Full text of "The Ebell; a journal of literature and current events"

See other formats

hyuo^ok /^f ^

:4-

Aji.

<»v.v..n::^^ ^-..Ulejt:^ ^^l£^

h/L.e,.t».Xr' '^-e.yi-'^.Jiy^ a-(^i-'<-Ji^. —

z^.

cfi'i^-tpu<i^^ U^^JZc^iy^^ ^^t<.i^.cAje^

THE EBELL

^- ^

-J

— M :

'50^ Q. ^

TONDLY as the originators of this society hoped
and dreamed of its future, we did not think
that within four short years after its compara-
tively modest beginning we should be chronicling
the history of a widely known and firmly established
organization, a recognized influence in the community
where it was formed and already sending out strong
and sturdy branches into various parts of Southern
California. Such is the fact, however, and for the
notable success of the Ebell Society of Los Angeles
at the present day we must give due credit to
the broad and carefully laid foundation on which we
built, as well as to the faithful, earnest effort that has
raised the fair superstructure.

Dr. Ebell, the founder of the societies which bear his
name, was a scientific man, the son of a scientific man,
born in India, where the utmost degradation of woman-
hood exists. Educated in this country, he was among
the early advocates of betterment to the race through
betterment of that class least educated to appreciate
profound study. He saw that the time had come in the
world's history when a thinking womanhood was a neces-
sity, a womanhood to meet and solve various questions
whi^h the stress of the age was presenting for solution
more and more insistently. So this scholar and traveler
decided that woman's superficial training could best be

overcome by study of the exact sciences, and to that end
he labored, establishing an international academy of
science, art, music and languages in Berlin, his plan
being to establish chapters in all parts of the world.
While traveling in America in 1876, he formed the first
chapter in Oakland. This was named the Ebell Society
to commemorate his work, and was composed of various
study sections making up the general society. The first
section was devoted to the study of Biology and still has
its original curator. Science, art, music, and finally
literature, were taken up in rapid succession, until there
developed the present broad and finely organized society
which we have taken for our model, a central organization
with sections that stand in the relation to it of states to
the Federal Government.

In October of the year 1894 a small company of
ladies met in the parlors of one of the number, under the
leadership of Mrs. H. W. R. Strong, a member of the
Oakland society, to form The Ebell of Los Angeles.
Mrs. Strong was chosen president, and by the courtesy
of the Oakland society a constitution was soon modeled
after theirs, which enabled the new society to have a
perfected organization in two meetings. The third meet-
ing found a constitution and by-laws and sixty-four
charter members. Thus The Ebell of Los Angeles
was firmly established and continued to develop and
strengthen from month to month, until it closed its first
year of existence in June of 1895, a live organization,
already recognized as a power in the community, with its
methods tested and approved and a constantly increas-
ing membership.

For three years,

under
4

the wise guidance of

Mrs. Strong, the Ebell grew and developed. Com-
fortable rooms were rented for its use and enlarged
quarters brought new members, new sections, new re-
sponsibilities, and the ladies who formed the society
proved themselves able and willing to fulfill all the duties
that a rapidly growing organization brought upon them.
In 1897 the society incorporated, and Mrs. Clara B.
Baker, the president of the ensuing year, erected perman-
ent quarters for its use and enjoyment on one of the main
streets of our city. Thus, year by year, the little nucleus
formed by a few trusting ones who felt the need in our
rapid civilization of all that The Ebell means, has en-
larged and developed until it stands, at the opening of its
fifth year of activity, "All that The Ebell means."
What does it mean, what has it always meant to its
members ? A broad culture, a keen appreciation of the
best the world has to offer, an opportunity to come into
touch with every line of development. This for its mem-
bers. For the city in which it has its home, for the sur-
rounding country, where its influence and example have
already fostered the growth of two branch organizations.
The Ebell means higher standards of education, of social
development; it means an effort for the highest in society
and the home, it means the gracious influence of a con-
stantly broadening and deepening womanhood to per-
meate and bless every phase of our complex modern life.
The Ebell federation stands to-day as a moving power in
the advancement of Southern California. It is our earn-
est wish that the plans of our great-souled founder may
be carried to completion and his organization become
national and even international, a moving power in the
advancement of the world.

EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE.

Officers

President —

1894-5— Mrs. H. W. R Strong,

Ranchito del Fuerte.

1895-6— Mrs. H. W. R. Strong.

1896-7— Mrs. H. W. R. Strong.

1897-8— Mrs. Clara B. Baker,

Pasadena.

1898-9— Mrs. Charles N. Flint,

927 Westlake ave.

1st Vice-President —

Miss A. K. Parsons, 1922 Grand ave.

2nd Vice-President —

Mrs. G. M. Danskin, 1434 S. Flower st.

3rd Vice-President —

Recording Secretary —

Mrs. a. p. West, 3l01 Flgueroa st.

Corresponding Secretary —

Miss Frances M. Maurice, 830 Bonnie Brae st

Treasurer —

Mrs. T. T. Knight, Box 386.

General Curator —

Mrs. L. S. Comstock, 1621 Flower st.

DIRECTORS*

Mrs. C. N. Flint, 927 Westlake ave.

Miss A. C. Adair, 1039 W. 2l8t st.

Mrs. J. S. VosBURG, 2317 Figueroa st.

Mrs. T. D. Stimson, 2421 Figueroa st.

Mrs. H. W. R. Strong, Ranchito del Fuerte.

Mrs. C. B. Baker, Pasadena.

Mrs. D. a. MacNeil, 623 W. 16th st.

STANDING COMMITTEES*

Membership
Mrs. L. W. Blinn, 137 W. Adams st.
Mrs. C. B. Jones, 2302 Flower st.
Mrs. Sumner P. Hunt, 424 Stimson Blk.

Printing

Miss Frances M. Maurice, 830 S. Bonnie Brae st.
Miss Harryet R. Strong, Ranchito del Fuerte.
Mrs. J. B. Millard, 548 Alvarado st.
Mrs. E. G. Howard, 1602 Santee st.

Receptions and Lectures
The Executive Committee.

Committee on Sections

Mrs. L. S. Comstock, 1621 Flower st.

Miss A. C. Adair, 1039 W. 21st st.

Mrs. Hugh Vail, 336 W. 28th st.

Mrs. H. W. R. Strong, Ranchito del Fuerte.

SPECIAL COMMITTEES*

House

Miss E. H. Parsons, 423 W. 23rd st,

Mrs. J. Ross Clark, 2433 S. Grand ave.

Mrs. C. H. Hall, 512 W. 30th st.

Mrs. Murray M. Harris, 121 W. 27th st.

Mrs. West Hughes, 507 Adams st.

Mrs. C. C. Parker, Hotel Lincoln.

Miss M. Clute, 1528 Ingraham st.

Miss Georgina P. Strong, Ranchito del Fuerte.

Mrs. Charles C. Gilbert, 421 W. 3l8t st.

Social Thtifsclay

Mrs. J. E. Cowles, 1301 S. Hope st.

Mrs. F. E. Eastman, 1006 W. Washington st.

Mrs. Burt Estes Howard, 2823 Orchard ave.

Mrs. Frank King, 903 Westlake ave.

Miss M. N. Ryan, 937 Westlake ave.

Miss Grace Atherton Dennen, 1922 S. Grand are.

Libraryt Art and Music

Mrs. H. W. R. Strong, Ranchito del Fuerte.
Miss A. C. Adair, 1039 W. 21st st.
Miss Alice Parsons, 1922 S. Grand ave.

THE MEETINGS of The Ebell are held as follows :
First meeting of the year, last Thursday in Sept.
Final meeting of the y^ar, last Thursday in June.

DIRECTORS.

First Thursday of each month at 11.30 a.m.

EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE.

First Thursday of each month, 1.30 p.m.
Second '* " " 2.00 p.m.

Last " " " 2.00 p.m.

MEMBERS.

Last Thursday of each month, 2.30 p.m. Business
and reports of sections. Election of officers for
ensuing year at last meeting in June.
Second Thursday of each month, 2.30 p.m., literary

and social afternoon; special program.
Each member is privileged to invite one guest to any
general meeting except the last, held in June.

Cards of invitation may be obtained from the Gen-
eral Curator.

SOCIAL THURSDAY PROGRAM,

1898.
Oct. 13, *' Education," Mrs. Louise S. Comstock.

Nov. 10, " Woman as a Power," Mrs. I. B. Hamilton.
Dec. 8. " Music " — with Piano Illustration,

Mrs. Sara B. Hickman.
1899.
Jan. 12, " Unity in Diversity," Mrs. F. A. Eastman.
Feb. 9, A Dramatic Afternoon, Miss Grace A. Dennen.
Mar. 9, " Industrial Education," Miss Ella E. Clark.
April 13, Art, Mrs. W. S. Bartlett.

May 11, (Not assigned.)

June, Symposium. Topic: " Where shall we
spend our vacation?"

SECTIONS AND THEIR PROGRAMS.

Literature Section

Every Friday at 2.30 p.m., at Ebell Rooms.
Curator, Mrs. George D. Ruddy ; residence, 728

Coronado street; telephone, Green 1572.
First half hour of each meeting is devoted to current

literature, followed by the regular program.

PROGRAM FOR THE YEAR 1898-9.

Oct. 7. — Literary Illustrators.

1. Charles Dana Gibson; his personality and work,

with cuts exhibited.

2. F. Hopkinson Smith ; character, writings and

pictures.

3. Mary Hallock Foote, A. B. Frost, Frederic Rem-

ington and other American literary illus-
trators.

Oct. 14. — Ralph Waldo Emerson.

1. Biographical Sketch.

2. As Lecturer.

3. As Poet.

4. As Philosopher.

5. Review of " Representative Men."

Oct. 21. — Henry D. Thoreau.

1. His Life and Aims.

2. Selections from " Walden."

3. Influence upon American Writers, including John

Muir, John Burrough and Maurice Thompson.

Oct. 28. — Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.

1. Character Sketch.

2. Sentences from The Stoic.

3. Value of his Philosophy.

Nov. 4. — Early Poetry of France. ■

1. Ballades and Chansons.

2. Rondeaus and Rondels.

3. Villanelles and Triolets.

4. Specimens of Early French Verse.

Nov. 11. — A Group of Poets.

1. Austin Dobson.

2. Andrew Lang.

3. Frederic Locker.

4. Clinton Scollard, Samuel Minturn Peck, H. C.

Bunner, Frank Dempster Sherman, and speci-
mens of American verse showing several of old
French forms.

Nov. 18.— Taine.

1. Biographical Notes.

2. Historical Work.

3. Review of " Art in Greece."

Nov. 25. — Herbert Spencer.

1. Life.

2. Philosophy.

3. Review of Essay on " Egoism versus Altruism."

4. Review of Essay on " Altruism versus Egoism."

Dec. 2. — Works on Economics.

1. Henry George.

2. Charles Wyckoff and " The Workers."

3. Andrew Carnegie and a Review of " Triumphant

Democracy."

Dec. 9. — Charles Dudley Warner.

1. Personality.

2. In Magazine Work.

3. As Novelist.

4. Review of " Our Italy."

Dec. 16. — Thackeray.

1. Mrs. Ritchie's Biographical Edition.

2. Characters in Thackeray's Novels.

3. Thackeray's Drawings and his Illustrations, in-

cluding Du Maurier, Cruikshank and Millais.

Dec. 23. — Story Tellers.
1. Mary E. Wilkins.
1. Her New England Characters.

3. John Kendrick Bangs.

4. Amusing Selections from Jerome K. Jerome.

Dec. 30. — Persian Poetry.

1. Hafiz.

2. Omar Khayyam.

3. '' The Rubaiyat."

4. Review of Emerson's Essay, *' Persian Poetry."

Jan. and Feb.

Leaders of Thought in England, including Disraeli,

Gladstone and John Morley.

March and April.

Studies in Scandinavian Literature.

May and June.

German Philosophers and Poets.

* The Warner Library at the Girls' Collegiate School, or that
at the Public Library, may be consulted by members of this sec-
tion. Apply to the Curator for other reference books.

Story Tellers' Section

Second Tuesday of each month at 2.30 p.m.

The aim of the Story Tellers' Section :

As so few ladies can respond to a demand for an
impromptu speech, or have sufficient command of lan-
guage or self possession to tell a story with readiness
and grace, the Story Tellers' Section of the Los Angeles
Ebell is organized that its members may acquire ease
and fluency in conversation, may be able to tell a story
without hesitation or embarrassment, or give an im-
promptu speech, when necessary, in a graceful and ready
manner, with both pleasure and profit to their hearers.

It is the design of this section that the work shall be
of a literary character and shall consist of book reviews,
biographies of noted people, discussion of topics of the
day and presentations of bits of dialect, stories, poems,
music or personal reminiscence. Perfect freedom is
allowed in the choice of subjects, so as to give variety to
the program and allow each member to choose such ma-
terial as she is best fitted to use.

The work must be original in that it is given in the
language of the speaker and represents her own person-
ality. No manuscript or notes are allowed.

There shall be a critic appointed at each meeting
whose duty it shall be to offer helpful criticism or sug-
gestions.

Economics

Last Tuesday of each month at 2.30 p. m.
Curator, Miss Mary N. Ryan, 637 Westlake ave.

Outline of Study.
This section studies Economics as '^ the best means
to the highest ends, with the least expenditure
of force."
First Topic.

How can modern science be applied to lessen the
mental and physical strain of every day life?
Second Topic.

Home life as based on scientific principles and syste-
matic truth and intelligent investigation of
household problems.

Third Topic.

Body building by intelligent and careful living. In
this connection the able paper by Mrs. Rohrer
on " Body Building " will be read before the
section and used for consultation.
Fourth Topic. Nutritive value of foods.
Fifth Topic.

The study of harmony in the making of the home.
"Proper home-making is proper nation-making."
Sixth Topic.

The importance of making charity educative, thereby

elevating the standard and achievments of the

human race.

Seventh Topic Free kindergartens and day nurseries.

Eighth Topic. Sweating system and child labor.

Ninth Topic. College settlements and working girls' guilds.

Tenth Topic.

Women in business. Why men object to business
dealings with women; the attitude of women
toward business obligations.
Eleventh Topic.

What the literary society may do for the improve-
ment of towns and villages; for the preservation
of our forests; of our missions.
Twelfth Topic.

The necessity and economy of the traveling library;
its development due to women's clubs.
Thirteenth Topic.

The relation of the club woman to economics.
Fourteenth Topic.

Industrial education as a moral agency. Causes of
poverty.

The Science of Social Development*

Fourth Saturday of each month at 10 a.m.
A curator is appointed for each meeting.

1. General analysis of principles of sociology.

2. The nature of social evolution as compared with

inorganic and organic evolution. — The striking
resemblance between the life of society and that
of organic growth in general; the advantage of
applying to sociology the methods of natural
history.

II.

The Data of Sociology.

1. The factors of social phenomena: Environment,

community.
Extrinsic factors: Climate, surface, flora, fauna.
Intrinsic factors : Primitive man — physical,

emotional, intellectual.

2. Secondary factors: Inheritance, primitive ideas,

adaptation, modifications.

III.

The Inductions of Sociology.

1. General facts, structural and functional, as gath-

ered from a survey of societies.

2. Societies may be broadly based as:

a. The militant type — compulsory co-operation.

b. The industrial type — voluntary co-operation.

3. Social metamorphoses.

IV.

General Subject — The development of institutions.

1. Domestic institutions.

2. Primitive relations of the sexes.

3. The family; the status of women; the status of

children.

Ceremonial Institutions. — The government which, hav-
ing a common root with the others, serves to
regulate the minor actions of life.

1. Ceremony in general — Trophies, presents, visits,

titles, badges, etc.

2. Further class distinction ; fashion.

3. Ceremonial retrospect and prospect.

VI.

1. The evolution of governments, general and local,

as determined by natural causes.

2. Their several types and metamorphoses.

3. Their increasing complexity and specialization;

the progressive limitation of their functions.
VII.

EOCLESIASTICAL INSTITUTIONS.

1. Tracing the differentiation of religious govern-

ment from secular; its successive complications
and the multiplication of sects.

2. The growth and continued modification of reli-

gious ideas.

3. The gradual reconciliation of these ideas with the

truths of abstract science.
VIII.
Professional Institutions.

1. The development of professions chiefly from the

ecclesiastical element; no group illustrates with
greater clearness that society is 2, growth and not
a manufacture.

2. Professions in general: Physician, surgeon, orator,

poet, historian, scientist, philosopher, judge,
lawyer, teacher, architect, sculptor, painter,
musician. IX.

Industrial Institutions.

1. The development of production and distribution

agencies.

2. The progressive distribution of labor and the in-

creasing complexity of each individual agency.
8. The successive forms of industrial government, as
passing through like phases with political gov-
ernment.

-Harckel.

Bibliography.

Principles of Sociology ) _^.^a.w Spencer
The Study of Sociology \ ^^^^^^^ ::ypencer.

The American Journal of Sociology.

Early History of Institutions — Sir Henry S. Maine.

Cosmic Philosophy — John Fiske.

Natural History of Creation

Evolution of Man

The Story of Creation ) cindd

Pioneers of Evolution \

History of European Morals — Lecky.

Psychic Factors of Civilization ) _^^^;^^ p ^^^^

Dynamic feocioiogy \

Natural Law in the Spiritual World ) _^^„„„„^„rf

Ascent of Man S

Social Evolution— A'/flf^.
• Relation of Sociology to Scientific Studies — Giddings^
No. 32 American Journal of Social Science.

Conversation Section

Second Saturday, 10.30 a. m.

Curator, Mrs. H. T. Lee, 414 W. Adams street.

This section discusses and converses together upon
all topics of general interest bearing upon mod-
ern life and its exigencies. It is founded on the
idea of the salon, and as far as possible carries
out the salon principle.

Music

First and third Mondays, 3 p.m.

PROGRAM FOR THE YEAR 1898-9.

October, November, December.

Opera.

(From Gluck to|Wagner.)

Ghirk S ^^^^^ Legends,

^^^^^ j Greek Plays.

Mozart.... j Sonata illustrated,

Von Weber \ g^ work^' ^'^^^ ^''^'^'

Wagner .

His Innovations in Opera-

of the Future,
Niebelungen Lied,
Parsifal.

-The Music

January, February.
Romantic School of Composers.

March, April.
Classical School of Composers.

May, June.
Modern School of Composers.

Current Events

Mrs. R. W. Burnham, Curator.

Mrs. a. W. Sprague, Assistant Curator.

Mrs. Sidney Parsons, Secretary.

First and third Thursday of each month, 10.30 a.m.

Papers^ as far as outlined, will be on the following topics:

1. The Crisis in the Far East — Shall the Slav domi-

nate Europe?

2. For our Commonwealth — Empire or Political

Isolation.

3. Social Forces.

( Machinery,
{a) Industry < Labor Unions,
( Corporations.

(.) Church.. jgo^S^--'^'
r Paternalism,

^ ^ • ' • ' I Business Methods vs. Patronage

' System.

4. The Dark Continent and its Political Problems.

5. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

6. The Future of Education.

7. Race Problems in Europe and America.

Reading lists will be posted in Ebell Rooms,

Committees. Chairmen.

Our Commonwealth Mrs. H. W. Fuller

Foreign Affairs Mrs. Lou V. Chapin

Sociology Mrs. A. W. Sprague

Education and Philanthropy Mrs. E. G, Howard

Men, Women and Books Mrs. I. B. Hamilton

Science and Invention Mrs. R. P. Sibley

Art Miss Grace Albers.

Toarist

First and third Saturdays, 2.00 p.m.

Curator, Mrs. W. S. Bartlett, 322 W. 27th st.

This section travels by means of books and maps
through different sections of Europe, visiting all
cities and points of interest, becoming familiar
with famous cathedrals, galleries, gardens, etc.
It has been suggested that the course pursued
this year should include France, with its many
treasures of history and art, as a preparation
for the coming Paris exposition.
Plan of Study, 1898. — Country visited, France.

The course will embrace: Map study, race character-
istics, brief review of the history of France^
routes of travel, Normandy and its literature,
in Provence with Janvier and Pennell, La Ven-
dee and the Revolution, La Rochelle and the
Huguenots, the cities of France from the Medi-
terranean to Paris. Here the claes will linger
indefinitely until the city, its history, art and
treasures will have been thoroughly studied.

Reports of Sections

(Last Thursday in month).

Current Events October

Literature November

Conversation December

Tourist January

Music February

Economics March

Story Tellers April

Social Development May

Mrs.

Miss

Mrs.

Miss

Miss
*Mrs.
*Mrs.
*Mrs.

Mrs.

Miss

Mrs.

Miss

Mrs.

Miss

Miss
*Mrs.

Miss
*Mrs.
*Mrs.
*Mrs.

Miss

Mrs.

Miss

Mrs.

Mrs.
*Mrs.

List of Members,^ ^ _^-

Elizabeth Abascal 933 S. Olive St.

A. C. Adair 1039 W. 21st St.

Roscoe B. Ashley 730 W. i6th

Chester C. Ashley Hill St.

C. W. Allen 802 W. Washington St.

S. P. Anderson - - - 1006 W. Washington St.

J.H.Adams - - 1 199 Orange Grove Ave. , Pasadena

Catherine S. Albers 2646 Menlo Ave.

Grace G. Albers 2646 Menlo Ave.

P. C. Baker - - 891 Orange Grove Ave., Pasadena

W. S. Bartlett 322 W. 27th St.

L. W. Blinn 137 W. Adams St.

George Bugbee - - - - 1263 W. Adams St.

R. W. Burnham 1006 W. 21st St.

A. F. Bassett - - - - . 2644 Portland Place

B. R. Baumgardt 1029 W. 23rd St.

J. J. Byrne 2624 Figueroa St.

Norman Bridge - - - 100 Grand Ave. , Pasadena

Le Grand Betts - - - - 16 17 Ingraham St.

M. C. Burnett 2328 S. Hope St.

John Bley 819 Adams St,

Irving Iv. Blinn . . . _ 2920 S. Flower St.

M. B. Biles 119 E. 33rd St.

Coles A. Bashford 1455 Wright St.

J. H. Braly St. James Park.

H. G. Bundrem 3425 S. Flower St.

R. M. Bell (C.) - - - - ' - 1043 W. 2ist St.

S. C. Bogart 1920 Figueroa St.

Alberta R. Brown Pico Heights

Albert H. Busch - . - . 2623 Monmouth Ave.

Madelaine Boles 249 N. Chicago St.

Katherine Casey - - - - 221 W. Jeflferson St.
Alexander Campbell - . . - Hotel Vincent
Hattie Chapman - - 203 N. Soto St., Boyle Heights
W. G. Cochran - - . . - - 213 loma Drive

J. E. Coffin Whittier

J. E. Cowles 1301 S. Hope St.

Mary Cobleigh . _ . - 500 W. Adams St.

Alfred Cooper .... 2310 S. Flower St.

E. Mitchell Cook (C) - - - - care of Times

Susie B. Cogswell - - - - 1 138 S. Flower St.

Sarah L. Cogswell - - - - 1138 S. Flower St.

J. Ross Clark 2433 S. Grand Ave.

Wm. Curren 811 W. 28th St.

T. J. Cochran 2508 S. Flower St.

LIST OF MEMBERS— Continued.

Mrs. E. P. Clark 817 W. 23rd St.

Miss A. B. Clark - 933 S. Olive St.

Miss Ella E. Clark 933 S. Olive St.

Mrs. Louise S. Comstock - - - - 1621 S. Flower St.

Mrs. S. A. Calkins - - - - - - 706 W. i6th St.

Miss Ola ve B. Clark 828 W. 17th St.

Mrs. Warren Campbell 1030 W. 23rd St.

Mrs. I,ou V. Chapin 418 Dora St.

Mrs. A. P. Chipron 1504 Orange St.

Miss Mabel Clute 1528 Ingraham St.

*Miss Grace A. Dennen ----- 1922 Grand Ave.
*Miss Jeanne W. Dennen 1952 Grand Ave.

Mrs. W. E. Dunn 1946 Park Grove Ave.

Mrs. G. M. Danskin .... 1434 S. Flower St.

Mrs. G. E. Durkee - - - - - - 717 Alvarado St.

Mrs. Frank F. Davis - - 28th St. and Grand Ave.

Mrs. Adams Darling 517 W. 23rd St.

Mrs. Williamson Dunn - - - - 527 S. Fremont Ave.

Mrs. M. A. Dinsmore - - . - 824 Westlake Ave.

Mrs. C. C. Desmond 724 Coronado St.

Mrs. G. Aubrey Davidson . - . - 901 Orange St.

Mrs. P. A. Demens - - - . - 3317 Grand Ave.

Miss Addie Doran ----- 1434 S. Flower St.

Mrs. Edwin Earl 1019 S. Hill St.

Mrs. F. A. Eastman ... - 1006 W. Washinton St.

Mrs. Enderlein (C) care of Capital

Mrs. Thomas S. Ewing Hotel lyincoln

Miss Carrie Etchmendy 237 N. Hope St.

Miss Lizzie N. Elliott The Ammidon

Mrs. L. E. Edwards (C.) - - Throop Institute, Pasadena
*Mrs. C. E. Ferris 802 Beacon St.

Mrs. C. W. Fish ....... 1025 W. 23rd St.

*Miss Frye Hotel Lillie

Miss Anna Fay ...-.- 241 Adams St.

Mrs. Charles N. Flint .... 927 Westlake Ave.

Mrs. W. H. Fuller - - . - - 450 Alvarado St.

Miss Lila J. Fairchild - . . - 837 Burlington Ave.

Miss Helen M. Fairchild - - - - 837 Burlington Ave.

Mrs. E. W. Forgy ------ 1019 W. 21st St,

Mrs. C. J- Fox 2817 Orchard Ave.

Miss Edith H. Field 645 Coronado St.

*Miss E. J. Gibson 229 N. Grand Ave.

*Mrs. Charles S. Gilbert 421 W. 31st St,

Mrs. A. M. Goodhue Long Beach

Mrs. John T. Griffith - - - - - 720 W. 28th St.

Mrs. S. W. Garretson - . . - . 1007 Orange St.

Mrs. H. C. Gooding - . - - 2007 S. Grand Ave.

LIST OF MEMBERS— Continued.

*Mrs. Merrill Grigg (C.) - - - - 2629 Orchard Ave*

Mrs. C. C. Gibbons - - - - 2124 Bonsallo Ave.

Mrs. F. n. Gordon .... 1505 S. Flower St.

Miss E. R. Graham .... 229 S. Flower St.

Mrs. J. B. Hambrook - - . - 2644 Portland Place

Mrs. John Haynes --..-. 94.5 Figuroa St.

Mrs. A. Hine 3300 Figueroa St.

Mrs. Margaret B. Hobbes - - - 2622 Figueroa St.

Mrs. Stephen Hubbel - Mt. Pleasant, Aliso St., Boyle Heights
*Mrs. C. F. Holder . . . . _ Pasadena

*Mrs. Felix C. Howes 2920 Figueroa St.

Mrs. West Hughes 507 W. Adams St.

Mrs. Sumner P. Hunt 3404 Figueroa St.

*Miss Mary Haynes 929 S. Main St.

Mrs. Victoria Harrell 625 Figueroa St.

Mrs. I. B. Hamilton 1375 W. 24th St.

Mrs. J. S Henderson 2515 Grand Ave.

Mrs. C. H. Hall 512 W. 30th St.

Mrs. R. H. Herron 395 W. 23rd St

Mrs. W. G. Hunt 1826 S. Flower St.

Mrs. T. D. Hammond . - - . . 1918 Grand Ave.

Miss J. E. Henderson 828 Figueroa St.

Mrs. J. W. Hunt 158 W. Jefferson St.

Miss Bertha Hall 2825 S. Hope St.

Mrs. Albert A. Hubbard - - - . 903 Burlington Ave.

Miss Evelyn Hamburger - - - - 345 Westlake Ave.

Mrs. Burt Estes Howard - - - - 2823 Orchard Ave.

Mrs. E. G. Howard 1602 Santee St.

Miss Haase (C.) - - - Soldiers' Home, Santa Monica

Miss Frida Hellman 958 Hill St.

Mrs. Murray M. Harris 121 W. 27th St.

Mrs. F. J. Hart 956 S. Hope St.

Miss F. M. Housh - 734 S. Hill St.

*Mrs. O. T. Johnson 1221 Orange St.

Miss Katherine Johnson 1 221 Orange St.

*Mrs. C. B. Jones 2302 Flower St.

Miss Sadie Johnson 947 S. Hope St.

Miss Gertrude Johnson 947 S. Hope St.

Miss Beresford Joy (C.) 1939 Oak St.

Mrs. E. P. Johnson - - - - - 947 S. Hope St.

Miss Margaret James - - - - 712 W. Washington St.
*Mrs. Frank King 903 Westlake Ave.

Miss Cornelia Kneeland Milwaukee, Wis.

*Mrs. T. T. Knight Box 386

♦Miss Knight - - Box 386

Mrs. Frank Kelsey 2304 S. Grand Ave.

Mrs. E. W. Kingsley - . - . 1501 Georgia Bell St

LIST OF MEMBERS— Continued.

Mrs. W. Knippenberg - - - - 2124 Estrella Ave.

*Mrs. H. T. Lee - - - - - 414 W. Adams St.

Mrs. Walter Lindley - . . . 1415 S. Grand Ave.

Mrs. Le Doux - - - - - 1430 Constance St.

Miss Mabel Luitweiler .... 1925 Figueroa St.

*Mrs. Dean Mason Klamathon, Cal.

*Mrs. J. C. Merrill 2719 Ellendale PI.

Mrs. E. H. Moore 511 W. 23rd St.

Miss Anna W. Mayo 622 W. i8th St.

Miss Alice Maxon (C) .-_--. Rivera

Miss Frances M. Maurice - - . - 830 S. Bonnie Brae St.
Mrs. F. L. Moore ------ 1007 Union Ave.

Mrs. W. T. Maurice - - - - 1125 Westlake Ave.

Mrs. J. B. Millard 548 Alvarado St.

Miss Maud E. Masac - - - 945 W. Washingten St.

Mrs. Wm. Mead 935 Pasadena Ave.

Miss Clara Mueller . - . - 700 Burlingion Ave.

Miss Grace E. Matthes 127 N. Hill St.

Miss Nellie C. Myers 422 W. 2nd St.

Miss Mary Mendenhall 614 E. 29tli St.

Mrs. C. S. Myers 253 S. Hill St.

Mrs. Chas. McFarland - - - - - 1145 W. 28th St.

Mrs. Jno. McCoy 1919 S. Grand Ave.

Mrs. D. A. Macneil 623 W. i6th St.

Mrs Wm. Niles - - - E. Washington and Maple Ave.

Mrs. George E. Nolan 1206 Trenton St.

Mrs. Eugene Norton - - - - - Long Beach

Mrs. J. G. Ogilvie i Colonial Flats

Mrs. Gertrude Osman 3131 Figueroa St.

*Miss E. H. Parsons 423 W. 23rd St.

*Miss Alice Parsons 1922 Grand Ave.

Miss Palmer 1407 Carroll Ave.

Mrs. E. A. Praeger Terminal Island

Miss lone Parsons 215 Lorna Drive

Mrs. Edward S. Pauley - - - - 1243 Westlake Ave.

Mrs. O. P. Posey 2530 Figueroa St.

Mrs. Eugene Pettigrew - - - State Loan and Trust Co.

Mrs. Edwin W. Pratt 816 Figueroa St.

Mrs. W. A. Phelps 921 S. Olive St.

Miss M. C. Pearson 1918 Grand Ave.

Mrs. Sydney J. Parsons 3020 Grand Ave.

Mrs. Jennies. Perce 757 W. i6th St.

Mrs. C. C. Parker Hotel Lincoln

Mrs. G. D, Ruddy 728 Coronado St.

Mrs. W. C. Read 2325 Thompson St.

Miss F. Riley 1105 S. Olive St.

Miss Frances Roberts - - - 530 3rd St. , Santa Monica

LIST OF MEMBERS— Continued*

Miss Ryan ------ 937 Westlake Ave.

Miss C. W. Roberts - - - - - - 10 19 S. Olive St.

Mrs. Frank Radei California Hotel

Miss Soule (C.) rare of Times Office

*Mrs. J. F. Sartori 725 W. 28tli St.

Mrs. Estelle B. Smith ----- Hotel Lindsay

Mrs. Ira O. Smith - - - - - - 636 W. Adams St.

Mrs. T. D. Stimson - 2421 Figueroa St.

*Mrs. H. W, R. Strong - - . . i^iiochito del Fuerte
*Miss Georgina P. Strong - - - - «' " "

*Miss Harryet R. Strong - - - - " " "

*Miss Nellie de L. Strong - - - - " " "

*Mrs. Kdgar L. Swaine 230 W. 21st St

Mrs. P. S. Swaine . - . . _ ^os Nietos

Mrs. Stearns Glendale

Mrs. Madison W. Stewart - - _ 2623 Monmouth Ave.

Mrs. Willard Stimson ----- 2426 Figueroa St.

Mrs. Frank Simpson . - - - 1032 Ingraham St.

Mrs. W. P. L. Staflford Long Beach, Cal.

Mrs. R. P. Sibley 1200 Hill St.

Miss Kate H. Spence ----- 445 s. Olive St.

Miss Helen Sinsabaugh 225 Loma Drive

Mrs. C. M. Seeley 7940 Park Grove Ave.

Mrs. A. C. Smithers 1 147 S. Hope St.

Miss Clara L. Severns 1320 Arnold St.

Mrs. Theo. A. Simpson 1053 S. Olive St.

Mrs. H. B. Strange - - _ - 450 S. Alvarado St

Mrs. A. R. Sprague 1035 W. 21st St.

Mrs. Cameron E. Thorn 118 E. 3rd St.

Mrs. Eugene Torrey . . - - 5333^ S. Fremont St.
*Mrs Hugh Vail 336 W. 28th St.

Miss May Veeder 1039 W. 21st St.

Mrs. J. S. Vosburg 2317 Figueroa St.

Mrs. H. C. Veazie 1629 Maple Ave.

Mrs. E. F. R. Vail 2824 S. Flower St.

*Miss M. H. Wilson 229 N. Grand Ave.

Miss N. M. Woodward Whittier

Mrs. D wight Whiting 1944 Figueroa St.

Mrs. A. P. West 3101 Figueroa St.

Miss Alice Wisewell 2 Colonial Flats

Miss Leodora Whitcomb Glendora

Miss Mary K. Weber 1138 Figueroa St.

Miss Bertha Worm - - - - - 910 W. 1 ith St.

Mrs. M. T. Whitaker 815 W. i8th St.

Mrs. Partridge Wood ----- 939 Figueroa St.

Mrs. Charles D wight Willard - - - - Terminal Island

Mrs. O. C. Whitney 956 S. Hope St.

Mrs. A. M. Whitson 220 W. 28th St.

Mrs. Warren S. Young - - - - 1036 Bonnie Brae St.
* Charter members.

The Ebell of Los Angeles

ORGANIZED OCTOBER 27, 1894
INCORPORATED 1897

BY-LAWS.

ACTICI^E I.
The incorporate name of this society shall be the Ebell
■of Los Angeles.

ARTICIvK II.
The object of the society is advancement in all lines of
g-eneral culture.

ARTICIyE III.
The officers of this society shall be a President, three
Vice-Presidents, a Corresponding Secretary, a Recording
Secretary, a Treasurer, a General Curator and Librarian.
These officers with its Board of seven Directors (one of whom
shall be the President) shall constitute the .Executive Com-
mittee.

ARTICLE IV.

POWKRS AND DUTIES OF DIRECTORS.

Section 1. The powers of this corporation, except as
herein otherwise provided in these By-Laws, are vested in its
Board of Directors.

Sec. 2. The Board of Directors shall consider and con-
trol all permanent matters, i. e., financial investments, dis-
buisements and all established matters that pertain to the
life, welfare and methods of the Society.

Sec. 3. The Directors shall appoint their own Secretary
from their number.

Sec. 4. Resolutions passed by the Direotors shall be
handed in writing to the Executive Committee to be acted
upon and entered on the minutes.

ARTICLE V.

Section 1. The Executive Committee shall arrange and
control the current affairs of the Society, receive the reports
of all committees and act upon them. The chairman shall
report matters of general interest at the business meetings
and at the annual meeting of the Society.

Sec. 2. The Executive Committee shall incur no indebt-
edness beyond the necessary current expenses of the Society.

Sec. 3. Five members shall constitute a quorum.

Sec. 4. Any vacancy occuring in the Executive Com-
mittee shall be filled by the Board of Directors.

Sec. 5. The Curators of the Sections shall constitute an
Advisory Board to be called upon when required by the
Executive Committee.

ARTICIyE VI.

DUTIES OF OFFICERS.

Section 1. The President shall be chairman of the
Board of Directors and of the Executive Committee; shall
preside at all meetings, call all special meetings, appoint all
committees, sign all bills authorized by the Executive Com-
mittee, and make an annual report.

All appointments of committees made by the President
shall be subject to the ratification of the Executive Committee.

The President shall exercise supervision over all the
affairs of the Society and shall be an honorary member of all
committees. In the absence or disability of the President,
her duties shall be assumed by the Vice-Presidents in the
order of their rank. In absence of the presiding officers, if a
quorum is present, a temporary chairman may be appointed.

Sec. 2. The Corresponding Secretary shall be ex-officio
Chairman of the Printing Committee, and shall attend to the
correspondence of the Society, and issue all notices except
notices to proposed members.

Sec. 3. The Recording Secretary shall keep the minutes,
of the meetings of the Society, and of the Executive Com-
mittee, furnish a report of the membership to the Correspond-
ing Secretary when called upon, and shall submit a report at
the annual meeting, sign all bills and corporation papers,
shall call the roll of the entire membership at the beginning
of the year, and of the members in good standing at the an-
nual meeting. She shall hand to all committeestheir instruc-
tions in writing.

Sec. 4. The Treasurer shall have charge of all the funds
of the Society; shall pay all bills audited by the Executive
Committee; shall submit a report of all receipts and expendi-
tures monthly to the Executive Committee and annually to
the Society and to the Board of Directors when called upon;
shall send notices to proposed members and issue membership
cards.

Sec. 5. The Curator and Librarian shall have charge of all
the books and papers of the Society and keep an inventory of
all the property belonging thereto, which inventory she shall
deliver to her successor in office, requiring of such successor a
receipt for the same. She shall keep posted upon the Bulletin
Board in the rooms of the Society a statement of the time and
place of all Sectionmeetings and any information which may

be of general interest to the members of the Society. She
shall see that each new member sig-ns the By-L/aws and shall
ascertain which section she desires to enter, and shall also
keep a list of charter members. She shall receive applications
for the formation of new sections, and shall keep herself
informed of the general character of the work of each
section, reporting the same to the Executive Committee
monthly, and make reports of the same at the annual meeting
of the Society. She is also ex-officio chairman of committee
on Sections.

ARTICI.E VII.

STANDING COMMITTEES.

Section 1. Chairmen of the Standing Committees shall
be members of the Executive Committee.
The Standing Committees shall be:

1. Committee on Membership.

2. Committee on Printing.

3. Committee on Receptions and I^ectures.

4. Committee on Sections.

Sec. 2. The Committee on Membership, upon receiving
the properly endorsed names of applicants for membership
from the President, shall act upon the same and report at the
next regular meeting of the Executive Committee.

Sec. 3. The Reception and L<ecture Committee shall
receive and introduce new members and special guests. This
committee shall be ex-officio the Executive Committee.

Sec. 4. The Printing Committee shall attend to the pub-
lication of the annual report, the necessary printing of
notices, membership cards, blanks, bulletins, etc.

Sec. S. The Committee on Sections shall assist in the
organization of Sections and advise the Curators of Sections
in arranging their courses of study.

Sec. 6. It shall be the duty of all committees to assist
the Executive Committee, they shall meet on the first Thurs-
day of each month, and shall report in writing to the Execu-
tive Committee.

ARTICLE VIII.

MEMBERS.

Section 1. An applicant for membership shall sign the
blank provided. Her name shall be endorsed by three mem-
bers in good standing, one of whom shall be a charter member;
this application handed to the chairman of the Executive
Committee at any meeting, shall pass to the Membership
Committee; upon receiving the endorsement of this committee
it shall be voted on by the Executive at their next meeting.

The notice of acceptance shall be sent to the proposed

member by the Treasurer, together with bill for admission
fee and half-yearly dues.

Sec, 2. Members may be elected for one year who shall
be known as complimentary members and who shall not be
required to pay admission fees or dues, but who shall have no
interest in the management, property or assets of the cor-
poration.

Sec. 3. A non-resident may become an associate member
for one year by having her name duly presented and upon
the payment of five dollars, but she shall have no interest in
the management, property or assets of the corporation.

Sec. 4. Election to membership shall be forfeited unless.
confirmed by the payment of the admission fee within one
month after notification of election as a member. A lapsed
or forfeited membership may be restored by the Executive
Committee upon the unanimous vote of the Committee on
Membership.

Sec. 5. Any member may resign at any time upon the
presentation of such resignation in writing and the payment
of all back dues.

Sec. 6. Each member of the Society must sign the By-
I^aws before she shall be entitled to any of the rights or priv-
eleges of membership.

ARTICIvE IX.

DUES.

Section 1. The admission fee shall be $10.00.

Sec. 2. The annual dues shall be $3.00, payable in
advance, one-half on the first day of October, and one-half on
the first day of March of each year. Non-payment of due&
for one year shall cause forfeiture of membership, but such
members may be restored upon regular application and paj'-
ment of back dues, if such application is made within eigh-
teen months of lapse of membership.

Sec. 3. Any member paying $50.00 shall receive a certifi-
cate of life membership and shall be exempt from payment
of dues.

Sec. 4. The Executive Committee shall have authority
to remit the fees and dues of any member when it shall be
deemed for the best interest of the Society.

ARTICIyE X.

MEETINGS.
Section 1. The Regular Meeting of the Society shall
take place on the last Thursday of each month, excepting the
months of July and August, at 2.30 p. m. for the report of
sections and the transaction of business. Fifteen members,
shall constitute a quorum.

Sec. 2. Unless otherwise ordered by the Executive Com-
mittee, a literary and social meeting- shall take place on the
second Thursday afternoon of each month, excepting- the
months of July, August and September, at the hour of 2.30 p.
m., at which meeting- papers will be presented.

Skc. 3. A regular meeting- of the Directors shall take
place at 11.30 a. m., on the first Thursday of each month.

Sec. 4. The Executive Committee shall meet on the first
Thursday of each month at 1:30 p. m., and upon the second
and last Thursday of each month at 2:00 p. m.; a meeting- of
the Executive Committee may be held upon the call of the
President.

Sec. S. The annual meeting- of the Society for the elec
tion of Directors, and officers for the ensuing- year, shall be
held on the last Thursday of June, at 2:30 p. m. Elections
shall take place by ballot, and those elected shall enter upon
their duties at the close of the meeting-.

Two Directors, to hold office three years, shall be elected
at each annual meeting-. Officers shall be elected for one
year. The President by virtue of her office, is elected a Direc-
tor for one year.

ARTICIvE XI.
SECTIONS.

The study of special subjects shall be carried on in Sec-
tions formed and managed according- to the following- rules:

Rui<E 1. All members of Sections must be members of
"The Ebell of Eos Ang-eles."

RUI.E 2. Members wishing- to form Sections must apply
to the Executive Committee throug-h the General Curator.

RuivE 3. Curators shall preside at the meeting-s of their
Sections and plan a course of study and make an annual
report of the work of the previous year when called upon to
do so by the Executive Committee. Section Curators shall
notify the General Curator of the dates when their Sections
are to meet and when they adjourn for vacation. A Curator
may appoint a secretary to assist her in the Section.

RuiyE 4. Sections have no power to organize or disband,
nor to dismiss or appoint Curators, but may express a prefer-
ence to the Executive Committee.

RuiyE 5. Sections may limit their numbers and close
admission, by showing ability to keep their number complete.
New Sections may then be formed based on the same line of
work, bearing the same name and numbered according to
order of formation, 1st, 2nd. etc.

RUI.E 6. All members of Sections are required to peform
their portion of work assigned by the Curators.

RuivE 7. Special teachers may be employed by any
Section.

Rule 8. No Section or any officer thereof shall have
power to incur any indebtedness or liability binding- upon the
Societ3', but shall defray all its expenses not expressly
authorized in detail by the Executive Committee.

ARTICIvE XII.

Section 1. Copies of all papers read before the Society
and in Sections shall be placed on file with the Curators and
at the end of one year shall be placed under the care and
charge of the Librarian.

Sec. 2. All papers shall be written on legal cap, on one
side of the paper only and fastened securely at the top.
ARTICIvE XIII.

The discussion of politics and religion is prohibited at all
general meetings of this Society.

ARTICLE XIV.

All communications on business must be made in writing.
ARTICLE XV.

Ten members in good and regular standing — half of
whom shall be charter members — may in writing at any time
request special action by the Executive Committee, which will
include amendments, complaints concerning neglect of duty,
or transcending of privileges by any officer or member, or
concerning any other matter pertaining to the Society. The
Executive Committee shall at once refer the Communication
to the Board of Directors for immediate attention, after which
it shall be referred back to the Society for final vote. In the
case of amendments to the By-Laws a two-thirds vote of the
Society is required.

ARTICLE XVI.

All meetings of the Society and of the Executive Com-
mittee shall be governed by Robert's Rules of Order.
ARTICLE XVII.

The twenty-seventh day of October of each year shall be
known as "Charter Day," commemorating the organization
of the Society. A reception shall be given on this day, when
the President of the previous year shall present the members
of the Society to the newly elected officers.
ARTICLE XVIII.

Whereas the provisions of these By-Laws require the
signature of each member of the Ebell Society, we do hereby,
in signing the same, pledge ourselves to abide by these laws
and regulations.

Passed by the Executive Committee at the first regular
meeting in September, September 1, 1898.

mniii

:i^r.,r^f^^^

r)':

Cbe €bell

H jfournal of Literature
and Current events

6race Htberton Denncti, editor
1922 South 0raiid Hvenuc, L09 Hngclcs, California
Cclcpbonc, ^bitc 3213

Subscription price, per year, $i«oo
Single Copies 1 oc

6co« Rice ^ Sons, vXnc.)
t^9 HngeUs

\^ :'i^ n n

m €bell

H journal of Literature
and Current events

6racc Htberton Dennen, editor

1922 South Grand Hvcwuc, Los Hngclca, Calif ornta

Cclcphone, <llbite 3213

©CO. Rice St Sons, vXnc.)
Ilo9 Hngeles

Cable of Contents

A Girl's Impression of Hawaii

Fourteen Years Ago E* R* V*

By the Sea Grace Atherion Dennen

Crooked Billy^ a Character Study Mary H, cMcCoy

Aline and Elwine Jranklina Gray Bariktt

San Gabriel Valle3> (a poem ) . . Mrs* George Drake Ruddy

The Lady of Shalott's Mirror Harryei Strong

The "World of Music Mary C Pearson

Cupid and a Telephone Qara E, Hamilton

Among the Books

It is like this

Ebell Notes

Copyrighted October, 1898.

N THE YEAR 1884, on the deck of a steamer,
as it plowed its way through the narrow channel
which separates Oahu from Molakai, stood a
party of travelers, viewing for the first time the islands
of the Hawaiian group. It was early dawn — the water
like shimmering silk, the air soft like the breath of a
humming bird, and a musical hush seemed settled over
the islands. Oahu rose from its bed of tropical waters,
bathed in mist, its shores fringed with a border of cocoa-
nut palms which inclined gracefully toward the water as
though gratefully acknowledging the approach of dawn
and refreshed by their bath of early dew.

Diamond Head, the cape that all Hawaii knows and
loves, extended its long neck far out into the sea, hiding
from us for the time the harbor of Honolulu. The steamer
crept slowly on, for the coast is surrounded by coral
reefs, therefore the approach to Honolulu must be cauti-
ously slow. Finally the steamer rounded the cape, and
in a few minutes reached the wharf at Honolulu. A
crowd of dark, upturned, curious faces were scanning the
decks of the steamer. The women were bareheaded,
dressed in the native costume called Hulakoo, which we
call " Mother Hubbard," and though it may be difficult
to believe, the natives look picturesque in this costume,
which on an American looks unkempt and slovenly.
Their dark eyes, coarse wavy hair, heavy jaws, and alto
gether heavier type of human nature, suits the primitive
costume better than would a more refined type of woman.
Brilliant colors were everywhere; a soft musical
monotone arose from the crowd as the natives were pass-
ing criticism upon the new arrivals, for their language is
a beautiful contralto monologue, and everywhere through

Impression
of Rawaii
fourteen
Years

Hgo
e. B, V.

the air was heard "Aloha, alohaoe!" — Welcome, wel-
come! Around their necks were wreaths of flowers called
lais, made of sweet-scented flowers strung together like
beads.

The travelers passed by through the crowd and on
to the Hawaiian Hotel. On either side of the main street
leading to this hotel were houses built low, with double
verandahs all around, and hidden almost from view by
the luxuriant growth of trees, vines and flowers in the
gardens. Such a profusion of vegetation! Banana trees,
drooping their long weighty leaves to the ground; gor-
geous hybiscus growing through the green foliage; poin-
setta twenty feet high, with its bright slender petals
stretching like tongues of flame above its sister flowers;
trailing vines, with bright blossoms festooning from
branch to branch, climbing over balconies and on over
roofs of houses, hiding all work of man from view with
the luxury of their tracery of leaves. The atmosphere
was heavy with moisture and weighted with the perfume
of flowers; a languor stole over the senses of the travelers,
a feeling of rest and peace was theirs, for this climate is
one of *' dolce far niente '^ and enervating in its laziness.

Such was the impression made on all of the party,
and as the days followed each other new attractions and
interests of the place increased. There was the visit to
the palace and breakfast with the King, who was Kala-
kaua I. His features strongly resembled the negro, being
very black; his hair kinky, his nose and mouth large
and thick, like the African type. He had courteous
manners and was agreeable and interesting as a conver-
sationalist— that is, when he was not under the influence
of gin, which unfortunately was very often. At such

times he was known to drop off into slumber whilst
apparently listening to the conversation of a lady.

The throne-room contained the celebrated feather
cloak, which is made of yellow feathers, plucked from a
native bird-«oo." Each bird has but one of these fea-
thers, under the wings; therefore to collect enough for a
large cloak is a work of great magnitude, and this cloak

,»i,Si^££te

to-day IS priceless, as the bird is fast becoming extinct.
The feather is very small, bright orange in color and very
glossy. As the cloak is held toward the light, with the
bright sun shining on it, one can easily imagine how it
ghstens like gold and what a strong impression it creates
m the minds of the superstitious natives, who believe it
endowed with miraculous power.

The visit to the Pali is one of great interest; driving
through acres of rice fields, so brightly green, one can
almost feel the freshness arising from the beds. The
travelers came to a road leading over the summit of a
mountain and on to the other side of the island. This is
the Pali. It is very precipitous and historical, as here it
was one of the Kamahamahahs — the greatest of all
Hawaii's kings — defeated his enemy.

The Park at Honolulu is quite a social feature, espe-
cially on moonlight nights, for then the elite of Honolulu
gathers together, driving, promenading, flirtmg, gay with
laughter and merriment, while the air is full of music.

The music of Honolulu is one of its most attractive
features; soft and plaintive, one hears it everywhere.
The sun rises and sets on the happy, simple people of
Hawaii, always to accompaniments of music, whose
motif is " Aloha," which word embraces much that
is poetical. " I love you," *' May happiness be
yours," '' W<3 greet you," and many others.

To the south of Oahu, of which Honolulu is the
capital, lies Molokai, the seamy side of this fair group of
islands. Here the doomed lepers are placed to finish out
their lives apart from their fellow men, while the dread
disease saps their life blood, eats away the tissues like
loathsome parasites which never cease their horrible
work until the victim is laid in his grave.

Away from this sad, cruel place, and farther south,
we come to the last of the group and the most wonderful.
Here the fern forests grow taller than a man, and so
thick that the sunlight is excluded. Farther on, at the
edge of the town of Hilo, is the volcano Kilauea. Bril-
liant like a spectacular scene, it burns and bubbles and

boils, throwing fountains of flame-tinted steam high in
the air, and then down, down, down again into the depths
of the earth, with a horrible, hissing, revengeful sound,
as though angry to be disturbed from the lower regions
and brought to the surface to illumine the pure air of
God's fair world with its infernal beauty. Then the
earth cracks and separates, and one sees it burning far

down below in horrible glory, creeping nearer and nearer
until it plunges forward, and one jumps back to escape
its deadly breath. Sometimes the molten fire escapes,
stealing like a living, fire-breathing snake down toward
the village below, until the colder air will hold it and
harden it, remaining there on the mountain side, a gray-
ish, dull piece of sullen-looking lava.

Fourteen years later this interesting group of islands
has come into the possession of the United States, an-
nexed without bloodshed, by the calm diplomacy of our
President.

We extend Aloha to Hawaii, and we will twine our
native lai of the Stars and Stripes around her neck,
guarding her from the snares and intrigues of other
nations, which would devastate her fair garden, laying
it bare and stricken to death in the ashes of cruel and
invading wars; but under the shade of the glorious
strength of our invincible shield may she prosper and
blossom into perfect maturity, and may the far-reaching
arm of a humanitarian civilization bring her, at the be-
ginning of the twentieth century, to a prosperous and
happy chapter in her first volume of United States
history.

By
the

LONE, all alone, g^a

On the shore of the infinite sea. €raceHtbcrt«

Alone in the grasp of a great despair Oennen

With thoughts that are more than the heart can bear,
Surging and beating on me.
All, all alone,
Ah, who so alone as I ?
With naught so far as the eye can rove.
Naught but the sea and the sky.

That I should do this thing that I have done I
That I should live the hours of such a day I
To find this end to all that was begun.
In hope and happiness I Now men will say, —
" He has forever stained a spotless name,
His — to shield from blame."

A trust betrayed — an hour's mad, brief delight —

And here I stand beside this lonely sea.

Ah, how it grows and widens on my sight 1

The very vastness of it quiets me:

All human woes must shrink from great to less

At sight of this unfettered mightiness.

Ah well, what matters one more souPs despair ?
A leap, a plunge, and I shall cease to be.
The winds will scatter my last frenzied prayer,
The placid depths of the untroubled sea
Will close above me — who is there to care
For a souPs despair ?

The wind is rising high,
Oh listen to the. moan I
I am all, all alone —
Who so alone as I ?

0 God, is there none to care
That I suffer, that I die ?

1 call upon the Heaven

And the Heaven is like a stone.

Only the awful moan of the weary, restless sea.

To die — to strangle beneath its waves I —

Yet to live is agony !

Let me go I I can not stay alone

On the shore of the infinite sea I

Listen I Whence comes that whispered thought,

In the air or in my heart ?

" 'Tis the fear of yourself that drives you mad.

To despair is a coward^s part.

There is nothing in life or death to fear

For the man who liveth well,

Is God to blame, dare you rail at Him

That you make of your heart a hell ?

Be still, wild soul, and hear Him speak.

For to one who stands alone.

Face to face with himself at last.

The voice of God shall come.

The wind is dying in the south,
The stars are sinking low,
Upon my soul there falls a peace
As the day begins to grow.
Life seems again a precious gift,
For there comes a strength with sorrow,
And better than all my yesterdays
Shall be this sombre morrow.
For he who hears the voice of God
From himself is forever free.
'Tis a wondrous thing to be alone
On the shore of the infinite sea.

ILLY was not only crooked, he was black — that
is, on the outside. I am sure his soul was white,
and his heart, too.

He was also a slave; but to him neither name nor
condition bore any sense of degradation. He was born
in the " quarters " at Riverview, Mr. Thomas Nelson^s
estate, about eighteen years before the beginning of the
civil war. Melinda, his " mammy," had been cook in
the Nelson household for many years.

Poor Billy was born crooked — much to the mortifica-
tion of his mammy's pride in her children, the rest of
whom were straight and comely.

Numerous falls and bumps in his infancy did not
tend to enhance his beauty, and finally a stick, in
another little black hand, put out his left eye. That
was a deadening blow to his personal appearance; and
Mammy, with that tender solicitude usual with mothers
for an unfortunate child, permitted him to stay in the
kitchen where she was at work, creeping or toddling after
her in his bow-legged, awkward fashion, receiving from
the fair, white hand of " Miss Mary " many a sweet-
meat, as she went her rounds each day, with her little
basket of keys, giving out the provisions.

So he grew up to little less than idolize his kind and
beautiful mistress. Riverview mansion crowned a hill,
up which the road from the county seat climbed labori-
ously, turned to the right, and made a detour in defer-
ence to the broad, well-cultivated acres of the Nelson
estate. The mansion was of stately red brick, with por-
tico encircled by white Corinthian columns; wide hall,
large, airy rooms, and a generous atmosphere of open-
house hospitality.

Crooked

Billy

Character

Study

jVlary T>, )McCoy

The large, well kept grounds were equally attractive,
with many nooks and trysts, sylvan bowers and lofty
look-outs, from which the river with its wooded islets
was visible for many miles.

As Crooked Billy (so he was always called in the
quarters) grew up, a slow and painful process, being
stunted from birth, he grew in favor with " Mars Tom "
and " Miss Mary." His ifirst introduction into the ser-
vice of the household was wielding the big peacock fly
brush in the summer time, while he was still so short
that he must needs be perched upon a box at Mrs. Nel-
son's right hand, where she might direct him. He
enjoyed the dignity of the position, and the white duck
suit that accompanied it, beyond measure and made it
a point to strut up and down in front of the envious row
of piccaninnies who gathered before each meal to view his
grandeur. With great pride he announced that he
" soshated wid white folks." Gradually he was advanced
in service until his ambition reached its climax in a
seat on the carriage box, beside the coachman. Life
could hold no better gift for him than to be allowed to
open the carriage door for his beloved " Miss Mary and
de young missusses."

This was his position when the war cloud cast its
shadow over our country. The unrest among the white
people was not long in communicating itself to the
quarters. Not only the Nelson servants were there but
those from the adjoining plantations, discussing, in an
excited manner, this strange new idea of freedom. Billy
was there, and held himself in check with difficulty
while several "reverend bredrin" held forth on the
possibilities of the future for the black man. Finally

Billy's opportunity came. Being too short to satisfy
his ideas of dignity, he stood upon a chair to address
his audience. Having secured this vantage ground he
paused for a moment, looking over the dusky forms
before him, that under the flickering light of the one
smoky lamp melted into shadows in the darkest corners,
save for a gleaming of eyes and teeth.

" Friends and bredrin," he began, " I hab ariz to
'dress you, coz my heart won't let me set still no longer.
I hab listened to de bredrin speechafyin dis ebenin, an'
all de time my heart kep a-sayin to mysef, 'dis nigger
doan want none o' dat;' I doan want nothin what tak
me 'way from de bes' friends I got on dis yearth, what
done feed me and clove me all my bawn days. No,
bredren and sistern, Billy's crooked, an' he's black, an'
you done hep him not to forgit it, but he aint no
deserter," here he seemed to grow taller and straighter,
" No, Billy aint no deserter, and me an' my mammy's
gwine stick to Mars Tom and Miss Mary as long as we
lib." Silence for a moment, and then some one from
the back of the room called out: *' Come down from
dar, you black niggah, an' let yo' mammy nuss you to
sleep." Another voice said, " Better go fight Mars
Abraham Lincoln hissef, you'd make a fine soger^ you
would." Billy stood unmoved. " Is dere any one is dis
'sembly what feels like we does 'bout dis matter? If
der is, let dem come forward." Melinda was already
beside him, and one by one, three men and two women
came silently, and with the slow step of advancing
years, and grouped themselves around this young knight,
who had proclaimed himself " no deserter." Only one
of them, old Uncle Peter, belonged to the Nelsons. The

others were the patriarchs of the adjoining plantations.
One by one the rest of the company shamefacedly
shuffled out the door, and became one with the darkness
outside. Then, with the new-born dignity of his noble
resolve still upon him, Billy carried his master's boots,
neatly blackened, and placed them outside his door.
He touched them reverently with his lips before he put
them down. Shaking his head and mumbling to him-
self he shuffled noiselessly about, brought his pallet and
placed it before his master's door, put out the light and
stretched himself contentedly where he had slept every
night since the troubulous times began, a silent but
eloquent proclamation that his life lay between his mas-
ter and any danger.

And so it came to pass that after peace had once
more settled over the land, Billy and Melinda remained
with the Nelson family without a trace of any change in
their relations as faithful and beloved servants. As the
years passed Riverview showed more and more the
effects of an owner who was land poor. But family pride
held up its head as of yore, and Billy did his part to
preserve the dignity and outward appearance of pros-
perity.

However, with the creeping on of age and infirmity,
Mr. Nelson grew to lean more and more upon Billy and
his cane; till one day with bared heads and sad hearts
they carried him out to the place prepared for him until
the resurrection.

Then did Billy show his solicitude for the welfare of
his beloved " Miss Mary." Coachman, footman and
man of all work, he sat proudly on the box of the car-
riage, over which " Ichabod " was plainly written, wear-

ing a suit of livery from which the glory had also long
since departed. And as the carriage rattled through the
streets one caught a glimpse of a stately lady within,
whose beautiful, pale, sad face sent a thrill to the heart.
Having no son to lean upon, and preferring to keep the
old home, and the independence that went with it to liv-
ing with her married daughters, Mrs. Nelson accepted
gratefully the watchful care of her true and tried ser-
vant.

"Mammy" had yielded to the inevitable results of
old age and rheumatism, and had " gone to her placfi."
Delilah, one of her daughters, had come to take her
place in the kitchen. Every summer the daughters
came home, and the shouts and laughter of children
gave to Riverview something of the gayety of former
years. They had just completed a happy summer at
the old home, in spite of the changed conditions, and
the lovingly tended grave on the hill. Mother and
children had been so happy to be together, and the
golden summer months had flown quickly; now they
must say good bye with tears and embraces and go their
several ways.

The day after the last good byes had been said, Mrs.
Nelson, feeling lonely and restless, had walked out
toward '* God's Acre " on the hill. Billy was fulfilling
his afternoon round of duties, talking to himself as was
his custom. Chancing to look up at the roof of the
house he stopped his work and began to address himself
after this fashion : " Billy, 'pears to me you better be
lookin arter dat roof — dem shingles curlin up mightly —
fust ting you know, de rain be comin right down on Miss
Mary's head. Niggah, what Mars Tom tink ob you if

dat happen?" Then a moment's silence in which his
mouth hung open and his eyes grew larger and larger.
" Fo de Lawd's sakel if dat aint smoke comin outen de
roof I " But before the words had dropped from his lips
his feet were flying over the ground toward the kitchen.
" Delilah 1 " he shouted, " de house is on fire I an' me an'
you's got to put it out I " Seizing two large buckets he
ran to the cistern, followed by the frightens d Delilah,
also with a bucket in each hand. A stairway led from
the paved porch below to the upper gallery, which
extended the length of the ell. At the end of the gal-
lery was a store room, over the kitchen, and in the ceil-
ing of this storeroom a hatchway led, by means of a
ladder, into what was called the " far garret," used in
years gone by as a place to store dried fruit. Billy
knew that the fire was in this garret, and had evidently
caught from the kitchen chimney.

When he opened the hatch door great choking clouds
of smoke rushed down upon him. *' Deah Lawd o'
massy hep pore Billy save de ole house I It'll done break
Miss Mary's heart to lose de ole house! 0 God, hep po'
Billy I" On he pushed into the attic to where the fire
was gaining headway, close to the heated chimney.
The oaken timbers were yielding stubbornly, sending out
great clouds of smoke, as if in protest at the sacrifice.
It was no easy task to which Billy had set himself.
Back and forth from the cistern Delilah ran, leaving
the water at the foot of the ladder. Furiously Billy
fought, using an old blanket he had snatched up on the
way, dipping it in water and whipping out the flames.
It was a fierce fight I The heat stifled him, the smoke
choked him ; but he never wavered for a moment, pray-

ing aloud all the time, "Oh God, hep Billy! Hep po'
Billy!" Stumbling, reeling, sometimes falling in his
frantic efforts to reach the flames, which were creeping
up into the rafters, furiously he worked, almost
frenzied with the thought that he might not succeed.
Gradually he began to gain headway over the flames,
and then his prayers turned to thanksgiving.

''Tank de Dawd! Tank de Lawd! De ole house aint
goin arter all! Miss Mary doan hab to lose de ole
house!" On he worked, utterly unconscious of his own
exhaustion — unconscious of the heat and smoke — uncon-
scious of everything save his great happiness that he
had saved the old home. At last, feeling sure that
every spark was out, and having dashed bucket after
bucket of water on the charred timbers, he turned to go
down the ladder. But alas, dizzy and faint, his foot
missed the mark; his hands, burned and bleeding,
failed to grapple aright, and he fell heavily from the
hatchway, striking upon his back. He made no sound;
but lay still, so still, scarcely seeming to breathe.

Mrs. Nelson was coming leisurely up the graveled
walk in front of the house, accompanied by young Albert
Morton, who had come to Riverview on an errand. Oblivi-
ous of the danger that had threatened her home, she was
chatting pleasantly with the young man when a series
of frantic screams reached her ears. Greatly alarmed
she and Albert ran in the direction from which the
screams came, and found poor Billy lying there, helpless
and speechless, and seemingly dead!

Tenderly the young man and Delilah lifted and car-
ried him, at Mrs. Nelson^s direction, into the guest

chamber, and laid him in the great canopied mahogany
bed.

Half an hour later good old Dr. Williams, the family
physician, was standing beside the bed, his finger on
Billy's pulse, his open watch in his hand.

" No, Mrs. Nelson," he said, " Billy cannot live— the
tide is going out with him — rapidly. Evidently he
burst a blood vessel, and the fall and exhaustion but
hasten the end. A few hours is the limit of time with
him. He may regain consciousness for a brief space
just before the end; I will go down stairs and answer
inquiries."

And so the good man went below to answer questions
from the many people, black and white, who were crowd-
ing into the house, for the news had spread rapidly, and
Billy was beloved by many. One — two— three hours
Mrs. Nelson sat beside him, anointing his poor burned
hands, and watching for the time when his spirit might
return to earth for a moment before it went forever into
fields elysian. At last that moment came. Billy
opened his eyes and rested them on Mrs. Nelson's face;
then looked about the room, up at the crimson canopy,
down at the white counterpane; seemed to comprehend
the situation, and then closed them. Presently he said:

"Miss Mary?"

'^ Yes, Billy.'-

"I doan want to go 'way an' lebe you, Miss Mary!"

"The Father has a better place prepared for you, Billy."

" Do you 's'pose he'll let me wait on Mars Tom up
dar. Miss Mary?"

" I do not know what is in store for you, Billy, but
22

I'm sure it is something a great deal better than any-
thing you have ever known on earth.-'

" A.n' I'll see de Blessed Lam'I an' de Great White
Throne I But de Lawd knows I doan want to lebe you,
Miss Mary— who done take care ob you when Billy's
gone?"

" Billy, don't you know that not a sparrow falleth
without our Father's notice? He will watch over me
and care for me — and then I shall not be very long
behind you, Billy — you can tell your Mars Tom that I
shan't be very long on the way — and tell him, Billy,
that you gave your life to save the old home for me. I
can never reward you my dear, faithful friend, but our
Father in Heaven will." Silence for a moment, and
then Billy said:

" He hepped rae. Miss Mary, I couldn't never done it
by mysef — He hepped po' Billy 1" Silence but for De-
lilah's weeping. Then — ^'Miss Mary?"

" What is it, Billy? "

" When I been out yonder to de grabe yard, fixing up
Mars Tom's grabe, I measured off de places fo' de fambly,
an' foun' der was room nuff fur me right down at Mars
Tom's feet — seems I wont be 'tall lonesome ef you bury
me dere, Miss Mary, right down at Mars Tom's feet — do
you tink Mars Tom would care. Miss Mary? " " I think
your Master would like to have you there, Billy; it
shall be as you wish."

" Tank you, Miss Mary I "

" Good bye, 'Lilah," he said, turning his eyes to the
weeping woman. " Be a good girl and take care o' Miss
Mary — I'm gwine to see Mammy, 'Lilah, and I'll tell

her you're a good girl, and some day you'll come up
dar too."

" Good— bye— Miss — Mary!" Painfully he folded
his hands across his breast — " Now I lay me — down —
to — sleep — I pray — de Lawd — my — soul — to keep — If I
should die — befo' — I wake — I pray — de Lawd — my —
soul — to— take— "

Peace settled over his features, his breath ceased, and
faithful. Crooked Billy had passed to his reward.

In the cemetery that lies on a hill near Riverview,
one can easily find the Nelson lot. A tall granite shaft,
erected by the mourning daughters, bears the names of
Thomas and Mary Nelson.

At the foot of their graves is another, marked by a
simple marble headstone which bears this inscription: —

" Sacred to the memory of

' Billy/

Faithful and beloved servant

OF Thomas and Mary Nelson.

Faithful unto Death.

He has gone to receive his

Crown of Life."

Often there comes to visit the grave a mulatto woman,
bowed with age and infirmities. And as she lifts the
trailing tendrills of sweet briar from off the inscription
she murmurs, " Sho as you lib, Billy wa^nH no deserter.^'*

HUm

nPIlE HAD spent the morning in the National gttl'illC
i T^fJ Museum, Munich — such a dear, delightful old
»A™ curio shop, where dwells that comfortable middle ^

past, which recked nothing of the subtleties of ancient
wisdom and dreamed not of the isms and ologies of
modern days. Its art consisted in the fashioning of
spears and welding of coats of mail; its music was the
bugle under castle walls or the harp in my lady's cham-
ber; its jewels and satins and laces were all the spoil of
my lord's valor. It was a charming, irresponsible time,
when right was wrong and wrong right, according to
circumstances; when lying in a good cause made bread
turn to roses, and canonized the gentle liar; when the
heavenly powers were most indulgent to human weak-
ness, and the grim old German, Luther, had not yet
awakened the sleeping conscience of the world.

In the Munich Museum is just such armor as Rich-
ard of the Lion Heart or Geoffrey must have worn when
they led their followers forth. Such tall halberds were
borne before them; such fair-haired pages as those in the
frescoes on the walls must have followed them, and such
silk-embroidered banners as those o'erhead must have
waved them on to victory. At home, in the cold, clear
light of the nineteenth century, we may talk of murder,
arson and rapine clad in knightly splendor; but here, in
the bewildering old museum, we think only of the ro-
mance of it, and vaguely and vainly try to fit our
thoughts to some couplets from the Idyls of the King.

When the Middle Ages have filled our ears with din
of arms, we can wander on to long galleries dedicated to
the fripperies and vanities of a later time — a butterfly
age, with the soul of a worm. Here is a plum-colored

coat embroidered in thistle; lace ruffles and jewelled shoe
buckes, and a striped blue satin, white-vested suit, such
as old Pepys might have put on when he rose up from
writing his gossiping diary to go to a court ball with his
wife ''in her best blond wig." And then there are the
chairs and beds which belonged to these people with the
brocaded gowns and embroidered coats; rare old carv-
ings, inlaid cabinets, beautiful china and glass, jeweled
ornaments and splendid clocks. Most fascinating are
these clocks, for they alone live and still mark the hours
of the present work-a day world, which knows not of
knee breeches and despises lace ruffles. Think of the
hours these untiring clocks have marked; still ticking
relentlessly, reminding us wayfarers that the train
awaits us and we must go, out from this passive, imper-
sonal real of Has-been, into the rush and the toil of the
Now. And this brings us to Aline and Elwine.

We were sitting in that stuffy abomination, an
European railway carriage, momentarily expecting our
train to move out from the Munich depot. We were still
dazed with the atmosphere of the old museum, and were
feeling very dissatisfied with our prosaic century. Was
romance indeed dead — choked by the turmoil of money-
getting? Was there primeval freshness nowhere in our
hurried civilization? Was there — Here the guard
flung open the carriage door and two women and a young
man scrambled hastily in. Slam, whistle, ring, and off
we go. Our traveling companions soon claimed our at-
tention. The young girls were both handsome; the elder
of that fair-haired, flaxen type which suggests the name
of Gretchen. The younger had dark eyes and hair, a
brilliant olive complexion, and a smile which constantly

played hide-and-seek with some fascinating dimples.
The young man was a soldier, which is equivalent to
flaying that he was very much like a large proportion of
his compatriots. We soon found out that the trio under-
stood and were following our conversation, so that we
were not surprised when the black-eyed maid addressed
the young lady of our party in English, and in so charm-
ing a voice that it disarmed all criticism of her accent.
The acquaintance progressed rapidly, and we soon passed
from generalities to personalities. The trio were thrilled
with lively interest on learning that we were CaJiforni-
ans. '*0h! but that was enchantingi They had never
known anyone from there. It was very exciting living
in California, was it not? They would like to go there
but for the fear of being shot."

" Have you any enemies there?" we inquired of the
lively spokesman, whose name we learned was Aline.

*^0h, no; how would that be possible? But I have
read that shootings are so common that one is always in
danger of stray shots. Do you always carry pistols? and
have you ever picked up any gold? And do tell us about
the Indians — are there very many where you live?"

Aline's interest in us waned somewhat when we
owned that we had never seen a gold mine, and knew
almost as little about the Indians as she did; so we led
her to tell us about herself. She had nine bi others and
sisters, she said, and they spent their summers on an
estate two hours by carriage from Ingoldstadt. Her
father was the Baron Seefried-Buttenheim, and this
mountain estate had descended to him through many
generations. They had been Protestants since her great-
grandfather's time, but there was still a Catholic chapel

at the castle. There were forests all about them —
glorious pine forests. " In the mornings we are all busy,
each one has his duties, but in the afternoons we do as
we like. I paint and read — I like best English poets,
and then I go for a gallop through the forest,'' said Aline.
" Elwine does one thing and does it well, but I do twenty
things at once. She is the bee, while I am the butterfly,
which tastes every flower but never makes any honey.
In the evening Elwine plays and I sing. I sing very
well, but I like sad songs best, perhaps because when one
is happy one can think of sad sad things without pain.
Our life is very pleasant, but it is not like yours, who go
out into the great world."

" Some day," we said, "the gallant knight will come
along and steal your heart, and then the quiet life will
turn into a thrilling romance."

*' Perhaps so," she answered, " but then marrying is
a very intricate business; there is so much to be con-
sidered. If I take a fancy to anyone the family or the
money is sure to be unsuitable; and then I say * Aline,
life is too good to be spoiled grieving for anyone,' and
then I forget all about it. But if someone comes along
who is exactly suitable, and papa says *That's the man,'
then it is all too easy and prosaic to be interesting, with
everything done but the marrying, so I say 'No, I thank
you I' In the winter we live in the city and go to balls
and are very gay, but I like the forest better."

So she talked on while we admired her bright eyes
and rosy cheeks. And then we fell to wishing that we
could transplant that knight in armor, with the em-
broidered banners, from the dusky idleness of the Mun-
ich Museum and send him riding on a coal-black charger

through the forest to knock with mailed hand at the
Seefried-Buttenheim castle, and carry off pretty Aline,
despite her nineteenth century father. But for Elwine
we could paint no such fancy; good little German maid!
broadcloth or regimentals would suit her better.

The air of the forest is blowing in the carriage win-
dows; Ingoldstadt is drawing near. "Good-by," says
Aline. '^When people talk of California we will say —
0, so proudly I — that we know some real Californians, and
they are not dangerous at all!"

** Good-by," we replied, laughing; '*and we will boast
that we know two maids from the German forests, and
they endanger every heart they meet."

Franklina Gray Bartlett.

San

Gabriel

Valley

7t /f^ST-- VEILED foothills in the distance,
^ Jyl Ever changing greet our eyes ^

mils embosomed in warm splendors,

' Neath the brilliant sunset skies;
Purple hills mhere sunbeams linger^

Lighting mountain tops beyond,
Always make emotions holy.
Musings reverent and fond.

Soul, amid the golden poppies^

Carpeting the lowlands sweet,
Thou hast found the hidden treasure,

Miiies of Peace, at Gabriel' s feet!
Thrilling promises of beauty

That shall never fade or wane,
Hopes immortal^ visions radiant^

Faiths that bud and bloom again!

For we know, though vanished brightness^

Love' s vows hushed, and long farewell;
Darhiess, silence^ starless night-time.

Sunset glories oft foretell
Thaty above the cloud-wrapt svmmits

And Antonio' s bleak, cold crest,
Power beneficent is planning

Endless peace, each worn heart' s rest.

Life is full of dreams idyllic y

Realized in the far west;
Gabriel' s silent trumpet summons

To this wondrous vale God' s blest.

Mrs. George Drake Ruddy.

nHERE has always been a class of human beings,
since there has been any civilization, set off to
I represent an ideal. We call the members of this

class gentlewomen. With the ideal attained comes a
sense of aloofness; the gentlewoman is a thing apart.
Like the lily, she lives on a pinnacle, and, like the lily
poised on its stalk, she cannot descend to learn anything
about the root of things. She is truly the flower of the
ages, and being the finished product of civilization, she
is carefully enclosed in a tower of convention, considered
necessary on account of her preciousness.

The gentlewoman is the lineal descendant of the
Lady of Shalott. Like her prototype in the tower, she is
a woman and must know; and, since even window near
is too close to the real, there has also been provided for
her a mirror, which supplys her safely with information
from afar.

This magic looking-glass is called Modern Fiction.
The human mind, even though a woman's, may be as
large as the world. By looking into her mirror she sees
it without coming into contact with it, and at the same
time she sees it round.

This characteristic (in the modern novel) of revela-
tion is not exclusively for the gentlewoman. Life
is too large for any human to learn by experience all he
ought to know, and it is a little hard to assert that the
"lady" is the only one to suffer from limitations. The
novel is a magic mirror for all mankind.

What a wonderful thing this development of modern
literature along the lines of fiction has become! It is an
adaptation by this, the most civilized century, of teach-
ing all things by parable. It reveals East to West, the

Lady
of

Sbalott's
JVIirror

High to the Low, the shackled and heart-broken to the
happy and free. It pictures all lands, all races, all ages.
It is a university of morals, a history of action, an en-
cyclopedia of Life. It removes dangerous illusions by
picturing things as they are, and so destroys the peril of
heart-break; it encourages hope and endeavor by show-
ing life as it ought to be, as it should be, as it must be.

The two eyes of fiction are realism and romance.
Through it the lady on her tower sees the "children of
the sea;" she learns something of the life of the sailor
before the mast, and although a gentlewoman might
never wish to be Foc'sle Jack, she can extend to him in
his hard life her pity.

She sees the ''Gate of the Hundred Sorrows," and
she knows about the troubles of the shop girl and the ice
man, **The People We Pass,"

And as the procession, sad or gay, or only dust color,
files across the glass, it develops in the gazer sympathy.

When the greatest Teacher of all said: "There was
a certain rich man," or " A certain man had two sons,"
and there followed a picture true and unfading in its
imagery, the maker of fiction in this century has but
followed in His footsteps, and has drawn pictures and
pictures which mirror the whole world and what is
therein. So he teaches all things to humanity.

Happy Lady of Shalott ! Although it may seem
hard work to be a contented gentlewoman, and she may
glance at her mirror for amusement merely, yet she can
not but learn and learn.

The magic found therein may in time destroy her
tower, it may even destroy the conventionalized Ideal of
Womanhood; but in the awakening of her sight she may
find more than she loses, and the world lived in may be
the better for her, as she may be the better for the world.

Harryet Strong.

^^^^^

Compendatioii

C%EE, on my hearth the ruddy fire is glowing,
^^ And with the light just touching her soft hair,
Half hid by shadows ever deeper growing.
She waits my coming there.

My heavy load falls from me as I enter,

All things grow right, I shut outside the gloom.

And bow before the spell of that sweet presence
Within my quiet room.

— R. W.

the

Olorld

of JMusic

jviary C.
Pearson

WORLD of music I And what is our musical
destiny, expansion or retrogression?

Out of mere wails, shouts, murmurs, im-
pulses— out of fragmentary factors, have come to us
through enlarged environment an artistic unity, a perfect
figure, form beautiful as sculpture, color warm as paint-
ing, a glorious design.

The alpha of music was but a mere letter of the art;
vagueness characterized its earliest form, its shadowy
beginning. But vagueness would soon be utterly lost in
the mist of faint and false impression. Art must have
perfect design, perfect form, perfect adaptation as the
essence of strong necessity for existence — there must be
a certain uniting of elements in a perfect structure.

Unpractical people are apt to look upon music as of
little real use, as inferior to all other arts because of its
lack of usefulness; its lack in plan of invention. It
seems to belong to an ethereal realm where real, earnest,
purposeful beings dwell not.

Painting, sculpture, and such arts are the delightful
expressions of the environments, and the existence of
man; while music is the expression of the nature of
man. It is not simply the fanciful dreamings of eccen-
tric spirits — dreamings fairy, mystical, and of fleecy
indistinctness.

While its beginning was vague, and while its prog-
ress has, from necessity, been slow, it has reached — this
glorious art of music — a dignity, force, purpose and
plan which impel us toward expansion and a mar-
velous perfection. It must have force of intellect, effec-
tive grouping, artistic weaving of a perfect design,
strength, beauty, symmetry of structure that artistic

impulses, feelings, thoughts may be expressed and
retained.

Where music exists, there is highest civilization. It
is in very truth the evangel of civilization. A celebrated
scientist has said that hereafter men should not be
graded by the color of their skin and hair, and the
shape of their skull, but by their capability for improve-
ment. Shall we find a peculiar force in this opinion
from the fact that Aguinaldo's band composed entirely
of Filipinos ranks as the famous military band of
Manila, and has played classic music on the Lunetta
ten thousand miles distant from centers of musical
culturef This band is said to have one bass drum, two
snares, a lyre, five tubas, eleven saxaphones large and
small, eleven clarinets, eight cornets, one ballad horn,
four altos and tenors. Let us bestir ourselves in the
interest of Symphony Concerts and Musical Festivals
lest far-away Manila, and not Los Angeles, becomes the
musical centre of the world.

The allusion to Symphony Concerts recalls the charm-
ing season of symphony under the artistic direction of
Prof. Harley Hamilton. We are glad to note the deep
interest manifested in these concerts by artists and
lovers of the art. The symphony concerts of last sea-
son were a medium of delightful study in musical clas-
sics, and many sought with eagerness the opportunity
for a better knowledge of the masterpieces of Beethoven,
Schubert, Grieg, Wagner and other composers, among
the shelves of our fine Public Library. Such research
was made easy and interesting by the generous aid of
Mrs. Wadleigh and her able assistants. We hope they
may post, as were posted last season, lists of books con-

tained in the Library, explanatory of the glorious crea-
tions and improvisations of these men of a genius as
marvelous and divine as that of Mozart, Schubert,
Beethoven. Rich indeed is the programme arranged by
Mr. Hamilton for the approaching weeks of orchestral
concerts. The interest in these concerts should be
intense and substantial. Such enthusiastic, artistic
effort for the crystalizing of the best musical conditions
in Los Angeles should meet with a hearty and prompt
response from all who desire the growth and good of the
city, for these Symphony Concerts are wonderful factors
in a refining education. There are strong signs of an
unusual interest in music in our sunny southern home
during the winter now approaching.

The Ebell should encourage particularly all efforts
toward a higher musical condition within the city gates.

We shall follow with pleasure our " Lark Ellen " on
her trip through the British Isles and Scandinavia. To
the world she is a sweet singer; to her home friends, a
sweet and gracious spirit; and to the forlorn, homeless
urchin who shouts each day his 'Uwo-for- a -nickel"
song, she is a guardian angel with tones seraphic. Many
other lands sincerely rejoice, as do we, in " Lark Ellen."

The song and drama often make large hearts. Annie
Louise Gary was a sweet friend to the poor and unfortu-
tunate; and now Mile. Emma Calve has built upon her
estate at Cambrieres a sanitarium for girls in Milan.
Twelve invalids were admitted in August and will be
nursed by the nuns of Aguessac. Many noted musi-
cians give generously out of their princely salaries where
deserving charity is needed.

Why not encourage musical festival ideas that shall
36

make possible a yearly convention where we may learn
more of oratorio, concert glee, and grand opera? The
noted Worcester Festivals bring about a sweeter atmos-
phere of music, a more generous fraternal sentiment
among musicians, and help young people to acquire a
taste for the best in the art. The musical convention
idea is not a new one; large cities in New England engage
in this work once, at least, each year.

The interest in such study is being revived with won-
derful vigor at this time. It has reached far-away Nor-
way, and recently, at Bergen, the works of Scandinavian
composers were presented and received with great enthu-
siasm.

Opera, oratorio, and symphony — musical scenes pre-
sented with supreme artistic merit by such sweet singers
as Nordica, Eames, Patti and others engage the atten-
tion of both continents at this season, while more than
ever before all, fullest merit and highest excellence
demanded.

What wonderful talent has been sent out from far-
away Maine — that "stern and rock-bound coast" — so
remote from our sunny summer land I Yet amid its
chilling blasts, her firesides shut in for days by banks
upon banks of snow and sleet, have been nurtured and
educated a Nordica, an Eames, a Carey and many others
with voice supremely sweet, and a genius divine.

Music is the glorious voice of all creation, an echo
from "choirs invisible," a tone seraphic and divine
which must, one day, appeal to all races, and to which a
musical universe must, one day, respond with joyous
note and sweet.

Cupid

and

CcUphone

ITTLE Miss Davis dropped into a chair with a
look of helpless dismay. The front door had
just closed behind her only boarder, and she
was left for two weeks to tell his patients that the
doctor had gone up into the mountains. Not that she
cared so much about that, for she had admitted the
new doctor to her home only because her slender purse
had demanded some means of recuperation. She could
spare him for the fortnight easily enough, — though he
was as nice a boarder as one could ask. It was not he
that she mourned, — it was what he had left behind him,
and she looked up at the sitting-room wall with a
groan. She never had wanted that telephone brought
into the house.

" At my age," she had said when he first mentioned
it. " At my age, I can't be expected to take up with new
ideas. I don't like the thing. I am afraid of it. I
lived in New England for fifty years before I came to
California, and I never saw one of them. Maybe they
had 'em in the big towns, but not in our place. Wc
could do all the talking we needed to without calling in
the lightning to help us. They're dangerous, and I
don't want one in my house."

" But every physician has to have a telephone, even
in a small town like this," mildly expostulated the
doctor.

And at last she had yielded the point, though only
with grave apprehensions. The instrument had to be
hung upon the sitting room wall, and accordingly she
moved her easy rocker out to the dining room. She took
a wide circuit whenever she passed it, and she dreamed,
night after night that the house had taken fire from the

wires. And now, despite her fears, she was to be left for
two mortal weeks alone with this engine of possible U^ ^''"' o
destruction, and with the polite request of the doctor ^^^^ALiFO^s^
constantly upon her conscience.

" If anybody rings me up by the telephone, please
tell them I'll be back in a fortnight."

She looked up at the mysterious machine with a face
of piteous appeal, but it held up its one arm relent-
lessly, as if threatening her total extinguishment. And
then, to crown her miseries, the bell suddenly began to
tinkle.

" Oh, doctor, — Doctor Price," she called, but the doc-
tor had already disappeared.

''I won't go near it!" she thought, defiantly, but
fifty-two years of New England training were not to be
set aside so easily. Where duty called, the Davises had
never flinched before, and her Puritan conscience gave
her an excruciating twinge.

" It may be for some poor sick baby," she thought,
and with set lips she walked up to the telephone and
took down the ear piece as she had seen the doctor do.
She expected to hear some piteous appeal, but instead of
that a blithe voice was saying:

" Mr. Barr will go too."

She had an indistinct recollection that the doctor had
said something about being able to hear everything that
was said at Col. Lockwood's, because they used the same
wire — whatever that might mean. But she waited a
minute, thinking still that she might be needed. An-
other voice answered:

" Oh, of course, Mr. Barr will be there if you are.
That goes without saying," and then came two little
laughs.

"One of the Lockwood girls talking to some chum,"
she thought, as she hung up her 'phone with a distinct
feeling of having widened her horizon by several de-
grees.

In the course of the day Miss Davis discovered that
Miss Lockwood talked with her chum a good deal, for
the bell jingled assiduously and, prompted by her New
England conscience, she attended every jingle, being
quite unable to distinguish the bell that was meant for
the doctor from the irreponsible tinkle in which a tele-
phone so often indulges.

The next day, however, there was silence, for the Lock-
woods had gone to a picnic, and Miss Davis was given
ample solitude in which to weave together into a romance
the scraps of conversation that she had heard.

"This Mr. Barr seems to be a very nice man, from all
that those girls say of him," she reflected, as the busied
herself about her breakfast.

"That Lockwood girl, though, is too much of a
flirt," she mused, later, as she put the cups away. '*She
will say things she doesnH mean, and hurt the poor
boy's feelings, if she isn't careful."

In the course of a few days she discovered that her
prophecy was proving true. Poor Mr. Barr was sailing
in troubled waters, and " that foolish Lockwood girl "
was making his life wretched in a most scientific man-
ner.

" She'll be sorry some day, poor child," thought Miss
Davis, with a backward glance at her own life. In her
determination to do her duty by the doctor's patients, it
did not occur to her that she was becoming an unpar-
donable eavesdropper, and her interest in affairs at

Col. Lockwood's great house grew apace. It was the
morning before the doctor's return that a most persistent
tinkle of the bell took her to the telephone. A most
dispirited voice was saying:

" Well, it's all over now."

"And isn't there any door of repentance?" asked
the sympathetic chum.

*' No. No, indeed. If he would take things in his
own hands and act the conquering hero, it would be all
right. But he won't do that! I have treated him so
dreadfully that I should have to take the first step, and
of course that is out of the question. Come up this
afternoon, can't you? I feel as if I never wanted to go
outside of the house again."

"Yes, I'll come and then we can talk. Nobody can
say anything through one of these horrible telephones!
Good-bye, Alice, dearie."

Miss Davis hung up her telephone with a look of
perplexity. Poor boy, — yes, and poor girl, too! What
a pair of children they must be! If there were but
some older hand to get things straight for them! She
felt almost acquainted with Mr. Barr, for she bad heard
him talk with Miss Lockwood so often, and she liked his
straightforward, manly way. She half resolved to ring
him up and tell him all she knew of his sweetheart's
state of mind. But then, she reflected that she did not
know how to ring anybody up, — and, moreover, the
crime of her eavesdropping was just beginning to dawn
upon her. She went about her work with an anxious
face. What a pity to let two lives be made miserable
when a few woads might set them right! Her oppor-
tunity came, however, sooner than she thought. With

one of the inspired mistakes which the telephone girl at
the central oflfice occasionally makes, the doctor's bell
rang vigorously.

'' Hello," said Mr. Barr's voice, as Miss Davis took
down her phone.

" Hello," answered she, with a beating heart.
''Is this Miss Alice?" he asked. And she answered
*' Yes," in amazement that he should know her name.

**I hardly knew your voice. Have you a cold?"
And then the mistake flashed upon her. She was per-
sonating Miss Alice Lockwood, to be sure!

"Oh, a dreadful one," she answered, mechanically,
wondering what she should do with her newly acquired
personality. He went on, in evident embarrassment: I

" I — I have gathered up a few things — the letters,
and the pin you gave rae, and one or two other things, —
all I have from you, except the book. I have made
them into a package, and will leave them at your house
as I pass this afternoon, if you wish. Some one will be
at home, of course.

With sudden |vivacity, the new Miss Lockwood
answered :

*'If you call, I shall be at home," and then hung up
her telephone, in a panic at her own audacity.

At the other end of the wire, however, young Barr
had become suddenly beatified.

"Dear girl, dear girl," he was saying to himself,
ecstatically. " She is an angel of forgiveness. I will go
and tell her it was all my fault, and I will make her fix
the day for September instead of January!" And as he
rode up to the Lockwood mansion, he certainly wore the
air of the conquering hero for whom his remorseful
sweetheart had sighed. *

In September, indeed, the wedding bells were ring-
ing. As the festive party passed Miss Davis' house, the
little spinster, of whose existence they never knew,
peeped through the blinds and smiled to herself.

" Who ever thought that I should become a match-
maker in my old age," she thought.

Clara E. Hamilton.

ebeU Notes

Members will find all notice of regular meetings of
the society in the bulletin issued last month. No fur-
ther notices will be sent.

A new section on Wit and Wisdom was been formed
under the direction of Mrs. H. W. R. Strong. This sec-
tion is to study the wit and wisdom of the ages as found
in the lives and sayings of various great wits and sages.
It is also intended as a relaxation from more serious
study and effort. From the number of names already
presented, the idea of such a section seems to meet with
favor. This section meets the third Thursday of each
month.

It is also under discussion to revive the French Sec-
tion in view of the coming Paris exposition. Further
particulars will be given later.

The Ebell appears this month for the first time in its
permanent magazine dress. The society hopes to create
for it a place among publications of high literary order.
This is the ideal toward which we work and no pains
will be spared by the society or its officers in rendering
it a worthy organ of its literary activity. The cordial
greeting accorded this first number is most gratifying to
all concerned in its production.

It 18

Cbi9

Cbc

passing

of the

Hnccstor

nHERE are signs of late that ancestral worshio as
a factor in sociaJ dynamics is gradually passing
away. One of the surest of these symptoms is

the development of the ancestor into a fact; and another,
that his name is being kept green by societies. A really
robust progenitor heretofore has needed no artificial
bolstering of his memory.

There are many reasons advanced for this cruel state
of things. One of the first and most plausible seems to
be that, as a nation, we have now outgrown the ancestor.
He has lingered among us as a social tradition for the
sake of the few people who had inherited him and
couldn't repudiate their heritage; and on account of
others who have acquired him by adoption or purchase,
because they thought him fashionable. But now, in the
length and breadth of the nation, there are so many
whose ancestors are all living, those who are things of
the past are becoming forgotten, or diluted, or crowded
into out of the way corners. We move about too much
to remember **who was who" in the old days.

Furthermore, our ideals are changing. We do not
value so highly the deeds that created the ancestor. His
usefulness arose in an age when notable achievements
were few and were thrown up against a background of
medieval darkness, and for which even his descendants
were esteemed worthy of honor. But we have changed
all that. The ancestor was only moderate as a money-
getter; now, when we put up money versus blood, it is
money that will tell. And the old orders, the Law, the
Army, the Church, the Landed Estate, all bow before the
millionaire.

This new substitute in family building is not prov-
44

ing a great success; he guarantees no exclusiveness that
will be respected. Among the millionaires the next
comer to the ranks may rise by the pick, or a flight in
the stock market; and, unfortunately, a new million is
as effective in power as an old one. No; the old order
has passed away when the flower of ancestral aristocracy,
exclusiveness, is destroyed.

We now live in an age when achievement is cheap.
This diminishes our respect for the past, and also gives
little hope for the future. When everybody can have a
first-class ancestor in a generation or two, why treasure
-anything that will soon become so common?

This is the same objection raised by a certain class
against popular education: " If anyone can read and do
sums, or even go to college, wherein do / achieve distinc-
tion for the knowledge I have so painfully acquired?

After careful consideration of the subject, it must be
admitted that the outlook for the genuine ancestor is
grave. He has always been a thing of the past, as it
were; but now, when there is so much of him living, a
really dead one will, in a short time, only evoke a mild
species of curiosity, and then indeed will the end come
in spite of fads and associations. F.

The questions asked here will have a bearing upon
perverted or misunderstood facts, and those answers that
are closest to the fact will be given in this department
from month to month. Art is supposed to represent
things, not as they are, but as they seem to be; Law is
traditional custom; Science, classified knowledge; Money,
a medium of Exchange; Genius, "unceasing toil, per-

petual painstaking;" "The philosophy of all success de-
pends upon it."

IS IT ALL LIKE THIS?

1. What is the inspiration of Art?

2. Is "Quo Vadis" an attack on Christianity?

3. Is Law for the benefit of the majority, or is it to
protect the minority?

4. What does money represent?

5. What is the distinct charm in "Hugh Wynne"?

Send answers to B. D., care of Editorial Department of The
Ebell, by the 10th of November. Make them short and concise.
Give full name of the writer, which will be known only to the B.D.

Hmong

the

Boohs

^^^^^

Lli SUMMER the reading public, tucked away
in shady mountain nooks or by the murmuring
sea, has been devouring whatever author or pub-
lisher could provide to please its palate. History, poetry
fiction, magazines, were served in rapid succession. But
it is a voracious animal, this reading public, and no
sooner has it deserted beach and mountain and betaken
itself to winter quarters than once more it raises the old
familiar cry, '^What shall we read?"

Well, what shall we read, to make our winter even-
ings pass pleasantly? The book store windows and
library shelves will answer this question. Suppose we
go over them together.

For the lover of romance and adventure there is
Anthony Hope, the prince of romancists — two new pub-

lications, ''Rupert of Hentzau " and "Simon Dale/*
" Rupert of Hentzau," with all its engaging appearance,
is a disappointment. Those who carry in mind a warm
and loving memory of the idyllic romance of '' Rudolph
and Flavia," with its pathetic but perfect climax, are
tempted to exclaim as they run through the pages of
"Rupert," " Why will authors write sequels to successful
books!" For the Rupert of the sequel is no longer the
gallant, if reckless, favorite of fortune, who yet values
his honor above his happiness, the man who says " The
king shall do no wrong." Nor is Flavia that sweetest of
princesses whose glorious Elphberg hair crowns all that
is noblest in woman. The whole tone of the book has
dropped. We are inclined to think that Mr. Hawkins
was hard pressed for plot and ideas, and a book which
would have roused an interest of its own as an indepen-
dent production is distinctly unsatisfactory in its effort
to continue a popular romance. "Simon Dale," however,
is a story of adventure written with much of the swing
and dash of Mr. Hawkins' best mood. It deals with the
days of Charles II. in England, and pictures the adven-
tures of the young and gallant Simon at that corrupt
but brilliant court. Nell Gwynne is a prominent figure
in these pages and is drawn with much skill. Both
books are now being dramatized and will be seen in this
country during the winter.

Other interesting books for the lover of romance are
Stanley Weyman's tale of "The Castle Inn," lately run-
ning through Munsey, and "Rodney Stone," by Conan
Doyle, both pictures of English high life in the pictur-
esque dress of a past century. An old favorite still holds
a prominent place on the shelves, " The Courtship of

Morrice Buckler," one of the best of the stories of adven-
ture also being dramatized for presentation in the near
future.

Of a different order, but full of merit, is F. Hopkin-
ron Smith's new book, "Caleb West." This is a further
study of that sturdy, self-respecting type of laborer so
well portrayed in "Tom Grogan." Mr. Smith's character
drawing is always notable, and this book forms no ex-
ception. Amusing to the point of absurdity is John
Kendrick Bangs' new publication, "Ghosts I Have Met."
A most astonishing array of spectres is this with whom
he claims acquaintance, and the appalling situations into
which he and the spectres are entrapped, with the ludic-
rous complications thereby ensuing, must be read to be
appreciated. An idle half hour will be pleasantly passed
with these ghosts. Still further investigation reveals a
new book by Mrs. Ward, which is receiving very favor-
able mention; also "The Forest Lovers," by Maurice
Hewlett," is attracting some notice, and "Madam of the
Ivies," by E. P. Train.

What further literary pleasures the winter has in
store for us will doubtless be revealed in the near future.
There is no doubt that good fiction and plenty of it may
be expected. The war has not yet received its due meed
of attention from our writers. Who will give us the great
war novel, the great war epic?

] iir^ll

1.1

i ^-'" \' :.\ > '//

iiiiiiiiii^

I !

H'l^iH

Cbe €bell

H JVIontbly jfoumal of Literature
and Current events

December

Subscnptton price 8tngle Copy

$ 1 ,0© per tear i o 6ent8

HU Communications should be addressed to

6race Htberton Dennen, editor

1922 South Grand Hwnuc, L09 Hngeles^ Calif ornta
Celcpbonct ^bitc 3213

1898

©CO. Rice & Sons, vine.)
Hos Hngeles

Cable of Contents

Club Study Jeanne W. Jtint

Recent Xtnprcssions of Rawaii Louise K Pratt

Christmas Gifts (a poem) % W,

Driftwood, a serial story FrankUna Gray Bartteit

Our Semi-€ropic Winter ( a poem ) Etiza A. Otis

a Christmas Bxperience Mary S* Williams

Hutumn lUaves ( a poem ) Mrs, R, 'P* Sibley

fragments Harryet% Strong

Che <llorld of IVIusic Mary C* Pearson

XtisLike€his %

Hmong the Books

ebell )Votes

Copyrighted, 1898, by Grace Atherton Dennen

PEACE ON EARTH. GOOD WILL TOWARD MEN

Club

HLUB study predicates a breadth of range that Studv
belongs to maturity of mind. It is not element-
I ary — in the sense of piecing out a defective edu-
cation; it is not for entertainment of desultory charac-
ter, nor for superficial accomplishments. It is not for
exploitation of doctrines and fads that take the popular
fancy. It means a wider knowledge of existing condi-
tions; a deeper sense of our relations to them; a broader
grasp of the totality of living. It is a search for the best
in nature, art, in books, in life; for the underlying unity
— the interdependence of all human interests; for knowl-
edge and use of knowledge that develops equally, char-
acter and intellect. It is " scientific, sympathetic inves-
tigation," the meaning of which may be explained in
few and simple words, — to know things in their relation
to one another. It is this sense of proportion, perpaps,
so many of us lack; this tendency to substitute "a part
for the whole" that brings reproach upon our working
methods. Club work is the study of nature and life as
unfolded by science; the grasp of impressionism on the
causes of growth and development; a conception of the
true meaning of evolution and the change it has pro-
duced in education. The searchlight of science has given
new strength to our vision, and right perspective to our
heritage. We are learning the wisdom of selection from
the vast accumulation of tradition. If we have lost a
little in reverence for the old forms we have gained in
infinite appreciation of the substance. " It is one sign of
progress," says a writer, **when a generation ceases to
imitate the ways of a past generation." Surely this
spirit of "inquiry and experiment" which has been the
dominant spirit of a century more fraught with change,

discovery, invention and hunianization than a previous
millenium, is a spirit we can safely foster in our working
theories in Ebell.

To know things in their relation to one another! To
study Art and Science and Ethics from commanding
points of view does not limit the work to one time or one
race. "All great ideas," says Benjamin Kidd, "have
been the products of time rather than of individuals."
When w^e get far enough away from our work to recog-
nize the provincialism of one point of view we will have
learned the vital part of what we seek, — to know his-
tory, not as a catalogue of events, a biography of indi-
viduals, a disconnected record of warfare, but a study of
social growth and nation-building, following in natural
sequence; a comparison and identification of our own
times with all times. We measure our progress over the
line of our advancement. Something of this unity of
common interests is understood if we reflect as John
Fiske says "upon the enormous place in human history
which is filled by the products of Athenian intellectual
activity during two centuries; when we reflect that the
foundations of exact science, of aesthetic art in all its
branches, of historic and literary criticism, and of free
political discussion were then and there forever securely
laid; when we consider the widely ramifying influences
of this intense productivity upon Roman ethics and
jurisprudence, upon the genesis of Christianity, upon the
lesser Renaissance of the thirteenth century and the
greater Renaissance of the fifteenth; when we see how
inseparably the life of Athens runs as a woof through
the entire web of European life down to our own times."
Herein lies the value of studying things in their relation

to one another. Social interests are strands of an intri-
cate network that gathers in the whole of human kind.

To know the history of Art; not in detached or
isolated periods, nor in the limitations of individual cre-
ations, but in its relationship to Nature, to Religion, to
Civilization, and in its changing ideals in different
stages of culture. We may not know the joy of creation,
but we may know the delight of cultured appreciation.
To study art, not to talk of pictures and artists, but to
learn the lesson of harmony in our surroundings. Art
is the aesthetic record of nations, and we recognize its
purpose when we bring intelligent sympathy to its
understanding.

To know literature that is abiding; '*for to know
anything that turns up," says Frederic Harrison, "is,
in the infinity of knowledge, to know nothing." To know
the rank of Science, Philosophy, Poetry and Fiction, the
Thought that stands above the century of its biith,
because it thrills in touch with all of human kind. It
was this fellowship that made the masterpieces of the
Greeks; it was this kinship of feeling between the race
and the man that made the glory of the Renaissance —
to know things in their relation to one another.

With the same wideness of view to know the relation
of study to use. An aesthetic conscience is a good thing
to develop in a club, but there is equal need of an
ethical one. It means study at first hand of social, indus-
trial and civic conditions; knowledge of things which
most closely concern our lives and homes; not my home,
nor your home alone, but all homes where men and
women are striving for footing against the stress of life.
If "the highest ideal of civilization is homes presided

over by enlightened womanhood," then we must know
not only the things that dignify and beautify, but the
things that menace homes; and these are too often the
weapons of ignorance in woman's own hands. We must
fit ourselves to protect those homes. In the knowledge of
weakness lies capacity for strength.

We may expect ideal club results when club women
fully grasp the meaning of reciprocity; the wisdom of
co-operation. Loyalty to club interests involves self-
sacrifice, sacrifice of individual opinions and desires to
social welfare. The beauty of giving, the fineness of
receiving are still uncertain factors in much of our work.

With the influx of social and civic problems, how-
ever, comes the uplifting of the club horizon. Blind
sentiment and rant are giving place to intelligent action.
The most conservative organizations are adjusting their
work to changing environment. Active membership pro-
jects beyond the scope of books and newspapers. The
practical interest in economics, the thoughtful work in
all departments of social science, speaks with conclusive
proof of the nature of this great movement.

The ends of study are not in erudition, nor bound
in the shallows of self-interest. "Development," says
Spencer, " does not end in family affection. Civilization
advances because sympathy widens beyond self, beyond
family, beyond tribe." Women of culture do not hesi-
tate to consider any subject that tends to self-improve-
ment and the betterment of humanity. Culture is a
many-sided development; an expansion of heart as well
as brain. It is fine selection, assimilation. Like art it
may be forced, lose its vitality and dwindle into selfish
intellectuality; but broad, generous culture, full of the

light of joyous living, is active, using, sharing, giving
with largeness, and receiving with largeness. Culture
implies wisdom, virtue. " Wisdom," David Star Jordan
says, "is knowing what to do next; virtue is doing it."
The spirit of the woman's club is democratic. Let the
work it does be as broadly democratic. To belong to a
nation whose racial characteristics are rooted in the
ethics of centuries entails responsibility in proportion.

The power of Ebell for good is in like proportion to
the breadth of its work. It has been said of the English
that they are the people who not only recognize to the
fullest their opportunities, but also their obligations.

Let us remember this in club work: To know the
relation of study to use; to know all things in their rela-
tion to one another. Jeanne W. Flint.

Recent
ipreseione
of Rawaii

ONOLULU! — the very name brings to the imag-
ination visions of a fairy land, which has crept
so close to us that now it is at our very door,
and what a few years since seemed a vague
country floating somewhere in the Pacific is now a part
of the great domain over which the Stars and Stripes act
as sentinel.

The traveller seeing this country for the first time is
astonished at the grandeur and luxuriance of the vegeta-
tion, the marvellous and ever changing color of the sea,
the soft and fragrant air, and the refreshing showers
which keep the landscape perpetually green. If you
happen to be out in one of these downpours you will
think it is only a make believe rain, for the sun goes on
shining and the people go on strolling as if nothing un-
usual was taking place. But the rain in Hawaii seems
to be as liquid as anywhere else, and spoils your best
clothes and gives you malaria. As a reward for this state
of affairs, look about you and see the wonderfully beauti-
ful rainbows, here, there, everywhere, until it seems as if
the Heavens must declare to the children of men that,
especially in these islands, the promise of God was still
remembered.

The modern city of Honolulu is full of interest.
Beautiful homes line the streets, with well-kept grounds
full of magnificent foliage plants, each leaf of which
seems to have its own individuality, so brilliant and
varied is the coloring. Here and there one sees the
banyan tree, whose branches extend to such a length
that they fall to the ground and take root, forming a
dense mass curious to behold.

The drives are delightful, that to Waikiki being the
10

the favorite. A sleepy mule car snails along the delight-
ful road and gives one plenty of time to admire the
beauties on every side. To the right is a cocoanut grove,
the trees of which are fifty years old; to the left a banana
plantation, loaded with fruit, a bunch of which you can
buy for fifteen cents. Count them, and you will find
over a hundred for this sum. Rice fields, with Chinamen
up to their knees in water cultivating the small shoots;

A NATIVE FEAST

OP TKK

UNIVERSITY

C>^LIF0RH^]:>'

coffee trees, with their pretty glossy leaves; and at last the
beautiful beach, where the water is warm and refreshing.
Huge trees grow close to its edge, and handsome villas
nestle everywhere. One of the greatest charms about these
homes is the *' lanai," or enclosed porch, which is fitted
up as a general sitting room. Venetian blinds keep out
the sun and heat, cosy corners are fitted up with soft
couches and dainty pillows; a hammock, low table and
chairs add to the comfort. This is where the family live
and receive their friends, taking afternoon tea or sHting
in the cool of the evening, singing the quaint, weird
songs of the natives.

The stranger in Honolulu is sure of receiving a
cordial welcome, for the hospitality of this gem of cities
is proverbial, and whether you pass a native with his
greeting of '' Aloha," or meet a transplanted American,
you feel that you are truly welcome in this land of the
afternoon.

By chance you may be invited to a luai, or native
feast, and there you will see the native in his true ele-
ment. The place selected is a shady glen, where the ferns
grow to a mammoth size and a silvery stream dances
over rocks and rills. The men make a fireplace of stones,
in which they heap up sticks, dry grass and anything
available. When the embers are almost at a white heat,
a huge fish wrapped in many layers of ti leaves is buried
in the coals and allowed to bake an hour. The women
in the meantime have laid a large grass mat upon the
ground and on it placed the poi bowls, one for each per-
son, filled to the brim with the native food. Mangoes,
bananas, alligator pears, live shrimps and a relish made
of the kukui nut, to be eaten with the fish, which by this

time is well cooked, are heaped upon the mats. A more
delicious repast it would be difficult to find. Each one
of the company has brought a grass mat to sit upon, they
all fall to with great gusto, eating everything with their
fingers, popping the live shrimps into their mouths,
talking, laughing, without a thought of care or trouble,
free as the air they breathe, poor in purse but proud in
spirit.

In contrast to these simple native feasts are the
receptions given by the wealthy Americans, the most
elaborate, perhaps, being the one yearly given by Presi-
dent Dole. There you will meet many distinguished peo-
ple, the ladies costumed in the daintiest of Parisian gowns,
the gentlemen either in military or evening dress. The
Marine Band discourses sweet music, tropical plants
abound in profusion, and the splash of fountains mingles
with the voices of well bred people. Surely this might
be Washington, not Honolulu.

Such is the Hawaii of to-day; a lovely, restful abode,
far away from the turmoil and bustle of our great cities.
Go there where while yet this simplicity exists, drink in
the beauties and wonders which no pen can describe, and
listen to that plaintive native air:

" One fond embrace, aloahoe,
Until we meet again."

Louise Y. Pratt.

CHRISTMAS GIFTS.

HAT gifts, dear Father Time,
Hast in thy hand for me?"
The child pleads eagerly,
Lifting a face where sunrise glories rift —
" What gift, what Christmas gift?*'

The kind All-Father smiles:

" I give thee present joy,

Songs, flowers and sunny days,

Fullness of life, that pleasure may not cloy."

'' What gift, old Father Time,

Hast in thy hand for me?"

The youth cries cheerily,

With flashing eyes where dreamy shadows shift,

"What gift, what Christmas gift?"

The grave All- Father smiles:

*' A bold and daring heart,

High hopes and History's page,

Where men, for good or ill, have played their part."

'* What gift, stern Father Time,

Hast in thy hand for me?"

The man asks anxiously;

" So much I want, thy flight is all too swift —

What gift, what Christmas gift?"

The stern All-Father smiles:
*' For thee, a world to sway;
Sharp tests of manhood's strength;
A woman's love to light thee on thy way."
15

" What gift, gray Father Time,

Hast in thy hand for me?"

The sage asks wearily,

With wrinkled face where twilight shadows drift;

"What gift, what Christmas gift?"

The gray All-Father smiles:

'' I give thee of my best;

Tried friends, good memories,

A few more quiet days, and then — thy rest."

R. W.

Driftwood

A VILLAGE ROAD

Lives which like driftwood by current tost
Rest at last on alien coast.

nHERE are roads and roads in this world, as none
will care to deny. Some are practical one-
I ideaed thoroughfares, their only purpose in

existence that of leading the traveler to his
destination. Such affect backyards, and delight in pros-
aic surroundings, are indifferent of shade trees and are
unobservant of such wayside charms as fate thrusts
upon them.

But the one which forms the artery of this story was
an aimless vagrant among roads. It began suddenly
with no especial object, in the midst of a treeless plain,
whose undulating vastness was as blue and unbroken as
a summer sea; and it ended in front of a great white
house which obstinately barred its progress. It is true,
a lane led off here at right angles to join the dusty
county road, which reached by direct and serious means
a bustling town three miles distant; but the road clearly
ended at the square white house. Its brief mile of green
and lovely length was known as " The Village," although
the houses by the way were so hidden behind walls of
cypress and interlacing orange branches as to be almost
lost to sight. The store and the blacksmith shop were
the two uncompromising facts of "The Village." Planted
exactly on the roadside; the first neat, prosperous, with
an unblinded row of windows staring up and down the
street, giving a much-appreciated power of observation
to the brisk, grey-haired little woman who reigned with-
in. But the shop, grimy, unpainted, dilapidated, was

the one unsightly thing in " The Village." A double row
of plumey pepper trees bordered the road, shading and
over-arching neat sidewalks which loitered past vine-
yards and orange orchards, fringing away to the south
until they met the plain, while to the north they extended
to the hills which formed the lowest bench of range after
range of mountains rising in purple majesty against
the sky.

Ten years before this story opens, this fair valley
had been an untilled plain, forming part of a great Span-
ish Rancho. The coyote and wild cat disputed its soli-
tudes at night; bands of sheep and horses guided by
mounted Mexicans, swarthy of face, heavy of brow,
roamed about its plains nibbling low the sweet alfileria
grass which the scant winter rains brought to life.
Twenty-five miles away, the ranch house, rambling, well-
walled, hospitable, crowned a hill and fed itself upon the
fatness of its possessions. The dolce far niente^ whose
sweetness can alone be well tasted by the languid south-
ern tongue, brooded over the valley and inspired its life.
The wheat and corn were ground between two stones ;
the earth was barely scratched to plant the grain; the
vineyard on the hillside bore grapes whose luscious blood
was trampled out by bare-legged boys, to the subsequent
befuddlement of their lazy progenitors. Beautiful and
idle was life under these southern skies, until that " race
of the future," the active, restless, wealth-acquiring
Anglo-Saxon, invaded the peaceful El Dorado. Then
began the old story, enacted in so many quarters. The
Mexicans grew poorer, sold their land for ruinous prices,
withdrew to their ranch houses and hill-set adobe vil-
lages, and the valley blossomed forth in widespread vine-

yards and in thrifty towns whose inhabitants spoke of
their predecessors with undisguised conteropt.

In the hurry of money-making and the smoke of
factories the Village had no part. It was exclusive and
aristocratic in its tastes, not that all its inhabitants
were either rich or well educated — far from that — but
they were honest and respectable and able to give a clear
account of themselves and their antecedents to Mrs. Foss,
the storekeeper and autocrat of the Village, who kept a
sort of Americanized book of heraldry; and woe betide
the man or woman against whose name was written
** Doubtful," or something worse. The wealth of the Vil-
lage lay in fruit, and it was justly proud of the car loads
of oranges, lemons, limes, prunes and raisins which were
sent away from its orchards and vineyards. But is not
that the poetry of money-making, incomparably to be
preferred to mere vulgar traffic!

So at least thought Mrs. Foss, as she sat by the
window of the large kitchen back of the store, knitting
and casting occasional glances up the street. It was a
balmy afternoon in early spring, the flowers were bloom-
ing, the birds nest-building. In the neat kitchen, which
also served the purpose of dining and sitting-room, the
stillness was only broken by the ticking of the clock and
the rapid click of swiftly moving knitting needles. A
look of excitement was, however, visible in Mrs. Fosses
face, and she occasionally murmured '* Well, I declare!"
as though surprise must find expression. A musical bell
broke presently upon the silence, and almost immedi-
ately a sound of voices and laughter echoed through the
trees. " There's the school bell," said Mrs. Foss, rising.
" I might as well go in the store, for some of the children

are sure to come in. How do you do, Ruth? I suppose
you came for that package?"

*' Yes, Mrs. Foss, and I want some sewing silk to
match this sample," returned the rosy-cheeked girl, who,
accompanied by two others, had entered the store.

" And I want a pound of crackers," said the second.

*' Which will you take first, crackers or silk?" asked
Mrs. Foss testily. '* I can't get both at once."

''Either you please," returned the first girl, laughing
and swinging herself to a seat on the counter, while Mrs.
Foss looked at her with marked disapproval. " Now,
don't frown at me so or I'll not tell you the news."

Mrs. Foss's brow relaxed somewhat.

** It is not becoming a girl to sit on a store counter,
and your pa wouldn't like it," she said. " I suppose your
news is about Sycamore Cottage?"

"No, it is about the new teacher. She came to
school to-day, and she's just lovely, isn't she, girls?"

" Yes, she is, but she looks as if she hadn't courage
to say boo to a goose," said her companion. " She'll have
a hard time of it with those boys."

*'Do tell! Now, she must have rented Sycamore
Cottage," said Mrs. Foss, standing, silk in hand. "I
wonder, now I"

" How dreadfully wicked of her," said the girl on the
counter, mischief twinkling in her very bright eyes.
" Why, I thought the teachers always boarded with you,
Mrs. Foss?"

" And so they did, Ruth; but I suppose this house
isn't good enough for your fine new teacher."

" Then we'll wait on her in a body and tell her no-
body can teach our young ideas who is not fed on your

beef and mutton/' said Ruth, jumping down. " Come
on, girls. Good-bye, Mrs. Foss."

" That girl is no better than a wild Indian," said
Mrs. Foss, looking after her. '* I think I'll get Sarah to
tend store awhile, and just walk around to Sycamore
Cottage and take a look."

The good genius which presides over the fate of
country school teachers was singularly remiss in his
duty this lovely spring day, for just as Mrs Foss, already
rather irate, approached the cottage, a dray was standing
in front of the gate, and some men were unpacking an
unusually handsome piano and a satin lounging chair.
What more was needed to condemn, unheard, a school
mistress who refused to follow in the steps of her prede-
cessors I " An idle miss, who plays on a piano and lies
around in a satin chair reading novels," thought Mrs.
Foss. The new teacher's fate was sealed. She was an
objectionable person to introduce into a community, and
the sooner she was made to feel it the better. How often
is the balance of Fate tipped by so light a thing!

Sycamore Cottage stood well back from the road,
overhung by grand old trees which gave it its name.
These trees were all the more beautiful from contrast
between their massive age and the youth of all about
them. They were dotted in groups here and there all
over the valley, and none more beautiful than these
which shaded this little grey cottage and by their height
made it appear so diminutive. Within the house were
four neatly papered rooms ; the floor was covered with
matting, and at the windows a stout, middle-aged woman
was hanging muslin curtains. In the satin lounging chair,
just placed in the room, sat the new teacher. She was

dressed in deep mourning, which, added to the effect of
light brown hair and a delicate complexion, gave her an
appearance of extreme youth and fragility. Yet her
lithe, strong figure, rather above middle height, disproved
any tendency to ill health, and the well poised head and
firm mouth bespoke her a person of positive convictions
and independent actions. If her eyes had been less
changefully dark, hers would have been a face to be
satisfactorily read and decided upon at once; but, as it
was, her restless glance seemed to hint at something at
variance with the calm mouth and clear, low voice. At
present she is resting from the labor of setting her tiny
house at rights, and is languid and flushed.

" Therese," she said presently, and it was a surprise
in this far western village to hear her speak in pure,
rapid French, " the curtains are a mistake. They will
look pretty and cool, but there are no shutters and we
will have to buy shades, so the expense is doubled."

" But madame could never live with those ugly win-
dows staring at her with nothing to hide them I To
teach those dreadful children all day, and then have
nothing pretty to look at at home — that shall not be. I
will sell eggs to buy shades."

"But you have no chickens yet, Therese. Where
will you get eggs*^" said the lady, laughing.

"Madame has but to wait; the hens will be ob-
tained." Madame seems to have often waited before, for
she drops the subject with a little sigh and closes her
eyes. Two tears creep from beneath the lashes and drop
on the satin chair. Therese, seeing this, shrugs her
broad shoulders impatiently, and opens conversation
with a new topic.

" Did madame find the school more dreadful than
she expected ?"

" Oh, no ! not at all," says her mistress, rousing her-
self. " The boys and girls are older than I thought, but
that is all the better. They seemed someway rather
astonished at me. I think I shall have to fix my hair
differently, so as to look older."

*' You'll get old fast enough with all this trouble,"
said Therese, with a cough, which was not far from a
sob. '* There, those curtains will do."

And so, indeed, they would; for the French woman
had knotted them back with red ribbons, and their
dainty whiteness was fair to look upon. At one side
stood the beautiful piano, with a quaint sconce above it
filled with candles; the satin chair was placed between
the windows commanding a view between the trees, of a
quiet road and a far range of mountains. A red draped
table occupied the centre of the room.

" You shall have your dinner at once," said Therese,
hurrying out, but pausing after closing the door quietly,
to wring her hands and shake her head until her white
cap trembled. Then changing expression, with an alac-
.rity wonderful to see, went into the bare little kitchen
and began her preparations for dinner.

11.

Mrs. Barton was working in her garden, if occa-
sionally using a toy hoe, and gathering a heavy-headed
rose could be called work. Her broad hat shaded an
open, white brow and kindly eyes. She was humming a
song, pausing now and then to listen to a yellow-
breasted bird poised upon a tree among the oranges. A
high cypress hedge shut the garden in from the road,

and the low, rambling house which sat in the midst with
outstretched wings like a brooding hen, had its verandas
overhung with a tangled mat of honeysuckle and ever-
evergreen Australian pea vine. A sturdy palm tree and
a ragged clump of bananas gave a semi-tropic aspect to
the place. The roses held carnival everywhere! even the
lower arms of a huge sycamore tree were garlanded with
Lamarques, and the white and yellow Banksias stretched
their downy bloom to the very roof of the house. A
Giant of Battles, eight feet high, held aloft a coronal of
intense glowing red, which seemed to burn against a
background of dark green hedge. Mrs. Barton went
about among her flowers, caressingly, as though each one
were a friend; she wound up the drooping tendrils of a
vine; picked dead leaves from the plants; stooped to
smell the rich perfume of a hyacinth; and brushed a
cluster of yellow roses against her cheek.

Had those of Mrs. Barton's friends, who often won-
dered wherein lay her indescribable charm, seen her at
this moment they would have understood that it sprang
from the divine content which shone in her face. She
was so joyfully thankful for all the blessings which
filled her life that she strove constantly to share with
others her happiness; and sorrow for her was ever bright-
ened by remembered sunshine. Among other things, she
was very grateful that she was an uncommonly attractive
woman, not pretty in the usual sense — she would not have
cared at all for that — but comely to look upon in a way
which opened all hearts to her and smoothed many diffi-
culties from her path. Confusion and discord fled her
calm presence; her graceful tact guided her safely past
the shoals and breakers of social life; and if she did

have a decided taste for managing the affairs of those
who fell under her sway, she did it so gently and skil-
fully that this was altogether to her credit. And no-
where did she display these talents more charmingly
than in her home, that crucial test of every woman's
character. The house which she presently entered, with
her hands full of flowers, abundantly attested this fact.
The door opened through a curtained vestibule into a
large irregular room with recessed windows looking upon
the broad verandas. Pictures hung upon the softly
tinted walls; book shelves filled the angles; comfortable
chairs pushed wherever the last occupant chose to face;
a table upholding a great bowl of brilliant flowers; a
workstand in a window with an open book upon it — a
room strongly marked with the personality of its owners.

Mrs. Barton did not stop here, but passed on to what
proclaimed itself at a glance as "Mother's room." A
corner devoted to toys, a table covered with a nonde-
script collection of special treasures; the easy chair
drawn to a window with a basket of "mending" beside
it; a small bed, curtained daintily in blue and white, all
told of little people who found this the home spot of all
the world.

" WhatI wide awake Ned?" said Mrs. Barton, lift-
ing from the crib a rosy, blue-eyed boy, a year old, who
clasped his dimpled arms around her neck and began a
series of inarticulate duckings and gurglings. "What
a sweet story, Ned; mother understands every word of
it," said Mrs. Barton with a laugh as merry as the
baby's. " Come and be dressed now before Papa comes."

The little gentleman's toilet occupied but a few
minutes; and just as the last golden curl was adjusted

about the white brow, the sound of wheels and voices
came in through the open windows.

*'0h! Mamma, we have such lovely flowers," cried
an active, nine-year-old boy, as Mrs. Barton came out on
the veranda, Ned in her arms. "And Papa tried to get
the anemone roots, but they broke off and I don't
believe they '11 grow, and Jack has a horned toad and
Ethel is afraid of it."

" Gently, my son, or you will tell all the news in one
breath," said Mr. Barton, who, having lifted a little girl
from the light wagon and watched his second son roll
out behind and arrive without injury on the ground,
gave the reins to a servant and turned toward the group
on the porch. He took off his hat and gloves as he came
up the steps, — a tall, black-bearded man, with lustrous
dark eyes, which rested admiringly on his wife, as she
stood among the flecking vine shadows, the fair-haired
baby in her arms, and a joyful welcome in her face.
They had been married ten years and yet the romance
of their honeymoon was fresh between these two; his
coming was happiness to her; her presence was peace to
him.

"Fair and fresh as the spring day," he said, putting
his arm around her and placing Ned upon his shoulder.
"We missed you dreadfully, little Mother, and Arthur
has told you the sad truth — the anemones are a failure."

" How clumsy you must have been to have broken
the roots I Was the trowel so dull? "

" Arthur broke the trowel shying it up a tree at an
owl, so we dug the flowers with a stick," said Jack, ever
ready to speak. " But never mind, Mamma, I'll give you
my toad. He's a beauty and you can keep him in a box

under your bed. That's where Harry Thompson keeps
his."

" So I have lost my trowel, my flowers, too," said
Mrs. Barton, half vexed, half laughing.

*' Arthur shall buy another trowel out of his own
money, and the first day I can get off we will go to the
hills again, and take Mamma with us," said Mr. Bar-
ton; "now be off, boys, and get ready for supper." He
stepped in through one of the low windows as he spoke.
He looked tired as he sat down, and his wife noticed it
at once. " Run Ethel and call nurse to take Ned," she
said, and then drew a low seat to his side. " Now tell
me your adventures."

" Well, strange to say, we did not have one adven-
ture, which does not often happen when you are not
along. Just as we left the wagon to look for the flowers,
we saw a tall, slender figure ahead which Arthur informed
me was " the new teacher." She was standing quite still
with her back to us and seemed to be lost in thought.
Imagine my surprise to see our little, timid Ethel run to
her at once and cry *How do you do?' The lady stooped,
and put her arm around her and knelt talking to her
with a smile, until she caught a glimpse of me, and then
she rose with such a look of reserve that the change was
puzzling. *Come see. Papa,' cried Ethel, but she with-
drew her dress gently from the child's grasp and with a
slight bow passed on. What a contrast to the fat country
girl who reigned last over the youthful ideas! Where
did she come from?"

Mr. Barton stopped abruptly, seeing that his wife
was smiling.

"As enthusiastic as ever over a pretty face," she
said, " the traditional * school marm ' is an ogre in your

eyes, and yet this one is forgiven even that occupation
for a graceful bow. * Frailty, your name is' indeed
manl"

Mr. Barton laughed heartily, and repeated his ques-
tion.

"I haven't seen Mrs. Foss since this lady's arrival,
so I know very little about her. Ethel made her acquaint-
ance at the Post Office one morning, and has talked with
her through the hedge once or twice. Her maid, a portly
French woman, came here yesterday to ask if I had any
fine laces which needed mending or washing, and made
the startling proposition that I should pay her in
chickens. She looked so eager that I took hei to the hen
house, and she picked out a rooster and two hens, with
great deliberation; but refused my offer to let her take
them at once. * Je pay first, take apres,' she said, with
an impartial mixture of French and English, so I gave
her some laces, and she went away with many bows. I
really hadn't the courage to ask her any questions, she
looked so unapproachable, and so much afraid she might
say something."

The supper bell here interrupted the conversation,
and the father, mother and children gathered around the
pretty, flower-decked table. It was their simple family
custom that standing around the evening meal they sang
the time-honored benediction — ** Praise God from whom
all blessings flow." Passers by often heard the sweet
words floating out upon the twilight, and looked through
the unshaded windows upon the lovely group. Strife
and discord flee such a home, where Almighty Love
inspires the life which is a type of that within the Many
Mansions. Franklina Gray Bartlett.

{To be continued^
29

pragmcnts

(Fragments from a girl's letter to her fiance. His
reply and her decision).

THE WOMAN'S ARGUMENT.

"I expect you to love me just so long as I am
interesting to you and not one moment longer — as I
with you. I expect you to be loyal to me always, be-
cause you promised and you keep your word; I expect
you to be courteous to me because you are a gentleman,
and tender because all manly men are gentle to the
weak, women and little children and dogs. Expecting
all these things I trust myself to you with no fear for
the future, and because you are you. As for love, that
is only the beginning. The other things make life pos-
sible. That you should love always is more than I dare
hope."

" Since you doubt the permanency of my feeling for
you, and only promise to be true to me as long as I am
"interesting," you can call the thing off now. When
the time comes later, it might be a little awkward — for
you."

THE girl's reflection.

" He is not most of the things I thought him, but
he is the best I have met; and if I do not marry him I
may not any one. I think I will take for granted the
"durability" of his affection, and let it go at that."

Harryet R. Strong.
30

OUR SEMI-TROPIC WINTER.

INTER is with us, and he whispers low,
In fragrant words through all the winds that blow ;
How bright the blossoms which his fond lips press,
How smile the buds his tender hands caress I
His glorious skies are sapphire-like and fair,
Bird songs have not a single note of care;
Golden the wings the butterfly doth spread,
And rainbowed those of bee and fly overhead.
Earth breathes a psalm from blossom, bud and tree,
And the grand mountains lift their symphony
To stars and winds, to bending sky which leans.
Touching their shoulders, while their silver streams
Are like the voice of music in our dreams.

I catch the lily's scent, the roses sweet
Pave with their perfume pathways for my feet;
The palms drop shadows cool upon the grass,
The green vines nod unto me as I pass;
The cricket's chirp sounds merry to my ear,
The humming bird is sipping nectar near,
Poised on the edge of honeysuckle's bloom,
Bathed in the sunlight of the glowing noon;
The world is swathed in splendor everywhere,
Valley and mountain tops and deeps of air.

Old year stay with us, let your lingering feet,
Sandaled with bloom, the gracious footsteps meet
Of the young year. O, dear old year, go slow,
Tarry to glad us, do not haste to go,
For your bright days are full of splendid light.
And breezes pure, so soft that they well might
Be sweet June's breath of perfumed bloom and balm,
Your hours May's hours, full of delicious calm;
Your skies June's own, so wondrously blue,
The universe of worlds may well look through
Their starry midnights, fair as Summer's own.
With no harsh winds from stormy deeps outblown.
Pass like a saint, old year, with footsteps slow.
With glory's halo round you as you go.

Eliza A. Otis.

nHE criminals are and must be considered a dis-
tinct class, half way between brute and man.
Let us treat them as such; let us confine them

as those who have cut themselves off from their fellows
by their own acts. At any cost society must be protected
from them, for crime, like cholera, breeds most rapidly
where population is densest."

With this burst of rhetoric I brought to its close my
night's work and leaned back in my chair. Before me
lay the closely written pages of my article — its title, The
Prison System, and I flattered myself that I had done it
full justice. In fact, for a maiden effort, I considered it
a little masterpiece — brief, to the point, convincing.
Moreover, it already had a market, which was more than
I could say of earlier efforts. Johnson and Smiley had
said to me only last week :

*' Haven't you a little something that will do to fill
up our column on public affairs?"

I answered promptly, " Yes, sir, and you shall have
it Wednesday morning." Then I came home and went
to work. Public questions — Why I was overflowing with
theories on the whole lot of them and fairly aching to
give these theories the light of day. Which should it be?
That was the weighty problem. Which should be the
happy topic to employ the eloquence of my pen for the
columns of Johnson and Smiley, that should woo to my
side Fortune, who had been playing hide and seek with
me too long? Just then my eye fell upon the newspaper
and I read the following heading: " A young desperado
arrested for robbing a bank. Gives the detectives a long
chase and lively work."

" One more to fill up the prisons," was my mental
33

Cbristmas
experience

comment. Then an inspiration came to me: Why not
write up the prison system? That was a burning public
question, and I was full of ideas. I felt the fountains of
eloquence stirring within my bosom at the thought. I
seized the pen and wrote.

Now my article was finished, and I surveyed it with
open exultation. I felt it to be good. To-morrow I
would take it to Johnson and Smiley, it would be pub-
lished, and the great New York public would read and
be struck with the justice and force of my arguments;
they would inquire about the writer, learn that he was a
young fellow of promise, request something more from
his pen — and behold, my feet would be firmly planted
on the ladder of fame ! I pushed back my chair and
going to the window, opened it and let the cool night air
blow across my face. It was Christmas eve. The night
was clear and frosty. Innumerable stars glittered in the
vault of heaven, while below me the vast city lay wrapped
in snow, as in a pure, Christmas garment, sending up its
myriad breath into the face of overhanging night. A
sudden restlessness seized me. After so many hours of
hard thought I longed for action. There was my black
horse in the stable, eating her head off (though an aspir-
ant for fame, I did possess some of this world's goods).
I would take a midnight ride and give her and myself
some needed exercise. So I booted and spurred myself,
drew on a great coat and made my way to the stables.
A few moments later, my pretty Nell was bearing me
through the quiet streets of upper New York with long,
swinging steps, out into the open country.

A distant clock was striking one as I drew rein on
the top of Lincoln Hill and gazed about me. For an

hour I had ridden hard, and now Nell and myself were
in a glow, which the keen wind racing by us only served
to heighten. I dropped the reins on Nell's neck and let
her rest while I leaned forward and musingly watched
the headlight of a far distant train speeding along
through the night like a serpent of fire. All about me
was star-lit darkness and silence. Again my thoughts
returned to those closely written pages and dwelt there
lovingly. I could see the sentences one by one ; they
seemed to be written across the sky. Folly, you say —
but what would you? I was young. Besides, one does
not write a masterpiece every night.

Those closing thoughts were certainly fine, so clear,
so concise. I rather flattered myself that there was a
Charles-Dudley- Warnerish touch about the lines. It
might be in years to come — What was that! The
stillness about me was suddenly broken. From the long
line of trees on the right came a confused noise, a crack-
ing, a snapping as of underbrush — then all was silent.
But in a moment the stillness was broken again, for up
the road on the further side of the hill came the sound
of rapidly running feet. I am not a coward, but there
was something in the sound of those running feet that
stopped the blood in my veins. Moreover, they were
making straight for me. Mechanically, I drew my pistol
from my pocket and cocked it. Nearer and nearer came
the flying feet. I waited in awful suspense. A midnight
ride for pleasure is one thing, but to try conclusions with
a desperate man on a lonely hill at one o'clock at night
is quite another. Suddenly a thought struck me. I had
the advantage of this flying fellow, whoever he might be,
for I knew that he was coming, while he was rushing

headlong, unknowing, into the mouth of my pistol. I
would make the most of this slight advantage. Instead
of letting him charge me, I would charge him. It was
my best chance, perhaps my only chance. Instantly I
dashed my spurs into Nell's side, and before the startled
animal had fairly touched earth after her wild leap I
was at the turn of the road and face to face with a dark
figure outlined clear against snow and sky.

^'Stop!" I shouted desperately; "Stop, or I'll put a
bullet through you!" and lo, before I had finished speak-
ing, the dark figure had thrown itself flat on the snow
under Nell's feet, and lay there motionless. I was victor
of this bloodless field. To tell the truth, I did not feel
very proud of my conquest as I leaped from my horse
and bent over the prostrate figure. It was that of a
young fellow, scarce more than a boy, with a slight form
clad in coarse shirt and trousers, with neither hat to his
head nor a coat to his back, and a face so pale — ah, what
a face on a mere boy ! I stood quite silent and gazed at
him. Then the silence was broken, the black eyes fast-
ened on my face blazed up suddenly. " Shoot I" he said,
" and get it over with." I put my pistol into my pocket.
" Get up off that snow," I said, '^ and tell me what
you are doing here this way, at this time of night."

The young fellow pulled himself slowly to his feet.
For a moment he looked at me, then his eyes wandered
to the distant city, and they were like the eyes of a tiger
at bay. With a sudden movement he turned.

"No, you don't I" I exclaimed, seizing him by the
collar and dragging him forward into the starlight. "I've
not done with you yet. Your actions are too suspicious.
I must know, first of all, from whom you're running.

Come, own up. Is it a burglary or a saloon quarrel,
or " — here I tightened my hold on the ragged collar —
' have you left some poor devil lying back there in the
road with his face turned up to the sky?"

" No, no; not that," he murmured.

" Well, then, out with it. If it is not that, we can
stand it."

Again he gazed wildly toward the city and my eyes
followed his. ** Yes," said I, " there it is, the city, so
near, ready to receive you into its great vortex and hold
you safe. Just a word or two of explanation and you
are free to go. If not — I will put you up in front of me
on that horse and take you straight to the police station.
They will know how to make you talk there."

He writhed in my grasp for a moment like a mad
thing; then turned and faced me with a wild despair.

" Take me, then," he exclaimed, "it's all up with
me anyway. I got out o' prison this very night and
they're on my track now. I had a fair chance — I'd a
struck the city if I hadn't run up agin you — but now it's
all up I"

I drew my breath in a prolonged whistle and stared
at him.

" You escaped from prison ? What were you there
for?"

" Forging," said he, briefly.

" What I" I exclaimed, a thought striking me. "You
aren't the fellow I read about a few days ago who forged
for $5000 and was caught in Albany?"

"Yes," he answered, "I suppose 'twas in the papers."

" Well," said I coldly, " You ought to be in prison ;
it's the place for you. Weren't you man enough to take
your punishment when you earned it?"

" Tisnt that," he muttered. " If 'twas only myself
— but her and the baby — what's to become o- them? She
doesn't know — 'twould kill her, I reckon — and she's been
three weeks without money — she and the little one."

" So there's a * she ' in the case," I said slowly. "I'm
not surprised. There usually is."

"Yes, 'twas all along o' her. She's young and
flighty. She had to have things — she was born that
way — an' I got out o' work and couldn't give her money
an' so — I did it."

He coughed, and I shivered suddenly to see how the
icy wind whistled through his garments, ragged and thin.

" Where is she now?" I asked.

He uttered a cry as of a wounded animal. " It's
three weeks since I was found out and had to run for it,"
he moaned — " three weeks! She had no money an' the
little un was sick. And it's Christmas Eve. Do you
know what I felt, over there in those walls, when I found
'twas Christmas Eve? — five years they gave me — and her
never knowin'!"

*' How did you get out ?" I asked.

" There was a bar loose an' I squeezed through. I'd
a gone mad before morning. They never saw nor knew,
but they know by this time and they're on my track."

"What would you have done?" I asked slowly, "if
you had met no one? Would you have gone straight to
her?"

" I'd a been there by now," he answered. " I'd a
known by now—"

" Listen !" I said.

Far away in the direction of the river was borne on
38

the night air the sound of galloping hoofs over the frozen
road.

" They are coming," I said.

He threw himself flat on his face in the snow and
scattered great handfuls of it with frenzied fingers. There
was a silence.

" They are near," I said. " They are riding very
fast." I thought of my article on the Prison Reforms,
and looked down at the prostrate, writhing figure. Sud-
denly he sprang to his feet and grasped my arm.

'* Look here," he said, " youVe got a pistol — just put
a bullet through me."

Once more I thought of my paper. "Yes, it is
Christmas Eve," I said. Then I turned to him and
slipped off my great coat. *Tut this on," I commanded.

" Why — what — " he gasped.

" Quick I" I exclaimed, pulling it over his shoulders,
"don't you hear those hoofs?" and he slipped into it
without another word. "There are twenty dollars in
t he pocket. "That'll give you another start in the world.
Now go for your life I — spend your Christmas with her."

He looked at me, dazed. " Then you ain't goin' to
give me over to 'em?" he gasped.

"Go!" I responded, pushing him in the direction of
the city.

He seized my hand a moment and wrung it in a
vise-like grip, then turned and fled into the darkness.
Shivering in the keen wind, I mounted Nell and rode
slowly down hill to meet the approaching horsemen.
Five minutes later they had reached me.

" Have I seen a man on foot in this neighborhood?
Why yes, come to think of it, I did notice some one be-

low there on the river road; no one along this way. An
escaped prisoner? You don't say so! Desperate? For-
tunate I didn't meet him. Yes, the river road Good
night " — and Heaven forgive such bare-faced lying," I
added to myself as I turned Nell's face cityward.

It was five o'clock, though still dark, when I entered
my room. The housemaid was sweeping outside and I
called her in.

" Kindle a fire for me, Mary," I said, " and make
me some coffee. Oh, and wait a moment. Here is
some paper to start the blaze." I took a pile of closely
written manuscript from the table and thrust it into her
hands. It was my article on ** Prison Reforms."

I am still trying to decide which of all the burning
questions of the day shall employ my pen for the columns
of Johnson and Smiley.

Mary S. Williams.

In the

HERE are the delightful carols of the olden time? Olorld of
Where are the joyous songs of Christmas-eve )VIU9ic
before the cosy fireside, or the carols of the

breakfast hour on Christmas morn?

Who sings in these latter days that stately, beauti-
ful chant-story written in language sweet, with majestic
intoning of melody — that chant of our grandmothers'
time —

" When marshalled on the nightly plain

The glittering host bestud the sky.
One star alone of all the train

Could fix the sinner's wandering eye."

What wondrous sweetness and force were found in
those simple, melodious songs of Christmas-tide before
the Yule log in the great fire-place, and in the carols of
the crisp, sparkling, white-robed, rosy-hued dawn in the
East, where the Pilgrims once sang amidst the storm at
Thanksgiving, and again, a hymn of the Christ-child,
with that Gloria of Holy Writ — "Bring forth the royal
diadem and crown Him Lord of Alll "

Now we have the Christmas Service, Song, Festival,
Cantata, and the marvelous '' Messiah " — but that simplei
joyous carol — who sings it? That wonderful creation of
a great genius — "The Messiah" — was written, you may
recall, in twenty-four days by one who looked on music
as a religion, and who, I believe, through his very love
for painting and scripture created this song-story of the
"Prince of Peace" with inimitable beauty, grace, and
glory of conception, and coloring, and of a majestic
finishing. Who can listen without exaltation of spirit
to the Hallelujah finale in HandePs masterpiece!

The words, as you may know, were written by Charles
41

Jensen, the friend of Handel, though it is commonly
believed that Handel had conceived a Messiah Oratorio
before he was invited by Jensen to arrange music for the
libretto with which we are familiar.

Handel performed the Oratorio annually from 1750
to 1758, for charity, and sometimes twice a year did he
give it. It was thus given by him in Covent Garden eight
days before his death.

At the Handel commemoration — we may add in pass-
ing— in 1784, the oratorio was sung in Westminster
Abbey, and King George III. requested by uplifted hand
a repetition of the Hallelujah and Amen Choruses. In
many Eastern cities "The Messiah" is now given in
December of each year, either for charity, as a church
ser-o^ice, or as a concert performance during Christmas
Holidays. The Oratorio Society of New York will sing
"The Messiah" this year, as it has sung it for many
years, at Christmas time. It is very popular— even as
popular as many performances of drama. At this season
there is an almost uninterrupted festivity of song and
symphony in cities of chilling blasts and blizzards.

Beneath the flaming, flashing aurora borealis, crush-
ing the sparkling frost lands under fleet footsteps, crowds
seek great halls and spacious churches to listen to such
artists as Careno, Eames, Aus dev Ohe, Sauer, Nordica,
Kneisel Quartette; and now Melba sails from Liverpool
and comes to the Metropolitan Opera House in a concert
for the Sunnyside Day Nursery.

This is peculiarly a season for charity concerts in
the East. Boston is called a city of charities. One of
its most deserving subjects is the Working Boys* Home.
A concert will be given in December for this home.

There are Mayor Quincy's concerts, held on Sunday
e\rening under the auspices of the city, and any profits
made are devoted to the city hospital.

Orchestral concerts are given for the benefit of those
who labor during the week with no opportunity to hear
good music. These are high class concerts with popular
admission fee of ten, fifteen and twenty -five cents. They
are called municipal concerts, and the city has a munici-
pal band.

The famous old Handel and Hayden Society will
give their first concert of the season with '* The Messiah."

Mr. H. J. Tricker with a chorus of fifty fine voices
and orchestral accompaniment has advertised two con-
certs of Baches works. The first concert programme will
include two cantatas, selections from the Messa Revis in
A, and the Christmas Oratorio. Second concert on Good
Friday evening, when St. John's Passion will be sung.
In Philadelphia there will be the Boston Symphony,
with many first-class artists.

The Milwaukee Musical Society, which has had
forty-eight years of good work, will give holiday concerts
with a male choir as a special feature. Over all the
East is this perfecting of The Messiah which, more than
any other musical creation, perhaps, has been performed
in aid of charity.

Now what is to be given in this beautiful southland
of the Rockies? To be sure, we have here a young city,
and we are remote from the centers of music, But, may
we not, with our splendid symphony society, with many
rich voices, and with real artists in our fair city, enjoy
those creations which do not cease with the composer,
but which need the interpeter to re-touch, to re-create.

One great treat is in store for the music lovers of Los
Angeles, the engagement of the great Rosenthal under
the Fitzgerald management, for a series of concerts dur-
ing the Christmas holidays. This is a rare chance to
hear one of the world's favorites. Shall we not, as a
music loving city, make the most of it?

Music unperformed is little; rendition gives new
beauty, new life. There must be within the interpreter
three principles as they existed before in the composer;
these three forces are physical, intellectual, emotional; —
they must also be sympathetic, though while not the
same. If we rightly study we will truly intrepret. " Love
fervid, philosophical, divine — a triune key — unlocks the
entrance to musical paradise."

Mary C. Pearson.

This department is devoted to the discussion of cer-
tain aspects of society and the world in general. It
will contain each month certain questions, tending to
misunderstood or perverted facts. Our readers are
urged to answer these questions and send answers to
B. D., care of the Editorial Department uf The Ebell,
These answers will be printed in the ensuing number
without names.

It 19

Like this

0LTHOUGH the glory of the ancestor may be
considered faded, one result of his reign still
I lingers among us, a sort of by-product of his

memory, as it were, which is the code of manners com-
pounded when caste was king. It deals chiefly with the
relation of the members of one stratum to each other
and of one rank with another.

All these boundaries were then fixed and acknowl-
edged by outward and visible signs, not only revealed in
the deportment of such members, but also through dress
and insignia regulated by law. These were the palmy
days of the aristocrat. We note especially the tona
deemed suitable for inferiors as reflected in the old plays.

"What ho. Sirrah!" and "Hither minion!" were
the approved forms of address acquiesced in by all
hands; frequently punctuated with an aristocratic caning
should his Serene Excellency happen to mislay his lordly
temper.

Alas and alas! that it should be so, but times have
changed, not to say degenerated Things have come to
such a level in the grind of centuries that with the
increasing diflBculty among members of the same class to
distinguish " who is who," has arrived the utter impossi-

On the
Gracious
Hrtof
Condescension

OP 17TW

tTNIVERSI

bility of impressing the so-called lower classes with a
sense of " what is what."

This forces the whole question of aristocratic pat-
ronage into a position of extreme delicacy; condescen-
sion is now becoming a fine art. To be gracious and at
the same time visibly and admittedly superior can only
be attained by years of constant study, and is filled with
pitfalls for the unwary. Since the great have given over
wearing coronets, one is often in danger of showing a
noble superciliousness, called bad temper in common
folk, even to the topmost in rank, should such a one for
the moment chance to be unknown. Such a distressing
situation is most painful to contemplate. It almost com-
pels one to be polite to everybody.

This well known tendency of the high-and-well-born
toward masquerade calls for legislative interference-
They ought to be compelled by law to wear at least an
authenticated button, then one could be as disagree-
able as one pleased to alleged inferiors without danger of
mistake.

But here lies another pitfall. We might be able to
distinguish present people of high rank or high finance,
but how can one divine who will be the next raised? I
may snub my landlady today and tomorrow she might
marry a millionaire. Such annoying complications are
constantly arising in this democratic age. As one said
who had " arrived," " One never knows who to be polite
to."

Since the genuine article or the to be genuine is so
hard to distinguish the safest rule to follow might be
this:

Address all unknown or supposedly inferior persons
46

not as present equals but with a continuous courtesy and
a manner that implies:

"lam myself just now quite your superior, but I
am so graciously aware of your existence, that when you
also * arrive ' I shall be pleased to number you among
my choicest associates — in time."

I. e. " Should your harness be well plated I might
condescend not only to borrow your carriage but even to
be useful to you in many ways."

What if one should occasionally err in patronizing
some of those " others," one would still achieve a repu-
tation for delicacy and good nature, and would feel a
conscious glow at helping along the dawning of that
golden era when all men will be not equal. F.

Questions Hnswcred

What is the inspiration of art? To one it is "feel
ing." To another "emotion," while a third says "ideals
expressed." The latter combines inspiration and its ex-
pression, which is all there is in art.

When the portrayal represents objects of everyday
life, " homely affairs," we have realism. " Doing well
a thing not worth doing " is usually realism — accepted
realism and impressionism are far from high art.

"Is Quo Vadis an attack on Christianity?" One
says "It is an attack on every thing and is an awful
book." Another, " It is a fine picture of the times, and
those times and people and events are not to be judged
by our present standards."

Questtoiid Hshed

1. Can art expressed by others elevate above the
possibility to produce it?

2. Why could not Mrs. Maybrick have been granted
a new trial?

Is there one " Christian " in Hall Caine's book of
that name? B. D.

Hmong

the

Boohs

HE stores present a most attractive array of
Christnias books for the holiday season just
beginning. Covers as attractive as the art of
bookbinder and designer can make them, conceal trea-
sures of thought old and new, and win the interested
observer to feel that this is indeed a bookmaking age.
The lover of poetry, history, romance — there is something
interesting for each. Among the month's publications
receiving the highest praise are a Swedish story and a
tale of Colonial Virginia.

" The Story of Gosta Berling," translated from the
Swedish of Selma Lagerloff, by Pauline Bancroft Flach.
Boston: Little, Brown & Co. $1.50. — This charming
story of Swedish life introduces a new author to Ameri-
can readers and one whose remarkable skill in character
portrayal and descriptive effects will undoubtedly give
her a permanent place. The plot concerns itself with a
priest for hero and the strong-souled wife of a major,
who awakes the priest to his slumbering manhood.
Despite the confusion of incidents and local coloring, this
plot has a strong and peculiar fascination, born of the
analysis of new and vigorous types of character and the
atmosphere of the great forest stretches and lonely,
legend-haunted uplands. Let the sated novel reader take
up " Gosta Berling," and find a new and peculiar thrill
of pleasure in its unusual charm.

"Prisoners of Hope," by Mary Johnston. Boston:
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.60. — This is a story of
Colonial Virginia, a story well worth the telling and well
told. It holds the interest from beginning to end, with
never a moment of flagging. It is pervaded with a high,
pure, moral atmosphere, created partly by the tenor of

the plot, partly by the nobility of the characters, among
whom young Godfrey Landless, who creates the main in-
terest in the masterly story, is a man so true, so chival-
rous, that merely to be in his company for a few hours
refines and elevates. We are thankful even for the con-
ception of such a man. This book, with its wealth of
incident, dramatic plot and high thought, will undoubt-
edly be one of the novels of the year.

" The Black Curtain," by Flora Haines Longhead.
Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. — This is a book of in-
terest to Californians, giving as it does so many pretty
pictures of life among the foothills and their perennial
charm. The California atmosphere is well preserved
throughout the book. The story revolves about a painter
and a singer who retire to this wild paradise to recover,
the one a voice, the other his eyesight, and who discover
that they have both taken up the same grant of land.
The incidents growing out of this mistake are both amus-
ing and pathetic, and brightly told. As a whole the book
f urni-ihes very interesting reading, and will help to make
Mrs. Loughead^s name prominent among California
writers.

Among other books of the month of much interest
are "The Town Traveller," by George Gissing; "The
Destroyer," by Benjamin Smith; "A History of Spanish
Literature," by James Fitzmaurice Kelley; "The Land
of Contrasts," by James Fullarton Muirhead; and two
volumes of poems — ^'My Lady Sleeps," selected by Cath-
arine S. Page, and "Under the Stars," a stirring set of
war poems by Wallace Rice and Barrett Eastman.

It will doubtless be of interest to our readers to
know that the six books which have had the best sale in

America during the past month are, in order of demand:

1. Helbeck of Bannisdale, by Mrs. Ward.

2. The Gadfly, by Voynich.

3. The Pride of Jennico, by Castle.

4. Penelope's Progress, by Mrs. Wiggin.

5. Caleb West, by F. Hopkinson Smith.

6. The Forest Lovers, by Hewlett.

Among the magazines, The Century begins a splen-
didly illustrated life of Alexander the Great, and Marion
Crawford's novel of the Crusades. The December num-
ber promises a set of articles by Lieutenant Hobson on
the sinking of the Merrimac.

Lippincott has a story full of interest by Mrs. Burton
Harrison in its November issue, and promises many good
things for December, among others a complete novel,
"Mrs. Russell's Sister," by Annie Eliza Brand; also some
good short stories and poems.

The Overland Monthly has a bright Thanksgiving
number, in every way up to its usual standard of excel-
lence, and promises much good reading for December.

ebell JsTotcs

Send answers to B. D., care of Editorial Department of The
Ebell, by the 10th of December. Make them short and concise.
Give full name of the writer, which will be known only to the B.D.

The summary of this last month's work in The Ebell
shows a busy and productive period in its yearly history.
On the second Thursday of the month the literary and
social afternoon was filled with a scholarly paper by Mrs.
I. B. Hamilton on "Woman as a Power." Mrs. Hamil
ton discussed woman's power in the business,' intellectual
and spiritual worlds, and decided that her particular
kingdom was that of the refining and purifying infiuences
of the spirit. A short discussion followed the paper.

The regular meeting for the report of sections was
postponed from the last Thursday to the last Saturday
because of the recess. The literature section gave its
report at this meting with an Emerson afternoon. Very
interesting papers were presented; a biographical sketch,
Mrs. C. C. Gordon; Emerson as lecturer and poet, Miss
Frye; as philosopher, Mrs. Lou V. Chapin. After the
program tea was served by the literature section.

The sections have held their regular meetings during
the month, with papers and discussion upon their stated
topics.

The programs for each section at each meeting are
contained in the year book.

General meetings for December are as follows:
Thursday, Dec. 8, Literary and Social afternoon; music,
with piano illustrations, Mrs. Sara B. Hickman; Thurs-
day, Dec. 29, the report of the Conversation Section.

A PIANO FOR SIX DOLLARS.
Six dollars is all you need hand me and I will de-
liver to your home a new high grade Upright Cabinet
Grand Piano, with handsome stool and scarf of your own
selection. Subsequent payment, six dollars monthly.
In selling pianos on these special terms I deduct from
$50 to $75 from the regular prices, and do not charge
interest. I advise you not to pay cash for a piano while
these terms are offered. — J. T. Fitzgerald (Fitzgerald
Music & Piano Co.), 113 So. Spring Street.

■m\

Mi^

^m^

iillil

iiiiiiiiiiay

m €b(ll

January

a.D. jSm

m €bell

H JMontbly ^^urnal of Literature
and Current 8vent9

January

Subscription price Bingle Copy

$ 1 .0 0 per tear i o Cents

6race Htberton Detinen, 6ditor
1i<^zz South Grand Hvctiuc, Lo9 Hngclcs, Calif ornia

/«?

1899

Geo. Rice it Sons, ^Xnc.)
tos Hngeles

Cable of Contents

H JVcw Y^^^Orcctinq SMrs» Donald A. Macneil

Che JNTcw Day ( a poem ) Alice K, Tarsons

Driftwood, a serial story, part XXI ♦ • • • • FrankUna Gray Bartlett

jVIooiiUgbt on the Cer race Grace Aiherion 'Dennen

Some Hmerican XUustrators Mrs. William Knippenberg

Hutumn Heaves (a poem) Mrs. R. T. Sibley

Cbe <iClorld of Music Mary C* Pearson

XtisHikeCbis

Hmotig the Books

ebell )Votes

Copyrighted, 1899, by Grace Atherton Dennen

All communications should be addressed to Grace Atherton Dennen,
1922 Grand ave., Los Angeles. Notice of change of address should be sent
immediately by subscribers.

Entered at the Los Angeles Post Office as second-class mail matter.

NEW YEAR'S DAY IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

BOW to you, New Year, come upon us hoary Vcai**8

with age! Greeting

Che Origiii of

|l|BJ| What a joke it must be to Father Time to see
his ancient offspring's youth renewed each year. Adam **Ncwye^?s
and Eve,, or their near kin, in their pristine innocence Day/
received him as a rosy infant and straightway began to
solve the mystery of his birthday and to dress him in
months and days. Their efforts proved a misfit and pos-
terity has had a knotty time with this problem legacy.
Yet our ancient ancestors made a fair beginning when
they chose the sun and moon as the basis of their calcu-
lations. The eleven and one-quarter days' difference
between the twelve lunations and the time of the sun's
orbit may have given them pause; possibly have been a
straw in shortening man's span of life. At any rate as
time went on this discrepancy caused endless tribula-
tions and it took considerable ingenuity on the part of
the Egyptians and Hebrews to dispose of these ubiqui-
tous days.

Romulus tried dressing the year with ten months of
three hundred and four days, and just how he disposed
of the superfluous time is not recorded. This robbing was
not satisfactory and changes were made from time to
time until Numa added a couple of months and finally
Julius Caesar gave us practically the year as we have it
now, (Pope Gregory the Seventeenth making some cor-
rections) beginning with January and followed by Feb-
ruary, and making the first day of the year fall as
desired midway between the autumn and spring equi-
noxes. The year had previously begun on the first day

of March and the Julian year, 46 B. C, was inaugurated
by celebrating the first of January, so named after the
two-faced Roman god Janus.

The Ancients, generally, celebrated the new year
with feasting and pagan rites, and our observation of
New Year's day is similarly a relic of paganism and
idolatry, which prevails in spite of Pope's invective and
public fasts "appointed to bewaile those heathenish
interludes and prohibit from sending New Year's gifts,"

The superstitions of our pagan ancestors are hard to
down. We feel more comfortable if the "first foot"
crossing the threshold to herald the doughty old year's
new birthday is a man of fair complexion. A good
omen is augured for the twelve months if the year begins
with promise, and much effort is given to make a New
Year's showing.

Who has not at some time watched the " old year
out and the new year in!" The temperates reconcile
this pagan custom with their consciences by omitting the
wassal bowl or loving cup of "warm spiced ale with
some spirits." But our nineteen centuries of Christian
training have not gone for naught even with this pagan
New Year's day. We have grafted upon it a moral
responsibility and converted it into a two-sided mirror,
through one side of which we see history and the hand-
writing on the wall, and turning, view the future through
the other side darkly, though shot mayhap with the light
of prophecy. So Lamb says, " Of all sounds of all bells
most solemn and touching is the peal which rings out
the old year," while some one else has said, " Every first

of January that we arrive at is an imaginary milestone
on the turnpike track of human life. * * *
The man who does not at least propose to himself to be
better this year than he was the last must be either very
good or very bad indeed."

Our Ebell is the first, very good ^ and, though absolved
from a New Year's pledge, it is impelled by its own in-
herent quality to go on evolving from good to better. It
bring from the old year one hostage for the future, ** The
Ebell,^^ an infant which yet counts its birthdays by
months, but which Ebell feels will honor the parent who
nurses its growth and throw open a wider field for its
expansion of Good.

Turning its fourth milestone this New Year's day,
Ebell bids farewell "to the spirits of the departing
year" and royally greets the New year, bidding it
'* Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart and kindlier hand.
Ring out the darkness of the land.
Ring in the Christ that is to be."

Mrs. Donald A. Macneil.

Cbc

ficw IRtHIUNSHINE, the song of birds, the nodding grace
Dav B^« ^^ flowers, bidding welcome to the morn
Ij^^^l A program born

Of joy and mother-earth fills all the air,

And everywhere
Dear nature smiles with happy loving face,
I, only I, am sad.

Wherefore, oh heart? Arouse, and be thou glad.
In His own time have all things beautiful

Been made for thee:
This morn is all thine own, chosen by God

Prom far eternity:
Peace, gentle peace, His gift with this fair day.

Be brave and pray
That through the coming years, remembrance sweet
May on her tablets keep this day complete.

Alice K. Parsons.

Driftwood

vyv RS. ALFORD sat by the red-covered table,writ- a Serial
li^l ing. She was eagerly intent upon her task and gtorv
lM^J her fair face was flushed. The morning breeze p^^^ XIX*
fluttered the white curtains and toyed with her paper.
Saturdays leisure was being busily spent by the school
mistress, yet she looked in need of rest. The education
of thirty boys and girls was rather a heavy task for un-
accustomed hands, but it was growing daily lighter. The
first symptoms of rebellion among her subjects had been
met so firmly that a repetition had not been attempted,
and an innate chivalry was leading the older lads to con-
stitute themselves the champions of the fair-haired lady
who met their clumsy advances with such gentle gra-
ciousness.

It was of this she was writing as she sat at her
table.

" The school hours are beginning to be my happiest
because my busiest. The peace of this sweet flower-full
village is very soothing, but when I am idle I think,
think, think! To think is the crowning joy of happi-
ness, the keenest pang of pain. Not that I grieve; the
past is over; why should I moan it! The future is com-
ing toward me and I hold out my hands eagerly for any
scrap of joy it may bring. But I was writing of my
boys. Yesterday I found a bunch of hyacinths on my
desk (it was not the first time) I did not know from
whom the offering came; but after school hours one of
the oldest and roughest boys in my class who, when I
first came, tried my patience sorely, lingered behind the
rest looking very sheepish, " Did you want to speak to
me, Tom? " I asked. " No marm," he answered, " I only

wanted to say, as you think such a lot of flowers, would-
n't you like Jim and me to dig a garden for you around
your house? " I accepted the offer gladly and the dig-
ging is in progress while I write. Of the girls, I could
tell you many pleasant things. One merry hoyden is
laughing her way straight into my heart. She is so care-
less and confident, ^.so utterly indifferent to any con-
sequence which antedates the day. Of these more anoth-
er time. I brought home the hyacinths and they stand
by me on the table. Do you remember that Spring at
San Remo, how the moist south wind would bring their
fragrance into the salon where I used to sing ? By the
way did I tell you about my piano? The day before I
came down here I saw a piano in a store so like the old
one at home that it startled me like the face of a friend.
It had the same oddly shaped case which I have never
seen before. An irrisistable longing seized me to possess
it; it seemed a bit of the past which I have just called
dead. Oh I how tenderly we remember our dead! Well,
I went in and priced that piano. I had money enough
to buy it, although our house keeping plan would be
somewhat cramped by the purchase. I know so little
about money and its value that I leave my purse in
Therese's hands. But although she shook her head, I
bought the piano. It has stood in my room here nearly
four weeks and I have not yet opened it; I have not the
courage to hear its tone yet. I half hope it will be unlike
the old one, although I shall no longer care for it if it is.
Therese has just been in to say that our larder is bare
and that she has but one franc in the treasury. That
will give us lunch, I say, and this afternoon I draw my

first month's salary — an ample one it is too considering
the work I do. Blessed power of earning bread! I am
free and yet in no danger of starvation — what better can
I ask of life? "

Mrs. Alford paused abruptly here and laid down
her pen. With slow precision she folded the sheet, put
it into an envelope which she sealed, then taking a key
from a box on the table unlocked and opened a small
drawer. Three sealed envelopes, all without address, lay
there side by side. To the number she added the one in
her hand and then closed the drawer with an impatient
sigh. At this moment Therese ushered in a visitor.

This was not the first time Mrs. Barton had called
upon the school mistress. She had come before in the
afternoon a little formally and a little inclined to disap-
prove of the stranger, but a chord of sympathy was
struck between these two women at once; they trusted
and admired each other at a glance. Yet Mrs. Alford
had not yet returned the visit and she greeted Mrs. Bar-
ton in pleased surprise.

" I know I am shockingly early," said the lady
without taking the proffered seat, " but Therese assured
me, I would not disturb you. My husband has just tele-
phoned me from town that he will be out in an hour to
take us for a day to the hills. I left Yok, our Chinese
cook, putting up a lunch and came over to see if you
would not take the vacant seat in our wagon and com-
plete the party."

Mrs. Alford flushed with pleasure, but she hesitated.
'* The ferns are lovely now, and to quote from Arthur, you
don't know how jolly our picnics are until you try

them," added Mrs. Barton, and then, with a sudden im-
pulse holding out her hand, " I should like to be your
friend, will you not let me?"

Mrs. Alford put a trembling hand into her visitors.
'* Thank you. I will gladly go," she said.

It was a task worthy of renown for Mrs. Barton to
get her little family ready for the excursion within the
prescribed time. Arthur could not go without his knife
which was chronically missing. Jack must finish a trap
for rabbits which he was manufacturing in the barn.
Ethel's dolls must be dressed to go too. Ned tried
nurse's patience by upsetting everything attainable and
utterly refusing his hat. Yok prepared a huge hamper
of lunch, pausing occasionally to put his head in Mrs.
Barton's door and growl ** Got nothing good to eat. Why
you no tell me yesterday."

" I couldn't tell you what I didn't know myself,
Yok," said Mrs. Barton laughingly, ' put up plenty of
bread and meat and we'll get along."

It is wonderful how the unwavering good temper of
the mistress of a house can smooth away diflficulties and
oil the creaking wheels of domestic machinery I No one
had the courage to scold when Mrs. Barton only laughed;
so when Mr. Barton drove up punctual to the appointed
time he found the family group already on the steps
awaiting his arrival — by which fact it may be inferred
that his wife had already learned the lesson so absolutely
necessary to conjugal happiness, that masculinity for-
gives tardiness only in himself ! Arthur, mounted on a
sturdy pony, was doing his best to break his own neck
and his steed's legs by trying to jump the horse block.

" I would have done it if papa had been five minutes
later," he said to admiring Jack, who sighed for the
day when he should possess a pony.

" Stop at Sycamore Cottage for Mrs. Alford, Papa,
she^s going with us; and I'll ride ahead and tell her you
are coming," cried Arthur going off at a gallop.

" So you have coaxed the school marm out of her
shell?" said Mr. Barton. "I believe you were afraid
she was going to cut you, and you took her by storm to
avert such an unprecedented catastrophe."

" You have come very near the truth for she almost
refused me this morning," said his wife, laughing, " but
I am confident her reasons are general, not personal."

Sycamore Cottage was but a stone's throw away, so
that they stopped before it as she spoke. Mrs. Alford
was at the door and came out at once, followed by
Therese carrying a shawl. The Frenchwoman stood
looking after them as they drove off through a vista of
trees.

^'Q'est bien pauvre enfant! She will begin to forget
now," she thought with a smile as she turned to the
house. Therese had never read those words of a writer
of her own land, — " To strive to forget, is to remember
and weep," — and if she had she would not have under-
stood them, fortunately for her.

A spring day among the hills! Who that has felt
its ecstacy can ever forget it? The atmosphere, tremu-
lous blue, shot with sunbeams; the foliage tender green,
fringed with yellow; the wild flowers, iris-tinted, num-
berless, sweet smiles of nature which speak her joy, — in
all, a day to grant the soul wings and point it Heaven-

ward. By and by they began to climb, up bench after
bench of hills, until suddenly turning a bend, in sunlit
splendor the world lay below theml Mr. Barton reined
in his horses and paused to drink in the beauty of the
scene. The valley spread below them was full to the
brim with greening vineyards and budding orchards.
There, a square of pink told where peaches and apricots
were blooming; here, dark green orange groves made a
spot of gloom; thickets of Eucalyptus tossed their high
and disheveled heads on the outskirts of undulating
grain fields; cypress hedges and fern-like peppers out-
lined the roads; and far beyond a glittering band of sea
bound the horizon, broken only by the blue crest of a
distant island.

"Do you see the village? " said Mr. Barton, point-
ing with his whip. " The school house is the only one
plainly visible by its height; the rest are wading to their
very eaves in green. I have distinctly heard the bell
up here when the wind blew this way. Off there to the
east is the smoke of the town and one or two church
spires. This is our last wide view for we are going into
a wooded cafion between the hills."

" How like Italy this country is," said Mrs. Alford,
and then stopped in sudden confusion.

"Have you been there?" exclaimed Mr. Barton in
pleased surprise. " We went abroad when we were mar-
ried and spent a delightful year roving from place to
place and we love to talk of it now."

" I was in Italy when a child," said Mrs. Alford,
" and this scene recalled my impressions of it."

" It has been nine years since we were there, so our

visit might have been contemporaneous," said Mr. Bar-
ton with a smiling glance at the youthful face of hig
guest. " How odd if we should have been in some of
those old cities at the same time and then meet on this
western shore. I had a college chum with me, a royal
fellow who added no little to our pleasure. He has lived
abroad almost ever since, but has written to me lately
promising to turn his wandering feet westward soon.
He has had a world of trouble since then, but we '11 both
like to review those happy days when I used to pity his
bachelorhood so undisguisedly, and he would say
' That's a fault easily mended, John, and you' 11 travel
with me yet on my bridal tour.' How full these nine
have been to us both! "

No one replied to Mr. Barton's reminiscences; Mrs.
Alford was looking over the valley with a memory-
haunted glance; Mrs. Barton was looking at her.

" Oh papa, why do you stop here so long," cried
Arthur, riding back to where they stood. " I don't see
that the view has changed any since we saw it last, and
I am getting hungry."

"How realistic is boyhood 1 " said his father laugh-
ing, "your days for views and memories are along ways
off, my son, and meanwhile lunch awaits. Ride on and
we will follow."

The winding road soon lead them into the heart of a
grove of giant live oaks which spread aloft great cano-
pies of green caught together with brilliant red tassels.
Wild grape vines climbed to the very top of the tallest
trees festooning them in graceful luxuriance and shoot-
ing their slender arms above the highest branches to

wave in every breeze. A brawling stream, swollen by
the winter rains, hurried through this grove, answering
with a silvery splash to the song of the nesting birds
which swayed upon the trees above its waters. Beyond,
the hills folded close together as though to bar all fur-
ther progress.

" What a peaceful spot shut in from all the world,"
said Mrs. Alford, as they descended from the wagon un-
der one of the great trees. '* This day is like a little
island in my life, separate from all the rest."

" Come and look for ferns," said Arthur, " these
rocks are full of them. Come on Jack."

Mrs. Alford gave each of the boys a hand and
started off at a run. A moment later her laughter,
sweet and joyous reached the group at the wagon.

"A will o' the wisp sort of a woman," said Mr. Bar-
ton " very interesting, but rather unsatisfactory. Her
spiritual barometer points always to change."

" But isn't it delightful to find someone we don't
know all about and who gives us some scope for imagina-
ation. I should never forgive Mrs. Alford if with that
face she should turn out to have a commonplace history.
I should never trust a lovely face again. By the bye,
you did not tell me you had heard from Lysle Howard,
when did the letter come? "

" This very morning so you see you are not very
much behind the time. I have not heard from him for
three years and I looked at the hand writing in amaze-
ment. It is a queer letter, like himself. Sit down on
this rug and read it while I water the horses."

Franklin A Gray Bartlett.
17

ADY Idalia, is it you indeed !
You and no other? But what need to ask!
Only for you could this upleaping heart
Beat such wild rapture. What eternities
Have passed since that brief moment in the hall,
When, 'mid the torches' glare I sought you out
And whispered, " I await you on the terrace 1 "
You answered not, save by that one, swift look —
It meant — what? I have grown old since then
Trying to read the meaning of that look —
But that is over — you have come at last —
See how the moonlight floods the happy world !
(Was the moon shining so a moment since?)
Sit where the light shall fall across your face
And touch the dusky softness of your hair.
Here, on this terrace step, while I shall tell,
(Heaven teach my faltering tongue!) the reason why
I urged your presence here.

It is not long
If one counts time by suns, since that May morn
When the fair Princess Katherine and her train
Rode in the sunshine to the palace gate
And I saw you. Yet in that very hour
I first began to live. Nay, start not so.
Is confirmation woise to bear than doubt?
For you have guessed this, sweet, you are a woman.
Let me but say it once, 'tis not so strange.
I love you! Tell me, daes it frighten you?
Why I could shout it to the very stars
And hear my own words echoed back to me
With a wild rapture in their utterance.

JMoonligbt

on the

Cerrace

I love you I Heaven only knows how well.
May Heaven grant me power to tell it you 1
Why do I love you ? Can you ask me that ?
Ask of the earnest, fevered artist- soul
Beating its life not blindly, what it feels
When, for the first time, o^er its quivering sense
There steals the mystical, bewildering pain
Of the passionate violin. So felt my soul
On that May morning when the sunshine cast
A halo of soft glory 'round your head
And drew my wandering gaze. Why do I love ?
Because I must. *Tis what I waited for.
But knew it not all through my careless youth
On into manhood. That deep want I felt
And wondered at, when life else seemed so full.
But all that kept me restless, ill at ease.
Found utterance when I looked into your- face
And read its fragile loveliness. That face
Had looked acrossed the mist to me for years.
Blindly I'd striven towards it, yearned to it,
Held out that little best of me, hard snatched
From the giant world that would have claimed it all.
Till on that summer morning shrank the mist,
Sun-pierced, away. There shown the face, revealed.
Speech is too poor, too cold, too colorlesss
To tell you of such love. Can woman know,
Or does she ever fathom to the end
The deeps of such a passion in a man ?
So, beyond speech, I love you.

What is't you'd say? Catherine? Too well I know
All that one word contains ! My promised bride,

The regal daughter of a line of kings
To whom my faith is pledged with knightly oaths,
Whose presence in the palace even now
Means their fulfillment, she waits me within
And half her brilliant world is gathered there
To celebrate the approaching nuptial day.
(Oh, 'tis a brilliant match, —so I thought too.
Till I had seen your face !)
And I, the unworthy hero of this hour,
Steal from her side into the moonlight gardens
To pour my heart out at another's feet !
I know it all! — 0 heaven, I know it all !
All you would say — and they, her friends — and she I
My vows to her made false — her trust abused —
And why, forsooth? Because of one pale face
Belonging to — who knows? — who cares? — has flashed
Some ray of — who knows what? — mere coquetry
Into my eyes and I can see no farther.
Well, 'tis the truth. You should forgive, at least.
Yours is the face that robs me of my honor I
And I have struggled to resist its spell
These many weeks, till pride and strength and will
Totter and fall and lie beneath your feet.
You raise your eyes. Lady, what means that look?
Can you then think that I have brought you here
Only for this, to tell you of my love,
To thrust upon you, thus, and all unsought.
The burden of a helpless, hopeless passion.
To free my heart and so degrade us both?
No, not for this I came, but overfull
Of an unflinching purpose. Let me tell it,
21

This is my plea. Oh, put away all fear,
Or tremble if you will, so you but listen.
Come with mel Leave the palace now, ere yet
Any have time to miss us. Ride away
Under the cover of protecting night,
Across yon hills, along the river-bed.
To where the mountains rise. There in a gorge
My castle stands, the village neath it mine.
The castle priest, my subjects loyal all,
Shall at my word our marriage solemnize.
Once in that castle, I can hold my own
Against an army, brave with ease the storm
That swift would follow on a a act so bold.
Then let affronted royality enlist
The world in its behalf ! The gates secure,
You by my side, my own to hold and guard —
What care I for the world when you I love
Were safe within the compass of my arms!
We two, with just our love against so much,
Shall taste life's full perfection till the years
Shall bring forgetfulness of all that now
Seems so overwhelming. Time will soften down
And custom dull reproach, until at length.
The wonder over, I sjiall bring you back
To rule, a queen within that brilliant court
I mean to win for you. Yourself shall teach
Those who would blame, to justify my deed
When they have seen and known you.
This is my plea. Now you have heard it all.
Speak I For my soul is hanging on your words!

Will you not answer me? Is it not clear

What I would have you do? The burning hope

With which I called you here — for which I plead

With all the eloquence that strongest love

And deepest need, and heaven pitying

My tortured heart can give me? Must I then

Plead all in vain? Let the world talk at will !

Shall I not wed the woman whom I love?

Not earth nor heaven

Shall keep you from me — only your own word !

Then, speak 1 For I am mad with this suspense I

******
You will not! Nothing more to say than that!
No word of explanation, no attempt
To soften your refusal? Oh, I see!
Now 'tis too late — you do not love me! No!
'Twas my mad folly thought it read your love
In look and turn of head and tone of voice!

0 heaven to madly force on you

An interview like this! Ah, you have turned !
Those wondrous eyes — surely the heart speaks there!
The flush unwonted — even in this light

1 see it plain — why are you so much moved
Unless — I cannot doubt — your eyes speak truth !
Oh, to forever hold you thus, the light

Falling across that passionate, upturned face,
Wherein the heart's true color, love's protest,
Flashes and trembles like the sunrise glow
Athwart the sky ! You love me ! I defy
Time or eternity to work me ill !
Now I am deified, I am a god !

I can create ! You love me I In the strength

That surety gives me I can form a world,

A world for our two selves, where love shall be

The only law. Sorrow nor age shall touch us

Nor earth's alloy have any power upon us.

Come then with me ! One step across the turf

Into the shadow, and that full, new life

Enters our souls, claims us forevermore.

******

Catherine I Yes, true. — My honor? Yes.
Duty cannot be lightly set aside.
I, a prince, to whom my country looks.
Uphold the wrong, 'stablish a rule for all
To flee their post, obey love's call at will 1 —
Our right another's wrong ! — tell me no more !
I will not hear it even from your lips !
What law is there for us, what duty more,
Beyond our soul's stern need of one another?
Or how shall you and I be justified
If we let mere conventions, time-worn props
Of all that's artificial, doomed to fall.
Hold us from realizing to the end
Life's possibilities, from reaching out
After our full perfection? Ah, no.
Yours is no dwarfened nature. Think again.
We love. Each needs the other. Each alone
Fails of the highest and so robs the world.
There's cause enough why we should disregard
Established custom. Come. Make but the plunge
Your woman's nature shrinks from I Future years
Will prove the deed well done.

Come! Time is passing. Oh, delay not till

We lose our golden opportunity!

******

You still refuse ! Yet said you not but now

You love me? 'Tis because you love? Strange cause,

And stranger love! Where is your woman's faith?

Have all my pleadings yet availed no more?

Oh, who can understand a woman's nature!

It grounds itself not upon large issues —

Even her faith is small !

Ah, I have hurt you ! Cruel I am, and yet

You drive me to it! It is life or death

Hangs on my words, and shall I weigh them all

Lest they should wound? Idalia, look at me !

And let me find your soul deep in your eyes I

Now come out into the sweet, new life,

For the old is past.

Oh, could I find a way to make you feel
Something of what I suffer! I, a prince.
Young, rich, successful, — dream not that this act
Makes me aught less when once the storm blows o'er —
Is it a little this prince should kneel
And pray you as I pray to wed with him?
A crown! — bethink you well, the highest gift.
So says the world, that life can offer, this
Is what you are refusing! You are poor,
Obscure, unknown — How scornfully you turn!
I've wholly missed the key-note of your nature!
How, then, discover it when time so presses?
Oh, come! I love you so! forgive my words!

They were mere madness! Everything is false
Bat just our lovel Come, His our love that pleads!

Lady, beware! You try me overmuch!
This hour is mine, His you remind me of it!
We are alone, one signal for my carriage,
My arm thrown 'round your waist — the order given-
The door fast closed — where are your scruples then!
Who blames a prince too harshly for such a fault?
So simple 'twere to make you mine by force —
So simple — yet I cannot!

Those steadfast eyes — could I face them again
After such deed? No. 'Tis not thus I love you.
With your own lips shall you pronounce my fate.
I will endure, submit to your decree
As to a saint's, even though it whisper death
To all my glowing hopes. But ere 'tis said,
The word that shall condemn or save, once more.
Only this once I promise, hear my plea.
My soul's last plea — then give me your decision.
I cannot live without you. God, Himself,
Who §ent this passion so to master me,
Knows how the best, the purest, most enduring
Of all my nature rushes forth to you!
My man's soul that till now had spent itself
Playing with shadows, wasting all its strength
In empty aspirations, lacked the aim,
The one great aim that should have called to light
Its hidden power. But now all that is changed.
On that May morning when I saw your face
Then my whole nature suddenly cried out,

And stilled at last in perfect harmony!
I knew for what I waited all those years.
Then stirred within my drowsy consciousness
A fine, new energy. Then I stood forth
A man, stripped of all outward accident
Of birth or office, with a man's broad work —
A destiny to shape with great, strong blows
Such as my soul, new waked, panted to strike.
What hours were those 1 full of that mighty strength
Which comes to one when he has found his place
And sees his work, his only, clear before him.
That something worthy of him, which to do
He was created, just to fill this gap
And make the great world-fabric by his life
So much the more complete.
Idalia, I had so near missed my work I
You showed it to me and I understood.
This is my task. I will accomplish it.
You say, not thus, not thus, but I know best.
Grant me but this, my star to shine on me,
Sojwill I do all things!

Can you now rob me of your guiding light?
Condemn me to the old, false, struggling life,
To see my best self die and say no word?
For I am weak, not strong, all motive gone
For noble action. No, you set a task
Too hard for one before whose yearning eyes
Heaven has wide opened! Can he turn away
And feed his gaze on earth, or satisfy
His starving soul with fragments of the clod?
Oh, let my weakness now, not my strength

Plead for me I Of what worth to me

Are high birth, right of office, hope of power,

Wealth, gratified ambition, life itfelf

Without my love! I care for nothing, nothing!

I want you! you! my soul cries out for you!

Idalia, see!

I cast my pride, my future hopes, my life,

Myself here in the dust at your feet ! ! Choose!

SpeakI Oh, this is past endurance! Speak! !
Say even the worst then, if it must be so.
In some way I shall bear it, bear it better
For not enduring longer this suspense.
What!— Am I mad, indeed? Can it be so?
That word I caught — or fancied — was it fancy?
You will go with me! ! Hillo, without there! Ho!
My carriage, Jean, at once. Be quick with it!
Prepare to drive yourself. O dearest one.
Not now will I say aught of what I feel
Lest I unfit myself for what's to come.
You need some thick, warm cloak to wrap you safe
'Gainst the damp and chill of night. This cape lies here,.
Let me wrap this about you. Ah, not yet?
Well, as you will. Then in this moment's time
That's left us, lift your sweet face up to me
That I may read, if I shall dare, the truth
Of all this wonder, deep within your eyes!
And let it sink far into my craving soul
Before the need for action. Ah, you shrink.
Grant me this boon. Do you still fear me, then?
I ask too much? — 0 God! 1 is that the face

Of one who loves 1 — will leave home, kindred, friends
For the sake of him who needs her? — why the face
Of a pure angel, stricken for man's sin
Might look like that! — that look — 'twould follow me
To heaven's very gate, 'twould turn me back!
That face— the face I love — to see it so! !
Help me, 0 heaven, hear what I must say.
It is all over and I yield at last.
I cannot snatch my bliss at such a price!
You suffering for my weakness! 1 — you, alone.
Bearing through life the brand I would not bear.
Letting your soul grow sick and faint within you.
Complaining not because I willed it sol !
That were too hard to see, though you shrank not.
Does one permit an angel to endure
One's weakness for him? Some men may, I cannot!
Mine is the fault, all mine. Take courage, then.
For I will pay the penalty, not you.
How you are trembling! Oh, my storm-tossed soul
Should never touch a thing so fine, for harm
Must come of it! I, all unheedingly
Have let this passion -tempest break in full
Upon your unresisting heart. Yes, I,
Who would have given my life to keep all breath
Of pain and sadness from you, I myself
Have grieved and tortured you beyond the power
Of woman's gentleness, even yours, to bear !
Be this my punishment !
'Tis over now, I will not tiurt you more.
Heaven — and there is a heaven — will give you to me.
Meanwhile, my work remains — the work you showed me.

I'll find my strength in that till it is done.

Look up now — fear no longer, raise your eyes !

See, for the first, last time I kiss your hand.

Henceforth you are to me not flesh and blood,

But my perfected soul whom I shall find

When from this tangle I have aught wrought out

Not all unworthy you. For it will come

That moment, be it this world or the next,

When, in the sight of God, and our two souls,

I shall be free to seek you, and unfold

My life before you. Then shall we two be one.

And now, until that moment comes, farewell ! ! I
******

Well, Jean, what is it? The carriage? Very true,

I ordered it, but 'twas a passing fancy.

Shall we return now, lady? — What — my lords,

Come you to try the freshness of the air

After the ball-room heat? It is a night

To tempt one to forswear a palace roof

And turn a gypsy. Catherine ! You, too 1

You stray to join us? That is gracious, truly.

These gardens waft their choicest perfumes up

To do fit honor to their visitor.

Come this way but a little. You shall see

The country bathed in glory at your feet.

The view is finer here than where I stood

With your sweet friend a little ere you came

Watching the moon rise from the terrace steps.

Grace Atherton Dennen^

NFORMATION proves that the true birth and
development of modern illustration sprung from
the Spanish Goya, as draughtsman ; Bewick, the
Englishman, as engraver; Menzel in Germany and Mes-
sioner in France, spreading from Spain and England to
France, back again to England and finally to America,
whence it has been diffused again all ov?r the world.
In almost every respect, illustration (as well as the work
of our illustrators) is more advanced in the United
States and more thoroughly recognized by all countries
than anywhere else and is overshadowing the work of
England, France, Germany and Spain. It is to these
four named persons above that our modern illustration
is solely and entirely due.

The illustrative work of America is more interesting
than that of any other country. The wonderful artistic
results obtained in its very short life, not perhaps of more
than twenty-five years' duration, has given it wide recog-
nition. The year 1876, that of the Centennial, the first
international exhibition was held in America. There was
at that time a band of young men, who had been abroad
studying, and returned to New York, and it is mainly
due to their return and the encouragement that pub-
lishers gave them, that what is now known as the Amer-
ican school of wood engraving, together with American
illustration and printing, was developed. Two editors of
note, Mr. A. W. Drake and Mr. W. Lewis Frazer, made
it their especial business to encourage and assist young
artists. Their plan was this: If an artist brought a
drawing to them in which there were signs of intelli-
gence and individuality, their endeavor was to use that

Some

Hmerican

Illustrators

drawing and encourage the artist to make others. An-
other good reason for the great success of American illus-
tration is, that the publishers of our most noted maga-
zines have the good sense to see if one expects to obtain
good work from a person, he must pay him for it and then
reproduce and print this work in proper fashion.

Among some of our most noted illustrators (who
are, by the way, paid liberally for their work and who
have climbed the ladder from the first round) are C. D.
Gibson, who exhibits the follies, graces and styles of
polite society; Kemble, Redwood, Frost and Remington,
who show the life of the West and South. Frost stands
at the head in America, as a comic draughtsman, while
Mary Hallock Foote portrays vividly, life in California
and Colorado.

Mrs. Foote has won wide fame, both as an artist and
an author. A New York journal says of her: ** An
artist supplements his work by becoming an author and
an author endeavors to demonstrate his ability by illus-
trating the work that comes from his pen. The combi-
nation is not always a happy one, but Mary Hallock
Foote has combined both and proven herself to be both."
She was born in Milton, New York, November 19, 1847,
making her fifty-one years old and strong-minded enough
not to care at all who knows it. As a child she developed
great talent and as soon as possible was sent to New
York to study. The School of Design in Cooper Union
was the only art school of importance and here as Mary
Hallock she worked for some time under Dr. Rimmer.
She soon chose illustrating as her true field, and had
considerable study with Frost, Johnson, and William J.

Linton. She has contributed full-page pictures to many
leading publications and her work has been in great
demand. In 1876 she became the wife of Arthur De
Wolf Foote, then a young mining engineer, whose work
soon called him to the mining regions of California and
Colorado. The picturesque scenes of the West made a
deep impression upon the young wife, as well as the rough,
wild, and ofttimes lawless life. *' These scenes stimulated
her artistic ideas, and awakened her dormant literary
talents," so that in the 70's she wrote her first story
upon " the life in a mining town in California."

She has since written a number of stories, all dem-
onstrating her literary as well as artistic talents. Mary
Hallock Foote is one of the few women who continues to
draw upon wood, and it is said that she does this beau-
tifully. As far back as May in 1889 she wrote stories of
the far west and illustrated them. She certainly shows
the love of her own sex in her work as many illustra-
tions have as a central figure a picture of a
woman, and all interest centers about her. She also
proves to us that landscape drawing is within her range.
Rivers, lakes and waters appeal to her, and she brings
out the shadows so clearly, that one could imagine seeing
to the bottom of the stream, were he near enough to it.
Mary Hallock Foote should truly and deservedly rank
among our foremost illustrative artists.

A. B. Frost is perhaps more widely known through-
out the United States than Mary Hallock Foote as an
illustrator as his pictures are frequently seen illustrating
short stories in Harper's, Scribners, etc., such as in 1895,

•* Sawney's Deer-Lick," by Charles D. Lavier, '97; ''The
Non-Combatant," by Octave Thanet," etc., and in the
October number of Scribner's, a story by the same author
"Johnny's Job," portrays mill and foundry life, in which
Frost is taking a great interest. Frost does not attempt
to show the artist in his illustrations so strongly as the
realist. His figures are plain, not affected, perfectly true
to life and lacks the stiff pose of the head, foot or body
that many deem necessary to an artistic picture. His
backgrounds are subservient to his foregrounds, not
seemingly to worry over the perspective, his first desire
being to put before the reader, his central figure. The
faces and forms of old men, as well as the life in our
colder regions, he has illustrated charmingly.

Frederic Remington is perhaps the best known art-
ist of this group. His first object in illustrating is to
depict scenes in the life of the far south and west. He
has proven himself an author as well as an artist, in so
much as he has written a number of Indian stories for the
Harper's magazine and illustrated them himself this past
year. He seems to have revolutionized the idea of draw-
ing horses. In most pictures we see the horse galloping
along, with not more than one foot raised from the
ground. Remington draws, or I might say sketches
them, as a kodak picture would take them in action. All
four feet are raised high and rather curled under them
while going.

He, like Frost, draws very distinct shadows, com-
pelling each object to stand out plainly to the observer
and exceedingly well defined. His illustrations of fron-
tier life and types are very popular in the century of 1888.

He, as well as Frost, allows the perspective to fall into
insignificance in preference to the central figures.

Remington's friends say that one reason for his tak-
ing up literary work, has been the lack or decline of his
special line of work — frontier illustration. Frontier life
is beginning to be a thing of the past and naturally
Remington would turn his attention to what most ap-
pealed to him. During the war he has produced many
illustrations of scenes of our most notable battles for
New York journals and perhaps in the near future we
may see more of his clever and artistic work in different
publications upon our Spanish-American war.

Pennell says: "I believe illustration is as impor-
tant as any other branch of art, and will live as long as
there is any love of art, long after the claims of the
working classes have been forgotten and the statues of
the statesmen, who are the newspaper heros of today,
have crumbled into dust, unless preserved because a
sculptor of distinction produced them.

Mrs. William Knippenberg.

Hutumn

IL^avCB ^ golden haze now rests on distant hill

And dell and busy hamlet. O^er the deep
Expanse of blue^ like white sailed ships at sea.
Bright^ fleecy clouds fast hurry here and there.
And keen^ shrill blasts that sweep adown the main.,
'With ma^ic touch make every tree a lyre
From whose enchanted depths sweet music springs
And solemn dirges float upon the air.
The red, wafm west with love the somber scene
Encircles. Pensive autumn, like some sad,
Fair queen, her regal form enwraps and stands
In quiet musing o'er the vanished Past.
How great a change since mountain rill leaped out
In eager haste from flower- decked homes to speed
Their errant way swift down to lake below!
Since twittering birds among the leafy trees
Spoke each to each of goodness and of God,
Since roses, rare with grace of soul and thought
Would bless all passers-by with fragrant beauty.
And all the earth rejoiced, the world was glad.

And now the dead leaves fall, the sun sinks low.
The wind sighs softly through the bending trees,
And chants a requien^ to the passing soul
Of nature, till the Resurrection morn
In bright, supernal beauty comes again.

—Mrs. R. P. Sibley.

Cbe

Olorld

of jVIusic

" A prophet is not without honor save in his own country.'

HIS sentiment, with change in sentence-building>
will apply very forcibly to our musical artists.
An American musician is not without fame and
laurels save in his own native land. Why should this
condition obtain in a country so progressive, so expan-
sive, so desirous of making pre-eminent — before the
world, among her own people, and for her own up-build-
ing— her forces, power, wealth, intellect, resources, and
native worth ? A government " by the people, of the
people, for the people " politically — in sense of governing
— should be just that in highest sense for all noble and
beautiful advancement and culture.

We have had less than four hundred years of music
within our borders, yet we to-day excite the admiration
of the entire musical world. It is said that our American
voices are superior in many respects. The birth of music
in America may truthfully be traced to the Puritan
colonies of the stern New England coast.

There were English operatic singers in the early
days of Virginia and South Carolina, yet it is conceded
that little was accomplished by them for the growth of
American taste in musical matters.

From crude, unmusical psalm tunes of the Puritans
there has arisen a degree of culture in our own beloved
country which, considering our youth, is really marvel-
ous.

Europeans seek eagerly American artists, who are
crowned with European laurels and who reap harvests
in European shekels. Would that equal honor might
come to these same artists in their native land ! From

the crude Puritan psalmody there grew a more elaborate
musical form, deemed, by the extremely rigid and fan-
atical, a "frivolous art.'' Puritan music became a sort
of volks-lied, like '* Die Wacht am Khein " of the German
nation. These simple, discordant, unmelodious psalms
were to the Puritans in 1620 and 1700 what Yankee
Doodle and the Star Spangled Banner now are to us in
this wonderful, glorious nineteenth century — religiously
patriotic.

" The sounding aisles of the dim woods rang with
the anthems of the free." Out of " straining, harsh, dis-
cords and unpleasing sharps," the rough, unfinished
melodies which " the stars heard, and the sea," on that
wild New England coast in the early days of American
freedom and American independence, there has grown a
marvelous stature of musical beauty, in whose form and
comeliness we have just and pardonable pride.

To this founding of a new nation under so rigid a
system, that obtained in music as in matters less
aesthethic, we must attribute with somewhat of truth a
slow growth of English music. The temporary power
and strength of the religious sentiment of the Puritans
in Great Britain, and their hatred of secular music and
of musical instruments, made inventiveness impossible.
There must be incentive to and environment for inven-
tion. But our English cousins have made gigantic efforts
to spring out of that lamentable musical condition;
have made great leaps toward a supreme excellence in
all music. But for this hated Puritan gap in their his-
tory, what grand conditions might now be true in dear
Old England I

The first practical instruction-book in singing was
published by Rev. John Tufts, pastor of a church in
Newbury, Mass. He was a graduate of Harvard.

Boston opened a new era for musical advancement.
From what was called the Billings School grew musical
societies, and the work in instrumental music. To the
famous Handel and Haydn Society of Boston must be
traced the first real broad growth of music in this
country.

The Stoughton Musical Society, Massachusetts
Musical, and New York Philharmonic Society were also
strong factors in this work. Boston gave incentive and
invention for musical expansion, and there is nothing
superior in the United States to-day, to the musical ad-
vantages of Boston.

All these conditions have arisen through the influence of
the training of youth in the oratorios of ^' xMessiah" and
" Creation," two inimitable masterpieces.

The Academy of Music first gave Orchestral Con-
certs. Members of the orchestra, in the early fifties,
numbered about fifty. Harvard students grew so enthu-
siastic over this new force in society that they declared
music a literature; declared it not simply art but books
and decided to look upon it " not as an amusement but
as a serious pursuit; not a thing to divert the listless
mind, but to expand it, nourish it, inspire it, and give
it utterance."

They decided also to places the statues of Handel
and of Beethoven beside those of Homer, Plato, Newton,
and Shakspeare.

" A Sonata should be worth as much as an oration ;
40

a hymn or a sacred voluntary, as a sermon or a prayer."

What wonder that we have risen to such stature in
the eyes of the musical world as equal in- point of cul-
ture and gift, if not in inventive genius.

Tho Boston Handel and Haydn Society in singing,
and the New York Philharmonic Society in instrumen-
tal music, have been the strongest factors and building
forces in our musical expansion. We have sent to
European capitals singers who rank with Patti, Melba.
Nilsson, Parepa and Rose.

We boast of our Culture, our superiority in point of
talent. We boast of our wealth and of the prices we
pay the artists who sing for us; we point with pride to
our societies and institutions; yet we must, forsooth,
rush after a term or a short period of study in a Euro-
pean capital where we may add a little foreign polish to
a rare American gem, which was found by American

artists among American resources. But, "who

wants to fight for his own boarding house?" What is
to become of us as a musical nation if we find nothing
worth among " our own."

Life comes through fostering, care, and protection;
extinction and annihilation comes through disowning
and neglect. Let us remember that in our own dear
country we may, if we so desire, find as true artists as in
other lands. Ay, and here plods genius divine, await-
ing the trump which shall call it to " Excelsior" heights
by lips that breathe loyalty to America.

Xtie
Lihe Cbi9

Che Hpotbcosis

of the

f^oirveau

This department is devoted to the discussion of certain aspects of society
and the world in general. It will contain each month certain questions,
tending to clear up misunderstood or perverted facts. Our readers are urged
to answer these questions and send answers toB. D, careof the Editorial
Department of The Ebell. These answers will be printed in the ensuing
number without names.

HE advent of the " nouveau riche " into society
is hailed by some as a remedy for the drawing
of caste lines. But it is a sad blessing at best,
and should be prescribed in the smallest doses; since if it
does not cure it is warranted to kill; and there are, after
all, many things in the old regime that the social world
cannot well afford to be without. Constant practice for
generations has taught the human animal how to deport
himself gracefully among his fellows, and this the new-
comer has yet to learn. But if too much of him is
admitted at one sweep, as is the present tendency, the
security of the whole structure is endangered. The
problem is, then, how to stretch the social code without
breaking it.

These late arrivals are often of themselves rather
good fellows, they simply do not know the ropes; and
this colossal ignorance of theirs gets them into endless
trouble while they are learning, so that until they do
learn society verges on the chaotic. Nouveaux, being
most of them grown up or middle aged can not be sent
to the kindergarten, nor can they be snubbed, they donH
know it when they are; subtlety is lost on them; they
do not see the glance of scorn; a painfully supercilious
manner has some effect but is bad for the supercilious
one. It may be said, however, that the pachydermaton's
hide is toughest in the second period of novelty; at first

there is a manner of embarrassment, almost of timidity,
which soon gives way to a rash self-confidence, when
arrogance holds sway. Now, in this tentative period
couldn't those who really wish to be useful to the new
one seize him and quietly but firmly impress upon him
a few simple suggestions.

The following might be offered as samples:

I. Advise him not to be ostentatious.

As some one says, " Only the vulgar can afford to
be very wealthy," that is, only the vulgar will be excused
for their display, on the ground that they know no
better.

II. Suugest that he does not tramp on people's
toes until he knows everyone, then he may tramp freely;
this would reveal his acquaintance with the rules of the
game, and would show that he tramps with discrimina-
tion.

III. Impress upon him that it is best to be polite
to everybody; until he masters rule two at least. This
would lead observers to fancy that his position is secure,
certainly it is one of the best disguises of newness. It is a
trait much affected by the high-and-well-born, especially
royal folk, and is supposed to require several genera-
tions of high rank for its perfecting.

On account of a mental argument somewhat of this
sort: "I feel my personal superiority so keenly that I
now dare to be disagreeable; I never dared before when
I was lowly " — arrogance places one under the suspicion
of "arriving" but yesterday; and therefore courtesy
does not savor of servility.

Although it has remained the mark of the grandest,
43

a manner of simple distinction may be acquired even by
the least in rank. But it takes time and pains.

As the tea gown has been warned off the course of
public appearance by the constant advice of such maga-
zines as the Ladies^ Home Journal and others, so the
well disposed might hope to dislodge brutality of man-
ner from among the members of smart sets by a con-
tinual reminder that such *vays are not to be considered
good form; and by indulging in arrogance, as well as by
misplacing verbs, one unconsciously reveals the modesty
of one's origin. F.

QUESTIONS.

What is the reason for the decline of the legitimate
stage, and the great popularity of vaudeville ?

Is the romantic novel, with its tales of adventure
and gallant daring, being overdone ? If so, what is
likely to be the next literary development ?

If Ian McLaren accepts his call to the Plymouth
church of Brooklyn and still continues to write, will he
then be a Scotch writer or an American writer ?

Hmotig

HE book-shops are gay with bright covers and \}y^

attractive designs, setting forth the literary Boohs

promise of the New Year. Fiction, history, art.

science and music are all represented, and the old favo-
rites in new and artistic dress vie with more recent
comers into the world of letters. Messrs. Houghton,
Mifflin & Co. publish two attractive and carefully pre-
pared holiday editions, the one, a reprint in two vol-
umes of Lew Wallace's Fair God; the other, Hawthorne's
House of the Seven Gables. A handsome volume of
Tennyson, His Homes, His Friends and His Work, by
Elizabeth L. Carey, proves that the interest in that sweet
singer has a firm and enduring foundation in the hearts
of poetry lovers. A bright little holiday book in a
scarlet cover is Gallops, by David Gray, a collection of
short stories brightly told and full of the atmosphere of
the chase. The lovers of fine horses and of those who
love fine horses will find ample to interest and amuse
them in these clever stories.

John Splendid, by Neil Munro, comes from the
columns of the Bookman where it was completed last
month, in book form for the new year. It is a powerful
story of the wars of Lorn, full of interest and good
character drawing.

A new volume by Dr. Theodore F. Wolfe, entitled
Literary Haunts and Homes is published by the J. B.
Lippincott Company. Dr. Wolfe is well known to readers
as the author of A Literary Pilgrimage and Literary
Shrines — so full of interesting information. This new
publication deals with the literary landmarks of old
New York and tells of Poe, Cooper, Irving and others.

ebell

Among the books which have sold best in the last
month are The Day's Work by Kipling, The Adventures
of Frangois by Weir Mitchell, and Roden's Corner by
Merriman. The Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow
also enjoys great popularity.

T THE Social Thursday afternoon, December 8th,
of the Ebell, Mrs. Sarah B. Hickman gave an
interesting and thoughtful paper on music, in
which she set forth the true interpretation of musical
genius and the misconceptions arising from exaltation of
the performer over the composer. The true musician
subordinates himself to the master whom he is interpret-
ing and makes it his chief care to see that this master's
work is given a true and fitting expression. Mrs. Hick-
man's paper was illustrated by one of her pupils who
rendered several selections from famous composers.

On the last Thursday of the month the Conversation
Section made its report in a very interesting program
containing papers by Mrs. C. F. Gilbert and Miss Ham-
burger, and a general discussion on Color opened by Mrs.
R. W. Burnham.

The program for the month of January will be as
follows :

GENERAL MEETINGS.

Thursday, January 12th, Social Thursday, paper
*' Unity in Diversity," Mrs. F. A. Eastman. Thursday,
January 26th, General Meeting — report of the Tourist
Section.

SECTION MEETINGS

Literature Section — Each Monday, 2 p.m.
Story Tellers' Section — Second Tuesday, 2:30 p.m.
Economics — Fourth Tuesday, 2 p.m.
Conversation Section — Second Saturday, 10:30 a.m.
Music Section — First and third Mondays, 3:30 p.m.
Current Events Section — First and third Thursdays,
10:30 a.m.

Tourist Section — First and third Saturdays, 2 p.m.

A PIANO FOR SIX DOLLARS.

Six dollars is all you need hand me and I will de-
liver to your home a new high grade Upright Cabinet
Grand Piano, with handsome stool and scarf of your own
selection. Subsequent payment, six dollars monthly.
In selling pianos on these special terms I deduct from
$50 to $75 from the regular prices, and do not charge
interest. I advise you not to pay cash for a piano while
these terms are offered. — J. T. Fitzgerald (Fitzgerald
Music & Piano Co.), 113 So. Spring Street.

We have just passed through one of the most suc-
cessful years in our business career, and we aim to keep
one of the most complete stocks of pianos, musical in-
struments and music in the city. We invite the public
to call and look over our large stock, and they will be
shown the best of courtesy by our salesmen, and we will
make it our aim to sell the best goods and endeavor to
please our patrons. — J. T. Fitzgerald (Fitzgerald Music
and Piano Company), 113 S. Spring.

Cbe €bell

H jMontbly Journal of Literature
and Current 6vent9

february

SubscnpHon price ^^^^TS'S^jT^'^^^ Single Copy

$1.00 per Tear Jr^ V '^ X lo Cents

6race Htberton Denneii, editor
igzz South Grand Hvenuc, Los Hngeks, Calif ornia

1899

6eo. Rice &■ 80ns, (Xnc,)
Hoa Hngeles

Cable of Contents

f, T)opktii9on Smith and bis art .Mrs, L,J, Strange

Driftwood, a serial story, part XXX. continued

part XV. FrankUna. Gray Bartleit

Hpoem <B

JVEissRi'Lou SMary H, McCoy

t.ow's €ast (a song) Georgina Tterrepont Strong

Xtis Like Cbis

Bmong the Books

fellow feeling in Clubdom Ebetyn Hamburger

ebell )Votes

Copyrighted, 1899, by Grace Atherton Dennen

All communications should be addressed to Grace Atherton Dennen,
1922 Grand ave., Los Angeles. Notice of change of address should be sent
immediately by subscribers.

Entered at the Los Angeles Post Of&ceas second-class mail matter.

iS9

HEN a man is a light-house builder by
trade, a painter by profession, an author
by choice and an after-dinner speaker and
story-teller by nature, how can any critic deal ade-
quately with his varied accomplishments?"

F. Hopkinson Smith was born in Baltimore and in-
tended for trade, not for a professional career, but hav-
ing amassed a comfortable fortune as a contractor, he
took up the study of the art in which he has become
proficient.

It is said that he is at home everywhere on earth —
his orbit touches Omaha and Constantinople. In winter
he is heard from the lecture platforms in the Eastern
cities — in summer he sketches in a row-boat upon the
beautiful American river or moors his gondola to the
stones of Venice or he goes voyaging adown the billowy
Bosphorus. At intervals he writes books and builds
light-houses. His business is a pleasure and it is his
pleasure to be busy.

His beautiful home in 34th street, New York, is
fitted up as only a man of taste, travel and means can
direct. Its staircase is lined with sketches, its reception
room with old brocade. His studio on the top floor is
full of Chinese embroideries, Venetian mirrors, Mexican
pottery, Japanese masks, Turkish rugs, Cuban machetes,
Spanish water jars and old Dutch copper vessels. By
each of these hangs a tale.

This bit of flowered brocade has clothed a statue of
the Virgin. It was her feast day in Guanajuato and he
piously presented her with a new robe and as piously
carried off the old one. Espero, his favorite gondelier,

f% Ropkineon
Smith
and bis
Hrt

has brought him his coffee in this quaint little coffee pot
upon the Grand Canal. There are also souvenirs of
places and people not so far away. There are tiles
painted by the Tile Club, Chase and Abbey and others,
and in an ancient cupboard a set of old china from a
lady who at one time entertained weary artists in a con-
demned canal-boat upon the Harlem.

In the midst of all this, imagine a man of medium
height, still active tho* growing stout, fifty-three years
old with iron gray hair and gray mustaches, looking at
the first glance like a prosperous French man of affairs.
When he speaks, however, this illusion vanishes, for his
voice has the peculiar ring and his gestures the illus-
trative significance which are acquired by no one but the
American lecturer.

Among his notable works as a constructing con-
tractor, are the Race light-house off New London (this
is mentioned under another name in his last story of
Caleb West, also in a short story called "Captain Joe"),
the sea wall around Governor's Island and the one at
Tompkinsville, L. I., — the foundation of the Statue of
Liberty — improvements at the mouth of the Connecti- -
cut River — a system of jetties and a number of light-
houses and jetties.

As to the record of his books in the order in which
they were written and the corresponding dates. A Day at
Laguerres and Col. Carter of Cartersville were among
the first of his stories. They appeared in book form in
1890-91 — A White Umbrella in Mexico some time after
Gondola Days in 1897, Tom Grogan in 1895 and Caleb
West in 1898. Of course there were many others — some

magazine articles and short stories which have been
compiled and have appeared in book form during these
years mentioned.

His books, excepting those classed as fiction, are
mostly of adventures and travels in countries where he
has gone to sketch and paint.

Old Lines in Black and White, Well-worn Roads
of Spain, Holland and Italy, A White Umbrella in
Mexico, Gondola Days and several others are delightful
records of his trips through these countries. He has
had many moving studios — tartanas in Spain, broad-
sailed buggies in Holland, mules in Mexico, and cabs
everywhere, but he says in all his experience, there is
nothing like a gondola to paint from — a little boudoir,
he describes it, with down cushions, silk fringes and soft
morocco coverings. In his Gondola Days he makes no
attempt to review the glories of Venetian history, but his
treatment of his theme is picturesque and sentimental.
It is like a series of beautiful pictures, as he says " that
the pencil and the palette must lend their touch when
one would picture the wide sweep of the piazzas in
Venice, the abandon of her gardens, the charm of her
canal and street life, the happy indolence of her people
and the faded sumptousness of her homes. To know
her roughly is to know all the beauty and romance of
five centuries." This book under the name of The Ven-
ice of To-day and also Well-worn Roads of Spain, Hol-
land and Italy have been very popular as holiday vol-
umes with reproductions of water colors and pen and ink
sketches by himself.

It was my good fortune to see a very beautiful book

by him called American Illustrators, with reproductions
of their pictures by himself. There are rumors also of a
book of the Tile Club by F. Hopkinson Smith which con-
tains 114 reproductions of representative paintings, bas-
reliefs, portraits and sketches by members of the Tile
Club of New York.

The White Umbrella in Mexico is one of his best
known books and belongs to the class I have mentioned
— his travels in foreign countries. It is illustrated by
himself as all of his books are and is a narrative of his
experiences in finding picturesque and historical out-of-
the-way places in Mexico to sketch and paint. It dif-
fers from most books on Mexico as he has avoided as far
as possible the usual routes traveled by tourists, but
takes delight in finding some ancient ruin or relic of the
past in envious far-off places difficult of access.

In this book, as well as others of its class, one
notices that he mingles with the people, avoiding the
usual guides, prefering to find out the true inner life of
the people from themselves.

The two books that have really stamped F. Hopkin-
son Smith as a writer of fiction are Tom Grogan and
Caleb West. In one way they both seem more like
character sketches than novels.

Tom Grogan was written for a purpose. In it Mr.
Smith paints organized labor in colors so black that all
traces of manhood seem to be lost in one who sells his
soul to a Union to protect "the sacred rights of labor."

Tom Grogan is a woman, the wife of a stevedore,
who, when his health fails, steps into his place, taking
his name and fulfilling all of his contracts so well that

the manager of the company for whom she had worked
for years never suspected that it was a woman who was
working for him and only accidently discovered it. Her
family were very helpless and dependent upon her alone
for their support — her aged father, her daughter and her
little crippled son. She was a woman of great physi-
cal strength, perfect health and a perfect control of her-
self and surroundings. There was also a dignity and
repose, unmistakable to those who have watched the
handling of large bodies of workingmen by some leading
spirit.

Underneath all these outward indications of domin-
ant power and great physical strength, one could detect
in the lines of the mouth and eyes a certain refinement
of nature. There was too a fresh, rosy wholesomeness, a
sweet cleanliness about her. Tom may have been rough
in her speech and manners but she seemed to be free
from every vice — no profanity was ever indulged in by
her, and the worst that can be said of her was that she
had a temper, but as the book says, her descent from
the land of the shamrock and the shillalah was not to be
doubted, and she certainly had sufficient provocations in
the insults and jeers of the Union men with whom she
came in contact.

She performed wonders working with her men in all
kinds of weather, and her happy good natured way of
directing them won the devotion and good will of all
those in her employ.

Few criticize the character of Tom Grogan, and the
plot is considered perfect. One writes that in this story
we see what a divine thing a woman may be made even

though she belongs to the lower walks of life and be
forced by stress of circumstances to go into the world
and stand with men and against them in the struggle for
bread for her own. One likes her even better when the
other side of her character is laid|bare to us — her woman-
ly gentleness and quick sympathy and her helplessness.

Tom Grogan was long considered F. Hopkinson
Smith's best story, but his last story, Caleb West, prom-
ises to rival if not to out-do it. A first edition of 10,000
was exhausted on the day of its publication — in April of
this year— and a second edition was rapidly taken up.

The story appeared in the Atlantic Monthly during
the winter. A prominent bishop in the Episcopal church
says "it is a strong, clean and wholesome story. So far
as it is nature, it is the best nature, and so far as it is
creation and character painting it is a noble creation
and Capt. Joe is in the image and likeness of God." The
mystery of the origin of evil is impenetrable but the
problem of the purpose is plain enough — that we may
resist temptation and forgive sin and tbe'book is built for
that purpose,

I think we realize in reading of Mr. Hopkinson
Smith that all his books have some purpose. He either
deals with some of the social problems, showing the evil
and extracting the good i or else he tries through his pic-
tures and word painting to elevate to a true appreciation
of the beautiful in nature and art.

The west, he says, is ruled by women's clubs because
men will attend to nothing but business. Even in the
east he says that the man who forms a library or a col-
lection of paintings is a rare exception. He would have
one enjoy the sunshine, to read, to look at good pictures
and good statues and he thinks the rich man's duty is to
provide places for such. His own life has certainly an-
swered to his ideal. L. J. Strange.

III. (Continued.)

Mrs. Barton, leaning against a tree-trunk watching
her husband walking away through a vista of shadows,
seemed in no hurry to read the letter in her hand. She
was reviewing dreamily the most delightful year of her
delightful life, when she and John had read their love
story in the fair and storied places of the earth. Every-
thing in those journeyings had been idealized by the
light of her happiness — even Lyle Howard, her husband's
college chum, who sustained well his diflBcult part of
third in a bridal party, realizing that he was often loved
best in his absence. Mrs. Barton thought of the happy
years which had fleeted since then, and sighed — partly
with pleasure, partly with regret; then she turned to the
letter in her hand and read:

Dear Barton: In looking through my desk tonight
preparatory to a journey, I came across your last letter.
The seal had never been broken, though it bore date
three years back, for it reached me at a time of great
mental anguish and was laid aside unopened. Not very
complimentary this, but truth nevertheless. Well, I
read it tonight, and the desire to see you and revive
again my old self is strong upon me. I leave tomorrow
on business which calls me to Chicago, and will detain
me there eome weeks. From there, if the present im-
pulse still lasts, I will make my way to your flowery
clime. Once in sight of the Pacific I may keep on and
come back the "long way round," especially if I can per-
suade you to accompany me — but I forget you are a do-
mestic man, taut pis. Drop me a line at once bidding
me welcome, or otherwise, and cultivate patience till you
see me. Yours Faithfully,

Lysle Howard.

Driftwood
a Serial
Story

part XII. (cont.)
and part IT.

"John, I thoughtjLysle was married, I wonder he
does not mention his wife," said Mrs. Barton as she
folded the letter.

"I thought of that too, and on second reading I
came to the conclusion that she was dead. He refers to
some great sorrow occurring three years ago, which would
be about a year after his marriage. Lysle always was a
queer reserved fellow. He had a brother who went
wrong in some way when we were at college and the mor-
tification so weighed upon him that he has been like a
snail in his shell ever since. Listen I what is that?"

A voice clear and buoyant as the sound of a silver
bell, was singing. There is ever a peculiar power in
open air song, and to this one was added a picture which
these two listeners would never forget. Through a gap
in the trees they could see Mrs. Alford sitting on a bank
above the brook; she had laid aside her hat and her
sunny hair was tossed lightly by the breeze. Her lap
was full of flowers and ferns which the boys had just
thrown there, before running to gather more. Her hands
were clasped among the flowers and she was looking up-
ward, singing and smiling in the joy of song. Her black
dress was the only spot of gloom in the picture and even
that was brighted by flecking sunbeams.

"What does she teach school for with such a voice
as that," said Mr. Barton, as the song died away. "She
could make her fortune singing."

"I can't imagine that voice dedicated to money
making; she throws her soul into every note," said Mrs.
Barton," and looks like a picture besides; imagine any
body paying to look at her I' '

"Well, don't be so indignant dear, I have no idea of
offering her a dollar for her song. Shall we spread the
lunch now?"

This was soon accomplished even with Ethel and
Ned to hinder by helping and the little party gathered
about the low laid feast.

"Now Mrs. Alford, one more song," said Mr. Barton
when the meal was over and the children were repack-
ing the hamper; "you were too distant for us to fully
appreciate the last.

The school mistress had little sleepy Ned in her
arms, and was rocking him gently back and forth.

"I have not sung for several years, but this lovely
day in the woods has brought back both the power and
the desire to sing," she said, and began at once a plain-
tive lullaby. She looked into the baby face on her arm
as she sang, brushing back the golden curls with one
hand. The westerning sun touched her brow and
crowned it with light; the breeze-driven shadows fell
across her face; a passionate yearning filled her song;
the tears gathered and fell one by one from her drooping
eyes until her voice broke suddenly:

"Forgive me," she said, "but I cannot bear it, sing-
ing to your boy while my own is dead."

Mrs. Barton laid her hand silently upon Mrs. Al-
ford's, while her husband rose and walked away. The
scene was too pathetic for words, and the happy wife and
mother had nothing but silence before the other woman's
grief. But her touch was eloquent of pity.

IV.

The formative period to any society is to a certain
degree chaotic. The fusing and proper commingling to-
gether of indiscriminate material must of necessity be a
work which can only be accomplished by the masterful
hand of time. But the key note of the future even at
first is to be found in the motive which drew the commu-
nity together. The great mining fever which brought
thousands to the mountains of California, scarred the
fair face of nature with ugly gashes and great shadow -
haunted pits. When once the "lead" failed, the eager,
noisy villages which clung around these caverns melted
away, leaving scarcely a vestige of their brief and busy
presence. Where however, commerce and the slow gains
of legitimate business were mingled with the spirit of
adventure and speculation, more or less permanent and
wealthy cities rose; not only houses, but homes were
built and educational institutions established. Gradu-
ally the reckless population to whom excitement and ad-
venture were necessary, drifted away to new and more
congenial scenes, and the great chaldron of society
seethed and simmered over the fires of time until most
of the froth had risen to the surface and been skimmed
away. Three decades sufficed to build cities, whose
society was as well established as that of the places which
were three times their age.

But the far south of the Golden State slept undis-
turbed by the din of pick and drill, until at last it
awoke with a slow yawn to hear the shrill echo of a
steam whistle. The iron horse had brought the world
to its doors — that great turbulent money-making world
of which it had heard only vague rumors.

Then came civilization, commerce, wealth, panting
and puffing in their midst. Spring beds, parlor matches,
and Paris millinery were on their way; lawyers and
doctors and notaries following fast in their wake. But
this fast coming army of invaders soon found that the
wealth of the south lay in two inalienable commodities
— its fruit and its sunshine. Those who must make
money in some quicker way than growing it, and those
whose lungs were unimpaired, passed on and made way
for an innumerable company of health-seekers who
dreamed of those fountains of life which long ago were
said to spring in Floridian wilds. Many too, who were
content to wait for a slow wealth, planted orchards and
vineyards and marked their way through the lovely val-
leys by a path of green. So it will be seen that though
the population of Southern California was drawn from
all grades of society, it lacked the adventurous and
reckless element which congregated about the mining
towns of the north. The wealthy and educated sought it
for health; nonest and frugal farmers were driven to it
by the rigors of Fome eastern climates, and many men,
and women with a sad history written in their faces,
fled to it for oblivion. Out of such elements what a
noble structure ought time to fashion out!

Of these contrasting elements the village had its
full share. A Sunday glance into the little church
where one service a week was conducted by a shy,
scholarly young minister, always made a stranger won-
der how and why these people got together. Near the
front sat a white-haired gentleman in irreproachable
broadcloth, whose very spectacles proclaimed him a

scholar and ex-professor. The lady by his side wore an
India shawl of finest texture, and her bearing spoke of a
life spent well in a circle of such queenly women as her-
self. Behind them were a young couple with a very
wide-awake baby, all rather uncomfortable in their Sun-
day clothes. Then a discouraged, sad-looking man with
a bench full of disorderly children, and a very pretty,
eager-looking young girl who tried in vain to keep them
quiet. Mrs. Foss and her husband (no one ever thought
of him as anything but his wife's husband), neat and
orthodox; the Barton family handsome, happy and well
ordered; a half-dozen rough men in overalls and inno-
cent of collars, whose wives wore kid gloves and very gay
hats, although chronologically wrong in the matter of
the fashion, and then the usual proportion of over-grown
boys and healthy young women. But the matter of sur-
prise was to see how many refined and educated men
and women were in the little congregation, people who
seemed strangely out of place in the pioneer life of the
far west — if pioneering could by any manner of means
be associated with the bowery homes of the village!

On this particular Sunday in April the sunshine
was slanting low into the west windows of the church as
the people came out from the afternoon service. The
locust trees were budding out in tender green overhead ;
the peach and apple trees were clad in roseate blossoms.
A hum of voices rose about the church steps; tongues
forced to silence for an hour broke forth into unwonted
activity; the children ran up and down among the trees.
*'You will come tonight as usual, Agnes?" Mrs. Barton
said to the young girl who had charge of the troop of

OF THB

UNIVERSITY

restless children, "we can not spare you dear. And Mr.
Murray how do you do? we have not seen you for some
time; will you be with us this evening?"

"It was just about that I was wishing to speak with
you," returned a tall, sandy-bearded Scotchman, whom
she had addressed. "I should like to ask a favor of you
if I may walk on a bit with you."

" Shall we wait for Mr. Barton, or is the request
especially for my ear," asked Mrs. Barton, as she saw her
husband approaching.

" He is quite necessary to my request," answered
Mr. Murray. "You have already inspired many good
things in the Village; now I am going to ask you to
extend your sympathies to one who sorely needs a mental
and spiritual tonic."

Mr. Barton having fallen in step by his side the
three passed on under the embowering trees.

" I have had with me for some time," Mr. Murray
resumed, " a man whom I met by chance in Los Angeles,
but in whom I have become deeply interested. I know
nothing of his past, but what he tells me, and that is
little to his credit. He seems to be one of that large
class, whose life craft has sprung a leak early, in a sea of
selfish indulgence, and which has never been beached
long enough to dry out. Such a one sinks where a
staunch boat would sail in safety. He is ashore now in
a safe spot with time to get his bearings, but he seems
too spiritless to take up the task. He is a gentleman by
instinct and education, — for that much I stand sponsor,
— for the rest God only knows. I want your permission
to bring him to your Sunday evening. It may rouse

him from his melancholy. Will you admit my chance
acquaintance?"

Mrs. Barton looked at her husband, waiting for him
to reply, and he walked on in silence for a few moments,
mentally reviewing the little company which weekly
gathered in his parlors.

" Is he a young man? "

*' Forty, I should judge, although he looks younger."

"You know our Sunday evenings were established to
give our young people a place to spend the hours which
the lack of church service leaves idle. We do not con-
sider them in a social light. Let your friend come."

The tall Scotchman thanked them and then stood
still a minute to watch the couple as they passed through
the hedge and up the path which led to their home. The
children came running to meet them; a mocking bird
trilled his vesper song overhead, the perfume of orange
flowers lay heavy upon the air. Mr. Murray shook him-
self with a sudden motion as though ridding himself of
unwelcome thoughts, then with long, firm strides started
toward the hills. He was an eccentric old bachelor about
whose odd ways the Village had long ceased to specu-
late. Why a man should buy land on an unplowed
hillside, build a rough cabin and fill it almost to the
low roof with books, and there divide his time between
farming and studying, was a question many had asked
at first; but he managed to satisfy them with some droll
Scotch reply which sent them away laughing but none
the wiser. So gradually the Village had grown to feel
that it knew all about Mr. Murray but it did not choose
to tell I He seemed a commonplace enough subject of

speculation this Sunday afternoon as he turned his
honest face homeward and left the last house of the Vil-
lage a mile behind him. The mountains rose before him,
purple in the distance, emerald green near by, theii
lower slopes bedecked with great patches of wild flowers,
here yellow, there violet, yonder red, like the coat of
many colors woven by the fond Patriarch of old for his
much beloved son. And indeed this land, buoyant with
youth, confident in its own strength and loveliness is a
very Joseph among nations, a son favored above all
others by the lavish hand of Nature. " God people its
solitudes with good and noble men," said the Scotchman
as he looked about him at the sunset glories of the scene;
and then as he approached his unpainted two-roomed
house his eye fell on the figure of a man, sitting upon
the doorstep. His head was thrown back, the afterglow
lighting his face. He brought his gaze slowly from the
purple horizon to return his host's greeting with a nod.
Mr. Murray went into the house and soon returned with
a pitcher of milk, some bread and cheese. Spreading a
clean cloth on a table which stood on the little porch, he
removed his hat and quietly asked God's blessing on
the frugal meal. His bent figure seemed to assume a
patriarchal dignity in the gloaming.

"Murray, you are a good man; I wish I'd known
you years ago before it was too late," said Henry Leith
abruptly, not changing his seat and and refusing with a
gesture, the food offered him.

"Too latel Who are you man, to say too late.
While there is life it is never too late. Stop drifting, and
brace yourself to row up stream."

"I've lost my oars," said the man gloomily.

"Say rather you are weak in the muscles," retorted
his host. "Come with me tonight Leilh, to see some
friends of mind, they'll do you good. You are jaundiced
with too much of your own company."

"The Lord knows I am tired enough of it," said
Leith. "Yes I'll go with you anywhere."

The sunset lights had faded from the sky; the abrupt
luminous night of southern climes was falling over the
valley and shrouding the mountains. An occasional
star pierced the darkling globe of the sky. His simple
meal ended Mr. Murray removed the few dishes, and in
silence the two men started down the slope to the village.

The sound of music greeted them as they reached
their destination, and entering the house they found Mrs.
Barton seated at the piano while a dozen neighbors were
gathered about her. A shaded lamp stood on the center
table throwing stray gleams of light on the picture
frames and revealing the homelike room.

The hymn finished Mr. Barton took his seat beside
the shaded lamp and prepared to read aloud. It was
the custom of this little company to meet every Sunday
evening to read some book selected by the vote of those
interested, and the reading was continued from week to
week until] the volume was completed. Although the
selection was always made with reference to the holy
day it was not theological in character, being sometimes
biographical, sometimes narrative. The reader was fre-
quently interrupted for questions or discussion. All
seemed at ease and interested. Promptly at nine o'clock
Mr. Barton closed the book and took up the Bible, —
family prayers always closed this quiet evening.

" OF THB

Tonight the 13th chapter of Hebrews was read.

"Dear friends," said Mr. Barton as he finished,
"did you ever realize the grandeur of that great 'cloud of
witnesses?' Think of it! The blessed citizens of Heav-
en throng about us waiting with tender anxiety for our
victory or defeat. Is any soul tempted let him be nerved
by the uncounted eyes which watch for his decision.
Would you send them back to Heaven to weep for you
with veiled faces before the throne, or shall there be
songs of joy because j^^ou have conquered through him
who died? Think how exquisite must be the ecstacy
which can add to the joy of Heaven, how cruel the
wrong *which can shadow its peace. May we not be
nerved for the struggles of the coming week by the
thought that each one in this room, weak to the guide
even the destinies of his own home, may sway the
songs of Heaven! Let us pray."

The prayer ended the little company dispersed to
their homes their hearts stilled with the peace of the
evening. Henry Leith rose up with the others, bewil-
dered by the strangeness of his emotions. He had been
breathing another atmosphere and it was suffocating
him. The hostess came toward him as he stood, bring-
ing an odor of flowers with her. She held out her
hand frankly as she said: "We are glad to have had you
with us Mr. Leith; I hope you will come again." He
did not take the proffered hand nor look up as he
thanked her briefly. Once in the open air, he pushed by
Mr. Murray and walked on rapidly alone. He raised
his eyes to the splendor of the Southern sky above him.
To his excited imagination the stars seemed to sway

aside to make way for invisible witnesses. Was it in-
deed too late if Heaven wished him well? He had made
a sad muddle of his life so far, but he had only reached
its meridian. Why not try again for achievement? His
pulses tingled with new energy. Here, a stranger with
no weights to pull him down, he would start afresh. A
long dormant ambition awoke within him. They should
be proud of him yet! But even in this moment, deep
down in the man^s soul, he heard a prophetic echo —
'^unstable as water, thou shalt not excel.'^ Like smoke-
borne sparks his aspirations had often soared brilliantly
only to be quenched in mid-air. Still he resolutely
turned his thoughts from the past, as he climbed the
hillside that spring night. The life he had found so
worthless a few hours ago shone with a new hope. He
felt strong to conquer and to do.

In the eyes of the woman,
Beware, bewarel
There is hiding a look —
You may see it there.
Is it love? Is it hate?
Is't for me or another?
'Tis either, *tis both.
Try and see, young lover.
B.

T was June and that corner of "The Park" where
the mulberry trees stood, was exceedingly popu-
lar. There were three of them clustered in such
a friendly manner, reaching out their arms toward
each other, and even shaking hands — or branches — in
a most delightfully social way. Just now the purple
berries hung heavy from their slender stems beneath the
broad protection of the leaves, making glad many hearts.
Squirrels, red and grey, scampered from limb to limb,
and away and out of sight. Birds of many hues and
songs flitted among the branches. And the children —
ahl the children, how graciously they accept the bounties
provided by mother nature for her own.

That s^eet June morning half a dozen lads and lassies
lately come to spend the summer at "Dear Grand-
mother's," awoke the echoes with their mirth. Eloise
held her white apron to catch the luscious berries her
cousin Rob dropped from the bending bough where he
clung like a squirrel. When the store was goodly, and
her own lips testified she had not fasted, away skipped
Eloise toward Aunt Sukie's cabin. As usual Aunt Sukie
sat just within the door, knitting, and as ever the sun
light fell in big, bright patches on the floor. Eloise held
out her apron with its luscious burden. "Bless her sweet
life," said the old negress, delight written all over her
countenance, "she nebber furgits her ole Aunt Sukie, does
she?" "Why, Aunt Sukie," said Eloise, "you've been
knitting on my stocking again." "I know hit, honey
chile, I 'lowed I'd git down to de heel dis mawnin, so's I
could show yo' 'bout turnin' it." Half an hour passed
during which the knitting lesson progressed much to

Mise Rf
Lou

Aunt Sukie's satisfaction. The curly head bent low
over the work and the little one^s cheeks grew flushed
with the perplexing intricacies of turning a stocking
heel. Finally the task creditably accomplished, Aunt
Sukie's face beamed with satisfaction, and the little head
leaned contentedly against her knee. The old black
hand tenderly smoothed the soft hair, as she said, "Well,
honey chile, whut kin* of a story yo' want dis mawnin'."
"About Grandmother," answered the little one. *' 'Bout
yo' Gran'maw? Well, honey chile, I knows yo' lubs yo'
Gran 'maw, an' thinks she's a powerful fine ole lady; but
yo"' don' know nuthin 'bout what she usen to be. W'y
she was de han'somes' lady in dis county or any udder
county, fur dat mattah, an' hel' her hade so high, an'
walk so purty dat eberybody turn roun' an' look at her
when she go by. But she aint pay no 'tention to nobody
'cep Marse Jeemes an' de chillun, an' makin' herniggahs
happy in dere cabins. Well, yo' know honey chile,
when de wah come on, yo' Gran'maw was atur'ble Rebel.
But I stuck to 'er, an' I'll stick to 'er as long as dere's a
piece ob 'er lef, cause she's my own blessed Miss 'Ri Lou,
an' dey aint nobody eke on dis yearth half as good as
she is. Rebel or no Rebel. But Marse Jeemes, he kindah
sittin' on de fence. He 'lowed he didn' want de United
States split in de middle, but I'se head 'im say dat dem
folks up dah at Washin'ton didn't *hab no right to free
his niggahs! But hit didn't make much diffence bout
him noways, cause you know he done got he kyork lage
in de Mexican wah, so he couldn't fit nohow. So he
kindah sittin* on de fence, an' ef a Rebel got in trouble he
heps him out, an' if a Yankee got in trouble he heps him

out. An' Miss Libbie (dat was your maw afterwards)
an' Miss Marg'et, dey like de brass buttons, dey doan
care whos got *em on, an' all de time dey got a cap'n or
kyernel on der string, an' whedder he's a Rebel or a
a Yankee, doan make no diffence to dem.

Well, de way Miss 'Ria Lou contrived to he'p dem
young rebel sogers 'long wus a caution. An' Marse
Jeemes tell 'er all de time she git into trouble. So when
de Yankees wus 'roun he was mighty skeert, coz some ob
de po' white trash been tellin' it 'roun dat he wus a
southern sympafizer, and in dem days, chile, dat go,
many a good man's hade shot off. Oh, it wus tur'blet
dat wahl Well, one time de Fed'ral troops come a
marchin' in fur fo' or five days stiddy, till de whole
country puddinigh wus one big campin groun'. De
camps 'stended from de fayer groun's ober dah clar up
into de west eend ob de far medder. Dem soger dey jes
squat de tents down any whar dey wants to, widout
askin leave ob nobody. Dem Yankees aint got no
raisin no how I An' ebery day dey was a marchin' an'
marchin' an' dere bans wus playin' dat silly Yankee
doodle chune whut make all de young niggahs kick up
dere heels an' skip aroun' like yearlin' colts! Well
when dey fust come Marse Jeemes got kinder white an'
went roun' wid his lips shet mighty close togedder, cause
Miss 'Ri' Lou done hab a young rebel down in de cellah
feedin' 'im. So we all kep a lookout for de sogers. Well
one mawnin' I wus standin' in de cabin do', hit wus a
beautiful mawnin' ef it wus November, an' I had jes got
all my close out on de line, an' I wus standin' dere
restin', an' Moses settin on de do' step smoken he pipe.

Well seem like I done furgit all 'bout de wah, an' al
dem tents down yondah, an' was jes a watchin' a red
bird hoppin' roun' in de osage orange hedge, an' sorta
dreamin' bout de time when I wus a young gal an' me
an' Miss 'Ri' Lou usen to go trapesin roun' over de
country visitin at de gret houses, an' havin' beaux an' all
sich nonsense, when all of a suddent I heahs bosses a gal-
lopin', plunkity an' plunkity, I look an' dah come a
whole posse o' sogers down de lane, not mo'n a quarter o'
mile away. Bless yo', chile alibe, ef my heart didn't
mos' jump outen my mouf ! Den wus de time I had to
think quicker'n a fiddle string bust! You see we done
had hit all made up whut we gwine do ef de sogers come.
Moses was gwine have Marse Jeemes boss, Beppo, all
saddle in de stable, and Marse Jeems wus gwine git on
'im an' split out throu de back paschure, an' git away
some how. But you see dem sogers come jes like de
smallpox or de yaller fever, when you doan spect 'em.
Well I wus so upsot dat time dat I gib Moses a kick wid
my foot so quick dat he says '^ouch" an' drap his pipe
outen his mouf. "You fool niggah you," I say,
"here come de sogers, an' dere aint no hoss saddle m de
stable for Marse Jeems." He done tole me dat he feel
sorry fur Beppo standin' up dah in de stable all de time
wid de saddle on, so I know I got a right to cuse 'im ob
it. So I make up my min' in a minute whut we mus'
do. "Go 'long in dere," I says while Moses wus pickin'
up he pipe an' rubbin' de spot where I kick 'im. "Go
long in dere an' git in de bade an ten' like you's orful
sick ef de sogers comes in heah," "an' Marfa," I say to my
growd up gal, "you ten' like you's takin' care ob yo

daddy, an' when Marse Jeems comes down put Mna under
de bade an' pull de bade spread down sorta careless like
to hide 'im, jes like hits fallen* off de bade." Now Moses
wa'n't no rebel like me an Miss 'Ri' Lou, but he's do
what I tole 'im, jes like Marse Jeems 'd cut off his right
han' if Miss 'Ri' Lou wants *im to. Den I lit out fur de
house wid my brains spinnin' roun' like one o' dem new
fangled jim crack frashin murchines. Marse Jeemes
done see 'em comin', an' I met him comin' outen de back
do'. "Is de boss saddled Sukie?" "No, Marse Jeemes, dat
it hain't. But I done tole Moses to git in de bade an'
play sick, an' you git under de bade an' Marfa'll take
care ob de res'. Go quick, I say, befo' dey see yo'." An'
he lit out fo' de cabin,]but he look like he thought dat wus
a mighty fool way o' doin'. Den I went in to see 'bout
Miss 'Ri' Lou. She wus up stairs prinkin up, coz she
done make up her min' whut she goin' do. I look out
her winder an' see 'em ride up to de poch an' git off dere
bosses, an' fore I could git down stairs I heah de mus-
kits rattle on de do', rat-tat-tat, like dat. An' I started
to go to de do', but Miss 'Ri' Lou jes comin down de
stairs, and she says, "Wait, Sukie, I'll go to de do." An
fo' dey had time to rap agin she got dah an threw de do>
open, an' she says, makin a purty, dancin' bow, "Walk in,
gentlemen." De young Cap'n step inside but de sogers
look like like dey doan know whut to do, till Miss 'Ri
Lou smile so sweet an' say ober agin, "Walk in gentle-
men," an' de Cap'n nod to 'em an' dey all step inside.
Den de Cap'n say to Miss 'Ri' Lou very purlite, "I'se
sorry madam to intrude, but we have been informed dat
dere is fiah arms an' refugees sto'ed in dis house." Den

Miss 'Ri' Lou smole an' look so purty, an' make annudder
bow an' say, "De house is at yo' pleasure, Cap'n, shall I
show yo' through?" Den he bowed an' she tuck 'im in
de parlor an' de sogers followed. I done heahed bout how
dem common sogers stole eberythin' dey could git dere
ban's on, an' I go 'long after 'em an' keep purty close to
de ornerest lookin' one ob de lot. Den dey look under
de sofas an' in de fiah place, an' I mos' snikkered when
one young soger peeked into de bronze vases on de
mantel. Den dey went into de library an' look into de
book cases an' under de cheers, an' den in de dinin'
room. But wusn't I glad de silver done hurried down in
de orchard? Well, dey look in de side bode an' in de
cubbards an' den go in de kitchen an' look in de oven
and up de big chimbley, an' las' in de pantry. Now hit
wus comin' on Thanksgivin' time, an' Miss 'Ri' Lou been
havin' lots o' pumpkin pies baked, an' dere wus two gret
long rows of 'em settin' on de shelves. How dem sogers,
Cap'n and all, look at dem pumpkin pies! I done heah
tell deys ded set on pumpkin pies up norf, so I guess hit
made 'em think of home. Den I saw Miss 'Ri' Lou's eyes
flash up all of a suddent, an' she turn to de Cap'n an'
she say, "If you an yo' men will be seated in de dinin'
room, you are welcome to sample my pumpkin pies.'
Well, de way dey split into dat dinin' room an' got sot
down to de table were a caution. Den we got down de
pies, an' I went to de spring house an' got some genuine
quality milk, an' Miss 'Ri' Lou wait on dem sogers herself.
Well, when dey got up f'om dat table, dar wa'nt a crum
o' pumpkin pie lef 1 An' dat young soger down in de
cellah under de dinin' room skeert mos' to def I Well,

honey chile, when dey had et up ebery crumb ob dose
pies an' drink all de milk dat young Cap'n tank Miss
'Ri' Lou fur her hospitality, jes like a real gentleman, an'
said he guessed he had been misinformed, an' begged her
pardon fo' de trusion, an dat she should nebber be
sturbed agin, an' I doan koow whut all, an' Miss 'Ri' Lou
she stood in de do' a^bowin' an' a smilin' an viten' 'em
to come agin.

An after dey got outside de sogers stopped an' give
three cheers, an Miss 'Ri' Lou bowed agin an' shet de do'.
Den honey chile whut you think yo' gran'maw did? As
soon as de do' wus shet, an' she wus sho' de sogers done
gone sho' nuff, an dey didn't foun' Marse Jeemes, she
drapped right down into a cheer an' busH out cfyin' I
*'Sukie," she says atween her Bobbins, **go tellyo' mastah
to come here qui-ck." I didn' waste no time a try in' to
comfort her coz I knowed nobody couldn't do dat sho'
nuff cepen Marse Jeemes his se'f. So I lit out fo' de
cabin, an' I foun Moses in de bade wid a sho' nuff ager
an' Marse Jeemes under de bade shakin'like a leaf. "Fo'
goodness sakes!" I says, "whut fools yo' is, beggin yo'
pardon, Marse Jeemes, layin here trimblin' when Miss
'Ri' Lou done whip de whole caboodle ob de United
States army. Den Marse Jeemes poke he hade out f'om
under de bade, an' he says, "Whut you mean, Sukie?"
An' I says "I means dat yous got de smartes' wife in de
United States, but she ain't got sense nuff to know it, an'
yo' bettah go 'long up to de house an' tell 'er." "Is de,
sogers gone, Sukie?" "Yes, Marse Jeemes,deys done gone,
an' whut more dey aint nebber comin back; an Miss 'Ri'
Lou can hab a young reb sittin' on de parlor mantel ef

she wants to, stid o* hidin* 'im in de cellah!" Den Marse
Jeemes straighten hisse'f up an holler, "Hurrah! hurrah
fo' de red white an* bl — " "No," I says, shettin 'im off
quick, "Hurrah fur Miss 'Ri^ Lou dis timeV* "Bless 'er,"
he says kinda under his href, but Iheahed 'im, an' away
he lit out fo' de house, kyork leg an' all!

Den Mose he got over his ager all of a suddent, an' he
says, "Tell me bout hit, Sukie." An' I tell him bout hit,
an' he laff till he roll outen de bade onto de floo'. Den
he pick he se'f up an says "Sukie I'd radder b'long to Miss
'Ri' Lou dan anybody libin, but I doan want to b'long to
nobodyX Hurrah fo' de red white and blue." "Yes," I
says, "yo' can say dat wid twelve t'ousand Yankees down
dah in sight!" An' den I look at 'imlike I usen to know
how in my younger days, wid my hade thrown back an'
my lips shet an' my eyes a blazin, an' he hung he hade
an' when he got he close on he go out de back do' an' I
didn' see 'im no mo' dat day. An' now honey chile
g'long up to de house an' kiss yo' Gran'maw, an' try to
be a comfort to her in her old days, coz she's been troo a
heap, an' me an' her's good ole fren's togedder, bless de
Lawd! Mary H. McCoy.

Words by
Clarence Urmy

LOVE'S EAST

Music by
Georgina Pierreport Strong

^ ti" j ^

:[ ^»r:j ,^

—f

^ T 1 1-

r— i:^^^ :— ^r-

-^^ « . K-

— s s M — ^ —

^ 1 ^V-

-if

r , —

w~n^

y i

1 ^1- '

[^ — Y — 1

^=£=y

J J J 1 j.-^

y^c

oXreA (/IV

i'-

oU^.

?=f

v — ^

-#^

^t.

tf-

1 IVM. I r^^

^^^

^Jbtd ^v \ovtli. <nf $ffu;tL

^iu/tf

iwhiJti' i/tr- do

;-tj- V

r l-r I

*1rV-r

1^^^

**^

r 7 T 1 1 / J- V II V t 1

m«^ yt/LOM'it IxJ, Jfud. Mrcui J tUn/yo t»\/£tJe/wtul iCajiZ/_

^^^^

^^^=^

^ci

i=--i

/ J- «!' ^ ^^

7 ^ 1

J-a^tiu^utad to 'mc-

/ J ^ 1 .<>

' * i ifl-i

^^^^^--^-^-^

-i — 7-

Copyrighted, 1899 by Georglna Pierreport Strong

)F THB ^.

UNIVERSITY ]

It 18

Like Cbie

On
BriUiaticy

This aepanment is devoted to the discussion of certain aspects of society
and the world in general. It will contain each month certain questions,
tending to clear up misunderstood or perverted facts. Our readers are urged
to answer these questions and send answers to B. D., caie of the Editorial
Department of The Ehell, These answers will be printed in the ensuing
number Avlthout names.

OST of the thoroughly brilliant women have
been French and in their energy has lain a great

Ul part of their charm.

They are found on the pages of history, on the stage
or in those dim salons where women have shown what
they can do with what is theirs if they have but a chance
to try.

By the way, have you observed how few English
women have had their chance? Poor Lady Mary Wor-
ley Montague tried for it, and instead of covering herself
and her age with fame, as she would have done had she
lived across the channel, she handed down to obliquy an
eccentric old gentleman's azure foot covering.

Lady Caroline Lamb also made an attempt, but as
she was baddish as well as brilliant, she escaped the ac-
cusation of being "blue."

In making a list of the women who shine after the
great salon leaders with Mesdames de Staal and Reca-
mier at the head, one must include as modern types the
Queen of Denmark, Modjeska,|and Sara Bernhardt, for
enduring charm; and Patti with the noted southern
beauties. Sallie Ward and her mother for pernenal
youthfulness. These have exemplified the same traits
as the secret of success, and their motto has seemed to
be "Be energetic, and stay young and you have
learned the secret of brilliance, for in that way you will
always be interesting."

Apparently it seems unnecessary to be a professional
beauty, or a faddist, or up-to-date, or charming merely,
but alive to the finger tips, from the crown of the head
to the points of the slippers. And the woman who
shines thus should have her sparkle so delicately applied,
so graciously radiated, that she would not dim but
heighten the glow of all about her, and then I should
not care who made her clothes. The clothes — and the
woman too — should be good, of course, but not obtrusive,
anything else is vulgar and adds no force to charm; the
quality should be impersonal and tolerant — taken for
granted as it were, like soap or tooth brushes, being bril-
liant is not of necessity being Bohemian.

If a class of girls were trained thus and sent forth
to proselyte there would be an epoch made, and every
kind of niceness in all women would be rolled up and
expressed by this half dozen or so.

Actresses are now the only ones who undergo such
discipline and they accomplish wonderful things because
their profession requires them to take pains; but like
beautiful dressing, or command of the voice or gesture,
it does not belong to them by nature,' but may be learned
and praticed by anyone caring to take the trouble.

Women are lectured every day and especially Sun-
day, upon every topic imaginable until there is likely to
be dire confusion in the cranium feminine; and to this
distracting list is added one thing more: Do try to see a
joke; do try to think; and do cultivate your imagination;
and never be too severe unless you can be amusing at
the same time; and do not be an echo. If a person says
"so kind" or "awfully kind" in a mechanical society

tone, say simply **thank you" in your [ordinary voice
but as sincerely as possible. If everybody else is ex-
claiming "how lovely'* or "how fetching" don't say any-
thing if you cannot use something different to express
your own rapture. You might venture to exclaim, if
you dared; "I will tell you tomorrow what I think,
I left my dictionary at home."

Slang and such words are to be avoided as savoring
of repetition, but if you can make a good point by any
speech (not vulgar) ever coined, use it. It is like pepper,
bad for a steady diet but mightily enlivening.

And that is what the brilliant woman must be — she
must be alive; she must see, hear, read, know every-
thing, and then shut or open her eyes judiciously.

Above all she must practice, before the glass if need
be, to talk without wrinkling the skin, then will she be
of no age, almost of no race, always an adorable woman.

Such a one may be impersonal enough to talk to a
man on his own ground about any subject interesting to
himself without the need of fascination but of mere
intelligence and still be delightful.

There are two ways of charming — by the ear and
by the eye. If one is a beautiful lump of flesh and
charms by one's profile, well and good. If one has
behind the moderately well turned features, and smooth
skin and bright eyes, a busy brain, and through the lips
comes an enchanting voice, and one dimples up every-
body's face within the sound of it, that will well com-
pensate for the lack of dimples in one's own cheeks.
Such charm lies not in the looks, nor does it depend upon
what she wears; it is the woman herself who is admired.
Such a woman does not take things too seriously and she
consequently never becomes even middle-aged; which,
more than a fine voice, "is an excellent thing in

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS

1. One reader thinks the decline of the drama and
popularity of vaudeville due to the fact that there are
no longer any great actors. The most positive answer to
this question is the determination on the part of the peo-
ple to protest against having to make their amuse-
ments luxuries by paying such high prices for legitimate
performances. When stars are willing to shine on the
people without the inducement of a thousand dollars a
week, when they will give their best at prices within the
means of the substantial body of the citizens, then the
drama will flourish. The exceeding popularity of the
recent James, Kidder, Warde engagement shows the deep-
seated love of the people for really good dramatic per-
formances.

QUESTIONS ASKED
1. What is the Czars peace proposition, (a) from the
tandpoint of peace, (b) from the standpoint of war?
2. Will good actors make the drama popular?

Hmong

the

Booke

HE literary world, after the excitement of th©
holidays, has now fairly settled down to its
winter reading and it is finding much that is
interesting to occupy its time. As it reads it talks. It
is talking loudly at present about Mr. Crawford^s latest
venture, Ave Roma Immortalis, and not without cause.
A third large edition just issued proves that the immor-
tal city and its history when painted by the pen of one
who writes as Mr. Crawford, has ever a power to stir the
pulses of men with a thrill of hero worship. Among the
good fiction now on the bookshelves or promised for the
near future are The Count's Snuff Box, by George R. R.
Rivers, Boston, Little, Brown & Co., and A Herald of
the West, by Joseph D Altsheler, New York, D. Apple-
pleton & Co., both celebrating the early history of
America and the wars of 1812, the first being a social
study of the times, while the other and stronger story
portrays the history with vivid touches. Concerning
Isabel Carnaby, by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler, D.
Appleton & Co., is a bright and amusing bit of fiction,
full" of witty sayings and clever character drawing, well
repaying the hour or two spent in perusing it..

Molly Elliott Seawell gives us a new story. The
Loves of the Lady Arabella, as bright and pretty as her
stories always are. Beatrice Harradenhas recovered
her health and is now in process of completing a new novel.
Rumor gives its title as *'I, too Have passed Thro' Wintry
Terrors" and one may forecast for it a wide poplarity.

A collection of sweet and graceful poems comes from
the pen of Mrs. Ella Higginson as an artistic addition to
the winter's store, entitled When the Birds go North

Again. Some of the sonnets of this collection show Mrs.
Higginson at her best and are full of feeling and taste,

Among the magazines, Lippincott's pages for Feb-
ruary are full of good things. For the French Lillies, by
Isabel Nixon Whitely, is a stirring story of love and ad-
venture, The Tale of the Doubtful Grandfather is a very
original bit of fiction sure to entertain. Recollections of
Lincoln, a Diplomatic Forecast and some good verses
complete an interesting number.

The Ladies' Home Journal offers a stirring description
of Mrs. Ballington Booth's experiences in prison work,
and a fine, sensible protest from Mrs. Lew Wallace on
the over education of children, which all mothers should
read and ponder upon. Many pictures of fine American
homes, artistic rooms and model gardens render its pages
attractive.

fcUow

feeling

in Clubdom

HIS expression is comparatively a new one to
most women, for women's clubs are a new de-
parture and, we may add, at the same time one
of the greatest benefits and advantages that the women
of to-day may enjoy. These clubs are the outcome of
the present generation, an arm reaching out toward the
advancement of education and a general moral and phys-
ical elevation of the world at large. They tend to bring
us into close unison, to make us feel for each other, to ex-
change sentiments, to know our defects as well as our
good points, that we may erase the old and add the new.
The feeling of one club woman toward another is inde-
scribable. We have often heard one man say about
another "I must help the poor fellow all I can, he is one
of us, he belongs to our club." What woman ever un-
derstood his feelings until she herself became a club
woman. Then those words ring and re-ring in her ears
and what a world of truth and sentiment they contain!
In the club we are all sisters, working for a common
cause, looking forward toward the horizon of knowledge.
We stretch forth to reach that goal, working earnestly
toward that end, leaving to our descendants a heritage of
thought and feeling rich as the sands of the ocean, that
they may complete — or rather continue the ennobling
work that we have begun. Continue I say, for will this
great work ever be completed. Time alone will tell. We
each add our mite in the club, each gaining from the
other, and so being better fitted to perform our
mission on earth. Woman is a great factor in this
world after all, perhaps much greater than she is given
credit for being. Upon her depends the making or uu-

making of future generations. Her gentle hand guides
and protects the coming race, with her ever watchful ey9
she trains her sons and daughters to be worthy actors in
new scenes ever unfolding. Since we, the women of
to-day, are the lode stars that shall guide the women of
the future, does it not befit us to take advantage of all
that tends to enlighten, and where better than in our
clubs can we receive enlightenment? How different is
the trend of the club woman's thoughts to those of the
outsider. No trivial matter finds lodgment in her fertile
brain. Her thoughts are all of the purer, truer life, she
it is who can understand her husband and brother or
lover, she it is whom men respect and reverence and she
it is who is a fitting helpmate to the busy, toiling man of
the 19th "century. Women's clnbs are yet in their in-
cipiency but the day will come w^hen every woman in
every station of life will belong to her particular club
according to her own particular tastes. It is well known
that woman is an indefatigable worker and women's
clubs will not only be on a par with those of men but may
excel them for thoughtful, conscientious wortk along
their own lines. Long may our women's club's
prosper, and long may our earnest club workers live to
see the seed they have so successfully sown ripen into
the fruits of knowledge!

Evelyn Hamburger.

ebell Notce

Synopsis of a paper read before the society by Mrs. F. A.
Eastman, "Unity in Diversity," on the second Thursday in Janu-
ary.

This is the motto of the General Federation of
Women's Clubs which was organized at a meeting called
by Sorosis in New York City, March 1889.

Before this time there had been many women's clubs
scattered over eastern states, each one living unto itself.
The founders of the federation believed not only that in
union is there strength, but in co-operation, communion
reciprocity is there inspiration.

The desires for larger environment, increased
knowledge and broader sympathies have led us on and
we have found opening before us a new world, new in-
terests and friends. There are now Federated Clubs in
forty-five states and territories, besides two in the Dis-
trict of Columbia. Colorado leads with seventy-one,
Massachusetts follows with sixty-six, Ohio fifty-six, Illi-
nois fifty *five, California has twenty-three; and the
sphere of usefulness is not confined to our own country,
for we have clubs in Ceylon, Chili, East Africa, Aus-
tralia, England and India. Following the General Fed-
eration of Clubs comes the State Federation of Clubs,
which bear the same relation to the General Federation
that the individual states of our union bear to the whole
of the United States. The president of a State Federa-
tion is in the same position with our organization that a
state governor is to the union. The chairman of corres-
pondence bears the relation of Senator to the whole Fed-
eration. The Minnesota State Federation recommends
the following work to local clubs.

"The establishment of Town and Country Clubs,
to provide rest rooms for country women while in town,
and to promote intercourse between the women of the
town and of the country, Town and Village Improve-
ment, to promote the beauty and cleanliness of streets,
public and private grounds of railway surroundings.

Postering of Art Interchange for the purpose of
encouraging and promoting the study of art, and art
history, by providing slides and pictures for the use of
clubs.

The establishing and aiding of public libraries, to
be made free whenever possible, and the securing of free
traveling libraries from the state. The forwarding of
the proposed amendment to the State Constitution,
which is to be voted upon at the next general election,
making women eligible to positions on library boards
and to vote on library matters. Co-operation with the
public schools to secure the best sanitary and intellectual
conditions, and especially to secure instruction in morals
and the development of right character.

Pennsylvania has a federation of thirty-six clubs,
representing twenty-five towns and about seven thou-
sand women. The interest of the women of these clubs
had so drifted toward civics that the Board deemed it
advisable to form a committee on civics. At the last
annual convention in that state great interest was
aroused by a brilliant speech on Forestry by Miss Myra
Lloyd Doch. She told of the trees and woods of Penn-
sylvania, the great resources abused and of the suffering
that must eventually come to a commonwealth neglect-
ful of its own precious possession, the forest, and also

TJNIVEHSITT

told of the terrible loss to the state from forest fires; also
the danger to health and property from floods caused
by the wholesale destruction of trees. These dangers
also threaten Los Angeles. At the same meeting Mrs.
Stevenson of Philadelphia pointed out the fact that it
was not so much the new woman that was invading
man's province, as it was the new man, with his labor"
saving machinery and his organizing genius, who had
invaded many fields formerly in charge of the housewife.
Under nineteenth century conditions, the co-operation of
women in many departments of municipal life has been
deemed of value by men themselves and emphasized the
fact that at the present moment women everywhere were
called upon to participate in public affairs in exact pro-
portion to their own fitness and to their practical useful-
ness. Through the work of Women's Clnbs in different
states, the attention of one hundred and sixty thousand
women has been directed to the value and needs of the
public schools in many different communities in the
United States. These are the leading women in their
towns and cities. Many of them are taking up the study
of the education of children in the clubs and in mother's
meetings, and pursuing it in a systematic way. In
some places child study has been the leading topic, in
others the kindergarten, in others school libraries; in all,
school morals. Classes to teach children to sew and
cook are in operation in many places. A work of great
educational value has been done by club women in
decorating school rooms with artistic pictures and
stationery. The Nebraska State Federation has a fine
circulating library and a traveling art gallery of three
hundred photographs of old masters.

Michigan has three clubs owning their own houses
the one at Grand Rapids costing ten thousand dollars,
contains a library of fifteen hundred volumes, The
legislature committees of the Michigan State Federation
gives their efforts to secure the introduction of bills that
will benefit women and children. Last year through
their influence Governor Pingree appointed Mrs. J. M.
Kinney of Port Huron, a member of the Board of Con-
trol of Pontiac asylum for a term of six years. Last
year they secured an appropriation of four thousand dol-
lars for a traveling library. Any club in Michigan that
is in need of books can send to the State Librarian, and
by the payment of the transportation will receive a small
library to be used during the year.

Mrs. Lowe, the president of the General Federation,
has announced that the policy of the Federation for the
coming year will be to investigate the condition of wage
earning women and children and to encourage them to
organize for mutual protection and benefit. Mrs. Lowe
said, "we do not offer organization as a panacea for all
ills and all the evils of the world, but it has shown such
wonderful results among club women that we feel it
might be tried among the (3,000,000) three million labor-
ing women." Working men have labor unions, and capi-
talists have formed combinations for mutual benefit, but
as yet the laboring women have remained as individuals,
and have been used by both organizations to further
their ends. While the Denver Women's Club is the
largest in the Federation, the Chicago Woman's Club,
while not so large, has wielded a more patent infiuence
in the club world than any other.

The city of Chicago has come to depend on the
Woman's Club to inaugurate reforms for the municipal-
ity.

A prominent club woman has said, "The only reason
for the existence of the Federation is, with one hand it
can lift up the humblest member of its weakest club, and
with the other it can grasp issues beyond the reach of
individual effort." We as club members and club work-
ers can lift the world no higher than we ourselves are.

The program for the month of February will be as
follows:

GENERAL MEETINGS.

Thursday, February 9th, Social Thursday. A
Dramatic Afternoon.

Thursday, February 23rd, General meeting — report
of the music section.

Literature Section — Each Monday, 2 p. m.

Story Teller's Section — Second Tuesday, 2:30 p. m.

Economics — Fourth Tuesday, 2 p. m.

Conversation Section — Second Saturday, 10:30 a.m.

Music Section — First and third Mondays, 3:30 p. m.
Current -Events Section — First and third Thursdays,
10:30 a.m.

Tourist Section — First and third Saturdays, 2 p. m.

The question which most puzzles Los Angeles piano
dealers at the present time is, *'How can the Fitzgerald
Music & Piano Company afford to sell reliable, new up-
right pianos as low as from $250.00 to $350.00 and on
such low payments as six dollars per month, asking only
Six Dollars as a first payment, and besides this make no

charge for interest." This question is always raadily ex-
plained to inquirers at Fitzgerald's, 113 S. Spring St.,
the facts being that this house has entered into a large
contract with the piano manufacturers whose goods they
handle, whereby they are enabled to sell 500 reliable
makes of pianos at the low prices and easy terms named
above.

While it is a well known fact that all piano dealers
are obliged to pay either the piano manufacturer or their
banker a liberal rate of interest on all time sales and
therefore must charge interest to their customers, in this
case the Fitzgerald House by the special terms of this
large contract, a similar one of which has never hereto-
fore been made with any piano dealer here, is enabled to
sell superior instruments free of all interest charges and
at about half the usual price. With each piano sold, a
handsome stool and scarf valued at ten dollars, is given
without charge. In addition to such well known and re-
liable makes as the Wagner, Fischer and Knabe pianos,
this house can accommodate the buyer who is looking
for a cheap instrument, with a piano as low as $165.00
to $185.00.

'H^^

mmmm^

i'%- %,,m

iil

mmmmmMimmmmwmmmmmmmmm

^^mmm-M

tU Ebell

H jMontbly jf^^urnal of Literature
and Current 6vent9

JMarcb

Subscrfptton pncc Single Copi^

$1.00 per "^ear 1 o Cents

1899

£^8 Hngeles

Cable of Contents

Cbc Coming of the Rain (a poem) % W.

^ill jVIusic Become Our JN^ational Hrt? Sar^ ^, Hickman

Driftwood, a serial story, part T and TX

Fra.nkUna. Gray Barttett

Sanctuary (a poem) cMartha Brving Harnett

Sevres and Xts ^lanuf acture Lilian E'verson Goodhue

JN^iagarain CClbitc Maud E* Bo<wer

Iti3i;.iheCbis F.

editorial Department; California, the Romance I^and*

Hmong the Books*

ebell jVotes

Copyrighted, 1899, by Grace Athertou Dennen

The Ebell will be published on the 29th of each month. It will be sen^
postpaid for one year on receipt of $1.00. Single numbers 10 cents. Sub-
scriptions may begin at any time.

Money may be sent by Express Money Order, P. O. Money Order, Bank
Draft, or Registered Letter. Money sent in letters is at sender's risk.

All communications should be addressed to Grace Atherton Dennen,
1922 Grand ave., Los Angeles. Notice of change of address should be sent
immediately by subscribers.

Entered at the Los Angeles Post Office as second-class mail matter.
GRACE ATHERTON DENNEN, Editob
1922 Grand Avenue ..... Los Angeles. Ca .

I. Cbe

HE parched and barren land with yearning eyes i-^Otnilig

Watches to greet the coming of the rain, Or tbc

And fills the heavy air with her tumultuous sighs Ratll

She scans the distant mountain-top in vain.

No sign of his approach the Storm King sends.

Her weary eyes she turns with ever growing pain,

0*er her brown fields where dusty foliage bends
And shrivels in the pitiless noonday heat.

From the cracked earth dim vapor of hot air ascends.
She faints and shudders while beneath her feet

The burning sands give back a garish glare.
"Lord of my life," her parched and fevered lips repeat.
*'Lord of my life, why dost thou wait and where?

I faint for theel Oh, come and hasten at my prayer."
II.
All day the mists, pale banners of the storm,

Have floated o'er the parched and aching land,
AVrapping in awful majesty his approaching form.

The cloud ranks gather at his dread command
His pure, cold breath steals through the fevered air.

An icy premonition. With his mighty hand
He loosens the fierce floods. Like wolves from lair,

Mad with their freedom they engulf the plain,
Stripping the trembling vines and leaves of foliage bare-

The torrents roar. The mountain tops would fain
Enfold themselves in mists against the might

Of the mad storm-king, but the longing, thirsty plain,
Panting and faint, with dim and aching sight,

Yields to his wild embrace with passionate delight.

III.

The Storm-King's rage is over. Far withdrawn
Across the hills, he gathers his rude train,

Retreating at the coining of the golden morn.

But he has wrought enchantment. O'er the plain

Floats a soft veil of opalescent light,
Above her bridal robe of green, upspringing grain.

The purple hills, with dreamy shadows dight,
Laugh in the sunshine while the perfumed wind

Sweeps with a soft caress from some far breezy height.

Olive and palm with passion-vine entwined,

Lift their fresh fronds to greet the brooding sky,
While the blue rivers, new replenished, gaily wind

To meet the distant ocean. Clear and high
The meadow lark thrills forth the summer's ectaey.

R. W.

nHE great Anton Rubinstein has been credited
with the prophesy that Music would become
I America's national art. Those familiar with

the gigantic strides made since the successful
efforts of Messrs. Theo. Thomas and Wm. Mason in
establishing the series of chamber concerts in New York
in 1855, perhaps would be inclined to agree with the great
Russian; and an intelligent comprehension of the mus-
ical compositions of truly American writers, although by
no means free from the influence of German schools,
shows sufficient traits of individualism and imaginative
scope to strengthen the conviction. That the intelligence
of the musical atmosphere of New York, Chicago, Bos-
ton, Philadelphia, and other Eastern cities, begins to
compsre most favorably with the greatest of foreign art
centers, no one can possibly deny. And not a few
teachers in the above-named cities stand shoulder to
shoulder with the best instructors that Europe in this
decade has to offer. '* Westward the course of empire has
taken its way," and as we follow, crossing the continent
from shore to shore, in either direction we may wish, we
will find a musical instrument of some kind in almost
every home. Whether this instinctive desire portends
that music will become an important factor in. education,
the incoming century will prove.

And yet, convincing as these facts may seem, they
were not the direct cause of such a prophesy. For more
than three hundred years the musical world had be-
longed, almost exclusively, to Italy, Germany and
France ; but the last few decades had brought most
formidable rivals in Russia, Poland, Hungary and Scan-

CdiU
JVIusic
become our
f^ational
Hrt

dinavia. Chopin introduced the new era with his artistic
individualism, and was closely followed by Liszt with
his attractive melodies and rhythms of Hungary; the
warm national color of Russia, Scandinavia and Bohemia
was added by Glinka, Rubinstein, Tschaikowsky, Gade,
Grieg and Dvorak.

During the classical and early part of the romantic
period, German musicianship led the world; but she had
become less productive, and with the death of Johannes
Brahms, Germany would become almost obliged to con-
tent herself with the sacred memory of her great dead,
and the wonderful art treasures and stimulative atmos-
pheres they had created. From the moment pianistic
supremacy passed into the hands of the great Hungarian,
it was never permitted wholly to return. Even the giant
Von Bulow was obliged to divide all honors with the
equally great, if not greater, Rubinstein, who in beauty
and warmth of tone surpassed all other interpreters of
his time. From Rubinstein it passed into the land of
Poland, where, from present indications, it seems des-
tined to remain. Another significant fact was, that not
only the larger number of orchestral leaders of the last
decade had been Hungarians, but the greater numbers of
celebrated artist teachers of voice, piano and stringed
instruments belonged to the nations possessing a more
intensely nervous temperament than the German race.
That the laurels were stripped from the brow of a nation
that gave to the world such creative giants as Bach>
Beethoven, Mozart, Schumann, Wagner and Brahms, is,
after all, not so strange, for art belongs to no one land or
nation, but to the world. Germany had given the best

it was possible to give, and the emotions of her race, as a
race, are those of the intellect; the emotions of the Pole,
Hungarian and Bohemian, those of feeling. To be an
executive artist of the highest order one must possess
both.

Fully conversant with these historical changes and
the traits of temperament to which they were largely due,
with an appreciation one would naturally expect from
his own titanic temperament, having been cast in so
large a cosmopolitan mould — since his mother was
German, his father Pole, and the land of his adoption
Russia — Rubinstein could not but be in sympathy with
the character of our American civilization, and could
thereby more honestly weigh and measure the quality
and scope of our possibilities — musically — in which he
was greatly aided by personal contact with American
students.

But there is much to accomplish before "the veil of
the prophet can be lifted." New York, Chicago, and the
few musical centers along the Atlantic coast are a very
small part of this great republic. In the journey from
Chicago westward, if you take the advice of Confucius,
very slightly paraphrased, you will soon begin to ponder
over the problem of the number of years that must elapse
before the great tone interpreter's prophesy can become
a practical truth. One would naturally suppose, in this
day and age, when it is possible to be so in touch with
the upinions of those who are authority, that this art, so
instinctively desired and widely attempted, would be
more intelligently understood. But that there are many,
many precious hours worse than wasted is proven by the

thousands of unfortunate students wearing their lives
out in eastern and foreign cities, in attempting to eradi-
cate pernicious habits formed through false methods of
teaching, and the additional thousands of apathetically
indifferent men and women who have been robbed of
their artistic individuality which was theirs by birth-
right— true it may not have been sufficient to grow into
great musicianship, but if only a tiny spark, it might
have been fanned into a flame of appreciation that would
have carried the possessor into that one great realm of
enjoyment through which the " trail of the serpent " has
never passed.

Were it not for the fact that the vast majority of
students, in their mad race for power and speed, dull
their perception of tone and dynamic quality, I would
fail utterly to comprehend how it could be possible for
students to listen to and compare the methods and re-
sults of the finger, hand and arm action of the leading
executive artists, and not waken up to the fact that the
difierence between the artist and amateur must be one
of progress, not degree. Think of an ambitious, hard-
working student listening to the broad, mellow chord
passages of some grand finale, as rendered by the artists
of to-day, and remaining content to go on with methods
the arm movement of which carries one back to the days
of Moscheles, causing an intelligent listener to sadly ex-
claim in an undertone: Ah, Leipsic ! how the pedantic
adherence to past glory robbed you of a reputation, that
might easily always have been yours !

The utter lack of conception and the small amount
of real refinement in the general class of amateur play-

ing is the cause of much anguish to those who appreciate
the inestimable value of the great tone Art. And the
technic one hears so much about — until one is not sur-
prised that youth should become deceived and regard it
as the end rather than the means — is so stripped of the
elements that go to make up artistic technic, that it is
no more beautiful or soul -inspiring than a clothes horse.
And these conditions will exist until American mothers
learn to appreciate more fully that the artistic sense is
the most precious element in the human race, and that
there is a distinction with a vast difiference between the
results attained under the guidance of the properly
trained, conscientious professional and the amateur. If
we measure and weigh the factors that have been largely
instrumental in creating intelligent art atmospheres,
such as we find in New York and foreign cities, we find
one of the strongest to be the publication of honest
criticism. The value of what Schumann did for German
musical art with the *' Neue Zeitechrift fur Musik *' can
scarcely be estimated. If the leading papers of our
Western cities must comment upon art, they should em-
ploy critics who are well grounded in the art they are
attempting to pass judgment upon; for unless a musical
critic has been well grounded in technique, harmony,
melody, form, counterpoint, instrumentation, rhythmics,
dynamics, interpretation and aesthetics, with a most
plentiful sprinkling of knowledge of the poets and philo-
Bophers who largely influenced the inspirations of the
composers, he can never prove helpful. Confusing a
dynamic quality with emotional intensity — or perhaps
worse, welcoming an instructor whose efforts betray in-

competence — is disastrous to a community pretending to
possess any degree of musical merit. And without true
standards of comparison, how, pray, are the youth to
learn to discriminate, with any degree of true perception,
between that which is noble and truly beautiful and that
which is merely shallow pretense ?

Intelligent criticism is worth all the words of praise
ever uttered; by it alone can we hope to attain genuine
growth. It not only encourages by giving fall credit for
any good that may have been accomplished, but kindly
points the principles embodied in the art and the models
which furnished the standards for the giant minds who
created that art. Under such searchlights only the most
competent instructors would presume to hold their work
up for inspection ; and when the public is not prejudiced
by hollow display, it will soon learn to love the sublime
philosophy of Beethoven, the poetical tempo rubato of
Chopin and the romantic fancy of Schumann.

Then there would be little difficulty in securing
sufficient subscriptions for symphony concerts, for " the
promised land '* would not be so far off. And what a
boon the refining influence of such an atmosphere would
prove. For it is an infinite pity, that over two-thirds of
the human race should tramp along life's dustiest high-
way, wholly unconscious that there is a by-path which
leads through its greenest meadows, where the purest of
atmospheres is redolent with life's sweetest perfumes.

Sara B. Hickman.

ENRY LEITH did not appear again at Mrs. Bar-
ton's Sunday evening circle, but Mr. Murray con-

tinued to give ^ood accounts of him. He was moody

and fitful but no longer desperate. He spent a great deal of
time studying and writing, and rejoiced that his brain had
not been so clear for years. As a college boy he had marked
power with his pen, and great accomplishments had been
prophesied of his future. Now once more a long slum-
bering ambition sprang into life. He had imperative need
of stimulant and excitement; he would write a book and
find in its pages what he lacked in his quiet life. He
created a dream land and lived in it. This western hill-
side with its far view of purpling uplands and glittering
glimpse of the sea, was only a shadow in that dream, —
scarcely as real as the creations of his fancy. He fed
upon himself with feverish interest, gaining from within
the excitement which he craved. "I have conquered; I
have gained power to be self-existent," he would tell
himself triumphantly; but Mr. Murray, watching him,
sighed as he felt he was building a house upon the sand,
without firm foundation. It was just as this mood was
beginning to wane somewhat that Mr. Barton rode up to
the hillside cabin for a chat with Mr. Murray. Leith,
seeing who the visitor was, would have escaped unob-
served, had not Mr. Murray detected his intention and
detained him. It was a lovely, glowing evening in June.
The sunset lights were still painting the horizon, while
while an occasional star glittered overhead. Mr. Murray
placed chairs outside the door and produced a box of
cigars. Conversation was soon animated between the

Driftwood
a Serial
Story

-'X'-^-'^

visitor and his host; they were discussing some late sci-
entific theory. Henry Leith smoked in silence, he felt
somewhat one the defensive, but soon he became inter-
ested despite himself, and joined in the conversation.
Mr. Barton looked at him in surprise. He had thought
him a sullen, rather dull man, but here was the fire of
enthusiasm and appreciation. The soft June evening
flew by on starry feet while the three men talked, until
it was not far from midnight when Mr. Barton rose
reluctantly to leave.

I have a book you must read, Mr. Leith," said Mr.
Barton. *'Come down some evening this week and we'll
finish this discussion. Shall we name Thursday, and
come to tea?"

"Certainly, with pleasure," said Murray, but Leith
was silent.

"I asked Mr. Murray and his friend to tea Thurs-
day," said Mr. Barton to his wife the next day, •*! find
Mr. Leith educated and intelligent, and whatever his past
may have been, he seems exemplary enough now." Mrs.
Barton acquiesced, but without enthusiasm. Henry
Leith inspired her good wishes but not her faith.

For him this social evening awakened many potent
memories; he wondered why he had never before felt
their charm. Why had the spirit of revolt within him
found in every virtue a bond to be broken?

*'It*8 a matter of per. pective," he reflected. "I
forshortened the wrong things; now Pve struck the right
angle of observation." His surroundings had always
gained their value by their relations to himself; these
people made an agreeable background to his mood at
present.

As Mr. Murray and his friend passed Sycamore cot-
tage on their homeward way that night their steps were
arrested by the, sound of singing. A low light burned
in Mrs. Alford's room and through the unshaded window
they could see her^sitting at the quaint piano, singing in
a clear, subdued tone, as though her thoughts were her
only auditors. And these were the words which reached
the ears of the two men who had paused involuntarily:

"The thing we long for, that we are

For one transcendent moment,
Before the present, poor and bare,

Can make its sneering comment.

Still, through our paltry stir and strife,

Glows down the wished ideal,
And longing mould in clay what life

Carved in the marble real;
To let the new life in we know,

Desire must ope the portal.
Perhaps the longing to be so

Helps make the soul immortal.

Longing is God's fresh, heavenward will

With our poor earthward striving;
We quench it that we may be still

Content with merely living.
But would we learn that heart's full scope.

Which we are hourly wronging,
Our lives must climb from hope to hope

And realize that longing.

The singer rose suddenly and came to the window.
16

The night was utterly still save for the distant wavering
note of a mocking bird. The two men walked on.

"I wonder if the poet knew anything of the agony
of longing," Keith said, impatiently. *'The words had a
hopeless ring, so sung. Who is she?"

" The school mistress," said Mr. Murray briefly.
This practical middle-aged man felt for the moment he
could not hear either the song or the singer discussed.
The longings of his youth, so sadly unrealized, seemed
stirred to sudden life. "Hope belongs to the young," he
thought, "and blessed hope of immortality I I shall be
young again over yonder, with a j^outh that knows noth-
ing of longings uufalfiUed'"

And meanwhile the schoolmistress stood at her win-
dow looking up at the quiet stars, her face full of the
echo of her song. "How hard to* climb from hope to
hope' when there are rounds missing in the ladder, —
great gaps, with nothing to rest the soul upon;" she
thought. She had never learned to look upward for
strength, like the man who had listened to her song a few
minutes before, she was striving to become self-sufiicient,
— a hopeless task for a man, how much more for a woman I
Yet the school mistress smiled presently as she stood
looking out among the moonlit shadows. "How peace-
ful this life isl" she murmured, "no hurry or confusion
to mar the hours; work enough to keep from thought;
happy children for companions and a beautiful friend-
ship growing up each day — how sweet is all thisl When
I forget, how contented I shall be here I" Through the
trees she could catch the gleam of the light from Mrs.
Barton's windows and she paused to look at them before

drawing down her blind and seating herself at the table
on which an unfinished letter lay.

"Will madame then write all night?" asked Therese^
sharply, entering at this moment. She carried in her
hand a tray with a glass of milk and a white roll upon
it, which she placed upon the table. "Your light always
burns itself out; you must rest more, mon enfant.^'*

The French woman's voice softened suddenly as her
eyes met Mrs. Alford's; it was seldom she over-stepped
the respectful distance between mistress and maid, al-
though she had watched this woman's childhood and
shared her fortunes ever since. Mrs. Alford laid her
hand gently upon the woman's arm and smiled into her
anxious face.

"I am glad some one loves me enough to scold me,"
she said. "My, good Therese, I wish you had better luck
than to love me."

The ready tears sprung to the woman's eyes.

"It ia twenty years ago that I promised your mother
never to forsake her child, and I've never repented the
the promise," she said. **It was in Paris that madame
votre mere died, on a hot July night. She laid one hand
on your head as you lay sleeping by her, the other she
gave to me. *Take care of her and her father, Therese,'
she said. She was younger than you are now, and your
father was a middle-aged man, not likely to marry again.
That is why she thought you would need me, as, indeed,
you have. Will madame drink the milk and go to bed
now?"

"No, Therese, sit down and tell me more about
my mother. I feel like hearing of her tonight; it makes

me less lonely to remember that she loved me once."

"There is not much to tell, and that madame has
heard before," said Therese, still standing, the lamp light
flickering over her white cap and honest face. "The
first time I ever saw your mother was when I applied to
her for the situation of lady's maid. Your father was a
attache of the American legation at Paris and but
recently married. Your mother spoke but little French
and I no English, still she engaged me, saying, one of us
would soon learn the other's tongue, whichever had the
most wit to learn, ce n'etait pas moil In a year she spoke
French as well as I. She was so young and thoughtless
that when you came she seemed like a child playing at
dolls. She would often be very homesick and cry to go
home to her mother,but only when your father was away,
which grew to be very often at the last. When he was
home she was very, very gay, and he seemed fond of her.
But he was away that hot July night when she died, and
you were two years old. After that we traveled about a
great deal, to Homburg, to Spa, to Baden Baden, never
staying long in one place, until you were ten years old,
and you and I were left in Geneva that you might go to
school."

*'I remember the rest without any telling, Therese,"
interrupted her listener, impatiently. **The long days at
Mme. Frere's school practicing scales and taking walks
on the quai with dozens of girls all dressed alike! I can
see it all now, and the lake shining and changing in the
sun; the band on the Isle Rousseau playing so untiringly,
and the jewellers' shops into whose windows we would
cast covetous glances as we passed back and forth from

the Quai, — they are all plain to my 'memory. And then
the little back room where you used to sit and sew, and
where you told me one night that you had had a letter
from papa and he was coming to take me away, — well
that little room is as far as I care to go tonight, I will
forget all the rest. Give me my milk, Therese; we will
go to bed now."

VI.

"I know it's 80, for I saw it with my own eyes," said
Mrs. Fose, pausing in her work of wiping dishes to give
emphasis to her words by tapping ;the table with a wet
knife. "I was sitting by the door, knitting, jes' before
tea, and those two came along, she talking away and he
looking at her as if every word was gold and he was
afraid he wouldn't ketch it."

"I guess he'd jes' met her by accident," said Mr.
Foss, settling himself to read the paper."

"Then 't aint the first time an accident has hap-
pened to that young woman," retorted his wife as she
returned to the dishes. **You are like all the rest of the
men, — think a woman is a saint just because she's
pretty."

"Well, she aint always a saint when she's homely,'
said Mr. Foss with exasperating emphasis, but his wife
did not deign to notice the remark.

"The way she goes out of a Sunday is enough to
disgust any one without anything else — never going to
church and singing half the day in a heathen language.
I said to that French woman that's with her, ^Don't you
know its a shame to be disturbing all your neighbors

on the Lord's day with your pagan Bongs? Don't you
know what Sunday is for?' 'Yes,' she says, very pert, 'it
is for to forgive your enemies,' I am glad she knows that
much, although I can't see much connection between the
answer and question. There! look out of the window,
quick,and next time I hope you'll believe what you're told.

Mr. Foss turned in his chair in time to see the school-
mietress and Mr. Leith go slowly by. The sun had not
long set, and the twilight was still struggling to conquer
the rosy reflection of the western sky. There was still
light enough under the overarching trees to reveal a very
troubled look on the man's face.

"And so you've decided to go," he was saying as they
pasjed the store.

"Yes; I shall go for a month; Mrs. Barton really
seems to wish it. I am not fond of the sea, and rarely
go in sight of it willingly: but I think I can bear it now."

"A month? How much writing I will accomplish
in that time! And you will not lose interest in it in a
month surely?"

"No; indeed I will not," she said, smiling at his eag-
erness. "Could you not send me the chapters as you
write them? Or would you dare trust these children of
your fancy so far? My criticisms are really worth very
little to you, but I do not want to lose my part in so
famous a work, — for it will be famous some day, I know."

"Would you care to look them over down there?
Oh! I should be so glad to send them. I will write with
a purpose if I think that some one is waiting and caring
for what I write."

A thrill in Leith's tone struck upon Mrs. Alford's
21

ear with an unpleasant surprise, and as she raised her
calm eyes to his face her own blanched.

Two months had passed since the June night when
Mrs. Alford sang and Henry Leith listened. Since then
they had met very often. The lonely woman felt a
pitying interest in the still lonelier man, who had such
bitter memories for companions. He told her much of
his history; she told him none of hers. Nor did he care
to hear, — to be helped, sympathized with, strengthened,
was all he thought of. He told her of his book, of how
his hopes of fame rested on it, how his enemies — who
they were besides his evil passions she did not know —
should hide in shame before his genius, — he told her of
his power and so revealed his weakness, that she felt con-
strained to help him the little which lay in her way. He
never came to her house, but they were both often at
Mrs. Barton's.

That Henry Leith should learn to feel for her aught
but the frindship he professed, his egotism prevented her
from fearing, he was so entirely absorbed in the making
or marring of his own life that she felt herself but a step-
ping-stone in his progress. At least so she had felt until
she heard the thrill in his voice and looked up into his
voice and looked up into his eyes as they walked through
that summer twilight.

"Yes, I shall care," she said, looking at him calmly.
"Personal joy and pain are both in the past for me, and
so 1 gladly fill my present with the interests of others.
You are fortunate in having this keen ambition; it gives
you a motive to your life. Without an object life seems
80 useless."

"And what is yours, may I ask," he said, meeting
her glance a liUle wonderingly.

"To outlive my past," she answered, the color rush-
ing to her face as he added, hastily and bitterly:

"You are naming the object of my life, not yours, I
think."

A silence fell suddenly between them. A jarring
chord had been unwittingly touched whose vibrations
both felt keenly.

Mrs. Alford paused at her own gate and held out her
hand:

^'Good-bye," she said, "I shall expect the manu-
script."

"Do you know that you have never asked me to cross
you threshold?" Leith replied irrelevantly.

"Nor do I intend to now,' she said, calmly. "I receive
few visitors, Mr. Leith, and some of those are not always
welcome."

"I deserve the rebuke," her companion replied,
humbly, with a look of pain in his face. "I forgot for a
moment — many things. Good-bye." And raising his
hat, he walked off through the darkling archway of trees.

Within the cottage she was at once reminded of her
intended journey. Therese was bending over a half-
packed valise; some toilet articles lay on a chair.

"What a barbarous country this isl" cried Therese.
*'A lady will travel in a wagon and take not even the ne-
cessities of life. Will madame live a month with only
that little bag full of things?"

"I am not going very far and you can send me any-
thing I need. Will you not be very lonely my good
Therese, here by yourself?"

"Mais non," said the woman Btoutly. "I shall have
work, plenty to do. I shall think madame is amusing
herself; that will be pleasure enough for me."

It was quite true that Therese was never idle. Mrs.
Alford wondered how the work of so small a house could
keep her busy. She did nof know^that the thrifty French
woman was earnihg many a bit of silver, pickling, pre-
serving, and washing laces or fine muslins for the near
and even far inhabitants of the village. Therese had a
well-ordered poultry yard by this time, and a vegetable
garden which she worked and weeded with her own strong
hands. Therese had her own ambitions locked in her
broad breast, and she smiled as she dropped each coin
into the cracked vase, which stood beside a little crucifix
on a shelf over her bed. A wooden chair and the bed
were all the small room contained — the furniture of the
cottage was all concentrated in Mrs. Alford^s two rooms
If they were cozy and comfortable Therese was content.

**I am almost sorry now that I decided to go," said
Mrs. Alford, sinking back in the crimson chair, "it is a
change, and changes with me are always for the worse.
We have been very peaceful, Therese, have we not?
Trouble and care have not found us here, and I feel,
somehow, as though we were going to meet them."

"Fi done I Have you lost your courage?" said
Therese, cheerfully. "Would you live always in this nut
shell? Trouble is tired of following us and happier days
than these are before."

"God grant it may be true," said her mistress. "I
at least will try to believe it. Call me at five tomorrow
morning, for we must start early.

Sanctuary

FTEN I pass the gray old mission door

And pause amid the reverent kneeling throng,
While priests intone the sacred Latin o'er,
With organ notes, lost the dim aisles among.

And I, too, kneel with a strange, reverent thrill

In that incense-breathing atmosphere of peace,
Bidding my restless soul awhile be still

And all its weary questionings to cease.
From far above me in the vaulted nave

Through the rich glass a light celestial falls,
Such beams as might the floor of Heaven pave,

Making a glory on the sombre walls,

Gilding the pallid rapture of some saint,

Lingering about the sweet Madonna's shrine
With radiance such as Raphael loved to paint

Across the features of her face divine.

On the high altar where the candles burn

Gleams the pale image of the Crucified,
His arms extended ever seem to yearn

To draw the weary kneeler to his side.

While whispering along the arches, faint and sweet.

Steals the low-chanted benediction —
*Teace, peace I leave with you." The isles repeat,

And murmur ^Teace," far-echoing, one by one.

And on my soul there falls a wondrous calm,

A sense of Presences ineffable.
Lapped in security, safe from all harm,

I kneel and pray, and know that all is well.

Martha Ewing Barnett.
27

Sevres

and its g g
JVIamifacture

TALENT for any art is rare, but it is

given to nearly every one to cultivate a

taste for art, only it must be cultivated

with earnestness. The more things thou

learnest to know and to enjoy, the more complete and

full will be for thte the delight of living. — [Platen.

The refreshing cup of tea at five o'clock, taken from
a dainty bit of Sevres, has a double relish when we can
appreciate the aesthetic value of the porcelain. Associa-
tion plays an important part in the productions of art
and frequently lends to them half their charm. We are
strangely passionless when we can drink from one of
Napoleon's cups and not find clinging to it historical
memories, to add to our aesthetic enjoyment.

After a glimpse into the museum connected with the
porcelain works at Sevres, where are contained the speci-
mens from all factories, of all countries and ages, also a
complete series of models of the porcelain made at Sevres
since the commencement of this manufacture, the porce-
lain cannot fail to interest all students of ceramic art.

The manufacture of this porcelain began at St.
Cloud about 1695, where every effort was made to further
the art and to keep the secret process from being revealed.
Two brothers engaged as workmen escaped the guard and
offered to the minister of Louis XV. the secret of making
porcelain paste. They were given a laboratory at Vin-
cennee, but failed in their efforts. The factory was then
transferred to Sevres through the efforts of Madame de
Pompadour, a great patron of the ceramic art, who used
her influence with Louis to re-establish the factory.

The efforts made in France to imitate Chinese por-
28

celain failed for want of proper materials, but resulted in
the making of Vieux Sevres, a beautiful ware, which has
never been surpassed for purposes of color decoration.
It is a soft porcelain or an artificial paste made without
natural clay. The expense and care required in the
manufacture of Vieux Sevres ia one cause for its scarcity.
The firing lasted from Beven to eight days, conducted
with a clear, bright flame. The paste contracted about
one seventh and was supported on moulds of the same
paste contracting at the same rate. This involved great
waste, as the moulds could only be used once and were
useless after the baking. The glaze was poured over it
and the whole baked the second time, giving to it a rich-
ness and velvety softness never obtained on hard porce-
lain. Genuine pieces with authentic decorations are now
vary valuable, due to their scarcity and beauty of decor-
ation, done by eminent artists, though much of the mod-
ern ware is as beautiful as the old. In all soft porcelain
the over-glazed paints sink into it and incorporate them-
selves with it, producing the effect which gives to pate-
tendre its superiority. About the year 1800, Brogniart
abandoned the manufacture of soft porcelain and all the
ware was disposed of, this being the only instance when
perfect white porcelain was ever sold at the Sevres
factory.

In 1758 Louis XV. became a partner in the porce-
lain factory, and gave to it the title of '^Manufacture
Royale de Porcelaine de France." It was highly pro-
tected, other manufactories being prohibited from pro-
ducing sculpture and painting on gold. They could only
make wares in camaieu. At this time all France became

customer and connoiseur and went wild with enthusiasm
over the caprices of individual style brought out by the
artists of this period.

Boileau was placed by the king at the head of the
factory and he occupied himself entirely in perfecting the
works and in searching for the process of making hard
paste. France owes this discovery to Madame Darnet,
wife of a surgeon of the army, who by chance found some
white earth in a ravine which proved to be kaolin, the
necessary substance for the manufacture of hard paste
and in 1169, Macquer, a chemist of Prance, was able to
read before the Academy a complete description of French
hard porcelain and to exhibit perfect types.

Color, the most invaluable element in this art, was
now the chief aim of the best chemists of France, who
devoted their energies to invent brilliant tones as varied
as the rainbow, which would stand the firing. The Blue
de Roi with its gem-like richness, first appears in various
combinations. In 1752 Hellot discovered the turquoise
blue obtained from copper, and Xzrowet made the flesh-
colored pink called Pompadour, but sometimes erron-
ously called Rose du Barry, for this color was invented
twelve years before Madame du Barry's appearance at
court. Madame de Pompadour used every effort to
further the ceramic art of France, and as this is well
known to be her favorite color it should bear her name.
At the same time appeared violet, pensee-vert, pomme
and vert-jaune associated with flowers and emblems
producing unparallelled results.

Many different methods are used for coloring; one
is by applying to the porcelain coloring substances which

are developed at the same temperature as that at which
the porcelain is baked; this is how the most valued re-
sults are obtained. As the enamel covers the glaze, it
assumes an extreme brilliancy and depth, it becomes
part of the object itself. The Sevres blue, certain browns
and blacks are obtained by this method.

The color may be either mixed on the paste or may
be applied to the porcelain already baked, which may be
again baked at a higher temperature.

One of the most brilliant varieties of decoration is
called the process of pate d'application. This method
consists in painting by the brush on porcelain unbaked
and heated by successive applications. A thickness is
thus obtained, by sculpturing which the artist can give
the decoration a remarkable finish and value. The object
is then heated, enameled and baked.

Genius and taste are shown in the decoration of the
porcelain made for use. Its creamy tints are relieved by
garlands of figures enriched by gold scroll work, which,
combined with the simplicity of form, give it a true artistic
value, but the results of the soaring imaginations of the
artists are displayed in the decorative pieces, which are
ornamented with the greatest splendor. Imitation jewels
made of enamel paste are set in gold, slightly in relief,
on a background of Blue de Roi. During the end of the
reign of Louis XV. large vases were undertaken and
sculpture and painting combined ornamented these spec-
imens. There is literally no exhausting the fancy
shown in the forms that make up this series, but propor-
tion, an invaluable adjunct in the hands of the artist,
was sadly lacking and color was not always chosen with

refereDce to form. The clear cut lines of the Greek vases
which Louis XVI. obtained as models of pure and simple
form, make a marked contrast to the fantastically van-
ishing lines of this extravagance.

Our fancy is excited and our sense of beauty satis-
fied when we behold the frescoes of Raphael, the opales-
cent color of Titian, the bituminous depths of Tintoretto
and the chef de oeuvres of modern art produced in lasting
colors upon plaques of Sevres porcelain, but we little
think of the troubles that beset the copyist. A glimpse
into the firing cannot but enhance the value. The col-
ors must be put on and fired in order according to the
degree of heat they require, and as the fired colors bear
no resemblance to the unfired ones, the artist must anx-
iously wait after each baking to gain the effect of his
labors. The kilns are divided into parts which have
different degrees of temperature and this process must be
carefully watched through openings for the purpose, for
as much depends upon the perfect firing as on the
artist's brush. One of the workmen in charge of the
kiln of soft paste which requires 2700 degrees of heat,
fell asleep during his watch, and on waking, his ther-
mometer indicated 3000 degrees. It is useless to add
that the richly decorated gems were reduced to a moul-
ten mass.

The artistic eminence reached by the artists of
Sevres was shown in the collection in the Salles des
Models, now destroyed by the Prussians. All that the
genius of the sculptor, painter and goldsmith could pro-
duce was found in tnem. Groups executed in biscuit,
porcelain paste unglazed, by Falconnet, Bizot, La Rue

and others were among this collection. Duplessie, gold-
smith to the King, composed the models for the vases,
and Bachlier superintended all artistic parts and directed
the painters who produced such harmony of the brilliant
colors fading into softer tones.

The marks, those mysterious hieroglyphs, which are
found on nearly every valuable piece of porcelain, give
the date of entry into the world of these dainty bits, which
are passed from generation to generation and would other-
wise be lost in obscurity. As modern forgeries are not un-
common the learned amateur notes the material, color
and decoration as well as the mark. From 1800 to the
present time the mark on Sevres has varied with each
change of sovereign or government, but is generally self-
explaining. Prior to that date the porcelain was
marked with interlaced L's, in the center of which is a
letter of the alphabet to designate the year. The pres-
ent mark is a paralellogram containing S-48. If the
article is perfect and decorated by artists in the factory,
a second paralellogram is added containing the year in
which it was decorated. Should the piece be imperfect,
a diagonal line is run through the first paralellogram
and the second is not added. The ware so marked is
sold and decorated outside the factory.

The brilliancy of color, absolute smoothness of sur-
face and most perfect delicacy of execution give to Sevres
its great value and place in ceramic art.

Lilian Everson Goodhue.

HE winter of 1879 was marked by six weeks of
intense and continuous cold, with glittering
enow and fine sleighing. The parks and islands
of Niagara are beautiful in summer, with their
bowers and cool shade and rustic bridges; but they are
passing beautiful in winter, beset with myriads of crys-
tal gems. The forest trees, stripped of all foliage, yet
completely clothed, limb and branch, with ice
and frost; the bright green pines and hemlocks
bowing to the earth beneath a weight of snow; bridges,
bowers, gates — everything around the Falls glittering in
the sunlight, and throwing out millions of diamond rays,
which frequently formed broken rainbows on the higher
mist that rises above the roaring cataract.

The Niagara river for much of its course is so placid,
moving so slowly, bank-full, that it gives no hint of the
hurry and rush with which it gathers momentum for its
mad plunge over the immense precipice, 600 yards in
width and 158 feet in depth at Horseshoe Fails, and 200
yards wide and 164 feet deep on the American aide of
the river. On the Canadian side the water's edge is
reached by an inclined plane; on the American side by
an inclined railroad, terminating at the ferry-boat land-
ing. At the time of which we write the boathouse, land-
ing and all surroundings were buried under twenty feet
of ice. The ice on the river was in many places forty
feet through and very rough and broken. In the river
near the American Falls a pinnacle of solid ice eighty
feet high, had formed from the freezing of spray.

It was the desire of most visitors to walk, or rather
climb, across the river on the ice. To ascend the moun-

j^iagara

Olbitc

tain of frozen spray it was necessary to be shod with new
rubbers, and to wear woolen mittens, as hands were as
necessary to the climbing as feet. To reach the ice on
the river, a stairway was cut from the foot of the in-
clined railway.

It was during this reign of King Frost that the
Princess Louise and the Marquis of Lome visited Niag-
ara Falls, and t'le writer was privileged to be one of the
receiving party on the American side. The vice-regal
visitors arrived in cutters and were met by the authori-
ties at the end of the Suspension bridge, under our na-
tional colors, where, after appropriate greetinge, a brisk
drive through the parks was enjoyed.

On her return the Princess expressed a desire to
walk across the river on the ice. Accompanied by a
guide and Gen. Hollinger, most of the Canadian party
went down the railroad and out upon the ice, where the
Princess demonstrated the fact that English women are
good walkers. After returning to the cutters, and enjoying
a spirited drive, adieux were said and we ended a memora-
ble experience. Maud E. Bower, Santa Ana.

N OUR journeying towards the west we have
reconstructed this ancient term, Provincial, and
have given it new and glorified significance; it
now means being in the van. Absence from a metrop-
olis in the latter half of this century gives refreshing
opportunity to experiment with the latest and most im-
proved methods of municipal lighting and locomotion.
Obviously a city entirely illuminated and transported by
electricity is, materially speaking, far in advance of one
still depending upon those relics of barbarism, omnibusefl
and gas. Conversely, therefore, the social habits of a
community thus enlightened must be advanced in equal
proportion: What is adopted must make for betermens
and what rejected must be a discard of hampering obsta-
cles to progress.

In a new and vigorous commonwealth the manner
and customs of the old world go through a process of Al-
teration and emerge in a state of purity and efifectivenes,
seldom surpassed. Many surplous distinctions of rank
are obliterated; all begin on a foundation of perfect
levelness, and advance up the social steeps side by side.
Such an arrangement is most admirably adapted to
remove any uncomfortable awkwardness of the climbers
it so neatly obviates criticism and creates an atmosphere
of freedom. To particularize: The first thing to be
adopted by the striving community is gorgeous apparel.
Here the aforesaid independence of taste is most appar-
ent and most admirable. Among the peoples left behind
was the antiquated fiat: "No evening dress before six p.
M." Behold now the courage and daring of the provin-
cial. He boldly says: "Why not,'* and disports his even-

It 19

Like Cbis

Hdvantages

provinciaUsm

ing clothes (on the stage, at an afternoon concert), una-
bashed. And should the aforesaid daring one be a woman,
she boldly turns on the electric lights at three p. m. and
clothes herself in the most resplendent of gowns, which
gives grand opportunity to display rounded arms and
gleaming shoulders, if she happens to have them, under
the caption: "You cannot have too much of a good
thing.'* Should a solitary stranger protest at such an
innovation, what better answer could possibly be given:
"Old logyism is worn out. We are beginning a new set
of fashions. Let other places copy us." If added to this
courageous action, evening cl( thes are demanded in a
tent, well and good. Are there not many precedents, if
required, among the ladies of the circus? "Go to! We
please to do as we please." So much for clothes. Now
for carriages.

In effete civilizations where every one thinks ill
of his neighbor there is one seat in a carriage and
one alone to be occupied by a lady — queen or com-
moner— and that is the right-hand corner of the
back seat. Do such rules need to be followed by our pro-
vinciale? Never! She sits on the left, right, north,
south, any place most convenient, without regard to such
descendants of such back number monarchies.

Supposing my lady chooses to call and that she is
provided with a well-filled card case, and plenty more
cards where those came from, shall she show herself nig-
gardly and leave a paltry couple on her acquaintances?
Not she, but boldly counts ovea the number of members
of a family and leaves two or three apiece. Should thir-
teen be required, she never flinches, out they come.

In backward metropoli one is supposed to speak to
all the guests under a hostess' roof, but our provincials
are too careful for that. They demand an introduction
by name before venturing, and also reprove unwary
ones who happen to speak beforehand. *'I think we have
not been introduced," is said by one woman to another.
This may be only proper prudence, as new society is
likely to be rather mixed.

A provincial is not often given to apology. Althongh
the frank innocence of his action may be liable to misin-
terpretation, yet he usually goes on his free way rejoic-
ing; I cannot therefore understand why a prominent
woman seemed to think a speech of hers needed explana-
tion. After speaking of a certain lady by her first name
she said, "I can call her Jennie; she's my daughter, you
know."

After careful consideration of the whole subject, it
may be said that members of new communities have the
advantage all on their own side, and where once their
naivete held them up to scorn, now their courage and
bold originality entitle them to the sincerest commenda-
tion. F.

editorial
Department

OWEVER harsh and cruel the ravages of winter
in other parts of the country, we who make our
homes in Southern California feel already the
breath of spring. Mountains, hills, valley,
bask in a shifting, golden light. Purple shadows chase
each other across the landscape and vanish dreamily.
Birds call in liquid notes in tree and bush and from
somewhere there steals upon the senses a subtle, haunt-
ing fragrance, once known, never to be forgotten. It is
the breath of the orange blossoms.

What hidden spell finds its expression in the breath
of the orange blossoms? As the intoxicating fragrance
steals through the air on these early spring mornings,
there falls a glamour over earth and sky, a maddening
suggestion of beauty and romance. Let it be where it
will, in the house, on the street, in the office or the heart
of the crowded city, that this mystic perfume greets one,
the result is ever the same. As with an opiate, one is
overpowered, enthralled, conquered by a flood of deli-
cious suggestions. The living, actual present fades away
and in its place comes the vision of long, low adobe
walls buried in clinging vines, whose sheltering nooks
hold glimpses of scarlet or blue and the flash of dark
eyes from beneath a silver-trimmed sombrero. A richly
saddled horse crops the tender grass near by and the
sound of light laughter is borne on the perfumed breeze.
Or perchance mellow floods ©f moonlight are falling
across the dimly outlined plaza. Gay figures meet and
intertwine neath the shade of overhanging trees and the
air thrills to the sound of passionate music and the rattle
of the castanets.

Oh, the moonlight and the Bcent of the orange blos-
soms 1 Ohj the delicate, dreamy California springtime!
Brief, evanescent, capricious, but infinitely sweet is the
spell that it weaves 1

American art has yet to realize what possibilities it
leaves neglected in the romance-haunted land of Cali-
fornia. We have heard far too much of the lack of
American art and literature. Too long have our Ameri-
can artists and writers turned their eyes to the old world
and sought their inspiration in the echo of other lands.
We are told that our development is too recent, that we
have no historical associations, no long past stretching
behind us, rich in stores of thought and learning, of feel-
ing and action, that America is yet too much in the rough
for art. But time moves on and even while these cries
ring in our ears we have left behind the days of our pro-
bation. We have a history, rich, complex and far
enough behind us to be full of suggestion. We have a
country remarkable for natural beauty, standing on the
verge of national greatness. Though we are a new
nation, we have the strength, the vitality of youth; our
future is before us, not behind. It is time for all who
care for the glory of American art and literature, who
wish to see them on the plane with the age of Elizabeth
or the Italian renaissance, it is time for them now to
unlock the rich stores of undeveloped material lying
around them, and in all their searchings they will find
no richer field than California. This is the land of hid-
den romance. All that Spain was to Cervantes, all that
Italy was to Dante or Raphael, all that Provence was to
the troubadors; all this will California be to her artist or
her poet, or her dramatist who will bask in her sunshine,
dream neath her white moonlight, breathe in the scent of
her orange blossoms, absorb the whole of her subtle,
haunting charm and make it his own.

Hmong

the

Boohe

ebeU

Report
of the
Olorh

HE literary year just completed, although one of
some uncertainty, has been financially and
artistically successful, judging from all reports*
Moreover, there is every indication of continued
activity in all departments of the book world for the
coming months. Certain books have enjoyed remarka-
ble popularity, their sales running into large numbers.
The war has brought many new writers into prominence,
none more conspicuously so than Mr. Dunne, author of
those caustic sketches entitled, "Mr. Dooley in Peace and
War," which promises to be the clever book of the season-
The following is the list of the six books selling best at
the present date:

1. The Day's Work, by Kipling.

The Battle of the Strong, by Parker.

The Adventures of Francois, by Mitchell.

Red Rock, by Thomas Nelson Page.

Cyrano de Bergerac, (chiefly Miss Hall's trans-

2.
3.
4.
5.

lation).
6.

Castle Inn, by Stanley Weyman.

HE CURRENT EVENTS section of The Ebell
has always been a popular division of the club
work. Its sweep of interest is almost limitless
and can touch the intellectual activities of almost
everyone at some point. It aims at insight into today,
but as the present is the result of the past and the herald
of the future, its lines of radiating thought are of neces-
sity widely diffused.

The work this year has been systematized under
seven departments, viz: Foreign Affairs, Commonwealth,
Sociology, Education and Philanthropy, Men, Women

and Books, Science and Invention, Art. The varied
thought relations of the section's work will he best shown
by listening to a few of the subjects that have come up
for discussion and ingathering of facts, during the past
few months. The Egyptian campaign -and the seeming
destiny of France to occupy for England and move out
under pressure. The Dreyfus affair, involving the fate
of the French Republic. Results of Kaiser Wilhelm's
pilgrimage. The Czar's "Aureflamme of Peace." Is the
disarmament of Europe possible, or are the hopes grow-
ing out of the rescript chimerical? The oncoming of
Russia. Shall the Slav dominate Europe?

A morning given to this last question proved most
interesting. A paper was presented by Mrs. J. B. Millardi
the facts gathered by a most discriminating scale of val-
ues and the conclusions most logically drawn. Mr. P-
A. Demens, a Russian gentleman of broad culture, then
held the attention of the section and its guests, and at
the close of his profitable and enjoyable talk the discus"
sion was most animated.

The questions growing out of the late war with Spain,
our new international relations and other problems con-
fronting Congress have been full of material for thought-
concentration, while profit-sharing, the convict-labor
problem, free kindergarten and college-settlement work?
and the proposed establishment of truant schools, have
been among the live questions brought forward by our
committees on Sociology, Education and Philanthropy.
By reference to our science committee, our attention has
been drawn to the fact that the scientific progress of the
year 1898 includes cheaper lights, increased interest in

wireless telegraphy, discovery of serum for Bubonic plague,
and most valuable experiments with liquified air. The
most widely read new books have been brought to our
notice and every meeting has offered something of inter-
est in the wide realm of art.

For the next regular meeting, Mrs. A. M. Whitson is
programmed for a paper, the first of a series, in the line
of social forces, viz.. The Church — social movements,
charities. Two open questions are now before the section
for thought and discussion, with no expection that any
conclusion will be reached in which all will concur:
W hich two women have most influenced the history of
the world? What is the most important event of the
nineteenth century?

Mrs. R. W. Burnham, Curator.

An afternoon with Shakespeare^s Comedies, com-
prised the programme for the social Thursday of Febru-
ary. After a few opening remarks on the harmony be-
tween the youth and buoyancy of the comedies and the
springtide season of the year, Mendelssohn's setting o^^
the Midsummer Night's Dream was rendered on the
piano. This was followed by two short papers, the first
one, The Special Charm of Viola, portraying the exquisite
personality of that dainty bit of womanhood and the
feminine charm that enfolds her; the second gave a clever
contrast of those two famous wits, Falstaff and Prince
Hal, contrasting Faletaff's broad and farcical humor with
the keen, polished satire of the prince. That pretty
lyric, "Hark, hark, the lark," as set to music by Schu-
bert, was next rendered, and the programme closed with
an animated discussion of that famous question. Was
Portia masculine in her legal defense of Antonio?

The music section, owing to the lack of time to pre-
pare a complete programme for its report of this month,
will report again in April, at which time a delightful
afternoon has been prepared.

PROGRAMME FOR MARCH.

Thursday, March 9th-^Social Thursday afternoon.
"Industrial Education," Miss Ella Clark.

Thursday, March 30th — Report of Economic Section.

Literary Section — Each Monday, 2 p. m.

Story Teller's Section — Second Tuesday, 2.30 p. ru.

Economics — Fourth Tuesday, 2 p. m.

Conversation Section — Second Saturday, 10.30 a. m.

Music Section — First and third Mondays, 3.30 p. m.

Current Events Section — First and third Thursdays,
10.30 a. m.

Tourist Section — First and third Saturdays, 2 p. m-

If there is any man in America today who thoroughly
embodies the American idea of success, that man is John
Philip Sousa. Back of this success stands the man who
has created it, with qualities of heart and brain that
appeal instinctively to human nature at large no less
than to the American nature in particular. No other
man in the musical world is so conspicuously and so
constantly before the public and yet bears his honors
and success with such becoming modesty. Sousa is the
onlv American composer whose fame and popularity
transcends the geographical limits of his native land.

The SouBa marches are played in every country on the
globe where music is known, and the publication of a new
composition from the " March King " interests strangely
and widely diverse communities. With all the tremen-
dous vogue of these marches it yet remains a fact that
the Sousa Band alone can play them as they should be
played. Sousa and his band will appear at Simpson
Auditorium on the 14th and 16th of this month in two
matinees and two evenings.

HOR AGES past men have acted as sole agents
for thai particular brand of intelligence called
I '* Progression." Women were slow in learning

there was no copyright on the royal label, but having
once taken possession of the trade mark of their brother
man, have made rapid advancement in the field of prog-
ress, have crossed the borders of art and science, made
deep inroads in commercial circles, and stand shoulder
to shoulder with their former rivals in the professional
world.

Notwithstanding the wonderful advancement of
modern times, there seems to be in the life of man a time
when an exceptional opportunity presents itself. Such
has been the case with one of our local enterprises, that
engaged in by Orr & Hines.

Their establishment has been equipped with every
modern convenience; careful attention has been given in
the selection of their goods, every detail of the business
has received the close observation from those of experi-
ence and ability. Despite these facts they felt there was
one department being neglected. Opportunity presented
itself and they were quick to recognize it, and henceforth
Mrs. M. H. Connell will have entire charge of the ladies
and children committed to their care, giving to each and
every one that sympathetic and careful attention which
only a womanly woman can give.

To Messrs. Orr & Hines belongs the honor of a full
conception of what a complete undertaking establish-
ment can be, and with every modern convenience, with
an expert at the head of each department, they are safe
in offering to the public superior practical and artistic
service. 647 South Broadway.

progression

Of ^onicn
By ^otneti
for ^omen

t'i'f- ft 11111111^^^

'Vfi

m €bdl

H JVIontbly jf^urnal of Literature
and Current events

Hpril

Special Gaster edition

8ub8crtprton:pnce ..--''vJ '^ ' ' '*' ^^^Ny StngU Copy

$1.00 per "Year of thb ^ lo Cents

1899

eeo. Rice St Sons, ^Inc.)

i;«s Hngeles

Cable of Contents

Zhe passion-play at Obcr Hmincrgau.. A, C Ad^ir

Che Doubter (a poem) Lou V, Chapin

Driftwood, a serial story, parts TXI and TXXX

FrankUna. Gray Bartleti

Strassbourg Cathedral Ada M, Trotter

H t^gend Mary Keys

past Sorrow (a poem) % W*

H Calif omia landmark Alice T. Martin

ItisLikeChis F,

editorial Department; Books and J^Iusic JS^otes

ebell J^otes :

Copyrighted, 1899, by Grace Atherton Dennen

The Ebell will be published on the 29th of each month. It will be sent
postpaid for one year on receipt of $1.00. Single numbers 10 cents. Sub-
scriptions may begin at any time.

Money may be sent by Express Money Order, P. O. Money Order, Bank
Draft, or Registered Letter. Money sent in letters is at sender's risk.

All communications should be addressed to Grace Atherton Dennen,
1922 Grand ave„ Los Angeles. Notice of change of address should be sent
immediately by subscribers.

Entered at the Los Angeles Post OflSce as second-class mail matter.
GRACE ATHERTON DENNEN, Editor
1922 Grand Avenue . . - . . los Angelbs. Cal.

EASTER SONGS

HHE summer of 1890 found me in Europe. The
questions uppermost in my mind for months
were: Shall I go to see the Passion Play at

Ober Ammergau? or shall I not? Will it jar
on one's religious feelings or will it exalt and (delight
one? I met a friend who wanted me to go with her, so
that decided the question.

One July day we entered Cook's London office, en-
gaged our places for the Passion Play and three days*
lodging in the village of Ober Ammergau, for September.
Then we arranged to meet at Cook's office in Munich the
12th, as our tickets were for the Sunday performance, the
14th.

What a crowd we found in Munich en route to Ober
Ammergau 1 One could hardly secure rooms in any of
the hotels . We met early Friday morning, and finally
everything was arranged and we found ourselves aboard
the train for Ammergau. I have often wondered where
Cook secured so many good-natured men. Everywhere
we found his agents exceptionally kind and courteous.
The man who had our trainful of people in charge that
day was a marvel. The hundreds, yes thousands, of un-
necessary questions be was asked by nervous women,
always received a polite and gracious reply.

The ride from Munich to Ammergau was very inter-
esting. Passing Lake Starnberg, we could see the Berg
Schloss where the mad King Ludwig met his tragic
death. One cannot visit Bavaria without becoming
greatly interested in Ludwig.

From Ammergau we drove in carriages to Ober Am-
mergau high up in the mountains, a very picturesque

Cbe

passion-
play
at Ober
Hmmergau

and beautiful drive, passing a quaint old monastery on
the way. When we reached the village, Cook's agents
gave us in charge of a fine looking peasant , who turned
out to be no other than the son of the man who took the
part of St. Peter. He conducted us to his father's cot-
tage, white and clean both without and within. Our
fine, saintly looking old host met us at the door. We
felt it a benediction to enter and stay under his roof. He
has spent his life carving images of his Master and must
have dwelt with Him in thought to get the expression of
countenance he wore.

The house was one of the plainest, back of the
kitchen under the same roof dwelt the cow, but so neat
and clean was everything one did not mind the rough-
ness in the least.

On Saturday the peasants from a distance began to
gather in the village. So many of them looked to us as
though they had stepped out of Delregger's pictures
with their picturesque Alpine costumes.

We spent that day merely drinking in the beauties
of the mountain scenery — a good preparation for the
Sunday experience.

Saturday evening the village musicans, headed by
firemen, in uniform, paraded through the village playing
a lively march. This heralded the play the next day.

We were awakened at 5 o'clock Sunday morning by
the firing of a cannon to arouse people in time to attend
Mass in the village church as a preparation for the won-
derful performance to be witnessed that day. We went,
of course. At seven the musicians marched through the
streets in the same manner as on the previous evening.

Before eight o'clock we were in our seats at the
theatre. Only about half of the seats were under cover,
ours were of the fortunate number.

How can I describe that perfect morning in Septem-
ber! The mountain grandeur and solemnity ,the serious,
devout faces of the peasants, all making an impression
that nothing can ever efface from the memory.

The stage is immense, part of it without any pro-
tection from the weather. When it rains the actors go
right on with their parts seeming unconscious of every-
thing. The following is a better description of the stage
than I could give:

**The spectator sees in all five distinct places of
action for the players; first, the proscenium for the
chorus, procession, etc., second, the central stage for
tableaux vivants and the usual dramatic scenes; third,
the palace of Pilate; fourth, the palace of Annas; fifth,
streets of Jeruselem. A vast space is thus put at the
manager's disposal. The most beautiful of all the ac-
cessories of this wonderful stage is the natural scenery
surrounding it."

Precisely at eight o'clock the cannon is heard again
and the performance begins. All of the actors meet in
the theatre back of the stage and spend a time in silent
prayer before entering. First with stately tread march
in the chorus of Schutz-geister, or guardian angels,
eighteen in number, with a leader who gives the pro-
logue. Their dresses are all in lovely soft shades of color,
over which they wear white tunics bordered with gold
fringe. These are very artistic costumes, designed by
Munich artists. They advance from either side of the

proBcenium. After the leader gives the prologue telling
of the following scenes, the chorus chant and retire as
they came.

Then the curtain is drawn aside and one sees a
beautiful tableau representing a scene from the Old Testa-
ment prophetic of the scenes to follow in the life of
Christ. After a second or so the curtain falls and the
chorus comes on as before to chant and sing the connec-
tion between the picture just given and the act to follow.
The play represents the life of Christ from his trium-
phal entry into Jeruselem to his ascension.

Act after act moves on through the grand and
solemn scenes of our Lord*s trial and condemnation to
the awful climax of His crucifixion. With a terror and
awe impossible to describe the spectator sees the Christ
crucified and hanging from the cross. The intense
emotion of the hour is such that all sense of time and
place are lost and one lives only in the scenes before one.
This emotion deepens still more through the mighty
scene that follows until the glorious resurrection reaches
its fulfillment and the risen Christ stands triumphant
over death.

From eight o'clock in the morning until five o'clock
at night the mighty drama moves on its course and
then one steals away worn out with a great strain and
sorrow, yet thrilled as never before with the hope and
joy of Easter.

The Bible has been dearer to me, means more to me
than ever before that Sunday in the Alpine village of
Bavaria.

If the Passion Play is to be given again next year,
as rumor reports, no one who can possibly witness it
should miss the opportunity. It is an epoch in a life
time. A. C. Adair.

THE DOUBTER

Doubter, you say, and scorner of the creeds,

Am I, who think the righteous God, who sways
The planets by his breath, and moves the world

By law immutable, who holds the days
As sands upon the shores of His infinity,

Can feel the passions small of hate and love,
Or would revenge upon a helpless race

The crime that came from brutal ignorance.
Deny me, then, the bauble of your heaven

Of idle joy and measured recompense
For virtue, that is payment of its debt.

For virtue, that each hour its record keeps
In deeds that make men god-like, and that reaps

In earthly fields its sheaves of golden grain.
And gives a flower for every thorn of pain.

The Heaven that is the place of the Most High,
Is not of endless rest, and vague ignoble peace.

Oh, rather would I sink into the dark, and cease
To be a sentient ray, wandering in peopled space

Seeking its source, for fuller potency.
Than find that this were mine eternity.

I do not know, I do not know, but trust
The Power that called me from the senseless dust.

To think, and feel, and be, for some great end.
When this, my body fails, content 1*11 be

If but a conscious atom, I but live and move
To ends of grander deed and purer love.

Lou V. Chapin.

Driftwood
a Serial
Story

CHAPTER VII

nHE Bun was just taking his first sip of dew from
the jeweled leaves of the orchards as Mr. Bar-
I ton's family drove out of the village the nixt

morning. They were bent on one of those excursions
so common in a country whose newness deprives it of
summer resorts. The time was near when convenient
and fashionable hotels would dot these picturesque
coasts and grand mountains, but as yet the travelers
must take their all with them and snatch their comforts
and pleasures from Nature's grasp. Thirty-five miles
south of the village a party of ''squatters" had built a
group of rude cottages in the heart of an old Spanish
rancho. They had fed their cattle among the hills until
at the end of a long law suit they had been ejected and
tearing down most of their houses had vanished whence
they came. Three of the best of these cabins had been
left standing, and these were the destination of our party
of pleasure seekers. They crowned a cliff which plunged
steeply down to a long stretch of shelving beach. Back
of them a dense forest of sycamores stretched away to
meet the mountains which rose abruptly from the nar-
row ledge of valley lying between them and the sea. A
well of clear redundant water made the spot a halting
place for the herds of horses and sheep, with their keep-
ers, who ranged the ranch. The county road, upon which
a daily mail coach pasjed, ran by the deserted cottages
and was their only link with the wide, busy world which
lay beyond. Here was nature in primeval loveliness.
The sea sang its changing song heedless that not an ear
was there to barken. The peevish cry of water birds

leached the woodland nestlings who swung and cooed
among the sycamores. Flocks of beautiul crested quail
rose whizzing out of coverts of dry leaves. The deer
even ventured down the mountain side, and at dawn
could be seen nibbling the scant grass which grew below
the trees. High up on the first ledge of the mountains
a little lake lay slumbering, close guarded by giant cliffs,
and sending little rills down into the valley to refresh
the thirsty woods.

To this seaside solitude Mr. Barton had removed his
Lares and Penates, represented by a wagon load of furni-
ture presided over by Ock, the Chinese cook, who had
preceded the family by a day, to prepare for their recep-
tion. For several miles their road lay across the plains
and then turned toward the hills.

" That is your last glimpse of civilization until we
reach San Juan," said Mr. Barton as the trees and roofs
of the village disappeared in a turn. "I hope you will
like 'roughing it' Mrs. Alford; people generally do, for a
short time."

"The chief charm of going away from home is the
prospect of getting back again," said Mrs. Barton. "We
were gone two months last summer and when we got
back our house seemed a palace and our beds made of
eider down. I positively could not sleep at first, the
luxury was something oppressive. Mrs. Alford isn't
that child tiring you?"

As usual baby Ned was in Mrs. Alford's arms, and
she was dividing her attention between the child and the
changing scene about her. Since that June picnic in the
woods Mrs. Barton had understood the lovely woman's

clinging to this tiny, romping boy, and Ned claimed her
devotion with baby tyranny. Her sweetest smiles were
always his, and her splendid voice was tuned to nursery
ditties at his bidding. The happy mother who had
scarcely known an unsatisfied longing in her life, watched
sometimes with painful wonder the passionate kisses
which fell on the child^s golden curls. No, Mrs. Alford
was never tired of baby Ned.

It was noon when the travelers drove up the one
straggling street of San Juan. The adobe houses crouch-
ing amid trees and fenced in with hedges of fragrant
Castilian roses, seemed all lulled in a noonday siesta.
Several men lounged before the little whitewashed hotel
talking their musical patois, but the clean little square
before the mission church was deserted. In front ran
the low, tile-roofed cloisters and to the right rose, clear-
cut against the glowing sky, a great vaulted alcove, al
that remained of the old Spanish church. The front
and side walls were gone, crumbled to the earth from
which devoted hands once raised them, but the stuccoed
ornaments of the recess which once sheltered the high
altar still tangled the sunbeams in their shadows and
proclaimed the memory of those brave old padres who
first raised the voice of prayer in this lovely land. A
new civilization is at its portals which claims from it
no higher use than its picturesque decay.

Under the shadow of this vaulted wall, the party of
pleasure seekers ate their lunch and rested until the
afternoon breeze arose among the trees, then they started
once more upon the way, plunging down to the beach after
awhile and following the sandy road which ran between

the cliffs and the sea; until finally after climbing Bome
long brown hills, their destination rose upon their view.
The late sun was glorifying the sea and sky, and guilding
even the unpainted cottages, sitting forlornly on the very
edge of the cliff. Ock stood at the door of one of these
energetically waving a towel.

"Hurrah," cried the children. "Is supper ready,
Ock? We are half starved."

*'Well, we can't eat until we get out of the wagon,"
said Mr. Barton. "Jump out Arthur, and don't break
your neck over those cliffs before supper time. Now
ladies, your seaside villa awaits you."

"I should think it had been waiting sometime, by
the outward appearance," said Mrs. Barton, entering the
low doorway. "But after all, this is not so bad."

The cottage contained four rooms, all unpainted
and unpapered. Ock had spread some gay rugs on the
bare floors; a cot bed was in each room, and plenty of
chairs completed the furnishings. A second cottage
stood but a few feet away which was exactly like the first,
but Ock had arranged its front room for dining and sit-
ting room. Here the table was already spread and rough
shelves against the walls held a goodly array of dishes
and canned fruits and meats. A tent back of the cottage
served as kitchen.

"This is luxury compared to camping," said Mrs.
Barton. "Clean beds; wind and fog-proof walls, and
plenty to eat, what else do we need!"

What else, indeed, with Nature's work-shop of won-
ders spread all about their cabin doors 1

And so their life of summer idling began. In the
13

morning the entire family, armed with umbrellas, books
and writing materials, went to the beach. A rough
shed of sword-like tules bound together answered for
bathing house. After a plunge in the water the warm
sand furnished them a delightful lounging place,
where books and thoughts and desultory conversation
whiled the hours away. The great globe of sky seemed
trans-cut with a gleaming expanse of sea. The only
shadow which fell from the amber air and the pulsating
water, was the swift-passing shade of a gulPs wing.
From the beach they saw only the narrowing curves of
the sheer cliffs broken by the gaps up which they
climbed to their cottages. They seemed to be as alone
in all the great, echoing world, as Adam was when he
walked the ambrosial solitudes of Eden. Sometimes
Mr. Barton would read aloud while the children played
along the shore, and the two ladies sat with their hats
well tipped forward and their hands sifting idly the glit-
tering sand. But oftener they were absolutely idle,
steeped in the dreamy beauty of the scene which seemed
made up of light and water.

When the heat of the day had passed, a drive or
horseback ride through the woods varied their pleasure.
These rides were to Mrs. Alford the crowning delight of
the days. Quick independent motion, such as one feels
alone en a horse's back, excited her strangely. To go
away from the dazzling sea, whose restlessness wearied
her, through the varying beauty of the forest;
now starting a covey of whirring quail; now catching
the note of a dove or the glad whistle of a mocking
bird; to feel the wind cool against her cheek, aromatic

with wild perfumes, and to be untrammelled by any will
but her own, this was the intensest enjoyment she had
ever known. Sometimes as she rode far ahead of the
others, who always indulged her whim of being alone,
she would look up to where the intense greenness of the
forest betokened the high-set lake hidden in the bosom
of the hill8,and she would fancy herself riding on and up
ever faster, faster; the world sinking below, the breeze
growing fresher, until the panting horse should plunge
into the green coolness of that land-locked lake; and
then — the ripples would run widening out to die against
the cliffs, peace, rest, silence; ah, how sweet 1 At such
moments she would draw rein suddenly and rejoin the
others with all her eager excitement quenched.

Once, with a stout Indian boy for guide, Mr. Bar-
ton, Arthur and Mrs. Alford climbed tu this lake. The
trail led them through the forest — rare in this land of
brown un wooded heights, to a steep rocky mountain-side.
Little streams fed from above crossed their path, their
course marked with ferns and flowers. They left their
horses where the rocks began to shelve towards the lake
and picked their way on foot. Like a green well, deep
bored into the rock, lay the little sheet of water. The
sun except at noon scarcely touched its pellucid depths.
The mountain towered above, too high to mirror its
head in the face of its nursling. Tall reeds and brake
fringe its margin; the trees flung down their great arms
to caress it; a wavering line of crushed ferns marked the
path by which the deer came down to drink; the sound
of a falling stream and the rustle of leaves seemed to in-
tensify the silence. Mrs. Alford thought of the ripples

dying against the cliffs, and she stretched out her arms
suddenlywith a great longing. "I am so lonely and bo
are you little lake," she cried, and then she smiled at her
own vehemence. Life was sweeter to her these sunny
seaside days than it had been since one bright year of
her girlhood. She had youth strength and pleasure;
only hope seemed lacking and might not that come by
and bye.

"Did you ever share the wish expressed by George
Eliot *to hear the sounds which lie on the other side of
silence'?" asked Mr. Barton, gravely watching her
changing face. "Listen! The low gurgle of the water*
the hum of a bee, the flutter of a bird's wing, are all
which break the stillness which is so full and sweet it is
like a happy thought, too great for utterance! But sup-
pose our ears were attuned to finer sounds — could hear
the music of sunbeams breaking on the water or the
fairy voice of ringing hare bells; or the song the moving
stars siii^-what a revelation! Perhaps that will be
one of the joys of the new life."

"Not always a joy," said Mrs. Alford. "Sometimes
on a still bright night I have thought of the earth,
sounds which were rising everywhere towards that placid
aky — the agonized prayers and groans; the protests
against wrongs committed; the cries for mercy which
never comes; the wailing of babes, the moans of age —
ah, it was awful! I would be deaf to such sounds; surely
we hear enough!"

"Did your vision include none but dreary sounds?"
asked Mr. Barton, "was there no place for laughter and
thanksgiving, none for praise or blessings? Were there

only discords in the song of the Universe? We forget
that the time of perfect joy is not yet come: but it
is coming."

"Let us hasten its advent by believing it," said Mrs.
Alford smiling, "my faith in happiness ought to grow
strong while I am one of your happy household. Is not
Arthur calling? How clear sounds are in this atmos-
phere. I believe the Swiss jodel would echo finely
here."

She raised her voice in the clear bugle-like notes
fanailiar to travelers in the Alps, and a shower of silvery
sounds fell about them seeming to strike upon the water
and rebound. The shadows were lengthening as they
turned to descend the mountain; the sea was rosy red
against the glowing sky. The descent was rapid and
the day still lingered as they approached their temporary
home.

"I say, isn't that the stage stopping and somebody
getting off," cried Arthur. "Who'd ever dream of a visi-
tor following us down herel He looks like a brigand in
that slouch hat; wouldn't it be jolly if he were, and then
we could shoot him. Hellool what's the matter?''

Mr. Barton had sprung ofi* his horse and siezed the
stranger with both hands.

**Lysle, old fellow, is it possible 1 I knew you at a
glance. Just like you to follow us here, instead of wait-
ing. Welcome a thousand times!"

CHAPTER VIII

Mrs. Alford slipped from her saddle unobserved by
the two gentlemen and went into the house. It was
dusk in her little room. She sat down on the cot and

took off her hat. She was shaking like one in a chill.
Lights were beginning to gleam in the adjoining cottage;
Ock was rattling the tea things; cheerful, excited voices
were coming in through the open window. The stars
were awakening in the darkling sky. For an hour Mrs.
Alford sat silent in the gloaming until the sound of a
bell roused her. "Perhaps it is but a chance resem-
blance after all," she said below her breath. "I did not
see his face. It is but the phantom which seems ever
following me. Were it indeed he, he would not know
me." She raised the candle above her head and looked
at herself in the little glass which hung on her wall. The
faee it reflected looked strangely wan and the mouth
drooped wearily. She brushed her hair hastily. *'The
sooner this is over the better for me; I could not sleep
unless I were sure,'* she thought.

The dining room had its windows open toward the
sea; the shaded lamp gave a dim light except upon the
table where it stood. Mrs. Barton was re-arranging the
tea tray; a bunch of wild flowers was in her belt and
they seemed a part of her dainty freshness. The newly
arrived guest stood with his hand upon her chair wait-
ing to place it for her. In his figure and pose there was
something which bespoke at once a Cosmopolite who
knew foreign lands and life so well he had lost the air of
his own. Smiling, he was a handsome man, but in re-
pose a cynical discontented expression marred his face.
He was smiling, bending forward a little to listen as Mrs.
Alford looked through the open door. Having looked
she turned and fled.

"Go, Ethel, and call Mrs. A)ford to tea," said Mrs.
18

Barton a moment later. "You are not our only visitor
Lysle; we brought a friend with us to this rookery. You
see friendship dares a good deal on these Western shores.'^

"And like all Western investments returns large
dividends. You carry the atmosphere of home with
you, BO that these cabins remind me of that pretty room
in Munich where you used to serve us afternoon tea out
of the daintiest of cups. I used to think it was the
place which gave the charm but I learn differently
tonight."

"Mrs. Alford is very tired, Mamma, and says she
will not come to supper," said Ethel, "and I want to
take her a cup of tea by and by."

"We had a long climb today," said Mr. Barton. "I
feared it would be too much for her, but she seemed de-
termined to reach that lake. By the bye, Lysle, you can
indulge your propensity for shot and powder; we saw
deer tracks all np the mountain."

"I hope you won't expect us to eat them after they
are killed," said Mrs. Barton, "If there is a carefully
preserved delusion in this world it is that venison is fit
to eat. It is tough until it is spoiled and raw until it
is cooked to a chip. I rebel against accepting it as a
luxury."

"Well, the deer are still alive my dear, so we will
console ourselves with a beef steak. How the ocean
roars! I think a storm must be coming up."

The group about the cheerful tea table were soon
too much absorbed in each other and in the reminis-
cences called up by their talk to notice the ever rising
wind which shook the cottage and soon compelled them

to close the windows. With a start of self reproach Mrs.
Barton suddenly remembered her absent guest. The
wind met her as she crossed the narrow space between
the cottages and swept on towards the woods. It left
her light dress damp with spray. She tapped twice at
the door before she was bidden to enter. There was no
light in the room but she could distinguish Mrs. Alford's
figure as she rose from the cot to meet her.

*'Are you sick or only tired?" Mrs. Barton asked as
she seated herself by her. "I would have come soon-
er but an old friend of my husband's arrived unex-
pectedly and we have been so absorbed in him. I hope
you are better now."

'*I am not sick, Mrs. Barton. We rode a long way
and " Her voice suddenly broke and failed her.

*'And you are tired and in consequence low spirited
— a little way we unreasonable women have," said Mrs.
Barton slipping her arm around the slight figure by her
side, feeling with quick intuition that sympathy was the
medicine needed here. "We go on bearing and bearing
and being brave until some trifle overflows the full cup
and we must have a good cry and begin all over again.*'

But Mrs. Alford was not crying, she was shrinking
a little from the encircling arm and struggling to be
calm. When she spoke again her voice was low and
quiet.

"You are the only woman friend I ever had, Mrs.
Barton, and your friendship has been one of the sweetest
things in my life. I have sometimes thought I ought to
tell you my story — but it is hard to go back into the past
and I have put it ofi"."

"Put it off again,'* said Mrs. Barton, repressing a
natural curiosity, '^whatever it may have been I know it
is to your honor and can love you without caring for the
past."

*'Will you always believe that?" asked Mrs. Alford
eagerly. *'If someone you had faith in were to tell you
evil of me could you still trust? Oh! I fear not! You
have known me so short a time; you have known him
80 long."

Mrs. Barton looked at the dim outlines of the face
turned up to her in the star light in vague surprise.
Mrs. Alford did not give her time to frame a question.
"Do not ask me about myself tonight. I have some
way been unnerved and have not strength to talk. You
have spoken of a foolish woman's moods — you can ex-
cuse mine perhaps. I have been so happy with you! I
shall thank you all my life."

"Don't speak as though those happy days were over,
they have but just begun. We have been planning some
charming excursions tonight. Get a good rest and be
ready for them. DonH get up to breakfast unless you
feel quite like it. And now goodnight." Mrs. Barton leaned
forward and kissed her companion on the brow, then left
her to the rest she recommended. Later as she sat alone
with her husband, she said suddenly with the common
irrelevancy of conjugal tete a tetes. "You were right
John, she is a will o' the wisp woman and very unsatis-
factory indeed." But she declined all explanation of
her conclusion.

It is often said that our life is what we make it; and
true as this is there are lives which are utterly frustrated

by the mistakes or misfortunes of others. Strong in
purpose, ardent in hope, they are born to an heritage of
disappointment. Such a life had been Mrs. Alford*s, and
though she was conscious that a hasty and sensitive dis-
position had been the ally of all the evil which had come
to her from without, she had grow to feel that it were
vain to strive to escape her predestined lot. It was char-
acteristic of this belief that tonight she had no thought
of trying to escape the ordeal before her. She faced it
in dumb apathetic dispair. All the little threads of
happiness she had been clinging to of late, she let go
without a struggle. Her work, her friendship, her peace>
these were the things she moaned for as she paced her
little room. She had brooded over her old wrongs until
their edge was dulled, but her little present was her only
treasure. "What have I done to be so tortured,'' she
cried between her shut teeth. "I had learned to ask so
little of life and he must take that from me too. Oh! I
have been wicked to dream of peace and joy and God is
punishing me with this!" Poor weak cry of a hurt soul!
How little can we realize the tenderness of Him who
"pitieth like a father."

Mrs. Alford opened her door and the wind swept in
with a gust. A black cat which had been sleeping upon
the threshhold started up afrighted, glared at her a
moment with Topaz eyes, then bounded away in the
darkness. The stars shone down in stilly brightness.
The lights in both cottages were extinguished, proclaim-
ing the rest of their occupants asleep. Mrs. Alford faced
the wind eagerly and made her way to the cliffs. The
water boiled in fury at her feet, the spray sweeping her

face; the white caps gleamed far away in the gloaming
with a light seemingly their own. Some low clouds were
driven in torn fragments across the sky. The sycamores
moaned and rustled as they swayed their giant arms.
Unrest everywhere! The very stars seemed wind swept.
The rush and tumult of nature seemed someway to calm
the struggle within Mrs. Alford's heart. A revelation of
the vast impersonality of the universe dawned upon her,
causing the little "I" within her to shrink to unimpor-
tance. A thousand years ago these cliffs had answered
back in echoes the roaring of this selfsame ocean. For
untold ages those calm stars had mirrored themselves
fitfully in its heaving billows; countless springs had
clothed the hills with verdure and given birth to a broidery
of wild flowers. Death had followed life and in the dy-
ing given life again in a long succession, just as shadow
is the child of light, Ever changing, yet unchanged
nature has stood, while all the generations of men have
come and gone enduring their allotment of sorrow;
glorying in their little mead of joy — then passing on,
leaving scarcely a land mark behind. What is any one
souPs pain to the great measure of suffering which shall
be meted out while Time is! A drop to the ocean, a grain
of sand to the earth, a single meteor to the firmament.
As this woman whose slight form the wind was swaying
as she stood on the cliff, raised her thoughts from the
gloom of the present she saw a vision of the illimitable
future stretching away to met the great forever and the
burdens of the moment seemed to shrink and fall away.
* 'Nothing can matter much that endures so short a
time/' she thought in a sort of exaltation. "Ten, twenty

years from now what trace will be left of this moment?
To stand atill and let the etorm sweep by is the lesson of
the cliffs." Calmly she turned back to meet this future
which was coming swiftly toward her; she felt that
nothing had power to hurt her now.

How realistic is sunshine! Who has not felt strong
of purpose and resolve under the stars and awakened a
very coward in the morning! Who has not accepted a
fate at night which they shrank from in the light! Who
has not dreamed of bliss and waked to woe! Happy
indeed the man who can say "Not I."

When Mrs.Alford awakened the next day and saw the
first rays of the summer morning coming in at her window
ehe sprang up with a new and sudden resolve. The stage
passed on the county road near by at six injtne morning.
She would g(* home, home to Therese in the little gray
cottage. She did not stop to picture Mrs. Barton's pain
and surprise. A feverish desire to be gone possessed
her as she hastily dressed and leaving a note for her
hostess, stepped out into the sunlight of the glowing day.
**She will be angry at my rudeness, but she will forgive
me sometime,'* thought the fugitive as she turned to look
back. The cottages sat silent with only a trace of life
curling upward from the kitchen fire which Ock was
kindling. The ocean shimmered away toward the rosy
sky forgetful of last night's tumults. The birds were
trilling gaily among the sycamores; the dew clung
gleaming to the sun dried grasses. The pleasant days
of her summering were over.

Therese was in the garden weeding the vegetables
as Mrs. Alford drove up to the gate. She came forward

anxiously to meet her, but beyond the usual greeting
neither of them spoke until they were in the house.

"II est arrive," said her mistress briefly, sinking
wearily into a chair. The French woman threw herself
upon her knees before her, put her arms about her and
cried out in very bitterness "Mon enfant 1 mon enfant I'*
(To be continued)

8tra99bourg

llTRASSBOURG CATHEDRAL bears the renown Cathedral
of being one of the finest specimens of Gothic
architecture in the world. From the triple por-
tal of the west front to the summit of the graceful spire,
the eye is carried, enraptured with the sense of perfect
harmony which invests the building as with a sacred
atmosphere. It embodies the inspiration of the great
architect, Erwin von Steinbach, carried to its completion
by faithful souls, in the first place by his son and daugh-
ter, and in after centuries by artists who followed the
plans of Erwin with religious care.

For this beautiful cathedral was the work of cen-
turies. Far back in the fifth century Clovis founded a
christian church in Strassbourg which was further en-
larged and decorated by the Carlovingian Kings. This
church, however was destroyed by fire.

In 1015 Bishop Werner began a completely new
work when he laid the foundation of the present cathed-
ral. He was of the noble house of Hapsburg, but the
names of his contemporaries whose skill embodied his
ideas are unknown. The erection of the cathedral was
continued through the 11th, 12th and 13th centuries,
and in the year 1277 Erwin von Steinbach took up the
great work. The ornate west front, so rich in sculpture,
statues and has reliefs, and this slender spire, may be
considered as the monument of the great man, who was
laid to rest in the shadow of the choir of the cathedral
five centuries ago.

A winding stairway in the tower leads to the plat-
form at the foot of the spire. The exertion of climbing
the 360 steps is amply repaid by the near view thus

gained of the workmanship of the spire. This master-
piece of skill, built with hewn stones, is cut with such
nicety as to convey the impression that it is encased in a
rich, open screen which at a distance looks like delicate
filigree, or even lace work. This spire overtops the pyra-
mid of Cheops at Cairo by 25 feet, and has the fame of
being the highest of cathedral spires. It is 466 feet
above the level of the floor of the nave and combines
the most elegant symmetry of parts with the most perfect
solidity.

The platform is used as a watch tower, and a little
house has been built for two watchmen, whose present
duty is to watch for the first sign of fire in the city and
to give notice thereof through a huge speaking trumpet.
What a quiet, restful home it must be, 216 feet above the
pavement, out of all the turmoil of the city below. The
men have made a little garden bed and gorgeous nastur-
tierms glow against the pink of the sandstone and twine
about the open work with luxuriance. The platform is a
favorite resort for the citizens of the present day as it has
been with those of the past, for the dead level of the city,
built as it is over a swamp, gives no other opportunity
for an extensive view. On a clear day the Vosjes moun-
tains and the Black Forest rise upon the horizon, besides
which is the interesting view of the city below, of
the fortifications, the quaint old houses and streets, (such
as were spared from the cannon of 1870) and modern
rows of houses which replaced the hundreds destroyed by
the German army.

Just above the clinging vines on the parapet, the
watchman pointed out the names of celebrated men who

have visited this platform in past centuries. Amongst
others are those of Goethe, Laveter and Voltaire, and it
is on record that Goethe chose the spot for a luncheon
party.

This beautiful cathedral has indeed had its **bap-
tism of fire." It has been struck by lightning fifty
times, has endured a heavy shock of earthquake, and
was only spared during the French Revolution because
the red republican cap was hung on a pinnacle. During the
bombardment of 1870 it suffered heavily. The cross at
the top was carried away by a shell; all the great win-
dows with the exception of two were shattered. The
organ was seriously injured, and some of the carvings
on the exterior of the building were broken. Yet it
seems a marvel that the cathedral escaped irreparable
damage, for it is estimated that it was struck by shells
and other projectiles nearly 1000 times.

The interior of the cathedral is very impressive. The
nave is of magnificent proportions, 260 feet in length, 140
feet in width and 100 feet in height. The roof appears to
rest on seven great arches with graceful clusters of pil-
lars. The rose window, glowing with rich hues of crim-
son and purple above the west portal, is forty-eight feet
in diameter, and the stone work is of most elaborate
delicate tracery.

In the south transept stands that great object of in-
terest to visitors, the astronomical clock of Strassbourg.

Ada M. Trotter

Legend

0 HEARD it at eve when the rose leaves fell, again
in the night when all the world outside lay whit-
I ening in the moonlight, and within the moon laid

a silver path across the floor; and yet again at the dawn
as the last star went out and the first light set the world
to music. For I came into the world on the seventh
day of the short month at the hour when one day die?,
and the other is born, that I might stand on the thresh-
hold to look either out or in and know.

Listen I There was a time when on this fair earth
there roamed only wild things that rooted in the ground
and saw in the tall, lush grass naught but something to
eat, and in the happy streams naught but somethihg to
drink. At this the great Master God, Brahm, was grieved.
Should heaven never hear sweeter sound than grunts
and growls of things that crept and crawled 1 Much the
gods communed amongst themselves how this might be
averted. One said: "Send the mighty Thunderbolt that
shall destroy at once this inglorious creation;" another
"Loose the bands of the River that it may sweep it away
in its flood. Then let a new order of creatures begin;"
and another '*Shall we not ourselves descend to earth
and teach them?" But, Great Brahm, unsatisfied and
angered, broke up the assembly threatening eternal
silence should no one find a way to mend the evil.
"Never again shall there be light or sound in heaven till
these my earth-creatures, dear to me after the gods, have
learned their god-like origin and like gods acknowledge
my power."

Three long days earth and heaven were darkened.
The silence was broken only by the howls and cries of

the frightened earth-creatures. Then once more the gods
assembled. Gloom sat upon every brow till there up-
rose one Fancy, a goddess, who dwelt alone with her
maidens on the farthermost peaks of the Over-world.
There the mists and clouds clung longest; there the sun
touched first at morn and lingered latest at eve; there
moon and stars first peeped into the night; there the
rainbows end rested. Standing alone among the most
august she said: "Great Brahml Great Master-spirit! I,
even I, have found a way. If I fail cast me down to be
one of them." ''Let it be so," the god replied.

With winged feet she sought her abode. Calling
about her her maids she bade them gather the threads
of the rainbow, the fringes of the cloud curtains, bits of
night and morning mist, beams of sun and moon and
star. These they wove into a web so delicate none but
the gods might see, so strong none but the gods might
break. Bearing in her hands the work of her loom she
returned to the assembled dieties. Brahm beheld her
with a frown which spread to all the gods. Should this
thing she had wrought work charms subtle enough to
draw earth to heaven! But the test! Standing on the
edge of heaven, slowly, slowly, she let down the net and
waited. It touched the ground and over-spread the plain.
The earth-creatures maddened by the prolonged dark-
ness and accompanying silence rushed madly about.
Some, more furious than others, rushed out of the wood,
their favorite haunt,and were caught in the meshes of the
net. Then ensued such a battling for freedom and such
tumult as had never been seen or heard by god or mor-
tal. Finding themselves entangled in something that

would not let go they but strove the more to be released.
The strife might have continued until this hour had not
one, in his effort to free himself, thrownlhis head back so
far that he saw the shining form of their captor. Won-
der seized him. He had never known there was a world
above him, and what could that bright thing be up there
80 far away? He needs must ask his companions if they
too had seen. They look, and the wonder grows. They
feel a strange stirring within them. What is it ? Then
an impulse seizes them. They will go to the shining
thing up there. Of all the trial and failure brought
about by this desire I cannot tell. But I know that after
many days of looking up they grew to be erect beings
walking on two feet, whereas before they had gone about
on all fours. They lost their claws and their two fore-
feet became strong and beautiful from the struggle with
the net. Their eyes began to have the shine of the
height and the radiant color of the web. Their ferocity
became sadness, and the sadness song. They never got
out of the web for all their struggle,as they could neither
see it nor break it. In time they grew to love their bon-
dage. For through it they saw the beautiful river
the green earth and the springing flowers; sky, cloud
and mountain top; bird, bush and tree. And how full of
sweet sounds was all the world I Some there were, strong
ones, who used their bonds to climb to the rands that
held them, and even saw beyond. They became the
great ones of earth who ever since have been trying to
tell what they saw. The others, lees strong still keep the
glory in their hearts and eyes and listen and understand
in part, at least, what the others would declare.

Be not deceived, however, into believing that all
who walk erect and speak and sing have been caught in
the web that Fancy wove. They are but counterfeits,
mimicries. They have never gotten beyond the edge of
the wood.

But Heaven was satisfied. Great Brahm in his
pleasure made sweet Fancy mistress of the world that
never again might it be wholly darkened.

Mary Keyes.

PAST SORROW

0 heart that beat so heavily,
Counting the weary hours,
Though keen thy woe, 'twas long ago.
Rest has come.

0 eyes that^wept despairingly.
Where fell thy tears, the flowers
Spring from the turf, of all thy grief,
Remaineth none. R. W.

Vl^

AR up in the heart of the foothills where they California
make a last broad sweep toward the mountains I^atldtTiark

there nestles one of California's most interesting

surprises — a deserted castle. Its granite front with Nor-
man tower and graceful battlements stands solidly among
the bare hills, commanding a wide expanse of sloping
country and the distant Pacific. No ancient German
pile, fabled in story, ever had more imposing site or con-
cealed greater possibilities of romance. A vague sense
of mystery seems to hover about it and to fill the careless
sight-seer, standing before it on some golden spring after-
noon, with a delightful sense of expectancy. The very
architecture of the graceful pile conveys a haunting sug-
gestion of poetry. Two massive sections of solid
masonry, the one fronted by the Norman tower, the
other with a deep, pillared porch, enclose a fairy court,
gleaming with white pavements and marble fountain.
The centre of this court is a mass of tropical foliage.
In the corner hides a marble bench where Juliet might
just now have been sitting with book or lute or Viola
have gazed longingly o'er the neighboring hills and
thought of distant lUyria. Overhead bends the warm
intense blue of the afternoon sky and all the winds of
heaven blow through the arches that enclose it.

Grated doors lead from the court into either part of
the castle, and entering by any of them one finds long
suites of rooms, some partitioned off by graceful marble
pillars, others by grotesquely carved oak. The light
falls richly through stained glass or bow- windows upon
polished floors and tiled hearths. But the tiles are brok-

CAfJfOn^^,

en, the floors given away, long cobwebs festoon the cor-
ners and the grated doors are falling from their hinges.
A mysterious desolation holds the place in thrall and
the slumbrous air seems heavy with whispering voices
and gliding, ghostly feet.

There is no second story to the castle, but on either
side of the exterior a little winding stairway hewn from
the solid rock, leads up to a roof garden above. As one
pushes aside the heavy tangle of rose vines and honey-
suckle that has overgrown the stairway and gropes one's
way about beneath its green canopy, the lines of Tenny-
son's Day Dream come forcibly to mind:

*'He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks,

He breaks the hedge, he enters there,

The color flies into his cheeks.

He trusts to light on something fair.*'

We too, trust to light on something fair, perhaps to
find that quiet chamber far apart where the princess lies
sleeping. But there is no chamber, no sleeping princess,
only a low, wide roof bordered with trailing vines and
plants, commanding a magnificent sweep of earth and
sky. A breezy loneliness enwraps the tower, the world
lies beneath, it is an ideal spot to dream or live a
romance.

However, the history of this deserted Norman ruin,
so unusual a discovery in this land of adobes and red-
wood, is less romantic than one might expect. No dark
tragedy or grim, family skeleton drove its lord in haste
ahd terror from its doors to leave the owl and bat its
only tenants. The loss of family fortune alone caused
its abandonment. So magnificent a home on an estate

composed of rocky and unfruitful hills could prove only
a costly luxury, a plaything for a millionaire. And
when the millions failed, the result was inevitable —
desertion.

So there it stands, crowning the bare hills, a strong
fortress against an invading army, a most picturesque
setting for a poetic idyll, falling day by day into more
complete ruin, awaiting the pen that shall sieze its ro-
mantic possibilities and make it live forever in some
great poem or tragedy to thrill and delight the world.

Alice T. Martin.

It»9

HERE are certain nice questions concerning *^tKC C'DIS
table etiquette which are constantly being raised ^^
and debated but which are never settled, and ap- etioctt

pear to be incapable of settlement because people who
look into such things, Hamerton and Robert Louis
Stevenson, for example, have, between them, revealed a
great hiatus in our social system which virtually admits
of a double standard of action. Hamerton, in his
studies of society, imagined that there was one code
only — at the top; that it was not quite possible to be
polite without plenty of room and servants. Robert
Louis discovered that there is another, equally exact, at
what we call the bottom, among the artizansj and we all
know that there is a great middle distance between, be-
longing to neither one nor the other extreme. It is in
this great debatable ground that all the questions
arise.

In the grade of artizans the laws of the table are
well defined and strictly adhered to. "It is elegant to
take bread wiih a fork; one must always wear a coat at
dinner; one must wash the head and use the comb before
each meal," with many more rules equally rigid. Mr.
Stevenson once took a trip across the Atlantic in the
steerage. He imagined that his disguise was perfect, but
a friendly carpenter found him oat on account of his
lack of knowledge of the "little touches" required in that
social grade. At the other end is found the kingdom of
the butler, and what is done under his reign, is it
not all written down in the books of etiquette?

But suppose that one ought to have a butler and has

not, what then? What is the social code for such? Can
it be that there is none? If that is the case, in the mid-
dle ground there must be chaos. Those that know a
butler when they see him, the aspiring ones, try to con-
form to his rule and act as though he were **in the pan-
try," and those arisen out of the ranks of artizans,
through habit, conform somewhat to the code they have
left behind. And between these two systems there really
seems to be nothing laid down and definite for the maid-
of-all-work regime, except that she must not be called
**the girl," and here the first ray of light begins to shine.
When one attains to the dignity of cook and housemaid,
then the step to the glory ©f the butler is only one, and
the agony of suspense is over; until then one will be
harassed by burning questions.

Now frankly, if the vast majority of the nation
would unite on, say the maid-of-all-work as a
unit how easy it would be to call a convention and
agree on something definite upon which to formulate a
prandial code.

But alasl the first woman that takes the one servant
standard admits herself debarred from ten. No, each
one wishes to live in hopes. Social England is governed
in its customs by ''the carriage round the corner." Social
America will have to go on in an etiquetteless struggle
for the sake of the "butler in the pantry," until either
one code or the other is frankly admitted; until all
climb into the serene heights of *'his Majesty's courts,"
where the question of changing plates and second help-
ings is never raised, or until all heed and follow the un-
varying rule that everything from soup to pie must be

eerved on the same plate, which is the etiquette of the
artizan. ^'Under which flag" will the phalanxes of the
middle distance advance? F.

She smiled, 'twas all, and yet the winsome face
Made hope and sunshine in a wintry place.

Only a few years ago when visiting friends in Wash-
ington, D. C, I came across a most delicious piece of
philosophy, which perhaps voices the southerner's ideas
in regard to educating the negroes.

The remark was made by an old family servant who
had gone home to nurse a sickmother,but whose jealousy
was aroused by the fact that her successor had had a
few days schooling.

The evening of Lavinia's return while brushing her
mistress' hair she was grumbling to herself in the
manner of favored servants who are all but members of
the family. My friend asked in a conciliatory voice:

"What's the matter Lavinia, didn't Melissa put
things in order before leaving?"
I Her reply was wisdom from the lips of babes — as it

were:

"Law sakes, Honey, aint yoe found yet dat yoe can't
I git clean corners and grammar out de same nigger?"

^ E. M. J.

6ditorial Department

no A student of human nature there is one fact
that creates a deep and lasting impression — the
I tremendous power of the final judgment of **the

people." Before the great tribunal of popular opinion
all vexed questions, whether of law, politics, religion,
literature or art, are brought for their final solution, and
clear and unerring is the decision they receive. Give
the people time to think the question out in all its bear-
ings, to grasp it in all its phases and in the last analysis
the truth inevitably results.

Witness the accuracy with which the problems of
our recent war were handled by the people, what true
values of men and policies were ferreted out, what false
estimates disclosed and rectified. Whatever the private
tendencies and laxities of individual men, the people as
a whole demand justice and truth and an unbiased scale
of values. From the time that the first over-lord
claimed his supremacy this has been true in politics;
from the time the first rude idol was erected under the
forest shade it has been true in religion. A mighty^
moving (principle is here^Jinvolved. He who would know
which way justice and truth are hidden in any great
cause may safely follow the lead of the people.

The triumph of the Greek democracy, the Roman
plebes, the French peasantry, the modern republic and,
greatest of all, the supremacy of the Christian religion,
all bear witness that popular opinion is a mighty moral
force.

But it is in the realm of literature more especially that
42

I have been interested to note its course of late. Apply-
ing the general principle that the people will find and
publish the truth, may one not discover the truest princi-
ples of art by noting what it is in literature that popular
opinion declares good after a thorough acquaintance?

First of all, the people demand simplicity. The
homely scenes of everyday life, the fineness of character
or the pathos of a simple story, simply told, hold the
popular mind and imagination with greatest power. If
the public declares F. Hopkinson Smith and James Lane
Allen our representative American writers, it is for that
very quality, a simple, rugged strength of story and
character drawing in Tom Grogan and Caleb West, a
simple sweetness and freshness in the love story of Geor-
giana and Adam Moss that gives its charm to the Ken-
tucky Cardinal.

If Shore Acres, The County Fair, The Old Home-
stead and Rip Van Winkle are the most strictly popular
of the plays that hold our stage, the same element is
found in each — simple pathos and human interest.

In the second place the public demands virtue and
morality. Right must triumph, evil be defeated. The
delineation of doubtful passions and dark problems is
never long tolerated unless thereby some great lesson is
best taught, some great principle worked out to its end.
Purity of thought and language is a fixed requisite of a
novel, or a poem or a play that shall live and no subtile
casuitry or veiled moral deformity ever escapes the keen
penetration of the popular mind.

Critics may praise or blame, may laud the clever-
ness and grand purposes of some book they call great

and sneer at the childish platitudes of some other which
they please to condemn, but the public cares not for the
critics. They like or dislike according to their own in-
stincts for the truly fine and no book or play was ever
forcibly boomed into more than a fleeting popularity.

The people also like good, wholesome fun. They
thoroughly enjoy laughing. Witness the popularity of
the vaudeville and farce, the hearty appreciation of the
clever situations and inimitable characters of Mark
Twain or the quaint humor of Samanthy Allen. The
people as a whole are in love with life and fully awake
to its many comic phases, but it is wit they want, not
coarse humor nor vulgarity. Bright, sparkling, sting-
ing wit that searches out the weak places in human
nature and relieves the strain of everyday life, this is
what the people crave and they create for themselves that
which satisfies the craving.

Simplicity and the love of nature, purity and justice
and wholesome fun, such are the elements of lasting
popularity for any work of literature and in the dis-
covery and appreciation of these elements in writers,
new or old, be very certain that the public will not long
be deceived.

Let the critics rail or praise, lee the publishers ad-
vertise and hawk their wares, it is the people that decide
the question. The people love Kipling, they have shown
it during his illness, the people love Dooley who chatted
and laughed with them in a time of great stress and
showed them the "under side of things" with the unerring
judgment of a true son of the republic.

Happy the writer whose work is early brought before
44

that great, majestic tribunal for a final decision.

The verdict may be unflattering, it may hurt his
self love and upset his theories, but it carries with it the
rare^ pure convincing quality of truth.

0LL who remember with pleasure those two find
books, Peter Stirling and The Story of an Untold
Love, will be glad to discover a new story by

Paul Leicester Ford, now appearing in serial form in
The Bookman. The story is entitled Janice Meredith,
and the action is placed in the old colonial days which
seem to offer so rich a field to the American writer. The
story opens with somewhat of the strength and freshness
that characterizes Peter Stirling. We shall watch its
development with much interest for in the thrilling in-
cidents and dramatic situations hidden away in the life
of the colonies, Mr. Ford has opportunities worthy his
pen.

A Trooper Galahad is the latest long story from the
pen of Captain Charles King. Captain King has been
proving in the campaign of the last fe w months that his
arm is still strong and bold to wield the sword and that
he cannot only write great battle scenes but live them.
This lends an added interest to his new literary work.
The story was issued in a recent number of Lippincott's
Magazine whose publishers now offer it in book form.

The Daughters of Babylon, by Wilson Barrett and
Robert Hichens, is a tale of the Jewish captivity. Mr.
Barrett^s stage experience furnishes great dramatic in-
tensity to a strong plot. The book is ranked by critics

Hmong

the

Boohs

even higher than The Sign of the Cross and a double in-
terest is aroused in it from the fact that Mr. Barrett is
making a tour with the dramatization of the story and
is expected shortly to appear in the United States.

Two other books of value to the reading world are
the Letters of Walter Savage Landor, edited by Stephen
Wheeler, and Elizabeth, Empress of Austria, by A. de
Burgh.

Ian Maclaren begins in an early issue of the Ladies'
Home Journal a series of popular articles on the relation
between pastor and congregation and phases helpful to
each. In the same journal Viola Allen, now personat-
ing Glory in Hall Caine's Christian, makes her literary
debut with an article entitled "What the Life of an
Actress Means."

JMusic

JNotCS With the recent engagement of Melba and the Ellis

Opera Company, the Pacific coast had its first taste of
Grand Opera for the season of '98-99. That we appre-
ciated our opportunity and made the most of it is wit-
nessed by the houses which greeted each performance.
Would that such opportunities were given us oftener and
in prices better apportioned to cities of moderate size.
Californians are essentially a music loving people, re-
sponding more quickly to what is good in music than
in any other line of art. Managers might note this to
their advantage and ours.

The cordial appreciation given to the Symphony
concerts and the universal desire expressed to have them

a permanent feature of the Los Angeles winter season,
testifies to this.

Not only do Californians love music, but they write
it and sing it. Some of the best of our modern com-
posers and singers have come from this south-land. It
was a fact worth noting that during Sousa's recent en-
gagement, his soloist. Miss Daviea, was a California sing-
er of renown and the very sweetest of all her songs was
Camulos, a California serenade, whose composer, Miss
Strong, has a home near this city and whose words were
taken from a poem by Charles F* Lummis.

Program for the month of April.

Thursday, April 13th, Social Thursday. An After-
noon on Art. Mrs. W. S. Bartlett.

Thursday, April 27th, the report of the music sec-
tion which was postponed from the February meeting.

Literary Section — Each Monday, 2:30 p.m.

Story Tellers' Section — Second Tuesday, 2:30 p.m.

Economics — Fourth Tuesday, 2 p.m.

Conversation Section — Second Saturday, 10:30 a.m^

Music Section— First and third Mondays, 3:30 p.m.

Current Events Section— First and third Tuesdays,
10:30 a.m.

Tourist Section — First and third Saturdays, 2 p.m.

ebcu

]N[ote9

SAUER

When Sauer, the great pianist, was asked by a Lon-
don critic how he gained the power to move his audiences
to tears with the brilliant coloring of his playing,, he told
of the first time he ever tried to play. He was at a
studio where they were teaching him to paint. He was
four years old. When he was tired of the brushes he
found an old piano and struck a few keys. The sound
was to him like a color. He liked the bhading of the
different keys and went on making more tones. The
master said: "Where did your learn that melody?"

"It is just a picture. It is easier than with brushes,"
he said. "And so it has been ever since," he says, "the
keys of the piano are my colors. I forget the sound — I
only seem to see pictures." It is gratifying to note that
the subscription books at Fitzgerald's promise to be suf-
ficiently filled to warrant the calling of the great artist
to Los Angeles.

"Cherubic Songs,

By night from neighboring hills,
Aeriel music send,"
but their echoes are no sweeter or purer than the tones

of the KNABE or FIS-

CHER PIANOS kept at
FITZGERALD'S fine
warerooms. These pianos
are endorsed by the lead-
ing musicians and sing-
ers of the day, and have
been selected as strong
attractions for the music
loving public of South-
ern California. Low
prices, very easy terms.

^tinnt,H-l>ij„t^

ITZGERALD MUSIC AND PIANO CO., 113 South

)i.'l

/ r

/.,i

l\/''\/i

\ \/ . I

i /

/'^

' 1 ," '.

f ' J

[

/ '

i/"

1 \ . \

I ,

'U\:\

i- V' :

)

1 Vl) ■

1 1 \

1 1

1 • .

' ]

' 1

/.:

) p

V ' r

! /■■)

hi!

Internet Archive Audio

Featured

Top

Images

Featured

Top

Software

Featured

Top

Books

Featured

Top

Video

Featured

Top

Mobile Apps

Browser Extensions

Archive-It Subscription

Save Page Now

Full text of "The Ebell; a journal of literature and current events"

See other formats