arc."  Continuing,  he 
says :  "I  wish  I  knew  as  much  about  natu- 
ral history  as  Calvin  does,  for  he  is  the 
closest  observer  I  ever  saw,  and  there  are 
few  species  of  animals  he  has  not  ana- 
lyzed. I  think  he  has,  to  use  a  euphemism 
very  applicable  to  him,  got  outside  of 
every  one  of  them  except  the  toad.  To  the 
toad  he  is  entirely  indifferent,  but  I  pre- 
sume he  knows  the  toad  is  the  most  use- 
ful animal  in  the  garden.  His  habits  of 


observation  have  given  him  a  trained  mind 
and  made  him  philosophical." 

Agnes  Eepelier  once  consented  to  be  in- 
terviewed on  a  subject  which  led  her  to 
make  the  following  observations  on  the 
character  of  the  cat : 

"One  has  to  live  up  to  esteem  of  one's 
cats — the  creatures  are  so  discriminating. 
A  master  can  always  win  a  dog's  affec- 
tions, but  cats  are  different.  You  may 
own  a  cat  and  it  may  frankly  and  unmis- 
takably dislike  you.  The  person  who 
feeds  it  cannot  win  regard  for  kind  offi- 
ces, for  feeding  makes  no  earthly  differ- 
ence to  a  cat.  Cats  have  affection,  but 
they  discriminate  in  its  bestowal.  I  think 
it  needs  a  Frenchwoman  to  fully  appre- 
ciate the  airs  and  graces  of  a  cat's  nature. 
The  idea  that  cats  like  places  and  not  peo- 
ple is  responsible  for  a  lot  of  cruelty  to 
numberless  pussies.  Cats  do  not  mind 
leaving  their  own  domains,  providing  they 
are  not  made  to  encounter  noise  and  rude- 
ness. Cats  are  extremely  sensitive  and 
dislike  loud  voices  and  bustling  ways. 
They  love  repose,  calmness  and  grace. 
One  feels  so  immensely  flattered  when 
chosen  by  a  discriminating  cat,  for  it  is 
an  affection  which  can  only  be  won  by 
merit,  and  never  bought.  A  dog  will  love 
any  wreck  of  humanity  who  chances  to 
own  him,  but  one  needs  to  be  self-respect- 
ing to  earn  the  love  of  a  cat.  Pussies  show 
their  regard  in  such  dignified  little  ways. 
When  you  open  the  hall  door  your  cat 
will  come  half  way  down  stairs  to  meet 
you,  and  will  then  turn  and  walk  up  be- 
fore you  with  tail  erect,  and  you  feel  as 
hearti]y  welcome  as  though  a  dog  had 
jumped  all  over  you  and  knocked  your 
hat  off  in  the  exuberance  of  his  greeting. 
You  notice  cats  never  follow,  never  even 
walk  by  your  side — they  precede  by  a  sort 
of  divine  right." 


Jumping  the  crevasse,  Mt.   Baker. 


BY    ASAHEL    CURTIS 


MOUNT  Baker,  king  of  the  north- 
ern snow  caps     of     Washington 
and  feeder  of  the  greatest  glacier 
system  in  the  United  States,  was  ascended 
August  ?th  over  a  new  route  by  a  small 
party  from  the  Mazama  Club  camp.  The 
ascent  was  the  most  brilliant  and  perilous 
ever  made  by  the  club,  and  stands  as  one 
of  the  greatest  feats  of  mountaineering  in 
the  American  mountains. 

The  club  party  had  camped  at  the  base 
of  the  mountain  for  two  weeks  climbing 
the  mountains  around  Baker.  Four  par- 
ties had  tried  to  reach  the  summit,  but 
when  within  2,000  feet  of  their  goal  they 
had  been  turned  back  by  overhanging  ice 
fields  and  impassable  crevasses.  The  main 
party  spent  two  days  in  the  attempt  and 
worked  their  way  up  a  ridge  of  broken 
b?.oalt  and  pumice  until  they  were  within 
a  half  mile  of  the  top  and  less  than  1500 
feet  below  it.  Further  progress  was  im- 
possible because  of  a  perpendicular  cleaver 
of  rotten  rock.  An  advance  party  then 


dropped  to  the  glacier,  500  feet  below, 
on  a  life  line  and  attempted  to  make  their 
way  directly  up  it  to  the  summit.  They 
reached  a  crevasse,  open  from  one  side  of 
the  glacier  to  the  other,  but  narrow 
enough  at  one  point  to  permit  them  to 
jump  across.  From  this  point  it  seemed 
that  the  ascent  could  be  made,  but  it  was 
nearly  night,  and  hours  of  work  were 
still  necessary  to  cross  even  this  small  part 
of  the  glacier,  so  reluctantly  the  attempt 
was  abandoned. 

Every  one  now  felt  that  the  honor  of 
the  club  was  at  stake.  Old  mountaineers 
who  had  visited  the  camp  were  frank  in 
their  statements  that  the  ascent  could  not 
be  made  by  the  north  or  east  slopes,  and 
laughed  at  the  club's  attempts.  Around 
the  campfire  at  base  camp  near  timber 
line  it  was  determined  to  send  at  least  a 
small  party  to  the  summit  Mr.  Kiser 
chose  five  companions,  and  on  the  follow- 
ing morning  retraced  the  route  up  tl  2 
mountain  to  the  crevasse  where  a  lini 


308 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


had  been  anchored  the  night  before. 

The  snows  were  melting  rapidly,  cre- 
vasses that  had  been  crossed  easily  on  the 
return  the  previous  evening  were  found 
impassable,  and  a  long  detour  was  nec- 
essary to  get  around  them. 

It 'was  eleven  o'clock  when  the  party 
reached  the  open  crevasse,  where  the  line 
had  been  left,  only  to  find  that  it  had 
widened  more  than  a  foot,  and  the  upper 
lip  was  falling,  showing  treacherous  seams 
along  its  face.  As  bad  as  it  looked,  it 
could  be  made,  and  each  one  stepped  back 
as  far  as  possible  on  the  steep  slope  below. 


around  the  summit.  The  prevailing  win- 
ter winds  from  the  southwest  had  blown 
the  snows  over  the  summit,  forming  a 
huge  cornice,  and  this,  broken  down, 
formed  a  succession  of  glittering  walls 
and  steep  slopes  2,000  feet  in  height.  The 
first  fell  away  from  the  summit  sheer  for 
oOO  feet,  and  the  slope  below  it  was  too 
steep  to  climb. 

Once  in  the  crevasse,  on  the  rotten  mas? 
of  ice  that  had  slid  from  above,  the  full 
danger  of  the  ascent  was  realized.  Beau- 
tiful, fairy-like  creations  of  snow  glittered 
in  the  sun,  now  almost  ready  to  set  ou 


Mazama  party  passing  the  head  of  a  crevasse  on  ascent  of  Mt.  Baker. 


ran  two  steps  and  sprang  out,  catching 
the  line  as  he  landed  on  the  slippery 
face  of  ice  above.  Before  the  last  one 
crossed,  the  end  of  the  line  was  fastened 
to  an  iron  pin  driven  in  the  ice  on  the 
lower  side  as  a  precaution  should  the 
crevasse  widen  .while  the  party  were  on 
the  mountain,  and  cut  off  the  return. 

Above  this,  a  steep,  perilous  slope  led 
up  to  a  great  crevasse  a  hundred  feet 
wide  that  crossed  the  whole  Eastern  face 
of  the  mountain,  where  the  ice  field  was 
sliding  away  from  the  overhanging  mass 


the  eastern  side  of  the  mountain.-  Mere 
shells  of  ice  hung  over  caverns  so  deep 
that  no  bottom  could  be  seen,  and  frail, 
fantastic  snow  bridges  arched  from  wall 
to  wall,  as  beautiful  as  a  dream  and  as 
useless. 

Mr.  Kiser  worked  his  way  across,  carry- 
ing a  line,  and  reached  the  crumbling 
snow  under  the  overhanging  cap  of  the 
summit.  Clinging  to  the  slippery  ice,  he 
chopped  his  way  two  hundred  feet  along 
the  face  of  the  ice,  but  had  to  turn  back 
at  the  foot  of  a  wall  where  the  water, 


312 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


pouring  from  the  snow  above  him,  fell 
eight  feet  outside  his  path. 

Some  other  way  must  be  found  at  once 
if  this  attempt  was  not  to  end  in  failure, 
if  not  disaster.  The  sun  had  now  set,  the 
snows  were  freezing;  ice  water,  pouring 
from  the  snows  above,  had  drenched 
every  one;  two  of  the  party  were  frozen, 
and  the  others  were  numbed  with  the 
cold. 

Turning  north  inside  the  crevasse  for 
three  hundred  feet,  over  the  loose  snow 
that  had  slid  into  it,  a  point  was  found 
where  a  small  crevasse  broke  away  from 


Gradually  narrowing,  the  crevasse  led 
on  toward  the  north  until  it  slivered  out 
under  the  great  cornice  that  forms  the 
northeast  slope  of  Baker.  At  its  end,  the 
ice  wall  was  only  eight  feet  in  height, 
and  above  a  steep  slope  of  snow  led  away 
toward  the  summit.  Knotting  the  long- 
est lines  around  his  waist  and  chopping 
away  the  overhanging  ice,  the  leader 
stepped  out  onto  the  slope  and  into  the 
sunlight  again.  Half  crouching  on  the 
perilous  edge  of  snow,  the  sharp  points  of 
his  creepers  cutting  an  inch  and  a  half 
into  the  rotten  surface  ice,  knowing  that 


Registering  on  the  summit  of  Baker. 


the  main  summit  cap.  The  wall  between 
the  two  was  twenty  feet  high  and  all  of 
six  feet  thick,  and  overhung  so  much  that 
it  was  impossible  to  get  over  it,  so  a  tun- 
nel was  driven  through  the  frozen  snow 
into  the  crevasse  beyond. 

The  leader  was  lifted  through  the  open- 
ing, and  the  moment  he  could  see  into 
the  crevasse  beyond  he  called  back: 
"Come  on,  boys;  we  can  make  it.  Hurry 
up."  Hurry  up  became  the  battle  cry. 
Shut  in  by  walls  of  dripping  ice,  there 
was  little  desire  to  linger. 


the  slightest  slip  meant  death  thousands 
of  feet  below,  he  began  the  ascent.  There 
was  no  time  to  cut  steps,  and  in  this  way 
he  could  carry  a  line  up  which  the  party, 
less  sharply  shod,  could  follow  him. 

At  each  step  he  loosened  crystals  of  ice 
that  rattled  and  hissed  as  they  sped  down- 
ward. In  the  crevasse  below,  shivering 
in  the  cold,  his  comrades  slowly  paid  out 
line  that  disappeared  over  the.  ice  above 
their  heads.  Long  they  stood  braced  with 
the  line  paying  out  around  an  alpen-stock 
driven  in  the  snow,  but  knowing  that.  »f- 


One  of  the  hundred  crevasses  which  were  crossed  by  the  Mazama  party. 


MAZAMA'S  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  BAKER. 


315 


ter  fifty  feet  of  line  had  disappeared  an 
attempt  to  check  their  leader's  fall  would 
be  useless. 

Just  beneath  the  cornice,  within  twenty 
feet  of  the  top,  the  ice  curved  upward  to 
the  summit  cap  proved  too  steep  for  even 
creepers  to  hold,  and  the  now  exhausted 
leader  had  to  pick  steps  with  the  point  of 
his  alpen-stock. 

Once  up  on  this  cap,  the  goal  of  a 
month's  endeavor,  the  summit  could  be 
reached  in  less  than  a  half-hour's  walk 


whole  earth  and  only  pierced  by  the  high- 
est peaks,  Mount  Shuksan,  Glacier  Peak, 
Mount  Index,  and  highest  of  all,  Mount 
Eainier. 

The  aneroid  carried  by  the  party  read 
11,250  feet,  fairly  accurate  by  the  geo- 
logical figures,  which  are  11,125. 

No  attempt  was  made  to  investigate 
the  sulphur  and  steam  caves  south  of  the 
main  peak.  It  was  late,  a  fierce  wind  was 
blowing,  and  the  cold  was  intense,  so  the 
descent  was  commenced  on  the  run. 


The  Mazama  party  of  36  on  the  lower  ice  fields.     Mt.  Baker  in  distance. 


over  the  great  snow-field  that  forms  the 
summit.  The  line  was  fastened  to  an 
iron  pin  driven  into  the  ice,  and  the  sig- 
nal given  for  the  party  to  follow,  and  by 
three  o'clock  they  were  all  on  the  highest 
point. 

The  summit  looked  like  some  great, 
frozen  cloud  caught  in  space  pinned  up 
by  the  corners,  as  it  were,  and  draping 
downward  toward  the  north.  On  all  sides, 
stretching  away  to  the  ends  of  earth,  lay 
a  vast  sea  of  haze  and  smoke,  hiding  the 


Reaching  the  line  trailing  350  feet  over 
the  slope,  each  one  swung  over  and  hur- 
riedly dropped  down,  the  last  one  leaving 
the  line,  a  plaything  for  the  winter  winds. 
It  is  hardly  probable  that  there  will  ever 
be  another  ascent  made  up  this  route.  The 
ice  is  constantly  changing,  and  twenty- 
four  hours  after  this  ascent  was  made,  it 
would  not  have  been  possible  to  get  up. 
Yet  there  might  be  years  when  jsnow 
would  bridge  all  the  crevasses  and  the  as- 
cent be  made  in  safety. 


BY    EMILY    STEVENS    SMITH 


DOWDAN,  albeit  a  bachelor  of  forty- 
five,  was  a  gentleman.  Therefore 
the  handful  of  pebbles  he  had 
gathered  up  in  hasty  anger  wero  dropped 
into  the  scarlet  salvia  bush  at  his  side, 
and  Miss  Patricia  Kemp  proceeded  down 
the  steps  of  her  tiny  cottage  uiimn looted. 

Women  were  Dowden's  aversion-  wo- 
men in  general  and  Miss  Patricia  in  par- 
ticular. When  he  had  purchased  the  old 
Longley  place,  which  lay  far  out  where 
the  road  began  to  fringe  raggedly  toward 
the  uninhabited  marsh-lands  beyond,  its 
chief  attraction  had  been  its  freedom 
from  encroaching  neighbors,  an  attrac- 
tion whose  bloom  had  been  rubbed  off  by 
Miss  Patricia's  arrival  early  in  the  second 
summer.  •  Although  he  never  had  ex- 
changed so  much  as  a  single  word  with  the 
prim  little  woman,  a  sight  of  her  ever 
roused  to  active  animosity  his  always 
present  enmity. 

Grimly  he  waited,  as  conscious  of  what 
was  transpiring  beyond  the  closely  woven 
screen  of  privet  that  had  been  allowed 
to  grow  tall  between  his  carefully  culti- 
vated estate  and  her  little  half  acre,  as 
though  the  green  leaves  had  been  crystal 
panes,  for  Miss  Patricia's  all-embracing 
love  of  God's  creatures  had  manifested  it- 
self in  daily  repetitions  of  the  scene. 

Only  the  top  of  her  garden  hat  was 
visible  above  the  glossy  green,  but  Dow- 
dan  scowled  as  he  watched  the  bevies  of 
birds  that,  like  the  maple  leaves  in  au- 
tumn, came  sailing  down  about  it.  From 
much  experience  he  had  learned  to  know 
what  would  follow.  Invariably,  after 
having  partaken  of  the  largess  that  Miss 
Patricia  scattered  with  such  a  generous 
hand,  they  fluttered  over  the  hedge  to 
eat  their  dessert  in  the  one  especial  pride 
of  his  possessions,  the  strawberry  beds. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  Soon  an  ani- 
mated twittering  told  of  crumbs  devoured, 
and  the  pensioners,  a  myriad  of  orange- 
throated  blackbirds,  rose  in  a  wavering 
cloud  to  drop  down  on  the  ripening  fruit 
like  a  pestilent  rain.  Quickly  he  gathered 


UD  another  handful  of  pebbles  and  hurled 
it  in  their  midst  before  returning  to  the 
house,  where  his  wrath,  so  long  simmer- 
ing, boiled  over. 

Kyama,  his  Japanese  house-boy, 
listened  unpurturbed  to  the  threats  of  law 
and  talks  of  vengeance.  He  had  heard  it 
all  many  times;  besides,  he  himself  hav- 
ing been  set  guard  during  Dowdan's  en- 
forced daily  absences  at  his  office  in  the 
city,  openly  had  rebelled  and  flatly  re- 
fused to  perform  the  added  duty,  thus 
eliminating  all  personal  interest  in  the 
affair. 

All  through  the  summer,  Dowdan 
fumed  and  swore,  but  the  birds  gleaned 
every  scarlet  berry,  so  when  the  brown 
leaves  of  winter  lay  on  the  beds  in  sodden 
rows,  he  set  his  fertile  brain  to  planning. 

By  spring,  his  efforts  had  met  with  a 
success  far  beyond  his  expectations.  He 
had  invented  a  scarecrow,  a  scarecrow 
that  would  frighten  the  most  valient  robin 
that  ever  led  an  army  to  plundering  vic- 
tory. It  was  an  .automaton  that,  by  the 
aid  of  a  cunning  arrangement  of  clock- 
work, could  wave  its  right  hand  gracefully 
at  intervals  of  fifteen  minutes.  In  that 
hand  was  an  hour-glass  sort  of  contriv- 
ance that  inverted  itself  regularly  'every 
five  minutes  with  a  rt^ound'ng  rattle,  like- 
the  pelting  of  hailstones  on  a  sheet  cf  tin. 
It  was  simply  an  ingeniously  constructed 
tin  cylinder  containing  bird-shot,  but  the 
racket  produced  was  truly  ominous. 

While,  during  the  long  winter  evenings 
he  had  toiled  with  such  patient  care,  there 
had  been  no  malice  in  Dowdan's  thoughts, 
but  the  morning  after  the  thing  was  com- 
pleted he  nearly  missed  the  9  o'clock  local 
Lain.  Panting  from  a  hurried  run  to 
the  station,  he  dropped  into  the  first  va- 
cant seat  at  hand  and  found  himself  be- 
side Miss  Patricia  Kemp.  Such  close 
proximity  to  the  unconscious  despoiler  of 
his  peace  roused  all  his  sleeping  ire.  He 
had  meant  to  clothe  his  invention  in  any 
sort  of  cast-off  garments  which  he,  or 
Kyama,  might  have  at  hand,  but  after 


DOWDEX'S  PATEXT  SCAEECEOW. 


317 


office  hours  that  afternoon,  instead  of  re- 
turning on  the  four  o'clock  train,  as  was 
his  custom,  he  waited  until  a  later  one, 
and  with  deliberate  intent,  visited  the 
city's  most  complete  department  store. 

The  ensuing  hour  was  a  trying  one, 
but  at  its  close  he  was  the  satisfied  pos- 
sessor of  a  flowered  dimity  gown,  white 
with  shadowy  pink  roses,  a  narrow  white 
cashmere  shawl  with  silk-fringed  ends, 
and  a  wide,  rose-decked  gun-hat,  each 
and  every  article  being  as  near  a  counter- 
feit of  those  forming  the  habitual  sum- 
mer afternoon  costume  of  Miss  Patricia 
Kemp  as  he  could  find. 

Xow,  although  Dowdan  from  the  first 
had  treated  the  villagers  with  cavalier 
neglect,  he  had  been  the  one  bright  star 
in  their  firmament  of  interest.  Designing 
mothers,  mindful  of  his  comfortable  in- 
come, openly  tried  to  inveigle  him  to  af- 
ternoon teas  and  family  dinner  parties; 
precise  maiden  ladies,  conscious  of  his 
lonely  state,  threw  languishing  gla/nces 
after  his  retreating  form;  while  more 
than  one  budding  bell,  admiring  his  not 
unhandsome  features,  sighed  at  her  in- 
ability to  enlist  him  in  the  regiment  of 
willing  swains  that  trooped  to  do  her 
bidding.  „• 

The  deepest  interest  of  all,  however, 
was  displayed  by  Mrs.  Morrison  Myers, 
President  of  the  Sewing  Society,  the  Vil- 
lage Improvement  Club,  the  Shakespeare 
Class,  and  whatever  else  there  was  of  any 
importance.  She  was  neither  mother, 
spinster,  nor  blushing  maid,  not  even  a 
coy  and  gracious  widow,  but  instead,  that 
most  industrious  of  all  busybodies,  a 
born  match-maker. 

Her  position  of  official  prominence  in 
the  village  kept  her  at  perpetual  variance 
with  most  of  her  compatriots,  and  Dow- 
dan's  advent  had  found  her  sadly  crippled 
as  to  available  forces,  not  a  marriageable 
female  being  within  the  circle  of  her  tol- 
erance. Scornfully  she  had  watched  the 
tactics  of  the  other  matrons,  secretly  fret- 
ting that  she  could  not  out-general  them, 
and  sadly  disconsolate,  until  the  building 
of  the  little  white  cottage  and  the  arrival 
of  its  mistress,  Miss  Patricia  Kemp.  Then 
her  ambition  gave  a  bound  with  all  the 
elastic  .buoyancy  of  a  child's  toy  baloon. 
Xever  had  anything  been  more  propitious. 

Miss  Patricia,  holding  herself  aloof 
from  the  village  festivities  as  rigidly  as 


did  Dowdan,  the  task  would  have  seemed 
a  formidable  one  to  any  save  Mrs.  Morri- 
son Myers.  Dauntlessly  she  set  to  work, 
employing  a  sort  of  absent  treatment, 
somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  that  recom- 
mended by  the  cult  that  preaches  the 
superiority  of  the  mind  over  all  things 
material. 

At  her  earliest  opportunity  she  startled 
the  members  of  the  Shakespeare  Class  by 
boldly  predicting  a  marriage  between  Mr. 
Dowdan  and  his  charming  neighbor. 
Daily,  almost  hourly,  after  that,  she  com- 
mented upon  the  suitability  of  such  a 
match;  giving  her  imagination  wide 
scope,  she  told  of  the  congeniality  of  their 
natures;  adroitly  she  let  fall,  little  re- 
marks as  to  the  happiness  in  store  for 
both ;  and  quietly  she  exulted  in  the  cloud 
of  despair  that  flitted  across  the  face  of 
each  anxious  mother. 

It  so  happened  that  the  morning  of 
Dowdan's  ride  to  the  city  beside  Miss  Pa- 
tricia, Mrs.  Morrison  Myers  was  a  passen- 
ger in  the  same  coach.  She  returned  on 
the  four  o'clock  local,  but  neither  Dow- 
dan nor  Miss  Patricia  were  aboard.  This 
fact,  matching  so  nicely  the  weavings  of 
her  active  brain,  was  all  that  was  needed. 

"Well,"  she  grandiloquently  announced 
to  the  members  of  the  Mothers'  Meeting, 
over  which  she  was  presiding  that  very 
evening,  "it  has  come  about  just  as  I 
prophesied.  Mr.  Dowdan  and  Miss  Kemp 
went  up  to  the  city  together  this  morning 
and  have  not  returned  as  yet  Doubtless 
they  are  spending  their  honeymoon  at  the 
coast." 

The  effect  entirely  repaid  her  efforts. 
Disappointment  appeared  rampantly,  and 
the  meeting  adjourned  in  order  to  spread 
the  news. 

This  was  on  Tuesday.  On  Wednesday 
a  big,  tissue-lined  box  was  sent  out  to 
Dowdan's  country  address  by  the  city  de- 
partment store.  That  night,  aided  by 
the  stolid  Kyama,  Dowden  arrayed  the 
automaton  and  laughed  aloud.  Miss  Pa- 
tricia Kemp  to  the  life!  Miss  Patricia 
Kemp  to  stand  beside  his  strawberry  beds 
and  scare  away  the  birds! 

Spring  had  blossomed  forth  in  lavish 
splendor.  The  borders  were  aflame  with 
scarlet  poppies,  the  air  fragrant  with  the 
scent  of  roses  and  heliotrope,  and  in  the 
strawberry  beds  faintly  blushing  fruit 
peeped  with  coquettish  reluctance  from 


318 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


beneath  the  leaves,  giving  Dowdan  rich 
promise  of  luscious  harvests. 

Early  on  Thursday  morning  he  carried 
his  treasure  to  the  garden,  and  stationing 
it  in  the  most  conspicuous  corner,  wound 
the  clockwork.  Then  he  waited.  The 
birds,  which  had  been  frightened  away  at 
his  approach,  returned  in  chattering 
droves.  Slowly  the  arm  uplifted,  the  glit- 
tering cylinder  inverted  itself,  and  rattle, 
rattle,  bang,  went  the  half  a  pound  of 
shot  inside.  A  squeaking,  flurried  blur 
rose  in  precipitous  alarm,  and  Dowdan  ex- 
ultingly  smiled.  He  glanced  toward  his 
neighbor's  cottage,  and  felt  a  twinge  of 
disappointment  when  he  saw  the  blinds 
drawn  that  gave  it  a  deserted  appearance, 
but,  after  careful  instruction  to  Kyama, 
took  the  usual  nine  o'clock  train  to  the 
city,  free  from  all  worry. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  grocer-boy's 
weekly  visit,  and  he,  having  heard  the 
gossip  afloat  in  the  village,  eagerly  ques- 
tioned Kyama,  who  remained  silently  non- 
committal. A  surreptitious  peering  about, 
however,  revealed  the  nutter  of  feminine 
drapery,  and  the  boy  hastened  with  the 
news  to  the  next  customer  on  his  route, 
Mrs.  Morrison  Myers. 

"So  the  Dowdans  have  returned!"  she 
exclaimed,  bestowing  a  hot  cruller  on  the 
boy  by  way  of  compensation.  "And  she 
is  out  in  the  garden  this  morning,  the 
dear  child.  I  must  call  and  see  her  right 
away." 

With  conscientious  impartiality,  the 
grocer-boy  delivered  his  tidings  with  every 
package  of  coffee,  pound  of  tea,  or  half- 
dozen  of  eggs  that  was  ordered  that  day. 
A  bride  being  sufficient  magnet  to  attract 
the  most  indolent  being,  many  a  neglected 
constitutional  was  taken  out  toward  the 
old  Longley  place.  Kyama,  weeding  the 
pansy  beds,  'effectually  warded  ioff  too 
curious  pryings,  but  through  a  gap  in  the 
shrubbery,  the  new  Mrs.  Dowdan  could'  be 
seen  industriously  driving  the  birds  from 
the  strawberry  beds. 

It  was  a  queer  pastime  for  a  lady  newly 
wed,  and  people  wondered.  They  also 
talked.  Similar  walks  on  succeeding  days 
gave  forth  like  results.  Morning  or  after- 
noon it  was  ever  the  same.  Sometimes  in 
one  spot,  sometimes  in  another,  there  she 
stood  under  her  new  rose-crowned  hat, 
her  vigilance  never  slacking.  With  the 
arrogance  of  a  stream  that  outgrows  its 


banks  in  the  spring  freshets,  the  story 
spread  about,  flooding  all  else  from  the 
village  mind. 

"Out  in  the  garden  every  day,  is  she!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Morrison  Myers,  helping 
herself  to  the  Sewing  Society's  cake. 
"Shooing  the  birds  away  from  the  straw- 
berries! Well,  well!  No  doubt  the  poor 
dear  is  lonesome  while  he  is  away,  and 
don't  know  what  else  to  do.  I  will  call 
immediately." 

She  induced  the  Methodist  minister's 
wife  to  accompany  her,  and  they,  arriving 
on  a  day  -when  Dowden  had  returned  by 
the  noon  train,  Kyama  ushered  them,  un- 
announced, into  the  library. 

Dowdan,  mentally  wondering  what  in 
thunder  had  brought  them,  and  too  aston- 
ished to  speak,  gravely  bowed  as  he  offered 
them  chairs.  Once  before  he  had  met  the 
Methodist  minister's  wife,  and  had  come 
to  grief  on  the  question  of  foreign  mis- 
sions. Determined  not  to  be  entrapped 
again,  he  quickly  recovered  himself  and 
began  a  violent  tirade  on  the  subject  of 
International  Diplomatic  Correspondence, 
talking  so  eloquently  that  neither  bewil- 
dered lady  found  an  opportunity  to  utter 
a  word. 

From  where  she  sat,  Mrs.  Morrison 
Myers  could  look  through  the  window  and 
see  the  busy  figure  on  the  lawn,  only  half- 
hidden  by  the  intervening  trees.  Twice 
she  opened  her  mouth  to  ask  for  the  lady 
whom  she  had  come  to  visit,  but  each  time 
Dowdan,  unobserving,  turned  to  her  with 
a  more  emphatic  illustration  of  his  argu- 
ment, thus  forcing  her  to  sit  in  angry 
silence. 

"It  is  outrageous !"  Mrs.  Myers  said, 
when  Dowden  fairly  had  talked  them 
through  the  passage  and  out  the  front 
door.  "Simply  outrageous !  I  shall  call 
again  when  I  am  sure  that  he  is  not  at 
home." 

Craning  her  neck  in  order  to  see  around 
the  corner  of  the  house,  she  watched  Dow- 
dan cross  the  strawberry  beds,  approach 
the  figure,  and,  taking  it  by  the  arm,  es- 
cort it  to  the  house.  Dampness  was  bad 
for  the  clockwork,  and  never  was  it  left 
out  in  the  evening  air. 

"Simply  outrageous!"  Mrs.  Morrison 
Myers  reiterated,  choking  with  indigna- 
tion. "Never  did  I  dream  that  the  man 
was  such  a  beast.  Of  course  the  poor 
thing  is  so  infatuated  with  him  that  she 


DOWDEN?S  PATENT  SCARECROW. 


319 


IB  willing  to  be  his  slave,  but  I'll  open  her 
eyes." 

When  she  made  her  second  call,  being 
carefully  sure  that  Dowdan  had  not  re- 
turned from  the  city,  Kyama,  as  usual, 
answered  her  ring. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Dowdan/'  she  said, 
very  distinctly. 

Kyama's  English  was  meagre,  both  in 
understanding  and  in  rendering. 

"Not  at  home,  madame,"  uttered  in  ur- 
bane earnestness  was  the  only  retort  he 
could  give. 

Indignantly  she  repeated  her  request, 
speaking  in  cold  displeasure. 

"Not  at  home,  madame,"  Kyama  re- 
plied, with  a  polite  obeisance. 

She  was  furious.  Again  and  again  she 
made  the  demand,  meeting  with  no  better 
success.  Determined  not  to  be  frustrated, 
she  decided  to  force  an  entrance. 

"Stand  aside,  you  heathen,  and  let  me 
in,"  she  cried,  flourishing  her  parasol  in 
thj  boy's  face. 

But  the  sturdy  little  Japanese  barred 
the  way. 

"Not  at  home,  madame,"  he  said,  look- 
ing at  her  with  a  blank  expression. 

Just  at  that  moment,  the  rattle,  rattle, 
bang,  sounded  forth,  and  Mrs.  Morrison 
Myers  made  a  wild  dash  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house. 

The  mystified  Kyama  followed,  stand- 
ing by,  undismayed,  while  she  tried  to  ex- 
tricate herself  from  the  barbed  wire  fence 
into  which  she  had  stumbled.  Like  a 
rabbit  caught  in  a  snare,  she  struggled  to 
get  free,  and  with  rent  garments  and  torn 
hands  she  emerged  utterly  defeated,  for 
there  was  no  way  of  penetrating  to  the 
solitary  figure  in  the  strawberry  beds 
whose  back  was  turned  and  who  seemed 
totally  deaf  to  the  cries  of  the  indignant 
lady. 

A  whole  month  passed.  Twice  the  gown 
had  to  be  renewed ;  once  because  a  playful 
puppy  that  had  strayed  from  the  kennels 
tore  a  wide  rent  in  the  rose-flowered  skirt, 
and  again  because  Kyama,  carrying  the 
figure  to  its  nightly  resting  place  in  the 
tool  shed,  had  stumbled  and  let  it  fall  on 
the  freshly  sprinkled  grass.  Dowdan 
whimsically  smiled  when  he  paid  for  the 
last,  a  lavender-sprigged  muslin  that  the 
saleslady  pronounced  the  latest  thing.  The 
second  had  been  a  dainty  blue  and  white 
striped  lawn,  one  costing  a  pretty  penny. 


but  he  felt  amply  repaid  by  the  strawber- 
ries on  his  breakfast  table  and  the  frequent 
baskets  of  perfect  fruit  that  he  carried  to 
his  friends  in  town.  Besides,  the  blinds 
still  were  drawn  in  the  little  white  cottage, 
and  he  wanted  the  satisfaction  of  having 
Miss  Patricia  Kemp  behold  her  counter- 
part scaring  the  birds. 

In  the  village,  indignation  sizzled,  but 
a  day  of  reckoning  came.  The  weather 
was  torrid,  so  warm  that  Dowdan  had  not 
gone  to  the  city  preferring  the  cool  shade 
of  his  garden  to  the  sweltering  town.  Won- 
deringly  he  had  watched  the  villagers 
saunter  along  the  path  before  his  house. 
By  ones  and  twos  and  threes  they  came, 
despite  the  heat  that  wilted  the  leaves  on 
the  trees  and  curled  the  soil  into  dusty 
flakes.  Idly  they  strolled  half  way  be- 
yond his  front  gate  before  turning  back, 
but  he  was  content  to  sit  on  the  vine- 
clothed  upper  veranda  and  let  them  stare 
as  much  as  they  liked.  Then,  too,  over  the 
tall  hedge,  he  could  see  the  light  through 
the  windows  of  the  little  white  cottage, 
and  catch  occasional  glimpses  of  Miss  Pa- 
tricia about  her  garden. 

At  six  o'clock  he  descended  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  back  piazza,  where  Kyama 
was  preparing  to  serve  the  evening  meal. 
There  on  the  gravel  walk  stood  Miss  Pa- 
tricia herself. 

Miss  Patricia  was  tearful.  Only  the 
day  before  she  had  returned  from  her  visit, 
and  the  first  task  had  been  to  scatter 
crumbs  for  the  birds.  But  they  came  not, 
nor  could  s*»e  coax  them.  A  chance  glance 
had  shown  her  the  figure  bevond  the  hedge 
and  she  had  come  to  remonstrate.  She 
was  tearful,  but  she  also  was  indignant. 

Dowdan  was  ashamed.  For  the  first 
time  his  action  seemed  ungentlemanly. 
Humbly  he  was  beginning  an  apology, 
when  Kyama  appeared. 

"The  madame,  Mrs.  Morrison  Myers,  is 
at  the  door,"  he  announced.  "She  and 
some  others." 

"What!  that  woman  again!"  Dowdan 
exclaimed.  "It  is  the  third  time  she  has 
been  here.  Wihat  does  she  want  ?" 

There  had  been  a  meeting  of  the  Higher 
Culture  Club,  presided  over  by  Mrs.  Mor- 
rison Mvers.  Dowdan  had  been  the  sub- 
ject of  discussion.  Words  as  scorching  as 
the  sun's  most  burning  rays  had  described 
his  conduct.  A  man  who  would  compel 
his  wife  to  scare  the  birds  at  all  was 


320 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


heathenish,  but  one  who  would  compel  her 
to  stand  all  day  on  such  a  day  was  fiend- 
ish. If  the  woman  was  a  fool,  something 
must  be  done  to  protect  her. 

A  committee  of  three  was  sent  to  inter- 
view the  constable,  but  he  doubted  if  any- 
thing could  be  done.  Not  so  the  indignant 
women.  Something  could  and  should  be 
done,  and  at  once.  Each  one  repaired  to 
her  home,  and  marshaling  a  more  or  less 
unwilling  spouse  at  her  heels,  had  led  him, 
like  a  docile  sheep,  to  the  Longley  place. 
Tit)  the  garden  path  they  marched,  each 
matron  carefully  pointing  out  the  pitiful 
sight  that  had  wrung  her  sympathies.  Ar- 
rived at  the  house,  Mrs.  Morrison  Myers 
at  their  head,  rang  the  bell. 

Kyama,  amazed  at  the  crowd  on  the 
front  steps  and  overflowing  into  the  flower 
plats  beyond,  .hastened  to  report  them, 
leaving  the  door  unlatched.  Bemember- 
ing  former  occurances,  and  resolving  not 
to  be  thwarted  again,  Mrs.  Morrison 
Myers  pushed  after  him,  the  followers 
close  behind  her. 


On  the  back  piazza  they  came  upon  a 
surprising  group — a  pale  little  lady,  hat- 
less,  and  in  a  clinging  black  gown,  stood 
beside  an  apologetic  gentleman,  who 
turned  toward  the  women  with  withering 
scorn : 

"Your  business,  please?"  he  asked. 

But  one  by  one  the  people  turned  and 
fled.  Over  the  heads  of  the  couple  on  the 
cool  porch  they  had  glanced  in  time  to 
see  the  stiff,  automatic  arm  rise  in  calm 
precision,  time  to  hear  the  rattle,  rattle, 
bang,  that  followed  despite  the  merciless 
sun  that,  setting  in  a  glow  of  color,  etched 
with  startling  clearness,  every  crude  out- 
line of  face  and  figure. 

Shame-facedly  they  trailed  back  toward 
the  village.  Mrs.  Morrison  Myers,  still  at 
their  head,  alone  was  unabashed.  Half 
way  home  she  stopped,  and,  turning,  faced 
the  once  belligerent  conspirators. 

"Well,"  she  said,  in  tones  that  cut  like 
blades  of  steel,  "if  he  don't  marry  her  after 
all  this,  he  will  have  a  niece  of  my  mind, 
that's  all." 


BY    ANNIE    ELLSWORTH    CALDWELL 

Like  far-away  notes  of  a  soft,  sweet  song, 

Or  the  call  of  an  unseen  bird, 
Float  memories  over  thy  blue,  blue  hills, 
And  my  heart  with  longing  is  stirred. 
Oh,  deep  blue  hills,  within  thine  arms 
Are  gathered  the  sweetest  of  Nature's  charms. 

Beyond  thy  tops  which  kiss  the  sky 
Stretch  fields  of  sunniest  green, 
And  fair  hillsides  run  down  to  meet 
The  streamlets  in  between, 

Where  the  poppy's  gold  is  lavi'shly   spread 
And  the  live  oak  towers  overheard. 

0  land  with  "milk  and  honey"  flowing ! 
0  land  of  dreams  and  homes  and  rest ! 
There  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  hoary 
Earth  giveth  of  her  best. 

And  the  grand  old  monarch  smiles  to  greet 
This  flowery  kingdom  at  his  feet. 


BY    FELIX    J.    KOCH 


The   Consul's  kavass. 

NOW  that  England  is  bothering  her- 
self once  again  over  the  prospects 
of  a  holy  war  in  India,  which 
would  easily  spread  over  the  Mohamme- 
dan world,  especial  interest  lends  itself 
to  the  perpetual  question  we  of  the  West 
ask  of  the  East — why  the  changeless,  idle 
monotone  of  life,  the  lack  of  progress,  of 
initiative,  even  of  imitation  of  those 
things  that  the  Occident  is  but  too  willing 
to  provide? 

It  was  in  the  American  consulate  at  Sa- 
lonica,  on  the  beautiful  blue  bay  of  Sa- 
lonik  (an  arm  of  the  Aegean),  that  we 
propounded  the  question. 

"Don't  you  know?"  the  consul  asked, 
and  laughed. 

We  nodded  in  the  negative. 
"It  is  the  lazv  languor  of  the  East." 
"The  what?  "  What  do  you  mean?" 
"Haven't  you  experienced  its  presence? 
Hasn't  it  come  to  you?" 


"Xo." 

The  consul  winked  to  his  dragoman. 

"This  afternoon,  about  sunset,  tak* 
your  chair  onto  the  piazza,  before  your 
window  in  the  hotel,  and  wait.  It  wiJl 
come,  surely !" 

"Is  it  a  sickness?" 

"Xo !  Oh,  no !  Far  from  it.  It  is  de- 
lightful." 

Further  than  that  he  would  not  ven- 
ture. 

Business  called  him  away,  and  at  sunse', 
we  prepared  to  obey  instructions. 

Saloniea's  foreign  quarter  commands 
one  of  the  most  charming  prospects  in 
the  world.  The  hotels  stand  beside  a  lonsr 
quay,  at  whose  other  end  queer  brigs  and 
barks  from  the  Ionian  Isles  tie  up,  while 
burly  sailors,  their  heads  en-wrapped  in 
brilliant  rags,  swarm  cityward.  The 
waters  of  the  bay  roll  off  to  a  dim  blue 
peak  not  many  miles  away — old  Mount 
Olympus,  "where  the  gods  do  dwell."  To- 
day Olympus  is  the  home  of  brigand 
bands  alone,  and  one  dare  not  make  the 
slight  excursion  to  the  peak  without 
heavy  escort  of  soldiery. 

Otherwise  the  bay  curves  round,  and  in 
the  nearer  prospect  the  tall  white  torture 
tower  of  Salonica  fits  well  into  the  scene. 

This  background,  then,  invites  medita- 
tion. The  Oriental  sun  pours  down  to 
the  extent  of  a  hundred  degrees  or  so, 
making  lights  and  shadows  the  more  dis- 
tinct for  its  gleams. 

The  bay,  in  itself,  had  sufficient  attrac- 
tion, but  the  street  life  below  held  still 
more. 

Color  was  manifest  everywhere.  Now 
it  was  a  Spanish  Jewess,  wearing  on  her 
hair  a  round  pad,  divided  off  into  tri- 
angles of  black  and  gold.  From  this, 
three  long  ribbons  streamed  to  the  ground, 
and  when  a  breeze  appeared,  were  raised 
high  into  the  faces  of  passers.  These  wo- 
men, descendants  of  the  Jews  driven  out 
of  Spain  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  wore 
garments  of  distinctive  cut  and  shade, 


332 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


that  were  unique  among  those  of  the  city. 

Then  came  Turkish  women,  wearing 
loose  bloomers  and  blouse  waists  of  pale 
green,  too,  or  else  of  handsome  black 
satin,  matching  well  the  snow-white  face- 
veil^. 

Again  it  would  be  a  Moor,  a  slave, 
carrying  a  baby  in  a  rag  bundle  upon  his 
back,  a  baby  black  as  the  proverbial  ace 
of  spades,  but  in  rags  of  gaudy  colors. 

Men  in  loose,  civil  attire,  but  wearing 
the  fez,,  bearing  heavy  sacking  guards  on 
their  backs  to  mark  them  for  porters, 


come  to  sell  their  loot  in  the  city.  Then 
it  was  a  hawker  of  sausages.  Again  and 
again  it  was  a  bootblack.  ISTo  city  in  all 
the  world  possesses  more  bootblacks  per 
capita  than  Salonica,  and  they  all  do  a 
land-office  business — with  American  shoe- 
polish  from  Boston.  Still  oftener,  it 
would  be  a  mendicant,  crippled  by  his 
parents  in  infancy,  in  order  that  he  might 
have  plausible  excuse  to  beg.  Semi-occa- 
sionally  two  women,  or  three,  in  Indian 
file,  would  pass,  their  faces  veiled  from 
neck  to  nostrils,  and  each  holding  a  can- 


"The  blue  Aegean." 

much  like  those  of  Arabian  Nights'  le- 
gend; some  of  them  weighted  with  bur- 
dens too  heavy,  it  would  seem,  for 'a  hu- 
man to  bear,  cried  for  passage  on  the 
road.  Every  one  walked  in  the  street, 
here  in  Salonica,  and  the  passage  is  al- 
ways thronged. 

The  more  we  watched,  the  more  we 
were  interested.  In  fact,  the  spell  was 
irresistible. 

By-and-bye  a  band  of  twenty  ruffians, 
prototypes  of  "Ali  Baba's"  forty  thieves, 
rode  through — some  plundering  troupe 


die  in  one  hand  and  a  baby  in  the  other. 
By-and-bye,  a  wealthy  Moslem  dame,  in 
the  black  satin,  pale  green  or  white,  or 
an  old  male  Turk,  in  white  throughout, 
or  maybe  even  a  dervish,  in  the  tall, 
peaked  fez,  meandered  on  the  quay  below. 
Opposite,  at  the  Hotel  del  Angelterre, 
the  gentlemen  of  the  foreign  class  sat  at 
their  club  tables,  outdoors,  sipping  the 
Turkish  cafe.  Just  beyond  was  the  beau- 
tiful green-blue  playing  sea,  with  its  hun- 
dred skiffs,  two  brigs,  and  a  felucca  that 
had  just  cast  anchor.  The  colors  were 


Turkish  street  scene*. 


324 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


changing  on  the  dim,  opposite  hills  of 
Greece,  hills  that  rose,  it  seemed,  as  the 
sun  set  behind  them,  and  circling  toward 
Olympus. 

Indescribably  lovely  became  that  play 
of  the  blue  and  violet  and  lavender  on 
the  rippling  water. 

We  must  jot  it  down  in  the  note-book 
as  we  saw  it! 

We  wanted  to,  but  couldn't.  All  our 
energy  was  gone — we  could  not  bring  our- 
selves to  raise  a  hand,  to  take  the  pad 
from  the  pocket  of  our  coat.  We  were  too 
lazy,  actually,  to  draw  forth  a  pencil.  And 
still,  we  wished  to,  so  badly — it  seemed 
a  shame  to  let  this  perish  in  the  vaults 
of  memory.  There  were  a  hundred  and 
one  side-lights  to  the  picture  we  knew  we 
should  forget.  The  sea  of  fezes  on  the 
men  in  the  street,  as  seen  from  here;  the 
street  boys,  in  their  tattered  brown,  hob- 
bling about  on  clogs,  stockingless,  torn 
of  trousers,  and  in  vests,  but  minus  coats. 
Then  the  fact  that  the  bootblacks  were 
nearly  all  young  men,  proud  of  mustache, 
and  wearing  vests  and  shirts  only.  The 
Turkish  officers,  in  rich  navy  blue;  the 
Turkish'  agas  who  carried  canes;  the  half- 
vei'ed  woman;  the  boys  with  fresh-baked 


trays  of  rolls;  the  bearded  Spanish  Jews, 
in  red  belts  to  brown  baggy  pants,  and 
with  queer  gray  sleeves,  from  out  black 
vests ;  we  never  could  recall  them ! 

But,  move  even  so  much  as  our  heads 
from  the  rail  we  could  not. 

We^  heard  the  door  open  in  the  room 
behind  us,  and  a  footstep  on  the  floor. 

"Who's  there?"  in  Turkish,  was  as 
much  as  we  could  find  strength  to  say. 
Eeally,  we  didn't  care. 

The  step  crossed  the  room,  and  it  was 
the  Consul. 

"It  has  come,  I  see — the  lazy  languor." 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

We  were  startled. 

"I  can  see  it." 

"You  feel  too  tired,  too  indolent,  to 
move.  That  is  the  spirit  of  the  Orient. 
Whether  it  is  the  heat,  or  more  probably, 
the  effect  of  the  innumerable  colors  on 
the  eyes,  with  the  dazzle  of  the  hot 
Aegean  sun  in  addition,,  or  something 
come  out  of  the  sea,  I  don't  know.  But 
it  affects  every  one.  It  makes  you  listless 
and  steals  away  your  energy.  Now  you 
understand  why  the  Orient  is  dormant." 

We  nodded  assent.  It  was  all  we  had 
any  strength  for. 


BY    MARY    OGDEN    VAUGHAN 

The  perfumed  cup  of  the  rose, 

With  wine  of  the  night  overflows; 

A  wine  distilled  by  the  fays, 

At  the'  close  of  languorous  days, 

White-hot  with  warmth  of  the  sun. 

When  summer  to  zenith  has  won. 

Its  drops  are  spilled  on  the  grass 

Which  the  night-moths  brush  as  they  pass ; 

The  lace  of  the  spider's  whorls 

Is  bedecked  with  its  shining  pearls; 

It  trembles,  like  threaded  gems 

On  the  delicate  flower  stems, 

And,  blessed  with  the  chrism  of  dew, 

Night  comes,  to  refresh  and  renew. 


BY    MARGARET    ASHMUN 


{{/TT^HE  Kange"  is  a  stretch  of  high- 
land of  I  know  not  what  geo- 
logical  characteristics,  extending 
for  some  distance  on  each  side  of  the 
boundary  line  between  Wisconsin  and 
Michigan.  The  first  time  that  I  saw  it 
was  on  a  series  of  gray,  lowering  days  in 
Xovember,  when  there  was,  in  all  truth, 
riot  a  single  mitigating  feature  to  be 
found  in  the  denuded  landscape,  and  when 
the  impression  left  upon  me  was  one  of 
profound  and  intolerable  melancholy. 
"God-forsaken"  was  the  adjective  upper- 
niv,st  in  my  mind,  and  one  that  rose  again 
and  again  at  the  mention  of  the  Iron 
Ranges  in  Xorthern  Wisconsin. 

A  year  or  two  later,  however,  I  spent 
the  months  of  June  and  July  in  the  same 
region,  visiting  in  the  course  of  my  stay 
every  village,  large  and  small,  within  the 
twenty-five  miles  included  between  Iron 
Belt  and  Wakefield.  The  remembrance 
that  I  took  away  was  on  this  occasion  a 
considerably  modified  one. 

The  country  is  for  the  most  part  wild 
and  rough,  with  huge  masses  of  granite 
shouldering  their  way  into  view  from  un- 
derground, like  uneasy  giants.  A  strip 
of  land  that  follows  the  course  of  the  min- 
ing operations  has  been  cleared  for  towns 
or  primitive  farms,  but  a  large  quantity 
of  both  hard  and  soft  timber  is  still 
standing — most  of  it  a  second  growth,  or 
the  remnant  left  after  the  wanton  slaugh- 
ter of  the  trees  by  the  lumber  companies. 
The  clearings  show  like  half-healed  scars 
in  the  woodland  landscape.  Even  in  early 
summer,  when  grass  and  foliage  flourished 
in  luxuriance  there  was  but  little  soft- 
ness in  the  scene;  those  human  touches 
that  showed  themselves  producing  an  air 
of  crude  utilitarianism  that  did  not  en- 
hance the  scanty  gifts  of  nature.  The 
streams,  though  shallow,  were  wild  and 
turbulent,  with  a  certain  very  pronounced 
picturesqueness  that  not  even  sawmills 
and  lumberyards  could  destroy. 

Along  the  roadside  in  the  summer  wea- 
ther, ran  what  might  at  first  seem  streams 


of  blood — the  refuse  water  pumped  from 
the  mines,  and  carrying  with  it  the  fer- 
rous coloring  of  the  ore.  It  was  stranger 
still  than  this  to  see  a  sanguine  flood  come 
gushing  out  of  a  green  bank  beside  the 
road,  the  pipes  that  carried  it  being  hid- 
den under  bushes  and  vines.  It  was  as  if 
the  wounded  hillside  bled.  From  a  hill- 
top one  could  see  the  country  road  stretch- 
ing in  the  distance,  glowing  in  places  with 
what  seemed  an  almost  unearthly  red,  as 
the  sun  was  reflected  from  the  fine  iron- 
charged  dust  or  spots  of  brick-colored 
mud.  One  cannot  travel  along  these  gor- 
geous highways  without  having  his 
clothes,  especially  if  they  should  be  of  a 
light  color,  irreparably  damaged  by  the 
fine  red  particles  of  iron.  White  horses 
become  marvels  of  equine  brilliancy,  and 
the  fate  of  white  dogs  and  cats  is  little 
short  of  ludicrous. 

The  air  is  clear  and  bracing,  moist  at 
all  times  and  exceedingly  cold  in  winter. 
The  mists  that  in  summer  can  be  seen 
rolling  in  from  Lake  Superior  like  a  dead 
white  wall,  pushed  onward  from  behind, 
become  in  winter  long  heavy  snow-storms 
that  leave  the  country  almost  buried  out 
of  sight.  It  is  no  unusual  thing  for  pe- 
destrians in  Ironwood  or  Hurley  to  be 
hidden  from  the  sight  of  those  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  street  by  the  high  ram- 
part of  snow  that  has  been  thrown  up  in 
the  clearing  of  the  sidewalks.  Tunnels, 
even,  high  enough  for  men  to  walk 
through,  have  been  formed  in  these  drifts 
at  the  street  corners.  In  June  and  July, 
however,  this  ugly  winter  phase  is  only 
latent  in  the  country.  One  finds  the  cli- 
mate delightful — agreeably  warm,  but 
seldom  hot  in  the  day  time,  and  always 
cool  at  night.  There  is  plenty  of  rain, 
and  the  grass  everywhere  is  lush  and  radi- 
antly green.  It  makes  excellent  feeding 
for  cattle,  and  were  it  not  that  the  win- 
ters are  so  long  and  cold,  the  Range  might 
become  one  of  the  finest  dairying  districts 
in  the  United  States,  and  an  admirable  re- 
gion for  the  raising  of  sheep. 


326 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Among  the  grass  and  bushes,  wild  flow- 
ers grow  abundantly.  One  of  the  most 
beautiful  spots  to  be  found  anywhere  is 
a  field  white  with  immense  yellow-hearted 
daisies  or  marguerites,  which  grow  here  in 
lavish  profusion — a  pest  to  the  farmer 
and"  a  delight  to  every  one  else  who,  hav- 
ing eyes,  .obeys  the  Scriptural  injunction 
to  see. 

As  one  approaches  the  towns  which  lie 
at  distances  of  from  two  to  five  miles 
apart,  one  is  struck,  of  course,  by  the 
sight  of  the  shaft-houses,  derricks,  stock- 
piles and  other  evidences  of  the  chief 
business  on  the  Eange — iron  mining.  The 
stock-pile,  the  center  of  all  immediate 
human  activity,  is  a  huge  mound  of  ore, 
dumped  by  the  cars  as  they  come  up  from 
underground,  and  waiting  to  be  shipped 
b^  rail  to  some  lake  port,  whence  it  will  be 
transferred  by  water  to  a  city  of  smelters 
and  foundries.  A  large  amount  of  this 
ore  is  brought  up  from  the  mines  during 
the  winter  months,  and  when  it  is  shipped, 
even  in  the  midst  of  summer,  it  has  to  be 
blasted  out  of  its  place  with  dynamite,  so 
solidly  is  it  frozen. 

"Wlhere  the  mines  are  there  are  the  towns 
that  the  mines  have  made.  The  inhabi- 
tants of  the  smaller  villages  are  mostly 
the  Cornish,  Finns  and  Italians,  of  a  low 
and  ignorant  order.  Of  these,  the  Cor- 
nish, though  retaining  their  traditional 
love  for  saffron  soup  and  pastries,  seem 
to  be  the  most  intelligent  and  peaceable, 
and  to  have  the  best  ideas  of  cleanliness 
and  morality.  One  old  Cornishman, 
whose  acquaintance  I  made,  was  of  the 
fine,  substantial  and  thrifty  type.  His 
smooth,  ruddy  skin,  clear  gray  eyes,  and 
curling  brown  hair  and  beard,  slightly 
touched  with  gray,  reminded  me  of  certain 
portraits  of  William  Morris.  His  conver- 
sation, as  well  as  that  of  his  wife,  was 
racy  with  misplaced  pronouns,  scattered 
unexpectedly  about  in  the  approved  Cor- 
nish style.  "It's  a  good  thing  for  we," 
said  the  old  lady,  when  the  lightning 
failed  to  strike  her  house ;  and  she  and  her 
husband  seemed  to  vie  with  each  other  in 
their  delicious  disregard  of  English  case- 
forms. 

"Ause  for  sale"  was  a  tipsily  printed 
sign  that  I  noted  upon  one  house — reveal- 
ing beyond  a  doubt  to  what  h-ignoring 
race  the  owner  belonged. 

The  Finns  appear  to  be  a  stolid,  ignor- 


ant people,  with  a  certain  merculiar  stripe 
in  them  that  occasionally  shows  itself  in 
wild  bursts  of  murderous  anger.  A  Fin- 
nish stabbing  affray  is  of  not  uncommon 
occurrence,  and  is  not  seriously  regarded 
bv  any  one  outside  of  the  Finnish  circles. 
There  is  a  story  told  illustrative  of  the  de- 
gree of  intelligence  to  which  these  Finns 
have  attained.  A  man  was  found  frozen 
in  the  road,  having  been  overcome  by 
cold  and  drunkenness.  A  coroner's  jury 
of  Finns  was  called  to  investigate  his  un- 
timely demise.  They  considered  the  case 
with  much  discussion,  and  after  mature 
and  solemn  deliberation,  brought  in  a  ver- 
dict of  "Guilty!" 

The  Italians  are,  perhaps,  the  most 
picturesque,  as  they  are  the  dirtiest  and 
most  immoral.  By  their  abodes  ye  shall 
know  them,  and  chiefly  by  the  doors  of 
these  abodes.  There  is  a  revelling  in  bril- 
liant paint,  that  can  indicate  only  the 
color-loving  heart  of  the  South.  Few,  in- 
deed, can  afford  to  have  their  forlorn 
hovels  wholly  painted,  but  poor  must  be 
the  man  who  cannot  enter  his  vine  and  fig 
tree  through  a  purple  door.  Perhaps, 
however,  his  artistic  sense  demands  a  com- 
bination of  colors;  in  such  a  case,  though 
his  dwelling  be  otherwise  guiltless  of  paint 
it  has  a  door  of  bright  blue  paneled  in 
vivid  red.  If  the  family  exchequer  allows, 
there  will  also  be  a  window-frame  in  or- 
ange or  green.  The  more  affluent,  of 
course,  paint  their  houses  entire,  and 
Joseph  in  his  coat  of  many  colors  never 
shown  more  gorgeouslv  than  these  Italian 
homes.  I  shall  not  be  believed  when  I 
state  that  I  have  counted  seven  brilliant 
hues  upon  one  building;  nevertheless,  such 
is  the  case.  The  six  primary  colors  having 
proved  insufficient,  an  astonishing  mix- 
ture was  used  to  increase  the  bizarre  ef- 
fect. 

A  phase  of  our  national  life  which 
seems  to  have  failed  to  impress  the  Ital- 
ian emigrants  is  the  position  of  women. 
I  saw  in  a  hay  field  one  day  a  little  drama 
that  appeared  strange  to  American  eyes. 
An  old  woman,  bent  with  age  and  labor, 
and  an  old  man,  who,  be  it  said  to  his 
credit,  was  almost  equally  bowed,  were 
working  to  get  in  the  heavy  grass  before 
the  rain.  To  the  old  woman's  shoulders 
was  strapped  a  frame  of  hay-rack  poles, 
into  which  the  old  man  pitched  the  freshly 
cut  grass  till  it  formed  a  miniature  stack, 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  THE  GOGEBIC  RAXGE. 


32? 


overflowing  the  frame  on  all  four  sides. 
At  a  signal,  the  old  woman  squared  her 
pitiful,  thin  shoulders,  and  trotted  away 
to  the  barn  with  her  load,  like  a  patient 
horse — the  man  stopping  to  light  his  pipe 
or  to  lean  on  his  pitch-fork,  then  dallying 
with  the  hay-cocks  till  his  wife's  return. 

Many  of  the  Italians  are  content  to  live 
in  total  disregard  of  all  sanitation  and 
decency.  One  log  house  of  very  moderate 
dimensions  was  pointed  out  to  me,  in 
which  no  fewer  than  thirty-six  people 
made  their  homes.  The  head  of  the  house, 
his  wife  and  numerous  children,  ought,  it 
would  seem,  to  fill  the  house  to  over-flow- 
ing, but  the  hospitable  family  made  room 
fcr  many  boarders.  These,  to  be  sure, 
were  miners,  one  half  of  whom  worked 
during  the  day,  the  others  being  in  the 
"night  shift."  By  a  sort  of  a  Box  and 
Cox  arrangement,  the  bunks  in  the  attic, 
which  served  for  one  relay  of  boarders  by 
night  served  equally  well  for  the  remain- 
der by  day. 

As  is  always  inevitable  where  such 
crowding  is  found,  be  it  in  city  or  village, 
an  exceedingly  low  state  of  morality  ex- 
ists among  certain  types  of  these  Italian 
miners.  It  is  a  wise  child  that  knows  its 
own  father,  and  a  discerning  father  that 
recognizes  his  own  child.  Drunkenness 
and  crime  abound,  and  the  use  of  stilettos 
and  guns  is  even  more  frequent  than 
among  the  Finns. 

Squalid  and  repulsive  to  a  nauseous  de- 
gree are  the  smaller  and  more  remote  of 
these  Iron-Range  towns.  There  is  one  in 
particular,  probably  the  worst,  which  has 
left  its  unerasable  smirch  upon  my  mem- 
ory. It  boasts  of  only  two  short  streets, 
one  of  these  lined  with  the  battered  torsos 
of  old  boarding  houses  and  dance  halls, 
flimsily  constructed  in  the  days  of  the 
"boom,"  and  now  exhibiting  a  shameless 
gray  nudity  to  the  world. 

Fully  half  of  these  rickety  buildings 
have  their  windows  clumsily  boarded  up, 
and  several  have  the  reputation  of  being 
haunted;  certainly  they  should  be,  if  the 
crimes  against  humanity  that  have  been 
perpetrated  within  them  can  give  them 
any  ghostly  claims.  All  the  rest  of  the 
shacks  that  are  occupied  upon  the  "main" 
street,  are  saloons,  from  which  proceeds 
an  unendurable  odor  of  stale  beer.  Around 
the  doors,  in  summer,  cluster  swarms  of 
flies  and  a  scarcely  less  innumerable 


horde  of  ill-favored  curs.  And  children — 
Heaven  save  the  mark — such  children ! 
Women,  too,  uncombed,  stayless,  bare- 
footed, dressed  in  faded  print  "Mother 
Hubbards,"  belted  in  with  soiled  aprons. 
They  are  either  stupid  or  shrewish,  but  in 
any  case,  slatternly,  brazen  and  foul 
mouthed.  There  may  be,  nay,  there  must 
be  somewhere  in  the  sickening  little  ham- 
let, a  tidy,  respectable,  clean-souled  wo- 
man, but  at  any  rate  it  is  not  she  whom 
we  see  in  passing — not  she  who  lolls  bare- 
footed in  front  of  the  evil-odored  grog- 
shops. 

It  would  be  an  incomplete  picture  of 
the  village  that  failed  to  include  the  cows. 
There  are  few  fences  on  the  Range,  and 
everybody  who  has  a  cow  lets  it  run  at 
large  till  milking  time.  Then  some  dirty- 
faced  and  snarling  youngster  goes  reluct- 
antly to  bring  the  beast,  which  the  mother 
of  the  family  proudly  milks  at  the  fronl 
door-step;  when,  having  yielded  its  share 
toward  the  domestic  sustenance,  the  cow 
goes  forth  again  to  join  the  herd  that 
roams  the  narrow  roadways  unrestrained. 
During  the  cool  summer  nights  all  the 
cows  seek  the  middle  of  the  street,  where 
the  warmth  still  lingers  in  the  sand,  and 
here  they  rest  calmly,  "cnewing  the  cud 
of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy,"  to  the  immi- 
nent peril  of  the  passer-by.  Once  in  an 
evening  ride  through  the  particular  town 
of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  the  car- 
riage in  which  I  was  ran  over  the  tail  of 
one  cow  which  lay  passive  in  the  wheel- 
track,  and  bumped  solidly  into  another 
just  in  the  act  of  rising.  It  was  not  that 
cow's  fault  that  the  carriage  was  not  over- 
turned. I  counted  seventeen  cows  on  one 
street  corner  during  the  same  balmy  even- 
ing! 

What  wonder  that  my  lingering  remem- 
brance of  the  village  is  of  a  lurid,  fetid, 
and  inextricable  mixture  of  cows,  mud, 
flies,  dogs,  bare-footed  women  and  beer ! 

The  larger  towns  are  better,  but  even 
in  them  the  saloons  still  present  an  un- 
broken phalanx  for  blocks  on  the  main 
streets,  and  women  whose  shallow  vicious- 
ness  proclaims  itself  on  their  hardened 
faces  still  flaunt  themselves  in  public. 
Everywhere  one  sees  the  forlorn  and  de- 
based aspect  of  humanity,  and  vice  is  on 
all  sides.  Yet  little  by  little  one  learns  to 
ignore  all  except  the  most  blatant  forms 
of  corruption;  less  slowly,  one  discovers 


328 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


that  there  are  numbers  of  fine  people  in 
these  Northern  towns,  who  like  the  virtu- 
ous remnant  in  the  cities  of  the  plain,  are 
leading  clean,,  happy  and  thoroughly  ad- 
mirable lives,  exerting  against  the  evil 
which  surrounds  them  an  influence  which 
"peradventure"  may  save  the  whole  region 
from  condemnation. 

The  picture  which  I  have  drawn  is  one 
which  is,  in  a  way,  unfair  to  the  many  in 
the  larger  towns  and  the  few  in  the 
smaller  who  are  educated,  prosperous, 


kindly  and  honorable  men  and  women, 
such  as  one  finds  everywhere.  Especially 
among  the  entre  preneurs,  engineers  and 
professional  and  business  classes,  there  is 
a  solidly  reliable  and  intellectual  element 
that  "makes  for  righteousness"  in  every 
form,  and  which  as  time  goes  on  must 
more  and  more  predominate.  Neverthe- 
less, the  ordinary  visitor  to  the  Eange 
must  for  years  to  come  inevitably  have  his 
attention  drawn  as  mine  was  to  the  de- 
praved, the  peculiar  and  the  picturesque. 


BY    EDITH    CHURCH    BURKE 

Oh,  breath  of  the  early  springtime ! 

Oh,  heart  of  the  burning  sun, 
Now  where  did  you  win  your  glory, 

You  beautiful  golden  one? 
Did  once  in  the  early  morning, 

The  gates  of  Heaven  swing  wide, 
And  the  light  from  that  radiant 'city 

Flood  down  in  a  golden  tide? 
Or  down  in  the  dreary  darkness 

From  the  breast  of  the  silent  earth, 
Did  you  take  from  among  her  treasures 

The  golden  sign  of  your  birth  ? 

It  was  not  from  the  gates  of  Heaven, 

Nor  yet  from  the  depths  of  earth, 
That  I  won  my  crown  of  glory, 

The  golden  sign  of  my  birth. 
I  stand  for  sins  forgiven, 

For  crucified  self  and  desires, 
For  peace  between  man  arid  his  brother. 

And  sacrificial  fires. 

A  sign  of  that  Holy  Supper, 

The  Grail-men  sought  in  vain, 
Now  blooms  on  a  thousand  hilltops 

Through  summer's  sun  and  rain. 
And  ye,  whose  hearts  are  chastened, 

May  see  in  their  shining  mail, 
The  knights  of  God's  own  making 

As  they  watch  o'er  the  Holy  Gniil. 


BY    GIBSON    ADAMS 

WE  had  known  all  the  glories  of 
the  Shasta  region,  had  climbed 
the  rugged  height  of    Tamal- 
pais  to  watch  the  sun  rise  beyond  grim 
Diablo,   had   felt   the     enchantment     of 
Marin's  deep  redwood  forests,     had     ex- 
plored San  Francisco  from  Fish  Alley  to 
the  green  cliffs  of  Land's  End;  yet  we 
knew  we  were  just  beginning  to  see  Cali- 
fornia. 

For  now  we  were  in  possession  of  three 
weeks  of  happy  freedom,  in  which  to  tra- 
verse, by  such  stages  as  the  fancy  of  each 
day  should  name,  that  enchanted  land 
that  lies  along  the  coast  from  San  Fran- 
cisco to  Los  Angeles. 

There  were  two  of  us,  as  there  should 
be;  we  were  laden  only  with  suit  cages, 
and  it  was  spring,  when  Mature  is  at  her 
loveliest  in  her  own  garden. 

Leaving  San  Francisco  in  the  early 
morning,  we  sped  past  the  violet  fields, 
vegetable  farms  and  race  courses  of  San 
Mateo  County,  past  the  millionaire  colony 
at  Burlingame,  and  in  •  an  hour  were  at 
Eedwood  City.  In  another  hour,  the  La 
Honda  stage  dropped  us  under  the  great 
oaks  at  TVoodside,  where  we  were  to  visit 
in  a  ranch  house  in  the  pretty  little  val- 
ley which  nestles  between  the  Sierra  Mo- 
rena  Mountains,  shaggy  with  their  red- 
woods, on  the  west,  and  the  green  rolling 
hills  on  the  east. 

After  a  country  luncheon  out  under  the 
trees,  we  were  taken  for  a  walk  through 
the  valley  and  into  Bear  Canyon,  gather- 
ing as  we  went  early  wild  strawberries 
and  an  armful  of  Mariposa  tulips  and  gor- 
geous tiger  lilies. 

The  next  morning  we  were  off  early  for 
a  climb  up  King's  Mountain,  the  favor- 
ite tramp  of  the  Stanford  University  stu- 
dents. In  the  dark  canyons,  the  Yerba 
Buena  under  our  feet  gave  out  its  spicy 
perfume,  and  in  the  open  the  chaparral 
was  ablaze  with  the  yellow  and  lavender 
of  the  chaparral  poppy  and  wild  lilac.  At 

1.  "The  rugged  height  of  Tamalpais." 

2.  "Cliffs   of   Land's    End." 

3.  Black  Point,  San  Francisco. 

4.  In  Golden  Gate  Park. 

Putnam    &    Valentine,    Photos,    Los    Angeles. 


330 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


a  little  spring  in  a  thicket  of  Braken,  we 
spread  our  lunch  of  country  bread  and 
butter  and  strawberries.  The  summit 
gained,  we  looked  down  on  broad,  fertile 
Santa  Clara  Valley,  fringed  with  the  new 
green  of  the  live  oaks,  and  checkered  with 
great  squares  of  white  and  pink,  where 
the  orchards  of  peach  and  cherry  and  al- 
mond were  in  riotous  blossom.  To  the 
west,  the  Pacific  gleamed  blue  through  a 
cleft  in  the  hills.  After  a  rest  and  supper 
at  the  cozy  Mountain  House,  we  tramped 
home  by  moonlight.  The  night  seemed 
full  of  life;  the  night-hawks  and  kildees 
were  calling,  and  half  way  down  the  trail 
we  startled  to  flight  a  pair  of  coyotes 
fighting  over  the  carcass  of  a  turkey. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  The  morn- 
ing we  whiled  away  in  the  hammocks  un- 
der the  old  live  oaks,  resting  after  our 
climb  of  yesterday.  In  the  afternoon  we 
drove  through  narrow  Portola  Valley, 
past  the  quiet  Lagunitas,  to  the  famous 
Stanford  stock  farms.  Again  and  again 
the  horses  were  stopped,  while  we  took 
another  snap  shot  of  the  hills  or  woods, 
or  ravished  a  new  bed  of  wild  flowers. 

Once  more  on  the  wing,  late  the  follow- 
ing afternoon,  we  sped  past  the  old  Palo 
Alto  tree,  then  the  Arboretum  of  Stan- 
ford University,  with  its  avenue  of  palms, 
then  through  the  orchards  of  Santa  Clara 
Valley,  whose  prunes  and  apricots  reach 
the  ends  of  the  earth;  and  by  dark  we 
were  in  San  Jose. 

Lounging  away  the  next  morning  un- 
der the  trees  of  the  park,  we  took  the 
stage  at  noon  for  Lick  Observatory  on 
Mount  Hamilton.  Sunset  found  us  at  the 
supper  station  far  up  the  mountain  side, 
and  at  nine  we  gained  the  summit,  where 
we  studied  the  wonders  of  the  heavens 
through  the  great  telescope,  and  feasted 
on  the  glories  of  the  moonlit  world  below. 
It  was  an  hour  past  midnight,  when  the 
old  stage  had  bowled  us  down  the  moun- 
tain and  across  the  valley  to  San  Jose. 
Late  the  next  morning  we  boarded  the 
narrow  gauge  train  to  ride  through  the 
forests  and  canyons  of  the  Santa  Cruz 
mountains  to  the  Big  Trees.  The  Big 
Trees!  Gigantic  sequoias  whose  trunks 


5.  In  Bear  Canyon. 

6.  In  Bear  Canyon. 

7.  The    Salinas    River. 

8.  Paso  Robles. 

Putnam    &    Valentine,    Photos,    Los    Angeles. 


DOWX  THE  COAST. 


331 


tower  heavenward,  titanic  columns,  abso- 
lutely straight;  did  they  lean  an  inch  to 
the  side,  never  could  such  enormous 
weight  stand  balanced  erect.  What  eke 
in  all  Mature  combines  strength  and  deli- 
cacy as  do  these  trees,  towering  to  heights 
of  two  and  three  hundred  feet,  yet  bear- 
ing foliage  as  delicately  cut  as  ferns? 

That  night  found  us  on  the  north  shore 
of  Monterey  Bay,  at  Santa  Cruz. 

In  the  morning  we  took  the  electric 
car  through  the  town,  and  to  the  rocky 
point  of  Yue  de  1'Eau  on  the  wild  shore, 
where  stretched  curve  after  curve  of 
green  and  brown  cliff  above  the  tumbling 
sea,  white  and  green  at  the  surf,  deep  blue 
out  toward  the  horizon.  Returning  to 
Santa  Cruz,  we  found  new  vigor  in  a 
plunge  in  the  breakers. 

On  the  same  day,  we  reached  Del 
Monte  in  time  for  a  late  luncheon  at  that 
princely  resort.  All  afternoon  we  wan- 
dered about  the  grounds,  a  vast  garden 
set  in  an  ancient  forest  of  live  oaks  and 
pines,  with  flowers,  flowers,  everywhere. 
We  found  time  to  snap  kodak  pictures, 
get  lost  in  the  cypress  maze,  to  visit  the 
club  house,  plunge,  nursery,  and  little 
rustic  church  in  the  woods.  The  dining 
room  that  night  was  gay  with  light- 
hearted  travelers  and  pleasure-seekers. 

The  following  day  the  electric  car  took 
us  through  quaint  old  Spanish,  tumble- 
down Monterey,  to  the  little  hotel  at  Pa- 
cific Grove,  a  town  of  cottages  in  a  pine 
wood  over  the  sea.  Here  on  Monterey 
Peninsula  passed  a  wonderful  week, 
where  Nature  and  History  and  Romance 
combine  to  display  a  thousand  fascina- 
tions. A  morning  was  spent  on  the  great 
military  reservation,  an  afternoon  in  the 
Chinese  fishing  village,  and  studios  of 
the  artist  colony;  a  day  in  visiting  Mis- 
sion San  Carlos,  the  abandoned  capitol, 
the  statue  of  Father  Junipero  Serra  above 
his  landing  place,  the  picturesque  old 
Customs  House,  the  whaling  station,  Rob- 
ert Louis  Stevenson's  retreat,  Jenny 
Lind's  abode  theatre,  the  quaint  House  of 
the  four  winds;  a  day  in  visiting  the 
Japanese  Garden  on  the  rocks  of  Lovers' 
Point,  swimming  in  the  cove,  walking  to 
Point  Pinos  Light  House;  another  day 

9.  On  King's  Mountain. 

10.  Prom   King's   Mountain. 

11.  Plaza   Los   Angeles. 

12.  Broadway,   Los  Angeles. 

Putnam    &    Valentine,    Photos,    Los    Angeles. 


13.  Palo  Alto   Tree,    Stanford. 

14.  Memorial  Arch,   Stanford. 

15.  "New    Hampshire    Tree,"    Mariposa    Grove, 
Big    Trees. 


16.  Stanford  University  from  lake. 

17.  Father  Jose,   San   Luis  Obispo. 

18.  The    Devil's   Elbow,    Catalina   stage'  road. 
Putnam    &    Valentine,    Photos,    Los    Angeles. 


DOWN  THE  COAST. 


in  prying  abalone  shells  from  the  rocks 
at  Bestless  Sea  and  walking  to  Cypress 
Point,  whose  wonderful  grove  of  ancient, 
gnarled  and  grotesque  giants  will  never 
be  forgotten. 

One  day  we  expressed  our  linen  ahead, 
to  be  freshened  at  Paso  Eobles,  and  were 
compelled  at  last  to  leave  the  enchanted 
coast.  Entering  the  main  line  at  Castro- 
ville,  we  sped  through  the  rich  lands 
tributary  to  the  great  Spreckels  sugar  fac- 
tory, and  out  into  the  long,  deserted  val- 
ley of  the  Salinas  Eiver,  walled  from  the 
sea  by  parched  mountains  and  dotted  with 
forlorn  villages  of  people  and  of  ground 
squirrels.  Early  in  the  afternoon,  we 
passed  the  door  of  the  ancient  white  mis- 
sion of  San  Miguel,  a  simple  and  majestic 
monument  of  another  century  and  a  race 
of  heroes.  Entering,  then,  into  a  kinder 
country,  wooded  more  and  more  beauti- 
fully with  great  oaks,  we  were  at  last  at 
Paso  Eobles  Hot  Springs. 

The  afternoon  was  lounged  away  on  the 
broad,  cool  verandas  of  the  hotel  in  rest 
and  grateful  laziness.  The  next  morning, 
in  the  wonderful  healing  waters  of  the 
baths,  we  met  some  true,  generous  Cali- 
fornians,  who  invited  us  to  share  the 
pleasures  of  their  •  touring  car.  Thus  the 
days  that  followed  were  devoted  to  auto- 
mobiling  over  the  splendid  hill  roads, 
through  the  oak  forests,  across  slopes 
golden  with  poppies,  and  through  ravines 
white  with  clematis,  and  past  the  crum- 
bling adobes  of  ancient  haciendas,  to 
Lake  Ysabel,  to  Mission  San  Miguel,  and 
to  Camp  Atascadero,  where  Uncle  Sam's 
military  manoauvres  were  recently  held. 
Often  in  the  woods  of  oaks,  festooned  with 
streamers  of  Spanish  moss,  we  came  upon 
venerable  old  trees  whose  trunks  were  rid- 
dled with  innumerable  little  holes,  each 
just  to  fit  the  acorn  imbedded  in  it,  the 
storehouses  of  the  woodpeckers.  These 
impudent  black  and  white  birds  screamed 
insistently  at  us  their  articulate  call: 
"Get  your  hair  cut !  Get  your  hair  cut  !'* 

After  a  final  bath  in  the  (healthful 
waters,  we  boarded  the  south-bound  train, 
and  were  soon  in  the  heart  of  the  Santa 
Lucia  Mountains.  '  Over  the  Divide,  cross- 
ing and  recrossing  the  wonderful  curves 

19.  San  Miguel   mission. 

20.  San   Miguel   Mission   from   churchyard. 

21.  San   Carlos   Mission. 

22.  Waves  at  Santa  Moinca. 

Putnam    &    Valentine,    Photos,    Los    Angeles. 


334 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


of  the  Loop,  passing  the  State  Polytech- 
nic school,  we  dropped  down'  into  San 
Luis  Obispo,  where,  awaiting  a  delayed 
train,  we  had  an  hour  in  which  to  see  the 
grim  old  mission,  more  fortress  than 
church,  and  some  quaint  adobes  and  gar- 
dens of  the  town. 

En  route  again,  we  came  suddenly  out 
on  a  cliff  right  over  the  ocean  at  Surf. 
How  refreshing  the  water  looked,  and 
how  beautiful !  We  sped  along  the  bluffs 
till  sunset,  then  through  the  olive  orchards 
of  Ellwood  and  walnut  groves  of  Goleta, 
and  into  Santa  Barbara  at  dark,  just  as  a 
rain  began  to  fall,  the  first  in  all  these 
days  of  sunshine. 

The  morning  sky,  however,  was  cloud- 
less, and  the  singing  of  a  pair  of  mocking 
birds  awoke  us  to  a  new  world.  Below 
our  balcony  were  beds  of  heliotrope  and 
roses;  beyond  these,  stately  palms  and  the 
clean,  wet  town;  to  the  south,  the  sea, 
framing  the  distant  Santa  Barbara 
Islands;  and  to  the  north,  the  towering 
wall  of  the  Santa  Ynez  Eange.  That  day 
there  was  a  picturesque  old  mission  to  see, 
and  the  lovely  gardens  and  homes  of 
Santa  Barbara,  and  the  beach,  with  its 
mission  bath  house  and  boulevard  lined 
with  palms.  Then  there  were  exhilarating 
days  on  horseback,  when  we  started  off  in 
the  cool  of  early  morning,  with  luncheon 
tied  to  the  pommels  of  the  saddles, 
through  the  oak-shaded  valley  of  fair 
Montecito,  or  far  into  the  canyons  and 
trails  of  the  Santa  Ynez  Mountains. 

Leaving  Santa  Barbara  at     last,     we 


rode  through  the  pretty  cottage  resort  oi 
Miramar,  in  a  garden  above  the  sea; 
through  Summerland,  with  its  strange 
forest  of  oil  derricks  on  piers  over  the  surf 
pumping  oil  from  below  the  ocean;  then 
along  the  beach  to  San  Buena  Ventura, 
whose  yellow  mission  could  be  seen  from 
the  car  windows.  Late  in  the  morning, 
whirling  through  Chatsworth  tunnels,  we 
emerged  into  the  great  San  Fernando 
Valley,  whose  level  floor  stretched  away  in 
one  vast  sheet  of  color,  here  yellow  or  or- 
ange, there  purple,  blue  or  white,  with 
the  colorings  of  luxuriant  wild  flowers. 

Toward  noon  that  day  we  began  to  feel 
the  nearness  of  a  great  city.  Now  we 
crossed  a  suburban  electric  line,  now 
passed  miles  of  strawberry  fields,  now  an 
immense  pigeonry.  Those  high  hills  on 
the  right,  we  were  told,  were  a  great  wild 
park  owned  by  the  city  of  Los  Angeles, 
and  those  purple  mountains  to  the  left, 
the  Sierra  Madres.  Soon  we  neared  the 
adobes  of  the  old  Spanish  quarter,  now 
could  see  the  forests  of  oil  derricks  on  the 
hills,  now  passed  the  back  door  of  China- 
town, and  in  a  few  minutes  were  amidst 
the  enterprise  and  bustle  of  the  South- 
western metropolis.  That  afternoon  we 
boarded  the  little  incline  car  of  the  An- 
gel's Flight  to  the  summit  of  Third  street 
hill.  Looking  away  to  the  white  summit 
of  Old  Baldy,  to  the  green  hills  of  Pasa- 
dena, to  the  blue  peaks  of  Santa  Catalina 
Island,  we  began  to  realize  that  in  Cali- 
fornia one  is  always  just  commencing  to 
see  things. 


Aft  ftfe 


BY    DONALD    KENNICOTT 


A  DULL  rumble  of  wagon  wheels 
floated  back  through  the  noon-day 
stillness  from  a  pillar  of  chalky 
dust  that  was  moving  slowly  ahead  of  me 
on  the  old  San  Juan  trail;  from  time  to 
time,  a  tiny  spfcar  of  flame,  stabbing 
through  this  cloud  of  dust,  preceded  a 
faint  report,  as  of  a  drawn  cork.  Coming 
nearer,  there  appeared  through  the  white 
haze,  like  a  puppet  behind  a  screen,  the 
silhouette  of  a  man  seated  precariously 
on  a  loaded  wagon,  who  occasionally 
jerked  a  pistol  from  his  breast  and 
flashed  out  a  shot  at  some  impudent  prai- 
rie-dog. As  I  came  alongside,  he  eyed  me 
indifferently  for  a  moment  and  nodded 
without  speaking — a  large  man,  bent 
wearily  over  the  reins;  his  eyes  were  so 
bloodshot  froto  the  biting  alkali  as  to 
show  clear  crimson,  and  the  dust  hung 
thick  and  white  on  his  beard. 

"Good  practice?"  I  asked  him. 

"Beckon  so,"  he  answered  grimly;  "I 
am  aimin'  to  use  it  when  I  get  up  von- 
der." 

He  cut  one  of  the  leaders  savagely  with 
the  long  blacksnake  that  hung  from  his 
wrist,  and  then,  as  he  turned  unsociably 
to  contemplate  the  horizon,  I  rode  on  out 
of  the  dust  away  from  him,  but  for  a  long 
time  the  fading  rumble  of  his  wagon  was 
occasionally  punctuated  by  the  ominous 
report  of  a  pistol. 

"Up  yonder/'  could  be  nowhere  but  my 
own  destination.  "The  Lone  Star  Corral," 
at  the  junction  of  the  San  Juan  trail  with 
the  old  Durango  road.  It  is  known  of  old 
through  the  western  country,  as  one  of 
the  most  famous  of  those  occasional  cara- 
vanserai which  are  called  "free  corrals.'' 
and  serve  to  shelter  the  wayfarer  on  the 
more  traveled  roads.  On  either  side  of 
the  gate  is  a  log  cabin;  in  one  of  them  a 
wizened  old  man,  known  from  the  place 
of  his  nativity  as  <fUvalde."  dwells  in 
continual  somnolence,  only  occasionally 
issuing  forth  for  the  purpose  of  selling 
hay  to  unwary  travelers  at  marvelous 
price?.  In  the  larger  cabin,  these  same 


travelers  are  free  to  cook  their  food  upon 
an  ancient  and  unclean  stove,  to  sleep  on 
the  hay  of  the  somewhat  doubtful  bunks, 
and  to  sit  by  the  open  fire  in  a  sort  of 
alcove,  for  the  purpose  of  telling  and 
hearing  most  unusual  stories  from  fellow 
travelers,  and  from  the  aged  proprietor 
— illuminated,  some  of  these  last,  by  old 
bullet-holes  in  the  walls. 

It  was  close  on  sun-down  when  I  rode 
under  the  swinging  sign  of  the  "Lone 
Star,"  and  after  unsaddling,  carried  my 
blankets  to  the  "camp  house,"  I  found 
the  door  open,  and  a  cloud  of  dust  and 
litter  coming  out  of  it;  from  within  came 
the  sound  of  booted  feet  on  the  boards, 
the  swish  of  a  broom,  and  a  long  roll  of 
fluent  and  unstudied  curses.  This  was 
an  odd  tiling,  and  the  voice  that  cursed 
was  not  that  of  Uvalde,  the  old  man  who 
lived  in  the  opposite  cabin  and  sold  hay 
to  unwary  travelers  at  marvelously  inflated 
prices. 

Presently  there  came  a  final  mighty  bil- 
low of  dust,  and  in  the  doorway  there 
appeared  a  little  man  in  boots,  who 
mopped  his  forehead  and  glared  at  me 
with  a  steady  blue  eye.  The  glare  changed 
quickly  to  a  grin  of  recognition,  and  as  he 
thrust  forth  his  hand,  I  saw  that  it  be- 
longed to  none  other  than  Jordan  Wil- 
liams, a  trader  in  horses — for  the  most 
part  obtained  in  unsanctified  ways — whom 
I  had  last  seen  in  Texas,  near  to  the 
Mexican  line,  and  far  from  a  port  of  any 
entry,  driving  rapidly  northward  a  bunch 
of  ponies  still  wet  from  the  water  of  the 
Eio  Grande.  His  long  gray  mustache 
was  a  little  longer  and  grayer,  and  his 
face  was  even  thinner  than  usual,  but  he 
was  otherwise  unchanged.  He  apologized 
for  the  sweeping:  he  reckoned  Uvalde 
had  been  letting  Indians  into  the  house. 
Then  he  sat  down  on  his  heels  near  the 
doorway  and  rolled  a  cigarette  with  one 
hand,  as  of  old.  This  finished,  he  pointed 
to  some  little  Indian  ponies  that  were 
milling  around  one  of  the  smaller  cor- 
rals, moved  his  arm  in  the  direction  of 


336 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


a  neighboring  Indian  reservation,  and 
spoke  shortly: 

"Monte !     Come  look  at  'em." 

Whereat,  I  understood  that  he  had 
been  base  enough  to  play  Spanish  monte 
with  the  Utes,  and  had  thus  beaten  them 
out  of  some  forty-odd  horses.  We  went 
over  and  sat  on  the  high  fence,  while  I  in- 
spected the  kicking,  biting  crowd  of  half- 
broken  beasts,  and  put  aside  as  gently  as 
might  be  Jordan's  offer  to  sell  me  a  little 
sorrel  broom-tail,  with  capped  hocks.  We 
talked  of  many  things — the  possible  open- 
ing of  the  Uintah  reservation,  the  "find" 
at  Cananea,  the  superiority  of  grama 
grass  to  alfalfa,  and  the  killing  of  the 
land-pirate  on  the  Cimarron.  I  mentioned 
the  freighter  I  had  passed,  and  his  pistol 
practice,  Jordan's  eye  lighted. 

"What  was  he  like  ?"  he  asked. 

I  described  the  man,  and  Jordan 
scowled.  "That's  Turk  McBride,"  he 
said  slowly,  and  then  after  a  moment : 
"It's  a  mighty  poor  deal  that  he's  coming 
here  to-night.  There'll  be  a  killing,  cer- 
tain sure.  It's  Denny  Larkin  he's  pack- 
ing a  gun  for,  and  I  reckon  he'll  get  him, 
too.  It's  too  damn  bad,  though.  There 
ain't  no  harm  in  Denny,  and  he's  been 
sort  of  aimin'  to  get  married  after  this 
trip.  How  far  back  was  it  you  passed 
McBride  ?" 

"Just  this  side  of  the  big  dog-town — 
hauling  flour." 

"And  you  were  riding  like  you  were  on 
another  man's  cayuse,  weren't  you?  It'll 
be  a  good  three  hours  before  he  pulls  in, 
mavbe  so  four.  Denny'll  be  here  in  an 
hour:  that's  his  outfit,  up  there." 

Jordan  raised  his  arm  and  pointed  to  a 
mule  train  that  was  crawling  like  a  ser- 
pent over  the  shoulder  of  Little  Brother 
mountain.  I  asked  him  what  the  affair 
was  about,  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"Tell  you  after  a  while,"  he  said.  "We 
had  better  go  cook  our  chuck  now,  before 
the  other  outfits  pull  in.  They'll  be 
fighting  for  room  on  the  stove  and  hav- 
ing garlic,  too,  like  as  not." 

We  stole  some  of  the  pinon  wood  that 
TJvalde  had  piled  up  for  himself,  made  a 
fire  in  the  stove,  and  adding  my  canned 
tomatoes  and  hard  biscuit  to  the  coffee 
and  villainous  Indian-smoked  mutton 
that  Jordan  produced  from  the  secret 
places  of  his  war-bag,  we  made  out  a 
supper.  Then  we  squatted  on  our  heels 


outside,  to  observe  the  coming  of  our 
fellow  travelers  and  to  blow  a  haze  of 
tobacco  smoke  over  our  weariness.  Jor- 
dan finished  three  cigarettes. 

"About  two  years  ago,"  he  said  then, 
"I  was  breaking  mules  for  old  Abel  Far- 
son,  up  in  the  Uncompahgre  country; 
Turk  McBride  was  there,  too,  freighting 
for  him.  One  day  Larkin  drifted  up  to 
the  house  with  his  tongue  hanging  out 
and  his  belbr  rubbing  up  against  his  back- 
gone,  and  said  he'd  walked  all  the  way 
from  Missouri.  I  reckon  he  had,  mostly 
by  the  look  of  him — thinner'n  a  gutted 
snow-bird.  The  old  man  took  him  on, 
and  sent  Turk  with  him  up  to  the  Flat- 
Tops  to  cut  hay.  In  about  six  weeks  they 
came  back  again,  looking  ready  to  bite  off 
a  horse-shoe,  both  of  them.  It  happens 
that  way  sometimes.  If  two  fellows  don't 
hook  up  well  together,  and  get  coralled 
all  by  themselves,  they  get  to  hating  each 
other  worse  than  two  stalled  stallions. 

"The  old  man  put  Turk  back  to 
freighting  again,  but  Sundays  we'd  all 
have  to  keep  greasing  the  wheels  to  stop 
them  two  boys  from  shooting  each  other 
up.  At  last,  one  day,  Denny  did  drop  a 
bale  of  hay  off  the  wagon  on  top  of  Turk, 
not  exactly  accidental ;  Turk  came  back 
at  him  with  an  irrigating  shovel,  but  the 
old  man  was  there  and  stopped  it  and  fired 
them  both.  Denny  went  to  mule-whack- 
ing for  the  Silver  King  then,  but  before 
he  left,  Turk  swore  right  out  in  the  bunk 
house  that  he  was  going  up  after  Denny 
some  time  and  spoil  him.  That's  all  I've 
seen  of  it,  but  I  met  old  man  Farson  up 
in  Durango  a  piece  back,  and  I  gather  it's 
been  just  a  sort  of  luck  that  them  bovs 
is  above  ground  now.  You  can  see  Denny 
now — on  the  blue  roan." 

The  mule  train  poured  into  the  corral 
with  a  shuffling  rush  of  little  hoofs  and 
a  creaking  of  many  lash-ropes.  Behind 
them,  a  good-looking  youth  rode  up  and 
down,  yelling  and  swinging  a  rope-end. 
He  waved  a  patronizing  salute  to  Jordan, 
and  then  went  on,  driving  his  animals  in- 
to an  inner  corral.  Two  freighting  wag- 
ons and  a  ranchman  from  the  south  came 
in  a  moment  later. 

"That  makes  up  the  Silver  King  out- 
fit," Jordan  remarked.  "Denny  packs 
the  ore  this  far,  and  then  they  haul  it  in 
to  Durango.  The  boy  was  goin'  to  quit 
this  trip  and  marry  his  girl,  and  take  her 


AT  THE  LOXE  STAR  CORRAL. 


337 


back  to  his  folks  in  Missouri — where  he 
belongs.  That's  what  makes  it  so  bad  to 
have  Turk  cross  his  trail  here.  If  it 
weren't  for  that,  he  wouldn't  likely  ever 
see  him  again.  And  Turk  '11  get  him, 
too:  he's  the  shootingest  old  coyote  in  the 
territory.  Xo,  Dennv  won't  have  no  show. 
You  see,  he  hain't  nothing  but  just  a  kid 
and  is  sort  of  young  and  full  of  vinegar, 
and  don't  know  no  better'n  to  be  forever 
projectin'  around  into  trouble.  He's  a 
good  boy,  all  right,  but  he  come  out  here 
with  a  lot  of  woolly  West  notions  that 
he'd  got  out  of  fool  books,  and  thought  it 
was  up  to  him  to  make  a  play  at  being  a 
bad  hombre.  It  was  a  fine  girl  he  was 
ammff  to  get  hooked  up  with,  too.  I 
reckon  she'd  make  a  man  of  him.  A  little, 
slim  girl  with  big1  eyes — Dad  Mason's 
daughter,  up  on  the  Big  Dolores.  Yes, 
sir,  it'll  be  too  damn  bad." 

1  suggested  a  means  of  preventing  the 
affair,  but  Jordan  shook  his  head.  "Won't 
do,"  he  decided.  "We'd  have  to  kill  Turk. 
He  ain't  no  fool-chicken,  and  there's  no 
use  busky-ing  a  fuss  with  him.  Don't 
know  as  we've  any  call  to  mix  up  in  the 
muss  anyhow;  there's  enough  trouble 
comes  to  vou  without  pe-rusin'  around 
after  it." 

Yet  Jordan  was  plainly  troubled,  and 
sat  there  with  me  for  a  long  time  after 
darkness  had  fallen,  tugging  at  his  long, 
gray  mustache,  and  smoking  innumerable 
cigarettes.  Once  he  extracted  a  dark,  slim 
revolver  from  the  waistband  of  his  blue 
overalls,  and  spun  the  cylinder  reflectively. 
Then  he  seized  the  weapon  by  the  barrel 
and  made  a  pass  at  an  imaginary  foe,  but 
he  shook  his  head  again,  and  after  he  had 
restored  the  gun  to  its  place,  thoughtfully 
resumed  the  caressing  of  his  mustache. 

Far  out  in  the  hills  a  wild-cat  screamed 
and  then  broke  into  sobbing  cries  that 
seemed  almost  human. 

"Sounds  a  good  deal  like  a  baby  cry- 
ing," I  observed. 

He  made  no  replv.  but  a  moment  later 
jumped  suddenly  to  his  feet,  and  walking 
swiftly  over  to  the  cabin  of  the  proprie- 
tor, opened  the  door.  "Uvalde,"  I  heard 
him  call  out,  and  then:  "How  far  up  the 
creek  is  that  homesteader's  cabin  from 
here?"  A  moment  afterwards,  I  saw  him 
hastening  toward  the  corrals,  whence  he 
presently  appeared  on  horseback. 

"If  that  freighter  pulls  in  before  I  get 


back,"  he  called  to  me  as  he  passed,  "keep 
him  outside  if  you  have  to  rope  him." 

The  clattering  hoofs  of  his  hard- 
spurred  horse  drowned  by  non-plussed  re- 
ply, and  as  he  disappeared  in  the  darkness, 
1  went  inside.  There  were  nearly  a  dozen 
men  collected  in  the  camp  house.  Two 
prospectors  and  a  cow-puncher  who  had 
come  in  late  were  grouped  about  the  fire- 
place listening  to  Uvalde,  who  had  come 
over  for  the  opportunity  of  recounting  the 
story  of  that  famous  affray,  which  left  the 
bullet  imbedded  in  the  fourth  log  of  the 
west  wall,  and  the  dark  stain  near  one 
edge  of  the  hearthstone.  An  Indian 
trader,  Denny  Larkin  and  two  men  of  the 
freighting  teams  sat  about  a  table,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  delight  of  poker.  Two  or 
three  Mexicans  crouched  on  their  heels  in 
one  corner,  talking  sullenly  among  them- 
selves. 

I  joined  the  group  at  the  feet  of  the 
aged  teller  of  tales,  and  endeavored  to  give 
ear  to  his  saga,  but  all  the  time  I  could 
hear  nothing  but  the  laughter  of  the  boy 
at  the  table,  and  the  imagined  sound  of 
approaching  wagon  wheels.  In  despera- 
tion, at  last,  I  went  out  and  fell  to  pacing 
up  and  down,  trying  to  conjure  up  some 
means  of  keeping  the  freighter  outside. 
Interminably  the  minutes  dragged,  before 
I  really  heard  the  approach  of  his  wagon. 
Afterward,  the  steady  rumble  seemed  like 
the  distant  muttering  of  thunder  that  an- 
nounces a  storm. 

Far  down  the  road  a  faint  blur  appeared 
— gradually  growing  larger  and  n>ore 
definite  until  a  mule  team  that  I  recog- 
nized stopped  before  the  bars  of  the  outer 
gate.  Almost  in  the  same  instant  ^here 
came  a  quick  patter  of  hoofs  from  the 
trail  to  the  west,  and  as  McBride  turned 
to  put  up  the  bars  behind  his  wagon,  a 
man  on  horseback  slipped  past  him,  and 
reined  in  his  gasping  horse  before  the 
door  of  iho  camp-house.  Hold'ng  a  large 
bundle  awkwardly  in  both  arms,  he  slipned 
out  of  the  saddle,  and  calling  to  me: 
"'Turn  out  that  bronc.,  will  you?"  kicked 
open  the  door.  Wondering,  I  led  the  ex- 
hausted beast  to  the  corral  and  unsaddled 
it:  as  I  turned  back  to  the  camp-house, 
the  freighter  was  throwing  his  harness 
over  the  wagon-tongue. 

Inside  the  scene 'had  somewhat  changed ; 
the  story-teller  was  silent,  the  poker  game 
was  abandoned,  and  the  men  stood  un- 


338 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


easily  about  the  room,  watching  Jordan 
Williams. 

On  the  now  forsaken  card  table  the 
p-entle  horse  trader  was  seated,  cradling  in 
his  arms  a  tiny  three  year  old  girl,  who 
blinked  up  at  him  with  wide,  frightened 
eyes,  and  seemed  barely  diverted  from 
tears  by  the  hoarse  chant,  which  he  evi- 
dently intended  as  a  lullaby.  A  bit  of 
white  night-dress  showed  from  under  the 
blanket  in  which  she  was  wrapped,  and 
her  hair  clustered  about  her  face  in  brown, 
tousled  ringlets. 

Suddenly  the  door  behind  me  was  flung 


open,  and  the  freighter  marched  into  the 
room,  his  right  hand  held  behind  him.  One 
step  inside,  and  then  he  stopped  abruptly, 
as  if  he  had  barely  caught  himself  on  the 
edge  of  an  abyss.  For  a  moment  he  stood 
absolutely  motionless,  his  red,  inflamed 
eyes  wandering  from  the  boy  who  stood 
irresolute  before  the  fireplace,  to  the  child 
under  the  lantern. 

"Just  dropped  in  to  say  good  evening," 
he  said  at  last  with  an  embarrassed  air. 
"Got  my  bed  made  down  in  the  wagon." 
He  turned  on  tiptoe  and  closed  the  door 
very  softly  behind  him. 


BY    HARLEY    R.    WILEY 

When  the  shadow  curtain  falls, 
Where  the  sylvan  outer  walls 
Guard  from  sight  our  sacred  halls — 

Refuge  from  the  weary  quest, 
Like  the  stars  that  peer  between 
Through  the  living,  blowing  green, 
Signal  lights  in  hands  unseen 

Wave  us  to  our  shrine  of  rest. 

Joy  imprisoned  seeks  release, 
Grim  vexation  finds  surcease 
In  these  fastnesses  of  peace 

When  the  doors  behind  us  meet; 
Down  the  stream  of  night  and  song 
Drifting  restfully  along 
Every  heart  grows  warm  and  strong 

And  the  tides  of  life  more  sweet. 

We  are  kings  within  these  bowers, 
Eor  the  trees  and  grass  and  flowers 
With  the  moon  and  stars  are  ours, 

Every  gift  that  Heaven  sends; 
Royally  our  smoke  uplifts 
In  fraternal,  loving  drifts, 
For  its  circling,  halo  rifts 

Frame  the  faces  of  our  friends. 


Ina  Coolbrith. 


BY    KATE    M.    KENNEDY 


THE  name  of  Ina  Coolbrith,  like  the 
name  of  the  elder  writers  of  Cali- 
fornia, Bret  Harte,  Mark  Twain, 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  Xoah  Brooks  and 
such  sweet  singers  as  Joaquin  Miller  and 
Markham,  is  indissolubly  linked  with  the 
Overland  Monthly,  and  part  and  parcel  of 
its  history.    The  Overland  Monthly  is  the 
mother  of  all  the  virile  and  living  litera- 
ture of  the  West. 

It  has  always  been  the  exponent  of  all 
that  is  the  best  and  the  strongest  in  the 
West,  and  it  is  Californian  to  the  core. 
The  Overland  Monthly  has  ever  followed 
the  original  line  of  thought  of  the  first 
publishers,  and  it  is  and  has  been  "devoted 
to  the  development  of  the  country,"''  to  the 


Wesfs  literature,  to  Californian  art,  and 
to  the  industries  by  the  Western  Sea,  and 
always  it  has  been  held  clear  of  any  en- 
tanglement that  might  construe  it  as  using 
the  public's  patriotism  and  favor  for  the 
benefit  of  any  special  interests.  It  is 
purely  a  literary  magazine,  and  "Ina 
Coolbrith  Day''  could  not  have  been  held 
without  mention  of  the  Overland  Monthly, 
and,  indeed,  it  is  doubted  if  any  celebra- 
tion commemorative  of  any  author  who 
has  achieved  in  this  Western  land  could  be 
held,  without  mention  of  the  great  Western 
magazine  as  the  first  step-stone  to  success 
and  fame. 

"Ina  Coolbrith  Day"  should  be  made  a 
permanent  affair  in  California  (a  special 


340 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


school  function  for  the  purpose  of  per- 
petuating the  works  of  the  author),  and 
to  create  a  living  memorial  in  the  mind  of 
the  school  children  so  that  the  fame  of 
a  worker,  who  labored  because  of  the  love 
of  humanity  and  with  no  hope  of  earthly 
reward,  may  be  handed,  from  generation 
to  generation,  to  the  Californians  of  the 
future,  that  the  wonderful  legend  of  the 
giants  of  the  State's  early  history  and 
their  herculean  achievements  may  remain 
forever  enshrined  in  their  hearts.  The 
Californians  of  to-day  are  under  obliga- 
tions to  Ina  Coolbrith,  and  Californians 
are  not  ungrateful. — Editor. 


The  movement  to  rebuild  the  home  of 
"The  sweet  singer  of  the  Golden  Gate"  has 
touched  a  responsive  chord  in  the  heart  of 
every  loyal  Californian. 

The  lecture  given  by  George  Wharton 
James,  "The  Spinner's  Book,"  to  be  pub- 
lished early  in  the  spring,  and  the  plan 
suggested  by  Joaquin  Miller  for  an  appeal 
to  the  Legislature  on  behalf  of  the  poetess, 
who  has  done  more,  perhaps,  to  proclaim 
to  the  world  the  beauties  of  our  Golden 
State  than  any  other,  have  given  this 
movement  the  impetus  needed  to  push  to- 
ward a  successful  termination  this  laud- 
able undertaking,  but  it  remained  for  the 
Department  of  Literature  of  the  Woman's 
Club  of  San  Jose  to  take  the  initiative  in 
a  real  "Coolbrith  Day,"  which  for  interest 
and  originality  it  would  be  difficult  to 
surpass.  Every  number  on  the  programme 
was  written  especially  for  the  occasion. 
Miss  Coolbrith's  poems  were  set  to  music, 
and  a  fine  address  was  given  upon  the 
"Overland  Group."  Original  poems  from 
the  length  and  breadth  of  California  were 
dedicated  to  the  beloved  poetess.  These 
tributes,  mounted  and  exquisitely  deco- 
rated in  water  colors  by  a  local  artist, 
were  bound  together  with  a  golden  cord 
into  a  dainty  "Valentine-Brochure," 
which,  accompanied  by  a  substantial 
check,  was  placed  in  "Queen  Ina's"  hands 
— a  love  offering  from  her  loyal  subjects. 

George  Wharton  James  sent  the  dedi- 
cation all  the  way  from  New  York.  Joa- 
quin Miller  sent  greetings  from  the 
Heights.  Charles  Warren  Stoddard  a 
message  from  Monterey.  George  Sterling 
a  tribute  from  Carmel-by-the-Sea.  Her- 
bert Bashford  a  quatrain  from  Oakland. 
Charles  Keeler  a  loving  message  from 


Berkeley.  Clarence  Urmy,  Dr.  Henry 
Meade  Bland,  John  E.  Eichards,  Carrie 
Stevens  Walter,  Fred  Lewis  Foster,  Mira 
Abbott  Maclay,  S.  Estelle  Greathead,  all 
of  San  Jose,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W,.  C.  Mor- 
row, and  many  others,  added  words  of 
love  and  appreciation.  Dainty  souvenirs 
of  the  occasion,  appropriately  decorated 
with  "La  Copa  de  Oro,"  were  distributed, 
and  a  generous  loving  cup  conveniently 
placed  for  all  "love  offerings." 

Standing  room  was  at  a  premium,  and 
intense  attention  was  manifested  for  more 
than  two  hours.  The  programme  was  as 
follows : 

Greetings  from  Joaquin  Miller,  read 
by  Mrs.  Viola  Price  Franklin,  Chairman 
of  the  day.  Original  Poems — Dr.  Henry 
Meade  Blatnd,  Dr.  Robert  Mclntyre, 
Charles  Warren  Stoddard.  Miss  Cool- 
brith's poems,  "San  Francisco"  and  "In 
Blossom  Time,"  read  by  Miss  Esther  Ma- 
comber.  Vocal  Solo — "Quest,"  words  by 
Miss  Coolbrith,  music  by  Thomas  V.  Ga- 
tor, Jr.,  sung  by  Chester  Herrold.  Ad- 
dress— "The  Overland  Group,"  with  ori- 
ginal poem,  "The  Builders,"  Hon.  John 
E.  Richards.  Original  Poems — Jessie 
Juliet  Knox,  Carrie  Stevens  Walter,  Dr. 
Ramond  M.  Alden.  Miss  Coolbrith's 
poems,  "When  the  Grass  Shall  Cover 
Me"  and  "Copa  de  Oro,"  read  by  Miss 
Macomber.  Music — Vocal  solos  (a)  "In 
Blossom  Time,"  (b)  "A  Love  '  Song," 
words  by  Miss  Coolbrith,  music  by  Miss 
Gertrude  Trace,  sung  by  Miss  Nella 
Rogers.  Short  history  of  "Valentine-Bro- 
chure," with  readings  from  contributions, 
Bashford,  Sterling,  Gifford  Hall  and 
others,  by  Mrs.  W.  C.  Kennedy.  Poem  by 
Clarence  Urmy,  read  by  Mrs.  J.  E.  Rich- 
ards. Artist — Mrs.  Elva  Sawyer  Cure- 
ton. 

The  contents  of  this  little  booklet  will 
be  of  especial  interest  to  Miss  Coolbrith's 
friends  and  admirers.  The  dedication  is 
written  by  George  Wharton  James,  of 
Pasadena,  but  comes  from  New  York, 
where  he  is  lecturing: 

"New  York,  Feb.  5,  1907. 

"To  Ina  D.  Coolbrith— Sweet  Song- 
ster of  California  and  the  English-speak- 
ing World:  It  is  with  a  gladsome  heart 
I  write  this  dedication  of  the  following 
pages  to  you,  the  gracious  queen  of  the 
Golden  State  Trinity.  Bret  Harte  wrote 


"IN A  COOLBEITH  DAY.' 


341 


inimitably  of  the  mines  and  miners,  a 
transient  phase  of  early  California  life 
— Charles  Warren  Stoddard  wrote  and 
writes  beautifully  his  idylls  of  the  South 
Seas  and  Missions,  but  you  wrote  out  of 
a  full  heart  of  the  permanent  things  of 
California  life — the  birds,  the  buds,  the 
blossoms,  the  bees,  the  mountains,  the 
sea,  and  all  the  things  of  nature,  as  well 
as  of  the  life  of  women  and  men. 

"You  sang  as  the  mocking  bird  sang, 
because  you  could  not  help  it,  and  you 
sang  sweet  and  pure  and  true;  hence  you 
have  been  a  glory  and  an  inspiration.  A 
glory  because  you  were  ours,  of  us,  and 
we  of  you,  and  the  glory  that  came  to  you 
came  to  us.  An  inspiration  because  you 
set  before  us  a  banquet  of  the  highest, 
truest,  purest,  noblest  and  best  How 
could  we  do  other  than  our  best  with  your 
example  before  us? 

"So  with  thankful  and  grateful  hearts 
we  send  you  this  tribute  of  our  affection. 
We  love  you  for  the  work  you  have  done; 
we  revere  you  for  the  goodness  you  have 
shown  to  the  needy  and  to  all  who  have 
come  to  you;  we  sorrow  with  you  for  the 
afflictions  that  have  burdened  you;  we 
triumph  with  you  for  what  you  have 
achieved:  we  thank  you  for  the  example 
you  have  set  us;  we  sympathize  with  }"ou 
for  the  loss  of  your  manuscript,  your  pic- 
tures, your  autographs,  your  library,  your 
everything  of  worldly  possessions,  and 
again,  we  love  you  for  yourself,  for  what 
you  are.  May  the  God  of  Peace  give  you 
comfort  in  all  the  latter  years  we  hope 
He  will  spare  you  to  spend  with  us ;  may 
your  pen  still  be  wielded  with  vigor  and 
purpose,  so  that  more  of  your  sweet 
songs  may  inspire  us  with  their  beauty 
and  power:  and  may  "your  last  days  be 
your  best  days,'  surrounded  by  the  love 
of  true  friends,  who  will  value  your 
peace  and  comfort  as  a  great  treasure  to 
be  prized,  and  who  will  smooth  away 
every  wrinkle  of  care  and  distress  from 
your  brow.  All  this  out  of  a  full  heart — 
poorly  expressed  but  sincere.  I  speak 
for  the  Department  of  Literature  of  the 
S.  J.  W.  C.,  the  friends  who  have  aided 
them  in  this  love-offering'  and  myself. 

"Your   ever   loving   friend, 
"GEOKGE   WHARTOX  JAMES." 

Greetings   from  Joaquin  Miller: 
"My   Dear   Mrs.    Franklin:  *  *  *  not 


answer  your  other  letters  because  they 
got  buried  under  heaps;  and  I  am  only 
now  disposing  half  a  year's  accumulation 
in  my  absence. 

"As  for  a  poem  to  Miss  Coolbrith  let 
me  confess  frankly,  I  am  not  equal  to  do- 
ing her  half-way  justice.  Her  whole  life 
has  been  a  poem;  a  sweet,  pathetic  poem. 
Aye,  more  than  that,  it  has  been  a  piteous 
tragedy.  Broken  on  the  wheel  of  misfor- 
tune at  Los  Angeles,  she  bravely  dared 
San  Francisco,  to  help  Bret  Harte  on  his 
Overland,  then  her  invalid  mother  at  her 
side,  then  her  dying  sister  in  Los  An- 
geles to  help,  then  her  dead  sister's  child- 
ren to  educate  and  rear  as  her  own.  God, 
how  she  toiled  and  how  she  must  have 
suffered  with  all  her  poetic  sensibility! 
Yet  she  ever  had  a  smile  and  a  word 
of  faith,  hope  and  charity  for  all.  And 
we  all  clung  to  her  and  all  looked  up  to 
her,  helpless  girl  as  she  was,  and  all 
the  strong  men  of  the  time,  dead  and  gone 
now,  looked  up  to  the  lone,  weak  woman, 
as  to  some  superior  being,  and  so  I 
reckon  she  surely  was — still  is. 

"I  recall  that  when  Whittier  published 
his  'Songs  of  Three  Centuries,'  he  said 
the  best  poem  in  his  collection  was 
'When  the  Grass  Shall  Cover  Me.'  This 
was  the  work  of  modest,  simple-souled 
Miss  Ina  Coolbrith.  Of  all  who  gathered 
around  Bret  Harte  she  was  the  best,  yet 
the  last,  to  claim  recognition. 

"Tf  ever  this  nation  is  half-way  civil- 
ized, each  State  will  step  forth  proudly 
and  pay  some  solid  tribute  to  those  who 
have,  like  Miss  Coolbrith,  celebrated  its 
glory,  with  pay  and  pension  equal  at  least 
to  that  of  an  honored  soldier. 

"And  this  centennial  of  Poet  Longfel- 
low is  a  good  time  to  begin  it.  And  this 
great  State  a  good  place  to  begin  it  in. 
And  the  present — now — is  the  fit  time; 
Ina  D.  Coolbrith  the  fit  subject.  Let 
grand  old  California  have  the  glory  of 
breaking  the  first  ground.  There  is  not 
a  man,  woman  or  child  in  the  United 
States  who  would  not  expect  to  see  Cali- 
fornia pay  this  tribute,  long  past  due, 
to  this  divine  woman.  And  tears  of  joy 
would  come  to  thousands  and  thousands 
in  California  to  see  it  done.  Please  say 
this  much  for  me,  and  let  me  assume  all 
the  responsibility.  With  great  respect 
and  love  to  you  and  to  yours. 

'  "JOAQUIX  MILLER." 


342 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Mr.  Charles  Warren  Stoddard,  another 
friend  of  Miss  Coolbrith's  early  Overland 
days,  sent  the  following  beautiful  poem: 

TWILIGHT. 

Out  through  the  mists  and  vapors 
The  wreaths  of  cloud  and  the  rings, 
Sunlight  has  flown  like  a  butterfly, 
Brushing  the  gold  from  his  wings. 

Twilight   is   coming  and   folding 
Our  troubles  away,  ana  our  woes 
Are  hushed  in  the  cool,  fragrant  shadows 
Like  bees  in  the  heart  of  a  rose. 


George  Stirling  sends  these  lines  from 
Carmel-by-the-Sea : 

Now  stir  the  blossoms  in  the  grass; 
But,  oh!  the  fadeless  flower*  you  bring 
Are  children  of  a  wilder  spring 
And  pass  not  though  the  seasons  pass. 

Their  breath  along  the   Singing  Way 
Is  more  of  rapture  than  of  rest. 
The   undeparting   blossoms    attest 
What  rains  and  winds  of  yesterday! 


Herbert     Bashford     contributes      this 
dainty  quatrain: 

INA  COOLBRITH. 

A  clear,  white  flame  illumes  her  song, 
The  love  of  Truth,  the  hate  of  Wrong; 
'Tis   like   r.    star  wheroin   v>;   see 
The  fire  of  immortality. 

With  best  wishes, 

HERBERT  BASHFORD. 
Oakland,  January  28,  1907. 


Mrs.  Carrie  Stevens  Walter  in  the  fol- 
lowing tribute,  refers  to  Bret  Harte : 

Long  years  ago,  while  yet  my  eyes 

I  shaded  from   the  dazzling  light 
Of  one  beloved  sun  star  that  shed 

His  kingly  radiance  on  my  sight, 
You  came  within  the  scintillant  sphere 

Of    aureole    light    enfolding    him, 
And  then  two  stars  together  sang, 
Clear,  sweet,  upon  Dawn's  whitening  rim, 
He  faded  from  our  sky,  but  you 

Staid  singing  still,  with  stronger  tone; 
Our  homes  were  yours,  our  gods,  our  hearts', 

And  you  are   California's   own. 
Then  let  me — least  of  all  the  lights 

Of   California's   minstrelsy, 
Greet  you  for  her,  and  give  you  hail! 

Our  morning  star  of  Poesy. 


SINGER  OF  POPPIES. 

In  gardens  gilded  neither  gold  nor  red, 
On  hillside  blooming  or  in  hollow  vale 

That   stretches   as   a   carpet   overspread, 

Sun-clothed,   dew-spangled   in  an  Orient   mafl, 

With   opalescent   splendors   strewed   along — 
I  welcome  with  the  poppies  their  own  queen, 


As  royally  she  comes  the  Bride  of  Song; 

A  livery  bright  with  gold  and  silver  sheen, 

With  dewy  rims  on  all  their  petals'   shields 
For  her  their  queen  they  rally  round  about 
In  loyalty  attuned  with  tiny  shout — 

Her  soldiers,  heroes  of  a  thousand  fields. 

EDWIN  COOLIDGE. 


Hon.  John  E.  Richards  delivered  the 
following  address: 

"The  year  1868 — the  Annus  Mirabilus 
of  the  sixties — was  the  most  wonderful 
year  of  the  second  decade  of  our  State 
history. 

"The  Civil  War  was  over  and  the 
echoes  of  its  dissension  were  being 
drowned  in  the  surges  of  the  revival  of 
industrial  energy  that  swept  over  the 
country.  Its  high  tide  rolled  over  the 
hills  and  valleys  of  our  great  State. 
Cities  sprang  into  being  where  once  had 
been  the  villages  of  the  ground  squirrel 
and  the  owl,  and  the  midnight  rendezvous 
of  the  coyote.  The  stream  of  the  seekers 
after  the  gold  of  the  new  land  had  turned 
from  its  mines  and  spread  over  its  fer- 
tile plains,  where  they  found  anew  the 
treasure  which  they  sought,  in  the  gold  of 
ripening  fruit  and  grain. 

"The  great  railroad  builders,  at  whose 
head  moved  a  master  genius  of  finance, 
had  spread  long  lines  of  steel  through 
California,  and  with  almost  superhuman 
energy  had  mounted  the  snowy  Sierras 
and  laid  there  tracks  to  Ogden,  where 
they  were  met  by  an  equal  enterprise, 
headed  by  Cyrus  W.  Field,  and  there  the 
two  forces  united,  forming  the  great 
overland  railway. 

"This  was  a  great  year  for  California. 
San  Francisco,  purged  and  redeemed 
from  the  crudity  and  civil  disorder  of 
a  frontier  community,  was  beginning  to 
read  her  splendid  destiny  in  the  eyes  of 
all  the  Western  stars.  It  was  the  year 
of  abundant  harvests;  it  was  the  year 
of  the  first  great  earthquake;  it  was  the 
year  in  which  the  Overland  Magazine  was 
born, 

"This,  however,  was  not  the  beginning 
of  California's  intellectual  endeavor.  The 
legal,  moral,  religious  and  literary  foun- 
dations had  alreadv  been  laid  by  such 
men  as  Peter  H.  Burnett,  our  first  Gov- 
ernor; Colonel  E.  D.  Baker,  the  eloquent 
champion  of  freedom;  Stephen  J.  Field, 
the  master  genius  of  legislation  and  juris- 


"INA  COOLBRITH  DAY.' 


343 


pruueucr,  and  Thomas  Starr  King,  the 
grand  high  priest  and  apostle  of  religion 
and  the  inspirer  of  youth  to  every  form 
of  noble  intellectual  and  moral  endeavor. 
These  laid  the  foundations  of  our  com- 
monwealth in  the  basic  principles  of  re- 
ligion, liberty  and  law. 

"There  had  also  been  previous  spo- 
radic instances  of  intellectual  progress 
and  literary  genius  in  such  publications 
as  the  Golden  Era,  The  Californian,  the 
Sacramento  Union  and  May  Wentworth's 
'Poetrv  of  the  Pacific.' 

''But  the  Overland,  born  opportunely, 
gathered  to  itself  a  coterie  of  literary  men 
and  women  the  like  of  which  the  history 
of  literature  had  never  seen. 

"Let  us  look  at  its  first  issue,  but  be- 
fore doing  so  let  us  turn  to  its  editorial 
announcement,  its  salutatory,  so  to  speak, 
and  for  an  answer  to  the  question  'Why 
the  Overland?'  It  is  Bret  Harte's  own 
facile  pen  which  furnished  the  reply.  Af- 
ter reviewing  other  suggested  titles  such 
as  Pacific,  Hesperian,  Western,  Sundown, 
California,  etc.,  and  rejecting  them  as 
pedantic  or  hackneyed,  or  not  sufficiently 
distinctive,  he  refers  to  the  completion  of 
the  Overland  Eailroad,  to  the  changes  in 
travel  and  traffic  it  would  accomplish, 
and  he  then  goes  on  to  say: 

'"Why  Overland'  Monthly?  Where 
our  people  travel,  that  is  the  highway  of 
our  thought.  Will  the  trains  be  freighted 
only  with  merchandise  and  shall  we  ex- 
change nothing  but  goods?  Will  not  our 
civilization  gain  by  the  subtle  inflowing 
current  of  Eastern  refinement,  and  shall 
we  not  by  the  same  channel  throw  into 
Eastern  exclusiveness  something  of  our 
own  breadth  and  liberality?  And  if  so, 
what  could  be  more  appropriate  for  the 
title  of  a  literary  magazine  than  to  call  it 
after  this  broad  highway?' 

"Having  thus  found  the  reason  for  the 
name  of  the  Overland,  let  us  look  at  its 
title  plage  to  find  if  we  can  its  motto  and 
purpose.  We  find  it:  'Devoted  to  the  De- 
velopment of  the  country.'  This,  then, 
was  the  purpose  to  which  the  brilliant  in- 
tellects, the  gifted  minds,  the  resolute 
hearts  of  its  group  of  writers  were  to  de- 
vote their  energies." 

Mr.  Richards  then  gave  the  contents  of 
the  first  number  of  the  Overland  Maga- 
2ine,  published  July,  1868 : 


"Longing,"   Ina  D.   Coolbrith. 

'•A  Breeze  from  the  Woods,"  W.  0. 
Bartlett,  Governor. 

"By  Rail  Through  France,"  Mark 
Twain. 

"Portland,  on  the  Willamette,"  M.  P. 
Deadv. 

"In  the  Sierras,"  C.  W.  Stoddard. 

"The  Diamond  Maker  of  Serambo," 
Xoah  Brooks. 

"Family  Resemblances  and  Differ- 
ences," John  F.  Swift. 

"San  Francisco,"  by  Bret  Harte. 

'•Favoring  Female  Conversationalism," 
T.  H.  Reardon. 

The  first  and  last  verses  of  Miss  Cool- 
brith's  poem,  "Longing,"  her  earliest  con- 
tribution to  the  Overland,  was  then  read 
by  the  speaker,  as  follows: 

Oh,   foolish  wisdom  taught  in  books, 
Oh,    aimless   fret  of  household  tasks; 

Oh,  chains  that  bind  the  hand  and  mind, 
A  fuller  life  my  spirit  asks. 

So  I,   from  out  these  toils  wherein 

The  Eden  faith  grows  stained  and  dim, 

Would  walk,  a  child,  through  nature's  wild, 
And  hear  his  voice  and  answer  him. 

Mr.  Richards  then  referred  to  the  later 
writers  who  came  to  join  the  brilliant 
group:  Joaquin  Miller,  Henry  George, 
Edward  Rowland  Sill,  D.  C.  Gilman, 
John  Muir,  Joseph  Le  Conte,  and  still 
later  Edwin  Markham.  John  Vance 
Cheney,  Charles  S.  Greene,  P.  N.  Berin- 
ger,  Rounsvelle  Wildman  and  others, 
among  whom  he  referred  to  in  terms  of 
delicate  and  yet  glowing  compliment  to 
Clarence  Urm}r  and  Carrie  Stevens  Wal- 
ter. He  then  recited  the  touching  and 
tender  verses  in  which  Ina  Coolbrith 
wove  a  wreath  of  bay  and  cypress  to  lay 
upon  the  bier  of  her  beloved  friend  and 
fellow-worker,  Edward  Rowland  Sill.  The 
speaker  closed  his  address  with  a  fine  and 
strong-  peroration  devoted  to  the  real 
builders  of  our  State,  the  workers,  not  in 
wood  and  stone,  but  in  thoughts  and  on 
their  noble  and  enduring  expression,  de- 
claring that  these  should  endure  when 
earthquake,  fire  or  the  crumbling  decay 
of  time  had  reduced  all  merely  material 
monuments,  the  palaces  and  temples 
reared  bv  wealth  or  pride,  to  shapeless 
ruin  and  forgotten  dust.  The  orator 
closed  by  reciting  his  poem,  written  for 
the  occasion,  entitled: 


344  OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 

THE    BUILDERS. 

Who  built  the  fabric  of  our  State? 

Who  reared  the  Temple  of  her  Fame? 
Who  are  the  great,  the  truly  great, 

Whose   deeds   the   ages   shall   proclaim? 

Behold  the  builders  and  the  work  they  wrought! 

Baker,   the  voice  divine  in  Freedom's  cause; 
And  field,   the  'master  architect  of  laws, 

And  King,   the  star- crowned  king  of  noble  thought. 

These  laid  the  rock  foundations,  deep  and  strong, 
Whereon  the  toilers  wrought,   the  structure  rose, 

With  walls  and   colonnades  of  stately  prose 
And  minarets  and  towers  of  glorious  song. 

Behold  the  builders,  working  each  his  will, 

In  verse  of  story,  limned  with  raiest  art- 
Twain,    Stoddard,   Markham,   Atherton   and  Harte, 

The  rugged  Miller  and  the  cultured   Sill. 

And  lo!  among  the  rest  their  work  adorning, 

Walked  one  of  gentle  and  unstudied  grace, 
Who  wrought  all  day  with  ever-upturned  face, 

And  song  more  clear  than  meadow  lark's  at  morning. 

Sing  on,  O  Sweet  Musician,  sing  again! 

The  builders  pause  and  cluster  closely  round  you; 
And,  while  with  love  wreaths  they  have  bound  and  crowned  you, 

They  listen,  breathless,  for  another  strain! 

These  build  the  fabric  of  our  State, 

And  rear  the  Temple  of  her  Fame; 
These  are  the  great,  the  truly  great, 

Whose  deeds  the  ages  shall  proclaim. 

SONNET   TO    INA   COOLBRITH. 
O  that  my  pen  were  golden,   like   thine  own! 

Dipped  in  the  amber   "vintage  of  the  sun," 

That   thine   own   poppies   hold   and   over-run; 
Then  might  I  reach,  with  winged  words  the  throne, 
Up  golden  sunset  halls,   where  high  and  lone, 

Thy  elfin  muse  Apollo's  laurels  won. 

But  scarce  hath  my  frail  mortal  hand  begun 
To  trace  faint  lines,   my  lute  breathe  minor  tone; 
Yet,  haply,  native  of  thy  Western  skies, 

My  life  hath  drunk  thy  inspiration  long, 

And  thy  sweet  hymning  woke  its  melodies, 
Till  fuller  heart  needs   find   response   in   song. 

0  wake  thy  sun-kissed  lyre  with  touch  of  old! 

1  pledge  thee  in  thy  magic  "cup  of  gold!" 

Fruitvale,   Jan.   28,   1907.  DORA   L.   CURETON. 

TO    INA    COOLBRITH— GREETING.  BEHIND    THE    CLOUD. 

A.  lark  on  joyous  pinion,   soaring,  When   all   is   darkness,    one   bright   star. 

Shadow,   cloud   and   mist  above,  When  all  is  grief,  still  friendship's  faith 

To  the  heart  of  earth  from  her  own  outpouring  That  seeks  and  grasps  the  tangible, 

Its   heavenly  song-borne  gift   of  love.  Beyond  the  seeming  wraith. 
And  a  little  brown  sparrow  under  the   eaves, 

Full  joy  of  that  flight  and  that  song  receives.  Oh,  mourner  of  "The  dear  dead  past," 

*****  Oh,   yearner  for  "The  days  that  were." 

O'er  the  desolation,  horror  haunted,  Look  for   the  present's   human   heart 

Above  the  terror,  loss  and  pain.  Where   it   should   be — 'tis    there. 
Like  the  Phoenix  of  old  she  mounts   undaunted 

To  give  us  that  song  of  love  again.  Fainting  ye  tread  the  gloomy  path 

And  the  little  brown  sparrow  under  the  eaves  That  leadeth  through  the  vale  of  tears; 

Sends  this  greeting  a  grateful   memory  weaves.  Behold  the  fear  that  grips  your  soul 

FRANCIS  MAY  FORBES.  Is  but  the  fear  of  fears. 

San  Jose,  1907.     Oakland,   1885.  GIFFORD  HALL. 


"IXA  COOLBKITH  DAY."  345 

TRIBUTE    OF    INA    COOLBRITH. 

Shall  I,   a  lowly  singer  of  the  West, 

Dare  add  my  blossom  to  the  beauteous  wreath 

Of  Love,  of  which  we  gladly  crown  the  Queen? 

The  California  Queen  of  Poesy? 

To  Ina,  daughter  of  Olympian  gods 

I  bring  my  gift — the  fragrant  rose  of  love, 

And  place  it  in  the  hand  that  held  the  pen — 

The  pen  which  scattered  to  the  saddened  world 

The  radiant  thoughts  which   thrilled   through  every  heart, 

And  made  men  better,  and  their  lives  more  pure. 

Fame   crowned   her  when   the   red,   red   rose  of  Youth 

Outflung  its  crimson  banners  on  her  cheeks, 

And  flamed  upon  her  lips,  and  in  her  heart, 

And  with  her  magic  pen  she  touched  the  soul, 

And  glorified  life's  visions  with  her  Art. 

And  this   her  home — this  golden  land  of  ours, 

The  spot  she  loved;  the  place  of  which  she  sang; 

"The  fruit  upon  the  hills — the  waving  trees, 

And  mellow  fields  of  harvest"  and  the  Gate 

Of  Gold,  that  led  into  our  opal  sea 

Whose  white  spray  dashed  upon   the  silvery  cliff 

At  the  great  city's  edge,  wherein  she  dwelt. 

Its  throbbing  life  and  wealth  of  tropic  bloom — 

She  loved  them  all,  and  reveled  in  their  light. 

Inblown  upon  her  listening  soul  she  heard 

The  melody  of  other  happy  worlds, 

Fame,  roses,  love — with  all  their  happy  dreams 

Were  hers,   for  Art  knows  never  any  age. 

She  loved  the  great  cool  canyons  and  the  glades, 

Where  greening  ferns  upthrust  their  dainty  heads, 

And  wild  aeolus  moving  in  the  boughs 

Of  the  vast  redwoods  was  to  her  a  hymn 

Of  praise  to  the  great  artist  of  it  all. 

Blue  vi'lets  peeping  from  their  nests  of  green 

Inspired  her  poet's  soul  to  nobler  things. 

STie  loved  the  sea  and  shore — the  azure  sky, 

The  fertile  soil,  and  all  the  fruits  it  bore. 

She  sang  her  praises  of  this  golden  land 

That  all  the  list'ning  world  might  know  and  hear. 

The  virtues  of  our  great  and  wondrous  clime 

In  fair  word  pictures  rippled  from  her  pen, 

That  men  might  see  and  know,  and  knowing,  love. 

But  now  her  household  gods  are  shattered,   all, 

Her  loved  home,  wherein  she  wrote  and  dreamed, 

All— all  have  vanished,  and  the  spot  she  knew 

Is  now  a  heap  of  ashes,  nothing  more. 

The  sweet  mementoes  of  her  earlier  days 

The  word  of  praise  from  poets,  world -renowned, 

The  pictured  features  of  earth's  greatest  men; 

The  cheering  words  from  many  a  gifted  pen, 

The  books — Ah,  me!   the  books,  loVed  best  of  all! 

Sent  by  the  one  who  wrote  them.     Who  can  e'er 

Replace  them,  or  their  treasured  niches  fill? 

The  great  Red  Dragon,  with  his  cruel  breath, 

Has  scattered  to  the  four  winds  of  the  earth 

Their  countless  wonders,   and  their  priceless  charm. 

And  they  have  Banished  with  the  city  vast, 

The  City  Beautiful,  that  is  no  more. 

But  love  will  build  a  home  upon  the  hills, 

Which  will   arise  with   the  new   city's  birth, 

For  this  sweet  singer  of  our  golden  land, 

And  she  will  thrill  again  the  listening  world. 

Not  quite  the  same  old  home,  alas!  but  one 

Where  she  can  sit  and  sing,  serene  and  calm, 

Dwelling  in  Memory's  radiant,  rose-crowned  land, 

Secure  from   all   the  bitter  winds   that  blow. 

So,  to  Love's  wreath  I  add  my  simple  rose, 

And  may  its  meaning  sweet  to  her  unclose, 

My  fragrant  messenger  of  peace  and  rest; 

And  I— a  lowly  singer  of  the  West.  —JESSIE  JULIET  KNOX. 


346  OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 

TO    INA   COOLBRITH,   THE   SAPHO    OF   THE   WESi. 

She  caught  the  liquid  cadence  of  the  carol  of  the  thrush, 

Hid  in  the  solemn  silence  of  the  tall  Sequoia  trees, 
Where  through  the  dim  recesses  of  the  cedars'  holy  hush, 

The  priestly  winds  were  chanting  their  primeval   litanies. 
And  up  the  snowy  pinnacles,  that  rear  their  mighty  line, 

Her  spirit  sped  exultant,  as  a  lark  soars  from  its  nest, 
To  read  the  hieroglyphics,  written  in  the  script  of  pine, 

And  bring  us  back  the  messages,  Our  Sapho  of  the  West.  » 

The  lure  of  moonlit  seas  she  loved,  the  love  of  deserts  learned, 

The  voice  of  cascades  in  the  night,  called  her  familiar  wise, 
And  when  in  crimson  sunsets,  all  the  towers  of  Ilium  burned, 

She  read  for  those  who  listened,  the  palimpsest  of  the  skies, 
She  leaped  to  see  the  poppies,  run  across  a  green  hillside, 

And  was  glad  to  breathe  the  perfume  of  a  valley  blossom  dres't. 
Yea,  she  laughed  to  see  a  canyon,  with  azaleas  glorified, 

Where  a  crystal  brook  went  crooning  to  Our  Sapho  of  the  West. 

She  had  El  Dorado  in  her  soul,  she  knew  its  every  mood, 

The  twinkle  of  the  golden  sands,  the  tinkle  of  the  tpur, 
In  some  quaint  Spanish  festival  or  forest  solitude, 

The  lilt  of  old  Castillian  lays  would  lift  the  heart  of  her, 
The  echo  of  the  Mission  bells,  the  epic  of  the  dance, 

She  wove  into  her  tapestry,  the  brightest  and  the  oest, 
Of  that  melodious  long  ago.  The  days  of  old  Romance, 

Seen  now  through  thine  anointed  eyes,  Our  Sapho  of  the  West. 

ROBERT  McINTYRE,  D.  D. 
Los  Angeles,  February,  1907. 


INA   COOLBRITH. 

What  tribute  voice  to  her  whose  skyward  song 

Outsaws  the  larks?     Or  what  flowers  pluck  for  her, 
Of  all  sweet  flowers  truest  interpreter, 

Whose  glow  and  fragrance  her  rapt  lines  prolong 

In  verse  melodious  as  Pan's  woodland  note 

Or  joys  that  well  from  the  glad  thrush's  throat? 

Yet  dearer  far  the  essence  of  the  soul, 

Spirit,  affections,  and  the  tender  trust 

In  good  beyond  the  ken  of  this  frail  dust, 
That  mark  thy  Poesy's  pure  and  lofty  goal; 
Mute  though  our  lips,  our  hands  though  empty  be, 
Our  hearts'  deep  treasures  are  all  held  for  thee. 

FRED  LEWIS   FOSTER. 
San  Jose,  January  1,  1907. 


ULTIMATUM. 

When  the  Creator,  all  his  work  complete, 

Paused  from   His  labor  in  the  blessed  light, 

And  looked  upon  the  glory  and  the  might 
That  filled  the  universe  about  His  feet, 
The  realms  of  life  were  destined  to  repeat 

The  thought  that  moved  within  the  brooding  night 

To  shape  the  worlds  that  passed  before  His  sight — 
Behold  and  it  is  good,   in  judgment  meet. 

So  dear  my  poet,  resting  from   thy  task, 
And  reckoning  the  measure  of  thy  art 
That  never  may  be  fully  understood, 
No  other  question  needest  thou  to  ask, 

Since  thou  must  find  within  thy  yearning  heart 
The  ultimate  Behold,  and  it  Is  good. 

FLORENCE  L.   SNOW. 
Neosho  Falls,  Kansas,   February  1,   1907. 


"INA  COOLBEITH  DAY." 


347 


TO    INA    COOLBRITH. 

In  the  days  now  known  as  olden — 
Days  that  are  ofttimes  called  golden — 
Old  Ma'am  Nature,  our  great-grandam, 
Paused  in  making  men  at  random; 
Said  we  have   enough   of  rangers, 
Buccaneers   and    royst'ring   strangers; 
Said,  to  season  this  Wild  West  down, 
Give   it   sweetness,    spirit,    rest   from 
The   unending,    mad   endeavor, 
Soothe  the  raging  fret  ana  fever — 
I  will  mold  again  a  singer, 
For  the  heights  of  song  I'll  wing  her. 

Then  she  took  an  evening  dove's  note, 
With  a  sigh  of  Shastan  pine; 
Robbed  a  streamlet  of  its  murmur, 
From  a  lark  drew  song  divine. 
These   our  good,    fair  Mother  Nature 
Wrought  with  ripplings  of  a  wave, 
Wove  with  glintings  of  a  sunbeam, 
Hung  with  echoes  from  a  cave. 

> 

Then  she  sought  an  orphan's  cry, 
With  an  errant  night  wind's  sigh; 
With  these  touched  her  fair  creation. 
Then,   to   make   reincarnation 
Of  the  ancient  Sapphic  line, 
From  the  far-off  Island  Shrine 
Brought  the  passion  of  a  woman, 
Gave  the  joy  of  being  human. 

HENRY  MEADE  BLAND. 


INA  COOLBRITH. 

Her  voice  floats  down  to  us 

From  some  high  altitude 

Of   song. 

Where  nestling  birds 

And  happy  flowers 

Belong. 

And  crimson  sunsets 

Over  shimmering  seas 

Of    liquid    gold— 

And  bells  at  twilight  hush 

The   silent    fold. 

MRS.    S1.   ESTELLE   GREATHEAD. 
February  1,  1907. 


Among  other  friends  who  contributed 
loving  tributes  were:  Dr.  E.  M.  Alden, 
Stanford  University;  Dora  L.  Cureton, 
Fruitvale;  Mary  B.  Williams,  Sebastonol; 
Mira  Abbott  Maclay,  San  Jose;  Mrs.  E. 
T.  Sawver,  San  Jose;  Hughes  Cornell, 
Campbell ;  Alice  Davis  Moody,  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  Sister  Anthony,  of  Notre 
Dame  College,  San  Jose;  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
H.  Shelley,  San  Jose. 

TO    INA    COOLBRITH. 

Written  after  the  unique  meeting  of  the  San 
Jose  Woman's  Club  in  honor  of  Miss  Ina  Cool- 
brith.  Her  poem,  "When  the  Grass  Shall  Cover 
Me,"  was  read  February  9,  1907. 


Say  not  appreciation's   rays 
Reach  but  unto  the  grave! 
Thine  now   the  praise, 
And  thine  the  power 
This   very   hour 
O'er    this    conclave! 
And    thine    the   meed — 
The  loving  hand  grasps, 
Yea,   thy  soul  indeed 
Hand   within   hand   enclasps 
In  unseen  ways. 

The  sun  still  shines, 

Though  mists  and  storm  clouds  lower 

After  the  winter  comes  the  sprins; 

To  the  parched  ground  the  shower. 

Thine  own  dear  birds 

Are  cooing,  as  the  dove; 

The  heart  inclines 

With  tender  words 

And    thoughts,    to   sing 

Of  loyalty  and  love. 

—ELIZABETH    HJERLEID    SHELLEY. 


A  Picture  of  the  Past. 

W.  C.  Morrow  furnished  the  following 
contribution  to  the  booklet: 

"A  group  of  ambitious  young  men, 
wiser  now  than  they  were  then,  deter- 
mined to  start  a  weekly  literary  paper 
once  upon  a  time.  They  supposed  that 
for  the  first  issue  the  names  of  a  few  dis- 
tinguished writers  attached  to  gratuitous 
contributions  would  help.  The  youn<<?st 
of  the  crowd  was  selected  to  secure  the 
contributions,  and  his  task  brought  him  to 
Ina  Coolbrith's  door,  begging  for  a  poem, 
since  he  was  declared  to  be  obsessed  by  her 
work.  He  had  never  seen  her,  but,  as  his 
newspaper  experience  had  brought  him 
some  induration,  he  had  not  expected  the 
trepidation  that  he  felt  while  awaiting 
her  appearance  in  the  drawing  room. 
Wfhen  she  came,  presenting  so  superb  a 
picture,  his  courage  vanished.  Only  two 
features  of  the  call  remain  in  memory — 
her  appearance  and  her  ready  acquies- 
cence. 

"It  was  doubtless  poetic  license  that 
caused  her  to  come  in  a  loose  morning- 
gown,  open  at  the  throat,  and  for  that 
dress  the  man  will  forever  remain  grate- 
ful, so  exquisite  was  its  effect  in  complet- 
ing the  striking  picture.  Had  there  been 
a  commonplace  line  in  her  whole  present- 
ment, the  garment,  with  its  rich  but  sub- 
dued Persian  design  in  figure  and  color, 
might  have  appeared  bizarre;  but  it  har- 
monized perfectly  with  the  skin  which, 
dark  nearly  to  swarthiness,  was  underlaid 
by  a  warm  blood-tint  exceedingly  charm- 


348 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


ing;  very  dark  and  abundant  hair  coif- 
fured  with  that  careless  grace  which  may 
be  so  telling  on  a  young  man's  sensibili- 
ties; bluish-gray  eyes  darkling  mystically 
under  finely  penciled  black  brows;  a 
queenliness  of  pose  and  carriage  that  had 
the  pliancy  of  physical  perfection  in  every 
contour;  and  a  general  maturity  of  look 
that  far  surpassed  in  impressiveness  the 
ripening  which  years  alone  may  bring. 
The  young  man'  felt  before  her  a  keen 
sense  of  youthful  inadequacy.  She  was 
simple  and  direct,  without  a  touch  of  con- 
sciousness, and  no  doubt  was  wholly  un- 
aware of  the  dwarfing  effect  of  her  pres- 
ence. It  must  have  been  felt  by  many 
others,  and  perhaps  early  in  her  life  it 
had  served,  unknown  to  her,  to  make  the 
approach  of  strangers  difficult. 

"The  same  man  now  knows  her  as  the 
most  genial,  gentle  and  approachable  of 
mortals,  quiet,  warm-hearted,  somewhat 
shrinking,  as  ready  with  a  laugh  as  with 
a  quip  of  wit  or  humor — altogether  as 
comfortable  and  warming  as  a  cozy  ingle- 
nook,  a  refuge  from  the  gird  and  grind 
of  stormy  modernity.  On  that  day  years 
ago,  she  must  have  been  as  lovable  as  she 
is  now;  but  the  regal  beauty  and  impres- 
siveness of  that  picture  remain  with  the 
man  as  one  of  the  most  dramatic  pictures 
that  a  life-long  experience  with  the  dra- 
matic has  stored  in  his  memory. 

"The  pity — the  inconceivable  pity  of 
the  suddenness  and  violence  with  which 
her  stores  for  busy  vears  were  swept  away ! 
It  has  left  her  bewildered  and  groping, 
with  a  courage  that  is  all  the  more  pa- 
thetic for  the  darkness  of  the  way  ahead. 
But  some  of  us  know  the  spirit  of  these 
wonderful  Californians,  and  we  know  that 


all  that  can  be  done  in  a  material  way  will 
be  done  to  re-establish  her;  and  with  that 
will  come  a  manifest  appreciation  and  de- 
votion which  her  tender  soul  will  accept 
as  a  recompense  for  all  that  is  lost,  and 
it  will  arm  her  afresh  for  work  in  the  good 
years  ahead." 

Miss  Coolbrith  Sends  Greetings  and 
Thanks. 

"Fifteen  Lincoln  street,  San  Francisco, 
February  12,  1907. 

"To  the  chairman  and  members  of  the 
literary  section  of  the  San  Jose  Woman's 
Club,  and  to  the  members  of  the  club  at 
large,  greeting — I  have  been  waited  upon 
h-  the  committee  having  in  charge  the 
Ina  Coolbrith  daT-  oo.  Trour  association,  and 
given  a  full  description  of  the  occasion 
and  the  honors  conferred  upon  me,  and 
have  been  presented  with  the  'Valentine/ 
that  garland  of  loving  tributes  gathered 
into  such  exquisite  shape  and  compass. 

"Did  ever  woman  before  have  such  a 
Valentine  ? 

"What  can  I  say?  There  are  no  words 
to  express  mv  emotions,  and  when  I  seek 
to,  even  with  my  pen,  the  fountain  of  the 
heart  overflows  and  blinds  my  eyes.  Only 
I  think  there  must  be  a  mistake.  You 
have  taken  me  for  _some  other  woman 
and  conferred  upon  me  the  honor  due  to 
her. 

"To  all  who  wrouo-ht  so  lovingly  in  my' 
behalf — to  all  who  contributed  by  pen,  or 
word,  or  deed — I  send  my  soul-felt  thanks. 
It  is  all  I. can  do.  But  I  think  I  shall 
have,  hereafter,  to  enshrine  St.  Valentine 
as  nnr  ^Htron  saint  *  *  and  at  my  age, 
too! 

"INA  COOLBRITH." 


BY    FRANK    L.    MERRICK 


THEKE  will  be  held  at  Seattle  dur- 
ing the  summer  of  1909,  opening 
June  1st  and  closing  October  15th, 
a  world's  fair  that  will  be  of  immense 
benefit  to  the  entire  Pacific  Coast,  the 
Alaska- Yukon-Pacific  Exposition. 

The  Alaska- Yukon-Pacific  Exposition 
will  be  the  second  world's  exposition  held 

it  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  Lewis 
&  Clark  Exposition  at  Portland,  in  1905, 
the  first — the  Midwinter  Exposition  of 
San  Francisco  not  being  under  the  pa- 
tronage of  the  United  States  Government 
— did  much  to  exploit  the  coast  It  in- 
troduced the  East  and  Middle- West  to  the 
Far  West.  Seattle  will  carry  on  the  good 
work,  and  will  cultivate  this  acquaintance- 
ship into  a  warm  friendship.  The  Pacific 
Ocean  Exposition  at  San  Francisco  in 
1913,  and  the  one  contemplated  at  Los 
Angeles,  will  do  much  toward  preserving 
this  friendship. 

A  series  of  large  expositions  held  in  the 
principal  cities  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  their 
creation  and  exploitation  covering  a  period 
of  perhaps  twenty  years,  is  the  best 
agency  that  can  be  employed  to  keep  this 
section  of  the  countrv  prominently  and 
effectively  before  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

The  Lewis  &  Clark  Exposition  brought 
'0  persons  from  east  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  to  the  Coast  in  1905.  With 
the  foundation  in  exploitation  laid  by 
Portland  for  Seattle  to  build  upon,  the 
Alaska-Yukon-Pacific  'Exposition  will 
bring  at  least  250,000  in  1909.  The  ad- 
vert fsing  these  people  will  give  to  the 
Coast  when  they  return  home  will  result 
in  inestimable  travel  to  the  expositions 
San  Francisco  and  Los  Angeles  will  hold. 
It  is  apparent  that  if  the  States  of  the 
Pacific  Coast  work  together  for  the  suc- 
cess of  the  exposition  enterprises,  they  will 
reap  a  reward  that  will  be  material. 

The  Alaska-Yukon-Pacific  Exposition 
includes  in  its  plan  and  scope  many  ob- 
jects whose  successful  accomnlishment 
will  bear  directly  upon  the  developing  I 
of  this  section.  The  primary  purpose  of 


the  exposition  is  to  exploit  the  resources 
and  potentialities  of  the  Alaska  and  Yu- 
kon territories  in  the  United  States  and 
the  Dominion  of  Canada,  and  to  make 
known  and  foster  the  vast  importance  of 
the  trade  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  of 
the  countries  bordering  upon  it.  In  ad- 
dition, it  will  demonstrate  the  marvelous 
progress  of  Western  America. 

Different,  from  former  world's  fairs,  it 
will  not  celebrate  any  particular  happen- 
ing. All  expositions  held  heretofore  have 
celebrated  some  event,  in  most  cases  his- 
torical. The  Alaska- Yukon-Pacific  Ex- 
position will  not  depend  upon  any  his- 
torical sentiment  to  arouse  interest  and 
induce  participation ;  it  will  be  a  straight 
business  proposition,  a  great  international 
industrial  and  commercial  affair. 

The  Seattle  people  believe  so  firmly  in 
the  enterprise  as  a  beneficial  result-getter 
that  the'-  subscribed  $650,000  in  one  day 
to  further  the  exposition,  something  that 
was  never  done  by  any  city  at  any  time 
for  any  purpose.  An  average  of  more 
than  $3  for  every  man,  woman  and  child 
of  Seattle's  200,000  population  was 
poured  into  the  exposition's  treasurv. 
Then  the  State  of  Washington  stood  spon- 
sor for  the  world's  fair  bv  appropriating 
$1,000,000  to  have  the  State  properly  rep. 
resented.  Xow  the  United  States  Gov- 
ernment has  taken  steps  to  participate — 
simply  to  participate,  not  to  give  any 
funds  to  the  management  for  expenditure 
— and  the  different  States.  Eastern  and 
Western,  are  getting  read}7  to  make  ap- 
propriations for  representation.  When  the 
Xational  Government  and  the  States  take 
action,  the  foreign  Governments  'will  be 
approached.  It  is  predicted  that  partici- 
pation by  the  latter,  on  account  of  the 
purpose  of  the  exposition,  will  be  on  a 
large  scale. 

It  is  estimated  that  the  exposition  will 
cost  about  $10,000,000  on  opening  day. 
This  grand  total  will  be  made  up  by  the 
amounts  spent  by  the  exposition  mana^- 
ment,  the  State  of  Washington,  the  United 


R.   A.    Ballinger. 


Henry   E.    Reed. 


Prank  P.  Allen. 


A.   S.   Kerry. 


R.  A.  BALLINGER.— R.  A.  Ballinger,  of  the 
Alaska-Yukon-Pacific  Exposition,  has  been 
prominent  in  the  legal  profession  in  Seattle  for 
many  years.  He  was  Mayor  of  Seatt.'e  for  one 
term,  1904  to  1906,  and  was  judge  of  the  Super- 
ior Court  from  1893  to  1897.  He  was  born  at 
Boonesborough,  Iowa,  and  graduated  from  Wil- 
liams' College  in  1884. 

WM.  M.  SHEFFIELD.— W.  M.  Sheffield,  Sec- 
retary of  the  Alaska- Yukon -Pacific  Exposition, 
who  is  a  newspaper  man  of  experience  and 
ability,  Is  also  secretary  of  the  Alaska  Club,  of 
S«attlfe,  which  maintains  quarters  in  the 
Alaska  building,  to  promote  the  interests  of  the 
Northland,  and  for  the  comfort  and  convenience 
of  Alaskans. 

A.  S.  KERRY.— A.  S.  Kerry,  vice-president  of 
the  Alaska- Yukon-Pacific  Exposition,  is  a  man 
of  exceptional  business  ability. 

Born  in  Kingston,  Canada,  he  has  been  in  the 
lumber  business  all  his  life.  He  came  to  Seat- 
tle in  1886  and  became  identified  with  the  Ore- 
gon Improvement  Company.  In  1895  he  estab- 
lished his  present  business,  the  Kerry  Mill  Com- 
pany, of  which  he  is  president. 

JOHN  H.  McGRAW.— Once  Governor  of  the 
State  of  Washington  for  one  term,  and  now 
President  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  senior 
member  of  one  of  the  most  prominent  real  es- 
tate firms  and  interested  in  many  other  large 
enterprises,  John  H.  McGraw  is  admirably  fitted 
for  the  office  he  holds  with  the  exposition. 

HENRY  E.  REED,  Director  of  Exploitation  of 
the  Alaska- Yukon-Pacific  Exposition,  is  a  man 
of  exceptional  executive  ability,  and  has  had 
the  experience  that  is  necessary  to  successfvilly 
carry  on  the  gigantic  task  that  devolves  upon 
him. 

Mr.  Reed  was  Secretary  and  Director  of  Ex- 
ploitation of  the  Lewis  &  Clark  Exposition  for 
five  years,  and  much  of  the  credit  for  the  suc- 


cess of  that  enterprise  is  due  to  him.  He  was 
called  to  Seattle  to  assume  the  directorship  of 
the  division  of  exploitation,  which  was  the  first 
division  organized,  on  account  of  his  experience 
in  exposition  work. 

IRA  A.  NADEAU.— Ira  A.  Nadeau,  Director- 
General  of  the  Alaska-Yukon-Pacific  Exposition, 
is  also  Executive  Vice-President  of  the  Seattle 
Chamber  of  Commerce.  Mr.  Nadeau  has  always 
been  prominently  identified  with  the  upbuilding 
of  Seattle  and  the  Pacific  Northwest,  having 
been  general  agent  of  the  Northern  Pacific  Rail- 
road for  nearly  sixteen  years. 

FRANK  P.  ALLEN,  JR.— Frank  P.  Allen,  Jr., 
Director  of  Works  of  the  Alaska-Yukon-Pacific 
Exposition,  is  an  architect  and  engineer  of  wide 
experience.  Mr.  Allen  gained  his  exposition  ex- 
perience at  the  Lewis  &  Clark  Exposition  at 
Portland  in  1905,  where  he  had  charge  of  the 
structural  work  in  the  division  of  architecture. 

FRANK  L.  MERRICK.— Frank  L.  Merrick, 
Chief  of  the  Department  of  Publicity  of  the 
Alaska-Yukon-Pacific  Exposition,  is  an  exposi- 
tionist  of  four  years'  experience.  He  was  as- 
sistant to  the  manager  of  the  General  Press  Bu- 
reau of  the  Louisiana  Purchase  Exposition  for 
three  years,  and  was  called  to  Portland,  Ore- 
gon, before  that  fair  closed,  to  take  charge  of 
the  Publicity  Department  of  the  Lewis  &  Clark 
Exposition.  He  organized  the  Press  Bureau, 
and  carried  on  an  advertising  campaign  through 
the  papers  for  a  year,  resulting  in  a  much  larger 
attendance  at  the  exposition  from  the  East  than 
was  expected. 

JOHN  EDWARD  CHILBERG.— John  Edward 
Chilberg,  President  of  the  Alaska-Yukon-Pacific 
Exposition,  has  been  identified  with  the  exposi- 
tion movement  ever  since  the  idea  was  con- 
ceived, and  has  been  a  potent  factor  in  making 
the  enterprise  the  success  it  is  to-day. 


John  Edward  Chilbere.John  H. 


Shore   line   on    Lake   Union,    Alaska- Yukon-Pacific   Exposition   grounds. 


A    picturesque    bit    of    shore    line,    Alaska-Yukon-Paciflc    Exposition   grounds. 


352 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


States  Government,  the  other  States  of  the 
Union,  the  foreign  Governments,  individ- 
ual exhibitors  and  concessionaires. 

The  first  phase  of  the  purpose  of  the  ex- 
position, the  bringing  of  Alaska  and  Yu- 
kon into  the  limelight  to  give  the  world  a 
correct  idea  of  these  vast  territories,  and 
thereby  give  an  impetus  to  their  growth 
and  development,  will  be  beneficial  to  the 
entire  coast.  The  settlement  of  Alaska 
and  Yukon  will  mean  increased  business 
and  commerce  for  all  of  the  ports  of  the 
Coast. 

The  prevailing  conception  of  Alaska  is 
that  it  is  nothing  but  a  land  of  ice,  snow, 
cold  and  gold.  The  same  is  also  true  of 
Yukon.  Few  persons  realize  the  great  pos- 
sibilities and  advantages  of  these  countries. 
Besides  the  gold,  .fish  and  fur  resources, 
there  are  others  that  are  only  beginning  to 
be  developed,  and  which  offer  unusual  in- 
ducement for  the  employment  of  capital 
and  individual  effort.  The  Alaska-Yukon- 
Pacific  Exposition  will  demonstrate  that, 
with  railroad  transportation,  Alaska  and 
Yukon  can  be  made  habitable  and  pro- 
ductive for  millions  of  people. 

Alaska  is  in  great  need  of  exploitation. 
So  far  as  its  economical  resources  are  con- 
cerned, it  occupies  about  the  same  position 
in  the  public  mind  of  the  East  that  the 
"American  Desert"  did  between  the  six- 
ties and  seventies.  The  so-called  desert 
now  exists  only  in  memory  or  on  old 
maps.  Not  over  a  century  ago,  all  of  East- 
ern Oregon  and  Eastern  Washington  were 
regarded  as  arid.  Eastern  Washington 
redeemed  itself  when  the  Northern  Pacific 
railroad  was  built  through  the  Cascades 
to  Puget  Sound  twenty  years  ago.  Con- 
tinued exploitation  brought  it  to  the  front, 
and  what  was  better  still,  actual  produc- 
tion. 

To  the  public  at  large,  Alaska  is  no 
more  nor  less  than  nearly  600,000  square 
miles  of  land  occupying  the  northwest- 
ern part  of  North  America,  with  the  Arc- 
tic Ocean  for  its  northern  boundary.  Its 
possession  by  the  United  States  is  associ- 
ated, historically,  with  the  friendship  of 
Russia  for  the  North  during  the  Civil 
War.  It  is  known  that  the  Government 
oaid  $7,200,000  (about  two  cents  an 
acre)  for  the  territory,  but  it  is  not  gener- 
ally known  that  the  United  States  has  re- 
ceived  nearly  $11,000,000  in  revenues 
from  Alaska  in  39  years.  In^  addition  to 


that,  Alaska  has  produced  $125,000,000 
in  gold,  $80,000,000  in  furs,  and  $96,- 
000,000  in  fish,  and  the  wealth  of  the 
country  has  only  been  scratched  on  the 
surface.  There  are  thousands  of  acres  of 
land  available  for  farming,  and  thou- 
sands more  covered  with  timber.  And  all 
of  this  Uncle  Sam  bought  for  $7,200,000. 
The  money  wouldn't  pay  for  two  modern 
battleships. 

The  prevalent  idea  of  Alaska  will  be 
changed  by  the  exposition.  It  will  be 
shown  that  Alaska  possesses  the  agricul- 
tural possibilities  that  will  settle  it  and 
develop  it  into  a  land  of  homes.  It  is 
stated  by  C.  C.  Georgeson,  special  agent 
of  the  United  States  Department  of  Agri- 
culture, in  charge  of  Alaskan  investiga- 
tions, that  Alaska  has  agricultural 
possibilities  to  an  extent  which  will  make 
the  fullest  development  of  her  resources 
practicable.  The  territory  can  furnish 
homesteads  of  320  acres  each  to  200,000 
families,  and  has  abundant  resources  to 
support  a  population  of  3,000,000  per- 
sons. 

The  foregoing  statements  would  seem 
to  be  borne  out  by  the  example  of  Fin- 
land. This  little  country  lies  wholly 
north  of  the  60th  parallel,  while  Alaska 
reaches  6  degrees  south  of  this  latitude. 
Finland  is  less  than  oue-fourth  the  size 
of  Alaska,  and  its  agricultural  area  is 
less  than  50,000  square  miles,  yet  in  1898 
Finland  had  a  population  of  more  than 
2,600,000,  whereas  Alaska  now  has  only 
about  93,000  permanent  population.  Agri- 
culture is  the  chief  industry.  Only  about 
300,000  persons  dwell  in  cities.  Finland 
exports  large  quantities  of  dairy  products, 
live  stock,  flax,  hemp  and  considerable 
grain,  and  the  population  has  increased 
800.000  in  the  past  thirty  years  in  spite 
of  large  immigration. 

Alaska  itself  will  be  on  exhibition  in 
1909.  It  has  the  goods,  and  will  have  a 
chance  to  show  them.  It  cannot  make 
headway  with  the  people  it  hopes  to  con- 
vince by  displaying  totem  poles  or  gilded 
cubes  representing  gold  production.  The 
people  will  want  to  see  the  real  gold,  the 
real  coal,  the  real  timber,  the  real  copper, 
and  the  real  agricultural  productions. 
The  results  cannot  fail  to  be  beneficial. 

And  Yukon,  which  has  similar  re- 
sources, advantages  and  possibilities  as 
her  neighboring  territory  of  Alaska,  will 


A   TEX   MILLION  DOLLAR   WORLD'S   FAIR. 


353 


receive  also  the  same  attention  and  the 
same  benefits. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  the  United 
States  does  not  enjoy  the  full  amount  of 
trade  with  the  countries  of  the  Pacific 
that  it  should.  Conditions  are  favorable 
for  American  merchants  and  manufac- 
turers to  secure  and  hold  the  bulk  of  this 
commerce,  instead  of  Europe,  which  now 
has  the  lion's  share. 

Considerably  more  than  half  the  people 
of  the  world  live  in  the  countries  which 
border  on  the  Pacific  Ocean.  The  latest 
available  statistics,  furnished  by  the 
United  States  Department  of  Commerce 
and  Labor,  give  these  countries,  exclusive 
of  the  rjnited  States,  an  area  of  17,096,- 
060  square  miles,  and  a  population  of 
<•<  14.363,000.  Their  imports  aggregate 
$1,853,334,000  annually,  and  their  ex- 
ports $1,893,642,000,  so  that  their  total 
foreign  trade  is  $3,746.976,000.  Of  this 
foreign  Pacific  trade  the  tTnited  States 
enjoys  nearly  one-fifth,  the  total  being 
$718,000,000  annually,  of  which  $396,- 
000,000  is  represented  by  imports  and 
$322,000,000  by  exports. 

These  figures  convey  some  impression 
of  the  greatness  of  the  countries  which 
use  the  mightiest  of  oceans  as  a  common 
avenue  of  trade.  When  one  considers 
that  the  United  States  enjoys  positional 
advantage  over  the  countries  of  Europe, 
being  much  nearer  the  countries  above 
specified,  and  that  in  spite  of  this  advan- 
tage our  country  may  boast  of  only  about 
one- fifth  of  the  trade  which  these  coun- 
tries have,  the  possibilities  of  an  increased 
trans-Pacific  business  may  be  understood 
in  a  general  way. 

This  bringing  together  of  the  shores 
of  the  Pacific  in  trade  will  be  made  possi- 
ble by  exhibits  of  the  products  of  each. 
The  foreign  exhibits  at  the  Alaska-Yu- 
kon-Pacific Exposition  will  be  confined 
strictly  to  the  products  of  countries  bor- 
dering on  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Participa- 
tion will  be  invited  from  Australia,  Can- 
ada, Ceylon,  Chile,  China,  Colombia, 
Costa  Rica,  Ecuador,  Korea.  French  East 
Indies,  German  Colonies.  Guatemala. 
Honduras,  British  India,  Japan,  Mexico, 
Dutch  East  Indies,  Nicaragua.  Xew  Zea- 
land. Panama.  Peru,  Philippine  Islands, 
Straits  Settlements,  Siam  and  Salvador. 
In  addition  to  the  foregoing,  the  United 
States,  Great  Britain.  France,  Germany, 


Russia  and  the  Netherlands  will  be  in- 
vited to  make  exhibits,  representative  of 
their  interest  in  Pacific  trade  develop- 
ment. It  will  be  the  plan  of  the  Exposi- 
tion, as  far  as  practicable,  to  induce  the 
foreign  nations  that  participate  to  erect 
their  own  buildings  and  install  therein 
collective  and  competitive  exhibits. 

The  trade  of  the  Pacific,  in  so  far  as 
the  United  States  is  interested,  may 
roughly  be  divided  into  two  classes,  trade 
with  lie  East  shore  and  trade  with  the 
West  shore.  The  countries  which  lie  on 
the  East  shore  make  up  what  is  known 
as  the  Orient  and  Oceanica ;  those  across 
the  sea  from  them,  besides  the  United 
States,  are  the  republics  of  Central  and 
South  America,  Mexico,  and  the  Domin- 
ion of  Canada.  The  East  shore  lands 
have  nearly  900,000,000  population,  and 
annually  buy  $1,500,000,000  worth  of 
products  from  other  countries.  Of  this 
total,  two-thirds  is  with  Occidental  coun- 
tries. 

It  is  evident  to  any  one  who  has  made 
even  a  cursory  investigation  of  the  situa- 
tion with  regard  to  Oriental  trade,  that 
knowledge  of  the  market  has  given  to 
European  nations  a  tremendous  advan- 
tage over  the  United  States.  In  the 
tropical  Orient,  by  which  is  meant  all 
Oriental  countries  south  of  central  China, 
which  has  half  the  people  and  two-thirds 
of  the  imports  of  the  Oriental  world,  the 
imports  aggregate  one  billion  dollars  an- 
nually. Of  this,  Europeans  supply  66. 
per  cent,  and  are  constantly  increasing 
the  total,  while  Americans  supply  only 
one  per  cent,  and  their  total  is  increas- 
ing gradually,  if  at  all.  Yet  practically 
all  of  the  imports  drawn  from  Europe  are 
of  a  nature  that  the  United  States  can 
readily  produce.  The  33  per  cent  not 
accounted  for  is  taken  up  by  the  trade 
with  other  parts  of  the  Orient 

This  state  of  affairs,  which  certainly 
is  explainable  only  on  the  supposition  that 
the  merchants  of  our  country  are  either 
less  capable  or  less  fully  informed  trades- 
men than  those  of  Europe,  is  one  which 
the  Alaska- Yukon-Pacific  Exposition 
management  has  taken  cognizance  of,  and 
has  every  hope  of  remedying.  The  Orient 
will  send  its  wares,  its  products,  its  peo- 
ple, and  Americans  may  studv  at  first 
hand.  The  products  of  the  Occident  will 
be  displayed,  also,  and  the  merchants  and 


Looking  over  Lake  Washington  from  Alaska- Yukon-Pacific  Exposition  grounds. 


The   site   selected   for   the    Oregon    building,    Alaska-Yukon-Pacific   Exposition. 


356 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


manufacturers  of  each  section  may  learn 
the  needs  of  the  people  of  their  respective 
markets,  and  how  to  secure  and  hold  the 
business.  Oriental  buyer  and'  Occidental 
seller,  as  well  as  Occidental  buyer  and  Ori- 
ental seller,  will  be  brought  closer  to- 
gether to  their  mutual  advantage,  through 
the  exhibits  collected  with  that  aim  in 
view.  All  of  this  will  help  the  States  of 
the  Coast,  by  giving  impetus  to  the  trade 
they  now  enjoy  with  the  countries  across 
the  Pacific. 

And  the  same  results  will  be  gained  in 
regard  to  the  countries  of  South  and  Cen- 
tral America  and  Mexico.  In  exploiting 
trade  relations  between  the  United  States 
and  these  countries,  the  Alaska- Yukon- 
Pacific  Exposition  is  taking  up  a  virgin 
field,  being  the  first  world's  fair  that  evei 
included  such  a  purpose  in  its  scope.  The 
possibilities  of  an  increased  Latin  Ameri- 
can trade  with  the  United  States,  and  es- 
pecially the  States  of  the  Pacific  Coast, 
are  great.  Latin-America  is  on  the  verge 
of  a  mighty  boom,  and  the  countries  are 
bound  to  become  important  factors  in  the 
commerce  of  the  world. 

The  commerce  of  Latin-America,  in 
1905,  reached  the  figures  of  nearly 
$1,800,000,000.  Only  nine  per  cent  of 
our  immense  total  of  exports  went  to 
Latin-America  in  1905,  although  the  lat- 
•ter's  imports  exceeded  $1,000,000,000, 
and  only  twenty  per  cent  of  our  vast 
value  of  imports  came  from  Latin- 
America,  although  that  part  of  the  world's 
foreign  export  shipments  exceeded  $720,- 
000,000. 

The  countries  of  the  west  coast  of 
Latin  America,  Mexico,  Central  America, 
Panama,  Colombia,  Ecuador,  Peru,  Bo- . 
livia  and  Chile  had  a  combined  foreign 
trade  in  1905  in  excess  of  five  hundred 
millions  of  dollars,  which  was  enough 
to  keep  every  harbor  along  the  Pa- 
cific Coast  States  and  many  of  those  of 
the  Atlantic  Coast  States,  full  of  ship- 
ping if  this  commerce  passed  in  and  out 
of  their  gates  instead  of  those  of  Europe. 

Of  the  total  foreign  trade  iof  these 
countries,  the  exports  amounted  to  $300,- 
000,000,  of  which  the  United  States  pur- 
chased only  $120,000,000,  or  forty-two 
per  cent,  and  the  imports  were  $200,000,- 
000,  of  which  the  United  States  sold  only 
$75,000,000,  or  thirty-eight  per  cent. 
Considering  the  proximity  of  the  coun- 


tries to  the  United  States  and  the  nature 
of  the  markets,  this  country  should  bu}r 
sixty  per  cent  of  the  exports  and  supply 
seventy-five  per  cent  of  the  imports,  of 
which  the  greatest  portion  should  be  en- 
joyed by  the  Pacific  ports  of  the  United 
States. 

There  are  a  great  many  commodities 
that  these  countries  will  buy  and  are  buy- 
ing from  the  United  States.  The  Pacific 
Coast  States  have  a  large  trade  with  them 
already,  but  it  can  be  materially  in- 
creased. The  Eastern  and  Middle  Wiest- 
ern  States  supply  many  manufactured 
products  the  demand  for  which  would  be 
greater  if  the  market  was  worked  harder. 
The  products  for  exchange  the  Latin 
American  countries  offer  for  direct  use, 
manufacture  or  shipment,  are  various. 

From  the  foregoing,  a  slight  idea  of 
the  great  possibilities  for  increased  trade 
between  the  United  States  and  especially 
the  Pacific  States  and  Latin  America, 
may  be  gained.  And  that  the  Alaska- 
Yukon-Pacific  Exposition  will  be  a  po- 
tent factor  in  promoting  this  trade,  there 
is  no  reason  to  doubt. 

In  exploiting  the  'Pacific  Coast,  the  ex- 
position will  bring  the  far-divided  sec- 
tions of  the  country  closer  together  com- 
mercially. It  will  offer  an  unexcelled  op- 
portunity for  the  Eastern  manufacturer 
and  producer  to  get  into  closer  touch 
with  the  Western  market  and  vice  versa. 

From  the  plans  drawn  by  John  C. 
Olmsted,  the  famous  landscape  artist  of 
Brookline,  Massachusetts,  the  exposition 
itself  will  be  well  worth  a  trip  across  a 
continent  or  an  ocean  to  see.  The  grounds, 
which  are  255  acres  in  extent,  are  located 
on  the  unused  portion  of  the  campus  of 
the  Washington  University,  within  the 
city  limits,  and  only  twenty  minutes  ride 
bv  electric  car  from  the  business  center. 
They  border  for  more  than  a  mile  and  a 
half  on  Lake  Union  and  Lake  Washing- 
ton, the  latter  being  the  largest .  fresh 
water  body  in  the  Pacific  Northwest.  The 
Olympic  and  Cascade  Mountains  are  in 
sight  from  them  and  an  unobstructed 
view  may  be  obtained  of  the  perpetual 
snow  peaks  of  Mt.  Rainier  and  M't.  Baker. 

Different  from  former  world's  fairs,  the 
Alaska-Yukon-Pacific  Exposition  will  in- 
clude in  its  r>lan  the  erection  of  perma- 
nent buildings.  Several  of  the  main  ex- 
hibit buildings  will  be  substantially  bv.il t, 


MADONNA. 


357 


\vill  become  the  property  of  the  Uni- 
,'  of  Washington,  to  be  used  for  edu- 
inaal  purposes  after  the  exposition 
i '  _•  .:$.  Twelve  large  exhibit  palaces,  ar- 
i  .aged  in  a  unique  manner,  will  form 
i lie  nucleus  of  the  exposition.  Around 
these  will  cluster  the  State,  foreign,  ad- 
ministration, concession  and  numerous 
pseudo  exhibit  structures.  The  exposi- 
tion company  is  incorporated  under  the 
laws  of  the  State  of  Washington.  The 
board  of  trustees  is  composed  of  fifty 
leading  citizens  of  Seattle.  The  officers, 
all  men  who  have  proved  their  ability  to 
handle  big  things  in  their  different  lines 
of  effort,  are  J.  E.  Chilberg,  president; 
Hon.  John  H.  McGraw,  first  vice-presi- 


dent; E.  A.  Ballinger,  second  vice-presi- 
dent: A.  S.  Kerry,  third  vice-president; 
William  M.  Sheffield,  secretary;  C.  R. 
Collins,  treasurer. 

It  will  be  the  aim  of  the  management 
to  secure  experienced  exposition  workers 
for  all  departments,  in  order  that  there 
will  be  no  experiments  in  carrying  on  the 
work.  Accordingly,  Henry  E.  Beed,  of 
Portland,  former  secretary  and  director 
of  exploitation  of  the  Lewis  &  Clark  Ex- 
position, has  been  appointed  director  of 
exploitation.  Frank  P.  Allen,  Jr.,  direc- 
tor of  works,  the  only  other  division  direc- 
tor appointed,  was  in  charge  of  the  struc- 
tural work  in  the  division  of  architecture 
at  the  Lewis  &  Clark  Exposition. 


BY    EDWARD    WILBUR    MASON 


Mother,  the  world  is  full  of  saddened  eyes 

Long  robbed  by  grief  and  vigil  of  their  grace, 

And  dimmed  by  weeping  and  by  agonies- 
Like  outburned  stars  they  stare  from  sorrow's  face 

Yet  pity  for  the  eyes  that  know  not  tears, 

Xor  strain  of  long  night  watches  full  of  fears. 

Mother,  the  world  is  full  of  wearied  hands 
That  toil  at  tasks  of  duty  eve  and  morn, 

And  arms  that  lift  and  lift  at  love's  commands — 
Like  nightingales  they  bleed  on  labor's  thorn; 

Yet  pity  for  the  hands  and  arms  that  wait 

Unburdened  and  unbruised  by  every  fate. 

Mother,  the  world  is  full  of  broken  hearts 
That  stand  alone  in  anguished  solitude, 
Watching  some  little  child  whose  soul  departs, 

'  A  Christ  or  thief  upon  some  bitter  rood; 
Yet  pity  for  the  hearts  that  mourn  no  loss, 
Xor  kneel  in  stricken  silence  at  tbe  cross! 


BY    AUSTIN    BIERBOWER 


NOWHERE   in   the   world   is   there 
such  a  waste  of  material  as  in  this 
country.     In  our  eagerness  to  get 
the  most  results  from  our  resources,  and 
to  get  them  quickly,  we  destroy  perhaps 
as  much  as  we  use.     Americans  have  not 
learned  to   save;   and  their  wastefulness 
imperils  their  future.     Our  resources  a^e 
fast  giving  out,  and  the  next  problem  will 
be  to  make  them  last. 

In  passing  the  alleys  of  an  American 
citv,  a  foreigner  marvels  at  the  quantity 
of  produce  in  the  garbaere  boxes.  The 
thrifty  Germans  would  have  saved  thi=; 
and  there  is  no  excuse  for  letting  it  spoil 
in  these  days  of  cold  storage  and  quick 
transportation. 

Our  families  are  proverbially  wasteful 
in  their  homes.  It  is  said  that  two 
Frenchmen  can  live  off  what  one  Ameri- 
can wastes  and  live  better  than  the  Ameri- 
can. We  do  not  utilize  things  closely,  as 
others  do,  but  serve  only  our  best  pro- 
visions when  all  might  be  used.  We  do 
not,  for  example,  save  anr>le  parings, 
which  a  German  housewife  boils  to  get 
bits  of  pulp  for  soup  or  sauce.  At  the 
table,  Americans  often  leave  as  much  on 
their  plates  as  is  eaten,  whereas  abroad,  it 
is  thought  vulgar  to  leave  anything  on 
the  plate.  And  since  foreigners  eat  ever^- 
thing  given  them,  no  more  than  enough  is 
served. 

Until  recently  there  was  a  criminal 
waste  at  our  slaughter  houses.  Only  the 
best  portions  of  meat  were  saved  for  mar- 
ket. Now  all  is  used,  and  the  by-products 
made  from  what  was  once  the  offal,  are 
often  enough  to  pay  the  expenses  of  the 
business.  We  are. beginning  to  make  the 
most  of  our  resources,  as  foreigners  do, 
and  we  must  get  into  the  habit  of  doing 
this  with  all  our  materials  if  we  are  to 
compete  successfully  with  foreigners  in 
supplying  the  markets. 

A  German  or  Frenchman  going  by 
where  one  of  our  buildings  is  being  de- 
molished, is  struck  with  the  fires  that  are 
built  to  burn  up  the  materials.  Much 


good  timber  goes  up  in  smoke,  besides 
firewood,  which  in  Europe  would  be  gath- 
ered up  and  sold  for  kindling.  When 
decayed  cedar  blocks  are  taken  from  the 
pavements,  we-  find  it  hard  to  get  anybody 
to  carry  them  awav.  Abroad  the  poor 
would  gladly  use  them.  We  think  here 
that  the  time  required  to  haul  them  away 
is  worth  more  than  their  value  as  fuel. 

If  one  should  follow  a  coal  wagon 
through  one  of  our  cities,  he  might  pick 
up  enough  coal  to  warm  him  through  the 
winter.  In  Europe  every  small  piece  is 
saved.  It  would  not  be  allowed,  in  the 
first  place,  to  fall  from  the  wagon;  and 
if  it  should  fall,  there  would  be  a  dozen 
to  pick  it  up.  Enough  oats  and  corn  is 
scattered  in  the  streets  of  one  of  our 
cities  to  feed  all  the  poultry  raised  within 
its  limits.  People  think  it  cheaper  to 
haul  big  loads  than  to  save  what  falls  off. 
This  extravagance  comes  to  us,  as  to  most 
pioneers  in  civilization,  because  labor  is 
scarcer  than  materials.  When  our  coun- 
try was  first  settled,  the  problem  of  the 
people  was  to  get  quick  results  from  their 
toil.  They  cultivated  only  the  best  land 
and  raised  the  greatest  crops.  Much  of 
the  time  of  our  fathers  was  spent  in  cut- 
ting away  forests.  In  Indiana,  until  re- 
cently, the  people  cut  down  oak  and  wal- 
nut trees  which  would  now  be  worth  a 
hundred  dollars  each,  and  rolled  them 
into  heaps  to  be  burned.  A  statistician 
has  figured  out  the  loss  sustained  by  this 
wastefulness,  and  he  claims  that  if  all 
the  lumber  which  was  destroyed  to  make 
farms  were  now  in  our  possession,  it 
would  be  worth  more  than  all  the  agri- 
cultural products  that  have  been  raised 
on  those  lands  since  the  settlement  of  our 
country.  A  like  waste  is  still  seen  in  Ore- 
gon, Washington  and  Alaska.  The  for- 
ests are  destroyed  along  with  the  trees, 
and  only  a  little  of  the  tree  is  used. 

There  was  at  first  a  like  waste  of  coal. 
Only  the  solid  parts  were  used;  the  vast 
quantities  of  culm  and  dust,  which  are 
now  so  valuable,  were  thrown  away.  Half 


AMERICAN  WASTEFULXK -  - 


359 


of  our  coal  was  thus  lost  in  the  mining, 
and  people  are  now  trying  to  recover  it 
from  the  beds  of  rivers  and  banks  of 
refuse.  As  our  coal  is  giving  out  in 
man}'  places,  and  an  end  of  it  is  in  sight 
for  the  whole  country,  the  saving  is  be- 
coming a  greater  problem  than  the  min- 
ing. 

The  sawdust  and  bark  of  trees  were  for- 
merly wasted.  Xow  we  have  important 
uses  for  them;  but  so  little  remains  that 
it  cannot  be  made  available,  as  when  it 
was  produced  in  enormous  quantities. 
With  the  burning  of  the  refuse  of  the 
mills,  and  the  destruction  by  fire  of  for- 
ests, we  are  poorer  by  hundreds  of  mil- 
lions than  if  we  had  cared  for  these  re- 
sources, as  foreigners  do. 

Our  farmers  early  got  into  a  wasteful- 
ness that  is  now  continued  even  after 
their  land  has  become  valuable.  We  do 
not  cultivate  all  that  might  be  cultivated. 
Millions  of  acres  are  allowed  to  lie  fallow, 
which  would  yield  boundless  riches;  but 
the  people  do  not  care  to  till  any  but  the 
best.  An  American  farmer  wastes  as 
much  in  fence  corners  as  a  foreigner 
could  live  on.  In  Germany  there  are 
rarely  any  fences  at  all,  but  narrow 
swards  of  grass  serve  for  boundaries,  or 
a  few  stakes  alonsr  which  the  eye  traces 
a  bee-line.  While  great  fields  are  used 
in  America  to  pasture  a  few  calves,  the 
calves  are  elsewhere  chained  to  a  spot 
only  larsre  enough  to  support  them. 

In  building  there  is  a  like  waste.  Tem- 
porary structures  are  erected  to  be  taken 
down  in  a  few  years ;  dwelling  houses  that 
cost  thousands  of  dollars  are  removed  to 
put  up  shops,  which  are  expected  soon  to 
give  way  again  to  permanent  buildings. 
It  is  not  uncommon  in  Chicago  to  take 
down  a  six  story  structure  to  erect  a 
higher  one.  Xowhere  else  is  there  such 
a  waste  of  buildings.  People  seem  in- 
capable of  looking  far  ahead  when  they 
first  build,  and  so  do  not  build  perma- 
nently. 


Alterations  of  great  expense  are  yearly 
made  for  tenants,  which  do  not  improve 
the  property.  Our  people  quickly  adjust 
themselves  to  what  they  want;  which  is 
wasteful  if  they  know  not  what  that  is. 
Many  of  the  alterations  made  are  soon 
changed  back  again,  and  there  is  a  suc- 
cessive series  of  wastes.  For  trifling  con- 
veniences, great  expenses  are  incurred, 
and  our  buildings  are  more  altered  than 
those  in  the  larger  cities  of  any  other 
country. 

Xowhere  is  there  so  much  money  spent 
as  in  America  in  opening  new  streets  and 
widening  old  ones.  As  great  incompe- 
tence marks  the  laying  out  01  cities,  equal 
incompetence  is  afterwards  shown  in 
changing  the  plan.  Miles  of  business 
houses  are  sometimes  torn  down  for 
slight  advantages,  which  are  often  but 
temporary.  It  is  proposed  in  Chicago 
to  widen  Halsted  street  for  four  miles,  at 
a  cost  of  fifteen  millions,  when  there  are 
^arallel  streets  near  it  on  both  sides  which 
suffice  for  the  traffic.  London  for  cen- 
turies had  no  parallel  street  within  half 
a  mile  of  the  Strand,  its  greatest  thor- 
oughfare, and  yet  the  people  never 
thought,  until  recently,  of  opening  a  new 
street,  or  even  of  widening  that  one. 
Streets  are  here  opened  through  parks, 
because  the  people  do  not  want  to  go  a 
few  yards  around,  so  that  often  more  dam- 
age than  benefit  results  from  the  changes 
made. 

In  general,  we  have  not  learned  to  util- 
ize our  resources.  We  have  had  so  much 
that  it  has  been  harder  to  save  than  to 
accumulate.  But  now,  with  the  coming 
of  a  poor  class,  it  becomes  a  question  of 
saving,  if  only  to  give  the  surplus  to  the 
needy.  We  cannot  safely  continue  our 
extravagance  as  the  country  becomes 
crowded,  and  there  is  only  enough  pro- 
duced to  support  the  population.  When 
one  wastes,  many  suffer,  and  the  suffer- 
ing cannot  go  much  farther  without  en- 
daneering  those  who  have  an  abundance. 


BY    HELEN    FITZGERALD    SANDERS 

Ah !  it  is  good  to  live,  to  be, 

To  breathe  the  air,  to  hear,  to  see ! 

When  spring  hath  flung  its  mantle  green 

Beneath  the  sun's  warm,  golden  sheen, 

When  sluggard  Care  and  churlish  Gloom, 

Are  drowned  beneath  a  sea  of  bloom ; 

When  fragrant  air  of  radiant  May, 

Bears  feathered  choirs'  roundelay; 

When  every  bud  is  bursting  through 

Its  prison  sheaf,  the  world  seems  new! 

Ah,  then,  ah,  then,  from  sordid  town, 

I  flee  to  weave  the  hawthorne  crown, 

And  in  my  bow'r  of  silven  green 

I  reign  alone,  a  happy  queen. 

Swift  as  the  wind  o'er  bending  grass, 

Light  as  a  cloud  in  its  flight,  I  pass, 

As  under  the  dome  of  the  azure  sky 

I  race  with  the  wide- winged  butterfly. 

Over  the  valley  and  by  the  stream, 

Where  silver  willows  dip  and  dream, 

Past  secret  nooks  where  men  ne'er  tread, 

O'er  wasted  torrents'  deep-worn  bed, 

I  hurry  on  in  my  glad  career, 

A  rival  of  the  light-hoofed  deer. 

Until  my  heart,  with  quickened  beat, 

Checks  the  flight  of  hurrying  feet. 

I  pause  upon  a  swell  of  ground 

And  view  the  sweep  of  country  'round. 

Down  far  below,  through  shifting  smoke, 

The  town  doth  crouch  in  its  hazy  cloak. 

How  mean  and  small  it  looks  from  here, 

Where  the  air  is  pure  and  the  sky  is  clear ! 

And,  ah,  how  strange  that  we  seek  the  thrall 

Of  wealth  when  the  sun  shines  over  all ! 

0 !  wretched  kings  and  men  of  State, 

How  rich  am  I,  how  poor  thy  fate ! 

Thine  the  burden  of  empty  pow'r, 

Mine  the  joy  of  the  spring-time  hour; 

Thine  the  care  that  thy  honors  bring, 

Miine  but  the  heart  and  voice  to  sing! 

Give  the  freedom  of  the  wild, 

Where  with  the  soul  of  a  happy  child, 

I  weave  my  wreath  and  my  scepter  strip, 

From  leafing  bushes'  freshest  slip. 

The  blithe  wind  whistles,  soft,  the  tune, 

And  bears  afar  my  merry  rune. 

Ah,  it  is  good  to  live,  to  be, 

Such  the  theme  of  my  minstrelsy. 

Great  God  of  Nature,  hear  my  lay, 

A  glad  heart's  praise  on  a  sunny  day ! 


Presenting 
April's 

Actresses 

and 
Actors 


Mattie   Rivenburg,    one   of   the   pretty  girls   in     "The   Social   Whirl. 


Carolyn  Green  in  "The  Social  Whirl."  at  the    Casino,    New    York.      "The    Social    Whirl"    will 
soon   appear   in    San   Francisco   with   Miss   Green   in  the  cast. 


Characters  in  '"Madame  Butterfly." — Stephen  Jungmann,  as  Goro.  the  marriage  broker.  Thos. 
D.  Richards  as  Sharpless.  the  U.  S.  Consul  at  Nagasaki.  Joseph  F.  Sheehan,  tenor,  as  the 
naval  officer  Pinkerton  in  the  first  act. 


Francis  Maclennan,  the  new  tenor,  who  sings     the    role    of    Pinkerton,    the 
officer,    in    "Madame    Butterfly."      Second   act    c  ostume. 


American      naval 


Arthur  Byron  in  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse." 
Pacific  Coast,  en   tour. 


The    play   is   hilled    for   th« 


)M@  iPsiuiniiL^ir   ley© 

BY    CLARENCE    HAWKES 


OUR  camp-fire  had  burned  low,  and 
the  dark  mantle  of  night  was 
drawing  close  in  about  us.  Only 
fitful  gleams  of  light  penetrated  the  dark- 
ness here  and  there,  with  ragged  shafts, 
and  these  sudden  gleams  that  came  when 
an  ember  snapped  and  sent  up  a  shower 
of  sparks,  but  accented  the  gloom  about 
us. 

From  far  up  the  lake  came  the  wild 
trumpet  cry  of  a  loon,  echoing  again  and 
again  over  the  water. 

This  and  the  vocal  experiments  of  a 
screech  owl  that  was  laughing,  crying 
and  shrieking,  all  in  the  same  breath, 
made  a  strange  duet. 

But  there  were  other  and  pleasanter 
sounds  that  came  to  us  out  of  the  dark- 
ness. 

Little  ripples  on  the  lake  gently  kissed 
the  sand  at  our  feet,  making  a  pleasant 
murmur,  while  the  evening  wind  whis- 
pered in  the  tops  of  the  druid  pines. 

Then  suddenly,  from  back  in  the  deep 
wood,  arose  a  sound  so  strange  and  un- 
canny that  all  other  sounds  ceased,  even 
the  wind  seemed  to  hold  its  breath. 

It  was  not  a  howl  or  a  snarl,  or  a  cry 
of  pain,  yet  all  three  blended  in  diaboli- 
cal concert.  Then  there  was  a  moment  of 
perfect  quiet,  as  though  all  the  woods 
waited  to  hear  the  cry  again.  Then  there 
was  another  outcry,  higher  keyed  than 
the  first.  It  was  not  a  wail  or  a  sob  or  a 
shriek,  yet  all  three  blended  in  such 
strange  quavers  of  sound  that  it  made  my 
scalp  tingle,  as  though  with  an  electric 
shock,  and  a  cold  wave  like  midwinter 
crept  down  my  spinal  column. 

Sometimes  this  last  cry  would  die  away 
to  a  mere  thread  of  sound,  then  it  would 
rise  to  a  demoniacal  shriek,  as  though 
murder  were  being  done  under  the  very 
gleams  of  our  campfire. 

With  sensations  I  shall  never  forget,  I 
turned  and  looked  across  our  camp-fire 
to  the  old  guide,  who  rested  opposite  me 
on  a  bed  of  hemlock  boughs. 

At  the  first  cry,  he  had  risen  upon  one 


elbow  and  remained  listening  intently. 

When  the  second  cry  had  ceased,  he 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  try- 
ing hard  not  to  smile,  said,  simply: 

"Painters.  That  fust  un  was  the  male 
an'  that  last  more  screecihin'  wuz  the 
female.  Reckon  they  air  courtin'.  Guess 
they  won't  pay  much  'tention  to  you  an' 
I,  but  might  as  well  have  a  leetle  more 
fire,  jest  to  make  it  cheerful  an'  ter  see 
um  by,  ef  they  come  this  way.  Reckon 
you'd  like  to  get  a  good  squint  at  a 
painter,  wouldn't  you.  Mighty  likely 
cat." 

I  heartily  wished  I  was  in  Massachu- 
setts, or  at  least  half  a  mile  out  on  the 
lake  in  a  canoe,  at  just  that  time,  but 
didn't  say  so. 

"Guess  I  might  as  well  have  the  old 
woman  handy,"  continued  the  guide, 
reaching  for  his  rifle.  "Painters  is  big 
cowards,  an'  won't  come  near  a  fire  no 
more  than  any  other  wild  critter,  but 
mebbe  you'd  feel  safer  if  you  seed  I  had 
her  near  by." 

The  old  man  always  referred  to  his 
rifle  as  the  old  woman,  and  one  day,  when 
I  asked  him  why  he  had  named  his  gun 
thus,  he  grinned  and  said: 

"Wai,  you  see  it  is  this  e'er  way.  When- 
ever there  is  any  argument  goin'  on,  the 
old  woman  allus  speaks  fust,  an'  after  she 
has  had  her  say,  there  ain't  usually  any 
talkin'  back.  No  sass  from  the  other 
side.  Her  arguments  is  mighty  convin- 
cin',  so  you  see  the  name  is  very  fitting." 

We  did  not  hear  the  cry  again  for  at 
least  five  minutes,  and  then  it  was  a  long 
way  off,  at  which  I  breathed  easier. 

"What  a  pity,"  said  the  old  trapper, 
putting  his  rifle  back  in  the  canoe  from 
which  he  had  taken  it.  "Here  is  a  nice 
young  man  who  didn't  never  see  nothin' 
bigger  'n  a  Maltese  cat  effore,  jest  a  dyin' 
ter  git  his  eye  on  a  painter,  an'  them  two 
cats  go  sneakin'  off  through  the  woods 
without  as  much  as  sayin'  how-de-do. 
Mighty  disappointing  I  'low." 

"I   am   well   enough   satisfied,"   I   an- 


SOME  PAINTEK  EPISODES. 


369 


swered.  "I  had  rather  see  them  by  day- 
light, when  I  had  a  good  Winchester  in 
my  hand."  "An'  a  log  cabin  between  you 
and  them,"  put  in  the  guide.  "Wai,  I've 
interviewed  painters  ever  since  I  was  old 
enough  to  carry  a  gun,  an'  I  hain't  got 
no  likin'  fur  um  either.  Sometimes  I 
wuz  huntin'  them  an'  sometimes  they  wuz 
huntin'  me,  an'  either  way  ifs  jest  a 
leetle  ticklish  business. 

"Jest  for  instance,  supposin'  the  fire 
should  go  out  to-night,  an'  you  should 
wake  up  an'  see  a  painter  on  a  limb  look- 
ing for  you  to  make  a  move  effore  chawin' 
you  jest  as  a  cat  does  a  mouse.  Jest  wait- 
ing for  you  to  make  a  move  effort  chawin' 
you  inter  sausage.  How  do  you  s'pose 
that  would  affect  your  liver? 

"A  painter  will  follow  a  man  all  day 
long,  keeping  behind  bushes  an'  in  hollers, 
so  you'll  not  so  much  as  suspicion  he  is 
around.  He  won't  hev  no  idea  of  touch- 
ing you  as  long  as  you  are  standin' 
straight  with  a  gun  in  your  hand.  But 
you  jest  lie  down  to  get  a  drink  at  a 
spring,  or  go  inter  camp  an'  let  the  fire 
get  low,  an'  he  drops  on  you  like  a  thun- 
derbolt. He  is  a  great  sneakin'  coward, 
without  any  kind  o'  decency.  I  hev  gut 
more  respect  for  a  lynx  then  I  hev  for  a 
painter. 

"But  a  lynx  will  do  a  pack  uv  hounds 
up  to  beat  a  painter  all  holler. 

"Never'll  forget  a  time  a  pack  o'  mine 
bed  with  a  lynx  once.  The  pack  was  run- 
nin'  a  fox  an'  bounced  him.  Somehow 
they  got  off  the  fox  scent  an'  arter  the 
cat.  He  wuz  a  whopper.  Effore  he 
knowed  it  the  hounds  wuz  right  tight  on 
him. 

"He  didn't  have  time  to  do  nuthin' 
but  jest  face  around  an'  back  up  agin'  a 
big  maple.  There  they  wuz  when  I  come 
up — the  hounds  all  a-dancin'  around  an' 
invitin'  one  another  ter  wade  in,  an'  the 
lynx  a-sittin'  on  his  stump  of  a  tail,  with 
his  sleeves  rolled  up,  as  you  might  say,  a 
sorter  grinnin'  an'  sizin'  um  up. 

I  tried  to  get  a  bead  on  him,  but  I 
would  no  sooner  draw  it  down  'an  a  dog's 
head  would  bob  in  between,  so  I  hed  ter 
give  it  up. 

"By  an'  by,  ole  Stag,  a  bold  ole  purp, 
came  alongside,  an'  the  cat  fetched  him 
one  on  the  side  of  the  head.  Why,  that 
there  houn'  went  spinnin'  around  like  a 
top.  Jest  so  he  was  tryin'  ter  catch  a 


flea  in  his  tail,  an'  pretty  soon  he  lay 
still. 

"This  give  Spot  the  jim-jams,  an'  he 
stuck  his  tail  between  his  legs  an'  put 
for  camp,  as  though  the  devil  wuz  arter 
him.  I  didn't  see  nothin'  more  of  him 
until  I  struck  camp,  an'  then  I  found  him 
under  my  bunk,  shakin'  an'  whinin'.  He 
thought  I  wanted  him  to  come  out  an' 
tackle  more  cats. 

"There  wuz  five  in  the  pack,  an'  Stag 
gettin'  laid  out  the  fust  clip,  and  Spot 
puttin'  for  camp,  sorter  quieted  the  rest 
down,  an*  they  made  a  ring  around  the 
cat,  jest  close  enough  up  so  I  couldn't 
shoot. 

"Then  Badger — he  allus  wuz  plucky — 
reached  forward  an'  snapped  at  him,  but 
that  durned  lynx  laid  his  shoulder  open 
clear  to  the  bone,  with  jest  one  clip  uv 
his  paw,  an'  Badger  started  for  camp 
yellin:  "Tain't  I,'  at  every  jump. 

"This  sorter  made  a  break  in  the  ring 
around  the  cat,  an'  I  wuz  glad  enough  to 
shoot  him  effore  he  did  any  more  damage. 

"When  I  went  up  to  see  what  wuz  the 
matter  uv  ole  Stag,  I'll  be  blowed  ef  he 
warn't  dead.  That  lynx  had  broken  his 
neck.  He  wuz  the  biggest  lynx  I  ever 
see.  Weighed  fifty  pounds,  an'  his  fore- 
arm wuz  mighty  nigh  as  big  as  mine. 

"I  shan't  never  forget  two  episodes  I 
hed  with  painters.  One  uv  um  was  sorter 
in  my  favor,  though,  an'  the  other  wuz 
mightily  agin  me. 

"One  fall  I  wuz  up  north,  about  two 
hundred  miles  from  here.  I  wuz  trappin' 
an'  hevin'  great  luck. 

"One  day  I  went  round  an'  looked  at 
my  traps  as  usual,  but  had  a  sorter  sneak- 
ing feelin'  all  day  long.  It  was  a  queer 
sensation.  Made  me  look  around  sudden 
every  little  while  to  see  who  was  follerin' 
me.  Several  times  I  back-tracked  for  a 
few  rods,  jest  to  see  if  I  could  discover 
anything.  But  all  was  quiet  as  far  as 
I  could  see. 

"It  made  me  mighty  mad  ter  feel  so 
skittish,  jest  like  a  old  woman,  so  I  final- 
ly said  I  wouldn't  mind  anything  more 
about  it. 

"But  I  couldn't  shake  it  off.  Ef  I  had 
been  as  old  as  I  am  now,  I  would  knowed 
somethin'  was  wrong,  but  I  was  young, 
an'  sorter  proud  uv  not  bein'  scat  uv 
nothin'. 

"Well,  I  got  back  to  camp  as  usual,  an' 


370 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


got  supper,  an'  after  smokin'  a  pipe, 
turned  in.  I  didn't  hev  no  cabin  where 
I  was  stoppin'  then,  but  jest  bunked  on 
a  pile  of  hemlock  boughs,  with  the  trees 
above.  It  made  a  mighty  comfortable  bed 
— an'  a  feller  could  look  up  an'  see  the 
stars  whenever  he  woke  up  but  that  warn't 
often,  for  I  slept  like  a  soldier  them 
days. 

"1  didn't  seem  ter  get  to  sleep  worth  a 
cent  that  night,  an'  when  I  did,  I  hed  all 
sorts  uv  dreams. 

"By-and-bye,  I  woke  up  feelin'  mighty 
uncomfortable.  Didn't  dare  stir  nor 
breathe.  Felt  jest  as  I  had  all  day  when 
I  thought  things  were  follerin'  me,  only 
fifty  times  worse. 

"Somehow,  I  happened  ter  look  up, 
when  I  saw  two  stars  that  I  hadn't  re- 
membered seein'.  They  was  twin  stars 
about  three  inches  apart,  an'  they  seemed 
ter  be  burnin'  holes  inter  me.  The  more 
I  looked  the  hotter  they  got.  Made  me 
feel  jest  as  though  some  one  was  rammin' 
a  red  hot  torch  into  my  face,  but  I  didn't 
dare  to  move. 

"By  this  time  I  was  getting  my  night 
eyes  on,  an'  I  made  out  a  painter  stretched 
along  a  big  limb  about  ten  feet  above  me. 

"He  seemed  to  hold  me  down,  like  his 
eyes  had  been  a  pitchfork  with  one  prong 
stuck  in  the  ground  each  side  uv  me.  It 
warn't  no  good  ter  holler,  for  who  would 
hear  me?  Nobody  but  the  painter.  It 
warn't  no  good  to  move.  Ef  I  did,  he 
would  be  on  me  effore  I  could  even  draw 
a  knife. 

"It  looked  mightily  as  though  the 
painter  had  the  upper  hand.  Uv  course 
I  thought  uv  of  the  ole  woman,  but  she 
wuz  off  three  or  four  feet,  an'  I  couldn't 
git  my  hand  on  her  without  he  seein' 
me. 

"Don't  know  how  long  I  lay  there. 
Seemed  to  me  about  a  month.  Probably 
wasn't  more  than  a  minute,  when  some- 
thin'  overhead  in  the  tree  gin  a  awful 
screech.  It  was  a  hair-raisin'  screech,  but 
it  sounded  ter  me  like  the  singin'  uv 
angels.  Then  for  jest  a  second  them  two 
coals  of  fire  were  turned  up  into  the  tree, 
an'  when  they  turned  my  direction  again, 
they  looked  right  inter  the  ole  woman's 
mouth. 

"I  did't  waste  any  time  nudgin'  the  ole 
woman,  an'  she  spoke  right  out  sassy,  as 
is  woman's  way. 


"I  didn't  want  ter  be  mixed  up  with  no 
painter's  death  kicks,  an' ,  so  leased  my 
bed  an'  moved  out  in  a  good  deal  less  than 
thirty  days'. 

"There  warn't  no  time  ter  say  how-de- 
do,  either,  effore  the  painter  was  clawin' 
my  bed  ter  a  cocked  hat,  but  he  didn't 
claw  long.  The  ole  woman  had  plugged 
him  clean  through  the  gizzard,  an'  pretty 
quick  he  stretched  out  dead. 

"It  was  a  screech  owl  that  had  screamed 
an'  attracted  his  attention  jest  long 
enough  for  me  to  sret  the  gun.  I  heered 
him  go  floppin'  off  through  the  tree-tops 
after  I  fired. 

"That  allus  seemed  to  me  sorter  like 
Providence.  When  I  git  to  thinkin'  on  it, 
I  say  now  if  that  air  owl  was  Providence, 
who  was  the  painter;  uv  course,  there  is 
allus  the.  old  boy  ter  lay  all  sech  things 
ter,  but  I  can't  make  it  out.  It's  a  hard 
walnut  ter  crack." 

"Was  your  other  panther  experience  as 
exciting  as  this  one?"  I  asked. 

"Yis  an'  no,"  replied  the  trapper,  in  his 
peculiar  way.  "It  was  more  hair-raising 
an'  about  as  close  a  call  as  I  ever  had  ter 
gettin'  a  through  ticket  ter  kingdom 
come.  It  was  this  e'er  way: 

"Wait  a  minute,  though,  until  I  fill 
Black  Bettie.  She's  a  pile  uv  company, 
an'  I  can't  never  talk  without  her  between 
mv  teeth.  She  is  a  sorter  child. 

"I  call  her  the  leetle  gal,  sometimes. 
The  rifle  is  the  ole  woman,  the  pipe  is  the 
leetle  gal,  an'  the  dorgs  is  jest  folks.  Jest 
as  much  as  you  or  I.  I  talk  to  um  be- 
cause I  don't  hev  any  one  else  ter  talk  to, 
an'  they  understand  me,  too. 

"Why,  that  there  Stag  that  the  lynx 
killed  understood  United  States  jest  as 
well  as  I  do.  Sav  to  him,  'Stag,  go  down 
to  the  spring  an'  git  a  pail  of  water,'  an' 
off  he  would  trot,  holdin'  the  handle  uv 
the  pail  in  his  mouth,  an'  he'd  be  back 
in  no  time  with  it  brimmin'  full.  He'd 
go  out  an'  pick  up  dry  pieces  of  wood  for 
the  fire,  too.  Do  it  jest  as  slick  as  a  boy. 
Why,  ef  that  dorg  hed  been  a  man,  he'd 
either  hev  been  a  lawyer  or  a  minister, 
he  was  that  smart. 

"I'll  hev  ter  go  back  a  piece  for  this 
here  second  painter  episode.  About  ten 
years  ago,  I  was  takin'  a  huntin'  an'  fish- 
ing party  along  one  uv  the  big  rivers  up 
north.  They  was  the  greenest  crowd  you 
ever  see.  I  wouldn't  no  more  dared  go 


SOME  PAINTER  EPISODES. 


371 


inter  a  paster  down  in  the  settlements 
with  that  crowd  than  nothin'.  The  cows 
ud  hev  eaten  them  up  in  no  time — they 
was  that  green. 

"Wai,  one  day  I  was  off,  sorter  explor- 
ing, the  rest  bein'  fishin'  on  a  lake.  When 
I  discovered  a  painter's  den  in  among 
some  cliffs.  The  old  painters  wuz  away, 
an'  two  kittens  was  pilayin'  about,  as 
pretty  as  a  picter. 

"I  allus  wanted  a  painter  kitten,  an' 
here  was  my  chance.  So  I  picked  out  the 
likeliest  un,  an'  stuck  it  in  my  shirt,  an' 
put  for  camp  as  though  I  had  been  a  hoss 
thief  instead  of  a  painter  thief. 

"We  heered  the  ole  ones  takin'  ou  that 
night  like  they  was  hevin'  a  wake.  One 
of  um  come  in  close  ter  camp,  but  they 
finally  gave  it  up,  an'  I  brung  up  Ihe 
young  painter. 

"It  was  as  perty  a  leetle  cat  as  you  ever 
see.  With  several  black  rings  an'  stripes 
on  it,  but  they  went  off,  when  it  was  about 
six  months  ole. 

"I  allus  fed  it  myself,  an'  didn't  never 
let  nobody  say  nothin'  ter  it  but  me,  an' 
after  it  grew  up  you  bet  your  snowshoes 
there  warn't  many  folks  that  cared  ter 
sav  anything  ter  it. 

"It  was  the  jealousest,  most  tantrumish 
thing  I  ever  saw,  when  any  stranger  came 
round.  When  it  warn't  more  than  half- 
grown,  let  a  dorg  come  near  me,  an'  it 
would  fly  inter  a  rage,  an'  if  the  dorg  did 
not  git  out  lively,  when  he  did  he  was  so 
clawed  up  his  own  mother  wouldn't  hev 
known  him. 

"I  couldn't  never  make  out  whether 
the  painter  really  liked  me  as  much  as  it 
pretended  or  not. 

"It  would  lie  at  my  feet  an'  purr  like 
a  big  cat,  an'  it  would  roll  an'  tumble 
about  like  a  kitten  "when  it  was  full 
grown.  It  didn't  never  seem  ter  outgrow 
the  habit  uv  playin'  when  it  was  pleased. 

I  hed  a  cabin  then,  an'  I  kept  the  pain- 
ter in  one  room-,  an'  I  slept  in  the  other. 
Fact  is,  I  divided  the  cabin  on  purpose  for 
the  painter.  Although  I  ain't  easily  scat, 
I  didn't  wanter  sleep  with  a  full-grown 
painter. 

"I  warn't  never  sceered  uv  the  critter, 
but  sometimes,  when  I  saw  her  stretchin, 
sticki n'  out  her  long  claws,  jest  for  fun, 
an'  saw  the  great  muscles  wrigglin'  aroun' 
under  her  loose  hide,  I  did  get  to  thinkin' 
what  would  happen  ef  the  natrel  devil  in 


her  should  wake  up  some  fine  mornin', 
and  stretch  itself  the  same  way. 

''When  the  painter  was  four  years  ole, 
I  got  inter  a  sorter  row  with  Iroquois 
Bill,  a  half-breed  an'  as  mean  a  skunk  as 
ever  wore  moccasins. 

"This  fall,  some  one  got  to  tampering 
with  my  traps,  takin'  the  pelts  right  un- 
der my  nose.  Somehow,  I  suspicioned 
Bill  right  off.  He  allus  hed  a  sorter 
sneakin'  way  with  him. 

One  day  I  caught  him  in  the  act — just 
takin'  an  otter  out  uv  a  trap.  I  thought1 
I  would  jest  let  him  know  I  was  around, 
an'  I  pinted  the  ole  woman  at  Bill's  ear. 
It  is  considered  perfectly  square  among 
trappers  to  shoot  a  feller's  ear  off  ef  you 
ketch  him  tinkerin'  with  your  traps. 

"When  the  ole  woman  screeched,  he 
hopped  into  the  air,  dropped  his  own  gun 
an'  put  through  the  woods  like  a  deer.  He 
knowed  right  off  who  it  was,  an'  I  sus- 
picion he  thought  ef  the  ole  woman  hol- 
lered again  he'd  lose  his  nose. 

"Well,  that  kicked  up  a  fuss  right  off. 
Iroquois  was  in  with  a  set  of  sorter  hoss- 
thieves.  an'  good  for  nothin's  like  himself, 
an'  he  got  them  together  an'  'lowed  how 
he  was  goin'  ter  run  me  out  uv  the  coun- 
try. 

"Now,  there  is  one  thing  I  hain't 
never  did,  an'  that  is  ter  run  away  from 
nothin'  lessen  once  or  twice  I  shinned 
up  a  tree  for  a  bull  moose,  but  I  didn't 
run  then — I  jest  skeedaddled. 

"Long^s  I  hed  right  on  my  side,  I 
warn't  going  ter  skin  out  for  no  Iroquois 
Bill,  so  I  jest  stayed. 

"One  mornin'  I  found  a  knife  stickin' 
inter  my  cabin  door  an'  a  note.  I  hain't 
no  great  shakes  at  readin,  neither  was 
Bill  at  writin',  but  I  managed  ter  make  it 
out. 

"It  sed:  *Ef  you  don't  git,  quick, -we'll 
plant  yer.  Yer  know  who  we  be,  too.' 

"TJv  course  I  did,  but  I  stayed  right  on, 
jest  the  same. 

<rWal,  that  night  was  darkern  a  stack 
of  black  cats,  an'  I  reckoned  they'd  be 
round  ef  they  meant  business.  Pretty 
soon  I  heered  um  sneakin'  round  outside. 
It  was  a  mighty  fine  night  for  their  per- 
formance, for  I  couldn't  see  um,  it  bein' 
dark,  an'  the  ole  woman  warn't  bettern 
any  other  gun,  although  usually  she's 
wurth  a  whole  regiment. 

"I  fired  a  few  times  jest  ter  let  them 


372 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


know  I  was  at  home,  an'  they  returned 
the  compliment,  but  we  didn't  bark  any- 
thing. 

"I  didn't  think  they  would  dare  come 
inside  an'  tackle  me,  an'  I  knew  ef  they 
didn't  set  the  cabin  afire  an'  roast  me 
out,  an'  then  shoot  me  when  I  came  out,  I 
was  pretty  safe,  but  they  was  sassier  than 
I  had  expected. 

"For  a  while  it  was  quiet,  an'  then 
there  was  a  thunderin'  noise  an'  the  door 
came  crashin'  in. 

"They  had  got  a  log  and  smashed  it  in. 

"It  looked  rather  dubersome  for  me 
about  that  time,  but  I  made  ready  for  um. 
Three  or  four  times  they  made  a  rush  for 
the  door,  but  I  let  a  bullet  out  through 
the  door  every  time,  an'  held  um  off  for 
a  spell,  but  the  bullets  began  to  hit  all 
around  me,  an'  I  saw  I  should  be  hit,  fust 
I  knowed,  so  I  decided  ter  change  base, 
the  next  time  they  made  a  rush,  an'  also 
try  a  leetle  stratagem  that  had  sorter 
popped  inter  my  head,  all  uv  a  sudden. 

So  the  next  rush  they  made  I  gin  way, 
an'  stepped  inter  the  back  room.  When 
I  slipped  in  somethin'  strong  an'  swift 
slipped  by  me.  I  had  heerd  the*  painter 
growlin'  like  fury  for  some  time,  an'  this 
wuz  jest  as  I  had  planned. 

"Wai,  the  whole  crowd  came  pell  mell 
inter  the  cabin,  an'  fired  two  or  three  shots 
at  my  coat  that  I  had  hung  on  a  stick  for 
a  blind. 

"Then  there  was  a  change  in  their  per- 
formances jest  as  though  they  hed  spected 
ter  step  inter  Heaven  an'  had  got  the 
wrong  door  an'  found  themselves  in  the 
other  place. 

"Ef  all  the  dogs  in  the  settlements  from 
Quebec  ter  Montreal,  hed  begun  snarlin', 
an'  all  the  Injuns  in  Canada  had  took  ter 
yellin',  there  couldn't  have  been  more  din. 
It  made  my  flesh  walk  around  all  over 
my  back-bone  ter  hear  it. 

"Fust  the  painter  give  a  snarl  that  nigh 
raised  the  roof,  an'  all  seven  uv  them  cut- 
throats yelled. 

"Then  snarls  an'  yells  an'  shrieks  came 


so  thick  an'  fast  that  I  couldn't  tell  which 
was  painter  an'  which  was  man.  An'  all 
the  time  a  sorter  mixed  with  it  I  could 
hear  rippin'  uv  clothes  an'  groans. 

"There  was  curses  and  cries  for  mercy, 
an'  shouts  fer  me  ter  come  an'  help,  but 
Lord,  I  might  as  well  jumped  inter  the 
bottomless  pit  as  ter  hev  gone  in  there. 

"I  peeked  through  a  crack,  an'  could 
see  that  the  painter  had  sorter  accidental 
got  in  the  doorway,  so  they  couldn't  git 
out,  an'  she  was  layin'  um  out  one  at  a 
time  jest  as  a  cat  would  mice. 

"Seemed  as  though  the  groanin'  an' 
howl  in'  an'  cussin'  never  would  stop.  It 
was  worse'n  being  hung  myself.  I  hev 
seen  sights  in  my  day,  but  I  hain't  never 
seen  nothin'  or  heered  nothin'  like  that. 

By  and  bye  it  sorter  calmed  down  in 
there.  I  could  hear  once  in  a  while  a 
groan  mixed  with  low  growls.  I  went  in 
the  further  corner  an'  held  my  hands  over 
my  ears  so  I  shouldn't  hear,  an'  the  night 
sorter  dragged  along  until  it  began  to  get 
light;  then  I  took  the  ole  woman  an' 
climbed  out  uv  the  back  winder,  an'  went 
around  front. 

"I  shan't  never  f orgit  what  I  saw. 
There  in  the  cabin  was  all  that  was  left 
of  Iroquois  Bill,  and  standin'  over  him 
was  the  painter,  glowerin'  an'  glarin', 
with  her  eyes  as  red  as  blood.  The  rest 
on  um  had  somehow  got  away.. 

"When  she  heered  me  movin'  outside, 
she  looked  up  an'  snarled  an'  began  lash- 
ing her  tail.  Didn't  seem  ter  know  me  at 
all,  she  was  so  drunk  with  blood. 

"I  see  it  warn't  no  use  playin'  with 
gun  powder  any  more,  an'  so  I  shot  her, 
an'  lit  out  for  the  settlement,  ter  give  my- 
self up  ter  the  sheriff  ef  they  sed  so. 

But  the  settlement  'lowed  it  was  the 
best  piece  of  justice  that  hed  ever  been 
dished  out  in  Canada,  an'  a  crowd  uv  us 
went  up  an'  buried  the  poor  cut-throat. 
That  episode  had  sorter  sickened  me  uv 
the  spot,  an'  I  shifted  camp  that  very  dav, 
an'  I  hain't  never  heered  a  painter  since, 
but  it  gives  me  the  jim-jams. 


OF  ALL  SCENTED  SOAPS  PEARS'  OTTO  OF  ROSE  IS   THE  BEST. 

All  rights  secured. ' ' 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


WASHING 

COMPOUND 

THE  GREAT  INVENTION 

fba  SAVtNoTon  &  Expense 
WITHOUT  INJURY  To  THE 
OLOR  0 a  HANDS 

NEW  YORK 


IRVING  INSTITUTE 

2 1 26-2 1 28  California  Street 

Boarding  and  Day  School  for  Girls 

Miss  Pinkham,  Miss  Mac  Lennan,  Principals 

San  Francisco  Telephone  We«t&44 


THE  HAMLIN  SCHOOL  AND  VAN  NESS  SEMINARY 
2230  Pacific  Ave. 

For  particulars  address 

cTWISS  SARAH  D.  HAMLIN 

2230  Pacific  cAvenue, 
San  Francisco  Telephone  West  546 


What,     School? 

WE  CAN  HELP  YOU  DECIDE 

Catalogues  and  reliable  information  concerning  all 
schools  and  colleges  furnished  without  charge.  State 
kind  of  school,  address:  . 

American     School     and     College      Agency 
384, 41  Park  Row,  New  York,  or  384,  315  Dearborn  St.,  Chicago 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Francisco  or 
Los  Angeles  buys  Ihis  massive  Napol- 
eon bed  No.  03165  (worth  $55. )  Made 
in  beautifully  figured  Mahogany  or 
Quartered  Oak,  Piano  Polish  or  Dull 
finish  Dresser  and  commode  to 
match  and  28  other  desirable  Suites 
in  our  FREE  catalogue. 


S9.90 

Freight  prepaid  to  San  Fran- 
cisco or  Los  Angeles  buys  this 
artistic  Iron  Bed  No.  04081 
(worth  $15.)  Finished  any  color 
enamel  detired.  Vernis  Martin 
$2.00  extra.  46  other  styles  of 
Iron  and  Brass  Beds  from  $2.40 
to  $66.00  in  our  FREK  Catalogue. 


Bishop    Furniture  Co, 


Grand  Rapids,  Mich 


Ship  anywhere  "on  approval,"  allowing  furnituie  in  your 
home  five  days  to  be  returned  at  our  expense  and  money  re- 
funded if  not  perfectly  satisfactory  and  all  you  expected. 

WE  SHIP  to  San  Francisco  and  Los  Angeles  in  Car  Load 
lots  and  reship  frwm  there  to  other  western  towns,  thus  se- 
curing lowest  carload  rates  for  our  customers.  Write  for  our 
FREE  catalogue,  state  articles  wanted  and  we  will  quote  pre- 
paid prices 


124.50 

Freight  prepaid  to  San  Fran- 
cisco or  Los  Angeles.  Buys 
this  large,  luxurk.u.  Colonial 

Rocker,  No.  04762  (worth  $40)  Freight  prepaid  to  San  Fran- 
covered  with  best  genuine  cisco  or  Los  Angeles  buys  this 
leather.  Has  Quartered  Oak  or  handsome  Buffet  No.  0500 
Mahogany  finish  rockers,  full  (worth  $55.00).  Made  of  Select 
Turkish  spring  seat  and  back.  Quartered  Oak,  piano  polish  or 
An  ornament  and  Gem  of  lux-  dull  finish.  Length  46  in., 
ury  and  comfort  in  any  home.  French  bevel  mirror  40x14  in. 

93    other  styles    of     rockers  50  other  styles  of  Buffets  and 

from  $!.75  to  $70    in  our  FREE  Side  Boards  from  $10.65  to  $150 

catalog.  in  our  FREE  catalogue' 


Our  FREE  catmlogu 
good    to    the    best  r 


1000  pi( 


able 


nitnre  from  the  cheapest  that  i 
it  made.     It  posts  you  on  styles  and  prices.     Write  for  it  'today. 

Bishop  Furniture  Go.  78-90  Ionia  St.,  Grand  Rapids,  Mich. 


We  furnish  homes,  hotels, 
hospitals,  clubs  and  public 
buildings  complete. 


S28.50 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Francisco  or  Los 
Angeles  buys  this  beautiful  High  grade 
Pedestal  Dining  Extention  Table  No.  03H 
(worth  $42.00.)  Made  of  select  Quartered 
Oak,  piano  polish  or  dull  finish.  Top  48 
in.  in  diameter,  has  perfect  locking  de- 
vice Seats  10  when  extended,  4  when 
closed,  37  other  styles  of  Dining  Tables 
from  $7.75  to  $103.00  in  our  FREE  cata- 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Francisco  or  Los 
Angeles  buys  this  large  high-grade  Lib- 
rary Table  No.  04314  [worth  $15.00).  Made 
of  select  figured  Quartered  Oak  with  piano 
polish.  Length  42  inches:  width  27  inches. 
Has  large  drawer.  For  Mahogany  add$2. 25. 
39  other  styles  of  Library  and  Parlor  tables 
from  $2.40  to  $65  in  our  FREE  catalogue 


Please     Mention    Overland     Monthly    In    Writing    to    Advertisers. 


xl 


Soups 

Stews   and 
Hashes 


See  that  Lea   CS,   Perrins'  sig- 
nature is  on  wrapper  and  label. 


are  given  just 
that  "finish- 
ing touch" 
which  makes 
a  dish  perfect,  by  using 

Lea  &  Perrins9  Sauce 

THE    ORIGINAL-    WORCESTERSHIRE 

It  is  a  perfect  seasoning  for  all  kinds  of  Fish,  Meats,  Game,  Salads, 
Cheese,  and  Chahng-Dish  Cooking.      It  gives  appetiz- 
ing relish  to  an  otherwise  insipid  dish. 

BEWARE  OF  IMITATIONS  John  Duncan's  Sons,  Agents,  New  York. 


Where  Two  is   Company" 


Is  when  they*  are  comfortably 
seated  at  one  of  the  single  tables 


ENJOYING  THE  EXCELLENT 
DINING  CAR  SERVICE  OF  THE 
SALT  LAKE   ROUTE 

While  traveling  swiftly  from 
Los  Angeles  to  the  East 
On    the  de  luxe 

LOS  ANGELES  LIMITED 

Running  Daily  solid  to  Chicago 
via  Salt  Lake  Route,  Union 
Pacific,  and  Northwestern 

Particulars  at    any  Ticket  Office  or  from 

FRED  A.  WANN  T.  G.  PECK 

Genl.   Traffic  Mtfr.  A.  G.   P.  A. 

Los    Angeles 


xil 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   In   Writing   Advertisers. 


The  great  superiority,  above 
all  other  player  pianos  of  the 

Melville  Clark  Apollo  Player  Piano 

May  be  found  in  the  fact  that  it  possesses  two 
prime  features  of  unmistakable  musical  value. 

FIRST.  The  Apollo  88 -note  range,  which  covers  the  entire  piano  keyboard, 
or  seven  and  one-third  octaves.  Each  one  of  these  88  notes  is  struck  by 
a  separate  pneumatic  finger.  Every  other  player  piano  has  a  range  of 
only  65  notes  or  five  octaves.  The  Apollo  player  with  the  88-note 
range  plays  every  score  exactly  as  it  was  originally  written.  When  the 
larger  musical  works  are  cut  for  a  65 -note  player  they  must  be  rearranged, 
or  transposed,  which  is  certain  to  detract  from  the  force,  intent  and 
beauty  of  the  composition. 


Would   you  buy  a  Five  Octave   Piano  or  a 
Piano   with   Seven    and   a   Third    Octaves  ? 

Precisely  the  same  arguments  apply  to  the  selection  of  a  Player 

Piano   and  the  88-note  range   is  an  unanswerable   argument   in 

favor  of  the  Melville  Clark  Apollo  player. 


SECOND.     The  Apollo  player  has  an  exclusive  device  that  represents 

95  per  cent,  of  player  piano  value  and  that  makes  a  player  a  practical 

adjunct  to  the  musical  home.    This  is  the 

Effective  Transposing  Mouthpiece 

by  the  use  of  which  the  key  of  any  music  can  be  changed  to  suit  the 
voice  or  accompanying  instrument.  Every  one  will  quickly  understand 
the  full  significance  of  this  device.  It  also  prevents  the  annoyance 
caused  by  the  shrinking  and  swelling  of  the  music  rolls,  due  to  atmos- 
pheric conditions.  These  two  important  features  make  the  Melville 
Clark  Apollo  player  piano  by  far 

The  Best  Player  on  the  Market 

Send  to  the  manufacturers  for  complete  illustrated  booklet. 
Melville  Clark  Piano  Co. 

Steinway  Hall,  Chicago 
Makers  of  the  Melville  Clark  Art  Piano 
Benj.  Curtaz  £  Son,  Agents,  1615  Van  Ness  Ave. 


a 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


xiil 


The 
Woman 
In  The  Case 


— mother,  wife  or  daughter — is  entitled  to  the 

7  O 

Unfailing  Protection  of  Life  Insurance 

The  ticking  of  the  seconds  should  remind  you  that 
procrastination  is  the  thief,  not  only  of  time,  but 
of  money,  opportunity  and  family  happiness. 
Delay  in  Life  Insurance  may  deprive  your  family 
of  their  future  support,  comfort  and  education. 
A  Life  Insurance  policy  in 

The  Prudential 

is  the  husband  and  father's  greatest  and  most  practical 
evidence  of  his  affection  for  "the  wor$an  in  the  case." 

Insure  Now  for  Her  Benefit 


THE 

.UDENTI AL 

' HAS  THE 

STRENGTH  OF  ' 
,  GIBRALTAR 

,c        •!•' 


Write  To-day  for  Information  showing 
what  One  Dollar  a  Week  invested  in 
Life  Insurance  Will  Do.  Dcpt.  21 


The  Prudential 

Insurance  Co.  of  America 

Incorporated  as  a  Stock  Company  by  the  State  of  New  Jersey 
JOHN  F.  DRYDEN  Home  Office: 


President 


NEWARK,  N.  J. 


Lilian  Waiting  has  written  one  of  the 
best  books  of  Western  life,  development 
and  physical  geography  which  has  ap- 
peared for  some  time.  It  is  called  "The 
Land  of  Enchantment,"  and  while  some 
may  regard  it  as  rather  over-enthusiastic, 
it  is  not  by  any  means  an  exaggeration  of 
the  subject.  The  resources  and  the  mar- 
vels and  the  beauties  of  the  West  are  de- 
scribed with  both  accuracy  and  grace. 
It  is  a  book  well  calculated  to  enlighten 
Easterners  and  foreigners  in  relation  to 
the  actual  Great  West  and  its  attractions. 

Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Boston. 

*  *  * 

It  is  somewhat  difficult  for  a  book  re- 
viewer to  analyze  a  publication  on  the 
subject  of  "etiquette,"  for  the  demand  for 
such  books  comes  only  from  those  persons 
whose  early  associations  have  been  rude. 
However,  in  "Etiquette  of  New  York  To- 
day/' Mrs.  Frank  Learned  (Ellin  Craven 
Learned),  author  of  "Ideals  for  Girls/' 
has  produced  a  work  which  may  be  read 
with  advantage  by  most  servant  girls  and 
the  frequenters  of  "parlor  socials."  Its 
doctrines  are  in  most  cases  worthy  of 
faith,  and  parvenus  may  get  a  few  hints 
as  to  good  manners  by  reading  it  with 
care,  it  being  always  borne  in  mind  that 
book-learned  manners  are  not  the  real  ar- 
ticle. 

Frederick  A.  Stokes  Co.,  New  York. 

*  *  * 

"Father  Pink,"  by  the  author  of 
"The  Silver  Pen,"  is  a  lively  narrative 
of  the  wily  machinations  of  a  seemingly 
good-natured  and  harmless  priest,  who 
has  schemes  of  his  own  for  the  benefit  of 
a  favorite  niece.  Large  property  rights 
are  involved,  together  with  a  hoarded  pile 
of  diamonds  which  have  been  singularly 
concealed  for  safe  keeping.  The  hand  of 
the  woman  whose  property  is  thus  at  stake 
is  sought  by  two  eager  rivals,  whose  for- 
tunes are  involved  in  the  plot.  The  cus- 
tody of  the  diamonds,  when  at  last  found, 


gives  rise  to  exciting  complications,  with 
the  priest,  Father  Pink,  as  the  cleverest 
actor  in  the  drama.  It  is  by  no  means  an 
ordinary  man  who  can  elude  obviously 
certain  capture  by  backing  into  a  cage  of 
trained  lions  with  whom  he  had  previous- 
ly made  friends,  for  that  purpose,  and 
then  retreating,  without  possible  pursuit, 
through  a  secret  passage. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Co.,  Cambridge, 
Mass. 

*  *  * 

In  "Poker  Jim,  Gentleman,"  G.  Frank 
Lydston  has  written  a  pretty  tale  of  the 
strenuous  early  days  in  California,  thd 
davs  of  the  pioneers  and  the  rough  life 
of  the  mining  camps.  The  characters  in 
it  are,  generally  speaking,  the  conven- 
tional ones.  There  are  the  rough,  blunt- 
spoken,  but  big-hearted  miners,  in  red 
shirts  and  big  hats ;  the  "bad  men,"  ready 
with  gun  and  looking  for  trouble — which 
they  usually  get ;  the  typical  saloon  keeper 
of  the  turbulent  days,  and.  the  hero,  the 
black  sheep  of  a  fine  family  who,  although 
a  gambler,  is  ever  brave,  cool  and  gentle- 
manlv.  There  are  several  other  short 
stories  contained  under  the  same  cover, 
with  scenes  laid  in  the  Philippines  and 
elsewhere.  The  volume  is  a  good  one 
with  which  to  while  away  an  occasional 
hour  pleasantly. 

Monarch  Book  Co.,  Chicago. 

*  *  * 

Under  the  terse  title,  "Betterment,"  E. 
Wake  Cook  offers  a  volume  treating  with 
the  methods  by  which,  he  thinks,  the  high- 
est individual,  social  and  industrial  bet- 
terment may  be  effected.  It  is,  in  a  gen- 
eral way,  an  exposition  of  Mr.  Cook's 
theories  of  natural  living,  for  both  the 
social  unit  and  society  itself.  It  certain- 
Iv  contains  a  great  deal  of  good  sense  anJ. 
most  of  its  recommendations  may  be  fol- 
lowed with  Drofit. 

Frederick  A.  Stokes,  New  York. 


Please     Mention     Overland     Monthly     in     Writing    Advertisers. 


USINCER 


AND 


USINGER 


Our  New  Address 

464  Eleventh   St.    Oakland 


A  Skin   of  Beauty  Is  a  Joy  Forever. 
DR.  T.    FELIX   GOURAUD'S 

ORIENTAL  CREAM,  or  Magical  Beautifier 


as 


PURIFIES 
as   well 
Beautifies 
the     Skin. 
No  other 
Cosmetic 
will  do  it 


Removes  Tan,  Pimples. 
Freckles,  Moth  Patches, 
Rash,  and  Skin  Dis- 
eases and  every 
blemish  on 
beauty,  and  de- 
nes detection.  It 
has  stood  the 
test  of  58  years, 
and  is  so  harm- 
less we  taste  it 
to  be  sure  it  IB 
properly  made. 
Accept  no  coun- 
terfeit of  similar 
name.  Dr.  L.  A. 
Sayre  said  to  a. 
lady  of  the  haut- 
ton  (a  patient) : 
"As  you  ladies  will  use  ihem,  I  recommend 
•Gouraud's  Cream  '  as  the  least  harmful  of  all 
the  skin  preparations." 

For  sale  by  all  Druggists  and  Fancy  Goods 
Dealers  in  the  United  States,  Canada  and  Eu- 
rope. 

Gouraud's  Oriental  Toilet  Powder 

An  ideal  antiseptic  toilet  powder  for  infants 
and  adults.  Exquisitely  perfumed.  Relieves 
skin  irritation,  cures  sunburn  and  renders  an 
excellent  complexion. 

Price,  25  cents  per  box  by  mail. 

GOURAUD'S  POUDRE  SUBTILE  removes 
superfluous  hair  without  injury  to  the  skin. 

Price,   $1.00  per  bottle  by  mail. 
FERD  T.   HOPKINS,  Prop'r,  37  Great  Jones  St. 
New   York. 


La     P  in  t»or  esc  a 


The  most  comfortable  and  homelike  hotel  in  Pasadena,  California. 

Situated  on  elevated  ground  in  a  grove  of  oranges  and  palms,  surrounded  by  the  Sierra 
Madre  mountains.  Elegant,  rooms;  table  unsurpassed;  pure  water;  perfect*  appointments;  ten- 
nis, billiards.  No  winter,  no  pneumonia,  no  tropical  malaria. 

Write  for  booklet,  to  M.  D.  PAINTER,  Proprietor,  Pasadena,  Col. 


xvl 


Please     Mention    Overland     Monthly    In    Writing    Advertisers. 


Every  reader  of  Overland  Monthly  should  have  this  book. 


FACTS  and  FORMS 


A  HAND  BOOK  OF 

READY  REFERENCE 


BY  PROFESSOR  E.  T.  ROE,  LL.  B. 

A  neat,  new,  practical,  reliable  and  up-to-date  little  manual 
of  legal  and  business  form,  with  tables,  weights,  measures, 
rules,  short  methods  of  computation  and  miscellaneous  infor- 
mation valuable  to  every  one. 

Describes   the   Banking  System  of  the  United   States,   obliga- 
tions of  landlord  and  tenant,   employer  and  employee,  and  ex- 
poses the  numerous  swindling  schemes  worked  on  the  unwary. 

A  saver  of  time  and  money  for  the  busy  man  of  whatever 
calling,  in  fees  for  advice  and  legal  forms,  in  correctly  esti- 
mating the  amount  of  material  required  for  a  building,  the 
weight  or  contents  of  bins,  boxes  or  tanks;  in  measuring  land, 
lumber,  logs,  wood,  etc.;  and  in  computing  interest,  wages, 
or  the  value  of  anything  at  any  given  price. 

SOME:  OF  WHAT  ••  FACTS  AND  FORMS  "  CONTAINS. 

Bookkeeping,  single  and  double  entry.  Forms  of  every  kind 
'  of  business  letter.  How  to  writ*  deeds,  notes,  drafts,  checks, 
receipts,  contracts,  leases,  mortgages,  acknowledgments,  bills 
of  sale,  affidavits,  bills  of  lading,  etc. 

How  to  writ*  all  the  different  forms  of  endorsements  of 
notes,  checks  and  other  negotiable  business  papers.  Forma 
of  orders. 


LAWS  GOVERNING 

Acknowledgments,  agency  assign- 
ments, building  and  loan  associations, 
collection  of  debts,  contracts,  interest 
rates,  deeding  of  property,  employer 
and  employee,  landlord  and  tenant, 
neighbors'  animals,  line  fences,  prop- 
erty, subscriptions,  transportation, 
trusts  and  monopolies,  working  on 
Sundays  and  legal  holidays,  and  many 
other  subjects. 


RULES  FOR 

Painting  and  mixing  paints,  parlia- 
mentary procedure,  governing  the  find- 
ing of  lost  property,  shipping,  govern- 
ing chattel  moitgages,  rapid  addition 
and  multiplication,  discounting  notes, 
computing  interest,  finding  the  con- 
tents of  barrels,  tanks,  cisterns,  cribs, 
bins,  boxes — anything,  the  amount  of 
brick,  lime,  plaster,  lath  required  for 
building  wall  or  cellar,  the  number  of 
shingles  or  slats  required  for  roofing 
and  hundreds  of  other  things. 


A  Swindling  Note-Be  On  Your  Guard-Hundreds  Have  Been  Caught 

One  year  after  date,  I  promise  to  pay  to  John  Dawson  or  bearer  Fifty  Dollars  when  I  sell  by 
order  Five  Hundred  and  Seventy-Five  Dollars  ($575)  worth  of  hedge  plants 
for  value  received,  with  interest  at  seven  per  cent.  Said  Fifty  Dollars  when  due  is 
payable  at  Newton,  Kan. 

GEO.  W.  ELLSWORTH. 

Agent  for  John  Dawson. 
SEE    "FACTS  AND    FORMS"  FOR   FULL  EXPLANATION 


Every  reader  of  the  Overland  Monthly  can  secure  a  copy  of  "Facts  and 
Forms,"  a  book  worth  %\,  by  sending  30  cents  with  his  name  and  address 
to  the  Publishers,  905  Lincoln  avenue,  Alameda,  Cal. 


Please     Mention    Overland     Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


xv  1 1 


b  B.  B.  B.  FLOUR 


Boston  Brown  Bread  Flour  is  self  rising  and   all  ready  for  the  liquids;  guaranteed  a  pure 
food.     Have  you  used  it? 


b  B.  B.  B.  FLOUR 


3B  Self-rising  Pancake  Flour  is  the  most  healthful  blend  of  cereals  that  can  be  made   for 
pancakes;  requires  only  water  or  milk  and  is  guaranteed  a  pure  food. 


b  B.  B.  B.  FLOUR 


Highest  grade  Roller  Patent  Wheat    Flour;  makes  the  "best  bread  baked.     Use  it.     Money 
back  if  you  are  not  satisfied. 


'j  B.  B.  B.  FLOUR 


Allen's  SB's  stand  for  the  best  in  everything.      Best    bread,  best   biscuit,  best  gems,    best 
pancakes,  best  puddings.     Always  the  best. 


*  B.  B.  B.  FLOUR 

Received  two  medals  at  the  Lewis    C&   Clark  Exposition.     Did  you  see  the  exhibit?     Did 
you  taste  the  delicious  food  served  by  the  demonstrator? 

Eastern  Factory,  Little  Wolf  Mills,  Pacific  Coast  Factory 

Manawa.  Wis.  San  Jose,  Gal. 

j    Guaranteed  under  the  food  and  drugs  act,  June  30,  1906.     Serial  No.  6008. 


The  Cleverest  Weekly 
on  the  Pacific  Coast 


(£  a  lit arm ^f:iur  fce  tti  str~ 


Published  for  the  people  who  think.    An  up-  to-date  lively  journal. 
Send  for  sample  copy. 

S.  F.  News  Letter, 

725  Market  St.,  San  Francisco,  Col. 


Pouss 


THE  UNRIPE  CYNIC. 

In  Kansas  one  may  sow  any  old  thing 
and  reap  the  proverbial  whirlwind. 

If  you  must  elope  in  an  automobile,  do 
not  blame  the  machine  if  the  course  of 
true  love  comes  to  a  sudden  stop  about 
twenty  miles  from  the  nearest  farm- 
house. 

If  a  man  gambles  and  is  successful,  he 
is  a  speculator.  If  he  speculates  and 
loses,  he  is  a  gambler. 

People  who  stand  too  much  on  their 
dignity  soon  wear  it  out. 

The  saying,  "Advice  is  cheap,"  must 
have  originated  in  an  age  when  there 
were  no  lawyers. 

Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way — 
for  lawyers  to  break  it. 

The  chauffeurs  conception  of  paradise: 
A  place  where  there  is  no  speed  limit. 

God  gave  us  sleep,  and  the  devil  added 
snoring. 

The  twc\  vital  factors  of  most  literary 
success  are  perseverance  and  postage 
stamps. 

It's  a  dull  day  in  Central  America  when 
the  wheel  of  fortune  doesn't  make  at  least 
one  revolution. 

Many  a  lion  in  society  is  a  lamb  at 
home. 

A  spendthrift's  life  history  may  be 
summed  up  in  three  letters — I.  0.  U. 

A  pessimist  is  a  bald-headed  man  who 
has  tried  every  brand  of  hair-tonic  with- 
out success ;  an  optimist  is  a  similarly  af- 
flicted individual  who  has  tried  them,  all 
but  one. 

Tact  is  merely  sublimated  hypocrisy. 

There  is  a  fortune  waiting  for  the  en- 
terprising inventor  who  will  devise  an  au- 
tomobile that  can  be  steered  with  the  feet. 

Now  that  we  have  wireless  telegraphy, 
le;  us  pray  for  the  coming  of  a  wonder- 
worker who  shall  give  us  wireless  politics. 

— Jv2ien  Josephson. 


BETTER   THAN  NOTHING. 

When  he  entered  the  morgue,  the  at- 
tendant thought  him  the  very  seediest 
tramp  he  had  ever  seen,  but  pity  soon 
overcame  all  other  feelings,  first  for  the 
searcher's  solicitude  to  see  if  a  "pal"  had 
perchance  ended  up  on  one  of  the  grue- 
some slabs,  and  secondly  because  of  his 
fearful  cough.  Every  step  he  took  was 
marked  by  it,  and  each  attempt  at  ques- 
tion or  answer  was  met  by  a  paroxysm  so 
severe  as  to  be  genuinely  alarming. 

As  the  investigation  ended,  and  the 
caller  was  about  to  go  forth  to  look  else- 
where for  his  missing  friend,  the  attend- 
ant made  an  attempt  to  say  something  a 
little  conversational,  even  if  not  exactly 
cheerful.  "Where  in  the  world  did  you 
get  that  cough  ?"  asked  he.  "I'm  glad  I've 
not  got  it." 

"You  are,  hey,"  came  the  reply,  too 
punctuated  with  hackings  and  barkings 
properly  to  represent  in  cold  type.  "Well, 
I'll  tell  you  any  of  these  lads"  (with  a 
wave  of  the  hand  towards  the  silent,  sheet- 
covered  figures) — "any  of  these  lads 
would  be  mighty  glad  to  have  it." 

— Warwick  James  Price. 


What  it  Made. 

Mr.  Peck  was  expecting  the  stork  at  his 
home,  and  as  he  was  called  away  on  busi- 
ness, he  left  orders  for  the  maid  to  tele- 
graph, "Peck,  Jr."  when  the  youngster  ar- 
rived. He  was  very  much  surprised  when 
he  received  this  telegram,  "Half  bushel, 
Jr." — Will  H.  Hendrickson. 


The  Philosophy  of  Moses. 

"I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Moses  thought- 
fully, regarding  a  globe;  "de  airth  bein' 
roun',-  sometimes  we're  walkin'  up  hill  an' 
den  w'en  we  git  on  top  we  walk  down  fo' 
a  wile.  Dat's  what  makes  some  days  go 
easier  den  ot'ers." — Witt  H.  Hendrickson. 


Please     Mention    Overland     Monthly    In     Writing    Advertisers. 


xlx 


for 


and 

Drug  Using 

A  scientific  remedy  which  has  been 
skillfully  and  successfully  administered  by 
medical  specialists  for  the  past  27  years 

AT  THE   FOLLOWING   KEELEY    INSTITUTES 


Birmingham,  Ala. 
Hot  Springs,  Ark. 
San  Francisco,  Cal. 
West  Haven,  Conn. 
Washington.  D.  C. 
211   N.  Capitol  St. 


Dwight  111.  St.  Louis,   Mo.  White   Plains,  N.  Y. 

Marion.  Ind.  2803  Locust  St.  Columbus,  O. 

Lexington.  Mass.          Omaha,  Neb.  1087  N.  Dennison  Are. 

Portland.  Me.  Cor.  Cass  and  25th  St.  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Grand  Rapids,  Mich.    North  Conway,  N.  H.  81 2  N.  Broad  St. 

265  So.  College  Av.  Buffalo.  N.  Y.  Harrisburg.  Pa. 


Rttsburg,  Pa. 

4246  Fifth  Are. 
Providence  R.  I. 
Richmond,  Va. 
Toronto,   Ont.    Can. 
London.   ring. 


THE  GERMAN  SAYINGS 
AND  LOAN  SOCIETY 

|526    CALIFORNIA    STREET. 

San  Francisco 


Guaranteed  capital  and  surplus.  .$2,578,695.41 
Capital  actually  paid-up  in  cash  1,000,000.00 
Deposits,  Dec.  31,  1906 38,531,917.28 

F.  Tillmann,  Jr.,  President;  Daniel  Meyer. 
First  Vice- President;  Emil  Rohte,  Second 
Vice- President;  A.  H.  R.  Schmidt,  Cashier; 
Wm.  Herrmann,  Asst.  Cashier;  George 
Tourny,  Secretary;  A.  H.  Muller,  Asst.  Sec- 
retary; Goodfellow  &  Eells,  General  Attor- 
neys. 

DIRECTORS— F.  Tillmann,  Jr.,  Daniel 
Meyer,  Emil  Rohte,  Ign.  Steinhart,  I.  N. 
Walter,  N.  Ohlandt,  J.  W.  Van  Bergen,  E. 
T.  Kruse,  W.  S.  Goodfellow. 


We  have  a  Remedy  unknown  to  the  pro- 
fession. We  refund  money  if  we  do  not 
cure.  You  can  be  treated  at  home  for  the 
same  price  as  if  you  came  to  our  office.  We 
will  give  you  a  guaranty  to  cure  or  return 
money.  For  many  years  we  have  been 
curing  patients  in  every  country  in  the 
world.  Our  treatment  is  in  every  sense  a 
home  treatment.  If  you  have  exhausted 
the  old  methods  of  treatment  and  still  have 
aches  and  pains,  mucous  patches  in  mouth, 
sore  throat,  pimples,  copper-colored  spots, 
ulcers  on  any  parts  of  the  body,  hair  or 
eyebrows  falling  out,  it  is  this  secondary 
blood  poison  we  guarantee  to  cure.  We 
solicit  the  most  obstinate  cases.  This  dis- 
ease has  always  baffled  the  skill  of  the  most 
eminent  physicians.  For  many  years  we 
have  made  a  specialty  of  treating  this  dis- 
ease with  our  Magic  Cure,  and  we  have 
$500.000  capital  behind  our  unconditional 
guaranty. 

WE  CURE  QUICKLY 

AND  PERMANENTLY 

Oar  patients  cored  years  ago  by  our  great  Dis- 
covery, unknown  to  the  profession,  are  today 
sound  and  well,  and  bare  healthy  children  since 
we  cured  them. 

DON'T  WASTE  YOUR 

TIME  AND  MONEY 

experimenting.  Absolute  and  posltlre  proofs 
sent  sealed  on  application.  100-page  book  FREE. 
So  branch  offleea.  Address  fully  as  follows: 

COOK  REMEDY  COMPANY 

58ft  Masonic  Temple,  Chicago,  U.  S.  A. 


COOK  REMEDY  CO. 


Continental  Building  and  Loan  Association 


Subscribed  Capital 
Paid-in  Capitol 
Profit  and  Reserve  Fund 
Monthly  Income,  over 


of  California 
ESTABLISHED  1889 


ITS  PURPOSE  IS 


$15,000,000 

3,000,000 

450,000 

2OO.OOO 


To  help  its  members  to  build  homes,  also  to  make  loans  on  improved  property",  the  members  giv- 
ing first  liens  on  real  estate  as  security.  To  help  its  stockholders  to  earn  from  8  to  12  per  cent  per 
annum  on  their  stock,  and  to  allow  them  to  open  deposit  accounts  bearing  interest  at  the  rate  of 
5  per  cent  per  annum. 

Church  near  Market  St.  San  Francisco. 


SOME  UNINTENDED  SEQUELS. 

"She"  and  "The  Mutable  Many." 

"Ghosts"  and  "With  the  Immortals." 

"Innocents  Abroad"  and  "Kidnapped." 

"The     Coming    Race"     and     "Hugh 
Wynne." 

"Ivanhoe"  and  "The  Rake's  Progress/' 

"Pickwick"     and     "Round     the     Red 
Lamp." 

"The  Christian"  and  "Without  Dogma." 

"The    Odd    Number"    and    "Ninety- 
Three." 

"The  Egoist"  and  "An  Eye     for     an 
Eye." 

"Gold  Elsie"  and  "David  Copperfield." 

"Great  Expectations"  and  "The  Gam- 
bler." 

"Debit  and   Credit"  and     "On     Both 
Sides." 

"Oliver      Twist"      and     "Roundabout 
Papers." 

"Not  Like  Other  Girls"     and     "Self- 
Help." 

"The  American"  and  "Roosevelt,    the 
Man." 

"Hard  Times"  and  "The  French  Revo- 
lution." 

"On  the  Heights"  and  "The  Cliff  Dwell- 
ers." 

"Wives  and  Daughters"  and  "Fathers 
and  Sons." 

"The    Cosmopolite"    and    "The    Man 
Without  a  Country." 

"From   Ponkapog  to   Pesth"   and   "A 
Tale  of  Two  Cities." 

"Our  Old  Home"  and  "The  Story  of  an 
Abandoned  Farm." 

"Looking  Backward"  and  "The  Reflec- 
tions of  a  Married  Man." 

— Warwick  James  Price. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SUN. 

I  can  live  without  sentiments,  sonnets  and 
sighs, 

I  can  live  without  sweethearts  and  wel- 
coming eyes; 

I  can  live  in  a  turmoil  and  measureless 
bother, 

But  I'm  free  to  confess  I  can't  live  with- 
out father ! 

— Louise  Ayres  Garneit. 


THE  DAYS. 
I  fretted  when  the  dancing  days 

Of  youth  were  long  and  slow; 
When  every  hour  was  like  a  year, 

I  smiled  to  see  it  go. 

And  now  I  pray  that  Time  will  turn 

His  face  again  to  me — 
In  vain !  for  Time  is  deaf  and  blind 

And  cannot  hear  or  see! 

— Aloysius  Coll. 


With  a  Cornet. 

Yonkers — There's  a  man  in  the  flat 
next  to  our's  who  does  nothing  all  day 
long  but  kill  time. 

Jonkers — How  do  you  know  he  does? 

Yonkers — I  can  hear  him  practicing. 


A  Large  Supply. 

The  Office  Boy— I'd  like  ter  get  off  this 
afternoon,  Mr.  Wadd.  Me  twin  brother 
is  dead. 

Mr.  Wadd — But  you  told  me  that  your 
twin  brother  was  dead  the  last  time  you 
had  a  holiday. 

The  Boy — Yes,  I  know,  sir,  but  dis  is 
de  udder  one. 

What  He  Was. 

*  *  * 

Where  He  Stole  It. 

Yonkers — There  goes  a  thief  who's 
served  five  terms. 

Jonkers — Penitentiary  ? 

Yonkers — No.    Legislature. 

*  *  * 

Fitt. 

Chollie — Did  your  tailor  give  you  a 
good  fit? 

Reggie — No,  but  his  bill  did. 

*  *  * 

Binks — You  see  evidences  of  that  man's 
work  on  every  hand. 

Jinks — Indeed. 

Binks — Yes.    He's  a  manicurist. 
Not  Full. 

*  *  * 

Pacer — Was  there  a  full  orchestra  at 
the  banquet? 

Spendit — Oh,  no,  indeed.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  were  about  the  only  men  who 
were  sober. 

— G.  F.  Morgan. 

*  *  * 

"The  leaves  are  beginning  to  fall,"  said 
the  cheerful  idiot,  as  the  center  leg  of  the 

boarding  house  table  gave  way. 

*  *  * 

"Time  is  rolling  on,"  said  the  man,  as 
the  alarm  clock  which  the  hired  girl  had 
dropped  went  spinning  down  the  stairs. 

*  *  * 

"This  is  a  bitter  loss,"  said  the  man, 
when  he  found  he  had  mislaid  his  box 
of  quinine. 


¥***!         : 


Overland  Monthly 


T="  T3 

PUBLIC 

DECATUR, 


1907 


NO.  5 


May,  1907 


VOL.  XLIX 


BY    PIERRE    N.    BERINGER 


WAS  it  wisdom  that  dictated  to 
the  rugged  old  pioneers  the 
selection  of  the  Phenix  as  an 
emblem  for  their  beloved  city  by  the 
Golden  Gate?  Was  it  prophecy  that,  fol- 
lowing the  old  tradition,  presumed  that 
the  offspring  should  be  a  better  and  a 
more  glorious  bird  than  its  father?  Or 
did  they  but  dream,  these  argonauts,  and 
was  it  fate  that  decreed  that  the  Phenix 
should  typify  the  city  they  loved?  Four 
times  it  has  burned,  and  each  time  it  has 
arisen  in  greater  beauty  and  majesty.  The 
cycle  is  completed,  and  the  scythe  of  fate 
descended :  the  great  buildings  have  fallen 
like  chaff,  and  then  out  of  the  ashes  the 
new  San  Francisco  has  arisen ! 

The  last  trial  by  fire  seemed  destined 
to  be  the  worst  that  could  be  devised  by 
a  malignant  fate,  but  out  of  the  resultant 
chaos  and  disaster  has  come  cleanliness 
and  beauty,  and  again  there  will  arise  the 
greater  and  more  beautiful  city.  Stricken 
as  Pompeii  or  Herculaneum,  it  bowed  not 
its  head,  and  its  population  did  not  flee  to 
other  shores,  and  away  from  the  skeleton 
of  its  greatness,  but  with  a  courage  that 
has  never  been  equaled  in  this  or  any 
other  land,  the  population  rallied  around 
the  remains  of  the  great  municipality, 
and  fanning  declining  hope  into  heroic 
action,  it  began  the  stupendous  task  of 
reconstruction.  How  has  it  prospered, 
and  what  is  the  story  of  the  wonder  year  ? 
The  story  of  the  year  is  written  in  great 
letters  in  brick,  stone,  iron  and  mortar 


across  a  devastated  field.  The  story  is 
written  in  such  heroic  size  that  it  may  be 
read  with  ease  by  an  expectant  and  criti- 
cal world.  The  stress  year  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, the  Year  One  of  the  Energy  Cycle, 
the  Phenix  Year  is  a  wonder,  year.  It 
tells  of  accomplishments  by  Titans.  It 
glows  with  the  tales  of  an  indomitable 
race  that  has  grappled  by  this  Balboan 
Sea  with  a  problem  that  baffled  the  peo- 
ples of  all  ages,  that  drove  the  remaining 
myriads  from  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii, 
that  finally  conquered  Troy  and  destroyed 
many  of  the  ancient  and  gloried  cities  of 
Asia,  and  that  had  no  terrors  for  the  peo- 
ple of  the  four  times  destroyed  San  Fran- 
cisco. Facing  a  disaster  beside  which 
the  destruction  of  Pompeii,  Herculaneum, 
Troy,  Alexandria,  London,  Chicago  and 
Baltimore-  were  but  child's  play,  San 
Francisco  has  once  again  arisen  and  faces 
the  future  with  an  array  of  achievement 
unequaled  in  the  world's  entire  history. 

The  Wonder  Year  it  has  been  indeed. 
We  have  seen  great  financial  houses  that 
have  plucked  triumph  from  almost  cer- 
tain defeat:  we  have  seen  insurance  com- 
panies that  have  found  the  loyalty  of  the 
people  the  ladder  of  escape  from  destruc- 
tion; we  have  seen  the  merchant  who  is 
again  hopefully  and  successfully  rebuild- 
ing lost,  fortunes ;  we  have  seen  the  arti- 
san and  mechanic  at  their  tasks,  working 
to  the  solution  of  building  a  bigger,  a 
better  and  a  grander  city.  We  see  an  in- 
creased amount  of  commerce,  a  larger  vol- 


378 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


ume  of  trade  and,  better  than  all  this,  we 
see  an  unabated  courage,  a  greater  deter- 
mination to  overcome  every  obstacle,  a 
compelling  energy  that  acknowledges  no 
difficulties,  and  all  these"  we  see  as  the  ele- 
ments that  will  go  to  make  the  year  that 
is  to  come  the  second  of  the  cycle,  second 
year  of  stress,  another  Wonder  Year  in 
the  accomplishment  of  what  was  'once 
thought  the  impossible. 

Did  ever  any  city  achieve  as  much  un- 


its smelters  were  at  hand,  and  it  was  but 
a  day's  journey  ,to  the  great  machine 
shops  of  St.  Louis,  Pittsburg,  -  New  York 
or  Northern  Ohio.  It  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  thickly  populated  country,  and  its 
calls  for  help  were  answered,  as  far  as  the 
production  of  material  is  concerned,  with- 
in twenty-four  hours.  The  delay  on  the 
delivery  of  the  structural  necessities  was 
not  at  any  time  more  than  a  day  or  two, 
and  always  the  great  Eastern  cities  that 


Security  Savings   Bank,   Montgomery  street,   near  California. 


der  such  terrible  conditions?  In  ancient 
times  such  a  revival  was  not  possible,  and 
it  must  be  admitted  that  the  rehabilita- 
tion and  rebuilding  of  any  of  the  great 
modern  cities  presented  no  parallel  in  the 
difficulties  to  be  surmounted  to  those  pre- 
sented in  the  case  of  San  Francisco. 

Chicago  was  contiguous  to  large  cen- 
ters; it  was  close  to  its  base  of  supplies; 


have  suffered  by  fire  have  been  most 
favorably  situated.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  area  destroyed  in  the 
world's  great  conflagrations  may  in  no 
case  be  compared  to  the  area  comprised 
in  San  Francisco's  fire. 

Inadequate  railroad  facilities  have 
made  the  reconstruction  of  San  Francisco 
a  much  harder  task  than  may  well  be 


380 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


imagined  by  those  who  are  far  away  from 
this  great  ant-hill  of  activity.  Under 
normal  accretion,  and  with  the  natural 
growth  of  city  and  State,  and  conditions 
obtaining  before  the  fire,  three  railroads, 
combining  each  the  capacity  of  the 
Santa  Fe  and  the  Southern  Pacific  Com- 
pany, could  not  begin  to  supply  the  de- 
mands of  this  section  of  country  without 
cramping  their  freight  handling  facilities. 
So  great  has  been  the  growth  of  the  State 
at  large,  so  great  has  been  the  growth  of 
Oakland  and  the  other  transbay  cities,  so 
greatly  has  San  Francisco  increased  in  its 
population  that  the  consequent  demands 
on  the  railroad  carrying  capacity  exceed 


else  in  the  country.  We  have  heard  of 
families  in  Dakota  that  have  perished  for 
want  of  coal;  we  have  heard  of  others 
that  have  died  of  hunger  for  the  lack  of 
food,  because  of  location  in  isolated  sec- 
tions, but  imagine  a  whole  community 
struggling  to  place  itself  in  shape  again 
at  the  mere}''  of  those  who,  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  lack  of  transportation  facili- 
ties, have  raised  the  price  of  every  com- 
modity that  is  used  by  a  human  being! 
Imagine  the  resultant  combinations  that 
have  raised  the  price  of  flour  and  of  every 
other  article  of  food.  Imagine  the  busi- 
ness combines  that  have  repeatedly  raised 
lumber  in  price.  Imagine  a  fearful 


A  section  of  Third,  between  Howard  and  Folsom  Sts.,  San  Francisco. 


that  of  before  the  fire  by  three  or  four 
times. 

This  inability  on  the  part  of  the  rail- 
roads to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  con- 
suming public  is  so  large  that  no  freight 
has  been  solicited  by  one  transcontinental 
line  since  last  October,  and  I  have  been 
told  by  a  traffic  manager  that  almost  one 
might  walk  on  the  roofs  of  freight  cars 
from  Albuquerque  to  Chicago,  along  the 
congested  side  and  main  tracks  and 
switches  of  the  Santa  Fe  line ! 

This  inability  of  the  railroads  to  meet 
the  freight  carrving  demands  of  the  coun- 
try is  general,  but  it  has  worked  a  greater 
hardship  in  San  Francisco  than  anywhere 


scarcity  of  labor.  Imagine  all  these  things, 
and  then  on  top  of  it  all,  imagine  a 
cleansing  of  the  city  politically.  Why 
not?  No  task  too  great!  No  sacrifice 
too  immense  in  the  Wonder  Year!  The 
San  Franciscan  is  not  only  cleaning,  re- 
building and  rehabilitating,  but  he  is  also 
cleaning  out  the  element  that  has  so  long 
held  his  city  in  thrall,  and  that  has  won 
for  him  and  for  his  beloved*  municipality 
an  evil  name  the  whole  world  over! 

San  Francisco  is  not  an  evil  city.  Its 
conscience  is  strong,  and  its  morals  are 
not  weak.  It  has  awakened  from  sooth- 
ing slumbers  of  sin,  and  it  is  making  a 
cleansing  that  is  to  be  as  vigorous  as  anv- 


Jackson  and  Drumm  streets. 


m  LOr 


Second,   between  Howard  and  Mission  streets. 


Cooper  Medical  College. 
Mount  Zion  Hospital. 


384 


OVERLAND   MONTHLY. 


thing  else  that  it  has  done.  San  Fran- 
cisco does  things  on  the  heroic  scale  al- 
ways, and  its  political  house-cleaning  will 
be  as  thorough  as  its  physical  cleaning 
out  by  fire. 

In  the  midst  of  its  tribulations,  its  offi- 
cers fell  from  grace  and  pillaged  the  city, 


ments  of  the  city  have  been  and  are  of 
the  most  disastrously  damaging  kind,  and 
yet,  in  the  face  of  all  these  things,  this 
population,  the  great  mass  of  which  is 
honest,  true  and  brave,  faces  the  battle 
unflinchingly  and  augurs  out  of  the  im- 
mense task  performed  a  successful  per- 


rsorth  side  of  Mission  street,  near  Second, 
of  construction.     Atlas  building   completed. 


South  side  is  now  in  course 


and  once  again  it  was  demonstrated  that 
in  some  things  it  does  not  pay  to  be  demo- 
cratic, and  that  a  silk  purse  may  not  eas- 
ily be  fashioned  from  a  sow's  ear.  San 
Francisco  has  suffered  from  the  aggres- 
sions of  labor  in  the  political  field,  and 
labor's  agitations  in  the  economic  adjust- 


formance  of  the  duties  that  yet  remain. 
San  Francisco  has  been  nearly  one-half 
rebuilt  in  one  year.  This  means  that  San 
Francisco  has  accomplished  in  one  year 
what  it  took  Chicago  and  Baltimore  three 
years  to  do,  and  that  in  another  year 
there  will  remain  but  little  to  mark  the 


386 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


terrible  visitation  of  one  year  ago. 

"Resurgam"  was  the  cry,  and  the  peo- 
ple, the  stout-hearted  folk  that  live  by 
the  Balboan  Sea,  girded  their  loins  and 
bent  to  the  task  and  echoed  the  cry  as  a 
sort  of  crooning  song,  reverberating 
through  their  hours  of  night  and  day  to 
joy  them  in  their  labors,  to  guide  them 
to  greater  effort  and  success.  "I  will  rise 
again"  was  the  cry,  and  San  Francisco 
has  risen  again  and  in  its  majesty  is 
once  more  the  most  potential  city  of  the 
Pacific  Coast. 

It  was  a  task  that  none  but  a  Western 
people  could  have  faced  and  cheerfully  ac- 
complished. Surely  and  quickly  we  have 
arisen,  and  faster  and  yet  faster  will  the 
progress  become  as  the  days  of  the  new 
Wonder  Year  pass  by,  the  second  of  the 
cycle  of  stress.  The  new  Phenix  is  de- 
veloping a  plumage  that  rivals  and  out- 
shines that  of  his  predecessor,  and  once 
again  the  ancient  tradition  is  justified  and 
the  rugged  pioneer's  selection  of  a  scut- 
cheon stands  approved. 

We  may  write  in  rounded  sentences  or 
laud  in  rhetorical  rhythm;  we  may  con- 
jure in  honeyed  words  or  argue  with  the 
wisdom  of  the  sages;  our  song  may  be  as 
luring  as  the  Lorelei's  lilting,  and  yet  the 
tale  to  many  will  be  unconvincing  and 
open  to  doubt.  It  takes  figures  to  convince 
the  doubting. 

The  record  shows  for  the  year  1906  pre- 
vious to  the  fire  three  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  eleven  real  estate  transactions, 
aggregating  $45,940,081.  The  sales  for 
1906  and  since  the  fire  amounted  to  five 
thousand  one  hundred  and  thirty-six,  and 
aggregated  $22,124,219.  The  sales  for 
the  month  of  January,  1907,  eight  hun- 
dred and  thirty-four  in  number,  amount- 
ing to  $4,230,090,  prophecies  well  for  the 
year  that  we  are  now  entering,  year  two 
since  the  fire.  The  deposits  in  banks,  not 
national  or  private,  amounted  to  $434,- 
971,354.79  on  April  14,  1906,  and  on  De- 
cember 30th  of  the  same  year  they  were 
nearly  $500,000,000,  or  to  be  more  correct, 
the  deposits  had  increased  by  $61,430,090. 
The  assets  of  San  Francisco's  banks  had 
increased  in  the  same  period  by  one  hun- 
dred million  dollars. 

There  are  now  more  banks  doing  busi- 
ness in  San  'Francisco  than  there  were  be- 
fore the  fire,  and  they  are  all  of  them  in 
a  prosperous  and  healthy  condition.  The 


increase  in  deposits  and  assets  in  eight 
months  of  more  than  one  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  millions  of  dollars  is  surely 
a  most  healthy  sign. 

The  bank  is  the  thermometer  of  the 
present  and  the  barometer  of  the  future  in 
forecasting  conditions,  and  it  were  an  idle 
task  to  enumerate  figures  in  all  the  other 
and  collateral  pursuits  that  have  brought 
about  the  results  in  the  great  counting 
houses  of  this  big  city.  There  is  more 
building,  there  is  greater  opportunity, 
there  is  a  larger  demand  for  the  product 
of  the  mind  of  genius,  for  the  finished 
material  from  the  hand  of  labor,  and  for 
genius  and  labor  itself  in  San  Francisco 
than  in  any  other  city  in  the  world.  With 
its  old-time  hospitality,  it  offers  to  the 
world,  out  of  its  largesse  and  prosperity,  a 
share!  There  is  room  for  artisan,  artist 
and  architect;  for  poet,  professional  and 
plodder;  for  the  hardy  son  of  toil,  the 
mechanic,  and  the  man  of  business,  and 
to  spare,  and  San  Francisco  beckons,  not 
in  vain!  They  are  coming,  these  legions 
in  the  world's  labor,  the  world's  thought, 
the  captains  and  the  soldiers  of  industry, 
to  the  place  where  the  wage  is  the  highest, 
to  the  haven  of  golden  opportunity,  to  the 
land  of  fullest  fruition  of  endeavor. 

San  Francisco  looks  into  the  future, 
level-eyed  and  hopeful,  gazing  over  its  il- 
limitable seas,  over  its  mountains  and 
prairies,  to  the  rivers  and  lakes,  to  the 
east  and  the  west,  the  north  and  the  south, 
and  everywhere  it  reads  the  same  story 
of  prosperity  and  plenty.  Truly  it  has 
arisen. 

The  following  summary  shows  San 
Francisco's  condition : 

Value  of  March  building  permits, 
$8,203,880. 

Adding  15  per  cent  for  undervaluation 
would  bring  this  amount  to  $9,434,452. 

Value  of  permits  issued  since  the  fire, 
$55,058,756. 

Adding  15  per  cent  for  undervaluation 
would  bring  this  amount  to  $63,317,568. 

March  real  estate  transfers,  880.  Value, 
$4,100,000. 

March  postal  receipts,  $138,350. 

March  customs  receipts,  $660,280.39. 
March,  1906,  $696,021.36. 

March  bank  clearings,  $187,870,476.70. 
March,  1906,  $185,417,224.93. 

Los  Angeles  bank  clearings,  $52,823,- 
097.71. 


390 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


Oakland  bank  clearings,  $14,265,32.20. 
San     Jose     bank     clearings,     $2,0-16,- 
338.55. 

The  very  heavy  rains,  unusual  as  they 


sated  for  by  the  removal  of  the  height 
limit  on  class  "A"  buildings,  and  this  has 
caused  a  great  and  increased  activity 
since  the  rain  stopped.  It  is  impossible 


Humboldt    Savings    Bank    building,    Market    near    Fourth. 


were  this  spring,  having  a  fall  of  several 
inches  more  than  the  average,  have  de- 
layed building  operations  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. This,  however,  has  been  compen- 


in  the  scope  of  a  magazine  article  to  give 
all  of  the  details  covering  the  resumption 
of  normal  life  in  a  large  city  like  San 
Francisco  after  such  a  terrific  stroke  as 


392 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


the  earthquake  and  fire  of  April  18th,  of 
a  year  ago. 

During  the  month  just  past,  the  build- 
ing permits  issued  aggregated  a  value  of 
$8,203,880,  and  if  we  add  15  per  cent  for 
under-valuation,  this  would  bring  this 
amount  to  $9,434,452,  which  is  a  very 
good  showing  for  one  month.  The  total 
value  of  permits  issued  since  the  fire  is 


post  office  for  the  month  of  March  aggre- 
gate $138,350.  The  March  customs  re- 
ceipts  amounting  to  $660,280.38,  as 
against  the  same  month  in  1906  of  $696,- 
021.36.  The  bank  clearings  for  March, 
1907,  as  compared  with  those  of  March, 
1906,  are  quite  significant,  as  they  show 
$187,870,476.70,  as  against  $185,417,- 
224.93,  which  shows  a  clear  gain  of  $2,- 


Mutual  Savings  Bank  Building.     The  five  story  building  adjoining  was 
the  first  reinforced  concrete  structure  finished  since  the  fire. 


$55,058,756,  .and  if  we  add  to  this  15  per 
cent  for  under-valuation,  it  would  bring 
this  amount  to  $63,317,568.  As  a  sample 
month,  March  shows  up  very  well  in  real 
estate  transfers,  which  number  880.  The 
value  of  this  is  given  at  $4,100,000.  The 
postal  receipts  at  San  Francisco  general 


453,251.77.  California  in  general  is  very 
prosperous,  as  the  bank  clearings  in  the 
nrincipal  cities  will  show.  Los  Angeles, 
the  second  city  in  the  State,  shows  bank 
clearings  of  $52,823,097.71.  The  bank 
clearings  of  Oakland,  $14,265,321.20; 
San  Jose  bank  clearings,  $2,460,338.55. 


ABa 


BY    EUNICE  WARD 


THEEE  was  no  doubt  that  Ah  Gin 
was  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  Mrs. 
Caxton's  four  daughters.  He  was 
'a  hatchet-faced,  bad-tempered  Chinese 
cook,  whose  sway  had  gradually  extended 
from  his  own  domain  over  the  entire 
house.  He  had  arrived  when  the  young- 
est Caxton  girl  was  just  out  of  the  nur- 
sery, and  since  then  no  other  servant, 
male  or  female,  had  been  allowed  on  the 
premises.  "Me  do,"  was  the  laconic  re- 
ply whenever  Mrs.  Caxton  suggested  ex- 
tra help  in  certain  branches  of  her  house- 
keeping. And  "do"  he  did,  with  success- 
ful results,  but  with  such  domineering 
methods  that  Mrs.  Caxton  was  more  than 
once  on  the  point  of  discharging  him  in 
order,  as  she  said,  to  be  able  to  call  her 
soul  her  own.  But  at  the  critical  moment 
something  was  sure  to  intervene — an  in- 
flux of  Eastern  relatives  who  would  ex- 
pect to  be  taken  sight-seeing,  and  who 
must  be  well  fed  during  their  stay ;  a  little 
journey  which  could  not  be  enjoyed  un- 
less the  house  was  left  in  good  hands;  or 
an  illness,  with  one  or  more  trained  nurses 
to  provide  for,  doctors  coming  and  going, 
meals  at  odd  times  and  endless  inquiries 
at  the  front  door — and  in  all  of  these 
emergencies  Gin  showed  himself  so  will- 
ing and  so  competent  that  his  dismissal 
was  always  deferred  until  "next  time." 

And  now  that  the  four  daughters  were 
established  in  homes  of  their  own,  and 
the  mistresses  of  servants  who  were  in 
some  degree  biddable,  it  seemed  to  them 
intolerable  that  their  mother  should  be 
in  leading  strings,  so  to  speak.  If  she 
refused  to  live  with  any  of  them  (a  stand- 
ing grievance),  she  at  least  ought  to  have 
undisputed  sway  in  her  own  home.  But 
Mrs.  Caxton  was  obdurate  and  clung  to 
Gin. 

"He  understands  my  ways,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

<fYou  mean  you  understand  his,"  re- 
plied Ethel,  scornfully. 

"Well,  it  comes  to  the  same  thing." 

"Besides,"  objected  Leila,    the     bride, 


who  lived  next  door,  "you  really  ought 
to  have  a  woman  in  the  house  to  wait  on 
you,  now  that  I  am  away." 

"Gin  waits  on  me.  I  have  my  breakfast 
in  bed  every  morning.  He  brings  up  my 
tray  at  half-past  eight  to  the  minute." 

"I'll  bet  he  does!"  ejaculated  Ethel, 
slangily.  "Just  to  the  minute.  And  if 
you  are  awake  at  six,  you  can  starve,  or  if 
you  don't  wake  up  till  nine,  you  can  eat 
a  stone-cold  breakfast;  that  tray  will  ap- 
pear at  eight-thirty  sharp." 

"How  does  Olga  manage?"  asked  Mrs. 
Caxton  to  avert  further  discussion.  "You 
said  you  were  going  to  take  life  easily 
while  Will  was  away." 

"Olga?  I  shall  have  to  confess  that 
she  doesn't  manage  very  well.  She  mis- 
understood me  and  brought  my  breakfast 
tray  at  half-past  six  the  other  day,  and 
this  morning  she  over-slept,  and  when  I 
went  into  the  kitchen  it  was  after  eight, 
and  the  fire  not  even  lighted.  I  had  to 
scurry  around  and  help  get  breakfast  for 
Billy,  but  of  course  he  was  late  to  school. 
Wouldn't  you  think  that  a  person  who 
claims  to  be  a  first-class  cook  could  get  a 
quick  breakfast  for  one  small  boy  without 
assistance  ?" 

"Gin  used  to  see  that  all  four  of  you 
were  through  breakfast  by  eight  o'clock. 
If  you  were  late  to  school  it  was  not  his 
fault." 

"But,  oh,  dear,  he  was  so  cross  if  we 
went  near  him  when  he  was  busy,"  said 
Leila.  "Xow,  when  I  go  into  the  kitchen, 
Sako  receives  me  as  though  I  were  a  dis- 
tinguished visitor,  and  greets  me  with  a 
series  of  lovely  Japanese  bows.  And  when 
he  answers  the  door  bell  he  doesn't  open 
the  door  a  crack  and  peer  out,  as  Gin  will 
insist  upon  doing,  but  flings  it  wide,  as 
though  you  were  just  the  person  he  had 
been  watching  for.  I  want  to  call  upon 
myself  all  the  time.  Frank  says  he  wel- 
comes callers  and  peddlers  with  equal  en- 
thusiasm, but  that  is  only  because  he 
hasn't  been  in  this  country  long  enough  to 
discriminate.  But  I  do  wish  he  under- 


394 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


When    the    club    man    cooked    his    dinner. 

stood  English  a  little  better.  If  I  want 
a  dish  that  is  not  where  I  can  point  to  it, 
he  usually  brings  in  the  whole  china 
closet  before  he  procures  the  right  one, 
and  it  makes  dinner  rather  slow.  Still, 
I  like  to  have  an  amiable  person  in  the 
kitchen,  and  he'll  learn  in  time." 

"If  he  were  a  Chinaman,  Gin  could 
give  him  points  in  waiting  on  the  table, 
but  as  he  is  a  Jap,  I  suppose  it  would  be 
of  no  use  to  suggest  such  a  thing  to  either 
of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Caxton.  "How  does 
Mary  suit  you,  Jessie?" 

"Mother,  you're  behind  the  times.  Mary 
was  the  one  before  last.  The  present  in- 
cumbent is  Anne  de  Forest,  and  she  is  as 
ornamental  as  her  name ;  after  Gin's  pock- 
marked visage,  it  will  be  a  relief  to  you 
to  look  at  her.  She  is  an  enterprising 
American,  who  is  trying  to  earn  enough 
money  to  study  art,  but  I  don't  believe 
she  saves  much,  for  I  wish  you  could  see 
her  clothes!  Talk  about  Leila's  trous- 
seau !  But  she  is  willing  to  wear  a  cap — 
aonreciates  the  artistic  effect,  I  suppose — 
and  she  has  the  true  American  daintiness 
in  her  manner  of  doing  everything.  She 
arranges  the  flowers  for  the  table  in  a 
new  way  every  night.  The  only  draw- 
back is  that  her  cooking  is  so  uneven ;  it's 
the  artistic  temperament  again,  no  doubt. 
Sometimes  her  things  are  delicious,  and 
the  next  time  perfectly  uneatable,  so  I 
haven't  yet  dared  to  have  any  company. 
However,  variety  is  the  spice  of  life,  and 
you  know  I  always  objected  to  the  same- 


ness of  Gin's  cooking.  Keally,  mother,  I 
should  think  you  would  pine  for  a  change 
occasionally." 

A  little  smile  curved  the  corners  of 
Mrs.  Caxton's  mouth.  "Gin's  cooking  is 
apt  to  be  monotonous,  but  it  has  the  vir- 
tue of  being  reliable,  and  with  four 
daughters,  all  with  new  cooks,  to  invite 
me  to  dinner,  I  need  not  fear  too  much 
uniformity." 

"Miss  Murphy's  cooking  has  plenty  of 
sameness,"  remarked  Mabel,  ruefully;  "it 
is  uniformly  bad.  I  am  only  keeping  her 
until  I  can  get  another  cook,  and  it  looks 
just  now  as  though,  under  those  condi- 
tions, she  is  liable  to  stay  forever." 

"And  yet  you  want  me  to  get  rid  of 
Gin !" 

There  was  a  chorus  of  justification. 
"Oh,  but  mother,  Gin  is  so  cross!"  "He 
is  getting  old !"  "He  likes  his  own  way 
too  much!"  "You  could  have  two  maids 
if  you  didn't  have  him." 

But  Mrs.  Caxton  only  smiled,  and  Gin 
continued  to  reign. 

And  then  one  fearful  day  came — a 
day  when  houses  rocked,  chimneys 
crashed,  sidewalks  heaved,  and  to  crown 
all,  a  terrible  fire  raged  across  the  city  ii> 
mad  effort  to  destroy  what  was  left.  Mrs. 
Caxton  was  dragged  from  her  home  by 
her  terrified  daughters,  and  the  five  house- 
holds spent  the  next  two  nights  with  no 
other  covering  than  the  reddened  sky  and 
the  trees  of  Golden  Gate  Park,  too  thank- 
ful that  they  were  all  alive  to  dwell  very 
much  upon  the  probable  fate  of  their  be- 
longings. There  was  only  one  little  wail 
from  Leila.  "All  my  wedding  presents! 
If  they're  not  burned  they'll  be  stolen. 
But  I  don't  care,"  she  added,  hugging 
her  youngest  nephew,  "we  are  all  here 
together  and  safe,  and  nothing  else  mat- 
ters." 

"If  I  only  knew  where  Gin  was,"  said 
Mrs.  Caxton,  anxiously.  "He  promised 
to  take  care  of  himself  when  he  refused  to 
come  with  us,  and  I  do  hope  he  is  safe !" 
"Oh,  trust  a  Chinaman  for  that," 
answered  Leila's  husband.  "He's  prob- 
ablv  playing  fan-tan  across  the  bay  by 
this  time.  By  the  way,  Leila,  what  became 
of  our  family  Chesterfield,  Sako?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Leila  blank- 
ly; "he  nearly  knocked  me  down  when  he 
rushed  out  of  the  house  the  morning  of 
the  shock,  and  I  haven't  seen  him  since." 


AH  GIX. 


395 


Then  followed  an  endeavor  to  recollect 
where  each  one  had  last  seen  her  servant. 
At  the  time  of  the  earthquake  "Miss  Mur- 
phy" had  fled  in  a  panic,  minus  the  more 
conventional  part  of  her  raiment;  Olsra 
had  migrcted  to  Oakland  with  a  fellow 
Swede;  and  the  artistic  Anne  de  Forest 
had  packed  her  magnificent  wardrobe, 
and  when  last  seen,  was  sitting  on  her 
trunk  at  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  and 
calling  vainly  upon  every  passing  wagon 
to  take  her  away.  She  had  refused  to 
abandon  her  belongings,  so  her  emplovers, 
after  waiting  as  long  as  they  dared,  had 
been  obliged  to  abandon  her. 

When  at  last  it  became  evident  that  the 
fire  had  been  permanently  checked,  the 
Caxton  expedition,  as  a  would-be  cheer- 
ful son-in-law  termed  it,  returned  home, 
dropping  its  members  at  their  various 
domiciles.  Mrs.  Caxton  and  Leila,  who 
lived  nearest  the  fire  line,  were  the  last. 

'^We'll  z.^  home  with  you  first,  mother," 
said  Leila  heroically,  stifling  a  desire  to 
see  whether  she  had  any  valuables  left, 
"and  then  vou  must  come  and  live  with 
us." 

"The  door  of  our  flat  is  still  closed, 
anyhow,"  remarked  her  husband.  "The 
one  above  is  wide  open.  Where  is  your 
latch  key,  mother?" 

"I  don't  know — I  had  it  somewhere," 
said  Mrs.  Caxton,  fumbling  in  her  bag 
with  trembling  hands,  for  the  sight  of 
the  old  home  that  she  had  never  expected 
to  see  again  had  quite  unnerved  her.  "It 
is  no  use  ringing  the  bell,  Leila;  no  one 
is  here,"  as  her  daughter  mechanically 
pressed  the  button.  "My  key  is  some- 
where." 

"There  is  someone  here,"  exclaimed 
Leila.  "Listen !" 

There  was  a  faint  click  of  the  latch, 
-and  the  front  door  opened  a  couple  of 
inches  or  so:  a  piercing  dark  eye  and  a 
section  of  leather-colored  forehead  showed 
through  the  crack.  Then  the  door  swung 
wide,  disclosing  a  stocky  little  Chinaman, 
whose  yellow  teeth  gleamed  from  his  ugly 
pock-marked  face  in  a  grin  of  welcome. 

"By  Christopher — Gin !"  shouted 
Frank,  seizing  one  brown  hand. 

"Oh,  Gin!"  screamed  Leila,  grasping 
the  other. 

"Gin!"  gasped  Mrs.  Caxton,  and  she 
sat  down  on  the  door  step  and  cried  for 
ten  minutes. 


Later  they  assembled  in  the  drawing- 
room,  Mrs.  Caxton  leaning  weakly  back 
in  a  large  chair,  holding  Leila  with  one 
hand,  and  Frank  with  the  other,  and  gaz- 
ing thankfully  at  Gin,  who  stood  in  front 
of  the  group,  immaculate  as  ever  in  his 
blue  trousers  and  white  blouse  and  apron, 
his  usually  stolid  brown  face  beaming 
with  satisfaction  under  the  band  of 
smoothly  braided  queue. 

"What  became  of  you,  Gin?  Where 
have  you  been  during  this  awful  time?" 

"Here,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"Xot  all  the  time!" 

"Yes,  all  time.  I  stay  till  fire  come. 
Fire  come?  I  go.  Fire  no  come.  I  no 
go." 

And  that  was  the  history  of  the  city's 
reign  of  terror  as  regards  Gin. 

In  a  few  moments  he  summoned  Leila 
to  the  dining  room,  and  displayed  be- 
fore her  delighted  gaze  the  sideboard  and 
tables  covered  with  the  majority  of  her 
portable  wedding  gifts. 

"I  go  get  'em,"  explained  Gin.  "Next 
door,  maybe  steal.  I  watch  'em  here." 

"And  he's  even  brought  my  clothes!" 
shrieked  Leila,  diving  into  a  pile  of  bas- 
kets and  boxes  in  the  corner.  <rMy  wed- 
ding dress  and  all.  Oh,  Gin,  Gin,  you 
certainlv  are  an  angel." 

"Heap  fine  dless — too  bad  steal  'em," 
replied  Gin,  showing  his  yellow  teeth 
again. 

"Did  Sako,  my  boy,  come  back?"  sud- 
denlv  asked  Leila. 


The  servant  girl   had  gone. 


396 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


Gin  shook  his  head  indifferently.  "I 
not  know.  I  bolt  'em  flont  door.  He 
maybe  get  in  back,  window — all  same  I 
get  out.  I  not  know." 

But  there  were  no  evidences  that  the 
Japanese  had  returned  while  the  flat  was 
empty.  A  week  later,  however,  he  came, 
and  with  many  bows  demanded  his 
clothes.  Leila  suggested  that  he  should 
stay  and  cook  for  her,  but  although  he 
managed,  in  his  limited  English,  to  con- 
vey the  idea  that  the  request  was  an  unde- 
served honor,  he  declined  to  accede  to  it, 
and  bowed  himself  and  his  bundles  out  of 
the  house.  So  Leila  joined  forces  with 
her  mother,  who,  chimneyless  like  the  rest 
of  the  city,  had  established  a  kitchen  in 
the  street  in  front  of  the  house  where  Gin, 
the  "sameness"  of  his  cooking  unimpaired, 
was  still  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed.  Nor 
would  he  tolerate  any  help,  although  Mrs. 
Caxton  and  Leila,  anxious  to  save  the  old 
Chinaman  some  of  the  numberless  steps 
he  must  take,  besought  him  to  let  them 
relieve  him  indoors  at  least. 

He  would  not  even  allow  them  to  set 
the  table,  and  when  Frank  attempted  to 
carry  things  with  a  high  hand  and  act  as 
waiter,  Gin  intrenched  himself  behind  his 
packing-box  walls,  and  armed  with  the 
bread  knife  and  the  poker,  refused  to  sur- 
render a  dish. 

And  when  Ethel  and  Mabel  and  Jessie, 
none  of  whom  lived  far  away,  made  their 
daily  visit  to  their  mother,  they  would 
find  places  at  the  table  set  for  them,  and 
such  of  their  families  as  accompanied 
th°m. 

"Gin  says  you  had  better  all  come  here 
for  your  meals,"  said  Mrs.  Caxton  one 
day.  "He  seems  to  think  you  don't  know 
how  to  manage  for  yourselves." 

"He's  about  right,"  said  Jessie.  "Cook- 
ing never  was  my  strong  point  indoors, 
and  outdoors  'I'm  a  hopeless  imbecile. 
Talk  about  sameness — we've  had  ham  and 
eggs  until  I  wonder  we  don't  all  •  grunt 
and  cackle !" 

"We've  graduated  to  fried  steak,"  said 


Ethel.  "Yesterday,  I  started  soup,  but 
the  stove-pipe  fell  off  so  many  times  that 
I  had  to  give  it  up.  How  does  Gin  man- 
age to  keep  his  stove-pipe  on?" 

"We  moved  our  stove  out  yesterday," 
said  Mabel.  "We've  been  using  the  little 
fireplace  that  we  built  with  the  bricks 
from  our  poor  chimney,  but  I  heard  a 
rumor  that  Miss  Murphy  was  coming 
back,  and  we  thought  she  would  prefer 
the  stove.  She  came  this  morning,  but  it 
was  to  get  her  things.  She  appears  to  be 
living  in  the  Park  like  a  lily  of  the  field, 
and  doesn't  see  why  she  should  work  for 
her  bread,  when  she  can  get  it  at  a  relief 
station  for  nothing.  I  haven't  built  a 
fire  in  the  stove  yet,  and  I'm  dreading  to 
begin." 

"Don't  begin,"  said  Mrs.  Caxton.  "Ac- 
cept Gin's  invitation  and  come  here.  He 
is  really  in  earnest,  for  he  is  afraid  you 
are  half-starving.  The  old  fellow  was  al- 
ways fond  of  you  girls,  even  if  he  was 
cross  at  times,  and  I  think  his  interest  in 
you  children  is  almost  equal  to  mine." 

They  came,  and  during  the  weeks  that 
intervened  before  the  chimneys  were  pro- 
nounced out  of  danger,  Gin  was  in  his 
element.  Morning,  noon  and  night  found 
him  standing  before  his  out-of-door  stove 
or  trotting  in  and  out  of  the  house  laden 
with  crockery,  kettles  or  coal,  as  the  case 
might  be,  but  never  empty  handed,  his 
head  saving  his  heels  as  no  Caucasian  ser- 
vant's head  was  ever  known  to  do,  and  in 
his  eyes  a  gleam  of  something  like  satis- 
faction as  he  watched  the  gathering  of 
the  clans  at  mealtimes.  And  they  con- 
tinued to  gather  for  many  a  day,  in  the 
intervals  of  enticing  reluctant  servants 
from  the  social  idleness  of  the  refugee 
camps. 

"If  I  could  only  get  a  servant  like  Gin," 
was  the  wail  of  the  four  daughters,  and 
it  will  some  day  be  Mrs.  Caxton's  wail, 
also,  for  Gin  is  no  longer  young,  and  in 
a  few  years  he  will  follow  the  custom  of 
his  race  and  go  to  end  his  days  where  he 
began  them. 


chusetts' 


large  elm 


trees. 


If  one  had 
.can  v  a  s  s  e  d 
San  Fran- 
cisco a  year 
or  more  ago, 
he  won  Id 
!h>ave  •  found 
that  a  large 
proportion  of 

the  American-born  population  looked  back 
to  some  nook  in  Xew  England  as  his  an- 
cestral home.  Perhaps  he  himself  had 
left  it  as  a  child,  and  with  his  parents 
had  made  the  long  and  difficult  journey 
across  the  continent  or  the  voyage  around 
the  cape  to  this  Western  land.  Or,  per- 
haps, an  earlier  generation  had  started 
for  the  "West,"  as  Western  Xew  York 
was  then  called,  and  had  remained  there 
until  that  section  became  "East,"  and 
then  pushed  on  once  more  to  the  "West." 
and  thus  had  kept  on  until  the  spirit  of 
enterprise,  or  call  it  what  you  will,  gave 
no  peace  until  the  waters  of  the  Pacific 
were  confronted,  and  until  they  said  in 
tones  not  to  be  disregarded:  "Here  shall 
you  remain  and  go  no  farther."  And 
here  the  sons  of  the  East  and  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  East  have  lived  and  here  they 
have  done  great  works  in  the  past,  and 
here,  God  willing,  they  will  continue  to 
live  and  will  do  greater  works  in  the  time 
to  come. 

Most  visitors  from  the  East  recognize 
the  bond  of  union  and  sympathy  between 
the  children  of  the  Pacific  and  those  of 
the  Atlantic,  and  it  is  only  occasionally 


BY    KATE   S.    HAMLJN 

that  a  narrow-minded  and  ignorant  per- 
son comes  who  expects  to  find  a  different 
race  of  people  and  is  Surprised  to  find  the 
English  language  spoken  with  fewer  local- 
isms, even,  than  are  to  be  found  in  the 
various  localities  of  the  Atlantic  States. 
Fortunatelv,  one  rarely  meets  with  the 
foolish  woman  who  said  to  me  one  even- 
ing, as  she  looked  over  an  audience  in 
Mechanics'  Pavilion:  "Why,  really,  the 
people  look  quite  intelligent!"  Although 
a  new-comer  myself,  I  was  furious  and 
mortified,  not  to  say  disgusted,  with  her, 
and  replied  with  perhaps  more  warmth 
than  was  courteous:  "Intelligent!  Wlhy 
should  they  not  be?  It  was  the  bright, 
wide-awake  one,  full  of  enterprise  and 
vigor,  both  of  mind  and  body,  who  left 
the  home  nest  far  beyond  the  mountain 
range,  and  at  the  dawn  of  the  sunrise,  and 
came  here,  while  often,  certainly,  the 


The  old  parish  church. 


A  turn  in  the  road. 

weak,  the  dull,  or  the  unambitious  re- 
mained behind.  Why,  indeed,  should  not 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  this  Golden 
sunset  be  among  the  strongest  and  best  of 
the  land?" 

If  there  is  any  truth  in  what  is  said  of 
the  law  of  heredity,  why  may  not  one  ex- 
planation of  the  larger  and  more  robust 
physique  of  the  present  generation  on  this 


Coast  be  that  it  was  the  one  with  strong 
and  robust  physique  who  was  able  to  with- 
stand the  hardships  and  deprivations  of 
those  hard  journeys  and  of  those  pioneer 
days,  and  who  became,  consequently,  the 
ancestor  of  the  present  vigorous  genera- 
tion. 

How  often  one's  thoughts  wander  back 
to  the  peaceful  farm-house  among  the  hills 


The  old  stone  wall  down  in  the  orchard. 


A  modern  country  farm  house. 

and  rocks  on  that  stormy  and  rugged  At- 
lantic Coast!  And  how  memories  of  that 
early  time,  with  its  old  associations,  crowd 
upon  him !  He  remembers  all  his  child- 
hood's haunts,  his  pleasures,  his  tramps 
for  miles  through  wood  and  pasture;  he 
remembers  the  very  corner  in  the  wall 
where  he  caught  that  big  wood  chuck ;  the 
best  part  of  the  forest  for  snaring  par- 
tridges ;  the  trees  on  which  the  best  chest- 
nuts and  shag  barks  grew — he  wonders  if 


those  trees  are  still  standing.  And  the 
blue-berries!  His  mouth  waters  at  the 
very  thought  of  them.  What  would  be 
better  than  a  bowl  of  these  delicious  blue- 
berries and  milk!  Really,  was  anything 
ever  half  as  good?  Memories  of  thou- 
sands of  little  things  come  to  his  mind, 
and  are  as  vivid  as  if  he  had  known  them 
but  yesterday. 

Standing  out  most  clearly  of  all,  per- 
haps, is  the  quiet  calm  of  the  Sunday 


The  house  from  which  the  militia  started  for  the  Concord  fight,   ten   miles  away. 
April  18,   1775,  led  by  Colonel  Robinson. 


100 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


The  main  street  and  corner  of  the  "common." 

morning— it  was  no  Puritanical  Sabbath 
Ihe  remembered — thank  fortune — but  it 
was  literally  the  day  of  rest  after  the  six- 
days  of  work.  How  delightfully  quiet 
everything  was!  Even  the  low  of  the 
cattle,  the  tinkle  of  the  brook  and  the 
crowing  of  the  cock,  were  all  tempered 
with  the  Sunday  hush.  And  then  as  the 
hour  drew  near  for  the  church  service, 
how  musically  did  the  bell  from  the  tower 
of  the  old  parish  church  call  him  to  the 


morning  service.  Never  in  all  his  travels 
has  he  heard  a  bell  sound  so  sweet  a  note. 
How  delightful  was  the  visiting  between 
neighbors  in  the  churchyard  before  and 
after  the  jservice.  Are  (there  any  '"at 
homes"  of  the  present  day  that  have  the 
charm  of  those  Sunday  morning  visits? 
The  thought  of  the  bell  brings  other  as- 
sociations than  those  of  Sunday.  There 
was  its  mad  ring  at  daybreak  on  the 
Fourth  of  July,  when  it  seemed  as  if  all 
the  boys  in  the  country-side  had  gotten 
hold  of  its  rope  and  were  pulling  as  if 
their  lives  and  the  life  of  the  nation  itself 
depended  upon  it.  Then  he  remembers 
the  house  not  far  from  his  own  home — • 
the  house  which  is  still  standing — where, 
on  that  memorable  eighteenth  of  April, 
seventeen  hundred  and  seventy-five,  the 
militia  of  the  town,  to  the  number  of 
eighteen  or  twenty,  met,  and  from  which 
they  marched  to  the  town  of  Concord, 
ten  miles  away,  to  be  on  hand  to  meet  the 
Eed  Coats  the  next  morning.  He  remem- 
bers that  his  grandmother  told  him  she 
was  one  of  the  women  who  cooked  all 
night,  that  there  might  be  food  to  be  sent 
to  the  soldiers  by  the  "hired  men"  the 
next  morning. 

Once   or   twice   he   remembers   hearing 
that  same  bell  ring  out  in  harsh  tones,  an 


The  apple  orchard. 


MEMORIES   OF   NEW  ENGLAND. 


401 


A  family  home  for  five  generations  in 
Massachusetts. 


alarm  of  fire,  and  in  response  to  its  call 
every  man,  woman  and  child  rushed  forth 
with  buckets,  pails  and  wash-tubs,  even, 
to  help  save  a  neighbor's  house  or  barn. 
Again  there  was  the  tolling  of  the  bell ! 
Whenever  a  death  occurred,  its  slow, 
monotonous  sound,  as  it  tolled  forth  one 
hundred  strokes,  still  echoes  in  his  ear. 
All  work  ceased,  and  a  hush  fell  upon  all. 
After  a  pause  came  the  four  or  six  strokes 
which  informed  the  listening  ones  whether 
it  was  male  or  female  who  had  passed 
away.  Another  pause,  and  the  age  was 
tolled,  one  stroke  for  each  year.  It 
seemed  during  the  tolling  of  that  bell 
that  all  nature  rested,  that  it  held  its  very 


breath,  and  it  seemed,  too,  that  it  was 
then  that  the  soul  really  passed  from 
earth. 

One  by  one  the  features  peculiar  to  the 
New  England  life  of  two  or  three  genera- 
tions ago  are  passing  away.  Except  in  a 
very  few  places  far  removed  from  larger 
towns,  or  back  from  the  main  highways, 
the  life  of  even  the  very  small  village  is 
decidedly  changed.  "Progress,"  people 
say.  I  sometimes  wonder  if  it  is  progress 
— if  it  may  not  be  retrogression.  But 
whatever  it  is  called,  no  one  questions  the 
fact  of  the  change.  Even  the  old  pictur- 
esque stone  wall  in  the  orchard  has  be- 
come a  work  of  Masonic  art.  The  old- 
fashioned  flower  garden  on  either  side  of 
the  front  walk,  filled  with  'lay-locks," 
hollyhocks,  sweet-williams  and  the  like 
has  developed  into  the  lawn  with  its  vari- 
ety of  shrubbery;  the  tinkling  brook  has 
been  supplanted  by  >the  modern  wind- 
mill :  the  path  along  -the  public  "road" 
overhung  with  wild  rose,  aster  and  golden 
rod,  has  given  way  to  the  cement  walk 
along  the  village  "street."  Fortunately, 
the  apple  orchard  still  remains,  and  Cali- 
fornia can  boast  no  orange  grove  more 
beautiful  either  when  in  blossom  or 
in  fruit.  And  the  "common"  is  still  a 
prominent  feature  of  every  Xew  England 
village,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  it  will  never 
become  a  "park."  The  "house"  of  the 


The  home  of  the  village   "Squire. 


402 


OVERLAID  MONTHLY. 


village  "esquire"  is  not  yet  a  "mansion," 
but  extends  the  simple  and  generous  hos- 
pitality of  years  gone  by.  The  old  village 
"academy"  is  almost  passed  away,  hav- 
ing been  merged  into  the  "high  school." 
"Huskings"  and  "apple  bees"  are  no  more, 
for  tennis  and  golf  have  taken  their 
places.  • 

Perhaps  the  greatest  change  of  all  is 
the  social  change.  Formerly  there  was 
one  class  of  people  in  the  entire  town, 
mostly  descendants  of  good  English  stock. 
The  wealth  of  one  or  the  poverty  of  the 
other  was  not  a  subject  of  conversation; 
indeed,  it  was  rarely  mentioned,  or 
scarcely  thought  of.  Now,  one  finds  in 
nearly  every  nook  of  New  England  the 


"rich,"  the  "middle  class,"  and  the  "ser- 
vant." 

New  England  has  changed  and  is  still 
changing.  The  telephone  reaches  every 
little  farm ;  the  "electric"  passes  the  door ; 
the  steam  whistle  of  the  locomotive  is 
heard  constantly  as  the  long  trains  go 
rushing  by ;  and  on  every  little  stream  has 
sprung  up  the  mill  or  factory.  And  the 
character  of  the  people  is  changed  in  con- 
seauence ;  the  old  English  stock  is  far  less 
in  evidence.  French  and  Irish  and  Ital- 
ian have  taken  up  many  of  the  farms,  and 
all  nationalities  flock  to  the  factories.  But 
in  spite  of  this,  occasionally  a  bit  of  New 
England  is  found  which  is  like  a  voice 
from  out  the  past. 


A  modern  lawn  in  the  old  village. 


BY    MARGARET    ASHMUN 


The  summer,  vainly  sure  of  envied  praise, 

Too  wanton,  hastes  her  lavish  power  to  show- 
To  every  dullest  eye  her  charms  displays, 
But  winter  scorns  to  waste  her  beauty  so. 

Content  is  she  with  art  reserved. and  proud, 
To  offer  to  a  more  discerning  sight 

Some  naked  birch  against  a  saffron  cloud, 
Or,  on  the  snow,  a  purple  evening  light. 


BY    RAYMOND    RUSS 


MY  connection  with  the  cathedral 
began  shortly  after  my  gradua- 
tion from  the  seminary  and  my 
being  ordained.  I  had  been  a  very  close 
student,  more  so,  perhaps  than  the  other 
men  in  my  class,  for  I  had  found  the  an- 
cient languages,  particularly  Sanskrit, 
most  difficult.  The  long  hours  and  lack 
of  exercise  had  left  their  mark,  and  in 
consequence  I  did  not  bring  to  my  first 
pastorate  that  enthusiasm  and  spontaneity 
\rhich  arises  only  from  good  health.  I  am 
afraid  that  in  the  first  few  months  I  did 
not  acquit  myself  especially  well.  My 
will,  however,  was  strong  and  I  labored 
indefatigably  with  the  result  that  my 
poor,  weakened  body  succumbed,  and  a 
long  period  of  illness  followed. 

It  was  then  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
one  Dr.  Bryant  Berkeley,  a  practitioner 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  I  believe  that  it 
is  due  solely  to  his  skill  and  untiring  ef- 
fort that  I  am  alive  to-day,  and  able  to 
record  the  peculiar  incidents  which  fol- 
low. My  constant  association  with  Dr. 
Berkeley,  as  he  nursed  me  back  to  health, 
ripened  into  a  warm  friendship,  and,  while 
I  recognize  that  patients  are  apt  to  be  par- 
tial to  their  doctors,  still  his  character 
was  so  odd  and  his  ability  so  unusual, 
that  I  found  him  a  never  failing  object 
for  study  and  interest.  I  would  not  call 
him  a  deep  scholar,  nevertheless  his  work 
in  the  diagnosis  of  disease  was  remarkable. 
Being  a  layman,  I  would  have  no  right  to 
make  such  a  statement,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  fact  that  this  ability  had  been  com- 
mented upon  by  one  of  our  parishioners, 
a  physician  of  great  repute.  He  told  me 
that  my  friend  arrived  at  conclusions  by 
great  leaps  and  bounds,  passing  over  ob- 
stacles that  others  must  perforce  creep 
around;  that  his  power  of  reasoning  was 
so  subtle  that  he  himself  many  times 
could  not  trace  the  steps  in  his  analysis. 

Berkeley  often  astonished  his  fellow- 
practitioners  by  his  deductions,  and  many 
times  could  give  no  satisfactory  reason  for 
them.  It  simply,  as  he  would  say,  'looked 


that  way  to  him."  This  medical  ability 
he  carried  into  his  other  affairs,  and  his 
conclusions  were  invariably  correct.  I 
have  many  times  endeavored  to  follow  his 
thought  trend.  It  consisted,  I  think,  of 
his  power  to  pick  out  the  salient  points  of 
the  matter  in  hand  and  to  leave  behind 
all  that  was  superficial  and  irrelevant;  a 
power  of  selection  then,  if  you  better  like 
that  term.  He  was  a  man  of  perhaps 
forty  years,  with  iron  gray  hair,  a  clear 
eye  and  a  short,  black  mustache,  which 
but  partially  concealed  a  firm,  resolute 
mouth;  affable  to  all,  he  made  acquaint- 
ances easily,  and  yet  he  bore  a  certain 
reserve  which  prevented  familiarity.  He 
was  a  very  busy  man  in  his  professional 
work,  but  there  were  times  when  he  would 
lock  himself  in  his  office  for  several  days 
and  refuse  to  answer  calls.  Some  said 
that  these  were  occasions  for  a  protracted 
spree,  but  such  statements  I  regard  as 
malicious.  Certainly  he  never  presented 
indications  which  would  lead  one  to  for- 
mulate such  a  conclusion.  These  lapses 
seemed  to  make  no  difference  in  his  prac- 
tice, and  sick  people  were  sometimes  will- 
ing to  wait  several  days  in  order  to  se- 
cure his  services. 

One  morning,  shortly  after  my  illness, 
I  was  seated  at  my  study  desk  when  old 
Mr.  Gray,  our  sexton,  ushered  in  a 
stranger  who  presented  the  name  of 
Nichols.  He  was  a  flashily  attired  man, 
short  in  stature,  dark  of  countenance,  with 
a  hooked  nose  and  drooping  mustache.  A 
large  diamond  solitaire  ornamented  his 
shirt  front,  and  a  piece  of  mourning  cloth 
was  about  his  arm,  showing  conspicuously 
against  its  background  of  large  checked 
clothing.  Certainly  not  a  prepossessing 
individual. 

"A  friend  of  mine  has  just  died/'  he 
explained  confidentially,  drawing  his  chair 
close  to  my  desk.  "He  is  not  a  resident 
of  this  city  but  has  many  friends  here. 
As  he  is  a  member  of  your  church  I  wish 
to  have  a  service  in  the  cathedral." 

<rNot  in  the  cathedral,"  I  said.     "We 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


have  a  mortuary  chapel  for  that  purpose." 
His  face,  which  had  been  smiling  and 
elated,  fell  at  these  words. 

"That's  too  bad,"  he  said,  nervously. 
"We  had  sort  of  set  our  minds  on  the 
cathedral." 

"Indeed,"  T  answered,  "I  am  sorry  to 
disappoint  you.  Our  chapel  adjoins  the 
cathedral." 

"Does  it  open  into  it?"  he  inquired.- 

''Oh,  yes,"  I  hastened  to  reply. 

"Of  course  it  doesn't  make  any  differ- 
ence," he  explained.  "Only  my  friend 
was  sort  of  stuck  on  the  cathedral,  and  I 
knew  he  would  like  to  be  buried  from 
there."  He  told  me  that  the  deceased  was 
a  young  man,  a  Mr.  Scoggs,  who  had  fol- 
lowed the  stage  as  a  livelihood.  He  had 
been  playing  in  a  local  company,  and  had 
died  after  a  very  short  illness.  After  some 
further  inquiries  concerning  the  young 
man's  family  and  his  church,  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  the  service  should  be  held  at 
four  o'clock  that  afternoon. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Nichols,  as  he 
rose  to  take  his  departure,  "I  am  to  go 
back  East  with  the  remains,  and  as  my 
train  does  not  leave  until  six-thirty  to- 
morrow morning,  I  would  like  to  have 
the  casket  left  in  the  chapel  through  the 
night.  If  the  doors  can  -be  opened,  we 
will  call  for  it  at  about  half-past  five." 

I  readiN  agreed,  for  this  was  often 
done,  and  ushered  out  my  visitor,  heartily 
glad  to  get  rid  of  him.  There  was  much 
about  the  man  that  was  absolutely  repug- 
nant, and  I  felt  relieved  when  he  was  no 
longer  in  my  presence.  I  have  been 
brought  in  contact  with  people  of  all  sta- 
tions, and  I  have  never  felt  so  repelled. 
He  had  been  polite  in  his  speech,  and  had 
indulged  in  none  of  that  coarseness,  so 
common  among  men  of  his  class.  But, 
nevertheless,  there  was  something  most  re- 
pulsive in  his  manner.  It  was  a  lack  of 
manliness,  a  fawning,  cringing  attitude, 
a  palavering  way  which  was  wholly  dis- 
tasteful. 

I  said  our  service  that  afternoon  to  a 
very  small  congregation,  although  I  waited 
a  few  minutes  over  the  hour  before  begin- 
ning. In  fact,  there  was  no  one  present 
but  the  man  I  had  met  in  the  morning, 
and  a  short,  dumpy  woman  in  deep  mourn- 
ing; as  she  did  not  lift  her  heavy  veil 
while  she  was  in  the  chapel,  I  would  be 
quite  unable  to  again  recognize  her.  The 


service  over,  the  disagreeable  man  of  the 
morning  approached,  and  in  an  unctuous, 
oily  manner,  most  offensive,  thanked  me 
for  himself  and  the  dead  man's  sister, 
pointing  to  the  figure  in  black,  for  my 
ministrations.  He  had  hoped  to  have  a 
large  number  of  friends  present,  but 
through  a  misunderstanding  which  he 
much  regretted,  the  impression  had  been 
given  that  the  service  would  be  held  the 
following  day.  If  the  sexton  could  have 
the  doors  open  by  five-thirty,  he  would  call 
and  convey  the  body  of  Mr.  Scoggs  to 
the  railroad  station.  He  left  forthwith, 
accompanied  b^-  the  veiled  woman,  and  I 
was  alone  in  the  chapel. 

The  cover  of  the  casket  and  the  glass 
top  had  'been  removed.  For  a  time,  I  stood 
gazing  at  the  dead  face  before  me.  He 
had  strong  features,  I  thought,  but  per- 
haps a  strength  was  added  by  the  tightly 
closed  lips.  The  face  was  thin  and  pinched 
as  if  from  some  wasting  fever,  and  I  could 
hardly  reconcile  a  very  short  illness,  which 
Mr.  Nichols  had  told  me  had  been  the 
case,  with  his  present  appearance.  The 
forehead  was  high  and  narrow,  and  the 
blue  veins  stood  out  strangely  against  their 
dead  white  background.  The  ears  had  as- 
sumed that  waxy,  almost  transparent 
look  which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  dead. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  jet  black  hair  that  gave 
the  features  that  excessively  pale  appear- 
ance. What  had  been  this  man's  past, 
what  would  be  his  future?  He  had  died 
almost  without  friends,  in  strange  sur- 
roundings, far  from  his  own  home.  Had 
his  journey  always  been  alone?  What  re- 
ligion could  he  have  had;  what  comfort 
and  solace  in  the  dark  hours  of  sickness 
ancl  death?  Whither  was  he  going?  His 
resting  place  was  bare  of  ornament.  Sev- 
eral floral  pieces  had  been  placed  stiffly 
about,  so  I  gathered  some  violets  from  one 
of  these  and  placed  them  upon  the  casket. 
Surely  the  hard  lines  in  his  face  indicated 
that  human' sympathy  had  been  unknown 
to  him. 

I  read  in  my  room  in  the  parish  house, 
adjoining  the  cathedral,  until  quite  late 
that  night.  The  dead  face  haunted  me, 
and  I  could  not  efface  its  recollection.  Fin- 
ally, after  a  vain  attempt  to  digest 
Hooker's  "Ecclesiastical  Polity,"  I  turned 
to  lighter  literature  as  a  means  of  diver- 
sion. I  picked  up  a  copy  of  Lytton,  and 
was  soon  absorbed  in  that  masterpiece  of 


MR.  SCOGGS :  DECEASED. 


405 


the  supernatural,  "The  House  and  the 
Brain."  It  may  have  been  on  account  of 
the  events  I  have  narrated,  or  perhaps  my 
recent  illness,  for  the  story  had  that  night 
a  powerful  effect  on  me.  In  half  an  hour 
I  laid  the  book  down,  strangely  possessed 
by  a  feeling  of  impending  evil,  and  I  sat 
there  in  my  room  quaking  with  fear.  I 
tried  to  fix  my  mind  upon  other  things, 
but  the  horrors  which  I  had  read  filled 
my  thoughts,  and  by  degrees  I  came  to 
link  the  funeral  of  the  afternoon  with 
the  phantasms  of  the  story. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  crash  as  of  falling 
glass  which  brought  me  to  my  feet.  The 
sound  came  from  the  church,  and  I  rushed 
to  my  window  and  looked  out.  Xo  light 
was  there,  but  the  candles  burning  in  the 
chapel.  Could  it  have  been  a  fancy  on  my 
part,  a  result  of  my  night's  reading  and 
my  nervous  condition  ?  I  listened  intently 
but  there  was  no  further  sound.  My  imagi- 
nation must  be  playing  me  havoc,  and  if 
this  were  true,  what  an  awful  mental  state 
I  must  be  in.  I  ran  into  the  hall,  and 
called  loudly  to  the  sexton,  who  occupied 
a  room  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "Gray! 
Gray !"'  I  yelled.  "Yes,  what  is  it,  sir  ?" 
he  called,  opening  the  door. 

"Did  you  hear  that  crash  in  the  church, 
or  did  I  imagine  it?" 

"I  most  certainly  heard  it,"  he  trem- 
blingly replied.  "I  think  it  came  from 
the  mortuary  chapel."  I  was  overjoyed  at 
his  answer,  for  I  had  begun  to  doubt  my 
own  senses. 

''Come  along  with  me,"  I  cried,  made 
bold  by  human  companionship,  and  bound- 
ing down  the  stairs.  "We'll  find  out  what 
the  trouble  is."  I  rushed  across  the  little 
yard  and  unlocked  the  chapel  door,  the  old 
man  holding  back  reticently.  The  candles 
were  burning  on  the  altar  at  the  head  of 
the  casket,  but  a  glass  candelabra,  which 
stood  near,  lay  upon  the  floor,  broken  in 
many  pieces.  There  was  no  hint  of  the 
uncanny  in  an  accident  so  apparent,  and 
I  cried  to  the  sexton:  "Hurry  up.  Don't 
be  alarmed.  Here's  the  trouble." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  apologized  the  old 
man,  "but  I  can't  walk  as  fast  as  I  could 
once.  Yes.  I  see  the  damage,  but  it  has 
stood  in  that  place  for  twenty  years  to 
my  knowledge.  How  did  it  fall?" 

I  must  confess  that  I  had  been  so  elated 
bv  finding  a  tangible  object  to  account  for 
m^  fears  that  this  question  had  not  en- 


tered my  head.  How  had  it  fallen?  1 
went  to  the  windows,  but  they  were  all 
barred,  and  the  doors  leading  from  the 
chapel  were  locked.  I  had  myself  unlocked 
the  door  by  which  we  had  entered,  or 
rather,  I  should  say,  I  had  entered,  for 
the  sexton  still  hung  on  the  threshold. 
Could  some  one  have  made  an  attempt 
to  disturb  the  body  which  had  been  left 
in  our  keeping,  and  as  this  thought  came 
in  my  mind,  I  approached  the  corpse. 
Abruptly  I  stopped,  my  whole  frame  quak- 
ing. The  violets  which  I  had  placed  upon 
the  casket  were  no  longer  there,  but  lay 
scattered  upon  the  floor.  My  body  felt 
numb  and  palsied,  but  I  was  drawn  closer 
to  the  dead  face  by  an  impulse  irresistible. 
There  he  lay  as  I  had  left  him,  but  I 
thought  the  face  had  somewhat  changed. 
The  palor  had  diminished,  and  even  a 
slight  flush  was  noticeable.  The  ears  had 
lost  that  transparent  look  which  I  had 
previously  observed;  perhaps  these 
changes  were  due  to  the  candles  that 
flickered  above  me.  There  was  something 
more  which  fixed  my  attention  in  a 
peculiar  fascination.  The  expression  had 
changed  entirely;  fear  and  suffering  were 
gone,  and  hope  had  taken  their  place,  the 
hope  which  follows  death.  There  was  al- 
most the  suggestion  of  a  smile  about  the 
mouth.  Was  it  the  awakening  of  this 
poor  soul — had  he  found  a  haven  of  rest 
after  his  years  of  earthly  torment;  had  a 
better  world  opened  before  him?  What  a 
glorious  transformation  it  was,  and  im- 
pulsively I  leaned  forward  and  peered  in- 
to the  face  before  me.  Then  as  I  looked, 
wide-eyed  I  saw  a  slight  twitching  of  the 
muscles. 

The  sudden  movement  on  that  calm, 
placid  countenance  almost  petrified  me 
with  horror.  Then  I  saw  an  eye  slowly 
open  and  close  again  instantlv.  Aghast  I 
took  a  few  stens  back  with  difficulty,  for  I 
could  hardly  move  mj  legs.  My  hands 
were  like  leaden  weights  and  I  raised  them 
slowly  to  my  head.  Had  my  reason  left 
me ;  had  I  lost  my  mind  ?  And  filled  with 
the  terror  of  what  must  have  occurred,  I 
tiptoed  toward  the  door  in  a  frenzy  of 
fear.  My  own  footfalls  alarmed  me.  I 
could  not  have  uttered  a  sound  even  if 
mv  life  had  depended  upon  it.  Outside 
the  threshold  was  Gray,  timid  and  reti- 
cent; I  summoned  my  strength  to  close 
the  door,  the  bolt  springing  back  into 


406 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


the  lock,  and  then  almost  collapsed  in  his 
arms. 

I  have  a  dim  remembrance  of  his  assist- 
ing me  to  my  room,  and  then  the  familiar 
objects  faded  away  before  my  eyes.  The 
next  I  remember  was  that  my  good  friend 
Dr.  Berkeley  was  bending  over  me.  "A 
bad  spell  vou  have  had,  old  man,"  he  said, 
kindly,  "but  you  are  much  better  now.  I 
am  afraid  you  have  sorely  overtaxed  your 
strength.  Take  this  draught,  and  when 
you  are  stronger  you  must  tell  me  the 
whole  story."  I  was  feeling  better  and 
saner,  and  with  the  doctor  and  old  Gray 
so  near  me,  my  hallucination  seemed  like 
a  bad  dream,  I  told  him  what  had  occurred 
that  day,  from  the  visit  of  Mr.  Nichols 
in  the  morning  to  my  mental  weakness 
that  night,  to  all  of  which  the  doctor  list- 
ened with  rapt  attention.  He  interrupted 
me  only  once  in  the  course  of  my  narra- 
tive ;  he  wished  to  know  the  exact  positioD 
of  the  overturned  candelabra,  and  of  the 
size  of  its  base. 

"It  stood  firmly  enough,"  I  said,  and 
Gray  added  that  it  had  remained  in  the 
same  spot  since  he  had  been  sexton  of  the 
cathedral.  When  I  had  finished  my  story 
the  doctor  asked  but  one  otLer  question — 
to  which  side  of  the  casket  had  the  flow- 
ers fallen,  to  one's  right  or  left  as  he 
faced  the  altar.  I  remembered  very  dis- 
tinctly that  I  had  seen  them  on  the  floor, 
to  the  right.  The  doctor  rmide  no  com- 
ment, but  sat  motionless  in  his  chair,  his 
head  bowed  in  deep  thought.  It  must 
have  been  a  sleeping  potion  which  he  gave 
me,  for  I  soon  became  very  drowsy  and 
woke  but  once  during  the  night.  Ber- 
keley was  sitting  in  the  same  position,  lost 
in  meditation. 

When  I  again  opened  my  eyes  the  light 
of  early  morning  was  coming  into  the 
room,  and  the  lamp  upon  the  dresser 
burned  dimly.  The  doctor  was  stirring 
about,  humming  a  popular  ditty ;  his  man- 
ner was  elated  and  buoyant,  and  he  smiled 
down  upon  me  as  I  lay  upon  the  bed.  I 
yawned  several  times,  stretched  myself, 
and  slowly  gazed  about.  On  the  table  lay 
a  revolver,  also  a  hammer  and  some  nails, 
and  the  doctor  laughed  outright  at  my 
astonished  look.  "What  are  you  doing?" 
I  stammered  at  last. 

"My  dear  fellow,  you  are  looking  so 
much  better  that  I  don't  mind  telling. 
I'm  on  a  still  hunt  for  the  supernatural 


element,"  he  said,  grimly.  "Our  profes- 
sion won't  stand  any  longer  for  that  sort 
of  thing.  We've  had  it  to  contend  with 
for  the  last  two  thousand  years,  and  we're 
getting  powerful  sick  of  it." 

"And  you  are  going  into  the  church?" 

"Immediately." 

"Then  I  am  going  with  you,"  I  cried, 
jumping  to  my  feet  and  getting  into  my 
clothes  in  great  haste.  "I  must  vindicate 
myself." 

"He  regarded  me  with  an  amused  ex- 
pression. "You  are  certainlv  pretty  lively 
and  I  think  it  will  be  all  right  for  you  to 
go  along.  I  can  place  no  reliance  on  Gray." 
He  put  the  revolver  in  his  pocket  and 
took  the  hammer  and  nails  in  his  hands, 
and  together  we  walked  through  the  yard 
to  the  chapel. 

"Have  you  been  here  during  the  night  ?" 
I  whispered. 

"No,"  he  answered. 

I  unlocked  the  door,  opened  it,  and  we 
approached  the  casket.  The  candles  burned 
low  in  their  sockets.  The  dead  man  lay 
calm  and  placid  as  when  I  had  last  seen 
him.  Berkeley  took  a  long,  steady  look 
at  the  face,  and  then,  with  quick  deter- 
mination, seized  that  portion  of  the  cover 
which  had  been  removed,  clapped  it  into 
place,  and  throwing  his  weight  upon  it, 
began  to  drive  home  a  nail  through  the 
woodwork  with  well  directed  strokes  of  the 
hammer.  There  was  a  muffled  scream 
which  fairly  froze  my  blood,  and  then  a 
sudden  upheaval  of  the  lid  but  the  doctor's 
heavy  body  was  sprawled  upon  it,  and  he 
was  skillfully  driving  nails  with  unabated 
rapidity.  There  were  a  few  groans,  then 
unintelligible  supplication,  and  finally  no 
sound  but  the  resounding  tones  from  the 
hammer. 

He  finished  his  work  with  a  hearty 
laugh,  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
his  brow.  "Now,"  he  said,  "as  we  have  so 
effectually  corked  up  the  supernatural  ele- 
ment in  this  case,  let  us  make  a  careful 
examination  of  the  damage  done.  I  assure 
you  that  our  dead  friend  will  be  able  to 
breathe  very  well  during  our  absence." 

He  opened  the  great  doors  into  the 
cathedral,  and  made  his  way  to  the  altar, 
while  I  followed,  mute  with  amazement. 
A  glance  was  sufficient,  and  the  truth  of 
the  horror  dawned  quickly,  even  upon  my 
duMed  mentality.  The  gold  candle-sticks 
were  all  gone,  the  crucifix,  the  censer,  the 


MIL  SCOGGS :  DECEASED. 


407 


chalice,  even  'the  altar  cloth  had  disap- 
peared. There  was  not  an  article  of  great 
value,  excepting  those  of  good  size,  left 
in  the  cathedral. 

"Next,"  said  Berkeley,  still  smiling  at 
my  perplexity,  "it  will  be  necessary  to  se- 
cure the  other  individuals  in  this  cleverly 
laid  plot,  and  if  my  judgment  is  not 
amiss,  we  will  find  two  men  at  the  door 
even  now  waiting  for  the  sexton  to  open 
it."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Yes,  it  is 
just  about  time  for  them."  He  drew  me 
to  a  window,  and  sure  enough,  there  up 
the  street  came  an  undertaker'?  wagon, 
and  my  flashy  friend  of  the  previous 
morning  was  sitting  upon  the  sea:.  With 
him  was  a  commonplace  fellow,  short  nnd 
thick-set  with  a  smooth-shaven,  forbidding 
face.  The  vehicle  stopped  at  the  entrance, 
and  Mr.  Nichols,  after  a  short  conversa- 
tion with  his  companion,  clambered  down 
from  his  seat  and  walked  rapidly  to  the 
door. 

"Now,  if  you  will  invite  him  to  enter. 
I  will  attend  to  the  rest  of  the  nniter." 

I  opened  the  church  door.  "Good  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Nichols,"  I  said.  "Come  right 
in.  We  are  ready  for  you."  He  entered 
in  his  dapper  little  way,  and  walked 
straight  into  the  muzzle  of  Berkeley's  re- 
volver. He  was  too  startled  to  speak.  The 
doctor  produced  a  couple  of  pieces  of 
clothes  line  from  his  pocket  and  I  bound 
him  hand  and  foot.  He  offered  no  re- 
sistance, for  the  revolver  at  all  times 
covered  him.  After  we  had  gagged  him 
1  stepped  to  the  door  and  called  to  the 
man  outside:  "Your  friend  needs  your 
help.  Won't  you  come  in?"  He  entered 
guilelessly,  and  was  given  the  same  recep- 
tion. 

"I  am  almost  sorry,"  sighed  Berkeley, 
"that  this  little  tragedy  is  drawing  to  a 
close,  for  its  solution  has  afforded  me 
much  amusement  and  profit.  It  only  re- 
mains for  us  to  examine  the  resting  place 
of  our  dead  friend."  Together  we  went 
into  the  chapel  and  I  held  the  revolver 
while  the  doctor  pried  off  the  top  of  the 
casket.  A  very  much  frightened  young 
man  crawled  out  at  our  command,  and 
stood  there  trembling  in  his  burial  clothes. 

"You  will  look  much  better  after  the 
chalk  has  been  washed  off  your  face,"  said 
Berkeley  cheerfully,  as  he  bound  him  hand 
and  foot.  "But  you  have  done  your  part 
very  well  indeed.  It  shows  long  practice 


and  study.  Tell  me,  have  you  not  played 
as  automaton  in  some  traveling  show. 
Such  performances  are  not  uncommon." 
But  the  rejuvenated  Mr.  Scoggs  main- 
tained a  stolid  silence.  "At  any  rate,"  he 
continued,  "your  bed  has  been  a  hard  one," 
and  with  these  words  he  began  fishing 
from  the  casket  the  various  articles  we  had 
found  missing  from  the  cathedral.  "Well/* 
said  Berkeley,  "there  is  nothing  more  to 
be  done  but  to  send  for  the  police,  and  as 
1  see  Gray  emerging  from  the  parsonage, 
that  will  be  easily  accomplished." 

The  sleepy  sexton  was  coming  toward 
the  chapel,  rubbing  his  eyes,  ready  to  per- 
form his  duties  as  he  had  been  directed.  A 
word  from  the  doctor,  and  he  was  running 
down  the  street  as  if  an  army  of  evil-doers 
was  pursuing  him. 

"Tell  me,  doctor,"  I  cried,  seizing  his 
arm  eagerly,  "how  did  you  do  it?" 

"It  was  not  a  difficult  task,"  he  replied, 
"once  I  had  satisfied  myself  as  to  your 
sanity.  Your  excitement  abated  so  quickly 
that  I  knew  your  mental  condition  could 
be  nothing  lasting.  You  remember  that 
you  told  me  your  story  clearly  and  lucidly, 
describing  the  events  of  the  day  in  the 
minutest  detail.  This  is  not  the  case  with 
the  insane.  After  you  were  asleep,  I  picked 
up  the  volume  of  Lytton  and  the  book 
opened  to  the  page  where  you  had  stopped 
reading.  I  know  the  power  of  the  story,- 
and  in  your  weakened  condition  I  realized 
that  it  was  sufficient  to  give  a  tinge  of  the 
supernatural  to  events  which,  when  you 
were  your  normal  self,  you  would  have  im- 
mediately explained  by  natural  causes.  I 
would  have  thought  that  the  movements 
of  the  dead  man's  eyes  were  but  products 
of  a  heightened  imagination,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  overturned  candalabra,  the 
noise  of  which  had  at  first  attracted  your 
attention.  As,  according  to  the  sexton,  it 
had  stood  in  the  same  spot  for  some  twenty 
years,  its  upsetting  could  not  have  been  a 
mere  coincidence.  Some  active  agency 
must  of  necessity  have  produced  it  Link- 
ing, then,  the  facial  movements  with  the 
overturning  of  the  candelabra,  I  could  but 
conclude  that  a  live  man  was  inside  that 
casket.  What  more  natural  than  that  one 
whose  eyes  had  been  long  shut,  should  up- 
set an  object  so  near  at  hand,  when  grop- 
ing about  in  a  dim  light.  These  ideas  were 
confirmed  when  you  told  me  that  the  flow- 
ers were  on  the  right  when  one  faced  the 


408 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


altar,  for  the  covers  of  caskets  open  in  just 
that  way.  If  such  were  the  case,  the  mo- 
tive could  be  nothing  but  robbery,  and 
your  account  of  the  unusual  incidents  of 
the  day  only  confirmed  that  impression." 

"But  the  woman  in  the  case/'  I  said, 
bewilderedly. 

"I  think  she  conforms  very  closely,  ac- 
cording to  your  description,  with  the 
short,  thick-set  man,"  he  answered. 

"And .  3'ou  worked  this  out  yourself  ?" 

"Almost  immediately." 


"But  vou  were  awake  all  night;  I  know 
that," 

"Yes.  The  diagnosis  had  been  easy,  but 
I  had  to  ponder  long  on  the  treatment. 
The  treatment  so  often  gives  us  trouble," 
he  added.  "Besides,  the  medicines  had  to 
be  procured — the  revolver  came  from  your 
upper  bureau  drawer,  the  clothes  line  from 
the  back-yard,  and  the  hammer  and 
nails — 

"Enough,"  I  replied.  "It  all  sounds 
very  simple." 


Tiim® 


BY  EMMA  PLAYTER  SEABURY 


Out  of  its  tomb, 

The  arbutus  creeps, 
When  sweet  April  passes 
So  bonny  and  sweet; 
Her  path  is  abloom, 

And  the  violet  peeps 
From  the  leaves  and  the  grasses 

To  garland  her  feet. 
And  the  sun  from  its  lair  tangles  into  her  hair 

His  gold  and  his  jewels,  the  sheen  of  his  glory, 
And  the  birds  flit  and  sing,  and  say  "It  is  spring. 
It  is  love  time  and  nesting  time,  list  to  the  story." 

The  mountain  spring  starts 

With  a  laugh  and  a  moan, 
With  a  gurgle  and  sputter 

The  little  rills  flee, 
Like  the  song  in  our  hearts, 

In  a  deep  undertone, 
Which  murmur  and  flutter, 

They  sing  of  the  sea; 
And  somehow,  each  life  forgetting  its  strife, 

And  the  care  and  the  fret  is  reflecting  its  glory, 
And  waking  hope  seems  to  blossom  in  dreams, 

It  is  love  time  and  nesting  time,  list  to  the  story. 


JC 
\ 


BY    ALFRED    K1NGSLEY    GLOVER 


AMEEICAX  interest  in  China  since 
the  Boxer  rebellion  has  extended 
to  the  Chinese  Jews,  who  settled  at 
Kai-funsr-Fu  during  the  Han  dynasty, 
that  ruled  China  from  200  B.  C.  'to  200 
A.  D. 

While  the  exact  date  of  their  arrival  is 
not  quite  certain,  still  it  is  not  placed 
later  than  200  A.  D.  nor  earlier  than  72 
A.  D.  In  the  latter  year,  Jerusalem  was 
conquered  by  the  Bomans  under  Titus, 
and  the  Jews  who  were  not  killed  during 
the  siege  were  taken  captive  or  dispersed 
throughout  the  then  known  world.  Later 
on,  in  the  second  century,  during  the 
reign  of  the  Emperor  Trajan  (98-117), 
the  Jews  were  forbidden  to  enter  the  Holy 
Land,  and  then  many  more  sought  refuge 
from  persecution  in  foreign  lands.  Among 
these  Jewish  exiles  were  those  destined  to 
settle  in  China  in  the  city  of  Kai-fung- 
Fu,  on  the  banks  of  the  Hwang-Ho,  four 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  south  of  the  mod- 
ern city  of  Peking.  The  original  colony 
numbered  about  5,000  people.  They  were 
welcomed  by  the  Emperor,  and  have  re- 
mained loyal  subjects  from  that  day  to 
this,  although  at  present  their  numbers 
do  not  exceed  four  or  five  hundred. 

The  Kai-fung-Fu  colony  is  mentioned 
occasionally  by  European  travelers,  among 
them  Marco  Polo  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, while  in  1600  and  1704  they  were 
visited  by  Jesuit  missionaries. 

In  1850  an  English  lady  advanced 
money  for  bearing  the  expense  of  an  ex- 
pedition to  the  Jews,  and  with  the  help 
of  the  Bishop  of  Hongkong,  and  the  Lon- 
don Mission  at  Shanghai,  two  native 
Christian  Chinese  scholars  were  sent  to 
Kai-fung-Fu  to  learn  all  they  could  about 
the  dying  colony  of  Jews  residing  there. 

They  managed  to  meet  the  leaders  of 
the  colony  and  purchased  a  large  number 
of  Jewish  books  and  parts  of  the  Bible 
in  Hebrew,  and  also  visited  the  ruins  of 
the  once  large  and  beautiful  synagogue. 


They  found  that  the  Jews  had  become  so 
poor  as  to  have  torn  down  their  place  of 
worship  and  sold  the  materials  to  the  Chi- 
nese only  a  short  time  prior  to  the  visit 
of  the  two  Chinese  scholars.  The  Jews 
could  no  longer  read  their  own  books,  and 
they  no  longer  had  a  Eabbi. 

The  Chinese  scholars  examined  the 
ruins  of  the  "temple,"  as  it  was  called, 
and  discovered  many  marble  tablets  with 
interesting  historical  and  religious  in- 
scriptions, most  of  which  they  copied  and 
brought .  back  to  Shanghai,  along  with 
several  Jewish  boys  and  girls.  The  latter, 
after  proving  themselves  poor  scholars  in 
the  mission  school,  were  sent  back  to  Kai- 
fung-Fu. 

The  inscriptions  copied  by  the  Chinese, 
and  published  at  Shanghai  in  1851,  had 
already  been  originally  discovered  in  1600 
by  the  Jesuit  Eicci,  and  had  also  been 
copied  by  Father  Gozani,  in  1704,  who 
sent  a  full  account,  together  with  copies 
of  the  inscriptions,  to  Europe,  where  they 
were  published.  The  early  accounts,  how- 
ever, and  the  inscriptions,  were  lost  sight 
of  until  the  visit  of  the  two  Chinese 
Christians  in  1850-1,  who  re-discovered 
the  long-forgotten  historical  tablets, 
which  are  among  the  most  precious  ar- 
chaeological remains  known  to  Oriental 
scholars. 

In  1864  the  Chinese  Jews  were  visited 
by  Bishop  Scherechewsky,  of  the  Episco- 
pal church  mission  in  China.  The  Bishop 
was  a  Jew  by  birth,  and  the  story  of  the 
little  Jewish  colony  at  Kai-fung-Fu  ap- 
pealed to  his  sympathies,  the  result  being 
that  he  paid  a  visit  to  the  city,  hoping  to 
learn  all  about  the  strange  colony  and 
perhaps  start  a  Christian  mission  among 
them.  The  outcome  of  his  sojourn  there 
was.  his  being  mobbed  out  of  the  place 
by  the  Chinese  populace. 

About  five  years  ago  the  Jewish  colony 
was  visited  by  a  Gentile  in  the  person  of 
Herr  Liebermann,  a  German  officer  sta- 


410 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


tioned  in  the  German  concession  of  Kiou- 
chau,  ceded  to  Germany  as  a  sequel  to  the 
insults  offered  Germany  in  the  Boxer  Ke- 
bellion.  This  officer  managed  to  get  in 
touch  with  the  Jews,  and  was  shown  many 
rare  Hebrew  books.  He  examined  the 
site  of  the  old  synagogue,  and  found  the 
marble  tablets  and  inscriptions  that  had 
been  set  up  there  in  1489  and  1512,  be- 
sides many  others,  some  long  and  others 
very  brief. 

Thanks  to  the  Chinese  love  of  ancient 
monuments,  and  the  scrupulous  care  of  all 
documents  and  annals  relating  in  any  way 
to  China,  the  Jewish  tablets  are  still  in- 
tact, and  will  probably  remain  so  until, 
perhaps,  spoiled  by  the  hands  of  future, 
invading  Occidentals. 

These  inscriptions,  set  up  by  pious  and 
learned  Chinese  Jews,  show  how  easily 
Judaism  blended  with  Chinese  ideas  of 
religion,  while  some  are  deeply  philosophi- 
cal. They  prove  to  us,  also,  that  the 
Chinese  Jews,  even  after  the  conquest  of 
China  in  1644  by  the  Mianchus,  were 
highly  educated,  and  held  honorable  offi- 
cial offices,  and  that  they  were  spread  as 
far  south  as  the  distant  province  of  Yun- 
nan. 

My  translation  of  the  long  inscription, 
dated  1489,  may  attract  both  Jewish  and 
Gentile  readers,  appearing  as  it  does  for 
the  first  time  in  full  in  English : 

TABLET  OF  1489. 

A  Tablet  Recording  the  Rebuilding  of  the, 
Temple  of  Truth  and  Purity. 

A-woo-lo-han  (Abraham),  the  patriarch 
who  founded  Yih-sze-lo-nee-keaou  (Jew- 
ish religion)  was  the  nineteenth  descend- 
ant from  Pwan-Koo,  or  Atan.  From  the 
beginning  of  the  world  the  patriarchs 
have  handed  down  the  precept  that  we 
must  not  make  images  and  similitudes, 
and  that  we  must  not  worship  Shin-Kwei, 
for  neither  can  images  and  similitudes 
protect  nor  Shin-Kwei  afford  us  aid. 

The  patriarch,  thinking  upon  Heaven, 
the  pure  and  ethereal  Being  who  dwells  on 
high,  the  most  honorable  and  without  com- 
pare, that  Divine  Providence  who,  without 
speaking,  causes  the  four  seasons  to  re- 
volve, and  the  myriads  of  things  to  grow ; 
and,  looking  at  the  budding  spring,  the 
growth  of  summer,  the  ingathering  of  har- 
vest and  the  storing  of  winter,  at  the  ob- 


jects that  fly,  dive,  move  and  vegetate 
whether  they  nourish  and  decay,  bloom  or 
droop,  all  so  easy  and  natural  in  their  pro- 
ductions and  transformations,  in  their  as- 
sumptions of  form  and  color,  was  suddenly 
aroused  to  reflection,  and  understood  this 
deep  mystery.  He  then  sincerely  sought 
after  the  correct  instruction  and  adoringly 
praised  the  true  Heaven,  with  his  whole 
heart  he  served,  and  with  undivided  at- 
tention reverenced  Him.  By  this  means  he 
set  up  the  foundation  of  religion,  and 
caused  it  to  be  handed  down  to  the  present 
day. 

This  happened,  according  to  our  in- 
quiry, in  the  146th  year  of  the  Chow  State. 
From  him  the  doctrines  were  handed  down 
to  the  great  teacher  and  legislator  May- 
she  (Moses),  who,  according  to  our  com- 
putation, lived  about  the  613th  year  of 
the  same  State.  This  man  (Moses)  was 
intelligent  from  his  birth,  pure  and  disin- 
terested, endowed  with  benevolence  and 
righteousness,  virtue  and  wisdom  all  com- 
plete. He  sought  and  obtained  the  sacred 
writings  on  the  top  of  Seih-na's  hill, 
where  he  fasted  forty  days  and  nights, 
repressing  his  carnal  desires,  refraining 
even  from  sleep,  and  spending  his  time  in 
sincere  devotion.  His  piety  moved  the 
heart  of  Heaven,  and  the  sacred  writings 
(Old  Testament)  amounting  to  fifty- 
three  sections,  were  thus  obtained.  Their 
contents  are  deep  and  mysterious,  their 
promises  calculated  to  influence  men's 
good  feelings,  and  their  threatenings  to 
repress  their  corrupt  imaginations. 

The  doctrines  were  again  handed  down 
to  the  time  of  the  reformer  of  religion  and 
wise  instruction,  Ye-te-la  (Ezra),  whose 
descent  was  reckoned  from  the  founder  of 
our  religion,  and  whose  teaching  contained 
the  right  clue  to  his  instructions,  i.  e.,  the 
duty  of  honoring  heaven  by  appropriate 
worship,  so  that  he  could  be  considered 
capable  of  unfolding  the  mysteries  of  the 
religion  of  our  forefathers. 

But  religion  must  consist  in  the  purity 
and  truth  of  divine  worship.  Purity  re^ 
fers  to  the  Pure  One,  who  is  without  mix- 
ture, and  truth  to  the  Correct  One,  who  is 
without  corruption.  Worship  consists  in 
reverence,  and  in  bowing  down  to  the 
ground. 

Men,  in  their  daily  avocations,  must  not 
for  a  single  moment  forget  Heaven,  but 
at  the  hours  of  four  in  the  morning,  mid- 


THE  DYING  COLONY  OF  JEWS  AT  KAI-FUNG-FU 


411 


day,  and  six  in  the  evening,  should  thrice 
perform  their  adorations,  which  is  the 
true  principle  of  the  religion  of  Heaven. 

The  form  (of  worship)  observed  by  the 
virtuous  men  of  antiquities  was,  first,  to 
bathe  and  wash  their  hands,  taking  care 
at  the  same  time  to  purify  their  hearts 
and  correct  their  senses,  after  which  they 
reverently  approached  Eternal  Reason  and 
the  sacred  writings.  Eternal  Reason  is 
without  form  or  figure,  like  the  eternal 
reason  of  heaven,  exalted  on  high. 

We  will  here  endeavor  to  set  forth  the 
general  course  of  divine  worship  in  or- 
der: 

First.  The  Worshiper,  bending  his 
body,  does  reverence  to  Eternal  Reason,  by 
which  means  he  recognizes  Eternal  Rea- 
son as  present  in  such  bending  of  the  body. 
Then,  standing  upright  in  the  midst, 
without  declining,  he  does  obeisance  to 
Eternal  Reason,  as  standing  in  the  midst. 
In  stillness  maintaining  his  spirit  and 
silently  praising  he  venerates  Eternal 
Reason,  showing  that  he  incessantly  re- 
members Heaven;  in  motion,  examining 
himself,  and,  lifting  up  his  voice,  he 
honors  Eternal  Reason,  showing  that  he 
unfailingly  remembers  Heaven. 

This  is  the  way  in  which  our  religion 
teaches  us  to  look  towards  invisible  space 
and  perform  our  adorations.  Retiring 
three  paces,  the  worshiper  gets  suddenly 
to  the  rear,  to  show  his  reverence  for  the 
Eternal  Reason  who  is  behind  him.  Ad- 
vancing five  steps,  he  looks  on  before,  to 
show  reverence  for  the  Eternal  Reason, 
who  is  in  front  of  him.  He  bows  to  the 
left,  reverencing  Eternal  Reason,  who  is 
on  the  left;  he  bows  to  the  right,  rever- 
encing Eternal  Reason,  whereby  he  adores 
the  Eternal  Reason  who  is  on  his  right; 
looking  up,  he  reverences  Eternal  Reason, 
to  show  that  he  considers  Eternal  Reason 
as  close  to  him.  At  the  close,  he  worships 
Eternal  Reason,  manifesting  reverence  in 
this  act  of  adoration. 

But  to  venerate  Heaven  and  to  neglect 
Ancestors,  is  to  fail  in  the  services  which 
are  their  due.  In  the  spring  and  autumn, 
therefore,  men  sacrifice  to  their  ancestors, 
to  show  that  they  serve  the  dead,  as  they 
do  the  living,  and  pay  the  same  respect  to 
the  departed  that  they  do  to  those  who 
survive.  Thev  offer  sheep  and  oxen,  and 
present  the  fruits  of  the  season. 

This  offering  of  sheep  and  oxen  and  pre- 


senting the  fruits  of  the  season  is  to  show 
that  they  do  not  neglect  the  honor  due  to 
ancestors,  when  they  are  gone  from  us. 
During  the  course  of  every  month,  we 
fast  and  abstain  four  times,  which  con- 
stitutes the  door  by  which  religion  is  en- 
tered, and  the  basis  on  which  goodness  is 
accumulated. 

It  is  called  an  entrance,  because  we 
practice  one  act  of  goodness  to-day  and 
another  to-morrow.  Thus,  having  com- 
menced the  merit  of  abstinence,  we  add  to 
our  store,  avoiding  the  practice  of  every 
vice,  and  reverently  performing  every  vir- 
tue. Every  seventh  day  we  observe  a  holy 
rest,  which,  when  ended,  begins  anew,  as 
it  is  said  in  the  Book  of  Diagrams,  "The 
good  man  in  the  practice  of  virtue  appre- 
hends lest  the  time  should  prove  too 
short !" 

At  each  of  the  four  seasons  we  lay  our- 
selves under  a  seven  days'  restraint,  in  re- 
membrance of  the  trials  endured  by  our 
ancestors,  by  which  means  we  .venerate 
our  ancestors  and  reward  our  progenitors. 
We  also  abstain  from  food  during  a  whole 
day,  when  we  reverently  pray  to  heaven, 
repent  of  our  former  faults,  and  practice 
anew  the  duties  of  each  day. 

The  book  of  Diagrams  also  says: 
"When  the  wind  and  thunder  prevail,  the 
good  man  thinks  of  what  virtues  he  shall 
practice,  and  if  he  have  any  errors  he  re- 
forms them." 

Thus  our  religious  system  has  been 
handed  down  and  communicated  from  one 
to  another.  It  came  originally  from 
Theen-Chuh  (India).  Those  who  intro- 
duced it  in  obedience  to  divine  command 
were  seventy  clans,  viz.,  those  of  Yen,  Le, 
Gae,  Kaou,  Chaou,  Kin,  Chow,  Chang, 
Shih,  Hwang,  Nee,  Tso,  Pih,  etc.  These 
brought  as  tribute  some  Western  cloth. 

The  Emperor  of  the  Sung  dynasty  said : 
"Since  they  have  come  to  our  central  land 
and  reverently  observe  the  customs  of  their 
ancestors,  let  them  hand  down  their  doc- 
trines at  Peen-leang.  In  the  first  year  of" 
Lung-hing,  of  the  Sung  Dynasty,  in  the- 
20th  year  of  the  65th  cycle,  Lee-ching  antr 
Woo-sze-ta  superintended  this  religion, 
and  Yen-too-la  built  the  synagogue.  In 
the  reign  of  Che-yuen,  of  the  Yuen 
dynasty,  or  the  16th  year  of  the  67th 
cycle,  Woo-sze-ta  rebuilt  the  ancient  tem- 
ple of  truth  and  purity,  which  was  situ- 
ated in  the  Thoo-she-tsze  street,  on  the 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


southeast  side.  On  each  side  the  area  of 
the  temple  extended  350  feet.  When  the 
first  Emperor  of  the  Ming  dynasty  estab- 
lished his  throne  and  pacified  the  people 
of  the  empire,  all  those  who  came  under 
the  civilizing  influence  of  our  country 
were  presented  with  ground,  on  which  they 
might  dwell  quietly,  and  profess  their  re- 
ligion without  molestation,  in  order  to 
manifest  a  sympathizing  benevolence, 
which  views  all  alike.  But  as  this  temple 
required  some  one  to  look  after  its  con- 
cerns, there  were  appointed  for  that  pur- 
pose Lee-Ching,  Lee-Chih,  Yen  Ping^too, 
Gal-King,  Chow-Han,  Le-Kang  and 
others  who  were  themselves  upright  and 
intelligent  men,  and  able  to  admonish 
others,  having  attained  the  title  of  Mwan- 
La,  so  that,  up  to  this  time  (1489),  the 
sacred  vestments,  ceremonies  and  music 
are  all  maintained  according  to  the  pre- 
scribed pattern,  and  every  word  and  action 
is  conformed  to  the  ancient  rule. 

Every ,  man,  therefore,  keeps  the  laws 
and  knows  how  to  reverence  heaven  and 
respect  the  patriarchs,  being  faithful  to 
the  prince  and  filial  to  parents — all  in 
consequence  of  the  efforts  of  these  teach- 
ers. Yen-Ching,  who  was  skilled  in  medi- 
cine, in  the  19th  year  of  Yung-lo,  received 
the  imperial  mandate,  communicated 
through  Chow-foo-Ting-Wang,  to  present 
incense  in  the  temple  of  truth  and  purity, 
which  was  then  repaired.  About  the  same 
time,  also,  there  was  received  the  imperial 
tablet  of  the  Ming  dynasty,  to  be  erected 
in  the  temple.  In  the  21st  year  of  Yung- 
lo,.  the  above-mentioned  officer  reported 
that  he  had  executed  some  trust  reposed  in 
him,  whereupon  the  emperor  changed  his 
surname  to  Chaou,  and  conferred  upon 
him  an  embroidered  garment  and  a  title 
of  dignity,  elevating  him  to  be  a  map-is- 
trate  in  Che-Keang  province.  In  the 
tenth  year  of  Ching-t'hung,  Le-Lung  and 
some  others  rebuilt  the  three  rooms  ir 
front  of  the  synagogue. 

It  appears  that  in  the  fifth  year  oi 
Theen-Shun,  the  Yellow  Eiver  had  inun- 
dated the  svnagogue,  but  the  foundations 
were  still  preserved ;  whereupon  Gae-King 
and  others  petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  re- 
store it  to  its  original  form ;  and,  through 
the  Chief  Magistrate  of  the  prefecture,  re- 
ceived an  order  from  the  treasurer  of  Ho- 
nan  province,  granting  that  it  might  be 
done  in  conformitv  with  the  old  form  of 


the  temple  of  truth  and  purity  that  had 
existed  in  the  time  of  Che-Yuen.  Where- 
upon Le-Yung  provided  the  funds,  and 
the  whole  was  made  quite  new.  During 
the  reign  of  Ching-hua,  Kaou-Keen  pro- 
vided the  fund  for  repairing  the  three 
rooms  at  the  back  of  the  synagogue. 

He  also  deposited  therein  three  volumes 
of  the  sacred  writings.  Such  is  the  his- 
tory of  the  front  and  back  rooms  of  the 
synagogue. 

During  the  reign  of  T'heen-shun,  Shih- 
Pin,  Kaou-Keen  and  Chang-Huen  had 
brought  from  the  professors  of  this  relig- 
ion at  Nlng-po,  one  volume  of  the  sacred 
writings,  while  Chaou  Ying-Ching,  of 
Ning-po,  sent  another  volume  of  the  di- 
vine word,  which  was  presented  to  the 
synagogue  ajt  Peen-leang.  His  younger 
brother  Ying  also. provided  funds,  and  in 
the  second  year  of  Hung- Che  strengthened 
the  foundations  of  the  synagogue.  Ying, 
with  myself  Chung,  entrusted  .to  Chaou- 
Tsun  the  setting  up  of  this  tablet.  Yen- 
too-la  had  already  fixed  the  foundation  of 
the  building  and  commenced  the  work, 
toward  the  completion  of  which  all  the 
families  contributed,  and  thus  provided 
the  implements .  and  furniture  connected 
with  the  cells  for  depositing  the  sacred 
writings,  causing  the  whole  synagogue  to 
be  painted  and  ornamented,  and  put  into 
complete  repair. 

I  conceive  that  the  three  religions  of 
China  have  their  respective  temples,  and 
severally  honor  the  founders  of  their  faith. 
Among  the  literary  men  is  the  temple  of 
Ta-Ching,  dedicated  to  Confucius.  Among 
the  Buddhists  there  is  the  temple  of  Shing 
Yung,  dedicated  to  Nee-Mow.  Among 
the  Taoists  there  is  the  temple  of  Yuh- 
Hwang.  So  also  in  the  true  and  pure  re- 
ligion there  is  the  temple  of  Yih-Sze-Lo- 
nee  (Israel),  erected  to  (the  'honor  of 
Hwang- t'heen  (Jehovah.) 

Although  our  religion  agrees  in  many 
respects  with  the  religion  of  the  literati, 
from  which  it  differs  in  a  slight  degree, 
yet  the  main  design  of  it  is  nothing  more 
than  reverence  for  heaven  and  veneration 
of  ancestors,  fidelity  to  the  prince  and 
obedience  to  parents — just  that  which  is 
inculcated  in  the  five  human  relations,  the 
five  constant  virtues,  with  the  three  prin- 
cipal connections  of  life. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that  peo- 
ple merely  know  that  in  the  Temple  of 


THE  GKOVE  OF  PEACE. 


413 


truth  and  purity  ceremonies  are  performed 
where  we  reverence  heaven,  and  worship 
towards  no  visible  object.  But  they  do 
not  know  that  the  great  origin  of  Eternal 
Reason  comes  from  heaven,  and  that  what 
has  been  handed  down  from  of  old  to  the 
present  day  must  not  be  falsified. 

Although  our  religion  enjoins  worship 
thus  earnestly,  we  do  not  render  it  merely 
with  the  view  of  securing  happiness  to 
ourselves,  but,  seeing  that  we  have  re- 
ceived the  favors  of  the  prince  and  en- 
joyed the  emoluments  conferred  by  him, 
we  carry  to  the  utmost  our  sincerity  in 
worship,  with  the  view  of  manifesting 
fidelity  to  our  prince  and  gratitude  to  our 
country.  Thus  we  pray  that  the  Em- 
peror's rule  may  be  extended  to  myriads 
of  years,  and  that  the  imperial  dynasty 
may  be  firmly  established.  As  long  as 
heaven  and  earth  endure  may  there  be 
favorable  winds  and  seasonable  showers, 
with  the  mutual  enjoyment  of  tranquil- 
ity.  We  have  engraved  these  our  ideas  on 


the  imperishable  marble,  that  they  may 
be  handed  down  to  the  last  genera- 
tion. 

Composed  by  a  promoted  literary  grad- 
uate of  the  prefecture  of  Kai-fung-fu, 
named  Kin-chung;  inscribed  by  a  literary 
graduate  of  purchased  rank,  belonging  to 
the  district  of  Tseang-fu  named  Tsaou- 
tso;  and  engraved  by  a  literary  graduate 
of  purchased  rank,  belonging  to  the  pre- 
fecture of  Kai-fung-fu,  named  Foo-Joo. 
Erected  on  a  fortunate  day  in  the  middle 
of  summer,  in  the  second  year  of  Hung- 
Che,  in  the  forty-sixth  year  of  the  seven- 
tieth cycle  (1489),  by  a  disciple  of  the 
religion  of  truth  and  purity  (Jewish 
faith.) 

This  remarkable  inscription  tells  us  of 
the  history,  thoughts  and  aspirations,  the 
moral,  religious  and  social  condition,  of 
the  Jews  of  China,  in  their  loneliness,  in 
their  distant  exile  from  the  land  of  their 
forefathers,  far  away  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  Middle  Kingdom. 


BY    GERALDINE    MEYR1CK 


Here  may  the  weary  rest !     Pine-scented  air, 

Salt  o'  the  sea,  soothes  the  hurt  nerves  to  sleep; 
The  ocean  roar— deep  calling  unto  deep — 

Is  hushed  to  softer  tones;  and  none  may  dare 
To  let  intrude  harsh  thoughts  of  worldly  care 

Lest  the  sweet  spell  should  break;  and  if  one  weep, 
'Tis  quietly,  as  angels,  when  they  keep 

Sweet  vigil  with  tome  saintly  soul  in  prayer. 

Or,  if  one  laugh,  'tis  not  with  strident  mirth, 
But  half  a  smile,  and  half  a  happy  word, 

Quick  followed  by  a  careless,  lilting  song. 

Sere  should  great  deeds  have  their  impelling  birth, 

For  this  is  no  dull,  languorous  rest,  unstirred, 
But  peace  empow'ring,  holy,  sane  and  strong. 


BY    JOHN    RICHELSEN 


SGEEKIFF  Jim  started  his  horse  on  a 
gentle  trot.  ''Wonder  what  made 
Bill  King  shoot  off  about  being 
sure  I  don't  trip  up  this  time,"  he  ques- 
tioned himself,  with  an  uneasiness  that 
was  foreign  to  his  nature. 

Fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  man  who  was  wanted,  he 
glanced  at  the  catalogue  of  the  man's  fea- 
tures. Not  being  a  dreamer,  however,  Jim 
did  not  venture  a  guess  as  to  the  man's 
identity. 

When  he  entered  the  deserted  town  of 
Piedmont,  Jim  made  straight  through  the 
silent  streets  toward  the  store  kept  by  his 
father-in-law.  The  Union  Pacific  Kail- 
road  once  had  a  division  point  here,  but 
later  a  tunnel  was  constructed  that  led 
more  directly  into  Evanston.  So  Pied- 
mont was  now  five  miles  from  the  railroad, 
and  deserted.  The  dry  air  of  this  altitude 
preserved  the  wooden  houses  of  the  fron- 
tier town  in  perfect  condition.  The  sta- 
tion and  the  railroad  tracks  were  still  in- 
tact, as  if  waiting  for  some  ghost-engine. 

"How  are  you,  Pap!"  Jim  greeted  his 
father-in-law  as  he  entered  the  only  open 
store  in  the  town. 

The  old  man  returned  the  salutation 
with  a  scanty  recognition.  The  half-dozen 
sheep-herders  who  were  sitting  about  the 
stove  abruptly  ended  their  conversation 
and  stared  at  the  sheriff. 

"Any  of  you  boys  see  the  fellow  that 
did  the  shooting  at  Coldwater  ?"  the  sheriff 
in  auired. 

There  was  an  uneasy  movement  among 
the  men,  followed  by  an  awkward  silence. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?  Can't  you 
answer  a  civil  question?" 

One  of  the  men,  a  simple-looking 
herder,  volunteered  at  last:  "The  man 
you  are  looking  for  pulled  out  of  hero 
two  hours  ago,  bent  for  the  river." 

The  odd  demeanor  of  the  men  made  it 
seem  unadvisable  to  Jim  to  inquire  any 
further.  "What  the  devil  is  ailing  these 
fellows?"  he  wondered. 

-Tim  Eeagan     was     Wyoming's     crack 


sheriff.  When  he  received  word  of  the 
shooting  scrape  at  Coldwater,  he  hastened 
to  that  little  town,  making  a  record  for 
covering  the  distance.  The  man  desired 
in  connection  with  the  killing  had  started 
out  in  the  direction  of  Piedmont,  and 
without  much  questioning  the  sheriff  had 
decided  to  go  after  his  man  immediately. 

Jim  now  turned  to  his  father-in-law. 
"All  right  for  me  to  stay  here  to-night, 
isn't  it,  Pap?" 

"Better  go  after  your  man  and  do  your 
duty,"  the  old  man  growled. 

Turning  on  his  heel,  Jim  started  out  of 
the  store.  "If  you  fellows  think  I've  lost 
my  nerve,  you've  got  another  guess  com- 
ing to  you,"  he  flung  back  at  them. 

"You  won't  need  much  nerve  to  take 
him,"  his  father-in-law  retorted,  as  Jim 
mounted  his  horse. 

The  moonlight  was  gradually  creeping 
down  the  sides  of  the  canyon.  On  the 
road  it  was  pitch-dark.  Later,  the  lower 
hills  caught  the  white  light  of  the  moon, 
making  a  colossal  stage-setting. 

All  night  long  Jim  silently  continued 
on  his  way,  at  times  through  dark  and 
cold  canyons,  and  then  in  the  warmer 
open  country.  Periods  of  morbid  reflec- 
tion and  hours  of  intense  alertness  alter- 
nated as  the  scenery  changed.  Finally 
came  the  dawn,  and  in  the  distance  ap- 
peared the  great  scar,  where  the  river  had 
cut  deep  into  the  surface  of  the  earth. 
When  Jim  reached  the  bank  he  dismount- 
ed as  if  he  had  ridden  but  an  hour,  and 
threw  the  bridle  over  the  horse's  head. 

He  lit  his  pipe  and  looked  carefully  up 
and  down  the  river.  Suddenly  jerking 
the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  again,  he  tied 
his  horse  among  a  clump  of  bushes.  As- 
suring himself  of  the  gun  in  his  belt,  he 
slid  over  the  bank  of  the  precipice.  His 
sharp  eyes  had  detected  a  faint  cloud  of 
smoke  rising  behind  some  bushes,  a  mile 
away.  With  unerring  judgment,  Jim 
fixed  upon  a  spot  down  the  river  which 
was  opposite  the  place  he  wanted  to  reach. 

The  side  of  the  precipice  was  treacher- 


"THE  KID'S"  ATONEMENT. 


ous,  and  one  to  which  it  was  difficult  to 
cling.  After  crawling  a  little  distance, 
a  rock  slipped  from  under  his  feet,  and 
Jim  slid  into  the  ice-cold  water.  Gritting 
his  teeth,  he  plunged  on,  wading  down 
the  river.  Soon  realizing,  however,  the 
good  target  he  was  offering,  he  clambered 
up  again  and  crawled  onward,  hugging 
the  side  of  the  bank. 

When  he  reached  the  spot  he  had  de- 
cided upon,  Jim  peeped  over  the  ground. 
Thirty  yards  from  the  bank,  in  the  clump 
of  bushes  from  which  the  smoke  had  risen, 
he  could  distinctly  see  the  outline  of  some 
man  in  hiding.  He  crawled  forward  on 
his  knees,  with  one  hand  assuring  himself 
of  the  "drop"  on  his  man. 

"Hands  up,  quick!"  Jim  shouted,  as 
the  man  moved. 

Without  a  word  the  hands  were  raised 
above  the  bushes.  Slowly  rising,  Jim  cir- 
cled around  until  he  could  see  the  man's 
face. 

Intently  the  men  stared  at  each  other. 
Then  Jim  lowered  his  gun  until,  with  his 
arms  at  his  side,  he  let  it  slide  out  of  his 
hand. 

"You!"  the  sheriff  gasped. 

"Jim,  were  you  going  to  shoot  your 
kid  brother?"  tie  other  man  asked  in  an 
aggrieved  tone. 

"Was  it  you  that  killed  the  man?"  Jim 
stammered. 

"Guess  I  did !  Suppose  I've  gotten  my- 
self in  a  hell  of  a  box — the  fellow's  dead, 
is  her" 

"He  is,  kid!"  Jim  faltered.  "The 
coroner's  jury  pronounced  the  man  mur- 
dered at  the  hands  of  some  one  unknown 
to  them." 

"Unknown?"  he  asked  with  a  grim 
and  knowing  smile.  "What  kind  of  a 
bluff  was  that?" 

"Thev  don't  know  who  did  it — as  yet" 

"The"  devil •  they  don't!  Before  the 
scrap  I  told  the  whole  gang  that  I  had 
just  come  to  see  you  from  our  old  home 
in  Nebraska." 

Jim  sank  back  in  silence.  He  under- 
stood why  the  boys  had  been  so  distant 
and  why  his  rival,  Bill  King,  had  sneered 
at  him  when  he  started  out,  and  why  his 
father-in-law  had  been  so  abrupt. 

"Any  chance  of  my  getting  off  with  a 
term  in  the  pen?"  Jim's  brother  asked, 
breaking  the  silence. 

<rNot   a   ghost's   show,     kid.     They've 


turned  against  us.    They'll  han "  The 

words  stuck  in  his  throat. 

"You're  not  going  to  take  me  back  to 
sown,  are  you  ?"  his  brother  pleaded. 

Jim  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  and 
noticed  that  the  reckless  attitude  his 
brother  at  first  had  assumed  was  giving 
way  to  a  frightened  realization  of  his  true 
position.  Then,  with  gleaming  eyes,  Jim 
cried  out  decisively:  "No,  kid!  I  can't 
do  that.  I  won't  take  you  back !"  After 
a  moment,  he  demanded:  "Where's  your 
gun?" 

"Haven't  any!  I  threw  it  away  after 
I  peppered  that  guy." 

The  sheriff  walked  back  with  his  brother 
to  the  place  where  the  horse  was  tied. 

"Why  don't  you  let  me  go,  and  say  you 
couldn't  find  me?"  Jim's  brother  sug- 
gested. "Wouldn't  that  be  the  easiest 
way  to  let  us  out?" 

"No  good,  kid!"  Jim  had  dismissed 
that  hope  long  before.  "Everybody  would 
understand.  Besides,  you  don't  know  this 
country,  and  they'd  get  you  in  twenty- 
four  hours  anyway."  He  spoke  without 
looking  at  his  brother. 

"You  know  the  country,  Jim.  Skip  with 
me  to " 

"You're  crazy,  kid,"  Jim  cut  in  sharp-- 
Iv.  "They'd  get  us  both.  And  how  about 
the  wife  and  the  boy  that's  come  since  I 
last  saw  you — named  after  you — and  the 
one  that  will  be  here  in " 

"That's  enough!"  his  brother  in  turn 
interrupted.  "I  see  I've  played  the  devil 
once  too  often." 

Jim  suffered  still  more  keenly  as  he 
learned  of  the  provocation  under  which 
his  brother  had  acted.  His  enemies,  even 
if  they  were  few  in  number  and  without 
influence  in  the  county,  at  last  had  gained 
a  triumph  over  him  of  which  they  would 
take  immediate  advantage.  They  had 
tampered  with  his  brother's  loyalty  to  him 
and  were  now  one  less  in  number,  but  abl  3 
to  wreak  a  vengeance  that  would  break 
his  heart. 

Jim's  brother,  while  walking  to  and  fro, 
loosened  the  rope  that  was  tied  to  the 
saddle  and  dropped  it  to  the  ground  un- 
noticed. Jim  was  dreaming  of  boyhood 
days  in  Nebraska,  and  how  he  had  gone 
to  the  help  of  his  kid  brother  on  a  day 
when  he  had  fallen  from  one  of  the  apple 
trees.  That  day  of  tender  memories  so 
filled  his  heart  that  he  did  not  notice 


416 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


how  his  brother's  features  had  gradually 
hardened  into  a  grim  expression  of  des- 
perate resolution. 

Suddenly  Jim's  brother  jumped  up  and 
kicked  the  horse  viciously.  "Now  you 
can't  leave  me,  anyway !"  he  yelled  de- 
fiantly. 

"You  fool !"  Jim  was  up  and  after  the 
frightened  animal.  "Haven't  you  put  me 
into  enough  trouble?" 

He  called  to  his  horse  and  followed  af- 
ter the  beast  for  some  distance  before  he 
stopped  to  look  back.  "My  God!  I  won- 
der," he  muttered,  seeing  that  his  brother 
had  disappeared.  Bewildered  by  his 
brother's  peculiar  action,  he  started  back, 
urged  on  by  a  frightful  predicament.  The 
possible  motive  for  his  brothers  action 
suddenly  flashed  into  his  mind.  Break- 
insr  into  a  run,  he  rushed  back  to  the  cut, 
and  there  one  glance  proved  that  his  fears 
had  been  well-founded. 

"Down  the  precipice  he  dashed  toward 
the  figure  dangling  at  the  end  of  a  rope 
fastened  to  a  tree.  In  his  mad  rush  Jim 
slipped  and  fell  all  the  way  to  the  river. 
Instantly  he  tried  to  climb  back.  He  fell 
again,  exhausted  from  the  flow  of  blood. 

Looking  up,  Jim  noticed  the  arrival  of 
some  horsemen,  and  recognized  one  or 
two  among  them  who  had  always  been 
stanch  .friends  of  his.  He  wondered  if 


they  were  still  his  friends.  The  men 
leaped  from  their  horses,  and  started 
down  the  cut.  Jim  heard  one  of  them 
swear :  "Damned  rotten  to  let  Jim  go 
alone !" 

Those  words  were  balsam  to  his  spirits. 
When  he  saw  that  the  men  had  safely 
clambered  to  the  figure  from  which  his 
sight  had  never  completely  been  taken,  he 
at  length  was  compelled  to  yield  to  nature 
and  let  the  curtains  come  down  before 
his  eyes. 

And  after  a  while  he  felt  a  hand  laid 
on  his  forehead  and  a  well-known  voice 
awakened  him.  As  he  looked  up,  he 
gazed  into  his  brother's  face.  The  sight 
of  the  blood  and  the  bandages  troubled 
him  at  first,  but  then  the  worry  passed 
away  and  he  smiled. 

"The  boys  say  I  will  never  have  to 
swing  twice  for  the  same  offense  in  Wy- 
oming," Jim's  brother  faltered. 

Sheriff  Jim  stared  vacantly  into  his 
brother's  face,  and  then,  letting  his  eyes 
wander  over  the  water,  muttered:  "There 
is  our  little  river!  In  back  of  those  trees 
is  home !" 

"Jim,"  his  brother  pleaded,  "the  boys 
sav  we'll  both  be  all  right  in  a  little 
while." 

"Didn't  mother  tell  you  to  stay  off  the 
apple  tree?"  Jim  whispered,  smilingly. 


BY    EDWARD    WILBUR    MASON 

All  day  from  out  the  windy,  storm-swept  North 
I  hear  the  clanging  horde  of  wild  geese  fly; 

But  my  wild  hopes  can  never  venture  forth, 
Nor  dare  the  'sky. 

I  hear  the  swallows  gathering  in  the  West, 

Turn  South  on  eager  wing  toward  haunts  of  home; 

But  my  poor  dreams  must  stay  in  mine  own  breast, 
Nor  farther  roam. 

Ah,  thus  I  hear  the  birds  in  youth  and  age, 
Go  by  in  freedom  'neath  the  sun  and  stars; 

But  my  imprisoned  soul  within  its  cage 
Beats  iron  bars ! 


BY    FELIX    J.    KOCH 


OXE   hears   so  much'  in  the   papers 
again  about  the     doom     hanging 
over  Xiagara  that  thousands  who 
would  have  delayed  their  visit  from  time 
TO  time  until  eternity  are  now  nocking  to 
the  little  Xew  York  city  at  the  falls  to 
glance  at  the  wonder  before  it  is  "spoiled." 

As  a  result,  there  has  arisen  at  Xiagara 
to-day  what  is  known  as  the  "Grand 
Tour,"'  a  sort  of  way  of  pilgrimage,  which 
every  visitor  must  make,  and  only  after 
having  seen  which  he  is  at  liberty  to  take 
in  more  obsolete  and  less  significant 
points. 

Xot  Atlantic  City  in  all  its  glory  fleeces 
the  novice  more  completely  than  does  this 
Grand  Tour. 

You  reach  Xiagara  usually  at  nine  in 
the  morning,  A  few  steps  from  the  depot 
and  there  is  the  main  street,  with  the 
hotels  and  bank.  There  are  the  two-horse 
landaus  awaiting  to  convey  you  over  the 
"tour"  in  an  entirety,  or  in  sections.  Only 
fifteen  cent?  to  the  falls  is  the  first  induce- 
ment. A  stranger  to  Xiagara,  it  seems 
cheap  enough.  They  whirl  you  down  one 
street  of  shaded  homes,  then  past  a  fam- 
ous old  hotel,  through  another  still  shad- 
ier side  street,  and  you  are  at  the  Xiagara 
Eiver,  ready  to  dismount  at  its  foaming 
rapids.  You  could  have  walked  it  in  five 
minutes,  all  told. 

That  is  the  first  step.  Disgusted  at  the 
imposition,  you  quit  this  hack,  resolved 
to  take  care  of  yourself.  You  are  at  the 
Goat  Island  bridge;  ahead  rises  the  Sol- 
diers' Monument.  You  don't  know  just 
how  to  proceed. 

A  wagonette  comes  along,  and  for  a 
quarter  apiece  they  will  show  you  the 
reservation.  Once  aboard,  they  sell  you 
an  eighty-five  cent  ticket  in  which  the 
coupon  for  this  ride  is  included.  It  seems 
so  fair,  when  they  return  you  the  quarter 
first  paid,  VQU  become  unsuspicious.  Later, 
however,  when  you  start  to  figure,  you 
wonder  what  the  other  sixty  cents  were 


for.     So  even  the  wagonettes  work  flim- 
flam on  the  tourist  at  Xiagara. 

The  wagonette  has  crossed  the  bridge 
onto  Goat  Island.  You  can  get  out  any- 
where, stay  as  long  as  you  wish,  and  then 
take  any  other  of  the  seventeen  wagonettes 
of  the  line.  They  simpl*-  punch  your  cou- 
pon over  the  point  visited.  You  cross  a 
particularly  seething  rapids,  where  shady 
roads  built  by  the  State  lead  through 
dense  forest-wilds  to  other  splendid  per- 
spectives of  the  falls. 

At  the  fencing  there  is  a  simple  sign, 
"Xiagara  Falls,"  that  seems  to  mean  "Get 
out  and  look."  Poor,  deluded  mortal, 
you  do — remembering  ^our  coupon  and 
its  privileges. 

You  watch  the  green  water  turn  into 
milky  froth,  before  foaming  and  boiling 
down  the  precipice  that  forms  the  fall 
of  Xiagara.  Then  vou  ramble  down 
thirty-two  little  steps  to  obtain  a  better 
view.  You  are  much  nearer  the  water 
now,  and  the  Canadian  Falls  are  to  be 
seen,  wide  and  foaming  and  roaring!  An- 
other lane  leads  through  the  woods,  off 
on  the  right,  and  there  you  stop  to  gaze 
spell-bound  at  either  falls  through  one 
great  perspective  of  all,  baffling  all  de- 
scrintion.  The  water,  just  before  it 
makes  its  leap;  the  Canadian  Falls,  the 
awful  rush  of  the  river — how  long  you 
stay  to  wateh  them  you  don't  know.  At 
any  rate,  you  simply  sit  or  stand  and  gaze. 
By  and  bye  you  return  to  the  bridge. 
The  wagonette  is  ^one.  There  is  no  other 
near.  You  wait  and  wail  and  wait.  You 
have  r-'  -  one  dav  at  Xiagara,  and  the 
roar  of  the  falls  is  calling.  You  don't 
wish  to  waste  time  here  on  the  road.  So, 
coupon  to  the  contrary,  you  tuck  it  in 
your  pocket  and  walk. 

Down  one  path,  up  another  steeper  one, 
through  the  woods,  to  where  the  river 
roars  loudest.  Then  up  along  a  railing 
to  the  stairs  that  lead  to  the  Cave  of  the 
Winds.  Other  people,  tourists,  too,  are 


Scenes  near  Niagara  Palls. 


FLEECTXC   TOURISTS  OX  THE  GHAXD  TOUR  AT  XIAGABA.         419 


here  in  the  yellow  oil-skins,  going  into  the 
cave.  It  is  only  another  dollar — and  one 
must  see  everything  while  he  is  here. 

Out  of  the  Cave,  there  is  the  "Maid  of 
the  Mist" — and  another  dollar. 

Then  you  are  ready  for  the  'buses  again. 
They  come,  but  loaded  to  the  guards.  You 
prefer  to  walk  to  being  cramped  where 
nothing  can  be  seen.  So  again  you  plod 
on — on  through  the  pine  forests  to  the 
Horse-shoe  Falls,  where  another  'bus  is 
discharging.  Even  had  you  taken  it  to 
this  point  you  would  have  to  get  out  and 
descend  the  stairs  to  a  platform  over  the 
whirlpool  where  tourists  carve  their  names 
on  the  rail,  instead  of  giving  their  time 
to  the  view  of  the  green,  foaming  cata- 
ract and  the  great  convent  on  the  bluff 
in  Canada. 

Returning  up  the  stairs,  it  is  quicker  to 
walk  than  ride  to  the  Three  Sisters'  Island 
— and  so  again  you  take  to  the  woods, 
primeval  forest,  but  kept  like  a  park.  The 
falls  roar  and  the  locusts  thrum,  and  there 
are  benches  to  rest  and  enjoy  the  ever- 
changing  view  of  rapids  and  whirlpools, 
seething  and  boiling  and  raging  beneath, 
so  that  you  forget  all  about  your  'bus 
ticket.  You  cross  a  bridge,  over  these 
same  rapids,  onto  the  First  Sister  Island. 
Then  through  a  grove  and  over  another 
iron  bridge,  set  across  a  most  fearful 
maelstrom — with  rocks  and  forests,  and 
wild,  rugged  islands,  seemingly  being  torn 
awav.  There  is  the  boom  of  surges  here 
that  not  even  old  ocean  can  rival,  and 
there  are  rapids  that  recall  the  famous 
ones  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  Then  there  is 
another,  a  smaller  bridge,  where  the  force 
of  the  rapids  is  even  stronger,  and  one 
"  feels  the  spray  stinging  the  face.  You  are 
then  on  the  second  Sister  Island.  The 
water  pitches  and  tumbles  at  your  side, 
and  you  climb  over  rocks  and  across  a 
creek  to  an  unexcelled  view  of  the  rapids. 

Then  you  make  your  way  back  to  Goat 
Island,  and  again  cut  your  name  on  some 
tree  or  some  bench.  Why  you  do  it,  you 
know  not — there  are  so  many  already  that 
nc  individual  one  can  be  noticed.  It  is 
cusiom — so  you  follow  suit. 

Again  you  are  in  the  wild-wood,  and 
above  the  rapids  of  the  Xiagara.  Ahead, 
the  largest  pulp  and  paper-mill  in  the 


country  rises — a  plant  turning  out  twenty 
car-loads  a  day. 

You  are  beginning  to  tire.  You  sit 
.down  and  await  some  'bus  that  has  a  seat 
vacant.  Meanwhile  your  time  is  fleeting. 
It  comes  and  drives  you  down  a  road 
away  from  the  river,  where  only  the  break- 
ers' roar  reminds  of  the  stream.  Then 
they  take  another  coupon  from  your 
ticket. 

The  forest  has  changed  to  a  grove  of 
young  trees.  A  bridge  leads  off  to  an- 
other island.  They  show  you  the  Govern- 
ment Commissioner's  office,  some  more 
woods  and  one  other  bridge.  Then  they 
talk  of  their  'busses — seventeen  in  the 
line,  and  how  already  ten  years  ago  they 
carried  eight  thousand  people  a  year. 

Xow  you  are  back  on  the  mainland. 
There  is  a  hotel,  some  Indian  novelty 
stores  and  the  Soldiers'  Monument — as 
in  Xew  England.  That  is  the  end  of  the 
route — for  that  you  have  paid  the  costs 
of  the  Grand  Tour ! 

It  is  up  to  you  to  get  out  and  walk. 
Walk  along  bazars  of  souvenirs  and  of 
photos,  past  dime  museums,  small  shops 
and  the  like.  All  of  them  bid  you  wel- 
come— to  come  in  and  spend.  There  is 
an  Observation  Tower,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Eiffel,  and  to  it  your  coupon  gives 
you  admission.  Otherwise  this  would  cost 
a  quarter.  So  you  get  your  money's  worth 
here  at  least. 

The  structure  rises  three  hundred  feet 
in  air,  and  is  said  to  have  cost  $50,000. 
You  get  a  view  all  over  Xiagara  City 
from  the  top  of  the  tower,  the  town  and 
the  river,  with  the  bends  and  the  rapids, 
with  wooded  Goat  Island  and  all  the 
Three  Sisters.  You  see  the  precipice,  but 
not  the  falls  of  Niagara;  the  Horse-shoe 
and  the  Canadian  Falls.  The  elevator 
takes  you  to  the  fourth  story  to  see  this. 
For  the  rest,  you  must  walk.  At  the  top 
they  sell  souvenirs  only. 

But  that  is  not  in  the  "tour."  It  closed 
at  the  Tower.  You  took  it — we  all  took 
it — when  we  went  to  Xiagara.  TVe  were 
warned  we  would  be  robbed,  but  we  went 
to  visit  the  Romans,  and  would  do  as 
Romans  bid.  And  yet,  later,  we  did  not 
regret  it.  The  Falls  made  us  forget  all 
the  rest! 


MESKSTS 


BY  CAPTAIN  ARTHUR  H.  DUTTON 


IN"  the  history  of  the  United  States 
Navy  there  has  ever  been  a  hoodoo  on 
the  name  of  Somers.  Placing  in  re- 
verse order  the  appearance  of  the  name 
in  the  Navy's  history,  it  may  be  said  that 
the  torpedo-boat  Somers,  which  was  pur- 
chased abroad  just  before  the  Spanish 
war,  was  beset  with  difficulties  many  and 
varied  before  she  left  for  our  shores,  mak- 
ing several  unfortunate  starts  from  Eng- 
land, her  machinery  breaking  down,  her 
temporary  crew  of  hired  aliens  refusing 
duty  on  her,  and  storms  besetting  her  un- 
til her  arrival  in  New  York.  She  never 
saw  active  service  in  the  war,  and  is  looked 
upon  now  as  a  third-rate  craft. 

Looking  farther  backward,  the  U.  S. 
brig  Somers  was  the  scene  of  one  of  the 
greatest  tragedies  of  the  American  Navy, 
it  having  been  upon  her  that  the  unfortu- 
nate midshipman,  Spencer,  son  of  the 
then  Secretary  of  War,  was  hanged  at  the 
yard-arm,  with  two  of  his  confederates, 
for  attempting  a  mutiny.  The  brig  was 
herself  wrecked,  with  the  loss  of  many 
lives,  on  a  Mexican  reef,  a  few  years  later. 
Most  of  the  officers  who  formed  the  court- 
martial  which  condemned  Spencer  to 
death  themselves  had  violent  deaths. 

Both  of  these  vessels  were  named  after 
a  gallant  young  officer  of  the  old  Navy, 
Master-Commandant — a  title  correspond- 
ing to  our  present  Lieutenant-Commander 
— Richard  Somers,  who  lost  his  life  in  the 
face  of  the  enemy  in  a  manner  both  pic- 
turesque and  dramatic. 

Somers  was  attached  to  the  squadron 
under  Commodore  Preble,  which  taught 
such  salutary  lessons  to  the  Barbary 
pirates  during  the  stirring  days  of  1804, 
when  the  young  nation  of  the  United 
States  put  an  end  forever  to  the  depreda- 
tions which  the  fierce  corsairs  of  the 
Mediterranean  had  been  committing  on 
the  commerce  of  Europe  and  the  world. 
The  story  of  the  achievements  of  our  lit- 
tle Navy  during  those  days  is  a  well- 


known  one,  but  the  incident  here  related 
is  little  known  outside  of  the  archives  of 
the  Navy  Department  and  the  officers  and 
men  of  the  service. 

Tripoli  had  been  an  obstinate  enemy. 
There  the  frigate  Philadelphia  had  run 
aground  upon  an  uncharted  reef,  and 
while  in  this  helpless  condition  had  been 
captured,  with  the  brave  Captain  Bain- 
bridge  and  his  entire  crew,  by  a  horde  of 
Tiipolitans.  Later,  the  heroic  Decatur 
had  entered  the  harbor  under  cover  of 
night,  and  in  one  of  the  most  dramatic 
and  daring  cutting-out  expeditions  of  his- 
tory, had  boarded  the  Philadelphia,  de- 
feated her  prize-crew  in  a  hand-to-hand 
fight,  right  in  the  midst  of  the  anchored 
Tripolitan  fleet  and  under  the  guns  of 
their  shore  batteries,  afterwards  setting 
the  ship  on  fire  and  escaping  to  the  block- 
ading American  fleet  outside.  This  oc- 
curred in  February,  1804.  During  the  en- 
suing months  war  was  waged  with  vigor 
upon  the  Tripolitans,  but  their  chief  city 
still  held  out,  and  their  fleet  still  remained 
securely  at  anchor  beneath  the  guns  of  its 
fortifications,  although  suffering  more  or 
less  damage  and  loss  from  the  repeated 
bombardments  of  the  American  squadron 
outside.  It  was  determined  to  adopt  ex- 
traordinary means  to  annoy  them,  and 
the  sending  in  of  a  fire-ship,  loaded  with 
explosives,  as  well  as  combustibles,  was  the 
first  measure  decided  upon.  Like  Deca- 
tur's  nocturnal  dash  upon  the  Philadel- 
phia, this  expedition  was  hazardous  in  the 
extreme.  It  was  the  counterpart  of  Hob- 
son's  entry  into  the  harbor  of  Santiago, 
94  years  later,  in  the  Merrimac,  but  its 
results  were  more  serious  to  both  sides. 

Somers  was  selected  to  command  the 
expedition,  and  the  vessel  selected  to  be 
used  as  the  fire-boat  was  the  ketch  In- 
trepid, the  same  one  that  Decatur  used  in 
his  attack  upon  the  Philadelphia  a  few 
months  before.  Somers  had  proved  his 
courage  and  ability  in  many  a  previous 


TALES  OF  THE  SEA. 


4-21 


desperate  encounter  with  the  enemy.  So 
had  numerous  others,  in  fact,  of  Preble'"s 
sturdy  command,  and  they  all  vied  with 
one  another  in  their  efforts  to  get  aboard 
the  Intrepid  for  her  desperate  trip.  It 
was  with  some  difficulty,  as  at  Santiago 
in  1898,  that  the  Intrepid's  personnel  was 
finally  selected,  the  choice  falling  upon 
Somers.  Lieutenant  Henry  Wadsworth, 
of  the  famous  frigate  Constitution,  and 
ten  picked  men  from  the  hundreds  of 
volunteers  who  were  eager  to  go. 

Careful  attention  was  paid  to  all  the 
details  of  fitting  up  the  Intrepid  as  a  true 
floating  mine,  to  be  exploded  when  in  the 
right  position  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy's 
vessels.  The  forward  hold  of  the  little 
vessel  had  been  fitted  up  as  a  magazine 
and  filled  with  powder — enough  to  have 
wrought  great  havoc  far  and  near.  From 
this  veritable  latent  volcano  a  train  was 
laid  to  a  chamber  farther  aft,  filled  with 
combustibles.  The  idea  was  for  the  men, 
at  the  proper  time,  to  set  fire  to  the  cham- 
ber containing  the  combustibles,  and  then 
make  their  escape  in  boats,  the  enemy  to 
think  that  the  ketch  was  merely  a  fire- 
boat.  Then,  a  few  moments  later,  when 
the  train  had  been  fired  and  the  powder 
room  exploded,  the  deed  would  be  done. 

The  object  of  the  Intrepid's  mission 
having  been  provided  for  as  far  as  human 
foresight  could  make  possible,  there  were 
yet  dangers  to  be  encountered  by  her  peo- 
ple. She  was  a  dull  sailor,  and  yet  she 
had  to  stand  into  the  harbor  through  a 
narrow  passage  in  a  light  wind  in  the 
face  of  the  enemy's  batteries,  even  before 
she  fell  in  with  the  ships  inside.  A  single 
shot  penetrating  her  magazine  would 
blow  her  and  her  crew  to  atoms. 

Undaunted,  the  Intrepid's  people 
started  in,  on  the  night  of  September  4, 
1804.  At  the  last  moment,  a  young  offi- 
cer, Lieutenant  Joseph  Israel,  jumped 
aboard,  and  on  account  of  his  determined 
gallantry,  was  not  sent  back. 

At  9  p.  m.  the  Intrepid  started  on  her 
errand.  The  night  was  clear,  the  stars 
shining  overhead,  but  there  was  a  light 
haze  over  the  sea.  The  ketch  stood  stead- 
ily in  and  disappeared  from  the  view  of 
the  anxious  watchers  on  the  squadron  out- 
side. She  was  then  hardly  a  pistol  shot 
from  the  batteries  on  shore,  and  had  evi- 
dently not  been  discovered  by  the  enemy. 

A  few  moments  later,     however,     the 


shore  batteries  opened  fire.  There  was 
an  interval  after  that,  and  then,  suddenly, 
the  whole  harbor  was  illuminated  by  a 
vivid  flash  of  light.  There  was  a  terrific 
explosion  and  then  all  was  still. 

That  was  the  last  seen  by  any  one  of 
the  gallant  Somers  and  his  faithful  crew 
until  the  mangled  bodies  of  some  of  them 
were  picked  up  on  the  shore.  One  of  the 
bodies  was  identified  as  that  of  Somers, 
from  the  remains  of  the  uniform  he  wore 
and  by  other  means. 

Just  what  caused  the  disastrous  result 
of  the  enterprise  has  never  been  discov- 
ered. There  have  been  surmises  in  plenty, 
but  the  most  plausible  of  any  was  that 
the  premature  explosion  was  caused  by 
Somers's  own  act.  It  is  thought  that  af- 
ter finding  that  his  mission  had  failed 
and  rather  than  have  the  Intrepid,  with 
her  immense  amount  of  powder — of  which 
the  Tripolitans  were  in  sore  need — fall  in- 
to the  hands  of  the  enemy,  who  were  about 
to  capture  him,  he  deliberately  blew  up 
his  vessel  and  perished  with  her. 

Two  other  theories  have  much  to  sup- 
port them.  One  is  that  the  ketch  was 
exploded  by  a  shot  from  the  batteries ;  an- 
other that  the  magazine  was  accidentally 
fired  before  the  crew  got  away.  Two  bod- 
ies were  found  in  the  shattered  hull  after 
she  had  grounded,  which  she  did  in  a 
position  about  half  a  mile  from  the  place 
where  it  was  intended  to  blow  her  up. 

That  the  enterprise  had  failed  was  soon 
manifest,  but  its  failure  was  not  complete. 
Although  most  of  the  enemy's  vessels  were 
unscathed,  two  are  said  to  have  been  miss- 
ing the  next  day.  The  explosion  was  so 
terrific  that  even  the  American  ships  in 
the  offing  were  jarred  by  it.  Onlookers 
said  that  the  display  was  one  of  awful 
splendor.  It  was  followed  immediately 
bv  silence  and  by  intense  darkness,  which 
served  to  emphasize  it. 

An  odd  coincidence,  which  may  give 
food  for  thought  to  the  superstitious,  was 
the  fact  that  in  Somers's  party  there  were 
exactly  thirteen  men.  The  thirteenth  was 
the  unfortunate  Israel,  who  leaped  on 
board  just  as  the  ketch  was  shoving  off 
from  the  schooner  Xautilus,  the  vessel 
which  had  been  commanded  by  Somers 
before  he  went  to  the  Intrepid. 

That  the  Intrepid,  in  addition  to  hav- 
ing been  discovered  and  fired  upon  by  the 
shore  batteries,  was  attacked  by  at  least 


422 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


one  Tripolitan  vessel,  is  suspected  from 
several  facts.  One  of  the  largest  Tripoli- 
tan  gunboats  was  missing  after  the  ex- 
plosion, indicating  that  she  must  have 
been  close  to  the  Intrepid  when  the  latter 
blew  up.  Also,  many  of  the  bodies  which 
subsequently  drifted  ashore  bore  wounds 
from  gun  shot  and  grape  shot,  in  addition 
to  the  terrible  marks  of  the  explosion, 
showing  conclusively  that  the  ketch  had 
been  under  a  severe  fire  from  the  enemy. 
These  two  facts  alone  support  the  theory 
that  Somers,  or  some  of  his  men,  them- 
selves blew  the  Intrepid  up,  to  prevent 
her  from  falling  into  the  enemy's  hands, 
or  to  do  the  enemy  as  much  harm  as  pos- 
sible, for,  being  wholly  unarmed,  she  had 
no  means  of  defense  or  offense  other  than 
the  mine  of  powder  within  her. 

There  were  two  boats  carried  in  the  In- 
trepid, for  use  in  leaving  the  vessel  after 
the  train  had  been  lighted.  One  of  these 
was  found  with  a  dead  body  in  it.  The 
other  has  never  been  heard  from,  the 
general  belief  being  that  it  was  either 
blown  to  atoms  or  taken  by  some  individ- 
ual of  the  enemy,  who  carried  it  off  for 
his  own  use  without  saying  anything  to 
any  one  about  it. 

Thus  perished  one  of  the  bravest,  ablest 
and  most  esteemed  and  promising  young 
officers  of  the  American  navy.  He  was 
of  the  same  stuff  as  Decatur  and  the  other 
fearless  officers  who  opened  the  eyes  of 
the  whole  world  by  their  daring  exploits 
and  set  the  examples  which  have  estab- 
lished the  standards  upheld  ever  since  by 


the  service. 

Richard  Somers  was  a  native  of  Cape 
May  County,  New  Jersey,  and  the  son  of 
a  Colonel  in  the  Revolutionary  army.  He 
went  first  to  sea  as  a  mere  boy,  and  made 
his  first  cruise  in  the  navy  as  a  midship- 
man on  the  frigate  United  States,  which 
was  commanded,  during  the  war  of  1812, 
bv  his  messmate  and  clium  of  midshipmen 
and  later  days,  Stephen  Decatur. 

Always  noted  as  much  for  his  chivalry 
as  for  his  courage,  Somers  had  a  host  of 
warm  friends  in  the  service,  and  his  loss 
was  the  occasion  for  much  mourning.  A 
striking  evidence  of  his  character  was  an 
experience  he  had  in  the  Mediterranean 
shortly  before  his  death.  While  he  and 
two  brother  officers  were  walking  on  shore 
near  Syracuse,  Sicily,  they  were  suddenly 
set  upon,  in  a  lonely  spot,  by  five  Sicilian 
desperadoes,  heavily  armed.  The  Ameri- 
can officers  were  unarmed,  save  one,  who 
had  a  dirk  with  him.  The  one  with  the 
dirk  immediately  grappled  with  his  ad- 
versary, and  stabbed  him  to  death.  Som- 
ers, with  nothing  but  his  bare  fists,  closed 
in  with  the  nearest  Sicilian,  took  his  knife 
away  from  him,  and  slew  him  with  his 
own  weapon.  The  other  three  Sicilians 
quickly  fled. 

The  brave  Somers  has  been  described 
bv  one  of  his  biographers  as  being  unex- 
celled "in  a  chivalrous  love  of  enterprise, 
a  perfect  disregard  for  danger  and  in  de- 
votion to  the  honor  of  the  flag."  How 
well  he  bore  out  this  description  is  shown 
bv  the  narrative  here  written. 


BY    ELLIOTT    FLOWER 


IV. — Her  Domestic  Problem. 

THE     Daughter     of     David     Riggs 
sighed. 
"Listen  to  that !"  exclaimed  her 
brother  Tom.     'Til  bet  the  Psyche  Club 
has  got  down  to  the  real  thing  this  time/' 

"Which  is  ?"  asked  David. 

"Love,  of  course,"  replied  Tom. 

"That  isn't  a  club  affair,"  ventured 
Mrs.  Riggs,  mildly.  "Love  is  too 
sacred " 

"That's  what  the  girls  think  before 
marriage,"  interrupted  Tom,  "but  some  of 
them  tell  a  different  story  in  the  divorce 
court.  They  find  it  very  much  of  a  club 
affair — two  ways." 

"Yes,"  assented  David.  "In  some  cir- 
cles a  man  goes  to  the  club  when  his  wife 
annoys  him,  and  in  others  he  picks  the 
club  out  of  the  woodbox  and  goes  for 
her.  I  don't  undertake  to  say  which  is 
the  better  scheme,  but  now  and  then  you'll 
find  a  woman  who  thinks  that  a  man 
wouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  beat  her  un- 
less he  loved  her." 

"Our  club,"  said  Estelle,  severely,  "has 
not  given  any  attention  to  the  divorce 
courts — as  vet." 

"Wise  club !"  commented  David.  "The 
divorce  court  is  a  mighty  deceptive  and 
uncertain  thing.  Occasionally  it  seems  to 
be  nothing  but  the  tackling  dummy  of  the 
ambitious  emotional  star.  Some  actresses 
take  naturally  to  divorce  advertising,  and 
some  prefer  to  use  the  youth  who  lacks 
everything  except  a  thirst  and  some  of 
the  money  his  father  made." 

"Well,  that  hasn't  anything  to  do  with 
our  club  discussion,"  asserted  Estelle, 
"and  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  a  subject  that 
you  can  help  us  with  this  time,  either.  In 
fact,  it  seems  almost  impossible." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  David. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  demanded  Es- 
telle. 

"Because  we're  so  constituted  that  we 
have  got  to  bump  the  bumps  a  little  to 
get  any  enjoyment  out  of  life,  and  the 


women's  clubs  are  going  at  everything 
with  such  desperate  energy  that  I  was 
afraid  they'd  get  all  the  bumps  of  life 
leveled  off." 

"No,"  returned  Estelle  thoughtfully, 
"there's  no  danger  of  that,  because  some- 
times the  problems  won't  stay  solved.  We 
solved  this  one,  but  if  s  just  as  bad  as 
ever." 

"Like  some  of  my  recipes,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Riggs.  "I  know  they  are  right,  but  they 
come  out  wrong." 

"What's  the  problem?"  asked  David. 

"House  servants,"  answered  Estelle. 

"The  servant  girl  problem!"  exclaimed 
David. 

'"Yes." 

"Back  up!"  cried  Tom.  "Why  don't 
you  begin  with  something  easy,  like  the 
trusts  or  the  currency  or  railroad  dis- 
crimination ?" 

"Yes,  Estelle,  you  really  ought  to  take 
the  smaller  bumps  first,"  advised  David. 

"Besides,"  added  Mrs.  Riggs,  "the  av- 
erage servant  is  no  longer  a  problem;  she 
is  just  an  impertinence." 

"But  I  tell  you  we  had  it  solved  once, 
and  it  wouldn't  stay  solved,"  insisted  Es- 
telle. 

"That's  a  peculiarity  of  the  wind  solu- 
tion of  any  problem,"  asserted  David. 

"What's  the  wind  solution?"  asked  the 
girl. 

"The  wind  solution,"  explained  David, 
"is  the  solution  offered  by  a  verbal  re- 
former who  never  by  any  chance  does  what 
he  advises  others  to  do.  But  how  did  the 
Psyche  Club  come  to  get  tangled  up  with 
anything  so  lowly  as  the  servant  girl  prob- 
lem?" 

"A  guest  from  California  began  it," 
answered  the  girl.  "She  was  visiting 
here,  and  we  made  her  a  sort  of  honorary 
member.  Then,  when  she  heard  us  talk- 
ing about  our  home  troubles " 

"Your  mothers'  home  troubles,"  cor- 
rected Tom. 

"Yes,"  said  David.  "Daughters  are 
closely  identified  with  mothers'  home 


424 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


troubles,  and  sons  may  be  entered  up  as 
the  main  items  on  the  ledger  account  of 
a  father's  troubles.  If  the  cost  bears  any 
relation  to  the  value  of  the  experience, 
you  ought  to  be  rich  in  it,  Tom.  I've 
thought  once  or  twice  you  were  trying  to 
corner  the  experience  market,  but  I've 
learned  since  that  other  fathers  were  buy- 
ing heavily  for  their  sons  at  the  same 
time.  Perhaps  that's  what  put  up  the 
price." 

"This  California  girl,"  said  Estelle,  in- 
tent upon  bringing  them  back  to  the  main 
point,  "annoyed  us  very  much.  She  said 
we  didn't  know  what  good  service  was, 
and  that  the  only  thing  that  stood  in  the 
way  of  a  quick  and  satisfactory  settlement 
of  that  question  was  the  Chinese  exclusion 
act." 

"Wfcat!"  cried  David.  "Then  women 
in  politics  would  make  the  yellow  peril 
loom  up  like  a  quarantine  flag  when  a 
man'b  in  a  hurry  to  land." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  returned 
Estttlle,  "but  she  insisted  that  it  was  our 
own  fault  if  we  were  at  the  mercy  of  in- 
competent servants.  She  said  that  her 
mother  had  no  trouble  at  all. 

"'How  does  she  manage  it?'  we  asked. 

"  'Employs  Chinamen,'  she  answered. 
'We  keep  two/ 

"  'Oh,  Chinese  cheap  labor !'  we  ex- 
claimed. 

"  'If  you're  thinking  about  wages,  they 
are  not  cheap,'  she  told  us.  'A  good  Chi- 
nese house  servant  costs  more  than  a 
white  one,  and  he's  worth  more.  He  does 
more  work,  and  there  is  less  waste.  He 
saves  the  extra  wages  he  gets  in  butcher's 
and  grocer's  bills,  and  he  does  more  work 
than  any  white  servant  without  seeming 
to  hurry.  There  is  no  complaint  from 
John;  he  makes  his  bargain  and  he  lives 
up  to  it.  He  is  unobtrusive,  honest  and 
quick.  You  never  have  to  tell  him  a  sec- 
ond time  how  to  do  a  thing.  He  gets 
more  money  by  making  himself  more  valu- 
able  ' " 

"Instead  of  joining  a  union  and  slug- 
ging the  man  who  is  willing  to  do  more 
work  than  he  is,"  interrupted  David. 

"She  didn't  pretend  to  know  anything 
about  other  Chinese  labor,  but  she  said  the 
Chinese  house  servant  of  the  Pacific  Coast 
was  almost  ideal,  when  you  got  used  to 
him." 

"I've  heard  the  same  thing  said  of  lim- 


burger,"  remarked  David.  "But  it  never 
occurred  to  me  that  John  Chink  was  the 
key  to  a  problem." 

"Well,  he  isn't,"  Estelle  asserted  vigor- 
ously. "Don't  you  suppose  a  woman  can 
do  housework  and  cooking  better  than  a 
Chinaman?" 

"Possibly,"  admitted  David.  "I've  no 
doubt  that  Tom  can  draw  a  check  better 
than  I  can,  too,  but  they'll  tell  him  at 
the  bank  that  it  isn't  so  good  after  it's 
drawn.  Results  count  for  something.  I 
don't  know  what  a  woman  can  do,  but 
we've  paid  wages  to  a  good  many  who 
didn't  do  any  real  cooking." 

"She  needs  training,"  said  Estelle. 
"Kittie  Ballard  demonstrated  that  in  a 
splendid  paper,  and  then  we  settled  the 
whole  question  in  two  minutes  by  starting 
a  domestic  science  school.  We  knew  how, 
because  we'd  all  been  trained  ourselves." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Riggs,  "Estelle  makes 
splendid  fudges." 

"And  several  fine  brands  of  dyspepsia, 
too,"  added  Tom. 

"Don't  mind  Tom,"  advised  David. 
"Nothing  tastes  very  good  to  a  hot  young 
sport  the  morning  after.  Many  a  young 
wife's  reputation  for  cooking  has  been 
ruined  by  what  her  husband  drank  the 
night  before.  What  happened  after  you'd 
solved  the  problem?" 

"Why,  the  untrained  girls  wouldn't 
come  to  be  trained,"  explained  Estelle. 

"Why  should  they?"  asked  David. 

"Why  shouldn't  they?"  retorted  Estelle 
in  surprise.  "We  take  similar  lessons 
ourselves,  and  pay  good  prices  for  them. 
We  offered  them  to  the  girls  for  nothing, 
but  they  scorned  us. 

"'What's  the  use?'  they  said.  'If  a 
woman  ain't  satisfied,  she  can  pay  us  ex- 
tra for  letting  her  teach  us.' 

"Why,  some  of  them  actually  said  thev 
wouldn't  work  for  a  woman  who  bothered 
them  by  trying  to  have  things  done  right." 

"Of  course,"  said  David.  "What's  the 
use  of  earning  the  money  when  you  can 
get  it  without?" 

"And  they  wouldn't  work  for  a  woman 
who  bothered  about  careful  management 
either,"  continued  Estelle.  "We've  been 
taught  to  consider  that  quite  important, 
but  they  merely  had  contempt  for  any- 
body who  mentioned  it.  Wastefulness  was 
an  evidence  of  worldly  standing  to  them." 

"Splurging  Americans  have  made  eco- 


SOXXET  FOR  MEMORIAL  DAY. 


425 


nomical  management  a  crime,"  commented 
David.  "It's  the  man  who  feeds  cham- 
pagne to  his  dog  that  gets  the  center  of 
the  stage.  As  a  nation,  we  give  much  flat- 
tering attention  to  our  fools." 

"But  we  had  the  problem  solved,"  in- 
sisted the  girl,  "and  while  we  were  won- 
dering why  it  would  not  stay  solved,  one 
of  the  girls  happened  to  run  across  this 
advertisement  in  a  Sunday  paper: 

"WiAXTED.— Girl  for  general  house- 
work. Two  in  family.  Xo  washing.  Must 
be  able  to  do  plain  cooking  or  be  willing 
to  learn.  Wages  $6." 

"Do  you  suppose  that  has  anything  to 
do  with  our  trouble?" 

"Six  dollars  a  week  for  the  privilege 
of  giving  lessons,"  mused  David. 

"And  she'll  go  somewhere  else  as  soon 
as  she's  taught,"  remarked  Mrs.  Riggs. 

"Why,  we've  got  our  educational  sys- 
tem standing  on  its  head!"  David  went 
on.  "That  stands  out  as  plain  as  a  gilded 
bald-spot.  Our  colleges  should  pay  stu- 


dents as  well  as  athletes;  scholars  should 
draw  salaries  from  their  teachers.  I  can 
see  where  this  idea  has  great  possibilities 
in  it,  unless " 

"Unless   what?" 

"Unless  we  shift  it  another  way  and 
educate  the  fool  American  public.  The 
domestic  servant  problem,  of  which  it 
complains,  is  manufactured  on  its  own 
premises,  with  its  own  labor,  and  from 
material  that  it  supplies.  As  long  as  you 
are  willing  to  pav  the  limit  price  for  un- 
ripe fruit,  the  Italian  at  the  corner  stand 
will  keep  on  handing  it  out  to  you.  The 
girls  aren't  going  to  take  the  trouble  to 
remedy  matters  themselves  as  long  as 
they  can  get  the  money  without.  Train 
the  people  who  think  that  wasting  money 
gives  them  prestige,  and  the  other  prob- 
lem will  look  smaller  than  half  a  ton  of 
coal  at  the  beginning  of  winter." 

"A  training  school  for  silly  splurgers !" 
exclaimed  the  girl,  enthusiastically.  "Just 
the  thing.  I'll  suggest  it  to  the  club  at 
the  next  meeting." 


BY    CHARLTON    LAWRENCE    EDHOLM 


'Tis  well  there's  one  Day  of  the  Backward  Glance, 
On  which  we  turn  from  strife  of  love  and  hate, 
Kind  death  and  rest  serene  to  contemplate; 

And  deck  the  earth  with  bloom  and  greening  plants 

As  token  of  our  green  remembrance. 
How  enviable  those  who  lie  in  state 
This  day,  bedecked  with  thoughts  of  love ;  no  fate 

Can  sway  them  now,  no  joy  nor  sorrow  chance. 

Clean  purged  of  blood  lust  peals  the  martial  strain: 
To  them  and  us  to-day  the  shrieks  and  thrums 

Of  brassy  war  song  challenge  all  in  vain. 

Clean  purged  of  hate's  discord  the  old  song  comes 

Transformed  and  harmonized  by  Death;  and  Pain 
Has  muffled  out  the  insolence  from  drums. 


BY    FRED    GILBERT    BLAKESLEE 


TO  a  person  contemplating  a  trip  to 
Europe,   time   and   money   are   of 
the   utmost   importance,    and   the 
question  of  how  to  spend  both  advantage- 
ously is  one  that  requires  careful  consid- 
eration. 

Many  people  solve  this  difficulty  by 
joining  a  personally  conducted  party,  in 
which,  for  a  certain  specified  amount, 
they  are  in  company  with  other  travelers, 
taken  over  a  pre-arranged  route,  lodged 
in  hotels,  transported  in  trains,  and 
shown  the  various  sights. 

The  personally  conducted  tours,  which 
range  in  price  from  $300  to  $1,000,  and 
occupy  from  one  to  six  months,  are  excel- 
lent things  for  those  who  desire  to  avoid 
all  responsibility,  but  they  are  not  the 
true  way  to  travel. 

The  real  traveler  likes  to  do  his  own 
planning,  and  prefers  to  see  the  things 
of  which  he  is  in  search  in  company  with 
one  or  two  kindred  spirits,  rather  than  as 
a  member  of  a  more  or  less  uncongenial 
crowd. 

Although  the  contrary  is  generally  be- 
lieved, it  is  really  possible  to  travel 
through  Europe  independently  more  ad- 
vantageously as  regards  the  expenditure 
of  both  time  and  money,  than  it  is  as  a 
member  of  a  personally  conducted  party. 
The  reason  for  this  is  not  hard  to  find. 
The  independent  traveler  pays  only  for 
what  he  gets;  the  personally  conducted 
one  must  needs  contribute  towards  the 
profits  of  the  man,  or  company,  who  con- 
ducts him  over  the  beaten  uaths. 

How  much  does  it  cost  to  go  to  Europe  ? 
This  is  a  question  which  is  frequently 
asked  by  those  who  are  planning  a  trip 
abroad.  The  answer  naturally  depends 
largely  upon  the  personal  tastes  of  the  in- 
tending traveler,  the  style  in  which  he 
desires  to  travel,  and  the  amount  of  time 
at  his  disposal.  Some  persons  prefer  to 
travel  slowly  and  see  a  few  places  thor- 
oughly, while  others  wish  to  move  quickly 
and  cover  as  much  ground  as  possible  in 
a  given  number  of  days.  Since  the  price 


of  the  ocean  trip  is  the  same  in  both 
cases,  and  since  it  is  possible  to  live  as 
cheaply  in  one  part  of  Europe  as  another, 
the  only  difference  in  cost  between  these 
two  methods  is  that  of  railroad  fares. 

First,  as  regards  crossing  the  ocean. 
Most  of  the  steamship  lines  plying  be- 
tween the  United  States  and  Europe  start 
from  either  New  York  or  Boston.  First 
class  fares  range  in  price  from  $60  to 
$250  per  person,  round  trip  tickets  being 
issued  at  five  per  cent  less  than  double 
these  rates.  Second  class  fares  are  from 
thirty  to  fifty  per  cent  cheaper  than  first 
class  ones,  but  this  method  of  transpor- 
tation is  not  recommended,  it  being  far 
better  to  travel  first  class  on  a  low  priced 
steamer  rather  than  second  class  on  a 
more  expensive  one. 

Railroad  fares  vary  greatly  in  the  dif- 
ferent countries,  but  $50  will  usually 
be  found  sufficient  to  cover  this  item  of 
expense,  unless  a  very  extensive  tour  is 
planned.  This  estimate  is  for  second 
class  (travel,  a  grade  corresponding  to 
that  of  our  ordinary  day  coach.  Through- 
out the  greater  part  of  Europe  trunks  are 
transported  without  extra  charge,  but  in 
Italy  only  hand  bagffaec;  is  carried  free. 

The  cost  of  living  is  much  less  abroad 
than  at  home,  and  good  accommodations 
can  be  secured  in  all  but  the  very  finest 
hotels  for  $2  a  day. 

Having  thus  estimated  the  cost  of 
transportation  and  of  hotel  accommoda- 
tions, thero  still  remains  the  question  of 
miscellaneous  expenses,  such  as  admis- 
sions to  places  of  interest,  tips,  carriage 
drives,  etc.  Expenses  of  this  kind  are 
very  much  more  difficult  to  calculate  in 
advance  on  account  of  the  great  differ- 
ence in  people,  but  $100  a  month  devoted 
to  the  purpose  ought  to  be  more  than 
sufficient. 

Now,  as  to  planning  the  route.  In 
doing  this,  the  individual  will  naturally 
consult  his  own  inclinations,  but  as  a 
rule,  tourists  desire  to  obtain  as  much 
variety  as  possible  while  abroad,  and  in 


PLANNING  A  EUEOPEAN  TEIP. 


427 


order  tcTdo  this,  it  will  usually  be  found 
desirable  to  divide  the  time  at  their  dis- 
posal between  several  different  countries, 
rather  than  to  devote  it  exclusively  to 
one. 

A  month  is  the  shortest  time  which 
should  be  allowed  for  a  trip  abroad.  In 
order  to  obtain  any  results  from  so  brief 
a  trip,  it  will  be  found  necessary  to  cross 
on  a  fast  steamer  in  order  to  avoid  spend- 
ing an  undue  amount  of  time  on  the 
water.  Fast  steamers  are  more  expensive 
than  slow  ones,  and  the  lowest  first  cabin 
passage  on  most  of  them  costs  from  $75 
to  $80.  Allowing  that  the  tourist  patron- 
izes one  of  these  boats,  he  will  have  four- 
teen or  fifteen  days  on  land.  This  does 
not  seem  much,  but  a  great  deal  can  be 
seen  if  even  this  brief  time  is  employed 
to  a  good  advantage. 

If  a  traveler  lands  at  Liverpool,  he 
will  have  time  to  visit  Chester,  Warwick, 
Stratford-on-Avon  and  Oxford,  and  to 
spend  five  days  in  both  London  and  Paris. 
A  trip  of  this  nature  will  figure  about 
as  follows:  Steamer  fare,  $150;  railroad 
fare,  $25;  Hotels,  $30;  miscellaneous, 
$45;  total,  $250. 

If  one  has  six  weeks  at  his  disposal,  a 
much  longer  tri^  may  be  taken  at  a  slight- 
ly increased  cost.  For  such  a  trip  the 
following  itinerary  is  recommended, 
twenty  days  being  allowed  for  time  spent 
unon  the  ocean  and  the  outward  passage 
beinsr  made  by  one  line  and  the  home- 
ward passage  by  another:  New  York  to 
Liverpool;  thence  to  Warwick,  Stratford- 
on-Avon,  Oxford,  London,  Paris,  Berne, 
Interlaken,  Lucerne,  Strassburg,  Heidel- 
berg, Mayence,  the  Rhine,  Cologne,  Brus- 


sells,  Antwerp,  New  York.  Such  a  trip 
would  give  a  tourist  glimpses  of  five  dif- 
ferent countries,  and  would  enable  him  to 
see  some  of  the  grandest  scenery,  most 
imposing  edifices,  and  greatest  art  treas- 
ures of  the  old  world.  Four  or  five  days 
could  be  spent  in  both  London  and  Paris, 
and  a  day  at  each  of  the  more  important 
places  on  the  route.  The  cost  of  such  a 
trip  would  figure  about  like  this :  Steamer 
New  York  to  Liverpool,  $60;  steamer, 
Antwerp  to  New  York,  $80;  (Antwerp  to 
Boston,  $55);  Railway  fares,  $40;  Ho- 
tels, $45 ;  Miscellaneous,  $75 ;  total,  $300. 

For  those  who  are  able  to  devote  two 
months  to  European  travel,  the  following 
comprehensive  "tour  is  outlined,  twenty- 
two  days  being  allowed  for  crossing  and 
re-crossing  the  Atlantic:  New  York  to 
Naples;  thence  to  Rome,  Florence,  Ven- 
ice, Milan,  the  Italian  Lakes,  Lucerne, 
Rigi,  Interlaken,  Berne,  Chilon,  Mar- 
tigny,  Chamonix,  Geneva,  Paris,  London, 
Oxford,  Warwick,  Stratford-on-Avon, 
York.  Durham,  Melrose  Abbey,  Edinburg, 
Stirling,  the  Trassachs,  Glasgow,  New 
York. 

This  route  gives  the  tourist  the  greatest 
variety  in  the  way  of  scenery  and  enables 
him  to  see  most  of  the  famous  cathedrals, 
palaces  and  art  galleries.  The  following 
estimate  will  be  found  to  be  amply  suffi- 
cient for  making  this  trip :  Steamer,  New 
York  to  Naples,  $70;  Steamer,  Glasgow 
to  New  York,  $65;  Railway  fares,  $70; 
Hotels,  $75;  Miscellaneous,  $120;  total, 
$400. 

Money  for  European  expenses  can  best 
be  carried  by  means  of  American  Express 
Company  checks. 


BY    CHARLES    BURROWS 


"Tic-a-tac,  tic-a-tac,  tic-a-tac,  too, 
Sat  an  old  cobbler,  making  a  shoe." 

M EERILY  the  song  rang  out  on 
the  evening  air,  from  the  open 
door  and  window  of  an  old,  tum- 
ble-down shack,  standing  upon  the  corner 
of  a  large  vacant  lot,  in  a  residence  por- 
tion of  the  city  of  Landoak,  Colorado, 
and.  as  he  sang,  the  cobbler  applied  his 
hammer  more  industriously  with  each 
bar.  Let  us  take  a  peep  through  a  corner 
of  the  window,  and  perhaps  we  can  satisfy 
our  curiosity  as  to  what  this  melodious 
cobbler  looks  like,  without  ourselves  being 
observed. 

Ah!  now  we  can  see,  and  he  is  not  an 
old,  gray- whiskered,  dirty,  waxy  old  cob- 
bler either,  but  apparently  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  with  clean-cut  and  whole- 
some features,  that  in  repose  might  bear 
a  shadow  of  melancholy,  as  though  he. 
was  not  entirely  unacquainted  with  sor- 
row. His  hair  is  brushed  back,  and  neat- 
ly parted  at  the  side,  excepting  at  the 
crown,  where  there  is  scarcely  sufficient 
hair  for  the  parting  to  continue.  And 
yet;  withal,  he  is  a  merry  looking  cobbler, 
and  as  he  smiles  and  sings  aloud  his  cob- 
bler song,  he  gives  the  impression  that  he 
is  carrying  an  honest  heart  in  that  rather 
expansive  bosom  of  his. 

"If  you  please,  Mir.  Browse,  mother 
wants  to  know  whether  you  can  put  new 
soles  on  my  shoes,  while  I  wait  for  them, 
as  this  is  the  only  pair  I  have,  and  I  can- 
not go  to  church  in  them  to-morrow  as 
they  are,"  and  a  little  girl  of  about  ten 
years  of  age  entered  the  shop. 

"Let  me  see  them,  dearie,"  said  the 
cobbler  in  a  kindly  voice.  "Take  them  oft' 
and  if  I  can  do  them  I  will;  but  I  shall 
have  to  take  on  a  little  more  steam,  as 
Saturday  is  a  busy  day,  but  we  cannot 
see  little  girls  going  around  with  their 
toes  out." 

The  child  sat  down  upon  an  upturned 
soap  box,  and,  taking  off  her  shoes,  held 
them  out  for  inspection. 


"Well,  well,  now,  whatever  does  your 
mother  think  that  I  can  do  with  them?" 
said  the  cobbler  as  he  turned  them  about 
in  his  hands.  "Why,  Mary,  they  are  all 
to  pieces,  and  I  am  sure  that  it  would  pay 
your  mother  better  to  buy  a  new  pair  than 
to  waste  fifty  cents  on  these ;  for  the  welts 
are  out  and  the  inner  soles  want  piecing, 
and  this  upper  wants  patching.  Oh,  dear  ! 
oh,  dear !  run  and  tell  your  mother,  child, 
and  see  what  she  says.  I  really  could  not 
charge  less  than  fifty  cents,  and  if  it  were 
anybody  else  I  should  have  to  say  six- 
bits." 

"Please,  Mr.  Browse,  mother  said  that 
if  they  were  only  half  a  dollar  that  I 
could  have  them  done,  and  I  cannot  get 
a  new  pair,  for  mother  has  no  more  money 
until  the  first  of  the  month,  and  that  is 
two  weeks  yet." 

"Ah,  well!  ah,  well!"  replied  the  shoe- 
maker, "I  suppose  that  I  had  better  begin 
on  them  and  let  you  go — so  here  goes  to 
it.  'Pulling  his  wax-ends  through  and 
through,  sat  an  old  cobbler,  making  a 
shoe/  "  and  once  again  he  returned  to  the 
burden  of  his  melody,  only  upon  this  oc- 
casion, little  Mary  added  her  piping 
voice. 

"Why,  Mary,  where  did  you  learn  my 
song  ?" 

"Wie  learn  that  at  school." 

"Indeed;  do  they  teach  you  such  songs 
as  those?  Why,  I  should  hardly  have 
thought  that  it  was  good  enough." 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Browse,  our  teacher  lets 
us  sit  in  a  circle  on  the  floor,  and  gives 
us  hammers  and  pieces  of  wood,  and  as 
we  sing,  we  beat  the  hammer  on  the  wood, 
and  it  is  just  like  being  in  a  shoe  shop." 

"And  I  suppose  that  your  teacher  plays 
the  piano  for  you  to  make  it  nicer." 

"Oh.  no,  Mr.  Browse,  teacher  sits  in 
the  middle  of  the  ring,  and  beats  time  for 
us  with  her  hammer  and  a  piece  of  wood." 

The  cobbler  looked  up  from  his  work  at 
that,  and  a  pleased  smile  played  upon  his 
countenance. 

"Well,  well,  now !"  he  said,  meditative- 


THE  MEMOKY  OF  THE  SOUL. 


429 


ly,  "what  a  dear,  sweet  lady  your  teacher 
must  be,  Mary!" 

"Oh,  she  is,  sir,  and  she  teaches  us 
musical  drill,  and  we  play  games,  and  our 
lessons,  coming  in  between,  makes  us  for- 
get that  we  are  in  school." 

By  this  time  the  shoemaker  was  scratch- 
ing his  head  over  the  dilapidated  shoe, 
that  he  had  just  separated  from  the  sole. 
He  seemed  to  be  much  perplexed. 

"Well,  now,"  he  muttered,  "they  are 
even  worse  than  I  supposed,"  and  he 
screwed  his  face  into  a  deprecatory  grim- 
ace. "However,  I  said  that  I  will  do 
them,  and  a  cobbler's  promise  is  as  sacred 
as  a  king's.  So  here  goes  once  again: 
'Tic-a-tac,  tic-a-tac,  tic-a-tac,  too,  sat  an 
old  cobbler  making  a  shoe.' '' 

"Mr.  Browse,"  said  Mary,  "my  teacher 
was  talking  about  you  to-day." 

The  shoe  dropped  into  the  cobbler's  lap 
as  he  looked  up  in  amazement. 

"Talking  about  me,  Alary?  Why,  what- 
ever could  she  find  to  say  about  me.  Why, 
you  are  joking  now.  Oh,  you  little  tease, 
Mary!  ISTever  mind,  little  girl — here 
goes  again." 

"But,  really,  I  am  not  joking.  You 
know,  Mr.  Browse,  that  teacher  is  a  writer 
woman  for  the  Express,  and  she  is  writ- 
ing a  story  about  shoe-making,  and  she 
thought  that  you  could  give  her  some  tales 
and  tell  her  things.  And  she  wanted  to 
know  if  you  were  a  nice  cobbler,  and  Ada 
Cross  said  that  she  thought  so,  because 
you  did  not  chew  tobacco,  like  her  father, 
and  Johnnie  Grant  said  that  you  nearly 
cried  when  your  dog  was  run  over  and 
killed  by  the  street  car." 

"Well,  well,  now,  how  they  all  do  talk, 
to  be  sure.  And  a  writer  woman,  did  you 
say,  dearie?  Is  she  very,  very  homely?" 

"Little  Mary's  hands  went  up  in  an 
amazing  protest.  "Homely,  Mr.  Browse, 
homely?  Why,  she  is  as  pretty  as — as — 
Alice  Roosevelt,  and  Alice  Morton  said 
that  all  rich  people  are  pretty." 

"Xot  all.  dearie,  not  all.  Some  of  them, 
maybe,  but  you  mostly  find  the  beauties 
amongst  the  poor;  but  what  is  your 
teacher's  name,  dearie?  You  haven't 
told -me  yet." 

"It  is  Mrs.  Wail,  and  I  heard  mother 
tell  Mr.  Cross  that  she  would  never  be 
married,  because  all  the  men  in  the  world 
would  not  be  truthful,  and  went  about  de- 
ceiving everybody.  And  Mr.  Cross  laughed 


and  said  that  teacher  had  bees  in  her  bon- 
net, and  I  know  she  hasn't,  'cause  I  got  it 
from  the  peg  one  day  and  looked,  and 
teacher  caught  me,  and  I  told  her  what 
Mrs.  Cross  had  said,  and  she  laughed  and 
laughed  ever  so  much." 

"I  expect  she  did,  dearie.  And  so  her 
name  is  Mrs.  Wail?  Well,  the  name 
seems  all  right,  but  I  do  hope  that  she 
changes  her  mind  about  coming  to  see 
me,  for  1  am  afraid  that  I  do  not  know 
how  to  behave  very  well  before  ladies, 
but  if  she  comes,  she  comes,  and  there's 
an  end  on't.  You  see  that  I  am  getting  on 
with  your  shoes,  Mary;  they  are  a  tough 
job,  but  I  shall  conquer,  and  your  mother 
need  not  trouble  about  them  again  for 
the  next  month  or  two." 

Little  Mary  had  forgotten  all  about  the 
shoes,  and  she  continued  the  subject 
which  she  was  pursuing  when  the  cobbler 
interrupted  her.  "And  she  rides  horses 
like  a  man,  and  mother  says  that  she 
should  not  ride  like  that,  and  Mrs.  Cross 
calls  her  a  torn-boy,  and  lots  of  names, 

and Whv,  hello,  Rodger" — this  to  a 

large  brown  and  white  Irish  setter  dog 
that  came  bounding  into  the  shop  in  a 
boisterous  style,  running  hither  and 
thither,  and  wagging  his  tail  in  a  most 
engaging  manner.  "Where  is  teacher? 
Oh,  here  she  is — here  is  teacher,  Mr. 
Browse.  This  is  Mrs.  Wail,"  as  the  lady 
entered  in  a  manner  that  was  as  full  of 
impetuosity  as  the  dog's,  only  that  it  was 
under  more  perfect  control. 

The  cobbler  raised  his  head  in  aston- 
ishment at  this  unceremonious  entrance 
of  both  dog  and  lady  and  was  just  in  time 
to  see  little  Mary  clasped  in  a  warm, 
motherly  embrace,  which  conveyed  to  his 
mind  such  an  impression  of  spontaneity 
and  happy  "bonne  amie"  that  the  inward 
misgivings  which  had  taken  possession  of 
him  as  to  the  suitability  of  his  conduct  in 
such  a  presence  immediately  vanished  and 
left  him  placid  and  smiling,  and  gener- 
ally at  his  ease,  a  rather  unusual  state  of 
mind  with  our  bashful  cobbler  in  the 
presence  of  ladies. 

"And  mav  I  introduce  myself  to  you, 
sir."  she  asked,  turning  to  him,  although 
with  one  hand  she  still  retained  her  hold 
upon  her  pupil.  "My  name  is  Mrs.  Wail, 
and  I  teach  school  here,"  and  she  held  out 
her  hand  with  a  smile  of  such  radiating 
good-fellowship  that  the  heart  of  the  cob- 

3 


430 


0  VEHL  A  ND  M  ON  TELLY . 


bier  felt  as  though  bounding  from  his 
body  in  sheer  reciprocity. 

But  he  looked  at  the  hand,  which  he 
had  impulsively  extended,  and  the  incon- 
gruity was  so  apparent  between  his  toil- 
stained  and  callous  palm  and  the  delicate 
white  one  of  the  lady,'  that  he  gradually 
withdrew  it,  and  his  looks,  explaining  his 
predicament;  they  both  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, and  the  perfect  understanding,  that 
makes  possible  an  interchange  of  ideas, 
without  embarrassment,  was  fully  estab- 
lished; nay,  more,  for  the  cobbler  felt 
no  shame  at  the  condition  of  his  hand, 
and  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  it  behind 
his  back,  for  he  instinctively  or  telepathi- 
cally  recognized  a  mind  too  superior  for 
such  comparisons,  and  one  that  accorded 
all  that  was  due  to  the  dignity  of  honor- 
able and  useful  labor. 

"And  won't  you  shake  hands  with  me? 
Am  I  such  a  terrible  example 'of  the  blue- 
stocking that  even  the  opposite  sex  is 
afraid  of  me?"  And  she  continued  smil- 
ing in  that  happy,  beseeching  manner  as 
the  dirty,  hard  hand  reached  out  and 
grasped  hers  in  a  firm  clasp  of  perfect  un- 
derstanding and.  good-fellowship.  Nor 
was  that  all;  for  he  retained  her  hand, 
with  her  tacit  permission,  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  a  friendly  feeling  was  born  there 
and  then,  that  seemed  but  a  reincarnation 
of  some  past  and  gone  association,  and  a 
mutual  regard  and  confidence  was  estab- 
lished that  swept  conventionality  and  pru- 
dery away  as  a  hurricane  would  whisk  up 
a  single  straw. 

"My  name  is  Charles  Browse,  madam," 
he  said,  as  he  slowly  released  her  hand,  al- 
though the  same  mental  agreement  was 
manifest  in  the  eyes  of  both,  as  was  ex- 
pressed in  the  pressure  of  their  hands. 
Indeed,  the  cobbler  never  noticed  the 
shape  of  any  special  feature,  but  was  con- 
scious of  a  general  comeliness  pervading 
the  whole  face,  and  he  was  somehow  aware 
that  her  eyes  were  grey,  and  that  her  hair 
was  tinged  with  the  same  hue,  so  that  she 
was  probably  about  ten  years  his  senior, 
but  the  expression  of  chastity  and  sweet- 
ness, and  the  aforesaid  good-fellowship, 
gave  her  a  much  more  youthful  appear- 
ance. 

"I  am  very,  very  happy,  indeed,  to 
make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Browse,  al- 
though you  are  not  exactly  the  kind  of 
cobbler  that  I  am  looking  for,"  she  said, 


still  smiling  in  that  happy,  appreciative 
manner,  and  without  withdrawing  her 
gaze,  "for  I  needed  a  very  depressed  and 
unhappy  cobbler  to  give  me  copy  for  a 
story  which  I  am  writing,  and  I  am  afraid 
— yes,  very  much  afraid,  that  you  are  too 
cheerful  to  provide  me  with  the  data 
which  I  require.  But  perhaps  I  am  mis- 
taken, and  you  may  be  able  to  conjure  up 
some  very  sad  and  pathetic  reminiscence 
in  connection  with  your  calling  that  I 
could  recount  and  assist  in  gaining  the 
sympathy  of  the  autocracy  and  mediocracy 
and  their  practical  assistance  in  remedy- 
ing the  existing  misery  amongst  the  mass 
of  underpaid  and  overworked  toilers,  who 
contribute  to  the  world's  production  of 
necessities." 

"Madam,"  replied  the  cobbler,  as  his 
appreciation  of  her  efforts  shone  forth 
from  every  line  of  his  countenance,  "I  am 
both  happy  and  sorry.  Happy  to  know 
that  I  have  been  so  blessed,  during  the 
past  few  years,  with  plentiful  and  fully- 
paid  employment,  that  I  cannot  contrib- 
ute my  quota  to  your  meritorious  work; 
and  I  am  deeply  and  truly  sorry  to  be 
fully  aware  that  there  are  a  great  major- 
ity of  the  workers  who  are  having  to  strug- 
gle to  obtain  the  barest  necessities  for 
themselves  and  those  they  love,  but  they 
would  not  require  assistance  from  any 
man  if  they  would  only  use  the  vast  power 
which  they  possess  for  their  own  emanci- 
pation at  the  ballot  box.  But  they  have 
such  an  unnatural  love  and  respect  for 
their  parasites,  who  live  upon  their  mus- 
cles, sinews  and  energies  that  they  send 
them  to  Congress  to  make  the  laws,  and 
in  conformity  with  the  remainder  of 
their  insanities,  expect  the  laws  thus  made 
to  be  for  their  benefit.  They  do  not  know 
how  utterly  and  totally  selfish  these  para- 
sites are." 

During  this  harangue  the  cobbler  had 
sat  down,  and  applied  himself  to  the  con- 
tinuance of  his  labor,  and  little  Mary  had 
released  herself  from  her  teacher  and  was 
st  '.riding  expectant,  as  her  shoes  were  near 
completion.  Eodger  had  thrown  himself 
down  upon  the  floor,  and  with  his  nose  be- 
tween his  paws,  seemed  to  be  studying 
out  this  abstruse  problem.  The  only  one 
who  seemed  to  be  visibly  affected  by  the 
cobbler's  remarks  was  Mrs.  Wail,  who  had 
ceased  smiling,  and  whose  brows  were 
puckered  up  in  concentrated  thought. 


THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  SOUL. 


431 


Where,  oh,  where,  had  she  before  heard 
exactly  those  sentiments,  expressed  in  ex- 
actly the  same  way  and  with  a  precisely 
similar  intonation?  It  seemed  but  an 
echo,  but  she  was  convinced  of  the  fact. 

"There,  dearie,  there  are  your  shoes. 
And  tell  your  mother  that  she  can  pay 
me  when  her  monthly  allowance  arrives. 
She  will  probably  want  to  use  that  fifty 
cents.  You  may  put  them  on  now,  and 
rest  assured  that  there  are  no  nails  up  in- 
side, for  1  have  been  very  careful. 

Mary  soon  had  her  shoes  on,  and  cry- 
ing, "Good-bye,  teacher,"  and  "Good-bye, 
Mr.  Browse,"  ran  skipping  into  the  street 
from  the  shop. 

Mrs.  Wail  was  still  pondering  over  the 
words  of  the  shoe-maker,  and  his  very 
presence  seemed  to  be  a  positive  comfort 
in  some  abstract  way,  as  though  she  had 
found  a  conerenial  atmosphere  that  she 
had  been  seeking  for,  unknowinelv,  and 
sub-consciously,  for  a  long  time.  The 
grimy  and  odorous  surroundings  attend- 
ant upon  his  calling  were  totally  unnoticed 
in  the  assurance  that  somewhere,  some- 
how, they  had  met  before;  and  these 
thoughts  were  accompanied  with  a  con- 
viction that  it  had  been  a  happy  and 
peaceful  association.  Why  should  she  feel 
this  thrill  of  pleasure  and  this  peace  and 
restfulness  in  the  presence  of  this  man. 
She  had  come  in  contact  with  some  real 
literary  lights,  and  they  had  never  affected 
her  in  this  manner.  The  greatest  mystery 
to  her  was  the  immediate  influence  ex- 
perienced, from  the  very  moment  that 
their  eyes  had  met. 

"'And  have  you  alwavs  been  a  cobbler," 
she  said  at  length,  as  though  expecting  to 
receive  an  answer  in  support  of  her  psy- 
chological suspicions. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said.  "A  few  years  a?o  I 
was  a  manager  for  a  large  hotel,  on  the 
South  coast  of  England,  but  I  had  a  great 
domestic  trouble  that  changed  all  my 
plans  in  life,  and  robbed  me  of  all  ambi- 
tion to  achieve  financial  success.  But  she 
is  dead  now,  poor  creature,  and  her  weak- 
nesses are  gone  with  her.  Let  the  dead 
bury  their  dead,  and  may  God  have  mercy 
on  her  soul."' 

"It  is  very  sad,  Mr.  Browse,  but  perhaps 
it  was  all  for  the  best,"  she  said.  "All  our 
trials  are  blessings  in  disguise.  It  is  a 
singular  coincidence,  but  I  have  had  a 
similar  experience,  and  it  would  have 


wrecked  my  life  if  I  had  not  exercised  my 
self-control  to  the  utmost." 

The  cobbler  raised  his  face  in  quick 
sympathy,  and  his  features  resumed  their 
merry,  laughing  expression  in  a  moment, 
as  though  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
immediately  infuse  a  cheerfulness  into 
the  conversation,  as  a  means  of  banishing 
from  her  mind  any  unpleasant  memories. 

"Ah,  well !  Ah,  well !"  he  said  cheerilv, 
while  he  beat  his  hammer  quickly.  "It 
does  no  good  to  recall  such  troubles.  We 
are  what,  we  are,  not  what  we  have  been. 
Laugh  and  the  world  laughs  with  you; 
weep,  and  you  weep  alone.  Cheer  up,  Mrs. 
Wail,  let  the  dead  bury  their  dead,  and 
may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  all.  And 
so  you  teach  my  cobbler  song,  little  Mary 
has  been  telling  me." 

"I  cannot  allow  you  to  thus  turn  the 
current  of  conversation,"  she  said,  "until 
I  have  told  you  that  it  is  utterly  inex- 
plicable why  I  should  have  thus  made 
you  a  confidant  of  my  trouble.  But  you 
seem  so  surrounded  with  sympathetic  vi- 
brations that  it  is  a  pleasure  for  me  to  en- 
counter them,  and  I  found  myself  divulg- 
ing my  secrets  before  I  was  aware  of  it; 
but  I  am  perfectlv  satisfied  and  do  not 
wish  to  recall  a  single  word,"  and  her  eyes 
gave  full  corroboration  of  these  expres- 
sions. 

These  outspoken  regards  in  no  way  took 
our  cobbler  by  surprise,  for  he  seemed  to 
be  telepathically  aware  of  her  earnestness, 
and  his  own  heart  was  leaping  in  his 
bosom  in  such  a  bounding  and  unruly 
fashion  that  he  feared  that  his  trembling 
hands  would  betray  his  inward  exultation. 
Whatever  could  be  this  force  that  was 
working  between  them  in  such  a  short  ac- 
quaintance. 

"I  am  sure  that  I  feel  deeply  honored 
by  such  a  confidence,"  he  said,  using 
neither  "Madam"  nor  "Mrs.  Wail"  as  a 
prefix.  "And  I  may  say  that  I  am  also 
astounded  by  the  "locus  standi"  which  I 
have  established  in  your  regard  on  such 
short  notice;  but  there  seems  to  be  some 
power  at  work,  somewhere,  that  I  cannot 
divine.  /  wonder  whether  we  have  met 
before!" 

As  he  spoke,  the  tempest  that  had  been 
threatening  for  the  last  hour  broke,  and 
a  blinding  flash  of  lightning  lit  up  the 
evening  gloom,  and  a  forked  streak  of 
the  powerful  illuminant  passed  right 


432 


OVERLATO  MONTHLY. 


through  the  shop;  a  strong  gust  of  wind 
slammed  the  door  to,  with  a  bang ;  a  peal 
of  thunder  shook  the  little  shack  upon  its 
precarious  foundation,  and  a  deluge  of 
rain  followed  that  seemed  striving  to  beat 
its  way  through  the  roof. 

So  sudden,  indeed,  was  this  onslaught 
of  the  elements  that,  although  the  sky 
had  portended  a  tempest  for  some  time 
past,  both  were  startled,  and  Rodger 
sprang  from  his  reclining  posture  upon 
the  floor  with  a  howl  of  mingled  alarm 
and  defiance,  which  finally  collapsed  into 
a  couple  of  short  barks,  and  an  ominous 
growl  before'  he  again  sought  his  posi- 
tion. 

With  the  last  sentence  upon  his  lips, 
our  cobbler  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  made 
a  move  to  re-open  the  door.  At  the  same 
moment  Mrs.  Wail  reached  out  her  hand 
for  the  same  purpose,  and  in  the  move- 
ments of  both,  their  hands  met  once  more. 

Their  eyes  met.  Neither  made  any  at- 
tempt to  disengage.  In  fact,  in  that  mo- 
ment the  shoe-maker  had  taken  her  hand 
in  his  in  a  powerful  clasp  that  was  be- 
yond his  own  control,  and  had  she  re- 
quested to  be  released  he  could  not  have 
immediately  complied. 

But  she  made  no  such  request.  Her 
face  was  set  in  an  expression  of  expecta- 
tion, as  though  something  else  was  to  fol- 
low. 

From  the  instant  that  the  vivid  flash 
had  entered  the  shop,  they  felt  an  ever- 
increasing  agitation,  as  if  some  occult 
power  had  taken  possession  of  them. 
What  was  coming  ?  It  came ! 

Not  a  vision  nor  a  dream,  but  a  mix- 
ture of  both,  for  they  suddenly  became 
aware  that  the  clouds  which  had  en- 
shrouded their  never-dying  souls  had 
parted,  and  they  knew  that  they  saw,  sub- 
consciously, as  it  were,  neither  a  vision 
nor  a  dream. 

They  saw  a  winding  country  lane,  with 
high  hedges  on  each  side,  that  were 
smothered  with  the  white  blossom  of  the 
hawthorn,  and  they  knew  that  it  was  the 
month  of  May,  for  then  only  is  the  "May 
blossom"  in  such  glorious  profusion.  In 
the  distance,  on  the  hill,  can  be  seen  the 
spires  of  three  or  four  churches,  and  a 
square  turret  covered  in  a  netted  mass  of 
old  English  ivy,  which  they  knew  to  be 
the  priory.  All  around  were  clustered 
the  thatched  roofed  houses,  with  their 


quaint  little  windows  and  doors,  which  go 
to  make  up  an  old  English  country  town. 

The  cobbler  was  mumbling  the  word 
"Col — Col — Col"  as  though  his  mind  was 
at  work,  trying  to  remember  a  name.  At 
length  it  came  in  a  hushed  whisper,  "Col- 
chester." 

"My  English  home,"  she  said. 

But  see — coming  along  the  lane  are 
two  figures,  a  man  and  a  woman.  But 
notice  the  style  of  their  attire.  The  man 
is  wearing  knee  breeches  of  crimson  vel- 
vet, with  bows  at  the  knees,  blue  silk 
stockings,  and  low-cut  shoes  with  large, 
bright  buckles;  a  black  velvet  cutaway 
coat,  a  white  choker  cravat,  and  a  three- 
cornered  hat,  which  did  not  conceal  his 
wig,  which  was  white  and  powdered  with 
two  tails  hanging  down  his  back. 

The  woman,  also,  was  wearing  a  pecul- 
iar dress,  with  crinolines  and  neck  ruffles 
and  frills  and  flounces  that  were  preva- 
lent in  England  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. 

See !  The  man  is  pointing  to  the  sky, 
which  looks  very  threatening,  and  is  evi- 
dently advising  a  return  to  the  town  be- 
fore the  bursting  of  the  storm. 

Our  .cobbler  and  ihis  companion  are 
straining  their  senses  to  catch  the  words 
which  are  conveyed  to  them  in  a  whis- 
pered murmur,  gradually  getting  more 
distinct. 

See!  She  asks  for  a  spray  of  May 
blossom,  which  he  gets  for  her,  and  fast- 
ens in  her  bosom. 

Then  his  arms  are  about  her,  and  he  is 
pressing  her  to  his  heart  and  the  words 
come  now  clear  and  distinct:  "Forever 
and  forever,  my  own." 

Even  as  the  words  reach  the  senses  of 
the  two  spectators,  and  while  the  grip  of 
their  hands  assures  them  that  both  have 
seen  and  heard,  the  heavens  opened  and 
a  zig-zag  flash  of  lightning  descends  into 
that  country  lane,  and  the  next  moment 
the  two  lovers,  with  the  words,  "Forever 
and  Forever"  on  their  lips,  are  a  pair  of 
blackened  corpses. 

But  the  most  startling  feature  of  it  all 
was  the  fact  revealed  by  that  flash  of  light 
upon  those  two  upturned  faces.  For  the 
two  onlookers  recognized  themselves.  And 
they  knew  that  the  same  shock  which  had 
deprived  them  of  their  lives  in  the  first 
bloom  of  love,  two  hundred  years  ago, 
had,  through  the  streak  of  lightning, 


THE  WANDEKLUST. 


433 


which  entered  the  shack,  swept  away  the 
clouds  from  the  memory  of  their  souls, 
and  made  possible  this  revelation  of  their 
previous  existence  and  love,  in  that  re- 
mote period. 

The  scene  vanished.  His  eyes  sought 
hers.  Their  faces  neared  each  other,  and 
as  their  lips  met,  he  murmured,  "My 


Queen !" 

And  she  answered,  "Forever  and  For- 
ever," and  the  love  pact,  which  had  been 
wrecked  b^7  the  elements  in  an  English 
country  lane  in  the  year  seventeen  and 
something,  had  been  repledged  in  a  Colo- 
rado shoe  shop  in  the  ^ear  1906. 

Our  souls  never  die. 


BY    JOHN    A.    HENSHALL 

Ah!     The  wanderer's  life  is  the  life  for  me, 

Though  it  lead  through  canyons  deep; 
'Tis  the  life  of  the  bold,  of  the  roving  free, 

And  it  calls  where  the  wild  winds  sweep 
And  shriek  through  the  eeries  of  lofty  trees, 

And  it  sobs  in  the  moan  of  the  trackless  seas. 

I've  heard  its  voice  in  the  white  domain, 

That  clusters  round  the  Pole, 
And  some  respond  to  its  bold  refrain, 

For  it  stirs  their  inmost  soul. 

In  the  desert's  death-strewn  sandy  plain, 

In  the  sun's  dull,  molten  glare, 
In  the  mirage  lure,  'tis  borne  again 

To  the  hearts  of  those  who  care. 

Where  the  full  moon's  mystic  radiance  falls, 

And  clothes  with  a  sombre  light, 
Dark  mountains  overshadowing  walls, 

I've  heard  it,  night  by  night. 

It  whispers,  too,  in  the  jungles  dense, 

Where  the  fireflies  fitful  gleam, 
Where  the  heart-beats  throb,  and  the  nerves  grow  tense, 

And  the  twilight  reigns  supreme. 

And  those  who  hear  and  obey  this  call 

Of  the  Wraith  of  Wanderlust, 
Can  never  rest,  save  once  for  all, 

When  they  lie  in  the  parent  dust. 

So !    The  Wanderer's  life  is  the  life  for  me, 

Though  it  lead  through  canyons  deep, 
'Tis  the  life  of  the  bold,  of  the  roving  free, 

And  it  calls  where  the  wild  winds  sweep 
And  shriek  through  the  eeries  of  lofty  trees, 

And  it  sobs  in  the  moan  of 'the  trackless  seas. 


Tia® 


BY    C.    J.    LEE    WARNER 


NO  country  in  the  world  can  equal 
British  Columbia  either  in  its 
magnificent  scenery  or  its  wild 
life.  The  opportunities  for  mountain- 
climbing  are  endless,  and  the  scenery 
which  presents  itself  on  all  sides  in  the 
various  chains  and  their  sub-ranges  far 
outshines  in  grandeur  and  rugged  beauty 
anything  of  its  kind  in  other  parts  of 
the  world.  The  glamour  of  the  wild  is 
found  throughout  the  Far  West,  and  the 
lure  of  the  beetling  crags  is  only  inten- 
sified by  the  conquest  of  some  superlative 
rock-girt  fastness,  of  which  there  are 
many  hundreds  lying  to  every  point  of 
the  compass,  holding  out  to  the  aspiring 
mountaineer  that  most  alluring  of  all 
prospects,  the  achievement  of  a  "first  as- 
cent." There  is  such  a  wide  variety  of 
mountain  climbing  to  be  had,  both  in 
point  of  altitude  and  in  the  nature  of  the 
ascent,  that  no  traveler  paying  even  a 
brief  visit  to  the  Canadian  Eockies  leaves 
them  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment. 
And  so  evenly  distributed  are  they  that 
at  all  the  favorite  summer,  resorts,  at 
Bauff,  Laggan,  Field,  at  Golden  and  at 
Glacier,  both  are  encountered  in  profu- 
sion. 

In  good  weather  and  amid  imposing 
surroundings  few  outdoor  pleasures  can 
compare  with  that  of  mountaineering. 
The  allurements  of  the  interior  are  great- 
Iv  enhanced  by  the  boundless  hidden  de- 
posits of  rich  ores,  and  the  unlimited 
range  afforded  to  the  big  game  hunter. 
The  territorv  is  so  vast  in  this  Canadian 
wonderland  that  a  great  part  of  it  must 
always  remain  in  the  remote,  as  its  enor- 
mous mountain  areas  preclude  the  possi- 
bility of  anything  more  than  the  patri?- 
tion  of  the  valleys  and  lower  slopes, 
though  the  southern  portion  of  the  prov- 
ince is  gradually  assuming  the  appear- 
ance of  a  huge  fruit  garden.  So  ex- 
panding are  Canadian  areas  that  the  pri- 
meval will  still  be  felt  for  generations  tj 
come,  although  the  steadiness  and  the  in- 
creasing strength  of  the  tide  of  empire  is 


yearly  advancing  further  and  further 
afield.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  with 
the  evolution  of  time,  increased  transpor- 
tation facilities  in  the  expansive  north- 
land  as  yet  untouched,  and  an  ever-widen- 
ing knowledge  of  the  possibilities  of  Brit- 
ish Columbia,  visitors  and  settlers  will 
rapidly  grow  in  numbers.  There  is  no 
fear  of  the  province  ever  becoming  over- 
run in  the  same  way  that  Switzerland  is 
to-day,  for  as  Mr.  Whymper  has  said: 
"Here  are  fifty  or  sixty  Switzerlands 
rolled  into  one." 

The  best  time  of  year  to  start  climbing 
in  British  Columbia  is  in  June;  excellent 
ascents,  however,  can  be  made  as  early  as 
April,  since  at  that  date  the  days  are  of 
fair  length,  arid  the  ice  slopes  and  berg- 
schrunds  are  filled  up  solidly  with  packed 
snow.  Starting  early  before  the  sun  has 
risen,  the  party  begins  the  ascent  through 
the  forest  of  gigantic  trees  which  clothes 
the  mountain's  base;  then  up,  up,  up 
in  the  brilliant  sunshine,  past  great  boul- 
ders and  skirting  round  cliffs  soon  to 
"rope  up,"  and  with  complete  confidence 
in  the  guide,  pursue  their  way,  hand  over 
hand,  up  the  sheer  face  of  the  precipice, 
surmounting  difficult  angles  and  stepping 
warily  along  the  arete,  for  on  the  right 
is  a  sharp  drop  of  over  a  thousand  feet; 
on  the  left  a  long  steep  snow  slope  stretch- 
ing away  into  a  valley  where  as  yet  the 
foot  of  man  has  never  trod,  and  the  arete 
is  only  a  foot  wide.  At  last  the  summit 
is  reached,  where  the  wind  blows  keenly 
and  sets  the  pulses  throbbing;  and  all 
hearts  are  filled  with  awe  and  wonder  at 
the  glorious  panorama  before  the  dazzled 
sight  of  glittering  snow-capped  peaks, 
great  white  neves  and  sparkling  cascades 
that  form  a  silver  net-work  down  in  the 
abysmal  depths  of  green  valleys  below, 
leaving  the  senses  overpowered  and  be- 
wildered at  the  immensity  of  things,  so 
great  and  beyond  comprehension  is  ihe 
artistry  of  nature. 

The  Rocky  Mountains  contain  some  le- 
markably  fine  defenses,  and  such  scenic 


Early  morning   reflections, 
Lake  Louise. 


View  from  summit  of  the  Greater  Behive,  showing  Mt. 
Lefroy  and  the  Lefroy  Glacier.  Mt.  Victoria  and  the 
Victoria  Glacier. 

Entrance  to  Valley  of  Twin  Peaks.  Mt.  Babel  in  fore- 
ground. 


effects  as  the  great  Victoria  Glacier  stand- 
ing sentinel  over  beautiful  Lake  Louise, 
which  reposes  at  an  altitude  of  5,645  feel 
above  sea  level,  is  a  sight  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. Nothing  can  compare  with  the 
majesty  of  this  scene.  Close  by,  yet  higher 
up,  are  the  Lakes  in  the  Clouds,  Lake 
Mirror  (altitude,  6,550  feet),  and  Lake 
Agnes,  6,820  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
ocean.  Ten  miles  from  Lake  Louise 
chalet  is  Moraine  Lake  in  the  Valley  of 
the  Ten  Peaks;  and  not  far  distant  is  an- 
other vision  of  mountain  beauty,  the 
frosted  vale  of  Paradise  Valley.  Lan- 
guage is  inadequate  to  describe  the  bold 
and  rugged  beauties  of  these  wonderful 
mountains,  medieval  glaciers,  snow-capped 
bastions,  dashing  cataracts,  yawning  can- 
yons, lakes  of  crystal  clearness,  with  dark, 
solemn  pine  clothed  shores — a  continuous 
display  in  which,  the  purest,  the  rarest, 
the  wildest,  the  most  delightful  and  the 
grandest  forms  of  nature  are  revealed. 
Field  stands  at  the  gateway  of  a  region 
more  exquisite  than  any  yet  discovered, 
superior  throughout  in  majesty  and 


beauty  of  detail  even  to  the  far- 
famed  Yosemite.  Hunters  keen 
in  the  pursuit  of  mountain  goat 
and  Rocky  Mountain  sheep, 
which  are  plentiful  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, after  crossing  a  high  divide  a 
few  hours  ride  to  the  northwest  of  Field, 
came  to  an  unknown  valley  of  such  sur- 
prising grandeur  and  loveliness  that  they 
were  lost  in  wonder  and  amazement. 
"Yoho!"  exclaimed  the  foremost  Indian 
who  rode  with  them,  and  by  this  name 
the  valley  has  since  been  called.  This 
amphitheatre  of  scenic  glory  is  rich  in 
waterfalls,  the  mightiest  of  which,  Takak- 
kaw,  burst  from  a  tongue  of  the  Yoho  gla- 
cier and  drops  1,380  feet.  The  valley  is 
full  of  deep  fissures  and  rocky  spurs,  level 
lawns  of  rich  greensward  clothed  with 
stately  trees,  spruce  and  balsam  predomi- 
nating, picturesque  upland  lakes  and  cata- 
racts innumerable  with  here  and  there  a 
saw  mill,  a  slate  quarry  or  a  mine.  High 
up  against  the  sky  line  runs  a  jagged 
wave  of  snow-capped  sierras,  of  new  forms 
and  fantastic  colors.  A  wide,  deep,  richly 
timbered  vale  intervenes,  along  which 
swirls  and  plunges  the  mighty  Columbia. 
The  new  mountains  are  the  Selkirks,  a 
three-fold  system  embracing  tha  Gold, 
Purcell  and  Caribore  ranges,  in  which  big 


THE  CHALLENGE  OF  THE  MOUXTAIX. 


43' 


game,  bears,  especially,  are  even  more 
'abundant  than  in  the  sister  chain,  the 
lofty  Eocky  Mountains.  To  the  north  and 
south,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  stretch 
the  Eockies  on  the  one  hand  and  the  Sel- 
kirks  on  the  other,  widely  differing  in  as- 
pect, but  each  indescribably  grand.  Both 
rise  from  the  Columbia  river  in  a  succes- 
sion of  tree  clad  terraces,  and  soon,  leav- 
ing the  timber  line  behind,  shoot  up  into 
the  glistening  regions  of  perpetual  snow 
and  ice. 

Among  the  most  readily  accessible  great 
ascents  which  may  be  made  by  Alpin- 
ists under  the  escort  of  expert  Swiss 
guides,  are  Mounts  Hungabes.  11.305 
feet:  Lefroy,  11/230  feet,  and  Terrnle. 
11.658  feet,  near  Lake  Louise;  Mounts 
Goodsir.  11,670  feet;  Stephen,  10,523 
feet;  Collie,  10,500  feet;  Hakl,  10,600 
feet :  Balfour,  10,875  feet,  and  Gordon, 
10,400  feet,  near  Field;  and  Mounts 
Sir  Donald,  10,808  feet;  Macdonald, 
9.428  feet;  Fox,  10,576  feet,  and  Dawson, 
11,113  feet  near  Glacier,  where  the  Illi- 


cillewaet  and  Asulkan  glaciers  also  offer 
splendid  opportunities  to  those  who  de- 
light in  scaling  vast  snow  fields.  But  the 
real  monarchs  of  the  Western  mountains 
lie  further  in  from  the  trans-continental 
line,  and  though  much  more  difficult  of 
access,  are  the  goal  of  manv  climbers.  The 
most  imposing  buttress  in  the  main  range 
is  Mount  Assiniboine  in  southwestern  Al- 
berta, the  Matterhorn  of  the  Canadian 
Eockies,  a  sheer  pyramid  of  almost  verti- 
cal rock  towering  far  above  great  glacial 
fields  and  surmounting  uplifted  solitudes 
at  an  altitude  of  nearly  twelve  thousand 
feet.  Other  high  summits  are  Mt.  Colum- 
bia, 12,500  feet:  Mt.  Forbes,  12,100  feet; 
Mt.  Pinnacle,  10,500  feet;  Mt.  Ball,  10.- 
900  feet:  Mt.  Lyell,  11,950  feet:  Mr. 
Bryce.  11.75  feet;  the  Twins,  11,800 
feet:  Mt.  Athabasca,  11,900  feet,  and 
Mount  Saskatchewan,  11,500  feet.  It  is 
a  subject  of  great  satisfaction  that  the 
Canadian  Alpine  Club  was  re-organized 
in  1906  under  the  able  direction  of  Mr. 
Arthur  0.  Wheeler,  F.  E.  G.  S.,  chief 


In  the  Asulkan  Valley,  showing 
the  Asulkan  Creek,  Menotah  Falls 
and  the  Rampart. 


View  from  Lake  Agnes  Trail. 

A  portion  of  the  Asulkan  Glacier,  showing  Mounts  Leda, 
Pollux  and  Castor. 


438 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


topographer  of  the  Dominion,  to  forward 
the  interests  of  mountain  climbing,  and 
bind  together  all  those  who  are  devoted 
adherents  of  this  exhilarating  pastime. 

For  the  big  game  hunter,  British 
Columbia  provides  an  unparalleled  field. 
The  hunting  grounds  extend  over  an  area 
of  four  hundred  miles  by  seven  hundred 
miles,  teeming  with  wild  life.  The  Sel- 
kirks  have  been  very  little  hunted,  and 
consequently  the  sportsman  who  selects 
this  chain  as  his  own  preserve  will  not 
find  that  his  sport  has  been  spoiled  by 
previous  hunters;  only  he  must  be  pre- 
pared to  tackle  one  of  the  wildest  and 
most  rugged  regions  on  the  globe.  At  all 
the  main  starting  points  outside  the  con- 
fines of  the  Canadian  National  Park, 
where  the  game  is  strictly  preserved,  ex- 
pert Swiss  guides  who  have  come  over 
from  Europe  for  the  summer  season  (and 
other  men  equally  expert  as  climbers  and 
perhaps  superior  as  sportsmen),  are  in 
readiness  to  accompany  those  who  require 
their  services,  and  these  are  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  several  localities  in 
which  they  reside.  Big  Horn  are  quite 
unknown  in  the  Selkirks,  though  toler- 
ably abundant  in  the  Rocky  Mountains; 
the  white  goat,  caribou,  brown,  black,  cin- 
namon and  grizzly  bears  are  abundant. 
The  lordly  moose  and  wapiti  (elk)  find 
their  habitat  in  the  province  in  equally  as 
large  numbers  as  in  other  parts  of  the 
Dominion;  although  bands  of  the  latter 
are  on  the  decrease,  and  individual  mem- 
bers rarely  penetrate  now  in  the  haunts  of 
man.  Among  the  many  other  species 
which  abound  in  a  greater  or  less  degree 
are  cougar,  panther,  lynx,  wild-cats, 
wolves,  wolverines,  coyote,  mountain 


goats,  mountain  sheep  (and  the  Cassiar 
variety,  ovis  Stonei),  mule  deer,  white- 
tailed  deer,  and  the  little  Columbian 
black-tail ;  and  of  ground  game,  musk  rat, 
mink,  beaver,  marten,  raccoon,  and  fox. 
Golden  eagles,  ravens  and  various  kinds 
of  owls  frequent  the  mountain  strong- 
holds, and  the  white-tailed  sea  eagle  is  an 
occasional  visitor.  Game  bird  shooting 
and  fishing  is  unequaled  both  on  Vancou- 
ver island  and  also  on  the  mainland.  Of 
the  former,  pheasant,  partridge,  caper- 
cailzie, ptarmigan,  black  and  willow 
grouse,  ducks  and  geese  are  plentiful, 
while  the  immense  maze  of  waters  con- 
tiguous to  the  mountains  furnishes  the 
finest  angling.  So  varied  and  so  prolific 
are  the  fisheries  of  British  Columbia  that 
they  may  be. said  to  stand  alone.  Every- 
one has  heard  something  about  the  com- 
mercial fishing  of  the  Fraser,  and  the  sal- 
mon of  British  Columbia,  find  their  way 
to  the  nethermost  parts  of  the  earth.  The 
salmon  "run"  is  a  sight  which,  once  wit- 
nessed, is  never  forgotten,  and  the  salmon 
canning  industry  is  one  of  even,  national 
importance.  Splendid  sport  is  to  be  ob- 
tained by  trolling.  The  "rainbow"  or 
Rocky  Mountain  trout  is  the  gamiest  for 
his  inches  in  the  trout  family,  and  is  the 
equal  of  any  salmon  ever  played  with  rod 
and  fly.  This  fish  is  very  palatable,  and 
scales  from  a  pound  upwards.  The  rec- 
ord fish  of  the  species  was  that  caught  by 
Mr.  Wr  Langley;  it  weighed  22  Ibs.  4  oz., 
measured  3  71/£  inches  long,  with  girth  20 
inches.  There  are  sportsmen  who  have 
wandered  the  wide  world  o'er,  who  have 
tried  sport  under  all  conditions,  and  in 
many  climes,  and  who  still  give  the  palm 
unconditionally  to  British  Columbia. 


BY    HELLN    FITZGERALD    SANDERS 


A  MULTITUDE  of  intenl  men  and 
women  filled  the  building  where 
the  candidates  for  the  coming  elecr 
tion  were  to  speak.  And  it  was  no  ordi- 
nary election  controlled  by  smooth,  ma- 
chine politics  and  orderly  vote ;  it  was  the 
first  expression  of  the  South  since  defeat; 
the  first  measuring  of  the  black  vote  wit1.; 
the  white;  through  that  one  channel — the 
franchise — the  smarting  people  would 
unanimously  declare  their  principle,  and 
though  fallen,  fling  back  their  weak  gaunt- 
let of  defiance.  Democracy  was  the  cry 
and  the  watchword,  and  under  this  ban- 
ner citizens  and  patriots  were  rallying  to 
avenge  past  indignities  and  wrongs.  What 
wonder,  then,  that  this  was  no  election  in 
its  usual  sense?  It  was  the  crucial  hour 
when  the  wounded  strength  of  the  South 
should  meet  the  slave  of  yesterday,  man 
to  man,  voice  for  voice. 

Speaker  after  speaker  arose  in  oratori- 
cal passion  and  talked  grandiloquently,  in 
magnificent  phrases,  of  avenging  "the 
bleeding  country,"  and  one  after  another 
sat  down  amid  almost  hysterical  cheers.  In 
the  pause  that  followed  such  an  outburst, 
a  young  man  stood  up  from  the  audience 
and  made  his  way  to  the  platform.  He 
was  only  a  strip  of  a  boy,  slender  with  the 
slenderness  of  youth,  and  his  smooth  face 
bore  no  trace  of  beard.  A  little  fluttering 
tremor  ran  through  the  crowd,  and  his 
name,  William  Tenriffe,  passed  in  a  whis- 
per from  lip  to  lip.  He  was  a  trifle  pale, 
as  he  stood  straight  and  still  before  the 
expectant  eyes  that  searched  him  through 
and  through :  eyes  fired  with  bitterness  and 
excitement;  eyes  keen  with  the  rabid  ex- 
tremes of  love  and  hate.  A  heavy  silence 
closed  down,  and  in  the  spell  of  the  mo- 
ment, while  every  mind  was  concentrated 
upon  that  figure,  a  little  colored  boy 
slipped  in  unawares,  and  hici. 

Then  Tenriffe  spoke,  calmly,  deliber- 
ately : 

"T  have  come  home  from  the  war 
scarred  with  wounds;  I  have  spilled  my 
blood  for  you  all;  I  would  willingly  have 


given  my  life,  but  the  time  has  come  when 
we  must  accept 'the  inevitable.  I  love  you, 
my  people,  too  much  to  deceive  you,  and 
I  must  tell  you  here  and  now  that  I  be- 
lieve you  are  wrong  in  the  stand  you  are 
taking.  Here  in  your  presence  I  declare 
myself  a  Republican,  and  it  is  my  purpose 
to  run  on  the  Independent  Ticket  for 
County  Attorney." 

He  sat  down  amid  a  quiet  more  nerve- 
wracking  than  hisses,  and  he  felt  the  un- 
spoken censure  of  those  terrible  eyes 
burning  into  his  heart. 

Duval,  a  radical  of  the  narrowest  type, 
the  Democratic  candidate  for  the  same 
office,  succeeded  him,  and  in  guarded  lan- 
guage held  him  up  as  a  traitor  to  his 
country.  Once,  twice,  Tenriffe  half  rose, 
but  he  sat  back  again,  for  this  was  not 
the  time  nor  place  to  settle  scores  that 
would  some  day  be  accounted  for,  and  the 
price  of  every  word  atoned  in  humiliation 
or  blood. 

While  the  heated  discussion  still  en- 
dured, a  vivid  flash  of  lightning  quivered 
lividly  over  the  fixed  faces,  glinted  fiercely 
in  the  sea  of  eyes,  and  the  voice  of  thun- 
der drowned  the  little  speech  of  man  as  the 
building  shook  in  the  grip  of  a  sudden 
gale.  Tempest  for  Tempest,  Soul-storm 
for  Thunder-storm.  The  crowd  rolled 
out",  dispersed  and  went  its  way. 

Tenriffe  had  waited  to  speak  the  accus- 
tomed word  of  warning  to  Duval;  the 
word  that  would  declare  them  enemies 
publicly  and  under  that  peculiar  code  of 
honor  where  there  was  no  truce,  no  capit- 
ulation, and  the  blood  of  one  or  the  other 
must  wipe  out  the  blot  of  insult.  But 
Duval  was  of  another  type,  and  courting 
no  face  to  face  meeting  with  Tenriffe,  he 
slunk  away,  unnoticed  in  the  crowd,  sur- 
rounded by  a  little  following  of  his  own. 
Seeing  that  he  had  missed  his  man,  Ten- 
riffe buttoned  his  coat  about  him  felt 
for  the  pistol  in  his  right  hand  pocket, 
and  fought  his  way  doggedly  against  the 
driving  wind.  What  a  tempest  it  was  to 
struggle  against,  symbolical  perhaps  of  a 


440 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


greater  tempest  that  he  must  face  and 
fight  alone.  Black  shadows  fell  across  his 
way  and  he  peered  into  their  inscrutable 
depths  for  a  lurking  foe  knowing  that 
sometimes  a  blow  was  struck  from  behind 
in  the  dark,  and  often  not  too  logically  a 
negro  swung  from  a  tree  for  the  offense. 
But  for  all  the  alertness  of  his  keen 
glance  he  did  not  see  a  small  figure  fol- 
lowing him,  nor  through  the  whistling 
blast  did  he  hear  the  soft  slap  of  bare  feet 
on  the  wet  ground.  Yet  the  figure  flitted 
just  behind  dusky,  silent  inevitable  as  his 
own  shadow  until  he  arrived  at  his  door 
step  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  knob.  Then 
the  figure  crept  up  timidly  and  touched 
him  on  the  arm.  Tenriffe  turned  sharply. 
He  was  feeling  for  the  pistol  again  but 
his  grip  relaxed  when  he  saw  by  the  gleam 
of  the  lamp  which  shone  ruddily  from 
the  open  window,  a  small  shivering  col- 
ored boy  who  shrank  back  sobbing  mis- 
erably and  elevated  a  skinny  arm  over 
his  woolly  bullet-head  as  is  in  anticipa- 
tion of  a  blow.  It  was  a  habit  acquired 
from  long  training. 

"What  do  you  want,  boy?"  Tenriffe  in- 
quired suspiciously. 

"I  don'  want  nuthin'  but  jest  ter  be  yo' 
slave." 

"My  slave?  The  days  of  slavery  are 
past.  You'd  better  go  home." 

The  sobbing,  trembling  child  was  in  a 
heap  at  his  feet  clasping  small,  bony  hands 
about  his  legs,  much  as  a  kicked  Spaniel 
rolls  on  its  back,  pawing  and  licking  in  its 
dumb  appeal.  Tenriffe  loosened  himself 
from  the  boy's  grasp,  and  after  a  pause, 
spoke  sternly : 

"Get  up  there,  you  little  fool.  Why  did 
you  come  her  ?  Speak  quick.  Tell  me  the 
truth." 

"I  done  follered  yo'  frum  de  hall  dar. 
I  done  stole  in  when  nobody  was  lookin' 
an'  I  heerd  yo',  so  I  waited  an'  follered 
yo'  home.  I.  'lowed  mebbe  yo'  might  let 
me  be  yo'  nigger." 

frWho  are  you?" 

"Prince  Albert." 

Tenriffe's  face,  all  drawn  with  nervous 
tension,  relaxed  into  a  passing  smile. 

"Prince  Albert,  eh?  Prince  Albert  of 
where  ?" 

"Prince  Albert  of  Nowhar." 

And  henceforth  he  was  known  by  no 
other  name. 

"Come,"  said  Tenriffe,  "Tell  me  where 


are  your  parents  and  your  home." 

"I  aint  got  no  mammy,  she's  daid,  an' 
I  aint  got  no  home  nuther,  '  cause  Marse 
George  Duval,  he's  stunted  me,  he  has,  an' 
he's  mos'  broke  ma  back." 

Marse  George  Duval!  Tenriffe  quick- 
ened with  sudden  interest. 

"Come  in,"  he  ordered,  as  he  pushed 
the  child  in  before  him. 

It  was  a  big,  warm  room  they  entered 
with  a  fire  smouldering  on  the  wide 
hearth,  a  lamp  burning  on  a  table,  and  a 
thick  carpet  on  the  floor,  which  tickled 
the  soles  of  Prince  Albert's  feet.  Tenriffe 
looked  him  over  critically,  with  a  glance 
so  searching  that  the  boy  dropped  his  big 
eyes  and  shoved  his  rusty  black  fist  into 
them  as  he  blubbered  weakly.  •  He  was 
an  abject  figure,  grotesquely  belying  his 
royal  title.  He  was  small,  "a  runt"  in 
his  own  language,  yet  for  all  that,  his 
square .  figure  and  weazened  face  bespoke 
greater  age  than  one  at  first  suspected. 
His  jacket  hung  in  tatters,  revealing, 
through  its  holes,  a  dirty  patch  of  shirt, 
and  his  spindle  legs  protruded  from  a 
pair  of  men's  trowsers,  cut  down  to  a 
point  of  awkwardness  between  his  knees 
and  ankles. 

"Now,"  said  Tenriffe,  after  a  pause,  "I 
want  to  know  why  you've  come  here  to 
me,  and  your  reason  for  leaving  Mr.  Du- 
val. And  mind,"  he  repeated,  holding  up 
an  admonishing  forefinger,  "that  you  tell 
me  the  truth." 

"I  'clar  fo'  Gawd,  I  ain't  lyin'.  My 
maminy,  she  b'longed  ter  Marse  Gawg's 
pa,  what  was  Marse  Henry.  Den  arter  de 
wah,  Marse  Gawge,  he  say  I'se  his'n,  any- 
way, an'  he  gwine  ter  kill  me  ef  I  .run 
away.  I  nebber  knowed  nobody,  nohow, 
'cause  I'se  a  po'  orfun  nigger,  an'  was 
scared  fur  ter  go.  Dis  ebenin'  he  come 
home  kinder  drunk,  an'  he  done  beat  me 
tell  ma  back  was  mos'  broke,  an'  arter  he 
lef  agin,  I  run  away  an'  hid  in  de  big 
hall,  an'  I  heah  yo'  speak,  so  I  follered 
yo'.  Heah's  ma  whelps  so  yo'  kin  see  I 
ain't  lyin'." 

While  he  spoke,  he  pulled  off  the  tat- 
tered jacket  and  the  dirty  shirt  under- 
neath was  stained  with  blood;  then  he 
laid  bare  his  back,  all  corrugated  with 
ridges  and  scars ;  some  hard  with  age  and 
some  fresh  and  bleeding. 

Tenriffe  turned  away  his  head. 

enough,"  he  said/  "you  shall 


PEIXCE  ALBERT  OF  NOWHERE. 


441 


stav  here  and  I  will  protect  you  from  that 
scoundrel,  George  Duval." 

Prince  Albert  fell  down  at  nis  feet  and 
kissed  his  muddy  shoes.  He  knew  no 

words  to  express  such  infinite  joy. 
*  *  *  * 

Tenriffe  was  the  center  of  public  inter- 
est. A  Confederate  officer,  brevetted  for 
gallantry  on  the  field,  shot  through  and 
through  in  his  country's  cause,  who,  more- 
over, as  he  stood  by  the  Governor's  side 
in  the  old  capitol  at  Jaokson,  had  said, 
before  he  handed  his  sword  to  the  union 
officer,  "Governor,  this  is  a  good  time  for 
us  to  die" — this  same  William  Tenriffe 
had  declared  himself  a  Republican!  That 
he  was  allowed  to  live  was  merely  because 
of  his  indomitable  personality.  The  com- 
munity was  dumbfounded,  aghast.  Being 
the  object  of  general  curiosity,  the  fact 
that  Duval's  servant,  Prince  Albert,  had 
fled  to  him  for  protection,  was  noised 
about,  and  in  the  nature  of  things,  Duval 
declared  that  mere  political  strategy  was 
at  the  root  of  the  matter,  and  Tenriffe  had 
induced  the  "nigger"  to  escape  and  make 
up  the  yarns  about  cruelty.  Tenriffe,  on 
the  other  hand,  made  the  most  of  the  in- 
cident, and  in  the  heated  campaign  that 
followed,  Prince  Albert  played  an  import- 
ant part.  Xever  could  his  royal  name-sake 
have  been  more  conscious  of  responsibility 
and  pomp  of  power.  Prince  Albert  had 
abandoned  forever  "de  po'  white  trash;" 
he  had  taken  his  place  "wif  de  qualily," 
and  in  a  short  time  he  grew  sleek  and 
plump  physically,  and  his  cringing  obse- 
quiousness gave  place  to  smiling  super- 
iority when  he  was  among  his  own  kind, 
and  to  devoted  obedience  to  Tenriffe. 

The  day  before  election  arrived;  there 
had  been  a  little  shooting,  and  there  was 
that  tension  of  bated  breath  and  strained 
calm  before  the  final  outburst.  Xegroes 
had  been  quietly  warned  to  keep  away 
from  the  polls.  Duval  was  already  half 
drunk  over  his  certain  victory,  and  he 
and  his  companions  talked  a  trifle  indis- 
creetly over  the  bar  as  the  whisky  loosened 
their  tongues. 

It  was  late  that  night  when  Tenriffe 
started  home,  and  Prince  Albert,  wide- 
eyed  and  anxious,  had  laid  out  his  pipe 
and  gown,  and  wheeled  his  favorite  chair 
in  place.  The  dry.  tick-tick  of  the  clock 
sounded  with  harsh  regularity  through 
the  silence.  Prince  A^rt  had  gone  to  the 


window  once  more  to  peer  out,  when  he 
saw  a  bright  flash  in  the  blackness  and 
heard  the  loud  report  of  a  pistol.  Another 
and  yet  another  followed  in  rapid  succes- 
sion, then  all  was  still.  Prince  Albert 
waited  a  moment,  which  seemed  an  eter- 
nity; then  he  ran  out  in  the  street.  Peo- 
ple were  already  hurrying  hither  and 
thither,  and  by  the  light  of  a  candle, 
which  some  one  had  brought,  he  saw  Ten- 
riffe, pale,  moaning  and  with  a  growing 
stain  of  blood  on  the  sidewalk  where  he 
lay.  They  carried  him  in  and  placed  him 
on  his  own  bed,  and  the  doctor  who  came, 
felt  his  pulse  and  examined  the  wound, 
then  said: 

"He  has  about  one  chance  in  a  hundred 
to  live.  He  was  shot  from  behind  through 
the  left  lung." 

The  assassination  stirred  the  whole 
town.  Duval  was  suspected,  but  there 
was  no  proof — only  the  sinister  *  sugges- 
tion, spoken  in  an  unguarded  moment  in 
the  saloon,  when  the  liquor  was  hot  in 
his  spleen. 

Election  day  dawned,  and  Tenriffe  still 
lay  vibrating  feebly  between  the  shores  of 
life  and  death.  Returns  began  to  come 
in.  Tenriffe  was  getting  a  vote.  Ten- 
riffe. was  ahead,  and  at  last  Prince  Albert 
came  tiptoeing  into  the  darkened  room, 
and  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  peered  anx- 
iously into  his  master's  face.  The  white 
eyelids  fluttered  and  opened. 

"Marse  William,"  Prince  Albert  whis- 
pered, "Marse  William,  yo'  is  'lected,  and 
now  yer  got  ter  git  well!" 

And  it  was  so.  The  blow  had  been 
struck  prematurely;  the  public  had  risen 

in  revolt,  and  Tenriffe  was  victorious. 
*  *  *  * 

As  soon  as  the  hundredth  chance  had 
became  a  reality  and  the  grave  doctor 
said  that  the  danger  was  passed,  and  Ten- 
riffe's  recovery  depended  mainly  upon 
perfect  quiet,  he  and  Prince  Albert  went 
away  to  the  plantation  on  the  Sun  Flower 
river.  There  Marse  William  sat  on  the 
broad,  columned  piazza  in  the  shade  of  a 
cloth-of-gold  vine,  and  the  sweet  jasmine, 
while  Prince  Albert  fanned  him  with  pal- 
metto leaves.  It  was  a  peaceful,  dreamy 
existence;  sensuous  with  the  warm  caress 
of  amorous  air;  fragrant  with  a  thousand 
mingled,  half -poisonous  odors  of  the 
swamps.  The  town,  with  its  strife  and 
bloodshed,  seemed  far  away  and  unreal 


442 


OVEBLAKD  MONTHLY. 


to  Tenriffe  as  he  sat  so  still  and  serene  in 
the  evening  and  listening  for  a  faint  note 
of  song.  At  first  it  was  a  merest  echo 
that  greeted  his  ear,  then  it  grew  louder 
until  he  could  distinguish  a  rich  male 
voice : 

"Look  down  de  road  an'  see  de  dus' 
a-risin'." 

Then  the  chorus,  tuneful  and  deep, 
chanted : 

"Johnny",  am  a-rang-o-ho !" 

And  down  the  yellow  road  a  wreath  of 
dust  would  rise,  opalescent  against  the 
purple  hint  of  the  swamps,  and  the  warm, 
red  sky  above,  and  the  darkies  would  come 
trooping  into  view  from  their  day's  work 
in  the  field.  A  gay  bit  of  color  they  were, 
with  their  kerchiefs  about  their  heads  and 
just  as  gay  were  their  simple,  untroubled 
hearts.  Children  of  a  perpetual  child- 
hood, who  might  grow  gray  of  hair  and 
bent  of  form,  but  never  sophisticated  with 
world-wisdom  and  'therefore  never  old. 
Marse  William  was  their  hero,  and  they 
understood  that  he  had  been  shot,  and 
that  in  some  incomprehensible  way  it  was 
for  the  sake  of  their  race.  They  gave 
him  the  dumb  devotion  that  dogs  bestow 
upon  a  master,  and  every  evening  they 
came  singing  from  the  fields  and  stopped 
before  "de  big  house"  to  dance  fantasti- 
cally and  chant  their  mellow  lay. 

As  Tenriffe  grew  stronger,  he  and 
Prince  Albert,  guided  by  Uncle  Huie,  the 
sage  of  the  plantation,  went  possum  hunt- 
ing in  the  swamps  where  the  trees  were 
all  hoary  with  moss  and  the  inauspicious 
growth  of  the  dank  land  oppressed  while 
it  pleased.  Perhaps  Prince  Albert  felt 
this  in  an  inarticulate  way,  and  he  cheered 
his  drooping  spirits  by  bursting  into  song : 

"De  possum's  in  de  paw-paw  tree, 
a-eatin'  ob  de  paw-paws." 

But  all  such  depression  vanished  when 
the  possum  and  the  'sweet  potatoes  shed 
their  savory,  steaming  breath  into  Prince 
Albert's  nostrils,  and  made  his  "mouf 
water"  for  the  feast  to  come.  He  was  as 
near  perfect  happiness  as  mortals  get;  he 
was  Marse  William's  body  servant,  a  posi- 
tion which  gave  him  enviable  prestige 
among  the  darkies  on  the  place.  Even  the 
inexorable  TJncle  Huie,  who  "'lowed  he 
was  mor'n  a  hundred,"  and  who  was  popu- 
larly supposed  to  possess  occult  powers, 
showed  a  certain  condescending  deference 
for  the  opinion  of  Prince  Albert. 


So  matters  stood  when  Pomp,  the 
striped  mule,  got  into  the  water  melon 
patch  and  feasted  himself  into  the  throes 
of  colic.  Uncle  Huie  pronounced  "ter- 
bakky"  the  best  remedy,  and  by  a  curious 
chance,  an  investigation  showed  that  there 
was  none  of  the  "plug"  kind  on  the  place. 
Therefore,  Prince  Albert  was  despatched 
upon  an  indolent  flea-bitten  gray  mare 
to  Sun  Flower  Landing,  the  nearest  vil- 
lage, to  purchase  the  tobacco  and  pay  a 
bill  at  the  general  merchandise  store.  Ten- 
riffe handed  him  a  fifty  dollar  greenback 
and  bade  him  hurry  home. 

Prince  Albert  was  filled  with  excite- 
ment and  pleasure,  and  he  sang  blithely 
as  he  ambled  along  on  the  flea-bitten  gray 
and  watched  the  squirrels  in  the  black 
walnut  trees.  Over  to  the  left  was  the 
dark  suggestion  of  the  swamps,  and  he 
clattered  across  a  rickety  bridge  that 
spanned  the  sluggish  bayou,  which,  far- 
ther away  in  the  hazy  distance,  harbored 
many  a  glittering  water-moccasin  and 
even  the  ever-watchful  alligator.  At  last 
he  came  to  the  quiet  little  town,  made 
unduly  active  to-day  by  the  arrival  of  the 
"River  Queen,"  a  big  white  steamboat 
that  lay  puffing  by  the  levee.  Even  the 
somnolent  idlers  who  sat  before  the 
saloons  on  the  back  legs  of  their  chairs 
and  spat  long,  thin  streams  of  amber  into 
the  hot  dust,  were  somewhat  enlivened  by 
the  general  energy.  Prince  Albert  gazed 
at  the  steamboat  with  wide-open  eyes,  and 
listened  to  the  shouts  of  the  roustabouts 
as  they  heaved  bales  of  cotton  aboard.  Be- 
fore Prince  Albert  arrived  a  single  pas- 
senger had  landed  and  gone  away.  The 
boy  was  a  child  of  the  hour,  and  in  the 
excitement  of  the  busy  levee,  and  the 
final  climax  of  the  steamboat  weighing  an- 
chor amid  the  heaving  sobs  of  her  quick- 
ening engines,  pulling  out  into  the  placid 
river  and  leaving  behind  her  a  great,  white 
churning  path,  he  forgot  the  deplorable 
condition  of  Pomp. 

Outside  the  general  merchandise  store 
he  had  hitched  the  flea-bitten  gray,  who 
stood  sleepily  on  three  hoofs,  her  eyes  half 
closed,  her  loose  under-lip  hanging  de- 
jectedly, occasionally  switching  her 
flanks  to  remove  molesting  flies.  Turning 
from  the. river,  Prince  Albert  crossed  over 
to  the  store,  where  a  crowd  of  small  plan- 
ters, their  little  profits  in  their  pockets, 
and  the  whole  contingent  of  loafing  jack- 


PEINCE   ALBERT  OF  XOWHERE. 


443 


alls  that  followed  them,  had  assembled  to 
drink  bad  whisky  and  gamble  elegantly  for 
small  stakes  with  the  daje-deviltry  of 
Monte  Christos.  Prince  Albert  despised 
"de  po'  white  trash,"  and  he  knew  them 
for  Marse  William's  enemies;  there  was 
even  a  cousin  of  Duval's  among  them,  but 
the  thrall  of  the  game  was  too  great,  and 
at  a  respectful  distance  he  watched  the 
play. 

As  his  interest  grew,  he  drew  nearer 
and  nearer,  until  he  stood  behind  Duval's 
cousin,  a  man  named  Wines,  who  appeared 
to  be  drunker  than  the  rest,  and  whose 
reckless  plays  were  losing  him  the  game. 
In  the  spell  that  was  upon  him,  Prince 
Albert  did  not  notice  that  another  figure 
had  entered  the  room — the  stranger  who 
had  landed  from  the  River  Queen."  With 
a  loud  curse,  Bob  Wines  flung  down  the 
cards,  beaten. 

"Put  up  your  money,"  drawled  the  win- 
ner. 

"Yes,  suh!  I  reckon.  Til  put  up  th' 
money.  By  God,  I'm  a  Southe'n  gentle- 
man, an'  any  man  who  makes  reflections 
on  ma  honor  can  have  any  satisfaction  he 
pleases,  suh!" 

As  Wines  spoke,  he  fumbled  with  un- 
steady hand  and  drunken  dignity  for  his 
coat-tail  pocket.  His  face  flushed  a 
deeper  crimson,  and  his  air  of  hauteur 
changed  first  to  dismay,  then  to  anger,  and 
turning  on  Prince  Albert,  whom  he  had 
just  now  discovered,  he  cried : 

"You  damned  nigger!  You've  stolen 
ma  money." 

Without  giving  him  a  chance  to  do  more 
than  to  stammer :  "Fo'  Gawd !"  they  were 
upon  him  like  wolves,  and  in  his  pocket 
they  found  a  fifty  dollar  bill. 

"That's  my  money.  By  God,  yes,  suh! 
I  had  just  a  fifty  dollar  bill.  Caught  the 
low-down,  stinkin'  nigger  red-handed!" 
cried  Bob  Wines. 

"Who  is  he?"  somebody  asked. 

"Tenriffe's  nigger,  the  dirty  dog!" 
shouted  another. 

"N"o,  suh!  He's  my  runaway  nigger, 
that  Tenriffe  stole  to  beat  me  with  dirty 
lies,"  said  the  stranger,  stepping  forward. 

It  was  Duval. 

"Yes,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "this 
low-down  nigger  here  went  over  to  the 
enemy,  and  by  his  treason  to  the  family 
beat  me  for  the  office  of  County  Attorney. 
I  was  watchm'  the  crame.  *»»»•*  T  saw  him 


standin'  close  to  Bob's  pocket.  Of  co'se 
he's  guilty." 

Prince  Albert  was  stricken  dumb  with 
fear ;  he  tried  to  speak,  but  the  old  master- 
ing dread  of  Duval  was  in  his  heart,  and 
he  only  shuddered  and  turned  ashen  gray. 
He  knew  the  debt  of  vengeance  and  he 
knew  the  man,  and  Marse  William  was  far 
away. 

The  infuriated  men  stood  apart  and 
whispered,  but  the  blood  beat  in  his  ears 
so  that  he  could  hear  nothing  save  the 
low,  filing  sound  of  a  harsh  voice  say: 
"Lynch  him !" 

They  came  forward  in  a  calm,  business- 
like way,  and  bound  him  with  a  rope.  Du- 
val cooly  tested  the  knots.  The  frightened 
store  keeper  protested. 

"'Gentlemen !"  he  said  (for  Tenriffe  was 
a  good  customer),  "I  can't  allow  this  in 
my  place.  The  nigger  may  be  guilty,  but 
see  Mr.  Tenriffe  first." 

A  curt  warning  closed  his  lips,  but 
Prince  Albert  turned  upon  him  wide  eyes 
of  hope,  hope  that  died  again  presently,  in 
the  vice-like  silence. 

They  were  out  in  the  open  now,  where 
the  flea-bitten  gray  stood  in  placid  ob- 
livion. She  whinnied  inquiringly  as 
Prince  Albert  passed,  and  opened  her  eyes, 
and  then  closed  them  again.  The  sun 
hung  low,  a  ball  of  copper  in  the  West, 
and  the  blue  shadows  lengthened  fast. 
They  tramped  through  the  scorching  dust, 
the  muffled  pad,  pad,  of  their  footsteps, 
the  only  sound  that  broke  the  quiet  of  the 
twilight.  The  hazy  blur  of  the  swamps 
lay  ahead.  Toward  this  they  made  their 
way,  never  hurrying,  never  pausing,  but 
with  the  same  methodical  deliberation  and 
certainty — inevitable  as  fate.  The  blue 
shade  deepened;  the  sun  dropped  behind 
the  tangled  verdure,  and  only  an  occa- 
sional ray,  like  a  long  finger,  lay  on  the  lip 
of  the  swamp  and  hushed  it  to  silence. 
They  had  entered  the  depths  of  it  now;  a 
screech  owl,  the  bird  of  ill-omen  and  death, 
uttered  his  shrill  cry,  and  a  whip-poor- 
will  mourned  in  a  moss-shrouded  tree. 
The  darkness  encroached,  and  the  weird 
depression  of  the  place  closed  down  heav- 
ily. Apart  from  the  tangle  of  vine  and 
tree,  a  huge  sycamore  stood,  lofty  and 
done.  Toward  this  they  marched;  before 
it  they  halted. 

Duval  produced  a  can  of  pitch;  anoirev 
came  forward  with  matches. 


OVEKLAKD  MONTHLY. 


For  the  first  time  the  rigidity  of  Piin.ce 
Albert's  fear  relaxed  into  articulate  emo- 
tion. 

He  sobbed  and  cried  pleadingly: 

"Fo'  Gawd,  I  ain't  stole  no  money !  It's 
Marse  William's.  Yo'  go  ax  him  fust.  He 
give  it  ter  me  ter  pay  de  st'o'  man,  an'  buy 
terbakky  fur  Pomp.  I  ain't  done  nuthin' 
ter  nobody!" 

"How  about  yo'r  runnin'  away  to  this 
damned  Tenriffe,  an'  lyin'  to  beat  me?" 
Duval  suggested,  as  he  tied  the  thongs 
that  bound  him  to  the  tree. 

Prince  Albert  struggled  with  such  ab- 
normal violence  that  he  freed  himself  long 
enough  to  drop  into  the  dust  like  a  crushed 
spider  and  grovel  there,  as  he  cried : 

"I'll  go  back  ter  yo',  Marse  George,  an' 
be  yo'  slave  all  ma  life.  Jes'  don'  kill  me, 
don'  kill  me !  I'se  done  lied  'bout  yo', 
Marse  Gawge,  but  don'  yo'  kill  me!" 
.  A  shot  stopped  the  wild  torrent  of  ap- 
peal which  ended  in  a  shriek.  They  hus- 
tled him,  writhing  and  struggling,  to  his 
feet,  bleeding  from  a  slight  flesh  wound, 
and  tied  the  cords  securely.  Once  more 
he  begged,  weakly,  childishly,  until  his 
voice  rose  into  a  savage  shout.  The  dark 
swamps  took  up  his  cry  and  flung  it  back 
with  a  thousand  tongues.  Eesolutely  they 
piled  the  dry  kindling  about  him,  then 
poured  the  thick,  black  tar  over  the  pile 


and  upon  his  body.  A  brand  was  touched 
to  the  tinder,  a  shaft  of  flame  leaped  up  in 
the  darkness,  and  the  whole  air  rang  with 
the  pain-crazed  cries  of  the  burning 
boy. 

Some  one  far  away  heard  the  sound  and 
predicted  that  the  dreaded  panther  was 
about  again.  Then  came  the  crack  of 
many  shots.  The  pillar  of  flame  waxed, 
then  waned  to  a  sullen  glow.  There  was 
a  muffled  moan;  the  thongs  broke,  and 
the.  charred  and  riddled  body  of  Prince 

Albert  fell  prone  on  the  bed  of  coals. 
*  *  *  * 

Meanwhile,  Tenriffe  sat  on  the  broad 
piazza,  and  waited  for  Prince  Albert  to 
return.  A  lone  mocking  bird  trilled 
sweetly  in  the  magnolia  tree,  and  freed 
from  the  dying  glow  in  the  west  the  even- 
ing star  shone  palely.  The  darkies,  happy 
with  the  happiness  of  their  perpetual 
childhood,  came  in  from  the  field  to  "de 
big  house,"  singing: 

"'Look  down  de  road,  an'  see  de  dus" 
arisin'," 
And  the  swelling  chorus  answered: 

"Johnny  am  a-rang-o-ho !" 

Sure  enough  the  dust  was  rising  in  a 
thin,  yellow  curl  against  the  purple  depths 
of  the  swamp,  and  the  song  died  in  the 
silence  of  dumb  fear,  as  the  old  flea-bitten 
gray  trotted  home — alone. 


BY    LOUISA    AYRES    GARNETT 

When  Phyllis  smiles,  the  weary  earth 

Bursts  into  flow'r, 

And  speeds  the  hour 
On  wings  of  love  and  buoyant  mirth, 
Ah,  who  can  guess  what  life  is  worth 

When  Phyllis  smiles! 

W\hen  Phyllis  frowns,  in  vain  I  seek 

To  pierce  the  gloom. 

There's  little  room 
For  songs  and  kisses — life's  too  bleak 
And  full  of  clouds.    Let  no  one  speak 

Wihen  Phyllis  frowns ! 

When  Phyllis  sings  there's  not  a  bird 

'Neath  Heaven's  blue 

Can  sing  so  true 

And  witchingly.     If  you've  not  heard 
Her  glancing  notes,  oh,  where's  the  word 
To  tell  how  soul  and  sense  are  stirred 

When  Phyllis  sings ! 


m 

BY    D.    E.    KESSLER 


CHIXATOWX  is  gone!  Famous 
San  Francisco  Chinatown,  quaint, 
mysterious,  gorgeous,  hideous,  has 
become  a  thing  of  history,  of  tradition, 
utterly  obliterated  in  a  day.  One  morning 
a  teeming  hive  of  Oriental  life,  one  of 
the  great  show  places  of  the  country,  the 
lurid  light  of  the  next  morning's  sun  re- 
vealing a  stark  hillside  across  whose 
naked  surface  shifting  eddies  of  whitened 
ashes  played.  A  hillside,  honeycombed 
with  burrows,  runways  to  five  or  six 
stories  in  depth,  yawning,  tortuous  sub- 
terranean passages  and  chambers  which 
were  the  real  Chinatown. 

Thus,  as  a  part  of  the  destruction  of  a 
city,  has  the  Chinatown  problem  been 
solved,  and  its  secrets  at  last  laid  bare. 
I  visited  this  Occidental  Chinese  metropo- 
lis in  its  heyday,  just  one  short  week  be- 
fore its  annihilation.  This  much  written 
of,  strangely  fascinating  place,  was  never- 
theless always  new  and  glitteringly  at- 
tractive through  each  separate  pair  of 
eyes  that  viewed  it,  much  as  the  successive 
turns  of  a  kaleidoscope  revolve  the  same 
bits  of  colored  glass  into  ever  new,  ever 
glittering  patterns,  although  always 
formed  of  the  same  bits  of  glass. 

This  particular  evening  remains  in  my 
memory  as  a  barbaric,  Oriental  tapestry, 
its  rich,  warmth  of  warp  interwoven  with 
a  strangely  intermingled  pattern  of  crude, 
clashing  blues  and  greens  and.  yellows, 
mysteriously  sombre  hues  of  glowering 
reds  and  tragic  murks  of  browns  and 
greens  and  ochres,  turbid,  repellant,  but 
all  bound  with  running  threads  of  gaudy, 
gleaming  gold.  The  look  of  the  fabric 
and  the  smell  of  the  fabric,  heavy,  sick- 
ish-sweet,  rank  with  the  redolence  of  the 
yellow  world,  the  look  and  smell  of  China- 
town, are  in  my  eyes  and  nostrils  as  I 
write. 

The  San  Francisco  twilight  lingers, 
faintly  glowing,  the  dull  sky  'above  becom- 
ing softly  opalescent  as  the  last  reflections 
of  a  sunken  sun  tinge  its  smoke-burdened 
expanse.  Down  the  furtive  Italian  quar- 


ter, a  few  yellow  lights  peer  through  the 
half  darkness,  illy  lighting  the  uneven 
cobble  paving  and  the  occasional  shadowy 
figures  of  the  passers.  Turning  a  corner, 
Dupont  street  and  the  heart  of  the  swarm- 
ing, jostling,  myriad-lighted  Orient 
opens  and  swallows  us,  an  atom  of  the 
iiew  world  lost  in  the  enduring  life  of  an 
ancient  people. 

Light  glows  redly  through  immense 
fish-skin  lanterns,  hung  before  shop  doors 
and  from  vividly  painted  balconies  of 
blue,  scarlet  and  greens,  fantastically 
carved  and  encrusted  with  gilding.  Light 
streams  in  yellow  bars  from  shop  and  res- 
taurant windows,  flares  brazenly  up  from 
the  entrances  of  underground  dance  halls, 
and  winks  frostily  in  blue-white,  glisten- 
ing globes  of  arc  masts  in  the  upper  air. 
In  the  street,  an  infinite  life  pulses,  sway- 
ing, jostling,  restless,  halting  and  hurry- 
ing on,  a  continuous  stream  of  the  most 
cosmopolitan  life  of  the  world,  the  tur- 
gid yellow  current  mingling  with  flotsam 
from  all  the  seven  seas;  white  faces  with 
the  stamp  of  Europe,  Saxon  and  Latin; 
marked  with  the  pride  and  curiosity  of 
the  idle,  wealthy,  sensation-seeker,  and 
the  vacuous  or  the  vicious  expression  of 
the  under- world  loafer.  Wlell-groomed 
groups  of  self-labeled  tourists,  swaggering 
sailors  of  many  nationalities,  the  nonde- 
script, slouching  figure  of  the  lounger, 
little,  alert,  sharp-eyed  Japs,  tall  Turks, 
and  the  blouse-clad,  soft-footed,  be-queued 
denizens  who  claim  the  street  as  their 
own,  rub  elbows  and  crowd  together  in  a 
universal  potpourri  of  humanity. 

The  narrow  street  is  almost  innocent  of 
vehicles,  its  comparative  openness  making 
it  a  playground  for  oblivious,  chattering 
and  screeching  Chinese  children,  quaintly 
picturesque  in  a  miniature,  embroidered 
replica  of  the  attire  of  their  elders.  They 
race  down  the  street,  long  queues  flying 
— a  strangely  bird-like  kite  concoction 
following  at  a  string's  end.  Tiny  tod- 
dlers imitate  their  more  agile  brothers, 
and  half-grown  girls  stand  about,  upon 


446 


OVERLAP  I)  MONTHLY. 


their  backs  still  smaller  and  more  helpless 
infants,  with  round,  unsteady  heads  and 
darkly-rolling  eyes. 

The  rows  of  shops,  half  hidden  by  the 
shifting  crowds,  are  busy  absorbing 
shekels  from  those  who  drift  from  the 
current  into  their  placid,  spicy  interiors. 
The  curio  shops  reap  golden  harvests  from 
the  sightseers,  their  wonderful  prizes  of 
bronzes,  ivories,  cloisonne  and  embroider- 


markets  below,  which  are  red  and  redo- 
lent with  articles  of  diet  for  which  an 
Occidental  butcher  would  have  no  name. 
A  low-hung  balcony  overhead,  a  row  of 
quaint  jardiniers  filled  with  trailing 
growths  of  green  upon  its  ledge,  and  waft- 
ing heavy  odors  of  burning  incense  to  the 
street  below,  courts  investigation.  Up 
the  winding  flight  of  stairs  leading  from 
the  obscure  entrance,  we  climb,  and  from 


Dupont   street,    Chinatown. 

ies  proving  an  irresistible  lure.  The  res- 
taurants also  are  in  full  blast,  rustling 
bead  curtains,  softly  glowing  lanterns, 
'  and  heavily  carved  teak-wood  furnishings 
being  the  effective  setting  for  the  serving 
of  Oriental  concoctions  from  chop  suey  to 
preserved  ginger.  The  meat  things  served 
here  are  as  strangely  barbaric,  seen  in 
their  uncooked  stages  in  the  open  meat 


a  broad  upper  corridor  the  measured  beat 
of  a  tom-tom  greets  the  ear.  It  is  a  joss- 
house,  a  temple  of  worship,  ever  an  object 
of  especial  attraction  to  the  sight-seer,  an 
interest  fully  reciprocated  by  the  crafty, 
repellant  priests  in  charge  of  this  abode 
of  peculiar  spirits.  It  is  with  an  inward 
glee  and  an  outward  subservience  and 
ceremony,  these  past-masters  separate  the 


AX  EVEXIXG   IX  CHIXATOWX. 


foreigner  and  his  dollars,  for  American 
money  is  very  good  to  the  oily  despisers 
of  "white  devils."  It  is  a  picturesque 
spectacle,  and  dramatic  with  a  portent  of 
possibilities.  The  looming  figures  of 
three  mighty  "gods,"  bizarre  and  bediz- 
zened  with  stiff  brocades,  their  hideously 
carved,  expressionless  heads  vaguely  dim 
in  the  upper  murk}-  shadows;  about  the 
pedestal  at  their  feet,  heavy  brass  urns  of 
smoking  incense,  wreathing  in  tortuous 


court  and  observe  the  lavish  "tourist"  and 
his  giggling  coterie  of  ladies  accompanied 
by  an  official  white  guide,  receive  these 
marks  of  favor,  presented  him  with  unc- 
tion and  much  pattering  and  genuflec- 
tion, before  the  impassive  "god,"  so 
mighty  in  power  for  the  extraction  of  dol- 
lars. The  old  priest,  yellow  and  gnarled 
with  a  conscienceless  age,  picturesque  and 
demanding  of  respect  for  his  very  astute, 
repulsive,  strongly-marked  character,  win- 


An   alley   in   Chinatown. 

blue  vapors  through  the  close  atmosphere. 
dishes  of  rice,  bouquets  of  paper  flowers, 
and  everywhere,  dimly  glowing,  vari-col- 
ored  lanterns.  Joss  sticks  will  be  sold, 
prayers  will  be  made  for  certain  dollars, 
"good  luck"  fetishes  may  be  secured,  the 
future  will  be  divulged  for  certain  more 
dollars.  The  visitor  without  dollars  is 
not  desirable,  and  is  treated  with  scant 
courtesy.  He  may  stand  in  the  outer 


ning  by  cajolery,  by  thinly  disguised,  keen 
cupidity,  detestable  and  detesting;  and 
the  easy  dupe,  knowing  he  is  duped  and 
willing  to  pay  for  it — for  the  sport  of  the 
thing — are  antitypes,  the  acme  of  the  new 
and  the  old,  separated  by  the  millions  of 
years,  that  will  always  be  the  unbridgable 
gulf  of  their  antipathy. 

All  this  is  early  evening,  open,  street 
scene  Chinatown;  the  property  of  he  who 


WHEX   DAY   IS   DONE. 


449 


wills;  the  grim  undercurrent,  the  un- 
savory, mysterious  underground  China- 
town surges  to  the  surface  in  dark,  oily, 
lurking  eddies,  noticed  by  few  of  the  pass- 
ers, and  understood  by  fewer.  Chinatown, 
rich  in  stories,  sordid,  tragic,  repulsive; 
sicklied  over  with  the  yellow  taint,  is  ever 
there,  under  the  gaudy,  sparkling  attrac- 
tion of  its  surface — turgid  as  the  yellow 
mud  of  the  river  bottoms.  Retracing  our 
way  toward  Sacramento  street,  and  the 
world  of  the  Occident,  we  climb  a  steep, 
more  illy  lighted  block,  where  lanterns 
are  occasional  and  jutting  cobbles  are 
more  than  occasional.  A  blind  alley 
vawns  like  a  gash  half  way  up  its  stiff  in- 
cline, and  at  the  entrance  a  policeman, 
looming  large,  leans  against  an  ancient 
lamp-post.  In  a  doorway  opposite  him  a 
Chinaman  lounges,  placid,  sleepy-eyed, 
contentedly  smoking.  The  windows  of  his 
dwelling  are  close  shuttered,  though  the 
door  behind  him  is  open.  He  is  the  edi- 
tor of  the  Chinese  newspaper,  and  a  recent 
offensive  article  has  aroused  the  ire  of  a 
hostile  tong.  This  means  threatened 
death  in  a  thousand  lurking  forms.  Hence 
the  policeman;  hence  the  Chinaman's 
love  for  the  open.  Smiling,  sleepy-eyed, 
he  is  alert,  with  a  stealth  that  is  only 
matched  by  the  stealth  of  the  vengeance- 
seekers. 


Following  the  steady  ascent  of  Sacra- 
mento street,  Chinatown  and  the  Orient 
is  quickly  behind  us,  redly  dowering,  and 
a  constantly  widening  expanse  of  the  mil- 
lion-eyed city  spreads  from  our  feet.  The 
clean,  salt  dampness  of  the  night  wind 
beats  strongly  in  our  faces,  fresh,  elemen- 
tal, taintless,  a  glad  draught  clearing 
away  the  subtle  fetidness  of  an  age-old 
civilization,  from  our  brains. 

From  the  height  of  Nob  Hill,  the  dim 
piles  of  stately  mansions  about  us,  the 
pallid  ghost  of  San  Francisco's  huge  un- 
finished hotel,  the  Fairmount,  at  our 
backs,  we  turn,  and  in  the  blessed  sweet- 
ness of  God's  pure  air,  gaze  long  upon 
the  magnificent  vista  stretching  out  in 
every  direction,  the  faintly  murmuring, 
electric-lighted  city,  the  dark,  silent  ex- 
panse of  the  bay,  with'  creeping  glow- 
worms of  ferry  boats  moving  across  its 
surface,  the  clusters  of  twinkling  lights 
dotting  the  bay-side,  marking  the  sites  of 
Sausalito,  Oakland,  Berkeley,  Alameda, 
and  many  towns  on  down  toward  the  dim 
horizon,  tributary  children  to  this  great 
cosmopolitan,  brooding  mother.  To  the 
north,  beyond  Telegraph  Hill,  the  ocean 
is  beating  restlessly  at  the  bar  to  the 
Golden  Gate,  and  overhead  the  still  im- 
mensity of  the  heavens  gathers  all,  city, 
bay  and  ocean,  in  one  vast  embrace. 


BY    MARY    D.    BARBER 


THE  shadows  are  deepening  among 
the  redwoods.    Here  and  there  the 
rays  of  the  sinking     sun     gleam 
through  the  branches,   falling   in  bright 
flecks  across  the  path  where  a  man  and  a 
woman  are  moving  quietly  and  slowly  for- 
ward. 

His  arm  is  about  her  waist.  Her  head, 
crowned  by  a  wealth  of  golden  hair,  nes- 
tles close  beside  him.  His  brow  and  fea- 
tures bespeak  the  man  of  intellect  and 
soul;  his  expression  as  he  looks  into  her 
eyes  reveals  the  supreme  affection  of  a 
nature  pure  and  strong. 

Another  woman    stands    beside    them. 


Her  heart,  once  glorified  by  love,  has 
learned  renunciation. 

Touching  the  man  lightly  on  the  arm, 
she  speaks:  "Dear  friends,  do  you  know 
why  /  am  happy?" 

The  man  divines  the  purport  of  her 
words,  and,  stooping  to  caress  his  bride, 
answers :  "Yes — we  are  happy." 

The  lonely  woman's  face  is  illumined  by 
an  expression  of  peace.  As  her  heart  fills 
to  overflowing  with  the  joy  of  others,  her 
own  sorrows  seem  wafted  away  on  the 
evening  breeze,  and  all  thoughts  of  self 
sink  beneath  the  horizon  with  the  setting 
sun. 


Tte 


BY    CLARA    A1NSWORTH 


HERE  is  a  better  view  higher 
up.  Would  you  like  to  see  it, 
Miss  Chesbro?"  John  Harlon 
asked  with  apparent  carelessness,  after  the 
picnic  lunch  had  been  consumed. 

"Oh,  do  take  Miss  Marion  to  see  how 
much  grander  it  is  higher  up,"  his  mother 
urged. 

"If  there  is  anything  grander  than 
this,"  moving  her  hand  toward  the  scene 
below,  "I  want  to  see  it?"  Miss  Chesbro 
exclaimed  joyously,  but  her  mother  an- 
swered positively: 

"No,  Marion,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  go 
alone,  and  I  am  not  able  to  go  one  step 
farther." 

"Why  don't  all  you  young  people  go  and 
leave  us  older  ones,  who  are  too  full  of 
peace  and  plenty,  to  stir,"  Mrs.  Raymond 
suggested  in  the  tactful  manner  which 
made  her  the  ideal  hostess  and  chaperon. 

"Come  on,  there,  rise  and  follow !"  cried 
Pearl  Raymond,  comprehendingly,  and 
the  crowd  which  always  follows  the  pretty 
girl's  lead,  rose  obediently  and  started 
gaily  away.  Mrs.  Chesbro,  evidently 
thinking  there  was  safety  in  numbers, 
gave  a  reluctant  consent  to  her  daughter, 
but  remarked,  as  the  party  disappeared, 
"I  really  need  Marion  as  much  as  she 
needs  me.  We  ought  never  to  be  apart." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  she  may  marry 
some  time,"  Mrs.  Harlow  ventured. 

"By  no  means.    I  cannot  spare  her." 

"But  surely,  our  children  have  a  right 
to  love  and  be  loved,  to  marry  and  to  be 
married." 

Mrs.  Harlow  persisted,  the  warm  color 
flushing  her  fine  old  face. 

"I  don't  know  how  others  feel  about  it, 
but  I  feel  like  the  old  man  who  rose  to 
object  a,t  his  daughter's  wedding,  and 
when  asked  his  reasons,  said:  'I  intended 
Harinah  for  myself." 

"Oh,  you  would  save  your  daughter  for 
home  consumption,"  was  commented  dry- 

"Certainly!"  was  the  unblushing  affir- 
mative. 


"Oh,  Mary,  take  that  back.  You  aren't 
half  as  selfish  as  that  sounds,"  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond laughed. 

"I  fear  I  am,"  and  the  firmness  of  voice 
and  manner  left  no  doubt. 

Harlow  hurried  his  companion,  until 
safely  out  of  recalling  distance,  and  then, 
as  the  ascent  grew  more  difficult,  allowed 
the  party  to  get  well  ahead.  The  trail 
wound  up  over  rough  stones  and  loose, 
crumbling  earth,  steeper  and  steeper,  until 
after  a  last  climb  up  the  sheer  mountain- 
side, they  came  out  on  a  large,  level  ridge. 

"There,"  he  panted,  "let's  leave  a  little 
undiscovered  country  to  the  youngsters 
and  rest  here.  Sit  down  on  this  big  boul- 
der and  look  at  that!" 

She  sat  down,  breathlessly  gasping  out 
a  string  of  little  "oh's." 

"Is  that  admiration  or  perspiration?" 
the  man  asked,  as  he  wiped  his  brow. 

"Adoration,"  the  girl  murmured,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  view.  Far  below  lay  the 
town,  nestling  close  to  the  protecting  foot- 
hills, and  stretching  away  far  as  the  eye 
could  see  through  the  valley  to  meet  ad- 
joining city  and  town  and  hamlet.  At  its 
feet  played  beautiful  San  Francisco  bay, 
its  blue  waters  sparkling  in  the  sun;  here 
and  there  dark  islands  were  silhouetted, 
boats  moved  across  to  the  dim,  distant 
sister  city,  or  ships  spread  their  sails  and 
passed  slowly  out  of  Golden  Gate.  Above 
all,  and  completing  all,  was  the  vivid  blue 
of  the  California  sky,  which  marks  the 
rarely  perfect  clear  day;  while  from  the 
green  foothills  below  was  wafted  up  a 
perfume  of  spring  flowers  faint  as  the 
smoke  from  yonder  distant  boats  or  noise 
from  the  city's  life. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  Is  it 
worth  the  climb?" 

"Oh,  it  is  glorious !  I  never  saw  any- 
thing half  so  worth  the  scramble." 

"Nor  I  either,"  said  her  companion 
softly,  looking  at  her  so  closely  that  she 
turned  and  flushed  under  his  gaze. 

"Don't  look  at  me!  Look  at  the  scen- 
ery." 


THE  LIONS  IX  THE  WAY. 


"But  1  mav  see  that  any  time — while 
you " 

"I  may  only  see  it  to-day,"  she  hastily 
interrupted.  "To-morrow  I  shall  be 
gone/' 

"Marion!"  John's  voice  shook,  and  he 
trembled  like  a  boy.  In  all  his  forty  years 
love  had  played  no  part  in  his  unswerving 
devotion  to  mother  and  sisters.  Xow  he 
was  free,  and  all  his  heart  had  gone  out 
to  this  sweet,  unselfish  girl,  whose  semi- 
invalid  parent  exacted  her  maternal  dues 
to  the  last  pound. 

"Marion,  I  cannot  let  you  go  home  until 
I  lay "  He  stopped  abruptly,  shiv- 
ered and  sneezed  violently.  "I  beg  par- 
don," he  began,  when  the  ominous  rattle 
dreaded  by  all  mountain  climbers  fell  on 
their  ears.  Springing  quickly  to  their 
feet  they  saw  a  large  rattler,  which  had 
crawled  upon  the  upper  edge  of  the  boul- 
der to  bask  in  the  sun  and  been  rudely 
awakened  by  the  sneeze,  coiled  and  ready 
to  spring.  Pushing  his  companion  be- 
hind him,  Harlow  seized  stone  after  stone 
and  flung  at  the  disturber  of  the  peace. 

"Oh,  kill  it,  kill  it.  It  is  bad  luck  to 
let  it  go,"  she  cried,  thrusting  more  stones 
into  his  hands. 

"It  is  killed." 

"Kill  it  again!"  cried  the  excited  girl. 

When  she  was  satisfied  that  the  killing 
was  effectual,  she  pulled  him  after  her 
down  the  steep  decline,  and  did  not  stop 
until,  like  two  frightened  children,  hand 
in  hand,  they  rushed  down  upon  the 
startled  -mothers'  meeting. 

"Jack  and  Jill  came  down  the  hill," 
Mrs.  Raymond  sang. 

"Oh,  we  did  it,  we  did  it!"  cried  the 
girl,  throwing  herself  into  her  mother's 
lap. 

"So  I  see,"  triumphantly  answered  the 
man's  mother. 

"Marion,  explain  yourself,"  the  girl's 
mother  demanded  sternly.  Between  them 
the  adventure  was  told,  and  Mrs.  Chesbro 
declared  herself  too  nervous  to  stay  longer 
in  such  a  place.  While  they  were  packing 
up,  a  process  Harlow  delayed  as  much  as 
possible,  and  fancied  Mrs.  Raymond  aided 
and  abetted,  the  rest  of  the  party  returned 
and  the  story  had  to  be  retold. 

"1  could  never  have  done  it  without 
Miss  Chesbro's  help,"  John  explained, 
when  complimented  upon  his  good  marks- 
manship. 


"So,  Marion,  you  can  say  'John  and  I 
killed  the  bear/"  said  Pearl  Raymond, 
saucily. 

"I  wish  you  had  slain  the  lions  in  the 
way,  too,"  Mrs.  Harlow  whispered,  and  he 
sighed  ruefully. 

"Isn't  it  a  good  omen — something  good 
coming  to  you  both  together?"  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond inquired  innocently. 

"It's  a  romance,  I've  been  told,"  some 
one  in  the  party  hinted  darkly.  Here  Mrs. 
Chesbro  rose  hurriedly  and  started  down 
with  her  daughter,  and  Harlow  only  had 
a  chance  to  say  at  parting,  "I'll  see  you 
this  evening." 

He  was  very  much  surprised  to  meet 
Marion  herself  in  the  dim  hall  two  hours 
later,  and  immediately  availed  himself  of 
his  good  fortune  by  carrying  her  off  to  a 
seat  on  the  vine-clad  porch. 

"How  fragrant  the  evening  is.  I  think 
the  California  nights  are  as  wonderful  as 
the  days,"  she  said,  as  she  picked  a  honey- 
suckle and  sniffed  it  delightedly. 

"There  is  so  much  more  you  have  not 
seen.  When  I  bring  you  back  again " 

"Back  again!"  she  repeated  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Yes,  I  hope  to.  This  afternoon  I 
laid » 

"Oh,  here  you  are!"  A  friend  came 
suddenly  upon  the  porch  to  say  good-bye 
— and  when  at  last  she  had  gone,  Harlow 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  stepping 
close  to  Miss  Chesbro,  began  hurriedly: 

"I  have  laid " 

"Why,  Marion,  are  you  out  here  in  the 
damp,"  her  mother  called  from  the  door- 
way, "and  Mr.  Harlow  without  vour 
mother !" 

"Yes,  my  mother  sometimes  allows  me 
to  go  out  without  her,"  he  answered  stiffly. 

"Is  it  wise?"  the  maid  laughed,  though 
the  matron  frowned. 

"It  has  been  otherwise  all  day,"  he  an- 
swered with  the  calm  of  despair. 

"So  my  guests  are  out  here,"  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond said,  as  she  sauntered  leisurely  to- 
ward them. 

"Mary,  here  is  your  shawl.  I  want  you 
to  stay  and  see  the  moon  rise,  and  Marion, 
there  is  something  for  you  on  the  kitchen 
table.  Won't  you  take  Miss  Chesbro  out?" 
she  added  carelessly,  to  Harlow. 

"'And  bring  her  back  directly,"  her 
mother  cautioned. 

Harlow  bowed  gravely  and  walked  away 


452 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


with  Miss  Ohesbro.  "Relatives  and  rat- 
tlers! I  wonder  what  next,"  he  thought 
bitterly. 

"I  think  Mrs.  Raymond  is  perpetrating 
a  joke  on  one  or  both  of  us,"  she  began 
nervously.  "Perhaps  she  wants  to  help 
you  lay  that — that  ghost  which  has  been 
haunting  you  all  day." 

On  the  kitchen  table  a  candle  burned 
low,  and  by  it  was  pinned  a  sheet  of 
paper,  upon  which  was  written: 

"1  am  not  as  romantic  as  a  perch  upon 
the  mountain  side,  or  a  bench  under  the 
vines,  but  I  am  full  of  sympathy  for  all 
lovers,  especially  those  playing  at  cross 
purposes." 

The  girl's  face  flushed  angrily,  and  she 
turned  away,  but  he  caught  her  hand  and 
held  her  firmly. 

"I  think  we  needed  help,  and  I  am  not 
too  proud  to  accept  it  from  any  source.  I 
will  not  try  to  lay  my  heart  at  your  feet 
for  every  one  and  everything  to  thrust 
aside,  but  just  tell  you  it  is  yours,  dear,  to 
do  with  as  you  will." 

"Oh,  don't  please,"  she  begged. 

"Don't  you  care  for  me  at  all  ?" 

"Mother  would  never,  never  consent." 

"I'm  not  asking  your  mother's  consent; 
I'm  asking  yours,  dear  girl." 

"But  she  wouldn't  let  me  go." 

"Not  if  you  cared?" 

"She  wouldn't  believe  I  could  care." 

"Marion,  you  do  care?"  he  cried,  pas- 
sionately. His  face  was  white,  and  his 
lips  quivered  as  she  answered  sadly: 

"It  is  no  use  to  talk  farther." 

"Marion,  listen1  to  me,"  he  pleaded  ear- 
nestly. "Mrs.  Raymond  thinks  your 
mother  is  not  quite  as  much  of  an  invalid 
as  she  imagines  herself,  and  if  she  hadn't 
you,  she  would  rouse  up  and  be  well." 

"What !"  she  cried,  turning  on  him  with 
flashing  eyes,  "you  and  Mrs.  Raymond  are 
in  league  against  my  mother  and  I?" 

"Oh,  do  you  not  see  how  much  I  care, 
and  how  every  kind  of  an  obstacle  has 


stood  in  my  way  to  you?  Mrs.  Raymond 
must  have  seen,  for  once,  when  almost 
discouraged  she  made  this  remark  in  my 
presence,  and  it  gave  me  heart  to  perse- 
vere a.gainst  overwhelming  odds." 

She  bowed  her  head  to  hide  the  tears. 
In  all  her  guarded  life  no  lover  had  ever 
been  allowed  to  get  as  far  as  this,  and  his 
courage  and  persistence  touched  her  deep- 

iy- 

"So  it  is  your  duty  to  help  your  mother 
regain  her  health,  and  that  can  only  be 
done  in  one  way.  Won't  you  try  that  wa}', 
dear  ?" 

A  little  later  the  rescuing  party  which 
maternal  solicitude  always  instigated, 
found  them  sitting  like  two  children  on 
the  friendly  kitchen  table,  holding  a 
crumpled  piece  of  paper  between  them. 
Together  they  slid  down  and  together  they 
advanced  to  meet  the  foe. 

"We  have  come  for  your  blessing  and 
.to  invite  you  to  our  wedding  to-morrow 
before  train  time.  We  are  going  to  take 
you  home  on  our  wedding  trip,  Mrs. 
Ohesbro." 

John  Harlow's  courage  was  superb, 
sufficient  even  for  the  shrinking  girl  by 
his  side.  For  a  moment  Mrs.  Chesbro 
was  too  stunned  to  speak ;  then  consterna- 
tion gave  way  to  indignation.  But  before 
she  could  gasp  out  a  word,  Mrs.  Raymond 
changed  the  course  of  events  by  saying 
in  a  tone  of  quiet  acceptance  of  facts : 

"Mary,  you  aren't  going  to  let  me  be 
the  first  to  congratulate  these  blessed 
children !" 

"Oh,  mother,"  the  blushing  girl  pleaded 
with  her  arms  around  the  offended  figure. 
"You  need  John  just  as  much  as  I  do. 
Won't  you  accept  him?" 

This  soft  appeal  won  where  nothing  else 
would,  and  looking  into  the  kind,  manly 
face  of  the  conqueror,  Mrs.  Chesbro,  to 
the  astonishment  of  herself,  no  less  than 
the  others,' found  herself  saying: 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  that  I  will." 


;       •••-•" 

-^" 


BY    W.    B.    COMPTON 


WHITE  smoke  puffed  from  hid- 
den places  in  the  thick  brush 
under  the  green  foliage  of 
flowering  Ylang  Ylang  trees,  and  the  ping 
of  pellets  from  insurgent  Mausers 
sounded  dangerously  near. 

Captain  Harwood  looked  across  a  clear- 
ing, and  in  hectic  language  growled  that 
he  could  never  see  the  chocolate  colored 
devils  until  it  was  time  to  use  the  bayo- 
net 

With  three  companies  of  infantry,  he 
had  been  sent  on  a  strategic  mission. 
Keeping  but  five  men  with  him  at  his 
point  of  observation,  the  rest  were  de- 
ployed through  the  thick  underbrush  to 
route  the  enemy  from  an  adjacent  jungle- 
belted  hill.  The  soldiers  had  vanished  in 
the  forest  five  minutes  before,  and  in  the 
stillness  that  followed,  death  was  creeping 
through  the  woods  and  lurking  in  the 
Ylang  Ylang  scented  air. 

The  tension  was  a  test  of  nerve  for 
those  who  waited  with  ears  strained  to 
catch  the  sound  of  an  expected  fusillade, 
and  there  were  moments  when  visions  of 
home  and  dear  ones  flashed  on  their 
minds.  How  good  it  was  to  be  alive ! 
Never  had  the  sky  been  so  blue  nor  the 
earth  so  resplendent  in  color!  Xature 
presented  charms  withheld  until  that  mo- 
ment! 

Captain  Harwood,  in  the  commanding 
pose  of  a  young  soldier  military  to  the 
core,  stood  aloof,  apparently  scanning 
the  intervening  space  and  the  jungle  be- 
yond, but  his  blue  eyes  lacked  their  usual 
steely  glint  and  were  focussed  on  nothing. 
There  was  in  them  the  dreamy  look  of 
one  who  reflects  and  is  troubled  in  con- 
science. 

He  turned  to  his  bugler.  In  the  proud, 
refined  features  and  hauteur  of  manner 
that  isolated  Bugler  Milton  from  the  rest 
of  the  company,  there  was  something 
which,  to  Captain  Harwood,  was  attrac- 
tive. A  sense,  a  feeling  of  once  having 
known  him  was  roused  by  the  musically 
modulated  voice,  but  his  memory  failed 


in  its  effort  to  recall  when  or  where.  Mil- 
ton had  taken  the  place  of  the  regular 
bugler,  who  had  died  in  the  field  hospital, 
in  the  care  of  the  Eed  Cross  nurses. 

"Milton,"  said  the  Captain,  "if  you 
ever  get  out  of  this  alive,  I  want  you  to 
carry  a  message  to  a  little  girl  in  San 
Francisco.  I — I — Well,  I  deserted  her! 
Xow  while  those  mahogany  colored  sons 
of  hell  are  ripping  holes  through  the  at- 
mosphere, I  can  think  only  of  her!  I 
want  to  live!  I  want  to  see  that  little 
girl  again  because  I  love  her !  Carry  these 
my  last  words  to  her." 

"Captain  Harwood,"  said  Milton,  with 
agitation,  "I  cannot  carry  such  a — mes- 
sage— to— to  the  girl  that  you  love !  Your 
fall  will  mark  the  end  of  the  march  for 
me." 

The  Captain,  though  inspired  to  gentle- 
ness by  that  indefinable  something  in  the 
speech  and  manner  of  the  bugler,  ad- 
hered to  his  military  training. 

"Bugler  Milton !"  he  said,  sternly,  "you 
have  your  orders!  It  is  a  soldier's  duty 
to  do  and  live.  Your  service  will  be 
greater." 

"Your  orders,  Captain  Harwood,  shall 
be  respected,  but  the  name  of  the  lady  you 
have  not  confided  to  me !" 

"Her  name  is — Alicia  Allendale!" 

Milton's  face  went  white  and  the  bugle 
dropped  from  his  grasp. 

"Is  she  anything  to  you?"  asked  the 
officer  roughly. 

"My  twin  sister,  in  my  clothes — my 
double!  I  am  Jack  Allendale,  whom  in 
civil  life  you  have  never  met!  Milton  is 
my  military  name,  chosen  to  avert  sus- 
picion." 

"And  your  purpose?" 

"To  avenge  my  sister!"   - 

"Did  she  know  of  your  intention?" 

"Xo!  She  wanted  me  to  be  near  you, 
that  I  might  aid  you  in  times  of  distress 
and  danger." 

"Where  is  your  sister  now?" 

"Somewhere  in  the  field.  She  is  a  Eed 
Cross  nurse." 


454 


OVERLAID  MONTHLY. 


A  bugle  call  was  heard,  followed  by 
rifle  fire  in  volleys. 

The  boys  in  brown  had  broken  from 
cover  and  were  storming  the  entrench- 
ments on  the  crest  of  the  hill.  They  were 
seen  in  perfect  alignment  rushing  up  the 
heights,  stopping  at  regular  intervals, 
when  a  line  of  white  'smoke,  followed  by 
the  crack  of  firearms,  told  that  a  volley 
had  been  fired,  and  many  an  inert  form 
left  on  the  firing  line  showed  where  a 
hero  had  died. 

Some  insurgent  sharp-shooters,  who 
had  flanked  the  movement  of  the  attack- 
ing party,  discovered  Captain  Harwood's 
position,  and  their  bullets  pinged  through 
the  foliage.  Allendale  was  hit. 

"Just  a  flesh  wound,  Captain,"  said  the 
bugler,  at  the  look  of  consternation  in 
Captain  Harwood's  face. 

"Your  life  is  precious,  boy!"  said  the 
Captain,  spreading  his  military  coat  in  a 
depression  of  the  ground  where  he  gently 
forced  tihe  bugler  to  recline,  and  helped 
him  to  a  position  of  ease,  his  head  pil- 
lowed on  the  proffered  coat  of  a  soldier. 

Duty  as  commanding  officer  compelled 
Captain  Harwood  to  leave  the  wounded 
man  and  resume  his  position  of  vigilance. 
He  saw  his  men  take  the  entrenchments, 
and  then  it  was  that  he  discovered  the  ruse 
of  the  enemy. 

Leaving  but  a  few  sharp  shooters,  the 
main  body  of  insurgents,  which  greatly 
outnumbered  the  Americans,  abandoned 
the  trenches  in  two  divisions  and  wore 
skirting  the  hill  on  either  side,  muking  a 
flanking  movement  down  iwo  unknown 
ravines  that  would  give  them  a  position  at 
the  base  of  the  hill  cutting  off  the  retreat 
of  the  Americans,  and  which  meant  anni- 
hilation unless  they  could  be  watned  of 
their  danger. 

"The  retreat,  boy,   quick!      Can     you 


sound  the  retreat  so  that  it  will  be  heard 
by  our  boys  on  that  hill?     They  will  all 
be  dead  in  ten  minutes,  if  you  cannot1" 
"Baise  me  up,"  said  Allendale,  weak- 

iy. 

Captain  Harwood,  sinking  to  one  knee, 
raised  him  to  a  recumbent  position,  and 
with  his  head  and  shoulders  resting  on  the 
Captain's  breast,  Allendale  endeavored  to 
raise  the  bugle  to  his  lips,  but  twice  it- 
sank  to  his  side  ere  he  sent  the  musical 
notes  ringing  through  the  hills. 

The  field  glasses  of  Captain  Harwood 
were  fastened  on  his  men.  "Well  done, 
boy !"  he  cried  when  he  saw  them  rushing 
down  the  hill. 

Though  the  insurgents  had  the  start, 
they  were  traveling  circuitous  routes, 
while  the  Americans  had  a  straight  run 
down  the  hill.  It  looked  a  losing  race. 
The  boys  in  brown  had  disappeared  in  a 
belt  of  jungle.  Captain  Harwood  thought 
they  would  never  get  through. 

The  insurgent  forces  were  now  des-- 
perately  near  the  coveted  position  when 
the  Americans,  emerging  from  the  woods, 
reached  it  first  and  formed  in  time  to 
pour  a  withering  cross-fire  into  the  insur- 
gent ranks,  and  those  that  were  not  killed 
were  scattered  in  flight. 

"Wiell  done,  boy!"  again  cried  Captain 
Harwood. 

Allendale  made  no  reply. 

The  Captain  lowered  his  glasses  and 
looked  down  at  the  figure  reclining 
against  his  breast.  A  sodden  red  spot 
was  dripping  crimson  drops  from  the  bug- 
ler's side.  Gently,  Captain  Harwood  laid 
him  back  and  pillowed  his  head  on  the 
folded  coat.  He  tore  the  shirt  from  the 
bugler's  wound,  and  when  the  boys  in 
brown  came  back,  Captain  Harwood  was 
kneeling  over  a  girl's  still  form,  wrapped 
in  the  American  flag. 


BY    G.    L.    F. 

A  tree's  limbs  out-thrown 
In  charcoal  drawn 

'Thwart  the  sky ; 
Stiff  clouds  pennant-wise 
Straight  blown 
By  the  wind 

Black  horse  gaunt  framed 
Flings  by. 


Presenting 
May's 

Actresses 

and 
Actors 


Miss  Janet  Burton,  who  is  to  appear  in  San  Francisco  with  Anna  He. 


Marie  Merle  at  the  Alcazar  Theatre,  San  Francisco 


Miss   Anna  Held,   in  the   "Parisian   Model,"    soon   to  appear  in  Oakland 
and   San   Francisco. 


Lilian  Russell,  who  will  show  in  comedy  in  San   Francisco   in  the  near 
future. 


Miss  Jessie  Howe,  with  Anna  Held  1n  "The  Parisian  Model. 


0  malrfy  llj?  r0nt 
gr0m,  0r  ttj? 
a0ma  art;    10 


^K^ 


0r 


10  r^ab,  to  llftnh,  10 


ttjtttgs   tljat 


labn  Kusbiti. 


• 


• 


.->•  ~^. 

,- 


[BYI.BUNKER    KLUEGER 


4  £  "f  T  ^S  James  sent  in     any     word 
about  the  ponies?"  asked  Mar- 
tin, as  he  came  into  the  break- 
fast room  on  the  morning  of  the  game. 
"The  last  I  saw  of  him  he  was  bringing 
in  your  riding  boots,  all  polished  for  the 
fray,"  his  sister  answered. 

"Guess  they're  all  right  then.  Can't 
make  up  my  mind  which  one  to  take.  I'm 
disappointed  about  Charcoal.  Not  one 
of  our  fellows  can  beat  him,  and  I'm 
sure  the  Kanai  fellows  couldn't.  Only 
trouble  is,  he's  played  out  on  me  twice  in 
the  last  three  weeks,  and  I  don't  dare 
count  on  him.  Granting  he  didn't  get 
hurt,  it's  not  a  sure  thing  he'd  be  good 
for  a  period.  It'll  be  safest,  anyway,  to 
take  the  others.  They're  all  pretty  fast 
anyhow,  and  good  for  two  periods  if  I 
alternate;  so  with  four  of  them,  I'll  be 
armed  for  anything.  By  the  way,  Helen, 
what  are  you  going  to  drive  out  in,  or 
haven't  you  decided?"  and  with  this  ques- 
tion he  passed  his  cup  to  his  sister.  She 
was  a  pretty  girl,  and  even  in  the  ab- 
sorption of  the  occasion,  George  Martin 
recognized  it,  and  his  heart  warmed. 
"Don't  you  want  to  ride  Charcoal  your- 


self?" he  suggested.  She  flushed  with 
pleasure. 

"I'd  like  to  take  him.  Do  you  think 
you  could  trust  me  to  be  good  to  him?" 

"Course  you  can  take  him,  and  you 
needn't  be  too  good  to  him,  either.  He's 
all  right,  only  there's  just  the  chance  he 
mightn't  be  good  for  a  period  of  steady 
work,  and  we  can't  afford  to  run  any 
chances  to-day.  Those  Kanai  fellows  are 
going  to  work  us  hard.  They  came  out 
on  the  field  just  as  we  went  off  yesterday 
for  practice.  Their  mallet  work  is  great. 
They've  a  fine  string  of  horses,  too.  Only 
fault  is,  they've  too  much  ginger.  Adams 
has  the  best  of  the  string.  Mighty  hard 
luck,  though,  in  the  practice  yesterday 
he  lamed  his  stand-by-^strained  the  ten- 
dons so  that  he's  done  for.  It  leaves  him 
only  three,  and  let  one  of  them  get 
knocked  out,  and  his  chances  aren't  good. 
Adams  is  a  right  good  fellow.  By  the 
way,  why  not  have  him  up  to  dinner  some 
night  before  the  team  goes  home  ?  Didn't 
you  meet  him  that  summer  you  spent 
with  his  cousin?  Guess  you  haven't  seen 
him  since,  have  you?  You  can  get  rem- 
iniscent if  conversation  lags.  Well,  Char- 


462 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


coal  for  you,  then,  at  one-thirty.  James 
will  take  my  ponies  out  this  morning  and 
put  them  in  the  club  stables,  so  they'll 
be  all  fresh  for  the  game." 

After  George  Martin  went  out  to  look 
after  his  horses,  his  sister  stayed  long  over 
her  coffee,  thinking  of  the  summer  on 
Kanai  that  her  brother  had  brought  to 
mind,  recalling  especially  the  man  she 
had  come  to  know  rather  well  in  those 
months. 

When  Helen  mounted  Charcoal  that  af- 
ternoon he  was  puzzled.  When  he  turned 
into  the  road  that  led  to  the  polo  field 
he  was  more  so.  Sure  of  his  destination, 
his  interest  was  thoroughly  roused,  but 
he  dared  not  show  it.  The  groom  and  Mar- 
tin had  long  since  taught  him  the  way 
to  go  to  the  polo  field — just  to  get  there, 
and  that  was  all.  The  time  to  show  him- 
self would  come  later.  So  when  his  rider 
did  not  hurry  him  he  was  quite  content 
to  fifo  peacefully  and  in  order. 

The  road  ran  through  a  narrow  en- 
trance, under  broad  monkey-pods,  past  a 
corral  and  group  of  low  cottages,  and  af- 
ter many  twists  and  turns,  came  out  unon 
the  broad  floor  of  the  valley.  Clear 
stretches  of  closely  mowed  land  ran  down 
•  to  the  broken  line  of  boulders  along  the 
edge  of  the  creek,  and  the  springy  turf 
that  met  the  gray  macadam  on  each  side, 
changed  beyond  into  cattle  grass  that  cov- 
ered the  rolling  land  to  the  foot  of  the 
ridge.  White  cloud  banks  rested  on  the 
crest  of  the  mountains,  and  broken 
masses  drifted  across  a  sky  that  was  very 
blue.  The  sunlight  was  tempered  into 
comfort  by  a  steady  breeze  from  the 
mountains. 

Presently  a  cut  through  a  line  of  hum- 
mocks brought  Helen  out  upon  a  flat — 
the  polo  field.  It  was  in  solid  turf,  a  low- 
running  board  around  the  edges,  the  goals 
tied  with  streamers  of  red  and  blue.  The 
broad  drive  circling  the  field  was  already 
filled  with  traps  and  turn-outs  of  every 
description.  Teams,  substitutes  and  offi- 
cials were  lounging  about,  some  of  them 
giving  their  fine,  clean-limbed  little  pon- 
ies a  try-out  across  the  grass. 

The  referee's  whistle  brought  the  men 
back  on  the  field.  They  lined  up  in  a 
close  knot,  holding  down  fresh  mounts, 
gripping  their  mallets  tightly,  while  the 
horses  "watched  with  as  much  eagerness  as 
the  players  for  the  ball.  The  referee 


threw  it  into  the  center,  the  fresh  white  of 
a  new  ball  plain  against  the  green,  and 
the  play  was  on. 

When  the  last  period  of  the  game  was 
about  to  begin,  the  score  stood  one  to  one 
and  a  half  in  favor  of  the  home  team. 
From  the  network  of  carriages  on  the 
drive  there  was  not  a  sound.  In  run- 
abouts, in  traps,  in  tally-hos,  women  stood 
and  waited,  their  light  gowns  and  flow- 
ered hats  drooping  and  moist  from  the 
shower  that  swept  across  the  valley.  It 
was  the  supreme  moment  of  the  game. 
When  the  men  came  out  there  were 
mounts  for  the  home  team  waiting  at  the 
side-lines,  but  the  Kanais  to  a  man  were 
riding  their  last  horses.  Score  and  horses 
taken  together,  the  situation  was  desper- 
ate for  Kanai.  Yet  Atkins,  Captain  of 
the  blue  shirts,  had  said  in  his  last  in- 
structions : 

"''They're  up  against  it  for  horses,  and 
we're  a  half  point  ahead,  but  Adams  is 
a  determined  beggar  and  he  can  nerve 
his  men  to  anything.  We  can't  afford  the 
smallest  sort  of  a  let-up  anywhere,  and 
for  heaven's  sake  let  no  man  make  a  foul." 

And  five  minutes  after  the  referee  had 
thrown  in  the  ball,  No.  2  of  Atkins's  men 
had  fouled.  On  the  score  board  a  small 
Portuguese  boy  took  down  the  fraction, 
so  that  the  reading  was  one  to  one.  An- 
other line-up,  another  scrimmage;  Adams 
waiting  on  the  outside  found  his  chance, 
and  with  a  splendid  stroke  sent  the  ball 
fifty  yards  towards  his  goal.  Following 
hard  to  cover  it,  he  saw  a  blue  shirt  riding 
him  off.  They  were  both  going  hard,  and 
neither  reined  to  avert  the  crash.  After 
an  instant,  the  men  came  out  of  the  heap. 
The  blue  shirt  had  lost  his  stirrup,  but 
he  jumped  his  saddle  and  was  off.  No 
such  good  fortune  for  Adams.  He  got 
his  horse  un  and  mounted.  The  beast 
would  not  stir.  He  spurred  him  hard, 
lashed  him  with  his  ^olo  mallet.  For  an- 
swer he  got  only  a  trot.  Adams  groaned. 
The  Kanais  were  gone — three  men  could 
not  so  much  as  hold  the  score  down.  His 
last  horse — curse  the  luck  of  it.  He  came 
to  the  side-lines  disheartened,  beaten,  and 
he  looked  up  to  meet  Hejen  Martin's 
eves.  In  a  flash  she  bent  toward  him. 

"Here,  Mr.  Adams,"  she  said,  excited- 
ly, "take  my  mount.  He's  Charcoal,  TTOU 
know,"  she  urged,  as  he  looked  his  amaze- 
ment. 


IX  THE  CAMP  OF  THE  ENEMY. 


463 


"Quick,  take  him;  he's  good  for  it," 
and  she  was  off  her  horse  as  she  spoke. 

He  stood  hesitating.     "But,"  he  began. 

"Go,  go!"  she  commanded. 

There  was  no  time  for  Adams  to  gather 
his  thoughts  together.  He  sprang  into 
the  saddle,  and  Charcoal  galloped  off  in 
unrestrained  delight..  The  horse  knew  the 
game  and  loved  it.  He  was  fresh  for  his 
work,  and  it  was  just  the  situation  to  run 
in  on — the  ball  well  toward  the  home 
goal,  with  a  blue  shirt  having  it  all  to 
himself — one  stroke  and  the  fellow  could 
put  it  between  the  posts. 


saddle,  held  him.  A  swift  stroke  and  he 
made  the  ball.  It  was  a  spectacular  play 
and  the  crowd  gasped  at  his  nerve.  One 
more  stroke  and  he  would  make  a  goal. 
The  whole  field  was  on  Him,  pressing  hard, 
his  own  men  to  make  it  if  he  failed,  the 
others  to  back  stroke  it  into  their  own  ter- 
ritory. Neck  to  neck  with  Adams  dashed 
one  of  the  blue  shirts.  Charcoal's  blood 
was  up ;  every  muscle  strained ;  he  spurted 
and  gained  a  length.  Almost  under  his 
nose  rolled  the  ball.  Adams  made  a  clean 
drive  square  between  the  posts. 

The   crowd   went   wild.     Men   cheered 


The  judges'   box. 

Adams  caught  him,  and  leaning  well 
over  on  the  left,  cut  in  with  a  strong 
back  stroke,  made  it,  reined  up  Charcoaf, 
and  was  following  up  his  ball  before  his 
opponent  could  stop  his  horse.  One  of 
Kanai's  men  picked  it  up  and  drove  it 
down  for  another  thirty  yards.  Charcoal 
was  in  his  element.  All  there  was  in  him 
went  into  his  gallop.  He  swerved  to  one 
side  to  avoid  being  ridden  off,  and  the 
spectators  held  their  breath.  Would  it 
cost  Adams  his  play?  At  the  moment  of 
the  swerve,  his  rider  reached  far  out  till 
only  his  left  spur,  dug  into  the  seat  of  the 


and  women  waved  parasols.  But  by  the 
time  the  teams  left  the  field,  the  specta- 
tors had  settled  into  a  state  of  coherent 
congratulations. 

When  the  first  rush  was  over,  Martin 
came  over  to  Adams. 

"Well,  old  man,  you  and  Helen  turned 
my  own  guns  on  me,  didn't  you?  Don't 
blame  you  a  bit — serves  me  right  for  not 
taking  Charcoal  myself.  Go  over  and  tell 
her  we'll  wait  till  the  crowd  gets  out,  and 
then  all  three  of  us  will  ride  home  to- 
gether." 

The  brother  overtook  them  half  an  hour 


464 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


later,  and  they  were  starting  down  the 
road.  He  looked  at  them  with  apparent 
carelessness.  Adams,  with  his  muddy  rid- 
ing trousers  and  boots,  red  shirt  and  bare 
head,  looked  every  bit  the  splendid  fellow 
he  was.  And  Helen — she  was  good  to 
look  upon  in  her  trim  black  skirt,  white 
waist  and  stock. 

"Sorry  to  go  off  in  'such  a  hurry,"  said 


Martin,  abut  I'm  due  in  town  in  half  an 
hour."  Then  he  looked  up  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye. 

"I'm  coming  home  after  awhile  to  take 
an  inventory  of  my  belongings.  You  may 
be  running  off  with  something  else." 

Adams  met  his  eye  firm  and  square. 
Then  he  looked  at  Helen. 

"I  intend  to,"  he  answered. 


BY    H.    W.    NOYES 

Manila !     Drowsing  'neath  the  burning  noon, 
Between  the  Pasig  and  the  Tropic  Bay, 
Where  Magellan's  ships  at  anchor  lay 

Becalmed,  as  vassals  to  the  changing  moon. 
We  found  thee  as  three  centuries  ago, 
When  Spanish  galleons  plied  to  and  fro. 

Thy  walls  are  razed !    Wlhat  is  it  that  shall  stand 
Since  these  are  fallen  that  were  so  secure  ? 
They  vanish — but  their  fancies  shall  endure 

To  charm  the  martial  lore  of  stranger  land 

When  we,  the  Vanguard  of  an  Empire  brave, 
Lie  long  forgotten — in  an  alien  grave. 

Yet  may  we  dream — dream  of  a  purer  light, 
And  fairer  limning  of  the  vista  here, 
When  abler  hands  shall  draw  in  focus  near 

The  visions  of  great  treasures  out  of  sight — 

Dream  of  an  end  in  view — and  something  done, 
A  .counting  kept,  a  balance  to  be  won. 

There  is  a  growth  that  springs  from  all  decay, 
And  parables  from  worldly  lessons  learned 
Of  histories  from  yesterday  returned; 

Mananas  that  were  but  as  yesterday; 

But  time  alone  the  truth  shall  ever  glean 
Through  all  the  endless  years,  Luzon,  fair  dream ! 


BY    J.    E.    CARNE 


MUCH  has  been  written  and  said 
about  the  Tundra  Beach,  where 
for  years  men  numerous  as  ants 
delved  and  burrowed  and  dug  and  threw 
up  their  little  mounds  of  sand.     But  of 
its  many  other  features,  curious  and  pleas- 
ing, we  hear  but  little. 

How  few  there  are,  indeed,  who  know 
that  this  Tundra,  which  borders  upon 
the  Arctic  Circle,  is  in  summer,  brighter 
with  flowers  than  the  most  favored  spots 
afield  in  California,  or  that  vegetation 
grows  there  more  rapidly  than  within  the 
tropic  zone. 

This  Tundra  is  an  islanded  bog,  which- 
lies  between  the  stony  hills  to  the  east 
and  the  rolling  breakers  of  Bering  Sea. 
It  is  a  narrow  strip  of  about  six  miles  in 
width,  which  extends  along  the  shores  of 
Cape  Nome,  northward ;  and  preserves  the 
same  general  appearance  for  hundreds  of 
miles. 

Its  islands  are  very  small,  and  perhaps 
should  more  properly  be  termed  islets. 
By  the  natives  they  are  called  "Nigger 
Heads."  They  are  cones  of  dry  peat, 
which  rise  out  of  the  mud,  and  vary  in 
size,  most  of  them  being  no  larger  than  an 
inverted  bee  hive. 

The  melting  snows  of  June  leave  the 
Tundra  a  quivering  area  of  black  mud, 
out  of  which  the  cone-like  islets  alone 
rise  to  afford  a  precarious  footing,  and 
make  traveling  possible,  but  slow  and  tire- 
some. Later  in  the  season,  however,  it 
drains  somewhat,  and  sustains  a  luxuriant 
growth  of  rich  forage  grass. 

A  thousand  tiny  lakes  dot  its  green  sur- 
face. Eivers,  wide  and  still  and  deep, 
wind  among  willow-covered  islands,  and 
over  white  pebbles  on  its  journey  from  the 
moss  covered  hills,  to  the  sea.  The  ponds 
are  a  playground  for  great  flocks  of  wild 
fowl,  which  scream  among  the  reeds, 
while  schools  of  fish  lurk  in  every  pool.. 

It  is  the  month  of  July,  and  a  brood- 
ing stillness  rests  upon  both  sea  and  land, 
broken  only  by  the  intermittent  roar  of- 
the  breakers.  These  alone  show  action ! 


All  the  sea  else  beyond  is  as  calm  as  a 
mountain  lake.  Bering  Sea  is  always 
thus  tranquil  during  the  summer  months, 
from  June  to  August.  There  is  no  swell, 
no  tide,  no  movement,  except  where  the 
rollers  evolve  out  of  the  depths,  and  land- 
ward move  in  tremendous  waves.  They 
rise  out  of  the  still  water  a  short  distance 
off  shore,  and  forming  in  parallel  columns 
of  seven  deep,  like  a  great  blue  squadron, 
with  white  pennons  flying,  advance  upon 
the  land.  Their  approach  is  slow,  silent 
and  majestic.  At  a  given  point  they 
gracefully  curve  until  the  center  is  a  hol- 
low cylinder  of  air,  which  from  the  in- 
creasing weight  of  its  onward  movement, 
explodes  as  the  wave  turns  over.  On 
breaking,  the  crest  of  the  wave  is  shattered 
into  hissing  fragments  of  white  and  scat- 
tered foam. 

These  combers  do  not  generally  reach 
quite  to  the  beach,  but  on  breaking  a  few 
yards  out,  immediately  subside  into  the 
most  playful  of  waves  and  gentle  gurglets. 

To  pass  this  line  of  curling  waves  is  at 
all  times  most  dangerous,  for  either  a  boat 
is  crushed  by  the  impact  of  falling  water 
or  is  overturned  and  imprisoned  within 
its  concave  and  arching  walls. 

Bering  Sea  differs  from  other  seas  in 
this  respect  of  having  but  one  tide  a  day, 
and  it  is  so  weak  that  a  strong  wind  will 
keep  back  the  flood  altogether,  often  caus- 
ing the  anomaly  of  ebbing  waters,  when 
by  all  the  laws  of  ocean  and  salt  sea,  they 
should  landward  flow. 

Fronting  the  beach,  the  Tundra  forms 
a  terrace,  supported  by  a  wall  of  earth 
and  clay,  which  extends  along  the  shore 
line  far  as  eye  can  see.  Its  elevation  of 
about  fifteen  feet,  serves  to  keep  back  the 
angry  tide  of  furious  storms,  which  other- 
wise would  sweep  across  to  the  distant 
hills.  The  beach  is  in  most  places  very 
narrow,  not  more  than  fifty  yards  in 
width,  from  flood  of  tide  to  the  earthy 
barrier  beyond. 

This  wall  of  the  Tundra,  while  steep  as 
a  cliff,  has  many  faults,  slopes  and  benches 


466 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


caused  by  the  slipping  of  the  soil.  There 
are  also  numerous  small  gullies  and  open- 
ings from  the  beach  to  its  higher  level, 
through  each  of  which  there  spurts  a  tiny 
rill  or  cascade  of  tumbling  and  flowing 
sunlit  water. 

Early  in  the  month  of  June,  long  be- 
fore the  snows  have  melted  from  the  Tun- 
dra above,  this  earthy  cliff  is  green  with 
grass  and  bright  with  flowers.  Wild  Cel- 
ery, lettuce  and  many  other  edible  roots 
and  plants  grow  there  abundantly,  of  a 
kind  found  nowhere  else  in  that  region, 
as  do  strawberries  and  the  modest  violet, 
which  nestles  among  the  protecting  tufts 
of  grass.  In  fact,  this  ragged  wall  of  rich 
green  sward,  which  smiles  down  upon 
the  laughing  sea,  possesses  a  zone  of 
warmth  more  properly  belonging  to  a 
climate  farther  south.  Its  flora  and  plant 
life  are  in  many  respects  peculiar  to  it- 
self, producing  all  that  grows  upon  Tun- 
dra level  or  dry  upland  reaches,  with  many 
other  varieties  found  elsewhere,  only  in 
climes  hundreds  of  miles  farther  south. 
The  wild  celery  is  of  most  delicate  texture 
flavor,  and  we  used  it  liberally  in  cooking 
pork  and  beans.  Besides  being  healthful, 
as  a  gentle  laxative,  it  imparted  a  deli- 
cious sweetness  to  our  food,  like  that  of 
nuts.  It  gave  us.  also  an  abundance  of 
vegetables  in  a  country  where  it  is  gener- 
ally supposed  that  nothing  grows  but  moss 
and  lichens.  Yet  strange  as  it  may  ap- 
pear, hundreds  of  complaining  miners 
paid  exorbitant  prices  for  any  kind  of 
vegetable,  or  became  ill  with  scurvy,  when 
the  means  of  avoiding  it  grew  plentifully 
on  the  sunny  slopes  of  the  Tundra  ter- 
race. 

These  northern  shores  are  entirely  de- 
void of  trees;  nothing  grows  there  of 
larger  girth  than  a  broom  stick.  And  yet 
the  Tundra  Beach  is  more  densely  wooded 
than  an  Equatorial  forest.  Great  trunks 
of  trees  with  interlacing  branches  lie  -upon 
and  cross  each  other  in  the  most  prodigal 
confusion. 

I  do  not  mean  live  and  growing  trees, 
but  their  dead  trunks  and  lifeless  parts, 
which  are  buried  in  the  sands  to  a  depth 
of  more  than  twenty  feet. 

Where  they  come  from  is  a  conjecture ! 
Perhaps  the  great  Yukon,  or  the  rivers  of 
Northern  Asia,  first  brought  them  to  deep 
water,  and  then  the  action  of  wind  and 
wave  cast  tree  and  branch  upon  the  beach, 


burying  them  beneath  the  sands,  with  the 
flux  of  tides  and  storms. 

Another  feature  of  this  interesting  Tun- 
dra Beach  are  its  auriferous  ruby  sands, 
of  which  so  much  has  been  written.  The 
surface  sands  of  this  beach  are  white 
like  the  sands  of  a  common  beach,  but 
below  its  exterior,  at  a  varying  depth  of  a 
few  feet,  are  strata  of  "ruby"  sand,  alter- 
nating with  the  ordinary  beach  sand.  The 
veins  of  "ruby"  range  in  thickness  from 
that  of  a  knife-blade  to  about  eight  inches 
and  are  rich  in  gold. 

The  ruby  sands  are  iron  pyrites,  which 
have  oxydized  by  the  action  of  salt  water, 
and  changed  from  the  usual  "black  iron" 
to  ruby  red  rust,  with  which  the  gold  has 
intermingled,  but  did  not  chemically 
unite,  leaving  it  "free  gold,"  which  can 
be  collected  and  saved  by  the  primitive 
"rocker." 

The  two  metals,  gold  and  red  iron,  hav- 
ing a  specific  gravity  much  heavier  than 
the  remaining  sands,  became  concentrated 
by  the  action  of  storms  and  waves  in  the 
manner  I  have  described.  In  fact,  the 
waves  for  power,  combining  with  the  com- 
mon sands,  have  acted  similarly  to  the 
concentrator  of  a  great  mining  plant. 
Acting  in  much  the  same  manner  as  do 
the  "side  percussion  tables,"  which  con- 
centrate the  silver  copper  ores  of  Butte, 
Montana,  and  the  "Frue  Vanner,"  as  it 
operates  in  the  gold  mills  of  California. 

The  Tundra  Proper. 

Sloping  to  the  Tundra  on  the  east,  are 
a  range  of  little  hills,  among  which  are 
found  the  richest  placers  in  Alaska;  and 
I  have  no  doubt  but  that  the  beach  gold 
came  originally  from  that  source.  Be- 
yond are  the  mountains,  whose  rocks  and 
crags  never  saw  the  light  of  day  or  felt 
the  warmth  of  summer  sun,  for  there  the 
snows  are  eternal,  and  cover  the  earth  with 
its  white  mantle,  firmly  riveted  to  our 
planet  with  bolts  of  glacial  ice. 

The  Tundra,  specifically  speaking,  is  in 
summer  a  morass,  a  quagmire,  with  but  a 
foot  of  dry  earth,  to  many  yards  of  sloppy 
mud  or  mushy  marsh  grass.  It  has,  how- 
ever, small  areas  of  slightly  elevated 
ground,  where  red  flowers  blaze,  and  ber- 
ries grow  in  wildest  profusion.  In  the 
middle  of  July,  it  presents  a  .scene  as  of  a 
waving  grain  field,  in  harvest  fullness, 
and  yellow  sheen.  In  frequently  recurring 


THE   TUXDKA   OF   ALASKA. 


467 


spots  are  acres  and  acres  of  the  scarlet 
and  yellow  salmon  berry,  varying  in  color 
according  to  their  degree  of  ripeness. 

This  fruit  is  in  size  and  appearance  like 
a  raspberry,  grafted  upon  a  strawberrv 
vine.  Its  texture  is  that  of  a  blackberry, 
while  its  flavor  is  a  combination  of  the 
three  berries  mentioned.  As  a  berry,  its 
qualities  are  novel  and  striking,  being  an 
amalgamation  of  properties  not  found  in 
any  other  fruit  in  America.  Like  the 
blackberry,  the  unripe  fruit  is  red,  and 
becomes  yellow  with  maturity.  The  berry 
is  most  delicate  and  fragile,  continuing 
but  for  a  single  day  of  ripeness,  then  turns 
pale  and  drops  off.  It  rests  upon  a  slen- 
der stem  about  three  inches  from  the 
ground,  and  taken  singly,  looks  like  a 
raspberry  stuck  upon  the  end  of  a  bodkin. 
The  leaves  creep  on  the  earth,  and  never 
rise  to  shade  the  berry. 

Beyond  this  region  of  marsh  and  pool, 
brake  and  fen,  often  as  unsubstantial  as 
the  islands  of  floating  celp,  which  some- 
times invade  the  bays  and  inlets  of  our 
southern  coast,  the  granite  hills,  not  yet 
rising  into  mountains,  are  a  moss-covered 
wilderness,  most  pleasing  to  behold. 

In  many  places,  by  the  side  of  purling 
brooks  and  sunlit  terraces,  it  is  like  a 
garden  conceived  by  art,  with  grass  and 
flowers,  and  buds  of  purple  that  wave  in 
the  valleys,  and  crimson  flowers  which 
smile  upon  the  hillside  steeps,  but  it  is 
treeless,  and  nothing  larger  than  a  scrub 
willow  grows,  for  hundreds  of  miles 
around. 

Among  these  hills,  the  blueberry  finds 
a  home  and  lives  out  its  little  life  of  fruit 
producing  usefulness  in  its  own  modest 
wav.  It  is.  however,  but  a  dwarfed  and 


degenerate  shrub,  and  creeps  among  the 
rocks  or  twines  among  the  moss,  like  a 
gourd  or  cucumber  vine,  quite  unlike  its 
cousins  in  Oregon,  which  stand  out  boldly 
in  a  forest  of  tall  bushes,  loaded  with  ber- 
ries as  large  as  mazards.  In  Idaho,  too, 
it  springs  lightly  upward  to  greet  the 
morning  sun,  all  spangled  with  pendent 
dew  drops  of  iridescent  light,  which  fall  to 
earth  with  each  rustling  breeze,  to  sprin- 
kle the  ground  with  its  dewy  coolness. 

The  climate  of  northern  Alaska,  from 
May  to  July,  is  ideal;  there  is  no  dark- 
ness, no  night,  and  vegetation  grows  with 
equatorial  rapidity.  The  buds  and  peep- 
ing grass  of  June  are  ripe  berries  and 
golden  harvest  ears  of  bending  northern 
grasses,  to  bid  farewell  to  the  departing 
July. 

There  are  no  clouds,  and  Bering  Sea 
is  as  quiet  as  a  mill  pond.  After  the 
month  of  July,  however,  the  solar  light, 
which  for  so  long  has  chased  the  gloom 
away,  pales  at  the  hour  of  midnight,  and 
moving  objects  appear  ghostly  and  spec- 
tral in  the  dim  and  uncertain  twilight, 
which  precedes  the  darkness  of  the  long 
winter  night. 

In  the  northland  the  snow  moss  gleams 
like  a  silver  star,  amid  the  prolific  and 
surrounding  green,  and  after  the  sunny 
month  of  July  has  passed,  sleeps  under 
sullen  skies,  which,  like  a  leaden  dome, 
rests  its  circumference  upon  earth  and  sea, 
and  at  its  central  point  seems  scarcely 
higher  from  the  ground  than  the  span  of 
a  steeple's  height;  while  in  the  south,  at 
eventide,  the  flaming  cactus  flowers  glow 
in  a  sea  of  .purple  light  and  crimson  fire, 
and  Heaven's  unobstructed  blue  reaches 
to  the  illimitable  stars  above. 


BY    LEORA    CURRY    SMITH 


By  a  rushing,  roaring  river, 

Where  the  wrnter.s  buows  are  cold, 
Where  the  water.?  J.-urry-scurry 

From  the  mountains  full  of  gold. 
Where  the  pine  trees  bend  and  beckon 

As  they  whisper  overhead. 
They  will  tell  you  still  this  legend, 

Of  a  maiden  long,  long  dead. 
How  she  grew  as  straight  and  stately 

As  the  graceful,  swaying  pine, 
How  her  eyes  as  bright  as  dew-drops 

Did  the  twinkling  stars  outshine. 
Light  as  thistle-down  her  heart  was, 

For  her  life  had  known  no  care. 
She,  of  all  the  old  chief's  daughters, 

Was  the  one  most  counted  fair. 
Black  as  raven's  wing  her  hair  was, 

Swift  as  antelope  her  feet, 
Cool  as  summer  winds  her  fingers, 

Soft  her  voice,  and  low  and  sweet, 
All  her  life  was  tuned  to  music 
.     Of  the  birds  and  winds  and  flowers, 
All  her  heart  was  full  of  laughter, 

As  the  days  are  full  of  hours. 
Till  one  day  a  tiny  shadow 

Seemed  to  fall  across  the  sky, 
First  so  small  she  scarcely  saw  it, 

But  it  grew  as  it  drew  nigh, 
.  Growing  larger,  growing  darker, 

Shutting  all  the  sun  away. 
She  was  learning  how  to  suffer, 

Learning  now,  to  her  dismay. 
There  had  come  a  handsome  stripling 

As  her  father's  honored  guest, 
He  she  deemed  of  all  the  world  was 

Far  the  handsomest  and  best. 
So  they  wondered  'neath  the  pine  trees, 

Where  they  plucked  the     sweet     wild- 
flowers, 
Or  they  rode  beside  the  river  . 

Through  the  speeding  happy  hours. 
So  he  wooed  her,  so  he  won  her. 

In  the  long,  bright,  summer  days, 
Telling  her  his  love  was  changeless 

As  into  her  eyes  he  gazed. 
But  when  once  her  heart  had  answered 

To  his  ardent  wooing  sweet, 
Forth  to  conquer  other  kingdoms 

Went  the  treacherous  flying  feet. 


But  at  first  she  could  not  doubt  him, 

And  she  held  her  fair  head  high — 
She,  the  handsome,  proud  chief's  daughter, 

That  they  might  not  hear  her  sigh. 
Might  not  know  the  bitter  sorrow 

That  was  eating  out  her  heart, 
Might  not  know  the  humbled  spirit 

That  was  now  her  life  a  part. 
Thus  the  season  sped  to  season, 

Till  she  knew  with  growing  pain, 
That  the  cruel,  faithless  lover, 

Never  would  come  back  again. 
In  her  troubled  heart  she  wished  not 

So  to  live  from  day  to  day, 
Knowing  neither  peace  or  quiet 

Since  her  false  love  went  away. 
So  the  gentle  Indian  maiden, 

Who  had  known  no  pain  or  care, 
Dressed  herself  in.  all  her  treasures, 

That  she  counted  rich  and  rare. 
In  her  shells  and  strings  of  bear  teeth, 

In  the  wampum  and  the  bead. 
Slipped  away  into  the  forest, 

There  to  do  the  fatal  deed. 
There  they  found  her,  swinging,  swaying 

When  at  last  they  went  to  seek, 
With  the  tears  like  frozen  diamonds 

Eesting  still  upon  her  cheek. 
Quickly  through  they  cut  the  bow  string 

That  had  held  her  to  the  limb, 
And  the  father  bent  with  anguish — 

Held  the  cold  face  close  to  him. 
Home  they  carried  her  in  sadness, 

And  they  laid  her  soon  away, 
Down  to  rest  among  her  people, 

Till  the  last  great  hunting  day. 
*  *  *  * 

N"ow  if  you  should  chance  to  wander 

Where  the  Indian  maiden  died, 
You  may  hear  her  sobbing,  crying, 

As  that  night  she  sobbed  and  cried. 
'Tis  the  wind,  the  white  man  tells  you, 

Sighing  in  the  boughs  above, 
But  the  Indians  know  far  better — 

'Tis  the  maid  who  died  of  love. 
There  they  say  her  gentle  spirit 

Moans  about  the  old  tree  still. 
That  they  hear  her  sobbing,  crying, 

As  she  always  has  and  will. 


Please    Mertion    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


ix 


Man's  Greatest  Pleasure 


His  truest  gratification,  everywhere  in  the  civilized 
world,  is  in  the  use  of 

PEARS'  SOAP 

Cleansing  —  soothing  —  invigorating,  it  gives  a 
freshness  and  beauty  to  the  skin,  a  glow  of 
health  to  the  body  —  satisfying  beyond  expression. 


the  Complexion 


OF  ALL  SCENTED  SOAPS  PEARS'  OTTO  OF  ROSE  IS   THE  BEST. 

"  All  rights  secured." 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 

(£H 


IRVING  INSTITUTE 

2 1 26-2 1 28  California  Street 

Boarding  and  Day  School  for  Girls 

Miss  Pinkham,  Miss  Mac  Lennan,  Principals 

San  Francisco  Telephone  West  844 


MANY  women  take  juft  this  stand  with  a  Soap 
Powder,  and  they're  wrong.  That  mistake  is 
costly— not  fatal ;  but  remembering  the  dangerous 
old-fashioned  Soap  Powders  and  the  many  danger- 
ous or  useless  new  ones,  they  say— away  I— I'll  not 
touch  a  Soap  Powder.  That  is  ignorance  personified. 
A  good  Soap  Powder  like  PEARL1NE  is  far  ahead 
of  any  bar  soap  for  perfect,  easy,  safe  washing. 
PEARLINE  spares  the  woman  and  saoes  the 
clothes,  because  it  washes  without  rubbing— and  rub- 
bing in  the  old-fashioned,  bar-soap  way  is  the  woman 
{filling  and  the  clothes  wrecking  part  of  washing. 


r>  ^V/T    J-       Q 

fearline-JVloaernooap 


THE  HAMLIN  SCHOOL  AND  VAN  NESS  SEMINARY 
2230  Pacific  Ave. 

For  particulars  address 

cTWISS  SARAH  D.  HAMLIN 

2230  Pacific  cA  venue, 
San  Francisco  Telephone  West  546 

The  Fall  term  will  open  August  12,   1907 


What,      School? 

WE  CAN  HELP  YOU  DECIDE 

Catalogues  and  reliable  information  concerning  all 
schools  and  colleges  furnished  without  charge.  State 
kind  of  school,  address: 

American     School     and     College      Agency 

384, 41  Park  Row,  New  York,  or  384,  3I5  Dearborn  St.,  Chicago 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Francisco  o 
Los  Angeles  buys  this  massive  Napol- 
eon bed  No.  03165  (worth  $55.)  Made 
in  beautifully  figured  Mahogany  or 
Quartered  Oak,  Piano  _  Polish  or  Dull 
finish  Dresser  and"  commode  to 
match  and  28  other  desirable  Suites 
in  our  FREE  catalogue. 


S9.90 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Fran- 
cisco or  Los  Angeles  buys  this 
artistic  Iron  Bed  No.  04081 
(worth  $15.)  Finished  any  color 
enamel  desired.  Vernis  Martin 
$2.00  extra.  46  other  styles  of 
Iron  and  Brass  Beds  from  $2.40 
to  $66.00  in  our  FREK  Catalogue 


Bishop    Furniture  Go. 


Grand  Rapids,  Mich 


Ship  anywhere  ''on  approval,"  allowing  furniture  in  your 
home  five  days  to  be  returned  at  our  expense  and  money  re- 
funded if  not  perfectly  satisfactory  and  all  you  expected. 

WE  SHIP  to  San  Francisco  and  Los  Angeles  in  Car  Load 
lots  and  reship  frwm  there  to  other  western  towns,  thus  se- 
curing lowest  carload  rates  for  our  customers.  Write  for  our 
FREE  catalogue,  state  articles  wanted  and  we  will  quote  pre- 


We  furnish  homes,  hotels, 
hospitals,  clubs  and  public 
buildings  complete. 


S24.50 

Freight  prepaid  to  San  Fran- 
cisco or  Los  Angeles.  Buys 
this  large,  luxnrk.u.  Colonial 
Rocker.  No.  04762  (worth  $40) 
covered  with  best  genuine 
leather.  Has  Quartered  Oak  or 
Mahogany  finish  rockers,  full 
Turkish  spring  seat  and  back. 
An  ornament  and  Gem  of  lux- 
ury and  comfort  in  any  home. 

93  other  styles  of  rockers 
from  $J.75  to  $70  in  our  FREE 
catalog. 


Our  FREE  catalogue 
good    to    the    best  ma- 


vs  over  1000  piece 
It  posts  you  on 


of  fashionable  fu 
tyles  and  prices. 


Bishop  Furniture  Go.  78-90  Ionia  St.,  Grand  Rapids,  Mich. 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Fran 
cisco  or  Los  Angeles  buys  this 
handsome  Buffet  No.  0500 
(worth  $55.00).  Made  of  Select 
Quartered  Oak,  piano  polish  or 
dull  finish.  Length  46  in., 
French  bevel  mirror  40x14  in. 
50  other  styles  of  Buffets  and 
Side  Boards  from  $10. 655  o  $150 
in  our  FREE  catalogue' 

ure  from  the  cheapest  that 
ite  for  it  Itoday. 


&28.50 


K  Freight  prepaid  to  San  Francisco  or  Los 
Angeles  buys  this  beautiful  High  grade 
Pedestal  Dining  Extention  Table  No.  0314 
(worth  $42.00.)  Made  of  select  Quartered 
Oak.  piano  polish  or  dull  finish.  Top  48 
in.  in  diameter,  has  perfect  locking  de- 
vice Seats  10  when  extended.  4  when 
closed,  37  other  styles  of  Dining  Tables 
from  $7.75  to  $103.00  in  our  FREE  cata- 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Francisco  or  I.ns 
Angeles  buys  this  large  high-grade  Lib- 
rary Table  No.  04314  [worth  $15.00].  Made 
of  select  figured  Quartered  Oak  with  piano 
polish.  Length  42  inches:  width  27  inches. 
Has  large  drawer.  For  Mahogany  add$2.25. 
39  other  styles  of  Library  and  Parlor  tables 
from  $2.40  to  $65  in  our  FREE  catalogue. 


Please    Mention    Overland     Monthly    In    Writing    to    Advertisers. 


xl 


,  more  than  any  other  dish  needs  careful  sea- 
soning.    It  is  rendered  more  appetizing  by 

Lea  &  Perrins9  Sauce 


THE  ORIGINAL  WORCESTERSHIRE 


It  is  a  delightful  seasoning  for  Scalloped  Oysters,  Broiled 
Lobster,  Cod  Fish  Balls  and  Steaks,  Deviled 


BEWARE  OF 
IMITATIONS. 


Clams,  Fish  Salads,  etc. 


John  Duncan's  Sons, 
Agents,      New  York. 


Where  Two  is   Company" 


Is  when  they"  are  comfortably 
seated  at  one  of  the  single  tables 

ENJOYING  THE  EXCELLENT 
DINING  CAR  SERVICE  OF  THE 
SALT  LAKE  ROUTE 

While  traveling  jwiftly  from 
Los  Angeles  to  the  East 
On    the  de  luxe 

LOS  ANGELES  LIMITED 

Running  Daily  solid  to  Chicago 
via  Salt  Lake  Route,  Union 
Pacific,  and  Northwestern 

Particulars  at    any  Ticket  Office  or  from 


FRED  A.  WANN 

Genl.   Traffic  Mv>r. 


T.  G.  PECK 

A.  G.  P.  A 


Los    Angeles 


Che 


BY    E.    P.    IRWIN 


HOW  long  wil]  it  be  until  the  sail- 
ing vessel  will  become  an  oddity, 
a  curiosity,  met  only  occasionally 
by  the  traveler  on  those  seas  that  once 
were  filled  with  the  argosies  of  the  nations 
— wind  borne,  traversing  by  slow  and 
comfortable  stages  the  leagues  that  sepa- 
rate the  ends  of  the  earth?  Not  long,  it 
seems,  if  one  may  judge  by  the  rapidity 
with  which  steam  has  taken  the  place  of 
sails  as  a  motive  power  within  the  past 
few  years. 

The  scarcity  of  sailing  vessels  on  the 
seas  was  forcibly  brought  to  notice  this 
week  here,  when  Captain  Brayer,  superin- 
tendent of  the  local  Sailors'  Home,  re- 
signed his  position,  adding  the  statement 
that  in  his  opinion  it  was  not  worth  while 
longer  to  maintain  the  home  on  account 
of  the  fact  that  so  few  sailing  vessels 
come  into  the  harbor  that  the  institution 
is  no  longer  of  much  value. 

And  yet  it  was  but  a  few  years  ago 
that  the  harbor  of  Honolulu  was  filled 
with  sailing  craft  of  every  description, 
and  of  all  nations.  Every  dock  and  wharf 
used  to  be  full,  and  vessels  would  be  lined 
up  in  the  harbor  by  the  dozen,  waiting 
their  turn  to  discharge  their  cargo  and 
take  on  freight  for  other  ports.  Ships, 
•barks,  barkentines,  rigs  of  all  kinds, 
might  be  seen,  and  the  flags  of  every  mari- 
time nation  fluttered  in  the  breeze.  Sugar 
was  the  principal  cargo  taken  away,  as  it 
is  yet,  and  it  drew  practically  every  kind 
of  commercial  vessel  to  the  islands.  Steam- 
ships only  were  a  rarity. 

Yesterday  there  was  in  the  harbor  of 
Honolulu  not  a  single  sailing  vessel  of 
any  kind.  There  were  a  few  steamers, 
but  the  tall  masts  that  used  to  loom  up 
against  the  Western  sky,  the  yards,  with 
their  furled  sails,  the  sailors  perched  aloft 
getting  ready  for  the  outbound  voyage,  or 
repairing  the  ravages  of  wind  and  storm 


—they  were  not  to  be  seen. 

To-day  a  six-masted  barkeritine  and  a 
bark,  both  with  coal  from  Newcastle, 
came  into  the  harbor,  and  their  coming 
constituted  almost  an  event. 

During  the  sugar  shipping  season,  a 
considerable  number  of  sailing  vessels  still 
call  here — but  they  are  few  indeed  in 
number  compared  with  the  thicket  of 
masts  that  used  to  crowd  the  waterfront. 
Every  season  this  product  goes  out  more 
and  more  in  steamships,  the  vessels  of  the 
regular  lines  and  the  tramps  that  come 
along  looking  for  cargo. 

And  the  disappearance  of  wind-jammer 
and  lime-juicer  is  not  to  be  noted  only  in 
Honolulu.  At  every  seaport  the  same 
thing  may  be  observed.  There  are  still 
sailing  vessels,  many  of  them,  but  they 
are  becoming  yearly  fewer  in  number.  It 
will  be  a  long  time  before  they  are  all 
gone — if,  indeed,  that  ever  comes  to  pass 
— but  their  day  is  over.  They  are  coming 
to  be  the  exception  rather  than  the  rule. 

The  romance  of  the  sea  is  vanishing — 
is  almost  a  thing  of  the  past.  We  are  in 
too  great  a  hurry  to  stop  for  romance.  The 
lure  of  the  dollar  draws  us  on,  and  the 
uncertain  impulse  of  the  breezes  of  the  sea 
is  too  slow  for  us.  We  must  go  faster ; 
our  dollar-getting  products  must  be  hur- 
ried along,  and  steam  is  the  only  thing 
that  will  take  them  fast  enough. 

Who  would  stop  for  romance  when 
there  is  money  to  be  made?  Let  it  go. 
We  are  in  a  hurry.  The  swift  rush  of 
the  ocean  liner,  the  pound  of  the  engines, 
the  noise  of  the  racing  screw,  the  hoarse 
shriek  of  the  siren — these  are  more  musi- 
cal to  us  than  the  sound  of  the  wind 
through  the  ropes,  the  "yo-ho"  of  the  old- 
time  sailor,  the  creak  of  straining  tackle. 
Those  things  were  all  right  in  the  days 
when  people  had  time  to  live,  but  we 
can't  stop  them  now.  We  must  hurry. 


•• 


STRENGTH  OF 


xlii 


Has  Your  Family  the  Saving  Rope 

of  Life  Insurance  Protection?  As  Mountain 
Climbers  tie  themselves  together  for  protection, 
so  Life  Insurance  Strengthens  Family  Ties  and 
lifts  the  Burden  from  the  family  when  the  Father 
is  gone.  Let  us  tell  you  the  best  plan  by  which 
you  can  give  your  family  full  protection.  Write 
To-day,  Dept.21 

The  Prudential 

Insurance  Company  of  America 

Incorporated  as  a  Stock  Company  by  the  State  of  New  Jersey. 

JOHN  F.  DRYDEN,  President.  Name  Office:    NEWARK,  N.  J. 

Write  for  Booklet,  by  Alfred  Henry  Lewis— Sent  Free. 


fbuss 


TO-DAY. 

To-day's  society  knows  no  burden  more 
exacting  than  the  requirements  of  the  un- 
necessary. 

To-day's  table  talk  has  degenerated  into 
the  three  D's — Dress,  Domestics  and  Dis- 
ease. 

To-day  sees  too  many  men  old  at  thirty- 
five — aged  through  selfishness,  intolerance 
and  stagnation. 

To-day's  "higher  circles"  try  too  hard 
to  be  happy ;  that's  why  the  middle  classes 
are  happier  than  they. 

To-day  will  probably  misunderstand  the 
man  who  sacrifices  everything  for  a  prin- 
ciple— but  to-morrow  will  not  forget  him. 

To-day's  troubles  mainly  spring  from 
one  of  two  classes — those  who  live  without 
work  and  those  who  work  without  living. 

To-day  knows  no  curse  more  belittling 
in  its  effect  upon  man  than  his  inability  to 
endure  either  solitude  or  silence. 

To-day  is  beginning  to  see  that  it  is 
rather  absurd  to  pray  God  to  change 
things,  implying,  as  it  does,  that  we  know 
better  than  Tie  what  should  be  done. 

To-day's  codes  and  precedents  are  caus- 
ing at  least  a  half  of  what  should  be  avoid- 
able suffering  by  the  immoral  exercise  of 
legal  rights. 

To*day's  public  has  been  taught  to  read, 
but  is  not  yet  educated.  It  loves  sensa- 
tion, even  as  a  boy  who  reads  only  to  de- 
vour penny  dreadfuls. 

To-day's  drama  leads  one  to  think,  that 
the  world  regards  as  uninteresting  the 
man  who  has  not  given  way  to  every  pas- 
sion, -,and  the  woman  as  lacking  in  all 
charm  who  still  retains  modesty. 

To-day's  right  of  suffrage  should  be 
revolutionized  upon  a  basis  of  intelligence. 
Many  men  who  now  vote  would  then  cease 
to,  while  most  dogs  and  some  horses 
would  begin  to  cast  ballots. 

To-dav's  greatest  "unprofitables"  are: 
("h  The  scholar  who,  having  acquired 


learning,  cannot  put  it  into  wise  practice, 
and  (2)  the  financier  who,  having  ac- 
quired wealth,  cannot  put  it  into  sane  cir- 
culation. 

To-day  has  so  far  advanced  beyond  yes- 
terday that  it  knows  a  man  does  not  "go 
to"  Heaven,  but  rather  creates  his  Heaven 
here,  enjoying  a  present  sense  of  harmony 
just  in  the  proportion  that  his  days  ex- 
press harmonious  conditions. 

To-day  is  too  ready  to  misunderstand 
the  "man  of  the  world."  He  is  really  an 
excellent  product  of  the  times — a  man 
without  illusions,  whose  view  of  life  is 
ironically  good-natured;  sure  of  himself 
and  of  his  powers;  enjoying  success  with- 
out exaggerating  its  value;  whose  taste  in 
everything  is  for  the  best — in  literature 
and  music  and  art,  as  well  as  in  food  and 
drink  and  lodging. 

— Warwick  James  Price. 


STANDARD  LITERATURE. 

"Why  are  you  so  sure  this  book  will  in- 
terest me?"  asked  the  somewhat  amused 
customer  of  the  enthusiastic  clerk. 

"Madame,"  he  replied,  "no  book  could 
possibly  be  more  engrossing.  I  first  read 
it  when  waiting  in  a  dentist's  parlor.  I 
was  'Next' — yet  I  forgot  even  that  over 
the  story." 

— Warwick  James  Price. 


A  man  who  was  strictly  0.  K. 
Was  overly  fond  of  crO.  K; 
He  liked  a  good  mallet  far  more  than  a 

ballet, 
Or  even  a  glass  of  TO.K. 

— Louise  Ayres  Garnett. 


The  Reason  Why. 

The  Suitor — Do  you  think  I  shall  find 
your  sister  at  home? 

The  Boy — I  guess  so.  She  doesn't 
know  you're  coming. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


H  Carpet 
Sxveeper 

actually 
costs  less 
than  zcts  a  month 

That  seems  a  broad  statement  to  make,  es- 
pecially so  when  you  know  that  a  Bissell  carpet 
sweeper  would  save  your  carpets  more  than  two 
cents  worth  every  time  you  sweep,  would  save 
you  more  than  two  cents  worth  of  time  every 
day  in  the  year,  would  really  change  the  drud- 
gery of  sweeping  to  a  pleasant  pastime,  saving 
your  energies  and  preserving  your  health  —  but 
just  consider  the  fact  that  a 


sweeper  will   last    twelve    to   fifteen    years    and 
more,  and  you  can  see  at  once  that  two  cents 
a   month   would    more   than    pay   for   a   Bissell. 
One  costs  from 

$2.50  to  $5.00 

according  to  style,  finish,  etc.  Many  house- 
keepers have  found  it  a  good  investment  to 
send  their  early-style  Bissell's  sweeper  upstairs, 
where  the  sweeping  is  lighter,  and  have  bought 
a  latest  improved  Bissell's  "Cyco"  Bearing  car- 
pet sweeper  for  the  heavier  down  stairs  work. 
This  saves  many  steps  and  considerable  time  in 
carrying  the  sweeper  up  and  down  stairs,  af- 
fording the  use  of  a  new-style  Bissell's  where 
it  is  most  needed. 

CLAUSE  A. 

Buy  a  Bissell  "Cyco"  -Bearing  Sweeper  now  of 
your  dealer,  send  us  the  purchase  slip  within 
one  week,  and  we  will  send  you  FREE  a  fine 
quality  card  case  with  no  printing  on  it. 

Sold  by  all  first-class  dealers.  If  your  dealer 
does  not  keep  them,  write  to  us. 

BISSELL  CARPET  SWEEPER  CO. 

(Largest   Sweeper  Makers   in   the  World.) 
Dept.    124.  Grand    Rapids,    Mich. 


A  Skin  of  Beauty  Is  a  Joy  Forever. 
DR.  T.   FELIX  GOURAUD'S 

ORIENTAL  CREAM,  or  Magical  Beautifier 


PURIFIES 
as   well   as 
Beautifies 
the    Skin. 
No  other 
Cosmetic 
will  do 


Removes  Tan,  Pimples, 
Freckles,  Moth  Patches, 
Rash,  and  Skin  Dis- 
eases and  every 
blemish  on 
beauty,  and  de- 
fies detection.  It 
has  stood  the 
test  of  58  years, 
and  is  so  harm- 
less we  taste  it 
to  be  sure  it  is 
properly  made. 
Accept  no  coun- 
terfeit of  similar 
name.  Dr.  L.  A. 
Sayre  said  to  a 
lady  of  the  haut- 
ton  (a  patient) : 
"As  you  ladies  will  use  them,  I  recommend 
'Gouraud's  Cream  '  as  the  least  harmful  of  all 
the  skin  preparations." 

For  sale  by  all  Druggists  and  Fancy  Goods 
Dealers  in  the  United  States,  Canada  and  Eu- 
rope. 

Gouraud's  Oriental  Toilet  Powder 

An  ideal  antiseptic  toilet  powder  for  infants 
and  adults.  Exquisitely  perfumed.  Relieves 
skin  irritation,  cures  sunburn  and  renders  an 
excellent  complexion. 

Price,  25  cents  per  box  by  mail. 

GOURAUD'S  POUDRE  SUBTILE  removes 
superfluous  hair  without  Injury  to  the  skin. 

Price,  $1.00  per  bottle  by  mail. 
FERD  T.   HOPKINS,  Prop'r,  37  Great  Jones  St. 
New   York. 


"BABY  GO  WIF  TOD!" 

No  trouble  to  take  baby  any- 
where— in  the  crowded  street — 
on  the  cars — in  crowded  stores 
— if  you  have  an 

ORIOLE    GO-BASKET 

May  be  taken  on  arm  ur  lap.  Wheels  out  of 
sight — can't  soil  clothes.  May  be  changed  from 
go-cart  to  either  High  Chair.  Jumper  or  Bassi- 
net in  three  seconds.  Indorsed  by  leading 
physicians.  Send  for  FB.KE  ILLUSTRATED 
BOOKLET  telling  how  to  obtain  Go-Basket  on 
approval. 

The    Wlthrow    Mfg.    Co. 
35    Elm   St.,    Cincinnati,    Ohio. 


Continental  Building  and  Loan  Association 


Subscribed  Capital 
Paid-in  Capitol 
Profit  and  Reserve  Fund 
Monthly  Income,  over 


of  California 
ESTABLISHED  1889 

$15,OOO,000 
3,OOO,OOO 
450.OOO 
2OO.OOO 

ITS  PURPOSE  IS 

To  help  its  members  to  build  homes,  also  to  make  loans  on  improved  property,  the  members  giv^ 
ing  first  liens  on  real  estate  as  security.     To  help  its  stockholders  to  earn  from  8   to  12  per  cent  pe 
annum  on  their  stock,  and  to  allow    them  to  open  deposit  accounts  bearing  interest  at  the  rate  o 
5  per  cent  per  annum. 

Church  near  Market  St.  San  Francisco. 


xvi 


Please    Mention    Overland     Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


Every  reader  of  Overland  Monthly  should  have  this  book. 


FACTS  and  FORMS 


A  HAND  BOOK  OF 

READY  REFERENCE 


BY  PROFESSOR  E.  T.  ROE,  LL.  B. 

A  neat,  new,  practical,  reliable  and  up-to-date  little  manual 
of   legal    and    business    form,    with    tables,    weights,    measures, ' 
rules,   short  methods  of  computation  and  miscellaneous     infor- 
mation valuable  to  every  one. 

Describes  the   Banking  System  of  the  United   States,   obliga- 
tions of  landlord  and  tenant,   employer  and  employee,  and  ex- 
poses the  numerous  swindling  schemes  worked  on  the  unwary. 

A  saver  of  time  and  money  for  the  busy  man  of  whatever 
calling,  in  fees  for  advice  and  legal  forms,  in  correctly  esti- 
mating the  amount  of  material  required  for  a  building,  the 
weight  or  contents  of  bins,  boxes  or  tanks;  in  measuring  land, 
lumber,  logs,  wood,  etc.;  and  in  computing  interest,  wages, 
or  the  value  of  anything  at  any  given  price. 

SOME    OP    WHAT    "  FACTS    AND    FORMS  "    CONTAINS. 

Bookkeeping,  single  and  double  entry.  Forms  of  every  kind 
of  business  letter.  How  to  writa  deeds,  notes,  drafts,  checks, 
receipts,  contracts,  leases,  mortgages,  acknowledgments,  bills 
of  sale,  affidavits,  bills  of  lading,  etc. 

How  to  write  all  the  different  forms  of  endorsements  of 
notes,  checks  and  other  negotiable  business  papers.  Form« 


of  orders. 

LAWS  GOVERNING 

Acknowledgments,  agency  assign- 
ments, building  and  loan  associations, 
collection  of  debts,  contracts,  interest 
rates,  deeding  of  property,  employer 
and  employee,  landlord  and  tenant, 
neighbors'  animals,  line  fences,  prop- 
erty, subscriptions,  transportation, 
trusts  and  monopolies,  working  on 
Sundays  and  legal  holidays,  and  many 
other  subjects. 


RULES  FOR 

Painting  and  mixing  paints,  parlia- 
mentary procedure,  governing  the  find- 
ing of  lost  property,  shipping,  govern- 
ing chattel  moitgages,  rapid  addition 
and  multiplication,  discounting  notes, 
computing  interest,  finding  the  con- 
tents of  barrels,  tanks,  cisterns,  cribs, 
bins,  boxes — anything,  the  amount  of 
brick,  lime,  plaster,  lath  required  for 
building  wall  or  cellar,  the  number  of 
shingles  or  slats  required  for  roofing 
and  hundreds  of  other  things. 


A  Swindling  Note-Be  On  Your  Guard-Hundreds  Have  Been  Caught 

One  year  after  date,  I   promise  to  pay  to  John  Dawson  or     bearer  Fifty  Dollars  when  I  sell  by 
order  Five    Hundred    and    Seventy-Five     Dollars    ($575)     worth     of    hedge     plants 
for    value    received,    with    interest    at      seven    per    cent.      Said  Fifty    Dollars   when   due  is ' 
payable  at  Newton,  Kan. 

GEO.  W.  ELLSWORTH. 

Agent  for  John  Dawson. 

SEE  "FACTS  ;AND  FORMS"  FOR  FULL  EXPLANATION 


Every  reader  of  the  Overland  Monthly  can  secure  a  copy  of  "Facts  and 
Forms,"  a  book  worth  $1,  by  sending  30  cents  with  his  name  and  address 
to  the  Publishers,  905  Lincoln  avenue,  Alameda,  Cal. 


V 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


xvii 


Zon-o-Phone 


Zon-o-phone  leaps  into  the  lead  of  all 
talking  machines  with  a  complete 

NEW  LINE  OF  INSTRUMENTS 

ranging  from  $30.00  to  $75.00.  The 
new  Tapering  Arm  Zon-o-phone  is  a 
marvel  of  mechanical  perfection.  Try 
one.  If  not  satisfied  return  it  for  full 
credit.  Send  for  complete  list  of  new 

ZON-O-PHONE  RECORDS 


12-inch  records 
10    " 


$1.00 
.60 


The  finest  disc  records  made.  They 
play  longer,  last  longer  ;  are  loud ,  clear 
and  sweet  without  a  trace  of  harsh  or 
scratchy  noises.  Write  for  catalogtoday. 

UNIVERSAL  TALKING  MACHINE  MFG.  CO., 

Camp  &  Mulberry  Sts.. 

Newark,  New  Jersey. 


Hair  s  Hair  Renewer  has  been  sold  for  over  sixty  years™ 
yet  we  have  just  changed  the  formula,  the  style  of  bottle, 
and  the  manner  of  packing.  As  now  made,  it  represents 
the  very  latest  researches,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  A 
high-class  and  thoroughly  scientific  preparation. 

Fnlli  ng  If  air— As  perfect  a  specific  as  can  possibly  be  made. 
7.»«/irfrM/f— Removes  dandruff;  prevents  further  formation. 

A.»k  for  "  the  new  kind  " 

The  kind  that  does  not  change  the  color  of  the  hair. 
Formula:    Glycerin,  Capsicum,  Bay  Bum.  Sulphur,  Tea, 
Bosemary  Leaves,  Boroglycerin,  Alcohol,  Perfume. 

R        f.     HALL.     *     CO    ,      NASHUA.      IM  .     H. 


— In  an  article  in  the  January  num- 
ber of  the  Overland  Monthly  a  state- 
ment is  made  in  relation  to  Miss  Evelyn 
Byrd,  a  famous  Colonial  beauty.  It  is 
stated  that  she  refused  to  marry  General 
Wa.-liington  when  he  was  a  lieutenant  of 
provincial  troops.  This  statement  at- 
tracted .  the  attention  of  Mrs.  Seldon  S. 
\Vriidit,  who  is  a  connection  of  the  lady, 
and  who  is  familiar  with  the  history  of 
the  family.  Mrs.  Wright's  letter  is  pub- 
lished herewith: 

To  the  Editor  Overland  Monthly  Co.,  725 

Market  street,  San  Francisco. 
Dear  Sir: 

Will  you  pardon  me  for  correcting  a 
statement  contained  in  an  article  in  the 
January  Number,  entitled  "The  James- 
town Exposition,"  by  Henry  Williams,  in 


relation  to  Miss  Evelyn  Byrd  (a  famous 
Colonial  beauty)  ?  It  is  there  stated  that 
she  refused  to  marry  General  Washington 
when  he  was  a  Lieutenant  of  Provincial 
troops.  The  fact  is,  that  the  lady  about 
whom  this  statement  is  made  was  born  in 
1708,  and  died  in  November  18,  1737, 
just  six  years  after  General  Washington 
was  born,  and  it  is  not  at  all  likely  that 
ehe  ever  saw  him,  even  as  a  little  child. 
Being  a  connection  and  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  history  of  the  family  from 
the  first  representative  on  American  soil, 
I  know  whereof  I  write.  As  Miss  Evelyn 
By  n  l*s  memory  is  much  revered  among 
those  connected  with  the  family,  they 
naturally  do  not  like  to  see  what  is  not 
true  related  of  her. 

Very  respectfully, 

JOAXXA  MAYXARD  WRIGHT. 


HARTSHORN  SHADE  ROLLERS 


Wood  Rollers 


Tin  Rollers 


Bear  the  script  name  of  Stewart 

Hartshorn  on  label. 
Get  "Improved,"  no  tacks  required. 


CHANSON  FROM  THE  LATIN 
QUARTER. 

In  attic  up  four  flights  of  stairs 
With  bed,  an  easel,  pair  of  chairs, 
My  loaf  and  bottle  with  me  shares 
A  mistress,  this  is  she : 

A  slender  form  in  shabby  dress, 
A  rogue's  dark  eyes,  the  bitterness 
Of  irony  in  sweet  caress, 
Year-long  fidelity. 

'Tis  well !    I  like  the  bite  and  tang 
Of  her  caresses,  like  the  slang 
Of  her  crisp  love-words.    With  a  pang 
Our  parting  I'd  foresee. 

Thro'  her  I've  met  my  steel-true  friends 
(My  rivals,  too,  alas!)  She  lends 
An  inspiration  all,  and  blends 
Our  toil,  with  gaiety. 

Ah,  some  I  know  she's  made  her  slaves, 
A  few  to  false  and  slinking  knaves, 
For  some  she  dug  too  early  graves, 
Their  love  was  tragedy. 

But  I — I  love  her  as  a  wench 
To  spice  my  fare  on  wine-house  bench, 
Wlith  attic  salt  and  Cayenne  French, 
Thus  she  and  I  agree. 

My  garret  up  a  hundred  stairs, 

(Where  books  and  bottles  strew  the  chairs 

And  pipes  and  sketches),  with  me  shares 

My  mistress,   Poverty. 

— Charlton   Lawrence   Edholm. 


THE  UBIQUITOUS. 
She  is  chairman  of  twenty  committees, 

For  church  and  club  the  same, 
A  daughter  of  revolutions, 

A  proud  Colonial  dame. 
A  social  purity  woman, 

A  temperance  advocate, 
She  writes  for  papers  and  magazines, 

Her  toil  is  early  and  late. 

A  social  queen  at  receptions, 

Her  gowns  an  artist  planned, 
She  lectures  on  numerous  subjects, 

The  length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 
She  talks  of  the  over-soulful, 

And  the  ultimate  heights  she's  had, 
She  dips  into  social  questions, 

And  "settlements"  are  her  fad. 

She  talks  of  the  Theosophic, 
And  New  Thought  is  a  whim, 

She  Eddies  on  Christian  Science, 
For  one  must  be  in  the  swim. 


But  she  clings  to  orthodox  churches, 

To  her  mission  and  hospital  bed. 
She  dances  at  all  the  charity  balls, 

That  the  hungry  may  be  fed.      • 
She  is  home  for  eating  and  sleeping, 

Sometimes,  and  here  is  the  rub, 
Dilates  on  the  servant  question, 

And  her  husband  away  at  the  club. 
She  hugs  and  kisses  the  children, 

She  teaches  them  legends  and  prayers. 
While  her  head  is  on  larger  issues, 

Engrossed  with  human  affairs. 
She  studies  domestic  science, 

And  her  house  like  clockwork  moves, 
She  looks  into  sanitation, 

And  the  opera  hums  and  loves. 
But  this  Twentieth  Century  woman, 

With  all  the  failings  we  meet, 
Is  one  of  our  modern  wonders, 

And  is  gracious  and  strong  and  sweet. 
— Emma  Playter  Seabury. 

WHEN  FIGURES  DECEIVE. 
It  is  a  fact,  we're  often  told, 
Which  no  one  can  deny, 
All  other  things  may  us  deceive, 
But  figures  cannot  lie. 

Yet  still  I  venture  to  assert, 

And  naught  my  faith  can  shake, 

They're  not  to  be  relied  on  when 
The  figures  women  make. 

— Henry   Waldorf  Francis. 

JES'  SET  AN'  TAKE  YO'  BREAF. 
When  yo'  feelin'  mighty  tired, 

Jes'  set  an'  take  yo'  breaf. 
Eben  ef  yo'  do  git  fired, 

Jes'  set  an'  take  yo'  breaf. 
Dey  ain't  no  use  to  hurry, 
Er  hussle,  er  flurry. 
•  Don'  let  yo'  po'  brain  worry, 

Jes'  set  an'  take  yo'  breaf. 
Ef  folks  am  actin'  funny, 

Jes'  set  an'  take  yo'  breaf. 
An'  yo'  habben't  got  no  money. 

Jes'  set  an'  take  yo'  breaf. 
What  am  de  good  o'  cussin* 
Er  kickin'  up,  er  mussin'? 
It's  best  to  quit  yo'  fussin'— 

Jes'  set  an'  take  yo'  breaf. 

'—Robert  Todd. 


MAIL  ORDER  MEN  AND  PUBLISHERS 

DOUBLE  your  returns  with  the  Money  Mailer. 
Brings  cash  with  the  order.  The  best  advertising 
novelty  on  the  market.  I  doz.  samples  10  cents 
postpaid. 

Paper    folding    Boxes    and    Waterproof    Signs    a 
specialty.     Write  us  for  prices. 

R.  LINDLEY  PAPER  BOX  CO.  CLEVELAND,  OHIO. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


For  the  Anaemic 

Pale-faced  individuals,  listless  and  with  no  apparent 
ambition,  have  often  enlisted  your  deepest  sympathy.  You 
may  have  been  brought  even  closer  to  face  with  such 
a  condition  in  your  own  family,  or  perhaps  right  now  you 
are  reading  the  symptoms  of  your  own  case,  the  cause  of 
which  you  have  been  trying  in  vain  to  discover.  Chances 
are  it  is  anaemia,  often  brought  on  by  worry  or  overwork. 
The  blood  has  become  impoverished  and  is  not  furnishing 
sufficient  strength  to  the  system.  This  happens  frequently 
with  young  people,  caused  by  too  rapid  growth  or  overstudy 
At  this  critical  stage  the  the  best  reconstructive  agent  is 

pabst  Extract 


combining  the  rich,  tissue  building  elements  of  barley 
malt  with  the  tonic  properties  of  choicest  hops,  retaining 
all  the  food  value  oflthe  barley  grain  in  predigested  form, 
and  carrying  in  it  muscle,  tissue  and  blood  making  con- 
stituents. The  nourishment  thus  offered  is  readily  assimi-. 
lated  by  the  system,  being  rapidly  transformed  into  rich, 
red  blood  and  absorbed  by  the  tissues  and  nerves,  making 
the  recovery  of  health  rapid,  quickly  restoring  the  boy  or 
girl  to  youthful  activity,  and  giving  men  and  women 
strength  and  energy  to  fight  daily  battles. 


25c  at  all  Druggists 
Insist  Ufron  the  Original 


Jersey  Clty.X.  J. 

I  recently  prescribed  The 
"Best"  Tonic  for  a  young 
lady  who  was  very  anaemic 
and  run  down. with  the  most 
gratifying  results.  I  can, 
therefore,  and  do  recom- 
mend it  where  the  circum- 
stances permit  me  to  do  so. 

Leonard  G.  Stanley.  M.  D. 


vitalizes  the  nerves,  makes  rich,  red  blood,  rebuilds 
wasted  tissues,  restores  the  tired  brain.  It  builds  up  the 
convalescent,  refreshes  the  overworked,  and  is  a  boon  to 
nursing  mothers. 


Guaranteed  under  tne  National  Pur 
U.S.  Serial  No.  1921. 


Food  La 


Booklet  and  picture  entitled  "Baby's  First  Adventure"  sent  free  on  requert. 
PA.B8T  EXTRACT  DEFT-  Milwaukee,  WI«. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 

Golden  State  Limited 

DAILY  between 

California  and    Chicago 


LUXURIOUS    NEW    EQUIPMENT 

MISSION  STYLE  DINING  and  OBSER- 
VATION CARS;  Library  and  Cafe; 
Drawing  room  state  room  sleepers  to 
St.  Louis,  Kansas  City  and  Chicago  with- 
out, change. 


Southern  Pacific- 
Rock   Island 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


xxi 


HOTEL  CUMBERLAND,  NEW  YORK 

S.  W.  Cor.  Broadway  at,  54th  Street, 


- 


Ideal  Location.     Near  Theatres,    Shops,    and    Central    Park. 
Fine  Cuisine.     Excellent  Food  and    reasonable  Price*. 

New,  Modern  and  Absolutely  Fireproof 

Within  one  minute's  walk  of  6tb   Ave. '"L"   and  Subway  and 
accessible  to  all  surface  car  lines-      Transient   rates  $2,50   with 

HARRY  Pi  STIMSON0'1  CEO.  L.  SANBORN 


THE  GERMAN  SAYINGS 
AND  LOAN  SGGIETY 

|526    CALIFORNIA    STREET. 


San  Francisco 


Guaranteed  capital  and  surplus.  .$2,578,695.41 
Capital  actually  paid-up  in  cash  1,000,000.00 
Deposits,  Dec.  31,  1906 38,531,917.28 

F.  Tillmann,  Jr.,  President;  Daniel  Meyer, 
First  Vice- President;  Emil  Rohte,  Second 
Vice-President;  A.  H.  R.  Schmidt,  Cashier; 
Wm.  Herrmann,  Asst.  Cashier;  George 
Tourny,  Secretary;  A.  H.  Muller,  Asst.  Sec- 
retary; Goodfellow  &  Eells,  General  Attor- 
neys. 

DIRECTORS— F.  Tillmann,  Jr.,  Daniel 
Meyer,  Emil  Rohte,  Ign.  Steinhart,  I.  N. 
Walter,  N.  Ohlandt,  J.  W.  Van  Bergen,  E. 
T.  Kruse,  W.  S.  Goodfellow. 


IV/Iodel  G 

The  Touring  Car 
Without  a  Rival 


The  high  principles  of  honest  work- 
mans  hip  and  the  advanced  ideas  of 
design  that  have  made  Cadillac  con- 
struction famous,  find  full  expression  in 
Model  G,  a  thoroughly  dependable,  pow- 
erful, four -cylinder  car  which  brings  to 
its  owner  every  touring  luxury  enjoyed  by 
thosepossessingthe  most  expensive  types. 
Examine  it ;  observe  its  long,  rangy 
lines,  the  racy  atmosphere  about  it,  re- 
flecting lots  of  spirit  and  "go";  ride  in 
it    and    note    the    feeling    of    security 
prompted  by  a  wealth  of  hidden 
beneath  you — then  you  will 
appreciate  why 


is  without  a  peer  among  all  cars  of  its 
class.     Compare   it   in   efficiency  and 
price  with  many  cars  costing  twice  as 
much  and  you  will  find  the  chief  differ- 
ence  at  the  money  end.      Wonderfully 
economical  to  maintain. 

Your  nearest  dealer  will  gladly  de- 
monstrate Model  G  or  any  of  the  other 
Cadillac  models. 

Model  G— 20  h.  p.  4-Cylinder  Touring  Car. 

(Described  in  Catalog  G  X) 
Model  H  -30  h.  p.  4-Cylinder  Touring  Car. 

(Described  in  Catalog  H  X) 
Model  M— 10  h.  p.  Four  Passenger  Car. 
(Described  in  Catalog  M  X) 
Model  K— 10  h.  p.  Runabout. 
(Described  in  Catalog  M  X) 

Send  for  Catalog  of  car  in  Ivhich  you  are  interested. 

CADILLAC  MOTOR  CAR  Co.,  DETROIT,  MICH. 

Member  A.  L.  A.  if. 


xxii 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    In    Writing    Advertisers. 


Etched  extremely  deep  and  gua< anteed  to  print 
clean  We  operate  trie  most  complete  engraving 
and  printing  plant  in  America  twenty  four  hours  a 
day  every  work  day  in  the  year.  We  are  a  money 
back  proposition  if  you  are  not  satisfied  We  can 
deliver  an  order  of  any  size  of  engraving  within 
24  hour$  after  receiving  copy 

CORRESPONDENCE  SOLICITED 


f*I     A  BIT  ENGRAVING  fit 

Wl-A\KrV  PRINTING   CO. 

MILWAUKEE,   U.S.A. 

ARTISTS  =  ENGRAVERS  &  PRINTERS. 


r»—  -^ 

F  READY  FOR    THE  PRESS 

CHICAGO  GAVE  DWELLERS 

v—^  Not  for  Preachers 

320  Pages,  Cloth,  CLOD 

POSTPAID          VI  = 

A  Story  of  the  Underworld 
and  the  Overworld 

By  Parker  H.  Sercombe, 
Editor    To-Morrow 
Magazine^  Chicago. 

Only  a  limited  edition  of 
this  remarkable  book  will  be 
printed.  Each  copy  will  be 
signed  by  Sercombe  Him- 
self and  automatically  num- 
bered from  1  up.  First 
orders  in  will  get  the  low 
numbers  in  rotation  except 
No.  1,  which  goes  to  Mrs. 
Sercombe. 

Address 

TO-MORROW  MAGAZINE, 

For  the  Superman  and  buperwoman  and  The  New  Civilization, 

2238  Calumet  Ave.,  Chicago,  III. 

10  CENTS  THE  COPY.  $i  A  YEAR.   « 


\ 


E.  BOWLES, 

President. 


E.  W.  WILSON, 

Vice-President 


Deposit  Growth: 

March     3,  1902 

Sept.   15,    1902 

March  15,  1903 

Sept.   15,    1903 

March  15,  1904 

Sept.   15,    1904 

March  15,  1905 

Sept.   IT,    1905 

March  15,  1906 

Sept.  15,  '06   

Jan.  26,  '07 


5  387,728.70 
1,374,983.43 
2,232,582.94 
2,629,113.39 
3,586,912.31 
3,825,471.71 
4,349,427.92 
4,938,629.05 
5,998,431.52 
6,987,241.89 
8,302,858.70 


//  ample  capital  provides  security; 
If  undivided  profits  indicate  prosperity; 
If  constant  growth  is  proof  of  good   service; 
Then  you  should  open  an  account  with  the 

AMERICAN  NATIONAL    BANK 


Merchants'  Exchange  Building. 


FRANCIS  CUTTING, 

President 


GEO.  N.  O'BRIEN 

Cashier   Jil 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers.  xxiii 


AUTOPI  ANO 


AND 


MUSICAL    PEOPLE 


Some  people  have  believed  that  the  AUTOPI  ANO  was  not 
the  piano  for  musically  educated  people. 

If  this  idea  ever  had  any  great  currency  it  is  fast  being  dis- 
pelled. To-day  the  A  UTOPIANO  numbers  among  its  most  ardent 
friends  hosts  of  the  musical  fraternity. 

This  is  due  to  its  beautiful  tonal  qualities,  its  thorough  sim- 
plicity, and  the  accuracy  with  which  the  most  delicate  shadings  of 
tone  and  expression  may  be  accomplished. 

If  your  piano  player  has  been  unsatisfactory— if  it  requires 
frequent  repairs— exchange  it  for  an  AUTOPIANO  and  you  will 
have  a  piano  that  will  be  a  joy  forever. 

The  genuine  A  UTOPIANO  is  sold  only  by 


1130  Van  Nes^  Ave.  1220  Fillmore  St. 

SAN     FRANCISCO 
Oakland  Stockton  Eureka  San  Jose  Reno 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


The  Great  English  Magazines 


DO  YOU  know  them—know  what  they  are  publishing—read 
them— subscribe  for  them?  There  is  the  EDINBURGH  REVIEW 
and  the  QUARTERLY;  the  CONTEMPORARY,  FORTNIGHTLY 
MONTHLY,  INDEPENDENT,  WESTMINSTER,  and  NINETEENTH 
CENTURY  REVIEWS,  BLACKWOODS  CORNHILL,  MACMILLAN'S, 
GENTLEMAN'S,  and  PALL  MALL  MAGAZINES;  the  SPECTATOR, 
the  SATURDAY  REVIEW,  the  SPEAKER,  the  OUTLOOK,  PUNCH 

and  others.  No  matter  how  many  American  magazines  you  read,  you 
need  to  know  something  of  our  English  contemporaries.  The  one 
convenient,  sensible,  inexpensive  way  is  to  subscribe  for  THE  LIV- 
ING AGE,  which  gives  every  week  the  best  contributions  from  cur- 
rent numbers  of  the  foreign  periodicals.  Its  scope  includes  literature, 
science,  history,  politics— especially  timely  discussions  of  public  af- 
fairs, travel  and  exploration,  essays,  reviews  and  criticisms,  fiction— 
both  serial  and  short  stories.  President  Roosevelt,  Chief  Justice 
Fuller,  and  thousands  of  other  people  who  want  to  be  cosmopolitan  in 
their  reading  are  subscribers  for  THE  LIVING  AGE.  Founded  in 
1844.  $6  a  year,  $1  for  three  months'  trial.  Specimen  copy  free. 

Address 

THE  LIVING  AGE  CO. 

6  Beacon  Street*  Boston,  Mass. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


BEAUTIFUL  COMPLEXIONS. 

Return  this  with  50  one  cent  stamps  or  25  one 
cent  stamps  with  the  names  and  addresses  ol 
20  ladies,  and  learn  how  to  have  a  lovely,  natu- 
ral color  as  long  as  you  live.  This  method  is 
now  being  revealed  for  the  first  time  to  the 
general  public.  There  are  no  cosmetics, 
bleaches,  face  powder,  or  other  poisons  in  this. 
Pimples,  black-heads  and  discolorations  disap- 
pear forever  under  this  method.  "Women  and 
girls  who  wish  to  be  beautiful  will  b«  taught 
the  simple  laws  of  beauty,  and  they  will  learn 
how  the  most  beautiful  women  of  Paris,  guidec 
and  controlled  by  Master  Gypsy  and  Greek 
minds,  appeared  upon  the  scene,  played  the 
game  of  life  and  carried  everything  before  them 
with  their  bright  eyes  and  unrivaled  complex 
ions. 
J.  L.  MOCKLEY,  1133  Broadway,  New  York. 


I  CAN  SELL 

Your  Real    Estate   or  Business 

NO  MATTER  WHERE  LOCATED 

Pn  r  ertiei  and  Business  of  all  kinds  sold  quickly  for  cash  in  all 
parts  of  the  United  States.  Don't  wait.  Write  today  describing 
what  yon  hare  to  sell  and  give  cash  price  on  same. 

IF  YOU  WANT  TO  BUY 

any  kind  of  Business  or  Real  Estate  anywhere  at  any  price,  write 
me  your  requirements,  I  can  save  you  time  and  money. 

DAVID  P.  TAFF, 

The  Land  Man 

415  Kansas  Avenue 


TOPEKA, 


KANSAS. 


Construction  News 
Press  Clippings 

Contractors,  Material  Men,  Builders,  Manu- 
facturers, in  fact  anybody  interested  in  con- 
struction news  of  all  kinds,  obtain  from  our 
daily  reports  quick,  reliable  information. 
Our  special  correspondents  all  over  th« 
country  enable  us  to  give  our  patrons  the 
news  in  advance  of  their  competitors  and 
before  it  has  become  common  property. 

Let  us  know  what  you  want,  and  we  will 
send  you  samples  and  quote  you  prices. 

Press  Clippings  on  any  subject  from  all 
the  leading  current  newspapers,  magazines, 
trade  and  technical  journals  of  the  United 
States  and  Canada.  Public  speakers,  writ- 
ers, students,  club  women  can  secure  re- 
liable data  for  speeches,  essays,  debates, 
etc.  Special  facilities  for  serving  trade  and 
class  journals,  railroads  and  large  industrial 
corporations. 

We  read,  through  our  staff  of  skilled 
readers,  a  more  comprehensiye  and  better 
selected  list  of  publications  than  any  other 
bureau. 

We  aim  to  give  prompt  and  intelligent 
service  at  the  lowest  price  consistent  with 
good  work. 

Write  us  about  it.  Send  stamp  for  book- 
let. 

1 t t 

United  States  Press  Clipping  Bureau 

147  Fifth  Avenue  Chicago,  111 


A  Vital  Issue 

Clearly  Presented 

Medical  Experts  Agree 

"That  Acetanilid  Properly  Used 
and  Properly  Balanced  Becomes 
a  Most  Useful  and  Safe  Remedy" 


This  fact  clearly  presents  the  whole  aim  and 
success  of  the  Orangeine  prescription,  now  so 
widely  published  and  attested  from  15  years 
of  widest  possible  use.  The  "proper  use"  of 
this  "valuable  remedy,"  so  skillfully  balanced 
with  the  other  remedies  composing  the 

Orangeine 

FORMULA 

secures  a  wonderful  range  of  pure  reme- 
dial action,  without  trace  of  depressant  or 
drug  effect. 

The  testimony  of  prominent  physicians  and 
individuals  all  over  the  country,  who  have 
known  Orangeine  for  years,  proves  that  Or- 
angeine promptly  and  safely  reaches  the  cause 

"Grip,"  Colds,  Headache, 
Neuralgia,  Indigestion,  Nervous- 
ness, and  Brain  Fag 

Prevents  much  sickness. 
Fortifies  the  system  against  disease  attack, 
"Saves  days  from  worse  than  waste." 

FROM  MANY  TRIBUTES 

Ms.  Eiwr»D  MUBKAT.  a  well-known  lawyer,  of  Brooklyn.  H.  T..  writes: 
"I  hare  been  using  Orangeine  for  the  past  six  jean,  and  my  experi- 
ence has  led  me  to  believe,  in  spite  of  sensation  mongers,  that  it  is 
infallible.  My  mother,  now  in  her  86th  year,  finds  Orangeine  very 
beneficial,  and  any  effect,  other  than  benefit,  would  certainly  make 
itself  felt  in  a  person  of  her  years.  I  conscientiously  recommend  Or- 
angeine to  all  my  friends  and  acquaintances, ' ' 

D».  H.  R.  GOODXU,  Memphis.  Tenn.,  writes:  "It  is  four  yean  since 
I  commenced  using  Orangeine,  and  my  regard  for  it  as  a  therapeuti- 
cal agent  has  constantly  increased:  that  it  gives  prompt  and  pleasant 
relief  in  sick  and  nervous  headache,  neuralgia,  indigestion,  lassitude, 
and  the  majority  of  minor  ills,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  I  consider  it 
both  a  luxury  and  a  necessity." 

Our  Formula  Since  1 892: 

"Minimum  Dose,  in  Perfect  Remedial  Balance." 


ACETANILID        2. 

Soda  Bi-Carb.  1 
Caff*™* 

4Gr. 
*   " 

Homeopathic  Trituration  of 
Mandrake,  Bine  Flaf  and 
NuxVomica                         1 

ToUlonly      5 

Gr». 

25c  Package  FREE  For  Honest  Test 

Send  poeta!  for  prominent  experience  and  testimony,  with 
25c  PACKAGE  FREE  FOR  HONEST  TEST.  Orangeine  is 
sold  by  all  druggists,  or  mailed  on  receipt  of  price.  lOc  pack- 
age (2  powders.1:  25c  package  (6  powders  j;  SOc  package  (15  pow- 
ders); SI  package  (35  powders). 

The  Orangeine  Chemical  Co.  1 5  MichiganA  ve.Chicago 


BY  BEC  DE  FER. 

"The  Rise  of  the  American  Proletar- 
ian," by  Austin  Lewis,  is  at  hand.  It  is 
from  the  press  of  the  successful  Chicago 
co-operative  publishing  house  of  Charles 
H.  Kerr  &  Co.  Mr.  Austin  Lewis  is  well 
known  to  all  readers  of  the  Overland 
Monthly  for  his  masterly  handling  of 
questions  of  sociology,  and  while  many 
of  the  readers  of  this  magazine  may  not 
agree  with  his  premises  and  deductions 
there  are  many  people  in  California  who 
believe  in  the  social  science  of  which  Aus- 
tin Lewis  stands  as  the  foremost  expo- 
nent. It  is  needful  to  understand  that 
there  is  wide  difference  in  the  various 
apostles  of  the  cult,  and  that  the  London 
red-flag  waving  idiot  is  not  at  all  the 
socialist  of  the  Lewis  stripe,  who  earnest- 
lv  and  conscientiously  believes  that  social- 
ism is  an  exact  science,  that  its  success  is 
not  dependent  on  fire,  blood  and  anarchy. 
Mr.  Lewis's  book  is  a  learned  exposi- 
tion of  his  chosen  subject. 

Charles  H.  Kerr  &  Co.,  Chicago. 
*  *  * 

"Before  Adam"  is  Jack  London's  last 
great  (?)  story.  There  is  some  question 
whether  it  is  Jack  London's  story  at  all, 
but  as  his  publishers  apparently  cared  but 
little  whether  it  was  or  not,  it  is  entitled 
to  review.  Its  similarity  in  ideas  and  in 
fact,  in  places,  in  very  wording  to  Stanley 
Waterloo's  "Story  of  Ab,"  is  quite  strik- 
ing. The  excuse  that  has  been  advanced 
is  that  there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun 
and  that  if  the  pilferer  of  other  men's 
ideas  improves  on  the  original  and  'gives 
the  world  a  masterpiece,  he  is  doing  hu- 
manity a  service.  When  we  take  into  con- 
sideration the  fact  that  London  did  not 
scruple  to  steal  bodily  from  a  dead  man, 
the  late  Prank  Norris,  and  that  many 
cases  are  well  authenticated  of  the  "as- 
similation" of  the  ideas  of  others,  we  are 
forced  to  arraign  this  young  man  as  a 
rank  plagiarist.  He  did  not  improve  on 


the  tale  of  "The  Passing  of  Cock-Eye 
Blacklock,"  and  his  version  (?)  of  "My 
Dogs  in  the  Northland,"  in  the  "Call  of 
the  Wild,"  is  equally  a  dismal  parody  on 
the  original.  Stanley  Waterloo's  work  is 
far  and  away  a  better  constructed  and 
more  euphoniously  written  book  than 
"Before  Adam."  Jack  London  cannot 
advance  the  excuse  of  having  improved 
on  the  original,  but  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  the  story  of  "Before  Adam"  is  a  well 
written  and  interest-holding  tale,  and  il- 
lustrates how  stolen  goods  may  be  made 
attractive  to  the  public  at  large  by  being 
exhibited  in  a  different  show  window  and 
under  another  name  and  at  a  later  date. 

The  MacMillan  Company,  New  York 
and  London. 

*  *  * 

"Westward  the  Course  of  Empire"  is 
the  trite  title  to  a  book  that  is  little  more 
than  an  elaborate  advertisement  of  a  trip 
across  the  country  over  the  Los  Angeles 
Limited,  taking  in  the  Chicago  North- 
western, the  Union  Pacific  Railroad,  and 
the  Salt  Lake  .Route.  It  is-  well  illus- 
trated, but  not  particularly  well  written. 
The  author  is  Montgomery  Schuyler. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York  and 
London. 

*  *  * 

"Kenelm's  Desire"  is  a  far  cry  from 
Bulwer's  Kenelm  that  was  the  story  of 
one  civilation's  finest  products,  while  the 
Kenelm  of  Hughes  Cornell  is  an  Alaska 
Indian,  adopted  and  educated  by  a  white 
family  of  British  Columbia.  The  events 
of  this  charming  story  take  place  in  San 
Francisco  and  British  Columbia,  and 
there  is  a  delightful  love  idyll  running 
through  it.  It  is  a  romance  of  many- 
sided  interest.  The  author  is  a  woman, 
and  she  shows  a  deep  research  and  a 
splendid  knowledge  of  the  handling  of  her 
material. 

Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Boston,  Massa- 
chusetts. 


Jt  ta  turll  to   auf  ma- 
tana  of  a  bfttrr  lift 
tljatt  t^at  of 
,  hut  tt  ta  t      lift  of 
r merg  bay  from  twljtrh 

of  a  betfrr  Uf? 


L!C    LIBRARY 


JUN.31907 

Overland  Monthly 


UR,    ILL. 


NO.  6 


June,  1907 


VOL.  XLIX 


BY  GURDEN  EDWARDS 


THE  Greek  Theatre  at  the  Univer- 
sity of  California,  the  only  theatre 
of  its  kind  in  regular  use  in  the 
world,  has  afforded  the  opportunity  for 
a  series  of  remarkable  and  unique  dra- 
matic productions,  among  which  the  recent 
revival  of  the  ancient  Sanskrit  classic, 
"The  Little  Clay  Cart,"  ranks  especially 
noteworthy.  With  ample  room  for  over 
seven  thousand  persons,  together  with 
seating  arrangements  and  acoustic  prop- 
erties that  make  the  huge  stage  perfectly 
accessible  to  every  member  of  the  audience, 
the  great  theatre  possesses  not  only  the 
possibilities  of  a  modern  auditorium,  but 
additional  features  that  are  peculiar  to 
itself,  and  which  led  the  musical  and  dra- 
matic authorities  of  the  University  to  un- 
dertake the  presentation  in  the  Far  West 
of  a  typical  instance  of  the  ancient  dra- 
matic culture  of  the  East.  From  Greek 
classics,  down  to  modern  comedy,  such  as 
"She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  the  stage  has 
proved  its  versatile  adaptability  to  any 
dramatic  need,  and  in  the  production  of 
"The  Little  Clay  Cart,"  with  its  peculiar 
stage  necessities,  it  again  proved  its  use- 
fulness, for  effects  were  obtained  that 
could  not  be  produced  on  an  ordinary 
stage. 

Another  distinction  attaches  to  this 
production  of  "The  Little  Clay  Cart,"  as 
it  is  the  first  time  that  a  Hindu  play,  sub- 
stantially as  the  author  wrote  it,  has  ever 


been  given  before  a  Western  audience,  not 
only  in  America,  but  in  Europe  as  well. 
Former  productions  of  the  piece,  in  Paris 
and  Berlin,  were  so  thoroughly  "adapted" 
as  to  lose  most  of  their  original  charm  and 
atmosphere,  and  the  same  is  true  of  other 
Sanskrit  plays  that  have  been  seen  on  the 
Occidental  stage.  Therefore,  this  presen- 
tation possesses  a  world-wide  significance, 
not  only  to  Sanskritists,  but  to  lovers  of 
literary  culture  as  well,  for  to  a  witness  of 
the  play  there  were  apparent  interesting 
parallelisms  with  our  modern  dramatic 
conventions.  What  was  good  thirteen 
years  ago  is  good  to-day. 

The  Mrcchakatika,  or  "Little  Clay 
Cart,"  was  first  acted  in  India  about  600 
A.  D.,  and  is  attributed  to  King  Shud- 
raka.  Concerning  his  life  and  person,  lit- 
tle is  known;  no  other  work  is  ascribed  to 
him,  and  among  the  many  tales  which 
cluster  about  his  name  there  is  no  men- 
tion of  him  as  a  writer. 

The  text  used  in  this  twentieth  century 
re-production  of  the  play  was  the  English 
translation  by  Dr.  Arthur  Wl  Ryder,  late 
of  Harvard  University,  and  at  present 
head  of  the  Sanskrit  Department  in  the 
University  of  California.  His  work  was 
published  in  the  Harvard  Oriental  Series. 
The  translation  is  partly  in  prose  and 
partly  lyrics,  as  in  the  original. 

As  originally  written,  the  play  consists 
of  ten  acts,  but,  with  a  looseness  of  eon- 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


struction  characteristic  of  Hindu  drama, 
these  ten  acts  really  constitute  two  almost 
distinct  plays.  Acts  II  to  V  are  episodic 
acts  that  have  no  practical  bearing  on  the 
main  plot,  which  is  worked  out  in  Acts  I 
and  VI  to  X.  Taken  together,  they  make 
up  of  themselves  a  comedy  of  lighter  tone 
than  that  presented  in  the  major  plot  of 
A.cts  I  to  VI  to  X,  which  is  not  so  purely 
dramatic,  being  more  lyric  in  character. 
For  +he  present  production,  only  the  plot 
of  the  major  play  was  used.  It  pertains 
to  the  love  between  Charudatta  and  Vasan- 
tasena,  and  this  love  plot  comes  into  con- 
tact with  a  political  intrigue  of  the  realm 
which  serves  as  a  sub-plot  complicating 
the  course  of  their  love. 

A  brief  resume  of  the  plot  as  presented 
is  as  follows:  Charudatta  is  a  rich  mer- 
chant brought  to  poverty  by  his  over-gen- 
erous benevolences;  he  loves  and  is  loved 
by  Vasantasena.  Vasantasena  is  also 
loved  by  Sansthana,  brother-in-law  to  ths 
king;  he  pursues  her  with  his  violent  at- 
tentions, and  hates  Charudatta  because  of 
her  fidelity  to  him.  The  first  act  shows 
Charudatta's  house  and  the  street  without, 
the  action  p-oino-  on  simultaneously  in  the 
two  places ;  the  special  stage  arrangements 
for  this  novelty  to  Western  drama  are  de- 
scribed below.  Vasantasena  is  pursued 
onto  the  stage  by  the  hated  lover,  Sans- 
tbana,  but  escapes  from  him  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night  into  the  house  of  Charu- 
datta. They  make  confession  of  their  love 
and  agree  to  meet  on  the  following  day  in 
the  garden  of  Pushpakaranda. 

The  second  act  represents  Vasantasena's 
house  and  the  street  before  it.  Here  she 
meets  Charudatta's  little  son,  who  is  drag- 
ging a  little  clay  cart  along  and  complain- 
ing because  he  hasn't  a  better  toy,  such  as 
he  had  in  the  days  of  his  father's  pros- 
perity; she  gives  him  her  jewels  with 
which  to  buy  a  better  one.  Charudatta 
sends  his  bullock  cart  to  Vasantasena's 
house  to  carry  her  to  the  rendevous.  While 
t  is  waiting  for  her,  the  driver  discovers 
that  he  has  forgotten  the  cushions,  and  re- 
turns to  amend  his  error,  leaving  the  cart 
standing  before  the  house.  Meanwhile  the 
bullock  cart  belonging  to  Sansthana,  the 
hated  lover,  comes  up,  and  the  driver 
leaves  it  standing  beside  the  other,  whil-3 
he  goes  to  the  aid  of  a  villager  whose  cart 
has  stuck  in  a  rut.  While  the  two  drivers 
are  gone  Vasantasena  enters  the  cart  of 


Sansthana,  and  is  "carried  off  to  a  meeting 
with  him  instead  of  Charudatta.  In  the 
cart  intended  for  her,  Aryaka,  an  escaped 
political  prisoner,  pretender  to  the  throne 
of  King  Palaka,  takes  refuge,  and  is  car- 
ried to  Charudatta,  who  aids  him  in  his 
further  escape. 

The  third  act  is  taken  up  by  the  meet- 
ing of  Vasantasena  and  Sansthana,  and 
upon  her  repulse  of  his  insulting  advances 
and  declaration  of  fidelity  to  Charudatta, 
he  strangles  her  and  leaves  her  for  dead. 
A  Buddhist  monk  finds  her,  and  upon  her 
return  to  consciousness  conducts  her  to  a 
monastery. 

In  the  next  act,  Sansthana  seeks  to  re- 
venge himself  upon  his  hated  and  more 
favored  rival,  Charudatta,  by  accusing  him 
in  court  of  the  murder  of  Vasantasena  for 


Miss  Isabel  McReynolds,  as  Vasantasena. 


THE  SANSKRIT  PLAY  IX  THE  GREEK  THEATRE. 


487 


her  jewels;  his  testimony  is  corroborated 
bv  the  finding  of  the  jewels,  which  she  had 
given  to  his  little  son,  in  his  house.  Charu- 
datta is  thereupon  sentenced  to  death. 

The  last  act  presents  a  street  scene, 
which  is  interrupted  by  the  executioners 
who  bring  Charudatta  to  his  punishment. 
But  at  the  critical  moment  Yasantasena 
enters,  freeing  him  from  suspicion  and 
casting  the  guilt  of  the  attempted  crime 
uDon  Sansthana,  who,  however,  escapes 
punishment  through  the  intercession  of 
Charudatta  himself.  Meanwhile,  the 
political  prisoner  whom  Charudatta  aided, 
has  become  king,  and  through  his  desire 
to  reward  Charudatta,  frees  Yasantasena 
from  the  caste  necessity  of  living  as  a 
courtesan,  in  order  that  she  may  legally 
marry  Charudatta.  This  happy  denoue- 
ment conforms  with  one  of  the  canons  of 
the  highly  formulated  Sanskrit  drama ; 
the  Hindu  theatre  knows  no  tragedy — 
there  may  be  tragic  elements  and  pathos, 
but  the  ultimate  outcome  must  be  happy. 

The  most  highly  individualized 
character  in  the  piece  is  that  of  Sansthana, 
a  ludicrously  egotistical  and  foppish  aris- 
tocrat, and  withal  a  cunning  and  lustful 
villain  who,  after  strangling  a  woman,  can 
say:  "Oh,  come!  let's  go  and  play  in  the 
pond."  And  he  is  boundlesslv  conceited 
because  he  is  the  brother-in-law  of  the 
king.  "My  sister's  husband,"  he  says, 
"gave  me  the  finest  garden  there  is,  the 
garden  of  Pushpakaranda.  Xow,  I'm  an 
aristocrat;  I'm  a  man,  and  I  don't  even 
take  a  bath." 

Vasantasena  belongs  to  the  courtesan 
class,  but  this  does  not  cast  any  imputation 
of  ill  on  her  character,  for  the  courtesan 
class  in  India  corresponded  roughly  to  the 
heterae  of  ancient  Greece  or  the  geishas 
of  Japan;  it  was  possible  to  be  a  courte- 
san and  retain  her  self-respect.  Yet  the 
inherited  way  of  life  was  distasteful  to 
Yasantasena,  and  she  desired  to  escape  its 
limitations  and  dangers  by  becoming  a 
legal  wife;  hence  the  significance  of  the 
decree  of  the  new  king,  whom  Charudatta 
aided  in  his  escape,  freeing  her  from  the 
necessity  of  living  as  a  courtesan  as  a  re- 
ward to  Charudatta,  so  that  he  might 
marry  her. 

The  hero  of  the  play  is  Charudatta.  He 
cares  nothing  for  life  itself,  but  only  honor 
he  holds  dear.  He  values  his  wealth  only 
because  it  gives  him  the  means  of  making 


Samuel  J.  Hume,  as  Sansthana. 

others  happy,  and  in  this  is  comparable 
to  Shakespeare's  Antonio  in  "The  Mer- 
chant of  Yenice." 

The  emotions  and  passions  of  these 
three  characters  are  the  motive  force  of 
the  play,  and  about  them  the  action  re- 
volves. In  all,  there  are  twenty-five  other 
characters,  most  of  them  acting  in  minor 
comedy  parts.  Their  comedy  has  a  re- 
markably modern  and  western  tone,  not- 
ably that  of  the  two  policemen,  whose 
horse-play  and  rapid  fire  dispute  of  epi- 
thets and  repartee  is  just  such  as  is  fre- 
quently seen  on  the  stage  to-day. 

Two  months  were  given  to  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  play  in  order  that  nothing  that 
care  and  labor  could  give  should  be  lack- 
ing. The  general  arrangements  were  un- 
der the  auspices  of  the  English  club,  the 
central  literary  and  dramatic  organization 
of  the  students,  acting  in  conjunction  with 
the  musical  and  dramatic  committee  of 
the  faculty.  The  direct  work  of  super- 
vision and  coaching  was  in  the  hands  of 
Mr.  Garnet  Holme,  an  experienced  Eng- 
lish actor  and  stage  manager,  who  came 
to  the  State  with  the  Constance  Crawley 
Company.  He  was  so  much  attracted  by 
the  country  and  the  dramatic  culture  of 


Scene   in    the    Sanskrit   play,    Greek    Theatre,  Berkeley. 

the  students  that  has  grown  up  about  the      Stage  Director    Forrest  Q.  Stanton 

Greek  Theatre,  that  he  decided  to  leave  Aryaka,  A  herdsman  who  becomes  king. . 

that  company  and  settle  at  Berkeley,  and          ' Nicholas   Ricciardi 

he  has  had  charge  of  all  the  dramatic  af-  Vardhamana,   Servant  to   Charudatta . .  . 

fairs  at  the  University  for  the  past  year.          Robert   N.   Sheridan 

Under  the  impetus  of  his  scholarship  and     Judge Walter  A.   Alderson 

enthusiasm,  the  student  dramatic  interests      Chandana,  Viraka,  Police  Captains 

have  made  a  decided  advance  in  culture          John  A.  Britton,  Geo.  A.  Bell 

and  technical  efficiency.    Mr.  Holme  added      Buddhist  Monk Rolla  J.  Ouster 

to  his  knowledge  of  stage  technique  the      Prologue Noresch  C.  Chakravarti 

scholarship  of  Dr.  Arthur  W.  Ryder,  the      Clerk Clarence  E.  Black 

translator  of  the  play,  and  in  the  details      Gildwarden Carroll  A.   Stilson 

of  native  Indian  manners  and  ceremonies     Beadle Gordon  M.   Grundy 

he   was  further   aided  by  the   first-hand      Goha,    Ahinta,    Executioners '. 

knowledge  of  Swami     Trigunatita     and          Reed  M.  Clark,  Channing  Hall 

Swami  Prakashananda,  the  two  priests  of  Vasantasena,   in  love  with  Charudatta.. 

the  Hindu  temple  in  San  Francisco.     A          Isabel    McReynolds 

number  of  Hindu  students,  registered  in      Mother  of  Vasantasena Maud  Scott 

the  University,  also  lent. their  assistance,  Radanika,  Maid  in  Charudatta's  house.. 

and  were  in  the  native  choruses.  Elizabeth   Kedrolivansky 

The  speaking  parts  were  assumed   by  -'Maid  to  Vasantasena . Florence  E.  Weeks 

students  of  the  University,     chosen     by      Actress Ethyl   M.   Schultz 

means  of  selective  try-outs,  so  as  to  secure     Rohasena,  a  little  son  of  Charudatta 

not  only  the  best  talent  possible,  but  in- Dorothy   Davenport 

dividual   fitness   for  the   parts   taken   as  Jaya,  Jayamana,  Mangala,  Phullabhadra, 

well.    The  cast  was  as  follows:  Policemen.  .John  W.  Barnicott,  Ernest 

W.  Killian,  Jonas  E.  Killian,  Jack  Mc- 

Sansthana,   Brother-in-law   of   the   King  Clellan. 

Samuel  J.  Hume  , 

Charudatta,  in  love  with  Vasantasena...  Besides  these  there  was  a  chorus  of  al- 

William  A.  Richardson  most   a   hundred   to    represent  a   native 

Courtier,  Tutor  to  Sansthana throng  in  the  festival  scenes. 

• Van  V.  Phinney  The  presentation  of  the  play  was  pre- 

Sthavara,  Servant  to  Sansthana ceded  by  an  address  of  welcome  to  the 

•. David   L.    Levy  distinguished  representatives     of     Hindu 

Maitreya,  Friend  of  Charudatta   culture,     Swami      Prakashananda      and 

Harold  A.   Clarke  Swami    Trigunatita.      He   said   in   part : 


THE  SANSKRIT  PLAY  IN  THE  GBEEK  THEATRE. 

"This  is  truly  a  meeting  of  the  East  and 
the  West.  The  two  races  are  of  the  same 
original  stock,  but  back  in  remote  ages 
there  was  a  separation,  and  you  have 
gone  your  way,  and  we  have  gone  ours. 
What  we  have  done,  we  have  done  by  our- 
selves, and  what  you  have  done,  you  have 
done  by  yourselves.  But  to-night  we  see 
these  two  threads  of  culture  brought  to- 
gether again."  Swami  Prakashananda 
responded,  thanking  the  faculty  and  stu- 
dents of  the  University  for  the  kindly 
interest  they  were  showing  in  the  litera- 
ture of  his  forefathers,  and  especially  Dr. 
Ryder,  for  his  truthful  and  sympathetic 
translation  of  the  original.  The  conclu- 
sion of  his  address  was  honored  by  a  deep 
salaam  on  the  part  of  the  actors  and 
choruses  who  were  gathered  on  the  stage. 
After  these  scholarly  ceremonies,  the 
play  began.  As  mentioned  above,  the  ac- 
tion demanded  special  stage  arrangements 
owing  to  the  simultaneous  presentation  of 
an  interior  and  exterior  scene.  This  un- 
usual condition  was  met  by  the  erection 
of  a  supplementary  stage  at  the  rear  of 
the  regular  stage.  Each  stage  had  its 
own  footlights,  the  upper  one  represent- 
ing the  interior  of  a  house,  and  the  lower 
the  street  without.  Wthile  the  actors  on 
one  stage  were  presenting  their  lines, 
those  on  the  other  remained  silent,  thus 
preventing  confusion,  and  at  the  same 
time  indicating  the  simultaneousness  of 
the  action.  This  arrangement  also  per- 


489 


Samuel   J.    Hume,    as    Sansthana;    Miss   Isabel 
McReynolds   as  Vasantasena. 

mitted  the  many  changes  of  scene  de- 
manded without  tiresome  delay  or  halt  in 
the  action.  Beside  set  decorations  of 
greens  and  a  shrine,  there  were  no  scenic 
accessories  used  except  the  portable  prop- 


scene  in   the   Sanskrit  play,   Greek   Theatre,  Berkeley. 


490 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


erties  such  as  litters.  The  scenic  changes 
were  sufficiently  indicated  by  the  action 
and  speeches. 

The  play  was  started  in  true  Hindu 
fashion  by  a  benediction  upon  the  audi- 
ence, spoken  in  the  original  Sanskrit  by 
Noresch  Chakravarti,  an  Indian  student 
in  the  University.  After  this,  the  action 
proper  began,  and  was  carried  through 
the  five  acts  with  great  spirit  by  the  stu- 
dent actors.  The  harmony  /  with  which 
they  worked  together,  arrayed  in  gorge- 
ous Oriental  costumes  prepared  especially 
for  the  occasion,  gave  an  effect  and  for- 
eignness  of  atmosphere  that  was  abso- 
lutely unique  to  a  Western  audience. 

The  great  scene  of  the  piece  was  the 
great  final  fifth  act,  which  represents  a 
street  festival  in  the  crowded  streets  of 
Avanti.  A  throng  of  people  enter  with  a 
troop  of  Oriental  musicians  playing  the 
weird  music  of  the  East.  The  procession 


was  headed  by  an  elephant,  Princess,  of 
the  Chutes  Zoo  being  engaged  for  the 
occasion,  and  two  zebras.  In  the  midst  of 
their  festivities  the  people  are  interrupted 
by  the  call  to  worship  of  a  Brahmin  priest. 
The  priest  then  consecrates  an  image 
which  serves  as  a  symbol  for  the  god 
Shiva,  the  lightning,  the  destroyer,  while 
the  crowd  of  worshipers  prostrate  them- 
selves. After  the  ceremony,  a  troop  of 
dancing  girls  enters  and  entertains  the 
people.  This  gayety  is  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  the  executioners  with  Cha- 
rudatta,  but  the  return  of  Vasantasena 
saves  him.  Their  joy  is  completed  by  the 
edict  of  the  king  making  it  possible  for 
Charudatta  to  marry  her.  The  king  him- 
self, who  was  formerly  the  prisoner  whom 
Oharudatta  aided  to  escape,  enters  in 
great  pomp  and  ceremony  on  an  elephant, 
and  the  play  is  concluded  by  the  obei- 
sance of  the  multitude. 


Scene  in   the   Sanskrit  play,    Greek   Theatre,    Berkeley. 


BY    LOUISE    AYRES    GARNETT 

The  spirit  of  the  lark  is  in  the  morn, 
When  earth  is  blithe  and  sweet  and  newly  born. 
0  gladsome  day !  let  all  your  pennants  fly, 
For  eager  hope  mounts  upward  to  the  sky. 

The  eve  is  like  a  dove  with  folded  wing, 
Content  to  echo  back  what  others  sing. 
0  quiet  night !    Unlock  your  gates  of  peace, 
And  let  us  wander  in  where  strivings  cease. 


BY    CHARLES    W.    CUNO 


DEXTEB  Overton  sat  in  his  office 
smoking  an  abominable  cigar.  He 
was  gazing  out  of  the  window,  his 
mind  occupied  by  one  of  those  puzzling 
problems  that  frequently  come  the  way 
of  a  railroad  claim  agent.  So  lost  in 
thought  was  he  that,  when  Stapleton,  of 
the  Long  Branch  Insurance  Company, 
came  into  the  office,  he  stared  at  him 
without  recognizing  his  familiar  figure. 

"Hard  at  it,  I  see,"  the  latter  said,  smil- 
ing. "What  is  it  now?  Some  brakeman 
stole  a  bolt  of  calico  for  his  sweetheart?" 
He  lounged  his  athletic  body  on  the  edge 
of  the  desk,  pursed  up  his  lips  to  a  whist- 
ling attitude,  and  dru  turned  on  the  desk 
with  his  fingers,  all  the  while  contemplat- 
ing his  friend  with  whimsical  laughter  in 
his  eyes. 

Overton  smiled.  He  was  used  to  the 
bantering  sallies  of  Stapleton. 

"My  boy,"  the  latter  continued,  "you 
may  be  a  dandy  in  ferreting  out  mysteries 
for  the  railroad,  but  we  have  one  up  at 
the  Butland  Hotel  that  I'll  bet  you  won't 
be  able  to  solve." 

"Indeed,"  said  Overton,  apathetically, 
"I  have  no  inclination  to  try.  You  may 
explain,  however,  as,  apparently,  that  is 
what  you  came  for." 

The  smile  with  which  he  said  it  dulled 
somewhat  the  sharp  edge  of  his  sarcasm, 
and  Stapleton  chuckled  as  he  relit  his 
cigarette. 

"Last  week,"  he  began,  caressing  his 
knee  musingly,  "Prince  Samurari  of  Japan 
arrived  here  on  a  wedding  trip  with  his 
almond-eyed  bride.  The  bridal  chamber 
of  the  Eutland  had  been  reserved  in  ad- 
vance, and  the  employees  and  guests  of 
the  hotel  gave  them  a  royal  reception. 

"But  that  is  only  incidental.  The  next 
morning  the  little  Prince,  clad  in  shim- 
mering yellow  satin,  paid  me  a  visit  in 
my  office,  and  inquired  about  insurance 
rates  in  the  Mutual.  I  showed  him  every 
consideration,  and  he  seemed  very  much 


taken  with  our  proposition. 

"After  examining  every  form  of  con- 
tract that  I  had  to  offer,  he  beckoned  me 
to  one  side,  and  took  me  into  his  confi- 
dence. 

"Before  entering  into  a  contract  with 
your  company,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  con- 
ceal from  you  the  fact  that  my  life  has 
been  threatened.  You  are  aware,  of 
course,  that  I  am  of  the  Boyal  Family  of 
Japan.  Before  coming  to  this  country  I 
believed  that  I  had  not  an  enemy  in  this 
world  beyond  that  class  of  fanatics  who 
are  enemies  to  all  royalty.  Since  my  ar- 
rival in  San  Francisco,  however,  I  have 
received  three  very  threatening  letters." 

'Tie  fumbled  in  his  dress  and  brought 
forth  a  letter.  I  have  it  here,"  Stapleton 
continued,  producing  a  curious-looking 
parchment. 

"He  explained  that  the  three  letters 
were  exactly  alike,  and  that  while  the 
first  one  did  not  alarm  him  to  any  great 
extent,  since  receiving  the  other  two  he 
confessed  considerable  alarm.  He  added 
that  he  feared  foul  play,  and  it  was  for 
that  reason  mainly  that  he  wished  to  take 
out  insurance." 

Overton  reached  for  the  letter  in  Sta- 
pleton's  hand  and  beheld  a  series  of  Jap- 
anese letters,  and  beneath  a  translation,  as 
follows : 

"Samurai,  Prince  of  Japan — Beware! 
Your  enemies  have  found  you  out.  You 
will  disappear.  You  are  already  dead." 

The  missive  was  signed  by  a  clenched 
hand,  drawn  in  rough  outline  on  the 
paper.  Overton  examined  the  paper  care- 
fully. "Bice  paper,"  he  remarked,  "but 
American  manufacture  by  the  water- 
mark. Ink  is  genuine  Japanese,  however, 
by  the  lustre  and  peculiar  raised  effect 
which  our  American  inks  cannot  produce. 
And  written  by  a  Japanese,  apparently, 
because  laid  on  by  an  expert  in  bold,  firm 
strokes.  Ah  !  who  made  the  translation  ?r 

"Samurari   did,     himself,"     Stapleton 


492 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


answered.    "He  speaks  good  English,  and 
wrote  the  translation  at  my  request." 

"Proceed,"  said  Overton.  Beneath  his 
indifferent  demeanor  was  beginning  to 
show  the  interest  of  the  expert. 

"I  laughed  at  him,"  Stapleton  contin- 
ued, "and  told  him  that  if  I  insured  him 
that  I  would  have  to  charge  him  the 
higher  rate  of  an  extra  hazardous  risk.  He 
was  apparently  much  relieved  that  I 
would  listen  to  insuring  him  on  any  terms 
whatever,  and  requested  me  to  draw  up 
a  policy  for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
immediately. 

"To  make  sure  of  my  position,  I  tele- 
graphed particulars  to  the  home  company 
and  received  permission  to  insure  the 
Prince,  threats  against  his  life  notwith- 
standing. The  next  day  I  issued  the 
policy  to  Samurari,  and  received  from 
him  profuse  and  polite  thanks  for  my 
efforts  in  his  behalf." 

Stapleton  paused  and  contemplated  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  musingly. 
"And?"  Overton  inquired. 
"Two  days  ago,"  his  friend  continued, 
"Prince  Samurari  disappeared.  Not  a 
trace  of  him  has  been  found.  We  have 
not  a  single  clue  to  work  upon.  He  has 
been  completely  wiped  off  of  the  earth. 
His  bride  is  prostrated.  She  speaks  very 
little  English,  and  the  only  intelligible 
words  that  we  can  get  out  of  her  is  that 
Samurari  is  gone.  In  consequence,  our 
company  stands  to  lose  a  cool  hundred 
thousand.  We  knew  the  facts.  We  en- 
tered into  the  contract  knowingly,  and  al- 
though the  body  of  the  Prince  has  not 
been  found,  yet  we  have  absolutely  no 
ground  upon  which  to  base  a  contest." 

Overton  remained  in  a  brown  study.  It 
was  plain  that  Stapleton's  story  interested 
him  greatly. 

Stapleton  slid  from  the  table  to  a  chair 
nearby,  and  studied  the  frowning,  clear- 
cut  features  of  his  friend.  The  cigar  had 
gone  out,  and  he  chewed  the  end  of  it 
nervously,  his  hands  fingered  the  threat- 
ening letter  to  the  Prince,  and  he  seemed 
to  be  studying  the  beautiful  scroll-work 
of  a  passing  cloud.  In  that  mood,  Sta- 
pleton knew  it  was  not  well  to  disturb 
him,  and  he  patiently  awaited  a  word 
from  him. 

It  came  abruptly,  and  showed  that  he 
had  determined  to  solve  the  mystery,  if  it 
were  solvable. 


"Can  you  take  me  to  the  Princess  Sa- 
murari ?" 

"This  very  moment  if  you  wish,"  Sta- 
pleton replied. 

Ten  minutes  later  Overton  was  bowing 
to  the  slant-eyed  Princess  Samurari  in 
the  sumptuous  bridal  chamber  of  the  Eut- 
land.  The  room  had  been  transformed 
into  a  Japanese  palace.  Eich  tapestries 
adorned  the  walls,  strangely  shaped  boxes 
and  stools  stood  about  the  room,  kneeling 
cushions  were  strewn  about,  and  in  the 
center  of  it  all  reclined  the  Japanese  girl. 
She  rose  as  they  entered,  and  bowed 
low  before  each  of  them. 

"Ze  honorable  gentle'm.  My  poor  los' 
husban',"  she  exclaimed. 

These  two  phrases  she  repeated  to  every 
question  asked  her.  Beyond  that  her 
vocabulary  did  not  seem  to  reach. 

To  Overton,  kneeling  uncomfortably  on 
one  of  the  cushions,  not  a  detail  escaped. 
The  decorations  on  the  tapestries  inter- 
ested him  more  than  anything  else,  es- 
pecially the  oft-repeated  image  of  a 
strangely  distorted  stork  with  a  broken 
wing. 

Yet  his  heart  was  sympathetic,  and  he 
felt  deeply  for  the  young  almond-eyed 
bride  so  rudely  deprived  of  her  husband. 
With  women  Overton  was  often  strangely 
sentimental.  He  proffered  his  services 
to  her  most  unhesitatingly,  and  in  depart- 
ing, took  her  hand  and  almost  bent  low 
enough  to  kiss  it  as  he  bade  her  adieu. 

But  he  came  away  from  the  interview 
disappointed.  From  the  Princess  Samu- 
rari he  had  learned  little,  and  that  little 
only  added  to  the  several  very  puzzling 
things  that  awaited  solution.  As  they 
turned  away  from  the  room,  he  was  de- 
lighted, therefore,  to  see  Inspector  Loomis 
coming  up  the  stairway. 

Some  little  fame  had  come  to  Overton 
in  the  cases  that  he  had  handled  for  the 
railroad,  and  Loomis  shook  his  hand 
warmly. 

"Looking  up  new  fields  ?"  he  questioned 
banteringly.  "If  you  are,  I  am  afraid 
you  are  a  little  too  late.  We  have  all  but 
located  our  game." 

"Indeed,"  said  Overton,  scarcely  able 
to  restrain  his  eagerness.  "Do  you  mean 
you  have  found  the  Prince?" 

"The  Prince?  No,  we  hare  found  his 
murderer." 

"But  the  Prince,  or  his  body?" 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  CHINESE  IDOL. 


493 


Overtoil's  masked  face  betrayed  a  trace 
of  humor  about  the  mouth,  but  it  was  lost 
on  the  Inspector. 

"Precisely  the  point,"  he  answered, 
"why  we  have  not  made  an  arrest,  but 
the  man  had  been  seen  frequently  in  the 
company  of,  or  at  least  going  to  the  rooms 
of,  the  Prince,  before  the  crime;  since 
then  he  has  avoided  the  place.  Suspicion 
first  pointed  to  him  on  that  account.  Last 
night  his  rooms  were  searched,  and  we 
came  into  possession  of  most  convincing 
evidence.  The  apparel  of  the  Prince  and 
many  of  his  personal  effects  were  found 
in  the  man's  trunk." 

"The  man's  name?" 

"Shelby— Charles  G.  Shelby." 

Overton's  eyes  narrowed.  Shelby — 
where  had  he  seen  that  name  before?  For 
a  moment  he  could  not  place  it. 

"The  man  is  still  at  liberty,  and  in  fact 
does  not  know  that  he  is  suspected,"  the 
inspector  added. 

Overton  remained  silent  as  they  walked 
through  the  hotel  rotunda,  and  reached 
the  street.  When  they  neared  the  N".  G. 
offices,  he  again  turned  to  the  Inspector. 

'•'Shelby,"  he  inquired;  "can  you  give 
me  some  of  the  antecedents  of  this  man's 
character  ?" 

"Yes,"  the  chief  answered;  "he  is 
known  as  Charles  Shelby,  artist,  some- 
times C.  Gordon  Shelby,  actor." 

"Enough  said,"  Overton  exclaimed. 

With  the  words  of  Loomis  as  a  key, 
things  began  to  explain  themselves  to  him 
very  rapidly,  and  there  lacked  but  a  few 
verifying  facts  before  he  laid  the  whole 
matter  before  the  inspector.  He  thought 
rapidly  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned 
to  his  companions: 

"C. 'Gordon  Shelby  has  a  claim  against 
the  North  Galesburg  Express  Co.,"  he 
said,  "that  comes  up  for  settlement  to- 
morrow afternoon  at  two  o'clock.  I  have 
no  doubt  but  that  he  is  the  same  man  that 
you  are  watching.  Can  you  allow  him 
liberty  until  then?" 

Loomis  nodded. 

"You  and  Stapleton  will  favor  me  with 
your  presence  at  that  time  also?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  by  the  way,  Stapleton,"  Overton 
added,  "persuade  your  Princess  Samu- 
rari  to  visit  me  to-morrow  at  two  also." 

"I  am  afraid " 

"Do  not  fail.    It  is  important." 


The  inspector  smiled  good-naturedly  as 
Overton  left  them,  and  winked  at  Sta- 
pleton. He  did  not  follow  the  younger 
man's  reasoning,  but  he  felt  sure  that 
something  would  develop  worth  while.  He 
recognized  Overton's  love  for  the  dra- 
matic, and  smiled  over  his  non-committal 
ways,  but  to  his  credit  may  it  be  said,  he 
never  felt  jealous  of  the  claim  agent's 
keener  analytical  powers,  and  showed  only 
the  warmest  admiration  for  this  rising 
young  man. 

Again  in  his  office,  Overton  brought 
forth  a  claim,  in  the  corner  of  which  was 
noted  the  large  amount  of  five  thousand 
dollars.  He  re-read  it  carefully,  and  then 
telephoned  for  the  express  agent.  In  a 
few  moments  the  man  arrived,  followed 
by  two  helpers  carrying  a  huge,  empty 
box.  In  appearance  it  resembled  a  lar^e 
Japanese  tea  box,  and  bore  on  its  either 
side  the  design  of  the  atrocious  stork  with 
the  broken  wing. 

"About  this  claim,"  Overton  began.  "I 
wish  you  would  tell  me  all  you  can  about 
it,  Jones." 

Jones  put  his  pencil  behind  his  ear  and 
began  methodically. 

"The  facts  in  the  case  are  these:  Last 
week,  the  sixteenth,  a  little  before  twelve 
at  night,  a  well-dressed  woman  came  into 
the  express  office,  followed  by  two  ex- 
pressmen carrying  that  box.  She  signed 
the  receipt  as  Miss  Anita  Fay.  She  said 
the  box  contained  a  Chinese  idol,  and 
wished  to  ship  it  to  San  Francisco  in  the 
name  of  C.  Gordon  Shelby,  and  at  the 
valuation  of  five  thousand  dollars.  She 
represented  it  to  be  very  valuable. 

"I  asked  to  inspect  the  contents  before 
signing  for  such  a  large  amount,  and  she 
lifted  the  lid  for  a  moment,  exposing  the 
figure  of  a  squatting  Chinese,  apparently 
moulded  in  wax,  and  well  packed  in  ex- 
celsior, so  that  little  of  the  figure  was 
visible.  She  closed  and  locked  the  box 
in  my  presence.  When  I  mentioned  the 
rate  on  such  a  valuation  she  hesitated, 
but  after  some  talk,  pro  and  con,  she  paid 
the  charges  and  left." 

Overton  was  examining  the  box  with  in- 
terest. 'As  Jones  ceased,  he  looked  up. 
"A  woman,  perhaps  five  feet  two  in 
height,"  he  inquired;  ( large  black  eyes, 
light  yellow  hair,  a  touch  of  rouge  on  her 
face,  and  a  very  fascinating  manner?" 

Jones  nodded. 


494 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


"When  the  box  reached  San  Francisco 
it  was  empty,  was  it  not?" 

"There  was  nothing  in  it  but  some  ex- 
celsior." 


Precisely  at  two  the  next  afternoon,  C. 
Cordon  Shelby,  actor,  artist,  entered  the 
sanctum  of  Dexter  Overton,  claim  agent 
of  the  North  Galesburg.  Loomis  had  ar- 
rived before  him,  and  was  seated  near  the 
door.  As  he  entered,  there  was  a  stir  be- 
low. A  carriage  drove  up,  and  Stapletoii 
helped  the  prettv  almond-eyed  Princess 
Samurari  to  ascend  the  stairway  to  the 
claim  agent's  office. 

Overton  was  in  his  element.  The  dra- 
matic situation  was  about  ready  for  the 
climax. 

"Mr.  C.  Gordon  Shelby,  I  believe,"  ha 
inquired ;  "please  be  seated.  Ah,  Princess 
Samurari,  you  honor  me." 

Shelby  started  slightly. 

Overton  motioned  the  slant-eyed  Prin- 
cess to  a  chair  at  his  side,  and  shook  hands 
with  Stapleton.  At  Overton's  elbow  stood 
a  carafe  of  brandy  and  a  bottle  of  carbo- 
nated water.  Stapleton  was  surprised,  for 
he  knew  that  the  claim  agent  was  a  total 
abstainer,  but  he  had  no  time  for  conjec- 
ture. 

"Mr.  Shelby,  gentlemen,"  Overtoil 
gushed  in  feigned  excitement,  "a  glass  of 
something  before  we  come  to  business,  if 
the  Princess  will  pardon  us." 

He  reached  his  hand  for  the  bottle  of 
carbonated  water,  and  apparently  through 
nervousness,  pressed  the  handle  of  the 
siphon  and  at  the  same  time  tipped  the 
bottle  slightly,  so  that  the  full  force  of 
the  stream  spurted  into  the  face  of  the 
Princess. 

She  gave  a  gasp,  and  a  very  American 
scream. 

Overton  was  all  apology  at  once.  "My 
dear  Princess,"  he  exclaimed,  whipping 
out  a  pocket  handkerchief,  "a  thousand 
pardons,  I  beg  of  you."  Not  heeding  her 
protestations,  he  besran  to  wipe  the  water 
from  her  face. 

When  he  had  finished,  her  fine  Japanese 
tan  had  changed  to  a  smeary  brown,  her 
eyebrows  showed  where  court-plaster  had 
held  then  in  a  slanting  position ;  her  beau- 
tiful black  hair  remained  in  Overton's 
hand,  and  revealed  a  short,  taffy-colored 
crop. 


The  claim  agent  turned  triumphantly 
to  his  two  friends. 

"My  dear  Loomis  and  my  dear  Staple- 
ton,"  he  exclaimed,  "allow  me  to  intro- 
duce Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  G.  Shelby, 
known  on  the  stage  as  C.  Gordon  Shelby 
and  Miss  Anita  Fay,  presenting  'A  Jap- 
anese Honeymoon.'  Known  more  recent- 
ly as  Prince  Samurari  and  his  charming 
Japanese  bride,  Princess  Samurari — ac- 
tors, artists,  swindlers." 

Shelby  made  a  break  for  the  door,  but 
Loomis  blocked  the  way. 

"Kindly  take  a  seat  beside  your  wife, 
Mr.  Shelby,"  he  said,  quietly,  "while  Mr. 
Overton  explains  the  remarkable  manner 
in  which  he  ferreted  out  your  methods." 

Overton  smiled. 

"Perhaps,  gentlemen,  I  owe  you  some- 
what of  an  explanation,"  he  said.  He 
took  a  claim  from  his  desk  and  spread  it 
out  before  him.  "My  first  introduction 
to  the  ways  of  Mr.  Shelby,"  he  continued, 
"was  through  a  claim  for  reimbursement 
he  presented  to  the  Express  Company  for 
the  loss  of  one  Chinese  idol,  valued  at  five 
thousand  dollars.  At  first  glance  his  claim 
seemed  extremely  plausible.  Only  in  one 
thing  did  he  overstep  himself."  He  in- 
dicated the  Japanese  box  standing  in  the 
corner. 

"Mr.  Gordon  Shelby  is  an  artist,  but  in 
painting  the  Japanese  stork  on  the  box 
he  overlooked  one  fact.  He  painted  the 
bird  with  a  broken  wing.  Japanese  draw 
only  beautiful  things.  They  abhor  pain 
or  any  suggestion  of  it.  That  one  fact  be- 
trayed to  me  that  the  box  was  not  genuine 
and  roused  my  suspicions.  This  small 
item  gave  me  very  little  to  work  on,  how- 
ever. 

"It  developed  later  that  "Mr.  Shelby  and 
his  charming  wife  were  playing  a  still 
higher  game.  The  claim  against  the  N. 
G.  Railway  was  merely  a  side  issue,  and 
I  presume  came  only  as  an  after-thought. 
His  main  game  was  to  swindle  the  Mutual 
Insurance  Company  out  of  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars. 

"The  swindling  scheme  was  an  extreme- 
ly plausible  one.  Prince  Samurari  and 
his  bride  arrive  with  great  pomp,  and 
are  entertained  at  the  Rutland.  The 
Prince  calls  on  my  friend  Stapleton  to 
take  out  insurance,  and  to  make  his  future 
disappearance  less  suspicious,  displays  a 
threatening  letter,  supposedly  from  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  CHINESE  IDOL. 


495 


highbinders,  or  some  equally  vicious  Ori- 
ental organization.  He  cheerfully  pays  the 
higher  rate  of  insurance. 

"A  few  days  afterward,  the  Prince  dis- 
appears. No  clew  of  his  whereabouts  is 
discovered.  Stapleton  sees  no  way  out 
of  it  but  to  pay  the  insurance  to  the 
weeping  widow. 

"The  one  point  that  led  me  to  connect 
the  disappearance  of  the  Prince  with  this 
claim  of  Mr.  Shelby's  is  the  threatening 
letter  that  the  Prince  showed  to  Mr.  Sta- 
pleton." 

Overton  laid  the  letter  alongside  of  the 
claim,  and  called  Loomis  to  his  side: 
"Xote  the  similarity  of  the  'e's'  and  's's' 
and  also  the  peculiarly  shaped  Ti's.' '; 

Loomis  nodded. 

"The  same  hand  has  written  both,"  Ov- 
erton continued.  "The  next  point  that 
connected  him  to  the  Japanese  I  noted 
when  T  paid  a  visit  to  the  charming  Prin- 
cess Samurari,"  he  nodded  in  the  direction 
of  the  crestfallen  actress.  "In  the  bridal 
chamber  of  the  Rutland  I  noted  again  the 
pictures  of  the  stork  with  the  broken  wing. 
I  was  still  ait  sea,  however,  and  it  was  you, 
Loomis,  who  supplied  me  with  the  one 
fact  that  brought  everything  clear  to  my 
mind." 

Loomis  looked  blankly  at  Overton,  a 
question  in  his  eyes. 

"You  do  not  remember?  It  was  the 
words:  'C.  Gordon  Shelby,  actor.'  Actor 
— that  was  the  one  word  that  opened  my 
eyes.  In  an  instant  the  whole  plot  lay 
erposed  before  me.  Previous  to  that,  I 
was  vaguely  trying  to  connect  Shelby  with 
a  Chinese  highbinder  society,  to  make 
him  out  a  murderer.  I  had  him  pictured 
as  attempting  to  ship  the  body  of  his  vic- 
tim out  of  the  country  disguised  as  a  Chi- 
nese idol,  and  at  the  same  time  I  had  to 
reconcile  these  facts  with  his  temerity  in 
pushing  a  claim  against  the  railroad  for 
an  object  that  he  would  evidently  be  very 
glad  to  have  disappear. 

"But  the  word  'actor'  put  a  new  inter- 
pretation on  the  mystery  entirely.  In  an 
instant  I  recalled  the  widely  advertised 
bill  posters:  'Mr.  C.  Gordon  Shelby  and 
Miss  Anita  Fay,  presenting  'A  Japanese 
Honeymoon.'  It  reconciled  everything, 
even  to  the  poise  of  the  chic  little  Princess 
on  the  Japanese  kneeling  cushion. 

"By  the  way,  Princess,"  he  interjected, 
addressing  the  actor's  wife,  "I  first  sus- 


picioned  your  genuineness  when  you  al- 
lowed me  to  hold  your  hand  as  I  did  in 
parting.  A  genuine  Japanese  Princess 
would  have  considered  it  an  insult." 

Mrs.  Shelby  looked  at  her  husband  and 
colored  slightly. 

"From  the  moment  that  I  knew  Shelby 
to  be  an  actor,"  Overton  continued,  "I 
could  trace  every  move  of  the  cunning 
plotter  in  his  successful  removal  of  Prince 
Samurari  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

"The  Prince  and  Princess  had  retired 
for  the  night.  The  departure  of  a  lady 
with  a  large  trunk  some  time  afterward 
excited  no  comment.  Guests  go  and  come 
late.  Ten  minutes  later,  Anita  Fay, 
in  American  attire,  is  at  our  office  express- 
ing her  husband,  disguised  as  a  Chinese 
idol  to  San  Francisco.  She  returns  to 
the  hotel,  assumes  her  Japanese  makeup 
again,  and  then  raises  a  great  outcry.  The 
Prince  is  missing.  His  clothes  are  gone. 
Imaginative  people  are  found  who  swear 
they  heard  noises  in  the  corridor  some 
time  before  the  distressed  bride's  outcry. 
The  plot  is  manufactured,  and  the  papers 
next  morning  give  a  detailed  and  purely 
imaginative  account  of  the  abduction  and 
murder  of  the  great  Prince  Samurari  of 
Japan. 

"In  the  meantime,  the  bogus  Chinese 
idol  starts  on  his  trip  to  San  Francisco, 
and  when  the  opportunity  offers,  steps  off 
of  the  train,  changes  his  clothes,  and  re- 
appears in  the  city  as  C.  Gordon  Shelby, 
Esq.  His  claim  against  the  railroad  was 
—I  am  convinced — entirely  an  after- 
thought, and  it  seems  very  evident  that 
that  precise  after-thought  proved  our 
friend's  undoing. 

"I  took  the  precaution  to  verify  a  few 
details."  He  took  a  paper  from  his  desk. 
"Here  is  a  cablegram  from  Japan,  saying 
that  no  such  person  as  Prince  Samurai 
belongs  to  the  Japanese  Royal  family.  The 
Japanese  who  wrote  the  three  threatening 
letters  for  our  friend,  Mr.  Shelby,  can  be 
found  at  a  laundry  at  the  corner  of  Tenth 
and  Sherman." 

He  rose  and  went  over  to  the  box  in 
the  corner.  He  fumbled  a  moment  on  the 
inside,  pressed  a  secret  spring  and  a  trap 
in  the  side  opened  outward. 

"You  can  see,"  he  said,  turning  to  his 
audience,  "how  Mr.  Shelby  was  able  to 
escape  from  the  locked  box."  He  turned 
to  the  inspector: 


496 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


"That  is  all  of  my  story,  Mr.  Loomis," 
he  said;  "and  I  will  add,  it  gives  me  no 
little  pleasure  to  turn  over  to  you  two 
of  the  slickest  swindlers  that  I  have  ever 
met." 

Loomis  shook  hands  with  the  claim 
agent,  and  motioned  to  Shelby  and  his 


wife  to  follow  him.    At  the  door,  Overton 
called  him  back. 

<%'By  the  way,  Loomis,"  he  said,  modest- 
ly, "the  claim  of  the  North  Galesburg  is 
settled,  and  the  least  said  about  my  hand 
in  this  affair  may  be  better  for  all  con- 
cerned. Not  a  word.  I  ask  it  as  a  favor." 


BY    L.    E.    EUBANKS 


WE  are  told  almost  daily  of  the 
necessity  of  perseverance  in  our 
respective  endeavors,  and  are 
advised  to  -throw  enthusiasm  into  our  ef- 
forts if  we  would  succeed.  But  persever- 
ance, along  incorrect  lines,  is  not  only 
useless,  but  detrimental,  in  that  it  de- 
lays one's  entrance  into  the  proper  chan- 
nel. 

Perseverance  is  an  essential,  and  en- 
thusiasm is  desirable,  but  the  corner- 
stone of  success  lies  in  complete  mastery 
of  your  subject. 

This  statement  applies,  not  only  to  in- 
tellectual undertakings,  but  is  equally  true 
in  the  cultivation  of  the  body.  Beginners 
frequently  fail  to  realize  the  true  scope 
of  the  work  to  be  done,  and  allow  their 
eagerness  to  reach  a  certain  goal  to  crowd 
out  the  proper  consideration  of  import- 
ant facilitating  agencies. 

It  is  regrettable,  indeed,  that  so  many 
begin  their  acquaintance  with  physical 
training  under  erroneous  impressions — I 
say  greatly  to  be  regretted  because  the  re- 
sultant injury  is  not  limited  to  the  victim 
of  the  mistake,  but  effects  the  general 
cause  of  physical  culture,  a  cause  so  near 
to  the  heart  of  the  nation  and  upon  which 
the  nation's  welfare  so  greatly  depends. 

At  the  commencement,  one  must  have 
a  definite  purpose,  and  in  this  considera- 
tion, should  be  guided  by  his  natural 
qualifications.  Not  all  men  should  at- 
tempt to  be  Sampsons ;  thus,  the  simple 
health  exercises  taken  by  a  man  whose  oc- 
cupation, from  necessity  and  choice,  is  of 


a  sedentary  nature,  should  differ  very  ma- 
terially from  the  strenuous  training  of 
those  who  "go  in"  for  superb  development 
and  great  muscular  power.  It  is  for  this 
latter  class  that  the  following  remarks  are 
more  especially  intended. 

It  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  article  to 
deal  with  exercise.  It  is  assumed  that  a 
wise  selection  in  this  respect  has  been 
made.  What,  the  writer  wishes  to  do  is  to 
correct,  in  so  far  as  his  limited  ability  will 
avail,  the  belief,  so  generally  held,  that 
attainment  of  muscular  strength  depends, 
solely,  on  muscular  movements. 

The  question  of  whether  it  pays  to 
strive  for  abnormal  development  will  not 
be  here  discussed.  However  that  may  be, 
thousands  are  bent  on  this  achievement, 
and  if  they  are  to  succeed  at  all,  it  must 
be  through  the  medium  of  health. 

"A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing." 
When  a  young  man  discovers  that  a  half- 
mile  run  is  beneficial,  and  proceeds  to  run 
three  miles,  expecting  to  derive  six  times 
the  benefit,  or  when  wrestling  or  weight- 
lifting  is  continued  to  the  point  of  ex- 
haustion, and  serious  results  follow,  there 
are  ready  britics  to  denounce  physical 
training,  in  unqualified  terms,  when  the 
cause  is  really  a  lack  of  physiological 
knowledge.  It  is  irrational  to  think  that 
the  size  and  strength  of  the  muscles  in- 
crease in  exact  accordance  to  the  amount 
and  severity  of  the  work  done,  irrespective 
of  relaxation,  character  of  diet,  internal 
conditions,  etc. 

Physical     instructors     are     frequently 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  MUSCULAK  STEENGTH. 


497 


asked,  by  ambitious  pupils,  to  explain  why 
some  companion,  taking  the  same  work,  is 
more  successful.  In  answering  this,  the 
anatomical  characteristics  must,  of  course, 
be  considered,  but  usually  the  differences 
are  physiological  and  hygienic. 

I  cannot  too  strongly  emphasize  the  ne- 
cessity of  considering  the  body  as  a  whole. 
You  need  not  expect  to  build  any  con- 
siderable degree  of  muscular  power  by  any 
form  of  exercise,  while  you  permit  the 
tone  of  general  health  and  functional 
strength  to  steadily  decline. 

True,  a  few  glasses  of  beer  to-day  may 
show  no  effect  in  your  strength  tests  to- 
morrow, and  vou  may  know  of  remarkably 
strong  men  who  are  habitual  imbibers, 
but  this  maintenance  of  health  and 
strength,  under  such  conditions,  is  only  an 
indication  of  what  they  could  have  devel- 
oped by  proper  care.  That  nature  de- 
mands a  reckoning,  in  her  own  time,  is 
shown  so  conclusively  by  all  statistics,  that 
argument  on  the  alcohol  curse  has  come 
to  be  regarded  as  unnecessary. 

Besults,  to  be  deleterious,  are  not  neces- 
sarily immediate ;  in  fact,  the  most  harm- 
ful are  insidious.  If  several  months' 
stomach  trouble  followed  each  occasion  of 
over-eating,  most  of  us  would  never  re- 
quire a  second  lesson,  but  nature  allows 
the  glutton  to  continue  distending  his 
stomach  for  years,  in  fancied  safety,  be- 
fore she  presents  her  bill. 

The  young  man  who  is  desirous  of  at- 
taining the  maximum  of  muscular  power, 
should  recognize  the  value  of  nervous 
energy,  and  try  in  every  way  to  develop 
and  conserve  this  vital  force. 

It  is  the  absence  of  this  essential  that 
accounts  for  the  weakness  of  some  men, 
who  possess  phenomenal  muscles.  On  the 
other  hand,  its  possession  enables  appar- 
ently weak  persons  to  perform  remarkable 
feats.  It  is  contractile  power  that  deter- 
mines a  muscle's  strength,  and  this  con- 
traction is  governed  by  the  nerves. 

The  acquisition  of  nervous  energy  is 
rather  an  indirect  process,  as  it  hinges 
on  the  perfecting  of  the  general  health. 

Abundant  pure  air  and  refreshing  sleep 
are  the  two  most  potent  factors  in  toning 
the  nerves. 

All  the  fluids  and  solids  of  the  body 
contain  oxygen;  the  bones  require  it,  the 
muscles  call  for  it,  but  the  nervous  sys- 
tem demands  it.  Four  times  as  much  of 


this  valuable  food  is  consumed  by  a  nerve 
cell  as  by  a  muscle  cell.  The  percentage 
of  oxygen,  being  so  much  greater  in  the 
cool  out-door  air  than  in  close,  poorly- 
ventilated  rooms,  it  follows  that  -living 
in  the  open  air  as  much  as  possible  is  a 
very  efficacious  nerve  tonic. 

The  value  of  sleep  in  building  nervous 
strength  is  more  generally  appreciated 
than  is  that  of  air,  because  of  the  prompt- 
ness with  which  debilitating  effects  follow 
a  failure  to  secure  an  adequate  amount. 
i  During  slumber  the  energy  expended  in 
the  day's  duties  is  replaced,  and  the  ac- 
count of  supnly  and  demand  balanced. 
The  debris  of  brain  and  muscle  is  cast 
out,  and  replaced  by  new  material;  res- 
piration is  slower,  deeper  and  more  regu- 
lar than  in  the  waking  hours ;  at  each  in- 
halation, the  reconstructing  machinery  is 
furnished  with  needed  material  for  build- 
ing, and  every  succeeding  respiration  rids 
the  body  of  worn-out  cells  and  poisonous 
gases. 

When  the  prospective  athlete  has  se- 
cured this  valuable  property  of  nervous 
energy,  a  great  stride  forward  has  been 
made,  but  there  remain  other  steps  of 
great  importance,  a  few  of  which  I  shall 
mention. 

The  question  of  diet  must  be  solved  by 
the  individual.  Observance  of  rules  suit- 
able to  one  might  be  little  short  of  sui- 
cide to  another. 

Of  course,  there  are  certain  articles  of 
food  to  be  eschewed  by  every  one  who  has 
any  regard  for  health.  Most  notable 
among  these  are  white  flour  preparations, 
condiments,  tea  and  coffee. 

Eegarding  quality,  too,  one  must  be  his 
own  judge.  Food  should  never  be  taken 
without  appetite;  the  forcing  process 
practiced  by  many,  in  the  belief  that  food 
gives  strength  under  any  and  all  condi- 
tions, has  done  much  harm.  Every  mor- 
sel eaten  in  excess  of  that  amount  called 
for  by  a  normal  hunger,  creates  its  share 
of  mischief.  The  digestive  and  eliminat- 
ing organs  are  overworked  and  deranged, 
constipation  often  results,  and  let  me  say 
right  here  that  of  all  the  destructive 
agents  of  vitality,  this  bowel  trouble  is 
one  of  the  most  pernicious.  Its  conse- 
quences are  far-reaching  indeed;  it  poi- 
sons and  re-poisons  the  system,  through 
the  circulation,  thus  undermining  the 
health  incalculably. 


498 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


The  writer  by  no  means  believes  in  over 
eating,  but  holds  that  proper  physical 
training  will  enable  one  to  eat  much  more 
than  would  be  advisable  when  no  exercise 
is  taken. 

Those  persons  to  whom  this  article  is 
addressed  are,  owing  to  the  character  and 
amount  of  their  exercise,  allowed  consid- 
erable latitude  in  respect  to  diet,  and  in 
view  of  this,  I  would  offer  only  these  sug- 
gestions :  Eat  only  when  you  are  hungry, 
and  refrain  from  stuffing.  Avoid  white 
flour  and  such  other  so-called  foods  as  you 
know  to  be  injurious. 

The  aspirant  for  muscular  power  should 
make  bathing  an  important  part  of  his 
training  regime.  The  bath  serves  several 
purposes,  though  many  regard  it  simply 
as  a  means  of  preserving  external  cleanli- 
ness. 

Though  the  greater  part  of  the  impuri- 
ties generated  in  the  body  is  removed 
through  the  lungs,  yet  the  part  played 
by  the  skin  in  this  elimination  is  by  no 
means  inconsiderable.  Even  a  fair  de- 
gree of  health  cannot  be  maintained  if 
these  impurities  are  allowed  to  accumu- 
late and  clog  the  pores  of  the  skin. 

While  bathing  is  of  inestimable  value  to 
those  seeking  health,  it  is  possible  to  carry 
it  to  dangerous  extremes,  or  to  injure  one's 
self  by  using  water  of  a  temperature  un- 
suited  to  the  physical  condition. 

Hot  baths  are  somewhat  debilitating, 
and  should  be  used  very  judiciously.  In 
most  cases,  no  undesirable  results  will  fol- 
low the  taking  of  one  or  two  per  week, 
and  for  the  sake  of  thorough  cleanliness, 
this  should  not  be  neglected. 

The  salient  feature  of  the  cold  sponge 
or  shower  is  its  effect  on  the  pores.  Cold 
water  greatly  accelerates  the  action  of  the 
pores,  strengthens  and  gives  them  new  life 


in  the  performance  of  their  function  of 
elimination.  As  a  tonic,  also,  the  cold 
water  takes  high  rank,  and  while  you  are 
training  for  strength,  you  cannot  afford 
to  miss  its  numerous  benefits. 

Usually  the  tepid  bath  is  used  as  a 
means  of  reaching  water  of  lower  tempera- 
ture by  degrees,  and  you  may  find  it  to 
your  advantage  to  begin  with  it. 

A  great  deal  has  been  written  concern- 
ing mental  attitude  in  its  relation  to  the 
body.  Certainly  some  writers  have  gone 
to  extremes  bordering  on  the  ridiculous, 
but  we  must  not,  because  of  this,  ignore 
certain  facts. 

As  the  character  of  brain  work  depends 
greatly  on  its  blood  supply,  and  the  blood 
is  made  by  the  digestive  organs,  any  det- 
riment to  the  latter  will  influence  the 
quality  of  thought.  Conversely,  a  mind 
given  up  to  melancholy  and  morbidness  is 
in  poor  condition  to  govern  the  delicate 
nervous  system,  upon  which  every  muscu- 
lar action  depends. 

What  confidence  is  to  the  external  mus- 
cles, cheerfulness  is  to  the  internal  or- 
gans. Cheerfulness  is  the  normal  mental 
condition,  and  tends  to  harmonious  or- 
ganic action,  while  worry  disturbs  the  cir- 
culation by  inducing  a  suffusion  of  blood 
to  the  brain,  at  the  expense  of  the  diges- 
tive apparatus. 

Before  concluding,  permit  me  to  repeat 
that  exercise  cannot  build  the  superior 
power  you  desire  unless  you  also  faith- 
fully conform  to  nature's  laws  in  your 
daily  life. 

T  have  merely  touched  upon  a  few  of 
the  requirements  to  which  you  must  at- 
tend, but  if  you  will  accept  the  little  light 
shed  as  a  stimulant  to  the  study,  on  its 
broader  plane,  your  efforts  will  be  well  re- 
warded. 


See  him,  azure-winged,  as  he  flies, 

Blithe  spirit  of  the  sunny,  summer  skies ! 

Ah !  what  has  brought  him  from  his  home  above- 

What  but  the  magic  of  the  Mate  and  Love ! 

The  sun-gilt  splendor  of  the  heavens  were  less, 

To  him,  than  her  and  earthly  happiness. 

And  who,  pray,  would  not  .gladly  sacrifice, 

For  Love,  the  lonely  bliss  of  paradise? 


BY    BURTON    JACKSON    WYMAN 


{£  "TT'OU  maJ  talk  about  success  fol- 
y  lowing  the  grasping  of  oppor- 
tunity  from  now  till  Gabriel 
bLws  his  horn,"  remarked  the  old  Forty- 
niner,  as  he  paused  to  let  his  pack-jack 
graze  among  the  chapparal,  a  few  yards 
from  the  trail  where  we  had  chanced  to 
meet,  "but  if  the  cyards  are  stacked  ag'in 
you,  the  chances  for  making  a  stake  in 
any  line  are  'bout  as  slim  as  a  bamboo 
fishing  rod — the  tip  end,  at  that.  I've 
stood  at  the  precipice  of  good  fortune  a 
number  of  times  in  my  day,  but  somehow 
I've  never  found  the  golden  stairs — don't 
reckon  I  will  this  late  in  life,  but  like 'the 
angle  worm  that  fell  into  a  tin  water 
bucket,  I'm  going  to  keep  on  wriggling 
just  to  maintain  appearances. 

"I  reckon  the  worst  luck  that  ever  came 
my  way  was  up  in  Calaveras  County  in 
the  early  fifties.  Pete  Saunders  and 
'Loose  Tongue'  Moller— neither  of  them 
worth  a  can  of  wet  blasting  powder — dis- 
puted the  ownership  of  a  claim  that  was 
just  outside  one  of  the  prosperous  camps 
of  those  days.  The  matter  finally  came 
up  for  settlement  in  Judge  Meeker's 
court.  Along  with  eleven  other  miners, 
I  was  selected  to  set  upon  the  jury  that 
was  to  try  the  case. 

"Saunders  was  represented  by  TDudy' 
Storer,  who  appeared  in  court  togged  out 
fit  to  kill.  'Loose  Tongue'  was  his  own 
lawyer — he  didn't  need  any  legal  talk-dis- 
penser. Both  sides  called  witnesses,  but 
their  testimony  was  of  such  a  character 
that  the  jury  'lowed  that  those  called  by 
each  party  had  been  badly  affected  with 
palm  itch,  and  that  gold  salve  had  been 
freely  applied  with  telling  effects.  How- 
ever the  trial  went  on  without  a  hitch, 
and  after  the  fashion-plate  had  poured 
forth  his  lamentations  on  behalf  of  his 
'abused  client,  the  plaintiff,'  'Loose 
Tongue'  began  his  shift.  As  I  recolhct 
it,  the  speech  ran  something  like  this: 

"  *May  it  please  the  court  and  gentle- 
men of  the  jury,'  he  said.  'I  congratulate 
myself  that  it  is  my  privilege  to  appear 


before  you  on  this  momentous  occasion  as 
my  own  lawyer,  a  man  of  similar  passions 
and  like  habiliments  with  you,  unsupport- 
ed save  by  the  righteousness  of  my  cause 
and  an  unshakable  confidence  in  your  con- 
ception of  justice.  To  his  aid,  my  oppo- 
nent, the  man  who  would  deprive  me  of 
my  just  deserts,  has  summoned  a  lawyer, 
who  comes  into  your  presence  to-day  at- 
tired in  a  Shangha  coat,  in  opposition  to 
an  humble,  but  an  honest  miner.  Gentle- 
men of  the  jury,  I  ask  you,  is  it  right  and 
proper?  It  has  been  my  belief  from  the 
first,  and  it  is  even  now,  that  every  self- 
respecting,  intelligent  miner  of  Calaveras 
will  resist  to  the  death  the  introduction 
into  this  community  of  Shangha  coats  and 
narrow-legged  pantaloons.  Imagine  my 
surprise  to  behold  in  these  parts,  yea,  in 
this  very  court  room,  where  are  gathered 
hard-working,  bearded  and  woolen-shirted 
men,  foisted  upon  our  offended  senses  like 
a  leech  to  drain  us  of  our  life  blood,  this 
thing  which  in  self-styled,  cultured  com- 
munities they  are  pleased  to  designate  a 
gentleman:  a  book-read  man,  a  lawyer,  a 
shyster,  a  smooth-shaven,  soft-handed 
man;  an  ape,  if  you  please,  arrayed  in 
patent  leather  boots,  b'iled  shirt,  stand- 
up  collar,  black  coat,  and  narrow  legged 
pantaloons ! 

"  'Fellow  citizens,  we  have  no  room  for 
gentlemen  or  law}^ers  hereabouts.  Min- 
ers, honest  and  hard-working  are  we, 
capable  of  managing  our  own  affairs,  es- 
tablishing and  enforcing  our  own  laws, 
conducting  according  to  our  own  customs 
our  own  trials,  when  trials  are  necessary, 
and  in  the  end,  doing  our  own  hangings 
in  proper,  if  not  the  most  fashionable, 
style.  If  in  our  midst  there  do  dwell  cut- 
throats, this  band-box  dandy  is  their 
friend.  It  matters  not  what  they  are,  who 
they  are — thieves,  murderers  or  claim 
jumpers — this  man  will  be  unto  them  as 
would  a  brother :  always,  mind  you,  for  a 
consideration.  It  is  he.  I  say,  who  goes 
hand  in  hand  with  the  wicked,  who  stands 
ready  to  befriend  those  who  will  not  work, 


500 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


those  who,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  live  like 
himself — by  their  wits. 

"'  'As  for  my  opponent,  think  you  that 
any  man  with  a  just  cause  would  ask 
aid  from  such  an  unworthy  source  as 
this?  No,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  it  is 
needless  for  me  further  to  present  the 
justice  of  my  side  of  this  case;  to  do  so 
is  only  to  impeach  your  intelligence.  I 
know  that  in  your  mind  the  plaintiff  al- 
ready stands  without  the  pale  of  human- 
ity. I  don't  appeal  to  your  prejudices, 
and  in  taking  my  leave  of  you,  I  do  so 
fully  confident  that  I  have  proved  my 
right  to  this  claim  beyond  and  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  all  doubt.' 

"  'You  lie,'  shouted  Saunders. 

"'Plaintiff  fined  ten  dollars  for  con- 
tempt of  court/  thundered  the  judge. 

"  'Angry  retorts  are  not  proof,'  con- 
cluded 'Loose  Tongue,'  'neither  is  the 
bombast  of  a  black-coated  hireling  evi- 
dence. As  to  the  accusation  of  the  plain- 
tiff to  the  effect  that  I  am  a  liar,  I  pause 
but  to  reply  that  he  insults  the  majesty 
of  the  law,  the  sanctity  of  justice,  and  the 
holiness  of  truth  when  he  applies  such 
an  ungentlemanly  term  to  me.' 

"Wlell,  after    Storer    had    exhausted  a 
few  words  in  behalf  of  his  client,  inciden- 
tally heaping  the  coals  of     wrath     upon 
'Loose  Tongue's'  head,  we  retired  to  the 
jury  room.     I  was  ehcted  foreman.     At 


the  end  of  fifteen  minutes  of  earnest  de- 
liberation, we  reached  a  verdict.  As  we 
paraded  into  the  court  room,  I  managed 
it  so  as  to  get  my  seat  nearest  the  door, 
and  as  soon  as  I  had  announced  that  nei- 
ther of  the  claimants  had  proved  his  title, 
and  for  that  reason  the  claim  was  de- 
clared vacant,  I  bolted  into  the  open  and 
began  to  make  tracks  for  the  unoccupied 
claim. 

"You  see,  I  grasped  the  opportunity  by 
getting  the  head-start,  but  despite  my  ad- 
vantage, there  were  those  whose  fast- 
working  legs  made  up  for  their  slow- 
thinking  minds.  The  result  was  that,  al- 
though I  will  always  maintain  that  I  was 
first  on  the  ground,  a  number  of  the 
others  asserted  that  they  had  reached  the 
place  at  the  same  time  that  I  did.  Con- 
sequently, there  was  a  general  mix-up 
over  possession,  but  it  was  finally  decided 
that  to  settle  the  dispute,  a  game  of  freeze- 
out  "would  be  played,  the  one  holding  high 
hand  to  take  title. 

"As  I  remarked  in  the  beginning,  when 
the  cyards  are  stacked  ag'in  you,  it's  no 
use.  Judge  Meeker  held  high  hand — 
— fell  down  the  shaft  at  that  same  mine 
and  broke  his  neck.  As  for  me — well,  I'm 
still  wriggling." 

And  driving  his  pack  jack  into  the 
trail,  ho  plodded  wearily  away  up  the 
canyon  and  disappeared  from  view. 


tt 


BY    KATHERINE    ELWES    THOMAS 


CONSTANTINOPLE  is  a  city  upon 
which  the  hand  of  the  quick  exerts 
less  of  moulding  power  than  that 
of  the  mighty  dead. 

For  sixteen  miles  it  lies  its  lovely  way 
along  the  Bosphorus.  At  first  sight  a 
dream  of  witchery,  forever  thereafter  a 
wondrous,  never  to  be  obliterated  memory. 
A  place  of  violent  contrasts,  of  riotous 
gaiety  and  sombrest-  bloom,  in  which  every 
nationality  under  the  sun  lives  and  moves 
and  has  its  being. 

The  rainbow,  shattered  to  myriad  frag- 
ments, showers  itself  upon  the  gorgeously 
hued  crowd.  Look  where  you  will,  by 
whatsoever  road  you  move,  color  goes  by 
you  in  waves,  surges  under,  over  and  about 
until  mellow  with  the  intoxication,  you 
are  one  with  it — one  of  the  six  bits  of  col- 
ored glass  shaken  together  in  the  tube  to 
form  ever-changing,  always  new,  combi- 
nations of  this  vast  human  kaleidoscope. 

No  one  during  any  length  of  stay  in 
Constantinople  mav  ever  really  behold  all 
things  or  adequately  take  in  the  city's 
magnificence  of  color.  At  most,  you  may 
but  catch  gorgeous,  tantalizing  flashes,  for 
when  upon  the  morrow  you  set  forth  again 
to  take  up  the  fascinating  task  of  yester- 
day, you  find  that  all  is  changed.  The 
kaleidoscope  has  been  vigorously  shaken, 
and  through  the  new  dav's  prism  you  look 
upon  a  strange,  new  agglomeration. 

The  perfection  of  civilization  flourishes 
side  by  side  with  untrammeled  barbarism 
within  that  smaller  section  of  the  city 
about  which  extend  the  ancient  walls,  for 
there  is  gathered  a  population  of  Asiatic 
races  as  varied  as  those  which  wandered 
forth  over  the  world  from  the  Tower  of 
Babel. 

The  juxtaDosition  of  sunshine  and 
shadow  are  in  no  country  of  the  universe 
more  strongly  defined,  more  keenly  ap- 
parent at  every  turn  than  in  the  capital  of 
Turkey,  where  never  under  any  circum- 
stances should  you  start  for  briefest  of  pe- 
destrian tours  without  observing  the  pre- 
caution of  shoeing  yourself  with  genuine 
British  solidity.  This  is  necessary  from 


the  fact  that  walk  in  what  direction  you 
mav,  you  will  encounter  mud  of  amazing 
quantity,  and  even  more  surprising  hue 
and  malodiferousness. 

Under  such  conditions,  you  will  invol- 
untarily pause  more  than  once  in  the 
course  of  a  day  before  some  alluring  cafe 
to  refresh  yourself  with  delicious  sips  of 
black  colfee.  If  you  are  a  man,  you  will 
as  naturally  join  the  smokers,  and  puff 
away  at  the  long,  variegated  pipes,  the  en- 
joyment of  which  adds  preceptible  quota 
to  the  dolce  far  niente  mood  in  which  you 
find  yourself  steeped  to  the  very  finger 
tips.  You  will  not  be  alone  in  this,  for 
no  cafe  seems  ever  to  be  quite  deserted,  or 
without  its  little  circle  of  smokers  sitting 
dreaming  in  the  sunlight.  And  when  you 
come  to  know  Constantinople,  even  the 
least  bit,  you  will  recognize  the  wisdom  of 
so-calling  these  pleasant  halts  along  the 
way  for  the  chances  are  that  the  next  con- 
siderable bit  lies  up  and  down  primitively 
cut  steps  in  the  solid  rock,  forming  that 
portion  of  the  roadway  over  which  you 
have  elected  to  pass. 

You  are  rarely  destined  to  ennui  from 
monotony  of  the  dead  level  either  as  to 
surroundings  or  streets,  for  when  you  are 
not  descending  steps  or  climbing  by  slip- 
pery, inadequate  footholds,  you  are  torn 
with  doubt  as  to  whether  or  not  stoutest  of 
shoe  leather  will  stand  the  strain  necessary 
to  reach  the  desired  stretch  of  level. 

Go  in  what  section  you  will  you  are  like- 
ly at  the  next  turn  from  a  densely  packed 
portion  of  the  city  to  come  suddenly  on 
the  steepest  of  hillsides,  from  which  the 
rural  beauty  of  forest  and  field  stretches 
between  you  and  that  next  hillside  which 
is  a  continuation  of  the  metropolis. 

Now  and  again  you  will  encounter  a 
street  composed  entirely  of  stone  steps  so 
like  to  Naples  that  you  will  rub  your  eyes 
and  wonder  if,  after  all,  you  can  catch  far, 
faint  glimpses  of  Capri.  Above  your  head 
is  the  same  lapis  lazuli  sky  line,  a  long 
strip  visible  between  closely  built  houses, 
the  outer  plastered  walls  of  which  softly 
suffuse  the  surrounding  space  with  every 


Turkish  street  scene. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  LOED  OF  THE  TWO  SEAS. 


503 


shade  of  the  prismatic  coloring  toned  and 
graded  bv  centuries  of  sun  and  storm. 

Between  you  and  that  narrow  slit  of 
cerulean  overhead,  hang  the  lines  upon 
which  the  washings  of  many  nationalities 
and  degrees  of  cleanliness  stretch  to  the 
breeze.  Beside  you  on  either  side  gambol 
dark-eyed  children,  while  all  too  heavily 
laden  donkeys  carefully  pick  their  way  up 
and  down  the  worn  surface  of  the  steps. 
Here  and  there  in  the  doorways  men  and 
women  idly  loll,  as  back  and  forth  from 
each  tier  of  the  human  rabbit  warrens  toss 


of  civilization  ancient  and  modern  con- 
tend for  supremacy.  A  place  of  unrivaled 
beauty,  of  fabled  riches,  of  appalling  pov- 
erty, of  satanic  ugliness,  of  supernal 
heights  of  intellectual  delights,  of  abysmal 
depths  of  insurmountable  ignorance,  and 
all  its  sad  train  of  evils  engendered  of  the 
ineradicable  traits  and  ideas  of  caste, 
Moorish  palaces,  Swiss  Chalets,  Japanese 
huts  and  Turkish  kiosks,  side  by  side,  go 
to  make  up  the  general  street  front  effects 
of  this  strange  spot,  wherein  from 
stretches  of  radiant  brightness  one  comes 


Turkish  cafe.     "The  smokers  sit  dreaming  in  the   sunlight." 


the  cadence  of  animated  voices.  Some  one 
sings,  perhaps,  hidden  from  sight  in  the 
dark  recess  of  a  tiny  room  near  one  of  the 
flat  roofs.  The  twanging  of  mandolin 
and  guitar  wanders  out  to  mingle  with  the 
seething  murmur  of  life  and  stir  of  mo- 
tion. Is  it  any  marvel  that  again  and 
again  you  rub  your  eyes,  wondering  if, 
after  all,  this  is  genuinely  real  or  part  of 
some  fascinating  dream. 

Constantinople  is,  indeed  of  all  places, 
one  of  dreams,  in  which  the  complexities 


ever  upon  the  gloom  of  frequent  and  sadly 
despoiled  cemeteries. 

The  turtle  dove  consecrated  by  Turkish 
imagination  especially  to  lovers  are  to  be 
found  surprisingly  abundant  in  the  ceme- 
teries of  Constantinople.  The  ravens, 
which  might  more  appropriately  make 
their  homes  in  such  places  are  ever  to  be 
found  loudly  croaking  from  the  castle  of 
the  Seven  Towers,  where  to  such  jarring 
sounds  they  add  the  noisy  creaking  of 
their  ponderous  sable  wings. 


504 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


And  everywhere  infesting  the  streets  is 
the  countless  legion  of  dogs  busily  intent 
upon  their  necessary  scavenger  duties.  The 
city  has  for  so  long  been  designated  a 
huge  dog  kennel  as  to  lead  to  repeated  in- 
quiry on  the  part  of  the  writer  as  to  Why 
this  should  be  so.  From  a  mass  of  contra- 
dictory rationale  the  most  likely  of  all  le- 
gendary accounts  rendered  would  seem 
that  which  narrates  that  when  through 
the  breach  in  the  gates  of  St.  Kouman's 
there  entered  the  conqueror,  Muhammad, 
his  following  was  for  the  most  part  com- 
posed of  dogs. 

Yet  because  the  Koran  sets  forth  the 
dog  to  be  an  unclean  animal,  it  is  asserted 
that  no  one  in  any  part  of  Turkey  will  ac- 
knowledge himself  the  owner  of  one  of 
this  vast  canine  army. 

If  you  journey  to  Constantinople  with 
the  idea  that  any  one  form  of  architec- 
ture will  prevail,  or  that  it  is  the  Byzan- 
tine which  predominates,  you  will  return 
to  the  West  with  vastly  different  know- 
ledge. Asiatic,  Arabian  and  Persian  vir- 
tually are  in  the  ascendant.  In  this  place 
of  all  enchantment  and  complete  disen- 
chantment, with  ever  the  unaccustomed  to 
lure  you  on,  you  will  find  within  the  City 
of  the  Sultans,  "the  Lords  of  the  two  seas 
and  two  worlds,"  such  variety  of  structure 
as  may  be  encountered  in  no  other  one 
place. 

Scarce  will  you  have  feasted  your  eyes 
upon  the  lace  like  intricacies  of  minaret, 
dome  and  spire  of  Turkish  designing,  than 
glancing  to  the  right  or  left,  you  are  con- 
founded by  the  staidness  and  uncompro- 
mising austerity  of  an  English  palace. 
Then  on  again,  and  all  that  is  transport- 
ing to  the  senses  greets  you  in  the  occiden- 
talism of  a  Moorish  structure.  A  Chinese 
pagoda  here  and  there  rears  its  alluring 
lines  and  curves  into  the  air.  Italian  villas 
dot  the  landscape.  Swiss  chalets  perch 
high  upon  some  distant  hillside,  until, 
with  multiplicity  of  drastic  change,  meet- 
ing the  eye  at  each  fresh  turn,  the  brain 
surges  a  composite  mass  of  architecture. 

Beside  the  completed  buildings  of  this 
city  of  a  by-gone  age,  startlingly  fresh 
and  new-made,  are  the  ant-hill  like  addi- 
tions which  on  all  sides  go  to  make  up  the 
place  as  the  world  knows  it  to-day.  At 
every  point  of  the  compass,  in  splendid 
preservation,  structures  that  have  stood 
the  test  of  centuries,  others  on  which  it 


would  appear  Time  had  its  full  set  of 
teeth  in  active  gnawing  operation.  Besides 
these  are  the  yawning  chasms  from  which 
there  will  shortly  rise  in  pride  the  palaces 
of  to-morrow's  millions. 

A  monastery  of  dervishes  dwells  in 
neighborly  touch  with  the  gaudily  deco- 
rated facade  of  a  theatre  above  the  doors 
of  which  is  a  Chinese  pagoda. 

With  your  nostrils  sweet  with  a  thou- 
sand varying  deliciousnesses  of  scented 
bloom,  you  are  at  the  next  step  almost 
suffocated  with  stenches,  each  outrivaling 
the  other  in  vileness. 

Below  the  Mosque  of  the  Valideh  Sul- 
tan is  the  quarter  of  a  mile-long  floating 
bridge  which  connects  the  Golden  Horn 
with  the  opposite  shore  at  the  point  of 
Galata.  And  in  daily  traffic  over  this 
bridge  there  passes  one  hundred  thousand 
feet.  Merelv  a  Quarter  of  a  mile  long,  3^01 
upon  the  one  side  at  Stamboul  the  throb- 
bing news  of  the  outside  world  must  halt, 
since  it  may  not  pass  this  portal  to  all  that 
is  so  distinctly  Asiatic  it  will  apparently 
have  naught  of  interchange  either  of  news 
or  interest  that  Europeanness  of  Chris- 
tianitv  that  permeates  Galata  and  Pera 
upon  the  opposite  shore. 

When  the  women  of  the  harem  go  for  a 
drive  across  this  bridge,  or  in  fact  anv- 
where  about  the  streets,  you  will  be  in 
no  manner  of  doubt  as  to  their  personality, 
for  before  them  always  rides  a  huge  fel- 
low, the  chief  eunuch,  splendidly  mounted, 
that  all  may  hear  and  heed,  he  lustily 
shouts:  "Vardah!  Vardah !  Vardah" 
("Make  wav!'"l  And  you  will  note  quite 
plainly  that  beneath  their  voluminous 
white  veils  the  women  of  the  harem  de- 
murely seated  in  their  gorgeous  carriage, 
are  appareled  in  gowns  of  violet  and  emer- 
ald hues.  As  often  as  not  the  ever-watch- 
ful eunuch,  ever  on  the  alert  for  such  hap- 
pening, will  suddenly  charge  upon  some 
inquisitively  obtrusive  fellow  in  the  crowd 
who,  all  too  persistent  in  his  endeavors  to 
attract  attention  of  the  Sultan's  favorites, 
has  thus  drawn  upon  himself  the  alto- 
gether undesired  notice  of  the  eunuch. 

Outside  the  circle  of  the  harem,  the  day 
of  the  closely  veiled  Turkish  woman  is 
past,  for  veils  are  now  practically  discard- 
ed, in  as  much  as  they  are  thrust  so  far 
back  as  to  leave  the  entire  face  exposed. 

But  the  dav  of  the  harem  is  most  per- 
ceptibly present,  for  the  heavily  barred 


506 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


and  grated  windows  of  such  establish- 
ments make  at  every  few  steps  blind  walls 
along  the  populous  thoroughfares.  It  is 
with  a  gruesome  suggestiveness  that  you 
note  solemnly  facing  you  from  across  the 
way  the  stones  and  funerary  slabs  of  an 
over-populous  cemeterv. 

Beneath  some  partially  hidden  recessed 
space  of  Arab  workmanship  there  faintly 
flicker  tiny  lights  of  a  shrine  before  which 
kneeling  penitents  send  up  propitiary 
prayers  to  the  Madonna.  Almost  brushing 
one's  elbows  at  times  are  encountered  the 


cent  is  one  of  the  most  notable  in  Constan- 
tinople, and  the  favorite  resort  of  profes- 
sional mendicants.  From  the  hill  back  of 
the  villages  of  Kulehi  and  Yam  rises  the 
white  kiosk  in  which  this  great  personage 
spent  three  years  of  his  life  secreted  in  a 
solitary  tower  hidin^  from  the  spies  and 
executioners  of  his  father,  Selim. 

The  variety  of  nationalities  so  freely  en- 
countered is  a  never  changing  source  of  in- 
terested conjecture.  You  may  scarce 
stroll  the  length  of  an  ordinary  city  block- 
without  encountering  the  barbaric,  Titan 


Sultan    Baya-Zed    mosque. 

disciples  of  Mahomet,  praying,  as  they 
stand  or  walk,  kneelin?  or  fallen  prostrate 
upon  their  faces  in  abasement  of  spirit. 

Around  the  corner,  a  gold  bronze  Bud- 
diha  draws  its  worshipers  close  about.  And 
even  as  you  pause  to  gaze  at  such  passing, 
strange  polyglot  of  religious  worship,  the 
air  is  softlv  smitten  with  sound  of  far-off 
bells,  calling  pagan  and  Christian  to 
prayer  in  mosque  and  temple,  Greek,  Ro- 
man Catholic,  and  Church  of  England, 
what  you  will.  All  are  there. 

The  mosque  of  Suleiman  the  Magnifi- 


Well- 


rough  figure  and 


form  of  the  full-blooded  Cossack. 
nigh  run  down  by  the 
rougher  manners  of  some  heavily-set, 
scowling  Russian,  you  are  fairhr  ^recipi- 
tated  into  the  arms  of  Italy's  softest  eyed, 
most  gently  comported  Sicilian  child  of 
mellow  warmth  of  temperament.  Dark 
and  swarthv.  classic  in  feature  and  dra- 
pery, pace  beside  you  Arab  and  Moor,  with 
a  Frenchman  over  the  way  bowing  his 
suavest,  or  an  Englishman,  frigid  with 
Mayfair's  indelible  stamp  upon  his  saluta- 
tion. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  LORD  OF  THE  TWO  SEAS. 


507 


Group  of  mendicants  at  the  door  of  Suleiman. 

The  masses  of  the  Turkish  race  have 
great  physical  advantage  over  the  leisure- 
loving,  depraved  ones  of  the  upper  classes. 
Both  men  and  women  impress  with  their 
strength,  the  brightness  of  their  eyes,  the 
clean-cut  aquilinitT-  of  nose  and  general 
bearing  of  dignified  intelligence.  The  too 
fat,  over-grown  bor^r.  voluptuous  lip?, 
smal]  head,  low  forehead  and  dull  eyes  of 
the  classes  is  happilv  absent  from  the  men 
and  women  of  the  people  who,  from  neces- 
sity, lead  what  from  the  Eastern  idea  is  to 
be  regarded  as  an  austere  life. 

The  average  melon-sellers  of  Constanti- 
nople are  superb  looking  specimens  of  the 
people,  a  very  joy  to  look  upon  both  in  the 
matter  of  physique  and  temperament,  for 
like  the  Italian,  there  is  the  ever-ready 
smile  to  charm  and  lure  one,  whether  or 
not  they  desire  his  wares,  to  purchase 
them. 

And  the  Turkish  traveling  cart!  Is 
there  anywhere  else  in  the  universe  aught 
to  compare  with  it  for  quaintness,  and  in 
its  way,  genuinely  artistic  work.  Drawn 
bv  two  snow-white  oxen  above  whose  heads 
sway  manv  gorareous  tassels  and  jingling 
bells,  every  available  portion  of  the  cart 
and  harness  is  literally  covered  with  carv- 
ing, overlaid  many  times  with  color,  until 
naught  but  the  chariot  of  the  Queen  of 
Love  and  Beautv  of  some  prosperous  cir- 


cus is  worthy  even  of  mention  in  the  same 
breath.  The  cart  stands  high  from  the 
ground,  for  if  there  are  ugly  bits  of  mud 
or  water-swent  roads  to  be  encountered, 
the  Queens  of  Love  and  Beauty,  seated  in 
this  interesting  vehicle,  must  be  protected. 

These  Queens  of  Love  and  Beauty,  too, 
whom  one  meets  traveling  in  such  style  in 
rural  Turkey,  with  Constantinople  for 
their  goal,  are  genuine  ones.  The  women 
of  the  household,  properly  habited  and 
veiled,  vet  not  so  closelv  but  that  their 
bright  eyes  peep  out  at  vou  until  little  by 
little,  as  curiosity  impels  them  forward, 
and  the  veils  are  excitedly  thrust  out  of 
their  accustomed  lines,  you  get  an  unob- 
structed view  of  the  strong,  handsome 
faces  of  these  happy  members  of  the  house- 
hold, all  chatteriror  together  at  times  like 
so  manv  maernies. 

When  you  start  upon  a  shopping  tour, 
new  and  strange  experiences  await  vou.  In 
the  first  place,  you  are  not  to  go  in  ont 
draper's  shop  for  cloth,  to  find  as  else- 
where generally  in  the  world  that  the  boots 
and  slippers  you  ma'-  desire  are  to  be  had 
from  the  adjoinip-  shon.  Nothing  of  the 
kind  When  --«u  sro  upon  purchase  of 
cloth  intent,  you  will  find  sellers  of  suoh 
wares  congregated  in  a  quarter  devoted  to 


Entrance    to    the   Mosque   Alik-Moustafa-Pacha. 


Melon  seller. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  LOKD  OF  THE  TWO  SEAS. 


509 


woolen  manufacture — a  whole  area  of 
cloth  sellers.  After  that  you  will  come  up- 
on a  long  street,  from  every  open  front 
shop  of  which  dangle  from  hooks  and  upon 
stout  cords  such  a  multiplicity  of  foot- 
gear of  everv  imaginable  make  and  design 
as  to  cover  even  every  unimaginable  neces- 
sity of  whole  armies  of  wearers.  Possibly 
but  one  long,  wooden  floor  and  the  same 
roof  covers  the  entire  street  of  shoe  shop?. 
Yet  divided  b"  timber  partitions,  each  one 
is  a  separate  and  distinct  establishment, 
unon  the  floor  of  which,  on  folded  rugs, 


walk  alon?.  there  will  come  to  vou  from 
the  walled  wardens  so  plentifully  bestrewn 
about  the  city  the  scent  of  every  sweetest 
flower  having  its  home  within  the  confines 
of  the  Sultan's  kingdom.  Many  of  these 
gardens,  you  will  find  to  your  astonish- 
ment, sweep  acre  after  acre  over  hill  and 
dale,  until  they  reach  the  shores  of  the 
Bosphorus,  to  which  run  down  a  flight  of 
stairs,  from  the  three-story  apartments, 
where,  behind  the  grating,  is  a  harem. 
These  gardens  hold,  with  terraced  effects  of 
sunlisrht  and  bloom,  stretches  of  dense  for- 


Traveling  cart. 

sit  several  workmen  with  the  proprietor 
consmcuoush-  in  the  outer  foreground, 
seated,  it  may  be,  upon  an  empty  box  or 
rush  bottom  chair.  The  shoes  and  boots 
are  of  a  vaster  varied  of  color  than  you 
would  ever  fancT'  adaptable  to  the  uses  of 
ordinary,  every-dav  life.  But  what  matters 
it.  They  are  most  effectively  arranged. 
And  the  stron^.  fine  faces  of  the  mer- 
chants, large  and  small,  is  sufficient  to  at- 
tract the  attention  of  the  least  observant. 
Leaving  the  business  centers  as  you 


est,  in  which  free  as  the  wind,  the  wives 
and  daughters  of  wealthy  citizens  ride  with 
the  untrameled  oraee  of  the  Orient. 

And  from  such  gardens,  there  float  out 
upon  the  highways  sweet  bird  notes  that 
cease  only  at  close  of  the  long,  amber- 
tinted  twilights.  Intermingled  with  the 
soft  cooing  of  the  ring  doves  may  be  heard 
imperative,  saucy  chirpings  of  sparrows, 
which  by  no  means  confine  their  bold  dep- 
redations of  crumbs  to  those  scattered 
within  the  enclosed  spaces.  Everywhere 


Shoe   store. 


Merchants    of    Broussa.      Turkish    shop. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  LOKD  OF  THE  TWO  SEAS. 


511 


you  will  see  these  little  chirpers  about  the 
bazars  and  cafes.  And  everywhere  as  well, 
adding  to  the  charm  of  all  things,  the  air 
on  sunny  days  will  be  full  of  darting 
swallows  and  iris-throated  pigeons  strut- 
ting about  in  true  Continental  profusion. 

Like  the  gondoliers  of  Venice,  the  oars- 
men of  the  Bosphorus  and  Golden  Horn 
are  stalwart  fellows,  creatures  of  a 
strength  of  muscle  only  to  be  developed 
by  their  peculiar  calling.  And  assuredly, 
whatever  else  their  qualifications,  always 
good-looking  and  picturesquely  adapted 
to  their  calling.  Whenever  you  go  by 
water  about  Constantinople,  you.  will  have 
your  attention  called  in  beaming  pride  to 
that  point  where,  high  up  upon  the  Asiatic 
side  of  the  Golden  Horn,  the  four  snow- 
white  minarets  of  St.  Sophia  stand  boldly 
out  against  the  heavens.  You  will  discover 
then  that  in  some  subtlv  strange  manner 
the  ultramarine  of  the  sky  that  holds  the 
city  in  its  cup-like  rimming  has  communi- 
cated itself  to  the  waters  all  about. 

It  matters  not  if  here  and  there  among 
its  countless  craft  of  busy  water  traffic 
there  bobs  at  times  a  strange  shapelessness 
of  heaw  webbing.  You  will  not  know  un- 
less one  of  the  uninitiated  tells  you,  that  it 
is  the  dead  body  of  some  disloyal  or  fur- 
ther undesired  favorite  of  the  harem,  who 
with  slit  throat  is  thus  to  float  her  way  out 
to  sea,  safelv  sewn  from  sight  in  a  coarse 
sack.  This  sight  will  not  mar  your  en- 
joyment of  the  water's  marvelous  blueness, 
since  you  will  not  know  its  import.  Not 
until,  perchance,  long  after  it  has  passed 
on  its  polemnl1*  silent  way.  For  at  moment 
of  its  passing  you  will  not  have  been  told 
of  the  sack's  contents.  That  would  have 
been  impolite  to  so  disturb  intensity  of 
your  enjoyment  of  the  lovelv  Bosphorus. 
It  would  as  well  have  been  disloyal  and 
unwise  in  any  guide  to  have  so  much  as 
hinted  that  this  abominable  practice  of 
the  long  ago  is  still  existent,  despite  all 
official  denials  to  the  contrary. 

When  from  the  towers  there  rings  the 
alarm  of  fire  in  the  city,  you  of  the  Wesc- 
ern  eyes  may  witness  a  proceeding  so  droll, 
=o  absolutely  unbelievable  as  not  only  then, 
but  forever  after,  to  cause  you  to  feel  you 
have  personallv  taken  part  in  a  Gilbert  & 
Sullivan  libretto. 

While  the  tolling  bells  announce  to  the 
populace  at  large  that  a  fire  is  in  progress, 
and  while  the  winds  of  heaven,  fanning 


the  flames,  proceed  unmolested  on  their 
way  to  spread  conflagration  and  destruc- 
tion, the  engines  of  Constantinople  repose 
in  their  accustomed  places.  Xo  restive  fire 
horses  paw  the  stable  floor,  straining  with 
quick  comprehension  to  dash  for  the  place 
from  which,  by  modern  apparatus,  the 
harness  may  be  dropped  upon  their  splen- 
did, much-enduring  backs.  There  are, 
alas,  no  electric  button  processes  for  speedy 
extinguishment  of  fires  in  Constantinople. 

On  the  contrary,  the  ringing  of  bells 
is  the  occasion  for  much  dignified  stretch- 
ing of  red  tape,  which,  entwining  itself 
about  the  feet  of  certain  high  officials, 
finally  enmeshes  itself  upon  the  person  of 
the  Sultan. 

At  soundin?  of  the  alarm,  certain  lower 
officials  must  sallv  to  the  residences  of  the 
higher  officials,  and  with  profound  salaams 
and  much  suave  interchange  of  prelimi- 
nary civilities,  inform  their  superiors  that 
it  is  the  will  of  Mahomet  that  a  fire  has 
broken  out  in  the  city.  Upon  receipt  of 
such  an  important  communication,  the 
higher  officials  hasten  in  a  body  to  the 
royal  palace,  where,  seeking  the  presence 
of  the  Sultan,  they  convev  to  him,  through 
various  intermediary  channels  the  fact  that 
Mahomet  has  been  pleased  to  allow  a  fire 
to  break  out  in  Constantinople.  But  that 
with  his  Serene  Highness's  permission 
will  be  conveved  to  the  lower  officials  that 
order  whereby  thev  mav  proceed  to  extin- 
guish the  flames.  And  until  such  royal 
favor  has  been  granted,  the  fires  of  Con- 
stantinople must  rage  until,  if  it  so  chance, 
the  entire  city  and  its  environs  lie  in  ashes. 

The  gateway  of  the  Imperial  Palace  at 
the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia  are  a  world- 
wonder  in  their  splendor  of  design  and 
delicacy  of  lace  work  of  marble  and  bronze. 
This  famous  gateway  leads  to  the  grounds 
of  the  Sultan's  summer  kiosk  at  the  Sweet 
Waters. 

Xot  far  from  the  square  of  the  At  Mei- 
dan  stands  the  turbeh  of  Mahmud  the  Ee- 
fonner,  the  central  object  of  beauty  in  a 
garden  of  jassemine  and  roses.  A  garden  in 
which  the  sunlight  filters  with  such  many 
toned  golden  richness  of  hues  through 
ages-old  trees,  as  .just  at  first  to  make  the 
traveler  wonder  if  after  all  he  is  not  walk- 
ing in  a  trance  through  this  region  of  de- 
light. 

Gilded  gratings  fill  the  window  spaces, 
and  from  behind  these  one  looks  out  upon 


Entrance  gate  Palace  of  Sweet  Waters. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  LOED  OF  THE  TWO  SEAS. 


513 


the  leading  streets.  To  the  interior  deco- 
rations of  carved  marble  and  gilded  bronze 
bas  relief  effects  is  added  hangings  of  rich- 
est brocade.  In  the  midst,  beneath  cost- 
liest of  Parisian  shawls,  is  the  tomb  of  the 
Sultan  whose  name  the  mosque  bears. 
Four  ponderous  silver  candelabra  are  in- 
laid with  mother-of-pearl.  About  the 
walls  are  the  ornate  tombs  of  seven  Sul- 
tans, with  the  Koran  lettered  in  gold,  ly- 
ing upon  the  marvelously  carved  reading 
desk  at  the  base  of  which  rugs  of  great 
value  cover  the  marble  floor. 


eery.  Before  you  is  a  gleam  of  sunlight, 
upon  the  domes  ,and  spires  of  Seraglio 
Hill.  In  your  ears  is  the  sound  of  splash- 
ing fountains,  leaping  and  sparkling,  the 
hush  of  slippered  feet  over  the  stones  and 
mosaics  of  past  glories  of  royal  palaces. 

You  are  Aladdin  of  the  old,  old  fairy 
tale,  and  you  have  rubbed  the  lamp  to  en- 
thrallino-  brightness.  The  most  beautiful, 
mystically  fearful,  awe-inspiring,  fascinat- 
ingly lovel"  spot  in  all  Constantinople  is 
this  old  seraglio,  fortress,  sanctuary  and 
palace;  therein  is  concentrated  and  has 


Facade  of  the  Mosque  Schah-Zade. 

Three  other  mosques  famed  for  their 
beauty  of  exterior  and  interior  are  those 
of  Schah-Zade,  Sultan  Baya-Zed  and  Alik- 
Monotafa-Pasha. 

When  the  course  of  your  wanderings 
takes  you  to  the  old  Seraglio  which  crowns 
the  Easternmost  of  the  seven  hills  of 
Stamboul,  that  loveliest,  which  from  its 
three  seaward  sides  slopes  in  beauty  to  the 
Golden  Horn,  the  mouth  of  the  Bosphorus 
and  the  Sea  of  Mamora,  there  comes  upon 
you  a  well-nigh  unbreakable  spell  of  sor- 


been  for  ages  past  the  heart  of  Islamism, 
the  brains,  wealth  and  greatest  power  of 
death-dealing  intrigue  in  all  Turkey. 

And  beyond  these  domes  and  spires,  the 
whiteness  of  marble  walls  and  many-toned 
blaze  of  architectural  wonders  there  is  a 
universe  of  purest  sapphire.  The  sky  is 
blue,  the  dancinsr  waves  of  the  Bosphorus 
and  the  Golden  Horn  have  caught  the 
cobalt  of  the  universe,  as  in  the  distance 
the  earth  lines  lose  themselves  in  far,  faint 
darkness  of  indigo. 


iifea 

BY    ALOYSIUS    COLL 


£{T  CANNOT  help  speaking  to  you  as 
I  do,  Chartran.  I  feel  that  I  have 
proven  myself  your  friend — you 
need  advice.  You're  trifling  away  a  mag- 
nificent brain,  not  because  you  neglect  to 
use  it:  it's  the  mis-direction  that  is  caus- 
ing the  failures." 

"What  would  you  have  me  do  ?" 

"Take  some  of  this  wonderful  energy 
that  is  wasted  on  your  ideals  and  apply 
it  to  practical  progress  in  life — yout  own 
progress." 

"Oh,  back  to  the  old  theory  that  money 
is  all,  isn't  that  your  advice,  in  a  nut- 
shell?" 

"Wouldn't  it  be  "our  happiness  ?"  Hood 
spoke  the  words  with  such  convincing 
significance  that  Wonderly  winced.  "See! 
You  know  I  speak  the  truth;  you  know 
the  barrier  that  stands  between  you  and 
Jean  is  nothing  else  but  her  fears  for 
vou — your  future.  This  is  hard  talk,  my 
friend,  I  know,  but  now  that  I've  started 
in,  I'm  going  to  tell  vou  your  duty." 

"As  you  see  it,"  interrupted  the  other, 
seriously. 

"As  the  world  sees  it — as  Jean  sees  it. 
First,  let  us  consider  vou  from  the  world's 
view-point.  Your  father  all  his  life  made 
his  way  by  what? — digging  in  the  soil, 
plastering  wax  scions  on  saplings  and  try- 
ing to  grow  potatoes  on  grape  vines? 
Nothing  of  the  sort.  He  reared  his  fam- 
ilv  and  educated  iiou  by  hard  work  in 
machine  shops,  by  the  management  of 
pumps,  dynamos,  hoisting  engines;  by  in- 
venting them,  by  improving  what  others 
had  invented,  and  by  controlling  them  for 
himself  and  the  stout  corporations  of  the 
land.  Your  brothers  have  followed  ia 
his  footsteus — and  they  have  succeeded. 
Kemember  that  little  famih*  scene  at  your 
oldest  brother's  home?  His  pretty  young 
wife,  the  two  little  children;  I  never  had 
such  an  awakening  to  the  joys  of  life  as 
I  got  last  summer  on  that  visit!" 

"Stop,  ston!"  pleaded  Wonderly,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"No,  I  must  go  on.    There's  a  peculiar 


streak  in  the  Wonderly  men — every  one  of 
von,  for  all  your  butterfly  mottling,  has 
a  deep  root  down  in  your  heart  that  cries 
out  for  home,  woman.  You  have  it.  The 
world  knows  that,  and  when  it  sees  you 
leaving  the  paths  that  your  own  people 
have  marked  out  with  unmistakable  mile- 
stones,, why — well,  the  world  shakes  its 
head.  It  doesn't  blame  you;  it  admires 
your  strange  waywardness,  but  it  pities 
you !" 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  the  other,  bitterly. 

"No;  there's  Jean's  viewpoint  to  be 
considered." 

"That's  sacred — are  you  not  a  little 
presumptions,  even  for  a  friend?" 

"Certainly  I  am — but  for  your  own 
good.  No  doubt  she  has  learned  to  love 
you  for  those  very  qualities  that  are  above 
the  glitter  of  gold,  and  the  vulgar  com- 
monplaces of  the  world;  but  if  you  feed 
on  them  alone,  can  you — see  your  way  to 
marry  her?" 

Wonderly  turned  savagely  on  his  friend. 
"Let  me  ask — why  this  intense  interest?" 

"I  do  not  wish  to  see  your  life — a  trag- 
edy." 

Chartran  looked  down  at  the  ground  and 
bit  his  under-lip.  "God  has  made  me 
what  I  am — if  I  play  a  tragedy,  He  wrote 
the  lines  long  ago  for  me  and  set  the  stag;} 
for  me.  You  speak  of  my  father — true, 
he  was  a  mechanic  all  his  life,  one  of  the 
higher  order,  a  builder  of  the  world  in 
giant  forces  of  steam,  water,  electricity, 
gas !  But  in  the  reproduction  of  six  sons, 
my  friend,  do  you  not  think  it  possible 
that  my  hereditary  influences  were 
brought  forward  two,  instead  of  one  gen- 
erations? My  grandfather  was  a  horti- 
culturist !  And  you  have  forgotten  my 
mother — her  love  of  flowers,  her  delight  in 
the  new,  frost-melted  soil  of  the  garden !" 

"Then  why  don't  you  go  into  this  on  a 
practical  scale?  Eaise  crops,  and  sell 
them." 

"But  you  forget — my  father  was  not  so 
much  a  mechanic  as  an  inventor  of  ma- 
chines. So  that,  considering  hereditary 


THE   HYBRID. 


515 


influences,  I  should  be  not  an  agricultur- 
ist, a  horticulturist — but  a  discoverer  of 
new  fruits  and  grains  and  flowers!  But 
I  have  not  looked  at  the  work  I  do  as  mere 
idealism.  You  know  that  I  have  made 
some  startling  discoveries — that  I  have 
come  very,  very  close  to  developing  more 
than  one  new  fruit.  Besides,  I  have  hopes 
for  this  new  one.  Burbank  has  made  more 
of  a  single  new  seedless  fruit  scion  than 
farmers  and  truck  gardeners  have  made 
out  of  acres  and  acres  of  crops,  season  af- 
ter season,  all  their  lives  long!" 

"But  you  are  not  Burbank/' 

•'Xo,  but,  unfortunately,  I  sruess  I  have 
his  love  of  this  delving  into  the  secrets  of 
nature;  the  miracles  of  sun  and  dew;  the 
marvelous  outgrowth  of  tickling  this  blos- 
som's pistil  with  that  blossom's  anthers; 
of  inducing  this  pollen-footed  bee  to 
scramble  about  in  that  honey-fragrant 
flower!  Human  nature  is  just  like  these 
sons  and  daughters  of  the  flowers;  the 
seedlings  do  not  come  true!  In  me  you 
have  a  fair  example — my  father  and 
mother  gave  birth  to  a  hybrid!"  He 
laughed  a  dry  lausrh,  then  added  cheerily : 
"What  of  it?  In  every  pen-fold  there  is 
always  one  black  sheep ;  in  every  garden  a 
weed!" 

"But  Jean— what  of  her?" 

"Yes,  there's  Jean — Jean,"  he  repeated, 

with  a  return  to  the  old  seriousness. 
•  *  •  * 

"There  is  no  need  to  tell  you  the  rea- 
sons, Chartran,"  the  girl  was  saying. 
"You  know  them.  Sometimes  I  wish — 

oh! " 

"Wish  what?"  he  urged.  His  question 
was  perfunctory.  He  was  weary  of  plead- 
ing with  her. 

"That — well,  that  you  had  never  re- 
vealed to  me  that  side  of  your  nature 
that  I  believe  others  have  never  been  priv- 
ileged to  see  and  understand." 

"That's  what  stumps  me,  Jean.     You 

make  this  acknowledgment,  and  yet " 

The  branch  of  oleander  he  was  toying  with 
snapped  under  his  impatient  jerk. 
"I  am  not  to  blame,  am  I?" 
"Xo :  of  course  I  shoulder  that." 
"No,  no,  now;  I  did  not  mean  that." 
"I  never  knew  that  it  was  considered 
necessary  in  a  matter  of  such  delicacy  to 
consult  the  wishes  of  a  third  person :  I  al- 
ways thought  love  was  a  little  too  sacred 
for  the  deliberations  of  a  Triple  Alliance." 


"The  third  person  is  not  always  the  dis- 
card," she  said  softly. 

"And  you're  afraid  you  might  be  that  ?" 

"Hardly ;  and  yet,  I  doubt  if  you  could 
ever  love  me — the  same  as  you  love  your 
flowers,  your  wonderful  fruits.  Love  in 
woman  is  an  exacting  tyrant,  and  the 
hobby  of  man  is  its  most  dangerous  rival. 
Love  in  woman  is  her  whole  heart,  the 
core;  in  man  it  is  the  tinted  rind  that 
covers  the  real  meat  of  his  hope  and  am- 
bition." 

"Then  you  deliberately  refuse  to  take 
the  risk?"  His  words  were  firm,  meas- 
ured. 

"No,  not  deliberately.  I  am  saying  no, 
when  that  is  the  hardest  word  that  could 
drop  from  my  lips.  You  don't  know  what 
it  means  to  me — the  long  prayers  that  it 
might  be  otherwise,  the  yearning  to  know 
my  duty  in  this  thing,  the  wistful  hours  I 
shall  pass  trying  to  filch  a  guiding  whis- 
per from  the  wind  in  the  night " 

"Jean !" 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  face  was 
turned  away.  "It  cannot  be — not  now, 
not  now.  It  would  be  as  blind  for  me  to 
hope  that  your  love  could  conquer  these 
obstacles  as  it  would  be  to  hope  that  this 
little  apple  tree  should  blossom  with 
roses! 

"If  the  tree  should  produce  roses,  what 
then?"  he  asked. 

"I  would  take  it  as  a  sign  from  Provi- 
dence." she  replied. 

It  was  a  little  tree,  not  more  than  four 
or  five  years  old,  whose  leaves  she  was 
crumpling  in  her  hand,  a  neat,  compact 
little  bush  which  Chartran  himself  had 
given  her  to  plant  in  the  corner  of  her 
father's  shrub  garden.  He  was  looking  at 
it  intently,  as  if  trying  to  recall  the 
amused  smile  on  her  face  the  evening  he 
had  brought  it  to  her,  and  had  helped  her 
to  plant  it  where  it  now  grew,  fresh  and 
green,  and  full  of  promise. 

"An  apple  tree!"  she  had  exclaimed. 
"Why,  what  do  we  want  with  an  apple 
tree  ?" 

"Jean,"  he  said,  coming  back  to  the 
present,  "do  you  believe  in  signs?" 

"Omens?"  she  asked. 

He  nodded. 

"I  have  never  had  one — one  that  was 
distinct.  I  wish  I  might  have  a  chance  to 
test  one — now." 

Her  meaning  was  plain  to  him.  "Some 


516 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


day,  ray  own,"  he  said,  with  feeling,  "you 
will  have  the  courage  to  act  according  to 
your  heart."  And  lifting  her  two  hands 
to  his  lips,  he  kissed  them  both  and  went 
out  the  garden  gate. 

.Then  followed  for  Chartran  Wonderly 
a  "ear  of  incessant  toil,  experiment ;  hours 
when  he  seemed  to  reach  the  summit  of 
his  hopes,  only  to  slip  on  the  ladder,  and 
glide  down,  down  into  the  depths  of  dis- 
appointment. It  takes  time  to  divert 
nature  from  her  true  instincts,  and  the 
months  rolled  by  with  sickening  fleetness. 
In  the  fall  the  fruit  that  he  had  relied  up- 
on to  transform  his  whole  life  had  grown 
to  the  verge  of  perfection.  How  he 
guarded  the  five  ripening  hopes  of  his  life ! 
How  he  tended  and  cared  for  that  shrub ! 
How  he  sprayed  and  enriched  and  pro- 
tected it  from  the  hail  and  the  blight  of 
vermin !  But  he  had  not  counted  on  the 
most  dangerous  of  all  enemies — man,  or 
rather  the  children  of  men! 

One  dav  he  found  four  of  the  priceless 
fruits  lying  by  the  roadside  in  front  of  a 
neighbor's  house:  a  little  child  was  nib- 
bling at  the  green  rind  of  the  fifth  and 
last!  Wonderly  was  on  the  point  of  des- 
pair. How  now  should  he  be  able  to  show 
the  fruit  of  the  very  plants  for  the  sale 
of  which  he  had  already  entered  into  nego- 
tiations, for  the  parent  stock  of  which  he 
was  to  receive  a  snug  sum  provided  the 
flavor  of  the  fruit  proved  up  to  the  gigan- 
tic development  and  beauty  of  form?  He 
gathered  up  the  green  fruits,  and  tried  to 
ripen  them  by  artificial  heat.  But  the  at- 
tempt was  only  a  partial  success,  and  es- 
pecially discouraging,  because  he  had 
found,  as  every  horticulturist  has  learned, 
that  hybridizing  can  be  done  only  through 
the  medium  of  seeds  ! 

It  was  one  of  those  turns  in  luck  that 
sometimes  come  to  the  man  who  has  never 
known  the  windfall  of  good-fortune,  that 
sent  Wonderly  out  to  the  farthest  corner 
of  his  experiment  gardens,  a  week  later. 
He  did  not  go  to  examine  any  of  his  prize 
plants ;  he  went  to  measure  a  piece  of 
ground  which  he  had  left  untended  for 
three  years,  and  which  had  been  used  as  a. 
dumping  pround  for  longer  than  that. 
Half-smothered  with  experimental  thim- 
ble-berries and  the  brothers  and  sisters  of 
the  same  familv — cloud-berries,  raspber- 
ries and  black-berries — he  came  suddenly 
upon  a  revelation !  A  medium-sized  shrn* 


was  growing  there;  a  shrub  which  had 
leaves  like  the  potato,  yet  with  a  stem 
so  tough  and  stout  as  to  resemble  a  tree: 
and,  almost  hiding  the  leaves,  rich  and 
bounteous,  hung  the  ripe,  amber-scarlet 
fruit !  And  yet  more  blossoms  were  form- 
ing! 

He  plucked  one  of  the  ripe  temptations. 
He  tasted  of  it.  Had  he  ever  known  a 
flavor  so  delicious,  so  strange  and  allur- 
ing? It  was  like  the  fresh  pungence  of 
some  wild  nut,  tempered  with  a  nectar  of 
the  gods ! 

He  examined  the  plant  critically.  Yes, 
it  had  the  aspect  of  the  nightshade  family, 
it  belonged  to  the  solanum  genus.  There 
was  the  ten-lobed  spreading-calyx  in  the 
blossom;  the  wheel-shaped  corolla;  the 
short  filaments  with  long  anthers,  form- 
ing a  cone;  but  especially  the  two-celled 
ovary,  with  its  very  distinct  placentae 
bulging  out  from  the  partition ! 

Wfonderly  paused  long  in  thought.  He 
counted  off  in  his  mind  all  the  vegetables 
and  fruits  about  his  gardens  which  be- 
longed to  the  solanum  order;  the  potato, 
the  nightshade,  the  bitter-sweet,  the  f  alon- 
wort — it  was  none  of  these;  he  had  ex- 
perimented with  all  of  them. 

Then  the  li^ht  broke  over  him.  In  the 
beginning  of  his  experiments  he  had  been 
presented  with  a  handful  of  seeds  by  an 
old  sailor  who  said  he  had  gotten  them 
from  a  fruit  in  the  Fiji  Islands.  Wonderlv 
had  planted  them  in  a  flower  pot,  but  as 
they  did  not  germinate,  he  concluded  they 
were  "dead,"  and  had  tossed  them  with 
•  other  rubbish  into  the  waste-corner  of  his 
garden.  The  seeds  of  the  nightshade  fam- 
ily, now  he  remembered,  are  very  tenacious 
of  life,  which  accounts  for  the  wide  dis- 
tribution of  the  familv  over  the  face  of 
the  earth;  the1'  had  come  up,  and  he  no 
Ion o-er  doubted  that  the  sailor's  gift  had 
been  the  seeds  of  the  borodina,  or  canni- 
bal-apple of  the  Pacific  Islands,  whose 
flowers  had  been  pollenized  by  some  bee 
who  had  meddled  with  the  blossoms  of  a 
fine  specimen  of  the  winter-cherrv  in  a 
sunnv  window  in  his  house !  The  hybrid- 
ized seeds  had  dropped  from  the  old  plant, 
the  dead  relics  of  which  bristled  up  from 
the  weeds  still,  and  this  cluster  of  won- 
derful fruit  shrubs  was  the  result. 

A  week  later,  Wonderly  was  hurrying 
up  the  suburban  lane  that  led  to  Jean's 
house.  As  he  walked  briskly  along,  he 


THE    FRUIT   BLOSSOMS. 


517 


as  reading  a  very  exhaustive  Sunday 
newspaper  story  of  the  "most  important 
discovery  in  horticultural  research  made 
in  the  last  half  century!  After  years  of 
study  and  experiment,  a  young  man  suc- 
ceeds in  perfecting  a  delicious  fruit  which 
is  as  easy  to  grow  as  a  tomato  vine,  and  as 
palatable  as  a  rare  peach !  *  *  The  whole 
stock  of  this  remarkable  find  has  been 
purchased  by  a  rich  Xew  York  fruit 
grower  for  $30,000 !" 

It  was  growing  dark,  so  dark  that  Won- 
derly  could  read  only  with  difficulty  as  he 
stumbled  along.  But  it  was  not  too  dark 
for  him  to  notice,  just  as  he  went  into  the 
rear  gate  to  Jean's  srarden,  a  most  unusual 
sight!  He  was  interrupted  just  then  by 
the  girl  herself. 

It  was  plain  she  had  not  yet  read  of  his 
good  fortune.  He  had  kept  it  a  tight  se- 
cret till  it  had  been  flashed  simultaneously 
over  the  country.  He  was  glad  that  she 
had  not  yet  seen  the  story  of  his  success. 

"Jean/"'  he  said,  "do  you  still  believe  in 
omens  ?" 

"Wby  so?" 

He  took  her  hand,  and  without  a  word, 
led  her  to  the  younsr  apple  tree. 

A   dozen — an  even   dozen — 'full-blown 


roses  were  blooming  upon  the  branches  of 
the  apple  tree ! 

She  caught  her  breath.  To  him  this  was 
a  simple  thing ;  to  her  it  was  the  finger  of 
fate,  deciding  her  life  for  her.  "It  would 
not  have  taken  this  to  decide  for  me — to- 
night," she  said,  with  an  effort.  "I  have 
learned  that  love  cannot  be  measured,  de- 
veloped or  controlled  bv  these  dumb  signs. 
Hereafter  I  shall  brave  all — to  help  you." 

"Ifs  not  help  so  much  I  need,  my  girl, 
but  somebody  to  share  the  fruits  of  my 
patience."  He  pulled  the  paper  from  his 
pocket,  and  held  a  match  to  the  headlines 
while  she  read  them. 

"And  you  kept  all  this  from  me?"  she 
said,  reprovingly. 

"Certainly;  I  was  waiting  for  the  apple 
tree  to  grow  roses,  and  simplify  matters." 

"As  if  you  ever  believed  that  it  would !" 

And  to  this  day  he  has  never  enlight- 
ened her;  but  now  that  she  is  so  closely 
connected  with  his  interest  in  new  fruits 
and  rare  flowers,  she  has  learned  to  know 
that  the  apple  and  the  rose  belong  to  the 
same  family 

"And  what  was  to  prevent  him  from 
making  roses  grow  on  that  apple  tree?" 
she  often  muses  to  herself.  "The  rogue!" 


BY    EVA    E.    STAHL 

That  morn  ten  billion  captives  freed, 
Gave  waiting  branches  promised  meed. 

Wind-rocked,  sun-kissed  the  legions  throve; 
Their  banners  o'er  the  hills  unrolled, 
Abundant  harvest  days  foretold. 

Their  incense  wreathed  and  filled  the  air 
With  wine  ambrosial,  east  and  west — 
Reached  heights  by  redwoods  still  caressed. 

And  then  Love  whispered  to  the  throng. 
I  heard  his  song.    I  looked,  and  lo! 
The  Santa  Clara  fields  of  snow. 


The  making  of  a  complicated  design. 


BY    JOHN    L.    COWAN 


WHEKE  the  precious  metals 
"grow,"  as  it  were,  it  is  only 
natural  that  craftsmen  should 
attain  extraordinary  skill  in  working 
them.  Accordingly,  it  excites  but  little 
surprise  that  the  goldsmiths  and  silver- 
smiths of  the  Southwest  display  an  origi- 
nality of  design  and  a  deftness  of  execu- 
tion that  the  most  skilled  workmen  <3f 
Eastern  cities  cannot  approach — at  least 
in  lines  that  depend  wholly  upon  manual 
dexterity  and  delicacy  of  manipulation, 
rather  than  upon  machinery  and  technical 
knowledge.  -An  Indian  of  Sandia,  Jemez 
or  Zia.  in  New  Mexico,  can  take  a  piece 
of  silver,  and  with  but  a  hammer  and 
a  couple  of  dies  pound  it  out  upon  the 
hard-baked  earthen  floor  of  his  'dobe  i"to 
a  bracelet  or  saddle  ornament  that  would 
be  no  discredit  to  many  a  silversmith  who 
has  served  a  long  apprenticeship  and  who 
considers  himself  an  expert  in  his  line. 
On  a  somewhat  higher  plane  in  the  pro- 
fession is  the  Mexican  filigree  worker, 
who  with  tools  but  little  more  elaborate, 


will  draw  the  ductile  metals  into  filiments 
almost  as  fine  as  cobwebs,  and  weave  them 
into  artistic  fabrics  finer  than  any  laces 
that  ever  came  from  the  looms  of  Cluny 
or  Valenciennes,  and  so  perfect  that  a 
microscope  is  needed  to  detect  a  flaw. 

The  art  of  the  filigree  worker  is  almost 
as  old  as  history.  It  was  practiced  by  the 
jewelers  of  ancient  Egypt  before  the  time 
of  Moses.  Like  most  of  the  fine  arts,  it 
reached  its  greatest  perfection  among  the 
old  Greeks,  whose  workmanship  has  never 
been  equaled  in  modern  times.  At  the 
present  time  it  is  practiced  most  exten- 
sively in  Malta,  India,  Genoa,  Tuscany, 
the  Ionian  Islands,  parts  of  Turkey, 
Mexico  and  New  Mexico.  It  came  to  the 
Western  Hemisphere  from  Spain,  in  the 
days  of  the  Conquisadores.  Farther  back 
than  that,  the  Spaniards  learned  it  from 
the  Moors,  who  took  it  with  them  from 
Arabia.  In  Old  and  New  Mexico,  how- 
ever, this  art,  though  inferior  to  that  of 
the  Italians  and  modern  Greeks,  has 
reached  a  perfection  never  attained  by  the 


FILIGKEE  WOKKEKS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 


519 


Polishing. 


Moors  or  Spaniards — borrowing  from  the 
aboriginal  Americans  a  barbaric  freedom 
and  originality  that  the  workmanship  of 
both  the  Castilians  and  the  Orientals 
lacked. 

The  filigree  workers  obtain  their  ma- 
terials from  many  sources.  Whenever  pos- 
sible, they  prefer  to  obtain  their  gold  by 
melting  down  broken,  defaced  or  out-of- 
fashion  jewelry — the  "old  gold"  of  less 
shoddy  days  than  these.  Sometimes  they 
purchase  both  gold  and  silver  direct  from 
the  refiners  of  precious  metals.  Old  coins 
are  also  particularly  desirable,  containing 
less  alloy  than  the  output  of  modern 
mints,  and  being,  therefore,  more  ductile 
and  more  easily  worked.  A  favorite 
source  of  supply  for  the  filigree  workers 
of  New  Mexico  is  the  old  church  of  San 
Lorenzo,  in  the  Mexican  State  of  Sonora, 
"bout  ten  miles  from  El  Paso.  For  hun- 


dreds of  miles  around,  on  both  sides  of 
the  international  boundary  line,  both 
Mexicans  and  Indians  entertain  the  most 
profound  and  abiding  faith  in  the  miracle- 
working  powers  of  the  Saint,  and  of  his 
agents,  the  priests  in  the  little  church.  If 
any  one  has  a  broken  arm,  a  crippled  leg, 
a  failing  eye,  or  any  other  physical  infir- 
mity, he  moulds  a  miniature  replica  of 
the  affected  organ  in  gold  or  silver,  ac- 
cording to  his  means ;  makes  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  shrine  of  San  Lorenzo,  hangs  his 
offering  upon  the  image  of  the  Saint,  re- 
ceives the  blessing  of  the  priests,  and  goes 
on  his  way  rejoicing  in  the  confident  be- 
lief that  a  cure  will  be  wrought  in  due 
time.  Consequently,  the  image  of  the 
good  Saint  is  at  all  times  literally  bur- 
dened with  the  quaintly  moulded  forms 
of  arms,  hands,  feet,  legs,  ears,  eyes  and 
other  human  organs  in  gold  and  silver. 
From  time  to  time,  the  priests  remove  a 
portion  of  the  offerings  to  make  room  for 
others,  and  the.ones  removed  are  then  sold 
to  the  filigree  jewelers,  or  to  any  one  else 
wishing  to  purchase.  Peddlers  frequent- 
Iv  canvas  the  filigree  manufacturing  trade, 
selling  tools  and  implements,  old  gold 
and  silver,  stones  for  sets,  and  other  sup- 
plies for  the  trade.  For  the  sets  used  in 
swastikas,  pins,  ear-rings  and  other  gew- 
gaws, the  turquoise  is  the  most  popular 
stone.  The  turquoise  is  found  near  Los 
Cerillos,  in  the  Burro  Mountains,  at  old 
Hachiti,  and  in  the  Jarilla  Mountains — 
all  in  N^ew  Mexico,  which  contains  the 
richest  turquoise  mines,  yielding  the  most 
perfect  gems  in  the  world.  Garnets,  to- 
paz, quartz,  crystals  and  many  other  semi- 
precious stones  found  in  Xew  Mexico  and 
Arizona  are  used  extensively,  and  seed 
pearls  are  brought  from  the  pearl  fisher- 
ies of  the  Gulf  of  California  for  the  same 
purpose. 

There  is  no  more  fascinating  way  of 
passing  an  idle  hour  than  in  watching  the 
deft-fingered  Mexican  craftsmen  trans- 
forming some  votive  offering  brought 
from  the  shrine  of  good  old  San  Lorenzo 
into  a  bracelet,  a  brooch,  or  some  other 
frivolous  article  of  personal  adornment. 
Somehow  it  seems  like  a  breach  of  faith, 
bordering  on  sacrilege,  to  prostitute  to 
the  service  of  Baal  the  humble  gifts  con- 
secrated in  all  sincerity  of  faith  to  the 
service  of  heaven.  The  first  step  in  pre- 
paration for  the  actual  work  of  manufac- 


520 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


ture  is  to  melt  the  metal  in  a  small  cru- 
cible, and  then  pour  it  into  a  mould,  or 
casting  iron,  forming  ingots  about  as 
long  as  a  lead  pencil,  and  perhaps  half  as 
thick.  These  are  next  passed  through  a 
graduated  series  of  hand  rolls,  each 
pressing  them  a  little  smaller  in  diame- 
ter, with  consequent  gain  in  length,  until 
they  become  slender  wires,  either  round 
or  "square  as  desired.  For  the  finest 
grade  of  work,  the  wires  are  drawn  out 
into  slender  filiments  almost  as  fine  as 
cobwebs.  Two  of  these  filiments  are 
twisted  together,  and  the  jeweler  is  then 
ready  to  begin  the  construction  of  the 
particular  article  he  has  in  mind.  No 
pattern  is  used,  and  no  tools  but  tiny 
tweezers  and  a  blow  pipe.  With  these, 
the  most  intricate  and  elaborate  designs 
are  worked  out,  with  astonishing  speed 
and  facility.  With  the  blow-pipe,  a  little 
borax,  and  some  gold  and  silver  solder, 
joints  are  made  that  the  unaided  eye  can 
hardly  detect.  In  most  conventional  de- 
signs, the  delicate  wire  tracery  that  com- 
poses the  body  of  the  figures  is  enclosed 
and  protected  by  a  frame-work  of  heavier 
wire,  giving  the  requisite  strength  and 
rigidity. 

In  addition  to  this  delicate  tracery  that 
forms  the  body  of  filigree  work,  some  of 
the  craftsmen  of  the  Southwest  have  mas- 
tered the  old  Greek  art  of  encrusting  sur- 
faces with  minute  granules,  almost  as 
fine  as  hoar  frost;  but  the  manner  in 
which  this  is  done  is  a  carefully  guarded 
secret  of  the  trade.  Larger  grains,  like 
minute  jewels,  are  sometimes  sprinkled 
over  plain  surfaces,  or  are  placed  in  posi- 
tions that  would  naturally  be  occupied  by 
sets  of  gem  stones.  In  the  frosting  of 
surfaces  by  means  of  these  minute  gran- 
ules, the  workmen  of  both  old  and  neMT 
Mexico  are  far  inferior  to  the  old  Greek 
craftsmen,  and  to  their  most  ardent  mod- 
ern successors  in  Italy  and  the  Ionian 
Islands;  but  in  the  manipulation  of  the 
wire  threads  the  Mexicans  have  no  super- 
iors. They  are  trained  to  the  craft  al- 
most from  infancy,  taking  to  it  with  a 
facility  that  seems  instinctive.  As  some 
of  the  families  of  the  Southwest  have  fol- 
lowed the  making  of  filigree  jewelry  for 
hundreds  of  years,  it  seems  only  natural 
to  attribute  some  degree  of  the  skill  of 
the  workmen  of  the  present  generation  to 
heredity. 


-  Like  everything  else,  filigree  jewelry  is 
subject  to  the  fads  and  caprices  of  fash- 
ion. Just  now  this  class  of  work  is  en- 
joying hitherto  undreamed-of  popularity 
in  the  East,  and  tourists  are  buying  with 
an  avidity  that  carries  joy  to  the  hearts, 
and  money  to  the  pocketbooks,  of  the  fili- 
gree workers.  The  most  popular  design 
at  the  moment  is  the  swastika — known 
also  as  the  Japanese  lucky  cross,  or  the 
Indian  good  luck  charm.  This  is  the  old- 
est and  most  universal  of  all  known  sym- 
bols, and  in  all  ages  and  among  all  peo- 
ples has  been  credited  with  talismanic 
powers  for  bestowing  good  luck  and  good 
fortune  upon  its  wearer.  It  has  been  dug 
out  of  the  ruins  of  ancient  Greece,  found 
entombed  with  the  mummies  of  Egypt's 
pyramids,  discovered  among  the  relics  of 
the  Mound  Builders  of  the  Ohio  Valley, 
and  ma_y  be  seen  carved  upon  the  rocky 
walls  of  the  pre-historic  Cliff  Dwellings. 


Melting    the   gold   and   casting   the   ingots. 


HEAPING  COALS  OF  FIKE. 


521 


It  is  woven  by  the  Navajos  into  their 
blankets,  and  by  the  Pimas  into  their 
baskets;  painted  by  the  Pueblos  on  their 
pottery,  carved  on  the  pagan  gods  of 
China,  Thibet  and  India;  and  is  wor- 
shiped by  the  blacks  of  Ashantee  and  the 
aborigines  of  Peru.  The  "New  Thought" 
cult  has  given  it  a  tremendous  vogue  in 
America,  even  among  multitudes  who 
know  little  and  care  less  about  "New 
Thought"  or  any  other  kind  of  thought. 
The  oddity  of  the  design  has  captivated 
the  popular  fancy.  Of  course,  the  swas- 
tika is  made  of  every  conceivable  material, 
but  its  most  popular  form  is  in  gold  or 
silver  filigree,  with  a  tiny  turquoise  set 
in  the  center.  These  emblems  are  now 
being  manufactured  by  the  Mexican  fili- 


gree workers  literally  by  thousands.  Fili- 
gree butterflies,  fans,  forget-me-nots,  pan- 
sies,  birds,  hearts,  crosses  and  other  arti- 
cles impossible  of  enumeration  are  made 
to  answer  as  stick-pins,  brooches,  scarf- 
pins,  belt  buckles,  ear-rings  and  for  other 
purposes.  Bracelets  made  of  a  string  of 
hearts,  crosses,  pansies,  bow-knots  or 
swastikas,  are  very  popular,  as  also  are 
hat-pins,  combs,  hair  ornaments,  and  a 
thousand  other  articles  that  no  one  but  a 
woman  could  name.  For  those  whose 
taste  runs  to  the  bizarre  and  fantastic  are 
tiny  toads,  lizards,  centipedes,  scorpions, 
tarantulas,  snakes,  cats,  coyotes  and  bur- 
ros. In  fact,  any  well-stocked  shop  in  the 
Southwest  can  supply  any  taste  and  meet 
the  conditions  of  any  pocketbook. 


BY    ALOYSIUS    COLL 

Love  loosed  the  bands  that  bound  a  host; 

A  lark  up-soared,  sweet-singing  from  the  grass, 

And  while  I  watched  him  from  my  window  place 
Love  sauntered  by,  the  radiant  of  face, 

Leaving  his  sunny  image  in  the  glass. 

Love  spied  me  then.    He  pra}red  for  rest  before 
My  little  house.    I  did  not  take  him  in — 
Yet,  all-forgiving  of  the  slight  and  sin, 

He  set  a  rose  at  my  denying  door ! 

New  pilgrims  came  and  went;  I  scarcely  gave 
A  genial  thought  to  Love  that  knocked  in  vain, 
His  smiling  image  in  the  window-pane, 

His  rose  that  twined  about  the  architrave. 

Now  gone  are  Pride  and  Youth  forevermore, 

Beauty  and  Joy — the  guests  that  used  to  pass — 
All  but  the  sunshine  on  my  window  glass, 

And  the  sweet  rose  that  blossoms  at  my  door ! 


BY    CAROLINE    LADD    CREW 


WE  should  be  glad  to  have  such 
pieces  of  furniture  as  would 
contribute  to  a  home-like  at- 
mosphere," the  letter  of  the 
Eev.  Ezra  Cooch  euded — "rocking  chairs 
or  couches  which  the  family  no  longer 
need  would  be  especially  welcome." 

The  Eev.  Ezra  Cooch,  president  of  a  de- 
nominational seminary  for  young  women, 
lived  in  a  neighboring  town,  and  wrote  in 
behalf  of  the  restoration  of  a  dormitory 
which  had  recently  been  injured  by  fire. 
The  appeal  stirred  my  imagination  more 
readily  than  letters  of  solicitation  usually 
did.  Not  that  I  had  any  particular  en- 
thusiasm for  the  institution,  nor  was  there 
anything  ingratiating  in  the  form  of  the 
appeal,  but  its  coming  was  at  once  timely 
and  helpful,  for  it  suggested  an  immedi- 
ate opportunity  to  dispose  of  certain 
household  properties  that  had  long  been 
a  burden  to  me. 

When  Alexander  and  I  had  gone  to 
housekeeping  twenty-five  years  before,  it 
had  been  no  part  of  our  plan  to  furnish 
with  pieces  that  "would  last  a  century." 
We  bought  merely  a  temporary  outfit, 
which,  we  never  doubted,  prosperous  days 
would  enable  us  to  replace  with  something 
more  worthy.  Our  belief  was  not  belied, 
and  our  possessions  grew  with  the  years. 
In  consequence,  there  came  a  time  when, 
instead  of  sighing  over  our  too  bare  walls 
and  our  too  scant  furnishing,  I  deplored 
the  care  of  superfluous  chattels.  Instinct 
told  me  that  the  pleasing  effect  of  a  room 
depends  not  so  much  upon  what  is  put  in- 
to it,  as  upon  what  is  not  put  into  it,  and 
I  knew  that  the  tasteless  furniture  of  the 
preceding  generation  could  never  minis- 
ter to  the  pride  of  life. 

Accordingly,  it  was  with  much  inward 
contentment  that  I  now  took  a  mental  in- 
ventory of  such  pieces  of  furniture  as 
seemed  to  have  touched  the  nadir  of  their 
usefulness.  Instantly  there  came  to  my 
mind  our  first  dining-room  table,  with  its 
walnut  extension  top:  the  big  cane-seated 
rocking  chair  in  the  library,  and  in  what 


was  once  the  nursery,  the  painted  bed- 
stead still  gay  with  morning  glories 
against  a  gray  background.  How  I  would 
rejoice  in  the  passing  of  all  these  impedia- 
menta ! 

I  waited  until  evening,  when  the  family 
were  together  in  the  library  to  unfold  my 
dual  scheme  of  utility  and  charity.  But 
in  the  process  of  elaborating  it,  I  suddenly 
became  conscious  of  an  unreasonable  feel- 
ing of  regret  in  the  matter.  A  sudden 
under-current  of  sentiment  seemed  to  tow 
me  away  from  my  purpose,  and  I  felt  a 
rush  of  affection  for  those  old  pieces 
which  were  now  a  part  of  my  poor  but 
happy  past. 

However,  I  refused  to  palter  with  any 
such  emotion,  and  confidently  presented 
the  folly  of  holding  on  to  unsteady  tables, 
ridiculous  chairs  and  wheezy  clocks;  then 
I  touched  lightly  upon  the  service  they 
might  be  to  the  unfortunate  school.  My 
secret  sense  of  faintheartedness  served 
only  to  aggravate  my  show  of  enthusiasm. 
But  when  I  paused  from  the  effort  to  veil 
the  whole  action  in  a  mist  of  expediency, 
a  look  of  disfavor  read  itself  in  the  faces 
of  my  family.  I  saw  that  the  effect  of 
my  words  had  been  to  stir  old  emotions 
and  to  turn  the  mind  into  other  channels. 

"But,  mother,"  cried  my  imaginative 
Rhoda,  "you  won't  send  away  the  little 
gray  bedstead  ?  Why,  you  used  to  read  me 
to  sleep  in  that!"  And  then  there  flashed 
into  my  mind  the  thought  of  the  evening 
hours  when,  seated  by  the  little  gray  bed, 
I  told  "just  one  more  story"  to  eager 
ears,  while  wide,  bright  eyes  protested 
they  were  not  the  "leastest  bit  sleepy." 
And  whether  it  was  the  monotony  of 
"Alice  in  Wonderland"  swimming 
through  her  pool  of  tears,  or  whether  the 
bright  morning  glories  had  the  potency 
of  poppies,  the  white  lids  closed,  and  the 
dreams  of  story  faded  away  into  the  hap- 
pier dreams  of  childhood. 

Rhoda's  protest  was  all  that  was  needed 
for  the  evocation  of  a  host  of  memories, 
tinged  by  old  affection;  and  reminiscences 


A  CONSERVATIVE  TRIUMPH. 


523 


grew  thick.  My  eldest  son,  a  handsome 
youth  of  twenty,  who  affected  a  fine  scorn 
of  "mere  sentiment,"  objected  to  sending 
away  the  old  dining-room  table,  with  the 
little  ledge  under  it  where  he  used  to  hide 
his  crusts  of  bread  from  his  father. 

With  such  rich  and  strange  meanings 
iid  the  homely  and  familiar  invest  itself, 
diat  the  library  began  to  fill  with  the 
gracious  ghostly  presences  of  other  days. 
Even  the  shabby  lounge  with  its  covering 
of  Brussels-  carpet  took  on  a  new  senti- 
mental value. 

In  the  beginning  its  rounded  surface  had 
a  bad  way  of  sliding  one  off  to  the  floor, 
till  happily  a  spring  broke  and  left  a  com- 
fortable indentation.  Here  my  boys  had 
lain  under  the  window  during  periods  of 
measels  or  broken  limbs,  and  had  kicked 
dents  during  an  impatient  convalescence; 
and  here,  from  the  sun-flecked  page,  they 
had  made  familiars  of  Robinson  Crusoe 
and  Don  Quixote. 

Once  in  the  idealizing  region  of  senti- 
ment, I  began  to  wonder  if  I  could  part 
with  my  big  ungainly  sewing-chair.  Its 
crochetted  tidy  and  patch-work  cushion 
had  always  given  it  a  particularly  domes- 
tic and  inviting  look,  and  in  this  I  had 
sat  as  a  young  mother  to  mend  little  gar- 
ments and  to  rock  my  children  to  sleep. 
And  the  gay  chromo,  "Into  Mischief," 
which  had  always  hung  in  the  library, 


now  looked  down  at  me  from  its  accus- 
tomed place  through  the  vista  of  long 
ago.  It  was  this  picture  of  a  small  boy 
emptying  the  contents  of  the  water  pit- 
cher into  his  father's  silk  hat  that  recalled 
the  shifting  moods  of  childhood.  Undis- 
turbed by  its  crude  coloring,  I  saw  only 
its  patent  and  simple  humor,  that  had 
often  coaxed  peace  back  into  the  heart  of 
an  aggrieved  child.  It,  too,  had  caught 
the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  was  dead. 

As  we  sat  recalling  the  years  in  which 
we  had  grown  older  together,  the  voice  of 
expediency  had  become  faint  and  far ;  for 
the  contemplated  assault  upon  our  house- 
hold gods  had  laid  bare  an  unexpected 
depth  of  sentiment,  and  artistic  effect  had 
become  a  paltry  consideration  when  viewed 
in  the  glow  of  long  and  happy  association. 
With  a  distinct  sense  of  relief,  we  decided 
not  to  disturb  the  established  order  of  our 
home;  we  would  keep  our  fool's  paradise 
and  regard  it  with  a  new  and  hallowing 
sense  of  permanency.  The  light  cloud 
which  had  crossed  our  sky  had,  by  its  lift- 
ing, given  new  serenity  to  our  heaven. 

On  the  following  day,  the  Rev.  Ezra 
Cooch  received  a  note  from  Alexander, 
stating  that  our  disused  furniture  was  not 
of  a  kind  suitable  for  the  furnishing  of 
a  woman's  college,  and  that  he  took  the 
opportunity  to  send  him  a  check  in  its 
place. 


Chamonix  and  Mt.  Blanc. 


de    Glace. 


Sit.  Blanc. 


.11 


I®r  ID)® 


BY    FRED    GILBERT    BLAKESLEE 


NO  visitor  to  Switzerland,  no  matter 
how  pressed  for  time,  should  fail  to 
visit  the  little  village  of  Chamonix, 
which  nestles  at  the  foot  of  Mt.  Blanc. 
Here  one  hob-nobs  with  snow  clad  peaks 
and  from  here  may  be  seen  to  the  best 
advantage  in  all  its  majestic  grandeur,  the 
mighty  "Monarch  of  the  Alps." 

Chamonix,  which  lies  at  the  head  of  a 
valley  of  the  same  name,  surrounded  by 
snow  capped  mountains  and  gigantic  gla- 
ciers, is  practically  a  Swiss  village  al- 
though it  is  actually  situated  within  the 
borders  of  France.  It  is  reached  by  rail 
and  diligence  from  Geneva  or  by  carriage 
over  the  Tete  Noir  Pass  from  Martigny, 
the  latter  being  by  far  the  more  impressive 
route. 

From  Chamonix,  delightful  excursions 
may  be  taken,  ranging  all  the  way  from 
an  hour's  walk  to  the  Cascade  de  Blaitiere 
to  the  two  days  trip  required  to  make  the 
ascent  of  Mont  Blanc.  Save  for  the  as- 
cent of  Mont  Blanc,  there  is  no  ex- 


cursion from  Chamonix  which  equals 
that  made  to  the  M«r  de  Glace.  It  is  to 
be  doubted  if  anywhere  in  the  world  there 
exists  a  finer  day's  outing  than  that  af- 
forded by  this  trip  to  the  far  famed 
"Kiver  office." 

Leaving  his  hotel  immediately  after 
breakfast  mounted  on  a  sure  footed  Al- 
pine mule  and  accompanied  by  a  trusty 
guide,  the  traveler  soon  finds  himself  as- 
cending a  bridle  path  which  goes  zig- 
zagging upwards  until  it  is  apparently  lost 
in  the  sky.  The  ^rade  is  extremely  steep 
and  in  places  the  path  which  is  never 
more  than  three  or  four  feet  wide,  runs 
along  the  edge  of  sheer  precipices.  If 
ascending  and  descending  tourists  happen 
to  meet  in  one  of  these  spots,  passing  is  al- 
ways extremely  ticklish  business  for  the 
outside  rider.  The  mountain  mules  upon 
which  the  ascent  is  made  are  wonderfully 
hardy  creatures,  and  as  sure  footed  as  a 
chamois.  All  their  lives  are  spent  in 
climbing  up  and  down  steep  paths  and  as 


526 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


a  result  they  have  acquired  only  one 
pace,  a  sedate  walk.  This  pace  they  use 
on  all  occasions  and  no  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  rider  can  stir  them  out  of  it.  Al- 
ways following  each  other  in  single  file 
is  another  of  their  peculiarities. 

A  three  hours'  ride  brings  the  traveler 
to  Montanvert,  an  eminence  several 
thousand  feet  high  from  which  a  grand 
view  of  the  Mer  de  Glace  lying  directly 
oeneath,  is  obtained.  At  Montanvert 
a  stop  is  made  for  lunch,  while  the  mules 
are  put  in  charge  of  boys  and  sent  around 
the  end  of  the  glacier  to  await  the  tour- 
ists on  the  other  side.  After  an  excellent 


the  most  thrilling  experience  of  the  day  is 
before  him.  Baedeker  says  with  great 
truth  that  "elderly  people,  and  those  sub- 
ject to  giddiness  are  to  be  dissuaded  from 
attempting  the  Mauvais  Pas."  This  pass 
is  not  really  a  path  at  all  but  simply  a 
projecting  ledge  of  rock  along  the  face 
of  a  precipice,  helped  out  here  and  there 
with  some  roughly  hewn  steps.  This 
ledge  is  hardly  wide  enough  to  afford 
more  than  a  precarious  footing  and  be- 
iieath  is  a  sheer  drop  of  several  hundred 
feet.  An  iron  hand-rail  is  affixed  to  the 
rock  on  the  inside,  but  all  outside  protec- 
tion is  most  conspicuously  absent. 


Valley   of   Chamonlx   and   Mer   de   Glace. 


lunch,  the  amateur  mountaineer,  having 
provided  himself  with  a  spiked  alpen- 
stock and  woolen  socks,  (the  latter  being 
worn  over  the  shoes  so  as  to  prevent  slip- 
ping) climbs  down  a  rather  steep  path  and 
steps  out  on  to  the  great  Mer  de  Glace. 
This  mighty  river  of  ice,  as  it  is  most 
appropriately  named,  descends  from  the- 
Mt.  Blanc  chain  and  is  four  and  a  half 
miles  long  and  over  a  mile  broad.  To 
oross  it,  climbing  its  ice  hills  and  avoid- 
ing its  crevasses,  means  an  hour's  hard 
work,  but  no  one  who  has  ever  taken  the 
trip  ever  regrets  it.  Another  half  hour 
brings  the  tourist  to  the  Mauvais  Pas  and 


Once  safely  across  this  perilous  place 
the  tourist  finds  himself  at  the  Chapeau, 
a  projecting  rock  which  commands  an 
excellent  view  of  the  glacier  and  the 
valley  of  Chamonix.  After  a  brief  rest, 
the  descent  commences,  the  path  extending 
along  the  top  of  the  moraine  down 
through  pine  woods  and  across  mountain 
torrents  which  are  spanned  by  simple  Al- 
pine bridges. 

An  hours'  hard  walking  brings  the  wear- 
ied traveller  to  his  waiting  mule  upon 
whose  broad  back  he  thankfully  climbs 
and  who  lands  him  in  Chamonix  late  in 
the  afternoon,  tired  but  happy. 


BY    W.    H.   NOYES 

She  stood  upon  the  polished  floor, 

Amid  the  ballroom's  blaze  of  light, 

And  slowly  scanned  the  maskers  o'er 
Who  mingled  there  last  night. 

The  waltz  they  played  was  "Golden  Spain/' 
And  knighthood  was  in  flower  again. 

The  Pena's  film  her  form  caressed, 
A  damask  rose  hung  o'er  her  heart, 

Her  breast  old  Moorish  laces  pressed — 
Her  crimson  lips  apart. 

And  then  in  throbbing  minor  strain, 
The  contra  dance  began  again. 

She  held  a  trinket  in  her  hand, 

A  dainty,  perfumed,  painted  thing, 

A  heart-shaped  fan — yet  he  would  stand 
Who  won  that  prize,  a  king. 

The  waltz  they  played  was  "Golden  Spain." 
Doth  Cupid  string  his  bow  in  vain? 

Gay  gallants  watched,  with  eager  eyes, 
Her  roving  glance  for  word  or  sign, 

Till,  with  a  smile  of  sweet  surprise, 
Her  midnight  eyes  met  mine. 

The  contra  dance  they  played  last  night- 
One  satin  slipper  just  in  sight. 

She  waved  her  fan  coquettishly, 

And  half  inclined  her  well  poised  head, 
As,  in  a  tone  part  coy,  part  shy, 

"Come,  take  my  heart,"  she  said. 

The  waltz  they  played  was  "Golden  Spain," 
A  passion-throbbing  minor  strain. 

How  quick  the  thrilling  pulses  start! 

She  was  my  own  for  that  brief  space — 
Her  heart  was  beating  'gainst  my  heart, 

Her  breath  played  o'er  my  face. 

The  contra  dance  they  played  last  night— 
The  dawn  broke  slowly  into  light. 

L'ENVOI. 

Has  she  who  gave  forgotten  quite 
That  measure  in  a  minor  strain? 

The  contra  dance  they  played  last  night, 
The  waltz  was  olden,  "Golden  Spain." 


BY    J.     GORDON     SMITH,  Author  of  "Tanaka    the    Coward,"  "The    Way    of    the     East,"     and    Other    Stories 


{  {  A  TOUCH  of  the  tar  brush  is  a  poor 
Z\  legacy,  but  that's  all  that's  left 
some  of  these  kids  on  the  coast/' 
said  the  trapper,  waving  his  arm  to  indi- 
cate the  somnolent  village.  It  was  a 
quiet  little  village  for  many  months  of 
the  year,  when  the  brown  hunters  were  fol- 
lowing the  seal  herd  and  the  fishermen 
were  spearing  salmon  at  the  heads  of 
nearby  inlets,  leaving  the  women  and  the 
wrinkled  old  men  to  huddle  in  their  blan- 
kets and  sit  with  backs  resting  against  the 
totems  or  on  the  fuliginous  platform  be- 
fore the  lodges.  These  were  the  months 
when  old  Mackenzie  played  solitaire  a-top 
of  the  pork  barrel  in  his  store  at  the  edge 
of  the  village,  meanwhile  bemoaning  the 
quietude  of  trade,  and  the  missionary, 
who  refused  to  associate  with  the  un-godly 
storekeeper,  spent  most  of  his  time  with 
his  books,  other  than  when  he  made  his 
daily  visitation  to  the  smoke-filled,  fish- 
reeking  illahees  (lodges)  of  the  Haidah. 
But,  in  the  months  when  the  trappers 
came  from  the  woods  to  barter  mink,  mar- 
tin, marmot,  bear,  beaver,  and  all  their 
other  peltries  for  Mackenzie's  silver  dol- 
lars; when  the  schooners  came  from  the 
fog-filled  northern  sea  and  the  sealers 
journeyed  to  the  cities  to  bring  sewing- 
machines  and  harmoniums  to  wondering 
klootchmen  who  were  skeptical  of  the  trav- 
eler's tales;  when  fishermen  brought 
canoe-loads  of  sun-dried  salmon  and  boxes 
of  that  reeking  fish-grease  which  the  In- 
dian loves — the  months  of  affluence — 
then  the  store-keeper  emptied  his  shelves 
at  whatever  prices  his  fancy  placed  upon 
his  wares  and  the  tribal  Shaman,  the 
witch-doctor  and  sorcerer  of  the  tribe,  led 
the  potlatch  feasts  with  old-time  tribal 
revelry,  and  the  masked  dances  and  all 
those  customs,  which  tradition  has  not 
forgotten  and  the  laws  of  the  King  Geor- 
ges and  Boston  men  have  not  suppressed, 
made  the  village  hum  with  native  life. 

All  these  things  the  Haidahs  did  for 
six  days  of  those  weeks  of  prosperity  when 
tae  long-rolling  waves  swept  in  from  the 


grey  ocean  and  the  breakers  threw  spind- 
rift against  the  water-worn  rocks  and 
splashed  spume  over  the  bedraggled  firs 
of  the  outer  reefs — the  breakwater  which 
sheltered  the  lodges  on  the  shingly,  log- 
strewn  beach.  On  the  seventh  day  they 
followed  the  missionary  to  the  little  church 
they  had  builded  on  the  low  hill-crest  be- 
hind the  village. 

Lovers  of  pomp  and  circumstance,  as 
are  all  their  people,  the  tribesmen  saw  in 
the  rites  taught  them  by  the  priest  a 
greater  scope  for  ceremony  than  the  time- 
honored  potlatch  feast,  and  all  those  cus- 
toms of  which  the  wrinkled  old  men  told 
them  as  they  gathered  about  the  drift- 
wood fires,  or  squatted  tier  on  tier  on 
the  sleeping  benches  of  the  larger  lodges 
to  listen  to  the  story-tellers.  So  they  wel- 
comed the  missionary  and  the  rites  he 
taught. 

Some  years  had  passed  since  duty  took 
me  to  the  village  in  the  interest  of  a  pater- 
nal Government  and  the  Indians,  but  as  I 
sat  that  morning  with  the  trapper,  watch- 
ing some  half-caste  children  tripping  over 
the  beach  to  the  village  church,  I  remem- 
bered what  Mackenzie  had  told  me 
about  this  when  I  watched  a  procession 
from  the  store  front. 

"Ah,  well,  ye  maun  think  I'm  preju- 
diced," he  had  said,  "but  it's  no  prejudice, 
I  tell  you.  Not  that  I  have  anything  to 
thank  Van  Dauden  for — far  from  it.  He's 
worked  up  the  Siwashes  against  me,  and 
if  there  was  any  other  store  within  canoe- 
ing distance,  I'd  feel  it.  But  it's  not  that 
— I  tell  you  it's  the  processions  like  this 
and  all  the  ceremony  that  catches  them." 

Years  ago  it  was;  but  I  remember  how 
the  odd  Corpus  Christi  procession  had 
passed  me  as  my  canoe  was  being  hauled 
up,  and  when  Mackenzie  had  handed  me 
his  bottle  of  Scotch — a  kindly  act  when 
one  recalls  the  chill  of  the  mists  and  the 
cold  which  permeates  the  system  as  one 
cramps  hour  after  hour  in  his  canoe — he 
spoke  iconoclastically  of  the  motive  which 
impelled  the  passing  throng  of  Indians. 


WITHOUT   THE  PALE. 


529 


It  was  a  strange  parade :  a  procession  of 
several  hundreds  of  half-clad,  blanketed 
tribesmen  with  banners  of  red  flannel, 
patched  flags  and  niched  ensigns  from 
neighboring  wrecks,  with  many  of  the 
paraders  clad  in  frayed  top-coats — the 
cast-off  garments  of  wandering  loggers 
and  fur-buyers — and  some  wearing  bright 
scarlet  tunics  and  other  uniforms  that 
had  come  through  devious  channels  from 
some  far-away  over-sea  barrack.  All  were 
led  by  the  tribal  singers  with  the  skin 
drums  that  had  oft  thrummed  to  give 
rhythm  for  the  Shaman  dance.  It  was  a 
march  of  incongruities  that  elsewhere 
would  have  been  laughable.  The  proces- 
sionists had  all  seemed  so  intent,  so  ear- 
nest, though,  that  I  had  doubted  the  store- 
keeper when  he  said  it  was  solely  for  the 
pomp  attached  to  the  rite  that  the  natives 
had  assembled. 

And  then  we  had  forgotten.  With  the 
passing  of  the  last  of  the  paraders — he 
with  the  old  halberd  that  some  forgotten 
Spanish  navigator  must  have  left  when  on 
one  of  those  early  voyages  of  discovery — 
and  the  dying  of  the  echo  of  the  now  faint 
thrum  of  the  far-away  drums,  we  had 
started  to  talk  of  the  world,  of  the  happen- 
ings in  the  seven  seas  and  the  lands  which 
bounded  them,  of  all  that  memory  held 
of  the  things  that  had  befallen  since  I 
made  my  previous  visit  of  inspection  the 
year  before,  as  ordained  by  a  paternal 
Government. 

"And  Von  Dauden  doesn't  come  over  to 
pass  the  time  o'  day,  eh,  Mac?"  I  asked, 
after  my  budget  of  news  had  been  ex- 
hausted and  we  were  back  in  the  living 
room  behind  the  store.  "Wfoat's  the  trou- 
ble— the  woman?" 

"No,  ifs  no  the  woman,"  replied  the 
Scotcbman,  with  a  very  evident  touch  of 
sadness  in  his  voice;  "it's  the  wean." 

My  thoughts  flew  back  to  the  day  when 
we  had  sat  on  a  log  at  the  edge  of  the 
tide  a  year  before  tossing  pebbles  aimless- 
ly into  the  ebbing  rollers.  Perhaps  his 
memory,  too,  had  reverted  to  that  time 
when  he  had  talked  of  the  woes  that  con- 
fronted the  half-breed.  How  cynically 
the  storekeeper  had  told  me  of  the  trou- 
bles that  befell  the  young  woman — the 
man  did  not  suffer  the  same — who  was 
not  of  the  tribe  and  not  of  the  white  peo- 
ple, and  I  had  told  him  of  half-breeds  I 
had  known,  of  girJs  who  had  been  taught 


the  ways  of  the  white  people  at  coast 
schools,  only  to  go  back  to  the  fish- 
scented,  smoke-fogged  lodges  with  a  deep 
disgust  of  the  life  that  gnawed  into  their 
very  souls  until,  pining  for  the  unattain- 
able, they  died.  And  Mackenzie,  himself, 
was  leaving  a  hostage  to  the  future. 

A  laughing  little  blue-eyed  tot,  with 
the  clear  eyes  of  her  father  and  the 
straight  raven-black  hair,  puffed  cheeks, 
and  dark  skin  of  her  mother,  she  lay  cud- 
dled in  the  cushioned  bearskins  of  her 
home-made  cradle,  and  Lizzie,  proud  as 
any  Madonna,  sat  with  her  naked  foot  on 
the  rocker  crooning  some  old  tribal  chant 
to  the  child. 

Lizzie — she  had  almost  forgotten  her 
tribal  name — had  been  bought  during  a 
potlatch  a  few  years  before  for  a  handful 
of  Hudson's  Bay  blankets,  greasy  and 
filthy,  but  still  legal  tender  in  the  village. 
Black-haired,  thick-lipped,  brown  and  as 
uncouth  as  all  her  people,  she  seemed  so 
unattractive  to  me,  but,  as  the  store- 
keeper explained  when  I  first  saw  her 
dusting  the  little  group  of  books  in  the 
book  case,  that  had  been  a  soap  box — the 
totems  of  the  white  man,  as  Lizzie  had 
explained  to  her  wondering  relations — a 
man  does  get  lonely,  and  a  woman's  a 
woman,  even  if  she  is  brown.  What  dif- 
ference did  it  make  to  a  man  who  was 
hidden  away  in  the  stepping-off  place  of 
the  world,  anyhow?  he  had  said.  A  man 
forgotten  by  his  friends,  and  alone — all 
alone.  So  he  had  talked — telling  the 
same  story  I  had  heard  with  variations  in 
many  villages. 

Two  years  afterward  I  received  a  letter 
from  Father  Von  Dauden,  which  told  of 
the  destruction  of  Mackenzie's  store  by 
fire  and  of  the  escape  of  the  woman  and 
child,  but  Mackenzie  was  missing.  No 
trace  of  him  was  found,  but  stories  were 
current  that  he  had  stolen  the  sloop  of 
a  fur-buyer;  at  all  events,  the  fur-buyer 
reported  the  loss  of  his  sloop  on  the  night 
of  the  fire.  Lizzie,  the  priest  told  me, 
had  mourned  her  missing  master  for 
three  weeks,  and  then  married  Domase, 
the  hunter. 

*  *  *  * 

As  the  trapper  said,  a  touch  of  the  tar 
brush  was  a  poor  legacy. 

"Maybe  you  know  little  Lizzie  Mac- 
kenzie, whose  father  disappeared  eighteen 
years  ago,"  said  the  trapper,  as  he 


530 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


browned  a  pan  of  dough  at  the  fire  in 
front  of  his  tent.  "She's  coming  back 
from  the  Hoty  City's  missionary  school  in 
a  few  days,  and  her  mother's  been  back  in 
the  tribe  since  she  was  a  year-old  baby." 

It  would  not  be  a  pleasant  home-com- 
ing for  the  girl.  I  knew  that  much  by 
other  homecomings  I  had  seen.  The  ul- 
tra-cleanly life  of  the  school  and  the  edu- 
cation which  made  the  girl  fit  to  take  her 
place  in  any  society,  was  not  such  as  would 
allow  her  to  return  without  great  pain  to 
a  filthy,  smoke-reeking  lodge  with  hard 
pan  for  floor,  rough-hewn  planks,  not 
meeting  within  an  inch  at  the  sides,  and 
the  only  furniture,  or  pretense  thereat,  a 
rough-built  sleeping  bench  which  was 
built  at  the  four  sides  of  the  lodge.  The 
tubercular  natives,  unclean  and  careless 
of  habit,  sitting  about  a  fire  of  drift-wood 
in  a  pot  hole  at  the  center  of  the  hard  pan 
of  the  lodge  floor,  with  smoke  ever  reek- 
ing about  them,  would  be  companions 
such  as  would  make  life  unbearable  to 
the  young  girl  who  played  the  harmonium 
each  Sunday  at  the  church  of  the  Holy 
City. 

''So  you  knew  Lizzie  Mackenzie,  eh?" 
asked  the  trapper;  "maybe  you  knew  her 
mother.  She  married  a  Siwash  native- 
fashion  after  Mackenzie  left,  and  sent  the 
girl,  a  kid  then,  to  the  missionaries  at  the 
Holy  City.  She  might  have  stayed  with 
the  church  crowd  and  been  half-civilized 
anyhow,  if  the  priest  had  married  them — 
but  he  refused  and  she  went  back  to  the 
rancherie." 

"Do  you  know  her?"  I  asked. 

"Know  her !"  the  old  man  replied,  with 
a  chug  at  his  cold  pipe.  "Lizzie  Macken- 
zie's mother  had  the  swellest  Siwash  mar- 
riage ever  heard  of  in  these  parts.  I'll  tell 
you  about  it.  She  was  proud  that  day 
in  new  beaded  blankets  she  soon  ex- 
changed for  the  clothes  Mackenzie  had 
given  her,  and  her  father  had  hung  gar- 
lands of  medicine  bark,  which  he  .bought 
from  the  Shaman,  about  her  neck.  She 
was  happy  then  with  the  knowledge  that 
many  bearskins,  each  a  seasoned  skin  that 
was  worth  many  blankets  and  valued 
equally  with  many  coppers,  had  been  paid 
for  her.  Like  any  woman  of  the  beach, 
she  prided  herself  on  the  fact  that  her 
purchase  price  was  large,  even  in  the  vil- 
lage of  the  Haidahs,  where  women  were 
not  held  cheap.  Domase,  her  man,  was 


a  good  hunter.  All  day  she  had  sat  with 
the  women  of  the  tribe  on  the  fish-drying 
platforms  at  the  sea's  edge  potlatching 
gifts  of  broken  crockery,  giving  chipped 
cups  and  saucers  that  had  been  rescued 
from  thet  ruins  of  the  burned  store,  to  the 
women;  she  was  holding  an  ante-nuptial 
celebration,  as  it  were. 

"Meanwhile,  Domase  danced  with  the 
Shaman  in  the  big  mid-winter  dance- 
house,  where  singers,  who  were  paid  two 
blankets  each  for  doing  so,  made  songs  to 
tell  of  his  skill  with  the  spear  and  the 
fire-stick  of  the  King  Georges.  Friends  of 
the  hunter  scrambled  for  blankets  that  he 
threw  to  them  from  a  rafter  as  gifts  to 
mark  his  'klosh  turn- turn  (his  good  heart.) 
At  night,  when  women  came  from  the 
clam  beds  with  baskets  filled  with  shell 
fish,  hunters  brought  whale  blubber  and 
seal-meat  from  the  lodges,  and  women 
heaped  high  driftwood  logs  on  a  great 
beach  fire  friends  of  Domase  brought  from 
his  lodge  a  pile  of  furs  and  piled  them  on 
the  beach  before  the  assembled  people. 

"It  was  a  strange  ceremony,  this  mar- 
riage beneath  the  stars  in  the  oasis  of 
light  made  by  the  drift-wood  fire.  Be- 
fore the  leaping  blaze  stood  the  Shaman, 
and  his  brown  face,  daubed  with  red  and 
yellow  ochre,  was  glistening.  A  wreath 
of  tan-bark  was  twined  about  his  forehead 
and  frayed  shreds  fell  twining  with  his 
long  raven-black  hair.  A  loosely-hung 
mantle  curiously  beaded  and  painted — 
the  Shaman  mantle  which  had  belonged  to 
a  generation  of  medicine  men  of  the  Hai- 
dahs— dangled  from  well  oiled  shoulders 
that  shone  in  the  fire-light  with  the  sheen 
of  polished  bronze,  and  his  glistening  legs 
held  many  ringlets  of  bear-claws  similar 
to  those  twined  about  his  arms.  Beside 
the  medicine  man  was  old  Lashgeek,  his 
bent  body  hidden  in  a  greasy  blanket, 
waiting  until  his  daughter  came  with  her 
women.  Behind  the  two  was  piled  the  furs 
friends  of  Domase  had  brought  from  the 
lodge  of  the  hunter.  Circled  about,  with 
a  sheen  on  their  brown  bodies  and  their 
bronzed  faces  aglow,  were  the  tribes-peo- 
ple. 

"I  was  there  with  them.  Faint,  like  a 
murmur,  we  heard  the  roll  of  a  muffled 
drum.  Faintly,  we  heard  a  chant.  It 
was  the  shrill  song  of  the  women  who 
were  still  a  long  way  off,  but  the  quick- 
eared  Indians  heard  it  from  behind  the 


WITHOUT  THE  PALE. 


531 


clustered  lodges,  silhouetted  gloomily  in 
the  blue-black  of  the  night. 

"  'They  woman,  Domase,'  shouted  an 
old  klootchman.  Then  the  throng  took 
UD  the  cry :  'The  woman  comes.' 

"Louder  was  the  chant.  Skin  drums 
thrummed  evenly  with  growing  .  sound, 
and,  with  an  animal-like  cry,  dancers 
sprang  into  the  glare  of  the  circle  about 
the  fire.  With  great  masks  of  wood  and 
feathers,  fathioned  most  strangely,  hid- 
ing their  heads  and  cloaks  of  skins  and 
furs  the  leggings  of  furs  and  feathers  hid- 
ing everything  but  their  bare  feet,  the 
dancers  sprang  about  with  excited  shriek- 
ings.  Tribesmen  broke  sticks  from  the 
drift  among  which  they  sat  and  beat  an 
even  time  on  a  cedar  board  before  them 
in  keeping  with  the  guttural  chant  and 
the  roll  of  the  drums,  which,  varied  with 
the  clatter  of  stone-filled  medicine-rattles, 
accompanied  the  strange  dance.  WHth 
increasing  rapidity  the  dancers  hopped 
and  jumped,  ran  and  sprang,  about  the 
circle,  swinging  their  arms  and  shrieking 
and  imitating  animal  calls,  until,  ex- 
hausted, they  sank  down  in  their  places 
as  the  sticks  clattered  on  the  boards  for 
the  last  time  and  the  even  chant  closed 
with  a  jerk. 

"The  singing  of  the  women,  muffled  be- 
hind the  lodge  of  Lashgeek,  seemed  still 
distant  when  the  chief  arose  from  the 
broken  soap  box  which  made  him  an  em- 
bryo throne;  the  dancers  had  finished 
their  swaying  ceremonial  dances,  and  the 
gathered  tribesmen  were  jabbering  excit- 
edly. 

"  'Hold,  peace  all,'  shouted  the  wrinkled 
old  chief;  'hold,  peace;  the  Shaman  will 
speak.' 

"With  outstretched  arms  and  bear  claws 
that  dangled  and  rattled  uncannily,  the 
Shaman  told  of  the  prowess  of  Domase, 
telling  of  great  hunts,  and  thinking  mean- 
while of  the  levy  he  intended  to  make  on 
the  furs  of  the  hunter.  As  the  Shaman 
spoke— the  messengers  had  timed  the 
coming  well — the  woman  and  her  follow- 
ing came  into  the  open  space,  the  hunter 
stepping  out  to  meet  her.  She  danced 
with  due  ceremony  toward  him,  and  sank 
at  his  feet.  Domase  took  her  by  the  hand, 
while  his  friends  gathered  up  the  furs  and 
carried  them  in  heaping  arm-loads  to  the 
house  of  Lashgeek  to  make  payment  for 
the  daughter.  The  Shaman  followed  with 


the  marriage  pillow,  and  behind  him  went 
the  hunter  and  his  bride,  with  the  tribes- 
people  trooping  behind  to  the  big  lodge 
where  men  fought  for  places  on  the  sleep- 
ing benches  because  of  the  feast  that  was 
to  follow. 

"There  was  little  sleep  for  me  that 
night,  for  the  Haidahs  made  merry  until 
dawn.  At  daylight,  some  fishermen  found 
the  carcase  of  a  whale,  and  with  the  rush 
of  the  departing  flotilla  of  canoes  going  to 
tow  the  derelict  to  the  village,  the  tribe 
forgot  Domase  and  his  marriage  in  the 

light  of  the  new  excitement." 

*  *  *  * 

The  toot  of  a  steamer's  whistle  awoke 
me  in  the  early  morning,  a  gray  morning 
with  a  fog-cloud  curtaining  the  blue  hills 
and  showing  the  pines  and  the  lodges 
in  the  foreground  in  a  haze.  The  shin- 
gle glistened  with  the  heavy  dew. 

At  the  cannery  and  little  settlement 
about  half  a  mile  from  the  village  the 
monthly  coming  of 'the  steamer  was  an 
event  comparable  only  with  Christmas  day 
and  the  Fourth  of  July — and  Von  Dauden 
roused  me  to  accompany  hin>  1 1  the 
wharf. 

All  the  village  and  the  settlement  was 
there.  The  steamer  had  moored  at  the 
rickety  wharf,  and  while  the  purser  went 
to  the  store  for  the  mail  and  the  deck 
hands  lifted  a  few  cases  of  provisions  from 
the  steamer,  long-booted  timber  cruisers, 
prospectors  with  corduroy  trousers  tucked 
in  their  boot-tops,  and  others,  scrambled 
on  shore  to  stroll  about  aimlessly.  The 
white  coated  waiters  were  lugging  a  port- 
manteau and  bulging  suit  case  over  the 
plank,  and  behind  them  was  a  young  wo- 
man clad  in  a  neat  tailor  made  suit  and 
with  a  dainty  straw  sailor  hat  jauntily 
tilted.  She  was  swarthy  as  an  Italian, 
and  with  the  lighter  eyes  of  the  Saxon. 
Behind  her  came  a  young  man,  with  curly 
brown  hair  breaking  from  under  his  cap 
carelessly  placed  on  his  head;  his  hands 
were  thrust  into  trousers'  pockets,  and 
his  coat  corners  were  upturned  thereby ;  he 
was  chatting  briskly  with  the  young  wo- 
man. 

"Of  course,  if  you  say  otherwise,  I  can 
do  nothing,"  he  said;  "but  I  would  like 
to  aid  you." 

"It's  all  right,  Mr.  Arthur,"  she  replied. 
"I'm  sure  you've  been  very  kind,  but  I'm 
expecting  my  mother." 


532 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


The  captain  of  the  steamer  leaned  for- 
ward on  the  bridge  rail  and  pulled  the 
whistle  cord  jerkily:  "All  aboard,"  he 
shouted. 

"Well,  Miss  Mackenzie,  I  must 


revoir;  I  will  not  say  good-bye,  for  I 
sure  you  I'll  not  be  content  with  the 


say  aii 
as- 


re- 


fusal  now.     I'll  come  again  to  renew  my 
suit ;  just  now  'Auf  Wiedersen.' '; 

The  waiters  dropped  the  baggage  on  the 
wharf.  The  girl  turned  to  them  with  a 
choking  sensation  in  her  throat.  She  re- 
covered quickly,  and  turned  to  wish  her 
companion  good-bye.  She  stepped  for- 
ward to  him  with  out-stretched  hand :  "Oh, 
Clifford,"  she  almost  moaned,  "if  I 
thought— 

"Thought  what,  dear!"  said  the  young 
man,  expectantly. 

"Better  get  on  board  there,  young  man, 
if  you're  going  with  us,"  shouted  the  mate, 
while  deck  hands  began  to  loosen  the 
gang-way. 

*"  *  *  * 

From  among  the  waiting  crowd  of  na- 
tives, a  wrinkled  woman,  portly  and  flabby 
with  a  blanket  wrapped  about  her  body 
and  her  feet  bare,  stepped  toward  the  girl. 


"Lizzie !"  gasped  the  native  woman. 

"Mother !"  sobbed  the  girl,  and  then  she 
sank  down  on  her  portmanteau  and  cried 
as  if  her  heart  would  break! 

The  young  man  turned  from  her  quick- 
ly and  sprang  over  the  rail.  "Siwash, 
pure  Siwash !"  he  whispered.  "Good 
suit;  just  now  'Auf  Wiedersen/  my  fair 
one." 

As  the  steamer  backed  from  the  wharf 
and  sheered  into  the  stream,  the  Indian 
woman  stroked  the  clear  skin  of  her 
daughter's  hand.  Inert,  the  girl  shrank 
down  on  her  bags.  She  started  to  drag 
her  hand  away,  then  she  stopped,  wiped 
her  eyes  and  rose  to  her  feet.  The  Indian 
woman  was  standing,  staring  with  glisten- 
ing eyes,  full  of  pride.  The  young  girl 
looked  at  the  glinting  eyes,  and  she  threw 
herself  forward  and  let  her  head  fall  on 
the  ample  shoulders  of  the  older  woman. 

"Mother!"  she  sobbed.     "Oh,  mother!" 
*  *  *  * 

From  the  doorway  of  the  smoky  lodge, 
filthy  and  uninviting,  she  stood,  watching 
the  smoke  of  the  steamer  curl  from  behind 
the  distant  cape,  and  then  she  gave  her 
hand  to  the  waiting  woman — her  mother. 


BY    RALPH    L.    HARMON 

A  glowing  flame  beneath  the  limpid  wave ! 
A  moving  flame  that  ever  lambent  beams, 
With  wavering  darts  of  red  and  golden  gleams, 

Unquenched,  tho'  plunged  in  water-filled  cave, 

As  blaze  of  sun !    Ascending  sheen  of  moon, 

New  silvering  from  the  kelp  in  nether  night, 
Yet  brilliant  as  the  winnowed  cloud's  clear  white 

Wlhen  balanced  in  the  sky  at  height  of  noon. 

Fine  as  the  mist-hung  webs  at  breathless  morn, 
That  spiders  in  the  dewy  summer  spin, 

Droop  pendant  shreds  of  languid,  swaying  lace, 
That  crystal  roofs  of  ocean  halls  adorn, 

As  rich  and  rare  as  Eastern  traders  win, 

And  draped  'mid  scenes  of  wondrous  fairer  grace. 


BY     "JAC"  LOWELL.  Author  of  "Love's  Easter  Message."  Etc. 

Each  day  I  lie  within  this  upper  room, 

This  room,  whose  ev'ry  inch  is  known  to  me, 

For  here,  from  dawn  to  evening's  growing  gloom, 
Perforce  I  stay,  to  suffer,  sleep  and  see. 

There  was  a  time,  when  first  this  cross  was  mine, 
That  I  would  only  moan  and  strive  to  toss, 

And  vow  that  ne'er  a  ray  of  light  could  shine 
To  help  me  bear  the  joys  which  I  have  lost. 

But  after  days  and  days  there  came  an  eve 

Which,  served  to  change  my  sick  and  stubborn  will, 

Which  brings  a  balm  for  ev'ry  hour  T  grieve, 

And  pleasures  deep  for  times  when  pain  is  still. 

This  bed  of  mine  between  two  windows  stands; 

I  face  the  glowing  East,  behind  me  lie 
The  beauties  of  those  fair  and  famous  lands, 

Which  sun  themselves  beneath  the  Western  sky. 

The  East  or  West  had  been  as  naught  to  me, 
But  on  that  eve,  as  from  a  dream  I  woke, 

A  sight  as  fair  as  mortal  eyes  can  see, 

Upon  my  dulled  and  weary  vision  broke. 

Kind  hands  had  hung  a  mirror  on  my  wall, 
In  such  a  space  that  there  before  me  shone 

The  scene  which  comes  ere  dusky  night  lets  fall 

Its  star-gemmed  curtains  over  Daylight's  throne. 

The  sky  beyond  the  rugged  hillock's  crest 

Was  golden-hued  and  barred  with  pink  and  red, 

Wide-barred,  as  though  the  portals  of  the  West 

Would  guard  in  state  the  sun's  cloud-pillowed  bed. 


FROM   A  "SHUT-IX'S"   WIXDOW. 

And,  ah !  the  lovely  tints  of  green  and  rose 

Wjhich  merged  and  mingled  with  the  sunset's  gleam! 

In  sheer  delight  I  let  my  eyelids  close, 

And  saw  the  scene  again,  within  my  dream. 

I  dreamed  and  dreamed,  and  when  I  woke  again 
'Twas  break  of  day;  the  mirror's  view  was  gone, 

But,  lo !  from  out  my  eastward  window's  pane 
I  caught  the  gentle  glory  of  the  dawn. 

How  sweet  a  sight  it  was!     My  eyes  grew  wet 
At  thought  that  I,  shut  in  from  all  the  world, 

Could  still  behold  the  gem  of  beauty  set 

Where  night's  dark  flag  from  morning's  sky  is  furled. 

And  since  that  eve  and  that  undying  morn, 
My  life  has  known  a  new  and  perfect  peace, 

For  then  in  me  a  gratitude  was  born, 

Which  through  my  days  to  come  can  never  cease. 

Each  day  begins  for  me  when  dawn  begins, 
When  rosy  lights  precede  the  lurid  sun ; 

And  when  the  Western  gate  its  pilgrim  wins, 
'Tis  then,  and  not  till  then,  my  day  is  done. 

And  think  you,  friend,  that  human  eyes  can  tire 
Of  sunrise  scenes  and  sunset  scenes?    Not  so. 

There  is  no  sameness  there;  each  dav's  fair  fire 

Displays  some  new  delight,  some  grander  glow. 

I  cannot  see  the  birds,  the  grass,  the  trees, 

On  seas  of  grain  or  foam  I  cannot  look ; 
But  though  deprived  of  blessings  such  as  these, 

I  still  can  read  my  sky-emblazoned  book. 

And  so  it  seems  that  if  to  such  as  I, 

There  comes  a  joy  in  living,  now  and  here, 

For  ev'ry  human  being  low  or  high, 

There  must  exist  some  source  of  faith  and  cheer ! 


535 


BY    CHARLTON    LAWRENCE    EDHOLM 


THOMAS,  JR.,  was  an  Art  student 
(first  year,  hence  art  capitalized), 
and  Thomas,  Jr.,  had  a  pretty 
cousin. 

Now,  pretty  cousins  are  delightful 
things  to  possess,  especially  when  they  are 
amiable  and  bright,  but  when  an  impres- 
sionable, a  somewhat  too  impressionable 
young  man  boards  in  the  same  pension 
with  one,  he  is  liable  to  find  her  as  dan- 
gerous as  delightful,  and  when  in  addi- 
tion they  are  studying  complementary 
arts,  painting  and  music,  far  from  home 
in  a  provincial  German  city,  material  for 
a  love  tale  is  at  hand. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Thomas,  Jr., 
found  himself  growing  more  and  more  at- 
tached to  this  delightfully  dangerous 
young  lady,  for  to  the  youth  of  eighteen 
a  girl  of  twenty-eight  is  young,  quite 
young  enough  to  be  captivating,  while  old 
enough  to  converse  seriously  on  questions 
of  art,  social  reforms,  heredity  and  the  re- 
maining problems  hitherto  unsolved, 
which  youth  settles  with  no  uncertainty. 

Perhaps  it  was  for  the  same  reasons, 
perhaps  from  mere  cousinly  regard,  that 
the  young  lady  showed  no  dissatisfaction 
at  his  increasing  attentiveness. 

It  was  twilight,  early  October  twilight, 
and  Thomas,  Jr.,  was  reclining  with  his 
chair  tilted  on  its  back  legs  and  his  head 
comfortably  reclining  against  the  wall, 
while  he  gazed  at  the  vaguely  seen  porce- 
lain stove,  tall,  white,  ghost-like  in  the  ob- 
scurity of  the  opposite  corner.  He  was 
holding  some  volume '  or  another,  Tenny- 
son, doubtless,  for  he  was  of  an  age  when 
King  Arthur's  overwhelming  nobility 
seems  natural,  and  in  this  he  had  been 
absorbed  until  the  type  blurred  before  his 
eyes;  then,  lacking  the  requisite  energy 
for  lighting  the  lamp,  and  having  a  su- 
premely comfortable  position,  he  merely 
extended  his  leg,  hooked  another  chair  by 
its  leg,  and  drew  it  closer  for  a  foot-rest. 


Being  thus  luxuriously  at  ease,  he  lay 
back  and  dreamed. 

"Awfully  quiet/'  he  remarked  to  him- 
self. "Wonder  what's  the  matter."  Then 
he  remembered  that  about  this  time  his 
pretty  cousin  was  wont  to  sit  at  the  piano, 
and  letting  her  fingers  wander  idly  over 
the  keys,  improvise  soft,  sweet  melodies, 
or  chords  deep  and  earnest  and  tender 
that  always  made  him  think  of  home — 
not  Lincoln,  Nebraska,  three  blocks  east 
of  the  university  building,  two-story  frame 
house  with  old-fashioned  green  shutters 
(that  sounds  crude),  but  liome,  word 
fraught  with  lonping  and  memories  to  one 
who  has  been  abroad  for  eighteen  inter- 
minable months. 

"Poor  girl,"  he  soliloquized,  "I  guess 
that  long-haired  professor  has  her  going 
over  some  Czerny  exercise  for  the  six- 
teenth time.  Rather  inconsiderate  of  him 
to  keep  her  out  so  late.  What  a  dear, 
noble-hearted  girl  she  is,  and  such  a  tal- 
ent! And  I  rather  think  she  likes  me, 
too.  I  suppose,  though,  I  ought  to  quit 
this  more  than  cousinly  friendship,  be  a 
little  less  attentive,  even  a  little  distant, 
for  I  don't  like  the  drift  of  things. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  went  on,  arguing 
to  himself,  "whenever  she  finds  an  exqui- 
site melody  on  the  piano,  she  always  plavs 
it  first  to  me;  whenever  the  professor  tells 
her  'Not  so  bad,  Fraulein,  perhaps  we 
make  an  artist  of  you  yet  maybe !'  I  am 
the  first  to  hear  of  her  triumph,  for  it  is 
a  triumph  when  a  German  professor  does 
more  than  grunt  disapproval  at  a  begin- 
ner; whenever  in  her  day-dreams  (Helen 
is  always  dreaming  these  days),  she  has 
a  vision  of  some  noble  ideal,  some  lofty 
thought,  it  is  to  me,  and  no  one  else,  she 
tells  it.  Now,  I  don't  remember  any  other 
girl  opening  her  soul  to  me  like  that,  not 
even  Evelyn.  And  the  inflection  of  her 
voice  when  she  calls  me  a  great,  awkward 
old  fellow  or  some  such  masculine  diminu- 


THOMAS,  JR.,  AND  THE  PKETTY  COUSIN. 


537 


tive,  is  just  like  a  caress.  Hang  it  all,  I 
wish  she'd  cut  it  out." 

Then  he  laughed  aloud  at  the  idea  of 
being  annoyed  because  so  pretty  a  girl 
was  too  affectionate. 

<cBj  Jove,  she  is  pretty!"  he  continued 
to  -himself.  "Even  in  Lincoln  among  all 
the  college  girls,  she  held  her  own — even 
with  Evelyn,  but  here  in  Ludwigsrahe 
she  appears  radiantly  beautiful.  I  guess 
I'm  not  acclimatized  to  the  placid  German 
beauty:  coming  from  Nebraska,  I  find  it 
lacks  breeziness.  But  Helen!  I  never 
realized  how  classic  her  features  are  until 
I  drew  her  portrait  for  my  exam. ;  and 
that  crown  of  chestnut  hair !  and  those  lus- 
trous, dark  eyes  under  her  clean-cut  brow ! 
No  wonder  the  Academy  professors  ac- 
cepted my  work.  Who  could  fail  with 
such  a  girl  for  a  model  ? 

"How  those  dapper  little  officers  stare 
when  she  crosses  the  plaza,  keeping  their 
eyes  on  her  a  trifle  longer  than  politeness 
admits!  But  then  thafs  the  way  of  the 
country;  they  mean  well  enough.  I  guess 
they  know  her  father  could  manage  to 
support  a  son-in-law  out  of  his  cattle 
business.  But  how  they  twirl  their  little 
upturned  mustaches  and  cock  their  little 
caps  and  clank  their  little  sabres  all  for 
her  benefit.  Much  good  it  does  them !  she 
despises  them  all  for  insignificant  fops; 
she  said  so  herself  the  other  day.  I  was 
trying  to  convince  her  that  Lieutenant 
von  Bergen  is  good  sort  and  bright  enough 
to  be  an  American,  when  you  once  pene- 
trate his  military  etiquette.  But  it  was 
no  use — she  despises  them  all." 

Then,  hearing  the  dishes  rattle  in  the 
next  room,  he  went  in  to  dinner,  and  when 
the  second  course  was  being  removed, 
Helen  entered  breezily,  and  tossing  her 
furs  on  the  sofa,  apologized  for  being  late 
and  declared  she  had  an  enormous  appe- 
tite, all  in  the  same  breath. 

Her  face  was  flushed  and  her  eyes  very 
bright,  for  she  had  been  walking  briskly 
in  the  nipping  air.  Besides  that,  the  pro- 
fessor had  again  told  her,  <fNot  so  bad, 
Fraulein!"  after  examining  one  of  her 
compositions,  and  though  he  had  at  once 
qualified  the  praise  by  mentioning  that 
after  a  thorough  course  in  harmony  and 
counterpoint  she  would  wonder  how  she 
could  have  made  such  mountains  of  blun- 
ders in  such  a  mole-hill  of  a  composition, 
she  understood  that  it  was  his  habit  to 


thus  qualify  all  praise,  and  was  not  cast 
down. 

Indeed,  she  was  overflowing  with  hap- 
piness despite  the  fact  that  the  imperti- 
nent Lieutenant  von  Bergen  had  met  her 
on  the  plaza  and  presumed  to  escort  her 
home,  urging  the  dangers  of  early  twi- 
light, and  doubtless  making  his  friend- 
ship for  Thomas,  Jr.,  an  excuse  for  such 
unheard-of  conduct.  Thomas,  Jr.,  tried 
in  vain  to  defend  this  unfortunate  youth, 
and  blamed  himself  for  not  having  called 
for  her  at  the  Conservatory,  but  she 
sternly  forbade  him  to  neglect  his  classes 
for  her  or  any  other  girl,  and  charged  him 
with  making  politeness  an  excuse  for  in- 
dolence, all  with  so  caressing  an  inflec- 
tion that  Thomas,  Jr.,  quite  forgot  the 
dangerous,  and  could  only  think  of  the 
delightful  aspect  of  having  a  pretty 
cousin. 

Now,  when  Thomas,  Jr.,  was  alone,  he 
knew  there  was  net  the  slightest  danger 
of  his  falling  in  love  with  his  cousin 
Helen.  Of  course  not.  Evelyn  was  his 
guiding  star,  and  several  other  things 
which  he  intended  to  make  into  a  poem 
when  he  had  found  all  the  rhymes.  He 
was  no  butterflv  to  flit  from  flower  to 
flower,  but  a  castle  built  upon  a  crag,  or 
something  equally  solid  and  poetically 
available. 

Evelyn  it  was  whose  declaration  that 
she  could  not  love  a  mere  idler,  a  rich 
man's  son,  had  sent  him  abroad  to  study 
the  only  profession  that  did  not  repel 
him. 

She  had  read  this  lofty  sentiment  in 
some  magazine  story,  and  repeated  it  with- 
out aiming  at  Thomas,  Jr.,  or  any  one  else 
in  particular,  but  as  a  result,  Thomas, 
Sr..  was  presently  informed  by  his  son 
and  heir  that  the  projected  course  at 
Harvard  with  post-graduate  studies  in 
Gottingen  and  three  years  foreign  travel 
to  acquire  polish,  was  not  compatible  with 
American  ideas  of  independent  manhood. 
Thomas,  Jr.,  proposed  four  years  in  some 
thorough-going  art  school,  and  after  that, 
illustrating  for  a  living  and  painting  for 
glory. 

As  usual,  he  had  his  own  way.  Was  he 
not  the  only  son? 

So  it  was  for  Evelyn  that  he  had  "ex- 
iled himself,"  as  he  put  it;  for  her  sake 
he  had  roused  his  dreamy,  indolent  nature 
into  action;  for  her  he  worked,  standing 


538 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


at  the  easel,  until  his  eyes,  back  and  limbs 
ached.  He  even  began  with  the  drudgery 
of  the  "antique"  class,  instead  of  paying 
to  enter  some  private  studio  where  the 
first  steps  might  be  lightened  and  "fak- 
ing" winked  at,  and  thus  carried  out  his 
strenuous  new  ideal  of  hard  work  to  fit 
himself  for  making  a  living  instead  of 
acquiring  polish. 

Thomas,  Jr.,  was  eighteen  years  old.  I 
mentioned  this  before,  but  I  might  have 
left  it  to  be  inferred  from  his  conduct 
at  bed-time  after  a  day  of  grind.  First 
he  took  from  his  vest  pocket  a  small, 
leathern  photograph  case  which  he  stood 
upright  like  an  altar  picture  on  the  table 
where  lay  the  Idylls  of  the  King.  But 
first  he  removed  from  the  case  holy  relics 
as  follows :  item,  a  knot  of  blue  and  white 
ribbon,  class  colors  which  she  had  once 
pinned  on  his  lapel,  just  for  fun,  as  her 
colors;  item,  a  white  silk  handkerchief, 
yellowed  at  the  creases;  item,  two  with- 
ered clematis  folded  therein,  the  only 
flowers  she  had  ever  given  him.  All  these 
things  he  looked  at  one  by  one,  and 
pressed  reverently  to  his  lips.  All  but  the 
altar  picture,  two  picnic  tintypes  of  a  girl, 
just  an  every-day,  sweet,  simple  girl,  en- 
dowed with  the  virginal  charm  of  sixteen 
summers;  these  he  looked  at  longest,  but 
touched  not  at  all.  That  were  sacrilege. 

Then  he  wound  his  watch  and  placed 
it  on  his  pillow,  where  its  busy  tick-tick- 
ing set  the  pace  for  his  restless  thoughts 
half  the  night  long,  counting  the  moments 
he  had  spent  with  her,  the  walks,  the  pic- 
nics, the  boatings,  the  bicycle  rides  along 
a  shady  road  when  he  had  talked  of  everv- 
thing  but  the  love  that  consumed  him, 
and  thought  of  nothing  else.  And  the 
good-bye,  one  .late  twilight  in  August, 
when  he  saw  her  for  the  last  time  as  she 
stood  with  downcast  eyes,  her  hand  in  his, 
and  listened  while  he  told  her  once  'more 
of  his  plans  and  hopes  and  ambitions,  all 
but  one.  Never  before  had  she  seemed 
so  adorable  as  at  that  last  moment.  Her 
mid-summer  dress  of  shimmery  white 
stuff  seemed,  he  thought,  like  the  drooping 
petals  of  the  fleur-de-lis,  so  pure,  so  flower 
like,  and  her  soul  was  the  heart  of  the 
flower  clasped  in  its  unfolded  petals. 

Her  arms,  her  throat,  her  shoulders  all 
seemed  of  the  same  cool,  pearly  texture 
of  the  lily,  as  their  whiteness  glimmered 
through  the  muslin.  Could  he  declare 


his  passion  to  a  flower?  Could  he  even 
fall  at  her  feet  and  kiss  the  ground  she 
had  pressed?  All  he  dared  was  to  raise 
stealthily  to  his  lips  the  .clematis  fehe 
had  given  him  and  say  once  more  "Good- 
bye," his  voice  choking  with  the  unutter- 
ed  words  for  which  she  listened.  And 
so  furiously  galloped  his  ecstasy  with  the 
tick-ticking  of  the  watch. 

On  such  a  night  as  this,  Thomas,  Jr., 
finally  kicked  off  the  German  feather- 
sacks  that  his  Pensionmutter  supplied  as 
a  bed  covering,  and  sat  himself  at  the 
table,  scratching  furiously  at  the  draft  of 
a  letter.  Not  a  love  letter,  that  would  be 
folly,  for  her  father,  old  man  Derrick,  the 
street  contractor,  was  brutal  enough  to 
insist  on  reading  her  correspondence,  with 
jocular  remarks  at  the  breakfast  table 
when  he  lighted  upon  sentimental  pas- 
sages. "But  just  a  friendly  little  note 
can't  do  much  harm,"  quoth  Tom,  "just 
enough  to  keep  me  in  her  memory,  and 
let  her  know  that  I  am  still  working  for 
the  future.  And  perhaps  I  may  get  a  line 
of  response  in  spite  of  her  father.  I  won- 
der if  she  would  dare  to  write  to  me 
against  his  wishes.  That  would  be  proof 
enough  that  she  loved  me;  brought  up 
strictly  as  she  is,  and  worshiping  her 
father  as  I  know  she  does." 

So  he  wrote  by  flickering  candle  for 
two  hours,  tearing  up  three  drafts  as  too 
tender  and  one  as  too  cold,  and  finally 
sealing  the  last  in  desperation  at  not  be- 
ing able  to  express  himself  better.  Then 
he  opened  the  envelope  to  insert  a  half- 
dozen  imperfect  quatrains  in  which  the 
stars,  the  mighty  ocean,  the  Alpine  ranges 
and  the  eagle's  flight  all  figured  in  ex- 
pressing phases  of  his  lofty  passion,  while 
"love"  and  "dove"  were  dragged  in  twice 
for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme. 

As  Tom  had  once  remarked,  with  the 
happy  modesty  of  youth,  if  he  had  not 
chosen  to  be  an  artist,  he  would  undoubt- 
ly  have  been  a  poet. 

It  was  only  while  he  was  climbing  the 
dark,  cold  stairs  on  his  return  from  the 
letter  box  that  he  wondered  with  a  start 
what  her  father  would  say  on  reading  the 
"Lines  to  the  Eyes  I  Love." 

The  gruff  old  street  contractor,  risen 
from  the  ranks,  had  decided  opinions 
about  poetry  and  such  rubbish. 

From  the  night  he  wrote  the  letter, 
Tom's  manner  toward  the  Pretty  Cousin 


THOMAS,  JR.,  AND  THE  PRETTY  COUSIN. 


539 


changed,  and  he  worked  at  his  charcoal 
studies  under  high  pressure.  Helen,  he 
thought,  became  more  gentle  and  seemed 
more  beautiful  every  day.  Her  eyes, 
usually  clear  and  looking  at  life  with  a 
smile,  appeared  to  see  nothing  around  her, 
but  shone  with  a  new,  strange  light,  and 
sometimes  when  she  gazed  at  Thomas,  Jr., 
as  if  she  were  looking  through  and  be- 
yond him,  they  assumed  a  wistful  expres- 
sion that  almost  shook  his  fidelity  to  Eve- 
Ivn.  Then,  too,  she  reddened  at  nothing, 
even  the  mention  of  those  absurd  tin-sol- 
diers on  the  plaza,  screwing  their  monocles 
into  an  eye  whenever  a  pretty  face  flitted 
by,  flushed  color  to  her  cheeks.  And  as 
the  wintry  days  shortened,  and  Thomas, 
Jr.,  again  offered  to  call  for  her  after  the 
late  class,  she  emphatically  refused,  blush- 
ing again. 

"Absolutely  ridiculous!  athetic,  too!" 
thought  Tom. 

Her  music  became  more  expressive,  and 
all  that  she  played  breathed  but  one  pas- 
sion. How  that  old,  square  piano  would 
follow  every  mood  of  its  master,  now  so 
full  of  delight  that  the  melodies  bubbled 
and  rippled  from  its  black  case  /like 
springs  out  of  a  rock;  again  sobbing, 
moaning,  yearning,  like  the  November 
winds  about  the  eaves,  until  Thomas,  Jr., 
in  the  other  room  (he  always  stayed  in 
the  other  room  those  evenings),  thought 
of  his  own  unrequited  love  and  his  un- 
answered letter,  and  was  remorseful  and 
ashamed  of  being  the  cause  of  another's 
grief. 

In  a  bare  studio,  superheated,  but  seem- 
ing cold  in  the  north  light  of  November, 
Thomas,  Jr.,  was  working  furiously  at 
his  charcoal  study  of  a  Roman  tyrant 
perpetuated  in  grimy  plaster  of  Paris.  He 
was  punishing  this  despot  unmercifully 
for  his  crime  against  the  early  Christians 
by  perpetrating  a  likeness  that  was  posi- 
tively fiendish  and  inhuman. 

Since  posting  that  letter,  he  had  disre- 
garded the  pauses  for  larks  and  gossip  to 
the  disgust  of  the  other  students  and  es- 
pecially of  the  floury  and  bashful  baker's 
boy  who  sold  him  no  more  "second  break- 
fasts" or  afternoon  "vesperle"  with  which 
the  German  makes  out  his  five  meals  per 
diem. 

"Hey,  Herr  Thomas,"  called  Dietel- 
bach,  "you'll  wear  out  that  plaster  cast  if 
you  work  at  it  over  hours.  Then  the  acad- 


emy will  make  you  pay  for  a  new  one,  not 
so?" 

"Say,  Tom,  don't  you  know  that  Nero 
is  a  Social  Democrat  and  belongs  to  the 
Models'  Union?  We'll  have  a  strike  in 
the  'antique'  class  soon,  and  all  the  live 
models  will  be  called  out  in  sympathy." 
This  from  Hugendubel,  a  velveteen- jack- 
eted youth  who  sang  to  a  guitar  at  every 
pause,  and  loafed  and  smoked  all  the  rest 
of  the  time. 

But  Thomas,  Jr.,  was  not  to  be  moved 
from  his  self-imposed  task,  and  even  when 
the  baker's  boy  appeared  balancing  on  his 
head  a  large  basket  full  of  salty  pretzels, 
cream  cakes  and  fragrant,  warm  cheese- 
custards,  sprinkled  with  chopped  onions, 
he  continued  rubbing  and  polishing  and 
blackening  the  features  of  unhappy  Nero. 

"Here,  Franzel,  as  you're  the  critic  for 
the  Tageblatt,  just  let  us  know  your  opin- 
ion of  that  study  of  an  antique  chimney- 
sweep," said  Hugendubel  to  the  boy  who 
had  bashfully  retreated  behind  the  stove. 
"You're  afraid  to  sav  how  rotten  it  is 
while  the  miscreant  who  fathers  it  is  pres- 
ent? Well,  that's  all  right;  preserve  your 
incognito,  but  I'll  look  for  your  roast  in 
the  Tageblatt  next  week." 

"As  you've  done  nothing  this  semester 
but  smoke  cigars  of  cheap  shoe-leather, 
you  are  in  fairly  good  odor  with  the 
critic,"  remarked  Thomas,  Jr.,  in  labored 
German.  "Last  krai  when  you  kept  a 
sketch  on  the  easel,  the  rest  of  us  were 
forced  to  smoke  all  the  time  to  prevent 
our  stomachs  from  being  turned.  Dietel- 
bach  even  smoked  your  old  guitar  strings 
in  his  pipe,  and  the  baker's  boy  didn't 
come  at  all  until  the  art  work  was  re- 
moved. He  said  it  tainted  his  onion  cus- 
tards." 

With  such  an  able  defense,  Thomas,  Jr., 
proved  himself  a  master  of  studio  repar- 
tee, and  was  allowed  to  proceed  with  his 
work  even  during  progress  of  that  time- 
honored  game  which  consists  of  tossing 
empty  beer  bottles  from  hand  to  hand, 
at  least  a  dozen  to  be  kept  flying  at  a  time 
with  the  penalty  of  buying  a  full  bottle 
for  the  class  to  punish  every  clumsy 
player  who  breaks  one. 

At  that  moment,  ponderous  steps  were 
heard  in  the  hall,  and  a  transformation 
scene  followed.  Bottles  dropped  noise- 
lessly to  the  floor,  pretzels  and  half-eaten 
cheese  cakes  vanished  into  some  conven- 


540 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


lent  pocket  or  locker.  One  or  two  students 
from  the  upper  class  slipped  behind  a 
screen  as  the  door  opened,  and  the  plump 
little  professor  entered,  and  tipping  his 
hat  to  his  hard-working  pupils,  said: 
"God's  greeting,  gentlemen."  To  which 
the  chorus  responded,  "God's  greeting, 
Herr  Professor." 

The  conventional  idea  of  an  artist's  ap- 
pearance did  not  fit  this  distinguished 
painter  in  any  particular.  He  was  fat, 
he  was  bald,  and  wore  a  distressing  wig; 
he  was  watery-eyed  and  seemed  hopelessly 
prosaic  from  his  square-toed  boots  to  his 
over-large  derby  of  many  seasons. 

But  his  criticism  of  the  work,  delivered 
in  about  five  minutes  to  each  pupil,  was 
right  to  the  point,  and  when  "he  put  his 
hand  to  the  paper,  rearranging  the  fea- 
tures, sharpening  an  uncertain  contour, 
giving  transparency  to  shadows  with  a 
touch  of  his  fat  thumb,  the  students 
looked  on  with  unfeigned  respect. 

"Your  nose  is  too  long,  Herr  Thomas, 
and  your  two  eyes  look  in  two  different 
directions,  and  your  face  is  altogether 
•too  mushy  and  black.  I  think  you  grind 
without  stopping,  what?  You  must  take 
your  fun  sometimes,  then  you  will  be 
fresh  for  hard  work.  Why,  when  I  was 
studying  in  this  same  room  we  made  the 
empty  bottles  fly,  twenty  going  at  a  time. 
You  see  Augustus  Caesar  in  the  corner — 
he  lacks  a  nose.  Why  ?  Ssh !  Never  tell 
that  I  did  it  with  an  empty  beer  bottle. 
Wiell,  God  be  with  you,  gentlemen — good- 
day." 

As  they  renewed  the  game  so  highly 
commended  by  their  preceptor,  the  stu- 
dents again  heard  footsteps  approaching, 
but  this  time  all  were  unmoved,  for  it  was 
the  janitor's  shuffling  tread.  He  thrust 
his  head  into  the  room,  after  knocking 
respectfully,  and  just  missed  receiving  a 
half-eaten  pretzel  over  the  left  ear. 

"A  letter  for  Herr  Thomas,"  he  an- 
nounced, dodging  another  missile,  and 
pocketing  the  five  pfennig  tip  simultane- 
ously. "Danke  schon,  Her  Thomas.  Adje 
meine  Herren,"  and  bowed  himself  out 
hastily  as  he  observed  Dietelbach  bal- 
ancing an  onion  custard  for  a  more  accu- 
rate throw. 

Eetiring  into  a  corner,  Thomas,  Jr., 
eagerly  tore  the  cover  that  held  the  pre- 
cious note,  for  he  recognized  the  angu- 
lar, school-girlish  handwriting: 


"Lincoln,  Nebraska. 
"Dear  Tom : 

"Your  letter  received  yesterday,  and 
papa  insisted  on  reading  it,  too.  He  was 
very  much  annoyed  at  what  he  called  sen- 
timental tommyrot.  I  don't  like  to  write 
the  other  things  he  said  about  the  poetry. 
I  think  it  is  lovely. 

"Now,  Tom,  he  doesn't  want  us  to  cor- 
respond, because  he  says  we  are  too  young 
for  such  nonsense,  and  besides,  he  has  a 
prejudice  against  artists  marrying — I 
mean  marrying  his  daughter.  So  he  for- 
bids me  to  write,  and  of  course  I  wouldn't 
disobey  him. 

"We  are  to  have  a  cafldy  pull  next  Sat- 
urday evening.  Harry  Weston,  Will 
Gresham  and  the  Harley  boys  are  to  be 
here,  and  the  girls  of  our  set,  of  course. 

"Your  sincere  friend, 
"EVELYN  MAE  DERRYKE. 

"October  the  twenty-sixth, 

"Nineteen  hundred  and  three. 
"P.  S. — Don't  expect  any  more  letters 
and  please  don't  write  any  more.  Papa 
says  calf-love  on  paper  makes  him  sick. 
Amy  Gresham  offered  me  the  use  of  the 
family  P.  0.  box,  as  she  goes  for  the  mail, 
but  of  course  I  refused  point-blank,  anr1 
you  mustn't  think  of  such  a  thing. 

"EVELYN  MAE. 

"P.  P:  S. — The  box  number  is  641. 

"E.  M.  D.." 

Thomas,  Jr.,  turned  pale  and  sick,  and 
for  a  moment  everything  whirled  before 
his  eyes;  then  by  a  great  effort,  he  com- 
posed himself  and  changed  his  dusty 
working  jacket  for  his  coat  and  ulster, 
amid  <a  chorus  of  astonished  "Herr  Gott! 
the  American  stops  working  already." 
"He  must  have  the  Katzen jammer,  niclit 
wah?"  "No,  it's  a  date  in  the  park; 
Those  quiet  chaps  are  the  worst." 

With  no  answer  but  a  slammed  door, 
Thomas,  Jr.,  flung  out  of  the  studio  and 
found  his  way  blindly  to  the  royal  gar- 
dens, where  he  paced  back  and  forth 
along  the  half-mile  bridle  path,  finding 
it  a  relief  to  plough  through  the  frost- 
stiffened  leaves. 

His  stormy  thoughts  of  her  unspeak- 
able frivolity,  her  fickleness,  her  timid  ac- 
quiescence to  old  Derryke's  commands, 
carried  him  away  on  a  gale  of  passionate 


THOMAS,  JR.,  AXD  THE  PEETTY  COUSIK 


541 


disgust.  Was  that  the  girl  he  had  likened 
to  a  fleur-de-lis?  Heartless,  wavering 
coquette!  Will  Gresham!  The  Harley 
boys!  Old  John  Derryke,  who  called  his 
quatrains  tommyrot. 

"Yes,"  he  muttered  grimly,  as  the  twi- 
light shaded  into  night  and  the  sentry 
making  his  round  warned  him  out  before 
gate-closing;  "yes,  I  will  make  one  heart 
glad  to-night.  I  can  learn  to  love  her,  in 
time.  Helen  shall  be  happy,  even  if  my 
own  life  is  wrecked!" 

It  was  quite  dark  when  he  reached  his 
pension.  He  hurried  through  the  iron 
gate  of  the  courtyard,  brushing  past  a 
tall,  grey  figure  that  saluted  silently  in 
going  out. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  he  found  the 
Pretty  Cousin  standing  alone.  The  red 
light  of  the  candle  in  its  heavy  brass 
holder,  shone  full  upon  her  face,  and 
flushed  it  with  charming  color,  and  her 
eyes  brightened  and  darkened  with  the 
flickering  flame.  A  breeze  from  the 
draughty  staircase  played  with  the  soft 
little  ringlets  that  lay  on  her  neck.  She 
was  beautiful,  he  thought,  and  her  voice 


as  she  welcomed  him  was  sweet  and 
strangely  tremulous. 

He  stood  breathless  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said:  "My  dear  girl,  I  want  you  to 
be  mine — for  life."  His  voice  broke,  and 
he  could  go  no  further.  But  she  listened 
trembling,  and  then  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment, wrenched  her  hand  from  his  and 
fled  to  her  room. 

An  hour  after  dinner,  as  Thomas,  Jr., 
was  seeking  consolation  in  "Merlin  and 
Vivien,"  he  heard  his  door  open  gently 
and  some  one  slipped  behind  his  chair 
and  reached  a  foreign  letter  over  his  shoul- 
der. 

As  he  saw  the  box  number  on  the  upper 
corner,  641,  and  the  angular,  school-girl- 
ish handwriting,  he  started  joyfully,  and 
tore  open  the  cover. 

Then,  as  a  moment  later,  he  looked  up, 
his  face  shining  with  great  happiness,  he 
met  the  sorrowful  eyes  of  the  Pretty 
Cousin,  who  said  earnestly:  "Tom,  dear, 
I'm  awfully  sorry  I  made  you  feel  bad, 
and  I  never  meant  to,  believe  me,  for 
Tom,  this  very  evening  I  said  cyes'  to 
your  friend,  Lieutenant  von  Bergen." 


1.  The   road   to   Spotless   Town. 

2.  Dutch  cattle. 

3.  On   the   Canal   Broek. 

4.  In  tho  polders. 


IT  is  the  solemn  duty  of  every  American 
citizen  who  would  form  an  unbiased 
opinion   of   the   Dutch   peasantry,   as 
they  were  before  the  tide  of  summer  travel 
regenerated  the  nation,  to  visit  the  town 
of      Broek-in-Waterland,      the      cleanest 
town  in  the  world. 

One  hears  all  manner  of  fictions  in  re- 
gard to  Broek  in  advance,  of  course. 
There  are  tales  of  gaily-hued  Lilliputian 
houses,  re-painted  every  Autumn;  of  the 
clinkers  or  small  stones  set  on  edge  in 
highway  and  by-way,  and  the  bounden 
duty  of  every  school-boy  of  Broek  being 
to  blow  the  dust  out  of  the  crevices;  and, 
further,  of  the  regulation  actually  en- 
forced some  few  years  ago  of  forbidding 
the  spoking  of  pipes  in  the  streets,  unless 
the  bowl  be  so  attached  to  the  stem  as  to 
prevent  the  falling  of  ashes. 

Shoes  are  never  worn  inside  the  houses 
in  Broek,  and  no  one  may  shine,  or, 
rather,  dust  the  sabots  within  five  hundred 
yards  of  the  town.  The  guides  will  tell 
you  that  it  is  the  law  that  the  passer-by 
must  immediately  throw  into  the  canal 
any  stray  leaf  that  may  have  fluttered 
down  upon  the  queen's  highway.  Knox 
tells  of  a  traveler  who  was  actually  driven 
out  of  the  village  for  throwing  a  cherry 
pit  onto  the  road. 

Broek  lies  on  the  canal  half-way  be- 
tween Amsterdam  and  the  Zuyder  Zee, 
and  during  the  summer,  excursion  boats 
stop  half  an  hour  with  tourists  for  Mon- 
nickendam  and  Marken. 

A  slowly  rippling  canal,  paralleled  by 
wide  tow-paths,  and  over-hung  with  the 
buckeye  trees;  at  one  side  the  green  pol- 
ders or  meadows,  with  their  herds  of  Hoi- 
steins;  on  the  other,  a  string-town  of  one 
story  dormer-roofed  houses,  each  with  a 
door  in  the  center  of  the  front,  and  a 
window  at  either  side.  Let  there  be  from 
three  to  a  dozen  pairs  of  shoes  standing  on 
the  door-step;  women  scrubbing  the  out- 
side of  several  of  the  houses,  children  pol- 
ishing brass  pans :  bluff,  sturdy  Dutchmen 


AX  HOUR  IX  THE  CLEAXEST  TOWX  IX  THE  WORLD. 


543 


driving  homeward  a  cow,  a  little  bag  at- 
tached to  her  tail,  and  to  this  the  clatter 
of  wooden  shoes,  and  the  deep  guttural 
of  the  women,  rising  above  the  song  of 
the  scrubbing  brush;  then,  for  the  sake 
of  color,  bring  in  the  neat  flower-beds 
surrounding  designs  in  delft,  in  the  gar- 
dens, and  one  has  a  fair  conception  of 
Broek. 

In  the  homes,  one  general  style  prevails. 
There  is  the  grate,  tiled  and  shining;  the 
little  china  vases  on  the  mantel;  the  walls 
of  plain,  unvarnished  wood;  the  solid 
table  and  chairs,  the  ancient  carpet,  one 
and  all  without  the  slightest  trace  of  dust 
or  dirt  or  soot.  Adjoining  the  dwelling- 
house  is  the  stable,  a  model  of  cleanliness, 
its  floor  cement,  for  there  is  little  stone 
in  Holland;  the  sides  of  the  stalls  cov- 
ered with  baskets  overhung  by  tidies,  and 
on  the  floor,  white  sand,  molded  into  in- 
tricate geometrical  design.  The  very  raf- 
ters and  posts  undergo  a  daily  scrubbing, 
while  the  paved  walk  along  the  stalls,  in 
which  are  placed  the  sacks  for  curing  the 
cheese,  is  clean  enough  to  serve  as  a  plat- 


ter for  the  most  fastidious. 

The  bed  chamber  of  the  home  is  a  curi- 
ous affair.  The  walls  are  covered  with 
quaint  old  pewter  and  crockery  and  fam- 
ilv  portraits,  held  in  place  by  scantlings 
extending  along  the  length  of  the  wall. 
Rough-hewn  tables,  clumsy  chairs,  a 
grate,  tiled  in  delft,  but  glossy  as  a  mir- 
ror; olden-time  faience,  on  the  mantel; 
spotless  rag  carpet  and  home-spun  cur- 
tains, but  not  a  sign  of  a  bed.  When  the 
inspection  of  these  is  completed,  a  panel  is 
drawn,  and  inside  the  hollow  wall  is  dis- 
closed the  bed  of  the  elders,  like  the  berth 
on  the  ocean  greyhounds,  but  lacking  even 
the  slightest  form  of  artificial  ventilation. 
Above  the  bed  is  a  board,  and  this  forms 
the  cradle,  while  the  older  children  sleep 
in  the  cupboard  below  their  sires.  In  a 
corner  of  the  living-room  are  stored  the 
essentials  to  the  fair  name  of  the  town — 
soap  and  rags,  brush  and  broom,  pail  and 
mop,  and  dust  pan  and  scraper,  as  well  as 
' 'Venetian  red"  coal-dust  for  polishing 
copper,  and  emery  for  iron,  with  a  jar  of 
chalk,  used  in  scouring  the  windows. 


^  '-f 


BY    CHARLES    ELLIS    NEWELL 


W-HEJN"  Morrigan  wheeled  side- 
wise  with  the  table,  crossed  one 
long  leg  over  the  other,  and 
with  the  same  match  lighted  both  his  cigar 
and  the  cognac,  I  knew  that  the  exact 
psychological  moment  had  arrived  when 
the  influence  of  a  good  dinner,  good  wine 
and  a  good  cigar,  was  stimulating  intro- 
spective reminiscence. 

Gazing  awhile  abstractedly  into  the  in- 
candescent coal  of  the  weed,  and  absent- 
mindedly  allowing  the  blazing  spirits  to 
trickle  from  his  upraised  spoon,  he  sud- 
denly turned  toward  me  with  a  half 
chuckle  on  his  lips  and  an  amused  twin- 
kle of  aroused  memory  in  his  gray  eyes. 

"I  don't  believe  I  ever  told  you  how  I 
got  my  first  start  in  the  racing  business, 
did  I?  Well,  when  I  look  back  and  try 
to  figure  out  how  I  came  to  land  a  fortune 
on  what  most  people  would  call  a  rank 
piece  of  idiocy,  I  have  to  give  it  up  and 
fall  back  on  the  time  worn  word,  luck, 
which,  however  much  reviled  and  scorned, 
is  nevertheless  secretly  much  revered,  let 
me  tell  you. 

"It  happened  at  the  fall  meeting  at 
Nashville.  I  was  about  twenty-three  then, 
and  had  been  following  the  horses  for  a 
couple  of  years,  living,  the  Lord  only 
knows  how,  but  determined  to  stay  with 
the  game. 

"Fortune  at  last  came  my  way,  and  I 
secured  a  job  writing  sheet.  The  pay  was 
good,  and  just  about  the  time  that  I  be- 
gan to  feel  optimistic  with  three  hundred 
in  my  jeans,  the  book  I  was  employed  in 
went  into  the  air,  and  I  with  it. 

"Of  course  I  felt  sorry  for  myself,  but 
I  can  say  truthfully  that  I  felt  more  so 
for  Andy  Gentry.  There  was  the  best 
judge  of  horses,  form  and  odds  that  ever 
lived. 

Game  to  his  finger-tips,  with  the  cour- 
age of  his  convictions,  backed  by  the  ob- 
stinacy of  Satan,  he  sustained  the  odds  on 
a  declining  favorite.  He  got  nearly  all 
the  play,  but  the  consequences  were  de- 
plorable, poor  Andy !" 


Morrigan  smoked  silently  for  a  few  min- 
utes before  he  continued. 

"When  I  went  to  him  the  next  day  and 
offered  him  my  savings,  he  turned  his 
back  on  me  abruptly,  but  wheeled  about 
presently  and  held  out  his  hand,  saying: 
"No !  I  thank  you,  Morrigan,  I  have 
some  little  resources  left,  and  shall  be  all 
right.  But,  my  boy,  your  offer  of  this 
mone}r  almost  makes  me  feel  glad  of  what 
has  happened.  I  always  thought  well  of 
you,  but  now — I  know  you,  and  I  shall 
not  forget.' 

"Among  the  horses  run  that  year  was 
one  that  particularly  attracted  my  notice, 
not  because  he  never  came  anywhere  near 
the  money,  or  that  he  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkably  handsome  and  powerful  ani- 
mals I  ever  saw,  but  on  account  of  his 
name,  'Terrified,'  and  an  incident  that 
occurred  while  we  were  watching  the  line- 
up of  a  race  in  which  this  horse  was  en- 
tered. 

"A  thunder  storm  had  been  threatening 
all  day,  and  just  as  the  flag  fell  for  the 
start,  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  followed 
by  a  crash  of  thunder,  broke  over  the 
track.  'Terrified,'  who,  as  usual,  had  got 
off  last,  instantly  became  unmanageable, 
and  despite  the  jockey's  efforts,  wheeled 
around  and  tore  down  the  back  stretch  in 
the  opposite  direction,  skimming  around 
the  track  like  an  express  train,  and  getting 
under  the  wire  at  least  a  furlong  before 
the  other  horses  came  in.  Andy,  who  was 
standing  beside  me  in  the  elevated  pool- 
box,  watching  the  performance  through  a 
pair  of  field  glasses,  let  out  a  whoop  as 
the  horse  tore  by,  saying,  'Gee  Whiz !  but 
that  horse  can  run.  I'll  bet  he  beat  the 
world's  record  for  a  mile  that  time.  If 
we  could  only  get  a  flash  of  lightning  be- 
hind him  at  the  right  time,  and  get  him 
to  run  in  the  right  direction,  he'd  beat 
anything  on  legs,  but  he's  got  a  'streak  of 
yellow'  in  him,  and  that  settles  him/ 

"One  morning  shortly  after  I  lost  my 
position,  while  wandering  about  town 
trying  to  think  ov>-  °ome  Dlati  for  invest- 


545 


ing  my  three  hundred  to  some  good  ad- 
vantage, I  found  myself  in  front  of  a 
stock-yard  where  an  auction  sale  was  go- 
ing on. 

"As  a  matter  of  diversion,  I  went  inside 
among  the  crowd.  The  auctioneer  was  ex- 
patiating on  the  merits  of  a  horse  just 
brought  out,  which  a  darkey  boy  was 
parading  up  and  down  before  the  people. 

"  'This  horse,  gentlemen/  said  he,  'is 
one  of  a  stud  of  race  horses  which  the 
owner  is  selling  on  account  of  retiring 
from  the  turf;  a  splendid  animal,'  etc. 
The  usual  harangue. 

"At  the  word  race  horse,  I  looked  at  the 
animal  more  closely,  and  I  will  never  be 
able  to  account  for  the  violent  heart  throb 
that  shook  me  when  I  recognized  'Terri- 
fied.' Of  course  I  understood  that  the 
owner  was  selling  him  because  he  was  no 
good.  I  knew  all  that  instinctively,  and 
yet  I  felt  myself  in  the  grip  of  a  power  I 
could  not  resist,  with  the  words  of  Andy 
Gentry  buzzing  in  my  ears,  about  his 
speed. 

"I  wanted  a  horse  about  as  much  as  a 
blind  man  needs  glasses,  yet  I  bid  like  a 
crazy  man,  and  I  guess  I  raised  by  own 
bid  more  than  once,  owing  to  the  per- 
spicuity of  the  auctioneer  on  perceiving 
my  anxiety  to  buy. 

*  However,  I  was  brought  back  to  a 
realization  of  things  and  my  folly  when  I 
felt  a  tap  on  my  shoulder  and  a  voice  say- 
ing, Tour  horse,  sir.  Ninety  dollars, 
please.' 

"With  a  vaarue,  unformed,  yet  well-de- 
fined plan  buzzing  in  my  head,  I  found 
myself  outside  the  stock-yard,  my  pur- 
chase standing  in  the  street,  while  I,  on 
the  sidewalk,  held  the  end  of  the  halter 
rope  in  a  kind  of  a  trance,  looking  him 
over. 

"And  while  T  looked  and  reason  came 
to  me,  I  fully  comprehended  my  foolish- 
ness. The  pride  of  ownership  took  pos- 
session of  me,  and  I  gloated  over  him  as 
my  hand  wandered  caressingly  over  his 
shapely  legs  or  gracefully  arched  neck. 

"Say!"  said  Morrigan,  sharply  and  ir- 
reverently, breaking  off  his  story.  "Do 
vou  remember  the  first  watch  you  ever 
had,  no  matter  what  kind  it  was — an  old- 
fashioned  bull's-eye  or  a  silver  hunting 
case?  Xo  difference  as  long  as  the  hands 
went  round. 

"Do  you  recollect  with  what  ecstacy  you 


held  it  to  your  ear  and  listened  to  the 
musical  metallic  whirr  of  the  works  and 
then  counted  the  spasmodic  jumps  of  the 
second  hand  ?  That  was  the  way  I  felt  as 
I  reveled  in  my  first  piece  of  equine 
property,  although  I  had  felt  much  the 
same  as  the  boy  who  has  brought  home  a 
stray  dog  and  his  folks  have  demanded 
that  he  be  turned  loose  instanter. 

"I  really  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to 
do  with  him,  although  at  the  time  money 
could  not  have  bought  him,  so  tenaciously 
had  the  embryotic  idea  got  hold  of  me 
that  this  was  the  turning  point  of  my  life, 

"It  was  while  consumed  with  these  con- 
flicting thoughts  that  the  problem  was  in  a 
measure  solved,  to  my  hand,  as  a  small 
colored  boy  touched  my  sleeve  and  said, 
apologetically. 

"Scuse  me,  marse,  but  Ah  seen  yo'  buy 
dat  haws,  an'  Ah  'lows  dat  yo'  will  want 
somebody  to  take  keer  of  him.' 

"The  boy  was  standing  close  to  the 
horse  as  he  spoke,  and  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  the  horse  turned  his  head  and 
nibbed  his  nose,  with  an  air  of  affection, 
against  the  boy's  sleeve,  and  making  little 
bluffs  at  biting  with  his  lips. 

"The  boy  grinned.  Tie  knows  me,  sah. 
Ah  used  to  be  exercise  boy  for  Marse  Tem- 
pleton,  but  now  he  done  gone  out  of  de 
racing  business,  Ah'm  out  of  a  job,  an' 
Ah  kinder  like  to  be  whar  Ah  could  be 
with  old  'Terrified'  heah:  he  sho'ly  am  a 
bit  ornery,  but  he  can  run  like  de  berry 
debil  if  he  once  gets  skeered  right.' 

"  'Skeered.'  And  this  was  just  the  word 
that  had  taken  root  in  my  calculations,  to- 
gether with  one  other  fact,  and  that  was: 
That  nearly  every  other  day  there  was  a 
thunder  storm  that  year,  and  from  what 
I  had  seen  of  the  horse,  if  he  could  be  got 
off  right  at  the  right  time,  there  could  be 
a  bunch  of  money  cleaned  up  on  him,  as 
he  never  went  to  the  post  with  odds  less 
than  from  two  hundred  to  even  five  hun- 
dred against  him. 

"It  was  the  wildest  kind  of  an  idea  that 
had  found  lodgment  in  my  head,  but  once 
there,  there  was  no  getting  it  out,  so  I 
made  up  my  mind  much  quicker  than  I 
am  telling  you,  and  I  at  once  engaged 
quarters  for  my  horse,  and  the  boy  at  the 
track  paddock,  while  I  went  in  search  of 
Andy  Gentry,  whom  I  needed  to  further 
my  hare-brained  scheme. 

<cl  shall  never  forget  the  mixed  look  of 


546 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


commiseration  and  astonishment  that  over- 
spread his  features  when  I  had  explained 
the  object  of  my  visit  and  what  I  had 
done.  However,  he  said  nothing  for  quite 
a  long  time,  meanwhile  regarding  me 
steadfastly.  Something  in  my  suppressed 
anxiety  and  earnestness  must  have  im- 
pressed him,  for  presently  he  said: 

"  'It  is  the  most  unheard  of  proposition 
that  was  ever  put  to  me,  but  I  will  admit 
that  it  bears  an  element  of  success;  about 
one  chance  in  a  million,  and  it  is  this 
chance  that  appeals  to  me.  You  and  I,  it 
seems,  are  in  no  position  to  refuse  to  take 
that  chance.  I  am  with  you.  I  have  five 
hundred  dollars.  Go  on  with  your  train- 
ing and  enter  the  horse  for  a  week  from 
to-day,  and  I  will  do  the  rest/ 

"Then  he  arose  and  grasped  my  hand; 
his  eyes  took  on  a  look  of  determination 
that  did  me  good  to  see,  and  the  square  set 
of  his  chin  made  me  feel  like  hard  money 
in  my  pocket,  as  he  said : 

"'Morrigan,  I've  a  hunch  that  we  will 
win;  if  we  do,  it's  share  and  share  alike. 
Now,  let  us  drink  to  the  firm  of  Gentry  & 
Morrigan.' 

"The  morning  that  the  race  was  to  come 
off,  I  was  awake  before  daybreak,  sitting 
at  my  window,  hoping  for  a  lowering, 
cloudy  morning,  but  the  sun  arose  in  a 
blaze  of  crimson  splendor,  turning  me  sick 
as  it  climbed  the  cloudless  cerulean  blue. 

"I  had  not  learned,  at  that  period,  to 
view  a  vanishing  hope  with  the  unmoved 
stolidity  that  marks  the  true  trifler  with 
fortune,  and  by  the  time  Andy  came  in 
with  his  breezy  'Good  morning,'  I  was  in  a 
blue  funk. 

"He  must  have  sized  up  my  condition 
at  once,  but  made  no  comment,  other  than 
to  make  some  desultory  observations  for- 
eign to  the  theme  which  was  fast  unnerv- 
ing me,  until  his  cool  assurance  partly  re- 
stored my  balance.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  he  let  me  know  that  he  understood, 
as  he  said  kindly,  'I  know  it's  been  a  hard 
week  for  you;  it's  the  waiting  that  has 
taken  the  sand  out  of  you,  but  don't  for- 
get that  the  hardest  lesson  for  any  man  to 
learn  is  the  art  of  waiting,  especially  in  the 
racing  business.  I  know  you've  the  nerve ; 
come,  brace  up  and  show  it.' 

"The  race  in  which  our  horse  was  en- 
tered was  fourth  on  the  card  that  day, 
and  at  the  call  for  the  first  event  the  sky 
was  as  serene  and  blue  as  a  baby's  eyes, 


and  my  nerves  were  all  on  a  jangle  as  I 
went  about  among  the  crowd  in  a  daze. 
But  during  the  second  race,  my  eyes  were 
gladdened  by  the  sight  of  some  black 
clouds  rolling  rapidly  up  from  the  hori- 
zon, and  by  the  time  the  third  race  was 
over,  the  sky  was  completely  overcast,  with 
a  break  imminent  at  any  moment.  Now 
was  the  crucial  time  for  the  fruition  of  my 
rattle-headed  hazard,  and  I  remember 
thinking  to  myself,  with  a  grim  chuckle, 
that  here  I  was,  a  modern  Joshua,  coer- 
cing the  elements  in  compounding  with  me 
in  a  gambling  venture,  although  it  was  not 
for  the  lack  of  prayer — to  something — for 
its  success. 

"It  had  already  begun  to  rain  when  the 
bell  rang  for  the  jockeys  to  weigh  in  for 
our  race.  Andy  and  myself  had  taken  up 
our  positions  next  the  fence,  nearly  oppo- 
site the  Judge's  stand. 

"  'Terrified'  had  opened  in  the  betting 
at  five  hundred  to  one,  staying  at  that  fig- 
ure until  post-time.  The  reason  of  this 
was  that  the  horse  was  running  with  a 
bunch  of  crack-a- jacks,  that  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances  our  skate  would  have 
just  about  as  much  chance  with  as  a  sky- 
rocket with  a  comet. 

"With  our  combined  capital  of  four 
hundred  dollars,  Andy  had  bought  pools 
at  this  figure,  and  you  can  reckon  it  out 
to  suit  yourself  how  many  dollars  were 
dancing  in  front  of  my  eyes  as  the  multi- 
tude in  the  grand  stand  shouted  'They're 
off!  They're  off!' 

"With  a  horrible  sinking  inside  of  me, 
I  saw  the  horses  go  past,  with  my  gallant 
old  selling  plater  plowing  up  a  canal  at 
the  tail  end  of  the  bunch,  complacently 
taking  the  shower  of  mud  from  a  dozen 
pair  of  hoofs  in  front. 

"I  guess  I  turned  faint  and  would  have 
fallen,  had  not  Andy  thrown  his  arm 
around  me  and  hissed  in  my  ear:  'Don't 
make  a  holy  show  of  yourself  before  all 
these  people.'  Just  then  something  broke 
up  in  the  black,  scuttling  clouds.  It  was 
not  a  flash  of  lightning,  but  a  writhing, 
seething  combination  network  of  zig-zag 
streaks  from  nadir  to  nadir,  followed  by 
the  most  dumbfounding  series  of  detona- 
tions that  ever  greeted  mortal  ears. 

"The  first  thing  I  saw  when  I  regained 
my  senses  was  Andy,  straining  half  over 
the  fence,  yelling  to  me,  'For  God's  sake, 
look  at  that,'  And  coming  up  the  back 


THE  MOON  OF  HYACINTH. 


547 


stretch,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  herd  of 
maniac  beasts,  and  at  the  head,  lengths 
and  lengths  ahead  of  any  of  them,  I  rec- 
ognized the  crimson  suit  of  our  darkey  boy 
astride  of  a  veritable  demon  that  came 
flashing  straight  under  the  wire,  and  past, 
on  and  on,  and  I  didn't  know  until  the 
next  day  that  he  dropped  stone  dead  half 
way  around  the  track. 

"In  fact,  I  didn't  know  much  of  any- 
thing until  the  next  day,  only  that  we  had 
won,  and  that  was  enough  for  me. 

"I   shall  never  know,"  said  Morrigan, 


changing  the  subject  abruptly,  "another 
man  who  was  as  complete  a  paradox  as 
Andy  Gentry.  As  sympathetic  and  gen- 
tle as  a  woman,  full  of  romance  and 
pathos,  a  student  and  a  gentleman  aside 
from  racing;  as  cold  as  an  iceberg,  un- 
compromisingly relentless  in  anything  to 
the  end,  in  track  affairs.  I  learned  to  love 
him  well  in  the  twenty  years  we  were  part- 
ners, until  he  said  the  "good-bye"  we  all 
must  say. 

"Shall  we  play  a  game  of  three  cush- 
ions?" 


Tte 


BY    EDWARD    WILBUR    MASON 


In  the  dear  moon  of  hyacinth  at  spring 

All  sweetest  dreams  come  true;  the  earth  awakes 
From  sleep  of  winter  and  its  bosom  shakes 

With  flowers  and  grasses ;  birds  with  joyance  sing, 

The  misty  sunlight  on  the  wind's  great  wing 

Blows  round  the  world;  the  silvery  brooklet  takes 
Gladness  to  wife,  and  all  the  glittering  lakes 

High  in  the  air  their  waves  of  rapture  fling ! 

Forever  hand  in  hand  and  two  by  two, 
In  shine  and  shadow  of  the  solitude 

The  wandering  lovers  move  the  trees  among. 

For  now  at  last  all  sweetest  dreams  come  true: 
The  sprites  are  out ;  Puck  haunts  the  sylvan  wood ; 
The  Golden  Age  is  here  and  earth  is  young! 


Tib® 


VI. — Her  Emancipation  Problem. 

THE  daughter  of  David  Riggs  was 
brimming  over  with  enthusiasm. 
David  saw  it  and  regretfully  put 
aside  his  paper,  for  well  he  knew  the  use- 
lessness  of  trying  to  read  when  some 
great  thought  had  possession  of  her  mind. 
Her  brother  Tom  saw  it  and  grumbled, 
for  he  occasionally  got  a  severe  bump  dur- 
ing the  discussion  of  her  problems.  Her 
mother  alone  was  placid  and  undisturbed. 

"May  Ten  Eyck  read  the  grandest 
paper  at  the  last  meeting  of  our  club !" 
the  girl  announced. 

"That's  eighteen  that  I've  counted,  Es- 
telle,"  said  her  father. 

"Eighteen  what?"  she  asked. 

"Eighteen  of  the  'grandest'  papers. 
Don't  you  ever  have  any  other  kind?" 

"Why  not  prepare  one  on  'The  Use  of 
•Superlatives  ?' "  suggested  Tom.  "But 
perhaps  it  would  kill  off  debate." 

"We  don't  use  superlatives — much," 
protested  Estelle. 

"Like  the  cowboy  who  was  reprimanded 
for  shooting  a  stranger,"  remarked  David. 

"  'I  didn't  hurt  him  much,'  he  said, 
when  the  sheriff  tried  to  reason  with  him. 

"  'You  killed  him,'  expostulated  the 
sheriff. 

"  'Oh,  yes,'  answered  the  cowboy,  'but 
that  was  all.  I  never  overplay  the  limit.' 

"And  neither  do  you  girls,  the  limit  be- 
ing the  dictionary.  But  what  about  the 
paper  ?" 

"Oh,  it  was  the  loveliest  thing  you  ever 
heard." 

"Subject?" 

"'The  Progress  of  Woman."; 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Tom.  "Here's  where 
I  quit." 

"Don't  mind  Tom,"  advised  David,  "he 
belongs  to  the  intermediate  generation." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  demand- 
ed Tom. 

"It's  a  family  rule,"  explained  David. 
"One  or  two  generations  of  a  family  forge 
ahead,  and  then  we  get  one  that  backs  up. 


That's  what  evens  things  up  in  this  world. 
The  intermediate  generations  shunt  the 
families  back  to  a  new  starting  point,  and 
sometimes  they  wreck  the  whole  geneal- 
ogical coach.  Considered  generally,  it's  d 
good  thing,  for  it  has  been  demonstrated 
that  four  or  five  consecutive  progressive 
generations  of  one  family  will  pretty 
nearly  put  a  mortgage  on  the  world,  but 
in  this  particular  family  we  don't  really 
need  an  intermediate  generation  quite 
yet.  Still  they  often  slip  in  ahead  of 
time." 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  May's 
paper,"  complained  Estelle. 

"Of  course  not,"  admitted  David.  "I 
never  supposed  that  the  subject  for  dis- 
cussion had  anything  to  do  with  what  you 
really  said.  I  naturally  thought  it  was  a 
good  deal  like  a  college  athlete  taking  an 
imaginary  course  in  chemistry  so  as  to 
play  on  the  football  team." 

''Well,  it  isn't,"  declared  Estelle.  "The 
paper  was  awfully  clever  and  thoughtful. 
It  showed  how  woman  is  emancipating 
herself  and  crowding  man  in  business." 

"Because  she'll  work  cheap,"  grumbled 
Tom. 

"Not  entirely,"  said  David. 

"No,  indeed,"  insisted  Estelle.  "It's  be- 
cause she  has  proved  her  business  value. 
She  is  the  equal  of  man  in  his  own  field — 
that  is,  in  some  parts  of  it." 

"Not  exactly,"  said  David.  "She  is  a 
nice  bright  silver  half-dollar,  where  a  good 
man  is  a  business  dollar,  but  so  many  of 
the  dollars  are  plugged  that  the  half-dol- 
lars look  pretty  good  in  the  business 
world." 

"What  am  I  ?"  asked  Tom,  incautiously. 

"A  plugged  dollar,  my  son,"  answered 
David  promptly. 

"How  plugged  ?" 

"With  a  champagne  cork  or  the  patent 
fastener  of  a  beer  bottle." 

"You  mean  that  I  drink  occasionally. 
Well,  so  do  you." 

"But  I  didn't  when  I  was  getting 
started." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  DAVID. 


549 


n  occasional  drink  does  no  harm." 
"It  does  just  as  much  harm  as  men 
think  it  does  you,  and  a  little  more.  I'm 
taking  no  W.  C.  T.  TJ.  lightning  express 
to  Hades  view  of  the  matter;  I'm  consid- 
ering it  as  a  business  proposition.  It  de- 
stroys confidence,  and  confidence  is  more 
necessary  than  money  in  most  cases.  When 
a  young  man  begins  to  get  a  polish  about 
the  middle  of  his  vest-front,  he's  on  the 
hog  train  backing  up.  Xo  matter  how 
careful  he  is,  he  can't  prevent  the  boss 
from  getting  an  occasional  whiff  of  his 
breath  after  the  noon  hour.  After  this 
has  happened  two  or  three  times  the  boss 
incidentally  suggests  to  the  office  manager 
that  the  new  dollar  is  plugged,  and  after 
that  they  quit  thinking  about  advancing 
him  and  begin  to  look  for  a  good  place  to 
drop  him.  A  plugged  dollar  is  a  mighty 
useless  thing  in  any  office.  It  may  pass 
all  right  for  a  time,  but  you  can  never 
tell  when  it  will  bust  the  combination  in 
some  important  deal." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Tom,  "if  I  needed  a 
job,  I'd  agree  to  climb  on  the  water  wagon 
if  necessary." 

"That  wouldn't  help  much,"  returned 
David.  "We  haven't  much  confidence  in  a 
man  until  we've  seen  him  go  over  the 
bumps  a  few  times  without  being  jarred 
off.  A  prospective  reform  doesn't  count, 
and  an  evil  reputation  sticks  like  the  odor 
of  a  dead  rat  under  the  flooring.  A  sub- 
lime fool  with  a  little  artificial  enthusi- 
asm can  kill  the  work  of  fifteen  years  in 
fifteen  minutes,  or,  nutting  it  the  other 
wav.  six  months  of  reasonably  regular 
practice  at  the  bar  may  give  a  man  a  repu- 
tation that  it  will  take  him  six  years  to 
live  down.  When  he  begins  to  drop  into 
a  certain  place  about  a  certain  time  each 
dav,  and  call  the  bartender  by"  his  first 
name,  he  has  come  to  a  place  where  the 
;-oad  is  blocked.  Qlen  know  about  it;  they 
take  pains  to  know  about  such  things  be- 
fore they  give  a  young  man  any  position 
of  trust  or  responsibility;  and  it  really 
doesn't  make  much  difference  how  much 
or  how  little  he  drinks.  Xo  employer  or 
prospective  employer  is  going  to  take  the 
trouble  to  count  the  glasses  or  measure 
il.jir  contents;  he's  satisfied  to  play  safety 
on  a  general  estimate  that  it  is  o*  will  be 
ttJ  much,  and  let  it  go  at  that,  J  That's 
why  I  say  it  does  just  as  much  narmyas 
men  think  it  does,  and  a  little  more/It 


may  cost  vou  an  opportunity  that  you 
never  knew  was  within  reach.  Johnny-on^ 
the-spot  and  wide  awake  tf;ets  the  good 
things  that  are  passed  out.^, 

aThat  hasn't  anything  t^lo  with  May's 
paper."  pouted  Estelle. 

"Yes,  it  has,"  insisted  David.  "It's 
just  what  gave  her  the  opportunity  to 
write  the  paper.  The  fool  men  are  mak- 
ing the  business  opportunities  for  women." 

"Well,  the  women  have  the  sense  to 
take  advantage  of  them,  anyway,"  declared 
Estelle. 

"'It  isn't  sense  at  all,"  returned  David. 
"Sometimes  it's  necessity,  and  sometimes 
it's  vanity,  and  sometimes  if  s  love  of  ex- 
citement. It  tickles  a  girl  to  think  she  is 
independent  until  the  time  comes  when 
she  wishes  she  wasn't,  and  then  it  may  be 
too  late  to  readjust  things  in  her  particu- 
lar case.  Xo  real  Kentuckian  is  going  to 
be  satisfied  to  admire  other  people's  horses 
all  his  life — the  greater  his  love  for  a  good 
horse  the  greater  will  be  his  desire  to  own 
one  himself — and  it's  the  same  with  a 
real  woman  and  babies.  That's  what  makes 
her  an  uncertain  quantity  so  far  as  perma- 
nency is  concerned.  But  we  discussed 
that  once  before,  and  I  believe  I  said  then 
that  frills  and  a  pocket  mirror  made  wo- 
man an  unsatisfactory  business  proposi- 
tion. 

"A  girl's  place  in  the  business  world  is 
on  the  outside  of  the  counter  in  a  retail 
shop,  and  if  all  men  had  attended  to  busi- 
ness as  they  should,  thaf  s  where  she'd  be. 
But  mighty  few  men  can  support  a  family 
and  a  bar  at  the  same  time,  so  a  good 
many  women  are  forced  into  the  busi- 
ness world,  and  a  good  many  others 
find  the  way  open  when  they  want 
excitement  and  pocket  money.  They 
aren't  as  useful  as  a  good  man;  they  are 
not  as  strong;  they  are  not  as  available 
for  promotion;  they  are  more  uncertain, 
but  they  look  mighty  good  when  you  put 
them  alongside  the  man  who  occasionally 
shows  up  with  his  brains  scrambled." 

"But  Mav  didn't  look  at  it  that  way," 
protested  Estelle. 

"I  presume  not." 

"She  spoke  of  the  refining  influence  on 
woman  in  the  business  world." 

"Oh,  ves,"  broke  in  Tom.  "What  is 
needed  in  offices  is  a  code  of  etiquette  that 
will  prevent  a  man  from  doing  business 
unless  he  has  taken  dancing  lessons  and 


550 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


learned  how  to  do  the  double-cross  hand- 
shake. 

"Well,"  admitted  David,  "it  can't  be  de- 
nied that  a  young  woman  in  an  office  does 
interfere  with  a  careless  flow  of  language, 
and  she  is  an  annoyance  to  the  man  who 
drifts  in  with  a  story  that  ought  not  to 
be  told,  but  it  is  also  true  that  a  peroxide 
flirt  can  twist  things  up  so  that  a  corps 
of  drill  masters  could  not  restore  disci- 
pline. There's  a  lot  to  be  said  both  ways, 
but  I  can't  get  away  from  the  old-fash- 
ioned idea  that  home-making  is  the  busi- 
ness for  women." 

"You  used  to  tell  me,"  said  Mrs.  Riggs 
quietly,  "that  anything  I  wanted  to  do 
would  be  what  vou'd  want  me  to  do." 

"Of  course,"  returned  David.  "A  lover 
is  a  self-deceiving  liar." 

"But  the  home-making  business  is  just 
what  the  girls  are  striving  for,"  argued 
Estelle. 

"Oh!"  said  David,  scornfully. 

"Why,  certainly,"     explained     Estelle. 


It  seems  to  me  it's  very  plain.  They're 
monopolizing  things  so  fast  that  pretty 
soon  the  young-  men  will  have  to  marry 
them  and  put  them  in  charge  of  home  in 
order  to  get  the  jobs." 

"Estelle,  you're  a  wonder!"  declared 
David. 

"A  young  girl  accumulates  a  nice  fat 
job  as  a  sort  of  dowry.  Then  the  young 
man  marries  her  and  takes  the  job.  It's 
great!  It's  sublime!  She  simply  makes 
and  holds  it  for  her  future  husband.  She's 
a  dummy  job-holder,  but  she  and  her  sis- 
ters put  a  double  cinch  on  the  world  by 
creating  a  job-monopoly  that  can  be 
broken  only  by  matrimonial  methods.  The 
club  of  yours  is  going  to  put  its  monogram 
on  creation  before  it  gets  through,  Estelle. 
It  doesn't  require  such  a  thundering 
stretch  of  the  imagination  to  picture  pro- 
gress along  present  lines  until  man  really 
has  to  marry  a  job  in  order  to  get  one. 
But  the  conditions  will  be  more  of  his 
creations  than  hers." 


HE®  Wavy  nm 

Cr 


BY  ARTHUR  H.   DUTTON 


THE  spectacle  of  an  armed  body  of 
United  States  naval  officers  and 
sailors  navigating  the  waters  of  the 
River  Jordan  and  the  Dead  Sea  appears 
so  fantastic  nowadays,  that  it  is  almost 
incredible,  yet  such  a  spectacle  was  ac- 
tually presented  within  the  memory  of 
men  now  living. 

The  presence  of  our  navy  in  the  inland 
waters  of  the  Holy  Land  was  occasioned 
by  a  desire  which  was  world-wide  to  form 
a  better  acquaintance  with  the  geography 
and  hydrography  of  that  region,  which 
had  never  been  thoroughly  explored,  much 
less  surveyed,  by  civilized  men.  Just  as 
the  infant  navy  of  the  United  States  was 
the  first  to  enter  the  Mediterranean  Sea 
and  end  forever  the  depredations  of  the 
Barbary  corsairs  upon  the  commerce  of 
all  nations,  so  was  that  same  navy  the 
first  to  set  at  rest  certain  scientific  ques- 
tions which  had  bothered  scholars  for 
centuries. 

The  expedition  was  organized  by  offi- 
cial order  of  the  Navy  Department  in  the 
year  1848.  On  the  surface,  the  under- 
taking seemed  innocent  enough.  It  was 
for  the  purpose  of  discovering  the  source 
of  the  Jordan  and  tracing  its  course  to 
the  Dead  Sea.  It  was  also  directed  to  as- 
certain the  depression  of  the  Dead  Sea 
beneath  the  level  of  the  Mediterranean 
Sea.  That  it  was  eminently  successful 
was  due  to  the  care  with  which  it  was 
fitted  out,  and  the  excellence  with  which 
it  was  conducted  bv  its  chief,  Lieutenant 
William  F.  Lynch,  U.  S.  X. 

At  first  the  idea  seemed  so  preposterous 
that  the  public  at  large  did  not  take  it 
seriously.  It  was  not  until  the  party 
started,  on  board  the  U.  S.  Ship  Supply, 
with  provisions,  equipment,  arms  and  all 
necessary  instruments  and  supplies  in 
general  that  people  awoke  to  the  fact  that 
the  Xavy  Department  and  Lieutenant 
Lvnch  meant  business.  Arms  were  taken 


along  for  an  excellent  reason.  The  land 
to  be  traveled,  both  to  and  from  the  Dead 
Sea,  as  well  as  its  shores,  was  infested 
with  wild  tribes  of  Bedouins  and  other 
lawless  nomads,  who  thought  nothing  of 
cutting  throats  if  the  booty  offered  were 
sufficient.  Indeed,  it  is  a  characteristic 
of  the  nomad  of  the  Asia  Minor  desert 
that  he  will  cut  a  throat  first  and  seek 
the  gold  afterwards. 

The  port  of  Smyrna  was  made  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1848.  There  Lieutenant  Lynch 
left  the  Supply  and  went  to  Constantino- 
ple for  the  purpose  of  securing  from  the 
Sultan  a  "firman"  for  the  purpose  of  ad- 
mitting him  to  the  territory  he  wished  to 
penetrate,  for  the  Ottoman  Empire  was 
even  more  chary  then  than  it  is  now  of 
permitting  foreigners  to  roam  at  will 
through  its  domain.  After  much  diplo- 
matic haggling,  the  "firman"  was  pro- 
cured, and  Lynch  returned  to  Smyrna, 
whence  he  proceeded  to  Haifa,  near  the 
famed  Acre,  which  bore  such  a  prominent 
part  in  the  Crusades.  The  equipment 
was  there  landed.  It  consisted,  in  the 
main,  of  two  metallic  boats,  one  of  cop- 
per, the  other  of  sheet  iron,  for  durability 
and  strength  were  imperative  on  such  an 
expedition,  and  a  quantity  of  varied 
stores.  The  boats,  into  which  were  piled 
many  of  the  supplies,  were  then  placed 
upon  trucks  and  drawn  by  camels  across 
the  desert. 

The  sight  was  an  entertaining  one.  The 
party  of  Americans,  consisting  of  Lieu- 
tenant Lvnch.  Lieutenant  Dale,  Passed 
Midshipman  Aulick,  two  civilians  and 
eleven  sailors,  accompanied  bv  a  guard  of 
Arab  horsemen,  wended  its  way  tediously 
along,  camels,  horses  and  donkeys  being 
the  pack  animals.  Above  all  floated  the 
Stars  and  Stripes,  the  first  appearance 
of  that  emblem  in  the  Bible  lands,  except 
at  the  seaports. 

After  a  month's  toiling  across  the  des- 


552 


OA^ERLAND  MONTHLY. 


ert,  the  passage  being  slow  on  account  of 
the  boats,  the  village  of  Tiberias,  on  the 
Sea  of  Galilee,  was  reached.  Here  the 
party  embarked  on  its  cruise  down  the 
long  river.  An  eventful  cruise  it  proved 
to  be.  Although  but  60  miles  to  the 
Dead  Sea,  Lynch's  party  had  to  go  200 
miles  on  the  river,  which  proved  to  be 
so  tortuous,  so  difficult  to  navigate,  and 
so  beset  with  rapids  that  it  was  eight 
davs  before  the  distance  was  covered.  Most 
of  the  Americans  went  by  river,  in  the 
boats,  while  the  Arab  guard  and  the  rest 
of  the  caravan  went  along  the  shore 
abreast  of  them,  ready  to  repulse  any  at- 
tack by  robbers  and  to  save  those  in  the 
boats  should  mishap  occur.  That  no  seri- 
ous mishap  did  occur  was  a  wonder,  for 
the  boats  shot  through  swift  cataract**, 
bumped  against  sunken  rocks  and  experi- 
enced all  manner  of  hazards  before  the 
Dead  Sea  was  reached.  Often,  at  night, 
when  anchored  for  slumber,  alarms  would 
be  sounded  as  mysterious  horsemen  ap- 
peared on  the  horizon,  but  the  apparent 
strength  of  the  party  made  the  probable 
enemy  cautious.  Arms  were  always  kept 
ready  for  fi^ht,  including  a  great  blun- 
derbuss, loaded  with  small  bullets,  which 
was  the  counterpart  of  the  mountain 
howitzer  of  the  present  day. 

When  the  Dead  Sea  was  reached,  the 
surveys  and  scientific  observations,  which 
had  been  carried  on  under  difficulties 
during  the  passage  down  the  Jordan,  were 
undertaken  with  qreater  care,  complete- 
ness and  deliberation.  Under  guard  of 
their  own  sentinels  and  the  Arab  patrol, 
the  officers  of  the  party  conducted  hydro- 
graphic  surveys,  triangulation,  and  other 
systems  of  exploration,  some  being  de- 
tailed to  examine  and  study  the  flora  and 
fauna  of  the  region.  It  was  a  dreary 
waste  of  territorv  about  them,  and  the 
heat,  under  the  sun  of  April  and  May, 
was  often  excessive,  imposing  much  hard- 
ship upon  the  enthusiastic  band.  Many  a  • 
time  the  imaginations  of  those  in  the  lit- 
tle party  carried  them  back  nineteen  cen- 
turies, and  they  found  it  difficult  to  real- 
ize that  they,  from  far-off,  matter-of-fact 
America,  were  on  the  mission  assigned 
them.  There  were  uncanny  features  of 
the  trip,  too,  besides  the  mournful  yet  im- 
pressive scenery.  The  density  of  the 
water  of  the  Dead  Sea,  owing  to  the  great 
amount  of  salt  in  it,  was  so  great  that  a 


man  could  not  sink  in  it.  Many  articles 
that  would  have  gone  straight  to  the 
bottom,  even  in  the  dense  water  of  the 
ocean,  floated  on  the  surface.  Extra  heavy 
sounding  leads  had  to  be  used  in  the  deep 
places,  to  insure  a  straight  up-and-down 
cast.  It  also  required  greater  effort  to 
send  the  boats  through  the  dense  water 
with  any  sneed. 

A  permanent  camp  was  made  on  the 
banks  of  the  Dead  Sea,  a  flag-pole  erected 
and  the  American  flag  proudly  floated 
from  its  head.  Proper  ceremonies  were 
observed  morning  and  evening,  the  honor 
due  the  flag  never  being  forgotten.  In 
fact,  the  odditv  of  the  situation  added, 
if  anything,  to  the  fervor  with  which  the 
colors  were  honored. 

The  expedition  gave  illustration  of  the 
accuracy  with  which  modern  surveys  are 
conducted.  The  occasion  arose  in  deter- 
mining how  far  the  surface  of  the  Dead 
Sea  was  below  the  level  of  the  ocean.  An 
English  officer,  manv  years  before,  had 
taken  some  observations,  from  which  he 
calculated  that  the  Dead  Sea  was  1,312 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  ocean.  Lieuten- 
ant Lynch,  to  determine  the  depression  ex- 
actly, adopted  the  laborious  method  of 
carrying  a  series  of  levels  all  the  way  from 
the  Dead  Sea  to  the  coast,  an  undertaking 
which  consumed  over  three  weeks.  Upon 
its  completion,  however,  it  was  found  that 
the  calculations  of  the  English  officer  were 
accurate.  The  results  coincided  almost 
exactly. 

It  was  well  along  in  M?TT  when  the  task 
was  completed.  The  boats  were  taken 
apart,  packed  on  the  backs  of  camels,  and 
the  little  caravan  found  its  way  in  due 
time  to  Jerusalem,  whence  it  proceeded  to 
Jaffa,  and  there  embarked. 

Lieutenant  Lynch  received  high  com- 
pliments, not  only  from  the  Navy  Depart- 
ment, but  from  foreign  Governments  and 
scientific  societies.  His  contributions  to 
geographic  knowledge  were  highly  appre- 
ciated, his  survey  being  the  first  scien- 
tific and  thorough  one  of  the  Dead  Sea 
region.  To  this  day,  many  of  his  results 
are  accepted  as  thw  standards. 

When  it  is  remembered  that  no  Euro- 
pean nation  had  hitherto  despatched  a 
similar  expedition  to  a  place  of  such  ab- 
sorbing interest,  right  under  the  very 
eyes  of  Europe,  one  may  say,  the  enter- 
prise of  the  Navy  Department  is  apt  to 


THE  OLD  STONE  HOUSE. 


553 


arouse  not  a  little  wonder.  Whether  or 
not  a  like  expedition  into  some  other 
Levantine  country  would  be  received  with 
equal  favor  is  another  matter.  After 
Lieutenant  Lynch's  achievement,  however, 
the  United  States  found  itself  with  its 
hands  full  surveying  its  own  home  coasts, 
a  task  which  it  has  not  yet  completed, 
and  with  the  Philippine  Islands  added, 
does  not  seem  likelv  to  complete  for  many 
years  to  come. 

Since  the  days  of  Lieutenant  Lynch, 
civilization  has  made  heavy  inroads  into 
the  Holy  I^and,  and  the  regions  of  which 
the  Bible  deals  are  now  pierced  by  rail- 


roads, electric  cars  and  telephones  and 
telegraphs.  Up  to  a  score  of  years  ago, 
the  place  had  changed  little  during  the 
long  centuries,  but  when  the  transporta- 
tion companies  and  the  engineers  invaded 
it,  the  rest  was  but  a  question  of  a  short 
time. 

It  is  even  proposed  now  to  erect 
and  maintain  big  modern  hotels  on  the 
Dead  Sea  and  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  to  be 
used  as  winter  resorts,  as  soon  as  the  rail- 
road line  can  be  carried  to  the  proper 
spots,  so  Lieutenant  Lynch's  surveys  may 
turn  out  to  be  as  utilitarian  as  they  were 
scientific. 


BY    MRS.    Z.    T.    CROWELL 


I  passed  to-day  an  old  stone  house,  with  high,  old-fashioned  dome, 
Which  some  one  centuries  ago  had  builded  for  a  home. 
I  saw  its  thick  and  massive  walls  rise  dark  toward  the  sky, 
Its  heavy  doors,  its  windows  deep — so  narrow  and  so  high. 

It  stood  within  a  wilderness  of  oak  and  ash  and  pine 

That  once  had  been  a  stately  grove,  now  dense  with  brush  and  vine. 

Two  stately  pines  like  sentinels  the  tangled  gateway  kept 

And  answered  to  the  murmuring  wind  with  voice  that  never  slept. 

One  giant  spruce  with  outstretched  arms  stood  close  the  house  beside, 
And  reared  its  tall,  majestic  head  with  all  its  old-time  pride. 
Yea,  statelier  far  it  stood  to-day  and  broader  threw  its  shade, 
Than  when  beneath  it  long  ago  the  little  children  played. 

Dear  children  of  a  happy  past  who  called  that  house  their  home, 
Who  gayly  wandered  through  its  rooms  or  climbed  its  vaulted  dome. 
Ye  all  are  gone — ye  all  are  gone — the  lovely  and  the  gay, 
And  only  two  bent  forms  are  left  whose  hair  has  turned  to  gray. 

They  sit  together  side  by  side — their  life  again  live  o'er, 
And  talk  with  saddened  hearts  about  the  ones  who  come  no  more. 
And  hope  that  when  their  time  shall  come  and  they  are  lowly  laid, 
The  statelv  sDruce  they  loved  so  well  mav  havp  t.hpm  'neath  its  shad" 


BY    MARY    OGDEN    VAUGHAN 


ALTHOUGH  it  grows  in  many  other 
parts  of  the  world,  one  thinks  in- 
stinctively of  Japan  as  the  land  of 
bamboo,  for  in  no  other  country  is  it  put 
to  so  many  uses,  or  held  in  such  high  es- 
teem. 

The  Japanese  honor  (the  bamboo  by 
counting  it  first  among  the  "Four  Para- 
gons" of  the  vegetable  kingdom.  They  so 
consider  it  because  the  leaf  never  changes 
— so  typifying  constancy;  because  its 
branches  grow  always  upward — pointing 
to  Heaven;  because  it  splits  straight — 
thus  symbolizing  truth  and  straightfor- 
wardness; because  it  is  so  greatly  useful 
to  mankind,  and  at  the  same  time  beau- 
tiful under  all  circumstances — under 
snow,  in  sunshine  or  in  storm,  in  daylight 
or  in  moonlight. 

Poets  sing  of  it,  and  artists  delight  to 
picture  it  in  all  its  many  phases.  In  the 
tiny  word  pictures  which  the  Japanese 
call  poems,  one  poet  says: 

"The  shadow  of  the  bamboo  fence,  with 
a  dragon  fly  at  rest  upon  it,  is  thrown 
upon  my  paper-window." 

The  shadow  of  the  bamboo  itself,  on  the 
shoji,  or  window  of  translucent  paper, 
has  been  an  inspiration  to  many  cele- 
brated artists,  ancient  and  modern.  They 
have  loved  to  picture  its  graceful  and  deli- 
cate foliage  under  all  conditions,  and  their 
extraordinary  dexterity  with  the  brush  has 
nowhere  been  more  apparent  than  in  their 
treatment  of  the  bamboo. 

In  both  the  fine  and  the  industrial  arts 
of  Japan  it  has  a  prominent  place,  and 
its  symbolism  alone  is  an  interesting  and 
absorbing  study.  As  it  is  evergreen,  and 
lives  for  a  hundred  years,  it  is  an  emblem 
of  longevity.  The  stalks  have  many  joints, 
and  the  space  between  them  is  called  yo 
— which  signifies  age — so  that  it  is  said 
to  "join  many  ages  in  itself."  Its  erect 
growth  and  succession  of  knots,  marking 
its  increase  during  succeeding  seasons, 
makes  it  a  fitting  symbol  of  hale  life  and 
fullness  of  years. 

It  is  difficult  to  consider  as  a  grass  any- 


thing that  grows  in  dense  thickets  or  for- 
ests and  to  an  average  height  of  from 
thirty  to  fifty  feet,  with  stalks  from  six 
to  seven  inches  in  diameter — but  a  grass 
we  are  told  it  is.  There  are  many  differ- 
ent varieties,  some  attaining  only  a  few 
inches  in  height,  and  others  towering  a 
hundred  feet  toward  the  sky.  It  is  strong, 
light,  elastic,  tough,  flexible  and  easily 
split  into  straight  lengths  of  any  desired 
thinness,  and  the  hollowness  of  its  stems, 
and  the  box-like  compartments  into  which 
they  are  divided,  furnish  many  recepta- 
cles ready-made  to  hand.  Almost  every 
article  imaginable,  useful  or  ornamental, 
is  made  of  bamboo,  and  it  is  said  that  it 
would  be  easier  to  enumerate  the  excep- 
tions than  to  give  a  list. 

Its  feathery  foliage  fringes  the  water- 
ways of  Japan,  and  bamboo  groves  are 
everywhere,  softening  and  beautifying 
the  already  beautiful  landscape.  A  Jap- 
anese may  be  said  to  live  literally  in  its 
friendly  shadow  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave.  As  a  child,  he  will  have  a  multi- 
tude of  tiny  toys,  and  small  objects  made 
of  bamboo,  to  interest  and  amuse  him.  He 
may  even  have  a  "bamboo  name,"  either 
as  a  family  or  given  name.  The  very 
house  he  lives  in  will  have  a  framework  of 
bamboo  and  all  sorts  of  interior  finishings 
and  furnishings  of  the  same,  and  if  in  the 
country  will  be  thatched  with  straw,  held 
in  place  by  bamboo  poles,  with  flexible 
bamboo  bands  for  binding  all  together. 

It  will  be  carpeted  with  tatami — thick 
mats  of  closely  woven  rushes — covered 
with  delicate  matting  of  bamboo.  Upon 
these  mats  the  beds  are  made  at  night, 
with  thickly- wadded  quilts  as  mattresses 
and  covering.  Should  the  nights  be  warm 
he  may  have  as  a  bedfellow  a  large  cylin- 
der of  plaited  bamboo,  to  hold  up  the 
heavy  quilts  and  permit  a  free  circulation 
of  air. 

When' he  visits  the  kitchen  he  will  see 
ladles  and  spoons  of  bamboo — neatly  ar- 
ranged in  upright  sections  through  which 
holes  have  been  cut  here  and  there,  in 


THE  LAND  OF  BAMBOO. 


555 


which  to  insert  the  handles — and  wooden 
tubs,  buckets  and  casks  of  many  shapes 
and  sizes,  each  bound  with  hoops  of  bam- 
boo. There  will  be  brushes  of  bamboo 
splints  for  cleaning  kitchen  utensils — cov- 
ers with  open  meshes  of  plaited  bamboo, 
for  protecting  food  without  excluding  the 
air — tongs  for  mending  the  fire,  and  he 
will  be  delighted  by  seeing  the  cook  use 
as  a  bellows  with  which  to  hasten  its  burn- 
ing, a  generous  length  of  bamboo  through 
which  he  blows  vigorously.  Over  the  fire 
there  may  be,  in  process  of  cooking,  young 
and  tender  bamboo  shoots,  which  are 
boiled  and  served  for  food  as  we  serve  as- 
paragus. When  the  kitchen  is  "tidied 
up/'  the  sweeping  will  be  done  with  a 
broom  of  bamboo  twigs. 

The  child's  mother  will  arrange  her 
flowers  in  vases  and  baskets  of  bamboo, 
and  will  use  them  for  all  sorts  of  house- 
hold purposes,  from  coal-scuttles  to  the 
daintiest  of  work-baskets.  A  chapter 
might  be  written  on  bamboo  baskets  alone, 
so  readily  does  the  material  lend  itself  to 
graceful  shapes  and  serviceable  uses.  She 
will  hang  her  robes  on  bamboo  racks,  and 
her  towels  also  on  this  well-nigh  univer- 
sal holder.  She  will  gracefully  manipu- 
late a  fan  with  bamboo  sticks,  will  dress 
her  hair  with  a  comb  of  bamboo,  and  keep 
it  in  place  with  bamboo  hairpins. 

His  father,  when  entertaining  a  friend, 
may  pour  the  sake  from  a  porcelain  bottle 
into  a  small  cup  of  porcelain,  both  of 
which  are  covered  with  a  very  finely- 
woven  bamboo.  Both  he  and  his  guest 
will  smoke  a  tiny  pipe  with  a  metal  bowl 
''about  as  large  as  a  doll's  thimble,"  and 
a  bamboo  stem.  They  will  fill  it  from 
a  tobacco  box  of  bamboo,  and  satisfy 
themselves  with  the  few  whiffs  necessary 
to  consume  the  morsel  it  contains.  A  sec- 
tion of  bamboo  will  serve  them  for  a  cus- 
pidor. Should  thev  walk  out  in  the  rain, 
they  will  carrv  an  umbrella  with  ribs  and 
handle  of  bamboo,  and  a  cover  of  oiled 
paper.  If  at  night,  a  lantern  with  frame- 
work of  bamboo.  In  case  of  an  earthquake 
the  family  will  hasten  to  a  bamboo  grove, 
where  the  closely-matted  roots  make  the 
earth  firm.  Should  the  house  take  fire, 
the  firemen  will  come  provided  with  long 
ladders  of  bamboo  with  which  to  reach  the 
roof. 

The  garden  where  the  child  plays  will 
be  fenced  in  with  bamboo,  and  through  its 


hollow  stalks,  broken  through  at  the 
joints,  water  will  be  piped  for  irrigation. 
Climbing  vines  will  be  trained  on  bam- 
boo lattice,  and  the  chickens  will  be  kept 
in  bamboo  COODS,  as  the  birds  are  in  bam- 
boo cages.  The  gardener  will  rake  the 
walks  with  a  bamboo  rake,  and  the  car- 
penter, if  his  services  are  required,  will 
bring  his  foot-rules  and  measures  of  bam- 
boo. Should  a  bit  of  ground  for  agricul- 
tural purposes  be  an  adjunct  of  the  home, 
the  child  will  see  the  plow  drawn  by  a 
horse  guided  by  a  bamboo  rod  attached 
to  its  nose.  The  grain  will  be  threshed 
out  by  beinp  beaten  on  bamboo  frames 
with  a  bamboo  flail. 

As  he  grows  older,  he  will  fly  his  kites 
made  on  a  framework  of  bamboo,  spin 
his  bamboo  tops,  and  take  pleasure  in 
shooting  with  a  bow  and  arrows  of  bam- 
boo. Wfcen  he  learns  to  write,  it  will 
be  with  a  brush  instead  of  a  pen. 
The  brush  handle  will  be  a  slender 
stem  of  bamboo  into  which  the  hairs  are 
fixed  and  protected  by  a  bamboo  cap.  The 
brushes  are  often  made  in  "nests"  of 
three,  one  fitting  into  the  handle  of  the 
other.  When  not  in  use,  they  are  kept 
standing  in  an  unright  vase  of  bamboo. 

If  musical,  the  boy  may  play  upon  a 
bamboo  flute,  or  a  set  of  bamboo  whistles 
fastened  together.  When  blown  upon, 
they  are  said  to  make  such  heavenly  music 
that  the  very  nightingales  come  to  listen. 
Should  he  take  lessons  in  fencing,  he  will 
practice  with  long  bamboo  swords  or 
fencing  poles,  and  be  protected  by  a 
breastplate  of  intricatelv  woven  bamboo. 

If  he  desires  to  ascend  a  mountain  with- 
out exerting  himself,  he  will  be  safely 
carried  up  on  the  shoulders  of  the  bearers 
in  a  "kaga,"  or  carrying  chair,  constructed 
entirely  of  bamboo,  which  is  most  valu- 
able wherever  strength  and  lightness  is  de- 
sired. If  he  journeys  by  water,  it  may  be 
on  a  boat  having  masts,  yards  and  cord- 
asre  of  bamboo.  In  fact,  ropes  made  of  it 
are  invaluable  for  ships,  as  it  does  not 
soak  water  and  become  heavy. 

Tea  will  be  the  well-nigh  universal  bev- 
erage in  the  family,  as  it  is  throughout  the 
Island  Empire,  where  it  is  drunk  at  all 
hours  of  the  day,  and  offered  to  every  visi- 
tor. The  culture  and  use  of  tea  is  an  im- 
portant feature  of  life  in  Japan,  and  every 
stage  bamboo  plays  a  prominent  part.  The 
leaves  are  gath^^  jn  stout  baskets  of 


556 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


bamboo,  and  when  dried,  are  sorted  by 
being  passed  through  a  dozen  sizes  of 
bamboo  screens  of  graduated  fineness. 
Common  tea  is  screened  only  once ;  super- 
ior, from  five  to  seven  times,  and  only  the 
very  finest  is  passed  through  them  all.  In 
the  household,  tea  is  often  kept  in  tight 
cases  of  bamboo,  and  when  served,  is 
strained  through  a  bamboo  strainer.  In 
the  elaborate  tea  ceremonial,  with  its  an- 
cient and  fixed  rules  of  etiquette,  the 
finely-powdered  tea  which  is  invariably 
used,  is  taken  from  its  rare  and  costly  re- 
ceptacle with  a  bamboo  spoon,  and  beaten 
into  the  boiling  water  with  a  bamboo 
whisk. 

As  tea  is  the  universal  beverage,  so  rice 
is  the  staple  food.  The  wealth  of  Japan 
lies  largely  in  her  rice  fields,  which  spread 
like  a  vast  network — now  green,  now 
golden — over  the  landscape,  and  again 
bamboo  plays  an  important  part  in  its 
harvesting  and  ^enaration  for  market. 
When  the  grain  is  ripening  the  birds  come 
to  feast  upon  it,  and  to  drive  them  away 
the  farmer  uses  a  narulco,  or  clapper,  con- 
sisting of  a  number  of  lengths  of  bamboo 
loosely  strung  on  a  rope,  which  extends 
across  the  fields,  supported  by  posts.  When 
the  wind  blows,  or  the  end  of  the  rope  is 
pulled,  the  pieces  rattle  loudly,  and  the 
noise  scares  away  the  birds.  In  cormorant 
fishin?,  a  similar  device  is  used  for  an  al- 
together different  purpose.  In  this  case, 
a  man  strikes  a  bamboo  instrument  like  .\ 
rattle,  with  which  he  keeps  the  birds  up 
to  their  work.  He  accompanies  the  clat- 
ter with  shouts  and  cries  of  encourage- 
ment. When  the  rice  is  ripe,  it  is  cut  and 
hung  in  bunches  over  bamboo  poles  to  dry. 
This  being  accomplished,  it  is  separated 
from  the  straw  by  being  drawn  through  a 
row  of  bamboo  teeth,  closely  set  in  a  frame 
— the  rice  falling  on  a  mat  underneath.  It 
is  then  roughly  sifted  in  a  coarse  bamboo 
seive,  and  winnowed  in  a  tray  of  plaited 
bamboo  by  being  blown  upon  by  a  sort  of 


double  fan,  or  bellows,  to  separate  the 
chaff  from  the  grain.  It  is  packed  in 
bags  of  matting  by  means  of  a  large  fun- 
nel of  plaited  bamboo,  and  the  contents 
may  be  sampled  ^-  thrusting  into  the  bag 
a  tap,  made  of  a  short  length  of  bamboo 
sharpened  to  a  Doint — through  which  the 
rice  will  run  in  any  desired  quantity. 

In  silk  culture,  also,  bamboo  baskets 
are  used  to  collect  the  mulberry  leaves, 
which  are  again  srtread  upon  bamboo  trays 
in  which  the  worms  are  fed.  In  all  these 
pursuits  the  peasants  wear  large  hats  of 
plaited  bamboo,  to  r>rotect  them  from  sun 
or  rain.  Some  of  the  hats  are  of  enor- 
mous proportions,  and  the  fields  look  as 
though  a  crop  of  ,  giant  mushrooms  had 
sprung  up.  These  hats  are  also  worn  by 
the  "kaga"  bearers,  the  ricksha  runners 
and  workers  of  all  sorts  who  are  exposed 
to  the  weather. 

This  "bamboo"  list  might  be  indefinit.e- 
Iv  extended,  and  include  temple  construc- 
tion, small  bridges  and  flagpoles,  as  well 
as  any  number  of  prettv  and  inexpensive 
trifles  which  are  offered  for  sale  every- 
where in  Japan,  but  enough  has  been  said 
to  show  how  all  his  life  long  a  Japanese 
lives  in  "close  communion,"  so  to  speak, 
with  this  all-beautiful  and  all-useful  pro- 
duct of  Dai  ISTipnon.  It  remains  only  to 
say  that  when  he  marries,  and  participates 
in  the  nuptial  ceremony  of  "three  times 
three,"  or  the  triple  changing  of  three 
cups  of  sake,  from  each  of  which  he  and 
his  bride  sin.  in  turn,  three  times,  one  of 
the  beautiful  marriage  cups  of  scarlet  lac- 
auer  will,  doubtless,  be  decorated  in  gold 
with  a  feathery  spray  of  bamboo,  as  a 
svmbol  of  upright  living,  usefulness  and 
long  life ;  and  when  he  dies,  and  passes  0:1 
to  another,  and  let  us  believe  a  still 
higher  incarnation,  his  grave  will  be 
marked  with  a  bamboo  stake.  In  another 
little  word-picture  a  Japanese  poet  writes : 

"Lo!  an  insect  rests  upon  the  bamboo 
that  marks  a  grave !" 


Presenting 
June's 

Actresses 

and 
Actors 


Mme.  Eleanore  De  Cisneros  in  "Aida"  at  the  Manhattan  Opera  House. 


FREE  PUBLIC 

DECATUR,  UJU 


Mme.   Bressler  as   Carmen,   Manhattan  Opera   House,   New   York. 


FREE  PUBLIC  Litxv 


Marie  Louise  Gribbon,  who  sings  the  title  role  m   "Neptune's  Daughter," 
at  the  Hippodrome. 


k 


R,  ILL, 


Katherine     Grace,     in     "Neptune's     Daughter,"     at    the 
Hippodrome,   New  York. 


FREE  PUBLIC 

DECATUfc,  ILU, 


Blanche  Walsh    (Moll   O'Hara.)  Dorothy  Dorr   (Miss  Thompson.) 

in   Clyde  Pitch's    "The   Straight   Road,"   Astor   Theatre. 


FREE 


DECATUR,  ILL.