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From  the  collection  of  the 


n 


o  PreTinger 
v    JUibrary 
t 


San  Francisco,  California 
2007 


THE 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 


AN 


fllluBtratet)    Hmerican 


March,  1905 


BOSTON,   MASSACHUSETTS 
Copyright    1905    by    the    Chappie    Publishing    Co.,    Ltd. 


ALL     RIGHTS     RESERVED 


•THE     NATIONAL"     PRESS,    044     DORCHESTER    AVENUE 


INDEX     TO     VOLUME     XXI,    RATIONAL     MAGAZINE 

FICTION 


The  Sway  of  the  Goldenrod 
Loyalty  in  Love  and  in  War 

His  Heartache 

The  Judge's  Son 

Her  Sacred  Hour          .... 

Four  O'Clocks 

Two  Kisses 

Teddy's  Romance         .... 
The  Tale  of  a  Stage- Struck  Girl  . 
How  Reuben  Spent  Thanksgiving  Night 
The   Evolution  of  Richard  Rush,  At- 
tornev     .  ... 

The  Woman's  Number          .         . 
Christmas  at  Crazy  Castle     . 

Deep  Mining 

John  Moseley's  Victory         . 

"Hiccups" 

The  Tarburner 

The  Witch-Crow  and  Barney  Bylow     . 

Christmas  in  Lucas  County  . 

The  Quitting  Place       .... 

Cannie  Jeanie  Deans     .... 

Apperson's  Coon  Hunt 

The  Comedy  of  Masks 

As  the  Human  Cat  Told  It  . 

At  the  End  of  the  March 

Compensation        ..... 

The  Enlightenment  of  Silas  Barker 

The  Sale  of  the  Safety-Valve 

The  Honor  of  Authorship     . 

Eliza's  Gold  Mine         .... 

On  the  Altar  of  Moloch 


Christobelle  van  Asmus  Bunting  40 

L.  B.  Cholmondeley    ...  54 

Anna  McClure  Sholl  ...  68 

Richard  S.  Graves       ...  77 

Jack  B.  Norman  ....  82 

Columbine           ....  86 

Margaret  Van  Metre    .         .         .  104 

Christobelle  van  Asmus  Bunting  158 

John  Austin  Schetty    .         .         .  168 

Lilian  O'Connell         .        .         .  183 


Edward  M.  Woolley    . 
M.  MacLean  Helliwell 
Charles  Warren  Stoddard    . 
Christobelle  van  Asmus  Bunting 
Elliott  Flower 
Holman  F.  Day  . 
Harold  Child       . 
James  Ball  Naylor 
J.  F.  Conrad 


104 
250 
261 
283 
293 
299 
318 
267,  489,  634 

397 


Christobelle  van  Asmus  Bunting 
Charles  H.  Barrell       . 
Harold  Child       .... 
Anna  McClure  Sholl   .          427,  539, 
Holman  F.  Day  .... 
E.  Crayton  McCants    . 
Christobelle  van  Asmus  Bunting 
Ida  Alexander     .... 
Charles  W.  Mears 
Mary  Morrison    .... 
Helen  Corinne  Gillenwater 
Christobelle  van  Asmus  Bunting 


VERSES 


Don  Juan  on  the  Pike   . 

Indian  Summer  Days     . 

Summer  and  Winter 

Thaddy's  Song 

Poor  King  of  Siam 

The  Garden  . 

Attainment    . 

Gift  and  Giver 

The  Elephant  and  the  Tiger 

Who  Dwells  With  Nature  .  . 

Partridges  in  November 


William  F.  Kirk 
Jessie  M.  Cook    . 
Lucia  B.  Cook     . 
Frank  Putnam     . 
J.  A.  Edgerton    . 
Theodora  W.  Youmans 
Edward  S.  Peterson     . 
James  L.  Elderice 
James  Ball  Naylor 
Hilton  R.  Greer  . 
Miriam  Sheffey    . 


33 

5' 

51 
S? 
60 

64 

64 

92 

1 06 

163 

171 


INDEX     TO     VOLUME     XXI,     NATIONAL     MAGAZINE 


In  a  Grave- Yard    . 

Unity 

Setting  the  Heathen  Free 

Peterkin         .... 

Frank  B.  Sanborn 

A  Stormy  Day  in  Winter-Time 

A  Wordless  Prayer 

Favorite  Books 

Deserted        .... 

Experience    .... 

A  Solar-Lunar  Comedy 

Our  Heart's  Desire 

Christmas      .... 

Betrothed      .... 

Artists   ..... 

Unconscious  Good 

Troop  Horses 

Song  for  the  Savage  Peoples 

The  Shattered  Cup 

My  Own  Story 

His  Mother  .         . 

Fame 

Priest  and  Poet 
In  Love  With  Life 
The  Snowflake's  Message 
A  Western  Wife    . 
The  Urge  of  the  Race  . 
Poet-Lore      .... 
Hauta    ..... 
The  Crow      .... 
Sweet  Charity 


William  Stanley  Braithwaite 

Anna  H.  Frost    . 

Frank  Putnam 

Katherine  Lee  Bates   . 

Edwin  Webster  Sanborn 

Cora  A.  Matson-Dolson 

Mabel  Cornelia  Matson 

Frank  Putnam     . 

Edwinu  Stanton  Babcock     . 

Margaret  Ashmun 

Jane  Ellis  Joy 

Amelia  M.  Chapman  . 

Frank  W.  Gunsaulus 

Margaret  Ashmun 

J.  A.  Edgerton     .         .         . 

Eugene  C.  Dolson 

Joseph  Mills  Hanson  . 

Frank  Putnam      .         .         . 

Jessie  M.  Whittaker    . 

Ben  Franklin  Bonnell 

Margaret  Ashmun 

A.  E.  Updegraff  . 

Ben  Franklin  Bonnell 

J.  A.  Edgerton    . 

Mrs.  Leigh  Gross  Day 

Will  Chamberlain 

J.  A.  Edgerton    . 

Edwin  Markham 

Zona  Gale  and  Yone  Noguchi 

Alice  F.  Tilden   . 

Louisville  Courier-Journal  . 


189 
205 

221 
248 
249 
277 
282 
292 
298 
3°3 
32S 

333 
373 
374 
384 
421 

453 
488 
510 
5'5 
517 
523 
546 

556 
562 
617 
630 
652 
660 
670 


ESSAYS  AND   ILLUSTRATED  ARTICLES 


Senator  Hoar  at  Home 

New  Dawns  of  Knowledge 

VI. -The  Bible      .... 

Departing  Guests  .... 

Behind  the  Veil  in  Russia     . 

Berlin's  Unique  Printing  Telegraph     . 

A  Halt  on  the  Road  to  Success     .     .    . 

John  Hay  Speaks  for  the  Nation: 

Addresses  welcoming  the  Interna- 
tional Editorial  congress  at  St. 
Louis,  and  the  International  Peace 
congress  at  Boston 

Empire- Building  in  Northwest  Canada 

A  Master  of  Dissection 


Mary  Caroline  Crawford 

Michael  A.  Lane 
Milla  Landon 
John  Callan  O'Laughlin 
Alfred  Graden \\itz 
Katherine  Glover 


John  Hay    . 

D.  VV.  and  A.  S.  Iddings 

Michael  A.  Lane 


24 

34 
52 
61 

74 
79 


137 
147 
164 


INDEX  TO  VOLUME  XXI,  NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 


Along  the  Color  Line    .... 

The  Minute-Man 

1341  Years  Old  When  It  Di«d,  (the 
story  of  Mark  Twain,  a  California 
"Big  Tree") 

When  the  Hens  of  Germany  Went  on 
Strike 

Edwin  Markham,  an  appreciation 

The  Man  Who  Would  Be  a  Soldier     . 

Phoebe,  a  nature  stud}7 

In  the  Bungalow  With  Charles  Warren 
Stoddard 

Aloha,  Wela,  Wela!        .... 

In  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  the  Sky- 
scrapers ..... 

The  Buzzard  of  the  Bear  Swamp  . 

Our  Cable  Station  in  Mid-Pacific 

Inklings          ...... 

A  Twenty-Minute  Study  of  Gertrude 
Atherton  ..... 

With  the  Poet  of  Light  and  Joy 
(Joaquin  Miller)  .... 

Political  Evolution  of  Porto  Rico 

La  Belle  Menken  .... 

The  Course  in  Crime  at  a  Country 
College  ...... 

A  New  Version  of  Brer  Rabbit  and 
the  Tar  Baby  .... 

"Social  Equality"          .... 

The  Missing  Tooth,  a  nature  study 

The  Conquest  of  the  Plains  . 

A  New  Class  in  the  South     . 

Ouida  in  Her  Winter  City    . 

Japanese  Artists  Ignore  the  War  . 


Lucy  Semmes  Orrick 
Edward  A.  Abbott 


Harry  Milton  Riseley 

Ethel  Armes 
Yone  Noguchi 
James  Ravenscroft 
Dallas  Lore  Sharp 

Yone  Noguchi 
Ethel  Armes 

Charles  Warren  Stoddard 
Dallas  Lore  Sharp 
Martin  Crook 
William  M.  Blatt 

Ethel  Armes 

Yone  Noguchi 

H.  H.  Allen 

Charles  Warren  Stoddard 

J.  F.  Conrad 

Ethel  Armes 
Kelley  Miller      . 
Dallas  Lore  Sharp 
George  C.  Pardee 
Lucy  Semmes  Orrick  . 
Charles  Warren  Stoddard 
Yone  Noguchi 


172 
178 


1  86 

190 
218 
260 

278 

3°4 
308 

375 
3*i 

385 
406 

407 


439 

477 


524 
611 
615 
631 
653 
671 


DEPARTMENTS 


Affairs  at  Washington   . 

Beauties  of  the  American  Stage    . 

The  Home 

Note  and  Comment 


Joe  Mitchell  Chappie      3,  117,  231,  345, 

459.  577 

Helen  Arthur  65,  201,  326,  498,  647 

.    93,  206,  330,  443.  556,  675 

Frank  Putnam      .          107,  222,  339,  452 

568,  684 


THE   GRAND    ARMY    PASSING   THEFAMOUS   "COMMON",   BOSTON,   AUGUST,   1904 
Prom  a>flf%Wiife&  J^^nthrop  Packard 


THE  DEMOCRATIC  NOMINEES    "LOOKING   PLEASANT"   FOR  THE  NATIONAL   AT  ESOPUS 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  G.  V.  Buck,  Washington,  D.  C. 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 


VOL.  XXI. 


OCTOBER,   1904 


No.   i. 


f  fairs  #f  Wasfi/ngfon 


IN  order  that  I  might  have  a  clear  idea 
of  the  after  effects  of  "expositioniz- 
ing, "  I  desired  to  visit  Jackson  Park  in 
Chicago,  the  scene  of  the  Columbian 
Exposition.  I  went  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, when  the  rising  sun  was  beginning 
to  tinge  the  light  Summer  mist  with 
pale  yellow  and  the  lake  and  trees 
glimmered,  mysterious  and  beautiful, 
through  this  golden  veil.  In  imagina- 
tion I  looked  once  more  upon  the  mazy 
whirl  of  the  Midway,  but  as  the  sun 
shone  out,  dispersing  the  mist,  it  became 
apparent  that  the  great  avenue  had  been 
replaced  by  a  broad  stretch  of  green, 
flanked  on  either  side  by  residences. 


. 

Nothing  remained  of  the  great  buildings 
that  had  occupied  this  spot  when  last 
I  saw  it  except  one  tall  post,  like  a  totem 
pole.  "The  White  City"  seemed  to 
have  vanished  with  the  morning  mist, 
but  —  unlike  the  crumbling  ruins  that 
mark  the  passing  of  ancient  Tyre  and 
Rome — its  magical  disappearance  had 
left  behind  a  beautiful  park,  with  velvet 
lawns  and  mirror-like  lagoons,  to  furnish 
inspiration  for  the  "great  Common  Peo- 
ple," and  stimulate  them  to  a  new  in- 
terest in  the  study  of  Mother  Nature. 
Though  close  to  a  great  city,  the  stu- 
dent may  catch  a  glimpse  of  nature's 
primeval  splendor  in  the  wooded  island 


A    DISTINGUISHED     GROUP    THAT    REVIEWED   THE  G.  A.  R.   PARADE   FROM    A   STAND  IN 

FRONT  OF  THE  STATE   HOUSE,  BOSTON.      FAMILIAR   FIGURES  IN  THIS  GROUP  ARE 

EX-SECRETARY     LONG,   SENATOR    LODGE,   GOVERNOR     BATES,   EX-SECRF 

TARY     BOUTWELL,    GOVERNOR    VAN     SANT    OF     MINNESOTA 

AND   EX-GOVERNOR    WINTHROP   MURRAY   CRANE 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,  1904 


PAUL    MORTON,    SECRETARY    OF    THE    NAVY,    IN    HIS    OFFICE 
Photographed  for  the  National  by  Q-.  V.  Buck,  Washington 


that  adorns  the  lagoon,  while  about  the 
park  the.  hand  of  the  skilled  landscape 
gardener  has  done  much  to  enhance  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  What  a  joy  all  this 
must  be  to  the  tired  worker,  who  may 
come  here  and  revel  in  possessions  that 
can  hardly  be  rivalled  by  any  lord  "to 
the  manor  born." 

^ 

As  I  rode  beside  the  still  lagoon, 
past  the  tea  house  on  the  wooded  island, 
and  looked  over  at  the  caravels,  models 
of  those  in  which  Columbus  discovered 
America,  I  observed  that  among  the  few 
buildings  that  still  remain  to  mark  where 
the  White  City  once  stood  are  the  life 
saving  station,  which  is  used  for  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  originally  con- 


structed; the  German  Building,  used  as 
a  restaurant,  and  the  Fine  Arts  Gallery. 
This  latter  is  now  the  Columbian  Mu- 
seum, which  was  presented  to  the  city 
by  Marshall  Field,  the  great  merchant, 
and  is  an  art  treasure  of  which  Chicago 
may  well  be  proud. 

I  watched  the  sun  rising  over  Lake 
Michigan ,  which  is  really  an  inland  sea.  I 
drank  in  the  silence  and  refreshing  odor, 
that  were  in  such  sharp  contrast  to  the 
busy  rattle  and  strenuous  activities  of 
the  Chicago  streets.  I  mused  on  how 
this  by-gone  exposition  had  benefitted 
the  city.  In  return  for  the  lavish,  almost 
profligate,  expenditure  on  the  pleasure 
of  a  few  fleeting  months  there  has  come 
a  permanent  uplifting  of  the  people,  for 


AFFAIRS   AT   WASHINGTON 


SECRETARY   METCALF  OF   THE   FEDERAL  DEPARTMENT   OF   COMMERCE   AND  LABOR 
Photographed  for  the  National  by  Q-.  V.  Buck,   Washington 


they  have  gained  a  glorious  breathing 
place  that  cannot  but  leave  its  mark  on 
the  rising  generations.  Where  there  had 
been  nothing  but  sand  dune  and  duck 
marsh  there  is  now  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  parks  in  the  world,  and  there 
is  also  the  Field  Columbian  Museum. 
Chicago  gained  two  things:  a  breathing 
place  for  the  people  and  a  permanent 
home  for  Art.  These  are  the  two  tangi- 
ble and  primary  benefits;  but  subtly  she 
gained  an  education  in  the  art  of 
Europe.  It  may  be  said  that  at  the  expo- 
sition of  ten  years  ago  Chicago  was  intro- 
duced to  the  world,  and  the  states  of 
the  Middle  West  were  then,  for  the  first 
time,  really  opened  up.  The  greatest 
industrial,  educational  and  ethical  ad- 


vancement of  this  part  of  the  country 
has  come  to  pass  since  the  Columbian 
Exposition.  Statistics  show  this. 


I  THOUGHT  of  this  second  Fair, 
which  is  introducing  to  the  world  an- 
other American  inland  city.  What  will 
St.  Louis  gain  from  the  Exposition? 
In  the  first  place,  she  will  strengthen  her 
university.  Several  buildings  have  been 
specially  erected  with  this  in  view,  and 
will  remain  for  that  purpose;  in  addition 
to  this  tangible  benefit  there  will  be  the 
renown  that  St.  Louis'  university 
will  gain  by  the  fact  of  its  being  asso- 
ciated with  the  Exposition.  Besides  this 
there  will  be  the  educational  and  broad- 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  OCTOBER,    1904 


THE  RAILWAY   MAIL  CAR   EXHIBITED  AT  THE   WORLD'S   FAIR,  ST.   LOUIS 


J.  D.     KIDWELL,     PRESIDENT    OF    THE    RAIL- 
WAY MAIL  CLERKS'  NATIONAL  ASSOCIATION 


ening  influence  exerted  on  the  people  by 
coming  into  contact  with  the  rest  of  the 
world.  Other  benefits  there  will  be, 
but  it  is  yet  too  soon  to  see  them  in  their 
proper  perspective.  Ten  years  hence, 
when  we  walk  through  the  scene  of  the 
St.  Louis  Fair,  as  we  now  walk  through 
the  scene  of  the  Columbian  Exposition, 
or  of  the  older  exposition  held  in  Fair- 
mount  Park,  Philadelphia,  we  shall  be 
better  able  to  estimate  just  what  the 
gain  to  St.  Louis  has  been. 

J* 

THIS  brings  up  the  question  as  to 
whether  "expositionizing' '  has  reached 
its  climax  or  whether  it  may  not  be  yet 
only  in  its  infancy.  I  thought  of  that 
almost  unknown  land,  the  gateway  to 
Asia,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that, 
if  in  our  time  another  world's  fair  of 
the  magnitude  of  those  at  Chicago  and 
St.  Louis  is  held  in  this  country,  it  will 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


ENTRANCE  TO  THE  PALACE  OF  MINES  AND  METALLURGY,  ST.  LOUIS  WORLD'S  FAIR 


8 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for  OCTOBER,    1904 


take  place  at  Seattle,  which  promises  in 
a  few  decades  to  rival  Chicago  and  St. 
Louis  in  size  and  commercial  power. 
We  do  not  forget  the  Lewis  and  Clark 
Exposition  to  be  held  next  year  in  Port- 
land, Oregon  —  the  Boston  of  the  West 
coast;  but  this,  granting  it  will  be  well 
worth  crossing  the  continent  to  see,  will 
not  of  course  be  in  the  same  class,  as  to 
size  and  variety,  with  the  great  shows 


of  the  colonial  riddle  in  their  hands. 
Picturesque  figures  they  are,  with  their 
straw  caps  on  the  back  —  the  extreme 
back — of  their  heads.  I  marveled  how 
they  kept  their  headgear  on,  for  I  have 
been  accustomed  to  see  the  front  of  the 
head  used  for  this  purpose;  but  I  would 
not  be  surprised  to  see,  in  a  short  time, 
our  island  friends  wearing  their  caps  on 
the  front  of  the  head  just  as  jauntily  as 


IGORROTE   CHILDREN   IN    SCHOOL   AT  THE   WORLD'S   FAIR,   PHILIPPINE   SECTION 


of  the  Mississippi  valley  cities.  So  I 
mused  —  but  the  sun  had  risen  in  his 
strength,  and  retrospect  and  forecast 
alike  must  be  set  aside  as  I  traced  my 
way  down  into  the  noisy  streets  of 
Chicago. 

^ 

AS  I  looked  upon  the  half  clad  Igor- 
rotes  sitting  upon  school  benches 
in  the  Philippine  section  of  the  World's 
Fair,  I  felt  that  the  solution  of  the 
Philippine  problem  was  there.  The 
bright  eyed  young  folks  hold  the  key 


any  American,  for  they  are  quick  to  imi- 
tate and  ready  to  pick  up  our  foreign 
ways. 

The  school  exercises  are  simple  in 
the  extreme;  even  kindergarten  methods 
seem  to  be  too  abstruse  for  these  pupils. 
At  the  same  time,  it  is  quite  apparent 
that  these  semi-savages  do  not  lack 
brains.  This  may  be  noted  in  their 
war  dance,  which  involves  intricate 
movements  that  require  skill  to  exe- 
cute. They  dance  to  music  (?)  that 
sounds  to*  our  American  ears  remark- 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


CONGRESSMAN  JOHN  SHARP  WILLIAMS  OF  MISSISSIPPI,  TEMPORARY  CHAIRMAN  AND 

"KEYNOTE"    ORATOR  OF   THE   DEMOCRATIC    NATIONAL   CONVENTION    AT  ST. 

LOUIS,  AND  A  RISING  POWER  IN  THE  COUNCILS  OF  HIS  PARTY,  WHERE  HE 

STANDS  FOR  "WHITE   SUPREMACY"  AND  A  TARIFF  FOR  REVENUE 

Photograph  copyright*),  1904,  by  Clinedinst,  'Washington 


10 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


THE   REPUBLICAN   NOMINEES   PHOTOGRAPHED   FOR   THE   NATIONAL   AT   OYSTER  BAY 
From  a  stereograph  copyright,  1004,  by  Underwood  &  Underwood,   New  York 


ably  like  the  beating  of  tin  cans.  A 
stooping  attitude  seems  to  be  much 
favored;  the  tunes  sung  are  doleful  in 
the  extreme,  but  there  is  nothing  dole- 
ful, about  the  way  in  which  the  money 
is  received  when  the  performance  is 
over — that  is  truly  European. 

The  Philippine  natives  at  the  Fair 
seem  all  rather  small,  especially  the 
women,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  watch 
them  dance.  As  they  glide,  bow  and 
circle  in  a  kind  of  waltz  step,  holding 


their  hands  aloft,  there  is  grace  in  every 
movement  that  speaks  of  flexible  muscles 
and  open  air  life.  Their  dancing  has 
a  charm  that  might  well  belong  to  the 
polished  floors  of  Paris  rather  than  to 
the  sun-baked  spaces  of  a  barbaric  camp. 
It  was  a  grief  to  me  to  miss  the  "dog 
feast,"  but  the  natives  absolutely  refuse 
to  kill  the  dogs  except  under  certain 
conditions  of  the  moon,  as  these  feasts 
have  all  the  solemnity  of  a  religious 
ceremony.  On  surrounding  poles  were 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


PARKER   AND  DAVIS  ON   THE   LAWN    AT   ESOPUS 
Photographed  for  the  National  by  O.  V.  Buck 


grim  reminders  of  earlier  barbecues  in 
the  shape  of  skulls  of  cattle  with  horns 
attached. 

The  thatched  homes  of  the  village, 
with  the  stretch  of  half  baked  mud  sur- 
rounding them,  the  water  buffalo  wallow- 
ing near  the  twin-hulled  boats,  the  tropi-^ 
cal  vegetation  waving  in  the  breeze  and 
the  torrid  atmosphere,  all  seem  to  carry 
the  visitor  far  away  from  anything  so 
modern  as  the  World's  Fair.  The  pic- 
turesqueness  of  the  scene  was  somewhat 


marred  when  I  noted  the  fact  that  the 
natives  had  already  begun  to  be  bitten 
with  the  American  mania  for  chewing 
gum,  though  it  was  amusing  to  note  how 
quickly  they  had  picked  up  the  habit. 
I  believe  that  the  "gum  habit"  will  soon 
be  as  firmly  grafted  on  the  Philippine 
school  children,  as  on  our  own.  As 
I  walked  along  one  little  tot  looked  in 
my  face  and  said,  in  pure  English, 
"Goodgum.  I  like  it."  The  latter  state- 
ment I  was  willing  to  credit,  as  he  had 


12 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1964 


GENERAL  JOHN    C.    BLACKr  EX-COMMANDER  OF   THE  G.   A.   R.,   AND    HIS   STAFF 
From  a  photograph  made  for  the  Boston  Globe 


something  like  a  dozen  pieces  in 
his  mouth  at  that  moment  and  was 
earnestly  watching  for  more. 

But  it  is  hardly  fair  to  judge  the 
Philippine  islands  by  the  Igorrotes, 
who  are  only  one  of  the  savage 
tribes  of  the  islands — like  some  of 
our  Indian  tribes.  The  exhibit,  in 
itself,  however,  does  credit  to  Gov- 
ernor Hunt,  who  has  charge  of  this 
feature  of  the  Exposition.  The  vil- 
lage reveals  the  extremes  that  exist 
in  the  islands  rather  than  the  aver- 
age, and  certainly  satisfies  that  some- 
what morbid  desire  that  we  all  have 
to  acquire  knowledge  regarding  the 
modes  of  life  that  obtained  among 
our  savage  forefathers,  who  doubt- 
less lived  very  much  in  the  same 
style  that  these  people  do  now. 

On  Philippine  day  there  was  a 
procession  of  native  soldiers  in 
white  helmets  and  trousers,  headed 
by  a  native  band  and  led  by  Secre- 
tary of  War  Taft,  marching  under 
the  stars  and  stripes— a  deeply  sig- 


GENERAL     BLACKMAR,     THE      NEW      COMMANDER 
CHIEF  OF  THE  G.  A.  R. 


AFFAIRS    AT    WASHINGTON 


nificant  picture.  Nothing  was  lacking 
to  convince  the  American  public 
of  the  fact  that  if  there  is  a  man 
in  our  country  today  who  compre- 
hends the  insular  question,  in  its  broad- 
est and  best  sense,  that  man  is  Secretary 
Taft;  and  the  enthusiasm  expressed  by 
these  soldiers  for  their  adopted  country 
proves  that  the  secretary's  efforts  have 
not  been  in  vain.  He  was  the  admira- 
tion and  cynosure  of  thousands  of  black 
eyes  that  day,  and  no  man  could  be 
better  seen,  as  his  tall  form  towered 
above  all  bystanders.  It  is  certain  that 
we  have  in  these  islanders  a  friendly 
ally  that  will  some  day  be  of  inestimable 
value  to  this  country,  commercially  as 
well  as  politically.  If  Uncle  Sam  has 
no  other  record  for  the  first  part  of  the 
century  than  the  gaining  of  these  new 
friends,  he  has  here  something  that  will 
redound  to  his  lasting  credit. 

J* 

THE   arrangements    for    handling  the 
World's    Fair    mail     are    somewhat 


LITTLE  GIRL  IN  FRONT  OF  THE  FLORAL  EMBLEM 
SOCIETY'S    HEADQUARTERS,  BOSTON,  FIX- 
ING   A  BOUQUET    ON  THE    COAT  OF  A 
VISITING  VETERAN,   AUGUST,   IQO4 
Courtesy  of  the  Boston  Globe 


SYMPHONY     HALL,   BOSTON,   WHERE    THE    GENERAL    MEETINGS    OF    THE   G.  A.  R.   WERE 

HELD  IN   AUGUST,   19x34 
From  a  photograph  by  Chickcring,  Boston 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


FIGHTING   MEN   FROM  UNCLE  SAM'S  WARSHIPS   IN   THE  PARADE   OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR 

From  a  photograph 


peculiar,  and  many  people  who  stop  every 
day  to  observe  and  wonder  at  the  appar- 
ently "makeshift"  character  of  this  de- 
partment fail  to  understand  that  the 
men  they  watch  are  a  living  illustration 
of  the  railway  mail  service,  of  whom  it 
has  been  said- 

"It  would  seem  that,  aside  from  the 
army  and  navy,  the  life  saving  service 
is  the  only  other  government  service  that 
approaches  the  railway  mail  service  in 
danger  to  life  and  limb." 

This  is  fully  borne  out  by  the  returns 
for  the  year  ending  June,  1903,  which 
show  a  heavy  percentage  of  killed  and 
injufed  out  of  the  total  number  of  more 
than  9,000  railway  postal  clerks. 

On  entering  the  government  building 
from  the  north,  on  the  left  will  be  noticed 
the  usual  post  office  windows  and  signs, 
the  enclosure  being  constructed  of  heavy 
wire  fencing,  with  the  exception  of  the 
south  side,  which  is  filled  in  by  a  sixty 
foot  railway  car  of  the  "Pennsylvania 
Lines"  type  and  color.  Two  side  doors, 
about  twenty  feet  from  either  end,  open 
into  the  post  office  enclosure  and  the  end 


of  the  car  next  the  center  aisle  contains 
a  door  with  the  instruction,  "Keep 
Out,"  prominently  displayed.  The 
south  side  of  the  car  is  covered  only  by 
a  heavy  netting,  with  the  exception  of 
a  space  reaching  about  a  foot  above  the 
floor — which  permits  the  people  to  see 
the  men  at  work  in  the  interior  and  yet 
serves  to  make  the  car  an  enclosure. 
This  car  in  use  at  the  Exposition  must 
not  be  taken  as  a  fair  sample  of  the 
service,  as  most  of  those  in  use  are  old 
and  of  much  frailer  construction,  while 
this  Exposition  car  has  every  possible 
improvement. 

The  efficiency  of  this  service  is  well 
known,  and  so  important  has  this  branch 
become  that  if  for  any  reason  the  United 
States  railway  mail  service  should  stop 
for  three  days,  it  would  paralyze  the 
commerce  and  banking  business  of  the 
entire  country,  no  other  department 
being  able  to  handle  the  business.  It 
is  a  curious  fact  that  in  so  important 
a  branch  as  this  the  pay  should  be 
below  that  of  Washington  depart- 
mental clerks,  though  a  little  above  that 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


VETERANS    AT  BOSTON,  DURING    THE    GRAND   ARMY  ENCAMPMENT,   AUGUST,    1904 
made  for  the  Boston  Globe 


in  city  post  offices,  and  these  clerks 
are  the  only  government  servants  who 
are  expected  to  pay  their  own  expense 
account  while  traveling  on  their  usual 
run.  The  hours  are  long,  from  ten  to 
fifteen  being  ordinary  and  eighteen  to 
twenty  not  uncommon,  and  during  the 
entire  time  the  men  are  employed  at 
work  which  is  a  constant  tax  on  the 
memory,  each  man  being  required  to  be 
familiar  with  the  location  and  dispatch 
of  from  8,000  to  16,000  post  offices. 
Physical  endurance  is  also  necessary, 
as  all  work  is  done  standing,  and  while 
the  train  is  going  at  full  speed.  Con- 
sidering the  importance  of  this  service, 
it  is  singular  that  it  is  so  little  under- 
stood and  appreciated. 


THE  Song  of  the  Tower  is  one  of  the 
humorous  touches  of  the  World's 
Fair.  About  half  way  up  the  tower  of 
the  wireless  telegraph  sits  a  man  with 
a  megaphone  that  sends  its  loud  refrain 
far  and  wide.  The  song  is  varied  by 
exhortations  to  "Get  off  the  earth!"  and 


many  have  taken  the  hint  and  gone  up. 
This  tower  supplies,  in  some  measure, 
the  place  of  the  Eiffel  Tower  at  the  Pari? 
Exposition,  and  from  it,  on  August  27, 
the  aerial  race  for  Washington  started. 
All  day  long  the  throng  passed  to  and 
fro  looking  at  the  massive  air  ships  and 
balloons,  which  were  ready  to  ascend 
at  five  in  the  afternoon  and  commence 
the  great  long  distance  race. 

Perhaps  the  science  represented  by 
this  wireless  telegraph  tower  may  be 
regarded  as  the  greatest  wonder  of  the 
age.  The  operator  up  here  as  he  handles 
his  keys  produces,  with  each  flash,  a 
noise  that  would  dwarf  into  insignifi- 
cance the  report  of  a  gatling  gun.  This, 
of  course,  is  obviated  in  practical  use, 
and  is  permitted  in  the  tower  merely  as 
an  exhibit.  Every  day  messages  are 
sent  from  this  tower  across  the  city  to 
the  dispatch  office,  as  well  as  to  Chicago 
and  other  distant  points. 

For  those  who  aspire  to  still  greater 
heights,  there  is  an  elevator  to  take  the 
visitor  on  up  the  tower,  300  feet,  and 
the  view  gained  from  this  height  is 


i6 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


unsurpassed,  especially  at  night.  Off  to 
the  right  are  the  myriad  twinkling  lights 
gleaming  in  the  bosom  of  Forest  Park. 
Beyond  is  the  winding  Mississippi,  while 
nearer  the  street  cars  passing  to  and 
fro  seem  like  the  small  playthings  of 
some  giant.  To  the  left  the  gazer  gets 
a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  Exposition,  and 


been  accomplished  with  the  millions  of 
money  expended.  No  exposition  hitherto 
has  been  so  magnificent  as  this  one, 
and  I  think  this  is  chiefly  due  to  the 
flood  of  light  which  suffuses  everything. 
It  seems  that  every  fanciful  taste  of 
our  nation  has  been  ministered  to  in 
this  wonderful  display,  the  great  Exposi- 


ONE   OF   MANY   PATRIOTIC   DESIGNS   WROUGHT  OUT  IN   THE    PUBLIC   GARDENS,   15OSTON, 

IN    HONOR   OF   THE   G.   A.   R.  ENCAMPMENT  OF    AUGUST,    1904 

From  a  photograph  made  for  the  Boston  Globe 


tion  built  up  to  crumble  in  a  little  while 
like  a  house  of  cards. 


the  reflection  of  the  buildings  in  the 
lagoon  and  the  ever  changing  colors  of 
the  cascades,  with  their  play  of  light  and 
shadow,  form  a  picture  that  will  not 
soon  be  forgotten.  The  great  plan  of  A  SAIL  on  the  Lagoon  is  the  best 


the  projectors  of  this  Exposition  is  here 
unveiled    at   a   single    glance,   and    the 


means  of  grasping  the  romantic  side 
of  the  Exposition,  for   here  the  visitor 


visitor  realizes   something  of  what  has      may  imagine  himself  in  Venice  or  any 


AFFAIRS   AT    WASHINGTON 


'7 


FLORIDA    GRAND    ARMY    MEN    BEARING    PALMS   IN    THE   PARADE   AT   BOSTON 
Prom  a  photograph  by  Chickering 


COLORED   VETERANS  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN   LINE  AT  BOSTON 


i8 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    OCTOBER,    1904 


We  are  for  Blotting  Out  T5he  Saloon! 

We  are  opposed  being  Taxed  to  support  the  Liquor  Traffic 


S.  C.  SWALLOW    of  Harr  Isburg.  GEO.  W.  CARROL,  of  Texas. 

Prohibition  Candidate*  For  President  and  Vice-President 

In  view  of  this:  I,  the  user  of  this  blotter  will  vote  against  protecting  the  Liquor  Traffic  under  our 
glorious  Stars  and  Stripes;  that  traffic  that  breeds  poverty,  disease,  debauchery,  crime  and  death.. 

THE   PROHIBITION    PARTY'S   BLOTTER,   A   NOVELTY   IN   POLITICAL  CAMPAIGNING 


other  old  world  spot  he  chooses,  and  the 
graceful  movements  of  the  gondolier  as 
he  guides  his  boat  beneath  the  bridges, 
and  the  echo  of  the  song  of  Naples — 
rousing  and  rollicking  —  as  it  rings 
across  the  water,  will  bear  out  the  illu- 
sion. As  the  boat  passes  on  in  the  glow 
of  the  brilliant  lights,  or  mingles  with 
the  shadow  of  massive  palaces, one  lapses 
into  a  dream  of  what  this  world  might 
be  if  beauty  and  pleasure  could  only 
reign  supreme.  The  eye  drinks  in  the 
beauty  of  the  white  palaces  against  their 
background  of  vivid  green,  and  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  believe  that  this  is 
not  a  modern  Venice  modelled  on  the 
lines  of  the  old  one.  To  get  new  views 
of  the  Exposition  nothing  is  better  than 
a  trip  about  the  lagoons  or  an  automobile 
ride.  In  fact,  the  visitor  to  the  Exposi- 
tion can  find  something  to  suit  his  moods, 
no  matter  how  they  vary;  but  the  prevail- 
ing spirit,  be  it  morn  or  eventide,  is 
laughter  and  merriment  —  that  expres- 
sion of  humanity  which  is,  after  all,  the 
zenith  of  happiness  that  we  all  strive  for. 

# 

/CALLING    up  reminiscences  of   the 
Philadelphia  Exposition  appears  to 


be  a  favorite  amusement  with  visitors  to 
the  Fair,  and  I  was  interested  in  hear- 
ing what  had  impressed  them  most  at 
the  great  Centennial.  I  was  told  by 
a  distinguished  congressman  that  the 
one  exhibit  that  held  his  attention, 
almost  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else,  was 
the  compressed  air.  He  said  he  used 
to  stand  in  front  of  the  funnel  and  per- 
mit the  escaping  current  to  blow  off  his 
hat,  while  his  chief  amusement  was 
watching  the  glee  of  the  ladies  as  the 
blast  of  air  whirled  their  skirts  into 
artistic  lines  that  would  have  charmed 
Greuze.  This  was  all  in  the  very  begin- 
ning of  the  discoveries  of  the  power  of 
this  wonderful  force  when  imprisoned 
and  suddenly  released;  it  was  before 
the  days  of  the  Westinghouse  air  brake. 
I  was  struck  with  the  thought  that  the 
boy  of  years  ago  had  remembered  the 
newly  discovered  force  and  had  pre- 
served his  interest  in  it  all  these  years. 
Nothing  is  more  curious  to  me  than  the 
things  we  remember,  and  I  am  wonder- 
ing what  will  be  the  most  impressive 
exhibit  for  the  thousands  that  I  daily 
look  upon  at  the  World's  Fair  today.  I 
am  sure  that  it  will  make  interesting 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


reading  for  the  generations  yet  to  come, 
when  the  great  St.  Louis  Exposition  has 
become  mere  matter  of  history. 


THE  memories  of  the  Fair  are  not  all 
radiant — there  are  lights  and  shadows 
in  the  picture.  Only  a  few  weeks  ago 
I  met  a  friend  who  came  to  the  Fair  to 
rest  from  the  busy  exactions  of  city  life; 
with  him  were  his  wife  and  splendid 
family  of  boys.  They  were  enjoying  a 
well  earned  holiday  after  years  of  hard 
struggle  together.  The  new  home  had 
just  been  completed.  No  longer  any 
business  strain,  and  the  father  was 
free  to  minister  to  the  pleasure  of  his 
loved  ones.  It  was  a  proud  and  happy 
moment;  he  had  succeeded;  he  had 


achieved;  he  had  won  the  fight.  He 
sat  and  told  me  about  it  all,  and  how 
perfectly  happy  he  was  and  content  that 
he  had  made  the  sacrifice.  There  was 
a  love-light  in  his  eye  that  entirely  ob- 
literated the  steely  restlessness  of  his 
business  career. 

"Now  I  am  ready  to  take  it  easy  and 
enjoy  my  family,"  he  said,  but  his  wan 
and  sallow  face  told  how  the  struggle 
had  worn  him  down. 

That  night  the  summons  came,  swift 
and  sudden,  and  the  father  who  had  just 
begun  to  delight  in  his  children,  the 
husband  who  had  found  anew  the  real 
worth  of  his  helpmate  and  had  prepared 
for  ease  and  happiness,  was  taken  away 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  The  flowers 
that  were  brought  in  to  commemorate 


COMMANDER  IN    CHIEF    BLACKMAR    AND     FIVE  OF    HIS    PREDECESSORS     AT  THE   HEAD 
OF    THE  G.   A.   R.  —  LOUIS     WAGNER,   JOHN    KOUNTZ,   A.   G.   WEISSERT,  ELI 

TORRANCE   AND   LEO  RASSEUR 
From  •  photograph  made  for  the  Boston  Herald 


20 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


rate  the  anniversary  of  a  wedding  that 
night, passed  out  of  the  house  on  the  bier 
that  was  to  take  the  mortal  remains  of 
my  friend  to  his  home, — and  what  a 
home-coming  to  that  hearthstone,  where 
the  father  had  sacrificed  life  on  the  altar 
of  success. 

Life  and  death;  joy  and  sorrow;  the 
shadow  of  the  inevitable  is  always  with 
us,  even  under  the  magic  spell  of  Expo- 
sition delights. 

,* 

THERE  is  a  "national"  atmosphere 
about  Indianapolis  that  leads  the 
visitor  to  expect  something  unusual,  and 
I  was  not  surprised  to  learn  that  L' En- 
fant, the  P'rench  engineer  who  laid  out 
Washington,  had  also  made  the  plans 
for  Indianapolis,  and  this  city  also  is 
a  fitting  monument  of  his  genius  and  the 
nation's  greatness.  It  gives  the  native 
born  American  a  thrill  of  patriotic  pride 
to  look  along  the  beautiful  asphalt  paved 
streets,  guarded  on  either  side  by 
friendly,  over-arching  elms,  and  listen 
to  the  busy  hum  of  the  street  cars. 
Even  these  useful  means  of  locomotion 
seem  to  partake  of  the  national  atmos- 
phere, for  almost  every  state  is  repre- 
sented in  the  lettering  on  them:  I  no- 
ticed cars  marked  "Alabama,"  "Penn- 
sylvania," "  Kentucky,"  "  Indiana," 
"  Delaware,"  until  I  had  counted  up 
almost  every  state  in  the  Union. 

The  narrow  political  majority  for  either 
party  makes  Indiana  a  "doubtful,"  and 
therefore  a  specially  interesting  state. 
This  majority  can  never  be  reckoned 
upon  with  any  degree  of  certainty,  as 
it  ranges  first  on  one  side  and  then  on 
the  other,  for  no  apparent  reason  that 
the  ordinary  mortal  can  discover.  The 
principal  clubs  of  the  city  have  also 
a  distinct  political  significance,  among 
these  arc  the  old  Columbian  and  Marion 
clubs  that  have  a  large  membership  and 
an  almost  perfect  organization. 

Indianapolis  seems  likely  to  retain 
her  political  fame;  she  still  continues 
to  furnish  candidates  for  the  presidential 


ticket.  Perhaps  no  city  outside  the 
capital  is  more  closely  interwoven  with 
the  history  of  American  political  life. 
I  recalled  the  fact  that  for  many  years, 
with  scarcely  a  break  in  the  record,  this 
city  has  furnished  at  least  one  represen- 
tative on  one  of  the  national  tickets. 
First  it  was  Schuyler  Colfax,  who  was 
on  the  ticket  with  Abraham  Lincoln. 
Next  came  Hendricks,  who  made  the 
run  with  Samuel  J.  Tilden;  then  came 
Willam  H.  English,  who  appeared  in 
conjunction  with  General  Hancock.  In 
dianapolis  continued  to  supply  material 
for  each  successive  campaign  until  Ben- 
jamin Harrison  came  upon  the  scene, 
being  successful  in  his  first  contest  and 
unsuccessful  in  his  second.  Now,  in 
1904,  this  city  comes  again  to  the  front, 
giving  a  representative  to  the  republican 
national  ticket  in  the  person  of  Senator 
Charles  Warren  Fairbanks. 

The  notification  of  Senator  Fairbanks 
at  his  beautiful  home  in  Indianapolis 
was  a  scene  to  be  long  remembered  by 
those  who  witnessed  it.  Nothing  was 
more  impressive  than  the  spirit  of  friend- 
liness displayed  by  his  neighbors  on  this 
occasion,  for  we  may  safely  judge  of  the 
character  of  a  man  by  his  standing  among 
the  people  who  know  him  best.  The 
spacious  lawn  was  thronged  with  people, 
many  newspaper  men  among  them,  and 
the  exercises  were  held  in  the  roomy 
porch,  which  reminds  one  of  the  famous 
McKinley  porch  at  Canton. 

The  Fairbanks  lawn  already  gives  evi- 
dence of  sharing  the  same  fate  that  befell 
the  lawn  of  the  McKinley  mansion  dur- 
ing the  memorable  days  of  '96,  but  Sena- 
tor Fairbanks  did  not  seem  to  worry  oyer 
the  destruction  of  his  turf,  cheerily  re- 
marking that  it  all  belonged  to  the  people 
and  his  friends  during  the  campaign. 


nERHAPS  I  am  sentimental  in  regard 

to  matters  national,  but  I  do  not  think 

I   ever  witnessed  any  scene   that  drew 

tears  more  quickly  than  the  G.  A.   R. 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


21 


22 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for  OCTOBER,    1904 


parade  in  Boston  a  few  weeks  ago.  I 
stood  on  Commonwealth  avenue,  a  wide 
stretch  of  green  on  either  side,  while  the 
"old  boys"  in  blue  gathered  for  the 
great  parade  of  that  day.  They  were 
clustered  in  groups  about  the  trees  as 
they  might  have  stood  when  off  duty  in 
the  old  days,  but  now  many  of  them 
were  bent  and  grizzled,  though  I  noticed 
some  who  had  apparently  retained  all 
their  youthful  vigor.  There  they  were, 
the  boys  who  saved  the  nation  in  '61. 
I  watched  them  pass  by — some  hardly 
able  to  hobble,  but  all  having  the  grip 
and  determination  that  had  character- 
ized them  in  the  old  days,  and  there  was 
something  heroic  and  pathetic  in  their 
efforts  to  fulfill  the  somewhat  arduous 
duties  of  this,  the  last  parade  in  Boston. 
To  me,  every  man  who  carried  a  musket 
in  '6 1  is  a  hero,  no  matter  whether  he 
wears  the  blue  or  the  gray,  for  all  were 
alike  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  patriot- 
ism, on  whichever  side  they  fought. 
The  same  thrill  ran  through  both  North 
and  South,  and  the  Nation  is  what  it 
is  today  because^  of  the  strength  and 
tenacity  of  purpose  proved  in  that  terri- 
ble struggle  that  ushered  in  emanci- 
pation. 

They  marched  to  the  strains  of  the  old 
time  fife  and  drum  music, — tunes  that 
have  in  them  something  that  the  rollick- 
ing rag  time  of  today  does  not  possess. 
The  two-step  may  move  the  muscles,  but 
not  the  heart  of  the  hearer.  I  thought 
I  had  never  heard  anything  sweeter  than 
the  strains  of  "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind 
Me,"  as  the  music  swelled  out  across 
the  rustling  leaves  of  the  trees  on  the 
avenue  on  that  bright  August  day.  I 
do  not  think  that  "Dixie"  ever  brought 
forth  more  lusty  shouts  than  on  that  day 
in  good  old  abolitionist  Boston.  It 
could  not  have  been  hailed  more  enthu- 
siastically in  the  stirring  times  of  forty 
years  ago  than  it  was  now  by  the  crowds 
that  lined  either  side  of  the  streets, 
cheerfully  jostling  each  other  to  get 
a  good  view  as  the  parade  filed  along. 


Nothing  seems  to  please  the  masses  of 
the  people  so  much  as  to  see  the  vete- 
rans gather  year  after  year  to  renew  the 
old  associations,  and  I  am  convinced 
that  this  is  the  feeling  which  has  done 
so  much  to  cement  the  nation  into  one 
harmonious  whole. 

The  stars  and  stripes  were  everywhere 
flung  wide  to  the  breeze,  and  I  could 
easily  determine  that  the  gazing  crowd 
was  moved  by  something  more  than  the 
passing  interest  of  the  careless  observer, 
and  on  every  side  were  murmurs  of 
regret  as  the  thinning  of  the  ranks  by 
death  was  noted,  and  it  was  realized 
that  in  a  few  years  nothing  would  be  left 
of  the  G.  A.  R.  For  in  this  army  were 
enrolled  the  fathers,  the  uncles,  or  the 
grandfathers  that  we  hold  dear,  and 
who,  forty  years  ago,  stood  as  erect  and 
strong  as  we  do  today,  though  now  so 
many  of  them  sit  about  in  the  quiet 
evening  of  life,  looking  far  off  into  the 
days  that  are  forever  gone.  But  they 
fight  their  battles  over  again  for  the 
younger  generations  and  are  an  inspiring 
and  educative  force,  the  value  of  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  estimate  too 
highly. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  each 
day's  doings  in  detail,  or  give  a  list 
of  the  beauty  and  variety  of  the  decora- 
tions around  the  city  and  at  the  head- 
quarters of  the  various  states.  It  would 
take  pages  to  tell  how  the  Public  Gar- 
dens and  the  Common  were  turned  into 
fairy  land  each  night,  until  the  beholder 
wondered  if  he  still  trod  the  prosaic 
streets  of  the  Hub.  The  parades  were 
unusually  long.  I  was  told  that  on  the 
i6th.  it  took  four  hours  for  the  entire 
procession  to  file  past  a  given  point; 
but.  among  all  the  sights  of  that  remark- 
able week  nothing  interested  me  more 
than  the  living  flag,  composed  of  child- 
ren dressed  in  the  red,  white  and  blue 
and  arranged  in  the  grand  stand  in  such 
a  skillful  fashion  that  when  all  were  in 
their  places,  the  American  flag  was 
reproduced  on  an  immense  scale. 


AFFAIRS  AT   WASHINGTON 


It  was  generally  remarked  that  the 
whole  city  of  Boston  seemed  to  welcome, 
as  one  person,  the  host  of  visitors,  and 
perhaps  no  one  connected  with  this 


encampment  deserves  more  praise  for 
the  excellent  arrangements  made  for  the 
comfort  of  the  veterans,  and  unfailing 
hospitality,  than  the  Bay  State  women. 


UNITED    STATES    SENATOR    GEORGE    FRISBIE    HOAR    OF    MASSACHUSETTS 
Copyright,  1904,  by  Clinedinat 


SENATOR     HOAR    AT    HOME 


By    MARY    CAROLINE    C  R  A  VV  FORD 

C  H  A  R  L  li  S  T  O  W  N  ,     MASSACHUSETTS 


SENATOR   HOAR    IN    HIS   LIBRARY 

WITH  the  adjournment  of  congress, 
George  Frisbie  Hoar,  the  Grand  Old 
Man  of  the  United  States  Senate,  re- 
turned to  his  stately  Worcester  home, 
coining  back  with  almost  boyish  gladness 
to  his  books,  his  ancestral  portraits  and 
his  daughter, — an  atmosphere  that  serves 
admirably  to  interpret  the  unique  per- 
sonality of  this  Yankee  statesman.  For 
it  is  his  seven  generations  of  Puritan 
forebears  as  much  as  constant  contact 
with  the  noblest  friends  any  man  can 
have — -the  great  books  of  the  world — that 
have  served  to  make  Senator  Hoar  what 
he  is.  And  this  is  why  one  needs  to 
see  him  among  his  own  manes  and  pen- 
ates,  in  the  book-lined  library  of  the 
Oak  Avenue  home  in  Worcester,  to  ap- 
preciate his  power. 

Few  men  indeed  could  live  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  that  library  without  absorb- 
ing the  essence  of  learning  which  pervades 
it.  The  walls  of  the  big  room  are  lined 


with  books,  tables  are  piled  high  \vilh 
them,  cabinets  are  filled  with  precious 
autographs  picked  up  carefully  here  and 
there,  while  busts  and  pictures  <.f  distin- 
guished statesmen  and  scholars  look 
down  on  one  from  the  tops  cf  all  the 
book  cases.  Even  the  patches  of  wall 
space  over  the  fireplace  and  the  doors 
have  Greek  and  Latin  mottoes  in  praise 
of  learning. 

"Work  while  it  is  day,  for  the  night 
cometh  in  which  no  man  can  work," 
greets  one  in  the  characters  of  the  New 
Testament  over  the  door  at  the  left  of 
the  mantel,  while  over  the  fireplace  itself 
is  a  bit  from  Dr.  Johnson's  poem  to  the 
Hebrides,  that  might  be  turned  from 
the  Latin  into  English,  "Where  shall  1 
wander  further?  Whatever  is  needed  is 
here.  In  this  place  is  secure  quiet  and 
honest  love."  And,  balancing  the  Greek, 
stands  on  the  other  side  this  George 
Herbert  fhotto  painted  in  letters  of  gold: 

"  Man  is  no  star,  but  a  quick  coal 

Of  mortal  fire  ; 
Who  blows  it  not,  nor  doth  control 

A  faint  desire, 
Lets  his  own  ashes  choke  the  soul." 

The  privilege  of  having  sat  by  this 
fireside  in  the  days  when  beautiful,  gen- 
tle Mrs.  Hoar  exercised  gracious  hospi- 
tality in  the  big  library  is  also  interpre- 
tive. It  so  helps  one  to  understand  why 
among  the  many  things  Mr.  Hoar  might 
have  said  of  Emerson  during  the  centen- 
nary  exercises  last  year,  he,  the  presiding 
officer  at  the  great  Symphony  Hall  meet- 
ing, did  say:  "Emerson  was  great  be- 
cause he  was  a  great  lover;  he  loved 
home,  and  wife,  and  children,  and  town, 
and  country." 

As  fine  a  picture  as  anyone  could  draw 
of  Mr.  Hoar's  personality  he  drew  him- 
self about  a  dozen  years  ago  in  a  good 


SENATOR   HOAR   AT   HOME 


humored  remonstrance  issued  against 
a  report  published  in  Pittsburg,  Pennsyl- 
vania. The  article  had  said  that  he  was 
out  of  sympathy  with  people  of  the  so- 
called  "working  classes,"  because  he 
had  been  born  to  wealth,  that  he  lived 
at  ease  on  the  public  treasury  as  a  per- 
petual office  holder,  and  had  always  been 
surrounded  with  luxury.  "I  never  in- 
herited any  wealth,  nor  had  any,"  he 
replied.  "My  father  was  a  lawyer  in 
very  large  practice  for  his  day;  but  he 
was  a  very  generous  and  liberal  man,  and 
never  put  much  value  upon  money.  My 
share  of  his  estate  was  about  $10,500. 
"All  the  incoming  producing  property 
I  have  in  the  world,  or  ever  had,  yields 
a  little  less  than  $1,800  a  year.  Eight 
hundred  dollars  of  that  is  from  a  life 
estate,  and  the  other  thousand  comes 
from  stock  in  a  corporation  which  has 
paid  dividends  only  for  the  past  two  or 
three  years,  and  which  I  am  very  much 
afraid  will  pay  no  dividends  or  very 
much  smaller  ones  after  two  or  three 
years  to  come.  With  that  exception,  the 
house  where  I  live,  with  its  contents  and 
with  about  four  acres  of  land,  constitute 
my  whole  worldly  possesions,  except  two 
or  three  vacant  lots  which  would  not 
bring  me  $5,000  all  told. 

"As  to  office  holding  and  working,  I 
think  there  are  few  men  in  this  conti- 
nent who  have  put  so  much  hard  work 
into  life  as  I  have.  I  went  one  Winter 
to  the  Massachusetts  house  of  represen- 
tatives, when  I  was  twenty-five  years  old, 
and  one  Winter  to  the  Massachusetts 
senate,  when  I  was  thirty.  The  pay  was 
two  dollars  a  day  at  that  time.  I  was 
nominated  on  both  occasions  much  to 
my  surprise,  and  on  both  occasions  de- 
clined a  renomination.  I  afterward  twice 
refused  a  nomination  for  mayor  of  my 
city,  have  twice  refused  a  seat  on  the 
supreme  bench  of  Massachusetts,  and 
refused  for  years  to  go  to  congress,  when 
the  opportunity  was  in  my  power.  I 
was  at  last  broken  down  with  overwork, 
and  went  to  Europe  for  my  health.  Dur- 


ing my  absence  the  arrangements  were 
made  for  my  nomination  to  congress, 
from  which,  when  I  got  home,  I  could 
not  well  escape. 

"The  result  is  that  I  have  been  here 
for  many  years  as  representative  and 
senator,  getting  a  little  poorer  year  by 
year.  During  all  this  time  I  have  never 
been  able  to  hire  a  house  in  Washington. 
My  wife  and  I  have  experienced  the 
varying  fortunes  of  Washington  boarding 
houses,  sometimes  very  comfortable  and 
a  good  deal  of  the  time  living  in  a 
fashion  to  which  no  Pittsburg  mechanic 
earning  two  dollars  a  day  would  subject 
his  household. 

"The  chief  carnal  luxury  of  my  life," 
continued  this  amusing  account  of  the 
senator's  "Plutocratic"  habits,  "is  in 
breakfasting  every  Sunday  with  an  ortho- 
dox friend,  a  lady  who  has  a  rare  gift  for 
making  fishballs  and  coffee.  You  unfor- 
tunate and  benighted  Pennsylvanians 
can  never  know  the  exquisite  flavor  of 
the  codfish  salted,  made  into  balls  and 
eaten  of  a  Sunday  morning  by  a  person 
whose  theology  is  sound  and  who  be- 
lieves in  all  of  the  five  points  of  Calvin- 
ism. I  am  myself  but  an  unworthy 
heretic;  but  I  am  of  Puritan  stock  of  the 
seventh  generation,  and  there  is  vouch- 
safed to  me,  also,  some  share  in  that 
ecstacy  and  a  dim  glimpse  of  the  beatific 
vision.  Be  assured,  my  benighted  Penn- 
sylvania friend,  that  in  that  hour  when 
the  week  begins,  all  the  terrapin  of  Phila- 
delphia or  Baltimore,  and  all  the  soft 
shelled  crabs  of  the  Atlantic  shore  might 
pull  at  my  trousers'  legs  and  thrust  them- 
selves on  my  notice  in  vain. 

"But  I  have  one  extravagance,"  con- 
tined  this  confession.  "I  have  been  in 
my  day  a  most  enthusiastic  collector  of 
books.  There,  I  grant  you,  I  have  spent 
money — but  not  nearly  so  much  money 
as  I  could  get  on  the  books  if  I  were  to 
sell  them  now." 

Which  is  emphatically  true. 

Senator  Hoar's  collection  is  one  of  the 
finest  private  collections  of  books  in  the 


26 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   OCTOBER,    1904 


land.  It  was  not  picked  up  at  random, 
neither  was  it  bought  at  auction  sales. 
The  more  than  five  thousand  volumes 
in  this  library  are  the  result  of  thought- 
ful selection,  of  patient  waiting,  of  much 
correspondence  and  of  final  purchasing. 
Not  a  few  of  the  books  and  manuscripts 
in  the  collection  money  could  not  buy. 
These  are  the  gifts  of  friends  and  ad- 
mirers. Thomas  Jefferson  Coolidge,  for 
instance,  gave  the  senator  that  magni- 
ficent two  volume  de  luxe  edition  of 
Horace  and  Virgil  which,  it  has  since 
been  thought,  may  have  been  the  prop- 
erty of  Thomas  Jefferson.  And  many 
other  such  gifts  are  here,  beside  priceless 
ancient  volumes,  manuscripts  and  very 
valuable  historical  documents. 

The  spacious  desk,  which  stands  in 
the  center  of  that  end  of  the  room  which 
has  the  best  light,  was  decorated  the 
day  of  my  visit  with  a  vase  full  of  ex- 
quisitely fragrant  sweet  peas,  grown  in 
the  gardens  on  the  place  and  arranged 
by  Mrs.  Hoar's  own  hand.  A  long  dis- 
tance telephone  here  connects  the  sena- 
tor with  outside  interests,  while  an  in- 
spiring array  of  friends'  pictures  greets 
his  eye  as  he  pauses  in  his  writing  to 
think  of  "the  best  word."  At  the  right 
is  a  copy  of  the  Partridge  bust  of  Edward 
Everett  Hale.  "It  gives  an  elegant  pic- 
ture of  Kale's  shirt  front,"  said  my  host, 
as  I  asked  about  it. 

Behind  the  senator's  comfortable  easy 
chair,  and  between  the  desk  and  the 
window  that  commands  a  charming 
glimpse  of  a  red  geranium  bed  just 
beyond  the  piazza,  is  another  bust,  that 
of  the  senator's  father,  a  man  who  was 
Emerson's  friend  and  of  whom  the  Con- 
cord poet  once  wrote  these  lines: 

"  July  was  in  his  sunny  heart, 
October  in  his  generous  hand." 

The  face  of  this  successful  lawyer  of 
two  generations  ago  is  distinctly  Roman 
in  type,  so  much  so  that  I  asked  whether 
the  bust  was  of  Cato,  greatly  delighting 
by  the  question  the  senator,  who  re- 


plied, "No,  that's  my  father.  But  it's 
curious  you  should  have  thought  it  Cato. 
For  it  was  by  that  name  that  his  inti- 
mates called  him.  Probably  he  looks 
like  Cato,  but  I  do  not  remember  ever 
to  have  seen  a  bust  of  the  sturdy 
Roman."  [As  he  made  these  remarks 
about  the  two  busts  the  senator  was  seat- 
ing himself  for  the  photograph  here  re- 
produced.] 

The  picture  matter  being  now  settled, 
we  turned  at  last  to  the  books,  and  the 
senator  was  in  his  element.  "I  have  in 
general  a  pretty  good  collection  of  the 
Latin  and  Greek  classics,"  he  said,  "of 
English  histories,  say  from  the  time  of 
Henry  VIII  until  within  a  few  years, 
and  of  English  literature  and  biography. 
Then  I  have  a  fairly  good  collection  of 
American  literature,  history  and  biog- 
raphy. And  I  suppose  there  is  no  better 
collection  of  American  historical  pam- 
phlets than  mine,  except  in  some  great 
libraries. 

"Frequently  I  see  books  sold  for  large 
sums,  copies  of  which  I  have  in  my 
possession.  Here,  for  instance,"  and 
going  to  a  case  the  senator  took  down 
with  loving  care  several  dingy,  battered 
little  volumes,  among  which  was  the 
"History  of  Little  Goody-Two-Shoes," 
printed  at  Worcester  in  1787,  by  that 
Isaiah  Thomas  whom  my  host  then  char- 
acterized as  the  greatest  publisher  this 
country  has  ever  known.  "Thomas," 
he  went  on  to  explain,  "was  a  great 
friend  of  Dr.  Franklin,  and  Poor  Richard 
once  came  to  Worcester  and  worked  a 
press  here. 

"They  must  have  had  mighty  good 
eyes  in  those  days,  don't  you  think?" 
commented  the  senator,  as  he  showed 
me  a  finely  printed  Virgil  brought  to 
this  country  by  Governor  John  Winthrop 
of  Massachusetts,  and  bearing  on  the 
dateline  "London,  1659."  Near  jt  on 
the  book  shelves  stood  an  elzevir  Ovid 
printed  at  Amsterdam  in  1676. 

"I  have  a  number  of  books  that  have 
come  down  to  me  from  Leonard  Hoar, 


SENATOR  HOAR  AT  HOME 


who  was  president  at  Harvard  college 
about  1670,"  said  the  senator.  "This 
Aitken  Bible  was,  I  believe,  the  first 
Bible  published  in  America.  It  was 
the  gift  of  n\y  grandmother  to  my 
mother,  and  you  will  notice  that  it  has 
the  autograph  of  Robert  Sherman,  my 
signer  ancestor,  under  the  date  1793. 
It  is  a  very  rare  book,  and  a  copy  is,  I 
dare  say,  worth  $1,500. 

"Now  these  are  curiosities:  two  copies 


"This,"  said  the  senator,  picking  up 
a  copy  of  Granger's  "Lives  of  Famous 
Englishmen,"  "gives  one,  I  think,  a 
phase  of  the  character  of  Daniel  Web- 
ster, not  always  manifest  to  the  public." 
And,  turning  back  the  cover,  the  senator 
showed  on  the  fly  leaf,  over  a  note  to  the 
effect  that  the  author,  Dr.  Granger,  died 
from  heart  failure  while  administering 
the  sacrament,  this  stanza  in  Webster's 
own  handwriting: 


SENATOR    HOAR'S    LIBRARY 


of  sermons  which  belonged  to  John 
Hancock  and  Samuel  Adams.  They, 
you  remember,  were  the  two  Americans 
not  exempted  from  danger  by  George 
Ill's  pardon.  The  books  were  given 
me  by  Samuel  Adams'  grand-daughter. 
"This  book  here  was  once  in  the 
hands  of  John  Milton.  It  says  on  the 
fly  leaf,  'Gift  of  Mr.  Milton,'  in  the  poet's 
own  hand.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  pres- 
entation copy.  And  it  is  the  very  work 
that  caused  Milton  his  blindness! 


More  happy  end  what  saint  ere  knew ! 

To  whom  like  mercy  shown  ! 
His  Saviour's  death  in  rapturous  view 

And  unperceived  his  own.          D.  W. 

"And  this,"  he  continued,  picking  up 
another  volume,  "is  a  copy  of  Chap- 
man's Homer.  I  suppose  it  would  sell 
for  $1,500  by  auction.  And  this  is  a 
very  rare  Chaucer — you  observe  that  it 
is  in  black  letter  type  and  that  it  was 
printed  in  1587.  I  am  told  that  it's  im- 
possible to  obtain  one  like  it  now. 


28 


NATION  .\L    MAGAZINE    for   OCTOBER,    1904 


"These  Bibles  will  interest  you,"  and 
the  senator  handed  down  two  well  worn 
volumes.  "This  one  is  a  family  Bible 
that  belonged  to  Roger  Sherman.  See 
this  record  of  births.  The  name  of 
Sarah  Sherman,  my  mother's  name,  is 
written  here.  She  was  Roger  Sherman's 
youngest  daughter. 

"This  other  is  Wordsworth's  Bible, 
presented  to  him  by  Faber,  the  cele- 
brated hymn  writer.  On  one  occasion 
when  I  was  abroad,  John  Morley  told 
me  that  if  it  had  been  known  that  I  had 
obtained  a  Bible  belonging  to  Words- 
worth they  would  not  have  allowed  it  to 
leave  the  country. 

"But  I  could  go  on  all  day  like  this," 
smiled  my  host,  producing  in  rapid  suc- 
cession a  copy  of  Theocritus,  well 
thumbed  and  worn,  once  the  property  of 
Blackstone,  the  famous  English  jurist, 
and  bearing  his  autograph  on  the  title 
page;  copies  of  Jeremy  Taylor's  'Life  of 
Christ'  and  'Holy  Living,'  both  printed 
about  1657,  and  a  Bible  printed  by  Isaiah 
Thomas  in  Worcester  in  1791. 

"One  of  the  best  modern  editions  of 
them  all  is  this  Knight's  Wordsworth," 
he  continued.  "I  am  a  devoted  reader 
of  Wordsworth.  And  here  is  Rogers' 
poems  and  'Italy,'  illustrated  by  Tur- 
ner." To  the  question  whether  he  found 
so  much  to  admire  in  Turner's  work  as 
Ruskin  discovered  there,  the  senator 
replied,  gently,  that  he  was  "no  judge 
of  art." 

But  that  the  senior  senator  from  Massa- 
chusetts knows  art  in  old  wood  carving 
when  he  sees  it,  I  was  very  soon  con- 
vinced, when  he  showed  me  a  table 
formerly  in  the  house  from  which  Charles 
II  made  his  escape  after  the  siege  of 
Worcester.  In  coloring  and  texture  as 
well  as  in  decoration  this  table  is  a  rare 
treasure.  And  it  is  very  fittingly  em- 
ployed, for  it  is  piled  high  with  priceless 
tomes,  first  edition  Jeremy  Taylor's, 
Thomas  Fuller's  and  Sir  Thomas 
Browne's. 

A  beautifully  carved  black  oak  chair 


made  from  one  of  the  pews  in  Shakes- 
peare's church  at  Stratford -on- A  von 
stands  near  the  table.  And  after  one 
has  heard  the  senator  say  with  every 
evidence  of  belief  that*  Shakespeare's 
hands  had  not  improbably  touched  the 
wood  of  this  piece,  one  looks  at  the 
chair  with  veritable  awe. 

Yet  it  is  in  the  oak  relics  associated 
with  his  own  family  history  that  Mr. 
Hoar  takes  most  pride.  The  huge  black 
oak  chest  was  made,  he  explained,  from 
timber  in  the  house  of  an  ancestor  who 
lived  in  Gloucester,  England.  His  name 
was  Richard  Hoare,  and  his  initials, 
carved  by  his  own  hand,  are  to  be  seen 
on  the  chest. 

"And  that  door,"  said  the  senator, 
"is  from  the  house  of  Charles  Hoare." 
Later  he  pointed  out  to  me  a  picture  of 
the  house,  a  part  of  which  still  stands 
on  Longsmith  street,  Gloucester,  Eng- 
land. An  accompanying  legend  states 
that  the  house  was  occupied  from  1580 
to  1632  by  Charles  Hoare,  the  grand- 
father of  John,  the  first  Hoare  who  came 
to  this  country.  "That  makes  my  little 
grand-children  eleven  generations  re- 
moved from  Charles  Hoare,  you  see," 
he  observed. 

This  allusion  to  "my  little  grand-chfld- 
ren"  is  characteristic  of  Senator  Hoar. 
Several  times  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon he  spoke  with  pleasure  as  well  as 
pride  of  these  little  ones.  And  he  was 
very  happy  in  showing  me  his  photograph 
(here  reproduced)  taken  last  year  with 
some  Syrian  immigrant  children  whom 
the  president  and  the  senator  had  saved 
from  being  separated  from  their  parents. 

Not  to  have  seen  Senator  Hoar's  col- 
lection of  autographs  is,  however,  to 
have  missed  one  of  the  choicest  parts  of 
this  library.  There  are  hundreds  of 
these  autographs  and  they  are  neatly 
arranged  in  piles,  each  pile  in  a  separate 
cardboard  case  marked  with  the  name  of 
the  original  owner  or  author,  together 
with  important  dates  associated  with 
each.  The  piles  then  fill  several  drawers 


SENATOR   HOAR   AT    HOME 


29 


of  a  large  cabinet.  All  the  letters  writ- 
ten, during  confinement,  by  that  Webster 
who  murdered  Parkman,  are  here  just  as 
they  were  sent  to  his  counsel.  The 
whole  of  Campbell's  prefaces  to  the 


Thomas  Carlyle's  autograph  appears 
at  the  end  of  a  funny  rhyme,  and  the 
only  autograph  in  the  country  of  Lord 
Coke,  who  was  a  famous  judge  during 
Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  is  likewise  here. 


SENATOR    HOAR    AND     PRESIDENT    ROOSEVELT    ON    THE    PIAZZA    WITH 

THE  SYRIAN   CHILDREN   THEY   SAVED  FROM  DEPORTATION 

Copyright,  1903,  by  Sehervee. 


"Lives  of  the  British  Poets"  are  also  in 
this  cabinet,  as  are  Washington  Irving's 
notes  during  1807-08,  memoranda  proba; 
bly  used  in  the  preparation  of  Irving's 
"Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York." 


Over  one  old  poem  the  senator  paused 
to  laugh.  "Samuel  T.  Coleridge,''"  he 
explained,  "wrote,  about  1794,  a  poem 
dedicated  to  'a  young  ass.'  This  is  the 
original  manuscript,  and  it  contains 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE    for  OCTOBER,    1904 


several  lines  highly  uncomplimentary 
to  King  George."  Thrilling  indeed  was 
it  to  read  those  never  published  stanzas 
in  which  Coleridge  refers  to  the  fact 
that  Handel's  music  was  very  sweet 
to  "the  scoundrel  monarch's  breast." 
"That  line  in  print  would  have  meant 
ten  years  in  the  penitentiary,"  com- 
mented Mr.  Hoar.  "Leigh  Hunt  re- 
ceived two  years  for  a  great  deal  less. 

"There's  a  wicked  letter,"  broke  out 
the  silvery  haired  statesman,  as  he 
picked  one  out  of  a  group  of  faded 
documents.  "One  of  these  days  I  may 
publish  it  for  the  benefit  of  that  society 
which  is  trying  to  rehabilitate  Aaron 
Burr.  You  may  look  at  it  if  you  like. 
You  see  that  he  describes  the  young 
girl  about  whom  he  is  writing  to  another 
man  exactly  as  if  she  were  a  horse  or 
a  dog."  Surely  enough,  this  letter  must 
confound  Burr's  admirers.  With  a  kind 
of  fine  irony  it  ends,  "God  bless  you. 
A.  Burr." 

"That's  the  original  drawing  of  Trum- 
bull's  'Surrender  of  Cornwallis,' "  said 
the  senator,  producing  a  piece  of  card- 
board about  five  inches  by  three.  But, 
small  as  the  drawing  is,  its  'scheme  and 
effect  are  perfectly  clear.  It  corresponds 
exactly  to  the  splendid  painting  now  in 
the  capitol. 

"Now  here  is  something  that  I  know 
will  interest  you:  the  original  manuscript 
of  William  Cullen  Bryant's  'Death  of  the 
Flowers' : 

"  The  melancholy  days  have  come, 
The  saddest  of  the  year." 

Just  then  we  were  passing  a  James 
Bryce  packet,  and  I  thought  the  occa- 
sion was  ripe  for  a  eulogy  of  the  author 
of  "The  American  Commonwealth." 
But  no  eulogy  came.  Senator  Hoar 
merely  characterized  Bryce  as  "a  good, 
respectable  gentleman,"  and  when  I 
laughed  at  the  adjectives,  so  different 
from  most  people's,  he  smiled  with  ap- 
preciative humor. 

"Here's  a  beautiful  William  Pitt  let- 


ter," he  exclaimed  enthusiastically,  as 
he  untied  the  tape  binding  of  the  case. 
And  there,  in  the  handwriting  of  him 
who  did  so  much  for  the  American  cause, 
I  read:  "Millions  of  tenderest  thanks 
to  sweet  love;  dearest  children  all  well 
and  talk  nothing  but  adored  mamma." 

This  charming  love  letter  to  Pitt's 
wife  is  dated  "Sunday,  going  to  church." 

Politics  and  piety  jostle  each  other  in 
this  autograph  collection.  For  close  to 
a  letter  of  Chester  A.  Arthur,  accepting 
the  nomination  for  the  vice  presidency, 
is  a  letter  from  Sir  William  John  Bow- 
ring,  author  of  "Watchman,  Tell  Us  of 
the  Night,"  and  one  from  James  Mont- 
gomery, who  wrote  that  exquisite  hymn, 
"Prayer  Is  the  Soul's  Sincere  Desire." 

Probably  the  most  stirring  thing  from 
the  political  standpoint  is,  however, 
Webster's  "Speech  on  the  Sub-Treas- 
ury," made  in  reply  to  Mr.  Calhoun. 
This  is  in  the  handwriting  of  the  great 
New  England  statesman,  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  preparing  a  single  passage  for 
a  speech  and  doing  the  rest  extempore. 
The  whole  speech  may  now  be  found  in 
volume  four  of  Webster's  addresses 
under  date  of  January  31,  1838.  But  to 
read  it  here  in  the  great  man's  own  hand 
is  quite  another  matter.  "Calhoun  will 
go  off  under  the  state's  rights  banner," 
it  runs  ironically  in  one  place  and  then 
it  breaks  out  in  a  particularly  Websterian 
fashion:  "Let  him  go!"  After  that  the 
great  orator  proceeds  in  an  impassioned 
burst  of  eloquence  to  announce  that  he 
himself  came  into  public  life  in»  the 
service  of  "all  the  United  States  and 
purposes  to  so  remain." 

Very  lovingly  did  Senator  Hoar  finger 
this  manuscript,  turning  over  page  after 
page  of  it. 

"It  seems  to  be  very  long,"  I  re- 
marked; "almost  as  long  as  your  great 
Philippine  speech." 

"Yes, "  responded  the  strenuous  anti- 
imperialist,  "that  speech  was  long 
enough,  but  it  didn't  seem  to  do  much 
good." 


SENATOR   HOAR   AT   HOME 


"Do  you  still  feel  as  strongly  about 
the  matter  as  you  did?  "  was  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Mr.  Hoar  replied,  with 
a  flash  of  that  vigor  that  always  leaps  up 
when  a  principle  is  under  discussion. 
"I  haven't  changed  my  mind  at  all  about 
the  matter.  I  think  that  the  lynching 
and  the  lawlessness  so  prevalent  in  these 
days  is  due  very  largely  to  the  lack  of 
regard  for  the  rights  of  others  which 
came  from  our  treatment  of  the  Fili- 
pinos. McKinley  would  have  brought 
us  through,"  musingly.  "But  of  course 
I  hope  we  shall  win  through  even  now 
that  we  have  lost  him." 

"Here's  a  document  right  here,  signed 
by  Aguinaldo, "  he  continued.  "It 
seems  to  be  the  hand  of  a  scholar, 
don't  you  think?"  And  as  I  replied 
that  it  was  certainly  a  good  signature 
the  painful  war  topic  dropped. 

"Do  you  like  Maria  Edgeworth?  "  the 
senator  now  asked,  to  relieve  the  tension 
of  the  Philippine  question.  I  replied 
promptly  that  I  had  been  brought  up  on 
her  "Parent's  Assistant,"  but  had  sel- 
dom read  her  since.  "Well,"  he  ob- 
served, "I  am  glad  you  were  brought 
up  on  her.  That's  something.  But 
I  read  her  still.  Here  is  a  letter  from 
her. 

"And  here  is  a  pathetic  one  from 
George  HI,  written  while  he  was  in 
restraint  for  insanity,  and  desiring  that 
his  secretary  bring  him  any  documents 
that  needed  his  signature. 

"This  is  Garfield's  letter  accepting 
the  nomination  for  the  presidency. 
Poor  fellow!  He  was  to  have  visited 
me  here  at  the  end  of  that  journey  he 
was  just  beginning  when  the  assassin 
shot  him." 

The  Lambs  are  represented  in  the  col- 
lection by  two  valuable  relics,  one  a 
quaint  little  visiting  card  on  which  is 
inscribed  in  a  good  round  hand  "Mary 
Ann  Lamb,"  with  a  note  underneath  to 
the  effect  that  it  was  written  by  Miss 
Lamb,  July  5,  1840,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-four;  and  Charles  Lamb  by  the 


original  manuscript  of  his  sonnet  on  the 
Christian  names  of  women,  a  charming 
bit  of  verse  written  to  Edith  Southey: 

"  In  Christian  world  MARY  the  garland 
wears ! 

REBECCA  sweetens  on  a  Hebrew's  ears  ; 

Quakers  for  pure  PRISCILLA  are  more  clear  ; 

The  little  Gaul  by  amorous  NINON  swears. 

Among  the  lesser  lights  how  LUCY  shines  ! 

What  air  of  fragrance  ROSAMOND  throws 
around ! 

How  like  a  hymn  doth  sweet  CECELIA  sound  ! 

Of  MARTHAS  and  of  ABIGAILS,  few  lines 

Have  bragg'd  in  verse.  Of  coarsest  house- 
hold stuff 

Should  homely  JOAN  be  fashiondd.     But  can 

You  BARBARA  resist,  or  MARIAN  ? 

And  is  not  CLARE  for  love  excuse  enough  ? 

Yet,  by  my  faith,  in  numbers  I  profess, 

These  all  than  Saxon  EDITH  please  me  less." 

In  curious  contrast  to  this  charming 
bit  of  gallantry  was  the  next  document 
examined,  a  speech  made  by  Thomas 
Hutchinson,  the  Tory  governor  in  1775. 
Mr.  Hoar's  paper  is  the  original  manu- 
script of  the  address  delivered  the  day 
after  the  mob  had  attacked  Hutchinson. 
Its  author  repudiates  all  responsibility 
for  the  Stamp  Act  and,  after  apologizing 
for  appearing  in  tattered  clothes,  re- 
marks: "These  clothes  are  all  I  have  in 
the  world." 

Leigh  Hunt  is  here  in  a  splendid  piece 
of  verse  writing  called  "The  Religion 
of  a  Lover  of  Truth."  Keble,  the 
author  of  "The  Christian  Year,"  has 
a  letter  to  a  friend  full  of  English 
church  politics  and  containing  a  refer- 
ence to  the  senator's  grandfather.  A  bit 
of  a  Keats  poem;  something  from  James 
Hogg,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd;  a  postal 
card  from  Gladstone;  a  message  sent  to 
the  legislature  by  John  Hancock  when 
he  was  governor  in  1782;  a  good  letter 
of  Walter  Scott's;  a  letter  from  Lord 
Roseberry — "a  far  away  cousin  of  mine"; 
a  charade  written  in  Macaulay's  own 
hand,  and  a  fine  poem  of  Fitz-Green 
Halleck's  are  also  here.  The  author  of 
"At  Midnight  in  His  Guarded  Tent," 
did  the  verse  in  question  for  a  fair,  and 


32 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   OCTOBER,    1904 


it  is  written  of  a  young  naval  officer 
named  Allen,  who  died  in  his  country's 
defence.  It  runs: 

"He  lived  as  mothers  wish  their  sons  to  live, 
He  died  as  fathers  wish  their  sons  to  die." 

The  collection  often  throws  strange 
light  upon  well  known  characters.  We 
find,  for  instance,  Charlotte  Cushman 
appearing  as  a  poet.  Here  in  her  own 
handwriting  is  a  rather  hysterical  son- 
net, beginning: 

"There  is  no  God — the  skeptic  scoffing  said — 
There  is  no  power  that  sways  o'er  earth,  o'er 

sky. 
Remove  the  veil  that  folds   the  doubter's 

head 
That  God  may  burst  upon  the  opened  eye." 

And  so  on  for  ten  more  lines  that  make 
one  very  glad  Miss  Cushman  turned  her 
talent  to  acting  instead  of  to  verse 
making. 

An  autograph  collection  of  this  kind 
can  often  change  unjust  opinions. 
Thomas  Moore  was  not  admitted  to  a 
place  in  the  congressional  library,  it 
will  be  remembered,  because  he  once 
published  a  ribald  attack  upon  the 
United  States.  Senator  Hoar,  however, 
possesses  a  letter  signed  by  Moore  him- 
self, in  which  is  presented  an  excellent 
recantation  of  this  attack.  Moore  even 
goes  so  far  as  to  characterize  the  obnox- 
ious writing  as  a  "crude  and  boyish 
tirade."  The  publication  of  the  letter, 
when  Moore's  character  was  under  dis- 
cussion, rendered  the  poet  tardy  justice. 
A  humorous  poem  written  by  Dean 
Swift,  two  Duke  of  Wellington  letters, 
some  Robert  Browning  manuscripts, 


a  John  Adams  letter,  and  a  John  Quincy 
Adams  autobiographical  sketch,  written 
when  the  president  was  an  old  man,  are 
other  interesting  documents  in  the  big 
cabinet. 

The  grand  finale  of  my  afternoon  came 
when  Senator  Hoar  read  me,  with  a 
twinkling  eye  and  very  evident  relish, 
Southey's  delightful  squib  on  Napoleon 
Bonaparte's  Moscow  journey.  As  the 
rhymes  on  the  "ovvskis"  and  the  "ish- 
kis"  rolled  out  in  the  statesman's  UK  1- 
low  voice,  I  could  not  but  lean  back 
in  my  chair  and  laugh  heartily  at  it  all. 
But  at  the  same  time  I  was  thinkiug  that 
even  so  grave  a  republican  miscarriage 
as  the  Philippine  move  could  not  be  un- 
bearable to  any  man  possessing  a  sense 
of  humor  like  that  of  the  senior  senator 
from  Massachusetts. 

Yet,  somehow,  it  is  with  a  glimpse  of 
quite  another  phase  of  the  man  that  I 
prefer  to  close  this  account  of  a  delight- 
ful day  in  Worcester.  The  incident 
happened  as  I  was  being  driven  to  the 
station  and  it  arose  from  my  admiration 
of  the  public  library  the  senator  had 
pointed  out  to  me. 

"The  only  time  I  was  ever  guilty  of 
wire  pulling,"  my  host  then  remarked, 
"was  when  I  so  used  my  influence  that 
Thucydides  instead  of  Herodotus  re- 
ceived honorable  mention  on  that  facade 
as  the  representative  Greek  historian. 
Why  did  I  want  to  carry  that  point? 
Oh,  only  because  I've  always  had  an 
especial  fondness  for  Thucydides." 

Was  not  that  deliciously  characteris- 
tic? Is  there  another  man  in  American 
public  life  today  who  would  pull  wires 
for — Thucydides? 


LOVE 

Love  is  as  elusive  as  an  echo  ere  it  dies, 
Love  is  evanescent  as  the  rainbow  in  the  skies, 
Love  deceives  the  happy-heart,  the  careless  and  the  wise 
With  vows  to  live  forever  and  a  day. 

F.  P. 


DON   JUAN   ON  THE    PIKE 

By    WILLIA_M    F.     KIRK 

MILWAUKEE,     WISCONSIN 

I  LOVE  the  blare  of  trumpets,  the  delirious 
Strains  of  the  Eastern  bag-pipe  (I  suppose 
That's  what  we  hear  in  "Asia"  so  mysterious  — 

Much  like  a  tenor  talking  through  his  nose); 
The  Orientals,  somehow,  never  weary  us 

Though  onto  much  of  our  loose  change  they  close, 
I  love  the  acrobatic  leaps  and  jerks 
Practiced  by  all  the  Allah-praising  Turks. 

The  Eskimos  are  cunning  little  creatures 

With  much  disdain  for  costumes  "Peek-a-boo;" 

The  furry  hoods  that  frame  their  chubby  features 
Must  be  delightful  down  in  old  St.  Lou. 

Perhaps  I'd  go  and  sit  upon  the  bleachers 
Dressed  in  a  nice  mink  overcoat  or  two 

If  1  could  brave  the  heat  in  all  the  clothes 

Worn  by  the  blubber-eating  Eskimos. 

The  Indians  are  a  formidable  bunch 

As,  mounted  on  their  steeds,  they  face  the  street; 
I  happened  to  observe  them  eating  lunch 

And  when  the  waiter  came  1  didn't  eat. 
I  sipped,  instead,  some  funny  Turkish  punch 

That  makes  the  average  tourist  indiscreet; 
And  all  that  day,  till  placed  upon  the  shelf, 
I  was  an  awful  Indian  myself. 

The  grand  Tyrolean  Alps  are  fair  to  view, 

Their  thousand  fairy  lanterns  twinkling  prettily, 

They  have  their  host  of  staunch  admirers,  too; 
I  heard  one  aged  spinster  say,  quite  wittily: 

"I  s'pose  this  here's  where  Stonewall  Jackson's  crew 
Stood  when  he  said  'Beyond  the  Alps  lies  Italy!  " 

'Twas  here  that,  aided  by  the  Turkish  jag, 

I  saw  the  "lightning  leap  from  crag  to  crag." 

Last,  but  not  least,  on  Cairo's  streets  I  saw 

A  little  play  house  where  a  smooth  magician 
Wagged — it  was  getting  late— his  weary  jaw 

And  called  attention  to  the  small  admission. 
I  entered,  and  a  maid  whose  smile  would  thaw 

The  heart  of  even  the  haughtiest  patrician 
Started  some  dance,  when  to  my  discontent 

I  noticed  'twas  my  bed  time,  so  I  went! 


NEW  DAWNS  OF  KNOWLEDGE 


By   MICHAEL   A.   LANE 

AUTHOR   OF  "THE   LEVEL  OF   SOCIAL   MOTION" 
CHICAGO,    ILLINOIS 

VI.  — THE    BIBLE 


IT  is  only  in  comparatively  recent  years 
that  the  methods  of  science  have  been 
applied  to  the  study  of  the  Bible.  This 
fact  was  due  to  two  widely  separated 
causes.  First,  the  professors  of  the 
physical  sciences  were  altogether  incom- 
petent to  speak  with  certainty  concerning 
the  sacred  scriptures;  and,  secondly,  the 
professors  of  theology  who  were  quite 
competent  to  do  so,  refused  to  do  so 
because  they  regarded  the  sacred  scrip- 
tures as  an  inspired  book  which  was  not 
to  be  questioned  at  all.  In  this  way,  the 
Bible,  until  recent  times,  escaped  the 
otherwise  all-pervading  influence  of  the 
inductive  method,  although  the  instru- 
ments of  that  method,  and  the  knowledge 
how  to  use  them,  were  familiar  to  the 
professors  in  the  theological  seminaries. 
Those  men  of  science  who  did  not 
regard  the  Bible  as  a  sacred  book  did 
not  know  enough  about  the  Bible  to 
discuss  it  intelligently,  whereas  those 
who  were  perfectly  capable  of  discussing 
it  with  power  and  intelligence  refrained 
from  doing  so  because  of  scrupulosity. 
In  this  way  the  Bible  escaped  the  cur- 
rent of  scientific  progress  which  had 
been  carrying  other  things  forward  on 
its  swiftly  moving  stream. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury a  few  German  theologians  under- 
took to  explain  away  the  contradictions 
of  the  four  gospels;  to  reconcile  the 
variations  and  the  apparent  flat  dis- 
agreements and  the  seemingly  irrecon- 
cilable divarications  which  continually 
present  themselves  to  him  who  reads  the 
gospels  with  a  living  rather  than  a  lan- 
guid interest.  These  theologians  at- 
tempted to  prove,  by  rational  methods, 
the  historical  consistency  of  the  New 


Testament.  As  thorough  and  conscien- 
tious believers  in  the  truth  of  that  his- 
tory, they  desired  to  satisfy  themselves 
of  its  rationality,  and  to  construct  the- 
ories by  which  the  self-contradictions  in 
the  entire  account  would  be  rationally 
explained. 

The  very  moment,  however,  that  this 
attempt  was  made  a  curious  consequence 
arose.  It  was  found  that  scarcely  two 
theologians  could  agree  upon  any  ex- 
planation whatsoever,  and  there  thus 
sprang  up  a  notable  controversy  which 
was  not  altogether  devoid  of  personal 
bitterness  and  enmity.  So  it  was  that 
the  "higher  criticism"  came  to  be 
ushered  into  the  world  of  scientific 
thought,  and  in  this  insidious  manner 
the  Book  of  Books  was  insensibly  drawn 
into  the  current  of  scientific  inquiry 
with  all  the  implications  which  these 
terms  contain.  The  Bible  was  now  in 
the  hands  of  men  thoroughly  competent 
to  question  its  every  line;  of  scholars 
whose  lives  had  been  spent  in  divinity 
schools,  and  in  the  close  and  deep  study 
of  the  languages  and  the  history,  a 
knowledge  of  which  was  all-essential  to 
any  intelligent  conception  of  the  true 
meaning  of  the  New  Testament,  or  to  an 
understanding  of  its  obscure  and  remote 
references  to  obscure  and  remote  social 
customs  and  religious  ideas  long  since 
extinct  and  altogether  unknown  except 
to  specialists  in  exegesis.- 

For  a  long  time,  therefore,  the  contro- 
versy was  quite  beyond  the  comprehen- 
sion of  the  layman,  whether  "scientific" 
or  not.  The  .theologians  had  it  all  to 
themselves,  and  possibly  would  have 
most  of  it  still  to  themselves  had  it  not 
been  for  the  work  of  a  young  theologian 


NEW    DAWNS    OF    KNOWLEDGE:   VI.  —THE    BIBLE 


35 


in  the  seminary  at  Tubingen  —  David 
Friedrich  Strauss.  The  influence  of 
Strauss  upon  theological  thought,  and 
biblical  study  in  general,  has  been  incal- 
culable. He  was  the  first  theologian  to 
accept  the  full  consequences  of  the  new 
method,  and  with  one  step  he  accom- 
plished the  full  distance  to  which  bibli- 
cal criticism  can  go.  The  method  of 
Strauss  is  complete.  He  left  nothing  for 
his  successors  to  do.  Current  biblical 
criticism — that  is,  the  New  Testament 
criticism— is  quite  flat  when  compared 
with  the  finished  work  of  Strauss.  It  is, 
for  the  most  part,  a  recrudescence  of  the 
old  discussion  which  was  rampant  in  the 
pre-Straussian  period. 

THE   METHOD   OF    STRAUSS 

An  understanding  of  the  work  that 
Strauss  did  can  best  be  gained  by  letting 
the  reader  see  for  himself  an  example  of 
Strauss'  method.  Let  us  take,  for  in- 
stance, his  treatment  of  the  Testament 
account  of  the  apppearance  of  Jesus  to 
the  apostles  who,  after  the  death  of  Jesus 
on  the  cross,  had  gathered  in  Jerusalem 
awaiting  power  from  above.  In  con- 
sidering this  account,  Strauss  weighs  the 
statement  of  the  four  gospels  one  against 
the  other,  with  the  most  curious  and  in- 
genious conclusions.  I  quote  from  his 
celebrated  "Life  of  Jesus": 

"All  the  accounts  [of  the  appearance 
of  Jesus  to  the  apostles  after  the  resur- 
rection] endeavor  to  show  how  the 
eleven  (if  not  to  the  credit  of  their  faith, 
at  least  to  the  satisfaction  of  those  who 
were  afterwards  to  trust  to  their  testi- 
mony) were  anything  but  hasty  in  their 
belief.  According  to  Luke  the  apostles 
considered  the  account  given  by  the 
women  of  what  they  had  seen,  and  the 
message  of  the  angel,  as  empty  talk 
(xxiv,  n);  according  to  Mark  they  gave 
no  credit  to  the  disciples  who  had  gone 
into  the  country  and  who  had  declared 
that  they  had  seen  Jesus  himself  (xvi, 
12);  according  to  Matthew  some  even 
were  unbelievers  at  the  final  appearance 
of  Jesus  in  Galilee  (Matt,  xxviii,  17),  at 
which  we  cannot  be  surprised  if  he  ap- 
peared to  them  (as  according  to  Mark 


he  did  to  the  disciples  in  the  country) 
in  a  changed  form. 

"The  means,  however,  by  which  the 
last  doubts  of  the  disciples  were  satisfied, 
and  they  were  brought  to  believe,  were, 
according  to  Matthew  and  Mark,  simply 
these.  Jesus  appeared  to  them,  them- 
selves, approached  them  and  spoke  to 
them.  In  Luke,  Jesus  finds  it  necessary 
to  go  much  farther,  and  the  most  thor- 
ough skeptic  he  has  to  satisfy  is  John. 
"  In  the  gospel  of  John  the  two  who  went 
to  Emmaus  had  just  come  in  to  the 
eleven,  and  were  about  to  tell  of  their 
own  meeting  with  Jesus,  when  all  at 
once  Jesus  stood  in  the  midst  of  them. 
As  they  were  still  afraid  (in  spite  of  their 
having  heard  that  Jesus  had  risen)  and 
thought  that  they  were  looking  at  a 
spirit,  Jesus  showed  them  his  hands  and 
his  feet,  calling  upon  them  to  touch  him 
and  convince  themselves  that  he  has 
bone  and  flesh  and  consequently  is  not 
a  spirit;  and  as  they  still  cannot  believe 
for  very  joy,  he  asked  them  for  food,  and 
immediately  partook  before  their  eyes  of 
a  piece  of  fried  fish  and  some  honey- 
comb. These  were  proofs  which  in 
themselves  might  lead  to  the  supposition 
of  a  natural  return  to  life  on  the  part  of 
Jesus;  but  he  had  immediately  before 
that  time  vanished  from  the  table  before 
the  eyes  of  the  disciples  at  Emmaus,  and 
his  sudden  appearance  on  this  occasion 
in  the  room  in  the  midst  of  the  disciples 
points  to  a  supernatural  entrance. 

"But  here,  what  Luke  had  only  im- 
plied, John  declares  definitely  when  he 
says  that  Jesus  came  and  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  when  the  doors  were 
shut.  On  the  first  occasion  he  shows  his 
hands  and  his  side,  only,  to  be  looked 
at;  on  the  second  he  makes  Thomas  put 
his  finger  and  hand  in  the  marks  of  the 
wounds.  To  this  is  further  added  the 
proof  (of  a  physical  body)  by  the  eating 
of  fried  fish  and  bread. 

"Now  in  this  case,  if  the  eating  and 
the  touching  were  historically  true,  it 
could  not  be  doubted  that  what  appeared 
to  the  disciples  was  a  human  being,  en- 
dowed with  natural  life  and  a  natural 
body.  If  the  showing  and  the  feeling  of 
the  marks  of  the  wounds  really  took 
place,  there  could  be  as  little  doubt  that 
this  human  being  was  the  Jesus  who  had 
died  upon  the  cross:  in  fine,  if  the  en- 
trance through  the  closed  doors  really 
occurred,  there  could  be  no  question  that 
the  corporeality  and  life  of  this  human 
being  were  of  a  very  peculiar  and  per- 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


fectly  supernatural  order.  But  if  all  this 
be  true,  we  have  here  two  things  co- 
existing in  absolute  contradiction  with 
each  other.  A  body  which  can  be 
touched  has  the  power  of  resistance;  but 
if  this  body  can  pass  through  closed 
doors  it  cannot  have  power  of  resistence. 
A  body  which  can  penetrate  without  op- 
position through  boards  can  have  no 
bones  nor  any  organ  by  which  to  digest 
bread  and  fish.  These  are  not  condi- 
tions which  can  exist  together  in  a  real 
being,  but  such  as  only  a  fantastic  imagi- 
nation can  combine  together. 

"The  evangelical  testimony  in  favor 
of  the  resurrection  of  Jesus  endeavors  to 
bring  forward  the  most  convincing  of  all 
proofs.  In  doing  so  it  breaks  to  pieces, 
and  shows  itself  to  be  the  mere  result  of 
a  wish  to  give  support  to  a  dogmatic 
conception  which,  so  soon  as  the  wish 
disappears,  collapses  for  want  of  any 
support  at  all." 

MERE   SCIENTISTS   NOT   COMPETENT 

The  above  mere  fragment  from  the 
monumental  work  that  has  made  the 
name  of  Strauss  immortal  exposes  the 
very  heart  of  the  method  used  by  the  so 
called  higher  criticism.  It  must  be  re.- 
membered  that  this  method  is  not  ap- 
plied to  the  Bible  by  men  who  pursue 
the  physical  sciences.  These  do  not  dis- 
cuss the  Bible  at  all.  They  are  not  com- 
petent to  discuss  the  Bible.  It  is  the 
theologian  who  is  competent  to  discuss 
the  Bible,  and  we  see  above  the  ultimate 
conclusions  to  which  theology  comes, 
once  it  consents  to  use  the  inductive 
method.  In  this  way,  by  the  use  of  this 
method,  scientific  theology  has  un- 
covered what  is  called  the  "errancy"  of 
the  sacred  scriptures,  and  has  established 
for  itself  an  entire  system  of  science 
which,  however,  is  confined  to  the  theo- 
logical seminary  and  is  seldom  or  never 
taught  from  the  pulpit.  The  biblical 
scholar  lives  in  a  world  of  his  own  and 
is  concerned  with  questions  quite  remote 
from  the  popular  notions  of  the  Bible 
and  its  meaning.  He  has  satisfied  him- 
self that  the  book  of  Job  is  only  a  poem, 
historical  in  no  sense  of  that  word;  that 
the  book  of  Isaiah  is  really  two  books  by 


two  different  authors;  that  the  first  five 
books  of  the  Old  Testament  were  written 
centuries  after  Moses  was  dead ;  •  that 
many  of  the  most  striking  occurrences 
recounted  in  the  books  of  the  prophets 
never  took  place  at  all ;  that  the  gospels 
were  not  written  by  the  men  to  whom  the 
authorship  is  imputed,  and  that  they 
were  not  written  until  probably  more 
than  a  century  after  the  death  of  Jesus 
himself;  that  the  Messianic  descent  from 
David  is  a  mere  dogmatic  fiction  worked 
out  for  the  purpose  of  satisfying  the  re- 
quirements of  the  prophet  Micah,  and 
other  Messianic  traditions  according  to 
which  the  Messiah  was  to  be  of  the  line 
of  David  and  born  in  the  city  of  Beth- 
lehem; and  that  many  other  accounts  in 
the  Bible  are  quite  aside  from  questions 
of  actual  occurrence  or  historical  value 
save  as  indications  of  the  social  and 
religious  state  of  the  Jews  about  the  time 
of  the  publication  or  the  writing  of  the 
books  at  issue. 

NATURE  OF   BIBLICAL  CRITICISM 

Biblical  criticism  approaches  its  con- 
clusions and  verifies  its  theories  pre- 
cisely as  do  all  other  sciences.  It  never 
jumps  at  generalizations,  but  carefully 
and  mercilessly  tries  out  and  tests  every- 
thing. It  strengthens  a  suspected  con- 
clusion by  as  many  convergent  investiga- 
tions as  it  can  possibly  use;  and  when 
several  various  methods  lead  to  one  and 
the  same  result,  the  rational  conclusion 
emerges  of  its  own  force. 

When,  for  example,  the  biblical  critic 
finds  that  the  gospels  were  written  at 
considerable  intervals  and  in  different 
places;  when  he  finds  that  different 
evangelical  authors  add  here,  or  take 
away  there,  in  order  to  bring  out  some 
dogma  that  is  consistent  with  their  own 
desire  or  belief;  when  he  finds  that  Jesus 
is  always  associated  with  Nazareth  and 
never  with  Bethlehem,  save  in  the  story 
of  his  birth;  that  this  birth  in  Bethlehem 
was  necessary  if  the  claim  that  Jesus  was 
the  Messiah  is  urged;  that  the  story  of 


NEW    DAWNS    OF    KNOWLEDGE:   VI. —THE   BIBLE 


37 


Mary's  journey  to  Jerusalem,  and  the 
birth  of  Jesus  on  the  way,  would  hardly 
have  been  told  by  the  writer  of  the  story 
had  he  known,  first,  that  .the  census  for 
which  Mary  was  supposed  to  have  gone 
to  Jerusalem  was  taken  some  years  before 
Mary  herself  was  born;  and  secondly 
that  the  Roman  government  did  not  take 
the  census  in  the  way  described,— that 
is,  by  having  the  Jews  go  to  the  city  of 
their  ancestors  to  be  counted, — but  by 
counting  the  people  in  the  localities  in 
which  they  lived;  when  he  finds  that  the 
pedigree  of  Jesus  as  given  in  the  gospels 
is  forced,  and  that  the  two  pedigrees  are 
discrepant;  when  he  finds  that  the  most 
seemingly  improbable  and  apparently 
purposeless  divagations  as  to  the  events 
in  the  written  life  of  Jesus  are  perfectly 
clear  and  full  of  purpose  if  it  be  assumed 
that  the  writer  desires  to  make  the  life 
of  Jesus  fit  into  old  prophecies  concern- 
ing the  Messiah;  and  when,  in  view  of 
all  these  things,  he  finds  evidence  that 
the  gospels  took  their  present  completed 
form  a  very  long  time  subsequently  to 
the  actual  occurrences  which  they  pre- 
tend to  relate,  why  then,  the  conviction 
that  Jesus  was  not  born  in  Bethlehem 
rises  to  positive  certainty  in  the  mind  of 
the  scholar. 

Here  you  have  a  single  allegation — the 
birth  of  Jesus  in  Bethlehem  —  made  the 
focus  of  several  entirely  different  lines 
of  investigation,  every  one  of  which  is 
held  to  negative  the  allegation,  and  any 
particular  one  of  which,  taken  by  itself, 
would  serve 'completely  to  disarticulate 
the  account  of  the  birth  in  Bethlehem 
from  the  truly  historical  .story  of  the  life 
of  Jesus. 

The  biblical  scholar  finds,  first,  that 
the  Reman  government  did  not  take  its 
census  by  ordering  the  descendants  of 
David  to  go  to  Jerusalem  or  elsewhither. 
Hence  Mary  could  not  have  gone  to 
Jerusalem  for  that  purpose.  Secondly, 
the  census  cited  was  actually  taken  before 
Mary  herself  was  born;  therefore,  Mary 
could  not  have  been  counted,  and  so  on. 


So  that  it  is  seen  that  if  any  one  of  these 
impossibilities  would  of  itself  negative 
the  allegation,  the  negative  conclusion 
forces  itself  upon  the  critic  when  he 
contemplates  four,  five,  or  six  such  nega- 
tives, each  one  of  which  is  as  convincing 
and  as  forcible  as  are  the  others. 

ITS   INFLUENCE  ON    POPULAR  THOUGHT 

The  tremendous  influence  exerted 
upon  popular  thought  by  the  steadily 
increasing  dissemination  of  scientific 
knowledge  through  public  and  private 
education  is  nowhere  seen  more  visibly 
at  work  than  in  popular  conceptions 
concerning  the  Bible.  This  influence 
flows  in  continually  deepening  and  ex- 
panding streams  from  two  independent 
sources;  first,  the  general  advancement 
of  the  physical  sciences  and,  again,  the 
very  rapid  growth  of  biblical  criticism 
as  it  flourishes  in  the  schools  of  the  large 
Christian  denominations.  The  sources 
of  these  streams  may  be  somewhat  remote 
from  popular  thought,  but  the  streams 
themselves  flow  by  its  very  door. 

With  the  establishment  of  biblical 
criticism  by  the  Germans,  and  its 
quickly  completed  maturity  in  the  work 
of  Strauss,  the  rational  study  of  the 
Bible  was  taken  out  of  the  hands  of 
incompetent  scholars  and  was  placed 
where  it  properly  belongs.  If  the  clergy- 
man cannot  tell  us  the  age  of  the  earth 
or  the  origin  of  species,  he  alone  is  com- 
petent to  tell  us  the  truth  about  the 
sacred  scriptures.  To  him  we  must  turn 
for  that  expert  testimony  concerning  the 
validity  and  concurrence,  or  the  reverse, 
of  the  historical  statements  made  by  the 
authors  of  the  books  of  the  Bible.  Here, 
as  elsewhere,  the  methods  of  science  are 
constructive  rather  than  destructive. 
For  if  critical  investigation  removes 
beliefs  in  old  dogmas,  it  does  so  in- 
directly. If  it  tells  us  that  we  have  no 
rational  warrant  for  believing  that  Jesus 
was  born  in  Bethlehem,  it  suggests  to  us 
the  entire  probability  of  his  having  been 
born  in  Nazareth;  and  if  it  removes  the 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   OCTOBER,    1904 


misconception  that  he  prophesied  the 
destruction  of  Jerusalem,  it  answers, 
with  unerring  accent,  the  claim  of  the 
rampant  disbeliever  that  Jesus  did  not 
exist  at  all.  If  it  shows,  for  example, 
the  high  improbability  that  Jesus  is  the 
author  of  the  mystic  and  obscure  phil- 
osophy in  the  gospel  of  John,  it  irrevoc- 
ably establishes  him  as  the  author  of 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  And  if  it 
indicates  the  contradictions  in  the  vari- 
ous accounts  of  his  resurrection,  it  no 
less  clearly  indicates  as  his  very  own  the 
sublimity  of  the  truths  in  the  parables, 
and  the  incomprehensible  beauty  of  the 
moral  message  that  he  spoke  to  mankind. 

IT  BRINGS  JESUS  NEARER  TO   US 

Thus  it  is  that  while  biblical  criticism, 
in  the  trained  and  skillful  hand  of  the 
doctor  of  divinity,  disposes  us  less  and 
less  to  look  upon  Jesus  as  a  being  super- 
naturally  different  and  remote  from  our- 
selves, it  disposes  us  more  and  more  to 
look  upon  Jesus  as  a  warm  personality, 
very  close  to  and  in  intimate  sympathy 
with  human  wants  and  human  aspira- 
tions. In  divesting  the  Founder  of  the 
Christian  religion  of  the  gross  miscon- 
ceptions with  which  fancy  and  unpal- 
liated  faith  have  clothed  him,  it  reveals 
him  to  our  eyes  in  all  the  gentle,  sweet, 
and  touching  simplicity  of  the  greatest, 
most  sympathetic,  and  most  thoroughly 
misunderstood  philanthropist  of  the 
Orient.  If  it  indirectly  causes  us  to 
relax  our  hold  upon  the  narrow,  unsym- 
pathetic, and  fearsome  theology  of  our 
forefathers,  it  directly  helps  us  to  a 
keener  sympathy  with  our  children,  and 
to  a  wider  and  more  benevolent  kinship 
with  our  fellow  man. 

The  new  theology,  therefore,  is  not 
a  destructive  science  nor  a  science  that 
would  leave  us  with  empty  hands  when 
we  turn  from  the  old  order  of  thought 
and  contemplate  that  which  is  before  us. 
Limited  by  its  own  necessities  and  by 
the  conditions  of  its  very  existence,  to 
the  work  of  ascertaining  the  truth,  what- 


ever the  truth  may  be,  the  new  theology 
is  perforce  required  to  thresh  out  its 
material  until  the  last  grain  be  separated 
from  the  chaff.  For  it,  equivocation  or 
evasion  of  any  kind  is  no  longer  avail- 
able nor,  'indeed,  possible;  and  this 
truth  has  come  home  to  the  churches 
with  such  convincing  power  that  the 
churches  have  learned  to  leave  their 
scholars  free  and,  in  fact,  to  honor  them 
as  they  deserve  to  be  honored. 

A   REAL   POWER   IN   THE   CHURCHES 

Very  roughly  sketched,  such  seems  to 
be  the  religious  state  of  mind  of  the 
cultivated  classes.  Scholarly  opinions 
of  the  Bible,  particularly  when  such 
opinions  are  held  by  teachers  in  theo- 
logical seminaries,  are  always  received 
with  respect,  no  matter  how  radical  these 
opinions  may  be.  It  is  doubtful  if  any 
theologian  would  now  be  prosecuted  by 
his  church  for  an  opinion  or  a  scientific 
finding  of  any  kind  short  of  pure  athe- 
ism. Almost  all  theological  scholars  are 
agnostics — in  the  true  sense  of  that  term. 
Advanced  theological  opinion — the  new 
theology  —  has  forced  some  of  the 
churches  to  abandon  their  old  formula!!, 
and  has  likewise  created  very  wide  lati- 
tude for  opinion  in  all  creeds.  The 
clergymen  who  govern  the  various 
churches  have  found  that  if  they  would 
not  have  the  scholarship  of  their  own 
church  fall  out  of  the  general  march  for- 
ward, they  must  lift  up  rather  than  let 
go  the  hands  of  their  own  scholars.  In 
this  passive  way  it  has  come  about  that 
the  biblical  critic  has  become  the  real 
power  in  churches  of  every  kind,  and  it 
is  to  him  that  we  turn  when  we  desire 
to  know,  for  example,  in  how  far  the 
Jehovah  of  the  Old  Testament  was  the 
product  of  the  social  life  and  environ- 
ment of  the  ancient  Jews,  and  what  war- 
rant there  is  for  the  finding  that  the 
account  of  the  creation  in  the  book  of 
Genesis  could  not  have  been  written 
previously  to  the  Babylonian  captivity. 

It  is  profitable  to  note  that  the  conclu- 


NEW    DAWNS    OF    KNOWLEDGE:   VI.— THK    BIBLE 


39 


sions  of  anthropogists,  in  the  matter  of 
the  evolution  of  religion  in  general,  are 
here  verified  by  the  biblical  critic  who 
investigates  the  origin  and  growth  of 
Judeo-Christianity  in  particular.  If  the 
conclusions  of  biblical  criticism  are  true 
they  cannot  conflict  with  the  conclusions 
of  other  sciences  bearing  upon  similar 
matters.  Say  rather  that  the  rational 
conclusions  of  all  sciences  must  agree 
whenever  they  meet  at  that  common 
point  of  contact.  And  such  agreements 
are  never  found  wanting  when  the  vari- 
ous sciences  concerned  have  probed  to 
the  farthest  sources  of  the  phenomena 
with  which  they  deal. 

A  NEW   RELIGION   COMING   IN 

A  general  survey  of  the  changes 
through  which  popular  thought  has 
passed  within  the  space  of  twenty-five 
years  forces  upon  us  the  conviction  that 
old  forms  of  religion  are  rapidly  going 
out,  and  that  a  distinctly  new  religion 
is  coming  in.  The  biological  labora- 
tory, which,  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago, 
was  the  sole  possession  of  a  few  high 
priests  of  science  and  of  their  tyros,  is 
now  the  possession  of  every  pupil  in  the 
high  school.  The  college  is  coming 
down  to  the  people  and  the  people  are 
going  up  to  the  college.  Anthropology, 
with  its  conclusions  concerning  the  origin 
of  crime  and  the  origin  of  religion,  is 
now  no  longer  a  vague  mystery  to  the 
masses,  and  the  anthropologist  is  now 
no  longer  regarded  as  a  wizard  full  of 
wicked  and  impious  thoughts.  When 
we  find  that  Darwin,  who  taught  that 
man  was  not  created  "by  hand"  (but 
is  the  descendant  of  that  wonderful 
"monkey"  which,  since  1858,  has  made 
such  a  marvelous  stir  in  the  world)  is 
honored  by  having  his  ashes  placed 
besides  those  of  Edward  the  Confessor 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  we  must  con- 
clude that  the  rapprochement  between 
Religion  and  Science  is  very  close  in- 
deed. When  we  note  that  Martin 
Luther  is  not  now  popularly  believed  to 


have  had  a  growth  of  diabolical  horns 
from  his  frontal  bone,  and  that  divinity 
students  read  Strauss'  "Life  of  Jesus" 
as  a  text  book,  we  are  warranted  in  the 
contention  that  the  ancient  difference 
between  orthodoxy  and  heterodoxy  was 
largely,  as  Carlyle  puts  it,  a  difference 
between  my-doxy  and  your-doxy. 

When  we  note  that  theologians  are 
using  the  methods  of  science  to  dissect 
the  Bible,  and  that  great  biologists,  such 
as  Professor  Haeckel,  are  turning  from 
the  aridity  of  pure  science  and  building 
for  themselves  altars  to  pantheistical 
deities,  which  they  call  by  the  names 
Infinite  Energy  and  Indestructible  Mat- 
ter; when  we  observe  that  clergymen  go 
out  of  their  way  to  avoid  giving  offence 
to  those  who  are  not  of  their  own  creed, 
and  that  biologists  such  as  Huxley  finally 
conclude  that  perhaps,  after  all,  the 
metaphysics  of  Buddha  is  the  ultimation 
of  human  ability  to  think,  the  suspicion 
begins  to  dawn  upon  us  that  this  "free- 
dom of  thought' '  we  have  so  dearly  won 
is  working  up  some  new  religion  of  its 
own.  Religion  is  somewhat  in  the  posi- 
tion of  the  British  prime  minister  who, 
harrassed  at  every  step  by  the  opposition, 
turned  upon  the  opposition  and  said  to 
them:  "Gentlemen,  take  the  country 
and  try  your  hand  upon  it."  Science 
has  taken  the  country  from  Religion; 
but  it  would  appear  that  the  highest 
effort  of  the  scientific  mind  has  re- 
sulted only  in  giving  us  religion  in 
another  garb.  The  hand  may  be  the 
hand  of  Esau,  but  the  voice  is  that  of 
Jacob. 

In  the  past  we  have  been  taught  the 
religion  of  gods;  in  the  present  we  are 
cultivating  the  religion  of  man.  If  it 
be  to  no  purpose  that  we  attempt  to  real- 
ize in  thought  the  meaning  of  the  terms 
Infinite  and  Eternal  Energy,  may  it  not 
turn  out  to  be  of  more  purpose,  practical 
and  theoretical,  if  we  follow  the  sugges- 
tion of  the  poet? 

Know  then  thyself ;  presume  not  God  to  scan ; 
The  proper  study  of  Mankind  is  Man. 


THE    SWAY   OF  THE    GOLDENROD 


By    CHRISTOBELLE    VAN     ASMUS    BUNTI.NG 


EVANS  TON,     ILLINOIS 


I 


« li/ HAT  do  you  see  in  the  fire, 
*•  Teddy?  I  see  an  old,  tumbled 
down  castle,  with  a  high  wall  in  the 
back,  and  briar  roses  all  about;  and  I 
see  an  elephant;  and  a  golf  stick;  and 
a  baby  carriage." 

"I  don't  see  any  of  those  things  except 
perhaps  the  castle  wall.  I  see  a  lovely 
girl,  Louise,  and  she  looks  like  you." 

"How  funny!  Why,  we  don't  see 
anything  the  same,  do  we?" 

"Not  much." 

"Wouldn't  we  be  happy  if  I  were  in 
love  with  you?  Now,  if  I  were  in  love 
with  you,  we  could  read  poetry  and  play 
that  you  were  the  hero  and  I  the  hero- 
ine; or  we  could  sit  silently  and  gaze 
into  the  fire,  as  we  do  now.  If  we  were 
in  love  this  davenport  would  seem 
oceans  too  big.  If  we  were  in  love, 
how  different  everything  would  be, 
wouldn't  it?" 

"I  suppose  it  would,  Louise  —  for 
you." 

"Well,  when  I  fall  in  love  I  shall  let 
you  know,  Teddy.  First  of  all,  he  must 
have  brown  eyes,  not  blue  like  yours, 
and  he  must  be  older  than  either  of  us — 
say  ten  years,  and  he  must  know — oh, 
he  must  know  a  thousand  things.  I 
never  have  met  any  one  like  him,  but 
I  am  sure  to  know  him  at  once  when  he 
comes." 

"And  if  he  never  comes — then  what?  " 

"Oh,  he  will  come;  but  if  he  should 
not,  then  I  shall  try  and  fall  in  love  with 
you." 

"Thank  you."  Teddy  looked  at  the 
mantel  clock  as  it  struck. 

"Well,  I've  got  to  go,"  he  said  lan- 
guidly. 

"I'm  dreadfully  sorry.  Come  again 
soon." 

When    the    hall   door    closed    Louise 


threw  herself  back  into  the  davenport 
and,  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees  and 
her  chin  resting  in  her  hands,  she  gazed 
again  at  her  castle.  "Yes,  he  must  have 
brown  eyes;  and  he  must  be  a  man  of 
action.  We  shall  have  a  castle  like  this, 
with  a  moat  all  about  it,  and  briar 
bushes,  and — 

Some  one  tapped  on  the  window.  It 
was  Teddy  with  a  cat  perched  on  his 
shoulder.  Louise  hated  cats,  but  this 
time  she  smiled  sweetly. 

"Good  night,  Teddy,"  she  called. 
"Go  driving  in  the  morning?  " 
It  was  Louise's,  favorite  pastime.     She 
could  not  resist. 
"Oh,  thanks,  yes." 
"I'll   call   about    ten.      Good    night. 
Sweet  dreams." 
"Good  night." 

She  went  back  to  the  fire  again;  but 
the  castle  was  gone.  Only  the  golf  stick 
remained  the  same.  The  elephant  had 
changed  into  a  Columbia  road  cart  of  the 
latest  pattern.  Louise  shut  her  eyes, 
but  when  she  looked  again  the  cart  was 
only  more  clear.  She  turned  out  the 
light  and  went  upstairs. 

^* 

Mrs.  Potter  gave  a  dinner.  It  was  a 
little  early- for  dinners,  but  Mrs.  Potter 
wished  to  make  sure  of  the  season's 
invitations.  Of  course,  everyone  was 
asked  and,  as  no  one  had  been  at  a 
dinner  all  Summer,  every  one  attended. 
It  was  during  that  cold  snap  before 
Indian  Summer.  Louise  came  with  Mr. 
Stevens.  Teddy  was  miserable.  He 
had  been  talking  to  her  just  before 
going  into  dinner.  He  had  arranged 
a  matinee  for  Wednesday.  Mr.  Stevens 
carne  toward  them.  Teddy  spoke  coolly 
and  passed  in.  Louise  accepted  Mr. 
Stevens'  arm. 
"Are  you  fond  of  pets?  "  he  asked  her. 


THE  SWAY   OF  THE    GOLD  EN  ROD 


"Of  some  pets." 

"Do  you  care  for  dogs?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am  ever  so  fond  of  dogs. 
Teddy — I  mean  Mr.  Carr — has  offered 
to  get  me  one;  but  I  shall  not  put  him 
to  the  trouble.  It  is  a  great  trouble, 
you  know,  to  get  a  dog  for  a  friend— so 
hard  to  determine  if  it  will  be  agree- 
able." 

"Quite  true,  unless  one  knows  the 
parents".  I  was  about  to  say  that,  if  you 
care  for  setters,  I  have  a  litter  of  the 
finest  breed,  and  I  shall  be  only  too 
happy  to  send  one  to  you." 

"Oh,  you  are  quite  too  kind,  really, 
but  I  shall  be  delighted." 

Teddy  caught  her  eye.  She  nodded 
at  him. 

"Perhaps  you  would  rather  choose 
one—" 

"Oh,  no,  whichever  you  send  will 
please  me  best,"  she  interrupted. 

"But  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  drive 
you  out  to  the  farm  if  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  come.  You  know,  it's  with 
dogs  like  p'eople — one  takes  fancies." 

"Yes,  I  supppose  so." 

"If  you  have  no  engagement  for  to- 
morrow, may  I  not  call  for  you — say  at 
ten,  or  ten-thirty?" 

"Yes,  that  will  be  charming.  I  have 
never  been  at  your  farm,  though  I  know 
it  so  well  through  Te, — ah — others." 

In  this  way  it  came  about  that  at  ten 
on  Tuesday  Mr.  Stevens  drove  by  for 
Louise.  His  horses  were  magnificently 
groomed  and  he  smiled  pleasantly  as 
she  came  down  the  steps.  Louise 
noticed  that  his  eyes  were  brown  and 
she  felt  sure  he  must  be  her  senijor  by 
ten  years  at  least.  She  liked  him  well, 
and  it  was  a  balmy  day,  and  her  heart 
beat  quickly.  It  was  not  quite  as  she 
had  expected,  but. —  it  would  come. 
Louise  was  sure  of  that,  and  she  felt 
happy  as  he  helped  her  in. 

"I  am  so  fond  of  driving,"  she  began, 
as  they  started  down  the  avenue.  "Do 
you  know,  I  think  I  would  rather  drive 
than  anything  else  in  the  whole  world." 


"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Miss 
Louise  —  you  do  not  mind  my  calling" 
you  that,  I  am  sure,  I  have  known  you 
so  long— for  driving  is  my  dearest  pleas- 
ure." 

Louise  was  thinking  how  long  had  he 
known  her. 

"I  used  to  like  riding,"  he  went  on, 
"but  a  man  gets  lazy,  I  suppose,  as  he 
gets  older.  I  should  have  brought  the 
cart  along,  but  for  a  long  drive  I  thought 
you  would  find  this  easier.  Are  you 
quite  comfortable?  It  is  some  warmer 
today." 

"Oh,  yes,  thanks,  I'm  most  comfort- 
able. How  old  are  the  dogs?  " 

"About  four  weeks  now.  I  have  them 
all  promised— eight  of  them,  but  you  are 
to  have  first  choice." 

"You  are  very  good  to  me." 
;,    '.'I'm  not  anything  of  the  kind.     I'm 
good  to  the  dog.     It  is  no^  more  than 
fair  that.,  the  best  dog  should  have  the 
best  home."  . 

"Thank  you,"  she  laughed  lightly. 

"Do  you  know  the  first  time  I  ever 
saw  you?  " 

"No— where?" 

"It  was  at  a  garden  party  at  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton Perry's.  You  were  dressed  as  a 
little  Dutch  girl  and  served  lemonade— 
with  some  others.  That  must  have  been 
eight  years  or  more  ago.  Do  you  know, 
I  thought  you  the  prettiest  little  saucy 
Dutch  girl  in  the  whole  world.  I  was 
in  college  then,  and  after  that  I  went 
away;  but  I  have  always  remembered 
you  as  I  saw  you  that  night;  and  I 
determined  to  hunt  you  up  as  soon  as 
I  came  home  to  stay.  You  see,  I  have." 

"I  am  sure  it  is  good  of  you.  I  am 
some  changed  since  then." 

"Yes,  but  not  for  the  worse." 

"That  is  good  of  you,  too." 

How  brown  his  eyes  are,  Louise  was 
thinking.  They  were  passing  through 
a  pretty  country  road  lined  on  either 
side  by  tall  Normandy  poplars.  The 
falling  leaves  had  made  a  carpet  of  rich 
yellow  gold.  Squirrels  were  running  to 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   OCTOBER,  1904 


LOUISE   WAS   THINKING    HOW   LONG   HAD   HE   KNOWN    HER 


and  fro,  chirruping  as  they  went.  The 
sun  shone  warmly.  Everything  seemed 
in  perfect  harmony,  — that  is,  'most  every- 
thing. It  was  quite  too  sudden  to  real- 
ize. Louise  was  not  entirely  sure.  But, 
then,  she  was  very  young — and  her 
ideals  were  perhaps  too  exacting.  They 
turned  abruptly  as  if  going  straight  into 
a  wood.  It  was  only  a  bridle  path  to 
the  house. 


"I  don't  drive  this  way  often,"  he  was 
saying,  "but  I  am  afraid  maybe  we  can- 
not come  down  here — not  have  time,  you 
know — and  I  am  sure  you  would  hate  to 
miss  this.  It's  so  pretty  in  Autumn." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!  Isn't  it  glorious? 
Oh,  that  crimson  of  the  maples  and  the 
gold  and  brown  of  those  oaks  —  how 
lovely!" 

"I  thought  you  would  enjoy  it." 


THE  SWAY   OF  THE   GOLDENROD 


43 


Louise  did  not  look  at  him,  but  she 
knew  his  eyes  were  on  her.  She  was 
glad  to  see  the  house  ahead. 

"It  has  taken  longer  to  get  out  than 
I  anticipated.  It  is  shorter  by  the  new 
road.  We  may  as  well  stay  for  luncheon 
now,  and  you  can  'phone  from  the  house. 
My  sister  is  here." 

"Oh,  yes,  thanks.  I  shall  love  to 
lunch  here — it's  so  beautiful." 

"Alice  came  out  yesterday.  She  will 
go  back  with  us."" 

Darrell  Stevens  helped  her  out  at  the 
steps.  Then  he  whistled  as  they  came 
on  the  porch. 

"Hello,  Alice,"  he  called  as  they 
came  inside,  "I've  brought  you  a  visi- 
tor." 

"Oh,  it's  the  little  Spaulding  girl. 
Come  in,  dear.  It  is  sweet  of  you  to 
come  out  with  Darrell.  I  knew  he 
hated  to  drive  out  alone.  You  see,  it 
was  quite  necessary  for  me  to  look  about 
some  before  leaving  the  place  all  Winter. 
Are  you  tired,  after  the  long  jaunt?  Oh, 
I  am  sure  you  are.  We  shall  have 
luncheon  at  once." 

"What  a  dear  you  are,"  Louise  was 
saying  to  herself,  but  to  Miss  Stevens 
she  said: 

"Oh  no,  I'm  not  at  all  tired — I  have 
had  a  most  delightful  drive.  I  am  sure 
I  should  never  get  tired  of  driving." 

"That  is  the  way  Darrell  talks,  but 
I  must  confess  that  for  me  it  is  a  long 
drive  to  the  city.  I  shall  be  glad  when 
we  are  back  again." 

That  night  a  little  Irish  setter,  the 
envy  of  all  his  sisters  and  brothers,  went 
to  sleep  with  a  blue  ribbon  tied  about 
his  neck.  Louise  looked  her  thanks 
into  a  pair  of  deep  brown  eyes  when  Mr. 
Stevens  said  "goodbye"  that  afternoon. 

II 

Teddy  ordered  a  high  ball— "rye,"  he 
said.  It  was  his  fifth.  Then  he  lighted 
a  cigar  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair 
disconsolately  before  the  street  window. 
Teddy  did  not  take  much  to  drinking, 


but  today  he  was  deeply  moved.  He 
put  his  well  dressed  feet  on  the  window 
ledge  and  began  to  smoke. 

A  group  of  men  at  a  corner  window 
were  calling  to  him.  After  answering 
them  civilly  enough  a  few  times,  Teddy 
got  up.  "Damn  a  club,"  he  said 
vehemently,  "where  a  fellow  can't 
go  by  himself  and  think  peacefully." 

Laughter  greeted  this  speech. 

"Teddy's  in  love,"  some  one  ven- 
tured. 

"And  whose  damn  business  is  that?" 
Teddy  said  lazily,  coming  toward  them. 
"If  a  man's  fool  enough  to  fall  in  love, 
other  fellows  should  not  be  fools  enough 
to  bother  his  life  out  of  him.  Isn't  it 
bad  enough  to  be  in  love  without  being 
told  of  it  on  every  turn?" 

"Poor  chap!"  some  one  said  consol- 
ingly. Hardy  leaned  over  to  Perkins 
and  whispered,  "Teddy's  had  too  much. 
Let's  take  him  home." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  said  Shepard,  who 
heard  Hardy's  whisper.  Then  he  called 
to  Teddy: 

"I  say,  Teddy,  who's  the  girl?" 

"None  of  your  business."  Then  he 
added,  "Damn  pretty  girl,  too  —  fine 
girl." 

"Have  a  drink?"  asked  Howard. 

"Don't  mind,"  answered  Teddy. 

"Better  take  apollinaris,  Teddy,"  said 
Hardy  close  to  his  ear. 

"Guess  you're  right,  old  man."  Then 
he  ordered:  "  'Polly  for  me,  boy." 

"Oh,  come  now,  Teddy  —  this  is  no 
Sunday  school.  What  will  you  have — 
whiskey  straight?  " 

"He  ordered  apollinaris,"  answered 
Hardy. 

"How  long  is  it  since  you've  been 
Teddy's  nurse,  George?  What' 11  you 
have,  Teddy?" 

"Highball— rye."  Then  Teddy  lapsed 
into  silence  again. 

When  the  glasses  came  in  Howard 
lifted  his  high. 

"Here's  a  toast  to  Teddy's  love,  boys. 
May  her  eyes  be  as  blue  as  an  April 


44 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


sky,  or  as  brown — is  it,  Teddy? — as  an 
Autumn's   nut." 

Shepard  ordered  again  before  sitting 
down. 

"Same  thing— all  'round,"  he  said. 

Hardy  went  out.  Perkins  started  to 
follow.  He  nudged  Teddy,  saying: 

"Better  come  home  with  me,  old  man 
— we'll  have  a  hot  bath  and  go  to  bed 
early." 

"All  right,  'Perk'  —wait  a  minute." 

The  glasses  came  in  again. 

"Her  name,  Teddy.  You  don't  get 
out  of  here  without  we  know  her  name." 

"Don't  tell  it,"   whispered  Perkins. 

"Her  name!  her  name!"  they  shouted. 

Teddy  stood  up  leaning  against  the 
table.  "Spauldin's  her  name  —  Lou' 
Spauldin'." 

Some  one  had  stood  in  the  doorway 
since  the  last  drink  had  been  ordered. 
It  was  Darrell  Stevens.  He  came  up 
coolly  and  took  in  the  situation.  He 
spoke  to  Perkins,  and  they  supported 
Teddy  to  the  door.  Then  he  went  back 
to  the  group  at  the  window.  "This  is 
a  fine  business  you've  fallen  into,"  he 
said,  with  ill-concealed  disdain,  "but 
the  man  who  repeats  this  story  has  got 
me  to  answer  to."  Then  he  walked  out 
into  the  street. 

"Stevens  looks  like  the  ghost  himself," 
ventured  some  one. 

"I  had  no  idea  Teddy  was  poaching 
on  Stevens'  preserves,"  said  another. 

"I  thought  it  was  Bonny  Lottie,"  said 
Howard,  "la  belle  danseuse." 

They  all  looked  sheepish  and  dis- 
persed. 

J» 

"Why,  Teddy,  you  look  ill,"  said 
Louise.  She  had  stopped  in  at  Lyon's 
on  her  way  home  from  Mrs.  Dick  Ken- 
dall's musical. 

"Well,  I'm  not  just  well.  You  see 
this  beastly  climate  doesn't  agree  with 
me.  I'm  going  away." 

"Oh,  are  you?  I'm  dreadfully  sorry. 
Everyone's  going  away,  or  getting 
married,  or  something.  I  am  trying 


to  get  mother  to  go  to  Palm  Beach, 
but  I'm  afraid  she  won't.  Ever  since 
Aunt  Harriet's  death  she  is  so  different, 
you  know." 

"Is  she  with  you?  " 

"No,  she  made  me  drive  around  home 
first.  I  came  down  to  get  a  magazine 
on  current  topics.  I've  joined  that  new 
club,  the  'Legation  Council,'  you  know. 
I'm  Japan.  We  each  have  a  country; 
then  every  two  weeks  we  meet;  each  one 
has  to  tell  all  important  events  happen- 
ing in  her  particular  country  in  that 
time;  talks  limited  to  five  minutes.  It's 
really  very  interesting  and  instructive. 
There's  our  mutual  friend,  Teddy." 
Louise  became  intent  in  the  magazine 
shown  her — Teddy  looked  -in  the  direc- 
tion indicated.  Mrs.  Potter  came  toward 
them. 

"Now — what  are  you  two  children  up 
to?"  she  began.  "Miss  Louise,  where 
is  your  mother?  " 

"She  drove  directly  home  after  the 
musical.  Mother  isn't  quite  herself  yet. 
I  must  be  going.  Good  afternoon." 

"Yes,  good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Potter," 
said  Teddy,  bowing. 

"Send  the  carriage  home  and  walk  up 
with  me,  won't  you?"  Teddy  asked. 

"I'd  like  to,  really,  but  I  ean't  in  this 
dress.  I  should  not  have  come  down 
at  all.  Can't  you  come  up  tonight? 
I'll  read  this  magazine  to  you." 

"No  you  won't.  Yes,  I'll  be  up  at 
eight-thirty." 

J* 

Teddy  looked  handsome  that  evening. 
Teddy  was  a  good  boy,  really,  and  he 
had  never  before  done  anything  so  fool- 
ish as  that  episode  at  the  club.  He 
regretted  it  greatly.  It  was  not  like  him. 
He  had  no  claim  to  Louise  Spaulding, 
either.  She  had  always  said  she  did 
not  care  for  him.  That  is,  did  not  care 
to  marry  him.  "It  is  too  bad,  too," 
Teddy  said  to  himself — "I've  plenty  for 
us  both  and  I  never  cared  for  any  other 
girl" — which  was  quite  true.  "I'm  sure 
we  would  be  mighty  happy  together. 


THE  SWAY    OF  THE  GOLDENROD 


45 


"HER  NAME!   HER  NAME!"  THEY   SHOUTED 


She  is  a  girl  of  good  sense,  Louise  is." 
Teddy  was  determined  to  make  one  more 
"break,"  as  he  called  it,  and  then,  if  that 
failed,  he  would  give  it  up. 

The  family  were  playing  cards  in  the 
library.  He  was  ushered  in.  Evidently 
they  had  not  heard  of  the  affair  at  the 
club.  Mr.  Spaulding  rose  and  greeted 
him  cordially. 


Mrs.  Spaulding  smiled  kindly  and  the 
two  younger  children  looked  very  agree- 
able. Louise  was  a  darling.  Teddy  did 
not  know  much  of  home  life.  He  lived 
with  an  old  deaf  aunt  in  a  large  estab- 
lishment on  Washington  avenue.  They 
lived  there  because  they  always  had, 
though  most  of  the  house  was  closed 
now  and  never  used,  and  his  aunt  kept 


46 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    OCTOBER,    1904 


to  her  own  small  suite  on  the  second 
floor.  Teddy  had  rooms  on  the  first, 
off  the  left  wing.  The  old  lady,  though 
fond  of  Teddy,  hated  men  in  general. 
She  "could  not  understand  them,"  she 
said,  poor  soul.  So,  though  she  tried  to 
give  Teddy  her  love  and  friendship,  she 
made'a  botch  of  it,  and  at  length  stopped 
being  inquisitive  and  spent  her  time  in 
her  own  apartment  with  her  old  friend 
and  companion  who  lived  with  her.  At 
his  aunt's  death  Teddy  would  have  more 
than  he  could  ever  use. 

So  this  glimpse  of  home  life  at  the 
Spauldings'  was  a  new  phase  to  Teddy, 
and  he  always  enjoyed  it.  He  longed 
for  such  a  home,  and  such  companion- 
ship. 

"Now,  please,  don't  let  me  disturb 
you,"  Teddy  protested. 

"Not  at  all,  young  man.  One  more 
can  play  as  well  as  not — better.  Get 
Mr.  Carr  a  chair,  Charles." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I  shall  sit  here  if  I 
may,"  and  Teddy  sat  beside  Louise. 

When  two  games  had  been  run  Mrs. 
Spaulding  thought  she  had  played 
enough.  Mr.  Spaulding  reached  for 
some  cigars  and  offered  one  to  Teddy. 
He  refused. 

"Won't  you  play  something?"  he 
asked  Louise. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed,  "come  into  the 
music  room." 

"What  shall  I  play?  "  she  asked,  turn- 
ing the  music. 

"Are  you  going  to  sing?  " 

"I  might." 

"Then  sing,  'Forgotten'." 

"Oh,  that  old  thing?  You  like  that, 
don't  you,  Teddy?  All  right — only  I 
should  not  play  my  own  accompaniment. 
It's  not  proper,  you  know." 

"Let's  forget  that.  I  love  you  when 
you  play  and  sing  so." 

"Well  then,  I'll  not  do  it.  You  have 
no  right  to  love  me,  Teddy."  She 
looked  up  at  him  and  laughed. 

He  did  not  smile  and  Louise  began 
the  song.  She  was  thinking  how  hand- 


some Teddy  looked  tonight.  And 
then — she  saw  some  deep  brown  eyes, 
and  she  sang  with  real  feeling.  Teddy 
was  looking  straight  at  her.  She  turned 
around  when  she  had  done. 

"Well,  Teddy,"  she  said,  "do  you 
like  it?" 

He  looked  down  at  her  from  those 
deep  blue  eyes  he  owned. 

"1  wish  you  would  play  and  sing  for 
me  always.'1 

"I  will,  you  foolish  boy.  Don't  I, 
always?" 

"But  I  mean  just  me,  Louise.  For 
instance — wherever  I  am." 

"I  am  afraid  that  would  be  too  diffi- 
cult, Teddy."  She  smiled,  but  she 
understood  him. 

"Well,  we  have  joked  a  lot,  Louise, 
we  are  such  old  friends,  you  and  I." 

"Real  pals,  eh,  Teddy?  "  she  inter- 
rupted, but  her  voice  trembled  some. 

"And,"  he  went  on,  "I  know  you  are 
too  fine  a  girl  to  throw  yourself  away; 
but  I'm  sure,  Louise,  we  should  be  very 
happy — if  spending  my  whole  life  to 
make  you  so  could  do  it.  I've  always 
loved  you,  ever  since  you  broke  your 
sled  that  day  on  the  hill  and  then  shared 
mine  with  me.  <  I  made  up  my  mind 
then,  I'd  marry  you  some  day.  Now 
don't  you  think  you  could  make  that  day 
come,  Louise?  " 

He  was  looking  straight  at  her.  He 
stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He 
always  did  when  deeply  interested. 
"How  handsome  he  is,"  she  kept  saying 
to  herself.  After  all,  maybe  it  was 
Teddy.  Everyone  liked  him.  He  had 
'most  everything.  He  was  not  the  man 
she  had  dreamed  about,  but  then  — 
dreams  are  but  dreams! 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Teddy?  "  she 
asked. 

"Oh,  Louise!  "  he  pleaded. 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes.  He 
leaned  down  and  kissed  her  lips.  They 
had  known  each  other  always.  Louise 
felt  as  though  she  were  kissing  her 
brother. 


THE  SWAY  OF  THE  GOLUENROD 


47 


The  next  day  Teddy  received  a  note 
at  the  club.  He  left  the  same  night  for 
the  Southwest. 

Ill 

Louise  was  sorry  Teddy  had  gone, 
though  she  did  not  miss  him  as  she 
thought  she  should.  She  said  to  herself 
she  believed  she  had  no  heart,  for  she 
did  not  miss  Teddy  as  she  thought  she 
ought,  nor,  indeed,  as  she  almost  wished 
she  might. 

Darrell  Stevens  called  regularly.  Every 
day  or  two  flowers  came,  but  that  was 
nothing.  He  knew  her  passion  for  cut 
flowers.  Louise  knew  that  Mrs.  Potter 
and  some  others  were  shaking  their 
heads  together  sententiously.  Well, 
what  of  it?  Darrell  Stevens  had  not 
asked  her  to  marry  him.  When  he  did 
it  would  be  time  enough.  She  felt  quite 
sure  what  she  would  say.  He  was  the 
finest  man  she  had  ever  known.  He 
was  real  gold.  She  was  sure  of  that. 
He  had  wealth  and  position,  and — he 
loved  her.  Yes,  and  he  had  brown 
eyes,  too. 

Louise  smiled  almost  cynically  as  she 
remembered  this.  Brown  eyes  were 
only  brown  eyes,  after  all. 

The  Irish  setter  looked  in  at  the 
doorway. 

"Come  here,  Io,"  she  said.  Do  you 
know  you  are  a  nice  dog?  You're  a 
very  pretty  dog,  too,  Io,  and  you  belong 
to  me.  You  should  have  a  white  satin 
bow  on  your  collar.  Don't  you  know 
it's  your  old  master's  birthday,  today? 
He's  a  very  old  man,  Io.  He  is  thirty- 
two.  Wait,  stand  still  a  minute.  You 
are  an  impatient  dog.  There  now,  how 
fine  you  look." 

Io  wagged  his  tail  and  looked  out  at 
the  window. 

# 

Louise  was  on  the  veranda  that  night 
when  Darrell  Stevens  came  up  the  walk. 
He  almost  reached  the  steps  before  she 
recognized  him. 

"I  thought  that  was  you,"  she  said, 


holding  out  her  hand.  "I  guess  I've 
learned  your  step." 

He  was  pleased,  but  he  did  not  answer 
her.  He  said  instead: 

"It  is  Indian  Summer,  isn't  it?  " 

"Yes,  real  Indian  Summer.  I  wish 
it  would  go  on  forever.  I  love  this  hazy 
warmness." 

"So  do  I." 

"Will  you  come  inside?" 

"Are  you  too  cool  out  here?  " 

"No,  not  I." 

"Then  sit  awhile.  I  have  something 
to  tell  you." 

"Secrets?" 

"No,  only  news." 

"I'm  dreadfully  disappointed  —  but 
what  is  it?" 

"Kingsley  Hudson,  whom  I've  told 
you  of,  will  be  here  tomorrow  and — 

"Is  he  that  dreadful  man  you  told  me 
of  who  is  so  awfully  brainy  and  doesn't 
care  for  women?  I  shall  be  ill  the  whole 
time  he  is  here." 

"But  —  Miss  Louise — you  must  help 
entertain  him.  I  thought,  since  it  has 
turned  off  so  warm  again,  we  might  take 
that  little  trip  to  the  Thorn  Apple  river 
that  we  were  obliged  to  postpone  -when 
it  got  so  cold.  You  won't  be  bored  with 
old  'King' — he's  a  dear  chap,  and  only 
a  year  older  than  I.  I'll  ask  Mary  Ash- 
worth  to  go,  and  she  will  be  a  match  for 
him.  He  is  very  entertaining — really, 
and  you  shall  surely  like  him." 

"All  right,  I'll  come  along.  In  my 
eagerness  to  hear  your  news,  I've  forgot- 
ten to  congratulate  you;  but  this  delay 
does  not  take  away  my  earnestness  in 
wishing  you  many  happy,  and  even 
happier,  returns." 

"Thank  you." 

"I've  a  gift  for  you,"  she  continued. 

"It's  a  rest  pillow  filled  with  pines — 
and  I  picked  them  all  myself,  too,  last 
Summer,  away  in  the  Saw  Tooth  Range 
of  the  old  Rockies.  I  thought  it  might 
give  you  sweet  dreams.  They  say,  you 
know,' that  these  pine  needles  are  little 
wood  sprites  and  that  they  whisper  sweet 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   OCTOBER,    1904 


nothings  to   one   while   one   sleeps.      I 
hope  they  may  to  you." 

He  \vas  looking  up  at  her,  and  Louise 
thought  his  eyes  were  all  sh£  wished. 

"Thank  you  so  much,  little  girl."  He 
had  r^ver  called  her  "little  girl"  before. 
"I  am  sure  I  shall  never  have  an  ill 
dream  again.  May  I  take  it  home  with 
me?" 

"Oh,  I  will  send  it  in  the  morning — 
I  should  lutve  done  so  today,  but — well, 
I  will  tell  you.  Mrs.  Potter  came  in  yes- 
terday just  as  I  was  putting  on  the  finish- 
ing touches,  and  she  said  that  pine 
pillows  were  a  pretty  conceit,  but  she 
thought  their  odor  atrocious  —  and  I 
wished  to  find  out  if  you  did." 

"Indeed,  I  do  not  agree  with  that 
supercilious  dame.  A  scent  of  the  pines 
always  brings  me  back  to  a  Summer 
years  ago  when  I  spent  each  day  and 
night  amid  them,  and  that  same  Summer 
brings  to  my  mind  a  garden  parly  where 
I  met  a  dear,  saucy,  little  Grelchen. 
Why,  that  pillow  is  the  dearest  gift  I 
have  ever  owned!  " 

"Oh,  I'm  so  gldd.  If  you  will  come 
in  I'll  get  it  for  you.  It's  not  large. 
You  can  carry  it  easily,  if  you  like." 

He  was  sitting  on  the  step  at  her  feet. 
"What  a  strip  of  a  girl,"  he  was  saying 
to  himself — to  her  he  said: 

"Look  at  the  Milky  Way.     I  wonder 
if  you   have   ever  heard   a  little    poem 
called  'The  Milky  Way?'  " 
"No,  what  is  it?  " 

"I  can't  remember  now — but  I  will 
get  it  for  you — it's  from  the  Norse.  It 
is  a  pretty  little  love  story." 

He  rose  suddenly  and  stood  looking 
at  her.     He  was  sure  that  he  loved  her, 
but  it  was  'most  too  soon  to  tell  her  yet. . 
He  would  give  her  a  little  more  time. 
Yes,  he  must  wait  a  little  while. 

Louise  said  to  herself:  "Yes,  I  am 
sure  I  do." 

"The  nights  are  cool,"  she  said, 
standing,  and  they  went  inside. 

.j* 
It  was  at    Mrs.   Dick    Kendall's   the 


next  night  that  Louise  met  Mr.  Hudson. 
Mrs.  Dick  had  'phoned  that  same 
afternoon  saying  Dick  had  a  birthday, 
and  wouldn't  Louise  com»over?  A  few 
were  coming  in — just  informally.  "Won't 
you  come  to  dinner,  dear?"  she  asked. 
"I  shall  be  so  glad  to,"  and  so  Louise 
dined  at  the  Kendalls'  on  Thursday. 
She  was  singing  a  love  song  as  Darrell 
Stevens  came  in  with  his  friend.  The 
two  men  were  watching  her  when  she 
turned  and  looked  at  them.  The  room 
was  well  filled  with  people.  They  came 
toward  her  and  Darrell  introduced  Mr. 
Hudson  amid  the  applause  and  a  de- 
mand for  another  song. 

But  Louise  turned  to  them  and  held 
out  her  hand.  She  would  make  it  a 
point  to  be  kind — even  gracious  to  his 
friend. 

"I  have  anticipated  meeting  }cu,  Mr. 
Hudson,"  she  said. 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied.  "You 
sing  very  well.' ' 

Louise  thought  afterward  that  it  was 
a  queer  remark  for  a  stranger — but  then, 
after  all,  he  was  hardly  that,  either. 
Darrell  had  told  her  all  about  him.  She 
quite  knew  him  already.  But  he  was 
not  at  all  as  she  had  fancied.  He  was 
not  at  all  aweing  and  he  did  not  impress 
her  as  being  so  awfully  learned.  She 
rathei  liked  him,  and  she  was  glad  of  it. 
It  is  one  of  the  best  things  to  be  said  of 
another — that  one  likes  his  friends.  So 
often  it's  not  so,  and  it  is  quite  neces- 
sary, too,  to  care  for  a  man's  friends,  if 
one  is  to  marry  that  same  man. 

In  the  dining  room,  where  Dick  stirred 
a  woodcock  in  a  chafing  dish,  Louise 
found  herself  seated  next  Mr.  Hudson. 
She  was  glad,  for,  now  that  she  liked 
him,  she  was  anxious  to  know  him 
better. 

"Mr.  Stevens  says  you  are  just  re- 
turned from  the  East  Indies.  Is  it  still 
true  that  one  can  detect  the  odor  of  the 
spices  a  mile  from  land.  Father  says  it 
was  so  in  his  boyhood.  He  lived  on 
one  of  the  islands  some  years." 


THE  SWAY  OF  THE  GOLDENROD 


49 


"That  is  very  interesting,  and  you — 
have  you  been  there,  too?  " 

"No,  but  I  should  like  very  much  to 
go." 

"You  shall,  some  day."  Then  he 
added:  "Yes,  the  spicy  smell  is  very 
pungent.  Hardly  as  much  so,  though, 
now  as  then,  probably.  They  say,  you 
know,  that  that  is  the  land  of  the  origi- 
nal ginger  cake  people.  You  have  heard 
the  story?  " 

"Oh  yes,  I  know  it  by  heart.  Wasn't 
it  too  bad  where  the  little  boy  got  thirsty 
and  they  gave  him  ginger  ale?  I  used 
to  feel  so  sorry  for  him  when  he  was  so 
parched,  and  it  burned  his  throat,-  and 
he  cried.  I  was  always  glad  when  the 
end  came  and  he  woke  up." 

"Yes,  so  was  I." 

They  were  talking  quite  like  children. 
Then  each  looked  at  the  other  and  they 
both  laughed. 

"You  don't  seem  like  a  stranger  at 
all,"  she  said. 

"We  are  not  strangers,"  he  answered 
her  slowly.  "It  is  only  people  who  live 
artificial  lives  who  are  strangers — not 
when  they  play  with  the  same  ginger 
cake  people  and  weep  over  the  same 
little  playmate.  I  am  glad  you  like  my 
friend." 

Louise  did  not  quite  know  whether 
he  meant  the  ginger  cake  boy  or  Darrell 
Stevens,  but  she  was  fond  of  them  both, 
so  she  answered  warmly:^ 

"Yes,  I  do." 

IV 

Thorn  Apple  river  was  a  twelve  mile 
ride  from  the  city.  Darrell  Stevens' 
party  reached  its  destination  about  noon, 
having  started  late — but  that  was  time 
enough*. 

They  came  along  the  river  road  about 
a  mile,  before  getting  to  their  journey's 
end.  The  whole  country  was  a  glory  of 
crimson  and  gold.  Coming  over' the 
crest  of  a  hill,  Kingsley  Hudson  leaned 
forward  and  said  close  to  Louise  Spauld- 
ing's  ear: 


"Look! — there,  down  in  the  valley,  is 
the  Yellow  Sea.  Not  the  real  Yellow 
Sea,"  he"  said,  "but  your  Yellow  Sea— 
and  mine!  " 

She  turned  her  head  toward  him.  "It 
is  beautiful,  and  the  goldenrod  is  my 
birth  flower  —  my  lucky  flower,  you 
know." 

"Yes— I  know,"  he  answered  softly, 
that  is  very  pretty,  and  this  is  your  sea 
of  swaying  gold." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  as  though  to 
herself.  "I  shall  never  forget." 

Picnics  as  a  rule  are  bound  to  be  poky 
and  the  principal  motive  always  is  to  kill 
time,  but  Darrell  Stevens  had  a  happy 
faculty  of  Choosing  congenial  people. 
The  party  had  gone  through  the  drill  of 
conventionalities.  They  had  shouted 
and  sung  and  builded  a  great  fire;  and 
had  roasted  corn,  and  baked  potatoes, 
and  boiled  water  over  a  tripod — and  now 
before  returning  home  again  they  were 
to  go  for  a  row  on  the  river.  Boats  were 
along  the  shore  and  all  the  party  had 
gone  down  to  them — save  two.  Louise 
loved  the  water.  She  was  wondering  to 
herself  what  made  her  lag  behind.  Some 
one  was  whistling  softly  behind  her. 

She  looked  around  suddenly. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed  "you  here? 
Come  —  you  must  not  miss  the  row." 

"I'm  not  going.  I  fancy  this  little 
path  will  find  a  prettier  sunset  than  the 
river.  Will  you  come  along  ?  "  His 
voice  was  so  persuasive  and  his  manner 
so  commanding  that  Louise  said  before 
she  thought: 

"Why,  yes— I  don't  mind." 

She  called  to  the  others  getting  into 
the  boats:  "I'm  going  to  explore  the 
land  with  Mr.  Hudson." 

Darrell  smiled  back  at  her.  "We'll 
not  be  long,"  he  said,  "don't  lose  your- 
selves." 

Louise  waved  her  hand  at  him.  She 
was  sorry  she  had  decided  not  to  take 
the  row.  The  river  was  so  pretty  and 
he  had  been  so  kind  all  day — but  she 
turned  down  the  little  road  path  instead, 


5° 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


and  soon  they  were  lost  to  view.  They 
walked  together  in  silence  for  a  few 
paces.  A  humming  bird  flew  by  them 
and  dipped  into  a  flower.  An  old  tree 
lay  ahead  and  a  little  to  the  left  amid 
a  bed  of  goldenrod. 


strange,  she  thought.  He  makes  one  do 
things.  He  seated  her  on  the  big  log, 
and  stood  facing  her. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  not  looking 
up.  "Won't  you  sit  down,  too?  " 

"No,  I  would  rather  look  at  you.     I've 


"I    HAVE   LOVED   YOU    FOR   A   MILLION   YEARS" 


"Let  us  sit  there,"  he  said. 

"But  we  can't  cross  the  marsh — I've 
i.ow  shoes  on." 

"Put  your  arms  about  my  neck;  I  will 
carry  you." 

Louise  did. not  even  hesitate.     How 


not  seen  you  in  so  long — but  I  knew  you 
could  not  change.  You  have  the  same 
old  trust  in  me  you  always  had.  If  that 
had  been  quicksand  we  should  have  gone 
down — probably." 
"I  never  even  thought  of  that;  I  knew 


THE    SWAY    OF    THE    GOLDENROD  51 

you  would  take  care  of  me.     When  did  head  on  his  shoulder.     The  last  edge  of 

you  know  me  before?  I  don't  remember. "  fire  sank  behind  the  trees.      A  warm  In- 

"Then    I   will    tell    you,"    he    said.  dian  Summer  breeze  stirred  the  stillness. 

"Come,   look   at   the    sunset  —  it    is   a  "I  am  glad  you  came  to   me  in  the 

great   ball   of  fire."  goldenrod,"    she   whispered.       "It    is 

She  stood  beside  him,  and  he,  turning,  like  a  real  dream — and  over  there  behind 

took  her  in  his  arms.  the   hills  is  our  castle — and  the  briar 

"Why,"  he  said,  looking  at  her,  "I  roses!" 

knew  you  long  ago.     I  have  loved  you  "Yes,    'beyond    their,   utmost  purple 

for  a  million  years!  "  rim,  beyond  the  night,  across  the  day, 

Two    large   pearls    rolled    down    her  the  happy  princess  follow'd  him'." 

cheeks,  but  she  was  smiling  through  their  "And  your  eyes  are  not  brown  —  after 

mist  as  he  kissed  her.     She  rested  her  all,"  she  said. 


SONGS  OF    THE   SEASONS 

INDIAN   SUMMER  DAYS 

By     JESSIE     M.     COOK 

GREENVILLE,  SOUTH  CAROLINA 

I  OVELY  hours!  while  Summer  lingers, 
Holding  back  with  golden  fingers 

Fading  bloom  and  fleeting  bird, 
Many  visions  fancy  weaves; 
Hark!  a  footfall  on  the  leaves, — 

And,  lo,  a  magic  bark  is  heard 
Grating  on  the  sandy  shore; 
Everywhere  the  red  man's  spirit 

Glides,  as  in  the  days  of  yore. 

J* 

SUMMER    AND    WINTER 

By    LUCIA     B.    COOK 

GREENVILLE,     SOUTH     CAROLINA 

THE  winds  that  blow  across  the  sky 

Toss  leaves  of  sleet  in  brandies  high; 
How  foreign  Summer  seems  today, 
How  beautiful  and  far  away. 

Sometimes,  when  sad,  it  seems  to  me 
That  Summer  never  more  can  be; 
But  while  the  earth  shall  still  remain, 
God's  promised  seasons  come  again. 

The  sweetest  miracle  to  me 
Is  this, — when  winds  have' tossed  the  tree, 
And  sorrow  blown  its  gusts  of  pain, 
Light  hearted  Summer  comes  again. 


THADDY'S    SONG 

By  FRANK     PUTNAM 

EAST     MILTON,      MASSACHUSETTS 


ONCE  on  a  day  they  slipped  away 
(I  had  so  much  to  carry) — 
Visions  of  shades  within  the  glades 
Where  dwell  the  elf  and  fairy. 

My  ways  ran  down  into  the  Town 
Where  all  men  strive  for  money; 

And  I  forgot  the  briary  spot 
Where  wild  bee  sucks  the  honey. 


Then  on  a  day  in  leafy  May 
Came  to  my  house  a  laddy; 

And  as  he  grew  I  found  he  knew 
What  had  escaped  his  daddy. 

He  takes  me  by  the  solemn,  shy, 
Sweet,  silent  woodland  places; 

We  hear  the  beat  of  elfin  feet — 
We  almost  see  their  faces! 


Ho!  but  it's  fine  so  to  resign 

The  dull  Town's  toil  and  worry; 
And  through  his  eyes  grow  young  and  wise 

Where  no  one's  in  a  hurry. 


DEPARTING  GUESTS 

By    MILLA    LANDON 

BRIGHTON,     NEW     YORK 


HIDDEN    away  in   cool    retreats   for 
many  days  and  weeks  the  little  black 
crickets  have  now  tuned  up  their  shrill 
pipes — 

"  How  queer  that  in  June 
They're  so  out  of  tune," 
and  are  sounding  the  first  warning  notes 
that  proclaim  "Summer  is  going!  Sum- 
mer is  going!"  Thereupon  hasty  pre- 
parations are  made  by  all  Summer  visi- 
tors to  leave  transient  abiding  places 
hidden  among  green,  leafy  bowers  for 
others  beneath  balmier  skies,  far  from 
the  cold  blasts  that  will  soon  be  blowing 
wildly  over  all  the  floral  kingdom. 

While  March,  like  a  vixen,  was  scold- 
ing and  blowing,  those  advance  couriers 
of  Spring,  the  robins,  arrived  and 
sounded"  the  bugle  call  of  "cheer  up! 
cheer  up!"  while  the  equally  brave  lit- 
tle song  sparrow,  from  the  topmost 


branch  of  a  leafless  tree,  chimed  in  — 

"Sweet,  sweet,  sweet, 
'Tis  a  joy  to  be  living ; 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet, 

Now  Summer  is  coming." 

Then  ay  warmer  and  brighter  dawned 
each  day,  and  green  buds  peeked  out  of 
their  Winter  hoods,  other  arrivals  voiced 
their  presence  in  hedges  near  by:  first 
blue  birds,  brighter  than  a  sunlit,  azure 
cloud;  then  the  tiny  gray  finch  whose 
boyish,  whistling  song  was  heard  while 
it  tarried  only  long  enough  to  rest  on 
its  journey  from  tropical  lands  to  the  far, 
northern  wooded  hills;  and,  as  days  sped 
on  apace,  other  sweet  songsters  that  had 
been  sojourning  in  southern  climes  came 
flittting  into  our  midst  with  musical 
greeting,  and  one  early  morning  when 
apple  trees  were  all  abloom  a  few  clear, 


DEPARTING   GUESTS 


53 


flute-like  notes  brought  us  quickly  to  the 
window  to  see  and  listen  to  that  gay 
Baltimorean,  Jhe  oriole,  who  with  a 
party  of  his  kinsmen  had  arrived  earlier 
than  Madam,  and  between  bits  of  insect 
food  and  ripples  of  song  was  busy  select- 
ing a  place  for  nest  building;  but,  fearful 
lest  Madame  lose  the  trail  of  her  orange 
and  black  plumed  cavalier,  called  almost 
incessantly:  "  Here!  here!  here  I  be! 
here  I  be!  Come  quick,  dearie!"  Then 
what  rapturous  love  songs  the  devoted 
pair  would  sing  while  together  they 
relined  the  last  year's  swinging  nest  with 
dandelion  down  for  the  fledglings,  who 
in  June,  when  all  the  air  was  sweet  with 
perfume  of  roses  and  lilies,  were  anxious 
to  try  their  wings,  and,  not  being  over 
strong,  had  to  rest  often  on  low  shrub- 
bery, much  to  the  distress  of  mater  and 
pater  familias. 

When  the  shy  meadow  lark,  and  the 
bobolink,  so  truly  called  the  "song  on 
wing"  and  blue  black  swallows  and  irri- 
descent  humming  birds  came,  then  we 
understood  better  than  any  calendar 
markings  that  the  glad  Summer  time 
and  its  visitors  were  really  here. 

Still  earlier  in  the  season  a  strange 
sort  of  opera  had  been  given  by  green 
garbed  players  in  a  distant  bog,  but, 
being  indolent  fellows,  they  soon  retired 
to  their  muddy  element  again,  leaving 
the  great  broad  nature  stage,  with  its 
scenery  of  budding  trees,  to  the  more 
highly  cultured  songsters. 

In  cherry  ripe  time  Rob  and  Robinett 
Redbreast  had  lunches  and  receptions 
galore  in  one  particular  tree,  to  which 
all  the  better  class  of  feathered  visitors 
were  invited,  and  a  brilliant  assemblage 
it  was  with  yellow  and  blue  birds,  the 
gray  breasted  mocking  or  cat  bird,  the 
modest  little  song  sparrow  trilling  out 
its  simple  song  during  interludes,  the 
orange  and  black  orioles,  an  occasional 
scarlet  crested  cherry  bird  and  many 
others  all  flitting  in  and  out  to  take  a 
sip  of  cherry  wine.  Sometimes  those 
dust  bathing  foreigners,  the  English 


sparrows,  were  not  content  with  the 
portion  allotted  them,  but  defiantly 
claimed  the  ruby  chalice  of  some  more 
aristocratic  neighbor. 

Beside  morning  and  evening  musicals, 
there  were  swallow  races  in  mid  air,  and 
the  bobolinks'  wonderful  winged  song: 
"Chingoly,  chingoly,  go  little  stitch 
spingoly,  r-r-ro-double  h-o-come  souch 
a-touchle,  clinch!  clinch!  !  clinch!!!" 
ending  on  a  high  note. 

Then*  that  sly  imitator  the  cat  bird 
would  come  every  sunset  hour  to  sing 
his  peculiar  song  while  hidden  in  a  green 
bower  and  pretending  ignorance  of  the 
listeners  near. 

But  a  few  days  ago  the  orioles  received 
important  news  direct  from  southern  rice 
fields,  so. they  bade  us  adieu  in  a  few 
sweet  notes  such  as  were  heard  earlier 
in  the  season,  and  one  night  took  the 
flying  express  for  Floridian  glades;  and 
as  they  have  set  the  fashion,  the  swallows 
soon  will  homeward  fly,  for  already  we 
miss  the  chatter  of  their  dark  hued 
cousins  who  rented  a  nesting  place  in 
our  chimney  during  the  Summer.  That 
diminutive  visitor  who  wears  irridescent 
colors  on  head  and  breast  still  lingers, 
and  makes  frequent  calls  on  the  trumpet 
flower  which  climbs  up  by  a  south 
window,  almost  losing  himself  in  its 
bright  depths  when  searching  for  hidden 
nectar. 

Yes,  Summer  with  all  its  charming 
sojourners  is  swiftly  passing,  while  the 
crickets  incessantly  chant  the  funeral 
song  of  "going,  going,  going,"  until 
every  visitor  shall  have  flown  away. 
The  call  of  the  late  fledged  yellow  birds 
— "feed  me,  feed  me," — has  a  mournful 
sound,  and  the  gathering  together  of 
the  robin  clan,  first  to  arrive  and  last 
to  depart,  reminds  one  that  the  har- 
vest time  is  nearly  over  and  Winter's 
envoy  will  soon  be  here,  a  most  un- 
welcome guest,  though  he  is  a  prince 
in  shining  armor,  who  rides  earthward 
in  a  silver  frosted  chariot,  in  the  pale 
pathway  left  by  the  Autumn  moon. 


LOYALTY  IN  LOVE  AND  IN  WAR 


A  STORY  INTENDED  FOR  THE  EDIFICATION  OF  THE  YOUTH  OF  JAPAN 

Translated  from  the  Japanese  of  NAOMI  TAMURA 

By   REVEREND    L.    B.    CHOLMONDELEY 

CHAPLAIN      OF     THE      BRITISH      EMBASSY     AT     TOKYO 


A  COLONEL  in  the  army  named 
Nakada  Takeshi,  who  had  won  dis- 
tinction in  the  China-Japanese  war  of 
1894-95,  and  had  been  decorated  with 
the  order  of  the  Golden  Kite,  had  re- 
turned with  honor  to  his  home  when  the 
war  was  over.  Nevertheless,  he  was 
often  melancholy  and  a  heavy  cloud 
hung  over  his  brow.  At  times,  too,  tears 
would  come  into  his  eyes  and  he  would 
be  heard  muttering,  "disappointed  — 
disappointed,  after  all." 

One  day  his  boy  Isamu,  a  child  of 
eight  years,  came  up  to  his  father's 
knees,  and  looking  up  into  his  face  with 
his  arms  around  his  neck,  said:  "Father, 
don't  you  feel  well?  "  The  warm  tears 
coursed  from  his  father's  eyes  as  he 
met  the  gaze  of  his  dear  boy:  "No, 
Isamu,"  he  answered,  "I  am  well 
enough  in  body,  but  there  is  one  thing 
I  cannot  help  regretting,  regretting. 
Listen  to  me  carefully.  The  scars  that 
you  see  on  my  hands  and  on  my  breast 
were  made  by  the  Chinese  bullets;  and 
these  scars  tell  of  the  righteous  war 
waged  by  the  Japanese  to  secure  the 
peace  of  the  East  and  the  independence 
of  Corea.  In  this  war,  not  only  was 
your  father  wounded  but  thousands  of 
our  brave  soldiers  perished  on  the  fields 
of  China  in  the  cause  of  their  country 
and  of  justice.  The  war  ended  glori- 
ously for  Japan,  and  beside  a  large  sum 
of  forfeit  money  we  gained  the  Island 
of  Fo.rmosa  and  a  large  tract  of  country 
called  the  Liautung  peninsula.  But  lis- 
ten carefully:  the  peninsula,  which  our 
soldiers  had  shed  their  precious  blood 
to  win,  was  afterward  restored  to  China 
because  the  treacherous  Russians  in* 


sisted  that  our  holding  it  would  en- 
danger the  peace  of  the  East.  It  is 
this  which  causes  your  father  such  deep 
regret,  because  the  Russians  have  basely 
taken  the  peninsula  themselves;  they 
will  not  rest  till  they  become  master  of 
Corea  and  they  will  then  be  wanting  to 
swallow  up  our  own  Japan. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  help  grieving  about  it. 
If  Japan  had  only  a  larger  army  and 
a  larger  navy  she  would  fight  against 
Russia  at  once.  But  alas,  we  are  not 
strong  enough  yet.  But  justice  will 
triumph  in  the  end.  I  am  sure  of  that. 
Yes,  the  day  will  come  when  righteous 
Japan  must  triumph  over  wicked  Russia; 
and  Isamu,  rny  boy,  whenever  you  think 
of  wickedness  do  not  forget  Russia— the 
country  of  robbery,  the  country  that  op- 
presses the  weak  and  tramples  justice 
under  foot.'/ 

Trembling  with  agitation,  the  words 
had  hardly  fallen  from  his  lips  when  he 
fell  heavily  back  upon  the  floor.  Isamu 
uttered  a  cry  and  his  mother,  who  in  the 
adjoining  room  had  been  listening  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  to  her  husband's  words, 
now  hastened  to  his  side.  But  there 
was  an  indescribably  mournful  expres- 
sion on  his  placid  face;  his  hands  and 
feet  were  cold;  his  spirit  had  passed 
away.  Isamn,  being  only  a  child  of 
eight,  was  unable  to  understand  fully  all 
that  his  father  had  told  him;  but  he 
committed  his  words  to  memory  and 
made  up  his  mind  that  when  he  became 
a  man  he  would  be  a  soldier  like  his 
father  and  fight  against  the  Russians. 

II 

After  his  father's  death,  the  mother  of 
Isamu,  who  was  a  woman  of  strong  char- 


LOYALTY   IN   LOVE   AND   IN   WAR 


55 


acter,  devoted  herself  to  the  education 
of  her  son.  She  desired  to  cultivate  in 
him  alike  a  love  of  learning  and  a  fear- 
less spirit.  She  had  a  large  map  of 
Corea,  China  and  Russia  hung  up  in 
their  sitting  room,  and  would  point  out 
to  Isamu  the  location  of  all  the  chief 
places,  such  as  Jinsen,  Seoul,  Port 
Arthur,  Harbin  and  St.  Petersburg.  In 
this  way  he  naturally  acquired  an  accu- 
rate knowledge  of  geography.  Reside 
this,  she  provided  him  with  dictionaries 
and  readers  in  Chinese  and  Russian,  so 
that  he  became  self  taught  in  those  lan- 
guages. Thus  Isarnu  grew  up  into  many 
acquirements,  with  this  amongst  others, 
that  he  had  taught  himself  to  write  hold- 
ing the  pen  in  his  mouth. 

One  day  his  mother  took  him  to  the 
top  of  a  mountain  near  their  village, 
and,  seating  him  on  a  large  stone,  said: 
"The  faint  line  of  land  that  you  can  just 
see  in  the  distance  is  the  continent. 
Come  here  every  day  and  pray  upon  this 
stone;  and  then  exercise  your  muscles 
by  trying  to  overturn  it.  Some  day  you 
will  succeed,  and  underneath  you  will 
find  something  which  you  must  take  and 
bring  to  me." 

Obedient  to  his  mother's  command, 
Isamu  thenceforth  climbed  the  mountain 
every  day  at  dawn,  fearless  of  encounter- 
ing wolf  or  fox.  And,  stirred  by  curi- 
osity, he  would  try  every  day  with  all 
his  might  to  moye  the  stone,  but  it  was 
beyond  his  strength.  However,  he  was 
little  aware  how  this  daily  wrestling  with 
the  stone  was  developing  the  muscles  of 
his  body.  At  last,  after  years  of  patient 
struggling,  the  day  came  when  the  stone 
yielded  to  his  efforts,  and  underneath  it 
he  found  a  sword.  Isamu,  in  ecstacy, 
drew  it  from  its  scabbard  and  found  it 
to  be  a  Japanese  blade  of  excellent 
temper  and  finish.  Then  he  took  it  to 
his  home  and  laid  it  respectfully  before 
his  mother,  who,  smiling  approval,  ad- 
dressed him  as  follows: 

"Isarnu,  you  have  accomplished  the 
task  I  set  for  you,  and  you  have  done 


well.  Now  you  have  gained  the  strength 
requisite  for  moving  so  large  a  stone, 
you  are  entitled  to  wear  a  sword.  Gird 


ISAMU    WRESTLING    WITH    THE    ROCK 

on  this  one  you  have  found  and  pray 
that  you  may  prove  yourself  as  brave  a 
soldier  as  your  father,  when  the  day 
comes  for  fighting  against  Russia." 

Ill 

lasmu  intended  entering  the  military 
college  after  being  graduated  at  the  pre- 
paratory school,  but  just  at  this  time  the 
relations  between  Japan  and  Russia  were 
becoming  every  day  more  strained,  so 
he  made  a  petition,  which  was  granted, 
to  be  allowed  to  go  to  the  front  as  soon 
as  war  had  broken  out.  His  mother  had 
died,  and  the  only  tie  which  now  bound 
him  to  his  home  was  his  engagement  to 
O  Ai,  the  lovely  daughter  of  a  Doctor 
Hirota,  who  had  been  destined  for  his 
bride  while  his  father  was  still  living. 
This  young  lady,  true  to  her  name,  (O, 
honorific;  Ai,  love)  had  an  affectionate 
disposition  and  a  sweet  face.  With  her 
speech,  her  manners  and  her  complexion 
no  one  could  find  any  fault,  and  her 
parents  cherished  her,  as  the  saying  is, 
"like  a  peach  in  the  hand."  All  the 
girls  in  her  school  and  the  children  in 
the  neighborhood  would  break  into 
smiles  in  her  presence,  and  passers-by 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


would  stop  to  look  at  her,  being  attracted 
by  her  charms.  No  wonder,  then,  that 
Isamu  should  feel  deeply  the  pain  of 
parting  from  her. 

However,  on  the  evening  of  February 
10,  in  obedience  to  the  last  wishes  of  his 
father,  wearing  the  sword  his  mother 
had  given  him,  leaving  behind  the  tear- 
ful O  Ai,  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  Japanese 
and  ready  to  sacrifice  everything  for  his 
country's  sake,  Isamu  set  forth.  It  was 
on  the  very  day  that  the  double  good 
tidings  of  the  sinking  of  the  Russian 
warships  Variag  and  Koreetz  outside 
Jinsen  (Chemulpo),  and  of  the  brilliant 
Japanese  naval  victory  at  Port  Arthur 
had  reached  Tokyo  and  the  whole  of  the 
city  was  resounding  with  shouts  of 
"Banzai!"  ("Japan  forever!") 

IV 

Russia  is  a  vast  country  occupying 
one-sixth  of  the  surface  of  the  world, 
whereas  the  area  of  Japan  is  only  one- 
seventieth  that  of  Russia,  and  Russia's 
army  is  seven  times  greater  than  that  of 
Japan.  That  small  Japan  should  go  to 
war  against  huge  Russia  is  a  serious  mat- 
ter and  it  would  be  too  foolhardy  and 
presumptuous  for  her  to  attempt  to  do 
so  if  she  was  not  upheld  by  the  convic- 
tion that  in  fighting  for  the  cause  of  jus- 
tice she  would  receive  the  help  of.heaven. 

Though  the  area  of  Russia  is  so  exten- 
sive, the  cold  in  Winter  is  so  severe  that 
her  seas  are  frozen  over  and  the  move- 
ments of  her  warships  are  hampered. 
Therefore,  by  taking  a  country  called 
Turkey,  she  desired  to  come  out  into  the 
warmer  regions,  but  this  design  was 
frustrated  by  England.  Not  knowing 
what  else  to  do,  she  changed  her  plans, 
laid  the  Siberian  railway,  came  down 
into  Manchuria,  and  finally,  by  menaces, 
induced  China  to  cede  to  her  the  impor- 
tant harbor  of  Port  Arthur,  where  her 
warships  were  conveniently  floating  and 
whence  she  meditated  ravaging  the  East. 
Under  these  circumstances  Japan,  though 
small,  could  not  look  on  unconcerned. 


It  was  time  for  even   the  women    and 
the  children  to  bestir  themselves. 

Isamu,  having  made  full  preparations 
for  the  war,  arrived  in  due  time  at 
Jinsen  with  a  determination  to  die 
bravely  and  cheerfully  for  his  country. 
The  two  Russian  warships,  Variag  and 
Koreetz,  that  had  been  sunk  by  the 
Japanese  fleet  under  Admiral  Uryu,  had 
their  masts  still  showing  mournfully  on 
the  top  of  the  water.  The  sight  of  them 
infused  double  spirit  into  Isamu  and  the 
soldiers  who  were  with  him  on  the  trans- 
port, and  they  shouted:  "Long  live  the 
Emperor!  Japan  forever!  Banzai!  Ban- 
zai!" 

When  Isamu  arrived  at  Seoul  it  was 
just  after  a  skirmish  had  taken  place 
between  Russian  and  Japanese  soldiers 
in  which  four  or  five  of  the  Russians 
had  been  killed  mid  some  fifty  had  been 
put  to  flight.  Up  to  this  time  the  em- 
peror of  Corea  h?  ~\  been  trembling  with 
anxiety.  He  had  asked  Russia  to  land 
2,000  soldiers  for  his  defence,  and,  be- 
lieving that  on  their  arrival  a  great  battle 
would  be  fought  betv/een  them  and  the 
Japanese  troops,  he  had  been  filled  with 
trepidation.  But  the  news  that  the  Rus- 
sian transport  conveying  these  troops 
had  been  captured  by  the  Japanese  war- 
ships, now  convinced  him  that  the 
Japanese  navy  was  stronger  than  that  of 
Russia,  and  he  regretted  that  for  the 
last  ten  years  his  confidence  had  been 
wrongly  placed  in  that  power.  From 
this  time  the  attitude  of  Corea  toward 
Japan  underwent  a  favorable  change. 

Isamu,  having  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  the  geography  of  China  and  being 
well  versed,  too,  in  the  Chinese  and" 
Russian  languages,  was  of  considerable 
service  to  the  Japanese  troops.  More- 
over, he  was  of  a  bold  spirit  and  stood 
in  no  fear  of  cannon  balls.  In  looking 
at  him,  girded  with  the  sword  he  had 
received  from  his  mother,  there  was  no 
one  who  did  not  admire  him  as  the  true 
type  of  a  Japanese  "warrior  youth.  In 
his  two  side  pockets  he  always  kept  two 


LOYALTY  IN  LOVE  AND  IN  WAR 


57 


things,  wherever  he  went,  and  from 
time  to  time  he  would  retire  into  a  quiet 
wood,  take  them  out  and  shed  tears  over 
them.  His  fellow  officers  were  curious 
to  know  what  these  things  were,  but  he 
would  never  show  them  to  anyone. 

What  were  these  two  things  mysteri- 
ously hidden  in  Isamu's  pockets,  and 
which  afforded  him  such  consolation  and 
encouragement?  We  will  not  tell  you. 
But  do  you  think  you  can  guess? 

Isamu,  dressed  as  a  Chinaman,  and 
with  a  pigtail  hanging  down  his  back, 
would  go  out  to  explore  the  condition  of 
the  enemy  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  And 
no  one  was  better  fitted  for  the  task — not 
only  because  he  understood  both  Chin- 
ese and  Russian,  but  because,  being  tall 
for  his  age,  it  was  hardly  possible  to  dis- 
tinguish him  in  his  disguise  from  a  true 
Chinaman.  In  this  way  he  discovered 
how  cunning  and  treacherous  the  Rus- 
sians were,  how  they  had  already  150,000 
soldiers  in  Manchuria,  over  20,000  in 
Port  Arthur,  and  how  they  were  intend- 
ing, while  deceiving  Japan  with  profes- 
sions of  peace,  to  strike  her  a  deadly 
blow.  Think  of  the  terrible  danger  that 
threatened  us!  If  she  waited  as  long  as 
Russia  chose  to  prolong  negotiations 
what  would  the  result  be?  There  is  no 
doubt  that  it  would  be  disastrous.  But 
God  was  all  the  while  on  the  side  of 
Japan,  and  preparing  to  support  her  righ- 
teous cause.  According  to  the  proverb, 
"Who  acts  first  gains  command,"  Japan 
was  the  first  to  attack  the  Russian  war- 
ships in  Jinsen  and  Port  Arthur,  and  in 
this  she  acted  with  such  admirable 
promptness  that  all  the  nations  in  the 
world  were  amazed.  It  was  owing  to 
heaven's  displeasure  that  Russia,  so  far 
from  striking  a  blow  on  Japan,  was 
powerless  to  carry  out  her  stratagems, 
and  experienced  such  disaster. 

V 

It  is  impossible  to  engage  in  war  as 
easily  as  we  can  engage  in  fisticuffs.  We 
have  only  to  think  what  it  means  for 


Russia  to  have  to  dispatch  5,000  soldiers 
7,000  miles  by  the  Siberian  railway!  It 
takes  two  or  three  days,  too,  for  Japanese 
soldiers,  in  transports  protected  by  war- 
ships to  reach  Corea;  and  when  they 
disembark,  the  time  is  still  a  long  way 
off  before  they  begin  firing  their  guns. 
Both  hostile  parties  have  first  to  send 
out  bodies  of  scouts  to  discover  the  posi- 
tion of  the  enemy,  to  ascertain  as  far  as 
possible  their  numbers  and  strategic 
plans.  On  this  occasion,  too,  we  were 
not  facing  undisciplined  Chinese  sol- 
diers, but  haughty  Cossacks,  who  boast 
of  their  fighting  powers  and  of  their 
triumphs  in  war;  so,  to  conquer  them, 
our  soldiers  needed  to  be  fully  equipped 
and  to  make  extraordinary  preparations. 
But  to  return  to  Isamu.  It  was  when 
the  Japanese  general  was  preparing  for 


ISAMU    SCOUTING    IN    THE    GUISE    OF    A 
_  CHINESE 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   OCTOBER,    1904 


the  first  great  battle  that,  having  heard 
of  the  valuable  service  he  had  already 
rendered  in  gaining  information  about 
the  enemy's  movements,  he  sent  for 
Isainu  and  gave  him  special  instructions 
to  go  to  Gishin  and  there  use  every 
means  in  his  power  to  ascertain  what 
were  the  enemy's  plans.  Accordingly, 
having  drunk  a  last  cup  of  wine  with  his 
friends,  Isamu,  in  his  usual  disguise, 
bravely  set  forth  on  his  mission. 

Not  many  days  after  his  departure, 
a  Corean  came  hastily  into  the  camp 
with  the  news  that  out  in  the  country  he 
had  come  upon  the  body  of  a  Chinaman 
with  both  his  hands  cut  off.  On  receiv- 
ing this  intelligence,  some  Japanese  sol- 
diers, by  the  command  of  their  officer, 
went  to  the  spot  and  found  that  this 
Chinaman,  who  had  swooned  away  from 
loss  of  blood,  was  no  other  than  Tanaka 
Isamu.  Surprised  at  this,  they  at  once 
applied  dressing  to  the  wounds  and 
bound  them  up.  While  thus  engaged, 
they  noticed  things  peeping  out  from  his 
side  pockets.  Tempted  by  curiosity, 
they  took  them  out  and  discovered  that 
the  right  hand  pocket  contained  a  New 
Testament,  while  from  the  other  they 
drew  out  a  note  book  and  the  photograph 
of  a  young  girl  of  indescribable  beauty. 
The  note  book  contained  information  by 
which  the  Japanese  army  might  secure 
a  decisive  victory. 

VI 

Ever  since  Isamu  had  landed  in  Corea 
he  had  regularly  sent  letters  to  O  Ai. 
But  now  ten  days  and  more  had  passed 
and  no  news  had  come  from  him,  and 
poor  O  Ai  was  getting  so  anxious  that 
she  could  hardly  eat  or  sleep.  No  one 
can  imagine  how  her  heart  longed  for 
Isainu.  What  was  her  excitment  then 
when,  running  out  to  the  postman,  'as 
she  always  did  now  whenever  he  came 
to  the  door,  she  found  herself  once  more 
with  a  letter  from  her  lover  in  her  hands! 

Yes,  she  was  sure  it  was  from  Isamu, 
though  there  was  something  about  the 


writing  which  puzzled  her.  With  trem- 
bling fingers  she  broke  it  open  and  read 
as  follows: 

"My  darling  O  Ai,  I  am  writing  in 
extreme  pain  and  with  my  pen  in  my 
mouth.  I  regret  to  tell  you  that  both 
my  hands  have  been  cut  off  by  the  enemy 
and  I  am  now  maimed  for  life.  Fortun- 
ately my  life  is  of  little  value,  but  the 
thought  that  this  handless  deformity  is 
engaged  to  your  lovely  self  causes  me 
greater  pain  in  my  heart  than  I  feel  in 
my  body.  I  pray  you  to  release  me  from 
my  engagement  and  to  go  to  some  better 
husband.  I  sincerely  desire  this  for 
your  own  sake;  though  until  I  die  I  shall 
prize  nothing  more  than  our  old  fond 
affection  for  one  another.  ISAMU." 

For  days  after  receiving  this  letter  she 
would  cry  from  morning  to  evening,  and 
think  over  all  manner  of  ways  how  she 
might  go  to  Isamu's  side  and  comfort 
him  even  for  a  minute.  Wrhile  she  was 
thus  wondering  what  she  would  do,  it  so 
happened  that  some  trained  nurses  from 
the  United  States  came  to  Japan  and 
offered  to  go  with  the  Japanese  nurses 
of  the  Red  Cross  society  to  tend  the  sick 
and  wounded.  Their  services  were 
gratefully  accepted,  but  it  was  necessary 
for  them  to  find  some  Japanese  ladies 
who  could  speak  English  to  go  with  them 
as  interpreters.  Now  O  Ai  had  learned 
English  at  school,  and  prevailed  upon 
her  father,  who  was  a  well  known  doctor, 
to  use  his  influence  on  her  behalf.  She 
gained  her  desire  and  was  one  of  the 
ladies  chosen.  Oh  how  proud  she  was 
to  feel  that  she  was  going  to  serve  her 
country!  Oh  how  earnestly  she  hoped 
that  she  might  meet  Isamu ! 

VII 

When  he  found  himself  on  a  sick  bed 
in  the  field  hospital,  Isamu  kept  longing 
for  the  day  of  his  recovery.  Sometimes 
he  was  full  of  hope,  sometimes  borne 
down  by  despondency.  He  knew  he 
could  no  longer  use  his  sword  in  his 
country's  service,  but  there  still  re- 
mained to  him  the  weapon  of  his  knowl- 
edge of  Russian  and  Chinese. 


LOYALTY    IN    LOVE  AND    IN    WAR 


59 


One  day  when  he  awoke  from  a  long 
sleep,  whom  should  he  see  but  O  Ai 
bending  over  his  pillow  with  her  charm- 
ing smile.  Was  it  a  dream  or  was  it 
really  true?  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
looked  again.  Yes,  it  was  indeed  O  Ai. 
"O  Ai,  is  it  you?"  he  exclaimed.  "But 
how  have  you  come  here?  "  and  over- 
come with  emotion  he  burst  into  tears. 

O  Ai  patted  him  softly  on  the  fore- 
head and  then  with  a  tearful  face  spoke 
to  him  from  her  innermost  heart.  "My 
Isamu, "  she  said,  "when  I  pledged  my- 
self before  God  to  become  your  wife,  it 
was  not  for  your  hands,  but  for  your 
heart.  You  may  lose  your  hands  and 
your  feet,  but  so  long  as  you  do  not  lose 
your  love  for  me  I  am  content.  And 
how  is  it  that  you  have  lost  your  hands? 
Was  it  not  in  the  cause  of  our  country 
and  of  justice?  Such  a  loss  is  more 
honorable  in  my  eyes  than  even  the  glit- 
tering decoration  of  the  Golden  Kite 
that  you  have  received  from  our  beloved 
emperor." 

Isamu,  on  listening  to  such  noble  ex- 
pressions of  love,  felt  as  if  he  was  in 
paradise.  "My  darling  O  Ai,  how  can 
I  tell  you  what  joy  your  words  inspire  in 
me?  I  feel  like  one  who  has  come  vic- 
tor through  a  fight."  While  they  were 
thus  talking  the  sound  of  the  heavy 
firing  of  guns  was  heard  in  the  distance. 


VIII 

Far  back  on  the  field  of  battle,  where 
the  Russians  and  the  Japanese  are  en- 
gaged in  deadly  conflict,  is  a  little  group 
of  women  standing  under  the  banner  of 
a  white  flag  with  a  red  cross  in  its  cen- 
ter. These  are  the  nurses  of  the  Red 
Cross  society  of  Japan.  To  them  are 
brought,  on  stretchers,  the  wounded  sol- 
diers of  both  sides  alike,  and  they  tend 
them  with  the  kindliest  care.  What  a 
benevolent  work  it  is!  To  hurt  and  de- 
stroy would  seem  to  be  the  aim  of  war, 
and  thus  to  treat  the  wounded  soldiers 
of  the  enemy  as  brothers  would  seem 
contrary  to  reason  and  common  sense. 
For  the  origin  of  the  Red  Cross  society, 
we  must  go  far  back  to  One  who  taught 
mankind  to  love  their  enemies,  and 
crimsoned  the  cross  with  His  own  blood 
for  man's  salvation. 

Under  the  banner  of  the  Red  Cross  O  Ai 
ranged  herself  and  did  an  excellent  work. 

Beloved  youth  of  Japan  who  read  this 
story,  nourish  in  yourselves  the  spirit  of 
loyalty  and  resolve  to  devote  yourselves 
to  the  good  of  your  country  and  to  the 
cause  of  justice.  The  love  of  your  coun- 
try must  be  in  your  hearts,  and  not  only 
outwardly  professed,  and  then  it  will 
indeed  bring  forth  worthy  fruits  such  as 
displayed  themselves  in  the  lives  of 
Isamu  and  O  Ai. 


POOR    KING    OF    SIAMI 

By   J.    A.    EDGERTON 

EAST     ORANGE,      NEW     JERSEY 

THE  king  of  Siam  lives  with  three  hundred  wives. 
Whoop!     Wow!     Imagine  the  row! 
And  yet  in  this  conjugal  mixup  he  thrives. 

Conceive,  if  you  can,  of  this  much-married  man 
With  three  hundred  wives  of  the  make-up,  my  dear, 
The  New  Woman  make-up  we  know  over  here. 

Now,  don't  you  think  it  would  drive  him  to  drink? 
Just  fancy  the  fuss  in  the  palace  "they'd  raise 
With  clubs  and  conventions  through  all  of  his  days; 
And  think  of  the  stunning  and  staggering  bills 
For  flounces  and  furbelows,  fashions  and  frills. 
One  wife  gets  a  man  into  hot  enough  water; 
Then  what  WOULD  it  be  like  three  hundred  times  hotter? 

The  king  of  Siam  has  a  pajace  of  glass; 

It's  cruel,  poor  thing!     Not  a  stone  can  he  fling, 
When  all  of  his  partners  are  trying  to  sing. 
Besides,  his  affairs  are  transparent,  alas! 

And  people  say  who  live  over  that  way, 
When  his  well-wedded  highness  the  world  would  forsake 
He  sinks  the  said  palace  down  into  a  lake. 

But  I  very  much  fear  this  tale  is  so  queer 
That  many  who  hear  it  will  think  it  would  fail 
To  hold  water  —  the  palace,  1  mean,  AND  the  tale. 
The  reason,  they  say,  that  the  king  takes  a  sneak 
From  affairs  of  the  world  in  this  manner  unique 
Is  because  it's  so  hot  in  the  realm  of  Siam 
He  wants  to  go  down  in  the  mud,  like  a  clam. 
My  private  opinion  is  this,  that  he  strives       • 
In  this  way  to  flee  from  his  three  hundred  wives. 

The  king  of  Siam  has  a  crown,  it  is  said, 
Extending  two  feet  from  the  top  of  his  head. 

So  long  is  the  thing,  and  so  short  is  the  king, 
That  if  you  should  measure  the  two  up  and  down, 
There'd  be  two-thirds  of  king  unto  one-third  of  crown. 
But  although  so  small  is  this  monarch  forlorn, 

A  rather  large  name  appertains  to  the  same, 
The  toothsome  cognomen  of  Chulalongkorn; 
And  although  so  brief  in  himself,  be  it  known 
Some  four  hundred  offspring  he  claims  for  his  own; 
Which  shows  that  paternally  he  is  no  clam, 
His  much-married  majesty,  king  of  Siam. 


BEHIND  THE  VEIL  IN  RUSSIA 


By    JOHN    CALLAN    O'LAUGHLIN 

ST.      PETERSBURG,     RUSSIA 


THE  mysticism  of  Russia  hung  over 
St.  Petersburg.  Through  the  lifting 
night  came  the  deep  toned,  quivering 
boom  of  the  gongs  of  St.  Isaac.  A  faint 
streak  of  crimson  appeared  in  the  eastern 
sky,  growing  deeper  and  deeper  as  the 
day  advanced  and  finding  reflection  in 
the  ice  laden  waters  of  the  Neva.  A 
dwornik  —  the  concierge  of  Russia  — 
walked  out  upon  the  pavement,  and 
turning  to  the  east,  the  west,  the  north, 
the  south,  reverently  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  before  the  images  he  saw  in 
imagination  upon  the  altars  of  churches 
rising  in  all  directions.  With  gun  upon 
his  shoulder,  an  infantryman  tramped 
along  the  street.  The  sleepy  isvostchiks 
woke  fitfully  from  slumber  upon  the 
boxes  of  their  drohskys  and  began  to 
search  for  early  fares.  Two  small  boys, 
with  dirty  white  sheepskin  coats  and 
long  boots,  staggered  under  the  weight 
of  peddlers'  packs,  which  they  hoped  to 
dispose  of  to  the  peasants  of  the  city. 
The  sun  rose  majestically,  brightening 
the  bronze  domes  of  the  churches  and 
transforming  into  living  fire  the  crosses 
surmounting  them.  St.  Petersburg, 
peaceful,  serene,  drowsily  unconscious 
that  war  thundered  upon  the  frontier  of 
the  state,  was  awakening. 

The  casual  observer  will  see  few  signs 
of  war  in  the  Russian  capital.  There  is 
no  increase  of  troops.  Rather  has  there 
been  diminution  of  the  garrison  as  a 
result  of  the  need  of  reenforcements  in 
Manchuria,  and  this  in  spite  of  reports 
in  foreign  papers  that,  on  account  of  the 
revolutionary  situation,  the  government 
is  about  to  declare  the  city  in  a  state  of 
siege!  St.  Petersburg  is  thronged  with 
soldiers  always;  and  today,  walking 
along  the  Nevsky  Prospect,  its  principal 
thoroughfare,  one  sees  them  saluting, 
saluting,  saluting  until  the  eye  grows 


weary  of  the  machine-like  movement  of 
the  arm.  The  crowd,  more  used  to  the 
spectacle,  pays  no  heed  to  it,  but  eagerly 
talks  of  events  unrolling  in  Manchuria, 
circulating  rumors  more  or  less  absurd 
that  come  from  nowhere,  thus  giving  the 
lie  to  the  reiterated  declaration  that  the 
Russians  are  a  stolid  people.  "The 
world  applies  the  word  'stolid'  to  us," 
said  a  Russian  friend,  "because  it  is 
utterly  unable  to  comprehend  us.  Our 
language  is  a  bar  it  does  not  cross,  and 
ignorance  causes  it  to  apply  a  term  that 
does  not  fit.  If  the  people  of  America 
could  look  at  us  as  we  are,  they  would 
find  that  while  we  may  be  behind  them 
in  civilization  and  industry,  we  resemble 
them  at  least  in  the  intensity  of  our 
patriotism."  These  observations  were 
certainly  applicable  to  all  classes  in  St. 
Petersburg. 

I  left  the  columned  archway  of  the 
semi-circular  Kazan  Cathedral,  from 
which  I  had  watched  the  crowd,  and 
walked  along  the  Nevsky  Prospect  to- 
ward the  shining  tower  of  the  Admiralty, 
which  shoots  up  near  the  massive  golden 
dome  of  St.  Isaac's.  At  every  street 
corner  stood  a  policeman,  with  saber  by 
his  side,  keeping  the  traffic  in  order  and 
imposing  stricter  discipline  than  can  a 
London  bobby.  An  isvostchik  had  the 
temerity  to  turn  on  the  wrong  side  of 
one  of  these  guardians  of  the  peace.  A 
subdued  hail,  and  the  offender  stopped, 
making  at  the  same  time  a  voluble  ex- 
planation. It  was  not  satisfactory,  and 
the  policeman  noted  the  number  of  the 
carriage  in  his  book.  At  the  moment 
he  was  writing,  a  magnificent  vehicle, 
lined  with  crimson  satin  and  drawn  by 
two  glistening,  coal  black  horses,  dashed 
by.  The  sight  of  the  flaming  red  coat 
with  its  yellow  border  stamped  with 
black  double  eagles,  worn  by  the  foot- 


62 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


man  on  the  box,  caused  the  officer  to 
straighten  with  a  jerk  and  his  hand  to 
go  to  his  cap.  The  Grand  Duke  Vladi- 
mir was  in  an  imperial  carriage. 

A  man  held  out  to  me  a  small  sheet 
containing  the  latest  war  news — the  extra 
of  the  Russian  newspaper.  His  greatest 
competitor  was  a  corner  of  a  wall  upon 
which  were  posted  official  dispatches.  I 
skirted  the  crowd  listening  to  the  bulle- 
tin as  it  was  read  aloud  by  one  of  the 
more  educated,  and  almost  bumped  into 
Rear  Admiral  Rogestvensky,  who  will 
be  the  commander  of  the  Baltic  squad- 
ron, which  is  destined  for  service  in  the 
Far  East.  The  admiral  was  en  route  to 
the  Admiralty,  and  I  followed  him  as  he 
turned,  almost  unrecognized,  into  the 
Grand  Morskaya.  Deep  in  thought,  he 
walked  along,  absently  returning  the 
salutes  which  his  uniform  called  forth 
from  the  observant  military. 

Through  a  high,  yellow  brick  archway 
I  entered  the  Palace  Square,  or  Place 
Dvortsovy,  to  give  it  the  Russian  name. 
Before  me  rose  the  column  erected  by 
Nicholas  I  to  the  memory  of  Alexander 
I.  This  magnificent  monolith,  unques- 
tionably the  grandest  of  the  century,  is 
of  Finnish  rose  granite,  beautifully 
polished.  It  is  guarded  at  its  base  by 
a  white  bearded  grenadier,  who  is  uni- 
formed as  was  his  father  when  Napoleon 
invaded  Russia.  The  effect  of  the  col- 
umn was  dwarfed  by  the  proximity  of 
the  huge  rectangular  building,  just  be- 
hind it,  which  is  the  Winter  palace  of 
the  czar.  The  national  flag  waved  gently 
in  the  chilly  breeze  from  a  flagstaff  ex- 
actly in  the  center  and  on  the  highest 
point  of  the  palace.  It  is  this  flag,  to 
quote  not  one  but  the  many  Russians 
whom  I  met,  "which  shall  ever  stay 
where  it  has  been  planted";  and  their 
tone  is  the  more  determined  because  of 
the  disasters  of  Port  Arthur  and  the 
Yalu.  In  the  form  of  a  semi-circle,  fac- 
ing the  palace,  was  a  large,  sprawling 
brick  building,  wherein  the  ministry  of 
foreign  affairs,  the  ministry  of  finance, 


and  the  ministry  of  war  transact  their 
business.  Over  a  building  to  the  left 
of  the  palace  floated  a  blue  flag  with 
an  anchor  in  its  center.  It  was  the 
home  of  the  Admiralty,  and  through  its 
wide  archway  Admiral  Rogestvensky 
disappeared. 

I  found  myself  now  on  the  Palace 
"Quay.  Hundreds  of  craft,  canal  boats, 
sail  boats  and  steamers  were  plying  on 
the  glistening  Neva.  My  eyes  turned 
toward  the  palace  entrance  at  the  mo- 
ment when  Count  Lamsdorff,  the  able 
minister  for  foreign  affairs,  drove  up. 
Reports  have  been  circulated  that  he 
had  lost  power,  that  he  was  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  Monsieur  de  Witte,  the  man 
who  is  responsible  for  the  splendid  finan- 
cial condition  of  Russia  today.  These 
reports  have  no  foundation.  The  re- 
spect shown  the  minister  by  the  palace 
guards  indicated  that  they  certainly  had 
no  idea  that  his  power  is  on  the  wane. 
Descending  from  his  carriage,  Count 
Lamsdorff  returned  the  salutes  given 
him,  and  passed  through  the  folding 
doors. 

I  had  not  been  the  .only  observer  of 
the  minister.  Against  the  parapet, 
which  prevents  the  Neva  from  over- 
flowing, leaned  a  crowd  patiently  wait- 
ing for  the  emperor  to  come  out  for  his 
usual  afternoon  drive.  The  bright  sun- 
light streaming  upon  the  Quay  tempted 
me  to  walk.  Two  peasant  women,  in 
flowered  head  dresses  which  fell  upon 
their  shoulders,  advanced  along  the  gut- 
ter, not  upon  the  pavement.  A  friend 
who  was  with  me,  curiously  and  perhaps 
impolitely,  asked  one  of  them  why  she 
did  not  use  the  pavement.  The  answer 
was  given  simply:  "Because  it  is  not 
for  the  peasant.  We  have  the  street." 
She  said  this,  not  for  sympathy,  not 
with  any  idea  of  affectation,  but  with 
absolutely  no  feeling.  She  knew  there 
was  no  law  against  her  use  of  the  pave- 
ment; she  knew  that  many  of  her  own 
friends  walked  upon  it.  But  she,  like 
others  of  her  class,  felt  the  influence  of 


BEHIND  THE    VEIL    IN    RUSSIA 


heredity,  and  had  no  desire  to  attempt 
to  appear  above  her  station. 

The  women  gave  way  to  a  small  boy, 
who  shook  in  my  face  a  red,  blue  and 
green  poster,  representing  the  battles  of 
the  war.  I  gave  him  a  ten  copeck  piece 
(five  cents)  and  asked  him  if  his  sale 
were  large.  "Yes,"  he  replied,  "the 
people  have  their  eyes  uppn  the  war." 
"Who  will  win?"  I  asked.  He  looked 
at  me  pityingly.  "Russia,"  he  re- 
sponded in  a  tone  that  left  no  doubt  as 
to  his  conviction.  It  was  an  expression 
of  belief  in  the  power  of  the  czar,  the 
extent  of  which  he  himself  but  dimly 
comprehended. 

The  crowd  upon  the  Palace  Quay  was 
taking  its  usual  afternoon  stroll.  Down 
the  driveway  dashed  the  teams  of  the 
rich,  'worthy  in  most  cases  of  the  most 
enthusiastic  admiration.  The  high  step- 
ping stallions  literally  spurned  the  dirt 
as  they  sped  under  the  skillful  guidance 
of  the  pillow  stuffed  driver.  Occasion- 
ally an  English  pair  would  pass,  and 
their  bobbed  tails  became  striking  ob- 
jects of  deformity  alongside  the  flowing 
tails  of  the  Russian  steeds.  Such  a 
variety  of  carriages  I  have  never  seen 
in  any  other  city  of  the  world,  but  what 
attracted  my  attention  particularly  were 
the  droshkies  without  backs.  The  lack 
of  support  made  it  imperative  for  the 
men  to  put  their  arms  about  the  waists 
of  their  female  companions  in  order  to 
hold  them  in  place.  It  is  a  style  of 
vehicle  that  would  be  in  great  demand 
in  the  United  States. 

Leaving  the  fashionable  promenade, 
I  turned  down  the  Palace  Suvaroff, 
named  in  honor  of  the  famous  Russian 
general,  and  walked  out  upon  the  spa- 
cious Champs  du  Mars,  the  military 
parade  grounds.  Far  over  in  one  corner 
was  a  crowd  surrounding  a  regiment  of 
troops.  I  heard  the  strains  of  martial 
music,  and,  turning,  saw  swinging  into 
the  field  another  regiment.  The  music 
of  a  second  band  came  softly  upon  the 
breeze.  It  gradually  increased  in  vol- 


ume, and  at  last  I  saw  the  head  of  a 
drab  coated  column  that  marched  with 
rythmic  tread  to  join  the  troops  already 
on  the  field.  It  was  as  if  Russia  were 
assembling  another  army,  this  time  in 
her  capital. 

An  aide-de-camp,  in  showy  uniform, 
and  riding  execrably  a  fine  bay  horse, 
galloped  up  to  the  commander  of  the  last 
column.  The  nature  of  the  orders. soon 
became  apparent.  The  troops  continued 
their  march  until  near  their  waiting  com- 
rades,, when  they  halted  and  stacked 
arms.  Again  music  was  heard,  and 
from  the  far  corner  of  the  field  came 
another  regiment.  When  it  had  halted, 
the  crowd,  seeking  other  sights,  was  at- 
tracted by  the  approach  of  half  a  dozen 
officers,  one  in  the  lead  wearing  the 
uniform  of  a  general,  evidently  the  com- 
mander of  the  assembled  division.  The 
troops  formed  into  a  hollow  square  and 
presented  arms.  Simultaneously,  the 
bands  gave  their  tribute  of  welcome. 
The  general  cordially  shook  hands  with 
some  of  the  regimental  officers,  and  then 
began  a  careful  inspection  of  each  com- 
mand. "I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my 
children,"  he  said  to  those  regiments 
which  particularly  pleased  him,  "and  I 
hope  you  will  do  your  best  today." 
With  one  voice,  that  resounded  all  over 
that  vast  field,  came  the  answer:  "We 
thank  Your  Excellency,  and  we  will  do 
our  best." 

The  inspection  finished,  an  order  for 
the  review  was  given.  Without  the 
slightest  disorder,  the  hollow  square  dis- 
solved itself  and  in  long  lines  as  straight 
as  if  each  man  were  toeing  an  invisible 
mark,  the  troops  passed  by  their  com- 
mander. A  light  cloud  of  gray  dust 
rose,  and  as  it  became  heavier  enveloped 
the  men,  effectively  picturing  the  dis- 
comforts of  the  armies  operating  in  Man- 
churia. When  the  division  reached  the 
end  of  the  field,  the  order  "to  the  rear" 
was  given,  and  again  past  the  general 
marched  the  men.  Until  now  I  had  been 
interested  in  the  mass;  the  individual 


64 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


here  attracted  my  attention.  Every  sol- 
dier was  physically  well  built  and  com- 
fortably clothed,  seemed  hardy,  and  re- 
sponded quickly  and  intelligently  to  the 
word  of  command. 

I  left  the  troops  to  continue  their  prac- 
tice for  war,  and  taking  a  drohsky  drove 
back  to  the  Nevsky  Prospect.  At  every 
church  we  passed  the  isvostchik  rever- 
ently removed  his  squat  beaver  and 
crossed  himself.  Religion  is  an  enor- 
mous factor  in  the  lower  Russian  life. 
Nearing  the  Kazan  Cathedral,  my  droh- 
sky came  to  a  sudden  halt,  and  the 
isvostchik  took  off  his  hat.  To  one 
side  or  the  other  moved  the  carriages 
until  a  clear  lane  had  been  formed  di- 
rectly in  the  middle  of  the  street.  A 
clattering  of  hoofs^and  an  open  carriage 
went  swiftly  by,  the  driver,  without  in- 
signia, leaning  forward  to  hold  in  the 
leaping  animals.  The  crowd  removed 
its  hat  and  craned  its  neck.  I  saw  the 


emperor  and  empress  dowager,  abso- 
lutely unattended,  save  for  a  smaller  one 
horse  drohsky  that  followed  a  few  feet 
behind,  and  in  which  was  an  alert  look- 
ing individual —  the  prefect  of  police — 
whose  duty  it  was  to  guard  and  to  see 
that  the  street  was  promptly  cleared  for 
their  majesties.  In  a  sense,  the  prefect 
is  to  the  emperor  what  the  uniformed 
cavalryman  is  to  President  Roosevelt. 
When  the  imperial  carriage  had  disap- 
peared the  people  replaced  their  hats 
and  traffic  was  resumed.  There  ,had 
been  no  unnecessary  waste  of  time,  even 
for  the  autocrat  of  all  the  Russias. 

The  gongs  of  St.  Isaac's  again  boomed 
penetratingly,  and  the  faithful,  reminded 
of  the  hour,  stopped  and  crossed  them- 
selves. Night  stole  over  the  city,  leav- 
ing me  to  ponder  over  scenes  and  inci- 
dents which  could  only  occur  behind  the 
curtain  that  screens  Russia  from  the 
West. 


THE    GARDEN 

By   THEODORA    W.    YOUMANS 

WAUKESHA,     WISCONSIN 

li/HEN  our  first  parents  were  driven  from  the  Garden, 

And  out  of  the  gate  went, 
They  left  behind  them,  hidden  in  the  Garden, 

Peace,  Rest,  Content. 
These  still  stay  hidden  in  the  Garden 

As  then,  heaven-sent. 
Whoe'-er  desires  may  dig  them  from  the  Garden. 


ATTAINMENT 

By  EDWARD    M.    PETERSON 

FARGO,     NORTH     DAKOTA 

DLUEBELLS  and  daisies, 

Here  at  my  feet, 
Mine  for  the  stooping 

And  wondrously  sweet:  — 
And  yet,  upon  a  hill,  a  wild  rose  fair 
Makes  me  forget,  and  climb;  my  heart  is  there. 


BEAUTIES  OF  THE  AMERICAN  STAGE 


By    HELEN    ARTHUR 


N  K  W     YORK     <    I  T  Y 


II, 


DOROTHY  DONNELLY 

CHOULD  anyone  dubiously  ask,  "Do 
you  recommend  the  stage  as  a  profes- 
sion?" and  to  strengthen  your  affirma- 
tive reply  you  look  for  an  example,  let 
me  suggest  Dorothy  Donnelly.  A  New 
York  girl  trained  to  be  a  musician  but 
preferring  to  be  an  actress,  five  years 
ago,  she  started  with  the  smallest  possi- 
ble part  in  the  Murray  Hill  stock  com- 
pany, at  the  head  of  which  was  her 
brother,  Henry  V.  Donnelly.  In  three 
years  she  was  its  leading  woman,  and 
the  following  season  as  Madame  Alvarez, 
in  "Soldiers  of  Fortune,"  she  made 
much  out  of  a  part  quite  colorless  in 
itself. 

Last  year  Miss  Donnelly  astonished 
New  York  with  an  interpretation  of 
"Candida,"  and  the  heroine  of  George 
Bernard  Shaw's  play  became  an  object 
of  more  lasting  discussion  than  any  other 
topic. 

"Candida"  is  to  be  followed  by  an- 
other Shaw  comedy,  "You  Never  Can 
Tell,"  in  which  Miss  Donnelly  will  have 
a  leading  part  with  Arnold  Daly. 

What  this  year  or  next  will  bring  in 
the  way  of  personal  success  matters 
little,  since  Miss  Donnelly  has  shown 
us  intelligence,  subtility  and  an  insight 
into  character  portrayal  which,  developed 
by  time  and  training,  will  place  her  ulti- 
mately in  the  front  rank  of  American 
actresses. 


IV 


JULIA  MARLOWE 

A  LTHOUGH  Julia  Marlowe  is  proudly 

ranked  as  an  American  star,  she  is 

English  born,  having  come  to  this  coun- 


try at  the  early  age  of  five  from  Cald- 
beck,  Cumberland,  England.  Her  first 
appearance  was  in  a  juvenile  "Pinafore" 
company,  where  she  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  Miss  Ada  Dow,  an  intelligent 
actress,  who  saw  possibilities  in  the  tal- 
ented child. 

For  seven  long   years  Julia  Marlowe 
studied   part    after  part    from   classical 


DOROTHY     DONNELLY 
Photograph    by  Sarony 


JULIA    MARLOWE 
Photograph  by  Sands  &  Brady,  Providence 


BEAUTIES    OF    THE    AMERICAN    STAGE 


plays,  always  to  act  them  before  a  soli- 
tary spectator,  Miss  Dow,  who  combined 
all  the  offices  of  teacher,  audience  and 
critic. 

Miss  Marlowe's  debut  was  as  Parthenia 
in  "Ingomar,"  and  she  has  appeared  in 
"As  You  Like  It,  "Cymbeline,  and  as 
Prince  Hal  in  "Henry  IV.''  Her  great- 
est popular  success  was  as  Mary  Tudor 
in  "When  Knighthood  Was  in  Flower." 

This  season  she  and  E.  H.  Sothern,  as 
joint  stars,  will  appear  in  Shakespearean 
repertoire,  their  first  play  being  "Romeo 
and  Juliet. 


FAY  TEMPLETON 

CAY  TEMPLETON  is  the  only  actress 
we  have  in  America  who  knows  thor- 
oughly the  art,  the  real  art,  of  burlesque. 
Back  of  all  mimicry,  which  is  but  a 
small  element  in  burlesque,  must  be  the 
ability  to  portray  the  emotion  parodied 
— to  suggest  the  true,  only  to  present  it 
with  a  grimace. 

Miss  Templeton  was  born  in  Little 
Rock,  Arkansas,  but,  strange  antithesis, 
a  large  part  of  her  life  has  been  spent  in 
Paris. 

Her  greatest  success  was  her  imitation 
of  Fougere,  and  just  how  good  that  must 
have  been  is  illustrated  by  a  story  Chris- 
tie McDonald  told  me.  Miss  McDonald 
sent  an  aunt  who  was  visiting  her  to  see 
"From  Broadway  to  Tokio,"  and  Auntie 
returned  with  the  complimentary  in- 
formation "that  the  performance  was  an 
excellent  one,  and  that  the  French  singer 
she  had  seen  some  time  before  was  in 
the  company,  only  much  improved!  " 

Since  that  time  Miss  Templeton  has 
been  with  Weber  and  Fields,  and  later 
with  "The  Runaways,"  while  this  year 
she  is  to  be  at  the  head  of  a  permanent 
company  whose  object  it  will  be  to  fur- 
nish "reviews"  of  current  successes,  and 
whose^home  will  be  alternately  the  roof 
garden  and  the  main  auditorium  of  the 
New  Amsterdam  theater. 


FAY   TEMPLETON 


HIS  HEARTACHE 


By  ANNA       McCLURE     SHOLL 


NEW     YORK     CITY 


U  I  WANT  you,"  he  wrote,  "to  bestow 
•  upon  me  the  injeffable  boon  of  a 
heartache.  'Ineffable'  did  I  say?  Let 
me  rather  write  indispensable:  the  pub- 
lishers are  after  me  for  another  book, 
and  unless  I  am  unhappy  I  can't  write 
one.  You  know  me  of  old!  " 

He  paused,  relit  his  pipe,  a  villainous 
looking  brierwood,  then  took  up  for 
a  moment  the  snapshot  photograph  of 
a  young  woman,  enclosed  in  an  elaborate 
silver  frame.  She  presented  to  him  a 
sweet,  elusive  face  of  .strong,  yet  delicate 
outlines:  the  face  of  a  woman  with  a 
'.ong,  impersonal  memory.  Life  had 
evidently  said  many  things  to  her,  but 
she  respected  the  confidence. 

"Need  I  remind  you,"  he  resumed, 
"of  what  you  have  already  done  for  me? 
I  could  never  have  produced  "Dreams 
in  Solitude,"  if  you  hadn't  ignored  my 
existence  for  four  weeks  when  the  Eng- 
lish poet  was  over  here.  The  sonnet, 
"The  Death  Watch,"  for  which  I  re- 
ceived twenty-five  dollars,  I  wrote  the 
night  you  forgot  my  waltz:  and,  finally, 
that  great  scene  in  the  novel  where  War- 
ren rides  to  his  doom  kissing  the  little 
glove,  was  born  of  your  not  having  writ- 
ten to  me  for  six  weeks.  Ah,  Evelyn, 
you  possess  the  incomparable  gift  of 
starving  others  without  alienating  them. 
No  other  woman  could  -dare  as  much  as 
you  and  be  forgiven. 

"I  forgive  you  because  I  cannot  do 
without  you.  This  is  to  be  a  great  book, 
so  I  want  it  to  be  a  very  special  kind  of 
heartache— one  that  will  make  me  sit  up 
late  and  write  without  coffee.  You've 
tried  many  ways  of  tormenting  me  in  that 
dainty  fashion  of  yours,  and  they've  all 
succeeded  so  well  that  I  bid  fair  to  be 
a  commercial,  if  not  a  literary  success. 
You  know  the  last  book  was  even  com- 
mented on  favorably  by  middle  aged, 


scholarly  gentlemen  whose  words  of  wis- 
dom are  used  for  illuminated  mottoes — 
'just  to  be  too  sweet  and  amiable  to  be 
tolerated ;  just  to  hobble  along  and  smile ; 
just  to  bore  the  whole  family  with  your 
little  stock  of  virtues;  just  to  be  heavy 
and  moral  and  lend  a  helping  hand' — but 
I  digress.  The  point  is,  my  Lady 
Evelyn,  will  you  help  me  write  this 
book,  this  great  American  novel  (no 
doubt  of  it  this  time)  by  hurting  me 
hard?  You're  coming  to  town  for  Janu- 
ary and  February,  and  in  that  time  we 
ought  to  do  wonders.  I  want  to  suffer 
in  strange  ways.  I  want  this  heartache 
to  sum  up  and  transcend  all  I've  had  up 
to  date;  your  ironic  genius  will  under- 
stand. Devotedly, 

"  Bryce  Margrave.*' 

When  he  had  sealed  and  addressed 
the  letter,  he  rose  and  walked  up  and 
down  his  big,  bare  room,  strictly  profes- 
sional in  its  austere  rejection  of  casts, 
pictures,  tapestries  and  other  expres- 
sions of  the  artistic  temperament.  Sets 
of  certain  French  and  English  novelists, 
occupying  shelves  over  the  fireplace, 
formed  the  only  personal  element  in  the 
general  blankness.  This  work  shop  had 
a  grim  look,  as  if  the  laborer  within  it 
would  sacrifice  everything  to  the  de- 
mands of  his  toil;  changing  his  life 
blood  into  ink  if  necessary;  and  his  soul 
into  a  pen. 

A  coal  fire  burned  in  the  grate.  Out- 
side a  gray  sky  was  blending  with  gray 
roofs,  as  the  early  December  evening 
set  in.  Cold,  blue  electric  lights  flared 
out  above  the  neighboring  square  where 
the  snow  lay  white  and  thick. 

Margrave  stood  at  the  window  a  mo- 
ment, then  resumed  his  restless  walk. 
Her  face  was  before  him,  sweet,  ironic, 
odd  and  unforgettable;  homely,  if  you 


HIS   HEARTACHE 


69 


would,  like  a  piquant  French  sketch  in 
chalk,  the  irregular,  significant  lines 
betraying  a  complex  personality. 

"If  she  should  ever  love  a  man,  what 
strange  forms  of  happiness  she  would 
bring  to  his  bewildered  gaze.  If  the 
heartaches  she  creates  are  so  special,  so 
singular,  what  blisses  could  she  not 
evoke!  Evelyn,  if  you  only  would!  " 

So  he  called  upon  her,  as  he  smoked 
and  dreamed,  now  seated  before  the  fire, 
a  long  lean  figure  with  a  massive,  shaggy 
head.  Life  had  been  evenly  dull  of 
late,  and  his  work  had  flagged.  What 
he  could  not  forgive  the  passing  hours, 
or  the  women  who  represented  them  at 
their  keenest,  was  that  they  could  not 
make  him  feel.  Against  Evelyn  Leigh- 
ton  he  had  never,  at  least,  had  that 
grudge.  Though  he  had  known  her 
almost  since  her  childhood,  she  was 
always  to  him  like  a  charming  woman 
he  was  meeting  for  the  first  time. 

Her  answer  came  promptly. 

"I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  you  in 
the  interests  of  American  literature:  for 
I  honestly  believe  that  the  wrangling 
of  critics  over  your  work  is  indicative  of 
some  real  and  lasting  value  in  it:  it 
refuses  *he  usual  pompous  labels  stuck 
over  many  of  the  others,  as  over  a  suit 
case  whose  final  destination  is  the  dusty 
attic. 

"So  it  is  to  be  a  special  kind  of  heart- 
ache, Bryce,  more  effective  than  black 
coffee,  and  more  productive  of  dreams 
than  morphine.  But  would  not  joy 
serve  you  as  well?  " 

His  heart  leaped  as  he  read  the  last 
sentence,  so  like  her  in  its  enigmatical 
farewell.  She  was  a  women  who  always 
propounded  her  questions  at  parting. 
What  could  she  mean?  Nothing  so  won- 
derful, he  was  sure,  as  the  gift  of  herself 
to  him.  Four  years  ago  he  had  asked 
her  to  marry  him.  With  such  gracious- 
ness  had  she  refused  him  that  he  was 
pledged  thenceforth  to  a  fine,  brisk 
friendship,  not  unbroken,  however,  by 
those  heartaches  of  a  discarded  or  hope- 


less lover  which  seemed  absolutely 
necessary  to  give  to  his  work  its  last 
high,  keen  touch  of  perfection. 

He  smiled  wistfully.  Evelyn  looked 
out  from  between  the  lines  of  the  letter 
with  the  vague,  sweet,  aloof  air  of  a  high 
bred  dame  wrought  in  tapestry.  Much 
as  he  thought  he  worshipped  her,  she 
had  always  seemed  to  him  part  of  the 
embroidery  of  life,  as  little  to  be  blamed 
for  the  despairing  passion  she  excited 
as  the  lady  woven  of  silken  threads  and 
held  forever  captive  amid  the  dim  violet 
shadows  of  her  unearthly  landscape. 
Well!  She  could  at  least  dower  him 
with  the  priceless  gift  of  dissatisfaction, 
the  indispensable  treasure  of  the  true 
artist.  "Thine  eyes  shall  behold  the 
lands  that  are  very  far  off,"  had  always 
seemed  to  Margrave  less  stimulating  to 
the  imagination  than  if  the  prophetic 
line  had  read:  "Thine  eyes  shall  always 
long  to  behold  the  lands  that  are  very 
far  off." 

J* 

He  was  awaiting  her  in  the  faded,  old 
fashioned  drawing  room  of  her  aunt's 
city  house.  Evelyn,  he  thought,  struck 
a  strange  note  in  the  etiolated  atmos- 
phere of  this  place  sacred  to  memories 
half  a  century  old,  and  haunted  with  the 
faint  perfume  of  lavendar;  as  if  a  com- 
plex note  of  modern  Russian  music  sud- 
denly broke  in  upon  a  quaint  ballad. 
His  heart  was  beating  quickly  as  always 
while  he  awaited  her.  When  she  stood 
before  him  at  last,  a  svelte,  graceful 
figure  in  a  gown  of  yellow  lace,  the  old 
sensation  of  being  in  a  happy  dream 
gripped  him,  held  him  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment, 

She  smiled. 

"Well,  have  you  nothing  to  say  to 
me!" 

"I  am  always  saying  things  to  you.  I 
can't  put  pen  to  paper  without  a  mes- 
sage. Do  you  wish  me  to  ask  you  how 
you  are,  when  you  are  obviously  radiant? 
or  if  your  train  was  on  time?  or  if  you 
are  dining  out  tonight?  " 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   OCTOBER,    1904 


"But  conversation  is  made  up  of  ques- 
tions to  which  nobody  wants  answers. 
You  couldn't  greet  me  by  asking  me  my 
views  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
could  you,  Bryce?" 

"No,  but  I  could  speak  of  an  immortal 
theme." 

"What,  for  instance?" 

"I  could  tell  you  I  love  you." 

"What  unseemly  haste!  Are  you  so 
anxious  for  the  climax  of  that  novel? 
Come,  sit  down  by  the  fire,  and  tell  me 
the  plot.  I  hope  they  are  married  in 
the  last  chapter." 

"No,  they  are  not;  nothing  so  banal." 

"What  happens  to  them?  " 

"One  dies." 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?  " 

"Worse." 

"Worse!" 

"Yes.     One  lives." 

"It's  high  time  I  came.  Are  you 
keen  for  the  heartache,  Bryce?  " 

"I  don't  need  to  be  keen  for  it.  It's 
already  begun." 

"Don't  I  ever  make  you  happy,  poor 
old  boy?  " 

"Sometimes — exquisitely  so." 

"But  just  plain  happy?  " 

"I  don't  know  whether  I'd  enjoy  being 
that." 

"Ah,  I  see — not  enough  copy  in  it. 
Well,  tell  me  the  plot  of  your  novel." 

"You  really  want  to  hear  it?" 

"I  have  come  to  New  York  for  no 
other  purpose."  She  leaned  back  in 
her  chair,  holding  a  huge  peacock  fan 
between  her  face  and  the  fire.  Out  of 
the  shadow  her  smile  stole  at  times,  as 
she  listened.  Once  or  twice  she  said 
"good!  "  As  his  subject  possessed  him 
he  sat  up  tall  and  straight  and  authori- 
tative, his  eyes  deep  and  dilated  like  a 
poet's. 

When  he  had  finished  she  turned  to 
him  a  face  delicately  flushed,  it  would 
seem,  with  responsive  appreciation. 

"Now  let  me  understand.  Things 
move  quietly  through  the  first  two  books, 
so  quietly  that  only  the  spiritually  astute" 


—  she  laughed — "like  you  and  me,  per- 
ceive how  all  the  little  apparently  unim- 
portant lines  are  focusing  to  tragedy,  just 
as  you  trace  them  in  life  after  the  event 
has  happened — sadly  never  before.  This 
tragedy,  as  I  understand  it,  arises  largely 
from  the  hero's  misconception  of  the 
nature  of  love." 

"Precisely.  You  have  a  wonderful 
gift,  Evelyn,  of  getting  to  the  soul  of  a 
situation." 

"Have  you  begun  it?  " 

"Two  chapters." 

"Do  you  really  think  the  heartache  is 
necessary  at  the  climax?  " 

"Oh,  as  far  as  that  goes,  I'll  have  it 
all  through. ' 

"Dear— why?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  new,  a  won- 
derful tenderness  and  yearning  in  her 
face. 

He  gazed  at  her  as  if  he  did  not 
understand.  At  last  he  slowly  spoke  her 
name. 

"Evelyn,  it  isn't  possible—  he 
paused. 

"Possible  that  I  too—" 

A  mist  came  before  her  eyes.  He 
rose  and  went  to  her  side,  enraptured, 
almost  incredulous. 

"Dear  beloved — 

'  "Yes— just  that,"  she  faltered.  "You'll 
have  to  write  it  out  of  joy,  Bryce!  " 

"So  you  love  me  at  last,"  he  cried. 

"I  loved  you  at  first." 

"Then  why  did  you  refuse  me?  " 

A  shadow  crossed  her  face. 

"I  wasn't  quite  sure." 

"Sure  of  yourself?" 

"No,  sure  of  you." 

"You  couldn't  doubt  my  love." 

"Not  your  artist  love,  no!  Your  beau- 
tiful, unreal  worship,  keyed  less  to  life 
than  to  a  really  great  literature — I  know 
your  ambitions — but  your  human  love; 
the  kind  that  is  necessary  for  being,  as 
I  said,  'just  plain  happy'." 

"Ah,  Sweetest,  you're  sure  of  it  now! 
Our  love  will  gather  up  and  express 
every  form  of  love,  from  the  deepest  pas- 


HIS   HEARTACHE 


sion  to  tender,  homely,  every  day  affec- 
tion. Now  that  you  are  mine  I  will 
walk  straight  to  glory." 

She  put  her  head  down  against  his 
breast. 

"What  glory,  Bryce?" 

He  caressed  the  softly  gleaming  hair. 

"My  glory  as  a  novelist.  With  you 
beside  me  I  can  do  anything." 

"Will  joy  suffice?  You  will  not  miss 
the  heartaches?  " 

He  laughed  gaily. 

"Oh,  the  heartaches!  " 

"Didn't  they  count  —  weren't  they 
real?" 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  into 
his  eyes. 

He  flushed. 

"Of  course  they  were  real.  You  kept 
me  going." 

"How?" 

"With  my  work." 

She  clung  to  him  again,  childlike, 
simple,  almost  unrecognizable  in  her 
perfect  surrender. 

"Our  joy  must  do  that  now,"'and  in 
her  voice  was  a  strange  note  of  appeal. 

II 

For  the  first  two  months  their  engage- 
ment seemed  nothing  less  than  a  treaty 
with  the  Olympians,  in  which  all  the 
golden  advantage  was  for  once  on  the 
side  of  human  beings.  Evelyn  was  a 
revelation  of  inexhaustible  charm,  of 
caressing,  yet  for  the  most  part  unspoken, 
tenderness.  Bryce  thought  her  spirit 
was  like  a  lovely,  intimate  room,  yet 
with  windows  opening  to  the  lonely  stars, 
and  to  illimitable  spaces  of  sunlit  land- 
scape. She  surrendered,  however,  not 
one  gem  of  her  coquetries.  They  glit- 
tered upon  her,  but  with  lights  of  invi- 
tation. 

During  this  time  the  novel  was 
neglected,  Bryce  insisting  that  he  would 
write  all  the  better  when  he  did  begin. 
He  would  have  now  so  much  more  to 
put  into  it;  all  the  treasure  to  which  he 
had  suddenly  fallen  heir. 


Meanwhile,  she  walked  in  a  glory  of 
his  worship,  so  glittering  sometimes  as 
to  seem  to  her  like  the  lights  from  the 
facets  of  a  brilliant  intellect,  rather  than 
the  steady  glow  from  the  heart.  She 
found  herself,  she  knew  not  why,  watch- 
ing for  change,  for  a  subduing  or  extinc- 
tion of  the  light.  But  Bryce  did  not 
change.  He  seemed  always  exquisitely 
happy  in  her  society;  and  she  was  only- 
half  conscious  that  to  maintain  this  hap- 
piness she  was  putting  forth  every  effort, 
drawing  on  her  capital  as  it  were,  where 
before  she  had  used  only  her  income. 
What  troubled  her  was  that  Bryce  showed 
so  little  disposition  to  go  on  with  his 
book,  working  only  an  hour  or  two  a  day, 
where  before  he  had  worked  eight. 
Often,  when  alone,  she  questioned  her- 
self as  to  the  cause  of  this  strange  defec- 
tion. It  was  not  that  she  absorbed  his 
time,  for  she  was  constantly  urging  him 
to  work,  and  she  made  no  demands. upon 
him,  treating  him,  indeed,  more  as  a  wife 
would  treat  a  husband,  than  as  a  girl  in 
the  queen  period  of  betrothal  treats  her 
lover.  Could  it  be  that  he  was  too 
happy,  too  satisfied,  too  sure?  Was  the 
doubt  that  had  held  her  back  four  years 
ago,  being  justified  now?  Could  his 
intellectual  passion  thrive  only  on  de- 
nials; and  must  he  do  everything  with 
his  head,  even  love?-  Perhaps  he  had 
no  power  left  for  the  book. 

Her  doubts  darkening  her  days,  she 
took  advantage  of  the  first  signs  of  un- 
deniable restlessness  in  him  to  ask  di- 
rectly why  he  was  not  working  on  the 
novel.  They  were  walking  in  the  park, 
and  his  deep  eyes-  were  fixed  on  the  cold 
crimson  of  the  Winter  sunset.  A  faint 
flush  overspread  his  face  as  he  answered. 

"I  told  you  before,  dearest,  that  I 
don't  feel  in  the  mood  for  writing." 

"Too  happy,  Bryce?  "  she  said  sadly. 

His  flush  deepened. 

"In  paradise  always  when  with  you. 
You  know  that,"  he  answered,  not  look- 
ing at  her. 

"But    paradise   is   so   unreal,    Bryce. 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    OCTOBER,    1904 


And  in  paradise  you  are  always  too 
happy — and  just  happiness  is  enough." 

"Yes,  you  are  too  happy  in  paradise," 
he  acquiesced,  his  face  still  toward  the 
sunset. 

"Well,"  she  cried,  "why  can't  we  get 
back  to  normal  living — you  to  your  work 
— I  to  my  preparations?  " 

"I  never  lived  normally  in  my  life," 
he  said  with  a  queer  kind  of  a  laugh. 
"And  what  preparations  are  you  speak- 
ing of,  Sweet?  " 

"For  my — our  marriage." 

"Oh." 

He  went  into  silence,  a  long  way  in. 
She  did  not  follow  him.  She,  too,  gazed 
at  the  sunset. 

When  they  parted  she  said: 

"Bryce,  j  want  you  to  do  something 
for  me." 

"Anything,  darling." 

She  shrank  from  the  love  name.  He 
said  it,  she  thought,  as  he  would  say 
"pleasant  morning,"  or  "good  night." 

"I  want  you  to  promise  rne  that  you 
will  put  in  an  eight  hour  day  regularly 
for  the  next  three  weeks:  whether  you're 
in  the  mood  or  not — just  write,  write, 
write." 

"Evelyn  dearest.  You're  asking  a 
good  deal." 

"For  my  sake." 

"Very   well,"  he  said,   "I'll  try  it." 

The  word  "try"  hurt  her  somehow. 
She  closed  his  goodbye  abruptly. 


For  the  next  month  she  saw,  by  com- 
parison, very  little  of  him.  When  they 
were  together  he  was  sometimes  fever- 
ishly gay;  again  silent  and  moody.  Of 
the  novel  he  did  not  speak.  She  judged 
that  it  was  going  lamely. 

At  last  she  asked  if  he  would  not  read 
the  opening  chapters  to  her.  He  de- 
murred. "You  would  get  a  broken  effect, 
and  that  is  not  fair  to  me." 

"The  reader  of  a  serial  gets  a  broken 
effect." 

"Well,  if  you  must  have  your  way!  " 


The  next  afternoon  he  read  the  chap- 
ters to  her.  They  seemed  to  her,  under 
their  elaborate  and  conscientious  work- 
manship, dull  and  absent  minded;  lack- 
ing in  that  strange,  intense  quality  which 
lit  up  Bryce's  work  as  with  unearthly 
fires.  She  missed  the  soul  throbbing 
under  the  surface  beauty  of  the  language. 

When  he  had  finished  she  said: 

"You  are  .right.  One  gets  a  broken 
effect.  Finish  the  first  book,  then  read 
it  all  to  me." 

"You  are  thoroughly  disappointed,"  he 
said  with  an  intonation  of  resentment, 
adding,  "what  can  you  expect  of  a  man 
in  love!  " 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she 
looked  at  him. 

"Are  you  in  love,  Bryce?" 

"As  if  you  could  ask,  after  hearing 
this!" 

She  was  silent. 

J* 

A  fortnight  later,  she  came  to  his 
office  den  in  the  morning,  a  tall,  lovely 
figure  in  her  soft  velvet  and  furs.  She 
found  him  sitting  idly  at  his  desk,  amid 
a  wild  confusion  of  papers.  He  rose  as 
she  entered,  and  came  to  meet  her  with 
warm  welcome,  as  if  any  diversion  were 
a  relief  from  some  obligation  he  was  not 
meeting — could  not,  indeed,  meet. 

"I've  come  to  hear  the  first  book, 
Bryce." 

"Oh,  not  this  morning,"  he  said 
wearily. 

"But  to  please  me." 

"I'll  begin  where  I  left  off,  but  I 
won't  plough  through  the  whole  thing 
again." 

"Begin  where  you  left  off,  then!  " 

He  read  two  or  three  pages,  stopped 
suddenly. 

"There's  something  wrong  with  this 
stuff." 

"Decidedly  wrong."  she  said  promptly. 

"You  feel  it,  too,"  he  said  with  an 
air  of  triumph.  "I  knew  you  did." 

"Yes,  I  have  felt  it  all  along." 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?" 


HIS  HEARTACHE 


73 


"I  am  the  matter  with  it." 

"You?"  he  said,  but  the  note  in  his 
voice  was  not  wholly  one  of  surprise. 

"Yes,  dear.     I  made  a  mistake." 

"When?" 

"The  day  I  told  you  to  write  it  out  of 
joy.  I've  crowded  out  the  soul  joi  it, 
somehow,  with  my  soul.  I've  deadened 
you  with  enchantment;  swamped  your 
genius  with  certain  happiness."  • 

"What's  to  be  done!  I  can't  give  you 
up." 

She  smiled  faintly:  that  he  could 
even  think  of  giving  her  up  told  her 
much. 

"A  man  must  always  give  up  a  woman 
if  she  interferes  with  his  work.  He's  in 
the  world  first  to  express  himself  — 
second,  to  love." 

"You  are  satirical." 

"I  am  truthful.  Nature  intends  you 
for  bread  winners." 

Margrave  rose  and  paced  the  room. 

"I  can't  quite  understand  it.  I  don't 
understand  myself.  One  would  think 
that  a  man  living  in  such  a  paradise  as 
you've  created  could  do  anything.  I 
thought  I'd  touched  zenith,  but  I'm  — 

"You're  hobbling,"  she  finished. 

He  nodded,  not  looking  at  her.  Sud- 
denly he  paused  in  his  restless  walk. 

"What  is  the  way  out,  Evelyn?  Come, 
you  must  help  me." 

She  was  silent,  smiling  dumbly,  pite- 
ously,  it  seemed  to  him. 

He  slowly  said,  when  he  found  she 
would  not  speak,  "I'm  going  to  make 
a  brutal  remark,  Evelyn:  brutal  as  a 
possible  solution,  but  we  might  as  well 
get  at  the  truth,  at  the  remedy.  Let  us 
marry  at  once." 

"To  end  enchantment!  " 

"Well,  not  precisely  that,"  he  said 
uneasily. 

"To  keep  our  plighted  word,  then!  " 

"Oh,  we'd  keep  it." 

"We  might  keep  that  and  nothing 
else,"  she  said  with  sadness.  "No,  dear, 
I  would  rather  keep  the  enchantment — 
and  not  marry.  I  am  breaking  the  en- 


gagement. You  are  free  from  this 
hour." 

"That  I  may  have  a  heartache?"  he 
suddenly  flashed  out  upon  her:  changed 
in  an  instant  to  his  old  self,  as  if  she 
had  performed  a  trick  of  magic. 

"That  I  may  have  the  heartache!  "  he 
repeated. 

"That  you  may  have  what  is  best  for 
you." 

"You've  been  playing  with  me." 

"No,  I  have  not  been  playing  with 
you." 

"Then  why — 

"Your  art  is  worth  more  than  I  am." 

"You  throw  me  over." 

"I  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  yield  to 
inevitable  logic — the  logic  of  your  preser- 
vation." 

She  looked  steadily  at  him,  saw  in  his 
eyes  mingled  emotions;  relief,  yet,  curi- 
ously enough,  accusation  also,  unfeigned 
reproach:  the  dawning  of  a  bitterness 
that  would  throw  him  back  upon  himself, 
restore  him  to  the  self-centered  suffering, 
the  sharp  sense  of  deprivation  which 
seemed  necessary  to  the  adequate  per- 
formance of  his  work. 

"You  never  loved  me,"  he  slowly  said, 
"or  you  couldn't  do  this." 

"I  love  you  so  much  that  I  can  do  it." 

His  tragedy  was  gaining  on  him.  Al- 
ready his  belief  in  it  was  growing 
stronger,  as  his  faith  in  her  weakened. 

"You  are  really  breaking  the  engage- 
ment?" 

"I  break  it.  I  have  engaged  passage 
for  Europe." 

He  was  white  now  with  his  sense  of 
her  cruelty. 

"Ah,  I  see.  It  was  all  a  trick— our 
engagement.  I  asked  you  to  give  me 
a  heartache;  and  consummate  actress 
that  you  are,  you  tricked  me  through  joy 
into  the  sharpest  one  a  man  could  have. 
You  are  hideously  cruel." 

She  turned  her  head  away. 

"You  will  thank  me  at  last,"  she  said. 

"It  is  monstrous  of  you!  " 

-"You  will  write  a  great  book." 


74 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,  1904 


"And  will  you  never  come  back  to  me, 
Evelyn?  " 

"Dear,  I  do  more  for  you  absent,  and 
I  love  you  enough  to  go." 

"You  are  a  consummate  actress." 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  farewell.  In 
her  eyes  were  the  unshed  tears  which 
burn  the  soul. 

"You  are  a  consummate  actress,"  he 
said  again. 


A  year  later  there  reached  her  in  Flor- 
ence a  book  review  and  a  letter  from 
a  woman  friend  which  seemed  to  have 


arrived  together  for  the  very  jmrpose  of 
mutual  corroboration. 

The  review  was  devoted  to  Bryce  Mar- 
grave's latest  novel,  a  work  of  art,  the 
critic  wrote,  profoundly  leavened  with 
human  passion  and  suffering,  technique 
and  torrential  emotion  being  for  once  in 
perfect  harmony. 

The  letter  said : 

"His  book  is  wonderful,  a  triumph,  a 
revelation.  You  broke  his  heart,  they 
say.  Much  as  I  love  you,  Evelyn,  I  can 
only  condemn  the  coquetry — the  cruelty 
rather,  that  would  put  such  a  genius  to 
the  torture ! ' 


BERLIN'S    UNIQUE    PRINTING    TELEGRAPH 

By    DR.    ALFRED    GRADE-NWITZ 


BERLIN,    GERMANY 


TELEPHONES,  rendering  only  words 
as  they  are  spoken,  are  frequently  in- 
sufficient for  business  purposes;  in  addi- 
tion to  a  correct  transmission  of  a  com- 
munication, there  will  in  fact  in  many 
cases  be  necessary  an  acknowledgement 
in  writing  of  this  transmission.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  the  liability  of  tele- 
phonic conversation  to  be  overheard  by 
a  third;  and,  finally,  the  person  rung  up 
on  the  telephone  may  happen  to  be  ab- 
sent, when  his  return  will  have  to  be 
waited  for  and  much  time  be  lost.  In 
order  to  afford  an  efficient  means  of 
.communication  in  all  these  and  many 
other  cases,  a  new  public  printing  tele- 
graph service  has  been  installed  in  Ber- 
lin —  the  "Ferndrucker-Centrale." 

The  telegraph,  as  constructed  by  the 
Siemens  &  Halske  Company,  is  a  type 
printing  telegraph,  similar  to  the  well 
known  Huges  type  printer  and  the  Bau- 
dot telegraph.  The  main  distinctive 
feature  from  former  apparatus  is  the  fact 
that  the  latter  moving  freely,  the  simul- 
taneous working  of  the  instruments  es- 
tablished on  the  same  line  had  to  be  ob- 


tained   by   the    skill   of    the    operator, 
whereas  the  operation  of  the  new  appa- 


SUBSCRIBER'S    STATION 


BERLIN'S   UNIQUE  PRINTING  TELEGRAPH 


CENTRAL  OFFICE   OF  THE  BERLIN   PRINTING  TELEGRAPH   COMPANY 


ratus  is  as  simple  as  that  of  an  ordinary 
typewriter.  The  apparatus,  in  fact,  is 
nothing  else  than  a  tele-typewriter,  any 
letters,  figures  or  signs  of  punctuation 
being  printed  by  pressing  down  a  key 
corresponding  with  the  signal  in  ques- 
tion. There  are  two  circles  of  signs  on 
the  periphery  of  the  type  wheel,  one 
comprising  the.  letters  and  the  other  the 
figures  and  signs  of  punctuation.  A 
shift  key  serves  to  adjust  the  type  wheel 
either  for  letters  or  figures.  Both  of  the 
apparatus  connected  by  a  line  may  be 
used  either  as  sender  or  as  receiver,  with- 
out any  special  preparation  being  neces- 
sary; as  soon  as  a  special  white  key  is 
struck,  the  apparatus  in  question  is  in 
fact  made  to  serve  as  sender  and  all  will 
be  ready  for  use.  The  printing  takes 
place  simultaneously  in  both  the  trans- 
mitting and  sending  apparatus,  no  mat- 
ter whether  there  is  or  is  not  somebody 
operating  the  receiving  apparatus.  In 
the  case  of  the  owner  of  the  apparatus 
being  absent,  he  will  read  the  telegram 


printed  on  the  paper  ribbon  on  his  re- 
turn. The  new  telegraph,  giving  two 
identical  records  of  the  same  telegram 
in  the  sending  and  receiving  apparatus 
respectively,  will  place  at  the  disposal 
of  the  transmitter  an  evidence  of  the  cor- 
rectness of  his  communication,  so  as  to 
exclude  any  possibility  of  misunder- 
standing. 

The  advantages  afforded  by  the  print- 
ing telegraph  as  compared  both  with 
telephone  and  present  telegraph  systems 
will  be  self  evident.  Chiefly  it  is  the 
only  means  of  communication  enabling 
despatches  to  be  kept  strictly  private. 
A  central  station  with  arrangements  and 
working  methods  similar  to  those  of 
central  telephone  stations  have  been 
opened  at  No.  28  Zimmerstrasse, 
Berlin,  serving  in  the  first  place  to 
secure  mutual  communications  between 
all  the  subscribers  connected  to  the  Ber- 
lin printing  telephone  net.  The  central 
station  is  fitted  with  a  switch  board  com- 
prising indicators  and  catcKes  for  100 


76 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


subscribers.  Sixteen  connecting  strings 
allow  of  thirty-eight  subscribers  being 
simultaneously  connected  so  as  to  enable 
a  simultaneous  communication  between 
one  third  of  all  the  subscribers  in  the 
case  of  the  switch  board  being  complete. 
As  soon  as  a  subscriber  presses  down  the 
calling  key  of  his  printing  telegraph,  the 
official  in  charge  of  the  indicator  board 
at  the  central  station  will  be  advised  by 
the  indicator  of  the  subscriber  in  ques- 
ton  dropping  and  an  alarm  being  rung, 
when  he  will  have  to  put  himself  in  com- 
munication with  the  caller,  to  ask  him 
for  the  desired  connection  through  a 
special  enquiring  apparatus  and  connect 
both  subscribers.  It  is  possible  also  to 
connect  any  desired  number  of  subscrib- 
ers to  the  same  printing  telegraph,  so  as 
to  transmit  the  same  communication 
simultaneously  to  all  the  subscribers. 
This  is  ensured  by  the  subscribers,  who 
as  a  rule  are  connected  to  the  indicator 
board  of  the  central  station,  being  dis- 
connected from  the  latter  and  connected 
to  the  transmitting  apparatus  in  question 
by  means  of  a  group  switch. 

Similar  telegraph  services  from  one 
central  station  to  a  certain  number  of 
subscribers-simultaneously  by  means  of  a 
so  called  "ticker,"  have  for  some  time 
been  used  in  New  York,  London  and 
Paris.  A 'similar  service  has  been  in 
operation  also  in  Bremerhaven,  Ger- 


many, for  transmitting  ship  telegrams 
from  one  central  station  on  to  100  sub- 
scribers in  different  places.  It  is  in- 
tended, from  the  central  station  just 
opened  in  Berlin,  to  transmit  similar 
information  to  a  certain  number  of  sub- 
scribers, limiting  the  service  at  first  to 
Exchange  telegrams,  which  are  trans- 
mitted at  given  hours  from  the  transmit- 
ting apparatus  in  the  Berlin  Exchange. 
The  same  means  of  communication 
would  be  employed  for  transmitting  tele- 
grams from  a  central  telegraph  office, 
such  as  Reuter's,  to  a  certain  number 
of  newspaper  offices.  In  addition,  the 
above  central  station  is  intended  to 
secure  communication  of  the  subscrib- 
ers with  the  central  state  telegraph  office 
for  transmitting  or  receiving  telegrams 
through  the  state  telegraph,  for  which 
subscribers  are  charged  a  rather  low 
extra  fee  of  so  much  per  word. 

The  main  feature  will,  however,  be  the 
direct  mutual  communication  between 
the  subscribers,  and  in  this  respect  Ber- 
lin may  boast  of  having  quite  a  unique 
means  of  communication.  The  system 
has,  by  the  way,  been  in  operation  for 
some  time  with  great  industrial  concerns 
such  as  the  Berlin  Allgemeine-Elek- 
tricitats  Gesellschaft  and  the  Siemens 
&  Halske  Company,  for  communi- 
cation between  their  various  business 
departments. 


THE    JUDGE'S   SON 


By    RICHARD    S.    GRAVES 

ST.     JOSEPH,      MISSOURI 


MICAJAH  BOLEAN  had  been  a  jus- 
tice of  the  peace  many  years,  and 
nobody  had  ever  questioned  his  right  to 
hold  the  office  the  remainder  of  his  life, 
for  he  was  a  cripple.  Year  after  year  his 
name  was  on  the  ballots  at  every  election 
and  he  was  not  opposed  after  the  first 
year. 

Another  man  had  made  the  race 
against  him  the  first  time  he  was  a  can- 
didate for  the  office,  and  it  was  said  that 
his  opponent  did  not  receive  a  single 
vote.  No  other  candidate  for  the  place 
could  be  found  after  that,  and  nobody 
but  Micajah  Bolean  wanted  the  office. 

"He  knows  nothing  but  justice,"  the 
strangers  used  to  be  told.  "He  sent  his 
own  boy  to  jail  once,  and  the  ungrateful 
little  wretch  ran  away  from  home  and 
never  came  back." 

The  office  of  the  justice  of  the  peace 
was  over  a  grocery  store  and  his  home 
was  on  a  quiet  street  where  his  wife,  a 
sad  faced  woman  with  streaks  of  gray  in 
her  brown  hair,  busied  herself  all  day 
with  her  household  duties.  It  was  plain 
that  some  great  sorrow  had  befallen  her 
at  some  time  in  her  life. 

There  was  no  trace  of  sorrow  on  the 
face  of  the  justice  of  the  peace,  especially 
when  he  had  once  turned  it  in  the 
direction  of  his  home.  He  had  always 
said  that  he  knew  right  from  wrong,  and 
when  he  stated  that  anything  was  right 
nothing  on  earth  could  change  him.  He 
was  as  firm  as  a  rock.  He  had  been  firm 
the  day  he  sentenced  his  own  son  to  jail, 
and  that  firmness  was  with  him  still. 

The  boy  had  contended  that  he  was 
innocent  of  the  charge  against  him — that 
he  had  been  fighting  in  self  defense — 
but  the  firm  old  magistrate  believed  the 
evidence  of  other  witnesses  and  would 
not  listen  to  him.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind,  and  refused  to  change  it.  The 


boy  threatened  that  if  his  father  sent  him 
to  jail  he  would  leave  home  and  never 
return,  and  the  threat  had  some  bearing 
on  the  case. 

It  was  true  that  he  had  been  a  good 
boy  and  gave  promise  of  being  a  good 
man.  Even  his  stern  father  was  forced 
to  make  that  admission  when  he  argued 
with  himself  and  tried  to  justify  his 
action. 

In  the  office  of  the  justice  of  the 
peace  there  was  an  old  table  littered 
with  books  and  papers,  and  over  all  the 
dust  of  years  had  settled.  When  a  law 
suit  was  tried  there,  at  long,  intervals, 
the  dust  was  brushed  away  by  the  use 
that  was  made  of  the  tables,  but  the 
books  and  papers  were  not  disturbed. 

The  edges  of  the  papers  were  frayed 
and  ragged,  and  they  were  all  yellow 
with  age.  Sometimes  the  pile  was 
moved  a  little  by  some  one  slipping 
a  sheet  of  foolscap  out  to  make  a 
memorandum.  On  the  table  was  a  copy 
of  the  revised  statutes  with  one  of  the 
covers  torn  off  and  many  of  the  pages 
missing.  In  the  corner  stood  the  stove, 
from  which  the  ashes  leaked  the  whole 
year  through.  In  Summer  it  was  the 
receptacle  for  trash,  and  the  lower  sec- 
tion was  always  a  spittoon. 

The  bench  was  represented  by  the 
long  table,  behind  which  the  justice  sat, 
and  in  front  of  him  had  been  cleared 
a  small  space  among  the  aged,  dust 
covered  papers. 

In  the  pigeon  holes  of  the  tall  case 
that  stood  against  the  wall  were  papers 
that  human  eyes  had  not  seen  for  twenty 
years — parts  of  the  record  in  forgotten 
law  suits,  and  unpaid  fee  bills  of  cases 
in  which  the  litigants  were  long  since 
dead.  The  window  shades  were  frayed 
at  the  lower  end  and  could  not  be  moved 
up  or  down.  When  it  was  desired  to 


78 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


keep  the  sunlight  out,  newspapers  were 
pinned  across  the  windows. 

It  was  in  the  old  wall  case,  among  the 
papers  that  had  been  touched  and  turned 
yellow  by  the  hand  of  time,  that  Micajah 
Bolean  found,  while  searching  one  day 
for  a  lost  document,  the  picture  of  a  boy. 
He  looked  at  it  curiously  at  first,  for  his 
sight  was  dim  and  he  did  not  recognize 
it.  Then  he  turned  it  toward  the  light 
and  pushed  his  spectacles  up  on  his  nose. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  there  unmoved, 
sustained  by  the  firmness  that  had  been 
his  lifelong  pride.  Somebody  opened 
the  door  as  he  fell  to  the  floor,  uttering 
a  hoarse  cry,  like  an  animal  that  had 
been  given  a  death  wound,  and  with  the 
picture  clasped  in  his  hand.. 

It  was  a  picture  of  the  boy  he  had  sent 
to  jail — a  boy  with  laughing  blue  eyes 
and  hair  that  curled  about  his  forehead. 


The  home  in  which  Micajah  Bolean 
lived  wa's  a  great  contrast  to  his  dingy 
office,  for  it  was  clean  and  as  free  from 
dust  as  the  willing  hands  of  his  wife 
could  make  it.  Trees  grew  around  it 
and  vines  covered  the  long  porch.  The 
street  in  front  and  the  alley  in  the  rear 
ended  abruptly  a  few  yards  away  in  a 
steep  embankment,  over  which  the  tops 
of  freight  cars  moving  to  arid  fro  and  the 
long  freight  trains  passing  through  the 
yards  could  be  seen.  Weeds  grew  in 
the  street  in  front  of  the  house  and  the 
alley  in  the  rear  was  overrun  with  them, 
for  the  two  thoroughfares  were  seldom 
traveled.  The  shrieks  of  the  engines 
at  work  in  the  yards  could  be  heard  all 
day  and  all  night,  and  the  rattle  of  the 
jangling  cars,  as  heavy  as  thunder  at 
first,  and  gradually  dying  away  down 
the  tracks,  was  a  familiar  sound  in  the 
little  house  on  the  hill.  The  wife  of  the 
magistrate  sat  there  hours  at  a  time, 
watching  the  tops  of  the  cars  and  scan- 
ning the  freight  trains  as  they  came  in. 
The  brakemen  ran  along  the  tops  of 
moving  trains,  twisting  a  brake  here  and 


loosening  one  here,  waving  their  arms 
and  giving  signals  in  pantomime. 

It  was  because  she  once  had  heard 
that  their  son  became  a  railroad  brake- 
man  that  the  wife  of  the  justice  of  the 
peace  sat  and  watched  the  trains  all  day 
and  listened  to  their  noises  at  night. 
When  Micajah  Bolean  was  away  from 
the  house  she  wept  silently  many  times 
and  felt  as  though  her  old  heart  would 
break.  It  would  have  been  a  relief  to 
have  talked  about  the  missing  boy,  but 
his  father  never  permitted  his  name  to 
be  mentioned. 

So  she  watched  the  faces  of  the  brake- 
men,  hoping  that  the  lost  boy  would 
some  day  come  back  and  steal  into  the 
house.  She  was  a  prim  old  lady,  always 
neat  and  clean,  but  she  knew  that  if  ever 
he  came  home  and  slipped  into  the  house 
while  his  father  was  away,  she  would 
take  him  in  her  arms  as  she  had  when 
he  was  a  child,  even  though  he  were  as 
black  with  smoke  and  grime  as  any  of 
the  brakemen  or  firemen  she  could  see 
from  her  window. 

It  had  been  twenty  years  since  he 
went  away,  and  in  all  that  time  the  stern 
old  man  had  not  once  relented.  The 
white  haired  mother  had  often  tried  to 
imagine  how  her  son  looked  with  those 
years  added  to  his  age.  She  knew  he 
would  be  large  and  strong,  and  she 
thought  his  eyes  would  still  be  bright 
and  his  face  as  cheerful  and  smiling  as 
the  boy  she  remembered  so  well. 


One  night  a  man  whose  face  was 
covered  with  a  thick  growth  of  beard, 
in  which  there  were  streaks  of  gray, 
slouched  through  the  streets.  His 
clothes  were  ragged,  his  eyes  downcast 
and  his  hair  unkempt.  He  was  a  vag- 
rant, and  as  he  walked  he  cast  furtive 
glances  about  to  see  that  no  officer  was' 
in  sight.  He  came  from  the  direction  of 
the  railroad  yards  and  crept  through  the 
weeds  growing  rank  and  tall  back  of 
Micajah  Bolean's  house.  His  feet, 


THE    JUDGE'S    SON 


79 


covered  by  ragged  shoes,  made  no  sound 
as  he  stepped  upon  the  porch,  where  he 
stood  looking  in  through  the  window. 

The  vagrant  uncovered  his  head  as  he 
stood  there.  He  saw  Micajah  Bolean 
and  his  wife,  sitting  with  the  weight  of 
years  upon  them.  He  waited  for  the 
sound  of  their  voices,  and  when  Micajah 
Bolean  spoke  he  noted  the  firm,  harsh 
tone — the  same  harsh  voice  that  many 
a  vagrant  had  heard  when  he  was  sen- 
tenced to  jail. 

It  was  when  the  aged  woman  spoke, 
in  a  sad,  sweet  voice,  that  the  tears 
started  to  the  vagrant's  eyes.  He  made 
a  step  toward  the  door,  but  drew  back 
when  his  ragged  garments  came  within 
range  of  the  shaft  of  dim  light  through 
the  window. 

Down  in  the  railroad  yards  he  could 
hear  the  noise  of  the  moving  trains,  the 
clang  of  bells  and  the  shrieking  signals 
of  the  engines.  In  an  interval  of  silence 
in  all  that  jargon  of  noise — an  interval 


so  brief  that  only  a  practiced  ear  could 
detect  it— he  heard  a  clear  note  whistled 
as  a  signal  to  himself.  It  sounded  far 
away,  for  at  that  moment  the  vagrant  was 
dreaming,  and  in  the  dream  he  was  a 
boy  again. 

He  looked  once  more  through  the 
window  at  the  two  old  people  sitting 
there,  and  with  a  sigh  that  would  have 
wrung  even  the  hard  heart  of  Micajah 
Bolean,  he  turned  away.  . 

A  few  moments  later  the  vagrant 
climbed  upon  a  car  loaded  with  coal  and 
was  followed  by  another  man,  very  like 
him  in  appearance.  As  he  stretched 
himself  out  on  the  hard  bed  the  speed  of 
the  train  increased.  His  companion 
crawled  close  to  him  and  asked: 

"What  luck,  Bill?  Did  you  get  any- 
thing? " 

The  vagrant  did  not  answer.  He  was 
looking  up  at  the  stars,  shining  down  on 
them  from  a  clear,  blue  sky.  He  did  not 
even  hear  the  words  of  his  companion. 


A    HALT   ON   THE    ROAD   TO   SUCCESS 

By    KATHERINE    GLOVER 

ATLANTA,     GEORGIA 


IT  all  sounds  so  easy  when  you  read 
about  it  in  books  and  terse  quotations 
— the  road  to  success.  A  few  abstract, 
smooth-rolling  phrases  about  persever- 
ance and  courage,  with  very  little  con- 
cerning the  snags  and  the  pitfalls,  and 
nothing  at  all  to  say  of  the  balm  to  use 
for  stumped  purposes  and  broken  limbs 
of  resolution. 

I  am  young,  and  I  awake  early  repeat- 
ing to  myself  again  and  again:  "I  will 
make  this  a  day  of  great  things!  "  And 
on  that,  "I  will"  I  stop  the  trivial  but- 
toning of  my  waist  to  crush  my  hand  in 
determination;  my  chin  unconsciously 
take  on  a  John  L.  Sullivan  angle,  and 
my  mouth  goes  rigid.  Let  him  oppose 
who  dares!  Then  I  go  on  buttoning  my 


waist  and  the  button  rolls  off  just  the 
same,  taking  with  it  a  large  lump  of  my 
determination.  And  all  day  long  but- 
tons keep  rolling  off,  (figuratively,  I  has- 
ten to  add)  until  by  night,  perhaps,  there 
is  not  a  single  one  left,  and  my  deter- 
mination, detached,  has  slipped  off. 

I  go  out  alone  at  twilight  for  a  thought- 
ful walk.  Success  germs  are  literally 
swarming  all  over  me.  I  say  to  myself, 
softly,  "I  will  succeed!  Others  have,  so 
will  I!"  Again  the  hand  clinches  and 
something  within  me  swells.  "I  will!" 
I  say  again  to  the  sunset,  and  then  to 
some  fancied  obstacle,  "You  shall  not 
daunt  me!  "  in  such  a  tone  that  any  but 
the  rudest  obstacle  would  surely  scuttle 
scared  away. 


8o 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


THE    ROUGH    ROAD    TO    FAME 

Photograph  by  Kate  Matthews,   Peace  Valley,  Kentucky;    courtesy  of   Leslie's   Weekly;    copyright, 

1804,  by  the  Judge  Company 


A   HALT  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  SUCCESS 


81 


My  idea  of  success  is  rather  dim,  but 
it  puffs  me  up  and  makes  me  feel  airy 
and  apart  from  the  world.  The  horizon 
of  my  dreams  looks  rose  colored  and  far 
away — it  is  a  great,  big,  world-encom- 
passing dream  that  I  take  with  me  on  my 
twilight  walk. 

I  read  sketch  after  sketch  of  lives  of 
great  men  in  the  magazines,  in  the 
papers,  everywhere.  On  all  sides  I 
meet  with  these  little  biographies  of  suc- 
cess. They  stir  me  and  stimulate  me. 
So  I  say,  "They  did;  I  will.  I  will 
work  hard  as  they  worked  hard,  and  I, 
too,  will  succeed.  I  will  persevere  with- 
out ceasing;  I  will  make  sacrifices  to  my 
work,  worship  always  at  its  shrine;  and 
then  I  will  do  things  that  shall  make  the 
world  stop  in  its  course  and  wonder." 

One  thing  rankles  a  little.  Always  in 
the  biographies  there  were  pretty  tales 
of  the  hero's  determination,  poverty 
bound  though  his  youth  was,  to  go  to 
college;  and  just  as  sure  as  his  path  was 
littered  with  difficulties,  so  sure  was  he 
to  trample  them  down  and  pass  on  tri- 
umphantly to  the  open  doors  of  the  col- 
lege. Now,  I,  in  my  very  young  days, 
hugged  to  myself  a  dream  of  college  life. 
It  pillowed  me  to  sleep  many  a  night. 
Not  -that  there  seemed  the  slightest  prob- 
ability of  its  fulfillment,  indeed  "there 
was  every  reason  to  suppose  it  could  not 
possibly  come  to  pass,  but  what  mattered 
that  to  my  dream?  (Indeed,  would  a 
dream  be  a  dream,  all  pumped  up  with 
probability?)  So  I  cherished  it  none  the 
less  and  felt  perfectly  certain  that  I  could 
not  possibly  be  cheated  of  my  rightful 
heritage.  I  saw  pleading  philanthropists 
trooping  forward  to  help  in  such  a  good 
cause.  But  the  day  of  graduation  came 
to  hand  and  the  expected  philanthropists 
had  forgotten  their  cue  and  failed  to 
appear  upon  the  stage  of  my  well  or- 
dered dreams.  The  stupid  problem  of 
work  presented  itself  to  me  with  the 
same  harshness  that  it  would  to  any  or- 
dinary non-heroine  being.  It  was  my 
unmistakable  part  to  pitch  in  and  help 


the  family  finances — it  might  sound  well 
in  books  and  biographies,  but  in  real  life 
it  was  prosaic,  deadly  dull— and  inevit- 
able. 

Of  course,  I  might  have  chucked  duty, 
borrowed  money  of  some  abundantly 
provided  friend  and  gone  on  to  college, 
leaving  the  family  to  shoo  the  wolf  away 
without  my  help.  And  I  admit  that  if 
I  had  been  truly  great  I  could  have 
managed  to  get  my  college  education 
and  still  have  kept  the  family  going  with 
the  proceeds  of  chocolate  fudge  or  Welsh 
rarebit  concocted  at  odd  hours  for  class- 
mates. But  my  greatness  was  not  that 
great,  and  I  gulped  down  with  a  hard 
swallow  my  college  dream  and  delved 
into  work  —  some  small  newspaper  posi- 
tion, in  which  I  chose  to  see  large  possi- 
bilities. My  eyes  are  of  the  kind  that 
naturally  adjust  themselves  to  magnify- 
ing glasses. 

And  so  my  career  began.  It  was 
hard,  cruelly  hard,  with  snags  and 
tumbles  unnumbered  during  that  first 
year.  But  it  could  be  only  a  little  while, 
I  thought,  before  some  brilliant  future 
would  open  up  to  me.  I  worked  hard, 
so  hard  that  sometimes  there  came  tears 
of  bitterness  that  blurred  the  magnifying 
glasses  for  a  moment.  It  was  work  so 
distasteful,  so  unlike  my  dreams  had 
pictured.  But  then  my  thoughts 
reverted  to  the  biographies.  All  great 
people  had  been  so  hampered.  I  took 
comfort,  resorted  to  the  "I  wilF'  process; 
I  turned  my  thoughts  successward  and 
redoubled  my  energies.  With  perhaps 
a  small  feeling  of  pride  in  the  self  sacri- 
fice, I  gave  up  my  friends  and  frivolities 
and  stuck  to  my  work. 

To  be  sure,  all  my  efforts  were  not 
without  their  reward.  The  monthly 
stipend  grew  somewhat  stouter,  responsi- 
bilities were  added  to  me,  and  occasional 
compliments  began  to  drift  my  way  from 
the  editor's  desk.  My  position  was 
changed  until,  after  three  years,  I  began 
in  a  tiny  way  to  be  somebody.  "Kind 
friends,  sweet  friends,"  began  to  meet 


82 


A  HALT  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  SUCCESS 


me  with  pleasant  words  on  my  "wonder- 
ful success,"  and  dear  old  ladies  con- 
gratulated my  mother  on  her  daughter's 
"brilliant  career,"  until  her  head  was 
quite  turned.  I  admit  I  felt  at  times 
a  bit  puffed  up  with  importance,  but  in 
the  noon  glare  of  my  consciousness  I  had 
to  hide  a  smile  at  the  absurdity  of  it  all; 
for  I  knew  in  my  dream-filled  heart  that 
this  they  called  success  was  not  even 
a  faint  shadowing  of  what  I  had  deter- 
mined on.  I  tried  to  write  now  and 
then  things  that  my  best  fancy  dictated, 
and  though  there  were  words  of  praise 
from  a  scattered  few,  I  knew  that  the 
callous  editor  read  them  not  at  all,  or, 
if  he  did,  probably  commented,  "pretty 
good  rot,  I  guess,  if  anybody  likes  that 
kind  of  stuff." 

Four  years,  five  years  have  gone  and 
the  horizon  is  still  far,  far  away  and  a 
little  cloudy;  the  brilliant  future,  it 
seems,  is  under  lock  and  Fate  appears  to 
have  mislaid  the  key.  I  stop  a  bit  and 
look  about  me.  I  have  never  loosened 
my  grasp  for  a  moment  on  the  dream  of 
success,  indeed  I  have  fed  it  fatter  all 
the  time  and  have  worked  toward  it 
always;  but  so  far  as  results  go,  I  seem 
just  as  many  leagues  away  from  that 
future.  I  have  written  a  dozen  or  more 
things  that  I  thought  really  good,  quite 


worthy  to  go  to  the  magazines  as  fore- 
runners of  what  is  to  come  from  my  pen 
in  the  day  of  my  greatness.  The  dozen 
or  more,  somewhat  soiled  and  travel 
worn,  are  still  in  my  desk,  having  shown 
no  disposition  to  stay  long  away  from  me. 

I  can  think  of  nothing  the  subjects  of 
biographies  could  possibly  have  done  that 
I  have  not  done.  And  now,  taking  a 
pause  to  look  about  me,  I  sit  right  down 
in  the  middle  of  the  road — the  same  that 
I  have  been  traveling  at  such  a  furious 
pace,  seeming  to  get  nowhere  in  particu- 
lar— and  ponder  a  little.  Could  they 
have  been  wrong,  all  those  biographies, 
or  is  it  that  I  am  all  wrong?  With  such 
perfect  unanimity  they  told  the  same 
story,  only  the  names  and  dates  varying. 

Now  what  am  I  to  do,  poor,  misled 
worker  that. I  am?  Having  heretofore 
walked  always  with  my  nose  down  to  the 
rules  of  success  carefully  laid  out  in  the 
books,  I  think  in  future  I  shall  throw 
biographies  to  the  winds  and  begin  liv- 
ing out  a  new,  strange  biography  all  my 
own.  I  shall  work  as  I  wish,  unfettered, 
unguided  by  others'  experience,  and 
though,  and  probably,  the  little  tin  god 
Success  may  still  turn  up  his  little  tin 
nose  at  me,  I  shall  have  my  joy  and  my 
freedom.  Biographies  of  the  great  ones 
may  go  hang! 


HER   SACRED    HOUR 


By   JACK    B.    NORMAN 

LOS     ANGELES,     CALIFORNIA 


if  P\  O  you  s'pose  he'll  know  me, 
LJ  mother?" 

Tommy  had  asked  that  question  many 
times  since  the  beginning  of  their  ex- 
cited journey,  and  his  mother  had  invari- 
ably answered,  "Yes,  my  boy;  he  will 
surely  know  you." 

"But  I  won't  know  him.  I  don't  even 
remember  him  the  least  little  bit." 

"He  won;t  seem  strange  to  you,"  she 


assured  him.  How  could  your  own 
father  seem  anything  but  familiar  to  his 
little  son  whom  he  played  with  and 
petted  and  loved  every  day  of  four  years? 
He  was  very,  very  fond  of  you,  Tommy. 
He  spoiled  you  dreadfully  when  you 
were  a  baby,  because  he  could  never 
bear  to  let  you  cry  for  anything." 

"You'll  know  him  right  away,  won't 
you,  mother?  " 


HER    SACRED    HOUR 


Would  she?  For  five  years  she  had 
thought  of  him  hourly,  always  yearning 
passionately  for  the  day  of  his  release, 
the  event  toward  which  they  were  hasten- 
ing with  anxious,  tumultuous  hearts. 
Her  thoughts  went  back  over  the  long, 
dreary  interval  following  his  imprison- 
ment, when  her  brother  had  taken  her 
and  her  four-year-old  son  into  his  big, 
badly  managed  California  home,  where 
she  had  subsequently  toiled  as  hard  as 
her  frail  strength  and  feeble  courage 
permitted.  The  brothers-in-law  had 
never  liked  each  other.  When  Tom's 
defalcation  was  discovered  Minnie's 
brother  had  not  hesitated  to  speak  the 
whole  bitter  truth,  as  it  appeared  to  him, 
which  included  an  incredible  rumor  con- 
cerning another  woman.  Minnie  had 
borne  everything  in  patient  silence  for 
the  sake  of  her  boy,  whose  physical  com- 
fort depended  on  her  brother's  grim 
bounty.  She  had  written  Tom  regularly 
but  never  visited  him,  partly  owing  to 
her  brother's  bitter  attitude,  but  chiefly 
because  she  had  been  unable  to  afford 
the  expense  of  the  long  journey  East :  for 
every  dollar  of  her  money — hard  earned 
by  odd  services  in  meager  intervals  of 
household  drudgery — had  been  carefully 
hoarded  for  that  final  journey  to  Sing 
Sing. 

Tommy  had  looked  forward  to  the 
meeting  with  his  father  with  unchildish 
intensity  of  feeling  fostered  by  his 
mother's  loving  defense  of  the  unfortun- 
ate one,  knowing  only  her  version  of  the 
misstep  which  she  had  softened  as  much 
as  her  rigid  conscience  permitted.  His 
own  ardent  love  had  stripped  the  offense 
absolutely  of  personal  blame,  leaving 
only  the  old  mistake  of  surreptitiously 
borrowed  funds — -and  failure. 

A  freight  wreck  delayed  their  train  for 
several  hours  within  half  a  day's  journey 
of  Sing  Sing.  The  woman  and  her  boy 
seemed  hardly  able  to  bear  the  strain  of 
waiting. 

"For  five  years  I  have  wanted,  more 
than  anything  else  in  the  world,  to  be 


waiting  beside  the  prison  gate  when  he 
conies  out,"  she  said  over  and  over. 
"Now  we  shall  be  many  times  too  late!  " 

"What  if  we  shouldn't  find  him  at 
all?  "  the  boy  suggested  fearsomely. 

"I  wish  we  had  let  him  know  we  in- 
tended to  come,"  she  went  on.  "You 
know,  Tommy,  that  we  wanted  to  sur- 
prise him — to  give  him  the  unexpected 
joy  of  finding  us  both  waiting  for  him. 
I  wrote,  as  usual,  telling  him  there 
would  be  some  money  at  the  post  office 
for  him  to  start  home  on,  just  to  let  him 
know  I  remembered  the  day  exactly.  I 
am  dreadfully  afraid  he  didn't  get  that 
letter  and  that  he  will  be  gone  when  we 
get  there." 

"He'd  go  right  out  to  Uncle  Jed's, 
won't  he?  " 

"I'm  afraid  not,  my  boy.  Uncle  Jed 
doesn't  feel  very  friendly  toward  him, 
you  know.  Besides,  your  father  wants 
to  make  a  new  start  out  here  in  the  East, 
where  work  is  plenty.  Maybe  God  will 
be  so  very  good  to  us  that  we'll  meet 
him  in  spite  of  this  delay." 


It  was  quite  dark  when  they  finally 
reached  Sing  Sing.  A  pouring  rain  had 
driven  everyone  out  of  the  streets,  which 
looked  cold  and  dull  and  unfriendly. 
The  dreary  surroundings  chilled  the 
woman  to  the  heart.  She  seemed  un- 
able to  formulate  other  plans  than  those 
that  had  grown  out  of  the  slowly  evolved 
resolution  of  years — to  meet  and  welcome 
her  husband  at  the  prison  gates;  so  she 
waited  mutely  on  the  station  platform, 
where  a  few  impatient  travelers  tramped 
to  and  fro,  also  waiting  for  the  south 
bound  train  which  was  delayed.  At  the 
far  end  of  the  platform  two  people  stood 
talking  earnestly  and  absorbingly,  a  man 
and  a  woman  whom  the  convict's  wife 
hardly  saw  until  she  turned  to  enter  the 
waiting  room,  when  a  few  words  spoken 
by  the  woman  arrested  her  strained  at- 
tention. 

"You    must    admit    that  it  shows  a 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,  1904 


pretty  strong  friendship  to  come  to  the 
fore  at  a  time  like  this,"  she  said  in  a 
singularly  sweet  voice.  "Do  you  know, 
Tom,  I  had  always  intended  to  welcome 
you  back  first  of  all." 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  answering 
voice  the  solid  earth  seemed  to  recede, 
leaving  the  listening  woman  alone  at  the 
ultimate  verge  of  nothingness,  for  it  was 
the  voice  of  the  man  for  whom  she  had 
borne  the  disgrace  and  pain  and  loneli- 
ness of  five  terrible  years.  She  wondered 
dimly  if  the  end  of  all  things  had  come 
for  others  as  well  as  for  herself,  but  after 
a  second's  dazed  bewilderment  she  re- 
membered the  boy  who  stood  beside  her, 
listening  also. 

"Go  inside,"  she  whispered  hoarsely, 
pushing  him  toward  the  door.  "It's  too 
cold  out  here  for  your  delicate  throat. 
I'll  wait  here  till  the  train  comes.  You 
watch  inside." 

He  obeyed  reluctantly,  while  his 
mother  waited  with  tensely  drawn  breath 
for  the  revelation  which  she  knew  that 
clear,  childlike  voice  would  presently 
make.  The  girl  turned  her  head  slightly 
and  a  ray  of  light  fell  across  her  face, 
showing  how  very  fair  and  young  it  was 
— how  absolutely  free  from  the  corroding 
cares  of  life  as  the  convict's  wife  had 
known  it  for  five  dreary  years.  The 
wife's  grim  resolve  to  hear  her  doom 
failed  her  momentarily  and  she  groped 
her  way  into  the  waiting  room.  Her 
own  reflection  in  the  mirrored  panels 
caught  and  held  her  attention.  She  saw 
the  face  of  a  middle  aged  woman,  toil 
worn,  starved,  baffled,  defeated — a  hag- 
gard, ghastly  face  with  hollow  eyes  shad- 
owed by  bitter  unrest.  It  was  to  that 
other  face  what  a  seared  leaf  is  to  a  blos- 
somed rose. 

"Tommy,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  strangely  unfamiliar  to  the  anx- 
ious child,  "I  am  beginning  to  be  afraid. 
What  if  something  has  happened — if  he 
is  sick— or  dead!  " 

"Oh  mother,  don't  let's  talk  about 
it,  even.  I  just  can't  bear  the 


thoughts    of    it!"    cried    the    boy. 

"Would  it  grieve  you  so  dreadfully, 
Tommy?" 

"I'd  never,  never  get  over  it,"  he 
answered  with  a  tearless  sob. 

"We've  got  to  bear  whatever  comes," 
she  told  him  in  a  hard,  toneless  voice. 
"We  will  always  have  each  other,  you 
know,  Tommy." 

"Yes,  but  mother,  we'  11  never  be  happy 
without  him." 

"Don't  you  love  me 'best,  Tommy?" 
she  persisted,  with  a  gasp  of  terror  lest 
he,  too,  should  deny  her  love. 

"Yes,  mother,  course  I  do.  But  I  do 
want  him  so — my  own  father!  " 

Her  gaunt  face  quivered  for  an  instant, 
but  her  eyes  were  hard  and  bright  as 
polished  stone.  'Maybe  there's  nothing 
the  matter,"  she  said,  "but  I'm  terribly 
afraid.  I'll  go  out  and  wait  for  the  train. 
Maybe  he'll  come  on  that.  No,  no, 
Tommy,  you  musn't  come.  It's  dread- 
ful cold  out  there.  It  would  hurt  your 
throat.  "Maybe  I'll  bring  good  news 
when  I  come  back. — You  surely  won't 
disobey  me  and  go  out,  Tommy?"  she 
added  with  unnecessary  sternness. 

"No,  mother,  course  not."  he  an- 
swered patiently. 


The  couple  at  the  end  of  the  platform 
had  not  stirred.  The  girl  stood  looking 
up  at  Tom  with  a  wistful,  childlike  smile 
that  heightened  her  glowing  beauty, 
while  he  seemed  hardly  to  breathe  in 
his  tensely  repressed  agitation. 

"So  you  have  changed,"  said  the  girl 
in  a  very  low  but  distinctly  clear  voice. 

"Yes — thank  God,  yes!"  Tom  an- 
swered a  trifle  unsteadily.  "You  may 
remember  that  when  my  story  came  out 
in  the  papers,  five  years  ago,  my  wife's 
name  was  mentioned  more  than  once. 
She  tried  to  obtain  a  pardon  in  spite  oi 
her  positive  knowledge  of  my  transgres- 
sion against  her,  for  I  know  to  a  cer- 
tainty that  her  brother  told  her  every- 
thing. She  asked  no  questions,  de- 


HER    SACRED    HOUR 


manded  no  promises.  All  these  years 
of  loneliness  and  disgrace  and  sorrow  her 
love  has  never  wavered  once,  never!" 

"You  once  told  me  in  the  kindest  way 
you  knew,  that  your  wife  lacked  the 
sparkle  and  gaiety  that  your  lavish  na- 
ture demanded,"  the  girl  broke  in,  still 
speaking  softly  but  passionately. 

"I  remember — to  my  everlasting  shame. 
It  was  true  that  she  lacked  all  the  glitter- 
ing vanities  that  lured  me  into  paths  too 
steep  for  honest  men.  But  I  found  out 
through  bitter  regret  and  heart  burnings 
that  I  was  never  meant  for  the  life  of 
that  brief  madness;  and,  Amie,  I  have 
learned  to  love  the  woman  who  has  suf- 
fered so  much  for  me  more  than  I  ever 
loved  anyone  or  anything  in  my  life. 
There  is  not  a  fiber  of  my  being  that 
does  not  thrill  with  love  and  gratitude 
for  her." 

The  woman  listening  in  the  shadow 
of  the  high  railed  seat  neither  breathed 
nor  stirred.  It  was  as  if  all  the  joy  of 
a  lifetime  had  been  fused  into  that  one 
golden  hour.  A  voiceless  prayer  strug- 
gled up  from  the  depths  of  her  trans- 
figured soul,  but  she  gave  herself  no 
pains  to  clearly  formulate  her  gratitude, 
for  she  knew  that  God  was  so  close  to 
her  that  every  heartbeat  was  attuned 
to  a  paean  of  thanksgiving. 

"I  always  liked  you  immensely,  Tom," 
said  the  voice  of  the  beautiful  alien, 
which  had  grown  almost  tearful  in  its 
gentleness.  "And  even  when  you 
seemed  happiest  with  us  all,  I  felt 
that  some  time  you  would  break  away 
from  it  all  and  become  the  man  that  you 
should  be.  I  am  glad,  for  your  sake, 
that  my  presentiment  has  come  true.  I 
hope—" 

The  whistle  of  an  approaching  train 
shrilled  through  the  chilly  night  air. 


The  girl  suddenly  reached  up  and  laid 
both  hands  on  Tom's  shoulders  and 
drew  him  gently  toward  her  till  their 
eyes  met  in  an  inquisitorial  glance.  "I 
am  going  to  try  to  do  what  you  have 
done,"  she  murmured.  Then  sne  drew 
him  still  closer  and  kissed  him  on  the 
lips,  and  the  wife  did  not  resent  that  last 
caress,  for  she  knew  that  no  matter  what 
the  giver's  past  had  been  that  farewell 
kiss  was  so  pure  as  to  be  not  unworthy 
of  the  angels. 


After  what  seemed  a  very  long  while 
to  the  boy  waiting  patiently  within  doors, 
his  mother  reappeared,  accompanied  by 
a  tall,  rather  handsome  man  who  looked 
much  younger  than  she  in  spite  of  his 
extreme  thinness  and  prison  pallor.  At 
a  sign  from  his  mother  the  boy  ran 
tremblingly  forward  to  be  caught  and 
folded  to  his  father's  heart. 

"We  waited  an'  waited!"  said  he  at 
last,  when  the  first  swell  of  rapture  had 
subsided  into  an  even,  all  pervading 
sense  of  happiness,  "an'  at  last  we  got 
afraid  that  something  had  happened." 

The  wonder  in  the  man's  face  deep- 
ened to  regretful  fear  of  what  his  wife 
might  have  heard  in  that  interval  of 
waiting,  but  a  glance  at  her  tired  yet 
radiant  face  reassured  him.  Then  he 
stooped  once  more  and  laid  his  happy 
face  to  the  warm,  rosy  cheek  of  his  little 
son,  whose  sweet  innocence  and  truth 
seemed  to  him  as  a  tower  of  strength 
around  which  to  rebuild  his  shattered 
hopes. 

"I  am  going  to  try  very,  very  hard  to 
make  up  to  you  and  mother  for  every- 
thing that  has  hurt  and  saddened  you 
both,"  he  murmured.  "Help  me  by 
loving  me  as  much  as  you  can,  Tommy." 


VARIETY 

Peace  bells  a-ringing  and  a-singing  in  the  steeples: 
God's  folks  a-shooting  off  the  sassy  little  peoples. 

F.  P. 


FOUR    O'CLOCKS 


By    COLUMBINE 

NEW    ORLEANS,    LOUISIANA 


THE  last  hour  of  afternoon — the  hour 
before  dinner  in  Mid-Summer  — 
always  brought  the  children  out  of  their 
homes  in  swarms.  For  them  there  was 
another  attraction  beside  the  long  golden 
sunbeams  that  lay  beneath  the  trees,  and 
the  cool  breezes  that  blew  from  the  river, 
At  that  hour,  all  over  the  southern  city, 
since  at  that  hour,  all  over  the  southern 
city,  little  round  blossoms,  pink,  crimson, 
themselves  like  the  children;  and  were 
presently  threaded  by  chubby  fingers  on 
grass  spires,  where  they  looked  like 
masses  of  crinkled  paper,  in  the  dainti- 
est, most  Japanese  of  colors. 

Carl  Wolfgang  von  Scholer  had  dis- 
covered this  fact,  and,  as  he  had  an 
ineradicable  if  hidden  love  for  children, 
always  chose  this  time  to  stroll  slowly 
along  the  "banquette"  of  that  street  in 
which  he  prolonged  a  somewhat  bored 
existence.  The  restlessness  that  always 
woke  in  him  after  a  year  in  any  place 
was  beginning  to  harass  him.  His 
friends  were  away,  his  life  dull,  and  the 
children  with  their  "four  o'clocks"  un- 
doubtedly helped  to  make  time  endur- 
able, while  stamped  and  winged  mes- 
sages were  doing  their  best  to  procure 
for  him  that  change  and  newness  of  life 
which  his  brilliant,  eager  mind  craved 
and  demanded. 

On  Mid-Summer's  eve  a  particularly 
large  and  joyous  assemblage  of  infants 
caught  his  eye,  and  he  approached  it 
rapidly.  It  was  in  one  of  those  quaint 
three  cornered  yards  made  possible  by 
the  straggling  streets  of  New  Orleans. 
In  the  yard  was  a  white  cottage,  a  rustic 
bench,  and  for  the  rest — four  o'clocks. 
They  filled  and  overflowed  the  place, 
even  appearing  on  the  grass  plot  without 
— white,  golden,  rose  colored,  mixed  in 
gaudy  stripes  or  splotches  —  and  the 
children  followed  as  a  matter  of  course. 


But  among  their  starched  and  fluted 
ruffles — like  strings  of  the  flowers  them- 
selves— von  Scholer  caught  sight  of  one 
who  seemed  a  child  yet  was  not  quite 
one  of  them,  though  she  sat  on  the 
bench,  deftly  slipping  the  circles  of  frag- 
rant loveliness  over  a  grass  spray  with 
a  purplish  plume.  A  child  she  seemed, 
though  tall  for  a  woman,  with  a  woman's 
willowy  outlines  in  the  snowy  mist  of 
her  dress.  Her  eyes  were  Creole  eyes — 
like  black  velvet — her  face  fair  with  a 
brunette's  fairness,  her  chestnut  hair 
hung  in  a  plait  tied  with  a  red  ribbon, 
and  frothed  with  little  curls.  Her  lips 
were  full  and  red.  When  she  looked  up 
and  saw  von  Scholer,  her  cheeks  lost 
their  soft  pallor.  He  came  forward 
somewhat  stupidly  and  asked  "the  way 
to  Frenchman  street." 

"I  will  bring  mamma,"  she  said,  and 
disappeared  like  a  bird.  The  blush 
seemed  to  have  extended  in  some  subtle 
way  to  her  whole  figure,  which  ex- 
pressed, as  she  vanished,  without  the 
least  trace  of  awkwardness  or  gaucherie, 
her  timidity  and  embarassment. 

The  younger  children,  having  no  such 
qualms,  gathered  around  the  stranger, 
and  stared  unreservedly.  They  were 
exquisite  little  creatures,  with  the  soft, 
ripe  loveliness  of  the  extreme  South. 
Von  Scholer,  who  was  beginning  to 
recover  his  self  poise  and  assurance, 
asked:  "Is  she  your  sister?  " 

The  children  answered  him  in  French, 
and  von  Scholer  repeated  his  question  in 
the  language  more  familiar  to  them,  for 
he  had  spent  his  boyhood  on  the  Conti- 
nent. A  perfect  volley  of  replies  assured 
him,  in  spite  of  the  Creole  idioms  and 
slurrings,  that  "Marie"  was  "parente" 
to  none  of  them,  but  that  they  came  every 
evening  to  pick  her  four  o'clocks,  which 
were  by  far  the  finest  in  the  neighborhood. 


FOUR   O' CLOCKS 


At  this  moment  Marie  appeared,  still 
blushing,  her  long  lashes  resting  on  her 
cheek.  She  led  carefully  an  elderly  lady 
of  distinguished  appearance,  fair  and 
blue  eyed,  though  her  blindness  was 
at  once  apparent.  Von  Scholer  again 
tried  French,  and  was  answered  de- 
lightedly in  the  purest  Parisian. 

"Ah,  you  are  French,"  exclaimed  the 
young  man. 

"But  yes,  French,  and  the  father  of 
Marie,  though  Creole,  of  French  and 
Spanish  extraction."  And  Frenchman 
street  was  not  mentioned. 

Von  Scholer  was  at  his  best,  and  when 
he  chose  he  could  be  divinely  winning. 
There  were  three  things  that  he  pro- 
fessed to  reverence,  and  perhaps  did 
reverence:  "An  old  woman,  a  mother, 
and  a  yourig  child."  He  was  now  in 
the  midst  of  these  objects  of  reverence, 
with  the  added  charm  to  age  of  dignity, 
and  the  Homeric  tragedy  of  blindness; 
to  youth,  of  beauty  and  vivacity;  while 
between  the  extremes  of  youth  and  age 
hovered  that  lovely  creature  with  black 
lashes  and  pearl  white  brow,  barely  lifted 
out  of  the  age  of  reverence,  into  that 
which  might  command  —  Von  Scholer 
felt  it  stirring  in  his  pulses — something 
more  exquisite  and  solemn  than  rever- 
ence itself. 

And  so  this  ugly  man,  out  of  his  first 
youth,  with  his  rough  head  and  beard  of 
tight  black  curls,  his  small  eyes  flashing 
blue  light  under  their  glasses,  the  rug- 
gedly hewn  curves  of  his  big  figure 
shabbily  clothed;  with  a  certain  sugges- 
tion of  wildness  and  almost  satyr-like 
uncouthness  about  him,  in  spite  of  un- 
doubted gentlehood,  drew  to  him  the 
whole  concourse  of  feminine  loveliness; 
and  not  one  of  them,  from  the  tiniest 
budding  woman  to  old  black  Susan,  who 
had  crept  out  of  the  house  and  stood 
absorbed  in  the  interesting  stranger,  but 
would  have  sacrificed  time,  strength  and 
pleasure  itself  to  minister  to  his  wants. 

With  his  facile  powers  of  grasping  an 
advantage,  von  Scholer  learned  that 


Mademoiselle  Marie  Eloise  Frederica  de 
1'Epinay  d'Abadie,  was  the  heiress  of 
an  ancient  name,  and  of  innumerable 
quaint  souvenirs  of  historic  New  Orleans. 
This  was  all  that  he  required.  In  the 
deadly  dullness  of  the  southern  Summer, 
and  the  approach  of  a  great  event  deal- 
ing with  the  Lousiana  purchase,  that 
daily  paper  to  which  von  Scholer  was  an 
unwilling  slave  was  just  then  indulging 
in  a  series  of  articles  dealing  with  the 
ancient  families  of  the  city,  and  with 
those  relics  of  a  better  time  which  alone 
remained  to  most  of  them  out  of  manifold 
rich  lands,  and  myriads  of  slaves.  It 
took  but  a  moment  for  von  Scholer  to 
assure  Mme.  d'  Abadie  of  the  extreme 
importance  of  her  family  and  memories, 
of  the  number  of  visits  this  would  require 
and  of  the  importance  of  Mademoiselle 
Marie  Eloise  Frederica  as  an  assistant  in 
his  great  work.  Monsieur  d'  Abadie,  it 
would  seem,  was  a  cipher  in  the  house- 
hold, the  entire  mental  activity  of  his 
placid  and  amiable  existence  being  con- 
sumed by  the  daily  light  clerical  work 
which  brought  in  a  small  monthly  stipend 
and  was  connected  in  some  mysterious 
way  with  the  veterans  of  the  late  war,  in 
which  he  had  borne  an  enthusiastic  if 
rather  futile  and  uneventful  part.  In  his 
wife,  however,  were  clearness  of  vision, 
strength  of  purpose  and  cheerfulness 
without  end,  as  von  Scholer  discovered 
in  the  golden  period  that  followed. 

Every  afternoon,  at  the  loveliest  time 
of  the  day,  he  found  himself  in  the  three 
cornered  garden.  Marie  did  not  speak 
to  him  for  some  time.  But  at  last  she 
came  out  of  herself  a  little  and  revealed 
'  all  the  perplexing  coquettish  charm  of 
a  budding  Creole.  Her  French  was  less 
pure  than  her  mother's,  and  von  Scholer 
soon  fell  to  talking  to  her  in  her  English, 
of  which  she  was  rather  proud,  and  which 
she  spoke  deliciously  in  a  voice  of  melt- 
ing sweetness  and  hidden  mischief. 

"I  read  your  poetry  every  day,"  she 
said  shyly  one  evening,  tearing  a  four 
o'clock  to  pieces  as  she  spoke. 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


"The  deuce  you  do,"  said  von  Scholer, 
pulling  his  mustache.  Somehow  he  was 
.not  exactly  pleased  that  the  brilliant, 
cynical  lines  which  were  winning  fame 
for  him  in  a  daily  column  should  pass 
into  the  white  fragrance  of  this  young 
girl's  soul. 

"It  is  very  beautiful,"  she  said  timidly, 
with  a  flicker  of  long  lashes  in  his  direc 
tion.  I  like  your  thoughts  about— about 
love;"  her  voice  trembled  over  the  last 
word,  and  gold  and  crimson  filaments 
drifted  upon  her  white  dress.  Von 
Scholer  cleared  his  throat,  which  had 
grown  dry. 

"Par  example?  "  he  asked,  trembling, 
dreading  lest  he  should  have  wakened 
some  answering  cynicism  in  this  half- 
blown  girl. 

"That  it  lasts  forever  —  forever  —  you 
had  it  —  what?  —  en  italique—  her 
voice  was  very  low,  "that  nothing  ever 
comes  between — married  lovers — that  alL 
our  lives  we  clasp  the  beautiful  shadows. 
I  don't  know  so  well  what  you  mean 
by  that,  but  I  understand  what  —  what 
goes  beneath  it  all." 

Von  Scholer  breathed.  She  had  then 
been  reading  his  poems  from  the  out- 
side, had  accepted  their  form,  had  never 
grasped  for  one  moment  their  substance, 
their  satire  and  bitterness.  Somehow 
he  resolved  that  the  hidden  meaning  of 
his  poems  should  be  thereafter  such  that 
little  Marie  could  accept  it  honestly; 
and  so  successful  was  he  that  for  several 
weeks  there  was  no  clipping  of  his  daily 
column,  and  his  chief  once  suggested 
sarcastically  that  his  talents  would  be 
better  employed  in  one  of  the  numerous 
Sunday  school  publications  with  which 
the  country  was  becoming  flooded. 

Marie  was  charmed,  however.  "Your 
poetry  is  growing  better,"  she  said.  "I 
cut  it  out  every  day  and  have  it  in  a 
scrap  book.  I  like,  particularly,  the  one 
about  God  —  le  bon  Dieu  —  Von 

Scholer  winced.  He  had  still  a  liter- 
ary conscience.  "Of  course,"  the  little 
maiden  went  on,  "you  are  not  of  the 


true  faith;  I  have  found  that  out.  But 
you  have  sometimes  the  right  thought. 
I  am  proud  to  know  a  poet,"  she  added 
shyly. 

Von  Scholer  sounded  her  in  literature. 
He  found  to  his  horror  that,  while  she 
had  a  fair  knowledge  of  French  classics, 
her  favorite  "English"  authors  were 
Longfellow  and  Augusta  Anne  Evans. 
But  he  also  found,  when  he  tried  to  im- 
prove her  chaotic  ideas  by  reading  her 
Shakespeare,  Tennyson  and  Hawthorne, 
that  she  was  not  without  taste  or  feeling. 
This  little  girl  had  fine  blood  in  her 
veins;  her  forbears  had  been  men  of 
culture,  of  courage  and  of  distinction. 
Von  Scholer  began  to  experience  the 
subtle  delight  of  teaching  a  mind  suscep- 
tible and  sympathetic.  Once  she  whis- 
pered to  him  that  she  was  not  quite  sure 
that  all  unbaptized  babies  were  lost. 
"Voila!  "  she  said,  "A  sweet  woman,  but 
an  infidel,  once  lived  next  door.  Her 
little  one  died.  It  was  a  year  old,  and 
looked  like  an  angel,  with  its  golden  curls, 
and  so  sweet  a  smile!  I  sobbed  day  and 
night  for  a  week;  I  grieved  more  than 
the  mother,  for  she  did  not  think  her 
little  one  was  burning.  One  night  I 
dreamed  the  Virgin  came  down — all  in 
blue  with  eyes  shining  like  the  moon — 
and  took  me  in  her  arms.  She  whis- 
pered, 'Do  not  weep,  my  child ;  your  little 
Philip  is  safe  with  me.'  Since  then  I 
have  never  believed  that  the  little  ones 
who  die  thus  are  lost." 

Von  Scholer  was  startled.  He  hardly 
dared  think  of  undermining  or  broaden- 
ing, even,  the  faith  of  this  Creole  girl. 
Yet  he  had  known  women  of  the  world 
who  united  Catholicism  with  the  broad- 
est, most  elastic  views.  The  mind  of 
"Little  Four  O'Clock,"  as  he  called  her, 
attracted  him  more  than  her  beauty. 
New  Orleans  was  no  longer  dull  with 
this  charmed  hour  each  day.  For  after 
the  edifying  conversations  with  Madame 
d'  Abadie,  he  would  sit  by  Marie  on  the 
bench  while  the  children  played  about 
them.  Then  in  the  sweet  coolness  of 


FOUR    O'CLOCKS 


89 


the  evening  breeze,  the  girl's  heart  would 
open  to  him.  Once  it  opened  a  little 
farther  than  usual.  She  had  been  asking 
him  of  the  women  he  knew  —  charming, 
gifted  creatures,  to  whom  he  referred 
vaguely  —  actresses,  novelists,  artistes — 
and  he  answered  her  with  a  compliment 
which  he,  himself,  felt  to  be  pitiful: 
'  'They  are  great,  overpowering  marechal 
niels  and  Japonicas,"  he  said.  "You," 
he  looked  about  him,  "a  pink  and  white 
four  o'clock,  pure  and  wholesome." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  sharp  pain 
in  her  voice.  "You  men  throw  us  all 
aside,  but  you  wear  the  roses  for  a  little 
while  over  your  hearts.  Four  o'clocks 
you  give  the  children  to  play  with." 

Von  Scholer  quickly  took  one  of  the 
blossoms  from  the  girl's  lap,  and  fastened 
it  in  his  buttonhole.  Marie  at  once  left 
him  with  the  childish  abruptness  that 
lier  youth  made  excusable,  and  von 
Scholer  walked  thoughtfully  away. 

Daily  his  respect  grew  for  her  awak- 
ened intelligence  and  quickly  moving 
mind,  and  when  she  once  said  softly, 
after  he  had  been  reading  her  some  mas- 
terpiece of  genius:  "That  is  grand,  but 
I  like  your  poetry  better,"  he  glowed 
from  head  to  foot  with  a  joy  as  exquisite 
as  it  was  consciously  absurd. 

But  a  change  seemed  to  be  coming 
over  Little  Four  O'clock.  She  grew 
grave  and  white;  did  not  flush  and 
dimple  as  she  had  done.  Dimly  and 
gradually  a  realization  of  it  crept  over 
von  Scholer.  What  was  to  him  a  lull, 
a  dream,  was  to  her  an  awakening.  He 
had  never  ventured  the  slightest  famil- 
iarity in  word  or  act,  yet  her  presence 
was  always  a  deep  joy  to  him,  too  great 
to  be  put  into  words.  He  was  too  much 
of  a  poet,  an  artist,  to  mar  it  by  love 
making.  And  in  fact,  so  strongly  had 
symbolism  taken  hold  of  him,  that  he 
dreaded  seeing  her  shrink  and  fade  be- 
neath the  fire  of  passion,  as  the  four 
o'clocks  in  the  scorching  light  of  the  sun. 
One  day  in  late  August  she  said  to 
him:  "My  convent  has  an  exhibi- 


tion,— where  I   study  art,   you  know." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  his  keen,  warm 
gaze  upon  her,  under  the  glare  of  his 
glasses. 

"The  sisters  told  me  to  ask  you  would 
you  write  about  it  for  the  paper."  She 
was  a  little  embarassed,  as  she  would 
not  have,  been  some  weeks  before.  She 
had  begun  to  learn  what  "naivete"  was, 
and  to  dread  it,  as  sensitive,  naive  na- 
tures do,  when  wakened  to  knowledge  of 
themselves. 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  von 
Scholer  with  his  courtliest  manner. 
"Shall  we  go  today?  " 

"As  well  today,"  she  answered,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders  and  trying  to  look 
bored. 

Von  Scholer  waited  in  the  hall  for 
her.  When  she  came  out  languidly,  with 
a  white  muslin  hat  over  her  dark  hair, 
he  was  examining  a  photograph  he  had 
found  on  a  shelf. 

"Who  is  this  pretty  youth?"  he  de- 
manded with  an  odd  feeling  of  resent- 
ment. 

"My  cousin  Dick,"  she  said.  "Not 
too  close  a  cousin,"  she  added,  with  a 
returning  flash  of  coquetry  in  her  voice 
and  eyes. 

"He  is  very  well  to  look  upon,"  said 
von  Scholer. 

"I  hate  good  looking  men,"  she  an- 
swered sharply,  all  the  coquettishness 
dying  away. 

She  was  very  silent  on  the  road.  Von 
Scholer  went  into  raptures  over  the  con- 
vent, which  was  really  very  old  and  very 
typical,  with  live  oaks  and  oleanders  in 
the  garden,  and  the  bare,  clean,  soapy 
corridors  and  halls  so  dear  to  the  artist. 
In  the  studio,  surrounded  by  the  nuns 
with  their  charming  smooth  faces,  hea- 
venly eyes,  and  robes  of  heavy  cream 
white  serge,  he  still  glowed  with  artistic 
satisfaction,  in  spite  of  the  flaming  hor- 
rors about  him:  the  "copies"  of  flam- 
boyant sunsets,  impossible  Arctic  scenes, 
and  saints  in  red  or  blue;  while  great 
panels  of  chrysanthemums,  oranges  and 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   OCTOBER,    1904 


orange  blossoms  harmoniously  blooming 
and  ripening  together,  or  heavy  roses 
that  might  have  been  cut  from  stone  and 
then  tinted,  stood  out  of  the  general 
chaos  of  color. 

The  gentle  sisters  were  very  proud 
and  happy;  very  kind  and  a  little  arch 
to  the  "friend"  of  their  sweetest 
pupil.  Eagerly  they  exploited  Marie, 
and  brought  forth  her  pictures.  The 
girl  shot  a  swift  glance  at  this  wise 
man,  who  knew,  she  felt,  the  futility  and 
pitifulness  of  all  this  make-believe  art. 
His  face  was  kind,  attentive;  but  she 
did  not  know  that  what  impressed  him 
at  that  moment  was  the  promise  in  her 
poor  pictures, — the  native  intelligence 
and  ability  that  struggled  with  ignorance 
and  inexperience  in  all  that  Little  Four 
O'Clock  attempted. 

On  their  way  home  she  said:  "They 
are  poor;  I  know  it.  You  need  not 
tell  me." 

"I  have  said  nothing,"  said  von 
Scholer.  "They  are  not  poor.  They 
are  rich,  because  they  are  your  work; 
nothing  that  you  have  touched  can  be 
poor." 

The  girl  started.  Von  Scholer  had 
never  tried  his  marvelous  powers  of  flat- 
tery with  her,  and  the  words  were  sweet. 
After  a  short  space  she  said:  "Do  you 
not  like  the  sisters?" 

"They  are  adorable,"  said  her  com- 
panion with  warmth. 

"Will  you  adore  me  when  I  am  one  of 
them?  "  asked  the  girl.  Then,  at  an 
incredulous  look:  "I  am  going  to  be 
one." 

Von  Scholer  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed,  and  then  Marie's  concentrated 
emotion  broke  forth  into  a  white  rage 
that  amazed  and  startled  him,  fairly 
shocking  him  for  the  moment  out  of 
himself. 

"You  laugh  at  me.  Why?  You  saw 
their  faces,  how  happy  they  are.  Are 
you  happy?  Are  you  good?  No.  You 
are  black  and  hard  and  heartless.  You 
laugh  at  all  that  is  beautiful.  You  hope 


for  nothing.  You  fear  not  God  nor  the 
devil.  I  would  not  be  like  you,  nor  like 
those  women  you  love;  yes,  I  know  you 
love  them.  Those  hard  women  who 
know  so  much,  who  laugh  at  me,  at 
religion,  at  goodness,  at  life  itself,  as 
you  do." 

They  had  reached  the  house,  and 
without  farewell  Marie  rushed  into  it 
and  closed  the  door.  Von  Scholer  did 
not  sleep  that  night — and  sleep  had  been 
kind  to  him  since  he  had  known  Little 
Four  O'Clock.  He  found  a  letter  when 
he  reached  home,  telling  him  that  his 
ambitions  were  to  be  realized.  The 
great  position  in  New  York  was  open  to 
him;  fame,  or  something  near  it,  money 
— a  fortune  to  him — the  life,  the  friends 
he  loved.  There  was  a  letter,  too,  from 
one  of  these  friends,  of  congratulation. 
He  thought  of  her  carelessly— a  brilliant, 
thin  lipped  woman 'of  great  power  and 
influence  in  her  own  sphere.  He  could 
marry  Little  Four  O'Clock  and  take  her 
with  him  to  this  new  life;  and  how  sweet 
it  would  be!  The  presence,  the  love  of 
that  pure,  fresh  creature  would  keep  him 
young  and  wholesome  and  true  amid  all 
the  surroundings  of  modern  life.  But 
Four  O'Clock?  What  of  her?  Was  she 
not  right?  Would  it  be  well  to  rob  her 
of  her  ideals?  She  would  learn.  Oh, 
she  would  learn  quickly.  Von  Scholer 
could  even  figure  her  worldly  wise, 
charming,  perfectly  gowned,  the  center 
of  a  brilliant  crowd.  She  would  keep 
the  form  of  her  religion.  Its  spirit  would 
die  in -that  new,  glittering  life.  She 
would  lose  her  faith  in  home,  in  love, — 
yes,  in  love;  for  this  man  knew  himself 
pitilessly.  And  yet — with  the  dawning 
sun,  he  made  his  resolve,  unselfishly, 
purely.  He  thought  but  of  her,  and  if 
she  loved  him  well  enough— she  was  to 
go  with  him. 

But  that  next  evening  Four  O'Clock 
was  ill — the  mother  told  him.  Malaria, 
she  said.  They  talked  for  a  little  while, 
then  Madame  d'  Abadie  said,  as  he  was 
leaving  her: 


FOUR    O'CLOCKS 


"Monsieur  von  Scholar,  I  cannot  see 
your  face,  but  I  know  well  your  voice. 
I  believe  you  are  a  gentleman  and  honor- 
able. I  believe  you  are  kind  and  true." 
Then  she  hesitated.  "We  feel  very 
friendly  toward  you.  We  regret  that 
you  are  leavi  ng  us. "  Then  after  another 
pause,  apologetically:  "You  are  not  so 
young,  Monsieur?  " 

"I  am  thirty-five,"  said  von  Scholer. 

"Ah" — the  relief  in  her  tone  was  ap- 
parent. "I  can  speak  plainly.  I  am 
sorry  Marie  is  ill,  now,  for  her  cousin 
has  returned —  Richard  Lavillebeuvre  — 
there  is  a  sort  of  betrothal  between  them, 
—  this  is  in  confidence,  mon  ami.  I 
sincerely  hope  it  will  end  in  marriage, 
for  he  is  a  good  boy,  handsome,  brave, 
a  true  Catholic,  and  rich — though  that 
is  least  of  all."  The  next  afternoon  von 
Scholer  came  again,  and  met,  on  the 
doorstep,  this  Dick  himself — a  handsome, 
typical  Creole  —  with  passionate  eyes, 
beautifully  molded  lips,  slender,  lithe, 
fiery;  perhaps  twenty  years  of  age. 

He  measured  von  Scholer  contemptu- 
ously. "Are  you  Carl  von  Scholer?  " 
he  asked. 

"I  am,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"Then  you  are  a  contemptible  scoun- 
drel." 

"Why?  "  asked  the  other,  not  losing 
his  temper. 

"Why?  "  exploded  Cousin  Dick, 
"why?" — then  losing  control  of  him- 
self: "She  is  going  into  a  convent." 

Von  Scholer  smiled  faintly. 

"You  are  laughing  at  it,"  raged  the 
youth.  "Poor  Marie,  she  has  no  one. 
Her  mother  is  blind,  her  father  nothing 
— she  is  only  sixteen — not  out  of  school. " 

"She  is  a  child,"  said  von  Scholer. 

"She  is  not  a  child  to  be  played 
with,"  cried  the  cousin.  "Look,  you. 
I  wish  to  fight  you.  I  will  send  a  friend 
to  you." 

"I  will  not  fight  you,"  said  von 
Scholer  gravely. 

"You  are  a  coward,"  sneered  Dick. 

"I  have  fought  a  dozen  duels  in  France 


and  Germany,"  said  von  Scholer.  "I 
have  medals  for  marksmanship  and  fenc- 
ing, and  I  am  not  out  of  practice,  for  I 
have  had  little  to  do  this  Summer.  But 
I  will  not  touch  you.  You  may,  however, 
thrash  me.  I  will  let  you  push  me  into 
the  river,  if  it  will  give  you  any  satisfac- 
tion. It  would  not  be  altogether  dis- 
tasteful to  me." 

"What  is  one  to  do?  "  exclaimed  the 
poor  boy.  "You  are  a  cur,  monsieur." 

Von  Scholer  smiled  once  more. 

"You  are  laughing  again,"  cried  Rich- 
ard. "You  laugh  at  everything." 

"My  son,"  said  von  Scholer,  "when 
you  are  my  age,  you  will  either  laugh 
at  everything  or  commit  suicide,  if  you 
have  any  sensibilities  left."  Then  as 
Dick  fiercely  entered  the  house,  he 
turned  and  walked  away. 

It  was  two  weeks  before  he  again 
approached  the  three  cornered  garden. 
Yet  he  put  off  his  departure,  hoping 
against  his  judgment  that  when  he  saw 
Little  Four  O'Clock  again  her  love  for 
him  would  prove  so  strong  that  he  would 
be  justified  in  marrying  her  after  all — in 
believing  that  her  happiness  lay  with 
him.  When  he  finally  visited  her  home, 
the  four  o'clocks  were  going  to  seed. 
They  seemed  dwarfed  and  stunted, 
smaller  than  they  had  been  in  the 
height  of  their  glory.  But  a  few  child- 
ren were  picking  them  and  chattering 
musically.  In  one  corner  of  the  yard 
there  was  a  mass  of  shrubbery,  and  just 
outside  a  large  tree.  Here  von  Scholer 
stood  screened,  and  looking  through  the 
leaves  he  saw  his  Four  O'Clock  come 
down  the  steps  leaning  on  her  cousin's 
arm.  She  was  very  pale  and  thin,  with 
great  eyes  and  a  mouth  that  drooped 
pathetically,  and  she  was  wrapped  from 
head  to  foot  in  a  white,  fleecy  cloud,  for 
the  September  evenings  were  chilly:  but 
the  trouble  had  left  her  face,  and  she  did 
not  in  the  least  smack  of  the  convent. 
The  young  pair,  beautiful  and  graceful, 
made  a  charming  picture,  and  von 
Scholer  felt  suddenly  very  old  and  weary. 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  OCTOBER,    1904 


They  stayed  only  a  few  minutes,  and 
Marie  did  not  resent  her  lover's  tender 
solicitude.  Von  Scholer  felt  indignant, 
then  smiled  his  sarcastic  smile.  She 
was  so  young.  She  was  not  faithless  or 
shallow.  A  year  later,  a  few  months 
later,  and  she  would  love  with  the  whole 
strength  of  her  nature,  faithfully,  unal- 
terably. But  he  had  caught  the  vanish- 
ing bloom  of  her  childhood,  the  first 
evanescent  passion  of  her  dawning 
youth:  a  thing  which  circumstance  — 
the  most  trifling  event  —  might  fix  or 
dissolve. 

After  she  had  gone  in,  von  Scholer 
lingered.  The  scent  of  the  dying 
flowers  was  both  sad  and  sweet  to  him. 

At  last  one  of  the  children  saw  him. 
She  was  a  solemn  little  creature,  beauti- 
ful as  the  dream  of  a  poet:  ivory 
skinned,  with  great  black  eyes,  red 
lips,  and  a  cloud  of  curls.  She  was 
fond  of  von  Scholer  and  she  came  to 
him  now,  and  laid  a  string  of  the 


poor    stunted    blossoms    in    his    hand. 

"They  are  the  last  ones,"  she  said. 
"I  will  give  them  to'  you.  I  offered 
them  to  Marie,  but  she  pushed  them 
away.  She  said  the  odor  made  her  ill. 
Wasn't  that  queer?" 

"Perhaps.  They  do  not  make  me  ill 
—  exactly  —  sweetheart,"  he  said,  and, 
stooping,  kissed  her  soft  mouth.  Then 
he  turned — forever — from  the  three  cor- 
nered garden,  with  its  ravished  and 
fading  bloom. 

The  early  morning  sun,  in  its  passage 
through  von  Scholer's  chamber,  lighted 
upon  a  brown,  withered  object,  shrivelled 
and  witch-like,  amid  the  debris  of  his 
dressing  table.  Von  Scholer,  hurriedly 
packing  his  few  possessions,  held 
it  wistfully  for  a  moment.  He  would 
have  thrown  it  from  his  window,  but 
shook  his  head,  and  put  it  into  his 
waistcoat.  "I  would  rather  not  forget, 
perhaps,"  he  said.  "Poor  Little  Four 
O'Clock!" 


GIFT    AND    GIVER 

By   JAMES    L.    ELDERDICE 

CAMBRIDGE,     MARYLAND 

f\  FLOWERS,  so  perfect  in  your  bloom, 

Your  rainbow  tints,  your  sweet  perfume, 
Your  queenly  grace,  your  modest  mein, 
And  all  the  beauties  in  you  seen, 
In  vain  exert  their  utmost  power 
To  hold  my  fancy  one  short  hour : 
From  all  your  charms  my  thoughts  do  drift, 
Unto  the  giver  of  the  gift. 

Fair  Flowers!     A  little  while  ye  stood, 
Type  of  her  budding  womanhood. 
No  violet  beneath  the  skies 
Droops  to  the  ground  more  modest  eyes: 
Her  tints  excel  thine  own,  O  rose, 
For  her  faint  color  comes  and  goes, 
And  all  the  hues  that  earth  can  flush, 
Fade  into  pallor  at  her  blush. 


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HOME      j»      -»,- 

i 

THE  STANDARD  HOME 

HOW  GREAT  AND  GOOD  AND  ESSENTIAL 
By  JULIA   SHERMAN    UPTON 

MINNEAPOLIS,  MINNESOTA 

AFTER  the  loves,  the  marrying,  the 
laying  of  foundations,  the  becoming 
.  acquainted,  then  what  have  we? 

"Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home  ; 
Be  it  ever  so  humble 
There's  no  place  like  home." 

Clustering  in  every  village  and  city, 
and  scattered  over  all  rural  districts  in 
the  whole  wide  world  where  Christian 
faith  is  the  rule,  how  is  this  exemplified. 

Yes;  true  it  is,  and  sad,  so  sad, 
because  it  is  true,  there  possibly  are 
all  degrees  of  evil  doing  to  be  found  in 
many  of  these  homes,  all  degrees  of  tor- 
tured misconstructions  in  the  building 
of  too  many;  but,  nevertheless,  the 
standard  home  is  glorious.  The  divine 
rule  is  here  demonstrated  to  be  just 
what  is  required;  and  how  true  it  is 
made  to  appear  by  this  standard  that  no 
scheme  of  mortal  man's  device  can  take 
the  place  of  God's  plan  for  humanity. 
It  is  an  old,  familiar  story,  but  let  us 
contemplate  it  briefly,— a  woman's  lot 
under  Moslem  rule.  The  man,  young 
or  old,  is  able  to  buy  himself  a  wife. 
She  is  taken  to  his  home  and  becomes 
worn  and  disabled  in  his  service.  In 
the  meantime  the  man  has  gained  by 
traffic,  and  again  he  is  able  to  buy  a 
wife,  fresh,  young,  handsome.  Children 
are  born  to  both  wives,  and  what,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  must  be  the  condition 
of  affairs  in  this  family?  Jealousy, 
strife,  envy  must  exist  between  the 
two  wives.  And  what  of  the  condition 
of  the  children  in  the  case?  And  as 
wives  are  multiplied,  as  they  may  be, 
according  as  the  man  becomes  able  to 


buy,  how  terribly  is  this  wretchedness 
increased.  Then,  too,  if  these  wives 
bear  no  sons  there  must  be  more  wives 
— for  sons  there  must  be.  If  the  man 
dies  leaving  wives  that  have  borne  no 
sons,  they  receive  no  inheritance,  but 
may  be  returned  to  their  fathers,  to- 
gether with  their  own  daughers,  to  be 
again  sold  as  opportunity  is  found. 
Even  in  our  own  land  very  nearly  this 
same  condition  for  woman  is  approached 
under  the  polygamous  teachings  of  Mor- 
monism.  Let  us  turn  from  these  dark 
scenes  to  the  contemplation  of  the  stand- 
ard home.  The  husband  of  one  wife, 
the  one  mother  of  the  household,  the 
children  loved  and  cherished.  Here 
we  have  a  Temple  greater  than  Solo- 
mon's, fitted  with  every  appointment  for 
service,  with  every  essential  adornment, 
with  every  altar  for  sacrifice  and  incense, 
with  its  two  noble  pillars,  the  one  "He 
shall  establish,"  and  the  other,  "In  it 
is  strength." 

The  place  where  life  is  centered, 
where  convictions  are  established  and 
habits  formed. 

Pouring  out  from  true  standard  homes 
are  tides  of  influence  that  shall  cleanse 
the  mass  of  humanity  and  bring  the 
answer  to  the  prayer,  "Thy  kingdom 
come;  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it 
is  in  heaven,"  and  we  may  hope 
that  this  prayer  is  to  be  answered  and 
realized,  because  we  are  taught  to  make 
it.  In  the  true  standard  home  the  gos- 
pel of  the  Christ  is  the  rule,  the  law  of 
God  is  the  faith  and  practice  of  its 
founders;  and  nothing  can  take  the  place 
of  these  in  human  lives.  No  accumula- 
tion of  wealth;  no  extent  of  material 
adornment  can  establish  as  do  these. 
Here  we  have  the  social  unit  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  to  it  we  must  look  for  the  final 
triumph  of  the  good,  and  may  the 


94 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


divine  presence  help  us  to  better  under- 
stand all  that  is  required  to  complete  the 
structure  in  every  case,  and  to  better 
appreciate  the  true  nobility,  the  excel- 
lences, and  the  dignity  of  the  standard 
home  and  what  it  means  in  every  case 
to  the  generations  that  are  to  come. 

"  Cling  to  thy  home !    if  there  the  meanest 

shed 

Yield  thee  a  hearth  and  shelter  for  thy  head, 
And  some  poor  plot  with  vegetables  stored, 
Be  all  that  Heaven  allots  thee  for  thy  board, 
Unsavory  bread,  and  herbs  that  scattered 

grow 

Wild  on  the  river  brink  or  mountain  brow, 
Yet  e'en  this  cheerless  mansion  shall  provide 
More    heart's  repose    than    all    the    world 

beside." 


HINTS   FOR  THE   HELPFUL 

By  MRS.  R.  S.  GALER 

MT.    PLEASANT,  IOWA 

THE  children  of  a  friend  of  mine  begin 
each  September  to  fill  Christinas  boxes 
for  little  ones  less  fortunate.  Each  child 
covers  a  box  inside  and  out  with  bright 
material.  Into  these  they  put  toys  and 
books  they  have  outgrown.  Everything 
must  be  in  good  repair.  So  enthusiastic 
do  they  become  that  by  Christmas  the 
boxes  are  filled.  A  few  toothsome 
goodies  are  tucked  in,  the  lids  tied 
down  and  a  card  is  attached  reading: 
"Merry  Christmas  from  Santa  Glaus." 
The  pleasure  and  profit  these  children 
derive  from  this  pretty  custom  is  most 
valuable  in  their  character  development. 

A  little  woman  I  know  has  a  charming 
habit  of  sending  to  sick  friends  little 
packages  containing  from  half  a  dozen 
to  a  dozen  tiny  parcels  wrapped  in 
colored  tissue  paper,  with  the  direction, 
"Open  one  every  two  hours." 

Inside  each    pretty  twisted  paper  is 

found  some   token : — a  violet  sachet,   a 

helpful  poem,  a  box  of  black  and  white 

.pins,  a  tiny  menthol  tablet,  some  wash 


ribbon,  two  dimes  in  a  paper  marked 
"A  street  car  ride,"  some  pepsin 
gum,  etc. 

A  recipient  of  one  of  these  told  me 
that  it  gave  her  hours  of  pleasure. 

This  same  lady  sends  to  "shut  ins" 
tiny  boxes  containing  "sunshine  pow- 
ders" with  directions,  "Take  one  after 
each  meal." 

They  are  made  of  yellow  paper  repre- 
senting sunshine  and  folded  like  doctors' 
powders.  Inside  is  written  a  happy 
sentiment,  as  "Never  trouble  trouble 
until  trouble  troubles  you." 

"Things  are  not  so  ill  with  you  and 
me  as  they  might  have  been,  half  owing 
to  the  number  who  lived  faithfully  a  hid- 
den life  and  rest  in  unvi sited  tombs." 

"It  is  easy  finding  why  other  people 
should  be  patient.  The  test  comes  in 
taking  our  own  medicine." 


WASHING  —  AN 
METHOD 


EASY 


By  ELMA   IONA   LOCKE 

BERLIN,  WISCONSIN 

THE  sensible,  twentieth  century  woman 
will  consider  the  doing  of  any  un- 
necessary drudgery  as  a  sinful  waste  of 
time  and  energy  that  might  otherwise 
have  been  put  to  some  good  use.  She 
will  not  do  her  work  in  a  certain  manner 
simply  because  her  mother  and  grand- 
mother did  it  in  that  way,  but  will  think 
for  herself,  and  choose  the  method  that 
will  give  the  best  results  with  the  least 
expenditure  of  time  and  strength. 

In  the  matter  of  washing,  that  bugbear 
of  most  women  who  do  their  own  work, 
it  is  possible  so  to  reduce  the  labor  that 
even  the  woman  who  is  not  robust  may 
be  not  unduly  fatigued  in  its  accomplish- 
ment. Perhaps  it  seems  too  good  to 
be  true  that  washing  may  be  done  with 
no  hard  rubbing,  no  bother  of  tubs  of 
clothes  sitting  around  soaking  over  night, 


THE    HOME 


95 


or  anything  of  that  kind,  but  if  the  fol- 
lowing well  tested  method  is  followed 
success  is  assured. 

The  'first  step  is  to  put  the  boiler  two- 
thirds  full  of  water  on  to  heat,  add  suffi- 
cient good  soap,  shaved  thin,  to  make 
a  strong  suds  (about  one-third  bar),  and 
a  small  handful  of  washing  or  sal  soda. 
While  the  water  is  heating  the  clothes 
can  be  collected  and  sorted,  taking  the 
finest  and  cleanest  for  the  first  boiling. 
Badly  soiled  places,  or  whole  garments 
if  necessary,  should  be  wet  and  well 
soaped;  then,  when  the  water  boils 
briskly,  put  in  the  clothes  dry,  except, 
of  course,  where  they  are  soaped.  They 
should  not  be  packed  at  all,  but  put  in 
loosely,  so  as  to  allow  the  water  to  boil 
up  freely  among  them.  Let  them  boil 
for  from  twenty  to  thirty  minutes,  and 
take  out  into  a  tub  of  warm  water.  Put 
in  the  next  lot  to  boil  while  the  first  are 
being  sudsed  out;  there  will  be  but  very 
little  rubbing  required,  the  boiling  water 
having  removed  most  of  the  dirt  and 
loosened  the  remainder  so  that  a  few 
rubs  on  the  board  completes  the  work, 
and  they  are  ready  to  be  rinsed. 

I  have  written  primarily  for  the  benefit 
of  the  woman  who  most  needs  to  have 
her  work  lightened — she  who  has  only 
the  most  primitive  of  utensils.  The  one 
having  greater  conveniences  can  easily 
adapt  the  principles  of, the  method  to 
her  requirements.  Then,  if  good  sense 
and  judgment  are  brought  to  bear  on  the 
ironing  question,  and  all  unnecessary 
labor  in  that  direction  eliminated,  blue 
Monday  and  its  attending  satellite,  iron- 
ing day,  will  lose  half  their  terror. 


GAMES 
PARTY 

By  MRS.  KATHERINE  E.  MEGEE 

WAYNESBORO,    VIRGINIA 

CROM  a  remote  period  Hallowe'en  has 
been  marked  by  the  young  people  as 


a  time  for  indulging  in  harmless  revel- 
ries of  a  superstitious  nature,  usually 
taking  the  form  of  a  charm  or  test  to 
discover  who  should  be  his  or  her  future 
partner  for  life.  In  working  out  these 
tests,  apples  and  nuts  are  conspicuously 
employed. 

The  following  games  have  always  been 
favorites  on  such  occasions: 

APPLE  PARING  TEST:  Each  person  is 
given  a  knife  and  an  apple,  which  is  to  be 
pared  in  a  continuous  strip.  The  paring  is 
then  swung  three  times  above  the  head  while 
these  lines  are  repeated : 

"Apple,  I  pare  and  swing  to  know 

Whom  I  soon  shall  marry  ; 
From  my  hand  I  now  thee  throw, 

Mystic  letter  carry." 

As  the  last  word  is  uttered,  the  paring  is 
dropped  to  the  floor.  The  initial  it  forms 
will  be  that  of  the  future  husband  or  wife. 

BOBBING  FOR  APPLES  :  A  large  vessel 
of  water,  usually  a  tub,  is  placed  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  on  the  floor.  As  many 
apples  as  there  are  young  people  are  then 
thrown  into  the  water.  Some  of  the  apples 
have  stern^,  others  have  not,  but  all  have 
initials  scratched  upon  them.  Each  person 
in  turn  then  "bobs"  or  ducks  for  an  apple, 
which,  when  secured  reveals  the  initial  of 
his  or  her  future  mate.  The  number  of 
trials  necessary  to  capture  a  prize  denotes 
how  many  years  must  elapse  before  the 
twain  are  made  one. 

NAMING  APPLE  SEEDS  :  Each  person 
eats  an  apple,  saving  the  seeds  to  be  named. 
They  are  then  moistened  and  stuck  upon  the 
eyelids.  The  one  remaining  longest  is  the 
true  love. 

Another  time  honored  test  of  one's  fate 
with  apple  seeds  is  to  have  some  one  else 
name  the  seeds.  The  person  to  whom  they 
belong  then  tells  them  off  in  the  following 
manner : 
"One  I  love,  two  I  love,  three  I  love  the 

same, 
Four  I  love  with   all  my  heart,  and  five  I 

cast  away." 

EATING  AN  APPLE  BEFORE  A  MIRROR: 
At  midnight,  each  person  takes  in  turn  a 
lighted  candle  and  goes  alone  into  a  dark 


96 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  OCTOBER,    1904 


room,  then  taking  up  his  or  her  position  in 
front  of  a  looking  glass,  proceeds  to  eat  an 
apple,  looking  the  while  steadily  into  the 
glass.  The  face  of  the  future  husband  or 
wife  will  be  seen  peering  over  the  shoulder 
of  the  reflection  in  the  glass. 

POPPING  CHESTNUTS:  Each  person  is 
given  three  chestnuts,  which,  after  being 
named,  are  placed  upon  a  bed  of  hot  coals. 
The  nut  that  pops  will  be  an  unfaithful 
sweetheart ;  the  one  that  burns  steadily  will 
prove  a  constant  friend,  but  the  one  that 
burns  brightly,  giving  forth  a  blaze,  is  the 
true  love. 

CRACKING  NUTS  :  A  hickory  nut  is 
named,  then  cracked.  If  the  kernel  be 
withered,  love  has  grown  cold ;  if  it  is 
broken,  the  loved  one  is  false,  but  if  it 
comes  out  whole,  all  is  well. 


HEATING  ROOMS  CHEAPLY 

By   MRS.   M.   E.    P 

TACOMA,  WASHINGTON 

COR  those  who  would  profit  by  the 
clever  suggestion  as  illustrated  by 
Mrs.  Catherine  H.  Pickett,  in  the  June 
National,  in  her  account  of  the  young 
machinist  who  purchased  the  tiny  cot- 
tage and  perfected  a  heating  system  by 
utilizing  the  hot  water  pipes  connected 
with  the  hot  water  boiler  of  the  cooking 
range,  I  would  like  to  add  the  sugges- 
tion that  much  less  fuel  is  consumed  by 
an  air  tight  heating  stove,  when  used 
for  heating  purposes,  than  by  a  cooking 
range.  Consequently,  the  cottage  re- 
ferred to  could  have  been  much  more 
cheaply  heated  by  placing  the  coil  of 
water  pipes  inside  an  air  tight  heating 
stove,  than  by  using  the  cooking  range 
as  a  heater.  Also,  that  it  is  a  greater 
inconvenience  to  keep  a  range  supplied 
with  fuel  than  a  cooking  stove. 

The  practical  phase  of  this  suggestion 
was  demonstrated  to  me  in  a  cosy  little 
flat  that  I  often  frequent,  where  the 
cooking  is  done  on  a  gas  range,  and  the 
rooms,  as  well  as  the  water  for  the  bath, 


are  heated  by  means  of  coils  of  pipes 
connected  with  the  hot  water  boiler,  and 
placed  'round  and  'round  inside  the  air 
tight  heater,  which,  by  the  way,  was  a 
very  small  heater  and  stood  in  the 
kitchen.  A  word  of  explanation  regard- 
ing the  heater  might  be  well.  The  air 
tights  most  used  in  this  locality  are  of 
the  sheet  iron  variety,  having  the  outside 
draft.  And  in  proportion  to  the  amount 
of  heat  radiated  they  consume  less  fuel 
than  any  heaters  I  have  ever  known;  and 
aside  from  this  they  have  the  additional 
advantage  of  being  extremely  quickly 
heated.  The  water  for  the  bath  could 
be  much  more  quickly  heated  in  this 
little  stove,  in  which  was  burned  our 
western  fir,  than  in  the  usual  manner  by 
a  .cooking  range.  The  heating  system 
of  this  little  flat  was  a  comparatively  in- 
expensive experiment,  and  a  perfect 
success. 

Ji 

MAKING   THE    PRAIRIE 
BLOOM 

By  MRS.   LEONA  WILLIAMS 

MORRIS,  MINNESOTA 

IT  was  my  privilege  some  years  ago  to 
visit  a  little  home  on  the  prairies  of 
South  Dakota;  a  home  much  like  dozens 
of  others  —  and  yet  how  different.  A 
sort  of  half  "dug-out"  built  into  the  side 
of  a  small  bluff  close  to  the  shore  of  one 
of  the  many  lakes  which  dot  this  region. 
The  little  kitchen  was  built  wholly  within 
the  bluff,  a  tunnel-like  passage  somehow 
letting  in  a  very  little  light  through  a 
tiny  window.  Attached  to  this  dug-out 
was  the  frame  part  of  the  house,  the 
front  room  and,  above,  the  sleeping 
rooms. 

At  the  foot  of  these  bluffs  and  all 
around  the  edge  of  the  lake  were  count- 
less stones,  "nigger  heads"  they  are 
called,  and  many  of  these  had  been 
gathered  and  used  to  border  walks  and 
round,  diamond,  oval,  and  square  flower 
beds,  and  in  all  the  intervening  spaces 


ZONOPHONE  EXHIBIT  AT  THE  WORLD'S  FAIR 


THE  machines  exhibited  in  the  Liberal 
Arts  building  by  the  Universal  Talk- 
ing Machine  Manufacturing  company  of 
New  York  City  have  attracted  great 
attention.  They  represent,  in  fact,  a 
revolution  in  talking  machines,  furnish- 
ing clear  and  natural  tones,  smooth  run- 
ning, eliminating  whirr  and  burr.  The 
records  are  compressed  to  nine  inch 
style  and  give  as  much  music  as  ten 


inches — and  are  constructed  in  the  spirit 
of  the  times  for  simplification  and  con- 
densation, eliminating  the  scratching 
sound.  The  people  gather  about  and 
listen  to  "Winona,"  a  new  selection  by 
a  full  band,  and  one  can  almost  fancy 
Sousa  himself  swaying  to  and  fro  as  the 
catchy  refrain  echoes  across  the  build- 
ing. The  special  interest  in  the  "Zono- 
phone"  manufactured  by  this  company 
lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  the  newest  and 


most  improved  phase  of  talking  machine 
service — which  has  today  become  a  part 
of  American  home  life. 

The  remark:    "I'm  going  to  have  one 
of  them,'"'  indicates  the  impression  made 
by  the  exhibit  at  the  World's  Fair,  that 
will  reap  fruit  at  Christmas  time — pros- 
pective sales  cast  upon  exposition  waters. 
The  spirit  of  progressiveness  of  this 
company  has  won  popular  appreciation, 
and    the"  talking   machine 
exhibits  have  especially  in- 
terested   foreigners,    who 
have  admitted  that  Ameri- 
ca has  far  and   away  the 
supremacy  in  this  great  in- 
novation of  the  age,  and 
scores    of    machines    will 
hereafter  speak  a  foreign 
tongue. 

One  convincing  feature 
of  the  "  Zonophone  "  ex- 
hibit is  the  fact  that  no 
special  records  are  used 
for  exhibition  purposes. 
The  records  are  taken  out 
of  regular  stock  from  a  St. 
Louis  jobbing  house. 
"  Zonophone"  begins  with 
the  last  letter  in  the  alpha- 
bet, but  has  taken  a  front 
place  in  the  ranks  of  liberal 
arts  products.  The  little 
"Barndoor"  folders  dis- 
tributed free  at  this  booth 
have  an  inspiring  touch  of 
human  interest.  The  old 
farmer  and  his  wife  are  rep- 
resented peeping  through  the  barn  door 
with  the  boy  looking  under — as  usual. 
The  door  thrown  open  reveals  a  gay 
social  party  dancing  to  the  fascinating 
strains  of  a  "Zonophone."  The  ejacu- 
lation tells  the  story: 

"Gosh!  Samanthe!  It's  a  Zono- 
phone— thought  sure  'twas  one  of  them 
city  bands." 

The  world  is  brought  closer  together 
through  the  medium  of  talking  machines. 


INTERCONTI 


CORRESPONDENCE 


Ch«unwy  M.  Depc*,  LL.D. 

United  Sutei  SenMor  (ran  N«w  York. 


George  F.  HOB.  LL.D. 
Coiled  Sutel  SeMtor  from  Mil 


HOT?  B.  F.   Mtrfirluxi 
ent  Boird  of  Dbtricl  Commiolonm, 


We, 


Ckuining   Rudd,  D.C.L. 
*re.idenl  of  tit  Unlwrtltf. 


DAVID  J.  BREWER 
HENRY  BILLINGS  BROWN 
WALTER  C.  CLEPHANE 
CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW 
EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE 
GEORGE  F.  HOAR 
MARTIN  A.  KNAPP 
HENRY  B.  F.   MACFARLAND 
CHANNING  RUDD 

have  founded  the  Intercontinental  Correspondence 
University  in  Washington,  D.  C.  Our  Charter, 
granted  under  laws  enacted  by  the  United  States 
Congress,  gives  us  full  authority  and  power  ' '  to 
give  and  furnish  instruction,  by  mail  or  otherwise, 
in  any  or  all  branches  of  knowledge,  in  any  or  all 
parts  of  the  world" 

Why  We  Have  Founded  this  University 

The  founding  of  this  University  is  an  event  of 
more  than  ordinary  importance  in  the  educational 
world. 

Modern  facilities  for  communication  with  all 
other  countries  and  continents  have  made  it  easy  to 
reach  promptly  all  parts  of  the  -globe  where  the 
desire  for  systematic  training  exists.  The  high 
degree  to  which  specialization  has  been  carried  in 
the  various  branches  of  applied  learning,  the  impos- 
sibility of  the  great  majority  of  interested  persons 
enjoying  resident  instruction,  as  well  as  the  impos- 
sibility of  existing  institutions,  under  prevailing 
limitations,  providing  adequately  for  the  require- 
ments of  the  world-wide  demand  for  instruction, — 
these  conditions  have  led  the  founders  of  the  Inter- 
continental Correspondence  University  to  organize1 
a  comprehensive  system  of  individual  instruction 
by  correspondence,  in  which  individual  research 
under  the  guidance  and  assistance  of  the  best  qual- 
ified teachers  and  under  the  most  approved  methods, 
may  be  provided  for,  in  the  oldest  as  well  as  in  the 
newest  branch  of  learning,  in  any  part  of  the  world. 


»«Tid  J.  Brero,  LL.D. 

Jutke  United  Suit*  Supreme  Court 


Henry  Billingi  Brown,  LL.D. 
Justice  United  .Sutei  Supreme  Court, 


W.ltei  C.  Clcpluac.  LL.M. 
Secretary  of  the  Unrremty. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  WASHINGTON  DC  USA 


John  Franklin  Crowell,  Ph.D.,L.H.D. 
Educational  Director 


William  Torrey  Harris,  LL.D. 
United  States  Commissioner  of  Educatio 


Who  will  Manage  this  University 

The  educational  control  and  management  of  the  University  will  be  under  the  active, 
personal  direction  of  Channing  Rudd,  D.C.  L.  ,  President  of  the  University  ;  John  Franklin 
Crowell,  Ph.D.,  L.H.D.,  Educational  Director,  and  William  Torrey  Harris,  LL.D., 
Chairman  of  the  Advisory  Faculty.  These  three  prominent  educators  will  be  assisted  in 
the  active  conduct  of  the  work  by  a  fully  equipped  University  organization  of  colleges  and 
departments,  with  able  deans,  professors,  text  writers  and  instructors. 

Why  You  Need  this  University 

We  have  founded  this  University  to  meet  the  various  educational  needs  of  men  and 
women,  young  and  old,  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 

If  you  are  a  young  man,  or  young  woman,  who  needs  an  education  and  cannot  attend 
a  resident  institution,  on  account  of  financial  or  other  reasons  ;  or  a  college  student  who 
wishes  to  continue  an  unfinished  course  ;  or  a  college  graduate  who  wishes  to  specialize  in 
any  chosen  subject  ;  or  a  business  or  professional  man  whose  work  demands  the  best  and 
latest  general  or  specialized  knowledge  ;  or  one  who  has  had  no  early  advantages  and 
wishes  to  secure  a  better  education  ;  or,  in  short,  if  you  want  to  obtain  a  complete  general 
education,  or  a  part  of  an  education,  or  a  special  education,  write  to  me,  and  I  will  show 
you  that  the  I.  C.  U.  offers  exactly  what  you  need. 

You  should  bear  in  mind  that  you  may  start  at  any  time.  There  are  no  regular  classes  ;  you  will  be  a 
class  by  yourself.  You  will  be  under  the  individual  guidance  of  the  faculty  of  your  department.  You  may 
start  at  any  time  in  the  calendar  year  which  is  most  convenient  to  you.  There  is  no  age  limit.  You  may  be- 
gin at  any  time  in  your  life  when  you  feel  a  desire  to  add  to  your  knowledge  and  education.  With  most  people 
that  time  is  NOW.  Your  progress  will  be  just  as  rapid  as  your  time  and  ability  permit. 

"The  Personal  Statement  of  the  President" 

I  firmly  believe  that  you  who  read  these  lines  must  be  vitally  interested  in  this  Uni- 
versity, for  its  plans  are  so  wide  and  so  far-reaching  that  they  must  necessarily  include 
you.  I  have  written  a  book  in  which  I  have  told  the  story  of  the  I.  C.  U.  in  detail,  just 
why  and  how  it  was  founded,  what  it  means  for  you,  personally,  or  through  you  for  your 
family,  your  friends  or  your  employees.  I  have  called  it  "  The  Personal  Statement  of  the 
President.  "  I  am  sure  you  will  be  interested  in  this  book.  Write  me,  and  I  will  take 
pleasure  in  sending  you  a  copy  with  my  compliments.  If,  in  addition,  you  will  state  any 
course  of  study  in  which  you  may,  might,  could,  would  or  should  be  especially  interested, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  write  you  a  personal  letter  showing  just  what  this  University  can  do  for 


Address  me 

712  T.  C.  U.  Building, 

Washington,  D.  C. 


PRESIDENT, 

For  the  Trustees 


THE   MODERN    WAY   OF    DOING    BUSINESS 


By     MRS.     F.     WHITE     RUGER 


IT  was  an  astonishing  thing  to  see  a 
young  lady  weaving  a  handsome  black 
silk  lace  trimming  on  a  sewing  machine, 
but  that  was  not  half  the  surprises  the 
Homer  Young  Company  has  in  store 
visitors  at  their  handsome  display  in  the 
Manufactures  Building  at  the  World's 
Fair,  for  when  I  asked  the  price  of  the 
attachment  that  was  weaving  the  beautiful 
trimming,  the  young  lady  replied,  "Oh 
it  is  not  an  attachment,  it  is  just  our  ordi- 
nary $18.50  sewing  machine,  but  the  ball 
bearings  give  us  perfect  control  over  the 
machine  and  we  just  do  it  this  way." 
The  price  $18.50  made  me  prick  up 
my  ears.  I  could  see  that  the  machine 
had  six  drawers  in  a  handsomely  finished 
case  of  the  sort  that  I  ordinarily  asso- 
ciated with  a  price  ranging  from  $50  to 
$65,  so  I  concluded  to  ask  a  few  ques- 
tions. It  fortunately  happened  that  Mr. 
Homer  Young  of  the  Homer  Young 
Company  was  on  from  Toledo  to  receive 
the  jurors,  so  I  commenced  to  find  out 


things  that  I  fancy  will  interest  the  read- 
ers of  the  National  as  much  as  they  did 
me,  and  that's  a  lot. 

"Are  these  sewing  machines  out  of 
your  regular  stock,  Mr.  Young?" 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Young,  rather 
smiling  at  my  somewhat  skeptical  air. 

"Well,  how  does  jt  come  that  you  can 
sell  a  machine  under  a  twenty-year  guar- 
antee at  this  ridiculously  small  sum?" 

"Why,  it  is  all  explained  there,"  said 
Mr.  Young,  pointing  to  an  electric  sign, 
"From  the  factory  to  the  people,"  "and 
cash  payments  bring  this  household 
necessity  within  reach  of  everybody. 
Why,  do  you  know,  anybody  can  manu- 
facture a  sewing  machine  today  who 
wants  to.  All  the  vital  patents  have  ex- 
pired and  it  is  only  the  enormous  ex- 
pense of  marketing  that  keeps  the  price 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  cost.  We 
get  just  as  much  for  our  machines  as  any 
manufacturer  of  first  class  machines,  but 
by  our  system  of  handling  we  cut  off  the 


THE    HOMER  YOUNG   COMPANY   BOOTH   IN   THE  MANUFACTURES   BUILDING  AT  THE 

WORLD'S  FAIR    » 


THE    MODERN    WAY    OF    DOING    BUSINESS 


four  or  five  profits  that  go  into  collec- 
tions, losses,  rent,  clerk  hire,  agents' 
expenses,  etc.,  and  our  customers  are 
given  the  benefit  while  getting  a  first 
class  article.  I  had  an  idea  that  it  could 
be  done  and  that  the  people  would  ap- 
preciate my  efforts,  and  they  do." 

"Now,  that's  a  very  nice  little  argu- 
ment you're  using,  Mr.  Young,"  I  said, 
about  half  convinced,  but  ready  to  back 
water.  "But  I'm  in  a  state  of  mind  that 
needs  to  be  shown,"  and  in  a  moment  I 
was  seated  at  one  of  the  machines  tread- 
ling away — goodness  how  it  flew — mostly 
by  itself. 


THE   HOMER   YOUNG   COMPANY   "  STEIN  WAY  " 

"That  is  done  by  our  ball  bearing  run- 
ning gear,"  volunteered  Mr.  Young,  as 
I  took  off  my  foot  and  watched  the 
treadle  go  on  without  further  effort  being 
applied.  Then  he  tipped  it  up  and 
showed  me  the  finely  finished  yet  simple 
mechanism,  and  explained  why  it  was 
that  my  $45  old  time  machine  had  a  slow 
feed,  and  why  it  had  a  play  in  the  foot 
that  made  fine  edge  sewing  an  impossi- 
bility. By  this  time  the  idea  that  the 
Homer  Young  "Steinway"  sewing  ma- 
chine was  all  right  had  gotten  pretty 
firmly  fixed,  and  then  I  noticed  that  the 
model  at  which  I  sat  was  of  an  especially 


graceful  form,  being  oval  in  shape  in- 
stead of  oblong,  and  when  the  head  was 
dropped  it  was  an  ornamental  piece  of 
furniture.  I  expressed  something  of  this 
idea  when  Mr.  Young  laughed.  "This 
machine  is  $24.50  and  I'm  glad  you  like 
it— it's  my  idea  — but  I've  had  other 
ideas.  Now  how's  this?"  and  presto 
the  top  of  a  pretty  cabinet  desk  dropped 
forming  a  shelf  and  a  "Steinway"  ap- 
peared ready  for  work.  "This  we  sell 
for  $30.,  and  I'll  guarantee  that  none  of 
the  old  line  companies  have  anything  as 
handsome  for  $75.  But  here's  my  very 
latest  idea  in  sewing  machines,"  and 
with  a  magic  wave  of  the  hand  a  dainty 
little  dressing  table  with  an  empire 
mirror  was  turned  into  a  "Steinway." 
"But  where's  the  treadle,"  I  gasped 
as  I  looked  at  the  graceful  supports  of 
the  dressing  table,  or  rather  sewing  ma- 
chine. "We  have  designed  this  for  the 
use  of  ladies  who  cannot  run  the  treadle 
machine,  and  it  is  run  by  an  electric 
motor.  This  I  claim  is  the  acme  of  per- 
fection in  the  matter  of  household  ma- 
chines." 

"How  do  you  manage  to  get  your 
goods  before  the  people"  I  queried. 

"Oh,  from  Toledo  we  send  out  our 
catalogue  No.  B-6io  that  is  so  attractive 
that  they  conclude  to  try  our  offer  of 
twenty  day's  trial  and  the  machine  never 
comes  back,  no  trouble  about  it  either. 
I  was  so  far  convinced  that  I  ordered 
the  automatic  lift  No.  20,  although  he 
would  not  send  the  vase  or  the  pretty 
piece  of  drawn  work  that  had  been  done 
on  the  machine. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Ruger,  you  are  not 
getting  a  cheap  machine.  These  very 
cheap  machines  advertised  are  not  worth 
the  freight.  You  are  getting  an  Ai  ma- 
chine and  paying  as  much  as  any  Ai  fac- 
tory gets  for  its  output.  I'm  not  a  philan- 
thropist, I'm  a  manufacturer  with  ideas 
— my  ideas  are  not  confined  to  sewing 
machines  either,  for  when  the  weather 
is  hot  and  the  ladies,  God  bless  'em, 


THE    MODERN     WAY    OF    DOING    BUSINESS 


would  not  take  a  sewing  machine  for 
a  gift,  my  men  must  be  kept  busy,  and 
so  I  have  carried  out  some  of  my  ideas 
in  trunks." 

Those  trunks!  You  should  see  them. 
They  are  as  far  in  advance  of  ordinary 
trunks  as  the  electric  motor  Stein  way 
machine  is  ahead  of  the  old  time  sewing 
machine.  There  are  trunks  with  well 
ordered  closets  for  clothes  and  racks  to 
hang  them  on  without,  constructed  so 
that  when  placed  on  end — and  they  are 
larger  on  one  end,  so  that  they  go  right 
side  up  — they  will  make  a  complete 
chiffonier.  There  are  trunks  with  a  full 
fledged  chest  of  drawers  on  one  side 
with  clothes  racks  on  the  other,  and  they 
take  up  about  one-third  of  the  room  of 
an  ordinary  trunk  of  alike  capacity;  there 
were  trunks  that  were  genuine  dressing 
cases,  mirror  and  all;  and  traveling 
bags  that  are  out  for  a  gold  medal. 
Here  was  a  realization  of  the  comforts 
possible  in  actually  "living  in  our  trunk." 


"The  two  lines  make  a  good  combina 
tion,"  said  Mr.  Young.  "We  handle 
the  trunks  through  dealers,  or  if  a  town 
has  no  one  handling  them,  then  we  sell 
direct  from  the  factory.  A  short  time 
ago  we  received  an  order  for  a  trunk  to 
be  made  our  very  best,  with  a  check  for 
$75.  You  should  see  it.  'Twas  a 
beauty,  but  as  we  did  rot  think  a  gold 
lock  would  improve  it,  we  sent  back  $10 
of  the  money  .and  the  customer  has  the 
finest  trunk  in  the  United  States." 

There  was  so  much  that  was  new  and 
astonishing  that  I  looked  at  the  young 
man  whose  brains  had  evolved  so  many 
ideas,  and  I  thought  "the  old  way  of 
doing  things  was  too  cumbersome  and 
expensive  to  the  consumer,  and  the 
young  chaps  are  solving  the  problems  of 
our  commercial  civilization." 

If  you  want  to  see  pictures  of  the 
machines  I  saw,  send  for  Catalogue 
"B",  to  The  Homer  Young  Company, 
Toledo,  Ohio. 


THK    HOMER    YOUNG   COMPANY'S    NEW    FOEA    IN    TKl'NKS    AND    VALISES 


THE    "CHICAGO"    SPIRIT   IN  TYPEWRITING 

MACHINES  ;• 

By     MITCHELL     MANNERING 


THE  magic  name  of  Chicago  always 
stands  for  something.  Ever  since 
the  well  known  statue  of  "I  Will" 
flashed  upon  the  world  at  the  Columbian 
Exposition,  there  has  been  a  national, 
or  rather  international  import  to  the 
word  "Chicago,"  as  a  synonym  for  pro- 
gressiveness.  Pre-eminent  as  a  commer- 
cial center,  it  is  little  wonder  that  a 
typewriter  christened  "The  Chicago" 
should  arrest  attention.  In  the  type- 
writer section  of  the  Liberal  Arts  Palace 
at  St.  Louis  is  a  modest  booth  which  has 
heralded  to  the  world  in  no  uncertain 
way  the  predominant  merits  of  "The 
Chicago." 

A  modest  little  machine  —  only  325 
parts,  including  the  tiniest  spring  or 
,  screw — in  fact  the  simplest  in  point  of 
construction  of  any  typewriter  made. 
Armored  like  a  battle  ship,  with  all  parts 
fully  protected  but  easy  of  access,  the 
few  wearing  points  all  of  case  hardened 
steel,  that  emphasizes  the  one  great 
point  of  durability.  The  ninety  char- 
acters, operated  with  the  universal  key- 
board on  a  cold  steel  wheel,  are  a- guar- 
antee of  perfect  alignment;  easily  inter- 
changeable, positively  indestructible, 
adapted  .internationally  to  all  climates 
and  conditions. 

With  a  light  swinging  carriage,  and 
weighing  less  than  sixteen  pounds,  it  is 
easily  one  of  the  most  convenient  port- 
able typewriting  machines  made.  The 
exclusive  use  of  the  only  perfect  erasing 
plate  has  made  this  machine  particularly 
popular  with  rapid  stenographers.  It 
also  offers  unusual  facilities  for  insert- 
ing, adjusting  and  addressing  cards. 
Summarized  briefly,  "The  Chicago" 
excels  in  fourteen  of  the  cardinal  points 


demanded  in  any  typewriter,  and  when 
one  realizes  that  this  tiny  battery  of 
industrial  activities  is  purchasable  at 
$35,  it  reveals  greater  possibilities  of 
increased  use  of  typewriters  than  any 
other  machine. 

"The  Chicago"  is  a  visible  machine, 
and  not  only  furnishes  visible  writing  to 
the  operator,  but  to  every  visitor  at  their 
booth  the  pre-eminence  of  this  little 


BOOTH   OF  THE    CHICAGO    WRITING    MACHINE 

COMPANY,  IN   PALACE  OF  LIBERAL  ARTS. 

WORLD'S   FAIR,  ST.  LOUIS 

machine  was  also  visible.  Somehow 
"  The  Chicago "  typewriter  has  such 
a  friendly,  homelike  air  about  it,  that 
one  would  look  for  it  on  a  lady's  escri- 
toire as  well  as  on  the  firing  line  of 
active  business  operations.  In  fact,  it 
has  the  "Chicago"  way  about  it.  That 
means  much. 

The   "Chicago"    wins   it's   own  way. 


AN   INTERESTING    EXHIBIT    FOR  HOUSEWIVES 


A  SIGNIFICANT  fact  that  impressed 
me  as  I  looked  upon  the  booth  of  the 
Bissell  Carpet  Sweeper  Company,  at  the 
World's  Fair,  St.  Louis,  was  that  Mr. 
M.  R.  Bissell  founded  this  business  in 
the  year  of  the  Centennial  Exposition  in 
1876.  What  a  revolution  has  occurred 
since  that  time  in  the  art  of  home  making 
and  what  a  tribute  the  women  of  America 
could  pay  to  the  invention  of  such  an 
article  of  necessity  as  the  Bissell  Carpet 
Sweeper,  how  many  steps  and  the  energy 
it  has  saved,  no  one  except  the  good 
housewife  herself  may  know. 

Despite  the  fire  of  1884,  losing  $150,- 
ooo,  Mr.  Bissell,  while  the  flames  were 
still  raging,  started  to  work  on  the  new 
factory  and  the  men  went  to  work  cutting 
lumber  for  the  new  Bissell  Sweepers. 

The  splendid  factory  covering  over 
four  acres  with  a  capacity  of  3000  regular 
and  4000  toy  sweepers  per  day' speaks 
volumes  for  the  tribute  paid  to  the  Bis- 
sell Sweeper  by  American  women.  The 
Bissell  Sweeper  is  far  reaching  in  pro- 
viding help  for  those  hands  that  rock  the 
cradle  and  still  rule  the  world. 

When  it  is  realized  that  the  entire  pro- 
duct of  bristles  from  twenty  million  hogs 
are  required  annually  to  provide  for  the 
brushes  of  Bissell  Sweepers,  one  can 
have  some  notion  of  the  close  relation 


between  the  products  of  America.  To 
think  of  the  American  hog  providing  the 
equipment  for  the  thrifty  neat  housewife 
of  America,  indeed  seems  odd.  It  will 
also  be  interesting  to  the  readers  of  the 
National  Magazine  to  know  that  the 
president  of  this  marvelous  enterprise  is 
Mrs.  M.  R.  Bissell  and  with  a  woman's 
true  inception,  she  has  kept  this  enter- 
prise in  close  touch  with  the  needs  and 
necessities  of  womankind. 

When  one  realizes  that  this  project  has 
found  a  market  and  steady  increasing 
sales  in  all  the  civilized  countries  of  the 
world,  and  has  received  awards  from  all 
Expositions  that  have  occured  since  its 
invention,  there  is  no  hesitancy  in  saying 
the  Bissell  Carpet  Sweeper  is  indeed  an 
international  industry  and  a  product 
whose  influence  is  quite  as  far  reaching 
as  the  deliberations  at  The  Hague. 

Best  of  all  is  the  tribute  paid  to  the 
Bissell  Carpet  Sweeper  by  the  thousands 
of  housewives  passing  the  booth.  "I  do 
not  know  how  we  ever  did  without  it;'! 
"It  is  the  one  thing  that  makes  house- 
keeping a  pleasure;"  "It  has  dignified 
the  drudgery  of  women's  work."  Alto- 
gether it  confirms  the  statement  so  aptly 
made  by  this  company  that  "Invention 
hath  no  nobler  aim  than  to  lighten 
women's  labor." 


Free   Trip   to  Washington 

I  have  planned  a  week's  visit  to  the  National  Capital  in  December, 
when  Congress  is  in  session,  with  transportation  and  all  other  expenses 
paid,  for  the  three  boys  who  do  the  best  work  selling  the  National, 
monthly  and  procuring  new  yearly  subscriptions,  during  the  months  of 
September,  October  and  November,  in  the  Eastern,  Western  and  South- 
ern states.  The  boys  who  win  this  trip  will  be  my  guests  while  in  Wash- 
ington and  visit  all  the  public  buildings  and  other  places  of  interest  and 
meet  some  of  our  foremost  public  men  who  never  fail  to  have  an  interest 
in  the  American  boy.  Now,  boys,  let  your  friends  know  that  you  are 
working  for  the  Washington  trip  and  they  will  help  you  in  your  en- 
deavors to  win  it.  Write  for  further  particulars  to 

JOE    MITCHELL    CHAPPLE 


ONE  OF  THE  "BURNING  QUESTIONS"  OF  THE  HOUR 


AS  the  long  Winter  evenings  approach, 
what  is  more  important  than  a  good 
light  for  the  cozy  home  and  good  read- 
ing? Of  course  it  goes  without  saying 
that  the  good  reading  includes  the  Na- 
tional Magazine.  Now  the  magazine 
may  be  ever  so  good,  but  if  it  cannot  be 
comfortably  read  it  is  of  no  avail.  With 
this  in  mind,  I  was  much  interested  in 
the  Sun  Vapor  Lights  manufactured  in 
Canton,  Ohio,  the  home  of  William  Mc- 
Kinley.  After  an  experience  of  over 
a  quarter  of  a  century  they  have  made 
a  triumph  of  the  maximum  light  at  a 
minimum  cost,  and  have  provided 
a  lamp  which  has  stood  all  manner  of 
tests  and  makes  a  light  equal  in  every 
way  to  the  electric,  and  better  than  the 
acetylene  gas  or  coal  oil  lamp  at  a  small 
fraction  of  the  cost. 

Here  are  the  first  facts  of  cost  in  a 
nutshell.  The  test  made  on  one  Roches- 
ter oil  lamp  burning  1,200  hours  will 
require  one  gallon  of  oil  for  every  ten 
hours  and  costs  $7.20.  For  one  Sun 
Vapor  Incandescent  lamp  burning  1,200 
hours  the  cost  is  $1.20  The  light  is  fur- 
nished by  generating  ordinary  stove 
gasoline  and  the  lamp  is  so  constructed 
that  it  is  impossible  for  it  to  explode. 
A  well  made  and  neatly  constructed 
gravity  reservoir  of  symmetrical  propor- 
tions of  the  best  quality  brass  is  used  in 
connection  with  an  underneath  genera- 
tor. Reservoirs  are  supported  at  the 
bottom  by  a  fitting  into  which  the  frame 
makes  a  threaded  connection.  The 
frame  is  strong  and  rigid.  Joints  are 
made  through  solid  brass  fittings,  and 
are  well-threaded,  and  also  soldered 
when  necessary. 

The  fact  that  insurance  permits  are 
granted  for  these  gasolene  vapor  lamps 
by  the  National  Board  of  Fire  Under- 
writers indicates  that  they  are  absolutely 
safe  under  the  most  rigid  tests. 

When  the  lamp  is  burning,  the  fluid 
enters  a  filter  tube  which  regulates  its 


flow  and  is  transformed  into  "hydro-car- 
bon" gas  through  a  mixing  chamber  and 
generator  which  burns  a  very  large  per- 
centage of  air.  The  very  air  is  utilized 
for  light  and  power. 

Few  people  realize  how  much  good 
light  means  to  their  eye  sight.  When 
you  think  that  $1.75  invested  in  a  Sun 
Vapor  burner  represents  less  than  the 
cost  of  one  pair  of  spectacles  you  can 
realize  the  economy  in  providing  a  home 


THE    SUN    VAPOR    LIGHT 


first  of  all  with  a  flood  of  good  light  by 
night  as  well  as  by  day. 

What  is  more  ideal  than  a  quiet  even- 
ing at  home  under  the  bright  and  mellow 
light  furnished  by  the  Sun  Incandes- 
cent Lamps  with  which  thousands  of 
homes,  public  buildings  and  streets  are 
equipped.  In  fact,  it  might  be  said  that 
Sun  Vapor  Lamps  are  a  complete  gas 
plant  in  themselves,  generating  and 
burning  their  own  hydro-carbon  gas  by 
means  of  a  patent  generator  or  burner. 


129 


THE   BURNING   QUESTION    OF   THE    HOUR 


The  fluid  used  for  this  is  ordinary 
seventy-four  degree  deodorized  stove 
gasolene,  which  can  be  procured  at  any 
grocery  store  in  the  United  States  where 
kerosene  is  sold. 

The  "Sun"  Vapor  light  is  most  appro- 
priately named,  as  it  indeed  furnishes  by 
night  what  the  great  luminary  of  the 
universe  furnishes  by  day.  Simplified 
in  its  construction  it  furnishes  all  of 
the  advantages  of  metropolitan  conven- 
iences such  as  the  electric  light  and  gas, 
with  none  of  the  disastrous  risks  and  in- 
conveniences. 

The  brilliancy  of  the  light  is  revealed 
in  the  soft  glow  which  is  restful  to  the 
eye  and  enables  one  to  read  with  the 
perfect  ease  and  comfort  of  daylight. 

Now  if  our  readers  were  able  to  see 
these  lights  in  operation  they  would  cer- 
tainly be  enthusiastic  and  write  at  once 
to  the  Sun  Vapor  Company  of  Can- 
ton, Ohio,  and  order  No.  251  here  illus- 
trated. It  is  the  Sun  Light  Fancy  Pen- 
dant 100  candle  power  lamp,  completely 
equipped,  for  $4.00,  and  is  surprising  in 
the  comfort  it  brings  and  the  protection 
it  affords. 

The  "Sun"  burner  is  sold  under  an 
absolute  guarantee  and  easily  fitted  to 
any  under-generator  lamp  for  $1.75  post 


paid.  The  Sun  Vapor  Company  light 
city  streets  by  contract,  always  guaran- 
teeing good  work,  because  they  are  sure 
of  the  "Sun"  burner  and  furnish  con- 
tracts for  city  or  home  lighting  only 
upon  the  basis  of  an  absolute  guarantee. 

If  every  reader  of  these  lines  could 
realize  how  important  a  hygienic  as 
well  as  an  economic  question  is  involved 
in  having  good  light  for  the  home  they 
would  at  once  write  to  the  Sun  Vapor 
Company  at  Canton. 

Compared  to  the  faint  glimmer  of  the 
tallow  dip  of  our  forefathers,  the  100 
candle  power  Sun  Vapor  light  in  itself 
is  a  monument  to  the  progress  in  practi- 
cal home  comforts  afforded  during  the 
last  quarter  century.  "Knowledge  is 
power,"  and  it  is  simply  a  question  of 
finding  out  about  these  things  to  reap 
all  of  the  advantages  afforded  in  modern 
improvements,  and  every  house  wife  who 
reads  these  lines  and  supplants  the  trou- 
blesome annoyance  of  a  smoking  lamp 
and  trimming  wicks  will  have  occasion 
to  remember  gratefully  the  time  when 
the  decision  was  reached  to  install  the 
Sun  Vapor  Lamp. 

Remember  the  address,  Sun  Vapor 
Street  Lighting  Company,  Box  820, 
Canton,  Ohio. 


130 


MAIN   STREET,   LOOKING    SOUTH 


LITTLE    ROCK:    A    SOUTHWESTERN    METROPOLIS 

By   GEORGE   R.    BROWN, 


SECRETARY    OF    THE    BOARD    OF    TRADE 


ILLUSTRATIONS  are  always  elo- 
quent, and  certainly  in  telling  the  story 
of  a  city's  marvelous  growth  they  are 
more  to  the  point  of  interest  than  the 
proverbially  dry  statistics  which  in  the 
hands  of  the  juggler  can  be  made  to  say 
and  prove  almost  anything  desired. 
Therefore,  in  connection  with  Little 
Rock,  the  capital  city,  the  commercial 
metropolis,  as  well  as  the  political,  edu- 
cational and  social  center  of  Arkansas, 
much  is  left  to  the  eye — for  seeing  is 
believing.  Little  Rock  is  shown  by 
views  of  her  business  streets,  public 
buildings,  jobbing  houses,  industrial 
plants  and  river  bridges.  It  is  really 
a  most  charming  and  delightful  residen- 
tial city,  familiarly  known  as  the  "City 
of  Roses,"  so  named  because  of  the 
innumerable  variety  and  the  hundreds 
of  magnificent  lawns  surrounding  the 
homes,  either  mansion  or  cottage.  In 
a  very  few  years  the  city  has  grown  from 


a  mere  village  until  today  the  population 
is  about  60,000,  and  in  this  are  counted 
the  two  adjoining  cities  on  the  north 
side  of  the  Arkansas  river,  Baring  Cross 
and  Argenta,  each  with  its  separate 
municipal  officers  and  local  government 
—  separated  only  by  the  river  —  a  navig- 
able stream  rising  near  Leadville,  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  emptying  into  the 
Mississippi  river  in  the  southeastern 
part  of  the  state.  There  are  seventy-five 
counties  in  the  state,  and  Little  Rock  is 
in  the  geographical  center,  surrounded 
by  a  gridiron  of  railways  and  with  more 
miles  of  navigable  rivers  than  any  other 
state  in  the  Union.  It  has  been  only  of 
recent  years  that  immigration  turned  in 
this  direction,  and  tb.e  result  is  that  the 
population  is  almost  if  not  quite  nine- 
tenths  American.  The  city  of  Little 
Rock  with  its  well  paved  streets,  con- 
crete sidewalks,  magnificent  electric 
street  railway  system,  electric  lighting, 


LITTLE    ROCK:    A   SOUTHWESTERN    METROPOLIS 


BOARD    OF  TRADE 
POST  OFFICE 


MASONIC    roMMSlOK 
CONCORDIA  CLUB 


paid  fire  department,  heating  plant,  oil 
mills,  compresses,  grain  elevators,  Board 
of  Trade,  might  be  set  down  with  credit 
to  itself  in  almost  any  of  the  old,  sedate 
and  wealthy  states  of  New  England  or 
the  Middle  states.  The  city  was  origi- 
nally named  by  the  pioneer  French  set- 
tlers Petite  Roche,  which,  translated, 
means  Little  Rock — the  first  rock  in  the 
river  from  the  mouth  to  this  point. 
Grand  Roche,  or  Big  Rock,  is  a  precipi- 
tous bluff  one  mile  above  the  city,  the 
site  of  Fort  Logan  H.  Roots,  a  United 
States  army  post.  And  it  might  be 
added  that  the  death  rate  at  this  post 
is  the  smallest  at  any  garrison  of  soldiers 
in  the  United  States.  With  the  single 
exception  of  the  state  university,  all  the 
state  institutions  are  located  here,  and 
the  state  is  now  building  a  new  capitol, 
costing  upward  of  $1,000,000,  and  all  the 
material  is  from  Arkansas:  marble  from 
the  northern  counties  and  granite  from 
the  local  quarries.  The  railroad  lines 
entering  the  city  are  the  St.  Louis,  Iron 
Mountain  and  Southern;  the  St.  Louis 
Southwestern  (Cotton  Belt) ;  the  Choctaw, 
Oklahoma  and  Gulf  (Rock  Island  Sys- 
tem) ;  Little  Rock  and  Hot  Springs;  Little 


Rock  and  Fort  Smith,  and  Little  Rock, 
Mississippi  River  and  Texas.  These 
lines,  together  with  the  Arkansas  river, 
furnish  exceptional  transportation  facili- 
ties, and  the  result  is  that  one  of  the 
best  jobbing  centers  in  the  South  has 
been  created.  The  great  railroad  shops 
and  numerous  other  industrial  plants 
make  the  city  the  best  retail  market  in 
the  Southwest.  The  jobbing  trade  last 
year  jumped  from  $40,000,000  to  $100,- 
000,000,  the  bank  clearings  showed  an 
increase  of  forty  per  cent.,  and  the 
growth  of  the  cotton  market  caused  Lit- 
tle Rock  to  be  awarded  a  permanent 
position  in  the  daily  reports  of  both  the 
New  York  and  New  Orleans  Cotton  Ex- 
chanes.  The  state  of  Arkansas  produces 
about  one  million  bales  of  cotton  per 
year,  and  fully  one-half  of  the  product 
is  handled  here.  The  crop  based  on 
the  price  of  May  5  last,  13^  cents, 
shows  it  to  have  been  worth  $66, 250,000; 
therefore,  Little  Rock  cotton  dealers  paid 
for  the  staple  upward~s  of  $33,000,000- 
To  form  a  correct  idea  of  the  value  of 
the  crop  in  a  single  year,  to  these  figures 
should  be  added  500,000  tons  of  cotton 
seed  used  by  the  oil  mills,  at  $18  per 


132 


LITTLE   ROCK:    A  SOUTHWESTERN    METROPOLIS 


ton,  amounting  to  $9,000,000,  making  a 
total  value  of  $75,250,000  per  year.  To 
finance  this  business,  as  well  as  the  lum- 
bering industry,  coal  mining,  and  the 
general  commercial  and  industrial  busi- 
ness, the  number  of  banks  and  trust 
companies  has  increased  in  three  years 
from  six  to  sixteen.  Another  picture 
that  can  easily  be  understood,  showing 
the  growth  of  Little  Rock  in  the  differ- 
ent channels,  can  be  appreciated  when 
attention  is  directed  to  the  million  dol- 
lar capitol  now  under  way,  the  new 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  building  costing  $100,000, 
and  now  nearing  completion;  the  $100,- 
ooo  high  school  building,  the  contract  for 
which  has  been  awarded,  and  the  $250,- 
ooo  hotel  building,  the  plans  for  which 
have  been  completed  and  backed  by  an 
over-subscribed  bond  list.  During  the 
past  year  the  records  show  that  for  every 
day  of  the  year,  with  ten  for  good  meas- 
ure, one  new  business  was  established 
here — a  total  of  375,  and  today  there 
isn't  a  vacant  store  or  office  in  the  city, 
with  contracts  in  hand  aggregating  three- 
quarters  of  a  million  dollars.  These 
new  edifices  include  a  six  story  edifice 
for  a  wholesale  hardware  house,  and  a 
new  four  story  home  for  the  Daily  Ar- 
kansas Democrat  and  its  electrically 


PULASKI    COUNTY    COURT    HOUSE,  GOVERNMENT 
BUILDING  IN  DISTANCE 

equipped  plant.  The  records  of  the 
Board  of  Trade  show  a  membership  of 
upwards  of  five  hundred,  a  building  free 
of  debt,  and  with  active  committees  in 
charge  of  the  various  lines  of  work.  The 
jobbers  have  a  committee  which  fur- 
nishes a  free  ticket  to  St.  Louis  and  the 
World's  Fair  and  return  to  all  merchants, 
who  at  one  time  buy  goods  aggregating 
$1,000  in  value,  or  a  round  ticket  to  Lit- 
tle Rock  and  return  home  if  the  pur- 


MASONIC   TEMPLE,  AND  GROUP   OF   BUSINESS    BUILDINGS 
133 


LITTLE   ROCK:    A    SOUTHWESTERN    METROPOLIS 


MARKHAM     STREET,    LOOKING    EAST 


chase  reaches  $500.  Other  committees 
have  charge  of  the  grain  ba^!.:co:;  ^be 
cotton  market,  entertainments,  legisic, 
tion,  municipal  affairs,  etc.,  and  once 
each  year  the  organization  gives  a  sp^- 
cial  train  excursion  to  its  memb  TS  to 
a  different  trade  territory.  The  presi- 
dent of  the  Board  of  Trade  is  Mr. 
George  W.  Rogers,  formerly  of  Bing- 
hamton,  New  York,  and  who  is  also 
cashier  of  the  Bank  of  Commerce;  the 


vice  president  is  Mr.  J.  J.  Mandlebaum, 
a  wholesale  hardware  merchant;  the 
treasurer  is  Honorable  John  G.  Fletcher, 
president  of  the  German  National  Bank, 
while  the  secretary,  George  R.  Brown,  is 
a  native  of  Rochester,  New  York.  The 
organization  is  giving  special  attention 
to  furnishing  accurate  information  rela- 
tive, not  only  to  Little  Rock  but  the  en- 
tire state,  to  all  who  contemplate  making 
homes  in  the  state. 


TWO   OF   THE   ARKANSAS   RIVER   BRIDGES 


NOTICE 

lA/E  find  on  making  up  our  files  since  the  fire  that  we  lack  a  number  of  copies,  and 
would  like  to  have  the  assistance  of  our  subscribers  in  completing  these  files  if 
possible.  We  will  be  glad  to  pay  twenty  cents  (double  price)  for  the  following  num- 
bers: November,  1896;  October,  1898;  December,  1902;  and  for  August,  1899,  Janu- 
ary, 1901,  and  September, '1902,  we  will  pay  fifteen  cents  per  copy. 


OUR   EUROPEAN   PARTY 

YES,  there  they  were,  walking  up  the 
gang  plank,  with  their  deck  chairs, 
cameras,  steamer  rugs,  and  all  the 
equipment,  for  a  long  journey,  —  the 
National  Magazine's  "200  Club"  prize 
winners,  bound  for  Europe.  We  went 
aboard  and  saw  that  Mrs.  Joe  Chappie 
and  her  fellow  travelers  were  cosily 
established  in  their  cabins,  then  we  all 
came  on  deck,  and,  alas  !  -some  of  us 
had  to  return  to  the  shore  and  wave 
adieu.  There  was  something  sad  about 
it  all  when  the  great  steamer  left  the 
wharf,  although  the  joyous,  beaming 
faces  over  the  deck  rail  forbade  the 
thought.  Most  of  them  were  making 
their  first  trip  abroad  and  had  all  the 
pleasant  anticipation  that  such  an  ex- 
perience brings.  I  thought  to  myself 
that  our  party  included  not  only  the  sub- 
scribers visible  to  the  eye,  but  the  many 
thousands  of  National  readers  who  were 
at  home.  The  members  of  the  party  are : 

MRS.  J.  M.  CHAPPLE  of  Boston,  in  charge. 
Miss  S.  W.    PARTRIDGE  of  Monticello, 
Florida. 
Miss  LOUISE  MANUEL  of  Cleveland,  Ohio. 


MRS.  MARY  E.  FOGG  of  Boston. 

MR.  NATHAN  DECKER  of  Chicago, 
Illinois. 

MR.  J.  E.  COLENSO  of  Madison,  Wis- 
consin. 

They  sailed  on  the  Cunarder  Carpa- 
thia  for  Liverpool,  where  they  expect  to 
arrive  Thursday,  September  i5th,  and 
take  train  for  London,  where  they  will 
remain  Friday  to  Monday.  Tuesday 
they  will  go,  via  Newhaven  and  Dieppe, 
to  Paris  and  will  stay  there  until  the 
following  Sunday.  Monday  they  will 
go  from  Paris  to  Mayence,  and  Tuesday 
to  Cologne  by  steamer  on  the  Rhine. 
Wednesday  they  will  see  Cologne  and 
go  on  to  Brussels,  where  they  will  stay 
Thursday  and  Friday,  making  side  ex- 
cursions to  Waterloo  and  Antwerp,  reach- 
ing the  latter  place  Saturday,  when  they 
will  leave  for  New  York.  They  are  due 
to  arrive  home  Tuesday,  October  nth. 

We  can  locate  them  now  on  the  various 
days.  Viewing  St.  Paul's  or  the  Abbey 
in  London,  on  the  historic  Place  de  la 
Concorde  in  Paris,  and  finally  in  quaint 
old  Antwerp,  having  come  over  the 
legend-strewn  waters  of  the  Rhine, 


'35 


PUBLISHER'S  -DEPARTMENT 


unbewitched,  we  will  hope,  by  the 
subtle  Lorelei. 

We  expect  to  have  a  greeting  from 
them  from  each  town  as  they  reach  it, 
and  they  may  even  be  so  extravagant  as 
to  send  a  cable. 

I  have  been  surprised  and  pleased  to 
note  -  the  keen  personal  interest  shown 
by  numbers  of  our  subscribers  in  these 
trips;  even  those  who  never  thought  of 
competing  themselves  send  kindly  mes- 
sages containing  good  wishes  for  the 
welfare  of  our  party.  In  fact,  these 
trips  seem  to  be  enjoyed  almost  as  much 
by  those  who  stay  at  home  as  by  those 
who  participate  in  them,  and  I  must 
confess  that  no  party  has  ever  gone 
abroad  that  I  shall  follow  with  such 
keen  interest  as  I  shall  this  one,  and  I 
am  not  alone  in  this.  I  was  impressed 
in  meeting  friends  of  the  National  in  St. 
Louis  with  the  interest  manifested  in 
our  Jamaica  trip. 

Well,  they  are  off,  and  we  wish  them 
Godspeed,  and  the  next  thing  is  to  give 
them  a  hearty  welcome  when  they  return 
to  us  from  foreign  shores. 


Meantime,  as  you  will  remember,  we 
asked  the  members  of  the  "200  Club  " 
to  tell  us  how  they  got  the  200  subscrib- 
ers. Typical  of  the  replies  received, 
an  appropriate  introduction  to  the  inter- 
esting series,  is  the  following  by  Miss  S. 
W.  Partridge  of  Monticello,  Florida: 


An  emigrant  from  the  "  Windy  City," 
but  holding  naturalization  papers  in  the 
"Land  of  Flowers,"  has  declared  the 
motto  of  Florida  folk  to  be:  "  Never  do 
today  what  you  can  put  off  until  to- 
morrow." Perhaps  you  will  judge  this 
mine  in  particular,  when  I  state  that  on 
July  26th  I  had  solicited  but  eight,  and 
forwarded  but  five  subscriptions  for  the 
National.  But  when  I  state  that  by 
August  31  st  I  had  the  requisite  two 
hundred  in  hand,  you  may  conclude  that 
our  chief  executive — the  president  of  the 
United  States,  and  I,  have  run  our  lives 
upon  the  same  guide  line — ''Work  while 
you  work,  and  play  while  you  play." 


Replying  to  your  inquiry  in  regard  to 
business  methods  pursued  in  the  can- 
vass, I  would  state  that  aside  from  such 
personal  soliciting  as  I  have  had  oppor- 
tunity to  do,  I  had  printed,  and  mailed 
to  friends,  two  hundred  copies  of  a  cir- 
cular letter;  telling  of  the  National's 
liberal  offer,  naming  my  interest  in  the 
same,  setting  forth  the  excellencies  of 
the  magazine,  and  soliciting  their  sub- 
scription. The  result  of  this  canvass 
by  mail  was  surprising,  both  in  silences 
and  replies.  In  the  cuisine  of  the  South 
there  is  a  dish  known  as  "Brunswick 
Stew."  It  is  a  whole  dinner  in  itself— 
a  bit  of  everything  in  it  from  soup  to 
Postum.  Canvassing  is  the  "  Brunswick 
Stew  "  of  life,  from  pauper  to  prince, 
from  hovel  to  palace.  I  offer  you  a 
morsel  from  this  dish. 

It  was  not  in  Saratoga,  and  her  name 
was  not  "  Samantha."  But  it  happened 
nevertheless  —  "away  down  South  in 
Dixie."  She  was  waiting  at  a  little 
hotel  for  the  east-bound  passenger.  Her 
"  ole  man  had  jes  died,  and  left  her 
well  off — she  was  goin'  travelin' — she 
didn't  know  jes  where  she'd  land — 
she  was  facin'  East."  An  incoming 
passenger  brought  its  quota  of  guests, 
a  number  of  gentlemen  belonging  to 
the  great  brotherhood  of  traveling  men. 
Socially  inclined,  the  old  soul  went  out 
to  greet  them.  "Howdy  do.  Yes, 
come  right  in.  My,  ain't  it  nice  for  a 
big  family  like  you  all  to  travel  together. 
Yo  ma  must  a  had  mo'  boys  than  girls, 
though.  I'm  goin'  travelin' too."  The 
hour  of  departure  arrives,  we  hear  her 
admonish  the  conductor  as  she  boards 
the  train — "Drive  her  slow,  conductor, 
I'se  powerful  scairt.  I've  jes  been  a 
readin'  of  'em  buttin'  heads  together 
out  West  and  bustin'  up  an'  killin' 
heaps  o'  people.  But  it's  powerful  nice 
travelin',  ain't  it?  I  wish  everybody 
could  go."  And  so  you  find  her  name 
upon  my  list  of  subscribers  to  help  me 
"go  travelin.' ' 

Among  the  prospective  readers  of  the 
National  you  will  find  the  name  of  Hon. 
A.  J.  Junius  —  Andrew  Jackson  Junius 
—  ex-member  of  the  legislature.  A 
highly  colored  ex-slave  of  that  rapidly 
disappearing  class  of  faithful  darkies 
perpetuated  by  "  Uncle  Remus  "  in  their 
"  fo' de  war"  peculiarities.  "Uncle 
Jack."  as  he  is  familiarly  known,  is  as 


[Continued  on  page  138] 
I36 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


•&&1 

'-4  - 


We  Are  Ready  to  Send  on  Approval 


T)O-.T- 
fay 


a  Diamond,  Watch  or  any  article  that  you  may  select  from  our  beautifully  illustrated 
catalogue.     Write  for  a  copy  today  —  sent  promptly,  no  charge,  postage  fully  prepaid. 

until  you  receive  the  article  and  are  perfectly  satisfied 
witn  its  quaiity,  style  and  price—  and  Want  to  Buy  It. 

__.  /^-r.xj/qi*.  We  sell  Diamonds,  Watches  and  Jewelry  either  way—  and  under  more 
Or  ^1  eUlL.  favorable  conditions  than  you  can  buy  elsewhere.  ON  CREDIT:  Our 
credit  terms  are  one-fifth  on  delivery,  balance  in  eight  equal  monthly  payments.  Any  honest  person 
can  command  all  the  desirable  features  of  the  Loftis*  System  on  credit  terms.  FOR.  CASH:  We 
make  a  discount  of  9>%,  and  to  every  cash  purchaser  (when  requested  to  do  so),  we  give  our  Money 
Back  Within  One  Year  agreement.  It  is  the  most  liberal  provision  ever  made  in  selling  merchandise 
of  any  kind. 

LIBERAL  FEATURES:    We  send  goods  for  inspection  without  any  advance  payment;  we  pay 

all  express  charges  whether  you  buy  or  not;  we  give  a  guarantee  certificate,  certifying  to  the 

value  and  quality  of  every  diamond  we  sell,  and  we  take  back  any  diamond  ever  sold  by  us  at 

full  price  in  exchange  for  other  goods  or  a  larger  stone. 

THE    LOFTIS*  SYSTEM    of   selling  diamonds   all   over   the   country  on    easy  monthly 

payments  is  broad  enough  and  liberal  enough  to  furnish  a  beautiful  diamond  or  high-grade 

watch  to  every  person  who  can  pay  a  few  dollars  monthly  on  account  while  wearing 

the  diamond  or  watch.    The  Loftis'  System  is  freely  open  to  you.     Write  today  for 

catalogue  and  full  information.    It  costs  nothing  to  examine  a  diamond  or  watch; 

it  costs  very  little  to  buy  on  our  easy  terms. 

»         I»,,r54-«<-{«i-»      If  you  visittheSt.  Louis  Exposition  we  Invite  you  to  visit  and  Inspect  our 

J\.l\   inviiailOIl.    magnificent  exhibit  —  the  largest  and  finest  display  of  diamonds  and 

precious  stonesevermade  in  America,  and  probably  the  most  interesting  and  valuable  exhibit 

at  the  Wor.d's  Fair.    Our  diamond  cutters  at  work,  will  gladly  and  courteously  show  you 

every  process  of  cleaving,  cutting  and  polishing,  from  the  rough  diamonds  in  the  blue 

earth,  as  taken  from  the  mines  in  South  Africa,  to  the  perfectly  cut  and  polished 

gems.    Do  not  fail  to  see  it. 

Our  Beautiful  Summer  Catalogue  is  just  off  the  press  and  a  copy  will  be 
sent  free  for  the  asking.    It  Is  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting  book  of 
the  kind  published,  and  contains  a  complete  history  of  the  Diamond 
from  mine  to  wearer. 

LOFTIS  BROS.  &>  CO.  (g 

Diamond  Cutters  and  Manufacturing  Jewelers 

Dept.  L  I  o    92  to  98  State  Street 

CHICAGO,  ILL. 

Copjrizht.1904.  Front;m  Adi 

Using  Agency,  Chicago. 


Don't  fail  to  mention   "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers.. 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


true  to  "  Ol'  Marster's  boys,"  men  of 
nearly  three-score  years,  as  he  was  to  the 
Colonel,  their  father.  "Take  a  book, 
Missus,  did  you  say  ?  Sho,  I  know  it's 
good,  'cause  quality  folks  is  selling  it. 
I'll  take  it  for  my  Atlanta  bride  I  jes 
brought  home.  Here's  my  dollar  an' 
good  luck  to  you,  Miss  Sarah." 

Picturesque  ?  The  old  man  of  the 
sea.  The  sole  occupant  of  an  old  hotel 
on  a  storm-swept  beach.  There  he 
stands,  leaning  against  a  battered  door, 
his  long  white  hair  and  flowing  beard 
forming  a  fitting  frame  for  that  face,  lit 
up  by  a  keen  but  kindly  blue  eye  ;  his 
right  hand  extended  in  welcome  ;  his 
left,  withered  and  deformed,  hanging 
unmoved  at  his  side,  save  for  an  occa- 
sional series  of  stiff  swings  suggestive  of 
a  pendulum  of  a  clock  ;  its  long  lean- 
ness emphasizing  the  lankness  of  the 
attenuated  form  from  which  it  hangs; 
his  voice  full  of  far  away  distances  and 
a  note  of  apology  for  every  intrusion : 
this  the  master  of  the  deserted  mansion. 
The  National  finds  entrance  here,  an 
innovation  in  the  life  of  this  mystic,  for 
hitherto  his  companions  as  he  paced 
those  lonely  stretches  of  burning  sand, 
or  rested  under  the  shade  of  the  shelter- 
ing palms,  the  crowning  glory  of  this 
beach  ;  or,  under  the  softening  shadows 
of  the  moonlight,  waited  on  the  old 
wrecks  stranded  here,  —  his  companions 
have  been  his  thoughts  and  prayers, 
varied  with  such  literature  as  touched 
the  subject  of  his  dreams.  He  is  one 
who  waits  the  coming  of  his  Lord. 

The  pseudonym  "Florida  Cracker" 
was  once  used  as  a  term  of  reproach 
when  applied  to  a  class  whose  literary 
advantages  were  limited  but  whose  ster- 
ling qualities  were  inexhaustible.  But 
as  the  world  grows  wiser,  and  all  man- 
kind akin,  "  the  cracker  "  has  forged  to 
the  front  —  and  many  boast  of  "  cracker 
lineage."  Not  the  least  pleasant  of 
your  solicitor's  experiences  have  come 
from  personal  contact  with  these  plain 
but  excellent  people,  and  one  must  love 
them  for  their  loyal  friendship,  honor 
them  for  their  unblemished  honesty,  and 
respect  them  for  a  courage  that  never 
fails  them.  They  yield  to  no  man  in 
the  manliest  of  attributes.  I  uncover  my 
head  in  the  presence  of  the  "  cracker  " 
and  offer  you  some  personal  reminis- 
cences with  this  class  who  are  well 

[Continued 


represented   in   my   list  of  subscribers. 

Approaching  an  octogenarian  whom 
the  neighborhood  dubbed  ''  Gove'nor," 
we  questioned  :  "Well,  Gove'nor,  how 
are  you  today?"  "Oh,"  said  he,  "jest 
hangin'  on  to  save  funeral  expenses. 
Too  poor  to  buy  a  coffin.  Come  in. 
It's  about  dinner  time.  Try  pot  luck 
with  us." 

In  exchange  for  an  outline  of  your 
projected  itinerary  I  am  regaled  with  a 
story  of  the  New  York  Herald's  search 
party  in  quest  of  the  Florida  volcano  in 
the  swamps  of  the  Wacissa.  "  In  reply 
to  the  query,  "Was  it  very  boggy  ?" 

"  Boggy  !  I  should  say  hit  were. 
Why,  hit  would  bog  the  shadow  of  a 
buzzard." 

I  might  write  you  a  book  extolling  the 
characters,  reciting  the  heroisms,  as  I 
pictured  the  life  of  these  —  the  Gibraltar 
of  our  Southland  —  but  space  forbids. 


A  POSER  FOR  BOYS 

I  HAVE  great  faith  in  the  simple  edu- 
cative force  of  "  seeing  things."  At 
least  I  know  of  one  person  who  can  look 
back  over  life  and  see  what  specific 
benefits  have  come  through  this  avenue. 
For  this  reason  railroad  and  steamship 
lines  are  an  indispensable  part  of  the 
nation's  educational  equipment. 

My  faith  for  the  future  of  the  National 
is  pinned  on  the  boys  and  girls — that 
means,  on  a  "rising  market."  Now, 
what  I  am  driving  at  is  that  Mrs. 
Chappie  and  myself  desire  to  have  a  boy 
or  girl  go  with  us  every  month  to  Wash- 
ington. We  want  them  to  "  see  things," 
as  we  would  have  had  our  own  boy  do  if 
he  had  been  spared  to  us.  The  conditions 
attached  to  the  winning  of  these  trips 
will  be  so  simple  that  every  boy  and 
girl  in  every-  family  into  which  the 
National  comes  each  month  may  have  an 
equal  chance  of  winning  one  of  these 
trips.  The  first  step  is  to  SECURE  FIVE 
NEW  SUBSCRIBERS,  more  as  a  means 
of  proving  that  you  have  the  right  stuff  in 
you  than  anything  else.  The  trip  will 
be  awarded  to  the  boy  or  girl  who  sends 
us  the  best  answer,  in  not  more  than 

on  page  140] 


'3* 


DEPARTMENT     OF     PROGRESSIVE     ADVERTISERS 


AND 


Total  A  tnoimt  of  Nutrients  and  their  Food  Values 
in  Different  Foods  for  Ten  Cents 


TRISCUIT 


Are  the  Best  and  Most  Economical 
Foods ; 

Because  they  are  made  of  the  finest 
kernels  of  wheat,  prepared  under  ideal 
hygienic  conditions  in  the  cleanest  build- 
ing in  the  world  devoted  to  the  making 
of  food  products ; 

Because  they  are  made  light  and  short 
by  shredding  without  the  use  of  fato,  yeasts 
or  chemicals; 

Because  being  crisp,  they  compel  mas- 
tication, the  first  step  in  digestion,  and 
being  porous  present  great  surface  for  the 
action  of  the  digestive  fluids,  and  are  per- 
fectly assimilated ; 

Because  they  contain  in  correct  pro- 
portion all  the  elements  necessary  for  the 
proper  building  of  the  body  and  for  perfect 
nourishment ;  and 

Because  they  can  be  readily  combined 
with  other  foods,  thus  providing  a  great 
number  of  attractive  dishes. 

Biscuit:  Served  with  milk,  cream, 
fruit  or  vegetables. 

Triscuit:  The  New  Toast,  served 
with  butter,  cheese  or  preserves. 

"The  Vital  Question,"  Cook  Book 
sent  free  upon  request. 


The  Natural  Food  Co., 


Don't  fail  to  mention  "The  National . Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


PUBLISHERS    DEPARTMENT 


300    words,   to  the   following  question: 

What  business  would  you  start  if  you  had 
$500,  and  why  ? 

We  want  to  get  at  the  ideas  and  ambi- 
tions now  running  through  the  minds  of 
the  boys  and  girls  of  America.  No  boy 
or  girl  should  hesitate  to  send  in  an 
answer  at  once.  These  letters  will  give 
our  boys  and  girls  food  for  thought,  and 
teach  them  to  plan  for  their  life  work. 

Answers  received  up  to  December  ist 
will  count  on  a  January  trip  to  Washing- 
ton, and  answers  to  January  ist  for  a 
February  trip  and  so  on  for  six  months. 
We  will  publish  portraits  and  sketches 
of  each  trip  winner  and  I  believe  that 
Washington  seen  through  the  eyes  of 
our  boys  and  girls  will  be  of  new  interest 
to  all  readers  of  the  National. 

Start  in  at  once,  girls— it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  urge  the  boys — for  we  want  to 
make  this  representation  of  National 
Magazine  young  people  as  truly  repre- 
sentative as  possible,  and  we  hope  to 
have  in  this  contest  contributors  from 
Maine  to  California,  from  Florida  to 
Dakota;  and  the  prize  winner  —  from 
whatever  State  he  or  she  may  come — 
will  go  with  us  to  Washington,  on  one  of 
the  monthly  trips  which  Mrs.  Chappie 
and  I  have  made  for  years  past. 

Address  all  letters  to  me  personally  and 
I  will  see  that  they  are  promptly  answered. 


IN  THE  ADIRONDACK^ 

/CURIOUS  it  is  that  our  first  impres- 
sions  of  a  locality  are  created  by  some 
chance  paragraph  read  years  ago  and 
fixed  in  the  memory,  surprising  us  some 
day  by  coming  suddenly  to  the  surface. 
I  never  think  of  the  Adirondacks  without 
associating  with  them  the  name  of  the 
late  W.  H.  H.  Murray,  better  known  as 
"Adirondack"  Murray.  It  was  years 
ago  that  a  young  man  read  an  account  of 
the  locality  in  which  this  name  figures, 
and  just  as  certain  scenes  call  up  mem- 
ories of  Emerson  or  Thoreau,  so  the 


wildness  of  this  region  calls  up  Murray. 

It  may  be  hoped,  though  the  Adiron- 
dacks are  becoming  the  great -pleasure 
park  of  the  wealthy  and  even  Fashion  is 
beginning  t&  claim  it  as  her  domain  in 
some  degree,  native  grandeur  will  be 
kept  unspoiled.  As  I  traveled  on  the 
New  York  Central  from  Utica  and  got 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  heart  of 
Nature,  memories  of  "Adirondack" 
Murray  came  unbidden,  and  were  not 
dissipated  even  by  the  beauty  and  mag- 
nificence of  Paul  Smith's  camp,  in 
strange  contrast  to  the  time  when  woods- 
men sat  about  the  camp  fire  and  did  their 
own  cooking,  surrounded  by  no  walls 
save  those  of  the  odorous  cedars  and  bal- 
sams. Now  these  trees  have  to  be  pro- 
tected from  the  ravages  of  the  human 
race  by  such  signs  as  "Do  not  peel  the 
bark,"  and  "Do  not  cut  the  balsam." 
The  country  about  Tupper  Lake  is  very 
similar  to  the  lumber  districts  in  Michi- 
gan and  Wisconsin,  but  nothing  can 
exceed  the  beauty  of  Saranac  Lake,  dot- 
ted over  with  wooded  islands,  with  an  air 
of  unbroken  serenity  that  bids  the  trav- 
eler linger,  no  matter  how  important  the 
business  that  calls  him  back  to  the  busy 
city.  Here,  surely,  the  great  Creator 
has  set  his  stamp  of  perfect  beauty.  As 
I  stood  upon  the  scalloped,  sandy  shore 
I  found  amusement  in  watching  the  in- 
congruous naptha  launches,  like  torpedo 
boats,  puffing  their  way  with  much  fuss 
and  excitement  past  the  Narrows,  where, 
it  seemed  to  me,  the  canoe  of  the  Indian 
must  still  linger  as  in  days  gone  by. 

At  the  Algonquin  Hotel  the  traveler 
comes  to  an  unrivalled  resting  place  as 
the  beauty  of  twilight  deepens  into  night; 
and  the  lamps  that  twinkle  through  the 
trees  seem  to  coquette  with  the  stars 
overhead  and  their  reflection  in  the  lake. 

It  was  a  joy  to  see  the  brawny  boys 
and  slim,  athletic  girls  resting  after  their 
day's  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  I  was  glad 
to  remember  that  the  standard  of  beauty 
has  so  changed  that  the  young  men  of 
today  might  stand  for  models  of  Hiawa- 


[Contimed  on  page  142] 
140 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISER 


THE 


EQUITABLE 


HENRY  B.HYDE 


J.W.ALEXANDER 

PRESIDENT 


J.H.HYDE 

VICE    PRESIDENT 


HARNESS 
THE  POWER! 

Why  not  utilize  that 
part  of  your  income  now 
going  to  waste  ? 
By  taking  an  Endowment 
policy  in  the  Equitable 
you  will  protect  your 
family  and  provide  for 
your  own  mature  years. 

Splendid  opportunities  for  men  of  character  to  set  as  representatives. 
Write  to  GAGE  E.TARBELL,21?Vice  President. 


m 


For  full  Information  fill  out  this  coupon  or  write 

THE  EQUITABLE  LIFE  ASSURANCE  SOCIETY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES 

120  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK  Dept.  No.  114 


Please  send  me  informatidn  regarding  an  Endowment  for  $  •  •  > if  issued  at  • 

Name Address 


•  years  of  age. 


Don't  fail  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


tha,  while  the  frail  young  women,  of  the 
"clinging  ivy"  type,  are  no  longer  "the 
fashion." 

Here  the  days  slip  by  before  one  is 
aware,  and  the  vacation  passes,  but  it 
leaves  inspiring  memories  of  the  starlit 
nights  and  blissful  afternoons;  of  wander- 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 

SOME  FRIENDLY  POEMS 


/"VNE  of  the  most  readable  books  of 
verse  printed  this  year  is  "  Poems  All 
the  Way  from  Pike,"  by  Robertus  Love 
of  St.  Louis.  Mr.  Love  hails  from  Pike 
County,  Missouri,  located  just  across  the 


THE  LATE   W.   H.    H.    MURRAY,    WHOSE   BOOKS    FIRST    TURNED 
PUBLIC   ATTENTION   TO  THE    ADIRONDACKS   AS   A   PLAY- 
GROUND; FROM   A  PORTRAIT   TAKEN   WHEN    HE  WAS 
IN   THE    PRIME  OF    HIS    POWERS    AS    LECTURER, 
PREACHER,     SPORTSMAN    AND    AUTHOR 


ings  beneath  the  shade  of  the  "forest 
primeval,' '  with  feet  sinking  in  the  strewn 
leaves  and  leaf  mould;  but  best  of  all  are 
the  memories  of  America's  young  people 
of  today. 


river  from  Pike  County,  Illinois,  made 
famous  years  ago  by  John  Hay's  "Pike 
County  Bailads."  Mr.  Love,  like  his 
predecessor  in  this  field,  has  drawn  in- 
spiration for  some  of  his  best  verses 


[Continued  on  page  144] 
142 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


The  Best  Protection 

for  her  complexion  is  not  a  veil.  Of  course,  she  sometimes  wears  the  charming  mesh 
as  a  screen  against  sun  and  wind,  or  to  half  conceal  her  pretty  face,  but  the  complexion 
protector  that  she  most  relies  on  is  Resinol  Soap — a  pure  medicinaj  soap  that  produces 
and  preserves  a  smooth  and  healthy  skin-texture.  That 


SOAP 

is  a  complexion  beautifier  and  preserver  has  been  proved  in  the  experience  of  many 
happy  women.  The  strong  alkali  of  the  ordinary  soap  absorbs  all  the  natural  oils  from 
the  cuticle,  leaving  it  shriveled  and  pallid.  Resinol  lubricates,  nourishes  and  feeds 
the  true  skin,  clearing  the  complexion  and  leaving  it  soft  and  velvety. 

Having  the  same  medicinal  properties  as  the  world-famous  Resinol  Ointment,  Resinol 
Soap  removes  roughness,  blotches,  blackheads,  pimples,  face  eruptions,  fetor,  etc. 

In  the  baby's  bath,  it  prevents  and  cures  milk  crust,  scald  head,  rash,  chafing  and 
incipient  eczema,  and  keeps  the  child's  skin  sweet,  soft  and  healthy. 
Sold  everywhere  ;    samples  mailed  free. 

RLSINOL  CHEMICAL  COMPANY,  Baltimore,  Md.,  U.  S.  A. 
Great  Britain  Branch:    97  New  Oxford  St.,  London,  W.  C. 


Don't  fail  to  mention   "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


PUBLISHER'S    DEPARTMENT 


from  old  Pike  county's  quaint  and 
lovable  characters.  His  verses  on  other 
themes  are  not  less  attractive  ;  the  piece 
entitled  "  At  Lincoln's  Tomb,"  is  full 
of  patriotic  fervor,  and  is  just  the  kind 
of  piece  for  the  boys  to  speak  in  school; 
and  they  will  be  better  Americans  and 


ROBERTUS    LOVE  OF  ST.   LOUIS 

better  men  for  being  familiar  with  these 
lines.  "The  Cheerful  Heart"  em- 
bodies a  wholesome  creed,  which  might 
be  adopted  with  advantage  by  some  of 
our  melancholy  friends;  the  last 


verse  is  perhaps  as  fine  an  inspiration 
as  mortal  need  desire: 

"  The  cheerful  heart 

That  plays  its  part 

Exultant,  whatsoe'er  beset, 

Nor  frets  nor  fumes 

In  sullen  glooms 
That  make  dis  aster  darker  yet : 
Be  this  my  wealth,  and  if  the  mart 

Shall  yield  me  less  than  others  win, 

I  still  have  greater  store  within. 
Give  me,  O  God,  a  cheerful  heart ! " 

In  "The  Boy  who  Has  no  Santa  Glaus" 
there  is  a  world  of  pathos,  while  the 
tribute  to  Eugene  Field  is  full  of  touch- 
ing devotion  and  admiration  ;  but  the 
book  must  be  read  through  in  order  to 
be  appreciated. 

Mr.  Love  is  a  newspaper  man,  but  in 
spite  of  his  busy  days  at  his  desk  he  has 
found  time  to  prove  in  this  little  volume 
that  he  has  all  the  feeling  and  love  for 
the  beautiful  that  characterize  the  true 
poet.  His  verses  have  the  quaint, 
homely  and  familiar  touch  that  is  not 
unlike  what  we  find  in  Riley's.  Mr. 
Love  has  filled  an  important  position  in 
the  Publicity  Department  of  the  St. 
Louis  Exposition.  His  little  red  book, 
with  its  half  hundred  poems,  will  always 
be  associated  in  our  minds  with  the 
great  Exposition,  and  we  realize  as  we 
read  and  re-read  his  stirring  lines  that 
we  have  here  the  very  "epitome  of  the 
sturdy  Americanism  of  today,  with  its 
lights  and  shadows,  its  humor  and  its 
pathos,  told  in  a  fashion  that  will  linger 
in  the  memory  long  after  the  hard  facts, 
acquired  at  the  same  time,  have  faded. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


Doll  FREE 


Full  Jointed 
Genuine  Bisque 

DOLLY  is  agreat  big  beauty.  GENUINE  BISQUE, 
FULL  JOINTED  at  the  shoulders,  elbows,  hips, 
and  knees.  She  turns  her  head  and  goes  to  sleep  just 
as  naturally  as  you  do.  She  has  large  expressive 
eyes,  pearly  teeth,  beautiful  complexion  and  heavy 
long  silky  curls.  She  is  elegantly  dressed  in  real  lace 
ana  silks,  wears  a  new  Parisian  hat,  shoes  and  stock- 
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ROBERT    J.   THOMPSON     OF    CHICAGO,    EDITOR    AND    PUBLISHER     OF     "A   SQUARE  DEAL 

FOR    EVERY    MAN " 

Mr.  Thompson,  in  1899,  organized  the  Lafayette  Memorial  Association,  which,  with  the  help  of  several  mill- 
ions of  small  contributions  by  American  school  children,  set  up  in  Paris,  France,  a  monument  of  Lafayette. 
A  plaster  model  of  this  monument  was  unveiled  with  impressive  international  ceremonies  on  July  4th,  1900. 
The  permanent  monument,  in  bronze,  is  not  yet  completed.  Paul  Bartlett  is  the  sculptor  in  charge. 


A  SQUARE  DEAL  FOR  EVERY  MAN 


>  » 


'  All  I  ask  is  a  square  deal  for  every  man."— (From  the  address  of  Theodore  Roosevelt,  May  6,  1903,  Grand 
Canyon,  Arizona.) 


A  COLLATION  OF  QUOTATIONS  FROM  THE  ADDRESSES  AND  MESSAGES  OF  THEODORE 
ROOSEVELT— BEING  A  SELF-DELINEATION  OF  HIS  CHARACTER  AND  IDEALS. 


COMPILED  AND  EDITED 

BY 

ROBERT   J.  THOMPSON 


PUBLISHED  (IN  BOOKLET  FORM)  BY 

ROBERT    J.     THOMPSON 

195  WABASH  AVENUE,  CHICAGO. 


PREFACE 

IN  collating  these  expressions  from  the  addresses  and  messages  of  President 
Roosevelt  it  has  been  the  purpose  of  the  editor  and  publisher  to  produce  a  con- 
densed volume  of  the  state  philosophy  of  Theodore  Roosevelt. 

In  this  little  book,  the  thoughtful,  sincere,  and  honest  American  may  find,  in 
this  pessimistic  and  portentous  age,  much  of  hope  and  much  of  promise  in  the  self- 
delineation  of  character  which  President  Roosevelt  has  unconsciously  presented  to 
us.  Much  of  hope  and  much  of  promise  for  this  wondrously  constructed  "Temple 
of  Liberty" — our  country  and  our  government. 

The  academic  democrat,  be  he  Republican,  Democrat,  Socialist,  or  Populist  — 
he  who  believes  in  those  fundamental  principles  of  Jefferson,  that  the  individual  is 
entitled  to  the  fullest  possible  liberty,  so  long  as  that  freedom  is  in  consonance  with 
the  equal  rights  of  others,  will  find  in  these  expressions  of  Mr.  Roosevelt — these 
demands  for  a  decent  and  higher  citizenship — the  spirit  of  that  true  democracy 
which  lies  at  the  base — which  furnishes  the  life  and  nourishes  the  root  of  all  political 
parties,  possible  of  life  in  the  atmosphere  of  republican  institutions. 

They  will  show,  above  all,  that  Theodore  Roosevelt  is  a  man  and  a  philosopher. 
That  he  is  intensely  in  earnest.  That  he  is  honest  and  unafraid.  And  that  his  pur- 
pose to  do  the  right  thing — the  square  thing — by  all  the  people  all  the  time,  is  as 
strong  as  his  hand  is  firm,  and  as  watchful  as  his  eye  is  alert;  as  true  as  his  aggres- 
sive and  masterful  mind  is  harmoniously  attuned  to  those  ideals  which  stand  for  the 
betterment  of  his  fellows. 


PREFACE 

A  public  official  is  typical  of  the  public  conscience. 

Fortunate  indeed  is  that  people  which  in  the  purely  human  act  of  selecting 
a  leader,  strike  upon  a  man  whose  loyalty  to  the  ideals  of  the  Republic,  whose 
integrity  to  his  trust,  and  whose  unflinching  purpose  to  promote  those  benefits  to 
the  state  that  are  sought  by  all  citizens  worthy  of  the  name — thrice  fortunate  are 
they  when  these  virtues  are  so  pronounced  as  they  are  in  the  person  of  Theodore 
Roosevelt. 

Time  wipes  out  our  prejudices.  It  adds  to  the  greatness  of  the  truly  great  men, 
and  diminishes  the  greatness  of  small  men.  Let  us  forget  for  a  moment,  if  possible, 
our  prejudices — our  possibly  mistaken  predilections— and  see,  in  the  interest  of 
truth,  what  Theodore  Roosevelt  really  stands  for.  Let  us  see  what  the  realization 
of  his  ideals  may  mean  for  the  country  we  love,  and  which  we  wish  to  prosper. 

ROBERT  J.  THOMPSON 
CHICAGO,  AUGUST  i,  1904. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


America    . 

A  Good  American 

Alaska       . 

Anarchy    , 

Army  and  Navy 

Boasting    . 

Bribery      . 

Brotherhood     . 

Capital      . 

Character 

Charity      . 

Citizenship 

Civilization 

Civil  Service    . 

Class  and  Class  Hatred 

Clean  Speech 

Crisis         . 

Criticism 

Cure-Alls 

Duty          .       .       .       . 

Economy 

Education 

Envy          .       .       . 

Error          . 

Expansion 

False  Ideals 

False  Prophets 

Farmer,  The 

Foreign  Policy 


3 

Free  Institutions     . 

8 

Porto  Rico       .... 

14 

3 

Government,  The    . 

8 

Principle            .... 

14 

3 

Good  Roads     .... 

8 

Presidency,  The 

14 

3 

Greatness         .... 

8 

Promises 

'4 

3 

Honesty     

9 

Progress    

H 

3 

Immigration      .... 

9 

Prosperity         .... 

14 

3 

Improvidence 

9 

Public  Utilities  and  Municipal 

3 

Indian,  The      .... 

9 

Ownership 

16 

4 

Injustice           .... 

9 

Publicity           .... 

16 

4 

Irrigation  and  Forest  Preserva- 

Reciprocity      .... 

16 

4 

tion      ..... 

9 

Reform 

16 

5 

Justice       

0 

Soldiers  of  the  Civil  Wai- 

16 

5 

Labor         

[0 

South,  The       .... 

16 

5 

Law,  The          .... 

r 

Success      

'7 

6 

Leadership       .... 

i 

Tariff,  The       .... 

17 

6 

Life    

i 

Taxation           .... 

17 

6 

Lincoln      

i 

Truth         

17 

6 

Loyalty      

i 

Trusts,  The      .... 

17 

6 

Lynching          .... 

i 

Virtue,  Public  and  Private    . 

19 

6 

Manhood,  Honor,  etc. 

2 

War  and  Peace 

19 

7 

Marriage           .... 

2 

Weaklings         .... 

'9 

7 

McKinley         .... 

2 

West  Point       .       .  '     . 

19 

7 

Monroe  Doctrine     . 

2 

Wealth      

'9 

7 

Motherhood      .... 

2 

White  House,  '1  he 

20 

7 

Nati-on,  The     .... 

2 

Wisdom    

20 

7 

Negro,  The       .... 

3 

Work         

20 

7 

Patriotism        .... 

3 

World  Power 

20 

8 

Peace         

3 

8 

Philippines,  The                            ] 

3 

A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


AMERICA— 

Fifty  years  of  Europe  are  very  uiucb  louger 
than  a  cycle  of  Cathay;  aiid  the  period  grows 
longer  still  when  you  take  it  across  iuto  the 
Western  Hemisphere. 

*£" 
A  GOOD  AMERICAN— 

A  man  to  be  a  good  American  must  be 
straight,  and  he  must  also  be  strong. 

J* 
ALASKA— 

The    men   of   my   own   age    will    not   be  old 
men    before    we    see    Alaska    one    of    the    rich 
and  strong  States  of  the   Union. 
£ 

ANARCHY- 
NO   man   will    ever   be   restrained    from   be- 
coming President  by  any'  fear  as  to  his  per- 
sonal safety. 

Jl 

For     the     anarchist     himself,     whether     he 
preaches   or    practices    his    doctrines,    we   need 
not   have  one   particle   more   concern   than   for 
any  ordinary  murderer. 
J) 

Anarchy  is  no  more  an  expression  of  "social 
discontent"  than  picking  pockets  or  wife- 
beating. 

£ 

The  anarchist,  and  especially  the  anarchist 
in  the  United  States,  is  merely  one  type  of 
criminal,  more  dangerous  than  any  other  be- 
cause he  represents  the  same  depravity  in  a 
greater  degree. 

Jl 

The  man  who  advocates  anarchy  directly  or 
indirectly,  in  any  shape  or  fashion,  or  the 
man  who  apologizes  for  anarchists  and  their 
deeds,  makes  himself  morally  accessory  to 
murder  before  the  fact. 
£ 

No    man    or    body    of    men    preaching    anar- 
chistic   doctrines    should    be    allowed    at    large 
any    more    than    if    preaching    the    murder    of 
some  specified  private   individual. 
<# 

The  wind  is  sowed  by  the  men  who  preach, 
such  doctrines,  and  they  can  not  escape  their 
share  of  responsibility  for  the  whirlwind  that 
is  reaped. 

This  great  country  will  not  fall  into  an- 
archy, and  if  anarchists  should  ever  become 
a  serious  menace  to  its  Institutions,  they 
would  not  merely  be  stamped  out,  but  would 
involve  in  their  own  ruin  every  active  or  pas- 
sive sympathizer  with  their  doctrines. 
£ 

Anarchy  is  a  crime  against  the  whole  human 
race:  and  all  mankind  should  band  against  the 
anarchist.  His  crime  should  be  made  an  of- 
fence against  the  law  of  nations',  like  piracy 
and  that  form  of  man-stealing  known  as  the 
slave  trade;  for  it  is  of  far  blacker  infamy 
than  either. 

je 

ARMY  AND   NAVY— 

A  good  navy  is  not  a  provocative  of  war.    It 
is   the  surest  guaranty  of  peace. 
Jl 

W<-  can  as  little  afford  to  tolerate  a  dis- 
honest man  in  the  public  service  as  a  coward 
in  the  army. 

41 

It    has    been    well    said    that    there    is    no 
surer   way   of   courting   national   disaster   than 
to  be   "opulent,   aggressive,    and   unarmed." 
^ 

Whether  we  desire  it  or  not,  we  must 
henceforth  recognize  that  we  have  interna- 
tional duties  no  less  than  international  rights. 

In    no   branch    of    the   government    are    fore- 


sight   and   the   carrying  out  of  a   steady   and 
continuous  policy  so  necessary  as  in  the  navy. 

J* 

A  naval  war  is  two-thirds  settled  in  ad- 
vance, at  least  two-thirds,  because  it  is  main- 
ly settled  by  the  preparation  which  has  gone 
on  for  years  preceding  its  outbreak. 

Jl 

Fatuous  self-complacency  or  vanity,  or 
short-sightedness  in  refusing  to  prepare  for 
danger,  is  both  foolish  and  wicked  in  such  a 
nation  as  ours. 

Jl 

I  am  certain  that  those  who  have  had  ex- 
perience in  the  army  and  navy  have  seen  that 
in  the  long  run  the  man  who  is  a  decent  man 
is  apt  to  be  the  man  who  is  the  best  soldier. 

Jt 

The  most  redoubtable  armies  that  have  ever 
existed  have  been  redoubtable  because  the 
average  soldier,  the  average  officer,  possessed 
to  a  high  degree  such  comparatively  simple 
qualities  as  loyalty,  courage,  and  hardihood. 

J* 
BOASTING— 

To  boast  is  bad,  and  causelessly  to  insult 
another,  worse,  yet  worse  than  all  is  it  to 
be  guilty  of  boasting,  even  without  insult,  and 
when  called  to  the  proof  to  be  unable  to  make 
such  boasting  good.  There  is  a  homely  old 
adage  which  runs:  "Speak  softly  and  carry 
a  big  stick;  you  will  go  far." 

J* 
BRIBERY— 

There  can  be  no  crime  more  serious  than 
bribery. 

Jl 

The  givers  and  takers  of  bribes  stand  on  an 
evil  pre-eminence  of  infamy. 

Jl 

Government  of  the  people,  by  the  people, 
for  the  people  will  perish  from  the  face  of 
the  earth  if  bribery  is  toleratd. 

Jl 

If  we  fail  to  do  all  that  in  us  lies  to  stamp 
out  corruption  we  can  not  escape  our  share 
of  responsibility  for  the  gailt. 

£ 

The  murderer  takes  a  single  life;  the  cor- 
ruptionist  in  public  life,  whether  he  be  bribe 
giver  or  bribe  taker,  strikes  at  the  heart  of 
the  commonwealth. 

Jl 

I  have  the  right  to  challenge  the  best  effort 
of  every  American  worthy  of  the  name  to 
putting  down  by  every  means  in  his  power 
corruption  in  private  life. 

Jl 

He  is  as  wicked  as  the  murderer,  for  the 
murderer  may  only  take  one  life  against  the 
law,  while  the  corrupt  official  and  the  man 
who  corrupts  the  official  alike  aim  at  the  as- 
sassination of  the  commonwealth  itself. 

* 

It  should  be  the  policy  of  the  United  States 
to  leave  no  place  on  earth  where  a  corrupt 
man  fleeing  from  this  country  can  rest  in 
peace. 

Jl 
BROTHERHOOD— 

We  must  in  our  lives,  in  our  efforts,  en- 
deavor to  further  the  cause  of  brotherhood  in 
the  human  family. 

J* 

Each  man  must  work  for  himself,  and  unless 
he  so  works  no  outside  help  can  avail  him; 
but  each  man  must  remember  also  that  he  Is 
indeed  his  brother's  keeper. 

Jl 

All  of  us  here  are  knit  together  by  bonds 
which  we  can  not  sever.  For  weal  or  for 
woe  our  fates  are  inextricably  Intermingled. 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


All  of  us  in  our  present  civilization  are  de- 
pendent upon  one  another  to  a  degree  never 
before  known  in  the  history  of  mankind,  anil 
in  the  long  run  we  are  going  to  go  up  or  go 
down  together. 

Jt 
CAPITAL— 

We  have  the  right  to  ask  every  decent 
American  citizen  to  rally  to  the  support  of 
the  law  if  it  is  ever  broken  against  the  inter- 
est of  the  rich  man. 

£ 

The  mechanism  of  modern  business  is  so 
delicate  that  extreme  care  must  be  taken  not 
to  interfere  with  it  in  a  spirit  of  rashness 
or  ignorance. 

£ 

Every    man    who   has   made    wealth    or    used 
it  in   developing   great  legitimate  business   en- 
terprises   has    been    of    benefit    and    not    harm 
to  the   country   at  large. 
£ 

The  savings  banks  show  what  can  be  done 
in  the  way  of  genuinely  beneficent  work  by 
large  corporations  when  intelligently  adminis- 
tered and  supervised. 

£ 

Moreover,  it  can  not  too  often  be  pointed 
out  that  to  strike  with  ignorant  violence  at 
the  interests  of  one  set  of  men  almost  in- 
evitably endangers  the  interests  of  all. 

£ 

If  all  the  existing  instrumentalities  of 
wealth  could  be  abolished,  the  first  and  se- 
verest suffering  would  come  among  those  of 
us  who  are  least  well  off  at  present. 

£ 

We   have  the   same   right   to   ask   that    rich 
man  cheerfully  and  gladly  to  acquiesce  in  the 
enforcement    against    his    seeming    interest    of 
the  law,  if  it  is  the  law. 
£ 

Now,  it  does  not  do  anybody  any  good,  and 
it   will   do   most  of  us   a   great   deal    of   harm, 
to    take    steps    which    will    check    any    proper 
growth   in   a   corporation. 
Jl 

We  need  to  keep  steadily  in  mind  the  fact 
that  besides  the  tangible  property  in  each  cor- 
poration there  lies  behind  the  spirit  which 
brings  it  success. 

£ 

The  slightest  study  of  business  conditions 
will  satisfy  any  one  capable  of  forming  a 
judgment  that  the  personal  equation  is  the 
most  important  factor  in  a  business  opera- 
tion. 

Jl 

The  line  of  demarcation  we  draw  must 
always  be  on  conduct,  not  upon  wealth;  our 
objection  to  any  given  corporation  must  be, 
not  that  it  is  big,  but  that  it  behaves  badly. 

Jt. 

The  wage-worker  is  well  off  only  when  the 
rest  of  the  country  is  we'll  off;  and  lie  can 
best'  contribute  to  this  general  well-being  by 
showing  sanity  and  a  firm  purpose  to  do  jus- 
tice to  others. 

Jl 

The  captains  of  industry  who  have  driven 
the  railway  systems  across  this  continent, 
who  have  built  up  our  commerce,  who  have 
deA-eloped  our  manufactures,  have  on  the 
whole  done  great  good  to  our  people. 

jl 

Our  laws  should  be  so  drawn  as  to  protect 
and  encourage  corporations  which  do  their 
honest  duty  by  the  public;  and  to  discriminate 
sharply  ngainst  those  organized  in  a  spirit 
of  mere  greed,  or  for  improper  speculative 
purposes. 

Jl 


by  the  person  specially  benefited  only  on  con- 
dition of  conferring  immense  incidental  bene- 
fits upon  others. 

# 

But  the  great  capta-in  of  industry,  the  man 
of  wealth,  who,  alone  or  in  combination  with 
his  fellows,  drives  through  our  great  business 
enterprises,  is  a  factor  without  whom  the 
civilization  that  we  see  found  about  us  here 
could  not  have  been  built  up. 
Jl 

Great  good  has  come  from  the  development 
of  our  railroad  system;  great  good  has  been 
done  by  the  individuals  and  corporations  that 
have  made  that  development  possible;  and  in 
return  good  is  done  to  them,  and  not  harm, 
when  they  are  required  to  obey  the  law. 
,<* 

Men  sincerely  interested  in  the  due  pro- 
duction of  property,  and  men  sincerely  inter- 
ested in  seeing  that  the  just  rights  of  labor 
are  guaranteed,  should  alike  remember  not 
only  that  in  tne  long  run  neither  the  capital- 
ist nor  the  wage-worker  can  be  helped  in 
healthy  fashion  save  by  helping  the  other. 
£ 

The  consistent  policy  of  the  National  Gov- 
ernment, so  far  as  it  has  the  power,  is  to  hold 
in  check  the  unscrupulous  man,  whether  em- 
ployer or  employee;  but  to  refuse  to  weaken 
individual  initiative  or  to  hamper  or  cramp  the 
industrial  development  of  the  country. 
Jl 

The  man  who  by  the  use  of  his  capital  de- 
velops a  great  mine,  the  man  who  by  the  use 
of  his  capital  builds  a  great  railroad,  the  man 
who  by  the  use  of  his  capital  either  individu- 
ally or  joined  with  others  like  him  does  any 
great  legitimate  business  enterprise,  confers 
a  benefit,  not  a  harm,  upon  the  community,  and 
is  entitled  to  be  so  regarded. 

Jk 

CHARACTER— 

The  worth  of  any  sermon  lies  in  the  way  in 
which  that  sermon  can  be  and  is  applied  iu 
practice. 

J 

The  chief  factor  in  the  success  of  each  man 
—wage-worker,    farmer,    and    capitalist    alike- 
must  ever  be  the  sum  total  of  his  own  indi- 
vidual qualities  and  abilities. 
Jl 

At  times  any  man  will  slip.     I  do  not  expect 
perfection,  but  I  do  expect  genuine  and  sincere 
effort    to.ward    being    decent    and     cleanly     in 
thought,   in   word,   and  in  deed. 
<!* 

It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  sound  body,  and 
a  better  thing  to  have  a  sound  mind;  and  bet- 
ter still  to  have  that  aggregate  of  virile  and 
decent  qualities  which  we  group  together  under 
the  name  of  character. 
<!* 

Many  qualities  are  needed  in  order  that  we 
can  contribute  our  mite  toward  the  upward 
movement  of  the  world— among  them  the  qual- 
ity of  self-abnegation;  and  yet  combined  with 
it  the  quality  which  will  refuse  to  submit  to 
injustice. 

£ 
CHARITY— 

To  be  permanently  effective,  aid  must  al- 
ways take  the  form  of  helping  a  man  to  help 
himself. 

Jl 

If  a  man  will  submit  to  nefng  carried,  that 
is  sufficient  to  show  that  he  is  not  worthy 
carrying. 

Jl 

Each  of  us  needs  at  times  to  have  a  helping 
hand  stretched  out  to  him  or  her.  Every  one 
of  us  slips  on  some  occasion,  and  shame  to  his 
fellow  who  then  refuses  to  stretch  out  the 


A  SQUARE  DEAL  FOR  EVERY  MAN 


hand  that  should  always  be  ready  to  help  the 
man  who  stumbles. 

£ 

The  prerequisite  of  doing  good  work  in  the 
field  of  philanthropy— In  the  field  of  social  ef- 
fort, undertaken  with  one's  fellows  for  the 
common  good— is  that  It  shall  be  undertaken  in 
a  spirit  of  broad  sanity  no  less  than  of  broad 
and  loving  charity. 

& 
CITIZENSHIP— 

It  is  absolutely  essential  if  we  are  to  have 
the  proper  standard  of  public  life  that  promise 
shall  be  square  with  performance. 

jl 

Our  average  fellow-citizen  Is  a  .sane  and 
healthy  man,  who  believes  In  decency  and  has 
a  wholesome  mind. 

* 
Good  citizenship  consists  In  doing  the  many 

small  duties,  private  and  public,   which  in  the 
aggregate  make  it  up. 

J* 

In  the  unending  strife  for  civic  betterment, 
small  Is  the  use  of  these  people  who  mean  well, 
but  who  mean  well  feebly. 
£ 

The  first  requisite  of  a  good  citizen  in  this 
Republic  of  ours  is  that  he  shall  be  able  and 
willing  to  pull   his  weight. 
£ 

I  expect  and  demand  in  the  name  of  the  Na- 
tion much  more  from  you  who  have  had  train- 
ing of  the  mind  than  from  those  of  mere 
wealth. 

£ 

A  man  is  not  a  good  citizen,  I  do  not  cace 
how  lofty  his  thoughts  are  about  citizenship 
in  the  abstract,  if  in  the  concrete  his  actions 
do  not  bear  them  out. 

J« 

To  the  man  of  means  much  has  been  given 
too,  and  much  will  be  expected  from  him,  and 
ought  to  be,  but  not  as  much  as  from  you, 
because  your  possession  is  more  valuable  than 
his. 

£ 

If  alive  to  their  true  interests  rich  and  poor 
alike  will  set  their  faces  like  flint  against  the 
spirit  which  seeks  personal  advantage  by  over 
riding  the  laws. 

£ 

I  do  not  ask  of  you,  men  and  women  here  to- 
day, good  citizenship  as  a  favor  to  the  State. 
I  demand  it  of  you  as  a  right,  and  hold  you 
recreant  to  your  duty  if  you  fail  to  give  it. 
<£ 

Those  who  dream  only  of  idleness  and  pleas- 
ure, who  hate  others,  and  fail  to  recognize  the 
duty  of  each  man  to  his  brother,  these,  be 
they  rich  or  poor,  are  the  enemies  of  the 
State. 

£ 

There    is    no    surer    way    of    destroying   the 
capacity  of  self-government  in  a  people  than  to 
accustom  that  people  to  demanding  the  impos- 
sible or  the  improper  from  Its  public  men. 
£ 

If  we  wish  to  make  the  State  the  representa- 
tive and  exponent  and  symbol  of  decency,   it 
must  be  so  made  through  the  decency,  public 
and  private,  of  the  average  citizen. 
* 

A  man.  to  be  a  good  citizen,  must  first 
be  a  good  bread-winner,  a  good  husband,  a 
good  father— I  hope  the  father  of  many  healthy 
children;  just  as  a  woman's  first  duty  is  to  be 
a  good  housewife  and  mother. 
J* 

We  are  neither  for  the  rich  man  as  such  nor 
for  the  poor  man  as  such;  we  are  for  the  up- 
right man,  rich  or  poor. 


he  himself  Intends  to  do  about  what  Is  right, 
but -that  his  average  fellow-countryman  has 
the  same  Intention  and  the  same  power  to 
make  his  intention  effective. 

Jl 

The  line  of  cleavage  between  good  citizen- 
ship and  bad  citizenship  separates  the  rich 
man  who  does  well  from  the  rich  man  who 
does  ill,  the  poor  man  of  good  conduct  from 
the  poor  man  of  bad  conduct. 

<£ 

I  ask  that  we  see  to  it  in  our  country  that 
the  line  of  division  in  the  deeper  matters  of 
our  citizenship  be  drawn,  never  between  sec- 
tion and  section,  never  between  creed  and 
creed,  never,  thrice  never,  between  class  and 
class. 

£ 

There  are  many  qualities  which  we  need 
alike  in  private  citizen  and  In  public  man,  but 
three  above  all — three  for  the  lack  of  which 
no  brilliancy  and  no  genius  can  atone — and 
those  three  are  courage,  honesty,  and  common 
sense. 

Jl 

We  are  bound  to  recognize  this  fact,  to  re- 
member that  we  should  stand  for  good  citizen- 
ship in  every  form,  and  should  neither  yield 
to  demagogic  influence  on  the  one  hand,  nor 
to  improper  corporate  influence  on  the  other. 

^ 

There  are  good  citizens  and  bad  citizens  in 
every  class  as  in  every  locality,  and  the  atti- 
tude of  decent  people  toward  great  public  and 
social  questions  should  be  determined,  not  by 
the  accidental  questions  of  employment  or  lo- 
cality, but  by  those  deep-set  principles  which 
represent  the  innermost  souls  of  men. 

Jl 

The  good  citizen  is  the  man  who,  whatever 
his  wealth  or  his  poverty,  strives  manfully  to 
do  his  duty  to  himself,  to  his  family,  to  his 
neighbor,  to  the  State;  who  is  incapable  of  the 
baseness  which  manifests  itself  either  in  ar- 
rogance or  in  envy,  but  who  while  demanding 
justice  for  himself  is  no  less  scrupulous  to  do 
justice  to  others. 

£ 

Many  qualities  are  needed  by  a  people  which 
would  preserve  the  power  of  self-government 
in  fact  as  well  as  in  name.  Among  these  qual- 
ities are  forethought,  shrewdness,  self-res- 
traint, the  courage  which  refuses  to  abandon 
one's  own  rights,  and  the  disinterested  and 
kindly  good  sense  which  enables  one  to  do 
justice  to  the  rights  of  others. 

Jl 
CIVILIZATION— 

The  worth  of  a  civilization  is  the  worth  of 
a  man  at  Its  center.  When  this  man  lacks 
moral  rectitude,  material  progress  only  makes 
bad  worse,  and  social  problems  still  darker 
and  more  complex. 

ill 
CIVIL  SERVICE— 

When  tasks  are  all-important  the  most  im- 
portant factor  in  doing  them  right  is  the 
choice  of  the  agents. 

Jl 

The  merit  system  of  making  appointments 
is  In  Its  essence  as  democratic  and  American 
as  the  common  school  system  Itself. 

Jl 

Wherever  the  conditions  have  permitted  the 
application  of  the  merit  system  in  its  fullest 
and  widest  sense,  the  gain  to  the  government 
has  been  immense. 

Jl 

The  National  Government  should  demand 
the  highest  quality  of  service  from  Its  em- 
ployes; and  In  return  It  should  be  a  good  em- 
ployer. 


The  average  American  knows  not  only  that          One   thing   to   be    remembered    Is   that    ap- 


A  SQUARE  DEAL  FOR  EVERY  MAN 


pointiuents  and  policies  which  are  iiormally 
routine  and  unimportant  may  suddenly  be- 
come of  absolutely  vital  consequence. 

Jl 

The  merit  system  is  simply  one  method  of 
securing  honest  and  efficient  administration 
of  the  government;  and  in  the  long  run  the 
sole  justification  of  any  type  of  government 
lies  in  its  proving  itself  both  honest  and  effi- 
cient. 

Jl 

In  the  employment  and  dismissal  of  men 
in  the  government  -service  I  can  no  more 
recognize  the  fact  that  a  man  does  or  does 
not  belong  to  n  union  as  being  for  or  against 
him  than  I  can  recognize  the  fact  that  he  is 
a  Protestant  or  a  Catholic,  a  Jew  or  a  Gen- 
tile, as  being  for  or  against  him. 

Jl 
CLASS  AND  CLASS  HATRED— 

A  healthy  republican  government  must 
rest  upon  individuals,  not  upon  classes  or 
sections. 

«£ 

Down  at  bottom  we  are  the  same  people 
all  through.  That  is  not  merely  a  unity  of 
section,  it  is  a  unity  of  class. 

Jl 

When  we  make  it  evident  that  all  men, 
great  and  small  alike,  have  to  obey  the  law. 
we  put  the  safeguard  of  the  law  around  all 
men. 

Jl 

We  should  be  false  to  the  historic  princi- 
ples of  our  government  if  we  discriminated, 
either  by  legislation  or  administration,  either 
for  or  against  a  man  because  of  either  his 
wealth  or  his  poverty. 
£ 

We  are  neither  the  friend  of  the  rich  man 
as  such,  nor  the  friend  of  the  poor  man  as 
such;  we  are  the  friend  of  the  honest  man, 
rich  or  poor;  and  we  intend  that  all  men,  rich 
and  poor  alike,  shall  obey  the  law  alike  and 
receive  its  protection  alike. 
Jl 

Capitalist  and  wage-worker  alike  should 
honestly  endeavor  each  to  look  at  any  matter 
from  the  other's  standpoint,  with  a  freedom 
on  the  one  hand  from  the  contemptible  arro- 
gance which  looks  down  upon  the  man  of  less 
means,  and  on  the  other,  from  the  no  less 
contemptible  envy,  jealousy  and  rancor,  which 
hates  another  because  he  is  better  off. 
Jl 

Any  man  who  tries  to  excite  class  hatred, 
sectional  hate,  hate  of  creeds,  any  kind  of 
hatred  in  our  community,  though  he  may 
affect  to  do  it  in  the  interest  of  the  class  he 
is  addressing,  is  in  the  long  run  with  absolute 
certainty  that  class's  own  worst  enemy. 
£ 

The  base  appeal  to  the  spirit  of  selfish 
jrreed,  whether  it  take  the  form  of  plunder  ol 
the  fortunate  or  of  the  oppression  of  the  un- 
fortunate— from  these  and  from  all  kindred 
vices  this  Nation  must  be  kept  free  if  it  is  to 
remain  in  its  present  position  in  the  forefront 
of  the  peoples  of  mankind. 
Jl 

The  mechanism  of  modern  business  is  as 
delicate  and  complicated  as  it  is  vast,  and 
nothing  would  be  more  productive  of  evil  to 
all  of  us,  and  especially  to  those  least  well 
off  in  this  world's  goods,  than  ignorant  med- 
dling with  this  mechanism — above  all,  med- 
dling in  a  spirit  of  class  legislation  or  hatred 
or  rancor. 

Jl 
CLEAN   SPEECH— 

A  man  who  is  to  lead  a  clean  and  honorable 
life  must  inevitably  suffer  if  his  speech  like- 
wise is  not  clean  and  honorable. 


CONDUCT— 

It  is  an  infamous  thing  in  our  American 
life,  and  fundamentally  treacherous  to  our 
institutions,  to  apply  to  any  man  any  test 
save  that  of  his  personal  worth,  or  to  draw 
between  two  sets  of  men  any  distinction  save 
the  distinction  of  conduct. 

Jl 
COURAGE— 

You  must  know  how  to  fight  as  well  as 
know  how  to  die. 

Jl 

I  do  not  praise  you  for  being  brave;  that 
is  expected.  The  coward  is  to  be  condemned 
rather  than  the  brave  man  to  be  praised. 

^ 
CRISIS— 

This  country  has  never  yet  been  called 
upon  to  meet  a  crisis  in  war  or  a 'crisis  in 
peace  to  which  it  did  not  eventually  prove 
equal. 

£ 
CRITICISM— 

The  criticism  of  those  who  live  softly,  re- 
mote from  the  strife,  is  of  little  value. 

£ 
CURE  ALLS— 

A  medicine  that  is  recommended  to  cure 
both  asthma  and  a  broken  leg  is  not  good 
for  either. 


DUTY— 

We    must    act    upon 
each  and  each  for  all. 


j 


the    motto    of    all    for 


Your  duty  must  be  ever  present  with  you, 
waking  and  sleeping. 

And  oh,  of  how  little  count,  looking  back, 
the  difference  of  rank  compared  with  the  do- 
ing of  the  duty! 

£ 

Life  can   mean  nothing  worth  meaning,   un- 
less  its   prime   aim   is   the   doing   of   duty,    the 
achievement  of  results  worth  achieving. 
£ 

As  a  people  we  have  new  duties  and  new 
opportunities  both  in  the  tropical  seas  and 
islands  south  of  us  and  in  the  furthest  Orient. 

There   is   no  room   in   our   healthy   American 
life   for   the    mere   idler,    for'  the    man    or   the 
woman    whose   object   it   is   throughout    life  to 
shirk  the  duties  which  life  ought  to  bring. 
jl 

I  hold  that  a  great  and  masterful  people  for- 
feits its  title  to  greatness  if  it  shirks  any  work 
because  that  work  is  difficult  and  responsible. 

Above  all,  remember  this:  that  the  most  un- 
safe adviser  to  follow  is  the  man  who  would 
advise  us  to  do  wrong  in  order  that  we  may 
benefit  by  it. 

We  must  treat  each  man  on  his  worth  and 
merits  as  a  man.  We  must  se«  that  each  is 
given  a  square  deal,  because  he  is  entitled  to 
no  more  and  should  receive  no  less. 

The  duties  of  peace  are  with  us  always; 
those  of  war  are  but  occasional;  and  with  a 
nation  as  with  a  man,  the  worthiness  of  life 
depends  upon  the  way  in  which  the  everyday 
duties  are  done. 

There  is  not  anything  more  soul-harrowing 
for  a  man  in  time  of  war,  or  for  a  man  en- 
gaged in  a  difficult  job  in  time  of  peace,  than 
to  give  an  order  and  have  the  man  addressed 
say,  "What?" 


A  SQUARE  DEAL  FOR  EVERY  MAN 


From  tin-  greatest  to  the  smallest,  happiness 
and  usefulness  are  largely  found,  and  the  joy 
of  life  is  won  in  its  deepest  and  truest  sense 
only  by  those  who  have  not  shirked  life's 
burdens. 

£ 

The  man  who  seeks  to  persuade  any  of  ns 
that  our  advantage  comes  in  wrongdoing  or 
oppressing  others  can  be  depended  upon,  if  the 
opportunity  comes,  to  do  wrong  to  us  in  his 
own  interest. 

Jl 

Every  man.  every  woman  here  should  feel  it 
incumbent  upon  him  or  her  to  welcome  with 
joy  the  chance  to  render  service  to  the  coun- 
try, service  to  our  people  at  large,  and  to  ac- 
cept the  rendering  of  the  service  as  iu  itself 
ample  repayment  therefor. 


I  ask  of  you  the  straightforward,  earnest, 
performance  of  duty  in  all  the  little  things 
that  come  up  day  by  day  in  business,  In  domes- 
tic life,  In  every  way,  and  then  when  the  op- 
portunity comes,  If  you  have  thus  done  your 
duty  In  the  lesser  things,  I  know  you  will 
rise  level  to  the  heroic  needs. 

£ 
ECONOMY— 

Stability  of  economic  policy  must  always 
be  the  prime  economic  need  of  this  country. 
This  stability  should  not  be  fossilization. 

Jl 

Only  by  avoidance  of  spending  money  on 
what  Is  needless  or  unjustifiable  can  we  le- 
gitimately keep  our  Income  to  the  point  re- 
quired to  meet  our  needs  that  are  genuine. 

<£ 

EDUCATION- 

NO  matter  what  the  school,   what  the  uni- 

versity,    every    American    who    has    a    school 

training,    a    university    training,    has    obtained 

something  given  to  him  outright  by  the  State. 

£ 

Where  the  State  has  bestowed  education  the 
man  who  accepts  it  must  be  content  to  accept 
it  merely  as  a  charity  unless  he  .returns  It  to 
the  State  In  full,  In  the  shape  of  good  citizen- 
ship. 

£ 

Of  all  the  work  that  is  done  or  that  can  be 
done  for  our  country,  the  greatest  is  that  of 
educating  the  body,  the  mind,  and  above  all 
the  character. 

£ 

Each  one  of  us  then  who  has  an  education, 
school  or  college,  has  obtained  something  from 
the  community  at  large  for  which  he  or  she 
has  not  paid,  and  no  self-respecting  man  or 
woman  is  content  to  rest  permanently  under 
such  an  obligation. 

<£ 

From  all  our  citizens  we  have  a  right  to 
expect  good  citizenship;  but  most  of  all  from 
those  who  have  received  most;  most  of  all 
from  those  who  have  had  the  training  of  body, 
mind,  of  soul,  which  comes  from  association 
in  and  with  a  great  university. 
£ 

Although  we  talk  a  good  deal  about  what 
the  widespread  education  of  this  country 
means,  I  question  if  many  of  us  deeply  con- 
sider its  meaning.  From  the  lowest  grade  of 
the  public  school  to  the  highest  form  of  uni- 
versity training,  education  In  this  country  is 
at  the  disposal  of  every  man,  every  woman, 
who  chooses  to  work  for  and  obtain  It. 

£ 
ENVY— 

Envy  Is  merely  the  meanest  form  of  admi- 
ration, and  a  man  who  envies,  another  admits 
thereby  his  own  inferiority. 


ERROR— 

People  have  butchered  one  another  under 
circumstances  of  dreadful  atrocity,  claiming 
all  the  time  to  be  serving  the  object  of  the 
brotherhood  of  man  or  of  the  fatherhood  of 
God. 

Jt 

One  sad,  one  lamentable  phase  of  human 
history  is  that  the  very  loftiest  words,  Im- 
plying the  loftiest  Ideas,  have  often  been  used 
as  cloaks  for  the  commission  of  dreadful  deeds 
of  Iniquity. 

£ 
EXPANSION— 

Meanwhile    our    own    mighty    Republic    has 
stretched  from  the   Atlantic  to  the   Pacific. 
£ 

In  every  instance  how  the  after  events  of 
history  have  falsified  the  predictions  of  the 
men  of  little  faith! 


The   extension   in   the   area   of   our   domain 
has  been  immense,   the  extension  in  the  area 
of  our  influence  even  greater. 
^ 

There    are    critics    so    feeble    and    so    timid 
that   they   shrink   back   when   this   Nation   as- 
serts that  it  comes  in  the  category  of  the  na- 
tions who  dare  to  be  great. 
& 

And  but  five  years  ago  there  were  excellent 
men  who  bemoaned  the  fact  that  we  were 
obliged  during  the  war  with  -Spain  to  take 
possession  of  the  Philippines.—  Seattle,  May 
23,  1903. 

Jl 

And  what  it  may  ultimately  mean  we  do  not 
know,  but  we  know  that  what  the  present 
holds,  what  the  present  need  demands,  and 
we  take  the  present  and  hold  ourselves  ready 
to  abide  the  result  of  whatever  the  future 
may  bring. 

£ 

It  was  not  with  the  Louisiana  Purchase 
that  our  career  of  expansion  began.  In  the 
middle  of  the  Revolutionary  War  the  Illinois 
region,  including  the  present  States  of  Illinois 
and  Indiana,  was  added  to  our  domain. 
Jl 

I  fail  to  understand  how  any  man,  con- 
vinced of  his  country's  greatness  and  glad 
that  his  country  should  challenge  with  proud 
confidence  its  mighty  future,  can  be  anything 
but  an  expansionist. 

Jl 

It  is  curious  how  our  fate  as  a  Nation  has 
often  driven  us  forward  toward  greatness  In 
spite  of  the  protests  of  many  of  those  esteem- 
ing themselves  in  point  of  training  and  culture 
best  fitted  to  shape  the  Nation's  destiny. 
Jl 

Only  the  adventurous  and  the  far-seeing 
can  be  expected  heartily  to  welcome  the 
process  of  expansion,  for  the  nation  that  ex- 
pands is  a  nation  which  is  entering  upon  a 
great  career,  and  with  greatness  there  must  of 
necessity  come  perils  which  daunt  all  save  the 
most  stout-hearted. 


FALSE   IDEALS— 

There   Is   no   more   unpleasant   manifestation 
of  public  feeling  than  the  deification  of  mere 
"smartness,"  as  it  is  termed—  of  mere  success- 
ful   cunning    unhampered    by    scruple   or    gen- 
erosity or  right  feeling. 
Jl 
FALSE   PROPHETS— 

The  prophets  of  disaster  have  seen  their 
predictions  so  completely  falsified  by  the  event 
that  it  is  actually  difficult  to  arouse  even  a 
passing  Interest  in  their  failure. 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


FARMER,  THE— 

It  is  unhealthy  and  undesirable  for  the 
cities  to  grow  at  the  expense  of  the  country. 

Jl 

After  the  farmer  has  had  the  farm  for  his 
life  he  should  be  able  to  hand  it  to  his  chil- 
dren as  a  better  farm  than  it  was  when  he 
had  it. 

Jl 

If  the  average  of  well-being  is  high,  it 
means  that  the  average  wage-worker,  the  av- 
erage farmer,  and  the  average  business  man 
are  all  alike  well  off. 

Jl 

There  is  not  in  the  great  cities  the  feeling 
of  brotherhood  which  there  is  still  in  coun- 
try localities;,  and  the  lines  of  social  cleavage 
are  far  more  deeply  marked. 

& 

Our  aim  must  be  steadily  to  help  develop 
the  settler,  the  man  who  lives  in  the  laud 
and  is  growing  up  with  it  and  raising  his 
children  to  own  it  after  him. 

£ 

On  the  other  hand,  if  there  is  in  the  long 
run  a  lack  of  prosperity  among  the  two 
classes  named,  then  all  other  prosperity  is 
sure  to  be  more  seeming  than  real. 

£ 

He  works  hard  (for  which  no  man  is  to  be 
pitied),  and  often  he  lives  hard  (which  may 
not  be  pleasant);  but  his  life  is  passed  in 
healthy  surroundings,  surroundings  which 
tend  to  develop  a  fine  type  of  citizenship. 

£ 

It  remains  true  now  as  it  always  has  been, 
that  in  the  last  resort,  the  country  districts 
are  those  in  which  we  are  surest  to  find  the 
old  American  spirit,  the  old  American  habits 
of  thought  and  ways  of  living. 

£ 

If  circumstances  are  such  that  thrift,  en- 
ergy, industry,  and  forethought  enable  the 
farmer,  the  tiller  of  the  soil,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  wage-worker,  on  the  other,  to 
keep  themselves,  their  wives,  and  their  chil- 
dren in  reasonable  comfort,  then  the  State  is 
well  off,  and  we  can  be  assured  that  the 
other  classes  in  the  community  will  likewise 
prosper. 

<£ 
FOREIGN   POLICY— 

The  true  end  of  every  great  and  free  peo- 
ple should  be  self-respecting  peace. 

<£ 

It  is  almost  as  necessary  that  our  policy 
should  be  stable  as  that  it  should  be  wise. 

Jl 

Let  us  not  boast,  not  insult  any  one,  but 
make  up  our  minds  cooly  what  is  necessary 
to  say,  say  it,  and  then  stand  to  it,  whatever 
the  consequences  may  be. 

J* 

Let  us  improve  ourselves,  lifting  what  needs 
to  be  lifted  here,  and  let  others  do  their  own 
work;  let  us  attend  to  our  own  business; 
keep  our  -own  hearthstone  swept  and  in  or- 
der. 

Jl 

'To  write  or  say  anything  unkind,  unjust, 
or  inconsiderate  about  any  foreign  nation 
does  not  do  us  any  good,  and  does  not  help 
us  toward  holding  our  own  if  ever  the  need 
should  arise  to  hold  our  own. 

Jl 

Let  us  speak  courteously,  deal  fairly,  and 
keep  ourselves  armed  and  ready.  If  we  do 
these  things  we  can  count  on  the  peace  that 
comes  to  the  just  man  armed,  to  the  just 
man  who  neither  fears  nor  inflicts  wrong. 

V* 

FREE   INSTITUTIONS— 
People    show    themselves    just    as    unfit    for 


liberty  whether  they  submit  to  anarchy  or  to 
tyranny. 

<J* 

It  is,  of  course,  the  merest  truism  to  say 
that  free  institutions  are  of  avail  only  to 
people  who  possess  the  high  and  peculiar 
characteristics  needed  to  take  advantage  or 
such  institutions. 

Jl 

GOVERNMENT,  THE— 

The    art    of    successful    self-government    is 
not  an  easy  art  for  people  or  for  individuals. 
£ 

Above  all,  the  administration  of  the  gov- 
ernment, the  enforcement  of  the  laws,  must 
be  fair  and  honest. 


Remember  that  in  popular  government  we 
must  rely  on  the  people  themselves,  alike  for 
the  punishment  and  the  reformation. 

Jl 

The  government  can  not  supply  the  lack  in 
any  man  of  the  qualities  which  must  deter- 
mine in  the  last  resort  the  man's  success  or 
failure. 

Jl 

On  the  other  hand,  the  public  that  exacts 
a  promise  which  ought  not  to  be  kept,  or 
which  cannot  be  kept,  is  by  just  so  much 
forfeiting  its  right  to  self-government. 

£ 

While  I  most  firmly  believe  in  fixity  of 
policy,  I  do  not  believe  that  that  policy 
should  be  fossilized,  and  when  conditions 
change  we  must  change  our  governmental 
methods  to  meet  them. 

Jl 

Most  certainly  we  should  never  invoke  the 
interference  of  the  State  or  Nation  unless  it 
is  absolutely  necessary;  but  it  is  equally  true 
that  when  confident  of  its  necessity  we  should 
not  on  academic  grounds  refuse  it. 

£ 

No  action  by  the  State  can  do  more  than 
supplement  the  initiative  of  the  individual; 
and  ordinarily  the  action  of  the  State  can  do 
no  more  than  to  secure  to  each  individual  the 
chance  to  show  under  as  favorable  conditions 
as  possible  the  stuff  that  there  is  in  him. 

Jl 

The  best  constitution  that  the  wit  of  man 
has  ever  devised,  the  best  institutions  that 
the  ablest  statesmen  in  the  world  have  ever 
reduced  to  practice  by  law  or  by  custom,  all 
these  shall  be  of  no  avail  if  they  are  not 
vivified  by  the  spirit  which  makes  a  State 
great  by  making  its  citizens  honest,  just,  and 
brave. 

Jl 
GOOD   ROADS— 

The  movement  for  good  roads  is  one 
fraught  with  the  greatest  benefit  to  the  coun- 
try districts. 

Jl 

What  the  railway  does  is  to  develop  the 
country:  and  of  course  its  development  im- 
plies that  the  developed  country  will  need 
more  and  better  roads. 

£ 

The  faculty,  the  art,  the  habit  of  road 
building  marks  in  a  nation  those  solid,  sta- 
ble qualities  which  tell  for  permanent  great- 
ness. 


No  one  thing  can  do  more  to  offset  the 
tendency  toward  an  unhealthy  growth  from 
the  country  into  the  city  than  the  making 
and  keeping  of  good  roads. 

Jl 
GREATNESS  -- 

No  nation  as  great  as  ours  can  expect  to 
escape  the  penalty  of  greatness,  for  great- 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


ness    does     not    come    without     trouble     and 
labor. 

J* 

Rarely  Indeed  have  our  greatest  men   made 
issues  —  they    have    shown    their    greatness    by 
meeting  them  as  they  arose. 
^ 

The  old  days  were  great  because   the   men 
who  lived  in  them  had  mighty  qualities;  and 
we  must  make  the  new  days  great  by  show- 
ing   these    same    qualities. 
J* 

At  times  a  great  crisis  comes,  in  which  a 
great  people,  perchance  led  by  a  great  man, 
can  at  white  heat  strike  some  mighty  blow 
for  the  right—  make  a  long  stride  in  advance 
along  the  path  of  justice  and  of  orderly  lib- 


HONESTY— 

If    you    have    not    honesty    in    the    average 
private  citizen,   in  the  average  public  servant, 
then  all  else  goes  for  nothing. 
£ 

So    when   we   demand    honesty,    we   demand 
it    not    as    entitling    the    possessor    to    praise, 
but    as    warranting    the    heartiest    condemna- 
tion possible  if  he  lacks  it. 
t9* 

All  other  qualities  go  for  nothing  or  for 
worse  than  nothing  unless  honesty  underlies 
them—  honesty  <n  public  life  and  honesty  in 
private  life;  not  only  the  honesty  that  keeps 
its  skirts  technically  clear,  but  the  honesty 
that  is  such  according  to  the  spirit  as  well 
as  the  letter  of  the  law;  the  honesty  that  is 
aggressive,  the  honesty  that  not  merely  de- 
plores corruption  —  it  is  easy  enough  to  de- 
plore corruption  —  but  that  wars  against  it 
and  tramples  it  under  foot. 

£ 
IMMIGRATION— 

We  cannot  have  too  much  immigration  of 
the  right  kind,  and  we  should  have  none  at 
all  of  the  wrong  kind. 

ill 

We  should  require  a  more  thorough  system 
of  inspection  abroad  and  a  more  rigid  system 
of  examination  at  our  immigration  ports. 

«5« 

It  should  mean  something  to  become  a 
citizen  of  the  United  States;  and  in  the 
process  no  loophole  whatever  should  be  left 
open  to  fraud. 

<*  . 

Men  winnowed  out  from  among  the  nations 
of  the  Old  World  by  the  energy,  boldness, 
and  love  of  adventure  found  in  their  own 
eager  hearts. 

£ 

All  persons  should  be  excluded  who  are 
below  a  certain  standard  of  economic  fitness 
to  enter  our  industrial  field  as  competitors 
with  American  labor. 

* 

We  are  not  to  be  excused  if  we  selfishly 
sit  down  and  enjoy  gifts  that  have  been 
given  to  us  and  do  not  try  to  share  them 
with  our  poorer  fellows  coming  from  every 
part  of  the  world. 


Now  that  we  have  established  ourselves  let 
us  see  to  it  that  we  stretch  out  the  hand 
of  help,  the  hand  of  brotherhood,  toward  the 
new-comers. 


The  man  going  to  a  new  country  is  torn  by 
the  roots  from  all  his  old  associations,  and 
there  is  great  danger  to  him  in  the  time  be- 
fore he  gets  his  roots  down  into  the  new 
country,  before  he  brings  himself  into  touch 
with  bis  feliowa  in  the  new  land. 


Since  the  beginning  of  our  country's  his- 
tory many  different  race  strains  have  entered 
to  make  up  the  composite  American.  Out  of 
and  from  each  we  have  gained  something  for 
our  national  character;  to  each  we  owe  some- 
thing special  for  what  it  has  contributed  to 
us  as  a  people. 

£> 

No  greater  contribution  to  American  social 
life  could  possibly  be  made  than  by  instilling 
into  it  the  capacity  for  (German)  Gemuth- 
lichkeit.  No  greater  good  can  come  to  our 
people  than  to  encourage  in  them  a  capacity 
for  enjoyment  which  shall  discriminate  sharp- 
ly between  what  is  vicious  and  what  is  pleas- 
ant. 


We  need  every  honest  and  efficient  immi- 
grant fitted  to  become  an  American  citizen, 
every  immigrant  who  comes  here  to  stay, 
who  brings  here  a  strong  body,  a  stout 
heart,  a  good  head,  and  a  resolute  purpose 
to  do  his  duty  well  in  every  way  and  to 
bring  up  his  children  as  law-abiding  and 
God-fearing  members  of  the  community. 

£ 
IMPROVIDENCE— 

Of  course  there  are  always  some  men  who 
are  not  affected  by  good  times. 

<£ 
INDIAN,  THE— 

I  will  stand  for  his  rights  with  the  same 
jealous  eagerness  that  I  would  stand  for  the 
rights  of  any  white  man. 

£ 
INJUSTICE— 

Unfortunately,  in  this  world  the  innocent 
frequently  find  themselves  obliged  to  pay 
some  of  the  penalty  for  the  misdeeds  of  the 
guilty. 

£ 

IRRIGATION    AND    FOREST    PRESER- 
VATION— 

Almost  every  industry  depends  in  some 
more  or  less  vital  way  upon  the  preservation 
of  the  forests. 

£ 

We  have  come  to  see  clearly  that  whatever 
destroys  the  forest,   except  to   make  way  for 
agriculture,    threatens  our  well-being. 
£ 

We  are  dealing  with  a  new  and  momen- 
tous question,  in  the  pregnant  years  while 
institutions  are  forming,  and  what  we  do  will 
affect  not  only  the  present  but  future  gener- 
ations. 

J* 

The  first  great  object  of  the  forest  reserves 
is,  of  course,  the  first  great  object  of  the 
whole  land  policy  of  the  .  United  States,  —  the 
creation  of  homes,  the  favoring  of  the  home- 
maker. 


We  can   enforce   the   provisions   of   the  for- 
est  reserve   law   or   of  any   other   law   only   so 
far  as  the  best   sentiment  of   the  community 
or  the   State  will   permit   that  enforcement. 
J* 

It  is  a  fundamental  truth  that  the  pros- 
perity of  any  people  is  simply  another  term 
for  the  prosperity  of  the  home-makers  among 
that  people. 

J* 

In  Colorado  two-thirds  of  the  products  come 
from  irrigated  farms,  and  four  years  ago 
those  products  already  surpassed  fifteen  mil- 
lion dollars. 

.£ 

All  of  us  ought  to  want  to  see  nature  pre- 
served. Take  a  big  tree  whose  architect  has 
been  the  ages  —  anything  that  man  does 
toward  it  may  hurt  it  and  cannot  help  it. 


A  SQUARE  DEAL  FOR  EVERY  MAN 


The  Nation  as  a  whole  is  of  course  the 
gaiuer  by  the  creation  of  these  homes,  add- 
ing as  they  do  -to  the  wealth  and  stability  of 
the  country,  and  furnishing  a  home  market 
for  the  products  6f  the  East  and  South. 
Jl 

The  western  half  of  the  Tinted  States  would 
sustain  a  population  greater  than  that  of  our 
whole  country  today  if  the  waters  that  uow 
run  to  waste  were  saved  and  used  for  irrfga- 
tioil. 

J« 

I'nder  the  stimulus  of  irrigation  it  is  prob- 
able that  irrigated  agriculture  will  come  to 
the  front,  and  when  it  does  the  population  will 
increase  with  a  rapidity  and  permanence  never 
before  known. 

* 

The  public  appreciation  of  this  fundamen- 
tal truth  that  the  water  belongs  to  the  peo- 
ple to  be  taken  and  put  to  beneficial  use  will 
wipe  out  many  controversies  which  are  at  pres- 
ent so  harmful  to  the  development  of  the 
West. 

Jl 

While  citizens  die,  the  government  and  the 
nation  do  not  die,  and  we  are  bound  in  dealing 
with  the  forests  to  exercise  the  foresight  neces- 
sary to  use  them  now,  but  to  use  them  in 
such  a  way  as  will  also  keep  them  for  those 
who  are  to  come  after  us. 
J* 

We  have  reached  a  condition  in  which  it 
must  be  the  object  of  the  Nation  and  the 
State  to  favor  the  development  of  the  home- 
maker,  of  the  man  who  takes  up  the  land  in- 
tending to  keep  it  for  himself  and  for  his 
children,  so  that  it  shall  be  even  of  better  use 
to  them  than  to  him. 
jl 

Not  of  recent  years  has  any  more  impor- 
tant law  been  put  upon  the  statute  books  of 
the  Federal  Government  than  the  law  a  year 
ago  providing  for  the  first  time  that  the  Na- 
tional Government  should  interest  itself  in 
aiding  and  building  up  a  system  of  irrigated 
agriculture  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  plains 
States. 

d» 
JUSTICE— 

We  are  bound  in  lionor  to  try  to  remedy 
injustice,  but  if  we  are  wise  we  will  seek  to 
remedy  it  in  practical  ways. 

Jl 
LABOR— 

I    believe  emphatically  in   organized    labor. 
J* 

This  is  an  era  of  federation  and  combina- 
tion. 

J« 

American     wage-workers    work    with     their 
heads  as  well  as  th'eir  hands. 
J« 

Organization     is    one    of    the    laws    of     our 
social  and  economic  development  at  this  time. 
J* 

Far  and  away  the  best  prize  that  life  offers 
is  the  chance  to  work  hard  at  work  worth 
doing. 

Jl 

The  well-being  of  the  wage-worker  is  a 
prime  consideration  of  our  entire  policy  of 
economic  legislation. 

Jt 

The    National    Government    has   but   a    small 
field  in  which  it  can  work  in  labor  matters. 
Jl 

There  is  no  worse  enemy  of  the  wage- 
worker  than  the  man  who  condones  mob  vio- 
lence in  any  shape  or  who  preaches  class 
hatred. 

£ 

It    is   often    necessary    for    laboring    men    to 


work    in    federations,    and    these    have    become 
important    factors  of   modern    industrial   life. 

J* 

Hearty  recognition  is  given  the  far-reaching, 
beneficent  work  which  has  been  accomplished 
through  both  corporations  and  unions. 

* 

There  can  be  no  real  general  prosperity  un- 
less based  on  the  foundation  of  the  prosperity 
of  the  wage-worker  and  the  tiller  of  the  soil. 

jj 

So  far  as  practicable  under  the  conditions 
of  government  work,  provision  should  be  made 
to  render  the  enforcement  of  the  eight-hour 
law  easy  and  certain. 

J« 

Every  man  must  be  guaranteed  his  liberty 
and  his  right  to  do  as  he  likes  with  his  prop- 
erty or  his  labor,  so  long  as  he  does  not  in- 
fringe the  rights  of  others. 

J* 

Class  animosity  in  the  political  world  is,  if 
possible,  even  more  wicked,  even  more  destruc- 
tive to  national  welfare,  than  sectional,  race, 
or  religious  animosity. 

Jl 

I  should  like  to  see  the  District  of  Colum- 
bia, which  is  completely  under  the  control  of 
the  National  Government,  receive  a  set  of 
model  labor  laws. 

Jl 

He  cannot  afford  to  lose  his  individual  in- 
itiative, his  individual  will  and  power;  but  he 
can  best  use  that  power  if  for  certain  objects 
he  unites  with  his  fellows. 

Jl 

This  country  has  and  this  country  needs 
better-paid,  better-educated,  better-fed,  and 
better-clothed  workingmen,  of  a  higher  type, 
than  are  to  be  found  in  any  foreign  country. 

jt 

Labor  organizations,  when  managed  intel- 
ligently and  in  a  spirit  of  justice  and  fair 
play,  are  of  very  great  service  not  only  to  the 
wage-workers,  but  to  the  whole  community. 

iH 

Every  thinking  man  rejoices  when  by  media- 
tion or  arbitration  it   proves  possible  to  settle 
troubles    in    time    to    avert    the    suffering    and 
bitterness   caused   by  strikes. 
Jl 

There  are  many  different  kinds  of  work  to 
do;  but  so  long  as  the  work  is  honorable,  is 
necessary,  and  is  well  done  the  man  who  does 
it  well  is  entitled  to  the  respect  of  his  fel- 
lows. 

j* 

Among  ourselves  we  differ  in  many  qualities 
of  body,  head  and  heart;  we  are  unequally  de- 
veloped, mentally  as  well  as  physically.  But 
each  of  us  has  the  right  to  ask  that  he  shall 
be  protected  from  wrongdoing  as  he  does  his 
work  and  carries  his  burden  through  life. 
Jl 

In  his  turn  the  capitalist  who  is  really  a  con- 
servative, the  man  who  has  forethought  as 
well  as  patriotism,  should  heartily  welcome 
every  effort,  legislative  or  otherwise,  which 
has  for  its  object  to  secure  fair  dealing  by 
capital,  corporate  or  individual,  toward  the 
public  and  toward  the  employe. 
Jl 

The  slightest  acquaintance  with  our  indus- 
trial history  should  teach  even  the  most  short- 
sighted that  the  times  of  most  suffering  for 
our  people  as  a  whole,  the  times  when  busi- 
ness is  stagnant,  and  capital  suffers  from 
shrinkage  and  gets  no  return  from  its  invest- 
ments, are  exactly  the  times  of  hardship,  and 
want,  and  grim  disaster  among  the  poor. 
Jl 

It  is  a  base  and  an  infamous  thing  for  the 
man  of  means  to  act  in  a  spirit  of  arrogant 
and  brutal  disregard  of  right  toward  his  fel- 


10 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


low  who  has  less  moans;  and  It  is  no  less 
infamous,  no  less  base,  to  act  in  a.  spirit  of 
rancor,  envy,  and  hatred  against  the  man  of 
greater  means,  merely  because  of  his  greater 
means. 

^ 
LAW,  THE— 

Obedience"  to  the  law  is  demanded  as  a 
right;  not  asked  as  a  favor. 

<£ 

The  nation,  like  the  individual,  cannot  com- 
mit a  crime  with  impunity. 

•J* 

The  law  must  not  only  be  correct  in  the 
abstract;  it  must  work  well  in  the  concrete. 

J* 

•  (iood  laws  in  the  State,  like  a  good  organi- 
zation in  any  army,  are  the  expressions  of  na- 
tional character. 

£ 

Back  of  the  laws,  back  of  the  administration, 
back  of  the  system  of  government  lies  the 
man. 

J* 

The  crime  of  cunning,  the  crime  of  greed, 
tlit>  crime  of  violence,  are  all  equally  crimes, 
and  against  them  all  alike  the  law  must  set 
its  face. 

£ 

Finally,  we  must  keep  ever  in  mind  that 
a  republic  such  as  ours  can  exist  only  by 
virtue  of  the  orderly  liberty  which  comes 
through  the  equal  domination  of  the  law  over 
all  men  alike. 

J« 

We  ask  no  man's  permission  when  we  re- 
quire him  to  obey  the  law;  neither  the  per- 
mission of  the  poor  man  nor  yet  of  the  rich 
man. 

£ 

Law   Is    largely    crystallized    custom,    largely 
a    mass   of    remedies   which    have   been    slowly 
evolved   to    meet    the    wrongs    with    which    hu- 
manity  has   become   thoroughly    familiar. 
Jl 

Legislation    to    be    thoroughly    effective    for 
good  must   proceed  upon   the  principle  of  aim- 
ing to  get  for  each   man  a   fair  chance  to  al- 
low him  to  show  the  stuff  there  is  in  him. 
J* 

While  -  i  people  are  foolish  if  they  violate 
or  rail  against  the  law — wicked  as  well  as 
foolish,  but  all  foolish — yet  the  most  foolish 
man  in  this  Republic  is  the  man  of  wealth 
who  complains  because  the  law  is  adminis- 
tered with  impartial  justice  against  or  for 
him. 

£ 

The  law  is  to  be  administered  neither  for 
tho  rich  man  as  such,  nor  for  the  poor  man 
as  such.  It  is  to  be  administered  for  every 
man.  rich  or  poor,  if  he  is  an  honest  and  law- 
abiding  citizen;  and  it  is  to  be  invoked  against 
any  man,  rich  or  poor,  who  violates  it.  with- 
out regard  to  which  end  of  the  social  scale 
he  may  stand  at,  without  regard  to  whether 
his  offense  takes  the  form  of  greed  and  cun- 
ning, or  the  form  of  physical  violence. 
£ 

A  primitive  people  provides  for  the  punish- 
ment of  theft,  assault  and  murder,  because 
the  conditions  of  the  existing  society  allow 
the  development  of  thieves  and  murderers 
and  the  commission  of  deeds  of  violence; 
but  it  does  not  provide  for  the  punishment  of 
forgery  because  there  is  nothing  to  forge,  and 
therefore,  no  forgers. 

.£ 
LEADERSHIP— 

Leadership  is  of  avail  only  so  far  as  there 
is  wise  and  resolute  public  sentiment  behind 
it. 


LIFE— 

The  life  of  duty,  not  the  life  of  mere  ease 
or  mere  pleasure — that  Is  the  kind  of  life 
which  makes  the  great  man  as  it  makes  the 
great  nation. 

J* 

If  our  powers  are  not  guided  aright  it  is 
better  that  we  should  not  have  them  at  all; 
but  we  must  have  the  power  itself  before  we 
can  guide  it  aright. 

,* 

It  is  not  enough  to  be  well-meaning  and 
kindly,  but  weak;  neither  is  it  enough  to  be 
strong,  unless  morality  and  decency  go  hand 
in  hand  with  strength. 

Jl 

The  living  can  best  show  their  respect  for 
the  memory  of  the  great  dead  by  the  way  in 
which  they  take  to  heart  and  act  upon  the 
lessons  taught  by  the  lives  which  made  these 
dead  men  great. 

J* 

I  believe  that  you  have  a  thousand-fold 
more  enjoyment  if  work  comes  first;  but  get 
time  to  play  also. 

J* 

The  man  or  woman  who  as  bread-winner 
and  home-maker,  or  as  wife  and  mother,  has 
done  all  that  he  or  she  can  do,  patiently  and 
uncomplainingly,  is  to  be  honored;  and  is  to  bo 
envied  by  all  those  who  have  never  had  the 
good  fortune  to  feel  the  need  and  duty  of  do- 
ing such  work. 

£ 
LINCOLN— 

Nothing  was  more  noteworthy  in  ail  of 
Lincoln's  character  than  the  way  in  which 
he  combined  fealty  to  the  loftiest  ideal  with 
a  thoroughly  practical  capacity  to  achieve  that 
ideal  by  practical  methods. 

<£ 

It  is  forever  to  the  honor  of  our  nation  that 
we  brought  forth  the  statesman  who,  with  far- 
sighted  vision,  could  pierce  the  clouds  that 
obscured  the  sight  of  the  keenest  of  his  fel- 
lows, could  see  what  the  future  inevitably 
held;  and  moreover  that  we  had  back  of  the 
statesman  and  behind  him  the  men  to  whom 
it  was-  given  to  fight  in  the  greatest  war  ever 
waged  for  the  good  of  mankind,  for  the  bet- 
terment of  the  world. 

£ 

In  all  history  I  do  not  believe  that  there 
is  to  be  found  an  orator  whose  speeches  will 
last  as  enduringly  as  certain  of  the  speeches  of 
Lincoln;  and  in  all  history,  with  the  sole  ex- 
ception of  the  man  who  founded  this  Repub- 
lic, I  do  not  think  there  will  be  found  another 
statesman  at  once  so  great  and  so  single- 
hearted  in  his  devotion  to  the  weal  of  his 
people. 

£ 
LOYALTY— 

The  loyalty  that  counts  is  the  loyalty  which 
shows  itself  in  deeds  rather  than  in  words. 

J« 
LYNCHING— 

There  are  certain  hideous  sights  which 
when  once  seen  can  never  be  wholly  erased 
from  the  mental  retina. 

<£ 

It  is  of  course  inevitable  that  where  von- 
geance  is  taken  by  a  mob  it  should  frequent'y 
light  on  innocent  people. 

£ 

Where  we  permit  the  law  to  be  defied  or 
evaded,  whether  by  rich  man  or  poor  man,  by 
Mack  man  or  white,  we  are  by  just  so  much 
weakening  the  bonds  of  our  civilization  and 
increasing  the  chances  of  its  overthrow. 

•£ 

All  thoughtful  men  must  feel  the  gravest 
alarm  over  the  growth  of  lynching  in  this 


II 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


country,    and    especially    over    the    peculiarly 
hideous    forms    so    often    taken    by    mob    vio- 
lence   when    colored    men   are   the   victims. 
J« 

Men  who  have  been  guilty  of  a  crime  like 
rape  or  murder  should  be  visited  with  swift 
and  certain  punishment,  and  the  just  effort 
made  by  tin-  courts  to  protect  them  in  their 
rights  should  under  no  circumstances  be  per- 
verted into  permitting  any  mere  technicality 
to  avert  or  delay  their  punishment. 
J* 

The  spirit  of  lawlessness  grows  with  what 
it  feeds  on.  and  when  mobs  with  impunity 
lynch  criminals  for  one  cause,  they  are  cer- 
tain to  begin  to  lynch  real  or  alleged  crim- 
inals for  other  causes. 
Jl 

The  feeling  of  all  good  citizens  that  such 
a  hideous  crime-  shall  not  be  hideously  pun- 
ished by  mob  violence  is  due  not  in  the  least 
to  sympathy  for  the  criminal,  but  to  a  very 
lively  sense  of  the  train  of  dreadful  conse- 
quences which  follows  the  course  taken  by 
the  mob  in  exacting  inhuman  vengeance  for  an 
inhuman  wrong. 

<£ 
MANHOOD  AND  HONOR— 

It  is  almost  as  irritating  to  be  patronized  as 
to  be  wronged. 

£ 

Base  is  the  man  who  inflicts  a  wrong,  and 
base  is  the  man  who  suffers  a  wrong  to  be 
done  him. 

£ 

Mere  ability  to  achieve  success  in  things 
concerning  the  body  would  not  have  atoned 
for  the  failure  to  live  the  life  of  high  en- 
deavor. 

£ 

The  man  who  counts  is  not  the  man  who 
dodges  work,  but  he  who  goes  out.  into  life 
rejoicing  as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race,  gird- 
ing himself  for  the  effort,  bound  to  win  and 
wrest  triumph  from  difficulty  and  disaster. 
& 

The  man   who  is  not  a  tender  and  consider- 
ate husband,   a  loving  and  wise  father,   is  not 
serving  the  Lord  when  he  goes  to  church. 
£ 

There  are  a  great  many  men  who  are  natu- 
rally brave,  but  who,  .  being  entirely  unac- 
customed to  risks,  are  at  first  appalled  by 
them. 

Jl 

I  want  to  see  each  man  able  to  hold  his  own 
in  the  rough  work  of  actual  life  outside,  and 
also,  when  he  is  at  home,  a  good  man,  un- 
selfish in  dealing  with  wife,  or  mother,  or 
children. 

Jl 

I  want  to  see  every  man  able  to  hold  his 
own  with  the  strong,  and  also  ashamed  to  op- 
press the  weak.  I  want  to  see  each  young 
fellow  able  to  do  a  man's  work  in  the  world, 
and  of  a  type  which  will  not  permit  impo- 
sition to  be  practiced  upon  him. 
JN 

In  our  own  country,  with  its  many-sided. 
hurrying,  practical  life,  the  place  for  cloistered 
virtue  is  far  smaller  than  is  the  place  for  that 
essential  manliness  which,  without  losing  its 
flue  and  lofty  side,  can  yet  hold  its  own  in 
the.  rough  struggle  with  the  forces  of  the 
world  round  about  us. 

jl 
MARRIAGE— 

But  the  man  or  woman  who  deliberately 
avoids  marriage  and  has  a  heart  so  cold  as 
to  know  no  passion  and  a  brain  so  shallow 
and  selfish  as  to  dislike  having  children,  is 
in  effect  a  criminal  against  the  race  and 
should  be  an  object  of  contemptuous  abhor- 
rence by  all  healthy  people. 


McKINLEY— 

There  could  be  no   personal   hatred  of  him, 
for   he    never  acted    with    aught    but   consider- 
ation for  the  welfare  of  others. 
Jl 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  at  the  time 
of  President  McKinley's  death  he  was  the 
most  widely  loved  man  in  all  the  United 
States. 

Jl 

No  President — not  even  Lincoln  himself — 
was  ever  more  earnestly  anxious  to  repre- 
sent the  well-thought-out  wishes  of  the  peo- 
ple. 

Jl 

He  shall  stand  in  the  eyes  of  history  not 
merely  as  the  first  man  of  his  generation,  but 
as  among  the  greatest  figures  in  our  national 
life. 

At  last  the  light  was  stilled  in  the  kindly 
eyes  and  the  breath  went  from  the  lips  that 
even  in  mortal  agony  uttered  no  words  save 
of  forgiveness  to  his  murderer,  of  love  for  his 
friends,  and  of  unfaltering  trust  in  the  will 
of  the  Most  High. 

His  political  opponents  were  the  first  to 
bear  the  heartiest  and  most  generous  tribute 
to  the  broad  kindliness  of  nature,  the  sweet- 
ness and  gentleness  of  character  which  so  en- 
deared him  to  his  close  associates. 

MONROE   DOCTRINE— 

\Ve  do  not  ask  under  this  doctrine  for  any 
exclusive  commercial  dealings  with  any  other 
American  state. 

.  More  and  more  in  the  future  we  must  occu- 
py a  preponderant  position  in  the  waters  and 
along  the  coasts  in  the  region  south  of  us. 

jl 

We  do  not  guarantee  any  state  against  pun- 
ishment if  it  misconducts  itself,  provided 
that  punishment  does  not  take  the  form  of 
the  acquisition  of  territory  by  any  non-Amer- 
ican power. 

I  believe  in  the  Monroe  Doctrine  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul;  I  am  convinced  that  the 
immense  majority  of  our  fellow-countrymen 
so  believe  in  it. 

The  Monroe  Doctrine  is  not  international 
law,  and  though  I  think  one  day  it  may  be- 
come such,  tliis  is  not  necessary  as  long 'as  it 
remains  a  cardinal  feature  of  our  foreign 
policy  and  as  long  as  we  possess  both  the  will 
and  the  strength  to  make  it  effective. 

MOTHERHOOD— 

1  am  most  glad  to  see  those  who  carry 
snyill  folks  in  their  arms. 

The  man  or  the  woman  who  seeks  to  bring 
up  his  or  her  children  with  the  idea  that 
their  happiness  is  secured  by  teaching  them 
to  avoid  difficulties  is  doing  them  a  cruel 
wrong. 

Jl 

Among  the  benefactors  of  the  land  her 
(the  mother)  place  must  be  with  those  who 
have  done  the  best  and  the  hardest  work. 
whether  as  law-givers  or  as  soldiers,  whether 
in  public  or  private  life. 
<£ 

The  woman  who  has  borne,  and  who  has 
reared  as  they  should  be  reared,  a  familv  of 
children,  has  in  the  most  emphatic  manner 
deserved  well  of  the  Republic 

£ 
NATION,  THE— 

The  millennium  is  not  here;  it  is  some 
thousand  years  off  yet. 


12 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


This    is    not    and    never    shall    be    a    govern 
ment  either  of  a  plutocracy  or  of  a  inob. 
Jl 

Ours  is  not   the  creed   of  the   weakling   and 
the   coward;    ours    is   the    gospel    of    hope    and 
of   triumphant   endeavor. 
£ 

Ours  is  a  government  of  liberty  by,  through 
and  under  the  law.  No  man  is  above  it  am' 
no  man  is  below  it. 

t^t  * 

When  all  is  said  and  done,  the  rule  of 
brotherhood  remains  as  the  indispensable  pre- 
requisite to  success  in  the  kind  of  national 
life  for  which  we  strive. 

•* 

Any  really  great  nation  must  be  peculiarly 
sensitive  to  two  things:  Stain  on  the  na- 
tional honor  at  home,  and  disgrace  to  the  na- 
tional arms  abroad. 

Jf 

In  the  history  of  mankind  many  republics 
have  risen,  have  flourished  for  a  less  or 
greater  time,  and  then  have  fallen  because 
their  citizens  lost  the  power  of  governing 
themselves. 

& 

We  must  judge  a   nation  by  the  net  result 
of    its    life    and    activity.      And    so    we    must 
judge   the   policies   of   those   who   at   any   time 
control   the  destinies  of  a  nation. 
J* 

We  represent  the  fullest  development  of 
the  democratic  spirit  acting  on  the  extraordi- 
nary and  highly  complex  industrial  growth  of 
the  last  half  century. 

£ 

As   a   nation,    if   we   are  to   be   true    to   our 
past,    we    must    steadfastly    keep    these    two 
positions — to     submit     to     no     injury     by     the 
strong  and  to  inflict  no  injury  on  the  weak. 
<£ 

The  nation  is  nothing  but  the  aggregate  of 
the  families  within  its  border;  and  if  the  av- 
erage man  is  not  hard-working,  just,  and 
fearless  in  his  dealings  with  those  about  him, 
then  our  average  of  public  life  will  in  the 
end  be  low. 

£ 

I  ask  that  this  nation  go  forward  as  it  has 
gone  forward  in  the  past;  I  ask  that  it  shape 
its  life  in  accordance  with  the  highest  ideals; 
I  ask  that  our  name  be  a  synonym  for  truth- 
ful and  fair  dealing  with  all  the  nations  of 
the  world. 

£ 

Let  us  in  our  turn  with  equal  courage, 
equal  hardihood  and  manliness,  carry  on  the 
task  that  our  forefathers  have  intrusted  to 
our  hands,  and  let  us  resolve  that  we  shall 
leave  to  our  children  and  our  children's  chil- 
dren an  even  mightier  heritage  than  we  re- 
ceived in  our  turn. 

£ 
NEGRO,  THE— 

I  cannot  consent  to  take  the  position  that 
the  door  of  hope — the  door  of  opportunity— 
is  to  be  shut  upon  any  man,  no  matter  how 
worthy,  purely  upon  the  grounds .  of  race  or 
color. 

^ 

A  man  who  is  good  enough  to  shed  his 
blood  for  the  country  is  good  enough  to  be 
given  a  square  deal  afterward.  More  than 
that  no  man  is  entitled  to,  and  less  than 
that  DO  man  shall  have. 
£ 

It  has   been   my   consistent   policy   in   every 
state    where    their    numbers    warranted    it    to 
recognize    colored    men    of    good    repute    and 
standing   in    making   appointments   to   office. 
& 

I    certainly    cannot    treat   mere    color   as    a 


permanent  bar  to  holding  office,  any  more 
than  I  could  so  treat  <-reed  or  birthplace — 
always  provided  that  in  other  respects  the 
applicant  or  incumbent  is  a  worthy  and 
well-behaved  American  citizen. 

* 

It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  a  good  thing  from 
every  standpoint  to  let  the  colored  man  know 
that   if  he  shows   in   marked  degree  the  quali- 
ties   of    good    citizenship — the    qualities    which 
in    a    white    man    we   feel    are    entitled    to    re- 
ward— then   he   will    not   be   cut    off   from   all 
hope  of  similar  reward. 
£ 
PATRIOTISM— 

We    regard  every   man  as  a   good   American, 
whatever    his    creed,    whatever   his    birthplace, 
if  he  is  true  to  the  ideals  of  this  Republic. 
«5« 

It  is  infinitely  better  when  needed  social 
and  civic  changes  can  be  brought  about  as 
the  result  of  natural  and  healthy  growth 
than  when  they  come  with  the  violent  dis- 
location and  widespread  wreck  and  damage 
inevitably  attendant  upon  any  movement 
which  is  revolutionary  in  its  nature. 
£ 

If  we  are  far-sighted  in  our  patriotism, 
there  will  be  no  let  up  in  the  work  of  build- 
ing, and  of  keeping  at  the  highest  point  of 
efficiency,  a  navy  suited  to  the  part  the 
United  States  must  hereafter  play  in  the 
world,  and  of  making  and  keeping  our  smal1 
Regular  Army,  which  in  the  event  of  a  great 
war  can  never  be  anything  but  the  nucleus 
around  which  our  volunteer  armies  must  form 
themselves. 

& 
PEACE— 

We  desire  the  peace  which  comes  as  of 
right  to  the  just  man  armed;  not  the  peace 
granted  on  terms  of  ignominy  to  the  craven 
and  the  weakling. 

^ 

PHILIPPINES,  THE— 

Our   earnest    effort    is    to    help   these    people 
upward  along  the  stony  and  difficult  path  that 
leads  to  self-government. 
J* 

No  one  people  ever  benefited  another  peo- 
ple more  than  we  have  benefited  the  Filipinos 
by  taking  possession  of  the  islands. 

<£ 

It  is  no  light  task  for  a  nation  to  achieve 
the  temperamental  qualities  without  which 
the  institutions  of  free  government  are  but 
an  empty  mockeiy, 

4! 

Scrupulous  care  has  been  taken  in  the 
choice  of  governmental  agents,  and  the  en- 
tire elimination  of  partisan  politics  from  the 
public  service. 

Jl 

To  leave  the  islands  at  this  time  would 
mean  that  they  would  fall  into  a  welter  of 
murderous  anarchy. 

J* 

There  need  not  be  the  slightest  fear  of 
our  not  continuing  to  give  them  all  the  liberty 
for  which  they  are  fit. 

£ 

We  hope  to  make  our  administration  of  the 
islands  honorable  to  our  Nation  by  making  it 
of  the  highest  benefit  to  the  Filipinos  them- 
selves. 

Jd 

Already  a  greater  measure  of  material  pros- 
perity   and    of    governmental    honesty    and    ef- 
ficiency  has   been  attained   in    the    Philippines 
than  ever  before  in   their  history. 
<£ 

We  hope  to  do  for  them  what  has  never 
before  been  done  for  any  people  of  the  tropics 
— to  make  them  fit  for  self-government  after 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAW 


the  fashion  of  the  really  free  nations. 

Jt 

Uiiless  we  show  ourselves  weak,  unless  we 
.show  ourselves  degenerate  sons  of  the  sires 
from  whose  loins  we  sprang,  we  must  go  on 
with  the  work  we  have  undertaken. 

* 

Peace  and  order  now  prevail  and  a  greater 
measure  of  prosperity  and  of  happiness  than 
the  Filipinos  have  ever  hitherto  known  in  all 
their  dark  and  checkered  history. 

Jt 

They  have  been  given  an  excellent  and 
well  administered  school  system,  and  each 
of  them  now  enjoys  rights  to  "life,  liberty, 
.•mil  the  pursuit  of  happiness"  such  as  were 
never  before  known  in  all  tne  history  of  the 
islands. 

Jl 

What  has  taken  us  thirty  generations  to 
achieve,  we  cannot  expect  to  see  another  race 
ac<  omplish  out  of  hand,  especially  when  large 
portions  of  (that  race  start  very  far  behind 
the  point  which  our  ancestors  had  reached 
even  thirty  generations  ago. 

Jt 
PORTO   RICO— 

Their  material  welfare  must  be  as  care- 
fully and  jealously  considered  as  the  welfare 
of  any  other  portion  of  our  country. 

Jt 
PRINCIPLE— 

Kut  there  are  certain  great  principles,  such 
as  those  which  Cromwell  would  have  called 
"fundamentals,"  concerning  which  no  man 
has  a  right  to  have  more  than  one  opinion. 

Jt 
PRESIDENCY,  THE— 

While  he  is  in  office  he  is  one  of  the  half- 
dozen  persons  throughout  the  whole  world 
who  have  most  power  to  affect  the  destines 
of  the  world. 

Jl 

There  is  every  reason  why  the  President, 
whoever  he  may  be  and  to  whatever  party 
he  may  belong,  should  be  held  to  a  sharp 
accountability  alike  for  what  he  does  and 
for  what  he  leaves  undone. 

Jl 

Corruption,  in  the  gross  sense  in  which 
the  word  is  used  in  ordinary  conversation, 
has  been  absolutely  unknown  among  our  Presi- 
dents, and  it  has  been  exceedingly  rare  in 
our  President's  Cabinets. 

Jt 

The  President  of  the  United  States  occu- 
pies a  position  of  peculiar  importance.  In 
the  whole  world  there  is  probably  no  other 
ruler,  certainly  no  other  ruler  under  free  in- 
stitutions', whose  power  compares  with  his. 

Jt 

One  rather  sad  feature  of  the  life  of  a  Presi- 
dent is  the  difficulty  of  making  friends,  be- 
cause almost  inevitably  after  a  while  the 
friend  thinks  there  is  some  office  he  would 
like,  applies  for  it.  and  when  the  President 
is  obliged  to  refuse,  feels  that  he  has  been 
injured. 

Jl 

The  chances  for  error  are  limitless,  and 
in  minor  matters,  where  from  the  nature  of 
the  case  it  is  absolutely  inevitable  that  the 
President  should  rely  upon  the  judgment  of 
others,  it  is  certain  that  under  the  best  Presi- 
dents some  errors  will  be  committed. 

Jl     ' 
PROMISES— 

Of  course  the  worth  of  a  promise  consists 
purely  in  the  way  in  which  the  performance 
squares  with  it. 

Jl 

If  promises  are  violated,  if  plighted  word  is 
not  kept,  then  those  who  have  failed  in  their 


duty  should  be  held  up  to  reprobation. 

Jt 

I  do  not  think,  so  far  as  I  know,  that  1 
have  ever  promised  beforehand  anything  1 
did  not  make  a  strong  effort  to  make  good 
afterward. 

Jt 

There  is  the  same  sound  reason  for  dis- 
trusting the  man  who  promises  too  much  in 
public  that  there  is  for  distrusting  the  man 
who  promises  too  much  in  private  business. 

Jl 

One  feature  of  honesty  and  common  sense 
combined  is  never  to  promise  what  you  do  not 
think  you  can  perform,  and  then  never  fail  to 
perform  what  you  have  promised. 

£ 

It  is  much  more  comfortable  only  to  make 
promises  that  can  be  kept  than  to  make 
promises  which  are  sure  of  an  immense  re- 
ception when  made,  but  which  entail  intoler- 
able humiliation  when  it  is  attempted  to 
carry  them  out. 

Jt 
PROGRESS— 

Let  us  make  sure  that  our  progress  is  in  the 
essentials  as  well  as  in  the  incidentals. 

Jt 

I  ask  that  this  people  rise  level  to  the 
greatness  of  its  opportunities.  I  do  not  ask 
that  it  seek  for  the  easiest  path. 

Jt 

We  have  passed  that  stage  of  national  de- 
velopment when  deprecation  of  other  peo- 
ples is  felt  as  a  tribute  to  our  own. 

Jt 

The  adoption  of  what  is  reasonable  In  the 
demands  of  reformers  is  the  surest  way  to 
prevent  the  adoption  of  what  is  unreasonable. 

Jt 

The  mechanism  of  modern  business  is  tre- 
mendous in  its  size  and  complexity,  and  ignor- 
ant intermeddling  with  it  would  be  disas- 
trous. 

Jt 

Mankind  goes  ahead  but  slowly,  and  it  goes 
ahead  mainly  through  each  of  us  trying  to  do 
the  best  that  is  in  him  and  to  do  it  in  the 
sanest  way. 

Jt 

A  greater  change  in  the  means  of  com- 
merce of  mankind  has  taken  place  since 
Wheeling  (W.  Va.)  was  founded,  since  the 
first  settlers  built  their  log  huts  in  the  great 
forests  on  the  banks  of  this  river,  than  in  all 
the  previous  period  during  which  man  had 
led  an  existence  that  can  be  called  civilized. 

Jt 

A  great  industrial  civilization  cannot  be 
built  up  without  a  certain  dislocation,  a  cer- 
tain disarrangement  of  the  old  conditions, 
and  therefore  the  springing  up  of  new  prob'- 
lems. 

Jt 

To  me  the  future  seems  full  of  hope  be- 
cause, although  there  are  many  conflicting 
tendencies,  and  although  some  of  these  ten- 
dencies of  our  present  life  are  for  evil,  yet, 
on  the  whole  the  tendencies  for  good  are  in 
the  ascendency. 

Jt 
PROSPERITY— 

When  the  weather  Is  good  for  crops  it  is 
good  for  weeds. 

Jt 

The  welfare  of  each  of  us  is  dependent 
fundamentally  upon  the  welfare  of  all  of  us. 

Jt 

It  cannot  be  too  often  repeated  that  in 
this  '-ountry,  in  the  long  run,  we  all  of  us 
tend  to  go  up  or  go  down  together. 

Jt 
No    nation    has    ever    prospered    as    we    are 


A    SQUARE   DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


prospering  now,  and  we  must  see  to  it  that 
by  our  own  folly  we  do  not  mar  this  pros- 
perity. 

When   people   have   become   very   prosperous 
they   tend   to   become   sluggishly  indifferent   to 
the  continuation   of  the   policies   that    brought 
about   their   prosperity. 
Jl 

If  when  people  wax  fat  they  kick,  as  they 
have  kicked  since  the  days  of  Jeshurun, 
they  will  speedily  destroy  their  own  pros- 
perity. 

We  must  have  thrift,  business  energy,  busi- 
ness   enterprise     and     all     that     spring     from 
them,    as   the   foundation    upon    which    we   are 
to  build   the  great  national   superstructure. 
Jl 

There  will  be  fluctuations  from,  time  to 
time  In  our  prosperity,  but  it  will  continue 
to  grow  just  so  long  as  wo  keep  up  this  high 
average  of  individual  citizenship  and  permit 
it  to  work  out  its  own  salvation  under  proper 
economic  legislation. 

PUBLIC    UTILITIES    AND    MUNICIPAL 
OWNERSHIP— 

Everything  that  tends  to  deaden  individual 
initiative  is  to  be  avoided,  and  unless  in  a 
given  case  there  is  some  very  evident  gain 
which  will  flow  from  state  or  municipal  own- 
ership, it  should  not  be  adopted. 
£ 

The  question  of  the  municipal  ownership 
of  those  franchises  (Traction,  etc.),  cannot 
be  raised  with  propriety  until  the  govern- 
ments of  all  municipalities  show  greater  wis- 
dom and  virtue  than  has  been  recently  shown. 
<£ 

•On  the  other  hand,  pure  logic~"has  a  very 
restricted  application  to  actual  social  and 
civic  life,  and  there  is  no  possible  reason  for 
changing  from  one  system  to  the  other  sim- 
ply because  the  change  would  make  our  po- 
litical system  in  theory  more  symmetrical. 

There  is  no  possible  reason  in  pure  logic 
why  a  city,  for  instance,  should  supply  its 
inhabitants  with  water,  and  allow  private 
•companies  to  supply  them  with  gas,  any 
more  than  there  is  why  the  general  govern- 
ment should  take  charge  of  the  delivery  of 
letters  but  not  of  telegrams. 

Ji 

There  is  grave  danger  in  attempting  to  es- 
tablish invariable  rules;  indeed  it  may  be 
that  each  case  will  have  to  be  determined 
upon  its  own  merits.  In  one  instance  a  pri- 
vate corporation  may  be  able  to  do  the  work 
best.  In  another  the  State  or  city  may  do 
it  best.  In  yet  a  third,  it  may  be  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  everybody  to  give  free  scope  to 
the  power  of  some  individual  captain  of  in- 
dustry. 

PUBLICITY— 

Daylight  is  a   powerful  discourager  of  evil. 

RECIPROCITY— 

The  phenomenal  growth  of  our  export  trade 
emphasizes  the  urgency  of  the  need  for 
wider  markets  and  for  a  liberal  policy  in 
dealing  with  foreign  nations. 

It  is  not  only  possible,  but  eminently  de- 
sirable, to  coralline  with  the  stability  of  our 
economic  system  a  supplementary  system  of 
reciprocal  benefit  and  obligation  with  other 
nations. 

Jl 
REFORM— 

Jt    is   of   no   possible   use   to    decline   to    go 


16 


through  all  the  ordinary  duties  of  citizenship 
for  a  long  space  of  time  and  then  suddenly 
to  get  up  and  feel  angry  about  something  or 
somebody,  not  clearly  defined,  and  demand 
reform,  as  if  it  were  a  concrete  substance  to 
be  handed  out  forthwith. 

j« 

SOLDiERS  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR— 

You    leave  us  not  only  the  victory,    but   the 
spirit  that  lay  behind  it  and  shone  through  it. 
Jl 

Homage  must  not  only  find  expression  on 
our  lips;  it  must  also  show  itself  forth  in  our 
deeds. 

Jl 

I  can  say  that  there  is  nothing  else  of 
which  I  am  quite  so  proud  as  having  won,  in 
a  sense,  the  right  to  claim  comradeship  with 

Ji 

You  men  of  the  Grand  Army  by  your  victory 
not  only  rendered  all  Americans  your  debtors 
for  evermore,  but  you  rendered  all  humanity 
your  debtors. 

Jl 

It  was  because  you,  the  men  who  wear  the 
button  of  the  Grand  Army,  triumphed  in  those 
dark  years,  that  every  American  now  holds  his 
head  high. 

<£ 

This   war,    thrice   fortunate   above   all   other 
recent  wars  in  its  outcome,   left  to  all  of  us 
the  •  right    of    brotherhood    alike    with    valiant 
victor  and  valiant  vanquished. 
£ 

I  confidently  predict  that  when  the  final 
judgment  of  history  is  recorded  it  will  be  said 
that  in  no  other  war  of  which  we  have  writ- 
ten record  was  it  more  vitally  essential  for 
the  welfare  of  mankind  that  victory  stftmld 
rest  where  it  finally  rested. 
Jl 

You  taught,  in  addition  to  that,  brother- 
hood. In  the  ranks,  as  you  stood  there  shoul- 
der to  shoulder,  little  any  one  of  you  cared 
what  the  man  next  to  you  was  as  regarded 
wealth,  trade,  or  education,  if  he  was  in  very 
truth  a  man. 

Jl 

You  braved  nights  in  the  freezing  mud  of 
the  trenches  in  winter,  and  the  marches  under 
scorching  midsummer  suns;  fever  cots,  wounds, 
insufficient  food,  exhausting  fatigue  of  a  type 
that  those  that  have  not  tried  it  cannot  even 
understand. 

Jt 

No  other  citizens  deserve  so  well  of  the  Re- 
public as  the  veterans,  the  survivors  of  those 
who  saved  the  Union. 

Jl 

The  Revolutionary  War  would  have  been 
shorn  of  well-nigh  all  its  results  had  the  side 
of  union  and  liberty  been  defeated  in  the 
Civil  War. 

Jl 

But  for  their  steadfast  prowess  In  the 
greatest  crisis  of  our  history,  all  our  annals 
would  be  meaningless,  and  our  great  experi- 
ment in  popular  freedom  and  self-government 
a  gloomy  failure. 

Jl 

As  you  did  not  win  in  a  month  or  a  year, 
but  only  after  long  years  of  hard  and  dangec- 
ous  work,  so  the  fight  for  governmental 
honesty  and  efficiency  can  be  won  only  by  the 
display  of  similar  patience  and  similar  resolu- 
tion and  power  of  endurance. 

£ 
SOUTH,  THE— 

Proud   of   the   South?    Of    course    we    are 
proud  of  the  South;  not  only  Southerners,  but 
Northerners  are  proud  of  the  South. 
<£ 

Those  were  iron  times,  and  only  iron  men 


A  SQUARE   DEAL   FOR   EVERY   MAN 


could    fight    to    its    terrible    finish    the    giant 
struggle  between  the  hosts  of  Grant  and  Lee. 

<£ 

The  wounds  left  by  the  great  Civil  War,  in- 
comparably the  greatest  war  of  modern' times, 
have  healed;  and  its  memories  are  now  price- 
less heritages  of  honor  alike  to  the  North  and 
to  the  South. 


Jit 


SUCCESS— 
We  are  optimists. 


You  win,  not  by  shirking  difficulties,  but  by 
facing  and  overcoming  them. 
J* 

The  man  who  wins  now  will  be  tlio  man  of 
the  type  who  lias  won  always,  the  man  who 
can  win  for  himself. 

Jl 

All   great   works,    though    they   differ   in    the 
method  of  doing  them,  must  be  solved  by  sub- 
stantially the  same  qualities. 
Jl 

Above  all,  let  us  remember  that  our  success 
ID  accomplishing  anything  depends  very   much 
upon  our  not  trying  to  accomplish  everything. 
Jl 

We  must  in  the  first  instance  attend  to  our 
fnaterial  prosperity.  Unless  we  have  that  as  a 
foundation  we  cannot  build  up  any  higher 
kind  of  life. 

Jl 

Every  one  who  thinks  knows  that  the  only 
Way  in  which  any  problem  of  great  im- 
portance was  ever  successfully  solved  was  by 
consistent  and  persistent  effort  toward  a  given 
end. 

Jl 

Then  there  is  the  other  kind  of  success— the 
Success  which  comes  as  the  reward  of  keen 
insight,  of  sagacity,  of  resolution,  of  address, 
combined  with  unflinching  rectitude  of  be- 
havior, public  and  private. 
J* 

ffo  win  success  in  the  business  world,  to 
become  a  first-class  mechanic,  a  successful 
farmer,  an  able  lawyer  or  doctor,  means  that 
the  man  has  devoted  his  best  energy  and 
power  through  long  years  to  the  achievement 
Of  his  ends. 

je 

There  never  has  been  devised,  and  there 
never  will  be  devised,  any  law  which  .will 
enable  a  man  to  succeed  save  by  the  exer- 
cise of  those  qualities  which  have  always  been 
the  prerequisites  of  success— the  qualities  of 
hard  work,  of  keen  intelligence,  of  unflinch'ng 
Will. 

Jl 

Succeed?  Of  course  we  shall  succeed!  How- 
Can  success  fail  to  come  to  a  race  of  masterful 
energy  and  resoluteness,  which  has  a  con- 
tinent for  the  base  of  its  domain,  and  which 
feels  within  its  veins  the  thrill  that  comes 
to  generous  souls  when  their  strength  stirs  in 
them,  and  they  know  that  the  future  is  theirs? 

J« 
TARIFF,  THE— 

It  is  most  earnestly  to  be  wished  that  we 
could  treat  th-?  tariff  from  the  standpoint 
solely  of  our  business  needs. 

Jl 

The  tariff  affects  trusts  only  as  It  affects  all 
other  interests. .  It  makes  all  these  interests, 
large  or  small,  profitable:  and  its  benefits  can 
be  taken  from  the  large  only  under  penalty  of 
taking  them  from  the  small  also. 

Jl 

Our  first  duty  is  to  see  that  the  protection 
granted  by  the  tariff  in  every  case  where  it 
is  needed  is  maintained. 

Jl 
Duties    must    never    be    reduced    below    the 


point    that    will    cover    the    difference    between 
the  labor  cost  here  and  abroad. 
Jl 

Nothing  could   be   more   unwise  than   to  dis- 
turb the  business   interests  of  the  country  by 
any  general   tariff   change  at  this  time. 
Jl 

No  change  in  tariff  duties  can  have  any 
substantial  effect  in  solving  the  so-called 
trust  problem.  Certain  groat  trusts  or  great 
corporations  are  wholly  unaffected  by  the 
tariff. 

Jl 

If  in  any  case  the  tariff  is  found  to  foster  a 
monopoly    which    does    ill,    of    course    no    pro- 
tectionist   would    object    to    a    modification    of 
the  tariL"  sufficient  to  remedy  the  evil. 
£ 

The  utmost  care  should  be  taken  not  to  re- 
duce the  revenues  so  that  there  will  be  any 
possibility  of  a  deficit;  but,  after  providing 
against  any  such  contingency,  means  should 
be  adopted  which  will  bring  the  revenues 
more  nearly  within  the  limit  of  our  actual 
needs. 

J* 
TAXATION— 

Absolute   equality,    absolute   justice    in    mat- 
ters  of  taxation,   will   probably   never  be  real- 
ized;   but   we   can   approximate   it   much   more 
closely   than  at  present. 
J* 

Some  kinds  of  taxes  are  so  fertile  in  tempt- 
ing  to   perjury   and   sharp    dealings   that    they 
amount   to  taxes  on   honesty — the  last  quality 
on  which  we  should  impose  a  needless  burden. 
J* 

It  has  become  more  and  more  evident  in  re- 
cent years  that  existing  methods  of  taxation 
which  worked  well  enough  in  a  simpler  state 
of  society,  are  not  adequate  to  secure  justice 
when  applied  to  the  conditions  of  our  com- 
plex and  highly  specialized  modern  industrial 
development. 

J! 

The  extravagant  man  who  builds  a  need- 
lessly large  house  nevertheless  pays  taxes  on 
the  house;  and  the  corporation  which  has  to 
pay  great  sums  of  interest  owing  to  juggling 
transactions  in  the  issue  of  stocks  and  bonds 
has  just  as  little  right  to  consideration. 

•     £ 
TRUTH— 

In  the  long  run  the  most  disagreeable  truth 
is  a  safer  companion  than  the  most  pleasant 
falsehood. 

J« 
TRUSTS,  THE— 

I   will   go  with  him  if  he  says  destroy   the 
evil  in   the  trusts,  gladly. 
4 

That  abuses  exist,  and  that  they  are  of  a 
very  grave  character,  it  is"  worse  than  idle  to 
deny. 

Jl 

What  I  hope  to  see  is  power  given  to  the 
National  Legislature  which  shall  make  the 
control  real. 

Jl 

It  is  also  true  that  there  are  real  and 
grave  evils,  one  of  the  chief  being  over-capi- 
talization. 

Jl 

We  must  set  about  finding  out  what  the 
real  abuses  are,  with  their  causes,  and  to 
what  extent  remedies  can  be  applied. 

je 

Publicity    can    do    no    harm    to    the    honest 
corporation;    and    we    need    not   be    overtender 
about    sparing    the    dishonest    corporation. 
& 

The  men  who  demand  the  impossible  or 
the  undesirable  serve  as  the  allies  of  the 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


forces  with  which  they  are  nominally  at  war. 

Jl 

Corporations  engaged  in  interstate  com- 
merce should  be  regulated  if  they  are  found 
to  exercise  a  license  working  to  the  public 
injury. 

J* 

We  are  not  hostile  to  them;  we  are  merely 
determined  tliat  they  shall  be  so  handled  as 
to  subserve  the  public  good. 

J* 

I  believe  that  the  nation  must  assume  this 
power  of  control  by  legislation;  if  necessary 
by  constitutional  amendment. 

J» 

Moreover,  much  that  is  complained  about 
is  not  really  the  abuse  so  much  as  the  inev- 
itable development  of  our  modern  industrial 
life. 

Jl 

You  cannot  put  a  stop  to  or  reverse  the  in- 
dustrial tendencies  of  the  age,  but  you  can 
control  and  regulate  them  and  see  that  they 
do  no  harm. 

Jl 

Every  new  feature  of  this  industrial  revo- 
lution produces  hardship  because  in  its  later 
stages  it  has  been  literally  a  revolution  in- 
stead of  an  evolution. 

Jl 

In  dealing  with  the  big  corporations  which 
we  call  trusts,  we  must  resolutely  purpose 
lo  proceed  by  evolution  and  not  revolution. 

Jl 

Wherever  a  substantial  monopoly  can  be 
shown  to  exist  we  should  certainly  try  our  ut- 
most to  devise  an  expedient  by  which  it  can 
be  controlled. 

Jl 

As  far  as  the  anti-trust  laws  go  they  will  be 
enforced. 

jfe 

The  first  requisite  is  knowledge,  full  and 
complete — knowledge  which  may  be  made  pub- 
lic to  the  world. 

Jl 

We  shall  not  get  a  complete  or  perfect  solu- 
tion for  all  of  the  evils  attendant  upon  the 
development  of  the  trusts  by  any  single  ac- 
tion on  our  part. 

Jt 

We  do  not  wish  to  discourage  enterprise. 
We  do  not  desire  to  destroy  corporations;  we 
do  desire  to  put  them  fully  -at  the  service  of 
the  State  and  people. 

Jl 

All  I  ask  is  to  be  sure  that  we  do  not 
use  the  knife  with  an  ignorant  zeal  which 
would  make  it  more  dangerous  to  the  patient 
than  to  the  disease. 

* 

The     chicanery     and     the     dishonest,     even 
though      not      technically       illegal,      methods 
through   which  some   great  fortunes  have  been 
made,  are  scandals  to  our  civilization. 
Jt 

When  new  evils  appear  there  is  always  at 
first  difficulty  in  finding  the  proper  remedy; 
and  as  the  evils  grow  more  complex,  the  rem- 
edies become  increasingly  difficult  of  applica- 
tion. 

Jt 

It  should  be  as  much  the  aim  of  those  who 
seek  for  social  betterment  to  rid  the  business 
world  of  crimes  of  cunning  as  to  rid  the  en- 
tire body  politic  of  crimes  of  violence. 

Jt 

Now.  if  we  can  get  adequate  control  by  the 
nation  of  these  great  corporations,  then  we 
tan  pass  legislation  which  will  give  us  the 
power  of  regulation  and  supervision  over 
them. 


18 


The  Nation  should,  without  interfering  with 
the  power  of  the  States  in  the  matter  itself, 
also  assume  power  of  supervision  and  regula- 
tion over  all  corporations  doing  an  interstate 
business. 

Jl 

There  are  real  and  great  evils  in  our  social 
and  economic  life,  and  these  evils  stand  out 
in  all  their  ugly  baldness  in  time  of  prosperi- 
ty; for  the  wicked  who  prosper  are  never  a 
pleasant  sight. 

Jl 

The  first  essential  is  knowledge  of  the 
facts,  publicity.  Much  can  be  done  at  once 
by  amendment  of  the  corporation  laws  so  as 
to  provide  for  such  publicity  as  will  not  work 
injustice  as  between  business  rivals. 
* 

The  capitalist  who,  alone  or  in  conjunction 
with  his  fellows,  performs  some  great  indus- 
trial feat  by  which  he  wins  money  is  a  well- 
doer, not  a  wrongdoer,  provided  only  he  works 
in  proper  and  legitimate  lines. 

* 

A  fundamental  requisite  of  social  efficiency 
is  a  high  standard  of  individual  energy  and 
excellence;  but  this  is  in  no  wise  inconsistent 
with  power  to  act  in  combination  for  aims 
which  cannot  so  well  be  achieved  by  the  indi-. 
vidual  acting  alone. 

£ 

If  by  trust  we  mean  merely  a  big  corpora- 
tion, then  I  ask  you  to  ponder  the  utter  folly 
of  the  man  who  either  in  a  spirit  of  rancor 
or  in  a  spirit  of  folly  says  "destroy  the 
trusts,"  without  giving  you  an  idea  of  what 
he  means  really  to  do. 

£ 

Much  of  the  legislation  not  only  proposed 
but  enacted  against  trusts  is  not  one  whit 
more  intelligent  than  the  mediaeval  bull 
against  the  comet,  and  has  not  been  one  parti- 
cle more  effective.  Yet  there  can  and  must 
be  courageous  and  effective  remedial  legisla- 
tion. 


This  country  cannot  afford  to  sit  supine  on 
the  plea  that  under  our  peculiar  system  of 
government  we  are  helpless  in  the  presence 
of  the  new  conditions,  and  unable  to  grapple 
with  them  or  to  cut  out  whatever  of  evil  has 
arisen  in  connection  with  them. 
Jl 

The  men  who  endeavor  to  prevent  the 
remedying  of  real  abuses,  not  only  show  cal- 
lous disregard  for  the  suffering  of  others,  but 
also  weaken  those  who  are  anxious  to  prevent 
the  adoption  of  indiscriminate  would-be  reme- 
dies which  would  subvert  our  whole  industrial 
fabric. 

Jl 

The  great  corporations  which  we  have  grown 
to  speak  of  rather  loosely  as  trusts  are  the 
creatures  of  the  State,  and  the  State  not  only 
has  the  right  to  control  them,  but  it  is  in  duty 
bound  to  control  them  wherever  the  need  of 
such  control  is  shown. 

Jl 

It  is  no  limitation  upon  property  rights  or 
freedom  of  contract  to  require  that,  when  men 
receive  from  a  government  the  privilege  of 
doing  business  under  corporate  form,  which 
frees  them  from  individual  responsibility,  and 
enables  them  to  call  Into  their  enterprises 
the  capital  of  the  public,  they  shall  do  so 
upon"  absolutely  truthful  representations  as  to 
the  value  of  the  property  in  which  the  capi- 
tal is  to  be  invested. 

Jl 

Not  only  trusts,  but  the  immense  importance 
of  machinery,  the  congestion  of  city  life,  the 
capacity  to  make  large  fortunes  by  specula- 
tive enterprises,  and  many  other  features  of 
modern  existence  could  be  thoroughly  changed 
by  doing  away  with  steam  and  electricity; 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


but  the  most  iirdeiit  denouncer  of  trusts  would 
hesitate   to  advocate  so   drastic   a    remedy. 

Jl 
VIRTUE,   PUBLIC   AND   PRIVATE— 

It  is  almost  as  harmful  to  be  a  virtuous  fool 
as  a  knave. 

Jl 

A  lie  is  no  more  to  be  excused  iu  politics 
than  out  of  politics. 

<£ 

The  siuews  of  virtue  lie  in  man's  capacity 
to  care  for  what  is  outside  himself. 

Jt 

But  virtue  by  itself  is  not  enough,  or  any- 
thing like  enough.  Strength  must  be  added 
to  it,  and  the  determination  to  use  that 
strength. 

£ 

It  Is  no  use  to  preach  if  you  do  not  act 
decently  yourself.  You  must  feel  that  the 
most  effective  way  in  which  you  can  preach 
is  by  your  practice. 

J« 

No  one  can  too  strongly  insist  upon  the  ele- 
mentary fact  that  you  cannot  build  the  super- 
structure of  public  virtue  save  on  private 
virtue. 

Jl 

I  desire  to  see  in  this  country  the  decent 
men  strong  and  the  strong  men  decent,  and 
until  we  get  that  combination  In  pretty  good 
shape  we  are  not  going  to  be  by  any  means 
as  successful  as  we  should  be. 

Jl 

In  the  first  place,  the  man  who  makes  a 
promise  which  he  does  not  Intend  to  keep 
and  does  not  try  to  keep,  should  rightly  be 
adjudged  to  have  forfeited  in  some  degree 
what  should  be  every  man's  most  precious  pos- 
session— his  honor. 

Jl 

We  must  insist  upon  the  strong,  virile  vir- 
tues; and  we  must  insist  no  less  upon  the 
virtues  of  self-restraint,  self-mastery,  regard 
for  the  rights  of  others;  we  must  show  our 
abhorrence  of  cruelty,  brutality,  and  corrup- 
tion, in  public  and  in  private  life  alike. 
Jl 

Boys  will  not  admire  virtue  of  a  merejy 
anaemic  type.  They  believe  in  courage,  In 
manliness.  They  admire  those  who  have  the 
quality  of  being  brave,  the  quality  of  facing 
life  as  life  should  be  faced,  the  quality  that 
must  stand  at  the  root  of  good  citizenship  in 
peace  or  in  war. 

Jl 

Oh,  how  often  yon  see  some  young  fellow 
who .  boasts  that  he  is  going  to  "see  life," 
meaning  by  that  that  he  is  going  to  see  that 
part  of  life  which  it  is  a  thousand-fold  better 
should  remain  unseen! 

Jl 
WAR  AND   PEACE— 

The  shots  that  count  in  battle  are  the  shots 
that  hit. 

£ 

But  our  armies  do  more  than  bring  peace, 
do  more  than  bring  order.  They  bring  free- 
dom. 

Jl 

It  Is  not  pretended  that  as  yet  we  are  near 
a  position  in  which  it  wil'  be  possible  wholly 
to  prevent  war. 

Jl 

By  a  mixture  of  prudence  and  firmness  with 
wisdom  we  think  it  is  possible  to  do  away 
with  much  of  the  provocation  and  excuse  for 
war. 

Jl 
WEAKLINGS— 

Righteousness  finds  weakness  but  a  poor 
yoke-fellow. 


If  we  show,  ourselves  weaklings  we  will 
earn  the  contempt  of  mankind,  and— what  is 
of  far  more  consequents — our  own  contempt. 


po- 


The  voice  of  the  weakling  or  the  craven 
counts  for  nothing  when  he  clamors  for  peace; 
but  the  voice  of  the  just  man  armed  is 
tent. 

Jl 

I  expect  you  to  be  strong.  I  would  not  re- 
spect you  if  you  were  not.  I  do  not  want  to 
see  Christianity  professed  only  by  weaklings; 
I  want  to  see  it  a  moving  spirit  among  men 
of  strength. 

J« 
WEST   POINT— 

Here  we  care  nothing  for  the  boy's  birth- 
place, nor  his  creed,  nor  his  social  standing; 
here  we  care  nothing  save  for  his  worth  as 
he  Is  able  to  show  it. 

Jl 

WEALTH— 

Demagogue  denunciation  of  wealth  Is  never 
whblesome   and   is    generally    dangerous. 
Jl 

The  very  existence  of  unreasoning  hostility 
to  wealth  should  make  us  all  the  more  careful 
in  seeing  that  wealth  does  nothing  to  justify 
such  hostility. 

Jl 

The  point  to  be  aimed  at  Is  the  protec- 
tion of  the  individual  against  wrong,  not  the 
attempt  to  limit  and  hamper  the  acquisition 
and  output  of  wealth. 

Jl 

Our     astounding     material     prosperity,     the 
sweep   and  rush   rather  than   the   mere   march 
of  our  progressive  material  development,   have 
brought  grave  troubles  in  their  train. 
£ 

The  man  who  by  swindling  or  wrong-doing 
acquires  great  wealth  for  himself  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  fellow,  stands  as  low  morally  as 
any  predatory  mediaeval  nobleman  and  is 
a  more  dangerous  member  of  society. 
J« 

A    man    of   great    wealth    who   does    not    use 
that    wealth   decently   is,   in  a   peculiar  sense, 
a  menace  to  the  community,  and  so  is  the  man 
who  does  not  use  his  intellect  aright. 
Jl 

It  is  almost  equally  dangerous  either  to 
blink  evils  and  refuse  to  acknowledge  their 
existence  or  to  strike  at  them  in  a  spirit  of 
ignorant  revenge,  thereby  doing  far  more  harm 
than  is  remedied. 

Jl 

In  our  great  cities  .there  is  plainly  in  evi- 
dence much  wealth  contrasted  with  much  pov- 
erty, and  some  of  the  wealth  has  been  ac- 
quired, or  is  used,  in  a  manner  for  which 
there  is  no  moral  justification. 
Jl 

If   demagogues   or  ignorant   enthusiasts   who 
are    misled    by    demagogues    could    succeed    in 
destroying  wealth,  they  would  of  course  simply 
work  the   ruin  of  the   entire   community. 
Jl 

Great  fortunes  are  usually  made  under  very 
complex  conditions  both  of  effort  and  of  sur- 
rounding, and  the  mere  fact  of  the  complexitv 
makes  it  difficult  to  deal  with  the  new  condi- 
tions thus  created. 

£ 

Probably  the  large  majority  of  the  fortunes 
that  now  exist  In  this  country  have  been 
amassed,  not  by  inluring  mankind,  but  as  an 
incident  to  the  conferring  of  great  benefits  on 
the  community— whatever  the  conscious  pur- 
pose of  those  amassing  them  may  have  been. 
<£ 

Fundamentally,  the  unscrupulous  rich  man 
who  seeks  to  exploit  and  oppress  those  who 


A    SQUARE    DEAL    FOR    EVERY    MAN 


are  less  well  off  is  in  spirit  not  opposed  to, 
but  Identical  with,  the  unscrupulous  poor 
man.  who  desires  to  plunder  and  oppress  those 
who  are  better  off. 


WHITE   HOUSE,  THE— 

It  is  a  good  thing  to  preserve  such  buildings 
as  historic  monuments  which  keep  alive  our 
sense  of  continuity  with  the  Nation's  past. 

Jf 

The  White  House  is  the  property  of  the 
Nation,  and  so  far  as  is  compatible  with  living 
therein  it  should  be  kept  as  it  originally  was, 
for  the  same  reasons  that  we  keep  Mount  Ver- 
non  as  it  originally  was. 

Jtt 
WISDOM— 

Wisdom  un  tempered  by  devotion  to  an  ideal 
usually  means  only  that  dangerous  cunning 
which  is  far  more  fatal  in  its  ultimate  effects 
to  the  community  than  open  violence  itself. 

J* 

WORK- 

NO  man  is  happy  if  he  does  not  work. 

<£ 

I  pity  the  creature  who  doesn't  work,  at 
whichever  end  of  the  social  scale  he  may  re- 
gard himself  as  beine. 

"  J* 

Remember  always  that  the  man  who  does  a 
thing  so  that  it  is  worth  doing  is  always  a 
man  who  does  his  work  for  the  work's  sake. 


We  have   in   our  scheme  of  government   no 
room   for  the  man   who  does  not   wish  to   pay 
his  way  through  life  by  what  he  does  for  him- 
self and  for  the  community. 
J* 

Work,   the  capacity  for   work,   is  absolutely 
necessary;   and   no   man's   life   is   full,   no   man 
can   be   said   to    live   in   the   true   sense   of  the 
word,    if   he   does    not    work. 
^ 

All  really  great  work   is  rough  in  the  doing, 
though  it  seems  smooth   enough  to  those   who 


look   back    upon    it.   or   to   contemporaries   who 
overlook  it  from  afar. 

<* 

The  man  who  does  work  worth  doing  is  the 
man  who  does  it  because  he  cannot  refrain 
from  doing  it,  the  man  who  feels  it  borne  in 
on  him  to  try  that  particular  job  and  see 
if  he  cannot  do  it  well. 
£ 

I  do  not  kpow  whether  I  most  pity  or  de- 
spise the  foolish  and  selfish  man  or  woman 
who  does  not  understand  that  the  only  things 
really  worth  having  in  life  are  those  the  ac- 
quirement of  which  normally  means  cost  and 
effort. 

* 

I  have  heard  the  millionaire  say,  "I  have 
had  to  work  all  my  life  to  make  money,  let 
my  boy  spend  it."  It  would  be  better  for  the 
boy  never  to  have  been  born  than  to  be 
brought  up  on  that  principle. 
<£ 

If  you  are  worth  your  salt  and  want  your 
children  to  be  worth  their  salt,  teach  them 
that  the  life  that  is  not  a  life  of  work  and 
effort  is  worthless,  a  curse  to  the  man  or 
woman  leading  it,  a  curse  to  those  around  him 
or  her. 

* 
WORLD  POWER— 

Our  place  as  a  Nation  is  and  must  be  with 
the   nations  that   have   left   indelibly   their   im- 
press  on   the   centuries. 
£ 

I  believe  that  we  are  now,  at  the  outset 
of  the  twentieth  century,  face  to  face  with 
great  world  problems;  that  we  cannot  help 
playing  the  part  of  a  great  world  power:  that 
all  we  can  decide  is  whether  we  will  play  it 
well  or  ill. 

£ 

It  behooves  all  men  of  lofty  soul,  fit  and 
proud  to  belong  to  a  mighty  nation,  to  see  to 
it  that  we  keep  our  position  in  the  world: 
for  our  proper  place  is  with  the  great  expand- 
ing peoples,  with  the  peoples  that  dare  to  be 
great,  that  accept  with  confidence  a  place 
Of  leadership  in  the  world. 


APPENDIX  , 

THE  ELECTORAL  COLLEGE 


The  Electoral  College,  under  the  last 
apportionment,  consists  of  476  members, 
as  against  447  in  1900.     The  vote  of  the 
respective   states,   therefore,    for  Presi- 

Maryland   .     . 
Massachusetts 
Michigan    . 
Minnesota 

8 
16 

H 
1  1 

Oregon  ...      4 
Pennsylvania  .     34 
Rhode  Island  .       4 
South  Carolina      9 

dent  and  Vice 

President,  this 

year,  will 

Mississippi 

10 

South  Dakota 

•       4 

be  as  follows: 

Missouri     .     . 

18 

Tennessee  . 

12 

•> 

Montana     . 

3 

Texas     .     . 

.     18 

STATE                VOTES 

STATE 

VOTES 

Nebraska    .     . 

8 

Utah  .     .     . 

•       3 

Alabama  .     . 

ii 

Idaho  . 

•       •          3 

Nevada  .     . 

3 

Vermont 

•       4 

Arkansas  .     . 

9 

Illinois 

•       •       27 

New  Hampshire 

4 

Virginia 

12 

California 

10 

Indiana   . 

•    •    is 

New  Jersey 

12 

Washington 

•       5 

Colorado  .     . 

5 

Iowa    . 

•     •     13 

New  York  .  •  . 

39 

West  Virignia 

7 

Connecticut  . 

7 

Kansas    . 

10 

North  Carolina 

12 

Wisconsin  . 

•      13 

Delaware  .     . 

3 

Kentucky 

•     •      13 

North  Dakota  . 

4 

Wyoming    . 

3 

Florida     .     . 

5 

Louisiana 

•      •       9 

Ohio       .     .     . 

23 

Georgia    .    . 

'3 

Maine 

.     .       6 

Total,  476.—  Necessary  to  choice, 

239- 

20 


ROBERT     J.     WYNNE,     POSTMASTER     GENERAL     OF     THE     UNITED     STATES 
From  a  photograph  by  Clmedinst 


HONORABLE    JOHN     HAY,     SECRETARY    OF    STATE    OF     THE     UNITED     STATES 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1003,  by  Clinedinst 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 


VOL.  XXI. 


NOVEMBER,   1904 


No.  2. 


ffairs 


REGAL  in  the  glories  of  Autumn, 
Washington  is  at  her  best  during 
the  months  of  the  presidential  candidacy, 
when  the  representatives  of  the  nation 
meet  their  fate  at  the  hands  of  the  sov- 
ereign voters  of  the  country.  On  the 
whole,  the  more  I  see  of  Washington, 
the  more  I  am  in  love  with  the  city. 


America  where  the  business  men  are 
to  be  found  peacefully  taking  the  air 
and  chatting  in  the  parks.  In  Chicago  and 
New  York,  it  is  true,  the  parks  swarm 
with  men,  but  they  are  the  idlers,  the 
men  who  do  not  want  to  work;  here  in 
Washington  it  is  nothing  unusual  to  find 
busy  and  distinguished  men  enjoying 


The  eques- 
trian statues, 
the  handsome 
homes,  the 
wide -spread- 
ing parks,  all 
have  a  charm 
peculiarly 
their  own  that 
one  loves  to 
linger  and 
muse  upon. 
There  is, 
perhaps,  n  o 
other  city  in 


'From  the  Boston  Herald) 

SECRETARY      OF     STATE      JOHN      HAY     DELIVERING     THE 

ADDRESS    OF    WELCOME  ON    BEHALF  OF    THE   NATION 

TO   THE    INTERNATIONAL     PEACE    CONGRESS,    IN 

TREMONT    TEMPLE,    BOSTON,    OCTOBER    3 


the  beauties 
of  the  parks 
as  they  might 
their  own 
lawns.  The 
spirit  of  na- 
tional owner- 
ship is  strong 
in  the  capital 
city.  I  never 
sit  in  a  park 
in  Washing- 
ton without 
feeling  that  I 


n8 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


am  looking  out  on  my  own  property  and 
enjoying  it  minus  the  trouble  of  paying 
taxes  or  running  a  lawn  mower.  The 
leaves  are  already  whirling  thick  about 
the  streets,  eddying  in  the  breeze;  the 
social  gaieties  have  commenced  some- 
what earlier  than  usual. 

In  politics  everything  is  being  set  in 
order  for  the  anxious  moment,  and  the 
diplomatic  corps  has  returned  to  watch 
for  the  alarms  of  war  across  the  sea. 
There  was  a  rush  at  the  executive  office 
of  President  Roosevelt  on  his  return 
from  Oyster  Bay.  Here  were  senators, 
members  of  the  cabinet,  business  men, 
judges,  bishops  and  an  archbishop — for 
the  primate  of  all  England  is  visiting 
America  for  the  first  time  in  his  official 
capacity.  The  president  was  ruddy  and 
refreshed  by  his  change  of  air,  and 
began  his  year's  work  with  characteristic 
vigor.  The  small  anteroom  off  the  main 
office  was  well  filled,  and  the  roses 
bloomed  as  brightly  as  ever  on  Secretary 
Loeb's  desk.  Major  Loeffler  was  steadily 
posted  at  the  entrance,  reminding  one 
of  George  Washington  with  a  mous- 
tache; and  Charles  Tharin,  the  Swiss 
guard,  also  stood  at  the  door  helping  to 
usher  in  the  throng. 

During  an  early  morning  call  from  the 
newspaper  men,  the  president  freely  dis- 
cussed men  and  affairs.  Then  an  addi- 
tional lot  of  mail  matter  arrived,  requir- 
ing attention,  and  Secretary  Loeb  was 
called  to  take  care  of  it;  he  placed  the 
"hurry  up"  red  tags  on  the  most  impor- 
tant, and  disposed  of  the  whole  bundle 
with  wonderful  dispatch.  A  quick  set- 
tlement of  other  details,  a  rapid  fire  of 
decisive,  short  letters  from  the  president, 
and  then  other  visitors  began  to  appear. 
The  cabinet  came  first,  then  the  sena- 
tors and  congressmen ;  no  sign  anywhere 
of  the  approaching  important  event — the 
election.  At  the  appointed  time,  the 
archbishop  of  Canterbury  arrived,  in  his 
knickerbockers  and  leggings,  and  all  the 
correct  appurtenances  of  his  historic 


office.  It  is  the  first  time  that  America 
has  been  honored  by  a  visit  from  this 
dignitary,  and  just  before  his  entrance 
came  Sir  Mortimer  Durand,  attired  in 
frock  coat  and  lavender  kid  gloves,  the 
British  ambassador  and  a  typical  Eng- 
lishman— every  word  and  action  empha- 
sized this  fact.  His  absolutely  correct 
and  very  dignified  bearing  was  in  curi- 
ous contrast  to  the  archbishop's  some- 
what nautical,  rolling  gait.  I  observed 
that  Thomas  Randolph  Davidson  had 
deep-set,  blue  eyes  and  wore  a  little 
gold  cross  that  showed  up  w.ell  against 
his  black  clothes.  Bishop  Doane  of 
Albany  was  a  member  of  the  arch- 
bishop's party.  During  the  visit  of  the 
archbishop  to  the  White  House  the  dis- 
tinguished financier,  J.  Pierpont  Mor- 
gan, stayed  at  the  Arlington  hotel.  Prob- 
ably he  thought  it  hardly  prudent  to 
make  a  presidential  call  at  a  time  when 
an  election  was  so  close  at  hand.  He 
probably  recalled  a  previous  visit  to  the 
gentleman  who  presides  at  the  desk  in 
the  executive  mansion,  when  he  did  not 
obtain  all  the  satisfaction  he  sought. 
After  the  archbishop's  party  came  Secre- 
tary Morton,  in  his  well  fitting  sack  coat 
and  with  his  business-like  air,  to  consult 
the  president  about  some  important  mat- 
ter. It  was  a  busy  day. 

No  matter  how  much  work  there  is  on 
hand,  a  man  must  be  shaved,  and  the 
president  is  no  exception.  My  own 
turn  that  day  came  after  the  president 
had  been  placed  in  the  chair  and  was 
having  a  close  shave,  preparatory  to 
meeting  the  200  delegates  of  the  inter- 
parliamentary union.  The  reception 
was  at  two-thirty, — the  president  was 
being  shaved  at  two  o'clock — and  how 
he  got  his  lunch  and  had  his  talk  with 
me  and  yet  met  the  delegation  promptly 
on  time  indicates  the  celerity.with  which 
our  chief  executive  moves.  I  felt  a 
greater  admiration  than  ever  for  the 
president  of  the  United  States — not  be- 
cause he  is  Theodore  Roosevelt,  but 


AFFAIRS   AT   WASHINGTON 


119 


because  he  represents  so  great  a  country 
as  our  own  and  yet  lives  so  simply.  But 
the  fact  that  delights  me  most  is  that 
no  matter  how  busy  the  president  may 
be,  he  is  never  so  occupied  but  that  he 
has  time  for  a  word  of  greeting  for  the 
National's  readers,  and  I  greatly  appre- 
ciate this,  because  his  life  and  personal 
ideals  are  an  inspiration  to  America, 


most  interesting  to  note  the  many  na- 
tionalities in  the  procession,  and  one 
could  almost  pick  out  the  delegates  from 
the  different  countries  by  the  varying 
styles  of  the  silk  hats  worn.  Here  was 
the  rotund  Englishman,  the  wiry  French- 
man, the  phlegmatic  German,  the  viva- 
cious Swiss,  the  gentle  Italian  and  the 
stately  Scandinavian;  an  impressive 


(From  the  Boston  Herald)  % 

THOMAS   RANDOLPH   DAVIDSON,  ARCHBISHOP  OF   CANTERBURY,  DELIVERING  AN   ADDRESS 
IN   FANEUIL   HALL,  BOSTON,  ON   OCTOBER   7,    1904 


whatever  may  be  said  or  thought  of  his 
political  views. 

The  reception  occurred  that  afternoon  ; 
it  was  an  imposing  procession  that  filed 
down  Jackson  Park  to  the  Arlington 
hotel.  The  delegates  to  the  peace  con- 
gress all  wore  high  silk  hats.  At  the 
head  of  the  line  walked  Congressman 
Bartholdt  of  St.  Louis,  who  did  so  much 
to  make  the  gathering  a  success.  It  was 


gathering,  because  it  showed  that  all 
these  countries  were  alike  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  peace,  which  looks  toward 
the  acme  of  human  happiness  in  the  per- 
fecting of  the  work  of  The  Hague  tri- 
bunal. 

Each  member  was  personally  greeted 
by  the  president,  and  I  was  indeed  proud 
to  hear  many  of  them  remark  on  the 
pleasant  impression  the  meeting  with 
our  chief  executive  had  left  with  them, 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


and  to  hear  them  compliment  our  mode 
of  government.  It  seemed  difficult  for 
them,  accustomed  for  the  most  part  to 
royalty,  to  realize  that  we  could  govern 
our  country  so  simply.  They  looked  in 
vain  for  the  tinsel  of  the  armed  guard 
and  the  costly  trapping  of  imperialism. 
I  felt  that  nothing  could  have  been  more 
emblematic  of  the  spirit  of  the  congress 
than  was  the  president's  friendly  hand 
grasp. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  I  attended  the 
concert  of  the  famous  Marine  Band,  held 
in  the  rear  of  the  White  House.  It  was 
the  last  one  of  the  season,  and  there  was 
a  large  audience.  Like  the  rest  of  the 
audience,  I  sat  down  on  the  president's 
lawn,  carefully  took  off  my  silk  hat,  and 
enjoyed  a  rare  musical  treat.  In  the 
distance  were  the  handsome  buildings 
that  adorn  Washington,  and  the  stately 
column  of  the  monument;  nearer  were 
the  tall  factory  chimneys,  and  here  and 
there  I  could  catch  the  gleam  of  the 
Potomac.  The  program  was  varied, 
ranging  from  Mascagni's  "Vorspiel" 
to  the  popular  "ragtime."  When  the 
refrain  of  a  popular  song  came  around, 
the  audience  began  to  whistle,  and  when 
the  touching  air  of  "Old  Kentucky 
Home"  was  played,  there  were  many 
moistened  eyes  in  the  great  assembly. 
The  band  stand  was  located  immediately 
in  front  of  the  bay  of  the  White  House, 
which  is  flanked  by  stately  pillars  of 
pure  white.  There  was  no  one  visible 
under  the  awnings,  and. as  I  glanced  at 
the  building  I  thought  that  the  driveway 
and  new  executive  office  give  the  White 
House  a  palatial  air,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  window  panes  are  somewhat 
small.  Somehow  one  cannot  look  at  the 
White  House  without  feeling  a  sense  of 
personal  ownership  which  is  probably 
not  felt  to  an  equal  degree  by  the  citi- 
zens of  any  other  nation  in  regard  to 
a  government  building.  We  feel  that 
this  is  the  home  of  the  president  of  our 
choice,  whether  he  be  the  fiery  Andrew 


Jackson  or  the  stately  Harrison;  politi- 
cal parties  sink  into  insignificance  on 
such  an  occasion  and  we  only  remember 
that  we  belong  to  a  country  where  it  is 
possible  for  our  farm  laborers,  rail  split- 
ters and  canal  boys  to  rise  to  the  highest 
office  in  the  state  and  grace  its  most 
aristocratic  circles.  England  may  have 
her  Buckingham  Palace  and  her  Wind- 
sor, but  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  they 
can  hold  the  same  close  relationship  and 
keen  personal  interest  for  the  common 
people  as  our  White  House,  for  this  is 
the  goal  and  dream  of  half  the  boys  of 
the  country,  to  which  they  are  to  be 
guided  by  the  magic  wand  of  the  future. 

I  could  not  help  studying  those  about 
me.  Here  were  department  clerks, 
grown  gray  in  the  service;  here  were 
the  successful  with  their  cheerful  air  of 
assurance,  and  here,  also,  were  the  timid 
and  depressed,  with  whom  the  battle  of 
life  had  not  gone  well.  Roaming  about 
were  many  happy  children,  and  young 
lads  and  lasses  who  had  a  great  deal  to 
say  to  each  other.  Of  course  all  the 
larking  boys  and  girls  were  there,  be- 
cause it  was  the  last  half  holiday  of  the 
season.  After  this  the  day  in  the  de- 
partments begins  at  nine  and  ends  at 
four-thirty,  the  extra  half  hour  being  put 
on  to  make  up  for  the  holiday  time  dur- 
ing the  Summer.  The  girls  were  nicely 
dressed  and  the  young  men  stood  around 
chatting  or  smoking  a  cigarette,  but 
everybody  did  just  as  he  or  she  felt  in- 
clined. It  was  an  interesting  study,  but 
my  chief  concern  was  to  see  that  none  of 
the  bystanders  crushed  my  silk  hat, 
which  was  a  serious  charge  to  me.  The 
program  concluded  with  "  The  Star 
Spangled  Banner,"  just  as  the  Septem- 
ber sunset  was  tinging  the  West.  As 
the  last  strains  of  the  national  song 
sounded,  I  could  see  through  the  foliage 
the  rich  orange  of  the  sky  reflected  in 
the  Potomac.  I  think  as  we  sauntered 
through  the  White  House  gates  we 
all  felt  that  we  had  much  to  •  be 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


121 


thankful  for  in  this  big  nation  of  ours. 
On  my  way  back  to  the  hotel  I  passed 
the  new  statue  of  General  William  T. 
Sherman,  guarded  by  life  size  sentinels 
of  bronze.  The  horse  upon  which  the 
famous  soldier  is  seated  seems  to  be  lis- 
tening for  the  bugle  call  from  far  away; 
but  majestically  placid  and  serene  is  the 
face  and  attitude  of  the  warrior,  whose 
life  ambition  was  peace.  The  grounds 
about  the  statue  have  not  yet  been 
sodded  over,  and  it  seemed  to  me  almost 


this  building  will  doubtless  figure  on 
many  of  fhe  illuminated  postal  cards 
that  will  be  sent  home  from  the  capital 
by  visitors  this  season. 


/~\NE  of  the  most  interesting  phases  of 
the  presidential  campaign  of  1904 
is  the  management  of  the  republican 
national  committee.  Mr.  Cortelyou,  the 
chairman,  is  a  past  master  of  the  art  of 
organization  and  executive  operations. 


OFFICE     OF     CHAIRMAN      CORTELYOU     IN    THE     NEW    YORK     HEADQUARTERS     OF    THE 
REPUBLICAN     NATIONAL     COMMITTEE 


like  standing  by  the  new-.made  grave  of 
the1  hero.  Across  the  way  are  the  time 
worn  walls  of  the  treasury  building, 
grimly  guarding  the  wealth  of  the  nation, 
the  Greek  columns  seeming  to  stand  as 
sentinels  in  the  sunset  glow,  protecting 
such  treasures  as  Croesus  himself  never 
dreamed  of.  On  every  side  were  the 
throngs  of  tourists  seeking  the  most 
remarkable  features  of  Washington;  and 


I  shall  never  forget  the  first  time  I 
met  him  many  years  ago,  during  the 
early  days  of  McKinley's  administration ; 
exact  in  his  impartial  attention  to  all 
details,  then  as  now.  The  entire  corre- 
spondence of  the  executive  mansion  was 
revolutionized  by  the  young  secretary. 
I  have  seen  him  at  his  desk  earlier  than 
the  department  clerks,  and  seen  him, 
too,  working  far  into  the  small  hours  of 


122 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


the  morning  with  all  the  cool  and  quiet 
system  that  has  always  characterized  his 
public  life.  He  leaves  nothing  to  chance. 
An  expert  stenographer,  he  invariably 
takes  notes  —  upon  anything  that  is 
handy,  though  he  usually  holds  fast  to 
the  papers  in  hand,  so  that  he  may  have 
material  ready  on  which  to  write  at  the 
moment  he  needs  it. 

An  orderly  and  systematic  place  is  the 
republican  headquarters  in  the  Manhat- 
tan Life  Insurance  building,  Madison 
Square,  New  York.  The  array  of  plainly 
furnished  offices,  fronting  on  Fourteenth 
street,  speaks  for  the  business-like  spirit 
that  animates  the  chief  and  his  force, 
for  George  B.  Cortelyou  is  strictly  a 
practical  business  man  from  start  to 
finish  so  far  as  his  official  life  is  con- 
cerned, though  in  private  life  those  who 
know  him  best  know  and  appreciate  the 
kindly  nature  and  warm  heart  hidden 
beneath  the  official  exterior. 

When  he  was  secretary  at  the  White 
House  no  letters  were  ever  left  unan- 


swered, but  each  received  kind  and 
courteous  attention,  though  all  super- 
fluities and  waste  were  carefully  elimin- 
ated. The  same  spirit  prevails  at  the 
republican  headquarters.  There  is  no 
guessing  as  to  how  many  stamps  may  be 
required  for  a  bunch  of  letters,  but  a 
blank  requisition  is  filled  for  the  exact 
number,  as  well  as  for  any  paper  or 
document  required.  This  statement  of 
the  quantity  needed  is  officially  signed 
and  dated,  and  bears  on  the  corner  the 
significant  imprint,  "Republican  Na- 
tional Committee."  In  a  suite  of  eight 
rooms — four  for  supplies  and  three  for 
correspondence — the  rest  of  the  workers 
are  dispersed,  and  all  seem  to  be  im- 
bued with  the  same  spirit  of  order  and 
dispatch,  and  a  careful  examination 
would  show  that  no  committee  of  times 
gone  by  has  ever  been  conducted  along 
such  strict  business  lines.  All  demands 
for  literature  must  come  through  the 
state  organization,  and  are  as  promptly 
attended  to  as  a  merchant's  order  for 


MR.    L.    A.    COOLIDGE,    CHIEF    OF    THE    LITERARY 
BUREAU,   REPUBLICAN   NATIONAL  COMMITTEE 


MR.    FRANK      R.     HITCHCOCK,     CHIEF    ASSISTANT 
TO    CHAIRMAN  CORTELYOU 


AFFAIRS   AT   WASHINGTON 


123 


ELMER     DOVER,    SECRETARY    OF    THE     REPUliLI- 
CAN    NATIONAL    COMMITTEE 

goods  might  be.  The  rule  is  to  make 
all  shipments  the  day  the  order  is  re- 
ceived— before  sundown.  There  is  a 
post  office  in  the  building,  which  facili- 
tates the  work. 

Applicants  with  various  ideas  and 
schemes  must  take  their  petitions  up 
through  the  regular  course,  so  that  when 
the  matter  finally  reaches  Mr.  Cortelyou 
he  is  fortified  with  the  facts  necessary 
to  the  formation  of  his  judgment.  The 
man  who  so  effectively  organized  the 
great  department  of  commerce  and  labor 
has  here  shown  the  same  efficiency. 
The  chairman  of  the  committee  works 
at  a  large  table,  with  no  accompaniment 
of  dusty  pigeonholes.  Each  minute  is 
scheduled  and  everything  is  done  right 
on  time,  the  opening  and  closing  hours 
of  the  offices  being  as  carefully  kept  as 
though  they  were  timed  by  a  factory  bell. 
Mr.  Cortelyou  understands  that  punctu- 
ality is  the  handmaid  of  achievement. 


HARRY    S.    NEW,    WESTERN     MANAGER     FOR    THE 
REPUBLICAN     NATIONAL     COMMITTEE 


The  abilities  that  first  appeared  in  the 
young  post  office  clerk,  then  served  three 
presidents  successively,  seem  to  have 
reached  the  highest  degree  of  perfection 
in  the  department  of  commerce  and 
labor,  and  are  now  doing  good  service 
for  the  republican  national  committee. 
It  is  difficult  to  realize  that  this  accu- 
rate, business-like  politician  was  edu- 
ated  as  a  musician  at  the  New  England 
Conservatory  of  Music.  It  can  hardly 
be  believed  that  the  same  agile  fingers 
that  handle  the  intricate  web  of  the 
work  of  a  great  committee  can  also  roll 
off  the  chords  of  a  sonata  or  nocturne. 
Yet  it  is  possible  that  it  is  this  artistic 
temperament  that  furnishes  that  accu- 
racy found  in  the  score  of  a  piece  of 
music.  In  Mr.  Cortelyou's  work  every 
note  and  pause  is  in  the  right  place. 
When  he  strikes  A  natural,  it  is  A 
natural;  there  is  no  guessing  about  his 
work.  While  his  manner  indicates  that 


124 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,   1904 


he  is  given  to  the  use  of  the  pianissimo 
stop,  there  is  a  silent  force  behind  the 
man's  eye  glasses  that  convinces  the  on- 
looker that  Mr.  Cortelyou  can  sweep  up 
to  fortissimo  and  hold  the  volume  of 
sound  without  an  effort  when  he  so 
desires.  He  speaks  in  a  kindly,  soft 
staccato,  which  yet  conveys  the  idea  that 
the  speaker  is  absolutely  master  of  the 
situation. 

In  the  opposite  corner  of  Mr.  Cortel- 
you's  big,  pleasant  office  is  Mr.  Frank 
H.  Hitchcock,  his  most  efficient  aide- 
de-camp,  who  was  chief  clerk  of  the 
department  of  commerce  and  labor. 
A  tall,  quiet,  slender  young  man,  but 
positive  and  exact  in  all  the  details  that 
need  his  attention.  The  office  seems 
specially  suited  to  its  occupants,  and  the 
fresh  newness  of  everything  gives  the 
impression  of  a  prosperous  banking 
house.  Within  these  few  square  feet, 
surrounding  Mr.  Hitchcock's  desk,  are 
gathered  all  the  essential  points  of  a 
campaign  reaching  to  the  most  remote 
sections  of  the  country;  and  wherever 
the  chief  may  be,  he  has  the  pleasant 
consciousness  that  everything  is  run- 
ning smoothly  during  his  absence,  under 
the  able  guidance  of  Mr.  Hitchcock. 

Business  principles  are  applied  to 
everything,  and  even  the  speaker's 
bureau  is  arranged  with  all  the  pre- 
cision of  a  modern  theatrical  syndicate. 
The  itinerary  is  accurately  followed,  and 
bulletins  indicate  just  where  and  when 
each  speaker  will  appear,  and  no  disap- 
pointed audiences  have  been  recorded. 
Mr.  Cortelyou  was  the  first  secretary 
who  provided  an  itinerary  for  a  presi- 
dential-trip, which  was  drawn  up  and 
followed  out  to  the  second,  as  in  McKin- 
ley's  tours,  thus  avoiding  much  tiresome 
waiting  and  disappointment  for  those 
who  watched  for  a  meeting  with  the 
president.  The  chairman  of  the  repub- 
lican committee  is  one  of  those  people 
who  procure  information  in  advance, 
instead  of  chasing  it  up  after  the  event 
has  taken  place  or  while  it  is  in  pro- 


gress. He  has  a  quiet  way  of  his  own 
of  finding  out  things,  being  an  adept  in 
the  art  of  listening,  like  most  men  whose 
words  are  few  and  well  chosen.  A  care- 
ful record  is  kept  of  all  done,  including 
copies  of  letters  sent  out.  The  type- 
written work  is  done  outside  this  office, 
and  the  click  of  the  writing  machine  is 
not  heard  here.  It  is  a  notable  fact  that 
Mr.  Cortel)'ou  has  arranged  so  that  all 
shorthand  notes  are  legibly  written,  and 
can  be  transcribed  by  any  of  his  steno- 
graphers. This  is  especially  true  of  his 
own  notes.  He  would  have  made  a  good 
shorthand  instructor  if  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  this  was  his  work. 

Of  course  some  of  the  old  time- politi- 
cians are  a  little  ruffled  at  the  apparently 
impenetrable  calm  maintained  at  head- 
quarters, but  .he  results  will  prove 
whether  Mr.  Cortelyou's  revolutionary 
ideas  are  or  are  not  in  consonance  with 
the  spirit  of  the  times.  It  is  probable 
that  he  is  correct,  for  there  never  was 
a  keener  observer  than  George  B.  Cor- 
telyou, with  his  rare  mixture  of  heart 
warmth,  poetic  sentiment,  business  capa- 
city and  strong  common  sense. 

The  chairman  of  the  committee  has 
the  art  of  telling  an  effective  story  in 
very  few  words,  and  it  was  he  who  told 
me  one  of  the  prettiest  incidents  I  have 
heard  of  the  last  campaign,  the  "home, 
sweet  home,"  story  that  has  been  so 
widely  circulated  by  the  Republican 
committee.  Few  men  are  more  familiar 
with  the  details  of  that  last  campaign 
than  is  Mr.  Cortelyou,  and  it  will  be 
remembered  how,  during  the  terrible 
days  at  Buffalo,  he  never  lost  his  head, 
but  continued  to  serve  faithfully  and 
well  both  his  chief  and  the  grief  stricken 
country.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  truer 
and  sweeter  friendship  recorded  than 
that  between  William  McKinley,  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt  and  George  B.  Cortel- 
you. How  much  he  was  to  the  late 
president  it  would  be  difficult  to  de- 
scribe. He  often  walked  with  him  and 
took  notes  of  the  messages  which  after- 


AFFAIRS  AT   WASHINGTON 


125 


ward  became  famous  in  our  state  records. 
The  secretary  was  steeped  in  the  inter- 
ests  of  his  chief  and  seemed  to  live  for 


and  avoiding  possible  mistakes,  which  is 
invaluable  in  his  present  work.  He  has 
been  a  resident  of  Long  Island,  but  his 


GEORGE    B.    CORTELYOU,    CHAIRMAN    OF    THE    REPUBLICAN    NATIONAL    COMMITTEE 


that  alone.  In  addition  to  his  many 
other  valuable  qualities  he  has  the  rare 
one  of  saving  people  from  themselves, 
Mr.  Cortelyou  has  a  talent  for  foreseeing 


experience  is  as  wide  as  the  nation  itself. 

Another  notable  member  of  the  corn- 

mittee  is  Mr.  L.  A.  Coolidge,  who  occu- 

pies  a  room  adjoining  that  used  by  Mr. 


126 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


COLONEL  ARTHUR  A.  WAGNER, 
CHIEF  UMPIRE. 


MAJOR  GENERAL  CORBIN, 
COMMANDER  IN  CHIEF 


BRIGADIER  GENERAL  BELL, 
COMMANDING  "BROWN   ARMY." 


THREE  OF   THE   CHIEF  FIGURES   IN   THE   WAR   GAME   AT   MANASSAS 


Hitchcock.     Mr.  Coolidge  was  president 
of   the   Gridiron    Club,   is  one   of     the 
best    known    newspaper  correspondents 
in  America,  having 
served  for  years  on 
a   prominent    Bos- 
ton paper,    and   is 
now   in    charge  of 
the  literary  bureau 
of  the  eastern  head- 
quarters of  the  Re- 
publican    commit- 
tee, a  post   for 
which  his  abilities 
especially  fit   him. 


He  applies  to  cam- 


THE  ARMY'S  REPAIR  SHOP  ON  WHEELS 


paign  literature  the  same  keen  judgment 
that  he  brought  to  the  work  of  a  great 
national  newspaper.  Mr.  Coolidge  is 
ably  qualified 
either  as  editor, 
circulation  man  or 
publisher,  and  but 
one  thing  is  lack- 
ing to  complete  the 
square  —  an  adver- 
tising department. 
It  has  been  face- 
tiously remarked 
that  if  there  had 
been  no  ethical  re- 
striction the  present 


AFFAIRS  AT   WASHINGTON 


127 


Republican  campaign  could  have  paid 
all  expenses  by  incorporating  a  depart- 
ment of  this  kind.  They  have  certainly 
made  a  marked  innovation  by  buying 
and  paying  cash  for  space  in  various 
advertising  mediums,  just  as  any  other 
corporation  might  do.  Nothing  could 
be  cleaner  or  squarer  than  the  way  in 
which  this  committee  has  worked  so  far, 
keeping  free  from  the  slightest  taint  of 
"bribery  and  corruption"  and  all  ques- 
tionable methods.  It  is  generally  felt 
that  all  this  reflects  the  wishes  of  the 
candidates  on  the  ticket.  This  is  of 
especial  interest,  not  because  it  is  a 
Republican  committee,  but  because  it 
reflects  a  growing  sentiment  of  the 
American  nation. 

Much  that  has  been  said  of  Mr.  Cor- 
telyou  might  also  apply  to  Mr.  Elmer 
Dover,  who  i*s  in  charge  of  the  western 
branch  of  the  committee  in  Chicago,  in 
conjunction  with  Colonel  Harry  New. 
As  private  secretary  to  Senator  Hanna, 
Mr.  Dover  gained  a  wide  acquaintance 


with  all  national  details,  such  as  few  men 
possess.  He  has  the  same  thorough, 
business-like,  systematic  methods  that 
prevail  in  the  management  of  the  east- 
ern branch  of  the  republican  committee. 
When  he  leaves  his  desk  at  night,  the 
work  is  absolutely  finished  for  that  day. 
In  many  ways,  Mr.  Dover  resembles 
Senator  Hanna,  and  nobody  leaves  his 
presence  without  feeling  inspired  and 
encouraged  to  face  hopefully  "the  daily 
round,  the  common  task."  He  will  be 
busy,  but  never  too  much  so  to  make 
a  genial  remark,  which  seems  in  no  way 
to  disturb  the  continuity  of  his  work. 

Mr.  Dover  and  his  colleagues  occupy 
pleasant  rooms  on  the  second  floor  of 
the  Auditorium  hotel  in  Chicago,  where 
the  western  department  of  the  campaign 
moves  along  with  the  same  systematized 
energy  that  prevails  in  the  East.  On 
the  whole,  it  may  be  said  that  the  na- 
tional committee  has  established  a  pre- 
cedent in  the  conduct  of  political  affairs 
and  is  writing  a  page  of  history  that  will 


TREE,     STILL      STANDING      ON      THE      BULL      RUN 

FIELD,      UNDER     WHICH      GENERALS     LEE, 

JACKSON   AND   STUART   PLANNED   THE 

SECOND    BULL    RUN    BATTLE 


BRIGADIER    GENERAL  FREDERICK   DENT  GRANT, 

COMMANDER  OF   THE   "BLUE"   ARMY    IN  THE 

WAR     GAME     AND    SON    OF     THE     MAN 

TO   WHOM     LEE     SURRENDERED 


128 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


ARTILLERY   AT  WORK  —  SIGHTING   A   FIELD    GUN 


be  read  with  deepest  interest  by  all  stu- 
dents of  the  tactics  of  presidential  cam- 
paign in  the  years  to  come. 


U  R.  G.  V.  BUCK  of  Washington  rep- 

resented  the   National  at  the  army 

maneuvers   this  year,    and    his  camera 


caught  the  interesting  snapshots  of  men 
and  scenes  herewith  presented.  Mr. 
John  S.  Barrows,  sergeant  of  Troop  A, 
first  battalion  cavalry,  M^V.  M.,  "took 
notes"  for  the  National  while  perform- 
ing his  share  of  the  rough  and-ready  war 
play.  Mr.  Barrows  writes: 

"During  the  early  weeks  of  the  Autumn 


MRS.    CORBIN,    SECRETARY     PAUL     MORTON     AND    MRS.     CORNELIUS    VANDERBILT,     JR., 

WATCHING     THE     WAR     GAME. — MR.    VANDERBILT     WAS    IN    THE    FIELD    WITH 

THE    NEW    YORK    GUARDS 


AFFAIRS    AT   WASHINGTON 


129 


there  occurred  on  the  historic  fields  of 
Manassas,  Virginia,  in  the  locality  where 
in  July,  1 86 1,  the  Federal  army  met  its 
first  defeat  by  the  Confederate  army, 
a  war  game  on  a  greater  scale  than  had 
ever  before  been  attempted  in  this  coun- 
try, for  a  territory  of  65,000  acres  was 
used  as  the  theater  of  war,  and  a  force 
of  over  25,000  men  with  the  necessary 
baggage  trains  and  animals  required  for 
cavalry  and  artillery  were  used. 

"These  forces  included  representatives 
of  the  regular  and  militia  forces  of  the 
country,  the  latter  being  in  the  majority. 
The  militia  came  from  Maine,  Vermont, 
Massachusetts,  Connecticut,  New  York, 
New  Jersey,  Maryland,  Virginia,  West 
Virginia,  Tennessee,  North  and  South 
Carolina,  Alabama  and  Florida.  They 
were  the  sons  and  grandsons  of  those 
who  forty  years  ago  were  enemies  for 
a  time:  on  this  occasion  there  were  no 
sectional  differences;  regiments  from  the 
North  were  brigaded  with  those  from  the 
South,  and  both  forces  were  thoroughly 
mixed  and  divided  so  that  regular  sol- 
diers and  citizen  soldiers  stood  equal  in 
opportunity  to  distinuish  themselves. 

"The  maneuvers  were  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Major  General  Henry  C.  Corbin 
of  the  regular  army,  under  whom  the 
umpires  watched  the  efforts  of  the  two 
opposing  forces  under  Brigadier  General 
Frederick  D.  Grant,  U.  S.  A.,  and  Briga- 
dier General  J.  Franklin  Bell.  U.  S.  A., 
one  of  which  was  called  the  Blue  army 
and  the  other  the  Brown  army,  from  the 
arrangement  of  their  uniforms.  Certain 
rules  and  conditions  governed  all  move- 
ments of  troops  when  in  the  face  of  the 
enemy,  and  the  results  were  allowed  by 
the  umpires  in  proportion  to  what  would 
be  the  natural  results  were  both  forces 
hostile  and  opposed  in  actual  warfare. 

"The  question  is  naturally  asked: 
'What  does  it  all  amount  to? '  and  the 
answer  is  this:  It  has  taught  a  number 
of  important  lessons  which  in  time  of 
war  would  be  most  useful;  and,  while 
probability  of  war  is  very  remote,  an 


130 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    NOVEMBER,    1904 


AN   AUTOMOBILE   PARTY    AT   THE   WAR  GAME. — CAPTAIN    MOSS,    IN    THE    FRONT    SEAT, 

SEEMS    TO    BE    CAMERA-SHY. — THE    LADIES    ARE    MRS.    FREDERICK    GRANT, 

MRS.    CORBIN    AND     MISS     PATTON 


annual  exercise  of  the  army,  both  regu- 
lar and  volunteer,  in  different  parts  of 
the  country,  will  give  us  an  army  of  tried 
men,  men  who  will  know  how  to  care  for 
themselves  and  others  in  actual  cam- 
paign. 

"The  value  of  the  khaki  color  over 
blue  for  campaigning  was  fully  demon- 
strated, both  for  comfort  and  inconspicu- 
ousness;  while  the  need  of  a  different 
material  for  scabbards  and  drinking  cups 
was  demonstated  when  the  reflection  of 
the  sun's  rays  on  the  bright  steel  or  tin 
would  reveal  the  position  of  a  force 
which  otherwise  would  be  practically  in- 
visible. 

"The  week's  work  brought  out  many  . 


weak  points  in  the  militia  establishment 
which  could  have  been  discovered  only 
by  some  such  means,  and  it  is  not  un- 
likely that  before  another  similar  cam- 
paign is  attempted  there  will  be  many 
improvements  made.  The  national  gov- 
ernment provides  a  large  sum  of  money 
annually  for  the  use  of  the  militia  forces, 
and  any  state  which  allows  this  sum  to 
accumulate  while  the  men  suffer  for 
proper  equipment  is  entitled  to  harsh 
criticism.  Such  experiences  as  this 
year  should  cause  a  searching  in  the 
commonwealths  for  the  best  men  for  the 
places  of  use  and  influence. 

"The  campaign  just  closed  will  have 
a  purifying  tendency  on  the  militia:  it 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


'31 


will  drive  out  of  it  that  element  which 
sees  in  the  service  only  a  means  for 
frolic  and  boyish  foolishness.  The  mili- 
tia today  offers  a  splendid  school  for 
a  young  man  to  become  a  better  citizen, 
more  valuable  to  his  'commonwealth  and 
country  and  more  self  respecting  and' 
more  efficient  generally." 


nUBLIC  attention  is  apt  to  center  upon 

congressional  districts  represented  by 

men  who  have  won  national    celebrity. 

Even  more  interesting  to  me,  because  of 


the  unrevealed  possibilities  that  lie  in 
the  brain  of  every  energetic  young 
American,  is  the  appearance  of  a  new 
figure  in  the  congressional  arena.  In 
each  such  new  comer  we  recognize  the 
possible  future  party  leader — the  succes- 
sor of  the  Great  Men  who  now  wear  the 
honors  and  wield  the  power. 

Albert  F.  Dawson,  who  was  unani- 
mously nominated  for  congress  by  the 
republicans  of  the  second  district  of 
Iowa,  is  a  product  of  that  state,  and  is 
regarded  both  at  home  and  in  Washing- 
ton as  a  man  of  the  Roosevelt  type. 


GALLANT     CITY    VOLUNTEERS    PREPARING    TO    RECEIVE    VISITS    FROM    THE    LADIES 


132 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,   1904 


TAKING    SOLID    COMFORT    AFTER    AN    ACTIVE    SESSION    OF     THE    WAR    GAME 


Two  years  ago  the  second  district 
elected  Martin  F.  Wade,  a  democrat  and 
the  only  one  in  Iowa's  delegation.  This 
year  the  republicans,  with  Mr.  Dawson 
as  their  candidate,  are  hopeful  of  victory 
over  Mr.  Wade.  Mr.  Dawson  is  making 
a  most  energetic  campaign,  aided  by 
Hon.  Joe  R.  Lane  of  Davenport,  for- 
mer congressman,  as  chairman  of  the 
central  committee.  His  opponent  is 
a  strong  man  and  Mr.  Dawson's  victory 
will  not  be  easily  won.  For  five  years 
Mr.  Dawson  has  been  Senator  Allison's 
private  secretary  and  clerk  of  the  senate 
commitee  on  appropriations,  where  he 


has  gained  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
national  finances,  not  a  bad  special 
equipment  for  a  young  congressman  to 
start  with. 

& 

lA/HAT  a  picture  of  the  changeful  char- 
acter of  life  is  revealed  at  every  sit- 
ting of  the  senate  in  Washington;  now 
it.  is  the  seat  of  the  senior  senator  from 
Massachusetts  that  is  vacant.  It  seems 
as  though  there  has  been  a  death-pause, 
and,  as  Carlyle  wrote  after  the  death  of 
Gcethe. 

"In  such  moments  the  secret  of  life 
and  law  opens  to  us.     Mysterious  things 


A    BIT    OF    THE    PARADE    AT    WELLINGTON,    THAT    CLOSED    THE    WEEK'S    WAR    PLAY 


AFFAIRS    AT    WASHINGTON 


133 


flit  over  the    soul.      Life   itself  seems 
holier — wonderful  and  fearful." 

It  was  indeed  a  rare  privilege  to  know 
George  Frisbie  Hoar.  If  ever  there  was 
a  man  the  embodiment  of  integrity  of 
conscience  and,  at  the  same  time,  of 
scholastic  lore,  it  was  Senator  Hoar. 
His  every  movement  and  action  was 
dignified.  When  he  rose  in  the  senate, 
head  thrown  back  and  white  hair  gleam- 


sion  bill — an  unparalleled  position  for 
a  senator  to  take  in  the  face  of  public 
opinion — was  one  of  the  most  heroic 
efforts  I  ever  heard  on  the  floor  of  the 
senate. 

He  was  an  earnest  student  of  history, 
a  close  observer  of  men  and  affairs,  and 
an  entertaining  conversationalist.  How 
often  has  he  impressed  upon  me  in  our 
little  talks  together  the  necessity  of  hav- 


SECRETARY  MORTON,  LIEUTENANT   GENERAL  CHAFFEE,  MAJOR   GENERAL   CORBIN 

AND  BRIGADIER  GENERAL  BELL  REVIEWING  THE  GRAND  PARADE  OF  NATIONAL 

AND  STATE  TROOPS  AT  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  RECENT  ARMY  MANEUVERS 


ing  in  the  sunlight,  he  was  a  most  im- 
pressive figure,  and  his  clear  voice 
reached  every  corner  of  the  chamber. 
That  was  when  the  old  Roman  in  him 
was  aroused  in  a  cause  that  struck  deep 
into  the  fundamentals  of  human  liberty. 
Born  at  historic  Concord,  Mr.  Hoar's 
life  has  been  one  of  unceasing  and  untir- 
ing service  to  the  people.  At  times 
startling,  yet  always  lovable,  he  invari- 
ably suggested  Gladstone  to  my  mind. 
His  speech  against  the  Chinese  exclu- 


ing  a  potential  purpose  clearly  estab- 
lished in  a  periodical,  for  he  always  took 
a  kindly  interest  in  the  National  Maga- 
zine, and  seemed  to  feel  a  personal  re- 
sponsibility in  helping  us  to  reproduce 
in  our  pages  the  best  and  worthiest 
thought  of  our  times. 

Although  there  was  a  radical  differ- 
ence between  Senator  Hoar  and  Presi- 
dent McKinley,  there  never  were  two 
men  who  loved  each  other  more  tenderly 
than  did  these  two.  I  remember  seeing 


'34 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


them  in  the  old  cabinet  room  in  the  White 
House,  shaking  hands  and  parting  in 
the  most  genial  way  at  the  time  of  the 
Spanish-American  war.  They  had  evi- 
dently just  concluded  a  long  conference, 
but  as  they  parted  at  the  door  there  was 
something  of  the  strong  friendship  that 


THE    LATE     SENATOR  HOAR    AS    HIS    COLLEAGUES 
KNEW   HIM     IN    THE    SENATE 
Copyright,  1903,  by  Clinedinst 


existed  between  them  apparent  in  this 
final  leave-taking.  The  senator  grasped 
the  president  by  both  arms,  and  stood 
a  moment  looking  at  him  in  a  way  that 
expressed  what  he  felt  better  than  any 
words  could  have  done. 

How  well  I  remember  the  signs  and 
tokens  of  a  coming  joke.  When  the 
senator's  mouth  began  to  pucker  up,  we 
knew  what  to  expect,  but  usually  he 
would  save  it  for  the  ears  of  the  senate 
joke  broker,  Chauncey  Depew.  His 
campaign  speeches  were  always  a  delight 
for  their  elegant  diction  and  their  pun- 
gency. I  can  never  forget  the  dramatic 
climax  he  reached  once  when  portraying 
the  motives  of  the  opposition.  He  rep- 
resented his  own  party  as  a  company  of 
knights  of  old,  armed  cap-a-pie  and 
riding  on  war  horses  of  Arabian  descent. 
They  advanced  in  solid  phalanx  with 
sword  and  spear  all  ready  for  action. 
They  came  to  close  quarters  prepared  to 
grapple  with  their  opponents,  shouting, 
as  each  man  singled  out  his  special  ad- 
versary with  whom  to  do  battle,  "Draw, 
villain,  draw!  " 

"But,"  said  the  senator,  with  a  ges- 
ture impossible  of  description,  "the  only 
weapons  that  the  opposition  party  had 
were  pens  and  check  books,  and  the 
word  "draw"  conveyed  but  one  mean- 
ing to  their  minds." 

One  of  the  last  public  matters  that 
engaged  Senator  Hoar's  attention  down 
to  the  time  of  his  last  illness  was  the  bill 
which  he  introduced  at  the  last  session — 
prompted  by  an  article  in  the  National 
for  March,  1904,  providing  for  a  monu- 
ment in  Washington  to  Major  L' Enfant, 
the  French  engineer  who  planned  our 
national  capital  and  whose  remains  have 
long  lain  neglected  in  a  little  private 
burial  ground  near  Hyattsville,  Mary- 
land. The  National  article  referred  to 
expressed  surprised  that  a  public  bene- 
factor and  patriot  should  be  thus  neg- 
lected. Senator  Hoar  immediately 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


135 


took  up  the  matter,  and  the  bill  went 
through.  This  bill  provides,  not  only 
that  a  grave  stone  be  erected,  but  that 
the  remains  of  Major  L'Enfant  be  dis- 
interred, if  thought  proper,  and  placed 
in  some  more  suitable  spot  and  within 
the  limits  of  the  city  which  he  planned. 
This  question  and  the  choice  of  a  stone 
is  at  the  discretion  of  the  commissioners 
of  the  District  of  Columbia. 

Jt 

THERE  are  some  men  whom  you  never 
can  conceive  of  as  having  passed 
from  the  activities  of  every  day  life. 
One  of  these  was  Henry  C.  Payne.  For 
years  his  great  mind  seemed  to  work  in 
universals.  It  was  an  education  to  serve 
him,  either  in  business  or  political  mat- 
ters. Cool  headed,  keen,  perhaps  no 
man  was  ever  so  accurate  in  a  political 
forecast.  His  judgment  was  always  safe 
and  clear.  He  was  conservative,  and 
yet  bold  and  daring;  firm  and  aggres- 
sive, yet  kindly  and  loyal  to  a  friend. 
What  more  can  one  say  about  any  man? 
President  Roosevelt  lost  in  Henry  C. 
Payne  a  valuable  member  of  his  cabinet. 
I  shall  never  forget  how  I  saw  him  in 
the  recent  national  convention  in  Chi- 
cago, hurrying  down  the  stairs  to  the  tele- 
graph office  to  send  a  telegram  to  his 
chief  in  Washington.  There  was  a  gleam 
of  enthusiasm  in  his  eye  and  a  kindness 
in  his  smile  that  spoke  of  the  valiant 
service  which  he  always  loved  to  give 
to  those  with  whom  he  was  associated. 
He  will  be  sadly  missed  by  those  who 
are  familiar  with  the  kindly  gleam  of 
those  gray  eyes  and  the  hearty  clasp  of 
his  hand. 

Henry  C.  Payne  was  a  man  who 
achieved.  Although  suffering  keenly 
from  physical  ailments  in  the  latter  part 
of  his  life,  his  grim  determination  and 
strong  will  kept  him  in  active  life  to  the 
last,  as  he  always  wished.  He  may  have 
made  enemies,  but  none  can  withold 
from  him  the  tribute  of  sterling  integrity 
and  of  a  fighter  worthy  of  a  mighty  foe- 
man's  steel.  He  brought  to  the  post 


office  department  in  Washington  all  the 
force  of  his  business  experience  and 
sagacity  and  made  a  record  of  which  his 
chief  may  well  be  proud. 

It  stirs  a  flood  of  pathetic  memories 
to  remember  that  "Uncle  Mark"  and 
Henry  C.  Payne,  the  able  captain  and 
lieutentant  of  the  '96  campaign,  have 
both  passed  away  before  the  smoke  of 
the  presidential  conflict  of  4904  has  even 
begun  to  darken  the  sky. 

* 

/"VNE  of  the  most  interesting  educa- 
tional innovations  in  recent  years  is 
the  International  Correspondence  Uni- 
versity of  Washington,  District  of  Col- 
umbia. The  life  and  spirit  of  this  move- 
ment is  Dr.  Channing  Rudd,  who  was 
for  many  years  prominently  connected 
with  the  Columbia  Law  School.  It  was 
he  who  established  the  department  of 
diplomacy  in  Columbia  University. 

The  location  of  the  school  at  the  na- 
tional capital  affords  ample  and  unex- 
celled opportunities  for  taking  all  kinds 
of  international  law  and  commerical 
studies.  The  university  occupies  a  field 
not  covered  by  any  other  educational  in- 
stitution. In  the  commercial  and  law 
departments  the  very  best  experts  have 
been  secured.  Chinese,  Portuguese  and 
Japanese  have  been  introduced  in  the 
language  department.  In  no  other  place 
in  the  country  is  there  so  good  an 
opportunity  for  keeping  in  close  personal 
touch  with  the  languages  and  customs  of 
the  world,  for  in  Washington  every 
nation  is  represented  by  examples  of  its 
finest  culture. 

The  names  of  Justice  Brown  and  Jus- 
tice Brewer  of  the  United  States  supreme 
court  and  of  Senator  Depew  and  Dr. 
Edward  Everett  Hale  are  in  themselves 
a  guarantee  of  the  importance  of  the 
proposition.  William  T.  Harris,  United 
States  commissioner  of  education,  and 
John  Franklin  Crowell,  educational 
director,  both  men  of  national  reputation, 
share  with  President  Rudd  the  control 
and  management  of  the  university. 


136 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


THE     CIVIL    WAR   DRAFT     RIOTS   IN    NEW   YORK,   FROM   A    PAINTING    OWNED   BY 

MR.    J.   A.   HILTNER,    FIRST   VICE    PRESIDENT  OF   THE    NATIONAL   SHOE   AND 

LEATHER  BANK,  CHAMBERS  STREET  AND  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK  CITY 


JOHN   HAY  SPEAKS  FOR  THE   NATION 

i  .     ;;, ;;;.;. 

ADDRESS     OF     THE     SECRETARY     OF     STATE      AT     THE      OPENING 
OF     THE     PRESS     PARLIAMENT     OF     THE     WORLD,     IN     ST.      LOUIS, 

MAY      19,      1904 


I  THANK  you,  Mr.  Chairman;  1  thank 
you,  gentlemen — all  of  you — for  your 
too  generous  and  amiable  welcome.  I 
esteem  it  a  great  privilege  to  meet  so 
many  representatives  of  an  estate  which, 
more  than  any  other,  at  this  hour  con- 
trols the  world.  It  is  my  daily  duty  in 
Washington  to  confer  with  the  able  and 
distinguished  representatives  of  civilized 
sovereigns  and  states.  But  we  are  all 
aware  that  the  days  of  personal  govern- 
ment are  gone  forever;  that  behind  us, 
and  behind  the  rulers  we  represent,  there 
stands  the  vast,  irresistible  power  of 
public  opinion,  which  in  the  last  resort 
must  decide  all  the  questions  we  discuss, 
and  whose  judgment  is  final.  In  your 
persons  I  greet  the  organs  and  expo- 
nents of  that  tremendous  power  with 
all  the  respect  which  is  due  to  you  and 
your  constituency,  deeply  sensible  of 
the  honor  which  has  been  done  me  in 
making  me  the  mouth-piece  of  the  senti- 
ment of  appreciation  and  regard  with 
which  the  nation  welcomes  you  to  this 
great  festival  of  peace  and  of  progress. 
It  is  possible  —  if  you  will  pardon 
a  personal  word  from  me  —  that  the  cir- 
cumstances of  my  life  may  have  com- 
mended me  to  the  notice  of  President 
Francis,  and  may  have  led  him  to  invite 
me  here  tonight  to  take  part  in  this  occa- 
sion in  the  dual  capacity  of  host  and 
guest.  My  years  of  newspaper  work 
might  entitle  me  to  a  modest  place  in 
your  membership,  while  the  valley  of 
the  mighty  river  which  rolls  by  the 
wharves  of  St.  Louis  can  never  be  con- 
sidered by  me  otherwise  than  as  my 
home.  The  years  of  my  boyhood  were 
passed  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi, 
and  the  great  river  was  the  scene  of  my 
early  dreams.  The  boys  of  my  day  led 
an  amphibious  life  in  and  near  its  waters 


in  the  Summer  time,  and  in  the  Winter 
its  dazzling  ice  bridge,  of  incomparable 
beauty  and  purity,  was  our  favorite  play- 
ground; while  our  imaginations  were 
busy  with  the  glamour  and  charm  of  the 
distant  cities  of  the  South,  with  their 
alluring  French  names  and  their  legends 
of  stirring  adventure  and  pictures  of  per- 
petual Summer.  It  was  a  land  of  faery, 
alien  to  us  in  all  but  a  sense  of  common 
ownership  and  patriotic  pride.  We  built 
snow  forts  and  called  them  Alamo;  we 
sang  rude  songs  of  the  cane  brake  and 
the  corn  field;  and  the  happiest  days  of 
the  year  to  us  who  dwelt  on  the  north- 
ern bluffs  of  the  river  were  those  that 
brought  us,  in  the  loud  puffing  and 
whistling  steamers  of  the  olden  time,  to 
the  Mecca  of  our  rural  fancies,  the  bright 
and  busy  metropolis  of  St.  Louis. 

The  historical  value  of  the  Mississippi 
is  not  less  than  its  geographical  and 
natural  importance.  Its  course  through 
the  pages  of  our  country's  story  is  as 
significant  ^s  the  tremendous  sweep  of 
its  waters  from  the  crystal  lakes  which 
sleep  beneath  the  northern  stars  to  the 
placid  expanse  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 
Its  navigation  was  a  prize  fiercely  con- 
tended for  by  every  chancellerie  of  west- 
ern Europe.  Many  suitors  have  looked 
upon  it  since  that  gallant  Prince  Charm- 
ing, Hernando  de  Soto,  parted  the  cur- 
tains of  its  repose,  and  all  have  found  it 
fair.  It  aroused  equally  the  interest  of 
the  Briton,  the  Iberian  and  the  Gaul. 
When,  by  virtue  of  one  of  the  strangest 
caprices  of  the  great  game  of  diplomacy 
ever  known,  it  became  our  cherished 
possession,  it  gave  rise  to  the  fiercest 
political  contests,  the  most  far-reaching 
combinations.  When  the  accumulated 
passions  and  purposes  of  a  hundred 
years  at  last  burst  forth  in  a  tempest  of 


138 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


war,  it  became  the  center  of  a  world's 
breathless  interest  and  was  flooded  with 
the  fatal  and  terrible  light  which  plays 
about  the  battlefields  of  fame  and 
"shines  in  the  sudden  making  of  splen- 
did names."  So  long  as  its  waters  roll 
to  the  sea,  so  long  will  the  world  remem- 
ber the  high  resolution  with  which  Grant 
and  Sherman  hewed  their  way  south- 
ward and  the  chivalrous  courage  with 
which  Johnston  and  Pemberton  opposed 
them.  So  immense  is  the  value  of  that 
silver  bar  that  binds  together  the  frame- 
work of  the  wedded  States. 

We  celebrate  this  year,  with  the  gen- 
erous assistance  of  a  friendly  world,  the 
most  important  event  in  the  history  of 
this  great  valley,  an  event  which  in  far- 
reaching  and  lasting  results  is  surpassed 
by  few  in  the  life  of  the  nation.  It  is 
perhaps  true  that  to  the  philosophic  mind 
all  periods  are  critical — that  every  hour 
is  the  end  of  an  era  and  the  beginning  of 
a  new  order  of  ages.  But  to  us  ordinary 
observers  there  occur  from  time  to  time 
crises  in  history  when  the  line  of  cleav- 
age between  the  old  and  the  new  is  clear 
and  distinct,  where  the  aloe  blooms, 
where  the  avalanche  leaves  the  mountain 
top,  where  the  leisurely  march  of  events 
is  quickened  to  the  dynamic' rush  of  ir- 
resistible destiny.  The  transfer  of  this 
imperial  domain  from  European  to 
American  control  was  one  of  those 
transactions  which  render  the  period  of 
their  accomplishment  memorable  for  all 
time.  In  no  other  act  did  the  men 
who  made  the  Revolution— "men,"  as 
Lowell  called  them,  "with  empires  in 
their  brains" — more  clearly  show  their 
marvelous  prophetic  insight.  The 
United  States  was,  in  1803,  a  feeble 
folk,  with  hardly  enough  population  to 
occupy  the  long  Atlantic  seacoast;  with 
the  great  spaces  of  the  Middle  West 
scarcely  yet  picketed  by  the  adventurous 
pioneers;  with  imperfect  means  of  de- 
fense against  a  world  which  still  looked 
askance  at  the  half  known  upstart  which 
might  prove  dangerous  hereafter;  with 


the  heavy  cares  incident  to  the  building 
of  a  new  nation  upon  yet  untried 
foundations.  But  weighty  as  were  their 
responsibilities,  they  did  not  hesitate 
to  assume  others  weightier  still.  To  an 
undeveloped  empire  they  seized  the 
occasion  to  add  another  still  wilder  and 
more  remote.  To  their  half  finished 
task  they  undauntedly  superimposed 
another  full  of  exacting  and  perilous 
possibilities.  In  their  robust  faith  in 
the  future — their  fearless  confidence  in 
the  force  of  the  new  democracy — diffi- 
culties were  not  considered  and  the  im- 
possible did  not  exist.  To  men  of  that 
strain,  in  an  enterprise  which  promised 
usefulness  and  glory,  toil  and  danger 
were  only  irresistible  attractions. 

While  we  should  give  due  credit  to  the 
individual  instrumentalities  by  which  this 
great  transaction  was  brought  about,  we 
should  not  forget  the  overwhelming  in- 
fluence exerted  by  the  unseen  Director 
of  the  drama.  Whether  we  call  it  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  or  historic  necessity, 
or  the  balance  of  power,  or  whether  we 
reverently  recognize  in  the  matter  the 
hand  of  that  Providence  which  watched 
over  our  infancy  as  a  people  we  can  not 
but  admit  that  the  acquisition  of  this 
vast  territory  was,  in  one  way  or  another, 
sure  to  come.  A  wise  diplomacy  has- 
tened it;  a  timid  conservatism  might 
have  delayed  it;  but  it  was  written  in 
our  horoscope.  The  surest  proof  of  this 
lies  in  the  eminent  personalities  by 
whom  the  purchase  and  sale  were  made. 
Jefferson  was  the  last  man  in  America 
of  whom  we  could  have  expected  this 
departure  on  the  field  of  illimitable  ex- 
pansion, and  Napoleon  was,  of  all  the 
sovereigns  of  Europe,  the  least  likely  to 
give  up  so  vast  an  extent  of  empire. 

One  of  the  most  brilliant  and  tenacious 
dreams  of  Bonaparte  was  to  establish  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  Mississippi  a  Latin 
empire  reaching  from  the  Gulf  to  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  extending  in  future  ages 
the  glories  of  France  to  the  sunset  seas. 
The  principle  dearest  to  the  heart  of 


JOHN    HAY    SPEAKS    FOR    THE    NATION 


Jefferson  was  that  of  a  strict  construc- 
tion of  the  constitution,  which  in  his  view 
forbade  the  exercise  by  the  general  gov- 
ernment of  anything  but  expressly  dele- 
gated powers.  It  would  have  seemed 
like  a  contradiction  in  terms  to  expect 
either  of  these  statesmen  to  agree  upon 
a  proposition  which  radically  contra- 
vened the  inmost  convictions  of  each  of 
them.  But  the  nature  of  things  was 
more  powerful  than  either  a  Bonaparte 
or  a  Jefferson.  No  human  influence 
could  have  controlled  either  of  them, 
but  the  stars  in  their  courses  were  still 
stronger,  and  they  gladly  obeyed  the 
mandate  of  fate,  which  was  in  each  case 
the  mandate  of  an  enlightened  patriot- 
ism. France,  divesting  herself  of  this 
rich  incumbrance,  was  the  better  fitted 
for  the  supreme  gladiatorial  effort  that 
awaited  her,  and  Jefferson  gained  an 
immortal  fame  by  preferring  an  immense 
benefit  to  his  country  to  consistency  in 
a  narrow  construction  of  the  written  law. 

No  man,  no  party,  can  fight  with  any 
chance  of  final  success  against  a  cosmic 
tendency;  no  cleverness,  no  popularity, 
avails  against  the  spirit  of  the  age.  In 
obeying  that  invincible  tendency,  against 
all  his  political  convictions,  Jefferson 
secured  a  conspicuous  place  in  history; 
while  the  federalist  politicians,  who 
should  have  welcomed  this  signal  illus- 
tration and  proof  of  %the  truth  of  their 
theory  of  the  power  of  the  government 
they  had  framed,  through  the  influence 
of  party  spirit,  faltered  in  their  faith  and 
brought  upon  their  party  a  lasting  eclipse 
through  their  failure  to  discern  the  signs 
of  the  times.  President  Roosevelt,  in 
the  memorable  address  with  which  he 
dedicated  last  year  this  exhibition,  used 
in  relation  to  this  subject,  these  striking 
words : 

"As  is  so  often  the  case  in  nature,  the 
law  of  development  of  a  living  organism 
showed  itself  in  its  actual  workings  to 
be  wiser  than  the  wisdom  of  the  wisest." 

A  glance  at  the  map  of  Europe  gives 
an  idea  of  the  vastness  of  this  acquisi- 


tion. It  covers  a  space  greater  than  that 
occupied  by  France,  Germany,  Great 
Britain,  Italy,  Spain,  and  Portugal;  it 
overlaps  the  familiar  world  of  history 
and  literature.  In  its  ample  field  grew 
up  fourteen  of  our  commonwealths;  a 
taxable  wealth  of  seven  thousand  millions 
of  dollars  accumulated  there  and  a  popu- 
lation of  sixteen  million  souls  have  there 
found  their  home,  drawn  not  only  from 
our  elder  communities,  but  from  the 
teeming  hives  of  humanity — the  officinae 
gen i turn  —  in  every  land  beneath  the 
quickening  sun. 

But  more  important  than  the  immense 
material  increase  in  the  extent  and  re- 
sources of  the  new  republic  was  this 
establishment  of  the  principle,  thus  early 
in  its  career,  that  it  was  to  assume  no 
inferior  position  to  other  nations  in  its 
power  to  acquire  territory,  to  extend  its 
influence — in  short,  to  do  all  that  any 
independent,  self  respecting  power  might 
do  which  was  in  accord  with  public 
morals,  conductive  to  the  general  wel- 
fare, and  not  prohibited  by  the  constitu- 
tion. Though  the  federalists  failed  to 
embrace  this  great  opportunity,  and 
thereby  brought  upon  their  party  an 
Iliad  of  woes,  the  precedent  had  been 
set  for  all  time  for  their  successors. 
The  nation  had  outgrown  its  swaddling 
clothes.  Even  the  most  impassioned 
advocates  of  strict  construction  felt  this 
time  that  it  was  the  letter  that  killeth 
and  the  spirit  that  giveth  life.  The 
nation  moved  on  its  imperial  course. 
The  new  chart  and  compass  were  in  our 
hands.  The  national  principle  once 
established,  other  things  were  naturally 
added  unto  us.  Lewis  and  Clarke,  fol- 
lowing and  illustrating  the  great  law  of 
westerly  migration,  pushed  through  the 
wilderness  and  planted  our  banners  by 
the  shores  of  the  Peaceful  Sea.  In  the 
process  of  years  Texas  and  the  wide  ex- 
panse of  New  Mexico  came  to  us,  and 
California,  bringing  a  dower  of  the 
countless  riches  that  for  unknown  ages 
had  veined  her  hills.  Even  the  shores 


140 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


of  the  ocean  could  not  long  check  the 
eagle  in  his  marvelous  flight.  The  isles 
of  the  uttermost  seas  became  his  step- 
ping-stones. 

This,  gentlemen,  is  the  lesson  which 
we  are  called  to  contemplate  amid  the 
courts  and  the  palaces  of  this  universal 
exhibition;  that  when  a  nation  exists, 
founded  in  righteousness  and  justice, 
whose  object  and  purposes  are  the  wel- 
fare of  humanity,  the  things  which  make 
for  its  growth  and  the  increase  of  its 
power,  so  long  as  it  is  true  to  its  ideals, 
are  sure  to  come  to  pass,  no  matter  what 
political  theories  or  individual  senti- 
ments stand  in  the  way.  The  common 
good  will  ultimately  prevail,  though  it 
"mock  the  counsels  of  the  wise  and  the 
valor  of  the  brave."  I  know  what 
snares  lie  in  this  idea  —  how  it  may 
serve  as  the  cry  of  demagogues  and  the 
pretext  for  despots.  Woe  be  unto  the 
nation  which  misuses  it!  but  shame  and 
disaster  is  also  the  portion  of  those  who 
fear  to  follow  its  luminous  beaconing. 

From  every  part  of  the  world  you 
have  gathered  to  share  in  this  secular 
festival  of  historic  memories.  You  rep- 
resent not  only  the  world-wide  com- 
munity of  intelligence,  but  the  wonder- 
ful growth  in  these  modern  days  of  uni- 
versal sympathy  and  good  will  —  what 
our  poet  Bayard  Taylor,  speaking  on 
a  similar  occasion  in  Vienna  and  add- 
ing, I  believe,  a  new  word  to  the  Ger- 
man language,  called  weltgemuethlich- 
keit.  Of  all  the  phenomena  of  the  last 
hundred  years  there  is  none  more  won- 
derful than  that  increase  of  mutual  knowl- 
ledge  which  has  led  inevitably  to  a  cor- 
responding increase  in  mutual  toleration 
and  esteem.  The  credit  of  this  advance 
in  civilization  belongs  to  the  press  of 
the  world.  It  is  true  that  it  is  the 
modest  boast  of  modern  diplomacy  that 
its  office  is  the  removal  of  misunder- 
standings, that  so  far  as  intentions  go 
its  ways  are  pleasantness  and  its  paths 
are  peace;  but  how  slight  are  the  results 
that  the  best-intentioned  diplomat  can 


attain  in  this  direction,  compared  with 
the  illuminating  blaze  of  light  which  the 
press  each  morning  radiates  on  the  uni- 
verse. We  can  not  claim  that  the  light 
is  all  of  one  color,  nor  that  there  are  not 
many  angles  of  refraction;  but,  from 
this  endless  variety  of  opinion  and  asser- 
tion, truth  at  last  emerges,  and  every 
day  adds  something  to  the  world's  knowl- 
edge of  itself.  There  is  a  wise  French 
proverb,  "to  understand  is  to  pardon," 
and  every  step  of  progress  which  the 
peoples  of  the  earth  make  in  their  com- 
prehension of  each  other's  conditions 
and  motives  is  a  step  forward  in  the 
march  to  the  goal  desired  by  men  and 
angels,  of  universal  peace  and  brother- 
hood. 

Upon  none  of  the  arts  or  professions 
has  the  tremendous  acceleration  of  pro- 
gress in  recent  years  had  more  effect 
than  upon  that  of  which  you  are  the 
representatives.  We  easily  grow  used  to 
miracles;  it  will  seem  a  mere  common- 
place when  I  say  that  all  the  wonders  of 
the  magicians  invented  by  those  ingeni- 
ous oriental  poets  who  wrote  the  Ara- 
bian Nights  pale  before  the  stupendous 
facts  which  you  handle  in  your  daily 
lives.  The  air  has  scarcely  ceased  to 
vibrate  with  the  utterances  of  kings  and 
rulers  in~  the  older  realms  when  their 
words  are  read  in  the  streets  of  St.  Louis 
and  on  the  farms  of  Nebraska.  The 
telegraph  is  too  quick  for  the  calendar; 
you  may  read  in  your  evening  paper 
a  dispatch  from  the  antipodes  with  a 
date  of  the  following  day.  The  details 
of  a  battle  on  the  shores  of  the  Hermit 
Kingdom — a  land  which  a  few  years  ago 
was  hidden  in  the  mists  of  legend  —  are 
printed  and  commented  on  before  the 
blood  of  the  wounded  has  ceased  to 
flow.  Almost  before  the  smoke  of  the 
conflict  has  lifted  we  read  the  obituaries 
of  unsepultured  dead.  And  not  only  do 
you  record  with  the  swiftness  of  thought 
these  incidents  of  war  and  violence,  but 
the  daily  victories  of  truth  over  error,  of 
light  over  darkness;  the  spread  of  com- 


JOHN    HAY    SPEAKS    FOR    THE    NATION 


141 


merce  in  distant  seas,  the  inventions  of 
industry,  the  discoveries  of  science,  are 
all  placed  instantly  within  the  knowl 
edge  of  millions.  The  seeds  of  thought, 
perfected  in  one  climate,  blossom  and 
fructify  Under  every  sky,  in  every  na- 
tionality which  the  sun  visits. 

With  these  miraculous  facilities,  with 
this  unlimited  power,  comes  also  an 
enormous  responsibility  in  the  face  of 
God  and  man.  I  am  not  here  to  preach 
to  you  a  gospel  whose  lessons  are  known 
to  you  far  better  than  to  me.  I  am  not 
calling  sinners  to  repentance,  but  I  am 
following  a  good  tradition  in  stirring  up 
the  pure  minds  of  the  righteous  by  way 
of  remembrance.  It  is  well  for  us  to 
reflect  on  the  vast  import,  the  endless 
chain  of  results,  of  that  globe-encircling 
speech  you  address  each  day  to  the 
world.  Your  winged  words  have  no 
fixed  flight;  like  the  lightning,  they 
traverse  the  ether  according  to  laws 
of  their  own.  They  light  in  every  clime ; 
they  influence  a  thousand  different 
varieties  of  minds  and  manners.  How 
vastly  important  is  it,  then,  that  the 
sentiments  they  convey  should  be  those 
of  good  will  rather  than  of  malevolence, 
those  of  national  concord  rather  than  of 
prejudice,  those  of  peace  rather  than 
hostility.  The  temptation  to  the  con- 
trary is  almost  irresistible.  I  acknowl- 
edge with  contrition  how  often  I  have 
fallen  by  the  way.  It  is  far  more  amus- 
ing to  attack  than  to  defend,  to  excite 
than  to  soothe.  But  the  highest  victory 
of  great  power  is  that  of  self  restraint, 
and  it  would  be  a  beneficent  result  of 
this  memorable  meeting,  this  oecumeni- 
cal council  of  the  press,  if  it  taught  us 
all — the  brethren  of  this  mighty  priest- 
hood— that  mutual  knowledge  of  each 
other  which  should  modify  prejudices, 
restrain  acerbity  of  thought  and  expres- 
sion, and  tend  in  some  degree  to  bring 
in  that  blessed  time—  ? 

When  light  shall  spread  and  man  be  liker 
man 


Through  all  the  seasons  of  the  golden  year. 

What  better  school  was  ever  seen  in 
which  to  learn  the  lesson  of  mutual  es- 
teem and  forbearance  than  this  great 
exposition?  The  nations  of  the  earth 
are  met  here  in  friendly  competition. 
The  first  thing  that  strikes  the  visitor  is 
the  infinite  diversity  of  thought  and 
effort  which  characterizes  the  several 
exhibits;  but  a  closer  study  every  day 
reveals  a  resemblance  of  mind  and  pur- 
pose more  marvelous  still.  Integrity, 
industry,  the  intelligent  adaptation  of 
means  to  ends,  are  everywhere  the  indis- 
pensable conditions  of  success.  Honest 
work,  honest  dealing,  these  qualities 
mark  the  winner  in  every  part  of  the 
world.  The  artist,  the  poet,  the  artisan 
and  the  statesman,  they  everywhere 
stand  or  fall  through  the  lack  or  the 
possession  of  similar  qualities.  How 
shall  one  people  hate  or  despise  another 
when  we  have  seen  how  like  us  they  are 
in  most  respects,  and  how  superior  they 
are  in  some!  Why  should  we  not  revert 
to  the  ancient  wisdom  which  regarded 
nothing  human  as  alien,  and  to  the 
words  of  Holy  Writ  which  remind  us 
that  the  Almighty  has  made  all  men 
brethren? 

In  the  name  of  the  president  —  writer, 
soldier  and  statesman,  eminent  in  all 
three  professions  and  in  all  equally  an 
advocate  of  justice,  peace  and  good  will 
— I  bid  you  a  cordial  welcome,  with  the 
prayer  that  this  meeting  of  the  represen- 
tatives of  the  world's  intelligence  may 
be  fruitful  in  advantage  to  the  press  of 
all  nations  and  may  bring  us  somewhat 
nearer  to  the  dawn  of  the  day  of  peace 
on  earth  and  good  will  among  men.  Let 
us  remember  that  we  are  met  to  cele- 
brate the  transfer  of  a  vast  empire  from 
one  nation  to  another  without  the  firing 
of  a  shot,  without  the  shedding  of  one 
drop  of  blood.  If  the  press  of  the  world 
would  adopt  and  persist  in  the  high 
resolve  that  war  should  be  no  more,  the 
clangor  of  arms  would  cease  from  the 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE    for    NOVEMBER,    1904 


rising  of  the  sun  to  its  going  down,  and 
we  could  fancy  that  at  last  our  ears,  no 
longer  stunned  by  the  din  of  armies, 


might  hear  the  morning  stars  singing  to- 
gether and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouting 
for  joy. 


II. 

ADDRESS     OF     THE    SECRETARY    OF    STATE    IN    TREMONT    TEMPLE, 

BOSTON,     OCTOBER     3,     WELCOMING     THE     DELEGATES      TO 

THE      INTERNATIONAL      PEACE      CONGRESS 


I  ESTEEM  it  a  great  honor  and  privi- 
lege to  be  allowed  to  extend  to  you 
the  welcome  of  the  government  and  the 
people  of  the  United  States  of  America 
on  this  memorable  and  auspicious  occa- 
sion. No  time  could  be  more  fitting  for 
this  gathering  of  a  parliament  of  peace 
than  today,  when  at  the  other  end  of 
the  world  the  thunder  of  a  destructive 
and  sanguinary  war  is  deafening  the 
nations,  while  here  we  are  preparing 
to  settle  the  question  of  a  vast  transfer 
of  power  by  an  appeal  to  reason  and 
orderly  procedure,  under  the  sanction 
of  a  law  implicitly  accepted  by  eighty 
millions  of  people.  No  place  could  be 
more  suitable  than  this  high-hearted  city, 
which  has  been  for  nearly  three  hundred 
years  the  birthplace  and  the  home  of 
every  idea  of  progress  and  enlightenment 
which  has  germinated  in  the  western 
world.  To  'bid  you  welcome  to  the 
home  of  Vane,  of  Winthrop  and  of 
Adams,  of.Channing  and  Emerson,  is 
to  give  you  the  freedom  of  no  mean  city, 
to  make  you  partakers  of  a  spiritual  in- 
heritance, without  which,  with  all  our 
opulence,  we  should  be  poor  indeed.  It 
is  true  that  this  great  commonwealth 
has  sought  with  the  sword  peace  under 
liberty.  We  confess  that  many  wars 
have  left  their  traces  in  the  pages  of 
its  history  and  its  literature;  art  has 
adorned  the  public  places  of  this  stately 
town  with  the  statues  of  its  heroic  sons. 
But  the  dominant  note  of  its  highest  cul- 
ture, its  most  persistent  spirit,  has  been 
that  righteousness  which  exalteth  a  na- 


tion, that  obedience  to  the  inner  light 
which  leads  along  the  paths  of  peace. 
And  the  policy  of  the  nation  at  large, 
which  owes  so  much  of  its  civic  spirit 
to,  the  founders  of  New  England,  has 
been  in  the  main  a  policy  of  peace. 
During  the  hundred  and  twenty  years  of 
our  independent  existence  we  have  had 
but  three  wars  with  the  outside  world, 
though  we  have  had  a  most  grievous  and 
dolorous  struggle  with  our  own  people. 
We  have  had,  I  think,  a  greater  relative 
immunity  from  war  than  any  of  our 
neighbors.  All  our  greatest  men  have 
been  earnest  advocates  of  peace.  The 
very  men  who  founded  our  liberties  with 
the  mailed  hand  detested  and  abhorred 
war  as  the  most  futile  and  ferocious  of 
human  follies.  Franklin  and  Jefferson 
repeatedly  denounced  it  —  the  one  with 
all  the  energy  of  his  rhetoric,  the  other 
with  the  lambent  fire  of  his  wit.  But 
not  our  philosophers  alone — our  fighting 
men  have  seen  at  close  quarters  how 
hideous  is  the  face  of  war.  Washington 
said:  "My  first  wish  is  to  see  this  plague 
to  mankind  banished  from  the  earth;" 
and  again  he  said,  "We  have  experi- 
enced enough  of  its  evils  in  this  country 
to  know  that  it  should  not  be  wantonly 
or  unnecessarily  entered  upon."  There 
is  no  discordant  note  in  the  utterances 
of  our  most  eminent  soldiers  on  this 
subject.  The  most  famous  utterance  of 
General  Grant — the  one  which  will  lin- 
ger longest  in  the  memories  of  men — 
was  the  prayer  of  his  war-weary  heart, 
"Let  us  have  peace."  Sherman  reached 


JOHN    HAY    SPEAKS    FOR    THE    NATION 


143 


the  acme  of  his  marvelous  gift  of  epi- 
gram when  he  said,  "War  is  hell."  And 
Abraham  Lincoln,  after  the  four  terrible 
years  in  which  he  had  directed  our  vast 
armies  and  navies,  uttered  on  the  thresh- 
old of  eternity  the  fervent  and  touching 
aspiration  that  "the  mighty  scourge  of 
war  might  speedily  pass  away." 

There  has  been  no  solution  of  con- 
tinuity in  the  sentiments  of  our  presi- 
dents on  this  subject  up  to  this  day. 
McKinley  deplored  with  every  pulse  of 
his  honest  and  kindly  heart  the  advent 
of  the  war  which  he  had  hoped  might 
not  come  in  his  day,  and  gladly  hailed 
the  earliest  moment  for  making  peace; 
and  President  Roosevelt  has  displayed  the 
same  tireless  energy  in  the  work  of  con- 
cord that  he  displayed  when  he  sought 
peace  and  insured  it  on  the  field  of  bat- 
tle. No  presidents  in  our  history  have 
been  so  faithful  and  so  efficient  as  the 
last  two  in  the  cause  of  arbitration  and 
of  every  peaceful  settlement  of  differ- 
ences. I  mention  them  together  because 
their  work  has  been  harmonious  and 
consistent.  We  hailed  with  joy  the  gen- 
erous initiative  of  the  Russian  emperor, 
and  sent  to  the  conference  at  The  Hague 
the  best  men  we  had  in  our  civic  and 
military  life.  When  The  Hague  court 
lay  apparently  wrecked  at  the  beginning 
of  its  voyage,  threatened  with  death  be- 
fore it  had  fairly  begun  to  live,  it  was 
the  American  government  which  gave  it 
the  breath  of  life  by  inviting  the  Republic 
of  Mexico  to  share  our  appeal  to  its  juris- 
diction; and  the  second  case  brought 
before  it  was  at  the  instance  of  Mr. 
Roosevelt,  who  declined  in  its  favor  the 
high  honor  of  arbitrating  an  affair  of 
world  wide  importance. 

I  beg  you  to  believe  it  is  not  by  way 
of  boasting  that  I  recall  these  incidents 
to  your  mind;  it  is  rather  as  a  profes- 
sion oi  faith  in  a  cause  which  the  present 
administration  has  deeply  at  heart  that 
I  ask  you  to  remember,  in  the  delibera- 
tions upon  which  you  are  entering,  the 
course  to  which  the  American  govern- 


ment is  pledged  and  which  it  has  steadily 
pursued  for  the  last  seven  years.  It  is 
true  that  in  those  years  we  have  had 
a  hundred  days  of  war— but  they  put 
an  end  forever  to  bloodshed  which  had 
lasted  a  generation.  We  landed  a  few 
platoons  of  marines  on  the  Isthmus  last 
year,  but  that  act  closed  without  a  shot 
a  sanguinary  succession  of  trivial  wars. 
We  inarched  a  little  army  to  Pekin,  but 
it  was  to  save  not  only  the  beleagured 
legations,  but  a  great  imperiled  civiliza- 
tion. By  mingled  gentleness  and  energy, 
to  which  most  of  the  world  beyond  our 
borders  has  done  justice,  we  have  given 
to  the  Philippines,  if  not  peace,  at  least 
a  nearer  approach  to  it  than  they  have 
had  within  the  memory  of  men. 

If  our  example  is  worth  anything  to 
the  world,  we  have  given  it  in  the 
vital  matter  of  disarmament.  We  have 
brought  away  from  the  Far  East  55,000 
soldiers  whose  work  was  done,  and  have 
sent  them  back  to  the  fields  of  peaceful 
activity.  We  have  reduced  our  army  to 
its  minimum  of  60,000  men;  in  fact,  we 
may  say  we  have  no  army,  but  in  place 
of  one  a  nucleus  for  drill  and  discipline. 
We  have  three-fourths  of  one  soldier  for 
every  thousand  of  the  population — a  pro- 
portion which  if  adopted  by  other  powers 
would  at  once  eliminate  wars  and  rumors 
of  wars  from  the  daily  thoughts  of  the 
chanceries  of  the  world. 

But  fixed  as  our  tradition  is,  clear  as 
is  our  purpose  in  the  direction  of  peace, 
no  country  is  permanently  immune  to 
war  so  long  as  the  desire  and  the  prac- 
tice of  peace  are  not  universal.  If  we 
quote  Washington  as  an  advocate  of 
peace,  it  is  but  fair  also  to  quote  him 
where  he  says:  "To  be  prepared  for 
war  is  one  of  the  most  effectual  means 
of  preserving  peace."  And  at  another 
time  he  said:  "To  an  active  external 
commerce  the  protection  of  a  naval  force 
is  indispensable.  To  secure  respect  to 
a  neutral  flag  requires  a  naval  force  or- 
ganized and  ready  to  vindicate  it  from 
insult  or  aggression."  To  acknowledge 


144 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,  1904 


the  existence  of  an  evil  is  not  to  support 
or  approve  it;  but  the  facts  must  be 
faced.  Human  history  is  one  long  deso- 
late story  of  bloodshed.  All  the  arts 
unite  in  the  apparent  conspiracy  to  give 
precedence  to  the  glory  of  arms.  Demos- 
thenes and  Pericles  adjured  the  Atheni- 
ans by  the  memory  of  their  battles. 
Horace  boasted  that  he  had  been  a  sol- 
dier, non  sine  gloria.  Even  Milton,  in 
that  sublime  sonnet  where  he  said, 
"Peace  hath  her  victories  no  less  than 
those  of  war,"  also  mentioned  among 
the  godly  trophies  of  Cromwell  "Dar- 
went's  stream  with  blood  of  Scots  im- 
brued." In  almost  every  sermon  and 
hymn  we  hear  in  our  churches  the  im- 
agery of  war  and  battle  is  used.  We 
are  charged  to  fight  the  good  fight  of 
faith;  we  are  to  sail  through  bloody  seas 
to  win  the  prize.  The  Christian  soldier 
is  constantly  marshalled  to  war.  Not 
only  in  our  habits  and  customs,  but  in 
our  daily  speech  and  in  our  inmost 
thoughts  we  are  beset  by  the  obsession 
of  conflict  and  mutual  destruction.  It 
is  like  the  law  of  sin  in  the  members  to 
which  the  greatest  of  the  apostles  refers: 
"Who  shall  deliver  us  from  the  body  of 
this  death?" 

We  have  all  recently  read  that  won- 
derful sermon  on  war  by  Count  Tolstoi, 
in  which  a  spirit  of  marvelous  lucidity 
and  fire,  absolutely  detached  from  geo- 
graphical or  political  conditions,  speaks 
the  Word  as  it  has  been  given  him  to 
speak  it,  and  as  no  other  living  man 
could  have  done.  As  you  read,  with  an 
aching  heart,  his  terrible  arraignment  of 
war,  feeling  that  as  a  man  you  are  partly 
responsible  for  all  human  atrocities,  you 
wait  with  impatience  for  the  remedy  he 
shall  propose,  and  you  find  it  is  — 
religion.  Yes,  that  is  the  remedy.  If 
all  would  do  right  nobody  would  do 
wrong  —  nothing  is  plainer.  It  is  a 
counsel  of  perfection,  satisfactory  to 
prophets  and  saints,  to  be  reached  in 
Goci  'j  wood  time.  But  you  are  here  to 
consult  together  to  see  whether  the  gen- 


eration now  alive  may  not  do  something 
to  hasten  the  coming  of  the  acceptable 
day,  the  appearance  on  earth  of  the 
beatific  vision.  If  we  cannot  at  once 
make  peace  and  good  will  the  universal 
rule  and  practice  of  nations,  what  can 
we  do  to  approximate  this  condition? 
What  measures  can  we  now  take  which 
may  lead  us  at  least  a  little  distance  to- 
ward the  wished-for  goal? 

I  have  not  come  to  advise  you;  I  have 
no  such  ambitious  pretensions.  I  do 
not  even  aspire  to  take  part  in  your  de- 
liberations. But  I  am  authorized  to 
assure  you  that  the  American  govern- 
ment extends  to  you  a  cordial  and  sym- 
pathetic welcome,  and  shares  to  the 
utmost  the  spirit  and  purpose  in  which 
you  have  met.  The  president,  so  long 
as  he  remains  in  power,  has  no  thought 
of  departing  from  the  traditions  be- 
queathed us  by  the  great  soldiers  and 
statesmen  of  our  early  history,  which 
have  been  strictly  followed  during  the 
last  seven  years.  We  shall  continue  to 
advocate  and  to  carry  into  effect,  as  far 
as  practicable,  the  principle  of  the  arbi- 
tration of  such  questions  as  may  not  be 
settled  through  diplomatic  negotiations. 
We  have  already  done  much  in  this 
direction;  we  shall  hope  to  do  much 
more.  The  president  is  now  consider- 
ing the  negotiation  of  treaties  of  arbitra- 
tion with  such  of  the  European  powers 
as  desire  them,  and  hopes  to  lay  them 
before  the  senate  next  Winter.  And 
finally  the  president  has,  only  a  few  days 
ago,  promised  in  response  to  the  request 
of  the  interparliamentary  union  to  invite 
the  nations  to  a  second  conference  at 
The  Hague,  to  continue  the  beneficent 
work  of  the  conference  of  1899. 

Unhappily  we  cannot  foresee  in  the 
immediate  future  the  cessation  of  wars 
upon  the  earth.  We  ought  therefore  to 
labor  constantly  for  the  mitigation  of  the 
horrors  of  war,  especially  to  do  what  we 
can  to  lessen  the  sufferings  of  those  who 
have  no  part  in  the  struggle.  This  has 
been  one  of  the  most  warmly  cherished 


JOHN    HAY   SPEAKS    FOR   THE  NATION 


wishes  of  the  last  two  administrations. 
I  make  no  apology  for  reading  you  a 
paragraph  from  the  message  which  Presi- 
dent Roosevelt  sent  to  congress  last 
December: 

"There  seems  good  ground  for  the 
belief  that  there  has  been  a  real  growth 
among  the  civilized  nations  of  a  senti- 
ment which  will  permit  a  gradual  substi- 
tution of  other  methods  than  the  method 
of  war  in  the  settlement  of  disputes.  It 
is  not  pretended  that  as  yet  we  are  near 
a  position  in  which  it  will  be  possible 
wholly  to  prevent  war,  or  that  a  just 
regard  for  national  interest  and  honor 
will  in  all  cases  permit  of  the  settlement 
of  international  disputes  by  arbitration ; 
but  by  a  mixture  of  prudence  and  firm- 
ness with  wisdom  we  think  it  is  possible 
to  do  away  with  much  of  the  provocation 
and  excuse  for  war,  and  at  least  in  many 
cases  to  substitute  some  other  and  more 
rational  method  for  the  settlement  of  dis- 
putes. The  Hague  court  offers  so  good 
an  example  of  what  can  be  done  in  the 
direction  of  such  settlement  that  it 
should  be  encouraged  in  every  way." 

Further  steps  should  be  taken.  In 
President  McKinley's  annual  message 
of  December  5,  1898,  he  made  the  fol- 
lowing recommendation: 

"The  experiences  of  the  last  year 
bring  forcibly  home  to  us  a  sense  of  the 
burdens  and  the  waste  of  war.  We  de- 
sire, in  common  with  most  civilized 
nations,  to  reduce  to  the  lowest  possible 
point  the  damage  sustained  in  time  of 
war  by  peaceable  trade  and  commerce. 
It  is  true  we  may  suffer  in  such  cases 
less  than  other  communities,  but  all  na- 
tions are  damaged  more  or  less  by  the 
state  of  uneasiness  and  apprehension  into 
which  an  outbreak  of  hostilities  throws 
the  entire  commercial  world.  It  should 
be  our  object,  therefore,  to  minimize,  so 
far  as  practicable,  this  inevitable  loss 
and  disturbance.  This  purpose  can 
probably  best  be  accomplished  by  an 
international  agreement  to  regard  all 
private  property  at  sea  as  exempt  from 
capture  or  destruction  by  the  forces  of 
belligerent  powers.  The  United  States 
government  has  for  many  years  advocated 
this  humane  and  beneficent  principle, 
and  is  now  in  a  position  to  recommend 
it  to  other  powers  without  the  imputa- 
tion of  selfish  motives.  I  therefore  sug- 


gest for  your  consideration  that  the  ex- 
ecutive be  authorized  to  correspond  with 
the  governments  of  the  principal  mari- 
time powers  with  a  view  of  incorporating 
into  the  permanent  law  of  civilized 
nations  the  principle  of  the  exemption 
of  all  private  property  at  sea,  not  contra- 
band of  war,  from  capture  or  destruction 
by  belligerent  powers." 

The  president  urged  this  beneficent 
scheme  with  an  earnestness  which  gained 
the  willing  attention  of  congress,  already 
predisposed  to  it  in  spirit,  and  on  the 
twenty-eighth  of  April  of  this  year  he 
was  able  to  approve  a  joint  resolution 
of  both  houses  recommending  that  "the 
president  endeavor  to  bring  about  an 
understanding  among  the  principal  mari- 
time powers  with  a  view  of  incorporating 
into  the  permanent  law  of  civilized 
nations  the  principle  of  the  exemption 
of  all  private  property  at  sea,  not  contra- 
band of  war,  from  capture  or  destruc- 
tion by  belligerents." 

It  has  not  been  thought  advisable  by 
the  president  during  the  past  Summer  to 
call  the  attention  of  the  powers  to  a  pro- 
ject which  would  necessarily  be  regarded 
by  two  of  them,  and  possibly  by  others, 
with  reference  to  its  bearing  upon  the 
deplorable  conflict  now  raging  in  the  far 
East.  But  as  we  earnestly  pray  that  the 
return  to  peace  may  not  be  long  delayed 
between  the  two  nations,  to  both  of 
which  we  are  bound  by  so  many  historic 
ties,  we  may  confidently  look  forward  at 
no  distant  day  to  inviting  the  attention 
of  the  nations  to  this  matter,  and  we 
hope  we  may  have  the  powerful  influence 
of  this  great  organization  in  gaining  their 
adherence. 

The  time  allotted  to  me  is  at  an  end. 
I  can  only  bid  you  Godspeed  in  your 
work.  The  task  you  have  set  your- 
selves, the  purpose  to  which  you  are 
devoted,  have  won  the  praise  of  earth 
and  the  blessing  of  heaven  since  the 
morning  of  time.  The  noblest  of  all  the 
beatitudes  is  the  consecration  promised 
the  peace  makers.  Even  if  in  our  time 
we  may  not  hear  the  golden  clamor  of 


146  NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   NOVEMBER,    1904 

the  trumpets   celebrating  the  reign   of  forces.     And  if  you  now  reap  no  visible 

universal    and    enduring    peace,    it    is  guerdon  of  your  labors  the  peace  of  God 

something  to  have  desired  it,   to  have  that  passes  understanding  will  be  your 

worked   for  it    in   the   measure  of  our  all-sufficient  reward. 


THE   PRAYER  OF   THE   WOMEN 

By     HELEN     HICKS 

PLAINFIELD,     ONTARIO 

AT  the  altar  universal,  in  the  temple  no  hands  made, 
Where,  with  heart's  blood  for  lavation,  endless  sacrifice  is  laid; 
There,  where  votaries  are  weakest  and  the  trials  hardest  be, 
Charged  with  wonder  and  submission,  rose  a  bitter  litany: 

God  of  all  things  lasting,  changing,  God  of  morning,  God  of  night, — 
We,  the  least  of  all  Thy  favored,  judge  Thy  purposes  are  right. 
Who  be  we  that  we  should  charge  Thee? — Wonder-worker,  Lord  of  breath, 
Builder  of  the  tent  of  heaven,  Ruler  over  love  and  deathl 

Bitter  draughts  and  weary  burdens  are  the  portion  we  have  won; 
Helpless  hands  and  weary  waiting —hopes  that  break.     Thy  will  be  done! 
Lord,  we  give  with  no  withholding  every  store  Thy  levies  draw, 
All  we  have  of  best  and  dearest:  for  Thou  God,  Thou  God  art  Law! 

Yea,  but  Lord,  Thy  works  are  boundless,  and  the  nations  under  Thee 

Are  the  small  dust  of  the  balance,  and  the  islands  little  be. 

All  the  nations  deem  Thee,  distant,  all  the  judges,  all  the  kings 

Waive  Thy  will  and  work  their  pleasure.     Seest  Thou  these  little  things? 

Thus  much  blood  for  thus  much  glory,  these  lives  for  that  stretch  of  sand ; 

God  is  with  the  big  battalions,  justice  to  the  strongest  hand. 

So  they  traffic  with  Thy  mercy,  so  they  cry  it  for  a  sign, 

Forging,  with  our  sons  for  fuel,  kingdoms  of  their  own,  not  Thine. 

Lord,  with  stress  of  many  prayers,  Lord,  with  suppliant  lips  struck  dumb, 
We, who  watch  them  break  our  dearest, ceaseless  cry, "Thy  kingdom  come!" 
Fail  not,  neither  be  Thou  weary,  come  with  swift  instruction,  Lord, 
Till  the  nations  learn  Thy  precept,  and  the  isles  await  Thy  word. 


EMPIRE-BUILDING    IN    NORTHWEST 

CANADA 

MARVELS       OF       MATERIAL       PROGRESS       THAT        ARE       BEING 
WROUGHT     OUT       IN       "RUPERT'S      LAND"      TODAY 

By   D.    W.    and   A.    S.    ID  DINGS 

U  A  Y  TO  N  ,•     OHIO 

merits  that  we  shall  deal,  the  first  having 
no  bearing  upon  the  subject  and  the 
third  being  of  importance  in  this  connec- 
tion, if  at  all,  merely  in  having  kept 
down  the  rate  of  mortality  in  the  new 
country  where  his  Great  Company  so 
long  held  absolute  sway. 

In  the  year  1670  Charles  II  granted 
a  charter  to  Prince  Rupert  and  seven- 
teen other  noblemen  and  gentlemen, 
incorporating  them  as  the  "Governor 
and  Company  of  Adventurers  of  Eng- 
land trading  into  Hudson's  Bay,"  and 
securing  to  them  "the  sole  trade  and 


PRINCE      RUPERT,      FIRST      GOVERNOR      OF      THE 
HUDSON'S     BAY     COMPANY 


A  PATE  NT  medicine  dodger,  famil- 
iar to  Canadians,  reads: 
"Prince    Rupert,    first    cousin  of    King 
Charles  II  of   England,  was  born   in    1619 
and  was  one  of  the  great  characters  of  the 
age.      He    was    distinguished    as    a  great 
cavalry  leader,  a  scientist  and  a  patron  of 
geographical  discovery.      His    three  great 
works  were : 

(1)  Deeds  of  valour  at  the  battle  of  Edge- 
hill. 

(2)  Founded    the   Honourable    Hudson's 
Bay   Company. 

(3)  Invented  the  great  scientific  discovery, 
PRINCE  RUPERT'S  DROPS." 

It  is  with  the  second  of  these  achieve- 


C.     C.    CHIPMAN,     COMMISSIONER     OF     THE      HUD- 
SON'S    BAY    COMPANY 


148 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,   1904 


OLD  TRADING  FORT  OF  THE  HUDSON'S  BAY  COMPANY,  EDMONTON 


commerce  of  all  those  seas,  straits, 
bays,  rivers,  lakes,  creeks  and  sounds, 
in  whatsoever  latitude  they  shall  be,  that 
lie  within  the  entrance  of  the  straits 
commonly  called  Hudson's  Straits,  to- 
gether with  all  the  lands  and  territories 
upon  the  countries,  coasts  and  confines 
of  the  seas,  bays,  etc.,  aforesaid,  that 
are  not  already  actually  possessed  by 
or  granted  to  any  of  our  subjects,  or 
possessed  by  the  subjects  of  any  other 
Christian  prince  or  state." 
By  this  charter  the  Hudson's  Bay 


Company  acquired  exclusive  legislative, 
judicial,  executive  and  commercial  con- 
trol of  all  the  lands  watered  by  streams 
flowing  into  Hudson's  Bay,  amounting 
to  the  whole  immense  region  north  of 
the  international  boundary  almost  from 
the  Great  Lakes  west  to  the  mountains. 
For  almost  two  centuries  thereafter  it 
was  little  more  than  the  vast  hunting 
domain  of  the  greatest  of  fur  trading 
companies,  and  in  honor  of  the  prince, 
who  was  the  company's  first  governor, 
the  territory  was  known  as  "Rupert's 


BISHOP  GRANDIN  OF  STE.  ALBERT 


FATHER  A.   LACOMBE 


EMPIRE-BUILDING  IN  NORTHWEST  CANADA 


'49 


LORD    STRATCONA    AND    MOUNT    ROYAL,    CANADA'S    "GRAND    OLD    MAN" 

High  Commissioner  for  Canada  in  London,  governor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  and  leading  spirit  in 

the  building  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway. 


'50 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


Land."  Here  the  company  and  the 
dusky  aboriginal  tribes  throve  almost 
entirely  upon  the  fauna  and  pelts  until 
the  union  of  the  several  eastern  provin- 
ces of  Canada  was  broached. 

Meanwhile  many  pioneers  had  tracked 
its  wilds  and  brought  back  attractive 
accounts  of  the  beautiful  and  bountiful 
lands  lying  there  in  a  state  of  nature. 
Some  insignificant,  desultory  settlement 
sprang  up  along  the  waterways — the  only 
highways  of  those  days  — and  the  region 
began  to  attract  the  attention  of  Cana- 
dian statesmen  as  far  back  as  1858,  down 
to  the  period  of  confederation.  But  it 
was  not  until  the  Summer  of  1870  and 
after  the  establishment  of  the  Dominion, 
that  the  chartered  territories  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  were  transferred  to 
Canada  in  consideration  of  a  payment 
by  her  of  $1,500,000  in  cash  and  a  reser- 
vation of  one-twentieth  of  all  the  lands, 
amounting  to  some  7,000,000  acres,  lying 
between  the  international  boundary  and 
the  south  bank  of  the  North  Saskatche- 
wan river.  * 

Four  years  prior  to  this  epoch  in 
Canadian  history  there  had  come  into 
this  western  country,  after  a  service  with 
the  company  dating  from  his  eighteenth 
year,  ten  years  of  which  had  been  spent 
along  the  St.  Lawrence  river  and  some 
fifteen  at  its  trade  in  the  Labrador,  one 
Donald  Smith,  of  Scotch  birth  and  par- 
entage, who  was  destined  to  rise  step 
by  step  in  the  affairs  of  his  country  and 
of  the  company  to  the  exalted  positions 
of  lord  high  commissioner  of  the  Domin- 
ion, in  London,  a  peer  of  the  realm,  and 
of  the  company,  governor — Lord  Strath- 
cona  and  Mount  Royal,  the  Grand  Old 
Man  of  Canada. 

Under  his  masterful  guidance  the 
policy  of  the.  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
has  been  progressive  and  expansive, 
elaborating  from  fur  trading  pure  and 
simple  into  what  is  probably  the  greatest 
mercantile  trading  corporation  in  the 
world. 

It  is  a  far  cry  from  the  old  trading  fort 


of  the  company  at  Edmonton .  to  the 
modern  mercantile  department  stores 
which  it  today  maintains  at  Winnipeg 
and  elsewhere  in  the  towns  of  the 
Canadian  West,  but  by  the  wise  fore- 
sight, indomitable  energy  and  complete 
mastery  of  business  detail  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  C.  C.  Chipman,  the  chief  com- 
missioner of  the  company,  who  directs 
its  affairs  from  the  main  offices  and  ship- 
ping depot  at  Winnipeg,  the  evolution 
has  been  accomplished. 

More  Indians  yet  live  in  the  Canadian 
Northwest  than  elsewhere  on  the  conti- 
nent, and  more  nearly  as  they  aborigi- 
nally lived.  They  have  been  well  treated 
by  the  government  and  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  before  it,  and  have  been 
invariably  tractable  and  contented.  *  * 
Much  credit  for  this  condition  is  due  to 
those  brave  and  self  sacrificing  zealots 
of  Catholicism  who  have  borne  the 
cross,  and  the  civilization  and  education 
which  they  combine  with  it,  into  the 


WILLIAM    WHYTE,  SECOND    VICE     PRESIDENT    OF 
THE      CANADIAN      PACIFIC     RAILWAY      COMPANY 


EMPIRE-BUILDING    IN    NORTHWEST    CANADA 


SIR    THOMAS     G.    SHAUGHNESSY,     AN     ANGLICIZED     AMERICAN      AND     PRESIDENT     OF 
THE    CANADIAN    PACIFIC    RAILWAY    COMPANY 


remotest  haunts  of  the  redskin — through 
the  boundless  stretches  of  prairie  where 
camped  the  buffalo-hunting  nomads,  and 
into  the  northern  forests  and  tundra 
where  trapping  tribes  roamed  the  silence 


at  their  toilsome  tasks.  Quickly  won  by 
the  frank-heartedness  of  the  priests,  and 
deeply  impressed  by  the  rich  regalia  of 
the  church,  most  of  the  natives  gave 
their  hearts  and  simple  minds  to  God. 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


and  all  have  walked  fairly  as  the  teach- 
ings read. 

There  has  been  a  long  and  illustrious 
line  of  churchmen  laboring  amongst 
these  Indians  since  the  days  of  Mar- 
quette,  Charlevoix,  DeSmet  and  Tache, 
but  none  more  ardent  and  able  than  His 
Lordship  Bishop  Grandin  and  Father 
Lacombe.  When  the  bands  of  steel, 
forerunning  the  railway  and  its  trans- 
forming influences,  crept  out  and  over 
the  prairie  and  on  to  the  mountains,  it 
was  Father  Lacombe,  as  much  if  not 
more  than  anyone  else,  who  stood  medi- 
ator between  white  and  red,  the  old  and 
the  new,  and  prevented  by  kindly  per- 
suasion a  stand  against  the  project  of 
the  dogged  and  sanguinary  proportions 
which  Poor  Lo  mustered  in  our  own 
West  when  the  railway  first  invaded  it. 

Great  as  have  been  all  other  forces 
working  for  the  development  of  Rupert's 
land,  there  is  one  above  them  all,  the 
Canadian  Pacific  railway,  without  which 
all  efforts  would  have  come  to  little.  In 


SIR     WILFRED     LAURIER,    PREMIER    OF    CANADA 


SIR    DANIEL   H.   MCMILLAN,   LIEUTENANT-GOVER- 
NOR  OF  MANITOBA  AND    KEEWATIN 

this  connection  Sir  Charles  Tupper,  the 
then  minister  of  railways  of  the  Domin- 
ion, has  said:  "The  Canadian  Pacific 
railway  would  have  no  existence  today, 
notwithstanding  all  that  the  government 
did  to  support  that  undertaking,  had  it 
not  been  for  that  indomitable  pluck, 
energy  and  determination,  both  finan- 
cially and  in  every  other  respect,  of  Sir 
Donald  Smith  (Lord  Strathcona.)"  And 
with  him  latterly  in  the  successful  con- 
summation of  the  project  were  those  two 
American  railroad  geniuses,  William  C. 
Van  Home  and  Thomas  G.  Shaughnessy, 
whose  magnificent  achievements  in  the 
realm  of  Canadian  transportation  have 
since  been  rewarded  by  the  honor  of 
knighthood  conferred  by  the  Crown. 
Each  of  these  men,  both  peculiarly  self 
made,  has  risen  from  the  ranks  by 
meritorious  service  to  the  eminence  of 
chief  executive  of  the  only  truly  trans- 
continental railroad  in  the  world.  When 
Sir  William  retired  from  the  presidency 


EMPIRE-BUILDING    IN    NORTHWEST    CANADA 


HONORABLE    AMADEE    EMANUEL   FORGET,    LJEU- 
TENANT-GOVERNOR     OF     THE    NORTHWEST    TER- 
RITORIES,   RULER  OF  A   REGION     LARGER     THAN 
RUSSIA    IN     EUROPE 

some  years  ago  he  relinquished  the 
supervisory  control  to  his  worthy  suc- 
cessor and  compeer,  Sir  Thomas,  and 
withdrew  himself  to  the  advisory  capac- 
ity, less  arduous,  of  chairman  of  the 
company's  board  of  directors,  whence  he 
can  calmly  contemplate  the  immense 
machinery  of  the  gigantic  corporation 
working  out  Harmoniously  as  he  planned 
what  he  had  the  foresight  to  premise 
would  be  its  certain  destiny  in  the  great 
problem  of  the  moving  to  the  markets  of 
the  varied  products  of  the  several  quar- 
ters of  the  globe.  With  fleets  of  steam- 
ers on  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific,  connect- 
ing with  its  eastern,  and  western  termini, 
Canadian  exports  now  reach  the  utter- 
most bounds  of  the  earth. 

Of  Sir  Thomas  Shaughnessy,  a  well 
known  contemporary  writer  has  said: 
"From  the  first  day  of  his  life  as  a  rail- 
way man  there  was  no  doubt  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  knew  him  that  he 


would  be  a  success.  The  qualities  of 
his  mind  are  thoroughly  modern,  and  fit 
exactly  the  service  of  this  greatest  branch 
of  modern  public  service.  Ardent  and 
untiring,  he  has  the  ability  to  do  much 
work,  and  his  shrewd  common  sense  and 
prodigious  memory  enable  him  to  guide 
that  work  to  the  very  best  advantage." 
Since  William  Whyte  came  to  Winni- 
peg in  1886  as  superintendent  of  the  rail- 
way's western  division,  extending  from 
Lake  Superior  to  the  valley  of  the 
Columbia  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  he 
has  seen  the  mileage  of  the  road  grow 
from  2,352  to  1 1,020  miles  in  1904,  and  the 
fertile  wilds  of  Rupert's  Land  developed 
and  peopled  apace.  From  a  compara- 
tively few  bushels  of  grain  grown,  hand 
milled  and  consumed  by  the  pioneer 
tillers  themselves,  the  region  has  already 
reached  and  gone  beyond  a  hundred 
millions  of  bushels  for  a  single  year, 
with  those  monoliths  of  agricultural 


HONORABLE  CLIFFORD  SIFTON,  K.  C.,  CANADIAN 
MINISTER  OF  THE  INTERIOR,  AND  RESPONSIBLE 
FOR  THE  PRESENT  SPLENDID  IMMIGRATION 


154 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


SIR   CHARLES    RIVERS    WILSON,   THE   EMINENT   ENGLISH   FINAN- 
CIER, PRESIDENT  OF  THE  GRAND  TRUNK  RAILWAY  AND 
BACKING    CANADA'S    NEW    TRANSCONTINENTAL 
RAILWAY,  THE  GRAND    TRUNK  PACIFIC 


aggression,  the  elevators  and  mills,  rising 
everywhere  to  receive  and  dispatch  the 
surplus  bushelage  to  the  food  stuff  cen- 
ters of  the  universe. 

Through  a  railroading  experience 
covering  every  branch  of  the  service, 
Mr.  Whyte  has  come  to  be  the  second 
vice  president  of  the  Canadian  Pacific 
railway,  and  with  his  minute  and  actual 
knowledge  of  the  country  and  its  possi- 
bilities, and  of  the  westerner  and  his 
whims,  he  is  admittedly  the  greatest  liv- 
ing authority  on  the  problems  of  trans- 
portation in  the  Canadian  West. 

Canada  is  splendidly  governed.  Fig- 
uratively speaking,  the  supreme  execu- 
tive is  the  governor  general,  at  present 


the  Earl  of  Minto,  a  man  of  fine  attain- 
ments, who  received  his  appointment  by 
the  grace  of  Her  Majesty,  the  late  Queen 
Victoria.  This  appointment  and  what- 
ever voice  its  incumbent  may  have  in 
shaping  the  policy  of  the  Dominion  is 
the  only  interference  on  the  part  of  the 
mother  country  with  absolute,  elective 
home  rule  that  their  scheme  of  govern- 
ment discloses.  The  premier,  at  present 
Sir  Wilfred  Laurier,  an  astute  statesman, 
is  the  head  of  the  dominant  political 
party,  just  now  the  liberals,  who  corre- 
spond somewhat  to  our  democratic  party 
in  that  they  are  free  traders,  but  in  a 
modified  sense.  The  premier  is  elected 
and  really  is  considered  the  chief  execu- 


EMPIRE-BUILDING    IN    NORTHWEST    CANADA 


155 


CHARLES     MELVILLE     HAYS,     AN     AMERICAN,     VICE     PRESIDENT 
AND   GENERAL   MANAGER  OF   THE  GRAND   TRUNK   RAILWAY 
AND    WORKING    HEAD   OF    CANADA'S   NEW   TRANSCON- 
TINENTAL RAILWAY,  THE  GRAND  TRUNK  PACIFIC 


tive,  possibly  because  of  his  democratic 
exaltment,  and  yet,  too,  because  of  his 
quite  naturally  having  the  most  to  do 
with  the  shaping  of  his  country's  policy 
as  the  leader  of  the  party  in  power,  or 
"the  Government"  as  they  call  it.  *  *  * 

The  Honorable  R.  L.  Borden,  an 
eminent  lawyer  of  Halifax,  Nova  Scotia, 
is  the  leader  and  candidate  for  premier 
of  the  opposition,  or  the  conservatives. 

Corresponding  to  the  governor  gen- 
eral of  the  Dominion  and  holding  office 
similarly,  are  the  lieutenant  governors 
of  Manitoba  and  Keewatin  and  of 
the  Northwest  Territories,  of  which 
province  and  districts,  together  with 
the  vast  unorganized  regions  to  the 


north,    Rupert's    Land    is    composed. 

Coming  into  Manitoba  as  one  of  its 
early  settlers,  a  captain  with  Wolseley's 
Red  River  expedition  against  the  half- 
breed  rebels  of  1869,  serving  with  dis- 
tinction in  the  provincial  legislature  in 
1880  and  as  a  member  of  the  Manitoban 
government  for  the  ten  years  from  1889 
to  1899,  Sir  Daniel  H.  McMillan,  with 
force,  foresight  and  Scotch  affability, 
has  been  lieutenant  governor  of  Mani- 
toba and  Keewatin  since  1900,  and  has 
done  much  for  western  Canada. 

They  were  strenuous  times,  those 
buffalo  days  of  '69  to  '70,  when  the 
frenzied  half-breeds  prowled  'round  old 
Fort  Garry  (now  a  part  of  Winnipeg)  till 


156 


THE    NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    NOVEMBER,   1904 


it  fell,  but  seasoned  in  that  campaign  for 
the  near-to-hand  winning  of  this  West 
were,  beside  McMillan,  such  men  of 
after  fame  as  the  intrepid  Dr.  Schultz, 
Mair  and  a  score  of  others,  who  in  that 
remote  wilderness  and  in  the  very  vor- 
tex of  insurrection  and  danger  main- 
tained the  honor  of  Canada  until  the 
military  expedition  led  by  Wolseley  and 
his  subordinate  officers,  McMillan,  Den- 
nison  and  others,  forced  their  way  by 
canoe  and  boat  into  the  country. 

The  Honorable  A.  E.  Forget,  since 
1898  the  capable  lieutenant  governor  of 
the  Northwest  Territories,  and  recently 
reappointed  for  a  second  term,  entered 
the  public  service  in  1875  as  secretary 
of  the  Half- Breed  Commission  then  ad- 
justing the  disputed  claims  which  had 
given  rise  to  the  late  rebellion;  and, 
endowed  with  the  keenest  of  French- 
Canadian  insights,  his  perfect  under- 
standing and  mastery  of  the  Indian 
character  marked  him  at  once  for  a  long 
and  eminent  career,  successively  as  sec- 
retary of  the  Northwest  Council  and 
amongst  the  Indians  as  Indian  commis- 
sioner. 

Expansion  and  growth  of  a  most  re- 
markable kind  have  characterized  the 
whole  of  Canada  within  recent  years, 
but  in  no  part  of  the  Dominion  have 
these  been  so  marked  as  in  the  West, 
and  of  this  growth  and  expansion,  at 
least  in  part,  the  current  "Report  of  the 
Minister  of  the  Interior,"  the  Honor- 
able Clifford  Sifton,  is  an  epitome. 
The  significance  of  the  great  progress 
which  Mr.  Sifton,  in  charge  of  the  im- 
migration, is  making  in  peopling  the 
boundless  areas  of  the  fertile  West,  is 
best  illustrated  by  a  few  comparisons  in 
figures  from  his  "Report." 

In  1897,  the  first  year  of  his  charge, 
the  number  of  homestead  entries  was 
but  2,084,  while  during  the  past  year 
they  reached  the  enormous  total  of 
31,383.  The  land  thus  disposed  of 
covered  more  than  5,000,000  acres,  and 
there  were  beside  some  four  and  a  quar- 


ter millions  of  acres  privately  sold.  The 
movement  of  population  into  Canada 
has,  in  the  seven  years  of  Mr.  Sifton's 
administration, increased  eight- fold,  from 
16,000  immigrants  in  1896,  to  67,379  in 
1902  and  not  less  than  128,000  for  the 
twelve  months  of  1903.  These  128,000 
settlers  cost  the  Dominion  government 
in  their  getting  but  $5.02  each,  a  sur- 
prisingly good  investment,  for  the  late 
ex-minister  of  the  interior,  Mr.  Thomas 
Mayne  Daly,  has  declared  that  every  new 
settler  is  worth  $1,000  to  the  country. 

But  forty-three  years  of  age,  Mr.  Sif- 
ton, a  barrister  at  law  and  king's  coun- 
sel, has  climbed  rung  by  rung  the  ladder 
of  Canadian  fame  from  member  of  the 
Manitoba  legislature  and  attorney  gen- 
eral and  minister  of  education  of  that 
province,  to  his  present  position  in  the 
Dominion  government,  and  has  enjoyed 
the  distinction  of  being  chosen  by  the 
British  government  to  prepare  and  pre- 
sent its  case  before  the  late  memorable 
Alaskan  Boundary  Tribunal.  He  has 
expressed  the  opinion  that  the  immedi- 
ate settlement  of  the  Canadian  North- 
west is  the  most  important  national  duty 
of  Canada,  and  to  this  end  is  certainly 
devoting  his  untiring  efforts. 

Great  as  has  been  the  development 
of  the  past  and  is  that  of  the  present, 
Rupert's  Land  today  is  at  the  dawn  of 
the  day  of  its  still  greater  progress  and 
prosperity.  With  an  ever  increasing 
deluge  of  immigration  sweeping  over  it 
and  depositing  its  alluvium  of  industri- 
ous humanity  on  a  kindly  soil;  with  an 
administration  of  governmental  affairs 
"liberal,  intelligent  and  secure;  with 
transportation  facilities  capably  carry- 
ing the  present  products  of  the  now 
settled  areas,  a  coterie  of  resolute  and 
energetic  railway  financiers,  sanguine  of 
the  future,  are,  with  commensurate  gov- 
ernment aid,  preparing  to  solve  the  great 
problem  of  the  developing  of  the  enor- 
mous areas  of  the  farther  North,  richly 
dowered  but  now  inaccessible,  by  the 
construction  of  a  second  transcontinen- 


EMPIRE-BUILDING    IN    NORTHWEST    CANADA 


157 


tal  railway,  the   Grand  Trunk  Pacific. 

Sir  Charles  Rivers  Wilson,  who  ranks 
high  'as  an  English  financier,  and  Mr. 
Charles  Melville  Hays,  -born  in  Rock 
Island,  Illinois,  whose  commanding 
position  in  the  railway  world  is  un- 
questioned, have  overcome  the  well 
organized  opposition  to  the  financing 
of  the  project  amongst  the  ranks  of  the 
Grand  Trunk  Railway  share  holders 
and  they  have  given  it  their  endorsation 
at  a  recent  meeting  in  London.  The 
approval  of  the  Canadian  parliament 
may  be  safely  assumed,  as  the  country 
clamors  for  it  and  it  has  become  the 
national  platform  of  the  party  in  power. 

Mr.  Hays  came  into  the  Canadian  rail- 
roading world  after  a  training  of  over 
twenty-five  years  with  the  several  railway 
systems  of  the  United  States,  chiefly  the 
Missouri  Pacific,  Wabash  and  Southern 
Pacific,  of  which  latter  he  was  president, 
resigning  in  1901  to  become  second  vice 
president  and  general  manager  of  the 
Grand  Trunk  railway,  which  position  he 
now  holds. 

Sir  Charles  entered  into  railroading  as 
recently  as  the  year  1895,  after  a  promi- 
nent and  varied  career  in  other  fields  of 
finance,  and  since  then  has  been  the 
president  of  the  Grand  Trunk  railway, 
which  position  he  will  probably  main- 
tain in  the  new  and  larger,  enterprise, 
the  completion  of  which  is  promised 
within  seven  years. 

It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  the 
fondest  expectations  of  the  late  lamented 
Victoria  are  to  be  abundantly  realized 
as  she  expressed  them  from  the  throne 


during  the  early  history  of  British 
Columbia  as  a  colony  of  the  empire. 
"I  hope,"  said  Her  Majesty,  "that  this 
new  colony  on  the  Pacific  may  be  but 
one  step  in  the  career  of  steady  pro- 
gress, by  which  my  dominions  in  North 
America  may  be  ultimately  peopled,  in 
an  unbroken  chain,  from  the  Atlantic  to 
the  Pacific,  by  a  loyal  and  industrious 
population."  And  Rupert's  Land  of 
today  cannot  but  further  develop  into 
a  Rupert's  Land  of  tomorrow,  which 
will  attain  to  the  utmost  purport  of  the 
legend  blazoned  across  the  Canadian 
arch  at  the  recent  coronation  of  King 
Edward  VII, — "Canada,  the  Granary  of 
the  Empire." 


*  The  regions  north  of  the  Saskatchewan  watershed 
were  held  not  by  charter,  but,  like  British  Columbia, 
by  lease  from  the  Crown.     (Page  150.) 

*  *  There  have  been  two  spasmodic  outbreaks,  led 
by   the  demoniac  French  half-breed,  Louis  Kiel.    In 
the  first  rebellion,  known  as  the  "Red  River  Rebellion 
of  1869,"  Riel  had  not  a  single  Indian  with  him ;  in  the 
last,  or  "Northwest  Rebellion"  of  1885,  as  it  is  called, 
he  had  a  few  tribes,  but  the  great  mass  of  the  Indians, 
both  in  the  organized  territories  and  to  the  north, 
were  loyal.    Both  rebellions  were  engineered  by  the 
leaders  of  the  French  half-breeds  or  Metis,  with  a  few 

"renegade  whites  as  aides  and  abettors  .   (Page  150.) 

:-  *»*  The  system  of  government  of  every  British 
colony,  excepting  the  crown  colonies  and  East  India, 
is  a  copy  of  the  imperial  system,  of  the  premier  and 
heads  of  departments  chosen  by  him,  all  being  mem- 
bers of  the  legislative  body,  and  all  being  responsible 
to  it,  and  subject  to  extinction  in  an  instant  by  a  vote 
of  want  of  confidence  passed  in  the  lower  house  or 
by  one  or  two  unmistakable  defeats  upon  decisive 
measures  brought  in  by  them.  In  either  case  the  res- 
ignation of  the  minstry  follows ;  and  the  representa- 
tive of  the  king,  the  governor  general,  or,  in  the  case 
of  a  provincial  government,  the  lieutenant  governor, 
calls  upon  some  prominent  man  of  the  adverse  party 
to  form  a  government,  or  parliment  is  dissolved  and  a 
general  election  ensues.  The  governor  general  is 
nominated  by  the  imperial  government,  the  lieuten- 
ant governors  by  that  of  the  Dominion.  (Page  155.) 


THE    INDIVIDUAL 

Look  neither  down  nor  up,  my  friend,  virtue  or  vice  to  find  ; 
For  signs  of  growth  look  neither  before  you  nor  behind : 
Lo,  every  earthly  mortal  unconsciously  within 
Gives  room  to  every  virtue  and  room  to  every  sin. 

F.   P. 


TEDDY'S    ROMANCE 


By    CHRISTOBELLE    VAN     ASMUS     BUNTING 


EVANSTON,      ILLINOIS 


IT  was  Mrs.  "Dick"  Kendall's  day  "at 
home,"  and  a  nasty  day  it  was,  too, 
with  a  drizzling  cold  Fall  rain.  Only 
a  few  had  happened  in.  Mr.  Reming- 
ton was  leaving  as  Mrs.  Kingsley  Hud- 
son came  up  the  steps.  She  stopped 
for  a  moment  and  spoke  to  him.  Music 
held  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  them. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came,"  said  Peggie 
when  Louise  was  inside.  "I've  been 
thinking  of  you  all  day." 

"That  so?  I've  been  thinking  of 
you,  too.  Thought  I'd  come  late  so 
we  could  have  a  real  home  visit  together, 
without  others  coming  in.  I've  been 
over  at  mamma's  all  day.  'King'  and 
I  were  going  out  to  the  Hayward's  but 
it  rained  so." 

"Oh,  dear! "  exclaimed  Peggie, 
"There's  some  one." 

It  was  Teddy  Carr. 

He  came  in  all  smiles.  "I  thought 
I  should  find  you  two  girls  here,"  he 
said,  "so  I  pulled  myself  together  and 
came  up.  I  saw  Mr.  Dick  Kendall 
heading  for  Mrs.  Smith's  and  I  said 
to  myself,  'go  on,  old  man  ;  coast's 
clear.'  " 

"Why,  Teddy!"  reproachfully  said 
Peggie,  "How  you  talk."  Then  she 
added:  "I'm  glad  Dick  is  calling  on 
Dorothy.  I  told  him  to,  but  was  afraid 
he  might  forget.  He's  been  trying  to 
get  there  the  last  month." 

"Oh,  we  know  you  told  him,"  said 
Teddy  wickedly. 

"Now,  Teddy,  you  shall  not  have  any 
tea  if  you're  bad." 

"I'm  not  bad — am  I,  Louise?  " 

"Not  very,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"What's  the  news,  Teddy?"  Peggie 
asked. 

"Things  dreadfully  dull,  'Mrs.  Dick.' 
Fact  is,  every  one  is  settling  down — 
getting  married.  Now  it  used  to  be 


that  people  said  all  sorts  of  things — 
well,  about  Louise  here — but,  dear  me, 
even  Louise  has  ceased  to  interest  gos- 
sips." 

"For  shame,  Teddy,"  and  Louise 
tried  to  look  cross. 

" 'Tis  a  shame,"  he  replied  provok- 
ingly. 

"Teddy,"  asked  Peggie,  "why  don't 
you  marry?" 

"How  strange!"  mused  Teddy,  "it's 
the  very  thing  I've  come  here  purposely 
to  talk  about.  You  see,  I  knew  I  should 
find  you — or  thought  I  should  find  you 
both  here,  and  I  wished  to  tell  you 
together  and  get  your  joint  opinion." 

Louise  smiled  doubtfully. 

"You're  joking,"  said  Peggie. 

"I  like  that!" 

"No,  really;  well  then,  who  is  the 
girl?" 

"She  has  not  a  very  poetic  surname, 
so  I'll  tell  you  only  her  Christian  one. 
Neither  of  you  know  her.  She  lives  in 
a  little  town  in  the  White  Mountains. 
"Her  name  is  Abigail.  Do  you  like  it?  " 

"It's  very  sweet  and  quaint,"  said 
Louise. 

"Isn't  it?"  said  Teddy  enthusiastic- 
ally. "She  is  a  poor  girl,"  Teddy  went 
on,  "but  she  has  a  heap  of  sense.  She 
lives  with  an  old  aunt — just  as  I  do. 
Of  course  I  shall  have  to  take  her,  too, 
but  then  I'm  some  experienced  with 
aunts,  you  know,  and  the  house  is  plenty 
large.  I'm  wondering,  though,  if  Aunt 
Jane  will  'cotton  to'  her.  It's  rather 
risky,  bringing  old  people  who  are  more 
or  less  settled  in  their  ways  together — 
but  then,  the  house  is  large. " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Peggie,  "you  have 
plenty  of  room." 

She  glanced  at  Louise.  Louise  was 
really  glad.  She  hoped  Abigail  would 
suit  Teddy.  He  was  such  a  nice  boy. 


TEDDY'S    ROMANCE 


"Then  you  are  going  to  be  married?  " 
she  asked.  "Where  and  when  did  you 
meet  her?" 

"It's  really  quite  a  romance,"  Teddy 
went  on.  "Mrs.  Dick,"  he  asked,  "may 
I  smoke?" 

"Certainly,"  Peggie  said  comfortably. 

Then  Teddy  continued:  "We  met  last 
month  on  my  return  home.  It  hap- 
pened on  the  train.  The  old  lady,  it 
seems,  is  quite  a  gay  girl — that  is,  she 
drinks  some — her  age,  I  suppose.  And 
I  met  her  in  the  buffet  car  having  a 
cocktail.  I  was  going  on  through  to  the 
smoker,  but  when  I  saw  the  old  dame, 
I  said  to  myself,  'Now  here  is  a  real 
game  old  lady,'  so  I  stopped  and  sat 
opposite  her." 

Louise  looked  at  Peggie  in  amaze- 
ment. "Oh,  Teddy!"  she  said,  "I 
don't  believe  it." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  not  go  on." 

"Please  do,"  Peggie  said  excitedly. 

"Yes,  do,"  agreed  Louise. 

"Well,  if  you  really  wish  me  to.  You 
see,  I've  come  to  talk  it  over  with  you, 
because  I  would  like  to  know  what  you 
think  about  it." 

"Yes,"  they  answered  together  in 
a  rather  decided  tone. 

"The  old  lady  eyed  me  closely  some 
minutes,"  Teddy  continued,  "and  then 
she  asked  me  some  very  inquisitive 
questions,  such  as  old  ladies  are  wont 
to  ask.  Well,  it  all  ended  that  her  niece 
was  asleep,  or  reading,  or  something, 
and  she — the  old  lady — had  stolen  off 
'to  take  a  nip.'  She  said  she  wouldn't 
have  her  niece  know  it  for  worlds,  but 
that  traveling  always  affected  her  so  that 
she  was  obliged  to  resort  to  a  stimulant. 
What  surprised  me  was  that  she  knew 
just  the  sort  of  stimulant  she  required." 

"Well,  maybe  the  waiter  brought  her 
that  without  her  asking,"  Louise  said 
thinkingly. 

"It's  queer,"  began  Peggie,  "that 
she  did  not  have  a  little  something  in 
a  bottle  in  her  valise.  It's  queer, 
really." 


"Now,  that's  just  it,"  said  Teddy. 
"I  don't  care  to  bring  someone  into 
the  family  that  will  make  any  unpleas- 
antness. Aunt  Jane  has  no  use  for 
'tipplers,'  as  she  calls  them." 

"It's  awful!"  said  Louise. 

"What  does  Abigail  say? "  asked 
Peggie. 

"I  didn't  mention  it  to  her.  The 
aunt  told  me  not  to,  you  know.  Then 
we  didn't  have  time  for  any  side  issues. 
I  was  busy  pushing  my  suit  with  her. 
We  were  on  the  train  only  two  days.  It 
was  love  at  first  sight  on  both  of  our 
parts.  Those  things  do  happen,  you 
know." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Louise. 

"Then  you  are  really  engaged?  " 
asked  Peggie. 

"Yes,"  answered  Teddy  —  "for  two 
weeks."  Teddy  blew  a  ring  of  smoke 
into  the  air. 

"For  what?  "  asked  Peggie. 

Teddy  kept  on  blowing  rings. 

"You  wretch!  "  and  Peggie  came  over 
and  shook  him  by  the  shoulders.  Louise 
looked  relieved.  It  would  have  been  too 
bad  to  have  Teddy  do  a  thing  like  that 
and  then  be  miserable. 

"You  are  a  bad  boy,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I  saw  very  well  that  as  I  had 
no  news,  I  must  invent  some — and  I  am 
sure  you've  enjoyed  my  story." 

"Fancy  that  old  lady  drinking  a  cock- 
tail in  a  buffet  car,"  and  Peggie  laughed 
good  naturedly. 

"How  dreadful!  "  said  Louise. 

Teddy  began  to  whistle  "Forgotten." 
Louise  looked  up  at  him. 

"It's all  imagination,  Teddy, "she said 
sweetly. 

"Maybe  it  is,"  he  answered  her,  "but 
I  don't  agree  with  you." 

Peggie  was  making  tea. 

"I  know  you  are  happy,  Louise," 
Teddy  added  softy. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am;  and  I  wish 
you  were,  too." 

"I  guess  I'm  a  misfit,"  he  said  back 
again. 


i6o 


"No,  you're  not.  Your  day  will 
come,  Teddy." 

Peggie  poured  the  tea. 

"Here's  a  cup  to  Abigail,"  she  said, 
drawing  her  chair  toward  them.  When 
they  had  finished  Dick  came  in  with 
Kingsley  Hudson. 

"Now  all  stay  for  dinner,  won't  you?  " 
Peggie  urged. 

"Oh,  we  can't,  thanks,  dear,"  said 
Louise.  "The  boys  are  coming  over 
this  evening." 

"You  can  stay,  Teddy,"  can't  you?" 
asked  Dick. 

"Of  course  he  can,"  Peggie  ques- 
tioned. 

"Why,  yes — thanks."    Teddy  seemed 

pleased. 

^ 

"He  is  so  fond  of  home  life,"  Peggie 
said  to  Dick  after  Teddy  had  gone.  "It 
is  too  bad  such  men  can't  have  nice 
homes  themselves.  It  must  be  dread- 
fully dreary  with  that  old  aunt  of  his." 

"Yes,"  Dick  acquiesced,  "I'm  sorry 
for  him.  He  was  in  love  with  Louise 
Hudson,  wasn't  he?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie  absently,  "every- 
one's in  love  with  her." 

II 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  asked 
Peggie,  looking  around  as  Katherine 
Ashworth  came  up  with  Teddy  Carr. 

"Don't  you  tell,  Miss  Kate,"  said 
Teddy  teasingly. 

Kate  laughed  and  threw  herself  on  the 
grass  at  Mrs.  "Dick's"  feet.  "Isn't  it 
great  out  today?"  she  asked,  look- 
ing up. 

Teddy  lighted  a  cigarette.  "Let's 
have  a  claret  lemonade,"  he  said. 
"Louise  plays  well,"  he  added,  half 
to  himself,  as  Mrs.  Kingsley  Hudson 
waved  her  hand  at  him  from  the  tennis 
court.  Then  Teddy  walked  toward  the 
club  house. 

"Excuse  me,  please,"  he  called  back 
at  Mrs.  "Dick"  and  Kate  Ashworth. 

"Where  have  you  been?  "  asked  Peg- 


gie again  when  she  and  Kate  were  alone. 

"Down  through  the  channel  between 
the  lakes,"  Kate  answered. 

"Did  Teddy  make  love  to  you?  " 
questioned  Peggie. 

"For  shame!  Mrs.  'Dick,'"  Kate 
retorted,  coloring. 

"Come,  tell  me,"  coaxed  Peggie.  "I 
won't  tell  anyone." 

"Well,"  said  Kate  evasively,  "I  don't 
think  Teddy  Carr's  the  love-making 
kind.  Anyway,  we  are  too  good  friends 
for  that." 

"Oh!"  said  Peggie.  She  smiled 
faintly.  "But  then,"  she  added  slowly, 
"that  doesn't  always  follow." 

"No,"  replied  Kate,  as  she  sat  with 
her  arms  about  her  knees,  and  blew 
a  stray  lock  of  hair  that  fell  across  her 
face.  "It  doesn't  always  follow,  I  sup- 
pose. Mrs.  Hudson  told  me  that  she 
fancied  Teddy  Carr  wouldn't  marry 
young." 

"Did  she?"  said  Peggie  knowingly. 
"Well,  one  can't  tell." 

Tedd^  was  coming  back.  He  stopped 
at  the  court  and  spoke  to  Louise  Hud- 
son. Peggie  watched  them,  but  she 
made  no  remark.  Teddy  came  and  sat 
beside  her. 

"Are  you  coming  to  my  box  party  at 
the  horse  show,  Wednesday,  Mrs. 
'Dick?'" 

"Am  I  invited?  "  asked  Peggie. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Teddy  said  reassuringly, 
"if  you  are  good." 

"Who  is  to  be  there?  Have  you  in- 
vited Mr.  Stevens?  "  asked  Peggie. 

"Yes,  and  I'm  going  to  call  at  the 
Smith's  this  evening  to  see  if  Miss 
Hoxey  won't  come  along." 

"That'll  be  nice,"  said  Peggie.  "Why 
yes,  we  shall  be  delighted  to  come." 

Louise  and  Kingsley  Hudson  and 
Dick  Kendall  and  George  Hardy  came 
up  just  then. 

"My!  but   I'm  warm,"   said   Louise. 

"Sit  here,"  said  Teddy,  extending  his 
chair.  "I've  ordered  something  to 
drink." 


TEDDY'S     ROMANCE 


161 


"How  good  of  you!  Thanks,"  and 
Louise  took  the  seat.  ' 

"You  play  a  fine  game,"  he  said, 
smiling  at  her. 

"Think  so,  Teddy?  "  she  questioned. 
"  'King'  says  you've  a  new  horse.  One 
of  the  Ketchum  horses  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  you'll  see  her  at  the  show." 
"Shall  you  drive?  " 
"No,  I'd  rather  entertain  you." 
"You   are  a  nice   boy,    Teddy,"    she 
said. 

Teddy  offered  her  a  lemonade. 
"I'm   going   West   next    month,"  he 
said. 

"Oh,  are  you?    Where?" 
"El  Paso." 

"Is  it  there  you  met  Mrs.  Fenn 
Moore?" 

Teddy  smiled  again.  "No,  I  met  her 
in  Asheville.  She's  stopped  writing  to 
me." 

"You  are  very  bad,  Teddy.  You 
should  be  ashamed  of  a  flirtation  with 
a  married  woman." 

"You  are  a  married  woman." 
"You   are   not   flirting  with   me,   are 
you?" 

"No,  Louise,  I  mean  everything  I  tell 
you." 

"Teddy,  you  are  awful." 
"But  I  do." 

"Well,  I'm  a  sort  of  mother  confessor 
— a  sister,  you  know." 

"That's  just  what  Mrs.  Fenn  Moore 
said." 

"People  can't  help  liking  you.  You 
are  always  so  provokingly  agreeable." 
"Yes,  that's  my  cardinal  handicap. 
People  always  like  me.  I  wish  it  had 
been  a  little  stronger" — then  he  added 
slowly,  "in  one  case." 

"Foolish  boy,"  Louise  was  saying 
when  Peggie  called. 

"What  are  you  two  talking  about  over 
there?  Bring  your  chair  nearer." 

"We  are  naming  my  new  horse," 
Teddy  answered,  as  he  helped  Louise 
draw  her  chair  closer.  "How  do  you 
like  Abigail?" 


Louise  and  Peggie  laughed. 

"What  a  funny  name!  "  said  Kather- 
ine  Ashworth.  "It  sounds  as  quaint 
and  old  as  Priscilla." 

"What  time  is  it?  "  asked  Peggie,  still 
laughing. 

"Five-thirty,"  said  some  one. 

"We  must  go,  dear,"  said  Louise  to 
'King.'  He  smiled  at  her.  as  they 
walked  away  toward  the  club  house 
together. 

Dick  and  Peggie  followed  with  Mr. 
Hardy. 

"Come  on,  Miss  Kate,"  said  Teddy, 
as  he  helped  her  to  her  feet.  "If  you 
will  walk  back  to  the  boat  house  with 
me,  I'll  tell  you  a  story." 

"To  the  boat  house?  " 

"Yes,  I' ve' forgotten  my  keys." 

"Where  are  you  going? "  Peggie 
called,  as  she  saw  Teddy  and  Kate 
going  toward  the  lake. 

"To  jump  in,"  Teddy  called  back. 

Peggie  looked  puzzled. 

"They're  not  in  love,  are  they?" 
asked  Dick. 

"T  don't  think  so,"  answered  Peggie, 
as  she  watched  Kingsley  Hudson  help 
Louise  into  their  motor  car. 


Peggie  was  in  her  room  writing  letters 
when  she  heard  Louise  Hudson  asking 
for  her  down  stairs.  She  went  into  the 
hall  and  called:  "Come  up  here,  dear — 
in  my  room." 

"Oh,  Peggie,"  said  Louise  as  she 
came  up  the  stairs,  "Teddy's  dead!" 

"Teddy's  dead?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Dead — yes,  dead,"  and  Louise  sank 
into  a  chair  as  they  came  into  Peggie's 
room. 

"Why,  Louise— what  can  you  mean?  " 

"Oh,  it's  awful!  awful!"  she  answered, 
sobbing.  "He  shot  himself  with  his 
gun." 

"God  forbid!  "  ejaculated  Peggie. 

"He  was  cleaning  it,"  Louise  went 
on,  "and  in  some  way  it  went  off.  They 
found  him  dead  in  his  bed  room." 


I  62 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


"And  what  was  he  doing  with  his 
gun?  "  Peggie  said  questioningly. 

"Why,  he  and  Darrell  Stevens  were 
going  up  north  gunning  for  a  week  or 
two.  He  had  his  things  half  packed.  I 
suppose  he  thought  it  empty.  Oh, 
Teddy— poor,  dear  Teddy!  "  and  Louise 
gave  way  utterly. 

Peggie  was  white,  too.  She  sat  quietly 
a  few  seconds.  A  thousand  things  were 
in  her  mind.  Then  she  said,  "Don't, 
dear — please  don't,"  and  she  came  and 
sat  on  the  arm  of  Louise's  chair  and 
stroked  her  head.  "It's  too  dreadful 
to  realize,"  she  said  again,  "but  it 
might  have  been  worse.  We  shall  miss 
Teddy  awfully — but  we  could  miss  others 
more." 

"Yes,"  and  Louise  raised  her  head 
.and  dried  her  eyes. 

"He  looks  so  handsome,  Peggie. 
They  have  laid  him  on  a  couch,  and 
he  is  so  white  with  his  long,  dark  lashes 
against  his  cheeks.  Oh,  I  can't  believe 
it!  I  can't!  I  can't!  " 

"Then  you  were  there?  " 

"Darrell  sent  for  me.  He  came  in 
just  after,  or  something,  and  he  thought 
of  me  for  some  reason;  so  he  called  me 
over  the  wire.  I  went  right  down. 
Darrell  gave  me  these—"  she  added,  as 
she  unfolded  a  small  parcel. 

It  was  a  little  package  of  letters  writ- 
ten on  blue  note  paper  and  bound  to- 
gether with  a  string.  There  was  a  faint 
odor  of  violet  as  Louise  untied  them. 

"They  were  on  his  desk.  I  suppose 
he  was  going  to  throw  them  out — or 
burn  them.  Darrell  Stevens  knew  my 
writing,  and  so  he  gave  them  to  me. 
He  said  I  might  as  well  take  them — they 
did  not  concern  anyone  but  me  now." 

They  were  both  silent.  Then  Louise 
said,  "I  may  as  well  leave  them  here." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie  sympathetically. 

"No,  I  will  take  them,"  Louise  said 
again. 

"Teddy  thought  a  great  deal  of  you," 
Peggie  ventured. 

"Yes,    we    have    known    each    other 


always.  I  did  not  think  I  should  care 
so  much,  though;  but  it  all  seems  so 
pitiful  now.  After  all,  Teddy  didn't 
have  much  to  live  for.  One  can't  be 
happy  just  being  rich,  and  no  one  really 
loved  Teddy,  you  know.  No  one  really 
cared  what  he  did.  His  aunt  never 
knew  much  about  him,  and  she  was  all 
he  ever  had.  He  must  have  been  very 
lonely,  poor  boy!  " 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie,  "I  suppose  he 
was;  but  that's  over  now,  too." 

"Yes,  that's  over  now,"  and  Louise 
sighed  heavily. 

"What  time  is  it?"  she  asked. 
"  'King'  is  to  come  for  me." 

"There's  the  bell.  Shall  we  go  down?" 
said  Peggie. 

"Let  us  go  right  home,  dear,"  said 
Louise  to  her  husband  when  she  and 
Peggie  came  down  stairs. 

Peggie  watched  them  from  the  window 
as  they  went  down  the  steps.  "It's  too 
bad,"  she  said,  with  her  head  against 
the  pane.  "Poor  Teddy!"  Then  she 
added  as  she  turned  and  looked  about 
the  room,  "but  even  Teddy  won't  be 
missed  much—  and  it's  just  as  well,  I 
suppose.  He  was  such  a  nice  boy,  too." 

When  Dick  came  home  Peggie  met 
him  at  the  door.  She  greeted  him  with 
more  feeling  than  usual.  There  was 
thanks  m  har  heart. 


They  buried  Teddy  amid  a  garden  of 
flowers.  Somehow  the  service  was  not 
so  hopeless  as  services  so  often  are. 
The  sweet  calm  of  Teddy's  features 
seemed  to  spread  over  the  hearts  of  his 
friends  and  it  was  more  like  a  good- 
night than  a  goodbye.  Mr.  Remington 
sang  with  that  sweet  pathos  in  his  voice 
that,  while  it  made  the  heart  sad.  at  the 
same  time  gave  it  a  sweet  sense  of  peace 
and  rest.  And  when  it  was  all  over,  and 
Teddy  had  been  laid  away  for  his  last, 
long  sleep,  everyone  else  had  someone 
to  look  to  for  love  and  comfort.  It 
seemed  to  bring  hearts  even  closer 


TEDDY'S  ROMANCE                                           163 

together— a  sweet  token1  for  Teddy  to  and  Dick  stayed  home  all  Winter,  and 

leave  behind.     Kingsley  took  Louise  for  Mrs.  Smith   entertained  for  her   niece 

a  cruise  on  the  Mediterranean.      Peggie  as   usual. 


WHO    DWELLS    WITH    NATURE 

By    HILTON    R.    GREER 

SHERMAN,     TEXAS 

WHO  dwells  with  Nature,  clasps  her  hand 
In  cordial  comradry, 
Her  best  bestowals  may  command; 
No  niggard  hostess  she. 

With  lavish  grace  she  offers  up 

All  wholesome  gifts  and  good ; 
She  bids  him  drain  her  sparkling  cup 

And  share  her  daily  food. 

A  roof  of  blue  she  arches  o'er 

As  shelter  for  his  head; 
Spreads  for  his  feet  a  fragrant  floor 

With  pine  cones  carpeted. 

She  drapes  his  couch  in  curtains  cool, 

Of  sheer  and  lacey  mist; 
A  mirror  makes  of  some  still  pool 

By  shifting  shadows  kissed. 

She  wakes  wild  melody  in  sounds 

Of  silver-singing  rills; 
The  hoarse-mouthed  bay  of  distant  hounds 

At  dawn  among  the  hills. 

Wielding  a  magic  brush,  she  spreads 

Rare  pictures  for  his  eyes, 
And  dazzles  with  warm  golds  and  reds 

Of  Autumn  tapestries. 

She  opens  wide  her  book  of  days, 

A  classic  clasped  with  gold; 
Creation's  moving  tale  displays, 

And  legends  wierd  and  old. 

She  leads  him  to  some  cloistered  shrine, 

Shut  in  from  sordid  gaze, 
Where  deep-toned  organs  of  the  pine 

Chant  solemn  hymns  of  praise. 

A  .id  as  he  bows  in  worship  there, 

She  sets  his  spirit  free 
From  sordid  care,  and  bids  him  share 

Her  sweet  tranquility. 


A   MASTER    OF    DISSECTION 


PROFESSOR    WM.     T.    ECKLEY    OF     ILLINOIS,    WHO    PREPARED    THE 
STARTLING     SPECIMENS    AT    THE    WORLD'S     FAIR 

By   MICHAEL  A.    LANE 

CHICAGO,     ILLINOIS 


nor  a  part  of  the  human  body  that  may 
not  be  seen  plainly  displayed  to  view 
and  dissected  out  in  a  manner  that 
claims  the  attention  and  rouses  the 
imagination  of  him  who  understands  the 
precise  nature  of  the  things  at  which 
he  is  looking. 

The  most  remarkable  of  these  rare 
specimens  in  human  anatomy  were  pre- 
pared by  Dr.  William  T.  Eckley  as  the 
contribution  of  the  University  of  Illinois 
to  the  educational  exhibit.  Whether 
from  proximity  to  the  Fair,  or  because 
it  desired  to  be  forward  among  the  insti- 
tutions represented  at  the  Louisiana  Pur- 
chase Exposition,  the  University  of  Illi- 
nois made  a  special  effort  to  exploit 
itself,  and  it  delegated  all  of  this  work 
to  Dr.  Eckley,  who  is  head  professor  of 
anatomy  in  the  medical  department  of 
the  university. 

For  three  months  previously  to  the 
opening  of  the  exposition,  Professor 
Eckley  worked  in  a  special  laboratory, 
getting  ready  the  various  specimens  to 
be  sent  to  St.  Louis;  and  happy  was  the 
budding  anatomist  or  more  experienced 
man  of  medicine  who  was  granted  the 
unusual  privilege  of  seeing  the  master 
dissector  at  his  labors. 

Professor  Eckley,  like  most  great  spe- 
cialists, is  known  to  the  public  chiefly 
by  reputation.  He  is  one  of  the  fore- 
most American  authorities  in  human 
anatomy  and  perhaps  the  greatest  of 
American  in  the  art  of  dissection.  What 
is  difficult  for  other  men  in  that  line  is 
easy  for  him;  and  performances  which 
other  men  find  it  impossible  to  do  at 
all,  he  achieves  with  comparatively  little 
difficulty.  In  short,  Professor  Eckley 


PROFESSOR    WILLIAM    T.    ECKLEY 

THE  World's  Fair  visitor  who  strolls 
from  the  Pike  to  the  educational  ex- 
hibit in  the  social  economy  department 
at  St.  Louis,  is  occasionally  struck  by 
the  sight  of  a  great  lay-out  of  peculiar 
specimens  which,  if  said  visitor  be  a  lay- 
man, will  be  puzzling  at  first  glance,  and 
indescribably,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  grew- 
somely,  fascinating  on  closer  inspection. 
This  collection  will  remind  one  of  the 
remark  made  by  the  reverent  old  gentle- 
man who,  gazing  upon  the  skeleton  of 
a  donkey  in  the  Kensington  Museum, 
exclaimed  most  solemnly,  "Ah,  yes!  We 
are  indeed  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made."  For  here  there  is  not  an  organ 


A   MASTER   OF   DISSECTION 


'65 


LABORATORY    WHERE    THE    DISSECTIONS    WERE    MADE 


is  a  genius;  and  intimate  contact  with 
him  is  quite  apt  to  discourage  those 
who,  before  having  seen  him  at  his 
work,  have  a  well  defined  idea  that  they 
were  cut  out  (so  to  speak)  for  great 
anatomists.  A  friend  of  Professor  Eck- 
ley once  said  to  the  present  writer:  "Dr. 
Eckley  is  a  born  anatomist,  and  the 
greatest  dissector  in  the  world.  That's 
why  he  came  to  the  top." 

A  single  glance  is  all  that  is  needed 
to  prove  the  truth  of  this  rather  strong 
assertion;  especially  when  the  onlooker 
has  a  clear  idea  of  the  meaning  of  those 
amazing  touches  of  the  master  hand 
which  brings  order  out  of  chaos  with 
a  slight  movement  of  the  fingers,  or 
which  with  a  single,  sure  and  deep- 
reaching  cut  brings  the  knife  down  to 
a  deep-seated  artery  or  nerve  or  liga- 
ment without  even  touching  the  surface 
of  the  structure  the  knife  is  seeking. 

One  day  a  visitor  to  Professor  Eckley's 
laboratory,  upon  witnessing  one  of  these 
marvelous  performances,  asked  him  why 
he  did  not  practice  surgery.  The  great 


little  man  shook  his  head.  "I'm  too 
fond  of  making  surgeons  to  be  one 
myself,"  he  replied;  thereby  disclosing 
that  innate  love  of  teaching  with  which 
all  men  of  intellectual  power  and  origi- 
nality are  born. 

Professor  Eckley  is  a  product  of  the 
great  West  and  most  of  his  life  has  been 
spent  in  western  colleges  and  universi- 
ties as  teacher  and  professor  of  anatomy. 
Iowa  claims  him  as  a  son,  and  the  Uni- 
versity of  Iowa  as  a  former  student. 
Upon  his  graduation  from  that  school 
he  entered  the  medical  department  and 
took  his  doctor's  degree;  but  although 
he  practiced  medicine  two  or  three  years, 
he  did  it  rather  to  gain  clinical  experi- 
ence than  with  any  intention  of  remain- 
ing in  the  profession.  Science  called 
him  with  her  irresistible  voice,  and  he 
soon  took  a  position  in  his  alma  mater 
as  a  teacher  of  human  anatomy,  which 
had  for  him  an  extraordinary  attraction 
from  the  first.  Leaving  his  native  state 
as  a  young  man,  he  went  to  Chicago, 
where  he  scon  became  a  member  of  the 


1 66 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


faculty  of  Northwestern  University  and 
later  professor  of  anatomy  in  the  dental 
school  of  that  institution.  Subsequently 
he  became  professor  of  anatomy  in  the 
College  of  Physicians  and  Surgeons,  and 
retained  that  chair  when  the  college  was 
absorbed  by  the  University  of  Illinois. 
He  is  a  distinguished  member  of  the 
American  Association  of  Anatomists  and 
is  the  author  of  several  important  works 
in  his  line,  among  which  his  "Anatomi- 
cal Nomenclature"  is  especially  notable, 
implying  as  it  does  a  vast  amount  of  his- 
torical research  which  carries  one  back 
to  the  pioneers  of  science  who  gave  to 
the  various  structures  in  the  human 
body  the  outlandish  and  perfectly  wrong 
names  which  they,  for  the  most  part, 
bear  today. 

It  was  while  he  was  filling  his  chair 
at  Northwestern  University  that  Profes- 
sor Eckley  was  called  as  an  expert  in 
the  famous  Luetgert  murder  trial  at 
Chicago.  Luetgert  was  an  eccentric 
sausage  manufacturer  who  was  accused 
of  having  murdered  his  wife  and  of 
having  afterward  destroyed  the  body  in 
a  vat  in  his  factory.  The  only  circum- 
stantial evidence  left  was  a  few  small 
bones,  known  as  sesamoid  bones,  and 
the  issue  hinged  on  the  question  whether 
or  not  these  bones  were -human.  Dr. 
Eckley  very  promptly  asserted  that  he 
couldn't  say  whether  the  bones  were 
human  or  not;  which  drew  out  a  most 
interesting  cross-fire  of  questions  in 
which  the  professor's  remarkable  knowl- 
edge of  his  subject  proved  a  source  of 
vast  trouble  for  the  prosecution.  His 
explanations  of  the  difficult  points 


brought  out  were  so  simple  and  force- 
ful as  to  delight  and  charm  his  hearers. 
His  evidence  was  the  most  straightfor- 
ward and  interesting  of  any  of  the  experts 
called  to  testify  in  that  celebrated  case. 

For  many  years  Professor  Eckley  was 
the  only  anatomist  in  the  West  who  in- 
fused into^his  teaching  a  leaven  of  phil- 
osophy which  imparted  a  zest  and  a 
higher  interest  to  this  somewhat  dry 
subject.  A  warm  adherent  of  the  theory 
of  evolution,  he  enlivens  his  subject 
with  rational  discourse,  at  once  captivat- 
ing and  instructive.  He  has  made  a 
special  study  of  the  origin  and  history 
of  the  so-called  "rudimentary  struc- 
tures," which,  in  a  way,  are  the  most 
strikingly  interesting  structures  in  the 
human  body;  and  in  many  other  ways 
he  has  introduced  original  and  effective 
methods  of  teaching. 

Men  with  a  specialty,  for  the  most  part, 
know  next  to  nothing  of  things  outside 
their  own  line;  but  Professor  Eckley, 
outside  of  his  laboratory,  is  a  broad  and 
genial  scholar  who  is  not  at  all  averse  to 
that  lighter  literature  which  occupies  the 
attention  of  the  world  at  large.  He  is 
a  great  admirer  of  the  writings  of  Her- 
bert Spencer.  His  favorite  poets  are 
Shakespeare  and  Byron,  and  he  likes  to 
listen  to  the  reading  of  a  good  story  now 
and  then,  especially  if  it  be  one  of 
Dumas'  novels.  He  is  a  modest,  quiet 
and  whole-souled  gentleman  in  his  priv- 
ate life  and  a  firm  and  steadfast  friend. 
His  wife,  Mrs.  Corinne  Buford  Eckley, 
is  herself  a  well  known  teacher  of  an- 
atomy and  last  Spring  was  a  candidate 
for  trustee  of  the  University  of  Illinois. 


PROGRESS 


FOR  little  gain  the  life  of  man  is  long 
Passing  he  leaves  a  sermon  or  a  song 

To  guide  or  cheer  the  multitudes  behind, 
Who  join  in  turn  the  gray  forgotten  throng. 


Amid  cool  shades  where  sorrow  is  forgot 
Went  all  that  bode  in  high  or  lowly  lot, 

Rested  a  while  and  rose  to  plod  anew, 
As  you  and  I  shall  do  that  know  it  not 


THE  TALE  OF  A  STAGE-STRUCK  GIRL 


AS    TOLD    BY    THE    TRAVELING    SALESMAN    IN    A    SNOW-BOUND    TRAIN 
By   JOHN    AUSTIN    SCHETTY 

PATERSON,     NEW    JERSEY 


^*1  ilELL,"  said  the  salesman  from  the 
?Y  East,  addressing  the  other  occu- 
pants of  the -chair  car,  "our  urbane 
friend  Billy  Bates  says  we're  good  for 
several  hours  here.  That  it  will  take 
that  time  at  least  for  the  plough  to  get 
up  from  Painted  Post  on  this  grade,  and 
dig  us  out  of  this  drift.  That  being  so, 
it  seems  to  me  we  ought  to  make  the 
most  of  the  occasion.  Institute  a  social 
session,  as  it  were.  It  will  keep  us  from 
falling  asleep  until  the  proper  time 
comes." 

"Bravo!  "  came  from  the  deep-chested 
man  at  the  end  of  the  car,  whom  the 
salesman  had  mentally  put  down  for 
a  lawyer,  but  who  was  instead  a  well 
known  lecturer.  "I,  for  one,  think 
that's  a  suggestion  that  should  be 
acted  upon.  There  are  seven  of  us 
here,  and  if  we  each  agree  to  tell  a  good 
story,  the  evening  will  pass  so  pleasantly 
that  we'll  be  rather  sorry  when  the 
plough  comes." 

A  clapping  of  hands  greeted  this 
announcement. 

"If  I  may  venture  to  say  a  word," 
broke  in  Billy  Bates,  the  conductor,  "it 
would  be  to  amend  the  suggestion  to  the 
extent  of  proposing  that  our  friend  Jacob 
here  be  assigned  the  first  yarn.  I  know 
him  of  old.  There's  no  one  more  com- 
petent, gentlemen." 

The  salesman  arose  in  protest,  but  the 
acclamation  drowned  his  words.  He 
shook  his  head,  then  smiled,  and  at 
length  acquiesced. 

"My  friend  Billy,"  he  began,  "is  fond 
of  a  joke,  but  as  it  seems  I'm  unani- 
mously nominated  to  the  job,  to  draw 
full  pay  for  all  jokes,  patented  or  other- 
wise, I  suppose  I  might  as  well  bow  to 
the  will  of  the  majority.  I  can't  think 


of  any  story  but  one  wherein  the  hero's 
name  is  Billy.  Only  it  isn't  the  same 
Billy,  and  what's  more  it  is  a  true  story. 
And  I'll  call  it 

THE  TALE  OF  A  STAGE-STRUCK  GIRL 

The  group  of  persons  brought  together 
so  strangely  by  a  haphazard  freak  of 
weather,  settled  themselves  comfortably 
in  their  chairs,  while  the  salesman,  with 
a  humorous  gleam  in  his  eyes,  began: 

"Well!  When  I  first  knew  Ethel 
Powell  some  few  years  ago  there  wasn't 
a  prettier  girl  to  waste  bonbons  or 
flowers  on.  Only  that  matrimony  and 
traveling  salesmen  don't  make  the  most 
beautiful  blend  of  mezzotint  I'd  cer- 
tainly have  waded  into  the  game  myself. 
Honest,  I  was  that  hard  hit.  Ethel 
measured  right  up  to  specifications. 
Soft,  fluffy  hair,  melting  blue  eyes,  a 
mouth  of  rich  red  curves,  complexion 
like  a  soft-blown  peach  and  a  figure  that 
would  have  driven  a  department  store 
model  out  of  the  business!  As  a  femin- 
ine proposition  she  was  It,  with  a  big 
I — and  that's  no  dream!  " 

"With  all  these  requirements,  it  wasn't 
any  wonder  that  my  friend  Billy  Brown 
took  the  count  the  first  time  he  laid 
optics  on  Ethel.  Next  to  having  her 
myself,  there  wasn't  anyone  I'd  sooner 
see  have  Ethel  than  Billy.  He  was  as 
fine  a  looking  fellow  as  she  was  a  girl. 
There  wasn't  anything  missing  in  Billy. 
His  measurements  were  all  guaranteed. 
He  usually  got  what  he  wanted,  too. 
That  was  a  way  he  had.  You  simply 
could  not  resist  him.  Though  he'd  had 
loads  of  desirable  girls  flung  at  him,  yet 
he  never  posed  as  a  lady  killer  for  an  in- 
stant. But  when  Ethel  came  his  way, 
it  didn't  take  a  second  look  to  tell  me 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


that  poor  Billy  was  up  for  a  long  attack 
of  amoritis.  He  was  a  gone  case  from 
the  first.  As  a  friend,  I  attempted  to 
diagnose  the  trouble,  to  prescribe,  as  it 
were.  It  sort  of  helped  me  to  forget  my 
own  troubles. 

"  'It's  gone  to  your  head,  Billy! '  says 
I.  'You've  a  serious  case,  and  I  think 
it's  going  to  become  chronic.  In  the 
week  you  have  known  Her,  you  have 
shown  all  the  symptoms.  Accidental 
meetings;  going  the  same  way  by  a 
strange  coincidence;  wandering  past  her 
house  and  gazing  at  the  light  in  her 
window;  holding  up  the  lamp  post  at  the 
corner  of  the  store  where  she  does  her 
shopping,  under  the  delusion  that  your 
friends  think  you  are  waiting  for  your 
car;  doing  the  hot  foot  to  the  confec- 
tioner's; and  wasting  liberal  endow- 
ments of  your  hard-earned  coin  at  the 
florist's  —  all  these,  Billy,  show  the 
thing's  got  into  your  blood  to  stay.' 

"'Jake!'  says  Billy,  'do  you  blame 
me?  She's  a  little  queen.  She's  going 
to  be  mine — that  is,  if  I  can  get  her.' ' 

"Now  that  remark  of  Billy's,  his  beau- 
tiful modesty,  made  me  more  sure  than 
ever  that  he  ought  to  get  her.  For  if 
he'd  talked  as  if  she  simply  could  not 
resist,  I'd  have  thought  his  head  was 
getting  inflated.  'You'll  win  her,'  says 
I,  'if  you  go  about  it  the  right  way. 
And  she's  big  stakes.  Make  the  play  of 
your  life.' 

"'I  will,'  says  Billy,  solemnly.  And 
he  did.  No  one  could  resist  Billy,  and 
any  girl  with  half  the  instinct  the  sex 
is  credited  with  would  know  at  once  that 
Billy  was  right.  The  kind  of  goods  that 
didn't  shrink,  fade  or  warp  with  wear. 
Ethel  apparently  knew  it  from  the  start. 
At  first  she  was  inclined  to  hand  him  out 
the  ice.  It  seems  some  of  Billy's  old 
feminine  admirers  began  to  get  in  their 
fine  work  when  they  saw  their  careless, 
heart-free  friend,  who  of  old  had  always 
professed  to  love  them  all,  actually  set- 
tling down  to  the  play  of  his  life  and 
cheerfully  admitting  it,  too.  They  told 


Ethel's  friends  how  fickle  and  vain  he 
was,  how  fond  of  girl  conquests  he  was, 
with  a  new  love  for  every  week,  and 
would  up  by  prophesying  that  she  would 
speedily  find  herself  one  of  the  many. 
And  when  that  did  not  work,  they  an- 
nounced that  Billy  was  never  going  to 
marry  any  but  a  rich  girl.  It  all  came 
to  Billy's  ears,  and  he  was  up  against  it 
hard  for  a  time,  straightening  the  tangle 
out.  Then  just  when  all  seemed  smooth 
sailing,  along  comes  Professor  Piggli, 
one  time  operatic  star,  but  now  down 
on  his  luck.  The  professor  meant  well, 
and  wore  clumps  of  hair  to  prove  it. 
Likewise  Billy  always  swore  he  wore 
corsets,  but  to  me  he  always  looked  as 
if  he'd  been  poured  into  his  clothes, 
they  fitted  him  like  the  illustrations  on 
a  can  of  condensed  milk.  Besides  these 
little  accomplishments,  the  professor  cul- 
tivated a  languid  air,  a  studied  pose  and 
what  he  supposed  was  a  dreamy  expres- 
sion. Then,  too,  there  wasn't  anything 
he  couldn't  do  with  the  piano.  He 
could  tickle  the  ivories  to  beat  the  band, 
he  could  play  cross  country  runs  that 
took  in  every  note. 

"Well,  there  was  a  school  for  all  sorts 
of  accomplishments  in  the  town,  and 
the  professor  was  taken  in  by  the  man- 
agement as  a  teacher  of  voice  culture 
and  other  things.  The  other  things  in- 
cluded the  organizing  of  amateur  grand 
opera  companies.  Now  Ethel,  like  a 
number  of  other  girls  in  the  town,  at- 
tended the  school  in  the  acquirement  of 
the  lighter  arts.  What  they  taught  was 
perfectly  harmless  usually.  I  always 
thought  Ethel  a  sensible  girl,  but  it 
seems  she  had  one  weakness.  She 
thought  she  could  sing!  Now,  next  to 
a  girl  being  in  love  with  the  wrong  man, 
there's  no  worse  sign  than  finding  she 
thinks  she  can  sing.  Ethel  could  sing, 
for  that  matter,  in  a  soft,  pleasing  way 
that  went  fine  for  the  house  or  a  small 
party.  But  that  let  her  out.  When  it 
came  to  succeeding  Melba  or  Nordica, 
nay,  nay. 


THE  TALE  OF  A   STAGE-STRUCK   GIRL 


169 


"Well,  after  meeting  the  professor 
she  got  the  singing  bee  in  her  bonnet, 
poor  girl.  Perhaps  the  maestro,  (that's 
what  he  called  himself  in  the  case  where 
his  photographs  showed  him  in  a  hun- 
dred bewitching  twists  and  curves)  liked 
to  have  the  dear  girl  pleased,  liked  to 
tickle  her  fancy.  No  one  ever  knew  just 
what  stuff  he  poured  into  her  ears,  but 
it  wasn't  long  before  she  felt  there  was 
a  career  before  her.  And  the  worst  of 
it  was,  that  with  the  coming  of  the  career 
poor  Bill's  stock  seemed  to  drop  'way 
below  par.  She  treated  him  with  grow- 
ing indifference,  grew  angry  when  he 
dared  to  suggest  the  advisability  of  cut- 
ting out  the  musical  act,  and  in  various 
ways  made  him  very  miserable.  Squalls 
innumerable  began  to  take  the  place  of 
the  ravishing  hours  of  intercommunion 
spoken  of  by  the  poet.  Ethel  began  to 
talk  of  soul.  Of  course  Billy  knew  that 
was  a  very  bad  sign,  and  he  began  to 
despair.  He  came  to  me  for  advice. 

"'She'll  come  out  all  right,'  says  I, 
'if  she  is  worth  having  at  all.  The  best 
of  women  have  these  attacks  at  times, 
but  if  they're  good  women  they  always 
wake  up  and  come  out  of  it  before  it's 
too  late.  If  they  stick  to  this  kind  of 
mania,  why,  they  are  not  worth  having 
anyway.' 

"  'But  'they  are  going  to  give  an  ama- 
teur rendition  of  "II  Trovatore,"  says 
Billy  in  gloom.  'Ethel's  to  be  the 
heroine.  I've  told  her  to  give  it  up, 
that  it's  all  foolishness,  because  she's 
wearing  herself  out  with  all  this  con- 
founded idiocy.  But  the  professor  has 
stuffed  her  up  to  the  neck  with  the 
pleasing  conviction  that  she  was  cut  out 
for  this  sort  of  thing  and  that  this  will 
prove  it  to  the  world.  And  of  course  I 
don't  count  in  things  of  that  kind  any 
more,'  and  Billy  looked  as  if  the  end  of 
his  dream  had  come  at  last. 

"  'Sail  into  the  Piggli,'  says  I. 

"  'What's  the  use? '  says  Billy, 
gloomier  than  ever.  'Ethel  would  only 
throw  me  down  altogether.  I  tell  you, 


Jake,'  says  he  with  sudden  savagery, 
'I  simply  can't  lose  her  now;  I  can't 
live  without  her,  no  matter  what  she 
does.'  Then  I  saw  that  Billy  was  very 
hard  hit  indeed.  And  for  the  first  time 
my  heart  hardened  against  Ethel.  After 
that,  instead  of  things  improving,  matters 
grew  worse.  And  it  was  only  a  short 
time  before  the  wires  were  all  down  as 
far  as  the  two  were  concerned.  Ethel 
and  he  had  a  dreadful  row.  She  told 
him  she  didn't  like  his  walk,  and  other 
things,  and  Billy  left,  vowing  never  to 
go  near  her  again.  He  kept  his  word, 
too;  and  up  to  the  time  of  the  show 
didn't^  get  a  glimpse  of  her.  I  was 
worried  myself,  for  I  liked  the  two  of 
them,  but  it  was  a  case  where  I  couldn't 
very  well  butt  in. 

"At  last  came  the  festive  eve  when  the 
opera  was  pulled  off.  There  was  a  big 
crowd  at  the  mill,  for  every  star  had  a 
bunch  of  relatives  who  were  bound  to  see 
the  members  of  the  family  distinguish 
themselves.  And  there  were  so  many 
families  concerned  that  the  place  was 
packed.  Harmless  old  ladies,  whose 
worst  dissipation  was  root  beer,  teas  and 
lemonade  sociables,  were  there  with  the 
conviction  that  they  were  going  to  get 
their  money's  worth.  The  budding  girl, 
gotten  up  regardless,  was  out  in  force. 
Indeed,  all  the  fifty-seven  varieties  were 
there  with  the  goods.  It  was  what 
the  local  paper  called  a  gala  night. 

"Being  in  town,  I  determined  to  take 
the  thing  in  too.  After  a  struggle,  I 
managed  to  get  a  standing  position  at 
the  end  of  one  of  the  aisles  just  as  the 
curtain  went  up  on  the  first  act.  Of 
course  I  picked  out  Ethel  at  once.  She 
looked  prettier  than  ever.  Whether  it 
was  excitement  or  rouge,  her  cheeks  had 
a  tinge  to  them  that  made  her  a  winner. 
Yet,  with  it  all,  I  thought  she  seemed 
a  bit  unlike  herself.  Her  voice  trembled, 
and  once  or  twice  seemed  to  fail  her 
altogether.  But  she  got  through  the  first 
act  all  right,  and  when  the  curtain  went 
down  and  the  lights  came  up,  who  do 


170 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


I  see,  way  down   the  center  aisle,  but 
Billy!     He  seemed  to  be  watching  the 
Grand      Qazoozie     Gazaza,    Professor 
Piggli.     I  was  trying  to  figure  out  just 
what  Billy's  meditations  might  be,  when 
up  goes  the  curtain  on  the  star  act  of 
the  show.     You  know  the  piece?     The 
hero  gets  mixed  up  with  the  villain  for 
keeps.     You  see  they  both  want  Ethel, 
and  get  real   impolite   about  it.      The 
hero  says,   'She's   mine!'    'Nay,   nay!' 
says  the  villain;  'it's  a  mistake.     I  will 
make  a  plot  and  you  will  rot  in  jail!     I 
swear  it!'  'Ta,ta,'  says  the  hero.     'She 
wouldn't  have  you  for  a  gift.   Flit!   Back 
to  yon  green  foliage  where  the  woodbine 
twineth.     I  go  to  meet  her  at  the  foun- 
tain  even  now.      Boo-la-la!'    It  looks 
like  the  hero's  game,  but  the  villain  gets 
bad.     First  thing  you  know  the  hero  is 
in  the  tall  tower  for  his,  with  the  villain 
doing  the  sun  dance  outside.     The  sus- 
pense  is   killing,  when  the  villain  gets 
tired  and  goes  home  for  a  rest.     Then 
Ethel  comes  in.     She's  singing  a  love 
song  to  the  man   in  the  tower.     The 
audience  breathes  hard,  and  a  couple  of 
old  century  plants  weep  in  sympathy. 
There's  a  woman  lying  over  from  the 
tower,  and  she's  supposed  to  be  dead, 
for    some    reason    I    can't   remember. 
Ethel,  looking  like  a  dream  and  singing 
that  soft  little  song  like  an  angel,  moves 
slowly  backward,  always  looking  at  the 
tower.     Then  I  see  with  a  start  that  she's 
moving  right  over  backward  to  where  the 
other  woman  is  lying,  and  like  a  flash 
I  wonder  if  she's  forgotten  all  about  her. 
On  she  comes,  always  singing,  and  I  can 
see  the  audience  is  wondering  too.     The 
next  step  and  I  can  see  the  tragedy  of 
the  show  being  scattered  to   the  four 
winds.     I  look  at  Piggli,  but  he's  wallop- 
ing the  piano.     I  see  someone  start  up 
suddenly    from    his    seat.      It's    Billy. 
The  next  moment  the  song  ends  in  a 
smothered  cry  and  a  heavy  fall.     I  just 
catch  sight  of  the  supposed  dead  woman 
flinging  up  her  h'ands  as  Ethel  trips  over 
her  and  falls  across  her  heavily.     Then 


there's  an  irrepressible  howl  of  merri- 
ment from  the  thoughtless  crowd,  at  the 
sudden  change  to  farce.  Perhaps  it  was 
funny,  but  somehow  it  didn't  strike  me 
that  way.  On  the  stage  all  was  con- 
fusion. The  hero,  who  was  supposed  to 
be  nailed  down,  as  it  were,  in  the  tower, 
comes  springing  merrily  out  to  the 
rescue.  Then  the  audience  roars.  The 
opera  company  has  become  an  'uproar 
company,'  and  no  mistake.  With  all 
my  heart  I  pity  Ethel  with  this  unlocked 
for  humiliation  so  freshly  thrust  upon 
her.  The  curtain  comes  half  way  down, 
sticks,  then  goes  up  again.  Then  sud- 
denly, in  the  midst  of  all  the  racket, 
someone  dashes  down  the  aisle  and 
springs  upon  the  stage.  It  is  Billy.  He 
picks  Ethel  up  in  his  arms.  Almost 
before  I  know  it  I'm  there  too,  right 
beside  him. 

"  'Oh,  Will,'  I  hear  her  say,  in  an 
agony  of  humiliation,  'take  me  away 
out  of  this  —  home,  anywhere!'  And 
then  she  puts  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  sobs  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  I 
see  then  in  a  minute  that  the  bump  the 
poor  girl  got  hasn't  done  her  any  harm. 
It  simply  brought  her  to  her  senses 
better  than  anything  else  would  have 
done. 

•  "'Jake,'  says  Billy,  turning  to  me 
with  a  glad  light  in  his  eyes,  'I  threw 
that  organ  grinder  out  there  a  couple  of 
kinks  on  the  way  up.  Let's  get  out  of 
this  as  fast  as  we  can,  or  they  will  be 
wanting  her  to  go  on  again.'  By  luck 
we  tumbled  right  into  a  stage  entrance 
that  led  us  out  into  a  quiet  side  street. 
It  did  not  take  me  a  minute  to  find 
a  cab  and  put  the  pair  of  them  safely 
inside,  Ethel  all  the  time  keeping  up  the 
strangle  hold  upon  Billy,  who  looked 
quite  idiotic  with  joy. 

"Of  course  that  eventful  night  settled 
things.  It  wasn't  many  moons  before 
I  was  chaperoning  Billy  and  Ethel  at 
the  matrimonial  altar.  They  would  have 
me  and  no  one  else,  which  is  the  near- 
est I  ever  expect  to  get  to  the  game.  I 


THE  TALE  OF  A  STAGE-STRUCK  GIRL  171 

just  received  this  telegram  this  morning  going     to    call     him     Jacob,    just    the 

from  Billy.     It  says:  same.'' 

"'Dear    Jake:     Young    heir    to    the  The    salesman    folded    the   piece  9f 

family    joys     arrived    yesterday.      I'm  paper  tenderly  and  sat  down  amid  loud 

afraid  he  looks  like  his  dad,  but  we're  and  prolonged  applause. 


PARTRIDGES    IN    NOVEMBER 

By     MIRIAM     SHEFFEY 

MARION,    VIRGINIA 


CjLENTLY  through  the  waving  grass 
*J  The  little  brown  creatures,  trembling,  pass 
Under  the  willows  by  the  brooklet's  side 
The  little  brown  creatures,  panting,  hide. 
Over  the  fields  in  the  dawning  gray 
The  little  brown  creatures  speed  away. 
Where  sunbeams  dance  and  dewdrops  glisten 
The  little  brown  creatures  listen,  listen  ! 
Where  the  dying  goldenrod's  feathers  quiver 
The  little  brown  creatures  shake  and  shiver. 
Low  on  the  grass  where  the  leaves  lie  dead 
The  little  brown  creatures  go  to  bed. 
Weary  and  worn  they  slumber,  but— 
With  only  ONE  of  their  optics  shut. 
The  little  brown  creatures  are  hushed  with  fear, 
For  they  know  that  danger  and  death  are  near. 
Death  in  the  sunshine,  death  in  the  shadow, 
Death  in  the  forest,  death  in  the  meadow,    . 
Death  in  the  boulders,  death  in  the  bushes, 
Death  in  the  grasses,  death  in  the  rushes, 
Death  in  the  valley,  death  on  the  hill, 
Death  in  the  river,  death  in  the  rill, 
Death  in  the  rain,  death  in  the  breeze, 
Death  in  the  flaming  forest  trees. 
Just  how  they  can  know  is  hard  to  tell, 
But  the  little  brown  creatures  know  full  well 
(Though  they  never  pause  to  wonder  why) 
That  the  hour  of  their  doom  is  drawing  nigh  ; 
And  the  little  brown  creatures  sigh  and  grieve, 
For  the  world  is  too  fair,  too  sweet  to  leave ! 


II 

Stealthily  over  field  and  bog 

The  Enemy  comes  with  gun  and  dog! 

And  O,  such  a  roar,  such  a  tumult  is  heard 

That  even  the  grand  old  trees  are  stirred  ! 

And  the  little  brown  creatures,  so  timid,  so  shy, 

They  tremble  and  scream,  they  flutter  and  fly. 

In  the  forest  confusion  and  panic  reign ; 

Where  was  peace  now  is  war  with  its  horror  and  pain. 

Let  pitying  tears  be  solemnly  shed ! 

Let  a  dirge  be  sung  and  a  prayer  be  said ! 

The  little  brown  creatures  are  dead,  dead,  dead ! 


ALONG  THE   COLOR   LINE 


By    LUCY    SEMMES     ORRICK 

CANTON,     MISSISSIPPI 
ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    A.    GERTRUDE    ORRICK 


The  First    Negro  Free  School 
in  America 

THE  state  of  Louisiana  before  the 
Civil  war  was  a  hot  bed  of  slavery, 
yet  to  New  Orleans  belongs  the  credit 
of  establishing  the  first  school  for 
negroes  on  the  North  American  conti- 
nent. That  school  was  founded  in  1835, 
and  through  the  good  offices  of  the  white 
people  of  the  city.  At  that  time  the 
condition  of  the  quadroon  women  was 
a  source  of  great  distress  to  the  arch- 
diocese of  New  Orleans,  so  the  Abbe 
Roussilon,  representing  his  superiors, 
set  about  improving  things.  His  task 
was  an  enormous  one.  The  women, 
already  famous  for  the  high  carnival 
held  in  the  noted  "quadroon  ballroom," 
were  careless  of  their  reputation  that 
extended  to  the  shores  of  Spain  and 
France.'  The  power  of  their  extraordi- 
nary beauty,  velvety  skins,  limpidly 
brilliant  eyes  and  languorous  charms 
of  body  were  far  dearer  to  them  than  all 
the  progress  in  the  world,  and  were 
desperately  hard  to  combat;  but  there 
were  children  to  think  for,  and  the 
reformers,  even  with  great  odds  against 
them,  made  a  start. 

Three  of  the  pere's  penitents,  an  octo- 
roon, a  griffe  and  a  mulatto,  slaves  in 
the  homes  of  noble  masters  and  mis- 
tresses, ahd  Christian  women,  who  felt 
deeply  the  degradation  of  their  race, 
sought,  and  at  the  pere's  earnest  solici- 
tation were  given  their  freedom,  and  im- 
mediately sent  to  a  convent  in  France, 
where  for  seven  years  they  pursued  a 
course  of  study  to  be  dedicated  wholly 
to  the  needs  of  their  race. 

On  their  return  these  women  banded 
together  in  a  little  order,  that  of  the 


Holy  Family,  and  opened  their  now  his- 
toric school.  From  the  first  it  met  with 
the  generous  support  of  the  white  people 
and  with  great  success  among  the 
negroes.  In  the  midst  of  the  Civil  war, 
and  even  after  it,  when  the  South  was 
impoverished  to  the  point  of  starvation 
and  despair,  the  New  Orleans  people 
still  stood  by  the  school  and  shared  their 
pitiful  mite  with  the  black  nuns  of  the 
Holy  Family.  Later,  these  women, 
having  possessed  themselves  of  the  old 
"quadroon  ballroom,"  whose  cypress 
floor  three  feet  thick  is  said  to  be  the 
finest  dancing  floor  in  the  world,  con- 
tinued to  labor  among  their  own  people, 
and  do  to  this  day  as  they  did  so  many 
years  ago.  Always  in  sight,  as  a  con- 
stant reminder  that  the  whiteness  of 
their  lives  must  wipe  out  the  stain  left 
by  the  beauties  gone  before,  is  the  in- 
scription : 

"I  have  chosen  rather  to  be  an  abject  in  the 
house  of  the  Lord  than  to  dwell  in  the  temple 
with  sinners." 

Five  years  later  the  first  free  school  for 
negroes  in  this  country  was  likewise 
established  in  New  Orleans.  An  old 
free  colored  woman  has  the  distinction 
of  opening  to  her  race  the  privileges  of 
the  vast  number  of  free  schools  now  sup- 
ported by  the  United  States.  She  left 
her  home  and  a  fund  for  the  education 
of  colored  youth  in  Louisiana.  This, 
the  "Ecole  des  Orphelins  Indigens,"  in 
the  "old  quarter"  of  New  Orleans,  has 
been  in  continuous  existence  since  its 
founding,  though  the  original  building 
has  been  demolished. 

Some  idea  of  the  school  advantages 
of  the  negroes  in  the  South  today  may 
be  gathered  from  the  following: 


ALONG    THE    COLOR   LINE 


173 


A  NUN  OF  THE  ORDER  OF  THE  HOLY  FAMILY  ,  NEW  ORLEANS 


Public  schools  in  New  Orleans  alone 
For  higher  education  in  Louisiana  . 
44         "  •'          "  Alabama    . 

"        ••  41    .      4>  nississippi 

•«          »  «•          ••  Georgia 


10 

8 

14 

10 

19 


For  higher  education  in  16  slave  holding  states  138 
Public  high  schools 94 

If   we  are  to  accept  the   number  of 
school  houses  given  in  the  report  of  the 


174 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


THE  "MAMMY"  OF  OLD  SOUTHERN  DAYS 


commissioner  of  education  as  an  indica- 
tion of  the  number  of  common  schools 
in  the  old  slave  holding  states,  they  run 
into  thousands. 

The  expenditure  of  the  South  for  the 
education  of  the  negro  for  the  years 
1900-1901  was  $6,000,000  out  of  a  total 
of  $35,405,561.  "It  is  impossible,"  says 
the  commissioner  of  education,  "to  ob- 
tain an  accurate  statement  as  to  the 
amounts  separately  expended  for  the 
education  of  the  negro,  for  the  reason 
that  in  eleven  of  the  southern  states 
separate  accounts  are  not  kept."  This 
report  in  itself  is  a  testimonial  to  the 
generous  spirit  of  the  southern  people 
who  charge  nothing  up  against  the  thou- 
sands of  blacks  still  so  dependent  upon 
them — for  it  must  be  remembered  that 
the  weight  of  the  tax-paying  falls  almost 
entirely  upon  the  white  people.  Some 


idea  of  this  proportion,  or  disproportion, 
may  be  gathered  from  the  Georgia 
report.  In  this  state  alone  the  negroes 
pay  one-fifteenth  of  the  taxes  and  yet 
receive  nearly  half  the  funds  voted  to 
the  common  schools  by  the  state — a  not 
unusual  condition  of  affairs  in  the  south- 
ern states. 

While  relations  between  the  negroes 
and  the  white  people  in  the  South  are 
so  materially  altered  since  the  Civil  war, 
the  liberal  provision  made  for  the 
negroes  by  the  white  people  discloses 
the  fact  that  forty  years  are  not  long 
enough  to  root  out  of  the  heart  of  the 
southern  white  man  that  generations- 
grown  idea  and  conviction  that  the 
negro,  his  retainer  and  ward,  who  for 
so  many  long  years  has  looked  to  him 
'  for  his  pleasures  and  come  to  him  in  his 
sorrows,  needs  him  and  will  need  for 


•     ALONG  THE  COLOR  LINE 


THE    COLORED    GIRL    OF    THE    SOUTH    OF    1904 


a  long  time  yet  the  kindly  aid  and  affec- 
tionate interest  of  his  one  time  master. 


The  Passing  of  the  "Mammy," 

and  the  Colored  Girl  of 

Today  in  the  South 

IVIOT  many  Northerners  know  well,  if 
at  all,  I  believe,  the  "Mammy"  of 
the  South,  the  loved  and  trusted  negro 
woman,  who  on  the  plantation  or  in 
the  home  was  the  truest  foster  mother 
to  the  white  children  entrusted  to  her 
that  earth  ever  knew.  The  southern  child- 
ren of  the  next  generation  will  be  un- 
able to  know  anything  personally  of  this 
"Mammy"  type,  the  type  which  brought 


up  so  many  noble  white  women  of  the 
South  from  infancy  to  full  and  active 
life. 

Since  the  Civil  war  ended,  "Aunt 
Judy,"  the  autocrat  of  the  kitchen,  and 
"Tobe,"  the  proud  and  devoted  body 
servant,  have  been  eliminated  through 
the  operations  of  freedom  from  ancient 
and  dishonored  slavery.  The  colored 
maid,  the  fine  seamstress,  have  lost  their 
talents.  Easy  tempered,  naturally  in- 
dolent, left  largely  to  their  own  inclina- 
tions, the  negroes  of  the  southern  states 
have  passed  to  a  greater  degree  of  in- 
activity. 

Yet  on  every  side  there  are  opening  to 
them  innumerable  occupations  and 
means  of  education,  means  provided 


i76 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


Females  in  sewing  classes    . 
Females  in  cooking  classes  . 
Men  in  farm  and  garden  work 
Hen  in  carpentry     ... 


by  white  people  who  believe  that  color 
is  no  bar  to  progress  and  right  living. 
According  to  the  report  of  the  United 
States  commissioner  of  education  there 
are  1,564,526  children  enrolled  in  the 
colored  schools  of  the  South,  but- of 
these  there  are  only  the  following  num- 
ber actually  engaged  in  learning: 

9,340 
3,930 
2,294 

2,279 

The  figures  speak  for  themselves.  In 
other  branches  and  in  professions  the 
figures  are  proportional. 

Now  that  it  is  an  established  fact  that 
wherever  the  black  man  exists  in  the 
white  man's  territory,  the  question  of 
white  sovereignty  must  arise,  it  is  a  study 
of  more  than  passing  interest  to  look 
into  what  the  South  has  done  in  the  past 
and  is  doing  now  toward  the  correct 
training  of  the  negro— a  training  that 
will  forever  maintain  a  proper  balance 
between  the  two  races. 

An  impression  prevails  in  certain  sec- 
tions of  the  country  that  negroes  in  the 
South,  before  and  since  the  Civil  war, 
have  been  rigidly  excluded  from  the 
privileges  of  education.  This  is  not  so. 
Negroes  of  half  a  century  ago,  neither 
in  the  South  nor  in  the  North,  had  such 
advantages  of  free  schools,  hospital 
schools  and  universities  as  they  have 
today;  but  they  had  schools  as  far  back 
as  1835,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the 
very  heart  of  slaverydom  and  under 
the  patronage  of  the  planters. 

Aside  from  slavery,  in  consideration 
of  the  old  opinion  that  a  little  learning, 
or  power,  in  the  hands  of  a  slave  or 
peasant,  was  a  dangerous  thing;  also  in 
consideration  of  the  fact  that  the  old 
opinion  recurs  with  provoking  frequency 
today  in  viesv  of  the  labor  troubles  that 
have  lost  millions  in  money  and  some- 
thing in  blood,  to  capital  and  the  United 
States,  it  is  an  open  question  whether 
the  planter  did  not  give  the  negro  the 
education  best  suited  to  his  needs,  or  at 


least  the  foundation  of  that  education. 

The  planter  understood  the  situation 
as  it  was  then  and  dominated  it;  some- 
thing no  one  seems  to  do  today.  He 
trained  the  negro  for  a  specialist  to  the 
limit  of  his  capacity,  compatible,  of 
course,  with  the  sphere  he  was  to  occupy. 
Today  the  negro  believes  the  limits  de- 
fined by  the  word  "compatible"  are 
shattered  —  until  he  comes  in  contact 
with  an  opposing  white  force.  He  is 
trained  to  no  end,  he  sees  no  boundary, 
no  definite  purpose  ahead  of  him.  Fifty 
years  ago  he  had  the  constant  care  and 
guidance  necessary  to  the  mentally  in- 
ferior race  that,  with  all  the  schools  of 
the  twentieth  century,  he  does  not  have 
today. 

In  the  days  of  bondage  negro  women 
who  showed  aptitude  for  study  were 
taught  to  read  and  write,  accomplish- 
ments of  simple  music  they  loved,  em- 
broidery and  fine  needle  work.  Such 
needle  work  as,  without  exaggeration, 
can  be  said  to  rival  that  of  the  famous 
French  convents  or  the  hand  made  treas- 
ures of  some  of  the  commercial  palaces 
stowed  away  in  tissue  paper,  to  be  drawn 
out  rarely  and  tenderly  and  only  for  the 
eyes  of  the  elect.  Existing  marvels  of 
a  slave  owner's  wardrobe  are  vouchers 
for  the  above.  As  for  laundering  and 
cooking,  no  one  who  knows  can  dispute 
the  slave  woman's  supremacy  in  that 
field  or  think  of  it  without  regret  in  this 
•day  of  impossible  cooks,  striking  laun- 
dries and  extraordinary  educational  op- 
portunities. 

In  addition  to  their  talents  in  their 
especial  fields,  a  highly  valued  character- 
istic of  the  southern  house  servants  was 
a  dignity  and  appropriateness  of  de- 
meanor worth  its  weight  in  gold  in  any 
refined  household  and  equaled  only  by 
those  paragons  of  house  servants,  Eng- 
lish housekeepers,  maids  and  butlers. 

As  for  the  men,  the  wealth  and  returns 
brought  in  from  cotton,  sugar  and  to- 
bacco plantations  before  the  war  cer- 
tainly placed  them  in  the  highest  class  of 


ALONG    THE   COLOR    LINE 


177 


farmers.  The  blacksmiths,  carpenters 
and  butchers  on  plantations  were  negroes 
who  learned  their  different  trades  as 
white  laborers  do  today.  They  had  no 
fears  of  the  .poorhouse  or  a  starved  and 
suffering  old  age;  they  were  cared  for 
until  the  end  of  their  lives.  There  were 
no  misapprehensions  as  to  position,  nor 
are  there  today  in  the  South,  no  cold 
shoulderings  in  the  kitchen,  house,  laun- 
dry, restaurants  and  telegraph  service, 
such  as  they  meet  with  in  New  York 
and  Chicago;  there  were  no  long  years 
of  apprenticeship  for  unsuitable  occupa- 
tions, as  for  instance,  teaching  in  white 
school  rooms,  positions  out  of  which  they 
are  now  being  forced  from  white  schools 
in  Chicago,  an.d,  as  it  appears,  out  of 
which  they  will  continue  to  be  forced, 
not  only  by  the  whites,  but,  which  seems 
worse,  by  the  insolent  opposition  of  the 
children  of  their  own  race.  In  the  South 
their  limitations  were  understood  and 
accepted;  they  were  trained  within  those 
limitations  and  given  every  opportunity 
to  make  the  best  of  their  knowledge. 

If  education,  like  charity,  begins  at 
home,  the  negro  of  the  old  South  cer- 
tainly had  a  very  fair  beginning,  taken 


as  he  was  almost  from  barbarism  and 
given  a  training  in  Christianity  and 
refinement  which  thousands  of  the  poor 
and  laboring  whites  throughout  the  cities 
and  country  do  not  have. 

While  gaining  in  freedom  in  '65,  the 
negro  lost  much  in  that  ever  present 
influence  of  the  simple,  ideal  home  life 
of  the  southern  planter  which  was 
almost  patriarch ial  in  its  kindness,  its 
dignity  and  its  responsibility.  And 
when  the  negro  lost,  the  South  lost  also. 

The  negro  has  now  had  about  forty 
years  of  careless,  reckless  holiday. 
All  this  time  groping  unconsciously 
in  the  uncertainty  following  emancipa- 
tion and  emergence  from  the  affec- 
tionate, protecting  and  responsible 
interest  of  the  planter,  he  is  at  last 
swinging  'round  again  to  the  curriculum 
of  his  old  master  as  provided  by  the 
schools  which  are  to  be  his  salvation. 
He  is  beginning  to  find  himself.  In  the 
industrial  schools,  the  twentieth  century 
interpretation  of  the  planter's  training 
school,  he  is  taking  up  again  a  suitable 
line  of  action,  a  close,  earnest,  genuine 
study  of  the  simple  occupations  best 
suited  to  his  slowly  developing  mind. 


IN    A   GRAVE-YARD 

By    WILLIAM     STANLEY    BRAITHWAITE 

BOSTON,      MASSACHUSETTS 


IN  calm  fellowship  they  sleep 

Where  the  graves  are  dark  and  deep, 
Where  nor  hate  nor  fraud  nor  feud 
Mars  their  perfect  brotherhood. 


After  all  was  done  they  went 
Into  dreamless  sleep,  content, 
That  the  years  would  pass  them  by 
Sightless,  soundless  where  they  lie. 


Wines  and  roses,  song  and  dance 
Have  no  portion  in  their  trance  ; 
The  four  seasons  are  as  one  — 
Dark  of  night  and  light  of  sun. 


THE  MINUTE-MAN  AT  CONCORD,  ONE  OF  THE  SHRINES  OF  GRAND  ARMY  WEEK  IN 

BOSTON    IN    AUGUST,    1904 
From  a  Photograph  by   Chickering 


THE    MINUTE-MAN 


By    EDWARD    A.    ABBOTT 

CHATTANOOGA,     TENNESSEE 


JUST  where,  and  by  whom,  the  revolt 
of  the  American  colonies  was  started 
may  not  with  precision  be  told.  Divers 
persons  and  many  places  say:  "We  were 
the  history  makers;  ours  is  the  blood- 
soiled  ground  in  which  to  plant  monu- 
ments and  reap  tourists. "  The  wise  one, 
content  to  seek  the  cradle  of  Liberty 
near  the  spot  where  was  shed  the  first 
blood,  takes  the  trolley  for  Lexington 
and  dear  old  Concord,  where  the  Minute- 
Man  answered  his  first  mess  call  and 
buried  his  first  dead.  There  the  cradle 


of  the  Minute-Man  and  the  cradle  of 
Liberty  rocked  together  —  the  Puritan 
mother  watching  over  both. 

Burning  powder  so  punctuates  the 
pages  of  our  national  story,  it  is  almost 
trite  to  say  the  way  to  our  patriotic 
shrines  is  pointed  by  the  bayonet,  lighted 
by  gun-fire,  and  familiar  to  the  army 
mule.  Thus  directed,  we  hurry  around 
from  Lexington  to  Santiago,  from  Ti- 
conderoga  to  the  Alamo,  proud  of  every 
name  on  the  monuments,  from  John 
Parker  to  Henry  W.  Lawton,  traversing 


THE    MINUTE-MAN 


179 


five  quarter  centuries  of  American  fight- 
ing men;  men  so  like  the  boys  who 
"stood  pat"  at  Concord  bridge  it  is  hard 
to  tell  where,  in  the  line,  the  Minute- 
Man  ends  and  the  disciplined  Regular 
begins;  or  where  the  rollicking,  insubor- 
dinate Volunteer  of  today  is  evolved  from 
his  pious,  rum-drinking  ancestor  of  the 
Revolution. 

Starving  at  Valley  Forge,  or  adminis- 
tering the  water  cure  to  the  obstinate 
Tagalog  in  Luzon,  our  fighting  man  is 
much  the  same  in  temper  and  habits, 
whether  he  lugged  the  old  flint-lock  or 
carries  the  dainty  Krag- Jorgensen. 
Drunk  in  the  streets  of  Chattanooga,  or 
dead  with  Custer  on  the  Little  Big  Horn 
— we  condone  his  sins,  excuse  his  weak- 
nesses, and  perpetuate  his  deeds  in  pa- 
triotic verses  set  to  ragtime  music.  We 
may  hate  militarism  and  fear  imperial- 
ism, but  most  men,  and  all  women,  love 
the  American  soldier.  Facing  a  battery 
or  fighting  a  mob,  he  is  fearless;  a 
plague  does  not  affright  him ;  but  in  the 
neighborhood  of  an  unprotected  pig  stye 
he  is  weak,  even  in  the  day  time.  Lib- 
erty walks  unscared  in  his  footsteps,  but 
our  chickens  when  he  comes  run  under 
the  house.  The  commandment,  "Thou 
shalt  not  steal,"  he  piously  obeys,  if  the 
articles  in  reach  are  unfit  to  eat  or  too 
heavy  to  carry  away.  His  ventures  in 
petit  larceny  cover  a  wide  range  of  sub- 
jects, from  black  mammy's  pies  at 
Chickamauga  to  sacred  things  at  Peking. 
According  to  his  philosophy  his  life  is 
the  cheapest  of  his  possessions,  and  is 
wasted  with  light-hearted  prodigality. 
The  regular  (always  a  volunteer)  writes 
no  "round  robins"  to  the  secretary  of 
war! 

Looking  for  the  Tenth  regiment  of  red 
coats,  and  trouble,  the  boys  and  men 
who  picked  their  flints  as  they  hurried 
along  the  roads  of  old  Middlesex  on  the 
morning  of  April  19,  1775,  were  a&  tnat 
their  twentieth  century  brothers  are,  and 
unhung  rebels  besides.  The  American 
soldier  yearns  for  a  fight  with  all  its 


hazards,  and  goes  joyfully  to  battle ;  but 
the  prospect  of  hanging  for  treason 
tempers  his  jollity  and  gives  him  that 
gravity  which  characterized  the  Minute- 
Man  in  the  first  days  of  the  Revolution. 
The  grim  courage  of  the  Minute-Man 
was  akin  to  that  which  dominates  the 
pestilence,  makes  heroines  of  weak 
women,  and  everywhere  sustains  the 
Red  Cross. 

In  appearance  the  Minute-Man  was  a 
backwoodsman,  with  the  habits  and  in- 
stincts of  a  pioneer.  While  not  famous 
for  hospitality,  he  was  not  as  parsimoni- 
ous as  he  has  sometimes  been  painted. 
He  lacked  something  of  the  live  wire 
suddenness  of  the  volunteer,  but  he  had 
a  large  measure  of  the  patriotic  patience 
of  the  regular.  Both  in  war  and  in  peace 
he  was  slow,  but  not  stolid;  cautious 
always,  but  seldom  timid.  Thinking  his 
own  thoughts,  and  proud  of  them,  he 
always  knew  what  he  wanted  and  rarely 
failed  to  get  it. 

The  like  of  him  long  since  disap- 
peared from  New  England,  but  his  idio- 
type  resides  in  the  mountains  of  East 
Tennessee.  Not  exactly  his  double  is 
our  man  of  "moonshine"  impulses,  coon 
skin  cap  and  homespun  habit;  but  to 
know  our  mountaineer  is  to  get  the  im- 
pression that  he  is  an  old  acquaintance. 
Harking  back  to  early  times,  it  will  be 
found  that  in  Massachusetts  colonial  his- 
tory and  story  he  has  been  as  accurately 
described  as  in  the  graphic  pictures  of 
him  by  Craddock  and  Alice  MacGowan. 
Following  the  old  flag,  or  riding  with 
Forrest,  he  was  the  Minute-Man  of  the 
sixties,  and  in  the  Philippines  his  regi- 
ment, "The  Moonshiners"  as  it  was 
called,  was  always  in  trouble  with  the 
people  in  front.  Like  all  good  soldiers, 
he  is  strenuously  peaceful  in  time  of 
peace  and  very  dreadful  in  time  of  war. 
Almost  any  likeness  of  these  primitive 
patriots  will  fit  their  northeastern  fellow 
citizens. 

Too  busy  to  acquire  the  graces,  while 
wringing  a  meager  living  from  an  un- 


i  So 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,  190.1 


BUNKER  HILL  MONUMENT,  A  MEMORIAL  TO  THE  MINUTE-MEN 
OF  THE  REVOLUTION,  ADORNED  LAST  SUMMER  WITH  AMERICAN 
AND  BRITISH  FLAGS,  ON  THE  OCCASION  OF  THE  VISIT  OF  THE 
ANCIENT  AND  HONOURABLE  ARTILLERY  COMPANY  OF  LONDON 


THE    MINUTE-MAN 


181 


willing  soil,  the  tall,  lean,  long-haired 
Minute-Man  was  not  always  an  imposing 
figure.  It  may  be  said  of  him  that  he 
was  long  on  martial  spirit  but  short  on 
martial  bearing.  Coaxing  the  stingy 
shilling  across  ungenerous  counters  was 
not  a  calling  likely  to  inspire  great 
thoughts  and  patriotic  emotions;  nor  did 
a  group  of  ill-paid  and  over-worked 
mechanics  seem  liable  to  breed  states- 
men and  soldiers.  But  out  of  these  un- 
promising materials,  these  odds  and 
ends,  the  Nation  has  been  wrought.  The 
British  parliament  scoffed  at  this  govern- 
ment" of  country  doctors,  uncouth  farm- 
ers, wayside  store  keepers  and  untitled 
lawyers — a  government  made  possible  by 
the  Minute-Man,  sustained  by  the  volun- 
teer, perpetuated  by  the  regular  and  re- 
spected even  at  Westminster ! 

But  the  Minute-Man  was  a  citizen 
before  he  was  either  a  soldier  or  a  states- 
man, though  he  could  be  all  three  with- 
out changing  his  clothes. 

He  had  a  genius  for  civics,  a  capacity 
for  applying  the  sciences,  and  an  inclina- 
tion to  interfere  with  the  affairs  of  others 
which  has  made  the  world  his  debtor.  It 
is  almost  enough  to  say  of  him  that  he 
was  a  Puritan,  and  let  it  go  at  that;  but 
that  term,  as  understood  out  of  New 
England,  seems  a  little  too  harsh  to 
apply  to  him.  Puritanical  he  surely  was, 
but  not  to  the  extent  of  cruelty  to  his 
friends  and  neighbors,  as  were  his  ances- 
tors, who,  in  the  hanging  of  witches  and 
the  persecution  of  Quakers,  furnished 
examples  of  devilish  brutality  equalled 
only  by  some  recent  exhibitions  of  sav- 
agery in  the  states  of  Ohio  and  Missis- 
sippi. 

While  the  750  negroes  scattered 
through  Washington's  army  in  front 
of  Boston  were  offensive  to  both  the 
Minute-Man  and  the  great  commander, 
the  race  prejudice  of  the  former  mani- 
fested itself  only  in  mild  abuse  of  his 
colored  comrades.  Only  tea  and  taxes 
warmed  his  temperate  soul  and  stirred 
his  tardy  heart  to  action.  An  unjust 


tariff  alone  begat  in  him  that  exalted 
indignation  which  brings  on  mob  vio- 
lence and  arson.  Even  in  the  treatment 
of  the  negro,  the  Minute-Man  and  the 
Appalachian  white  man  are  not  unlike. 
The  harmonious  relations  of  the  races  in 
the  up-country  are  rarely  disturbed,  and 
one  must  look  to  the  lowlands  for  the 
victims  of  white  fury  and  the  torch  of 
him  to  whom-  "all  coons  look  alike." 

Little  has  been  printed  of  the  child 
life  of  the  flint-lock  patriot.  Still  un- 
published are  the  real  diaries  of  the  real 
boys  of  the  Revolution.  Child  lore,  as 
a  profit-making  venture  for  author  and 
publisher,  is  new — a  contemporary  of 
smokeless  powder,  canned  foods,  and 
thirteen-inch  guns.  Back  of  the  Rollo 
Books,  with  their  pious  but  impossible 
heroes,  boy  history  is  almost  unknown. 
For  the  beginnings  of  the  Minute-Men, 
the  records  of  their  youth,  we  must  go 
to  the  imprinted  pages  of  the  big  family 
Bibles,  whereon  is  written  in  fading 
characters  the  birthdays  of  the  Ezras 
and  Abiels,  the  Abners  and  Nehemiahs 
of  the  colonial  period.  Most  of  these 
old  fashioned  names  were  cut  in  the 
rough  desks  and  unfinished  woodwork 
of  the  little  red  school  houses,  once 
illuminating  the  cross  roads  and  hill  tops 
of  New  England.  Few  of  these  names 
had*  other  publicity  until  they  appeared 
on  the  pay  rolls  of  the  army  and  the 
books  of  the  tax  gatherer. 

Simple  folk  were  they,  but  not  com- 
mon people;  common  people  came  to 
Maine,  Massachusetts  and  thereabouts 
from  sunnier  climes,  and  from  across 
the  northern  border.  Their  arrival  — 
coeval  with  the  appearance  of  hoop 
skirts  and  paper  collars,  marks  the  be- 
ginning of  the  end  of  the  red  school 
houses,  and  much  of  the  robust  manhood 
and  rugged  morality  so  intimately  asso- 
ciated with  those  dark  red  foci  of  cul- 
ture and  learning.  Whether  the  teach- 
ing led  to  Harvard  or  the  hay  field,  the 
shop  or  the  Grand  Banks,  it  bred  in  the 
student  a  tough  and  practical  patriotism, 


182 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


a  civic  usefulness,  and  that  peculiar 
quality  (never  exactly  defined  though 
perfectly  understood)  which  still  distin- 
guishes the  down  east  Yankee  from  all 
other  people  and  all  other  Yankees. 
This  quality  he  still  finds  useful  when 
he  goes  forth  to  establish  a  religion  or  to 
start  a  peanut  stand;  with  it  he  invents 
a  mouse  trap  or  bluffs  a  nation — and 
finds  it  a  hindrance  only  when  he  would 
be  "as  meek  as  Moses."  His  friends 
cal  this  valuable  asset  genius  or  enthusi- 
asm; his  vulgar  rivals  name  it  "gall," 
and  waste  their  energies  in  fruitless 
efforts  to  follow  his  example  and  im- 
prove his  methods.  His  theologies  are 
durable,  his  commercial  ventures  suc- 
cessful, his  traps  useful,  and  his  diplo- 
macy worries  the  world. 

The  Minute-Men  who  participated  in 
the  shooting  "heard  'round  the  world," 
the  followers  of  Montgomery,  Stark  and 
Arnold,  the  boys  at  Bunker  Hill — all 
were  the  barefooted  alumni  of  the  little 
red  school  house,  and  found  this  "gall" 
or  genius  valuable  in  the  siege  of  Bos- 
ton, the  birth  of  a  sea  power,  and  the 
founding  of  the  republic.  What,  but 
this  principle,  inherited  from  the  fathers, 
could  induce  a  people  to  raise  a  monu- 
ment in  memory  of  a  fight  they  failed  to 
win?  And,  so  to  plan  this  memorial 
that  it  shall  forever  pay  for  its  own  keep, 
required  something  more  potent  than  a 
mere  combination  of  sentiment  and 
sagacity. 

I  have  said  the  Minute-Man  of  my 
imagination  was  tall,  lean,  and  long 
haired.  Very  likely  he  was  of  other 
shapes  and  sizes  to  match  his  dominant 
characteristic — that  intense  individuality 
which  invites  criticism,  but  renders  in- 
apt any  general  description  of  him,  and 
almost  defeats  an  attempt  to  picture  him 
as  he  stood  in  his  leather  breeches, 
homespun  jacket,  and  cocked  hat,  a  tar- 
get for  the  British  regular's  musket  and 
the  British  governor's  ridicule.  Reach- 
ing manhood  along  a  road  full  of  griev- 
ances against  the  government,  he  knew 


why  he  was  shooting  and  being  shot, 
and,  sure  that  within  himself  were  all 
the  elements  of  the  great  general  and 
wise  statesman,  he  cared  little  for  the 
unkind  remarks  of  his  over-lord. 

From  an  ancestry  long  accustomed  to 
successful  battle  with  everything  hostile 
in  climate,  soil  and  people,  the  Minute- 
Man  inherited  a  potential  mixture  of  self 
reliance,  caution,  and  masterful  inde- 
pendence. From  his  school  masters  and 
preachers  he  acquired  an  austere  faith 
and  an  education  suited  to  his  needs. 
By  the  light  of  his  whale  oil  lamp  he 
read  "The  Lives  of  the  Martyrs'"  and 
"The  Dreadful  Effects  of  Popery." 
"Watts'  Improvement  of  the  Mind" 
satisfied  his  craving  for  light  literature, 
and  volumes  of  vehement  sermons  sus- 
tained his  belief  in  the  total  depravity 
of  his  neighbors,  and  fostered  in  him 
a  suspicion  of  his  own  danger  of  the 
punishment  therein  sulphurously  de- 
picted. He  loved  and  respected  his 
doctor,  and  took  more  medicine  when 
he  was  well  than  we  now  take  when  we 
are  ill.  He  feared  and  respected  his 
preacher,  and  hated  the  Episcopalians 
and  the  king.  He  drank  ale  and  cider 
at  huskings,  bees,  and  other  rude  enter- 
tainments, but  in  his  more  serious  moods 
rum  was  the  beverage  he  liked  best. 
Twenty  hogsheads  of  that  stimulant  was 
provided  for  the  15,000  rebels  who  occu- 
pied the  trenches  in  the  early  stages  of 
the  siege  of  Boston. 

If  the  value  of  food  may  be  deter- 
mined by  the  achievements  of  the  eaters 
thereof,  the  simple  diet  of  the  Minute- 
Man  is  safe  in  comparison  with  the 
ration  of  the  soldier  whose  beef  was 
embalmed  in  Chicago,  whose  beans  are 
predigested  in  Battle  Creek,  and  whose 
milk  will  be  sterilized  before  leaving  the 
cow.  On  a  meager  diet  of  meat  and 
vegetables  of  his  own  raising,  and  of 
flour  milled  at  home,  the  Minute- Man 
walked  his  weary  marches,  sat  out  his 
still  more  tiresome  sieges,  and  did  some 
things  with  high  explosives  that  are  still 


THE    MINUTE-MAN 


'83 


printed  in  the  histories,  studied  in  the 
public  schools  and  occasionally  warmed 
over  for  the  magazines.  His  hand-made 
history  has  a  picturesque  quality  and 
a  hand-to-hand  intensity  not  found  in 
the  quick-firing-machine-made  article  of 
the  right-now.  Produced  at  a  range 
of  two  thousand  yards,  or  nine  miles, 
according  to  caliber,  history  is  vol- 
uminous, hurried  and  spectacular, 
but  it  lacks  the  homely,  personal  fea- 


tures so  fine  in  the  Minute-Man's  story. 
The  foreword  of  his  story  was  the  cry 
of  Paul  Revere  as  he  swept  along  those 
peaceful  lanes,  yelling:  "The  regulars 
are  coming !  "  'T  was  a  confident  call  to 
arms,  and  a  declaration  of  war!  Into 
the  ears  of  sleeping  Lexington,  Revere 
shouted  rebellion;  and  Lexington's 
comfortable  feather  beds  were 
still  warm  when  the  first  rebel  fell 
and  the  road  to  Yorktown  was  taken. 


HOW  REUBEN  SPENT  THANKSGIVING 

NIGHT 

By    LILIAN     O'CONNELL 


FORT      CROOK,       NEBRASKA 


REUBEN  was  a  farm  hand  in  New 
England,  strong  in  body,  but  rather 
weak  in  the  head.  A  terrible  glutton, 
he  never  knew  how  to  stop  when  he  had 
once  begun  eating.  Like  wiser  men, 
Reuben  fell  in  love,  and,  though  he 
didn't  lose  his  appetite,  he  lost  much 
time  in  sighing  and  thinking  about  Jes- 
sie, the  daughter  of  a  neighboring 
farmer,  whom  he  had  seen  at  church. 
After  staring  at  Jessie  for  many  Sun- 
days without  daring  to  speak  to  her,  he 
finally  asked  Joel,  a  neighboring  farm 
hand,  who  was  courting  Jessie's  sister 
Jennie,  to  take  him  next  time  he  went 
to  see  Jennie. 

"Well,  Rube,"  said  Joel,  "I'd  be  glad 
to  take  you  with  me,  but  you're  such  an 
awful  eater,  Jennie'd  never  speak  to  me 
again,  if  she  thought  you  were  a  friend 
of  mine!  " 

"Oh,  I've  thought  of  that,"  said 
Reuben  slyly,  "and  it'll  be  all  right  if 
you'll  just  tread  on  my  foot  when  you 
think  I've  eaten  enough!" 

"Well,  tomorrow's  Thanksgiving  night, 
and  I'm  going  to  have  dinner  with  Jen- 
nie's people  at  six  o'clock,  for  they've 


set  up  a  new-fangled  notion  of  having  it 
then  instead  of  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 
Of  course  Jessie'll  be  there,  too,  and 
I'll  take  you  with  me,  if  you  promise  to 
stop  eating  when  I  touch  your  foot.  It'll 
be  a  fine  dinner,  so  be  careful,  and  mind 
when  they  press  you  to  take  some  more, 
as  they  will  do  from  politeness,  you  say 
you've  'had  great  superfluity,'  for  that's 
the  proper  thing,  and  Jessie's  great  on 
politeness." 

"I'll  be  as  polite  as  they  make  'em," 
said  Reuben,  "  'Super-floority.'  That's 
a  fine  word!  " 

"Superfluity!  "  corrected  Joel. 

"Well,  I  said  'superfluidy.'" 

The  next  night  Joel  and  Reuben 
"fixed  themselves  up"  and  went  to  their 
sweethearts'  home.  Joel  was  a  favorite 
there,  and  Reuben  was  welcomed  for  his 
sake.  Reuben  was  introduced  to  Jessie 
and  fell  more  in  love  than  ever.  After 
plenty  of  talk  and  laughter  and  court- 
ing, Jennie  and  Jessie  set  dinner  on  a 
long  table,  and  when  their  father  had 
said  grace  they  all  set  to  work  on  the 
provisions. 

A  huge  turkey  with  cranberry  sauce 


184 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


and  all  the  many  vegetables,  corn,  sweet 
potatoes,  etc.,  that  American  soil  and 
climate  give  to  the  table  were  piled 
together  in  abundance  upon  that  smok- 
ing board.  After  the  meat  came  plum 
pudding,  and  after  that  an  endless  array 
of  pies — pumpkin,  huckleberry,  apple, 
custard,  mince — pies  with  top  crusts  and 
pies  without,  pies  adorned  with  fanciful 
flutings  and  architectural  strips  laid 
across  and  around;  and  to  wash  down 
this  feast  were  pitchers  of  iced  water 
and  jugs  of  cider. 

Reuben  was  tremendously  hungry, 
and  his  eyes  sparkled  at  this  banquet. 
But  he  had  scarcely  taken  half  a  dozen 
mouthfuls  when  a  big  dog  under  the 
table  pressed  heavily  on  his  foot.  Think- 
ing it  was  Joel  pressing  his  foot  as 
agreed,  Reuben  pushed  away  his  plate 
with  a  sigh,  and  declared  he  could  not 
eat  any  more.  Joel  was  surprised,  and 
told  him  to  go  on,  and  everyone  else 
urged  him  to  eat.  But  Reuben  was  pre- 
pared for  this  politeness,  and  replied: 
"No,  no,  thanks.  I've  had  great  flip- 
perty-flapperty,"  for  he  had  forgotten  the 
fine  word. 

They  all  laughed  then,  and  Reuben 
laughed  too,  although  it  was  no  laughing 
matter  to  see  everyone  eating,  and  never 
a  bite  for  him  of  all  those  good  things! 
When  the  dinner  things  were  being  put 
away,  Reuben  watched  where  they  were 
put,  for  as  he  and  Joel  were  to  sleep  in 
the  house  that  night,  he  resolved  to  make 
up  for  no  dinner  by  getting  supper  when 
the  folks  went  to  bed.  Then  all  drew 
'round  the  fire  and  told  stories,  sang 
songs  and  guessed  riddles  till  bed 
time. 

Reuben  forgot  his  hunger  while  watch- 
ing pretty  Jessie,  but  when  Joel  and  he 
got  in  their  own  room,  his  stomach  re- 
minded him  of  its  awful  emptiness. 

"Joel,"  said  he,  "I'm  going  down  to 
the  pantry.  I  saw  where  they  put  the 
mince  pie." 

"Wait;  it's  too  soon  to  go  down  yet. 
And  anyway,  I  know  the  house  better 


than  you,  so  I'll  go  and  bring  you  some- 
thing." Joel  went  softly  down  stairs 
to  the  kitchen,  but  found  no  pie  there. 
The  only  thing  he  could  lay  hands  on 
was  a  big  bowl  of  cold  soup. 

"This  is  better  than  nothing,"  said 
Joel,  and  crept  carefully  up  the  pitch- 
dark  stairs  with  it.  Entering  a  room  on 
the  landing,  "Here,  Rube,"  he  whis- 
pered. "It's  only  cold  soup,  but  that  was 
all  I  could  find." 

No  reply,  but  a  loud  snore.  Angry 
to  think  Reuben  was  shamming  sleep, 
he  whispered  hastily: 

"Sit  up  this  minute  and  take  this!  If 
you  don't  I'll  pour  it  down  your  throat!  " 

Reuben  ignored  this  threat,  so  Joel 
added,  "I've  warned  you,  and  here  goes. 
One!  Two!  Three!"  and  he  emptied 
the  bowl  on  the  sleeper's  face.  Choking 
and  spluttering,  Jessie's  father  (for  it  was 
he)  waked,  sat  up  in  bed  and  coughed 
and  swore  till  he  woke  his  wife,  whereon 
they  quarrelled  till  morning. 

Joel,  finding  his  mistake,  tried  another 
door,  and  there  found  Reuben  hungrily 
asking  what  he'd  brought.  Joel  told 
him  his  mishap,  and  how  he  couldn't 
find  the  pie. 

"You  went  to  the  kitchen,"  said  Reu- 
ben. "The  pie  wasn't  put  there,  but  in 
the  pantry  outside.  Now  I'll  go!  "  and 
he  found  his  way  speedily  to  the  pantry. 
He  thought  he'd  just  take  a  mouthful  or 
two,  but  every  bite  seemed  to  make  him 
hungrier.  When  he  finished  the  pie,  he 
laid  hold  of  a  turkey  bone,  and  tore  away 
at  it  with  his  teeth. 

By  that  time  the  house  dog  came  to 
the  pantry  door.  "Poor  Rover,  poor 
old  fellow,"  said  Reuben  between  his 
turkey  bites.  But  when  Rover  heard 
the  strange  voice,  he  set  up  a  loud, 
vicious  bark. 

"Goodness,  I  mustn't  be  caught 
here!"  said  Reuben.  "Poor  Rover, 
poor  old  man!"  and  he  opened  the 
door  slightly.  But  Rover  rushed  furi- 
ously at  his  legs,  and  he  shut  the  door 
hastily.  Rover,  now  completely  roused, 


HOW    REUBEN    SPENT    THANKSGIVING    NIGHT 


185 


seemed  determined  to  rouse  the  house, 
for  he  barked  with  all  his  might.  Reu- 
ben heard  his  host's  voice  answering  the 
cries  of  all  the  household. 

"I  can't  face  them,"  said  Reuben,  "I 
must  try  to  get  out  of  this  window, 
though  it's  small."  Getting  on  a  tall 
stool,  he  pushed  half  his  body  through 
the  narrow  window.  Then  he  gave  a 
mighty  push  at  the  stool  to  send  his 
body  through,  but  the  stool  slid  from 
his  feet,  so  that,  having  nothing  to  push 
against  and  nothing  to  catch  with-  his 
hands,  he  stuck  fast. 

When  the  man  of  the  house,  a  candle 
in  one  hand,  a  poker  in  the  other, 
opened  the  pantry  door,  he  and  his 
people  saw  only  a  pair  of  legs  kicking 
wildly  in  the  air,  then,  in  an  awesomely 
mysterious  way,  going  clear  through  the 
window  and  disappearing  in  the  air 
above. 

"Great  Scott!"  cried  the  old  man, 
"What  does  that  mean?  Tim  and  Jake 
come  out  with  me,  and  see  if  we  can't 
catch  the  thief."  They  rushed  out,  but 
could  see  nothing.  There  wasn't  even 
a  footprint  on  the  soft  soil  beneath  the 
window. 

"Extraordinary!"  cried  the  old  man, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow, 
and  catching  his  breath  with  excite- 
ment. "This  has  been  an  awful 
night.  First,  I'm  waked  with  a  bowl 
of  cold  soup  in  my  face,  and  then 
comes  something,  neither  beast  nor 


man,  stealing  food  from  my  pantry!" 

When  they  went  back  to  the  house, 
Joel  and  Reuben  were  coming  down 
stairs,  as  if  just  awakened,  though  some 
of  the  girls  looked  suspicious.  The  pair 
were  told  the  doings  of  the  mysterious 
visitor,  and  Joel  suggested  it  must  have 
been  some  hungry,  drunken  tramp. 
Everyone  was  glad  to  find  nothing  but 
food  from  the  pantry  had  been  stolen, 
and  all  went  back  to  bed. 

When  Reuben  was  sticking  fast  in  the 
window,  Joel,  whose  window  was  just 
over  that  one  in  the  pantry,  guessing 
what  had  happened  to  Reuben,  let  down 
a  sheet,  and  whispered  to  him  to  catch 
hold.  Reuben  eagerly  siezed  it  with 
his  hands  and  teeth,  dragged  himself 
out  of  the  pantry  window,  and  scrambled 
in  at  the  window  of  the  loft. 

Joel  and  Reuben  never  said  a  word 
on  the  subject,  though  often, during  their 
respective  courtships,  the  story  of  that 
dreadful  night,  was  told  at  the  girls' 
house  becoming  more  mysterious  with 
each  repetition. 

But  when  Jennie  had  become  Mrs. 
Joel  White  and  Jessie  was  Mrs.  Reuben 
Lee,  Reuben  told  his  wife  how  he  spent 
that  Thanksgiving  night.  Jessie  told 
him,  laughing,  that  henceforth,  wherever 
he  went,  he  must  openly  eat  enough  to 
satisfy  him;  and  that  now  she'd  feed 
him  so  well  at  home  that  he  would  never 
again  want  to  eat  too  much  when  he 
went  out! 


NOVEMBER 

November's  woods  are  bare  and  still ; 

November's  days  are  bright  and  good  ; 
Life's  noon  burns  up  life's  morning  chill ; 

Life's  light  rests  feet  that  long  have  stood  ; 

Some  warm,  soft  bed  in  field  or  wood 
The  mother  will  not  fail  to  keep, 
Where  we  can  lay  us  down  to  sleep. 

—  Helen   Hunt  Jackson 


YEARS    OLD   WHEN   IT   DIED 


WORLD      HISTORY      IN      THE      LIFETIME     OF      "MARK     TWAIN 
OF     CALIFORNIA'S      BIG      TREES 

By     HARRY     MILTON     RISELEY 

NEW      YORK      CITY 


ONE 


WITH 


ILLUSTRATIONS       FROM       PHOTOGRAPHS        SUPPLIED       BY       THE 
AMERICAN        MUSEUM       OF       NATURAL       HISTORY 


AMONG  the  many  interesting  exhi- 
bits to  be  seen  in  the  new  east  wing 
of  the  forestry  hall  of  the  American 
Museum  of  Natural  History  in  the  city 
of  New  York,  by  far  the  most  conspicu- 
ous is  the  immense  cross  section  of  wood 
which  was  cut  from  one  of  the  giant 
sequoias,  or  "Big  Trees,"  of  southern 
California. 

It  is  believed  to  be  one  of  the  largest 
sections  of  a  tree  ever  brought  from  a 
forest,  and  many  and  difficult  were  the 
problems  that  had  to  be  solved  in  the 
selection,  cutting  and  transporting  of  so 
large  a  specimen.  The  weight  of  the 
section  is  nearly  thirty  tons,  its  thick- 
ness four  feet,  and  its  diameter  sixteen 
feet  two  inches,  not  including  the  bark, 
which  in  places  is  nearly  a  foot  thick. 


It  was  cut  twelve  feet  above  ground 
from  a  tree  which  stood  fully  300  feet  in 
height  and  which  was  free  of  limbs  for 
a  height  of  nearly  200  feet.  The  cir- 
cumference of  the  tree  measured  ninety 
feet  at  the  ground,  and  sixty-two  feet 
at  a  distance  of  eight  feet  from  its  base. 
To  those  not  fortunate  enough  to  be  able 
to  visit  the  groves  of  these  trees,  the 
specimen  on  exhibition  will  give  an  idea 
at  least  of  their  immense  size. 

The  sequoia  trees  are  unique  in  the 
world,  and  have  been  aptly  described 
as  "  the  grandest,  the  largest,  the 
oldest  and  the  most  majestically  grace- 
ful of  trees."  They  are  also  classed 
among  the  scarcest  of  known  tree 
species,  and  have  the  extreme  scientific 
value  of  being  the  best  living  repre- 


THE     FALL    OF    "MARK     TWAIN" 


ILLUSTRATING     THE    SIZE     OF    THE     BUTT 


i,34i     YEARS     OLD     WHEN     IT    DIED 


187 


SECTION  OF  "MARK  TWAIN    AS  MOUNTED  IN   THE   AMERICAN  MUSEUM  OF  NATURAL 

HISTORY,  NEW  YORK  CITY 

The  many  small  placards  on  the  surface  of  the  wood  record  historical  events  that  took  place  when  the  tree 
was  of  the  size  indicated  by  the  location  of  the  placards. 


sentatives  of  a  former  geological  age. 
Fortunately,  like  most  trees  of  temper- 
ate climates,  the  sequoia  are  exogenous, 
and  by  the  concentric  circles  or  rings  of 
wood,  which  mark  the  seasonal  periods 
of  growth,  their  great  age  may  be  quite 
accurately  determined.  On  the  speci- 
men on  exhibition  these  rings  are  clearly 
and  beautifully  shown,  and  they  indicate 
that  the  tree  must  have  been  1,341 
years  old  when  it  was  cut  down  in  the 
Autumn  of  1891. 


There  are  several  groves  of  these  trees 
in  the  King's  river  area  of  southern 
California  which  have  been  much  visited 
by  tourists,  and  many  of  the  handsomest 
trees  have  been  christened  by  them  in 
their  rambles,  and  several  have  been 
marked  with  marble  tablets  bearing  such 
names  as  "Bay  State,"  "Sir  Joseph 
Hooker,"  "Pride  of  the. Forest,"  "Griz- 
zly Giant,"  etc.  The  tree  from  which 
the  museum  section  was  cut  bore  the 
familiar  name  of  "Mark  Twain,"  and 


i88 


NATIONAL     MAGAZINE    for    NOVEMBER,    1904 


was  one  of  the  most  famous  in  that 
region  because  of  its  great  age  and  size. 
"Mark"  surely  upheld  the  reputation 
of  the  sequoia  for  longevity,  as  he  must 
have  begun  his  career  in  A.  D.  550, 
which  was  only  seventy  years  after  the 
fall  of  Rome.  When  Columbus  reached 
our  shores  he  must  have  been  already 
a  mature  old  gentleman  of  close  to  a 
thousand  Summers.  In  fact,  practically 
all  of  mediaeval  history,  as  well  as  mod- 


of  the  tree  at  the  point  where  it  is 
affixed.  In  addition  to  showing  the 
dates  of  political  events,  discoveries, 
etc.,  they  also  indicate  the  growth  of  the 
tree  during  each  hundred  years,  thus 
marking  the  successive  centuries. 

For  instance,  when  "Mark  Twain" 
must  have  been  a  mere  sapling,  Europe 
was  overrun  by  the  Goths,  Vandals  and 
Franks,  and  a  state  of  universal  war  pre- 
vailed. About  twenty  years  later  Ma- 


FIFTY     MEN    STANDING    IN    A    CIRCLE    ON     THE     STUMP   OF   THE   BIG   TREE,  WITH    ROOM 
IN   THE   CENTER  FOR   TWICE   AS   MANY   MORE 


ern,  transpired  during  the  life  of  this 
grim,  and  silent  sentinel  of  the  forest. 
The  museum  has  strikingly  illustrated 
the  life  history  of  this  particular  tree  by 
placing  upon  the  face  of  the  section 
several  rows  of  small  cards,  recording 
the  dates  of  historical  events  of  impor- 
tance which  have  occurred  during  its 
career.  These  are  so  placed  that  the 
date  of  the  event  corresponds  to  the  age 


hornet  was  born,  and  then  followed  the 
establishment  of  the  Mohammedan  reli- 
gion, which,  during  the  following  cen- 
tury and  a  half,  threatened  to  prevail  over 
the  whole  world. 

The  beginning  of  the  next  century  was 
marked  by  the  crowning  of  Charlemagne 
on  Christmas  Day,  800.  At  this  time 
"Mark  Twain"  was  probably  celebrating 
the  two  hundred  and  fiftieth  anniversary 


1,341     YEARS    OLD     WHEN     IT    DIED 


189 


of  his  birth.  During  this  century  the 
hardy  Norsemen  began  their  bold  voy- 
ages in  quest  of  treasure  and  adventure. 
They  colonized  Iceland  in  981,  and 
pushing  farther  westward  probably  sailed 
down  along  the  eastern  shore  of  America. 

When  our  young  giant  had  reached 
the  age  of  546,  in  1096,  the  Cru- 
sades began,  and  continued  for  almost 
200  years.  They  brought  the  various 
European  peoples  into  closer  intercourse, 
and  resulted  in  the  exchange  of  ideas 
that  helped  to  prepare  the  popular  mind 
for  the  great  discoveries  of  civilization. 

Printing  with  wooden  block  type  was 
introduced  by  John  Gutenberg  in  1438, 
and  in  1450  his  invention  was  followed 
with  the  use  of  metal  type,  making  possi- 
ble the  dissemination  of  knowledge  and 
raised  the  standard  of  intelligence  of 
the  whole  civilized  world.  No  doubt 
our  friend  "Mark, "at  the  age  then  of 
888.  was  much  interested  in  this  new 


epoch,  and  made  to  his  forest  associates 
the  familiar  remark  that  the  "world  was 
surely  growing  better." 

"Mark  Twain's"  own  continent  of 
America  was  discovered  by  Columbus 
in  1492,  and  was  followed  by  Magellan's 
famous  trip  around  the  world  to  the 
westward  during  which  he  discovered 
the  Philippines.  About  the  same  time 
Cortez  discovered  Mexico,  and  the  new 
world  was  soon  being  explored  for  its 
reputed  hidden  treasures.  Shortly  after 
these  events  this  grand  old  tree  reached 
the  ripe  old  age  of  1,000,  and  during  the 
succeeding  centuries  witnessed  the  rapid 
growth  of  inventive  genius  and  the  in- 
creasing freedom  of  thought.  The  cor- 
responding growth  of  the  tree,  however, 
is  represented  by  only  a  few  inches. 
Years  were  but  as  days  to  this  patri- 
arch of  the  forest,  while  down  through 
the  ages  it  stood  a  mute  witness  of 
the  coming  and  going  of  centuries. 


UNITY 


By    ANNA    H.     FROST 

WESTMINSTER       WEST        VERMONT 


THROUGH  my  window  streams  a  radi- 
ance 

Rivaling  the  sunset's  best, 
When  his  glowing  mural  paintings 

Flush  the  galleries  of  the  West. 

Whence  this  flood  of  golden  splendor? 

Tree  of  topaz,  ruby,  sard, 
Where  a  squirrel  on  the  maple 

Flits  and  chirps  like  winge'd  bard. 

Doth  he  dream,  this  winsome  creature, 
Of  his  kinship  with  the  tree; 

With  the  birds  and  clouds  above  him; 
With  the  sunshine  and  with  me? 


Hath  he  tender  intuitions 
Of  the  loving  Cosmic  Heart? 

Of  the  all-pervading  Spirit 

Doth  he  haply  "know  in  part?  " 

Sways  the  tree  in  mystic  concord 
With  the  planets'  rythmic  roll, 

Vaguely  conscious  of  its  oneness 
With  the  Universal  Soul? 

I  would  fain  believe  the  marvel 
That  the  squirrel  and  the  tree 

Dimly  feel  the  law  that  link-s  us, 
Makes  them  one  with  star  and  me. 


LEAVES   FROM  A   REPORTER'S 
;       "  NOTE    BOOK 

I 

WHEN     THE     HENS    OF    GERMANY    WENT    ON     STRIKE 

By      ETHEL     ARMES 


BIRMINGHAM,       ALABAMA 


THE  hens  of  Germany  went  on  a  strike 
once,  and  the  settlement  of  their 
troubles  was  consigned  to  Baron  Gustave 
Hermann  von  dem  Mueller,  agricultural 
attache  to  the  German  embassy  of  Wash- 
ington, District  of  Columbia.  The 
steward  of  the  kaiser's  estates,  one 
Freiherr  Otto  Adolphus  von  Puckler- 
Lundorst,  was  en  route  to  assist  the 
baron,  and  together  the  gentlemen  were 
to  inspect  "our  most  illustrious  chicken 
farms"  and  purchase  some  American 
hens  minus  perverted  notions.  Thus 
Baron  Gustave  took  up  the  chicken 
question  with  his  customary  and  com- 
mendable fervor,  and  it  was  not  many 
days  before  it  became  the  official  joke, 
and  the  baron's  private  correspondence 
with  Mr.  Whitelaw  Reid  on  perches  and 
nests  was  parodied  in  nearly  every  din- 
ing room  of  the  diplomatic  corps. 
Whenever  the  baron  appeared  at  any 
social  functions  whatever,  the  conversa- 
tion gravely  and  delicately  turned  to 
incubators,  brooders,  feeding  troughs 
and  hen  houses. 

When  at  length  the  kaiser's  steward 
reached  New  York,  his  mission  had  be- 
come famous,  and  Baron  Gustave  had, 
so  it  is  said,  a  large  number  of  thorough, 
bred  American  hens  in  gorgeously 
trimmed  coops  awaiting  the  freiherr. 
The  noble  gentlemen  then  toured  the 
farms  and  hatcheries  of  Long  Island 
and  central  New  York,  collecting  sam- 
ples as  they  went,  so  that  by  the  time 
they  reached  Washington  city  they 
might  easily  have  started  in  on  Louisi- 
ana avenue  on  the  wholesale  basis. 


I  was  assigned  to  the  story  and  went 
up  to  the  embassy  the  morning  after  the 
gentlemen  arrived.  Johan>  of  course, 
always  comes  to  the  door.  Every  news- 
paper man  in  Washington  knows  Johan 
— to  his  sorrow.  I  asked  that  intelli- 
gent Prussian  if  the  freiherr  Otto  Adol- 
phus von  Puckler-Lundorst  was  in,  and 
he  blinked  his  eyes  and  scratched  his 
ear,  and  said,  as  usual,  "Vot  vos  dot?  " 

I  spelled  the  name  and  lie  shook  his 
head. 

"Is  the  baron  von  dem  Mueller  in?  " 
I  then  asked. 

"Nein,"  returned  Johan. 

"Why,  he  hasn't  left  the  city  again!  " 
I  exclaimed. 

"Nein,  er  schus  goom  pack." 

"Well,  Johan,  where  is  he?  " 

"Er  vas  py  der  loodging." 

"Do  you  know  where  that  is,  Johan?" 

"Nein." 

"Is  the  ambassador  himself  here, 
Johan?" 

"Nein,  er  vas  in  der  ould  gountree  for 
dis  von  mont  more." 

"Well,  Johan,  is  the  first  secretary 
in?" 

"Der  gount  Karl  Yosef  Wilhelm  von 
Steinwartz-Linstow?"  Johan  inquired 
placidly,  "you  like  mit  him  to  see?  " 

"I  do,"  said  I,  and  Johan  shuffled  off. 
Never  yet  in  the  fifteen  years  that  Johan 
has  been  doorkeeper  of  the  German  em- 
bassy has  he  lifted  his  heels  from  the 
floor.  He  returned,  in  his  own  time, 
and  led  me  to  one  of  the  basement 
offices  with  white  painted  brick  walls 
and  barred  windows  overlooking  the 


WHEN    THE    HENS    OF    GERMANY    WENT    ON    STRIKE        191 


green  square  in  the  back  yard.  Behold! 
the  Count  Karl  Josef  Wilhelm  von 
Steinwartz-Linstow.  He  was  at  least 
six  feet  five,  blonde,  of  course,  race  of 
the  Volsungs!  He  bowed  profoundly 
several  times  when  I  entered,  and  with 
English  but  faintly  accented  inquired: 

"What,  fraulein,  may  I  haf  the  pleas- 
ure of  doing  for  you?  " 

"Tell  me,  if  you  please  sir,  where  I 
may  find  the  freiherr  von  Puckler-Lun- 
dorst?  "  I  said,  albeit  hopelessly. 

"Alas!"   the  count's   very   heart  ap- 
peared to  break,  "he  has  come,   frau- 
lein, und  he  has  gone!  " 
"Oh!"  I  cried. 

"Oh!"  he  murmured  spontaneously, 
"the  freiherr  will  so  sorry  be!  It  was 
to  Maryland  that  he  was  obliged  to  go 
early  this  morning — on  business.  But 
is  there  no  one  else  who  -can  for  you 
serve,  fraulein?" 

"Perhaps  Baron  von  dem  Mueller  can 
help  me." 

"Perhaps  he  can!  "  the  count  saw  day- 
light again,  "it  will  so  vast  a  pleasure 
be  for  him." 

"It  is  very  important,"  said  I. 
"Of  course  —  of    course!    I   will  tele- 
phone at  once  to  the  baron  that  he  shall 
here  come." 

The  count  retired  into  the  telephone 
box.     Presently  he  emerged.     "Alas," 
he  murmured   again,  "the  baron  is  in 
conference  with  the  secretary  of  agricul- 
ture until  twelve  o'clock.     The  hour  is 
npt  harmonious  with  him,  fraulein." 
"Where  will  he  be  this  afternoon?  " 
"I  will  to  Herr  Walters  telephone  im- 
mediately, fraulein,  and  learn." 

Again  the  count  telephoned.  "He 
will  be  in  his  lodgings  on  Connecticut 
avenue,  near  L  street,  at  three  o'clock, 
fraulein.  To  make  this  certain,  Herr 
Walters  will  telephone  him  to  be  there 
and  I  myself  will  telephone  to  the  agri- 
cultural department,  and  then,  fraulein, 
if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  leaf  your 
number,  I  shall  there  send  word  to  you 
that  the  appointment  may  be  definitely 


arranged,  and  I  will  tell  Herr  Walters  to 
do  the  same.  I  am  sorry,  fraulein,  that 
this  does  occasion  for  you  one  worry, 
but  it  is  all  that  can  be  done  just  now, 
is  it  not,  fraulein?  Or  is  there  more 
that  I  may  do?  " 

I  thanked  him  and  said,  "Perhaps 
another  time." 

As  he  held  open  the  door  for  me,  he 
bowed  many  more  times  and  murmured 
low: 

"I  only  hope,  fraulein,  that  there  may 
another  time  be!  " 

As  it  was  then  about  eleven  o'clock, 
I  decided  to  walk  over  to  the  agricultural 
department  leisurely  and  corral  Baron 
Gustave  if  possible  before  he  got  away 
to  his  lodgings.  Alas!  as  my  Siegfried 
said,  he  too  had  come,  und  he  had  gone! 
The  secretary  laughed  and  told  me  he 
was  mighty  sorry,  but  he  could  not  help 
it, — that  at  least  five  telephone  messages 
from  the  embassy  had  come  for  the  baron 
while  he  was  in  his  office,  and  that 
Prussian  gentleman,  excitable  at  all 
times,  had  become  quite  unmanageable 
and  had  left  twenty  minutes  before. 
The  secretary  was  good  enough  to  detail 
a  clerk  to  locate  the  baron  for  me,  while 
he  joyfully  rendered  statistics  on  the 
point  in  question.  He  gave  me  the 
thrilling  news  that  our  egg  crop  ex- 
ceeded in  value  the  country's  combined 
gold  and  silver  output  since  1850;  that 
our  American  hens  had  laid  during  the 
last  fiscal  year,  one  billion,  two  hundred 
and  ninety  millions  of  eggs;  that  we 
have  in  the  United  States  eighty-seven 
standard  varieties  of  chickens.  He  even 
presented  me  with  pictures  of  all  the 
various  kinds  of  hens,  the  very  ones  he 
had  given  to  the  baron  and  the  freiherr 
the  day  before.  It  seemed  that  all  these 
department  figures  had  quite  staggered 
the  Prussians.  The  secretary  said  that 
Baron  Gustave  had  told  him  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  in  the  presence  of  the 
freiherr,  that'the  hens  in  Germany  would 
not  lay,  and  that  every  egg  in  the  empire 
had  to  be  imported  from  Hungary. 


192 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


"The  baron  also  stated,"  remarked 
the  secretary  dryly,  "that  he  was  charmed 
with  the  American  hen,  only  he  wanted 
the  department  to  guarantee  that  she 
would  keep  up  her  model  standard  in 
Germany — which  information  I  will  ask 
you  to  use  at  your  discretion." 

By  this  time  the  clerk  reported  that 
the  embassy  said  the  baron  was  at  the 
club,  the  club  said  he  was  at  the  lodg- 
ings and  the  lodgings  said  he  was  at  the 
embassy. 

I  returned  to  the  office  and  there  I 
found  enough  telephone  messages  to 
float  a  dozen  barons.  The  first  four 
actually  stated  that  the  Count  Karl  Josef 
Wilhelm  von  Steinwartz-Linstow  was 
doing  all  in  his  power.  The  last  one 
from  Herr  Walters  was  definite.  It  in- 
formed me  that  the  baron  was  at  lunch 
at  the  Metropolitan  Club,  and  would 
come  to  his  lodging  at  three  by  the 
clock,  according  to  the  hour  named, 
where  he  would  be  charmed.  An  hour 
later  I  was  again  called  up,  Herr  Walters 
asking  in  a  heart-rending  tone  if  I  could 
not  possibly  make  the  appointment  at 
two  instead  of  three  by  the  clock,  and 
I  replied  that  I  could.  I  took  a  car  in 
time  to  make  the  lodging  at  the  hour 
named,  when,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the 
fuse  burned  out  and  I  had  to  get  out 
and  walk,  so  it  was  slightly  after  two 
when  I  reached  the  lodgings. 

This  was  a  two-story,  pressed  brick 
building,  painted  pale  yellow  with  gin- 
ger-bread trimmings,  opposite  the  con- 
vent on  Connecticut  avenue.  The  first 
floor  was  devoted  to  Turkish  baths.  On 
the  second  flourished  the  baron  and  his 
suite.  I  went  up  a  long  flight  of  dark 
stairs  and  reached  a  gloemy  hall  with 
crimson  hangings  and  a  few  old  guns 
and  shields  for  armorial  effect. 

A  small,  stout  gentleman  in  an  em- 
broidered smoking  jacket  opened  the 
door.  His  hair  was  perfectly  erect  over 
his  mushroom  brow.  It  was  Herr  Wal- 
ters. 

"Ach!  you  vas  der  lady!"   he  cried, 


"und  der  baron  on  der  ferry  instant  vent 
oudt!  He  was  vatink  von  hour,  und  den 
he  vas  opleeged  to  go!  " 

I  sank  into  the  first  chair  that  I  found. 
"Oh,  dear,  I  am  so  sorry!  " 

"Ach!  I  vas  scho  chorry!  I  vas  scho 
chorry!"  he  also  cried  sympathetically, 
"gannot  I  do  sornedings,  fraulein?  I 
gan  telephone  to — 

"No!"  I  exclaimed,  "don't  ever  think 
of  the  telephone  ever  any  more.  Do 
you  suppose  the  baron  will  come  back?" 

"I  veer  not  deez  afternoon,  fraulein! 
You  see  he  vas  opleeched  to  go  to 
meet  der  Countess  Steinwartz-Linstow 
at  der  schtation  Paldimore  und  Benn- 
sylvania,  mit  der  gount  whose  wife  she 
iss.  She  vas  ooneggspected  goom  at 
dree  o'clock." 

A  Countess  Steinwartz-Linstow! 

I  recovered  presently  and  asked  Herr 
Walters  about  the  chicken  farms  in  Ger- 
many. 

"Ach!  "  he  cried,  "Fraulein,  I  vas 
nicht  von  varmer!  " 

"Alas!  Neither  am  I,"  I  sadly  replied 
and  took  my  departure.  Strange  to  say, 
I  had  no  sooner  boarded  the  elevated  to 
return  to  the  city  room,  than  who  should 
step  on  but  Baron  Gustave  Hermann 
von  dem  Mueller  and  Count  Karl  Josef 
Wilhelm  von  Steinwartz-Linstow. 

"Ah!"  cried  that  Volsung.  "There 
iss  the  fraulein! " 

"The  baron  himself!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Utd  last!  Utd  last!  "  cried  the  baron 
in  such  an  overwhelming  voice  that 
every  passenger  on  the  car  turned 
around  and  stared,  "Utd  last  we  von 
another  vind!"  Off  went  his  tall  hat 
and  he  bowed  to  the  very  platform.  He 
was  quite  as  tall  as  the  count,  but  not 
nearly  so  beautiful  a  man,  for  his  nose 
and  his  fat  cheeks  were  very  red,  and 
then  —  well,  he  was  Baron  Gustave  Her- 
mann von  dem  Mueller.  Heaven  itself 
could  not  preserve  me.  He  poured 
forth  in  an  absolute  torrent: 

"Fraulein!  I  dees  morning  a  messach 
vrom  Gount  Linstow  haf  viles  I  vas  mit 


WHEN    THE    HENS   OF    GERMANY    WENT    ON    STRIKE         193 


der  segredaire  off  acrigulture,  dot  I  vos 
gome  to  mine  loodching  atd  dree  by  der 
cluck  to  see  von  lady.  Akain  der  same 
messach  gooin  vrorn  Herr  Walters — von 
young  lady  he  say,  und  viles  I  am  dink- 
ing  vot  gan  dot  be,  der  gount  akain 
sendt  vord  dot  it  vos  von  madter  off  im- 
bortnance,  und  she  vas  young  und 
scharming  und  Herr  Walters  he  sendt 
ofer  der  same  vordts.  I  dinks  I  gannot 
in  it  der  segredaire  stay  no  more!  I  vas 
hoory  to  der  cloob  to  loonch.  On  der 
vay  I  schtop  vor  von  glass  off  pier,  und 
vhen  I  goom  to  der  cloob  I  dhere  findt 
dree  messach,  von  vrom  der  lady  asking 
vhere  vas  I  ?  I  gannot  eat  off  mine 
loonch,  und  den  Gount  Linstow  sendt 
vort  dot  der  gountess  dit  telegraph  dot 
she  vill  gome  at  dree  by  der  cluck,  in- 
steadt  off  dis  efening,  und  der  abboint- 
ment  mit  der  yoong  lady  must  be 
schange  to  dwo.  I  schange  it  und  der 
lady  say  dot  vas  goodt,  so  Herr  Valters 
tell  me.  I  go  to  mine  loodching  before 
two  und  I  nicht  findt  der  lady.  Herr 
Valters  telephone.  She  dit  gif  no  undser. 
Vot  am  I  to  do?  I  vait.  I  vait  von 
hour  und  she  vas  nicht  gome!  Herr 
Valters  do  all  vas  he  gan:  he  telephone 
vonce  more,  but  der  fraulein  gif  no 
undser.  I  valk  oop  und  I  valk  down. 


Den  I  dink  dot  vas  von  schokel  Dhere 
vas  no  lady!  I  poot  on  mine  hatd  und 
schoin  Gount  Linstow.  In  all  der  time 
I  mit  Washington  City  am  I  nefer  haf  so 
crate  hoory  und  eggscitement  undt  dis- 
tress !  But  now  udt  last  behold  der  lady  I" 

By  this  time  there  was  of  course  an 
enraptured  audience  on  all  sides.  I 
tried  to  speak,  but  no  words  came.  The 
silence  was  ghastly. 

"Vhat,  fraulein,  may  I  ask,  vhat  gan 
dees  so  imbortant  madter  be?"  inquired 
the  baron. 

My  voice  returned  and  I  stammered 
blindly:  "What  kinds  of  hens,  sir,  is 
freiherr  von  Puckler-Lundorst  going  to 
take  back  to  Germany  with  him?  " 

It  was  out!  I  dimly  saw  the  total  and 
utter  collapse  of  my  friend  the  count. 
I  vaguely  heard  through  the  roar  of 
laughter  in  the  car  the  loud  tones  of 
the  Baron  Gustave  Wilhelm  von  dem 
Mueller: 

"Fraulein!  Vot  vas  dot?  Ach!  Der 
Blymouth  Ruck,  und  der  Vyandotte, 
under  der  Plack  Spinach,  und  der  Puff 
Go-sheen,  und —  '  he  paused  to  wipe 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"Just— those— hens?  "  I  faltered. 

"Vy  ask  you,  fraulein,  iff  der  vas  hens 
alone?  Der  vill  be  hens  und  cocks,  too!" 


IN    THE    VALLEY 

By    YONE     NOGUCHI 

TOKYO,       JAPAN 

THE  Sierra-rock,  a  tavern  for  the  clouds,  refuses  to  let  Fame  and  Gold  sojourn, 

Down  the  Heaven  by  the  river-road,  an  angel's  ethereal  shadow  strays. 
The  Genii  in  the  Valley-cavern  consult  in  silence  the  message  of  the  Heavens 
O  Lord,  show  unto  mortals  thy  journal  —  the  balance  of  Glory  and  Decay  1 


VO/Uf/i 


_^a  6) 


RICHARD 
iyj.S» 

Attorney 


By     EDWARD     M.     WOOLLEY 

CHICAGO,     ILLINOIS 


RICHARD  RUSH,  attorney,  sat  in 
his  office,  leaning  over  his  desk  with 
his  head  buried  in  his  arms — his  attitude 
one  of  intense  depression.  He  had  sat 
there  in  the  bare  little  room  for  a  long 
time  without  moving;  so  long,  indeed, 
that  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  passage 
of  time,  and  the  late  afternoon  sun  was 
shining  aslant  through  the  open  window 
upon  his  broad  shoulders. 

On  the  door  was  the  black-lettered 
sign— reading  backward  from  inside— 
"Richard  Rush,  Attorney  at  Law."  A 
shelf  of  leather-covered  books,  a  framed 
diploma  hanging  on  the  wall  and  a  file 
of  the  Law  Bulletin  were  the  chief  addi- 
tional features  of  the  apartment.  On  the 
open  desk  was  a  photograph  of  a  young 
woman,  resting  on  a  little  gilded  easel. 
The  Summer's  breeze  that  was  wafted 
through  the  window  played  with  the 
chestnut  locks  of  the  despondent  young 
lawyer,  and  ever  and  anon  brushed  them 
lightly  against  the  picture. 

At  length  Richard  Rush  raised  his 
head  from  the  desk  and  slowly  turned 
about  in  his  revolving  chair,  until  the 
sunbeams  fell  upon  his  face.  It  was 
a  strong,  clean-cut  countenance,  smooth 
shaven  and  attractive,  but  his  eyes- were 
dull  with  despair. 

"It's  no  use!"  he  said,  aloud,  as  if 
continuing  the  reverie  he  had  been 
carrying  on.  "I've  given  it  a  year's 
trial — a  year  today — and  I  am  a  failure. 
I  have  spent  a  year  waiting  for  clients, 
and  getting  deeper  and  deeper  into  debt. 
Three  clients  in  a  whole  year!  Isn't 
that  a  proud  record!  Bah!" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  moved  by  sud- 


den  anger,  and  strode  quickly  back  and 
forth  across  the  room. 

"Let  me  see!"  he  went  on.  "Four 
years  spent  in  study  at  $600  a  year— 
that's  $2,400.  One  year  in  practice"  (he 
emphasized  the  word  "practice")  — 
"that's  $800  more.  So  far  my  law  ex- 
perience has  cost  me  $3,200  and  five 
of  the  best  years  of  my  life,  and  in  re- 
turn I've  taken  in  $63.  And  now  my 
creditors  are  about  to  seize  my  pitiful 
office  effects  and  turn  me  out  dis- 
graced! " 

After  a  time  he  sat  down  in  quieter 
mood. 

"I  wonder  what  Alice  will  think?  "  he 
mused.  "If  I  hadn't  been  a  fool  I'd 
have  told  her  long  ago  how  things  were 
going.  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  I 
hadn't  played  the  hypocrite  to  her— 
made  her  think  I  was  a  rising  young 
lawyer  working  into  a  good  practice.  If 
I'd  told  her  the  truth  from  the  start  she 
might  have  retained  some  respect  for 
me,  even  though  I  did  prove  a  failure. 
An  honest  man  carries  prestige,  even  if 
he  lacks  ability.  But  now — ah!  Richard 
Rush,  how  great  will  be  your  fall." 

He  took  the  photograph  from  his. desk 
and  gazed  at  it — gazed  at  it  so  long  that 
the  shades  of  night  came  stealing 
into  his  desolate  little  office  and  found 
him  still  there,  with  the  picture  of  the 
girl  in  his.  hands. 

"There's  no  other  way,"  he  sighed, 
at  last,  brushing  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 
"I'll  tell  her  tonight.  Then  I'll  aban- 
don this  illusion,  the  law,  and  go  to 
work.  I'll  release  her  from  our  engage- 
ment— if  she  wants  it  so." 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    RICHARD  RUSH,    ATTORNEY 


195 


He  added  the  qualifying  phrase  with 
something  like  a  sob  in  his  voice.  Then 
he  shut  his  desk  with  a  bang  and  turned 
to  leave  the  room,  which  now  was  in  deep 
shadow.  As  he  opened  the  door  he 
encountered  a  figure  in  the  hallway,  ap- 
parently groping  in  the  dim  light. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  stranger, 
"but  can  you  tell  me  where  the  office  of 
Richard  Rush,  lawyer,  is  located?" 

"I  am  Mr.  Rush,  sir,"  replied  the 
young  attorney,  secretly  saying  to  him- 
self: "Another  constable  with  a  debt  to 
collect,  I  suppose!  " 

"Then  you  are  the  man  I  desire  to 
see,"  returned  the  other. 

"Come  in,"  said  Rush,  wearily. 

"If  you  have  no  other  engagement," 
the  stranger  said,  with  some  diffidence, 
when  the  two  were  inside  the  office,  "I 
would  like  to  have  a  little  confidential 
conversation." 

"Certainly;    I   am   at  your  service." 

Rush  lighted  the  gas  and  motioned 
the  visitor  to  a  seat. 

"I  have  a  brother  who  is  in  trouble," 
began  the  caller,  who  was  little  more 
than  a  boy,  "and  I  want  to  engage  the 
services  of  a  lawyer — that  is,  a  lawyer  who 
will  not  charge  more  than  we  can  pay." 

Rush  concealed  his  surprise. 

"And  therefore  you  thought  I  would 
meet  your  requirements?"  he  answered, 
with  an  unconscious  air  of  injured  feel- 
ings. "Did  somebody  send  you  to  me?" 

"I  didn't  mean  any  offense,  sir,"  the 
youth  hastened  to  reply.  "You  see  I 
went  to  Attorney  Benedict  first,  because 
he  is  so  well  known,  but  he  said  he 
couldn't  touch  the  case  for  less  than 
$2,000.  He  referred  me  to  you,  and 
said  he  thought  you'd  do  it  for  half 
that." 

Richard  Rush  mentally  blessed  Attor- 
ney Benedict,  who  had  known  something 
of  the  young  lawyer's  predicament. 

"Mr.  Benedict  is  a  high  priced  law- 
yer," he  said,  "but  it  sometimes  pays  to 
get  the  best.  What  is  the  charge  against 
your  brother?" 


"Murder!" 

Rush  started. 

"Indeed!  That  is  a  most  serious 
trouble." 

"But  he  isn't  guilty,"  hastily  added 
the  stranger.  "Circumstances  are  against 
him." 

"Tell  me  the  story,"  said  Rush, 
assuming  a  professional  air,  although  he 
felt  ill  at  ease. 

The  youth,  with  downcast  eyes,  related 
the  incident  of  a  most  atrocious  crime, 
in  which  a  young  woman  had  met  her 
death  at  the  hands,  as  the  indictment 
charged,  of  Archibald  Crews. 

"And  you  can  pay  $1,000  for  the 
defense?"  asked  Rush. 

"That  is  what  I  wanted  to  explain. 
You  see  we  can  raise  $800  by  mortgag- 
ing our  home.  We  have  nothing  else  in 
the  world.  Mother  is  willing  to  give  all 
she  has  to  save  Archie  — everything!  " 
There  was  a  note  of  despair  in  the  boy's 
voice  that  appealed  to  the  lawyer  — 
who  so  recently  had  been  despairing 
himself. 

"Tell  your  brother,"  he  answered, 
"that  I'll  go  to  the  jail  immediately 
after  dinner.  Before  accepting  such  a 
defense  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to 
see  the  defendant  and  talk  with  him." 

Rush,  in  truth,  had  no  appetite  for 
dinner.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  To 
a  man  in  his  desperate  straits  the  thing 
that  had  befallen  seemed  like  the  wildest 
of  dreams.  Yet,  almost  destitute  as  he 
was,  he  hesitated.  Criminal  law  never 
had  attracted  him,  and  this  particular 
case  was  especially  repellent.  The  hor- 
rible details  of  the  crime  oppressed  him. 
"Suppose,"  he  thought,  with  a  shudder, 
"that  this  fellow  Crews  should  be 
guilty!" 

He  made  a  feint  of  eating,  and  left 
the  table  with  an  apology  for  his  haste. 
In  the  hall  he  encountered  his  landlady, 
who  had  been  watching  for  him. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Rush,  impatiently. 
"I  know  you've  waited  a  long  time  for 
your  money.  You've  been  considerate. 


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"I    WOULD    LIKE    TO    HAVE    A    LITTLE    CONFIDENTIAL    CONVERSATION" 


I  appreciate  your  kindness.  You  shall 
be  paid  this  week  without  fail.  I  have 
some  money  coming  in  within  a  day 
or  two." 

The  county  jail  was  a  gloomy  place, 
especially  at  night.  Rush  never  had 
been  inside  its  walls  before,  and  he  felt 
uneasy  as  he  was  ushered  between  the 
steel  bars  into  the  lawyers'  "cage," 
where  Archibald  Crews  soon  was 
brought  by  the  guards. 

The  prisoner's  appearance  did  not 
reassure  Rush,  for  he  had  a  bulging 
forehead  and  an  averted  expression  of 
the  eyes.  He  was  pale  and  nervous 
under  Rush's  scrutiny. 

"Before  accepting  your  defense,"  said 
the  lawyer,  after  preliminaries  had  been 
exchanged,  "it  will  be  necessary  that 
you  tell  me  in  detail  the  circumstances 
of  this  affair.  You  will  understand  that 
it  is  a  grave  undertaking  to  defend  a 
man  in  your  position." 

Rush  unconsciously  gave  the  impres- 
sion that  such  responsibilities  were  not 
uncommon  with  him. 

"Of  course  you  understand,"  he  went 
on,  "that  whatever  the  confidence  you 
may  repose  in  me,  it  will  be  inviolate. 
The  law  exempts  an  attorney  from  the 
witness  stand,  and  I  never  could  be 
called  upon  to  testify  against  you.  You 
understand  it  is  customary  for  clients  to 


trust  their  secrets  to  their  attorneys." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Rush  knew  very 
little  about  the  custom  —  especially  in 
criminal  cases. 

The  prisoner  cast  a  brief  glance  of 
suspicion  at  Rush,  and  then  resumed  his 
downward  gaze.  He  shifted  uneasily. 

"You  have  my  word,  Crews,"  said 
Rush,  perceiving  the  man's  hesitation, 
"that  I  shall  not  betray  your  secrets, 
whether  I  accept  your  case  or  not." 

Crews  was  silent.  He  changed  his 
position,  drummed  with  his  heel  on  the 
iron  floor,  and  brushed  his  hand  across 
his  forehead. 

"Mr.  Rush,"  he  said,  at  length,  "I 
haven't  any  doubt  that  your  word  is 
good,  but,  at  the  same  time,  I  don't  see 
any  reason  why  I  should  make  a  con- 
fidant of  you,  unless  you  agree  to  be  my 
lawyer.  I — -I  —  can't  afford  to  take 
chances." 

Rush  long  had  cherished  the  idea  that 
his  chosen  profession  was  the  highest  of 
callings.  From  the  day  he  had  begun 
to  read  Blackstone,  he  had  sat  upon  an 
exalted  imaginary  seat,  and  as  he  pro- 
gressed month  by  month  in  his  college 
course,  the  idea  became  more  and  more 
fixed,  that  the  law  was,  indeed,  the 
noblest  profession,  not  even  excepting 
medicine  and  the  ministry.  True,  he 
had  known  lawyers  who  had  disgraced 


themselves,  but  this  fact  did  not  detract 
from  the  nobility  of  the  calling  itself. 
The  day  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar  was 
a  proud  one, .and  since  that  time,  even 
through  his  financial  hardships,  he  had 
been  upon  a  mental  pinnacle. 

Yet  here  sat  Richard  Rush,  with  all 
his  high  ideals,  contemplating  the  de- 
fense of  a  murderer!  Some  instinct  told 
him  that  Archibald  Crews  was  guilty. 

At  an  earlier  period  in  this  young  law- 
yer's "practice,"  he  would  not  have 
hesitated.  He  would  have  scorned  the 
thought  of  taking  such  a  case.  But  now 
he  sat  there,  bound  hand  and  foot,  it 
seemed.  The  frightfulness  of  his  temp- 
tation loomed  before  him — but  he  was 
powerless  to  resist.  To  refuse  this  client 
meant  retirement  from- the  profession  he 
had  struggled  so  long  to  attain.  It 
meant  ruin.  The  crisis  that  had  come 
upon  him  might  be  averted,  if  he  were 
to  avail  himself  of  this  opportunity  which 
Providence,  or  the  devil  —  he  wondered 
which — had  so  unexpectedly  thrust  upon 
him.  To  refuse  it  meant  not  only  public 
humiliation,  but  it  meant  what  was  far 
worse  in  the  eyes  of  Rush— humiliation 
before  the  eyes  of  Alice  Merton. 

The  struggle  was  a  bitter  one.  The 
question  was  to  be  settled  on  the  spot. 
His  whole  future  depended  on  that 
moment. 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  after  a 
minute's  silence,  "that  you  could  pay 
$800  for  a  lawyer.  How  much  can  you 
pay  down?  You  know  a  retainer  is 
necessary."  % 

"My  mother  will  give  you  $200  to- 
night if  you  will  call  on  her.  The  re- 
mainder can  be  paid  as  soon  as  the 
mortgage  can  be  arranged." 

The  young  lawyer's  heart  was  beating 
like  a  trip-hammer.  "Two  hundred  dol- 
lars—tonight!  "  he  thought.  "God 
knows  I  need  it. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  aloud,  "I'll  take 
your  case." 

Oddly  enough,  at  the  very  moment  he 
bound  himself  to  the  prisoner's  fortunes, 


a  chill  breeze  swept  through  the  iron 
corridors  of  the  county  jail.  The  wind, 
shifting  to  the  north,  had  brought  a  sud- 
den change  in  temperature.  Rush  was 
anything  but  superstitious,  but  the  cold 
wind  on  his  perspiring  forehead  affected 
him  in  a  singular  way.  Of  course,  it 
was  only  a  coincidence,  he  thought. 

An  hour  later,  Richard  Rush  emerged 
from  the  county  jail.  The  raw  wind 
blew  a  fine,  penetrating  mist  in  his  face, 
and  seeing  a  cab  near  by,  he  signaled  it. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had 
indulged  in  such  a  luxury.  He  couldn't 
tell  why  he  did  so  now  —  except  that  a 
strange,  unnatural  mood  was  upon  him. 
He  saw  opening  ahead  the  career  of 
a  lawyer.  Wealth,  honors,  fame! — these 
were  in  his  visions.  Yet  he  shuddered 
and  sank  back  in  the  seat  of  the  cab. 

"But  the  cost!"  he  muttered.  "Linked 
to  a  self-confessed  murderer  —  and  for 
$800!" 

That  night  sleep  was  far  from  his 
fevered  brain,  and  he  walked  the  floor 
until  the  gray  streak  in  the  East  had 
widened  into  a  band  that  reached  from 
the  northern  horizon  to  the  southern. 

The  day  was  Sunday,  and  Richard 
Rush,  in  pursuance  of  an  engagement, 
went  to  the  home  of  his  betrothed  and 
escorted  her  to  church.  He  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  communion  himself,  and 
taught  a  bible  class  in  the  Sunday 
school. 

Afterward,  Rush  took  dinner  at  the 
house  of  Miss  Merton.  During  the 
meal  the  sermon  was  discussed,  and 
Rush,  as  befitted  his  position  as  a  fluent 
young  lawyer,  took  the  leading  part  in 
the  debate.  The  sermon  had  been  upon 
"Duty,  in  the  Face  of  Obstacles  and 
Temptations."  Inwardly,  Rush  said  to 
himself: 

"Hypocrite!  I  never  thought  you 
would  sink  so  low!" 

For  the  next  few  weeks  the  young 
lawyer  had  little  time  to  spend  with 
Alice  Merton.  He  was  busily  engaged 
upon  the  defense  of  Archibald  Crews. 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    NOVEMBER,    1904 


His  hitherto  lonesome  office  became  the 
scene  of  daily  and  nightly  conferences. 
The  witnesses  who  were  to  testify  for 
the  murderer  were  called  in  frequently. 
Rush  scarcely  took  time  for  his  meals. 
He  was  at  his  desk  before  the  average 
lawyer  was  at  the  breakfast  table;  and 
long  after  midnight  the  light  from  his 
office  window  was  dimly  reflected  into 
the  silent  street.  He  grew  pale,  thin 


"HIS  OPENING  STATEMENT  TO  THE  JURY" 

and  nervous.  His  friends  chaffed  him 
about  getting  a  partner  to  relieve  his 
over-burdened  practice.  Alice  gently 
rebuked  him  for  neglecting  her,  and, 
worse  still,  for  neglecting  his  health. 
He  replied: 

"When  I  am  through  with  this  case, 
I'll  take  a  rest.  Everything  depends  on 
my  success  now — my  future  lies  before 


me.  If  I  succeed,  my  standing  is 
assured.  Money  will  flow  into  my 
pockets,  and  —  and  we  can  be  married 
in  the  Fall." 

His  conscience  wasn't  given  time  to 
assert  itself  fully.  Once  launched  upon 
the  tide  of  energy  that  filled  him,  Rush 
throttled  this  conscience  whenever  it 
sought  to  whisper  weakly  in  his  ear. 
He  crushed  it  deliberately,  with  the 
venom  a  man  might  exert  upon  a  snake. 
But  there  were  times  when  Rush,  awak- 
ing in  the  dead  of  night,  would  find  his 
conscience  getting  the  better  of  him. 
On  more  than  one  occasion  he  arose 
and  tramped  the  streets  until  dawn, 
arguing,  arguing,  arguing— with  himself. 

The  night  before  the  date  fixed  for  the 
trial,  Rush  had  the  final  tussle.  He 
reached  home  at  sunrise,  fagged  out, 
disgusted  with  his  profession,  loathing 
himself,  remorseful— but  resolved  to  see 
the  thing  through.  He  had  finally  put 
aside  his  high  ideals  and  theoretical 
standards  of  legal  ethics. 

"There's  no  use!  "  he  muttered  as  he 
tumbled  into  bed.  "I  can't  afford  to 
throw  fortune  away  because  of  a  little 
moral  or  religious  compunction.  I'm 
a  lawyer." 

When  Rush  began  his  opening  state- 
ment to  the  jury,  there  was  general  sur- 
prise in  the  court  room.  Judge,  state's 
attorney  and  spectators  were  astonished 
at  the  eloquence  and  vigor  of  the  young 
man.  Few  of  the  persons  present  ever 
had  heard  of  him.  They  asked  them- 
selves: * 

"Who  is  this  new  genius  of  the  law?" 

The  state  put  on  its  witnesses,  one 
after  another,  showing  a  most  damaging 
case  against  Archibald  Crews.  The 
spectators  shuddered  as  witness  after 
witness  drew  the  rope  tighter  and  tighter 
about  the  prisoner's  neck. 

One  by  one,  Rush  cross  examined 
these  witnesses,  and  by  his  adroit 
queries  excited  the  admiration  even  of 
his  opponents.  But  it  was  not  until  the 
time  came  for  the  defense  to  put  on  wit- 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    RICHARD    RUSH,    ATTORNEY 


199 


nesses  that  the  prosecution  received  its 
greatest  surprise.  Unexpected  evidence 
was  introduced — from  witnesses  who  had 
been  unknown  to  the  state,  tending  to 
establish  the  innocence  of  the  defendant. 
So  strong  was  this  evidence  that  a  revul- 
sion of  feeling  swept  the  court  room. 

In  his  argument  before  the  jury,  the 
assistant  state's  attorney  denounced  this 
surprising  testimony  as  perjury,  and 
made  such  a  strong  speech  that  the  tide 
of  feeling  was  turned  back,  and  every- 
body in  the  court  room  seemed  satisfied 
that  the  jury  could  not  fail  to  convict. 
Then  Richard  Rush  made  the  speech  for 
which  he  had  been  preparing  all  those 
weeks.  It  was  the  speech  upon  which 
he  staked  his  future  as  a  lawyer.  From 
the  time  he  opened  his  mouth  to  the 
moment  he  closed,  he  held  the  jury  and 
spectators  spell  bound.  Such  eloquence 
never  had  been  heard  in  the  court  room 
before.  Women  wept  aloud,  and  the 
prosecution  was  aghast.  One  by  one, 
Rush  punctured  the  arguments  of  the 
state.  He  skillfully  intermingled  reason 
with  emotion,  carrying  the  jurors  along 
in  a  train  of  rhetoric  that  was  irresisti- 
ble. His  sonorous,  musical  voice  added 
to  the  spell  of  finely  wrought  sentences 
which  Rush,  with  infinite  care,  had 
created  and  committed  to  memory  days 
before.  By  continually  dwelling  on  the 
little  inconsistencies  in  the  state's  evi- 
dence, he  gradually  built  up  a  structure 
of  doubt  in  the  minds  of  all  who  heard 
him.  When  he  closed,  with  a  brilliant 
peroration,  there  was  the  silence  of 
death. 

The  state's  attorney,  in  the  final  sum- 
ming up  of  the  case  for  the  jury,  made 
an  attempt  to  counteract  the  influence 
of  Rush,  but  he  was  too  late.  The  jury, 
after  being  out  fifteen  minutes,  returned 
a  verdict  of  "not  guilty." 

Archibald  Crews,  who  had  been  sit- 
ting beside  his  attorney,  trembling  like 
a  leaf  while  his  fate  hung  in  the  balance, 
sprang  up  and  eagerly  extended  his 
hand,  as  the  tears  of  joy  ran  down  his 


face.  But  Rush,  for  some  strange  rea- 
son, pretended  not  to  see,  and  deliber- 
ately turned  his  back. 

Then  the  widowed,  broken  mother  of 
the  murderer  worked  her  way  through 
the  crowd  and  threw  her  arms  about 
Rush's  neck,  sobbing  hysterically. 

From  this  side  and  that,  pressing  for- 
ward upon  him,  the  relatives  and  friends 
of  Crews,  anxious  to  bestow  congratula- 
tions and  joyful  demonstrations. 

Oddly  enough,  Rush  frowned  upon 
those  who  sought  to  lionize  him,  and 
as  quickly  as  he  could  he  left  the  court 
room  and  hurried  to  his  office,  where  he 
hastily  wrote  a  note  to  Alice  Merton : 

"I  am  sorry  important  business  takes 
me  out  of  town  tonight;  otherwise  I 
should  be  glad  to  receive  your  congratu- 
lations." 

In  his  room  he  threw  a  few  things  into 
a  satchel,  muttering:  "I  can't  stand 
these  compliments.  Why  should  a  fel- 
low who  has  bartered  away  his  soul  for 
$800  be  compelled  to  listen  to  a  lot  of 
drivelings?  I  must  get  away  for  a  day." 

He  took  the  train  for  a  country  town 
among  the  hills.  Here,  after  a  meal  for 
which  he  had  no  appetite,  he  set  out  to 
work  off  the  nervous  reaction  which  the 
ending  of  his  long  task  had  brought. 
He  tramped  through  the  dust  of  the 
roads  until  the  moon  rose,  and  then  he 
strode  off  across  country,  his  thoughts 
still  in  a  tumult.  When,  late  at  night, 
he  returned  to  his  hotel,  the  old  question 
still  confronted  him. 

"Have  I  simply  paid  the  price  of  suc- 
cess? Could  a  lawyer  have  done  other- 
wise? " 

Next  day,  when  he  returned  to  the 
city,  he  was  surprised  to  find  awaiting 
him  a  letter  from  the  state's  attorney,  as 
follows : 

"Dear  Mr.  Rush:— I  am  in  need  of  an 
assistant  state's  attorney  to  reinforce  my 
staff,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  offer  you 
the  place,  at  a  salary  of  #3,000.  I  should 
be  greatly  pleased  if  you  could  arrange 
to  take  up  the  work  immediately,  so  as 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMER,    1904 


to  conduct  the  prosecution  of  John 
Perrie,  who  will  be  placed  on  trial  Mon- 
day for  murder.  It  will  be  a  hard  case, 
for  the  evidence  against  him  is  not 
strong,  but  I  believe  you  are  the  man  to 
convict  him,  once  you  take  hold.  Kindly 
advise  me  at  once  of  your  decision." 

Richard  Rush  held  the  letter  in  his 
hands  for  a  long  time,  and  never  a  smile 
of  triumph  flitted  across  his  face.  A 
few  weeks  before,  this  young  lawyer,  sit- 
ting in  this  same  chair,  had  condemned 
himself  as  a  failure  in  his  profession. 
Now  he  saw  a  brilliant  future  in  his 
grasp.  Yet  he  frowned. 

Once  more  the  shades  of  night  stole 
in  at  the  dusty  window,  and  darkness 
encompassed  him.  He  sat  there,  while 
the  sounds  in  the  street  grew  less  and 
less  frequent,  and  the  moon  rose,  calm 
and  beautiful,  over  the  thousand  roofs 
about  him.  When  the  deep,  solemn 
tones  of  a  great  bell  not  far  away  struck 
midnight  the  moonbeams  were  resting 
upon  the  form  of  Richard  Rush,  bent 
over  his  desk — his  face  once  more  buried 
in  his  arms. 

He  raised  his  head  at  the  stroke  of 


twelve,  and,  rising,  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  out  on  the  deserted  pave- 
ment. 

"  'It  will  be  a  hard  case,'  "  he  mut- 
tered, repeating  the  language  of  the 
state's  attorney  in  the  letter,  "  'for  the 
evidence  against  him  is  not  strong,  but 
I  believe  you  are  the  man  to  convict 
him.' 

"Great  God!"  he  said.  "So  I  am  the 
man  to  convict  him,  though  the  evidence 
is  weak.  Oh.  my  beloved  profession, 
where  are  now  your  exalted  ideals?" 

He  stood  for  a  few  minutes  longer, 
deep  in  thought,  then  he  turned  with  a 
quick,  decisive,  but  half  despairing  look 
on  his  drawn  face  and  lighted  the  gas. 

"I  have  freed  a  guilty  man,"  he  said, 
as  he  took  up  his  pen;  "why  should  I 
not  send  an  innocent  man  to  the  gal- 
lows? " 

Then  he  wrote  this  letter  to  the  state's 
attorney  : 

"I  am  greatly  honored  by  your  valued 
offer,  and  I  hasten  to  accept  the  same. 
I  shall  be  ready  to  assume  my  duties  to- 
morrow morning." 


BEAUTIES  OF  THE   AMERICAN  STAGE 


By    HELEN     ARTHUR 

NEW     YORK      CITY 


VI 


EFF.IE    SHANNON 

EFFIE  SHANNON  was  born  in  a  lit- 
tle town  in  New  Hampshire,  near 
Haverhill,  Massachusetts.  Her  father 
was  a  Presbyterian  minister,  and,  strange 
to  say,  the  tale  of  family  opposition  does 
not  go  with  the  story  of  Miss  Shannon's 
career.  Her  father  saw  how  wonderfully 
his  baby  could  mimic  persons  and  things, 
and  he  consented  to  allow  her  to  become 
a  child  actress. 

Her  debut  was  made  in  the  old  Bos- 
ton Museum  with  John  McCullough  in 
a  production  of  "Coriolanus" — she  was 
then  three — and  her  duty  was  to  strew 
flowers  in  the  path  of  the  "lead."  Her 
next  engagement  was  with  John  Stetson's 
"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  playing  the  ever- 
lasting Eva.  She  was  then  seven. 
She  had  never  seen  the  play  or  read  the 
book,  and  it  was  said  that  she  wept  so 
over  her  part  that  the  first  rehearsal  had 
to  be  postponed.  Miss  Shannon  has  a 
sister  who  is  an  actress,  and  when  child- 
ren the  two  alternated  seasons,  playing 
and  going  to  school.  After  she  ceased 
playing  child  parts,  she  came  to  New 
York  looking  for  an  engagement,  and 
seeing  an  advertisement  of  the  late 
Augustin  Daly's,  she  made  up  her  mind 
to  apply  in  person.  She  told  her 
friends,  who  insisted  upon  loaning  her 
their  best  individual  apparel,  and  thus 
arrayed  in  the  various  articles  which 
were  the  especial  pride  of  each,  she  met 
the  awe-inspiring  Mr.  Daly.  He  hired 
her  on  the  spot — telling  her  that  she  was 
a  bit  of  comedy  in  herself. 

It  was  as  leading  ingenue  with  the 
Lyceum  Company  that  she  became  so 
firmly  established  in  the  affections  of 
New  York  theater  goers,  and  her  great- 
est success  here  was  as  Margaret  in 
"Lady  Bountiful." 


Since  she  and  Mr.  Herbert  Kelcey, 
also  of  the  Lyceum  Stock  Company, 
have  become  co-stars,  they  have  played 
in  "The  Moth  and  the  Flame,"  "Her 
Lord  and  Master,"  "Manon  Lescaut" 
and  "Sherlock  Holmes." 

Miss  Shannon  is  a  Greek  and  Latin 
scholar  of  no  mean  reputation,  having 
published  the  first  translation  since  1854 
of  the  Sapphic  Fragments,  and  her  para- 
phrase of  the  Vergilian  Georgics,  though 
not  yet  brought  out,  is  considered  by 
those  who  have  seen  it  as  remarkably 
good. 

This  season  she  and  Mr.  Kelcey  have 
broken  away  from  the  modern  domes- 
tic play,  and  are  appearing  in  "Taps," 
a  translation  of  "  Zapfenstreich, "  the 
powerful  drama  by  Franz  Adam  Beyer- 
lein,  now  resting  under  the  censure  of 
Kaiser  Wilhelm  because  of  its  strictures 
regarding  army  discipline.  In  struc- 
ture, the  play  is  unusual,  since  there  is 
but  one  woman's  part,  and  Miss  Shan- 
non is  consistently  good  through  it  all. 
^ 

VII 
ELEANOR     ROBSON 

ELEANOR  ROBSON  is  one  of  our 
youngest  stars,  and  one  who  in  a 
few  more  years  will  have  as  large  and 
devoted  a  following  as  either  Maude 
Adams  or  Julia  Marlowe.  She  was  born 
in  England,  her  parents  and  her  grand- 
mother being  players  of  distinction. 
Her  mother,  Madge  Carr  Cooke  —  now 
"Mrs.  Wiggsof  the  Cabbage  Patch,"— 
came  to  this  country  to  play  with  the 
late  Roland  Reed,  bringing  her  young 
daughter  with  her,  and  feeling  that  the 
little  Eleanor  would  surely  prefer  school 
life  to  the  hardships  of  traveling,  Mrs. 
Cooke  placed  the  child  in  a  convent  on 
Staten  Island,  New  York. 
Whether  or  not  the  stage  was  to 


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THE    NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    NOVEMBER,    1904 


MISS     EFFIE     SHANNON 


become  Eleanor  Robson's  profession  was 
not  at  that  time  considered  a  burning 
question;  she  was  a  mere  child.  A 
child  to  be  sure,  but  a  very  lonesome 
one,  and  Eleanor  Robson  made  up  her 
mind  that  she  would  be  where  her 
mother  was.  Mrs.  Cooke  was  then 
playing  in  Daniel  Frawley's  stock  com- 
pany on  the  Pacific  coast,  and  there 
Eleanor  Robson  went.  Mr.  Frawley 
gave  the  girl  small  parts  in  his  produc- 
tions, and  from  the  very  beginning  her 


talent  was  noticeable.  From  San  Fran- 
cisco, Miss  Robson  went  to  Milwaukee 
to  the  Davidson's  stock  company,  and 
then  came  the  chance  to  be  with  her 
mother  again  and  the  two  went  to  Den- 
ver. It  was  while  playing  here  that  Miss 
Robson's  opportunity  arrived;  she  was 
"discovered"  and  given  the  role  of 
Bonita  in  "Arizona."  After  her  suc- 
cess in  this,  she  played  in  "Unleavened 
Bread,"  and  in  the  Spring  she  created 
a  stir  by  her  work  with  Otis  Skinner  and 


BEAUTIES     OF    THE    AMERICAN    STAGE 


203 


MINNIE      MADDERN     FISKE     AS     BECKY     SHARP 


Mrs.  Le  Moyne  in  a  series  of  matinees 
presenting  Browning's  "In  a  Balcony." 

Then,  for  a  year,  she  was  leading 
woman  with  Kyrle  Bellew  in  "A  Gentle- 
man of  France."  Her  first  star  part  was 
in  "Audrey,"  and  later  she  was  Juliet 
in  an  all-star  cast  of  "Romeo  and 
Juliet." 

Last  season  as  the  slavey  in  Zangwill's 
play  "Merely  Mary  Ann,"  she  was  one 
of  the  year's  successes.  Miss  Robson  is 
now  playing  this  part  in  London,  and 


has  been  accorded  the  greatest  personal 
triumph  of  the  many  American  actresses 
who  have  tried  to  win  British  favor. 


VIII 
MINNIE    MADDERN    FISKE 

THE  name  of  Minnie  Maddern  Fiske 

is  the  signal  for  a  discussion  as  to 

whether    or    not    she    is    our   foremost 

emotional  actress,  and   for  my  part,    I 


204  NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


ELEANOR    ROBSON    IN     HER    DRESSING    ROOM,    MAKING    UP    FOR    THE    LAST    ACT 

OF    "MERELY  MARY    ANN" 

consider    her  so.      Her    parents    were  John"  to  little   Eva  in  "Uncle  Tom's 

players  well  known  in  the  West  and  she  Cabin." 

was  born  in  New  Orleans.     As  a  child          Her  first  great  success  was  as-"Tess 

she  played  in  companies  with  her  parents,  of  the  D'Urbervilles,"  and  she  has  since 

her  roles  being  of  the  greatest  variety,  appeared  in  "Divorcons,"  "Little  Italy" 

ranging  from   Prince  Arthur  in  "King  and  "Mary  of  Magdala,"  in  all  of  which 


BEAUTIES    OF    THE  AMERICAN     STAGE                       205 

plays  her  characterizations  have  been  season  Mrs.  Fiske  is  to  be  at  the  head 
remarkable.  The  public  has  cared  of  a  permanent  stock  company  known  as 
more  for  her  Becky  Sharp  in  the  play  the  "Manhattan,"  which  is  expected  to 
of  that  name  adapted  by  Langdon  Mit-  equal,  if  not  surpass,  the  famous  Ly- 
chell  from  "Vanity  Fair."  In  appear-  ceum  and  Wallack  companies.  So  far 
ance  and  manner  she  is  Thackeray's  as  the  men  in  her  company  are  con- 
character  to  the  very  life;  cerned,  the  array  is  imposing— George 
Her  husband  is  Harrison  Grey  Fiske,  Arliss,  John  Mason  and  Charles  Cart- 
the  owner  of  the  Manhattan  theater  and  wright;  and  as  for  the  women,  there  will 
the  editor  of  the  Dramatic  Mirror.  This  always  be  the  wonderful  Mrs.  Fiske. 


SETTING    THE     HEATHEN    FREE 

By    FRANK     PUTNAM 

EAST     MILTON,      MASSACHUSETTS 

THE  JAP  is  in  FORMOSA,  the  BRITON'S  in  BOMBAY, 
Your  UNCLE'S  in  MANILA,  and  they  all  are  there  to  stay. 
'Twas  not  for  gain  or  selfish  ease  they  sailed  across  the  sea — 
Their  business  is  to  set  the  poor  benighted  heathen  free, 
To  set  the  heathen  free, 
To  set  the  heathen  free, 

To  make  them  wise  and  virtuous  —  the  same  as  you  and  I. 
(Our  guided  lightnings  leap  the  deep,  our  pinions  dare  the  sky — 

0  brothers  take  our  offered  gifts  before  the  day  you  die! ) 

The  tender  hearts  among  us  deplore  the  grief  and  pain: 

1  see  Truth's  mighty  temple  arise  on  Error  slain; 

I  see  Love's  bonds  draw  closer  the  lands  along  the  sea 

What  while  we  strive  to  set  the  grim  and  stubborn  heathen  free, 

To  set  the  heathen  free, 

To  set  the  heathen  free, 

From  ignorance  and  prejudice— the  same  as  you  and  I. 
(One  earth  beneath  us,  overhead  a  single  arching  sky, 
And  we  shall  speak  a  single  tongue  before  the  day  we  die! ) 

The  child,  reluctant,  goes  to  school:  the  childish  peoples  must;" 
And  what  they  cannot  understand,  that  shall  they  take  on  trust. 
They  kick  against  the  pricks  today,  but  shortly  we  shall  see 
Their  children  bless  the  hour  we  came  to  set  the  heathen  free, 

To  set  the  heathen  free, 

To  set  the  heathen  free, 

From  all  their  evil  practices  — the  same  as  you  and  I. 
(From  slander,  envy,  greed  and  lust — the  same  as  you  and  I. 
God  grant  we  save  their  heathen  souls  before  the  day  we  die! ) 


PAPER  DOLLS  AND  FURNI- 
TURE 

By  MISS    E.   C.    M. 

DAUNT,    CALIFORNIA 

THE  long  Winter  evenings  draw  near, 
when,  varied  though  her  resources 
may  be,  the  house-mother  often  hears 
the  query,  "What  can  we  do?"  Then 
will  be  the  time  to  bring  out  the  Na- 
tional, together  with  paper  and  scissors, 
when  joy  will  reign  supreme.  Never 
have  we  known  the  charm  to  fail.  We 
have  known  members  of  a  large  primary 
grade  to  keep  scissors  flying  all  recess 
and  noon,  making  doll  furniture  of  all 
kinds  and  dolls  of  all  ages  and  complex- 
ions. They  had  "little  bits  of  dolls," 
giant  dolls,  dolls  "a-dancing"  arid  dolls 
whose  bright,  chalky  smiles  haunt  me 

still. 

These  dancing  dolls  were  made  as 
follows:  Fold  a  square  of  paper  along 
dotted  lines  till  it  looks  thus: 


A  of  the  folded  square  corresponds  to 
A  of  the  original,  and  B  of  the  folded 
square  corresponds  to  B  of  the  original 
square. 

Now  cut  where  indicated,  leaving  the 
arms  joined  at  C.  Open  the  square  and 


e       B 


B' 


you  have  four  dolls  standing  in  a  circle 
holding  hands. 

The  furniture  making  will  be  sim- 
plified if  the  patterns  given  in  the  maga- 
zine are  cut  out  and  traced  on  the  paper 
to  be  used.  The  process  may  be  still 
further  simplified  if  one-half  the  pattern 
is  traced  upon  a  folded  paper,  i.  e.,  place 
this  half  chair  pattern  (I)  with  line  A-B 
along  your  folded  edge  of  the  paper; 
trace,  then  cut.  Upon  opening,  you 
find  a  perfect  chair  pattern  that  looks 


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207 


like  figure  II,  and  is 
ready  to  fold  upon 
dotted  lines. 

These  chairs  may 
be  modified  indefi- 
nitely into  rockers, 
arm-chairs,  Morris 
chairs,  etc.  Here  are 
some  of  them  which 
will  be  very  satisfac- 
tory made  from  stiff 
note  paper  or  old 
envelopes  and  which 
may  be  improved  by- 
painting  with  water 
colors  or  even  com- 
mon colored  school 
crayons.  After  cut- 
ting out  the  arm- 
chair, the  children 

will  readily  see  how  the  rocking  chair 
may  be  made  with  arms.  Now  for  a 
bed  and  a  table,  the  easiest  of  all. 

Aside  from  mere  amusement,  this  play 
has  a  value.  The  child,  in  his  endeavor 
to  keep  his  furniture  from  "wobbling," 
will  take  great  care  to  draw  and  to  cut 
the  pattern  exactly  as  given.  He  will 
also  find  ample  scope  for  exercise  of 
inventive  powers.  Modifications  of  his 
chairs  and  tables  will  suggest  themselves 


to  him.  He  will  want  more  furniture, 
too,  such  as  sofas  and  bureaus  or  even 
a  piano.  He  may  want  a  house  for  his 
possessions,  and  its  building,  whether  of 


pasteboard  boxes  or  blocks,  will  occupy 
one  afternoon.  Like  the  new  andirons, 
every  treasure  means  another. 

Paper  dolls  and  their  wardrobes  have 


208 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


proved  a  "joy  forever"  to  their  fond 
mothers.  A  certain  young  woman  is 
known  to  have  kept  among  her  valen- 
tines and  other  more  sentimental  keep- 
sakes a  paper  doll  with  dresses  of  every 
shade  and  style.  One  lavender  tissue 
paper  ball  dress  was  trimmed  with  ruffles 
and  draperies,  with  puffs  and  long,  flow- 


satisfactory.  If  by  chance  the  child  has 
never  made  such  articles,  here  is  a  sim- 
ple pattern  as  a  foundation  for  embellish- 
ment. This  figure  represents  a  double 
piece  of  paper  folded  at  A-B.  The  lines 
xxx  indicate  where  it  is  left  uncut. 
Hats  are  made  of  a  circular  piece  of 
paper  with  a  cut  in  the  center  the  size  of 


ing  sashes.     It  must  have  needed  a  girl 
artist  and  dressmaker  for  its  manufac- 


ture;  but  the  plain,  everyday  wardrobe 
of  white  paper  has  proved   equally  as 


the  doll's  head.  These  may  be  trimmed 
with  ribbons  drawn  through  another 
smaller  cut  or  with  feathers  made  by- 
cutting  into  the  edge  of  an  oval.  But 
why  need  we  older  people  elaborate  fur- 
ther? That  is  half  the  fun.  Give  the 
children  these  patterns  and  they  will  do 
the  rest. 


STUDYING     ADVERTISE- 
MENTS 

By    EVA    RYMAN-GAILLARD 

GIRARD,     PENNSYLVANIA 

CTUDYING  advertisements  may  not 
seem,  at  first  thought,  an  occupation 
calculated  to  help  the  housewife  in  a 
direct  way,  yet  the  woman  who  makes 
a  study  of  them  will  find  many  that  will 


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209 


put  her  on  the  track  of  articles  which 
will  lighten  her  work  to  a  very  great 
degree,  and  in  the  advertising  matter  she 
will  find  many  "tricks  of  her  trade" 
made  plain. 

In  many  cases  a  postal  card  is  the 
only  expense  required  to  secure  a  really 
valuable  booklet,  while  in  other  cases 
a  few  cents  buys  a  sample  of  the  goods 
(worth  far  more  than  the  price  paid)  and 
the  booklet  comes  with  it. 

This  is  true  along  many  lines,  but 
particularly  so  in  those  of  special  interest 
to  the  cook  and  housewife.  The  manu- 
facturers of  certain  food  stuffs  go  to  great 
expense  in  order  to  have  their  prepara- 
tions tested  and  experimented  with,  and 
then  publish  a  booklet  filled  with  the 
finest  of  recipes,  and  new  methods  of 
using  the  article  being  advertised. 

The  writer  has  a  booklet  sent  out  to 
advertise  a  certain  brand  ofc  salad  dress- 
ing, which  is  in  reality  a  complete  trea- 
tise on  the  art  of  salad  making.  About 
fifty  pages  are  filled  with  recipes  for 
salads  made  from  everything  under  the 
sun,  seemingly,  and  with  each  one  the 
little  wrinkles  which  go  to  the  making 
of  a  perfect  salad  are  explained.  As 
might  be  expected,  every  recipe  calls 
for  the  use  of  that  particular  salad  dress- 
ing, but  others,  even  the  home  made 
article,  may  be  substituted;  the  point 
is  that  the  owner  of  that  booklet  has 
learned,  not  not  only  many  valuable 
facts  about  salad  making  in  general, 
but  the  fact  that  it  is  possible  to  have 
a  bottle  of  dressing  at  hand  feady  for 
any  emergency,  and  that  its  quality  is 
something  to  be  proud  of.  Several 
pages  are  given  to  directions  for  using 
the  dressing,  in  preparing  fish  or  oys- 
ters for  frying,  and  in  many  ways  in 
which  the  average  housekeeper  never 
dreams  of  using  it,  though  it  is  what 
gives  the  indescribably  delicate  flavor 
to  dishes  prepared  by  world  famous 
cooks.  At  the  foot  of  each  page  a  para- 
graph tells  the  little  things  we  all  want 
to  know  about  the  "how1 '  of  entertaining. 


The  cover  is  artistic;  the  paper  of  the 
finest;  the  printing  and  illustrating  of 
the  best,  yet  the  booklet  is  to  be  had  for 
the  asking. 

Another  booklet,  sent  out  by  a  meat- 
packing firm,  is  a  beauty  and  filled  from 
cover  to  cover  with  choice  recipes  for 
using  meats  of  every  kind  in  unusual 
ways,  and  with  each  recipe  there  is 
a  menu  appropriate  for  some  form  of 
picnic,  porch  party,  luncheon,  or  other 
informal  and  jolly  affair. 

At  a  venture  I  have  just  examined  the 
October  issue  of  a  household  magazine, 
and  in  it  I  found  seven  booklets  offered, 
teaching  the  art  of  making  soups,  salads, 
desserts,  candies,  or  some  other  branch 
of  cookery. 

Not  long  ago  the  advertisement  of 
a  new  silver  cleaner  that  required  no 
rubbing  caused  me  to  send  for  a  sample. 
It  did  more  than  was  claimed  for  it,  and 
I  at  once  ordered  more,  and  now  I  put 
even  the  worst  tarnished  silver  into  it, 
let  stand  half  a  minute  or  so,  take  it  out 
and  wipe  it.  The  silver  looks  like  new, 
and  the  work  is  less  than  that  of  washing 
it  after  a  meal,  yet  I  should  still  be  rub- 
bing away  when  I  wanted  bright  silver 
had  I  not  read  that  advertisement. 

Another  line  of  advertising  well  worth 
watching  is  that  carried  by  the  dif- 
ferent railroads.  Their  booklets  are 
works  of  art,  and  give  so  much  informa- 
tion in  a  delightfully  interesting  form 
that  one  absorbs  knowledge,  almost  un- 
consciously, while  enjoying  the  descrip- 
tive writing  and  the  illustrations.  No 
geographical  text  book  or  encyclopedia 
gives  the  class  of  information  included 
in  these  booklets  which  are  prepared  at 
vast  expense  by  the  companies  issuing 
them.  They  are  furnished  to  the  public 
for  a  few  cents  in  stamps,  but  the  value 
of  them  to  students — in  school  or  out — 
is  beyond  question. 

As  a  rule  the  offer  of  booklet,  or  sam- 
ple, is  not  made  a  conspicuous  part  of 
the  advertisement,  but  it  is  there  for 
those  who  read  it  closely,  and  ninety- 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,  1904 


nine  times  in  a  hundred  the  offer  is 
worth  taking  advantage  of,  because  in 
some  lines  it  will,  to  a  degree,  make 
work  easier,  the  outlook  on  the  world 
and  its  people  broader,  and  point  the 
way  to  other  and  greater  helps. 


SECRETS  OF  HOME   BREAD 
MAKING 

By  LEORA  BETTISON   ROBINSON 

ORLANDO,     FLORIDA 

ECIPES  for  bread  making  are,  so  far 
as  cook  books  are  concerned,  defi- 
nitely indefinite,  and  directions  from 
expert  cooks  are  often  as  mysteriously 
mystifying.  Experience  and  practice 
are  the  two  essentials  impressed  on  the 
novice;  but  she  fails  to  see  how  experi- 
ence and  practice  in  failures  can  be  of 
benefit. 

"Put  in  just  enough  yeast,"  says  the 
expert,  "not  too  much  or  it  will  taste; 
not  too  little  or  it  won't  rise.  Flour 
according  to  the  loaves  wanted.  Work 
it  with  just  enough  water  and  to  make 
dough.  Let  it  rise  just  right.  Work  it 
out  into  loaves  when  it  is  light.  Bake 
in  a  moderate  oven.  You  will  soon 
learn." 

But  the  novice  did  not  soon  learn. 
The  intricacies  and  uncertainties  of  mak- 
ing bread  were  her  despair  until  a  neigh- 
bor with  a  genius  for  teaching  as  well  as 
for  making  perfect  bread,  gave  her  the 
following  directions: 

"Measure  four  quarts  of  flour.  Sift  it 
into  a  large  pan,  dredging  well  the  board 
with  about  a  pint  of  the  flour.  One  cake 
of  yeast,  compressed  or  dry,  dissolved 
in  one  quart  of  lukewarm  water — water 
that  just  feels  warm  to  the  fingers.  Put 
into  the  flour  a  large  kitchen  spoon  full 
of  sugar,  a  table  spoonful  of  salt,  and  one 
of  lard.  Mix  the  dry  materials,  then 
the  lard.  Add  the  yeast  and  enough 
water  to  make  a  stiff  dough.  It  will  be 
soft  enough  before  morning.  Bread 
does  not  need  much  working  —  just 
enough  to  mix  the  ingredients  smoothly. 


Put  the  batch  of  dough  into  a  two  and 
a  half  gallon  bucket  which  has  a  cover. 
Put  on  the  cover  and  wrap  the  bucket  in 
a  folded  table  cloth.  In  the  morning,  in 
Summer  weather,  the  dough  will  be  at 
the  top  of  the  bucket.  In  cold  weather 
it  must  be  set  in  a  warm  place.  When 
the  dough  reaches  the  top  of  the  bucket 
it  has  risen  enough.  Work  it  smooth. 
It  will  crack  under  the  touch.  This  will 
make  a  pan  of  rolls  and  five  loaves  of 
bread.  Grease  the  pans  and  set  the 
bread  near  the  stove.  As  soon  as  the 
dough  rises  to  twice  its  original  bulk,  it 
is  ready  to  bake.  Have  a  rather  hot 
oven  with  a  steady,  slow  fire;  which 
should  not  be  disturbed  during  the 
baking.  When  the  bread  has  stop- 
ped 'singing,'  it  is  done,  but  must 
be  left  in  the  oven  about  five  minutes 
longer  to  season.  Take  the  loaves  out 
of  the  pans,  stand  them  on  the  side, 
wrap  up  in  a  table  cloth." 

These  explicit  directions  faithfully 
followed  insure  good  bread — no  guess 
work  about  it  and  no  failures.  It  is 
only  necessary  to  be  exact  in  measure- 
ments, to  have  the  dough  stiff,  so  that 
no  more  flour  will  have  to  be  added  after 
the  dough  has  risen,  to  cover  the  bucket, 
to  knead  when  the  dough  has  reached 
the  top  of  the  bucket  and  to  bake  when 
the  loaves  have  risen  to  twice  their  origi- 
nal size. 


A    GOOD    WAY    TO    MEND 

By  MRS.  LUCY  M.  FARNUM 

NORWOOD      PARK,     ILLINOIS 

IN  repairing  small  trousers  do  not  make 
a  darn  upon  a  patch  placed  underneath, 
for  this  will  soon  become  frayed  and  un- 
sightly. A  better  way  is  to  proceed  as 
follows: 

Beginning  at  the  seam  in  the  back,  cut 
from  one  side  of  the  seat  a  piece  big 
enough  to  include  all  that  has  become 
thin;  fold  this  over  upon  the  other  side 
and  cut  exactly  the  same  amount  from 
that.  Rip  out  the  seam  of  this  cut  por- 
tion, and — using -one-half  of  it  for  a  pat- 
tern— cut  two  pieces  from  new  cloth; 


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211 


remembering  to  cut  these  three-fourths 
of  an  inch  larger  than  the  pattern  all 
around  the  outer  edge,  and  exactly  like 
the  pattern  on  the  edges  to  be  joined. 
Stitch  these  two  latter  edges  together; 
dampen  and  press.  Next  insert  this 
prepared  patch  in  the  opening  cut  in  the 
garment,  being  sure  to  have  the  seams 
exactly  meet.  Stitch  all  around,  making 
the  seam  three-eights  of  an  inch  deep. 
Dampen  and  press  flat. 

For  worn  knees,  rip  the  side  seams  of 
the  leg  to  a  point  above  the  worn  por- 
tion, and  cut  this  off  straight  across. 
Cut  the  patch  three-fourths  of  an  inch 
longer  at  the  top;  seam  it  to  the  cut 
edge  of  the  leg  and  press.  Next  stitch 
the  side  seams,  and  lastly  make  the  hem 
at  the  bottom.  Trousers  repaired  in  this 
way  will  look  and  wear  like  new. 

In  buying  ready  made  suits  for  boys, 
it  is  well  to  get  two  pairs  of  trousers 
with  one  coat.  The  better  portions  of 
the  pair  worn  first  can  be  laid  aside  for 

patches. 

Jt 

A   THANKSGIVING    BASKET 
BALL    PARTY 

By  MRS.  KATHERINE  E.  MEGEE 

WAYNESBORO,     VIRGINIA 

IT  had  been  agreed  between  the  first 
and  second  teams  of  the  Waynesboro 
basket  ball  club,  before  the  game  which 
was  played  on  Saturday  preceding 
Thanksgiving  came  off,  that  the  losirg 
team  should  give  an  entertainment  of 
some  description  on  Thanksgiving,  at 
which  the  victors  were  to  be  the  guests 
of  honor.  This  pleasurable  duty  fell  to 
the  lot  of  the  first  team.  Accordingly, 
on  Saturday  night  a  caucus  was  held, 
plans  for  an  entertainment  suggested 
and  discussed  and  a  committee  of  three 
appointed  to  investigate  more  thoroughly 
the  feasibility  of  these  plans,  and  report 
at  another  meeting  to  be  held  on  Mon- 
day morning. 


OUR  COOK 

By     MADGE    WHITCOMB 

LOS     ANGELES,     CALIFORNIA 

/^VUR  cook  is  very  good  to  me  ; 
^  She  lets  me  help  her,  lots. 
So,  when  she's  baking  apple  pies, 
I  prick  the  top  with  dots. 

When  I  grow  up  as  big  as  her 

I  know  what  I  shall  be; — 
I'll  be  a  Dinah,  too,  and  cook 

Good  things  for  boys  like  me. 

This  committee  strongly  favored  the 
adoption  of  one  of  the  three  forms  of 
entertainment:  —  a  breakfast  party,  a 
high  tea,  or  an  evening  affair  of  some 
description,  arid  proceeded  to  set  forth 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMER,    1904 


the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  each 
as  it  appealed  to  them.  The  break- 
fast would  be  the  most  informal,  and  for 
that  very  reason,  would  in  all  probability 
be  the  most  enjoyable;  but,  if  served  it 
the  hour  the  etiquette  of  such  matters 
sanctions,  that  is,  at  high  noon  or  there- 
abouts, might  interfere  very  materially 
with  the  plans  for  the  Thanksgiving  din- 
ner which  is  the  feature  of  the  day  in  all 
truly  American  homes.  A  high  tea  is 
really  but  once  removed  from  a  dinner 
party,  and  would  offer  an  opportunity  for 
the  display  of  much  artistic  genius  in 
the  way  of  distinctive  touches  to  the 
table  decorations  and  menu,  employing 
the  teams'  colors  and  the  basket  ball  as 
a  motif  for  the  same:  yet  to  carry  all 
this  out  successfully  would  entail  more 
expense  and  labor  than  either  of  the 
other  plans  suggested ;  the  refreshments 
at  an  evening  party,  being  more  simple 
in  character  and  less  varied,  would  re- 
duce the  cost  of  that  feature  very  con- 
siderably and  enable  the  girls  to  enter- 
tain, in  addition  to  their  guests  of  honor, 
a  number  of  other  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, which  would  add  greatly  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  occasion,  and  as  these 
outsiders  would  be  largely  of  the  male 
persuasion,  the  idea  became  doubly 
attractive.  Then,  too,  the  margin  saved 
on  refreshments  might  be  spent  for 
flowers  and  other  decorations. 

It  was  plain,  from  the  enthusiasm  they 
displayed,  and  the  fact  that  they  omitted 
to  note  the  disadvantages,  that  the  com- 
mittee strongly  favored  the  notion  of  an 
evening  affair,  and  when  put  to  the  vote, 
it  carried  the  day  unanimously,  which 
went  to  show  that  the  committee  only 
voiced  the  sentiment  of  the  whole  team. 

There  being  so  short  a  time  interven- 
ing until  the  coming  around  of  the  aus- 
picious day,  preparations  and  plans 
went  steadily  forward.  First,  a  rough 
estimate  of  the  probable  cost  of  the  en- 
tertainment as  a  whole  was  made,  and 
each  girl  pledged  herself  to  pay  her 
allotment.  It  was  decided  after  some 


discussion  that  ice  cream,  cake,  pre- 
served ginger,  bonbons  and  fruit  punch 
should  make  up  the  refreshment  list. 
Some  one  of  a  resourceful  mind  sug- 
gested that  the  ice  cream  be  chocolate, 
molded  to  simulate  a  ball  and  served  in 
baskets  of  spun  sugar,  and  that  the  cakes 
should  also  carry  out  the  basket  ball 
idea.  The  suggestion  met  with  the 
hearty  approval  of  all,  and  its  originator 
promised  to  interview  an  out  of  town 
caterer  over  the  'phone  that  very  day  to 
ascertain  whether  the  idea  were  possible 
of  accomplishment.  Another  girl  under- 
took the  responsibility  of  getting  a  flor- 
ist's prices  on  red  and  white  roses,  the 
winning  team's  colors.  A  third  member 
promised  to  hunt  up  a  "true  and  tried" 
formula  for  fruit  punch  and  estimate 
the  cost  of  the  ingredients,— the  com- 
pounding would,  of  course,  be  done  by 
one  or  more  of  the  team.  By  this  divi- 
sion of  labor  a  great  deal  was  accom- 
plished in  a  short  time,  and  at  the  late 
afternoon  caucus  a  report  was  made. 

Much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  team, 
it  was  discovered  that  their  estimate 
made  in  the  rough  would  enable  them  to 
carry  out  all  their  plans  and  still  leave 
a  snug  little  nest  egg  for  the  etceteras 
which  on  such  occasions  intrude  them- 
selves upon  one's  notice  at  every  turn. 
The  first  of  these  extras  came  in  the 
shape  of  invitation  cards  and  envelopes. 
One  of  the  girls  volunteered  to  write  the 
invitations;  another  agreed  to  answer  for 
their  distribution. 

The  house  in  which  the  entertainment 
was  given  was  well  adapted,  with  its 
attractive  reception  hall  and  large  double 
parlors,  for  such  a  gathering,  and  lent 
itself  readily  to  the  decorative  scheme. 
The  hall  was  made  especially  festive  and 
emphasized  the  cordial  greeting  and  wel- 
come accorded  the  guests  by  their  fair 
hostesses.  Red  and  white  bunting  and 
the  team's  pennants  were  everywhere. 
The  railing  of  the  staircase  was  gar- 
landed with  the  winning  colors,  while 
the  newel  post  was  very  cleverly  con- 


THE    HOME 


213 


verted  into  a  post  from  which  was  sus- 
pended a  wire  basket  in  which  rested 
a  huge  ball  of  red1  and  white  roses. 
A  daintily  laid  tea  table  occupied  a 
corner  of  the  hall  and  an  attractive 
maiden,  whose  gayety  defeat  had  not 
altered,  dispensed  the  cup  that  cheers 
to  each  new  arrival,  as  he  or  she 
stood  by  the  bright  fire  burning  in  the 
grate,  and  thus  both  the  inner  and  the 
outer  man  were  comforted  at  the  same 
time. 

The  parlors  were  also  brave  in  red  and 
white.  This  profuse  display  of  the  vic- 
tor's colors  showed  that  the  first  team 
knew  how  to  suffer  defeat  bravely,  if 
nothing  more.  The  number  and  size  of 
the  rose  jars  filled  to  overflowing  with 
luxuriant  blossoms  testified  to  their 
liberality  as  well  as  to  their  love  of  the 
beautiful. 

Here  and  there  in  the  parlors  small 
tables,  were  arranged,  and  everything 
in  readiness  for  the  games  which  were 
to  be  a  feature  of  the  evening's  enter- 
tainment. The  favors  were  small, 
fancy  baskets  filled  with  tiny  chocolate 
balls. 

At  half  past  ten  the  games  were  sus- 
pended and  refreshments  served,  the 
small  tables  being  again  pressed  into 
service.  While  still  lingering  over  their 
fruit  punch,  strains  of  music  were  heard, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  door  of  a  room 
in  the  rear  was  thrown  open,  disclosing 
to  view  the  musicians  seated  under  a 
canopy  of  red  and  white  bunting.  The 
nature  of  the  music  was  invitation 
enough.  Partners  were  chosen,  and  a 
general  adjournment  to  the  music  room 
followed.  The  remainder  of  the  even- 
ing was  given  over  to  dancing,  of  which 
sport  young  people  were  never  yet  known 
to  tire,  and  when  the  time  came  for  good 
nights,  the  unanimous  expression  of  the 
guests  was,  that  though  -the  first  team 
might,  when  a  game  of  basket  ball  was 
in  question,  sometimes  came  out  second, 
as  hostesses  they  certainly  would  always 
score  first. 


WHAT    TO    DO  WITH  OLD 
THINGS 

By    MISS   AMY   MILLER 

ST.    LOUIS,     MISSOURI 

THE  average  housekeeper  is  often  con- 
fronted with  the  problem  of  what  to 
do  with  old  things  —  umbrellas,  kid 
gloves,  empty  spools,  etc.,  which  have 
outlived  their  usefulness.  Here  are 
some  practical  hints,  Mrs.  Thrifty 
Housekeeper,  on  their  disposal. 

First,  that  seedy  old  umbrella,  which 
has  seen  better  days.  Cut  off  its  cloth 
cover.  If  of  silk,  the  pieces  are  useful 
in  mending  old  silk  garments,  or  to  piece 
down  "sister's"  skirt  when  she  suddenly 
"shoots  up"  and  outgrows  her  clothes. 
Make  a  little  yoke  of  bias  folds  and  fag- 
gotting,  place  on  the  top  and  the  skirt 
is  ready  for  school  days. 

If  you  have  a  bookcase  or  some  tiny 
window  sashes,  and  no  brackets  or  cur- 
tain poles, Mr.  Umbrella  is  the  fairy  god- 
father to  supply  them.  Take  to  pieces 
and  with  one  blow  of  a  hatchet  cut  a 
rib  to  desired  length,  previously  tying 
a  white  string  where  you  wish  to  chop. 
Now  screw  into  the  window  frame  at  the 
top  two  small  brass  screw  eyes  for  the 
socket;  place  in  this  your  rod.  If  your 
windows  are  on  hinges,  the  rods  must 
lack  at  least  an  inch  of  reaching  the 
window,  to  permit  the  latter  to  open 
freely.  Hem  and  hang  your  curtain 
from  the  rod.  Keep  all  in  place  by 
a  string  run  through  the  hole  at  the  end 
of  rib  and  tied  to  the  screw  eye.  The 
bottom  end  of  the  curtain  may  hang 
loose  or  have  another  rod  attached. 

Take  an  old  umbrella,  rip  off  the 
cover,  open  the  frame  and  secure  the 
handle  to  a  pole  some  four  feet  long, 
stuck  into  the  lawn.  Plant  in  a  circle 
seeds  of  morning  glory  or  other  vines, 
and  from  stakes  at  regular  intervals  tie 
strings  up  to  each  rib  and  have  a  pretty 
lawn  ornament  or  arbor  for  the  children. 

Lap  and   tie  firmly  an  umbrella  rib 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    NOVEMBER,    1904 


and   sew  in   the  round  top  of  a  hand- 
kerchief   bag. 

So  many  useful  things  can  be  made 
from  old  broom  and  mop  handles  that 
these  should  never  be  burned  or  thrown 
away.  Take  a  smooth  broom  handle  and 
into  each  end  fasten  a  small  screw  eye, 
at  the  proper  distance;  screw  into  the 
wall,  behind  the  kitchen  stove  or  over 
a  register,  two  screw  hooks,  and  hang 
the  handle  from  these.  This  is  a  splen- 
did way  to  air  and  dry  the  baby's  ward- 
robe or  tea  towels,  etc.  Placed  in  the 
bathroom  for  towels,  it  may  be  stained 
or  painted  to  match  any  woodwork. 

Last  Fall  I  took  an  old  broom  stick, 
cut  it  in  two  parts  of  eighteen  inches 
each.  I  padded  one  stick  with  some  old 
muslin  scented  with  orris  powder,  then 
I  wound  it  with  some  old  ribbon  of 
a  gay  Dresden  pattern,  leaving  a  large 
bow  in  the  center,  with  one  long  loop  to 
hang  up  by,  and  lo!  a  pretty  waist  hanger 
which  sold  for  a  dollar  at  a  charity 
bazaar.  Sets  of  them  could  be  made  for 
coats,  waists  and  skirts. 

Mop  sticks  make  fine  curtain  poles  for 
single  windows.  Two  sticks  spliced 
together,  the  joint  neatly  covered  with 
tin,  make  a  pole  for  a  wide  window  or 
folding  doors.  Paint  to  match  wood- 
work. 

Roll  your  unused  silk  goods  on  a 
broom  stick  to  prevent  splitting.  Roll 
your  embroidery  pieces  to  avoid  folding. 

Tie  all  empty  spools  on  a  string  and 
hang  away  for  future  use.  When  driv- 
ing a  nail  in  your  tool  shed,  laundry  or 
barn,  or  when  out  camping  and  you 
have  no  clothes  hooks  handy,  put  the 
nail  through  a  spool,  thus  saving  cloth, 
ing,  etc.,  from  rust  stains,  and  this  also 
preserves  in  some  degree  the  shape  of 
the  garment. 

From  an  old  kid  glove  cut  a  strip 
about  one  inch  by  four.  Roll  lengthwise 


tightly  and  sew  the  outside  edge  firmly 
down  with  cotton,  (silk  cuts  through  the 
kid);  this,  when  sewed  to  the  inside  of 
a  coat,  or  other  heavy  garment,  makes 
a  hanger  that  cannot  tear  in  two.  Use 
care  in  matching  shades  and  it  will  not 
show  much. 

Never  throw  your  old  tin  cans  away. 
Hold  by  the  tongs  over  a  gas  flame,  or 
place  in  the  range  to  melt  to  pieces. 
With  a  hammer  pound  the  tin  flat  and 
nail  over  the  holes  of  Mr.  Rat  or  Mr. 
Mouse.  Lay  the  largest  pieces  around 
on  kitchen  tables  and  shelves,  for  hot 
kettles  to  stand  on. 

With  heavy  shears  cut  from  tin  the 
antique  hinges,  flowers,  leaves,  etc., 
now  so  fashionable  for  ornamenting  pic- 
ture frames,  shirt-waist  boxes,  etc. 
Tack  on  with  small  brads  and  use  wire 
for  the  stems  to  connect.  Lacquer  or 
stain  any  color. 

Never  throw  away  a  broken  piece  of 
cut  glass  unless  absolutely  shattered. 
Some  years  ago  I  saw  some  lovely  vases 
of  cut  glass  on  sale  for  three  dollars  and 
a  half.  One  of  them,  which  had  a  large 
piece  broken  off  the  top  edge,  I  bought 
for  twenty-five  cents.  A  skillful  glass 
cutter  cut  off  this  uneven  top  for  thirty 
cents,  so  I  have  a  lovely  vase  for  just 
fifty-five  cents.  If  your  cut  glass  decan- 
ter or  water  bottle  literally  "gets  it  in 
the  neck,"  have  it  trimmed  down  into 
a  rose  bowl,  or  a  small  olive  dish  or  tray. 


EARNING   "PIN   MONEY" 

By  WINNIFRED    RAKESTRAW 

CHERAW,    SOUTH     CAROLINA 

I  AM  going  to  tell  the  girls  who  have  to 
stay  at  home  some  ways  for  earning 

a  little  money.     Every  girl  likes  to  have 

a  little  money  of  her  own  to  spend. 
I. — Did  you  know  that  you  could  earn 

eight  or  ten  dollars,   or  possibly  more, 


THE   HOME 


2*5 


from  a  few  rows  of  strawberries?  The 
time  to  plant  them  is  in  the  late  Fall. 
We  have  only  seven  rows,  but  they  bring 
us  in  eight  or  ten  dollars  every  Spring. 
We  planted  the  Brandywine.  If  you 
plant  them  in  the  Fall  they  will  bear 
plentifully  in  the  Spring,  and  after  they 
are  once  planted  they  require  very  little 
attention.  We  pick  them  ourselves, 
only  taking  those  that  are  perfectly  ripe, 
and  we  sell  them  at  twenty  cents  a 
quart.  Last  year  we  sold  some  plants 
from  them,  too.  So  you  see  that  two  or 
three  dollar's  worth  of  strawberry  plants 
is  a  good  investment. 

II. — If  you  like  to  sew,  but  cannot  fit 
clothes  well,  go  to  some  good  dress- 
maker and  offer  to  finish  up  her  work 
for  her.  She  will  probably  be  glad  to 
pay  you  for  making  the  collars  and  cuffs 
to  waists,  stitching  skirts  and  frilling 
drop  skirts.  You  will  also  be  asked  to 
sew  on  hooks  and  eyes,  and  put  on  but- 
tons and  work  button  holes.  You  can 
take  the  work  home  to  do,  as  I  did.  I 
made  a  nice  little  sum  that  way  in  the 
Spring.  If  you  can  hemstitch,  embroi- 
der and  do  the  faggoting  which  is  used 
so  much  now,  you  can  get  good  prices 
for  it. 

III. — I  made  about  five  dollars  in 
"Gibson  Girl"  pillow  tops.  Get  a  yard 
of  forty-inch,  ten-cent  white  lawn.  Cut 
from  it  four  eighteen-inch  squares  of 
lawn.  Now  provide  yourself  with  some 
pretty  Gibson  heads.  Put  one  under- 
neath one  of  your  squares  of  lawn  and 
carefully  trace  the  outline.  Don't  try  to 
make  the  hair  or  shade  the  face  with  the 
picture  still  underneath,  for  you  cannot 
see  clearly  enough,  and  it  would  be  a 
failure.  Place  a  blotter  beneath  the 
lawn  when  you  commence  shading. 
After  you  have  done  one  or  two,  you 
will  think  it  very  easy  and  delightful 
work.  I  sold  them  for  twenty-five  cents 
apiece,  and  got  several  orders  for  screens. 
I  charged  more  for  screens.  The  best 
way  to  put  them  on  the  market  is  to  get 
some  merchant  to  let  you  put  them  in 


his  store  window.  They  are  very  pretty 
when  made  over  a  pale  blue  or  yellow 
lining  and  finished  off  with  a  wide  ruffle. 
Get  some  one  who  takes  Collier's  to  give 
you  the  Gibson  heads  from  it.  I  hope 
this  will  prove  a  useful  article.  I  know 
these  ways  are  practical,  for  I  have  tried 
them. 

P.  S.— I  intend  to  make  "The  Home" 
department  of  the  National  Magazine 
pay  my  church  money,  if  I  can.  Possi- 
bly this  will  be  a  useful  suggestion,  too. 


HOW  TO    REST  A   TIRED 
MIND 

By  JESSIE  PORTER  WHITAKER 

PIGEON     COVE,     MASSACHUSETTS 

/CHANGE  of  scene  and  occupation  is 
restful,  as  Mrs.  Gwin  shows  in  her 
remarks  about  out-door  walks,  in  the 
August  National,  but  an  intelligent  in- 
terest in  some  phase  of  nature  is  an  addi- 
tional help. 

Consult  Mrs.  Florence  Merriam 
Bailey's  good  books  for  beginners, 
or  Grant's  "Our  Common  Birds  and 
How  to  Know  Them"  when  you  see 
some  bird  you  cannot  name;  and  you 
will  need  a  glass  at  first,  for  only  a  robin 
or  an  English  sparrow  will  stand  still 
while  you  look  for  marks  of  identifica- 
tion, and  even  they  have  many  cute 
ways  interesting  to  watch.  If  you 
learn  to  listen  to  the  songs  and  calls  of 
the  birds  it  will  add  interest  to  your 
walk,  like  hearing  the  voices  of  dear 
friends. 

In  the  early  season  you  will  need  to 
keep  count  with  pencil  of  the  kinds  you 
hear,  lest  you  lose  your  count  in  the 
multitude  of  voices;  but  even  on  the 
dullest  November  day  one  may  hear 
many  kinds,  for  it  is  true  that  if  we 
think  birds  we  shall  hear  birds. 

So  may  you  forget  the  impudent  ser- 
vant or  the  "jelly  that  wouldn't  jell." 


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NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 

LITTLE   HELPS 


THREE   PRETTV  PICTURES  OF   MASTER   FRANCIS  AND  MISS   MARGUERITE,  THE    FOUR-YEAR- 
OLD  TWIN   CHILDREN   OF   MR.  AND    MRS.   F.   E.   BROWN,   OF   CLEVELAND,  OHIO. 


A   HANDY   DRESS    FORM 

By  AGNES    NOYES   WILTBERGER 
South  Shore,  South  Dakota. 

The  home  dressmaker  who  does  not  care  to  buy  or 
construct  a  permanent  dummV,  often  feels  the  need  of 
a  handy  substitute  for  herself,  upon  which  to  adjust 
the  fulness  of  her  shirt  waist,  the  hang  of  a  bolero,  or 
the  folds  of  a  fichu  drapery.  It  is  no  reflection  upon 
the  most  classically  correct  form  to  say  that  a  common 
feather  pillow  will  prove  a  good  substitute.  Take  a 
smoothly  fitting,  well  boned  lining  or  corset  cover,  fas- 
ten it  around  the  pillow,  stuffing  out  the  bust  and 
shoulders  to  make  them  smooth,  and  pulling  a  little 
extra  fulness  up  into  the  neck  and  out  at  the  armholes. 
The  pillow  should  be  large  enough  so  that  the  feathers 
are  not  all  needed  to  fill  out  the  form,  because,  for  con- 
venience in  working,  it  should  have  a  base  well  below 
the  waist  line  to  rest  upon.  This  accommodating  effigy 
will  rest  upon  the  table  in  front  of  the  worker,  patiently 
bide  her  own  time  for  the  careful  adjustment  of  gathers 
and  folds,  receive  with  complacency  the  thnists  of  in- 
numerable pins,  and  display  no  tendency  to  faintness. 


HOUSE    PLANTS   IN   WINTER 

By    FANNIE    W.   WOOD 

Falmouth,  Indiana 

For  indoor  growth  during  winter  there  is  little  beau- 
ty or  satisfaction  in  small  "slips  that  are  often  seen  in 
the  only  bright  windows  in  an  ordinary  home.  Large, 
old  plants  have  a  digjiity  and  beauty  the  small  plant 
never  has.  One  good-sized,  healthy,  well-cared-f or  plant 
with  plenty  of  room  and  light,  will  give  more  pleasure 
than  a  window  full  of  crowded,  sickly  looking  plants 
or  slips  with  not  more  than  four  or  five  leaves  on 
each  one.  Crowded  plants  are  sure  to  grow  tall  and 
spindling. 

If  fine  plants  are  desired,  cover  the  stand  with  moss 
or  sand  to  keep  them  moist  and  shower  the  plants 
occasionally.  They  need  a  moist  atmosphere,  but  do 
not  make  the  mistake  of  keeping  the  soil  in  the  flower 
pots  constantly  wet,  never  allowing  it  to  dry  out  even 
a  little  on  the  surface.  The  soil  in  the  pots  should  be 
given  a  chance  to  get  nearly  dry  before  watering.  To 
keep  plants  in  good  condition  they  must  be  protected 
from  sudden  changes  and  drafts  of  cold  air.  Fresh 
air  must  be  admitted  when  plants  are  kept  in  a  living 


room  to  take  the  place  of  that  whose  vitality  has  been 
burned  out.  Like  ourselves  they  need  healthy  air  to 
breathe.  To  keep  in  good  form  plants  must  be  turned 
often  and  pruned.  Arrange  flowers  in  window  garden 
with  regard  to  contrast  or  harmony,  but  do  not  over- 
look the  importance  of  placing  the  sun-loving  plants 
very  near  the  glass  and  those  liking  partial  shade  in  the 
rear.  Remember,  palms  grow  best  out  of  the  sunlight 
entirely.  Another  essential  with  palm  culture  is  the 
best  of  drainage. 

TO   CLEAN   GLASS   BOTTLES 

By   LINA  S.  MERCHANT 

Buffalo,  New  York 

Keep  a  box  of  small  pebbles,  from  the  size  of  a  small 
pea  to- a  small  bean,  and  when  you  wish  to  clean 
decanters  or  glass  bottles,  put  into  the  article  from  a 
teaspoonful  to  two  tablespoonfuls  of  the  pebbles,  ac- 
cording to  size,  then  add  warm  water  to  which  a  little 
soda  has  been  added,  and  shake  until  all  discolorations 
haveljeen  removed.  This  method  is  much  better  than 
using  shot,  which  leaves  behind  a  portion  of  oxide  of 
lead,  which  soon  impairs  the  beauty  of  the  glass. 

A  BATH   MAT   HINT 

By  MRS.  R.  L. 
Roanoke,  Virginia 

Have  any  of  the  housekeepers  who  read  the  National 
found  trouble  in  keeping  their  bath  mats  dry  and  clean  ? 
Often  they  will  be  left  on  the  floor  wet,  to  be  walked 
over  by  dirty  shoes.  I  put  a  tape  loop  on  each  corner 
of  one  end  of  mine  and  hang  it  on  the  bath  room  door, 
convenient  to  use  and  where  it  can  cover  an  unsightly 
hot  water  bag,  or  whatever  may  hang  on  the  door. 

POLISHING  THE    PIANO 
By  MRS.  LOTTIE   MORSE 

Santa  Ana,  California 

Your  piano  may  be  polished  safely  and  beautifully 
with  pure  castile  soap  and  cold  water.  Moisten  a 
small  soft  cloth  with  water,  rub  well  with  soap,  dip 
lightly  in  water  again  and  apply,  washing  about 
eighteen  inches  square  surface  at  a  time.  Dry  at  once 
with  old  cheesecloth,  and  the  polish  is  there.  Do  not 
use  chamois. 


THE    HOME 


217 


MAGIC   OF  SAVED    PENNIES 

By  AURELLA   ROUNDS 
Rogers  Park,  Illinois 

Have  you  ever  tried  saving  your  pennies  ?  It  is  sur- 
prising what  a  short  time  it  takes  to  accumulate  two  or 
three  dollars.  I  started  a  penny  bank  a  few  years  ago, 
dropping  into  a  little  sweet  grass  basket  which  hap- 
pened to  be  on  my  desk  all  the  pennies  that  came  my 
way,—  some  days  there  were  but  two  or  three  and  again 
they  would  number  seven  or  eight.  I  have  had  a 
spoon  case,  leather  covered  and  satin  lined,  made  to 
order,  to  hold  a  dozen  of  my  pretty  souvenir  spoons; 
have  framed  two  water  color  paintings,  bought  a  pair 
of  silver  sugar  tongs,  a  chocolate  pot  and  other  things 
that  I  wanted  but  did  not  feel  I  could  afford  to  spend 
the  money  outright  for — all  from  the  premises. 

When  I  have  one  hundred  saved  I  put  them  in  an 
envelope,  marking  on  it  the  amount,  and  lay  them 
aside.  As  soon  as  I  have  enough  to  purchase  the  ar- 
ticle I  am  -working  for  I  take  the  envelopes  to  the 
bank,  dry  goods  store  or  news  depot  and  have  no 
trouble  in  exchanging  for  bills. 

Three  of  my  girl  friends  are  saving  now,  having 
noticed  my  little  basket  of  pennies,  asked  about  it  and 
received  "  nest  eggs  "  from  it.  Don't  you  want  to  try  it 
and  see  how  nice  it  is  to  be  able  to  point  to  first  one 
pretty  and  useful  piece  and  then  another  and  say  that 
you  bought  them  with  pennies  ? 

TWO    COMFORT    HINTS 

By  BELLE    TAYLOR 

Austin,  Texas 

There  are  two  little  things  which,  if  done  nightly, 
will  add  to  the  joy  of  going  to  bed  and  to  sleep  after 
working  hard  all  day.  One  is,  to  rub  vaseline  or  olive 
oil  into  the  soles  of  the  feet.  This  is  soothing  and 
cooling  in  Summer  and  warming  in  Winter. 

The  other  is,  to  take  a  pinch  each  of  fine  salt  and 
powdered  borax,  dissolve  in  a  little  water,  say  two  or 
three  tablespoonfuls,  and  bathe  the  eyes.  The  salt  and 
borax,  with  a  small  vessel  for  mixing,  can  be  kept  on 
the  washstand  ready  for  use,  so  that  it  will  take  very 
little  time  to  do  it  while  preparing  for  bed,  and  the  eyes 
will  be  refreshed  and  strengthened  for  the  next  day's 
work.  This  has  been  tried  and  recommended  by  more 
than  one,  and  is  worth  trying. 


ONIONS    AS   A   DISINFECTANT 

By  GRACE  MURRAY  STEPHENSON 

Austin,  Texas 

One  of  the  best  disinfectants  in  a  sick  room  where 
there  is  contagion  is  a  dish  of  sliced  raw  onions.  They 
should  be  carefully  disposed  of  every  morning,  prefer- 
ably buried,  and  fresh  ones  used.  As  they  absorb  so 
many  impurities  from  the  air,  they  should  never  be 
peeled  or  sliced  any  length  of  time  before  they  are  to 
be  used  as  food. 

TO  CLEAN  SPONGES 

By  MRS.  MARGARET  FELT 

Somerville,  Massachusetts 

To  clean  sponges  wash  them  in  diluted  tartaric  acid, 
rinsing  them  afterwards  in  water.  It  will  make  them 
very  soft  and  white. 

TO    REMOVE    SUMMER    TAN 

By  MRS.  J.  V.  MARRS 

Jewett,  Illinois 

Apply  the  following:  Lime  water,  one  ounce;  oil 
sweet  almonds,  one  ounce ;  a  pinch  of  boracic  acid. 


VIRTUES  OF  WATERMELON   SEED 

By  MRS.  ABRAHAM   DUNHAM 

Terre  Haute,  Illinois 

If  a  new  arrival  may  speak  out,  I  would  like  to  tell 
you  all  to  save  plenty  of  watermelon  seed  to  use  in  case 
of  sickness.  I  know  of  no  other  home  remedy  so  good 
for  kidney  trouble  as  watermelon  seed  tea.  Use  a 
handful  of  watermelon  seed  to  one  pint  of  water;  let  it 
steep  well;  dose,  one-half  teacupful  taken  at  intervals 
as  desired.  During  a  long  seige  of  mumps  last  Spring 
we  found  nothing  equalled  this  forgiving  the  patient 
relief.  It  is  mild  and  harmless  and  yet  efficacious,  and 
may  be  given  to  little  babes  in  small  doses.  Since  my 
experience  last  Spring  with  nearly  a  dozen  cases  of 
mumps  in  the  family,  I  am  resolved  never  to  let  a 
season  pass  without  storing  up  a  large  quantity  of 
watermelon  seed. 


SOMETHING    WORTH    REMEM- 
BERING 

By  MRS.  E.  M.  KLINK 
Portland,  Oregon 

Something  that  will  become  an  old  household  remedy- 
in  a  few  years,  but  has  not  been  discovered  long  enough 
to  be  so  now,  is  the  fact  that  alcohol  is  a  perfect  anti- 
dote for  carbolic  acid  poisoning.  Never  have  carbolic 
acid  in  your  house  without  having  a  bottle  of  alcohol 
also.  Should  the  acid  be  swallowed  by  mistake,  give 
immediately  from  three  to  five  table  spoonfuls  of  pure 
alcohol,  followed  by  an  emetic.  Should  the  acid  be 
spilled  on  the  flesh  apply  alcohol  freely  to  the  spot  at 
once,  and  a  terrible  burn  and  scar  may  be  entirely 
averted. 

I  have  seen  this  tried  both  ways  with  perfect  success. 

STORE  UP  AUTUMN   SUNSHINE. 

By  FLORENCE    BICKNELL 

Watkins,  New  York 

One  way  of  making  the  household  duties  easier  is  to 
take  good  care  of  the  health.  First,  do  all  the  work 
possible  on  the  veranda ;  second,  open  all  the  doors  and 
windows  every  morning  and  let  the  sunshine  in.  Hang 
all  the  bedding  out  on  the  line.  Third,  store  away  all 
the  October  sunshine  and  October  air  in  the  system  you 
can,  for  it  will  strengthen  and  thereby  aid  you  in  your 
tasks  during  the  winter  months. 

TO    DETECT    SPURIOUS    LINEN 
By  ADELAIDE    NEWHALL 

West  Medway,  Massachusetts 
-When  making  the  purchase,  moisten  the  tip  of  one 
finger  and  press  firmly  upon  the  goods.  If  it  wets 
through  instantly,  the  fabric  is  linen!  Cotton  will 
require  several  seconds  to  become  saturated.  Linen 
should  be  shrunk  before  an  attempt  to  draw  a  thread  is 
made ;  otherwise  the  line  may  show  an  alarming 
diagonal. 

RECONCILING  A  BOY  TO  PATCHES 

By  MRS.  F.  PHILLIPS 

Seeket,  Maine 

Small  boys  who  dislike  to  wear  patched  trousers 
make  no  objection,  frequently,  if  the  patches  are 
placed  outside,  in  the  way  bicycle  trousers  are  rein 
forced.  I  always  buy  two  pairs  of  trousers  with  one 
coat ;  after  the  first  pair  is  worn  out  the  best  part  is 
cut  out  and  kept  to  repair  the  second,  when  they  in 
turn,  need  mending,  and  so  the  patches  are  of  the  same 
color  and  material. 


218  NATIONAL     MAGAZINE    for    NOVEMBER.    1904 


EDWIN    MARKHAM,    LAST     OF     THE     GREEK     SINGERS,     AUTHOR    OF     "THE    MAN    WITH 

THE    HOE"    AND    MANY    OTHER    FINER    IF    LESS    FAMOUS    POEMS 

Prom  a  portrait  by  Pirie  MacDonald,  photographer  of  men,  New  York  City 


EDWIN    MARKHAM 


By    YONE     NOGUCHI 

AUTHOR     OF    "  FROM     THE     EASTERN     SEA 


A  LITTLE  while  ago  the  yellow  moon 
(the  world  is  turning  yellow  also  in 
Autumn)  rose  like  a  solitary  priest  in 
his  evening  walk.  What  a  reflection  in 
the  moon!  The  breeze  passed.  The 
insects  hushed.  The  trees  cast  their 
shadows  in  the  indolent  air.  I  have  been 
reading  "My  Own  Book"  under  the  soft 
light  of  a  lamp — how  I  hate  the  electric 
globe !  —  the  record  of  a  journey  over  a 
mountain  and  valley  of  my  life.  Once 
upon  a  time  the  following  was  written: 

"May  25,  '97 —  I  have  dined  —  good 
God! — with  Charles  Edwin  Markham  (he 
had  not  shed  off  his  'Charles'  at  that 
day)  at  Miss  A.  K.'s  hillside  cottage — 
the  hillside  where  the  high  trees  sing 
'some  cry  of  Sappho's  lyre,  of  Saadi's 
flute'  as  he  expresses  it.  He  was  art- 
lessly commanding,  prophet-like  indeed, 
but  unlike  Joaquin,  with  a  delightful 
reminiscence  of  scholarliness.  His  per- 
sonality appeared  to  me  as  if  he  were 
a  huge  country  house  having  a  hundred 
windows  open,  into  whose  every  room 
— even  a  bed-chamber — I  was  welcomed. 
I  felt  perfectly  at  home  with  him. 

"His  voice  was  clearly  large  like  a 
voice  of  the  woodland.  His  brown  eyes 
kept  no  secret,  like  the  bosom  of  the 
sky.  'My  God  is  Poesy  and  Myth,'  he 
said.  What  sunshine  in  his  face!  He 
was  like  a  free  bird,  kissing  his  hands 
to  the  world  with  laughter,  singing  some 
glad  song  into  the  wind.  He  was  like 
a  boy  just  out  of  his  school  gate.  He 
showed  me  a  cheque  sent  from  the  pub- 
lishers for  his  'Looking  into  a  Gulf  (I 
have  read  it  a  week  ago)  with  such  an 
innocent  pride,  in  the  street  car  on  the 
way  to  his  house.  He  invited  me  to 
stop  a  day  or  two  with  him.  What  a 
heavenly  simplicity! 

"He  talked  upon  William  Morris  and 
Watson.  He  made  me  believe  that  the 


poet  should  stand  on  Life  (not  looking 
upon  the  stars  only.)  The  poet  has  to 
ease  the  road  and  lighten  the  load  for 
a  faltering  soul.  Building  a  fraternal 
kingdom  should  be  his  work — the  per- 
fection of  Brotherhood.  'Love  is  greater 
than  song  or  singer,'  Markham  said. 

"He  is  more  than  a  poet  for  the 
Japanese  mind.  What  a  tender  large- 
ness in  his  heart!  I  felt  a  happy  sensa- 
tion from  his  hand — what  a  warm  hand 
with  sure  grasp! — the  sensation  of  meet- 
ing with  the  dove-eyed  Truth  running 
through  his  blood.  I  was  glad  to  leave 
my  hand  buried  in  his  safe  hand. 

"We  left  Miss  A.  K's  late  at  night. 
It  was  dark.  We  walked  down  the  hill, 
frightening  the  crickets  to  a  sudden  hush 
in  spite  of  ourselves.  What  a  beautiful 
poem,  by  the  way,  is  his  'Cricket.' 

"He  took  me  around  to  see  his  books 
—what  a  library! — when  we  arrived  at 
his  house.  He  was  particularly  proud 
in  showing  me  Keats'  Complete  Works 
with  the  'light-winged  dryad  of  the  trees' 
in  gold  for  the  cover  design.  He  read 
me  some  of  his  poems. 

"I  thanked  God  I  was  given  such  a 
highly  pleasing  evening. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Markham!  " 

One  day  he  invited  me  for  his  lecture 
on  Omar  Khayyam.  (Where's  a  town 
which  was  indifferent  to  the  Rubaiyat  ?) 

"Is  there  no  chance  for  a  poet  to 
publish  his  work?"  he  exclaimed,  when 
I  got  to  his  house.  He  denounced,  but 
with  abundant  humor,  the  eastern  pub- 
lishers who  returned  his  mss.  with  the 
usual  thanks  after  keeping  them  many 
a  month. 

He  wrote  me,  August  29,  1897,  to  be 
exact:  "I  shall  be  glad  to  see  your  book 
when  it  comes  out.  Two  books  for  you, 
and  here  I  am  FORTY -FIVE  with 
none! " 


22O 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  NOVEMBER,    1904 


Think  of  Markham  in  '89  with  "The 
Man  With  the  Hoe!"  Finally  he  got 
one  book — a  wonderful  one,  too. 

Alas,  my  books  will  soon  be  perished 
like  a  phantom  in  the  air.  His  book — 
the  one  book  after  a  patience  of  more 
than  twenty  years — will  live  as  the  voice 
of  the  century. 

I  read  "Tompkins"  on  the  top  of  the 
tablets  of  his  letters  written  in  those 
days.  Yes,  Tompkins  grammar  school! 
He  was  a  beloved  head  master  of  the 
school  for  many  a  year.  You  cross  the 
Bay  of  San  Francisco  —  what  an  elegant 
mirror  it  appeared  under  the  glorious 
Californian  sun  from  Miller's  Heights! 
—  and  you  take  a  train  for  Oakland. 
You  will  see  a  school  at  your  right  —  an 
insignificant  affair  alike  to  any  other 
grammar  school, — that's  the  Tompkins. 
Mr.  Markham  (or  "Professor  Markham" 
as  he  was  called)  might  be  seen  every 
morning  hurrying  on  a  bicycle — he  was 
a  splendid  rider  —  carrying  his  manu- 
scripts of  poems  under  his  arm.  (Oak- 
land people  must  be  missing  his  heroic 
sight  nowadays.  How  they  respected 
him!)  He  used  to  ask  me  whether  I  had 
any  poem  with  me  —  "something  in 
pocket"  as  he  put  it  —  whenever  I  met 
him — even  on  a  chance  meeting  on  the 
street.  It  would  be  quite  a  natural 
thing  for  him  to  carry  a  ms.  —  as  natural 
as  to  carry  a  handkerchief.  "Poetry  is 
my  life,"  he  declared  in  the  first  line  of 
the  first  letter  he  ever  wrote  me.  He 
would  serenely  sit  in  a  little  room  of  his 
friend's  house  every  evening,  where  he 
used  to  dine, — the  room  where  the  pic- 
ture of  "The  Man  With  the  Hoe"  with 
"the  emptiness  of  ages  in  his  face,"  was 
hanged.  (I  smiled  to  myself  conceitedly 
when  his  poem  made  a  sudden  outcry, 
and  said:  "I  know  it") 

He  would  carefully  revise  his  poems 
over  and  over.  Once  I  saw  his  manu- 
script of  one  poem  whose  each  line  was 
changed  more  than  a  dozen  times.  A 
lady  who  knew  him  intimately  told  me 
once  laughingly  that  he  would  take  an 


entire  evening  in  thinking  whether  he 
should  use  a  semicolon  in  the  place  of 
a  period.  He  would  send  out  a  few 
copies  of  his  poems  in  manuscript  among, 
his  confidential  friends  for  criticism. 
"John  Vance  Cheney  doesn't  think  it 
wise  to  drop  'Charles'  out  of  my  name," 
he  said  one  day.  Doubtless  he  must 
have  been  asking  about  that  also.  I 
dare  say  it  took  him  two  or  three  years 
before  he  cast  it  off  entirely.  He  asked 
often  even  my  own  opinion  upon  his 
work — I,  a  foreigner,  with  a  scanty  store 
of  English  poetry.  He  would  regard  it 
as  an  honor  if  he  were  praised  by  school 
children. 

One  Sunday  Mr.  Markham  and  I  went 
to  see  Joaquin  Miller,  he  carrying  his 
mss.  of  course,  and  I  with  an  apple  pie 
for  Miller's  dear  mother. 

"Put  aside  your  poems,  Markham! 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  Joaquin 
exclaimed  bluntly.  I  knew  he  must 
have  been  wounded.  Poor  Markham ! 

I  saw  him  one  afternoon  with  Miss 
Murphy,  carrying  a  few  bundles,  in  San 
Francisco.  We  parted  after  exchanging 
a  greeting.  They  were  married  on  the 
next  day,  to  my  surprise.  Once  he 
asked  me  to  join  in  his  housekeeping, 
and  assured  me  of  a  jolly  time  with  him 
and  his  library.  I  had  written  him  for 
any  suggestion  at  that  time  when  I  was 
rather  hard  up.  I  didn't  accept  his 
kind  proposition.  I  lost  the  chance  of 
my  life.  It  is  my  eternal  regret  now 
that  I  did  not  live  with  him  for  even 
a  few  months. 

We  had  been  talking  of  nothing  but 
Markham's  poems.  There  was  a  rumor 
of  his  leaving  California.  Someone 
ventured  to  accuse  him  of  being  spoiled 
by  his  sudden  fame.  We — Mr.  Miller 
and  I — had  just  finished  our  dinner  at 
the  Heights.  Miller  began  to  smoke 
and  said  that  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  in  Oakland  street.  "She  assured 
me  that  Markham  was  wearing  the  'same 
old  hat',"  Miller  said. 

I  found  myself  in  New  York  in  '99, 


EDWIN    MARKHAM  221 

I  hurried  to  see  Mr.  Markham  in  Brook-  I   was  fresh  from  England.     I  went  to 

lyn   where    he   lived.      His  beard  was  his  home  in  West  New  Brighton.     He 

trimmed  nicely.     He  was  dressed  in  a  rushed  out  from  within,  stretching  out 

frock    coat.      He    was    thinking    about  his  large  hands.     "I  smelled  your  odor, 

something  else.     He  was  cold.     He  in-  I  felt  your  vibration,"  he  exclaimed  at 

vited  me  to  dine  with  him  on  the  next  the  entrance  door, 

day.     I  didn't  come,  however,  thinking  "Come  right  in!  " 

he  was  not  the  same  Markham  whom  I  Thank  God,  there  was  my  dear  Mr. 

used  to  know.  Markham  again,  big  hearted,  sunny  and 

He  invited  me  again  last  Spring  when  sweet. 


PETERKIN 

By    KATHERINE     LEE    BATES 

WELLESLEY,      MASSACHUSETTS 

THE  crown  of  cats  who  trod  as  if 
Shod  in  a  moccasin. 

He  tested  his  milk  with  a  delicate  sniff, 
He  leapt  on  mice  like  a  hippogriff, 
And  no  wonder  at  all  that  Pendleton 
Thought  a  shadow  had  crossed  the  sun 
When  beneath  his  hand  lay  cold  and  stiff 
His  Peterkin. 

With  folded  paws  poor  pussy  lay, 

Mute  as  a  violin 

On  which  the  fiddler  forgets  to  play, 
And  his  little  master  to  grief  gave  way.  / 
"If  my  other  friends  should  die,"  wept  he, 
"I  could  bear  it,  mamma,  for  I  should  see 
Them  all  again  in  heaven  some  day. 
—But  Peterkin!" 


Who  knows?  whatever  on  earth  is  sweet 

A  sweeter  life  may  win 
In  the  paradise  garden,  incomplete 
Without  the  frolic  of  creature  feet. 

Where  our  lost  birds  trill,  and  our  lost  dogs  wait 
To  welcome  us  in  at  the  dear  home  gate, 
Please  God,  where  the  loved  and  the  loving  meet, 
Is  Peterkin. 


COMMENT 


I 


By    FRANK    PUTNAM 


CHARLES    R.    DENEEN    OF     ILLINOIS 

I  AM  not  making  any  predictions  con- 
I  cerning  the  result  of  the  national  elec- 
tion to  take  place  this  month.  Five 
times  I  have  offered  presidential  fore- 
casts, and  not  once  was  I  sustained 
by  the  facts.  Some  men  have  a  genius 
for  siding  with  minorities.  Roosevelt 
may  win,  or  Parker  may  win.  It  doesn't 
make  much  difference  to  me  which  wins. 
Either  man  will  do  the  work  as  well  as 
a  good  many  earlier  presidents  have 
done  it.  Both  are  good,  sound,  average 
Americans,  mentally  and  physically; 
and  the  rule  of  the  average  may  not 
be  brilliant  but  is  usually  safe. 

Four  candidates  on  state  tickets  seem 


to  me  to  be  sure  of  election  —  four 
whose  campaigns  have  been  most  widely 
discussed,  next  to  that  of  the  national 
tickets.  These  men  are: 

i— CHARLES  R.  DENEEN,  re- 
publican nominee  for  governor  of  Illi- 
nois. 

2— JOSEPH  W.  FOLK,  democratic 
nominee  for  governor  of  Missouri. 

3— ROBERT  M.  LAFOLLETTE, 
republican  nominee  for  governor  of 
Wisconsin. 

4— A  LVA  ADAMS,  democratic 
nominee  for  governor  of  Colorado. 

Deneen  and  Folk  are  prosecuting  at- 
torneys— in  Chicago  and  St.  Louis  re- 
spectively —  who  actually  prosecute, 
without  fear  or  favor,  rich  rascals  and 
poor— declining  to  be  restrained  by 
political  or  any  other  pull — governed  by 
a  conviction  that  the  honest  majority 
of  the  voting  population  desires  to  see 
the  laws  honestly  and  impartially  en- 
forced. Folk's  specialty  is  democratic 
boodlers — he  has  purged  his  own  party 
of  the  thieves  who  prostituted  it  to 
their  own  base  ends.  Deneen 's  specialty 
for  a  long  time  was  dishonest  bankers — 
and  he  is  represented  by  a  long  row  of 
them,  safely  caged,  in  one  of  the  prisons 
of  Illinois. 

Adams  has  been  governor  of  Colorado 
before,  and  when  in  that  office  com- 
manded the  respect  of  both  capital  and 
labor,  that  is  to  say,  of  mine  owners  and 
miners'  unions,  which  under  Governor 
Peabody's  administration  have  alter- 
nated in  fomenting  anarchy  in  certain 
sections  of  the  Centennial  state.  Adams 


NOTE   AND   COMMENT 


223 


HONORABLE  JOSEPH  W.  FOLK  OF   MISSOURI 

Not  yet  thirty-five  years  old,  this  man  has  won  national  celebrity,  and  is  soon 
to  become  governor  of  a  great  state.  Like  Charles  Deneen  of  Illinois,  whom  the 
republicans  of  that  state  have  named  for  governor,  Mr.  Folk  is  a  public  pros- 
ecutor who  actually  prosecutes,  without  fear  or  favor.  He  cannot  be  either 
bullied  or  bribed.  The  plain  people  of  Missouri  have  found  this  out,  and  they  are 
going  to  confer  upon  him  the  highest  honor  in  their  gift — not  because  he  is  a  dem- 
ocrat, but  because  he  is  an  honest  public  officer  — and  because  a  vast  majority  of 
Americans  want  that  kind  of  men  in  office.  The  same  logic  should  elect  Deneen. 


224 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   NOVEMBER,    1904 


has  a  way  of  making  men-. of  all  sorts  like 
him — probably  because  he  likes  all  sorts 
of  men — arid  is  said  to  be  fair  in  his 
dealings  with  them,  rich  and  poor  alike. 

Peabody  possibly  meant  to  be  just;  he 
certainly  has  given  sanction  to  utter  law- 
lessness on  the  part  of  the  mine  owners, 
in  a  way  anji  to  a  degree  that  has  caused 
him  to  be  severely  censured  by  men  of 
'  all  shades  of  opinion  outside  of  Colo- 
rado. Instead  of  bringing  to  bear  all 
the  forces  of  civil  law  to  restore  peace 
and  order  in  the  mining  regions,  he 
turned  the  military  forces  of  the  state 
over  to  the  mine  owners  and  let  thefn. 
commit  outrages  worse  even  than  those 
which  the  union  miners  committed 
against  non-union  men— and  these  were 
bad  enough. 

What  Colorado  needs  is  order  and  the 
restoration  of  civil  justice.  With  Adams 
in  the  governor's  chair  and  an  honest 
legislature  in  session  at  .Denver,  .the 
people  of  .Colorado  will. get  action  on 
their  mandate  for  an  eight-hour  day  in, 
the  mines.  It  should  be  remembered 
that  it  was  the  action  of  the  mine  owners 
in  evading  and  by  trickery  defeating  the 
state's -popular  mandate  for  this  eight- 
hour  law  that  gave  rise  to  the  present 
trouble.  Colorado  needs  to  teach  both1 
her  mine  owners  and  her  union  miners 
that  liberty  under  law  is  not  a  dead 
letter.  It  seems  to  be  the  general  im- 
pression out  that  way  that  Adams  is  the 
best  instrument  the  state  can  use  to  do 
this  particular  bit  of  teaching. 

Lafollette's  fight  is  for  control  of  his 
party  in  his  own  state  and  ultimately  for 
the  presidency.  The  former  he  has 
won;  the  latter  is  a  long  road.  The 
essence  of  Lafollette's  platform  is  a 
demand  that  the  government  be  brought 
closer  to  the  people  and  made  more  im- 
mediately responsive  to  their  will.  He 
is  in  the  republican  party  what  Bryan  is 
in  the  democratic  party — a  disturber, 
a  radical,  a  progressive. 

Ambitious? — and  selfish?  Of  course. 
What  politician  isn't?  Human,  are  they 


not?  The  best  we  can  ask  from  the  best 
of  them  is  that  they  shall  take  their 
orders  from  the  rank  and  file  rather  than 
from  special  interests  or  classes.  The 
wisest  leaders  of  both  the  old  parties 
are  constantly  doing  this  thing  more  and 
more.  Roosevelt  owes  nine-tenths  of 
his  personal  popularity  to  the  general 
impression  that  he  relies  on  the  people 
and  not  on  Wall  street  for  his  election. 
Parker's  lack  of  favor  with  the  Bryan 
democrats  is  due  to  their  belief  that  he 
is. backed  by  and  may  if  elected  be  con- 
trolled by  the  Wall  street  element.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  both  men  have  Wall 
street  backing — all  they'can  get  of  it, 
and  glad  to  have  it.  Wall  street  is 
a  part  of  the  United  States,  and  an 
uncommonly-  rich  part.  Its  residents 
are  voters.  Most  of  them,  because  they 
or  their  friends  enjoy  or  desire  to  enjoy 
special  favors  from  the  federal  govern- 
ment, are  campaign  contributors.  A 
goad:  many  of  them  contribute  to  both 
party  funds — :so  as  to  be  "safe"  whoever 
wins.  Politics  is  a  matter  of  "busi- 
ness" with  them — strictly  business. 
.  I  fear  that  my  first  choice,  Debs,  and 
my  second  choice,  Watson,  will  not  get 
many  votes-  ill  Wall  street.  "Jim" 
Keene  and  other  academic  socialists 
among.- the  millionaires  may  quiet  con- 
science with  a  ballot  for  Debs,  and  Poet- 
Banker  Stedman  may  give  his  vote  to 
Historian  Watson,  through  professional 
courtesy;  but  I  fear  that  if  either  Debs 
or  Watson  is  to  be  elected  to  the  presi- 
dency this  year  it  will  have  to  be  done 
by  men  who  have  no.  favors  to  ask  of 
government  at  the  expense  of  the  in- 
direct tax-payers. 


uCOUTH  SEA  IDYLS"  has  become 

a   classic  throughout  tha    English" 

reading  world.     It  stamped  its  author  at 

once  as  one  of  the  foremost  living  liter- 


NOTE  AND  COMMENT 


225 


CHARLES    WARREN    STODDARD,  WHO    WILL    WRITE    FOR    THE    NATIONAL    DURING    1905 


ary  artists.  In  the  roll  of  living  Ameri- 
can men  of  letters  there  are  less  than  a 
dozen  —  James,  Howells,  Twain,  Mark- 
ham,  Harris,  Read,  McGaffey,  Aldrich, 
Miller,  Stedman  and  Riley — who  can  be 


ranked  with  the  author  of  the  "Idyls." 
And  all  his  other  books  sustain  the  im- 
pression of  his  exquisite  artistic  sensi- 
bility, his  utter  fidelity  to  the  highest 
ideals  of  craftsmanship.  In  person  and 


226 


in  product,  he  fulfills  admirably  the  part 
of  a  Great   Man   of   Letters. 

Mr.  Stoddard  has  taken  up  residence 
in  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  and  after 
a  long  convalescence  from  a  severe  ill- 
ness, has  begun  a  series  of  reminiscen- 
tial  sketches  and  essays  —  biographical 
and  autobiographical,  to  appear  in  the 
National  Magazine  during  1905.  Mr. 
Stoddard  authorizes  us  to  announce  the 
following  titles,  the  first  to  be  published 
in  January: 

i.— "In  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
the  Sky  Scrapers,"  concerning  which  he 
adds:  "It  is  to  be  a  breezy  sketch  of 
my  last  experience  in  New  York  City — 
a  city  which  I  loathe  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart.  I  hope  you  don't  object  to 
that?" 

Not  a  bit! 

2. — "Ouida:  at  Home  in  Florence  — 
an  Interview." 

3.— "Prentice  Mulford:  a  Personal 
Sketch  of  Him  as  I  Knew  Him." 

4. — "Rudyard  Kipling  in  His  Brattle- 
boro  Home,  as  I  Saw  Him." 

5.— "Recollections    of    Kate   Field." 

For  the  December  National  Mr.  Stod- 
dard has  written  a  Christmas  story  in 
his  best  vein,  as  colorful  and  quaintly 
fanciful  as  a  fine  old  tapestry.  It  is 
called,  "  Christmas  at  Crazy  Castle." 


THE  CHRISTMAS  NATIONAL 

STODDARD'S  story,  "Christmas  at 
Crazy  Castle,"  heads  the  list  of 
eight  stories  which  will  make  the  Na- 
tional for  December,  1904,  the  best 
fiction  number  in  the  history  of  this 
magazine.  Other  titles  are: 

2. — "The  Woman's  Number,"  by 
M.  MacLean  Helliwell  of  Toronto. 

3. — "Deep  Mining,"  by  Christobelle 
van  Asmus  Bunting  of  Evanston,  Illi- 
nois. 


4. — "John  Moseley's  Victory,"  by 
Elliott  Flower  of  Chicago. 

5. — "The  Tar-Burner,"  by  Harold 
Child  of  Norfolk,  Virginia. 

6. — "Hiccoughs,"  by  Holman  F.  Day 
of  Maine. 

7. — "A  Christmas  House  Party,"  by 
Katherine  E.  Megee  of  Waynesboro, 
Virginia. 

8.-  "S'posin'  It  Was  You!"  by 
Elizabeth  Fry  Page  of  Nashville,  Ten- 
nessee. (A  story  for  the  children.) 

Aside  from  the  departments — "Affairs 
at  Washington,"  "Beauties  of  the 
American  Stage,"  "The  Home,"  and 
"Note  and  Comment,"  there  will  be 
but  three  special  articles  in  the  number, 
as  follows: 

i. — "Phoebe,"  a  bird  story  by  Dallas 
Lore  Sharp,  whom  John  Burroughs  be- 
lieves is  the  most  faithful  of  all  our 
nature  students  and  whom  I  believe  to 
be  the  finest  literary  artist  in  that  in- 
teresting group. 

2. — "In  the  Bungalow  with  Charles 
Warren  Stoddard  —  a  Protest  Against 
Modernism, "  by  Yone  Noguchi ,  the  sec- 
;pnd  in  a  series  of  intimate  character 
studies  of  leading  American  men 
of  letters  to  be  written  for  the  Na- 
tional by  the  celebrated  young  Japan- 
ese poet  and  story  teller.  "  Edwin 
Markham,"in  this  .number,  opens  the 
series. 

3.— "Aloha!  Wela,  Wela!  "  by  Ethel 
Armes,  who,  like  Yone  Noguchi,  was 
a  member  of  a  group  of  talented  young 
people  that  gathered  about  Stoddard  in 
his  famous  Bungalow  in  Washington, 
when  he  was  professor  of  English  litera- 
ture in  the  Roman  Catholic  university 
there. 

The  Bungalow  is  no  more,  but  the 
memory  of  it  will  long  endure  in  these 
sprightly  sketches  of  the  life  that  made 
it  notable  among  the  literary  shrines  of 
the  national  capital. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 


PLANS  AND    PROSPECTS -PRESENT  AND  FUTURE 

CAN    WE    COUNT    ON     YOU? 


li/HAT  is  more  glorious  than  to  feel  the 
exhilaration  of  success?  What  can 
be  more  gratifying  than  to  think  you  are 
in  accord  with  the  spirit  of  progress? 
And  what  can  charm  an  editor  more 
thanxto  know  that  he  has  the  enduring 
affection,  though  he  may  not  have  the 
unqualified  admiration,  of  his  readers? 
The  National  is  a  peculiar  periodical  — 
it  is  not  necessary  to  emphasize  this  to 
those  who  know  the  magazine.  With 
fitting  modesty  it  may  be  said  that  the 
National  Magazine  is  the  product  of  its 
readers  rather  than  of  its  publishers. 

For  months  past  I  have  been  studying 
some  new  way  of  conducting  a  subscrip- 
tion campaign.  With  all  the  periodicals 
now  afloat  the  customary  method  is  to 
inaugurate  a  clubbing  proposition  and 


offer  premiums,  which  is  to  some  ex- 
tent the  manner  in  which  the  National 
has  been  built  up;  but  what  we  want 
now  is,  not  to  have  people  take  the 
magazine  because  of  other  offers,  but 
rather  to  have  them  come  to  us  of 
their  own  accord — come  because  they 
want  the  magazine  for  itself— and  itself 
alone.  Now  the  minds  of  several  other 
men  as  well  as  my  own  have  been  con- 
centrated upon  this  proposition,  and  we 
could  think  of  nothing  better  than  what 
is  contained  in  the  preceding  page, 
which  page  is  also  reproduced  in  many 
prominent  magazines  and  newspapers  in 
the  country.  Through  this  announcement 
we  feel  quite  sanguine  that  fifty  thousand 
people  will  be  interested  in  the  awards 
of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  be  made  to  our 


228 


THE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS  — PRESENT  AND  FUTURE 


readers;  but  this  is  only  the  commercial 
side  of  the  proposition  and  is  not  to  be 
compared  with  the  greater  and  more 
beneficial  purpose  back  of  all  this. 

The  real  purpose  is  to  obtain  for  the 
magazine  a  distinctive  feature  for  the 
coming  year,  where  each  number  will 
contain  some  of  these  excerpts,  which 
will  multiply  the  interest  in  the  maga- 
zine beyond  all  sensational  methods. 
For  it  is  the  quiet,  increasing 
interest  month  by  month  in  not  only 
one  article  or  story  in  the  magazine, 
but  in  every  part  of  it,  from  cover 
to  cover,  that  builds  up  a  strong  and 
enduring  subscription  list,  something  we 
have  and  hope  to  continue  to  deserve. 
1  feel,  somehow,  that  it  is  not  necessary 
to  go  into  details  with  any  of  the  old 
readers  of  the  National  in  reference  to 
our  purposes,  but  to  those  who  are  now 
meeting  us  for  the  first  time  and  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  the  magazine  I 
would  like  to  talk  it  over. 

J* 

COME  years  ago  President  McKinley 
set  about  appointing  me  to  a  consul- 
ship, but  when  the  matter  was  almost 
arranged,  he  advised  me  very  kindly  not 
to  accept  it,  knowing,  as  he- did,  of  the 
ambition  I  had  in  view  to  some  time 
publish  a  national  magazine;  and  on 
his  assurance  that  I  was  capable  of  be- 
ginning the  work  at  that  time,  my  unde. 
taking  was  inaugurated.  Its  success  has 
been  that  of  every  other  business  enter- 
prise. There  have  been  dark  days  and 
sunny  days,  struggles  and  victories. 
There  have  been  poor  magazines  and 
good  ones,  but  all  through  there  has 
been  the  unswerving  loyalty  and  interest 
of  friends  who  have  increased  in  num- 
bers from  month  to  month. 

Now  the  natural  increase  in  the  sub- 
scription list  of  a  magazine  is  from 
20,000  to  30,000  in  a  year.  Our  ambi- 
tion is  to  have  i  ,000,000  subscribers,  so 
you  can  see  that  in  this  way,  even  at 
a  compound  rate  of  increase,  it  would 
necessitate  a  lapse  of  about  thirty  or 


forty  years  to  reach  the  goal.  Therefore, 
we  are  adopting  American  advertising 
methods  and  are  making  this  award 
frankly  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  the 
magazine  more  quickly.  We  shall  cheer- 
fully pay  out  this  $10,000  for  the  direct 
benefit  of  our  readers.  This  is  a  liberal 
proportion  of  our  entire  receipts,  and  we 
prefer  to  expend  it  so  that  our  readers 
may  have  a  share  in  the  profits  rather 
than  to  lay  it  out  in  other  experiments. 

Jl 

DEFORE  finally  deciding  upon  this 
plan,  I  took  the  precaution  of  trying 
it  in  not  less  than  fifty  homes,  and  sub- 
mitted it  also  to  the  advertising  men  of 
various  publications  of  all  classes. 
It  has  been  read  by  senators,  members 
of  the  cabinet,  congressmen,  merchants, 
lawyers,  doctors,  street  car  conductors, 
motormen,  hotel  porters,  mechanics, 
financiers  handling  their  millions,  news- 
boys, dentists,  general  passenger  agent? 
— in  fact,  I  cannot  recall  any  class  eithei 
among  workers  or  men  of  leisure,  who 
have  not  read  this  advertisement.  What 
was  the  result?  First  it  brought  a  smile, 
sometimes  growing  into  a  convulsion  of 
laughter.  Then  came  a  sobering  of  the 
face  as  the  reader  reached  the  small  text 
and  found  that  Joe  Chappie  was  sincere 
and  had  in  all  this  a  purpose  more  im- 
portant than  the  mere  desire  to  amuse. 
But  the  advertisement  has  not  escaped 
criticism.  There  have  been  advertising 
men  who  have  avowed  their  scepticism 
openly,  but  that  only  served  to  convince 
me  that  I  had  hold  of  the  right  thing. 
One  thing  especially  impressed  me:  in 
nearly  every  instance,  the  individual  on 
reading  the  ad.  at  once  began  to  search 
his  pocket  for  that  little,  well  worn  clip- 
ping which  he  had  carried  for  years — 
something  that  had  touched  his  heart 
and  that  he  had  preserved  as  a  priceless 
gem.  Others,  office  men,  commenced 
the  search  in  some  of  the  small  drawers 
of  their  desks,  and  there  were  few  who 
had  not  some  treasured  scrap  to  bring 
forth,  radiating,  inspiring  and  noble. 


229 


OUR    PLANS    AND    PROSPECTS  — PRESENT    AND  FUTURE 


230 


OUR    PLANS    AND    PROSPECTS  —  PRESENT    AND    FUTURE 


A  LL  this  testing  of  the  ad.  was  a  lesson 
to  me,  for  it  proved  that  men  are 
fundamentally  sentimental,  I  verily  be- 
lieve more  so  than  women.  I  was 
amazed  to  note  men,  apparently  rough 
and  toil-hardened,  produce  from  their 
pockets  some  little  bit  of  verse,  or  some 
kindly  sentiment  in  prose,  that  would 
have  done  honor  to  the  finest  nature  on 
earth.  If  I  have  nothing  else  coming  to 
me  from  this  enterprise  other  than  the 
knowledge  of  the  innate  goodness  and 
kindness  of  human  nature,  I  shall  con- 
sider myself  repaid.  This  is  the  kind  of 
information  that  inspires;  every  day  the 
horizon  seems  to  widen  and  grow 
brighter  as  one  realizes 'the  fundamental 
gentleness  of  the  average  man,  no  matter 
what  his  daily  life  and  actions  seem  to 
indicate  to  the  reverse.  Reinforced  by 
the  knowledge  thus  obtained,  I  felt 
secure  of  being  on  the  right  road,  no 
matter  how  much  my  readers  might 
smile  at  first  sight  of  my  proposition. 

Then  again,  I  have  tested  my  plan, 
as  I  said  before,  in  the  home.  Here, 
too,  the  more  I  investigated  the  more 
I  became  convinced  that  there  is  in  each 
life  some  sweet,  pure  sentiment,  though 
it  may  be  hidden;  there  is  a  deep-seated 
admiration  for  the  best  and  noblest  of 
all  that  we  see  and  hear.  "We  needs 
must  love  the  highest  when  we  see  it. " 

& 

IVIOW  these  contributions  will  embody 
what  is  best  and  highest  in  each  life 
and  will,  I  am  sure,  prove  a  great  attrac- 
tion in  the  magazine  during  the  coming 
year.  They  will  be  published  from 
month  to  month  with  the  names  of  the 
contributors,  and  the  prizes  will  be 
awarded  when  the  list  reaches  two  hun- 
dred fifty  thousand,  (250,000)  or  will  posi- 
tively be  awarded  before  September  i, 
1905,  or  it  may  be  sooner.  All  depends 
on  how  subscriptions  come  in.  We  may 
be  able  to  make  the  award  in  a  few 
months  or  even  weeks. 

Every  one  who  reads  these  lines 
should  send  us  in  his  or  her  clipping  at 


once,  with  fifty  cents  to  cover  a  six 
months'  subscription  to  the  National; 
and  if  another  clipping  is  found,  send 
that  also,  but  in  each  instance  when  a 
clipping  is  sent  it  must  be  accompanied 
by  fifty  cents  to  pay  for  a  six  months' 
subscription,  either  for  the  sender  or  for 
a  friend.  No  clipping  can  be  sent  with- 
out fifty  cents,  as  it  will  not  be  eligible 
for  consideration  unless  this  condition 
is  complied  with.  Any  person  on  our 
subscription  list  is  free  to  send  in  fifty 
cents,  which  will  pay  for  six  months  more 
on  his  subscription  and  entitle  him  to 
send  in  a  clipping  as  well.  If  a  sub- 
scriber sends  in  $i.  it  entitles  him  to  one 
year's  subscription  and  the  sending  in  of 
two  clippings,  and  the  new  reader,  sub- 
scribing for  the  first  time,  is  also  at 
liberty  to  send  $i  and  get  a  year's  sub- 
scription and  send  in  two  clippings.  I 
am  making  this  part  of  the  plan  per- 
fectly clear  so  that  no  correpondence  may 
be  necessary.  The  absolutely  necessary 
correspondence  involved  in  this  proposi- 
tion is  so  great,  and  our  regular  daily 
mail  is  so  large,  that  we  must  decline 
any  correspondence  regarding  the  rules 
of  this  competition;  we  shall  make  them 
perfectly  clear  in  this  number.  Remem- 
ber fifty  cents  for  six  months  subscrip- 
tion with  every  clipping. 

Jt 

IN  several  homes  where  this  proposition 
was  tested,  the  impulse  on  the  first 
reading  was  to  go  direct  to  the  old  family 
Bible,  or  to  mother's  scrap  book,  and 
find  those  few  lines  that  had  been  care- 
fully laid  away  and  that  had  stood  the 
test  of  time  and  frequent  readings.  It 
is  truly  amazing  to  realize  the  discrimin- 
ating intelligence  of  the  American  people 
in  the  matter  of  literature.  In  one 
family  there  were  six  members  and  each 
one  had  a  clipping  ready  within  an  hour 
after  reading  the  advertisement.  I  feel 
sure  that  we  must  have  fifty  thousand 
families  in  the  United  States  who  will 
go  and  do  likewise,  and  it  will  readily 
be  seen  how  rapidly  this  would  advance 


231 


OUR    PLANS    AND    PROSPECTS  — PRESENT    AND    FUTURE 


us  toward  our  million  circulation.  The 
remark  of  one  of  the  daughters  of  this 
family,  as  she  advanced  with  slip  in  hand 
and  radiant  face,  specially  impressed  me. 


not    only  the    editor  of    the    National 
Magazine   but  all    editors." 

I   answered   that  we   were  willing  to 
share  the  information  that  our  contest 


Mr.  J.  E. 
Colenso 


Mrs  M.  E. 


Mrs.  J.  M.       Miss          Miss  Mr. 

Chappie      Partridge    Manuel    N.  Decker 


THE  NATIONAL'S  PARTY  ON  BOARD  STEAMER  CARPATHIA.    THEY  VISITED  FIVE 
FOREIGN  COUNTRIES,  AND  INSIST  THAT  IT  WAS  THE  GREATEST 
EVENT  OF  THEIR  LIVES 


"Now,  mother,  we  know  how  valuable 
those  selections  are  that  you  have  been 
saving  up  for  years  past." 

I  feel  sure  that  many  other  families 
will  find  out  the  value  of  their  save  up 
clippings. 


prominent  editor  said  to  me  when 
I  showed  him  a  rough  draft  of  my 
idea: 

"There  has  been  nothing  like  it  for 
getting  at  the  real  desires  of  American 
readers,  and  it  will  throw  a  great  deal 
of  light  on  a  problem  that  has  perplexed 


will  bring  with  our  brother  editors.  Our 
idea  first  and  primarily  is  to  get  at  the 
very  heart's  core  of  the  American  peo- 
ple, and  to  receive  the  inspiration  which 
this  knowledge  must  bring.  It  will  be 
the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  pub- 
lishing world  that  any  periodical  has  been 
given  a  direct  glimpse  into  the  inner  life 
of  the  readers;  into  those  recesses  of 
their  thoughts  where  are  stored  things 
sacred  and  hallowed  by  time  and 
memory.  The  pile  of  silver  dollars  as 
high  as  your  head  is  nothing  compared 
with  the  prize  which  I  shall  have  in  re- 


232 


OUR    PLANS    AND    PROSPECTS  — PRESEN^    AND    FUTURE 


/•*•• 

turn.  I  ask  your  kindly  interest  and 
cooperation  in  a  purpose  which  cannot 
fail  to  do  us  both  good,  and  help  us  to 
give  to  the  readers  of  the  National  the 
very  things  that  they  most  want. 

We  all  have  days  of  work  and  burden 
bearing,  of  rapier  fencing  with  business, 
of  fighting  duels  with  circumstances;  on 
one  day  let  us  forget  all  and  read  some- 
thing fragrant  with  the  sentiment  which 
charms  today  as  it  did  in  days  gone  by. 

J« 
THIS  advertisement,  we  believe,  comes 

just  at  the  right  moment.  We  would 
not  have  dared  to  launch  such  a  propo- 
sition had  we  been  a  perfectly  new  firm, 
but  the  National  in  its  eleventh  year  has 
made  a  record  by  this  time  of  which,  I 
feel  sure,  our  readers  are  as  proud  as  we 
are.  When  we  announce  premiums,  our 
subscribers  know  that  the  promise  will 
be  carried  our  to  the  letter,  and  good 
measure  given  besides.  When  we  sent 
out  queries  on  "How  to  Secure  a  Million 
Subscribers,"  and,  incidentally,  men- 
tioned a  trip  to  the  West  Indies,  the 
thousands  and  thousands  of  responses 
that  poured  in  upon  us  proved  how  much 
faith  our  readers  had  in  what  we  offered 
them. 

But  what  impressed  me  most  in  rela- 
tion to  this  past  contest  was  the  close 
personal  interest  taken  by  all  contribu- 
tors, as  shown  in  their  anxiety  to  send 
in  suggestions  that  should  be  practical 
and  workable.  The  contributions  to  the 
contest  were  not  sent  in  the  mere  spirit 
of  prize  getting,  but  were  all  thoughtful 
and  of  undeniable  interest,  plainly  ex- 
pressing the  desire  to  benefit  the  maga- 
zine to  which  they  were  sent.  Fifteen 
of  us  went  to  Jamaica,  and  the  June 
number  told  the  story  of  our  trip.  We 
republish  here  a  few  lines  voicing 'the 
sentiments  of  that  party.  This  is  simply 
given  to  interest  new  subscribers.  Then 
some  time  ago  we  announced  a  European 
trip,  and  from  this  our  party  has  just 
returned,  having  visited  five  foreign 
countries.  This  trip  was  a  source  of  un- 


qualified pleasure  in  every  way,  and  the 
hearty  appreciation  of  every  member  of 
the  party  is  a  full  reward  for  the  trouble 
and  cost  of  the  expedition. 

The  article  signed  by  the  members  of 
the  National's  European  party  speaks  for 
itself  more  eloquently  than  any  words  of 
mine  can  do.  The  general  sentiment 
seems  to  be,  as  Miss  Partridge  so  kindly 
expresses  it,  that  this  trip  will  be  a  life- 
long inspiration  to  those  who  took  it. 

Now,  I  want  old  and  new  subscribers 
to  have  equal  advantages.  Our  old 
friends  know  how  highly  we  value  their 
friendship  and  interest.  What  we  want 
is  subscribers  for  ten,  twenty,  fifty  years, 
ayel  a  lifetime  —  a  subscription  for  the 
National  Magazine  itself  and  what  it 
strives  to  represent. 

J* 

THOUSANDS  of  new  subscribers  have 
been  added  to  the  National  merely 
through  the  kindness  of  readers  who 
have  sent  the  magazine  as  a  present  or 
Christarhs  gift  to  their  friends.  And 
what  more  appropriate  gift  can  be  found 
than  a  magazine,  which  comes  not  once, 
but  every  month  to  remind  the  recipient 
of  the  absent  loved  one  who  sent  it? 
What  I  want  is  your  cooperation.  It  is 
just  the  same  as  building  up  interest  in 
any  organization.  If  ten  people  bring 
ten  new  auditors  with  them  each 
Sunday,  that  church  will  soon  be 
crowded,  so  we  go  on  the  theory  that 
nobody  can  help  us  so  well  as  those 
good  readers  who  have  known  us  for 
years,  and  we  earnestly  request  their 
enthusiastic  interest  in  this  enterprise. 
We  feel  that  you  will  recognize,  as  we 
do,  that  this  is  the  natural  corollary  of  our 
growth,  and  is  the  sequence  of  our  de- 
velopment. 

There  is  only  another  month  until 
Christmastide  —  let  us  make  it  an  occa- 
sion of  happiness  in  thousands  of  homes 
where  you  and  I  can  send  our  message 
of  love  and  good  will  through  the.  pages 
and  monthly  visits  of  the  National. 

Now  for  the  "National"  campaign  I 


233 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


THE 


LOFTIS  SYSTEM 

l>  the  one  successful  system.    WHY  ?    Because  it  is  quick, 
easy,  confidential  and  absolutely  reliable. 


BOW  IT  OPERATES 


Diamond,  Watch  or  other  article  from  our  cata- 
logue and  before  he  could  hardly  expect  its  ar- 
rival it  is  handed  to  him  at  his  home,  place  of 
business,  or,  if  he  prefers,  at  his  express  office. 
All  express  charges  are  paid  by  us.  we  assume 
all  the  expense  and  risk  of  submitting  our  goods 
for  Inspection  and  approval,  knowing  that  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  a  sale  will  result.  We  send  out 
Diamonds  and  Watches  that  tell  their  own  story 
and  sell  themselves.  All  we  ask  Is  the  privilege  of 
submitting  them  to  Intelligent  and  impartial 
people— people  who  can  discriminate  in  qualities, 
workmanship  and  prices.  > 

PAYMENT  AND  CREDIT  SJpjiS 

your  entire  approval  you  pay  one-fifth  on  delivery 
and  keep  the  article,  sending  the  balance  to  us 
direct   (we  have  no  collectors)   in   eight   equal 
monthly  payments.    These  terms  make  anyone's 
credit  good,  for  any  honest  person  can  and  will 
meet  these  small  payments  promptly.    This  sys- 
tem permits  us  to  open  an  account  and  do  busi- 
ness with  all  classes  and  conditions  of  people. 
The  ten-dollar  a  week  employe  is  just  as  wel- 
'  /  come  as  a  customer  on  our  books  as  is  his 
s     wealthy  employer.    Every  Diamond  sold  by 
^     us  Is  accompanied  by  a  signed  certificate, 
•   guaranteeing  its  quality  and  value,  and  we 
^>  will  always  accept  the  Diamond  as  so  much 
money  in  payment  for  other  goods  or  a  larger 
Diamond. 

AIID  rACH  TFDMC    We  also  have  a  cash 
ULH   I/ AMI    iLKIYlO    plan,  and  it  is  just 
as  far  beyond  competition  as  our  easy  monthly 
terms.    Here  it  is :    Select  any  Diamond  and  pay 
cash  for  it,  and  we  will  give  you  a  written 
agreement  that  you  may  return  the  Diamond 
at  any  time  within  one  year,  and  get  all  you 
paid  for  it  less  ten  per  cent.    You  might,  for 
instance,  wear  a  fifty -dollar  Diamond  Ring  or 
Stud  for  a  year,  then  bring  It  back  to  us  and 
get  $*!>,  making  the  cost  of  wearing  the  Dia- 
mond for  a  whole  year  less  than  ten  cents  per 
week. 


INVESTMENT  AND  SAVINGS 

investment  for  money  than  a  Diamond.  Every 
year  the  prices  Increase  from  ten  to  twenty  per 
cent.  The  demand  for  Diamonds  Increases  an- 
nually, while  the  supply  becomes  less  and  more 
uncertain  every  year.  There  Is  hardly  a  doubt 
but  that  values  will  Increase  during  the  next 
twelve  months,  more  than  twenty  per  cent.  As  a 
method  of  savin?  money,  there  Is  none  equal  to  a 
Diamond  purchased  on  our  easy  payment  terms. 
The  small  amounts  needed  to  meet  the  monthly 
payments  can  be  accumulated  by  so  small  a  saving 
as  ten  cents  dally.  You  have  the  Diamond  In  your 
possession  as  security,  and  every  day  experience 
the  pleasure  and  prestige  of  wearing  a  Diamond. 
We  furnish  every  person,  whether  they  are  a  cus- 
tomer or  not,  one  of  the  Lof  tls  Steel  Safes  for  home 
savings.  Put  the  little  safe  on  your  desk,  bureau, 
bench  or  table  and  every  day  drop  Into  It  the 
stray  pennies,  nickels  and  dimes  that  are  frittered 
away  without  notice.  Do  this  for  a  few  days  and 
you  will  have  the  first  payment  ready  for  a  Dla-  ) 
mond.  We  will  deliver  the  Diamond  at  once,  while  ' 
you  keep  the  little  safe  at  work  saving  the  small 
amounts  necessary  to  meet  the  monthly  pay-  | 
meuts.  .  \ 

CHRISTMAS  GIFTS  SSTUKSSC 

lars  for  some  cheap  and  trifling  Christmas  .2 
gift.  Use  the  same  money  In  making  the  first    •* 
payment  on  a  Diamond — something  that  will       '. 
last  for  ever,  and  every  day  remind  the  wearer 
of  your  regard  and  good  judgment.  Time,  wear 
and  exposure  do  not  affect  Diamonds  In  the 
slightest  degree— in  fact,  they  become  more  val- 
uable every  year. 

OUR  EARLY  FALL  CATALOGUE 

A  copy  will  be  sent  free  for  the  asking.  It  i 
contains  a  complete  history  of  the  Diamond 
from  mine  to  wearer.  Your  name  will  also  be 
listed  for  a  free  copy  of  our  LARGE  ANNUAL ' 
ILLUSTRATED  CATALOGUE.  Please  write  \ 
today  and  make  sure  of  receiving  an  early 
copy. 


AN   INVITATION 

We  invite  you  to  visit  and  inspect  our  magnificent  World's  Fair  exhibit,  one  of  the 
largest  and  finest  displays  of  diamonds  and  precious  stones  ever  made  in  America,  and  one 
of  the  most  interesting  and  valuable  exhibits  at  the  St.  Louis  Exposition.  Our  diamond 
cutters  at  work  will  gladly  show  you  every  process  of  cleaving,  cutting  and  polishing,  from 
the  rough  diamonds,  as  taken  from  the  mines  in  South  Africa,  to  the  perfectly  cut  and  pol- 
ished gems.  Do  not  fail  to  see  it,  the  location  is  Block  33.  Varied  Industries  Bldg.,  in 
JDiamond  Cutting  and  Jewelry  Section. 


The  present  condition  of  the  Diamond  market  is  such,  that  it  •would  pay 
anyone  to  make  Christmas  selections  new.    Write  for  catalogue  today. 


CO.  (380 


LOFTIS  BROS. 


Diamond  Cutters  and  Manufacturing  Jewelers 
Dept.  M-10  92  to  98  STATE  STREET 

CHICAGO.  ILLINOIS 
•HCHDJPoTrz? 

m 


Don't  fail  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


OUR  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS— PRESENT  AND  FUTURE 


The  undersigned  subscribers  of  the 
National  Magazine  of  Boston,  Massachu- 
setts, chosen  to  accompany  Editor  Joe 
M.  Chappie  to  the  West  Indies,  desire 
to  most  heartily  and  enthusiastically  ex- 
press our  appreciation  of  the  trip  that 
has  truly  been  the  event  of  our  lives. 
From  our  homes  we  were  brought  to 
Boston  and  given  a  hearty  welcome  at 
the  office  of  the  National  on  the  day  of 
sailing.  Nothing  was  overlooked  for 
our  comfort  and  pleasure  from  the  time 
we  left  our  homes  until  to  our  homes  we 
returned.  The  promises  of  the  itinerary 
were  more  than  fulfilled,  and  the  entire 
party,  with  our  good  natured  and  ever 
thoughful  leader,  was  an  inspiration  and 
liberal  education  to  all.  Never  a  thought 
or  care  but  for  enjoyment.  The  Na- 
tional Magazine  cruise  to  the  West  In- 
dies we  unhesitatingly  pronounce  a  note- 
able  and  splendid  triumph  and  achieve- 
ment. 

We  can  scarcely  find  words  to  ex- 
press our  appreciation  and  admiration 
for  "Joe  Chappie  and  his  National  Maga- 
zine." Our  future  "ideas,"  efforts  and 
interest  are  pledged  unreservedly  for  all 
time  to  the  National.  We  were  awarded 
a  prize  tour,  but  we  prize  more  than  all 


else  the  friendship  and  generous  kind- 
ness of  the  editor  and  his  good  wife, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joe  M.  Chappie,  and  the 
pleasant  acquaintances  formed,  which 
will  continue  as  long  as  life  lasts.  We 
cannot  too  strongly  commend  the  Na- 
tional as  a  periodical  of  great  purposes 
and  one  that  carries  out  these  purposes 
to  the  letter. 

We  all  expect  to  see  the  day  when  the 
National  Magazine  has  one  million  sub- 
scribers, and  that  day  will  come  just  as 
sure  as  one  million  people  get  to  "know 
Joe  Chappie  and  his  National  Maga- 
zine. ;>  Coming  from  every  section  of 
our  great  nation,  representing  many 
avocations,  trades,  professions  and  pur- 
suits in  life,  we  know  and  feel  that  the 
National,  more  than  any  other  periodi- 
cal, lives  close  to  the  hearts,  homes  and 
wholesome  purposes  of  the  great  Ameri- 
can people. 

Long  live  the  National,  its  editor  and 
staff!  They  have  so  meritoriously  won 
the  life  long  affections  of  readers  scat- 
tered in  all  parts  of  the  world,  who  we 
believe  will  heartily  concur  in  the  senti- 
ment and  loving  tribute  which  we  have 
endeavored  to  express  in  this  message 
which  comes  from  our  hearts." 


At  *"•"<>*     «-€-          Jf, 


•»«= 


9j,/3 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


^DIRECT  FROM  WORKSHOP: 


[v^         r»  ^      m    w  •  M_  ^ 

Baird  North 


DIAMOND  MERCHANTS— GOLD  AND  SILVERSMITHS 


447  A  Diamond  Ring  .  .    $50. Oo 

465 A   Di  imond  King  .  .     160.00 

5  37  A   Solid  Gold  Signet  Ring  .  .          3.6O 

537A   Solid  Gold  Signet  Ring 2.00 

We  engrave  one  script  letter  to  read,  free  of 

charge ;  monogram  60  cents 
711B   Solid  Gold,  Pearl  Guard  Ring 
125D   Solid  Gold  Scarf  Pin,  Baroque 
Solid  Gold,  Pearl  Brooch 


3U  Solid  O-old,  Pearl  Brooch     . 

3 19  Solid  Sold,  P  ear  I  an  A  Baroque  B 

39J  Soli    G-old,  Pearl  Chatelaine 

433  Soli -1  Gold,  Pearl  Brooch 

3J5  Solid  Sold  Pearl  Brooch 

420  Solid  Gold  Pearl  Brooch 

690  Solid  Gold  Locket   . 

1190  Solid  G-old  Brooch.  Pearls 

1830  Solid  Gold  Scarf  Pin 

1968  Solid  Gold  Stock  Pin 

1978  Solid  Go  1  d  Stock  Pin 

1990  Solid  Gold  Stock  Pin 

8012  Solid  Gold  Stock  Pin,  Pearl 


roque 

h     . 
iroque  ] 
aine 
h 

rooch 

L 

i 

rls  '. 

• 

Jarl 
aroque  Pearl 

200 
1.5O 
4.00 
4.00 
5.60 
4.50 
3.00 
3.75 
5.00 
2.00 
.50 
.65 
.65 
.75 
1.00 
1.50 


2058  Solid  Gold  8- ock  Pin,  Pearls 

2107  Solid  Gold  Neck  Chain    .... 

2108  Solid  Gold  Cuff  Links       .         ... 
2114  Solid  Gold  Neck  Chain  .         ... 
7174  Sterling  Silver  Brooch    .         ... 
7220  Sterling  Hat  Pin  like  7174      .      . 
7190  Sterling  Silver  Brooch    .         ... 
7206  Sterling  Silver  Hat  Pin  . 

8055  Sterling  Sugar  Spoon,  Lily  Pattern  . 

Our  catalog  Q  pictures  the  Lily  Pattern 

8481  Sterling  Silver  Hat  Pin  .         .     .-     .     . 

8482  Sterling  Silver  Hat  Pin  .     . 

8483  Sterling  Silver  Brooch  .        ... 

8485  Starling  Silver  Brooch  or  Chatelaine 

8484  Sterling  Silver  Brooch   .... 

8491  Sterling  Hat  Pin  like  8485    . 

8486  Sterling  Silver  Brooch  . 

8487  Sterling  Silver  Brooch  . 

8488  Sterling  Silver  Brooh  or  Chatelaine 

8492  Sterling  Hat  Pin  like  8488    . 

8489  Sterling  Silver  Scarf  Pin      .       .       . 

8490  Sterling  Silver  Scarf  Pin,  Ruby  Eyes 


complete. 


1.00 

2  00 

2.00 

4.00 

.50 

.60 

.35 

.75 

1.50 


.30 
,50 
.60 
.50 
25 
.50 
-.40 
.35 
.50 
.60 
.20 
.45 


2032      Solid  Gold  Stock  Pin',  Baroque  p'eari 

We  are  the  largest  mail-order  dealers  in  our  line  in  the  United  States.  Selling  direct  to  the  user  our  prices  average  one-third  less 
than  those  of  the  retail  dealers — buying  from  us  you  save  the  middlemen's  profits. 

Onr  catalog  Q  is  a  valuable  book,  containing  illustrations  of  over  8000  articles— Diamond  and  Gold  Jewelry,  Rings,  Watches,  Brooches, 
Pins,  Chains,  Leather  and  Toilet  Articles,  Table  Ware,  etc.  It  is  fall  of  suggestions  for  the  holidays— a  boon  to  the  busy  housewife,  and 
especially  so  to  those  somewhat  removedfrom  the  large  centres.  _  . 

We  fully  guarantee  every  article  we  sell;  we  assume  all  possible  risk ;  we  return  your  money  if  you  ask  it.  Our  catalog  ^  should 
be  in  the  hands  of  every  economical  Christmas  shopper.  It  will  also  be  found  useful  throughout  the  year. 

We  will  gladly  mail  it  to  you,npon  receipt  of  your  address.    A  postal  does  it.    Write  Now. 

Address,    BAIRD-NORTH   COMPANY,   290   ESSEX   STREET,   SALEM,   MASS. 


Don't  fail  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


WINNIPEG  —  MAIN    STREET,    LOOKING     NORTH    FROM    PORTAGE    AVENUE 


WINNIPEG,    THE    METROPOLIS    OF    WESTERN 

CANADA 

By  SANFIELD   MACDONALD 


DURING  the  past  few  years  the  inter- 
est aroused  in  the  United  States  in 
the  farm  lands  of  the  great  Canadian 
Northwest  has  induced  a  flood  of  im- 
migration into  that  vast  district  from 
the  States,  greater,  probably,  than  that 
from  any  foreign  country  to  America. 
Throughout  the  entire  country,  people 
have  been  irresistibly  attracted  by  the 
wonderful  opportunities  for  acquiring 
free  farms.  The  city  of  Winnipeg, 
where  the  pleasant  climate  is  a  special 
inducement  to  settlers,  is  the  capital 
and  center  of  this  vast  domain  —  the 
veritable  gateway  to  the  new  and  great 
Northwest.  Here  Spring  begins  in 
April,,  being  followed  by  an  ideal  Sum- 
mer, while  the  Winter  is  not  so  severe 
that  it  need  be  dreaded  by  anyone. 


In  this  delightful  land  I  have  been 
introducing  the  National  Magazine,  and 
have  met  with  a  most  kindly  reception. 
The  National  already  has  a  large  sale  in 
Winnipeg,  and  the  publishing  of  this 
article  on  the  city  will  do  much  to  in- 
crease the  interest  of  the  people  in  the 
magazine,  as  well  as  making  known  the 
advantages  of  the  city  to  a  large  number 
of  readers  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  Winnipeg  is 
one  of  the  coming  cities,  and  this  is 
clearly  demonstrated  by  statistics.  In 
1870  the  population  was  215,  in  '74  it 
was  1,869,  a°d  each  year  saw  a  liberal 
increase,  until  today  it  has  reached 
77,000,  and  these  figures  are  somewhat 
lower  than  the  actual  population. 

Winnipeg  is  admirably  equipped   in 


[Continued  on  next  left-hand  page] 


DEPARTMENT     OP     P  R  O  G  R  E  S  S  I  V  E     A  D  V  E  RT  I  S  E  R  8 


THE 


Wishes  are  good 
When  backed  by  deeds 


Actions  to  day  bring 
Results  for  the  future 


JW.ALEXANDER  ^ 


J.HHYDE 

VICE     PRESIDENT 


HENRY  B.HYDfc 


DONT  WISH 


that  you  and  your  family  may 
always  have  as  much  reason  for  thanks- 
giving as  you  have  now.  Act  and  make 
sure  of  it. 

A  policy  in  the  EQUITABLE  on  the  New 
Continuous  Instalment  Endowment 
plan  will  provide  a  yearly  income  for 
your  family  —  commencing  just  when 
they  need  it.   Or  it  will  provide  a  yearly 


Splendid  opportunities  for  men  of  character  to  act  as  representatives. 
Write  to  GAGE  E.TARBELL.2NJ?Vice  President. 


For  full  Information  fill  out  this  coupon  or  write 

The  Equitable  Life  Assurance  Society  of  the  united  states,  120  Broadway,  New  York  Dept.  No.«4 

Please  send  me  information  regarding  a  Continuous  Instalment  Endowment  for  $ if  issued  to  a 

person years  of  age,  beneficiary; years  of  age. 

Name 

Address.. . .  


Don't  fail  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


WINNIPEG,  'THE  METROPOLIS  OF  WESTERN   CANADA 


all  essentials  for  health  and  comfort. 
The  water  supply  and  protection  from 
fire  are  all  that  can  be  desired,  the  pave- 
ments, walks  and  boulevards  compare 
favorably  with  those  of  any  large  city, 
and  are  laid  down  at  an  unusually  small 
cost,  the  stone  being  obtained  from  the 
city's  quarries  at  a  minimum  expendi- 
ture. Most  of  the  streets  have  boule- 


reading  room  is  supplied  with  forty-four 
monthly  and  thirty-five  daily  and  weekly 
newspapers  and  periodicals  from  the 
United  States,  Canada  and  England. 
Mr.  Carnegie  is  donating  $75,000  toward 
the  fine  new  library  building  which  is 
now  being  erected.  Another  public  in- 
stitution is  the  Winnipeg  general  hospi- 
tal, which  is  maintained  chiefly  by  the 


WINNIPEG    CITY    HALL    AND    MARKET    BUILDING 


vards,  and  stone  walks  are  generally 
used  throughout  the  city. 

Churches  are  numerous,  and  almost 
every  denomination  is  represented,  while 
the  school  system  and  buildings  compare 
favorably  with  those  of  any  city  in  the 
Dominion.  In  addition  to  the  primary 
and  grammar  schools,  there  is  a  collegi- 
ate institute,  which  serves  as  a  prepara- 
tion for  the  university,  and  in  this  de- 
partment education  is  free,  as  it  is  in 
the  lower  grades,  with  the  exception  of 
some  slight  expense  for  books  to  the 
more  advanced  scholars. 

In  the  City  Hall  an  excellent  reference 
and  circulating  library  of  over  15,000 
volumes  may  be  found,  and  the  free 


contributions  of  the  city.  The  Grey 
Nuns  of  St.  Boniface  also  have  a  fine 
hospital  across  the  Red  River,  a  short 
distance  from  Winnipeg,  and  the  Child- 
ren's Home,  the  Women's  Home,  the 
Free  Kindergarten  the  Deaf  and  Dumb 
Institute  and  other  institutions  of  a  simi- 
lar nature  provide  all  the  accommoda- 
tion that  is  needed  along  these  lines. 
Winnepeg  is  the  central  market  for 
a  large  surrounding  district,  and  the 
handsome  warehouses  and  shops  testify 
to  the  amount  of  domestic  trade.  Grain 
production,  stock  raising,  cattle  breed- 
ing, mining,  lumbering  and  fishing  are 
some  of  the  industries  carried  on,  and 
shipments  are  made  daily  to  points  over 


[Continued  on  next  left-hand  page] 


DEPARTMENT     OP     PR O G R E S S  I V  E     A D VE RT I S E R S 


A  New 
Calendar  Idea 


FOR 

1905 

And  A  Unique  Record 
ol  Baby's  Doings 

The  accompanying  half-tone     x  ' 
illustration  represents   one   of  six    ?  *"' 
beautiful,    original  color   designs 
used  in  the  new  Resinol  Art  Cal- 
endar for  1905.    These  six  designs  ' 
have   been   reproduced  in  all  the 
delicate  coloring  of  the  original 
paintings,    and   in    the   full    size 

8x15  inches — printed  in  12  colors.    This  Calendar  is  more  than  the 
ordinary  recorder  of  months  and  days.     The  original  and  unique 
feature  of  a  picture-diary  that  marks  the  interesting  events  of  baby  life, 
gives  it  an  unusual  attraction  in  the  home  where  there  are  small  children. 

There  are  six  illustrated  pages  depicting  different  incidents  of  child  life, 
with  spaces  for  all  of  baby's  "  sayings  and  doings  "     It  will  record  the  date  of 
the  stork's  visit;  the  date  of  the  first  tooth  •,  the  first  childish  word,  and  the 
many  happenings  in  baby's  early  life,  so  dear  to  the  mother's  heart. 

The  color  designs  and  drawings  are  the  work  of  Maud  Humphrey,  the  cele- 
brated artist  whose  pictures  are  noted  for  the  realistic  portrayal  of  child  life.     The  Calendar 
is  %  production  of  the  highest  art  of  printing.     Children's  books  of  equal  quality,  and  of 
far  less  real  interest,  cannot  be  purchased  in  the  stores  under  several  dollars.     As  a  Calen- 
dar alone  it  is  equal  to  those  selling  for  two  dollars. 


I  You  Can  Get  It  FREE 


Send  us  two  wrappers  taken  from  Resinol  Soap,  and  the  Calendar  will  be  sent  post- 
paid. The  soap  retails  at  leading  druggists  for  25  cents  a  cake.  Another  way  to  procure 
the  Calendar  is  by  sending  one  wrapper  and  15  cents  in  stamps  or  coin.  Or,  we  will  send 
the  Calendar  postpaid  on  receipt  of  40  cents,  and  include  with  it  one  cake  of  Resinol  Soap. 

We  are  making  this  splendid  offer  this  year  in  order  to  familiarize  more  people  with 
Resinol  Soap  It  is  the  ideal  skin  soap,  and  in  addition  to  its  remarkable  healing  qualities, 
feeds  and  nourishes  the  skin,  creating  and  maintaining  a  clear  complexion.  For  the  daily 
use  of  adult  or  baby  it  is  unequaled.  Resinol  Soap  keeps  the  baby  clean,  sweet,  and 
healthy.  From  its  extreme  purity  it  is  the  safest  soap  to  use  in  all  skin  affections,  its 
action  being  particularly  grateful  to  allay  inflammation  in  cases  of  eczema,  or  any  rash 
common  to  babyhood. 

The  Calendar  is  in  every  way  an  art  work,  an  ornament  to  the  nursery,  or  any 
room  in  the  home. 

It  is  advisable  to  make  your  application  early,  as  the  demand  for  them  is  very  great 
Address  Dept.  X 

RESINOL  CHEMICAL  COMPANY, 
Baltimore,  Md.,  U.  S.  A. 


Don't  fail  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"   when  writing  to  advertisers. 


WINNIPEG,    THE    METROPOLIS    OF    WESTERN    CANADA 


a  thousand  miles  distant.  The  excellent 
railway  systems  afford  every  facility  for 
transportation,  and  the  efficient  street 
railway  service  enables  merchants  or 
pleasure  seekers  to  get  rapidly  and  easily 
to  all  points  in  the  city,  a  single  fare 
carrying  the  passenger  from  one  end  to 
the  other.  A  glance  at  the  custom  re- 


BAWLF  BLOCK,   WINNIPEG 

ceipts  gives  some  idea  of  the  large  for- 
eign trade  carried  on,  though  much  of 
the  foreign  goods  consumed  in  the  city 
is  not  credited  to  Winnipeg,  being  pur- 
chased, duty  paid,  in  Montreal  and 
Toronto. 

In  addition  to  grain  production  and 
cattle  breeding,  many  other  industries 
are  being  established  in  Winnipeg,  and 
furniture  and  upholstery,  brooms  and 
brushes,  oatmeal,  flour  and  gristmills, 
tents  and  mattresses,  clothing,  book- 
binding, carriage  works,  marble,  tin 
ware,  boiler  and  machine  shops  and 
many  other  industries  are  well  repre- 
sented. 

Winnipeg  ranks  third  among  Cana- 
dian cities  as  a  financial  center,  and 
there  are  already  thirteen  banks,  which 


represent  a  paid  up  capital  of  nearly 
fifty  million  dollars.  Bank  clearances 
in  1894  were  $50,540,648;  in  1903  bank 
clearances  had  increased  to  $246,108.006. 
Winnipeg,  being  the  provincial  capi- 
tal, is  the  headquarters  of  the  superior 
court,  the  Manitoba  legislature  and 
several  other  official  bodies,  which  add 
much  to  the  interest  and  importance  of 
the  city,  while  its  handsome  buildings, 
well  kept  streets  with  twenty  miles  of 
shade  trees,  its  nine  parks  and  delight- 
ful environment  and  its  great  grain  mar- 
ket, the  largest  in  the  British  empire, 
make  it  a  place  of  unique  interest  either 
to  the  resident  or  visitor. 


UNION  BANK  BUILDING,  ONE  OF  WIN- 
NIPEG'S NEWEST  STRUCTURES 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


BIRD  CENTER  ETIQUETTE 

(A  CARD  GAME)          ^ 

The  Artistic  and  Social  Hit  of  a  Decade 


'A  BIRD  CENTER  PARTY" 


A  Volcano  of  Excitement  and  Laughter 

Every  card  from  an  original  drawing  by  the  greatest 
cartoonist  of  them  all — McCuTCHEON.  Handsomely 
printed  in  colors  on  he?vv  ivory  enameled  card  board. 

As  a  Fun  Maker  at  Informal  Parties  every  pack  is  worth  Its  weight  in  gold. 

LEARNED  IN  A  MINUTE. 
50c  AT  ALL  DEALERS  OR  50c  PREPAID  DIRECT  FROM  US. 

GILT  EDGED  EDITION  DeLUXE,  $I.OO. 

HOME  GAME  CO.,        -        -  73  Wolf  Bldg.,  CHICAGO. 


Don't  fall  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


LET'S 

TALK.  IT 

OVER 


HERE  it  is  Thanksgiving  time  again, 
and  if  there  is  any  periodical  that 
ought  to  be  really  thankful  it  is  the  Na- 
tional. It  has  been  a  year  not  only  of 
success,  but  of  invaluable  experience, 
education  and  inspiration. 

The  cool,  crisp  days  of  Autumn  make 
us  appreciate  a  change  from  even  "the 
good  old  Summer  time,"  and  I  hope  that 
we  are  all  entering  on  our  Winter's  cam- 
paign with  the  full  vigor  and  buoyancy 
of  hope,  which  carries  forward  to  success 
many  an  enterprise  that  "stranded  on 
the  sea-deserted  shores  of  inaction" 
would  have  been  sure  to  fail.  When  I 
sit  down  to  my  Thanksgiving  dinner — 
and  goodness  knows  .where  I  shall  eat 
it — I  shall  think  of  every  one  of  you,  and 
offer  a  silent  prayer  of  thanksgiving  that 
will  include  every  reader  of  the  National 
—  aye!  every  human  being  on  earth. 
This  may  seem  pretty  broad,  but  is  it 
not  true  that  the  older  we  grow  the  larger 
our  hearts  become,  until  we  can  include 
in  our  good  will  the  whole  human  family, 
every  nation  and  tongue.  Wandering 
for  so  many  years  to  and  fro  among 
strangers  during  my  travels,  and  finding 
here,  there  and  everywhere  always  a 
kindly  spirit  of  hospitality  and  welcome, 
has  convinced  me  that  we  are  apt  at 
times  to  grow  a  little  bit  too  reserved, 
and  desire  only  to  be  associated  with 
those  of  our  home  circle  in  whom  we 
are  selfishly  interested. 


In  traveling  I  have  often  found  that 
the  most  interesting  companions  are 
those  who  are  apt  to  be  overlooked  by 
others.  I  stood  in  the  telephone  booth 
of  the  Grand  Central  Station  in  New 
York  the  other  day — a  spot  that  has  been 
grimly  called  "  the  trouble  corner." 
There. were  fierce  and  furious  ladies  and 
furious  and  fierce  gentlemen,  all  trying 
to  make  an  appointment  or  send  some 
message  at  the  same  moment.  The  doors 
of  the  booths  were  slammed  with  that  fer- 
vor which  is  sure  to  bring  a  halo  of 
sweetness  over  the  telephone  operators. 
In  one  corner  stood  a  lady  with  a  baby 
in  her  arms  and  an  abundance  of  par- 
cels. There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
it  was  evident  that  she  had  come  to  send 
some  sad  message.  Unused,  probably, 
to  the  telephone,  she  was  at  a  loss  to 
know  how  to  use  it  and  yet  hold  the 
baby.  There  was  no  place  to  lay  it 
down,  and  in  all  that  throng  of  specta- 
tors there  was  not  one  who  came  forward 
to  solve  the  difficulty  for  her.  It  is  true 
that  her  purchases  were  not  bestowed  in 
bags  of  alligator  or  sealskin,  but  it  was 
probably  fatigue  and  nervousness  that 
made  the  operator  snap  out,  when  she 
asked  what  she  should  do  with  the  baby 
while  she  telephoned, 

"We  don't  furnish  benches  for 
babies,  or  —  nurses." 

I  suppose  that  wearing  the  silk  hat 
had  made  me  feel  especially  benignant. 


[Continued  on  page  242] 
240 


DEPARTMENT    OP~PRO  G  R  E  SSI  V  E     ADVERTISERS 


At  once  takes  command  of  the  brain  and 
gives  a  new  pleasure  one  can't  shake  off. 
Bunco  unmistakably  eclipses  everything  in 
the  game  line  and  means  a  pronounced  sen- 
sation in  your  community.    It's  alive  with 
endless  new  situations  and  amusing 
combinations.     One  never   grows  weary 
of  it,  and  it  is  destined  to  supplant  all  games  of 
modern  times.     Easy  to  learn  and  keenly 
interesting  to  both  the  young  and  the 
old.      Anybody  can   play   it — success- 
fully played  at   progressive  parties   as 
well   as  individual  tables.     115  Cards. 


Your  dealer  sells  Bunco  for 
50c,  or  order  direct  from 
us  for  50c,  postage  paid. 
Don't  delay  as  it  truly 
means  an  emphatic  sensa- 
tion in  your  community. 

Also  makers  of  Bird  Center 
Etiquette.  A  card  game 
from  original  drawings  by 
John  T.  McCutcheon.  All 
dealers,  or  50c,  prepaid. 

HOME  GAME  CO 

73  Dearborn  St.,  CHICAGO 


Don't  fan  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


I  took  the  baby  and  held  it,  while  the 
curious  throng  looked  on  me  as  an 
escaped  "freak"  from  Boston.  Only  one 
sweet-faced  lady  came  and  gave  me  a 
word  of  encouragement.  "I  am  so  glad 
that  you  did  it.  Babies  are  always  so 
quiet  and  restful  in  the  strong  arms  of 

a   man." 

*  *        * 

My  shoulders  went  up  two  inches,  and 
I  really  became  so  interested  in  that 
baby  that  I  was  sorry  when  I  had  to 
place  her  back  in  the  arms  of  her 
mother,  but  the  look  of  deep  gratitude 
and  the  few  words  of  broken  English 
were  worth  more  to  me  than  any  day's 
work  I  ever  performed.  I  don't  know 
who  she  is;  I  don't  know  whether  she  is 
a  subscriber  or  not,  but  she  belongs  to 
the  great  human  family  and  she  is  a 
mother,  and  I  think  I  never  did  any- 
thing that  gave  me  more  satisfaction 
than  the  performance  of  this  slight  ser- 
vice. After  the  mother  and  baby  had 
passed  out,  I  began  to  inspect  the  faces 
about  me,  and  there  were  few  that  had 
even  a  look  of  sanity.  There  was  the 
broker  chewing  his  cigar,  the  lady  who 
had  missed  a  bundle  in  the  station, 
the  young  man  laden  with  a  box  of 
flowers  who  had  lost  his  train,  and  many 
another  equally  distressed  mortal.  I 
think  if  the  incidents  of  that  "trouble 
corner"  could  be  recorded  we  would 
have  some  mighty  interesting  reading 
for  the  National.  Anyhow,  I  carried 
away  a  pleasant  remembrance  from  the 
ill-fated  corner,  and  today  recall  the 
kindly  words  of  that  little,  gray  haired 
lady— a  mother  she  must  have  been — that 
were  like  an  oasis  of  peaceful  green  in 
the  desert  of  surging  humanity  off  the 

city  streets. 

*  *        * 

Why  not  look  pleasant  and  have  your 
''picture  face"  on  all  the  time?  Why 
not  have  a  smiling  contest  at  the 
Thanksgiving  dinner  table?  See  who 
can  smile  the  longest  and  most  pleas 
antly.  See  who  can  do  the  kindest  act 


and  speak  the  sweetest  word.  And  how 
much  is  in  the  softly  spoken  word! 
Half  the  trouble  is  not  in  what  is  said 
but  how  it  is  said.  The  sharply  spoken 
word  is  often  like  a  spark  to  a  tinder 
box  and  starts  off  a  temper  that  is  like 
a  fire  brand. 

As  I  turn  the  pages  of  my  Pleasure 
Book  tonight,  I  think  of  the  thousands 
and  thousands  of  Thanksgiving  gather- 
ings to  come  all  over  the  country — happy 
and  merry,  for  that  is  the  day  when  the 
children  have  special  dispensation  to  do 
as  they  please  and  eat  an  unlimited  sup- 
ply. The  mother  sits  down,  flushed 
from  the  rush  of  preparation  but  happy 
that  she  can  do  for  others  —  just  slip  up 
behind  and  give  her  that  unexpected 
Thanksgiving  kiss  —  be  thankful  to  God 
— but  be  very  thankful  to  the  mother 
God  gave  you, — for  to  many  of  us  there 
is  now  no  mother  to  bless  and  sanctify 
the  day.  Yet  on  that  day  there  must  be 
shadows  as  well  as  sunlight  in  the  pic- 
ture, and  after  we  have  had  the  hearty 
hand  grasp  of  greeting  from  dear  friends 
and  the  delights  of  our  feast,  why  not 
take  a  little  half  hour,  or  even  an  hour, 
to  find  some  one  who  has  not  had  these 
pleasures  and  endeavor  to  leave  with 
them  just  one  pleasant  memory  of  the 
day  in  which  the  nation,  as  well  as  the 
individual,  unite  in  giving  grateful 
thanks  to  the  Giver  of  all  Good? 
*  *  * 

There  may  be  a  variance  of  creeds; 
there  may  be  a  dispute  as  to  dogma,  but 
on  one  thing  all  are  agreed,  and  that  is 
the  worth  of  a  kind  act  and  gently 
spoken  word.  And  if  the  way  has  been 
hard  for  some  of  us,  let  us  remember 
that 

"Patience  and  abnegation  of  self  and 
devotion  to  others,  this  is  the  lesson  a 
life  of  trial  and  suffering  may  teach  us." 

This  is  an  old,  old  story,  and  has  been 
said  and  resaid  since  the  world  began, 
but  it  is  one  of  those  things  that  bear 
retelling  in  the  cheery  glow  of  Thanks- 
giving tide. 


242 


COUNTESS     MARGUERITE     CASSINI,     ADOPTED     DAUGHTER     OF     COMPTE     CASSINI,     THfi 

RUSSIAN    AMBASSADOR    TO   THE    UNITED    STATES.     THE    COUNTESS    IS    A    WARM 

FRIEND    OF    MISS     ALICE     ROOSEVELT     AND     A     POWER     IN     THE     FIRST 

SOCIETY  OF  WASHINGTON.     THIS  PORTRAIT    SHOWS    HER  IN  THE 

CHARACTER    OF    "JUDITH",    AT  A  FANCY    DRESS    PARTY 

Photograph  copyrighted,  1004,  by  Clinedinst 


GEORGE   BRUCE    CORTELYOU,  CHAIRMAN  OF  THE    REPUBLICAN    NATIONAL  COMMITTEE, 
WHO  IT  IS    SAID  WILL    SHORTLY  BE  GIVEN  CHARGE  OF  THE    POSTOFFICE  DEPART- 
MENT,   WHERE    HIS    ADMINISTRATIVE  ABILITY    AND  RIGOROUS  HONESTY  WILL 
CORRECT    WHATEVER    ABUSES    MAY    HAVE    CREPT    INTO    THE    SERVICE 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1003,  by  CHnedinst 


VOL.  XXI. 


DECEMBER,    1904 


No.  3. 


ffairs  af  Wasfi/ngton 

M/f c/>e// Cfiajypfe 


THERE  is  always  a  refreshing  interest 
in  the  opening  days  of  congress  in 
the  hearty  greetings  between  the  mem- 
bers  present   and 
kindly  reminiscences 
of  the  members  who 
are  missing.      Many 
changes  may  be  noted 
in  the  twelve  months 
that  have  passed. 

One  of  the  first 
debts  a  congressman 
hastens  to  pay  for  his 
constituents  is  the 
visit  to  the  president, 
and  for  the  first  few 
days  after  congress 
opens  the  doors  of 
the  reception  room 
are  kept  swinging.  It 
is  really  interesting  to 
notice,  as  the  visitors 
emerge  from  the  pres- 
ence of  the  president, 
what  a  wise  and  mys- 
terious look  their 
faces  have,  and  one 
can  sometimes  al- 
most guess  the  pur- 
port of  the  conversa- 
tion that  has  passed 
during  the  call.  The 
newspaper  men  soon 
go  after  the  informa- 
tion, and  in  some 
strange  way  they 
manage  to  get  it,  but 
it  requires  a  duel. 


MR.    BARNES,    SECOND    SECRETARY    TO    THE 
PRESIDENT,   DELIVERING   THE    EXECU- 
TIVE'S   MESSAGE    TO    CONGRESS 
Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


A  duel  of  diplomatic  question  and  cross- 
question  worthy  of  the  superior  court. 
Often  when  the  president's  visitors 
emerge  one  may  ob- 
serve mysterious  nota- 
tions on  the  back  of 
a  card,  on  an  envel- 
ope or  the  margin  of 
a  newspaper.  These 
might  not  be  legible 
to  the  Ordinary 
reader,  but  the  few 
marks  mean  much, 
and  often  contain  in- 
formation that  will 
pass  into  the  pages  of 
history  through  the 
medium  of  some  bill 
in  congress.  I  was 
interested  the  other 
day  in  seeing  a  little 
notation  which  a 
congressman  showed 
me,  that  he  had  made 
several  years  before. 
This  was  no  less  than 
the  nucleus  of  the 
most  noted  bill  of  the 
last  congress,  which 
had  been  elaborated 
stage  by  stage  until 
it  grew  to  the  fine 
proportions  which 
saw  the  light  a  short 
time  ago. 

It  was  pathetic  to 
see  the  older  mem- 
bers approach  the 


232 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  DECEMBER,    1904 


REPRESENTATIVE  ROBERT   E.  HITT   EXPLAINING   TO   SENATOR   EUGENE   HALE  OF  MAINE 

ALL  ABOUT  THAT   TREMENDOUS   REPUBLICAN   MAJORITY   IN   ILLINOIS 

Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


White  House  and  have  to  make  an 
effort  to  establish  their  identity  as 
members  of  the  fifty-  fourth  congress. 
Only  a  few  years  ago,  when  these 
men  called  to  pay  their  respects  to  the 
president,  they  were  among  the  best 
known  men  in  Washington,  but  new 
faces  have  come  to  the  front  and  their 
identity  is  already  forgotten.  The  pub- 
lic memory  is  a  short  one. 


A  PRETTY  little  story  is  told  of  how 
the  heart  of  a  great  Washington 
diplomat  was  won  by  the  courtesy  of 
a  tiny  five-year-old  boy,  when  the  doors 
of  the  great  man  were  closed  to  all  the 
social  notabilities.  Many  formal  calls 
had  been  made  by  those  who  were  the 
equals  of  the  distinguished  foreign  am- 
bassador, who  was  seeking  rest  and 
recreation  at  his  Summer  home,  but 


he  showed  no  inclination  to  pursue  the 
acquaintance  further.  There  was  one 
lady  who  refused  to  call,  and  this  so 
worked  upon  the  feelings  of  her  little 
son  that  he  determined  to  uphold  the 
dignity  of  his  family  by  calling  upon  the 
ambassador  himself.  Without  a  word 
to  anyone,  the  little  fellow  bestrode  his 
tiny  pony,  and  equipped  with  his  card 
case — stocked  with  visiting  cards  about 
the  size  of  a  postage  stamp — and  accom- 
panied only  by  a  groom,  he  set  forth  to 
visit  the  distinguished  foreigner. 

The  bell  was  rung  and  the  card  pre- 
sented to  the  butler,  but  the  ambassador 
came  out  himself  to  meet  the  little 
visitor.  He  took  him  up  in  his  arms 
and  looked  at  the  name  on  the  tiny 
card. 

"My  little  man,  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you,"  and  his  fatherly  heart  warmed  to 
the  child  who  had  come  to  see  him  as 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


233 


an  act  of    courtesy.      "Have    you    no 
friends  with  you?  " 

"I  am  the  only  gentleman,"  said  the 
little  visitor,  "but  there  is  another  man 
outside  and  my  pony." 


The  reply  amused  the  ambassador, 
accustomed  'to  the  usages  of  foreign 
courts,  and  he  informed  his  visitor's 
parents  of  their  child's  whereabouts  and 
made  a  day  of  it  with  the  little  fellow, 


SENATOR    ARTHUR   PUE   GORMAN   OF   MARYLAND — IS    IT   POSSIBLE   HE   CAN   BE    LAUGH- 
ING OVER   THE   ELECTION    RETURNS? 
Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


234 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


MRS.    SYDNEY   JOHNSTON     BOWIE,    WIFE    OF    REPRESENTATIVE    BOWIE    OF 

ALABAMA,  AND  ONE   OF   THE  REIGNING   BEAUTIES  OF  CAPITAL 

SOCIETY.      SHE  WAS   MISS   ANNIE  FOSTER   ETHERIDGE  OF 

OCALA,  FLORIDA,  BEFORE    SHE    CAPITULATED   TO 

THE  GALLANT  MEMBER  FROM   ALABAMA 

Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clinedinst 


providing  entertainment  also  for  "the 
other  man"  and  the  pony  in  true  baronial 
style. 

But  the  courtesy  of  this  little  five-year- 
old  resulted  in  establishing  certain  im- 
portant relationships  and  reciprocations 
which  probably  could  not  have  been 


brought  about  in  any  other  way,  for  the 
heart  of  the  ambassador  is  not  easy  to 
reach.  How  true  is  the  old  Bible  say- 
ing, "A  little  child  shall  lead  them." 

<* 

THE  writing  of  the  message  may  have 
been  an  arduous  task  to  many  of  our 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


2.35 


MISS   CATHERINE    ELKINS,  DAUGHTER   OF    SENATOR    ELKINS   AND   GRAND- 
DAUGHTER  OF   FORMER   SENATOR   HENRY   G.   DAVIS   OF  WEST 
VIRGINIA.        MISS     ELKINS  IS  ONE    OF    THE    PRETTY 
DEBUTANTES  OF  THE   CAPITAL   SEASON   AND 
AN    EXPERT   HORSEWOMAN 
Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


presidents,  but  the  facile  pen  of  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt  does  not  halt  when  this 
duty  comes  upon  him.  It  would  be  in- 
teresting to  know  how  the  message  is 
constructed.  As  nearly  as  I  can  under- 
stand, it  is  a  process' of  careful  editing. 
All  the  questions  of  the  hour  have  to  be 


touched  upon  in  a  sentence  or  paragraph 
that  gives  the  gist  of  the  reports  sub- 
mitted from  the  various  departments.  It 
is  the  endless  amount  of  detail  involved 
in  grappling  with  the  many  parts  of 
the  government's  machinery,  in  order 
to  send  forth  a  clear  message  to  the 


236 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


American  people,  that  calls  for  a  literary 
cogency  and  an  administrative  ability 
with  which  every  man  is  not  gifted, 
though  these  qualities  appear  in  an  un- 
usual degree  in  the  present  chief  execu- 
tive. I  can  fancy  him  making  a  note 
here  and  an  elimination  there,  as  he 
arranges  the  material  that  he  has 


and  dry  detail  shall  become  dramatic  and 
picturesque  under  his  treatment  of  them. 
As  a  distinguished  southern  gentleman 
said  to  me: 

"We  may  not  like  the  president  down 
South  —  we  don't;  and  all  the  misdeeds 
charged  against  him  may  be  true;  yet 
there  is  something  so  intensely  human 


BARON    SPECK    VON    STERNBERG,    THE    GERMAN    AMBASSADOR,    AND    COMPTE    CASSINI, 
THE  RUSSIAN   AMBASSADOR,   IN   THE   UNIFORMS   OF   THEIR  OFFICE 

This  quite  uncommon  photograph  was  taken  by  Mr.  Clinedinst  one  day  when  the  two  diplomats  chanced  to 
enter  his  studio  simultaneously.  Neither  consented  —  nor  forbade  —  the  making  of  the  photograph  showing 
them  together;  though  custom  frowns  upon  anything  of  the  kind,  the  men  are  friends  and  were  not  unwilling 
to  let  the  fact  be  generally  known.  Compte  Cassini  is  dean  of  the  diplomatic  corps  at  Washington. 


gathered  up  during  the  months  of  work 
at  his  desk.       ( ; 

It  may  be  assumed  that  the  fact  we 
have  a  literary  president  has  led  people 
to  expect  that  matters  of  daily  routine 


about  the  man  that  he  compels  our  ad- 
miration and  our  confidence.  When  he 
thinks  a  thing  right,  he  does  it  straight 
up  and  down;  and  when  he  says  a  thing 
he  says  it  in  the  clearest  possible  Ian- 


ADMIRAL  GEORGE    DEWEY'S    FAVORITE   PHOTOGRAPH;     HE    TOLD   HIS    PHOTOGRAPHER 

HE  WOULD   RATHER  FIGHT  THE  BATTLE  OF   MANILA   OVER  THAN 

TO    STAND    AGAIN    BEFORE    A    CAMERA 

Photograph,  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clinedinst 


238 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  DECEMBER,  1904 


guage.  No  American  can  read  the  mes- 
sages of  President  Roosevelt  without 
being  enlightened.  He  is  serving  the 
people  with  his  fullest  capacity,  honestly 
and  fearlessly,  and  what  more  can  we 
ask?  I  don't  vote  for  him,  but  I  must 
confess  I  like  him." 

The  message  this  year  was  awaited 
with  even  more  than  the  usual  interest, 
coming  so  close  after  the  Thanksgiving 
proclamation  and  the  results  of  the  elec- 


public  picks  out  one  characteristic  and 
makes  a  figure  of  that,  not  considering 
the  many  other  points  in  the  man's  make- 
up. There  is  Senator  Tillman,  perhaps 
as  fierce-looking  a  man  as  ever  shook 
finger  across  the  aisles  of  the  senate 
chamber;  whose  rasping  voice  and  biting 
sarcasms  are  as  cutting  as  the  Winter 
winds.  To  many  people  this  man  seems 
acid  to  a  degree  on  first  acquaintance, 
yet  when  I  tell  you  that  few  men  are 


MISS   MATILDE   TOWNSEND,   A   LEADER  OF  WASHINGTON   SOCIETY 
Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


tion.  It  seems  to  have  all  the  virility  of 
the  president's  earlier  days,  and  yet  is 
pregnant  with  the  deliberation  and 
thoughtfulness  that  are  the  outcome  of 
nearly  four  years  of  service  in  the  high- 
est office  of  the  nation. 


IT  is  interesting  to  note  how  different 

many  public  men  are  from  the  popular 

impression  of  them  which  exists.    The 


possessed  of  a  more  kindly  and  sweet 
disposition,  you  will  be  listening  to  the 
plain  truth.  Would  you  ever  think  that 
this  man,  who  won  his  epaulettes  in 
a  war  of  bitter  words,  is  passionately 
fond  of  flowers,  and  that  every  moment 
he  can  snatch  from  his  duties  is  given  to 
the  care  and  nurture  of  plants  of  various 
kinds?  Would  you  believe  that  this 
man,  in  the  very  thickest  of  the  bitter 
life  struggle  today,  yet  regards  the 


SENATOR   BENJAMIN   RYAN   TILLMAN  OF   SOUTH   CAROLINA 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clinedinst 


240 


MRS.    ROBERT    J      WYNNE,    WIFE     OF    THE     POST- 
MASTER  GENERAL 

flowers  that  grow  for  him  beneath  the 
sunny  skies  of  Carolina  as  his  dearest 
treasures  and  the  greatest  luxuries  of  his 
life?  Ben  Tillman  may  be  a  crank.  He 
may  have  peculiar  ideas  regarding  the 
race  problem,  but  nobody  who  has 
watched  him  tenderly  touching  the 
petals  of  a  carnation  or  caressing  the 
leaves  of  a  rose  bush  still  steeped  in 
the  morning  dew,  will  fail  to  appreciate 
the  revelation  of  a  nature,  which,  once 
seen,  conveys  a  more  accurate  idea  of 
the  man's  character  than  could  possibly 
be  gained  in  any  other  way. 

Senator  Tillman  has  also  a  humorous 
side  to  his  mind,  as  the  story  he  tells 
about  the  silk  hat  he  got  to  make  Wash- 
ington calls  in  will  show.  He  was  not 
happy  in  that  hat.  He  said  he  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  it  nor  how  to 
handle  it.  When  he  got  through  the 
calls,  he  came  out  and  walked  up  and 


down  the  street,  perhaps  in  an  endeavor 
to  get  accustomed  to  the  unusual  head 
covering.  He  said  he  never  felt  so  fool- 
ish in  his  life  and  imagined  that  every- 
body was  looking  at  him.  He  had  a 
yearning  to  go  home  and  get  hold  of 
his  slouch  hat  once  more.  Since  that 
time,  however,  he  has  acquired  the  art 
of  wearing  a  silk  hat,  and  does  it  as 
gracefully  as  any  man. 

Talking  about  silk  hats,  there  was  a 
time  in  St.  Louis  when  we  made  a  sort 
of  rest  room  of  our  booth,  and  many 
a  tired  mother  was  invited  to  remain 
there  with  her  children  and  rest  before 
going  on  to  finish  the  tour  of  sight-see- 
ing. It  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  sort 
of  oasis  in  a  wilderness  of  hustle  and 
bustle.  Among  other  young  people  who 
came  to  the  booth  during  the  weeks  that 
I  was  under  a  wager  to  wear  a  silk  hat, 
were  my  three  nephews  and  one  niece, 
whose  ages  range  from  four  years  to  four 
months. 

It  happened  on  that  day  that  the  baby 
niece  and  baby  nephew  were  decorated 
respectively  with  blue  and  pink  ribbon, 
and  it  also  happened  that  I  was  dele- 
gated to  carry  the  four -months -old 
nephew  from  the  Liberal  Arts  Palace  to 
the  States  entrance,  a  distance  of  about 
half  a  mile.  How  these  little  mothers 
get  along,  holding  a  baby  all  day,  I  can- 
not imagine,  for  that  four-months-old 
made  my  head  and  arms  and  back  ache 
before  I  had  finished  my  half-mile;  but 
I  trudged  along,  carefully  holding  the 
young  scion  of  the  house.  I  was  about 
to  take  my  seat  in  the  street  car,  when 
I  was  accosted  by  a  ruddy-faced  man, 
evidently  from  the  country.  He  said: 

"My  wife  wants  to  know  if  that  'ere 
baby  is  one  of  them  out  of  the  incu- 
bator?" 

I  felt  puzzled  at  first,  then  thought 
that  my  silk  hat  must  have  suggested 
one  of  the  gentlemen  from  the  incuba- 
tors, but  this  did  not  seem  a  sufficient  ex- 
planation. Then  it  flashed  upon  me  that 
I  was  carrying  a  baby  decked  with  pink 


SENATOR    AND    FORMER   GOVERNOR    WINTHROP    MURRAY    CRANE    OF    MASSACHUSETTS, 

SUCCESSOR   TO  THE   LATE    SENATOR    HOAR,   AND   ONE   OF   THE   BEST-LOVED   SONS 

OF    THE    OLD    BAY    STATE,    WHICH     WILL     UNDOUBTEDLY    RETAIN    HIM    IN 

THE    SENATE    AS     LONG     AS    HE    WILL     CONSENT    TO    SERVE 

Photograph  by  Chickering,   Boston 


242 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for   DECEMBER,   1904 


MRS.   MARY   ADELAIDE   (SMITH)  FAIRBANKS,  MOTHER  OF   THE 

VICE  PRESIDENT-ELECT 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  G-.  V.  Buck,  Washington 


ribbon,  while  my  brother  beside  me  held 
a  girl  who  wore  blue  ribbon,  and  this  is 
the  method  adopted  for  marking  the 
sexes  at  the  incubators. 

We  escaped  as  soon  as  possible  from 
our  questioning  friend,  and  I  must  say 
that  we  succeeded  in  getting  home  with 
the  children  without  any  further  suspi- 
cions having  been  raised  as  to  our  being 
kidnappers. 


AS  early  as  nine  o'clock  Admiral  Dewey 
walks  into  his  office  in  the  Mills 
building,  diagonally  across  from  the 
navy  department,  sits  down  at  his  desk 
and  gets  to  work  with  the  same  preci- 
sion that  he  might  use  if  still  aboard  the 
Olympia.  In  the  corner  opposite  his 
desk  is  a  cedar  chest,  which  was  made 
for  the  admiral  in  Manila.  He  pointed 
to  it  and  said : 


AFFAIRS     AT    WASHINGTON 


243 


CHARLES    WARREN    FAIRBANKS    OF    INDIANA,     SENATOR    AND    VICE 

PRESIDENT-ELECT 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  GK  V.  Buck.  Waihington 


"In  that  chest  will  be  found  the  real 
records  of  the  battle  of  Manila  never  yet 
published.  I  hope  to  prepare  them  for 
publication  and  that  they  will  be  made 
public  after  my  death." 

Upon  the  wall  above  the  chest  were 
a  number  of  maps  new  ones  just  pre- 
pared, of  the  Philippines.  Captain 
Swift  came  in,  and  it  was  most  interest- 
ing to  see  the  admiral  put  on  his  spec- 


tacles again  and  go  over  the  maps 
carefully,  pointing  out  the  places  selected 
for  new  naval  fortifications,  indicating 
with  his  finger  the  route  of  the  new  line 
of  railway  to  be  built  in  Luzon. 

Captain  S\vift  has  seen  a  great  deal  of 
service  in  the  Philippines,  and  when 
the  two  naval  officers  got  their  heads 
together  and  were  absorbed 
over  the  new  points  of 


244 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  DECEMBER,    1904 


reference  to  fortifications,  I  thought  how 
little  the  country  realizes  how  our  nation 
has  grown  during  the  past  five  years. 

In  another  corner  of  the  room  was 
Admiral  Dewey's  faithful  dog,  Bob,  who 
is  with  him  on  all  occasions.  Bob  waits 
patiently  all  the  forenoon,  while  his  mas- 
ter sits  at  his  desk  making  calculations 
and  carrying  on  a  vast  correspondence, 
the  importance  of  which  is  little  realized 
by  outsiders. 

Despite  the  close  attention  which  he 
gives  to  his  work,  Admiral  Dewey  always 


THAT  Miss  Etta  Giffen,  superintendent 
of  the  reading  room  for  the  blind  in 
the  library  of  congress,  has  been  soli- 
cited by  General  John  Eaton,  former 
commissioner  of  education,  to  draft  the 
bill  for  the  higher  education  of  the  blind 
to  be  presented  before  congress  at  its 
next  session,  is  an  illustration  of  the 
unique  position  occupied  by  this  young 
lady  as  a  promoter  of  the  welfare  of  the 
sightless  at  the  national  capital.  Gen- 
eral Eaton,  who  has  devoted  years  of 
attention  to  the  needs  of  the  blind  of 


THE     BRITISH     AMBASSADOR,     SIR     MORTIMER     DURAND,     WITH      MISS     DURAND 
ATTACHES   OF  THE  EMBASSY,   ENJOYING   A   CANTER  ON   THE   FINE 
ROADS   ABOUT   WASHINGTON 
Photograph  by  Cliuedinst 


keeps  up  his  connection  with  current 
affairs.  I  was  much  interested  when  he 
ran  over  some  quotations  from  President 
Roosevelt's  "Utterances  on  All  Ques- 
tions," until  he  came  to,  "A  good  navy 
is  not  provocative  of  war;  it  is  the  surest 
guarantee  of  peace."  Then  he  read: 
"Naval  war  is  two-thirds  settled  in  ad- 
vance, because  it  is  mainly  settled  by 
the  preparations  which  have  gone  on  for 
years  preceding  the  outbreak." 


this  country,  declares  that  Miss  Giffen 
is  more  competent  to  formulate  a  plan 
for  their  educational  development  than 
anyone  else  of  whom  he  knows.  The 
present  commissioner  of  education,  Dr. 
Harris,  has  also  conferred  with  Miss 
Giffen  upon  the  subject,  and  is  of  a  like 
opinion  with  General  Eaton. 

The  proposed  bill  will  affect  the  inter- 
ests of  blind  persons  throughout  the 
United  States,  providing  for  their  educa- 


SENATOR  AND   MRS.   CHAUNCEY   MITCHELL  DEPEW   OF   NEW   YORK 
Photograph  by  Clinedlnst 


246 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,   1904 


MISS    ETTA    GIFFEN,  SUPERINTENDENT    OF   THE 

READING  ROOM    FOR  THE   BLIND  IN  THE 

LIBRARY  OF  CONGRESS 

tion  for  the  higher  pursuits  of  life  at 
colleges  and  universities  under  the  direc- 
tion and  at  the  expense  of  the  national 
government.  They  will  thus  be  brought 
into  contact  with  seeing  students,  and 
will  be  able  to  demonstrate  generally 
their  capabilities,  which  are  now  scarcely 
recognized.  An  important  feature  of 
the  bill  will  be  the  elimination  of  the 
present  pauper  or  charitable  element  in 
the  entire  system  of  the  education  of  the 
blind.  The  latter  are,  as  a  rule,  ex- 
tremely sensitive,  and  this  classification 
of  them  in  public  tuition  acts  as  a  posi- 
tive handicap. 

A  matter  also  now  engaging  Miss  Gif- 
fen's  attention  is  the  introduction  into 
this  country  of  the  "maternal"  system  of 
education  of  the  juvenile  blind,  practiced 
by  Madamoiselle  Mulot  in  her  school  at 
Angers,  France.  A  wonderful  feature  in 
this  course  of  instruction  is  a  method  of 
writing,  easily  acquired  by  children  of 


five  or  six  years  of  age,  enabling  them 
to  communicate  by  letter  with  their  see- 
ing friends  who  do  not  understand  the 
"point,"  or  raised  characters.  Miss 
Giffen  has  on  exhibition  at  the  reading 
room  letters  written  by  pupils  of  Ma- 
damoiselle Mulot.  The  writing  is  exe- 
cuted by  means  of  a  metal  screen,  rather 
complex  in  pattern  to  the  sight,  resem- 
bling an  arabesque. 

Miss  Giffen  has  attended  several  in- 
ternational congresses  for  the  ameliora- 
tion of  the  condition  of  the  blind,  both 
in  this  country  and  Europe.  A  number 
of  influential  and  liberal-minded  educa- 
tors in  the  colleges  and  universities  of 
Washington  are  her  personal  friends, 
and  she  is  enabled  to  have  their  counsel 
and  support  in  advancing  the  cause  of 
the  sightless.  In  fact,  it  may  be  said 
that  this  lady  enjoys  peculiar  facilities, 
as  well  as  capacity,  in  the  furtherance  of 
a  noble  work. 

Jl 

lA/HILE  I  may  be  making  an  unpopu- 
lar suggestion  at  the  present  time,  I 
cannot  resist  the  impulse,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  success  which  is  bound  to 
accrue  from  the  Louisiana  Purchase  Ex- 
position, to  suggest  an  international  ex- 
hibition in  Boston  to  commemorate  the 
three  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  land- 
ing of  the  Pilgrims  in  Massachusetts  in 
1620,  the  most  important  date  in  our 
history. 

It  seems  to  me  it  is  now  the  East's  turn, 
for  the  West,  the  middle  West  and  the 
South  have  had  their  expositions,  and  it 
is  time  for  the  pendulum  to  swing  east- 
ward. The  mass  of  population  in  the 
eastern  states  insures  a  large  attendance. 

Why  should  the  East  be  selected,  and 
why  should  Boston  be  chosen  from 
among  the  other  eastern  cities?  The 
East  should  be  the  scene  of  the  next 
exposition  for  many  reasons,  one  being 
that  most  western  people  are  eager  to 
come  this  way,  and  the  people  from  our 
western  states  are  much  more  ready  to 
travel  than  those  in  the  East,  while  their 


AFFAIRS    AT    WASHINGTON 


247 


keen  interest  in  all  historic  details  of  the 
older  cities  is  clearly  shown  by  the  eager 
delight  of  the  visitors  to  Boston  during 
the  G.  A.  R.  encampment,  when  the 
veterans  and  their  friends  almost  wore 
themselves  out  going  from  one  point  of 
interest  to  another  in  order  to  miss  noth- 
ing of  importance  during  their  brief  stay. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  transporta- 
tion facilities  will  be  much  improved 
within  the  next  sixteen  years,  and  that 
it  will  be  possible  for  the  fathers  and 
mothers  of  the  coming  generation  to 
bring  their  young  people  across  the 
country  quicker  and  cheaper  than  is 
now  possible;  and  it  is  certain  that  the 
rising  generation  of  Americans  are  a 
race,  that  will  not  easily  tire  of  visit- 
ing. Of  course  it  is  rather  difficult  to 
picture  what  sort  of  exposition  would 
meet  the  demands  of  the  world  in  1902, 
but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  it  will  not  lack 
interest  for  our  citizens  of  all  ages. 


IN  purchasing  its  embassy,  the  Italian 
government  obtained  one  of  the  finest 
residences  in  Washington.  It  stands  on 
the  point  of  land  formed  by  the  junction 
of  New  Hampshire  avenue  and  Twenty- 
first  street,  not  far  from  Dupont  circle, 
around  which  are  located  many  of  the 
capital's  most  noted  mansions. 

The  house  was  built  and  formerly 
occupied  by  Mrs.  Hearst,  widow  of  the 
late  Senator  Hearst  of  California.  It 
is  of  red  brick  with  brown  stone  trim- 
mings, the  imposing  entrance  portico 
being  of  the  latter  material,  with  a  door 
of  oak  heavily  studded  with  iron  bolts. 
The  interior  arrangement  is  spa- 
cious and  magnificent  in  design  and  de- 
coration. The  apartments  include  a 
Dutch  dining  room,  a  lofty  music 
room,  its  walls  hung  with  paintings  by 
famous  artists,  and  on  the  ground 
floor  a  large  banquet  hall  with  walls 
and  ceiling  of  California  redwood. 


THE   ITALIAN    EMBASSY'S   HOME   IN   WASHINGTON,  ONCE   THE   HOME    OF    MRS.   PHOEBE 

HEARST  OF   CALIFORNIA 
Photograph  by  Miss  Curry 


FRANK     B.     SANBORN     IN     HIS     LIBRARY     AT     CONCORD 


FRANK    B.  SANBORN 


IN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT  OF     A    BIRTHDAY  GIFT 


OH  Sage  of  Concord,  canst  thou  not  impart 
With  birthday  gift  thy  philosophic  art; 
How  to  renew  the  lease  of  life  each  year, 
With  fresh  provision  for  the  tenant's  cheer  ? 

From  Medway's  meadows  swept  by  Summer  breeze, 

Where  woman's  wit  makes  every  prospect  please, 

The  only  man  where  only  man  is  vile, 

I  wandered  forth  for  many  a  pleasing  mile. 

By  Martha's  vines  I  sought  Nantucket's  heart, 

Where  Mary's  home  hath  found  the  better  part; 

Isle  of  the  blest  with  waters  calm  bedight, 

I  saw  old  Plymouth  cradled  on  the  rock, 

Where  rocked  the  cradle  of  our  parent  stock, 

Where  Plymouth's  captain  holds  his  vigil  still, 

The  rock-hewn  warder  of  the  storm-swept  hill. 


FRANK    B.    SANBORN 

And  where  is  laid  by  Marshfield's  sea-girt  strand 
The  black-browed  giant  of  the  granite  land. 

And  thou  dost  cherish  all  the  sacred  fires 

Lighted  of  yore  by  patriotic  sires; 

Holding  aloft  the  torch  o'er  land  and  sea, 

To  light  a  race  intelligent  and  free; 

Unbent  by  gales  or  breezes  of  the  time, 

Obeying  still  the  voice  obeyed  at  prime. 

When  on  the  body  politic  your  eye 

Descries  raw  sores  of  error,  you  apply 

The  saving  salt,  with  application  firm, 

And  smile  benignant  if  the  patient  squirm. 

By  Concord's  stream  whose  "every  wave  is  charmed," 

You  face  the  thousand  shocks  of  life  unharmed. 

To  age  of  gold  distraught  with  Mammon's  rage 

You  bring  the  solace  of  the  Golden  Age. 

Erect,  serene,  with  unbeclouded  eye 
You  see  unchanged  the  changing  years  go  by. 
Grant  us  thy  secret  with  thy  printed  page, 
Oh  Sage  of  Concord  who  hast  conquered  age. 

EDWIN  WEBSTER  SANBORN. 


A    STORMY    DAY    IN    WINTER-TIME 

By    CORA    A.   M AT S O N-D O L S O N 

F LOR  ID AVI  LLE,     NEW     YORK 

THE  snow-flakes  lodge  in  the  cedar  trees 

Or  sweep  in  a  cloud  with  the  rushing  breeze; 
But  what  care  we  for  the  Winter  storm, 
With  love  in  our  hearts  and  the  hearth-fire  warm! 

On  the  window  sill  is  a  tulip  red 
As  bright  as  its  mates  of  the  Spring-time  bed. 
It  nods  to  the  cage  where  the  linnet  swings, 
And  dreams  of  the  song  that  the  bluebird  sings. 

The  baby  laughs  at  the  blossom  fair 
And  tugs  at  the  strands  of  my  braided  hair. 
With  a  child  to  love,  and  the  hearth-fire  warm, 
Oh  what  care  we  for  the  Winter  storm? 


TELL  you  all  the  news  since  you've 
been  gone?  Land  sakes,  Mis' 
Banks, it'd  take  from  now  till  Chris'mus! 
Yes  sir,  Ratley  Center  has  had  more 
excitements  to  the  minute  during  the 
past  few  months  than  in  the  whole  course 
of  her  previous  hist'ry.  There's  been 
the  induction  of  the  new  'Piscopal 
minister,  the  Methodist  seedcake  and 
cooky  festival,  the  burnin'  of  the  organ 
fact'ry,  and  the  puttin'  out  of  the 
Woman's  Chronicle,  and  Lida  Freer's 
engagement.  You  didn't?  Why,  she's 
been  engaged  a  good  four  weeks  now; 
it's  ancient  hist'ry.  "  But  if  you  haven't 
really  heard  tell  of  it  yet,  it'll  be  news 
to  you,  and  you  may  as  well  get  it  from 
me  as  the  next  one.  Besides,  I  can  tell 
it  to  you  right,  for  my  Bess  was  clean  in 
the  thick  of  it.  It  all  come  out  of  the 
Woman's  Chronicle — the  dear  help  us, 
not  heard  of  that!  Why,  I  thought  the 
fame  of  that  had  spread  clear  through 
the  Union!  You  mean  to  say  there 
wasn't  no  word  of  it  down  to  New  York? 
Pshaw,  you  must  have  missed  it  in  the 
paper.  You  never  was  much  of  a  hand 
to  read  the  papers,  Amelia  Banks. 
Here,  put  this  cushion  to  your  back, 
and  make  yourself  comfortable,  and  I'll 
start  in  at  the  beginning. 

You  did  hear  of  the  organ  factr'y 
burnin'  down,  didn't  you?  Well,  most 
of  the  fact'ry  men's  cottages  went  too, 
and  they  was  in  a  sight  of  trouble  — 
no  homes,  no  money,  no  work.  We  all 


done  what  we  could,  but  laws,  it  was 
little  enough  for  poor  critters  thrown  out 
right  in  the  thick  of  Winter.  We  had 
special  services  in  the  churches  for  them, 
with  special  collections,  which  as  far  as 
the  men  was  concerned  was  probably  the 
most  important  feature  of  'em;  not  as 
I'd  insinuate  for  a  minute  that  the  fac- 
t'ry hands  ain't  as  good  and  pious 
Christians  as  anybody  else  in  this  com- 
munity, but  you  know  yourself,  Mis' 
Banks,  how  it  is  —  money  talks,  and 
prayers  ain't  very  fillin'  when  a  man's 
hungry. 

Well,  all  Ratley  Center  united  in 
tryin',  one  way  an'  another,  to  raise 
a  decent  fund,  but  it  was  slow  work  and 
we  women  concluded  that  if  we  could 
just  do  something  all  by  ourselves  we'd 
be  better  satisfied.  We  knew  that  if  we 
could  only  think  of  the  right  thing  we 
could  make  it  go. 

Then  one  day  Mr.  Sands  dropped  in 
when  some  of  us  was  talkin'  it  over. 
You  know  Mr.  Sands,  the  noo  editor  of 
the  Chronicle.  He  come  just  before  you 
went  away:  young,  good-lookin',  enthu- 
siastic, and  smart  as  a  steel  trap.  He's 
just  made  the  Chronicle  hum  since  he 
took  holt,  I  can  tell  you.  Just  out  of 
the  university  a  year,  come  to  Ratley 
Center  bearin'  his  blushin'  honors  full 
upon  him,  gold  medals,  scholarships,  and 
all  sorts  of  things.  Oh,  Lord  love  us, 
Amelia  Banks,  how  literal  you  be!  No, 
I  don't  mean  that  he  actually  walked  the 


THE   WOMAN'S    NUMBER 


251 


streets  with  his  scholarships  tied  'roun'd 
his  neck  and  his  medals  adornin'  his 
manly  bosom  like  a  veteran  on  parade! 
It's  a  waste  o'  breath  quotin'  po'try  to 
a  person  with  no  more  imagination  than 
a  ball  o'  woosted;  but  your  folks  never 
was  littery,  was  they,  Amelia?  Oh,  yes, 
I  know  all  about  the  preacher;  but  one 
preacher  in  a  fam'ly  don't  necessarily 
make — the  editor? — oh  yes.  Well,  the 
girls  was  plumb  crazy  over  him,  and 
even  the  married  ladies  fluttered  a  bit 
when  he  hove  into  view,  he  had  that 
takin',  gallant  way  with  him. 

Well,  as  I  said,  he  dropped  in  one 
day  when  we  was  all  wondering  what  we 
could  do  to  swell  the  relief  fund. 

"Ladies,"  says  he.  "I  have  an  idea 
for  you.  Suppose  you  bring  out  a 
Woman's  Number  of  the  Chronicle. 
Women's  numbers  have  come  out  in 
several  places  recently  with  great  suc- 
cess, and  I  know  that  with  the  talent 
here  at  Ratley  Center  you  ladies  could 
beat  all  records  hollow.  I'll  let  you 
have  the  paper  for  — let  me  see,  St.  Val- 
entine's Day  would  be  a  good  time  to 
bring  out  a  special  number.  Why  not 
take  it  then?  That  will  give  you  three 
weeks  to  get  ready." 

Well,  say,  the  way  we  took  holt  of  that 
idee  was  a  caution.  We  held  a  meeting 
right  off,  in  the  town  hall,  and  in  two 
days  it  was  settled,  committees  formed 
and  the  land  only  knows  what  all.  You 
know  Lida  Freer,  don't  you?  Mis' 
Thomas'  niece,  she  that  used  to  spend 
all  her  Summer  holidays  here  till  last 
year  when  she  went  to  Europe.  She 
graduated  from  college  same  time  as  Mr. 
Sands  did,  same  college  too.  I  asked 
him  one  day  if  he'd  known  Lida  Freer, 
and,  my  word,  he  got  as  red  as  a  beet 
and  then  white  as  chalk,  looked  real  em- 
barrassed in  fact,  and  hummed  and 
hawed  and  finally  admitted  he  had 
known  her  some,  and  he  agreed  that  she 
was  mighty  smart  and  pretty,  but  when 
I  said  how  sweet  she  was,  he  flared  right 
up  and  said  she  was  the  most  opinion- 


ated young  woman  he'd  ever  saw.  "My 
heart!"  says  I,  "she  must  have  changed 
considerable  then  since  she  used  to 
come  to  Ratley  Center,"  and  someone 
interrupted  us  just  then,  and  I  never 
could  get  him  on  the  subject  again. 

Now  it  happened  that  just  when  we'd 
decided  to  bring  out  that  Woman's 
Number,  Lida  Freer,  prettier  than  ever, 
come  to  visit  Mis'  Thomas,  and  bein' 
fresh  from  college  and  abroad  and  all, 
she  was  chosen  co-editor  of  the  thing 
with  Miss  Shernley. 

Say,  there  was  friction  over  that,  too. 
Miss  Shernley,  'cause  she's  always  been 
the  littery  character  of  Ratley  Center, — 
a  littery  character  with  a  wooden  face, 
as  my  Bob  says!  —  contributin'  cooky 
receipts  and  pathetic  sketches  of  lovers 
united  in  death  and  such  to  the  Sunday 
Herald,  she  thought  she  was  goin'  to  be 
the  whole  thing,  and  she  rather  resented 
havin'  Lida  in  it  at  all,  while  most  of 
the  rest  of  us  wanted  Lida  to  run  it  alone 
and  Miss  Shernley  to  be  run  out. 

Finally  we  settled  it  by  makin'  them 
equal  and  callin'  them  co-editors.  Then 
they  had  Maude  Sykes,  Muriel  Spence, 
Flossie  Taylor  and  my  Bess  on  as  report- 
ers and  such,  and  Mis'  Taylor,  bein'  as 
her  husband's  the  most  littery  preacher 
we  have,  and  Mis'  Short,  and  Miss  Fal- 
low, the  thin  one  that  does  the  po'try 
writin',  was  all  put  on  as  advisory  edi- 
torial board. 

There  was  another  big  committee,  too, 
with  Mis'  Judge  Myers  and  Mis'  Dr. 
Thorpe  to  the  head  of  it,  to  canvass  for 
advertisements  and  that,  and  they  did 
noble!  I'll  tell  you  all  about  their  side 
of  it  and  all  their  little  troubles  another 
time.  I've  got  to  stick  close  to  the  edi- 
tor part  of  it  and  Lida  Freer,  if  I'm  to 
get  through  before  my  men  come  home 
to  supper. 

When  they  got  their  editorial  commit- 
tee all  fixed  up,  they  held  a  meetin'  of 
it  for  the  purpose  of  lettin'  Mr.  Sands 
explain  everything  to  'em  and  tell  'em 
all  they'd  have  to  do.  I  let  them  have  it 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,  1904 


here,  as  Tom  has  the  most  stock  in  the 
Chronicle  company,  and  Bess  was  in  it 
and  we  have  the  second  biggest  parlor 
in  town. 
Lida  was  a  little  late,  and  I  was  talkin' 


and  her  head  goes  up  till  I  thought  it'd 
strike  the  chandelier. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Sands,"  says 
she,  and  sails  into  the  room  past  him  as 
if  he  was  dirt.  Well,  I'd  heard  tell  of 


by  the  door  to  Mr.  Sands  when  she  come      marble  hearts  and   frozen  faces,  and  I 


"  'GOOD  AFTERNOON,  MR.  SANDS,' 
SAYS  SHE,  AND  SAILS  *  *  *  PAST 
HIM  AS  IF  HE  WAS  DIRT" 


in.  Law,  Amelia  Banks,  if  you'd  a  saw 
them  two  when  they  come  plump  to- 
gether face  to  face!  "I  guess  you  knew 
Mr.  Sands  to  college,  Lida,"  says  I,  and 
almost  afore  I'd  said  it  Mr.  Sands  out 
with  his  hand  and  opened  his  mouth  real 
eager.  But  Lida  takes  one  step  back 


think  I  seen  them  then.  I  didn't  think 
that  quiet  little  Lida  had  it  in  her,  but 
as  my  Bob  says,  no  mortal  man  ever  can 
get  onto  all  the  curves  of  any  mortal 
woman. 

When  I  turned  to  look  at  Mr.  Sands 
he   had   his   mouth   tight    shut   and   an 


THE    WOMAN'S    NUMBER 


253 


awful  look  on  him,  and  I  just  suspicioned 
that  minute  that  there'd  been  something 
/•  up  between  them  when  they  was  at  col- 
lege, and  I  whispered  to  my  Bess  to 
keep  her  eyes  open,  for  there'd  likely  be 
interestin'  doin's  afore  that  Woman's 
paper  got  out.  Bess  is  sharp,  too;  I 
knew  nothin'  could  happen  without  her 
seein'  it. 

Mr.  Sands  explained  everything  most 
beautiful  and  grammatical,  like  a  printed 
book,  and  it  sounded  real  simple  and 
easy,  though  I'd  never  guessed  before 
there  was  so  much  to  gettin'  out  a  paper. 
I  tell  you.  we've  all  looked  on  Mr. 
Sands  and  the  Chronicle  with  a  heap 
more  respect  since  we've  found  out  how 
much  toil  and  thought  they  represent. 
It's  no  play-actin'  to  be  an  editor,  I  can 
tell  you.  Why,  all  the  women  on  that 
Chronicle  took  to  their  beds  for  periods 
rangin'  from  a  day  to  a  whole  week, 
onct  the  paper  was  out,  and  I  had  to 
give  my  Bess  a  whole  bottle  of  brandy 
and  Peruvian  bark  to  fetch  her  up  to  the 
mark  again.  You  let  the  brandy  soak 
on  the  bark,  you  know!  it's  a  fine — Land 
sakes,  if  it  ain't  strikin'  four!  I  must 
get  along  quicker,  if  I'm  to  get  through 
at  this  sittin'. 

Well,  after  explainin'  everything, 
Mr.  Sands  said  he'd  had  a  big  room 
down  at  the  Chronicle  office  fitted  up 
with  tables  and  chairs  for  the  use  of  the 
committees,  and  the  ladies  was  to  look 
upon  it  as  theirs  as  long  as  they  needed 
it,  and  if  they  ever  wanted  advice  or 
help  of  any  kind,  he  was  entirely  at  their 
disposal. 

When  he  got  through  Miss  Shernley 
talked  some,  and  then  Lida  was  called 
on  for  a  few  words.  I  thought  Lida 
would  be  all  of  a  quiver,  but  land,  she 
got  up  as  cool  as  a  cucumber  and  talked 
just  as  if  she  was  readin'  it.  But  she 
had  the  coldest  lookin'  face  I  ever  seen. 
She  thanked  Mr.  Sands — and  when  she 
said  his  name  it  somehow  gave  you  the 
feelin'  that  she  was  alludin'  to  someone 
away  off  somewheres  to  the  North  Pole — 


for  his  room  and  his  kindness  in  lettin' 
them  take  the  paper,  and  for  his  gener- 
ous offer  of  help,  which  last,  however, 
she  thought  they  would  not  have  to  take 
advantage  of,  and  so  on.  After  she  set 
down  different  of  the  ladies  spoke,  and 
asked  about  things  he'd  already  ex- 
plained and  made  all  kinds  of  fool  sug- 
gestions, and  finally  I  passed  'round  tea 
and  hot  biscuit  and  tipsy  cake. 

I  must  say,  Mis'  Banks,  that  the 
women  of  this  town  did  work  like  Tro- 
jans over  that  paper.  My  Bess  was 
down  there  all  day  and  every  day,  and  at 
night  she'd  come  home  clean  played  out; 
but  I'd  feed  her  up  good,  and  she'd  tell 
me  all  that  had  happened  since  mornin'. 

It  seems  there  was  lots  of  friction. 
The  main  trouble,  accordin'  to  Bess,  was 
that  the  two  committees  didn't  have 
separate  rooms.  They  was  supposed  to 
each  have  a  separate  table,  but  first 
minute  anyone  missed  anything  she'd 
trapse  straight  over  to  the  other  table 
and  rummage  through  papers  and  things 
like  all  possessed;  then  of  course,  they'd 
get  mad  at  each  other.  They  kept  the 
littery  things  in  a  big  clothes  basket,  and 
Lida  put  a  notice  on  it:  "No  One  To 
Touch  This  Basket,  By  Order."  But  the 
notice  just  had  the  opposite  effect: 
stirred  up  their  curiosity  so  they  simply 
couldn't  let  it  be.  And  'twant  all  the 
committee  ladies  that  did  the  meddlin', 
either.  All  the  women  in  town  seemed 
to  think  theirselves  privileged  to  come 
in  when  they  liked  and  poke  through 
things,  till  poor  Lida  was  most  dis- 
tracted. 

Miss  Shernley  lost  her  head  early  in 
the  game.  Her  one  idea  was  to  do  what 
she  called  "prunin'."  She  bought  her- 
self a  dozen  blue  pencils,  and  she  did 
nothing  all  day  but  set  at  the  table 
slashin'  her  pencil  through  every  bit  of 
writin"  matter  she  could  lay  her  hands 
on,  and  Lida  had  to  hustle  'round  and 
see  to  everything  herself. 

They  had  the  typewriter*  that  was 
at  the  fact'ry,  May  Walker,  to  do  the 


254 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,    1904 


typewritin'  they  wanted,  and  one  day 
Miss  Shernley  swooped  down  on  some 
writin'  she  found  on  May's  table  and 
blue-pencilled  it  till  you  couldn't  see 
a  word  of  printin'.  It  turned  out  it  was 
a  private  letter  May'd  written  to  her 
young  man  in  a  slack  spell,  and  when 
she  found  it  fixed  up  like  that  she  was 
madder'n  a  wet  hen.  She  did  all  kinds 
of  talkin'  'bout  pryin'  dishonour  and 
that  kind  of  thing,  and  of  course  Miss 
Shernley  fired  up,  and  they  had  the 
biggest  kind  of  a  row.  Just  as  it  was  at 
its  hottest  Mr.  Sands  came  in,  and  he 
managed  to  cool  'em  down.  Lida  was 
out  while  the  circus  was  goin'  on,  but 
they  gave  her  full  particulars  as  soon  as 
she  got  back,  and  say,  when  they  told 
her  Mr.  Sands  had  had  to  make  the 
peace  she  was  hoppin'.  She  told  those 
women  she'd  never  been  so  ashamed  in 
all  her  life;  she  gave  'em  straight  talk  for 
about  fifteen  minutes,  and  not  one  of 
'era  so  much  as  said  "boo"  back  to  her. 

Of  course  every  woman  that  had  half 
an  idea  in  her  head  and  a  dictionary  in 
her  house  thought  it  her  dooty  to  write 
something  for  the  woman's  paper — dooty, 
is  the  way  they  put  it,  though  the  real 
truth  is  they  was  simply  burnin'  to  see 
theirselves  in  print.  The  two  editors 
was  supposed  to  do  the  decidin'  as  to 
what  should  be  printed,  and  even  then 
it  was  hard  enough  for  poor  Lida.  She'd 
make  her  choice  real  conscientious  and 
get  'em  all  sorted  out,  when  Miss  Shern- 
ley'd  come  along,  toss  up  everything, 
and  then  take  the  first  thing  that  come 
to  hand,  sayin':  "Oh,  this  will  do 
admirable,  Miss  Freer,  perhaps  a  trifle 
verbose,  the  touch  of  the  amatoor.  I'll 
just  prune  it  a  little,  give  it  a  profes- 
sional touch  or  two  and  I'm  sure  it'll 
be  the  strongest  thing  we'll  have."  Bess 
can  take  her  off  to  split  your  sides.  Bess 
says  she'd  pick  up  any  old  scrap,  make 
the  same  remark,  and  then  fall  to  with 
her  long  blue,  pencil. 

Then  all  the  women  on  the  advisory 
board  thought  it  was  their  business  to 


read  all  the  stuff  and  pass  judgment  on 
it.  Well,  you  know  yourself,  Amelia 
Banks,  the  clicks  this  town  is  divided 
into,  and  you  know  the  Thorpe  set  is 
none  too  friendly  with  the  Taylor  lot, 
so  you  can  just  picture  to  yourself  the 
wranglin'  and  janglin'  over  those  writ- 
in's  when  all  those  women  got  their 
fingers  in  the  pie.  At  last  Lida  got 
desperate.  She  took  Bess  into  her  con- 
fidence, and  them  two  let  the  rest  talk 
and  just  quietly  fixed  it  up  between  'em 
what  had  ought  to  go  in. 

Of  course  every  woman  with  a  pet  fad 
thought  it  the  opportoonity  of  her  life 
to  air  it,  and  they'd  come  ridin'  their 
hobbies  right  into  that  room  so  rampage- 
ous that  their  hoofs  seemed  to  clatter 
clear  through  your  brain,  Bess  said.  Oh, 
law,  don't  gape  like  that,  Amelia!  A 
hobby-horse  ain't  a  breathin',  flesh  and 
blood  equine!  That's  Bess'  poetical 
touch.  She's  got  a  real  littery  air  to 
her  talk  since  that  Chronicle  business. 
Her  pa  and  me  wouldn't  be  a  mite  sur- 
prised if  she  took  to  writin'  books  some 
day. 

Well,  they'd  ramp  in  with  manuscrip's 
a  mile  long  all  done  up  in  a  tight  roll 
and  tied  with  ribbons,  and  they'd  rear 
like  ten  furies  when  Lida'd  say  she 
didn't  think  she  could  take  'em. 

Then,  bein'  as  it  was  a  St.  Valentine 
Number,  every  critter  in  this  town  that 
could  hold  a  pen  settled  down  to  work 
to  grind  out  a  Valentine  pome.  Bess 
said  they  poured  in  like  a  Christmus 
snow  storm — short  ones,  long  ones,  fat 
ones,  thin  ones,  rhymey  ones  and  on- 
rhymey  ones — all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  poems  floatin'  in  in  one  steady 
stream.  Lida  was  real  worried  at  first, 
then  she  got  kinder  hysterical  and 
everyone  that  come  in  upset  her  more. 
They  had  to  get  a  special  clothes  basket 
to  hold  the  poems  alone.  And  all  the 
poetesses  would  come  streakin'  in  to 
make  sure  their  immortal  works  was 
goin'  in,  and  they'd  jaw  Lida  by  the 
hour  provin'  to  her  why  theirs  should 


THE   WOMAN'S    NUMBER 


255 


have  the  best  place  on  the  first  page. 
They  always  said  it  was  just  a  little  thing 
they'd  dashed  off  on  the  inspiration  of 
the  moment,  but  they'd  like  to  see  it 
in,  as  it  seemed  to  breathe  the  spirit  of 
the  season.  Law!  considerin'  they 
dashed  'em  off  so  easy,  they  appeared 
to  set  a  mighty  onreasonable  store  by  em ! 

Lida  got  to  be  a  pretty  good  ball- 
tosser  before  she  was  through  with  that 
game.  She  had  a  big  brown  envelope 
with  "Rejected  Manuscripts"  written 
on  it,  and  she  stuffed  all  the  impossible 
stuff  into  that;  and  would  you  believe 
it,  Amelia  Banks,  a  lot  of  those  women 
got  at  that  envelope  one  day  when  Lida 
was  out  and  went  through  the  whole  lot, 
and  they  most  all  found  some  of  their 
own  there!  My  eye!  when  poor  Lida 
got  back  they  Were  ready  for  her,  tooth 
and  nail.  They  accused  her  of  all  kinds 
of  partiality,  and  they  waved  their  rolls 
of  written  stuff  at  her  and  wanted  to 
know  what  was  the  matter  with  that,  and 
some  of  'em  went  home  mad.  Indeed, 
they  do  say  Mrs.  Dr.  Wilkins  hasn't 
spoken  to  Lida  since.  It  seems  she'd 
written  a  story  of  her  life  in  six  chap- 
ters with  no  stops  through  any  of  it, 
Bess  said,  and  she'd  been  a  little  pre- 
vious writin'  to  all  her  children  and 
relatives  and  friends  tellin'  'em  what 
she'd  done  and  for  them  all  to  look  for 
it  when  the  paper  come  out,  so  naturally 
when  she  found  the  whole  thing  in  the 
brown  envelope  it  riled  her  some. 

Well,  all  this  time  Bess  hadn't  seen 
much  to  tell  between  Lida  and  Mr. 
Sands.  He'd  come  in  every  day  or  two 
to  see  if  he  could  help  any,  and  when 
Lida  wasn't  there,  the  women  would 
swarm  'round  him  like  bees  around 
a  honey-pot,  but  when  Lida  was  there 
and  he'd  ask  if  there  was  anything  he 
could  do,  she'd  always  thank  him  very 
politely  and  tell  him  there  was  absolutely 
nothing,  that  they  was  gettin'  on  beau- 
tiful, and  she  wouldn't  let  on  for 
a  second  that  she  was  one  mite  wor- 
ried. But  he  must  have  been  a  goat 


if  he  didn't  see  for  himself  how  white 
she  was  gettin'  and  what  big,  black 
circles  was  comin'  under  her  eyes. 

The  day  before  the  fourteenth,  things 
was  at  a  climax.  I  stepped  in  for  a 
minute  to  see  how  they  was  gettin'  on 
and  to  leave  a  bag  of  fresh  doughnuts 
to  cheer  'em,  and,  my  word,  that  room 
looked  as  if  a  cyclone  had  struck  it! 
The  tables  was  onspeakable,  and  the 
floor  was  ankle-deep  in  papers  and 
truck.  All  the  ladies  on  committees  and 
a  sight  that  weren't  were  fussin'  and 
gabblin'  like  all  possessed.  Miss  Shern- 
ley,  with  her  hair  rumpled  up  terrible 
and  her  pink  silk  tie  all  under  one  ear, 
was  sittin'  on  a  box  in  one  corner  goin' 
over  a  strip  of  printed  stuff  about  as  wide 
as  your  hand  and  a  good  yard  long,  with 
her  blue  pencil,  and  Miss  Thornton  was 
rumpussin'  'round  under  everybody's 
feet  lookin'  for  something  she'd  lost. 

Miss  Thornton  wasn't  on  any  com- 
mittee, but  Bess  said  she  took  her  seat 
in  that  committee  room  the  very  first 
day,  and  she  never  stirred  out  of  it 
except  to  go  home  to  sleep  till  the  whole 
show  was  over.  She  just  sat  there  like 
a  darnin'  needle  in  a  board,  writin'  what 
she  called  paragrafts.  She  said  they'd 
do  to  fill  up  odd  spaces,  and  she  just 
kep'  turnin'  'em  out  like  a  machine,  on 
all  kinds  of  subjects  under  the  sun,  from 
the  personal  side  of  the  late  Queen  Vic- 
toria and  Mrs.  Cleveland,  the  latest  pat- 
terns in  crazy  quilts,  and  how  to  clean 
turkey  feathers,  down  to  real  deep,  meta- 
physical things  like  "  Does  Mosquitos 
Think? "and "Is  Our  Senate  Pure?" and 
the  land  only  knows  what  all.  Bess  said 
all  anyone  could  read  of  'em  was  the 
titles.  She  wrote  'em  straight  along, 
the  way  she  talks  —  no  stops  till  her 
breath,  or  in  writin'  her  ink,  gives  out, 
and  all  kinder  scrunched  up  together. 
When  she  speaks  to  me,  I  never  know 
whether  she's  tellin'  of  the  latest  case 
of  mumps  or  the  minister's  new  slippers. 
It's  real  aggravatin'  too,  for  she's  awful 
thick  with  the  minister's  family,  and  she 


256 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


could  be  real  edifyin'  and  enlightenin' 
in  her  talk  if  anyone  could  make  it  out, 
for  she  always  gets  the  latest  news  goin'. 
Bess  said  she  must  have  turned  out  a 
hundred  or  more  of  them  paragrafts.  I 
suppose  she  thought  if  she'd  only  do 
enough,  some  of  'em  would  be  sure  to 
get  squeezed  in  somewhere.  Every  time 
Lida'd  pass  her  she'd  lampoon  another 
paragraft  at  her,  and  then  she'd  ask 
about  'em  after,  and  it  Lida  lost  'em, 
as  she  generally  did,  there'd  be  awful 
times. 

So  as  I  said,  when  I  looked  in  that 
morn  in'  she  was  scramblin'  about  after 
a  paragraft  on  "Great  Naval  Heroes" 
or  "Home-Made  Hair  Oil,"  I  couldn't 
make  out  which,  and  Lida  was  goin' 
about  lookin'  cool  and  collected  to  the 
casual  observer,  but  white  as  a  bit  of 
starch  and  her  eyes  as  big  as  saucers, 
and  I  noticed  when  she  took  up  a  bit 
of  paper  her  hand  was  shakin'  like  an 
ashpan. 

All  the  girls  they  had  for  reportin' 
was  runnin'  in  and  out  with  sheets  of 
writin',  and  while  I  stood  there  the 
proofreader  that  belongs  to  the  Chronicle 
come  up  lookin'  as  mad  as  a  hatter,  with 
a  long  roll  of  printed  stuff  in  his  hand. 

"Who's  bin  doin'  the  proofreadin'  ?  " 
he  asks,  real  gruff. 

"Miss  Shernley,  Mrs.  Thorpe  and  I," 
says  Lida. 

"Well,"  says  he,  "it's  a  pity  you 
didn't  say  right  out  that  you  none  of  you 
know  nothin'  about  it.  You've  got  the 
proofs  so  messed  up  they  can't  make 
head  nor  tail  of  'em  upstairs.  Where's 
the  rest  of  'em?  If  the  paper's  comin' 
out  tomorrow  you'd  better  let  me  take 
'em  as  they  are.  There's  no  time  to  be 
runnin'  off  new  proofs  every  minute." 

Now  it  happened  that  Mr.  Sands  had 
just  come  in  to  tell  the  editors  it  was 
time  to  go  to  the  composin'  rooms  to 
arrange  the  forms, — put  their  stuff  in 
where  they  wanted  it,  you  know,  —  and  he 
heard  every  word  that  man  said.  Lida 
turned  as  red  as  a  peony,«but  before  she 


could  say  a  word  Mr.  Sands  whispered 
something  to  the  man  and  he  lit  out  on 
the  double.  Then  Mr.  Sands  give  his 
message  and  he  ended  up  quite  skillful: 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  be  all  mornin' 
in  the  composin'  room,  so  you  had  better 
let  Clark  read  the  rest  of  the  proofs.  I 
am  afraid  you  won't  have  time." 

Well  say,  I  guess  Lida  saw  through 
that  right  enough,  she's  as  smart  as  the 
next  one,  but  it  was  a  real  tender  way 
of  puttin'  it  and  she  never  let  on.  She 
just  gathered  up  all  the  proofs  that  was 
layin'  'round,  took  what  Miss  Shernley 
had  away  from  her,  and  gave  rem  all  to 
Mr.  Sands. 

"Very  well,"  she  says,  very  cool  and 
distant,  "I  should  prefer  to  do  them 
myself,  but  they  came  down  so  late  it 
gives  us  little  time  for  anything." 

Then  they  all  trailed  up  to  the  com- 
posin' room  and  I  come  home. 

The  ladies  didn't  none  of  'em,  that  is 
the  real  workers,  get  home  to  any  of 
their  meals  that  day.  We  sent  victuals 
down  to  'em,  and  about  six  o'clock  I 
went  down  and  made  a  good  b'iler  of 
coffee.  As  it  grew  late,  every  hour  the 
pandemonium  got  worse.  Black-faced 
fellows  was  flyin'  'round  shoutin'  for 
stuff,  and  every  little  while  someone'd 
rush  in  like  mad  and  make  a  dive  for 
the  clothes  basket,  huntin'  for  something 
that  had  been  forgotten  and  simply  had 
to  go  in. 

I  couldn't  see  Lida  anywheres  for 
a  while,  then  I  found  her  in  a  little  room 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  She  was  sittin' 
before  a  table,  with  a  telephone  and 
a  telegraft  thing  on  it.  It  was  Mr. 
Sands'  private  office  and  out  of  the 
telegraft  thing  was  comin'  a  long  bit  of 
tapey  paper  covered  with  unintelligible 
marks.  It  come  out  steady  with  a  click, 
click,  and  had  run  all  over  the  table  and 
was  curlin'  up  like  a  snake  'round  Lida's 
feet. 

The  poor  girl  had  the  telephone  re- 
ceiver at  her  ear  and  she  was  writin'  like 
all  possessed  on  a  big  pad  of  paper,  while 


THE   WOMAN'S    NUMBER 


257 


the  tears  was  fairly  pourin'  out  of  her 
eyes.  Every  minute  or  two  somebody'd 
poke  a  head  in  at  the  door  to  ask  a 
question  or  yell  out  something,  and 
Lida'd  answer  'em  with  her  face  turned 
away. 


post  till  I  die.  To  think  that  poor 
Fred  goes  through  this  eveiy  day  and 
can  still  smile  and  have  his  wits  and 
I  quarreled  with  him — I — just  think  of 
it,  Mrs.  Arthurs,  with  him — because  he 
wouldn't  acknowledge  woman's  mental 


"  I'LL      NEVER      LIVE     TILL      MORNIN'      *     *    *     BUT      AT 
LEAST      I      CAN      STICK      AT       MY      POST      TILL      I      DIE." 


For  a  minute  I  could  only  gasp,  then 
"For  the  land's  sake,  Lida  Freer,"  says 
I,  "  whatever' s  the  matter?  ' ' 

She  looked  up  from  her  pad  for  half 
a  second,  then  she  says  with  a  gulp:  "I'll 
never  live  till  mornin',  Mrs.  Arthurs," 
says  she,  "but  at  least  I  can  stick  at  my 


equality  with  man!  Well,  at  least  he 
will  see  that  she  has  his  tenacity  and 
endurance  if  her  brains  are  soft  soap, 
and  she'll  die  before  she'll  give  up." 
And  with  that  the  tears  gushed  out 
a  perfect  flood. 
"Alida  Freer,"  says  I,  dabbin' 


258 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    DECEMBER,    1904 


away  at  her  eyes  with  my  hanky,  as 
both  her  hands  was  took  up,  for  her 
pencil  never  stopped  one  minute, 
"I'm  goin'  down  stairs  to  send  someone 
up  here  to  relieve  you,  and  I'm  goin' 
to  take  you  home  this  very  minute." 

"No,  no,"  she  fairly  screams.  "I 
don't  leave  this  building  till  the  paper's 
out;  but  if  you  would  just  take  my  place 
for  five  minutes  till  I  ease  my  hand;  it's 
got  writer's  cramp  so  I  can  hardly  write. 
Some  brute  has  been  havin'  a  bye-elec- 
tion, and  somebody,  I  don't  know  where, 
is  telephonin'  me  all  about  it,  and  I've 
got  to  write  it  down  as  fast  as  he 
speaks  it," 

I  took  her  place  and  wrote  for  a  while, 
till  the  voice  said: 

"I'll  let  you  have  the  rest  in  a  few 
minutes." 

I  put  up  the  receiver  and  looked  at 
Lida.  The  little  thing  on  the  table  was 
still  spittin'  out  white  tape. 

"What's  that  doin'?"  says  I. 

"It's  stocks,"  says  Lida.  There's 
something  great  goin'  on  in  Wall  Street, 
and  that's  tryin'  to  tell  all  about  it.  I 
think  it's  very  important,  but  I  can't 
make  anything  out  of  it,  and  important 
or  not,  it  can't  go  into  our  paper.  Go 
on,  you  little  demon,  tell  all  you  know 
if  you  want  to,  but  you're  wastin'  time. 
Nobody  cares,  not  even  Mr.  Sands — he's 
forgotten  all  about  you,  too." 

There  was  a  queer  gulp  in  her  throat 
and  just  then  the  telephone  rang  and  she 
set  down  to  her  bye-election  again.  As 
soon  as  she  got  her  pencil  goin',  I  slid 
out  and  started  on  a  hunt  for  Mr.  Sands. 

I  found  him  just  clearin' the  compos- 
in'  room  of  the  mob  of  women  that 
possessed  it.  I  could  see  he  was  doin' 
it  none  too  soon,  for  there  was  murder 
in  the  compositors'  eyes,  and  the  galley 
slaves,  if  that's  what  you  call  'em,  was 
flyin'  'round  as  if  they'd  been  drove 
clean  distracted. 

When  Mr.  Sands  got  all  the  women 
out  of  the  door,  he  come  back  and  says 
to  the  foreman : 


"Now  fire  ahead;  arrange  it  to  the 
best  of  your  ability  and  whoop  it  along, 
hell-to-leather!  The  forms  should  be 
on  the  press  now.  If  the  paper  is  out 
on  time  I'll  give  you  all  double  wages 
for  tonight! ' 

I  tell  you  they  all  jumped  to  it.  I 
couldn't  help  chucklin',  and  that  drew 
Mr.  Sands'  attention  to  me. 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Arthurs,"  says  he,  "this 
hot,  dirty  room  is  no  place  for  you. 
Won't  you  come  down  stairs?" 

"Yes,  I'm  comin',  says  I,  "I  was  just 
lookin'  for  you.  Mr.  Sands,"  says  I, 
when  we  got  outside,  "you're  generally 
so  good  helpin'  the  ladies,  it's  a  wonder 
you  leave  a  poor  little  thing  like  Lida 
Freer  to  stand  this  strain  all  alone." 

Say,  Amelia,  he  blushed  like  a  school 
boy  and  he  drew  his  head  up  kind  er 
mad  for  a  minute;  then  his  eye  caught 
mine  and  I  guess  he  seen  I  was  pretty 
sympathetic  and  well-meanin',  for  his 
look  changed  right  off  and  says  he: 

"Mrs.  Arthurs,  there  is  nothing  I 
could  do  more  gladly  than  lighten  Miss 
Freer's  burdens,  but  she  will  not  allow 
me  even  to  offer  her  my  assistance." 

"Had  a  fight,  didn't  you?  "  says  I.  I 
never  was  one  for  beatin'  'round  the 
bush.  Take  a  bull  by  the  horns,  say  I, 
and  then  you've  got  him. 

He  looked  sorter  surprised  at  that. 

"Miss  Freer  has  been  honorin'  you 
with  her  confidence?"  he  remarks  pretty 
stiff. 

"Not  a  conf,"  says  I,  "but  I'm  an  old 
woman  and  not  all  a  fool,  I  hope.  I 
s'pose  you  got  swelled  heads,  both  of 
you,  all  along  of  goin'  to  college,  and 
tried  to  cram  down  each  other's  throats 
how  clever  you  each  was — it's  the  way 
of  the  young — and  naturally  you  both 
got  mad." 

He  smiled  a  little,  then  sighed. 

"I  dare  say  that  is  just  about  what  it 
amounted  to,"  he  says,  "though  it 
seemed  rather  different  then.  My  head 
was  swelled  no  doubt;  but  I  won't  say 
that  of  Miss  Freer,"  he  added  hastily. 


THE    WOMAN'S     NUMBER 


259 


"Well,  I'll  say  it  then,"  says  I.  "Now 
young  man,"  I  continued,  "you're  in 
love  with  Alida  Freer,  ain't  you?" 

He  gazed  at  me  kind  of  haughty. 

"Oh,  you  may  as  well  acknowledge 
it,"  I  says  sorter  irritated,  for  time  was 
passin'."  "Anybody  with  half  an  eye 
can  see  it,  and  it's  nothin'  to  be 
ashamed  of;  Lida  Freer' s  a  mighty  nice 
girl." 

That  fetched  him,  and  he  drew  him- 
self up  quite  proud. 

"Ashamed  of? — By  the  Lord,  nol — I 
am  in  love  with  Miss  Freer,  Mrs. 
Arthurs,  and  I  am  proud  of  it,  even 
though  she  will  never  have  anything  to 
say  to  me.  She  prefers  a  career  in  which 
she  can  demonstrate  the  mental  superi- 
ority of  woman.  To  be  a  mere  wife  is, 
in  her  opinion,  a  poor  attainment  for 
a  girl." 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Young  man,"  I  says,  "I  like  you 
and  I  like  Lida,  and  I  hate  to  see 
nice  young  people  miserable.  Lida's 
dead  in  love  with  you  from  her  head  to 
her  heels,  only  she's  been  too  proud 
to  own  it  even  to  herself.  This 
Woman's  Chronicle  business  has  pretty 
well  knocked  that  career  idea  out  of  her 
head.  She's  eatin'  dirt  and  cryin'  her 
eyes  out,  and  gettin'  nervous  prostration 
as  quick  as  anyone  can  in  your  office 
this  very  minute,  and — "  But  if  you'll 
believe  it,  Amelia,  he  was  off  like  a  shot, 
and  me  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence. 
'Twant  very  good  manners  for  a  college- 
bred  man,  was  it?  But  law,  Amelia,  I 
don't  hold  it  up  ag'in  him.  He  had  his 
temptation  strong. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  mornin' 
when  the  first  paper  come  off  the  press. 
I  had  hung  right  on,  for  Bess  said  she 
wouldn't  leave  till  the  old  cat  was  dead 
— not  a  real  cat,  you  know,  Amelia, 
po'try  ag'in, — and  I  wouldn't  leave  Bess. 
Not  that  she  did  much  I  must  say,  for 
she  and  that  young  teacher,  Mr.  Phillips 
— he  come  last  Christmus,  guess  you 
haven't  seen  him  yet — well,  he  and  Bess 


spooned  it  pretty  well  all  night,  sittin' 
on  a  pile  of  papers  in  one  corner  of  the 
committee  room.  I  guess  probably  I'll 
have  news  for  you  in  that  quarter  before 
long,  though  you  needn't  go  to  spread  in* 
any  reports  yet.  No,  he'd  no  earthly- 
call  to  be  there,  but  there  was  several 
fellows  squeezed  in,  to  cheer  up  the 
girls,  they  said. 

Well,  at  six  o'clock  the  first  paper  was 
done.  I  was  seein' to  another  b'iler  of 
coffee,  so  we  could  all  have  some  kind 
of  a  breakfast  before  we  went  home, 
when  Mr.  Sands  and  Lida  come  up 
with  a  paper.  Mr.  Sands  handed  it 
to  me,  sayin': 

"The  first  paper  off  the  press,  pre- 
sented to  Mrs.  Arthurs  with  our  compli- 
ments and  sincere  thanks." 

"Then  it's  all  right?  "  says  I. 

"All  right,"  says  he,  and  with  that 
Lida  kissed  me  and  he  squeezed  my 
hand  till  the  tears  come. 

Oh  yes,  they'll  be  married  soon,  this 
June,  most  likely.  Lida  says  it's  a 
pretty  big  hurry,  but  Mr.  Sands  says 
they've  to  make  up  all  the  good  time 
they  lost  through  their  proud  didos. 
My  Bess' 11  be  bridesmaid  in  white  and 
green.  Bess  has  such  a  clear  complexion 
she —  The  paper?  —  why  yes,  it  was 
a  real  nice  paper.  Of  course  it  had  some 
little  mistakes  in,  but  that  was  natural. 
There  was  one  awful  silly  thing  got  put 
in  three  times  and  the  one  star  bit 
Lida'd  got  one  of  her  professors  to  write 
as  a  special  favor  was  never  put  in  at  all. 
Lida  did  feel  bad  about  that.  Some  of 
the  people  was  mad  when  they  couldn't 
find  their  stuff  in  it  and  some  because 
what  was  put  in  of  theirs  had  been  cut 
up,— they  didn't  appreciate  Miss  Shern- 
ley's  blue  pencil.  But  there's  no  hard 
feelin'  that  I  know  of  now,  and  every 
woman  felt  pretty  good  when  it  come 
out  that  the  paper'd  cleaned  up  a  cool 
fifteen  hundred  for  the  fact'ry  relief 
fund. 

No,  there  wasn't  any  po'try  in  it  at 
all.  Lida  found  she'd  get  into  such  hot 


260  NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,    1904 

water  pickin'  out  some  and  leavin'  others  Not  one  word  of  all  that  stock  stuff  was 

—  po'try  writers  bein'   seemingly  even  put  in.     The  little  machine  did  its  level 

touchier  than  the  other  kind — that  she  best,  spittin'  it  out  till  it  nearly  choked 

just  wrote  a  nice   little  bit  on  the  first  itself,  but  Mr.   Sands  and  Lida  was  so 

page,  sayin' that  so  much  excellent  po'try  taken  up  with   their  own   affairs,  they 

had  been  sent  in,  it  had  been  impossible  never  thought  about  it  till  all  the  forms 

to  make  a  fair  selection,  so  they'd  regret-  was  locked,  and  of  course  it  was  too  late 

fully  decided  not  to  print  any,  but  that  then. 

it  was  hoped  that  at  some  future  date  it  Well,  must  you  be  off?     I'm  real  sorry 

might  be  found  possible  to  print  all  the  you  won't  stay  to  supper.     Drop  in  again 

poems  submitted  in  a  little  book.  soon  and  I'll  tell  you  about  the  trials  of 

That  tickled  everybody,  of  course,  and  the  advertisin'  committee.     I  shouldn't 

some  of  'em  speak  real  serious  of  havin'  be  a  mite  surprised  if  a  weddin'  come 

the  book  of  poems  brought  out  for  the  out  of  that,  too.    Just  keep  your  eyes  on 

Christmus  trade.  Gracie  Parry  and  Bert  Arden  comin'  out 

There  was    one  good  joke,   though,  of  church  tomorrow! 


THE    MAN    WHO    WOULD    BE    A    SOLDIER 

By    JAMES     RAVENSCROFT 

BALTIMORE,     MARYLAND 

THERE  was  a  man  who  grieved  much  that  he  was  not  a  soldier,  for  he  yearned 
to  do  deeds  of  strife  and  valor;    but  his  country  was  at  peace  and  there  was  no 

pretext. 

Ji 

And  he  waited  and  was  old  and  feeble,  and  there  was  no  war. 

J* 

And  Death  came  and  the  man  said,  "Woe  is  me  that  I  should  die  and  not  have 
my  wish  !  '  ' 

Ji 

Death  said,  "What  was  your  wish?" 

J» 

The  man  answered,  "My  wish  was  to  be  a  great  soldier  and  to  fight  many  battles." 


And  Death  replied,  "You  have  been  a  soldier  these  many  years,  and  a  coward  at 
heart.     Lo,  even  now  you  have  lost  the  greatest  of  all  battles!" 


And  the  man  rallied  "and  with  his  passing  breath  said,  "I  have  known  no  conflict; 
what  battle  have  I  lost  ? 


And  Death  said,  "The  battle  of  Life." 


Christinas 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    W.    D.    GOLDBECK 


AS  I  was  saying  when  I  was  inter- 
rupted, upon  coming  to  myself 
behold  I  was  submerged  in  billows  of 
lace;  just  fancy  being  swallowed  up  in 
seas  of  chiffon,  with  a  violet  spray  from 
a  jewelled  atomizer  crystallizing  in  your 
beard.  Well,  this  was  my  case  at  the 
moment  when  I  awoke  the  morning  after 
my  arrival. 

There  stood  the  Cherub  in  pink 
pajamas,  parting  the  voluminous  gauze 
draperies  that  hung  from  the  ceiling: 
they  were  heavily  crusted  with  large 
lotus  leaves  in  applique.  Before  I  was 
half  awake  the  Cherub  leaped  astride  of 
my  prostrate  body  and  wished  me  a 
"Merry  Christmas"  over  and  over  again, 
with  such  playful  tweakings  of  the  nose 
and  ears  and  jetting  of  violet  spray  as 
made  further  sleep  out  of  the  question. 
Realizing  this,  I  emerged  from  the  lap 
of  luxury — of  luxury  such  as  I  had  not 
known  in  years — and  passed  into  the 
adjoining  chamber.  An  unfamiliar  gar- 
ment was  thrown  over  the  back  of  my 
easy  chair.  It  was  a  nondescript  gar- 
ment, the  pattern  of  it  evolved  from  the 
ingenious  brain  of  our  Lady,  the  Chate- 
laine of  Crazy  Castle.  I  donned  it  at 
once:  my  head  passed  through  a  slit  in 
the  shoulders,  poncho  fashion;  there 
were  sleeves  like  trailing  wings;  there 
was  a  train  that  seemed  to  add  a  yard  to 
my  height.  "Merry  Christmas,"  I  cried 
to  the  Cherub,  who  could  not  but  admire 


me  in  the  sweeping  folds  that  idealized 
my  outline. 

Then  came  a  messenger  bidding  us  to 
a  late  breakfast,  and  the  Cherub  fled 
away  in  search  of  his  dressing  gown,  but 
speedily  returned  to  lead  me  by  the  hand 
down  stairs  and  through  winding  ways 
into  the  somewhat  remote  breakfast 
room.  Once  there,  more  greetings  and 
the  exchange  of  pretty  gifts. 

Fair  shining  faces  reflected  one  an- 
other's joy  on  that  Christmas  day:  the 
Chatelaine  in  bewitching  dishabille,  the 
pink  and  white  cherub — her  son  and  heir 
home  from  school  for  the  holidays — a 
pink  and  white  cherub,  the  pink  of  per- 
fection, the  white  of  innocence.  Then 
Hadji  in  his  fez,  more  than  half  an  Ori- 
ental after  his  Winter  on  the  Nile,  and 
redolent  of  some  faint,  subtle  Eastern 
odor;  lastly,  myself,  just  back  from  years 
of  wanderings  abroad,  the  special  cor- 
respondent, foot-sore  and  heart-weary; 
for  the  path  I  trod  was  not  a  primrose 
path,  and  often  I  had  envied  the  Prophet 
his  ravens  and  the  children  of  Israel 
their  manna. 

We  breakfasted  cheerfully  and  then 
adjourned  to  the  music  room— a  lofty, 
spacious  hall  where  the  grand  piano 
was  heard  to  great  advantage,  and 
where  Hadji,  an  accomplished  musi- 
cian, gave  us  an  impromptu  recital 
that  filled  our  hearts  and  our  souls  with 
melody  best  suited  to  the  occasion. 


"  *  *  * 


WISHED    ME    A    MERRY    CHRISTMAS    OVER    AND    OVER    AGAIN" 


CHRISTMAS   AT   CRAZY   CASTLE 


263 


After  this  he  withdrew  for  the  day. 
The  Cherub,  having  donned  suitable 
raiment  and  with  skates  in  hand,  went 
forth  to  the  frozen  fields.  I  was  about 
to  take  my  leave  when  the  Chatelaine 
detained  me.  She  said,  "I  have  a  con- 
fession to  make;  will  you  hear  me  now, 
Ghostly  Father? ' ' 

II 

Having  seated  myself  by  request,  she 
turned  to  me,  saying,  "I  have  in  the 
long  past  given  you  glimpses  at  my  life 
here,  but  only  the  merest  glimpses.  It 
was  always  my  intention  to  reserve  de- 
tails until  you  could  hear  them  and  pon- 
der them  on  the  spot.  That  hour  has  at 
last  come;  after  a  compact  made  seven 
years  ago,  you  are  my  guest  under  my 
own  roof.  Listen  to  the  simple  story 
of  the  decline  and  fall  of  Crazy  Castle. 

"This  house  is  the  embodiment  of 
one  of  the  noblest  of  philanthropic 
dreams.  As  not  infrequently  happens, 
that  dream  culminated  in  a  series  of  do- 
mestic nightmares  out  of  which  we  have 
not  fully  awakened. 

"My  father  believed  in  social  har- 
mony. To  him  community  life  seemed 
the  higher  life,  indeed  the  only  life 
worth  living;  therefore  he  called  unto 
the  heart-sick  and  suffering  souls,  and  to 
those  that  labored  and  were  heavy  laden; 
and  to  each  he  offered  rest.  He  said, 
in  his  brave,  self-sacrificing  way, — 'With 
all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow," 
and  having  purchased  a  forest  fed  with 
rivulets  and  a  glade  sloping  to  the  river 
shore  within  sight  of  the  distant  sea,  he 
reared  this  lordly  castle,  and,  throwing 
wide  the  gates — they  were  not  mere  doors 
when  he  opened  them  —  he  bade  his  fol- 
lowers enter  and  be  at  rest.  Doubt  me 
not  when  I  assure  you  that  they  entered 
without  fear  and  without  reproach. 

"  'In  my  Father's  house  are  many  man- 
sions.' I  used  to  puzzle  my  embryo 
brain  over  this  text.  I  never  quite 
understood  it  until  this  structure  loomed 
ominously  before  us.  There  are  man- 


sions and  semi-mansions  anddemi-semi- 
mansions  within  this  house,  my  Father's! 
There  is  an  individual  front  door  to  each 
of  these  several  mansions,  a  back  door 
also;  but  walls  of  brick  and  plaster  sepa- 
rated one  tenement  from  another,  and 
though  to  the  eye  of  the  observer  the 
house  may  seem  one  long  and  lofty 
castle,  it  is  really  a  house  divided 
against  itself  and  divided  many  times 
over.  These  various  compartments  once 
tenanted,  it  was  soon  discovered  that 
though  the  dividing  walls  separated  one 
united  family  from  another  next  door, 
and  happiness  was  emblazoned  upon 
their  lintels,  unhappiness  lay  in  wait  for 
inexperienced  infancy  the  moment  it 
tripped  upon  the  lawn.  In  due  season 
civil  war  was  declared :  embittered  parents 
became  intemperate  partizans,  and  each 
drove  the  other  from  the  field  of  battle. 

"What  was  left?  A  whole  row  of 
houses  for  rent,  houses  with  scarred  walls 
and  stained  and  littered  floors,  and  many 
a  window  guiltless  of  its  glass." 

She  paused:  I  did  not  say,  "I  told 
you  so!  "  I  pride  myself  upon  this  fact. 
I  might  have  said  it,  but  it  would  have 
been  taking  a  mean  advantage  of  that 
innocent  and  defenceless  woman. 

"What  followed?  Listen,"  she  re- 
sumed— "A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit 
of  my  father's  dream.  With  the  daunt- 
less hope  that  wings  the  optimist  to 
loftier  flights — no  matter  what  experience 
may  have  taught  him  or  untaught  him  in 
the  past — the  Castle  was  anon  refilled  to 
overflowing.  It  became  a  military  aca- 
demy. The  broad  lawn  before  it  was 
a  parade  ground,  from  the  flag  staff  in 
the  center  floated  Old  Glory.  Tents 
were  pitched  upon  the  borders  of  the 
grove,  cannon  were  trained  upon  the 
four  quarters  of  the  earth  in  grim  but 
voiceless  defiance.  It  was  delightful  to 
witness  the  maneuvers  of  these  flowers 
of  chivalry —  shall  I  say  'buds'  —  they 
were  all  in  their  teens? 

"Was  this  experiment  successful?  By 
no  means.  Commencement  Day  that 


264 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


opened  with  a  royal  salute,  ended  in 
a  blaze  of  glory  and  a  cloud  of  smoke. 
No  more  the  brazen  button  dazzled  upon 
that  bloodless  field.  Is  it  the  end? 
Not  yet.  What  followed?  The  College 
of  Higher  Estheticism,  limited!  The 
study  of  Shakespear  and  the  lesser  poets, 
with  semi-weekly  private  rehearsals, 
were  the  star  numbers  in  its  seductive 
curriculum. 

"The  forest  was  the  Forest  of  Arden, 
every  youth  was  an  Orlando  and  every 
maid  a  Rosalind.  'Today,'  said  the 
president,  as  he  gathered  his  toga  at  the 
hip  and  assumed  an  air  as  stately  as 
statuesque  —  'Today  we  shall  consider 
the  master's  masterpiece  of  pastoral 
comedy:  "As  You  Like  It."  Repair  to 
those  shady  bowers  where  you  are 
awaited  by  Thalia.'  They  threaded  the 
grove  in  couplets  to  the  soft  music  of 
birds  and  brooks.  They  wore  the  livery 
of  love — which  is  not  tailor-made,  but 
a  creation  of  artless  art,  the  admiration 
and  the  despair  of  the  modiste.  A  bell 
recalled  them  to  the  class  room  for  a  free 
discussion  of  the  play,  or  a  rehearsal  on 
the  stage  of  the  theater  at  the  extreme 
end  of  the  castle.  It  was  a  dream-life 
in  a  dream-land,  and  it  survived  one 
solitary  Summer. 

"No!  The  end  is  not  yet.  When  next 
we  came  to  life  the  Summer  simpletons 
flocked.  We  were  a  watering  place, 
renovated  within  and  without,  refur- 
nished from  the  cellar  to  the  turrets  of 
the  towers.  Steamers  laden  with  pic- 
nicers  and  'transients' — those  devourers 
of  the  land  who  can  be  traced  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth  by  the  debris  that 
strews  their  track,  those  beauty-blighters 
and  fell-destroyers  of  Nature,  were  landed 
at  the  end  of  the  little  dock  yonder  and 
demoralized  our  days. 

"The  nights  alone  were  ours.  There 
were  the  whip-poor-wills  and  the  com- 
plaining owls,  and  crickets  galore,  yet 
these  but  punctuated  the  silence  and 
made  it  the  more  intelligible.  The 
follies  of  fashion,  the  frivolities  of  flirta- 


tion, were  forgotten  for  a  time;  the  dead 
watches  of  the  night  were  ours  and  ours 
alone — but  let  that  pass!  It  did  pass: 
everything  passes  that  happens  here. 
The  annals  of  this  house  are  made  up 
of  the  briefest  paragraphs:  this  was  one 
of  them;  it  was  the  beginning  of  the 
end.  Behold  the  end!  Happily  you 
are  in  at  the  death  and  shall  share  the 
funeral  bake-meats. 

"Now,  there  you  have  the  rise  and  fall 
of  Crazy  Castle.  Do  you  find  that  its 
history  repeats  itself  in  the  conventional, 
the  inevitable  manner?  that  it  does  not 
hang  together  and  comes  to  no  logical 
conclusion?  Would  you  see  how,  not- 
withstanding, like  a  ship  with  those  un- 
sociable, water-tight  compartments,  we 
are  built  upon  the  one  keel,  and  must  of 
necessity  all  hang  together?  Come  with 
me!" 

My  Lady  seized  my  hand  and  led  me 
to  a  cellar  door.  We  descended  cau- 
tiously into  the  Arctic  night  that  was 
kept  there  in  cold  storage.  I  thought  of 
the  Catacombs,  which  are  not  chilly ;  and 
of  the  Hall  of  Bats  on  the  Nile  shore, 
which  is  hot  with  the  heat  of  the  desert. 
Gradually  my  eyes  became  accustomed 
to  the  perpetual  twilight  of  the  place, 
and  I  began  to  wonder  at  my  environ- 
ment. 

The  cellar  ran  from  end  to  end  of  the 
castle — it  looked  half  a  thousand  feet  in 
length.  It  was  groined  and  cemented 
and  resembled  a  corridor  in  a  subterra- 
nean monastery.  On  one  side  a  row  of 
small,  oblong  windows,  now  banked  with 
snow,  gave  a  feeble  light;  on  the  other 
was  ranged  a  series  of  coal  bins,  one  for 
each  of  the  tenements  above,  all  empty 
now  save  that  which  contained  our  pri- 
vate Winter  supply.  Our  voices,  though 
we  scarcely  spoke  above  a  whisper, 
startled  us;  our  footsteps,  though  we 
trod  lightly,  awoke  mocking  echoes;  the 
empty  coal  bins,  the  stairs  that  led  up 
to  vacant  chambers  overhead,  the  awful 
hollowness  of  the  place,  were  not  en- 
livening. I  thought,  what  a  place  to 


CHRISTMAS  AT  CRAZY   CASTLE 


265 


be  locked  in  through  an  almost  endless 
night;  as  for  solitary  confinement  there 
for  a  week  or  a  month,  or  for  six  months, 
which  must  seem  forever — O  death,  O 
grave!  Thou  wert  indeed  welcome  rather 
than  this! 

Suddenly  we  heard  a  piercing  shriek 
at  our  very  feet,  and  a  half-starved  cat 
plunged  furiously  into  outer  darkness. 
Our  blood  froze;  we  turned  abruptly  and 
ascended  into  the  light  of  day. 

HI 

I  was  about  to  take  my  leave  when  the 
Chatelaine  detained  me.  The  sun  was 
shining;  the  Cherub  was  skimming  over 
the  ice  on  invisible  wings  and  a  pair  of 
silver  skates;  Hadji  was  singing  some 
weird  refrain  to  his  own  delicate  accom- 
paniment in  his  apartment  on  the  next 
floor.  My  Lady  and  I  were  again  tete- 
a-tete.  She  resumed: — 

"I  have  an  explanation  to  make.  It 
is  necessary  for  you  to  at  once  under- 
stand the  situation,  or  you  will  not 
appreciate  the  spirit  of  the  welcome  we 
so  freely  offer  you.  Let  me  confess  to 
you  at  once  that  it  is  Christmas  Day, 
that  we  four  are  alone  in  a  house  of 
ninety  rooms,  and  that  we  are  without 
a  servant.  Cook,  butler,  parlor  maid, 
chamber  maid,  bell  boy  and  stoker  are 
at  present  unknown  quantities  in  Crazy 
Castle.  Until  yesterday,  a  few  hours 
before  your  advent,  we  were  well  pro- 
vided. No  sooner  was  I  certain  of  the 
date  of  your  arrival  than  I  began  to 
make  all  suitable  preparations  for  your 
reception.  I  selected  a  suite  of  rooms 
which  I  felt  sure  would  appeal  to  your 
aesthetic  taste.  Each  article  of  furniture 
was  weighed  in  the  balance  and  none  now 
in  your  chamber,  your  dressing  room, 
your  library,  were  found  wanting.  From 
various  suites  throughout  the  Castle 
I  gathered  lace  draperies  enough  to 
smother  an  Othello  —  thus  would  I 
avenge  the  wrongs  of  Desdemona. 
There,  also,  are  stores  of  bric-a-brac  and 
the  dainties  that  bachelors  delight  in. 


The  self-feeding  furnace  is  in  reality 
a  parlor  volcano  that  shall  make  a  tropic 
of  your  headquarters.  There  you  shall 
be  as  solemn  as  an  anchorite,  or  as 
boisterous  as  a  bacchante,  if  so  dis- 
posed." 

I  bowed  my  appreciation  and  my 
gratitude.  With  a  wave  of  her  hand 
she  continued:  "This  house  is  nothing 
if  not  original.  I  resolved  that  when 
you  crossed  its  threshold  you  should 
enter  an  earthly  paradise;  nothing  should 
jar  upon  you.  If  the  Cherub  greeted  you 
upon  your  arrival  with  that  quizzical 
couplet,  'How  much  a  fool  that  has  been 
sent  to  Rome  excels  a  fool  that  has  been 
kept  at  home,'  it  was  a  harmless  quiz 
that  was  to  lead  off  the  pleasantries  of 
the  season.  Underlying  it  was  the  good 
cheer  of  Christmastide,  and  a  good  sister 
was  to  out-Cinderella  Cinderella  and  her 
fairy  godmother,  presiding  by  the  re- 
splendent range  in  a  dream  of  a  kitchen 
not  made  with  hands.  To  this  end,  I 
advertised  in  the  most  respectable  of 
Manhattan  Dailies.  I  wanted  no  chef, 
whose  highest  mission  appeals  only  to 
the  palate;  our  souls  must  be  fed  as  well 
as  our  bodies,  and  all  our  several  senses 
delicately  nourished.  With  Hadji's  aid, 
I  penned  the  following  advertisement: 

WANTED:— The  society  of  a  Young  Lady  of  cul- 
ture and  refinement,  who  is  mistress  of  the  art  of 
preparing  dainty  dishes— and  can  play  Chopin. 
Address  this  office.  AESTHETIC. 

"I  had  the  notice  placed  in  the  per- 
sonal column;  that  column  appeals  to 
the  curious  who  are  sometimes  the  most 
interesting  and  always  the  most  inter- 
ested of  readers.  I  wanted  no  common 
culinary  drudge;  I  felt  sure  that  my 
appeal  must  find  a  sympathetic  response 
in  some  bosom,  'heart  whole  and  fancy 
free' — and  that  we  should  pass  our  wak- 
ing hours  between  attractive  extremes, 
discussing  delicatessen  in  the  dining  hall 
when  we  were  not  under  the  spell  of 
Chopin  in  the  music  room. 

"I  was  right.  Within  four  and  twenty 
hours  after  I  had  signalled  the  sympa- 
thetic searchers  of  the  personal  column, 


266 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  DECEMBER,    1904 


one  of  those  nondescript  conveyances 
peculiar  to  village  railway  stations  was 
seen  approaching  the  castle.  I  am  not 
exaggerating  when  I  say  our  hearts  were 
in  our  throats.  It  is  not  once  in  an  age 
that  a  vehicle  of  any  description — save 
only  the  butcher's  cart  or  the  grocer's — 
comes  hitherward.  We  are  recluses  and 
are  known  as  such  throughout  this  part 
of  the  land.  When  the  driver  drew  rein 
we  threw  open  the  door.  Hadji  and  I 
stepped  out  upon  the  veranda  and 
paused  in  the  attitude  of  inquiry.  A 
young  lady  sprang  forward  wreathed  in 
smiles.  I  do  not  exaggerate  when  I  say 
wreathed  in  smiles.  She  was  lithe, 
graceful,  tailor-made,  unmistakably  a 
thoroughbred.  In  a  low,  sweet  voice 
with  a  post-graduate  accent  she  intro- 
duced herself.  She  had  seen  my  adver- 
tisement, it  had  attracted  her  and  she 
had  answered  it  in  person  without  delay. 
Her  name  was  Flora,  and  she  looked  it 
— the  rose-red  cheeks  and  lips,  the  blue- 
bell eyes,  the  corn-silk  hair.  We  led 
her  to  the  parlor,  showering  welcomes 
as  we  went;  a  president's  daughter  could 
not  have  asked  for  more.  She  laid  off 
her  wraps — they  were  of  the  first  quality 
— and  having  cast  an  approving  eye  upon 
us  and  upon  every  thing  within  sight,  she 
said  suddenly,  with  an  arch  smile,  'But 
I  came  to  work,  not  to  play;  may  I  see 
the  kitchen  ?  ' 

"We  entered  the  kitchen,  which  was 
certainly  well  furnished,  and  felt  quite 
happy  and  contented  when  she  approved 
of  it.  Without  delay  she  looked  into  the 
resources  of  the  range,  she  settled  the 
coals,  she  tripped  gaily  to  the  china 
closet  and  exclaimed:  'Oh,  I  must  dress 
those  shelves  with  scalloped  paper:  have 
you  any  tinted  paper  in  the  house?'  We 
had,  reams  of  it,  and  some  was  forthwith 
produced,  scissors  were  hunted  up,  and 
we  three  sat  down  in  the  kitchen  and 
began  to  cut  scallops  with  the  enthusi- 
asm of  amateurs.  We  visited,  also,  like 
old  friends  reunited  after  a  long  separa- 
tion. Now,  as  I  think  of  it,  it  was  she 


that  did  most  of  the  visiting.  We  were 
madly  curious  as  to  who  she  was  or 
where  she  came  from  and  why  she  came, 
yet  she  plied  us  with  so  many  questions 
and  seemed  so  deeply  interested  in  our 
household  affairs  we  were  quite  flattered, 
and  found  it  a  pleasure  to  unbosom  our- 
selves. 

"The  hours  flew  by.  The  china  closet 
was  transformed  into  an  ideal.  The 
pantry  was  a  disappointment:  with  all 
her  tact  she  could  not  disguise  the  fact. 
There  wasn't  meat  enough  on  the  skele- 
ton in  that  closet  to  feed  a  mouse  in 
Lent.  The  butcher  was  overdue,  he 
could  not  be  looked  for  until  the  follow- 
ing day.  But  what  of  that?  Miss  Flora 
flew  to  the  flour  barrel;  she  was  always 
on  the  wing  and  she  perfumed  the  air 
with  the  subtle  odor  of  heliotrope  sachet 
powder  in  her  flight. 

"Such  biscuit  as  we  had  that  evening! 
They  were  flaky  and  fairy-like  and  food 
for  the  gods.  Jam  also,  and  pickles,  and 
a  cup  of  tea  that  might  quicken  the 
dead.  Then  we  three  helped  one  an- 
other to  wash  the  dishes,  and  it  was 
a  delight.  Everything  passed  off  with 
the  sparkle  of  a  comedy,  yet  we  had  had 
no  rehearsal  and  each  word  and  act  was 
an  impromptu.  From  the  kitchen  we 
repaired  to  the  music  room.  Miss  Flora 
was  in  high  spirits;  her  grace,  her 
vivacity,  her  sparkling  wit  inspired  us 
and  we  congratulated  each  other  in  stage 
asides  that  this  one  the  very  one  of  all 
others  had  come  to  our  rescue,  and  come 
in  season  to  key  everything  up  to  concert 
pitch  in  anticipation  of  your  arrival. 

"At  the  proper  moment  I  suggested 
Chopin.  Without  embarrassment  or  a 
moment's  hesitation  she  seated  herself 
at  the  piano  and  played  as  one  inspired: 
in  a  word  she  was  an  artist,  and  Chop- 
in's faultless  interpreter. 

"The  hours  sped  apace.  There  was 
music  and  dancing;  Hadji  was  in  excep- 
tionally fine  voice  and  sang  weird  ro- 
mances that  thrilled  us,  romances  breath- 
ing of  youth  and  passion  and  hopeless 


, 


"SHE    CONSULTED    HER    WATCH   *  *  *  AND    HASTENED    AWAY" 


268 


•   NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


love.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  we 
parted  for  the  night,  and,  oddly  enough, 
it  was  Miss  Flora  who  almost  literally 
drove  us  to  our  rest. 

"When  we  were  awakened  in  the 
morning  the  sun  was  high;  the  breakfast 
table,  daintily  laid,  was  never  more  at- 
tractive: eggs,  hot  coffee,  steaming 
cakes — and  the  sallies  of  wit  that  kept 
us  in  gales  of  laughter — filled  me  with 
such  dreams  of  future  joys  that  I  felt 
quite  like  saying  grace. 

"Breakfast  over,  the  kitchen  was  soon 
in  order,  and  I^was  about  to  suggest  that 
we  repair  to  the  music  room  and  spend 
the  day — we  could  easily  take  cake  and 
wine  there  instead  of  a  formal  luncheon, 
and  the  harmonious  atmosphere  would 
remain  undisturbed  —  I  repeat,  I  was 
about  to  suggest  that  we  repair  to  the 
music  room,  when  Miss  Flora  said,  quite 
cheerfully,  'Now  I  must  take  the  train 
for  home.  I  did  not  bring  my  trunk 
with  me,  because  I  thought  it  wise  to 
make  your  acquaintance  first.'  I  inter- 
rupted her,  'We  shall  send  for  your 
trunk,  and  spare  you  the  bother  of  a 
journey,  and  ourselves  the  pain  of  part- 
ing.' 'I  must  go,'  said  she,  with  polite 
firmness.  'My  mother  would  never  per- 
mit my  trunk  to  leave  the  house  unless 
I  were  there  to  claim  it;  she  doesn't 
even  know  where  I  am,  for  I  told  her 
I  was  to  pass  the  night  with  a  friend  and 
she  might  look  for  my  return  by  noon.' 

"She  consulted  her  watch,  and,  put- 
ting on  her  wraps,  she  shook  us  cordi- 
ally by  the  hand  and  hastened  away. 
We  watched  her  in  dumb  surprise  as 
she  entered  the  very  conveyance  that 
had  brought  her  to  us  from  the  sta- 
tion and  which  had  arrived  in  the  most 
opportune  manner  just  in  season  to  en- 
able her  to  catch  the  next  train  for  New 
York.  This  must  have  been  prear- 
ranged. 

"Hadji  and  I  looked  at  one  another 
in  silence.  'The  Vanishing  Lady,'  said 
he  with  a  profound  salaam.  'The  Van- 
ishing Lady,'  echoed  I. 


IV 

"And  that  is  why  we  must  serve  you 
with  a  dinner  of  herbs  this  Christmas 
Day,  instead  of  offering  up  the  stalled 
ox  and  the  inflammable  plum  pudding. 
It  is  a  pure  case  of  pot-luck,  dear  boy, 
but  you  are  Bohemian  enough  to  relish 
the  absurdity  of  the  situation;  are  you 
not?" 

Of  course  I  was.  It  was  a  labor  of 
love  and  a  love  feast  that  followed.  All 
day  long  we  busied  ourselves  gathering 
together  the  remnants  with  which  the 
pantry  was  strewn.  The  Cherub  strode 
to  the  mile-away  village  and  returned 
with  a  turkey  that  was  toothsome  and 
a  mince  pie  that  gladdened  our  hearts, 
when  we  had  taken  the  chill  off  it. 
What  busy  hands  were  ours,  what  hurry- 
ing feet,  what  jokes  at  our  own  expense. 
We  didn't  mind  if  the  Cherub  was  in  the 
way;  we  stayed  him  with  flagons,  we 
comforted  him  with  apples;  and  all  was 
well.  Often  we  returned  to  Miss  Flora 
as  a  subject  of  discussion,  for  we  talked 
incessantly — you  see  we  were  working  at 
high  pressure  and  this  was  our  safety 
valve.  We  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  young  lady  in  question  was  a  char- 
acter and  one  worth  studying.  Most 
likely  she  had  been  a  tomboy  in  her 
youth,  a  vivacious  Vassar  virgin  a  little 
later;  was  full  of  fun  and  loved  a  frolic; 
must  have  had  experiences,  perhaps  some 
of  them  a  little  risky;  was  a  young 
woman  of  birth  and  breeding,  highly 
accomplished,  well  read,  and  with  a 
romantic  love  of  adventure;  therefore, 
when  she  read  the  Chatelaine's  personal 
in  the  journal  of  the  upper  classes,  she 
was  at  once  seized  with  the  desire  to 
answer  it  in  person,  and  spy  out  the 
eccentricities  of  life  as*  it  was  lived  in 
Crazy  Castle,  at  short  range  and  with 
the  naked  eye. 

She  came,  she  saw,  she  conquered. 
In  four  and  twenty  hours  she  had  taken 
a  mental  inventory  of  everybody  and 
everything.  She  had  played  upon  the 
susceptibilities  of  Hadji  and  the  Chate- 


CHRISTMAS  At  CRAZY  CASTLE 


269 


laine  as  if  their  heart  strings  were  a  lute. 
Had  she  stayed  a  year  she  could  not 
have  known  them  better;  she  felt  this 
before  she  came  hither;  she  came  hither 
because  she  knew  this  and  came  without 
her  trunk  because  she  would  not  need  it 
in  the  brief  period  she  proposed  to  spend 
at  Crazy  Castle. 

"And  now,"  said  Hadji,  reflectively, 
with  an  Oriental  shrug  and  a  toss  of  the 
tassel  of  his  fez,  "and  now  we  shall  be 
the  laughing  stock  of  her  set  for  weeks 
and  months  to  come!  " 

"What  does  it  matter?"  added  the 
Chatelaine,  as  she  mingled  the  syrups 
and  spices  in  some  delicious  sauce  that 
was  presently  to  intoxicate  our  palates. 
"We  that  have  free  souls,  it  touches  us 
not!  However,  one  fact  is  evident,  we 
must  have  a  maid  to  do  general  house- 
work and  cook  as  plainly  as  she  pleases ; 
the  piano  is  no  part  of  the  plan  hence- 
forth and  forever:  I  have  spoken!  " 

She  evidently  had,  and  we  were  all 
hushed  for*  a  moment.  Then  dinner 
having  arrived,  we  dished  it  with  more 
or  less  agility,  seated  ourselves  at  table, 
fell  to,  ate,  drank  and  were  merry — just 
as  merry  as  if  the  whole  program  had 
been  carefully  arranged  and  carried  out 
to  the  letter  with  the  greatest  possible 
success. 

We  washed  and  dried  the  dishes  in 
concert,  without  breaking  too  many  of 
them.  We  placed  upon  the  table  the 
coffee,  the  eggs,  the  bread  and  butter 
for  our  breakfast;  it  being  a  movable 
feast  each  one  of  us  was  to  prepare  his 
own  at  the  hour  which  suited  him  best. 

In  Hadji's  chamber  that  night  we 
burned  the  fragrant  and  consoling  weed 
and  quaffed  the  spicy  cup,  while  each 
told  a  tale  suitable  to  the  season,  a  tale 
of  a  Christmas  eve  at  the  Antipodes,  in 
Cairo,  Paris,  Tonga-Taboo.  The  Cherub 
was  in  dreamland  when  we  wished  one 
another  "many  happy  returns,"  and 
wandered  away  to  dimly  lighted  cham- 
bers, as  distant  and  as  silent  as  sepul- 
chres. 


V 

The  day  that  followed  was  one  of  un- 
wonted activity.  At  certain  hours  soli- 
tary souls  found  their  way  into  the  kit- 
chen where  they  prepared  their  own  food 
and  ate  it  without  a  murmur.  It  is  a 
wonder  how  anyone  ever  found  that  kit- 
chen; or  having  stumbled  upon  it  once 
was  able  to  return  to  it  again  unguided. 
We  had  serious  thoughts  of  blazing  the 
corners  of  the  winding  passages  that  led 
to  it,  but  refrained,  for  there  was  ever 
uppermost  in  our  hearts  the  hope  that 
in  a  day  or  two  someone  would  come  to 
lift  up  our  hearts  for  ue  and  relieve  us 
of  those  domestic  duties  which  however 
beautiful  in  song  and  story  are  too  often 
a  burden  in  reality. 

The  Cherub  breakfasted  with  me.  It 
was  a  pleasure  and  a  pain  to  break  an 
egg  with  him  and  weaken  his  coffee  with 
cream.  He  had  joined  his  mamma  for 
a  few  days  only,  and  this  was  the  very 
last  of  them.  In  the  afternoon  he  was 
to  return  to  the  abode  of  his  guardian, 
who  looked  after  the  education  of  the 
youngster  with  paternal  care. 

How  I  should  miss  him  when  he  had 
waved  adieu  from  the  far  end  of  the 
lawn  as  he  was  being  driven  to  the  sta- 
tion. The  Chatelaine  would  then  keep 
to  her  apartment;  Hadji -to  his,  and  I 
to  mine.  It  had  all  been  explained  to 
me  with  picturesque  details  that  made 
the  whole  scheme  flow  on  like  a  narra- 
tive; it  sounded  like  so  many  pages  from 
a  book:  it  was  something  in  this  line:  — 

A  maid  had  been  sent  for,  one  who, 
though  not  an  experienced  cook,  was 
equal  to  an  emergency  and  whose 
fingers  were  more  familiar  with  the  con- 
tents of  the  flour  barrel  than  the  key- 
board of  the  pianoforte.  She  was  due 
at  any  moment,  doubtless  we  should 
dine  or  sup  in  her  presence,  and  rejoice 
together. 

Everything  was  to  be  made  clear  to 
her.  Hereafter  plain  living  and  high 
thinking  were  to  be  the  order  of  the  day; 
as  for  the  night  watches,  they  were 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,  1904 


sacred  to  solitude  and  silence.  We  were 
to  have  breakfast  served  in  our  studies 
at  any  hour  from  midnight  to  high  noon. 
One  pull  at  the  bell  rope  would  summon 
the  maid,  who,  having  her  menu  posted 
upon  the  bulletin  board  in  advance, 
would  at  once  prepare  the  breakfast  and 
present  it  in  due  season. 

Breakfast  over,  a  second  summons 
would  cause  the  removal  of  the  break- 
fast tray.  Then  there  was  the  forenoon 
in  which  to  work  and  do  all  our  labor- 
er as  much  of  it  as  could  be  done  before 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Then  din- 
ner, or  late  breakfast  if  you  will,  en 
famille;  after  this  happy  meeting  an 
hour's  diversion  in  the  music  room;  or, 
if  the  day  be  fair,  a  stroll  over  the  crust 
of  the  snow,  or  under  the  low-hanging 
boughs  of  the  hemlocks  fringed  with 
pendants  of  crystal. 

To  our  several  suites  again  to  read  or 
write,  or  dream  until  supper  time.  We 
sup  together,  sit  together  at  the  card 
table  after  supper,  or  entertain  one  an- 
other with  fragments  of  our  lives  and 
adventures,  or  listen  to  music,  until  there 
is  a  lull,  when  we  simultaneously  arise 
and  depart  as  unceremoniously  as 
possible. 

Hardly  had  the  Cherub  left  us  when 
Nora  appeared.  Delicate  little  Nora 
with  ivory-white  skin,  pale  pink  cheeks, 
pathetic  eyes,  and  brown  hair  smoothed 
over  the  temples,  barely  escaping  the 
eyebrows,  and  hiding  away  behind  the 
tips  of  the  ears.  At  sight  of  her,  albeit 
she  was  prim  and  plaintive,  we  took 
heart  again  and  reveled  in  the  joy  of 
living.  How  little  is  necessary  to  cheer 
one  when  there  has  been  less  cheer  than 
fear. 

Hadji  and  I  burned  pastilles  in  the 
semi-barbaric  recesses  of  his  divan,  and' 
talked  of  the  Levant  and  the  Levantines 
until  we  seemed  to  hear  the  jingle  of 
necklaces  of  coin  on  the  bare  bosoms  of 
the  Ghawaze,  as  they  shuddered  from 
head  to  foot  in  their  serpentine  dances; 
and  hearing  this,  we  drew  deep  draughts 


from  the  cooling  and  coiling  tubes  of  the 
narghiles  which  Hadji  held  as  priceless 
souvenirs  of  his  lost  youth. 

Alas!  The  faint  music  that  we  heard 
was  but  the  chiming  of  the  distant 
sleigh  bells.  We  were  the  quietest  of 
quartets  under  the  hushed  battlements 
of  Crazy  Castle. 

VI 

The  great  day  dawned  upon  us,  the 
opening  day  of  the  new  life.  We  were 
within  the  octave  of  Christmas.  If  our 
Christmas  dinner  was  in  a  certain  sense 
a  disappointment,  though  we  had  eaten 
it  with  a  relish  and  rather  enjoyed  our 
discomfiture,  we  now  proposed  to  make 
up  for  it  and  finish  the  Christmas  holi- 
days right  royally. 

I  awoke  early.  It  was  still  dusky  in 
my  chamber.  I  heard  the  coal  sifting 
down  into  the  huge  self-feeder  and  saw 
the  fierce  glow  of  the  fire  within  the  isin- 
glass doors  and  felt  very  comfortable  and 
cosy.  I  rose  to  look  out  of  the  window: 
the  slender  moon  was  in  her  last  quar- 
ter; the  lawn  looked  bleak  and  forbid- 
ding; the  mounds  where  the  flowers 
bloomed  in  pyramids  when  their  birth- 
days came  around,  were  like  so  many 
frosted  cakes. 

And  Nora,  where  was  she?  In  the 
depths,  somewhere,  or  the  breadths  of 
the  castle;  surely  not  in  the  kitchen  at 
this  hour.  I  lit  my  lamp  and  read,  grew 
drowsy,  returned  to  my  pillow  and  dozed. 
When  I  awoke  again  it  was  broad  day- 
light and  I  was  hungry.  I  put  on  my 
robe,  my  fur-lined  slippers,  raised  all  the 
window  shades,  shook  out  the  lace  cur- 
tains and  pulled  the  bell  cord  for  the 
first  time. 

Taking  a  book  in  hand — we  had  no 
journals  there — I  held  it  while  I  looked 
out  upon  the  landscape.  It  was  not 
inviting.  The  skeleton  trees,  the  little 
and  larger  drifts  that  seemed  to  be  striv- 
ing to  hide  something  and  make  a  mys- 
tery of  it.  The  river  that  washed  the 
shore  was  of  the  color  of  lead,  and 


CHRISTMAS   AT   CRAZY   CASTLE 


271 


looked  as  lifeless.  How  different  the 
vistas  in  the  blithe  Spring  mornings  with 
the  halleluia  chorus  of  the  waking  birds. 
So  I  was  dreaming  of  Spring,  buried 
in  all  its  beauty  under  that  white  pall, 
but  anon  to  rise  again  from  the  dead  in 
glorious  resurrection,  a  miracle  of  frag- 
rance and  of  form  and  color  —  when  I 
heard  the  approach  of  footsteps:  they 
were  ascending  from  the  depths  and  it 
seemed  to  me  were  a  little  weary  for  so 
early  an  hour  in  the  day;  at  any  rate, 
they  displayed  no  vivacity;  they  were 
not  firm,  methodical  nor  even  dogged, 
like  the  tread  of  the  toiler;  they  were 
two  little  feet  tottering  up  the  stairs. 

Between  the  sitting  room  and  the 
library  there  was  a  passage:  in  the  pass- 
age there  was  a  shelf,  over  the  shelf 
a  sliding  panel  communicated  with  the 
hall  leading  to  the  stairway;  I  heard  the 
panel  pushed  aside  and  the  tinkling  of 
dishes  on  a  tray;  the  panel  was  shut  to, 
the  footfall  of  the  invisible  one  died 
away  in  the  distance  and  all  was  still. 

I  found  the  tray  on  the  shelf:  coffee, 
toast,  an  egg  with  appurtenances,  cano- 
pied with  immaculate  napery.  The  sight 
of  it,  the  odor  of  it  quickened  and  re- 
fined my  appetite.  I  carried  my  break- 
fast to  a  small  table  by  a  window  and 
ate  leisurely,  between  paragraphs  in  a 
volume  of  meditations  from  the  pen  of 
a  recluse  like  myself. 

This  was  the  new  life  we  had  just 
begun ;  a  life  that  was  to  know  no  intru- 
sions; a  life  led  apart  from  the  world, 
the  flesh  and  the  devil.  It  was  true 
enough  that  no  one  of  these  had  ever 
troubled  me;  not  the  world,  surely,  for 
I  could  do  without  it — or  thought  that 
I  could :  not  the  flesh — little  I  cared  for 
it,  unless  it  were  of  my  own  picking  and 
choosing;  not  the  devil,  who  seemed  to 
me  more  to  be  pitied  than  spitted;  I 
never  hear  his  name  mentioned  discour- 
teously but  I  resent  it,  and  think  the 
defamer  a  coward  and  a  bully  for  his 
pains. 

What    temptations  were  to  come  to 


me  in  this  solitude?  What  assaults  and 
from  what  sources?  I  had  entered  upon 
the  new  life  as  trustful  as  a  babe,  and 
perhaps  as  helpless.  The  innocent  are 
confiding;  I  felt  that,  could  I  have  con- 
fidence enough,  not  the  shadow  or  even 
the  thought  of  the  Vanishing  Lady  could 
disturb  my  tranquility,  and  that  my  in- 
nocence was  now  assured. 

Having  returned  my  tray  —  with  a  few 
complimentary  crumbs  scattered  upon 
it — to  the  shelf,  I  rang  again.  Invisible 
hands  removed  it,  invisible  feet  retraced 
their  steps  and  I  was  left  to  myself  for 
six  solitary  hours  of  self-communion. 
The  chimes  summoned  me  to  dinner. 
At  table  we  renewed  an  acquaintance 
that  was  constantly  interrupted  and 
which  consequently  never  seemed  to 
deepen  or  broaden,  or  to  get  any  farther 
than  when  it  first  began;  we  always 
started  just  where  we  left  off,  and  if, 
once  in  a  while,  we  by  any  chance  so 
far  forgot  ourselves  as  to  become  con- 
fidential, it  was  as  if  we  had  stepped 
through  a  thin  crust  of  ice,  and  we 
checked  ourselves  with  a  gasp  as  one 
does  after  a  douche.  Polite  conversa- 
tion after  dinner,  more  solitude  and  our 
several  cells  until  the  evening  meal. 
Warm  biscuit,  tea,  preserves;  Nora  at 
table  with  us,  but  evidently  ill  at  ease. 
To  our  boudoirs  and  our  beds  betimes; 
poor  Nora  in  solitary  confinement. 

A  week  of  this  began  to  tell  on  us. 
Nora  grew  pale  and  dumb;  she  now 
climbed  the  morning  stairs  with  diffi- 
culty; I  think  she  was  half  famished; 
she  ate  only  a  morsel  when  at  table  with 
us  and  we  had  to  urge  her  to  do  that 
much.  We  all  began  to  fear  that  her 
days  were  numbered — and  so  they  were. 

It  had  been  snowing,  but  the  flakes 
fell  upon  a  waste  of  slush  and  made  no 
sign.  The  sky  was  as  dense  and  depres- 
sing as  a  circus  tent  at  the  end  of  a  hard 
season.  We  had  for  some  days  but  little 
to  say  to  one  another;  to  be  sure  we 
were  all  busy,  but  we  minded  our  own 
business  and  were  too  much  absorbed  to 


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NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


be  curious  as  to  the  business  of  others. 
On  one  of  the  most  doleful  of  evenings 
we  had  gathered  at  the  community  table 
to  sup.  No  one  had  said  anything  in 
particular;  apparently  there  was  nothing 
to  say.  Silence  was  at  last  broken  by 
the  Chatelaine,  who,  taking  one  of  Nora's 
warm,  not  too  warm,  biscuits,  and  tast- 
ing it,  said,  "I  find  these  rather  heavy  I" 
Hadji,  turning  a  bite  in  his  mouth, 
added,  "They  are  heavy."  Then  I, 
divided  between  that  delicacy  which  all 
guests  are  bound  to  observe  when  house- 
hold affairs  are  under  discussion,  and 
desire  to  sympathetically  acquiesce  in 
every  phase  of  feeling  which  host  or 
hostess  might  express,  said,  half  apolo- 
getically, "They  are  a  trifle  heavy!  " 
The  biscuits  were  deposited  upon  our 
plates,  a  dead  silence  followed — but  for 
a  few  moments  only.  Without  warning, 
Nora  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  cried  like  a  child;  the  Chatelaine, 
turning  upon  her  with  pitying  eyes, 
vainly  endeavored  to  repress  her  emo- 
tion; Hadji  was  himself  for  ten  seconds, 
when  he  wept  in  his  napkin;  I  naturally 
followed  suit,  and  together  we  sobbed  in 
chorus.  O  fatal  hour!  We  drank  our 
tears,  and  with  tears  we  did  moisten  our 
meat! 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  us  that  we 
were  acting  like  idiots,  and  therein  lay 
our  salvation.  The  Chatelaine  ex- 
claimed, "What  folly,"  and  laughed 
lightly  as  if  life  were  a  joy;  Hadji 
joined  her  with  hilarity,  as  if  life  with- 
out biscuit  were  a  blank,  even  biscuit 
regardless  of  avoirdupois;  I  chuckled  to 
think  we  were  all  so  happy,  notwith- 
standing; even  Nora  smiled  —  smiled 
such  a  pretty  smile  of  relief  that  we  fell 
to  and  swept  the  board  of  those  biscuits 
to  the  last  leaden  one, —  and  we  all  sur- 
vived the  feat. 

But  Nora  left  us  after  that;  we  pleaded 
in  vain.  Storms  could  not  stay  her,  nor 
the  tempting  offer  of  a  doubled  wage. 
She  left  us,  white  as  a  snowdrop  with 
just  a  suggestion  of  the  holly  berry  in 


her  flushed  cheek,  and  a  promise  to  for- 
give and  forget — but  could  she  ever  for- 
get us,  I  wonder? 

Here  endeth  the  second  lesson. 

VII 

Were  we  cast  down  after  the  departure 
of  Nora?  Not  in  the  least.  We  seemed 
to  be  gaining  in  health,  strength,  spirits 
and  acquiring  a  self-confidence  the  worth 
of  which  was  far  above  rubies. 

We  had  taken  up  the  burden  of  the 
day  with  a  song;  we  began  to  relish  the 
comedy  situations  and  to  applaud  one 
another  as  heartily  as  if  we  had  been 
audience  instead  of  players.  Having 
settled  ourselves  comfortably  for  the 
season, —  we  confessed  to  having  lost 
faith  in  the  handmaidens  of  the  period — 
the  bell  rang;  we  looked  at  one  another 
in  amazement.  Who  should  ring  the 
bell  of  the  castle  unbidden?  It  was 
a  portentious  bell,  it  meant  either  busi- 
ness or  pleasure.  Need  I  add  that  those 
terms  are  antithetical?  The  bell  rang 
again,  rang  imperatively;  it  continued 
to  ring  until  we  felt  that  we  must  answer 
it;  we  answered  it  in  a  body. 

At  the  door  stood  a  plainly  clad 
woman  long  past  her  prime.  Her  hair 
was  neatly  tucked  under  a  stuffed  hood. 
Her  dress  and  cloak  were  of  ordinary 
material,  and  she  wore  brogans  half-soled 
with  clotted  snow.  In  a  sweet,  motherly 
voice  that  followed  close  upon  the  heels 
of  a  courtesy  she  said:  "I  have  been 
looking  for  work,  and  was  told  in  the 
village  that  you  might  perhaps  engage 
me.'"'  There  was  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes 
that  assured  us  she  was  as  youthful  at 
heart  as  anyone  of  us,  and  with  her  years 
of  experience,  why  should  she  not  be- 
come our  good  angel,  one  upon  whom 
we  might  rely  at  all  times  and  for  all 
things?  She  should  prove  a  very  present 
help  in  our  emergency,  and  we  felt  like 
falling  upon  her  maternal  bosom  and 
calling  her  blessed.  We  did  not.  We 
merely  accepted  her  as  the  embodiment 
of  a  special  Providence,  and  congratu- 


CHRISTMAS   AT   CRAZY   CASTLE 


273 


lated  ourselves  that  though  it  were  the 
eleventh  hour,  still  we  were  not  forsaken, 
and  this  also  was  a  mark  of  grace 
abounding. 

We  led  her  to  the  kitchen  and  estab- 
lished her.  With  a  few  well  chosen 
words  we  gave  her  welcome,  and  the 
domestic  machinery  was  once  more  run- 
ning smoothly.  "After  all,"  we  said 
to  one  another  in  the  same  breath,  "we 
have  had  enough  of  Floras  and  Noras; 
it  is  Mary  Ann  that  makes  the  world  go 
'round,"  and  for  two  blissful  days  we  put 
all  our  trust  in  her.  She  was  not  talka- 
tive, she  seemed  absorbed  in  the  break- 
fast, dinner  and  supper  problem.  If  by 
chance  we  passed  her  in  one  of  the  many 
passages  of  the  castle  she  was  startled 
and  for  a  moment  disconcerted ;  she  was 
probably  exploring  the  castle,  no  one 
ever  came  there  but  wanted  to  do  as 
much. 

One  day  at  dinner  the  bell  was  rung 
again;  Hadji  referred  to  it  as  the  dread- 
ful bell  that  summoned  us  to  heaven  or 
to  hell.  Mary  Ann,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  "mind  the  door,"  paused  and  was 
visibly  agitated.  What  could  it  mean? 
We  joined  forces  and  went  on  a  voyage 
of  discovery.  No  sooner  was  the  door 
thrown  open  than  police  officers,  feebly 
disguised  as  men  of  peace,  seized  our 
venerable  Mary  Anna  and  in  a  very  un- 
ceremonious and  indecorous  manner 
bundled  her  into  an  ambulance  that  had 
been  backed  up  to  the  front  steps  in 
readiness  to  receive  her.  She  was  philo- 
sophical to  the  last.  With  the  sweetest 
spirit  of  humility  she  resigned  herself  to 
fate,  and  was  tucking  her  disordered 
skirts  about  her,  when  one  of  the  kid- 
nappers whispered  to  us,  "She  is  an 
escaped  lunatic;  we  are  returning  her  to 
the  asylum." 

VIII 

It  is  a  pity  that  there  are  not  more 
professed  lunatics  in  the  world.  When 
I  write  my  book,  "How  to  Become  In- 
sane," I  shall  prove  that  all  people  are 


more  or  less  insane,  though  it  is  only 
the  exceptional  character  that  is  publicly 
declared  a  lunatic.  A  perfectly  sane 
man,  sane  upon  every  point  at  all  hours 
of  the  day,  and  all  days  of  the  week,  or 
month  or  year,  would  probably  be  con- 
fined by  the  authorities  to  prevent  a 
lynching — he  would  be  so  unlike  other 
people.  Therefore  have  we  all  our 
weaknesses,  as  we  each  have  a  darling 
sin,  and  it  behooves  us  to  treat  one  an- 
other with  caution,  lest  we  fail  to  do 
unto  others  as  we  would  have  others  do 
unto  us. 

In  a  spirit  of  resignation  worthy  of  a 
pagan,  Mary  Ann  had  returned  to  her 
long  home.  It  was  a  long  home — a  very 
long  home  with  a  high  wall  about  it  and 
a  thousand  barred  windows  that  looked 
upon  the  abomination  of  desolation  that 
abounded  within  the  wall. 

While  she  was  with  us  she  had  shown 
no  evidences  of  a  disordered  imagina- 
tion; indeed,  she  had  seemed  the  sanest 
member  of  the  household;  probably  we 
had  not  chanced  to  touch  upon  the  point 
where  reason  tottered  and  judgment 
went  astray. 

Our  escape  was  fortunate.  Had  Mary 
Ann  once  lost  her  balance,  who  of  us 
could  help  her  to  regain  it?  I  am  sure 
that  had  we  all  of  us  stayed  long  enough 
in  Crazy  Castle  we  should  have  gone 
stark  mad.  When  one  wakens  in  the 
morning  to  find  himself  condemned  to 
solitary  confinement  and  the  vow  of 
silence,  even  though  it  be  only  for  five- 
sixths  of  the  four  and  twenty  hours,  and 
these  hours  richly  upholstered,  curtained 
and  canopied  with  lace,  with  an  atmos- 
phere just  of  the  right  temperature  arid 
with  the  proper  per  cent,  of  humidity 
born  of  an  incense-breathing  atomizer, 
and  yet  finds  life  a  burden — something 
very  necessary  to  the  health  of  body  and 
mind  and  soul  is  lacking. 

When  the  day  seems  without  begin- 
ning and  without  end,  and  the  titles  of 
books  fail  to  interest  one,  and  even  their 
backs  and  sides,  whether  plain  or 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   DECEMBER,    1904 


pictured,  become  mildly  repellant;  when 
one  can  no  longer  remain  within  the 
confines  of  his  luxurious  prison  house, 
but  rises  nervously  to  grasp  cap  and  coat 
and  cane  and  go  forth  into  the  cushioned 
aisles  of  the  wintry  woods,  hoping  all 
the  while  that  something  —  almost  any- 
thing— might  happen,  so  long  as  it  broke 
the  monotony  of  one's  existence;  hoping 
to  meet  a  pilgrim  or  a  stranger  or  even 
a  tramp,  so  long  as  he  would  kindly  stop 
you  for  a  little  chat,  or  peradventure 
assault  you  for  the  sake  of  a  change; 
when  sleep  deserts  one's  pillow,  and  the 
voices  of  the  night  are  many  and  some 
of  them  mournful  and  all  of  them  unac- 
countable; when  one  begins  critically  to 
consider  the  faults  of  one's  old  friends — 
new  friends  are  ever  faultless — and  to 
forget  their  redeeming  features;  when 
from  day  to  day  one  begins  to  realize 
without  a  quiver  of  the  conscience  that 
he  has  left  undone  those  things  which 
he  ought  to  have  done,  and  done  those 
things  which  he  ought  not  to  have  done, 
and  there  is  no  health  in  him — rtis  time 
to  call  a  halt. 

This  was  our  state.  We  began  to 
wear  upon  one  another  and  the  wear 
began  to  show.  The  Chatelaine  at  in- 
tervals locked  herself  within  her  apart- 
ment and  held  no  communication  with 
the  outer  world,  save  when  a  dish  of  tea 
or  a  crumb  of  toast  were  left  at  the 
threshold  of  my  lady's  chamber  —  a 
muffled  tap  upon  the  door  announcing 
the  fact  to  the  self-immured;  Hadji  had 
withdrawn  to  the  dusk  of  his  divan  and 
was  lost  in  a  maze  of  smoking  pastilles; 
sometimes  we  heard  his  music  stealing 
upon  the  silence,  a  weird  chant  it  was: 
the  bird-like  call  of  the  muezzin  descend- 
ing like  a  lark's  song  from  the  girdling 
gallery  of  a  minarette,  with  that  plaint- 
ive refrain,  "Prayer  is  better  than  sleep. " 
We  doubted  it  then:  heaven  knows  we 
would  all  have  been  glad  enough  to 
sleep,  perchance  the  last  sleep,  yea,  even 
the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking!  This 
was  our  state. 


Thus  were  we  drifting  on  toward  the 
inevitable  climax,  the  one  most  to  be 
avoided;  drifting  listlessly,  hopelessly 
drifting  with  the  current  that  was  ever 
increasing  in  volume,  in  strength  and  in 
velocity,  and  sweeping  us  surely  to  our 
doom.  That  way  madness  lies ! 

IX 

We  knew  well  enough  that  the  gossips 
were  busy  with  us  down  in  the  vil- 
lage but  a  mile  away.  The  finger  of 
scorn  was  pointed  at  us  by  some  who 
drove  to  the  far  edge  of  the  lawn,  where 
they  drew  rein  and  studied  the  exterior 
of  the  castle  with  the  eye  of  suspicion. 

We  might  have  hung  out  our  shingle 
and  surprised  no  one.  Even  though  that 
shingle  bore  the  legend,  "Mad  Men 
Made  While  You  Wait,"  it  would  have 
been  accepted  seriously.  This  was  a 
clear  case  of  "I  told  you  so!  " 

Well,  we  fooled  them  all.  We  sent 
for  an  English  matron,  who  was  as  calm 
and  cool  and  wise  as  a  trained  nurse; 
who  liked  cooking  and  housekeeping  and 
regular  hours  and  was  an  authority  on 
health  foods  and  how  to  administer  them 
to  the  faithful  and  the  faithless.  She 
brought  sunshine  into  the  house  and 
brought  it  from  a  land  where  there  is  not 
overmuch  sunshine;  it  is  all  very  well  for 
the  clouds  that  they  have  silver  linings, 
but  I  don't  see  that  we  gain  anything  so 
long  as  the  lining  isn't  turned  our  way. 

There  was  sunshine  in  the  soul  of 
Mrs.  Blank,  and  a  heart  as  big  as  her 
bodice.  And  oh,  the  way  in  which  she 
mothered  us  and  mustered  us,  and 
turned  us  out  for  our  daily  airing  arid 
ordered  us  in  when  we  had  stayed  long 
enough.  She  sent  us  to  bed  and  called 
us  up,  and  Crazy  Castle,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone, 
began  to  realize  what  discipline  meant 
—  and  really  it  wasn't  half  bad  when  we 
got  used  to  it. 

X 

The  amphitheater  of  the  Metropolitan 
Opera  House  was  like  a  magic  cavern 


"WHERE  HAVE  you  BEEN  ALL  THESE  SILENT  MONTHS?"  QUERIED  SHE.. 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   <or   NOVEMBER,    1904 


walled  with  gems  and  ablaze  with  dazzl- 
ing light.  There  was  a  living  back- 
ground beyond  the  flashing  jewels,  a 
background  of  more  or  less  animated 
human  forms;  but  these  were,  after  all, 
but  a  background,  and  before  the 
supreme  splendor  of  these  pyramids  of 
precious  stones  they  paled  their  ineffec- 
tual fires;  as  properly  conducted  back- 
grounds should. 

The  Chatelaine,  Hadji  and  I  sat  in 
:the  seats  of  the  scornful.  No  flaring 
headlights  from  Golconda's  caves  be- 
decked our  modest  persons.  Our  jewels 
were  of  the  mind  and  of  the  emotions, 
pearls  of  thought,  and  the  heart  within 
our  bosoms  like  great  throbbing  rubies. 

Why  were  we  there  in  our  semi-pas- 
toral disguise,  when  we  should  have 
been  buried  in  the  solitude  of  Crazy 
Castle?  Because!  Often  and  often  we 
had  visited  the  metropolis  in  spirit,  now 
we  were  there  in  very  truth,  and  in  a 
body  that  we  might  not  grow  lonesome 
in  the  great  city.  We  were  there  for  the 
purpose  of  restoring  our  souls,  after  a 
long  and  trying  Winter  of  culinary  in- 
clemency: that  is  all! 

Between  the  acts  the  Chatelaine,  seiz- 
ing Hadji  by  the  arm,  whispered: 
"Where  have  I  seen  that  face?  " 

For  some  minutes  Hadji  searched  in 
vain  fora  familiar  countenance;  at  last 
he  discovered  one  that  caught  his  eye 
and  held  it  for  a  time.  He  was  evi- 
dently attracted,  a  little  startled,  much 
perplexed.  "I  don't  know  where  you 
or  I  have  seen  that  face,"  he  said — look- 
ing down  into  one  of  the  boxes  that  were 
like  hanging  gardens  sparkling  with  dew 
— "But  I  have  seen  it  somewhere." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  time. 
Another  act  of  melodious  passion  sang 
itself  out  and  was  curtained  from  the 
eyes  of  all.  The  audience  swayed  like 
wind-swept  corn  and  buzzed  like  a  hive 
of  swarming  bees.  Of  course  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  lady  in  the  tiara,  with 
arms  that  caressed  the  air  and  faultless 
shoulders  nestling  in  voluminous  folds  of 


ermine.  I  was  not  invited  to  interest 
myself  in  the  one  whom  they  had  found 
attractive.  Indeed  my  eyes  are  so 
dimmed  with  searching  for  the  undis- 
coverable,  that  even  with  the  aid  of 
lorgnettes  I  could  hardly  distinguish  one 
person  from  another  across  the  chasm  of 
the  stalls.  To  confess  the  truth,  I  never 
bother  myself  about  who  may  or  may  not 
be  in  the  theater  or  opera  house. 

At  the  close  of  the  evening  we  lin- 
gered in  the  lobby  to  note  the  tide  of 
fashion  as  it  ebbed  into  the  night.  It 
was  a  pretty  spectacle,  so  full  of  color 
and  sparkle,  and  ravishing  flesh  tints, 
mingled  with  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia. 

"There  she  is!  "  exclaimed  the  Chate- 
laine and  Hadji  in  one  breath.  "See!  " 
She  is  looking  this  way — and  smiling, 
too!" 

Just  before  us  was  the  object  of  their 
interest,  almost  within  arm's  reach.  I 
glanced  at  her,  half  curiously,  and  in 
a  moment  recognized  the  friend  I  had 
made  in  London  and  met  in  Paris,  in 
Venice  and  Monte  Carlo,  and  whose 
delightful  comraderie  had  left  us  almost 
lovers. 

I  hastened  to  her  side  with  every 
pleasurable  emotion  and  we  at  once  re- 
sumed a  fellowship  that  had  been  suf- 
fered to  remain  unacknowledged  for  no 
earthly  reason  whatever. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  these 
silent  months?"  queried  she. 

"For  the  past  Winter,  in  retirement 
with  dear  old  friends,"  I  answered; 
"may  I  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting 
them?" 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  know  any 
friends  of  yours,"  she  replied  as  I  led 
forward  my  companions. 

"Miss  McFlimsy;  permit  me  to  pre- 
sent the  Chatelaine  of  Crazy  Castle;  and 
the  Hadji  of  the  ditto-ditto!  " 

The  three  stood  aghast  for  a  moment, 
and  then  all  bubbled  over  with  laughter. 

"Come,"  said  the  beauty  of  the  box 
in  the  imperial  circle.  "Come!  The 
laugh  is  on  me.  Somehow  it  always  is; 


CHRISTMAS   AT   CRAZY   CASTLE 


277 


it  is  only  a  case  of  sooner  or  later.  Let 
us  adjourn  to  Cherris,  where  we  can,  at 
our  leisure,  over  bird  and  bottle,  tell 
fairy  tales  of  the  past.  Oh!  By  the 
way;  allow  me  to  present  my  uncle! 
You  know  one  has  at  times  to  be  shad- 
owed by  a  chaperon,  if  only  for  the  sake 
of  appearances.  I,  even  I,  at  intervals 
submit  to  the  infliction." 

The  highly  presentable  uncle  smiled 
blandly  and  we  drifted  toward  the  street. 
She  evidently  never  ruffled  his  plumage, 
nor  he  hers,  for  that  matter.  Who  could? 
Who  would  even  if  he  could?  Who 
should,  under  any  circumstances?  She 
had  ennobled  and  decorated  both  Hadji 
and  myself  with  a  rose  from  her  corsage ; 
she  showered  flowers  upon  the  Chate- 
laine, who  was  hanging  upon  the  arm  of 
mine  Uncle  Chaperone.  She  was  more 
charming  than  the  Charmers,  charming 
never  so  wisely.  Hadji  and  I  were  be- 
ginning to  crowd  one  another  a  little  for 
admiration  of  her.  Our  hearts  were 
warming  into  budding  love. 

The  Chatelaine  and  she  were  as  rival 
queens;  very  queenly  indeed,  yet  there 
was  the  possible  hope  that  they  might 


anon  call  one  another  sisters  or  cousins 
or  something  as  tender  and  as  touching, 
in  very  truth. 

For  was  she  not  Flora  McFlimsy,  the 
very  Flora  of  very  Floras  who  played  the 
Pet  of  the  Pantry  with  instant  success  at 
Crazy  Castle  for  one  night  only?  Who 
filled  our  mouths  with  angels'  food  and 
our  hearts  with  lightness  and  longing? 
Whose  coming  was  as  the  dawn  of  the 
day  star;  and  whose  going  was  as  the 
shadow  of  endless  night? 

There  we  were,  rose-ennobled  after 
many  moons;  two  roses  with  their  thorns 
against  our  breasts — Hadji's  and  mine: 
Hadji  and  I  her  slaves  henceforth  and 
forever;  and  the  Chatelaine  and  the 
Chaperon  looking  on  with  kind  approval, 
as  one  would  say  in  the  old  manner, 
"Bless  you,  my  Children!" 

But  two  is  company  and  three  none! 
Which  shall  it  be?  Oh  favoring  fortune, 
whose  throne  is  at  her  feet!  Tell  us, 
ye  answering  stars!  Is  it  Hadji's  or  is 
it  mine,  when  the  Chatelaine  gives  one 
of  us  away  to  that  tantalizing  tomboy, 
that  best  of  all  good  fellows,  Our  Lady 
of  Smart  Set  Hill? 


A    WORDLESS  PRAYER 

By    MABEL    CORNELIA    MATSON 

CALHOUN,     ALABAMA 

r\EAR  Lord,  I  am  so  glad  today 
I  cannot  find  the  words  to  pray ; 
Up  yonder  in  the  red  oak  tree 
A  little  thrush  sings  joyously; 
No  need  of  any  words  has  he, 
His  song  is  prayer  and  praise  to  Thee. 
O  search  my  heart,  and,  seeing  there 
My  gladness,  take  it  for  a  prayer. 


PHOEBE 


By    DALLAS     LORE    SHARP 

EAST      WBYMOUTH,      MASSACHUSETTS 


A    BIRD    STUDY    IN   JUNE 

IT  is  certainly  a  humble  environment. 
The  delicious  spring  of  water,  the 
plenty  of  wild,  cool  air,  and  the  clean 
pavement  of  loose  stones  do  not  sur- 
round this  home  as  they  did  the  home 
of  Mr.  Burrough's  Phoebes,  nor  does 
this  look  "out  upon  some  wild  scene  and 
overhung  by  beetling  crags."  Instead, 
this  Pheobe's  nest  is  stuck  close  up  to 
the  low  board  roof  in  my  pig-pen. 

"You  have  taken  a  handful  of  my 
wooded  acres,"  says  Nature,  "and  if 
you  have  not  improved  them,  you  at 
least  have  changed  them  greatly.  But 
they  are  mine  still.  Be  friendly  now, 
go  softly  and  you  shall  have  them  all — 
and  I  shall  have  them  all,  too.  We  will 
share  them  together." 

And  we  do.  Every  part  of  the  four- 
teen acres  is  mine,  yielding  some  kind 
of  food  or  fuel  or  shelter.  And  every 
foot,  yes,  every  foot,  is  Nature's;  as  en- 
tirely hers  as  when  the  thick  primeval 
forest  stood  here.  The  apple  trees  are 
hers  as  much  as  mine,  and  she  has  ten 
different  bird-families,  that  I  know  of, 
living  in  them  this  Spring.  A  pair  of 
crows  and  a  pair  of  red-tailed  hawks  are 
nesting  in  the  wood-lot;  there  are  at 
least  three  families  of  chipmunks  in  as 
many  of  my  stone  piles;  a  fine  old  tree 
toad  (his  second  season  now)  sleeps  on 
the  porch  under  the  climbing  rose;  a 
hornet's  nest  hangs  in  a  corner  of  the 
eaves;  a  small  colony  of  swifts  thunder 
in  the  chimney;  swallows  twitter  in  the 
hay-loft;  a  chipmunk  and  a  half-tame 
gray  squirrel  feed  in  the  barn;  and — to 
bring  an  end  to  this  bare  beginning — 
under  the  roof  of  the  pig-pen  dwell 
a  pair  of  Phoebes. 

To  make  a  bird  house  of  a  pig-pen,  to 
divide  it  between  the  pig  and  the  bird — 
this  is  as  far  as  Nature  can  go,  and  this 


is  certainly  enough  to  redeem  the  whole 
farm.  For  she  has  not  sent  an  outcast 
or  a  scavenger  to  dwell  in  the  pen,  but 
a  bird  of  character,  however  much  he 
may  lack  in  song  or  color.  Phoebe  does 
not  make  up  well  in  a  picture;  neither 
does  he  perform  well  as  a  singer;  there 
is  little  to  him,  in  fact,  but  personality — 
personality  of  a  kind  and  (may  I  say?) 
quantity,  sufficient  to  make  the  pig-pen 
a  decent  and  respectable  neighborhood. 

Phoebe  is  altogether  more  than  his 
surroundings.  Every  time  I  go  to  feed 
the  pig,  he  lights^  upon  a  post  near  by 
and  says  to  me:  "It's  what  you  are! 
Not  what  you  do,  but  how  you  do  it!  " — 
with  a  launch  into  the  air,  a  whirl,  an 
unerring  snap  at  a  cabbage  butterfly  and 
an  easy  drop  to  the  post  again,  by  way 
of  illustration. — "  Not  where  you  live,  but 
how  you  live  there;  not  the  feathers  you 
wear,  but  how  you  wear  them — it  is  what 
you  are  that  counts!  " 

There  is  a  difference  between  being 
a  "character"  and  having  one.  "Jim" 
Crow  is  a  character — largely  because  he 
has  so  little.  That  is  why  he  is  "Jim." 
My  Phoebe  "lives  over  the  pig,"  but  he 
is  not  nicknamed.  I  cannot  feel  familiar 
with  a  bird  of  his  air  and  carriage,  who 
faces  the  world  so  squarely;  who  settles 
upon  a  stake  as  if  he  owned  it,  who  lives 
a  prince  in  my  pig-pen. 

Look  at  him!  How  alert,  able,  free! 
Notice  the  limber  drop  of  his  tail,  the 
ready  energy  it  suggests.  By  that  one 
sign  you  would  know  the  bird  had  force. 
He  is  afraid  of  nothing,  not  even  the 
cold,  and  he  migrates  only  because  he 
is  a  fly-catcher,  and  thus  compelled  to. 
The  earliest  Spring  day,  however,  that 
you  find  the  flies  buzzing  in  the  sun, 
look  for  Phoebe.  He  is  back.  The  first 
of  my  birds  to  return  this  Spring  was 
he  —  beating  the  bluebird  and  robin  by 


PHOEBE 


279 


almost  a  week.  It  was  a  fearful  Spring, 
this  one  of  1904.  How  Phoebe  managed 
to  exist  those  miserable  March  days  is 
a  mystery.  He  came  directly  to  the  pen 
as  he  had  come  the  year  before,  and  his 
presence  in  that  bleakest  of  Marches 
made  it  almost  Spring. 

The  same  force  and  promptness  are 
manifest  in  the  domestic  affairs  of  the 
bird.  The  first  to  arrive  this  Spring,  he 
was  also  the  first  to  build  and  bring  off 
a  brood — or,  perhaps,  She  was.  And 
the  size  of  the  brood — of  the  broods,  for 
the  second  one  is  now  a-wing,  and  there 
may  yet  be  a  third! 

Phoebe  appeared  without  his  mate, 
and  for  nearly  three  weeks  he  hunted  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  pen,  calling  the  day 
long,  .and,  toward  the  end  of  the  second 
week,  occasionally  soaring  into  the  air, 
flapping  and  pouring  forth  a  small, 
ecstatic  song  that  seemed  fairly  forced 
from  him. 

These  aerial  bursts  meant  just  one 
thing:  she  was  coming,  was  coming 
soon!  Was  she  coming  or  was  he  getting 
ready  to  go  for  her?  Here  he  had  been 
for  nearly  three  weeks,  his  house-lot 
chosen,  his  mind  at  rest,  his  heart  beat- 
ing faster  with  every  sunrise.  It  was  as 
plain  as  day  that  he  knew, — was  certain, 
— just  how  and  just  when  something 
lovely  was  going  to  happen.  I  wished 
I  knew.  I  was  half  in  love  with  her 
myself,  half  jealous  of  him,  and  I,  too, 
watched  for  her. 

She  was  not  for  me.  On  the  evening 
of  April  14,  he  was  alone  as  usual.  The 
next  morning  a  pair  of  Phoebes  flitted 
in  and  out  of  the  windows  of  the  pen. 
Here  she  was-.  Will  some  one  tell  me 
all  about  it?  Had  she  just  come  along 
and  fallen  instantly  in  love  with  him  and 
his  fine  pig-pen?  There  are  foolish 
female  birds;  and  the  Rolls  are  not  with- 
out such  love  affairs;  but  this  was  too 
early  in  the  season.  It  is  pretty  evident 
that  he  nested  here  last  year.  Was  she 
his  old  mate,  as  Wilson  believes?  Did 
they  keep  together  all  through  the 


Autumn  and  Winter,  all  the  way  from 
Massachusetts  to  Florida  and  back?  Or 
was  she  a  new  bride  who  had  promised 
him  before  he  left  Florida?  If  so,  then 
how  did  she  know  where  to  find  him? 

Here  is  a  pretty  story.  But  who  will 
tell  it  to  me? 

What  followed  is  a  -pretty  stony,  too, 
had  I  a  lover's  pen  with  which  to  write 
it— the  story  of  his  love,  of  their  love, 
and  of  her  love  especially,  which  was 
last  and  best. 

P'or  several  days  after  she  came  the 
weatner  continued  raw  and  wet,  so  that 
nest-building  was  greatly  delayed.  The 
scar  of  an  old,  last  year's  nest  still 
showed  on  a  stringer,  and  I  wondered 
if  they  had  decided  on  this  or  some 
other  site  for  the  new  nest.  They  had 
not  made  up  their  minds,  for  when  they 
did  start  it  was  to  make  three  beginnings. 

Then  I  offered  a  suggestion. .  Out  of 
a  bit  of  stick,  branching  at  right  angles 
I  made  a  little  bracket  and  tacked  it  up 
on  one  of  the  stringers,  low  enough 
down  so  that  I  could  watch  easily.  It 
appealed  to  them  at  once,  and  from  that 
moment  the  building  went  steadily  on. 

Saddled  upon  this  bracket,  as  well  as 
mortared  to  the  stringer,  the  nest,  when 
finished,  was  as  safe  as  a  castle.  And 
how  perfect  a  thing  it  is!  Few  nests  in- 
deed combine  the  solidity,  the  softness 
and  the  exquisite  curve  of  Phoebe's. 

In  placing  the  bracket,  I  had  carelessly 
nailed  it  under  one  of  the  cracks  in  the 
loose  board  roof.  The  nest  was  receiv- 
ing its  first  linings  when  there  came 
a  long,  hard  rain  that  beat  through  the 
crack  and  soaked  the  little  cradle.  This 
was  serious,  for  a  great  deal  of  mud  had 
been  worked  into  the  thick  foundation, 
and  here,  in  the  constant  shade,  the 
dampness  would  be  long  in  drying  out. 

The  builders  saw  the  mistake,  too, 
and  with  their  great  good  sense  immedi- 
ately began  to  remedy  it.  They  built 
the  bottom  up  thicker,  carried  the  walls 
over  on  a  slant  that  brought  the  outer- 
most point  within  the  crack,  then  raised 


28o 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  DECEMBER,   1904 


them  until  the  cup  was  as  round-rimmed 
and  hollow  as  the  mould  of  her  breast 
could  make  it. 

The  outside  of  the  nest,  its  base,  is 
broad  and  rough  and  shapeless  enough; 
but  nothing  could  be  softer  and  lovelier 
than  the  inside,  the  cradle,  and  nothing 
dryer,  for  the  slanting  walls  shed  every 
drop  from  the  leaky  crack. 

Wet  weather  followed  the  heavy  rain 
until  long  after  the  nest  was  finished. 
The  whole  structure  was  as  damp  and 
cold  as  a  newly  plastered  house.  It  felt 
wet  to  my  touch.  Yet  I  noticed  the 
birds  were  already  brooding.  Every 
night  and  often  during  the  day  I  would 
see  one  of.  them  in  the  nest,  so  deep  in 
that  only  a  head  or  a  tail  showed  over 
the  round  rim.  After  several  days  I 
looked  to  see  the  eggs,  but  to  my  sur- 
prise, found  the  nest  empty.  It  had 
been  robbed,  I  thought,  yet  by  what 
creature  I  could  not  imagine.  Then 
down  cuddled  one  of  the  birds  again — 
and  I  understood.  Instead  of  wet  and 
cold,  the  nest  today  was  warm  to  my 
hand,  and  dry  almost  to  the  bottom.  It 
had  changed  color,  too:  all  the  upper 
part  having  turned  a  soft  silver-gray. 
She  (I  am  sure  it  was  she)  had  not  been 
brooding  her  eggs  at  all;  she  had  been 
brooding  her  mother's  thought  of  them; 
and  for  them  had  been  nestling  here 
these  days  and  nights,  drying  and  wann- 
ing their  damp  cradle  with  the  fire  of  her 
life  and  love. 

In  due  time  the  eggs  came — five  of 
them,  white,  spotless  and  shapely. 
While  the  little  hen  was  hatching  them 
I  gave  my  attention  further  to  the  cock. 

I  am  writing  this  with  a  black  sus- 
picion overhanging  him.  But  of  that 
later.  I  hope  it  is  unfounded,  and  I 
shall  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 
A  man  is  innocent  until  proved  guilty. 
I  have  no  positive  evidence  of  Phoebe's 
wrong. 

Our  intimate  friendship  has  revealed 
a  most  pleasing  nature  in  Phoebe.  Per- 
haps such  close  and  continued  associa- 


tion would  show  like  qualities  in  every 
bird,  even  in  the  kingbird.  But  I  fear 
only  a  woman,  like  Mrs.  Olive  Thorn 
Miller,  could  find  them  in  him.  Not 
much  can  be  said  of  this  fly-catcher 
family,  except  that  it  is  useful — a  kind 
of  virtue  that  gets  its  chief  reward  in 
heaven.  I  am  acquainted  with  only  four 
of  the  other  nine  members — great-crest, 
kingbird,  pewee  and  chebec  —  and  each 
of  these  has  some  redeeming  attribute 
besides  the  habit  of  catching  flies. 

They  are  all  good  nest-builders,  good 
parents,  and  brave,  independent  birds; 
but  aside  from  Phoebe  and  pewee — the 
latter  in  his  small  way  the  sweetest  voice 
of  the  oak  woods — the  whole  family  is 
an  odd  lot,  cross  grained,  cross  looking 
and  about  as  musical  as  a  family  of  ducks. 
A  duck  seems  to  know  that  he  cannot 
sing.  A  fly-catcher  knows  nothing  of 
his  shortcomings.  He  knows  he  can 
sing,  and  in  time  he  will  prove  it.  If 
desire  and  effort  count  for  anything  he 
certainly  must  prove  it  in  time.  How 
long  the  family  has  already  been  train- 
ing, no  one  knows.  Everybody  knows, 
however,  the  success  each  fly-catcher  of 
them  has  thus  far  attained.  According 
to  Mr.  Chapman's  authority  the  five 
rarer  members  perform  as  follows:  the 
olive-sided  swoops  from  the  tops  of 
the  tallest  tree  suttering  "pu-pu"  or 
"pu-pip;"  the  yellow-bellied  sits  upon  the 
low  twigs  and  sneezes  a  song — an  abrupt 
"pse-ek,"  explosive  and  harsh,  produced 
with  a  painful,  convulsive  jerk;  the  Aca- 
dian by  the  help  of  his  tail  says  "spec" 
or  "peet,"  now  and  then  a  loud"pee-e- 
yuk"  and  trembling  violently.  Trail's 
fly-catcher  jerks  out  his  notes  rapidly, 
doubling  himself  up  and  fairly  vibrat- 
ing with  the  explosive  effort  to  sing  "ee- 
zee-e-up " ;  the  gray  kingbird  says  a 
strong,  simple  "pitirri." 

It  would  make  a  good  minstrel  show, 
doubtless,  if  the  family  would  appear 
together.  In  chorus,  surely,  they  would 
be  far  from  a  tuneful  choir. 

I  should  hate  to  hear  the  fly-catchers 


PHOEBE 


281 


all  together.  Yet  individually  in  the 
wide  universal  chorus  of  the  out-of- 
doors,  how  much  we  should  miss  the 
kingbird's  metallic  twitter  and  the  che- 
bec's  insistent  call! 

There  was  little  excitement  for  Phoebe 
during  this  period  of  incubation.  He 
hunted  in  the  neighborhopd  and  occa- 
sionally called  to  his  mate,  contented 
enough  perhaps,  but  certainly  sometimes 
appearing  tired.  One  rainy  day  he  sat 
in  the  pig-pen  window  looking  out  at  the 
gray- wet  world.  He  was  humped  and 
silent  and  meditative,  his  whole  attitude 
speaking  the  extreme  length  of  his  day — 
the  monotony  of  the  drip,  drip,  drip 
from  the  eaves,  and  the  sitting,  the 
ceaseless  sitting  of  his  brooding  wife. 

He  might  have  hastened  the  time  by 
catching  a  few  flies  for  her  or  by  taking 
her  place  on  the  nest;  but  I  never  saw 
him  do  it. 

Things  were  livelier  when  the  eggs 
hatched,  for  it  required  a  good  many  flies 
a  day  to  keep  the  five  young  ones  grow- 
ing. And  how  they  grew  1  Like  bread 
sponge  in  a  pan,  they  began  to  rise, 
pushing  the  mother  up  so  that  she  was 
forced  to  stand  over  them;  then  pushing 
her  out  until  she  could  cling  only  to  the 
side  of  the  nest  at  night;  then  pushing 
her  off  altogether.  By  this  time  they 
were  hanging  to  the  outside  themselves, 
covering  the  nest  from  sight,  almost, 
until  finally  they  spilled  off  upon  their 
wings. 

Out  of  the  nest  upon  the  airl  Out  of 
the  pen  and  into  a  sweet,  wide  world  of 
green  and  blue  and  golden  light  I  I  saw 
the  second  brood  take  this  first  flight, 
and  it  was  thrilling. 

The  nest  was  placed  back  from  the 
window  and  below  it,  so  that  in  leaving 
the  nest  the  young  would  have  to  drop, 
then  turn  and  fly  up  to  get  out.  Below 
was  the  pig. 

As  they  grew  I  began  to  fear  that  they 
might  try  their  wings  before  this  feat 
could  be  accomplished,  and  so  fall  to  the 
pig  below.  But  Nature,  in  this  case,  was 


careful  of  her  pearls.  Day  after  day 
they  clung  to  the  nest — even  after  they 
might  have  flown — and  when  they  did  go 
it  was  with  a  sure  and  long  flight  that 
carried  them  out  and  away  to  the  tops  of 
the  neighboring  trees. 

They  left  the  nest  one  at  a  time,  and 
were  met  in  the  air  by  their  mother,  who 
darted  to  them,  calling  loudly,  and,  whirl- 
ing about  them,  helped  them  as  high 
and  as  far  away  as  they  could  go. 

I  wish  the  simple  record  of  these 
family  affairs  could  be  closed  without 
one  tragic  entry.  But  that  can  rarely  be 
of  any  family.  Seven  days  after  the  first 
brood  werea-wing,  I  found  the  new  eggs 
in  the  nest.  Soon  after  that  the  male 
bird  disappeared.  The  second  brood  has 
now  been  out  a  week  and  in  all  this  time 
no  sight  or  sound  has  been  had  of  the 
father. 

What  happened  ?  Was  he  killed  ? 
Caught  by  a  cat  or  a  hawk?  It  is 
possible;  and  this  is  an  easy  and  kindly 
way  to  think  of  him.  It  is  not  impossi- 
ble that  he  may  have  remained  as  leader 
and  protector  to  the  first  brood,  or  (per- 
ish the  thought!)  might  he  not  have 
grown  weary  at  sight  of  the  second  lot 
of  five  eggs,  of  the  long  days  and  the 
neglect  that  they  meant  for  him,  and  out 
of  jealousy  and  fickleness  wickedly  de- 
serted ? 

I  hope  it  was  death,  a  stainless,  even 
ignominious  death  by  one  of  my  neigh- 
bor's dozen  cats. 

Death  or  desertion,  it  involved  a  sec- 
ond tragedy.  Five  such  young  ones  at 
this  time  were  too  many  for  the  mother. 
She  fought  nobly;  no  mother  could  have 
done  more.  All  five  were  brought  with- 
in a  few  days  of  flight,  then,  one  day,  I 
saw  a  little  wing  hanging  listlessly  over 
the  side  of  the  nest.  I  went  closer.  One 
had  died.  It  had  starved  to  death. 
There  were  none  of  the  parasites  in  the 
nest  that  often  kill  whole  broods.  It 
was  a  plain  case  of  sacrifice — by  the 
mother,  perhaps;  by  the  other  young, 
maybe— one  for  the  other  four. 


282                   NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for    DECEMBER,    1904 

But  she  did  well.  Nine  such  young  "Humble  and  inoffensive  bird"  he 
birds  to  her  credit  since  April.  Who  has  been  called  by  one  of  our  leading 
shall  measure  her  actual  use  to  the  ornithologies— because  he  comes  to  my 
world?  How  does  she  compare  in  value  pig-pen!  "Inoffensive!"  this  bird  with 
with  the  pig?  Yesterday  I  saw  several  the  cabbage  butterfly  in  his  beak!  The 
of  her  brood  along  the  meadow  fence  faint  and  damning  praise!  And  "hum- 
hawking  for  flies.  They  were  not  far  ble?  "  There  is  not  a  humble  feather 
from  my  cabbage  patch.  on  his  body.  Humble  to  those  who  see 

I  hope  a  pair  of  them  returns  to  me  the  pen  and  not  the  bird.     But  to  me  — 

next  Spring  and  that  they  come  early,  why,  the  bird  has  made  a  palace  of  my 

Any  bird  that  deigns  to  dwell  under  roof  pig-pen. 

of  mine  commands  my  friendship;  but  The  very  pig  seems  less  a  pig  because 

no  other  bird  takes  Phoebe's  place  in  my  of  this  exquisite    association;  and   the 

affections,  there  is  so  much  in  him  to  lowly  work  of  feeding  the  creature  has 

like  and  he  speaks  for  so  much  of  the  been  turned  by  Phoebe  into  an  aesthetic 

friendship  of  nature.  course  in  bird-study. 

FAVORITE    BOOKS 

By    FRANK  PUTNAM 

EAST     MILTON,     MASSACHUSETTS 


WHEN  I  began,  a  v.sionary  boy, 
To  follow  Crusoe's  story  on  the  isle, 
So  fearful  was  the  tenseness  of  my  joy 

That  neither  love  nor  duty  might  beguile 
My  mesmerized  attention  from  the  page 
Where  man  triumphed  o'er  naked  Nature's  rage. 

In  less  delight,  but  having  keener  sense 
To  note  wherein  the  hero  went  amiss, 

I  studied  with  an  interest  intense 
The  thrill-compelling  ventures  of  the  Swiss; 

Made  pause,  betimes,  to  mount  the  hero's  throne, 

Recast  his  deeds  and  claim  them  for  my  own. 

Came  Froissart  then  of  high  romantic  air, 
Whose  heroes  strove  for  honor  under  arms, 

Indifferent  to  weariness  or  care, 
Proclaiming  each  his  lady's  glorious  charms; 

At  ease  alike  in  castle  or  on  plain, 

So  he  might  couple  glory  with  Love's  gain. 

I  hardly  know  when  first  I  felt  the  spell 
Of  Scotia's  Prince  of  Singers,  but  it  seems 

My  memory  links  the  Ayr  with  Little  Nell 
Far  down  the  misty  highway  of  my  dreams, 

Commingling  fleeting  happiness  with  tears, — 

A  heritage  of  fragrance  for  the  years. 


FAVORITE    BOOKS  283 

II 
The  Book  of  Nature,  bound  between  the  skies, 

Whereof  the  countless  pages  are  the  days, — 
I  scanned  its  text  with  keen  and  reverent  eyes 

Among  the  fields  and  in  the  woody  ways; 
Along  the  whispering  river's  winding  rim 
My  spirit  rose  in  Earth's  eternal  hymn. 

'Tis  but  a  step  from  love  of  Nature's  self 

To  love  of  Nature's  loveliest  —  her  girls; 
Ah,  who  but,  taught  by  some  entrancing  elf, 

In  Love's  own  Book  has  garnered  wisdom's  pearls? 
Unindexed  joys  and  woes  its  pages  throng  — 
Blisses  that  burn  and  pangs  that  linger  long. 

Romance  and  Youth  departing  in  the  night 

The  day  returns  to  find  the  heart  at  rest; 
The  eager  mind  inquires  of  wrong  and  right, 

Delves  into  schemes  and  puts  them  to  a  test; 
Ponders  the  words  of  Sages  So-and-So, 
On  whence  we  came  and  whither  we  shall  go. 

A  fruitless  task:     I  cease  and  turn  aside 

To  mingle  with  my  brothers  in  the  mart, 
Seeing  how  each  to  all  is  near  allied, 

Feeling  the  cosmic  impulse  in  my  heart: 
Around  me  sweep,  intent  upon  the  strife, 
The  characters  that  throng  the  Book  of  Life. 


By  CHRISTOBELLE  VAN  ASMUS  BUNTING 

EVANSTON,     ILLINOIS 

1  "  About  what,  Mrs.  Dick  ?  "  and  Kate 

PEGGY  stood  in  the  doorway  waving  unloosened  her  wraps  and  laid  them  on 

her  hand  goodbye  to  the  children  as  a  chair. 

they  were  starting  out  on  their  morn-  "Why,  a  little  scheme  I  have.     It's 

ing  walk.    Kate  Ash  worth  was  coming  up  what    I've    been    wishing    to    see    you 

the  street.     Peggie  waited  for  her.  for.     Come  in  here" — and   Peggy  led 

"  You're   just   the    girl  I'm    looking  the  way  to  a  pretty  room,  where  they  got 

for,"  she  said.     "  How  did  you  know  I  the   morning  sun.   "Sit    down,    dear," 

was  wishing  to  see  you  ?  "  she  said  smiling,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  what 

"  Mental  telepathy,  I  suppose,"  Katie  it  is." 

said,  coming  up  the  steps.  "Now,  you  are  sure  you'll  not  tell, 

"  How  are  you,  anyway?  "  not  a  single  soul,  until  —  well,  never  ?  " 

"Oh,    I'm    fine,"  Peggie  answered.  "  Positively,  Mrs. '  Dick,'  you  frighten 

"  Come  in  and  I  will  tell  you  all  about  me.    Yes,  I  swear." 

it."  "Well,  then,  it's  this:    I've  picked 


284 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    DECEMBER,    1904 


you  out  from  among  all  my  friends  as  the 
most  suitable  in  every  way  to  help  me." 

"  Thanks,  mightily." 

"  Yes  really,  you  don't  need  to  laugh. 
It  takes  a  very  clever  person  to  help  me 
do  this,  and  a  person  with  a  lot  of  tact, 
and  agreeable,  and  innocent,  and  — 
well,  everything  else  that  you  are.' ' 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  'Dick',  do  tell  me  what  is 
it  ?  "  Kate  Ashworth  was  sitting  on 
the  tip  edge  of  her  chair,  with  her  hands 
together  in  her  lap,  looking  straight  at 
Mrs.  '  Dick '  Kendall. 

"  It's  a  long  story,  dear.  Pray  be 
confortable.  Of  course  you  know  that 
Darrell  Stevens  was  very  much  in  love 
with  Louise  Spaulding  Hudson  —  I 
mean  before  she  married." 

"  Um  —  hum  —  or  rather,  I  did  think 
so  at  first,"  Kate  said  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  "but  do  you  know,  Mrs.  'Dick', 
I  have  really  begun  to  think  he  didn't 
care  so  much — never  did — that  is,  so 
much  as  we  thought — you  know." 

"Well,  you  may  be  right,  my  dear, 
and  I  really  do  hope  you  are,  for  that 
means  that  you  and  I  are  going  to  have 
smoother  sailing  than  we  otherwise 
might." 

"  '  You  and  I  ?  ' :  Kate  said  ponder- 
ingly.  "  Oh  yes,  I  forgot." 

"You  see,  my  dear,"  Peggie  went  on," 
it's  just  this  way:  Darrell  Stevens  is  too 
fine  a  man  to  waste  his  life  brooding;  or, 
if  he  isn't  doing  that,  to  be  left  all  alone 
with  no  one  to  care  particularly  about 
him,  or  for  him  to  care  particularly  for." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Mrs.  'Dick', 
but  I  can't  see  how  that  concerns  you 
and  me." 

"Be  careful,"  said  Peggie,  "don't 
get  stupid.  That  won't  do  at  all.  Why, 
don't  you  see,  you  and  I  have  got  to  find 
a  girl  for  him." 

"Oh — I — see;"  then  she  added  after  a 
pause:  "'  I'll  stay  in.'  " 

"  I  knew  you  would,"  and  Peggie 
smiled. 

"I  know  the  girl,"  Kate  began  again. 
"Why,  Dorothy  Hoxey  to  be  sure." 


"Yes,  she's  the  one,"  and  Peggie 
laughed  outright.  Now,  my  dear,"  she 
went  on,  'I  don't  believe  in  promiscuous 
match-making,  or  in  being  really  meddle- 
some, but  I  do  believe  where  there  are  two 
such  nice  people  living— as  these  two — 
that  they  should  be  brought  together — 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  'Deed  I  do.  Oh,  it'll  be  grand  to 
see  how  they  take  it.  I  suppose  he'll 
give  her  a  dog  like  Mrs.  Hudson's  and 
she — Oh,  what  will  she  do  ?  " 

"Well,  we  shall  see.  Now  what  you 
are  to  do  is  to  see  a  lot  of  Mr.  Stevens 
— that  is,  all  you  can,  and  always  be 
saying  nice  things  about  Dorothy.  He 
will  never  suspect  you.  He  might  me — 
and  I  will  manage  her.  We  will  do  all 
we  can  to  throw  them  together  and  I  am 
sure  it  won't  be  long  before  they  will  see 
that  they  are  meant  for  one  another." 

"  I  hope  I'll  be  there  when  they  do." 
Peggie  laughed. 

"I'll  have  a  few  in  Sunday  night  for  a 
rarebit." 

"Does  Mary  know  about  it?"  asked 
Katherine. 

"No.  Oh,  don't  you  dare  breathe  it. 
Mary  would  call  us  mischief-makers." 

"  You  are  right,  she  would." 

"Here  comes  Mr.  '  Dick  ',"  and  Kate 
waved  her  hand  at  the  window.  "  I 
must  be  going,"  she  said. 

"Don't  hurry,"  said  Peggie. 

"I've  not,  my  dear,  but  I  must  go, 
really." 

Then  after  Dick  came  in  and  Kath- 
erine turned  to  go  she  said  again:  "I'll 
see  you  Sunday  ?" 

"Yes,  don't  forget,"  and  Peggie 
smiled  knowingly. 

"No,  I  won't,"  she  answered  as  she 
went  out  the  door. 

A  week  later  Katherine  called  Mrs. 
'Dick'  over  the  wire. 

"I'm  down  town,"' she  said,  "but  I 
couldn't  wait  to  tell  you  that  I  met  Mr. 
Stevens  in  at  Fowler's  just  now  and  he 
was  putting  his  card  into  a  smashing  box 
of  violets  to  be  sent  somewhere." 


DEEP    MINING 


285 


"I  wonder  where  ?  "  asked  Peggie. 

"I  can't  imagine,"  Katherine  an- 
swered— and  they  both  laughed. 

Peggie  was  happy.  She  always  felt 
that  she  had  stolen  something  from 
Dorothy  though  she  knew  quite  well 
that  Dick  never  intended  marrying 
her. 


When  his  old  friend  Kingsley  Hudson 
came,  and  so  unexpectedly  and  quietly 
and  instantaneously  fell  in  love  and 
married  the  girl  Darrell  Stevens  thought 
himself  in  love  with,  the  whole  world  for 
a  time  lost  its  interest.  He  had  practi- 
cally made  up  his  mind  to  marry  when 
his  plans  were  nipped  in  the  bud  and  by 
his  dearest  friend,  too.  It  was  no  con- 
solation, either,  that  Louise  had  married 
the  finest  man  he  knew  and  that  they 
were  as  ideally  happy  as  two  persons 
possibly  could  be.  He  only  saw  the 
gloomy  side  of  it  when  he  thought  on  the 
subject  at  all.  Others  didn't  know  what 
to  think.  Some  said  he  never  really 
cared  for  her;  others  said  he  did;  but 
all  would  have  agreed  that  he  had  at 
least  gotten  over  it.  Louise,  herself,  had 
settled  it  long  ago  that  he  never  did  love 
her.  She  was  glad,  too,  as  "King"  was 
his  friend.  They  both  felt  very  warmly 
toward  him,  for  had  he  not  brought 
them  together?  They  had  asked  him  to 
the  house  "dozens  of  times,"  but  he 
was  "so  busy"  with  mining  schemes  that 
he  did  not  get  out  often. 

The  whole  affair  had  not  escaped 
Peggie's  notice.  She  had  always  liked 
Darrell  Stevens  immensely.  He  was  a 
very  superior  man.  His  eyes  reminded 
her  of  some  one. 

The  Hudsons  went  for  a  cruise  on  the 
Mediterranean  that  Winter.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  "Dick"  stayed  home,  and  Darrell 
Stevens  was  in  town.  Dorothy  did  not 
visit  in  the  South.  She  stayed  in  town, 
too,  with  her  aunt  and  uncle.  Kate  Ash- 
worth  and  Peggie  had  smooth  sailing. 

Things  were  very  quiet.     Mrs.  Smith 


gave  one  or  two  "affairs. "  She  always 
did — for  her  niece. 

Peggie  said  to  Dick  one  night  at  din- 
ner: "I  wonder  Mrs.  Smith  has  not 
married  Dorothy  Hoxey  off  long  ago. 
She  is  really  a  lovely  girl  and  so  tal- 
ented, too,  and  not  penniless,  either.  It 
does  seem  'most  always  the  way,  though 
— men  are  not  wise  enough  to  marry  girls 
like  Dorothy." 

"Think  so?"  said  Dick,  lighting  a 
cigarette.  "Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"Well,  I  do,"  and  Peggie  added 
slowly:  "If  I  had  been  Mrs.  Smith  I 
should  have  had  a  different  campaign." 

"Yes,  Peggie,"  and  he  blew  a  ring 
of  smoke,  "but  every  one  is  not  so 
clever  as  you  are." 

She  laughed  lightly  and  threw  him 
a  kiss  with  her  first  finger. 

"I  know  it,"  she  said. 

II 

Mrs.  Smith  consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously took  up  the  thread  of  Peggie's 
scheme,  and  by  Spring  •  it  was  quite 
materialized. 

The  wedding  took  place  in  June. 
Darrell  did  not  sell  the  town  house,  as 
was  his  intention  in  the  Fall.  He  had 
it  remodeled  somewhat  instead  and  re- 
furnished almost  throughout.  The  gar- 
dens were  planted  and  plotted  anew  and 
the  rose-path  to  the  Summer-house  was 
stripped  of  its  weeds,  and  the  bushes 
trimmed.  They  were  all  in  blossom 
when  he  took  Dorothy  there;  and  as 
they  walked  down  the  perfumed  path 
with  his  arm  about  her,  she  thought  she 
was  perfectly  happy. 

Darrell  said  to  himself  that  his  mar- 
riage was  the  beginning  of  all  his  good 
fortune.  The  mines  in  Mexico  that  had 
been  in  litigation  so  many  years  were  at 
la^t  out  of  the  courts  and  his  titles  per- 
fccted.  He  was  glad  to  be  married,  too, 
for  he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  having  no 
home  —  that  was  what  unmarried  life 
meant.  Of  course,  he  did  not  feel  about 
marriage  as  "King"  Hudson  did,  but 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,    1904 


then  "King"  was  a  dreamer.  There 
was  not  that  warm  glow  in  his  heart  that 
"King"  had  talked  of.  He  had  not 
expected  or  looked  for  it.  He  had 
married  a  woman  who  was  talented  and 
cultured;  a  woman  who  did  credit  to  his 
family  and  his  name;  a  woman  whom 
he  regarded  with  the  deepest  respect  and 
reverence  and  a  woman  whom  he  felt 
sure  would  make  a  good  mother.  He 
had  never  told  her  that  he  loved  her. 
He  had  never  told  any  woman  that, 
though  he  came  near  doing  so  once.  A 
shiver  of  satisfaction  went  through  him 
as  he  thought  he  had  not  done  so.  Yes, 
he  and  Dorothy  would  be  very  congen- 
ial, he  was  confident,  and,  after  all,  that 
was  all  one  could  hope  or  wish  for.  He 
was  getting  too  old  "to  fall  in  love,"  as 
they  say.  Few  men  at  thirty-four  fall 
in  love — except  men  like  old  "King," 
maybe. 

And  so  things  went  on. 

Dorothy  thought  sometimes  that  Dar- 
rell  was  a  trifle  stern.  He  did  not  love 
her  quite  as  she  would  wish — "but  then, 
it  is  different  with  a  man,"  she  would 
say.  "Men  cannot  feel  as  women  do." 

Summer  went  and  Fall— and  then  came 
Winter. 

It  was  after  the  holiday  season,  Doro- 
thy being  slightly  ill,  when  Darrell  came 
home  one  afternoon  and  told  her  he  must 
leave  that  night  for  the  Southwest.  He 
had  gotten  a  wire  and  a  letter  concerning 
the  mines,  and  if  he  intended  doing 
anything  with  the  proposition  he  must 
act  at  once. 

"If  you  were  well,  you  might  go  with 
me,"  he  said,  "though  I  am  afraid  you 
would  not  find  it  pleasant.  There  are  no 
conveniences,  and  you  would  have  to  be 
alone  almost  all  the  time." 

"I  should  like  to  go,"  she  said.  "I 
do  not  like  to  be  left  behind.  Couldn't 
you  wait  till  Saturday?  I  should  be 
well  enough  then." 

"Oh,  no,  my  dear,  I  could  not  possi- 
bly wait  another  day.  It  is  of  vital  im- 
portance that  I  go  at  once.  I  am  very 


sorry — but  I  shall  soon  be  home  again." 

"Then  you  can't  even  wait  over  to- 
night? "  she  asked  disappointedly. 

"No,  I  cannot  possibly,  dear." 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said,  "but,  of  course 
you  can't  help  it.  I  wish  I  were  able  to 
get  your  things  out  for  you." 

"Oh,  don't  worry,  Dorothy,  I  can  do 
it  quite  as  well.  I  hate  to  leave  you 
while  you  are  feeling  ill.  If  you  think 
it  necessary,  of  course,  I  shall  wait, 
dear." 

"Oh,  no,  the  sooner  you  go,  the 
sooner  you  are  back  again,  and  I'm  not 
really  ill  now.  I  shall  be  up  tomorrow." 

Dorothy  was  lonely  when  Darrell  had 
gone;  but  she  thought  afterward  that  she 
did  not  then  know  what  loneliness  was. 
Darreil  came  home  after  a  fortnight. 
Dorothy  was  her  old  self  again.  That 
evening  she  got  out  Darrell' s  favorite 
music  and  played  for  him.  He  sat  in 
a  chair  some  distance  from  the  piano 
abstractedly,  and  Dorothy  wondered, 
when  she  had  done,  if  he  had  heard 
at  all. 

"Shall  I  go  on?"  she  asked  once.  At 
first  she  thought  he  did  not  hear  her,  but 
then  he  answered: 

"Yes,  oh  yes,  by  all  means,  don't 
stop — please  don't." 

She  played  more  and  then  more;  then 
she  came  over  to  his  chair: 

"Come,  let  us  go  to  the  'Land  of 
Nod.'" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  rising,  "I  am  tired." 


There  was  the  usual  round  of  gaieties 
before  Lent,  and  Dorothy  and  Darrell 
contributed  their  share.  It  happened 
once  or  twice  Dorothy  was  obliged  to  go 
out  alone.  Darrell  took  several  flying 
tiips  to  the  mines  before  Spring.  At 
first  he  spoke  of  taking  her,  but  she 
"would  better  wait,"  he  said,  "till  some 
time  later  on,"  when  he  did  not  "have 
to  hurry  so." 

Dorothy  agreed  because  it  was  the 
only  thing  to  do — and  then  Darrell  for- 


DEEP    MINING 


287 


got,  afterward,  even  to  speak  of  her 
going,  so  that  it  got  to  be  the  natural 
thing  for  him  to  go  alone. 

As  Summer  came  on  and  it  became  too 
hot  to  spend  much  or  any  time  at  the 
mines,  Darrell  agreed  to  join  a  yachting 
party  of  the  Hudsons. 

"You're  getting  too  busy,  old  man," 
said  Kingsley  Hudson  when  he  invited 
Darrell. 

"I  know  it,"  he  agreed,  "but  it  is 
always  so — getting  started,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  replied  "King,"  "a  man  loses 
a  heap  of  time  that  way." 

Darrell  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  but 
he  said  nothing. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dick  were  of  the  party, 
and  Mary  and  Kate  Ashworth,  and  Mr. 
Perkins  and  some  others.  Darrell  re- 
marked that  they  made  up  "a  happy 
family."  He  seemed  to  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  the  trip  and  Dorothy  began  to 
think  that  perhaps  she  had  been  hysteri- 
cal in  her  ideas  about  him.  She  really 
saw  very  little  of  him  alone.  Perhaps 
in  the  old  days  he  might  have  found  time 
and  a  place,  even  on  a  small  yacht,  for 
a  tete-a-tete.  She  had  surprised  Kings-, 
ley  Hudson  and  Louise  several  times 
together.  But  it  was  different  with 
them.  Yes — quite  different — and  Doro- 
thy sighed  deeply. 

Mr.  Hardy  came  by  just  then.  He 
threw  his  cigarette  into  the  water  and 
leaned  with  her  over  the  railing. 

"Fine  out  today,  isn't  it?"  he  said, 
looking  at  her. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  smiling,  turning 
the  pages  of  a  book  she  held. 

"What  are  you  reading?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  reading,"  she  said 
again,  "it's  one  of  Mr.  Hudson's  books. 
I  just  picked  it  up  as  you  came  by — it's 
Lord  Byron,"  she  added. 

He  reached  for  it,  and  she  gave  it  to 
him.  He  opened  it  at  random  and  read: 

"  'Away  with  your  fictions  of  flimsy  romance, 
Those  tissues  of  falsehood,  which  folly  has 
wovel 


Give  me  the  mild  beam  of  the  soul-breathing 

glance, 
Or  the  rapture  which  dwells  on  the  first  kiss 

of  love.' " 

"Lord  Byron  was  a  lover,"  she  said, 
with  her  chin  in  her  hands,  as  she 
looked  away  over  the  blue  waves. 

"Yes,  he — and  'King'  Hudson  —  and 
some  others,"  he  answered  her,  laughing. 

"Isn't  the  sea  blue  today?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  it  is  like  your  eyes,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  not  look- 
ing up. 

"And  your  cheeks  are  like  that  sky 
over  there  where  the  sun  sets,"  he 
added. 

"You  are  a  flatterer,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing. She  was  glad  to  see  Peggie  and 
Kate  Ashworth  coming  toward  them. 

"We  are  looking  for  you,  Mrs.  Ste- 
vens," said  Kate  as  they  came  up. 

"Are  you?" 

"Yes,  come  and  play  fan-tan,  won't 
you?  Mary  says  she  will.  Nearly  every 
man  is  smoking  except  'King'  Hudson. 
He  and  the  'Queen'  are  trying  to  get 
sunburned  while  they  read  poetry.  Come 
on,  Mr.  Hardy,  will  you  play?  " 

"Of  course  he  will,"  said  Peggie,  tak- 
ing hold  of  his  sleeve.  "He  is  the  most 
obliging  man  aboard.'  At  that  Mr. 
Hardy  started  away  with  Mrs.  "Dick." 
Dorothy  and  Kate  followed. 

JC 

It  was  the  last  of  August  when  Dar- 
rell and  Dorothy  were  home  again. 

At  the  first  sign  of  cold  Darrell  had 
gone  to  the  mines,  and  Dorothy  began 
to  realize  what  the  Winter  would  be.  He 
made  longer  trips  now,  and  she  was  alone 
most  of  the  time. 

The  Smiths  went  to  France  and  Doro- 
thy was  more  lonely  than  ever.  She  said 
to  herself  that  she  was  "all  alone  now." 
And  though  so  much  of  her  life  had  been 
lonely,  she  could  not  get  used  to  it.  It 
was  not  natural  to  her.  Kate  Ashworth 
was  the  first  to  speak  of  it.  She 
said  one  day  while  in  at  Peggie's : 


288 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  DECEMBER,    1904 


"It's  a  shame  how  Darrell  Stevens 
leaves  his  wife  all  alone  for  weeks  and 
even  months  at  a  time.  I'm  afraid,  after 
all,  we  made  a  mistake,  Mrs. 'Dick.'' 

"I've  been  thinking  about  that  a  good 
deal  lately,"  Peggie  replied.  "You  see," 
she  continued,  "most  women  would  not 
take  it  so  to  heart.  They  would  have 
gone  along  with  him,  or  gone  in  for 
society  more,  or  something." 

"That's  what  I  said,"  agreed  Kate, 
"but  Mary  says  there  are  only  three 
things  to  do  in  a  case  like  this:  For  a 
woman  to  take  up  society,  and  receive 
the  attentions  of  other  men;  or  to  go 
into  a  convent;  or  to  take  up  the  fine 
arts. ' ' 

"Now  what  will  Mrs.  Stevens  do?  " 

"She  won't  take  up  society,"  said 
Peggie. 

"No — and  she  won't  go  into  a  con- 
vent. She  is  too  proud  to  create  scan- 
dal. She  is  a  dear  woman — I'm  sorry 
for  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie,  "so  am  I, — but 
I'm  afraid  she  is  not  wise." 

"Well,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  it's  different  when 
you're  only  looking  on." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,  Kate  dear." 

Dorothy  did  the  only  thing  left  her, 
she  became  a  club  woman.  It  happened 
in  this  way: 

She  tried  going  out  alone,  but  though 
everyone  made  much  over  her,  and 
"Mrs.  Stevens"  was  received  with  open 
arms,  Dorothy  felt  out  of  place.  When 
Darrell  was  along  it  was  different;  but 
she  did  not  like  the  flattery  and  coquetry 
of  other  men,  when  he  was  not  by  to 
sanction  it.  True,  no  one  ever  said  any- 
thing more  to  her  now  than  before,  but 
she  could  not  stand  even  that.  It  made 
her  heart  sick.  She  kept  up  her  calls 
only,  and  gave  up  large  functions.  She 
studied  her  music  more,  but  at  last  that 
too  became  burdensome.  She  was  asked 
to  musicales  and  Sunday  night  "affairs" 
—"just  the  musical  set,  you  know";  but 
"the  musical  set"  was  too  Bohemian  for 
a  woman  of  high  ideals.  It  would  have 


been  different  had  Darrell  been  along; 
but  this  was  society  also,  only  more 
natural  and  truer,  she  felt.  She  liked 
"the  set."  There  were  Mr.  Remington, 
Mrs.  Anthony,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davis,  Mr. 
Hardy,  and  many  more  whom  she  really 
enjoyed.  Perhaps  it  was  that  her  soul 
met  its  own,  and  Dorothy  was  afraid. 
At  any  rate  she  dropped  out  and  was 
soon  forgotten.  She  had  always  be- 
longed to  the  Woman's  club,  though  her 
attendance  was  rather  by  fits  and  starts. 
One  day  she  happened  in  for  the  sake 
of  something  better  to  do.  Several  urged 
her  to  come  next  time. 

"We  are  to  have  a  most  interesting 
program,"  they  said.  "Miss  Caulfield 
is  to  lecture,  you  know,  and  we  are  try- 
ing to  get  Monsieur  Borel  to  talk. .  He 
is  the  most"  interesting  and  charming 
man.  We  are  all  enraptured  over  him." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Dorothy 
went  the  next  time  and  the  next,  and 
after  that  she  rarely  ever  missed  a  meet- 
ing. The  nights  were  the  loneliest,  but 
she  busied  herself  with  music  and  calls 
and  other  things  during  the  day,  and 
kept  the  evening  for  her  club  work. 
And,  because  she  was  known  to  have 
small  responsibilities  at  home,  more  and 
more  was  being  put  upon  her  shoulders, 
until,  at  last,  she  found  herself  at  the 
head  of  the  local  organization. 

"I  never  really  expected  this,"  she 
said,  the  day  they  elected  her. 

"You  are  the  right  woman  in  the  right 
place,"  someone  said,  and  Dorothy 
began  to  believe  it  true. 

She  was  really  beginning  to  care 
again.  Things  did  not  look  so  dull  and 
so  hopeless.  No,  she  was  not  happy; 
she  never  expected  that.  Happiness 
was  not  meant  for  everyone  —  only  for 
some,  like  Louise  Hudson,  and  Mrs. 
Dick  Kendall,  too — perhaps.  But  then 
she  was  not  so  awfully  disconsolate  as 
she  had  been  at  first.  Darrell  came 
home  for  a  week  at  a  time  now.  On 
Christmas  he  wrote  her  a  nice  letter  and 
said  he  hoped  to  be  home  by  the  New 


DEEP    MINING 


289 


Year.  He  wished  so  much  to  spend 
Christmas  with  her,  but  Christmas  was 
like  any  other  day.  He  was  sending  her, 
he  said,  some  kumquats  and  a  little  re- 
membrance for  the  day.  It  was  a  tiny 
filigree  Mexican  watch— a  pretty  little 
thing,  and  Dorothy  looked  at  it  a  long 
time.  Then  she  put  it  back  in  the  case 
and  laid  it  away. 

That  night  while  she  was  sitting  at  her 
desk  she  took  out  a  little  book  and 
opened  it  to  where  a  faded  rose  was 
pressed.  She  kissed  it  and  put  it  back 
again;  then  she  laid  her  head  on  her 
arms  and  wept  quietly. 


There  was  to  be  a  convention  of 
women's  clubs  and  Dorothy  went.  She 
read  an  article  on  "The  Manifest  Destiny 
of  the  Woman's  Club  Movement."  It 
was  a  success.  Congratulations  were 
reaching  her  on  every  hand.  There 
was  a  feeling  of  pride  and  pleasure 
within  her,  and  she  thought  of  some 
one  whom  she  loved,  and  she  wondered 
if  he,  too,  would  be  proud  of  her. 

The  convention  lasted  two  days  and 
the  last  day  was  almost  entirely  given 
over  to  business.  ^The  most  important 
feature  was  the  election  for  the  office  of 
the  state  presidency.  There  was  a 
strong  fight  on.  One  faction  was  sup- 
porting Mrs.  Blair,  the  wife  of  the  sena- 
tor, her  opponent  being  the  wife  of  Mr. 
Clarke,  the  merchant  prince.  The  day 
was  fast  going  and  things  were  at  a 
deadlock,  neither  faction  being  willing 
to  yield  to  the  other  and  neither  ob- 
taining the  coveted  majority.  There 
was  but  one  course  to  pursue — choosing 
a  dark  horse.  And  Mrs.  Darrell  Stevens 
was  taken  up  by  both  parties  and 
promptly  elected.  Dorothy  was  too  sur- 
prised for  words,  but,  really,  it  was  a 
very  natural  procedure.  She  was  young 
and  pleasant  and  capable.  She  had  no 
fixed  enemies.  Everyone  was  delighted. 
However,  Dorothy  was  wholly  unpre- 
pared for  this  responsibility.  She  was 


not  quite  sure  that  she  ought  to  accept 
the  office.  It  meant  that  she  must  go 
to  various  clubs  throughout  the  state, 
as  well  as  attending  committee  meetings 
and  national  conventions.  That  would, 
of  course,  take  her  from  home  a  great 
deal.  She  felt  that  she  must  advise  with 
Darrell,  so  she  wrote  him  at  length,  ask- 
ing him  to  wire  at  once  his  opinion  re- 
garding her  situation. 

Darrell  read  her  letter  hurriedly.  The 
nearest  telegraph  station  was  thirty  miles 
from  the  camp.  He  could  not  possibly 
leave  that  day,  and  no  one  was  going 
over.  He  would  get  up  early  in  the 
morning  and  make  the  journey.  He 
then  put  Dorothy's  letter  in  the  table 
drawer  and  went  to  the  shaft  house. 
Mr.  Wright,  the  company's  engineer, 
met  him  as  he  came  up. 

"Anything  new?  "  Darrell  asked. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "but  there  is 
likely  to  be  at  any  moment  now.  We 
ought  to  strike  something  different  pretty 
soon.  This  formation  can't  keep  up 
much  longer." 

"Have  you  been  down  today?  " 

"No,  not  yet.  I  thought  we  might  go 
together." 

"  All  right.  ' 

The  two  men  got  into  the  car  and 
took  the  long  plunge  into  darkness. 
There  had  been  great  and  excited  antici- 
pation for  nearly  five  months  now. 

"If  we  only  get  through  this  diorite 
and  find  out  that  ore  continues  beyond — 
then  we  can  take  our  time,"  Darrell  said 
over  and  over. 

The  formation  was  a  trifle  different, 
and  things  were  looking  hopeful.  The 
excitement  was  growing  among  the  men. 
They  were  working  like  beavers.  Dar- 
rell stayed  there  all  day,  and  when  he 
crawled  into  his  hard  bed  at  night  he 
was  exhausted.  The  next  day  he  awoke 
to  find  Mr.  Wright  waiting  for  him. 

They  breakfasted  together  and  went 
to  the  mine.  Darrell  was  at  high  ten- 
sion and  his  mind  was  so  occupied  with 
the  outcome  at  the  mine  that  he  forgot 


290 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


Dorothy's  letter.  Once  during  the  day 
it  came  to  him,  and  he  said  to  himself 
that  he  would  surely  ride  to  town  in  the 
morning;  but  the  next  morning  was  like 
the  others  of  late  and  so  it  went  by 
again.  On  the  sixth  day  after  Dorothy's 
letter,  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, it  happened.  Darrell  went  down 
the  shaft  to  see  for  himself.  It  was  a 
great  blow.  They  had  struck  a  barren 
dyke!  He  was  so  tired  when  he  came 
out  again  that  it  seemed  to  him  he  could 
not  possibly  walk  to  the  house.  His 
heart  seemed  almost  to  stop  and  his 
head  swam  round  and  round.  He  threw 
himself  on  his  bed  and  slept  fifteen 
hours.  In  the  morning  Mr.  Wright 
asked  him  what  he  proposed  doing. 

"Take  out  the  reserve  ore  and  quit, 
I  guess.  It's  the  only  thing  left, 
isn't  it?" 

"The  only  sure  way— yes." 

"Well,  I  can't  go  in  any  deeper.  I'm 
'all  in.'  I  shall  leave  day  after  tomor- 
row, at  least  for  the  Summer.  In  the 
Fall  I'll  run  down  again.  My  plans  are 
indefinite  just  now.  How  long  will  it 
take  to  mine  the  ore  in  sight,  do  you 
think?  " 

"I  can  hardly  guess,"  Mr.  Wright 
answered.  "With  a  week  or  two's  work, 
however,  it  can  be  estimated  very  well. 
I  should  think,  though,  it  would  take 
eight  months.  You  ought  to  be  able  to 
make  good  at  least  on  what  you  have  put 
into  it." 

"Oh,  assuredly,"  Darrell  replied. 
"It's  mainly  the  time  gone,  of  course." 
Then  he  turned  to  go. 

"I'll  want  a  long  talk  with  you  before 
leaving,"  he  said. 

It  was  not  until  he  sat  at  his  desk 
again  that  Darrell  thought  of  Dorothy's 
letter.  Remorse  stung  him.  He  had 
been  in  a  fever  of  excitement.  But  now 
the  spell  was  over.  The  bitterness  of 
disappointment  had  come,  but  with  it 
rest.  Rest — yes,  that  was  what  he  had 
needed  so  long — for  more  than  a  year; 
in  fact,  ever  since  his  marriage. 


He  was  scanning  Dorothy's  letter  now, 
and  he  felt  a  strange  feeling  of  regret 
while  doing  so.  At  first  he  questioned 
why  he  had  ever  married.  What  had 
his  married  life  been?  Certainly  nothing 
to  her.  She  had  been  left  lonely  and 
alone.  He  realized  it  now  that  his  fight 
was  over,  and  he  felt  himself  turning 
toward  her.  He  thought  of  Louise 
Spaulding,  and  of  that  day  he  had 
driven  her  to  his  farm.  He  thought  of 
Mrs.  "Dick"  Kendall,  of  Mrs.  Morley 
Jones  and  several  other  women  he  had 
known.  He  wondered  if  any  of  them 
would  have  stood  by  her  husband  as  his 
wife  had  done.  He  felt  sure  some  of 
them  would  not.  Then  he  read:  "I 
await  your  answer,  Darrell,  for  though 
you  are  so  far  away,  I  know  you  would 
rather  I  did  not  enter  upon  this  course 
without  consulting  you." 

"And  I  have  been  a  brute,"  he  was 
saying,  "and  have  not  even  wired  her!  " 
He  tried  to  analyze  his  actions.  He 
could  not.  He  could  not  imagine  him- 
self being  what  he  had  been.  He  grew 
impatient,  and  after  leaving  a  hurried 
note  for  Mr.  Wright,  he  jumped  on  his 
horse  and  rode  to  town.  That  night  he 
found  himself  on  a  Pullman  sleeper  en 
route  home. 

When  he  arrived  Dorothy  was  gone. 
It  was  not  known  when  she  would  re- 
turn. She  had  left  no  order  for  the 
carriage  to  meet  her.  Darrell  had  gone 
over  this  same  conversation  with  the  ser- 
vants several  times,  but  could  not  learn 
more.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but 
wait.  He  slept  late  on  the  second  day, 
and  when  he  awoke  it  was  raining.  He 
dressed  and  had  a  leisurely  breakfast. 
Then  he  smoked;  then  he  tried  to  read 
some;  but  he  could  not  concentrate  his 
mind.  He  put  on  his  topcoat  and  hat 
and  ordered  the  carriage.  He  would 
go  to  the  club,  but  after  going  a  block 
he  decided  to  return  home.  He  smoked 
some  more  and  walked  about  the  house. 
Later  he  had  lunch — or  tried  to  eat; 
somehow  he  did  not  feel  hungry. 


DEEP    MINING 


291 


In  the  afternoon  he  slept  again,  and 
when  he  awoke  it  was  dark.  He  turned 
on  the  light  and  found  it  was  almost 
seven  o'clock.  The  rain  was  coming 
down  in  torrents  and  he  could  see 
through  the  window,  under  the  street 
light,  the  straggling  passers-by.  Sud- 
denly he  remembered  he  had  eaten 
scarcely  anything  since  breakfast,  so  he 
tried  to  eat  again.  He  did  fairly  well 
and  felt  better. 

He  had  a  fire  built  in  the  music  room 
— that  room  was  nearer  her,  somehow, 
and  he  sat  before  it  in  the  big  easy  chair 
that  he  had  sat  in  when  she  played  for 
him.  He  could  see  her  slight  form  now, 
with  that  crown  of  golden  hair,  as  she 
played.  How  slight  she  was,  though 
strong!  Now  she  would  look  around 
with  her  sapphire  eyes  upon  him.  He 
had  never  seen  her  beauty  as  he  saw 
it  now.  She  seemed  to  be  swaying  to 
and  fro.  Still  he  could  hear  her  play. 
Now  it  was  the  "Spring  Song";  now 
"Narcissus";  now  "The  Dance  of  the 
Fairies."  Oh,  why  had  he  left  her  alone 
all  these  nights?  This  one  night  was 
killing  him.  How  it  rained;  and  rained; 
and  rained.  Where  could  she  be? — and 
then,  almost  as  by  magic,  she  came 
through  the  doorway. 

"Why,  Darrell!  "  she  exclaimed,  com- 
ing to  him,  "When  did  you  come?" 

"Wait — I'm  awfully  wet,"  as  he  came 
towards  her.  "I  had  no  umbrella  and 
I  am  drenched  just  coming  from  the 
cab.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  home,"  she 
said,  looking  at  him. 

He  had  thought  of  a  thousand  things 
to  say  when  she  came,  but  now  that  she 
was  really  here  he  felt  choked.  She 
acted  as  though  she  had  not  expected 
him  to  care  much:  to  be  glad  he  was 
home  again.  How  could  he  tell  her 
what  a  brute  he  knew  himself  to  be? 
What  could  he  say? 

"I  am  so  tired,"  she  said. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  answered;  "come,  sit 
here,  and  I  will  get  you  some  tea.  Your 
feet  are  wet,"  he  said,  feeling  her  shoes. 


"Yes,  you  see  I  had  no  rubbers.  It 
was  not  raining  when  I  got  on  the  train. 
Thank  you,"  she  smiled  as  he  untied 
her  shoes.  "My  slippers  are  upstairs — 
never  mind."  Darrell  fairly  flew  to 
bring  them. 

"He  is  always  so  kind,"  she  was  say- 
ing to  herself.  "I  wish  I  had  him  with 
me  more."  She  sighed  as  he  came  back 
into  the  room. 

"Don't,"  he  said.  He  was  fastening 
her  slipper  and  she  looked  down  at  him. 
"Don't  sigh,"  he  said — "it  breaks  my 
heart." 

"Your  heart  must  not  break  so  easily," 
she  answered.  "Hearts  must  be  made 
of  sterner  stuff." 

"Yours  is,"  he  said,  "but  mine — well, 
I've  only  just  found  mine  tonight,  and 
it's  very  fragile,  Dorothy." 

He  looked  up  and  she  was  still  look- 
ing at  him. 

"1  never  realized  all  the  unhappiness 
I've  been  to  you  until  tonight,"  he  said. 
"Can  you  forgive  me,  dear,  and  learn  to 
love  nie?  " 

"I  learned  to  love  you  long  ago,  Dar- 
rell, she  replied.  She  put  both  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  "and  I  have  only 
waited  to  tell  you." 

He  rose  and  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
drew  her  over  into  the  big  chair. 

There  were  a  few  embers  left  amid  the 
ashes — the  rain  still  rained.  There  was 
a  faint  sweetness  in  the  air.  Dorothy 
put  her  golden  head  against  his  shoulder, 
and  when  he  kissed  her  she  was  almost 
asleep. 

"I  am  so  happy,"  she  whispered.  "I 
I  hope  I  shall  never  wake  up." 

"You  are  not  dreaming,  dear,"  he 
said.  "This  is  life — real  life." 

Ill 

"I  wonder,"  said  Peggie  to  Dick  one 
night  at  dinner,  "how  Dorothy  and  Dar- 
rell Stevens  ever  came  together?  " 

"Why,"  said  Dick,  "I  thought  you 
had  a  hand  in  that,  yourself." 

"Oh,  that  was  before   they  married. 


21)2 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for    DECEMBER,    1904 


I  mean  afterward.  Dorothy  got  so 
dreadfully  formal  and  went  in  so  for 
club  work  and  all  that,  you  know;  and 
Darrell  never  appeared  to  care  much 
what  she  did.  Then,  suddenly,  when 
she  became  a  real  light  in  the  club 
world,  he  came  back  and  they  sailed 
away  to  France.  George  Hardy  met 
them  at  Cannes,  and  he  said  they  were 
like  lovers  on  a  honeymoon.  Dorothy 
was  prettier  than  ever  and  they  were  as 
happy  as  larks  in  Spring." 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "  Darrell  could  not 
help  but  love  her.  She  is  lovable." 

"Oh,  I  understand  that,"  Peggie  re- 
plied, "but  Darrell  was  not  in  love  with 
her  until  they  left  for  France — I  know  it. 
How  did  his  mines  turn  out?" 

"Why,  first  they  were  a  great  disap- 
pointment—  struck  a  barren  wall,  or 
something.  Then,  it  seems,  they  went 
to  work  on  some  side  ore  and  found 
a  big  bonanza  mine.  They're  coming 
back,  you  know." 


"When?" 

"In  a  month  or  so.  I  met  'King' 
Hudson  at  the  club  today  and  he  had 
heard  from  them." 

"Oh,"  said  Peggie,  "that  so?  I  must 
see  Louise." 

"They  have  a  boy — born  in  Naples,  I 
believe." 

"How  newsy  you  are — dear  me !  What 
else  do  you  know?  " 

"Nothing — only  he  can't  be  president 
— can  he?" 

"Who?" 

"The  boy." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — can't  he  if  he  is 
not  born  under  the  flag?  Well,  they 
won't  care  for  that.  They  have  found 
something  greater  than  the  head  of  a 
nation.  There  are  only  a  few  who  find 
happiness,  you  know." 

Dick  went  over  to  her  chair  after 
lighting  his  cigarette. 

"You're  right,  Peggie,"  he  said — but 
we  have  got  a  chance  at  both." 


DESERTED 

By    EDWINA    STANTON     BABCOCK 

MONTCLAIR,     NEW     JERSEY 

CAR  from  the  highway  stands  the  empty  home 

With  unhinged  door,  and  warped,  shrunken  stair 
Over  its  walls  the  chilly  shadows  roam, 
Rank  to  its  lintels  huddled  ivies  come, 
Past  its  blind  face  the  startled  swallows  flare. 


Wrapped  in  its  memories,  it  stands  aloof, 

Strange  to  itself,  patient  in  wind  and  rain; 

No  tender  hearth-breath  curls  around  its  roof, 

No  voice  within  welcomes  or  calls  reproof, 

No  child's  face  peers  behind  the  cobwebbed  pane. 

Let  us  not  wonder  why;   we  shame  it  more 
With  echoing  voice  and  stir;    let  us  depart 
Turning  in  pity  from  the  hapless  door; 
Closing  the  dumb  gate  in  awed  silence,  for 
This  is  the  dead  hope  of  a  human  heart! 


JOHN    MOSELEY'S    VICTORY 


By    ELLIOTT     FLOWER 

CHICAGO,     ILLINOIS 


OTHERS  were  at  the  scene  of  the 
accident  before  John  Moseley;  it 
only  remained  for  him  to  pick  up  the 
dinner  pail  that  had  been  hurled  some 
distance  from  the  wrecked  trolley  car. 
While  the  crowd  hovered  about  the 
suffering  child  and  a  physician  did  what 
he  could  for  her,  John  Moseley  stood 
apart,  irresolute.  There  was  tragedy 
where  the  child  lay,  but  the  dinner  pail 
added  to  the  heartrending  pathos  of  it. 
It  represented  one  of  her  daily  tasks — 
a  duty  she  was  proud  and  happy  to  per- 
form. They  all  knew  her;  they  knew 
how  regularly  she  carried  that  tin  dinner 
pail  to  her  father  at  the  factory,  how  she 
delighted  in  this  trifling  responsibility. 
Even  now  he  was  expecting  her,  and, 
instead  of  her  joyous,  smiling  face,  there 
would  come  to  him  the  news  that  she 
had  been  —  what?  Maimed  or  killed? 

The  doctor  turned  a  sad,  solemn  face 
to  the  crowd. 

"She  is  dead,"  he  said. 

In  an  instant  the  crowd  became  an 
angry,  unreasoning,  vengeful  mob,  and 
only  quick  action  on  the  part  of  the 
authorities  saved  the  motorman,  and  the 
engineer  and  fireman  of  the  train  that 
had  run  him  down,  from  violence.  All 
three  protested  that  they  had  done  all 
they  could  to  prevent  the  accident,  but 
a  mob  does  not  reason :  vengeance  alone 
is  its  idea  of  justice. 

"The  bell  was  not  rung!  "  they  cried, 
as  they  surged  about  the  two  policemen 
and. the  few  conservative  citizens  who 
had  rallied  to  the  support  of  the  police. 
This  the  fireman  denied,  and  the  engi- 
neer pointed  out  that  his  action  in 
promptly  reversing  his  engine  when  he 
saw  the  danger  had  prevented  a  much 
worse  accident.  Only  the  front  end  of 
the  car  was  damaged,  and  the  girl  was 
the  only  passenger  in  that  end. 


The  frenzied  people  turned  their  atten- 
tion to  the  motorman. 

"Kill  the  coward!  "  they  yelled.  "He 
jumped  to  save  himself."  But  the 
motorman  insisted  that  he  had  set  the 
brakes  and  reversed  the  current  before 
jumping,  and  he  could  do  no  more  than 
that. 

The  towerman,  previously  forgotten, 
was  discovered  at  this  point,  and  the  cry 
went  up  that  he  had  not  lowered  the 
gates.  This  was  true,  but  he  protested 
that  it  was  not  his  fault.  The  gates  had 
not  been  in  good  working  order  for  some 
time — a  fact  which  he  had  reported  to 
his  immediate  superior  without  result  — 
and  they  "caught"  when  he  tried  to 
lower  them.  He  had  tried  to  warn  the 
motorman  by  shouting. 

The  crowd  was  not  in  a  humor  to 
accept  excuses;  it  wanted,  and  tried 
hard,  to  get  at  one  or  all  of  these  men. 
It  pushed  and  eddied  and  fought,  and 
stones  were  beginning  to  fly,  when  its 
attention  was  diverted.  The  limp  little 
body  was  being  carried  away  on  a 
stretcher,  and  the  mob  followed.  Be- 
side the  stretcher  walked  Moseley  with 
the  dinner  pail. 

It  is  only  in  a  moment  of  overwhelm- 
ing passion  that  the  average  man  resorts 
to  physical  violence,  and  such  turbulent 
emotions  are  not  lasting.  The  little  town 
of  Marshfield  had  not  forgotten,  but  it 
was  in  quiet  mood  when  the  inquest  was 
held.  It  still  demanded  vengeance;  it 
spoke  harshly  of  the  railroad  company 
for  refusing  to  elevate  the  tracks  when 
petitioned  to  do  so;  but  it  was  now  will- 
ing to  leave  all  to  the  law.  The  people 
had  resumed  the  even  tenor  of  their  way; 
they  were  calm  and  dispassionate,  will- 
ing to  wait.  A  miscarriage  of  justice 
might  —  indeed  would  —  rouse  them 
again,  but  there  was  no  fear  of  that. 


294 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


Punishment  was  necessary,  and  someone 
would  be  punished.  The  law  would 
decide  who  it  should  be;  but  the  law, 
like  the  people  of  Marshfield,  is  the 
slave  of  precedent,  and  too  often  it 
reaches  only  for  the  man  who  happens 
to  be  nearest  to  its  hand.  It  may  have 
a  long  arm,  but  it  hesitates  to  extend  it. 

John  Moseley  alone  thought  deeply. 
The  dinner  pail,  which  he  had  absent- 
mindedly  taken  home  with  him,  kept 
the  details  fresh  in  his  mind.  It  was 
a  common,  old,  dented  dinner  pail,  but 
it  made  him  think  of  the  child,  of  her 
mission  at  the  time  of  her  death,  of  her 
joyous  pride  in  that  mission,  of  the 
father  who  had  daily  watched  for  and 
welcomed  her,  of  the  cruel  shock;  and 
somehow  it  did  not  seem  to  John  Mose- 
ley that  the  law  was  going  to  do  what  it 
should  do.  Someone  would  suffer,  but 
to  what  purpose?  Moseley  was  an  un- 
educated man,  but  he  had  a  heart  and 
a  goodly  share  of  hard  sense,  and  he  was 
sufficiently  prosperous  in  a  small  way  to 
make  him  influential  in  a  town  where 
modest  incomes  were  the  rule  and  one 
factory  represented  the  only  business  of 
any  magnitude. 

The  four  employes  were  held  to  the 
grand  jury,  and  Moseley  still  glanced 
occasionally  at  the  dinner  pail  and  de- 
bated with  himself.  He  was  drawn  for 
that  jury,  but  the  problem  was  not  solved 
to  his  satisfaction.  While  others  held 
that  the  responsibility  rested  upon  one 
or  more — possibly  all — of  the  four,  he 
took  a  different  view.  But  would  any- 
thing come  of  the  course  that  com- 
mended itself  to  him?  Could  anything 
come  of  it?  When  the  case  came  up  for 
consideration  in  the  grand  jury  room,  he 
listened  to  the  evidence  and  he  noted 
the  attitude  of  the  other  jurors.  They 
did  not  look  beyond  the  four,  each  of 
whom  contended  that  he  had  done  his 
full  duty,  so  far  as  lay  in  his  power.  It 
was  confusing  and  puzzling,  for  in  many 
details  the  evidence  was  conflicting. 

"But  someone    is  to  blame,"  urged 


the  foreman.  "It's  a  clear  case  of 
criminal  negligence  somewhere,  and,  to 
my  mind,  it's  about  an  even  thing  be- 
tween the  four  of  them.  This  is  the 
third  accident  at  that  crossing  in  six 
months,  and  we've  got  to  take  action 
that  people  will  remember." 

Another  juror  suggested  that  they  also 
ought  to  get  after  the  man  whose  duty  it 
was  to  repair  the  gate,  and  a  warm 
debate  followed,  all  of  which  aided  John 
Moseley  in  reaching  a  decision.  They 
were  too  short  sighted,  he  thought;  they 
did  not  even  hint  at  what  was  in  his 
mind. 

"Do  you  reckon  it's  goin'  to  do  any 
good  to  git  after  these  here  people?  "  he 
asked,  rising  in  his  .place  at  the  long 
table.  "They  got  their  lesson,  ain't 
they?  You  don't  think  fer  a  minute 
that  them  fellers  is  goin'  to  take  any 
chances  ag'in,  do  you?  An'  if  we  in- 
dict all  of  'em,  do  you  s'pose  folks  is 
goin'  to  remember  it  any  longer  than 
they  do  the  accident?  An'  what  good  '11 
it  do?  Kin  they  make  it  impossible  to 
happen  ag'in?  Course  they  can't,  an' 
we  got  to  go  after  the  feller  that  kin. 
I'm  fer  indictin'  the  gen'ral  manager  of 
the  railroad." 

The  other  jurors  were  startled.  They 
knew  Moseley  for  a  man  who  was  slow 
to  make  up  his  mind,  but  usually  accu- 
rate in  his  judgment,  and  always  direct 
in  his  methods.  There  was  nothing  of 
the  diplomat  about  him ;  he  went  straight 
for  the  object  he  sought  to  attain.  And 
he  was  almost  invariably  successful.  But 
to  indict  the  general  manager  of  a  rail- 
road for  an  accident  on  his  line  was  un- 
precedented. 

"He  couldn't  be  convicted,"  asserted 
the  foreman.  "He  had  nothing  to  do 
with  this." 

"Mebbe  not,"  admitted  Moseley,  "an' 
then  ag'in,  mebbe  so.  Let's  look  at  the 
facts.  This  here  road  don't  skirt  the 
edge  o'  the  town,  where  there  ain't  much 
doin';  it  runs  right  through  the  center, 
cuttin'  the  town  in  two.  That  bein'  the 


JOHN   MOSELEY'S   VICTORY 


295 


case,  them  there  tracks  ought  to  be  ele- 
vated, an'  you  know  it  an'  he  knows  it. 
We  been  tryin'  to  git  him  to  elevate  'em, 
but  we  can't,  fer  a  fool  council  give  him 
an  unconditional  grant  of  a  right-o'-way, 
that's  got  a  good  bit  to  run  yet.  S'long 
as  he  don't  want  anything  more,  we 
ain't  got  any  hold  on  him.  An'  what 
does  he  say  when  we  try  to  git  him  to 
put  up  the  tracks?  ' 'Tain't  business,' 
he  says,  an'  he's  right.  It  ain't  busi- 
ness, but  it's  human  life.  When  you  git 
right  down  to  it,  why  was  that  little  girl 
killed?  Was  it  because  o'  the  motor- 
man?  Partly,  mebbe.  Was  it  because 
o'  the  gates?  Partly,  mebbe.  Was  it 
because  o'  the  engineer?  Partly,  mebbe. 
But  I  believe  they  was  all  doin'  the  best 
they  knew  how  —  all  but  the  general 
manager.  He  was  the  only  one  who 
could  have  made  it  impossible,  an'  he 
didn't.  Course  he'll  talk  about  the 
board  o'  directors  an'  all  that;  but  if 
this  here  was  his  town  that's  cut  in  two 
by  them  tracks,  an'  if  his  folks  an'  his 
friends  had  to  be  crossin'  'em  all  the 
time,  the  tracks  would  be  h'isted 
quicker'n  a  cat  kin  jump,  an'  don't  you 
fergit  it!  I  got  a  dinner  pail  up  to  the 
house — an'  old,  dented  dinner  pail  that 
the  little  girl  was  carry  in'  to  her  father — 
an'  sometimes  it  seems  like  it  talks  to 
me,  talks  o'  duty  done  an'  duty  not 
done,  an'  the  man  that  don't  do  his  duty 
by  his  fellow  man  is  the  one  to  blame. 
You  know  who  he  is.  Are  you  afraid  of 
him?  Are  you  waitin'  fer  something 
more  to  happen?  Ain't  he  done  enough 
now?  " 

John  Moseley  paused,  and  there  was 
a  dead  silence. 

"He  could  have  saved  her,  an'  he 
didn't,"  he  added,  and  sat  down. 

To  the  astonishment  of  the  people  of 
Marshfield,  and  to  the  consternation  of 
the  prosecuting  attorney,  who  insisted 
that  a  conviction  was  impossible,  Samuel 
J.  Barton,  president  and  general  mana- 
ger of  the  D.,  H.  &  T.  railroad,  was  in- 
dicted by  the  grand  jury.  The  four  who 


had  been  held  at  the  inquest  went  free. 
JH 

In  the  city  the  news  of  the  accident 
created  not  even  a  ripple  of  excitement. 
It  takes  a  big  accident  to  even  slightly 
disturb  the  routine  of  a  railway  office. 
The  facts  were  reported  to  Mr.  Barton, 
but  they  made  no  impression  on  that 
busy  man.  His  subordinates  would  at- 
tend to  everything,  and  it  was  not  likely 
the  claim  agent  would  have  any  difficulty 
in  effecting  a  settlement,  if  any  liability 
attached  to  the  road. 

"They  wanted  to  lynch  the  train 
crew,"  his  informant  told  him. 

"There  are  always  irresponsible  people 
who  talk  about  lynching  in  time  of  ex- 
citement," returned  Barton.  "No  in- 
juries and  only  one  fatality,  you  say?  " 

"That's  all.     A  little  girl  was  killed." 

"Too  bad,"  said  Barton,  in  a  mean- 
ingless tone.  His  mind  was  on  some- 
thing else  at  the  time,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  it  to  him  but  an  annoying 
and  unfortunate  mishap  in  the  operation 
of  the  road. 

A  few  days  later  he  was  informed  that 
the  engineer  and  fireman  had  been  held 
to  the  grand  jury. 

"The  result  of  emotionalism,"  he 
commented.  "After  an  accident  people 
seem  to  think  that  they've  simply  got  to 
indict  somebody,  just  to  ease  their 
minds.  Well,  see  that  bonds  are  furn- 
ished, and  instruct  the  legal  department 
to  look  out  for  their  interests." 

Then  came  the  startling  news  that  Bar- 
ton.himself  had  been  indicted. 

In  the  railroad  offices  this  was  treated 
as  a  joke,  and  at  first  even  Barton  was 
inclined  to  laugh.  It  was  so  absurd  to 
indict  a  man  of  his  standing  for  the 
death  of  a  child  200  miles  away.  But  it 
was  not  pleasant,  even  as  an  absurdity, 
and  his  inclination  to  laugh  disappeared 
entirely  when  he  found  that  he  was  the 
central  figure  in  a  sensation.  The  even- 
ing papers,  which  had  dismissed  the 
accident  originally,  now  gave  all  the  de- 
tails of  it,  in  addition  to  presenting  a 


296 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for   DECEMBER,    1904 


full  account  of  the  proceedings  of  the 
grand  jury. 

Somehow,  it  came  home  to  him  now, 
as  it  had  not  before.  The  little  girl  was 
about  the  same  age  as  his  own  little  girl, 
and  perhaps  —  nay,  presumably — as  well 
beloved.  She  had  been  taking  her 
father's  lunch  to  him,  as  was  her  cus- 
tom. The  father  was  waiting  expect- 
antly for  the  joyous  smile  and  chatter 
that  was  more  to  him  than  the  mission 
that  brought  her,  and  then  —  Barton 
shuddered.  He  was  held  responsible 
for  this.  It  was  ridiculous,  of  course, 
but — it  was  horrible. 

"He  could  have  saved  her  and  he 
didn't,"  he  muttered,  repeating  John 
Moseley's  assertion,  as  he  drove  home 
that  evening.  The  papers  gave  a  pretty 
accurate  account  of  what  Moseley  had 
said.  "If  this  had  been  his  town,"  he 
went  on,  still  repeating  Moseley's  argu- 
ment, "the  tracks  would  be  elevated, 
and  don't  you  forget  it." 

Would  they?  Was  it  true  that  he  was 
imposing  on  others  a  danger  that  he 
would  not  tolerate  if  he  and  his  were 
concerned?  No;  of  course  not.  When 
first  petitioned  to  elevate  the  tracks,  he 
had  submitted  the  matter  to  the  board  of 
directors,  and  the  directors  had  decided 
that  the  expense  was  not  warranted.  He 
had  voted  to  this  effect  himself.  If  he 
had  not — if,  instead,  he  had  taken  the 
stand  that  the  petitioners  were  justified 
in  their  demand — would  the  result  have 
been  different?  Had  it  really  rested 
with  him  to  say  whether  these  people 
should  be  exposed  to  this  constant  dan- 
ger? A  board  of  directors  is  an  imper- 
sonal thing.  As  a  member  of  that,  he 
could  take  blame  without  wincing.  But 
this  was  a  different  thing  altogether:  he 
stood  alone.  The  child  was  dead,  cruelly 
killed;  was  his  the  fault? 

His  wife  met  him  at  the  door  with  an 
evening  paper  in  her  hands. 

"Why  have  they  indicted  you?"  she 
asked. 

"Oh,  those  jay  juries  will  do  anything 


where  a  corporation  is  concerned,"  he 
replied  carelessly.  "Nothing  will  come 
of  it." 

"But  surely  you  are  not  to  blame,  even 
indirectly,"  she  urged.  "Is  that  cross- 
ing so  very  dangerous?  " 

"There  have  been  several  accidents 
there,"  he  answered,  shortly.  "But 
there's  no  question  of  responsibility  in 
this  action,"  he  added.  "They  have 
simply  singled  out  the  man  in  the  high- 
est position,  because  the  board  of  direc- 
tors refused  to  elevate  the  tracks  for 
them.  It  amounts  to  nothing.  I'm  not 
worrying,  so  there's  no  reason  why  you 
should." 

He  spoke  only  half  the  truth.  He 
was  not  worrying  about  the  indictment, 
but  he  was  worrying  about  the  child. 
He  told  himself  he  was  not  to  blame, 
but  his  arguments  were  not  convincing. 
The  grand  jurors  put  the  responsibility 
upon  him.  Regardless  of  the  legal 
strength  or  weakness  of  their  position, 
they  believed  that  he  had  been  guilty 
of  a  willful  sacrifice  of  human  life,  in 
that  he  could  have  prevented  it  and  did 
not.  How  many  others  held  the  same 
view? 

His  little  girl  sat  on  his  knee  that 
evening,  very  thoughtful. 

"What's  an  indictment,  papa?"  she 
asked  at  last. 

"Have  you  been  reading  the  news- 
papers?" he  demanded,  in  a  tone  so 
sharp  that  it  surprised  her. 

"I  saw  your  name  in  big  letters,"  she 
explained,  "and  I  wanted  to  see  what  it 
said  about  you.  You  didn't  kill  the 
little  girl,  did  you?" 

"No,  no,  dear;  of  course  not,"  he 
answered,  hastily. 

"And  you  couldn't  help  her  dying, 
could  you?  " 

His  voice  trembled  a  little,  as  he  drew 
her  close  to  him  and  told  her  she 
shouldn't  read  such  things. 

"It  would  have  been  just  the  same  if 
it  had  been  me,  wouldn't  it?"  she 
persisted;  and  somehow  he  could  not 


JOHN    MOSELEY'S    VICTORY 


297 


answer  at  all.  "Because  they  said,"  she 
went  on,  "that  if  you  lived  there  you'd 
have  done  things  that  you  wouldn't  do 
for  the  people  who  do  live  there.  But 
that  isn't  true,  is  it,  papa?  You  love  all 
little  girls,  don't  you?  And  you  wouldn't 
let  anybody's  else's  little  girl  be  hurt,  if 
you  could  help  it,  any  more  than  your 
own — I  know  you  wouldn't.  Because 
all  little  girls  have  papas  and  mammas 
that  love  them  just  as  much  —  why, 
what's  the  matter,  papa?  " 

He  put  her  down  very  gently  and  went 
out  without  a  word.  He  did  not  dare 
trust  himself  to  speak,  and  there  was 
a  moisture  in-  his  eyes  that  only  a  walk 
in  the  open  air  could  clear  away. 


At  the  meeting  of  the  board  of  direc- 
tors, two  weeks  later,  Barton  presided 
as  usual,  and  under  a  weight  in  front  of 
him  there  were  some  papers  in  which 
he  seemed  to  be  more  than  usually  in- 
terested. No  reference  was  made  to  the 
indictment  until  Barton  himself  brought 
Marshfield  into  the  discussion.  This 
was  at  the  conclusion  of  the  routine 
business. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  rising  and 
drawing  the  papers  toward  him,  "I  have 
taken  the  liberty  of  having  plans  and 
specifications  made  for  elevating  .our 
tracks  where  they  pass  through  the  town 
of  Marshfield." 

"Preposterous!  "  cried  one  of  the 
heaviest  stockholders  in  the  road. 

"As  you  doubtless  know,"  Barton 
continued,  ignoring  the  interruption, 
"our  tracks  pass  through  the  heart  of 
this  town,  crossing  the  main  thorough- 
fare. In  no  other  town  are  the  condi- 
tions the  same;  in  no  other  town  is  the 
danger  so  great.  I  think  we  owe  this  to 
the  people  of  Marshfield  and — to  hu- 
manity." 

"It  will  be  establishing  a  costly  pre- 
cedent." argued  a  director. 

"A  precedent  that  should  be  estab- 
lished," said  Barton.  "Wherever  these 


conditions  exist  this  action  should  be 
taken.  Marshfield  did  not  build  itself 
on  both  sides  of  our  road;  we  put  our 
road  through  the  heart  of  Marshfield, 
because  it  suited  our  convenience.  We 
have  no  right,  in  my  opinion,  to  put 
these  people  in  constant  danger." 

"They  can  move,"  laughed  a  jocular 
member  of  the  board. 

"Your  views  seem  to  have  changed," 
suggested  another. 

"They  have,"  admitted  Barton. 

"It's  preposterous,"  repeated  the 
heavy  stockholder.  "They've  tried  to 
sandbag  us  by  this  indictment,  and  I'll 
admit  they  seem  to  have  one  member  of 
the  board  badly  scared." 

"I  have  here,"  said  Barton,  tapping 
the  pile  of  papers,  "a  letter  from  the 
prosecuting  attorney  informing  me  that 
the  indictment  has  been  quashed.  It 
was  an  absurdity,  of  course,  but  that 
grade  crossing  is  not." 

"It  was  a  bluff,  anyway,"  insisted  the 
stockholder,  "and  we  can't  afford  to  be 
bluffed.  Why,  every  town  on  the  line 
will  be  after  us  for  something,  if  we're 
as  'easy'  as  this.  Let  them  wait." 

"It  was  no  bluff  when  they  twice  peti- 
tioned us,"  urged  Barton. 

All  other  business  was  finished  and 
the  directors  were  becoming  impatient. 

"Let  them  wait,"  two  or  three  re- 
peated; and  one  added,  "Let's  adjourn." 

"One  moment,  please,"  insisted  Bar- 
ton. "I  am  very  much  in  earnest  in 
this,  and  I  will  make  it  a  personal  mat- 
ter." 

"Time  enough  later,"  was  the  retort. 
"Let  them  suffer  a  little  for  the  outrag- 
eous impertinence  of  their  action." 

Barton  pushed  the  papers  toward  the 
center  of  the  table,  and  leaned  forward, 
still  holding  one  hand  on  them. 

"I  have  here,"  he  said,  "the  plans 
and  specifications  for  elevating  the 
tracks  and  also  a  resolution  authorizing 
the  engineering  and  construction  depart- 
ments to  proceed  with  the  work.  If  the 
plans  are  not  suitable,  they  can  be 


298 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  DECEMBER,    1904 


changed;  but  you  must  act  on  the  reso- 
lution, gentlemen,  or"  (he  placed  an- 
other paper  with  the  pile  on  the  table) 
"on  this." 

"What  is  it?  "  someone  asked. 

"My  resignation  as  an  officer  and  a 
director  of  this  board,"  answered  Bar- 
ton, slowly  and  distinctly.  "I  will  not 
be  responsible,  directly  or  indirectly,  for 
those  conditions  one  minute  longer  than 
it  will  take  to  remedy  them." 

They  looked  at  Barton  in  astonish- 
ment. He  was  very  pale,  but  deter- 
mined; there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
he  meant  exactly  what  he  said.  If  he 
failed  to  carry  his  point,  he  would  have 
made  a  great  sacrifice  for  nothing.  To 
do  as  he  had  done  a  man  must  feel 
deeply — as  Barton  felt.  It  was  quixotic 
to  risk  so  much  in  such  a  way,  but  he 
had  considered  all  this  long  before,  and 
he  was  sure  he  would  rather  lose  than 
compromise  with  his  conscience.  Noth- 
ing short  of  this  could  ease  his  mind. 

For  a  moment  the  board  seemed  in- 
clined to  accept  his  challenge  and  his 


resignation;  but  the  heavy  stockholder 
who  had  made  the  determined  fight 
against  track  elevation  was  a  man  who 
never  let  pride  or  principle  stand  in  the 
way  of  his  business  interests.  And  Bar- 
ton, although  a  very  small  stockholder, 
was  a  valuable  man. 

"I  don't  like  to  be  bluffed,"  said  the 
heavy  stockholder, "but  it's  better  to  be 
bluffed  than  it  is  to  lose  the  services  of 
an  official  who  is  experienced,  capable 
and  thoroughly  conversant  with  every 
detail  of  the  road's  business." 

And  he  laughed  good-naturedly  but 
without  joyousness — as  a  man  does  when 
he  knows  he  is  beaten  and  simply  wants 
to  make  the  best  of  an  awkward  situa- 
tion. 

When  the  news  was  received  at  Marsh- 
field  the  citizens  wanted  to  erect  a  statue 
to  John  Moseley  in  the  public  square. 
They  gave  him  the  credit,  and  so  far  as 
they  were  concerned  he  was  entitled  to 
it;  but  no  one  in  the  town  really  knew 
just  how  or  why  he  was  able  to  gain  this 
victory. 


EXPERIENCE 

By    MARGARET    ASHMUN 

MENOMONIE,      WISCONSIN 

\|O  J°y  have  they  who  know  not  any  pain  — 

Who  hide  not  some  sweet  grief  from  light  of  day; 
And  those  who  know  not  loss  know  naught  of  gain, 
No  joy  have  they. 

To  feel  is  all.     Who  sees  the  old  moon  wane 
Wins  joy  of  each  new  waking.     Those  are  gay 
Whose  tears  are  dried.     The  happy  live  in  vain  — 
No  joy  have  they. 


HICCUPS" 


By  HOLMAN    F.    DAY 

AUBURN,     MAINE 


WHEN  Perley  Ward  came  down  from 
his  Winter's  work  in  the  wood  he 
brought  as  gifts  to  his  young  wife  seven 
fisher-cat  skins,  a  loupcervier  pelt,  four 
huge,  hardened  mushroom  growths,  on 
which  woods'  scenes  could  be  painted, 
and  nearly  two  pounds  of  spruce  gum, 
tied  into  the  corner  of  a  meal  bag.  No 
more  admirable  specimens  of  spruce  gum 
were  ever  seen  in  Palermo  village.  Per- 
ley had  spent  his  evenings  of  leisure 
scraping  the  globules.  Each  was  as  big 
as  the  end  of  one's  thumb  and  glowed 
with  ruddy  fires  as  though  it  had  ab- 
sorbed the  glories  of  Summer  sunshine, 
the  mellowness  of  bland  Autumn  and  the 
flarings  of  the  huntsman's  camp-blaze, 
savory  with  steam  from  the  venison 
steaks.  It  was  gum  to  start  moisture  in 
the  mouth  corners  if  it  were  rolled  before 
greedy  eyes  from  palm  to  palm ;  it  was 
gum  that  melted  into  a  cud  of  succulent 
spiciness,  and  one  was  prompted  to  jam 
it  hard  between  the  molars,  fillip  it  on 
the  tongue,  squat  it  against  the  front 
teeth,  draw  out  its  yielding  pinkness 
across  the  lips  into  a  long,  elastic  rib- 
bon and  then  thrust  it  back  jealously 
and  ruminate  with  those  rabbit-like 
chewings  generally  called  "gum-yank- 
in's." 

Mrs.  Perley  Ward  succumbed  to  all 
this  temptation.  She  chewed  gum  all 
day  long.  At  meal  times  she  stuck  the 
little  pink  gobbet  under  the  edge  of  her 
plate;  when  she  went  to  bed  her  gum 
decorated  the  headboard  so  that  it  might 
be  handy  next  morning.  She  chewed 
steadily,  with  those  little  crackly  snap- 
pings  of  the  gum  that  the  experienced 
ruminant  is  enabled  to  produce.  Her 
husband  counseled  her  to  be  more 
moderate.  He  said  that  pretty  soon  she 
would  have  cheek  muscle  as  big  as  a 
biceps  and  would  look  like  a  squirrel 
lugging  nuts. 


But  she  prolonged  her  gum  debauch. 
Then  one  day  she  began  to  hiccough. 
At  first  'twas  only  a  little,  easy,  gurgling 
hiccough.  There  were  faint  sounds  like 
subdued  snickers,  scarcely  more  than  a 
catching  of  the  breath,  with  lip  nippings 
and  pretty  frowns  and  laughter  when  a 
hiccough  chopped  a  word  in  two. 

"Can't  you  take  somethin'  for  that?" 
demanded  Mr.  Ward  at  the  dinner  table. 
"You  sound  like  a  chicken  eatin'  hot 
peppered  bran  mash." 

"They'll  stop  in  a  mi — tchick — minute 
all  ri  — tchock  —  all  right,"  said  Mrs. 
Ward  cheerily,  and  she  ate  a  little  dry 
sugar. 

But  they  didn't.  They  were  snicker- 
ing away  cheerfully  at  supper  time.  Mr. 
Ward  informed  her  that  she  sounded 
like  a  setting  hen  clucking. 

"For  deuce-nation's  sake,"  he  pro- 
tested, "choke  it  off,  Phoebe.  I  told  you 
not  to  chew  so  much  gum.  Now  you're 
gettin'  your  pay." 

His  wife  was  a  bit  more  serious  at  bed 
time.  Those  hiccoughs  had  tugged  at 
her  aesophagus  for  nine  hours,  and  the 
everlasting  iteration  of  "ock"  was  be- 
coming monotonous.  She  tried  the  easy 
methods  of  cure.  She  took  nine  sips  of 
cold  water.  No  good.  By  Ward's  ad- 
vice she  held  her  breath,  sat  in  a  chair 
and  doubled  forward,  her  chin  upon  her 
knees,  repeating  the  movement  regularly. 
But  when  she  had  finished  that  exercise 
four  hiccoughs  disjointed  the  short  sen- 
tence in  which  she  told  her  husband  that 
his  remedy  had  failed.  She  went  to  bed, 
but  her  duckings  shook  the  four-poster 
until  Perley  Ward  was  exasperated.  All 
at  once  he  leaped  up  with  a  terrific  yell, 
grabbed  his  wife  by  the  shoulders  and 
shook  her.  Her  screams  of  terror  were 
shot  through  with  hiccoughs. 

"Usually,"  explained  Mr.  Ward, 
apologetically,  "if  you  can  scare  anyone 


300 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,    1904 


in  good  shape  you  can  cure  hiccups. 
But  you  seem  to  be  fairly  runnin'  over 
with  'em." 

In  the  morning  Mrs.  Ward  was  hag- 
gard after  a  sleepless  night.  The  hic- 
coughs went  on  with  the  regularity  of  the 
ticking  of  a  monster  eight-day  clock. 
Mrs.  Ward  had  heard  that  hiccoughs 
running  eight  days  would  kill  any  one. 
Aunt  Rhoda  Bragg,  who  bobbed  in  dur- 
ing the  forenoon,  said  that  her  grand- 
mother had  told  her  that  people  who 
hiccoughed  five  thousand  and  three  times 
died  when  puckering  for  the  next  "ock." 
Mrs.  Ward  hadn't  kept  count,  but  she 
began  to  get  worried.  When  Aunt 
Rhoda  advised  her  to  stand  on  all  fours, 
take  a  long  breath  and  slowly  raise  one 
foot  in  the  air,  Mrs.  Ward  did  so.  No 
effect. 

The  grocery  driver  came  in  and  told 
her  that  if  she  drank  enough  whiskey  to 
get  dead  drunk  the  hiccoughs  would 
stop.  But  Mrs.  Ward  was  an  earnest 
member  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  She  firmly 
stated  that  she  wouldn't  drink  liquor 
even  to  cure  a  cobra  bite.  The  grocery 
man  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  went  away 
with  the  air  of  one  who  has  done  his 
duty  and  shifts  all  responsibility. 

Time  and  the  hiccoughs  went  on. 
Three  days  passed.  The  whole  neigh- 
borhood was  interested  in  the  case. 
Everyone  was  digging  in  musty  recipe 
books  and  quizzing  old  folks  for  hic- 
cough remedies! 

Mrs.  Ward  tried  them  all.  She  took 
a  mouthful  of  water  for  each  year  of  her 
life  and  a  sip  of  sweetened  cider  for 
every  star  on  the  United  States  flag. 
She  went  out  and  jumped  off  the  big 
beam  into  the  hay  bay.  She  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  and  whirled  like 
a  dancing  dervish.  She  inverted  herself 
on  her  head  in  the  corner  for  a  full 
minute  by  the  clock.  She  jumped  around 
the  room  like  a  kangaroo  and  painfully 
hopped  on  all  fours  like  an  exaggerated 
toad.  She  ate  ice  cream,  she  drank  cold 
coffee.  And  the  doctor  put  four  differ- 


ent kinds  of  poultices  on  her  chest  and 
red  medicine  in  one  tumbler  and  pink  in 
another  —  spoons  across  the  top  —  one 
every  half  hour,  one  before  eating;  but 
still  those  hiccoughs  kept  yanking  out  of 
her  throat  like  an  anchor  chain  out  of 
a  hawser  pipe.  Her  muscles  ached  from 
the  fantastic  calisthenics,  she  was  frantic 
from  sleeplessness,  weak  from  fatigue 
and  hunger.  She  took  to  her  bed  and 
lay  there  gasping  hiccoughs  like  an  ex- 
piring skate  fish.  Mr.  Ward  ceased  to 
remind  her  that  he  "had  told  her  so" 
about  that  spruce  gum.  Her  hollow 
eyes  seemed  to  accuse  him  of  some 
crime,  as  though  he  had  placed  a  deadly 
weapon  in  her  unaccustomed  hands. 

"Phoebe  can't  last  much  longer  this 
way,"  mused  Mr.  Ward.  "I  reckon  I'd 
better  send  for  her  relatives."  And  he 
did. 

Among  the  arriving  kinsmen  was  her 
brother,  a  dictatorial  big  man  with  hairy 
hands  and  brusque  ways. 

"By  godfrey  ginger!"  he  roared  in  the 
parlor  conference  of  relations,  "you're 
a  nice  set  of  clam  fritters  to  let  a  woman 
lay  up  here  and  hiccup  her  lungs  out. 
Why,  every  ten-year-old  child  ought  to 
know  enough  to  cure  hiccups.  She 
needs  to  be  scared." 

He  impatiently  stopped  their  explana- 
tions with  a  disgusted  flourish  of  his  hairy 
hands  and  started  for  the  front  stairs. 

"You  stay  here,"  he  commanded; 
"all  of  you  stay  here." 

They  could  hear  him  creaking  from 
tread  to  tread  on  the  stairs  as  he  ad- 
vanced with  the  .caution  of  a  stealthy 
elephant.  They  heard  the  slow  whine 
of  a  door  on  its  hinges  and  then: 

"Gr — r — r — wer — aouw!"  That  yell 
in  the  upper  regions  would  have  drowned 
the  howl  of  a  fire-boat's  siren.  A  plain- 
tive squeal  and  a  moan  followed  and 
then  the  fall  of  a  heavy  body.  When 
the  troop  of  breathless  relatives  arrived 
in  the  room  the  big  man  was  just  lifting 
his  sister  back  into  bed.  She  was  deadly 
white  and  her  eyes  were  closed. 


"  HICCUPS" 


301 


"She's  dead!  "  bellowed  her  husband. 
He  ran  to  the  bed,  gazed  on  her  and 
then  faced  the  brother  with  the  fury  of 
him  who  confronts  the  murderer  of  a 
loved  one. 

"You  miserable  whelp,"  the  husband 
howled,  "you've  killed  Phoebe.  I'll 
break  you  into  inch  pieces.  I'll — " 

"She  hain't  dead.  I'll  bet  she  hain't 
dead,"  said  the  big  man,  nervously. 
"I  don't  b'lieve  she's  dead.  She's  just 
fainted.  Throw  water  on  her." 

One  of  the  female  relatives  obeyed, 
and  soon  a  fluttering  of  the  pale  eyelids 
cheered  the  anxious  group. 

"Told  you  she  wa'n't  dead,"  declared 
the  big  man  with  new  confidence. 
"Course  she  ain't  dead.  But  I've 
cured  them  hiccups.  There  don't  none 
of  the  rest  of  you  know  enough  to  handle 
a  case  of  pip." 

He  went  along  and  joggled  the  elbow 
of  the  reviving  woman. 

"All  right  now,  ain't  you,  Sis?"  he 
cried  jubilantly. 

"Oh,  Joe  you  — ick  —  you — ock — you 
scared  me  dret — uck — dretfully!"  she 
quavered,  and  then  began  to  cry  weakly, 
her  sobs  alternating  with  hiccoughs  that 
seemed  fairly  to  lift  her  off  the  bed.  The 
big  man  looked  at  her  aghast,  passed  his 
hairy  hand  across  his  sweaty  and  corru- 
gated brow  and  ejaculating,  "Well,  I'll 
be — "  he  walked  from  the  room, 
clumped  down  stairs  and  went  out  of 
the  house. 

He  came  back  at  supper  time,  and 
said  with  sheepish  demeanor,  "I  still 
insist  that  scarin'  'em  out  is  the  right 
.way  to  handle  hiccups,  friends,  but  I 
ain't  fitted  to  doctor  folks,  I  reckon.  To 
make  up  for  what  I  did  today  I'll  be  the 
watcher  tonight.  All  the  rest  of  you  go 
to  bed." 

The  suspicious  husband  protested,  but 
in  the  end  the  dictatorial  brother  pre- 
vailed. He  pushed  all  of  them  bluffly 
out  of  the  room  at  eight  o'clock,  his  hairy 
hands  against  their  shoulders.  He 
locked  the  door  behind  them.  Then 


he  went  and  sat  by  the  open  window, 
gazing  impatiently  out  into  night,  his 
fat  silver  watch  in  his  hand.  The 
woman  lay  croaking  hiccoughs  and 
moaning  softly.  Her  eyes  were  closed. 
At  nine  o'clock  there  was  a  "hist"  in 
the  darkness  outside. 

"Get  that  ladder  'side  o'  the  barn," 
whispered  the  big  man. 

In  a  few  moments  a  face  came  up  into 
the  glimmer  of  the  sick-room  light.  It 
was  a  queer  and  rectangular  sort  of  a 
face.  A  tufty  beard  was  dotted  around 
it.  The  eyes  were  flat  and  fishy  and 
"toed  out."  Another  man  came  on  the 
ladder  close  behind  and  urged  on  the 
hesitating  fellow  in  the  lead. 

"He's  about  due  for  one,  is  he?"  in- 
quired the  big  man  of  the  individual 
farthest  down  the  ladder. 

"It's  his  regular  day,"  replied  the 
other,  his  tones  muffled  by  au  abnormal 
chew  of  tobacco.  "The  poor  farm 
superintendent  says  he  alwa's  has  one 
on  Tuesday  and  one  late  Friday.  He 
hain't  had  his  Friday  one  yit.  You  can 
reckon  on  him  all  right." 

The  big  man  eased  the  rectangular- 
faced  man  into  the  room  and  gently 
pushed  him  into  a  chair  near  the  bed. 

"Set  there,"  he  hissed.  The  woman 
in  bed,  absorbed  in  her  own  troubles, 
did  not  open  her  eyes.  The  big  man 
backed  to  the  window  and  gruntingly 
clambered  out  onto  the  ladder. 

"I  don't  want  her  to  see  me  when  it 
happens,"  he  whispered.  "If  she  gits 
her  eye  on  me  when  it's  goin'  on  she 
won't  be  so  scared." 

He  remained  with  his  head  just  above 
the  sill.  The  other  man  calmly  reversed 
his  position  on  the  ladder,  put  his  back 
against  the  rungs  and  chewed  luxuri- 
ously. 

"Northin*  to  do  but  wait,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

The  minutes  passed  slowly.  The  new 
attendant  on  the  sick  woman  sat  hunched 
in  the  chair  in  the  position  in  which  the 
big  man  left  him.  Once  in  a  while  he 


302 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    DECEMBER,    1904 


shut  his  mouth  with  a  moist  "soofle" 
and  then  relaxed  the  jaw  muscles  again. 

The  big  man  shifted  from  foot  to  foot 
and  grunted  softly. 

"This  is  gettin'  mighty  tedious,"  he 
growled,  discontentedly.  "Ain't  there 
somethin'  that  will  jounce  him  along 
a  bit?" 

"Wai,  no  one  on  the  poor  farm  has 
ever  practiced  on  pokin*  him  up  to  have 
one.  He  has  enough  of  'em  without 
bein'  encouraged.  Howsomever,  a  sud- 
den little  start  might  set  him  off,  seein' 
he's  well  keyed  up  for  one  o'  them." 

"There's  a  carriage  sponge  down  in 
the  horse  trough,"  said  the  big  man. 
"Sop  it  full  o'  water  an'  bring  it  up  to 
me." 

When  it  was  delivered  to  the  brother 
he  balanced  it  in  his  hairy  hand  and 
threw  it,  as  Jove  would  launch  a  thunder- 
bolt, full  at  the  rectangular  face. 

Spush! 

With  a  maniacal  yell  the  fellow  leaped 
up  like  a  flopping  fish  and  then  fell  back 
into  the  chair.  The  sick  woman  opened 
her  eyes  and  stared.  As  she  gazed  on 
the  unknown  he  straightened  out,  his 
body  sinking  into  the  depths  of  the  big 
chair,  his  limbs  rigid,  his  fingers  hooked 
and  stiff.  There  was  a  slow,  grinding 
twist  of  his  whole  body.  Froth  appeared 
on  his  snarling  lips  and  his  sterterous 
breathing  blew  out  little  bubbles  of  it. 
Then  all  at  once  he  began  to  leap  and 
flop.  He  fell  on  the  floor,  bounced 
around,  stood  up  on  one  foot,  whirled 
like  a  teetotum  and  fell  again.  The 
woman,  horrified,  sat  up,  clutched  the 
bed-clothes  and  screamed  hideously.  In 
the  rooms  below  sounded  a  succession  of 
thunks  of  bare  feet  as  the  household 
leaped  out  of  bed. 

The  rectangular-faced  man  now  ran 
round  and  round  the  room.  He  butted 
his  head  against  the  wall  once  or  twice 
so  violently  that  the  plaster  rattled 
down.  He  rolled  across  the  floor,  tak- 
ing up-ended  chairs  with  him.  Hands 
and  feet  were  pounding  at  the  door  and 


voices  were  clamoring  for  admittance. 
The  woman  in  bed  had  the  ghastly  look 
of  one  death-struck.  The  creature  tore 
from  side  to  side  of  the  room,  fairly 
running  up  the  walls,  dropping  on  all 
fours  and  gathering  himself  for  another 
scramble.  All  at  once  he  leaped  high, 
went  along  the  wall  in  a  sprawling  half- 
circle,  knocked  over  the  lamp  stand  and 
its  lamp  and  when  the  blaze  spurted  over 
the  carpet  he  made  a  wild  plunge  for  the 
open  window.  He  swept  both  men  down 
the  ladder  with  him  and  they  all  were 
piled  in  a  struggling  heap  at  the  bottom. 
The  next  moment  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Ward's  room  was  burst  in  with  a  crash. 
The  fire  was  already  licking  at  the  bed. 
The  draught  of  the  open  window  and 
door  carried  the  flames  roaring  through 
the  upper  part  of  the  little  house,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  the  woman, 
wrapped  in  her  bed-clothes,  was  borne 
out.  In  half  an  hour  the  roof  fell  in  and 
the  chimneys  crashed  down  into  the 
swirling  flames. 

The  relatives  sat  under  the  orchard 
trees,  listening  once  more  to  Mrs. 
Ward's  recital  of  the  dreadful  scene  in 
her  chamber.  She  did  not  understand. 
The  relatives  did  not  understand,  either. 
The  big  man  was  not  there  to  explain. 
But  in  a  little  while  he  came  bustling  up. 
To  the  flood  of  questions  and  the  com- 
plaints that  he  had  abandoned  his 
charge,  he  put  up  a  protesting  palm. 

"I  was  there — I  was  there,"  he  in- 
sisted. "I  have  just  been  to  help  carry 
him  back  to  the  poor  farm.  He  got 
scorched  a  little." 

"Carry  who  back?  " 

"Why,  Fitz-William,  called  so  on 
account  of  his  fits." 

"How  did  he  happen  to  be  in  Phoebe's 
room?  " 

"I  put  him  there  myself." 

"What  for?  "  the  husband  roared. 

"Well,  I've  maintained  from  the  first 
that  the  only  way  to  cure  hiccups  is  to 
scare  the  patient.  I  heard  of  Fitz-Wil- 
liam and  I  borrowed  him." 


"HICCUPS" 


3°3 


"I'm  goin'  to  kill  you,"  Ward 
shrieked.  "I  call  on  you  all  to  notice 
it's  justifiable  homicide." 

"Hold  on,"  said  the  big  man,  authori- 
tatively, "have  you  had  a  hiccup  since," 
Sis?"  The  woman  and  the  relations 
looked  at  each  other.  For  half  an  hour 
they  had  been  talking  excitedly  without 
noticing  that  Phoebe  had  recovered. 
The  woman  was  as  astonished  as  the  rest. 

"Put  a  lunatic  in  my  wife's  room  and 
burn  the  house  down!  That's  your  idea 
of  curin'  hiccups,  hey?"  demanded  the 
infuriated  Ward. 

"The  fire  was  an  accident — wasn't  in 
the  original  scheme,"  calmly  replied  the 
big  man.  "The  plan  of  cure  was  all 
right  and  succeeded  perfectly.  My 
sister  owes  her  life  to  me." 

"But  you've  burned  my  house  down," 
clamored  Ward,  quivering  his  hand  to- 
ward the  smouldering  fire. 


"A  mere  nothin'  where  my  sister's  life 
was  concerned,"  the  big  man  answered 
blandly.  "You're  a  little  stirred  up 
now,  Perley,  but  you'll  come  round  and 
thank  me  when  you've  thought  about  it 
a  while.  What  would  ye  ruther  have, 
an  old  house  that  can  be  built  again  with 
a  few  boards  and  plaster,. or  a  true  and 
lovin'  wife?  Just  remember  you're  talk- 
ing about  my  sister!  "  He  glowered 
menacingly. 

The  husband  stared  from  the  big  man 
to  his  sister  and  from  the  woman  to  the 
other  relatives.  One  word — the  wrong 
word — would  put  him  in  the  light  of 
a  cold-hearted  cad,  and  Ward  realized 
it.  He  kept  still. 

"Good  night,"  said  the  big  man, 
genially.  "I'll  be  going  home,  I  guess." 

And  he  left  them  gazing  into  the  still 
flickering  fire,  wondering  what  to  say  to 
each  other. 


A   SOLAR-LUNAR    COMEDY 

By    JANE    ELLIS    JOY 

PHILADELPHIA,     PENNSYLVANIA 

A  curious  Esquimaux  story  is  this: 
A  lad  at  a  party  once  ventured  to  kiss 
A  maiden  whose  beauty  had  captured  his  fancy, — 
She  might  have  been  Prudence,  she  might  have  been  Nancy: 
No  matter; — though  hitherto  gentle  and  meek, 
This  Esquimaux  maid  slapped  the  youth  on  the  cheek. 
The  merry  assembly  broke  out  into  laughter; 
Away  ran  the  maid,  and  the  youth  followed  after. 
They  raced  and  they  chased  where  auroral  light  throws 
The  rainbow  hues  over  the  glaciers  and  snows. 
She  ran  and  he  ran,  and  so  keen  was  the  race 
Both  leaped  off  the  rirn  off  the  earth  into  space. 
Then  the  Esquimaux  lad,  so  the  old  legends  run, 
Became  the  earth's  moon,  and  the  maid  was  the  sun. 
With  the  mark  of  her  hand  still  dark  on  his  face 
He  follows  her  yet,  with  a  gain  of  a  pace 
And  when  time  brings  around  a  solar  eclipse 
'Tis  thought  he  then  kisses  the  maid  on  the  lips. 


THE     DORMITORY     IN     STODDARD'S     BUNGALOW 


A     PROTEST     AGAINST     MODERNISM 


By    YONE    NOGUCHI 

TOKYO,     JAPAN 


SO,  our  love  (love  between  Stoddard 
and  me,  by  Buddha's  name)  was 
sealed  one  Spring  day,  '97.  Sweet  Haru 
— it's  more  melodious  than  "Spring"- 
usually  bringing  a  basketful  of  some 
sort  of  surprise!  I  climbed  up  the  hill 
— those  days  I  spent  with  Joaquin  Mil- 
ler, loitering  among  the  roses  and  carna- 
tions, —  and  threw  my  kisses  toward 
Charley's  "Bungalow"  in  Washington. 
Eternally  dear  "Charley"  (as  he  was 
called  in  California)!  The  air  was  deli- 
cious. I  gathered  all  the  poppies  and 
buttercups,  and  put  them  in  a  sprinkler. 


I   offered  it  to  my  imaginary  Charley/ 
From  day  immemorial  he  had  appeared 
a  sort  of  saint, — a   half-saint  at  least. 
If  he  ever  accepted  my  offering! 

It  rains  today,  the  drops  tapping  my 
window  panes  frequently.  What  could 
be  more  welcome  than  the  renewal  of 
memory?  (Am  I  growing  old?  I  am 
still  this  side  of  thirty.)  For  some  while 
I  have  been  looking  over  old  letters. 
How  wildly  I  used  to  laugh  at  my  grand- 
father engaging  in  the  same  task  in  my 
boyhood's  days!  Here's  Max  Nordau's. 
There's  a  poem  written  by  the  genial 


IN  THE  BUNGALOW  WITH   CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD    305 


Professor  Van  Dyke.  This  long  letter 
minutely  written  on  the  sky-blue  sheets 
should  be  from  my  dear  William  Ros- 
setti.  What  encouragement  he  bestowed 
on  me!  What  pains  he  took  in  suggest- 
ing a  certain  change  for  my  poem.  Isn't 
this  the  acknowledgement  of  Her  Ma- 
jesty, the  Queen  of  England,  for  my 
book?  Look  at  the  dear  little  crown  in 
red  upon  the  envelope!  That  is  by  a 
Millicent,  — why,  the  Duchess  of  Suther- 
land! There  is  a  huge  bundle  of  the 
letters  sent  by  Charley.  What  a  corre- 
spondence! My  letters  were  an  ava- 
lanche of  sorrow  usually.  Once  upon  a 
time  I  was  quite  proud  in  telling  of 
the  many  tears  in  my  life.  He  would 
begin  his  letters  with  "My  sad  poet." 
Shall  I  trace  back  our  love,  following 
the  dates?  He  once  addressed  me: 

"Sometimes  at  sea,  in  the  midst 
of -the  wave-crested  wilderness,  a 
weary  and  affrighted  bird  falls  pant- 
ing upon  the  ship's  reeling  deck. 
,  "It  was  born  in  the  Garden  of 
Spices;  it  bathed  its  wings  in  per- 
fume; it  sang  with  all  the  wild,  free 
singers  of  the  grove;  at  night  the 
stars  glinted  on  its  dew-damp  plum- 
age, while  it  slept  on  its  fragrant 
bough. 

"But  a  fierce  wind  came  and 
whirled  it  afar  through  the  empty 
spaces  beyond  the  sea's  grey  rim, — 
whirled  it  afar  until  it  fell  panting 
and  affrighted  upon  the  ship's  reel- 
ing deck : 

"Then  those  who  were  on  board 
tenderly  nursed  it,  and  caressed  it, 
and  gave  it  generous  cheer,  but  the 
bird  ceased  its  song, — or  if  it  sang 
it  sang  only  of  the  Garden  of  Spices, 
for  it  was  an  exile  forever  more. 

"So  thou  seemest  to  me,  Oh, 
Yone!  like  the  weary  bird,  torn  from 
its  blessing  bough,  and  whirled  into 
the  midst  of  the  wave-crested  wilder- 
ness. 

"They    who    have    found    thee, 


would  comfort  and  caress  thee — I 
most  of  all — but  thy  songs  are  tear- 
stained,  and  thou  singest  only  the 
song  of  the  exile — a  lament  for  the 
Garden  of  Spices,  and  all  the  joys 
that  were." 

What  a  disappointment  I  must  be 
proving  myself  to  him  nowadays!  "You 
are  a  poet  of  common  sense,"  he  de- 
nounced me  not  long  ago.  Am  I  prac- 
tical? I  wonder.  However,  I  feel  like 
teasing  him  once  in  a  while,  saying  lots 
of  disagreeable  things  upon  his  living 
without  setting  his  feet  on  the  ground  of 
Life, — I,  playing  the  part  of  bee  buzz- 
ing around  a  big  idol.  He  will  turn  his 
large  blue  eyes — how  pathetically  appeal- 
ing they  are — and,  of  course  with  a  sort 
of  smile,  say:  "God  made  me! " 

I  have  been  getting  rid  of  the  sad 
muses  lately.  I  whistle  into  the  air.  I 
smile  up  to  the  sun.  Didn't  he  plan, 
some  time  ago,  to  fly  from  the  world- 
he  with  me — and  bury  ourselves  in  some 
obscurity  (somewhere  where  he  could 
smell  .the  roses  abundantly,  and  keep 
a  few  intimate  books  and  "a  parrot  to 
swear  for  fun")? 

Ji 

I  found  myself  in  the  East  first  in  '99. 
Ho,  ho,  Washington,  Charley's  Bunga- 
low! Till  that  day  we  had  embraced 
each  other  only  in  a  letter. 

I  couldn't  imagine  his  "Bungalow" 
without  the  ivy  vines,  some  of  which 
would  venture  in  through  a  broken 
window,  —  the  broken  window  adding 
a  deal  of  charm.  Yes,  there  they  were. 
How  I  wished  it  were  not  so  modern- 
ized with  the  door  bell!  A  door  knob 
if  you  must.  There  the  moon  would 
crawl  from  the  eastern  window  into  the 
library,  as  if  a  tired  spirit  (tired  is 
Charley's)  peeping  into  the  pages  of 
a  book.  What  a  tremendous  number  of 
books,  — each  book  with  the  author's 
sentiments  in'  autograph!  Certainly  a 
few  tassels  of  cobwebs  wouldn't  be  out; 
of  place. 


306 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   DECEMBER,    1904 


"Oh,  Yone,  you  would  fit  in  there," 
Charley  exclaimed.  We  both  sat  in  one 
huge  chair  with  a  deep  hollow  where  we 
,  could  doze  comfortably,  its  long  arms 
appearing  but  a  pair  of  oars  carrying  us 
into  the  isle  of  dream.  It  would  have 
been  more  natural  had  I  been  barefooted 
and  in  a  Japanese  kimono.  "You  are 
far  too  Americanized,"  he  condemned 
me  terribly.  He  looked  at  me  critically 
and  said:  "How  handsomely  you  are 
dressed,  Yone!"  Did  he  expect  me  to 
be  another  Kana  Ana — a  little  sea  god 
of  his  South  Sea,  shaking  the  spray  from 
his  forehead  like  a  porpoise?  (What 
charmingly  lazy  "South  Sea  Idyls,"  by 
the  way!)  I  am  positive  he  prayed  that 
I  would  come  to  him  in  some  Japanese 
robe  at  the  least. 

We  talked  on  many  things  far  and 
near,  —  things  without  beginning  and 
apparently  without  end.  We  agreed 
upon  every  point.  We  aroused  ourselves 
to  such  a  height  of  enthusiasm.  He  told 
me  a  thousand  little  secrets  (aren't  little 
secrets  cozy)?  Is  there  any  more  deli- 
cious thing  than  to  listen  to  his  talk 
about  nothing?  Sweet  nothing!  The 
nothing  would  turn  to  a  silver-buskin ed 
anecdote  at  once  when  it  was  told  in  the 
Bungalow  —  especially  by  him.  What 
a  soothingly  balmy  atmosphere  in  the 
house,  which  might  have  been  blowing 
from  a  forgotten  book  of  poems !  How 
full  of  little  stories  he  is!  "Dad,"  I 
exclaimed.  It  was  only  natural  for  me 
to  say  that. 

We  slept  in  the  same  bed,  Charley  and 
I.  Awakening  in  the  night  I  observed 
that  a  light  in  the  holy  water  font,  a  large 
crimson  heart  —  now  isn't  that  like 
Charley's?  —  was  burning  in  golden 
flames  like  a  baby's  tiny  hands  in  prayer. 
What  a  solitude,  yet  what  sweetness!  It 
wouldn't  be  strange  if  we  became  a  sort 
of  spirits  in  spite  of  ourselves.  By  my 
side  the  dear  Charley  was  sleeping  like 
a  tired  faun.  Should  I  cover  his  head 
with  the  ivy?  Occasionally  he  snored 
as  if  by  way  of  apology  for  his  still  keep- 


ing this  life.  (Thy  life  be  eternal!)  I 
saw  a  scapular  around  his  neck,  and 
a  tattoo  of  the  sacred  cross  on  his 
arm,  done  in  Jerusalem  —  how  roman- 
tically Rome  sounded  to  him.  He  is 
a  Catholic.  He  cherished  such  a  sort 
of  thing  with  child's  devotion.  I  won- 
der if  I  ever  came  across  any  more 
simple  man  than  himself.  He  just  re- 
minded me  of  the  Abbe  Constantin  in 
the  novel  of  Halevy.  (What  a  dear 
book  is  that  ! )  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
to  see  him  any  day,  counting  a  rosary, 
with  downcast  eyes,  around  a  monastery, 
— San  Francisco  del  Deserto,  perhaps. 
I  left  the  bed.  I  prayed  for  his  happi- 
ness. 

Poor  old  Stoddard  ("old"  as  he  pro- 
fesses)! His  lovely  writing  —  what  a 
breeze,  what  a  scent  in  it — didn't  suc- 
ceed in  bringing  him  an  ample  livelihood. 
He  has  been  always  to  the  edge  of  that 
success  which  he  has  never  reached.  It 
is  an  eternal  question  whether  pure 
literature  will  pay.  "If  I  could  only 
write  trash !  "  he  would  exclaim. 

He  had  been  in  the  South  Sea  to 
shake  off  the  world's  trouble.  He  had 
returned  to  civilization  again,  perhaps 
after  turning  to  a  half-savage.  How  he 
wished  to  be  a  barbarian,  and  live  for- 
ever in  some  cozy  spot!  There  would 
be  nothing  jollier  than  to  eat  with  one's 
fingers,  using  a  leaf  for  a  platter.  He 
is  always  puzzling  to  find  out  where  he- 
belongs.  Not  in  America,  to  be  sure. 
"Yes,  sea-chanting  beach  of  Lahina,  or 
under  the  banana  leaves  of  Tahiti !  By 
Jove,  if  I  could  return  over  there!  I 
could  build  such  a  life  as  here  we  can 
only  dream  of,"  he  would  say,  flashing 
a  sort  of  dreaming  eyes.  He  had  been 
longing  with  abundant  lamentation,  like 
one  after  the  wife  he  has  divorced. 

It  would  be  that  he  couldn't  grasp 
tight  the  real  meaning  of  life,  if  he  were 
a  failure  itself  as  he  says.  He  is  a 
born  dreamer — however  moss-grown  the 
phrase  be.  He  has  been  living  in  the 


IN  THE   BUNGALOW  WITH  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD    307 


world  without  any  motive.  (It  may  be 
just  the  opposite,  although  so  it  does 
appear.)  He  doesn't  know  any  worldly 
routine.  There  is  nothing  more  wel- 
come to  him  than  writing.  He  will  often 
answer,  however,  with  something  about 
his  "pen-fright,"  when  some  editor  asks 
for  an  article  on  a  certain  subject.  He 
would  begin  to  look  unhappy  since 
morning,  if  it  were  his  lecturing  day. 
He  was  professor  in  the  Catholic  Uni- 
versity, Washington,  District  of  Colum- 
bia. It  was  not  so  much  on  account  of 
the  work.  How  he  hates  to  be  con- 
strained !  He  wishes  to  be  perfectly  free. 
After  all,  he  is  nothing  but  a  spoiled 
child.  "I  am  even  a  baby,"  he  will  pro- 
claim off-hand. 

He  will  serenely  fill  a  convenient  cor- 
ner and  "look  natural,"  and  perhaps 
think  about  sweet  nothing,  and  occa- 
sionally get  very  solemn — that  is  all  he 
likes  to  do.  Do  you  know  how  he  fits 
such  a  pose? 

I  dedicated  to  him  my  book  of  poems 
(England:  1903).  He  wrote  me: 

"O  my  Poet!  Can  you  imagine 
my  surprise  when  I  turned  the  leaves 
of  your  latest  book,  and  found  it  was 
dedicated  to  me?  I  was  quite  wild 
with  excitement,  I  hardly  knew  what 
to  do  with  myself.  O,  I  am  so 
happy!  Your  success  is  now  as- 
sured in  England.  The  moment 
you  are  recognized  by  the  right  per- 
son, or  persons,  you  are  recognized 
by  all  the  London  world.  Now, 
you  see,  like  my  Lord  Byron,  you 
wake  up  to  find  yourself  famous! 
O  my  beloved  kid,  I  am  so  glad — 
so  very,  very  glad!  " 

Dear  emotional  old  man!  Did  I  bring 
you  such  a  sensation? 

J* 

He  was  in  New  York  last  June.  He 
appeared  like  an  abandoned  boat — per- 
haps a  Hawaiian  canoe — terribly  totter- 
ing on  the  ocean  waves,  not  knowing 
whither  he  was  going. 


(I  often  thought  he  was  a  genius  who 
had  sprung  up  in  the  least  advantageous 
time  and  place.  What  a  wonder  if  he 
should  prove  himself  under  the  right 
shade!) 

" 'Tis  my  life — my  whole  history  of 
failure!  I  feel  shame  in  such  a  clear 
exposition  of  myself,"  he  cried  one  day, 
holding  his  "For  the  Pleasure  of  His 
Company,"  which  had  just  been  pub- 
lished from  San  Francisco. 

"I  am  sure  you  would  like  Miss  Juno," 
he  reflected  a  moment  later,  speaking  of 
one  of  the  characters  in  his  book. 

Doubtless  he  must  have  fallen  in  love 
with  many  a  woman  in  his  life.  He 
might  have  married  one  of  them  if  he 
had  been  sure  of  not  getting  tired  of  her 
after  a  while.  He  often  said,  how  could 
he  ever  forget  the  scar  of  a  wound  which 
he  might  give  her  in  saying  or  doing 
something  he  ought  not  to  say  or  do  — 
something  that  would  make  her  hate 
him. 

"I  am  a  born  coward,"  he  would  say, 
if  you  denounced  his  having  no  blood  to 
risk. 

Jl 

Richard  LeGallienne  invited  us  one 
evening.  After  dinner  we  sat  in  his 
little  roof  garden. 

Many  a  lantern  was  lighted. 

For  some  while  "Bob"  Mackay  of  the 
"Success"  had  been  telling  one  of  his 
breezy  experiences  in  the  South  Sea. 

Mr.  Stoddard's  eyes  eagerly  followed 
the  moon.  What  a  sweet  moon-night 
it  was!  His  soul  must  have  been  cruis- 
ing in  his  beloved  coral  sea, — severed 
from  every  tie,  politely  letting  the  world 
go  by  as  if  it  were  of  no  moment,  trust- 
ing in  God. 

Mr.  Mackay  sadly  assured  us  that  the 
foreign  missionary  and  the  American 
tipping  custom  were  speedily  spoiling 
the  whole  islands. 

"They  are  a  nation  of  warriors  and 
lovers  falling  like  the  leaf,  but  unlike  it, 
with  no  followers  in  the  new  season," 
sighed  Mr.  Stoddard. 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


Stoddard  has  left  New  York  for  good,         It  is  our  fate  that  we  drift  away  from 
as  he  said.     For  where?  each  other? 

"Thou  and  I,  O  Charles,  sit  alone  like  two  shy  stars,  West  and  East." 


ALOHA,    WELA,    WELA1 


THE 


By    ETHEL    ARMES 

BIRMINGHAM,     ALABAMA 


THE    Bungalow!     Stoddard's    Bunga- 
low! 

It  is  in  Washington,  District  of  Colum- 
bia, on  Third  and  M  streets,  northwest, 
—  a  plain,  two-story  house,  six  rooms 
and  a  bath, — nothing  extraordinary  on 


JULES,  MAJOR   DOMO  OF  THE   BUNGALOW 

the  surface.  It  is  made  of  red  brick, 
of  course,  since  pretty  nearly  everything 
in  Washington  runs  to  red  brick,  but 
the  basement  is  painted  the  color  of  stale 


caramels,  and  a  few  square  feet  of  "wil- 
derness' '  surrounds  it,  stubborn  sod  and 
weeds  over  which  Jule  labors  patiently. 
Befng  on  the  corner  and  draped  in 
masses  and  festoons  of  ivy,  the  house 
has  an  air  about  it,  does  not  hurl  itself 
hard  against  the  asphalt,  but  steps  dain- 
tily; a  tiny  green  park — belonging  to 
the  government  —  between  itself  and  the 
streets;  and  maple  trees  are  planted 
here  in  a  triangle,  and  from  its  heart 
there  leaps  a  little  fountain. 

"But  it  is  a  Protestant  fountain," 
sighs  Mr.  Stoddard,  "and  it  doesn't 
play  on  Sunday! " 

It  is,  however,  just  enough  holy 
water  to  make  him  thirst  for  more,  for 
the  sea,  the  blessed  sea,  forever  and  for- 
ever for  the  sea. 

"Ah,  I  cannot  be  happy  without  the 
sea! "  and  dear  old  Stoddard  sinks  back 
into  his  long-armed  Bombay  chair, 
utterly  given  up  to  woe, — for  five  min- 
utes— perhaps  ten!  if  you  cannot  toss 
some  cap  of  bells  and  distract  his  atten- 
tion. 

I  will  never  forget  my  first  meeting 
with  Stoddard,  "My  First  Interview 
with  a  Celebrated  Man,"  it  is  headed  in 
my  journal  of  my  sixteenth  year.  I  had 
all  the  emotions  peculiar  to  my  age — to 
me — and  my  sex — I  am  tempted  to  add! 

I  arrived  at  the  rusty  little  iron  fence 
enclosing  Jule's  front  garden,  —  such 
poor  little  bangs  of  grass — worse  than 


ALOHA,    WELA,    WELA! 


309 


BEING     ON     THE     CORNER     AND     DRAPED     IN    MASSES     AND     FESTOONS     OF     IVY  " 


my  own  hair  to  manage.  I  stood  for  a 
moment  at  the  gate  looking  all  over  the 
house,  holding  tightly  in  my  hand  a  let- 
ter of  introduction  to  Mr.  Stoddard  from 
his  old  friend  Mr.  Hastings,  former  con- 
sul from  Hawaii,  and  my  visiting  card 
written  in  ink,  the  Washington  Post  in 
tremendous  letters,  and  my  name  I  used 
to  be  so  proud  of, —Ethel  Marie  Armes, 
with  a  flourish.  The  window  blinds  of 
the  Bungalow  were  closed.  Myriads  of 
birds,  chattering  sparrows,  rustled  in 
the  ivy.  It  seemed  like  a  place  de- 
serted, for  sale  or  for  rent.  I  counted 
four  little  blue  flags  growing  in  the  stub- 
born sod,  six  morning  glories  and  two 


sprays  of  honeysuckle!  I  observed  the 
formation  of  the  bay  window  and  the 
design  of  the  iron  steps,  seeing,  to  my 
disappointment,  there  was  no  formation, 
no  design.  They  were  precisely  like 
every  other  house  in  the  row  on  that 
side  of  the  block.  The  ivy  alone,  the 
closed  blinds,  the  blue  flags  and  the  un- 
cut grass  made  a  difference.  I  slowly 
entered,  looking  around  like  a  detective. 
I  caught  sight  of  three  burnt  matches  in 
the  vestibule,  a  cigarette  end  and  two 
cobwebs.  I  stepped  on  a  sort  of  oil-cloth 
carpet  of  hideous  design  in  the  vestibule. 
Then  I  rang  the  bell.  Six  times  did  I 
ring  that  bell  and  get  no  answer.  Then 


310 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


I  went  to  the  house  next  door,  and  a 
red-headed  woman  in  a  pink  calico 
wrapper  responded. 

"Is  the  corner  house  occupied?"  I 
asked.  "Doesn't  Charles  Warren  Stod- 
dard  live  there?  " 

"Ain't  he  a  little  man  with  a  bald 
head?"  she  rejoined  pleasantly. 

"I  don't  know,  I  never  saw  him,  but 
I  think  he  has  a  beard,"  I  said. 

"Don't  he  carry  a  basket  and  go  to 
market  three  times  a  week  and  take  a 
funny  little  white  dog  with  him?"  she 
went  on  regardless. 

"Perhaps  he  does,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  that's  him,"  she  said;  "he's 
there  all  right.  I  saw  him  go  in  just 
before  you  came.  But  I  ain't  been  here 
long;  I  don't  know  none  of  my  neigh- 
bors yet." 

Thus  fortified,  I  returned  to  the 
Bungalow,  rang  the  bell  twice  more  and 
then  sat  down  on  the  front  steps  to  wait. 
I  must  have  waited  half  an  hour  when 
at  length  the  front  door  was  opened 
about  four  inches  and  a  fat  little  man 
with  a  bald  head  and  a  smooth,  round 
face  like  that  of  the  moon  peeped  out 
at  me  with  blinking  eyes  and  asked  in 
broken  English: 

"You  like  to  see  Meestaire  Stoddaire?" 

"I  do,"  said  I  with  relief,  and  gave 
him  my  precious  card  and  the  letter 
from  Mr.  Hastings.  The  little  man  with- 
drew, closing  the  door  quietly.  In  an- 
other moment  he  returned,  and  flinging 
the  door  wide  open,  bowed  several  times 
very  low,  and  with  welcome  shining  on 
his  face  like  soap,  cried: 

"Coom  in,  Mademoiselle!  Meestaire 
Stoddaire  says  coom  in,  coom  in!  " 

I  jumped  up  and  entered  a  dark, 
shabby  little  hall  leading  into  a  still 
more  darkened  parlor.  Parlor!  Shades 
of  Hades!  Shadow  of  the  Catacombs! 
Ghosts  of  the  South  Seas !  Cauldron  of 
Witches!  Sleeping  nook  of  Titania! 
"My  God!"  I  could  not  hdp  ejaculat- 
ing to  myself.  Surely  if  ever  anything 
was  different  from  everything  else  it  was 


this!  Undoubtedly  it  must  be  a  Home 
of  Genius! 

I  sat  on  a  pearl-inlaid  chest  from 
India,  near  some  bones  of  the  Saints 
under  a  Buddhist  rosary  next  to  a  sheet 
of  bark  from  the  Fiji  Islands.  How 
long  I  sat  there  I  do  not  know,  but  it 
was  long  enough  to  make  a  mental  inven- 
tory of  everything  in  that  room  and  the 
next  as  they  loomed  up  in  the  dim  light. 
There  were  a  dozen  fans  of  dried  palms, 
at  least  twenty  feathers,  possibly  from 
the  tails  of  tropic  birds,  cocoanuts  carved 
like  gargoyles,  Hawaiian  canoes,  pad- 
dles, savage  weapons,  old  swords  from 
Japan,  figurines  from  Grecian  tombs, 
bas  reliefs  from  Rome,  skulls  and  bones, 
relics  of  the  True  Cross,  crowns  of 
thorns,  the  old  slipper  of  Mr.  William 
Dean  Howells,  crucifixes,  rosaries  by 
the  score,  glass  cases  full  of  the  relics  of 
Father  Damien,  a  dozen  statuettes  and 
pictures  of  St.  Anthony  of  Padua  and 
Mme.  Sarah  Bernhardt  of  Paris,— there 
was,  in  short,  everything  that  everybody, 
both  saint  and  sinner,  of  every  nation, 
ever  dreamed  or  could  dream  in  both 
sweet  rest  and  nightmare,  both  drunk 
and  sober, —  in  this  world  and  the  next. 

While  I  was  trying  to  get  it  all  into 
my  head  I  heard  a  movement,  I  heard 
the  sweep  of  what  sounded  like  a 
woman's  skirt  on  the  stairs  and  I  won- 
dered what  was  coming  next, — then — 
slowly,  majestically  entered  the  Master 
of  All  This,  clad  in  a  Hawaiian  dressing 
gown  with  angel  sleeves,  He,  the  Pagan, 
the  Poet,  the  Traveler,  the  Catholic,  the 
Man  of  Letters,  the  World  Renowned, 
the  Celebrated,  Sublime  and  Only 
Charles  Warren  Stoddard  (to  recur  to 
the  far-famed  phrasing  of  that  historic 
interview  done  in  all  gravity  in  my 
Blessed  Barnum  &  Bailey  Days.) 

I  stood  up  trembling,  "Is  this — this — 
Mr.  Stoddard?  " 

"I  am!  "  he  replied  in  a  deep,  almost 
tragic  tone,  and  walking  slowly  across 
the  room  sank  into  his  long-armed  chair 
and  sighed  profoundly. 


ALOHA,    WELA,    WELA 


A  ray  of  morning  sunlight  shot  in 
through  the  ivy  curtained  window  and 
lit  up  his  face. 

I  sat  looking  at  him  in  the  silence, 
marking  that  his  eyes  were  blue  and 
melancholy,  his  hair,  what  there  was  of 
it,  gray,  his  beard  full  and  gray,  and  that 
for  some  reason  or  other  he  was  in  a 
most  terrible  fit  of  the  blues.  I  became 
pigeon-toed  with  sympathy  and  embarass- 


This  question  might  have  been  a  strain 
from  Orpheus,  for  it  started  him  suc- 
cesssfully, — waving  leaves  of  the  Voice 
of  Dodona  at  the  bow!  He  did  not 
draw  in  sail  for  four  hours!  He  talked 
as  I  dreamed  a  Genius  would.  If  he 
did  drop  into  Hell  one  second,  he  arose 
into  Paradise  the  next, — following  the 
waves — answering  my  hundred  questions 
— he  entered  full  upon  the  voyage  of  his 


DIVAN  IN  CORNER  OF  THE  CARD  ROOM,  THE  BUNGALOW 


ment.  Pretty  soon,  however,  he  forgot 
all  about  my  being  there  and  became 
lost  in  dreams.  Nothing  was  said  at  all 
for  a  long  while,  for  I  myself  knew  noth- 
ing to  say,  and  I  had  expected  he  would 
begin.  Finally,  I  thought  there  would 
be  no  interview  for  me  if  one  or  the 
other  did  not  speak.  So  I  picked  up  a 
stool  and  moved  it  over  near  to  him  and 
asked — for  lack  of  anything  else,  where 
he  went  to  school  when  he  was  young. 


life— all  sails  to  the  wind — I,  the  wind. 
If  I  ever  could  have  written  all  he  told 
me  in  those  immortal  hours — it  would  be 
worse  than  a  three-decker.  It  was  not 
only  his  own  biography,  but  the  biog- 
raphy of  his  friends,  his  old  California 
and  London  and  Latin  Quarter  and 
Egyptian  days,  Bret  Harte,  Mark  Twain, 
Joaquin  Miller,  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son, Walt  Whitman,  Robert  Browning, 
Kate  Field,  George  Eliot,  Mrs.  Atherton, 


312 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,    1904 


CARD     ROOM,     LOOKING     INTO     RECEPTION     ROOM,     THE     BUNGALOW 


Grace  Greenwood,  Mrs.  Burnett,  Thomas 
Janvier,  Kipling,  the  Japanese  poet  boy 
Yone  Noguchi,  Bliss  Carman,  Gelett 
Burgess,  Dick  Savage — everybody! 

He  has  told  some  little  of  it  himself 
sincel  In  "Exits  and  Entrances,"  in 
"The  Troubled  Heart,"  in  "For  the 
Pleasure  of  His  Company,"  and  now 
just  lately  in  "The  Island  of  Tranquil 
Delights" — and  he  has  many  a  tale  left 
to  unfold, — oh,  the  half  is  not  yet  told! 

So  I  listened,  in  what  supreme  delight 
can  be  imagined.  When  he  touched 
upon  his  visit  to  George  Eliot,  the  tears 
came  to  my  eyes.  Not  that  his  narrative 
'was  pathetic — it  was  just  the  other  way, 
— oh  that  rare  Comic  Muse  that  is  his 
own  Guardian!  But  just  at  that  time 
I  had  a  keen  personal  intimacy  with 
Dorothea  Brooke,  with  Silas  Marner 
and  Maggie  Tulliver,  and  the  very 
mention  of  Dad's  having  crossed  the 


threshold  of  their  creator  was   enough! 

"And  you  met  her — and  you  shook 
hands  with  her — and  you  talked  with 
her  —  with  George  Eliot!"  I  gasped, 
feeling  like  kneeling  and  kissing  the  hem 
of  his  robe  for  her  dear  sake. 

"Alas,"  he  murmured, — he  was  always 
murmuring  alas, — "I, — I  am  a  hero  wor- 
shipper no  more,  —  I  have  met  all  my 
heroes!"  Which  was  a  subtilety  I  could 
not  comprehend, — in  that  day — and  we 
passed  on,  by  the  cities,  by  the  islands, 
by  the  men  and  women  he  had  known 
for  nearly  half  a  century. 

"But  I, — I  am  a  spirit  of  a  South  Sea 
Islander  reincarnated,"  he  said.  "No- 
where, nowhere,  only  in  the  Islands  of 
the  Pacific,  do  I  find  rest,  do  I  feel  at 
home, — will  I  be  happy.  Yes, -Washing- 
ton and  Boston  are  the  most  beautiful 
cities  in  the  world,  and  I  have  seen  them 
all,  but  I  am  not  satisfied.  Here  it  is 


ALOHA,    WELA,    WELA ! 


RECEPTION     ROOM,     LOOKING     INTO     CARD     ROOM,    THE     BUNGALOW 


too  far  inland.  The  Chesapeake  is  not 
within  sight  or  sound,  and  even  if  it 
were,  it  would  not  be  the  vast  illimitable 
sea  that  stretches  to  another  world. 
There  is  something  indescribably  thrill- 
ing to  see  and  behold  the  great  deep, 
where  each  rushing  wave  makes  an  un- 
broken circuit  of  the  world.  And  ah, 
in  Honolulu — in  my  old  bungalow  in  the 
old  days,  days  never  to  come  again — 
looking,  there  was  always  something  to 
see,  where  when  it  rains  the  sun  is 
shining  and  the  sky  is  clear  and  the 
falling  drops  are  like  dazzling  lines  of 
gold!" 

Oh,  was  it  a  wonder  that  I  became 
from  that  day  to  this  his  daughter  —  his 
"Prodigal  Daughter" — he  always  called 
me,  I  ever  wandering  and  coming  back. 
Whenever  in  the  world,  I  wonder,  does 
one  not  spring  to  that  call  of  Aloha  with 
flying  arms  and  lightning  feet? 

Aloha  Oe! 


So  Stoddard  and  I  met,  and  it  was 
good. 

This  was  romance, —  this  was  dream, 
— this,  too,  was  reality.  How  I  remem- 
ber that  night  putting  in  my  sacred  jour- 
nal: "On  this  day  have  I  come  face  to 
face  with  a  Great  Soul, —  and  I  failed 
him!" 

(The  reason  for  the  last  utterance, — by 
all  the  light  of  Present-day  Logic  that's 
in  me, — I  cannot  find! ) 

I  was  introduced  to  Stoddard's  house- 
hold: 

"There  are  Jule,  the  kid,  and  Mexique 
and  myself, — we  are  three  bachelors, — 
no,  four — counting  Mexique,  for,"  Stod- 
dard paused  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
"Mexique  is  a  bachelor  too!  You  must 
see  Mexique,  he's  very  fond  of  girls— he 
can — all  but  speak, — mademoiselle!" 

That  naughty  Puck  in  the  brain  of 
Stoddard! 

"Jule!  Jule!"  he  called  down  stairs, 


314 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  tot  DECEMBER,  1964 


"Let  Mexique  come  up,  Jule."  There 
was  the  swing  of  an  opening  door,  a  joy- 
ous bark,  and  up  the  stairs  swift  as  a 
white  mouse  scampered  fat  little  Mexi- 
que. Such  a  tiny  mite  of  a  dog!  With 
soft  tan  ears  and  a  snow-white  coat  and 
big,  brilliant  eyes  and  the  jolliest  bark 
on  earth.  He  looked  like  the  bits  of 
stuffed  things  in  the  Christmas  shops  that 
babies  love  so.  He  came  in  a  basket 
one  afternoon  to  the  Bungalow,  a  present 
from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  Storer,  and 
he  found  a  home  straightway  in  the 
lonely  heart  of  the  good  old  Jule. 

"He  is  the  idol  of  Jule's  life,"  said 
Stoddard.  "Jule  breaks  the  First  Com- 
mandment every  hour  on  his  account! 
You  see  Jule  has  but  four  loves  in  this 
world:  port  wine,  myself,  the  Blessed 
Virgin  and  Mexique  —  and  of  us  all, 
Mexique  is  first  I  verily  believe.  But 
Jule  stuffs  him  to  death — he  is  worse 
than  a  mother  with  an  only  child.  Some 
day  Mexiqus  is  going  to  die  of  indiges- 
tion— I  know  it!  Jule  never  lets  him 
exercise,  but  he  carries  him  wherever  he 
goes  —  Mexique  is  horribly  lazy!  So 
Jule  carries  him  to  market  three  times 
a  week,  to  Mass  on  Sunday  and  to  ves- 
pers and  even  into  the  confessional! 
Jule  goes  to  confession  twice  a  month, 
though  what  he  has  to  tell, — God  knows! 
His  confessor  told  me  confidentially  that 
Jule  had  actually  never  committed  a  sin 
in  his  life.  Now  for  me, — I  never  like 
to  go  to  confession  unless  I  have  a  very 
large  number  of  sins  to  tell."  Dad 
leaned  back  in  the  Bombay  chair:  "The 
poor  father  must  be  amused,  you  know, 
once  in  a  while!  Think  of  him, — how 
would  you  like  it? —  sitting  there  in  that 
stuffy  box  listening  to  the  venial  sins 
that  women  tell, — they  never  breathe  the 
big  mortal  ones,  you  know!  He  must 
have  a  change,  you  know,  so  I  wait  until 
I  get  a  good  round  sum,  and  then  I  go, 
— and  I  make  him  roar!  But  Jule  is 
a  saint,  he  is  a  seraph!  He  has  the  soul 
of  a  woman, — but  he  was  born  that  way, 
he  cannot  help  it!  Ah,  Jule  is  indeed 


an  angel!  He  is  heaven  and  earth  com- 
bined. He  is  my  housekeeper,  my  cook, 
my  butler —  and  so  has  been  these  ten 
years." 

Just  here  Jule  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, uneasy  for  Mexique. 

"Jule,  Mexique  is  looking  so  well," 
said  I,  "you  take  very  good  care  of 
him." 

Jule  beamed  upon  me,  "Oh,  madem- 
oiselle, but  Mexique  seeck,"  he  said. 
"Mexique  est  tres  malade,  mademoi- 
selle!" 

Jules'  "mademoiselle!"  It  was  in- 
expressible, —  adorable.  It  was  the 
nearest  he  ever  got  to  woman—  Stod- 
dard said — so  that  was  why. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  gif  him  me'cine, 
but  he  seeck  most  ze  time!  " 

"Jule,  you  feed  him  too  much,  I  have 
told  you  that  all  the  time,"  said  Dad; 
"and  Mexique  is  getting  old  and  he  is 
very  fat  and  he  needs  exercise,  Jule." 

"Yes,  dear  Meestaire  Stoddaire, — but 
I  fear  he  may  die ! ' '  Jule  closed  his  eyes. 

"Ssh!"  whispered  Stoddard,  "he  is 
saying  a  Hail  Mary!  " 

After  Jule  left  the  room  I  asked  Dad 
more  about  him. 

For  history, —  for  past  —  sancta  sim- 
plicita!  It  was  charming.  Jule  was 
born  in  the  province,  in  the  valley  of 
the  Loire.  The  first  words  he  ever 
spoke  were  "Saint  vierge."  Drone  of 
the  litany,  like  humming  of  bees,  all  the 
sound  of  his  youth  and  even  before  he 
was  born,  for  his  mother  while  he  was 
still  in  her  dedicated  him  to  service  in 
the  church,  service  for  the  fathers,  Saint 
Sulpice,  and  the  glory  of  God.  He 
washed  dishes,  he  swept,  cleaned, 
cooked,  polished,  all  for  the  glory  of 
God.  He  was  a  born  miracle.  The 
Sulpitian  Fathers  brought  him  over  to 
this  country  and  he  had  become  a  part 
of  the  Sulpitian  Seminary  in  Baltimore 
twenty  years  before.  Shut  your  eyes! 
Scorched  brown  brick,  gray  stone  like 
mutton  soup,  a  thousand  empty,  rattling 
windows  revealing  rooms  and  corridors 


ALOHA,    WELA,    WELA ! 


like  the  bare-stripped  branches  of  a 
November  woods!  Oh,  I  was  there  once 
and  I  saw  it, — the  desolation  of  it!  And 
here  Jule,  little  fat  roly-poly  Jule,  smil- 
ing always  like  the  moon, — he  became 
the  very  light  of  that  ghostly  school. 

Sometimes  he  worked  outside  of  the 
walls.  He  cleared  the  strips  of  grass, 
binding  the  walls  like  green  tape,  of  the 
fallen  leaves  and  rubbish.  Perhaps 
sometimes  he  might  have  peeped  into 
the  windows  of  the  houses  over  the  way, 
over  that  narrow  street,— but,  no,— he 
was  no  Fra  Lippo  Lippi  —  it  was  not  his 
temperament!  Yet  somehow, — some- 
where —  he  learned  it  —  how  to  say 
"Mademoiselle!"  Good  God!  That 
exquisite  utterance!  There  will  never 
be  anything  like  it  in  the  world  again. 

But,  to  continue.  When  the  Catholic 
University  was  established  somebody 
thought  of  Jule.  He  received  a  promo- 
tion. He  became  charge  d'affaires  of 
one  of  the  dormitories,  the  very  one  in 
which  Stoddard  then  had  a  den.  Allons! 
This  was  progress.  His  English  in- 
creased. Instead  of  Monsieur,  he  now 
said  Meestaire.  It  was  love  at  first  sight 
between  himself  and  Stoddard. 

"I  cannot  live  without  Jule  I"  Mr. 
Stoddard  at  once  declared. 

"I  cannot  leeve  without  Meestaire 
Stoddaire!  "  said  Jule. 

Thereafter  when  the  Bungalow  was 
created  Jule  made  the  third  move  of 
his  life,  he  and  his  two  white  shirts,  his 
rosary,  his  little  round  cap,  and  the 
utterance  of  Mademoiselle  —  all  came 
down  into  Washington  City — into  that 
little  wonder  of  a  house  on  M  street, 
St.  Anthony's  Rest — the  Bungalow. 

There  was  one  Mary,  colored,  mistress 
of  the  kitchen  for  a  while,  but  she  was 
laid  up  with  miseries  and  obliged  to 
abdicate.  Ave  Maria  was  her  name 
when  the  biscuits  were  good.  She  kept 
the  kitchen  in  excellent  order,  but 
"Oopstairs,  — mon  Dieu!  "  Jule,  how- 
ever, fixed  that  all  right.  "And  we 
always  keep  the  blinds  closed  so  that 


KENNETH   O'CONNOR    STODDARD,    THE    AUTHOR'S 
ADOPTED    SON,    "THE    KID"    OF    BUNGALOW 
DAYS  — IN     UNCLE     SAM'S     UNIFORM 
DURING    THE    SPANISH    WAR 

the  dust  will  not  show,"  said  Stoddard. 
Jule's  duties  were  quite  simple.  He' 
had  a  little  card  on  which  they  were 
delicately  arranged.  "Feed  Mexique" 
was  the  one  occurring  most  frequently. 
If  ever  Jule  were  asked  if  he  wished  to 
go  back  to  France  he  would  shrug  his 
shoulders. 

"Mademoiselle!  Leave  Meestaire 
Stoddaire?  Ah,  nevaire,  nevaire!  Who 
then  take  care  for  dear  Meestaire  Stod- 
daire?" 

Yes,  he  used  to  be  Dad's  guardian 
too,  for  he  had  to  remind  him  whenever 
it  was  his  lecture  day  at  the  University; 
Mondays,,  Thursdays  and  Fridays  they 
were,  a  few  hours  in  the  afternoon, — the 
black  days  of  Mr.  Stoddard's  life— all 
the  others  in  the  week  were  gray,  think- 
ing of  the  black  ones  coming!  Alas! 
Life!  Like  this! 

"Jule,  call  me  for  breakfast.  Ah,  I 
cannot  eat.  Where  has  the  kid  gone, 
Jule?  This  is  the  day  I  teach, — God 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,    1904 


have  mercy— is  it  not,  Jule?  I  felt  it!  " 
Oh  the  rack,  the  torture,  the  restraint, 
the  daily  routine  of  teaching!  I  heard 
this  story.  A  visiting  prelate,  a  very 
holy  man,  was  being  escorted  by  almost 
the  entire  faculty  through  the  halls  of 
the  great  university.  Stoddard's  lecture 
room  happened  to  be  immensely  crowded 
that  day,  the  students,  one  and  all  ab- 
sorbed, intent,  craning  necks  forward. 
"Charles  Warren  Stoddard,  the  famous 
author, — ah,  let  us  stop  and  listen!" 
The  visiting  prelate  and  the  faculty  filed 
in:  bishops,  priests,  doctors,? and  phil- 
osophers. With  all  his  native  eloquence 
sublime,  Charles  Warren  Stoddard. was 
discoursing  upon,— Miss  Lillian  Russell 
in  tights! 

That  was  just  like  Dad.  How  often  he 
rises  to  such  Heights! 

Once  he  told  me  of  the  time  when  Jule 
was  a  hero, —  "that  terrible  night  when 
a  woman  broke  into  the  house!  " 

But,  listen  to  him: 

"It  was  the  time  of  the  blizzard,  that 
frightful  Winter!  Jule,  the  kid,  Mexi- 
que  and  myself  were  sitting  here  around 
the  fire  trying  to  keep  warm.  The  ice 
was  slamming  against  the  windows  like 
battle-axes.  The  snow  was  piled  moun- 
tain high.in  the  streets.  All  at  once  the 
door  bell  rang  violently.  'Who  can  be 
at  the  door  this  hour  of  the  night?  ' 
thought  I.  'Some  one  ees  at  ze  door,' 
said  Jule.  Again  the  bell  rang,  more 
violently  than  before,  and  there  was  a 
terrific  pounding  upon  the  door.  'Jule, 
you  really  must  go  to  the  door,'  I  said, 
and  finally  after  more  ringing  Jule  went. 
He  hurried  back  with  a  white  face.  'A 
womans!'  he  gasped.  'A — a — woman!' 
cried  I.  'Is  she  young?  '  asked  the  kid. 
Just  then  some  strange  man  rushed  upon 
us  from  the  hall.  'A  woman  is  freezing 
to  death,  man!'  he  cried.  'Come,  help 
me  bring  her  in!' 

"  'My  dear  man,'  said  I,  'we  are  three 
bachelors,— no,  four,  counting  Mexique, 
— what  can  we  do?  There  is  a  family 
next  door — come — we  will  help  you  carry 


her  there.  'Good  God! '  the  man  cried, 
'have  you  no  mercy?  I  tell  you  the 
woman  is  freezing  to  death!'  'Oh,  if 
the  woman  is  freezing  to  death,'  said  I, 
'then  by  all  means  we  will  bring  her  in.' 
So  we  brought  the  woman  in.  Then  the 
question  came, — what  to  do  next?  We 
were  four  bachelors,  —what  could  we  do? 
What  could  we  know?  'Whiskey!'  yelled 
the  strange  man.  'Will  you  have  some 
whiskey,  madam?  '  I  then  addressed  the 
freezing  woman,  whereat  she  kicked  and 
shook  her  head.  Then  Jule,  brave  Jule, 
suggested  tea,— tea  and  whiskey  mixed. 
So  we  all  four  rushed  madly  down  into 
the  kitchen,  mixed  some  whiskey  and 
tea  and  brought  it  up  to  the  freezing 
woman.  Suddenly  the  door  crashed 
open  again.  'Not  another  female,'  I 
hoped.  But  no  use  hoping.  It  was 
another  one, — this  time  a  small  black 
one  who  wanted  to  get  warm.  Jule  be- 
came frantic.  I  was  in  despair.  Two 
females  under  our  roof!  What  were  we 
going  to  do?  Jule  got  the  small  black 
one  some  mittens  and  an  old  coat  of  his 
and  let  it  stay  in  the  kitchen  by  the 
stove.  Meanwhile  the  other  one!  It 
had  smelt  the  whiskey  and  gone  into 
hysterics.  The  kid  sneaked  out  and 
telephoned  for  the  police  ambulance  and 
we  bribed  the  driver  to  take  the  freezing 
woman  to  her  own  home,  which  was  the 
place  for  her.  But  ah !  the  horror  of  that 
night  1  I  shall  never  forget  it!  " 

The  most  interesting  room  in  the 
Bungalow  is  perhaps  the  library.  This 
adjoins  Mr.  Stoddard's  bed  room  on  the 
second  floor,  and  here  in  rows  of  shelves 
are  more  than  six  thousand  books,  most 
of  them  autograph  copies  from  all  the 
writers  of  the  world.  It  would  take 
a  volume  to  describe  this  one  little  room 
alone.  But  some  of  the  inscriptions  are 
charming,  for  instance,  Mark  Twain  who 
sends  his  books,  "To  Charley  from  his 
oldest  and  handsomest  friend,"  and 
Thomas  Janvier,  "His  Thomas'  first 
book  from  his  Thomas,  with  his  Thomas' 
love,"  and  Joaquin  Miller,  with  his 


ALOHA,    WELA,    WELA I 


3*7 


STUDY     DESK     IN      THE      BUNGALOW,      SHOWING      MEDALLION     PORTRAIT     OF     WALT 
WHITMAN     AND     DEATH     MASK     OF     SAN     BRUNO 


broad,  illegible  sweep,  "Don  Carlos 
Warren  Stoddard,  my  friend  and  fellow 
traveler,  with  bushels  of  love,"  and  Wil- 
liam Dean  Howells'  "To  our  dear  Stod- 
dard from  all  his  affectionate  How- 
ellses."  Rudyard  Kipling  has  a  little 
verse  (quoted  from  Longfellow)  dedi- 
cated to  Stoddard  with  his  first  edition: 

"  I  ploughed  the  land  with  horses, 

But  my  heart  was  ill  at  ease, 

For  the  old  sea-faring  men 

Came  to  me  now  and  then 

With  their  sagas  of  the  seas  ! " 

Bliss  Carman — blessed  poet  that  he  is 
— writes  this  poem: 

"  Give  me  your  last  Aloha, 
When  I  go  out  of  sight, 
Over  the  dark  rim  of  the  sea 

Into  the  Polar  night ! 
And  all  the  North  land  give  you 
Skoal  for  the  voyage  begun, 


When  your  bright  Summer  sail  goes  down 
Into  the  zones  of  Sun ! " 

Whitcomb  Riley  writes,  "  He  was  my 
friend,  I  said." 

Yone  Noguchi,  rising  star  of  the  vic- 
torious people,  has  written  too,  his  dedi- 
cation. 

How  everyone  who  knows  him  well 
loves  him! 

Sometimes,  though,  his  friends  be- 
come worried.  The  skulls,  the  bones, 
the  crucifixes,  the  beads!  Alas!  he  is 
slipping  back  into  the  Middle  Ages.  He 
will  become  an  ascetic!  What  can  be 
done?  Then, — all  at  once,  off  goes  the 
monkish  garb  and  Charley  Stoddard 
stands  forth  and  declares  unto  the  four 
winds  of  heaven  that  he  "is  tired  of 
God!"  Then  his  friends  quit  their 
worrying.  Dick  Savage  would  send 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,  1904 


him  his  last,  written  on  the  fly-leaf, 
"Friend  and  Associate  of  my  soul,— you 
Darling"  and  Mrs.  Burnett  will  hurry 
up  with,  "Try  and  be  a  better  man, 
Charlie  Stoddard,  that  you  may  meet  me 
in  Heaven." 

And  now!  The  Bungalow  is  no  more! 
Three  years  ago  it  went  to  pieces. 
Today!  Mexique  is  dead.  Jule  was 
obliged  to  return  to  his  France,  to  the 
valley  of  the  Loire.  Stoddard  is  a  wan- 


derer. Yet  the  house  stands  there  look- 
ing as  it  ever  did  from  the  outside,  but 
the  soul  of  it  has  gone.  When  last  I 
passed  it  a  sign,  "For  Rent,"  was  indeed 
nailed  upon  its  closed  windows. 

The  blessed  little  house, — goodbye. 

But  we  shall  build  another!  Saint 
Anthony  Guide!  Is  my  climax  spoiled? 
Oh  Stoddard, 

"Aloha,  Wela,  Wela!" 


WINDING  along  the  North  Carolina 
coast,  from  the  Cape  Fear  to  the 
South  Carolina  line, .is  a  splendid  forest 
of  virgin  pine.  This  section  is  sparsely 
populated.  A  few  miles  from  Southport 
one  may  plunge  into  the  forest  and  travel 
for  a  day,  without  finding  habitation. 
The  "dipping"  of  turpentine,  the 
"burning"  of  tar,  and  the  "riving"  of 
cypress  and  juniper  shingles,  are  the 
chief  industries  of  this  woodland  section. 

Several  miles  inland  from  the  head- 
waters of  Jump-and-Run  creek  the  for- 
est is  very  dense,  and  here  night  after 
night,  through  all  seasons  of  the  year, 
a  rosy  glow  filters  up  through  the  foliage, 
spreading  a  beacon  against  the  heavens 
— "Zeke's  light,"  they  call  it.  It  is  the 
glare  from  Zeke  Benton's  tar  kilns. 
Miles  to  the  east,  the  electrics  of  Wil- 
mington send  up  their  faint,  pale  gleam. 

An  artist,  chancing  upon  the  tarburner 


at  work  during  the  night,  would  be 
delighted  with  the  wild  grandeur  of  his 
surroundings.  The  solitude  of  the  great 
forest;  the  uncanny  voices  of  woodland 
creatures;  the  sighing  of  the  night  wind 
intermingled  with  the  muffled  thud  of 
distant  breakers;  the  solitary  man  work- 
ing in  the  glow  of  the  burning  kiln,  make 
a  stirring  medley  of  sight  and  sound. 

Suddenly  the  tarburner,  pausing  in  his 
work,  bends  his  head  in  a  listening  atti- 
tude. From  somewhere  afar  in  the  for- 
est, faint  and  freighted  with  the  pathos 
of  the  deep  wood,  the  night  winds  waft 
the  plaintive  notes  of  a  singer — her  voice 
rising  and  falling  with  the  variable  mood 
of  the  forest.  A  light  twinkles  like  a 
will-o'-the-wisp  through  the  tree  trunks, 
and  a  young  girl  bearing  a  resinous  torch 
steps  into  the  clearing. 

"Howdy,  Zeke." 

"Howdy,  Kate." 


THE  .TARBURNER 


319 


Quitting  his  work,  the  tarburner  leads 
the  way  to  a  rudely  constructed  shelter 
of  pine  boughs,  and,  sitting,  regards  the 
girl  expectantly. 

"Dad's  worse,  Zeke.  He  was  tuck 
with  a  faintin'  spell  this  evenin'.  Your 
ma  says  if  we  could  send  him  to  the  city 
fer  treatment,  she  believes  he'd  git  well 
ag'in.  Poor  old  dad!  an'  he's  so  cheer- 
ful with  it  all.  Tries  to  make  us  believe 
he's  not  bad  off — Oh,  if  Jimmie  would 
only  come  home!  " 

"Heard  from  Jim  this  week?  " 

"Yes,  got  a  letter  today.  Seems  to  be 
doin'  fine.  Dad's  monstrous  proud  o' 
Jimmie's  success  in  the  city.  Jimmie 
wrote  that  he  was  a-goin'  to  run  fer 
mayor.  You  jest  ought  to  seen  how 
pleased  dad  was.  He  was  so  carried 
away,  that  he  got  out  o'  bed  an'  set  by 
the  hearth,  an'  talked  an'  talked  about 
Jimmie,  till  he  was  tuck  with  a  faintin' 
spell." 

"Did  Jim  say  when  he  was  comin'  ?  " 

"Said  he'd  try  an'  come  after  the 
'lection  —  he  was  that  busy  an'  upsot 
now,  he  couldn't  git  off.  Ma  told  dad, 
she'd  ask  Jimmie  to  take  him  to  the  city 
an'  put  him  under  treatment,  but  dad 
wouldn't  hear  to  it,  said  'he  guessed 
he'd  pull  through  all  right;  couldn't 
think  o'  botherin'  Jimmie,  when  he's  so 
busy.'" 

It  was  some  time  before  Zeke  spoke 
again. 

"How  much  would  it  cost  to  send  dad 
to  the  city?  "  he  finally  asked, 

"A  hundred  dollars,  at  least,  maybe 
more'n  that." 

"Reckon  Jim  can  afford  it?  " 

"Don't  know.  It's  no  harm  to  ask. 
He  'pears  to  be  doin'  fust  rate,  an'  if  he 
can't  do  it,  dad  need  never  know,  so  no 
harm'll  be  done.  But  if  you  are  goin' 
to  ask  Jimmie,  you'd  best  do  it  at  once; 
fer  dad'll  never  pull  through  the  March 
winds;  he'll  never  see  Jimmie  ag'in  in 
this  world!" 

"Can  you  take  care  o'  the  kiln,  while 
I'm  gone?  " 


"Leave  me  your  gun,  an'  I'll  manage 
all  right." 

"She'll  more'n  likely  blow  off,  afore 
I  git  back,  an'  if  she  sets  the  woods  on 
fire,  blow  the  conch  fer  Parson  Effsey." 

"Well,  you  needn't  git  scared,  if  you 
hear  me  a-blowin',  'cause  the  Parson's 
oncommon  good  company." 

The  tarburner  had  scarce  buried  him- 
self in  the  forest,  ere  the  mournful  wail 
of  the  conch  echoed  on  the  frosty  air. 

Following  the  dim  trail  more  by  in- 
stinct than  by  the  faint  light  from  the 
stars,  he  traveled  on,  covering  mile  after 
mile.  About  him  was  the  never-ending 
forest  of  gigantic  pines;  the  gentle  wind 
whispering  ever  through  their  stately 
tops.  The  chink-chink-cherk-cherk  of 
countless  frogs  came  from  low,  marshy 
places,  accompanied  by  the  occasional 
squawk  of  a  disturbed  wood-fowl,  and 
the  mournful  hoot-hoot-hoo-a-w-w  of 
owls  —  weird  sounds  that  would  have 
tried  the  nerve  of  a  city  man;  but  to 
the  tarburner  they  were  the  natural 
melody  of  the  forest,  and  he  loved  it. 
Daybreak  found  him  at  the  Landing.  • 

Here  at  the  headwaters  of  Jump-and- 
Run  creek,  on  the  north  bank,  lives  the 
widow  Medlin  and  her  daughter  Caro- 
lina. The  widow  keeps  a  small  trading 
post,  exchanging  her  wares  for  furs, 
hides,  and  an  occasional  sprinkling  of 
silver. 

* 

The  tarburner,  arriving  at  the  Landing 
before  the  widow  had  exchanged  her 
nightcap  for  her  gingham  slat-bonnet, 
received  no  cheerful  "howdy"  or  wel- 
come smile  when  she  appeared  at  her 
door.  It  was  not  altogether  the  early 
call,  however,  that  caused  the  widow's 
lack  of  cordiality.  She  was  instinctively 
aware  of  a  tender  feeling  existing  be- 
tween Zeke  and  Miss  Lina,  and  resented 
it,  hence  her  coolness. 

In  a  section  so  sparsely  settled,  Miss 
•Carolina  held  the  proud  distinction  of 
county  belle.  She  was  pretty,  and  her 
mother  had  formed  higher  ambitions  for 


320 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,    1904 


her  future  than  the  tarburner  could  offer. 

After  the  usual  courteous  inquiry  as 
to  the  health  of  Zeke's  entire  family,  the 
widow  reentered  the  cabin  to  wake  her 
daughter.  The  tarburner,  waiting  out- 
side till  the  ladies  could  make  ready  for 
his  entertainment,  caught  part  of  an  in- 
teresting dialogue: 

"Who  is  it,  ma?  " 

"Zeke  Benton;  that  good-fer-nothin' 
from  up  Mill  Creek  way." 

"What  does  he  want?  " 

"Wants  to  see  you,  I  guess." 

"Wants  to  mail  a  letter  to  one  o'  them 
Carter  girls  up  Lockwood's  Folly  way, 
more  like." 

"Well,  it's  a  nice  time  to  be  a-routin' 
folks  out  o'  bed!" 

Soon  Miss  Lina's  pretty  face  appeared 
in  the  doorway: 

"Howdy,  Zeke." 

"Howdy,  Lina." 

"How's  your  folks,  Zeke?  " 

"Dad's  some  worse,  the  rest  is  able  to 
eat,  I  believe.  You  been  well?" 

"Yes,  'ceptin'  a  bad  cold.    Come  in." 

Zeke  stepped  in  and  the  conversation 
continued  while  the  widow  busied  her- 
self about  breakfast. 

"Ma  guessed  as  how  you  wanted  to 
mail  a  letter  to  one  o'  them  Carter  girls." 

Zeke  came  near  to  smiling. 

"You  know  better,  Lina." 

"How  do. I  know?" 

"But  you  do." 

"I  heard  you've  been  a-flyin'  'round 
Nance  Carter  right  much  lately." 

"You  know  better,  Lina." 

"How  do  I  know?  " 

"But  you  do." 

"She  visits  your  folks  right  often, 
Zeke. 

"She  do,  but  she  comes  to  see  Kate." 

"She  must  be  oncommon  fond  o' 
Kate." 

Zeke  did  not  reply,  and  she  ventured 
another  statement. 

"Luther  Brinson  wants  me  to  tie-up' 
with  him,  Zeke." 

"Huh!  an'  what  did  you  say?  " 


"Well,  I  told  him  I'd  promised  you, 
nigh  on  to  four  year  ago;  but  you'd  for- 
gotten, I  guessed." 

"You  know  better,  Lina!  " 

"How  do  I  know?" 

"But  you  do." 

"You  ain't  no  better  off  now  than  you 
was  then,  Zeke.  You  ought  to  go  over 
to  the  city  an'  make  money  like  Luther 
an'  your  brother  Jim." 

"Guess  they  don't  make  sich  a  power- 
ful lot." 

"They  makes  more'n  you." 

"Maybe  an'  maybe  not." 

"Then  what  do  you  do  with  yours?" 

"You  know,  Lina." 

"Don't  Jim  help  with  the  family?  " 

"Guess  he  does  all  he  can." 

"Jim  don't  help  as  much  as  he  might, 
Zeke." 

"It  takes  a  lots  o'  money  to  deal  in 
politics,  an'  git  'lected  to  mayor." 

"Yes,  an'  little  good  it'll  do  you  folks, 
when  he  does!  " 

"Well,  I  want  to  see  him  mayor,  for 
dad's  sake;  he's  dead  sot  on  it,  an'  it'll 
break  his  heart,  if  Jim  fails  this  time." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  which  she 
finally  broke. 

"You've  got  enough  troubles,  without 
bein'  bothered  with  me.  You  —  you'd 
best  let  me  go." 

He  looked  at  her  quietly.  If  he  was 
troubled  it  did  not  show  in  his  impassive 
bearing. 

"Had  you  rather  tie-up  with  Luther?" 

She  evaded  a  direct  reply. 

"I'm  twenty-five,  come  nex'  May. 
Ma  she's  gittin'  old,  an'  I'll  soon  be 
left  without  kith  or  kin.  I  don't  know 
as  I  care  to  marry  any  man,  but  when 
ma  goes,  I  can't  live  alone!  " 

Zeke  arose  and  taking  her  hand,  looked 
long  at  her  petulant  face. 

"I'll  have  nigh  on  to  two  hundred 
dollars  worth  o'  tar  when  my  kiln's 
finished  runnin',  an'  all  depends  on 
whether  Jim  can  pay  dad's  expense  over 
to  the  city.  If  he  can,  we'll  tie-up  this 
Spring;  but  whether  we  tie-up  this 


THE    TARBURNER 


321 


Spring,  or  no;  you're  mine!  Do  you 
think  there's  any  man  hereabouts  as  can 
take  you  away  from  me?  " 

"There  be  jest  as  good  men  as  you, 
Zeke  Benton,  an'  jest  as  strong.  Sup- 
pose I  tell  Luther  he  can  have  me  if  he 
can  take  me  away  from  you?  He's  your 
equal  in  strength,  an'  more'n  your  equal 
in  money;  an'  I  ain't  so  shore  but  he's 
more'n  your  equal  all  'round!  " 

"Maybe,    an'    maybe  not.      Let  him* 
try!" 

Releasing  her  hand,  he  turned  to  the 
door,  the  latch  clicked,  and  he  was  gone. 

Jl 

Outside  the  sun  had  crept  up  over  the 
pines,  kissing  the  frost  from  their  tops, 
coaxing  sweet- voiced  warblers  to  their 
early  repast  and  songs.  The  tarburner, 
striding  cityward,  gave  little  heed  to  the 
beauty  of  his  surroundings.  Sunset 
found  him  amid  the  city's  busy  thorough- 
fares. 

He  seldom  visited  the  city,  and  now 
as  he  stood  regarding  the  ever  restless 
throngs,  he  felt  that  he  had  rather  be 
among  the  sweet-smelling,  quiet  pines — 
he  would  hasten  through  his  errand  and 
away. 

A  woman  with  young-old  features,  still 
bearing  a  trace  of  beauty,  saw  him,  and 
noting  the1  many  little  things  in  his  make- 
up that  bespoke  him  easy  prey,  placed 
a  wan,  trembling  hand  upon  his  arm, 
pleading  for  assistance:  "She  was 
destitute,  alone,  starving!  Would  he 
help  her?"  He  drew  forth  the  little 
change  that  he  had  and  felt  humbled 
that  the  amount  was  so  small.  He  was 
placing  it  in  her  hand,  when  she  was 
roughly  grasped  by  an  officer.  With 
a  cry  of  terror  she  turned  pleading  eyes 
on  the  tarburner. 

Shocked  beyond  control  at  an  inter- 
ference he  did  not  understand,  Zeke 
struck  swift  and  hard.  The  officer  went 
down.  The  gathering  crowd  shielded 
the  woman  as  she  slipped  away.  Other 
officers  seized  Zeke. 


The  next  morning  he  was  sentenced 
to  thirty  days'  imprisonment  before  his 
unaccustomed  mind  had  taken  in  the 
significance  of  the  occasion.  As  he  was 
being  taken  away  from  the  court  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  familiar  face — 
Luther  Brinson's. 

The  tarburner  had  been  incarcerated 
an  hour,  perhaps,  before  he  thought  of 
communicating  with  his  brother,  and  Jim 
called  at  the  jail  before  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  how  to  proceed. 

Jim  was  blinking  about  in  the  semi- 
gloom  of  the  cells  trying  to  locate  Zeke. 
when  the  tarburner  discovered  himself: 

"Howdy,  Jim." 

"How  are  you,  Zeke?  Why  didn't 
you  let  me  know  in  time?  I  might  have 
gotten  you  off." 

"  Didn't  think  of  it.  How'd  you  know 
I  was  here?  " 

"Luther  Brinson  told  me.  He  was  at 
the  trial  this  morning. 

"Have  I  got  to  spend  a  month  here, 
Jim?" 

"I'm  afraid  so;  I  don't  see  how  I  can 
do  anything  now." 

"Well,  if  you  can't — you  can't — an' 
I'll  have  to  grin  an'  bear  it.  There's 
somethin'  you  can  do,  an'  that's  what 
I  come  to  see  you  about.  Dad's  worse. 
He's  terrible  bad,  Jim!  Ma  she  thinks 
if  we  can  git  him  over  here  fer  treat- 
ment, he'll  pull  through  —  fer  awhile 
leastways." 

"Oh,  he'll  pull  through  all  right. 
Asthma  never  kills — besides  Zeke,  I've 
spent  everything!  I'm  up  to  my  neck 
in  debt  with  this  election.  If  I  could 
send  for  the  old  man,  I  wouldn't  have 
time  to  look  after  him;  if  I  had  the 
money,  though,  I'd  send  a  good  physi- 
cian out  to  see  him." 

"Can't  you  raise  a  little  more,  Jim? 
I  tell  you,  he'll  never  pull  through  unless 
he's  tended  to  right  away.  An'  Jim,  if 
you  could  hear  how  he  goes  on  about 
you— thinks  there's  not  your  equal  in 
the  state;  wants  to  live  to  see  you  mayor, 
then  he's  willin'  to  go!  But  he  won't 


322 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


pull  through,  Jim!  He's  that  weak  he 
can  hardly  talk. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  stayin'  in  this  hole, 
if  you  could  'tend  to  him;  but  if  I  have 
to  stay  here  a  month  knowin'  he's  dyin', 
inch  by  inch— I'll  go  mad!  " 

"Well,  what  can  I  do?  I  haven't  got 
the  money  to  spare,  and  don't  believe 
I  can  get  it.  Haven't  you  got  something 
over  there  that  you  could  sell?  " 

"Nothin1  'cepting' my  tar.  My  kiln '11 
run  'bout  fifty  bar' Is;  but  it'll  have  to  be 
headed  an'  rafted  down,  an'  that'll  take 
more'n  three  weeks." 

"Well,  make  that  tar  over  to  me,  and 
I'll  raise  the  money  and  get  the  best 
doctor  in  town  to  go  out  and  see  the  old 
man." 

"Well,  if  you  can  fix  it  that  way,  I'm 
willin'— though  I  did  cal'late  to  tie-up 
with  Lina  this  Spring." 

"Oh,  she'll  wait.  You'd  best  leave 
that  off  anyway.  I  don't  see  how  you 
could  get  along  on  what  you  make  out 
there.  I'll  see  Luther  and  tell  him  to 
keep  quiet  about  you;  and  I'll  send  some 
explanation  that  will  satisfy  the  old 
folks.  Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  and  I'll 

call  when  I  can." 

£ 

Jim  did  not  keep  his  promise  to  call. 
He  was  too  busy  with  election  affairs, 
perhaps;  and  though  Zeke  looked  for 
him  eagerly  each  day,  he  never  came. 
When  the  tarburner  regained  his  liberty 
his  only  thought  was  to  bury  himself  in 
the  fragrant  forest  across  the  river,  and 
forget  his  troubles  in  the  loving  minis- 
trations of  his  mother  and  Kate. 

The  day  Zeke  left  jail,  Jim  was  de- 
clared mayor  of  the  city.  He  was  then 
ready  to  welcome  the  tarburner  with  open 
arms;  but  Zeke  was  gone.  He  was 
covering  mile  after  mile  of  forest  trail 
with  long,  eager  strides,  bearing  the  news 
of  Jim's  success  to  expectant  ears. 

The  tarburner  found  the  old  man  in 
his  accustomed  place  by  the  wide  clay 
hearth,  and  he  was  much  .  improved — 
Jim  had  kept  his  promise  here. 


The  doctor  had  given  the  family  a 
satisfactory  explanation  of  Zeke's  ab- 
sence, but  there  had  been  other  reports. 
Luther  Brinson  had  said  that  Zeke,  being 
drunk,  had  assaulted  an  officer.  While 
the  two  women  did  not  question  the 
propriety  of  his  conduct  for  a  moment, 
the  father  was  made  of  sterner  stuff,  and 
after  the  women  had  exhausted  them- 
selves in  an  effort  to  make  up  to  Zeke 
for  all  his  past  discomforts,  the  old  man 
had  his  word. 

"Luther  said  you  was  drunk,  an' 
fightin'  on  the  street,  Zeke." 

"I've  never  been  drunk,  dad." 

"Then  Luther  lied." 

"He  did.  I  struck  a  man  fer  mis- 
treatin'  a  poor  woman,  an'  they  put  me 
in  jail  fer  it." 

The  severe  expression  of  the  old  man 
relaxed. 

"Well,  was  Jim  'lected?" 

Zeke  glanced  at  his  father  before  re- 
plying. The  old  man's  features  were 
now  quivering  with  mixed  emotion. 
The  happiness  of  his  old  age  depended 
on  the  reply. 

"Jim's  mayor,"  he  said  simply. 

The  old  man's  tense  muscles  relaxed. 
He  turned  his  gaze  upon  the  glowing 
coals  of  the  pine  logs.  The  suspicion  of 
tears  gleamed  unshed  in  his  eyes.  He 
asked  no  further  questions;  quiet  and 
composed,  an  onlooker  would  have  failed 
to  perceive  that  the  greatest  joy  of  his 
life  had  come  upon  him. 


It  was  night  again,  with  a  soaring 
moon,  and  the  tarburner  was  returned 
to  his  accustomed  work.  Again  the  lilt 
of  a  singer  came  to  him  with  the  night 
winds. 

There  was  something  unusual  in  the 
notes  that  held  his  attention  —  there  was 
a  message  in  the  voice. 

The  tarburner  had  learned  to  read 
Kate's  mood  as  unfailingly  as  he  did 
that  of  the  forest  about  him.  Her 
songs,  sung  for  his  benefit,  told  him  of 


THE    TARBURNER 


323 


joy  or  trouble.  Tonight,  it  was  a  mes- 
sage of  sadness.  She  came  and  regarded 
him  a  space  with  troubled  eyes. 

"Nance  Carter  was  at  the  house, 
today;  an'  you  know  she  can't  keep 
a  secret.  She  says,  Zeke,  that  Lina's 
a-goin'  to  run  off  with  Luther  this  night." 

Zeke  had  paused  in  his  work,  but  he 
now  began  again,  Kate  following  him 
around,  as  he  "raked"  the  kiln.  He 
made  the  circuit,  then  without  appar- 
ent concern  led  her  to  the  pine  bough 
shelter. 

"What  more  did  Nance  tell?"  he 
asked. 

"She  said  Lina  was  to  meet  Luther 
at  Hog  Shelter  Branch  school  house  at 
nine  tonight,  an'  they  was  to  drive  over 
to  the  city  an'  git  married." 

"What  time'd  you  leave  the  house?" 

"  'Tween  six  an'  seven." 

He  arose  and  took  up   his  shotgun. 

"I  shan't  be  gone  long.  You'd  best 
put  some  taters  in  the  coals,  an  you'll 
find  a  couple  o'  cleaned  possums  hangin' 
up  behind  the  shelter — cook  'em  nice — 
I'll  feel  sort  o'  hungry  when  I  git  back." 

"Don't  you  shoot,"  she  called,  as  he 
stepped  out  into  the  shadowy  forest. 

An  hour  later  he  was  seated  on  the 
block  steps  of  the  little  pine-log  school 
house,  diligently  whittling  a  stick.  The 
moon's  silvery  beams  fell  full  in  the 
clearing,  and  flashed  in  the  gurgling 
waters  of  Hog  Shelter,  as  it  sped  for 
a  space  through  the  open.  The  ripple 
of  the  streamlet— the  near-by  tinkle  of  a 
cow's  bell,  and  the  faraway  "Hoo-ah-oo- 
ah-oo,"  of  a  woodsman,  homeward 
bound,  were  the  only  sounds  that  dis- 
turbed the  quiet  for  half  an  hour,  per- 
haps; then  a  horseman  rode  into  the 
clearing,  drawing  up  suddenly  on  per- 
ceiving the  solitary  whittler. 

"Howdy,  Luther." 

"Huntin'  'possums,  Zeke?"  interro- 
gated Mr.  Brinson,  in  reply  to  the  tar- 
burner's  greeting. 

"Not  edzackly.  On  your  way  to  the 
widow's,  eh,  Luther?  " 


"No,  can't  say  as  I  am." 

"Fox  hunt?" 

"No." 

Several  moments  passed;  then  Zeke 
observed : 

"Gal  hunt,  more  like." 

"Guess  that's  'bout  right." 

Zeke  said  no  more :  both  men  sat 
apparently  unconcerned. 

Suddenly  there  was  the  thud  of  hoofs, 
and  a  white  shimmer  in  the  moonlit 
clearing — the  woman  was  on  the  scene. 
She  drew  up  beside  Luther  Brinson. 

"Well!"  she  exclaimed,  with  wither- 
ing disdain  in  her  tones,  "an'  what  you 
doin'  here,  Zeke  Benton?" 

"Jest  restin'  fer  awhile.  Where  you 
goin',  Lina?" 

"Oh,  Luther  an'  me's  goin'  fer  a  little 
ride." 

"Yes,"  said  Luther,  "we  are  goin' 
over  to  the  city  an'  git  tied-up.  We  jest 
as  well  out  with  it,  eh,  Lina?  " 

"Yes,  jest  as  well;  an'  we'd  best  be 
off."  She  turned  her  horse  to  the  road. 

"Say,  Luther!"  called  Zeke,  as  they 
were  getting  under  way. 

Luther  checked  his  horse  and  looked 
back. 

Zeke  had  taken  up  his  gun. 

"I  wouldn't,"  he  said,  playing  with 
the  hammer. 

Luther  glanced  at  the  girl,  and  said  in 
an  undertone: 

"He'll  shoot!  "    Then  louder: 

"What  you  want?" 

"Want  my  gal." 

"She's  not  yourn." 

"Well,  I  guess." 

"Do  you  mean  to  shoot,  Zeke?  " 

"Well,  it  sort  o'  runs  in  my  mind." 

"It  would  be  murder." 

"Not  edzackly.  You're  stealin',  you 
know." 

"She's  willin'." 

"It  do  seem  so,  but  I'm  not." 

"Well,  what  you  goin'  to  do  'bout  it?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  invite  you  to  the  kiln 
with  me." 

"What  you  want  us  at  the  kiln  for?  " 


324 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  DECEMBER,   1904 


"Kate's  cookin'  'taters  an'  a  couple 
o'  fat  'possums,  an'  I  want  you  to  help 
eat  'em." 

Luther  glanced  sharply  at  the  tar- 
burner's  impassive  countenance,  then 
asked  in  a  whisper: 

"Shall  we  make  a  dash  fer  it?" 

"I  wouldn't,"  she  replied,  "you  know 
Zeke." 

Without  more  ado,  they  turned  toward 
the  glow,  and,  followed  by  the  tarburner, 
they  went  slowly  through  the  forest. 
Arriving  at  the  kiln,  Zeke  approached 
the  shelter  and  takjng  up  the  conch 
wound  a  long,  quavering  call. 

"Parson '11  eat  with  us,"  he  explained. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  perhaps, 
when  a  young  man  with  a  red  beard, 
florid  skin  and  blue  eyes  stepped  into 
the  clearing. 

He  was  attired  in  a  homespun  suit  of 
brown  cloth  and  heavy  rawhide  boots. 
A  long,  muzzle-loading  shotgun  rested 
on  his  shoulder,  and  a  violin  under  his 
arm.  Following  him  were  several  very 
lean  'coon  dogs. 

"Howdy,  howdy,  folks,"  said  he, 
shaking  hands  with  great  cordiality. 

"Parson,"  volunteered  Zeke,  "we  are 
a-goin'  to  eat  some  'possum  an'  taters 
that  Kate's  baked  fer  us;  an'  I  dug  up 
a  jug  o'  'moonshine'  I've  had  buried 
these  three  year.  I  thought  I'd  like  to 
have  you  sample  it,  Parson." 

"  'Possum  an'  taters  is  good;  but 
three-year-old  moonshine  is  nigh  on  to 
bein'  godly.  We  gits  plenty  o'  moon- 
shine in  my  state,  but  my,  she's  hot! 
I  ain't  had  a  drink  that  was  more'n 
a  week  old,  in  many  a  day  —  I'm  mighty 
glad  you  thought  on  me,  Zeke!  " 

"I'd  a  thought  on  you,  in  any  case, 
Parson,  but  the  fact  is,  I  wanted  to  talk 
with  you  'bout  a  matter  I  cal'lates  you  is 
competent  to  jedge.  Afore  statin'  the 
case,  though,  I'd  like  to  ask  if  you  be 
a  reg'lar  foreordained  preacher  o'  the 
Gospel?" 

"Well,  fer  nigh  onto  six  year,  I've 
been  preachin'  an'  prayin',  an'  baptizin* 


an'  tiein'-up;  an'  I  cal'lates  that  I'm 
a  full-fledged  preacher  o'  the  Word." 

"Well,  I  guess?  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  an'  Lina  an'  Luther  if  a  man  an' 
woman  stan's  up  together  in  South 
Car'lina,  an'  promises  afore  God  as  how 
they  belongs  to  each  other  —  what  it 
makes  'em,  Parson?" 

"Man  an'  wife,  afore  God,  an'  be 
there  witnesses,  afore  man,  also." 

"Well,  'bout  five  year  ago,  Lina  an' 
me  stood  up  under  that  big  pine,  which 
as  you  knows  stan's  plum  on  the  di- 
vidin'  line  o'  my  an'  your  state — an'  on 
the  South  Car'lina  side  o'  that  pine,  an' 
we  promises  jest  as  I  tells  you — ' 

"Any  witnesses?  " 

"No." 

"Well,  afore  God,  ye  be  man  an'  wife 
these  five  year  gone;  but,  out  o'  respect 
fer  the  law  o'  man,  you'd  best  go  over 
to  that  pine,  an'  repeat  afore  witnesses, 
Zeke." 

"But,  Parson,"  interposed  Mr.  Brin- 
son,  "I'd  like  to  know,  if  in  your  jedge- 
ment  you  considers  it  legal  an'  proper 
fer  one  man  to  hold  up  another  man'  an' 
his  gal,  who  is  goin'  peacefully  along  to 
the  city  to  git  tied-up  accordin'  to  law  an' 
order,  an'  force  'em  at  the  end  o'  a  shot- 
gun to  turn  back,  an'  then  wants  to 
marry  the  gal  whether  she  will  or  no.  I 
asks,  is  that  law,  Parson?  " 

The  Parson  thought  for  several  min- 
utes, then  replied: 

"Well,  Luther,  I  hold  my  jedgement 
in  this  case  jest  as  good  as  that  o'  any 
jestice  o'  the  peace  in  the  Car'linas;  an' 
as  you  has  asked  it,  I'll  give  it. 

"God's  law  is  the  best  law,  an'  ac- 
cordin' to  it  Zeke's  got  a  clean  title  to 
the  property.  In  my  state,  if  you'd  tried 
to  run  off  with  a  man's  steer  or  dog, 
when  he  could  show  as  good  title  to  the 
property  as  Zeke  do  to  his,  we'd  a  strung 
you  up  to  a  saplin'. 

"Zeke'^s  a  good  man,  he's  got  a  clear 
idee  o'  his  rights.  You  know  Zeke,  an' 
you  know  he's  treated  you  oncommon 
kind,  in  this  matter;  an'  now  if  Lina's 


THE    TARBURNER  325 

willin' — which  I  more'n  suspects  she  is  an'   I  cal'lates  he's   able  to  hold  me." 

— we'll  march  over  to  my  state  an'  fix  "Well,  folks,  I'm  pinin'   fer  some  o' 

up  the  knot  as  it  should  be.     Be  you  that  'possum,  anr  a-thirstin'  fer  some  o' 

willin',  Lina?  "  that  'three-year-old.'     If  you'll  all  fall  in 

"I'm  willin',   Parson.     I  knew  I  be-  line,  I'll  play  the  weddin'  march.     We'll 

longed  to  Zeke,  though  he  treated  me  step  over  to  my  state  an'  fix  up  this  little 

like  a  sweetheart,  while  he  boasted  as  matter — then  back  to  the  feast." 

I   was  his  to    keep,   an'   that  no  man  He  took  up  his  "fiddle,"  Kate  thrust 

dared  take    me  from   him.      I    'ranged  her  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  marched  at 

the    runaway    with    Luther    to     see    if  his  side.     Lina    and  Zeke   came   next, 

Zeke   meant  what  he   said — I'd  a  mar-  while  Luther  and  the  dogs  brought  up 

ried    Luther,   though,    if    Zeke    hadn't  the  rear. 

made  good  his  word.     I  fixed   it   with  To  the  stirring  strains  of   Dixie  they 

Nance  Carter  to  tell   Kate  —  Zeke  was  stepped  out  from  the  glare  of  the  kiln 

on  the  spot,  an'  as  he  proved  himself  into  the  quiet  forest  shadows  on  their 

a  man  o'   his  word,  he  can    have  me,  way  to  the  South  Carolina  line. 


OUR   HEART'S    DESIRE 

By    AMELIA     M.     CHAPMAN 

WINDHAM,     VERMONT 

IN  youth  we  climb  the  hill  of  life, 
With  eager  feet  and  hearts  on  fire; 
Undaunted  by  the  din  of  strife, 

We  seek  to  gain — our  heart's  desire. 

The  road  grows  harder,  as  we  age, 

With  hindrances,  like  thorn  and  briar; 

But  fiercest  war  with  them  we  wage 
As  we  press  toward  our  heart's  desire. 

We  pause  to  share  another's  load, 

When,  swift  as  eagles  mounting  higher, 

The  favored  pass  on  up  the  road 

And  reach  the  goal  —  our  heart's  desire. 

The  hill  is  long  and  rough  and  steep, 
We  struggle  on  —  how  soon  we  tire  ! 

We  fall  beside  the  way  and  sleep  ; 

We  have  not  gained  our  heart's  desire. 

But  who  shall  say  it  is  in  vain, 

The  longings  which  our  souls  inspire  ; 

And  that  when  past  the  toil  and  pain 
We  may  not  have  pur  hearts'  desire  ? 


BEAUTIES  OF  THE  AMERICAN  STAGE 


By    HELEN     ARTHUR 

NEW      YORK       CITY 


IX 


CARLOTTA    NILLS.ON 


<*lA/HY  did  you  not  come  before?" 

»  •    Carlotta  Nillson  questioned. 
"Before?     Am  I  late?  " 
"Late?  Yes,  late  by  at  least  four  years. 


CARLOTTA    NILLSON 
Photographed  for  the  National  by  the  Misses  Selby,  New  York 


Once,  to  be  interviewed,  to  be  photo- 
graphed, to  be  talked  about  would  have 
been  real  happiness  to  me.  Then  I 
longed  for  appreciation,  but  when  suc- 
cess did  come  to  me — nominal  as  it  is — 
I  found  that  I  had  been  forced  to  barter 
my  youth,  my  illusions  and  my  enthusi- 
asm to  obtain  it." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  I  said, 
"you've  worked,  suffered- 
and  sacrificed.  You've 
waited  for  your  chance." 
"Waited  for  it?  I  have 
made  it.  But  what  of  that? 
I  can  not  explain  in  set 
terms  the  longing  and  am- 
bition in  my  soul.  No 
words  can  paint  adequate- 
ly the  poignancy  of  suffer- 
ing caused  by  the  desire 
to  give  expression  to  one's 
true  self  and  to  find  that 
desire  thwarted  by  circum- 
stances apparently  uncon- 
trollable. To  be  kept 
dumb  when  all  my  self 
cried  out  to  be  allowed  to 
speak. 

"I  was  born  in  Smollen, 
Sweden  |  that  is  the  same 
county  the  great  Christine 
Nilsson  came  from,  in- 
heriting, too,  the  national 
longing  for  the  better 
things — the  things  of  the 
soul.  You  heard  it  in  her 
Yy  voice.  I  have  it. 

"The  first  companies  in 
which  I  played  are  not 
even  names  to  me.  I 
worked,  worked,  worked! 
I  had  no  one  to  depend 
on  and  I  had  to  live. 
No  schooling  did  I  get 
except  from  the  teacher 


\ 


\ 


BEAUTIES    OF    THE    AMERICAN    STAGE 


32? 


whose  lessons  are  unforget- 
table. 

"I  could  not  induce  man- 
agers to  advance  me  —  the 
best  role  I  had  was  that  of 
Eunice  in ' Quo  Vadis,'  play- 
ing opposite  to  Mr.  Lack- 
aye's  Petronious.  I  decided 
to  try  England.  In  London 
small  parts  again  were  my 
lot,  but  with  the  best  com- 
panies —  those  of  Charles 
Hawtrey,  Martin  Harvey 
and  George  Alexander. 

"I  saw  that  I  must  study 
the  great  artists  in  order  to 
learn.  When  Mr.  Alexan- 
der put  on  'The  Ambassa- 
dor,' I  was  given  an  English 
character  part,  and  my  work 
began  to  be  recognized. 

"I  saved  money  every  way 
I  could  think  of,  and  some- 
how I  managed  to  get  to 
Paris.  You  could  have 
found  me  each  evening  in 
the  gallery  of  the  Theater 
Sara  Bernhardt  or  the 
Vaudeville  or  the  Comedie 
Francaise.  Only  a  brief 
year  my  money  lasted,  and 
then  back  to  America,  to  be 
called  by  the  newspapers 
'a  new  comer.'  I  was  engaged  for  Mrs. 
Fiske's  company  and  created  the  role 
of  Mrs.  Elvsted  in  'Hedda  Gabler. '" 

"And  awoke  the  next  morning  to  find 
yourself  famous?  " 

"Not 'awoke,'  for  I  lay  awake  all  the 
long  night,  sick  with  fear  that  all  my 
work  might  count  for  nothing.  Then 
I  gave  a  special  matinee  of  'Love's  Pil- 
grimage,' and  disaster  came  upon  me 
again. 

"  Since  then  I  have  been  a  fatalist — 
what  is  to  be,  must  be,  and  I  have 
ceased  to  care.  Each  night  as  I  play 
'Letty' — that  hardest  of  Pinero's  hero- 
ines— if  I  can  show  some  few  in  the 
audience, — am  I  egotistical  if  I  say  the 


i'AULA    EDWARDES 
Photograph  by  Barony 


elect?  —  her  tortured  soul,  I  am  repaid." 


X 
PAULA    EDWARDES 

«  VES,  indeed,"  said  Paula  Edwardes, 
gaily,  "I  am  a  product  of  the 
chorus;  that  is  always  item  number  one 
when  I  am  forced  into  being  interviewed. 
No,  of  course,  you  aren't  forcing  me,  for 
women  writers  are  so  much  easier  to  talk 
to  than  men  —  at  least  for  me.  Now  for 
one  critic  I  can  think  of  I  should  feel 
obliged  to  dress  as  though  for  church; 
suppose  my  side-comb  should  get  awry, 
he  might  say:  'Miss  Edwardes  was  most 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


impressive  in  her  denunciation  of  the 
ways  of  stage  managers,  and  her  side- 
comb  fairly  pulsated  with  indignation!' 
Such  things  may  be  funny  reading,  but 
I  can  not  get  over  being  sensitive. 


MINNIE    DUPREE 

"Item  number  two:  I  was  born  in  New 
York  City.  This  is  a  distinction  in 
itself,  for  very  few  of  our  leading  players 
were  born  in  this  center  of  theatrical  life: 
Henry  Miller  is  the  only  one  I  can 
think  of. 

"I  was  fortunate  enough  to  start  in 
with  Mr.  George  Lederer  when  he  was 
at  the  height  of  his  success. 


"I  did  not  carry  a  spear 
For  many  a  year — 

"Instead,  after  three  month's  experi- 
ence, I  was  given  a  small  part  —  Nancy 
Clancy  in  'The  Belle  of  New  York,'  and 
I  said  to  myself,  'Isn't  this 
great  and  glorious  luck?  ' 

"'The  Belle'  was  a  great 
hit,  and — what  seemed  good 
news  —  we  were  going  to 
London  with  it!  To  Lon- 
don we  went — my  sister  (she 
was  in  the  company  too)  and 
I  —  and  after  a  few  weeks 
a  lonesomer  pair  could  not 
be  found.  We  talked  it  over 
and  decided  to  run  away. 
There  was  not  anyone  to 
advise  us,  and  contracts  were 
new  and  ironclad  things 
to  us.  We  could  not  see 
how  we  could  be  missed  to 
any  great  and  lasting  de- 
gree, so  fancy  our  amaze- 
ment and  horror,  when  we 
arrived  in  New  York,  to  find 
that  we  were  'boycotted'; 
that  a  big  placard  on  the 
Casino  door  warned  man- 
agers not  to  hire  us! 

"The  outlook  was  gloomy 
in  the  extreme  for  me,  but 
the  red  flag  waving  above 
me  caught  Mr.  Augustin 
Daly's  eye;  he  placed  me 
under  contract  and  sent  me 
back  to  London  to  study, 
for  a  week,  the  work  of  the 
woman  who  was  appearing 
as  Carmencita  in  'The  Run- 
away Girl. ' 

"Perhaps  joy  carried  me  higher  than 
anything  else  could  have,  but  that  role 
was  my  biggest  success.  That  was  the 
opera  in  which  I  sang  'High  Society.' 
"Afterward,  I  had  a  chance  to  play 
in  melodrama  —  'The  Great  Ruby,'  in 
which  Ada  Rehan  appeared  as  Lady 
Garnett.  If  you  wish  to  keep  the  length 
of  this  sketch  down,  do  not  let  me  talk 


BEAUTIES    OF    THE    AMERICAN    STAGE 


329 


about  Miss  Rehan.  She  is  to  me  the 
most  wonderful  comedienne;  night  after 
night — even  knowing  her  lines  as  I  did, 
I  would  laugh  as  genuinely  as  anyone  in 
the  audience. 

"Since  Mr.  Daly's  death,  I  have  been 
in  varying  positions — soubrette  in  'Ali 
Baba',  leading  woman  with  Jefferson  De 
Angelis  in  'The  Royal  Rogue.'  It  was 
while  playing  in  'The  Defender'  that  I 
met  my  present  managers,  who  were 
good  enough  to  star  me  in  'Winsome 
Winnie.'  The  first  years  are  the  hardest 
for  a  star;  she  has  ever  to  face  the  ques- 
tion, 'Why?1  and  it  is  a  hard  struggle  to 
convince  the  public  that  there  was  a 
good  reason  back  of  the  big  type." 


XI 
MINNIE    DUPREE 

I  LOOKED  about  one  of  the  most  or- 
derly of  dressing  rooms,  the  make-up 
boxes  in  their  places,  the  boots  in  a  shin- 
ing row,  the  pictures  straight  and  a  long 
white  curtain  marked  in  red  letters, 
"Minnie  Dupr^e,"  covering  the  dainty 
gowns  which  she  wears  in  "The  Music 
Master,"  and  something  told  me  that 
Miss  Duprde  had  the  right  idea  of 
"heaven's  first  law." 

Even  in  that  atmosphere  of  grease 
paint,  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  the 
actress  in  either  her  appearance  or  man- 
ner. She  seemed  business-like  even  in 
the  face  of  that  worst  of  personal  encoun- 
ters—an interview. 

"I  do  not  know  where  I  got  my  liking 
for  the  stage,"  she  said;  "not  a  single 
member  of  my  family  has  been  remotely 
connected  with  it.  The  best  I  can  do 
with  the  question  of  tendencies  is  to 


lay  the  blame  on  my  grandfather,  who 
was  a  minister. 

"I  enjoy  telling  in  which  play  I  made 
my  debut — no  one  is  ever  any  wiser.  I 
played  a  boy's  part  in  'Belphegor';  I 
went  on  absolutely  free  from  fear,  but  • 
never  since  that  time,  and  now  'first 
nights'  are  not  unalloyed  pleasure  to  me. 

"After  that  I  was  the  usual  maid  dust- 
ing in  the  usual  way,  one  eye  on  the 
furniture,  the  other  on  the  flirtatious 
butler. 

"In  some  small  part,  Mr.  Frohman 
saw  me  and  put  me  in  'Held  by  the 
Enemy.'  Under  his  management  I 
played  one  of  my  most  successful  roles 
in  'Two  Little  Vagrants.'  I  liked  the 
part  I  had  in  'The  Climbers' — Clara 
Hunter — she  was  an  interesting  ingenu£, 
with  enough  pertness  to  season  half  a 
dozen  of  the  customary  ones.  I  was 
fond  of  Midge  in  'The  Cowboy  and  the 
Lady,'  and  I  loved  Katie,  dear  little 
Katie,  in  "Alt  Heidelburg.'  Only  my 
favorite  characters  I  remember,  but  my 
maid,  who  has  been  with  me  ten  years, 
knows  them  all  and  is  forever  unearthing 
old  photographs,  sometimes  to  my  horror. 

"The  only  pictures  I  care  about  hav- 
ing are  those  of  my  horse  and  dog. 

"I  starred  once,  and  I  would  again  if 
I  could  get  a  good  play.  I  read  two  or 
three  a  week,  but  most  are  quite  impossi- 
ble, while  'horrible'  would  describe 
some  of  them. 

"It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  play  with 
Mr.  Warfield,  he  is  so  quiet  in  his  work 
and  such  an  artist.  There's  the  'half- 
hour  call,'  and  I  must  begin  to  dress." 

Wholesome,  unaffected  Minnie  Du- 
pr£e,  with  a  love  for  horses  and  dogs, 
and  a  disposition  that  a  maid  could 
stand  for  ten  years,  what  a  recommenda- 
tion in  itself  1 


A  CHRISTMAS  HOUSE 
PARTY 


By     KATHERINE     E.     MEGEE 

WAYNESBORO,     VIRGINIA 


lA/HEN  Elizabeth  married  and  went  to 
live  on  her  husband's  farm  in  an- 
other section,  she  left  many  devoted 
friends  behind,  and  her  visits  to  the  old 
home  were  always  marked  by  a  round  of 
entertainments  in  her  honor. 

Last  year,  the  third  of  her  marriage, 
she  determined  to  show  her  appreciation 
of  these  attentions  in  some  distinctive 
manner.  After  turning  over  many  plans, 
only  to  reject  them  all,  principally  be- 
cause the  season  of  the  year,  it  being 
Winter,  rendered  them  impracticable, 
she  at  last  adopted  the  suggestion  of 
a  neighbor  rich  in  resources,  to  whom 
she  had  gone  in  her  extremity,  to  the 
effect  that  she  give  an  Xmas  house  party. 
Being  the  mistress  of  one  of  the  roomy 
old  Colonial  mansions  which  so  pleas- 
antly dot  the  landscape  of  the  Shenan- 
doah  Valley— the  garden  spot  of  Vir- 
ginia— she  was  well  situated  to  carry  the 
idea  into  effect. 

Accordingly,  invitations  were  sent 
early  in  December — before  other  plans 
for  celebrating  the  Yuletide  festival  had 
matured— to  a  congenial  party  of  her 
friends  of  both  sexes,  fourteen  in  all, 
the  number  the  house  would  accommo- 


date comfortably.  These  invitations 
stated  definitely  the  day  and  train  on 
which  the  guests  would  be  expected  to 
arrive,  also  the  day  on  which  their  visit 
would  terminate  and  the  hour  of  their 
departure,  thereby  simplifying  matters 
greatly  for  all  parties.  A  prompt  an- 
swer was  requested,  and  needless  to  add 
the  answers  were  in  the  affirmative,  in 
consequence  of  which  preparations  went 
industriously  on,  that  nothing  might  be 
lacking  that  would  tend  to  make  the. 
event  a  memorable  one. 

Such  baking,  cooking  and  fixing  the 
house  had  not  known  for  many  a  day. 
First  of  all  the  jar  of  mincemeat,  odor- 
ous with  spice  and  apple  brandy,  was 
prepared  and  set  in  a  cool  place  to  ripen 
preparatory  to  being  incased,  in  due 
time,  between  flaky  crusts.  •  Then  fol- 
lowed the  compounding  of  the  time- 
honored  plum  pudding,  which  would  be 
reheated  for  the  Christmas  dinner  and 
served  with  a  delicious  sauce ;  fruit  cakes, 
pound  cakes,  the  whole  to  be  supple- 
mented by  great  jars  of  gingersnaps. 
doughnuts  and  crisp,  toothsome  cookies, 
in  the  making  of  which  your  Virginia 
cook  is  seldom  equalled,  never  excelled. 


THE    HOME 


Meantime,  the  Christmas  goose  and 
chickens  were  fattening,  little  dreaming 
to  what  fate  their  gluttony  was  leading 
them. 

Then  came  the  task  of  putting  the 
house  in  gala  day  order.  Everything 
from  cellar  to  attic  was  made  spick  and 
span;  guest  chambers  were  aired  and 
put  in  order;  fireplaces  were  heaped  with 
logs  of  resinous  pine  and  banked  with 
lightwood,  ready  to  be  lighted  at  the 
proper  moment  and  add  their  warmth 
and  cheer  to  the  welcome  the  guests 
were  to  receive. 

Sighting  stormy  weather  in  the  lower- 
ing clouds  which  enveloped  the  moun- 
tains,several  days  before  Christmas  Eliz- 
abeth collected  a  dozen  picaninnies  from 
the  village  and  sent  them  to  the  neigh- 
boring mountains  for  Christmas  greens, 
warning  them  never  to  show  their  faces 
again  at  "Elm wood"  unless  each  had  as 
much  as  he  could  "tote."  The  com- 
bined effect  of  this  injunction  and  the 
anticipated  reward  produced  such  an 
embarrassment  of  riches  —  holly,  mistle- 
toe, trailing  vines,  branches  of  pine, 
laurel  branches  glorious  hi  their  deep 
crimson,  sumach  berries  and  the  like- 
that  the  disposing  of  them  became  a 
question. 

The  guests  arrived,  according  to  pre- 
arrangement,  on  Christmas  eve.  As  all 
will  remember,  Winter  set  in  very  early 
last  year,  and  real  Christmas  weather, 
which  so  seldom  obtains  in  these  latter 
days,  save  in  seasonable  stories,  greeted 
them.  They  had  left  threatening  weath- 
er behind  them  "on  the  other  side  the 
ridge;"  its  fulfillment  awaited  them. 
The  snow-capped  mountains  loomed 
upon  their  vision  and  the  merry  jingle 
of  sleigh  bells  fell  upon  their  ears  and 
proclaimed  the  beginning  of  the  good 
time  in  store  for  them. 

All  were  soon  stowed  away  in  the 
big  bobsled  which  had  been  amply 
supplied  with  fur  robes  and  warm 
wraps,  for  the  air  from  the  mountains 
was  sharp  and  biting,  and  the  journey 


to  "Elmwood"  was  soon  accomplished. 

The  sound  of  the  bells  on  the  drive- 
way was  the  signal  for  the  throwing  open 
of  the  big  front  door,  and  the  guests  des- 
cried the  forms  of  their  host  and  hostess 
on  the  threshold,  and  behind  them  the 
cheerful  fire  of  pine  logs  threw  its  radi- 
ance out  into  the  night. 

Several  young  negro  women,  correctly 
costumed  as  maids,  stood  ready  to  show 
the  ladies  to  their  rooms,  that  they  might 
freshen  their  toilets  for  supper,  which 
was  then  in  course  of  preparation.  A 
similar  number  of  negro  boys,  resplen- 
dent in  brass  buttons  and  smiles,  under- 
took the  responsibility  of  the  gentlemen 
of  the  party. 

Being  strong  of  body  and  light  of 
spirits,  no  fatigue  had  resulted  -from  the 
journey,  consequently  no  rest  was  re- 
quired, and  when  the  supper  bell  re- 
sounded through  the  house  a  gay  party 
of  youth  and  beauty  promptly  answered 
its  summons. 

And  what  shall  be  said  of  that  supper! 
To  those  who  have  ever  experienced  the 
delights  of  the  palate  as  concocted  by 
a  "rale  V'ginny"  cook,  who  possesses  the 
knack  of  giving  the  most  delicious  flavor 
to  the  plainest  fare,  a  detailed  descrip- 
tion of  each  dish  is  unnecessary.  The 
mere  mention  of  such  delicacies  as 
broiled  oysters  with  a  garnish  of  spiced 
bacon  and  lemon  crescents,  cold  boiled 
ham  steeped  in  Maderia,  shirred  eggs, 
potato  puffs,  hot  rolls,  corn  muffins, 
Sally  Lunn,  rich  unskimmed  milk  and 
coffee,  will  be  sufficient  to  set  the  mouth 
watering  in  very  remembrance. 

From  the  supper  table  the  host  led 
the  way  to  the  big  parlor  from  which  the 
strains  of  a  violin  could  be  heard.  The 
room  had  been  cleared  of  furniture,  and 
on  a  sort  of  dais  embowered  in  ever- 
greens sat  an  old-time  negro  fiddler.  No 
invitation  save  that  of  the  music  was 
needed,  and  partners  for  the  dance  were 
chosen  without  delay. 

Elizabeth,  having  foreseen  that,  after 
the  dissipation  of  the  night  before,  her 


332 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  DECEMBER,    1904 


guests  would  enjoy  sleeping  late  on 
Christmas  morning,  had  not  arranged 
for  a  general  breakfast  at  a  definite  hour, 
but  had  given  orders  that  a  buffet  break- 
fast of  fruit,  eggs,  toast,  coffee  and 
chocolate  should  be  served  to  order  as 
the  guests  individually  put  in  an  appear- 
ance, thereby  not  making  it  incumbent 
upon  her  guests  to  arise  before  they 
were  refreshed,  or  herself  to  preside  at 
a  belated  breakfast  table. 

This  forehanded  hostess,  however,  did 
not  indulge  in  a  morning  nap  herself, 
but  was  up  and  doing,  seeing  to  it  that 
the  house,  save  the  guests'  rooms,  was 
put  in  order  and  preparations  for  dinner, 
which,  in  honor  to  tradition  and  custom, 
was  to  be  the  chief  event  of  the  day, 
were  well  under  way,  before  the  attention 
was  demanded  elsewhere. 

The  dining  room  was  festive  in  its 
holiday  dress  of  green,  in  such  cheerful 
and  comfortable  contrast  with  the  bleak- 
ness without.  The  table  was  spread  with 
a  rich  damask  cloth  of  immaculate  white- 
ness, against  which  the  cut  glass,  silver 
and  dainty  china  showed  to  such  fine 
advantage.  The  center  piece  was  not- 
able for  its  simplicity  and  beauty.  It 
consisted  of  a  large  Christmas  star  of 
grey  moss  over  a  fondation  of  white,  out- 
lined with  a  border  of  holly  and  mistle- 
toe. At  each  point  of  the  star  was  a  sil- 
ver candlestick  containing  a  wax  candle 
with  a  red  shade. 

Preserve  and  pickle  closet  had  been 
levied  upon  for  their  choicest  stores. 
These  were  served  in  small  cut-glass 
dishes  on  mats  of  pressed  ferns  and 
added  in  no  small  degree  to  the  attrac- 
tiveness of  the  table.  At  each  plate  was 
a  small  fancy  basket  decorated  with  holly 
and  filled  with  home-made  bonbons. 

The  menu  was  in  the  main  made  up 
of  the  time-honored  Christmas  dishes 
but  each  bore  the  mark  of  superior  cook- 
ing. The  goose  was  done  to  a  turn, 
yet  firm  enough  to  carve  neatly;  its  ac- 
companiment the  dish  of  apple  sauce 
was  noteworthy  for  its  richness  of  flavor; 


the  roast  of  pork  with  its  garnish  of 
parsley  and  sweet  potato  croquettes  was 
sweet  and  juicy;  the  crust  of  the  game 
pie  was  only  rivalled  in  quality  by  its 
filling;  the  long  list  of  vegetables  — 
potato  snow,  creamed  onions,  browned 
parsnips,  stewed  corn,  baked  tomatoes 
and  buttered  beets — were  all  the  acme 
of  savoriness ;  the  nut — and — apple  salad 
was  crisp  and  delicious  and  served  to 
whet  the  flagging  appetite  for  the  good 
things  yet  to  come — the  plum  pudding, 
brave  in  its  wreath  of  holly  and  blue 
flame,  mince  pie,  frozen  custard  and 
varied  assortment  of  cake. 

Coffee  was  served  after  dinner  in  the 
library.  Cards  and  other  games  were 
indulged  in  during  the  short  Winter 
afternoon. 

After  such  a  dinner  served  at  two  in  the 
afternoon,  it  would  appear  that  the  even- 
ing meal  might  well  be  dispensed  with. 
But  mankind  is  endowed  with  wonder- 
ful digestive  capacity  on  such  occasions. 
Elizabeth  was  cognizant  of  this  fact,  and 
did  not  embarass  her  guests  by  putting 
them  to  the  test,  but  served  a  late  supper 
in  the  preparation  of  which  the  chafing 
dish  was  prominent.  Hot  bouillon, 
wafers,  grilled  oysters,  chicken  salad, 
cheese,  cake  and  fruit  comprised  the 
dainty  menu. 

Scarcely  had  this  meal  been  concluded 
when  "Uncle"  Ned  was  heard  tuning 
his  fiddle,  the  signal  for  prompt  adjourn- 
ment to  the  parlor. 

As  the  visitors  were  to  leave  for  home 
on  the  ten-forty  train  next  morning, 
a  substantial  breakfast  of  fruit,  oatmeal, 
smothered  chicken,  corn  fritters,  broiled 
ham,  eggs,  waffles,  Virginia  biscuit, 
coffee  and  chocolate  was  served  at  eight 
o'clock.  While  still  lingering  around 
the  cheerful  fire  in  the  dining  room, 
sleigh  bells  warned  them  the  time  was 
at  hand  for  the  expression  of  hearty  ap- 
preciation and  the  saying  of  good-byes: 
the  former  came  readily  enough  from 
both  hearts  and  lips,  the  latter  were  said 
with  sincere  regret. 


THE   HOME 


333 


Again  Elizabeth  and  her  husband 
stood  alone  in  the  doorway;  this  time 
not  welcoming  but  speeding  with  many 
good  wishes  the  parting  guests  who  had 


brought  into  their  home  and  quiet  life 
so  much  cheer,  and  with  the  conscious- 
ness, too,  that  in  giving  others  pleasure, 
one  but  enriches  one's  self. 


CHRISTMAS 

By    FRANK    W.     GUNSAULUS 


CHICAGO,      ILLINOIS 


THE  bleak  winds  hush  their  wintry  cry 
And  murmur  softly  with  the  sigh 
Of  Mary  in  the  lowly  place 
Where  shines  the  Baby's  holy  face. 
Yet  everywhere  men  ask  this  morn : 
"  O,  where  is  our  Redeemer  born  ? " 

The  winds  of  time  are  still  this  night ; 
One  star  is  guiding  calm  and  bright. 
My  soul,  hush  thou  and  follow  on 


Through  day  to  night,  through  night  to  dawn! 
Where  childhood  needs  thy  love,  this  morn. 
Lo,  there  is  thy  Redeemer  born ! 

So,  Jesus,  with  their  carrolled  praise, 
Thou  comest  in  our  day  of  days. 
These  bring  Thee  to  our  earth  again ; 
We  hear  once  more  the  angels'  strain. 
Blest  be  the  children  on  this  morn 
Behold  our  dear  Redeemer  born ! 


A     STORY      FOR      THE     CHILDREN 
By     ELIZABETH     FRYE    PAGE 

NASHVILLE,     TENNESSEE 


«nEARS  ter  me  lak  I  hears  a  mon- 
st'ous  squealing  out  dar  in  de  side 
yard,"  said  Aunt  Lou  to  herself  one 
morning,  as  she  was  washing  the  break- 
fast dishes;  and  she  stepped  to  the 
window  to  see  what  was  the  occasion 
of  it. 

Up  the  walk  came  four-year-old  Mar- 
garet, swinging  Jet,  her  little  black- 
and-tan  puppy,  by  the  tail.  The  dog  was 
squealing  and  pawing  the  air  in  vigor- 
ous protest,  but  the  little  girl  walked 
along  as  unconcerned  as  if  she  were 
swinging  her  bonnet  by  the  strings. 

The  old  colored  woman  was  intensely 
amused,  and  running  into  the  house 
as  fast  as  her  unusual  accumulation  of 
flesh  would  permit,  she  called  Mrs. 
Fain,  Margaret's  mother,  to  come  and 
look,  expecting  her  to  laugh  at  the 
child's  fearlessness  and  the  dog's  dis- 
comfort. But  Mrs.  Fain  was  very  ten- 


der-hearted and  fond  of  animals,  and 
could  not  bear  to  see  anything  that 
looked  like  cruelty  to  one  of  the  dumb 
creatures,  especially  from  her  own  little 
daughter. 

"Margaret,"  she  called,  "don't  carry 
Jet  that  way!  Take  him  in  your  arms. 
Can't  you  see  that  you  are  hurting  him?" 

"No,  I  isn't  hurtin'  him,  mamma," 
she  replied,  smiling  gleefully.  "He's 
jess  mad  'cause  he  didn't  want  to  be 
bwinged  out  o'  the  flower  bed.  He  was 
lyin'  down  on  your  goodest  little  baby 
-'tunias  an'  things  that's  comin'  up  so 
thick  in  the  middle-est  bed." 

"It  was  right,  dear,  to  bring  him  away 
from  the  little  young  plants,  but  it  is 
just  as  much  wrong  for  you  to  hurt  your 
pet  as  it  is  for  him  to  hurt  my  little  pet 
petunias." 

"But,  mamma,"  the  child  argued, 
still  swinging  the  unhappy  puppy,  "I'm 


334 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1904 


not  hurtin'  him.     That's  his  handle." 

"Come  here,  little  girl,"  said  Mrs. 
Fain,  sitting  down  on  the  steps  and 
motioning  to  a  place  by  her  side. 
"Now,  let  us  talk  about  it,"  she  said, 
after  they  were  seated  together,  with  Jet 
cuddled  contentedly  in  the  lap  of  his 
rescuer.  "Suppose  it  was  you,  darling." 

"But,  mamma,"  protested  Margaret, 
"dogs  isn't  like  folks!  I  can't  'spose  I 
was  a  dog." 

"No,  Margaret,"  answered  Mrs.  Fain, 
"they  are  not  like  folks,  but  they  are 
alive  and  have  feelings  like  folks,  and 
they  depend  upon  us  for  protection. 
Just  think  how  much  larger  you  are  than 
poor  little  Jet!  Now,  suppose  your  papa 
should  pick  you  up  by  the  ear  or  the 
nose  or  one  little  arm  and  swing  you 
along  that  way,  how  would  you  like  it? 
Jet  may  think  your  ear  would  make  a 
good  handle,  for  all  you  know,  but  it 
would  be  very  painful  to  you  to  be  lifted 
and  carried  around  by  it." 

The  little  girl  looked  surprised  at 
being  told  to  put  herself  in  the  place  of 
a  little  black-and-tan  dog  that  could  only 
squeal  or  bark  when  it  was  treated  badly, 
but  when  she  thought  of  her  great  big 
papa  swinging  her  around  by  the  ear, 
intead  of  carrying  her  tenderly  in  his 
arms  or  on  his  broad  shoulder,  she 
began  to  realize  how  cruel  she  had  been, 
and  with  a  sob  she  threw  herself  into  her 
mother's  lap  and  cried  bitterly. 

Her  mother  soothed  and  comforted  her 
until  her  first  storm  of  grief  was  over, 
and  then  went  back  to  her  sewing,  but 
Margaret  still  sat  on  the  back  steps,  look- 
ing very  woebegone.  Good  old  Aunt 
Lou  peeped  out  after  she  heard  Mrs. 
Fain  go  in  the  house,  and  then  tiptoed 
across  the  porch  to  where  the  child  sat. 
She  felt  very  guilty  and  her  own  tears 
were  not  far  from  the  surface,  because 
she  felt  responsible  for  the  child's  being 
scolded,  as  she  had  called  her  mother 
to  look  at  what  she,  in  her  doting  love 
for  the  little  one,  considered  only  an 
innocent  prank. 


"Dar,  now,  honey-chile,"  she  said 
soothingly,  "doan  yer  cry  no  mo'.  No- 
body ain't  goin'  ter  tote  yer  'roun'  by 
de  year  whilst  I  lives  an'  has  eyes  ter 
see  and  han's  ter  retch  out  an'  grab  'em 
wid  an'  shake  'em  tell  dey  teef  rattles ! 
Heah's  a  ginger  cake  mammy  done  bake 
fer  yer.  Now  run  erlong  an'  play." 

The  child  reached  for  the  cake,  but 
still  looked  solemn.  Looking  around 
the  yard,  she  saw  various  reminders  of 
little  acts  of  cruelty  that  she  had  been 
guilty  of  from  time  to  time. 

"But,  mammy,"  she  confessed  tear- 
fully, "I'se  beened  such  a  cwuel  child! 
I'se  pushed  the  cat  off  the  po'ch  jess  to 
see  if  he  would  'light  on  his  foots.  An' 
I'se  yunned  the  old  gander  jess  to  see 
him  waddle  his  funny  way  an'  hear  him 
squawk.  An'  poor  Jet!  I'se  been  so 
orful  to  him!  Once  I  shutted  him  up 
in  a  dark  closet  to  keep  him  Pom  fol- 
lowin'  me  when  I  was  goin'  somewheres 
where  he  wasn't  'vited.  Oh,  s'pose  it 
was  me!  S'pose  it  was  me!  "  And  the 
conscience-smitten  child  began  crying 
again  and  cried  until  she  choked  on  a 
crumb.  Aunt  Lou  began  to  beat  her  in 
the  back  and  said  soothingly,  "Dar  den, 
baby  chile,  doan  yer  take  on  so  b'out 
nuthin'.  You  ain't  never  been  meanin' 
ter  be  mean.  'Sides,  cuffin'  is  jess 
nachully  part  o'  a  dog's  raisin',  an'  dey 
ain't  no  'count  widout  it." 

After  that  the  sensitive  little  rnind  was 
haunted  by  those  words,  "S'posin'  it 
was  you!  "  and  the  idea  they  conveyed. 

One  day  Mrs.  Fain  set  the  canary 
bird's  cage  down  on  a  table  to  put  in 
fresh  food  and  water  for  his  bath.  She 
went  to  the  front  of  the  house  for  some- 
thing and  left  Margaret  on  guard  to  see 
that  the  cat  did  not  jump  up  and  try  to 
overturn  the  cage,  from  which  the  bottom 
had  been  loosened,  and  eat  the  beautiful 
little  yellow  pet. 

Margaret  peeped  into  the  cage  and 
said:  "Dickey,  what  you  got  to  eat? 
Bird  seed  an'  a  lettuce  leaf!  Well,  well, 
that  ain't  much!  No  wonder  you  don't 


THE  HOME 


335 


grow  bigger.  An'  you  got  water  to  wash 
in,  but  you  hasn't  any  soap  an'  tow'l  an' 
sponge.  I  'clare,  mamma  does  'glee' 
you  orful,  for  a  grown  lady!"  Then  she 
thought,  "S'posin'  it  was  you!"  and 
away  she  ran,  without  further  delay. 
Presently  she  came  back  with  a  bit  of 
cold  chicken  and  a  biscuit  and  a  spoon- 
ful of  mayonnaise,  which  she  spread  on 
the  lettuce  leaf;  then  she  sprinkled  the 
bird  seed  on  that,  as  she  had  seen  Aunt 
Lou  put  celery  seed  on  the  salad  for  the 
table.  "Now,"  she  said,  with  satisfac- 
tion, "youm  got  a  square  meal  for  once 
in  your  life;  an'  I'se  goin'  to  fix  you 
a  good  baff.  Here's  a  nice  little  piece 
o'  soap,  and  a  new  wash  rag  that's  plenty 
big  for  a  tow'l  for  you,  an'  I  cutted  a 
piece  off  o'  my  papa's  big  sponge  what 
he  baves  wiv.  Now,  then,  if  I  s'pose  it 
was  me,  it  won't  hurt  my  feelin's 
so  bad." 

Her  mother  was  detained  in  the  house 
by  a  caller,  and  sent  the  housemaid  to 
finish  fixing  the  bird,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  she  heard  of  Margaret's  ar- 
rangements for  the  bird's  comfort,  and 
she  forgot  to  say  anything  to  her  about 
it,  so  the  child  felt  that  she  was  learning 
to  be  good,  and  for  once  had  done  the 
right  thing.  This  gave  her  confidence, 
and  she  began  to  look  for  further  oppor- 
tunities. 

One  day  she  was  sitting  in  her  favorite 
place  on  the  top  step  of  the  back  porch, 
when  a  man  brought  in  a  lot  of  chickens, 
as  many  as  he  could  carry,  all  tied 
together,  in  both  hands.  There  was 
a  coop  in  the  back  yard  made  of  laths. 
It  had  a  top  and  sides,  but  no  bottom ; 
and  the  man  turned  it  down  over  the 
chickens,  and  then  put  his  hand  in 
a  small  door  on  top  of  the  coop  and  cut 


the  strings,  so  that  the  chickens  could 
move  about  freely,  and  then  he  left. 

Aunt  Lou  was  delighted  at  the  acquisi- 
tion of  so  large  a  number  of  fine  fowls, 
"when  chickenses  is  so  scan'lous  high," 
and  went  into  the  kitchen  to  get  food 
and  water  for  them. 

Margaret  sat  looking  at  the  coop,  when 
a  yellow  hen  stuck  her  long  neck  through 
a  crack  and  looked  straight  at  her,  pok- 
ing out  her  thirsty  tongue  and  opening 
her  round  eyes  wide.  The  child  was 
startled  by  those  eyes,  and  the  hen 
seemed  to  say  to  her:  "Sp'osin'  it  was 
you!  S'posin'  it  was  you!" 

The  little  girl  never  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment. Down  the  steps  she  ran,  and  by 
a  great  effort  turned  over  the  coop,  so 
the  chickens  could  get  out.  Not  satis- 
fied with  giving  them  that  much  free- 
dom, she  opened  the  side  gate  and 
"shooed"  them  all  off  the  place.  Then 
she  went  back,  and  when  Aunt  Lou  came 
out  with  the  food  and  water  for  the 
fowls,  she  found  Margaret  sitting  com- 
placently in  the  overturned  coop,  smil- 
ing and  happy. 

But  when  her  mamma  heard  of  it,  she 
whipped  her. 

And  Aunt  Lou,  though  grieved  at  the 
loss  of  the  fine  fowls,  was  even  more  so 
over  the  child's  punishment.  She  shook 
her  head  and  muttered,  as  she  heard  the 
little  one's  sobs. 

"Dat'swhut  mek  I  say  whut  I  does! 
Bar's  no  'countin'  fer  white  folkses 
ways!  Dey  larns  dey  chillun  sumpin, 
an'  time  dey  gits  hit  good  larnt,  'long 
dey  comes  an'  beats  hit  outen  'em." 

And  Margaret  said:  "  'Sp'osin'  it  was 
you'  is  mighty  hard!  S'posin'  that  old 
yellow  hen  had  been  me,  an'  got  that 
whippin'! " 


A  WORD  TO  CONTRIBUTORS  — We  receive  so  many  hundreds  of  "little  helps"  that  we  are  unable  to  send 
a  personal  acknowledgment  of  each  one  —  much  as  we  wish  to  do  it.  We  cannot,  for  obvious  reasons,  return 
unused  "  little  helps,"  unless  a  stamped  and  self-addressed  return  envelope  is  enclosed  with  the  ms.,  for  that 
purpose.  We  suggest  that  each  reader  who  wishes  to  contribute  should  send  but  ONE  "  little  help  "  —  her  very 
best  one,  say,  each  month,  since  we  cannot  print  more  than  one  from  any  contributor  in  one  number  of 
the  magazine.  For  each  "little  help"  published,  one  year's  subscription  will  be  awarded  in  payment.  The 
writer  may  add  this  to  her  own  subscription  or  send  the  National  to  a  friend  for  the  next  twelve  months. 


336 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    DECEMBER,   1904 


LITTLE   HELPS   FOR  HOME-MAKERS 


COLLECTING    SPOONS 

AURILLA    ROUNDS 
Rogers  Park,  Illinois 

Start  right  now  to  give  your  little  daughter  a  silver 
teaspoon  each  birthday,  with  her  initials  and  the  year 
engraved.  When  she  is  grown  and  the  fairy  prince 
comes  to  take  her  to  the  new  home  she  will  have  a 
valuable  collection,  more  highly  prized  than  a  set  all 
of  one  pattern,  and  one  of  which  there  is  no  duplicate. 

MIXING  BREAD 

By   OLA    L.   GRAY 

East  Calais,  Vermont 

Those  sisters  who  do  not  possess  a  bread-mixer  will 
find  a  great  saving  in  time  and  labor  if,  instead  of  so 
much  kneading,  they  will  make  the  rolling-pin  do  some 
of  the  work. 

Take  a  portion  of  the  sponge,  after  it  is  ready  to  go 
into  the  tins,  sufficient  for  a  loaf,  and  after  working  it 
with  the  hands  into  a  smooth  round  ball,  turn  it  over 
and  roll  out  to  about  one-half  or  three-quarters  of  an 
inch  in  thickness,  being  sure  to  break  all  the  air  bubbles 
which  form  on  the  edge,  fold  the  sides  over  so  that  the 
width  is  a  little  less  than  the  length  of  the  tin,  roll  up, 
place  in  tin,  let  rise  and  bake. 

SOME  USES  OF  SALT 

By    BESSIE     McELROY    NUCKOLLS 
Eldora,  Iowa 

Salt  in  the  water  is  the  best  thing  to  clean  matting 
and  willow  ware. 

Salt  under  baking  tins  in  the  oven  will  prevent 
burning. 

Salt  put  on  soot  where  it  has  fallen  on  the  carpet 
will  prevent  stains. 

Salt  with  vinegar  will  remove  tea  stains  from  china. 

Salt  thrown  on  a  low  fire  will  revive  it. 

Salt  if  used  when  sweeping  carpets  will  prevent 
moths. 

Salt  in  the  bath  is  very  invigorating. 

Salt  thrown  on  brick  walks  overgrown  with  grass 
will  soon  kill  the  growth. 

Coarse  salt  thrown  on  icy  places  prevents  many  a 
fall. 

Add  a  cup  of  salt  to  your  foot  bath,  using  hot  water, 
and  it  will  prove  very  restful  to  tired  feet,  also  a  relief 
in  case  of  chillblains. 

A  bag  of  hot  salt  is  a  valuable  remedy  for  neuralgia, 
toothache  or  earache;  rest  the  affected  part  upon 
the  salt. 

Salt,  together  with  lemon  juice,  will  remove  the  most 
stubborn  ink  stains  as  well  as  iron  rust,  if  applied 
freely. 

NEW    USE    FOR   PAPER   BAGS 

By    PERCY    FIELDING 
Ithica,  New  York 

When  you  wish  to  salt  buttered  popcorn,  peanuts, 
almonds,  home-made  Sarataga  chips,  place  one  scant 
tablespoonful  of  salt  into  a  paper  bag,  together  with 
whatever  is  to  be  salted,  and  shake  well.  The  salt  will 
be  equally  distributed,  as  in  no  other  way ;  also  all 
superfluous  butter  will  be  absorbed  by  the  bag.  Flour 
may  be  sifted  over  raisins,  citron,  nuts,  etc.,  that  are 
to  be  stirred  into  cake,  as  also  powdered  sugar  over 
cookies,  crullers,  etc.,  in  the  same  fashion. 


WHEN    CHOKING 

By   GRACE    M.    STEPHENSON 
Austin,  Texas 

If  you  are  choked  and  cannot  get  relief,  get  down  on 
all  fours  and  cough  until  you  remove  the  obstruction. 
Lovey  Mary's  plan  of  holding  the  child  upside  down 
and  shaking  him  is  the  best  plan  known  for  relieving 
a  choking  baby. 

STARCHING    BATH    TOWELS 

By  VIRGINIA    R.   YEAKLE 

Little   Rock,    Arkansas 

Starch  Turkish  bath  towels  in  thin  starch.  These 
"  scratchy,"  unironed  towels  are  just  the  thing  to  use 
before  retiring,  giving  better  results  than  a  flesh  brush. 

TO     FRESHEN     CUT     FLOWERS 
By    ALICE    T.    BRYANT 

Cambridge,  Massachusetts 

In  the  first  place,  cut  flowers  must  have  fresh  water 
daily  and  must  not  be  placed  in  an  overheated  room. 
When  they  begin  to  droop,  place  the  stems  an  inch 
deep  in  hot  water  and  let  them  remain  two  or  three 
minutes ;  then  cut  off  as  much  of  the  stem  as  was  in 
the  hot  water ;  place  in  clear  cold  water  again.  Repeat 
this  process  each  morning  and  you  will  more  than 
doubly  prolong  the  freshness  of  your  flowers. 

A    SALT-CELLAR    HINT 

By   B.    L.    DAVIS 
Little  Haddam,  Connecticut 

To  keep  salt  dry  in  the  cellars,  when  the  meal  is  over 
place  a  tumbler  over  them. 

TO    CLEAN    FELT    HATS 

By    ELIZABETH    M.    ROBINSON 
Iowa  City,  Iowa. 

White  corn  meal  rubbed  on  with  the  bare  hand  or  a 
cloth  will  clean  white,  or  any  shade  of  felt  hats  so  that 
they  will  look  like  new. 

WHEN    PLANTING    CELERY 

By   Miss   Miles 
Upper  Maugerville,  New  Brunswick. 

Have  any  of  the  "National"  housekeepers  celery  in 
their  kitchen  garden  ?  If  so,  perhaps  this  hint  told  me 
by  an  old  Englishman  who  is  noted  for  the  beautiful 
celery  he  raises  in  his  tiny  strip  of  ground,  will  be  use- 
ful. When  planting  your  celery  make  the  ground 
literally  white  with  salt.  This  will  make  your  celery 
earlier  and  better  than  ever  before. 

A    DAIRY     HINT 

By  MRS.  S.  A.  STRANGE 

Kendall,    Washington 

To  keep  dust  from  milk  in  pans  I  make  covers  of 
cheese  cloth  cut  an  inch  larger  than  my  pan  and  hem- 
med, then  whipped  over  wire  hoops.  These  covers  are 
light,  keep  my  milk  free  from  dust  and  do  not  exclude 
the  air  which  keeps  milk  sweet. 


THE    HOME 


337 


FUEL    ECONOMY 


By    E.    F.    B. 

Worcester,  Massachusetts. 

Push  old  fire  ashes  all  into  one  end  of  stove,  then 
build  a  new  fire  under  one  hole  to  top  of  fire-box.  I 
do  my  cooking  and  ironing  at  the  same  time  this  way, 
always  have  hot  flats  and  use  about  half  as  much  coal. 

II 
By  CORA  A.  MATSON-DOLSON 

Floridaville,  New  York. 

If  the  oven  of  your  coal  or  wood  range  is  slow  about 
heating,  get  a  sheet-iron  oven  such  as  is  used  on  an  oil 
or  oil-gas  stove.  One  holding  four  round  tins  will  cost 
from  $1.50  to  $2.50.  Set  this  over  the  two  hottest 
griddles  of  your  range.  It  will  heat  in  a  few  minutes 
and  bake  well  with  only  an  ordinary  fire. 


TO 


STOP    A    COUGH 
By  MRS.  G.   W.    LAWRENCE 

Oil— not  essence — of  peppermint,  if  rubbed  on  the 
throat  and  chest  will  usually  stop  the  most  obstinate 
cough  and  if  applied  to  the  nose  will  help  a  cold  in  the 
head. 

LACE  CURTAINS  ON  BLUEGRASS 

By  MRS.  A.  F. 
New  Plymouth,  Idaho 

My  neighbor  washed  her  fine  net  curtains  the  other 
day ;  then  she  spread  them  on  the  bluegrass,  pinned 
them  done  with  hairpins  and  they  look  like  new.  The 
ruffles  needed  a  very  little  pressing. 
(I  think  we  will  have  to  subscribe  for' each  member  of 
our  family,  for  the  National  has  no  rest  until  it  looks 
as  if  it  had  made  several  trips  across  the  continent.) 

A  FIRE  KINDLER 

By  M.  A.  EDGERTON 

Monarch,  Montana 

A  tin  can  full  of  ashes  moistened  with  kerosene  makes 
the  best  and  most  economical  of  fire  kindlers.  A  tea- 
spoonful  of  the  mixture  is  sufficient  to  start  a  fire  where 
wood  is  used. 

A    COOLING    OINTMENT 

By    S.    T. 
Columbus  Junction,  Iowa. 

When  I  want  a  cooling,  soothing,  air-excluding,  oint- 
ment for  eczema,  burns,  or  other  sores,  I  mix  powdered 
corn  starch  with  vaseline  This  gives  it  more  body, 
forms  a  slight  coating  over  the  surface,  and  is  not  all 
absorbed  by  the  cloths,  as  in  the  case  where  vaseline 
alone  is  used. 

MORE    ABOUT     FRUIT     STAINS 

By  M.  W. 

Woodford,  New  York 

One  of  the  Little  Helps  in  your  October  number  ad- 
vised pouring  boiling  water  directly  on  fruit  stains  to 
remove  them.  That  is  all  right  for  berry  stains,  but  it 
will "  set "  some,  especially  cider  and  apple  stains.  So 
I  soak  all  apple,  pear,  peach  and  tomato  stains  in  cold 
water  for  an  hour  or  two ;  then  dip  in  boiling  water  and 
they  will  instantly  disappear. 


WHEN    BOILING    MILK 

By  MRS.    E.    N.    M. 
Brookville,   Pennsylvania. 

When  you  boil  milk,  grease  the  pan  with  butter, 
before  putting  in  the  milk.  This  will  prevent  the 
granules  that  gather  on  the  bottom  of  the  pan  that  are 
so  hard  to  wash  off. 

WHEN  BOILING  HAMS 

By  E.  M.  DARRINGTON 
Yazoo  City,  Mississippi 

To  prevent  dryness,  a  ham  should  be  left  in  the 
water  in  which  it  is  boiled  until  perfectly  cold. 

A    PARASOL    IDEA 

By  GENE    C.    HILDEBRAND 

Waterloo,  Iowa. 

Any  clever  girl  can  make  a  parasol  to  match  her 
gown  at  very  little  expense,  by  purchasing  two  yards 
of  nineteen-inch  silk  to  match  or  harmonize  in  color. 
Take  an  old  parasol  cover  and  rip  out  a  section,  being 
very  careful  to  get  an  exact  pattern  of  it.  After  cutting 
out  the  necessary  number  of  sections,  baste  very  care* 
fully  to  keep  from  pulling  out  of  shape.  Stitch  the 
sections  together  and  hem  the  edges,  slip  on  over  the 
frame,  securing  firmly  at  the  top  and  tacking  to  the 
frame  in  the  same  manner  as  the  ready-made  ones. 
Finish  the  top  with  a  small  frill  and  cord,  and  the  han- 
dle with  a  large  bow  artistically  tied.  Be  sure  to  notice 
just  how  a  parasol  is  put  together  ( the  cover  I  mean  ) 
so  yours  will  not  have  a  home-made  look.  I  made  one 
last  Summer  to  match  my  silk  shirt-waist  suit  and  it 
is  a  beauty, 

A   NEW    PARLOR    GAME 

By    MRS.    F.    A.    JOY 

Endeavor,  Wisconsin 

For  as  many  people  as  were  invited  to  a  little  even- 
ing party  I  cut  out  full  pages  of  advertisements  from 
the  National  Magazine,  cutting  each  page  into  small 
pieces  and  numbering  them  so  that  the  right  side  could 
be  told,  then  mixed  the  small  pieces  together.  Each 
person  was  given  a  large  sheet  of  paper  and  then  all 
were  to  test  how  quickly  they  could  paste  the  proper 
pieces  in  place  to  form  the  correct  ad.  The  contest 
roused  much  merriment. 

HOUSE    ROSES 

By  ADA    M..  BAKER 
Portage,  Wisconsin 

When  I  take  house  roses  out  of  the  ground  in  the 
Fall  I  put  the  roots  in  a  pot  in  which  they  will  have 
plenty  of  room,  being  careful  to  cut  out  all  old  branches. 
I  give  them  plenty  of  water  and  leave  them  out  of 
doors  days  as  long  as  the  nice  weather  continues,  and 
then  put  them  in  a  south  window  of  a  room  in  which 
there  is  no  stove,  but  with  a  temperature  of  about  68 
degrees  Fahr.  As  soon  as  one  lot  of  roses  is  gone  I 
cut  back  all  the  branches  which  have  not  borne. 
Under  this  treatment  during  the  last  eleven  months  I 
hirve  picked  sixty-eight  roses  from  a  Brabrant  bush  at 
no  time  more  than  thirty  inches  high,  there  being  at 
one  time  sixteen  blossoms  on  two  new  shoots  which 
came  up  from  the  root.  I  took  my  bush  up  about  Six 
weeks  ago  (Sept.  15,)  and  cut  it  back  and  it  has  now 
started  new  branches  all  over,  with  the  buds  already 
showing.  Never  be  afraid  of  the  pruning  knife  with 
roses. 


AOTE 


COMMENT 


By     FRANK     PUTNAM 


THAT  marvelous  aggregation  of  horny- 
handed  farmers,  slim-fingered  dudes, 
healthy  washerwomen,  anaemic  fine 
ladies,  gamblers,  preachers,  tramps, 
desk-men,  jimhills,  ditch-diggers,  law- 
sharps,  prostitutes,  poets,  fiddlers,  prize- 
fighters, bankers,  bunco-men,  job  hunt- 
ers, jerry-builders,  bargain-drivers,  pa- 
triots and  wooden-nutmeg  peddlers 
drawn  to  this  free  soil  from  the  four 
quarters  of  the  earth  as  steel  filings  are 
drawn  by  the  magnet  —  this  interesting 
aggregation  which,  collectively,  com- 
mands my  highest  love  as  MY 
COUNTRY,  has  just  been  advertising 
to  the  world  the  measure  of  its  own  soul 
in  the  choice  of  its  public  servants. 

In  the  contest  for  the  presidency  the  political 
group  that  bore  the  name  of  democracy  was  de- 
feated: but  the  group  that  nominated  the  real 
democrat  won. 

The  daily  papers  talk  a  lot  about  "the 
republican  landslide."  Let  us  be  exact: 
there  were  two  landslides. 

Millions  of  democrats — the  indepen- 
dent, thinking  minority  that  has  more 
regard  for  a  fact  than  for  a  label — re- 
jected Parker.  Most  of  them  voted  for 
Theodore  Roosevelt.  A  smaller  but 
considerable  number — the  natural  born 
pioneers  of  social  progress — voted  with 
the  socialists  for  Eugene  Debs. 

And  in  eight  northern  states  which 
gave  big  majorities  to  Roosevelt,  demo- 
cratic governors  were  chosen.  In  Massa- 
chusetts, Minnesota,  -Montana,  Mis- 
souri, Illinois,  Nebraska,  Colorado  and 
Wisconsin,  the  independent,  thinking 
minority  of  republicans  rejected  their 


party's  nominee  and  voted  for  his  demo- 
cratic rival. 

"Jim"  Hill,  the  ablest  railroad  man 
of  his  generation,  got  his  fingers  hurt 
trying  to  shove  an  unpopular,  tricky 
politician  down  the  throats  of  Minneso- 
tans.  The  people  of  the  state  decided  to 
show  Mr.  Hill  that  however  much  they 
appreciated  him  as  a  highway  maker, 
they  do  not  want  him  for  a  political 
master. 

,  Yes,  I  know  that  Lafollette  of  Wiscon- 
sin and  Deneen  of  Illinois  were  on  the 
republican  tickets,  and  that  there  were 
so-called  democratic  tickets  in  the  field 
against  them:  this  doesn't  alter  the  fact 
that  these  men  were  the  true  representa- 
tives of  genuine  democracy  in  the  ballot- 
ing of  November  8,  1904.  Deneen,  by 
the  way,  led  even  Roosevelt  in  Illinois, 
his  plurality  for  governor  being  a  little 
trifle  of  266,000  plus. 

Lafollette,  who  was  to  be  "wiped  off 
the  slate  forever"  by  the  men' who  bolted 
his  party  when  for  the  first  time  in 
a  generation  they  lost  control  of  it,  is 
still  there,  big  as  life.  If  there  is  any 
one  thing  that  the  average  voter  despises 
more  than  anything  else,  it  is  what  is 
technically  known  as  "the  baby  act." 
When  this  group  of  distinguished — now 
extinguished  —  republican  bolters  were 
making  a  door-mat  of  Lafollette  years 
ago,  he  took  his  medicine  like  a  little 
man,  and  came  back  for  more.  And 
they  did  not  spare  him,  either.  They 
would  have  more  public  sympathy  now 
if  they  had  followed  his  example. 

In  Massachusetts,  Douglas'  advocacy 
of  tariff  revision  so  as  to  make  freer 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT,    PRESIDENT    OF    ALL    THE    PEOPLE 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1903,  by  Clinedinst 


340 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   DECEMBER,    1904 


trade  between  Canada  and  New  Eng- 
land, and  Bates'  enforcement  of  Puri- 
tanic Blue  Laws  in  metropolitan  Boston, 
coupled  with  his  vetoes  of  bills  in  the 
interest  of  labor,  were  about  equally 
responsible  for  Bates  running  120,000 
behind  Roosevelt  and  the  election  of 
Douglas  by  35,000  plus.  If  Senator 
Lodge,  the  chief  Massachusetts  "stand- 
patter," was  listening  to  "the  voice  of 
the  people"  on  election  day,  he  very 
likely  heard  something  greatly  to  his 
advantage  in  an  educational  sense. 

"Joe"  Folk's  victory  in  Missouri  over 
the  combined  forces  of  corruption  gives 
the  measure  of  Missouri's  robust  sense 
of  private  honor  and  public  decency. 

Colorado  when  she  elected  Governor 
Peabody  gave  notice  that  she  would  not 
stand  for  the  brutal  tyranny  of  lawless 
labor  unionists.  Now,  in  retiring  Pea- 
body,  a  beaten  aspirant  for  another  term, 
Colorado  gives  yet  more  emphatic  notice 
that  she  will  not  stand  for  executive 
usurpation  of  judicial  functions,  nor  for 
public  invasion  of  sacred  private  rights. 
There  will  be  no  more  exiling  of  citi- 
zens from  Colorado  solely  because  they 
belong  to  labor  unions;  no  more  terroriz- 
ing of  innocent  women  and  children  by 
a  state  militia  turned  irresponsibly  over 
to  do  the  lawless  will  of  greedy  mine- 
owners.  Standard  Oil  will  discover  that 
it  cannot  permanently  rule  an  American 
commonwealth  from  26  Wall  street. 

If  President  Roosevelt  and  the  other 


leaders  of  his  party  believe  their  tre- 
mendous majority  is  a  mandate  to  hold 
tariffs  up  to  the  limit;  to  give  a  free 
hand  to  the  plundering  meat,  coal,  oil 
and  other  trusts  that  control  and  make 
constantly  dearer  the  necessaries  of  life, 
— then  they  are  due  for  an  equally  em- 
phatic rebuke  two  years  hence,  or  yours 
truly  is  no  prophet.  The  people  have 
simply  put  it  up  to  the  president,  whom 
they  love  and  trust,  to  get  justice  done; 
and  between  you  and  me  and  the  lamp- 
post, I  believe  he'll  do  it,  or  make  a 
strenuous  try  at  it.  Of  course  it  won't 
be  possible  to  cut  tariffs  much  until 
other  sources  of  government  revenue  are 
provided.  The  attempts  that  have  been 
made  to  levy  an  income  tax  tended  this 
way.  One  of  these  days  we  shall  have 
a  supreme  court  that  will  be  able  to  find 
constitutional  warrant  for  this  most  just 
and  equitable  form  of  taxation.  Govern- 
ment ownership  of  railways  and  tele- 
graphs would  produce  an  enormous 
public  revenue.  From  these  and  kindred 
sources  must  come  the  money  to  run  the 
government  if  tariff  taxes  are  to  be 
lowered  or  removed.  I  personally  be- 
lieve that  all  this— free  trade,  government 
ownership  and  the  income  tax — is  a  con- 
summation devoutly  to  be  wished — and 
I  think  my  small  sons,  if  they  live  long 
enough,  may  see  it  come  to  pass. 

Meantime,  let's  cheer  up,  drink  to  the 
president's  very  good  health,  and  see 
about  getting  the  Christmas  turkey. 


TREES    AND    MEN 

By    H.    R.    R.    HERTZBERG 

SAN     ANTONIO,    TEXAS 


•TREES  of  the  big  sorts,  master  trees, 
1    Grow  very  slowly— at  their  ease. 
They  can  be  forced  to  shoot  up  fast 
Indeed,  but  then  they  do  not  last, 
They  do  not  live  their  life  out  then ; 


And  what  is  true  of  trees,  of  men 

Is  also  true.    Big  men,  the  kind 

Who  wi'  their  flaming  names  have  signed 

Pages  of  History,  had  ne'er 

Attained  their  growth  in  hot-house  air. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


he  Yule-tide  feast  of  love  and  happiness  can 
have  no  greater  enchantment  than  Nabisco 
f  Sugar  Wafers,  a  Fairy  Sandwich  that  sets 
merry  hearts  attune — a  confection  of  subtle 
individuality  and  delightsome  character,  that  is  as  much  a 
part  of  Merry  Christmas  as  a  sunbeam  is  a  part  of  Spring. 
You  must  have  Nabisco  Sugar  Wafers  to  complete  the 
glory  of  the  Yule-tide  feast. 

And  when  the  evening  shadows  fall,  and  the  logs  are 
burning,  bright  with  cheer,  you  should  pass  around  Festino 
Almonds,  that  old  and  young,  and  those  who  are  not  so  old 
and  young,  may  ever  remember  and  cherish  the  joys  of  the  day. 


Don't  fail  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


KANSAS    OIL    INDUSTRY 


By    E.    N.    BURR 


ACCORDING   to   an    official    report 
just  received  from  the  United  States 
Bureau  of  Statistics,  the  foreign  demand 
for  American   petroleum   has  been  in- 
creasing at  a  remarkable  rate  of  late. 

For  the  month  of  April,  1904,  our  total 
exports  of  mineral  oil,  including  crude, 
refined  and  residuum,  were  valued  at 
$7,563,027,  as  compared  with  $6,157,035 
in  April,  1903.  And  for  the  ten  months 
ending  April  30,  1902,  1903  and  1904, 
respectively,  the  values  were  as  follows: 
EXPORTS  OF  MINERAL  OIL 


YEAR 

1902  ( 10  months  ending  April  30) 

1903  " 

1904  " 


VALUE 
$60,384,048 
672 


66*  196,792 

If  the  above  indicated  rate  of  increase 
proves  to  have  been  maintained  during 
May  and  June,  the  exports  of  petroleum 
for  the  current  fiscal  year,  ending  June 
30,  1904,  will  figure  up  about  $82,000,000, 
thus  surpassing  by  about  $7,000,000  the 
high  water  mark  of  $75,611,750  reached 
in  the  fiscal  year  ending  June  30,  1900. 

These  figures  are  the  more  remarkable 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  older  oil  fields 
are  becoming  exhausted.  Yet  as  they 
do  so,  the  home  and  foreign  demand 
continually  increases,  and  the  price  of 
oil  steadily  advances.  It  would  advance 
in  a  most  startling  fashion  were  it  not 
that  new  fields  have  been  opened  during 
the  last  two  or  three  years,  notably  in 
Texas,  California,  Kentucky  and  Kan- 
sas. 

The  United  States  Geological  Survey 
has  not  yet  made  its  official  report  on 
the  production  of  1903,  but  for  1902  it 
reports  that  the  total  production  in  the 
United  States  of  crude  petroleum  was 
80,894,590  barrels,  as  against  69,389, 194 
in  1901,  an  increase  of  11,505,396  barrels, 
or  sixteen  and  five-tenths  per  cent,  over 
that  of  1901  and  of  twenty-seven  per  cent, 
over  that  of  1900.  The  greatest  portion 
of  the  increase  in  1902  came  from  Texas 


and  California,  the  gain  being  5,830,994 
barrels,  or  one  hundred  and  thirty-two 
and  seven-tenths  per  cent,  for  Texas  and 
5,187,518  barrels,  or  fifty-nine  per  cent, 
for  California,  as  compared  with  their 
respective  productions  in  1901.  Louisi- 
ana produced  for  the  first  time  in  1902, 
the  production  being  548,617  barrels. 
The  increase  in  the  production  of  Kan- 
sas was  152,598  barrels,  or  about  eighty- 
five  per  cent,  over  1901. 

By  reason  of  the  fact  that  the  produc- 
tion of  petroleum  has  until  recently  been 
controlled  by  more  or  less  close  corpora- 
tions, with  the  Standard  Oil  Company 
at  the  head,  the  majority  of  investors 
have  not  been  so  familiar  with  the 
figures  pertaining  to  this  industry  as  they 
have  been  with  those  pertaining  to  gold 
or  silver  or  copper  mining.  Yet  the  fact 
that  the  Standard  Oil  Company  has  been 
able  to  pay  dividends  of  as  high  as  forty- 
eight  per  cent,  per  annum,  or  $48,000,- 
ooo  in  a  single  year  on  a  capital  of  $100,- 
000,000,  ought  to  open  people's  eyes  to 
the  wonderful  money  making  capabilities 
of  the  oil  deposits  of  America.  The 
Standard  Oil  Company  is  now  disbursing 
more  money  to  stockholders  than  any 
other  corporation  in  the  world.  Since 
January  i,  1897,  it  has  paid  nearly 
$300,000,000  in  dividends,  and  of  that 
amount  John  D.  Rockefeller  has  received 
nearly  $100,000,000.  Since  1891  Stan- 
dard Oil  has  paid  nearly  $400,000,000, 
or  four  times  the  amount  of  the  capital 
stock.  As  a  recent  writer  has  said, 
a  fair  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  divi- 
dends of  the  Standard  can  be  had  from 
the  fact  that  in  fifty-seven  years  the 
Pennsylvania  Railroad  has  only  paid 
about  $215,000,000  to  stockholders,  or 
$85,000,000  less  than  Standard  Oil  has 
paid  in  a  little  over  six  years. 

The  most  remarkable  feature  of  the  oil 
situation  of  today  is  the  fashion  in  which 


KANSAS    OIL    INDUSTRY 


Kansas  is  coming  to  the  front.  Although 
active  operations  do  not  date  back  very 
far,  Kansas  produced  1,000,000  barrels 
in  1903,  with  excellent  prospects  of 
doubling  that  total  in  1904.  The  Stan- 
dard Oil  Company  is  constructing  the 
largest  oil  refinery  in  the  world  at  Kan- 
sas City.  It  has  purchased  120  acres  of 
land  ten  miles  east  of  that  city  and  is 
investing  an  enormous  amount  of  money. 
It  will  take  all.  the  oil,  at  good  prices, 
that  Kansas  can  produce,  conveying  it 
to  the  refinery  in  its  hundreds  of  miles 
of  pipe  lines.  The  fine  quality  of  the 
Kansas  oil  is  an  important  point. 

Being  of  asphaltum  base,  the  Texas 
and  California  oil  can  only  be  used  for 
fuel  purposes,  and  is  sold  on  a  strongly 
competitive  and  necessarily  limited  mar- 
ket, brings  a  price  of  from  ten  cents  to 
seventeen  cents  per  barrel,  with  great 
difficulty  to  market  it  at  that  price.  Yet 
many  large  fortunes,  and  innumerable 
competencies  for  life  were  made  in  this 
oil.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Kansas  oil 
is  of  a  paraffin  base,  and  upon  being 
refined  produces  an  endless  variety  of 
marketable  products.  The  first  product 


that  comes  off  as  the  process  of  distilla- 
tion proceeds  is  naptha.  This  is  fol- 
lowed by  gasoline.  Then  comes  what  is 
popularly  supposed  to  be  about  the  only 
product  of  petroleum  oil,  coal  oil.  Then 
there  is  a  "signal"  oil,  a  heavier  oil, 
which  is  used  in  signal  lamps.  There 
are  numerous  lubricating  oils,  the  most 
delicate  of  which  is  dynamo  oil,  a  thin, 
fine  oil  suitable  for  delicate  machinery. 
Then  there  are  twenty  or  more  greases, 
including  a  mixture  of  yellow  and  black 
grease,  which  is  sold  for  axle  grease. 
There  is  a  heavier  grease  which  is  used 
to  grease  rails  at  railroad  curves,  so  as 
not  to  wear  the  flanges  of  wheels  and  to 
protect  the  rails.  A  delicate  product  is 
paraffin,  which  has  an  infinite  variety  of 
uses.  The  final  product  of  the  crude  oil 
is  the  coat.  This  is  a  form  of  coke, 
which  is  the  last  thrown  off  of  the 
original  crude  products.  It  is  burned  in 
a  grate  like  coal,  or  is  manufactured  into 
the  insulation  that  is  used  to  protect  wire 
of  various  kinds.  Owing  to  the  many 
products  of  paraffin  oil,  there  is  an  un- 
limited demand  for  it,  and  in  conse- 
quence good  prices  are  being  paid  for  it. 


GOLDFIELD,    NEVADA 

THE   SCENE   OF   GREAT   GOLD   DISCOVERIES 
By   E.    J.    PRICE 


SINCE  the  very  beginning  of  history, 
man  and  his  desire  for  gold  have 
been  inseparable.  It  has  proved  the 
very  foundation  of  our  commercial  life, 
and,  in  fact,  of  our  civilization.  The 
highest  aim  of  man  has  been  to  success- 
fully acquire  the  miner's  gold.  This  en- 
deavor has  proved  the  incentive  to  men- 
tal energy  that  has  resulted  in  .the  pro- 
gress of  civilization. 

The  prospector's  quest  for  gold  is 
a  silent  one,  but  when  his  efforts  have 
been  rewarded  his  discoveries  immedi- 
ately become  a  center  of  attraction,  a 


magnetism  that  draws  mankind  with  an 
irresistible  force.  Within  our  own 
memories  it  was  the  quest  of  gold  and 
diamonds  that  resulted  in  the  settlement 
of  South  Africa,  and  the  great  gold  dis- 
coveries in  California  that  wrested  men 
from  comfortable  homes  to  brave  the 
wild  and  barren  deserts  of  western 
America.  The  development  of  the  West 
has  always  followed  the  trail  of  the  gold 
seeker. 

Following  the  tail-end  of  the  Califor- 
nia gold  excitement  came  the  discovery 
of  the  wonderful  Comstock  mines  ol 


GOLDFIELD,    NEVADA 


Nevada,  that  are  estimated  to  have  pro- 
duced something  like  $600,000,000  in 
gold  and  silver  and  furnished  the  capital 
for  the  financing  of  most  of  the  great 
enterprises  of  the  West  and  produced 
many  of  the  world's  greatest  financiers. 
It  was  perhaps  largely  responsible  for 
the  great  decline  in  the  price  of  silver, 
but  it  strengthened  the  quest  for  gold, 
and  in  1890  came  the  great  gold  dis- 
coveries of  Cripple  Creek,  which  has 
proved  the  greatest  gold  mining  camp  in 


were  regarded  as  too  much  like  fairy 
tales  but  the  persistent  circulation  of 
reports  of  new  discoveries  have  caused 
almost  a  stampede  to  Goldfield  from  all 
the  leading  mining  districts  of  the  West. 
Already  Goldfield  numbers  six  or  seven 
thousand  people,  nearly  all  of  whom  have 
come  into  the  district  during  the  past 
five  months,  and  it  is  safe  to  predict  that 
next  Spring  Goldfield  will  have  a  popula- 
tion of  twenty  thousand  or  more  people. 
The  country  rock  of  the  district  is 


SACKING  RICH  GOLD  ORE  FROM  SURFACE  AT  GOLDFIELD,  NEVADA 


the  world.  This  district,  less  than  three 
miles  square,  has  added  to  the  world's 
supply  of  gold  about  $150,000,000  during 
the  past  ten  years,  thus  Colorado  became 
the  chief  field  of  mining  operations  and 
for  a  number  of  years  has  led  all  other 
states  of  the  Union  in  the  production  of 
gold  and  silver.  In  the  meantime,  how- 
ever, there  were  a  few  prospectors  who 
pinned  their  faith  to  Nevada,  which  has 
already  produced  more  gold  and  silver 
than  any  other  state  in  the  Union,  al- 
though it  has  the  smallest  population. 
The  deserts  of  Nevada  have  never  been 
very  inviting  to  the  man  who  loves  a 
comfortable  home,  but  the  quest  for  gold 
will  always  lead  men  to  the  greatest  ex- 
tremes. About  a  year  ago  a  phenomenal 
find  was  made  in  the  district  that  is  now 
known  as  Goldfield.  The  first  reports 


known  as  alaskite,  being  eruptive  rock 
from  a  great  volcano.  Through  this 
alaskite  protrudes  great  quartz  dykes, 
varying  from  a  few  feet  to  100  feet  in 
width.  It  is  in  secondary  fissuring  of 
these  quartz  dykes  that  are  to  be  found 
the  very  rich  gold  ore  shoots  that  have 
already  made  this  camp  famous.  The 
camp  already  numbers  about  twenty-five 
producers,  the  most  prominent  of  which 
are  the  Combination,  January,  Jumbo, 
Florence,  Velvet,  Saint  Ives,  Vernal  and 
Quartzite.  Most  of  these  have  from  a 
half  million  to  several  million  dollars 
worth  of  ore  in  sight.  The  camp  has 
for  the  first  year  of  its  existence  pro- 
duced more  gold  than  any  other  camp  in 
the  world  for  its  age,  and  should  it  con- 
tinue its  record  it  will  prove  one  of 
the  great  wonders  of  the  world. 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    MADAME    CAROLINE 


PERHAPS  it  was  a  cynic  who  recorded 
that  the  most  gratifying  compliment 
which  could  be  paid  to  a  woman  was  to 
declare  she  was  tastefully  and  artistically 
attired.     However  this  may  be,  we  do 


MADAME     CAROLINE 

know  that  the  American  man  glories  in 
the  well  dressed  American  woman  and 
that  in  the  triumphs  of  fashion  are  often 
revealed  the  greatest  of  industrial  and 
commercial  conquests. 

For  centuries  past  the  regal  court  of 
the  dressmakers'  art  has  been  in  Paris— 
but  surely  and  certainly  westward  has 
been  the  course,  and  it  remained  for  an 
American  dressmaker  to  win  the  laurels 
in  the  great  international  competition 
this  year. 

Madame  Caroline  of  Michigan  avenue, 
Chicago,  has  achieved  this  triumph. 
Her  name  is  on  the  lips  of  the  thousands 
of  women  who  visited  the  World's  Fair 
at  St.  Louis.  Her  reputation  as  one 
of  the  very  few  creative  artists  was  fully 
sustained  by  the  gowns  exhibited,  for 
there  was  that  harmony  in  color,  that 
witchery  of  exquisite  lace,  that  wonder- 
ful detail,  which  marks  Madame  Caro- 
line's individuality  in  every  gown. 

It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  American 
women  are  the  hardest  in  the  world  to 
please  in  the  matter  of  dress.  Abroad, 
especially  on  the  continent,  a  conspicu- 
ous gown  as  to  color  and  form  is  held  to 


be  the  most  pleasing.  To  the  American 
lady  a  fine  sense  for  color  and  harmony 
is  demanded  and  she  directs  that  her 
gowns  be  made  along  these  lines  in  com- 
ing closer  to  the  ideal  in  dress. 

Madame  Caroline  has  found  her  great- 
est success  in  Americanizing  the  French 
tendencies. 

Over  in  the  Thuringian  forest,  near 
where  the  young  Queen  of  Holland  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  young  man  whom 
she  insisted  upon  marrying,  merely  be- 
cause she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him, 
is  a  little  gem  of  architecture  set  in  the 
midst  of  a  tiny  estate.  This  is  the 
haven  to  which  Madame  Caroline  hurries 
every  June  after  the  trying  and  arduous 
work  of  the  fall  and  winter  seasons. 

After  a  summer's  rest  amid  these  de- 
lightful surroundings,  the  Madame  re- 
turns full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  duties 
of  her  chosen  work.  Twice  each  year 
she  goes  to  Paris  to  see  the  tendencies 
of  fashion  for  the  ensuing  season. 

"Except  to  follow  an  established  cus- 
tom, this  is  scarcely  necessary,"  she  de- 
clares. "Of  course  Paris  gives  one  the 
greatest  inspirations,  but  I  always  find 
that  my  own  ideas  are  in  the  trend  of  the 
general  taste  displayed  by  the  dictators. 
This  is  easily  understood,  for  the 
fashions  from  year  to  year  unfold,  one 


MADAME    CAROLINE'S    CHALET   IN   THURINGIA 

might  say,  almost  out  of  each  other. 
My  original  ideas  I  always  find  accept- 
able to  my  patrons." 

The  Madame  might  have  added,  "and 
to  the  St.  Louis  board  of  awards  also." 


THE     NEW      HOME     OF     WHITE      HOUSE      COFFEE 


THE    NEW   HOME    OF   WHITE    HOUSE 

' 

PDF  F  F  F 
v_>  \j  i  r*,Lj  Ci 

By    JOE     M.     CHAPPLE 


THE  readers  of  the  National  Magazine 
should  be  interested  in  White  House 
Coffee,  since  they  give  so  much  of  their 
attention  each  month  to  the  scenes  and 
events  which  cluster  about  the  home  of 
the  chief  executive.  The  Dwinell- 
Wright  Company,  has  made  the  name  of 
the  White  House  coffee  national  and 
international,  and  is  one  of  the  oldest 
firms  in  Boston,  having  been  established 
in  1845.  They  are  now  nearly  three 
score  years  in  business,  and  four  presi- 
dents have  come  and  gone  since  White 
House  coffee  was  first  placed  upon  the 


market.  The  company  has  just  moved 
into  its  handsome  new  building,  where 
the  spacious  seven  floors  afford  accommo- 
dation for  their  large  and  growing  busi- 
ness. The  building  includes  office,  fac- 
tory and  warehouse,  and  is  located  on 
311-319  Summer  and  323-329  A  streets. 
On  entering  the  building  one  suddenly 
encounters  an  appetizing  reminder  of 
breakfast  time,  and  I  am  sure  that  our 
lady  readers  especially  will  be  interested 
in  knowing  more  about  the  place  that 
the  coffee  comes  from,  which  occupies 
so  prominent  a  place  in  their  morning 


THE    NEW    HOME    OF    WHITE    HOUSE    COFFEE 


meal.  Everyone  knows  that  the  indi- 
gestibility  of  pie  is  conceded  to  be  often 
due  to  the  manner  of  mixing  the  in- 
gredients, and  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is 
equally  true  that  the  injurious  effects 
sometimes  'attributed  to  coffee  may  be 
traced  to  the  fact  that  poor  coffee  has 
been  used,  or  that  good  coffee  has  been 
poorly  blended.  If  the  right  "blend'.' 
is  procured,  it  is  seldom  that  any  evil 
effect  will  be  felt  from  drinking  coffee. 


The  building  on  Summer  and  A 
streets  is  as  large  as  building  laws  will 
permit,  being  100x90.  It  is  constructed 
of  cream  colored  brick,  and  the  materials 
used  are  in  every  instance  the  best  that 
could  be  procured.  Abundance  of  light 
and  ventilation  has  been  provided  for 
by  219  windows,  as  many  as  could  safely 
be  put  in  and  retain  the  firmness  of  the 
structure.  The  office  lacks  nothing  to 
be  desired,  the  windows  being  of  plate 


THE      BATTERIES      OF      COFFEE      ROASTERS 


This  looks  like  a  sensible  proposition ,and 
with  such  a  concern  as  the  D  win  ell - 
Wright  Company  to  supply  our  wants, 
there  is  little  reason  why  we  should  de- 
prive ourselves  of  the  solace  of  our 
morning  cup,  despite  the  determination 
of  the  "cranks"  to  create  a  prejudice 
against  the  beverage  which  is  associated 
with  our  earliest  ideas  of  a  good  break- 
fast. There  are  imitations,  but  good 
coffee  is  unmistakable  when  once  tasted. 


glass  and  the  furniture  being  of  the 
handsome,  useful  and  comfortable  kind 
made  especially  for  the  company.  To 
the  right  of  the  office  is  the  laboratory 
or  testing  room.  Here,  on  circular 
tables  are  seen  small  coffee  cups,  each 
representing  a  sample  for  testing  pur- 
poses, and  here  sample  pans  of  roasted 
coffee  await  the  inspection  of  the  ex- 
perts. 

This   firm   buys   coffee    from    Brazil, 


THE    NEW    HOME    OF    WHITE    HOUSE    COFFEE 


Venezuela,  Java,  the  East  Indies  and 
all  other  famous  coffee  markets.  I  was 
much  interested  in  seeing  samples  from 
uie  Blue  Mountains  of  Jamaica,  and 
thought  how  small  the  world  seems,  for 
it  was  only  a  few  months  ago  that  the 
National  Magazine  party  passed  through 
Chestervale  in  Jamaica,  the  very  place 
from  which  this  coffee  came.  The 
berries  grown  there  are  famous  in 
most  coffee  markets  of  the  world. 


and  the  berries  are  turned  into  a  hopper 
in  the  floor,  thence  carried  by  elevators 
to  the  coffee  separating  machinery 
above,  then  the  several  separations 
are  carried  by  another  line  of  elevators 
to  the  top  or  roasting  floor.  While 
going  through  the  separator  it  is 
passed  over  screens  and  subject  to 
an  air  blast. 

Here  for  the  first  time  I  saw  the  differ- 
ence   between   the   so-called   male   and 


THE      COFFEE      COOLING      AND      SEPARATING      MACHINERY 


The  history  of  coffee  packing  includes 
several  distinct  and  interesting  stages: 
it  is  cleaned,  screened  and  separated 
before  it  is  roasted,  the  latter  process 
being  a  very  delicate  one,  as  every  house- 
wife knows;  a  single  instant  too  long 
or  too  short  in  its  exposure  to  the  heat 
may  injure  the  flavor.  The  berries  are 
imported  in  gunny  sacks  in  which  they 
are  received  in  the  basement  of  the 
building.  Here  the  sacks  are  opened 


female  coffee  berry;  the  former  being 
small  with  but  one  kernel  in  a  shell  or 
hull.  The  female  berry  has  a  divided 
kernel  and  is  larger  than  the  male.  It 
is  said  that  there  is  no  actual  difference 
in  the  flavor,  though  the  male  berry  is 
prized  on  account  of  its  scarcity.  Some 
of  the  berries  arrive  with  the  hull  on, 
although  they  pass  through  a  hulling  pro- 
cess before  being  shipped  to  this  country. 
On  the  bags  that  contained  the  berries 


THE    NEW    HOME    OF    WHITE    HOUSE    COFFEE 


were  many  suggestions  of  the  far  off 
plantations  from  which  they  had  come. 
The  blending  of  the  coffee  is  done 
while  the  berry  is  raw,  and  is  as  delicate 
an  operation  as  the  making  up  of  a  drug- 
gist's prescription,  the  weighing  and 
mixing  being  done  by  adroit  hands. 
The  coffee  is  then  placed  in  the  ovens, 
where  the  most  critical  skill  is  given  to 
watching  the  roasting  process.  When 


to  the  floor  above,  where  it  is  spouted 
off  into  bins  or  drawn  off  into  bags  or 
cars  for  distribution  to  the  automatic 
weighing  machines  on  the  floor  below. 
There  is  a  glass  panel  in  the  air  shaft 
which  permits  one  to  watch  this  process, 
and  it  is  indeed  interesting  to  see  the 
mounting,  whirling  berries,  like  a  swarm 
of  bees  in  motion;  as  the  berries  ascend 
the  refuse  drops  back,  the  coffee  being' 


PACKING      ROOM  —  WHITE      HOUSE      COFFEE 


the  berries  are  taken  from  the  ovens  they 
are  placed  in  cooling  bins  with  screen 
bottoms,  which  permit  a  blast  of  dry, 
cool  air  to  pass  through  and  temper  the 
coffee. 

From  these  cooling  bins  the  coffee  is 
then  tilted  out  and  down  through  the 
floor  through  several  wonderful  machines, 
for  cleaning  and  separating,  and  then 
lifted  bodily  by  a  powerful  air  blast  back 


much   lighter  than   any  nails  or  stones 
that  may  be  mixed  with   it. 

I  was  especially  impressed  with  the 
care  given  to  all  sanitary  arrangements 
throughout  the  entire  establishment  from 
top  to  bottom.  Too  much  attention  can 
not  be  given  to  the  purity  of  our  food 
products  that  go  into  the  mouths  of  the 
people,  for  these  are  the  source  of  the 
health  and  prosperity  of  the  nation.  It 


THE    NEW     HOME    OF    WHITE    HOUSE    COFFEE 


is  certain  that  a  sickly  nation  cannot  be 
a  prosperous  one.  In  the  work  rooms 
of  the  Dwinell-Wright  Company  every 
bin  shone  like  the  pans  on  a  pantry  shelf 
of  a  careful  housewife,  while  from  the 
grinding  mills  came  the  fragrance  of 
coffee  that  it  is  not  the  common  lot  of 
mortal  to  dislike. 

Two  4000  pound  platform  elevators  as 
well  as  an  automatic  link  belt  elevator  in 
the  center  of  the  building  move  the  goods 


ful     manufactory     of      Dwinell-Wright. 
"As  aromatic  plants  bestow 
No  spicy  fragrance  while  they  grow; 
But  crush'd  or  trodden  to  the  ground, 
Diffuse  their  balmy  sweets  around." 
The  lines  ran  through  my  mind  as  I 
surveyed  the  "Royal"  array  of  pepper, 
cinnamon,  mace,  nutmeg,  cloves,  French 
and  English  mustard,  saleratus,  cream  of 
tartar  and  a  host  of  other  tasty  relishes 
and  powders  that  would  have  caused  a 


SHIPPING     ROOM  —  WHITE      HOUSE      COFFEE 


and  are  in  motion  from  morning 
to  night  transferring  up  empty  cans 
and  boxes  and  down  cases  filled  with 
White  House  coffee,  as  well  as  other 
cases  of  the  famous  "Royal"  spices, 
which  this  firm  grind,  pack  and  ship  to 
all  parts  of  the  country.  As  I  breathed 
the  mingled  fragrance  I  recalled  Gold- 
smith's lines,  memorized  in  boyhood, 
and  hereafter  they  will  always  be  asso- 
ciated in  my  mind  with  the  wonder- 


housewife's  heart  to  rejoice.  Ail  these 
are  constantly  being  turned  out  in  mar- 
ketable shape.  Each  machine  in  the 
factory  is  driven  by  separate  .motors, 
which  are  in  turn  propelled  by  the  three- 
phase  alternating  electric  current  gen- 
erated by  a  Westinghouse  dynamo  pro- 
pelled by  a  powerful  engine.  This  power 
also  controls  the  ringing  of  the  bells, 
which  chime  out  simultaneously  in  every 
department  when  the  appointed  hour 


THE    NEW    HOME    OF    WHITE    HOUSE    COFFEE 


arrives  for  lunch,  and  at  night  and  morn- 
ing. In  looking  over  this  model  estab- 
lishment nothing  is  more  noticeable  than 
the  scrupulous  care  taken  in  preparing 
the  various  lines  of  spices,  and  it  is 
clear  that  this  firm  understands  the  im- 
portance of  having  their  goods  done  up 
in  attractive  shape.  No  line  of  coffee 
and  spices  on  the  market  is  more  attrac- 
tively and  neatly  put  up  than  the  pack- 
ages and  cans  turned  out  by  the  Dwinell- 
Wright-Company.  The  White  House 
coffee  and  all  other  package  coffees  and 
many  of  the  spices  are  weighed  with  in- 
fallible correctness  by  automatic  ma- 
chinery and  handled  and  labelled  with  all 
the  neatness  and  dexterity  possible  by  the 
nimble  fingers  of  women.  Like  the 
spices,  it  is  packed  in  cans  of  various 
sizes.  It  was  interesting  to  note  the 
pyramid  of  all  sizes  of  cans  on  every 
side,  each  suggesting  its  own  story  of 
domestic  science  and  utility  as  it  stood 
ready  to  start  on  its  mission  of  good 
cheer  to  the  larder  or  pantry  of  some 
American  housekeeper.  The  packing 
boxes  required  are  made  on  the  premises 
from  shocks,  the  nails  being  driven  in 
automatically  by  a  machine  remarkably 
like  a  linotype. 

In  talking  with  Mr.  Wright,  the  presi- 
dent of  the  corporation,  I  was  interested 
to  le~rn  of  the  care  taken  to  insure  the 
absolute  purity  of  the  spices  prepared 
by  the  firm.  They  are  ground  under 
strict  personal  supervision,  so  that  it  is 
impossible  that  any  adulteration  can 
creep  in  and  the  company  is  responsible 
for  the  purity  of  its  products  all  of  which 
are  manufactured  and  sold  in  conformity 
with  the  pure  food  laws  of  the  several 
states.  No  customer  can  visit  this  estab- 
lishment without  being  impressed  with 
this  point,  and  he  will  go  away  with  new 
confidence  in  the  purity  of  the  goods 
he  sells.  It  is  the  purpose  of  this  com- 


pany to  produce  nothing  that  is  not 
absolutely  the  best  to  be  procured  at  the 
price.  Nobody  need  hesitate  to  purchase 
goods  bearing  the  "Royal"  or  "White 
House"  brand,  and  their  qualities  will 
stand  a  cook's  most  crucial  test. 

Referring  again  to  the  subject  of  coffee, 
it  is  no  unusual  report  that  when  once  a 
consumer  has  tried  some  of  Dwinell- 
Wright's  blends,  nothing  else  can  be  en- 
joyed with  equal  satisfaction. 

The  art  of  blending  has  especial  attract- 
ions for  me.  It  is  a  separate  trade  in 
itself  and  requires  long  experience  and 
skilled  training.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  "blending"  of  coffee  was  as  delicate 
an  operation  as  the  blending  of  colors  on 
a  canvas,  or  the  merchant's  skilfull  blend- 
ing of  his  purchases  with  the  tastes  and 
needs  of  his  customers;  or  an  editor's 
blending  of  humor  and  pathos  in  his  pages 
of  printed  matter.  In  every  walk  of  life  it 
is  the  "blending"  that  counts.  Which 
train  of  thought  brought  me  round  to  the 
fascinating  "blenders"  in  our  homes,  who 
mix  up  all  sorts  of  mysterious  and  de- 
lightful edibles,  putting  in  a  pinch  of  this 
and  a  spoonful  of  that  in  a  fashion  that 
is  beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  ordi- 
nary male,  although  it  will  probably  not 
seem  at  all  mysterious  to  our  lady 
readers.  I  am  disposed,  on  the  whole, 
to  agree  with  that  American  statesman 
who  said: 

"The  prowess  of  the  American  man 
today  lies  as  much  in  the  fact  that  his 
mother  was  a  good  cook  as  in  the  fact 
that  he  had  a  good  moral  training,  for 
moral  training  will  not  take  root  when  the 
constitution  is  improperly  nourished." 
The  "sound  mind  in  the  sound 
body"  means  a  great  deal,  which 
brings  us  back  to  the  somewhat  be- 
littling —  but  I  fear  true  statement  — 
that,  "The  road  to  a  man's  heart  is 
through  his  stomach." 


WHILE  you  are  all  busy  with  Christ- 
mas preparations,  in  the  same  spirit 
with  which  you  arrange  your  loving 
tributes  I  send  you  greeting.  While 
you  are,  perhaps,  beginning  to  stitch  on 
that  dolly  or  crotchet  the  quaint  pattern 
of  doyley  or  collar,  or  finish  up  the  bit  of 
artistic  embroidery,  or  are  racking  your 
brain  for  some  present  for  mother,  sister, 
aunt,  or  good  old  grandma,  I  am  in  the 
same  mood  trying  to  find  a  word,  a  sen- 
tence, a  phrase  that  will  say  Merry 
Christmas  in  some  way  that  will  convey 
my  meaning  better  than  the  stereotyped 
phrase  can  do.  Our  gifts  may  not 
always  be  just  exactly  what  our  friends 
most  need,  but  if  we  give  in  the  true 
Christmas  spirit  the  recipient  will  not 
look  for  the  cost-mark,  and  this  is  the 
spirit  in  which  I  know  you  will  receive 
my  season's  greetings — you  will  accept 
my  good  wishes,  heartily  and  sincerely 
offered,  without  looking  up  the  literary 
cost-mark  of  the  effort. 

For  days  past  I  have  been  trying  to 
find  out  what  you  would  like  best — what 
would  please  the  readers  of  the  National 
most— I  want  to  offer  a  dainty  gift,  rich 
with  the  green  of  the  holly  leaves  and 
ruddy  with  the  glow  of  its  berries. 

The  other  day  I  saw  a  number  of  boys 
at  play,  and  they  taught  me  a  lesson 
of  the  times  which  I  think  I  shall  never 
forget.  Probably  ten  or  twelve  bright, 
energetic  youngsters  were  gathered 
about  a  group  of  open  pits  in  a  vacant 


lot.  In  these  pits  were  placed  tin  cans 
representing  smoke-stacks,  beneath 
which  miniature  fires  had  been  built, 
and  from  which  volumes  of  smoke  were 
issuing.  I  stopped  and  said: 

"What  are  these?" 

"These  are  Douglas  factories,"  came 
the  prompt  answer. 

"Douglas  factories?"  I  queried  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Don't  you  know  Douglas  factories? 
The  same  as  you  see  on  the  bill-boards? 
Don't  you  know  that  Douglas  is  governor 
now?"  And  they  seemed  rather  scorn- 
ful of  my  ignorance. 

It  struck  me  that  there  is  something 
very  suggestive  in  the  fact  that  these 
American  boys  seized  upon  the  success 
of  a  great  manufacturer  as  material  for 
making  a  new  game.  I  tell  you  it  is 
a  hopeful  sign  for  the  future.  There  are 
still  great  captains  of  industry  to  come, 
much  as  we  coddle  ourselves  with  the 
idea  that  our  own  times  have  seen  the 
apex  of  the  industrial  pyramid.  When 
the  American  boys,  playing  on  the 
vacant  lots,  have  their  ambition  fired 
by  the  smoke-stacks  of  the  governor's 
factories,  and  study  this  lesson  taught 
by  his  life  of  thrift  and  industry,  the 
smoke  of  these  miniature  factories  will 
prove  to  be  the  flag  that  will  lead  on  the 
American  hosts  of  the  future  to  victory. 

I  don't  think  that  the  Honorable  W. 
L.  Douglas  could  wish  for  a  greater 
compliment  than  was  paid  him  by  those 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


energetic  youngsters  on  the  Milton  hill- 
side. 

IF  I  could  hang  a  miniature  factory  on 
the  Christmas  tree  for  every  boy  reader 
of  the  National,  I  wonder  if  he  would  be 
satisfied?  It  is  always  fascinating  to 
watch  the  trend  of  thought  among  our 
young  people,  because  it  forecasts  the 
future  as  clearly  as  the  sun  takes  the 
picture  on  the  plate  of  the  camera. 
When  I  meet  a  lot  of  boys  gathered  in 
their  wickey-up  or  make-believe  Indian 
tepee,  I  could  sit  for  hours  before  their 
glowing  fire  and  hear  them  tell  thrilling 
stories  of  wild  adventure  that  would  have 
made  the  hair  of  their  Pilgrim  forefathers 
stand  on  end.  This  is  the  time  to  study 
human  nature.  I  sat  for  some  time 
before  one  of  these  fires  a  few  days  ago, 
sniffing  the  smoke  of  the  withered  leaves, 
that  brought  back  the  keen  enjoyment  of 
the  camp  fires  of  my  own  boyhood,  and 
in  these  moments  of  reflection  it  seemed 
as  though  a  reserve  force  of  power 
poured  into  one's  being,  before  which 
every  obstacle  must  succumb. 

Inasmuch  as  it  is  impossible  to  own 
a  fairy  wand,  it  is  not  given  me  to  place 
upon  every  Christmas  tree  some  remem- 
brance; but  I  wish  that  through  these 
pages  I  could  give  every  boy  as  a 
Christmas  greeting  a  thirst  for  the 
noblest  and  best  things  of  life,  and  also 
instill  in  him  the  ambition  to  succeed. 
If  I  could  impress  this  upon  the  hearts 
and  souls  of  the  boys  and  girls  of 
America,  we  should  see  them  all  not 
only  doing,  but  doing  their  very  best  for 
the  betterment  of  all  humanity,  and  what 
better  Christmas  gift  could  I  give  them 
than  this?  I  would  not  give  them  a  fac- 
tory or  a  fortune,  but  if  I  enthuse  them 
with  these  ideas,  I  know  that  the  fac- 
tories and  fortunes  are  bound  to  come  in 
good  time,  as  well  as  that  which  is  more 
important  than  either — the  upbuilding  of 
their  own  character. 

To  the  readers  of  the  National  the  best 
offering  I  can  make  is  simply  myself, 


wholly  and  entirely  devoted  to  their  in- 
terests through  our  magazine. 


A  NOTHER  idea  came  to  me  recently 
which  might  not  be  out  of  place  as 
a  Christmas  suggestion.  It  has  always 
been  a  rule  of  my  life  to  start  the  day 
with  an  exercise  in  good  nature  and 
cheerfulness,  which  I  consider  to  be  just 
as  necessary  as  any  physical  culture  for 
the  biceps.  I  was  given  a  good  rule  of 
this  kind  by  a  friend  the  other  day.  He 
told  me  that  when  he  awoke  and  before 
getting  out  of  bed  in  the  morning,  he 
always  thought  of  something  to  make 
him  smile,  and  if  he  could  not  recall 
anything  sufficiently  humorous  to  pro- 
duce the  right  result  at  the  moment,  he 
tickled  himself  until  the  necessary  smile 
came — and  then  rolled  out. 

I  agree  with  the  wise  man  who  said 
— was  it  not  good  old  Dr.  Johnson— that 
a  cheerful  disposition  is  worth  at  least 
$5,000  a  year.  So  if  you  will  cultivate 
that  you  will  have  that  sum  to  meet  your 
Christmas  wants,  or  whatever  other  figure 
you  put  your  Christmas  needs  at. 

Speaking  of  gifts,  I  want  to  say  that 
I  have  seldom  had  anything  given  to  me 
that  has  touched  me  so  much  as  the  way 
in  which  our  friends  have  sent  in  scores 
of  missing  numbers  to  replace  file  copies 
of  the  National  Magazine  that  were 
burned  last  Spring. 

And  despite  the  fact  that  we  lost  so 
many  numbers  from  our  reserve  at  that 
time,  we  have  now  almost  completed  our 
files  again,  but  are  still  in  need  of  some 
issues  of  October,  1898;  August,  1899, 
and  January,  1901.  What  paper  can 
boast  of  subscribers  who  possess  a  more 
generous  and  kindly  spirit  than  this? 
Our  friends  and  subscribers  have  abso- 
lutely refused  to  allow  us  to  send  the 
double  price  offered  for  these  missing 
numbers,  but  send  them  in  with  the 
request  that  no  payment  shall  be  for- 
warded for  them. 

In   talking  with  other  magazine  and 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


newspaper  editors  at  the  meetings  of  the 
various  associations  I  always  give  them 
the  impression  that  I  am  over-enthusiastic 
when  I  assert  that  there  never  were  such 
subscribers  as  those  we  have  on  the  Na- 
tional list.  Now  I  am  able  to  prove  to 
them  that  this  is  no  idle  statement,  be- 
cause I  can  point  to  our  pile  of  back 
numbers,  replaced  through  the  generosity 
of  our  subscribers.  I  sometimes  feel 
that  we  do  not  deserve  all  the  kindly 
consideration  which  our  friends  show  us, 
but  it  certainly  makes  "sunny  days  more 
enduring  and  dark  days  more  endurable. " 
I  believe  that  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to 
our  readers  to  know  that  our  loss  is  so 
nearly  covered  in  this  respect,  and  that 
we  only  need  a  few  more  numbers  to 
make  our  files  complete. 


IF  every  subscriber  could  see  the  ava- 
lanche of  "  Heart-Throbs"  pouring  in 
upon  us,  each  would  hasten  to  add  his 
or  her  contribution.  Now,  when  you 
read  this,  just  pick  out  any  clipping, 
verse  or  story,  that  appeals  to  you  and 
forward  it  to  us,  being  careful,  however, 
to  keep  within  the  rules  outlined  else- 
where in  these  pages.  Send  your  clip- 
ping right  on  now.  These  clippings 
will  be  a  feature  of  every  issue  of  the 
National  next  year  —  selections  by  our 
own  readers  of  the  things  which  they 
consider  worth  preserving. 

You  would  be  amazed  to  note  what 
a  variety  of  people  have  joined  this  con- 
test: judges,  senators,  congressmen, 
workingmen  of  all  kinds,  machinists, 
farmers,  clerks,  stenographers,  boys  and 
girls  of  varying  ages;  and  you  might  also 
be  surprised  to  note  what  lofty,  noble 
sentiments  are  represented  in  these  selec- 
tions, coming  in  from  the  great  plain 
people  of  America. 

These  clippings  express,  as  nothing 
else  could  do,  the  ambitions,  desires  and 
purposes  of  the  nation.  They  are  a 
revelation  and  inspiration,  because  it 
proves  that  we  have  a  great  reservoir  of 


real  heart  sentiment  among  our  people. 
It  is  not  yet  too  late  to  send  in  a 
subscription  for  your  friends  as  a  Christ- 
mas gift,  something  that  will  remind 
them  of  you  every  month  during  the 
coming  year.  Send  in  your  subscription 
and  send  in  a  "Heart-Throb"  with  it. 
Then  we  can  enter  your  name  in  our 
contest  and  send  the  magazine  to  your 
friend  with  a  nicely  engraved  receipt 
stating  that  the  National  comes  to  him 
as  a  Christmas  gift,  and  giving  the  name 
of  the  donor  if  desired.  This  is  one 
way  of  making  a  jolly  Christmas  for 
someone. 

COR  my  own  part,  I  know  what  I 
1  would  like — and  if  I  could  choose  there 
is  nothing  that  would  give  me  more 
pleasure — than  to  arise  bright  and  early 
on  Christmas  morning  and  find  about 
5,000  letters — more  or  less — each  con- 
taining a  subscription  and  a  "Heart- 
Throb."  I  would  not  stop  to  read  and 
answer  all  the  letters  on  that  day,  but  I 
would  read  and  answer  them  all  just  as 
soon  as  I  could.  I  should  not  even  wait 
to  ascertain  that  each  one  contained  a 
subscription,  for  the  spirit  of  the  senders 
would  ensure  me  a  happy  Christmas.  In 
fact  you  need  not  wait  until  Christmas 
in  order  to  present  me  with  this  gift, 
because  our  subscription  clerks  have  de- 
cided to  save  up  enough  subscriptions 
in  answer  to  this  suggestion  to  make  sure 
of  a  generous  Christmas  budget— though 
of  course  the  subscriptions  will  be  en- 
tered and  the  magazine  duly  forwarded 
directly  the  letters  arrive.  They  are  sav- 
ing up  a  Christmas  treat  for  the  publisher. 
If  I  had  those  5,000  letters  I  would 
hang  them  upon  a  Christmas  tree  glis- 
tening with  tinsel  and  gaily  colored, 
flickering  candles,  and  then  I  would  sit 
beneath  my  tree  about  the  happiest 
mortal  alive.  It  is  not  necessary  to  limit 
the  number  to  5,000 — 10,000  would  do 
even  better;  but  I  shall  be  abundantly 
content  —  like  the  good  parson  —  with 
whatever  comes. 


CONCERNING   THE  STANDARD   PAPER  CO. 


By    JOE   M.    CHAPPLE 


WOW  swiftly  the  years  have  passed 
since  I  bought  my  first  bill  of  paper 
from  the  Standard  Paper  Company  of 
Milwaukee!  What  a  kindly  greeting  it 
was  that  the  treasurer,  Mr.  C.  L.  Blanch- 
ard,  extended  to  the  young  and  some- 
••»hat  timid  newspaper  man  when  he 
made  his  first  venture  as  publisher  and 
editor  into  the  paths  of  journalism! 
There  was  something  in  that  moment 
that  spoke  to  me  of  a  generous  con- 
fidence between  man  and  man,  and 
brought  a  glow  of  pleasure  that  no  in- 
tervening years  have  erased.  When  the 
treasurer  of  that  corporation  took  me 
by  the  hand  and  said  that  my  promises 
were  as  "good  as  gold,"  he  did  much 
more  for  me,  probably,  than  he  was 
aware. 

Well,  we  got  along  famously  in  the 
years  that  are  past.  What  looked  like 
a  mountain  of  debt  at  the  start  soon 
melted  down,  and  we  fell  into  the  com- 
fortable habit  of  discounting  bills  at 
three  per  cent.,  a  habit  which  I  have 
carefully  cultivated  and  that  has  been 
a  source  of  revenue  and  satisfaction  ever 
since.  It  is,  however,  difficult  to  pay 
adequate  tribute  to  those  kind  friends  to 
whom  so  much  is  due.  and  who  have 
done  so  much  to  help  on  many  other 
ventures  in  American  commercial  life, 
but  I  desire  in  this,  the  closing  number 
of  our  series  printed  at  the  World's  Fair, 
to  express  something  of  the  gratitude  and 
appreciation  that  I  feel  for  the  Standard 
Paper  Company.  Their  goods  were 
truly  "standard."  There  never  was 
anything  that  was  not  exactly  right,  and 
I  had  as  much  confidence  in  purchasing 
a  bill  of  goods  from  the  company  as 
though  I  were  investing  in  government 
bonds.  Prompt  to  the  moment  in  regard 
to  delivery,  and  always  as  considerate 
of  my  small  order  as  they  could  possibly 
be  of  the  largest  buyers  on  their  books. 


The  Standard  Paper  Company  was 
organized  in  1883,  having  been  prev- 
iously conducted  as  an  agency.  After 
about  five  years  it  became  identified  with 
the  J.  W.  Butler  Company  of  Chicago 
one  of  the  best  known,  largest  and  oldest 
paper  firms  in  the  country,  and  upon  its 
reorganization  Mr.  J.  W.  Butler  was 
made  president.  He  is  a  pioneer  in  the 
paper  business,  which  has  been  his  life 
work  for  more  than  fifty  years.  He  is 
also  president  of  the  J.  W.  But- 
ler Paper  Company.  Mr.  F.  O.  Butler 
became  vice  president,  Mr.  C.  L.  Blan- 
chard  treasurer  and  manager,  and  Mr. 
John  Moss  secretary.  Mr.  Blanchard 
and  Mr.  Moss  being  the  resident  mem- 
bers of  the  company,  have  had  active 
and. continuous  charge  of  the  business 
ever  since.  Mr.  Blanchard  was  the 
secretary  of  the  old  company  and  is  the 
only  member  of  the  present  organization 
who  was  an  officer  in  the  original  cor- 
poration. 

The  Standard  Paper  Company  have 
the  art  of  so  directing  their  efforts 
that  they  bring  the  best  possible  re- 
sults, and  each  succeeding  year  has 
seen  an  improvement  and  enlarge- 
ment in  the  business  of  the  company, 
whose  trade  is  spread  over  the  states  of 
Wisconsin,  Iowa,  Minnesota,  Michigan 
and  the  Dakotas.  The  wide  territory 
covered  by  this  company  shows  that 
publishers  realize  that  to  trade  with  the 
Standard  Paper  Company  means  not 
only  satisfactory  printing  materials,  but 
also  has  in  it  the  elements  of  success,  for 
the  company  watches  as  carefully  over 
the  interests  of  its  customers  as  over  its 
own.  All  publishers  know  just  how 
much  this  means  to  them.  The  stock  is 
the  best  to  be  had  at  the  price  paid,  and 
is  as  varied  and  large  as  that  of  any 
paper  house  in  the  West,  outside  of 
Chicago. 


CONCERNING  THE  STANDARD  PAPER  CO. 


Mr.  Moss,  the  secretary,  is  a  genial 
and  agreeable  gentleman  who  has  been 
identified  with  the  paper  business  since 
his  early  boyhood.  Whenever  I  visit 
Milwaukee  it  is  a  pleasure  to  call  at  the 


Standard  Paper  Company's  office  and 
have  a  friendly  chat.  I  feel  that  I 
cannot  say  enough  for  the  influence  they 
have  had  upon  my  own  career  and  I 
wish  them  continued  success. 


A  HIGHLY  MERITED  AWARD  MADE 


THE  visitor  to  the  World's  Fair  is 
amazed  at  the  stupendousness  of  the 
Exposition,  the  millions  of  lights  and 
the  thousands  of  exhibits,  hundreds  of 
buildings,  all  there  for  the  pleasure  and 
inspection  of  mankind.  One  cannot 
help  but  draw  comparisons  when  view- 
ing this  great  Exposition,  comparing  one 
building  with  another  and  one  exhibit 
with  another.  The  mind  also  involun- 
tarily draws  comparisons  for  instance,  as 
to  which  exhibit  of  them  all  is  the  most 
beautiful,  which  the  most  expensive, 
which  gives  the  most  pleasure  to  hu- 
manity and  which  will  do  humanity  the 
most  good.  When  the  latter  phase  of  the 
matter  is  considered,  it  is  not  difficult  to 
determine  which  exhibit  of  them  all  is 
entitled  to  praise.  The  exhibit  that  is 
doing  and  going  to  continue  to  do  the 
most  good  to  all  classes  of  people,  of 
all  countries  represented  in  this  great 
Exposition,  is  the  invention  of  the  late 
Benjamin  F.  Stephens  of  Brooklyn, 
New  York,  known  as  the  Ideal  Sight 
Restorer,  the  booth  being  in  the  Palace 
of  Liberal  Arts,  and  has  received  the 
highest  award  at  the  World's  Fair,  St. 
Louis. 

What  is  more  precious  to  the  human 
race  than  sight?  It  is  our  most  precious 
heritage  next  to  life  itself,  and  anything 
that  will  improve,  restore,  or  prevent 
failing  vision  is  something  to  be  treas- 
ured by  everyone.  The  booth  of  the 
Ideal  Sight  Restorer  in  the  Palace  of 
Liberal  Arts  is  in  charge  of  Mrs.  Ste- 
phens, widow  of  the  inventor,  and  she  is 
leaving  no  stone  unturned  to  enlighten 
the  public  as  to  just  how  good  an  inven- 
tion it  is. 

Humanity  will  in  time  thank  Mrs. 
Stephens  for  her  efforts  along  this  line, 
as  the  use  of  the  Ideal  will  preserve, 
strengthen  and  restore  sight;  it  will  cure 


near  sight,  far  sight  and  failure  of  sight 
from  any  cause,  provided  the  eye  is  not 
subject  to  reflex  organic  disease.  Per- 
sons who  use  glasses  to  correct  any  de- 
fect of  vision  may  be  relieved  of  the 
necessity  of  wearing  them,  and  can  look 
again  upon  nature  with  the  healthy  eye 
of  youth.  The  Ideal  Sight  Restorer  is 
an  ingenious  mechanical  contrivance, 
amply  protected  by  patents,  by  the  use 
of  which  massage  of  the  eye  is  accom- 
plished in  a  more  perfect  manner  than 
by  any  other  means.  The  Restorer  fits 
the  eyes  over  the  closed  eyelids  and  is 
held  in  position  by  mere  atmospheric 
pressure,  the  effect  is  soothing  and  de- 
lightful, absolutely  without  pain,  and 
each  renewal  of  the  application  is  a 
pleasure.  It  is  applied  night  and  morn- 
ing for  from  one  to  two  minutes,  or  as 
the  strength  of  the  eyes  will  bear,  and 
the  eyes  are 'thus  gently  massaged  and 
molded  into  the  proper  or  normal  shape 
and  the  nerve  center  strengthened, — con- 
ditions that  are  absolutely  necessary  for 
good  eye  sight.  Mrs.  Stephens  came  to 
St.  Louis  personally  in  order  to  be 
sure  that  her  husband's  invention  was 
properly  placed  before  the  public,  and 
she  is  glad  to  give  a  demonstration  of 
the  work  of  this  priceless  little  instru- 
ment at  the  booth. 

Mrs.  Stephens  has  hundreds  of  testi- 
monials showing  what  the  Ideal  Sight 
Restorer  has  done  for  people,  and  has 
affidavits,  the  originals,  in  her  posses- 
sion in  St.  Louis  showing  marvelous 
cures.  These  she  is  glad  to  show  to  all. 
In  fact  it  is  her  idea  to  gain  the  con- 
fidence of  the  people  by  fair  methods. 
The  Ideal  is  for  their  benefit,  and  she 
wants  them  to  know  it.  Occulists  and 
opticians  from  all  over  the  world  are 
invited  to  disprove,  if  possible,  the  Ideal 
theory  of  massage  to  the  eye. 


HOW  I  SOLVED  THE  MYSTERY 

By  JOE  MITCHELL  CHAPPLE 


FOR  years  the  mystery  that  perplexed 
my  masculine  mind  was,  "Where, 
when  and  how  do  the  styles  of  ladies' 
garments  originate?"  I  perceived  that 
they  were  as  varied  as  the  winds  of 
Spring  or  the  snows  of  Winter,  but 
whence  came  the  "leg-of-mutton"  effect 
at  the  shoulder,  the  twin  balloons  below 
the  elbow,  or  the  vast  variety  of  lace 
effects  around  the  neck  and  wrists,  was 
something  beyond  my  ken. 

Now  I  know. 

I   have   discovered   that   these  styles 
really  originate  in  the  mind 
and  heart  of  the  American 
woman  herself,  but  the  des- 
tiny of  shirt  waists  and  skirts 
that    rule    each    successive 
season  is  planned  in  certain 
handsomely     furnished 
rooms,  far  above  the  din  and 
noise     of    the    metropolis. 
Here  a  board  of  designers 
meet    in    solemn    conclave 
and  work  out  the  ideas  which 
they  seem,  in  some  mysteri- 
ous way  to  know  are  brewing 
in  the  minds  of  our  women- 
kind.    Then  suggestions  are 
thrown    out    by    means    of 
paper     patterns,     and    the 
coming    styles    are    deter- 
mined by  the  way  in 'which 
these"take."  If  a  little  shirring  and  tuck- 
ing proves  popular  a  little  more  is  added, 
each    season,   until,    lo!     the    lady    of 
fashion  is  a  happy  combination  of  shirr- 
ing and  tucking  that  reaches  from  the 
shoulder   to  the   foot,   and   causes  the 
"mere  man"  to  lose  himself  in  wonder 
and  admiration.     I  decided  to  go  and 
see  for  myself  this  wizard's  den. 

On  an  historic  site  in  the  very  center 
of  New  York  stands  a  monument  of  one 
of  the  greatest  achievements  of  the 
publishing  world.  This  is  nothing  less 


than  the  headquarters  of  the  Butterick 
Company,  which  is  regarded  as  one 
of  the  show  places  of  New  York. 
I  entered  the  magnificent  rotunda  of 
the  imposing  structure,  and  I  will  con- 
fess that  I  was  bewildered  by  the  gigan- 
titude  of  the  institution,  yet  when  I 
became  acclimated,  I  could  see  what 
excellent  order  and  method  were  ob- 
served throughout  this  immense  con- 
cern. It  was  my  good  fortune  to  meet, 
at  the  beginning  of  my  wanderings  Mr. 
G.  W.  Wilder,  president  of  the  corn- 


THE    BUTTERICK    PUBLISHING    COMPANY'S  BOOTH   AT 
THE  WORLD'S  FAIR,  ST.    LOUIS 

pany,  a  young  man  who  has  certainly 
won  laurels  in  the  publishing  world  that 
are  second  to  none. 

A  modest  young  man,  with  keen  blue 
eyes,  is  Mr.  Wilder.  His  energy  and 
enthusiasm  are  infectious,  and  I  could 
not  help  but  notice  that  as  he  went 
through  the  large  building  there  never 
was  lacking  a  kindly  word  of  greeting  or 
a  smile  to  the  employees  in  the  various 
departments  he  passed  through.  Mr. 
Wilder  is  certainly  a  striking  character 
in  the  publishing  world,  and  quiet 


HOW    I    SOLVED    THE    MYSTERY 


though  he  seems,  he  has  done  effective 
and  forcible  work.  Associated  with  him 
is  Mr.  C.  D.  Wilder,  his  brother  and 
treasurer  of  the  company.  The  director 
of  the  art  department  is  Mr.  Ralph  Til- 
ton,  who  had  charge  of  the  famous 
"Sunny  Jim"  advertising,  and  whose 
judgment  in  all  matters  pertaining  to  his 
department  is  absolutely  correct,  even 
to  the  shade  of  the  necktie  he  wears. 
Mr.  Charles  Dwyer  is  a  man  of  keen 
insight  and  acts  as  editor.  Last,  but  not 
least,  comes  Mr.  Thomas  Balmer,  the 
dean  of  advertising  managers.  This 
gentleman  lives  advertising  as  earnestly 
as  any  artist  lives  his  art.  He  talks  it 
with  those  who  understand  the  subject, 
and  his  ideas  are  as  big  and  broad  as 
the  great  firm  he  represents.  Mr.  Balm- 
er's  unparalleled  record  with  this  com- 
pany has  won  for  him  wide  and  pre- 
eminent distinction  in  the  advertising 
world.  It  was  indeed  a  pleasure  to 
talk  with  Mr.  G.  W.  Wilder  in  his  priv- 
ate office  —  furnished  in  crotch  veneer 
mahogany  with  inlaid  borders.  I  was 
much  interested  in  looking  over  the 
account  books  which  his  father  had 
kept  in  the  early  days  when  the  busi- 
ness was  inaugurated.  There  were  re- 
corded the  sales  in  '63  in  striking  con- 
trast to  those  of  late  years.  The  But- 
terick  business  started  in  June  16,  1863, 
and  at  that  time  consisted  of  men's  and 
boys'  suits  only,  but  as  Mr.  Wilder — 
with  all  the  glow  and  enthusiasm  of 
a  true  filial  affection  for  the  father  who 
had  made  such  a  signal  success — passed 
from  page  to  page  of  the  account 
book,  I  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  won- 
derful business  which  this  strong  and 
sturdy  American  parent  had  built  up. 
The  first  appearance  of  patterns  of 
ladies'  garments  was  in  the  Spring  of 
'67  and  it  at  once  became  clear  that  the 
energetic  trio  of  workers  in  the  enter- 
prise would  make  a  brilliant  success  of 
this  undertaking.  From  a  very  modest 
beginning  an  output  of  45,000,000,  pat- 
terns a  year  has  been  reached,  and  over 


100,000,000  fashion  sheets  are  printed 
each  year.  Eight  magazines  are  pub- 
lished in  four  languages,  English, 
French,  German  and  Spanish,  to  con- 
vey the  message  of  Dame  Fashion  to 
her  votaries  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  for 
it  may  be  truly  said  that  She  whole  world 
is  now  the  field  of  the  Butterick  Publish- 
ing Company.  The  circulation  of  The 
Delineator,  the  company's  chief  publi- 
cation, is  now  1,000,000  per  month,  and 
this  magazine  has  the  largest  paid  sub- 
scription list  of  any  publication  in  the 


G.   W.    WILDER,  PRESIDENT,  BUTTERICK   COMPANY 
NEW  YORK    CITY 

world.  When  it  is  stated  that  the  in- 
come derived  from  advertising  alone  is 
in  excess  of  $1,000,000  annually,  the  pro- 
portion of  The  Delineator's  clients  in  the 
business  world  may  be  estimated. 

Branch  establishments  of  the  Butterick 
Company  may  be  found  in  almost  every 
country  of  the  world,  notably  in  London, 
Paris,  Berlin,  Boston,  Toronto,  Chicago, 
San  Francisco,  St.  Louis  and  Atlanta. 
At  these  emporiums  the  Butterick  pat- 
terns may  be  obtained  and  a  large  trade 


HOW    I    SOLVED    THE    MYSTERY 


has  been  built  up  in  these  cities.      In 
the  New  York  establishment  alone  2,000 


BUTTERICK    STORE,    LONDON,    ENGLAND 

employees  are  regularly  required. 
It  is  computed  that  Butterick  agen- 
cies may  be  found  in  fifteen  thousand 
cities  of  .the  world.  It  is  said  that 
the  equipment  for  printing  at  the 
central  office  cost  nearly  $750,000, 
and  this  New  York  establishment 
is  the  largest  building  in  the  world 
occupied  exclusively  by  one  ,  pub- 
lishing house  and  its  interests.  It 
comprises  sixteen  floors,  basements 
and  two  cellars,  which  give  over 
seven  acres  of  floor  space.  Eighty- 
six  printing  presses  are  in  use,  which 
consume  forty-five  tons  of  paper 


daily.  The  blank  paper  consumption 
of  the  concern  amounts  to  over  $1,000,- 
ooo  dollars  yearly. 

A  perfect  network  of  buzzing  tele- 
phones flash  messages  back  and  forth 
during  the  working  hours  in  this  busy 
hive  of  industry.  The  fact  that  29,000 
letters  are  received  every  week  gives 
some  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the 
establishment. 

It  is  evident  that  the  straightfor- 
ward, enthusiastic  and  kindly  spirit  of 
the  president  of  the  company  per- 
meates the  entire  concern,  and  tokens 
of  his  thoughtful  care  for  the  health, 
safety  and  comfort  of  the  hundreds  of 
employees  may  be  seen  all  through 
the  establishment  I  observed  that  the 


BUTTERICK  STORE,   PARIS,  FRANCE 


BUTTERICK    STORE,     MILAN,    ITALY 

building,  was  supplied  with  a  refrigera- 
tor plant  which  keeps  drinking  water  at 
an  agreeable  temperature  the  year 
round  and  every  floor  is  fully  equipped 
with  the  latest  known  mechanical  attach- 
ments for  the  prevention  of  fire.  Outside 
of  the  United  States  government  printing 
office,  The  Butterick  Company  has  the 
largest  and  best  equipped  printing  plant 
in  the  world. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  a 
firm  so  enterprising  as  is  The  But- 
terick Company  is  sure  to  be  repre- 
sented at  the  World's  Fair,  and  it  is  not 
necessary  to  advise  every  woman  visitor 
to  the  great  Exposition  not  to  miss  see- 


HOW    I    SOLVED    THE    MYSTERY 


ing  the  exhibit  in  the  Manufactures 
Building.  It  is  something  more  than  a 
mere  display  of  fashions;  it  is  a  lesson 
in  history  of  the  deepest  interest.  The 
various  styles  in  woman's  attire  in  differ- 
ent decades  is  shown.  These  furnish 
the  most  striking  contrasts,  such  as  the 


'64,  with  their  curls  drooping  gracefully 
about  their  shoulders,  in  contrast  to  the 
very  acme  of  ugliness,  the  false  hair  and 
"bang"  period  of  '74.  However,  this 
is  an  exhibit  that  must  be  seen  in  order 
to  be  thoroughly  appreciated.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  neither  thought  nor  expense 


"      ^^^  "^Z_       ""'    ^^     '  & 

ra  .; 


THE  NEW  HOME  OF  THE  BUTTERICK  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK 


limp  empire  style  of  1834  and  the  great 
hoop  skirts  of  1864.  Then  the  prim  and 
shriveled  fashions  of  1874.  From  that 
year  to  1884,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
women's  dress  lost  all  claim  to  beauty — 
this  is  only  the  opinion  of  a  man — but 
I  was  charmed  with  the  dainty  belles  of 


have  been  spared  to  make  it  the  com- 
plete success  that  it  is.  Some  photo- 
graphic views  of  the  Butterick  booth  are 
reproduced  here. 

But  of  course  the  most  interesting  part 
of  all  to  me  was  the  place  where  next 
season's  styles  are  evolved,  and  I  was 


HOW    I    SOLVED    THE    MYSTERY 


indeed  awe  stricken  when  I  saw  the 
group  of  men  sitting  at  work  who  have 
robbed  Paris  of  its  long  standing  pres- 
tige in  "setting  the  fashion."  It  is  said 
that  Parisians  are  today  among  the 
largest  buyers  of  Butterick  patterns  and 
certainly  the  French  edition  of  The  De- 
lineator exceeds  in  circulation  any  other 
fashion  periodical  published  in  the 
French  capital— so  much  for  the  Ameri- 
can invasion  of  fashion  in  the  very  cita- 
del of  style  itself.  Adjacent  to  this 
room  are  the  designers  who  work  out 
the  ideas  of  their  chief.  As  I  passed 
through  room  after  room — all  well  lighted 
and  artistically  arranged — and  watched 
the  artists  busy  at  their  easels,  I  found 
it  hard  to  convince  myself  that  I  had 
not  strayed  into  a  group  of  beautiful 
studios  rather  than  a  publishing  concern. 
From  the  pictures  produced  in  these 
rooms  the  half-tones  are  made  which  ap- 
pear in  fashion  papers,  and  from  these 
the  patterns  are  also  constructed,  correct 
in  every  detail  of  tuck,  frill  and  furbe- 
low, but,  to  the  untrained  eye,  wofully 
unattractive,  for  these  patterns  are  made 
up  solely  of  coarse,  unbleached  muslin, 
adorned  with  tissue  paper  lace,  and 
paper  buttons  attached  with  ordinary 
everyday  pins.  These  muslin  garments 
are  fitted  on  living  models  of  perfect 
figure,  and  for  the  information  of  the 
uninitiated  I  will  say  that  the  dimen- 
sions of  the  Butterick  models  are  five 
feet,  six  and  one-half  inches  high, 
twenty-three  inch  waist,  thirty-four  inch 
bust.  After  these  patterns  have  been 
carefully  fitted,  they  are  taken  to  pieces 


and  a  duplicate  of  each  separate  portion 
is  marked  on  heavy  manila  paper.  From 
this  gauge  the  patterns  are  enlarged  and 
diminished  according  to  a  regular  scale, 
so  that  when  the  set  is  complete  it  in- 
cludes measurements  that  will  fit  both 
stout  and  lean  figure,  the  tall  and  the  short. 

With  these  stiff  manila  patterns  as  a 
guide,  the  cutters  carve  out  thousands 
of  patterns  at  a  time.  The  single  thin 
pattern  purchased  in  a  store  is  but  one 
of  the  numerous  sheets  that  have  been 
piled  together,  solidly  clamped  and  cut, 

All  the  component  pieces  are  afterward 
gathered  together  by  the  nimble  fingers 
of  the  girls  who  understand  the  work. 
On  the  outside  of  each  envelope  that 
encloses  the  several  pieces  which  go  to 
make  up  a  complete  pattern  are  printed 
full  instructions  in  various  languages  for 
the  guidance  of  the  dressmaker  or  home 
body  who  uses  the  pattern  to  cut  her 
dress  goods.  The  lines  of  mysterious 
holes  and  sundry  snips  here  and  there 
on  the  edges  of  the  patterns  indicate 
some  specific  thing  to  the  dressmaker, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  must  be 
a  massive  intellect  that  could  get  the 
longitude  and  latitude  of  these  various 
marks  without  becoming  bewildered  al- 
though I  was  assured,  with  some  scorn, 
by  the  young  woman  in  charge  that 
"even  a  little  girl  understands  them  all." 
Having  solved  the  mystery  of  the  evolu- 
tion of  "the  season's  styles,"  I  felt  that  I 
had  accomplished  as  much  as  one  mortal 
could  hope  for  in  a  single  day,  and  de- 
parted, my  respect  for  "fashions"  hav- 
ing increased  to  positive  veneration. 


INTERIOR     OF     LIBERAL    ARTS     BUILDING,     SHOWING     DOME    OF    NATIONAL     MAGAZINE 

SUBSCRIPTION    BOOTH 


IN  THE  CLOSING  DAYS  OF  THE  FAIR 


PATHETIC  indeed  to  those  who  have 
been  associated  with  the  Exposition 
since  the  balmy  days  of  May,  will  be  the 
lowering  of  its  flags  on  December  first. 
Many  friendships  have  been  formed  that 
will  linger  as  life  memories.  The  Fair 
has  been  a  success  in  a  larger  and 
broader  sense  than  can  be  represented 
by  mere  gate  receipts  or  revenue.  To 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  visitors  the 
Exposition  has  been  an  education  more 
complete  than  could  be  compressed  into 
years  of  study.  For  myself,  I  must  con- 
fess that  a  spirit  of  sadness  steals  over 
me  during  these  last  days  as  I  watch 
the  beautiful  flowers  losing  their  warm 
Autumn  tints  and  dropping  into  yellow 
decay  in  the  sunken  gardens,  or  look 
at  the  lovely  view  toward  the  cascade 
where  the  biting  blasts  of  Winter  already 
are  commencing  to  do  their  work. 


The  chief  interest  for  the  closing 
months  is  centered  in  the  winning  of 
the  grand  "prix"  to  be  awarded  to  the 
faithful'and  presevering  exhibitors.  My 
association  with  the  exhibitors  in  the 
Liberal  Arts  Club  gives  me  an  especial 
and  keen  interest  in  this  matter  reviv- 
ing the  tender  and  sweet  recollections 
of  the  club  itself.  I  recall  the  day  of  its 
organization,  July  i,  in  the  Chinese 
exhibit.  Later  we  met  in  fair  Japan, 
Egpyt,  Phillipines,  New  York  State  build- 
ing, the  Travelers'  Protective  Associa- 
tion, the  Boer  War  Restaurant  and  other 
places.  In  fact,  we  ran  the  entire  ga- 
mut of  exhibits  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  in  these  club  gatherings  and 
touched  every  point  of  the  compass  in 
our  festal  feasts.  What  a  splendid  suc- 
cess our  exhibitors  achieved  on  Liberal 
Arts  day,  when  the  attendance  far  ex- 


IN  THE  CLOSING   DAYS   OF  THE  FAIR 


ceeded  that  of  any  other  building  day 
during  the  whole  season.  The  prepara- 
tions for  the  day  brought  together  on 
one .  committee  members  from  twenty 
different  nations,  and  it  was  instructive 
to  note  how  the  same  social  and  gregar- 
ious instincts  prevail  in  all  parts  of  the 
world.  We  had  representatives  from 
Brazil,  Argentine,  Spain,  Italy,  Austria, 
England,  China,  all  meeting  together  to 
make  this  day  a  success.  And  what  a 
day  it  was.  The  weather  was  perfect; 
crowds  surged  through  the  palace,  seek- 
ing free  coupons  for  the  Pike.  There 


MR.    T,    T.    MAXEY,     CHIEF    CLERK, 
DEPARTMENT    OF    LIBERAL    ARTS 


was  the  great  floral  parade  in  which 
automobiles  figured  so  conspicuously, 
and  many  other  attractions,  but  the 
crowning  event  was  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  when  the  balloons  soared  away 
toward  the  capitol  at  Washington  at  the 
shot  of  a  gun. 

It  would  be  necessary  to  mention  each 
and  every  individual  member  of  the  club 
and  every  exhibitor  in  the  building  in 
order  to  give  credit  where  credit  is  due, 
but  Chief  Ockerson  and  Mr.  Maxey  his 
chief  clerk  and  Mr.  C.  M.  Talbot,  the 
custodian  of  the  building  were  ever 
genial  and  popular.  Where  is  the 
exhibitor  who  does  not  remember  these 


three    gentlemen   in   the    kindliest  and 
most  affectionate  way. 

Now  as  to  the  National  in  particular, 
our  booth  was  prominently  placed  in  the 
Liberal  Arts  Palace  and  we  shall  always 
remember  it  as  the  place  where  we  had 
the  pleasure  of  enrolling  something  like 
twenty  thousand  new  subscribers.  The 
register  at  the  side  contains  thousands 
and  thousands  of  names  of  old  sub- 
scribers, who  would  stop  during  and 
after  a  weary  day's  march  to  not  only 
register  their  names,  but  to  put  down  in 
the  column  set  aside  for  comment  some 
kind  word  of  cheer:  "superlative,"  "ex- 
cellent," "good,"  "one  of  the  best," 
"my  favorite  magazine;"  these  are  the 
remarks  that  meet  my  eye  when  I  open 
this  book  which  I  shall  always  preserve 
as  my  treasure  trove  from  the  Exposition. 
The  cash  book  may  seem  more  interest- 
ing to  our  business  department,  but  by 
me  personally  nothing  is  more  valued 
than  this  well  thumbed  and  ink  blotted 
register,  which  contains  the  written 
record  of  the  approval  of  thousands 
of  subscribers  from  all  parts  of  the 
country.  I  have  stood  hour  after 
hour  shaking  hands  and  looking  in  the 
faces  of  these  friends,  most  of  whom  I 
may  never  hope  to  meet  again  in  the 
flesh,  and  felt  all  the  time  as  though  they 
had  always  been  personally  known  to  me 
and  that  I  was  merely  reviving  an  old 
friendship  in  this  meeting  at  the  Fair. 

From  the  ringing  cash  register  have 
been  issued  thousands  of  receipts,  and 
as  we  stood  on  the  dais  of  the  booth  and 
pointed  out  to  each  one  the  actual  pro. 
cess  of  the  making  of  the  National,  we 
all  felt  that  in  this  way  our  subscribers, 
both  new  and  old,  were  brought  into 
closer  touch  with  the  National  than  would 
otherwise  have  been  possible.  And  it 
is  fitting  that  in  this  closing  number  of 
the  special  edition  -printed  on  the 
grounds  we  should  pay  tribute  to  those 
who  have  helped  to  make  the  success 
of  our  exhibit.  First  comes  Mr.  Carl 
Henderson,  in  charge  of  the  exhibit  of 


IN  THE  CLOSING   DAYS   OF  THE   FAIR 


the  Miehle  Printing  Press  and  Manufac- 
turing Company,  who  stood  so  well  to 
his  post  during  all  the  heat  of  Summer 
when  the  rollers  melted  in  the  stifling 
atmosphere,  and  later,  when  the  sudden 
cold  came  and  froze  the  paper  into  solid 
chunks.  But  Mr.  Henderson  was  always 
patient  and  energetic,  and  never  relaxed 
his  kind  efforts  to  see  that  the  throngs 
who  passed  were  afforded  a  glimpse  at 
the  production  of  the  National  as  re- 
vealed by  the  "art  preservative."  Here 
the  magazine  was  produced  complete 
from  June  to  November,  inclusive,  on 
the  same  kind  of  presses  as  those  used 
constantly  with  such  good  effect  in  the 
home  office  in,  Boston.  It  has  been  no 
easy  matter  to  print  magazines  under  the 
curious  eyes  of  a  passing  throng,  and 
many  bystanders  remarked  that  the 
magazine  "might  as  well  be  printed  in 
a  balloon."  Many  a  young  printer 
stopped  to  study  the  process  going  on 
behind  the  glass  partition,  looking  in 
wonder  at  the  marvelous  work  done  by 
the  Miehles,  and  it  is  no  surprise  to 
them  or  any  of  us  to  know  that  these 
presses  carried  off  the  grand  prize. 

In  a  room  adjoining  this  exhibit  is  that 
of  the  Dexter  Folder  Company,  the  same 
folding  machines  with  which  the  Na- 
tional plant  is  equipped  in  Boston. 
In  this  interesting  and  busy  exhibit  Mr. 
Dexter,  Mr.  Swartz  and  Mr.  McCain 
saw  to  it  that  signature  after  signature 
was  folded  and  gathered  for  the  National, 
ready  for  the  stitchers.  It  was  an  untiring 
source  of  interest  to  watch  the  self  feeder 
with  its  little  rubber  ringers,  pick  up  and 
adjust  each  sheet,  with  a  precision  not 
to  be  gained  by  the  hand  of  flesh  and 
blood.  The  self  feeder  increases  the 
capacity  of  a  single  folding  machine 
thirty  per  cent. ,  simply  because  it  never 
skips  a  sheet,  but  "lifts"  perfectly  and 
can  be  always  kept  running  at  full  speed. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  in  time  this 
folder  and  feeder  will  be  utilized  in 
every  printing  plant  of  the  country;  it 
is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  it  gained 


the    grand     prize    at    the    Exposition. 

Who  ever  met  F.  C.  Crofts  of  the 
Morrison  Stitcher  Co.  who  did  not  love 
him?  Always  kindly  and  accommodat- 
ing, it  would  be  difficult  for  me  to  say 
exactly  how  much  we  owe  him  for  the 
ceaseless  work  done  for  the  National 
behind  the  brass  rail  of  the  Morrison 
exhibit,  where  thousands  and  thousands 
of  copies  of  <he  magazine  were  stitched 
and  bound.  There  never  was  any  lack 
of  wire,  so  no  "wireless"  stitcher  was 
required.  This  machine  has  secured 
a  gold  medal,  as  has  been  the  case  in 
every  exposition  where  the  merits  of  the 
Morrison  Stitcher  have  been  presented 
by  Mr.  Crofts.  There  is  no  doubt  but 
that  the  acquaintances  formed  at  the 
Fair  will  appear  on  many  business  ledg- 
ers all  over  the  country  for  years  to 
come,  and  no  one  who  has  met  Mr. 
Crofts  can  fail  to  desire  to  do  business 
with  him.  In  his  modest,  quiet  way  he 
has  made  friends  for  his  own  concern 
and  champions  for  the  stitcher  in  almost 
every  country  in  the  world.  It  is  inter- 
esting to  know  that  the  same  equipment 
utilized  on  our  magazine  has  been  sent 
to  so  many  foreign  countries — the  Philip- 
pines, India,  Egypt,  China,  Mexico  and 
almost  every  part  of  the  world. 

Directly  opposite  the  National  booth, 
with  its  towering  dome  that  is  a  replica 
of  the  capitol  at  Washington,  are  the 
Simplex  typesetters,  the  cynosure  of 
every  passing  printer  and  publisher. 
These  machines  are  used  by  nearly  all 
the  principal  printing  plants  all  over  the 
country,  including  the  Ladies'  Home 
Journal,  Saturday  Evening  Post,  the 
National  Magazine  and  many  other 
leading  publications.  Those  who  under- 
stand the  work  are  especially  interested 
in  the  Simplex  because  it  uses  the  old- 
fashioned  nicked  type,  the  same  that  was 
handled  by  Benjamin  Franklin  and  our 
forefathers.  Many  curious  eyes  watched 
the  setting  of  the  type  in  this  exhibit  as 
the  sheets  were  prepared  for  the  Na- 
tional. 


IN  THE  CLOSING  DAYS  OF  THE  FAIR 


The  trimming  of  the  pages  of  the 
magazine  was  done  by  the  Seybold  cut- 
ter, under  the  able  management  of  Mr. 
Gus  Luders  and  Mr.  McDonald.  In 
this  booth  was  stationed  a  young  lady 
who  brought  in  thousands  of  new  sub- 
scriptions to  the  National.  Throngs  of 
people  watched  the  trimming  of  the 
magazine,  and  amused  themselves  by 
noting  how  the  pile  of  "shavings"  grew 
until  it  was  like  a  mound  of  hay, 
as  the  successive  numbers  of  the 
magazine  were  finished  and  ready 
for  the  daily  demand.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  go  into  detail  regard- 
ing the  Seybold  Cutter  of  Dayton, 


country.  Many  a  subscriber  stood  to 
look  at  the  National  letter  heads  in  the 
drying  racks  of  the  Carver  Company. 
This  exhibit  also  won  its  laurels  and 
received  an  award. 

I  feel  that  I  must  make  mention  of  the 
Golding  Company  exhibit  at  one  side 
of  the  National,  where  the  "Pearl" 
presses  were  always  kept  in  motion  and 
attracted  the  admiration  of  all  printers. 
Whoever  owned  a 
printing  office  and 
did  not  desire  to 
become  the  posses- 
sor of  a  "Pearl" 
These  little 


THE    J.    L.    MORRISON    COMPANY'S    EXHIBIT    AT    THE   WORLD'S    FAIR 


Ohio;  the  grand  prize  speaks  for  itself. 
The  embossing  equipment  of  H.  B. 
Carver  Company  of  Philadelphia  also 
attracted  much  attention,  and  here  the 
handsome,  embossed  letter  heads  of  the 
National  were  printed.  Mr.  Hewston, 
who  is  in  charge,  was  always  ready  to 
accommodate  in  any  way  possible,  and 
a  sight  of  the  letter  heads  will  always 
recall  to  my  mind  those  who  were  so 
kind  and  courteous  during  the  Exposi- 
tion. Most  of  our  readers  are  already 
familiar  with  these  letter  heads,  with 
their  blue,  embossed  crest,  for  they  have 
been  sent  broadcast  over  the  entire 


presses  are  adapted  to  light  work  and  are 
indispensable  in  an  office  where  job 
printing  is  done.  Mr.  Golding  and  Mr. 
Desmond  brought  these  presses  much 
into  notice  and  the  printing  was  done 
under  the  gaze  of  the  people.  To  those 
not  familiar  with  the  printing  business,  I 
may  say  that  the  "Pearl"  has  become 
almost  a  standard  for  measurement  in 
the  equipment  of  a  printing  office,  as 
"agate"  is  in  the  advertising  scale. 

Often  during  the  day  when  a  hurry- 
up  job  was  required,  and  electrotyping 
was  not  convenient,  we  had  recourse  to 
the  splendid  work  of  the  Mergenthaler 


IN  THE  CLOSING   DAYS   OF  THE  FAIR 


people  in  providing  for  the  typesetting 
on  the  spot.  The  exhibit  of  their  new 
machine  was  certainly  one  of  the  won- 


THB   SIMPLEX    TYPESETTER 

ders  of  the  Fair,  and  was  visited  not 
only  by  every  printer  and  publisher,  but 
attracted  general  attention  at  the  Fair 
from  thousands  who  had  never  seen 
a  printing  office.  It  is  quite  probable 
that  many  of  the  younger  people  will  be 
led,  through  their  interest  in  these  ex- 
hibits, to  connect  themselves  with  the 
printing  business  in  later  years.  There 
is  no  gainsaying  the  fact  that  the  Mer- 
genthaler  is  one  of  the  marvels  of  the 
age  and  has  revolutionized  the  produc- 
tion of  the  daily  newspaper. 

But  I  could  go  on  indefinitely  and 
mention  every  exhibitor  in  the  Liberal 
Arts  Palace  with  the  same  interest  with 
which  I  have  spoken  of  those  directly 
concerned  with  the  production  of  the 
National  Magazine.  Day  after  day  I 
have  passed  them  by  on  my  way  to  our 
booth.  I  recall  the  cool,  refreshing  air 
of  the  Palace  on  the  hot  mornings,  the 
busy  industry  of  the  silent  Chinese,  who 
seemed  to  me  to  be  always  dusting,  and 
in  connection  with  this  exhibit  I  shall 
always  remember  with  pleasure  Mr.  Per- 
cibois  and  Mr.  Karl,  the  courteous  and 


kindly  gentlemen  in  charge  of  it.  I 
recall  Mr.  Wagner  of  the  German  ex- 
hibit, who  has  probably  done  more  to 
give  the  American  people  an  intel- 
ligent understanding  of  German  indus- 
trial genius  than  any  other  one  man 
could  have  done.  He  presented  to  the 
visitors  a  view  of  what  the  new  Ger- 
many of  today  stands  for  in  securing 
and  developing  the  resources  of  the 
world. 

A  little  way  from  the  Chinese  exhibit 
is  the  Austrian,  giving  an  excellent  idea 
of  the  triumphs  achieved  in  glassware 
and  other  kindred  arts.  But  perhaps 
the  most  pains-taking  exhibit  of  all  is 
the  British,  which  has  revealed  to  most 
of  us  that  a  great  many  shortcomings 
actually  exist  in  American  trade  and 
manufacture,  and  has  once  more  im- 
pressed upon  us  the  fact  that  no  one 
nation  of  itself  can  be  complete:  we  are 
all  more  or  less  dependent  on  each  other. 

Mr.  Fournigault,  in  charge  of  the 
French  furniture  section,  has  made  an  ex- 
hibit which  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most 
admired  in  the  Palace.  Here  the  visitor 
gets  a  glimpse  of  the  luxury  of  Napoleon 
and  the  empire,  of  the  days  of  Marie 
Antoinette  and  the  later  times  of  Eu- 
genie. The  gorgeous  display  of  color 
and  carving  rejoices  the  hearts  of  the 


H.    B.    CARVER     COMPANY    EMBOSSING    PLANT 

American  ladies  who  stop  to  admire  and 
comment.  In  the  same  building  is 
a  splendid  exhibit  of  the  Mexican  gov- 


IN  THE  CLOSING  DAYS  OF  THE  FAIR 


erment    and   the    Argentine    Republic. 

Mr.  Bosco,  in  charge  of  the  Italian 
exhibit,  has  made  many  new  friends  for 
himself  and  "fair  Italia,"  who  will  not 
soon  forget  the  charms  of  the  exhibit  or 
the  kindly  courtesy  of  the  gentleman  who 
managed  it. 

Closeby  the  Festival  Hall  is  the  log 
cabin  called  "Hard  Scrabble"  which 


mination  of  Ulysses  S.  Grant  than  evefl 
the  war  records,  for  here  that  grim  and 
silent  man  was  making  his  fight  for  life 
and  existence  for  his  family. 

As  I  wandered  about  the  cabin  it 
seemed  to  me  as  sacred  as  the  towering 
monument  of  Brookside  Park,  New 
York,  for  each  log  was  hewn  by  him 
and  he  retained  the  cabin  even  after  he 


CABIN     BUILT     BY     GENERAL    U.    S.    GRANT     IN     1854,    NOW     ON     THE     WORLD'S     FAIR 

GROUNDS.      THE   MEN   ON    HORSEBACK   ARE  GENERAL   FRED   GRANT,  LIEUTENANT 

MOREY,    HIS    AID,    AND    MR.    C.    F     BLANKE,    THE    OWNER    OF    THE    CABIN 


General  Grant  built  with  his  own  hands 
on  his  farm  near  St.  Louis  in  1854. 
This  cabin  has  been  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting, in  fact  one  of  the  few  historic, 
exhibits  of  the  Exposition.  It  has  been 
visited  by  throngs  during  the  Summer, 
and  here  might  be  seen  alike  the  merely 
curious  visitor  and  the  earnest  admirer 
of  the  silent  commander  wearing  the 
bronze  badge.  This  cabin  speaks  more 
eloquently  of  the  will  power  and  deter- 


was  a  resident  of  the  White  House. 
The  last  of  his  property  to  go  in  the 
financial  crisis  was  this  old  cabin,  which 
now  occupies  a  commanding  site  on  Art 
Hill,  and  I  fancy  that  thousands  who 
passed  by  the  palaces  of  the  Exposition 
will  remember  more  vividly  and  enthu- 
sistically  this  humble  little  edifice  than 
they  will  those  triumphs  of  artistic  con- 
struction. 
On  a  recent  visit  to  the  Exposition, 


IN  THE  CLOSING   DAYS   OF  THE  FAIR 


General  Fred  Grant,  Lieutenant  Morrey 
and   Mr.    C.   F.   Blanke,   owner  of  the 


C.  F.   BLANKE,  OWNER  OF  THE  LOG  CABIN     BU1L1 
BY  GENERAL  U.  S.  GRANT    IN    1854 


cabin,    paid   a  visit    to    this    home  of 
General  Fred's  childhood. 

The  second  story  room  to  the  left  was 
the  bedroom  of.  General  and  Mrs.  Grant, 
and  on  the  upper  right  hand  side  is 
the  room  where  Fred  and  his  brother 
bunked  together  and  looked  upon  the 
bare  rafters.  There  is  something  about 
the  fireplace  that  brings  to  mind  the 
happy  family  gatherings  that  took  place 
there,  even  under  the  storm  and  stress  of 
hard  times.  What  a  picture  this  home 
presents,  typifying  the  possibilities  of 
our  America.  Who  would  have  thought 
that  less  than  a  decade  after  this  sturdy 
soldier  —  almost  overwhelmed  and  de- 
feated in  the  contest  of  life — would  have 
won  the  deathless  laurels  that  will  make 
his  name  famous  in  all  ages? 
/  St.  Louis  is  surely  to  be  congratulated 
upon  having  so  enterprising  and  gener- 
ous a  citizen  as  Mr.  C.  F.  Blanke,  who 


has  preserved  for  the  people  a  memento 
that  means  much  in  national  history. 
The  old,  mud  banked  logs,  the  well 
worn  stairway  and  banister,  the  creak- 
ing floors,  the  red  cedar  rafters,  the 
crumbling  plaster,  all  tell  a  story  of 
their  own  of  that  little  cabin  home  from 
which  went  forth  one  of  the  greatest 
men  that  America  has  ever  produced. 
To  future  generations  the  log  cabin  will 
be  a  curiosity — a  rare  curiosity  -as  well 
as  a  reminder  of  what  the  struggle  for 
life  must  have  been  among  our  pioneer 
ancestors. 

Among  the  scores  of  silent  workers 
connected  with  the  Exposition  few  have 
done  more  effective  work  than  Mr.  C. 
H.  Huttig,  president  of  the  Third  Na- 
tional Bank  of  St.  Louis.  He  has  not 
merely  occupied  a  prominent  place  as 


C.     II.     HUTTIG,     WHO      HELPED     TO     MAKE     THE 
EXPOSITION    A    SUCCESS 

director  and  member  of  important  com- 
mittees of  the   Exposition,  but  he  has 


IN  THE  CLOSING   DAYS   OF  THE   FAIR 


filled  these  positions  well.  His  work  in 
the  committee  of  domestic  exploitation 
speaks  for  itself.  Eight  million  dollars 
were  raised  in  the  various  states  against 
three  millions  for  Chicago,  which  is 
a  record  of  splendid  success. 

Mr.  Huttig  is  a  self  made  man.  He 
was  born  in  Ohio  but  has  become  one 
of  the  most  valued  citizens  of  St.  Louis. 
The  success  which  he  has  met  with  in 


THE  PRESS  THAT  FRANKLIN    USED 

building  up  one  of  the  largest  banking 
institutions  of  that  city  tells  its  own 
story  of  his  ability.  Still  comparatively 
a  young  man,  Mr.  Huttig  has  certainly 
made  his  mark  in  his  chosen  career.  To 
know  him  is  to  know  a  man  of  genial 
temper  and  high  minded  parts.  It  is 
just  such  men  as  Mr.  Huttig  who  have 
made  the  Exposition  a  possibility,  and 
have  thereby  earned  the  gratitude  of  the 
millions  who  have  visited  the  Fair 
grounds. 

While  to  some  extent  the  commercial 
idea  has  predominated,  and  to  a  large 
extent  the  social  features  have  been  put 
forward  in  the  conduct  of  the  Exposition, 
yet  there  has  been  beyond  all  this  a  co- 
mingling  of  nations  that  cannot  but  bear 
good  fruit  for  the  future.  As  has  been 
said  before  in  these  pages,  it  is  the 
interlacing  of  interests  that  will  do  more 
to  bring  about  amicable  relations,  and 
usher  in  the  dawn  of  permanent  peace, 


than  can  be  done  by  the  deliberations  of 
any  peace  congress  or  kindred  organiza- 
tion, because  where  vital  and  individual 
interests  are  united  there  is  not  apt  to 
be  any  conflict  among  the  nations.  The 
individual  rules  in  the  long  run.  I  feel 
that  the  dear,  old  Liberal  Arts  Palace, 
with  its  horizon  of  red  behind  the  stately 
pillars,  and  its  magnificent  statues  and 
minarets  of  dull  gold,  has  done  its  part 
in  the  march  of  world  progress 


DR.  CAMINADE,   WHOSE   ORATORICAL   EFFORTS 

AS    A    "SPIELER"    FOR    A    WORLD'S     FAIR 

RESTAURANT  INTERESTED  THOUSANDS 


IN    THE     CLOSING     DAYS    OF    THE     FAIR 


MANY  a  sigh  was  heard  during  the 
latter  days  of  the  Fair  as  we  passed 
up  and  down  the  grounds 'and  avenues 
and  looked  upon  the  fading  foliage. 
The  chilly  weather  brought  amusement 
with  it  in  the  precautions  taken  against 
cold.  The  piano  players  in  some  of  the 
buildings  might  be  seen  evoking  sweet 
strains  with  the  assistance  of  gloves,  and 
everybody  was  huddled  in  overcoats  and 
wraps;  electric  and  gas  stoves  were  all 
kept  going,  and  even  the  gas  jets  and 


C.    M.     TALBERT,      CUSTODIAN        LIBERAL       ARTS 
PALACE,    ST.    LOUIS    WORLD'S    FAIR 

electric  lights  were  lit  in  the  hope  of  pro- 
ducing a  little  warmth.  It  was  in  these 
days  that  we  learned  to  know  the  cus- 
todians of  the  buildings  really  well,  and 
the  exhibitors  in  the  Liberal  Arts  Palace 
greatly  appreciated  the  kindly  courtesy 
of  Mr.  C.  M.  Talbert,  who  is  assistant 
engineer  in  the  department  of  civil  en- 
gineering at  the  World's  Fair,  as  well  as 
custodian  of  the  Liberal  Arts  Palace. 
He  had  charge  of  the  laying  out  and 
construction  of  the  far-famed  Cascades 


and  the  Terrace  of  States,  the  central 
feature  cf  the  Fair.  This  work  included 
the  moving  of  the  earth  and  rock,  pile 
driving,  timber  work  laying  of  drain 
pipes,  supply  pipes,  location  of  the  ma- 
chinery for  furnishing  water  for  opera- 
tion of  the  Cascades — in  fact  everything 
connected  with  this  undertaking  of 
creating  from  a  forest  one  of  the  tri- 
umphs of  the  Exposition. 

*  *         * 

Mr.  Talbert  was  born  in  Indiana  and 
came  to  Missouri  in  '76.  He  was  gradu- 
ated at  the  state  university  in  1892  and 
in  '93  entered  the  service  of  the  Missis- 
sippi River  Commission,  and  remained 
there  up  to  the  time  of  accepting  a  posi- 
tion at  the  World's  Fair.  Here  he  has 
made  many  friends  by  his  genial,  con- 
siderate and  intelligent  service.  He  will 
return  to  his  profession  with  the  comple- 
tion of  the  Fair. 

The  chilly  atmosphere  in  the  latter 
days  of  the  Fair  reminded  me  very  much 
of  the  Dedication  day  in  1903  of 
the  Exposition  when  visitors  from  all 
over  the  world  thronged  the  Liberal  Arts 
Palace  to  hear  an  address  given  by 
President  Theodore  Roosevelt.  It  was 
one  of  the  best  efforts  of  his  life,  though 
the  audience  attended  cloaked,  coated, 
mitted  and  veiled  to  listen  to  the  warm 
and  enthusiastic  words  of  the  chief  ex- 
ecutive. 

*  #        * 

But  these  last  days  were  like  the  break- 
ing up  of  a  family;  there  was  something 
sad  about  it  when  all  the  exhibitors  came 
to  pack  up  and  make  ready  for  the  final 
move.  Faces  that  had  grown  familiar 
during  the  Summer  months  seemed  to 
be  almost  like  members  of  our  own 
household,  though  there  were  among 
them  representatives  from  the  whole  five 
continents.  It  was  felt  that  when  the 
farewells  came  to  be  spoken  it  would  be 
forever,  and  the  lips  of  even  the  brusque 
business  men  might  be  seen  to  tremble 
when  it  came  to  the  last  words, 


IN     THE    CLOSING     DAYS     OF    THE     FAIR 


and  *the  final  good-byes  were  spoken. 
Among  the  many  pleasant  memories 
of  the  Fair  is  that  of  Mrs.  Ockerson, 
wife  of  Colonel  J.  A.  Ockerson.  Those 
of  us  who  were  at  the  reception  given  on 
Liberal  Arts  day  will  not  soon  forget  the 
gracious  presence  that  dignified  that 
gathering,  and  helped  to  make  the  recep- 
tion the  great  success  it  proved  to  be.- 
When  we  came  to  pack  up  the  material 
in  the  National  Magazine  booth,  after  the 
palace  was  deserted  by  the  throngs  of 
visitors,  there  was  an  air  of  desolation 
that  no  words  can  describe.  On  that 
platform  I  had  shaken  hands  with  nearly 
thirty  thousand  of  the  subscribers  of  the 
National!  I  looked  over  the  two  large 
registers  on  the  desk  and  saw  the  array 
of  autographs  that  brought  back  to  mind 
the  kindly  faces  of  our  friends  — old  and 
new — and  in  the  "remark  column"  were 
those  superlative  words  of  cheer  and 
commendation  of  the  National  that  make 
these  registers  the  chief  treasure  of  the 
Summer  campaign. 

The  Morris  chair  —  a  duplicate  of 
which  so  many  of  our  readers  possess  — 
was  packed  up  to  take  back  to  our  home 
office  as  a  souvenir.  In  it  had  rested 
many  a  weary  pilgiim  during  the  Expo- 
sition days.  The  National  register,  that 
had  rung  out  the  harmonious  chimes  of 
friendship  and  business  during  the  busy 
days  of  Summer  was  packed  up  also,  and 
will  hereafter  find  a  home  in  the  National 
office  in  Boston,  for  no  written  words  or 
vocal  praise  can  too  strongly  declare  the 
merits  of  the  National  Cash  Register. 
During  the  Fair  many  thousands  of  peo- 
ple were  given  a  course  of  instruction 
not  only  upon  the  utility  of  this  valuable 
little  helper,  but  upon  the  splendid  "wel- 
fare work"  which  has  been  so  success- 
fully carried  on  by  this  company  in 
Dayton.  This  was  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting exhibits  at  the  Exposition  and  one 
that  will  leave  a  lasting  impression  upon 
the  minds  of  the  sightseers. 

Of  course  some  of  the  visitors  were 
continually  getting  us  confused  with  the 


National  Cash  Register  Company,  and 
thinking  that  we  owned  that  also,  or  else 
they  supposed  that  the  National  Cash 
Register  operated  the  National  Maga- 
zine, but  this  never  made  any  difference, 
because  we  both  had  a  magic  name  and 
both  enjoyed  all  the  success  that  at- 
tended every  exhibitor  in  the  Liberal 
Arts  Palace.  I  only  wish  it  were  possi- 
ble for  me  to  take  space  to  describe 


MRS.      J.      A.      OCKERSON,     WIFE      OK     CHIEF     OF 
LIBERAL  ARTS   PALACE,  ST.   LOUIS  WORLD'S   FAIR 

each  and  every  exhibit  'n  the  building. 
It  was  at  the  closing.ba  ^uet  that  the 
spirit  of  good  fellowship  was  most  appar- 
ent, when  the  exhibitors  touched  an  edi- 
tor's heart  by  presenting  him  with  an 
embossed  parchment,  bearing  on  it  the 
autographs  of  all  the  charter  members 
of  the  Liberal  Arts  Club — a  souvenir 
•greeting  to  their  president.  In  each  one 
of  the  signatures  I  shall  always  see  the 
kindly  faces  that  greeted  me  at  the 
memorable  meetings  of  this  club,  where 


IN    THE    CLOSING    DAYS    OF    THE    FAIR 


each  member  touched  elbows  with  resi- 
dents of  five  continents,  and  each  one  of 
our  dinners  partook  of  the  distinctive 
features  of  the  various  countries  repre- 
sented. 

*        *        * 

One  attractive  feature  of  the  days  at 
the  Fair  will  be  always  with  us,  and  that 
is  the  special  affection  formed  for  Old 
Hampshire  Bond  writing  paper.  .All  our 
correspondence  was  sent  out  upon  this, 
and  the  cheerful  red  seal  —  with  its 
"Look  for  the  Watermark,"  and  "Made 
a  little  better  than  seems  necessary" 
greets  us  from  the  bottom  of  the  page  like 
the  face  of  a  friend.  What  appeals  to  us 
more  than  a  nice  bit  of  paper  that  comes 
to  us  with  the  important  communication 
between  man  and  man,  between  woman 
and  woman,  or  between  man  and  woman? 

We  have  almost  learned  to  gauge  the 
character  of  our  correspondents  by  the 
paper  which  they  use,  and  this  is  espe- 
cially true  of  a  business  firm.  Almost 
unconsciously  we  hold  up  a  sheet  of 
paper  to  the  light  to  see  the  water  mark, 
and  if  this  happens  to  be  Old  Hampshire 
Bond,  we  feel  that  the  writer  of  that  let- 
ter, be  it  sent  by  a  firm  or  individual, 
knows  a  good  thing  when  it' is  seen. 

Old  Hampshire  Bond  has  become  so 
associated  with  our  handsome  home 
office,  our  splendid  success  at  the  Expo- 
sition and  the  new  and  old  friends  that 
we  met  there,  that  we  shall  never  use 
a  sheet  of  this  well  known  paper  upon 
our  typewriters  without  recalling  thou- 
sands of  pleasant  memories  that  will 
serve  to  brighten  any  dark  days  that  may 
be  in  stor^t  fcr  us.  Old  Hampshire 
Bond,  true  to  its'  name,  will  be  a  bond 
of  relationship  as  enduring  as  its  own 
sterling  value,  which  is  hardly  exceeded 
by  the  "bonds"  of  Uncle  Sam. 


In  the  early  days  of  getting  the  office 
equipment  in  order,  when  we  first  went 
to  the  Fair,  nothing  helped  us  more  in 
systematizing  the  work  than  our  Globe- 
Wernicke  vertical  files  and  index  cards, 
which  were  kindly  offered  the  National 
for  use  during  this  momentus  campaign. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  explain  what  these 
files  are  to  any  up-to-date  business  man; 
he  understands  the  necessity  for  vertical 
files  and  knows  how  much  time  and  in- 
convenience is  saved  by  the  use  of  the 
Globe-Wernicke.  In  these  the  letters  are 
not  only  filed  in  available  order,  but  are 
so  segregated  that  the  correspondence 
and  answers  are  kept  together,  giving 
a  perfect  index  of  all  letters  received. 
The  files  which  did  such  valiant  service 
at  the  Fair  will  be  taken  to  our  home 
office  and  continue  to  be  prized  by  us  for 
their  usefulness. 

In  fact,  every  chair  and  article  of  fur- 
niture, including  our  Columbia  grapho- 
phone — which  was  always  ready  to  tell 
a  story,  sing  a  song,  or  save  the  voice  of 
our  helpers  by  telling  the  people  about 
the  National — will  be  taken  to  Boston. 
We  want  all  the  souvenirs  of  the  Fair 
gathered  about  us  in  the  home  office  for 
Christmas-tide. 

Down  comes  the  dome!  The  wires 
are  cut;  the  tall  white  columns,  sur- 
monted  by  eagles,  are  laid  low  and  all 
is  replaced  in  the  box  car.  They  have 
done  good  service,  and  we  are  attached 
to  every  article  of  equipment  crowded 
into  this  200  feet  of  space,  just  as 
a  young  couple  always  cling  to  the 
household  goods  with  which  they  made 
their  first  start  in  housekeeping.  And 
that  Grand  Prize  awarded  the  National! 
It  is  safe  to  say  our  readers  will  agree 
with  the  jurors  in  the  decree  that  marks 
a  memorable  year  in  the  history  of  the 
National. 


END  VIEW  OF  DIAMOND-CUTTING   EXHIBIT  OF  LOFTIS   BROS.  &  CO. 

HOW  A  GOLD  MEDAL  WAS  WON 


WHEN  I  looked  upon  the  Peeress's 
Gallery  in  Westminster  Abbey  dur- 
ing the  first  coronation  of  King  Edward, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  realized  the 
irresistible  fascination  of  diamonds. 
There  may  be  other  dazzling  jewels,  but 
in  the  somber  light  of  the  ancient  abbey, 
the  wealth  of  Ophir  flashed  forth  the  story 
of  diamonds.  The  crown  of  England's 
king  on  that  historic  occasion  bore  the 
priceless  Kohinoor  diamond,  whose  his- 
tory for  centuries  back  is  a  tangle  of 
romance,  intrigue  and  bloodshed. 

When  Queen  Victoria  was  crowned 
Empress  of  India,  the  most  significant 
act  was  not  the  signing  and  sealing  of 
documents  which  closed  the  event  of 
conquest  by  arms,  but  the  fact  that  the 
precious  Kohinoor  diamond  passed  into 
her  possession,  and  signified  her  corona- 
tion as  the  Empress  of  India. 


A  child  picking  up  a  pebble  for  a 
plaything  in  the  gravel  of  a  river  was 
the  first  dawn  of  the  glories  of  the  South 
African  diamond  fields,  but  even  this 
incident  had  been  preceded  by  a  chain  of 
events  in  exploratory  expeditions  which 
originated  not  alone  in  the  spirit  of 
adventure,  expansion  of  commerce  and 
accumulation  of  riches,  but  in  the  be- 
witching beckoning  of  diamond  glory. 

Volumes  have  been  written  about  dia- 
monds and  the  power  they  have  exer- 
cised over  x  the  human  mind.  The 
Adamas  (as  it  was  originally  called)  or 
diamond  is  the  one  substance  of  the  earth 
before  which  all  else  must  crumble,  pre- 
serving the  brilliant  beauty  of  a  dainty 
dewdrop  on  the  petal  of  a  rose  and  still 
remaining  a  substance  as  eternal  as  the 
ages.  Today  diamonds  are  not  exclu- 
sively for  the  crowns  of  potentates  but 


HOW   A   GOLD   MEDAL   WAS   WOiN 


are  displayed,  worn  and  purchased  by  our 
own  American  people  in  a  way  that  has 
never  been  known  in  history,  a  flashing 
insignia  of  the  prosperity  of  the  people. 

The  wearing  of  diamonds  is  not  of 
itself  significant  of  wealth,  but  an  abso- 
lute proof  of  possession.  In  other  words 
diamonds  have  been  popularized  and 
have  served  utilitarian  purposes  beyond 
mere  ornamentation.  No  better  evi- 
dence of  this  could  be  cited  than  the 
great  success  achieved  by  Loftis  Bros. 
&  Company  of  Chicago,  in  adapting 
diamonds  to  the  purpose  of  savings 
banks,  only  one  of  the  very  successful 
departments  of  their  business. 

Many  years  ago,  the  Loftis  family  in 
Philadelphia  became  identified  with  the 
diamond  trade.  One  of  the  sons  (S.  T. 
A.  Loftis)  later  went  to  Chicago,  where 
he  established  a  business  in  diamonds 
that  has  since  reached  international 
fame.  This  young  man  abandoned  the 
conservatism  of  older  merchants  and 
proceeding  upon  an  original  theory 
which  was  nothing  less  than  the  propo- 
sition that  distant  persons  could  be 
trusted  to  pay  for  even  so  precious  an 
article  as  a  diamond,  providing  they 
were  accorded  fair  treatment,  and  that 
the  conditions  of  payment  were  not  made 
burdensome.  On  this  new  line  of  mer- 
chandising, the  genius  of  its  originator 
worked  out  a  simple  system  which  has 
been  so  successful  as  to  place  his  house 
in  the  forefront  of  the  diamond  trade, 
and  which  has  extended  a  once  purely 
local  business  to  every  country  in  the 
civilized  world. 

Mr.  Loftis  realized  even  better  than 
the  purchasers  themselves, the  innate  love 
of  diamonds  and  the  possibilities  of  the 
purchaser  developing  saving  and  frugal 
habits  in  order  to  secure  one,  if  the 
proper  opportunity  and  encouragement 
to  do  so  was  supplied.  When  he  an- 
nounced to  the  advertising  world  that  he 
intended  to  sell  diamonds  on  credit, 
there  was  many  a  wiseacre  who  shook 
his  head  and  predicted  with  a  sneer  of 


S.  T.  A.  LOFTIS,  ORIGINATOR  OF  THE 
LOl-'TIS  SYSTEM 


skepticism  the  future  of  such  a  problem. 
He  had,  however,  sold  diamonds  over 
the  counter  face  to  face  with  too  many 
customers  to  be  shaken  in  his  belief. 
He  believed  in  the  honesty  of  the  great 
common  people  who  satisfied  their  long- 
ings for  the  rare  beauties  of  earth,  with- 
out endangering  or  interfering  with  their 
regular  pursuits. 

Is  there  a  young  man  in  America  who 
does  not  dream  of  the  time  when  he  may 
place  the  sparkling  solitaire  upon  the 
finger  of  the  young  woman  to  whom 
he  has  given  his  heart  ?  Where  is  the  hus- 
band grown  so  callous  and  indifferent 
that  he  does  not  delight  to  see  upon  the 
hand  of  his  helpmate  the  gem  which  in- 
dicates as  well  as  reflects  enduring  affec- 
tion? Upon  this  hypothesis  Mr.  Loftis 
built  better  than  he  knew,  for  the  tre- 
mendous growth  of  the  business  of  dia- 
monds on  credit,  in  all  parts  of  the 
country,  has  attended  this  enterprise. 

But  the  crowning  achievement  of  it  all 
was  when  Mr.  Loftis  brought  to  the 
Varied  Industries  building  at  the  World's 
Fair,  a  complete  diamond  cutting  plant, 
showing  every  process  through  which 
the  precious  gems  passed,  in  cutting  and 
polishing  from  the  rough  stones  just  as 
taken  from  the  South  Africa  mines  to  the 


HOW   A   GOLD   MEDAL   WAS   WON 


transcendant  brilliancy  of  the  final  set- 
ting.    It  is  very  interesting  to  watch  the 
process  of   diamond  cutting  as  demon- 
strated  by  this  firm  at  the  Fair.     The 
first  process   is  that  of  cleaving.     The 
expert  workman    takes    the   rough   dia- 
mond of  irregular  shape  and  dexterously 
cleaves  it  into  the  semblance  of  a  cube. 
Now  it  goes  to  the  cutter  who  fixes  two 
of  these  rough   cubes   into  a  lathe-like 
machine   running   at  tremendous  speed 
and  by  wearing  one  diamond  against  the 
other,    transforms    it    into   a  spherical 
shape    with    eight   somewhat    irregular 
sides.     The  diamond  dust  resulting  from 
this  process  is  carefully  saved  for  use  in 
the  next  one — that  of  laying  on  the  fifty- 
eight  mathematical  facets  which   every 
true  diamond  must  have.     The  polisher, 
so  called,  fixes  the  diamond  in  a  leaden 
holder  called  a  "dop,"  which  holds  the 
diamond  against  the  surface  of  a  wheel 
revolving  horizontally  at  the  rate  of  2,800 
revolutions  per  minute.     The  surface  of 
this  wheel  is  covered  with  diamond  dust 
and  olive   oil,    and   when    one  facet   is 
finished  the  "dop"  is  given  a  new  angle 
to  polish  on  the  next  one.     It  requires 
nearly  five  hours,  or  nearly  one  million 
revolutions  of  the  wheel,  to  finish  a  facet, 
or  about  four  days  of  constant  grinding 
to  eut   the   facets  on   an   ordinary  one- 
carat  stone. 

It  was  very  interesting  to  go  through 
the  various  parts  of  their  exhibit  and  in 
addition  to  seeing  the  work  of  diamond 
cutting  so  fully  demonstrated,  to  look 
over  the  photographs  showing  the  various 
features  of  diamond  mining  in  South 
Africa.  One  could  there  secure  in  a 
very  short  time  more  information  about 
diamonds  than  in  many  hours  of  reading 
and  research,  for  there  every  process 
was  so  vividly  portrayed  as  to  leave  a 
lasting  impression.  In  spacious  cases 
to  the  right  and  left  of  the  cutting  de- 
partment were  shown  such  a  bewildering 
display  of  diamonds,  pearls  and  precious 
stones  as  to  baffte  description  from  any- 
one not  an  expert  in  gems.  A  concep- 
tion of  the  display  may  be  gained,  when 


we  say  that  in  dollars  it  represented  over 
two  millions.  More  than  twenty  people 
selected  from  among  the  trusted  em- 
ployees of  the  firm's  large  organization 
were  in  attendance  during  the  day,  while 
at  night  four  heavily  armed  and  fully 
trusted  men  guarded  the  priceless  treas- 
ures contained  within  the  huge  time- 
locked  vault. 

It  is  gratifying  to  note  here,  that  the 
splendors  of  this  exhibit  were  duly  ap- 
preciated by  the  experts  appointed  to 
serve  as  judges  of  awards,  and  that  the 
superior  jury  fully  confirmed  the  highest 
award — that  of  the  gold  medal — made  to 
Loftis  Bros.  &  Company.  The  fact  that 
a  Chicago  house  could  overshadow  the 
exhibits  of  New  York,  London,  Paris 
and  Amsterdam  in  such  a  commodity  as 
diamonds,  seems  a  wonderful  accom- 
plishment. It  is  only  another  evidence 
of  the  genius,  energy  and  enthusiasm  of 
its  proprietor. 

The  manner  in  which  these  diamonds 
are  sold  to  the  people  is  to  me  more 
than  a  business  transaction,  for  it  em- 
phasizes the  honesty  of  the  people. 
The  business  has  demonstrated  that 
there  are  very  few  people  who  will  not 
pay  for  a  diamond  which  they  have  pur- 
chased, just  the  same  as  they  would  pay 
for  a  house,  lot  or  anything  else  that 
reaps  accumulated  value.  Diamonds  in 
addition  supply  a  pleasure  and  degree 
of  prestige  to  the  wearer  that  can  be 
obtained  in  no  other  way. 

I  think  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
really  thought  I  would  like  to  purchase 
a  diamond,  as  I  stood  before  this  splen- 
did exhibit.  It  was  nof  difficult  for  me 
to  understand  the  unparalleled  success 
which  Loftis  Bros.  &  Company  have  had 
in  their  project.  The  thousands  of  peo- 
ple who  have  thronged  about  this  exhibit 
during  the  entire  season  have  indicated 
not  only  the  fascination  of  diamonds, 
but  also  their  intention  to  sometime 
possess  one — if  not  for  themselves  then 
for  some  loved  one.  This  impulse 
speaks  well  for  the  judgment  as  well  as 
the  generosity  of  the  American  people. 


EL    PASO,    TEXAS 


By    J.    H.    CAMPBELL 

Secretary  Chamber  of  Commerce. 


OCCUPYING  the  largest  natural  gate- 
way to  Mexico  and  on  the  conti- 
nental divide,  El  Paso,  Texas  has  be- 
come the  terminus  of  eight  great  raliways 
and  is  the  distributing  point  for  a  vast 
region  abounding  in  fabulously  rich 
mines  and  cattle  ranges. 

Where  in  early  days  the  caravan  driver, 
bound  for  Mexico,  California  or  Sante 
Fe  stopped  over  night  to  corral  his  pack 
teams,  or  the  emigrant  halted  to  rest  the 
oxen  of  his  prairie  schooner,  now  a 
dozen  splendidly  equipped  passenger 
trains  from  the  Golden  Gate,  Old 
Mexico,  the  far  north,  south  or  east, 
pause  each  day  to  permit  thousands  of 
tourists,  traders  and  investors  to  alight, 
and  twice  the  number  of  frieght  trains 
loaded  with  bullion,  ore,  tropical  fruits, 
cattle  and  sheep  or  merchandise  are 
made  up  and  switched  in  the  local  yards, 
or  are  hurried  through  toward  the  distant 
marts  of  commerce. 

As  a  smelting,  mining,  trading,  cattle 
and  railroad  center,  El  Paso  is  unex- 
celled in  the  West,  and  with  the  perfec- 
tion of  irrigation  methods  she  is  already 
becoming  of  importance  as  the  chief  city 
of  a  surrounding  agricultural  community. 

As  a  health  resort  her  fame  is  world- 
wide— the  pure,  dry  air,  the  altitude  and 
the  even  temperature  having  proven 
beneficial  and  curative  in  cases  of  asthma, 
lung  and  throat  trouble  and  bronchitis. 
New  Mexico,  which  is  particularly 
favored  as  a  health  resort,  is  not  far 
away,  and  it  is  at  Fort  Stanton,  north  of 
El  Paso,  that  the  United  States  govern- 
ment has  erected  a  large  sanitarium  for 
the  treatment  of  consumptive  sailors 
and  soldiers. 

Four  or  five  magnificent  hotels  adorn 
the  business  section  of  the  city  and 
dozens  of  smaller  hostelries  are  scattered 
throughout  the  corporate  limits.  Restau- 
rants, private  boarding  houses  and  lunch 


counters  supply  food  for  an  aimy  of 
transients,  and  during  the  Winter  months 
the  capacities  of  all  these  are  often  taxed 
to  their  utmost. 

Cattlemen,  miners,  prospectors,  rail- 
road builders  and  hundreds  of  other 
classes  make  their  headquarters  at  El 
Paso,  where  they  buy  their  supplies  and 
equip  themselves  for  expeditions  into  the 
surrounding  mountains  and  plains,  and 
trade  is  brisk  the  year  around. 

The  growth  of  the  town  having  been 
rapid,  her  real  estate  values  have  fre- 
quently doubled  within  a  single  year. 
A  splendid  waterworks,  sewer  system 
and  seventeen  miles  of  electric  car  lines 
have  had  much  to  do  with  the  material  ad- 
vancement and  growth  of  the  city,and  the 
health  of  the  inhabitants  is  unsurpassed 
— the  death  rate,  aside  from  invalids, 
being  excessively  low. 

Here  children  grow  fat  and  ruddy, 
delicate  persons  recover  their  health  and 
the  deliciously  cool  nights,  even  in  Mid- 
Summer,  bring  refreshing  repose,  undis- 
turbed by  fever  breeding  mosquitos, 
which  cannot  exist  in  this  altitude. 

By  many  El  Paso  has  been  classed  as 
a  second  Denver.  "Somewhere  on  the 
border  of  Mexico  and  the  United  States," 
said  Baron  Von  Humboldt,  the  historian, 
"a  mighty  city  will  spring  into  existence, 
to  become  the  metropolis  of  all  that 
region."  According  to  Jay  Gould  and 
Senator  McPherson,  El  Paso  is  the  city 
referred  to. 

Foremost  in  extent,  value  and  general 
importance  among  El  Paso's  resources  is 
the  prodigious  mineral  wealth  of  the 
tributary  country  from  500  to  1,000  miles 
radius. 

The  most  striking  indication  is  found 
in  the  plant  of  the  El  Paso  Smelting 
works.  This  great  plant  ranks  among 
the  largest  smelting  plants  in  the  wprld. 
It  employs  1,500  men  and  has  a  payroll 


EL    PASO,    TEXAS 


of  $60.000  per  month.  More  important, 
however,  than  this  local  payroll  to  El 
Paso  is  the  fact  that  this  company  pays 
the  shippers  of  mineral  from  the  sur- 
rounding country  $800,000  to  $1,000,000 
per  month. 

The  territory  upon  which  the  El  Paso 
Smelting  Works  draws  for  its  ores  in- 
cludes New  Mexico,  Arizona,  West 
Texas  and  the  Mexican  states  of  Chihua- 
hua, Sonora,  Sinaloa,  Durango,  Coahu- 
illa  and  Lower  California. 

The  Federal  Copper  company  has 
built  smelting  works  two  miles  east  of 
the  city,  with  a  capacity  of  200  tons  per 
day,  for  treating  copper  ores  only. 

The  two  El  Paso  foundries  and  ma- 
chine shops  are  employed  almost  en- 
tirely in  the  production  of  machinery 
and  material  for  use  in  mining  opera- 
tions. The  many  large  wholesale  and 
jobbing  houses  in  El  Paso  find  their  most 
numerous  and  best  customers  in  the 
mining  towns  and  camps  reached  from 
El  Paso  by  the  railroads  centering  here. 

The  railroads  find  their  heaviest  and 
most  profitable  traffic  in  the  carrying  of 
ores,  coal,  mining  machinery  and  other 
supplies  directly  and  indirectly  connected 
with  the  mineral  industry. 

The  mining  towns  and  camps  will 
always  afford  a  home  market  for  the 
agricultural  products  of  the  surrounding 
country,  and  for  the  products  of  can- 
neries, evaporators  and  factories  for  the 
minufacture  of  everything  that  can  be 
produced  here  or  brought  here  as  raw 
material  for  local  manufacture.  Moun- 
tains of  iron  ore  and  vast  beds  of  coal 
are  the  pledge  that  extensive  iron  and 
steel  works  are  to  be  established  here  at 
no  distant  day.  Gold,  silver,  lead  and 
copper  are  at  present  the  chief  mineral 
products. 

And  yet  the  development  of  the 
mineral  resources  in  the  country  tribu- 
tary to  El  Paso  is  still  in  its  infancy. 
More  smelting  plants,  more  manufactur- 
ing concerns  of  various  kinds,  more 
warehouses,  more  extensive  stocks  of 


goods  and  more  railroads  will  be  needed 
here  as  mining  developments  go  on. 
This  it  is  which,  above  all  else  insures 
the  growth  of  El  Paso  and  the  future 
greatness  of  the  city. 

In  1898  the  assessed  valuation  of  the 
city  was  $5,238,925;  in  1903  it  was  $11,- 
531,639,  or  more  than  double  the  amount 
it  was  in  1898.  The  reader  can  safely 
rely  on  the  fact  that  fifty  per  cent,  is 
about  the  average  valuation  of  the  prop- 
erty returned,  and  the  rate  of  taxation, 
including  state,  county  and  city,  for  "all 
purposes,  is  $2.69. 

The  total  county  bonded  indebtedness 
is  $102,000,  and  the  total  city  bonded 
indebtedness  is  $361 ,000.  The  property 
owned  by  the  city  and  county  very 
largely  exceeds  the  amount  of  the  in- 
debtedness, and  the  cash  on  hand  could 
very  materially  reduce  it  at  any  time, 
and  with  the  large  revenues  that  the  city 
and  county  receive,  they  could  call  in 
their  bonds  within  one-third  of  the  time 
they  have  to  run. 

In  1903  the  capital  and  surplus  of  the 
banks  was  $735,000  and  the  deposits 
$4,000,000,  which  has  more  than  trebled 
in  five  years. 

In  1904  the  number  of  teachers  in  the 
public  schools  numbered  eighty,  the 
pupils  of  school  age  3,728,  and  the  valua- 
tion of  school  property  is  $336,000.  El 
Paso  is  one  of  the  richest  places  in 
school  property  in  the  Southwest,  and 
pays  higher  salaries  to  teachers  than  any 
town  in  the  state. 

The  population  of  El  Paso  has  more 
than  doubled  in  the  last  five  years.  By 
a  deficient  census  it  was  allowed  16,000 
in  1900,  but  if  the  census  was  taken 
today  it  would  run  over  35,000. 

All  property,  especially  improved 
property  in  the  city  of  El  Paso,  has 
only  increased  in  valuation  in  proportion 
to  the  increase  of  population  and  busi- 
ness, and  really  not  as  much  so. 

Since  1898  the  population  has  more 
than  doubled;  the  banking  business  and 
the  accumulation  of  money,  the  very  best 


EL    PASO,    TEXAS 


indication,  has  more  than  trebled;  the 
building  permits  have  doubled;  the  post 
office  receipts  have  doubled. 

The  location  of  El  Paso  is  most  re- 
markable for  geographical  advantages 
for  a  great  city — at  the  corner  and  inter- 
section of  the  great  state  of  Texas,  of 
Mexico,  Arizona  and  New  Mexico;  it 
is  600  miles  away  from  any  other  city  of 
its  size  and  importance,  in  the  center  of 
the  richest  mining,  agricultural  and  tim- 
ber country  in  the  Southwest. 

Before  El  Paso  was  anything,  even  a 
small  village,  all  the  engineers  of  the 
trunk  railroads  that  were  then  pioneers, 
had  to  come  to  "The  Pass,"  as  it  was 
then  called,  not  because  they  were 
offered  any  indemnity  by  any  govern- 
ment, city  or  individual,  but  because  it 
was  the  natural,  geographical,  chosen 
spot  where  the  coming  great  flow  of 
traffic  was  to  meet  on  its  way  from  sea 
to  sea,  from  the  Atlantic  ocean  to  the 
Pacific  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  until 
now  it  is  becoming  the  mecca  where  all 
railroad  transportation  has  to  meet  and 
go  through. 

Through  El  Paso  we  are  connected 
with  Vera  Cruz,  Tampico  and  Guaymas, 
and  before  long  one  or  two  more  links 
will  be  made  to  connect  us  with  Topolo- 
bampo  Bay,  making  El  Paso  the  crossing 
center  of  the  greatest  railway  transporta- 
tion enterprises  in  the  world. 

No  railway  company  that  ever  figures 
on  transportation  business  of  the  great 
Southwest  leaves  this  city  out  of  its  con- 
sideration, and  while  it  now  possesses 
eight  railroad  lines,  it  is  but  natural  to 
expect  that  in  ten  years  from  now  it  will 
have  double  that  number,  and  perhaps 
more. 

Eastern  capitalists  have  invested  two 


million  dollars  for  the  establishment  of 
the  El  Paso  Electric  company,  a  plant 
as  efficient  and  up-to-date  in  every 
respect  as  any  that  can  be  found  in  any 
city  of  its  size  in  the  Union. 

Capitalists  of  the  states  of  Pennsyl- 
vania and  Massachusetts  have  invested 
several  millions  in  El  Paso  in  railroad 
and  other  enterprises,  and  not  one  of 
these  investors  can  be  found  who  is  not 
satisfied  and  much  pleased  with  his  in- 
vestment. 

Pure  water,  and  in  inexhaustible 
quantities,  is  found  at  the  very  gates  of 
the  city.  The  International  Water  com- 
pany, backed  and  owned  by  gentlemen 
of  the  highest  integrity  and  responsibility 
now  has  its  plant  in  course  of  construc- 
tion, and  we  believe  they  will  find  it  as 
profitable  and  satisfactory  an  investment 
as  the  electric  company  found  theirs,  if 
not  more  so. 

Irrigation  for  the  development  of  agri- 
culture through  systems  of  reservoirs  and 
pumping  plants  is  multiplying  rapidly, 
and  before  five  years  have  elapsed  the 
valleys  of  the  Rio  Grande  will  be  to  this 
section  of  the  country  what  the  valley  of 
the  Nile  is  to  Egypt. 

Manufacturing  enterprises  have  been 
established  and  are  growing  from  day  to 
day,  thus  assuring  this  city  to  become 
as  great  in  manufacturing  as  it  is  in  other 
branches  of  business. 

A  great  number  of  details  could  be 
given,  that  would  interest  anyone  seek- 
ing for  homes,  business  or  investments, 
but  in  line  with  our  purpose  of  consenda- 
tion,  we  leave  the  details  to  be  investiga- 
ed  by  the  thousands  who  are  constantly 
figuring  on  making  El  Paso  their  home, 
and  thus  verify  the  strength  of  our  asser- 
tions herein  made. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


The  Era 


FOR  1905  we  will  present  features  of  vast  interest  and  of  vital  importance  to  thoughtful 
men  and  women  throughout  the  country.     A  representative  series  of  articles  along 
these  lines  will  be  found  in  the  ERA'S  " Life  Insurance  Exposures"  revealing,  from  inside 
sources,  the  mysterious  details  of 

The  Billion  Dollar  Combine  of  the  Great 
Life  Insurance  Companies  and  Wall  Street 

Thousands  will  realize  for  the  first  time  just  how  certain  big  companies  divert  their 
vast  surplus  from  policy-holders  to  forward  speculative  schemes  in  Wall  Street. 

'  There  will  be  about  six  of  these  insurance  articles  in  all,  and  other  questions  of 
equal  interest  and  of  wide  importance  to  the  general  public  will  be  taken  up  in  turn, 
making  THE  ERA  almost  a  necessity  to  the  progressive  American. 

WE   HAVE   ALSO   ARRANGED   FOR   THE 

Best  Fiction  and 
Special  Articles 

These  will  be  from  the  pens  of  the  foremost  writers  at  home  and  abroad.  The 
magazine  will  thus  make  a  strong  appeal  to  every  member  of  the  family. 

As  in  the  past,  the  policy  of  THE  ERA  is  to  champion  the  cause  of  the  people  at 
every  point,  and  each  month  will  find  us  fighting  for  better  conditions,  which  we  are 
optimistic  enough  to  believe  will  sooner  or  later  be  brought  about. 

In  contrast  to  these  more  thoughtful  and  serious  articles  will  be  found  stories  that 
appeal  to  the  strongest  feelings,  that  touch  the  heart  and  enchain  the  fancy,  while  the 
lighter  side  of  life,  as  exemplified  in  the  choicest  bits  of  wit  and  humor,  will  receive 
due  attention. 

This  general  policy  has  been  closely  followed  during  1904,  and  the  circulation  of 
THE  ERA  has  already  more  than  doubled;  and  this  can  be  said  regarding  no  other 
periodical  of  which  we  know.  Subscribers  have  found  THE  ERA  forceful,  dtgnified, 
helpful  and  exceptionally  entertaining,  making  it  an  ideal  periodical  for  the  home. 

CENTS        THE    ERA    MAGAZINE        *|  -oo 

"""•^•.V/1"'1       -1™" 


Don't  fail  to  mention  "The  National  Magazine"  when  writing  to  advertisers. 


NEW  YEAR  GREETINC-AN  ACROSTIC 

COMPILED    FROM    THE    WRITINGS    OF    BULW  ER-L  YTTON    FOR   THIS    NUMBER   OF 

THE    NATIONAL.    MAGAZINE 

By    AGNES     DEAN     CAMERON 

Principal  of  South  Park  School 

VICTORIA,     BRITISH     COLUMBIA 

ALONG  the  landscape  lay  the  hazy  rime  of  Winter's  dawning  day. 
The  New  Timon. 

J* 


H 

f\ 


E  who  has  genius  without  patience  and  energy  might  as  well  have  no  genius  at  all. 

Caxtoniana. 


FRESH  mind  keeps  the  body  fresh;   take  in  the  ideas  of  the  day,  drain  off  those  of 
yesterday.  —  Kenelm  Chillingly 


RIVATE  interest  must  not  be  the  guide;    when  interests  clash,  majorities  decide. 

King  ^Arthur. 

Jit 

PERHAPS,  as  the  Creator  looks  down  on  this  world,  He  beholds  nothing  so  beautiful  as 
the  pure  heart  of  a  simple,  loving  child.  My  Novel. 


Y 


OU  seem  abroad  to  see,  to  feel,  to  hear  the  new  life  flushing  through  the  virgin  year. 

The  New  Timon. 

J 


NOBODY  now-a-days  can  maintain  the  right  divine  of  a  single  royal  family  to  impose 
itself  upon  a  nation.  Tbe  Parisians. 


EVERY  man  of  sound  brain  whom  you  meet,  knows  something  worth  knowing  better 
than  yourself.  Caxtoniana. 

WORTH  makes  the  man.  Money. 

Jl 


YET  there  is  more  mystery  in  the  growth  of  a  blade  of  grass  than  in  a  wizard's  mirror  or 
the  feats  of  a  spirit  medium.  —  Kenelm  Chillingly. 

J* 

EARTH,  too,  with  all  its  fenced  gardens  and  embattled  walls,  all  its  landmarks  of  churlish 
ownership,  is  ours,  too,  by  right  of  eye.  —  What  Will  He  Do  With  Itl 

AIM  at  the  highest,  and  at  least  you  soar.  —  Caxtoniana. 

jf 

REGARDLESS  of  what  Laws  and  Kings  and  States  may  be,  wise  men  in  earnest  can  be 
always  free.  — -  King  Arthur. 


344  NEW    YEAR    GREETING— AN    ACROSTIC 

FOR  in  life  as  in  whist:    Hope  nothing  from  the  way  cards  may  be  dealt  you.    Play  the 
cards,  whatever  they  be,  to  the  best  of  your  skill.  —  Caxtoniana. 

j* 

REALLY,  I  doubt  if  any  man  can  be  called  "old"  as  long  as  he  is  an  early  riser,  and  an 
early  walker.  The  Caxtons. 

J* 

THE  world  is  a  battle-field  in  which  the  worst  wounded  are  the  deserters. 

Kenelm  Chillingly. 

«5* 

|EASURLESS  sky  and  the  unnumbered  stars  are  equally  granted  to  king  and  beggar. 

What  Will  He  Do  Will)  It  ? 

J* 


T 
H 


HEN  rouse  thyself.    Life  is  the  verb  "  To  Do ! "  —  St.  Stephen's. 


OW  I  still  remember  the  Winter  evenings  you  used  to  pass  at  our  fireside — the  mtetletoe- 
bough  at  Christmas  —  the  pleasant  game  at  Blind-Man's  Bluff  and  Hunt  the  Slipper! 

Not  So  Bad  As  We  Seem. 

[QUALITY?    Equality  would  be  fatal.     If  there  were  no  penury  and  no  pain  what 
,  would  become  of  fortitude  ?  —  My  Novel. 


N 


OTHING  is  so  contagious  as  enthusiasm.  —  Last  Days  of  Pompeii. 

4 


N 
A 


MAN'S  business  has  a  deal  to  do  with  his  manner  of  thinking. 

What  Will  He  Do  With  It  ? 


LET  us  all  realize  that  there  is  nothing  so  exalted,  or  so  divine,  as  a  great  and  brave  spirit 
working  out  its  end  through  every  earthly  obstacle  and  evil ;  watching  through  the  utter 
darkness,  and  steadily  defying  the  phantoms.  —  The  Disowned. 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 


VOL.  XXI. 


JANUARY,    1905 


No..  4. 


ffafrs  &f  Wasfi/ngton 


PRESIDENT  ROOSEVELT  received 
more  votes  than  McKinley;  Judge 
Parker,  less  than  Bryan.  The  Roos- 
evelt plurality  of  more  than  two  millions 
could  not  have  been  overcome  even  if 
Judge  Parker  had  polled  the  full  strength 
of  his  party.  The  enormous  stay-at- 
home  democratic  vote,  quite  as  much  as 
the  active  republican  vote,  was  a  vote  of 
confidence  in  Theodore  Roosevelt. 

With  this    emphatic   endorsement  of 
himself  and  the  ideals  which  he  is  under- 


stood to  stand  for,  the  president  practi- 
cally begins  with  the  last  session  of  the 
fifty-eighth  congress  his  untrammeled 
service  in  the  presidency.  Up  to  now 
he  has  been  the  executor  of  the  McKin- 
ley policies;  he  is  free  hereafter  to  be 
president  on  his  own  account.  His 
message  to  congress,  published  on  Tues- 
day, December  6,  was  his  first  formal 
public  statement  of  his  administrative 
policies  since  he  received  the  people's 
direct  commission  to  the  presidency. 


THE      MEMBERS       OF      THE       WEST      POINT       FOOTBALL       TEAM,      VICTORS       OVER      THE 
ANNAPOLIS     ELEVEN      IN      THE      ARMY      AND     NAVY      GAME      PLAYED     NOVEMBER 
26,      AT     PHILADELPHIA — THE      PLAYERS,     FROM      LEFT     TO      RIGHT,      ARE: 
TORNEY,      ERWIN,       HAMMOND,     GILLESPIE,       GAREY,      HILL,       SEA- 
GRAVE,      DOE,     PRINCE,      TIPTON,      METTLER 
Photograph  by  the  National  Press  Association 


346 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  JANUARY,  1905 


PRINCE    FUSHIMI,   ADOPTED   BROTHER   OF   THE  JAPANESE   EMPEROR,  WHO    LATELY 

VISITED   WASHINGTON'S    TOMB   AT    MT.   VERNON    AND    PLANTED    A   JAPANESE 

MAPLE  THERE. — OUR  PICTURE  SHOWS  THE   PRINCE  LEAVING  HIS  STEAMER 

AT    SAN     FRANCISCO.  —  HE    HAS    SEEN    THE     WORLD'S     FAIR     AND 

SEVERAL    OF    OUR    PRINCIPAL    CITIES 

Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  the  National  Press  Association 


This  message  is  solid  and  conserva- 
tive. If  it  strikes  any  one  note  with 
especial  force,  it  is  a  note  of  warning  to 


the  directors  of  great  corporations,  that 
they  must  manage  these  institutions, 
which  have  their  existence  by  public 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


347 


JUSTICE     BREWER     OF     THE     UNITED     STATES      SUPREME     COURT      (IN      BLACK      COAT) 
AND    JUDGE    THAYER    OF«  THE     UNITED     STATES    CIRCUIT     COURT,  —  A     SNAP- 
SHOT   AT    THE    WORLD'S    FAIR,    ST.    LOUIS 


favor,  "with  due  regard  to  the  interests 
of  the  public  as  a  whole."  Especially 
does  he  declare  his  purpose  to  enforce 
to  the  utmost  the  laws  forbidding  all 
rebates.  And  in  this  connection  he  sig- 
nificantly adds:  "The  government  must 


in  increasing  degree  supervise  and  regu- 
late the  workings  of  the  railways  engaged 
in  interstate  commerce;  and  such  in- 
creased supervision  is  the  only  alterna- 
tive to  an  increase  of  the  present  evils 
on  the  one  hand,  or  a  still  more  radical 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   JANUARY,    1905 


policy" — presumably  Mr.  Bryan's  state 
ownership  scheme  or  some  other  social- 
istic undertaking — "on  the  other." 

Significant,  also,  in  view  of  recently 
published  statements  by  Thomas  W. 
Lawson  and  others,  that  the  funds  of 
some  of  the  great  eastern  insurance 
companies  are  controlled,  for  speculative 
purposes,  by  the  masters  of  "frenzied 
finance,"  is  this  paragraph  tacked  onto 


the  president's  chapter  dealing  with  the 

bureau  of  corporations: 

"The  business  of  insurance  vitally 
affects  the  great  mass  of  the  people 
of  the  United  States  and  is  national 
and  not  local  in  its  application.  It 
involves  a  multitude  of  transac- 
tions among  the  people  of  the 
different  states  and  between  Ameri- 
can companies  and  foreign  govern- 


THE      PRESIDENT    TAKING      PART      IN     THE      DEDICATION      OF      THE    NEW      PAROCHIAL 

BUILDINGS      OF      ST.      PATRICK'S      ROMAN      CATHOLIC      CHURCH,      WASHINGTON, 

ON      NOVEMBER      2O.— CARDINAL      GIBBONS,     ARCHBISHOP     IRELAND     AND 

OTHER      CHURCH      AND      CIVIC     CELEBRITIES     WERE      PRESENT 


AFFAIRS  AT   WASHINGTON 


349 


UNVEILING     OF     THE     STATUE    OF     FREDERICK    THE     GREAT     OF     PRUSSIA,     THE     GIFT 

OF    THE    KAISER,    IN     THE     GROUNDS     OF     THE     WAR    COLLEGE    AT     WASHINGTON, 

ON      WHICH      OCCASION     PRESIDENT     ROOSEVELT     DELIVERED     AN     ADDRESS 

PAYING     HIGH     HONOR     TO     THE     MILITARY   GENIUS     OF     FREDERICK 


ment.  I  urge  that  the  congress 
carefully  consider  whether  the  power 
of  the  bureau  of  corporations  can 
not  constitutionally  be  extended  to 
cover  interstate  transactions  in  in- 
surance." 

The  point  of  this  suggestion  is  in  its 
implication  that  the  president  believes 
our  great  insurance  companies  have 
reached  a  point  where  they  require  the 
guaranty  of  national  inspection  and  o.  k. 
upon  their  inner  workings,  in  order  that 
they  may  retain  the  public  confidence 
and  not  fail  to  deserve  it. 

When  Senator  Knox  was  attorney 
general,  he  stated,  in  an  interview,  that 


it  was  not  the  purpose  of  the  administra- 
tion to  "run  amuck"  in  efforts  to  en- 
force the  anti-trust  laws.  The  foes  of 
the  administration  tried  to  make  it 
appear  that  this  statement  was  a  notice 
to  the  great  trusts  that  they  need  fear 
no  interference  from  President  Roos- 
evelt or  his  attorney  general.  The  presi- 
dent's message  makes  clear  the  exact 
meaning  of  Mr.  Knox's  "run  amuck" 
interview.  Defining  the  purpose  of  the 
bureau  of  corporations,  the  president 
says: 

"The  bureau  of  corporations  has 
made  careful  preliminary  investiga- 
tion of  many  important  corpora- 
tions. It  will  make  a  special  report 


35° 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,  1905 


MISS     GRACE      PETERS,      DAUGHTER      OF      COMMANDER      PETERS 

AND     ONE     OF      THIS      YEAR'S      DEBUTANTES      IN      WASHINGTON 

SOCIETY. —  SHE      IS      VERY      FOND      OF      FENCING      AND      TAKES 

LESSONS     OF      THE      PRESIDENT'S      FENCING      INSTRUCTOR 

Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


on  the  beef  industry.  The  policy 
of  the  bureau  is  to  accomplish  the 
purposes  of  its  creation  by  coopera- 
tion, not  antagonism;  by  making 
constructive  legislation,  not  destruc- 
tive prosecution,  the  immediate  ob- 
ject of  its  inquiries;  by  conservative 
investigation  of  law  and  fact,  and  by 
refusal  to  issue  incomplete  and 


hence  necessarily  inaccurate  reports. 

"Its  policy  being  thus  one  of  open 
inquiry  into,  and  not  attack  upon, 
business,  the  bureau  has  been  able 
to  gain  not  only  the  confidence  of, 
but,  better  still,  the  cooperation  of 
men  engaged  in  legitimate  business. 

"The  bureau  offers  to  the  congress 
the  means  of  getting  at  the  cost  of 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


35' 


MISS      META      POTTER     OF      WASHINGTON 
Photograph  by   Clinedinst 


production  of  our  various  great 
staples  of  commerce.  Of  necessity 
the  careful  investigation  of  special 
corporations  will  afford  the  commis- 
sioner knowledge  of  certain  business 
facts,  the  publication  of  which  might 
be  an  improper  infringement  of  priv- 
ate rights.  The  method  of  making 
public  the  results  of  these  investiga- 
tions affords,  under  the  law,  a  means 
fol  the  protection  of  private  rights. 
The  congress  will  have  all  facts  ex- 


cept such  as  would  give  to  another 
corporation  information  which  would 
injure  the  legitimate  business  of  a 
competitor  and  destroy  the  incentive 
for  individual  superiority  and  thrift." 


IT  is  in  the  senate  telephone  booth  at 
the  capitol  that  one  can  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  real  human  nature  that  abides 
under  the  cloth  of  the  Prince  Albert  coat 
of  senatorial  dignity.  The  doors  of  the 


352 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  JANUARY,    1905 


SIR     MORTIMER     DURAND,     BRITISH      AMBASSADOR,     IN    RIDING      HABIT,     TAKEN      AT 

THE     EMBASSY 
Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


booth  are  transparent  and  I  sat  upon  the 
bench  outside  and  watched  the  facial 
expression  of  a  distinguished  senator 
during  a  ten-minutes  talk  over  the  tele- 
phone. Now  a  senator  is,  after  all,  only 


mortal,  whether  he  orates  on  the  floor  of 
the  senate  or  through  a  telephone  tube, 
and  this  truth  came  home  with  new 
force  as  I  watched  the  pantomime— first 
that  eager  desire  for  "central"  to  "hurry 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


353 


COMMANDER      ROBERT     PEARY,     UNITED     STATES     NAVY,     WHO     IS     BUILDING      A      SHIP 
FOR      ANOTHER     JOURNEY     TO     THE     FAR     NORTH.  —  HE      BELIEVES      THAT      THIS 

TIME      HE      WILL  "REACH      THE      NORTH      POLE 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by    Clinedinst,  Washington 


up"  then  the  voice  at  the  other  end  and 
the  senator's  quick  response;  then  the 
swift  changes  of  countenance  as  they 
talked,  talker  and  talkee  getting,  appar- 


ently, as  excited  as  though  arguing  face 
to  face.  Then  the  senator  listened,  and 
by  and  by  a  smile  began  to  punctuate 
the  disjointed  answers  he  dropped  into 


334 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE    for  JANUARY,    1905 


THE      CHILDREN     OF     COMMANDER      ALEXANDRE      BOUTAKOFF,     NAVAL      ATTACHE     OF 

THE      RUSSIAN      EMBASSY,     IN      FANCY      DRESS 

Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


the  tube,  then  came  the  "ha,  ha,"  and 
vigorous  gestures  of  amusement,  and  the 
arm  shot  out  into  the  booth  as  though 
almost  expecting  to  clasp  the  hand  of 
the  friend  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire. 
I  saw  every  phase  of  feeling,  from  wrath 
to  the  quiet  subsidence  into  suavity; 
from  the  puzzled  "What  is  it?  What  is 
it?"  to  the  quick  response  of  instant 
understanding,  given  in  marked  italic 
tones,  the  sentence  often  reiterated  to 
carry  the  full  force  of  meaning  along  the 
wire. 

From  the  expression  of  the  face  it  is 
by  no  means  difficult  to  imagine  the 
drift  of  the  conversation.  Morever,  one 
can  almost  determine  the  sex  of  the 
party  at  the  other  end  of  the  line.  The 
gentler  tones,  of  course,  are  reserved  for 
the  gentle  sex;  but  when  a  masculine 


voice  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire — it 
may  be  some  jolly  messenger  boy,  whose 
one  dense  ear  is  at  the  trumpet  and  the 
other  alive  to  catch  all  that  is  going  on 
around  him — there  will  sometimes  be 
difficulty  in  getting  the  information 
wanted,  and  some  lively  talking  will  pass 
over  the  wires. 

I  am  often  surprised  at  the  celerity 
with  which  the  operators  handle  the 
tube.  If  it  is  not  the  universal  language 
—  the  volapuk  of  the  dreamer  —  it  is 
something  that  is  very  near  it.  The 
calls  come  in  with  startling  rapidity,  and 
the  operator  seems  to  know  almost  by 
magic  just  which  number  is  wanted. 

Another  thing  that  interests  me  in  the 
senate  telephone  booth  is  the  many 
markings  all  about  it,  as  far  as  the  hands 
of  the  users  of  the  'phone  can  reach. 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


355 


MISS      DURAND,      DAUGHTER       OF      THE      BRITISH      AMBASSADOR,      AND      MISS      ELKINS, 

DAUGHTER     OF     SENATOR     ELKINS     OF     WEST      VIRGINIA      (IN     SAILOR     HAT)      A 

SNAPSHOT     TAKEN     AT     THE     CHEVY     CHASE     HORSE     SHOW 

Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


There  are  all  sorts  of  numbers  and  nota- 
tions to  refresh  the  memory,  and  often 
some  remark  written  unconsciously  while 
waiting  for  an  answer,  or  listening  to  the 
speaker  at  the  other  end.  And  what 
varied  specimens  of  handwritings  are 
found  about  a  telephone  booth  that  has 
been  some  time  in  use.  How  all  this 
reveals  the  wonderful  working  of  the 
human  mind,  which,  though  engaged  in 
a  conversation,  yet  goes  on  its  way, 
apparently  almost  independent  of  the 
individual  will. 

As  I  sat  watching  the  senate  booth, 
I  reflected  as  I  saw  one  senator  come 
forth  with  his  classic  brow  wrinkled, 
what  would  good  old  John  Adams  or 
George  Washington  have  thought  if 
they  could  have  known  that  in  the  space 


of  time  required  for  the  roll-call  of  the 
senate,  a  senator  could  confer  with  his 
constituents  three* thousand  miles  away, 
and  get  back  to  his  seat  in  time  to 
change  his  vote.  •  I  left  the  seat  near  the 
booth  with  a  new  respect  for  modern  in- 
ventions. 

4 

AT  a  recent  reception  in  Washington, 
I  heard  one  of  the  most  interesting 
romances  of  modern  industry  that  has 
ever  been  brought  to  notice.  It  was 
related  by  a  stalwart  gentleman  with 
bushy  gray  hair,  flowing  beard  and 
sparkling  brown  eyes,  and  the  telling 
took  no  more  than  fifteen  minutes, 
though  it  is  the  history  of  a  complete 
revolution  in  modern  business,  accom- 
plished by  the  narrator,  Dr,  Alexander 


356 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    JANUARY,    1905 


MRS.     CLARK,     THE     BEAUTIFUL     YOUNG      WIFE     OF     THE      MULTI-MILLIONAIRE     SENA- 
TOR     FROM      MONTANA,      IN      FANCY      DRESS 


AFFAIRS    AT    WASHINGTON 


357 


Graham  Bell,  the  inventor  of  the  tele- 
phone. 

The  doctor  is  a  Scotchman  and  like 
many  of  his  countrymen  is  ambitious. 
He  told  me  he  had  dreamed  of  being 
a  great  composer  and  I  gathered  that  in 
his  youth  he  had  aspired  to  surpass  even 
the  great  Beethoven  himself;  but  his 
canny  Scotch  father  seems  to  have  con- 


of  studies  which  led  to  the  invention  of 
the  telephone.  It  was  about  this  same 
time  that  he  was  paying  court  to  a  young 
lady  who  afterward  became  his  wife. 
Her  father  was  in  charge  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts exhibit  at  the  Centennial  Ex- 
hibition in  1876,  and  in  this  way  Dr. 
Bell  had  an  opportunity  of  placing  before 
the  people  the  wonderful  scientific  toys 


LATEST  PORTRAIT   OF   MRS.   SHAW,  WIFE   OF   THE  SECRE- 
TARY OF  THE  TREASURY 


sidered  musician  as  another  term  for 
"ne'er-do-weel,"  and  especially  disliked 
the  idea  of  his  son's  being  a  "wee  bit 
fiddler."  The  young  man's  attention 
then  turned  toward  the  education  of  the 
deaf  and  dumb  and  in  this  work  he  was 
absorbed  when  he  commenced  the  line 


which  had  a  place  in  the  Massachusetts 
building. 

Bnt  it  was  the  irrepressible  son  of  the 
house,  Willie  Hubbard,  who  seemed  to 
take  special -interest  in  the  work  that 
whiled  away  the  leisure  hours  of  his 
brother-in-law  to  be,  and  it  was  he  who 


358 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  JANUARY,    1905 


SPEAKER     "JOE"      CANNON     AND      CHAIRMAN     SERENO     PAYNE      OF     THE     WAYS     AND 

MEANS      COMMITTEE,      WHO      WILL     SOON     HAVE     TARIFF     TROUBLES     OF     THEIR 

OWN— THAT      IS,      INSOFAR      AS      "  UNCLE      JOE"      PERMITS      ANYTHING 

TO      TROUBLE      HIM 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clinedinst 


enthusiastically  mastered  the  working 
details  of  the  wonderful  little  instrument 
which  has  since  almost  revolutionized 


the  means  of  intercourse  between  busi- 
ness men,  and  given  to  spoken  language 
an  undreamt-of  value.  But  the  story  is 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


359 


JOHN      R.      MCLEAN,      OWNER      OF      THE      CINCINNATI      ENQUIRER      AND      OF      IMMENSE 
REAL     ESTATE      HOLDINGS      IN      AND      AROUND      WASHINGTON.  —  HIS    FADS    ARE 

POLITICS     AND     AUTOMOBILES 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clinedlnst 

best  told  in   Dr.  Bell's  own  animated      my  invention  represented  at  Philadelphia 

way:  but  Mr.  Hubbard  was  determined,  and 

"I  was  not  much  interested  in  having     equally  determined  was    his  daughter. 


360 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


MISS    HILDEGARDE    MCKENNA,  DAUGHTER   OF   JUSTICE     MCKENNA 

OF      THE      UNITED      STATES      SUPREME      COURT 

Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


So  the  time  came  for  the  committee  to 
give  the  final  decision  as  to' whether  or 
not  the  telephone  should  be  permitted 
to  appear  as  an  exhibit.  I  received  a 
telegram  to  the  effect  that  I  must  come 
to  Philadelphia  not  later  than  the  follow- 
ing Sunday.  As  I  was  in  the  midst  of 
examinations  at  my  school,  I  felt  that 
I  could  not  go.  That  same  afternoon 
there  came  a  message  informing  me  that 


the  young  lady  was  going,  and  I  was  to 
see  her  off.  I  appeared  at  the  station 
in  Boston  in  good  time,  and  just  as  the 
train  was  about  to  start  she  suddenly 
burst  into  tears.  This  was  too  much  for 
me;  I  sprang  on  the  train,  and  before 
I  knew  it  was  hastening  away  to  Phila- 
delphia. Then  my  situation  came  home 
to  me,  and  I  recalled  that  I  had  no  bag- 
gage and  wag  entirely  unprepared  for  any 


AFFAIRS    AT   WASHINGTON 


361 


MISS      DIANA      MORGAN      HILL     OF      WASHINGTON 
Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


lengthy  stay;  but  my  companion  quietly 
assured  me  that  "Willie  would  attend  to 
all  that,"  (and  that  irrepressible  brother 
of  hers  sent  me  all  I  needed  by  the  next 
train)  so  I  went  on  to  meet  the  commit- 
tee who  were  to  decide  the  destiny  of  my 
telephone. 

"It  had  been  a  long  and  arduous  day 
for  the  committee;  they  were  almost 
worn  out  when  they  got  'round  to  the 
telephone,  and  they  were  on  the  point 


of  deciding  that  it  was  scarcely  worthy  of 
a  place  in  the  Exposition.  I  was  feel- 
ing pretty  well  discouraged,  and  was 
thinking  of  leaving,  when  in  came  Dom 
Pedro,  Emperor  of  Brazil.  I  had  met 
him  in  Boston,  where  he  visited  my 
school  and  was  very  much  interested  in 
the  project  I  had  on  hand;  but  little  did 
I  dream  that  he  would  recognize  me 
again,  having  only  met  me  in  a  casual 
way.  However,  he  took  me  by  the  arm 


362 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


SENATOR     JOSEPH     BAILEY     OF     TEXAS,     WHO     SATIRICALLY     ASKS     SENATOR      PLATT 

OF    NEW    YORK     IF     THE    CONSTITUTION     PROVIDES    FOR     REDUCING    A    STATE'S 

REPRESENTATION       IN       CONGRESS     WHEN       ITS       GOVERNOR,      INSTEAD 

OF    ITS     LEGISLATURE,    SELECTS     ITS     UNITED     STATES     SENATORS 

Photograph  Copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clinedinst 


and  spoke  most  enthusiastically  about  my 
telephone  work,  which  rather  opened 
the  eyes  of  the  judges,  tired  though  they 
were  with  the  day's  strain.  When  he 
took  one  end  of  the  line  and  I  took  the 


other  and  began  to  repeat  Shakespeare 
to  him  in  the  best  dramatic  style  at  my 
command,  and  "To  be  or  not  to  be," 
whizzed  into  the  ear  of  the  venerable 
emperor,  my  victory  was  complete.  He 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


363 


ALEXANDER     GRAHAM     BELL,     INVENTOR     OF     THE     TELEPHONE 


made  a  careful  examination  of  the  re- 
ceiver, while  I  walked  off  as  far  as 
possible  with  the  other  end  of  the  line 


and  continued  to  recite  to  him  the 
memorable  words  of  the  bard  of  Avon. 
Well,  the  end  was  that  the  committee 


364 


NATIO'NAL    MAGAZINE  for  JANUARY,  1905 


•Sect/on  /a  tie  Late  efe  Bo/i/o   ^//(  -5/7M 


Jtlontic  Section  #»* 

23  K  680  M 


l«        17       M       I*       W      t\       M        13      24       K      M       *T      28      £9       *0      31       3»      33      34      35     06      ST      36 


DIAGRAM   SHOWING   PROPOSED   LOCK    SYSTEM     OF    PANAMA   CANAL  IN    PROFILE ;     THE  ELEVATION- 
WATERWAY     FROM     ATLANTIC    TO    PACIFIC. — THIS   MAP   ALSO   SHOWS    THE   AMOUNT    OF   EXCAVA- 

BY     THE     FRENCH     COMPANIES,     MARKED     I     AND     2,    AND   IS 


decided  that  an  appliance  that  could  in- 
terest an  emperor,  an  honored  guest  of 
the  United  States,  must  surely  be  worthy 


GENERAL  WOOD'S  SON  IN  FANCY  DRESS 


of  a  place  in  the  Centennial  Exposition; 
but  even  then  I  did  not  realize  the  over- 
whelming importance  of  the  invention. 
My  friends  in  Boston,  and  among  them 
that  revered  man  soon  to  become  my 
father-in-law,  had  often  chaffed  me  about 
my  scientific  toy,  and  although  I  never 
doubted  that  it  would  some  time  come 
into  general  use,  I  had  no  idea  of  its 
ever  reaching  the  proportions  of  general 
use  that  it  enjoys  today  in  city  and  rural 
life. 

"So  you  see  our  destiny  is  arranged 
for  us  sometimes  by  accidents  over 
which  we  have  no  control,"  continued 
the  inventor,  stroking  his  beard.  "I 
have  always  been  satisfied  that  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  tears  of  that  beloved 
woman,  now  my  wife,  the  telephone 
would  not  have  been  exhibited  at  the 
Centennial  Exposition,  and.  therefore, 
might  not  have  been  brought  into  com- 
mon use  for  many  years  to  come." 

Jt 

CECRETARY  TAFT'S  personal  visit 

to    the    Isthmus    has    resulted    in 

smoothing  out  the  points  of  disagree- 


603  Met  res 


l^ 

m  Flon 


*/>4  Mint  F/ores 


Maritime  3ect/oa 


44      44      46 


S3        54        $5       9« 


64     65       66       67      68 


SEA  LEVEL;  THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  LAKE  BOHIO,  AND  THE  CONTOUR  OF  THE  GREAT 
PION  TO  BE  MADE  BY  THE  UNITED  STATES,  MARKED  3,  AND  THE  AMOUNT  ALREADY  MADE 
5RAWN  FROM  THE  COMMISSION'S  RELIEF  MAP  IN  WASHINGTON 


ment  between  the  United  States  and 
the  Republic  of  Panama,  but  there  re- 
mains to  be  settled  the  vastly  important 
question,  whether  we  shall  build  an 
inter-oceanic  canal  with  locks,  or  at  tide- 
level.  Before  the  appointment  of  Mr. 
Wallace  as  chief  engineer,  it  was  gen- 
erally agreed  that  the  lock  system  must 
be  employed.  Mr.  Wallace  has  visited 
the  canal  country,  and  has  returned  to 
the  United  States  with  the  news  that  it 
may  be  possible,  as  it  certainly  is  advis- 
able if  possible,  to  build  .a  sea-level 
canal.  Senator  Morgan  of  Alabama,  the 
father  of  canal  legislation  in  congress 
— the  honor  is  not  the  less  his  due  be- 
cause of  the  fact  that  his  favorite  route 
was  not  chosen — denounces  the  sea-level 
proposition  as  a  new  scheme  of  the 
trans-continental  railways  to  defeat  or 
defer  the  whole  canal  project.  He  de- 
clares that  a  sea-level  canal  will  cost  so 
much,  and  be  so  long  building,  that  the 
plan  is  practically  an  impossible  one. 
Our  drawings  herewith  presented  show 
the  propose  lock  system. 

It  will  be  noted  that  the  French  engi- 


neers did  hardly  more  than  begin  the 
great   task   of  digging  the   huge  ditch. 


GOVERNOR    GEORGE   C.   PARDEE  OF    CALIFORNIA, 

THE  NEWLY    ELECTED   PRESIDENT  OF   THE 

NATIONAL      IRRIGATION     CONGRESS 


DR.     JAMES     BALL     NAYLOR     OF     MALTA,     OHIO,    WHOSE      MODERN 
FAIRY    TALE,  "THE     WITCH-CROW     AND    BARNEY     BYLOW,"    BEGINS 
PUBLICATION      IN      THIS      NUMBER     OF      THE      NATIONAL.         DR. 
NAYLOR  HAS  TWO  OR    THREE    PROFITABLE    NOVELS    TO    HIS 
CREDIT   AND    IS   GENUINELY    SUCCESSFUL    AS    AN    ENTER- 
TAINER,    TELLING     STORIES     AND     READING     FROM 
HIS     OWN     VERSES.  —  WITH     ALL     HIS     LITER- 
ARY    ACTIVITY,     HE    HAS      NOT    GIVEN     UP 
HIS    GENERAL  PRACTICE    OF    MEDICINE 


THE  WITCH-CROW  AND   BARNEY  BYLOW 


A    MODERN    FAIRY    TALE    FOR    OUR   BOYS   AND   GIRLS 

By    JAMES    BALL    NAYLOR 

MALTA,     OHIO 


BARNEY  BYLOW  was  a  farmer's  son 
— an  only  child — twelve  years  old, 
red-headed  and  freckled;  a  quick-witted, 
self  reliant  and  sturdy  youngster.  His 
parents  were  not  wealthy,  but  they  own^d 
the  little  farm  on  which  they  lived — and 
they  owed  no  one.  The  big  frame  farm- 
house, weather-beaten  and  gray,  was 
cheery  and  comfortable  —  warm  in  Win- 
ter and  cool  in  Summer;  and  the  deep 
well  in  the  corner  of  the  yard,  around 
which  the  hollyhocks  and  sunflowers 
smiled  and  nodded  and  dozed  in  the 
Summer  sunshine,  was  an  unfailing 
source  of  the  clearest  and  coolest  water 
in  all  the  neighborhood.  Past  the  door 
ran  the  winding,  never-ending  highway 
— dust-white  in  Summer  and  snow-white 
in  Winter;  and  just  across  it  were  the 
big  red  barn,  the  stacks  and  sheds — and 
beyond,  the  fields  and  woods  rolling 
away  toward  the  creek  valley  a  mile 
distant. 

Everything  about  the  Bylow  farm  and 
home  was  trim  and  well  kept.  Orchards, 
groves  and  fences,  farmyard,  garden  and 
fields  were  clean  and  tidy.  Horses  were 
well  fed  and  glossy;  cattle  were  fat  and 
sleek;  sheep  and  porkers  were  placid 
and  content;  and  chickens,  turkeys,  and 
ducks  were  bustling  and  cheerful. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bylow  were  a  hard-work- 
ing and  happy  couple.  Round-faced 
and  rosy,  they  slaved  and  saved  that 
Barney — their  darling  and  their  pride  — 
might  have  a  prosperous  future.  The 
warmest  desire  of  these  loving  hearts 
was  that  their  son  might  grow  up  a  man 
of  means  and  influence.  To  this  end 
they  taught  him  to  work  and  sent  him 
to  school ;  and  constantly  impressed  upon 
his  mind  that  he  must  form  habits  of  in- 
dustry and  frugality. 


But  all  this  was  just  what  Barney  did 
not  appreciate  nor  enjoy.  He  felt  that 
he  was  ill-used,  that  his  lot  was  a  hard 
onev  Work  was  tiresome;  school  was 
distasteful.  Play  was  all  right;  but 
labor  was  all  wrong.  True,  it  was  good 
enough  sport  to  hunt  the  eggs  cunningly 
hidden  deep  in  the  fragrant  hay  of  the 
great  barn  .mow,  and  to  ride  the  work 
horses  to  and  from  the  fields;  but  then, 
there  were  the  long  rows  of  corn  to  be 
hoed— where  the  heat  waves  shimmered 
and  danced  at  noon — and  the  garden  to 
be  weeded.  It  was  no  great  hardship,to 
be  sure,  to  fetch  the  cows  from  pasture 
or  to  feed  the  fowls;  but  think  of  digging 
potatoes  and  picking  up  apples  in  the 
orchard!  It  was  great  fun,  of  course, 
to  go  fishing  and  swimming  in  the  creek 
—  as  he  was  permitted  to  do  almost 
every  Saturday  afternoon  of  the  long 
Summer;  but  consider  for  a  moment  the 
drudgery  of  carrying  water  and  sheaves 
in  the  hot  harvest  field.  And  he  could 
go  skating  and  coasting  in  Winter;  but 
at  the  close  of  every  day  he  must  get 
the  firewood  and  do  other  odd  chores. 
What  a  botheration!  Was  ever  a  boy 
more  misused  and  put  upon  than  he? 
The  industry  and  thrift  of  his  parents 
did  not  appeal  to  Barney.  Work!  Play 
was  much  more  pleasant  and  profitable 
— so  he  decided.  Economy!  Money 
was  made  to  be  spent.  Of  what  use  was 
it  otherwise?  And  there  were  so  many 
things  he  needed  and  desired  that  his 
parents  could  not  afford  to  buy — so  they 
claimed.  They  asked  him  to  work,  and 
to  go  to  school  —  to  be  cheerful  and 
obedient;  and  all  the  while  he  wanted 
to  roam  the  woods,  to  do  as  he  liked — to 
be  his  own  master. 

He   had   plenty  of    wholesome  food; 


368 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


but 'what  boy  cares  for  wholesome  food 
when  his  palate  longs  for  ice-cream  and 
chocolate  candy?  What  boy  cares 
whether  his  stomach  is  full  of  wholesome 
food — especially  when  it  IS  full — whose 
head  is  full  of  ponies,  pony  carts  and 
harness?  He  had  good  rough-and- 
ready  clothes  for  work  and  school — and 
a  better  suit  for  Sundays;  but  what  right 
minded  youth  appreciates  mere  homely 
raiment  when  his  soul  is  famished  for 
a  gold  watch  and  chain?  The  linen  of 
the  great  four-poster  bed  in  which  he 
slept  was  spotless;  but  how  could  Bar- 
ney give  this  fact  due  weight  and  credit, 
when  his  dreams  were  all  of  air  guns 
and  bicycles? 

Barney  was  not  lazy,  really;  he  simply 
liked  to  do  the  things  he  liked  to  do — 
and  disliked  to  do  the  things  he  disliked 
to  do.  So  he  looked  upon  his  parents 
as  pushing  and  penurious;  and  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  was  a  much  abused 
youngster.  Also,  he  resolved  that  he 
detested  home  and  school,  that  he  de- 
sired, above  all  things,  to  have  an  abun- 
dance of  money  to  spend — without  the 
inconvenience  of  earning  it,  and  that  at 
no  distant  day  he  meant  to  run  away 
from  home,  conquer  the  world  for  him- 
self and  enjoy  it  to  the  utmost.  Alas, 
poor  self-deceived  urchin! 

Still,  with  all  his  vain  longings  and 
imaginary  troubles,  Barney  was  measur- 
ably happy;  but  he  didn't  realize  it. 
He  had  a  saving  sense  of  humor  that 
kept  him  from  becoming  a  morose  and 
sullen  pest;  and,  in  spite  of  an  occa- 
sional cloud  upon  his  sunny  face,  he  was 
the  light  of  the  household. 

When  alone  at  work  or  play,  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  thus  talking  to  himself: 

"Never  mind!  I'm  going  to  be  rich 
some  day — and  have  just  everything  I 
want,  and  do  just  as  I  please.  I'm 
going  to  live  in  a  city,  too — all  the  rich 
people  live  in  the  cities.  And  they 
don't  have  to  work  and  do  the  things 
they  don't  like  to  do;  they  know  just 
how  to  get  lots  of  money  without  work- 


ing for  it.  I  don't  want  to  be  rich  with 
houses  and  stores  and  things;  it  would 
be  too  much  bother  to  look  after  them. 
I  just; want  money  —  lots  of  money  —  as 
much  as  ten  thousand  dollars." — Ten 
thousand  dollars  to  Barney  meant  an 
inexhaustible  amount.  —  "Or  I'd  just 
rather  have  money  in  my  pocket  all  the 
time — no  matter  how  much  I'd  spend, 
still  have  money  in  my  pocket.  My, 
wouldn't  that  be  nice!  Oh,  I  wish  I 
could  be  fixed  that  way!  " 

One  June  day,  at  dinner  time,  his 
father  said  to  him: 

"Barney,  did  you  weed  Out  the  onion 
beds  in  the  garden  this  forenoon?  " 

"No,"  Barney  admitted  rather  reluc- 
tantly. 

"Why  didn't  you?  "  Mr.  Bylow  asked 
sharply. 

"Why — why,"  Barney  stammered,  "I 
— I  was  helping  mother  with  the  wash- 
ing and  churning." 

In  fact  he  had  forgotten  all  about  the 
task  his  father  set  him  before  going  to 
the  hay  field  that  morning. 

"You  haven't  been  busy  all  the  time, 
helping  your  mother,"  Mr.  Bylow  said 
sternly;  "you've  been  idling  away  your 
time.  Now,  I'm  going  to  set  you  an- 
other task  for  this  afternoon.  I've 
mowed  the  small  meadow  lot  over  next 
to  the  big  woods,  this  forenoon ;  and  you 
can  go  over  there  and  rake  up  the  hay. 
If  you  work  as  you  ought,  you  can  have 
it  all  raked  up  by  three  o'clock.  At 
that  time  I'll  come  with  the  team  and 
wagon;  and  we'll  haul  it  into  the  barn. 
If  you  don't  get  it  done,  I'll  have  to 
punish  you;  you've  worn  out  my  pa- 
tience." 

It  was  a  sad  and  subdued  Barney  that 
left  the  barnyard  a  few  minutes  later  and 
trudged  off  to  the  hay  lot,  a  rake  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  his  red  lips  puckered 
into  a  pout  of  discontent.  However,  it 
was  not  in  the  cheerful  nature  of  the  lad 
to  be  downcast  for  long;  and  soon  the 
ugly  scowl  upon  his  face  had  melted' 
away  in  drops  of  sweat,  and  his  pursed 


THE     WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


369 


lips  were  emitting  a  merry  whistle. 
On  reaching  the  hay  lot,  he  went  to 
work  sturdily  and  resolutely;  and  was 
agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  it  was 
rather  good  fun  to  rake  the  dry  and  frag- 
jant  hay  and  toss  it  into  billowy  wind- 
rows. For  an  hour  he  worked  steadily; 
and  realized  that  what  his  father  had 
told  him  was  true:  that  he  could  be  done 
by  mid-afternoon.  Thereupon  he  re- 
solved that  no  punishment  should  be  his 
— that  his  father  should  have  cause  for 
praise  rather  than  blame;  and  he  worked 
harder  than  ever.  But  the  fates  were 
against  him  and  his  good  resolves,  ap- 
parently. The  sun  beamed  down  from 
a  cloudless  sky;  not  a  breath  of-  air 
stirred.  The  sweat  trickled  down  Bar- 
ney's face  and  smarted  his  eyes,  and  his 
temples  throbbed,  but  he  worked  away 
stoically.  His  tongue  became  dry  and 
his  throat  parched;  but  he  kept  on. 
Finally,  however,  he  yielded  to  heat  and 
thirst,  and  threw  down  his  rake  and 
sought  the  little  brook  that  gurgled  and 
sparkled  in  the  cool  depths  of  the  wood- 
land near  at  hand. 

Then,  indeed,  his  troubles  began. 
While  he  was  slaking  his  thirst  and  lav- 
ing his  burning  face  and  hands,  a  crow 
came  and  perched  upon  the  dead  limb 
of  a  tree  near  him,  and  flapped  its  wings 
and  cawed  stridently  and  impudently, 
cocking  its  head  and  peering  down  at 
him.  Barney  could  not  stand  that. 
What  self-respecting  boy  could?  He 
caught  up  a  club  and  hurled  it  at  the 
saucy  bird;  but  the  black  off ender  nimbly 
dodged  the  well-aimed  missile,  and 
bobbed  and  cawed  and  flapped  delight- 
edly. That  was  too  much;  Barney  grew 
angry  at  such  rank  impertinence.  He 
gathered  a  handful  of  stones  and  began 
a  mad  fusillade  upon  his  tormentor — for 
such  he  deemed  the  bird.  The  crow 
dodged  and  danced  about  upon  the  limb, 
raising  a  great  hubbub  with  its  cawings 
and  gutteral  chucklings.  It  appeared  to 
take  a  human  delight  in  defying  the  lad; 
and — as  Barney  imagined — wore  a  look 


of  human  intelligence  upon  its  expres- 
sive countenance.  At  last  it  tired  of 
the  sport,  seemingly,  and  took  slow- 
winged  flight  through  the  woods;  and 
Barney  noted  that  it  had  a  narrow  strip 
of  white  feathers  down  the  middle  of  its 
back,  reaching  to  the  end  of  its  tail. 

"That's  an  odd  looking  crow,"  he 
muttered,  fanning  his  flushed  face  with 
his  torn  straw  hat;  "and  a  funny  acting 
one.  I'll  know  it,  if  I  ever  see  it  again." 

On  his  return  to  the  hay  lot,  he  vigor- 
ously resumed  work;  but  had  gathered 
but  a  few  rakefuls  when  he  came  upon 
a  bumblebees'  nest.  Of  course  he  could 
have  worked  around  the  home  of  the 
bold  and  busy  honey-makers,  leaving 
ungathered  the  wisp  of  hay  sheltering 
them;  but  that  would  have  been  contrary 
to  the  nature  of  a  daring,  fun-loving 
youngster  like  Barney.  He  promptly 
stirred  them  up — and  was  as  promptly 
chased  across  the  lot  and  into  the  woods, 
receiving  more  than  one  sharp  prod  to 
spur  his  flight. 

Then  he  was  hot  figuratively  and  liter- 
ally; and  must  make  another  pilgrimage 
to  the  brook.  There  he  again  encoun- 
tered the  pestiferous  "white-feather 
crow,"  as  already  he  called  it,  and 
a  second  time  put  it  to  flight — after  a 
deal  of  wasted  energy  on  his  part,  and 
a  deal  of  hoarse  croaking  and  cawing  on 
the  part  of  the  crow. 

Then,  weary  from  the  heat  and  his 
recent  exertions — and  feeling  a  faint 
drowsiness  stealing  over  him,  he  dropped 
down  upon  the  mossy  sod  at  the  root  of 
the  tree,  sleepily  pillowed  his  head  upon 
his  arm,  numbly  placed  his  hat  to  shield 
his  face  from  the  attacks  of  buzzing  in- 
sects— and  immediately  lost  conscious- 
ness. 

II 

Barney  sat  up  with  a  sudden  jerk;  and 
rubbed  his  blinking  eyes  and  gazed 
about  him  in  a  half  stupid,  half  startled 
manner. 

"Why— why,  I  thought  I  heard  some- 


37° 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


boy  laughing,  and  calling  my  name,"  he 
muttered.  "Oh,  I  wonder  how  long  I've 
slept!  Maybe  father's  come!  " 

"Haw,  haw,  haw!  "  laughed  a  cracked, 
hoarse  voice  over  his  head.  The  boy 
sprang  to  his  feet,  ran  from  under  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  tree,  and 
directed  his  gaze  upward.  There  upon 
the  dead  limb  sat  the  white-feather  crow 
— actually  nodding  and  bowing  to  him. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it!  "  Barney  muttered 
in  a  tone  of  disgust.  "Well,  I  haven't 
time  to  bother  with  you  now,  old  White 
Feather;  I  must  get  back  to  work.  I 
wonder,  though,  what  you  hang  around 
me  for?" 

"Haw,  haw,  haw!"  the  crow  laughed 
again,  cocking  its  head  and  winking — as' 
Barney  would  have  sworn.  "Haw,  haw, 
haw!  Barney  Bylaw!  " 

"Why — why,  it's  saying  my  name!" 
the  lad  exclaimed,  taking  a  step  back- 
ward in  amazement  and  mild  affright. 

"Well,  if  that  don't  beat  all!  " 

The  crow  fluttered  its  feathers,  cawed 
and  bobbed — then  turned  upon  the  limb 
and  took  flight  into  the  further  depths 
of  the  wood. 

Barney  returned  to  the  hay  lot,  puzzled 
— and  wondering  deeply.  The  hay  was 
not  more  than  half  raked;  and  the  sun — 
as  he  noted  with  a  sickening  sense  of 
dread — was  far  down  the  western  arc  of 
the  heavens. 

"Pshaw!"  he  grumbled,  a  scowl 
wrinkling  his  freckled  face.  "I  slept 
too  long;  it  must  be  time,  almost,  for 
father  to  come.  I  can't  get  it  all  raked 
now.  I  wonder  what  made  me  go  to 
sleep — what  made  me  so  sleepy?  There's 
no  use  to  work  any  more;  I  can't  get  it 
all  done — and  father' 11  punish  me,  sure." 

Then,  after  a  moment's  moody  silence : 

"That  old  White  Feather's  to  blame. 
And  I  never  saw  such  a  funny  crow.  I 
know  I  heard  it  laugh;  and  I  think  it 
called  my  name." 

Then,  suddenly  he  hollowed  his  hand 
and  put  it  to  his  ear.  A  faint  rumbling, 
rattling  sound  came  from  far  across  the 


fields.  The  boy  listened  intently.  The 
sound  drew  nearer  —  grew  louder  and 
more  distinct,  every  moment. 

"That's  father  coming  with  the  team 
and  wagon ! ' '  Barney  whispered,  his 
heart  beaing  a  tattoo  against  his  ribs. 

"Now  I'll  catch  it!  For  father  neve'r 
breaks  his  word.  And  —  and  I  suppose 
I  ought  to  be  scolded,  at  least;  I  could 
have  had  the  job  done." 

Then,  with  quick  resolve  —  and  tight- 
ening of  the  lips: 

"But  I  won't  stay  and  be  punished — 
I  won't!  I've  meant  to  run  away  for 
a  long  while;  I'll  go  now  —  this  very 
minute." 

Immediately  he  put  his  resolve  into 
action.  Over  the  rail  fence  he  scram- 
bled, and  skurried  away  in  the  direction 
of  the  distant  highway — as  fast  as  his 
bare  brown  legs  could  carry  him.  Oc- 
casionally he  slackened  his  speed  and 
cast  a  quick  glance  over  his  shoulder,  to 
note  if  his  father  was  in  sight;  and  each 
time  he  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief — 
that  his  flight  was  not  observed— and 
ran  on,  panting. 

On  reaching  the  highroad,  he  dropped 
down  in  a  shady  fence  corner  and  lay 
there  gasping  and  listening.  The  hay 
lot  was  hid  from  sight  by  an  intervening 
elevation  of  ground.  But  there  were  no 
signs  or  sounds  of  pursuit.  No  one  was 
following  him — no  one  was  calling  him; 
and  he  began  to  breathe  easier  —  the 
tumultuous  throbbing  of  his  heart  began 
to  quiet  down. 

At  last  he  arose  and  took  a  long  look 
around  at  the  familiar  fields,  fences  and 
woods.  To  the  west,  just  over  the  green 
knoll  of  the  pasture  field,  was  the  hay  lot 
he  had  left  so  hurriedly.  His  father 
must  be  there — wondering  what  had  be- 
come of  his  recreant  son.  To  the  south 
lay  home — the  roofs  of  house  and  barn 
barely  visible  above  the  intervening 
orchard  trees,  There  was  his  mother. 
Barney  knew  that  she  would  worry  over 
his  absence,  that  many  sleepless  nights 
would  be  hers.  He  realized  fully  that 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND     BARNEY     BYLOW 


37' 


what  he  contemplated  would  grieve  his 
parents;  but  he  choked  down  the  lump 
in  his  throat,  set  his  teeth,  and  deter- 
mined to  carry  out  his  rash  resolve. 

Up  the  dusty  country  road  he  plodded. 
Far  away  to  the  north,  lying  like  a  dark 
cloud  bank  against  the  distant  sky-line, 
he  could  discern  the  smoke  overhanging 
the  city  toward  which  he  was  bound  — 
which  he  had  visited  but  a  few  times  in 
his  life.  On  and  on  he  went.  The  sun 
sank  lower  and  lower,  until  it  was  but 
an  hour  above  the  horizon.  Barney  was 
weary  and  hungry.  He  stopped  and 
took  a  drink  at  a  wayside  spring,  and 
dropped  down  upon  a  mossy  stone  to 
rest. 

"Haw,  haw,  haw!" 

"Well,  I  declare!  "  ejaculated  Barney, 
springing  to  his  feet.  "If  there  isn't 
old  White  Feather!" 

Sure  enough,  there  was  the  white- 
feather  crow  perched  upon  a  near-by 
fence  stake. 

"It  appears  I'm  going  to  have  com- 
pany upon  my  journey,"  Barney  laughed. 

Really  he  was  quite  pleased  that  the 
peculiar  crow  had  seen  fit  to  follow  him. 
The  lad  was  just  a  trifle  homesick 
already,  though  he  had  got  but  a  few 
miles  from  home.  The  declining  sun 
had  set  him  to  thinking  fondly  of  all  he 
had  left  behind. 

"Haw,  haw,  haw!"  laughed  White 
Feather.  "Bawrney  Bylaw!  Bawrney 
Bylaw!" 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  demanded 
Barney,  moving  toward  the  stake  on 
which  the  bird  was  perched. 

But  the  saucy  crow  did  not  await  his 
near  approach.  While  he  was  yet  some 
yards  distant,  it  arose  and  flapped  lei- 
surely to  another  post  farther  up  the 
road,  cawing  and  haw-hawing  as  it  went. 
Barney  followed;  and  again  the  wary  fowl 
took  wing  at  his  approach  and  moved  on 
to  another  perch  —  reaching  which  it 
bobbed  and  chuckled  and  winked  imper- 
tinently. 

Barney  was  disgusted,  and  cried  out 


peevishly:  "You're  a  coward,  old 
White  Feather!  If  you  want  to  say 
anything  to  me,  why  don't  you  stop 
and  meet  me  face  to  face — and  say 
it!" 

The  crow  drew  itself  erect,  fluttered 
its  feathers,  and — Barney  would  have 
sworn  to  the  startling  fact — smiled  and 
nodded  at  its  challenger.  Then  it 
flapped  to  the  ground  at  the  boy's  feet; 
and  instantly  it  had  disappeared,  and 
a  little  old  woman  dressed  all  in  black 
was  there  in  the  bird's  stead. 

Barney  started  back,  rubbed  his  won- 
dering eyes,  muttered — "Why — what — 
what — ";  and  could  say  no  more. 

The  little  old  woman  stood  bobbing 
and  curtesying  and  preening  herself — 
just  like  an  overgrown  crow.  Her  face 
was  thin,  wrinkled  and  dark;- and  her 
eyes  were  small,  black  and  snappy. 
Upon  her  head  she  wore  a  curious  hood 
or  bonnet  of  ebony  hue,  quite  pointed 
in  front;  and  draped  and  drawn  closely 
around  her  shoulders  and  neck,  wholly 
concealing  her  arms  and  hands,  she  wore 
a  cloak  of  the  same  sable  color  as  her 
hood.  It  reached  the  ground  in  a  point 
behind,  and  had  a  narrow  white  stripe 
down  the  middle.  Her  dark  skirt  was 
short  and  scant;  and  her  slim  ankles 
and  small  feet  were  encased  in  shiny 
black  shoes. 

"Who — who,  what — what  are  you?" 
Barney  managed  to  say. 

The  little  old  woman  laughed  a  harsh, 
cackling  laugh,  and  walked  up  and  down 
in  front  of  the  lad,  bobbing  and  teeter- 
ing as  a  crow  does. 

Finally  she  made  answer  to  his  ques- 
tion: 

"You  want  to  know  who  I  am?  " 

Her  voice  was  hoarse  and  grating. 

"Y-e-s,"  Barney  stammered. 

He  had  not  yet  fully  recovered  from 
the  tremor  of  surprise  and  fear  into 
which  her  sudden  appearance  had 
thrown  him. 

"And  you  want  to  know  what  I  am?  " 
she  went  on,  comically  cocking  her  head 


372 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE    for   JANUARY,    1905 


and  grinning. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

He  was  rapidly  regaining  his  com- 
posure. 

"And  you  desire  me  to  tell  you  who 
you  are?"  she  continued. 

"You  can't  tell  me  who  I  am— you 
don't  know  me,"  he  replied  positively. 

"Don't  I  ? "    she    laughed,   opening 
wide  her  toothless  mouth  and  revealing 
her  shrunken  gums.     "Listen! — 
"Now,  I  know  you 
And  you  know  me — 
And  that's  as  plain 
As  plain  can  be — 
For  I'm  the  jolly  Witch-Crow; 
And  you  know  me 
And  I  know  you, 
And  so  I  say: 
'How  do  you  do — 
How  are  you,  Barney  Bylow?  " 

Then  she  laughed  again  heartily;  and 
Barney  stood  and  stared  at  her. 

"How  do  you  like  my  poetry?  "  she 
asked. 

"It  isn't  poetry,"  the  boy  replied 
sturdily  but  ungallantly;  "it's  what  my 
teacher  calls  doggerel." 

"No,  it  isn't! '"'  she  disputed,  bringing 
her  lips  shut  with  a  snap.  4tDogs  com- 
pose doggerel;  crows  compose  crowerel." 

And  once  more  she  laughed  that 
hoarse,  rasping  laugh. 

"Oh,  do  stop! "  cried  Barney,  his 
palms  to  his  ears.  "You  set  my  teeth 
on  edge." 

"You  don't  set  mine  on  edge,"  she 
chuckled,  opening  wide  her  toothless 
jaws. 

Barney's  fear  had  vanished. 

"Are  you  a  crow?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  the  Witch-Crow,  or  the  Crow- 
Witch,"  she  made  answer. 

"Which?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  witch,"  she  returned. 

And  amused  at  her  play  upon  the 
words,  she  laughed  and  bobbed  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders  until  she  choked, 
lost  her  breath  and  balance — and  -almost 
tumbled  over  in  the  dust  of  the  road. 


"Now,  what  are  you — crow  or  witch?" 
Barney  insisted  when  she  had  recovered 
from  her  fit  of  merriment. 

"Either,  neither,  and  both,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"How  can  that  be?  " 

"Well,  when  I'm  a  crow,  I'm  a  crow, 
eh?" 

"Yes." 

"And  when  I'm  a  witch,  I'm  a 
witch?" 

"Of  course." 

"Then,  you  see,  I'm  either." 

"I  see." 

"And  when  I'm  the  Witch-Crow,  I'm 
not  a  witch — not  a  crow;  I'm  neither." 

"To  be  sure." 

"And,  yet,  being  the  Witch-Crow, 
I '  m  both .  Understand  ?  ' ' 

"No,  I  don't,"  Barney  said  flatly. 

"Well,  you're  not  versed  in  witch-lore, 
and  I'll  excuse  you.  Now  let's  talk 
about  yourself.  So  you're  running  away 
from  home,  eh?  " 

Barney  nodded.  • 

"And  you  haven't  a  dollar — a  cent, 
even, — in  your  pocket." 

"How  do  you  know?  "  the  boy  asked 
quickly. 

"Well,  I  know!  " — Her  face  close  to 
his,  and  her  black  eyes  sparkling. 

"You  haven't  any  money, — now,  have 
you?" 

"No,"  he  confessed. 

"Why  don't  you  say:    'No,  ma'am"? 
she  croaked  irritably. 

"Why  — why,  I  — I  —  "  Barney  ex- 
plained lamely  and  haltingly,  "I  don't 
know  whether  a  witch,  or  a  witch-crow, 
or  whatever  you  call  yourself,  is  a 
ma'am." 

"Oh,  you  don't !  "  laughed  the  Witch- 
Crow.  "Well,  I  am  a  ma'am.  But  let 
it  go.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  may  call 
me:  you  may  call  me  White  Feather  — 
not  Old  White  Feather,  mind  you,  as  you 
called  me  when  you  thought  me  just 
a  crow.  That's  disrespectful.  And 
now  let's  get  back  to  your  business — 
for  I  must  be  off  about  my  own.  You'd 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


373 


like  to  be  rich,  wouldn't  you?  " 

"I — I'd  like  to  have  money,"  Barney 
admitted. 

"Lots  of  it?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"But  you  don't  want  to  work  for  it." 

"N-o-no,  ma'am,"  he  replied,  half 
ashamed. 

"How  much  money  would  you  like  to 
have?  " 

"Oh,  as  much  as  — as  a  whole  heap  — 
as  much  as  ten  thousand  dollars;  or — 
or-" 

"Well?  "  White  Feather  croaked  im- 
patiently. 

"Or  I'd  rather  just  have  money  in  my 
pocket  all  the  time — never  be  without  it, 
no  matter  how  much  I  might  spend," 
Barney  hastened  to  explain. 

"That  arrangement  would  suit  you 
better  than  to  have  ten  thousand  dollars 
in  a  lump?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Nothing  else  would  satisfy  you  so 
well?"  the  Witch-Crow  persisted. 

Barney  shook  his  head. 

"Very  well,"  she  said;  "so  it  shall 
be.  But  you  mustn't  grow  tired  of  your 
bargain." 

"I'm  not  likely  to  grow  tired  of  having 
money  to  spend — and  spending  it." 

And  Barney  laughed  at  the  bare  idea. 

White  Feather  thrust  forth  a  skinny, 
claw-like  hand,  from  the  folds  of  her 
black  cloak.  In  her  palm  was  a  single 


penny. 

"Listen!  "  she  said  huskily. 
"  'Tis  money  you  crave  1 
This  penny  I  bless; 
You'll  never  have  more — 
And  you'll  never  have  less!  " 

With  the  words  she  dropped  the  coin 
into  the  boy's  gaping  pocket.  He 
started  back,  dismay  upon  his  face. 

"You — you  don't  mean  to  say  that  I'll 
never  have  more  than  a  penny,  do  you?" 
he  cried  falteringly. 

"That's  just  what  I  mean  to  say — and 
do  say,"  the  Witch-Crow  laughed,  hug- 
ging herself  and  weaving  to  and  fro. 
"You'll  never  have  more  than  a  penny; 
but,  then,  you'll  never  have  less  —  you 
must  remember." 

"But  that  doesn't  suit  me  at  all," 
Barney  pouted. 

"It's  what  you  asked  for." 

Barney  dejectedly  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,  it's  what  you  asked  for."  White 
Feather  insisted.  "You  said  you  wished 
to  have  money  in  your  pocket  all  the 
time,  no  matter  how  much  you  might 
spend.  Well,  you  can't  spend  more  than 
you  have.  I've  given  you  what  you  said 
you  desired  above  all  things.  But  I 
must  leave  you  to  work  out  the  puzzle 
for  yourself.  Good-bye." 

Instantly  she  was  gone.  Barney  stood 
alone  in  the  dusty  highroad;  and  the 
white-feather  crow  was  winging  its  way 
toward  a  distant  wood. 


(TO  BE  CONTINUED) 


BETROTHED 


By   Margaret  Ashmun 


CA  N  you  not  hear  it  calling,  love  of  mine  — 
Can  you  not  hear  the  calling  of  my  heart  ? 
So  loud  it  sings  your  name,  with  fear  I  start 
Lest  all  the  world  should  hear  and  know  the  sign  ; 
Lest  all  the  world  should  hear,  and,  looking  close, 
Should  see  upon  my  lips  that  kiss  of  grace, 
Long-pressed  last  night  of  all,  when  your  dear  face 
Bent  low  to  mine  where  white  the  bride  rose  blows. 
The  bright,  slow-rolling  day  kept  us  apart, 

Though  yearning  sore;  now  robins  in  the  tree 
Announce  the  dusk  that  brings  you  back  to  me  — 
Can  you  not  hear  the  calling  of  my  heart  ? 


ARTISTS 

By    J.     A.     EDGERTON 

EAST  ORANGE,   NEW  JERSEY. 

THE  world  contains  many  an  artist, 
Who  knows  not  the  technique  of  art; 
Who  knows  not  the  tricks  of  the  rhymer, 

And  yet  is  a  poet  at  heart; 
Who  knows  not  the  use  of  the  chisel, 

Nor  the  deftness  of  eye  or  of  hand, 
But  whose  spirit  is  filled  with  a  longing 
He  never  can  quite  understand. 

There  are  painters  who  never  touch  canvas, 

Musicians  who  ever  are  still, 
Who  have  not  the  gift  of  expression, 

Lack  adequate  training  and  skill. 
There  are  men  with  the  dreams  of  the  masters 

Who  never  are  known  unto  fame, 
Whose  spirits  are  filled  with  a  music 

And  beauty  they  never  can  name. 

There  are  orators  doomed  to  be  silent, 

And  singers  who  never  are  heard; 
There  are  actors  untried  and  unnoted, 

Who  with  the  grand  passions  are  stirred; 
There  are  millions  who  struggle,  unconscious 

Of  wonderful  gifts  they  possess, 
Whose  spirits  are  ravished  by  glimpses 

Of  thoughts  they  can  never  express. 

There  are  poems  unsung  and  unspoken, 

Transcending  the  limits  of  art; 
There  are  visions  unpainted  that  linger 

In  the  innermost  realms  of  the  heart; 
There  are  writers  who  never  have  written 

And  sculptors  who  delve  not  in  stone; 
There  are  spirits  that  thrill  with  a  message, 

Yet  strive  on  in  silence,  alone. 

Mayhap  there's  fruition  and  answer 

Somewhere  in  the  regions  of  bliss, 
In  worlds  that  are  yet  undiscovered, 

For  unfulfilled  longings  in  this. 
At  last  they  may  find  their  lost  visions, 

At  last  they  may  reach  to  the  goal, 
The  ones  who  fall  short  of  expression 

And  yet  who  are  artists  in  soul. 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE   SHADOW  OF 
THE    SKYSCRAPERS 

By  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

Author  of  "  South  Sea  Idyls  ",  "  The  Island  of  Tranquil  Delights",  etc. 

CAMBRIDGE,       MASSACHUSETTS 


IT  is  merely  an  incident  in  the  life  of 
Paul  Clitheroe;  nothing  more.  Four- 
teen seasons  in  the  tepid  and  tranquiliz- 
ing  provincialism  of  the  Washington 
Winter  had  unfitted  him  to  cope  with 
the  strenuous  life  that  now  is:  as  well 
might  he  have  followed  the  straight  and 
narrow  path  that  leads  to  the  Nirvana 
of  Boston  respectability;  or  been  led  in 
the  green  pastures  and  beside  the  still 
waters  of  Philadelphia  life  and  languor. 
What  he  needed,  or  foolishly  thought  he 
needed,  was  something  to  quicken  him; 
something  to  blow  his  feeble  spark  of 
life  into  a  flame,  a  living,  leaping  flame: 
he  found  it  when  he  set  foot  in  that 
celebrated  seaboard  city,  New  York — 
sometimes  known  as  Greater,  or  Bloated 
New  York. 

Paul  Clitheroe's  last  move  on  the 
checker-board  of  life  was  a  momentous 
one.  He  had  shaken  the  dust  of  the 
nation's  capital  from  his  feet  and  laid 
it  with  his  tears.  He  had  jumped  the 
City  of  Brotherly  Love  and  crowned 
himself  in  the  king-row  on  the  Board 
Walk  at  Altantic  City.  Then  with  a 
determined  air  which  was  little  short  of 
bravado,  he  set  forth  to  conquer  or  to 
die;  he  came  as  near  to  death  as  it  is 
possible  to  come  and  escape  with  what 
little  is  left  of  life. 

Entering  New  York  on  stilts,  by  the 
L  road,  he  alighted  at  an  aerial  way  sta- 
tion not  far  from  Madison  Square.  This 
was,  as  it  were,  a  crisis  in  his  life:  for 
a  moment  he  paused  at  the  top  of  the 
street-stairs  and  then,  with  his  heart  in 
his  throat  and  his  grip  in  his  hand  —  he 
descended  into  hell. 

Can  any  good  come  out  of  Nazareth? 
Yes  indeed:  good  can  come  out  of 


Nazareth  and  it  is  very  apt  to  do  it  as 
soon  as  it  can  make  its  escape;  there  is, 
however,  nearly  always  something  of  it 
left  on  tap  for  the  gladdening  of  the  hearts 
of  those  that  falter  later  on. 

Clitheroe  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
best  of  friends,  and  that  evening  sat  in 
a  rathskeller  in  the  dim,  religious  light 
of  stained  glass  cathedral  windows:  he 
was  surrounded  by  a  legion  of  steins  of 
colossal  proportions,  elaborately  orna- 
mented in  high  relief;  he  began  to  dream 
of  the  old  days,  or  nights,  in  Munich  and 
Leipsic  and  to  forget  the  rumble  and 
roar  that  had  at  first  frightened  him  as 
he  approached  the  city,  for  it  was  in- 
sidious and  incessant  and  the  sound  of 
it  was  as  the  howl  of  stormy  seas. 

There  was  a  woman  like  a  dew-drop, 
who  had  through  life,  a  brief  one  to  be 
sure,  preserved  her  rustic  joy  in  living. 
To  her  every  day  was  a  new  delight. 
She  radiated  youth  and  health  and  hope 
and  upon  her  eyelash  trembled  the  tear 
of  sensibility.  She  had  written  to 
Clitheroe  in  one  of  her  vitalizing  let- 
ters:— "Come  straight  to  us;  our  arms 
are  open  to  receive  you.  It  is  so  still 
here  where  we  are  living,  you  will  not 
believe  you  are  in  New  York." 

How  still  it  was!  On  the  elevated 
road,  half  a  block  distant,  every  few 
minutes  trains  soared  through  space  like 
comets,  leaving  an  audible  wake  behind 
them  that  palled  upon  the  ear.  The 
front  windows  of  the  flat  quaked  with 
the  tumult  of  the  street;  the  house  was 
a  five-story  tunnel,  gas-lit  in  the  center 
through  the  year  of  sunless  days;  the 
rear  windows  commanded  a  chasm 
bridged  with  multitudinous  clothes-lines 
that  ever  and  anon  flaunted  in  the  face 


376 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  JANUARY,  1905 


of  heaven — twenty  yards  of  it — a  wilder- 
ness of  damp  linen;  this  many-peopled 
ravine,  the  hunting  ground  of  cats  and 
cats,  was  weekly  the  encampment  of 
washerwomen,  an  army  with  banners, 
and  the  battle  of  life  went  on. 

Almost  in  the  center  of  that  hollow 
square,  where  humanity  was  nearly 
always  disheveled  and  didn't  seem  to 
care  who  took  note  of  it,  was  decreed 
a  more  or  less  stately  pleasure-dome; 
there  nightly  the  light  fantastic  toe 
tripped  it  boisterously  to  the  braying  of 
brass  instruments  until  the  day  broke 
under  the  strain  of  their  discordant 
voices;  it  must  be  confessed  that  those 
dancers  were  not  always  dancing  in 
tune.  This  was  the  nightly  rout  of  our 
cousins  German  and  it  murdered  sleep; 
yet  the  oft-pleading  of  a  long-suffering 
community  never  once  reached  the  ears 
of  the  Manhattan  police  authorities,  or 
softened  their  hearts  in  the  least. 

Ol  how  still  it  was  there — by  compari- 
son. 

It  was  speedily  decided  that  Clitheroe 
must  have  an  apartment  of  his  own  to 
revel  in;  that  it  must  be  unique  if  possi- 
ble, and  attractive  and  inexpensive  in 
any  case.  The  word  went  forth  among 
the  friends  of  his  friends,  and  amateur 
explorers  searched  diligently  high  and 
low,  hither  and  yon,  in  the  hope  of  dis- 
covering some  unoccupied  corner  of 
Cockayne  where  Clitheroe  might  enter- 
tain the  muses. 

Many  olive  branches  were  borne  over 
the  face  of  the  troubled  waters  on  the 
wings  of  returning  doves.  There  was 
one  place  in  particular  that  seemed  to 
have  been  made  to  ord«r  but  shelved  as 
a  misfit.  It  was  for  rent  and  the  land- 
lord knew  not  at  what  moment  it  might 
be  snapped  up  by  prince  or  pauper, 
beggar  or  bohemian,  for  it  was  so 
capable  an  apartment  it  might  easily 
adapt  itself  to  the  requirements  of  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men — men  dis- 
tinctly preferred.  Now,  though  it  had 
every  appearance  of  being  a  misfit,  that 


was  rather  an  object  than  an  objection; 
for  one  of  average  mold  there  is  perhaps 
nothing  that  sets  so  well  and  feels  so 
comfortable  as  a  misfit.  Clitheroe  had 
learned  this  from  long  experience,  and 
so  when  he  was  seized  upon  and  led  in 
triumph  to  a  kind  of  owl's  nest,  with 
friends  of  his  friends  and  their  friends 
to  the  second  or  third  generation,  a  Te 
Deum  was  chanted  in  a  cock-loft  that 
might  have  gladdened  the  heart  of  a 
Crusoe  in  an  Island  of  the  Blest.  It  was 
as  if  he  had  at  last  come  into  his  own 
kingdom  and  was  heir  to  ecstacy. 

Owl's  Nestl  Its  foundations  were  laid 
in  an  English  basement  that  had  mod- 
estly retired  a  little  from  the  pavement 
and  stood  knee-deep  in  eddies  of  waste 
paper  and  resignation. 

In  the  beginning  an  aspiring  staircase 
like  a  flying  buttress  led  aloft  to  the  par- 
lor floor:  in  those  days  the  house  was 
strictly  private;  it  hovered  upon  the 
peaceful  confines  of  old  New  York. 

On  that  floor  the  tall  and  slender 
windows  that  opened  from  floor  to  ceil- 
ing betrayed  a  not  uninviting  interior, 
for  they  were  guiltless  of  draperies,  and 
the  graceful  capitals  of  ornamental  col- 
umns supporting  a  sweeping  arch  within 
lent  an  air  of  elegance  to  the  noble  suite 
that  the  story  above,  and  the  half  story 
above  that,  did  not  promise  to  duplicate. 
Gone  was  the  airy  stairway,  and  the 
portal  where  the  front  door  once  swung 
wide  in  welcome  was  now  glazed  from 
threshold  to  lintel;  was,  in  fact,  trans- 
formed into  a  smart  show  window  for  the 
display  of  dainty  bric-a-brac:  briefly,  the 
once  private  residence  of  an  old  New 
York  family  in  easy  circumstances  had 
been  left  in  the  lurch,  as  it  were,  and 
was  become  one  of  the  many  shops  for 
the  display  and  barter  of  antiques  and 
horribles  that  elbow  one  another  in  that 
part  of  the  city. 

It  were  folly  to  call  such  a  place  Owl's 
Nest,  for  owls  affect  ivy-mantled  ruins 
and  silent  midnights  broken  only  by 
their  own  mournful  hoot.  Yet  a  name 


IN    THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    SHADOW   OF    THE    SKYSCRAPERS     377 


was  needed;  a  rose  by  any  other  name 
would  not  smell  as  sweet,  nor  an  onion, 
either;  indeed  it  is  nearly  always  the 
name  itself  and  sometimes  the  name 
alone  that  appeals  to  the  imagination, 
while  the  imagination  supplies  the 
appropriate  odor  on  the  instant.  Clith- 
eroe  was  not  always  unhappy  in  his 
choice  of  a  local  habitation,  and  he 
soon  realized  that  there  was  a  name  just 
suited  to  this  new  home  of  his,  and  so 
it  came  very  naturally  to  be  called  Little 
Misery. 

When  one's  mortal  coil  begins  to  un- 
coil itself  and  fit  into  all  the  nooks  and 
corners  available  and  take  entire  posses- 
sion of  a  habitation,  it  is  well  for  that 
habitation  to  be  stocked  with  furnishings 
that  are  at  least  suitable  to  the  taste  of 
the  habitant.  Clitheroe  had  books  and 
bric-a-brac  and  the  necessaries  of  do- 
mestic life  sufficient  to  fill  a  little  house 
to  overflowing,  for  he  had  long  been 
a  rolling  stone  and  had  gathered  many 
varieties  of  moss.  These  were  all 
packed  and  stored  and  far  beyond  his 
reach.  They  were  buried  alive  —  his 
household  gods — in  a  fireproof  mauso- 
leum where  he  was  obliged  to  pay  for 
the  privilege  of  not  being  able  to  visit 
their  precious  dust  and  brood  there,  and 
heap  the  flowers  of  fancy  at  head  and 
foot,  and  shed  the  tear  of  mourning  and 
regret  for  the  loss  he  had  sustained. 

Little  Misery  was  an  unfurnished 
story-and-a-half  set  a-top  o'  the  parlour 
floor  and  the  basement  that  undermined 
it.  No  one  in  the  flesh  could  ascend  to 
the  privacy  of  the  upper  story-and-a-half 
without  threading  halls  unknown  to  daz- 
zling light,  and  these  were  open  to  the 
curious  public  during  business  hours. 
A  small  swinging  sign,  resembling  an 
heraldic  emblazonment  elegantly  en- 
grossed, announced  to  the  searching  eye 
that  here  was  the  entrance,  free  of 
charge,  to  a  very  treasure  house  of  an- 
tiquities, and  for  a  knowledge  of  these 
dear  delights  one  might  enquire  within. 

It  would  indeed  have  been  embarass- 


ing  when  revealing  to  his  friends  the 
hidden  mysteries  of  Little  Misery  if 
Clitheroe  could  have  pointed  to  nothing 
but  bare  walls  and  unrugged  floors. 
That  might  have  been  the  case  had  not 
Providence  divinely  intervened  in  the 
person  of  one  who  was  booked  for 
a  Summer  in  Europe  and  would  fain 
store  her  goods  and  chattels  in  the  house 
of  a  friend.  No  sooner  said  than  done. 

The  front  room  with  the  two  small 
windows  squinting  on  the  street;  the 
hall  trundle-bed-room,  its  walls  stained 
as  with  crimson  gore  and  its  one  outward 
puncturation  cocked  jauntily  toward  the 
neighboring  crossing;  the  rear  room  that 
was  like  a  cavern  for  darkness  and  whose 
port-holes  were  wall-eyed  and  bleared; 
the  bath  room  with  its  boiler  that  could 
be  touched  off  with  a  quick  match  in 
a  moment  and  looked  pert  and  explos- 
ive: all  these  conveniences  were  upon 
one  floor  and  so  neighborly  that  in  bow- 
ing oneself  out  of  one  room  one  instantly 
found  oneself  in  the  middle  of  the  next, 
and  it  was  quite  easy  to  make  the  whole 
round  in  a  moment  with  a  hop,  skip  and 
jump. 

Then  there  was  the  wide-spreading 
attic,  approached  by  a  companion-way 
that  looked  all  the  more  nautical  for  the 
steepness  thereof,  and  the  rope  that  hung 
by  it,  in  the  absence  of  which  one  could 
hardly  ascend  to  the  upper  deck  without 
shinning  up;  but  once  there,  lo!  a 
humped  roof,  with  peep-holes  in  it  and 
an  inward  prospect  bristling  with  infinite 
cozy  possibilities. 

Am  I,  peradventure,  getting  mixed  in 
my  metaphors? 

Clitheroe  when  first  viewing  the  re- 
cesses of  Little  Misery,  asked  himself 
what  these  vacant  chambers  would  avail 
if  left  naked  to  his  friends  or  enemies. 
Enter  Providence  and  a  furniture  van. 
Through  the  happy  circumstance  of  the 
unfaltering  friendship  above  referred  to, 
the  compartment  was  magically  decked 
with  semi-barbaric  splendor. 

And,  pray,  what  is  this  semi-barbaric 


378 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


splendor?  It  is  a  wall,  yea,  four  of  them, 
veiled  with  beauteous  breadths  of  tapa, 
the  painted  bark-cloth  of  the  South  Seas: 
It  is  precious  portraits  of  one  who  is 
immortal,  autographed  when  life  was 
musical  with  love  and  laughter,  by  a 
hand  that  has  returned  to  dust.  It  is 
a  series  of  unmounted  canvases,  artist's 
studies,  splashes  of  color  that  recall  the 
fathomless  green  vistas  of  the  tropical 
wild-wood  framed  in  the  splendor  of  sea 
and  sky.  It  is  the  heaven-kissed  flag 
that  fluttered  at  the  peak  of  the  Casco 
in  low  latitudes  and  all  through  the  lazy 
longitudes  of  half  the  ocean  world;  faded 
and  frayed  it  is,  with  dimmed  stripes  and 
stars  that  have  grown  pale  under  skies 
where  stars  burn  brightest — they  spurt 
streams  of  silver  down  yonder  and  throb 
as  if  they  would  burst:  it  means  the  old 
wooden  tobacco-box  where  the  vanished 
hand  often  groped  in  search  of  the  sweet 
fuel  for  the  burnt  offering;  its  lid  and  its 
sides  decorated  with  the  mellifluous 
names  of  far-off  isles  of  the  sea,  cut  deep 
in  its  weather-stained  woodworks  with 
a  tar-handled  mariner's  jackknife;  and 
toy  canoes  with  matted  sails  beached  on 
the  upper  shelves;  and  ropes  of  per- 
fumed nuts  and  necklaces  of  whales 
teeth  and  girdles  of  delicate  shells  de- 
lightful to  the  eye  and  to  the  touch ;  and 
weapons  mounted  with  sharks  teeth  and 
plumes  of  the  paradise  bird.  And  it 
means  books,  books,  books  —  not  the 
mere  "words,  words,  words"  that  were 
the  scorn  of  young  Hamlet,  but  books  to 
feed  on,  to  devour,  to  press  hotly  to 
one's  heart  and  to  hide  under  one's 
pillow  and  dream  about.  All  these 
things  his  eyes  have  visited  with  fondest 
glances  in  the  past  and  his  pale  fingers 
fondled  and  caressed;  for  all  these 
things,  even  these,  were  once  at  home 
in  the  bosom  of  the  Bungalow  at  Vailima 
and  now,  alas!  are  lost,  strayed  or  stolen 
in  the  mazes  of  Mannahatta. 

O,  Tusitala!  Divine  Teller  of  Tales! 
sleeping  thy  long  sleep  in  thy  hallowed 
sepulchre  on  the  misty  mountain-top 


under  the  eternal  stars;  hail  and  farewell, 
for  yet  a  little  time;  for  lo!  a  little  time 
and  we  shall  meet  again!  That  is  how 
Clitheroe  felt  when  he  found  himself 
finally  settled  in  Little  Misery;  it  was 
in  the  slack  of  the  afternoon  when  he  sat 
in  silence  and  ruminated.  Now  this  was 
his  thought,  his  plan  for  the  future:  To 
sit  so  many  hours  a  day  by  the  window 
reading  or  writing  and  trying  to  catch 
up  with  New  York:  to  try  also  to  forget 
his  surroundings  and  make  the  best  of 
it  and  of  himself.  His  surroundings — 
what  were  they?  He  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  the  Sky- 
scrapers. 

He  had  shuddered  when  his  eyes  first 
saw  the  silhouette  of  the  metropolis,  the 
grim,  fanged  profile  of  the  City  of  De- 
struction minus  an  upper  jaw.  Fate  had 
planted  him  in  the  hideous  heart  of  it. 
The  perpendicular  walls  of  the  Valley  of 
the  Shadow  soared  into  space  on  three 
sides  of  him.  From  the  rear  windows 
his  eyes  could  not  scale  the  summit  of  it. 
There  were  tiers  of  pigeon-holes  staring 
blankly  at  him  from  the  walls  of  it  and 
these  were  the  myriad  windows;  very 
small  they  grew  or  seemed  to  grow  as 
they  towered  one  above  another  on  their 
way  to  the  light;  very  dreadful  they 
looked  to  him,  and  almost  overwhelm- 
ing as  he  lifted  his  eyes  unto  the  hills  of 
brick  and  mortar  whence  came  nothing 
to  him  save  heart-sickness  bordering  on 
despair  —  and  the  dust  of  the  busy 
builders. 

Now  he  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
the  monstrous  skyscraper  had  spread  out 
its  wings  like  a  foul  bat  to  shut  off  the 
blessed  sunlight  from  him  forever;  that 
it  was  brooding  over  him  like  a  vampire' 
sucking  the  life  out  of  him  and  patiently 
waiting  to  crush  him  and  his  Little 
Misery  out  of  existence  and  crawl  into 
their  places  and  puff  itself  up  in  pride; 
for  then  the  whole  square  bounded  by 
four  noisome  streets  could  rear  its  hide- 
ous bulk  into  the  face  of  heaven  like 
a  mesa  springing  from  a  desert  waste. 


IN    THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    SHADOW   OF    THE    SKYSCRAPERS    379 


Over  the  roofs  of  the  world  it  lifted  its 
haughty  battlements — a  petrified  shriek 
of  arrogant  exultation. 

Different  forms  of  life  flourished  in 
the  different  strata;  all  the  nations  of  the 
earth  were  gathered  together  in  a  kind 
of  incongruous  harmony  not  unlike  that 
of  the  alien  inhabitants  of  a  prairie- 
dog  kennel;  these  various  representa- 
tives of  modern  civilization  throve  indi- 
vidually at  various  altitudes — the  men  of 
Mars  perchance  at  the  top,  next  the  sky. 
They  looked  away  up  yonder  like  creep- 
ing and  crawling  things  trying  to  escape 
from  their  holes  as  their  heads  appeared 
at  the  windows,  glanced  shudderingly 
into  the  abyss,  and  then  were  drawn  sud- 
denly back  as  if  fearful  of  an  involun- 
tary plunge  into  eternity. 

Far  off  the  sun  was  faintly  gilding  the 
dim  cornices,  and  cloud-shadows  swept 
athwart  the  face  of  the  monster  as  they 
drape  a  mountain  side.  The  dwellers  in 
the  depths  groped  in  darkness  or  were 
like  human  vermin  in  a  colossal  ant-hill, 
crawling  and  swarming  through  the  lab- 
yrinthine passages  and  cells  with  which 
it  was  utterly  catacombed. 

A  chill  seized  Clitheroe  as  he  turned 
away  to  hide  from  his  eyes  the  last 
horror  of  human  invention,  and  he  said: 
"Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto 
Thee,  O  Lord!  Lord,  hear  my  voice!" 
Could  He,  even  He,  hear  that  voice 
above  the  deafening  din?  The  fear  that 
He  might  not  was  appalling. 

At  that  moment  something  happened 
that  startled  Clitheroe  nearly  out  of  his 
wits.  Was  it  an  answer  to  prayer?  Far 
from  it.  It  was  a  twenty-pound  boulder 
loosened  by  a  passing  gale  and  hurled 
from  the  giddy  cornice  of  the  skyscraper 
through  his  devoted  roof.  It  now  be- 
came necessary  to  trephine  the  skull  of 
Little  Misery,  and  Clitheroe,  his  soul 
scarred  as  with  a  scar  for  the  fear  and 
trembling  that  fell  upon  him  out  of 
heaven  with  that  surprising  and  unwel- 
come visitor,  stood  not  a  moment  upon 
the  order  of  his  going  but  in  most  ad- 


mired disorder  fled  forth  and  away  and 
hied  him  to  his  lady's  chamber:  that 
excellent  wench,  who  had  beguiled  his 
ears  with  her  song  of  the  silence  even  at 
the  bourne  of  the  Bowery, now  stayed  him 
with  flagons,  flesh  plucked  from  the  cor- 
ner grocery,  and  comforted  him  with 
apples  that  were  not  as  dead-sea  fruit. 

Clitheroe  had  gaily  planned  to  have 
a  housewarming  at  Little  Misery;  thither 
should  be  bidden  all  that  was  fair  and 
brave  in  music,  art  and  letters.  He 
would  also  prepare  his  own  breakfast  at 
home  for  the  mere  delight  of  it;  this 
frugal  repast  was  to  consist  of  three  baked 
potatoes  so  mealy  that  they  burst  like 
cottonballs  at  the  bottom  of  a  yellow  sea 
of  creamed  picked  codfish  breaking  upon 
the  shores  of  two  poached  eggs.  The 
manufacture  and  consumption  of  the 
brown-beauty  griddle-cake  was  to  be  a 
continuous  performance  in  that  bachelor 
hall.  The  pleasures  of  anticipation  are 
inspiring  and  inexpensive;  let  them  be 
wakened  and  called  early;  but  let  me 
break  the  news  gently:  there  never  was 
a  housewarming  over  at  Little  Misery  in 
the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  the  Sky- 
scrapers; there  was  never  any  warming 
of  any  kind  in  that  particular  house  so 
long  as  Clitheroe  was  in  duty  bound  to 
pay  the  rent  of  it,  and  that  was  long 
after  he  had  ceased  to  visit  it  or  even 
think  of  it  save  on  those  distractive  rent 
days. 

Little  Misery  grew  greater  and  greater 
day  by  day,  and  at  last  became  a  burden 
he  was  no  longer  able  to  bear.  He 
began  to  stagger  under  it  and  showed 
symptoms  of  heart  failure  whenever  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  was  not  improv- 
ing a  rather  expensive  opportunity. 

He  made  occasional  pilgrimages  to 
what  should  have  been  a  shrine  of  sin- 
gularly single  blessedness.  At  uncertain 
intervals  he  wandered  back  to  the  base- 
ment doorway  guarded  by  a  lion  rampant 
that  was  warranted  not  to  bite,  being,  as 
it  were,  cut  in  dull,  cold  marble;  he 
tracked  his  way  through  a  wilderness  of 


38o 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


curios  to  the  stairs  that  led  to  his  seclu- 
sion. Olympus  and  all  the  gods  in 
bronze  and  alabaster  reigned  below;  an- 
tique episcopal  choirs  and  bishops' 
thrones  looking  highly  pontifical  and 
proportionately  uncomfortable,  invited 
him  to  meditation  or  to  prayer,  but  he 
tarried  not  by  the  way.  Indeed  it  may 
be  said  with  truth  he  had  grown  a  little 
weary,  not  to  say  afraid,  of  the  bizarre 
collection,  especially  timid  and  afraid  if 
the  gentlemanly  connoisseur  who  presided 
there,  with  the  air  of  one  engaged  in 
pleasurable  archaelogical  pursuits  rather 
than  in  business  of  any  sort,  chanced  to 
have  locked  up  for  the  day  and  left 
Clitheroe  in  sole  possession. 

O!  what  a  conglomeration  was  there  of 
things  tragical,  comical,  historical,  pas- 
toral, pastoral-comical,  etc.,  etc.,  like- 
wise seven-branched  candlesticks,  dang- 
ling censors,  and  crucifixes  galore.  Dur- 
iing  these  visitations  he  did  not  remain 
very  long;  he  was  always  nervously 
awaiting  the  advent  of  the  airy  areolite 
and  tremblingly  watching  lest  the  hea- 
vens fall  upon  him  and  slay  him  in  that 
cave  of  gloom.  The  fact  is,  he  was  los- 
ing his  nerve  and  his  patience  in  darkest 
New  York. 

All  was  not  lost  to  him  even  in  his 
direst  extremity:  he  met  many  delight- 
ful personages  and  suppered  with  them 
in  fashionable  cafes  where  people  of  dis- 
tinction are  on  public  exhibition  at  the 
midnight  hour.  He  recalled  with  ex- 
quisite pleasure  one  night,  the  night  of 
nights:  "a  night  of  stars,"  the  poet 
called  it,  when,  having  dined  on  all  the 
delicacies  of  the  season,  he  was  led  by 
his  famous  host  to  a  private  roof  garden 
far  above  the  cloud-line;  it  r.'as  at  the 
tip-top  of  a  house  so  tall  and  slender 
that  it  resembled  nothing  so  much  as 
a  chimney  packed  with  chattering  swal- 
lows: but  once  there  in  the  rose-garden 
and  the  jungle  of  potted  palms,  under 
a  canopy  as  fair  as  the  tent  of  Omar, 
poet-host  and  poet-guests  stranded  on 
an  island-oasis  in  a  desert-sea  of  air — in 


the  choice  company  of  these,  Clitheroe 
for  the  nonce  outlived  that  breathless 
New  York  feeling  that  makes  its  local 
life  not  worth  the  living. 

It  was  in  the  good  old  Summer  time, 
and  as  the  faint-hearted  prodigal,  strug- 
gling between  a  new  joy  in  life  and  a 
suggestion  of  nausea  occasioned  by  his 
unaccustomed  altitude,  peered  over  the 
parapet,  he  saw  the  L  trains  still  darting 
like  fiery  serpents  through  the  con- 
densed breath  of  the  sweltering  and 
seething  masses  of  humanity  in  the 
depths  below,  while  on  the  heights  they 
lifted  up  their  hearts  and  soared  as  on 
the  wings  of  young  eagles:  no  wonder; 
was  not  the  host  the  very  king  of  hosts? 
Surely  you  know  his  beautiful  and  brill- 
iant "Quest  of  the  Golden  Girl "? 

The  day  came  when  even  the  riches 
of  Little  Misery  could  no  longer  charm. 
The  souvenirs  of  Vailima  made  him 
homesick  for  the  southern  sea.  Even 
the  graven  images,  those  fair  idols  in 
their  niches  on  the  floor  below,  failed  to 
charm  him .  There  were  groups  of  them 
there,  beautiful  creations  worthy  of  man's 
worship;  none  of  your  expurgated  statu- 
ary such  as  is  the  malicious  joy  of  those 
who  love  mutilation  because  they  are  not 
pure  in  heart.  He  was  stung  by  the 
rude  contact  of  the  frenzied  populace; 
and  pained  by  the  indecent  exposure  of 
undisguised  back  yards.  O,  gentle 
reader!  The  world  is  not  so  wide  but 
people  may  look  over  other  people's 
fences  and  into  their  houses  and  hearts; 
therefore  it  behooves  us  to  be  tidy  and 
tolerable  at  all  times  and  in  all  places — 
as,  indeed  we  should  ever  be  even  if  we 
are  alone  in  the  open. 

Clitheroe  took  to  his  bed  in  the  house 
of  his  friend,  and  there  mourned  and 
refused  to  be  comforted.  Manifestly  his 
days  were  numbered  and  their  end  not 
far  away.  He  had  never  once  slept 
under  the  roof-tree  at  Little  Misery;  he 
could  not  muster  the  courage  to  attempt 
it.  His  very  soul  was  deafened  with  the 
din  of  the  hateful  metropolis.  It  now 


IN    THE   VALLEY    OF    THE    SHADOW   OF    THE    SKYSCRAPERS    381 


seemed  to  him  that  the  L  trains  were 
whizzing  through  a  tunnel  in  his  brain: 
in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other;  he 
seemed  to  be  tottering  upon  the  verge  of 
madness.  Something  had  to  be  done 
and  'twere  well  it  were  done  quickly.  It 
was  done  quickly,  and  mighty  well  done, 
too;  for  the  very  friend  of  very  friends 
sought  him  out  and  rescued  him  in  his 
extremity.  Clitheroe  had  proved  beyond 
a  peradventure  that  there  are  those  who 
do  not  lust  for  anything  that  lies  between 
the  Battery  and  the  Bronx.  Love's 
labour  is  lost  in  those  merciless  meadows; 
so  he  died  the  death  and  this  is  his 
epitaph.  His  palpitating  remains  were 


borne  reverently,  in  decent  haste,  out  of 
the  hurly-burly  and  tenderly  deposited 
in  the  pastoral  calm  of  Cambridge. 

"Come  daisies  and  buttercups,"  sang 
his  reviving  heart,  let  us  go  hence;  for 
the  places  that  have  once  known  us, 
though  they  have  known  us  but  slightly, 
shall  know  us  no  more  forever.  Amen. 

And  it  was  even  so. 

A  word  in  your  ear,  dear  readers:  I 
had  thought  of  calling  this  episode — 

"  TO  LET  ! 

A  Story  and  a  Half." 

But  I  discovered  before  you  did  that  it 

is  not  a  story  at  all,  at  all — nor  even  the 

half  of  one. 


THE  BUZZARD  OF  THE  BEAR  SWAMP 


By    DALLAS    LORE    SHARP 


TO  most  eyes,  no  doubt,  the  prospect 
would  have  seemed  desolate,  even 
forbidding.  A  single  track  of  railroad 
lay  under  my  feet,  while  down  and  away 
in  front  of  me  stretched  the  Bear  Swamp, 
the  largest,  least-trod  area  of  primeval 
swamp  in  southern  New  Jersey. 

To  me  it  was  neither  desolate  nor  for- 
bidding, because  I  knew  it  well — its 
gloomy  depths,  its  silent  streams,  its 
hollow  trees,  its  trails  and  haunting  mys- 
teries. Yet  I  had  never  crossed  its  bor- 
ders. I  was  born  within  its  shadows — 
close  enough  to  smell  the  magnolias  of 
the  margin — and  had  lived  my  first  ten 
years  only  a  little  farther  off,  but  not  till 
now,  after  twice  ten  years  of  absence, 
had  I  stood  here  ready  to  enter  and  tread 
the  paths  where  so  long  I  had  slipped  to 
and  fro  as  a  shadow! 

But-  what  a  pity  ever  to  cross  such  a 
country  I  ever  to  map  these  unexplored 
child-lands  to  a  scale  of  after  years  1 
I  tramped  the  Bear  Swamp  over  from 
rdge  to  edge,  letting  the  light  of 
liy  into  the  deepest  of  its  recesses, 


and   found  —  a    turkey  buzzard's  nest. 

The  silent  streams,  the  trees,  the  trails, 
I  found  too,  and  there,  it  seems,  they 
must  be  found  a  century  hence;  but  the 
haunting  mysteries  of  the  great  swamp 
fled  away  before  me,  and  are  gone  for- 
ever. So  much  did  I  pay  for  my  buz- 
zard's nest. 

The  cost  in  time  and  trouble  was  what 
came  near  to  undoing  my  good  uncle 
with  whom  I  was  staying,  near  the 
swamp.  "What  in  thunderation! "  he 
exclaimed,  when  I  made  known  my  de- 
sires, "From  Boston  to  Haley vi lie  to  see 
a  buzzard's  nest!"  There  are  some 
things  that  even  one's  wife  cannot  quite 
understand.  I  didn't  try  to  reason  the 
matter  of  buzzards'  nests  with  my  uncle. 
If  it  had  been  a  hawk's  nest  or  a  cardi- 
nal's, he  would  have  thought  nothing 
strange.  But  a  buzzard's! 

Perhaps  my  years  of  absence  from  the 
skies  of  the  buzzard  account  for  it.  Yet 
he  was  never  mere  bird,  mere  buzzard, 
to  me;  so  much  more  than  buzzard,  in- 
deed, that  I  often  wish  he  would  sail  into 


382 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


thes^  empty  New  England  skies.  How 
eug-vl/  i  watch  for  him  when  homeward 
bounJ  toward  Jersey!  The  moment  I 
cross  the  Delaware  I  begin  to  search  the 
skies,  and  I  know,  for  sure,  when  he 
swims  into  view,  that  I  am  near  the 
blessed  fields  once  more.  No  matter 
how  wide  and  free,  how  full  of  clouds 
and  color,  ray  sky  to  the  end  will  always 
need  a  soaring  buzzard. 

This  is  a  burst  of  sentiment,  truly,  and 
doesn't  explain  at  all  why  I  should  want 
to  see  the  creature  of  these  divine  wings 
in  the  grewsome  light  of  an  earth-view — 
on  his  nesting  stump  or  in  his  hollow  log. 

"  Be  Yarrow  stream  unseen,  unknown ! 

It  must  or  we  shall  rue  it: 
We  have  a  vision  of  our  own ; 
Ah !  why  should  we  undo  it?  " 

I  understand.  Nevertheless,  I  wanted 
to  find  a  buzzard's  nest  —  the  nest  of  the 
Bear  Swamp  buzzard;  and  here  at  last 
I  stood;  and  yonder  on  the  clouds,  a 
mere  mote  in  the  distance,  floated  one 
of  the  birds.  It  was  coming  toward  me 
over  the  wide  reach  of  the  swamp. 

Its  coming  seemed  perfectly  natural, 
as  the  sight  of  the  swamp  seemed  entirely 
familiar,  though  I  had  never  looked  upon 
it  from  this  point  before.  Silent,  in- 
scrutable and  alien  it  lay,  untouched  by 
human  hands  except  for  this  narrow 
braid  of  railroad  binding  its  outer  edges. 
Over  it  lay  a  quiet  and  reserve  as  real 
as  twilight.  Like  a  mask  it  was  worn, 
and  was  slipped  on,  I  know,  at  my 
approach.  I  could  feel  the  silent  spirit 
of  the  place  drawing  back  away  from  me, 
though  not  to  leave  me  quite  alone.  I 
should  have  at  least  a  guide  to  lead  me 
through  the  shadow-land,  for  out  of  the 
lower  living  green  towered  a  line  of  limb- 
less stubs,  their  bleached  bones  gleaming 
white,  or  showing  dark  and  gaunt  against 
the  horizon  far  out  across  the  swamp. 
Besides,  here  came  the  buzzard  winding 
slowly  down  the  clouds.  Soon  his  spiral 
changed  to  a  long  pendulum  swing,  till 
just  above  the  skeleton  trees  he  wheeled, 
and  bracing  himself  with  his  flapping 


wings,  dropped  heavily  upon  one  of  their 
headless  trunks. 

He  had  come  leisurely,  yet  with  a 
definiteness  that  was  unmistakable  and 
that  was  also  meaningful.  He  had  dis- 
covered me  in  the  distance,  and  while 
still  invisible  to  my  eyes,  had  started 
down  to  perch  upon  that  giant  stub  in 
order  to  watch  me.  His  eye  had  told 
him  that  I  was  not  a  workman  upon  the 
track,  nor  a  traveler  between  stations. 
If  there  was  a  purpose  to  his  movements 
that  suggested  just  one  thing  to  me,  there 
was  a  lack  of  purpose  in  mine  that  meant 
many  things  to  him.  He  was  suspicious, 
and  had  come  because,  somewhere  be- 
neath his  perch  lay  a  hollow  log,  the 
creature's  den,  holding  its  twin  eggs  or 
young.  A  buzzard  has  some  soul. 

Marking  the  direction  of  the  stub,  and 
its  probable  distance,  I  waded  into  the 
deep  underbrush,  the  buzzard  for  my 
guide,  and  for  my  quest  the  stump  or 
hollow  log  that  held  the  creature's  nest. 

The  rank  ferns  and  ropey  vines  swal- 
lowed me  up,  and  shut  out  at  times  even 
the  sight  of  the  sky.  Nothing  could  be 
seen  of  the  buzzard.  Half  an  hour's 
struggle  left  me  climbing  a  pine-crested 
swell  in  the  low  bottom,  and  here  I 
sighted  the  bird  again.  He  had  not 
moved. 

I  was  now  in  the  real  swamp,  the  old 
uncut  forest.  It  was  a  land  of  giants  — 
huge  green  poplar  and  swamp  white  oak, 
so  old  that  they  had  become  solitary, 
their  comrades  having  fallen  one  by  one, 
or  else,  unable  to  loose  the  grip  that  had 
widened  and  tightened  through  cen- 
turies, they  had  died  standing.  It  was 
upon  one  of  these  that  the  buzzard  sat 
humped. 

Directly  in  my  path  stood  an  ancient 
swamp  white  oak,  the  greatest  tree,  I 
think,  that  I  have  ever  seen.  It  was  not 
the  highest,  nor  the  largest  'round,  per- 
haps, but  individually,  spiritually,  the 
greatest.  Hoary,  hollow  and  broken- 
limbed,  his  huge  bole  seemed  encircled 
with  the  centuries  and  in  this  green  and 


THE    BUZZARD    OF    THE    BEAR    SWAMP. 


383 


grizzled  top  all  the  winds  of  heaven  had 
sometime  come. 

One  could  worship  in  the  presence  of 
such  a  tree  as  easily  as  in  the  shadow  of 
a  vast  cathedral.  Indeed,  what  is  there 
built  with  hands  that  has  the  dignity, 
the  majesty,  the  divinity  of  life?  And 
what  life  was  here!  Life  whose  begin- 
nings lay  so  far  back  that  I  could  no 
more  reckon  the  years  than  I  could  count 
the  atoms  it  had  builded  into  this  majes- 
tic form. 

Looking  down  upon  him  from  twice  his 
height  loomed  a  tulip  poplar,  clean-boiled 
for  thirty  feet  and  in  the  top  all  green 
and  gold  with  blossoms.  It  was  a  re- 
splendent thing  beside  the  oak,  yet  how 
unmistakably  the  gnarled  old  monarch 
wore  the  crown.  His  girth  more  than 
balanced  the  poplar's  greater  height,  and 
as  for  blossoms — nature  knows  the  beauty 
of  strength  and  inward  majesty  and  has 
pinned  no  boutonniere  upon  the  oak. 

My  buzzard  now  was  hardly  more  than 
half  a  mile  away  and  plainly  seen 
through  the  rifts  in  the  lofty  timbered 
roof  above  me.  As  I  was  nearing  the 
top  of  a  large  fallen  pine  that  lay  in  my 
course,  I  was  startled  by  the  burrh! 
burrh!  burrh!  of  three  partridges  ex- 
ploding just  beyond,  near  the  foot  of  the 
tree.  Their  exploding  seemed  all  the 
more  real  when  three  little  clouds  of 
dust-smoke  rose  out  of  the  low,  wet  bot- 
tom and  drifted  up  against  the  green. 

Then  I  saw  an  interesting  sight.  In 
falling,  the  pine  with  its  wide-reaching, 
multitudinous  roots  had  snatched  at  the 
shallow,  sandy  bottom  and  torn  out  a 
giant  fistful, leaving  a  hole  about  two  feet 
deep  and  more  than  a  dozen  wide.  The 
sand  thus  lifted  into  the  air  had  gradu- 
ally washed  down  to  a  mound  on  each 
side  of  the  butt,  where  it  lay  high  and 
dry  above  the  level  of  the  swamp.  This 
the  swamp  birds  had  turned  into  a  great 
dust  bath.  It  was  in  constant  use,  evi- 
dently. Not  a  spear  of  grass  had 
sprouted  in  it,  and  all  over  it  were  pits 
and  craters  of  various  sizes,  showing  that 


not  only  the  partridges  but  also  the 
quails  and  such  small  things  as  the  war- 
blers washed  here— though  I  can't  recall 
ever  having  seen  a  warbler  bathe  in  the 
dust.  A  dry  bath  in  the  swamp  seemed 
something  of  a  luxury.  I  wonder  if  the 
buzzards  used  it? 

I  went  forward  cautiously  now  and 
expectantly,  for  I  was  close  enough  to 
see  the  white  beak  and  red  wattled  neck 
of  my  buzzard.  He  saw  me,  too  and 
began  to  twist  his  head  as  I  shifted  and 
to  twitch  his  wing  tips  nervously.  Sud- 
denly his  long,  black  wings  opened,  and 
with  a  heavy  lurch  that  left  the  stub 
rocking,  he  dropped  and  was  soon  soar- 
ing high  up  in  the  blue. 

This  was  the  locality  of  the  nest;  now 
where  should  I  find  it?  Evidently  I  was 
to  have  no  further  help  from  the  old 
bird.  The  underbrush  was  so  thick  that 
I  could  hardly  see  farther  than  my  nose. 
A  half-rotten  tree  trunk  lay  near,  the  top 
end  lying  across  the  backs  of  several  sap- 
lings that  it  had  borne  down  in  its  fall. 
I  crept  up  on  this  for  a  look  around,  and 
almost  tumbled  off  at  finding  myself 
staring  directly  into  the  dark,  cavernous 
hollow  of  an  immense  log  lying  on  a 
slight  rise  of  ground  a  few  feet  ahead  of 
me. 

It  was  a  yawning  hole,  which  at  a 
glance  I  knew  belonged  to  the  buzzard. 
The  log,  a  mere  shell  of  a  mighty  white 
oak,  had  been  girdled  and  felled  with 
an  axe,  by  hunters,  probably,  and  still  lay 
with  one  side  resting  upon  the  rim  of  the 
stump.  As  I  stood  looking,  something 
white  stirred  vaguely  in  the  hole  and 
disappeared. 

Leaping  from  my  perch,  I  scrambled 
forward  to  the  mouth  of  the  hollow  and 
was  greeted  with  hisses  from  far  back  in 
the  dark.  Then  came  a  thumping  of  bare 
feet,  more  hisses  and  a  sound  of  snap- 
ping beaks.  I  had  found  my  buzzard's 
nest. 

Hardly  that  either,  for  there  wos 
a  feather,  stick  or  chip  as  evidenc 
a  nest.  The  eggs  had  been  laid 


384 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


the  sloping  cavern  floor,  and  in  the 
course  of  their  incubation  must  have 
rolled  clear  down  to  the  opposite  end, 
where  the  opening  was  so  narrow  that 
the  buzzard  could  not  have  brooded  them 
until  she  had  rolled  them  back.  The 
wonder  is  that  they  ever  hatched. 

But  they  did,  and  what  they  hatched 
was  another  wonder.  It  was  a  right 
instinct  which  led  the  mother  to  seek 
the  middle  of  the  Bear  Swamp  and  there 
hide  her  young  in  a  hollow  log.  My 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  should  have 
equalled  hers,  certainly,  and  I  should 
have  allowed  her  the  privacy  of  the 
swamp.  It  was  unfair  of  me  and  rude. 
Nature  never  intended  a  young  buzzard 
for  any  eye  but  his  mother's — and  she 
hates  the  sight  of  him.  Elsewhere  I 
have  told  of  a  buzzard  that  devoured  her 
eggs  at  the  approach  of  an  enemy,  so 
delicately  balanced  are  her  unnameable 
appetites  and  her  maternal  affections! 

The  two  freaks  in  the  log  must  have 
been  three  weeks  old,  I  should  say,  the 
larger  weighing  about  four  pounds. 
They  were  covered  as  young  owls  are, 
with  deep,  snow-white  down,  out  of 
which  their  black  legs  protruded  in 
scaly,  snaky  contrast.  They  stood 
braced  on  these  long,  black  legs,  their 
receding  heads  drawn  back,  shoulders 
thrust  forward,  their  bodies  humped  be- 


tween the  featherless  wings  like  a  chal- 
lenging tomcat. 

In  order  to  examine  them,  I  crawled 
into  the  den — not  a  difficult  act,  for  the 
opening  measured  four  feet  and  a  half 
across  at  the  mouth.  The  air  was  musty 
inside,  yet  surprisingly  free  from  odor. 
The  floor  was  absolutely  clean,  but  on  the 
top  and  sides  of  the  cavity  was  a  thick 
coating  of  live  mosquitoes,  most  of  them 
gorged,  hanging  like  a  red-beaded  tapes- 
try over  the  walls. 

I  had  taken  pains  that  the  flying 
buzzard  should  not  see  me  enter,  for 
I  hoped  she  would  descend  to  look 
after  her  young.  But  she  would  take 
no  chances  with  herself.  I  sat  near 
the  mouth  of  the  hollow,  where  I  could 
catch  the  fresh  breeze  that  pulled  across 
the  end,  and  where  I  had  a  view  of  a 
a  far-away  bit  of  sky.  Suddenly  across 
this  field  of  blue,  as  you  have  seen  an 
infusorian  scud  across  the  field  of  your 
microscope,  there  swept  a  meteor  of 
black  —  the  buzzard!  and  evidently  in 
that  instant  of  passage,  at  a  distance 
certainly  of  half  a  mile,  she  spied  me 
in  the  log. 

I  waited  more  than  an  hour  longer, 
and  when  I  tumbled  out  with  a  dozen 
kinds  of  cramps,  the  maternal  creature 
was  soaring  serenely  far  up  in  the  clear, 
cool  sky. 


UNCONSCIOUS    GOOD 

EUGENE     C.     DOLSON 

FLOR I D A VI  LLE,     NEW     YORK 

IT  saddens  her  to  think  that  night  is  near, 

And  that  her  long  day's  toil  no  meed  may  gain; 

Dear  Heart,  she  knows  not  that  her  words  of  cheer 
To  other  lives  were  words  not  all  in  vain ! 


OUR   CABLE    STATION    IN   MID-PACIFIC 


By     DR.     MARTIN    CROOK 

COLUMBUS,     GEORGIA 
WITH      ILLUSTRATIONS      FROM      PHOTOGRAPHS 


WHERE     THE      BIRDS      FEED 

ON  April  9  and  10  of  last  year  the 
cable  ships  Anglia  and  Colonia 
sailed  from  London  to  Manila  via  Suez 
canal  for  the  purpose  of  laying  the  Com- 
mercial Pacific  cable.  Most  people  are 
aware  that  this  cable  now  stretches  from 
San  Francisco  to  Manila,  having  three 
intermediate  stations,  Honolulu,  Midway 
and  Guam.  Without  entering  into  the 
details  of  the  laying  of  the  cable,  one  of 
the  greatest  enterprises  of  the  kind  that 
the  world  has  ever  known,  it  is  the  pur- 
pose of  the  writer  to  give  an  account  of 
the  life  of  the  cable  colony  at  Midway 
Island  before  and  after  the  arrival  of  the 
above  mentioned  ships,  and,  in  addition 
to  this,  a  brief  description  of  the  island 
itself,  which  possesses  an  unique  interest 


for  the  people   of    the   United    States. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  April  29  of 
last  year  that  fifteen  operators  and  em- 
ployes of  the  Commercial  Pacific  Cable 
Company  stood  on  the  decks  of  the  char- 
tered steamer  Hanalei,  viewing  a  faint 
white  line  along  the  northern  horizon. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  these  men  were  out 
of  their  bunks  at  daylight  straining  their 
eyes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  that  almost 
imperceptible  stretch  of  sand;  no  wonder 
that  they  had  rushed  from  their  cabins 
half  clad  and  with  uncombed  hair.  The 
captain  of  the  ship  had  just  reported  that 
Midway  Island  was  in  sight  and  as  these 
men  were  to  be  stationed  there  for  at 
least  one  year  it  was  not  surprising  to 
see  so  much  interest  manifested. 

The  Hanalei  anchored  two  and  one- 
half  miles  to  the  westward  of  the  island 
and  the  superintendent  of  the  station 
went  ashore  at  once  and  selected  a  suita- 
ble site  for  the  temporary  buildings. 
Lumber  was  then  loaded  and  work  was 
begun  on  these  buildings  in  order  to  have 
everything  ready  for  the  arrival  of  the 


AS  MIDWAY    ISLAND    APPEARS  FROM  A  SHIP  ONLY  THREE-FOURTHS  OF  A   MILE  AWAY 

Engraved  by  Charles  Bicker 


386 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   JANUARY,    1905 


READING      THE      DECLARATION      OF       INDEPENDENCE      TO      THE       SOLDIERS      ON 
UNITED      STATES      TRANSPORT      THOMAS,      JULY      FOURTH      LAST 


THE 


Anglia  and  Colonia,  these  ships  being 
expected  about  June  15. 

But  before  we  proceed  any  farther  let 
us  get  an  idea  of  the  location  of  the 
islands  forming  the  Midway  group.  For 
those  whose  maps  have  not  been  magni- 
fied to  the  extent  of  showing  every  visi- 
ble speck  of  land  in  the  northern  Pacific, 
it  may  be  well  to  say  that  this  group  of 
islands  is  found  twelve  hundred  miles 
northwest  of  Honolulu  and  in  about  the 
same  latitude  as  Galveston,  Texas.  The 
name  "Midway"  was  given  to  them  be- 
cause at  the  time  of  their  discovery  by 
Captain  Brooks  in  1859  they  were  sup- 
posed to  be  half-way  around  the  earth 
from  Greenwich,  but  it  is  now  known 
that  they  lie  about  two  and  one-half  de- 
grees from  the  one  hundred  and  eightieth 
meridian. 

There  are  two  islands  in  the  group; 
one  called  Sand  or  Western  Island,  the 
other  Eastern  Island.  Between  the  two 
is  a  mere  islet  known  as  Middlebrook. 
There  are  no  natives  on  any  of  them. 
They  are  owned  by  the  United  States 
and  fall  under  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
navy. 

As  Sand  Island  is  the  home  of  the  staff 


of  operators  through  whose  hands  mes- 
sages to  and  from  all  parts  of  the  world 
pass  daily,  it  naturally  attracts  most  of 
our  attention.  It  is  here  that  four  opera- 
tors transmit  most  of  the  messages  to  our 
newspapers  concerning  the  Russo-Japa- 
nese War;  it  is  on  this  heap  of  sand,  a 
mile  and  a  half  in  length  and  three-quar- 


L_ 


CAMP     OF     U.     S.     MARINES     AT    MIDWAY 


OUR    CABLE    STATION     IN     MID-PACIFIC 


387 


SOLDIERS      ABOARD     THE     UNITED     STATES     TRANSPORT     TFIOMAS      CELEBRATING      THE 
FOURTH      OF      JULY      BY      SINGING      PATRIOTIC      SONGS 


ters  of  a  mile  in  width,  that  the  Commer- 
cial Pacific  Cable  Company  has  estab- 
lished a  transmitting  station  through 
which  the  United  States  government 
messages  pass  to  Manila  and  other 
points  in  the  Far  East. 

Sand  Island  is  an  almost  verdureless 
waste  of  coral  sand.     An  occasional  sand 


MARINES     DIGGING     A     WELL    AT     MIDWAY 


dune  covered  with  a  few  short,  sickly- 
looking  shrubs  may  be  seen  and  at  two 
places  coarse  grass  and  shrubs  are  found, 
but  these  are  very  limited  in  extent.  With 
these  exceptions  the  island  is  as  barren 
as  the  Desert  of  Sahara:  it  is  absolutely 
without  vegetation. 

Since  Midway  is  in  mid-ocean,  it  is 
interesting  to  note  that  while  one  sand 
heap  is  forty-three  feet  in  height,  the 
place  where  the.  temporary  buildings 
stand  is  only  about  eight  feet  above  the 
sea.  But  Nature  has  erected  a  coral  reef 
around  the  islands,  and  this  reef,  fifteen 
miles  in  circumference,  five  feet  high, 
and  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  feet  in 
width,  forms  a  perfect  protection  against 
the  waves  of  the  mighty  Pacific.  Were 
it  not  for  this  reef  Sand  Island  could 
never  have  been  utilized  as  a  cable 
station. 

The  glare  of  the  sun  upon  the  sand  is 
fearful  in  its  intensity,  necessitating  the 
constant  use  of  goggles  as  a  protection  to 
the  eyes  —  the  glare  is  more  intense 
than  that  of  snow.  Seme  of  the  men 
failed  to  use  the  goggles  and  I  believe 
that  their  eyes  are  permanently  injured. 


388 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,   1905 


JAPANESE       AT       MIDWAY       WHEN 
MEN      ARRIVED 


THE      CABLE 


As  soon  as  the  tent  was  pitched  a  well 
was  sunk  four  and  one-half  feet  in  depth 
and  it  was  astonishing  to  find  fresh  water 
which  at  first  was  milky-white  in  color, 
but  which  upon  standing  became  as  clear 
and  as  palatable  as  any  water  in  the 
world.  It  is  astonishing  that  it  was  not 
brackish,  but  that  fresh  water  could  be 
obtained  anywhere  on  the  island  was  an 
exceedingly  pleasant  surprise  to  the  little 
body  of  men. 

There  are  at  least  twenty-five  varieties 
of  sea-birds  at  Midway.  Most  of  them 
are  so  gentle  that  they  may  be  picked  up 
and  held  in  the  hand  without  the  least 
difficulty.  An  albatross  laid  her  egg 
on  one  of  the  golf  tees,  and  she  seemed 
so  contented  there  that  it  was  thought 
best  to  move  the  tee  to  another  place; 
but  even  then  the  birds  were  so  gentle 
and  so  numerous  that  they  would  be 


struck  with  the  balls.  This  occurred 
more  than  once  and  one  bird  was  killed 
in  that  way. 

The  terns,  or  sea-swallows,  are  most 
numerous  and  their  eggs,  being  edible, 
are  eaten  in  large  quantities.  It  is  a 
peculiarity  of  the  sea-birds  to  lay 
only  one  egg  in  a  season.  Only  two 
varieties  of  those  at  Midway  have  nests; 
the  others  lay  their  eggs  on  the  oare  sand. 


JAPANESE     AT     MIDWAY     SHOWING     A     LOT     OF 
SLAUGHTERED       BIRDS     THEY      HAVE      STUFFED 


THE     JAPANESE     SCHOONER      YIEJU     MARU,     AT 
MIDWAY     ISLAND 


DEFYING        THE       GLARE       OF      SUN       ON      SAND 
WITH     DARKENED     EYE-GLASSES 

There  are  several  birds  of  rare  plum- 
age, and  when  the  Hanalei  arrived  there 
were  thirty-nine  Japanese  on  Sand 
Island.  These  Japanese  were  slaughter- 
ing the  pretty,  innocent  birds  in  large 
numbers.  The  feathers  of  the  birds  were 
shipped  to  Yokahoma  on  a  schooner  then 
anchored  about  half  a  mile  from  shore. 

Fish  of  many  varieties  are  found  near 
the  reef  and  are  so  easily  caught  that 


OUR    CABLE  STATION    IN    MID-PACIFIC 


389 


there  is  no  sport  in  fishing.  Turtles  are 
occasionally  caught  but  are  rather  small. 
Sharks  are  numerous,  but  fortunately  do 
not  come  near  the  beach;  consequently 
they  do  not  interfere  with  swimming,  a 
favorite  pastime  of  the  people  at  Midway. 
On  June  3  Lieutenant  Commander 
Rodman,  U.  S.  N.,  who  had  been  ap- 
pointed governor  of  Midway,  arrived  on 
the  U.  S.  S.  Iroquois.  It  was  at  this 


YOUNG       ALBATROSS      AND       CAPTAIN       ROD- 
MAN'S    DOG     DON,     VERY     GOOD      FRIENDS 


A       STUMP      AT     MIDWAY,       WHICH       DOUBTLESS 
DRIFTED     FROM     THE     AMERICAN     COAST 

time  that  the  first  mail  bag  was  received, 
the  islanders  having  been  without  mail 
for  a  month  and  a  half. 

When  Captain  Rodman  came  ashore 
the  superintendent  of  the  station  re- 
ported that  the  Japanese  were  slaughter- 
ing the  birds  in  large  numbers  and  the 
bodies  of  these  birds,  left  upon  the  sand 
to  decay,  were  producing  an  almost  in- 
tolerable stench  ;  were  causing  the  house 


THE  CEMETERY  AT  MIDWAY,  WHERE  SAILORS 
OF  THE  ILL-FATED  BARK  WANDERING  MIN- 
ELSTR  WERE'  BURIED.  —  MOST  OF  THE  MEN 
DIED  OF  SCURVY;  THE  SURVIVORS  LIVED 
THERE  FOURTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  THEY 
WERE  RESCUED.— THEIR  DIET  WAS  FISH, 
BIRDS  AND  BIRDS'  EGGS 

flies  to  multiply  rapidly;  and  lastly,  but 
most  important,  the  decaying  bodies 
would  sooner  or  later  contaminate  the 
water  supply.  Captain  Rodman  firmly 
but  politely  informed  the  Japanese  that 
they  must  leave  the  island,  which  they 
did  shortly  afterward. 

On  June  16  the  Anglia  was  sighted, 
and  on  the  eighteenth  the  Colonia.  The 
former  laid  the  cable  from  Manila  to 
Guam,  the  latter  the  Guam-Midway  sec- 
tion, and  now  the  Anglia  was  ready  to 
lay  the  section  between  Midway  and 
Honolulu.  The  part  of  the  cable  be- 
tween Honolulu  and  San  Francisco  was 
completed  in  December,  1902.  The 
Anglia  reached  Honolulu  on  July  3  of 
last  year,  thus  completing  the  long 


TYPICAL      JAPANESE      HUT     AT     MIDWAY 


39° 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for    JANUARY,    1905 


\ 


TOWING      THE      CABLE      PONTOONS      ASHORE      AT      MIDWAY 


stretch  across  the  Pacific,  which  required 
more  than  8,000  miles  of  cable.  On 
July  4  President  Roosevelt  formally 
opened  the  cable  by  sending  the  first 


THE     CA1UE     PONTOONS     LANDED 

message,   which  was  to   Governor  Taft 
at  Manila. 

After  this  the  operators  settled  down 
to  business  and  the  news  of  the  world 
was  known  at  Midway  before  it  was 


printed  in  the  newspapers.  This  fact 
alone  was  a  great  help  to  these  men 
when,  at  a  later  date,  the  Winter  storms 
set  in  and  they  suffered  both  in  mind  and 


DRAWING     THE     CABLE     UP     THE     BEACH 

body,  because  it  was  impossible  to  land 
mail  and  provisions.  Everything  was 
done  by  the  officials  at  New  York  to 
make  it  as  pleasant  and  as  comfortable 
as  possible  for  those  at  Midway,  but  the 


UNITED      STATES      MARINES      LEND     A      HAND     TO     DRAW     IN      THE     CABLE 


OUR    CABLE    STATION    IN    MID-PACIFIC 


A      BIT      OF      MIDWAY      ISLAND      LAND--AND-SKY-SCAPK 
Engraved  by  Charles  Ricker 


39* 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


OPERATORS      AT      MIDWAY      RECEIVING     THE     FIRST      WORD      FROM 

little  colony  seemed  to  have  a  series  of         During  October  last  it  became  neces- 
misfortunes  daring  their  first  year's  stay,      sary  to  order  a  new  supply  of  provisions, 


THE   FIRST    OFFICE    OF     THE     PACIFIC      COMMERCIAL     CABLE     COMPAXY     AT     MIDWAY 


OUR    (AM  I     .STATION    IN    MID  1'AC'II'IC 


\      (.KM   KAI.       VII   W      OK      TIIK      STATION       III' 1 1 .1  )l  N(  iS,      I  Nt  '1 .1'  I  >IN(  i       All         III!         IHM     .1    , 

ON      MIDWAY      ISLAND 
ved  by  Oharloi  Rtok«r 


.in.l  (he  schooner  Julia  I1'..  Whalcn  was 
s«-i)l  li.iin  Honolulu  witli  six  months 
supply  and  tho  mail  which  had  I>«-<-M  m 
(In-  poslolluv  at  I  lonolulu  lor  a  month. 


I'hr  Whalcn  on  the  ni^ht  ol  hci  anu.il 
(October  aa)  struck  the  noith  reef  and 
was  wrcc-kcd.  Her  cari^o  was  all  lost,  in- 
cluding two  lur^e  hags  of  mail.  No  lives 


mi-     i  NMKI      CAHI.I'     COLONY    ON     MIDWAY. 

rill-       (iUOUl'       IS       TIIK       \\-\l-\:      Ol 


I'll  I 
TIIK 


i    \nv      IN       TIIK       MIDDI.K     OK 
SUPKRINTK.NMKNT 


394 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for  JANUARY,    1905 


* 


MESSRS.     MORRISON      AND       REED     IN      EVENING 
DRESS —  MIDWAY     STYLE 

were  lost,  but  how  it  was  possible  for  the 
crew  to  lower  a  boat  and  get  safely  out 
of  those  immense  breakers  (a  three-days 
gale  had  been  blowing)  is  a  mystery 
which  I  hardly  think  the  captain  can 
unravel. 

As  soon  as  possible  the  Iroquois  came 
to  bring  provisions  for  the  islanders  and 
to  take  the  Whalen's  crew  to  Honolulu. 
When  she  arrived  the  supply  was  quite 
low.  She  remained  only  twenty-four 
hours. 

When  the  Winter  gales  set  in  the  sand 
began  to  drift.  At  times  it  would  be 
blown  through  the  air  at  the  rate  of 
thirty  miles  an  hour.  It  was  so  dis- 
agreeable to  have  the  sand  blown  in 
their  eyes,  ears  and  nose  and  often  cut- 
ting their  faces,  that  most  of  the  men 
preferred  remaining  in  their  rooms  day 
and  night.  And  even  in  these  rooms 
with  all  windows  and  doors  shut  they 


were  not  rid  of  the  sand,  for  it  would 
drift  through  every  crack  and  crevice. 

During  the  Winter  months  the  atmos- 
phere is  usually  quite  humid,  and  when 
the  rooms  became  damp  they  remained  so. 
And  if  anyone  wants  to  see  a  gloomy, 
lonely,  desolate  picture,  let  him  stand  in 
one  of  those  damp  rooms  with  the  tem- 
perature at  fifty-two  degrees  (that  was 
the  minimum  for  last  year  and  look  out 
over  this  desert  island  during  a  gale, 
while  the  sand  is  being  driven  in  perfect 
clouds  across  the  view  and  in  the  dis- 
tance the  waves  with  an  awful  roar  are 
breaking  in  masses  of  spray  up  on  the 
reef. 

The  men  sent  to  Midway  were  selected 
because  of  their  social  and  equable  dis- 


EDUCATING      THE      ALBATROSS 


CAPTAIN     AND     CREW     OF     THE      HANALEI      RE- 
PLENISHING    THE    SHtP'S     WATER     CASKS     FROM 
THE     WELL     AT     MIDWAY 

positions,  because  they  would  make  the 
best  of  their  environment.  Through 
all  this  they  were  happy  and  contented; 
they  had  expected  these  things  from  the 
start.  But  at  a  later  date  the  conditions 
became  more  serious.  It  was  on  the 
third  day  of  last  January,  after  a  quiet 
and  uneventful  Christmas  and  New 
Year's  day  on  the  island,  that  the  cruis- 
ers New  Orleans  (flagship),  Cincinnati, 
Raleigh  and  Albany,  commanded  by  Ad- 
miral Cooper,  called  to  bring  mail  and 
a  few  provisions.  Very  few  provisions 
were  landed,  because  at  that  time  the 
cable  ship  Scotia,  owned  by  the  Com- 
mercial Pacific  Cable  Company,  was  on 


OUR   CABLE  STATION   IN   MID-PACIFIC 


395 


her  way  from  London  to  Manila,  Guam, 
Midway  and  Honolulu  with  six  months' 
supplies  for  Midway.  Knowing  that  the 
U.  S.  Army  transport  Sheridan,  sailing 
from  San  Francisco  February  i,  would 
call  at  Honolulu  and  Guam,  the  superin- 
tendent at  Midway  (who  is  also  post- 
master) cabled  the  postmaster  at  Hono- 
lulu to  ship  the  mail  to  Guam  and  there 
the  Scotia  would  get  it  and  take  it  to 
Midway.  This  was  done  as  requested, 
but  just  as  the  Scotia  was  entering  the 
harbor  at  Guam  (and  before  the  mail  had 
been  put  aboard)  she  struck  Spanish 
Rock,  and,  with  the  exception  of  six 
hundred  miles  of  cable  in  her  tanks,  was 
a  total  loss.  This  occurred  March  10. 
The  provisions  at  Midway  were  very 
scarce  and  the  men  were  disappointed 
and  discontented.  Only  a  few  cans  of 
beef  and  some  rice  were  left,  and  often 
the  sea  was  too  rough  for  fishing.  There 
were  no  vegetables.  Everybody  had 
grown  tired  of  canned  beef,  and  two- 
thirds  of  ths  colony  ate  only  dry  rice 
and  that  three  times  a  day.  Fortunately, 
there  was  an  abundant  supply  of  lime 
juice,  which  possibly  prevented  an  epi- 
demic of  scurvy. 

Arrangements  were  at  once  made  to 
send  the  transport  Buford.  She  was 
sighted  at  Midway  March  28.  The  sea 
was  very  rough  and  the  waves  were 
breaking  on  the  bar  across  the  harbor 
entrance.  The  Buford  anchored  just 
outside  this  bar  and  about  four  miles 
from  shore.  With  breathless  anxiety  the 
islanders  watched  to  see  if  the  captain 
was  going  to  send  a  boat  ashore,  and 
there  was  a  cry  of  joy  from  the  little 
group  when  it  was  noticed  that  two  boats 
were  being  lowered.  The  strong  and 
courageous  sailors  were  willing  to  try  to 
get  provisions  and  mail  ashore.  In  a 
short  time  the  boats  were  loaded  and  the 
long  row  through  a  rough  sea  and  against 
a  head  wind  was  begun,  and  the  anxious 
little  crowd  on  the  island  watched  those 
sailors  "buffet  with  lusty  sinews"  the 
waves  that  threatened  to  engulf  them. 


At  oiie  time  a  boat  would  be  seen  on 
the  summit  of  a  wave  and  at  another 
time  it  would  disappear,  apparently 
swallowed  up  by  the  mighty  deep.  Those 
ashore  wanted  to  signal  the  sailors  to 
turn  back,  but  knew  that  they  would  not 
see  the  signals.  Finally  the  boats  began 
to  drift  toward  the  leeward  reef  and  after 
a  determined  but  ineffectual  attempt  of 
four  hours  to  pull  to  the  windward  the 
sailors  were  ordered  to  return  to  the 
ship.  It  was  a  bitter  disappointment 
to  see  this  failure,  and  yet  the  island- 
ers were  glad  that  the  boats  were 
headed  for  the  ship,  because  it  was 
dangerous  to  attempt  to  cross  the  bar. 


A    YOUNG     ALBATROSS     POSES     FOR     A       PROFILE 
VIEW 

When  the  boats  returned  to  the  ship 
the  captain  signalled:  "How  much  sup- 
plies have  you?  "  to  which  Midway  an- 
swered: "One  week's."  The  captain 
then  signalled,  "I  will  put  to  sea— good- 
bye," and  the  Buford  sailed  to  Manila 
with  the  supplies  and  six  weeks'  mail. 
The  captain  was  asked  to  wait  a  day  or 
two  till  the  sea  calmed  down  and  then 
the  supplies  could  be  landed,  but  he 
refused.  It  seems  that  there  was  some 
kind  of  an  understanding  that  the 


396 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


Iroquois  would  make 
an  attempt  if  the 
Buford  failed,  so  she 
came  down  on  April 
9  and  successfully 
landed  provisions 
and  mail,  the  first  to 
be  received  at  Mid- 
way in  more  than 
three  months!  It  is 
needless  to  say  that 
there  was  a  feast  on 
the  island  that  day. 
Much  more  could 
be  told  about  the 
little  colony,  but  this  will  suffice.  I  may 
add  that  the  officials  of  the  Cable  Com- 
pany are  taking  great  pains  to  better  the 


PULLING     THE     CABLE     UP      TO      THE    COMPANY'S 
OFFICE  THROUGH  A  TRENCH   IN  THE  SAND. 


Winter  and  may 
Christmas  and  a 
They  certainly 


conditions  at  Mid- 
way, and  I  am  sure 
that  they  will  suc- 
ceed. This  Christ- 
mas found  the  men 
living  in  permanent 
buildings,  both  ex- 
pensive and  comfort- 
able. In  addition  to 
this  many  other 
improvements  are 
being  made.  Let 
us  hope  that  all 
will  go  well  with 
the  cable  men  this 
they  have  a  merry 
happy  New  Year, 
deserve  the  best, 


A      GROUP      OF      CABLE      MEN      ON      THE      PACIFIC      STATIONS 
From  a  photograph  taken  in  Honolulu  April  19,  1903 

P.  J.  Harwood,  senior  operator  at  Honolulu;  D.  Coath,  superintendent  at  Guam;  B.  W.  Colley,  superin- 
tendent at  Midway ;  J.D.  Gaines,  superintendent  at  Honolulu;  O.  C.  Reed,  operator  at  Midway;  Martin 
Crook,  doctor  at  Midway;  D.  Morrison,  supervisor  at  Midway;  C.  Mills,  operator  at  Guam. 


By     J.     F.     CONRAD 

DES      M  OIN  ES,      IOWA 


CHRISTMAS  is  coming;  and  it  is 
coming  like  a  scorcher.  It  was 
only  the  other  day  the  boy  hung  up  his 
stocking,  and  had  me  up  at  4:30  a.  m., 
trying  to  find  names  for  all  the  animals 
in  his  Noah's  Ark;  and  when  I  stuck 
on  one,  and  would  give  it  some  outland- 
ish name  or  other,  he  would  look  at  me 
in  a  sort  of  an  incredulous  manner,  and 
say:  "Papa,  has  they  got  any  of  them 
down  in  Lucas  County?  "  I  remember 
there  was  one  uncouth-looking  animal, 
a  kind  of  a  cross,  it  looked  like,  between 
an  old-fashioned  "dog-iron"  and  a  saw- 
horse.  I  told  him  it  was  the  great 
"gigasticutis."  He  wanted  to  know  if 
there  was  any  of  them  down  where  Pa 
lived.  And  when  I  told  him  there  was 
one  down  there  right  after  the  close  of 
the  war,  he  wanted  to  know  if  I  had  ever 
seen  it,  and  how  it  acted,  and  if  it  ever 
bit  anyone.  When  I  told  him  that  I  had 
never  seen  it,  but  that  his  grandfather 
had  seen  it  once,  he  wanted  to  know 
how  the  old  man  got  away  from  it. 
Just  what  I  told  him  I  do  not  know;  but, 
later  on,  when  one  of  the  neighbors' 
children  came  over,  and  the  boy  was 
showing  him  his  Noah's  Ark,  and 
was  naming  over  the  animals,  and  bring- 
ing out  their  strong  points,  he  came  to 
this  "gigasticutis."  "There's  the  thing 
that  came  mighty  near  gettin'  my 
gram'pa  onst." 

The  other  boy  looked  at  it  and  said 
his  papa  could  lick  it. 

You  ought  to  have  seen  the  look  of 
disgust  that  spread  over  my  boy's  face. 
"Lick  it!  "  he  said.     "W'y,  that  thing 
is  the  terriblest  animal  there  is." 

"He  couldn't  lick  a  lion?  "  asked  the 
other  boy,  with  a  tinge  of  derision  in  his 
tone. 

"Of  course  he  could.  He'd  bite  a 
lion  in  two  twice  before  he  knowed  it; 


and  he'd  take  that  old  lion  and  throw 
him  up  in  the  top  of  the  biggest  tree  in 
the  timber,  and  he'd  stick  a  limb  in  him 
and  make  him  stay  there  till  he'd  rot- 
No,  sir,  if  a  old  lion  would  go  fooling 
around  a  gigasticutis  he  would  hit  him 
one  lick  and  he  would  break  his  back." 

"Well,  how  did  your  gram'pa  git 
away?  " 

"W'y,  he  got  after  my  gram'pa  onst 
and  runned  him  more  than  two  miles; 
then  gram'pa  he  jumped  across  a  great 
big  ditch  as  wide  as  a  street,  purty  near, 
and  so  deep  down  that  you  couldn't  see 
the  bottom,  only  you  could  hear  the 
water  running;  and  here  came  that  big 
gigasticutis  and  he  tried  to  jump,  but  he 
couldn't  jump  very  good,  but  he  can 
climb  a  tree  good;  and  when  he  came  to 
this  big  ditch  he  tried  to  jump  it,  and  he 
stuck  his  horn  in  the  bank  on  the  other 
side  and  he  stuck  fast;  yes,  they'se  got 
horns — and  gram'pa  he  rolled  a  great 
big  rock  as  big  as  a  'frigerator  right 
down  on  this  old  gigasticutis,  and  broke 
his  horn  off,  and  his  back.  Then 
gram'pa  got  down  where  he  was  and 
took  a  club  and  he  broke  all  his  legs  and 
he  killed  him.  This  is  all  there  was  of 
them." 

£ 

And,  here  it  is  Christmas  again.  Old 
Time  has  improved  on  his  mode  of 
travel,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us.  He  has 
nothing  like  the  slow,  lumbering  gait 
that  he  used  to  have  when  I  first  knew 
him. 

I  remember  when  I  was  a  youngster 
how  time  halted  and  stumbled  and  liter- 
ally balked  occasionally.  What  an  inter- 
minable eternity  three  months'  school  in 
the  Summer  was,  when  twenty-five  or 
thirty  of  us  bare-legged  youngsters  used 
to  sit  in  the  little  old  frame  school  house 
and  take  our  turns  at  backing  up  against 


398 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


the  school  teacher's  knee,  and  guessing 
at  the  letters  that  she  stabbed  at  with 
har  lead  pencil!  Sometimes  we  would 
guess  it;  but  oftener  we  didn't.  Then 
she  would  tell  us,  for  the  twentieth  time, 
that  it  was  "C"  or  "Y"  or  "K".  After 
she  would  reach  the  bottom  of  the  line 
of  letters,  as  McGuffey,  in  his  wisdom, 
saw  fit  to  arrange  the  alphabet  in  that 
famous  speller,  she  would  retreat  up  the 
line,  and  successively  stab  each  letter 
again;  and  when  "A"  was  reached,  the 
exercises  were  over.  Then  we  would 
go  back  to  our  seats,  and  swing  our  feet 
and  wait  patiently  for  four  o'clock. 

There  was  a  stunted  cottonwood  that 
grew  very  near  the  side  of  the  house, 
close  to  the  window;  and  I  remember 
there  was  a  meadow  lark  that  used  to 
light  in  it  and  hold  a  concert  all  by  him- 
self on  afternoons.  At  about  the  second 
or  third  note  we  children  would  begin  to 
titter;  then  it  would  begin  to  grow  into 
a  regular  storm  of  applause,  until  the 
teacher  would  send  one  of  the  boys  out 
to  throw  a  brick  at  him.  We  used  to 
take  turns  at  shooing  that  bird  into  the 
next  section;  and  it  was  looked  forward 
to  with  as  much  pleasure  as  going  after 
water.  And  there  never  was  anything 
fuller  of  satisfaction  than  to  go  with 
another  boy  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
after  a  bucket  of  water;  the  next  thing 
to  it  was— passing  it. 

Then,  on  Friday  afternoons,  there 
would  be  literary  exercises;  and  the  big 
girls  would  speak  selections  taken  mostly 
from  the  Third  and  Fourth  Readers;  and 
thus  the  dead  level  stretch  of  monotony 
would  be  broken.  There  was  one  girl 
much  larger  than  the  rest;  Threpsey 
Forkeson;  and  the  way  she  spoke  "A 
Soldier  of  the  Legion  Lay  Dying  in 
Algiers,"  etc.,  seemed  to  me  then  to  be 
but  little  short  of  an  inspiration.  I 
remember  of  noticing  that  when  she 
would  get  through  speaking  she  left  the 
moist  imprint  of  her  bare  feet  on  the  soft 
pine  floor;  and  after  they  would  fade 
away,  I  imagined  that  I  could  still  see 


the  impression  in  the  wood;  and  at 
recess  I  would  look  to  satisfy  myself; 
but,  somehow,  I  never  could  pick  out 
the  exact  place  she  stood. 

There  was  a  boy  about  my  age  who 
came  to  school.  His  name  was  Daniel 
McKinney.  He  could  outrun  or  out- 
jump,  and  throw  farther  than  any  boy  in 
the  school  within  three  or  four  years  of 
his  age.  He  was  a  marvel  to  the  other 
boys.  I  know  that  he  said  he  ould  just 
as  soon  see  the  moon  over  his  left 
shoulder  as  over  his  right;  and  if  a 
black  cat  undertook  to  cross  the  road 
ahead  of  him  he  would  plug  it  with 
a  rock.  He  had  eleven  warts  on  one 
foot.  There  were  seed  warts  and  flat 
warts,  and  warts  of  every  order.  How 
he  did  strut  around  and  show  off  those 
warts!  He  had  them  named  and  I 
remember  two  of  them  were  "David" 
and  "Goliath."  When  we  wanted  to 
know  how  to  get  warts  of  our  own,  he 
said  they  "kind  of  run  in  the  family;" 
that  pap  had  them;  but  that  if  we  fooled 
with  frogs  and  toads  much  that  we  would 
get  them,  anyhow.  But  it  wouldn't 
work;  for  everybody  in  the  school  tried 
it.  He  wore  the  same  kind  of  clothes 
Winter  and  Summer;  and  he  said  that 
he  could  whip  any  boy  that  wore  under- 
clothes in  the  Winter.  He  owns  a  farm 
now  of  over  300  acres;  but  he  isn't  any 
prouder  of  it  than  he  was  over  those 
warts.  His  folks  lived  down  in  the 
timber,  and  his  father  trapped  for  mink 
and  hunted  'coons  in  the  Winter  time, 
and  in  the  Summer  he  fished  and  picked 
up  a  living  most  anyway.  They  used  to 
say  that  he  was  seen  one  night  stealing 
meat  out  of  Abe  Danner's  smoke  house. 
Anyhow,  Danner  said  it  looked  like  him, 
but  when  old  Joe  McKinney  heard  about 
it,  he  came  up  to  Danner's  and  said  he 
would  like  to  have  an  explanation. 


Joe  was  a  tall,  raw-boned  man,  and 
looked  a  good  deal  like  a  shellbark 
hickory;  he  had  no  religion,  and  swore 


CHRISTMAS    IN    LUCAS    COUNTY 


399 


with  a  gusto  that  commanded  admira- 
tion. It  was  a  matter  of  proof  that  on 
more  than  one  occasion  he  was  known  to 
use  some  of  his  most  choice  expletives 
right  in  the  midst  of  a  thunder  storm, 
and  it  shook  the  faith  of  more  than  one 
little  devout  believer  when  he  escaped 
lightning.  Old  Joe  would  lie  in  the 
same  flowery,  fluent  manner  in  which  he 
swore.  And  one  time  when  his  dog 
treed  something  over  in  the  graveyard, 
he  went  right  over  and  took  a  rest  on 
a  tombstone  and  shot  a  squirrel  out  of 
a  tree.  To  a  youthful  mind,  there  was 
scarcely  anything  more  awful.  When  it 
came  nutting  time  we  boys  gave  old 
Joe's  locality  a  wide  berth.  I  remember 
once,  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  I  called 
his  boy,  Dan,  off  to  one  side  and  asked 
him  if  his  father  ever  killed  a  man;  and 
was  a  good  deal  relieved  when  Dan  said 
that  if  he  had  he  didn't  know  anything 
about  it. 

One  time  there  was  a  powerful  revival 
in  progress  at  the  United  Brethren 
church;  and  the  souls  that  were  saved 
and  the  matches  that  were  made  that 
Winter  is  still  a  record-breaker  in  that 
township.  Everybody  went.  They  had 
union  services;  and  there  is  no  telling 
where  it  would  have  stopped  if  the 
Methodists  hadn't  tried  to  hog  the  thing. 
Finally  old  Joe  came  to  meeting,  and 
there  was  a  combined  effort  on  the  part 
of  everyone  to  get  the  old  man  to  stand 
up  for  the  prayers  of  the  church;  but 
night  after  night  it  was  a  failure.  In 
the  afternoon  meetings  there  was  a 
powerful  appeal  sent  up  that  old  Joe 
might  be  brought  to  realize  his  sins  that 
night.  Things  went  on  this  way  for 
about  ten  days,  and  people  were  just 
about  to  conclude  that  Joe  was  too  far 
gone  for  redeeming  grace,  when  the  un- 
expected thing  happened.  It  was  just 
after  Aunt  Sally  Fuller  had  sat  down, 
after  giving  in  her  experience,  and  the 
preacher  was  calling  for  another  volunteer 
for  the  army  of  the  Lord,  when  all  at 
once  he  stopped,  threw  up  his  hands  like 


a  boy  does  when  he  dives  off  a  log,  and 
said:  "Look  there,  brethren  and  sis- 
ters!" livery  body  looked;  and,  sure 
enough,  old  Joe  was  going  up,  a  section 
at  a  time,  until  finally  he  towered 
like  a  sycamore  in  a  hay  field.  "Oh, 
brethren  and  sisters!"  went  on  the 
preacher,  "Old  Uncle  Joe  McKinney 
has  risen  up  for  your  prayers;  bless  the 
Lord!"  and  "Amen"  was  heard  from 
every  corner  of  the  house.  "He  is  going 
to  drop  his  old  life;  he  is  going  to  quit 
his  drinking,  and  his  swearing,  and  his 
lying,  and  his —  Here  old  Joe  broke 
in  with  a  drawl  and  nasal  twang,  "Hold 
on,  Mr.  Preacher;  that's  all  right,  but 
there  ain't  a  bit  of  use  of  your  making 
a  blankety-blank  fool  of  yourself  about 
it."  Meeting  let  out  and  the  revival 
somehow  quit. 


Well,  when  he  came  over  to  see  Dan- 
ner  about  stealing  that  meat  there  was 
a  good  chance  for  trouble;  and  those 
who  were  looking  for  it  were  not  disap- 
pointed, either. 

Old  Joe  commenced  by  asking  Danner 
what  he  meant.  Danner  replied  that  he 
meant  what  he  said.  That  is  usually 
a  forerunner  of  trouble.  Old  Joe  straight- 
ened up,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Danner,  you  live  in  a  while 
house,  and  you  have  shutters  to  the 
windows,  and  you  are  a  taxpayer;  you 
go  to  church,  and  the  preacher  takes 
dinner  with  you  and  stays  all  night. 
Now  there  was  never  a  preacher  in  my 
house  that  I  know  of,  and  there  ain't 
no  invitations  out.  I  live  in  a  log  house, 
and  the  only  winder  in  it  has  a  rag 
stuffed  in  where  the  glass  used  to  be. 
I  will  admit  that  I  would  rather  fish 
than  cut  corn;  I  swear  a  good  deal,  and 
my  children  use  some  bad  words,  but 
it  seems  to  me  as  they  always  done  it 
in  fun,  and  it  never  sounded  very  bad 
to  me;  but  I  never  stole  anything  yet, 
and  I  ain't  going  to  commence  with  your 
pork.  Now,  Mr.  Danner,  I  heard  that 


400 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,  1905 


you  said  I  went  in  to  your  smoke  house 
and  stole  some  meat.     Am  I  right?  " 
"You  are,"  replied  Banner. 
"Then   all  I  have  got  to  say  is,  you 
must  either  take  that  back,  or  old  Joner 
himself  couldn't  save  you  from  getting 
a  licking.     Now,  you  can  either  take  it 
with  your  coat  on,  or  off." 

Banner  was  from  Indiana,  and  it 
wasn't  the  first  time  that  he  was  ever 
invited  to  take  his  coat  off  to  accommo- 
date a  neighbor.  He  squared  himself, 
took  off  his  coat  and  laid  it  down  by  the 
side  of  the  road. 

Where  this  happened  was  right  at  the 
crossroads,  and  the  room  was  ample. 
It  is  a  matter  of  history  that  it  was  the 
best  fight  that  ever  took  place  in  Otter 
Creek  township.  Here  is  how  the  black- 
smith described  it: 

"There  wasn't  any  rounds  about  it. 
It  was  just  one  glorious  entertainment 
from  start  to  finish,  and  they  fought  like 
gentlemen.  Everything  was  fair,  and 
you  couldn't  tell  which  one  was  going  to 
whip  any  more  than  you  could  tell  how 
a  hoss  race  was  coming  out  when  they 
was  all  bunched.  Old  Joe  was  the  tall- 
est, and  had  the  longest  reach,  but  then 
he  was  the  oldest.  Abe  was  the  heavi- 
est and  youngest,  but  he  hadn't  the 
wind.  Joe  lammed  away  first,  and 
when  that  old  arm  of  his'n  shot  out  it 
was  enough  to  make  a  man  on  the  out- 
side holler  'nuff.  If  he'd  hit  Abe  square 
the  fight  would  have  been  over  with,  but 
Abe  was  on  the  lookout,  and  dodged  to 
one  side,  so  that  Joe's  knuckle  just 
grazed  his  temple  and  peeled  off  a  little 
strip  of  skin  and  three  or  four  drops  of 
blood  trickled  down  the  side  of  his  face. 
But  this  was  just  si  m  ply  tuning  up.  The 
next  I  knew,  old  Joe  shot  backward 
about  ten  feet  and  landed  square  agin' 
me,  and  I  went  like  a  freight  car  kicked 
onto  a  siding.  That  lick  would  have 
laid  out  any  other  man  in  Otter  Creek 
township.  I  never  saw  where  it  struck 
him,  and  you  couldn't  tell  after  the  fight 
was  over  with,  for  both  of  them  looked 


like  they  had  tried  to  stop  a  stampede 
of  steers  and  had  failed.     I  heard  Joe's 
teeth  come  together,  and  it  sounded  a 
good  deal  like  a  gopher  trap  shutting  up. 
Then  the  fighting  was  awful.     No  pull- 
ing hair,  nor  scratching  and  kicking,  but 
just  good,  manly  blows  that  made  you 
feel   sorry  that   there   wasn't    a   bigger 
audience.      I   have    read    about    prize- 
fights, where  one  feller  kept  jabbing  the 
other  in  the   face,    and  it  disgusts  me. 
There  was  no  jabbing  here,  it  was  the 
whole-arm  movement  from  beginning  to 
end;    and  whenever  one  of  them  licks 
landed,  it  made  you  bat  your  eyes.     No 
mortal  being  could  stand  that  pace  long. 
Finally  Abe's  wind  began  to  play  out, 
and  you  could  hear  him  breathe  across 
a  forty.    Joe,  with  what  little  sight  he 
had    left,    saw    that    Abe    was    about 
finished,  so  he  made  a  rush  and  got  him 
by  the  throat  with  his  left  hand,  then  he 
drew  back  and  said:  'Abe  Banner,  are 
you  going  to  holler  'nuff?'     I  heard  a 
'No'  kind  of  rattle  in  Abe's  throat,  but 
he  was  helpless.     Old  Joe  looked  at  him 
about  a  minute,  it  seemed  to  me  like, 
then  he  gave  Abe  a  kind  of  push  and 
started  down  the    road,    and  he   never 
looked  back  as  far  as  I  could  see  him. 
Abe  just  dropped  and  laid  there  pant- 
ing like  a  lizard,  for  the  better  part  of 
an  hour.     They  were  two  of  the  grittiest 
men  that  I  ever  saw." 


It  was  some  time  after  this  when  the 
diphtheria  got  in  Banner's  family,  and 
old  Joe  came  up  to  help  "nuss"  the 
children.  When  he  came  up  to  the 
house  the  blinds  were  down  and  every- 
thing was  still.  He  knocked  at  the  door; 
there  was  no  one  there  except  Abe  and 
his  wife  and  the  sick  little  ones,  and 
there  were  three  of  them.  Abe  came 
to  the  door,  looking  pale  and  worn  out, 
and  when  he  saw  it  was  Joe  he  didn't 
say  a  word,  but  just  looked  at  him  as 
if  he  was  in  some  doubt  about  how  to 
proceed.  Joe  was  the  first  to  speak. 


CHRISTMAS    IN    LUCAS    COUNTY 


401 


He  said: 

"Mr.  Banner,  you  and  I  have  had 
some  trouble.  You  gave  me  the  gamest 
fight  I  ever  had;  and  since  I  come  to 
think  it  over,  maybe  you  wasn't  so  far 
wrong  about  the  piece  of  pork  that  you 
missed;  but  I  have  heard  that  your 
children  are  sick,  and  that  the  neighbors 
are  scared  about  coming  here.  I  have 
always  been  able  to  nuss  my  children 
through  all  the  sickness  they  ever  had, 
and  I  believe  I  can  nuss  yours,  if  you 
will  let  me  try." 

Well  sir,  Abe  just  broke  down,  and  he 
kind  of  sobbed  out:  "Joe,  I  knowed 
there  was  lots  of  good  in  you  when  you 
didn't  hit  me  that  last  time.  I  belong 
to  church,  but  I  don't  know  if  I  would 
come  to  help  take  care  of  your  children 
if  they  had  been  sick  like  mine." 


After  this  the  people  thought  a  good 
deal  more  of  old  Joe;  and  when  they 
had  a  Christmas  tree  that  Winter  they 
had  the  hardest  time  in  the  world  to  get 
old  Joe  and  his  family  to  come  out,  and 
finally,  Banner  had  to  go  to  him  and 
make  him  promise  that  he  would  come 
and  bring  his  wife  and  family.  It  was 
a  great  Christmas  tree.  About  the  first 
in  that  neighborhood.  The  boys  had 
gone  down  in  the  woods  and  cut  a  young 
haw  tree,  (there  were  no  evergreens  in 
the  neighborhood),  and  when  it  was  all 
trimmed  up  it  was  the  most  beautiful 
sight  that  I  ever  saw.  I  have  seen  cost- 
lier trees  and  richer  presents  since  then, 
but,  for  a  lasting  impression,  there  is 
nothing  to  compare  with  that  first  Christ- 
mas tree.  How  the  old  church  was 
crowded!  Everybody  was  there,  it 
seemed,  and  the  sleds  hitched  up  and 
down  the  fence  reached  from  the  church 
down  almost  to  the  school  house. 

John  Pedigo  was  Santa  Claus.  I  have 
seen  a  good  many  since ;  but  never  one 
in  his  class.  He  kept  the  audience 
laughing  all  the  time;  and  when  all  the 
presents  were  distributed  the  people 


stayed  until  after  twelve  o'clock,  and 
talked  and  laughed  and  carried  on,  until 
it  really  looked  like  a  genuine  case  of 
"peace  on  earth  and  good  will  to  men." 
I  remember  one  of  our  neighbors  put 
a  butcher  knife  on  the  tree  for  his  wife, 
and  when  Santa  Claus  took  it  down  and 
presented  it  everybody  yelled. 

Old  Joe  was  there  with  his  family,  but 
they  seemed  to  feel  out  of  place.     They 
fidgeted  around  a  good  deal  and  acted 
like  they  would   rather   have  stayed  at 
home.      But  it  wasn't   long   before   the 
name  of  "Joe  McKinney"    was  called 
out.     Immediately  it  was  still,  for  nearly 
everyone  was  "on"  except  Joe  and  his 
family.     It  was  a  big  bundle  of   some- 
thing.    Joe  arose   and  it  was    amusing 
to  see  him.     Afterward  he  said  he  was 
never  so  scared  in  his  life.     He  was  pale" 
and  his  knees  shook  until  you  could  feel 
the  floor  of  the  church  vibrate.     There 
must  have  been  half  of  the  audience  that 
called  out:  "Open  it!     Undo  it!"     Old 
Joe  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  com- 
menced to  untie  the  package.     When  he 
had  finished  he  held  up  a  suit  of  clothes, 
suspenders  and  all;  then  he  sat  down, 
and    everybody    clapped    their    hands. 
After  awhile  Ban  McKinney's  name  was 
called — he  got  a  cap  and  a  pair  of  skates. 
The  children  were  all  well  taken  care  of, 
but  when  it  came  to  Mrs.  McKinney — 
and    she  got  a  nice,  warm   cloak — the 
poor  woman  just  broke  down  and  cried. 
Then   Ban    threw  his  head    back   and 
howled,    the    other    children    followed 
suit,  and  for  five  minutes  it  looked  like 
there  would  have  to  be  a  recess  taken. 
Then  came  candy  and  nuts  for  every- 
one's children,  and  everything  quieted 
down. 

Well,  that  Christmas  was  the  turning 
point  in  Joe's  life.  A  company  opened 
up  a  coal  mine  in  that  township,  and 
Banner  hired  Joe  to  cut  five  thousand 
props.  And  it  was  a  common  talk  that 
no  one  worked  harder  or  better  than  Joe 
did  on  that  job.  After  that  he  always 
had  employment,  and  the  children 


402 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


ceased  to  be  afraid,  and  we  gathered 
wild  grapes  and  nuts,  even,  in  old  Joe's 
dooryard. 


And  here  it  is  Christmas  again,  and 
the  children  living  on  the  expectation  of 
what  Santa  Claus  is  going  to  bring  them, 
and  some  older  people,  too,  who 
ought  to  know  better,  are  anticipating 


something  from  the  same  source. 
Those  realists,  as  they  please  to  call 
themselves,  who  are  ever  anxious  to  dis- 
abuse the  childish  mind  of  the  pious 
fraud,  are  not  down  on  my  visiting  list. 
Of  all  the  times  of  mine  that  Old  Time 
has  stowed  away,  the  best,  I  believe, 
have  been  those  when  I  was  a  child, 
anticipating  Christmas  and  the  presents 
it  brought. 


THE    QUITTING    PLACE 

By    CHRISTOBELLE    VAN    ASMUS    BUNTING 


EVANSTON,       ILLINOIS 


WOULD  you  like  to  put  up  some- 
thing?" Dick  asked  as  he  and 
Peggie  came  up  to  the  track. 

Peggie  laughed.  "Do  you  remember 
the  seventy  apiece  we  made  once?" 

"Do  I?"  said  Dick  smiling  at  her. 
"That  was  one  of  the  events  of  my  life. 
You  were  the  prettiest  girl  there.  I 
wish  you'd  have  another  gown  made  just 
like  the  one  you  wore  that  day." 

"Oh,  how  excited  I  was,"  Peggie 
went  on. 

"You  almost  fell  into  my  arms,''  Dick 
added. 

"And  we  drove  away  back  to  the  city 
in  a  victoria." 

"And  then  trotted  poor  dear  grandma 
out  for  dinner." 

"Yes,  and  the  theater  and  dinner 
again.  We  spent  your  seventy  before 
midnight." 

Dick  laughed. 

"And  the  next  day  I  went  down  and 
spent  mine." 

"What  did  you  get?"  Dick  asked. 

"Why,  I  bought  you  a  locket  for  one 
thing." 

"I've  not  forgotten  that,"  Dick  said 
thinkingly. 

"What's  become  of  it?"  questioned 
Peggie. 


"It's  value  depreciated  after  you 
turned  me  down,  and  I  lost  it." 

Peggie  was  quiet;  then  after  a  moment 
she  said: 

"This  is  a  queer  world,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  very  queer,"  Dick  said  back 
again  —  "but  it  all  turned  out  right." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie,  "I  suppose  so — 
She  was  thinking  of  a  gravestone  marked 
"John   Carroll";    then    she    thought  of 
their  boy  —  and  then  she  said  gaily : 

"It  wouldn't  seem  natural  not  to  put 
up  something."  They  went  together  to- 
ward the  bookies. 

Peggie's  old  luck  stood  by  her  and  she 
and  Dick  were  going  smilingly  away 
when  they  came  face  to  face  with  Louise 
Spaulding  Hudson's  younger  brother. 

"Why,  Stuart  Spaulding!    you  here?" 

"Hello,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  'Dick'.  I'm 
tickled  to  death  to  see  you." 

They  were  joined  by  others  directly, 
and  Peggie  fell  behind  with  Stuart. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  Hot  Springs?" 
Peggie  asked. 

"We're  here  on  our  honeymoon." 

Peggie  looked  astounded. 

"Sure  'nuff,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  I'm  married 
— and  she's  the  nicest  and  dearest  little 
girl  you've  ever  seen." 

"Why  Stuart,"  said  Peggie,  "tell  me 


THE    QUITTING    PLACE 


403 


all  about  it.     Do  your  people  know?" 

"By  this  time— though  I've  not  heard 
from  them.  I  cabled  them  the  next  day. ' ' 

"Oh,  my!"  said  Peggie;  "what  will 
your  mother  say?" 

"She  can't  say  more  than  Puss's 
mother  did.  You  see,  Mrs.  'Dick,' 
'Puss'  and  I  met  at  Stanley  Hampden's 
wedding  in  Memphis.  'Puss'  is  a  Chat- 
tanooga girl  —  and  it  was  love  at  first 
sight." 

''Your  family  is  given  to  that,"  and 
Peggie  laughed. 

"That's  right,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  and— well, 
the  wedding  and  all — everything  together 
with  that  sentimental  flavor,  you  know, 
I  just  proposed  to  'Puss'  we  marry  too. 
So  we  left  on  the  same  train  with  the 
bride  and  groom  and  they  helped  us 
marry  in  the  morning.  We  got  off  at 
some  little  burg  and  tied  the  knot  there." 

"  'Puss'  said  she  knew  I  must  be  all 
right  because  I  was  Stanley's  best  man, 
and  he's  such  a  fine  fellow  —  but 'Puss' 
said  she  knew  I  was  all  right  anyway." 

"I  never  heard  of  such  an  escapade," 
Peggie  said,  looking  down. 

"But  I  was  saying,  'Puss's'  people  got 
hold  of  some  nasty  stories  about  me  — 
and,  well,  they  are  pretty  much  broken 
up.  I  told  'Puss'  to  tell  them  they  were 
invented  lies,  which  she  did.  You  see, 
'Puss'  is  a  very  attractive  girl  and  there 
are  a  heap  of  fellows  in  love  with  her. 
You  can  see  how  such  stories  might 
carry." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Peggie,  "but  they'll 
get  over  that." 

"That's  what  I  told  'Puss'  and  she 
thinks  so,  too.  'Puss's  awfully  game- 
only  cried  once.  You  see  'Puss'  is  a 
mighty  fine  girl  and  awfully  fond  of  her 
people — 'specially  her  mother.  There's 
only  one  thing  troubling  me — >: 

Peggie  looked  sympathetic  and  Stuart 
went  on. 

"  It's  this  way.  Of  course  we  wanted 
to  stay  along  with  Stanley  and  Geraldine, 
so  I  wrote  a  check  for  all  my  bank 
account.  Had  an  even  thousand.  Since 


I've  been  with  Mr.  Gordon.  I've  been 
saving  money.  Well,  a  thousand  dollars 
doesn't  last  long  on  a  honeymoon,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Peggie,  wondering 
what  was  coming. 

"So  that's  nearly  gone,  but  the  mean 
part  of  it  all  is,  old  Gordon  heard  some 
story  and,  you  see,  I  was  to  be  gone  one 
week  and  I  stayed  three,  and — well,  his 
son's  just  out  of  college  and  he's  taken 
my  place." 

"Oh,  Stuart,"  said  Peggie,  and  she 
was  truly  sorry.  "That  is  too  bad.  But 
what  are  you  doing  here?"  she  added 
quickly. 

"This  was  a  convenient  stopping 
place,  and — well,  I  used  to  follow  the 
races  some,  you  know;  I  thought  I  might 
have  a  run  of  luck  to  help  out  till  I  got 
on  my  feet  again.  'Puss'  doesn't  know 
how  matters  stand.  'Puss'  is  a  southern 
girl  and  they  don't  undertsand  much 
about  finances.  She  is  taking  a  usual 
afternoon  nap,  and  I  came  over  here  to 
try  my  luck." 

"Did  you  make  anything?"  asked 
Peggie. 

"Not  much  —  tomorrow's  my  lucky 
day." 

J* 

"I  am  awfully  sorry  for  them,"  Peggie 
said  at  breakfast  one  morning,  while  she 
and  Dick  were  finishing  their  coffee. 
"They  are  hardly  more  than  children, 
and  I  suppose  poor  Stuart  is  desperate." 

"It's  too  bad,"  Dick  agreed.  "I  saw 
him  coming  away  from  the  races  yester- 
day and  I  asked  him  what  luck  he  had. 
'Tomorrow's  my  lucky  day,'  he  said." 

"He  always  says  that.  He's  been 
playing  roulette  the  last  day  or  two. 
Has  he  asked  you  for  any  money?" 
questioned  Peggie. 

"No,  but  I  offered  him  some.  I  told 
him  he'd  better  go  back,  if  he  could. 
'Can't  do  it,  Dick,  old  man,'  he  said. 
'I've  got  to  make  good  first.  Father  is 
furious  and  says  mother  is.  I  could 
win  her  over,  though,  if  she  could  only 


404 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    JANUARY,    1905 


see    'Puss.'        She    is    a    sweet    little 
thing,"    Dick  added. 

"Louise  would  help  them  out," 
Peggie  said. 

"I  suggested  that,  but  Stuart  said  she 
had  gone  away  with  'King'  and  he  could 
not  explain  by  letter." 

"Let's  take  them  home  with  us," 
Peggie  said. 

"I  proposed  that  to  him,  too;  but  he 
wouldn't  listen  to  it.  Said  'Puss'  would 
never  get  over  the  mortification,  and 
so  on." 

II 

On  Thursday,  when  Peggie  was  pack- 
ing to  leave,  she  heard  a  knock  at  the 
door. 

"Come,"  she  called.  "Oh,  come  in, 
Mrs.  Spaulding,"  Peggie  said  cordially, 
as  the  door  opened  timidly.  "You  don't 
mind  my  going  on  with  this,  do  you? 
We  are  leaving  tonight,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Spaulding's  big,  childlike  eyes 
were  red.  She  had  been  weeping. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  lie  down 
there?  "  said  Peggie  carelessly,  pointing 
to  a  couch,  as  Mrs.  "Stuart"  still  kept 
silence. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Kendall,"  she  said. 
"You're  so  good  to  me,"  and  her 
eyes  were  brimming  over. 

"There,"  said  Peggie,  coming  out  of 
a  pile  of  ribbons  and  stocks  and  shoes. 
"Don't  feel  badly,"  she  said,  smoothing 
a  pillow.  "You  just  lie  here  and  rest 
a  little.  It's  awfully  hard  to  be  a  bride. 
Everything  is  so  different.  You  have 
a  nice  husband,  so  don't  you  care.  I've 
known  Stuart  ever  since  he  was  a  wee 
little  toad,  tagging  after  his  sister.  His 
sister,  Mrs.  Kingsley  Hudson,  is  a  dear 
friend  of  mine,  and  you  will  like  one 
another.  The  family  are  all  just  lovely. 
Stuart's  been  unfortunate,  but  he  will 
come  out  all  right." 

Mrs.  "Stuart"  had  been  smiling,  but 
at  Peggie's  last  sentence  she  sat  up  and 
said,  looking  straight  at  Peggie: 

"It's  really  true,  then?' 

"What's  really  true?" 


"Why,  this  morning  I  was  going 
through  Stuart's  suit-case  and  there 
was  a  letter  from  a  Mr.  Gordon,  all 
about  losing  a  position,  and  gambling, 
and  being  a  reprobate,  and  not  appre- 
ciating opportunities,  and  I  don't  know 
what  all.  It  is  Stuart,  then?  "  she  asked 
with  her  big  eyes  on  Peggie. 
Peggie  felt  like  a  criminal. 
"Oh,  it's  not  that  bad,"  she  said,  try- 
ing to  be  most  unconcerned.  "Stuart's 
been  unfortunate,  that's  true.  Mr.  Gor- 
don is  a  horrid  old  bear,  whom  no  one 
can  ever  get  on  with.  Stuart  could  if 
anyone  could,  you  may  be  sure." 

"Bless  his  sugar-plum  heart  —  I  know 
it!  "  said  "Puss,"  smiling  again. 

"And  he  will  get  into  something  else 
right  away,"  Peggie  said  reassuringly. 
"Every  man  has  played  some  —  more  or 
less.  Stuart's  been  very  lucky,  you 
know." 

"No,  he  never  told  me  that,"  "Puss" 
said  regretfully. 

"Now,  you'd  better  come  and  visit  us 
a  month  or  two,  till  you  get  real  well 
acquainted  and  Stuart  gets  on  his  feet, 
and  your  family  and  his  family  both  see 
what  nice  people  you  both  are,  and 
Stuart  gets  located  and  all." 

"Puss"  threw  both  her  plump  arms 
about  Peggie's  neck.  The  little  pink 
dimpled  elbows  stood  out  on  each  side. 

"You  are  the  dearest,  sweetest,  grand- 
est person  in  the  whole  wide  world!  "- 
and   "Puss"    kissed    Peggie  on   either 
cheek. 

"Not  quite,"   said  Peggie,  laughing. 

"Well  almost,"  returned  Mrs.  Spauld- 
ing. 

"Now,  don't  you  weep  any  more," 
said  Peggie. 

"Puss"  was  silent  a  moment;  then 
she  said,  looking  at  her  hands  in  her 
lap: 

"Can  you  sew,  Mrs.  Kendall?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  that?  "  said  Peggie. 

"Puss"  kept  on  looking  at  her  pretty 
hands.  "I  mean  just  little  things — like 
doll's  clothes,  you  know,"  she  said, 


THE    QUITTING    PLACE 


405 


looking  up.     Her  big  brown  eyes  were 
so  appealing. 

"  Bless  your  heart/'  said  Peggie, 
"don't  you  worry  over  that.  With  two 
grandmothers  and  an  aunt  or  two  the 
little  stranger  won't  know  what  to  do 
with  all  the  clothes  it  will  have.  There 
now,"  said  Peggie,  stroking  the  brown, 
wavy  hair,  "  take  a  little  nap.  It  will  be 
good  for  you." 

& 

"Think  of  it!"  said  Peggie  to  Dick 
afterward,  "and  they  are  only  children 
themselves." 

J* 

Stuart  would  not  hear  to  Peggie's  kind 
offer.  It  was  the  occasion  of  his  first 
quarrel  with  "Puss." 

"A  man  couldn't  humiliate  himself 
like  that,"  he  went  on.  "Why,  think  of 
it,  with  my  own  parents  living  in  town! 
On  the  face  of  it  everyone  would  think 
me  in  disgrace,  and  then  what  chance 
would  I  have  to  break  into  anything?" 

"  We  could  say  I  was  an  old  friend  of 
Mrs.  Kendall's,"  "Puss"  ventured. 

"But  you're  not  —  everyone  knows 
that  —  from  the  mere  fact  that  you  call 
her  Mrs.  Kendall." 

"What  should  I  call  her?" 

"  Mrs.  '  Dick  ',  of  course." 

Then  "Puss"  began  to  weep  and 
Stuart  Spaulding  felt  like  a  brute,  and 
after  a  little  he  told  her  so  —  but  she 
kept  on  weeping  until  he  got  angry  again 
and  said  women  were  all  alike,  and  so 
unreasonable,  and  a  great  many  more 
things,  more  or  less  true.  Then  pretty 
soon  "  Puss  "  decided  it  was  all  her  own 
fault  and  that  she  should  never  have 
burdened  him  with  herself  when  she 
knew  he  was  only  "  getting  a  start "  and 
that  she  should  have  waited  a  year  or 
two,  and  many  more  things. 

Stuart  assured  her  again  he  was  a 
brute,  and  then  after  some  kisses  left  her. 

"  I  will  make  it  today,"  he  resolved  to 
himself  as  he  went  down  the  steps — and 
he  did. 


It  was  the  awfullest  night  in  Puss's 
whole  life.  Stuart  did  not  come  back 
for  dinner,  and  she  had  worn  that  baby- 
blue  dress,  too,  that  he  liked  so  well. 
She  had  it  on  the  night  he  proposed  to 
her.  She  went  over  every  little  bit  of 
their  conversation  of  that  night.  How, 
at  the  bridal  supper,  he  had  reached 
over  and  taken  her  hand.  She  felt  the 
hot  blood  in  her  cheeks  now;  and  how 
he  had  said  she  was  prettier  than  the 
bride.  They  had  known  one  another 
only  three  days  then.  And  it  was  while 
old  Dr.  Trueheart  was  saying  grace  that 
he  whispered  and  asked  her  if  she  would 
marry  hm.  How  excited  she  had  been 
and  she  did  not  eat  a  thing.  How  they 
had  hurried  and  how  frightened  she  was 
and — and — and — how  sorry  she  was  they 
had  quarreled.  Never  again  would  it 
happen — never,  never.  And  he  was 
always  so  kind  and  considerate.  She 
glanced  at  the  clock.  It  was  already 
seven.  Where  could  he  be?  He  never 
had  stayed  away  so  long — and  at  dinner 
time,  too.  What  could  it  mean?  Could 
he  have  run  away  and  left  her?  What 
did  that  letter  of  Mr.  Gordon's  say? 
"Reprobate."  Just  what  was  a  "repro- 
bate"— and  a  "gambler?"  Oh,  suppose 
he  had  run  away?  Suppose,  after  all, 
he  did  not  care  for  her?  She  went  to 
the  mirror,  and  when  she  saw  her  own 
eyes  she  began  to  weep.  As  it  grew  later 
remorse  stung  her  for  having  such 
thoughts.  Mrs.  Kendall  —  no,  Mrs. 
"Dick" — knew  him,  and  she  had  said 
he  was  "a  fine  man."  How  could  she 
have  such  thoughts  of  him?  Maybe  he 
was  dead;  maybe  he  had  gone  to  the 
track  and  in  some  way  a  horse  had  killed 
him— or — oh,  God!  maybe  some  ruffian 
had  shot  him,  and  she  fell  on  her  knees 
beside  the  bed  and  prayed:  "Oh,  dear 
God,  bring  him  back  to  me!  Bring  him 
back  to  me!"  She  said  it  over  and 
over  till  at  last  she  was  overcome  by 
mental  fatigue  and  the  big  brown  eyes 
stayed  closed,  and  the  wavy  hair  hung 
over  her  ears,  and  the  child-head  rested 


406 


on  the  pink  elbow,  and  she  was  asleep. 
Unconsciously  she  rose  and  threw  her- 
self on  the  bed,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
rose-gold  and  blue  in  the  far  East 
showed  itself  that  "Puss"  was  awakened. 
He  stood  beside  her  bed  in  the  faint 
gray  of  the  morning. 

"Forgive  me,  'Puss,'"  he  said,  "I 
had  to  do  it;  it's  my  last  game  and  I 
stand  winner. 

"There,  little  girl,"  he  continued  com- 
fortingly, leaning  over  and  kissing  the 
pretty  lips  while  he  put  a  firm  roll  of 
bills  in  her  hand,  "go  to  sleep;  it's  all 
right  now." 

Ill 

It  was  at  Mrs.  Morton  Perry's,  one 
afternoon  some  time  after,  that  Peggie 
met  Mrs.  Spaulding,  Sr. 

"How  is  Stuart?"  Peggie  asked. 

"Very  well;  1  am  expecting  them  here 
next  month." 

"Oh,"  said  Peggie,  "how  nice!  I  did 
not  know  that." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Spaulding,  and  her 
face  was  wreathed  in  smiles.  "Stuart's 
done  very  well  since  his  marriage.  It 
was  a  good  thing  for  him.  I  always  told 
his  father  the  boy  would  settle  down 
when  he  married  —  though,"  and  Mrs. 
Spaulding  sighed  slightly,  "he  was  a 
great  trial  sometimes.  We  have  never 
found  out  where  the  boy  did  get  his 
start.  I  have  an  idea  'Puss's'  father 
helped  them,  though  he  denies  it  strenu- 
ously. We  went  down  to  see  them  on 


our    return    from   England.       I   am  so 
anxious  to  see  'Puss'   and  the  baby." 

"Then  you  have  never  met  her?  " 
Peggie  asked. 

"No,  they  had  left  the  country  before 
we  returned." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"In  South  America.  Stuart  has  a 
large  horse  ranch  in  Uruguay.  Raises 
horses  for  their  hair — for  mattresses,  you 
know." 

"Really,  how  interesting,"  said  Peg- 
gie. "And  he  is  doing  well?  " 

"Yes,"    answered    Mrs.     Spaulding, 
smiling.     "I   think   Stuart    will  be  the 
millionaire  of  the  family." 
4 

"I  think  it  was  your  loan  gave  them 
their  start,"  said  Peggie  to  Dick  that 
night  at  dinner.  "How  much  did 
Stuart  borrow?" 

"I  let  him  have  three  hundred  fifty, 
and  he  sent  it  back  two  days  afterward. 
I  thought  he  had  changed  his  mind." 

"No,  that  was  it,"  said  Peggie.  "I'm 
so  glad  —  and  he  was  young  enough  to 
learn  a  lesson." 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  "he  is  what  one 
would  call  a  lucky  dog.  There  are  many 
different  kinds  of  luck,"  he  continued, 
striking  a  match. 

Dick  turned  down  all  the  lights  except 
the  yellow  lamp. 

"Play  something,  will  you,  Peggie?" 
he  asked,  as  he  threw  himself  content- 
edly among  the  pillows  in  a  corner  of  the 
music  room. 


INKLINGS    j*    By   William    M.   Blatt 


li/HEN  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to 
*•  find  fault  with  somebody,  nothing  is 
more  irritating  *han  to  find  his  conduct  there- 
after unobjectionable. 

When  a  man  remarks  that  honesty  is  the 
best  policy  he  is  not  usually  talking  about 
himself.  His  theory  about  himself  is  that 
rigid  adherence  to  the  virtues  is  responsible 
for  his  misfortunes. 


Seven  heavens  are  really  too  many,  but 
there  should  be  at  least  three — the  highest 
for  those  who  were  right,  yet  failed;  the 
second  for  those  who  were  right  and  sue* 
ceeded;  the  third  for  the  wrong  who  were 
unsuccessful. 

The  social  millennium  will  not  have 
arrived  until  every  man  is  richer  than  his 
neighbors. 


LEAVES     FROM     A    REPORTER'S 

NOTE     BOOK 

ii. 

A    TWENTY-MINUTE     STUDY     OF     GERTRUDE    ATHERTON 

By     ETHEL     ARMES 

BIRMINGHAM,       ALABAMA 


IT  was  in  a  K  street  boarding  house — 
one  that  withdrew  haughtily  from  the 
pavement  —  stepping  back  on  a  faded 
green  terrace.  Somehow,  all  of  the 
houses  around  there,  a  stone's  throw 
from  Franklin  Park,  have  that  same  ex- 
clusive, shabby-genteel  look,  having 
been  built  long  ago  by  the  old  families 
but  since  left,  perforce  of  circumstances, 
to  shift  quite  for  themselves. 

"But  I  really  fancy  the  house,"  Ger- 
trude Atherton  said,  "one  meets  just 
the  people  one  needs  —  for  a  book  on 
Washington  life."  She  was  then  out  in 
the  hue  and  cry — the  chase  for  her  per- 
sonnel of  "Senator  North."  Already  I 
saw  the  brush  swinging  at  her  saddle 
horn. 

The  energy  of  her!  The  flash,  the 
force,  the  grit  of  her!  It  was  great. 

In  spite  of  her  yellow  bangs,  which 
persisted  in  obtruding  themselves  when 
I  wanted  her  brow  and  her  eyes.  Her 
features,  under  that  yellow  mass,  are 
small,  irregular,  her  chin  stout,  her  com- 
plexion full  colored,  almost  red,  like 
a  healthy  English  woman's;  her  eyes 
Teutonic  blue,  swift,  arrow  glances,  wide 
awake,  brilliant  as  her  wit. 

She  talks  —  so  many  words  to  one 
breath — it  is  hard  to  keep  pace,  and  her 
accent  is  thoroughly  British. 

"So  are — my — sentiments,"  she  ex- 
claimed when  I  wondered  where  her 
American  had  all  gone.  "Yet  I  fully 
intended  never  to  become  English  at 
all,  don't  you  know;  but  I  actually  do 
find  myself  looking  at  everything  and 
everybody  American  from  the  true  Brit- 
isher's standpoint.  It  has  really  been 


an  unconscious  change,  but  it  happens 
to  be  the  very  thing  I  want  most  for  my 
new  book,  so  I  won't  have  to  work  for 
it,  you  know.  Genuine  attitudes,  if  one 
can  get  them,  are  so  much  better  than 
make  believe  or  acquired  ones — don't 
you  think  so?  " 

We  were  sitting  cozily  in  her  bedroom 
— every  touch  the  typical  boarding-house 
third-story  back  —  except  for  some  two 
or  three  favorite  books  of  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton's  concerning  those  men  of  achieve- 
ment, Cecil  Rhodes  and  Alexander 
Hamilton,  for  even  then  she  was  look- 
ing forward  to  a  new  vista,  beyond  her 
Winter's  hunt  for  "Senator  North,"  to 
the  Spring — fresh  and  vigorous — of  an- 
other book,  "The  Conqueror." 

"Whatever  you  write  of  me,  at  least 
please  don't  speak  of  me  as  'a  little 
woman,'  "  Mrs.  Atherton  suddenly  re- 
marked. "I  hate  the  phrase!  " 

I  had  been  looking  at  her  some  mo- 
ments, reflecting  that  she  was  indeed 
little  but  she  was  tough.  I  had  no  doubt 
but  that  she  had  ridden  bareback  as 
a  girl,  had  lassoed  wild  steers,  perhaps, 
so  I  asked  her  if  she  had  not  once  been 
an  incorrigible  tomboy. 

"I  should  rather  fancy  I  was!"  she 
cried,  a  gleam  of  fun  twinkling  in  her 
eyes.  "I  tore  around  my  grandfather's 
ranch  in  California  like  a  wild  colt. 
Nobody  could  break  me  in.  I  got  a 
spanking  every  day  of  my  life  —  I  was 
as  bad  as  I  could  be — always  running 
away,  always  kicking  up  mischief,  don't 
you  know.  Even  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly 
didn't  tame  me  down,  and  I  was  set 
early  to  browse  in  his  pasture  and 


408 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   JANUARY,    1905 


GERTRUDE      ATHERTON,      AMERICAN      NOVELIST      AND      STORY      TELLER 

Author  of  "Rulers  of  Kings,"  "Senator  North,"  "The  Conqueror,"  etc. 

Courtesy  of  Harper  &  Brothers 


LEAVES  FROM  A  REPORTER'S  NOTE  BOOK 


409 


through  the  forests  and  over  the  heather 
hills  of  Sir  Walter.     You  see  my  grand- 
father   had    an    old-fashioned    library, 
nothing  but  Platos,  Humes,    Maculays, 
Gibbons,  Scotts,  Thackerays — he  hadn't 
a  later  English  book  to  his  name,  and 
not  one  American  in  the  collection,  not 
even  Irving,  and  I  never  heard  of  Haw- 
thorne   or  .read  'The    Scarlet  Letter' 
until  after  my  marriage.     So  I  was  fed 
on  the  old  stuff  as  I  chose  to  eat, — good 
bran  mesh  it  was  too,  but  I  longed  for 
the  oats,  wild  savage  tales!     Oh,  I  was 
always  longing  with  such  a  beating  heart 
for  adventures — and    I  had   no  adven- 
tures!    The    only  exciting  things   that 
ever  happened  to  me  I  dreamed.    The 
first  things  I  ever  wanted  to  write  were 
stories  of  adventure  for  boys — full   of 
brave  deeds  and  narrow  escapes.     But 
I  had  the  tamest,  most  uneventful,  lonely 
life  you  ever  heard  of  —  as  a  girl.     Yes, 
I  was  an  only  child — one  reason  perhaps 
why    I   was    so    utterly    spoiled.      My 
mother  was  a  southern  woman,  and  she 
was  very   beautiful.     I  used  to  admire 
everything    of    hers,    her    dresses,    her 
laces,  her  jewels,  even  her  powder  puff. 
I  watched  her  numerous  visitors,  —  she 
always  had  whole  strings  of  admirers. 
Then  when  they  began  to  come  I  would 
fly  away  to  the  pasture  and  look  at  the 
long  line  of  buggies  and  buckboards — 
from  a  distance  —  then  plunge  into  the 
woods.     My  mother  never  failed  to  send 
the  admirers  who  bored  her  to  hunt  for 
me,   and  it  was  a  wild    goose   chase! 
When  I  chose  to  be  found  I  would  be. 
So  1  grew  up  in  that  fashion,  out  on  the 
ranch  with  the  horses,  in  the  woods  and 
in  my  grandfather's  library.     Yes,  I  did 
go    to    school,    a    boarding    school   in 
Kentucky,  just  a  dash  of  it,  then  back 
again  to  San  Francisco,  where    I   was 
married  at  seventeen — and  I  went  to  live 
— in  —  Menlo   Park!"      Mrs.    Atherton 
drew  a  long  breath.    "Menlo  Park!    Did 
you  ever  see  it?    Did  you  ever  hear  of 
it?     Oh,  you  do  not  want  to.     It  is  a 
beastly  place— one  of  those  miserable, 


exclusive  suburbs  just  outside  of  'Frisco, 
done  into  conventional  sets  and  patches 
like  a  crazy  quilt.     It  has  a  fence — so 
high — all  'round  it.     It  is  laced  to  death. 
Aristocracy,  dating  from  1849,  draws  its 
skirts  about  its  heels  and  would  not  so 
much  as  dust  its  feet  in  so  mean  a  thing 
as  a  San   Francisco  street.     Imagine — 
Me — and  It!     No,  I  did  not  write  any 
books  then.     To  be  literary — that  was 
a  mortal  sin,  a  crime,  in  Menlo  Park. 
And  I, — I  was  crazy  to  write.     I  do  not 
remember  the  time  when  I  wasn't,  but 
my  husband  was  bitterly  opposed  to  it. 
It  was  really  not  until  a  comparatively 
short  time  ago  that  I  published  my  first 
books, —  "Patience    Sparhawk,"    "The 
Californians,"    "American   Wives    and 
English    Husbands."       No  !     I    lived, 
stifled,     asthmatic  —  in     Menlo    Park, 
among  the  windbags  of  California.     It 
is  full  of  windbags,  don't  you  know.     I 
think  it  has  the  greatest  percentage  of 
dead  failures  of  any  state  in  the  Union. 
"How    I    love  to  abuse    California! 
San  Francisco, — has  burned  me  in  the 
market  place!      Perhaps   it   thought  it 
was  burning  Savonarola,  not  knowing, 
though" — Gertrude  Atherton  looked  mis- 
chievous— "I- -I  might  be  all  the  jewels 
and   all  the  art  it  could   ever  have!" 
She  laughed,  such  a  jolly,  ringing  little 
laugh.     "Every  time  there  is  a  particu- 
larly vicious  attack   against  me  or  my 
books,  in  any  American  paper  or  maga- 
zine, it  can   usually  be  traced  back  to 
some  disappointed  Californian.     But  I 
really  do  think  that  all  Americans,  in 
spite  of  the  boast  otherwise,  have  down 
at  heart  the  most  violent  objection  to 
innovations  of  any  kind.     If  you  attempt 
to  make  any  you  are  stormed  down,  or — 
they  try  it  anyhow.     There  is  very  little 
true  courtesy  among  the  American  men 
as  a  whole — how  is  it  in  the  South?    If 
it  is  anywhere  in  America,  I   suppose 
one  would  see  it  there;  or  are  they,  too, 
windbags? 

"London  is  the  only  place  fit  to  live 
in,  anyhow.     We  get  along  famously — 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


London  and  I!  One  thing  about  Lon- 
don: nearly  all  the  English  women  one 
meets  know  things.  They  comprehend 
the  fascinations  — and  somewhat  the 
machinery,  too — of  politics.  What  study 
is  there  more  interesting,  more  absorb- 
ing? Yes,  my  field  now.  And  London 
is  my  own  home.  After  a  trip  to 
America  looking  twice,  and  thrice,  I  turn 
into  a  veritable  Lot's  wife  and  I  must 
summon  a  genii  to  carry  me  back  to 
London  and  dose  me  with  sugar  and 
pour  honey  over  me — and  make  me  my- 
self again! " 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  of  the  humor 
up  her  sleeve. 

I  thought  of  Stoddard's  words  the  day 
before,  as  he  had  given  me  the  little 
letter  to  her:  "You  will  find  Gertrude 
Atherton  a  good  fellow  straight  through ! 
And  she  is  an  immensely  clever  woman 
— more  than  that,  she  is  a  genius.  'Pa- 
tience Sparhawk  and  Her  Times'  is  one 
of  the  truest  books  of  California  ever 


written.  It  is  wonderful  —  and  she  is 
wonderful." 

Yes,  she  is  one  who  rides  always 
where  other  women  walk,  at  some  glori- 
ous gallop  over  the  stubble  fields,  never 
shirking  a  stone  wall  or  a  water  jump, 
plunging  fearless  into  the  forest,  stick- 
ing to  the  trail  in  the  sound  of  bugle  calls 
and  baying  of  the  hounds— the  first  in 
at  the  death. 

But  she  has  her  quiet  pauses  under 
the  shade  of  trees ! 

"When  I  am  writing  my  books,"  she 
said,  "I  usually  go  to  a  far  away,  out  of 
the  way  little  place,  perhaps  some  pic- 
turesque little  village  on  the  Continent, 
where  tourists  never  come,  where  no- 
body speaks  English  except  myself,  and 
there  I  shut  my  eyes  and  my  ears  and 
live  with  my  book  people.  When  I  get 
tired  of  writing  I  walk — there  is  always 
something  to  see,  you  know  —  and  there 
is  always  beautiful  music." 


CANNY    JEANIE    DEANS 

A   HORSE    STORY    OF   THE   SCHUNEMUNK    MOUNTAINS 

By    CHARLES    H.     BARRELL 

JERSEY       CITY,       NEW      JERSEY 


SOME  years  ago  I  took  a  backwoods 
cruise,  afoot,  through  the  Schune- 
munk  mountains.  It  was  Indian  Sum- 
mer, the  ideal  season  for  a  walking  tour, 
and  during  the  whole  two  weeks  of  my 
vacation  I  tasted  those  joys  which  only 
the  pedestrian  can  know— the  joys  of  the 
open  road.  The  noisy  boarder  had  de- 
camped, the  first  frosts  had  split  open 
the  chestnut  burrs  and  set  the  nuts  drop- 
ping, the  roads  were  hard  and  smooth 
almost  as  asphalt,  and  with  every 
breath  of  the  clean,  spicy  October 
air  of  the  mountains  I  seemed  to  in- 
hale vigor  and  health  undreamed  of. 


It  is  a  great  privilege  merely  to  be 
alive  in  such  weather;  and  there  must 
surely  be  something  wrong  with  the  man 
who  is  afoot  at  this  time  of  the  year, 
sniffing  the  delightful  woodsy  perfumes, 
listening  to  the  gossip  of  the  chipmunks, 
the  quail's  alluring  whistle,  seeing  the 
purple  haze  on  the  hills  and  the  rich 
russet  and  gold  of  the  woods  and  way- 
side thickets,  who  does  not  feel  the  old 
primeval  passions  stirring  in  his  blood, 
and  experience  a  deep,  overmastering 
joy  in  reeling  off  the  miles.  Late  one 
afternoon,  just  as  the  sun  was  setting, 
I  swung  into  one  of  the  quaint  little 


CANNY   JEANIE    DEANS 


411 


mountain  hamlets  in  quest  of  supper  and 
a  lodging  for  the  night.  There  was  only 
one  tavern  in  the  place— a  low,  wide- 
porched,  antique  building,  with  a  pictur- 
esque old  alestake  still  standing  before 
it,  and  a  ramshackle  wagon  shed  on  one 
side. 

I  found  the  proprietor  in  the  taproom, 
leaning  on  both  elbows  over  the  bar  and 
fingering  a  dog-eared  ledger.  He  looked 
me  over  with  a  speculative  stare,  and 
took  his  own  time  in  answering  my  in- 
quiry as  to  whether  I  could  procure  sup- 
per and  a  bed.  He  was  not  a  handsome 
person  by  any  means,  was  Abimelech 
Hopper,  being  lantern-jawed  and  rather 
stooped  of  shoulders,  but  he  had  the 
honest  eyes  of  the  mountain  people,  and 
a  drawl  that  would  have  made  his  for- 
tune on  the  stage.  As  it  turned  out  he 
was  also  an  excellent  host. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  sat  in  the  dim-lit 
eating-room  regaling  myself  with  a 
steaming  bowl  of  pea  soup,  some  but 
tered  greens,  and  a  sandwich  of  brown 
bread  and  cheese,  while  mine  host,  in 
cheerful  defiance  of  convention,  rested 
near  at  hand  in  a  chair  turned  back  fore- 
most, and  aided  digestion  with  questions 
and  comments  both  novel  and  amusing. 
When  I  had  appeased  my  hunger,  we 
passed  out  into  the  bar-room  again,  where 
a  lank  youth,  who  closely  resembled  the 
landlord,  now  presided. 

Three  or  four  loafers  were  distributed 
about  the  room,  smoking— and  evidently 
discussing  the  late  arrival,  judging  from 
the  abrupt  cessation  of  their  talk  upon 
my  entrance.  Hopper  gave  me  an  in- 
formal introduction  to  the  assemblage. 
I  shook  hands  in  turn  with  Dib  Par- 
sons, Hank  Springer,  Hiram  Hippie  (or 
"Hipe"  as  his  friends  knew  him,)  Rawl 
Willis,  and  the  guardian  of  the  drink- 
ables, who  was  also  Zimri  Hopper,  the 
first-born  of  mine  host. 

Then  I  found  a  chair  next  Dib  Par- 
sons, and  in  order  to  satisfy  the  common 
curiosity  of  my  companions  volunteered 
a  brief  account  of  my  trip  through  the 


region.  This  gave  me  a  chance  to  study 
the  faces  of  the  company  and  learn 
something  of  the  chronic  village  loafer, 
of  whom  I  had  so  often  read. 

To  my  mind  Dib  Parsons  appeared  to 
be  the  raciest  of  the  soil.  Just  what  his 
age  was  it  would  be  impossible  to  state, 
though  it  doubtless  lay  somewhere  be- 
tween forty-five  and  sixty.  His  large, 
gray  optics  were  set  rather  wide  apart, 
which  lent  a  curious,  wall-eyed  effect  to 
his  countenance,  and  when  he  talked  he 
sunk  his  head  a  trifle  forward  and  at 
each  pause  in  his  conversation  he  would 
close  one  corner  of  his  mouth  tight  and 
fix  his  listener  with  a  droll,  hypnotic 
stare.  His  lips  were  blue  from  long 
years  of  shaving,  and  he  had  the  long, 
drooping  nose  of  the  natural-born 
humorist.  He  wore  a  superannuated, 
cutaway  coat,  which  had  originally  been 
black  but  was  now  faded  by  sun  and 
weather  to  a  strange  sea-green. 

I  had  just  about  brought  my  remarks 
to  a  close,  when  there,  sounded  a  clatter 
of  hoofs  through  the  open  doorway  of 
the  inn  and  the  noise  of  a  wagon  turning 
in  by  the  shed.  Hank  Springer  ambled 
leisurely  to  the  threshold  to  learn  the 
identity  of  the  new  comer.  I  arose  and 
joined  him. 

"Who  is  it?"  I  inquired. 

"Oh,  only  old  Gus  McGregor  and 
Jeanie  Deans,"  he  replied,  without  en- 
thusiasm. 

Dib  Parsons  had  followed  us. 

"Yes,  that's  them,  right  enough,"  he 
affirmed,  "an  I  sp'ose  you  boys'll  be  in 
fer  a  game  o'  rounce  now.  Ever  play 
rounce?"  he  added,  addressing  me.  I 
had  not. 

"Well,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "it's 
a  ruther  interesting  game — as  games  go, 
but  I  don't  take  no  stock  in  none  of  'em 
these  days." 

The  old  eccentric  puffed  a  mouth- 
ful or  two  of  smoke  from  his  blackened 
stub  of  a  pipe  with  the  air  of  one  who 
has  seen  life  and  met  adventures  and 
would  not  object  to  relating  a  few  of  his 


412 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   JANUARY,    1905 


experiences  to  a  sympathetic  auditor. 
I  daresay  I  succeeded  in  expressing  my 
interest,  for  during  the  next  two  or  three 
minutes  the  rustic  wag  entertained  me 
with  a  vivid  and  highly  humorous  ac- 
count of  how  he  and  his  boyish  partner 
had  been  cured  of  gambling  by  the  hard 
right  fist  of  the  town  constable. 

"That  was  over  thirty  years  ago,"  he 
declared  in  conclusion,  "but  the  thrash- 
ing I  got  that  day  certainly  killed  my 
int'rest  in  games  forever."  He  rubbed 
his  hip  with  a  melancholy  shake  of  the 
head.  "D'you  know,  young  feller,  I 
hain't  never  had  the  nerve  to  tetch  a  card 
n'r  a  domino  sence." 

While  Dib  .Parsons  had  been  talking 
he  and  I  had  passed  down  the  tavern 
steps  and  sauntered  around  to  the 
wagon-shed,  where  Angus  McGregor  was 
tying  up  his  horse.  I  was  laughing  over 
my  companion's  story  as  we  came  up  by 
the  old  Scotchman,  so  I  could  merely 
bow  an  idiotic  acknowledgement  of  his 
cherry  "good  evening."  There  was  still 
light  enough  in  the  heavens  to  reveal  the 
aspect  of  the  man  and  his  beast. 

Angus  McGregor  was  a  small,  lean 
man,  with  a  face  much  seamed  and 
freckled  from  long  contact  with  the  ele- 
ments. He  was  probably  on  the  further 
side  of  sixty,  though  his  thin,  sandy  mus- 
tache was  rather  more  red  than  white  in 
color.  He  had  the  grave,  patient  eyes 
and  the  self-reliant  gentleness  of  one  who 
has  dwelt  much  in  the  Silent  Places. 
Dib  Parsons  told  me  later  that  as  a 
young  man  McGregor  had  worked  under 
Stevenson,  the  great  light-house  builder. 
It  had  been  his  custom  for  the  past  ten 
years,  Dib  said,  to  drive  to  town  once 
a  week  to  get  his  newspaper,  and  play 
a  game  of  dominoes  with  the  oracles  of 
the  tavern. 

But  it  was  the  old  Scotchman's  little 
mare,  Jeanie  Deans,  that  claimed  the 
greater  share  of  my  attention.  She  was 
one  of  the  most  captivating  specimens 
of  equine  beauty  I  have  ever  beheld. 
That  evening,  as  I  stood  beside  her  in 


the  half-light  of  the  shed,  her  master  told 
rne  she  was  twenty-two  years  old,  but 
like  Kipling's  "Venus  Annodomini,"  it 
seemed  youth  had  been  a  habit  of  hers 
for  so  long  that  she  could  not  part  with 
it.  She  was  a  pure  golden  sorrel,  deep- 
chested,  clean-limbed,  and  built  low  and 
long  for  speed.  Her  head  was  delicately 
formed,  with  big,  soulful,  brown  eyes, 
like  those  of  an  Irish  setter,  while  the 
hair  of  her  mane  and  forelock  was  fine, 
almost,  as  a  woman's.  She  followed 
McGregor  about  continually  with  her 
eyes,  and  when  he  patted  her  nose  and 
called  her  endearing  names  in  the  broad 
Scotch  dialect,  it  seemed  as  though  she 
were  actually  going  to  speak  to  him. 
I  fell  in  love  with  her  on  the  spot. 

Parsons  and  McGregor  chatted  a 
moment  or  two  about  local  matters,  while 
I  employed  the  time  in  making  friends 
with  Jeanie.  Then  the  Scotchman 
passed  on  around  to  the  taproom  and 
his  game  of  dominoes,  leaving  Dib  and 
me  alone  with  the  mare. 

"Ain't  she  a  beauty,  though?"  re- 
marked my  companion,  as  he  noted  my 
glances  of  admiration. 

I  owned  enthusiastically  that  she  cer- 
tainly was. 

"Well,"  the  old  fellow  went  on, 
"Jeanie's  gettin'  pretty  old,  now,  and 
the  lameness  has  taken  a  good  bit  o'  the 
edge  off  her  speed,  but  for  over  ten 
years  she  was  the  fastest  thing  in  this 
county,  and  as  a  road  traveler  I  don't 
believe  there  was  two  horses  in  the  hull 
state  could  show  her  their  heels.  I've 
heerd  old  Gus  say  time  and  ag'in  that 
he's  had  more  men  cuss  him  behind  his 
back  when  he  was  drivin'  Jeanie  than 
he'd  have  in  three  lifetimes  if  he'd 
walked.  And  she's  got  grit,  too — always 
trots  up  hill  unless  Gus  pulls  her  in. 
Why,  Gus  could  be  livin'  like  a  prince 
now  if  he'd  'a'  put  her  on  the  track 
when  she  was  in  her  prime.  She'd 
never  'a'  let  them  nags  over  't  Goshen 
pass  her — not  on  your  life  —  she'd  'a' 
pulled  her  heart  in  two,  first.  And  yet, 


CANNY    JEANIE    DEANS 


with  it  all,  she  is  gentle's  a  kitten.  You 
kin  see  that  yourself.  They  say  Old 
Hambletonian  was  ugly's  a  bull  buffalo, 
but  I  reckon  disposition  ain't  always  in- 
herited, f'r  Jeanie's  his  own  grand- 
daughter." 

The  worthy  Mr.  Parsons  halted  for 
a  space  to  puff  complacently  and  let  the 
full  significance  of  his  encomium  soak 
into  my  comprehension.  And,  making 
all  due  allowance  for  the  prejudice  which 
very  naturally  colored  his  sentiments,  it 
was  nevertheless  plain  that  the  little 
mare's  lines  were  unquestionably  the 
lines  of  the  thoroughbred.  However,  it 
was  not  her  distinguished  pedigree, 
alluded  to  by  Parsons,  that  impressed 
me.  I  had  heard  the  old  gossip  say 
lameness  had  taken  the  edge  off  her 
speed,  and  it  seemed  to  me  a  pitiable 
circumstance  that  so  fine  a  creature  as 
the  little  sorrel  mare  should  be  obliged 
to  limp  like  a  veritable  huckster's  nag. 
How  had  it  happened?  To  whose  care- 
lessness was  it  due?  Surely  not  her 
present  master's. 

"Well,  that  is  a  shame,"  I  broke  out 
abruptly.  "Whose  fault  was  it,  do  you 
know?  " 

"Whose  fault?"  the  old  fellow  repeated 
in  a  puzzled  tone.  "Whose  fault?  Why 
say,  you're  the  first  I  ever  heerd  of  that 
thought  't  was  a  fault  to  breed  from 
Hambletonian.  I  just  wish  I'd  owned 
two  or  three  of  his  colts — you  kin  lay 
I  wouldn't  be  loafin'  'round  these  dig- 
gin's  now." 

I  smiled  when  I  realized  the  ridiculous 
construction  that  Dib  had  put  upon  my 
words.  When  I  had  explained  myself 
he  said: 

"No,  she's  not  spavined.  McGregor 
wasn't  to  blame — although  if  he'd  been 
drivin'  that  day  I  don't  think  't  would 
'a*  ever  happened.  Tell  you  about  it? 
All  right;  but  let's  go  up  there  and  set 
on  the  side  porch.  I  can  always  talk 
best  settin'  down.  Pipe  draws  best,  too." 

So  I  gave  Jeanie  a  good-night  pat  on 
the  flank  and  we  betook  ourselves  to  the 


side  porch,  which  faced  the  wagon-shed, 
and  ensconced  ourselves  comfortably  in 
wide-armed  hickory  chairs. 

"Now,  then,"  said  I  to  Dib,  "here's 
a  match  for  your  pipe,  colonel;  light  up 
and  fire  away." 

Through  the  open  bar-room  windows 
on  our  right  came  the  rattle  of  dominoes 
on  the  bare  deal  table  within,  and  now 
and  then  indistinct  words  from  the  play- 
ers. But  these  sounds  were  not  loud 
enough  to  interrupt  the  flow  of  my  com- 
panion's discourse. 

"Let's  see,  now,"  he  began,  crisply. 
"'  Twas  about  seven  years  ago  —  before 
Amos  Reeves  had  started  his  creamery 
over  at  Washingtonville — that  some  of 
the  boys  got  together  and  arranged  f'r 
a  picnic  over  at  Kimball's  Lake.  You 
must  know  where  that  is,  f'r  you  said 
you  come  by  there  this  afternoon.  It's 
over  back  of  the  mountain,  here,  and  if 
you  remember  the  road,  you'll  know  that 
in  some  places  it's  only  a  narrow  ledge 
on  the  side  of  a  cliff.  Even  now  there's 
a  stretch  there  of  fifty  yards  or  so  that 
it  takes  a  pretty  steady  driver  to  guide 
a  team  over;  but  it's  a  king's  highway 
now  to  what  'twas  then.  There  uster  be 
a  big  boulder  that  hung  out  over  the 
road  in  one  of  the  narrowest  places,  and 
if  a  feller  wasn't  careful  about  the  way 
he  swung  out,  his  wheel  was  liable  to  hit 
the  rock  and  topple  him  over  in  the  tree- 
tops  fifty  feet  below.  More  than  one  o' 
the  boys  had  come  near  goin'  over  there, 
and  the  roadmaster  was  always  a-goin'  to 
have  the  blamed  stone  blasted  out,  but 
somehow  the  work  never  got  done — not 
tell  after  we'd  run  off  that  picnic.  Then 
we  seen  to  it  that  the  road  was  put  in 
decent  shape. 

"Well,  we  got  up  the  picnic  f'r  the 
Fourth  o'  July  and  envited  about  every- 
body in  the  township  to  come — there 
was  four  big  wagon-loads  of  'em — men, 
women,  children  and  a  hull  passel  o' 
city  boarders.  Sam  Wardner  drove  one 
team,  Dave  Carmody  another,  Hank 
Springer  had  his  big  buckskin  and 


414 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


Jeanie  Deans,  and  old  Gus  McGregor 
drove  the  pair  of  grays  that  he  uster  own 
then.  It  was  one  o'  the  jolliest  pic- 
nickin'  crowds,  I  reckon,  that  was  ever 
got  together.  We  had  grub  enough  to 
feed  a  respectable  army,  and  the  young- 
sters had  firecrackers,  and  two  or  three 
of  the  city  boarders  had  brought  along 
banjos  and  them  other  things  made  o' 
striped  wood  that  you  kin  pick  tunes  out 
of  with  little  hunks  o'  bone.  Gosh!  but 
wasn't  that  a  lark!  We  was  singin'  and 
yellin'  and  carryin'  on  all  the  way  over 
to  the  lake.  It  was  almost  as  much 
fun's  a  straw  ride  in  Winter.  I  s'pose 
I  do  look  ruther  oldish,  now,  and  a  bit 
run  down  at  the  heel,  but  when  I'm 
trussed  up  in  a  clean  collar,  with  my 
black  broadcloth  on,  to  go  out  with  the 
boys,  I  tell  you  what,  young  feller,  I  kin 
sashay  along  with  the  spryest.  I  rode 
in  Hank  Springer's  wagon  that  day. 
Now  Hank's  one  of  the  rankest — yes, 
the  rankest  driver  on  the  mountain.  He 
holds  his  reins  too  tight.  And  that's 
one  of  the  things  I  never  could  under- 
stand— why  a  lazy,  shiftless  cuss  like 
Hank  Springer  should  suddenly  whop 
over  when  it  comes  to  drivin'  a  horse, 
and  waste  more  energy  in  draggin'  on 
the  bit  than  he'd  use  up  in  six  months 
spadin'  garden  or  mowin'  his  dooryard. 
It  ain't  reasonable.  Well,  as  I  was 
a-sayin',  Hank  drove  his  buckskin  and 
McGregor's  Jeanie  hitched  together. 
The  buckskin  was  a  big,  raw-boned, 
headstrong  devil,  with  about  as  much 
gumption  as  a  horse  that  Hank  owned 
would  be  apt  to  have.  He  was  always 
makin'  believe  that  he  was  a  skittish 
young  colt,  .and  if  a  newspaper  blew 
across  the  road  in  front  o'  him,  or  he 
heerd  a  clap  o'  thunder,  why,  he  was 
right  up  in  the  air  in  a  second.  I  s'pose 
Hank  kept  his  nerves  on  edge  most  of 
the  time,  too,  by  haulin'  on  his  mouth. 
McGregor  had  let  Hank  have  Jeanie 
so^s  to  sorter  steady  the  buckskin  down. 
'Twas  a  blessed  thing  he  did,  I  kin 
tell  you.  I  owe  it  t'  that  little  sorrel 


mare  that  I'm  settin'  here  tonight  in 
a  whole  hide,  and  so  does  the  others  that 
was  in  Springer's  wagon  that  day. 

"Well,  we  fished  and  swum  and  played 
games,  and  stuffed  ourselves,  and  sot  off 
fire-crackers  over  there  at  the  lake — just 
like  a  gang  of  overgrown  youngsters  — 
tell  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
Then  we  noticed  a  bank  of  thunderheads 
in  the  West,  and  we  knew  it  wouldn't  do 
to  be  caught  out  in  a  storm  with  all  them 
women  and  children, so  we  rustled  around 
and  got  the  teams  hitched  up,  and  in 
about  half  an  hour  they  was  all  loaded 
into  the  wagons  and  we'd  started  to  pull 
f'r  home.  Hank  led  off,  with  McGregor 
close  behind,  and  Wardner  and  Carmody 
follerin'  in  order.  But  by  this  time  the 
storm  cloud  in  the  West  had  spread  'way 
up  the  sky  like  a  big,  black  velvet  fan, 
and  we  could  see  the  lightnin'  zigzag- 
gin'  around  through  it,  and  now  and  then 
hear  the  thunder  grumblin'. 

"You  know  after  leavin'  the  lake  you 
have  to  begin  to  climb  the  mountain 
almost  right  off.  It's  a  good  forty 
minutes'  pull  with  a  team  before  you 
reach  the  top,  and  then  you've  got  to 
come  down  this  side  f'r  a  piece  almost 
as  slew's  you  went  up  the  other,  f'r  that^s 
where  the  road's  so  narrow.  The  storm 
kept  gittin'  closer  'n'  closer  all  the  while 
we  was  goin'  up,  an'  the  buckskin  'gun 
to  git  nervous  as  the  thunder  sounded 
sharper.  So  Hank  kept  draggin'  on  the 
bit  and  worryin'  him,  tell  he  was  fairly 
in  a  lather.  I  felt  sorter  uneasy  myself, 
f'r  I  knew  what  an  ungodly  specimen 
Hank  was  with  the  ribbons,  and  I  tried 
to  make  him  let  me  or  one  the  others 
drive,  but  he  wouldn't  hear  to  it.  He 
said  he  was  the  only  one  that  could  man- 
age the  buckskin.  So  I  give  it  up,  and 
'gun  to  tell  the  women  stories  to  take 
their  minds  off  the  thunder  storm,  which 
they  was  all  scared  to  death  of. 

"We  had  just  made  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  and  started  to  come  down  this 
side  when  the  storm  struck  us.  Of 
course  the  women  let  loose  a  few  screams 


CANNY    JEANIE     DEANS 


4'5 


when  the  raindrops  commenced  to  patter 
on  their  bonnets  —  and  at  that  the  buck- 
skin 'gun  to  dance  around  in  the  road 
and  carry  on  like  the  fool  he  was.  1 
jumped  up  to  help  Hank  hold  him  in, 
but  just  then  there  come  a  blindin'  flare 
o'  lightnin'  that  split  the  sky  right  open 
before  us,  and  with  it  a  hair-raisin'  roar 
o'  thunder.  I  s'pose  you  city  chaps 
ain't  got  no  idea  of  the  brand  o'  thunder 
we  manufacture  up  in  these  mountains — 
well,  then,  you've  got  somethin'  to  learn 
before  you  die.  Take  a  dozen  loaded 
anvil  and  put  two  or  three  kegs  o'  dyni- 
rnike  under  'em,  and  when  you  tech  'em 
off  you'll  get  some  notion  of  the  kind  o' 
thunder  that  grows  up  here  in  the  Schu- 
nemunk.  But,  as  I  was  a-sayin',  the 
crash  came  just  as  I  was  gittin'  up  to 
help  Hank  with  the  buckskin — and  the 
next  thing  I  knew  I  was  knocked 
sprawlin'  backwards  amongst  the  women 
an'  children.  First  I  thought  I'd  been 
struck  by  the  lightnin',  then  I  heerd  the 
women  and  younguns  screaming  in  my 
ears,  and  felt  the  wagoa  begin  to  bounce 
and  rock  under  me.  I  knew  what  had 
happened  then,  and  I  raised  up  and 
howled  as  loud's  any  of  the  women : 

'"Good  God!'  I  yelled,  'they're 
runnin'  away!  Stop  'em!  Whoa!-Whoa!' 
Them's  the  very  words  I  used.  I  kin 
remember  it  all  just  as  plain's  though  it 
was  happenin'  now. 

"The  thunder  had  scared  the  buck- 
skin plum  crazy,  and  he'd  stampeded 
Jeanie.  Lord!  Will  I  ever  forget  that 
ride!  I  tell  you  it's  a  wonder  to  me 
that  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  that 
wagon  didn't  have  their  hair  turn  white 
with  fright.  When  I  got  up  on  my 
knees  and  looked  over  the  side  o'  that 
lumber-box,  there  was  a  cold,  sickish  sort 
o'  horror  went  through  me,  as  though 
somebody  had  jabbed  a  big  splinter  into 
my  marrer.  Gosh!  it  makes  my  mouth 
feel  white  inside  to  think  of  it,  even  yit! 
I  know  now  how  it  feels  to  be  hung  — 
only  that  was  a  hundred  times  worse,  f'r 
I  knew  there'd  be  a  dozen  or  more  be- 


side me  killed  when  we  struck  that  boul- 
der. Hank  was  hangin'  on  to  the  seat 
like  a  man  in  a  nightmare — blue  to  the 
lips — and  haulin'  on  the  reins  and  cuss- 
in'  horrible.  But  he  might  as  well  'a' 
tried  to  stop  the  storm  itself  as  them  two 
horses.  The  buckskin  had  his  neck 
thrown  out  wild,  with  his  ears  back  flat, 
and  the  foam  was  drippin'  from  his 
mouth  like  soapsuds  as  he  pounded 
down  that  hill  with  the  bit  hard  and  fast 
between  his  teeth.  He  looked  more  like 
a  ragin'  fiend  then  any  horse  I  ever  see. 
Jeanie  was  frightened  clean  out  of  her 
wits,  too,  and  she  flew  along  beside  him 
like  a  little  fury.  There  we  was,  bangin' 
along  on  that  narrow  shelf  of  road  like 
a  train  o'  cars,  and  it  looked  as  though 
nothin'  under  heaven  could  keep  us 
from  goin'  over  when  we  hit  the  boulder. 
I  knew  my  time  had  come.  The  rain 
swept  in  sheets  across  the  woods,  wras- 
tlin'  about  down  there  in  the  valley 
below  us.  I  could  feel  myself  shootin' 
off  through  space,  whirlin'  around  and 
around  and  then  landin'  down  there  in 
the  woods  with  my  head  on  the  soft  side 
of  a  rock.  Most  of  the  women  were 
screechin'  f'r  somebody  to  stop  us, 
though  some  had  fainted  away.  The 
wagon  jounced  and  slatted  around  behind 
them  horses  like  the  tail  of  a  kite  in 
a  wind.  All  this  I'm  tellih'  you  hap- 
pened in  less  than  a  half-minute,  but 
lookin'  back  now,  it  seems  as  though 
that  ride  lasted  fully  a  week.  I  'gun  to 
count  off  in  my  mind  how  much  nearer 
we  was  gittin'  to  that  big  rock  each  time 
the  wheels  went  round.  Then,  because 
the  rain  beat  so  hard  in  my  eyes,  I 
turned  to  look  back  up  the  road.  And 
there  was  old  Gus  McGregor,  not  forty 
yards  behind,  lashin'  his  grays  with 
all  his  might  to  ketch  up  with  us.  His 
face  was  set,  and  he  leaned  'way  for'ards 
in  his  seat  like  a  jockey.  Just  as  I 
looked  at  him,  he  leaned  out  still  further 
and  shouted  so's  you  could  hear  his 
voice  above  the  roar  o'  the  storm  and  the 
wagons — maybe  you  know  how  a  Scotch- 


416 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


man  can  yell  when  he  wants  to  make 
himself  heard  —  'Jeanie!'  he  shouted, 
'whoa,  lassie!  —  whoa!  —  whoa! '  Just 
like  that." 

It  had  become  quite  dark  now,  so  that 
I  could  see  merely  the  bare  outline  of 
the  raconteur's  face,  but  it  did  not 
require  the  hypnotic  influence  of  his 
"glittering  eye"  to  hold  my  attention. 
I  felt  the  thrill  of  his  narrative  grip  me 
as  he  tapped  my  knee  with  his  pipe  by 
way  of  punctuation. 

"Young  feller,  that  was  the  finest  sight 
lever  see;  f'r  r'al  hoss  sense  it  beat  any 
thing  I  ever  read  about  in  the  news- 
papers. And  'twas  wuth  reskin'  your 
life  just  to  've  been  in  Springer's 
wagon  that  day  and  seen  the  thing — I 
mean  the  action  of  that  little  sorrel  mare. 
It  was  noble;  yes  sir,  actually  noble. 
It  makes  me  feel  proud  o'  her  to  think 
of  that,  even  yit. 

"When  old  Gus  shouted  'Jeanie! '  she 
'gun  to  slow  up  a  bit,  and  by  the  time 
he'd  got  the  third  'whoa'  out  she'd  come 
to  a  stop — or  as  near  a  stop  as  she  could 
git  with  the  buckskin  still  goin'  at  full 
speed.  She  knew  just  what  was  wanted 
of  her,  so  she  stiffened  her  legs  out 
straight  and  threw  her  hull  weight  back 
in  the  traces.  The  dirt  and  stones 
spurted  up  from  her  feet  like  they  do 
from  a  road  scraper,  and  she  ploughed 
up  two  furrows  as  clean's  though  they'd 
been  done  with  a  hoe.  The  buckskin 
dragged  her  f'r  fifteen  yards  'r  so  — 
almost  up  to  the  big  rock — but  by  that 
time  three  or  four  of  us  in  the  back  o' 
the  wagon  had  jumped  out  and  got 
around  to  his  bridle.  'Cept  f'r  the  scare 
we'd  got,  we  was  safe  enough  then,  but 
the  poor  little  mare's  feet  was  ruined. 
That  big,  rattled-brained  skate  had 
nearly  dragged  the  hoofs  off  her.  And 
she's  limped  ever  sence. 

"When  McGregor  come  up,  she 
looked  at  him  as  much  as  to  say: 


'Well,  old  man,  I  heerd  you  yell,  and 
you  see  I  done  my  best.'  And  after  Gus 
had  got  down  and  examined  her  hoofs 
I  could  see  him  wipe  somethin'  that 
wasn't  rain  out  of  his  eyes,  but  whether 
that  was  because  he  felt  sorry  over  her 
hurt  feet,  or  glad  because  she'd  acted  so 
brave  and  fine  in  savin'  our  lives,  I 
could  never  make  out.  I  know  one 
thing  though:  Jeanie  got  all  the  sugar 
that  we'd  had  left  over  from  dinner,  and 
if  I'd  had  my  way  the  buckskin  would 
'a'  been  shot  then  and  there." 

Dib  rapped  the  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
which  had  long  been  cold,  and  began  to 
put  it  away  in  his  pocket. 

"Now,  young  feller,"  said  he,  "you 
know  how  it  was  that  the  pluckiest  little 
horse  in  the  county  went  lame,  and  I 
reckon  there  ain't  much  doubt  in  your 
mind  as  to  whose  fault  it  was.  And  jes' 
lemme  tell  you  this:  you  kin  slander 
anybody  in  this  here  town  'cept  that 
little  sorrel  mare.  But  if  you  do  have 
any  remarks  to  make  agin  her  character, 
why,  you  kin  bank  on  fightin'  me  after- 
ward—that's all." 

We  sat  there  on  the  side  porch  until 
the  clatter  of  dominoes  ceased  within 
the  bar-room  and  the  big  rubicund  moon^ 
topped  the  rim  of  the  mountain  above 
us.  Shortly  after,  Angus  McGregor  came 
around  the  side  of  the  house  and  passed 
on  down  to  the  shed.  Neither  spoke, 
and  he  did  not  see  us,  as  we  sat  within 
the  shadow. 

It  was  a  still  night  —  so  still  that  I 
could  hear  distinctly  the  affectionate  slap 
the  old  Scotchman  bestowed  upon  Jeanie 
by  way  of  greeting.  And  then  I  knew 
he  must  be  looking  at  her  injured  feet, 
for  he  lighted  some  matches  and  bade 
her  "h'ist  'em  up,"  saying  over  and 
over,  with  tears  in  his  voice:  "Puir 
lassie !  Puir  lassie ! ' ' — ending  finally  with, 
"Damn  that  unchancy  buckskin deevil!" 


WITH   THE    POET   OF    LIGHT  AND  JOY 


JOAQUIN    MILLER    IN    His    HOME    ON    THE    OAKLAND    HEIGHTS 

By    YONE    NOGUCHI 

TOKIO,     JAPAN 


U  lA/ELCOME,— welcome!  "  Joaquin 
•  •  Miller  (one  of  the  Californian, 
nay,  American,  "wonders")  stretched  out 
his  hend  from  the  bed  when  he  saw  me 
bowing  at  the  entrance  of  his  hut.  It 
is  his  habit  to  pass,  or  invite  his  own 
soul,  the  whole  forenoon  in  bed,  wearing 
a  skull  cap  which  adds  to  him  such 
a  romantic  touch  of  some  older  age.  I 
had  not  yet  forgotten  how  to  bow,  then, 
being  hardly  twenty  months  in  America 
— why,  Lord,  it  is  already  nine  years 
ago. 

The  scene  of  my  first  meeting  with 
him,  however,  floats  clearly  and  sweetly 
before  my  eyes  as  if  it  were  yesterday, 
— the  scene  which  makes  me  imagine 
my  first  ascent  of  the  olive-set  Olympus 
where  one  has  only  to  learn  to  love,  and 
religiously  love  the  sublime  and  the 
beautiful.  Let  me  say  "simple  living 
and  high  thinking,"  although  it  is 
dreadfully  shopworn. 

How  romantically  great  he  looked!  I 
cannot  think  of  any  more  striking  ap- 
pearing personage  than  himself,  and  I 
have  seen  a  number  of  the  good  and 
great  both  in  England  and  in  this  coun- 
try. That  night  I  slept  indeed  far 
nearer  to  the  stars — yes,  completely  sur- 
rounded by  the  stars.  The  stars  every- 
where, the  stars  in  the  heavens  and  the 
stars  in  the  earth!  Who  can  tell  where 
the  light  leaves  off  and  the  stars  begin? 
Really  a  thousand  lights  of  some  ten 
towns  which  I  saw  from  the  "Heights" 
— the  place  verily  near  to  God,  and  yet 
also  near  to  man  and  woman — turned  to 
stars  in  magical  air.  I  promised  myself 
I  will  build  here  my  sacred  temple — the 
house  of  God.  I  wished  to  make  my 
life  grow  in  secret,  silence,  mystery  and 
solemnity.  I  hoped  my  eyes  would 


open  to  everything  which  was  good  and 
great. 

Oh,  what  a  dawn  and  sunrise!  Re- 
member, one  lives  partly  in  clouds,  being 
at  the  Heights.  The  clouds,  rolling 
above  the  towns,  will  lift,  rift  a  little,  and 
by  and  by,  many  a  church  spire  will  be 
pointing  up.  And  you  look  down  over 
the  bay,  nay,  the  mobile  floor  of  silver! 

I  was  nineteen  years  old  then.  I 
thank  God  it  was  the  month  of  May, 
when  poppies  and  buttercups  closely 
covered  the  hill  and  spilled  their  treas- 
ures far  up  and  down  everywhere,  sing- 
ing and  laughing.  You  might  see  many 
a  squirrel  popping  out  into  the  purple 
air.  What  a  gorgeous  shadow  of  the 
acacia  tree!  What  music  of  the  birds! 
How  delighted  I  was  with  the  simple 
song  of  a  meadow  lark!  Any  simple 
thing  would  turn  more  beautiful  on  the 
Heights.  You  might  see  butterflies 
passing  by  the  hut  in  tremendous  haste, 
some  dropping  in  to  rest  on  my  writing 
table  for  a  while.  There  would  be 
nothing  more  natural  than  to  dream  of 
nature's  beauty.  Dream  is  real  at  Mil- 
ler's Heights. 

"Truth  is,  Truth  was,  Truth  will  be," 
Miller  says.  "No  poet  can  create  or 
destroy  one  particle  of  truth,  any  more 
than  he  can  create  or  destroy  a  particle 
of  gold. 

"He  can  only  give  it  a  new  form, 
garment  it  with  splendor,  and  set  it 
in  a  new  light.  Were  I  to  try  to  define 
poetry,  I  should  say  that  poetry  is  the 
divinely  beautiful  woman  Truth,  gor- 
geously, yet  modestly  and  most  perfectly 
gowned.  And  I  assure  you  that  the  only 
true  poetry  is  plain  common  sense. 
Truth,  Truth  and  again  Truth  .... 
the  Right  ....  Heart!  " 


JOAQUIN   MILLER,  THE  POET  OF  THE  WEST 

From  Charles  Warren  Stoddard's  autographed  copy  of  the  photograph  made  in  New  York  in  1878,  show- 
ing Miller  in  the  prime  of  his  physical  and  intellectual  powers.  The  Whitaker  &  Ray  Company,  San 
Francisco,  have  published  his  poems  in  one  large  volume,  which  should  have  a  place  in  the  library 
of  every  American  home,  with  Longfellow,  Whitman,  Emerson  —  his  great  Eastern  contemporaries. 


WITH   THE   POET  OF  LIGHT  AND  JOY 


419 


The  sweetest  flowers  grow  closest  to 
the  ground  as  he  says.  There  is  no  art 
without  heart.  First  of  all,  he  taught  me 
how  really  to  know  nature  by  myself. 
It  would  be  better  to  know,  doubtless,  of 
your  own  knowledge,  the  color,  the  per- 
fume, the  nature,  the  twining,  of  a  single 
little  creeping  vine  in  the  canon,  than 
to  know  all  the  Rocky  mountains 
through  a  book. 

"Book  is  nothing!  "  Miller  will  shout. 
He  puts  the  love  of  man  far  above  the 
love  of  nature.  He  is  the  poet  of  hu- 
manity. He  is  a  firm  believer  in  the 
immortality  of  man  and  of  the  soul. 

He  will  talk  much  on  economy:  "Na- 
ture wastes  nothing — nothing,  least  of  all 
does  nature  waste  time,"  he  will  begin. 
"Yet  nature  is  never  in  haste.  Remem- 
ber to  go  slowly  and  diligently  toward 
the  goal  and  the  stars.  No  debating  of 
any  sort  I  allow  you.  See,  what  a  saving 
of  time!  " 

Then  he  will  say,  if  you  ask  him  about 
the  methods  or  detail  of  teaching  the 
divine  art  of  poetry,  that  he  has  none, 
absolutely  nothing.  What  use  to  talk 
about  it!  It  would  be  perfectly  unneces- 
sary even  to  mention  poetry  when  you 
live  at  the  Heights.  You  will  rise  with 
a  bird  and  wind,  and  breathe  the  breath 
of  God  and  beauty.  You  will  sit  down 
under  a  tree  and  think  something  higher 
once  in  a  while. 

And  you  will  comfortably  wait  for  the 
moon  and  fancy's  coming.  Then  you 
are  living  in  poetry.  To  live  in  it 
would  be  nobler  than  to  write.  You  are 
already  a  poet  and  perhaps  a  great  poet 
if  you  be  without  a  line!  To  understand 
is  far  more  divine  than  to  speak.  Miller 
at  the  least  taught  me  how  to  see  the 
Light  and  Beauty  of  the  world  with 
God's  eye, —  God  who  saw  everything 
that  he  had  made,  and  acknowledged 
that  it  was  good.  I  thank  God,  it  was 
the  biggest  lesson.  Miller  is  the  poet  of 
Light  and  Joy. 

We  were  talking  one  day  on  Japan 
and  things  Japanese.  Our  talk  came  to 


the  subject  of  the  cherry  tree.  And  he 
said: 

"Don't  you  know  that  the  Lord  God 
planted  a  garden  eastward  in  Eden 
wherein  he  caused  to  grow  everything 
that  is  pleasant  to  the  sight  and  good 
for  food?  Observe  that  the  trees  pleas- 
ant to  the  sight  came  first!  The  trees 
'good  for  food  were  considered  last.  It 
is  great  to  know  that  of  all  the  thousands 
of  famous  Japanese  cherry  trees  there  is 
not  one  that  bears  a  cherry  that  even  a 
bird  would  eat.  The  Japanese  cherry 
trees  are  only  'pleasant  to  the  sight'." 

Yes,  Miller  is  endeavoring  to  make 
everything  in  the  world  pleasant  to  the 
sight.  He  is  God's  gardener,  as  he  often 
says.  And  simplicity  is  the  keynote  of 
his  way  of  living  and  of  his  poem.  Cer- 
tainly simplicity  is  sublimity  and  beauty. 

Shall  I  take  you  in  his  cottage,  just 
one-roomed  cottage — his  sanctum? 

Must  I  apologize  if  I  quote  from  Miss 
Morning  Glory's  "American  Diary  of 
a  Japanese  Girl?  (Considering  that 
"Morning Glory"  and  I  are  one  person): 

"I  volunteered  to  clean  his  holy  grotto. 

"The  little  cottage  brought  me  a 
thought  of  one  Jap  sage  who  lived  by 
choice  in  a  ten-foot-square  mountain 
hut.  The  venerable  Mr.  Chomei  Kamo 
wrote  his  immortal  'Ten-foot-square 
Record.'  A  bureau,  a  bed,  and  one  easy 
chair  —  everything  in  the  poet's  abode 
inspires  repose  —  occupy  every  bit  of 
space  in  Mr.  Heine's  (Joaquin  Miller's) 
cottage.  The  wooden  roof  is  sound 
enough  against  a  storm.  A  fountain  is 
close  by  his  door.  Whenever  you  desire 
you  may  turn  its  screw  and  hear  the 
soft  melody  of  rain. 

"That's  plenty.  What  else  do  you 
covet? 

"The  closetlessness  of  his  cottage  is 
a  symbol  of  his  secretlessness.  How 
enviable  is  an  open-hearted  gentleman! 
Women  can  never  tarry  a  day  in  a  house 
without  a  closet.  He  never  closes  his 
door  through  the  years. 


420 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,  1905 


"A  piece  of  wire  is  added  to  his 
entrance  at  night.  He  would  say  that 
would  keep  out  the  tread  of  a  dog  and 
a  newspaper  reporter. 

"Not  even  one  book! 

"He  would  read  the  history  written  on 
the  brow  of  a  star,  he  will  say,  if  I  ask 
him  why. 

"Every  side  was  patched  by  pictures 
and  a  medley  of  paper  clippings.  Is 
there  anything  sweeter  to  muse  upon 
than  personal  knicknacks? 

"Oh,  such  a  dust! 

"I  swept  it. 

"But  I  thought  philosophically  after- 
ward, why  should  people  be  so  fussy 
with  the  dust,  when  things  are  but 
another  form  of  dust.  What  a  faraway 
smell  the  dust  had!  What  an  ancient 
color!  " 

Miller  comes  down  from  the  Heights 
to  San  Francisco  or  to  Oakland  only 
once  a  week  to  get  provisions.  How  he 
hates  to  see  himself  in  town!  It  is 
because  the  crowds  and  noise  disturbs 
his  peace  and  thought.  Even  at  his 
home  he  frequently  shuts  the  door,  hear- 
ing some  picnic  party  coming  up,  al- 
though his  cottage  is  some  one  hundred 
steps  from  the  public  road.  "Silence," 
he  will  murmur.  When  he  would  come 
home  with  some  meat  and  bread  he  used 
often  to  send  me  up  to  his  old  mother 
with  the  first  share  of  the  provisions.  I 
have  rarely  seen  so  kind  a  man  to 
Mother. 


We  used  to  cook  by  a  rivulet  and  eat 
under  the  white  rose  bushes.  "Re- 
member, this  is  a  sacred  service.  Silence 
helps  your  digestion,"  he  would  say. 
"Eat  slowly,  think  something  higher, 
and  be  content."  So  our  dinner  usually 
lasted  more  than  two  hours.  What  a 
delightful  experience! 

Four  years  —  though  I  did  not  stay 
through  all  those  years — passed  like  one 
night,  when  I  left  there  for  the  East  and 
London  and  newly  found  out  how  quick 
time  goes. 

How  often  Miller  and  I  went  to  hunt 
a  quail  for  Mrs.  Miller's  breakfast.  The 
most  dear  old  lady  she  is!  And  we 
would  return  carrying  only  one  or  two 
sparrows!  And  Miller  would  rest  on  his 
hoe,  rub  down  his  long  beard  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  and  tell  of  Rossetti  and 
Holman  Hunt. 

How  often  I  went  with  him  into  the 
canon  to  build  a  new  road!  I  carrying 
Thoreau's  book— I  was  quite  wild  about 
him  once  —  he  with  his  ax.  He  was 
my  very  first  friend  God  ever  gave 
me  in  my  American  life.  And  ever 
since  he  looked  upon  me  as  his  own 
son.  It  was  from  Miller  that  I  received 
the  first  greeting  when  I  returned  from 
England  where  I  published  my  "From 
the  Eastern  Sea"  with  much  success: 

"Come  back,  my  son!  Your  room  is 
still  waiting  for  you.  Come,  come," 
he  wrote. 

Yes,  Mr.  Miller, —I  am  coming — 


JOAQUIN    MILLER    TODAY 


TROOP    HORSES 

By    JOSEPH     MILLS     HANSON 

ST.     LOUIS,     MISSOURI 


0 


|H,  you  hear  a  lot  these  days 

Of  the  automatic  ways 
That  the  experts  have  devised  for  spillin'  gore; 
'Cycle  squadrons,  motor'vans, 
All  fixed  up  on  modern  plans 
For  a  rapid-transit,  quick-installment  war. 

Now,  that  sort  of  thing  may  go 

When  you  have  a  thoughtful  foe 
Who  will  stick  to  graded  roads  with  all  his  forces; 

But  when  we  were  boys  in  blue, 

Playing  cross-tag  with  the  Sioux, 
We  were  satisfied  to  get  around  on  horses. 

Oh,  the  horses,  sleek  and  stout 

When  the  squadrons  started  out, 
How  they  pranced  along  the  column  as  the  bugles  blew  "the  trot!" 

They  might  weaken  and  go  lame 

But  they'd  never  quit  the  game 
And  they'd  bring  us  back  in  safety  if  they  weren't  left  to  rot. 

When  there  came  a  sudden  tack 

In  the  travois'  dusty  track 
And  we  knew  the  reds  were  headin'  for  the  timber  and  the  rocks, 

With  the  infantry  and  trains 

Thirty  miles  back  on  the  plains, 
Then  the  horses  were  the  boys  that  got  the  knocks! 

Oh,  the  horses,  roan  and  bay, 

Without  either  corn  or  hay 
But  a  little  mess  o'  dirty  oats  that  wouldn't  feed  a  colt; 

Who  could  blame  'em  if  they'd  bite 

Through  the  picket  ropes  at  night? 
When  a  man  or  horse  is  hungry,  ain't  he  bound  to  try  and  bolt? 

When  the  trail  got  light  and  thin 

And  the  ridges  walled  it  in 
And  the  flankers  had  to  scramble  with  their  toes  and  finger  nails, 

While  the  wind  across  the  peaks 

Whipped  the  snow  against  our  cheeks, 
Then  the  horses  had  to  suffer  for  the  badness  of  the  trails. 

Oh,  the  horses,  lean  and  lank, 

With  the  "U.  S."  on  their  flank 
And  a  hundred  weight  of  trumpery  a-dangle  all  around, 

How  they  sweated  side  by  side 

When  the  stones  began  to  slide 
And  they  couldn't  find  a  footing  on  an  inch  of  solid  ground! 


422  NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for  JANUARY,    1905 

But  they'd  stand  the 'racket  right 

Till  the  red-skins  turned  to  fight 
And  up  among  the  fallen  pines  we  heard  their  rifles  crack; 

Hi!     The  three-year  vet'rans  stormed 

While  the  skirmish  lines  were  formed 
At  the  snub-nosed  little  carbines  that  they  couldn't  fire  back! 

And  the  horses,  standing  there 

With  their  noses  in  the  air, 
How  they  kicked  and  raised  the  devil  down  among  the  tangled  trees! 

They  didn't  mind  the  shooting 

But  they'd  try  to  go  a-scooting 
When  they  got  a  whiff  of  red-skin  on  the  chilly  mountain  breeze. 

Still  I've  not  a  word  of  blame 

For  those  horses,  just  the  same, 
A  yelping  Injun,  daubed  with  clay,  he  isn't  nice  to  see; 

And  I  ain't  forgot  the  day 

When  my  long-legg'd  Texas  bay 
Wasn't  scared  enough  of  Injuns  not  to  save  my  life  for  me. 

I  was  lyin'  snug  and  low 

In  a  hollow  full  of  snow 
When  the  hostiles  flanked  the  squadron  from  a  wooded  ridge  near  by 

And,  o'  course,  the  boys,  at  that, 

Sought  a  cooler  place  to  chat 
But  they  didn't  know  they'd  left  ME  with  a  bullet  in  my  thigh! 

But  the  red-skins  understood; 

Bet  your  life  they  always  would! 
And  they  came  a-lopin'  downward  for  this  short-cropped  scalp  o' mine. 

While  I  wondered  how  I'd  be 

"Soldier  a  la  fricasee," 
For  I  didn't  know  my  Texan  hadn't  bolted  with  the  line, 

Till  I  heard  a  crunchin'  sound 

And  when  I  looked  around, 
With  the  reins  against  his  ankles,  there  that  blaze-faced  rascal  stood ! 

He  was  shiverin'  with  fright 

But  he  hadn't  moved  a  mite, 
For  he'd  never  learned  to  travel  till  I  told  him  that  he  should. 

And  he  stayed,  that  Texan  did, 

Till  I'd  crawled  and  rolled  and  slid 
Down  beside  him  in  the  hollow  and  the  stirrup  strap  could  find; 

And  I  somehow  reached  the  saddle 

And  hung  on,  I  couldn't  straddle, 
While  he  galloped  for  the  squadron  with  the  Sioux  strung  out  behind. 

Oh,  the  horses  from  the  range 

They've  got  hearts;  it  isn't  strange 
If  they  raise  a  little  Hades  when  the  drill  gets  hot  and  fast. 

But  I'd  like  to  see  a  chart 

Of  the  automobile  cart 
That  will  save  a  man  on  purpose  when  the  shots  are  singin*  past! 


TROOP     HORSES 


423 


Now,  the  boys  in  blue,  you  bet, 

Earn  whatever  praise  they  get 
But  they're  not  the  only  ones  who  never  lag, 

For  the  good  old  Yankee  horses 

They  are  always  with  the  forces 
When  the  battle-smoke  is  curling  'round  the  flag! 

And  I  don't  believe  the  men 

Who  make  drawings  with  a  pen 
Can  ever  build  a  thing  of  cranks  and  wheels 

That  will  starve  and  work  and  fight, 

Summer,  Winter,  day  or  night, 
Like  that  same  old,  game  old  horse  that  .hinks  and  feels. 


APPERSON'S    COON    HUNT 

By     HAROLD     CHILD 


NORFOLK,      VIRGINIA 


AFTER  a  strenuous  experience  with 
cat-claw  briars  and  bog,  Apperson 
found  himself  on  the  higher  sand  ridges, 
and  cast  himself  down  in  the  shade  of 
a  great  pine  to  rest. 

To  the  west  stretched  a  seemingly 
limitless  pine  barren,  and  from  its 
depths  the  faint  sound  of  a  woodman's 
axe  came  to  him  with  the  breeze. 

Realizing  that  he  must  seek  shelter  or 
spend  the  night  in  the  forest,  he  arose 
stiffly  and  set  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
wood-cutter. 

She  was  whirling  the  axe  above  her 
head  when  he  came  upon  her; 
bringing  it  down  with  a  force  that 
almost  buried  the  helve,  she  left  it  in  the 
log,  and  placing  hands  on  hips  regarded 
him  with  an  unblinking  stare. 

"Howdy,"  said  she,  in  response  to 
his  polite  greeting. 

"I've  lost  my  way,  and  wish  to  get 
back  to  Whitefield  MacCumbee's  place," 
he  told  her. 

"Six  miles  through  the  swamp;  an' 
more'n  double  that,  'round  by  Free- 
man's Crossin'.  You  can't  make  it 
tonight." 

"It  looks  as  though  I'll  have  to  camp 


in  the  woods,"  he  said,  disconsolately. 

"You  might  stay  with  me/'  she  said 
briefly;  then  seizing  her  axe,  she  swung 
it  in  rhythmic  strokes,  paying  no  further 
attention  to  him. 

He  sat  on  a  stump  watching  the 
white  chips  fly  from  her  biting  blade. 
When  the  log  was  severed  she  spoke 
again. 

"We'll  go  now.  I  guess  you  be  gittin' 
sort  o'  hungry?" 

He  admitted  that  he  was. 

With  axe  on  shoulder,  she  led  off 
through  the  forest,  he  following  in  the 
narrow  trail. 

He  found  himself  wondering  why  she 
was  doing  a  man's  work.  She  could 
not  be  very  old,  he  thought — not  more 
than  twenty-five — for  her  hair  was  black 
as  a  crow's  wing,  while  her  features, 
though  brown  as  pine-bark,  gave  little 
evidence  of  age  or  toil.  She  was  of 
splendid  build.  Her  hips  and  shoulders 
were  seemingly  abnormal  in  breadth; 
but  then,  a  well  proportioned  forest 
woman,  was  something  of  a  novelty  to 
Apperson. 

She  had  caught  up  her  skirt  with 
a  cord,  till  it  hung  above  her  shoe-tops; 


424 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   JANUARY,    1905 


her  ankles,  bare  of  hose,  were  white  and 
shapely. 

They  soon  came  to  a  log  cabin  sur- 
rounded by  several  acres  of  cleared 
ground.  She  motioned  him  to  a  rude 
bench  in  the  yard,  and  entering  the  cabin 
struck  a  light,  but  soon  came  out  bear- 
ing a  torch  with  which  she  ignited  a  pile 
of  pine  knots.  Soon  a  great  watch-fire 
was  blazing  in  the  open. 

"We  set  out  here  till  bed  time,"  she 
explained.  "It's  much  cooler,  an'  the 
blaze  draws  the  'skeeters  out'n  the 
house." 

It  was  there  in  the  open  that  she  pre- 
pared and  served  the  meal. 

Yam  potatoes  were  roasted  in  the 
coals,  corn  cakes  were  baked,  and  home- 
cured  ham  broiled  on  the  cinders.  This 
— with  honey  in  the  comb,  served  on 
a  spotless  pine-board  table  bare  of  a 
cloth — was  the  menu. 

"Set  up  an'  help  yourself,"  said  she. 
"Dad's  gone  to  the  Landin'  with  a  load 
o'  wood,  an'  won't  git  back  till  late." 

The  meal  over,  she  brought  him  some 
home-cured  tobacco,  and  cob  pipes.  His 
expression  of  infinite  content  as  he  sat 
curling  the  fragrant  smoke  above  his 
head  broke  her  reserve,  bringing  a 
friendly  gleam  to  her  eyes  and  a  flow 
of  conversation  to  her  lips.  Apperson 
thought  her  a  very  fine  picture,  harmon- 
izing perfectly  with  the  forest  setting. 

Soon  she  came  and  sat  beside  him. 

"From  the  city,  I  s'pose?" 

"Yes,  old  man  Mac  persuaded  me  to 
come  out  for  a  boar  hunt.  We  became 
separated  in  the  swamp." 

"My  man  used  to  be  powerful  fond  o' 
huntin',  an'  it  was  a  boar  as  got  him  in 
trouble. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  urged. 

"There  be  lots  o'  wild  hogs  in  the 
Big  Green  that  is  marked.  They  stray 
in  when  they  is  small  shqats,  an'  when 
a  hunter  ketches  one  which  is  marked, 
he  turns  it  over  to  the  owner  an'  gits  half 
the  meat. 

"One  day  my  Bill  and  Steve  Robbins 


ketches  two  fine  boars;  one  was  marked 
whilst  t'other  was  jest  nat'rally  wild. 
"The  marked  one  had  a  crapp  in  the 
lef  year  —  which  is  our  mark — but  it 
'pears  there  was  a  bullet  hole  in  t'other 
year,  which  was  most  growed  up,  an' 
which  Bill  didn't  see.  Now  the  crapp 
in  one  year,  an'  bullet  hole  in  t'other, 
makes  it  ol'  man  Peterson's  meat. 

"Steve  seed  the  hole  an'  tells  ol'  man 
Peterson,  an'  the  first  thing  Bill  knows 
the  sheriff  comes  down  on  him. 

"Things  would  have  gone  all  right, 
the  sheriff  bein'  a  friend  o'  Bill's,  but 
Steve  he  was  fool  'nough  to  rile  Bill 
durin'  the  trial,  an'  Bill  ketches  him 
a  lick  which  wouldn't  have  killed  a  likely 
man,  but  it  done  for  Steve.  Some  say 
Steve  had  a  bad  heart  —  Bill  got  ten 
year." 

Several    minutes    passed    in    silence, 
when  she  suddenly  asked: 
"Ever  been  coon  huntin'  ?  " 
He  confessed  that  he  never  had. 
"Good    night    fer     it,"     she     said. 
"  'Minds  me  o'  Bill,  to  see  you  a-settin' 
there  smokin' — how'd  you  like  a  cocn 
hunt  tonight?  " 

"Fine!"  he  admitted,  enthusiastic- 
ally. 

"Well,  let's." 

"You?  "  he  said  in  surprise. 
"Yes,  many's  the  times  Bill  an'  me's 
hunted  coons." 

"I  understand  that  you  have  to  climb 
trees?  " 

'  No,  shoot  'em  out,  or  failin'  that, 
cut  the  tree  down." 

"Good!  "  he  said.  "I'm  with  you.  I 
didn't  get  much  sport  in  the  boar  hunt 
today." 

She  entered  the  cabin,  bringing  out 
a  long  muzzle-loading  shotgun. 

"You  carry  the  axe,"  she  commanded. 
It's  more'n  likely  we'll  have  to  cut 
a  tree." 

She  called  up  a  couple  of  lean  dogs, 
and  they  plunged  into  the  forest. 

The  moon  had  not  yet  risen  but 
guided  by  the  flare  of  a  resinous  torch 


APPERSON'S   COON    HUNT 


425 


they  made  their  way  to  the  margin  of 
a  broad  creek.  She  put  the  dogs  out, 
and  they  seated  themselves  on  a 
"horse'n-log"  to  wait. 

Some  little  time  passed,  and  the  dogs 
had  not  been  heard  from.  Apperson  was 
growing  impatient. 

"There's  nothin'  doing,"  he  remarked. 

"Good  sign.     They've  struck  a  trail, 

an'   are   workin'   it  up."     Her  surmise 

was  correct.     A  long,  whining  yelp  came 

from  the  swamp. 

Apperson  sprang  off  the  log. 
"Keep  still  awhile,"  she  commanded. 
"The  scent's  cold, but  they'll  git  him  up." 
In  a  short  time  the  dogs  were  in  full 
chorus. 

"Light  some  more  pine  knots;  they'll 
soon  have  him  up  a  tree,"  she  said. 
Apperson  made  haste  to  obey. 
By  the  time  the  torch   was  in  good 
flare,   the  dogs    had    quieted,    save  an 
occasional  long,  whining  yelp,  which  she 
answered  with  a  high,  shrill  note.     They 
had  treed  up  a  large  gum. 

"He's  on  one  o'  them  big  limbs,"  she 
said;  "lessen  he's  crawled  into  his  hole." 
She  began  waving  the  torch  above  her 
head. 

"See  his  eyes?" 
"No.     Where?" 

"Stan'  just  behind  my  back,  an'  put 
your  face  'long  side  o'  mine.     See  any- 
thing?" 
"Two  stars." 
"No;  coon's  eyes." 
"Shall  I  shoot?  "  he  asked,  all  excite- 
ment. 

"Yes;  best  use  my  gun,  it's  loaded 
with 'buck.'" 

He  aimed  carefully,  and  pulled  the 
trigger.  The  next  moment  he  was  on 
his  back  in  the  mud. 

"What  the—!  what'd  you  have  in  it?" 
he  inquired,  looking  up  at  her  with  angry 
bewilderment. 

"Only     five     fingers,"     she     smiled. 
"You  was  aimin'  too  straight  up." 
"Well!"  said  he,  "I  guess  that  did 
for  mister  coon." 


"You  didn't  tetch  him." 

"What?  Impossible!  I  must  have 
blown  the  top  off  the  tree." 

"Nairy  a  hair,  an'  I'll  have  to  cut  it 
down." 

"Chop  it  down?"  he  cried  in  amaze- 
ment; "why,  it's  four  feet  in  diameter!  " 

She  struck  the  tree  a  resounding  blow 
with  the  butt  of  her  axe. 

"How's  that?" 

"It's  hollow?" 

"Uh  huh." 

"I'll  chop  it  down,"  he  volunteered, 
gallantly. 

"You'd  chop  your  legs  off,  more  like," 
she  replied  disdainfully,  rolling  up  her 
sleeves  and  driving  the  axe  into  the  soft 
gum  sap. 

"By  George!  you're  a  sportswoman," 
he  exclaimed  in  admiration  of  her  fine 
strokes. 

"A  what?" 

"A  sportswoman." 

"No, — jest  Bill  Jones'  widow."     % 

"So  Bill's  dead?" 

"Yes,  got  pardoned;  got  bit  same  year 
by  a  rattler." 

Soon  the  tree  crashed  down.  The 
dogs  sprang  into  its  top  and  began  whin- 
ing and  sniffing  cautiously  about  a  large 
knot-hole. 

"He's  gone  in  there,"  said  she,  indi- 
cating a  hole,  the  edges  of  which  had 
worn  smooth. 

"Here  Tige, "  she  called,  "git  in 
there! " 

Tige  went  in  cautiously. 

Apperson  threw  his  rifle  in  position. 

"You  be  keerful  with  that  gun.  Tige'll 
take  care  on  him-,"  she  told  him. 

There  were  several  sniffs  followed  by 
short,  whining  yelps,  as  though  Tige  was 
in  great  pain.  Suddenly  he  shot  out, 
covered  by  a  great  boar  coon.  Two 
streaks  of  dark  fur  went  by  Apperson, 
followed  by  the  young  dog  screaming  on 
their  trail.  Tige,  however,  held  on  to 
nis  catch,  and  there  followed  a  battle 
royal  in  the  swamp  growth. 

A  big  coon  is  pretty  nearly  a  match  for 


426 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


an  ordinary  coon  dog,  and  several  times 
during  the  struggle  for  supremacy,  Ap- 
person  thought  the  coon  would  make  a 
meal  of  Tige,  but  the  old  dog  had  him 
by  the  neck,  and  held  on  grimly,  finally 
breaking  the  spine,  which  ended  the 
struggle.  It  was  near  midnight,  and  they 
decided  not  to  go  after  the  other  coons. 

Apperson  lifted  the  dead  coon  to  his 
shoulder  and  they  started  homeward. 

In  taking  a  shorter  cut,  they  came 
upon  the  creek's  channel  at  a  point 
much  wider  than  the  former  crossing. 

"If  we  kin  git  across  hereabouts,  it'll 
save  us  a  long  walk,"  she  said,  "an'  I 
guess  I'll  make  a  crossin'." 

With  a  few  strokes  of  her  axe  she 
felled  a  sapling  across  the  stream.  On 
this  she  went  over  with  a  grace  of  a 
rope-walker.  "Come  on,"  she  comman- 
ded, smiling  back  at  him  exasperatingly. 

He  could  not  walk  the  sapling,  and 
her  challenging  smile  made  him  feel  like 
saying  things,  as  he  stood  hesitating  like 
a  small  boy. 

"Come  on,  it's  gittin'  late,  an'  Dad'll 
think  I'm  either  lost,  strayed  or  stolen." 

He  made  a  desperate  attempt,  and 
barely  escaped  plunging  in  by  a  flying 
leap  back;  rolling  over  several  times  in 
the  briars  and  cane  growth. 

She  sat  down,  screaming  in  merri- 
ment. "You  looked  so  funny,"  she 
explained, — ''a-holdin'  an'  a-rollin' 
with  that  coon." 

Failing  to  respond  to  her  mood,  he 
selected  a  comfortable  "tussle"  and  sat 
down.  "You  might  swim  it,"  she  sug- 
gested. This  suggestion  did  not  strike 
him  as  happy,  and  he'  remained  moodily 
silent.  She  tripped  across  and  stood 
smiling  down  at  him. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "there's  nothin' 
fer  it,  but  to  tote  you  over  on  my  back." 

"What!" 

"Git  on  my  back,  an'  I'll  tote  you 
over,"  she  said  seriously. 

For  several  moments  he  was  outwardly 
speechless,  but  inwardly  he  was  formu- 
lating some  very  pretty  adjectives. 


She  seemed  to  divine  what  was  pass- 
ing in  his  mind,  for  after  a  moment  she 
said:  "If  you  won't,  you  won't.  I'll 
fix  it  fer  you."  She  felled  another 
sapling,  paralleling  the  first. 

When  they  were  midway  the  stream,  a 
happy  thought  occurred  to  him. 

He  suddenly  disengaged  his  left  arm, 
which  she  had  taken,  and  clasped  her 
about  the  waist,  coming  to  a  halt. 

She  gasped  in  astonishment. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  he,  very  coolly, 
"I  should  like  to  plunge  in  here  for 
a  swim.  It's  a  beautiful  swimming-hole, 
and  the  night  is  warm  enough  to  make 
it  comfortable.  Can  you  swim?  " 

"No,"  she  told  him  tremblingly.  "An' 
mind!  you'll  have  me  in!"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  they  swayed  on  the  slight 
bridge. 

"Well,  said  he  quietly,  "it  doesn't 
matter;  I'm  a  great  swimmer,  and  can 
take  care  of  you.  Isn't  the  moonlight 
pretty  on  the  water?  I'm  going  to  take 
you  over." 

"Oh,  no!  Please  be  keerful!."  she 
begged.  "There's  snakes  an'  toads  in 
that  vater.  Ugh!" 

"Why  did  you  laugh  at  me?  " 

"You  looked  so  funny." 

"Did  I?" 

"Oh,  do  be  keerful!" 

"I  handled  that  gun  as  well  as  you 
could  have,  didn't  1?'^ 

"Yes!" 

"I  could  have  chopped  that  tree  down 
without  chopping  my  legs  off,  couldn't 
I?" 

"Yes,  do  be  keerful!" 

"I  could  have  walked  the  sapling  just 
as  well  as  you  did,  if  I  hadn't  had  the 
coon?  " 

"Yes!  Oh,  do  be  keerful!" 

"I  may  kiss  you  just  as  many  times  as 
I  wish,  and  you  can't  help  yourself,  can 
you?  " 

"  Y-e-s-s— N-o-o-o— O-h-h— D-o-o !— " 

"Walking  logs  is  easy,"  said  he,  as 
they  went  on  through  the  night. 

''Yes,"  she  assented,  meekly. 


By    ANNA    McCLURE    SHOLL 

NEW     YORK     CITY 
ILLUSTRATIONS       BY      W.      D.      GOLDBECK 


BOOK     I 

WHY  do  you  call  her  Diana?"  said 
the  Bishop.  "Her  name  is  Alice, 
is  it  not?" 

His  hostess  and  kinswoman,  Mrs. 
Craig,  her  answer  dawning  in  her  face, 
leaned  forward  in  her  garden-chair  and 
plucked  an  adjacent  rose.  The  bishop 
knew  that  her  deliberate  manner  was 
a  preface  to  her  discussion  of  a  con- 
genial subject.  Though  a  woman  who 
had  put  friendship  to  its  quaintest  uses, 
she  always  kept  her  friends  at  that  dis- 
tance from  her  which  made  critical  esti- 
mates at  once  possible  and  loyal.  The 
bishop  had  long  ago  suspected  her  of 
arranging  her  house  parties  for  the  pur- 
pose of  character  study,  her  interest  in 
the  people  she  gathered  about  her  being 
allied  to  her  interest  in  her  hot-house 
orchids,  or  to  the  strangely  cut  ever- 
greens of  her  Italian  garden,  s\ith  this 
difference,  that  in  the  orchid  there  was 
no  soul  to  trouble  her,  or  to  put  her  on 
her  guard. 

She  drew  the  rose  she  had  picked 
through  her  fingers. 

"I  call  her  Diana  because  she  is  a 
huntress  of  souls." 

The    bishop   regarded    the    caressing 


beauty  of  the  scene  before  him  through 
half-closed  eyes. 

"It  is  better  to  hunt  souls  than  to  be 
indifferent  to  them,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"I  am  afraid  Diana's  hunting  is  for 
the  excitement  of  the  chase,"  his  hostess 
responded.  "I  have  known  her  since 
she  was  a  child,  and  I  don't  believe  she 
can  tell  where  her  heart  is.  She  only 
aids  others  to  discover  theirs." 

"In  that  case,"  said  the  bishop,  I 
should  call  her  a  bulwark  of  civilization, 
since  we  are  civilized  through  the  heart. " 

"Possibly:  but  they  pay  the  price, 
not  she.  A  man  said  of  her  once  that 
she  was  a  strengthen er  of  the  memory." 

A  shadow  passed  over  the  bishop's 
face. 

"Perhaps  love  is  persistent  recollec- 
tion. I  have  always  thought,"  he  added, 
"that  witchcraft,  so-called,  was  but  this 
strong  personal  magnetism  that  certain 
souls  possess." 

Mrs.  Craig  smiled. 

"Call  it  what  you  will;  Wagner's  ninth 
note,  perhaps,  that  never  satisfies." 

"A  dangerous  note  to  strike  in  a 
house  party." 

"I  always  have  her  when  I  can  get 
her  for  that  very  reason,"  Mrs.  Craig 
said,  rising  from  her  garden  chair  as 


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NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


she  saw  her  other  guests  entering  a  dis- 
tant gateway,  which  from  its  position 
at  the  crest  of  a  hill  seemed  to  open 
upon  illimitable  purple  vistas:  "People 
are  entertained  when  they  are  falling  in 
love,  and  she  gives  them  the  excuse. 
Then  they  give  me  the  gratitude  of  the 
awakened.  A  hostess  makes  a  mistake 
who  on]y  entertains  the  bodies  of  her 
guests.  You  can  feed  them  with  bread 
and  water,  if  their  souls  are  in  the  play." 

The  bishop  looked  toward  the  rich 
facade  of  the  house  where  wealth  had 
imitated  cleverly  the  dignity  of  another 
age. 

"You  give  them  much  beside." 

"Beauty?  Yes,  I  do  provide  good 
scenery  for  my  comedies." 

" —  or  tragedies." 

"We  do  not  live  in  a  tragic  age,  dear 
cousin,  and,  unfortunately,  you  must  be 
ridiculous  before  you  can  be  tragic. 
Who  dares  to  go  through  that  stage  to 
reach  the  sublime!  I  see  Diana  is  walk- 
ing with  Justin  and  Margaret.  He's  not 
legitimate  prey — if  she  should  interfere 
there  I  should  have  no  mercy  on  her!  " 

"A  witch  is  irresponsible,  is  she  not?" 

The  members  of  the  house  party  had 
been  on  a  walking  trip  to  a  deserted  vil- 
lage less  interesting  in  itself  than  for 
the  view  obtainable  from  the  end  of  its 
one  silent  street.  They  were  now  as- 
cending the  terraces  in  twos  and  threes 
with  the  lazy  step  of  people  comfortably 
tired  and  fully  appreciating  the  invita- 
tion of  the  scene  before  them. 

The  leaders  of  the  straggling  proces- 
sion were  Alice  Mainwaring,  known  to 
her  intimate  friends  as  "Diana";  Justin 
Morris,  a  young  man  of  thirty,  begin- 
ning to  be  recognized  as  an  architect  of 
promise,  and  having  that  look  of  quiet 
intensity  which  comes  from  years  of 
close  mental  application;  and  his  be- 
trothed, Margaret  Bentley,  a  trim,  slen- 
der girl  of  the  blonde  type,  the  lines  of 
whose  face  showed  much  decided  femi- 
ninity, little  humor,  weak  perceptions 
and  a  strong  will. 


Diana  was  talking  in  a  low  voice  and 
looking  straight  before  her.  The  heat 
of  the  day  which  had  heightened  the 
color  in  the  cheeks  of  the  other  women 
had  given  a  clearer  quality  to  the  white- 
ness of  her  skin.  The  steady  gaze  of 
her  dark  eyes,  which  in  some  lights  when 
the  pupil  was  contracted  had  the  pale 
yellow  of  topaz,  told  either  of  inner  in- 
tensity or  of  a  most  sublime  indifference. 
Tall  and  graceful,  her  bearing  had 
a  free,  out-of-door  quality  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  essentially  feminine  look 
of  Margaret  Bentley. 

The  group  behind  them  was  more  ani- 
mated. A  debutante,  a  pretty  flag  of 
youth,  her  fair  hair  and  blue  ribbons  at 
the  mercy  of  the  breeze,  was  talking 
gaily  to  the  two  men  with  her,  Philip 
Hartley,  a  plump,  middle-aged  banker 
who  listened  and  smiled  with  an  expres- 
sion as  if  he  felt  himself  inadequate  to 
deal  with  so  much  youth  and  beauty, 
and  a  younger  man,  the  extreme  correct- 
ness of  whose  clothes  and  a  certain 
aggressive  bearing  betokened  him  as 
being  either  in  college,  or  just  out  of  it. 
Back  of  this  group  walked  the  well 
known  portrait  painter,  Henry  Gaylord, 
and  his  wife,  in  comfortable  married 
silence. 

Their  hostess  came  forward  to  meet 
them,  an  embodied  welcome,  the  very 
spirit  it  would  seem  of  the  wide,  lovely 
gardens,  and  the  stately,  hospitable 
house. 

In  her  instant  of  greeting  she  saw, 
with  a  vision  clarified  by  certain  events 
of  the  past  few  days,  three  people  whose 
community  of  self-consciousness  seemed 
to  place  them  apart  from  the  others: 
Diana,  in  a  colorless  armor  of  the  non- 
committal; Margaret,  haughtily  silent; 
Justin,  stiff-backed  as  if  facing  an  invisi- 
ble jury  of  emotions.  She  saw  him 
glance  at  Margaret  with  the  look  of  a 
man  locked  out,  yet  feeling  himself  re- 
sponsible for  the  turning  of  the  key. 

Mrs.  Craig,  going  back  to  the  tea  table, 
smothered  certain  reflections  lest  in 


"STANDING    BY   DIANA'S    CHAIR    IN    THAT    KIND    OF    ABSORBED    SILENCE    WHICH 
IS    TOO    GREAT    A    TRIBUTE    TO    A    WOMAN    A    MAN    IS    NOT    TO    MARRY " 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


spirit  she  should  be  missing  from  the 
group.     She  put  a  general  question. 

"What  did  you  find  in  my  village? 
Have  I  revealed  a  Goldsmith  to  himself? 
I  hope  I  am  justified  of  my  praises." 

Gaylord  handed  her  a  sketch. 

"This  is  my  inadequate  answer." 

"I  found  an  old  mood,"  said  Diana, 
"left  there  from  the  time  before." 

"How  many  ghosts  you  must  meet  in 
a  day,  Diana!  "  Mrs.  Gaylord  said. 

"Some  of  them  have  to  be  intro- 
duced." 

Philip  Hartley,  balancing  a  cup  of  tea 
in  his  fat  hands,  gave  a  smothered  laugh 
which  shook  his  sleek,  well  groomed  per- 
son like  a  mold  of  jelly. 

"Upon  my  soul,  Miss  Mainwaring, 
that  must  be  convenient.  I  always  did 
think  a  bad  memory  the  first  requisite 
of  success.  I  never  forget  anything,  un- 
fortunately." 

Diana  had  seated  herself  in  a  low  gar- 
den chair,  and  pushed  back  her  soft, 
heavy  hair,  black  in  its  shadows, chestnut 
brown  in  its  high  lights.  At  her  feet  sat 
the  debutante  and  the  college  man  who 
was  enamored  at  once  of  a  blossom-like 
face  and  of  Diana's  dark  eyes,  which 
turned  upon  him  gave  him  the  novel 
sensation  of  having  mislaid  his  degree. 
The  young  girl,  in  juxtaposition  to  the 
woman,  seemed  to  lose  individuality, 
as  if  the  pink  of  her  cheeks  were  due  to 
inexperience.  Diana  was  not  beautiful, 
but  she  possessed  in  a  high  degree  the 
qualities  of  grace  and  strangeness,  as 
a  compensation  for  an  obvious  com- 
plexion and  ticketed  charms. 

The  bishop  was  passing  cups  of  tea. 
In  this  Watteau  environment  he  looked 
young.  His  years  were  fifty,  but  his 
age  was  known  only  to  the  Sphinx.  His 
kind,  clear-cut  face  held  the  sweet 
and  deep  placidity  of  a  man  who  has 
lived  Christianity  much  and  defined  it 
little. 

"Bishop,  by  what  arts  did  Mrs.  Craig 
draw  you  from  the  city  you  father?  " 
Mrs.  Gaylord  said. 


"Are  arts  necessary  to  draw  the 
eager?  "  he  answered,  smiling. 

"Why,  where  is  Margaret?  "  Mrs. 
Craig  asked.  She  looked  at  Justin,  who 
was  standing  by  Diana's  chair  in  that 
kind  of  absorbed  silence  which  is  too 
great  a  tribute  to  a  woman  a  man  is  not 
to  marry.  A  double  preoccupation 
seemed  implied  in  the  somber  gaze  of 
his  deep  blue  eyes.  He  did  not  hear 
his  hostess'  words. 

She  spoke  again. 

"Justin,  did  Margaret  go  to  the 
house? " 

He  gave  a  perceptible  start,  looked 
up,  frowned,  looked  about  him  then 
down  at  Diana. 

"She  was  here  a  moment  ago,"  he 
said,  "but  she  spoke  of  having  a  head- 
ache. I'll  see  if  she  went  to  the  house." 

"Meanwhile, Ursula,"  Diana  said, turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Craig,  "may  I  ask  you  not 
to  put  sugar  in  Margaret's  tea?  When 
she  has  a  headache  she  takes  it  with- 
out." 

She  met  the  eyes  of  her  hostess  in- 
differently, but  to  Mrs.  Craig,  suddenly 
fearful  of  an  emotional  complication  too 
deep  for  the  surface  gallantry  of  a  house 
party,  there  was  an  element  of  audacity 
under  the  simple  words.  Diana's  co- 
quetry had  never  extended  to  engaged 
men,  for  she  was  strictly  obedient  to 
certain  principles  of  honor.  This 
new  departure,  therefore,  puzzled  and 
alarmed  her  hostess,  to  whom  Margaret 
appeared  a  sweet,  simple  girl  needing 
the  protection  of  the  experienced.  She 
looked  down,  lest  Diana  should  win  her 
with  a  smile. 

II 

Justin  walked  quickly  until  the  little 
group  was  hidden  by  the  shrubbery,  then 
his  steps  dragged  in  obedience  to  his 
unwilling  mood.  The  torment  of  the 
past  six  months,  born  of  the  strife  be- 
tween stern  principle  and  the  growth  of 
an  emotion  so  strange  and  illuminating 
that  it  made  his  engagement  with  Mar- 


A   COMEDY   OF   MASKS 


garet  seem  fantastic  and  inexplicable, 
had  become  at  last  a  thing  to  be  killed 
with  the  sword  of  some  sharp  and  final 
decision. 

In  these  moments,  before  he  found  her 
—  the  search  should  be  leisurely  —  he 
reviewed  the  two  years  which  had  elapsed 
since  their  first  meeting  at  the  house  of 
a  friend,  a  society  woman  who  was  aid- 
ing Margaret,  he  became  aware  later,  to 
detach  herself  from  a  parent-stem  of 
somewhat  coarse  grain,  and  to  find  the 
setting  appropriate  to  the  delicacy  of  the 
flower. 

And  flower-like  from  the  first  she  had 
seemed  to  him,  suffused  in  her  blond- 
ness  as  in  pale  sunshine,  and  shrinking, 
so  he  thought,  from  the  world  in  which 
she  was  trying  to  earn  a  living  by  her 
pen.  She  appealed  to  him  as  a  child 
whose  hands,  though  small,  cling  tena- 
ciously. His  long  struggle  for  success, 
the  worst  strain  of  which  now  seemed 
about  over,  so  far  from  hardening  him 
had  made  him,  the  son  of  an  aristocratic, 
impoverished  family,  peculiarly  sensitive 
to  the  trials  of  others  in  the  strife.  As 
for  women  he  believed  that  nature  had 
never  intended  them  to  take  part  in  such 
a  brutal  contest. 

Margaret's  soft  blondness  melted  into 
tears  one  night  as  she  told  him  of  the 
stones  in  her  road.  A  month  later  they 
were  engaged,  the  stages  in  the  progress 
toward  this  event  being,  as  Justin  found 
in  retrospect,  peculiarly  elusive.  He 
sometimes  wondered  if  she  had  done 
the  wooing. 

For  six  months  he  was  content  in  his 
protection  of  her.  If  he  found  her  edu- 
cated to  the  point  of  rigidity,  he  told 
himself  that  she  would  relax  after 
marriage  in  his  own  easy,  nonchalant 
atmosphere  of  favorite  books  and  golden 
ignorance.  If  her  emotion  was  some- 
times sharp,  her  perception  dull,  he 
consoled  himself  by  thinking  that  what 
he  had  once  heard  was  true — the  period 
of  betrothal  did  the  least  justice  to 
character.  He  was  only  half  conscious 


of  his  distrust  of  her  power  to  make  him 
happy. 

Margaret  meanwhile  bloomed.  Her 
engagement  to  a  man  of  unquestioned 
social  standing  who  was  also  a  success 
in  his  profession,  coupled  with  the  inter- 
est of  two  or  three  influential  women 
attracted  by  the  girl's  sweet  dependence, 
had  launched  her  precisely  in  the  direc- 
tion she  wished  to  go.  Her  ambitions 
were  well  defined. 

Justin  found  himself  wondering  at  the 
tact  and  skill  with  which  she  steered  her 
course,  though  he  had  already  found  that 
her  surface  docility  and  sweetness  hid 
an  iron  will.  Her  ambitions  fitted  in 
but  awkwardly  with  his.  Social  engi- 
neering had  no  place  among  the  tradi- 
tions of  his  house.  You  cannot  climb 
when  you  are  at  the  summit. 

Then  he  met  Diana. 

Jl 

"You  are  here,  Margaret!  What 
made  you  leave  us?" 

He  had  traced  her  to  a  little  arbor, 
commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  distant 
western  hills.  As  she  was  always 
strangely  indifferent  to  nature,  his  pre- 
conceived idea  of  the  reason  of  this 
flight  was  more  than  confirmed. 

She  rose  as  he  entered  the  place,  a 
white  and  gold  picture  in  her  white  Sum- 
mer gown,  her  lips  faintly  pink,  and 
faint  pink  stains  about  her  eyes,  which 
looked  large  and  reproachful. 

"What  do  you  think  made  me  leave 
you?"  she  said,  quietly.  -  "Or  didn't  you 
think  anything  about  it?  " 

"You  see  I  am  here,"   he  answered. 

"Did  Mrs.  Craig  ask  you  to  find  me?" 

He  flushed  and  bit  his  lip. 

"You  probably  did  not  notice  my  de- 
parture; you  have  been  preoccupied  of 
late,  Justin,"  she  said  coldly. 

"Have  I?" 

"You  have  been  preoccupied  for  six 
months." 

"Your  dates  seem  astonishingly  clear 
in  your  mind,  Margaret,"  he  said  with 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


some  impatience. 

"You  met  Miss  Mainwaring  on  the 
twenty-third  of  January.  It  is  now  the 
twenty-third  of  July." 

"What  has  Miss  Mainwaring—  '  he 
began. 

"To  do  with  us?"  she  sighed  as  she 
added,  "Everything." 

At  this  first  sign  of  a  softer  mood  in 
her,  all  the  man  in  him  rose  to  her 
defence;  self-accusation,  downing  the 
haunting  misery,  drew  him  toward 
her.  He  did  not  suspect  that  she 
was  acting. 

"Margaret,  nothing  could — '  but  the 
lie  died  on  his  lips.  He  stood  facing 
himself  and  her. 

She  smiled,  but  her  face  was  hard  and 
unrelenting. 

"She  is  a  wonderful  rival,"  she  began 
slowly.  "I  have  intellect  enough  to 
se*e  that— but  I  would  like  to  tell  you 
something  about  her,  and  incidentally 
about  yourself,  Justin." 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  speak  of  Miss 
Mainwaring,"  he  said  harshly.  "What 
cause  have  I  given  you,  Margaret,  to 
drag  her  name  into  this  discussion? 
What  have  I  done?  " 

"You've  done  nothing.  You  have 
been  most  circumspect.  It's  what  you 
feel — oh,  I  know!  I've  watched  your 
face,  your  eyes.  You  may  be  engaged 
to  me,  but  it  is  she  you  are  interested  in. 
You  can't  deny  it,"  she  added  with  an 
air  of  triumph. 

He  looked  at  her  squarely. 

"No,  I  don't  deny  that  Miss  Main- 
waring  is  interesting  to  me,  but  why 
should  you  make  this  an  issue — " 

"Because  I  want  to  begin  right,"  she 
said  slowly. 

"Begin  right?" 

"If  you  are  going  to  do  that  kind  of 
thing  after  marriage,  I  think  our  chance 
for  happiness  is  poor." 

He  curbed  his  impatience,  conscious 
that  by  his  spiritual  alienation  from  her 
— where  there  had  never  been  union — 
he  had  put  all  the  weapons  in  her  hands. 


"But  you  have  just  acknowledged  that 
I  have  done  nothing." 

"Well,  if  you  are  going  to  find  every 
other  woman  you  meet  —  interesting, 
there  will  be  little  left  for  me  of  your 
time  and  attention." 

She  was  looking  up  at  him  fretfully, 
yet  with  a  nervous  intensity  in  her  eyes 
which  gave  him  the  feeling  of  facing  an 
animal  that  might  spring.  Through  his 
confused  emotions  he  was  wondering  if 
it  were  indeed  true  that  jealousy  could 
exist  without  love.  For  the  first  time 
since  their  engagement  he  doubted  Mar- 
garet's love  for  him. 

"I  think,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  we 
need  not  prolong  a  useless  and  undig- 
nified discussion.  Let  us  join  the 
others." 

"Not  until  I  have  said  what  I  want  to 
say  about  Diana  Mainwaring.  Perhaps 
you  know— perhaps  you  don't — that  she 
is,  by  reputation,  and  by  fact,  an  abso- 
lutely heartless  woman.  She  would  care 
no  more  for  you,  once  she  had  you  in 
her  collection,  than  for  a  last  year's  hat 
— and,"  she  added  with  a  certain  sig- 
nificant intonation,  "last  year's  hats  are 
nothing  to  her.  She  has  money." 

"Now  that  you  have  said  what  was  in 
your  mind,  Margaret,  shall  we  return?" 

For  answer  she  burst  into  tears;  her 
defiant  calm  suddenly  giving  away  before 
his  passive  quietness.  She  sank  on  a 
bench  sobbing. 

"Oh,  you  don't  care!  You  don't 
care!  You  don't  love  me  any  more, 
Justin." 

He  sat  down  and  put  an  arm  about  her 
gently,  accepting  at  that  moment,  though 
with  bitterness  and  sinking  of  heart,  the 
burden  that  he  would  have  to  bear 
through  the  years:  of  a  soul  that  he 
could  love,  if  he  loved  at  all,  only  out  of 
a  protecting  pity.  Even  as  he  soothed 
her  with  patient  words,  he  was  realizing 
that  the  sharp  wound  she  had  dealt  him 
was  her  summary  of  Diana  Mainwar- 
ing's  nature.  Diana's  reputation  for 
coquetry  was  not  unknown  to  him;  but 


A  COMEDY   OF   MASKS 


433 


during  the  latter  part  of  his  six-months' 
acquaintance  with  her,  he  had  called  it 
mystery,  reserve,  the  play  of  an  imagina- 
tive nature  too  complex  for  obvious  con- 
sistency. He  thought  that  he  read  in 
her  dark  eyes  contradictions  of  her 
words  and  moods,  the  clear  prophetic 
light  of  a  noble  destiny.  He  had  no 
right  to  care  whether  the  soul  in  Diana 
was  true,  but  he  knew  that  he  did  care. 
Hearing  the  sound  of  approaching  foot- 
steps he  drew  away  from  her,  and  took 
her  hand  authoritatively. 

"Margaret,  someone  is  coming.  We 
mustn't  look  as  if  we  had  had  a  scene. 
There— dry  your  eyes  and  stand  in  the 
door  of  the  arbor.  No,  don't  turn  your 
back  on  the  view.  Remember,  we  have 
been  spellbound  by  the  landscape  for  the 
last  fifteen  minutes." 

A  sad  humor  curved  his  lips  for  an 
instant.  In  this  glare  of  realization,  he 
understood  what  is  meant  by  the  laugh- 
ter of  the  gods.  The  reason  the  Olym- 
pians were  never  bored  was  that  just  the 
lovers  in  a  tired  and  resentful  world 
were  sufficiently  amusing.  To  watch 
their  antics  would  keep  even  Jove  awake. 

Margaret's  crying  was  of  the  April 
variety,  which  leaves  little  trace.  She 
emerged  plaintive,  but  only  a  shade 
pinker,  and  complacently  conscious  of 
having  scored  a  point. 

"Miss  Mainwaring  and  Mr.  Hartley," 
Justin  whispered.  "If  you  are  a  woman 
of  the  world,  Margaret,  or  want  to  be 
one,  act  now.  Be  just  as  gracious  as  you 
can." 

He  had  struck  the  right  note  in  his 
appeal.  The  girl  straightened  up  and 
put  her  muscles  in  order  for  the  conven- 
tional smile.  Justin,  haughtily  ignoring 
the  tumult  always  in  his  heart  at  the 
approach  of  Diana,  greeted  the  new 
comers  gravely. 

Hartley,  round  and  comfortable, 
backed  by  forty-eight  years  of  residence 
in  a  world  where  all  men  were  bankers, 
or  ought  to  be,  was  looking  at  his  com- 
panion with  the  expression  he  had  worn 


for  five  hours  on  the  first  and  last  occa- 
sion of  his  hearing  "Tristan  and  Isolde." 
Diana  was  as  inexplicable  to  him  as  Wag- 
ner. He  did  not  like  black  and  white 
effects  in  women,  nor  a  play  of  wit 
which  like  lightning  might  strike  any- 
where, nor  an  independence  which 
seemed  to  go  beyond  the  fraction  mark 
allotted  to  the  sex  in  its  relations  to  the 
fine  animal,  man.  He  liked  them  blonde 
and  soft  appearing,  delighted  to  wear 
big  bunches  of  violets,  and  to  eat  well 
chosen  dinners.  He  was  by  no  means 
antagonistic  to  Diana,  her  graciousness 
of  manner  forbidding  that,  but  he  had 
small  grudges  against  her  which, 
summed  up,  meant  that  she  was  fitted 
into  no  classification  known  to  him. 

"Well,  you  are  runaways,"  he  called 
out  heartily.  "Just  like  all  engaged 
people." 

"The  view  here  holds  even  those  who 
are  not  engaged,"  Margaret  said, 
smiling.  She  was  conscious  that  the 
banker  admired  her. 

Hartley  looked  for  an  instant  toward 
the  purple  hills,  remote  and  solemn  in 
the  afternoon  light. 

"Why,  there  is  a  real  pretty  view, 
isn't  there!  It's  the  first  time  I  ever 
noticed  it." 

"You  don't  know  this  place  well, 
then?  "  said  Diana,  though  she  knew 
perfectly  well  he  did. 

"Bless  me!  I  was  here  before  you 
were  born,  when  I  was  only  a  clerk  in 
the  house,  and  Weatherby  was  Mr. 
Craig's  banker." 

"Mr.  Craig  has  been  dead  along  time, 
has  he  not? "  Margaret  asked,  looking 
attentively  at  Hartley. 

"Fifteen  years:  No,  I  didn't  know 
this  view,  but  I've  a  favorite  spot  in  the 
Italian  garden  that  I  think  can't  be 
matched  outside  of  Italy.  Suppose  we 
all  stroll  over  there.  The  dressing  bell 
hasn't  rung  yet." 

He  took  his  place  at  Margaret's  side, 
where,  for  some  occult  reason,  he  always 
felt  comfortable;  from  the  hour  of  his 


434 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,   1905 


first  acquaintance  with  her  he  had  called 
Justin  Morris  a  lucky  man.  Margaret 
was  a  little  too  demure,  perhaps,  but  her 
fair  blondness,  her  usual  undisturbed 
manner,  and  her  way  of  saying  nothing 
nicely,  gave  him  the  sensation  now  of 
stepping  out  of  a  large,  lonely,  starlit 
country  into  the  lamplight  of  a  cozy 
parlor. 

Justin  and  Diana  followed.  Her 
gaiety  was  unimpaired,  but  he  was 
silent  in  self  defence.  Margaret's  words 
had  produced  in  him  a  longing,  deep 
and  intense,  to  have  them  disproved; 
to  have  Diana  come  to  her  own  vindica- 
tion. 

Of  one  thing  he  was  sure  as  he 
walked  by  her  side  suffocatingly  con- 
scious of  her  presence  yet  scarcely  dar- 
ing to  turn  and  meet  her  eyes :  he  must 
leave  the  house  party  or  he  would  betray 
himself.  The  scene  with  his  betrothed, 
her  accusation  of  Diana,  so  far  from 
aiding  his  self  possession,  had  weak- 
ened it. 

"You  are  not  listening  to  me,"  she 
said  once,  stopping  abruptly  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  story  of  one  of  Gaylord's  pic- 
tures, which  was  having  unusual  adven- 
tures in  London. 

Then  Justin  turned  and  looked  at  her 
directly. 

"No,  I  wasn't  listening  to  you.  But 
you  are  under  obligations  to  forgive  me 
anything." 

A  delicate  flush  overspread  her  face. 
For  a  moment  she  gazed  at  him  proudly. 
Then  her  eyes  dropped. 

"Go  on  with  the  story,"  he  said.  I 
am  listening  now." 

She  was  silent  a  moment. 

"I  have  forgotten  the  rest." 

The  first  result  in  Margaret  of  the 
pairing-off,  though  she  knew  it  was  no 
fault  of  Justin's,  was  the  sudden  spring- 
ing-up  of  the  nervous  tears  she  had 
forced  back  and  a  sudden  resent- 
ment of  the  little  fat  man  at  her  side. 
He  was  talking  of  the  charms  of  his 
hostess,  and  of  the  pleasure  it  had  been 


to  serve  her  in  his  professional  capacity 
all  these  years. 

"Mrs.  Craig's  called  a  brilliant 
woman,"  he  wound  up  confidentially, 
"and  I  dare  say  she  is  —  but  to  me  she's 
better  than  that:  she's  a  kind  woman. 
People  think  she's  all  for  society,  but  it 
would  astonish  you  if  you  knew  the 
number  of  persons  and  things  she  is 
interested  in  outside  of  society  life — 
charitable!  The  bishop  and  I  know — 
why,  bless  my  soul,  you're  not  crying!  " 

He  had  turned  suddenly  to  see  tears 
rolling  down  Margaret's  cheeks  like  dew 
on  the  traditional  rose  leaf.  "Why,  what's 
the  matter,  child?  "  he  questioned,  a 
note  of  kind,  almost  affectionate  con- 
cern in  his  voice,  that  Margaret,  through 
all  her  tumult,  heard  and  felt  the  balm  of. 

"I  don't  know  —  I  don't  feel  very 
well." 

"Shall  we  turn  back?" 

"Oh,  no  indeed.  I  wouldn't  want — 
them — to  see." 

The  plural  noun  slipped  out  before  she 
was  aware.  She  blushed  violently;  and 
still  unnerved,  though  no  longer  resent- 
ful, more  tears  followed  those  coursing 
down  her  pink  cheeks.  She  looked  so 
pretty — Margaret  was  one  of  those  rare 
women  who  can  look  pretty  when  they 
cry  —  that  Hartley  found  it  difficult  to 
keep  his  eyes  turned  away.  His  brain, 
as  a  rule,  worked  slowly  except  in  mat- 
ters of  finance,  but  on  this  occasion  he 
had  a  gleam  of  intuition,  so  clear  and 
direct  that  before  he  knew  he  had  put 
his  lightning  flash  into  words. 

"You've  not  been  quarreling  with  your 
fiance,  have  you?  " 

Margaret  nodded.  She  was  groping 
helplessly  for  her  handkerchief.  Hart- 
ley cast  a  guilty  glance  over  his  shoul- 
der, but  Diana  and  Justin,  though  not 
far  behind,  were  for  that  moment  hidden 
by  a  turn  of  the  evergreen  walk.  He 
hastily  produced  a  snow-white  square 
of  linen  daintily  scented  and  with  an 
elaborate  monogram  embroidered  in  one 
corner. 


A  COMEDY   OF   MASKS 


435 


"Here,  take  mine." 

As  Margaret  took  it  from  the  fat,  pink 
hand,  her  eye  was  caught  by  the  superb 
flash  under  a  beam  of  an  enormous  dia- 
mond, incongruous  and  haughty  on  the 
plump  ringer.  The  thought  went  through 
her  mind  that  Hartley  was  very  rich: 
and  she  then  remembered  that  his  wealth 
had  been  spoken  of  to  her  as  one  of  the 
chief  grudges  matrons  with  marriageable 
daughters  had  against  his  bachelorhood. 

"Thank  you,  you're  so  kind,"  she 
said  sweetly. 

She  patted  her  cheeks  with  the  hand- 
kerchief, and  then,  privileged  by  her  self- 
revelation,  relapsed  into  silence.  He 
was  silent,  too,  unwontedly  thoughtful, 
and  full  of  a  new-born  commiseration 
for  this  pretty,  defenceless  girl  whom 
Justin  Morris  evidently  was  not  treating 
as  he  should.  With  an  effort  of  mind 
not  easy  for  him,  he  reviewed  his  rather 
limited  observations  of  the  engaged 
couple,  but  could  find  no  outward  lapse 
in  Justin's  conduct,  until  he  came  to  the 
very  recent  episode  at  afternoon  tea. 
He  then  remembered  the  young  man's 
look  of  surprise  when  reminded  of  the 
absence  of  his  betrothed.  He  remem- 
bered, too,  that  he  was  standing  like 
a  gentleman  in  waiting  by  Diana  Main- 
waring's  chair.  This  illumination  had 
the  same  instantaneous  effect  of  the 
first.  Hartley  did  not  weigh  his  words. 

"Some  women,"  he  exploded,  "would 
have  every  last  man  at  their  feet,  married 
or  single,  engaged  or  disengaged.  Now 
Miss  Mainwaring  may  be  a  very  charm- 
ing girl,  but  she's  a  coquette  to  her 
finger-tips,  and  they  say  she  has  no  heart. 
Women  like  that  ought  to  be  locked  up." 

"I  think  she  casts  a  spell  on  people," 
said  Margaret,  who  was  too  undeveloped 
spiritually  to  understand  that  the  only 
spell  in  the  world  is  the  power  of 
strength  over  weakness,  of  the  poised 
over  the  unpoised. 

Hartley  looked  sympathetic. 

"She  has  a  strange  way  of  fixing  those 
big  eyes  of  hers  on  you,  hasn't  she?  As 


if  she  were  searching  for  your  soul.  I 
don't  call  her  handsome;  but  then,  I 
don't  care  for  dark  women,"  he  added, 
fixing  his  eyes  directly  on  Margaret. 

Her  blondness  seemed  to  suffuse  her 
at  that  moment  like  light  through  yellow 
glass.  She  was  becoming  quite  calm 
again,  and  was  watching  the  diamond 
on  the  banker's  hand  as  if  fascinated. 
A  passionate,  hopeless  love  of  jewels  was 
one  of  the  chief  afflictions  of  her  poverty. 
Her  own  engagement  diamond,  because 
it  was  not  a  large  stone,  had  always 
seemed  to  her  the  very  symbol  of  the 
limitations  of  Justin's  devotion.  She 
measured  spirit  by  matter. 

They  had  reached  the  particular  pretty 
spot,  whose  wealth  of  artificiality  the 
banker  liked  better  than  all  the  prodi- 
galities of  untrained  nature,  and  he 
turned  to  Margaret  for  her  appproval. 

"You  have  found  the  loveliest  place 
in  the  gardens,"  she  said  with  enthusi- 
astic emphasis. 

"Now  this  is  friendly,  sociable — those 
big  views  always  make  me  feel  as  if  my 
friends  had  died." 

"You  would  be  a  faithful  friend,  I 
judge,"  said  Margaret  sadly. 

A  rosy  blush  of  pleasure  suffused  the 
little  man's  round  face.  He  held  out 
his  hand  impulsively. 

"May  I  be  your  friend,  Miss  Bent- 
ley?" 

He  squeezed  her  soft,  cold,  nerveless 
hand  with  genuine  warmth. 

The  ready  tears  came  again  to  her 
blue  eyes. 

"I  may  need  a  friend,"  she  said  in 
a  low  voice,  then  dropped  his  hand  sud- 
denly, for  Justin  and  Diana  appeared. 
Justin  was  talking  to  his  companion  in 
an  even,  quiet  tone,  and  from  what  Mar- 
garet could  gather,  he  was  telling  her  of 
some  rare  editions  in  Mrs.  Craig's  great 
library. 

Ill 

They  all  met  at  dinner,  the  majority 
in  that  gaiety  of  mood  which  sees  in  the 


436 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


closing  in  of  evening  the  beginning  of 
a  happy,  artificial  day,  untroubled  by 
the  specters  of  duty  or  reality. 

Justin,  to  his  relief,  was  not  placed 
near  Margaret.  Since  the  scene  in  the 
arbor  even  pity  for  her  had  been  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  curious  shrinking  from 
her  pale  tenacity,  which  seemed  now  the 
one  distinct  element  in  her  relation  to 
him.  Diana,  looking  like  the  embodi- 
ment of  a  silver  Summer  night  in  her 
black  gown  and  her  necklace  of  moon- 
stone, sat  opposite  to  him.  On  one  side 
of  her  was  the  bishop,  and  at  the 
bishop's  left  hand  was  Mrs.  Gaylord, 
who  was  sparkling  with  a  bit  of  news, 
which  had  come  to  her  as  private  intelli- 
gence she  was  at  liberty  to  make  public. 

"Who  do  you  think  is  going  to  be 
married?"  she  asked  the  table  in  a  lull 
of  the  conversation . 

"Someone  who  thinks  he's  in  love/' 
said  Gaylord  cheerfully. 

No  cheap  remarks,  Walter." 

"Some  man  who  has  money,"  the  col- 
lege boy  said  ruefully. 

"Some  woman  who  has  found  her 
ideal,"  the  debutante  ventured. 

"My  dear,  I  found  mine  four  times 
before  I  married  Mr.  Gaylord." 

"And  why  did  you  marry  him?  "  the 
college  boy  said  daringly. 

"Because  I  was  his  ideal." 

The  bishop  smiled. 

"But  don't  keep  us  in  suspense, 
Agnes.  Who  is  the  woman?  " 

"You  take  it  for  granted  that  it  is 
a  woman." 

"Of  course.  Who  is  ever  interested 
in  a  man's  marriage,  or  in  the  man, 
rather?" 

"It's  Betty  Arnold." 

A  little  murmur  of  surprise  went 
'round  the  table.  Miss  Arnold,  a  noted 
belle,  had  always  pleaded  marriages  in 
previous  incarnations  as  her  reason  for 
remaining  single  in  this. 

"I  wonder  if  she  really  cares  for  the 
man,"  said  Gaylord. 

"What  possible  reason  could  she  have 


for  marrying  Jack  Louison  if  she  didn't? 
She  has  wealth,  beauty,  position." 

"Change  of  torment,  perhaps." 

"You  are  banal,  Walter.  Bishop, 
you've  had  a  large  experience  of  life — 
how  many  fascinating  women  have  you 
met?  I  mean  Circes — and  of  course  the 
present  gathering  is  excepted." 

He  smiled,  raised  one  hand,  and 
counted  off  four  fingers. 

"That's  not  many;  not  enough  to  leave 
you  with  a  crowded  impression.  So  you 
should  be  able  to  tell  us  certain  things. 
As  you  observed  these  women,  did  it 
seem  to  you  that  they  had  heart?  " 

The  bishop  again  raised  his  hand  and 
counted  off  two  fingers. 

"Two  had  heart.  What  became  of 
them?" 

"They  married." 

"They  were  fortunate,"  said  a  low 
voice  at  his  right.  No  one  else  heard 
Diana  speak,  but  a  certain  hopeless 
quality  in  her  tone  made  the  bishop 
turn  and  for  an  instant  look  intently. 
She  was  smiling,  but  it  seemed  to  him 
as  he  looked  that  the  witch  was  dead  in 
her  eyes. 

"In  these  cases  they  were,"  he  said, 
speaking  for  her  alone,  "for  they  loved 
their  husbands."  She  turned  her  head 
sharply  away. 

After  dinner  Justin  sought  Margaret. 
He  held  a  telegram  in  his  hand,  but  he 
did  not  show  it  to  her. 

"I  am  going  back  to  town  early  tomor- 
row," he  said.  "Bretherton  has  to  go 
away,  and  there  must  be  someone  at 
the  office." 

She  looked  up  at  him  suspiciously. 

"And  you're  not  returning?  " 

"No,  I  shall  be  too  busy." 

"This  is  very  sudden." 

"Nevertheless  imperative." 

"I  think  you  might  have  stayed  your 
time  here,"  she  said,  frowning  a  little. 
"What  is  back  of  this,  Justin?  " 

"Nothing  is  back  of  it,  he  said  impa- 
tiently, though  his  flight  was  the  out- 
come of  a  resolution,  made  that  after- 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE    for    JANUARY,    1905 


noon :  to  go  away,  and  not  to  see  Diana 
Mainwaring  again  until  after  his  mar- 
riage in  September,  when  principle 
would  have  gained  its  last  bulwark  of 
outward  form. 

"Have  you  told  Mrs.  Craig?" 

"Yes." 

" What  d-:d  she  say?" 

"She  prt  sad  me  to  put  off  my  going. " 

"You  wi.l  write  every  day." 

"O,  yes,  every  day." 

His  eyes  unconsciously  strayed  to  the 
corner  of  the  room  where  Diana  was 
talking  with  Mr.  Gaylord,  a  grave  dig- 
nity in  her  manner,  which  seemed  to 
him,  in  this  sultry,  pricking  atmosphere 
of  petty  questioning,  like  a  vista  of 
far  off,  solemn  heights. 

Margaret  followed  his  look. 

"You  are  running  away  from  her." 

"Does  one  run  away  from  love?  " 

"You  are  hedging.  Besides,  that  im- 
plies that  you  do  not  love  me,  since  you 
are  leaving  me. ' ' 

He  was  silent. 

Late  that  night  Mrs.  Craig  was  reading 
in  her  bedroom  by  the  light  of  tall  wax 
candles.  The  long,  gold  beams  of  the 
warm  Summer  moon  were  creeping  to 
her  feet.  The  curtains  swayed  softly  in 
the  mild  breeze,  which  entered  fragrant 
as  if  it  bore  the  souls  of  sleeping  flowers. 

There  was  a  knock  and  Diana  entered, 
still  in  her  dinner  dress.  She  did  not 
speak  to  her  hostess  at  once,  but  stood 
for  a  moment  in  the  broad,  open  window 
looking  out  over  the  gardens.  Her 
expression  was  sad,  her  manner  preoc- 
cupied. 

"What  are  you  reading?  "  she  said  at 
last. 

Mrs.  Craig  named  a  recent  novel. 

"Did  they  live  happily  ever  after?  " 

"They  married,"  was  the  guarded 
answer. 

"Was  she  fascinating?" 

Mrs.  Craig  nodded. 

"Poor  wretch!" 

"So  are  you,  Diana  mia." 

"A  poor  wretch?" 


"No,  fascinating." 

"It's  like  to  be  my  doom,"  she  an- 
swered carelessly.  "I'll  not  keep  you 
from  your  book.  I  only  came  to  say, 
dear  hostess  of  mine,  that  I  must  leave 
tomorrow." 

Astonishment  and  reproach  were  in 
Mrs.  Craig's  face;  then  perplexity. 

"Diana,  why?" 

The  girl  turned  an  earnest,  illumined 
face  to  her  hostess. 

"Dear,  did  you  ever  know  me  to  drop 
out?  I  have  stayed  in  every  game — per- 
haps because — 

She  stopped  abruptly.  Mrs.  Craig 
waited,  but  the  girl  remained  silent. 
She  seemed  weighed  down  by  an  incom- 
municable burden. 

"Diana,  you  can't  leave.  Justin 
Morris  leaves  tomorrow  morning." 

A  quiver  went  through  Diana,  but  in 
an  instant  she  had  regained  her  self 
possession. 

"The  connection,  Ursula?  " 

"Just  this.  Dear,  I  am  not  blaming 
you.  So  far  as  I  know,  you've  not  lifted 
a  finger.  The  pity  of  it  is  you  don't 
have  to  lift  a  finger." 

Diana  was  silent.  Her  face  told 
nothing. 

"Perhaps  you  see  how  it  is,"  she  hesi- 
tated. "It's  noble  of  you  to  want  to 
leave,  for  Margaret  Bentley  is  a  child. 
She  has  no  weapons  to  match 
yours." 

Still  Diana  said  nothing. 

"And  you,"  she  went  on  in  a  caress- 
ing voice  which,  in  spite  of  herself, 
Diana's  very  presence  always  drew  from 
her,  "you,  who,  for  some  mysterious 
reason  can't  feel,  you  should  protect 
a  younger  woman,  who  is  all  feeling,  all 
simplicity,  all  trust,  like  Margaret  Bent- 
ley." 

Diana's  low  laugh  followed,  but  her 
eyes  were  wistful. 

"She  doesn't  need  my  protection,  cara 
mia.  Mr.  Morris  will  protect  her  ?  " 

"Will  he?  He  forgot  her  for  you  this 
afternoon,  Diana.  I  don't  doubt  his 


A   COMEDY   OF   MASKS 


439 


love  for  her,  but  he  has  come  under  your         "Why  can't  they  stand  on  their  own 


spell." 

A  look  of  pain  came  into  the  girl's  eyes. 

"You  don't  know  how  I  hate  that 
word.  You  make  me  feel,  all  of  you,  as 
if  no  one  could  ever  have  a  normal 
caring  for  me:  as  if  I  could  never  meet 
anyone  in  an  equality  of  love,"  she  said, 
with  a  note  of  bitterness  in  her  voice. 

"You  are  a  good  friend,  Diana  —  I 
never  had  a  truer — but  you  have  only 
your  dramatic  history  to  thank  if  I  am 
skeptical  of  your  power  to  love.  The 
moment  people  love  you,  you  are  con- 
temptuous of  them." 


feet!  "  the  girl  cried,  in  a  sudden  pas- 
sion of  impatience  that  surprised  Mrs. 
Craig.  "Why  can't  they  control  their 
own  souls?  They  deafen  me  with  their 
heart-beats  and  swamp  me  with  their 
emotions.  Then  in  fifteen  minutes  it's 
all  over." 

"Perhaps  you  will  love  some  day, 
yourself,  and  then  you  will  understand 
— why,  as  you  say,  they  can't  control 
their  own  souls." 

Diana  gazed  at  her  a  moment,  then 
she  turned  to  the  window  with  an  inscru- 
table, lonely  look. 


(TO  BE  CONTINUED) 


POLITICAL   EVOLUTION   OF    PORTO    RICO 


By     H.    H.    ALLEN 

SAN      JUAN,       PORTO       RICO 


WHEN  the  report  of  the  appointment 
of  Beekman  Winthrop  as  governor 
of  Porto  Kico  first  reached  the  island, 
an  inquiry  among  the  American  officials 
revealed  the  fact  that  to  them  he  was 
unknown. 

When  later  the  cable  brought  the  in- 
formation that  he  was  a  young  man  of 
thirty  to  thirty-five  who  had  attracted  the 
attention  of  Judge  Taft  of  the  Philippine 
commission  and  had  been  on  important 
service  with  him  in  the  Philippines  for 
over  two  years  past,  the  news  brought 
joy  to  two  radically  opposite  classes  of 
our  people — the  political  grafters  and  the 
opposing  group  that  stands  for  honest 
government  in  Porto  Rico. 

To  the  former,  especially  those  of 
Spanish  extraction,  Governor  Winthrop's 
youth  seemed  a  promising  omen.  That 
a  young  man  of  limited  political  experi- 
ence would  fall  an  easy  prey  to  these 
past-masters  in  tricky  politics,  seemed  to 
them  a  foregone  conclusion. 

To  many  of  the  other  group  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  young  man,  and  evidently 


vouched  for  by  Governor  Taft,  seemed 
conclusive  not  only  as  to  his  ability  to 
cope  with  conditions  here,  but  also  as  to 
his  ambition,  knowledge  and  integrity. 

Which  of  these  two  classes — whose  in- 
terests have  been  constantly  at  variance 
.since  the  landing  of  Ponce  de  Leon, 
Porto  Rico's  first  governor,  400  years 
ago — will  win  the  prize  for  which  they  so 
fondly  hope,  and  for  which  they  will  bat- 
tle as  long  as  a  ray  of  hope  exists,  is 
a  question  of  interest  here  and  no  less 
of  interest  in  the  States, — no  less  of  in- 
terest wherever  civilization  has  gained 
a  foothold  and  is  fighting  her  battles  for 
the  higher  life.  This  is  especially  the 
case  wherever  the  white  man  has  taken 
up  the  burden  of  bringing  the  black  man 
and  the  brown  man  to  a  condition  of 
manly  independence. 

The  conditions  existing  in  Porto  Rico 
differ  in  many  respects  from  those  in 
the  other  territory  acquired  from  Spain. 
Here  the  American  army  received  a  cor- 
dial welcome  from  the  masses  scarcely 
ever  before  accorded  to  invaders.  The 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


BEEKMAN    WINTHROP,   GOVERNOR   OF   PORTO   RICO 
Sketched  from  life  by  Florence  E.  M.  Allen 


peasants  gave  an  enthusiastic  welcome; 
the  educated  classes,  many  of  whom  had 
been  guilty  of  circulating  the  vilest  slan- 
ders on  the  Americans,  met  our  troops 
with  the  "keys  of  their  cities"  and  de- 
livered them  with  addresses  that  brought 
reminders  of  the  best  efforts  of  Cervantes 
and  the  author  of  "Ivanhoe." 

The  apparent  readiness  of  the  people 
to  establish  American  laws  and  institu- 
tions awakened  a  desire  on  the  part  of 
the  people  of  the  States  and  of  American 
officials,  who  had  no  experience  of  the 
fickle  and  mercenary  temper  of  the  Porto 
Ricans,  to  place  the  administration  in 
the  hands  of  the  natives.  For  this  pur- 
pose General  Henry,  an  executive  officer 
of  well  known  ability  and  honor,  and 


who  was  in  sympathy  with  the  idea,  was 
appointed  military  governor.  He  at 
once  placed  Porto  Ricans  in  many  of  the 
most  important  positions.  These  office- 
holders, true  to  Spanish  colonial  tradi- 
tions as  to  official  duties  and  rights,  in 
a  few  months  wrought  chaos  in  the  de- 
partments to  such  an  extent  that  General 
Henry,  bitterly  disappointed,  resigned. 
General  Davis,  now  governor  of  the 
Panama  Canal  Zone,  attempted  to  rectify 
the  evils  by  going  further  in  liberality 
toward  the  islanders.  This  policy  was 
carried  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
inauguration  of  civil  government 
was  hailed  with  delight.  native 
officialdom  regarded  it  as  a  license 
to  plunder  and  all  native  citizens 


POLITICAL   EVOLUTION   OF   PORTO   RICO 


441 


seemed   to   expect  to  become  officials. 

The  results  of  self-government  have 
not  met  expectations,  but  it  has,  produced 
leaders  who  for  audacity  and  tireless 
perseverance  are  unequalled  "on  this 
side"  at  least.  The  consciousness  of 
their  ability  in  this  field  was  well  illus- 
trated by  a  conversation  that  occurred 
on  a  New  York-bound  steamer  a  few 
years  since.  The  chief  of  one  of  the 
parties  was  facetiously  interrogated  as 
to  whether  the  object  of  his  visit  to  New 
York  was  to  take  lessons  in  practical 
politics  from  Croker.  He  replied  that 
he  felt  "competent  to  teach  the  Tam- 
many chief."  The  question  of  compe- 
tency was  conceded.  The  interrogator 
knew  the  ability  of  the  man. 

Of  course  with  large  numbers  of  igno- 
rant voters,  who  are  easily  swayed  by 
such  leaders,  intelligent  self-government, 
as  understood  in  the  States,  has  not  yet 
been  realized  here,  and  any  government 
not  tending  in  the  direction  of  chaos  is 
not  yet  possible  in  Porto  Rico  except 
with  a  strong  man  at  the  head  of  affairs, 


with  authority  to  check  abuses.  The 
governor  of  Porto  Rico,  under  a  liberal 
construction  of  the  Foraker  bill,  the 
organic  law  of  the  island,  has  this 
authority  in  his  control  of  the  depart- 
ments and  his  power  of  supervision  over 
the  municipalities.  This  power  is,  how- 
ever, somewhat  modified  by  the  fact 
that  the  chief  appointments  are  made  by 
the  president  and  the  United  States  sen- 
ate, who  become  sharers  in  the  work 
and  responsibility,  unless  a  man  strong 
enough  to  be  entrusted  with  pro-consu- 
lar power  of  administration  is  found  and 
his  recommendations  are  accepted  in  the 
selection  of  his  co-workers.  The  gen- 
eral impression  prevails  that  President 
Roosevelt  and  cabinet  have  accepted 
the  measurement  of  Governor  Winthrop 
as  made  by  their  present  associate,  the 
secretary  of  war,  and  that  the  cabinet  of 
the  governor  of  Porto  Rico  is  being 
changed  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the 
situation. 

That  Governor  Winthrop  has  secured 
the  good  will  of  all  classes  in  the  island 


POLITICS   IN   PORTO   RICO: — A   SPEECH   ON    THE   PLAZA   IN   SAN   JUAN 
From  •  unapshot  by  the  Wardrop  Photo  Company,  San  Juan 


442 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


is  apparent  even  to  the  casual  observer. 
A  representative  of  a  New  York  com- 
mercial house  who  lately  returned  from 
a  trip  over  the  island  told  the  writer  that 
among  the  commercial  classes  he  heard 
nothing  but  unbounded  praise  of  the 
acts  of  the  new  governor,  the  result  of 
which  was  increased  business  con- 
fidence. In  the  social  field,  he  is  ably 


COLONEL  TERRENCE  HAMILL,  COMMANDING  THE 

INSULAR  POLICE  OF  PORTO   RICO 
Photograph  by  K.  Coronado,  San  Juan 

seconded  by  Mrs.  Winthrop,  and  a  de- 
mocracy of  good  manners  is  bringing  to- 
gether the  people  of  both  languages,  so 
that  a  better  understanding  of  the 
thought  and  social  customs  of  each  is 
resulting  in  incalculable  good. 

One  of  the  most  difficult  works  of  pre- 
vious administrations  has  been  the  con- 
duct of  the  elections;  here  the  spirit  of 
riot  naturally  runs  rampant.  This  year 


(1904)  the  election  of  the  legislators,  most 
of  the  municipal  officials,  and  the  dele- 
gate to  congress  took  place.  Early  in 
the  campaign  the  governor  gave  the  dis- 
trict leaders  to  understand  that  no  disturb- 
ance should  occur  and  that  no  unfair 
advantage  should  be  taken.  And,  re- 
versing earlier  experiences,  the  election 
was  quiet  and  orderly. 

Nor  was  this  change  brought  about  by 
the  coercive  presence  of  a  large  military 
force.  Under  Spanish  rule,  from  fifteen 
to  thirty  thousand  foreign  soldiers  were 
kept  here  to  awe  the  people,  as  were 
also  a  body  of  men  that  corresponded  to 
the  Insular  Police  of  the  present  time, 
but  two  or  three  times  the  present  num- 
ber. At  this  time  there  is  not  one  en- 
listed soldier  except  natives  on  the 
island;  three  battalions  of  Porto  Ricans 
man  the  batteries  and  care  for  the  gov- 
ernment property.  The  police  of  the 
whole  island  number  500  men  under 
command  of  an  ex-army  officer,  who 
resigned  for  this  purpose  and  whose 
work  of  organization  is  a  mark  of  honor 
to  the  race  of  policemen  from  whom 
Colonel  Terrence  Hamill  sprang;  and 
to  him  and  his  men,  who  stood  for  law 
and  justice  during  the  election  just 
passed,  is  due  the  good  order  at  the 
meetings  and  at  the  polls  that  has  given 
encouragement  to  believe  that  govern- 
ment of  the  people  by  the  people  may 
be  possible  in  Porto  Rico  sooner  than 
any  reasonable  person  has  heretofore 
believed. 

These  facts  must  mean  that  "the 
young  man"  who,  as  he  walked  down 
the  landing  of  the  steamer  from  New 
York  five  months  ago,  was  taken  for 
a  bright-eyed  missionary,  has  the  right 
mettle  to  lead  this  people,  steeped  as 
they  are  in  all  the  vile  dregs  of  misgov- 
ernment,  into  a  fitness  to  take  part  in 
time  in  the  Union  of  States. 


BORROWING   AN    ONION 

By  JOSEPHINE    SCRIBNER   GATES 

TOLEDO,     OHIO 

ONE  Sunday  afternoon,  about  five 
o'clock,  Mr.  Brown,  dressed  in 
faultless  attire,  ran  lightly  up  the  steps 
of  a  fashionable  residence  in  Chicago, 
his  magnificent  dog  bounding  after 
him. 

In  response  to  his  ring,  a  maid 
ushered  him  into  the  drawing-room, 
where  was  seated  the  lady  of  the  house, 
who  rose  and  greeted  him  with:  "Hello, 
neighbor,  what's  the  matter?  Do  my 
eyes  deceive  me,  or  have  you  troubles 
of  your  own?  " 

"Well,  I  should  say  that  I  had,"  he 
responded  wearily.  "Some  friends  from 
the  West  End  have  blown  in  upon  us. 
Came  to  lunch.  Wife  informed  me 
privately  that  we  haven't  a  thing  to  eat 
in  the  house  but  cake  and  lettuce,  and 
sent  me  to  borrow  an  onion." 

"How  on  earth  can  you  feed  a  lot  of 
friends  on  one  onion?  Are  you  going 
to  eat  it  and  peddle  it  out  to  them  at 
a  penny  a  smell?  " 

"No,  heavens,  no!  Can't  you  see? 
Cook  has  some  cold  potatoes.  With  an 
onion  and  lettuce  she  can  make  a  deli- 


cious salad,  which,  with  bread  and  but- 
ter, iced  tea  and  cake,  will  make  a  very 
respectable  lunch." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  and  asking  him  to  wait 
one  moment,  she  disappeared,  only  to 
reappear  empty-handed.  "Awfully 
sorry,  but  there  isn't  even  a  smell  of 
one  in  the  house.  Go  next  door  to  Mrs. 
Smith;  she  will  give  you  one." 

"Can't.  Don't  know  her.  They  just 
moved  in,  and  we  haven't  called.  Never 
even  saw  her." 

"Oh,  bosh.  What  of  it?  Goon.  No 
better  way  to  strike  up  an  acquaintance 
than  by  borrowing.  I'll  tell  you  what: 
you  are  all  dressed  up,  pretend  you  came 
to  call.  Stay  a  few  moments,  tell  some 
of  your  funny  stories  and  make  yourself 
generally  agreeable.  As  you  depart, 
apologize  for  not  calling  before,  by  say- 
ing the  baby  hasn't  been  well,  and  then 
incidentally  mention  that  he  has  a  fear- 
ful ear-ache,  then  casually:  'Oh,  by  the 
way,  do  you  happen  to  have  an  onion  in 
the  house?  A  friend  told  me  today 
what  a  fine  thing  it  was  to  relieve  pain 
when  roasted  and  placed  in  the  ear,  and 
I  very  much  want  to  try  it  if  he  cries 
again  tonight.'  Of  course  they  will  has- 
ten to  accommodate  you." 

Brown  pondered  upon  this  brilliant 
idea  for  a  moment,  then  rose  quickly 
and  departed,  saying:  "By  Jove,  I  will. 
I'd  rather  do  it  than  face  my  wife  with- 
out the  onion,  as  she  is  so  desperately 
anxious  for  it." 


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NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,   1905 


Arrived  next  door,  with  his  dog  still  at 
his  heels,  he  rang  the  bell. 

His  lady  friend's  cheerful  cry  of 
"Look  pleasant,  please,"  floated  through 
the  air  as  the  door  opened  and  Mrs. 
Smith  with  an  inquiring  look  bade  him 
enter.  He  raised  his  hat  and  stepped 
inside  onto  a  small  rug  which  was  on 
the  hardwood  floor  at  the  entrance,  and 
before  he  could  utter  a  word  his  feet  slid 
out  from  under  him,  and  he  found  him- 
self sprawled  at  full  length  on  the  floor. 
Immediately  a  large  dog  from  the  rear 
of  the  hall  sprang  upon  him,  and,  the 
door  still  being  open,  his  own  dog, 
resenting  this  attack  upon  its  master, 
with  one  leap  over  the  prostrate  man, 
grasped  his  foe,  and  then  and  there 
began  a  fierce  conflict. 

They  clawed,  yowled,  barked  and 
tried  to  tear  each  other  asunder. 

There  happened  to  be  other  guests  in 
the  house,  who  rushed  to  the  scene  of 
action.  From  Brown's  position  in  the 
field  there  seemed  to  be  hundreds  of 
faces  looking  on;  he  turned  cold  to  his 
toes  as  he  thought  of  rising  to  his  feet 
and  facing  those  pretty  girls  in  the  dress 
circle,  who  with  hands  clasped  were 
anxiously  awaiting  the  second  act  of  this 
exciting  drama  which  had  so  suddenly 
been  thrust  upon  them  free  of  charge. 

The  gentlemen  in  the  bald-headed 
row  were  calling  off  the  infuriated  ani- 
mals and  Brown  knew  that  his  time  had 
come.  He  simply  must  arise  and  ex- 
plain his  errand;  and  with  an  inward 
prayer  for  help  he  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

Alas!  for  his  fine  speeches.  His  head 
was  in  a  whir.  What  did  she  tell  him  to 
say?  Something  about  ear-ache,  cold 
potatoes  and  cake  floated  promiscuously 
through  his  poor  dazed  brain.  He 
looked  like  a  blundering  school-boy  as 
with  crushed  silk  hat  in  hand,  his 
clothes  a  mass  of  lint  and  dust  and  his 
tie  caressing  one  ear,  he  stammered : 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  my  baby  has 
some  cold  potatoes,  we  have  an  ear-ache 


and  some  cake.  Could  you  lend  me  an 
onion-?  " 

The  ludicrousness  of  the  situation 
struck  them  all,  and  his  funny  jumble  of 
words,  mixed  with  the  angry  tones  of 
the  dogs,  provoked  a  hearty  shout  of 
laughter,  in  which  he  was  obliged  to 
join,  and  peal  upon  peal  rent  the  air. 

They  realized  the  embarassing  situa- 
tion for  him,  and  tried  to  ask  him  to  be 
seated,  but  could  not  articulate  a  word. 
Even  his  friend  next  door  heard  their 
merriment  and  concluded  that  Brown 
was  being  unusually  funny,  but  knew 
not  how  nearly  she  had  struck  the  truth. 

At  last,  when  they  had  ceased  laugh- 
ing simply  because  from  utter  weariness 
they  could  laugh  no  longer,  Mr.  Brown 
very  sensibly  concluded  to  tell  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth.  Mrs.  Smith  gave  him  the  onion, 
which  he  thoroughly  deserved,  and  he 
departed  a  sadder  but  wiser  man. 


KEROSENE 

BY  MRS.  T.  A.  ROSE 

IOUX   CITY,  IOWA 

AS  the  long  evenings  are  now  with  us, 
great  care  should  be  used  in  looking 
after  the  lamps.  Scarcely  a  week  passes 
but  we  read  accounts  of  frightful  acci- 
dents from  kerosene  lamps  exploding 
and  killing  or  scarring  men,  women  and 
children.  A  simple  knowledge  of  the  in- 
flammable nature  of  the  liquid  will  prob- 
ably put  a  stop  to  nearly  all  such  acci- 
dents. As  the  oil  burns  down  in  the 
lamp,  highly  inflammable  gas  gathers 
over  its  surface,  and  as  the  oil  decreases 
the  gas  increases.  When  the  oil  is 
nearly  consumed  a  slight  jar  will  inflame 
the  gas,  and  an  explosion  is  sure  to  fol- 
low. A  bombshell  is  no  more  to  be 
dreaded.  Now  if  the  oil  is  not 
allowed  to  burn  more  than  half-way 
down,  such  accidents  are  almost  impos- 
sible. Always  fill  the  lamps  every  morn- 


THE    HOME 


445 


ing,  and  then  an  explosion  need  never 
be  feared. 

One  very  necessary  thing  in  the  care 
of  lamps  is  that  the  oil  reservoir  be 
kept  scrupulously  clean  inside,  (and  out- 
side also  for  that  matter,  as,  if  allowed 
to  dry  after  being  spilled.it  will  cause  an 
unpleasant  odor  from  the  heat  when  the 
lamp  is  lighted.  No  oil  is  so  pure  that 
it  does  not  leave  a  sediment,  and  if  this 
sediment  be  allowed  to  accumulate,  the 
oil  will  fail  to  burn  as  brightly  as  it 
otherwise  would.  Lamp  reservoirs 
should  be  washed  out  once  a  week, 
adding  a  tablespoonful  of  soda  to  a 
quart  of  hot  water,  after  which  thor- 
oughly rinse  and  drain,  or  wipe  dry. 
The  burner  should  be  thoroughly 
scrubbed  and  brushed,  boiling  in  strong 
soapsuds,  ashes  or  soda.  The  wick 
should  touch  the  bottom  of  the  lamp, 
and  be  wiped  at  the  top  with  a  piece  of 
soft  paper  to  remove  the  charred  edges, 
and  if  too  short  can  be  lengthened  by 
another  piece  of  wick  until  time  is  found 
to  prepare"  a  new  one. 

To  insure  a  good  light,  wicks  must  be 
changed  often,  for  as  soon  as  they  be- 
come clogged  they  do  not  permit  the 
free  passage  of  the  oil.  Soaking  wicks 
in  vinegar  for  twenty-four  hours  before 
placing  in  the  lamps  insures  a  clear 
flame;  or  wash  thoroughly  in  suds  and 
dry  before  replacing  in  the  lamps. 

When  buying,  get  one  or  two  extra 
chimneys  or  burners,  also  a  yard  or  two 
of  wicking.  This  practice  saves  delay 
and  annoyance  when  one  lives  far  from 
the  store  and  kerosene  lamps  are  the 
only  lamps  used.  If  lamps  and  burners 
are  all  alike,  only  one  kind  of  supplies 
need  be  kept  on  hand. 

To  trim  lamp  wicks,  slip  a  piece  of 
old  stocking  or  coarse  rag  over  the  mid- 
dle finger  and  rub  smooth  all  burned 
parts  of  the  wick.  This  will  do  the 
work  when  shears  and  uncovered  fingers 
or  other  methods  fail. 


To  put  in  a  wide  wick  either  in  a 
lamp  or  oil  stove,  starch  and  it  will 
slip  in  easily;  starching  does  not  interfere 
with  its  clear  burning. 

When  lighting  a  lamp  turn  the  wick 
up  slowly  and  thus  prevent  smoking. 
This  is  well  to  follow  in  lighting  an  oil 
stove,  as  the  increasing  heat  causes  it  to 
burn  stronger  as  well  as  heating  the 
chimney  too  rapidly. 

When  taking  the  lamp  from  a  warm 
room  into  a  cold  one,  first  turn  down 
the  wick  —  and  always  lower  the  wick 
when  you  wish  to  extinguish  the  flame, 
and  wave  a  book  or  paper  across  the  top 
of  the  chimney — never  blow  down  the 
chimney,  as  the  lamp  is  liable  to  explode 
if  turned  up  high  or  partly  empty. 

A  piece  of  sponge  on  the  end  of  a 
stick  is  convenient  for  cleaning  the 
chimneys — also  holding  them  over  the 
nose  of  a  boiling  tea-kettle  for  a  moment 
and  rubbing  with  a  clean  cloth  will 
make  them  beautifully  clean.  Lamp 
chimneys  are  made  less  liable  to  break 
by  putting  in  cold  water,  bringing  slowly 
to  the  boiling  point,  boiling  for  an  hour 
and  allowing  them  to  cool  before  remov- 
ing from  the  water. 

A  convenient  arrangement  for  clean- 
ing lamps  is  an  old  server — to  hold  the 
articles  —  provided  with  a  lamp  filler, 
scissors,  box  of  wicks,  soda,  soap,  cloths 
and  a  wire  hair-pin  or  two  for  cleaning 
the  burners. 

Always  fill  the  lamps  in  the  day  time, 
and  be  sure  your  dealer  furnishes  you 
with  good  oil,  and  above  all  be  sure 
that  he  does  not  use  the  same  measure 
for  kerosene  and  gasoline,  as  a  teaspoon- 
ful  of  kerosene  in  the  gasoline  will  cause 
it  to  smoke — and  a  less  amount  of  gaso- 
line in  the  kerosene  will  cause  the 
lamps  to  burn  cloudily — and  the  exchange 
will  spoil  a  five-gallon  can  of  either. 

Be  sure  not  to  fill  the  lamps  too  full, 
as  the  heat  expands  the  oil  and  drives  it 
out,  making  the  lamp  dirty  and  danger- 
ous. 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


LOVE'S   YOUNG   DREAM:     I  —  HAPPY  HOURS 

PHOTOGRAPH    BY  WILLIS  E.  ELLIOTT,   BUFFALO,  NEW  YORK 


Kerosene  is  good  for  many  things  be- 
sides fuel  and  lamp  oil.  It  should  always 
be  substituted  for  soap  in  cleaning  shel- 
lacked floors.  Use  a  cupful  to  a  pailful 
of  lukewarm  water — hot  water  spoils  the 
varnish — and  wipe  dry  with  a  floor  mop 
or  soft  cloth.  After  scrubbing  oilcloth, 
if  a  little  kerosene  is  rubbed  on  it  and 
rubbed  dry,  the  colors  of  the  oil  cloth 
will  be  wonderfully  freshened.  Clean 
zinc  with  hot,  soapy  water  and  polish 
with  flannel  dampened  in  kerosene.  A 
little  used  on  the  furniture  will  improve 
it,  care  being  taken  with  varnished  sur- 
faces, as  too  much  kerosene  will  soften 
the  varnish  and  cause  the  dust  to  adhere 
more  readily.  Clean  the  kitchen  wood- 
work with  a  soft  cloth  dampened  in  kero- 
sene. It  is  more  quickly  and  easily 
done  than  with  soap  and  water — and 
looks  fresher.  When  so  unfortunate  as 


to  spill  kerosene  oil  or  other  grease  on 
the  carpet,  sprinkle  buckwheat  flour 
(wheat  flour  will  do)  lightly  over  it  until 
it  is  completely  covered,  and  let  it  lie 
without  disturbing  it  for  a  week,  brush 
off,  and  there  will  be  no  trace  of  oil  left; 
or  leave  for  a  couple  of  days,  brush  off 
and  repeat. 

For  removing  rust  nothing  is  equal  to 
kerosene.  To  clean  Russia  iron,  mix 
blacking  with  kerosene  and  apply  with 
a  brush  as  usual;  it  will  look  nearly  as 
well  as  new.  When  putting  away  the 
stove-pipe  for  Summer  rub  well  with 
kerosene,  wrap  in  papers—being  careful 
to  stuff  each  end  full  of  paper — and  the 
pipe  will  keep  nicely.  If  an  article  be- 
comes badly  rusted,  pour  the  oil  into 
a  pan  and  lay  it  with  the  rusted  surface 
in  the  oil  so  as  to  cover  it.  Leave  as 
long  as  may  be  necessary  for  the  oil  to 


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447 


LOVE'S    YOUNG    DREAM:  — II.    THE  QUARREL 

PHOTOGRAPH      BY     WILLIS      E.     ELLIOTT,     BUFFALO,     NEW     YORK 


penetrate  the  rust;  then  wipe  off  and 
polish  with  sand  soap  or  with  bath  brick, 
according  to  the  article  to  be  cleaned. 

Try  a  saturated  solution  of  kerosene 
and  salt  for  chillblains.  Wipe  your  flat- 
iron  on  a  cloth  dampened  in  kerosene 
to  clean  and  to  prevent  scorching.  Then 
a  little  on  the  hinges  of  that  creaking 
door — it  will  stop  the  annoyance  (or  the 
lead  of  a  soft  pencil  will  answer  the  same 
purpose,  if  handier).  Saturate  a  woollen 
rag  with  kerosene  and  polish  up  the  tin 
tea-kettle — it  will  make  it  as  bright  as 
new. 

When  the  rubber  rollers  on  the  wringer 
get  discolored  and  covered  with  lint 
from  the  flannels,  etc.,  dip  a  bit  of  cloth 
in  kerosene  and  rub  them — they  will 
look  like  new.  Very  little  oil  is  suffi- 
cient—  merely  enough  to  moisten  the 
cloth.  To  clean  sewing  machines,  cover 


all  the  bearings  with  kerosene  oil,  work 
the  machine  quickly  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  thoroughly  rub  all  the  oil  off  with 
rags  and  apply  machine  oil  to  the  parts 
which  need  oiling. 

Kerosene  on  salt  pork  wrapped  about 
the  throat  when  it  is  sore  is  good — or 
rubbing  kerosene  on  the  throat,  being 
careful  not  to  blister — and  even  taking  it 
internally  in  small  doses.  Kerosene  oil 
is  also  an  effective  remedy  for  burns — 
fully  equal  to  linseed  oil.  It  contains 
the  remedial  qualities  of  vaseline,  but  is 
a  much  less  soothing  application  and  the 
odor  is,  of  course,  objectionable. 

On  wash-day,  cut  up  a  quarter  of  a 
cake  of  soap  into  the  wash-boiler,  and 
allow  it  to  dissolve,  which  it  will  do  by 
the  time  the  water  comes  to  a  boil. 
Then  stir  in  a  cupful  of  kerosene  and 
put  in  the  sheets,  towels,  pillow  cases, 


448 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


LOVE'S    YOUNG    DREAM  — III.     RECONCILIATION 

PHOTOGRAPH     BY     WILLIS     E.     ELLIOTT,     BUFFALO,     NEW    YORK 


etc., — that  is,  the  clothes  which  are  not 
badly  soiled.  Boil  for  fifteen  minutes, 
stirring  frequently.  Then  rinse,  rub- 
bing them  out  in  the  rinsing  water  to 
wash  out  the  soap.  This  is  all  the  wash- 
ing they  need,  and  you  will  find  them 
clean  and  ready  for  the  blueing.  The 
kerosene  dissolves  the  dirt  and  whitens 
the  clothes  without  injury  to  the 

fabric. 

J* 

A  MOTHER'S    SUCCESSFUL 
EXPERIMENT 

By    CARRIE     DOW 

BOLIVAR,       MISSOURI 

WAVING  had  two  children  with  very 

poor   teeth,    I  determined   that  if  I 

could  assist  nature  in  any  way  to  give  to 


my  third  child  a  good  set  of  teeth,  this 
I  should  do.  We  started  him  on  Mel- 
lin's  Food  and  from  that  to  oatmeal 
gruel,  until  he  was  twelve  months  old, 
then  to  the  oatmeal  and  milk  with  an 
occasional  bit  of  cracker  or  bread  until 
he  was  past  two  years  of  age.  The  result 
is  that  my  boy,  now  six  years  old,  has 
a  perfect  set  of  pearly  white  teeth,  which 
are  the  admiration  of  all,  as  well  as  a 
great  comfort  to  both  the  boy  and  his 
mother. 

But  this  was  not  the  only  result:  he 
now  eats  neither  pie,  fruit,  nor  melon, 
and  but  few  vegetables, — he  says  because 
he  ate  so  much  oatmeal  when  he  was 
a  baby.  He  lives  now  principally  upon 
breakfast  foods,  milk  and  eggs.  The 
result  of  this  is  I  am  never  given  one 
moment's  anxiety;  no  matter  how  hot 
the  weather  is,  or  what  is  placed  before 


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449 


him,  he  will  never  eat  anything  that  will 
make  him  sick. 

But  a  six-year-old  boy  isn't  always 
content  with  "baby  foods"  even  if  there 
are  few  other  things  which  he  likes. 
Consequently  I  have  experimented  con- 
siderable in  his  behalf,  and  at  last  know 
how  to  make  potato  chips  that  will  hurt 
neither  man's  nor  boy's  digestion.  Use 
full  grown,  new  potatoes,  else  the  chips 
will  be  soggy.  Slice  very  thin  and  drop, 
a  few  at  a  time,  in  boiling  lard,  turning 
with  a  fork  until  they  are  crisp  and  of 
a  delicate  brown.  This  may  seem  tedi- 
ous at  first,  but  make  it  quick  work  by 
having  the  boy,  who  loves  the  chips  so 
well,  bring  in  a  hod  of  chips  from  the 
wood-pile. 


By  KATHARINE  E.  MEGEE 

WAYNESBORO,  VIRGINIA 

THE  only  vegetables  the  great  majority  of 
•  housewives  have  at  their  service  during 
the  Winter  months  are  those  which  may  be 
safely  stored  or  preserved  by  canning.  Con- 
sequently they  must  depend  for  variety  in 
this  feature  of  the  daily  menus,  not  so  much 
upon  changes  in  the  vegetables  themselves 
as  in  the  methods  of  cooking  arid  serving 
them.  By  so  doing,  monotony,  which  is  the 
great  destroyer  of  the  appetite,  is  avoided. 

The  following  recipes  may  be  of  some  use 
to  the  housewife  who  is  on  the  alert  for  new 
ways  of  cooking  the  same  old  things,  thereby 
beguiling  her  family  into  believing  that  they 
are  being  treated  to  a  change  of  diet: 

POTATOES  A  LA  ITALIENNE:  Select  a 
sufficient  number  of  fine  potatoes  of  uniform 
size  and  bake  done;  then  cut  a  round  from 
one  end  of  each  and  carefully  scoop  out  the 
inside;  mash  well  and  mix  with  one-third  the 
quantity  of  boiled  rice ;  season  the  whole 
with  grated  cheese,  cream,  salt  and  pepper. 
Fill  the  shells  with  this  mixture,  rounding  up 
the  tops,  dot  with  bits  of  butter,  return  to 
the  oven  and  brown.  Serve  without  delay. 


SWEET  POTATO  PUFF:  Steam  six  med- 
ium sized  sweet  potatoes  without  paring ; 
when  done,  peel,  mash  and  mix  with  one 


tablespoon  melted  butter,  one  teacup  hot 
cream  or  rich  milk,  one  teaspoon  ground  cin- 
namon, sugar,  salt  and  pepper  to  taste  ;  then 
beat  the  whole  until  smooth  and  light.  Whip 
the  whites  of  two  eggs  to  a  stiff  froth,  and 
fold  into  the  potato  mixture ;  heap  high  in 
buttered  ramequin,  and  stand  in  a  quick 
oven  until  puffed  high.  Serve  immediately 
without  re-dishing. 


MOCK  CAULIFLOWER  :  Remove  the  out- 
side leaves  from  a  firm  white  cabbage  of  me- 
dium size  and  drop  it  into  boiling  water;  boil 
fifteen  minutes,  then  change  the  water,  add- 
ing fresh  boiling  water.  Cook  tender,  drain 
in  a  colander  and  stand  aside  until  cold. 
Chop  fine,  add  two  eggs  well  beaten,  one 
tablespoon  butter,  three  of  cream  and  salt 
and  pepper  to  season.  Mix  all  together,  turn 
into  a  buttered  baking  dish,  and  brown  in  the 
oven.  Send  at  once  to  the  table. 


TURNIP  BALLS  :  Wash  and  peel  firm  tur- 
nips ;  then  cut  with  a  vegetable  scoop ;  drop 
the  balls  into  boiling  water,  to  which  a  little 
sugar  has  been  added,  until  tender,  taking 
care  to  preserve  their  shape.  Just  a  few 
minutes  before  taking  from  the  fire  add  a 
little  salt;  drain,  cover  with  drawn  butter 
sauce  and  sprinkle  lightly  with  minced  pars- 
ley. Serve  very  hot. 


TOMATOES  WITH  MINCED  CHICKEN: 
Butter  a  baking  dish ;  put  in  the  bottom  a 
layer  of  cold  cooked  chicken  or  veal  minced ; 
sprinkle  with  salt,  pepper  and  bits  of  butter ; 
then  put  in  a  layer  of  canned  tomatoes  from 
which  the  juice  has  been  drained,  and 
sprinkle  lightly  with  sugar;  repeat  the  layers, 
seasoning  as  directed,  until  the  dish  is  full ; 
then  cover  with  bread  crumbs,  dot  thickly 
with  bits  of  butter,  and  bake  covered  until 
cooked  through.  Remove  cover  and  brown 
quickly.  Serve  with  tomato  sauce,  using  the 
tomato  liquor  for  making  it. 


CORN  OYSTERS  :  To  one  cup  of  canned 
corn  add  three  eggs,  yolks  and  whites  beaten 
separately,  one  cup  grated  bread  crumbs, 
three-fourths  of  a  cup  of  sweet  milk,  one-half 
teaspoon  salt  and  a  little  white  pepper.  Mix 
well,  and  drop  from  a  teaspoon  into  hot  fat 
to  more  than  cover,  and  fry  a  nice  brown. 


FRICASSEE  OF  PARSNIPS:  Scrape  or  pare 
the  parsnips  and,  if  large,  cut  into  halves. 
Boil  in  milk  until  tender,  then  cut  lengthwise 
into  bits  two  or  three  inches  long,  and  sim- 
mer for  a  few  minutes  in  a  sauce  made  of 
two  tablespoons  of  the  broth,  one-half  cup  of 
cream,  a  bit  of  mace,  one  tablespoon  butter 
blended  with  the  same  quantity  of  sifted 
flour,  and  salt  and  white  pepper  to  season. 
Serve  as  soon  as  taken  from  the  fire. 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,   1905 


PEAS  AU  GRATIN  :  Drain  the  liquor  from 
a  can  of  peas ;  cover  with  boiling  water,  to 
which  a  little  salt  and  sugar  have  been  added, 
and  cook  tender ;  remove  from  the  fire  and 
drain.  Have  ready  a  cream  sauce  made  of 
half  a  pint  of  sweet  milk,  two  tablespoons 
butter  blended  with  one  of  flour,  and  salt  and 
white  pepper  to  season.  Butter  scallop  shells; 
put  into  each  a  layer  of  grated  bread  crumbs, 
next  a  layer  of  the  cooked  peas,  then  some  of 
the  sauce.  Alternate  these  layers  until  the 
shells  are  filled,  then  cover  with  grated 
cheese  and  brown  in  the  oven. 

BAKED  BEETS  ;  Select  round  blood  beets, 
wash  clean  and  wipe  dry.  Put  into  a  baking 
pan,  add  boiling  water  to  prevent  burning ; 
place  in  a  steady  oven  and  cook  done,  turn- 
ing frequently,  being  careful  not  to  pierce 
them,  else  the  juice  will  escape.  When  done, 
remove  the  skins,  slice  and  cover  with  drawn 
butter  sauce.  Serve  very  hot. 

VEGETABLE  HASH:  Chop  coarsely  the 
vegetables  left  over  from  a  boiled  dinner. 
Melt  one  tablespoon  butter  in  a  saucepan; 
add  the  chopped  vegetables,  sprinkle  lightly 
with  pepper,  pour  a  tablespoon  of  boiling 
water,  cover  quickly  and  closely.  When 
thoroughly  heated,  remove  the  cover,  and 
stir  occasionally  until  sufficiently  cooked. 
Serve  very  hot. 

STUFFED  ONIONS:  Select  fine  large  silver- 
skin  onions  ;  remove  the  outer  covering,  then 
drop  into  salted  boiling  water  and  parboil; 
drain,  and  when  cool  enough  to  handle,  scoop 
out  the  centers  with  a  sharp  pointed  knife ; 
fill  the  cavities  with  hot  mashed  potato, 
rounding  the  top;  arrange  in  a -baking  dish 
and  over  each  onion  lay  a  thin  slice  of  break- 
fast bacon ;  pour  into  the  dish  enough  hot 
water  to  prevent  scorching,  and  bake  in  a 
steady  oven, 

A  BROWN  STEW  OF  CARROTS:  Wash 
and  scrape  six  large  carrots  and  drop  into 
boiling  water;  boil  thirty  minutes,  then  drain 
and  with  a  vegetable  scoop  shape  into  balls. 
Return  to  the  stew-pan,  add  one  pint  of  beef 
gravy  or  rich  stock,  flavor  to  taste  with  salt, 
pepper,  mushroom  catsup,  and  Worcester- 
shire sauce.  Simmer,  closely  covered,  twenty 
minutes,  then  take  out  the  balls  and  arrange 
them  in  the  center  of  a  serving  dish.  Thicken 
the  gravy  with  a  little  flour,  pour  over  the 
carrots  and  serve. 


HUNGRY     PLANTS 

By    EVA    RYMAN-GAILLARD 

GIRARD,     PENNSYLVANIA 

AS    the    days    lengthen,    the  sunlight 
grows  stronger   and   plants    in    the 


window  garden  should  start  into  renewed 
growth;  but  many  of  them  will  have  ex- 
hausted the  soil  in  which  they  were 
planted  and,  unless  nourishment  is  pro- 
vided for  them,  will  fail  to  do  so,  and 
will  soon  show  by  their  appearance  that 
they  are  starving. 

The  best  thing  to  do  is  to  shift  them 
to  larger  pots  and  fill  the  space  around 
the  roots  with  new  soil,  or  take  out  as 
much  of  the  old  as  is  possible,  without 
disturbing  the  roots,  and  replace  with 
new.  If  no  soil  was  stored  for  Winter 
needs,  and  none  can  be  obtained,  fertil- 
izers must  be  used  instead. 

Those  who  have  access  to  a  barnyard 
may  have  the  best  of  plant  food;  others 
may  use  a  commercial  food,  following 
the  directions  which  accompany  it;  or 
a  piece  of  common  glue  (an  inch  square) 
dissolved  in  a  cupful  cf  warm  water  and 
poured  around  a  plant,  in  an  eight-inch 
pot,  once  in  three  weeks,  will  prove 
a  wonderfully  effective  food  for  fibrous- 
rooted  plants. 

Powdered  charcoal  worked  into  the 
soil  helps  toward  a  vigorous  growth,  by 
furnishing  certain  elements  which  plants 
must  have,  and  by  absorbing  other  ele- 
ments from  the  soil  which  are  injurious 
to  them. 

If  unthrifty  plants,  and  those  develop- 
ing blossoms,  are  watered  once  in  two 
weeks  with  water  in  which  nitrate  of 
soda  has  been  dissolved,  in  the  propor- 
tion of  a  teaspoonful  to  a  quart  of  water, 
they  will  "just  boom."  The  soda  is 
more  of  a  stimulant  than  a  complete 
food,  and  for  this  reason  should  be  sup- 
plemented with  some  sort  of  food;  but 
to  start  a  sickly  plant  into  new  life  or 
to  help  forward  the  developing  flowers, 
it  has  no  equal. 

All  plants  take  certain  food  elements 
from  the  air  through  their  leaves,  but  if 
the  leaf  pores  are  clogged  with  dust  this 
source  of  supply  is  shut  off,  and  no 
amount  of  feeding  can  make  up  for  what 
is  thus  lost.  A  dirty  plant  is  never 
a  beautiful  plant  and  cannot  be  made  so. 


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LITTLE    HELPS 

For  each  Little  Help  we  give  one  year's  subscrip- 
tion to  the  National,  which  maybe  added  to  the  con- 
tributor's term  or  presented  to  one  of  her  friends. 

HOUSEHOLD    LINEN 
By   E.    M.    DARRINGTON 

Yazoo  City,  Mississippi 

Replenish  household  linen  before  that  in  use  is  en- 
tirely worn  out  and  put  the  old  aside  and  use  the  new. 
In  case  of  protracted  illness  a  larger  supply  of  sheets, 
pillow-cases,  towels  and  gowns,  though  somewhat 
worn,  will  prove  to  be  a  great  convenience.  Old  linen 
is  better  than  new  for  the  patient's  comfort,  and  if 
necessary  can  be  destroyed  without  loss.  * 


HOME-MADE    EXTRACTS 

By   FANNIE    M.    WOOD 

Falmouth,  Indiana 

Home-made  extracts  are  easily  made,  and  are  much 
stronger,  better  and  cheaper  than  those  we  buy. 
Lemon  or  orange  extract  may  be  made  by  slicing  the 
fresh  lemon  or  orange  peeling  very  thin  and  putting  it 
into  alcohol.  Allow  it  to  stand  for  a  few  weeks  and- 
strain  the  contents.  If  you  have  no  use  for  alcohol 
even  in  flavoring,  grate  off  the  outside  yellow  rind  of 
the  lemon  or  orange  and  mix  with  the  same  amount  of 
white,  soft  sugar,  rub  fine,  dry  away  from  the  fire,  and 
put  into  a  tight  receptacle. 


WHAT    THE    CHILDREN     SAID 

By    FRANK    ROLLINS 
Bradford,  Pennsylvania 

My  little  grand-children  are  mixed  on  the  subject  on 
eggs.  While  I  was  walking  with  them,  one  Spring 
morning,  Dorothy  exclaimed: 

"  Hark !  I  hear  a  hen  cackling ;  she  is  singing  because 
she  has  just  shelled  out  half  a  dozen  Easter  eggs." 

They  were  visiting  my  vegetable  cellar  last  Sunday 
and  I  showed  them  a  huge  watermelon  coated  with 
parrafine  in  a  large  basket  of  straw.  And  they  said  it 
was  a  big  "Easter  egg."  Francis  straightened  up  and 
looked  very  wise,  and  exclaimed : 

""Well  it  must  have  been  a  Big!  Big!  Gobbler 
that  laid  it." 


WHEN 


WASHING 
GOODS 


KNITTED 


By   LAVINIA    FRANCIS    WARREN 
Adena,  Ohio 

To  wash  knitted  orcrotcheted  woollen  articles.make  a 
strong  suds  with  some  good  white  soap  and  soft  water. 
The  two  suds  and  rinsing  waters  must  be  the  same 
temperature,  to  prevent  shrinking,  and  as  warm  as  can 
be  borne  comfortably  by  the  hands.  The  articles  must 
be  squeezed  free  from  dirt.  In  no  case  rub  or  wring 
them  as  that  stretches  the  stitches  and  gives  the  article 
a  "stringy"  look.  After  thoroughly  cleansing  and 
squeezing  the  rinsing  water  out,  put  the  article  on  a 
clean  large  platter  and  put  in  the  open  oven  to  dry, 
carefully  watching  and  turning  to  prevent  scorching. 
Washed  in  this  way  knitted  goods  look  as  well  as  new. 
Care  being  exercised  to  lift  them,  while  wet,  in  a  pile 
instead  of  by  one  edge,  as  the  extra  weight  while  wet 
draws  them  out  of  shape 


WHEN    COOKING  CORN-STARCH 

By   MRS.    A.    W.    PERRIN 
San  Antonio,  Texas 

Baked  corn-starch  will  not  curdle  but  be  smooth  and 
firm  if  the  dish  containing  it  be  set  in  a  pan  of  hot 
water  to  cook  in  the  oven. 

A    BOOK    SHOWER 

By    KATHERINE    E.    MEGEE. 

Waynesboro,  Virginia 

Linen  and  china  "  showers "  given  to  prospective 
brides  by  their  most  intimate  girl  acquaintances,  have 
been  in  high  favor  for  some  time,  but  a  "  book  shower" 
is  a  newer  idea.  A  recent  bride  has  the  nucleus  of  a 
home  library  which  came  into  her  possession  in  that 
manner,  and  the  fact  that  in  the  selection  of  the  books 
her  literary  preferences  were  recognized,  makes  the 
books  doubly  valuable  to  her.  One  friend,  with  wise 
forethought,  gave,  instead  of  a  book,  a  year's  subscrip- 
tion to  GOOD  HOUSEKEEPING,  a  gift  which  will  be 
worth  many  times  its  price  to  her  in  her  new  role  of 
housekeeper. 

HOW    TO   PREVENT   ACHING  FIN- 
GERS    WHILE    HANGING 

OUT     CLOTHES. 
By    CLARA    P.    SMITH, 

Onekama,  Michigan 

In  cold  weather  put  your  clothes-pins  in  the  oven, 
and  thoroughly  heat  them  before  hanging  up  clothes, 
and  they  will  retain  sufficient  heat  to  keep  the  fingers 
warm  during  the  process  of  hanging  out  clothes.  One 
trial  will  convince. 

WASHING    A    LINEN     SKIRT 

By    MRS.    C.    W.    KURD 

Dundee,  Michigan 

How  I  wash  my  brown  linen  skirt  and  keep  it  look- 
ing as  good  as  new : 

First,  I  make  a  large  dishpan  full  of  flour  starch, 
quite  thick.  While  this  is  cooking  I  steep  a  cupful  of 
coffee. 

I  then  pour  the  starch  in  the  washtub,  strain  the 
coffee  into  it,  cool  with  water  so  I  can  put  my  hands 
in  it,  put  my  skirt  in  and  rub  it  on  the  washboard 
until  the  dirt  is  all  out;  the  starch  foams  up  like  suds 
and  removes  the  dirt. 

Don't  use  a  bit  of  soap,  and  don't  rinse  it,  just  wring 
out  by  hand,  hang  it  on  the  line,  watch  it,  and  when 
about  half  dry,  iron  with  hot  irons  on  the  right  side. 
I  am  asked, "  Why,  have  you  got  a  new  linen  skirt?" 


CLEANING  A  CARPET  ON  THE 
FLOOR 

By   MINNIE    N.    HINDS 
Winchester,  Massachusetts 

This  is  grandma's  recipe  for  cleaning  a  carpet  on  the 
floor,  and  it  really  cleans,  not  simply  freshens : 

Take  ten  gallons  soft  water,  five  bars  Ivory  soap, 
one  pound  of  borax,  one  pound  salts  of  tartar,  two 
ounces  sweet  oil  and  boil  in  the  wash-boiler.  Spread 
on  the  carpet  while  lukewarm ;  shovel  it  up,  with  small 
coal  shovel,  in  two  or  three  minutes  ;  spread  again  and 
scrub.  Take  a  yard  square  of  surface  at  a  time  —  wipe 
off  with  clean,  lukewarm  water,  and  then  use  a  dry 
cloth  last.  It  will  take  up  every  stain  excepting  grape 
juice 


••>   fOMMENr 


By    FRANK     PUTNAM 


DEAR  SIR:  I  read  your  cynical 
poem,  "Setting  the  Heathen  Free," 
published  in  the  National  Magazine  for 
November,  with  mingled  feelings  of 
amazement  and  regret.  You  seemed 
to  me  in  that  poem  to  justify,  or  at  any 
rate  to  excuse,  our  armed  subjugation  of 
an  alien  people  struggling  to  set  up  the 
first  free  Republic  in  the  Far  East. 
What  change  has  come  over  the  spirit  of 
your  dreams  since,  in  1900,  you  pub- 
lished in  Harlequin  of  New  Orleans  the 
bitter  lines  entitled,  "Why  Are  the 
Poets  Silent  on  the  War?  "  Do  you  still 
believe  in  the  utter  truth  of  these  the 
concluding  lines  of  that  poem? 

I  have  no  craze  to  impose  our  rule 
On  a  people  armed  to  defend  their 

altars; 

I'm  sick  of  this  "national  honor"  drool, 
And    I    have  an   inherited    hate  for 
halters. 

To    hell  with    "national     honor"  that 

needs 

A  triumph  over  a  stripling  nation! 
For   "national  honor"    say  "syndicate 

greeds," 

And  you've  hit  the  nail  on  the  right 
location. 

Say  greed  of  office  and  greed  of  gold, 
And  a  pious  greed  to  convert  the  sin- 
ners- 
Today  as  ever  the  tale  is  told, 
With  "God"  as  ever  behind  the  win- 
ners. 

The   piety-spreaders,   with    sad,    sweet 

speech 

Proclaim  our  mission  to  lift  the  sav- 
age; 
Their  shrewd  trade  allies,  for  what's  in 

reach, 
Will  meantime  legally  loot  and  ravage. 


Here's   Parson    MacQueen    of   Boston- 
Town 

And  he  wanders  in  from  Manila  saying 
The  men  we're  fighting  are  hard  to 

down, 

And  can  give  us  ten  in  a  hundred, 
praying. 

And  they  offered   us  privilege    far  and 

nigh, 
With  grateful  friendship  ours  for  the 

taking; 

And  they  looked  to  us  for  example  high 
In    Freedom's    temple  that  they  are 
making; 

But  we  bought  our  claim  of  a  common 

thief 

Who  was  driven  to  bay  in  a  stolen  city; 
And  now,  contrary  to  our  belief, 
We  are  slaughtering  patriots.     Christ! 
the  pity! 

And  have  you  forgotten  your  "Murder 
in  the  Philippines,"  with  its  warning  — 

My  country,  think,  that  he  must  drink 
Who  brews  the  bitter  draught; 

When  we  the  cup  to  them  hold  up 
Not  they  alone  have  quaffed. 

My  brothers,  stay,  ere  more  you  slay 
To  swell  your  masters'  gain: 

The  land  that  breeds  a  tyrant  bleeds 
Beneath  that  tyrant's  chain ! 

Lose  not  your  faith  in  your  ideals. 
Right  will  prevail.  W.  R. 

CHICAGO,   NOVEMBER   12,  1904. 

Be  calm,  brother,  be  calm.  My  ideals 
are  all  on  straight.  I  still  abhor  a  bully 
and  loathe  a  liar.  But  I  am  less  certain 
than  I  once  was  that  I  possess  sufficient 
wisdom  always  to  make  the  proper  appli- 
cation of  an  ideal  to  a  given  instance.  In 
1900  I  had  more  hair  than  wrinkles:  to- 
day, alas!  I  have  more  wrinkles  than 


NOTE    AND     COMMENT 


453 


hair  —  and  you  know  how  much  greater 
self-confidence  is  begotten  by  hair  than 
by  wrinkles. 

In  the  earlier  pieces  I  told  what 
ought  to  be  done.  In  "Setting  the 
Heathen  Free,"  I  told  what,  in  my 
belief,  will  be  done.  The  two  are  as  far 
apart  as  usual. 

Undoubtedly  we  ought  to  help  the 
Filipinos  to  set  up  the  first  free  republic 
in  Asia  —  but  undoubtedly  we  won't. 
Generally  speaking,  when  an  Ideal  runs 
up  against  a  fact,  the  Fact  draws  first 
blood,  but  the  Ideal  gets  the  decision  on 
points  if  the  discussion  goes  to  the  limit. 
So  I  have  no  doubt  that  before  we  get 
through  with  the  Filipinos  we  shall 
do  the  square  thing  by  as  many  of  them 
as  succeed,  meantime,  in  dodging  our 
bullets. 

Brother  Chappie  will  now  take  up  the 
collection  and  we  will  close  the  services 
by  singing  a 

SONG  FOR  THE  SAVAGE 
PEOPLES 

VOU  have  no  bards  the  Christian  tribes 
give  heed  to, 
You   have    no   press  to  agitate  your 

wrongs ; 
Your  lands  the  white  man  takes  a  rifle 

deed  to 

And  squares  himself  in  rudyard-kip- 
ling  songs. 

Now  Love  has  left  me  honest  for  a  sea- 
son 

And  moralizing  palls  upon  my  pen, 
I'll  be  your  bard  and  pass  a  bard's  de- 
crees on 
The  conduct  of  my  restless  fellow  men. 

Two    propositions    first    must    be    met 

plainly: 

Assimilate  or  perish  is  your  lot; 
And,  second,  though  they  say  they  love 

you,  mainly 

They   look  you   up   to    capture   what 
you've  got. 


For   O  my  brother,  black  or  brown  or 

yellow, 
The  white  man's  busy  brain  is  full  of 

guile; 
And  you   are  just   the    simple   soit  of 

fellow 

He  meets  and  greets  and  plunders  with 
a  smile. 

Two  thorny  roads  confront  you— war  and 

bleaching; 

The  latter  I'm  inclined  to  recommend. 
Absorb  the  white  man's  practice  with 

his  preaching 

And  both,  perchance,  will  profit  by  the 
blend. 

The  mines  you  have  no  thought  of  he 

will  sink  them; 
The  ports  you  have  no  use  for  he  will 

fill 
With  ships  that  bring  strange  liquors; 

you  will  drink  them, 
And  drinking  grow  more  pliant  to  his 
will. 

Your  sons  will  pluck  the  metals  from  the 

bowels 
Of  mountains  where  you  chased  the 

flying  game; 
While   Culture   will   insert    the   needed 

vowels 

To     Christianize    your     consonantal 
name. 

Your  daughters   will   be  playthings  for 

the  husky 

And  hairy-breasted  Vikings  who  con- 
trol; 
The  savage  maid  must  yield   her  body 

dusky 

To   learn   the   news  of  her   immortal 
soul. 

Where  tigress  to  her  cub  is  fondly  purr- 
ing, 
The  woodman's  axe  will  lay  the  City's 

floor; 
And   there  the  white   man's  god,  with 

spindles  whirring, 

Will  lure  your  tender  children  through 
its  door. 


454 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  JANUARY,    1905 


JOAQUIX      MILLER      RECEIVING      A      PICNIC      PARTY       AT       THE      HEIGHTS,      HIS      HOME 

NEAR     OAKLAND,      CALIFORNIA.  —  YONE      NOGUCHI     SENT      THIS      PHOTOGRAPH 

FROM       TOKYO      TOO       LATE      FOR      INCLUSION       IN       HIS       ARTICLE. 


And  they  will  toil  in  heaviness,  forget- 
ting 
The  fragrance  and  the  beauty  of  the 

wood; 

While  forest  gods  will  fly  afar,  regretting 
Dead  years  when  to  be  glad  was  to  be 
good. 

If  you  decide  the  program  doesn't  suit 

you; 

If  you  agree  that  war's  a  wiser  plan, 
My  genial  friends  will  humor  you  and 

shoot  you, 

And   pray  you   into  heaven   if    they 
can. 

Take  my  advice  and  bow  to  the  eternal 
Decree  that  rules  in  jungle  as  in  town ; 

Acquire  the  white  man's  wisdom    and 

the  journal 
Of  future  days  will  echo  your  renown. 

Peace  comes  when  all  earth's  races  are 
united. 


A  single  tribe  that  owns  a  single  tongue; 
Your  sacrifice  will  surely  be  requited 
When  over  all  true  Freedom's  flag  is 
flung. 

CINCE  McClure's  began  "roasting"  the 
politicians,  Everybody's  the  finan- 
ciers, Leslie's  the  theater  managers,  and 
the  Era  the  insurance  companies,  the 
National  has  received,  on  an  average, 
one  invitation  each  week  to  join  the 
Anvil  Chorus. 

Every  fellow  to  his  taste.  No  anvils 
in  ours.  We  are  content  to  entertain 
you  with  pleasant  tales  and  songs,  to 
divert  and  perhaps  inform  you  with  text 
and  pictures  dealing  picturesquely  with 
men  and  women  now  on  earth  and  en- 
gaged— for  the  most  part  —  in  entirely 
worthy  pursuits;  and  to  reason  with 
you,  as  men  and  brothers,  briefly  and 
the  reverse  of  dogmatically,  upon  the 
larger  serious  issues  of  our  public  life. 


UTICA,    NEW    YORK 

By   A    STAFF    CORRESPONDENT 


IF  you  were  to  swing  a  circle  around  the 
state  of  New  York,  you  would  find 
Utica  the  most  natural  starting  point  for 
your  compass.  It  is  very  near  the  geo- 
graphical center  of  the  Empire  State, 
with  an  altitude  that  vouchsafes  a  health- 
ful community.  The  station  of  the  New 
York  Central  at  Utica  is  410  feet  above 
sea  level,  and  the  air,  water  and 
drainage  combine  to  make  the  city  one 


where  everything  is  pure,  and  is  supplied 
to  all  parts  of  the  city  through  the  mains 
of  an  excellent  waterworks  system.  It 
has  an  adequate  street  car  service,  excel- 
lent hotels  and  apartment  houses,  and 
first  class  public  schools. 

Situated  in  the  center  of  a  superb 
dairy  and  agricultural  region  of  which  it 
is  the  logical  metropolis,  Utica  has  be- 
come a  most  important  market  and  is 


UTICA     FREE     ACADEMY 
By  permission  of  Fay  Engraving  Co. 


of  the  most  desirable  localities  in  the 
great  state  of  which  it  considers  itself, 
in  a  way,  the  hub. 

Utica  dates  back  to  the  old  Fort  Schuy- 
ler  days  of  the  Revolution,  but  not  until 
1832,  with  a  population  of  9,000,  was  it 
chartered  as  a  city.  Its  past  is  rich  with 
Indian  tradition  and  history. 

The  population  is  now  estimated  at 
65,000.  Its  streets  are  well  paved  and 
shaded  by  beautiful  maples  and  stately 
elms.  Its  water  supply  comes  from  the 
Graefenburg  springs,  up  among  the  hilljs 


today  the  greatest  cheese  market  in 
America,  with  sales,  in  that  single  com- 
modity, amounting  to  $2,500,000  a  year. 
It  is  also  a  very  important  distributing 
point  for  the  hop  and  apple  output,  for 
which  New  York  state  is  famous.  Ex- 
tensive lumber  interests  with  sales  ag- 
gregating $1,500,000  per  year,  stone 
quarries,  brick  yards  and  other  local  in- 
dustrial interests  add  to  Utica' s  commer- 
cial stability. 

But  it  is  as  a  manufacturing  city  that 
Utica  stands  pre  eminent,  offering  every 


UTICA,     NEW    YORK 


inducement  to  the  wideawake  manufac- 
turer in  the  way  of  almost  inexhaustible 
water  and  electric  power,  and  the  best 
of  shipping  facilities,  being  the  radial 
point  from  which  six  railroads  reach  out 
in  all  directions.  The  Erie  canal  also 
offers  additional  facilities  for  shipping. 
The  earliest  recorded  settlement  at  or 
near  the  site  of  the  present  city  of  Utica 
was  in  the  year  1785.  At  that  date  three 
or  four  houses  had  been  erected  near  old 
Fort  Schuyler,  and  these  are  mentioned 
by  travelers  as  being  the  only  habita- 
tions. About  1788  a  few  more  settlers 
joined  the  little  colony,  and  1790  may 
be  said  to  be  the  date  when  it  reached 


decoration.  This  feature  renders  the 
city  very  desirable  as  a  place  of  resi- 
dence, and  many  who  have  unburdened 
themselves  wholly  or  in  part  from  active 
business  affairs  are  every  year  making 
Utica  their  permanent  home.  There  are 
some  fifty  miles  of  pavement,  a  large  part 
of  asphalt.  There  is  no  need  to  seek  the 
country  in  Summer  for  fresh  air  and  relief 
from  heat,  but  for  those  desiring  recrea- 
tion, the  surroundings  of  Utica  are 
extremely -beautiful.  Within  a  circuit  of 
twenty-five  miles  one  may  enter  the  ever 
fascinating  precincts  of  the  Adirondacks, 
or  enjoy  the  blending  of  wild  scenery  and 
purling  streams  in  the  Sauquoit  and 


STATE      MASONIC      HOME 
By  permission  of  Fay  Engraving  Co. 


proportions  of  a  settlement.  During  the 
next  few  years  a  number  of  families  cast 
their  lot  with  the  pioneers  and  made 
homes  for  themselves.  Up  to  this  time 
the  hamlet  bore  the  name  of  the  old  fort; 
but  as  it  was  deemed  advisable  to  incor- 
porate as  a  village,  the  name  of  Utica 
was  selected  and  the  state  legislature  was 
asked  for  a  village  charter,  which  was 
granted  April  3,  1798:  A  village  organ- 
ization was  effected  and  two  years  later 
seems  to  have  been  in  working  order,  as 
a  tax  list  has  been  preserved,  perhaps  the 
first  levied,  the  amount  of  which  was  $40. 
The  building  lots  are  wide  and  deep, 
affording  ample  room  for  gardens  and 
lawns,  and  giving  free  scope  to  landscape 


Chenango  valleys,  or  can  loiter  amid  the 
peaceful,  highly  cultivated  farms — more 
attractive  in  this  section  than  in  any 
other  part  of  the  state.  The  country  is 
particularly  easy  of  access  by  steam  and 
electric  railroads,  well  kept  macadamized 
roads  and  fine  cinder  paths  for  those 
who  travel  awheel. 

The  location  of  Utica  as  a  manufactur- 
ing center  is  beyond  compare.  The 
railroad  facilities  embrace  the  New  York 
Central  &  Hudson  River;  West  Shore; 
Deleware,  Lackawanna  &  Western ;  New 
York,  Ontario  &  Western;  Rome,  Water- 
town  &  Ogdensburg;  Mohawk  &  Ma- 
lone;  Utica  &  Black  River  and  Adiron- 
dack and  St.  Lawrence  roads,  and  give 


UTICA,    NEW    YORK 


a  frontage  of  nearly  twenty-five  miles, 
forming  a  belt  around  the  city.  A  large 
portion  of  this  ground  is  peculiarly 
adapted  to  sites  for  factory  buildings, 
while  the  electric  street  railroad  systems, 
reaching  every  point,  provide  rapid  tran- 


U.  S.   POSTOFFICE   BUILDING 
By  permission  of  Fay  Engraving  Co. 

sit  The  facility  for  switching  and  mov- 
ing rapidly  car  lots  are  ample.  Besides, 
the  Erie  Canal  runs  through  the  business 
portion  of  the  city,  having  a  frontage 
(berme  bank)  of  nearly  four  miles.  The 
electric  railroad  system  is  operated  east 
to  Little  Falls  and  west  to  Rome. 

The  manufacturing  industries  of  Utica 
are  very  extensive.  The  leading  indus- 
tries are  cotton,  woolen  and  knitting 
mills,  clothing,  heaters  and  lumber,  and 
every  branch  of  manufacture  is  repre- 
sented in  a  business  aggregating  $40,- 
000,000  annually.  The  diversity  of  in- 
dustry affords  steady  employment  to  both 
men  and  women, and  fully  one-third  of  the 
population  are  employed  in  the  factories. 

Regarding  public  institutions,  the  city 
is  particularly  well  equipped.  The  pub- 
lic schools  number  nineteen.  The  Utica 
Free  Academy  and  the  Advanced  School 
add  to  the  list,  and  there  are  also  the 
Manual  Training  School,  several  kin- 
dergartens and  three  evening  schools. 
These  schools  furnish  instruction  free  to 
all  pupils,  from  kindergarten  to  the  pre- 
paration for  college.  Besides,  there  are 
two  conservatories  of  music,  well  known 
throughout  the  United  States,  where  in 


addition  to  music  the  branches  of  lan- 
guage, elocution  and  painting  are  pur- 
sued, and  a  number  of  private  schools 
where  the  different  branches  of  educa- 
tion are  taught. 

At  the  Utica  public  library  all  resi- 
dents of  the  city  have  free  access  to 
some  38,000  volumes  and  to  all  current 
magazines.  The  circulation  of  the 
library  last  year  amounted  to  over  140,- 
ooo.  The  new  building  on  Genesee 
street  will  be  ready  for  occupancy  in 
a  short  time. 

The  Oneida  Historical  Society,  in  the 
Munson-Williams  Memorial,  has  a  large 
and  valuable  collection  of  historical 
books  and  documents. 

The  different  professional  societies 
also  maintain  libraries  pertaining  to  the 
objects  of  their  organizations. 

The  city  is  well  provided  with  hospi- 
tals. Beside  the  city  hospital,  supported 
by  public  funds,  we  have  Faxton  Hospi- 
tal (free  of  access  to  all  physicians  and 
patients),  St.  Elizabeth's  (under  the  care 
of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Francis),  St.  Luke's 
Home  and  Hospital  and  the  Utica 
Homeopathic  Hospital.  Supplementing 
these  are  the  Home  of  the  Homeless,  the 


GOVERNMENT  ARSENAL 
By  permission  of  Fay  Engraving  Co. 

House  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  St.  Vin- 
cent's Industrial  School,  the  Home  for 
Aged  Men  and  Couples,  the  Industrial 
Home,the  Masonic  Home  and  School, the 
Utica  Orphan  Asylum,  St.  John's  Orphan 
Asylum,  St  Joseph's  Infant  Home,  the 


UTICA,     NEW    YORK 


state  hospital  and  many  dispensaries 
and  charitable  religious  institutions. 

The  churches  in  the  city  are  fifty-three 
in  number,  representing  every  religious 
denomination,  and  societies  adapted  to 
the  peculiar  work  of  each  church  organ- 
ization are  prosperous  and  effectual. 
The  Young  Men's  Christian  Association 
occupies  a  beautiful  building  in  the 
heart  of  the  city  and  also  conducts  a 
branch  for  the  accommodation  of  rail- 
road men.  The  Women's  Christian  As- 
sociation, devoted  to  benevolent  work, 
and  the  Young  Woman's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation, organized  under  the  similar  plan 
of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  are  doing  effective 
work. 

Large  and  flourishing  lodges  of  all  the 
various  orders,  both  social  and  benevo- 
lent, offer  every  advantage  to  their  mem- 
bers. 

The  Utica  chamber  of  commerce  was 
organized  May  15,1896,  and  incorporated 
under  the  membership  corporation  law 
of  the  state  of  New  York,  September  2, 
1896.  Its  object,  as  expressed  in  the  by- 
laws, is  "to  foster  the  present  business 
institutions  of  the  city,  induce  new  en- 
terprises to  locate  in  or  near  the  city, 
and  to  promote  the  general  welfare  of 
Utica."  The  organization  was  started 
under  the  most  favorable  auspices,  mer- 
chants, manufacturers,  business  men 
generally,  and  a  large  number  of  profes- 
sional men,  becoming  charter  members. 
It  has  been  carefully  and  wisely  man- 
aged and,  as  its  annual  reports  show,  its 
work  has  been  productive  of  great  and 
permanent  good  to  the  city.  Broadening 
its  scope  with  its  growth,  it  has  affiliated 
with  national  organizations,  and  has 
taken  high  rank  with  kindred  associa- 
tions throughout  the  country,  thus  ob- 
taining a  larger  field  for  the  exercise  of 
its  influence.  While  at  all  times  ready 
and  eager  to  "foster  the  present  business 
institutions,"  it  leads  in  every  movement 
for  the  encouragement  and  upbuilding  of 
manufacturing  interests,  and  the  chamber 


stands  as  the  authorized  body  of  the  city 
to  welcome  and  promote  any  legitimate 
worthy  enterprise  that  is  brought  to  its 
attention.  Knowing  that  Utica  possesses 
every  advantage  that  a  live  manufactur- 
ing interest  may  need  to  secure,  the 
chamber  invites  correspondence  and  per- 
sonal interviews  with  those  who  may 
wish  to  forward  new  enterprises,  or,  by 
change  of  location,  to  increase  those 
already  established.  To  all  such  the 
chamber  will  give  patient  and  attentive 


ONE  OF  UTICA'S  NEW  BANK  BUILDINGS. 
By  permission  of  Fay  Engraving  Co. 

hearing,  and  do  all  in  its  power  toward 
favoring  their  plans.  Its  large  member- 
ship, representative  of  every  business 
interest,  is  a  strong  guarantee  of  the  suc- 
cess of  any  undertaking  that  may  receive 
its  endorsement. 

The  citizens  of  Utica  are  proverbial  for 
their  hospitality,  and  to  all  who  come  to 
join  their  fortunes  and  make  their  homes 
here  a  hearty  welcome  and  an  abundant 
measure  of  good  will  is  extended. 


AUBURN,    NEW    YORK 


IT  will  be  observed  by  an  inspection  of 
the  map  that  the  location  of  Auburn 
is  ideal,  in  the  heart  of  the  famous  "lake 
country"  of  central  New  York.  It  is 
practically  surrounded  by  lakes:  Cayuga 
on  the  west,  Ontario  on  the  north,  Ska- 
neateles  on  the  east,  and  on  the  south 
her  own  Owasco,  all  accessible  by  either 
steam  or  trolley  lines. 

One  cannot  imagine  a  location  more 
desirable,  with  her  broad  streets,  attrac- 
tive residences,  fine  lakes,  and  charming 
country  drives — she  is  justly  entitled  to 
her  national  reputation  of  being  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  cities  in  the  country. 

Auburn  is  a  great  manufacturing  cen- 


CASE    MEMORIAL    LIBRARY 
Photograph  by  Phayre 

ter  surpassing  most  cities  of  its  size  in 
the  quantity  and  quality  of  her  manufac- 
tured products  which  are  shipped  to  all 
parts  of  the  known  world.  A  careful 
estimation  places  the  number  of  people 
employed  in  her  numerous  shops  to  be 
over  six  thousand. 

One  of  the  largest  cordage  plants  in 
the  world  has  just  been  erected  on  the 
site  of  the  old  fair  grounds  and  nearly  all 
of  the  larger  and  well  known  industries 
are  continually  spreading  and  increasing 
their  plants  and  productions. 

The  advantages  of  Auburn  as  a  manu- 
facturing city  are  almost  unlimited.  To 
obtain  a  correct  idea  of  the  amount  of 
manufacturing  done  in  Auburn  one  need 


only  take  a  tour  along  the  Owasco  river, 
which  runs  through  the  heart  of  the  city 
and  furnishes  the  splendid  water  power 
utilized  by  many  manufactories  on  its 
banks.  The  head  of  this  power  is 
Owasco  lake,  which  is  707  feet  above 
the  tide,  is  nearly  twelve  miles  long  and 
has  an  average  width  of  over  one  mile, 
with  a  depth  of  several  hundred  feet. 
The  watershed  has  an  area  of  about  190 
square  miles,  including  the  lake,  with 
an  average  annual  rainfall  of  forty-five 
inches,  of  which  it  is  estimated  fifty 
per  cent,  is  collected  into  the  lake  as 
a  reservoir.  The  Owasco  river  is  eleven 
miles  in  length  and  empties  into  the 
Seneca  river,  making  a  descent  of  340 
feet,  mostly  in  the  first  seven  miles. 
There  are  nine  dams  within  the  city 
limits,  distributed  along  the  river  at 
natural  falls,  with  a  total  height  of  150 
feet.  The  average  flow  of  water  as 
determined  by  actual  measurement  over 
these  dams,  as  the  wheels  are  now  ad- 
justed, varies  from  8,000  to  12,000  cubic 
feet  per  minute;  while  in  the  Spring 
months  this  volume  can  be  multiplied 
several  times,  all  of  which  runs  to  waste 
at  present.  The  actual  value  of  water 
power  now  in  use  is  estimated  at  three 
million  dollars.  There  is  as  much  water 
power  running  to  waste  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  center  of  the  city  of  Auburn 
as  is  in  use  by  all  of  its  manufactories 
combined.  This  may  seem  a  rash  state- 
ment in  an  age  when  water  power  is  so 
valuable,  and  it  may  be  asked  why  it  is 
not  "harnessed"  and  put  to  practical 
use.  The  simple  answer  is,  because  it 
has  not  yet  come  to  the  attention  of  the 
capitalist  who  has  the  courage  of  his 
convictions.  When  such  a  man  is  found 
and  he  associates  with  him  a  practical 
electrician,  who  can  convert  water  power 
into  electricity,  convey  the  same  a  few 
miles  and  deliver  it  to  the  consumers 
who  are  always  looking  for  cheap  power, 
then  this  great  waste  will  be  stopped  and 


AUBURN,    NEW    YORK 


Auburn  will  have  found  her  greatest 
benefactor  and  realize  a  source  of  pros- 
perity heretofore  unknown. 

Auburn  is  well  favored  with  good  rail- 
road facilities.  The  New  York  Central 
&  Hudson  River  railroad  and  theLehigh 
Valley  railroad  are  rival  trunk  lines 
passing  through  the  city,  thus  affording 
low  rates  of  transportation  and  enabling 
the  manufacturers  and  merchants  to 
compete  with  any  city  in  the  country. 
The  Auburn  City  Railway  company 
operates  many  miles  of  electric  trolley 
lines,  which  afford  rapid  transit  to  all 
sections  of  the  city,  and  include  two 
lines  to  Owasco  lake,  terminating  in 
Lakeside  park;  also  a  line  to  the  beau- 
tiful village  of  Skaneateles,  eight  miles 
east  of  Auburn. 

Auburn  has  a  population  of  40,000. 
An  unusually  large  number  of  new 
homes  have  recently  been  built,  while 
several  large,  handsome  business  blocks 
containing  up-to-date  stores  and  offices 
have  also  been  erected. 

As  a  convention  city  and  Summer  re- 
sort, it  will  be  difficult  to  find  a  city 
offering  the  advantages  found  in  Auburn. 
It  is  situated  in  the  heart  of  the  lake 
country  and  one  can  not  possibly  exhaust 
the  many  attractive  summer  resorts  that 
can  be  reached  conveniently  in  a  few 
moments  travel  in  any  direction. 

Lakeside  Park,  owned  and  maintained 
by  the  Auburn  City  Railway  Company, 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  attract- 
tive  spots  to  spend  the  day  to  be  found 
in  Central  New  York.  Afternoon  and 
evening  concerts  in  the  open  air  are 
given,  boating,  bathing,  fishing,  danc- 
ing can  be  enjoyed  and  abundant  ac- 
commodations are  provided  for  private 
or  large  social  gatherings.  No  intoxi- 
cating drinks  are  sold  at  the  park.  The 
best  of  order  is  maintained.  It  is  a 
perfectly  safe  place  for  picnics  and  family 
reunions,  etc.  Auburn  has  made  rapid 
progress  recently  in  musical  matters.  It 
has  its  own  city  band  of  twenty  men 
under  the  able  leadership  of  Professor 


Dousek.  Free  open  air  concerts  are 
given  during  the  Summer  months  in  the 
city  parks. 

The  Beethoven  Choral  Club  of 
seventy-five  voices, and  the  Auburn  Opera 
Company  are  among  the  other  musical 
organizations  that  keep  musical  matters 
to  the  front.  The  Burtis  Auditorium, 
just  erected,  will  furnish  ample  accom- 
modations for  the  largest  concert  and 
theater  companies  on  the  road,  and  will 
be  ample  for  the  largest  conventions. 
The  Burtis  Opera  House  and  Music 
Hall  are  also  very  attractive  new  enter- 
tainment houses. 

In  educational  facilities,  Auburn  offers 
advantages  equal  to  any  city  of  her 
size  in  the  United  States.  Its  public 
schools,  parochial  schools,  colleges  and 
libraries  have  an  excellent  reputation. 
Half  a  million  dollars  are  invested  in 
school  property. 

The  Auburn  Theological  seminary, 
founded  in  1820,  occupies  a  site  near  the 
heart  of  the  city  covering  about  ten  acres 
of  ground,  laid  out  in  a  beautiful  park 
profuse  with  ornamental  trees,  shrubs 
and  flowers,  and  its  large  stone  build- 
ings command  the  admiration  of  all 
visitors.  The  institution  is  handsomely 
endowed,  has  an  able  corps  of  instruc- 
tors, and  is  in  a  flourishing  condition, 
with  an  attendance  of  about  one  hundred 
students.  The  library  in  the  Dodge- 
Morgan  building  contains  about  26,000 
volumes  and  8,000  parnphlets  and  is  open 
for  the  free  use  of  the  public,  as  well  as 
of  the  faculty  and  students. 

The  Seymour  Library  Association 
maintains  a  free  public  circulating 
library,  established  in  1876,  through  the 
munificence  of  the  late  James  S.  Sey- 
mour. A  beautiful  library  building  has 
just  been  erected  on  Genesee  street. 
This,  together  with  the  site,  is  the  gift 
of  Willard  E.  Case. 

While  speaking  of  the  public  institu- 
tions of  the  city,  mention  should  be 
made  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  The  Auburn 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association  is 


AUBURN,    NEW    YORK 


one  of  her  most  popular  and  helpful 
institutions,  and  occupies  a  handsome 
building  of  its  own  in  the  center  of  the 
city.  It  has  a  large  membership  and 
maintains  four  departments  of  work — 
physical,  educational,  social  and  reli- 
gious. The  physical  department  has 
a  well  equipped  gymnasium,  including 
an  excellent  swimming  pool  and  baths, 
and  also  a  magnificent  athletic  field, 
which  in  Winter  is  flooded  and  used  as 
an  ice  rink.  The  educational  depart- 


the  Friendless,  Cayuga  Asylum  for  Des- 
titute Children  and  Auburn  Orphan  Asy- 
lum are  some  of  the  monuments  of 
charity  which  are  permanently  estab- 
lished in  Auburn,  and  their  large,  hand- 
some buildings,  with  their  equipment 
and  maintenance,  are  suggestive  of  the 
benevolence  of  her  citizens.  There  are  a 
number  of  state  buildings  at  Auburn,  in- 
cluding a  handsome  armory.  One  of  the 
handsomest  buildings  in  Auburn  is  the 
United  States  court  house  and  postoffice. 


U.     S.    POSTOFFICE     BUILDING  MORGAN     HALL 

WILLARD     CHAPEL,     AUBURN     SEMINARY  OWASCO    LAKE,    FROM    GALPIN     HILL 

Views  at  Auburn,    N.   Y.,   from   Photographs  by   Phayre 


ment  maintains  a  library  and  reading 
room,  and  numerous  evening  classes  in 
various  branches  of  study,  while  the 
other  departments  carry  on  a  very  suc- 
cessful work.  The  association  has  the 
proud  distinction  of  possessing  a  beauti- 
ful wooded  park  adjoining  the  athletic 
field.  This  fronts  on  Swift  and  Mary 
streets  and  is  open  to  the  free  use  of  the 
public.  Both  field  and  park  were  the 
gift  of  the  Misses  Willard  of  Auburn. 
The  Auburn  City  Hospital,  Home  for 


Particular  mention  should  also  be 
made  of  the  efficient  manner  in  which 
Auburn  property  is  protected  against 
fire.  The  city  maintains  a  paid  fire  de- 
partment. The  men  and  horses  are  all 
well  trained  and  disciplined.  The  Game- 
well  system  of  fire-alarm  telegraph  ex- 
tends over  the  city,  providing  an  import- 
ant safeguard  to  the  lives  and  property 
of  the  citizens. 

One  of  the  great  features  of  Auburn  as 
a  manufacturing  and  residential  city  is 


AUBURN,    NEW    YORK 


its  magnificent  water  supply,  which  is 
obtained  from  Owasco  Lake,  a  body  of 
water  several  hundred  feet  deep  and 
covering  7,400  acres.  An  analysis  shows 
the  \vater  to  be  practically  pure,  an 
advantage  which  cannot  be  overlooked 
in  locating  a  home.  The  many  thriving 
industries  located  on  the  banks  of  the 
Owasco  river,  which  runs  through  the 
city,  prove  the  benefits  to  be  derivod 
from  a  splendid  water  power. 

The  city  of  Auburn  owns  its  own  water 
plant,  operated  on  the  "Holly  System," 
and  having  fifty  miles  of  street  mains. 
The  supply  pipes  extend  far  out  into 
the  lake,  thus  furnishing  an  abundance 
of  pure  water  for  domestic  and  other 
purposes,  at  low  rates. 

The  stranger  in  Auburn  is  always  im- 
pressed with  the  loyalty  shown  by  the 
business  men  and  citizens  in  general. 
Every  one  seems  to  take  pride  in  the 
fact  that  he  is  a  citizen  of  Auburn, 
and  any  proposition  for  the  upbuilding 
of  the  city  meets  with  enthusiastic 
support.  This  spirit  has  made  Auburn 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  cities  of  the 
country. 

The  business  men  have  perfected  an 
organization  known  as  the  Auburn  Busi- 
ness Men's  Association,  the  object  being 


to  promote  the  best  interests  of  the  city 
in  general.  They  endeavor  to  make  the 
public  familiar  with  the  advantages  of 
Auburn  as  a  business  center  or  as  a  resi- 
dence city  and  all  communications  relat- 
ing to  the  establishing  of  factories  or 
new  business  enterprises  of  any  kind  are 
properly  referred  to  them.  Parties  de- 
siring to  locate  for  the  Summer  should 
write  the  secretary  of  the  Business  Men's 
Association,  who  can  place  them  in  cor- 
respondence with  cottage  owners  at  the 
various-  lakes  or  with  hotels  and  private 
boarding  houses  in  the  city.  The  asso- 
ciation's rooms  will  be  found  in  the 
Auburn  Savings  Bank  building. 

We  have  attempted  in  this  article  to 
set  forth  a  few  of  the  features  that  might 
interest  the  prospective  manufacturer  or 
homeseeker. 

It  is  manifestly  impossible  to  do  the 
city  justice  in  three  or  four  pages.  If 
what  has  been  printed  will  serve  to 
arouse  the  interest  and  stimulate  the 
desire  to  know  more  of  Auburn;  then  it 
will  not  have  failed  to  accomplish  its 
purpose.  The  stranger  is  always  wel- 
come and  the  invitation  is  extended  to 
all  to  come  and  see  the  beauties  and 
share  the  advantages  of  the  flourishing 
city  of  Auburn. 


WITH    THE    PHALANX    OF    PUBLICITY 


ONE  of  the  most  interesting  gather- 
ing held  at  St.  Louis  during  the 
term  of  the  World's  Fair  was  the  first 
convention  of  the  International  Advei- 
tising  Association.  This  is  an  organiza- 
tion modeled  somewhat  along  the  lines 
of  the  American  Manufacturers'  Asso- 
ciation and  comprehends  in  its  member- 
ship all  the  varied  features  of  advertis- 
ing,—  advertisers,  advertising  agents, 
magazine  men,  newspaper  men,  bill 
board  men, street- 
car men — in  fact, 
representatives  of 
every  phase  of 
publicity. 

The  organiza- 
tion is  but  a  few 
months  old  and 
many  words  of 
doubt  were  ex- 
pressed as  to  the 
possibility  of 
bringing  together 
into  one  organi- 
zation the  differ- 
ent so-called 
"conflicting" 
phases  of  adver- 
tising. The  idea 
of  forming  an 
organization  o  f 
this  kind,  one  of 
the  greatest  ideas 
of  the  century, 

was  first  promulgated  by  Mr.  E.  F. 
Olmsted  of  the  Natural  Food  Company, 
Niagara  Falls,  New  York. 

Mr. Olmsted  is  the  advertising  manager 
for  Shredded  Wheat  and  is  in  charge  of 
the  publicity  work  of  the  Natural  Food 
Company  at  Niagara  Falls,  whose  won- 
derful building  is  the  mecca  for  thou- 
sands of  travelers  annually. 

He  also  established  a  bureau  of  pub- 
licity for  the  city  of  Niagara  Falls,  which 
is  now  doing  remarkable  work  in  calling 
attention  to  the  Electric  City  as  a  place 


THE     BILLPOSTER,    R.    J.     GUNNING 


of  meeting  for  conventions  and  as  an 
ideal  place  for  the  location  of  new  indus- 
tries. Mr.  Olmsted  is  yet  a  compara- 
tively young  man,  and  his  prominence 
today  is  due  to  hard  work  and  his  taking 
advantage  of  opportunities  presented. 
It  was  somewhat  over  a  year  ago  that 
he  took  up  the  matter  with  a  number  of 
the  prominent  advertising  men  of  the 
country.  One  in  particular  interested 
himself  in  the  matter,  and  through  their 
•combined  efforts 
the  organization 
was  fi  n  a  1  1  y 
brought  about. 
The  one  man  who 
has  done  the 
greater  bulk  of 
the  work  in  weld- 
ing the  associa- 
tion together  is 
Mr .  M .  Lee 
Starke,  the  well 
known  advertis- 
ing man  of  New 
York  City,  who 
at  that  time  rep- 
resented a  list  of 
n  evvs papers  as 
their  manager  of 
foreign  adver- 
tising. 

One  of  the 
unique  features  of 
the  meeting  was 

the  banquet  given  at  the  Hotel 
Jefferson  in  St.  Louis  by  Mr.  R.  J. 
Gunning  of  the  Gunning  System  of  Out- 
door Publicity.  Nothing  was  lacking. 
Real  trees  from  Forest  Park  were  hung 
with  red  lanterns,  the  floors  were  littered 
with  Autumn  foliage,  while  masses  of 
fruit  and  flowers  hung  in  the  branches 
spoke  of  an  abundant  harvest  and  a  sea- 
son of  festivity.  Everything  that  could 
be  imagined  in  the  eating  and  drinking 
line  was  there,  and,  as  one  of  the  St. 
Louis  papers  stated,  "it  was  one  of  the 


WITH    THE    PHALANX    OF    PUBLICITY 


most  magnificent  banquets  ever  held  in 
the  city  of  St.  Louis."  And  the  name 
of  Gunning  always  stands  for  much  — 
big,  broad,  generous. 

The  meeting  at  St.  Louis  was  success- 
ful from  every  point  of  view,  and  augurs 
well  for  the  future  of  the  organization. 
The  directors  have  resolved  themselves 
into  working  committees,  plans  have 
been  laid,  steps  are  being  taken  to  put 
these  into  immediate  execution,  mem- 


CHARLES     A.     CARLISLE,     PRESIDENT 

bership  is  increasing,  interest  is  at  fever 
heat,  and  I  doubt  not  but  that  the  Inter- 
national Advertising  Association  will 
come  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  factors  in 
the  mercantile  world. 

It  is  built  on  broad  lines,  the  men 
identified  with  it  are  men  of  experience 
and  are  used  to  big  things,  and  when  it 
is  considered  that  billions  of  dollars  are 
spent  annually  in  advertising,  it  can 
easily  be  seen  that  a  systematic  organ- 


ization among  the  forces  at  work  in  this 
direction  could  be  of  inestimable  benefit 
to  them. 

The  organization  has  passed  through 
the  vicissitudes  incident  to  the  launch- 
ing of  any  new  idea,  the  future  looks 
particularly  bright  at  this  time  and  it 
remains  to  be  seen  whether  or  not  the 
men  in  charge  of  the  association's  wel- 
fare fully  realize  the  possibilities  which 
are  now  presented. 

The  organization  is  particularly  fortu- 
nate in  the  personnel  of  its  officers  and 
directors,  every  one  of  whom  is  a  well 
known  and  remarkable  man  in  this  par- 
ticular line  of  business.  Many  different 
opinions  were  expressed  at  the  time  the 
suggestion  was  first  launched  as  to  the 
possibilities  of  such  an  organization. 
While  all  recognized  the  necessity  of  an 
organization  of  this  kind,  there  was  hesi- 
tancy and  doubt  upon  the  part  of  some 
as  to  how  the  result  would  finally  be 
accomplished.  Many  favorable  expres- 
sions were  made  by  the  advertising  press, 
one  of  which  emanated  from  Mr.  Allan 
Forman  of  the  Journalist,  who  termed  it 
"the  advertising  idea  of  the  century." 
The  aims  of  the  association,  tersely 
stated,  are  as  follows: 

To  foster  the  interests  of  the  buyer, 
the  maker  and  the  seller  of  advertising 
space. 

Reform  abuses,  prevent  waste,  through 
cooperation  to  reduce  oppressive  bur- 
dens and  to  cooperate  with  the  depart- 
ment of  commerce  at  Washington,  the 
National  Association  of  Manufacturers, 
the  publishers,  the  magazines,  the  press, 
and  bill  boards,  the  street  cars,  class  and 
all  other  organizations. 

To  make  the  International  Advertising 
Association  the  clearing-house  of  modern 
thought  in  the  interests  of  a  higher,  a 
broader,  a  more  extensive  commerce, 
national  and  international. 

To  create  a  "question  box"  open  to 
all  members,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing 
attention  to  mooted  points  for  discussion 
and  settlement. 


WITH    THE    PHALANX     OF    PUBLICITY 


OFFICERS. 

Charles  Arthur  Carlisle,  President,  South 
Bend,  Ind. 

James  B.  McMahon,  ist  Vice  President, 
Chicago,  111. 

Delavan  Smith,  2nd  Vice  President,  Indian- 
apolis, Ind. 

Barney  Link,  3rd  Vice  President,  Brooklyn. 

E.  J.  Ridgway,  Treasurer,  New  York  City. 

Barren  G.  Collier,  Secretary,  New  York  City. 

DIRECTORS. 

Mr.  C.  H.  Brampton,  American  Cereal  Com- 
pany, Chicago,  111. 

Mr.  C.  A.  Carlisle,  Studebaker  Bros.,  Mfg. 
Co.,  South  Bend,  Ind. 

Mr.  Geo.  M.  Campbell,  Jr.,  Hall  &  Ruckel, 
New  York  City. 

Mr.  James  B.  McMahon,  N.  K.  Fairbank  & 
Co.,  Chicago,  111. 

Mr.  E.  F.  Olmsted,  The  Natural  Food  Com- 
pany, Niagara  Falls,  N.  Y. 

Mr.  Phil  A.  Conne,  Saks  &  Company,  New 
York  City. 

Mr.  Thos.  Balmer,  Butterick  Company,  New 
York  City. 

Mr.  Barron  G.  Collier,  Street  Car  Advertis- 
ing, New  York  City. 

Mr.  Delavan  Smith,  Oliver  Typewriter  Co., 
Chicago,  111.  Indianapolis  News. 
Indianapolis,  Ind. 


Mr.  M.  Lee  Starke,  Paul  E.  Derrick  Adv. 
Agency,  New  York  City. 

Mr.  Barney  Link,  Am.  Bill-Posters'  Ass'n, 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

Mr.  Jos.  Kathrens,  Pabst  Brewing  Co.,  Mil 
waukee,  Wis. 

Mr.  C.  H.  Guilfus,  Andrew  Jergens  &  Com- 
pany, Cincinnati,  Ohio. 

Mr.  W.  A.  Stiles,  International  Harvester 
Co.,  Chicago,  111. 

Mr.  H.  L.  Kramer,  Sterling  Remedy  Co., 
Kramer,  Ind. 

Mr.  E.  Mapes,  Cream  of  Wheat  Company, 
Minneapolis,  Minn. 

Mr.  F.  V.  Hammar,  Hammar  Paint  Co.,  St. 
Louis.  Mo. 

Mr.  R.  J.  Gunning,  Gunning  System,  Chi- 
cago, 111. 

Mr.  E.  J.  Ridgway,  Ridgway-Thayer  Co., 
New  York  City. 

Mr.  J.  A.  Meke^.l,  Dry  Goods  Economist, 
New  York  City. 

Mr.  Ralph  Holden,  Calkins  &  Holden,  New 
York  City. 

Mr.  Frank  Presbrey,  Frank  Presbrey  Com- 
pany, New  York  City. 

Mr.  J.  A.  Patten,  Chattanooga  Medicine  Co., 
Chattanooga,  Tenn. 

Mr.  Dudley  Walker,  Chicago  &  Alton  Rail- 
road Co.,  Chicago,  111. 

Mr.  J.  E.  Campbell,  Proctor  &  Gamble  Co., 
Cincinnati,  O. 


SCENE     AT     CONVENTION      HEADQUARTERS 


WITH    THE    PHALANX    OF    PUBLICITY 


M.  LEE  STARKE 


E.     F.     OLMSTEAU 


Mr.  H.  G.  Ashbrook,  Glidden  Varnish  Co., 
Cleveland,  O. 

Mr.  John  Korb,  Gerhard  Mennen  Chemical 
Co.,  Newark,  N.  J. 

Mr.  John  Lee  Mahin,  Mahin  Advertising 
Co.,  Chicago,  111. 

Mr.  Adplph  S.  Ochs,  New  York  Times. 

Mr.  Julius  Kahn,  Cash  Buyers'  Union,  Chica- 
go, 111. 

Mr.  Louis  H.  Liggett,  The  United  Drug  Co., 
Boston,  Mass. 

Mr.  Medill  McCormick,  Chicago  Tribune. 

Col.  W.  E.  Haskell,  Boston  Herald,  Boston. 

The  meeting  in  St.  Louis  was  most 
interesting.  Mr.  Charles  Arthur  Carlisle, 
who  succeeded  Mr.  H.  D.  Perky  as 
president,  is  an  executive  officer  of  sterl- 
ing qualities  and  has  steered  the  craft 
through  the  shoals  and  shallows  of  early 
organization  with  pronounced  success. 
The  regular  program  provided  a  feast  for 
all,  and  in  addition  to  this  there  were 
speeches  from  many  well  known  men 
whose  names  did  not  appear  in  the  regu- 
lar program.  There  were  addresses, 
essays,  speeches  and  nightly  lively  dis- 
cussion on  every  possible  phase  of  pub- 


licity. Every  moment  was  of  interest  to 
those  interested  in  the  particular  branch 
of  work  that  happened  to  be  then  under 
discussion.  The  talks  were  all  good, 
and  it  was  like  looking  at  a  great  parade 
of  the  marching  army  of  publicity  where 
the  ranks  of  battalions  marched  by  with 
flying  colors,  each  secure  in  its  own 
strength,  but  each  one  necessary  to  the 
united  and  powerful  whole. 

The  association  has  opened  a  central 
office  in  New  York  City  which  is  in 
charge  of  experts,  and  any  information 
concerning  the  organization  can  be  got 
by  addressing  the  International  Adver- 
tising Association,  114  Fifth  avenue, 
New  York  City. 

The  National  Magazine  congratulates 
Mr.  Olmsted  upon  the  conception  of  the 
idea,  and  the  successful  culmination  of 
his  plans — we  are  sure  we  will  soon  see 
the  International  Advertising  Associa- 
tion grow  to  be  the  largest  industrial 
organization  of  this  and  other  countries. 


STATELY    AND    PRIM    STANDS    OUT    THE    BUILDING    OF    THE   OLD    BAY    STATE 


MASSACHUSETTS  AT  THE  EXPOSITION 


THE  commonwealth  of  Massachusetts 
appropriated  $100,000  for  the  St. 
Louis  Fair.  Governor  Bates,  supported 
by  the  commercial  and  industrial  inter- 
ests of  the  state,  early  saw  the  great 
advantages  to  be  derived  from  the  par- 
ticipation by  the  state  in  the  Exposition, 
and  consequently  favored  a  generous 
contribution  so  that  it  might  be  credit- 
ably represented. 

Dr.  George  Harris  of  Amherst,  Mrs. 
Sarah  C.  Sears  and  Mrs.  May  Allen 
Ward  of  Boston,  Hon.  Thomas  B.  Fitz- 
patrick  of  Brookline  and  Hon.  Wilson 
H.  Fairbank  of  Warren  were  appointed 
as  a  board  of  managers  in  charge  of  the 
work.  Probably  no  state  board  in  Mas- 
sachusetts was  ever  appointed  that  was 
composed  of  people  so  well  known,  so 
capable,  and  in  whom  the  public  had 
greater  confidence.  The  selection  of 


Dr.  Harris,  who  is  president  of  Amherst 
college,  as  president  of  the  board  was 
peculiarly  fortunate.  His  attainments 
as  a  scholar  and  his  standing  with  edu- 
cators made  him  invaluable  in  organiz- 
ing and  establishing  the  educational  ex- 
hibits which  have  always  been  the  pride 
of  Massachusetts.  Mrs.  Sears  is  vice 
president  of  the  board  and  has  charge  of 
the  art  department,  which  includes  the 
arts  and  crafts  section.  It  is  believed 
that  this  department  is  unsurpassed  by 
that  of  any  other  state.  Mrs.  Ward  is 
recording  secretary  and  is  president  of 
the  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs  in 
Massachusetts.  She  .has  charge  of  the 
historical  department  and  is  assisted  by 
Miss  Helen  A.  Whittier  of  Lowell.  Mr. 
Fitzpatrick  is  president  of  the  Brown, 
Durrell  Company  of  Boston  and  New 
York,  one  of  the  largest  wholesale  dry- 


MASSACHUSETTS    AT    THE     EXPOSITION 


goods  houses  in  the  United  States. 
Senator  Fairbank  is  a  retired  business 
man.  The  last  two  have  charge  of  the 
finances  of  the  board.  Mr.  Fitzpatrick 
is  president  of  one  or  two  banks  in  Bos- 
ton, besides  being  director  of  many  cor- 
porations. He  is  also  interested  in  many 
charitable  and  educational  institutions. 
The  advice  of  few  business  men  is  more 
frequently  sought  or  followed  than  his. 


SENATOR    W.    H.     FAIRBANK 

The  commission,  realizing  that  the 
appropriation  made  by  the  state  had  as 
its  direct  object  the  securing  of  as  com- 
prehensive and  creditable  a  display  as 
possible  of  its  different  manufactured 
and  commercial  products,  spared  no 
effort  or  expense  in  bringing  to  the  at- 
tention of  all  manufacturers  and  business 
men  the  advantages  offered  by  the  Fair, 
and  furnished  all  information  and  assist- 
ance in  its  power  to  those  manifesting 
interest  in  the  Exposition. 

The  result  of  its  labors  was  the  bring- 


ing to  St.  Louis  a  larger  number  of  in- 
dividual exhibitors  than  came  from  any 
other  state.  The  only  states  excelling 
in  magnitude  of  space  occupied  are  the 
agricultural  states  of  the  middle  West 
and  the  great  mining  states.  The  textile 
exhibits  from  Massachusetts  are  exceed- 
ingly creditable  to  its  manufacturers  and 
receive  much  commendation.  The  de- 
partment of  fine  machinery  and  tools  is 
very  complete. 

Special  attention  should  be  given  to 
the  educational  and  social  economy  ex- 
hibits in  the  Educational  building.  This 
was  gotten  together  and  arranged  by 
Mr.  George  E.  Gay,  superintendent  of 
schools  in  Maiden,  assisted  by  Miss 
Gertrude  L.  Brinkhaus,  also  of  Maiden. 
Here  school  work,  from  the  kindergarten 
to  the  college,  is  graphically  and  inter- 
estingly shown,  and  is  constantly  studied 
by  teachers  and  students. 

The  number  of  visitors  to  the  Fair 
from  Massachusetts,  while  not  as  large 
as  the  undertaking  deserves,  has,  during 
the  first  part  of  the  Fair,  been  good,  and 
it  is  believed  that  no  other  state  from 
the  East  will  contribute  a  greater  number 
of  visitors.  The  number  of  young  peo- 
ple who  have  come  is  exceptionally 
large. 

The  splendid  and  unselfish  work  of 
Senator  Fairbank  deserves  more  than 
passing  notice.  The  Fair  has  had  no 
more  loyal  and  devoted  advocate  than 
he.  In  March,  learning  that  the  con- 
struction of  the  state  building  might  be 
delayed,  he  left  his  home  in  Warren 
and,  with  Mrs.  Fairbank,  came  to  St. 
Louis  and  personally  undertook  the 
supervision  of  its  construction  and  fur- 
nishing. 

The  building  is  of  Colonial  design, 
embodying  many  features  of  the  present 
state  house.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
Senator  Fairbank  served  several  years 
in  the  state  legislature  and  was  largely 
instrumental  in  preserving  the  Bulfinch 
front  when  the  building  was  recently 
remodeled  and  enlarged. 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   DECEMBER,    1964 


AT  the  head  of  successful  women  pub- 
lishers in  America  stands  Kate  E. 
Griswold  of  Profitable  Advertising. 
Not  only  has  she  made  a  distinct  busi- 
ness success  of  this  publication,  which 
was  one  of  the  pioneers  in  advertising 
journalism, 
but  she  has 
also  made 
it  a  stan- 
dard au- 
thority o  n 
advertising 
and  kindred 
subjects. 
More  than 
that,  there 
is  always  a 
"craft"  in- 
terest in 
Profitable 
Advertis- 
ing. In  fact, 
i  t  may  be 
said  that  no 
one  can  feel 
quite  up-to 
-date  as  to 
the  progress 
of  practical 
publi  city 
without 
r  e  a  d  i.  n  g 
Profitable 
Advertis- 
ing. Miss 
Griswold, 
through  her 
publication, 
has  done 
much  to  de- 
velop and 
stimulate 
advertising, 

and  to  work  out  the  problems  that  con- 
front the  advertiser. 

With  her  customary  enterprise,  Miss 
Griswold  was  handsomely  represented 
at  the  World's  Fair,  her  exhibit  display- 
ing an  array  of  the  covers  which  appeared 
on  Profitable  Advertising  for  years  back. 


This  was  something  more  than  a  mere 
exhibit  of  magazine  covers.  It  was,  in 
fact,  a  fine  display  in  itself,  for  the 
covers  of  the  "magazine  of  publicity" 
have  always  been  truly  artistic  and  rep- 
resentative of  a  high  class  of  work. 


MISS      KATE      E.      GRISWOLD,      PUBLISHER      "PROFITABLE      ADVERTISING' 


Mr.  C.  Capehart  was  in  charge  of  Miss 
Griswold's  interests  in  St.  Louis,  and  it 
is  needless  to  say  that  there  were  few 
people  associated  with  advertising  work 
that  were  not  pleased  to  look  upon  this 
enterprise  of  a  woman  publisher's  ability 
and  courage. 


IN    THE    CLOSING    DAYS     OF    THE    FAIR 


TALBOT  C.  DEXTER,  INVENTOR   OF  THE  DEXTER  FOLDER 


DEPARTMENT  OP  PROGRESSIVE  ADVERTISERS 


DIAMONDS 

PAY20J& 
ANNUALLY 


YOU  CAN  MAKE  A 

DIAMOND 
YOUR  SAVINGS  BANK 


Gold  Medal  Awarded 

The  Loftis  System" 


The  Superior  Jury  at  the  Saint  Louis  Exposition,  after  a  full  consideration  of  the  claims 

of  all  foreign  and  domestic  exhibitors,  have  awarded  the  f^OLD  MEDAL  to  us. 

This  puts  the  official  stamp  of  approval  of  the  greatest  exposition  ever  held, 

upon   the  LOFTIS   SYSTEM  —  its  goods,  prices,  terms  and  methods. 

"Vf\it  t**»r\  TTc/a  TVi/a  T  e\fi-\e.  Qx7-fii-«rr»  Why  not  use  It  as  a  savings  proposition 
I  OU  Lvdll  USc  1  lie  IjOrilS  ^y  StCin.  in  ISOS.  You  simply  select  the  Diamond 
that  you  want  from  our  Catalogue  and  we  send  it  to  you  on  approval.  It  costs  you  nothing  to  see  It,  for  we  pay 
all  express  charges  whether  you  buy  or  not.  If  you  like  the  Diamond  sent,  you  pay  one-fifth  of  the  price  and  keep 
It,  sending  the  balance  to  us  direct  In  eight  equal  monthly  payments.  The  monthly  payments  will  be  just  the 
same  as  putting  a  monthly  deposit  In  a  savings  bank  and  will  pay  much  better. 

~Vf\i  i  A  !-•£»  "M  *•»•<-  T*f\n  "Bar*  A  -nrfifr  to  have  a  Diamond  Savings  Account  with  us.  We 
1  LIU.  -/-Vl  C  l^ll/L  1  LJLJ  Ictl  ,^V>V«ljr  open  these  accounts  with  honest  people  all  over 
America.  The  ten  dollar  a  week  employe  is  just  as  welcome  on  our  UOOKS  as  Is  his  well-to-do  employer.  Our  easy 
savings  terms  make  any  honest  person's  credit  good. 

ff  "V^k-i  ••    f^r'afftf        We  also  nave  a  cash  plan,  and  It  Is  just  as  far  beyond  com- 
11       1  LIU    MTi  CJ.C1  .        petition  as  our  easy  payment  terms.    Read  this:    Select  any 

Diamond  and  pay  cash  for  It,  and  we  will  give  you  a  written  agreement  that  you  may  return  the  Diamond  any  time 
within  one  year,  and  get  all  you  paid  forlt — less  ten  per  cent.  You  might,  for  Instance,  wear  a  fifty  dollar  Diamond 
ring,  or  stud  for  a  year,  then  bring  or  send  it  back  to  us  and  get  forty-five  dollars,  making  the  cost  of  wearing  the 
Diamond  for  a  whole  year,  less  than  ten  cents  per  week. 

ACntr-in«-fc    ¥-T.nln         With  every  Diamond  or  Watch,  we  will,  when  requested  to  do  so,  furnish 
JaVUlgS    riClp.       you  with  one  or  the  LOFTIS  STEEL  SAFES  for  HOME  SAVINGS.  Drop 
your  pennies,  nickels  and  dimes  Into  the  little  safe  as  you  can  spare  them,  and  your  Diamond  will  soon  be  paid  for, 
and  you  will  never  miss  the  money.    We  make  no  charge  for  the  safe,  and  when  desired  furnish  a  key  with  it. 

fi  iar>e>Ti-f-j3/>  ot-»/1  fZ~v-f*\-n*-nrto  Our  Guarantee  Certificate  Is  the  broadest  and  strongest 
VVlldl  dllLCC  dllll.  -L-iVCllall^C.  ever  given  by  a  responsible  house.  We  give  one  numbered 
and  signed  with  every  Diamond.  We  accept  any  Diamond  ever  sold  by  us  as  so  much  cash  In  exchange  for  other 
goods  or  a  larger  Diamond.  No  matter  how  long  you  have  had  a  Diamond,  it  Is  always  good  for  original  value  with  us. 

"V^jQT*  l?-irtT-»<-         Write  for  our  Catalogue,  select  your  Diamond  and 
1  Cal     IXiyiLL.       begin  saving  your  money.    Diamonds  will  be  worth 

twenty  per  cent  more  than  at  present  in  one  year  from  now.  In  the  meantime,  while  saving  you  can  have  the 
pleasure  and  prestige  of  wearing  a  beautiful  Diamond. 

lQ/\e   f  a f-o  1  <-» rf  1 1  is  ' s  tlie  fi nest  ever  published,  and  shows  the  finest  line  of  Diamonds, 
1  «7vF»J  VxtLdlUy  LtC  Watches  and  Jewelry  ever  put  on  paper.    We  show  many  In- 
expensive articles,  but  nothing  cheap  or  trashy.     Every  piece  of  goods  that  is  given  a  place  In  our 
Catalogue  must  stand  the  test  of  Loftls  quality,  the  highest  standard  In  the  trade. 

You  will  receive  in  addition  to  our  1905  Catalogue  a  copy  of  our 
Souvenir  History  of  Diamonds,  more  than  a  million  copies  of  whicb 

were  distributed  at  our  Diamond  Cutting  Exhibit  in  the  Varied  Industries  Building  at  tfce 

Saint  Louis  Exposition.    Write  at  once  to  insure  receiving  a  copy. 


LOFTIS  BROS.  &>  CO. 

Diamond  Cutters  and  Manufacturing  Jewelers 

Dept.    A.    10,  92  to  98  State  Street,  Chicago,  111. 

CopjrrlchtlttM,  Franklin  AJTOCJ,  Chlompx 


Don't  fall  to  mention  "Th«  National  Ma*a*in»"   *hen  wrltln*  to  adverti»er«. 


THE       VALLEY       WHICH      IS      TO      BE      THE      BED       OF      THE      FIRST      GREAT      FEDERAL 
IRRIGATION      RESERVOIR,      NEAR      PHOENIX,      ARIZONA 


MAKING    THE     DESERT    BLOOM 


By  CHARLES  ARTHUR  VAN  DER  VEER 

Secretary  of  the  Phoenix  and  Maricopa  County  Board  ot  Trade 


THE  home  is  the  bulwark  of  the 
nation,  and  the  making  of  homes  is 
the  chief  object  of  the  national  irrigation 
law.  The  eyes  of  all  who  are  interested 
in  the  upbuilding  of  continental  America 
are  turned  to  the  first  and  chief  experi- 
ment of  the  reclamation  officers  of  the 
government,  which  is  now  being  carried 
on  in  the  Salt  River  Valley,  Arizona, 
near  Phoenix.  Upon  the  successful 
operation  of  the  great  Tonto  reservoir 
will  depend  not  only  the  profitable  irri- 
gation of  a  fertile  valley  with  its  conse- 
quent increase  in  the  production  and 
population,  but  will  in  great  measure 


also  depend  the  success  of  applying  gov- 
ernment funds  to  the  work  of  reclaiming 
millions  of  hitherto  arid  acres  in  the 
western  part  of  the  United  States. 

Before  congress  took  up  the  question 
of  giving  government  aid  to  the  reclama- 
tion of  arid  lands  investigation  had  been 
carried  on  in  the  Salt  River  Valley  for 
a  number  of  years.  It  had  been  found 
that  there  was  an  admirable  reservoir 
site  where  a  natural  basin  could  be 
dammed  and  filled  with  flood  waters  at 
the  minimum  of  expense.  Although  for 
years  irrigation  had  been  practiced  in 
this  valley  by  the  white  man  and  for 


MAKING    THE    DESERT    BLOOM 


ages  before  that  by  the  progenitor  of  the 
Indian,  there  had  never  been  any  at- 
tempt made  other  than  to  utilize  the 
natural  flow  of  the  river.  So  it  was  that 
when  rains  fell  in  the  mountains,  or  the 
Winter  snows  melted  to  swell  the  volume 
of  the  creeks  and  river,  only  a  limited 
amount  could  be  carried  in  the  artificial 
waterways  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
flood  below  ran  down  stream  to  be  lost 
in  the  ocean.  Besides  the  soil,  dry 
though  it  might  be,  could  only  soak  up 
a  certain  amount  of  water  at  one  time 
and  an  excess  would  be  harmful  to  the 
crop  with  which  the  land  was  planted. 

Conservation  of  the  water  supply  was 
an  absolute  necessity  and  it  could  best 
be  accomplished  by  storage  of  the  flood 
flow  to  be  added  to  the  slackened  volume 
of  water  during  the  dry  season.  Upon 
Salt  river,  just  below  where  it  is  joined 
by  Tonto  creek,  was  found  what  engi- 
neers declare  to  be  the  finest  natural 
dam-site  in  this  country.  It  was  this 
fact,  together  with  the  economical  pro- 
portionate cost  of  reservoir  to  amount  of 
land  benefitted,  which  led  to  the  selec- 
tion of  the  Tonto  reservoir  project  as 
one  to  be  bv.1,1  under  the  national  irri- 
gation law.  At  this  natural  dam-site, 
about  seventy  miles  nearly  due  east 
from  Phoenix,  the  Salt  river  runs  through 
a  precipitous  rocky  canyon.  On  each 
side  are  solid  walls  of  rock  into  which 
the  dam  is  being  built  upon  a  foundation 
reaching  down  to  bed-rock.  Here  again 
was  a  natural  feature  which  the  builders 
could  not  ignore.  Repeated  borings 
showed  one  line  across  the  river  bottom 
where  bed-rock  was  only  thirty-one  feet 
below  the  surface.  The  value  of  this 
may  be  appreciated  when  it  is  remem- 
bered that  the  big  Croton  dam  in  New 
York  goes  165  feet  below  the  surface, 
or  as  far  as  it  does  above  the  ground, 
so  that  the  cost  of  construction  is  corre- 
spondingly greater  than  where  the  foun- 
dation is  only  one-eighth  of  the  height  of 
the  structure.  From  bed-rock  the  Tonto 
dam  will  tower  275  feet  in  the  air,  a 


great,  wedge-like  structure  of  stone  and 
cement,  sloping  upward  from  a  thickness 
of  1 80  feet  at  the  bottom  to  twenty  feet 
at  the  crest.  It  will  present  a  crescent 
curve  to  the  down-stream  rush  of  the 
impounded  water,  the  ends  of  the  curve 
being  thrust  into  and  joined  with  the 
solid  rock  walls  of  the  abutting  canyon, 
while  the  wedge-like  base  will  be  dove- 
tailed into  the  bed-rock. 

Twenty-seven  feet  lower  than  the  crest 
of  the  dam  and  at  each  end  of  the  great 
structure,  will  be  cut  waste-ways  or 
"spill-ways"  as  the  engineers  term  them, 
curving  around  in  the  sides  of  the  hills 
and  sloping,  off  toward  the  river  bed 
below.  When  the  reservoir  is  full,  or 
in  time  of  a  flood  which  would  more 
than  fill  the  big  artificial  lake,  the  sur- 
plus water  will  boil  and  foam  through 
these  solid  rock  chutes. 

Thus  will  the  wearing  force  of  the 
current  be  expended  upon  the  rock  of 
the  mountain-side  and  not  upon  the 
costly  work  of  man,  as  it  is  not  expected 
that  water  will  ever  flow  over  the  crest 
of  the  dam. 

The  canyon,  where  it  is  spanned  by 
the  dam,  is  only  200  feet  across  at  the 
bottom.  At  the  level  of  the  spill-ways 
the  dam  will  be  less  than  700  feet  from 
end  to  end,  following  the  curve.  Above 
the  dam  the  river  and  creek  diverge  at 
a  wide  angle,  so  that  the  basin  to  be 
filled  by  the  damming , of  the  river  will 
extend  sixteen  miles  up  Salt  river  and 
nine  miles  up  Tonto  creek,  with  the  can- 
yon which  the  dam  occupies  opposite 
the  point  of  the  angle.  Following  the 
curves  of  the  edge  of  the  basin,  but  out 
of  reach  of  the  highest  point  the  water 
will  ever  reach  in  the  great  lake,  will  run 
a  canal  large  enough  to  accommodate 
the  normal  flow  of  the  river.  Taking 
the  water  at  a  point  about  eighteen  miles 
above  the  main  dam,  the  canal  will  carry 
the  flow  so  that  it  will  never  go  into  the 
reservoir  but  at  the  crest  of  the  dam  will 
be  dropped  through  a  stand-pipe  220 
feet  to  the  power-house  below,  there  to 


II 


MAKING    THE    DESERT     BLOOM 


GLIMPSES     OF       PHOENIX     AND     VICINITY     SHOWING     PUBLIC    BUILDINGS     AND     HOMES 
OF      THE      CITY      AND      INTERESTING      PHASES      OF      AGRICULTURAL      DEVELOP- 
MENT     IN      THE     SURROUNDING      COUNTRY 


turn  great  turbines  and  generate  electri- 
cal power.  All  the  excess  flow  will  run 
in  its  natural  course  through  the  reser- 
voir, to  be  held  back  by  the  dam  until 
the  water  is  needed  for  irrigation. 

Bored  through  the  canyon  wall  at  one 
end  of  the  dam,  but  kept  always  beyond 


the  line  of  masonry  and  in  the  solid 
rock,  is  a  sluicing  tunnel  ten  by  fifteen 
feet.  Through  this  channel  the  river's 
flow  will  be  diverted  so  that  the  founda- 
tions may  be  excavated  and  built. 
Afterward  great  steel  gates  will  be  set 
in  the  tunnel,  by  means  of  which  the 


III 


MAKING    THE    DESERT    BLOOM 


flow  through  it  may  be  regulated  or 
stopped  entirely  if  it  is  desired  to  keep 
all  the  accumulated  store  in  the  reservoir. 

Fifteen  hundred  men,  at  this  writing, 
are  toiling  on  the  various  parts  of  this 
great  undertaking,  which  is  to  result  in 
the  multiplying  of  homes  by  the  redemp- 
tion of  acres  of  desert.  The  sluicing 
tunnel  is  completed.  The  power  canal 
is  rapidly  nearing  completion  with  800 
feet  of  tunnels  in  its  eighteen  miles  of 
length.  Up  in  the  Sierra  Anchas,  where 
a  busy  saw  mill  is  reducing  the  forest  to 
timber,  which  is  being  used  in  the  dam 
proper,  for  the  construction  of  which 
bids  will  be  opened  early  in  January,  is 
the  busy  town  of  Roosevelt,  peopled 
with  the  workers  engaged  in  the  variety 
of  labor  connected  with  the  great  engi- 
neering feat.  When  the  dam  is  com- 
pleted, in  three  or  four  years,  the  build- 
ings, tents  and  machinery  will  be  torn 
apart  and  the  site  of  the  little  town 
deserted,  to  be  flooded  as  the  reservoir 
is  gradually  filled. 

On  the  side  of  the  mountain,  a  short 
distance  above  the  dam,  is  built  a 
cement  mill  which  will  soon  be  in 
operation.  From  near-by  hills  of  -rock 
and  clay  will  be  drawn  the  materials 
for  grinding  and  burning  a  fine  grade 
of  cement  for  use  in  constructing  the 
great  wall  of  the  dam.  This  structure 
is  above  the  high-water  mark,  so  it  may 
be  used  afterward  if  it  is  desired  to  con- 
tinue the  manufacture  of  cement  from 
the  vast  store  of  raw  materials  which  are 
near  by.  Here  again  has  nature  made 
ready  for  the  work  of  man  by  furnishing 
materials  ready  at  hand.  The  big  blocks 
of  stone  which  will  make  up  the  struc- 
ture of  the  dam  will  be  quarried  from 
the  face  of  the  mountain  at  the  side. 
Even  the  labor  of  construction  will  be 
in  part  furnished  by  harnessing  the 
river's  flow.  The  machinery  of  the 
cement  mill,  the  powerful  cranes  which 
will  lift  enormous  blocks  of  stone  into 
their  places  in  the  great  wall,  and  the 
massive  gates  which  will  close  the  sluic- 


ing tunnel,  will  all  be  operated  by  elec- 
trical power  generated  by  the  water-fall. 

After  the  construction  work  is  com- 
pleted this  electrical  power  will  be  trans- 
mitted to  points  in  the  valley  where  large 
pumps  will  be  set  up  to  develop  the 
underground  water  supply.  The  power 
may  be  added  to  by  further  harnessing 
the  water  in  river  and  canals  as  it  drops 
from  the  mountain  height  to  the  valley 
level,  so  that  thousands  of  electrical 
units  will  be  at  work  drawing  from  the 
store  of  irrigation  water  beneath  the  sur- 
face. 

With  the  big  dam  checking  its  flow, 
the  water  in  the  river  will  be  backed  up 
until  there  is  a  volume  of  1,500,000  acre- 
feet  contained  in  the  reservoir.  In  other 
words  this  means  that  there  will  be 
enough  water  to  cover  that  many  acres 
of  land  one  foot  deep  if  it  could  be 
spread  out  in  one  continuous  body.  As 
it  takes  between  four  and  five  acre-feet 
to  supply  crops  for  one  year,  it  may  be 
seen  that  without  counting  the  natural 
increase  by  rain  and  melting  snow,  once 
the  reservoir  was  filled  there  would  be 
enough  water  to  supply  about  100,000 
acres  of  land  for  three  years.  However, 
about  thirty  miles  below  the  Tonto  dam 
the  Verde  river  joins  the  Salt,  and  its 
flood  waters  nearly  double  the  available 
supply  for  irrigation.  Then  there  is  the 
underground  supply  to  be  developed  by 
pumping  and  a  conservative  estimate 
is  that  this  will  furnish  water  for  20,000 
acres  more.  So  that,  altogether,  it  is 
estimated  that  from  60,000  to  200,000 
acres  may  be  supplied  from  the  great 
reservoir  with  a  sufficiency  of  water  for 
economical  use. 

The  estimated  cost  of  the  dam  is 
$3,000,000,  in  round  numbers.  This  will 
make  the  cost  per  acre  not  more  than 
twenty  dollars  and  possibly  not  over 
fifteen  or  sixteen.  Some  projects  have 
been  undertaken  in  which  the  estimated 
cost  is  twenty-four  dollars  an  acre,  and 
yet  the  land  is  expected  to  pay  a  good 
profit  on  this  first  cost.  Under  the 


IV 


MAKING    THE    DESERT    BLOOM 


Tonto  project  an  agreement  has  been 
entered  into  whereby  the  land-owners, 
who  will  receive  the  benefit  of  the  stored 
water,  will  have  ten  years  in  which  to 
make  annual  payments  to  the  govern- 
ent  to  repay  the  cost  of  construction. 
The  payments  will  not  commence  until 
the  work  is  completed  and  meantime  it 
is  expected  that  large  benefits  will  be 
received,  for  the  dam  may  be  set  at 
work  storing  water  by  the  lower  part 
being  used  as  soon  as  it  is  constructed. 

For  about  thirty  miles  below  the  dam, 
the  Salt  river  tumbles  through  a  narrow 
canyon  with  precipitous  walls.  Then  it 
is  joined  by  the  Verde  river  and  enters 
the  head  of  the  Salt  River  Valley.  At 
this  point  a  diversion  dam  directs  the 
flow  of  the  river  into  huge  artificial  water- 
ways, through  which  it  is  carried  by- 
means  of  over  200  miles  of  main  canals 
and  lateral  ditches  to  irrigate  a  thirsty 
land.  These  main  canals  radiate  from 
both  banks  of  the  river  so  that  they  have 
been  likened  to  the  fingers  of  a  gigantic 
hand,  stretched  out  to  pluck  from  the 
desert  the  blossom  and  fruit  to  which 
they  carry  the  life-giving  water  of  irriga- 
tion. 

The  soil  of  this  valley,  which  is  about 
twenty  miles  wide  and  forty  miles  long, 
has  been  compared  in  richness  and  fer- 
tility to  that  of  the  Nile.  It  contains  all 
the  requisities  for  a  variety  of  plant 
growth  except  moisture,  and  this  is 
applied  artificially  by  irrigation.  The 
Salt  River  valley  farmer  is  now  engaged 
in  storing  his  rainfall,  to  have  it  on  tap 
when  needed..  With  only  infrequent 
local  rains,  the  farmer  goes  about  har- 
vesting his  crops  of  alfalfa  or  wheat  with- 
out regard  to  the  weather.  And  he  regu- 
lates his  water  supply  according  to  the 
needs  of  the  crop,  withholding  when 
desired  or  giving  when  necessary  to  the 
successful  maturing  of  the  plant. 

Such  is  the  salubrity  of  the  climate,with 
a  maximum  of  sunshiny  days,  that  any- 
thing may  be  grown  in  the  Salt  River 
valley  which  will  grow  in  the  temperate 


or  semi-tropical  zones.  Already  more 
than  100,000  acres  are  in  cultivation 
with  the  present  intermittent  water  sup- 
ply. With  the  reservoir  in  operation,  the 
yearly  crops  will  be  largely  increased, 
while  nearly  as  much  again  as  the  present 
acreage  will  be  added  to  the  productive 
area. 

In  an  irrigated  section  intensive  fann- 
ing is  better  practiced  than  extensive 
husbandry.  Here,  again,  is  shown  the 
wisdom  of  the  new  irrigation  law,  which 
restricts  the  beneficiaries  of  national  aid 
to  holders  of  a  quarter-section,i6o  acres, 
or  less.  Owing  to  this  provision,  large 
tracts  in  single  ownership  which  may 
come  under  any  of  the  projects  to  which 
government  funds  are  being  applied, 
must  be  sub-divided  before  the  storage 

•  reservoirs  are  completed  and  in  opera- 
tion. By  this  means  are  homes  to  be 
multiplied  and  the  population  of  a  given 
area  doubled  or  trebled. 

The  Salt  River  valley  is  a  garden  spot 
nearly  in  the  center  of  Maricopa  County, 
which  is  approximately  as  large  in  area 
as  the  state  of  Massachusetts,  and  is  the 
principal  agricultural  district  in  Arizona. 
Phoenix,  the  county  seat,  as  well  as  the 
territorial  capital,  is  a  thriving,  intensely 
American  city  with  over  12,000  inhabi- 
tants. On  account  of  the  mild  Winters, 
thousands  are  temporarily  added  to  the 
population,  and  many  families  have  here 
a  Winter  home  amid  ideal  surroundings. 
Radiating  from  the  city  are  shady  drives 
which  lead  past  tree-bordered  pastures, 
where  cattle  are  fattening  on  alfalfa;  to 
orchards  where  oranges  and  other  deli- 
cious fruits  are  ripening.  Over  1,000 
acres  are  devoted  to  orange  groves  from 
which  the  product  is  shipped  to  eastern 
points  in  time  to  appear  on  Thanksgiv- 
ing tables,  which  early  marketing  with 
consequent  high  prices  is  advantageous 
to  the  grower.  Of  the  citrus  fruit  pro- 
duced in  the  irrigated  district  surround- 
ing Phoenix,  the  pomelo,  or  grape-fruit, 
is  justly  of  country-wide  fame  for  sweet- 
ness and  delicate  flavor.  Olive  trees 

V 


MAKING    THE    DESERT    BLOOM 


flourish  in  abundance,  from  which  is 
pressed  an  oil  that,  after  expert  test,  was 
awarded  a  medal  at  the  Louisiana  Pur- 
chase Exposition  over  all  competitors. 
Deciduous  fruits  and  grapes  of  many 
varieties  grow  here  in  perfection,  and 
unbounded  opportunities  are  offered  for 
developing  and  extending  this  class  of 
horticulture  with  the  assured  water  sup- 
ply to  come  from  the  Tonto  reservoir. 

Thousands  of  cattle  are  driven  down 
from  the  mountain  ranges  every  Winter 
to  be  fattened  on  the  alfalfa  fields  around 
Phoenix  and  thence  shipped  to  market 
for  beef.  Other  thousands  of  dairy  cat- 
tle graze  on  the  year-'iound  green  pas- 
tures and  their  products  are  shipped  to 
less  favored  sections  of  the  territory  for 
which  the  capital  city  is  the  chief  dis- 
tributing point  for  supplies.  Bee  keep- 
ing and  poultry  raising  are  side  lines 
engaged  in  with  profit  by  many  ranchers. 

In  small  fruits  and  melons  the  possi- 
bilities are  incalculable  with  the  prom- 
ised sufficient  water  supply  to  insure 
early  and  prolific  maturity.  Here  again 
the  earliness  of  the  season  of  ripening 
gives  the  Salt  River  valley  a  tremendous 
commercial  advantage  over  less  favored 
localities  where  the  seasons  are  later. 

The    substantial     improvements     of 


Phoenix  are  well  worthy  of  a  city  of 
much  larger  population.  The  capitol, 
court-house,  city  hall  and  many  business 
blocks  are  creditable  buildings  in  both 
architecture  and  construction.  Commo- 
dious residences,  many  of  them  of  char- 
acteristic design,  line  shaded  avenues, 
with  their  surroundings  of  well  kept-lawns 
and  rose  gardens. 

Out  through  the  irrigated  section,  then 
winding  over  the  desert  and  up  into  the 
hills,  with  their  rugged  scenery  making 
the  trip  an  interesting  one,  is  the  wagon 
road  leading  to  the  Tonto  reservoir. 
Built  with  infinite  labor  and  at  great 
expense  primarily  for  the  utilitarian  pur- 
pose of  having  freight  supplies  hauled 
over  it,  the  road  will  also  serve  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  convenient  access  to  this 
great  engineering  work.  As  it  nears 
completion  the  great  dam,  higher  than 
any  other  yet  constructed  and  impound- 
ing a  larger  body  of  water  than  any 
other,  will  become  the  Mecca  of  the  engi- 
neers of  the  wor  d  and  a  favored  place 
for  sight-seers  who  may  combine  in  one 
trip  a  view  of  the  wonders  of  nature 
with  an  inspection  of  one  of  the  great 
works  of  man.  At  the  same  time  will  be 
seen  the  great  developer  and  home 
multiplier  of  the  Salt  River  Valley. 


FRANK    DVORSKY     GIVING    HIS     SON     A     SPINAL     ADJUSTMENT     IN     THE    PRESENCE     OF 

PROMINENT     CITIZENS      OF      CEDAR      RAPIDS      AND      STUDENTS      OF     THE 

AMERICAN      SCHOOL      OF      CHIROPRACTIC 


IS    CHIROPRACTIC    A    FAD? 

STARTLING  TRUTHS   ABOUT    THIS   NEW-OLD  SCIENCE 

By    S.    M.     LANGWORTHY 
Cedar  Rapids,  Iowa 


FADS  are  fashionable.  They  are  not 
established  by  the  common  people, 
but  by  people  of  affluence  and  influence. 
Some  fads  are  harmless,  others  harm- 
ful; some  are  sensible,  others  senseless; 
some  are  permanent,  others  temporary. 
In  the  history  of  the  world's  progress 
fads  have  been  to  a  large  extent  the 
nucleus  of  growth  and  development. 
Hardly  a  month  passes  but  the  world  is 
startled  by  something  new.  In  many 
instances  time  proves  that  though  they 
be  considered  fads,  these  new  develop- 
ments are  unalterable  facts  founded  on 
principles  as  solid  as  the  Rock  of  Gib- 
raltar. 
The  modernization  of  chiropractic  is 


attracting  wide-spread  attention;  and 
well  it  may,  for  while  its  principles  are 
startling,  they  appeal  to  reason;  while 
they  excite  wonder,  they  are  proven 
facts.  Chiropractic  is  a  drugless  sys- 
tem founded  upon  the  principle  that 
luxations  of  osseous  or  other  compact 
structures,  by  interfering  with  normal 
action  of  nerves  and  vessels,  are  the 
cause  of  disease;  that  adjustment  of 
these  displaced  parts  to  normal  position 
results  in  the  removal  of  that  cause,  by 
giving  freedom  of  action  to  the  nerves 
and  vessels. 

Man  is  a  machine — the  most  perfectly 
planned  and  accurately  adjusted  of  all 
machines  —  and  like  a  machine  would 


IS    CHIROPRACTIC    A    FAD 


run  perfectly  if  every  part  were  in  its 
normal  position.  Disease  in  the  human 
body  is  due  to  the  fact  that  some  one  or 
more  of  the  parts  composing  its  delicate 
mechanism  have  gotten  out  of  place. 
While  displacements  may  occur  in  any 
part  of  the  body  and  cause  disease,  those 
which  occur  in  the  spine  are  the  most 
numerous  and  most  likely  to  be  the 
cause  of  diseased  conditions  of  the  en- 
tire body  —  of  the  vital  organs  as  well  as 
of  parts  more  distant  from  the  spine. 

The  spinal  column  is  composed  of 
twenty-four  true  vertebrae,  each  little 
bone  taking  part  in  the  formation  of 
from  six  to  twelve  separate  joints.  These 
vertebrae  are  placed  one  on  top  of  the 
other  in  such  a  way  that  a  little  notch 
on  one  vertebra  forms  with  a  corre- 
sponding notch  on  the  vertebra  below, 
a  hole  or  foramen  through  which  the 
spinal  nerves  pass  on  their  way  from  the 
spinal  cord  to  all  parts  of  the  body. 

The  spinal  column  is  so  accurately 
adjusted  that  the  slightest  slipping  of 


any  of  these  bones,  with  their  many 
joints,  may  change  the  size  and  shape  of 
the  foramina,  and  bring  pressure  upon 
the  nerves  and  blood  vessels  which  pass 
through  them.  Just  think  of  it!  The 
most  vital  nerves  in  all  the  body  are 
compelled  to  pass  through  openings 
which  may  be  made  so  small  as  to  actu- 
ally pinch  them,  and  so  interfere  with 
their  normal  action  as  to  cause  disease 
in  the  parts  or  organs  to  which  they 
lead. 

Stomach  trouble,  bowel  troubles,  head- 
aches, neuralgias,  heart  troubles,  blood 
troubles,  rheumatism,  etc.,  all  have  as 
their  cause  an  enlarged  or  constricted 
condition  of  the  openings  or  spinal 
windows,  through  which  the  nerves  pass 
that  control  the  blood  supply  and  the 
vital  action  of  the  cells  of  the  organs 
which  are  suffering  with  disease. 

Physiologists  have  demonstrated  that 
all  the  tissues  in  the  body  are  active  and 
healthy  because  of  normal"  nerve  and 
blood  supply.  Any  interference  with 


HOW     A     STUBBORN     SEVENTH      CERVICAL     VERTEBRA     IS     EASILY 
THB     ANATOMICAL     ADJUSTER 

II 


REPLACED    WITH 


IS    CHIROPRACTIC    A    FAD 


SPINAL*! 
V/NOOW 

SMALL 


Too 
5  MA  Li. 


PI/VAL 


i   SPACt 

I        TOO 


SIXTH     AND     SEVENTH     CERVICAL     AND     FIRST     DORSAL     VERTEBRAE. — THE     SEVENTH 
CERVICAL     IS      PARTIALLY      DISPLACED,     PRODUCING      CATARRH 


these  forces  will  result  in  an  unnatural — 
a  diseased  —  condition  of  the  tissues 
which  receive  their  life  from  those  nerves 
or  vessels.  Since  the  caliber  of  the 
blood  vessels  is  under  the  direct  control 
of  the  nerves,  it  is  apparent  that  abnor- 
mal nerve  action  is  often  the  cause  not 
only  of  poor  blood  supply  but  also  of 
congestion  and  inflammation. 

These  luxations  of  the  spinal  vertebrae 
are  caused  in  many  ways.  Trifling  acci- 
dents, such  as  sudden  twists  of  the 
body,  stumbling,  slipping,  falling,  strain- 
ing by  over-lifting  are  every-day  occur- 
rences. We  may  meet  with  some  such 
accident  and  if  acute  symptoms  of  dis- 
ease do  not  develop  immediately,  it  is 
soon  forgotten ;  nevertheless,  the  machine 
has  been  strained  and  weakened  at  some 
point  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  and  is 
thereby  rendered  less  resistant.  In 
some  cases  two  more  such  accidents 
will  bring  about  sufficient  displacement 


to  cause  pressure  upon  nerves  and  ves- 
sels and  produce  disease;  in  others  it 
may  take  five,  ten,  or  perhaps  fifty,  each 
one,  while  trifling  in  itself,  has  done  its 
part — and  the  ultimate  result  is  disease. 
Thus  it  may  be  readily  seen  that  disease 
is  in  a  few  instances  the  result  of  a 
single  accident,  but  in  the  majority  of 
cases  it  is  brought  about  by  numerous 
small  ones. 

Disease,  which  is  the  result  of  verte- 
bral luxation,  may  manifest  itself  several 
feet  away  from  the  point  of  interference. 
This  is  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that 
pressure  upon  any  nerve  trunk  results  in 
abnormal  action  at  the  end  of  the  nerves. 
For  example,  a  luxation  pressing  upon 
certain  lumbar  nerves  may  be  the  cause 
of  rheumatic  pains  in  the  feet.  While 
pressure  upon  certain  other  nerves  of 
different  length  in  the  same  region  may 
result  in  lumbago  or  pain  in  the  lower 
back.  The  difference  in  the  two  dis- 


III 


IS    CHIROPRACTIC    A    FAD 


eases  is  simply  the  difference  in  the 
length  of  the  nerves  involved.  It  will 
thus  also  be  seen  that  a  vertebral  luxa- 
tion may  cause  disease  in  a  distant  organ 
without  necessarily  producing  pain  at 
the  point  of  pressure. 

Keeping  in  mind  that  man  is  a 
machine,  the  skilled  chiropractor  exam- 
ines the  patient  with  the  view  to  dis- 
cover the  irregularity  that  is  the  physical 
basis  of  the  symptoms  present,  whether 
the  abnormality  which  is  practically 
always  in  the  nature  of  a  subluxation  — 
a  slight  displacement — be  in  the  tarsal 
bones  or  in  the  spine,  his  education  has 
been  such  that  he  finds  it  and  under- 
stands its  causative  relation  to  the  symp- 
toms. 

The  theory  therein  advanced  is  not 
a  recent  one — not  something  just  dis- 
covered— not  the  product  of  any  brain 
of  this  strenuous  generation.  What  is 
to  follow  will  surely  substantiate  the 
truthfulness  of  the  old  adage,  "There  is 


nothing  new  under  the  sun."  This 
theory,  which  within  the  last  few  years 
has  created  such  intense  interest,  was 
known  and  its  principles  put  into  practice 
sixty  years  ago.  How  much  longer  has 
not  been  ascertained. 

The  man  who  has  known  of  chiroprac- 
tic principles  for  more  than  sixty  years, 
and  who  brought  the  knowledge  to  this 
country  and  the  State  of  Iowa,  thirty- 
eight  years  ago,  is  Mr.  Frank  Dvorsky, 
an  old  gentleman  now  in  his  seventy- 
fourth  year.  The  following  is  extracted 
from  an  exhaustive  account  of  his  ex- 
perience in  connection  with  the  princi- 
ples and  practice  of  this  unique  system 
of  therapeutics: 

"I  am  seventy-three  years  of  age,  and 
was  born  in  Trebane,  Bohemia.  My 
father's  name  was  Frank  Dvorsky,  and 
we  both  came  to  America  in  1866.  When 
I  was  about  twelve  years  old  I  was  taken 
with  an  infectious  disease  supposed  to 
been  caught  from  cattle.  The  right 


TREATMENT    WITH    ANATOMICAL    AND    PHYSIOLOGICAL    ADJUSTERS     WHICH    FOLLOWS 
THE     HAND     ADJUSTMENT     IN      A      CASE     OF     SPINAL     CURVATURE 

IV 


IS    CHIROPRACTIC    A    FAD 


THE      CHIROPRACTIC      TREATING      TABLE 


side  of  my  body  and  arm  were  badly 
swollen  and  pus  was  forming  in  a  num- 
ber of  places  on  the  arm.  I  was  bed- 
fast, and  the  village  doctor  was  called  in. 
He  considered  my  case  a  grave  one,  and 
said  the  only  show  to  save  my  life  was 
to  amputate  the  arm.  Then  my  father 
called  in  Dr.  Epstan,  who  lived  in  Liten 
but  who  practiced  in  Prague.  After 
lancing  my  arm  he  treated  my  spine, 
making  the  bones  crack;  he  gave  me  no 
medicine,  and  in  less  than  a  month  I 
was  up,  and  no  symptoms  of  the  disease 
ever  returned.  The  doctor  taught  this 
treatment  to  my  father,  and  he  in  turn 
taught  his  children." 

The  following  statement  finds  place 
here  as  further  historical  evidence  that 
chiropractic  principles  were  recognized 
at  least  sixty  years  ago: 

State  of  Iowa,) 
Linn  County  ) 

We,  the  undersigned  of  the  City  of 
Cedar  Rapids,  Linn  County,  State  of 
Iowa,  being  duly  sworn  on  oath,  state 
that  we  have  heard  the  above  sworn 


statement  of  Frank  Dvorsky  of  Johnson 
County,  Iowa,  made  through  his  inter- 
preter. We  have  also  witnessed  the 
spinal  treatment  given  James  A.  Dvor 
sky  by  his  father  the  said  Frank  Dvor- 
sky. We  further  swear  that  we  wit- 
nessed Dr.  S.  M.  Langworthy  giving 
a  simple  chiropractic  adjustment  which 
in  principle  was  the  same.  We  later  wit- 
nessed Dr.  Langworthy  give  a  spinal  ad- 
justment illustrating  his  modernized 
methods;  photographs  fairly  illustrating 
these  adjustments  were  taken,  which  de- 
pict us  witnessing  them. 

Chas.  A.  Laurance,  Milo  P.  Smith, 
W.  E.  Holmes,          J.  P.  Messer, 
Jno.  Fletcher,  Chas.  E.  Putnam. 

Subscribed  in  my  presence  and  sworn 
to  before  me  November  5,  1904. 

SEAL  James  W.  Clark. 

As  before  stated,  the  bones  in  the 
spine  are  subject  to  various  changes 
from  normal  position;  luxations  of  the 
innominates,  ribs,  clavicles,  bones  of 
the  foot,  hand,  etc. ,  are  also  of  frequent 
occurence  and  cause  disease  by  pressure 
upon  nerves  and  vessels.  To  cope  with 


IS    CHIROPRACTIC    A    FAD 


these  conditions  the  hands  of  the  opera- 
tor must  be  well  trained.  Again  there 
are  cases  in  which  the  hands  alone  are 
inadequate.  Some  complications  of 
osseous  and  fibreous  anchyloses  could 
not  be  overcome  by  the  hands  alone, 
unless  they  were  Herculean  hands,  and 
if  one  possessed  such  to  use  them  would 
be  criminal  ignorance.  In  such  cases, 
and  many  more  which  space  forbids  me 
to  mention,  the  traction  table  and  the 
anatomical  and  physiological  adjusters 
are  necessary.  One  of  the  illustrations 
shows  the  method  of  adjusting  a  seventh 
cervical  vertebra.  This  bone  is  too  close 
to  the  sixth  cervical  and  as  a  natural 
consequence  too  far  away  from  the  first 
dorsal  vertebra.  By  this  displacement, 
nerves  which  supply  the  mucous  mem- 
brane of  the  throat  and  nose  are  irri- 
tated by  abnormal  pressure,  causing 
catarrh  in  these  parts.  In  making  the 
correction,  the  applicator  of  the  ana- 
tomical adjuster  is  applied  at  the  proper 
angle  to  the  spinous  process  of  the 
seventh  cervical  vertebra  the  head  is 
engaged  in  the  extension  device,  and  by 
slow,  even,  painless  traction  the  seventh 
cervical  is  caused  to  resume  its  normal 
position. 

In  a  case  of  lateral  curvature  of  the 
spine,  slow,  steady  traction  is  exerted 
by  engaging  the  shoulders  and  feet;  the 
anatomical  adjuster  brings  pressure  on 
the  angles  of  the  ribs,  and  at  the  same 
time  the  physiological  adjuster  is  doing 


its  part  to  increase  nutrition  so  that  the 
misshapen  discs  of  catilage  between  the 
bones  may  regenerate  and  assume  their 
normal  shape  and  elasticity.  The  pa- 
tient depicted  has  gained  two  and  a  half 
inches  in  height  under  this  treatment, 
which  is  convincing  evidence  that  the 
curvature  is  decreasing. 

From  a  careful  consideration  of  Mr. 
Dvorsky's  statement,  it  is  evident  that 
Dr.  Epstan  of  Prague  had  a  much 
clearer  conception  of  the  basic  principles 
and  practice  of  this  method  than  is  dis- 
played by  the  son  of  his  pupil.  A  thor- 
ough knowledge  of  anatomy  and  kindred 
subjects  possessed  by  Dr.  Epstan,  and 
a  lack  of  such  knowledge  by  the  Dvorsky 
family  would  easily  account  for  the  retro- 
gression. The  principle  that  disease  is 
due  to  anatomical  causes  is  as  true  now 
as  it  was  years  ago.  The  formulation 
into  a  complete  system  of  practical  and 
scientific  methods  for  the  application  of 
these  old  principles,  is  accountable  for 
the  unusual  interest  manifested  in  the 
science  of  chiropractic  today. 

The  writer  does  not  claim  to  have 
added  the  least  element  of  principle  to 
D.  Epstan 's  theory;  in  fact,  is  convined 
there  is  .nothing  to  add;  nothing  is 
needed.  It  is  was  necessary,  however,  to 
improve  the  methods  of  manipulation, 
thereby  making  it  possible,  in  a  greater 
majority  of  cases,  to  put  theory  into  suc- 
cessful practice  —  in  other  words  to 
modernize  the  practice  of  chiropractic. 


VI 


r 


THE  BUSINESS  PART  OF  DENVER 


MANY-SIDED   DENVER 

By    C.    A.    LYMAN 

DENVER,      COLORADO 


FROM  Buffalo  westward,  the  traveler 
across  the  United  States  journeys 
over  one  plain.  Sometimes  it  runs  in 
level  prairies,  sometimes  in  wooded  and 
rolling  country,  sometimes  in  the  semi- 
arid  wastes  of  the  higher  plateaus,  but 
still  the  man  on  the  train  sees  nothing 
on  the  horizon,  no  high  hills,  no  moun- 
tains. 

The  Rockies  spring  suddenly  from 
the  level.  At  evening  the  westward  view 
shows  only  the  long  slopes  of  brown 
grass  and  sagebrush.  In  the  morning 
the  light  of  the  rising  sun  reveals,  run- 
ning all  across  the  West,  something  that 
was  not  there  the  night  before — the  ame- 
thyst crest  of  the  continent,  deepening 
to  blue  at  the  base,  and  whitening  with 
eternal  snows  at  the  summit. 

When  the  mountains  have  come  so 
near  that  the  traveler  can  make  out  the 
canons  and  passes,  and  can  see  the  cut 
of  the  ascending  Moffat  road  along  the 
first  slopes,  his  train  runs  into  Denver, 
lying  on  the  level  plain,  just  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountains. 

The  tourist  in  Denver  finds  a  city 
with  miles  of  streets  of  magnificent  resi- 
dences, but  no  slums  at  all.  He  will 


find  large  hotels,  but  no  hovels.  Scores 
of  large  apartment  houses  to  minister  to 
the  comfort  of  people  of  large  and  of 
moderate  means,  but  no  tenements.  He 
will  find  splendid  metropolitan  stores, 
good  theaters,  all  the  means  of  enjoying 
life,  but  he  will  see  very  little  abject 
poverty. 

This  condition  of  affairs,  in  which 
there  is  much  of  wealth  and  comfort  and 
prosperity,  without  an  apparent  founda- 
tion of  hard  work  and  poverty  beneath 
it,  makes  Denver  a  puzzle  to  the  casual 
observer.  But  the  explanation  of  the 
puzzle  is  a  simple  one.  Denver  is  a  city 
of  BRAIN-WORKERS.  Instead  of  rep- 
presenting  the  activities  of  a  few  hun- 
dred thousand  people  huddled  together 
in  a  few  square  miles  of  territory,  it  is 
the  financial,  social  and  intellectual 
capital  of  a  million  and  a  half  of  people, 
scattered  over  a  territory  one-eighth  in 
area  of  the  United  States,  with  its  re- 
sources just  barely  started  to  be  de- 
veloped. There  is  undeveloped  in  the 
territory  tributary  to  Denver  as  much 
wealth  as  there  is  undeveloped  in  Penn- 
sylvania. There  are  one-fifth  as  many 
people.  That  is,  the  potential  wealth 


MANY-SIDED     DENVER 


per  capita  in  Denver's  territory  is  six 
times  what  it  is  in  Pennsylvania. 

Some  people  think  that  Denver  rests 
upon  the  tourist  trade.  The  people  of 
the  city  believe  that  they  have  as  nice 
a  place  to  come  to  as  can  be  found  and 
they  are  glad  to  have  visitors;  but  the 
tourist  business  is  only  a  small  element 
in  the  city's  prosperity.  Every  year 
tens  of  thousands  of  people  pour  into 
and  through  the  city,  stopping  from  a 
few  days  to  a  few  months,  to  see  the 
sights,  to  enjoy  the  climate,  and  to  take 
what  part  they  can  in  the  pleasure-seek- 
ing side  of  Denver  life. 

About  ten  per  cent,  of  the  tourist 
tickets  deposited  with  the .  railway 
bureaus  to  be  taken  out  again  for 
the  return  trip  are  never  called  for. 
This  many  of  those  who  came  "just  to 
look  around,"  join  the  forces  working 
for  the  upbuilding  of  the  state.  Most 
of  the  others  go  back  East  and  say  that 
Denver  is  a  delightful  place,  made  up 
of  people  who  came  West  for  their  health, 
and  retired  mining  men  and  cattle 
barons,  and  that  they  really  do  not  see 
what  keeps  the  town  up. 

Denver  people  got  through  long  ago 
with  the  argument  of  the  efficacy  of 
the  Colorado  climate  in  lung  troubles. 
A  man  comes  to  Denver  with  bad  lungs 


and  gets  well.  He  goes  back  East  again 
and  dies.  That  is  a  brutal  statement  of 
a  brutal  fact.  It  is  the  "check  test" 
which  scientific  men  demand.  Getting 
well  is  the  business  of  hundreds  of  Den- 
ver residents.  Most  of  them  succeed  in 
this  business.  And  as  soon  as  they  have 
succeeded  they  go  into  some  other  busi- 
ness. It  is  this  view  of  the  case  which 
removes  from  the  city  the  hospital-like 
air  which  prevails  in  health  resorts  where 
there  is  no  niche  for  the  man  to  fill  after 
his  health  is  restored. 

There  are  many  plants  for  this  "lung 
business"  in  Denver.  One  of  the  great- 
est is  that  established  by  Lawrence  C. 
Phipps,  a  Pittsburg  millionaire,  where 
hundreds  of  men  and  women  are  given, 
at  cost,  the  food  and  care  and  accommo- 
dations which  best  assist  recovery. 

Colorado  air  is  the  specific  for  tuber- 
culosis. Those  who  come  West  and  re- 
solutely live  out-door,  Winter  and  Sum- 
mer, night  and  day,  soon  lose  their 
microbes.  At  the  Phipps  sanatorium 
every  room  opens  upon  an  out-door  ver- 
andah, where  the  bed  may  be  wheeled 
out  at  night.  The  Denver  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  maintains  an  out- 
of-door  sanitarium  where  young  men  can 
live  in  tents,  find  work  among  the  fruit 
trees,  and  get  back  their  health.  Other 


SUNDAY     AFTERNOON     CROWD      LISTENING     TO     A     BAND      AT      DENVER'S     CITY      PARK 

II 


MANY-SIDED     DENVER 


IN     THE     RESIDENCE     SECTION     OF    DENVER 


"homes,"  sanitariums  and  hospitals  are 
dotted  over  the  city. 

But  Denver  is  not  a  health  resort, 
though  thousands  come  annually  in 
search  of  health.  It  is  not  a  pleasure 
resort,  though  thousands  come  every  year 
to  enjoy  the  climate  and  other  delights. 
Denver  is  primarily  a  business  city. 
There  are  few  "retired"  business  men 
in  the  city.  The  mining  magnate  who 
removes  from  the  mountain  camp  to 
Denver  does  so  not  to  contract  his 
energies,  but  to  expand  them.  The  cat- 
tleman who  sells  his  herds  in  Montana 
comes  to  Denver  to  become  a  director 
not  only  in  cattle  companies,  but  in 
packing-houses  and  banks,  in  land  de- 
velopment schemes  and  in  coal  mines. 
The  typical  Denver  business  man  is 
interested  in  half  a  dozen  directions, 
and  he  cannot  talk  one  minute  about  any 
one  of  his  enterprises  without  using  the 
word  "development." 

"Development"  used  to  mean  mining. 
Time  was,  before  the  "panic  of  1903," 
when  Denver  talked  mining,  worked 
mining,  dreamed  mining — nothing  but 
mining.  Denver  people  said  —  and  be- 
lieved it — that  if  the  silver  mines  had  to 
close,  grass  would  grow  in  the  principal 
streets.  The  silver  mines  closed,  but 
Denver  people  did  not  let  any  grass 
grow  under  their  feet.  The  courage  and 


energy  which  opened  the  silver  mines, 
and  which  sent  up  a  howl  that  waked  all 
the  nations  of  the  earth  when  the  silver 
mines  closed,  that  same  energy  and 
courage  promptly  went  after  things  that 
adverse  legislation  could  not  affect. 

No  "crime  of  '73"  will  ever  demone- 
tize beet  sugar,  and  no  edict  of  congress 
can  diminish  the  market  for  fat  mutton. 
The  price  of  nails  rests  not  upon  Wall 
Street  quotations,  and  gold  is  enthroned 
as  the  unchanging  standard  of  all  values. 
The  Colorado  potato  crop  is  worth  now 
every  year  more  than  the  silver  product, 
and  beet  sugar  more  than  copper.  The 
coal  and  iron,  steel  and  steel  products 
output  is  even  greater  than  the  output  of 
the  gold  mines,  although  in  the  produc- 
tion of  gold  Colorado  leads  every  state 
in  the  Union. 

One  hears  of  all  sorts  of  bonanazs  in 
talking  with  Denver  men.  One  set  of 
men  have  built  a  ditch  to  carry  water 
across  the  continental  divide  from  the 
western  slope,  which  is  well  watered,  to 
the  eastern  slope,  which  lacks  a  suffi- 
cient water  supply.  They  bought  land 
at  $1.25  an  acre,  watered  it  at  a  cost  of 
$20  an  acre  and  are  now  selling  it  at 
$100  an  acre.  Colossal  fortunes  have 
been  heaped  up  in  a  few  years  in  beet 
sugar.  The  constant  sunshine'of  Colo- 
rado puts  more  sugar  in  the  beets  than 


III 


MANY-SIDED     DENVER 


does  the  watery  season  further  east.  By 
irrigation  the  farmer  can  control  both 
the  yield  and  the  percentage  of  sugar  in 
the  beets.  It  costs  no  more  to  grow  and 
treat  a  ton  of  beets  with  eighteen  per 
cent,  of  sugar  than  a  ton  with  nine  per 
cent.  Million-dollar  factories  in  Colo- 
rado have  paid  for  themselves  in  one 
year's  run.  Farmers  grow  rich  at  grow- 
ing beets  at  #5  a"  ton.  Five  years  ago 
there  was  one  factory  in  Colorado.  Now 
there  are  ten,  and  more  building.  A 
million  head  of  sheep  and  cattle  are 
being  fed  this  season  from  the  pulp  left 
after  the  sugar  is  extracted. 

Colorado  farming  is  full  of  unexpected 
"finds."  A  few  years  ago  a  farmer  in 
one  of  the  high  and  rather  cold  plateaus 
of  the  state  tried  raising  field  peas  to 
enrich  his  ground.  It  enriched  the  soil, 
but,  besides,  it  produced  feed  to  fatten 
lambs  or  hogs  just  by  grazing  in  the 
fields.  The  cold  climate  and  high  alti- 
tude just  suits  the  pea  vine,  and  a  great 
industry  has-  grown  up  within  three 
years.  One  farmer  cleared  $28,000  in 
a  single  season  feeding  peas  to  lambs. 

In  a  despised  weed  of  the  higher  val- 
leys, which  was  not  even  good  feed  for 
sheep,  rubber  has  been  found  in  com- 
mercial quantities.  The  clays  of  the 
foothills  are  being  shipped  to  all  parts 
of  the  country  for  all  ceramic  purposes, 


and  form  the  basis  of  large  industries  at 
home. 

Denver  is  the  nerve  center  not  only  of 
Colorado,  but  of  Wyoming  and  parts  of 
Utah,  New  Mexico  and  Arizona.  A  lit- 
tle boom  in  a  remote  mining  camp  in 
Idaho  or  Nevada  will  set  the  nerve  fila- 
ments tingling  down  Seventeeenth  street, 
which  is  Denver's  office-building  street. 
The  steel  works  at  Pueblo,  the  largest 
steel  plant  independent  of  the  steel 
trust,  is  managed  from  Denver.  So  are 
the  smelters  of  the  American  Smelting 
and  Refining  company,  all  over  the 
Rocky  Mountains  from  British  Columbia 
to  Mexico.  Denver  companies  are  sell- 
ing town  lots  in  Idaho,  laying  out  ceme- 
teries in  Montana,  and  grazing  cattle, 
horses  and  sheep  upon  the  plains  of 
Texas. 

"Eastern  capital"  is  what  Denver 
business  men  dream  of  nights.  "East- 
ern capital"  is  the  rallying  cry  in  every 
political  campaign,  and  everything  that 
the  people  of  the  city  do,  from  a  lynch- 
ing to  a  festival,  is  gravely  discussed 
with  relation  to  the  effect  upon  the  east- 
ern investor.  Back  East,  while  banks 
and  big  investment  concerns  are  looking 
about  for  safe  places  to  put  their  money 
where  it  will  give  even  a  meager  return, 
the  Denver  man  sees  all  around  him 
"sure  things"  which  promise  a  big 


GROWING       DENVER.  —  THREE 


YEARS     AGO 
WIND-SWEPT 

IV 


THIS      VIEW 
PRAIRIE 


EMBRACED       LITTLE     BUT 


MANY-SIDED     DENVER 


profit.  And  so  he  is  ready  to  mortgage 
everything  he  has  and  seek  the  new  op- 
portunity. Eastern  capital  is  coming  in 
a  larger  and  larger  stream.  Investors 
have  found  that  the  feverish  demand  for 
money  is  based  upon  real  opportunities. 
Investments  turn  out  well.  Mortgages 
are  paid.  Lands  and  lots  increase  in 
value,  and  Denver  investments  selected 
with  the  same  care  are  as  safe  as  invest- 
ments in  Washington  or  Philadelphia  — 
and  pay  a  much  higher  return.  But 
what  he  considers  "ignorance  and  preju- 
dice" on  the  part  of  an  eastern  investor 
makes  the  Denver  man  often  very  weary 
and  very  impatient. 

Although  Denver's  hand  has  been 
turned  to  many  new  things,  the  gold  and 
silver  and  copper  and  lead  mines  of  the 
state  furnish  a  very  large  part  of  the 
foundations  of  the  city's  greatness. 
From  them  is  flowing  a  constant  tide  of 
money  to  be  reinvested  in  new  projects, 
as  well  as  to  be  put  back  into  the  ground 
in  new  mining  ventures.  All  the  world 
draws  upon  Colorado  for  mining  expert- 
ness.  Denver  men  are  running  mines 
in  Australia,  in  South  Africa,  in  the 
remotest  parts  of  South  America,  and 
even  in  old  Corea  and  China.  This 
mining  industry  has  kept  its  mark  upon 
the  city.  • 

Great  display  rooms  filled  with  ore 
cars,  wire-rope  tramways,  air  drills,  com- 
pressors, pumps  and  other  massive 
pieces  of  machinery  are  everywhere  to 


SIXTEENTH    STREET,  LINED    FOR    A    MILE    WITH 
RETAIL     STORES     AND      GREAT     DEPART- 
MENT     ESTABLISHMENTS 


be  found.  The  smelters  keep  a  dark 
cloud  of  smoke  upon  the  horizon  north 
of  the  city,  and  have  a  small  army  of 
laborers  employed.  Thousands  of  men 
work  in  the  manufacture  of  mining  ma- 
chinery and  implements,  fuses  and  caps. 
A  large  part  of  the  space  in  office  build- 
ings is  taken  up  by  mining  companies. 
Incoming  trains  from  the  mountains 
bring  in  men  in  long  yellow  boots  and 
splashed  corduroys,  who  are  met  at  the 
station  by  their  automobiles,  and  reap- 
pear on  the  streets  in  a  few  hours  in  the 
garb  of  clubmen.  Mineral  specimens 
dangle  as  watch-charms  over  well  filled 
vests  and  bits  of  talk  overheard  on 
street  corners  and  hotel  lobbies  teem 
with  strange  expressions  such  as 
"sumps"  and  "winzes,"  "stopes"  and 
"adits." 

Just  now  one  of  the  principal  concerns 
of  business  Denver  is  in  growing  a  pro- 
letariat. For  twenty  years  the  founda- 
tions for  a  working  population  have 
been  laying.  Coal  mines  have  been 
opened  to-  provide  every  sort  of  fuel 
—  coal  and  coke,  lignite  or  anthra- 
cite, bituminous  or  smokeless  —  that 
any  line  of  industry  might  require.  Iron 
and  copper  mines  are  pouring  out  the 
raw  materials  which  underlie  most  of 
the  industries  of  civilization.  Flock- 
masters  over  millions  of  acres  of  ranges 
have  been  developing  their  herds,  until 
now  all  grades  of  wool  may  be  produced 
and  the  time  is  ripe  for  woollen  mills. 
Colorado  stockmen  who  used  to  ship 
their  haggard  Texas  steers  East  to  be 
fattened,  are  now  fattening  their  own 
shorthorns  and  Durhams,  and  millions 
of  dollars  has  found  recent  profitable 
investment  in  Denver  packing  plants. 

The  concentration  of  railway  lines  at 
Denver  has  brought  car  shops  and 
machine  shops  with  their  hundreds  of 
highly  paid  machinists  and  a  host  of 
smaller  shops — the  beginnings  of  things 
bigger — are  turning  out  railway  attach- 
ments, springs,  car  wheels  and  the  like. 

The  building  of  railway  connections  to 


MANY-SIDED    DENVER 


Texas  brought  cotton  mills  to  Denver; 
the  spruce  of  the  mountain  sides  is  the 
foundation  of  a  paper  industry,  while 
the  succulence  of  the  vegetables  raised 
by  irrigation  has  brought  into  being  a 
canning  industry  which  is  growing  by 
almost  geometrical  progression. 

Not  only  are  the  older  and  more  settled 
parts  of  the  state  fertile  fields  for  Denver 
development,  but  new  fields  are  being 
constantly  created,  in  which  great  busi- 
ness enterprises  are  to  be  built  "from 
the  ground  up."  The  Denver,  North- 
western &  Pacific  Railway,  affectionately 
called  in  Denver  the  "Moffat  road,"  is 
an  instance  of  this.  Northwestern  Colo- 
rado, a  territory  of  mountains,  parks, 
plateaus  and  irrigable  river  bottoms  as 
large  as  Massachusetts,  has  been  passed 
by  the  tide  of  development.  It  was  not 
that  this  portion  of  the  state  lacked 
merit,  but  other  portions  of  the  state 
got  attention  first,  and  there  was  not 
enough  capital  available  to  reach  over 
all. 

Through  this  great,  rich  territory, 
hitherto  without  any  means  of  communi- 
cation except  stage  coaches,  the  Moffat 
road  is  pushing  its  way,  and  will  go  on 
to  Salt  Lake- City.  The  line,  a  marvel 
of  engineering,  swings  straight  northwest 
from  Denver,  boldly  climbs  on  a  long 
slant  up  the  sheer  slope  of  the  first  range, 
winds  through  many  tunnels  up  South 
Boulder  creek,  crosses  the  continental 
divide  through  eternal  snow,  swings 
across  Middle  Park,  a  great,  grassy 
mountain-walled  plateau,  and  then  goes 
on  down  Bear  river:  Along  its  line  there 
is  coal  of  every  kind,  iron,  copper,  silver 
and  gold,  already  developed  and  only 
waiting  transportation ;  there  are  marble 
and  onyx  quarries,  gilsonite  deposits, 
(gilsonite  is  a  kind  of  refined  asphaltum) 


THE    Y.     M.     C.    A.      HEALTH      FARM,     WHERE 

YOUNG     MEN     ARE     CURED      BY     TENT 

LIFE    OF    CONSUMPTION 

beds  of  gold  gravel,  forests  of  timber, 
hundreds  of  groups  of  mineral  springs, 
hot  and  cold,  the  nuclei  of  coming 
Summer  resorts.  Beside  this,  the  road 
will  shorten  by  several  hundred  miles 
the  distance  from  Denver  to  Salt  Lake 
City,  and  will  bring  a  larger  tide  of 
travel  by  way  of  Denver.  The  scenery 
of  the  Moffat  road  is  among  the  finest  in 
the  state,  and  excursion  trains  crowded 
with  sight-seers  crowd  close  upon  the 
construction  trains  as  the  line  is  pushed 
over  and  beyond  the  great  crest  of  the 
continent. 

Denver  welcomes  every  newcomer. 
If  he  comes  for  pleasure,  he  may  share 
her  pleasures.  If  he  seeks  health,  she 
will  encourage  him  with  specimens  of 
hundreds  of  cases  recovered  from  total 
wreckage.  If  he  seeks  a  home,  she  can 
give  him  every  comfort,  with  the  added 
comfort  of  a  perfect  climate.  If  he 
seeks  investment,  she  shows  a  multitude 
of  safe  channels,  and  if  he  wants  a  posi- 
tion, the  opening  of  new  enterprises  is 
the  opening  of  the  doors  of  opportunity 
to  a  fresh  throng  of  men  —  and  Denver 
opens  a  new  enterprise  about  every 
working  day. 


VI 


HAVE  you  ever  been  in  a  great  hall 
after  the  throng  of  people  has  passed 
out  and  the  curtain  has  fallen,  when  the 
lights  are'fading,  and  the  ghostly  dimness 
still  seems  alive  with  the  presence  of  the 
vast  audience  which  has  just  crossed  the 
threshold?  That  is  a  picture  of  the 
great  Fair  as  it  was  the  day  after  its 
gates  were  closed  to  the  public. 

It  was  a  beautiful  Autumn  day — the 
last  day  of  the  Fair,  set  apart  in  honor 
of  President  Francis  —  and  the  hazy 
smoke  of  Indian  Summer  veiled  the 
landscape.  The  people  that  passed 
along  the  well  worn  thoroughfares  seemed 
more  than  usually  buoyant,  and  an 
"endless  chain"  of  laughter  went  ring- 
ing up  and  down  those  avenues  that 
had  been  the  scene  of  many  happy  times 
during  the  Summer.  The  Pike  was 
thronged  with  the  gay  and  festive  spirits 
of  Pikedom,  armed  with  feathers  with 
which  to  tickle  each  other  when  native 
wit  failed  to  produce  the  desired  volume 
of  laughter.  Horns  blew,  squeakers 
squeaked,  cow-bells  rang,  and  every- 
body was  out  for  a  last  good1  time,  the 
climax  of  all  the  good  times  that  had 
gone  before.  The  spielers  still  spieled, 
rather  hoarsely,  it  is  true,  and  with  some 
signs  of  worn  windpipes.  Rules  and 
regulations  were  a  thing  of  the  past. 

Mr.  Francis  rode  up  the  Pike  in  his 
carriage  of  state,  "The  Yellowstone 
Coach,"  and  responded  graciously  to  the 
hearty  ovation  given  him.  But  it  was 
at  midnight  that  the  grand  climax  was 


reached,  when,  before  the  Louisiana 
Monument,  Mr.  Francis  turned  off  the 
switch,  and  the  light  and  spirit  of  the 
Louisiana  Purchase  Exposition  faded 
away  like  a  dying  day,  the  roar  of  the 
cascades  ceased,  and  the  whole  scene 
took  on  an  air  of  ghostly  splendor  as  the 
advancing  shadows  enveloped  the  great 
buildings,  terraces  and  avenue,  and  no 
light  remained  except  the  dim  reflection 
of  the  stars  in  the  lagoon,  where,  during 
the  Summer  days  the  songs  of  Nea- 
politan boatmen  and  the  laughter  of  the 
merrymakers  had  wafted  over  the  water. 

That  terrible  day  after!  The  Pike  was 
strewn  with  papers,  confetti  and  debris 
of  all  kinds,  the  voice  of  the  spieler  was 
hushed,  the  megaphone  was  no  more 
heard,  and  in  a  short  time  even  the  set- 
ing  of  the  play  will  be  removed.  The 
scene  called  to  mind  Goldsmith's  "De- 
serted Village." 

If  the  spirit  of  gladness  reigned  yes- 
terday, today  the  spirit  of  sadness  rules. 
The  curtain  has  fallen,  and  scarcely  a 
ray  of  light  now  flickers  over  the  scene 
that  was  so  lately  brilliant  with  all  the 
power  of  modern  electric  inventions, 
defying  even  the  light  of  the  stars  and 
moon.  In  the  silence  the  mind. reverts 
to  the  great  throngs  that  gathered  here 
during  the  Summer,  and  are  now  scat- 
tered far  and  wide  over  the  earth,  telling 
at  their  own  firesides  of  the  splendors 
of  the  great  industrial  tournament  where 
Pleasure  and  Progress  walked  hand  in 
hand  to  mark  an  epoch  in  our  history. 


HIS     HOLINESS    POPE      PIUS     X     WEARING     MAGNIFICENT     PAPAL     CROWN     AND     ROBES 
OF     STATE,     GIVING     HIS     BLESSING 

From  stereograph,  copyright  1904,  by  Underwood  and  Underwood.  New  York 
Half-tone  plate  engraved  by  Charles  Bioker 


DR     HENRIK     IBSEN     IN     HIS     HOME     AT     CHRISTIANA,     NORWAY. — THIS     LATEST     AND 

PROBABLY      LAST     PORTRAIT    OF     THE     FOREMOST     LIVING     DRAMATIST      WAS 

MADE   ONLY     A    FEW     WEEKS    AGO. — THE    FAMOUS    AUTHOR    WAS    THEN 

VERY     WEAK     AND    NERVOUS,    BUT     HE    MADE     A     SPECIAL     EFFORT 

TO       POSE       FOR      THE       AMERICAN      PHOTOGRAPHER, 

MR.     ELMER     UNDERWOOD 

From  stereograph,  copyrighted  1904.  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 
Engraved  by  Charles  Bicker 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 


VOL.  XXI. 


FEBRUARY,    1905 


No.  5. 


ffa/rs 


BLUSTERING,  blowing,  it  was— the 
day  that  President  Roosevelt  had 
the  record  rush  of  visitors.  It  was 
Saturday;  congress  was  not  in  session, 
and  the  senators  and  congressmen  per- 
sonally conducted  large  parties  to  the 
executive  office.  Every  one  of  the  ante- 
rooms was  filled.  Hats,  coats,  umbrellas 
and  rubbers  were  piled  high  in  every 
corner — without  even  a  warning  sign 
from  Uncle  Sam  to  state  that  he  was 
"not  responsible  for  hats,  overcoats  and 
umbrellas."  The  visitors  stood  about 
the  sides  of  the  cabinet  room,  waiting 
their  turn  as  genially  as  at  a  church  social. 
The  list  of  callers  that  day  included 
nearly  every  phase  of  American  indi- 


viduality— official  and  unofficial,  men, 
women  and  children  —  and  proved  an 
interesting  study  to  a  foreign  diplomat 
who  lingered  as  he  was  about  to  pass 
out  the  door  and  remarked: 

"This  scene  shows  why  Theodore 
Roosevelt  was  elected  by  such  a  tre- 
mendous majority.  The  people  feel 
themselves  expressed  in  him.  His  open 
directness  and  courage  may  ruffle,  but 
it  never  shakes  that  confidence  which 
is  the  strong  and  cohesive  factor  in  all 
governments." 

As  the  crowd  passed  out  into  the 
blinding  snow  storm,  the  ranks  of  visi- 
tors were  quickly  recruited.  An  ava- 
lanche of  cards  poured  upon  Captain 


TWO     PRETTY     WASHINGTON     CHILDREN,    THE     GRANDDAUGHTER     OF    SPEAKER     CANNON     AND     THE 

GRANDSON     OF     JUSTICE     PECKHAM 


460 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


Loeffler's  desk.  The  members  of  con- 
gress were  calling  to  pay  respects,  and 
a  large  number  of  ladies  gave  the  regu- 
lar work-a-day  routine  a  "functional" 
aspect. 

The  congressmen,  covered  with  snow, 
came  in  and  stamped  as  Uncle  Den- 
man  Thompson  does  in  that  scene  in 
the  "Old  Homestead."  In  fact  there 
was  a  sociability  among  these  visitors 
from  all  parts  of  the  country  which  re- 
flected the  home  spirit  of  the  nation. 
The  maid  from  Maine  was  chatting  with 
the  doughty  colonel  from  California, 


and  the  woman  from  Wyoming  found 
a  pleasant  neighbor  in  the  nabob  from 
Nebraska,  while  ceaseless  requests  to 
"Show  me,"  sent  a  ripple  of  good 
nature  around  the  room  when  the  young 
man  from  Missouri  entered. 

In  the  "press  corners"  the  promi- 
nent visitors  were  corralled,  and  it 
was  the  annual  opportunity  for 
"joke-making."  The  old,  original, 
"eleven  jokes"  appeared,  with  a 
revised  list  of  characters.  Congress- 
man Sam  B.  Cooper  of  Texas  told 
of  the  man  in  Tennessee  who  said  that 
if  he  had  known  Parker  was  not  going 


JOHN    W.    FOSTER,   VETERAN    AMERICAN    DIPLO- 
MAT,   AUTHOR  OF  A  NEW   VOLUME   ON   THE 
HAGUE     TRIBUNAL,     PUBLISHED     BY 
HOUGHTON,     MIFFUN     ft     CO. 


REPRESENTATIVE      BABCOCK       OF      WISCONSIN, 
CHAIRMAN      OF     THE      REPUBLICAN     CON- 
GRESSIONAL   COMMITTEE,    GREETS    A 
CONSTITUENT 


AFFAIRS    AT  WASHINGTON 


461 


to  run  for  president,  he  would  have  run 
himself.  This  aptly  illustrates  the 
American  spirit  of  good-nature  that  pre- 
vails after  an  election.  Senator  Burrows 
came  forth  to  solemnly  assert  that  he 
had  just  come  from  the  presence  of  the 
president,  and  was  authorized  to  state 
officially  that  it  was  snowing.  Senator 
Allison  came  along  puffing  a  cigar  with 
satisfaction,  and  he  thought  it  "looked 
like  snow."  Senator  Beveridge  refused 
to  divulge  the  matters  talked  over  with 
him,  and  the  newspaper  boys  threatened 
to  get  the  information  from  Senator  Alli- 
son. Senator  Pettus  looked  kindly  over 
his  spectacles  and  declared  that  the 
spirit  of  the  Southern  women,  who,  after 


the  war  of  1812,  refused  to  wear  English 
goods  because  of  England's  persistent 
insults,  was  alive  today — as  would  appear 
if  the  North  insisted  upon  another 
'Force"  bill.  Senator  Hansbrough  had 
the  crop  statistics  convenient  for  the 
president,  who  was  a  log-cabin  resident 
of  North  Dakota  in  years  past.  Senator 
Proctor  had  a  good  story  to  tell  about 
how  nine-tenths  of  the  Vermont  maple 
syrup  is  made  in  Chicago,  and  insisted 
that  the  tariff  would  not  be  tinkered. 

Attired  in  his  pepper-and-salt  business 


SENATOR     "JOE"     BLACKBURN     OF     KENTUCKY, 

A      GENTLEMAN,     A      SCHOLAR      AND     AN 

AUTHORITY    ON    COCKTAILS 


A       SNAPSHOT       OF       BARON       MONCHEUR,      THE 
MINISTER     FROM      BELGIUM,     A     GENIAL 
DIPLOMAT   WHO    WON    A    BEAUTI- 
FUL AMERICAN   FOR   A  WIFE 

suit,  with  his  iron-gray  pompadour 
brushed  back  from  his  forehead,  William 
Alden  Smith,  the  energetic  Michigan 
congressman,  insisted  that  he  was  radi- 
cally opposed  to  tariff  revision  at  this 
time,  and  he  said  it  vigorously,  pounding 
a  dripping  umbrella.  Senator  Clapp  of 
Minnesota  was  listening,  with  his  head 
judicially  tilted  to  one  side,  to  a  story 


46a 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


CHARLES      P.     NEILL,      NEWLY      APPOINTED     TO     SUCCEED     CAR- 
ROLL    D.     WRIGHT     AS     COMMISSIONER    OF      LABOR,   IS     A 
NATIVE    OF    TEXAS    AND     PROFESSOR    OF    ECONOMICS 
IN     THE     ROMAN      CATHOLIC      UNIVERSITY      AT 

WASHINGTON 
Photograph  by  National  Press  Association 


delivered  by  an  office-seeker  in  one  cor- 
ner. Senor  Quesada,  the  minister  from 
Cuba,  with  his  heavy,  black  moustache 
properly  reefed,  sailed  out  into  the  bliz- 
zard, whistling  a  new  version  of  "Home, 
Sweet  Home"  to  the  accompaniment  of 
whistling  winds. 

The  people  continued  to  line  up 
against  the  wall  with  an  expectant  air, 
and  watch  the  president  as  he  des- 
patched the  reception  business  with 
automobile  speed.  Hearty,  vigorous 


and  direct,  the  president  meets  his 
guests  with  a  spirit  of  happy-to-see-you- 
quick  that  has  really  homelike  hospitality 
about  it. 

Senator  Quarles  had  a  conference  on 
the  railroad  bill,  which  is  to  give  the 
power  of  fixing  rates  to  the  interstate 
commerce  commission.  He  came  out 
wearing  a  satisfied  look,  while  Congress- 
man Cooper,  his  partner  on  the  Quarles- 
Cooper  bill,  went  in  at  another  door. 

Hon.  Ferdinand  W.   Peck,  who   was 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


463 


REAR       ADMIRAL      H.      T.      B.      HARRIS,     PAYMASTER     OF      THE 

UNITED      STATES      NAVY 

Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


United  States  commissioner  at  the  Paris 
exposition,  came  to  pay  his  respects 
with  a  French  friend,  who  made  fifty 
bows  in  fifteen  minutes. 

The  lunch  at  one-thirty  was  at- 
tended by  Secretary  Morton,  who  is 
rnuning  the  navy  strictly  on  railroad 
schedules. 

Senator  Lodge  had  a  confidential  word 
or  two  in  the  inner  office.  Senator  Dol- 
liver  stopped  long  enough  to  get  the  real 
bearing  of  things,  and  Senator  Bacon  of 
Georgia  approached  the  door,  saw  the 
rush— and  respectfully  and  officially  left 
his  card. 


The  secret  service  men  in  prince 
alberts  and  silk  hats  were  alert,  and  the 
visitor  could  not  pass  the  threshold  until 
he  had  been  vouched  for  in  some  way. 

So  in  this  snowing,  blowing  weather, 
when  everyone  seemed  to  think  that 
everyone  else  would  stay  away,  the 
record  rush  was  made. 


IT  was  the   day  after  the  snow  storm 
that    I    started    to    view   the  statue 
of  Frederick  the  Great. 
-  I    left     the    cars     at     the    Arsenal, 
and     the     sentry     here      looked     at 


464 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


me  in  amazement. 

"It's  a  long  way  down  be  the  bat'ry, 
sir,  and  not  much  to  look  at." 

"Could  you  tell  me—" 

"Now,  me  friend,  I'm  busy,  d'ye 
see?"  replied  the  sentry,  shouldering 
the  gleaming  musket,  after  a  vigorous 
squirt  of  tobacco  juice  at  a  snow-bank, 
and  starting  off  for  a  fresh  pace. 

"Just  follow  the  path,"  he  added, 
"till  ye  see  the  new  picket-coop,  thin 
jump  off  in  the  snow  and  ye'll  get 
a  squint  at  the  man  that  sent  us  the 
Hessians." 

Well,  I  followed  the  path  down  the 
placid  waters  of  the  Potomac,  passed  the 


place  where  a  ship  of  the  white  squadron 
was  moored,  with  its  smoke  lazily  float- 
ing from  the  yellow  funnel.  The  War 
College  is  being  built  here,  and  a  busy 
place  it  must  be  on  working  days.  It 
looked  as  though  a  good,  generous  slice 
of  the  war  department  appropriations 
was  being  invested  here  in  permanent 
improvements.  The  old,  half -burned 
barracks  have  not  all  been  removed, 
and  the  row  of  colonial  apartment 


MR.  MCDOWELL,  CHIEF  CLERK  OF  THE  HOUSE 
OF   REPRESENTATIVES,   ENJOYING   AN 

AFTER-DINNER    STROLL    AND  , 

A  GOQD  CIGAR 


CAPTAIN     BROMWELL,     WHO,     AS      SUPERINTEN- 
DENT ^OF     BUILDINGS     AND     GROUNDS    AT 
WASHINGTON,  HAS  CHARGE  OF  SOCIAL 
FUNCTIONS  AT  THE  WHITE  HOUSE 


houses,  for  the  use  of  the  officers,  have 
just  been  completed.  There  are  sixteen 
of  these  houses  in  all,  backing  up  to  the 
river-bank  and  as  like  as  peas  in  a  pod. 
Doubtless  this  is  another  evidence  of  the 
democracy  of  national  life,  for  no  offi- 


APFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


4*5 


cer's  wife  can  boast  of  a  house  one  wee 
bit  better  than  that  of  her  neighbor. 
The  new  houses  are  built  to  look  as  old 
and  venerable  as  possible,  and  the  stately 
white  pillars  stand  out  with  military  pre- 
cision. 

The  guns  on  the  campus  were  "spiked" 
with  pure  snow  —  a  suggestion  for  the 
,Hague  tribunal  —  and  the  pyramid  of 
black  cannon  balls  peeped  defiantly  out 
of  their  white  coverlets.  The  old  maple 


SENATOR    ALLISON    WEARS   HIS   OVERCOAT,  LIKE 
HIS    HONORS,    LIGHTLY 

was  stripped  for  its  Winter  battle  against 
wind  and  weather,  and  officers  and  men 
flitted  about  as  though  intent  upon  some- 
thing at  least  as  serious  as  Sunday  din- 
ner. The  little  urchins  —  children  of 
army  officers — played  at  war  in  their 
snow  forts  among  the  real  cannons,  and 
altogether  it  was  an  interesting  picture. 
Enclosed  in  a  new  picket  fence  with 


SENATOR     MONEY    OF     MISSISSIPPI,    OUT     FOR    A 
STROLL    IN    THE    WINTER    SUNSHINE 

barbed  wire  on  top  was  the  life-'size 
bronze  figure  of  one  of  the  greatest  char- 
acters in  history.  With  his  face  turned 
toward  the  West,  his  hand  firmly  grasp- 
ing a  double-handled  walking  stick,  his 
sword  peeping  out  from  beneath  his 
lace-decked  coat,  snow  in  his  cravat  and 
on  his  lace-embroidered  hat,  he  stood 
in  such  a  natural  attitude  that  I  could 
almost  fancy  it  was  the  real  Frederick  as 
he  paced  the  terraces  of  Sans  Souci, 
watching  for  couriers  to  arrive,  bringing 
their  news  of  affairs  in  the  West.  The 
simple  inscription  on  the  statue,  enclosed 
in  a  wreath, 


FRIEDRICH 
D.       E.        S. 


is  a  mark  of  respect  to  our  nation  from 
the  War  Lord  of  Europe,  that  illustrates 
his  attitude  of  peace  and  good  will  to- 
ward America.  Between  the  kaiser  and 
our  president  there  is  a  bond  of  personal 
friendship  which  defies  precedents  and 


466 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


MISS      PAULINE      MORTON,     DAUGHTER      OF     THE     NEW     SECRE- 
TARY    OF      THE      NAVY      AND     ONE      OF      THE      LOVELY 
DEBUTANTES     OF     THE      PRESENT     WASHINGTON 
SEASON 


usages  of  international  codes.  The  rea- 
son of  this  may  be  found  in  the  manli- 
ness of  the  men,  who  dare  and  do  with 
but  one  thought:  justice  and  progress, 
whether  sheathed  in  sword  or  wreathed 
in  palm  branch. 

Jl 

/"\NE  conversant  with  national  affairs 
will  agree  that  intellectually  the 
"little  giant"  from  Wisconsin,  John  C. 
Spooner,  has  few  peers  and  no  superiors 
in  the  United  States  senate.  When  he 
reads  a  document  he  seems  to  focus  those 


sharp  eyes  on  the  center,  and  quick  as 
a  flash  reaches  the  real  nub  of  the  matter 
under  discussion.  He  stands  preemi- 
nent among  the  strong  leaders  in  the 
senate.  His  able  and  masterly  handling 
of  the  Philippine  question  and  other  in- 
tricate measures  that  have  come  up 
before  the  senate  has  won  for  him 
a  leadership  in  all  complicated  matters 
that  is  second  to  that  of  no  other  sena- 
tor for  a  quarter  of  a  century  past. 

Sometimes  it  seems  unfortunate  that 
the  great  abilities  of  such  a  man  should 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


467 


SENORITA      ELISA       WALKER-MARTINEZ,     THE      DAUGHTER      OF 
THE      CHILEAN      MINISTER      AND      ONE     OF      THE  HAND- 
SOMEST     DEBUTANTES      OF      THE      SEASON 


not  be  fully  appreciated  by  voters 
at  home  through  local  jealousies.  There 
may  be  division  as  to  the  merits  of  the 
Wisconsin  controversy,  but  there  can  be 
no  dispute  as  to  the  ability  of  John  C. 
Spooner  and  the  part  he  plays  in  na- 
tional affairs.  A  leader  in  the  legal 
profession,  he  has  sacrificed  his  own 
personal  wishes  and  comfort  as  well 
as  financial  interests  to  serve  loyally 
and  faithfully  both  his  state  and 
nation.  It  would  be  a  public  ca- 
lamity indeed  if  the  services  of  John  C. 
Spooner  were  no  longer  available  for 


Uncle  Sam,  for  if  there  ever  was  a  time 
when  ability  of  this  kind  was  required, 
it  is  right  now. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  the  two  legal 
giants  of  the  senate,  Knox  of  Pennsyl- 
vania and  Spooner  of  Wisconsin,  are 
both  men  of  small  stature.  These  men  and 
Senator  Crane  of  Massachusetts  are 
among  the  intimate  advisers  of  the  presi- 
dent on  all  matters  of  the  first  importance. 

Jl 

IT    is     always     interesting     to    watch 
the  assembling  of  a  presidential  cabi- 


468 


net  meeting.  First  comes  Secretary  Shaw 
with  a  gigantic  scrap-book,  which  he 
always  carries,  well  loaded  with  facts 
and  data,  during  a  political  campaign. 
Secretary  Hitchcock,  prim  and  dignified, 
drives  up  in  a  carriage  and  enters  with 
a  stately  gait.  Secretary  Morton  saun- 
ters in  with  his  sack  coat  tightly  but- 
toned— a  type  of  an  American  business 


mentary  sense,  but  the  cabinet  has  rules 
of  its  own,  not  affected  by  even  Czar 
Reed's  text-book.  There  is  very  little 
state  formality  in  a  cabinet  meeting, 
even  less  than  when  the  sessions  were 
held  in  the  White  House.  The  policy 
of  having  cabinet  ministers  go  directly 
before  the  people  on  the  stump  was 
more  generally  observed  last  year 


SENATOR     SPOONER     INVESTS     IN      AN     "EXTRA" 


man.  Attorney  General  Moody,  with 
both  hands  filled  with  papers,  hustles  in 
with  a  smile  showing  his  dimple.  A 
colored  messenger  goes  before  the  tall 
and  portly  form  of  Secretary  Taft,  who 
carries  himself  with  a  judicial  poise. 
He  has  a  smile  and  expression  that  is 
are  always  impressive.  It  is  doubtful  if 
there  was  a  quorum  in  the  strict  parlia- 


than  ever  before,  and  few  escaped  ser- 
vice. It  is  thought  the  practice  will 
be  followed  in  the  future  in  the  case 
of  second-term  candidacies,  since  it 
brings  the  executive  department  into 
closer  touch  with  the  people  than 
could  be  hoped  for  through  senators, 
congressmen  or  the  several  campaign 
orators  employed  by  the  committee. 


AFFAIRS    AT    WASHINGTON 


469 


THIS  year  the  fashionable  Summer 
tour  will  be  westward  to  Portland, 
Oregon,  where  the  Lewis  and  Clark  Ex- 
position will  take  place,  celebrating  the 
one  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  ex- 
ploration of  that  region  by  the  agents  of 
President  Jefferson.  The  great  show 
will  open  its  gates  June  i  and  close  them 
October  15.  The  official  title  of  the 
Portland  exposition  is,  "The  Lewis  and 
Clark  Centennial  and  Oriental  Fair." 
This  signifies  that,  beside  showing  what 
has  been  done  in  developing  the  ma- 
terial wealth  of  the  "Oregon  country," 
this  exposition  is  destined  to  help  on 
our  new  commercial  conquest  among  the 
teeming  millions  of  the  Orient  —  in 
Japan,  Korea  and  China.  The  oriental 


lake  with  a  peninsula  extending  out  into 
it  furnishes  a  keynote  to  the  landscape 
scheme.  The  main  buildings  are  situ- 
ated on  the  sloping  terraces  overlooking 
Guild's  Lake  and  the  Willamette  river. 
The  view  from  the  grounds  is  almost 
without  parallel  for  beauty  and  gran- 
deur. In  the  distance  can  be  seen  nine 
snow-capped  mountain  peaks,  including 
Mount  Hood  and  Mount  Helens. 

Eight  large  exhibit  palaces  form  the 
"main  picture."  Around  these  will 
cluster  the  state  and  minor  buildings. 
The  United  States  government,  which 
has  appropriated  $475,000  for  its  parti- 
cipation, will  erect  its  buildings  on  the 
peninsula  in  the  center  of  the  lake. 
This  peninsula  is  reached  from  one  por- 


SKETCH    MAP    OF     "THE     OREGON     COUNTRY" 


nations  will  make  very  rich  exhibits  at 
Portland,  booming  their  American  trade. 

In  another  very  important  particular 
this  exposition  will  differ  from  any  other 
that  has  been  held  in  America:  it  will 
draw  thousands  of  people  out  of  the 
crowded  East  to  become  permanent  resi- 
dents of  the  vast,  thinly  populated  North- 
west. Here  are  tens  of  millions  of  acres 
of  excellent  land  waiting  to  be  taken  up 
by  settlers  on  terms  nearly  if  not  quite 
as  easy  as  under  the  operations  of  the 
Homestead  law  in  states  further  east 
that  were  settled  earlier;  and  here  is 
a  climate  as  delightful  —  Winter  and 
Summer — as  any  under  the  flag. 

The  centennial  site  comprises  180  acres 
of  land  and  220  acres  of  water.  A  natural 


tion  of  the  mainland  by  an  ornate 
bridge,  called  the  Bridge  of  Nations. 
Upon  the  near  end  of  this  bridge  will 
be  situated  the  "Trail,"  the  amusement 
street  of  the  fair.  Many  of  the  states 
have  appropriated  sums  of  money  rang- 
ing from  $10,000  to  $35,000  for  their 
participation,  and  some  of  them  will 
erect  handsome  pavilions.  Foreign  par- 
ticipation will  be  extensive,  the  exhibits 
being  largely  drawn  from  the  Louisiana 
Purchase  Exposition. 

The  "Lewis  and  Clark  Centennial  Ex- 
position and  Oriental  Fair"  is  the  first 
international  exhibition  held  west  of  the 
Rocky  mountains.  The  "Oregon  Coun- 
try" (as  that  section  of  America  was  then 
called)  early  in  the  last  century  became 


470 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


a  part  of  the  United  States  and  was  sub- 
sequently divided  into  the  present  states 
of  Oregon,  Washington  and  Idaho,  as 
well  as  extensive  parts  of  Montana  and 


the  leadership  of  Captains  Meriwether 
Lewis  and  William  Clark,  by  President 
Thomas  Jefferson  in  1803,  and  reached 
the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  river  in  1805. 


WILLIAM     CLARK.  THOMAS    JEFFERSON.  MERIWETHER     LEWIS. 

PRESIDENT      JEFFERSON      AND      THE      EXPLORERS      OF      OREGON 


Wyoming,   adding  over  300,000  square 
miles  of  rich  mineral  and  fertile  agricul- 
tural lands  to  the  national  domain. 
'  The  expedition  which   explored  this 
"no  man's  land"   was   sent  out  under 


The  city  of  Portland,  numbering  125,- 
ooo  inhabitants,  is  an  ideal  western 
American  city.  It  is  situated  no  miles 
from  the  Pacific  ocean,  on  the  Willa- 
mette river,  at  practically  its  confluence 


s 


472 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


with  the  famous  Columbia.  It  is  a  com- 
mon sight  to  behold  the  heaviest  draught 
vessels  of  all  nationalities  moored  in  the 
city's  magnificent  harbor.  Portland 


As  Portland  is  the  western  terminus  of 
four  great  transcontinental  railways,  and 
as  the  Willamette  river  is  one  of  the 
boundaries  of  the  centennial  site,  thus 


OCEAN-GOING     SHIPPING      ON     THE    WILLAMETTE     AND 
COLUMBIA       RIVERS 


holds  extensive  commercial  intercourse 
with  the  whole  world,  her  chief  export 
commodities  being  lumber,  flour,  grain 
and  the  products  of  innumerable  salmon 
canneries  located  on  the  Columbia. 


enabling  ocean  steamers  to  discharge 
cargoes  directly  on  the  grounds  facili- 
ties for  expeditiously  and  economically- 
conveying,  installing  and  maintaining 
exhibits  at  Portland  are  unparalleled... 


AFFAIRS  AT  WASHINGTON 


473 


SALMON      FISHING     IN      THE     COLUMBIA     RIVER 


CRATER     LAKE,     CASCADE      MOUNTAINS,     SOUTHERN      OREGON. 
Photograph  copyright,  1903,  by  Kiser  Bros, 


474 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


WILLAMETTE      FALLS,     OREGON      CITY,      WHERE       THE       ELECTRIC     POWER       FOR     PORTLAND'S 

FACTORIES      IS     GENERATED 


HARVESTING      ON      AN      EASTERN      OREGON      FARM 
Photograph   Copyright,    1903,    by  Oeo.   M,   Weister 


AT    THE     END    OF    THE    MARCH 


By    E.-CRAYTON     McCANTS 

ANDERSON,  SOUTH   CAROLINA 


IT  was  night.  The  mid-Winter  wind 
sweeping  through  the  streets  of  the 
town  shrieked  in  its  fury  and  tugged  at 
the  casements  and  signs.  From  the 
heavens,  out  of  the  wrack  of  the  driving 
clouds  that  hid  the  face  of  the  sky,  there 
came  with  reckless  force  needle-like  par- 
ticles of  flying  snow  and  hard,  round 
pellets  of  sleet  which  rattled  upon  the 
icy  pavements  or  crashed  against  wind- 
ows and  doors.  Obscured,  swaying  and 
tremulous,  the  storm-harried  arc  lights 
of  the  public  ways  but  feebly  withstood 
the  dense  and  enveloping  darkness 
which,  hanging  in  its  greatest  intensity 
about  the  "court-house  square,"  now 
hid,  now  dimly  revealed  the  looming, 
unlighted  buildings,  the  bent  and  strug- 
gling, trees,  and  a  marble  figure  on  a 
monument  which  stood  in  this  open 
place.  Elsewhere,  in  the  suburbs  and 
away  on  the  northern  streets,  there  was 
light  and  quick  laughter  and  the  foot- 
steps of  hurrying  men,  but  in  the  heart 
of  this  deserted  spot  there  was  no  voice 
save  that  of  the  elements,  naught  human 
save  the  graven  face  of  a  man — the  man 
on  the  monument. 

Grim  and  impassive,  unmoved  alike 
by  the  thrust  of  the  blast  or  the  bitter 
sting  of  the  cold,  the  man  on  the  monu- 
ment stood  at  his  post  on  guard.  A  sol- 
dier he,  and  peering  out  through  the 
blinding  sleet  he  looked  every  inch  the 
part.  Girt  were  his  loins  with  belt  and 
bayonet,  canteen  and  cartridge  box,  and, 
butt  to  earth  and  muzzle  up,  his  musket 
upheld  his  hand. 

Six  months  before  they  had  placed 
him  there — had  the  very  good  people  of 
the  town  —  amid  speech-making  and 
flowers,  as  a  minister  to  their  nourished 
pride  and  as  an  honor  unto  the  dead. 
For  the  dead  at  least  are  safe.  Age  is 
not  theirs,  nor  hunger  nor  thirst,  and 


they  come  not  asking  alms.  Wherefore 
for  the  dead  white  stones  are  carved  and 
the  roses  and  the  laurels  are  brought. 

But  the  Summer  had  long  since  ended, 
and  the  Autumn,  too,  was  past;  and  now 
at  the  foot  of  the  shaft,  hidden  by  the 
ice  and  the  drifted  snow,  there  lingered 
only  dried  stems  and  petals,  a  bit  of 
ribbon,  perhaps,  and  the  skeleton  wires 
of  the  wreaths  whence  all  the  blossoms 
were  gone. 

But  the  man  on  the  monument,  like 
the  dead  for  whom  he  stood,  needed 
nothing,  asked  nothing.  He  stood  at 
his  post.  What  to  him  was  vain  adula- 
tion, and  what  was  neglect  to  him? 

So,  about  the  corners  of  the  square 
the  tempest  screamed  its  wrath,  and  for 
a  time  there  was  no  vestige  of  change. 
Once  a  carriage,  the  driver  huddled 
and  crouched  beneath  his  robes,  rolled 
hastily  by,  and  again  a  shutter,  wrung 
from  its  hinges,  fell  cornerwise  upon  the 
curb,  there  breaking  harshly  and  splin- 
tering. For  the  rest,  the  writhing  clouds 
swept  on,  the  fitful  lights  faded  and 
flared,  the  great  trees  struggled  almost 
humanly  and  groaned  under  the  stress 
and  the  strain. 

Then  out  of  the  dark  tunnel  of  a 
street,  buffeted  this  way  and  that  and 
driven  relentlessly,  a  man  stepped  into 
view — a  real  man  this  time,  and  one  who 
lacked  all  the  visible  attributes  of  the 
figure  upreared  on  the  stone.  Old, 
worn-out  and  poor,  his  face  and  his 
name  were  alike  unknown,  for  his  peo- 
ple had  forgotten  him.  Once,  on  a  day 
long  ago,  when  the  gray  smoke  was 
rising  over  Gettysburg,  and  the  purple 
hills  trembled  to  the  roar  of  the  unlim- 
bered  guns,  a  nation  had  heard  of  him; 
but  there  was  no  danger  now — no  charg- 
ing of  squadrons  or  rattle  of  musketry. 
Nor  was  he  a  soldier  tonight.  He  kept 


476 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


no  guard,  he  held  no  post;  whence  he 
came  seemingly  he  knew  not,  and 
whither  he  went  the  storm  refused 
utterly  to  say.  No  overcoat  sheltered 
him  as  he  walked;  no  rifle  was  his, 
or  belt,  or  bayonet.  His  but  the  rags, 
the  hunger,  the  weariness;  his  the 
turned-aside  faces  of  the  men  whom  he 
met,  and  the  never  ending  strain  of  the 
cold. 

Stumbling  but  never  halting,  he 
stepped  out  upon  the  square,  mutter- 
ing as  he  went.  Already  the  good  God 
and  the  cold  had  been  merciful  to  him, 
already  the  temperature  had  benumbed 
his  senses,  already  his  mind  groped 
vaguely  in  the  dregs  of  old  memories. 

Slowly  he  passed  his  hand  across  his 
chilled  and  dripping  brow.  The  old 
plantation;  the  blazing  fires;  the  tall 
piles  of  yellow  corn,  and  the  negroes 
singing  in  their  cabins  the  songs  of  the 
harvest  home.  No  —  it  could  not  be 
that.  The  cold  never  came  there,  nor 
sleeplessness,  nor  any  great  and  bitter 
need. 

A  great  gust  struck  him  and  whirled 
him  about.  He  started  and  opened  his 
eyes. 

Dreaming?  How  tired  he  must  have 
been  thus  to  doze  upon  his  feet.  But 
he  remembered  now  —  he  knew  quite 
well  where  he  was.  At  "sundown"  the 
march  had  begun — the  long  forced  march 
through  the  night  and  the  blinding 
storm.  Yonder  hill  was  cut  off;  yonder 
Longstreet  lay  between  the  stone  bridge 
and  the  ford.  Yesterday  had  been  but 
a  skirmish,  but  at  dawn  the  battle  would 


begin.  "Pass  the  infantry  to  the  front!" 
So  the  order  had  come  and  Lee  was 
waiting  for  them. 

On  through  the  night— it  was  cold,  but 
the  "gray  backs"  were  moving.  Just 
see  the  long,  dark  columns,  the  muskets 
and  the  bearded  men!  And  yonder — a 
light  in  a  distant  building  flashed  bril- 
liantly, flickered  and  then  went  out — 
yonder  in  front  were  the  picket  lines 
and  the  fires  of  the  enemy!  What  mat- 
tered the  wind  now;  what  mattered  the 
snow?  Jackson  was  up,  and  Stuart  was 
coining,  and  at  day-light  the  charge 
would  be  made. 

"Steady,  men,  and  keep  on,"  he 
urged.  "Tired?  Ay,  so  are  we  all, 
but  it's  only  a  little  way  now — only  a — 
little  way." 

His  gaunt  figure  swayed  and  drooped; 
he  stumbled  and  recovered  himself  pain- 
fully. With  sudden  resolution  he  braced 
his  feet,  halted,  stood  stiffly  erect,  and 
touched  the  worn  brim  of  his  hat. 

"Ah,  a  dark  night,  orderly,"  he  said 
very  courteously.  "I  almost  ran  into 
you.  The  pickets?  Yes,  I  made  them 
out.  Halt,  men.  Fall  out!  The  trees 
will  shelter  us  now  —  let  us  rest  a  bit 
while  we  may.  Good  night,  orderly. — 
Tomorrow — yes,  tomorrow — 

He  lurched  forward  a  little  space  and 
came  to  the  monument.  Behind  it  the 
eddying  wind  had  scooped  a  furrow  in 
the  snow.  He  looked  at  this  gratefully 
and  flung  himself  down  therein. 

"So,"  he  murmured  softly,  "so!  The 
place  is  fit — and — the  end  of  the  march 
— has — come!" 


THE    QUESTION    OF    THE    HOUR 

(  From  the  North  American  Review. ) 

There  is  no  doubt  that  this  matter  of  delegating  the  fixing  of  railway  rates  to  a 
commission  or  court  has  been  made  by  Mr.  Roosevelt  the  question  of  the  hour  in 
the  United  States,  and  that  the  solution  of  the  problem  will  be  watched  with  lively 
interest  in  all  those  European  countries  where  the  railways  are  not  owned  and 
operated  by  the  government. 


CARTOON     OF    LA     MENKEN     IN      THE     SHOW 
WINDOWS     FORTY      YEARS      AGO 


LA    BELLE    MENKEN 

By  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

Aulhor  of  "South  Sea  Idyls",  "Exits  and  Entrances",  etc. 

CAMBRIDGE,     MASSACHUSETTS 


IT  was  away  back  in  the  early  sixties: 
San  Francisco,  California,  was  not 
yet  sixteen,  but  she  was  precocious,  and 
her  hot  blood  leaped  from  hearts  that 
were  not  unfrequently  pierced  on  the 
shortest  possible  notice  by  vengeful  bul- 
let or  stiletto.  The  town  was  billed 
with  posters  heralding  the  approach  of 
"The  Menken,"  La  Belle  Menken, 
Adah  Isaacs  Menken,  with  her 
"Mazeppa"  and  "French  Spy,"  two 
picturesque  impersonations  that  she 


was    destined    to  make    world-famous. 

The  windows  of  nearly  every  shop  in 
the  city  framed  a  startling  cartoon  that 
caught  the  eye  on  the  instant,  and  if  the 
masculine  observer  was  still  heart-whole 
and  fancy-free,  it  probably  gave  him 
something  to  think  about  for  some  time 
to  come. 

It  was  the*  portrait  of  a  young  and 
beautiful  woman  that  was  turning  the 
heads  of  the  people  just  then.  A  strik- 
ing picture,  it  was,  far  out  »f  the  «om- 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


mon  run  in  that  day:  a  head  of  Byronic 
mold;  a  fair,  proud  throat,  quite  open 
to  admiration,  for  the  sailor  collar  that 
might  have  graced  the  wardrobe  of  the 
Poet-Lord  was  carelessy  knotted  upon  the 
bosom  with  a  voluminously  flowing  silk 
tie.  The  hair,  black,  glossy,  short  and 
curly,  gave  to  the  head,  forehead  and 
nape  of  the  neck  a  half-feminine  mascu- 
linity suggestive  of  the  Apollo  Belvedere. 

The  eyes  were  what  transfixed  one  at 
first  sight,  for  they  were  not  wholly 
human.  Often  they  were  referred  to  as 
those  "intoxicated  eyes";  perhaps  they 
were  intoxicated  once  in, a  while;  cer- 
tainly they  were  intoxicating  so  long  as 
they  chose  to  shed  their  almost  lurid 
light  upon  the  young  and  easily  impres- 
sionable. This  is  how  they  affected 
Charles  Reade,  the  novelist,  in  his 
maturity.  In  his  memoir,  the  chapter 
entitled  "Friends,  Fautors  and  Favor- 
ites," he  says  of  the  Menken:  "A  clever 
woman  with  beautiful  eyes  —  very  dark 
blue.  A  bad  actress,  but  made  a  hit 
by  playing  'Mazeppa'  in  tights.  She 
played  one  scene  in  'Black  Eyed  Susan' 
with  true  feeling.  A  trigamist,  or  quad- 
rigamist,  her  last  husband,  I  believe,  was 
John  Heenan,  the  prize-fighter.  Menken 
talked  well  and  was  very  intelligent.  She 
spoiled  her  looks  off  the  stage  with  white 
lead,  or  whatever  it  is  these  idiots  of 
women  wear.  She  did  not  rouge,  but 
played  some  deviltry  with  her  glorious 
eyes,  which  altogether  made  her  spectral. 
She  wrote  poetry.  It  was  as  bad  as 
other  peoples  —  would  have  been  worse 
if  it  could.  'Requiescat  in  pace.'  Good- 
ish  heart.  Loose  conduct.  Gone!" 

There  is  a  bad  epitaph  for  you;  quite 
in  the  vein  of  Tom  Carlyle.  In  sooth 
the  ill  repute  of  her  fellow  players  could 
have  hardly  matched  it. 

* 

The  chief  theater  of  the  metropolis, 
Maguire's  Opera  House,  was  packed  to 
the  tune  of  sixteen  hundred  and  forty 
dollars  in  coin  on  that  first  night,  when 


MENKEN. 


MENKEN     AS     THE     ARAB     BOY     IN    "THE     FRENCH 
SPY" 

"Mazeppa,"  apparently  stripped  to  the 
buff,  was  lashed  to  a  wild  horse  of  Tar- 
tary  that  was  really  worthy  of  the  name. 

There  have  been  "Mazeppas"  and 
"Mazeppas"  in  this  wicked  world  of 
ours,  all  feminine  and  mostly  fat — though 
I  once  saw  Joe  Jefferson  play  a  burlesque 
"Mazeppa,"  in  that  same  opera  house: 
clad  in  fleshings,  he  was  lashed  to 
a  rocking-horse  and  pushed  across  the 
stage  on  castors. 

The  average  "Mazeppa"  is  about  as 
much  as  an  ordinary  horse  can  carry; 
the  animal  in  his  famous  flight  over  the 
Mountains  of  the  Moon  ambles  up  an 
inclined  tow-path  as  if  he  were  on  a 
pious  pilgrimage,  and  his  only  fear  is 
that  he  may  not  reach  the  "flies"  in  sea- 
son to  secure  a  succulent  reward  at  the 
hands  of  the  impending  stable-boy.  He 
comes  of  a  family  every,  member  of  which 
seems  to  have  been  born  with  a  padded 


LA    BELLE    MENKEN 


479 


MENKEN     AS     MAZEPPA 


back  as  flat  as  a  table  and  as  soft  as 
a  feather-bed.  Not  so  the  Menken's 
fiery  steed;  he  was  a  very  spirited  beast, 
evidently  proud  of  the  beauty  and  the 
bravery  of  his  living  burden.  She  loved 
him  for  the  dangers  he  had  passed  with 
her  and  so,  nightly  and  at  the  matinees, 
she  risked  her  life  that  she  might  thrill 
her  breathless  audience  and  fill  the 
pocket  she  had  left  behind  her  in  her 
undressing  room. 

Charles  Henry  Webb,  poet  and  wit, 
said  in  his  "Californian"— the  brightest 
weekly  in  the  history  of  early  California 
literature: — "The  Menken  is  unrivaled 
in  her  particular  line  —  but  it  isn't  a 
clothes-line." 

Garments  seemed  almost  to  profane 
her,  as  they  do  a  statue.  She  was  statu- 
esque in  the  noblest  sense  of  the  word. 
It  was  impossible  to  think  of  her  as 
being  fleshly.or  gross,  or  as  even  capable 
in  anywise  of  suggesting  a  thought 


tinged  with  vulgarity.  The  moment  she 
entered  upon  the  scene  she  inspired  it 
with  a  poetic  atmosphere  that  appealed 
to  one's  love  of  beauty,  and  satisfied  it. 
She  was  the  embodiment  of  physical 
grace.  She  possessed  the  lithe  sinu- 
osity of  body  that  fascinates  us  in  the 
panther  and  the  leopard  when  in  motion. 
Every  curve  of  her  limbs  was  as  appeal- 
ing as  a  line  in  a  Persian  love  song. 
She  was  a  vision  of  celestial  harmony 
made  manifest  in  the  flesh — a  living  and 
breathing  poem  that  set  the  heart  to 
music  and  throbbed  rhythmically  to  a 
passion  that  was  as  splendid  as  it  was 
pure. 

I  saw  her  as  a  boy,  and  she  inspired 
in  me  an  enthusiasm  that  found  expres- 
sion in  some  youthful  verses  champion- 
ing her  cause.  She  had  been  cried 
down  by  critics  because  she  had  lived 
a  life  that  was  to  say  the  least  unconven- 
tional. She  had  been  insulted  by  low- 
minded  brutes  who  were  not  worthy  to 
loosen  the  thongs  of  her  sandals.  To 
the  "'prurient  prudes"  she  had  become 
a  scorn  and  a  hissing.  I  knew  her  story 
as  it  was  known  of  men,  but  it  did  not 
appal  me:  it  woke  in  me  the  pity  that  is 
akin  to  love.  I  am  glad  that  it  did 
then;  I  am  glad  that  the  memory  of  that 
emotion  does  even  at  this  late  day. 

j« 

Adah,  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  was 
born  in  a  little  village  on  the  shore  of 
Lake  Chartrain,  near  New  Orleans, 
Louisiana,  on  the  fifteenth  of  June, 
1835.  Her  father,  Mr.  James  McCord, 
was  a  merchant  in  good  standing,  who 
died,  leaving  three  children,  of  whom 
Adah  was  the  eldest.  Adah's  father  had 
always  been  an  ardent  admirer  of  Terpsi- 
chore, and  almost  as  soon  as  they  were 
able  to  toddle  his  children  were  placed 
in  charge  of  a  French  dancing  master. 
Mr.  McCord  died  when  Adah  was  seven 
years  of  age,  leaving  his  family  in  strait- 
ened circumstances.  The  widow  placed 
her  two  daughters  in  the  ballet  at  the 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


M  X  N  KEN. 


MENKEN 


French  Opera  House, 
New  Orleans,  where,  as 
infant  phenomena,  they 
made  a  success.  Later, 
with  the  Monplaisir 
Troupe,  Adah  visited 
Havana  and  became  so 
great  a  favorite  that  she 
was  popularly  known  as 
the  "Queen  of  the 
Plaza."  She  played  a 
brilliant  engagement  in 
the  leading  opera  house 
of  the  City  of  Mexico. 
She  returned  to  New  Orleans  and  retired  from 
the  stage,  as  was  her  wont  at  intervals,  begin 
always  divided  against  herself. 

In  Galveston,  Texas,  in  1856,  she  married 
Alexander  Isaacs  Menken,  a  musician.  She 
returned  to  the  Varieties  Theater, New  Orleans, 
starring  in  "Fazio,  or  The  Italian  Wife";  but 
again  retired  and  began  the  study  of  sculpture 
in  the  studio  of  T.  D.  Jones,  at  Columbus, 
Ohio.  Underthe  pen-nameof  "Indigina,"  she 
published  a  volume  of  poems  entitled  "Memo- 
ries." She  was  on  and  off  the  stage  at  inter- 
vals, playing  engagements  in  various  compan- 
ies in  many  different  cities,  or  devoting  herself 
for  a  time  to  painting,  poetry,  or  sculpture. 

Her  husband  having  died,  Menken  was 
married,  April  3,  1859,  to  John  C.  Heenan, 
a  prize-fighter,  known  to  the  sporting  world  as 
"the  Benicia  Boy."  They  were  married  by  the 
Rev.  J.  S.  Baldwin  at 
the  Rock  Cottage,  on 
the  Bloomingdale  Road, 
near  New  York  City; 
from  him  she  was 
divorced  in  1862,  by 
an  Indiana  court.  She 
married  Robert  H. 
Newell  —  at  one  time 
widely  known  as 
"Orpheus  C.  Kerr," 
the  humorist;  was  di- 
vorced from  Mr.  Newell 
in  1865.  In  1866  she 
married  Mr.  James  Bar- 
clay, who  survived  her. 


LA    BELLE    MENKEN 


481 


The    Menken    played 
engagements    that    may 
almost  be  called  sensa- 
tional; they  were  great 
financial  successes,  cre- 
ated  unbounded   enthu- 
siasm    and    were      the 
subject     of     sometimes 
violent  discussion.      As 
"Mazeppa"    her   imper- 
sonation was  brilliant  and 
startling;  as  the  Arab  boy 
in  "The    French   Spy'," 
she    was  the  apotheosis 
of   poesy.      As  William,  a  sailor,  in  "Black 
Eyed   Susan,"  even  Charles  Reade  acknow- 
ledged her  ability  in  "one  scene."    The  truth 
is  the  Menken's  William,  a  sailor,  in  that  dear 
old   obsolete,   semi-melodramatic   idyl  of  the 
Fleet,  was  a  wonder;  of  course  there  never  was 
anything  like  it    on  ship  or    shore.      There 
never  could  have  been  anything  like  it  to  last 
more   than  a  minute  after  the  fall  of  the  cur- 
tain.    A  sailor  boy  so  dainty  and  delightful  as 
this  sweet  William  would  have  been  devoured 
by  the  sweethearts  in  any  port,  or  even  petted 
to  death  by  the  Crustacea  on  a  desert  island. 
However,  the  interesting  fact  remains  that,  as 
an    embodiment  of  all   that    was    deliciously 
melancholy,  melodious,  and  unmasculine,  the 
memory  of  that  particular  Willam  is  immortal; 
and   if    such  a    sailor    had   ever  sailed    the 
enchanted  seas  in  the  age  of  fable  he  would 
probably  have    dragged 
the  sirens  of  Scylla  and 
Charybdis  out    of   their 
scaly    attenuations    like 
boiled  shrimps. 

In  "The  Child  of  the 
Sun,"  a  play  written  for 
her  by  John  Brougham, 
she  was  singularly  pic- 
turesque; and  in  "Les 
Pirates  de  la  Savanne," 
a  play  written  expressly 
for  her  Paris  engage- 
ment by  Ferdinand 
Dugue  and  Anicet 
Berugeois,  and  produced 


MENKEN     AS     WILLIAM     IN      "BLACK     EYED     SUSAN" 


482 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    FEBRUARY,    1905 


at  the  Theater  de  la  Gaite,  she  dazzled 
and  delighted  the  natives. 

The  Menken  made  her  final  exit  from 
the  stage  of  the  world  while  photography 
was  still  in  its  infancy,  yet  she  was  con- 
stantly posing  at  the  request  of  photog- 
raphers who  were  making  little  fortunes 
out  of  the  sale  of  these  pictures.  Sar- 
ony,  alone,  took  some  hundreds  of 
different  poses,  but  the  pictures  are  all 
small,  of  the  old-fashioned  carte  de  visit 
size,  and  they  are  but  poor  specimens  of 
art.  Those  here  reproduced  have  been 
in  my  possession  forty  years  —  save  only 
the  one  of  Dumas  and  Menken,  which 
was  taken  three  or  four  years  later  than 

the  others. 

J* 

That  Adah  Isaacs  Menken  was  a 
woman  of  unusual  talent  is  beyond  ques- 
tion. She  may  not  have  been  a  genius, 
but  her  nature  was  of  that  difficult  sort 
that  is  near  allied  to  the  madness  of 
genius.  She  proved  this  in  everything 
she  said  or  wrote  or  did.  Her  chirog- 
raphy  advertises  the  fact;  and  if  the 
handwriting  of  a  person  is  the  index  to 
his  character,  hers  was  one  to  call  forth 
the  sympathy  of  all  Christian  souls.  It 
has  been  thus  interpreted  by  a  friend,  at 
my  request: — Nature  gave  her  the  joy  of 
sensations;  to  all  the  senses  she  re- 
sponded easily,  and  each  thrilled  her; 
a  creature  of  real  refinement;  possessed 
of  much  natural  delicacy  —  yet  with  mo- 
ments when  the  physical  got  the  better 
of  the  spiritual;  tactful,  sincere,  witty, 
with  an  appreciation  of  the  ludicrous, 
and  liking  to  chaff  a  little;  not  without 
a  touch  of  coquetry;  of  quick  percep- 
tion, sometimes  arriving  at  profound 
truths  as  by  a  short  cut — intuitively; 
kind,  generous,  simple,  unaffected,  but 
with  profound  and  lofty  emotions  and 
at  times  almost  mystical;  unaffected,  yet 
occasionally  having  an  air  of  affectation. 
A  natural  capacity  for  taking  pains;  fond 
of  detail,  all  her  impersonations  show- 
ing clever  conceptions  carefully  carried 
out.  Prone  to  melancholy;  not  easily 


hopeful;  possessing  a  grace  in  repose  as 
satisfying  to  the  eye  as  a  chef-d'-oeuvre 
in  sculpture.  One  seer  pronounced  her 
the  victim  of  a  deeply  religious  and 
spiritual  nature  perpetually  at  war  with 
the  flesh  that  overwhelmed  it. 

Her  bosorn  friend,  Ada'Clare,  known 
in  the  palmy  days  at  Pfaff's  as  the 
"Queen  of  Bohemia,"  told  me  that  once 
when  she  wished  to  walk  with  the  Men- 
ken, who  was  about  to  take  her  after- 
noon promenade,  the  latter  said  to  her: 
"No,  dear!  do  not  be  seen  in  public 
with  me;  you  have  to  establish  your 
reputation  in  this  place  and  to  be  seen 
with  me  might  hurt  it." 


Once  she  sang  in  this  strain: 

MYSELF 

Now  I  gloss  my  face  with  laughter,  and 
sail  my  voice  on  with  the  tide. 

Decked  in  jewels  and  lace,  I  laugh  be- 
neath the  gas-light's  glare,  and  quaff 
the  purple  wine. 

But  the  minor-keyed  soul  is  standing 
naked  and  hungry  upon  one  of  hea- 
ven's high  hills  of  light. 

Standing  and  waiting  for  the  blood  of 
the  feast ! 

Starving  for  one  poor  word! 

Waiting  for  God  to  launch  out  some 
beacon  on  the  boundless  shores  of  this 
Night. 

Shivering  for  the  uprising  of  some  soft 
wing  under  which  I  may  creep,  lizard- 
like,  to  warmth  and  rest. 

Waiting!     Starving  and  shivering. 

Still  I  trim  my  white  bosom  with  crimson 
roses;  for  none  shall  see  the  thorns. 

I  bind  my  aching  brow  with  a  jeweled 
crown,  that  none  shall  see  the  iron  one 
beneath. 

My  silver-sandaled  feet  keep  impatient 
time  to  the  music,  because  I  cannot 
be  calm. 

I  laugh  at  earth's  passion-fever  of  Love; 
yet  I  know  that  God  is  near  to  the 
soul  on  the  hill,  and  hears  the  cease- 


LA    BELLE    MENKEN 


483 


less  ebb  and  flow  of  a  hopeless  love, 
through  all  my  laughter. 

But  if  I  can  cheat  my  heart  with  the  old 
comfort,  that  love  can  be  forgotten,  is 
it  not  better? 

After  all,  living  is  but  to  play  a  part! 
*          *          *          * 

Yet  through  all  this  I  know  that  night 
will  roll  back  from  the  still,  gray  plain 
of  heaven,  and  that  my  triumph  shall 
rise  sweet  with  the  dawn! 

When  these  mortal  mists  shall  unclothe 
the  world,  then  shall  I  be  known  as 
I  am! 

When  I  dare  be  dead  and  buried  behind 
a  wall  of  wings,  then  shall  he  know 
me! 

When  this  world  shall  fall,  like  some  old 
ghost,  wrapped  in  the  black  skirts  of 
the  wind,  down  into  the  fathomless 
eternity  of  fire,  then  shall  souls  uprise! 

When  God  shall  lift  the  frozen  seal  from 
struggling  voices,  then  shall  we  speak! 

When  the  purple  and  gold  of  our  inner 
natures  shall  be  lifted  up  in  the  Eter- 
nity of  Truth,  then  will  love  be  mine! 

I  can  wait! 

Thus  she  stormed  high  heaven,  or 
bewailed  her  fate  in  rhapsodies  that 
sometimes  verge  upon  frenzy  and  some- 
times seem  the  despairing  cry  of  a  lost 

and  loving  soul. 

* 

Her  imagination  was  of  a  lurid  cast;  it 
had  feasted  upon  and  echoed  the  wild 
and  wayward  rhythm  of  the  Psalms  of 
David  and  Walt  Whitman's  "Leaves  of 
Grass."  In  her  little  book  of  verses 
"Infelicia,"  there  are  few  lines  that  are, 
not  more  or  less  inflated,  some  that  are 
truly  noble,  and  some  that  are  poor 
enough.  This  volume  of  one  hundred 
and  twenty-four  pages  was  dedicated  to 
Charles  Dickens  "by  permission";  the 
permission  gracefully  granted  in  an  auto- 
graph letter  was  reproduced  in  facsimile 
as  a  frontispiece  to  the  first  edition  of 
the  poems,  but  afterward  suppressed: 

It  ran  -as  follows : 


GAD'S  HILL   PLACE, 
HICHAM  BY  ROCHESTER,  KENT. 

Monday,  Twenty-first  October,  1867. 

Dear  Miss  Menken: 

I  shall  have  great  pleasure 
in  accepting  your  dedication,  and  I 
thank  you  for  your  portrait  as  a 
highly  remarkable  specimen  of  pho- 
tography. 

I  also  thank  you  for  the  verses 
enclosed  in  your  note.  Many  such 
enclosures  come  to  me,  but  few  so 
pathetically  written,  and  fewer  still 
so  modestly  sent.  Faithfully  yours, 
CHARLES  DICKENS. 

That  Adah  Menken  could  write  simply 
and  sweetly  is  evidenced  by  the  follow- 
ing lines  which  she  very  kindly  wrote  for 
me  in  an  old-fashioned  album,  the  pride 
of  my  youth.  They  are  written  in  a  hand 
that  is  highly  characteristic:  a  free  hand 
of  large  swinging  curves  flowing  bravely 
from  a  stubby  quill;  the  i's  dotted  with 
bullets,  the  t's  crossed  with  javelins,  the 
flourish  after  her  signature  as  long  and 
elaborately  curlicued  as  the  whip-lash  of 
a  Wild  West  cow-boy. 

THE    POET 
The  poet's  noblest  duty  is, 

Whatever  theme  he  sings, 
To  draw  the  soul  of  beauty  forth 

From  unconsidered  things. 

That,  howso'er  despised  may  be 
The  humblest  form  of  earth, 

His  kindly  sympathy  may  weave 
A  halo  round  its  birth. 

For  deepest  in  creation's  midst 

The  rarest  treasure  lies, 
And  deeper  than  all  science  delves 
May  reach  the  poet's  eyes. 

And,  with  poetic  instinct  fired, 
He  finds  his  greatest  art 

In  raising  Nature's  hidden  gems 
To  set  them  in  his  art. 

A.    I.    MENKEN. 

^ 
Menken  made  many  friends  among  the 


484 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


THE     FAMOUS       PHOTOGRAPH       OF       MENKEN       AND      DUMAS,     THE     ELDER, 

TAKEN     FOR     PRIVATE     CIRCULATION     ONLY,     BUT     IMITATED     AND 

CARICATURED     AND     SOLD     EVERYWHERE     JN      PARIS 


LA    BELLE   MENKEN 


485 


AUTOGRAPHS    OF    MENKEN    AND    DUMAS    ON    THE    BACK    OF   MR.  STODDARD'S 
COPY     OF     THE     PRECEDING     PHOTOGRAPH 


486 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


literary  and  artistic  celebrities  of  Lon- 
don and  Paris.  It  was  rumored  that  the 
poet  Swinburne  and  many  of  the  lesser 
literary  lights  of  London  had  fallen  under 
her  spell.  After  her  death,  when  in- 
famous libels  were  printed  freely  and  her 
name  became  a  jest  on  the  lips  of 
scoffers,  more  than  one  clergyman  stood 
up  in  indignation  to  utter  a  protest  in 
the  name  of  chivalry  and  of  common 

humanity. 

J* 

It  is  easy  to  lose  one's  reputation  in 
the  glare  of  the  footlights.  If  they  were 
to  turn  their  blinding  rays  upon  the  in- 
quisitive throngs  in  the  pit,  the  boxes 
or  the  gallery,  how  many  revelations 
would  add  interest  to  the  inner  lives  of 
our  nameless  neighbors. 

As  for  the  much  discussed  photograph 
of  Menken  and  Dumas,  the  elder,  the 
only  original  is  here  reproduced.  Its 
history  is  this:  They  were  photographed 
for  their  own  pleasure  and  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  their  friends,  and  the  picture  was 
never  intended  for  publication.  Some- 
one obtained  a  copy— no  copies  were 
for  sale — and  finding  a  man  and  woman 
with  figures  resembling  the  originals, 
these  were  posed  like  lay  figures  in 
several  attitudes,  some  of  them  quite  in- 
decent; faces  of  Dumas  and  Menken 
were  attached  to  the  figures,  the  whole 
rephotographed  and  the  copies  offered 
to  the  public.  The  shops  were  flooded 
with  them  and  though  an  effort  was  made 
to  suppress  them,  it  was  decided  by  the 
courts  that  they  came  under  the  head  of 
caricatures  and  the  sale  went  on. 

All  this  breathes  of  the  days  that  are 
no  more.  Then  came  the  story  of  a 
great  feast  that  ended  with  a  fatality.  It 
was  told  how,  bereft  of  friends,  sick  and 
in  poverty,  the  wasted  body  of  the  Men- 
ken was  borne  to  a  nameless  grave,  fol- 
lowed only  by  the  noble  animal  that  had 
played  his  part  so  many  times  with  her 
in  "Mazeppa,"  and  one  servant  who  was 
faithful  unto  death. 

This  was  in  no  wise  the  case.     Adah 


Isaacs  Menken  died  peacefully  in  the 
Paris  that  she  loved,  on  the  tenth  of 
August,  1868,  attended  by  the  ministers 
of  her  adopted  faith,  the  Jewish. 

So,  many  years  ago,  passed  from 
mortal  vision  all  that  was  known  to  the 
pleasure-loving  public  as  La  Belle  Men- 
ken. For  a  little  time  her  body  lay  in 
the  stranger's  bury  ing-ground  at  Pere  la 
Chaise,  but  later  it  was  removed  to 
Mont  Parnasse  cemetery,  where  it  now 
lies,  a  handful  of  dust,  hidden  away  in 
an  obscure  corner;  and  above  it,  cut  in 
marble,  as  she  desired  that  it  should  be, 
her  final  appeal  to  her  Creator,  her  fare- 
well to  the  uncharitable  world  —  her  last 
word  — 

"THOU    KNOWEST!" 


I  want  to  add  to  this  tribute  some- 
thing of  her  own;  something  as  charac- 
teristic as  anything  she  ever  gave  to 
the  reading  world.  It  was,  of  course, 
not  intended  for  publication,  but  I  feel 
sure  she  will  forgive  since  it  so  pathetic- 
ally appeals  to  all  who  would  believe  in 
her  goodness: 

"My  Poet— 

"Your  letter  and  poems  came  just 
today,  when  kind  and  beautiful 
things  were  so  much  needed  in  ray 
heart.  That  letter  and  your  thrill- 
ing poems  have  fulfilled  their  mis- 
sion: I  am  lifted  out  of  my  sad, 
lonely  self,  and  reach  my  heart  up 
to  the  affinity  of  the  true,  which  is 
always  the  beautiful. 

"I  am  not  in  the  condition  to  tell 
you  all  the  impressions  your  poems 
have  made  upon  me.  I  have  today 
fallen  into  the  bitterness  of  a  sad, 
reflective  and  desolate  mood.  You 
know  I  am  alone,  and  that  I  work, 
and  without  sympathy;  and  that  the 
unshrined  ghosts  of  wasted  hours 
and  of  lost  loves  are  always  tugging 
at  my  heart. 

"I  know  your  soul!     It  has  met 


LA    BELLE    MENKEN 


487 


mine  somewhere  in  the  starry  high- 
way of  thought.  You  must  often 
meet  me,  for  I  am  a  vagabond  of 
fancy  without  name  or  aim.  I  was 
born  a  dweller  in  tents;  a  reveler  in 
the  'tented  habitation  of  war'; 
consequently,  dear  poet,  my  views 
of  life  and  things  are  rather  dis- 
reputable in  the  eyes  of  the  'just'. 
I  am  always  in  bad  odor  with  peo- 
ple who  don't  know  me,  and  startle 
those  who  do.  Alas! 

"I  am  a  fair  classical  scholar,  not 
a  bad  linguist,  can  paint  a  respect- 
able portrait  of  a  good  head  and 
face,  can  write  a  little  and  have 
made  successes  in  sculpture;  but 
for  all  these  blind  instincts  for  art, 
I  am  still  a  vagabond,  of  no  use  to 
anyone  in  the  world  —  and  never 
shall  be.  People  always  find  me 
out  and  then  find  fault  with  God 
because  I  have  gifts  denied  to  them. 
I  cannot  help  that.  The  body  and 
the  soul  don't  fit  each  other;  they 
are  always  in  a  'scramble.'  I  have 
long  since  ceased  to  contend  with 
the  world;  it  bores  me  horribly; 
nothing  but  hard  work  saves  me 
from  myself. 

"I  send  you  a  treasure:  the  por- 
trait and  autograph  of  my  friend, 
Alexander  Dumas.  Value  it  for  his 
sake,  as  well  as  for  the  sake  of  the 
poor  girl  he  honors  with  his  love. 
O!  how  I  wish  that  you  could  know 
him!  You  could  understand  his 
great  soul  so  well — the  King  of  Ro- 
mance, the  Child  of  Gentleness  and 
Love:  take  him  to  your  heart  for- 
ever! 

"In  a  few  days  I  shall  see  him, 
and  then  a  pleasant  hour  shall  be 
made  by  reading  in  my  weak  trans- 
lation what  I  like  best  in  your  poems. 
We  always  read  and  analyze  our 
dearest  friends  —  but  Alexander 
is  too  generous  to  be  critical. 

"I  shall  not  remain  here  long. 
Vienna  is  detestable  beyond  expres- 


sion.    Ah!  my  comrade;    Paris  is, 
•  after   all,   the   heart   of    the   world. 
Know  Paris  and  die. 

"And  now,  farewell!  Let  me  try 
to  help  you  with  my  encouragement 
and  the  best  feelings  of  my  heart. 
Think  of  me.  I  am  with  you  in 
spirit.  Your  future  is  to  be  glorious. 
Heaven  bless  you.  Infelex, 

MENKEN." 

Ji 

It  is  perhaps  not  surprising  that  a  let- 
ter of  this  character,  whether  it  was  the 
spontaneous  outpouring  of  an  impulsive 
and  ingenuous  heart,  or  merely  the  pose 
of  an  artful  woman  who  courted  admira- 
tion and  would  have  it  at  any  cost, 
should  touch  the  vanity  of  a  young  fellow 
barely  out  of  his  teens  and  swear  him 
her  liege  forever.  I  believe  that  it  was 
a  generous  spirit  that  prompted  the  writ- 
ing of  it;  I  know  that  her  delicate  flat- 
tery did  not  hurt  him  in  the  least, 
though  she  was  at  that  time  one  of  the 
most  famous  women  of  the  world,  the 
bright,  particular  star  dazzling  two  con- 
tinents, and  he  merely  an  aspiring  poet- 
aster. On  the  contrary,  it  inspired  him 
to  nobler  efforts  and  filled  him  with 
a  longing  to  achieve  something  worthy 
of  her  praise. 

When  the  news  of  her  sudden  and 
untimely  taking  off  was  borne  across  the 
sea,  there  was  grief  profound  in  at  least 
one  breast,  by  the  shore  of  the  far  Paci- 
fic, and  his  lute  was  touched  with  a 
trembling  hand. 

His  lines  were  not  worthy  of  her,  nor 
of  anyone  else;  they  were  but  a  poor 
echo  of  Tennyson  who  was  then  his  lord 
and  master,  but  he  had  not  yet  forsworn 
the  gentle  art;  he  was  not  the  reformed 
poet  that  he  later  on  became,  and  per- 
haps nothing  could  better  prove  his  wis- 
dom in  that  voluntary  reformation  than 
the  lines  themselves — so  here  they  are: 

LA    BELLE    MENKEN 

"THE    BODY'   AND    THE    SOUL    DO    NOT 
FIT    EACH    OTHER.',' 


488 


Poor  martyr-soul,  that  was  condemned 
To  penitence  and  wilful  strife 
Through  painful  and  ungrateful  life  — 

To  feasting  in  a  prayerless  cell. 

To  solemn  ways  unreconciled ; 

By  passion  tempted  and  betrayed; 

Thus  early  does  thy  beauty  fade, 
O,  lily  fretted  and  defiled! 

O,  tropic  blossom,  tempest-tost! 
Thy  regal  presence  is  at  last 
Dethroned  before  a  freezing  blast, 

And  all  thy  loveliness  is  lost; 


And  all  thy  splendid  forces  spent; 

And   where  thou    fallest  there 
die 

Thy  fatal  gift  of  witchery  — 
O,  wondrous  life  of  discontent! 


shall 


Now  half  the  world  will  scorn  thy  fate, 
That  feared  the  triumph  of  thy  face; 
Nor  matched   thee   in   thy  matchless 
grace  — 

But  hated  with  a  bigot's  hate. 

Now  dumb  within  thy  shroud  of  snow, 
They  turn  upon  thee  to  defame, 
And  cover  thee  with  boundless  shame, 

And  smite  thee  with  a  coward  blow. 

But  whoso  hath  a  spirit  free 
From  earthly  taint,  will  not  despise 
The  penitence  that  floods  thine  eyes — 

But  turn  again  to  cherish  thee. 

And  never  he  whose  faith  is  sure 
As  was  thy  love,  beyond  control, 
Shall  find  a  stain  upon  thy  soul 

Or  cry  thee  to  the  world  impure! 

AUGUST,  1868. 


THE   SHATTERED   CUP 

By    J.    M.    WHITTAKER 

DENTON,      TEXAS 

WAS  that  to  be  my  only  taste  of  bliss,  — 
That  one  sip  at  the  goblet's  glowing  rim; 
Upon  my  lips  the  white  foam's  phantom  kiss, 
That  chary  hint  of  sweets  below  the  brim, 

Ere  in  my  clumsy  hand  the  chalice  burst? 
Was  that  the  cup  distilled  and  kept  for  me 

Since  time  began?    And  must  I  go  athirst 
Through  all  the  long,  long  years  that  are  to  be? 

Yet  he  that  slowly  quaffs  his  sun-blest  draught, 
Wastes  pity  for  the  dregs  upon  my  head, 

The  death-deep  scars  by  falling  fragments  wrought, 
The  crystal  shards  and  wine-stains  on  the  sand: 

He  cannot  know  that  I  would  not  exchange 
That  brief  taste  for  the  full  cup  that  he  drains. 


THE  WITCH-CROW  AND  BARNEY  BYLOW 

A    MODERN    FAIRY    TALE    FOR    OUR   BOYS   AND   GIRLS 


By    JAMES     BALL     NAYLOR 

MALTA,     OHIO 


( Publication  of  this  story  was  begun  in  January.) 
Ill 

BARNEY  watched  the  marvelous  crow 
until  it  disappeared  among  the  forest 
trees.  Then  he  pinched  himself  to  see 
if  he  was  awake,  and  was  rather  sur- 
prised to  find  that  he  was.  Next  he 
turned  and  looked  at  the  declining  sun. 
It  was  just  sinking  from  sight  behind 
the  western  hills,  and  long,  lank  shadows 
sprawled  along  the  dusty  road,  mis- 
shapen and  grotesque. 

"I  must  be  moving  on,"  the  lad  mur- 
mured to  himself,  a  catch  in  his  voice. 

"I — I  almost  wish  I  hadn't  run  away 
from  home.  I'm  hungry  and  tired;  but 
I  don't  know  where  I'm  to  find  supper 
and  bed.  I  can't  go  back,  though;  I 
can't— I  won't  1" 

He  set  his  teeth,  squeezed  back  the 
tears  that  would  come  into  his  eyes,  and 
resolutely  set  forward. 

"This  penny  I  bless; 
You'll  never  have  more — 
And  you'll  never  have  less!  " 

He  whispered  the  doggerel  rhyme  to 
himself  as  he  wearily  plodded  along. 

"Confound  the  old  Witch-Crow!"  he 
muttered  angrily.  "She  was  just  fooling 
with  me.  The  idea  of  giving  me  a  rusty 
old  penny,  and  saying  I'd  never  have 
more  and  I'd  never  have  less!  Of 
course  she  was  just  fooling— just  teasing 
me — just  making  sport  of  me.  Well, 
I'll  show  her  whether  I  won't  have  less! 
I'll  throw  the  hateful  old  penny  away." 

He  took  the  paltry  coin  from  his 
pocket  and  flung  it  far  among  the  tall 
weeds  of  the  roadside. 
,  "There!  "  he  said  with  a  grin — for  the 
moment  forgetting  that  he  was  weary, 
hungry  and  homesick.  "I've  got  less 
now,  I  guess.  My!  It's  getting  dusk.  I 


must  find  something  to  eat,  and  a  place 
to  sleep." 

He  commenced  to  whistle,  to  keep  up 
his  spirits.  Immediately  he  felt  better; 
and  threw  back  his  head,  jauntily  cocked 
his  hat  over  one  eye,  thrust  his  hands 
deep  into  his  pockets,  and  swaggered 
along  —  striving  to  make  himself  believe 
that  he  was  very  brave  and  cheerful. 

But  on  a  sudden  he  stopped  stock-still 
in  his  tracks  and  slowly  withdrew  his 
right  hand  from  his  pocket.  Between 
thumb  and  finger  he  held  another  penny. 

"Well,  if  that  don't  beat  everything!  " 
he  gasped.  "I  thought  I  threw  that 
penny  away;  I  did  throw  it  away,  surely. 
Maybe  I'm  mistaken,  though;  that  old 
Witch-Crow  has  muddled  me  up  so. 
Well,  I'll  throw  it  away  this  time,  all 
right.  There!" 

He  flung  the  coin  into  an  adjoining 
field.  Then,  slowly  and  cautiously,  he 
he  again  explored  the  depths  of  his  right 
hand  pocket — and  brought  forth  another 
penny. 

"Gee!"  he  ejaculated  explosively. 
"Well,  I'll  try  it  again.  Here  goes! " 

The  third  coin  quickly  followed  the 
second — scaring  a  quail  from  its  nest 
and  sending  it  whirring  away  in  the 
gathering  dusk. 

"I've  heard  of  fellows  having  money 
to  throw  at  the  birds,"  Barney  giggled. 
"I  guess  I  must  be  one  of  those  chaps. 
Here's  another  penny  —  and  there  it 
goes;  and  here's  another  one — and  there 
it  goes.  Every  time  I  throw  away  one, 
there's  another  in  my  pocket  —  and 
always  in  the  pocket  the  Witch-Crow 
dropped  the  first  one  into.  Now  I  know 
what  she  meant  by  saying  I'd  never 
have  less  than  a  penny.  But  what  did 
she  mean  by  saying  I'd  never  have 
more?  I  suppose  she  meant  that  just 


4QO 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


one  penny  at  a  time  would  come  into 
my  pocket.  That's  it.  She  couldn't 
mean  anything  else;  because  I  might 
find  money,  or  earn  it.  Then  I'd  have 
more  than  a  penny,  of  course.  What  a 
silly  joke  to  play  on  a  fellow!  Nobody 
but  a  witch  would  do  such  a  thing.  I 
never  did  take  much  stock  in  witches; 
and  I  don't  take  any  now.  Old  White 
Feather!  That's  what  I'll  call  her— the 
mean  old  thing;  I  don't  care  how  disre- 
spectful it  is.  Just  because  I  said  I'd 
like  always  to  have  money  in  my  pocket, 
no  matter  how  much  I  might  spend,  she 
played  this  mean  trick  on  me.  But  it's 
getting  dark;  I  must  hurry  on  and  find 
supper  and  bed  somewhere." 

He  meant  to  stop  at  the  next  farm- 
house and  ask  for  food  and  shelter;  but 
the  house  and  surroundings,  in  the 
gathering  darkness,  looked  gloomy  and 
uninviting.  So  he  slipped  past  silently. 
From  a  wayside  tree  he  procured  a  few 
ill-flavored  apples,  and  munched  them 
as  he  went  along.  At  the  next  house  he 
stopped  and  opened  the  gate  leading 
into  the  yard.  A  great  shaggy  dog 
barked  and  growled  threateningly  at 
him.  Barney  shut  the  gate  with  a  bang 
and  hurried  on.  At  the  third  place  he 
tried, the  farmer  and  his  wife  were  noisily 
quarreling,  and  the  children  were  crying. 
Barney  listened  a  moment  at  the  open 
door,  then  slipped  away  in  the  darkness. 
At  last,  worn  out  and  thoroughly  dis- 
couraged, he  crept  into  a  barn,  climbed 
the  ladder  to  the  mow,  and  cuddled  down 
in  the  sweet  new  hay.  Quickly  he  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion,  his 
head  upon  his  arm  and  his  cheeks  wet 
with  tears. 

In  the  after  part  of  the  night  a  storm 
came  up.  The  lightning  flashed  wick- 
edly; the  thunder  boomed  and  crashed; 
the  rain  fell  in  torrents.  The  uproar 
wakened  Barney  and  frightened  him, 
but  he  was  so  tired  and  sleepy  that  he 
immediately  fell  asleep  again. 

The  sun  was  an  hour  high  when  Bar- 
ney crept  from  his  couch  and  emerged 


from  the  barn.  The  landscape  had  had 
a  refreshing  bath,  and  looked  green  and 
beautiful,  and  the  birds  were  singing 
and  chirping  cheerily.  Barney's  fears 
and  homesickness  had  gone  with  the 
night,  his  courage  had  returned;  but  he 
was  hungry — so  hungry. 

"I'm  going  to  try  at  this  house  for 
something  to  eat,"  he  communed  with 
himself.  "I'm  almost  famished." 

He  washed  his  hands  and  face  in  the 
cistern-trough  at  the  corner  of  the  barn, 
combed  his  tousled  hair  with  his  fingers, 
and  stood  thinking. 

"What  if  they  ask  me  to  pay  for  my 
breakfast — what'll  I  do?"  he  thought. 
"Oh,  I  know!  Every  time  I  take  a 
penny  from  my  pocket,  there's  another 
one  there,  so  I'll  just  count  out  a  lot  of 
them  and  have  them  ready." 

He  put  his  right  hand  into  his  pocket, 
brought  out  the  penny  he  found  there, 
and  placed  it  in  his  left  palm.  Quickly 
he  again  sent  his  hand  fishing  for 
another  coin;  but  it  came  forth  empty. 

"Why,  there's  no  penny  in  my  pocket 
this  time!  "  he  exclaimed  aloud.  "What 
does  that  mean?  Oh,  I  see!  'You'll 
never  have  more';  and  I'd  be  having 
more,  if  I  had  one  in  my  hand  and  one 
in  my  pocket.  Well,  I'll  lay  this  one  on 
the  curb  of  the  cistern,  and  see  how 
that'll  work." 

He  did  so,  and  found  another  penny 
in  his  pocket.  He  continued  to  extract 
them  and  lay  them  one  by  one  on  the 
cistern  curb.  When  he  had  twenty  or 
more,  he  said: 

"That's  enough  to  pay  for  a  breakfast, 
I  suppose.  I'll  put  them  in  my  left 
pocket,  and  have  them  ready." 

He  tried  to  gather  up  the  row  of 
coins;  but  the  first  he  touched  disap- 
peared before  his  eyes — melted  into  thin 
air,  as  it  seemed — and  was  gone. 

"Well,  I'll— be— doggoned!"  Barney 
muttered  under  his  breath. 

He  was  perplexed — astounded.  After 
momentary  hesitation  and  thought,  he 
tried  again,  and  kept  on  trying.  One  by 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND     BARNEY     BYLOW 


49 1 


one    the  pennies   as   he   touched  them 
melted  into  nothingness. 

"Pshaw!  "  he  grumbled.  "I  don't 
like  to  have  such  a  mean  old  witch-trick 
played  on  me.  I  wonder  if  it'll  be  the 
same  with  any  other  money  I  get  —  melt 
out  of  my  fingers  as  soon  as  I  touch  it, 
like  a  snowflake.  If  that's  the  way  the 
thing's  going  to  do,  I'll  never  have  more 
than  a  penny,  sure  enough — no  matter  if 
I  work  my  hands  off;  no  matter  if  I  in- 
herit a  fortune.  I  think  it's  mean  — 
mean  as  dirt!  " 

Then,  in  spite  of  his  irritation,  he 
laughed. 

"Gee!  Wouldn't  I  make  a  great 
cashier  in  a  bank?  I'd  break  the  con- 
cern in  a  week." 

Sobering,  he  went  on  musingly:  "But 
breakfast  I  must  have,  and  right  away; 
and  I'm  going  to  this  house  to  get  it. 
If  they  ask  me  for  pay,  I'll  have  to  give 
them  a  cent  at  a  time.  Maybe  they'll 
think  me  crazy,  and  set  the  dog  on  me — 
I  don't  know." 

He  crossed  the  road  to  the  farmhouse, 
went  around  to  the  kitchen,  and  timidly 
knocked  upon  the  half-open  door. 

"Good  mornin',"  said  the  motherly- 
woman  who  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. "What  are  you  doin'  so  far  away 
from  home  so  early  in  the  mornin'  ?  " 

"How  do  you  know  I'm  far  away  from 
home? "  Barney  returned,  wondering 
how  the  woman  guessed  the  truth  so 
quickly  and  exactly. 

"W'y,"  she  answered,  smiling,  "that's 
easy  enough.  I  know  all  the  boys  for 
several  miles  around,  and  you  don't 
belong  in  this  neighborhood.  You  slept 
in  our  barn-mow  last  night,  didn't  you?  " 

"Y-e-s,"  the  boy  admitted,  still  more 
surprised.  "But  how  did  you  know 
that?" 

The  woman    laughed  good-naturedly. 

"There's  hayseed  upon  your  clothes," 
she  said;  "then  I  saw  you  washin'  at  the 
cistern-trough.  You've  run  away  from 
home,  too;  nobody  would  be  away  from 
home,  dressed  as  you  are,  unless  he'd 


run  away.  And  you  didn't  have  any 
supper — you  look  hollow  and  weak — and 
you  want  your  breakfast." 

"That's  what  I  do,"  Barney  assented 
heartily. 

Again  the  woman  laughed;  and  the 
boy  smiled  in  sympathy. 

"Well,  we  had  breakfast  by  lamp- 
light," she  went  on;  "the  men  folks 
have  been  off  to  the  fields  an  hour  or 
more.  I  can't  stop  my  work  to  get  you 
a  warm  meal — you  ought  to  have  got  up 
sooner;  but  I  can  give  you  a  bowl  of 
bread  and  milk." 

"Oh,  anything — just  anything'll  do!  " 
Barney  hastened  to  say.  And  he  meant 
it;  he  felt  that  he  was  famishing. 

The  woman  set  her  arms  akimbo  and 
looked  at  the  lad  keenly.  Once  more 
she  laughed,  her  fat  sides  shaking. 

"You're  not  half  as  high-and-mighty 
about  your  breakfast  this  morning,"  she 
remarked,  "as  you  were  about  your 
meals  at  home;  you're  eatin'  humble 
pie.  Well,  it'll  do  you  good;  you'll 
know  more  of  the  world  and  its  ways  by 
the  time  you  get  ready  to  go  back  to  your 
father  and  mother.  Will  you  come  into 
the  kitchen  to  eat  your  bread  and  milk, 
or  shall  I  bring  it  out  to  you?  " 

"I'll  sit  here  on  the  step,  if  you 
please,"  Barney  made  reply.  The 
woman  brought  out  a  large  bowl  of 
bread  and  milk,  and  returned  to  her 
duties  indoors.  The  boy  silently  ate  his 
repast.  Then  he  arose  and  presented 
himself  at  the  door,  with  spoon  and 
empty  bowl. 

"Will  you  have  some  more?"  the 
woman  inquired,  taking  the  articles  from 
his  hands. 

"No,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  he  replied. 
"I've  had  plenty;  and  I'm  much 
obliged." 

"That's  all  right,"  smiled  the  woman. 
"Now  let  me  give  you  a  little  advice,  to 
help  digest  your  breakfast:  you'd  better 
turn  right  around  and  go  back  to  your 
parents." 

Barney  shook  his  head. 


492 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    FEBRUARY,    1905 


"Yes  you  had,"  the  woman  insisted. 
"You  haven't  hardly  any  clothes— and 
no  money,  of  course;  and  you  won't  find 
everybody  as  obliging  as  I've  been. 
You'd  better  go  back  home.  What  are 
you  going  to  do  without  money?  You  — 

"But  I've  got  money,"  Barney  inter- 
rupted her.  "I  can  pay  you  for  my 
breakfast,  if  you  want  me  to." 

"You've  got  money! "  the  woman 
cried  sharply,  a  ring  of  suspicion  in  her 
voice.  "Where  did  you  get  it?  Let 
me  see  how  much  you  have." 

Barney  drew  a  penny  from  his  pocket 
and  held  it  up  between  thumb  and 
finger. 

"Is  that  all  you  have?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes— no,"  Barney  stammered;  "that 
is_I_I_" 

"Well,  speak  out,  and  tell  the  truth," 
she  commanded. 

"I — I  don't  know  whether  it's  all  I've 
got,  or  not." 

"You  don't  know?  "  —in  evident  per- 
plexity. 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  replied.  "I  know 
it's  all  I've  got  now;  but  you  take  this 
penny,  and  maybe  I'll  find  another  one 
in  my  pocket." 

"W'y — w'y,  I  can't  understand  what 
you  mean,"  she  exclaimed,  completely 
mystified. 

But  she  took  the  coin,  and  the  boy 
immediately  brought  forth  another  and 
placed  it  in  her  outstretched  palm  —  and 
another,  and  another. 

"Why  don't  you  hand  them  all  out  at 
once?"  she  asked,  puzzled  and  irritated. 

"Because  there's  only  one  at  a  time 
in  my  pocket." 

"Only  one  at  a  time  in  your  pocket!  " 
she  gasped  in  amazement.  "What  do 
you  mean?  Explain  yourself." 

"I  can't  explain,"  Barney  pouted.  "I 
don't  understand  the  thing  myself. 
There's  never  more  than  one  penny  at 
a  time  in  my  pocket;  when  I  take  that 
out,  there's  another  one  there.  An  old 
crow,  or  witch,  or  crow-witch,  or  witch- 
crow — or  something  of  the  kind,  blessed 


a  penny,  or  cursed  it — or  something  like 
that — and  gave  it  to  me;  and  now  I  can 
never  have  more  than  a  penny,  and  I 
can  never  have  less.  You  keep  what  I've 
given  you;  for  if  I  take  them  they  all 
melt  away  to  nothing." 

The  woman  stood  and  stared— first  at 
the  boy,  then  at  the  money  in  her  hand. 
After  a  little,  she  smiled  pityingly  and 
said: 

"You  poor  boy!  I  don't  know  what 
ails  you,  but  you're  awfully  wrong  in 
your  head  some  way  —  talking  about 
crows  and  witches,  and  blessin's  and 
curses.  Come  in  here,  and  lie  down 
and  rest.  I'll  keep  you  here  till  the 
men  folks  come  to  dinner.  Then  we'll 
send  you  back  to  your  people,  if  we  can 
find  them;  if  not,  we'll  send  you  to  an 
asylum,  to  get  well.  Come  on  in.  But 
what's  your  name?  You'd  better  tell 
me  right  now,  before  you  forget  it;  folks 
goin'  crazy  are  liable  to  forget  their 
names.  What  is  yours?" 

Barney  began  to  back  off,  without 
making  answer,  a  startled  expression 
upon  his  freckled  face,  and  fear  quick- 
ening his  pulses. 

"Here— none 'of  that!"  the  woman 
cried,  making  a  grab  at  him. 

But  he  nimbly  eluded  her  grasp, 
dodged  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
and  was  off  like  a  shot  up  the  hot  high- 
way. And  he  did  not  pause  to  draw 
breath  until  he  was  several  hundred 
yards  from  the  premises. 

"I'll  bet  I  don't  try  to  make  any  more 
explanations,"  he  mused  as  he  journeyed 
onward.  "That  woman  thought  me 
crazy;  and  that's  what  anybody  else 
would  think.  My!  but  I  had  a  narrow 
escape!  " 

Just  before  noon  he  came  to  the  sum- 
mit of  a  high  ridge  overlooking  a  broad 
river  valley;  and  there,  at  his  feet  it 
appeared,  lay  the  city  he  sought. 

IV 

Barney  descended  to  the  valley;  and 
was  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city.  Along 


THE    WITCH-CROW     AND     BARNEY     BYLOW 


493 


the  residence  streets  he  sauntered,  ad- 
miring the  beautiful  flower  beds  and 
velvety  lawns,  and  marveling  at  the  pala- 
tial residences.  He  was  hungry;  but  he 
could  not  summon  up  courage  to  call  at 
any  of  the  fine  houses  and  ask  for  food. 
Sidewalks  and  pavements  were  hot  to 
his  bruised  and  tired  feet,  and  soon  he 
found  himself  picking  his  way  from  one 
shady  spot  to  another,  and  limping  pain- 
fully. At  last  he  seated  himself  upon 
a  bench  in  a  little  park  and  drowsed  and 
nodded — lulled  by  the  tinkle  of  a  spark- 
ling fountain  near  at  hand. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  he  finally 
roused  himself  and  again  set  off  toward 
the  heart  of  the  city.  He  had  no  well 
defined  purpose  in  mind.  He  was  an 
alien  in  an  alien  land,  and  he  had  no 
idea  what  he  was  going  to  do,  or  what 
was  to  become  of  him. 

An  hour's  steady  walking  brought  him 
into  the  business  section  of  the  great 
town.  Trolley  cars  were  whizzing  and 
buzzing  along  their  shining  tracks;  vans, 
cabs  and  all  sorts  of  lighter  vehicles  were 
rumbling  and  jolting  over  the  cobble- 
stones. A  steady  stream  of  people  was 
flowing  along  the  sidewalks  and  trickling 
in  and  out  of  the  big  buildings;  and 
everything  was  hustle  and  bustle,  and 
hurry  and  worry.  The  crowd  seemed 
mad  with  desire  to  go  somewhere  or  to 
do  something,  but  Barney  could  not 
make  out  what  it  was  all  about.  At  any 
rate,  he  decided  the  excitement  was  not 
occasioned  by  his  advent,  for  no  one 
gave  him  the  least  attention. 

He  had  been  in  the  city  two  or  three 
times  before,  and  now  he  recognized 
a  few  familiar  landmarks.  But  all  the 
rest  was  confusion — chaos  absolute— and 
the  country  lad  felt  that  he  was  an  in- 
truder in  the  stirring  hive,  and  the 
thought  overwhelmed  him  with  sicken- 
ing fear  and  dread. 

He  sought  to  get  away  from  the  rush 
and  clamor.  Down  a  side  street  he 
went,  on  and  on,  out  of  the  congested 
quarter.  When  he  had  escaped  from 


the  mad  whirlpool  and  was  in  quieter 
waters,  figuratively  speaking,  he  felt 
more  sane,  and  his  courage  in  a  measure 
returned. 

Just  across  the  street  he  saw  a  restau- 
rant; and  he  went  over  and  stood  in 
front  of  the  open  door,  looking  in.  It 
was  a  grand  place  with  tile  floor  and  rich 
furnishings.  The  sight  of  food  —  the 
smell  of  it — tantalized  the  boy,  but  he 
ruefully  regarded  his  bare  brown  feet  and 
soiled,  countryfied  clothes  and  moved 
slowly  away. 

On  the  next  corner  was  a  fruit-stand; 
and  there  he  stopped. 

"How — how  much  are  those  oranges?" 
he  asked  hesitatingly. 

"Five-a  cent-a, "  the  Italian  replied, 
smiling  and  rubbing  his  hands. 

"I'll  take  one,"  said  Barney,  and  he 
counted  out  five  pennies,  one  at  a  time. 
"You  give-a  penny  one-a   time,"  the 
fruit  vender  laughed;    "you    no  like-a 
let-a  loose  money.     What-a  more?  " 
"How  much  are  those  bananas?  " 
"Five-a  cent-a." 

"Apiece?"  Barney  inquired,  his  native 
shrewdness  prompting  the  question. 

"No— no!"  the  Italian  hastened  to 
say.  "Five-a  cent-a  two." 

The  swarthy-skinned  fellow  was  afraid 
he  was  going  to  miss  a  sale. 

Barney  decided  to  take  two,  and  again 
laid  out  five  pennies. 

"You  got-a  heap-a  penny,"  the  for- 
eigner chuckled;  "maybe  you  rob-a  de 
bank." 

Barney  did  not  appreciate  the  man's 
sally  of  wit;  and  silently  moved  away, 
peeling  and  eating  his  fruit  as  he  went. 
All  the  afternoon  he  sauntered  about, 
from  one  street  to  another,  regaling  him- 
self with  sweetmeats  —  and  drenching 
his  stomach  with  soda  water  and  ginger 
beer.  When  he  was  full  to  repletion,  he 
dropped  down  upon  the  steps  of  a  public 
building,  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  weari- 
ness— if  not  of  complete  satisfaction  and 
content — and  murmured: 
"Well,  this  isn't  so  bad,  after  all. 


494 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


I've  got  money  to  buy  some  of  the  things 
I've  always  wanted,  anyhow.  I  guess 
I  can't  make  much  complaint  against 
old  White  Feather.  1  don't  need  any 
supper,  that's  sure;  I'm  full  and  running 
over.  My!  haven't  I  eaten  a  lot  of 
stuff!  I  wonder  if  it'll  make  me  sick. 
But  I  ought  to  have  a  place  to  sleep. 
Of  course  it's  warm  enough  to  lie  out 
doors;  but  I  don't  like  to  do  it.  I  can't, 
in  this  big  place— I'm  afraid!  I'll  have 
to  try  some  of  the  hotels;  I  don't  know 
where  else  to  go.  But  I  don't  suppose 
they'll  take  me  in;  I've  heard  father  say 
they  won't  keep  anybody  that  hasn't 
baggage  of  some  kind.  And  I  haven't 
any  duds  on  my  back,  hardly,  let  alone 
having  a  trunk  or  valise  full.  I  don't 
know  what  to  do." 

Elbows  upon  knees  and  chin  in  palms, 
he  sat  meditating.  People  passed  to  and 
fro  on  the  sidewalk  and  up  and  down 
the  stone  steps  on  which  the  puzzled 
urchin  sat;  but  they  gave  him  no  atten- 
tion, and  he  was  barely  aware  of  their 
presence.  He  was  thinking  of  many 
things — but  of  home,  principally. 

A  stylishly  dressed  young  lady  in  a 
pony  phaeton  drew  up  to  the  curb. 
Barney  roused  himself  and  observed  her. 
She  sprang  nimbly  to  the  ground  and 
tripped  across  the  sidewalk  to  the  steps. 
But  the  ponies  began  to  stamp  and  paw 
restlessly,  and  she  paused. 

Turning  to  Barney  and  smiling 
sweetly,  she  said: 

"Will  you  mind  them  for  me?  I'll 
be  gone  but  a  few  minutes." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  Barney  replied,  rising 
with  what  alacrity  his  full  stomach  and 
stiffened  limbs  would  permit,  and  mov- 
ing to  the  ponies'  heads. 

True  to  her  promise,  the  young  lady 
was  gone  but  a  short  time.  On  her 
return  she  thanked  the  lad  and  proffered 
him  a  quarter. 

"I— I  don't  want  to  take  it,"  he  mur- 
mured, thrown  into  confusion  by  her 
gracious  manner  and  winsome  smile. 

"What— you  don't  want  to  take  it?  " 


she  laughed.  "You  don't  belong  in  the 
city  then." 

"No,  ma'am;  I'm  from  the  country." 

"I  thought  so,"  she  smiled.  "Well, 
take  the  money;  you've  earned  it." 

Barney,  rather  reluctantly,  for  he  felt 
it  was  too  much  for  so  small  a  service, 
put  out  his  hand  to  receive  the  coin,  but 
no  sooner  did  it  touch  his  fingers  than 
it  disappeared. 

The  boy  stood  stupidly  staring  at  his 
calloused  palm,  and  the  young  lady 
stood  staring  at  the  boy. 

"Did  you  drop  it?  "  she  asked. 

Barney  continued  to  stare  blankly  at 
his  hand,  and  made  no  reply. 

"Did  you  drop  the  money —  the  quar- 
ter? "  she  repeated,  touching  his  arm  to 
rouse  him. 

"No,  I— I  don't  think  I  did, "he  blun- 
dered. 

"You  don't  think  you  did?  " — In  evi- 
dent surprise  and  wonderment. — "Don't 
you  know  whether  you  dropped  it?  " 

"No,  I  don't!  "  Barney  muttered  sul- 
lenly. 

"If  you  didn't  drop  it,  what  became 
of  it?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Look  here!"  she  cried,  giving  him 
a  little  shake.  "You're  not  a  stupid 
boy— a  dunce.  If  you  didn't  drop  that 
quarter  I  gave  you,  where  is  it?  Are 
you  trying  to  play  a  trick  upon  me — to 
get  me  to  give  you  another?  " 

"No,  I'm  not!"  Barney  answered  in- 
dignantly, looking  her  squarely  in  the 
face. 

The  young  lady  silently  searched  his 
countenance  for  a  few  moments,  then 
she  remarked : 

"Well,  it's  very  strange — very  strange, 
indeed.  I  believe  you're  honest — I  be- 
lieve you're  telling  me  the  truth.  You 
must  have  dropped  the  coin.  It  didn't 
fall  into  your  pocket,  or  lodge  in  the 
folds  of  your  clothing?  " 

Barney  shook  his  head,  with  difficulty 
repressing  a  smile  at  her  earnest  per- 
plexity. 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


495 


"Then  it's  on  the  ground,"  she  said. 
"Let's  look  for  it." 

She  began  to  move  about,  slightly 
stooping  and  scanning  the  pavement  a 
her  feet  Barney  joined  her  in  the  hunt, 
though  he  felt  it  was  useless.  The  coin 
was  not  to  be  found. 

"Well,"  she  murmured  at  last,  giving 
up  the  search,  "it's  only  a  quarter — and 
I  don't  care  for  the  money;  but  I  would 
like  to  know  where  it  went." 

"So  would  II"  Barney  whispered 
under  his  breath. 

"However,"  the  young  lady  con- 
tinued, thrusting  her  gloved  fingers  into 
her  purse,  "here's  another  quarter  for 
you." 

"I  won't  take  it,"  the  boy  said  stur- 
dily. 

"You  won't!" — in  complete  astonish- 
ment. 

"No,  ma'am,  I  won't." 

"Why?  "  she  inquired. 

Barney  was  silent. 

"Why  won't  you  take  it — because  I 
questioned  your  honesty?  Is  that  it?" 

Barney  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  you're  an  odd  boy,  and  an 
honest  one;  I  know  it  now.  But  tell  me 
why  you  won't  take  this  quarter.  Why 
won't  you?  " 

"You've  paid  me  once  —  that's  reason 
enough,"  Barney  answered. 

"But  you  haven't  got  the  quarter  I 
gave  you,  so  it  can  do  you  no  good." 

"Neither  would  this  one  do  any  good," 
Barney  replied  dejectedly. 

"Would  you  lose  it,  too?  " 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"Do  you  lose  all  the  money  you  get?  " 
she  inquired  with  keen  interest. 

"I — I  guess  I  lose  it;  something  be- 
comes of  it,  anyhow — most  of  it." 

"That's  odd,  and  you're  odd,"  she 
said  musingly,  looking  him  over.  But  I 
must  be  going.  You're  a  stranger  in  a 
big  city,  and  you  may  have  a  hard  time 
to  make  your  way.  Here's  my  card.  If 
the  time  ever  comes  that  I  can  help  you 
in  any  way,  let  me  know.  You'll  find 


work,  if  you  hunt  for  it,  and  you'll  suc- 
ceed, if  you  deserve  to.  Treasure  as 
precious  the  native  honesty  that  is  yours. 
Goodbye." 

"Goodbye,"  he  returned,  absent- 
mindedly  dropping  the  bit  of  pasteboard 
into  his  pocket. 

The  young  lady  climbed  into  her  con- 
veyance and  drove  away,  nodding  and 
smiling  over  her  shoulder  as  she  went, 
and  Barney  sauntered  from  the  spot, 
muttering  disconsolately: 

"That  settles  it!  Old  White  Feather 
has  fixed  me,  sure.  I  thought  maybe 
other  money  would  stick  to  my  fingers; 
but  I'm  never  to  have  more  than  a 
penny — that's  plain.  And  the  young 
lady  thought  me  so  honest;  and  I  didn't 
dare  to  explain.  I'm  in  a  pretty  fixl 
What  am  I  to  do?" 

He  tramped  the  streets  until  far  into 
the  night,  wretched  and  forlorn,  and 
wishing  sincerely  that  he  was  back  at 
home.  Night  and  loneliness  are  con- 
ducive to  homesickness  and  horrors,  as 
light  and  company  are  conducive  to 
carelessness  and  courage;  and  Barney 
was  more  lonely  in  the  crowded  mart 
than  he  would  have  been  in  the  trackless 
woods.  He  was  afraid  to  ask  for  lodg- 
ing, yet  afraid  to  sleep  out  of  doors.  So 
he  tramped  and  tramped  until  almost 
exhausted,  occasionally  stopping  to  gaze 
into  a  store  window  or  to  snatch  a  few 
minutes  rest  upon  a  convenient  curb  or 
dark  stairway. 

It  was  nearing  midnight.  The  streets 
were  practically  deserted;  all  places  of 
business,  excepting  hotels  and  saloons, 
were  closed.  The  trolley  cars  stopped 
running.  The  lonesome  screech  of  an 
incoming  or  outgoing  train  echoed 
weirdly;  all  other  of  the  clamorous 
sounds  of  day  were  hushed.  Barney 
grew  terrorized  —  he  could  stand  the 
darkness  and  loneliness  no  longer.  His 
lesser  fears  yielded  to  his  greater,  and 
he  entered  the  open  door  of  a  great 
hotel,  and  stood  blinking  in  the  welcome 
light. 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


Several  well  dressed  men  were  sitting 
in  the  hotel  lobby,  smoking  and  chat- 
ting, and  they  looked  up  at  the  boy's 
entrance.  The  night  porter  came  for- 
ward and  gruffly  demanded: 

"What  do  you  want  in  here,  young- 
ster?" 

"I  want  to — to  get  a— a  room  and 
bed,"  Barney  replied  faintly,  trembling 
so  that  he  could  hardly  speak. 

The  men  winked  at  one  another  and 
smiled. 

"A  room  and  bed?"  the  porter  gasped, 
astounded. 

"Y-e-s — yes,  sir,"  Barney  answered. 

"Holee  smoke!"  ejaculated  the  porter. 

Then  he  guffawed;  and  the  guests  of 
the  hostelry  joined  him.  Barney  stood 
embarrassed,  twirling  his  disreputable 
straw  hat  in  his  hands— and  undecided 
whether  to  stand  his  ground  or  turn  and 
flee  into  the  night. 

Attracted  by  the  outburst  of  merri- 
ment, several  more  men  drifted  into  the 
lobby  from  the  bar  in  the  rear,  and  the 
night  clerk  came  forward.  He  was  a 
sallow,  skinny  man  with  sickly  mustache 
and  weakly  voice. 

"What's  the  joke,  fellows?"  he 
squeaked.  "Tell  me;  I  want  to  laugh, 
too." 

"Why,"  the  porter  explained  face- 
tiously, "this  is  Lord  Algernon  Freckle- 
mug  of  Punkintown;  and  he  wants  a 
suite  of  rooms  and  a  bath." 

Then  all  laughed  and  slapped  their 
thighs,  and  began  to  crowd  the  lad,  to 
have  further  sport  at  his  expense.  Bar- 
ney's nature  was  simplicity  itself;  but 
instantly  he  understood  their  designs, 
and  his  Irish-American  blood  began  to 
simmer. 

"You  needn't  think  yourselves  so 
smart!"  he  cried  hotly,  his  small  fists 
clenched  hard,  his  face  crimson,  and 
tears  in  his  eyes.  "I  haven't  done  any  of 
you  any  harm.  I  just  came  in  here  and 
asked  for  a  place  to  sleep,  because  I 
didn't  know  where  else  to  go  or  what 
else  to  do.  I  expected  to  be  ordered 


out;  but  I  didn't  expect  gentlemen  to 
make  fun  of  me.  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourselves;  you  were  boys 
once,  and — and — 

His  voice  quavered  and  broke  and  his 
features  twitched;  but  he  still  stood  de- 
fiantly erect,  his  moist  eye  flashing. 

The  weakly-voiced  clerk  giggled  a  sig- 
nal for  another  outburst  of  merriment, 
but  somehow  it  didn't  come.  One  or 
two  men  chuckled  half  apologetically 
and  a  few  smiled  half  sympathetically, 
but  nobody  laughed.  Then  a  broad- 
shouldered  young  man  with  straight, 
muscular  limbs  stepped  to  Barney's  side 
and  kindly  laid  a  hand  upon  the  boy's 
shoulder. 

"I'm  on  the  side  of  the  boy,"  he  said 
quietly;  "it  is  a  dirty  shame  to  make 
fun  of  him.  If  you  fellows  desire  to 
make  sport  of  anyone,  try  it  on  me  for 
taking  up  his  defense.  I'll  do  my  best 
to  make  it  interesting  for  you.  This 
boy  came  in  here  hunting  a  place  to 
sleep.  He's  a  stranger  to  city  ways — 
that's  plain  to  be  seen ;  and  he  came  here 
because  he  didn't  know  where  else  to  go 
— because  he  was  frightened  at  the  lone- 
liness and  darkness  of  the  streets.  He 
made  his  request  like  a  little  man;  he 
wasn't  saucy — he  didn't  get  gay — and  it 
IS  ungentlemanly  to  make  sport  of  him. 
That's  all  I  have  to  say;  and  any  of  you 
can  take  exceptions  to  my  words,  if  you 
care  to." 

No  one  breathed  a  syllable  in  reply, 
but  all  looked  very  solemn,  and  a  few 
frankly  ashamed. 

The  young  man  turned  to  the  clerk 
and  said: 

"Give  this  little  chap  a  bed,  and  I'll 
pay  for  it." 

"I  can't  do  that,  you  know,"  the  clerk 
objected,  assuming  a  boldness  and  firm- 
ness he  did  not  at  all  feel  in  the  presence 
of  the  athletic  young  man;  "it's  contrary 
to  the  rules  of  the  house." 

"Of  course  I  wouldn't  have  you  break 
any  of  the  rules  of  this  blessed  caravan- 
sary," the  young  athlete  returned,  his 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


lip  slightly  curled.  "But  this  boy  came 
up  from  the  country,  as  I  did;  he's 
homesick  and  wretched,  as  I  was;  he 
can't  find  a  place  to  stay,  as  I  couldn't. 
Ten  years  from  now,  though,  he'll  be 
traveling  for  some  big  firm  —  more  than 
likely — and  then  you'll  break  your  neck 
in  an  effort  to  please  him — to  get  him  to 
stop  with  you.  It's  the  way  of  the 
world.  Well,  if  you  won't  let  him  stay 
here,  tell  me  a  place  where  I  can  send 
him." 

"He  might  try  the  Arcade,"  the  clerk 
replied  humbly;  "ft's  a  kind  of  general 
lodging  house." 

"Where  is  it?"  the  young  man  in- 
quired briskly,  consulting  his  watch. 

"Three  squares  north,  and  two  east." 

"You  hear  that?"  the  young  man  said, 
turning  to  Barney.  "Here!  Take  this 
dollar  and  run  over  there.  I'd  go  with 
you  and  see  that  you  got  in,  but  my 
train's  almost  due— and  I  must  be  off 
to  the  station.  Take  this  and  skee- 
daddle." 

But  Barney  shook  his  head  and  sidled 
toward  the  door. 

"Won't  you  take  it?"  urged  the  young 
man. 

"No  sir,"  the  boy  answered,  edging 
farther  toward  the  door. 

"Why?  "  the  young  man  pursued. 

Barney  made  no  reply  but  kept  up  his 
retreat  toward  the  open  door. 

The  young  man  stopped  following  the 
lad,  and  said  with  a  smile: 

"You're  too  independent  to  accept 
what -you  haven't  earned,  eh?  Well,  so 
was  I."  This  was  touching  Barney  in 
a  tender  spot,  and  he  winced.  Had  he 
not  come  to  the  city  to  get  money  with- 
out earning  it?  "But  I  must  grab  my 
grips  and  be  off.  Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip, 
no  matter  what  happens.  Good  luck  to 
you — and  so  long." 

The  young  man  whirled  and  strode 
toward  the  rear  of  the  lobby,  and  Barney 
slouched  out  into  the  night  again.  And 
as  he  went  slinking  along  the  walls  of 
the  tall  buildings  and  gazing  fearsomely 


into  the  enveloping  gloom,  he  murmured 
brokenly,  a  sob  in  his  throat: 

"He  thought  me  honest  —  that  I 
wouldn't  take  the  dollar  because  I 
hadn't  earned  it  —  that's  what  hurts. 
And  SHE  thought  me  honest." — Mean- 
ing the  young  lady  who  had  proffered 
him  a  second  quarter. — "Oh,  I'm  so 
miserable  I  almost  wish  I  was  dead!" 

"Here!"  said  a  gruff  voice  in  the 
boy's  ear,  startling  him  and  rudely  rous- 
ing him  from  his  introspection.  "What 
are  you  doing  on  the  streets  this  time  of 
night?  " 

And  a  big  policeman  emerged  from 
the  shadows  and  took  him  by  the  arm. 

"I'm  on  the  streets  because  I've  no 
place  else  to  go,"  Barney  answered 
truthfully.  He  had  a  wholesome  respect 
for  the  authority  invested  in  a  police 
uniform. 

"In  that  case,"  remarked  the  officer, 
taking  a  square  look  at  the  boy,  "I'll 
have  to  escort  you  down  to  the  city 
prison  and  hand  you  over  to  the  matron. 
You'll  be  sure  of  bed  and  breakfast  there. 
Come  along." 

"Oh,  please — please  don't!"  Barney 
pleaded,  terrorized  at  the  bare  thought 
of  going  to  prison.  "If  you  lock  me  up, 
I'll  just  die!" 

The  big,  red-faced  policeman  laughed, 
but  it  was  a  kindly  laugh.  Then  he 
said: 

"You  must  get  off  the  streets,  then,  if 
I  don't  run  you  in." 

"I  will— I  will!"  Barney  promised 
with  alacrity. 

The  big  policeman  released  him,  and 
he  sped  around  the  corner,  into  an  alley. 
There  he  found  himself  in  front  of  the 
open  door  of  a  livery-barn,  and  he 
sneaked  in  unobserved  and  tumbled 
down  upon  a  pile  of  straw  in  a  vacant 
stall. 

And  in  his  troubled  sleep  he  muttered: 

"Yes— yes!  I'll  get  off  the  streets! 
Don't  lock  me  up — please  don't!  I'll 
get  off— off— off  the  EARTH,  if  you 
want  me  to! " 


(TO    BB    CONTINUED) 


BEAUTIES  OF  THE   AMERICAN  STAGE 


By    HELEN     ARTHUR 


NEW     YORK     CITY 


XL 
LILLIAN     RUSSELL 

ON  the  corner  of  Thirty-ninth  street 
and  Broadway  in  New  York  City  is 
one  of  Jhe  theatrical  landmarks  —  the 
Casino— the  home  of  musical  comedies 
and  comic  operas,  and  on  its  dingy  stage 
— with  actors  to  the  right  of  us  and 
actresses  to  the  left  of  us,  I  talked  to 
a  woman  whose  greatest  successes  had 
taken  place  right  there — Lillian  Russell. 
She  promised  to  talk  until  the  stage 
manager  called  her. 

"And  he'll  speak  when  he  needs  me. 
I  am  no  different  from  the  rest  in  his 
eyes  when  it's  a  question  of  answering 
cues.  Down  in  the  front  row  is  John 
Kendrick  Bangs,  who  wrote  the  libretto 
for  this,  and  you  notice  he  never  inter- 
feres. You've  heard  the  story  about 
Augustin  Daly  at  rehearsals:  Some  one 
asked  him  who  that  tall  man  was  out  in 
the  last  row  of  the  auditorium.  Mr.  Daly 
turned  and  shaded  his  eyes  and  then 
dismissed  the  question  with,  'That?  Oh, 
that's  only  the  author!' 

"Now,  when  I  am  drawing  the  largest 
salary  I  have  ever  had,  it  seems  odd  to 
remember  that  for  my  first  appearance 
I  drew  fifty  dollars  a  week.  It  was  Mr. 
Tony  Pastor  who  met  me  at  a  friend's 
house  and  to  whom  I  confided  my  desire 
to  go  on  the  stage.  He  said  he'd  give 
me  a  position  at  once.  Then  I  thought 
of  my  mother's  disapproval ;  but  Mr. 
Pastor  suggested  that  I  come  down  in 
my  ordinary  attire,  sing  a  few  ballads, 
and  even  then  I  could  get  back  home 
before  anyone  missed  me.  It  was  a 
great  temptation,  and  I  agreed.  In 
order  to  keep  it  a  secret  I  took  the  stage 
name  of  Lillian  Russell — my  own  was 
Helen  Louise  Leonard;  but  there  was 
mother  to  be  considered.  For  two 
weeks  I  went  unsuspected  and  then  a 


newspaper  man  said  pieasantly  to  my 
mother:  'You  ought  to  see  Lillian  Rus- 
sell, that  English  girl  down  at  Pastor's.' 
Can  you  see  me  in  a  cold  sweat?  My 
mother  went  down  to  the  performance; 
I  hurried  home,  and  reached  there  before 
she  did;  then  I  waited  in  terror  until  she 
arrived.  She  came  in,  looked  me  over, 
and  said:  'Well,  I  think  you  can  afford 
to  pay  for  your  own  music  lessons'  —  and 
after  that  I  had  to.  I  got  fifty  dollars 
a  week,  and  my  first  week's  was  ad- 
vanced to  get  me  the  gown  I  wanted; 
and  I  paid  it  back  —  ten  dollars  each 
week.  Now,  when  my  salary  is  forty 
times  as  much,  I  haven't  any  more  left. 

"They  say  much  of  my  success  has 
been  due  to  my  beauty  —  undoubtedly  it 
has,  but  few  recognize  the  tremendous 
handicap  it  is  to  me.  'Lillian  Russell  as 
Lady  Teazle?  Of  course  she'll  look 
lovely,  but  isn't  it  too  bad,'  etc.  I  say, 
in  defense,  that  mere  beauty  cannot 
succeed  anywhere;  on  the  stage  even 
less  than  other  places. 

"My  philosophy  is  that  of  Marcus 
Aurelius  —  you  hear  sometimes  that  I  am 
a  Christian  Scientist:  if  his  book  is  their 
handbook,  than  I  am  one. 

"I  can  tell  you  what  has  kept  me  at 
my  work  all  these  years;  it  is  not  the 
so  called  success  which  has  attended  me. 
It  is  an  absolutely  childish  ambition 
which  I  can  never  outgrow.  Do  not 
let  yourself  become  blase.  It  is  fatal 
to  one  in  the  end,  if  one  would  give  out 
the  best  in  oneself." 


XII. 
AMELIA    BINGHAM      * 

THE    artistic    temperament   and  hard 

business    sense  —  they    go    together 

rarely  —  yet  Amelia  Bingham    combines 

them    and   has   in   addition  a   strongly 


BEAUTIES    OF    THE    AMERICAN     STAGE 


499 


developed  domestic  side.    The  demarca-      to  learn,  and  I  knew  absolutely  nothing, 
tions  are  well  defined;  her  acting  is  not      Ambition  is  not  a  restful  attribute, 
spoiled  by  her  ability  to  place  her  adver-         "Charles     Frohman    brought    me  to 
tising  judiciously,  nor  does  her  desire      New  York,  and  I  became  his  producing 
to  have  her  plays  correctly  mounted  in-      leading  woman.    No  sooner  was  the  New 
terfere  with  her  knowledge 
that    the  scenic  artist's  bill 
is   inordinately  large;    and 
as  for  her  home  life,   it  is 
a  thing  apart. 

When  I  was  shown  by  the 
butler  into  the  Empire  recep- 
tion room,  I  felt  far  removed 
from  the  atmosphere  of  the 
stage.  I  caught  glimpses  of  a 
carefully  appointed  house, 
and  I  experienced  the  sense 
of  luxury  which  comes  from 
beautiful  surroundings.  It 
was  the  day  after  Thanks- 
giving, and  Miss  Bingham 
confessed  to  being  thankful 
even  for  "interviewers." 
She  is  always  very  much  in 
earnest,  and  her  gracious- 
ness  is  proverbial. 

"It  was  newspaper  praise 
which  gave  me  my  first  en- 
couragement; I  was  travel- 
ing with  my  husband's  com- 
pany at  the  time;  one  of  the 
actresses  left,  it  was  too 
late  to  secure  another,  and 
I  took  her  place. 

"The  principal  thing  con- 
sidered then  was  that  the 
evening  performance  should 
go  on  —  not  that  Amelia 
Bingham  was  making  her 
debut.  The  press  notices 
were  so  kind — no  reference 
to  my  surely  amateurish 
playing — that  I  felt  I  had 
it  in  me  to  be  an  actress. 

"Having  made  up  iny 
mind,  I  went  into  a  stock 
company  in  Canada;  I 
worked  early  and  late  at 
my  parts,  there  was  so  much 


LILLIAN  RUSSELL  IN  ULADY  TEAZLE,"    AT  THE  CASINO, 

NEW   YORK,  DECEMBER   26 

The  Falk  Studio 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for    FEBRUARY,    1905 


r 


AMELIA   BINGHAM'S   LATEST  PORTRAIT 

Photograph,  by  B.  8.  Hopkins,  Denver 


York  run  of  one  piece  ended  then  it  left 
for  the  road,  with  someone  else  in  my 
part,  and  I  was  given  a  new  role  to 
create.  I  was  working  on  new  parts  all 
the  time  while  playing  in  'On  and  Off,' 
'The  White  Heather'  and  'Hearts  Are 
Trumps.'  It  was  a  wonderful  experi- 
ence, and  I  surely  proved  my  versatility. 
I  had  the  best  of  opportunities  to  learn 
the  public  taste  and  I  wanted  to  show 
that  I  could  gauge  it  correctly.  This  is 
a  chapter  in  my  life  of  which  I  am 
proud : 
"Managers  had  refused  'The  Climbers' ; 


I  believed  in  it,  and 
today  the  common 
verdict  is,  that 
Clyde  Fitch  has 
done  nothing  bet- 
ter, if  as  good.  I 
selected  my  com- 
pany, and  the  vari- 
ous  members  — 
where  are  they 
now?  —  Robert 
Edeson,  Mrs. 
Bloodgood,  Madge 
Carr  Cooke,  Wilton 
Lackaye  and  Min- 
nie Dupree  have 
all  been  starred; 
the  rest  have  assur- 
ed positions. 

"It  was  most  en- 
couraging to  see 
the  way  New  York 
turned  out  for  dear 
old  Mrs.  Gilbert. 
You  see  we  players 
give  all  of  ourselves 
until  we  are  old, 
and  then  we  fear 
the  fickle  public 
will  forget  all  about 
us;  but  'Granny' 
seems  to  teach  us 
that  if  it  is  the  best 
we've  given,  we'll 
be  remembered. 

"I  shall  have  a 
York  some  day  and 
of  equal  brilliancy; 


theater  in  New 
another  company 
we  have  gotten  away  from  stock  com- 
pany days,  but  we  are  slowly  and  surely 
returning  to  them. 

"I  believe  in  the  American  woman; 
she  will  be  able  to  demonstrate  that  she 
is  not  lacking  in  business  foresight.  She 
has  no  desire  to  meet  business  men  ex- 
cept on  an  equal  footing.  Sometimes  I 
play  in  a  town  where  the  receipts  are 
not  all  that  I  have  been  led  lo  believe 
they  would  be,  and  the  house  manager 
says:  'Miss  Bingham,  I'm  sorry  you 


BEAUTIES    OF    THE    AMERICAN    STAGE 


haven't  made 
much  on  this  per- 
formance;  I'm 
afraid  you'll  go 
away  dissatisfied 
with  the  receipts 
and  I  would  rather 
give  you  my  per- 
centage than  have 
you  do  that.' 
Would  he  make 
such  an  offer  were 
he  not  .  moved  to 
sympathy  because 
I  am  a  woman  man- 
ager ?  —Thank  you  ! 
no  offer  of  that 
nature  for  Amelia 
B  i  n  g  h  a  m  .  She 
trusts  she  is  as 
good  a  loser  as 
she  is  a  winner." 


XIII. 
EDNA    MAY 

AS  I  sat  waiting 
M  in  The  Greg- 
orian, one  of  New 
York's  most  ele- 
gant apartment  ho- 
tels —  waiting  for 
a  young  American 
girl  who  has  been 
on  the  stage  only 

a  few  short  years  and  yet  has  a  distinct 
following  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic, 
I  said  to  myself:  'Could  anyone  save 
an  American  girl  arrive  at  the  goal  of 
personal  popularity  so  quickly?' 

I  wondered  if  the  contrasts  in  her  life 
seemed  strange  to  her  —  a  childhood 
spent  in  Syracuse,  New  York  —  a  simple 
life  with  its  modest  dissipations  —  little 
Edna  May  Pettie  singing  a  role  in  a 
Sullivan  opera,  for  the  Sunday  school- 
benefit  —  and  now  her  young  womanhood 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  gaieties  London 


EDNA     MAY'S     FAVORITE     PORTRAIT 
Engraved  by  Charles  Bicker 


and  New  York  can  spread  around  an 
actress  such  as  the  much  talked  about, 
photographed,  feted  Edna  May. 

Could  the  change  have  spoiled  her? 
And  then  I  saw  the  daintiest  of  figures — 
all  in  white  broadcloth  and  ermine,  — 
enter  the  brown  reception  room.  There 
is  something  about  Miss  May's  face 
which  is  suggestive  of  an  angel's  —  a 
wistful  sweetness  in  her  expression — a 
daintiness  in  her  manner  which  is  as  far 
removed  from  the  idea  of  footlights  as 
is  the  cherubim  of  Michael  Angelo. 


502 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


Her  stage  manner  is  simplicity  itself 
and  I  was  about  to  discover  that  it  is  an 
attribute  which  does  not  stay  behind  in 
her  dressing  room. 

An  unusually  sweet  voice  and  an  ap- 
pealing way  of  speaking  are  hers  too. 

"You  can  not  know  how  hard  it  is  to 
talk  to  order,  especially  about  oneself, 
and  I  suppose  nearly  every  magazine  and 
paper  has  interviewed  me  —  the  English 
are  quite  as  keen  about  that  sort  of  thing 
as  we  are  here.  Sometimes  I  find  state- 
ments credited  to  me  which  read  like 
fiction — and  it  isn't  to  be  wondered  at 
if  two  columns  have  to  be  made  out  of 
the  story  of  as  short  a  career  as  mine. 

"I  first  played  a  small  part  in  'Santa 
Maria,'  which  Oscar  Hammerstein  pro- 
duced. It  was  a  failure,  and  I  went  on 
the  road  with  Caroline  Miskel  Hoyt;  so 
straight  comedy  will  not  be  a  novelty  to 
me  when  I  go  back  to  it,  as  I  shall  ulti- 
mately. After  that  engagement,  Mr. 
Lederer  offered  me  the  chance  to  play 
in  'The  Belle  of  New  York,'  and  I  was 
told  to  understudy  Violet  Grey,  the  Sal- 
vation Army  lassie.  I  played  the  role 
each  day  at  rehearsal,  expecting  every 
minute  to  have  the  principal  arrive. 
Fortunately  the  stage  director,  Mr.  Ma- 
lone,  who  had  come  over  from  London 
to  put  the  piece  on,  liked  my  work  and 
told  Mr.  Lederer  he'd  be  willing  to  give 
me  the  part  in  London.  That  settled 


the  matter  and  after  the  first  night  no 
one  was  sorry  and  I  was  happier  than 
I've  ever  been  over  any  success. 

"I  am  not  the  least  hardened  to  critic- 
ism, and  when  I  had  played  the  role  so 
long  here  and  then  in  London,  and  I 
knew  my  work  couldn't  help  improving; 
then  to  find  the  same  critics  who  had 
liked  me,  now  censuring  me — I  was  heart- 
broken. 

"The  English  have  taken  kindly  to 
me  in  'Three  Little  Maids'  and  the 
other  musical  comedies  I've  been  in,  but 
I  wanted  to  show  my  countrymen  that 
I  was  earnest  and  had  a  serious  aim. 
I've  evidently  gone  up  some  in  their 
estimation,  for  'The  School  Girl'  has 
been  a  success,  and  I  am  more  than 
anxious  to  show  them  'La  Poupee.'  We 
brought  all  the  stage  settings  for  it,  but 
it  looks  now  as  though  it  would  have  to 
wait — although  I  know  I  do  my  best 
work  in  it.  'The  School  Girl'  will  be 
taken  to  London  for  a  brief  return  en- 
gagement and  then  to  Paris.  After  that 
I  expect  to  appear  in  a  comedy  laid  in 
the  sixteenth  century.  It  is  being  writ- 
ten especially  for  me  by  the  novelist  Mr. 
A.  E.  W.  Mason.  What  I  should  like 
to  do  is  to  play  six  months  in  America 
and  then  six  months  in  London,  for 
though  they're  kinder  to  me  over  there, 
the  Union  Jack  doesn't  thrill  me  as  do 
the  Stars  and  Stripes." 


NO    LABOR-SAVING    MACHINE 

(From  "  Leaves  of  Grass)  " 

No  labor-saving  machine, 

No  discovery  have  I  made; 

Nor  will  I  be  able  to  leave  behind  me  any  wealthy  bequest  to  found  a  hospital  or 

library, 

Nor  reminiscences  of  any  deed  of  courage,  for  America, 
Nor  literary  success,  nor  intellect  —  nor  book  for  the  book-shelf; 
Only  a  few  carols,  vibrating  through  the  air;  I  leave, 
For  comrades  and  lovers. 

WALT   WHITMAN, 


By    DELIA    A.    HEYWOOD 

SYLVAN,     CASS     COUNTY,     MINNESOTA 

THE  story  with  a  moral  they  say's  all  out  o'  date. 
Well!  Well!     The  world's  progressin'  at  an  awful  wicked  rate 
When  people's  mental  palates  crave  sech  high-seasoned  stuff 
As  I've  been  readin'  lately — sech  stories  are  enough 

To  give  one  creepy  feelin's  an'  disturb  one's  peaceful  dreams! 
The  heroines,  like  panthers,  (  full  crueler,  it  seems  ) , 
Can  haunt  a  faithless  lover  to  a  grim  and  gory  death! 
There's  lots  of  action  in  'em;  why,  they  take  away  your  breath! 

No  "goody-goody"  stories  for  the  people  of  today; 
They  like  the  flavor  better,  if  a  little  bit  riskay! 
There's  realistic  fiction,  that  paints  the  common  kind 
O'  folks — as  true  to  natur' — accordin'  to  my  mind, 

As  faces  look  reflected  from  tinware,  bright  an'  new; 

The  features  drawn  an'  lengthened,  an'  kind  o'  sot  askew; 

There's  stories  grim  an'  gruesome  soaked  through  with  graveyard  chill : 

They  bring  the  highest  prices— for  they  show  the  greatest  skill. 

Give  me  the  old-time  novels  of  Arthur  or  of  Roe! 
In  art  they  may  be  lackin',  but  this  one  thing  I  know— 
They  ain't  chuck  full  o'  pizen  to  corrupt  the  youthful  mind; 
An'  that  is  raore'n  I'd  care  to  say  of  this  new-fangled  kind. 


COMPENSATION 

By    CHRISTOBELLE    VAN    ASMUS    BUNTING 

EVANSTON,     ILLINOIS 

RS.' DICK'  KENDALL  wouldn't  Kendall    and    Mrs.    Hudson  found   it. 

be   happy  if   she  did   not  have  Afterward  he  gave  Wednesday  afternoon 

some  one  'on  the  string,'  so  to  speak,"  teas,  there,  to  the  ladies  at  the  hotel, 

said  Mrs.  Potter  to  Mrs.  Black  one  after-  and  Friday  breakfasts,  and  I  don't  know 

noon  at   the  guild   meeting.      "Before  what  all.     I  am  sure  it  was  all  very  silly 

John  Carroll  died,  it  was  Dick  Kendall;  and  foolish." 

then  she  married  him  and  it  was  Teddy  "Does    he    live   here?"    Mrs.    Black 

Carr;  and  now  that  he  is  dead  she  has  asked  quietly. 

taken  up  with  this  Dutchman.     Seems  "He  didn't,   but    it    seems   he  does 

he  is  a  painter.     He  is  not  really  Dutch,  now,"    Mrs.    Potter    went    on    morda- 

you   know.     His  father   was.     He  was  ciously;   "I   am   confident  Mrs.   'Dick' 

born  in  Philadelphia.     Peggie  met  him  is  the  cause  of  it.' ' 

up  on  the  Maine  coast  last  Summer.    He  "I  always  liked  Mrs.  Kendall,"  Mrs. 

had  a  cabin  in  the  woods  somewhere,  Black  said  again, 

and    quife    by  accident  one  day  Mrs.  "Well,  so  did  I;   and  I've  shut  my 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


eyes  to  many  of  her  eccentricities;  but 
I  can't  say  she  is  acting  quite  right  to 
take  on  this  way." 

"What  about  Mr.  Kendall?" 

"Oh,  he  is  blind  to  all  her  faults. 
You  see,  she  married  him.  He  is  very 
much  in  love  with  her— always  was.  He 
is  the  firm  rock,  but  between  you  and 
me,  Mrs.  Black,  I  think  she  is  drifting 
sand." 

"It's  too  bad,"  Mrs.  Black  ejaculated. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  and  Mrs.  Potter  took  out 
her  lorgnette  and  looked  quizzically  at 
Mrs.  Black.  She  folded  the  glasses 
again  with  a  satisfied  air. 

"Yes,"  she  continued,  "he  has  taken 
a  studio  in  the  Harvard  block,  and  I'm 
told  that  a  stream  of  people  are  going 
and  coming  the  whole  time.  She  has 
even  gone  so  far  as  to  use  her  influence 
to  have  him  paint  the  panels  of  the 
library  and  I  believe  he  is  to  do  it. 
too.' ' 

"Is  that  so?  "  and  Mrs.  Black  smiled 
stupidly. 

"Here  she  is  now,  with  Mrs.  Kingsley 
Hudson.  Mrs.  Hudson  admires  her 
very  much.  They  are  the  same  sort. 
Birds  of  a  feather,  you  know.  Every- 
one says  Louise  Spaulding  Hudson 
broke  Teddy  Carr's  heart." 

"She  is  very  pretty,  isn't  she?  " 

"Yes,  she  is  pretty,"  and  Mrs.  Potter 
smiled  and  bowed  sweetly  as  Peggie  and 
Louise  looked  her  way. 

She  excused  herself  from  Mrs.  Black 
shortly,  and  when  Mrs.  Black  looked 
across  the  room  five  minutes  later  she 
saw  Mrs.  Potter  and  Mrs.  Kendall  nod- 
ding and  smiling  together. 

"What  a  concordant  bore  that  woman 
is!"  said  Peggie  to  Louise  as  they 
started  home  together.  "Wouldn't  you 
like  to  go  to  Mr.  Vroom's  studio?  I've 
not  been  down  yet.  Dick  says  it's 
lovely.  Do  you  know,  I  think  I'll  have 
him  paint  the  boys." 

"That  would  be  nice.  Yes,  I'd  love 
to  go.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  saw  Dorothy 
Stevens  yesterday.  She's  prettier  than 


ever. 

"Is  she?  "  said  Peggie.  "Do  you 
know,  that's  the  only  thing  I've  ever 
had  against  her." 

"For  shame!"  and  Louise  laughed 
lightly. 

"Yes,  I  am  ashamed,"  Peggie  re- 
turned smiling — "but  she  was  very  fond 
of  Dick,  too,  you  know." 

"That  must  have  worried  you  dread- 
fully," said  Louise  sceptically. 

Peggie  was  quiet  a  moment. 

"Tell  me— what  did  she  say?  " 

"I  saw  her  only  for  a  minute.  She 
asked  me  over.  She  asked  for  you." 

"I  must  go  and  see  her  some  day 
soon." 

As  they  came  into  the  studio  Mr. 
Vroom  greeted  them  effusively. 

"Oh—  "  and  Peggie  motioned  to  a 
lighted  samovar,  "we  are  just  in  time 
for  tea." 

He  smiled  as  he  asked  them  to  look 
about. 

"I  will  confess  to  you  both,"  he  said, 
"that  I  have  been  wishing  all  day  you 
would  call  on  me." 

"Such  a  cajoler!  "  Peggie  was  looking 
at  a  small  marine.  "How  like  Maine," 
she  said. 

"It  is,"  he  answered. 

"It  is  lovely,"   added   Louise. 

"Do  you  remember  the  day  we  dis- 
covered you?"  Peggie  asked,  looking  at 
him.  "You  were  painting  a  head." 

"Yes,"  and  Mr.  Vroom  turned  and 
took  down  the  cups. 

"And  you  never  showed  it  to  us. 
Why  won't  you?  "  she  asked. 

"Please  do,"  Louise  urged. 

"I  saw  a  glimpse  of  it.     Is  it  ideal  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  no,"  he  answered,  coming 
back  to  them. 

"Let  us  see  it,  please." 

Mr.  Vroom  went  toward  some  can- 
vases in  a  corner. 

"This  is  it,"  he  said,  taking  one  from 
among  the  number. 

"Does  it  look  like  her?"  asked 
Peggie. 


COMPENSATION 


505 


"Very  much,"  he  said. 

"Did  she  not  sit  for  it?  "  Louise  ques- 
tioned wonderingly. 

"No,  I  have  done  it  from  memory." 

"It  is  very  life-like,"  and  Peggie 
backed  away  for  a  better  perspective. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  Louise  mused. 

He  took  the  picture  and  carried  it 
back;  and  Peggie  noticed  he  sighed. 

"Will  the  ladies  have  tea?"  he  asked, 
as  he  came  to  them  again. 

"That  is  what  we  are  here  for;  that, 
and  to  see  the  studio — and,"  she  added 
shyly,  "to  see  you,  too,  of  course." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her. 

"Have  you  had  many  callers  today? 
What  an  odd,  old  chair!  "  and  Peggie 
sat  down. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Kendall,  several  dropped 
in." 

"Are  you  going  to  like  it  here,  Mr. 
Vroom?"  Louise  questioned. 

"I  am  fond  of  it,  very.  I  have  a 
number  of  friends  here,  you  know. 
Mrs.  Stevens  came  in  this  morning  and 
gave  me  an  invitation  to  a  dinner  party." 

"Do  you  know  her?  "  asked  Peggie. 

"Yes,  I  met  them  in  Rome  a  year  ago. 
Delightful  people,  both  of  them." 

Peggie  and  Louise  agreed  with  Mr. 
Vroom,  then  they  had  some  tea,  and 
soon  after  Mrs.  'Dick'  Kendall  and  Mrs. 
Kingsley  Hudson  left  Mr.  Vroom 's 
studio.  They  also  left  with  him  invita- 
tions for  dinners.  When  they  had  gone 
he  turned  the  lights  low  and  lighted 
some  incense  before  a  little  pagan  god. 
He  turned  the  lock  in  the  studio  door 
and  in  a  corner  sat  and  looked  dreamily 
through  the  hazy  blueness. 

II 

Peggie  had  been  in  at  Lyon's,  and  she 
stopped  on  her  way  up  the  street  to  see 
about  the  hall  clock.  Across  the  aisle 
and  down  farther  she  saw  Dorothy 
Stevens. 

Peggie  went  over. 

"What  are  you  buying?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh, 'good  afternoon,"  and  Dorothy 


extended  her  hand.  "I  was  just  going 
to  your  house." 

"Come  along,"  said  Peggie. 

"No,  really,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  I  ought  not 
to.  I  was  going  to  stay  only  a  minute. 
I  wished  to  ask  you  and  Mr.  Kendall 
over  Sunday  night.  Excuse  me  a  mo- 
ment, please,"  as  the  clerk  came  back. 

Then  turning  to  Peggie  again,  Mrs. 
Stevens  asked: 

"Do  you  like  this?" 

"Oh,  you're  buying  a  cigarette  case," 
and  Peggie  smiled  almost  cynically. 
She  was  thinking  of  a  cigarette  case 
she  bought  once  for  some  one.  Dick 
had  all  those  things. 

"Yes,  very  much.  It  is  not  common 
like  the  mermaid  pattern,  or  the  cigar- 
ette girl." 

"I  like  it,"  and  Dorothy  handed  it  to 
the  clerk,  giving  her  address. 

"It's  a  sort  of  anniversary  with  us 
Sunday,"  she  said  to  Peggie  with  slight 
embarrassment,  as  they  walked  out  to- 
gether. Peggie  was  trying  to  remember 
when  Darrell  and  Dorothy  went  abroad. 

"If  you  won't  come  up,"  she  began, 
"come  across  the  street  and  have  some 
hot  chocolate.  How  cold  it  is — more 
like  Fall  than  Spring.  Spring's  very 
early  this  year.  I  mean  Easter.  I  won- 
der if  the  snow  will  never  melt." 

"We  have  had  a  long  Winter,  but  I've 
not  minded  it,"  Dorothy  replied.  She 
was  thinking  how  happy  her  Winter  had 
been  —  how  unlike  her  Winters  used 
to  be. 

"I  must  confess,"  said  Peggie  impa- 
tiently, "that  I  am  tired  of  it." 

As  they  came  across  the  street  some- 
one touched  Peggie  on  the  arm. 

"Hello,"  they  said  almost  together. 
It  was  Louise  Hudson. 

"You  are  just  in  time.  We  are  going 
to  have  some  chocolate." 

"So  glad  I  found  you,"  Louise  said 
warmly.  "Where  have  you  been?  " 

"We've  been  buying  Darrell  Stevens 
a  present,"  Peggie  answered. 

Dorothy  colored  slightly. 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,   1905 


"Yes,  Darrell  had  no  cigarette  case, 
so  I  bought  him  one.  By  the  way,  can't 
you  and  Mr.  Hudson  come  over  for  lunch 
Sunday  night?  We'll  have  a  woodcock 
or  'rabbit'  or  something  —  and  music, 
you  know — just  a  few.  I  thought  I'd 
ask  Mr.  Remington  and  Mr.  Vroom." 

They  had  found  a  table,  and  after  giv- 
ing the  order  and  having  looked  about 
just  a  little,  Peggie  turned  to  Dorothy 
and  said: 

"What  do  you  know  about  Mr. 
Vroom?" 

"Only  what  he  has  told  us,"  Dorothy 
replied. 

"Oh,"  said  Peggie,  "that's  not  much, 
I  suppose." 

"Why,  I  don't  mind  telling  you," 
Dorothy  went  on,  as  she  took  a  sip  of 
her  chocolate. 

"Please  tell  us,"  urged  Louise. 

"We  met  him  in  Rome,  you  know." 

"Yes." 

"It  was  most  peculiar.  Darrell  and 
I  had  been  going  about  a  great  deal  the 
day  before  and  I  did  not  get  up  till 
noon.  He  rose  even  earlier  than  usual 
and  went  to  prowl  in  some  ruins.  There 
he  stumbled  across  Mr.  Vroom.  He 
was  painting  a  head." 

Louise  and  Peggie  looked  at  one  an- 
other. 

"'It's  the  eyes,'  he  mused  aloud, 
'I  can't  get  the  eyes.' 

"Darrell  thought  he  was  speaking  to 
him,  and  he  came  nearer  and  said  some- 
thing. Mr.  Vroom  was  very  much  sur- 
prised. Darrell  said  he  even  seemed 
startled,  but  he  only  said,  'Oh,  I 
thought  myself  alone.' 

"Darrell  said  he  stood  there  several 
seconds  and  then  he  asked  Mr.  Vroom 
where  his  model  was. 

"'I  am  doing  it  from  memory,'  he 
said;  'that  is  why  it  is  so  difficult.'  " 

"How  queer!"  said  Peggie.  "Do 
you  know,  Louise  and  I  found  him,  last 
Summer,  working  on  that  same  head? 
He  told  us  afterward  he  did  it  fyom, 
memory." 


"How  romantic!  "  said  Louise. 

"It's  tragic",  said  Dorothy. 

"Why,  who  is  it?  "  asked  Peggie. 

"His  wife,"  Dorothy  answered. 

"Oh,  I  never  dreamed  he  was 
married!"  Louise  exclaimed. 

"Where  is  she?"  Peggie  asked  again. 

"She  is  dead,"  Dorothy  went  on. 

"It's  most  pathetic.  You  know  how 
people  will  appeal  to  you  sometimes? 
Well,  that's  the  way  he  felt  that  morning 
about  Darrell.  He  told  him  all  about 
it-" 

"Oh,  please  go  on,"  said  Louise  as 
Dorothy  hesitated. 

"It  seems,"  Dorothy  continued,  "that 
she  was  inclined  to  be  jealous.  He 
being  an  artist  found  beauty  for  beauty's 
sake,  regardless  of  time  or  place,  and, 
it  seems  that  he  became  attracted  to 
a  Japanese  girl  whom  they  met  on  their 
travels  and  so  he  arranged  to  have  her 
sit  for  him." 

"Quite  natural,"  Peggie  said,  appre- 
ciatively. 

"Surely  she  could  not  take  exception 
to  that,"  Louise  interposed. 

"No,"  answered  Dorothy,  "not  that 
exactly,  but  he  told  Darrell  that  she  was 
very  fascinating.  Had  an  'oriental 
coquetry,'  he  said,  'that  was  entirely  her 
own.' ' 

"I  fancy  he  was  in  love  with  her," 
Louise  ventured. 

"No,"  and  Dorothy  rested  with  her 
her  first  fingers  against  her  cheek,  "I 
don't  think  so.  It  was  the  artistic  tem- 
perament. She  appealed  to  that  sense." 

"What  came  of  it?  "  asked  Peggie. 

"It  ended  in  his  wife's  death.  She 
threw  herself  into  the  river.  He  found 
her  himself." 

"How  awful!  "  and  Louise  looked  ter- 
rified. 

"And  then?"  Peggie  questioned. 

"He  realized  his  folly — or  rather  his 
neglect;  and  he  has  been  trying  ever 
since  to  paint  her." 

"Paint  whom?  "  Louise  asked. 

"His  wife.     She  must  have  been  very 


COMPENSATION 


507 


beautiful,  but  he  told  Darrell  he  never 
realized  it  till  it  was  too  late." 

"And  the  Japanese  girl  ?  " 

"Oh,  he  forgot  her  straightway." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie,  "she  was  but  a 
fancy,  of  course.  His  wife  was  the 
simple,  sweet,  unassuming  sort,  I  sup- 
pose. Men  don't  care  for  women  like 
that  —  until  they  are  gone.  He  could 
have  lived  with  her  a  hundred  years  and 
they  would  not  have  been  happy.  It  was 
her  goodness  that  afterward  he  missed. 
Good  people  are  not  interesting,  you 
know  —  and  a  man  like  Mr.  Vroom 
couldn't  live  with  a  good  woman." 

"How  you  talk,  Peggie,"  and  Louise 
looked  at  her  reprovingly. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  Peggie 
went  on.  "If  she  had  been  just  a  little 
more  selfish  herself — a  little  more  pagan 
— not  really  pagan,  you  know — not  that, 
but  willing  to  be.  Men  like  women  they 
can  teach  —  not  women  who  demand  too 
much.  I  mean  in  this  way. " 

"I  suppose  you  must  be  right,  Mrs. 
'Dick,'  "  Dorothy  said.  "You  generally 
are  in  matters  of  this  sort." 

"I  know  I'm  right,"  said  Peggie. 
"There  are  two  kinds  of  goodness. 
Goodness  of  omission  and  goodness  of 
commission;  and  it's  more  unselfish  to 
give  than  to  take,  isn't  it?  It's  all 
a  matter  of  intellect — of  brain  growth." 

Dorothy  pushed  her  cup  to  the  center 
of  the  table.  "I  believe  you're  right, 
Mrs.  'Dick,'  "  she  said  rising. 

They  all  went  together  into  the  street. 
It  was  growing  dark  and  the  shops  were 
lighted. 

"Let  us  go  for  the  boys,"  Louise  sug- 
gested. 

"I  can't,"  said  Peggie,  "I  have  an 
errand  on  Grove  street.  I  think  I'll  take 
this  car.  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"You  will  come  on  Sunday?  "  asked 
Dorothy. 

"No,"  and  Peggie  looked  serious. 
"We  can't.  John  is  to  be  confirmed 
Sunday,  and  I  am  going  to  spend  that 
day  with  him.  Thanks,  though,  and  we 


shall  come  soon." 

"John  is  a  nice  boy,"  said  Dorothy. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Peggie.  "John  is  like 
his  father." 

Peggie  looked  blankly  away  in  space 
for  a  moment  and  Dorothy  and  Louise 
watched  her  in  silence. 

"Here  is  my  car,"  she  said  suddenly, 
and  Peggie  got  on. 

"Goodnight,"  she  called  from  the 
step. 

"Goodnight,"  they  said  in  evident 
seriousness.  They  turned  and  went  to- 
gether down  the  street.  Dorothy  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

"Then  she  has  one  in  her  closet,  too," 
she  mused  slowly. 

"You  have  none  in  yours?"  Louise 
returned. 

"Mine  is  a  memory.  It  is  a  ghost," 
and  Mrs.  Stevens  sighed. 

"And  mine  is  a  cross,"  Louise  added. 

"A  cross?"  Dorothy  looked  at  her 
wonderingly.  • 

"Yes,"  Louise  resumed;  "I  should 
like  a  child." 

They  were  both  silent  again.  When 
they  reached  the  corner  Louise  said: 

"I  must  turn  here." 

"You  will  come  Sunday?  "  Dorothy 
asked. 

"Can't  you  postpone  it?  Then  Peggie 
can  come,  too.  Things  never  are  quite 
satisfactory  when  Peggie  is  not  along." 

"You  are  right,"  agreed  Dorothy. 
"One  week  later,  then,"  and  Mrs. 
Stevens  and  Mrs.  Hudson  each  went 
her  own  way  home. 


After  Peggie  had  done  her  errand  she 
walked  home.  It  was  quite  dark  now 
and  it  had  begun  to  snow  again.  As 
she  came  to  the  park  she  saw  Mr.  Vroom 
crossing  the  avenue.  She  waited  for 
him. 

"Good  evening,"  she  said,  as  he 
came  up  to  her. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Kendall.  This, 
is  indeed  an  unexpected  pleasure." 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


"You  are  walking  home?"  Peggie 
asked. 

Mr.  Vroom  assented. 

"And  you  can  just  as  well  walk  my 
way.  Do  you  know,"  Peggie  went  on, 
"I'm  very  glad  you  came  by  just  now. 
Do  you  ever  feel  sometimes  a  sort  of 
nearness  to  certain  people?  Like  you 
had  something  in  common — a  bond  of 
sympathy  you  know?  " 

"Yes,"  and  Mr.  Vroom  looked  at 
Peggie  squarely,  "I  understand  you." 

"Well,  then,"  and  Peggie  fastened  her 
collar  tighter.  "It's  gotten  very  cold, 
hasn't  it?  I  was  about  to  say  that  I — 
please  do  not  misunderstand  me — that 
I  felt  a  sympathy  for  you." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  graciously.  He 
was  thinking  over  what  Peggie  had  said. 

"It's  about  that  portrait,"  she  went 
on.  "I  wished  you  to  know  that  I  sym- 
pathized with  you." 

"You  know  then?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  Peggie  continued,  "I  too  have 
a  Nemesis."  Then  she  added  slowly, 
"but  did  you  ever  think  that  without  it 
you  could  never  have  understood." 

"Yes,  I  have  thought  that." 

"Then,  after  all,  you  do  not  care  so 
much." 

"But  I  like  to  care",  he  said  to  her 
earnestly.  "It  gives  me  a  principle.  It 
seems  to  make  me  have — oh,  an  unsat- 
isfied satisfaction." 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Peggie,  "our 
selfish  nature  demands  it.  We  feel  that 
the  present  is  too  good— or  we  do  not 
know  how  good  it  is — and  we  have  fears 
and  hunt  for  a  penance." 

"You  are  a  pihlosopher,"  he  said 
smiling. 

Peggie  looked  at  him.  "What  a  failure 
he  is!"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  could 
have  imagined  he  had  some  depth." 
"No,"  and  Peggie  looked  away  again, 
"I  am  only  rambling  like  the  man  in 
the  song." 

Peggie's  conversation  with  Mr  Vroom 
never  before  had  been  along  this  line. 
She  had  picked  him  up  since  that  day 


when  she  and  Louise  Hudson  found  him 
in  the  woods,  and  she  had  thought  to 
"bring  him  out."  Peggie  enjoyed  the 
harmless  notoriety  things  of  this  sort 
gave  her.  Once,  when  she  was  a  girl, 
she  had  "brought  out"  a  backward 
young  man.  He  afterward  married 
a  charming  girl — after  he  had  thought 
his  heart  irreparably  broken.  Peggie 
knew  Mr.  Vroom  was  not  so  inexperi- 
enced, and  she  did  not  mean  that  he 
should  fall  in  love  with  her,  of  course. 
Her  day  for  that  was  over.  She  thought, 
perhaps,  that  he  was  new  and  different 
and  would  be  an  acquisition  to  their  set; 
the  credit  would  be  hers;  but  when 
Dorothy  Stevens  told  her  so  much  about 
him,  she  began  to  fancy  that,  perhaps, 
after  all,  she  had  not  met  him  purpose- 
lessly— perhaps,  though  she  had  in  a 
way  forgotten  it,  perhaps,  after  all,  she 
could  give  him  the  sympathy  she  fancied 
he  was  sighing  for — perhaps  behind  it  all 
his  heart  was  broken  —  and  she  knew 
what  that  meant.  She  had  lost  and  suf- 
fered and — regretted.  Peggie  was  think- 
ing all  this  when  she  accidently  met  Mr. 
Vroom;  and  so  she  had  given  him  what 
she  imagined  he  was  looking  for — and 
he  had  not  been  needy  or  worthy.  He 
had  not  understood — or  maybe  he  did 
not  wish  to  understand. 

She  was  regretful,  very  regretful  that 
she  had  spoken  to  him.  They  had  come 
to  Washington  street  and  it  was  snowing 
hard.  Under  the  street  light  Peggie 
noticed  Mr.  Vroom  had  a  weak  chin. 

"Won't  you  come  in  for  dinner?  "  she 
asked  as  they  came  to  the  Kendall  gate. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  "but  I  cannot 
tonight.  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Kendall, 
there  was  something  about  her  like 
you?" 

"Yes,  we  women  have  much  in  com- 
mon," she  answered.  She  intended 
being  sarcastic. 

"I  believe  it  was  the  eyes,"  he  ven- 
tured further. 

Peggie  affected  not  to  hear  him. 

"How  it  snows!      Good  night,"   she 


COMPENSATION 


••aid. 

"How  stupid!  "  she  murmured  to  her- 
self as  she  went  up  the  walk.  "I  wish 
I  had  said  nothing.  It's  so  discomfit- 
ting  to  be  misunderstood.  And,  after 
all,  I  fancy  we  imagine  more  than  we 
have  a  right  to." 

Ill 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  as  Peggie  came 
inside,  "we  began  to  feel  like  a  lot  of 
orphans." 

"I've  been  walking  up  Washington 
with  your  friend,  Mr.  Vroom.  I  asked 
him  for  dinner,  but  he  declined.  I  am 
not  quite  sure  that  I  like  him,"  and 
Peggie  took  off  her  wraps.  "Seems  to 
me,  there's  a  shallowness  about  him. 
I  could  have  imagined  he  had  a  great 
soul;  but  I  fancied  tonight  he  did  not 
care  much." 

"Perhaps  it  is  his  way.  Sometimes 
people  are  ashamed  to  show  their 
hearts." 

"I  think  he  has  none,"  and  Peggie 
smiled  faintly.  "You  don't  understand 
me,"  she  said,  sitting  on  a  hall  seat  and 
smoothing  out  her  gloves,  "but  I  heard 
today  that  his  wife  died  of  a  broken 
heart,  and  he  doesn't  seem  to  care  much. 
Do  you  know,  I  fancied  he  made  light 
of  it,  even?  He  compared  her  to  me." 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "what  greater 
thing  could  he  do." 

"Oh,  but  Dick,  if  I  had  killed  my- 
self, you  would  not  have  compared  me 
to — well,  to  her,  for  instance." 

"  But  you  would  never  have  done  that, 
Peggie.  Don't  blame  poor  Vroom.  He 
was  only  hunting  a  solace." 

"Maybe  I  was  a  little  hard;  and  when 
one  thinks  one  has  found  it,  the  least  we 
can  do,  I  suppose,  is  to  help  on  the  illu- 
sion. We  are  always  awaiting  or  regret- 
ting something,  anyway." 

"A  great  many  years  ago  I  might  have 
agreed  with  you,  Peggie.  I  have  no 
longings  or  regrets  now  —  unless  it  is 
I  did  not  get  you  sooner." 

"It's  gotten  so  wet  out,"  she  went  on. 


Then  as  they  came  into  the  living  room 
Peggie  said,  turning  to  the  children: 

"Here  John,  I've  brought  you  some- 
thing." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  mother,"  said  the 
boy  as  he  undid  the  package. 

"See,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  brother, 
"it  is  a  prayer  book." 

Peggie  stood  with  Dick  in  the  door- 
way, watching  them.  A  dark  and  light 
head  bent  over  the  new  gift.  Dick  and 
Peggie  were  both  smiling. 

"What  a  happy  family  we  are,"  said 
Dick. 

"Yes,"  answered  Peggie  slowly  — 
"happier  than  we  realize." 

Dick  led  her  to  the  fireplace. 

"Kingsley  Hudson's  got  a  new  yacht," 
he  said,  "and  he  is  going  to  name  it 
after  you." 

"After  me?"  and  Peggie  looked  her 
surprise. 

"Yes;  why  not?"  asked  Dick.  Didn't 
I  always  say  you  were  the  most  charming 
woman  anywhere?  Louise  told  'King' 
she  thought  'Peggie'  was  the  best  name 
they  could  find.  And  she  said  she 
'hoped  it  would  weather  the  winds  as 
well  as  Peggie  always  had.'  ' 

"I  never  dreamed  Louise  cared  so 
much  for  me,"  Peggie  said,  looking  at 
the  fire.  "I  guess  I'm  not  very  appre- 
ciative." 

"We  none  of  us  are,"  said  Dick, 
kicking  the  toe  of  his  shoe  against  the 
fender.  "I  tell  you  what  —  this  is  a 
pretty  good  old  world,  and  if  we  go  half 
way,  we're  sure  to  find  the  other  person 
waiting.  Why,  if  you  hadn't  .come  half- 
way, I  never  would  have  had  you." 

Peggie  smiled. 

"Dick,"  she  said  gaily,  "if  you  did 
not  look  so  serious  I'd  think  you  joking. 
Come,  let  us  have  dinner.  I'm  hungry 
as  a  bear." 

"And  we  are  all  invited  for  a  long 
cruise  next  Summer,"  said  Dick,  as  he 
held  Peggie's  chair  for  her  in  the  dining 
room.  "Think  of  the  soft,  warm  breezes. 
Seems  good  on  a  night  like  this." 


$10 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


"Dick,  you  are  a  great  idler,"  said 
Peggie,  looking  up  at  him. 

He  leaned  over  and  kissed  her. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "but  I  am  following 
the  Scripture.  It's  a  command,  isn't  it, 
to  'eat,  drink  and  be  merry? ' 

"  'And  what  shall  it  profit  a  man 
though  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose 
his  own  soul'?"  It  was  John  said 
this. 

Peggie  and  Dick  both  looked  aston- 
ished. Dick  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"You  are  right,  son,"  he  said,  "but  I 
am  not  that  ambitious." 

Peggie  felt  a  queer  something  in  her 
throat  and  it  was  hard  for  her  to  swallow. 

"How  old  is  John?"  Dick  asked 
Peggie  that  night  when  they  were  alone 
in  Dick's  den. 

"He  will  be  thirteen  Monday,"  she 
said  slowly;  "I  am  getting  old." 

Dick  came  and  sat  at  her  feet  and  they 
both  looked  into  the  fire. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  leaning  against  her 
knee.  "I'll  have  to  be  buying  you  a 


granny's  pipe  next;  and  maybe  you'll 
take  to  drinking,  like  that  old  lady 
Teddy  Carr  used  to  tell  about." 

Peggie  laughed  again. 

"I  wish  you  could  have  heard  him  tell 
it  that  day.  Poor  Teddy!  " 

"He  was  a  nice  chap,"  Dick  added. 

A  clock  struck  twelve. 

"Is  it  that  late?"  Peggie  asked. 
"Aren't  you  going  to  sleep  tonight?" 
she  added,  as  Dick  did  not  move. 

"What's  the  use  going  home?  "  Dick 
went  on  dreamily.  "Didn't  your  god- 
mother say  that  at  twelve  your  coach 
would  be  only  an  old  pumpkin  again, 
and  your  horses  all  mice?  " 

"Never  mind,"  Peggie  said  comfort- 
ingly. "You  are  the  prince,  and  I'll 
lose  my  slipper,  and  then  tomorrow  you 
will  find  me,  and  we  shall  live  happy 
ever  after." 

"All  right,"  and  Dick  smiled  at  her 
as  they  stood. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  he  said,  "till  I  turn 
out  the  lights." 


MY   OWN   STORY 

By    BEN    FRANKLIN    BONNELL 

SANTA       ROSA,     CALIFORNIA 

THIS  morning  the  bells  all  rang  and  the  rain  poured  down  in  torrents. 
The  well  dressed  crowd,  with  Bibles,  hymn-books  and  umbrellas, 
Walked  rapidly  out  of  the  Present,  and  back  to  the  age  of  the  Master. 
I  felt  so  contented  at  home, .so  in  tune  with  what  I  saw  'round  me, 
That  I  lingered  in  league  with  it  all,  and  waited  to  see  what  would  happen. 
The  clouds  broke,  the  sun  shone,  and  birds  sang  freely  and  sweetly; 
The  grass  took  more  green,  and  sweet  violets  sent  forth  more  sweetness; 
The  trees  preached — "Bright  Buds"  was  the  text — of  near-coming  Springtime, 
The  rain-swollen  brook  sang  an  anthem,  and  an  old  meadow  lark  led  the  choir; 
The  old  mossy  fence  drank  the  rain,  then  steamed  itself  dry  in  the  sunshine; 
Each  thing,  great  and  small,  from  within  told  its  own  perfect  story. 
I  listened  amazed!  Where's  mine?    I  have  never  yet  told  it! 
A  rough  little  breeze  said:  "Begin  where  the  bells  rang  this  morning." 
No,  no,  that's  not  mine;  'twas  once  mine,  but  I've  lost  it  forever! 
No,  it  never  was  mine;  'twas  reflected  to  me  from  without  mel 
Yes,  I  have  a  story,  and  why  shall  I  not  tell  it? 


MY    OWN    STORY 

The  birds  and  the  frogs  speak  loud  with  royal  assurance, 
The  ox  lows,  the  horse  neighs,  the  cat  mews,  each  his  own  pleasure; 
The  earth-worm,  the  ant  and  the  cricket  each  acts  his  own  thoughts; 
Moses  and  Plato  and  Jesus  and  Paul  each  told  the  story  God  gave  him, 
Then  I'll  stand  upright  and  tell  mine,  because  'tis  the  one  God  gave  me. 
My  story  is  short,  but  'tis  true,  and  pray  you  all  to  hear  it:  — 

There's  a  law  at  the  heart  of  all  things  that  begets  and  reproduces : 
The  heart  of  this  law  —  the  product  above  the  producer ; 
The  soul  of  this  heart  —  its  upward  reach  to  the  Eternal. 
Religion,  morality,  true  art,  all  high  purpose,  is  the  voice  of  this  law. 


THE     COURSE     IN    CRIME    AT    A 
COUNTRY    COLLEGE         Jjj 

By    J.     F.     CONRAD 


DES     MOINES,     IOWA 


COLLEGE  life  is  a  little  world  in 
itself,  filled  with  ambitions  and 
petty  larceny  and  powerful  orations  on 
intemperance  and  Tom  Paine. 

Was  there  ever  a  boy  yet  who  went  to 
college  who  was  not  filled  with  the  insane 
longing  to  steal  something;  particularly 
something  that  was  of  no  earthly  good  to 
him?  If  he  would  find  a  ten-dollar  bill 
on  the  street,  he  would  go  to  the  idiotic 
length  of  advertising  for  the  owner;  but 
if  there  was  an  opportunity  to  steal  an  old 
wagon  or  somebody's  axe,  or  a  barber's 
pole,  he  would  put  enthusiasm  enough  in 
it  to  be  worthy  of  a  case  of  grand  lar- 
ceny. 

I  remember  once,  when  about  twenty- 
two  boys  from  the  institution  were  up 
before  the  mayor  for  stealing  an  old 
Aultman  &  Taylor  threshing  machine 
which  had  outlived  its  usefulness.  It 
seemed  proper  to  make  it  $3  and 
costs,  so  the  mayor  said.  The  money 
was  paid,  but  when  the  boys  left,  the  seal 
of  the  city  vanished;  so  did  the  mayor's 
silk  hat.  If  the  authorities  at  Indianola 
will  make  it  worth  while,  I  can  give 
them  a  few  facts  that  would  make  it 
comparatively  easy  for  a  really  good  de- 
tective to  locate  that  seal.  So  far  as  the 


hat  is  concerned,  I  don't  believe  Mayor 
Schooley  would  want  it.  It  is  out  of 
style  now;  and  even  if  it  wasn't,  I  am 
still  of  the  opinion  that  he  would  not 
care  for  it  if  he  saw  it. 

College  life  is  a  little  world  by  itself. 
A  place  where  delusions  are  hugged  with 
impunity,  and  no  one  to  "make  you 
afraid,"  or  tell  you,  in  a  coarse  manner, 
to  break  away.  Everyone  is  at  it,  even 
the  professors.  A  place  where  a  regis- 
tered letter  from  home  differs  materially 
from  the  one  you  get  from  your  msur- 
ance  company.  What  a  joy  it  was  to 
get  a  letter  from  home,  with  a  ten-cent 
stamp  on  it!  How  it  thrilled  you — and 
your  landlady:  with  the  contents  you 
paid  your  board  and  liquidated  your 
fines,  and  had  something  left  with  which 
you  laid  in  a  supply  of  smoking  tobacco. 
For  the  future  you  placed  your  trust  in 
your  father,  and  afterward,  Providence. 
Then,  maybe,  you  stole  something  else; 
it  might  be  the  radiators  out  of  the  col- 
lege, or  the  front  doors.  It  wouldn't  be 
out  of  reason  to  make  it  a  case  of  high- 
way robbery,  such  as  "holding  up"  a 
junior  or  senior,  and  stealing  away  his 
low-cut  vest  or  his  coat,  that  had  been 
ruined  by  the  tailor  for  use  on  the  farm. 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  FEBRUARY,  1905 


I  am  a  stickler  for  this:  The  law  was 
made  to  bend.  A  crime  is  no  crime 
without  criminal  intent.  No  student 
that  ever  I  knew  ever  stole  with  such 
an  intent.  And  yet,  under  the  arbitrary 
rules  of  law,  there  are  students  that  I 
know,  who,  if  they  had  the  full  benefit  of 
the  law,  would  be  forced  to  view  the  next 
batch  of  Leonids  through  a  set  of  bars. 

Petty  larceny  in  college  is  simply  the 
overflow  of  long-confined  exuberant 

spirits. 

Jl 

Still,  if  I  had  my  way  about  it,  I 
would  have  gone  to  college  for  twenty- 
nine  years  and  never  have  passed  my 
junior  year.  Of  all  the  times  of  mine, 
those  are  the  ones  that  I  dream  about 
most;  not  only  when  I  am  asleep,  but 
when  awake.  Half  the  pleasure  in  life 
for  a  lazy  devil  is  living  it  over  again. 
I  pity  the  fellow  who  has  not  the  time 
to  light  a  pipe  and  lean  back  in  his 
chair,  and  with  his  feet  on  the  desk,  live 
over  again  brief  chapters  of  his  life, 
when  he  laughed  and  loved  and  violated 
the  law.  This  is  sentimental;  and  if 
anyone  desires  to  criticise,  I  will  say 
that  I  am  open  to  criticism.  When  I 
was  in  college  I  had  a  room-mate  by  the 
name  of  C.  W.  Pelican.  That  wasn't 
his  right  name,  but  it  is  the  one  he  went 
by  most.  You  see,  he  had  grown  so  fast 
when  'a  boy  that  he  didn't  know  just 
when  he  was  all  straightened  out;  so, 
formed  a  habit  in  his  youth  of  stooping 
a  trifle.  He  wore  a  coat  of  the  Prince 
Albert  cut,  which  had  a  way  of  dividing 
in  the  back,  and  part  falling  over  each 
hip.  Then  he  resembled  the  bird  enough 
to  suggest  the  name.  It  never  made 
him  mad,  not  even  afterward,  when  he 
took  to  athletics  and  got  straight.  One 
Winter  term  we  concluded  to  room  and 
take  our  meals  at  the  club.  We  called 
it  Andersonville.  We  didn't  get  to  our 
new  room  until  about  dark;  it  was  cold, 
and  about  a  foot  of  snow  on  the  ground. 
Our  room  was  supplied  with  a  wood 
stove,  but  there  wasn't  a  stick  of  wood 


on  the  premises.  We  discovered  a  lot 
of  wood  piled  up  in  a  yard  across  the 
street.  Ours  by  right  of  discovery.  Still, 
we  were  not  sure  enough  of  our  title  to 
wait  until  daylight  to  assert  it.  We  drew 
cuts  to  see  who  would  commit  a  kind  of 
petty  larceny  that  was  entirely  new  to 
us.  We  had  never  stolen  anything 
before  that  we  could  use.  Pelican  drew 
the  short  match.  If  the  duty  devolved 
on  him  he  would  commit  any  crime. 
That  is,  I  mean  any  crime  in  the  stu- 
dents' criminal  calendar.  Crime  is  a 
latent  course  in  every  college  curriculum, 
recognized  but  not  acknowledged. 

I  heard  a  man  say  the  other  day,  and 
his  talk  was  pious,  that  next  Hallowe'en 
he  was  going  to  load  up  his  shotgun, 
and  load  it  right,  and  if  any  boys  came 
fooling  around  his  gate,  or  throwing  corn 
against  his  window,  he  was  going  to 
guarantee  some  fond  father  a  doctor  bill. 
That  man  had  never  been  to  college. 
I  doubt  if  he  had  ever  been  a  boy. 

Well,  Pelican  got  that  pile  of  wood 
between  himself  and  the  light  from 
a  window  in  the  house  on  the  same  lot, 
and  on  his  hands  and  knees  he  crawled 
more  than  a  hundred  feet,  and  a  foot  of 
snow  all  the  way.  When  he  reached  the 
pile  of  wood — I  was  watching — I  heard 
him  swear.  He  raised  up  and  gave  that 
pile  of  nicely  sawed  wood  a  kick,  and 
I  saw  the  snow,  in  the  light  from  that 
window,  shake  loose  from  a  portion  of 
that  cord  of  fuel  and  sift  gently  to  the 
ground.  I  knew  something  was  wrong, 
without  asking  him.  When  he  came  up 
to  me  I  said,  in  a  stage  whisper:  "Is  it 
green,  Pelican?"  "Green!  Hell!  it  is 
tile."  What  a  set  of  chumps  we  were. 
There  was  a  wood-house  full  of  good 
hickory  in  the  rear  of  our  lot.  We  found 
it  afterward ;  and,  if  I  knew  now  where 
the  man  was  that  owned  it,  I  would  offer 

to  pay  him. 

<£ 

There  were  about  twenty-five  of  us  who 
boarded  at  the  club.  Some  of  them  were 
constitutionally  good,  and  could,ask  the 


THE    COURSE    IN     CRIME    AT    A    COUNTRY    COLLEGE        513 


"blessing"  equal  to  a  reclaimed  back- 
slider. There  were  three  such;  and 
they  were  called  upon  indiscriminately 
by  the  manager  of  the  club.  But  one 
day  the  official  starter  was  not  there. 
We  sat  down  to  dinner,  I  think  it  was; 
every  fellow  had  his  fork  in  his  hand 
and  his  eye  on  the  mealiest  potato.  We 
waited  a  minute;  everything  was  a  still 
quiet  hush,  but  there  was  no  starter. 
After  a  few  seconds  the  three  devout 
ones  started  out  simultaneously  with 
"O,  Lord!  bless  this  food."  Then  they 
all  quit.  Then  two  of  them  backed  up, 
turned  the  sand  loose  on  the  track  and 
started  out  again.  A  duet  wouldn't  do, 
either.  Then  one  of  the  over-anxious 
sinners  jockeyed  his  neighbor  and 
planted  his  fork  fairly  in  the  biggest 
potato  on  the  plate.  But  it  didn't  win. 
John  the  Baptist  couldn't  have  received 
attention  as  long  as  one  student  had  an 
unfair  advantage  over  the  plate  of  pota- 
toes. How  that  blessing  came  out  I  am 
not  able  to  say.  I  know  there  was  an- 
other false  start  or  two;  but  when  Daily 
.  planted  his  fork  in  the  big  potato,  for- 
malities were  dispensed  with.  A  fellow 
on  the  other  side  of  the  table— he  preaches 
now  in  Los  Angeles,  California — 
stabbed  the  murphy  at  about  the  same 
time.  It  soared  in  the  air,  and  was 
stabbed  again  and  again.  There  was 
a  regular  stampede;  and  when  it  was 
over  there  wasn't  a  potato  on  the  table; 
but  to  a  casual  observer  there  were  at 
least  twelve  basketsful  on  the  floor. 


Was  there  ever  a  student  yet  who 
went  through  college  that  did  not  meet 
his  affinity  in  the  class  room,  and  fall 
madly  and  desperately  in  love  with  the 
fairest  creature  up  to  date?  Maybe  she 
turned  out  to  be  a  delusion.  (Without 
easting  any  reflections  at  the  lady,  it  was 
probably  one  of  the  delusions  that  he 
had  hugged).  '» 

Pelican  was  stricken;  and  here  is  how 
he  talked  to  me:  It  was  a  girl  he  had 


met  at  the  club.  He  sat  by  her,  and 
talked,  and  incidentally  kept  others  at 
the  table  longer  than  they  cared  to  stay. 
Afterward  the  manager  of  the  club  sepa- 
rated them.  But  here  is  how  he  talked 
to  me:  Pelican  was  young  and  senti- 
mental. I  can  see  it  now.  "Jeff,"  he 
said,  (I  was  called  "Jeff"  for  Jeff  Davis, 
because  I  was  about  the  only  unrecon- 
structed rebel  in  the  college,)  "she  is 
one  of  those  fair  creatures,  where  nature 
shows  what  it  can  do  when  it  tries; 
where  it  unites  all  those  qualities  which, 
since  the  dawn,  man  has  been  content 
to  cast  aside  father  and  mother  and  fol- 
low, Jeff.  She  is  only  seventeen.  Did 
you  ever  notice  her  eyes?  They  are  the 
color  of  those  violets  which  you  have 
met  on  the  farm,  those  that  used  to  grow 
in  the  shade  in  the  moss  around  the  roots 
of  trees."  It  would  not  do  to  disturb 
him,  so  I  let  him  run  on.  "Her  hair  is 
genuine  gold.  The  sun  has  shone  on 
it  some  evening  in  June,  and  its  rays 
have  been  held  in  bondage.  It  im- 
presses me  with  the  idea  that  it  has  just 
been  'kissed  back  from  her  forehead.' 
Don't  you  think  so?  "  I  nodded 
"yes."  "It  makes  me  jealous  of  some- 
thing; and  I  scarcely  know  what."  He 
was  in  a  bad  way,  and  I  knew  it.  I  tried 
to  get  him  to  light  his  pipe,  but  he 
refused.  "Her  complexion,"  he  went 
on,  "is  of  pure  whiteness;  still,  it  has 
a  dash  of  color  on  the  cheek  like  the 
inside  of  a  sea  shell.  At  first  you  would 
think  her  mouth  was  too  large,  but  there 
is  where  you  are  mistaken.  After  you 
know  her,  you  could  not  see  how  a 
smaller  mouth  would  suit  her.  When 
she  smiles  she  uses  all  of  it;  her  face 
lights  up,  and  you  seem  to  see  the  soul 
back  of  the  eyes.  Her  teeth  are  like 
pure  ivory;  and  when  she  smiles  she  lets 
you  see  them.  Her  feet  are  small  and 
round;  and  if  you  are  not  careful  you 
will  get  the  idea  that  they  are  really 
smaller  than  they  are.  And  her  instep — 
Jeff,  your  heart  misses  two  beats  when 
you  see  it." 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


Pelican  was  young  or  he  wouldn't  have 
talked  that  way.  He  went  on:  "She  is 
not  tall,  nor  is  she  short;  and  when  she 
moves  it  seems  to  me  her  motions  are 
controlled  by  a  music  that  you  cannot 
hear.  She  is  one  of  those  few  creatures 
who  look  cool  on  a  hot  day.  And  her 
neck;  did  you  ever  notice  it?"  I  shook 
my  head.  "It  is  like  her  forehead, 
white,  without  being  ghastly." 

Here  Pelican  quit  and  lit  his  pipe,  and 
we  smoked  a  good  bit  in  silence.  He 
looked  at  me  once  or  twice,  like  he 
thought  the  matter  had  been  a  trifle  over- 
done. 

J* 

About  a  week  afterward  he  told  me  he 
had  bought  two  tickets  and  was  going  to 
take  her  to  the  show  that  night.  It  was 
"The  Headless  Horseman,"  I  remember, 
for  I  was  there..  And  the  heroine,  if  it 
had  been  two  weeks  later,  never  could 
have  taken  the  part  she  did. 

It  rained  that  afternoon  and  that 
night,  but  Pelican  had  two  tickets;  and 
what  is  a  boy  who  has  been  raised  on 
the  farm  going  to  do?  Go,  of  course. 
He  did  go;  and  the  girl,  like  a  sensible 
creature,  wasn't  expecting  him.  She 
wanted  him  to  extend  his  call  and  not 
go  to  the  show.  But  there  were  those 
two  tickets.  So  Pelican  said  it  was 
"show  or  nothing." 

That  night  when  Pelican  came  home, 
I  could  see  that  something  had  hap- 
pened. He  was  wet  to  the  waist.  I 
asked  him  how  it  happened.  He  said 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  an  angel 
like  the  one  he  was  with  never  would  put 
up  with  a  green  kid  from  the  country, 
like  he  was,  when  there  were  so  many 
juniors  and  seniors  around  who  wore 
good  clothes  and  had  their  shirts  done 
up  at  a  regular  laundry.  He  made  a 
settled  resolve,  he  said,  that  going  home 
he  would  kjss  her  once,  get  his  discharge 


and  try  to  lead  a  different  life.  "Well," 
he  said,  "you  know  how  it  was  raining 
when  the  show  let  out,  and  how  dark  it 
was?  Well,  just  before  we  got  down  to 
where  she  rooms,  right  under  that  cot- 
tonwood  tree  — it  was  dark  enough,  any- 
way, but  there  it  was  like  the  inside  of 
a  jug— I  just  leaned  over  and  put  my  face 
down  to  her,  and  I  kissed  her.  I 
thought  I  was  going  to  die,  but  I  didn't 
care,  for  immortality  right  then  was  just 
what  I  was  after.  To  live  forever,  feel- 
ing like  that — Lord!  There  isn't  any 
heaven  that  will  beat  that  right  down 
under  that  old  cotton  wood  tree.  If  there 
is,  it  is  too  strong  for  my  constitution, 
and  I  couldn't  stand  it.  What  do  you 
think  she  did?  Acted  like  a  girl  with 
sense.  She  knew  I  couldn't  help  it; 
and  she  never  said  a  word  until  we 
came  to  the  gate;  then  she  gave  me  her 
hand  and  said:  'I  will  look  over  it  this 
time,  Charley,  but  don't  do  it  again.' 
I  felt  her  other  little  hand  light  on  my 
shoulder.  I  felt  another  sinking  spell 
coming  on,  and  I  bent  over,  and  in  the 
dark  my  face  touched  hers;  and  you 
know  what  happened.  It  was  an  awful 
thing  to  do  after  what  she  had  just  said, 
I  know,  but  if  I  was  going  to  be  hung 
I  couldn't  have  helped  it.  She  said 
'Good  night'  then  and  went  into  the 
house.  I  started  home,  walked  off  the 
end  of  the  culvert  just  this  side  of  the 
square,  and  kept  right  on  up  stream. 
I  didn't  want  to  get  out  on  the  sidewalk. 
That  is  how  I  am  so  wet." 

I  don't  know  where  the  boy  would 
have  stopped  if  I  hadn't  suggested  that 
we  had  better  dig  out  a  little  Greek. 
"Greek,"  he  said.  "I  want  to  go  into 
solitary  confinement  for  thirty  days,  so 
I  can  live  it  all  over  again  undisturbed." 

If  I  had  my  choice  I  wouldn't  have 
written  it  just  this  way,  but  it  is  the  way  . 
Pelican  said  it. 


HIS    MOTHER 

By    MARGARET    ASHMUN 

MENOMONIE,       WISCONSIN 

SHE  died  long  years  before  I  came  to  know 
Her  son,  ray  love,  who  links  her  life  to  mine. 
I  have  not  met  that  eager  soul  and  fine, 
Like  his",  pure,  strong  and  kindly;  even  so, 
She  has  not  known  me  where  I  blindly  go, 
With  weakened,  warring  spirit;  Fate's  design 
Keeps  her  who  poured  him  first  love's  gracious  wine 
From  me,  who  loved  him  last,  in  bitter  woe. 

We  cannot  wash  away  in  mingled  tears 
My  envy  of  those  arms,  that  tender  breast, 

That  soothed  his  baby  griefs  and  childish  fears — 
Her  envy  of  the  lips  that  his  have  pressed 

With  fervor  not  for  her.     Across  the  years 
Each  yearns  for  each  and  calls  the  other  blest. 


LEAVES     FROM    A    REPORTER'S 

NOTE     BOOK 
in. 

A    NEW    VERSION    OF    BRER    RABBIT    AND    THE    TAR    BABY: 

BEING    THE    ONLY    INTERVIEW     EVER    GRANTED    TO 

THE    PRESS    BY    UNCLE    REMUS 

By    ETHEL    ARMES 

BIRMINGHAM,     ALABAMA 

it  THAT'S  where  he  lives,  Miss  —  go  roof  gabled  with  two  queer  little  windows 

•    right  in  that  gate  there."      The  peeping  from  under  it  like  bright  eyes, 

conductor  of  the  Gordon  avenue  electric  The  old  gray  porch  curving  in  a  broad 

car    pointed   out    the    cottage  of    Joel  low  sweep  around  the  dingy  sides  of  the 

Chandler  Harris,  and  I  gathered  up  my  cottage  was  submerged  in  a  sea  of  green 

pencils  and  sketch  book  and   alighted  —  spray  of  the   tossing  vines,   ivy   and 

before  the  little  white  gate  leading  into  wisteria,  honeysuckle   and  the  jasmine 

the  tar  baby's  realm.  flower.     Some  little  pink  roses  slept  in 

Two  cedars,  dry  and  dusty  from  the  tiny  beds  close  to  the  house,  their  heads 

August  heat,  threw  protecting  shadows  drooping  over  fragrant  petunias, 

over  the  little  gate.     Beyond  lay  a  gar-  When  I  reached  the  porch  steps  I  saw 

den  of  tall  grasses,   magnolia  trees  and  through  the  vines  two  little  girls  curled 

terraced  lawn  surrounding  a  house, wide-  up    in    big  armchairs,    busily    playing 

spreading,  homelike  and  comfortable,  its  checkers, 

ten  spacious  rooms  all  on  one  floor,  its  "Is  Mr.  Harris  in?  "  I  inquired. 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


"Y-e-s,"  responded  one  of  the  child- 
ren hesitatingly,  "but  he's  always  busy 
early  in  the  mornings,  and  he  never 
sees  anybody  at  all; "then  she  added 
pleasantly,  seeing  me  disappointed,  "I 
will  see,  though."  In  another  moment 
she  appeared  shyly  at  the  screen  door. 

"Papa  is  so  very  busy  writing  —  he 
begs  to  be  excused,"  she  said. 

It  was  my  turn  to  hesitate. 

"I  do  not  live  in  Atlanta,"  I  ex- 
plained. "I  have  come  from  a  long  dis- 
tance— could  you  tell  him  that,  please? 
If  he  is  so  busy  now  I  would  be  willing 
to  wait  three  hours  just  to  see  him  five 
minutes." 

Certainly  I  did  not  mean  it  for  a 
threat,  but  perhaps  it  sounded  so,  for 
Uncle  Remus  came  out  on  the  porch  im- 
mediately, and  so  abruptly  it  took  my 
breath  away.  I  looked  at  him  feeling  at 
once  that  possibly  all  his  life  he  might 
have  lived  off  of  red-ham  gravy,  corn 
pone  and  cabbage,  —  so  unromantic 
did  he  appear,  so  commonplace  —  as 
he  says.  But  his  blue  eyes  are  kindly 
eyes  and  true. 

"I  might  as  well  tell  the  worst  first, 
Mr.  Harris,'"'  I  said  as  we  shook  hands 
and  I  rested  for  a  second  on  the  sense 
of  the  humor  I  knew  right  well  was  there, 
"I  have  come  to  interview  you." 

Quicksand!  Uncle  Remus  dropped 
my  hand  and  coldly  withdrew  to  the 
opposite  pillar  of  the  porch,  and  he 
stood  there  like  the  tar  baby  "sot,"  and 
"he  ain't  sayin'  nothin'." 

The  feelings  of  Brer  Rabbit  began  to 
tickle  through  me.  I  expressed  myself 
and  my  mission  once  more. 

"My  home  life  is  not  to  be  written 
up,"  Uncle  Remus  responded  in  such 
a  tone  that  I  didn't  know  "w'at  minnit 
wuz  gwinter  be  de  nex'."-  I  then  took 
refuge. 

"Mr.  Harris  —  you  are  a  newspaper 
man  yourself,  and  you  know  exactly  how 
it  is.  Please  —  could  you  not  talk  a 
little  anyhow?" 

"I  don't  know   how  to  talk.     Never 


talked  in  my  life — never  will  talk — don't 
know  anything  to  talk  about,"  replied 
Uncle  Remus. 

Certainly  this  seemed  conclusive,  but 
I  let  out  one  little  word  more,  "Your- 
self?" 

"There  isn't  anything  to  say  about 
myself.  I  have  never  done  anything. 
I  don't  know  anything.  I  live  right 
here.  I  am  a  Georgia  cracker." 

"Georgia — cracker?  " 

"Just  a  plain,  ordinary,  commonplace, 
everyday  person — that's  what  I  am." 

The  third  degree  then  appeared  inevi- 
table. Partly  because  I  was  nervous,  or 
perhaps  that  "my  apperceptive  basis  was 
somewhat  limited,"  being  bound  by 
Stoddard's  Bungalow  at  the  time,  my 
next  question  flew  beyond  right-fielder, 
for  I  asked  Uncle  Remus  if  he  had  any 
relics. 

He  looked  at  me. 

"I  mean,"  I  stammered,  "any  relics 
of  your  travels  collected  in  your  house?" 

"Never  traveled  in  my  life,"  returned 
Uncle  Remus  flatly;  "wouldn't  collect 
any  relics  if  I  did." 

"So  you  have  nothing?  " 

"I  have  nothing." 

"And  you  have  never  been  anywhere 
at  all?" 

"Never  outside  this  fence." 

"Not  even  into  town?  " 

"Oh  yes,  I  go  into  town  every  day, 
about  eleven  o'clock,  but  I  come  right 
back  here  and  stay  here." 

"You  write  editorials  on  the  Constitu- 
tion, don't  you?" 

He  nodded.  Yes,  surely  he  did  not 
believe  as  he  says  somewhere  in  giving 
out  too  much  cloff  fer  to  cut  one  pa'ar 
pants. 

I  then  thought  of  more  to  say. 

"Do  you  always  do  your  writing  out 
here  at  home,  Mr.  Harris?" 

Again  he  nodded. 

"What  are  you  writing  now  beside 
your  editorials?  " 

"A  book." 

"What  sort  of  a  book?  " 


LEAVES    FROM    A    REPORTER'S    NOTE    BOOK 


"A  plain,  old-fashioned  story  of 
Georgia  life  during  the  war." 

"A  novel?" 

"Not  exactly  that — don't  know  what 
I'll  call  it." 

"Do  you  usually  gather  your  material 
right  around  these  parts,  and  take  long 
walks  and  talk  with  the  old  darkies?" 

"Don't  talk  to  anybody — stay  right 
here;  I  have  all  the  material  I  want 
right  inside  this  fence." 

"Do  you  write  every  day?  " 

"Till  three  o'clock,  then  I  walk 
around, — look  at  my  roses,"  he  jerked 
his  thumb  toward  the  little  rose 
beds. 

"If  there  were  any  Joel  Chandler 
Harris  reading  clubs  in  Atlanta  what 
would  you  do?" 

"I  would  get  out!" 

"When  you  get  letters  asking  for  your 
autograph  what  do  you  do?  " 

"Burn  them — thousands  of  'em— throw 
'em  all  away,  unless — "  his  expression 
grew  less  implacable,  "unless  they  are 
from  little  children  —  from  fifteen  down. 
Whenever  I  get  a  letter  beginning:  'My 
dear  Mr.  Harris,  I  am  a  little  girl  ten 
years  old,'  or,  'I  am  a  little  boy  eight 
years  old,'  or  thereabouts,  I  save  it  and 
answer  it  right  off." 

The  silence  that  followed  in  the  wake 
of  this  big  paragraph  was  intense.  At 
length  I  asked  Uncle  Remus  if  he  would 
show  me  his  vegetables. 


"You  are  welcome,"  he  replied,  and 
walked  down  first  into  the  side  yard, 
where  he  pointed  out  his  favorite  roses 
and  a  large  purple  magnolia  tree,  and 
then  we  went  around  to  the  back.  There 
are  five  acres  around  his  place.  He  has 
a  vegetable  garden,  an  orchard,  a  straw- 
berry patch  and  a  little  stretch  of  pasture 
ground  for  the  Jersey  cows  and  the  little 
gray  donkeys  that  are  the  children's  pets. 

There  were  several  little  houses  for  the 
pet  rabbits  and  guinea  pigs  and  quite 
a  good-sized  chicken  house  for  the 
Plymouth  Rocks.  Pretty  soon  we  re- 
turned to  the  porch. 

"Have  you  a  big  library?"  I  asked 
Mr.  Harris. 

"No  library  at  all,"  he  answered,  "nor 
any  den  or  study.  I  do  all  my  writing 
in  my  bedroom,  there,  just  off  the 
windows." 

"Everyone  in  Atlanta  says  that  you 
never  see  people  at  all." 

"Not  a  soul— why  should  I  ?" 

"If  I  come  again  would  you  see  me?" 

He  appeared  uncertain. 

"If  I  should  bring  many  little  children 
to  see  you  would  you  see  them?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  talk  more  to  us?  " 

"See  you — but  won't  talk." 

"Goodbye — and  I  thank  you."  I  held 
out  my  hand. 

"Goodbye — you  are  welcome." 

That  was  all. 


FAME 

By    A.    E.    UPDEGRAFF 

NEW       HAVEN,       CONNECTICUT 

DO  you  remember,  brother  mine, 
The  day  we  left  the  country  school  — 
Whose  bell-tower  stood  up  so  fine — 
Whose  bell-rope  'twas  such  joy  to  pull? 

You  had  a  speech,  and  I  had,  too; 
Ah,  mine  was  in  a  lofty  strain ! 


FAME 

Some  noble  man — I  don't  know  who — 
Died  in  it,  bleeding  at  every  vein. 

The  folks  from  all  around  were  there, 
Some  fifty  persons — maybe  more; 

They  had  to.  put  an  extra  chair, 
For  mother,  just  inside  the  door. 

And  after  each  had  said  his  piece, 
The  s'lectman  called  us  both  by  name, 

And  said  we  were  like  lads  of  Greece: 
Ah,  brother,  brother — that  was  fame! 


THE    ENLIGHTENMENT  OF    SILAS    BARKER 

By    IDA     ALEXANDER 

MILLBRAE,     SAN     MATED     COUNTY,     CALIFORNIA 


IT  is  very  hard  to  trace  the  beginning 
of  things.  Looking  back  now,  I  can- 
not remember  when  it  was  Silas  began 
to  want  me  to  help  him  in  the  garden 
and  with  the  outside  chores.  At  first 
thought  it  would  seem  to  have  been  a 
sudden  whim,  and  then  again,  perhaps 
it  could  be  traced  back  to  the  time  when 
we  were  young  things  subsisting  and 
making  merry  on  a  bookkeeper's  salary, 
planning  about  "going  fanning"  when 
our  ship  came  in. 

Well,  our  ship  did  not  come  in,  but 
one  of  the  little  ships  upon  the  ocean  of 
life  foundered  and  sank,  and  the  wreck- 
age floated  down-stream  to  us.  The 
farm  was  ours,  but  at  a  price;  for  the 
kindly  giver,  remembering  Silas,  dying, 
left  in  our  cup  of  joy  the  bitter  remem- 
brance of  our  own  neglect.  Some  of 
those  last  lonesome  Summers  we  might 
have  cheered!  However,  the  feeling 
wore  away,  as  such  things  will,  and  we 
were  very  happy.  As  I  said,  I  do  not 
know  at  what  time  Silas  began  to  think 
that  some  of  the  outside  work  should 
devolve  on  me.  He  came  in  one  morn- 
ing with  a  foaming  milk  pail  in  either 
hand. 

"It  seems  to  me,  Penelope,  you  might 
take  up  the  milking.  I  ought  to  be 


weeding  that  asparagus  by  this  time." 

"Why,  Silas,  I  had  the  breakfast  to 
get.  I  haven't  had  an  idle  moment," 
I  answered,  thinking  ruefully  how  I  had 
hurried  to  have  a  nice  breakfast  ready 
before  he  came  in. 

"Well,  if  it  takes  as  long  to  get  break- 
fast as  to  milk  four  cows,  all  I  can  say 
is,  it  shouldn't." 

I  was  flushed  from  frying  waffles,  but 
I  could  feel  a  deeper  red  dyeing  my 
face  at  his  words. 

"Well,  it  has,"  I  said  after  a  moment, 
"and  I  have  hurried,  too." 

Silas  put  the  unstrained  milk  down, 
went  into  the  dining  room,  and  picked 
up  a  paper.  There  was  a  bright  fire  in 
the  grate,  (I  had  made  it)  and  he  looked 
very  comfortable.  I  strained  the  milk 
and  carried  the  breakfast  things  in. 
Silas  ate  in  silence.  I  knew  he  was 
thinking  deeply;  and  so  was  I.  After 
a  while  he  spoke. 

"Penelope,  did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
how  unfairly  our  work  is  divided?" 

"Yes,  Silas,"  I  answered,  "it  often 
has." 

"Why,  I  didn't  know  you'd  noticed. 
But  it's  true,  Penelope,  true.  I  have 
twice  as  much  to  do  as  you  have." 

"That  was -not  the  way  it  presented 


THE    ENLIGHTENMENT   OF  SILAS    BARKER 


itself  to  me.  By  an  unfair  division  of 
the  work  I  meant — 

He  interrupted  me  in  a  horrified  whis- 
per. "Penelope,  you  don't— you  can't 
— it's  impossible.  Tell  me  what  you 
mean." 

Then  I  spoke. 

"I  mean,  Silas,  that  while  you  have 
long  hours  and  hard  work  in  sowing 
and  reaping  time,  I  have  both  all  the 
time." 

"For  instance?" 

"Cooking,  washing,  ironing,  scrub- 
bing, darning,  making  butter — there's 
a  great  deal  to  do  about  a  house,  Silas." 

"And  twice  as  much  outside." 

"For  example?" 

"Horses,  milking,  weeding,  haying, 
mending  gates." 

"Haying  and  mending  gates  don't 
come  often,  so  your  list  is  reduced  to 
milking,  weeding,  and  caring  for  the 
horses." 

The  list  seemed  small  enough  after 
mine.  Silas  saw  it  —  like  a  man,  he 
covered  the  wreck  of  his  argument  with 
anger.  "If  you  think  I  have  the  best 
of  it,  change  off,  change  off.  There's 
little  or  nothing  to  housework.  If  you 
don't  find  the  outside  work  worse,  my 
name's  not  Silas  Barker." 

"I  don't  understand— quite." 

"You  take  my  work,  and  I'll  take 
yours." 

"Beginning  when?  " 

"Today." 

I  thought  a  minute.  "All  right,  Silas, 
I'll  do  it.  Let's  see— you  milk  at  six 
both  times." 

"Yes." 

"And  the  rest  of  the  time?  " 

"Weed  out  the  vegetables." 

"How  many  beds  a  day?  " 

"As  many  as  I  can." 

"But  how  many  can  you?  " 

Silas  is  a  truthful  man.  If  he  answers 
you  can  depend  on  it — but  he  won't  in- 
criminate himself  if  he  can  avoid  it. 

"Lately  I've  been  getting  two  done 
a  day." 


"I'll  do  the  same,"  I  said  lightly. 
"I'll  start  in  right  away,  but  first  I  must 
tell  you  a  few  things." 

"Tell  me  nothing  at  all.  I  know  how 
everything  should  be  done,  and  I  can  do 
it.  Neither  of  us  is  to  look  for  help," 
he  concluded  emphatically. 

"How  long  is  this  to  continue?" 

"As  long  as  possible.  Change  of  work 
is  as  good  as  play." 

'You  won't  find  it  play  exactly.     I'm 
afraid  you'll  be  sorry." 
'I'm  sure  you  will." 

I  laughed.  "Today,  Silas,  is  wash- 
day. Suppose  we  put  off  the  change  till 
tomorrow?  " 

"No,  no.  Don't  try  to  get  out  of  it 
that  way.  I'll  do  the  washing." 

"Silas,  you  can't." 

"Penelope,  I  will." 

"I  always  try,  when  I'm  washing  or 
ironing,  to  bake  some,  but  I  suppose 
you  had  better  let  it  wait  till  tomorrow?" 

"Just  as  you  like.  Where  are  the 
clothes?" 

"In  a  basket  on  the  back  porch.  Per- 
haps you  had  better  not  do  them  all, 
though  there  aren't  so  many  with  the 
children  away." 

"I'll  do  them  all." 

"Wash  through  one  water,  boil,  rinse, 
blue  and  hang  out.  Do  the  white  clothes 
alone." 

"I  understand." 

"Well,  goodbye;  Silas,  and  good 
luck,"  I  said,  putting  on  my  sunbonnet. 
"I  generally  let  the  dishes  stand  on 
wash-day  till  I  get  my  white  clothes 
out." 

But  I  don't." 

•'Just  as  you  like." 

I  uncovered  the  beds  of  early  aspara- 
gus and  started  weeding.  It  was  very 
cold,  and  I  thought  regretfully  of  my 
cosy  kitchen.  However,  I  plodded  on 
for  what  seemed  hours  and  hours.  The 
stooping  was  certainly  conducive  to  back- 
ache. 

"I'll  change  the  bonnet  for  a  shawl," 
I  said  to  myself,  more  for  the  moment's 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  FEBRUARY,  1905 


rest  than  for  the  warmth,  although  I  was 
bitterly  cold. 

In  the  kitchen  things  were  shining,  the 
stove  had  been  rubbed  off,  the  faucets 
polished  —  so  there  were  things  Silas 
noticed.  He  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
The  fire  was  out,  and,  as  far  as  I  could 
see,  no  preparations  had  been  made  for 
washing. 

"Silas!"  I  called.     "Silas!" 

I  heard  the  swish  of  a  falling  paper, 
and  he  emerged  from  an  inner  room. 
He  looked  sheepishly  at  me. 

"I  took  your  advice  about  not  wash- 
ing." 

"I  didn't  give  you  any." 

"What!  " 

"No,  I  said  we  had  better  put  off  the 
change  till  after  wash-day.  I  never  knew 
a  week  end  well  that  wasn't  begun  by 
washing." 

"Tomorrow'll  do  as  well." 

"As  you  like.  When  will  lunch  be 
ready?  I'm  hungry.  It's  half-past 
eleven." 

"At  twelve,  or  a  little  after." 

At  half  past  twelve  the  bell  rang.  I 
went  in.  The  table  looked  inviting.  I 
washed  my  face  and  hands  and  sat  down 
while  Silas  bustled  about,  cutting  bread 
and  taking  up  the  lunch.  I  think,  per- 
haps, he  expected  help,  but  I  remem- 
bered his  own  words,  and  did  not  offer 
any  —  besides,  I  had  had  an  awful  time 
currying  Black  Bess,  and  if  a  woman 
must  do  a  man's  work  —  why.  The 
lunch  was  a  success;  still,  two-thirds  of 
it  had  been  cooked  the  day  before. 
When  it  was  over  I  took  a  magazine 
and  stretched  myself  comfortably  on  the 
lounge  in  the  dining  room,  as  Silas  had 
done  ever  since  I  could  remember. 

"If  I  drop  asleep,  just  call  me  at  half 
past  one,  will  you?  " 

"Half  past  one?  " 

"Yes.  It  was  half  past  twelve  when 
the  bell  rang." 

I  suppose,  with  the  exercise  in  the 
fresh  air  and  no  dishes  on  my  mind,  it 
was  natural  enough  that  I  should  fall 


asleep.  When  I  awoke  Silas  still  sat  at 
the  table  with  his  head  on  his  arms, 
sound  asleep. 

I  finished  my  two  beds  with  ease,  then 
half  another  for  good  measure.  It  was 
much  pleasanter  with  the  sun  shining 
brightly  than  in  the  early  morning. 

Afterward  I  took  a  stroll  over  our 
place.  Really,  it's  pleasant  to  have  a 
moment  of  your  own.  Then  I  reluc- 
tantly got  the  milk  pails.  Daisy  and 
Beauty  I  could  manage,  but  I  was  rather 
afraid  of  Madcap  and  Sue.  Madcap  had 
received  her  name  from  Silas  after  play- 
fully kicking  over  both  pails  of  milk, 
and  Sue  was  a  new-comer  with  something 
pert  and  aggressive  in  the  very  toss  of 
her  head.  Yes,  I  am  afraid  of  cows. 
After  ten  years  of  farm  life,  I  must  con- 
fess to  almost  as  great  a  fear  of  them  as 
has  the  timid,  transient  Summer  boarder. 
Daisy  set  a  good  example,  however,  and 
the  milking  proceeded  as  decorously  as 
one  could  wish.  Very  much  out  of 
breath  (for  the  pails  were  heavy)  I  ap- 
peared at  the  kitchen  door  with  the  even- 
ing milk.  Silas  was  stirring  something 
on  the  stove,  very  excitedly,  and  did  not 
turn  as  I  came  in.  A  slight  smell  of 
burning  pervaded  the  air.  I  did  not 
seek  for  the  cause,  but  put  down  the 
milk  as  Silas  had  done  in  the  morning, 
and  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  sought  my  own 
room.  Slippers  for  shoes,  a  comfortable 
wrapper,  glycerine  on  my  hands — when 
the  belated  bell  rang  I  felt  that  I  was 
making  the  visit  that  I  had  been  cheated 
out  of  when  the  children  went  to  their 
grandmother's  a  week  before. 

"How  do  you  like  housekeeping, 
Silas?"  I  asked,  thinking  of  what 
Hannah,  in  "Little  Women,"  had  said 
on  the  subject. 

"I  haven't  tried  it  long  enough  to 
tell,"  he  answered,  evasively.  "How  do 
you  like  your  work?  " 

"Very  well,  indeed.  It's  a  comfort  to 
know  my  work  is  finished  —  till  to- 
morrow." 

I   fancied   Silas  looked    rather    non- 


THE    ENLIGHTENMENT    OF    SILAS    BARKER 


521 


plussed.  He  did  not  answer.  Perhaps 
he  had  hoped  for  a  volunteer  for  the 
dishes,  but  I  had  no  desire  to  attack  the 
formidable  pile  already  collected  in  the 
kitchen.  He  hadn't  washed  them  up  as 
they  became  soiled,  and  they  had  accu- 
mulated, as  only  dishes  can.  The  din- 
ner was  scarcely  a  success.  The  pota- 
toes were  burned,  the  ham  underdone, 
the  eggs,  with  the  yolks  broken,  pre- 
sented a  sorry  sight;  soup  and  salad  had 
vanished  from  our  menu,  and  for  dessert 
appeared  the  "minute  pudding"  which 
Silas  had  been  stirring  as  I  came  in. 
It  was  lumpy  and  not  sweet  enough,  but 
I  feigned  an  appetite  I  did  not  feel,  as 
I  saw  Silas  struggling  to  appear  at  ease. 
I  felt  self-reproachful  as  I  saw  him  begin 
the  dishes,  but  after  all,  of  what  use  is 
a  lesson  half  learned ! 

"Good  night,  Silas,"  I  called  a  little 
later.  "I  really  feel  the  best  place  for 
me  is  bed."  It  was  one  of  his  stock 
phrases,  as  night  after  night  I  was  left 
alone,  but  I  don't  suppose  he  recognized 
it.  I  had  sunk  into  an  uneasy  slumber, 
before  I  heard  his  step  on  the  stairs — 
such  a  slow,  cautious,  halting  step. 
"He  doesn't  want  to  wake  me,"  I 
thought,  well  pleased  at  the  unusual 
consideration.  In  a  moment  I  was  un- 
deceived. 

"Penelope!  Penelope!"  he  called. 
"Get  up  and  open  the  door.  My  hands 
are  full  of  dough.  I'm  setting  the 
bread,"  he  continued,  sulkily,  "and  the 
stuff  sticks  to  my  hands.  I  made  up 
double  what  you  had  written  down,  so 
that  I  wouldn't  have  to  bake  so  often, 
and  the  pan  is  full  of  sloppy  stuff.  If 
I  put  in  more  flour  it  will  be  all  over  the 
kitchen." 

"It  will  before  morning  whether  you 
do  or  not,  if  you've  remembered  the 
yeast,"  I  remarked.  "Better  divide  it 
into  two  pans." 

It  was  an  hour  later  before  I  heard  his 
step  again — slow  enough,  but  heavily 
put  down,  coming  up  the  stairs.  I 
looked  at  the  clock.  Ten-thirty!  "Oh, 


Silas,  Silas,"  I  said  to  myself,  "how 
will  you  feel  at  five  tomorrow  morning.'' 

At  the  first  stroke  of  the  alarm  I  was 
wide  awake — years  of  habit  are  strong — 
— but  the  call  of  the  new  duty  fell  on 
deaf  ears.  I  wakened  him.  "Why,  I 
what's  the  matter?  I  just  came  to  bed," 
he  protested,  sleepily.  When  he  re- 
membered, he  got  up,  and  I  turned  over 
luxuriously  for  a  second  nap.  "Call  me 
about  a  quarter  to  six,"  I  said,  as  I 
heard  his  retreating  step. 

When  I  came  in  with  the  milk,  the 
fire  was  not  made  in  the  dining  room, 
and  Silas  was  searching  through  a 
recipe  book  in  frenzied  haste.  I  made 
no  remark,  but  attended  to  the  horses, 
and  then  began  again  on  the  asparagus 
bed.  That  was  one  reason  why  Silas 
thought  housekeeping  easy.  I  always 
try  to  be  a  little  ahead  of  time.  After 
breakfast,  which  was  rather  a  silent  meal, 
I  started  my  weeding  again,  and  had  one 
bed  finished  before  Silas  would  have  been 
through  with  his  after  breakfast  pipe. 

At  about  eleven,  having  nearly  com- 
pleted the  allotted  work,  I  went  up  to 
the  house.  Silas  had  followed  my  ad- 
vice about  leaving  the  dishes  until  the 
white  clothes  were  out.  Unfortunately, 
neither  clothes  nor  dishes  were  done, 
but  in  the  tub  with  aprons,  wrappers  and 
gaily  tinted  things,  covered  with  boiling 
water,  was  Grandmother  Barker's  white 
spread.  I  groaned  as  J  saw  its  mottled, 
changing  hue.  With  a  clothes-stick,  and 
much  danger  of  burned  hands,  I  finally 
extracted  it  and  shutting  my  eyes  to  the 
disorder  sat  down  in  the  "best  room," 
as  we  country  people  say.  I  was  tired, 
my  back  ached  and  the  sun  was  becom- 
ing strong  enough  to  affect  my  head. 
The  unventilated  room  did  not  improve 
it.  I  threw  up  the  window  and  lay  down 
on  the  lounge  to  read.  Idly  listening 
for  the  dinner  bell,  I  heard  a  sound  that 
set  my  heart  beating  faster  from  fright. 

It  was  Silas  running!  I  had  never 
known  him  to  do  so  but  once,  when  little 
Silas  was  sick,  and  I  knew  the  sound 


522 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


boded  no  good.  I  sprang  to  my  feet. 
"The  children!"  I  gasped  in  the  same 
breath  that  he  said  "The  Deacon!  " 

"Oh,  send  him  in  here,  Silas.  I  hope 
he's  brought  the  mail)" 

"But  —  but  you  don't  understand, 
Penelope;  there's  nothing  fit  to  eat  in 
the  house!  " 

"What  were  we  to  have?" 

"Just  a  'picked  up'  dinner.  You 
know  it's  wash-day  —  the  only  day  when 
housework  is  hard." 

That  decided  me.  "Oh  fix  up  any- 
thing. He  can't  object  even  if  an  ama- 
teur luncheon  is  not  up  to  the  standard." 

The  Deacon  and  I  talked  for  quite 
a  time;  when  the  bell  rang.  As  we 
reached  the  dining  room  Silas  beckoned 
to  me.  With  some  hasty  excuse  I  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  kitchen,  half  expect- 
ing an  appeal  for  aid,  but  Silas  was 
flushed  and  triumphant. 

"I  just  want  you  to  see  what  I've  got 
ready  in  a  rush — oyster  stew,  mashed 
potatoes,  cold  boiled  ham,  hot  rolls,  and 
a  lemon  pudding  like  you  make — I  found 
it  in  the  green  book — besides  coffee  and 
tea." 

"Very  well  done,  indeed,"  I  said, 
laughing. 

"Now go  in  and  entertain  the  Deacon. 
I  don't  want  you  saying  you  helped  me. 
I  want  this  job  for  life." 

The  best  dishes  were  on  the  table,  the 
table  cloth  and  napkins  were  snowy,  the 
flowers  I  had  arranged — was  it  only  two 
days  before ! — graced  the  center  of  the 
table.  The  Deacon  waited  expectant, 
he  had  had  a  long  drive,  and  was  con- 
sequently hungry.  He  said  grace  and 
we  began.  Silas  and  the  Deacon  dis- 
covered it  at  the  same  time,  and  I  a 
moment  later  — the  milk  in  stew  and 
mashed  potatoes  had  quite  apparently 
soured*  The  rolls,  too,  resembled 
French  bread  in  this  one  particular:  that 
they  had  lain  long  unbaked. 

" Why,  why,  Penelope, "  •  stammered 
Silas,  "you're  to  blame.  You  left  the 
milk  in  the  kitchen." 


"I  always  told  you,  Silas,  that  the 
milk  should  be  taken  at  once  to  the 
milk  room,  especially  when  the  weather 
is  changeable,  but  you  said  you  had  'no 
time.'  Doing  your  work,  neither 
have  I." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  Deacon  mildly. 
"Let  us  be  thankful  that  we  still  have 
ham." 

Silas  removed  the  plates,  and  fished 
some  very  stale  bread  from  the  box.  I 
knew  the  amount  of  ham,  and  declined 
it,  but  Silas  and  the  Deacon  ate  what 
little  there  was  in  happy  unconscious- 
ness. Red  and  embarrassed  from  an 
unsuccessful  search  for  more,  Silas  came 
back,  and  the  Deacon  protested  that  he 
was  entirely  satisfied. 

"There's  still  my  lemon  pudding  with 
a  meringue,"  Silas  announced  at  last, 
triumphantly.  It  certainly  promised 
well,  but  like  the  other  dishes  prepared 
of  the  curdled  milk,  it  was  ruined!  Silas 
looked  at  the  Deacon  like  a  hunted  man. 
He  never  turned  his  eyes  my  way.  Then 
he  looked  around  at  the  pretty  table, 
with  nothing  fit  to  eat  on  it,  and  per- 
haps a  remembrance  of  other  meals  that 
the  Deacon  had  had  with  us  came  to 
his  mind. 

"Deacon,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  hoarse, 
strained  voice,  "you  know  me  for  a  man 
not  profane.  But  this  dinner  I  worked 
hard  on  —  oh,  damn!"  The  Deacon 
looked  down  in  scandalized  silence  for 
a  moment,  then  he  looked  up,  his  black 
eyes  twinkling.  "Amen,  Brother  Bar- 
ker." 

The  dinner  thus  being  disposed  of, 
and  consigned  to  oblivion,  I  brought 
out  currant  wine  and  fruit  cake.  The 
Deacon  raised  his  glass,  the  same 
twinkle  in  his  black  eyes,  "The  women, 
Brother  Barker,  God  bless  them!  " 

Silas  drank  the  toast  in  silence. 

As  the  Deacon  rose  to  go,  Silas  half 
started,  and  then  sat  down  again.  It 
was  I,  for  the  first  time,  who  without 
a  thought  to  the  uncleared  table,  walked 
over  the  place  with  our  guest. 


THE    ENLIGHTENMENT    OF    SILAS    BARKER 


523 


As  he  got  into  his  old  top  buggy,  his 
hands  full  of  flowers,  he  leaned  over  to 
say,  "Don't  be  the  first  to  cry  off, 
Penelope;  Silas  is  coming  down." 

He  "came  down."  I  waited  till  after 
twelve  that  night  before  I  heard  his  foot- 
step. It  had  a  weary  and  dejected 
sound.  He  opened  the  door  where  I 
sat,  not  sewing  or  darning  as  usual,  but 
reading.  I  looked  up.  Silas  closed  the 
door,  and  stood  before  it,  as  if,  till  he 
had  said  what  he  wished,  he  was  un- 
worthy or  unwilling  to  sit  down.  "Pen- 
elope," he  began,  "there's  some  things 
a  fair-minded  man  would  like  to  say. 
What  you've  done  of  my  work  has  been 
done  all  right — you  got  as  much  milk  as 
I  did,  the  horses  got  good  care,  and  you 
got  more  weeding  done.  But  I — I've 
been  a  dead  failure.  I  haven't  got  as 
much  done  as  you  would  have  had,  and 
it  has  not  been  done  well;  now  you'd 
have  had  that  washing  done — " 

"And  ironed,"  I  said. 

"And  you'd  have  had  a  good  dinner 
today  and  baking  done — " 

"And  butter  made,"  I  added. 

"Yes,  Penelope,  all  that,  and  more. 


It  IS  hard  and  I'm  sick  of  it."  It  was 
a  supreme  moment.  The  time  to  tell 
a  man  that  he  should  "down  on  his 
knees  and  thank  heaven,  fasting,"  for 
a  woman  with  no  woman's  rights  ideas 
in  her  head;  a  good  woman,  if  I  do  say 
it,  who  only  wished  to  be  allowed  to  do 
her  womanly  work  in  peace,  and  with  no 
desire  to  usurp  a  man's  prerogatives — 
especially  as  to  feeding  and  milking 
cows.  All  of  these  thoughts  and  many 
more  were  clamoring  in  my  brain  — 
knocking  at  the  door  of  my  heart  for  ad- 
mission. There  were  things  I  felt  hard 
about — little  words  that  I  had  never  for- 
gotten, and  I  knew  that  now  was  indeed 
the  time.  He  stood  there  crestfallen,  a 
beaten  man,  "hoist,"  as  the  saying  goes, 
"with  his  own  petard";  and  the  admoni- 
tion about  "hitting  a  man  when  he's 
down"  has  never  deterred  a  woman 
from  speaking  her  mind. 

"Penelope,"  he  began  again,  and  the 
voice  was  even  more  full  of  humility 
than  before,  "I  said  I  was  sick  of 
it." 

And  I  answered  quite  meekly,  "Silas, 
so  am  I." 


PRIEST   AND   POET 

By     BEN     FRANKLIN     BONNELL 

SANTA     ROSA,      CALIFORNIA 

THE  priest  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  stood  weeping, 
The  poet  stood  smiling  at  the  head  of  the  stair; 
Said  the  priest  to  the  singer:  "I  pray  you  to  tell  me 
The  road  that  you  traveled  to  get  where  you  are. 
I  have  stood  here  as  herald  and  watchman  and  shepherd 
Since  long  years  before  you  were  born,  night  and  day; 
There's  only  one  road  to  the  place  you  are  standing, 

And  I  know  that  you  never  ascended  this  way." 
Said  the  poet,  in  turn  to  the  sad,  holy  preacher: 

"You  are  right,  I  am  sure,  so  rest  and  be  calm;  " 
No  ladder  I  climbed,  no  creed  was  my  teacher, 
God  made  me  up  here,  I  was  born  where  I  am." 


SOCIAL    EQUALITY 


By    KELLY     MILLER 

HOWARD       UNIVERSITY,      WASHINGTON,      D.     C. 


A  STRANGER  to  American  institu- 
tions would  be  curiously  impressed 
by  the  separate  and  distinct  social  areas 
which  the  two  races  occupy.  Here  are 
two  peoples,  domiciled  in  the  same 
territory,  invested  with  equal  civil  and 
political  rights,  speaking  the  same  lan- 
guage, loyal  to  the  same  institutions, 
worshipping  God  after  the  same  ritual, 
and  linked  together  in  a  common  des- 
tiny; and  yet  in  all  purely  personal  and 
pleasurable  intercourse,  they  are  as  far 
apart  as  if  separated  by  interstellar 
space.  "Social  equality,"  is  the  shib- 
boleth which  divides  the  races  asunder. 
This  slogan,  like  a  savage  warwhoop, 
arouses  the  deepest  venom  of  race, 
which  slumbers  only  skin  deep  beneath 
a  thin  veneer  of  civilization.  This  ex- 
pression cannot  be  defined  according  to 
the  ordinary  import  and  weight  of  words. 
Whoever  coined  it  possessed  a  genius 
for  summoning  the  evil  spirit.  The  term 
has  no  exact  lexical  status,  but  it  is  sur- 
charged with  idiomatic  meaning.  We 
can  no  more  determine  its  potency  and 
power  from  the  component  words  than 
we  can  judge  the  emblematic  signifi- 
cance of  "Old  Glory"  by  the  fabric  and 
dye  stuff  that  enter  into  its  composition. 
As  the  sight  of  the  flag  evokes  the 
patriotic  zeal  of  the  loyal  beholder,  or 
as  the  soldier  makes  frantic  response  to 
the  alarum  "to  arms,"  so  the  tocsin, 
"social  equality,"  arouses  the  pride  of 
class  and  wrath  of  race.  "Social"  and 
"equality"  are  two  excellent,  elegant 
words;  but  "social  equality"  must  not 
be  pronounced  in  good  society,  like  two 
harmless  chemical  elements  uniting  to 
make  a  dangerous  compound.  This 
phrase  has  unbounded  potency  over  the 
passion  of  the  white  man  of  the  South. 
He  religiously  obeys  its  behest,  at 
whatever  sacrifice  or  cost  of  conscience. 


He  bows  down  and  worships  before  a 
verbal  idol  with  fear  and  trembling,  as 
a  heathen  before  his  graven  God.  The 
sanction  of  its  decree  is  more  binding 
than  that  of  legal  code,  religious  creed, 
or  the  claims  of  humanity.  Pope  has 
given  a  poetic  Setting  to  the  moral  con- 
viction of  mankind  that  conscience  is 
the  rightful  arbiter  of  conduct: 

"What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do  ; 
This  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 
That  more  than  heaven  pursue." 

If  in  this  elegant  quatrain  we  substi- 
tute "social  equality"  for  conscience, 
although  we  mar  the  meter,  it  adapts 
the  meaning  to  the  social  creed  of  the 
South.  The  interpretation  which  that 
section  places  upon  "social  equality" 
constitutes  the  crux  of  the  race  problem, 
and  conditions  all  modes  of  rights,  privi- 
leges and  opportunity,  whether  they  be 
political,  civil,  educational  or  industrial. 
By  reason  of  its  exactions,  the  negro  is 
not  desired  by  the  white  man  to  vote  for 
the  same  candidate,  .work  at  the  same 
handicraft,  enjoy  the  same  public  and 
civic  privileges,  to  worship  at  the  same 
shrine,  or  to  be  buried  in  the  same 
graveyard.  It  is  indeed  the  ruling  pas- 
sion strong  in  death.  Race  prejudice 
which  this  phrase  evokes  is  not  amenable 
to  the  formulas  of  logic;  it  is  impatient 
of  fact,  and  intolerant  of  argument  and 
demonstration.  It  does  not  reason,  it 
asserts  and  asservates.  Its  traditional 
method  is  a  word  and  a  blow. 

At  one  time  it  was  the  avowed  policy 
of  the  dominant  South  to  furnish  the 
negro  equal  public  opportunity  with  the 
whites,  while  insisting  on  the  separation 
of  the  races  in  all  purely  social  features. 
This  was  the  gospel  according  to  the 
late  Henry  W.  Grady,  who,  before  his 
untimely  death,  bid  fair  to  become  not 


"SOCIAL    EQUALITY 


525 


only  the  mouth-piece  but  the  oracle  of 
the  New  South.  Senator  D.  M.  Mc- 
Enery  of  Louisiana,  in  a  notable  speech 
in  the  United  States  senate  several  years 
ago,  said:  "There  never  has  been  any 
disposition  on  the  part  of  the  people  of 
Louisiana  to  deprive  the  negro  *of  his 
political  and  civil  rights.  There  has 
been  and  will  continue  to  be  a  deter- 
mination, fixed  and  unalterable,  to  deny 
him  social  privilege  on  equality  with  the 
whites,  and  to  prohibit  him  from  aspir- 
ing to  any  equality  in  social  life,  which 
nature  forbids."  Passing  by  the  gra- 
cious proffer  to  assist  nature  in  carrying 
out  her  inexorable  decree,  this  deliver- 
ance shows  plainly  that  the  social  policy 
of  the  South  is  regarded  as  the  primary 
factor,  and  political  and  civil  regulations 
are  but  corollaries  of  the  leading  propo- 
sition. In  society  as  in  science,  the 
greater  includes  the  less. 

But  of  late  we  have  heard  a  new  voice 
from  the  South.  It  is  louder  and  less 
considerate  of  the  claims  of  humanity 
than  the  milder  tones  of  the  more  dig- 
nified and  decorous  leadership  which  it 
seeks  to  supplant.  This  is  the  voice  of 
Tillman  and  Vardaman  and  Baringer 
and  Thomas  Dixon.  These  new  oracles 
tell  us  that  the  negro  must  be  denied 
political,  civil,  educational  and  even  in- 
dustrial opportunity,  lest  "social  equal- 
ity" should  be  the  consummation  of  it 
all.  The  Ten  Commandments,  the 
Golden  Rule,  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence, the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  and  the  genius  and -tradition  of 
American  institutions  are  held  in  open 
defiance  by  a  narrow  and  provincial 
spirit.  The  ethical  and  political  founda- 
tions of  social  order  are  ruthlessly  over- 
borne by  the  fiat  of  a  silly  phrase.  The 
question  is  of  vital  concern  to  every 
loyal  American  citizen.  For  if  this 
spirit  is  allowed  to  prevail,  and  the 
negro  is,  of  set  policy,  suppressed 
below  the  level  of  American  manhood, 
in  deference  to  an  absurd  social  theory, 


then  his  statue  will  inevitably  settle  into 
a  servile  caste  as  rigid  and  inexorable  as 
that  which  blights  oriental  civilization. 
The  enlightened  patriotism  that  rose  up 
in  righteous  wrath  against  human  slavery 
cannot  view  with  composure  the  estab- 
lishment on  American  soil  of  an  iniqui- 
tous caste,  which  is  even  more  repug- 
nant to  the  genius  of  free  institutions. 
The  silent  South,  the  survivors  and  de- 
scendants of  the  better  type  of  the  slave- 
holding  class,  the  men  and  women  in 
whose  breasts  even  the  blighting  influ- 
ence of  slavery  could  not  sour  the  milk 
of  human  kindness,  are  now  held,  as  in 
a  vise,  by  this  narrow  and  intolerant 
spirit.  They  have  no  frantic  dread  Oi 
the  social  affiliation  of  the  races.  In- 
deed, according  to  their  traditional 
social  code,  intimate  personal  associa- 
tion with  the  uncouth  and  uncultivated 
whites  is  almost  as  distasteful  a  contem- 
plation. And  yet  the  cry  of  social 
equality  has  been  so  persistently  and 
boisterously  dinned  in  their  ears,  that 
an  imaginary  evil  has  assumed  the  sem- 
blance of  a  real  danger.  This  voice  has 
been  hushed;  they  have  become  tongue- 
tied,  and  are  as  completely  divested  of 
freedom,  either  of  action  or  utterance, 
as  the  poor  negro  who  bears  the  brunt  of 
it  all.  If  liberal-minded  southern  white 
men,  like  George  W.  Cable,  or  John 
Spencer  Bassett,  or  Andrew  Sledd, 
though  still  yielding  allegiance  to  the 
prevailing  social  dogma,  dare  lift  their 
voice,  even  in  faintest  whisper,  in  pro- 
test against  the  evil  perpetrated  in  its 
name,  they  are  forthwith  lashed  into 
silence  by  popular  fury  and  scorn.  Race 
hatred  is  the  most  malignant  poison  that 
can  afflict  the  mind.  It  chills  the  higher 
faculties  of  the  soul.  The  restiveness 
of  the  high-souled  sons  of  the  South 
under  restriction  imposed  by  the  less 
enlightened  of  their  own  race  is  the 
only  hopeful  rift  that  we  can  see  in  the 
dark  and  lowering  cloud. 

Every  system  of  oppression  seeks  to 
justify  itself.   The  institutions  of  slavery 


526 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


ransacked  science,  history,  literature  and 
religion  in  quest  of  fact  and  argument 
to  uphold  the  iniquitous  system.  There 
is  almost  an  exact  parallel  between  the 
methods  employed  in  support  of  human 
slavery  and  those  that  are  now  being 
resorted  to  in  justification  of  the  decrees 
of  "social  equality." 

We  are  told  that  the  separation  of  the 
races  is  ordained  of  God,  just  as  slavery 
used  to  be  called  a  "divine  institution." 
It  is  strange  indeed  that  those  who 
breath  out  hatred  and  slaughter  against 
their  fellow  men  are  ever  prone  to  claim 
divine  prerogative  in  carrying  out  their 
iniquitous  scheme.  The  alliance  of 
Providence  with  the  type  of  men  who 
are  now  leading  the  propaganda  of  race 
hatred  would  reverse  all  of  our  received 
notions  of  the  divine  attributes. 

Physical  dissimilarity  is  siezed  upon 
as  a  badge  of  distinction,  and  a  hasty 
judgment  easily  confuses  the  index  with 
the  indicated  potency.  But,  as  is  well 
known,  difference  of  race  and  color  has 
never  prevented  the  closest  intimacy  of 
personal  association.  The  gentleman 
who  drives  to  the  station  "cheek  by 
jowl"  with  his  black  coachman,  but  who 
becomes  furious  on  being  made  joint 
occupant  with  a  black  seat-fellow  in 
a  railway  coach,  is  actuated  by  an  im- 
pulse other  than  purely  physical  repug- 
nance. If  race  friction  rested  solely 
upon  physical  basis,  we  should  expect  its 
rigor  to  be  uniform  wherever  such  dis- 
tinctions prevail.  But,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  we  find  that  it  is  subject  to  the 
widest  latitude  of  variability,  and  is 
almost  indefinitely  modifiable  by  cir- 
cumstances and  conditions.  It  presents 
little  of  the  fixity  and  inflexible  character 
of  natural  law.  The  Teuton  manifests  it 
in  a  different  degree  from  the  Latin 
races,  with  whom  ethnic  peculiarities 
count  for  little  or  nothing  against  moral 
and  spiritual  homogeneity.  Rio  de 
Janeiro  and  Richmond,  Virginia,  are 
typical  illustrations  of  the  two  spirits  as 
respects  the  entente  of  dissimilar  races. 


Prejudice  is  more  pronounced,  or  at 
least  assumes  a  different  aspect,  in  the 
southern  than  in  the  northern  state, 
being  stimulated  by  the  relative  number 
and  erstwhile  status  of  the  two  elements. 
It  becomes  mild  or  virulent,  according 
to  incentive  or  occasion.  In  individual 
instances,  it  almost  or  wholly  disappears, 
and  can  be  aroused  only  by  playing  upon 
his  class  interests,  prejudice  and  pride. 
Grant  Allen  tells  us  somewhere  that  the 
same  Englishman  who  seems  to  ignore 
race  differences  at  home,  becomes  the 
most  intolerant  of  men  when  he  takes 
residence  in  the  colonies.  If  the  sepa- 
ration of  the  races  is  a  decree  of  provi- 
dence working  through  nature,  what 
need  of  human  help  in  carrying  out  that 
decree?  The  reenactment  of  the  laws  of 
-the  Almighty  leads  naturally  to  the  con- 
viction that  those  who  so  eagerly  proffer 
this  assistance  are  actuated  by  a  wish 
rather  than  a  conviction.  The  negro  is 
not  credited  with  natural  repugnance 
against  associating  with  white  men. 
The  charge  that  they  must  be  restricted 
in  their  eagerness  for  such  association 
is  the  highest  possible  unwitting  proof 
that  the  aversion  between  the  races  can- 
not be  wholly  accounted  for  by  natural 
antipathy.  The  lion  and  the  lamb  do 
not  enjoy  a  common  bed,  because  such 
social  intimacy  is  doubtless  as  distaste- 
ful to  the  lamb  as  to  the  lion.  Natural 
antipathy  is  a  reciprocal  feeling. 

The  attempt  to  base  the  separation  of 
the  races  upon  psychological  grounds  is 
equally  void  of  substantiation.  There 
is  no  clearly  discernible  pyschological 
difference.  No  reputable  authority  has 
yet  pointed  out  any  sharply  defined 
psychic  discriminant.  The  mind  of  the 
negro  is  of  the  same  nature  as  that  of 
the  white  man,  and  responds  to  the  same 
nurture.  There  is  not  a  single  intel- 
lectual, moral  or  spiritual  excellence 
achieved  by  the  white  race  to  which  the 
negro  mind  does  not  yield  an  apprecia- 
tive response.  If  it  could  be  shown  that 
the  negro  was  incapable  of  mastering 


"  SOCIAL    EQUALITY  " 


5*7 


the  intricacies  of  Aryan  speech,  that  he 
could  not  possibly  comprehend  the  intel- 
lectual basis  of  modern  culture,  that  he 
could  not  be  made  amenable  to  the  white 
man's  ethical  standards  or  feel  his  spiri- 
tual motive,  there  would  be  need  of  no 
further  proof.  But  the  line  of  psychic 
demarcation  cannot  be  made  to  coincide 
with  race  cleavage  in  a  single  phase  of 
intellectual,  moral  or  spiritual  aptitude. 
The  difference  of  attainment  is  readily 
accounted  for  by  what  Benjamin  Kidd 
calls  social  efficiency,  or  the  discipline 
of  civilization.  We  cannot  predicate 
superiority  or  inferiority  except  as  a 
transient  phase  of  human  development. 

There  is  little  room  to  doubt  that  the 
feeling  against  the  negro  is  of  the 
nature  of  inspirited  animosity  rather 
than  natural  antipathy,  and  can  be 
accounted  for,  in  large  part,  by  the  erst- 
while status  which  he  has  occupied  in 
the  social  scheme.  A  people  who  have 
yet  made  no  considerable  contribution 
to  the  general  culture  of  the  human 
spirit,  and  whose  traditional  relation 
with  European  civilization  has  been  of 
a  servile  sort,  are  naturally  enough  not 
deemed  eligible  to  the"  ennobling  circle 
of  Aryan  fellowship.  The  violent  sever- 
ance of  servile  bonds,  and  the  humilia- 
tion of  the  southern  man's  tough  Teu- 
tonic spirit  by  outside  compulsion,  en- 
gendered deep  and  long-abiding  ani- 
mosities. 

But  the  chief  cause  of  race  estrange- 
ment is  of  a  political  nature,  if  we  be 
allowed  to  use  that  term,  not  merely  in 
the  technical  sense  of  statecraft,  but  as 
comprehending  the  calculated  policy  of 
the  ruling  class  toward  the  despised  ele- 
ment. The  cultivation  of  class  con- 
sciousness is  one  of  the  most  familiar 
phenomena  of  history.  The  line  of  de- 
marcation is  drawn  at  any  easily  dis- 
cernible difference,  whether  it  be  geo- 
graphical, racial,  natural,  political,  reli- 
gious, or  minor  distinctions  of  a  physi- 
cal or  psychical  nature.  History  is 
largely  concerned  with  the  conflict  of 


antithetic  classes.  The  struggle  between 
Greek  and  Barbarian,  Jew  and  Gentile, 
Christian  and  Mohammedan,  Catholic 
and  Protestant,  Norman  and  Saxon, 
is  but  prototype  of  the  conflict  which 
now  wages  about  the  color  line.  Evil 
disposition  combined  with  shrewdly  cal- 
culated design  can  always  stir  up  class 
friction.  Two  friendly  baseball  teams 
can  easily  be  wrought  up  to  a  pitch 
of  murderous  fury  against  each  other. 
The  yellow  press  of  this  country  can, 
within  a  few  months,  involve  the  United 
States  in  war  with  a  nation  with  whom 
we  are  now  on  the  closest  terms  of  inter- 
national friendship.  A  heterogeneous 
population,  where  the  elements  are,  on 
any  account,  easily  distinguishable,  fur- 
nishes an  easy  prey  for  the  promoter  of 
strife.  The  fuse  is  already  prepared  for 
the  spark.  The  peace  and  tranquility  of 
such  a  community  depends  upon  the 
highest  enlightenment  and  moral  re- 
straint in  the  leadership  of  the  separable 
elements. 

That  the  dominant  South  is  deter- 
mined to  foster  artificial  barriers  be- 
tween the  races  is  clearly  seen  in  the 
utterances  and  action  of  its  leaders.  It 
was  Henry  W.  Grady  who  laid  down  the 
platform:  "We  believe  that  there  is  an 
instinct  ineradicable  and  positive  which 
keeps  the  races  apart.  We  add  in  per- 
fect frankness,  however,  that  if  the  South 
had  any  reasonable  doubt  of  its  existence 
it  would,  by  every  means  in  its  power, 
so  strengthen  the  race  prejudice  that  it 
would  do  the  work  and  hold  the  stub- 
bornness and  strength  of  instinct."  The 
more  recent  leadership  of  the  South, 
without  the  clear  discernment  and  con- 
scientious restraint  of  the  brilliant  Geor- 
gian, has  siezed  upon  this  suggestion  for 
sinister  and  selfish  ends,  They  have 
harped  upon  the  chord  of  race  preju- 
dice as  a  musician  upon  his  favorite 
instrument.  Seemingly  dubious  of  the 
sufficiency  of  natural  antipathy,  they 
have  sought  to  give  it  the  requisite 
strength  and  stubbornness.  The  fire  of 


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NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


race  hatred  has  been  fanned  until  it  has 
become  an  uncontrollable  flame.  Soci- 
ologists tell  us  that  the  collective  soul 
is  less  sensitive  than  the  conscience  of 
the  individual.  It  responds  to  the  shib- 
boleths and  slogans  whose  refrain  is 
malice  and  strife.  The  soul  of  the  mob 
is  stirred  by  the  suggestion  of  hatred 
and  slaughter,  as  a  famished  beast  at 
the  smell  of  blood.  Hatred  is  a  great 
social  dynamic,  the  ever  handy  instru- 
ment of  the  unscrupulous  demagogue. 
The  rabble  responds  so  much  more 
easily  to  an  appeal  to  passion  than  to 
reason.  To  wantonly  stir  up  the  fires 
of  race  antipathy  is  as  execrable  a  deed 
as  flaunting  a  red  rag  in  the  face  of 
a  bull  at  a  Summer's  picnic,  or  of 
raising  a  false  cry  of  "fire"  in  a 
crowded  house.  And  yet  this  is  just 
what  the  politician  is  doing  in  order  to 
carry  his  crafty  ends.  He  has  raised 
the  cry  of  "negro  domination"  when  all 
the  world  knows  that  the  negro  is  no 
more  able  to  dominate  the  South  than 
the  babies  in  the  cradle.  But  it  serves 
its  purpose  by  raising  race  animosity, 
which  easily  overrides  all  arguments 
based  on  tax,  tariff  or  the  relative  value 
of  silver  and  gold. 

The  cry  of  "negro  rapist"  has  been 
skillfully  and  wilfully  proclaimed.  The 
most  dastardly  deeds  of  the  most  das- 
tardly members  of  the  human  race, 
though  perhaps  not  exceeding  in  num- 
ber or  heinousness  like  offences  through- 
out the  civilized  world,  have  been  exag- 
gerated and  advertised  as  the  negro's 
peculiar  trait.  Every  negro  who  has 
suffered  violence  at  the  hands  of  a 
bloodthirsty  mob  has  been  held  up  to 
the  world  as  being  lynched  for  a  name- 
less crime,  when  the  plain  facts  of 
record  show  that  not  one  such  lynching 
in  four  can  plead  even  the  allegement 
of  rape  in  extenuation.  But  of  what 
avail  is  fact  or  statistics  against  the  cry 
of  "negro  brute?"  When  the  cry  of 
"mad  dog"  is  raised,  no  induction  of 
fact  can  arouse  sympathy  for  the  cruel 


usage  heaped  upon  the  canine  thus 
branded.  The  end  is  served  when  the 
cry  is  raised. 

But  when  all  other  devices  have  failed, 
"social  equality"  is  relied  on  as  the  last 
appeal  to  give  stubbornness  and  strength 
to  race  prejudice.  But  it  is  a  dangerous 
thing  to  evoke  the  evil  spirit.  It  will 
turn  again  and  rend  him  who  called  it 
forth.  The  South,  itself,  and  indeed 
the  whole  American  people  must  be  the 
eventual  sufferers  by  the  carnival  of 
cruelty  and  crime  evoked  by  these  cun- 
ningly contrived  epithets. 

"America  must  be  all  white  or  all 
mulatto"  is  the  motto  and  motive  of 
"The  Leopard's  Spots,"  the  most  evilly 
potential  book  of  this  generation.  The 
large  question  of  race  amalgamation  is 
too  complex  for  parenthetical  treatment 
in  this  discussion.  But  it  is  sufficient 
to  say  that  blending  of  the  races  is  less 
likely  to  take  place,  if  the  dignity,  self- 
respect,  and  manly  opportunity  of  the 
negro  are  encouraged  and  respected, 
than  if  he  is  forever  crushed  beneath  the 
level  of  his  faculties  for  fancied  dread 
of  "social  equality."  The  only  way  to 
foster  race  pride  which  in  turn  leads  to 
the  preservation  of  race  type  and  race 
integrity,  is  to  open  up  vista  and  scope 
to  the  black  man's  aspiration.  How  can 
one  be  expected  to  be  prou^  to  be 
a  negro,  if  the  American  people,  of  set 
policy,  fix  the  status  of  the  race  on  par 
with  that  of  the  beast  of  burden?  The 
inexorable  decree  of  "social  equality" 
is  every  day  defeating  its  own  purpose. 
Hundreds  of  mixed  bloods  are  daily 
crossing  the  color  line,  and  carrying 
with  them  so  much  of  the  despised 
blood  as  an  albicant  skin  can  conceal 
without  betrayal.  The  man  or  woman 
who  denies,  ignores,  or  affects  to  scorn 
the  class  with  which  he  previously  affili- 
ated is  generally  deemed  deficient  in 
the  nobler  qualities  of  human  nature. 
It  is  not  conceivable  that  any  of  this 
class  would  undergo  the  degradation  of 
character  and  humiliation  of  soul  neces- 


"SOCIAL    EQUALITY" 


529 


sary  to  cross  the  great  social  "divide," 
unless  it  be  in  order  to  escape  for  them- 
selves and  for  their  descendants  an 
odious  and  despised  status.  Intermarri- 
ages usually  take  place  among  the  lower 
stratum  of  both  races. .  The  refined  and 
cultivated  class  among  the  colored  peo- 
ple show  as  much  distaste  for  such  alli- 
ances as  the  whites  themselves.  Fred- 
erick Douglass  materially  affected  his 
hold  upon  the  affection  of  the  colored 
race,  especially  the  cultivated  woman- 
hood, by  his  second  marriage.  Degra- 
dation of  the  negro  would  lead  soonest 
to  the  destruction  of  type  and  final 
blending  of  race  through  illicitness. 
Had  slavery  continued  for  another  cen- 
tury, without  fresh  African  importation, 
there  would  scarcely  have  remained  an 
unbleached  negro  in  America.  The  best 
possible  illustration  that  a  cultivated 
sense  of  self-respect  does  not  lead  to  in- 
termarriage is  furnished  by  Oberlin  col- 
lege in  Ohio,  and  Berea  college  in  Ken- 
tucky. These  institutions  have  had 
thousands  of  students  of  both  races, 
males  and  females,  associating  on  terms 
of  personal  respect  and  good  will;  and 
yet,  in  all  these  years,  there  has  not 
occurred  a  single  case  of  miscegenation. 
Contrast  this  record  with  the  concubin- 
age of  the  southern  plantation  or  the 
illicit  relations  of  the  city  slums,  and  it 
becomes  at  once  apparent  where  the  real 
danger  of  race  mixture  lies. 

The  observation  of  Mr.  Dixon  is 
a  little  late  in  the  making.  Whence 
comes  this  white  blood  that  flows,  with 
greater  or  less  spissitude,  in  the  veins 
of  some  six  out  of .  eight  millions  of 
negroes?  Is  it  due  to  the  bleaching 
breath  of  Saxon  civilization?  Who 
brought  about  the  present  approach- 
ment  between  the  races?  The  strenu- 
ous advocacy  of  race  purity  in  face 
of  proved  proneness  for  miscegenation 
affords  a  striking  reminder  of  the  lines  of 
Hudibras:  "The  self-same  thing  they  do 
abhor,  one  way,  and  long  another  for." 

The  charge  that  the  educated  negro  is 


in  quest  of  social  affiliation  with  the 
whites  is  absurdly  untrue.  His  sense  of 
self-respect  effectively  forbids  forcing 
himself  upon  any  unwelcome  association. 
Household  intercourse  and  domestic 
familiarity  are  essentially  questions  of 
personal  privilege.  The  choice  of  one's 
friends  and  intimate  associates  is  the 
most  delicate  phase  of  the  pursuit  of 
happiness.  Such  matters  are  regulated 
wholly  by  personal  preference  and  affin- 
ity of  taste.  The  social  integrity  of  the 
white  race  is  within  its  own  keeping. 
The  social  citadel  is  not  subject  to 
assault  and  battery.  The  aphorism  of 
Emerson  is  as  true  of  races  as  of  indi- 
viduals: "No  man  can  come  near  me 
except  through  my  own  act. ' ' 

The  negro  is  building  up  his  own 
society  based  upon  character,  culture 
and  the  nice  amenities  of  life,  and  can 
find  ample  social  satisfaction  within  the 
limits  of  his  own  race.  President  Eliot 
of  Harvard  university  has  told  us  in 
a  recent  utterance  that  the  white  man  of 
the  North  is  not  less  averse  than  his 
southern  brother  to  the  social  mingling 
of  the  races.  The  negro,  too,  has  social 
sensibilities.  He  will  never  complain 
against  any  white  man,  North  or  South, 
because  he  is  not  invited  to  dine  at  his 
table,  sit  in  his  pew  or  dance  with  his 
daughter.  But  the  negro  ought  not  to 
be  expected  to  accept  that  interpretation 
of  "social  equality"  'which  would  rob  him 
of  political  and  civil  rights,  as  well  as  of 
educational  and  industrial  opportunity. 

For  the  negro  to  supinely  surrender 
his  status  of  political  and  civic  equality 
would  be  as  unmanly  as  a  silly  insistence 
upon  unwelcome  social  relations  would 
be  unmannerly.  The  negro  and  the  white 
man  in  this  country  must  live  together 
for  all  time  which  we  can  foresee. 
They  must  mingle  in  business  and  in 
public  life.  All  their  relations  should 
be  characterized  by  mutual  respect, 
courtesy  and  good  will.  In  all  purely 
personal  and  social  matters  let  each, 
if  he  will,  go  unto  his  own  company. 


By    CHARLES    W.    MEARS 

CLEVELAND,      OHIO 

IN  at  least  one  respect  the  night  fire- 
man on  the  big  intercepting  sewer 
was  not  a  handsome  man.  But  inasmuch 
as  the  sewer  boss  nourished  an  emphatic 
preference  for  lads  born  on  the  old  sod 
and  disliked  their  looks  only  when  they 
forgot  which  ticket  he  was  supporting, 
he  found  no  fault  with  Michael  Malloy's 
misfit  style  of  personal  beauty.  Yet 
Michael  himself  did.  To  be  night  fire- 
man on  the  big  sewer  job  was  pretty  fair 
perhaps,  but  it  was  nothing  at  all  to 
being  a  policeman.  And  having  failed 
to  land  a  badge  and  a  billy,  Michael  had 
a  quarrel  with  nature.  Occasionally, 
when  he  washed  the  grime  from  his 
hands  and  face  in  the  morning,  he  would 
steal  a  glance  into  the  kitchen  looking- 
glass  and  curse  his  luck;  for  in  giving 
him  a  left  eye  that  looked  askance  nature 
had  deprived  him  of  his  birthright. 
Even  a  beat  in  the  remotest,  dreariest 
precinct  would  have  been  a  royal  job  in 
comparison  to  the  one  he  held,  since  as 
night  fireman  he  could  wield  sovereign 
authority  over  only  a  coal  heap  that  had 
not  the  power  to  resist  him.  At  inter- 
vals he  would  slam  his  shovel  on  the 
black  lumps  and  imagine  that  he  was 
breaking  heads  in  a  "Dago"  mob;  and 
again  he  would  sit  in  silence,  wondering 
whether  "wan-fifty  p'r"  was  always  to 
be  the  limit  of  his  earning  capacity. 
It  was  this  problem  that  he  was  trying 


hopelessly  to  solve  when  heavy  footfalls 
disturbed  his  midnight  meditation.  In- 
stantly Michael  knew  his  man.  Who 
would  not?  Who,  unschooled  in  the 
arts  though  he  be,  could  hear  that 
measured  tread  and  doubt  ever  so  little 
the  presence  of  a  blue-coat?  Well  did 
Michael  know.  Long,  long  before  he 
had  realized  that  eyes  must  be  alike  to 
win  a  silver  star,  had  he  not  watched 
with  all-observing  vision  —  despite  the 


THE    SALE   OF    THE    SAFETY    VALVE 


53' 


faulty  optic — the  movement  of  a  hundred 
members  of  the  force  and  learned  to  ape 
that  step?  Surely  he  knew  the  coiner's 
business. 

Slowly  the  member  of  the  force  ad- 
vanced. A  new  man  on  the  beat,  he 
climbed  across  the  cavern  of  the  sewer 
to  learn  the  reason  for  Michael's  pres- 
ence on  the  coal  heap.  The  fireman 
explained;  and,  satisfied  that  Michael 
told  the  truth,  Policeman  Shirley  re- 
sumed his  plodding  march. 

Nightly  thereafter  the  two  held  little 
talks.  Each  came  to  know  the  other's 
joys  and  sorrows.  Both  had  aspirations, 
vague  as  to  means  but  leading  to  a  com- 
mon end  —  more  money.  The  police- 
man's earnings,  which  seemed  a  fortune 
to  the  lesser  paid  night  fireman,  were 
none  too  much  for  Shirley's  needs.  A 
wife  and  five  school-going  youngsters 
cannot  be  decently  maintained  at  slight 
expense,  and  even  though  the  careful 
wife  made  money  do  a  wondrous  lot 
of  useful  things,  still  each  successive  pay 
day  found  the  big  policeman  no  richer 
than  before.  His  savings  bank  account 
had  long  since  been  a  joke  in  its  wan- 
dering from  nothing  to  fifty  dollars  and 
back  again  to  zero. 

Michael,  on  smaller  earnings,  was  yet 
the  better  off  in  net  results.  A  little 
home,  but  lately  rescued  from  its  mort- 
gage, gave  evidence  of  thrift.  It  was 
a  monument  to  comforts  denied.  Small 
wonder  that  Michael  longed  to  have  an 
income  that  would  mean  release  from 
hardships  such  as  his. 

And  so  when  Frank  Shirley  and 
Michael  Malloy  talked  at  night,  the 
burden  of  their  conversation  dealt  with 
what  to  do. 

"Can't  we  invent  something?"  the 
policeman  asked.  "My  father  and  my 
brother  did.  Of  course,  they  made  no 
money  by  it,  but  that's  no  sign  we  can't. 
My  father's  smoke  consumer  was  stolen 
by  a  man  named  Cooley,  and  the  steel 
mills  swiped  my  brother's  conveyer  with- 
out paying  a  cent.  Sue?  Fine  chance 


a  poor  inventor  has  to  sue  a  billion-dol- 
lar corporation  for  his  rights!  If  I  ever 
invent  anything  and  anybody  steals  it, 
I'll  chase  him  off  the  map  before  I  give 
him  rest!  " 

"Ye  be  on  th'  roight  trrack  how,  me 
man,"  responded  Michael.  "We'll  in- 
vint  t'gither  an'  be  as  rich  as  Wisting- 
house." 

On  Thursday  night  Michael  waited 
eagerly  for  the  heavy-stepping  Shirley. 

"Whishper,"  he  said  in  tone  suited 
to  the  precautionary  word,  when  Shirley 
reached  the  spot,  "I  have  th'  idee.  Ye 
see  this  injictor  val-l-ve?  Th'  little  dure 
swings  up  t'  lit  in  th'  wather  an' comes 
back  ag'in  t'  kape  ut  in.  Ye  know  this 
nach'ral  gas?  'Tis  what  kills  people  be 
stoppin'  an'  comin'  ag'in  whin  they  ain't 
lookin'.  Ye  see  th'  idee?" 

"A  natural-gas  safety  valve?" 

"Ye  have  ut.  We'll  make  th'  little 
dure  stay  open  t'  lit  in  th'  gas,  but  if 
ut  stops  th'  dure  come  down  an'  locks 
an'  divvle  th'  bit  av  gas  kin  come  to 
az-az-az— 

"Asphyxiate,"  suggested  Shirley. 

"Yis,  azphyxyate  the  fam'ly.  Whist, 
they'se  money  in  ut.  Barrels!  A  mil- 
lion !  Shure,  th'  gas  companies  need  ut. 
We'll  make  thim  pay.  Say  niver  a 
wurrd.  Kape  ut  under  th'  hilmet.  Ye 
got  t'  help  me  think  ut  out.  Shirley, 
ye  kin  quit  th'  foorce;  we're  rich!  " 

II 

Shirley  was  not  so  enthusiastic.  He 
saw  the  point  and  realized  the  need  of 
a  natural-gas  safety  valve,  but  how  to 
work  out  the  idea  was  net  an  easy  mat- 
ter. However,  the  suggestion  seemed 
so  good  that  he  kept  it  uppermost  in 
his  mind.  Finally,  unable  to  figure  out 
for  himself  the  way  to  make  the  needed 
valve,  he  called  in  help.  His  wife's 
brother,  a  designer,  listened  with  inter- 
est and  promised  to  think  it  over.  Every 
night  at  home  he  drew  sketches  and  dis- 
carded one  after  another  of  them,  as  he 
discovered  fresh  faults.  But  he  kept 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


"  THE  BURDEN  OF  THEIR  CONVERSATION  WAS  —  MORE  MONEY  " 


steadily  at  work  and  eventually  the  plan 
of  operation  became  plain  and  simple. 
When  the  automatic  safety  valve,  to 
protect  the  lives  of  natural-gas  users, 
thus  became  a  theoretically  effective 
thing,  Shirley  and  Michael  discussed 
their  future  plans.  A  partnership  was 
decided  upon.  Michael  urged  haste  in 
drawing  up  the  contract,  because  he 
wanted  all  the  preliminaries  to  real 
money-getting  out  of  the  way  early. 
Policeman  Shirley's  brother,  fresh  from 
law  school,  was  consulted. 

"Make  a  paper  t'  last  foriver," 
Michael  suggested.  "Yer  father  an' 
brother  was  done  out  av  their  patents; 
do  ye  fix  this  so  I  cudden't  sell  er  give 
away  me  share  an'  so  Frank  cudden't 
ayther.  That  is,  onless  we're  both  av 
wan  mind.  Two  hids  do  be  betther 
tnan  wan.  Maybe  two  kin  kape  th' 
sharrpers  off." 

"It's  all  right,"  cautioned  the  young 
lawyer,  "to  put  in  the  contract  that 
neither  can  sell  without  the  other's  con- 
sent, but  the  law  governs  that,  anyhow. 
Either  can  sell  at  any  time,  but  of  course 
the  partnership  is  forthwith  dissolved; 
and  in  partnership  affairs  one  partner 
is  responsible  for  all  the  debts." 


Michael  was  surprised.  "The  divvle 
ye  say!"  he  ejaculated.  "I'll  have  t'  be 
deedin'  me  house  t'  th'  ould  woman." 

"That's  a  safe  thing  to  do,"  re- 
sponded the  lawyer. 

"Yes,"  added  the  policeman,  "do  it. 
I  haven't  anything  to  lose  anyhow,  and 
you'd  better  protect  yourself." 

"Shure,  I'm  not  afraid  ye'll  be  doin' 
wrong,"  Michael  explained.  "'Tis 
nawthin'  like  that.  But  wan  niver  kin 
tell  what'll  happun,  an'  'tis  wisdom  t' 
be  an  th'  safe  soide.  As  f'r  losses, 
they'll  be  none.  They's  millions  in  th' 
invintion.  We'll  be  inakin',  not  losin', 
I'm  tellin'  ye.  Annyhow,  make  th' 
wrritin'  strrong — make  ut  stirong. " 

Then  in  that  stately  and  explicit  lan- 
guage for  which  the  law  is  notable,  the 
contract  was  drawn  in  duplicate  and  the 
Malloy  &  Shirley  Safety  Valve  Company 
sprang  into  existence.  The  agreement 
made  the  men  equal  partners  and  bound 
each  to  consult  the  other  before  making 
any  deal  of  any  nature  respecting  the  in- 
vention. "  'Tis  a  foine  bit  av  worrk," 
declared  Michael  as  he  attached  his  sig- 
nature to  the  instrument.  "Whin  we 
accumylate  a  fortyun  be  selling'  out  t' 
th'  gas  company,  we'll  pass  th'  laad 


THE    SALE    OF    THE    SAFETY    VALVE 


533 


(referring  to  the  young  lawyer)  an  illy- 
gant  sum  f'r  his  labors.  Mind  ye,  we 
will.  'Tis  not  gin'rosity,  'tis  duty. 
'Twuddnt'  be  roight  not  t'.  An1  whin 
we  begin  buldin'  foine  risidences  I'll 
have  mine  on  the  wist  side  av  th'  bully- 
varrd  t'  git  the  mawrnin'  sun  an  the 
front  porch.  'Tis  farewell  t'  noight 
firm'." 

Ill 

"You've  a  good  thing  here,"  was  the 
encouragement  given  the  Malloy  &  Shir- 
ley Safety  Valve  Company  when  the 
sketch  of  the  invention  was  shown  to 
Forman  &  Dunn,  patent  attorneys.  "It's 
a  bit  crude  yet,  and  you  will  need  to 
improve  it  some,  no  doubt.  But  the 
thing  to  do  is  to  patent  it  first  and  to 
improve  it  later." 

Subsequently  the  inventors  were  in- 
formed that  patent  office  records  con- 
tained nothing  that  was  likely  to  bar 
their  claims. 

"I  have  looked  up  the  subject  thoro- 
ughly," reported  Mr.  Dunn,  "and  I  am 
reasonably  certain  that  I  can  put  through 
a  dozen  claims.  By  the  way,"  he  added, 
"if  you  boys  are  pinched  for  funds  our 
firm  will  stand  the  expense  and  accept 
a  one-fourth  interest  in  compensation." 

"Niver  moind,"  Malloy  hurriedly  re- 
plied, "I've  th'  siventy-five  in  me  vist 
pocket.  Sixty-five  I  borry'd  frum  th' 
ould  lady  an'  Shirley  here  had  th'  tin. 
Th'  invintion  is  not  f'r  sale  till  th'  gas 
company  unbelts  f'r  a  million." 

"No,  Mr.  Dunn,"  Shirley  added,  "we 
are  in  no  hurry  to  sell.  We  can  wait." 

Paying  the  attorney. his  fee,  the  pair 
left  the  office.  Over  their  glasses  in 
Rafferty's  corner  emporium  they  pro- 
ceeded to  erect  castles  in  Spain  at  a 
rate  of  speed  that  would  have  astonished 
an  ordinary  building  boom.  And  in 
their  talk  they  spent  money  with  wild 
abandon,  so  that  the  bank  would  not  be 
embarrassed  trying  to  handle  all  the 
wealth  that  they  were  going  to  annex. 

"Ayther  we'll  have  t'  spind  it  like 
wather  er  we'll  have  t'  dayposit  ut  in 


banks  all  over  th'  wurrld.  No  wan 
bank'll  take  ut  all.  They's  this  advan- 
tage be  havin'  ut  in  many  banks: 
whither  we're  in  Dublin,  Paris  er  Zanzy- 
bar,  we  kin  sind  th'  coachman  aroun' 
th'  corner  an  git  all  we  need  f'r  tips  and 
th'  treat.  We'll  not  have  t'  sind  home 
f'r  money.  Kings  an'  imp'rors'll  attimpt 
t'  meet  us  familyar  loike,  because  we're 
savin'  th'  people's  lives.  'Tis  th'  hu- 
mane invintion.  Th'  mob'll  be  writin' 
pomes  t'  us  an'  makin'  us  prisydint  av 
th'  S.  P.  G.  U." 

"What's  S.  P.  G.  U.  ?"  quizzed  Shir- 
ley. 

"Shure,  Sawsiety  f'r  th'  Pertiction  av 
Gas  Users." 

"Mike,  there  ain't  no  such  society." 

"An1  I  know  that.  But  they  will  be. 
Whin  th'  invintion  saves  th'  lives  av 
wives  an'  mothers  an'  childer,  the 
gang'll  rise  up  an  orgynize  th'  sawsiety. 
Shure,  they  wasn't  no  G.  A.  R.  till  after 
th'  war." 

And  Mike's  logic  was  too  convincing 
to  admit  of  an  answer. 

IV 

The  unheard-of  speed  with  which  the 
safety  valve  application  went  through  the 
patent  office  would  have  put  a  ninety- 
horse-power  motor  car  to  shame.  So 
early  was  its  arrival  at  Forman  &  Dunn's 
that  its  coming  preceded  the  production 
of  a  single  valve,  a  fact  due  not  so 
much,  however,  to  the  pair's  neglect  as 
to  their  lack  of  funds.  True  they  might 
have  borrowed  money  from  their  friends 
or  they  could  have  accepted  the  offer  of 
a  plumbing  house  to  make  the  valve  on 
royalty.  But  both  were  cautious.  The 
experiences  of  Shirley's  father  and 
brother  were  sufficient  warning  to  put 
them  on  their  guard. 

"Not  an  yer  life,"  declared  Michael. 
"Divvle  th'  cint  we'll  borry,  because  we 
don't  have  t',  an'  we'll  be  victims  f'r 
no  roy'lty  shark,  because  we  don't  want 
t'.  We'll  rist  till  th'  gas  company  rolls 
out  th'  barrels  av  coin  frum  the  base- 


534 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,   1905 


mint  an'  says  to  Donahue,  th'  teamster, 
'Give  this  to  no  wan  but  Malloy  an' 
Shirley  an'  don't  ye  come  back  widout 
a  rayseat. '  We  kin  wait." 

And  they  did.  No-  gas  company  evi- 
dently felt  the  Malloy  &  Shirley  safety 
valve  to  be  indispensable  to  it's  welfare, 
and  though  the  patentees  waited  long, 
no  offer  of  purchase  came.  Every  morn- 
ing upon  his  return  from  work,  Michael 
looked  under  the  pillow  to  see  that  the 
precious  papers  of  partnership  and 
patent  were  still  safe,  and  just  as  often 
he  cautioned  Mary  to  keep  doors  and 
windows  locked  day  and  night.  But 
weeks  and  weeks  went  by  and  no  in- 
quirer even  asked  for  a  price  on  the 
firm's  invention,  nor  was  ever  Michael's 
pillow  disturbed. 

.  "Shure,  ye  are  the  foine  invintor,  ye 
are  that,"  exclaimed  the  exasperated 
Mary  one  day.  "  'Tis  six  months  since 
he  took  away  th'  sixty-five,  an'  divvle 
th'  thing  have  ye  tj  show  f'r  ut  but 
th'  two  papers.  'Tis  a  great  thing,  th' 
invintion;  wid  meself  havin'  no  dacint 
shoes  an'  ye  wid  on'y  dirty  clothes  t' 
wear  t'  mass." 

Mary's  little  faith  was  grievous  to  the 
night  fireman,  but  only  so  at  first.  The 
more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  his 
belief  strengthened  that  she  was  wise. 
Six  months  and  no  fortune;  no,  not  even 
an  offer. 

"  'Tis  strange  that  no  gas  company 
wants  th'  valve,"  he  said  to  the  police- 
man that  night.  "I  think  'tis  sixty-five 
gone  t'  th'  bad,  I  do  so." 

"Seventy-five,"  prompted  Shirley. 

"Yis,  siventy-five.  Yer  tin  included. 
'Tis  gone." 

"Well,  we've  got  the  patent,  anyhow," 
philosophized  Shirley.  "There's  no 
telling  when  it  will  prove  a  good  in- 
vestment." 

"Invistmint  is  ut?  Give  me  th'  sixty- 
five  an'  th'  invistmint'll  baylong  t'  ye." 

"How  long  will  you  give  me  to  raise 
the  money?  asked  Shirley. 

"How  long  ye  need?" 


"A  month." 
"  'Tis  a  bargain." 

"All  right,"  responded  Shirley, "here's 
a  cigar  to  bind  the  deal." 

V 

President  Wentworth,  of  the  Consoli- 
dated Illuminating  &  Fuel  Company, 
turned  from  his  desk  as  Herrick  came 
in.  Herrick  was  the  company's  handy 
man.  His  work  was  various.  He  had 
handled  councilmen  and  legislators,  he 
had  bought  tracts  of  land  cheaper  than 
anybody  else  thought  possible,  and  he 
had  outwitted  more  than  one  of  the 
company's  competitors  when  valuable 
rights  were  involved. 

Wentworth  opened  the  conversation. 
"Herrick,  what  have  you  learned  about 
that  safety  valve  patent?"  he  asked. 

"It's  a  good  patent,  a  basic  one,  in 
fact,"  Herrick  answered.  "Our  Wash- 
ington attorneys  went  over  the  subject 
thoroughly  with  me  and  I  don't  see  how 
we  can  utilize  the  idea  without  infring- 
ing." 

"Does  the  valve  work  properly?" 

"Well,  I  should  not  say  perfectly.  It 
needs  improvement,  and  can  be  per- 
fected readily,  so  Brown  says."  (Brown 
was  the  company's  chief  engineer.) 
"But  this  patent  incorporates  a  basic 
idea." 

"Then  you  would  suggest  purchasing 
it?" 

"By  all  means." 

"But  what  if  you  have  delayed  the 
matter  too  long?" 

"That's  a  chance  we  had  to  take  when 
we  started  in  to  investigate  the  strength 
of  Malloy  &  Shirley's  claims.  But  de- 
pend upon  me,  I'll  buy  it  if  it  is  a 
possible  thing." 

"Good  for  you.  And  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do,  Herrick.  I  figure  that  this 
patent,  since  it  is  sound  and  basic,  will 
be  worth  at  least  $10,000  to  us.  If  you 
can  buy  it  for  less,  you  may  keep  the 
difference.  If  it  costs  more  and  we  de- 
cide to  buy,  whatever  the  price,  I'll  make 


THE    SALE    OF    THE    SAFETY    VALVE 


535 


you  a  gift  of  twenty  per  cent,  of  the  pur- 
chase price  by  way  of  extra  compensa- 
tion." "Mr.  Wentworth,  that  is  a  gener- 
ous proposition.  I  shall  certainly  lay 
myself  out  to  do  a  thorough  job.  Will 
you  please  give  me  an  order  on  the 
cashier  for  $10,000?  You  know,  in  a 
case  like  this,  money  in  hand  sometimes 
induces  a  prompt  decision." 

VI 

"Mike,  git  up!  Git  up!"  It  was 
Mary  shaking  the  sleeping  night  fire- 
man. "Hurry,  ye  slaypin'  beauty; 
they's  a  spalpeen  here  talkin'  invin- 
tion.' '  At  the  word  "invintion"  Michael 
was  on  the  floor,  grabbing  his  clothes  and 
shoving  himself  into  them.  Three 
minutes  later  he  was  shaking  Herrick's 
hand.  "Mr.  Malloy,"  Herrick  began, 
"I  am  Mr.  Merrick  of  the  Standard  Au- 
tomatic Sprinkler  Company.  Our  sprink- 
ler puts  out  fires,  you  know.  I  heard 
of  your  valve  and  I  thought  while  in 
town  I  should  like  to  see  it.  I  am  here 
putting  in  a  sprinkler  in  the  new  Forum 
building."  "Ye  can't  see  ut,"  Michael 
blurted  out. 

"Oh,  is  that  so?  I'm  sorry.  Why 
don't  you  care  to  show  it?" 

"  'Tisn't  that  I  don't  care;  'tis  that 
I  can't.  I  niver  had  wan  made." 

"Wasn't  it  a  success?" 

"  Shure !' '  Michael  declared  with  proper 
emphasis. 

"Well,  how  do  you  know  it  was  a 
success,  if  you  never  had  one  made?" 

"Another  felly  did,"  said  Michael, 
ashamed  to  lie,  but  certain  that  he  was 
in  the  hands  of  a  "royalty  shark"  and 
determined  to  die  game. 

"Maybe  I  can  see  his,"  Herrick  sug- 
gested. 

"Ye  can't  though.  He's  in  Massa- 
chusetts." 

"Then  perhaps  you  have  the  patent 
papers,"  was  Herrick's  next  suggestion. 

"I  have.  But  this  invintion  is  not 
a  sprinklin'  wagin  er  a  hose  cart." 

Herrick  smiled.    "I  understand  that. 


I  thought  I  might  adapt  it  to  my  needs. 
Let  me  see  the  papers  anyhow." 

Michael  left  the  room,  calling  Mary 
after  him.  "Sit  be  th'  dure,'  he  cau- 
tioned, "an  if  th'  fire  extinguisher  felly 
starts  t'  run  wid  th'  papers  hit  th'  divvle 
width'  lid  lifter." 

Herrick  looked  over  the  paper  with 
apparent  care.  He  pretended  to  read 
every  word  of  the  text  and  to  study 
every  line  of  the  design.  At  length  he 
spoke:  "Mr.  Malloy,  I  think  I  can  use 
your  valve,"  he  said.  "It  is  not  water 
tight  and  I'll  have  to  perfect  it.  But  the 
idea  is  fairly  good,  and  if  you  want  to  sell 
outright  I'll  be  glad  to  talk  business." 

"I  can't  sell,"  Michael  responded  with 
a  touch  of  sorrow  in  his  voice.  "I've 
a  partner." 

"Maybe  your  partner  wants  to  sell. 
Have  you  a  contract?  May  I  ^ee  it?" 

Getting  the  patent  paper  tightly  in  his 
grasp,  Michael  went  to  the  bed  and 
drew  forth  the  partnership  agreement. 
"Merrick"  scanned  it  closely  and  re- 
turned the  paper  to  Michael. 

"I  see,"  he  said,  "I  shall  have  to  do 
business  with  you  both.  Now  if  you 
and  your  partner  will  consider  an  offer 
of  $400  spot  cash,  I'll  be  pleased  to  see 
you  at  the  New  Naples  hotel  at  two  this 
afternoon."  Michael  promised  to  have 
Shirley  on  hand  at  the  hour  named,  and 
the  visitor  left. 

"Sell,"  commanded  Mary,  the  mo- 
ment Herrick  was  out  of  hearing. 

"Shure,  I'm  not  th'  laddybuck  t'  ray- 
fuse.  Four  hundr'd  is  no  million,  but 
'tis  more  than  sixty-five." 

And  on  the  street  car  bound  down 
"town  the  foxy  Herrick,  alias  Merrick, 
even  hated  himself  for  a  moment.  "It's 
a  shame  to  take  it  away  from  them,"  he 
mused.  A  commission  of  $9,600  on 
a  $400  deal.  Whew!  That  lobster 
doesn't  realize  what  he  owns.  Still 
$400  probably  looks  like  a  gold  mine 
to  him,  and  to  give  him  more  would 
be  wasting  good  money.  And  as  for 
myself,  what's  the  use  of  being 


536 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


shrewd    unless    your    shrewdness    pays 
handsome     dividends?" 

VII 

The  night  fireman  had  utterly  forgot- 
ten that  Shirley  had  an  option  on  his 
half  interest.  He  was  too  intent  upon 
getting  back  his  beloved  "sixty-five"  to 
care  Avhere  it  came  from;  and  the  big 
policeman,  having  secured  the  option, 
had  straightway  dismissed  it  from  his 
thoughts.  He  had  no  sixty-five  dollars, 
and  he  wouldn't  have  borrowed  it  if  he 
could  have  done  so.  He  assured  him- 
self that,  unlike  Michael,  he  did  not 
have  "cold  feet,"  but  at  the  same  time 
he  put  forth  no  effort  to  prove  his  con- 
viction. 

Consequently,  when  Michael's  eleven 
o'clock  visit  to  Shirley's  home  caused  the 
policeman  to  bound  out  of  bed,  the  sub- 
ject of  their  talk  was  not  option,  but  out- 
right sale  to  "Merrick." 

"He  offers  $400  an'  wants  t'  buy  at 
wanst.  Me  f'r  t'  sell,"  said  Michael. 

"It's  hardly  enough,"  returned  the 
policeman,  "but  I'll  talk  with  him  any- 
how. I'll  meet.you  in  Rafferty's  at  half 
past  one." 

Instead  of  trying  to  finish  his  sleep 
after  Malloy  had  gone,  Shirley  contem- 
plated the  $400  proposition.  "Merrick" 
had  probably  put  out  that  figure  as 
a  feeler  and  might  raise  it  to  $500.  In 
any  event,  the  policeman  determined  to 
stand  out  for  all  he  could  get. 

Two  o'clock  found  the  patentees  in 
"Merrick's"  room  at  the  hotel.  The 
alleged  sprinkler  agent  was  ready  for 
them. 

"You  see,"  he  began,  "I  am  in  doubt* 
whether  your  valve  will  suit  my  purpose 
at  all.  In  talking  with  Mr.  Malloy 
I  suggested  a  price  of  $400,  but  I  have 
reconsidered  the  offer,  and  the  best  I 
can  do  is  $300." 

"I'm  here  f'r  t'  sell,"  was  Michael's 
emphatic  avowal,  and  he  whispered  to 
Shirley:  "Say  yis  er  he'll  not  want  t' 
buy  at  all.  Me  wife  needs  th'  sixty-five." 


The  policeman  was  angry.  "Mr. 
Merrick,"  he  spoke  with  warmth,  "I 
came  here  to  consider  an  offer  of  $400. 
If  you  have  changed  your  mind,  why,  so 
have  I.  My  price  is  $500." 
„  The  thought  of  the  vanishing  "sixty- 
five"  gave  Michael  an  incipient  fit.  He 
said  nothing,  but  his  face  betrayed  his 
misery. 

"All  right,"  Herrick  responded,  "just 
as  you  say,  Mr.  Shirley.  I  guess  we  can 
do  no  business  this  afternoon." 

"F'r  th'  love  av  hivin'  sell,"  whis- 
pered Michael  huskily. 

"I'm  in  no  rush  to  sell,"  said  Shirley, 
trying  to  be  calm.  "I  can  wait,  just  as 
I  have  been  doing.  This  isn't  a  sprink- 
ler valve  in  the  first  place;  it's  a  gas 
valve.  If  it's  worth  $300  to  you,  it's 
worth  a  blamed  sight  more  to  a  gas 
company." 

"That  may  be,"  commented  Herrick, 
"but  my  concern  would  not  permit  me 
to  pay  more  than  $300.  Of  that  I  am 
certain." 

"Then  we  are  simply  wasting  time. 
I'm  going  home."  Saying  which  Shirley 
departed. 

It  was  only  Herrick's  love  of  game 
that  caused  the  breech.  He  felt  sure  of 
his  men  at  his  own  price,  and  while  a 
few  hundred  dollars  under  the  circum- 
stances was  nothing  at  all,  the  situation 
pleased  him.  But  Michael  did  not  share 
Shirley's  tenacity  of  purpose,  and  re- 
fused to  combat  for  his  rights. 

"Do  ye  not  git  mad,"  implored  the 
night  fireman  as  Shirley  went  away. 
"Listen;  I'll  sell  me  share  f'r  sixty- 
five.  Ye  kin  give  Shirley  $250,  th'  half 
av  the  $500  that  he  wants.  Sixty-five 
an'  $250  'u'd  be  $315,  er  $15  more  than 
ye  offered."  It  was  a  quick  calculation 
for  Michael  to  make,  but  pressing  needs 
sometimes  bestir  an  otherwise  sluggish 
intellect. 

"It's  a  go.  Bring  Shirley  back." 
And  Herrick  laughed  with  real  amuse- 
ment as  the  fireman  dashed  from  the 
room  in  pursuit  of  the  policeman.  Mai- 


THE    SALE    OF    THE    SAFETY    VALVE 


537 


loy  did  not  wait  for  the  elevator.  He 
flew  down-stairs,  two  or  three  steps  at 
a  time.  Shirley  was  not  in  sight. 
Michael  had  given  up  everything  but 
the  precious  "sixty-five"  just  for  Shir- 
ley's sake.  What  now,  he  thought  as  he 
headed  toward  Rafferty's,  if  before  he 
could  find  Shirley  "Merrick"  should 
again  change  his  mind.  His  heart  grew 
heavier  with  each  step,  but  he  enjoyed 
momentary  bliss  upon  finding  Shirley 
before  the  bar.  Quickly  the  fireman 
told  his  story  and  the  pair  promptly 
returned  to  the  hotel.  "Merrick"  and 
Shirley  had  no  difficulty  in  agreeing 
jupon  the  new  terms,  since  each  was  getr 
ting  practically  all  that  his  bluff  called 
for. 

"We'll  go  down-stairs  now,"  suggested 
Shirley,"  and  have  the  contract  written. 
Sit  in  the  smoking  room  while  I  dictate 
it  and  I'll  bring  it  to  you  for  your  sig- 
natures." 

Half  an  hour  later  he  placed  a  type- 
written sheet  in  Shirley's  hands. 

"This,"  "Merrick"  explained,  "is 
merely  preliminary.  It's  just  to  bind 
the  bargain.  I'll  give  you  ten  dollars 
when  you  sign  this  and  the  rest  when 
you  deliver  the  partnership  agreement 
and  the  patent  paper." 

Shirley  read  the  agreement,  while 
Michael  looked  over  his  shoulder  in 
a  semi-dazed  way  as  though  he  under- 
stood none  of  it.  The  memorandum 
covered  exactly  the  facts  that  "Merrick" 
had  stated,  only  it  was  made  in  favor 
of  "Geo.  L.  Herrick." 

"Who's  Herrick?"  asked  Shirley. 

"Oh,  yes,"  "Merrick"  hurriedly  re- 
sponded, "I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Mr. 
Herrick  is  president  of  our  company. 
,A11  our  patent  affairs  are  conducted  in 
his  name." 

The  policeman  thought  it  peculiar, 
but  let  it  pass. 

When  the  signatures  were  attached  to 
the  contract,  "Merrick"  handed  ten 
to  Shirley,  who  in  turn  passed  it  on  to 
Michael  to  ease  the  latter's  agony  about 


his  investment. 

"Say,"'  Shirley  asked  abruptly,  what's 
that  two  inches  of  white  space  just  above 
the  signatures  for?" 

"For  convenience  merely,"  explained 
the  smooth  "Men-ck."  "When  the  deal 
is  closed,  you  see  we  can  simply  fill  in 
the  blank  space  and  have  the  whole 
thing  on  one  sheet." 

Shirley  didn't  know  whether  to  be 
satisfied  or  not.  He  disliked  that  way 
of  doing  business,  but  the  paper  was  now 
in  Herrick's  pocket  and  the  earnest 
money  had  been  paid,  so  he  decided  to 
raise  no  protest. 

"Merrick"  changed  the  subject.  "If 
you'll  get  the  papers  at  once,  I'll  meet 
you  here  at  six." 

"Shure,  we'll  be  here,"  said  Michael. 
"An'  ye  mustn't  kape  us  waitin.'  We 
wurrk  nights.  I  go  on  at  eight." 

"And  so  do  I,"  added  the  policeman. 

"Don't  worry,"  was  the  response, 
"I'll  be  here  at  the  tick  of  the  clock. 
By  the  way,"  he  added,  "what's  the  use 
of  both  of  you  going  home?  One  of 
you  can  get  the  papers  and  the  other 
can  spend  the  time  with  me."  He 
really  intended  to  be  generous.  While 
waiting  the  arrival  of  the  papers  he  and 
his  guest  could  have  a  cigar  or  two. 

Shirley  declared  he  was  not  going 
home.  "I've  got  to  buy  some  things  for 
the  kids,  so  I'll  give  Malloy  a  note  to 
my  wife  for  my  paper  and  I'll  be  back 
here  in  time  to  meet  you."  Arrange- 
ments were  made  accordingly. 

The  instant  Malloy  and  Shirley  left  his 
presence,  "Merritk"  began  some  hasty 
work.  He  hurried  to  the  stenographer's 
desk,  and,  placing  a  silver  certificate  in 
her  hand,  asked  for  the  use  of  her  writ- 
ing machine.  "I've  some  work  here," 
he  remarked,  "that  I  can  write  myself 
faster  than  I  can  dictate  it. "  He  wrote 
with  speed,  filling  in  the  blank  space 
with  an  acknowledgement  of  the  pay- 
ment of  sixty-five  dollars  to  Malloy  and 
$250  to  Shi.rley.  That  done,  he  paid 
his  hotel  bill  and  overcoat  and  grip  in 


538 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


hand,   jumped  into  a  cab. 

VIII 

Malloy  went  first  to  Shirley's.  The 
policeman's  wife  handed  him  the  part- 
nership contract  without  question  upon 
reading  her  husband's  note  and  was 
pleased  when  told  of  the  $250  deal.  She 
could  buy  so  many  badly  needed  things 
with  the  money  that  she  felt  happier 
than  she  had  been  in  a  year.  Malloy 
rather  regretted  that  the  policeman  was 
^to  fare  so  much  better  than  himself,  but 
\he  thought  of  getting  back  his  own  out- 
lay was  some  consolation. 

He  had  just  arrived  home  when  "Mer- 
rirk's"  cab  drove  up.  Michael's  sur- 
prise was  only  momentary,  for  the 
caller's  smooth  tongue  was  in  working 
trim.  "Merrick"  hastily  told  that  he 
had  received  a  telegram  calling  him 
home. 

"I  couldn't  wait  until  six  without 
missing  my  train,  and  so  I  paid  Shirley 
his  share,  and  now  I'm  here  to  pay  you 
yours.  I  knew  you  were  honest,  so  I 
didn't  even  ask  Shirley  for  a  receipt. 
Are  the  papers' ready?" 

"I  have  thim  all." 

"Well,  let's  hurry  then.  Here's  the 
money.  Ten,  twenty,  thirty,  forty,  fifty, 
five,  and  the  ten  I  gave  you  down  town 
makes  sixty-five.  Now  the  papers, 
please." 

"An'  here's  th'  papers.  Mr.  Merrick, 
yer  the  foine  man.  May  hivin  bless 
ye." 

At  six  o'clock  Herrick  was  ordering 
the  best  he  could  find  on  the  Pullman 
diner's  wine  card  and  mentally  shaking 
hands  with  himself  on  his  day's  work. 
"Think  of  it!"  he  mused.  "Ten  thou- 
sand dollars  minus  sixty-five  dollars 
leaves  9,935 !  I  guess  I  can  afford  to  take 
a  week's  vacation  on  the  strength  of  this 
little  deal." 

At  the  same  hour  Shirley  sat  in  the 
hotel  lobby  waiting  for  Malloy  and 
"Merrick."  Fifteen  minutes  elapsed 
and  neither  appeared.  At  six-thirty  he 


asked  the  clerk  about  the  latter. 

"Mr.  Merrick  left  the  hotel  this  after- 
noon." 

"The  devil  you  say!" 

"Yes,  he  paid  his  bill  and  left." 

Grave  thoughts  troubled  the  police- 
man. He  hastened  to  the  corner  and 
jumped  aboard  a  car.  He  was  nervous. 
Never  had  a  street  car  moved  slower  or 
stopped  oftener.  He  felt  that  he  could 
have  walked  and  beaten  it.  When  it 
reached  Malloy's  street,  he  dashed  from 
the  platform  and  sprinted  to  the  fire- 
man's little  home. 

Malloy  greeted  him  with  an  expansive 
smile,  but  it  faded  before  Shirley's  grim 
and  questioning  look. 

"Did  Merrick  pay  you?"  the  police- 
man asked  hoarsely. 

"Av  course.     Why?" 

"Where's  mine?" 

"He  said  he  give  ut  t'  ye." 

"He  lied.  I  never  saw  him.  Tell 
me  what  he  did.  Where  did  you  see 
him?  Where  is  he?" 

The  night  fireman  stumbled  through 
the  details.  The  policeman  paced  the 
floor  and  muttered  oaths  at  each  new 
revelation  of  "Merrick's"  operations. 
"Malloy,"  he  exclaimed  as  the  fireman 
finished,  "you're  a  blasted  fool !"  And 
with  that  off  his  mind,  he  slammed  the 
door  shut  from  the  outside.  He  was 
beside  himself  with  wrath.  His  mind 
was  a  seething  caldron  of  heterogenous 
thoughts.  But  the  night  air  was  cool 
and  it  lowered  his  temperature,  physical 
and  mental.  He  was  calmer  when  he 
reached  home.  Inside  the  lighted  house 
he  saw  the  wife,  who  was  happy  in  anti- 
cipation of  receiving  $250 — a  fortune. 

"What  shall  I  tell  her?"  he  asked. 
Then  his  thoughts  reverted  to  Malloy. 

"I  called  him  a  fool,''"  Shirley  re- 
minded himself.  "I  made  a  mistake. 
He's  no  fool,  for  -he  got  sixty-five  dol- 
lars, and  that  was  all  he  wanted.  I'm 
the  fool.  Why,.  I  didn't  even  get  my 
ten,  though  I  had  it  in  my  hands." 

And  he  laughed  to  think  of  it. 


THE    COMEDY    OF    MASKS 


By    ANNA    McCLURE    SHOLL 

NEW     YORK     CITY 
ILLUSTRATIONS       BY      W.      D.    .GOLDBECK 


(  Publication  of  this  story  was  begun  in  January.) 
IV 

H\/O\J  will  write  as  soon  as  you  get 
•  to  town?" 

"Yes,  Margaret." 

"Kiss  me  goodbye,  Justin.  No  one 
can  see  us." 

"She  raised  her  face  to  his,  and  he 
kissed  her.  They  were  parting  at  one 
of  the  far  entrances  to  the  garden,  from 
which,  by  his  own  wish,  he  was  to  walk 
to  the  station. 

Margaret  had  a  calm  night  back  of 
her,  and  the  prospect  of  a  pleasant  day 
before  her.  Mr.  Hartley  was  to  drive 
her  that  afternoon  to  a  distant  lake  of 
romantic  associations.  Justin  was  going 
indeed,  but  Diana  was  also  left  behind. 
She  was  wondering,  not  without  exulta- 
tion, how  Diana  would  feel  when  she 
heard  of  Justin's  early  departure. 

She  looked  pretty  as  a  morning-glory 
in  her  pink  Summer  dress.  Justin, 
whom  a  sleepless  night  had  left  drained 
of  all  emotion,  but  the  desire  of  flight, 
felt  now  no  aversion  to  her.  His  con- 
ception of  her  as  a  child-like,  if  limited, 
person  was  not  easily  dispelled. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  today?" 
he  asked  kindly. 

"I  shall  play  tennis  this  morning. 
Mr.  Hartley  takes  me  driving  this  after- 
noon." 

"Hartley's  a  good  fellow.  Well,  good- 
bye, Margaret.  Enjoy  yourself.  I  will 
write  you  tonight." 

He  swung  off  at  a  good  pace,  and  she 
turned  to  reenter  the  garden ;  but  an 
impulse  seized  her  to  watch  him  until 
he  reached  the  place  where  the  road 
forked;  one  division  leading  to  the  sta- 
tion two  miles  distant,  the  other  to  the 
deserted  village  where  they  had  all  gone 
on  the  preceding  afternoon. 


At  the  parting  of  the  ways  she  saw 
him  pause,  stand  irresolute  a  moment, 
then  deliberately  take  the  village  road. 

Her  immediate  impulse  was  to  follow 
him,  for  she  knew  that  on  this  road  to 
the  deserted  village  there  was  no  cross- 
cuts to  the  railroad.  Suspicion  winged 
her  feet,  and  she  found  herself  thinking 
that  it  was  fortunate  she  had  had  her 
breakfast  with  Justin  before  the  others 
were  up,  and  that  she  had  put  on  her 
hat  to  accompany  him  through  the  gar- 
dens. 

He  had  so  much  the  start  of  her  that 
sometimes  he  was  hidden  from  her  sight, 
but  she  hurried  on,  and  at  last  came  to 
a  long  stretch  of  up-hill  road  where  she 
could  keep  him  plainly  in  view.  He 
went  steadily  along  as  if  to  a  sure  desti- 
nation. Clearly  he  was  going  straight 
to  the  village.  Had  he  an  appointment 
there?  she  asked  herself.  And  the 
thought  quickened  her  steps.  She  had 
the  detective  instinct. 

The  road  rose  and  rose,  the  landscape 
that  dropped  beneath  it  growing  every 
minute  wider,  more  extended,  more 
seductive  on  its  far  violet  horizons. 
Early  morning,  like  a  pageant,  had  just 
passed  over  it,  leaving  it  shining,  dewy 
and  luminously  green.  Margaret  did 
not  see  the  landscape,  but  once  or 
twice  she-paused  because  Justin  stopped 
and  gazed. 

And  now  in  the  distance  appeared  the 
few  scattered  stone  cottages,  whose  cold 
hearths  were  open  to  the  broad  heaven, 
and  from  whose  empty  windows  no  faces 
ever  looked.  The  road  they  lined 
seemed  to  end  against  the  heavenly  blue 
of  the  sky,  for  the  crest  of  the  hill  was 
there  and  beyond  it  was  a  famous  view 
over  miles  and  miles  of  gracious  country. 

He  went  up  to  the  crest  of  the  hill, 
disappeared  behind  it.  Three  minutes 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


later  she  reached  it. 

What  met  her  eyes  filled  her  first  with 
an  overwhelming  sense  of  triumph,  then 
with  a  wild,  blind  hatred.  Diana  was 
seated  on  a  low  stone  wall,  and  standing 
by  her  was  Justin  with  an  expression 
in  his  face  of  a  man  in  a  happy  dream. 

Margaret  went  directly  up  to  them, 
her  voice  trembling  as  she  said,  "I  am 
sorry  to  interrupt  you,  but  I  have  been 
trying  to  overtake  you,  Justin;  you  had 
chosen  the  wrong  road  to  the  station." 

He  turned  to  her  with  the  look  of 
a  man  awakened  by  the  touch  of  cold 
fingers  on  his  face.  He  was  silent,  but 
Diana  turned  with  a  dignity  which  held 
within  it  no  element  of  surrender. 

"You  are  quite  right,  Miss  Bentley. 
Mr.  Morris  should  have  taken  the  more 
direct  road  at  the  forks,  but  if  he  con- 
tinues on  this,  he  will  find  not  far  be- 
yond here  a  lane  that  cuts  over  to  the 
station."  She  took  out  her  watch.  You 
will  be  in  time  for  the  nine  forty-five," 
a,dding  as  she  held  out  her  hand,  "that 
is  if  you  start  at  once." 

"I  will  start  at  once,"  said  Justin.  "I 
am  sorry,  Margaret,  that  you  came  so  far 
to  set  me  right." 

He  held  his  hand  out  to  her  with 
rigid  courtesy,  resolving  that  wild  horses 
should  not  drag  from  him  the  explana- 
tion that  this  meeting  with  Diana  had 
been  indeed  accidental:  that  his  finding 
her  there  had  been  as  much  of  a  surprise 
to  him  as  Margaret's  sudden  appearance 
on  the  scene. 

Margaret  did  not  take  his  hand. 

"I  will  write  you  this  afternoon,"  she 
said  icily. 

He  bowed  his  acknowledgement;  then 
with  a  bow  to  Diana,  he  replaced  his 
hat  and  strode  off. 

The  two  women  faced  each  other: 
Margaret,  flushed  with  her  long,  hurried 
walk  and  with  anger;  Diana,  pale  and 
quiet  and  outwardly  impassive. 

Margaret  broke  the  strained  silence 
which  Diana,  it  seemed,  had  no  inten- 
tion of  breaking. 


"I  could  bear  it,  and  give  him  up  if 
it  were  the  real  thing  with  either  you  or 
him,  but  he  is  under  a  spell,  and  you — 
have  no  heart." 

Diana  smiled  faintly,  turning  her  dark 
eyes  toward  the  distant  horizon. 

"I  have  been  told  ever  since  I  was 
born  that  I  have  no  heart,  but  I  have 
never  accepted  the  judgment  of  others 
in  regard  to  my  own  character.  I  have 
lived  with  myself  twenty-eight  years." 

"Do  you  find  anything  in  those  years 
of  many  experiences  to  justify  what  you 
are  doing  now?" 

"What  am  I  doing  now?  I  do  not 
understand  you." 

Margaret  laughed  nervously. 

"You  are  singularly  obtuse.  To  speak 
directly,  then,  you  are  playing  with  Jus- 
tin." 

An  atavistic  spirit  seemed  to  be  taking 
possession  of  her.  From  under  the  sur- 
face refinement  of  her  delicate  face  the 
village  girl  looked,  the  mother  or  grand- 
mother who  had  resented  rivalry  in 
direct  terms;  flat,  unpolished  denuncia- 
tions. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  Diana 
said. 

Margaret's  eyes  blazed. 

"Not  understand  me!  when  you  met 
here  by  appointment  this  morning!" 

Diana  looked  at  her  in  proud  silence. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  Margaret 
went  on.  "You  know  the  power  you 
have.  I  suppose  black  panthers  have 
it,  too.  If  you'd  only  care,  if  your  heart 
was  in  it,  I  could  forgive  you." 

"No,  you  wouldn't  forgive  me,"  Diana 
said  slowly,  "if,  to  suppose  a  case,  my 
heart,  as  you  put  it,  were  in  it!  All  the 
less  would  you  forgive  me,  then!  I  fear 
you  do  not  know  this  about  your  own 
character,  but  it  is  true." 

Her  voice  was  sweet  and  a  little  tired, 
her  manner  strangely  gentle. 

"No,  I  may  not  know  that  about  my 
own  character,  but  I  know  a  good  deal 
about  Justin's." 

"Do  you?" 


"I      AM     SORRY     TO     INTERRUPT     YOU,    BUT    I     HAVE    BEEN     TRYING 
TO     OVERTAKE     YOU." 


"I  am  engaged  to  him." 

"That  is  sometimes  a  reason  for  pro- 
found ignorance." 

"Not  in  my  case;"  her  voice  was  inso- 
lent. 

"You  are  fortunate,"  Diana  said 
gently. 

"I  know  a  good  deal  about  Justin's 
and  something  of  yours.  You  are  amus- 
ing yourself." 

Diana  was  silent. 

"You  are  amusing  yourself  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  happiness  of  two  people. 
Do  you  think  you  are  in  an  honorable 
position?" 


"Certainly  not,  if  I  admit  your  prem- 
ises, but  I  don't  admit  them." 

"You  don't  admit  that  you  are  amus- 
ing yourself?"  Rising  anger  was  in  the 
shrillness  of  Margaret's  voice,  as  she 
stood  a  tense,  blonde  figure,  but  withal 
somewhat  colorless,  against  the  rich 
green  and  gold  and  sapphire  blue  of  the 
morning  landscape. 

"You  don't  admit  that  you  are  amus- 
ing yourself?  What  then,  exactly,  are 
you  doing?"  she  said  with  harsh  insist- 
ence. 

"I  am  at  a  masked  ball — with  all  the 
others."  She  spoke  a  little  wearily, 


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542 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


her  eyes  looking  beyond  Margaret  at 
the  wide,  shimmering  fields. 

"You  would  jest  over  a  grave.  You 
have,  it  seems,  never  taken  life  seri- 
ously." 

"Never  my  own.  You  are  right 
there." 

'  Does  it  please  you — this  game  of 
souls  you  are  always  playing?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

Margaret  looked  baffled.  Then  the 
tears,  always  so  near  the  surface  with 
her,  dimmed  her  blue  eyes. 

"If  you  can'  create  a  spell  you  can 
destroy  it.  I  am  unhappy  enough  to  ask 
you  to  let  him  go  free." 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking?" 

Margaret  turned  on  her  in  exasperated 
anger. 

"Of  whom  but  Justin?" 

"Is  he  not  free?" 

"He  is  under  your  spell,"  she  cried 
shrilly. 

Diana  was  silent. 

"Do  you  think  for  an  instant  it  is  any- 
thing but  that?  Do  you  think  for  an  in- 
stant he  could  ever  love  you?" 

"What  an  inexplicable  question!"  she 
said  slowly. 

"It  wasn't  a  question  so  much  as 
a  way  of  saying  that  you  get  what  you 
give  in  this  world.  You  have  never 
loved  anyone  in  your  life;  and  you  will 
never  get  love.  You  fascinate  people 
for  a  while — then  it's  all  over. " 

She  spoke  primly,  suddenly  self-pos- 
sessed, but  in  her  light  blue  eyes  was 
the  eternal  grudge  of  the  romantic 
woman  against  the  presumably  heart- 
less woman  who  attracts  without  effort. 

Diana  drew  herself  up,  and  looked 
Margaret  in  the  face. 

"I  think  you  said  last  night  that  you 
had  an  engagement  to  play  tennis  this 
morning  at  ten-thirty.  Unless  you  start 
back  at  once  you  will  be  late." 

"Thank  you  for  the  reminder.  I  had 
not  forgotten  my  engagement. 

She  walked  away  slowly.  Diana 
watched  her  go,  with  a  choking 


sense  of  shame  for  them  both.  It 
seemed  to  her,  inwardly  quivering  in 
every  nerve  from  Margaret's  onslaught, 
that  in  some  obscure  back  street  of  some 
obscure,  noisy,  dirty  little  town  she  had 
been  shaking  a  fist  at  a  bedraggled  and 
vituperative  neighbor. 

When  again  alone  with  her  thoughts 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  with  a 
long,  tearless  sob,  that  was  like  a  para- 
phrase of  the  cry  of  another  heart. 

"Have  pity!  All  my  coquetry  is 
dead." 

-  They  were  all  avenged,  those  foolish 
souls  who  are  restless  unless  they  are 
dominated,  and  who  sought  her  strength 
to  dominate  them.  Across  the  vista  of 
the  lovely  Summer  landscape  they  filed 
before  her  with  strange  mocking  eyes 
which  seemed  to  signal  their  delight  that 
at  last  she  loved  in  vain.  Yet  her  only 
wrong  to  them  had  been  that  she  was 
stronger  than  they. 

She  had  no  right  even  to  think  of  Jus- 
tin, yet  she  knew  that  the  sharpest 
wound  that  Margaret  had  dealt  her  was 
in  the  words: 

"Do  you  think  for  one  moment  he 
could  love  you?"  The  mocking  faces 
pressed  closer..  To  rid  herself  of  them 
she  rose  from  the  low  stone  wall  and 
started  on  her  homeward  way.  The  sun 
was  high  now  in  the  heavens,  revealing 
pitilessly  the  naked  desolation  of  the 
houses  between  which  she  passed.  With 
their -broken  doorways,  their  smokeless 
hearths,  their  empty,  shattered  windows, 
they  seemed  to  her  to  prefigure  what  her 
life  henceforth  must  be.  She  must  give 
him  up  who  was  never  hers;  her  con- 
queror who  knew  not  of  his  triumph 
over  a  soul  whose  loneliness  he  was  the 
first  to  dispel.  She  had  troubled  the 
peace  of  many.  Now  she  knew  what 
they  had  suffered. 

Passing  through  the  grounds,  she  met 
the  bishop.  He  was  strolling  by  the 
edge  of  his  favorite  little  lake,  a  pocket 
volume  of  Cowper  in  his  hand. 

She  forced  a  smile — for  she  liked  the 


A  COMEDY  OF  MASKS 


543 


bishop,  felt  an  instinctive  trust  in  him, 
as  in  one  whom  life  has  enlightened  yet 
left  kind. 

"You  have  deserted  this  morning  too, 
bishop?" 

"I  am  taking  my  daily  bath  of  soli- 
tude." 

"Do  you  love  nature  better  than  peo- 
ple?" she  asked,  lingering  a  moment 
because  of  the  peace  in  his  face. 

"Better  than  some  people,"  he  an- 
swered smiling. 

"Even  your  beautiful  creed  has  not 
made  you  perfect  then,"  she  said  with 
a  touch  of  bitterness,  adding:  "Did  you 
ever  wish  to  be  wicked,  reckless?" 

"Who  has  not  wished  for  wine?" 

"Did  you  drink?" 

"I  poured  out  a  libation." 

"You  might  do  that — yet  despair," 
she  said,  all  light  gone  from  her  face, 
a  curious  note  of  misery  in  her  voice 
that  made  him  wish  to  look  directly  at 
her,  but  he  kept  his  eyes  turned  away. 

"That  is  true,"  he  commented. 

"Bishop,  how  does  the  creed  handle 
despair?  I  don't  mean  local  theologies, 
but  the  big,  broad  creed." 

"It  places  it  under  the  throne  of 
God,"  he  said. 

"Meaning  when  a  man  despairs — God 
comes  next." 

He  nodded  assent. 

"Few  of  us  can  climb  so  high.  Thank 
you,  Bishop,  and  forgive  me  for  disturb- 
ing your  solitude." 

She  made  a  little  "reverence"  as  she 
left  him;  a  smile  was  on  her  lips,  but 
her  eyes  held  pain. 

"Is  it  you,  Diana?" 

Mrs.  Craig  spoke  coldly,  and  there  was 
no  welcome  in  her  face.  Voice  and 
look  struck  a  chill  to  the  girl's  heart, 
as  she  stood  in  the  doorway  of  her 
hostess'  private  room,  waiting  her  word 
to  enter. 

Mrs.  Craig  was  seated  at  her  desk, 
but  she  had  the  appearance  of  a  person 
wholly  preoccupied  with  something 
wholly  unpleasant. 


"May  I  come  in,  Ursula?  Are  you 
very  busy?" 

"With  my  thoughts,  yes,  but  as  some 
of  them  concern  you  they  may  as  well 
be  spoken.  Diana,  I  didn't  think  it  of 
you!" 

Diana  crossed  the  room,  and  seated 
herself  in  a  low  chair  by  the  desk  before 
replying. 

"May  I  ask  what  you  are  speaking  of, 
Ursula?" 

"Margaret  has  told  me  everything." 

A  faint  smile  crossed  Diana's  face. 

"Everything  is  a  good  deal,  cara  mia." 

"Don't  jest.  I  have  the  right  to  be 
angry — that  you  should  meet  Justin 
Morris  by  appointment — an  engaged 
man — seems  to  me  unforgivable,  and,  to 
to  be  perfectly  frank,  lacking  in  taste." 

Diana  was  silent. 

"Margaret  is  weeping  herself  ill  —  she 
is  wounded  to  the  heart,  Diana." 

Diana  was  silent. 

Her  hostess  took  up  a  paper  cutter, 
and  played  with  it  in  a  nervous  impa- 
tience. 

"She   is  breaking  the   engagement." 

Still  Diana  did  not  speak. 

"You  have  ruined  her  life  —  to  her 
present  feeling,  at  least — yet  you  care 
no  more  for  Justin  Morris  than  the  cat 
cares  for  the  mouse.  There  would  be 
some  excuse  if  you  did." 

"My  dear  Ursula,  if  you  feel  this  way 
toward  me,  it  is  proper  and  right  that 
I  should  no  longer  be  your  guest." 

Mrs.  Craig  put  her  hands  over  her 
eyes  for  a  moment.  She  loved  Diana, 
but  she  must  steel  herself  against  her 
now.  Things  had  gone  too  far. 

"I  have  wired  Justin  to  return  this 
evening  in  the  hope  of  patching  matters. 
You  spoke  yesterday  of  leaving.  An 
urgent  summons  from  your  home  might 
come  this  afternoon,  Diana." 

"Very  well,  Ursula." 

"Don't  you  think  you  owe  me  an  ex- 
planation?" 

"You  have  Margaret's." 

Mrs.  Craig  rose  and  paced  the  room ; 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


suddenly  she  stopped,  paused  a  moment, 
then  swept  toward  the  girl,  bent  over 
her,  knelt  down  by  her,  and  took  her  in 
her  arms. 

"Diana!"  she  implored.  "Have  you 
nothing  to  say  in  your  defence?" 

"Not  one  word,  Ursula." 

Mrs.  Craig  sighed  as  she  rose. 

"Will  you  go  through  life  heartless? 
You  almost  tempt  me  to  hope  that  some 
day  you  will  love  in  vain." 


That  Mrs.  Craig  should  open  her 
town  house  in  July,  and  bring  Margaret 
there  after  the  breaking  up  of  the  house- 
party,  seemed  to  Justin,  already  in  spiri- 
tual armor  for  Diana's  service,  a  con- 
crete proof  of  her  misunderstanding  of 
the  facts  of  the  case.  What  Margaret 
had  told  her  he  could  only  conjecture, 
but  he  believed  that  blonde  antagonism 
had  not  stopped  at  half  measures. 

He  had  not  returned  to  the  country 
house,  despite  his  hostess'  summons, 
nor  did  he  know  of  Diana's  banishment. 

A  second  letter  from  Mrs.  Craig, 
keenly  descriptive  of  Margaret's  grief 
since  the  breaking  of  the  engagement, 
brought  him  weary  and  half  sullen x  to  an 
interview  with  the  girl. 

As  he  ascended  the  steps  of  the  big 
house  on  the  avenue,  Hartley  had  as- 
cended, giving  the  younger  man  cold 
greeting  as  he  passed.  A  chilly  manner 
was  as  incongruous  with  the  banker's 
person  as  ice  around  a  pudding.  Justin 
smiled  in  spite  of  his  depression.  This 
little  fat  knight  was  evidently  in  tourna- 
ment for  distressed  maidens. 

Margaret,  in  the  cool  twilight  of  the 
great  drawing  room,  had  received  her 
former  lover  with  an  "I-may-forgive-you- 
everything  -  if  -  you  -  work  -  hard-enough' ' 
expression  that  irritated  him  instantly, 
annulling  the  feeble  desire  for  recon- 
ciliation. 

In  precise  English — he  ever  afterward 
connected  a  severely  exact  use  of  the 
language  with  certain  inflexible  traits  of 


character — she  had  told  him  that  she 
would  renew  the  engagement  if  he  would 
give  a  full  explanation  of  his  meeting 
with  Diana. 

He  had  flatly  refused,  saying  that  if 
she  could  not  trust  him,  it  was  not  neces- 
sary to  parody  love  by  becoming  en- 
gaged. 

"Then  you  wish  to  break  my  heart!" 

Justin  was  not  yet  far  enough  away 
from  Margaret's  claim  upon  him  to 
doubt  entirely  her  word.  He  would  not 
ruin  a  woman's  life,  even  though  he 
ruined  his  own  to  preserve  her  happi- 
ness. Looking  her  in  the  eyes  he  had 
said: 

"In  a  year  from  now  you  may  perhaps 
know  if  you  love  me  well  enough  to 
marry  me  without  either  explanations  or 
demands." 

He  had  felt  while  he  spoke  the  acute 
misery  of  forging  his  own  fetters,  but 
principle  ruled.  Though  she  had  broken 
the  engagement  he  would  give  her  the 
chance  to  renew  it — on  his  terms.  His 
conscience  was  at  his  throat. 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  loving  you 
enough.  It  is  not  a  question  of  a  year 
from  now.  Will  you  or  will  you  not 
tell  me  what  is  between  you  and  Diana 
Mainwaring?" 

Justin's  sternness  had  met  her  rigidity. 

"Please  to  leave  Miss  Mainwaring's 
name  out  of  the  discussion." 

"Then  all  is  over  between  us,"  she 
said  in  the  words  of  melodrama. 

He  had  bowed  himself  out,  his  last 
vision  of  her  an  erect,  unyielding  figure 
standing  by  the  fireplace;  yet  through 
all  the  stiff  lines  and  the  outward  sym- 
bols of  pain  and  reproach  he  was  con- 
scious that  the  general  effect  was  not 
tragedy  but  primness. 

Her  final  words  had  lifted  a  weight 
from  his  soul.  She  had  not  accepted 
his  conditions.  He  could  go  through 
the  year  to  come  without  the  prospect  of 
a  life-long  slavery. 

The  two  weeks  which  followed  were 
a  bleak,  brumal  space  in  dust  and  heat 


HE      FELT       WHILE       HE       SPOKE      THE       ACUTE      MISERY      OF 


of  a  city  Summer.  Justin  worked  at  his 
desk  all  day,  planning  houses  that 
mocked  him  with  their  suggestion  of 
home,  and  thinking  of  Diana,  aware 
that  the  restless  pain  in  his  heart  had  its 
root  in  Margaret's  words: 

"She  would  care  no  more  for  you, 
once  she  had  you  in  her  collection,  than 
for  a  last  year's  hat." 

He  would  give  his  own  soul,  he 
thought,  to  know  that  hers  was  true. 


Her  face  haunted  him  with  a  curious 
blended  effect  of  witchery  and  of  spir- 
itual beacon.  The  upward  glance  of  her 
eyes  was  always  roguish,  the  downward 
glance  was  sad;  but  coquette,  or  guide 
to  God,  she  was  the  one  woman  he  had 
met  in  his  life,  who,  in  her  personality, 
answered  the  accumulated  question-  of 
his  years. 

Gaylord  came  in  one  afternoon,  and 
because    it  was  the  laziest  and  he  .test 


546 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


hour  of  the  day,  the  two  drifted  into 
a  long  conversation  which  finally  arrived 
by  winding  ways  at  the  uppermost  sub- 
ject. 

The  painter  suggested  delicately  that 
lovers'  quarrels  were  of  short  duration. 

"Miss  Bentley  has  finally  broken  the 
engagement,"  was  the  reply. 

"All  women  are  jealous  of  Diana 
Mainwaring,"  said  the  unsuspecting 
Gaylord,  who  had  beheld  in  Justin's 
conduct  to  his  betrothed  only  devotion, 
and  who  felt  that  the  young  man  was 
being  hardly  used.  "I  sometimes  won- 
der what  her  charm  consists  in.  With 
other  women,  to  have  a  feeling  is  to 
show  it;  with  her  to  have  a  feeling  is  to 
cover  it  up — keeps  you  guessing,  so  to 
speak.  You  know,  perhaps,"  he  added, 
"that  her  devoted  champion,  Mrs.  Craig, 
has  turned  her  down  until  she  explains." 

"No,  I  did  not  know  it,"  Justin  said 
slowly,  pallor  spreading  under  the  tan  of 
his  face. 

"Miss  Mainwaring  left  the  day  you 
did.  As  for  that  meeting  at  the  village, 
the  house-party  was  divided  into  oppos- 
ing forces,  with  the  bishop  for  spiritual 
umpire,  only,  wise  ecclesiastic  that  he 
is,  he  said  nothing.  Hartley  and  Mrs. 
Craig,  Mrs.  Gaylord,  who  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  my  reasonings,  and  the  little  col- 
lege sprout  were  all  for  Miss  Margaret — 
the  debutante  and  I  struck  our  colors  for 
you,  and,  incidentally,  Diana." 

"But  how  did  you  all  know  about  it?" 
Justin  said  impatiently. 

"Hartley  told  us  everything." 

"Who  told  Hartley?" 

"Your  lady — your  former  lady.  He 
took  her  driving  that  afternoon.  Her 
eyes  were  red.  The  little  banker  was 
looking  sympathetic.  They  were  gone 
four  hours." 

Gaylord  was  smiling,  but  Justin 
seemed  oblivious.  He  had  to  ask  an 
important  question  indifferently,  one  of 
the  most  difficult  feats  in  the  whole  cate- 
gory of  soul-hiding  devices. 

At  last  he  came  out  with  it. 


"Is  Miss  Mainwaring  in  town?" 

"She  was  when  I  last  heard  of  her." 

"You  are  at  liberty,"  Justin  said 
solemnly,  "to  tell  anyone  you  choose 
that  I  did  not  meet  Miss  Mainwaring 
that  morning  by  appointment." 

Gaylord  laughed. 

"The  trouble  is  no  one  ever  believes 
a  man's  word  about  an  affair  of  that 
sort;  but  Diana  won't  give  her  word. 
Mrs.  Craig  ought  to  have  known  her 
better  than  to  ask  her  for  it." 

"And  is  it  really  true  that  Mrs.  Craig 
has  turned  her  down?" 

"True  enough— but  I  think  Mrs.  Craig 
is  sorry.  She  has  the  usual  weakness 
for  Diana. 

That  night  Justin  went  to  the  old- 
fashioned  house  where  Diana  lived  with 
her  grandparents.  Its  awnings  and  win- 
dow boxes,  its  cool  patch  of  green  lawn, 
its  view  over  the  yard  of  an  adjacent 
church,  gave  it  almost  a  suburban  look 
in  the  surrounding  city  aridness.  Its 
exempt  aspect  was  further  emphasized 
by  its  interior.  The  long  drawing  room 
with  its  colored  prints  in  dull  gold 
frames,  its  Sheraton  and  Chippendale 
furniture,  'its  flowered  hangings,  was 
redolent  of  old  days,  when  from  the 
windows  could  be  seen  the  gleam  of  the 
river  and  the  wooded  shore  beyond. 

Though  the  evening  was  warm,  Justin 
felt  all  the  chill  of  nervous  emotion — 
hardly  knew,  indeed,  if  he  could  control 
his  voice  to  greet  her.  He  must  tell  her 
at  once  what  he  had  come  for — to  ask 
her  permission  to  write  a  full  explana- 
tion to  Mrs.  Craig. 

She  did  not  keep  him  waiting  long, 
came  slowly  toward  him  down  the  great 
room,  a  vision  of  peculiar  delight  in  her 
thin,  gray  gown,  low  cut,  with  a  touch  of 
scarlet  in  her  dark  hair.  An  old-fash- 
ioned collar  of  opals  about  her  neck 
repeated  the  milky  gray  and  scarlet. 

A  servant  followed  her  to  light  the 
candles.  It  was  like  a  play,  Justin 
thought,  suddenly  self-possessed  be- 
cause of  a  certain  stateliness  and  aloof- 


A    COMEDY    OF    MASKS 


547 


ness  in  her  manner,  which  seemed  to 
forbid  emotion. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  You  are 
come  just  in  time.  I  am  leaving  town 
tomorrow." 

"For  the  rest  of  the  Summer?" 

"If  my  mood  holds  out." 

"What  is  your  mood — if  I  may  ask?" 

"Exploration." 

Her  little  enigmatical  smile  made  the 
obvious  question  summoned  to  his  lips 
seem  foolish.  He  could  not  ask  her 
what  country  she  wished  to  explore. 

"I  am  come,"  he  said,  "not  only  for 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  but  to  ask 
your  permission  to  write  to  Mrs.  Craig 
an  explanation  of  what  occurred  at  the 
deserted  village." 

For  an  instant  the  whiteness  of  the 
skin  changed  to  pallor,  but  the  upward 
look  held  the  old,  strange  humor. 

"You  know  the  French  proverb  con- 
cerning explanations.  Why  accuse  one- 
self?" 

"Why  lose  your  friend — for  a  mis- 
understanding?" 

"If  she  is  really  rny  friend  I  shall  not 
lose  her,  for  she  will  understand  again 
some  day." 

"But  suppose  she  never  understands." 

"Still  I  do  not  lose  her,"  said  Diana. 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  love  her." 

Her  voice  was  indescribably  sweet. 
It  swept  away  everything  in  Justin  but 
his  need  to  be  true  with  her. 

"And  I  love  you!" 

His  words  leaped  like  flames  across 
the  twilight  in  which  they  sat. 

"Do  you?"  she  said  quietly. 

"Ah,  do  I?" 

She  was  silent,  looking  at  him  with 
serious,  searching  eyes. 

"I  want  to  disprove  this  idle  word  of 
your  coquetry,  your  heartlessness.  It  is 
false.  I  ask  to  serve  you,  to  win  you. 
I  would  serve  a  lifetime  to  win  you." 

His  voice  rang  clear  and  clean  with 
truth,  but  she  steeled  herself  against  it. 
Margaret's  taunt,  "Do  you  think  that 


he  would  ever  love  you?"  stinging  her, 
as  it  had  done  for  days,  until  her  veins 
seemed  full  of  the  poison.  Was  this 
but  another  soul  under  the  old,  hateful 
spell  of  her  personality,  calling  on  her  to 
rule  him — a  man  three  weeks  ago  en- 
gaged to  another  woman? 

"Do  you  love  me?"  she  repeated.  "I 
do  not — I  fear  that  I  cannot  believe 
you.  Pardon  me  if  I  say  that  you  could 
hardly  disprove  my  coquetry  when  I 
fancy  you,  yourself,  are  under  the  spell 
of  it.  Remember  you  are  doing  and 
saying  extraordinary  things  for  a  man 
whose  engagement  to  another  woman  has 
just  been  broken.  What,  exactly,  can 
anything  so  sudden  mean  but  fascina- 
tion, hypnotism — call  it  what  you  will." 

"The  outward  circumstances  are  sud- 
den," he  replied,  "but  long  ago  I  knew 
— and  struggled.  I  kept  the  letter  of 
my  law,  even  Miss  Bentley  acknowledged 
that,  but  my  spirit — sought  you.  I  be- 
lieved that  I  saw  your  soul." 

She  smiled,  steeling  herself,  despite 
the  cry  of  her  heart,  to  put  him  to  the 
test.  "I  was  not  aware  of  showing  you 
a  soul,  since  I  am  not  as  confident  of  its 
existence  as  a  theologian :  but  whatever 
I  showed  you,  you  have  probably  ideal- 
ized its  features  beyond  my  recognition." 

Margaret's  words  were  ringing  in  his 
ears  like  a  harsh,  insistent  bell,  calling 
not  to  faith  and  prayer,  but  to  mockery 
and  doubt.  What  if  the  perilous  sweet- 
ness of  this  woman  were  founded  on  her 
essential  heartlessness.  A  kind  of.  dull 
despair  filled  him.  But  of  one  thing  he 
was  sure.  "Whatever  you  are,"  he  said 
slowly,  "coquette  or  a  true  soul,  what  I 
feel  for  you  is  a  true  love." 

The  room  before  her  was  dim  for  an 
instant.  She  longed  to  take  his  hand, 
and  telling  him  like  a  child  that  she 
would  be  good,  go  with  him  into  great 
simplicity. 

But  she  resisted  the  longing.  There 
was  too  much  testimony  against  her 
mere  magnetic  power.  She  must  hide 
behind  her  mask  until  time  had  proved 


548 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


his  love.  If  it  were  but  a  passing  fas- 
cination, an  effect  of  the  old  sorcery, 
now  dead  in  her,  well!  she  would  suffer; 
if  it  were  true — the  thought  of  that  joy 
hurt  her  like  physical  pain. 

Putting  it  aside,  she  summoned  all  the 
courage  she  possessed  to  say  calmly: 

"The  majority  for  once  is  right.  I 
am,  I  think,  heartless;  at  least  I  have 
never  been  aware  of  that  organ — nor  do 
I  wish  to  be.  As  far  as  I  have  observed, 
to  feel  is  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  others. 
What  French  writer  says,  'Life  is  a 
comedy  to  those  who  think,  a  tragedy  to 
to  those  who  feel?'  I  find  comedy  more 
diverting." 

"You  are  a  coquette,  then,  by  your 
own  admission,"  Justin  said,  but  his 
tone  was  incredulous. 

"I  am  a  coquette.  You  were  easy  to 
play  with — all  idealists  are — I  played." 

"I  am  then — in  your  collection." 

"I  did  not  ask  you  to  come  in." 

Her  eyes  were  mocking,  gay — feverish 
if  he  had  seen,  but  he  did  not  see. 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor. 

"Then  there  is  no  hope?"  he  said, 
pausing  before  her. 

"None  whatever." 

"It  makes  no  difference.  I  love  you. 
True  or  false,  you  have  shown  me  what 
a  man  can  only  see  through  the  soul  of 
a  good  woman — God." 

She  had  expected  anything  else  from 
him — reproach,  blame,  condemnation, 
the  phrases  she  had  heard  before.  Un- 
able to  trust  herself,  she  rose  and  went 
to  the  window,  pressing  her  cheek  for 
an  instant  to  the  glass.  If  he  had  gone 
to  her  she  would  have  raised  her  lips  to 
his. 

But  he  did  not  go  to  her. 

She  turned  then  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  him. 

"The  comedy  is  finished — for  me." 

The  words  had  a  double  meaning,  but 
his  pain  blinded  him. 

"Since  the  comedy  is  finished,  I  will 
bid  you — goodbye."  He  did  not  offer 
her  his  hand. 


When  he  was  gone  she  sank  upon 
couch,  and  burying  her  face  in  a 
cushion  sat  for  a  long  time  motionless, 
her  spirit  calling  upon  him  to  return 
and  take  her  from  her  own  prison. 

She  went  the  next  day  through  the 
heavy  heat  and  dust  of  a  Summer  after- 
noon in  town  to  see  the  bishop.  She 
found  him  in  the  library  of  the  Episco- 
pal house,  busily  writing.  Of  the  affair 
at  the  country  house  he  had  his  own 
theory,  and  he  greeted  Diana  warmly. 

"I  am  come  to  tell  you  that  I  am 
going  to  London,  Bishop.  I  heard  this 
morning  that  the  Gaylords  are  sailing 
next  week.  He  is  to  paint  some  high- 
-life  people.  I  accompany  them.  I  have 
a  message  for  your  kinswoman." 

The  quick,  short  sentences  told  the 
bishop  much. 

"But  my  child,  you  must  see  her 
before  you  go." 

"I  do  Hot  wish  to  see  her,"  Diana 
said,  but  her  voice  was  wistful. 

"And  why  not?" 

"She  would  again  ask  for  explanations, 
and  explanation's  between  Ursula  and 
me — between  any  friends,  indeed,  only 
strengthen  the  misunderstanding." 

"You  are  right,  I  think,"  said  the 
bishop,  who  knew  that  silence  is  the 
guardian  both  of  religion  and  of  love. 

"Still  a  word  in  your  own  defence — ' 

"The  innocent  should  never  defend 
themselves,"  Diana  interrupted. 

He  smiled.  "I  knew  you  were  inno- 
cent." 

"Bishop,  may  I  make  a  confession? 
No  one  in  the  world  must  ever  know  but 
you.  I  am  very  unhappy.  I  told  a  lie 
yesterday — the  greatest  a  woman  can 
tell." 

He  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  the 
expression  of  her  face  in  that  moment 
softening  and  deepening,  as  if  under  the 
radiance  of  some  actual  physical  light — 
like  the  mild  glory  of  altar  candles. 

"Te  absolve,"  he  said  gently,  the 
truth  cannot  be  hidden." 

Tears  came  to  her  eyes. 


A    COMEDY  OF    MASKS                                         549 

"If  in  the  future  any  event — inexplic-  "Yes,   or  of    the    living,"    said    the 

able  —  takes   place  —  any   strangeness —  bishop  musingly,   as   if  her  words  had 

you  at  least  will  know."  started  a  train  of  thought. 

"Yes,"   said  the  bishop,  "I  at  least  They  sat  in  silence  for  some  moments; 

will  know."  then  he  asked  abruptly: 

"If  I  should  die,"  her  voice  was  calm  "When  do  you  sail?" 

and  quiet,  "will  you  say  to  those  who  "A  week  from  next  Saturday. " 

have  the  right  to  be  told,  because  they  As  she  was  taking  her  leave,  she  said: 

care  for  me,  that,  whatever  I  did  or  said,  "May  I  ask  you  what  has  become  of 

I    did    love    once  —  I    was   like  other  Miss  Bentley?" 

women.     I  had  a  heart."  "She  is  with  Mrs.  Craig.     She  is  to 

"But  you  will  not  die."  be  her  private  secretary." 

"No,  I  want  to  live — more  than  ever.  "She  would  make  a  good  secretary," 

But  of  the  dead  it  is  the  best  thing  to  Diana   said   thoughtfully.       "She  is  — 

say  that  they  could  love."  precise." 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED) 


IN   LOVE    WITH    LIFE 

By    J.    A.    EDGERTON 

EAST     ORANGE,     NEW     JERSEY 

I'M  in  love  with  life,  with  the  earth  and  sky, 
With  the  mountain-tops,  with  the  plains  and  seas, 
With  the  stars  that  bloom  in  the  fields  on  high, 
With  the  morning  sunshine,  the  evening  breeze, 
With  the  birds,  the  blossoms,  the  friendly  trees; 
They  are  all  with  the  spirit  of  beauty  rife; 

And  I  thank  my  God  for  the  sense  of  these, 
His  gifts  to  me.     I'm  in  love  with  life. 

In  the  blade  of  grass,  in  the  blooming  rose, 

In  the  moonlit  dreams  of  a  Summer  night, 
In  the  dawn  that  breaks  over  Winter  snows, 

There  lurks  for  the  soul  some  new  delight. 

In  the  onward  march  of  the  seasons  bright, 
In  the  spirit  imbuing  the  solitude, 

In  the  presence  felt  on  a  mountain  height, 
We  recognize  the  eternal  good. 

Life  bears  us  ever  to  something  new. 

Each  moment  differs  from  all  the  rest. 
Each  hour  some  loveliness  brings  to  view. 

With  novel  meaning  each  day's  possessed. 

Each  year  advances  toward  the  best, 
As  ever  onward  the  gray  earth  swings; 

And  each  new  grief  leaves  the  spirit  blest 
With  a  love  for  the  life  at  the  soul  of  things. 


550  NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  forv  FEBRUARY,    1905 

Through  the  infinite  past  and  the  endless  flights 

Of  the  years  that  wait  in  the  time  to  be, 
I  have  lived,  I  shall  live,  in  the  days  and  nights, 

And  the  thousand  forms  that  encompass  me; 

For,  like  a  vision,  the  ages  flee, 
But  the  soul  lives  on,  though  the  worlds  may  change, 

And  rising  still  through  Eternity, 
Evolves  to  modes  that  are  new  and  strange. 

I'm  in  love  with  all,  from  the  cell  and  clod 

To  the  plant  and  flower,  to  the  world  and  sun; 
From  the  germ  to  man,  from  the  man  to  God; 

With  the  all,  for  I  know  that  the  all  is  One. 

Through  the  soul  of  every  being  run 
The  self-same  pulses  felt  in  mine; 

And  into  the  web  of  existence  spun 
We  are  knit  in  the  self-same  life  divine. 

I'm  in  love  with  all;  I'm  in  love  with  Love; 

With  the  charms  that  over  all  Nature  glow; 
With  the  blue  and  the  stars  of  the  sky  above; 

With  the  green  of  the  dear  old  earth  below; 

With  the  streams  that  shine  as  they  sing  and  flow; 
With  the  thought  of  comrade  and  child  and  wife; 

With  the  better  natures  of  all  I  know; 
With  the  light  and  dream.     I'm  in  love  with  life. 


AS    THE    HUMAN    CAT    TOLD    IT 

By     HOLMAN     F.     DAY 

AUBURN,      MAINE 

THE  file  of  men  came  up  the  road,  advantage  of  oases,  you  know — when 

listlessly,  spatting  the  dust  as  they  they  came  under  the  trees,  a  husky  and 

set  down  their  heavy  feet.  stalwart  man  who  led  the  parade  wheeled 

Some  of  them  lurched  unevenly  with  to  the  sward,  wiped  his  forehead,  sighed 

the  uncertain  equilibrium  of  men  whose  comfortably  and  called,  "Rest,  boys!" 

heads  do  not  hold  authoritative  sway  The  men  strewed  themselves  about 

over  their  heels.  the  grass  in  listless  attitudes  and  sat, 

Some  scraped  their  rough  shoes  along  each  by  himself,  without  looking  one  at 

the  grit.  another  or  speaking.  One  man,  younger 

Some  jiggered  about.  than  the  rest,  took  his  seat  near  me.     I 

Others  walked  stolidly,  with  heads  was  gazing  at  this  bizarre  assemblage 

lopping  on  their  breasts.  with  curiosity.  And  at  last  I  inquired 

When  they  came  under  the  trees  of  this  man  as  to  the  meaning  of  this 

where  I  sat  fanning  myself  with  a  straw  parade  in  the  hot  sun — for  I  was  rather 

hat  and  taking  a  bit  of  a  rest — a  tourist  dull  of  comprehension  that  day,  I'll 

pedestrian  in  the  hot  sun  must  take  admit. 


AS    THE    HUMAN    CAT    TOLD    IT 


He  pointed  to  an  array  of  roofs  over 
the  trees. 

"Bug-house, "  he  said.  "State  hospi- 
tal. Out  for  walk.  Mild  cases.  Can 
team  us  like  kittens." 

He  pulled  a  blade  of  grass,  pressed  it 
between  the  curve  of  his  parallel  thumbs, 
and  blew  on  it.  A  prolonged  "yawl" 
resulted. 

"I'm  the  human  cat,"  he  informed  me 
in  matter-of-fact  tones.  "How  do  you 
like  that  for  mewing?" 

I  complimented  him  with  some  re- 
serve. 

"Sometimes  I  mew,"  he  continued, 
"sometimes  I  do  this:" 

He  doubled  his  fist,  licked  his  tongue 
against  it,  and  then  vigorously  scruffed 
the  fist  through  his  hair. 

"Pretty  good,  eh?"  said  he. 

Again  I  bestowed  cautious  praise. 
When  I  looked  at  him  keenly  I  noted 
a  gleam  in  his  eyes  that  was  distinctly 
not  the  glassy  look  of  a  witling.  And 
unless  my  ears  deceived  me,  I  heard  a 
chuckle  in  his  throat.  When  I  smiled 
he  returned  the  decidedly  frank  glance 
of  appreciation  that  belongs  with  sanity. 

"I  am  pretty  quick  to  size  a  man  up," 
he  murmured,  "and  I  believe  that  you 
are  safe.  Stranger?" 

Nod. 

"Going  right  along?" 

Another  nod. 

i 

"And  you  are  probably  not  interested 
in  making  more  trouble  for  a  chap  who 
has  trouble  in  plenty?" 

I  satisfied  him. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  have  had  only 
fools  and  callous  keepers  to  talk  with. 
I  feel  my  story  sizzling  inside  me  today. 
Heat,  perhaps.  See  what  you  think  of 
the  case:  I  was  born  on  a  farm  in  a  little 
town  up  country.  I  lived  there  with  my 
folks  till  this  thing  happened.  My 
father  is  a  large  man  with  a  double- 
breasted^face  and  hands  like  Westphalia 
hams. 

"He_  has  always  claimed  that  I  was 
not  a  model  son.  Opinionated  old 


chap,  you  understand.  He  'frequently 
figured  on  the  barn  door  that  if  he  had 
devoted  as  much  time  and  muscle  to 
flailing  out  beans  as  he  had  to  whipping 
me,  he  would  have  over  one  hundred 
and  sixty  barrels  of  nice  pea  beans.  If 
he  had  attended  to  the  beans  it  would 
have  been  more  profitable  for  him  and 
better  for  me. 

"Habits  grow  on  a  man.  My  father 
was  very  absent-minded.  He  got  so  at 
last  that  he  would  lick  me  and  never 
know  it.  That  is,  didn't  realize  at  the 
time  what  he  was  doing.  But  I  did. 
He  would  start  for  the  barn  with  mash 
for  the  hogs,  and  all  on  a  sudden  would 
stop  to  meditate  and  set  down  the  pail. 
Then  he  would  perk  up  and  go  on  re- 
membering that  he  was  bound  to  the 
barn  for  something.  Then  he  would  get 
his  eye  on  me,  and  the  first  thing  that 
would  pop  into  his  head  was  that  he  had 
started  to  give  me  a  whipping.  I  would 
have  to  take  it  before  he  got  his  mind 
collected  again. 

"When  I  was  nineteen  years  old  I  got 
hold  of  an  anarchist  book.  The  writer 
affirmed  that  children  were  brought  into 
the  world  without  having  anything  to  say 
about  it,  and  that  this  general  notion 
that  they  were  bound  to  slavishly  obey 
their  parents  was  a  wrong  idea  entirely. 
Why  should  one  human  soul  be  in  bond- 
age to  another  human  soul?  He  argued 
that  all  souls  were  born  free  and  equal 
and  that  each  was  answerable  only  to 
itself. 

"That  sort  of  philosophy  hit  me  about 
right.  I  saturated  myself  with  it.  But 
I  seemed  to  have  no  good  occasion  to 
make  use  of  it  until  I  was  about  twenty. 
I  fell  in  love  with  Bessie  Rollins.  She 
fell  in  love  with  me.  Seeing  that  she 
was  the  prettiest  girl  in  our  town,  it 
was  a  considerable  amount  of  solace  to 
me  for  all  I  had  been  through. 

"A  girl  had  lived  in  our  family  six 
years,  since  she  was  twelve.  Left  with 
my  folks  to  bring  up.  Knock-kneed 
girl,  with  wide-apart  teeth  like  a  rake, 


552 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,   1905 


and  eyes  that  goggled  like  a  frog's. 
Took  away  my  appetite  at  table,  that 
girl  did.  Her  father  left  seven  thousand 
dollars  that  my  old  man  was  handling 
for  her.  One  day  he  told  me  that  I'd 
better  stop  flirting  'round  with  that  Rol- 
lins girl,  for  he  had  it  all  arranged  that 
I  was  going  to  marry  Phoebe  when  I 
came  of  age.  And  then  he  intimated 
that  under  those  circumstances  he  could 
keep  right  on  handling  the  money,  as  it 
would  be  in  the  family.  He  allowed 
that  it  wouldn't  be  handy  to  pull  it  out 
of  his  business.  Told  me  that  unless 
I  dropped  Bessie  and  tended  strictly  to 
Phoebe  and  kept  the  other  boys  away, 
he  would  skin  me  and  nail  the  hide  on 
the  barn  door.  I  don't  think  my  ser- 
vices were  needed  to  keep  away  the 
boys.  But  that  didn't  matter  much 
anyway.  The  idea  was  that  I  mustn't 
take  Bessie  home  from  any  more  so- 
ciables. 

"I  began  to  think  it  was  about  time 
to  put  in  practice  some  of  my  anarchistic 
doctrines.  The  philosophy  of  the  thing 
appealed  to  me  then,  that  it  did!  I 
commenced  to  watch  for  an  opportunity 
to  discuss  the  matter  with  father  and 
lay  my  ideas  before  him.  He  had  never 
studied  anarchy  of  the  applied  sort. 

"One  evening  I  was  pitching  down 
hay  from  the  scaffold  and  he  was  below 
on  the  barn  floor.  It  seemed  to  be 
a  good  time  to  broach  anarchy  to  him. 
You  see,  he  was  having  a  touch  of  sciatic 
rheumatism,  and  I  reckoned  that  he 
wouldn't  care  about  climbing.  On  gen- 
eral principles  he  wouldn't  have  shinned 
the  ladder  that  night  for  a  hundred  dol- 
lars, but  the  minute  I  got  well  into  my 
subject  and  was  beginning  to  issue  my 
anarchistic  ultimatum,  he  acted  as 
though  he  didn't  want  to  lose  a  single 
word. 

"He  is  a  little  hard  of  hearing,  for  one 
thing.  And  there  were  other  reasons 
why  he  wanted  to  be  nearer  me.  So  up 
he  came.  As  he  hoisted  his  leg  for  each 
round  of  the  ladder,  he  offered  a  remark. 


It  was  a  different  word  for  each  round, 
and  'twas  half  about  me  and  half  about 
sciatica.  I  always  had  known  what 
father's  horse-power  was,  but  I  had 
never  understood  the  resources  of  his 
vocabulary  before. 

"I  took  -to  the  big  crossbeams,  and 
when  he  got  up  on  the  scaffold  he  threw 
at  me  the  following  articles,  to  wit:  one 
whetstone,  four  scythe  snaths,  one  old- 
fashioned  shay-top,  a  horse-fork,  includ- 
ing the  four  pulleys  and  various  smaller 
articles  that  happened  to  be  on  the  scaf- 
fold, but  the  nature  of  which  I  could  not 
distinguish  in  the  gloom.  A  man  often 
gets  rattled  when  he  has  all  those 
chances  and  doesn't  hit  the  mark. 
Father  did.  He  wound  up  by  throwing 
his  lantern  at  me.  TheJantern  set  fire 
to  the  hay,  the  hay  to  the  barn,  the  barn 
to  the  ell,  the  ell  to  the  house,  and  away 
she  all  went.  I  slid  out  cf  the  pitch 
hole  with  my  hair  singed  off,  and  I  kept 
going.  I  didn't  want  to  stay  around 
and  distract  father's  attention  from  sav- 
ing furniture. 

"There  was  plenty  of  tall  timber  in 
that  locality,  and  I  took  to  it.  I  began  to 
realize  that  the  one  great  grief  of  father's 
heart  was  not  that  he  had  lost  his  build- 
ing's, but  that  he  had  not  had  time  to 
finish  that  discussion  of  anarchy  with 
me.  It  was  a  brand  new  topic  for  him, 
and  he  was  interested.  I  realized  fully 
how  badly  he  wanted  to  talk  it  over 
when  he  came  out  into  the  woods  with 
a  posse  to  hunt  me  up.  I  saw  them 
several  days  in  succession  —  and  saw 
them  first.  I  was  sitting  high  up  in 
a  hemlock,  surveying  the  wonders  of 
creation  and  meditating  on  the  new  doc- 
trine of  obedience  I  had  been  reading 
about. 

"The  hungrier  I  got  the  more  con- 
vinced I  became  in  my  own  mind  that 
I  was  a  natural  born  anarchist.  When 
I  saw  my  neighbors — whom  I  had  never 
harmed  by  word  or  look — trailing  along 
behind  father  armed  with  guns  and 
pitchforks,  and  realized  that  they  were 


AS    THE    HUMAN    CAT    tOLt)    It 


553 


after  me  as  though  I  were  a  bob-cat,  1 
decided  that  so  long  as  society  had  de- 
clared war  against  me,  I  wouldn't  be 
backward  about  giving  them  a  little  run 
for  their  powdar. 

"What  business  had  society  picking 
up  that  fight,  anyway? 

"One  day  old  Amzi  Buzzell  stopped 
under  my  tree  to  twist  a  chaw  off  his 
plug  and  I  heard  him  say : 

"'Ye  needn't  tell  me  that  the  critter 
ain't  hid  somewheres  in  these  woods. 
There's  garding  sass  missing  right  along, 
and  some  of  my  cows  have  been  milked 
in  the  pasture.  Now  if  he'd  set  his  own 
father's  barn  afire,  he'd  steal  grub  from 
the  rest  of  us.  I've  got  salt  in  this  gun, 
and  the  minute  I  lay  eyes  on  him  I'll 
give  him  both  barrels.' 

"Now  you  think  of  that,  will  you? 
Begrudging  a  starving  man  a  few  harid- 
fuls  from  his  garden  and  a  drop  of  milk. 
I  did  old  Buzzell's  chores  free  once 
when  he  was  laid  up  with  a  broken  leg. 

"That  night  I  slid  out  of  my  tree  and 
set  fire  to  old  Buzzell's  barn.  Fine  illu- 
mination; successful  entertainment. 

"The  next  night  I  took  another  chap 
I  had  black-marked  on  my  list  for  simi- 
lar cheap  talk  about  me  —  me,  a  poor 
unfortunate  anarchist  who  never  did  any 
intentional  harm.  I  lit  up  his  premises 
for  him.  You  may  remark  here  that  I 
am  a  fiend.  Maybe  I  am.  Maybe  I 
ought  to  have  taken  all  those  lickings 
and  then  stood  out  and  let  Buzzell  and 
the  rest  practice  target-firing  at  me. 
But  that  book  on  anarchism  was  well 
written.  It  convinced  me. 

"There  always  had  been  a  saying  in 
our  town  that  fires  went  in  bunches  of 
five,  like  fingers.  I  didn't  want  to  disap- 
point local  expectations,  and  so  I  torched 
up  two  more  barns.  You  may  remember 
that  fire  scare!  It  was  a  good  one 
while  it  lasted. 

"By  this  time  I  had  built  a  thatch  in 
the  top  of  a  hemlock,  so  that  I  could 
sleep  like  a  crow  on  his  nest.  I  had 
decided  —  through  being  alone  and 


hungry  most  of  the  time,  I  reckon, — 
that  the  hand  of  man  was  set  against 
me.  So  I  laid  out  plans  to  give  that 
town  the  biggest  run  of  anarchy  it  ever 
had. 

"I  was  sitting  up  in  my  nest  one  day, 
figuring  over  the  stock  of  barns  in  town 
and  deciding  how  many  fires  a  week  it 
would  take  to  keep  public  interest  up, 
when  a  dog  began  to  bark  under  me.  It 
sounded  like  Biff  Johnson's  dog.  .He 
and  I  used  to  go  bird-hunting  with  that 
dog  and  he  was  a  wonder.  Never  knew 
of  a  bird  that  could  climb  high  enough 
to  get  away  from  his  nose.  Pretty  soon 
I  heard  Biff's  voice* under  the  tree. 

'"You  might  jest  as  well  show  your- 
self,' yelled  Biff.  'I  never  knew  Cato 
to  make  a  mistake.  He's  got  you  treed.' 

"I  didn't  say  anything.  Then  Biff 
shouted  again. 

"'I  don't  want  to  shoot  a  friend  of 
mine.  But  I'll  knock  a  few  feathers 
off'n  you  with  this  double-B  shot,  if  you 
don't  show  common  politeness  and 
speak.  I  want  to  tell  you  right  off  that 
I  don't  blame  you  for  burnin'  barns.  If 
I  shoot  it'll  only  be  for  your  showin' 
lack  of  manners  to  an  old  friend.  I'm 
still  a  friend  of  yours.  You  ought  to 
realize  it.  I  could  have  treed  you  for 
'em  with  Cato  any  dayl' 

"I  realized  that  he  was  speaking  truth 
and  probably  had  some  good  reason  for 
wanting  to  see  me. 

"Furthermore,  he  began  to  count,  tell- 
ing me  that  at  the  word  'ten'  he  should 
shoot.  Now  I  know  what  Biff  Johnson 
is  when  his  feelings  are  hurt.  So  I 
stuck  my  head  out  over  the  edge  of  the 
nest.  Only  Biff  and  his  dog  were  below. 

"  'They're  goin'  to  lynch  you  when 
they  catch  you,'  remarked  Biff  cheer- 
fully. He  sat  down  on  a  log  and  lighted 
his  pipe. 

"  'They  haven't  caught  me  yet,'  said  I. 

"  'Oh,  well,  they'll  get  you  right  away 
now,'  he  declared  with  confidence. 
'They've  sent  away  for  bloodhounds. 
They're  gettin'  excited.' 


554 


"Poof,  poof  I  went  his  pipe. 

"  'Now  look  here,'  he  continued,  'I've 
known  right  along  that  I  could  catch  you 
— that  me'n  Cato  could.  When  the 
reward  got  up  to  three  hundred  dollars, 
I  just  let  Cato  sniff  of  that  old  mitten 
you  left  to  my  house  once,  and  here  we 
are  to  talk  this  thing  over  nice  and 
quiet.' 

"  'Do  you  mean  to  say,'  I  yelled, 
'that  you've  been  sitting  'round  town 
waiting  for  that  reward  to  grow  to  the 
limit  to  make  it  worth  your  while? 
You're  an  infernal  scamp!' 

"  'I  need  the  money,'  he  said  quietly, 
'and  that  three  hunderd  is  goin'  to  come 
in  handy.  And  I'm  goin'  to  have  it, 
too.  I've  got  bus'ness  and  — and  other 
plans.  But  at  the  same  time  I'm  goin' 
to  do  you  a  special  favor.  I've  spent  a 
lot  of  thought  on  it.' 

"'Do  you  call  it  a  special  favor  to 
come  along  with  a  dog  and  gun  and  take 
me  into  camp?'  I  snarled. 

"'Just  the  tone — just  the  tone  I've 
planned  to  teach  you,'  cried  Biff. 

"I  looked  over  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  'Now  you  hold  your  bosses,'  he  said. 
'If  they  catch  you  as  you  are  now  with 
nobody  to  explain  for  you  and  pave  the 
way,  so  to  speak, — and  they  certainly 
will  get  you  with  those  hounds — up  you 
are  goin'  as  sure  as  eggs  at  Thanksgivin*. 
I've  heard  them  talk  it  all  over  at  the 
store.  This  town  was  never  so  mad  in 
all  its  life.  Then  you'll  get  it  around  the 
neck  and  someone  else  beside  your  old 
and  true  friend  will  get  the  reward.  But 
while  I  think  of  it,  what  started  you  off 
like  this,  anyway?' 

"  'I'm  an  anarchist,'  I  said. 

"Biff  blinked  up  at  me  a  while,  and 
then  remarked  with  some  mystification, 
'I  want  to  know!  I  don't  know  what 
that  is,  and  I  don't  care.  But  I'll  tell 
you  what  you've  got  to  be  after  this. 
You've  got  to  be  a  human  cat.  Now, 
not  a  single  word  till  I  explain.  This 
town  is  mad,  but  it  ain't  goin'  to  hang 
a  lunatic,  not  if  it  has  the  thing  explained 


to  it  that  you  are  a  lunatic.  It's  for  me 
to  fix  that  up  for  you  so  that  the  town 
can  howl  and  swear  itself  out  of  breath 
and  then  settle  down  and  gawp  at  you 
when  I  bring  you  in.  With  the  thing 
paved  right  for  you  no  one  will  lift  a 
hand.  I'm  goin'  to  stand  up  on  the 
platform  of  the  store  and  make  a  speech 
and  say  I  found  you,  and  that  you  was 
up  in  a  tree  and  thought  you  was  a  cat. 
Mew  now,  good  and  hard.  Let  me  see 
if  you  can.' 

" 'I  won't,' I  yelled. 

"'Now  look  here!'  Biff's  tone  was 
that  of  an  injured  man.  *I'm  tryin'  to 
do  something  for  you.  If  you  are  han- 
k'rin'  to  be  lynched,  why,  all  right.  I'll 
take  you  in,  collect  the  reward,  and  let 
'em  lynch.  That  will  be  less  trouble  for 
me.  But  I  warn  you  now  that  lynchin' 
hurts.  And  sometimes  women  come 
around  and  stick  hat  pins  into  lynched 
folks.' 

"I  began  to  see  the  force  of  his  re- 
marks. When  he  told  me  again  to  mew 
I  did  so  with  a  fair  amount  of  success. 
Then  he  gave  me  lessons  in  licking  my 
fist  and  scruffing  it  through  my  hair  and 
over  my  forehead.  'You'll  have  to  do 
that  all  through  the  trial,'  he  said.  'Sit 
and  lap  your  fist  and  slick  down  your 
hair.  You  don't  have  to  say  a  word. 
The  trouble  with  too  many  folks  that 
play  crazy  is  that  they  try  to  put  on  too 
many  frills.  Then  the  first  thing  they 
know  they  stub  their  toe  and  fall  down 
on  the  game.  You'll  probably  sleep  in 
the  lock-up  tonight.  You  can  sit  and 
lap  your  fist  till  you  go  to  sleep.  It 
won't  be  tiresome.  Most  folks  that  play 
loony  try  to  do  tiresome  things.  Some 
act  out  so  hard  that  they  do  really  go 
crazy.  I've  fixed  it  all  right  for  you.' 

"  'I  don't  see  how  it's  going  to  be  any 
benefit  to  me  to  be  branded  as  a  luna- 
tic,' I  snapped. 

'"Why,  in  the  first  place,'  he  ex- 
plained, 'you  stay  alive.  That's  a  big 
item.  You  don't  get  lynched,  you  see. 
Then  instead  of  going  to  state  prison 


AS    THE    HUMAN    CAT    TOLD    IT 


555 


for  a  dozen  years  as  a  firebug,  you  only 
go  to  the  insane  asylum,  and  have  nice 
grub  and  lots  of  good  doct'rin.'  Then 
in  a  little  while  you  play  cat  easier  and 
easier  and  the  doctors  get  proud  because 
they  are  curin'  you,  and  after  a  time, 
when  you  get  ready,  you  come  out  all 
O.  K.  You  don't  have  any  jail-bird 
brand  on  you,  and  you  can  start  in  and 
be  somebody.' 

"Now  after  I  had  thought  that  over 
for  quite  a  while  I  saw  the  logic  of  what 
Biff  was  telling  me.  So  I  came  down 
from  the  nest,  took  a  few  more  lessons 
in  playing  cat  and  started  for  the  village 
behind  Biff.  He  proposed  to  hide  me 
on  the  outskirts,  tell  his  story,  soften 
public  prejudice,  have  me  accepted  as 
a  poor  lunatic  and  then  lead  me  in. 

"  'You  must  remember,'  said  Biff 
as  we  jogged  along,  'that  you  mustn't 
let  any  solitary  soul  know  that  you  are 
not  crazy.  You  must  be  cat  all  the 
time.' 

"In  a  lane  just  before  we  came  out  of 
the  woods  we  saw  a  girl  ahead  of  us  with 
a  basket  of  flowers  that  she  had  been 
gathering.  My  heart  stood  still  when 
I  saw  it  was  Bessie  Rollins.  I  grabbed 
Biff  by  the  arm. 

"'Biff,'  I  said.  'Listen  a  moment. 
It  was  on  account  of  this  girl  that  all 
my  trouble  with  my  father  started.  I 
love  her  and  she  loves  me.  You  must 
let  me  explain  to  her — just  her  of  all  the 
world.  Then  I  will  go  on.' 

"  'I  never  saw  a  queerer  look  in  a 
Vnan's  face  than  I  saw  in  Biff's  then. 

"'My  Lord,'  he  cried,  'that  would 
ruin  you.  A  woman  in  love  can't  be 
trusted.  She'd  be  hangin'  'round  you 
and  you'd  forget  and  everything  would 
bust  up.  Now  play  cat  for  all  you're 
worth — if  you  ever  intend  to  in  your  life. 
Here,  Bessie,'  he  shouted  before  I  had 
time  to  utter  a  syllable  more. 

"And  then  while  he  explained  to  her, 
she  growing  more  horrified  all  the  time, 
I  had  to  stand  there  with  breaking  heart 
and  go  through  that  tomfool  business  of 


mewing  and  slicking  my  hair  with  a  wet 
fist.  Oh,  it  was  awful!  At  first,  when 
her  eyes  lighted  on  me,  she  had  come 
running  up  with  her  arms  outstretched, 
her  eyes  full  of  love  and  a  cry  of  joy  on 
her  lips.  Now  she  backed  away  in  fear, 
and  at  last,  sobbing  bitterly,  she  ran  off 
into  the  woods.  And  Biff  took  me  stag- 
gering down  the  road,  hid  me  in  a  grove 
and  went  to  the  village  to  'pave  my  way' 
as  he  called  it. 

"I  guess  I  was  really  crazy  then  for 
a  time.  I  know  that  the  people  of  the 
town  believed  I  was,  and  the  next  day, 
by  order  of  the  selectmen,  and  with 
everyone  looking  on  me  with  pity, 
I  went  away  to  the  asylum.  And  here 
I  am." 

The  keeper  had  been  looking  at  us 
for  some  minutes  curiously.  He  could 
not  hear  the  story,  but  he  seemed  to 
realize  that  my  new  friend  was  behaving 
with  more  or  less  sanity.  The  patient 
picked  another  blade  of  grass,  yawled 
on  it  vigorously,  and  then  slicked  his 
hair.  The  keeper  turned  away  again, 
apparently  reassured. 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?"  I 
inquired. 

"Five  years,"  he  returned  sorrowfully. 
"But  I  see  what  you  are  going  to  ask. 
You  want  to  know  why  I  haven't  let  my- 
self be  cured  and  gone  back  and  married 
the  girl  and  lived  happily  ever  after! 
Well,  that — but  no!  I  have  parched  my 
throat  in  the  past  years  cursing  him. 
No  further  words  can  express  my  senti- 
ments. I  will  simply  and  calmly  remark 
that  Biff  Johnson  was  in  love  with  Bessie 
Rollins  all  the  time.  After  I  had  gone 
away  he  told  her  that  it  would  never  be 
safe  to  marry  me,  for  insanity  always 
broke  out  again  even  if  a  man  seemed 
cured.  Do  you  see  why  he  wouldn't 
let  me  explain  to  her?  She  believed 
him,  cried  a  spell  and  the  next  thing — 
in  fact,  the  first  thing  I  heard,  she  had 
married  him  and  he  used  the  three  hun- 
dred dollars  reward  to  pay  the  expenses 
of  their  wedding  journey.  I  don't  want 


556 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  FEBRUARY,  1905 


to  go  back  into  the  world  again.  I  like  yawned.  "Come  on,  boys,"  he  corn- 
crazy  folks  better  than  I  do  the  average  rnanded.  The  file  of  men  moved  away 
human  hyenas  you  meet  up  with  in  real  down  the  road,  listlessly  spatting  the 
life."  The  keeper  rose  and  stretched  and  dust  as  they  set  down  their  heavy  feet. 


THE    SNOWFLAKE'S    MESSAGE 

By    MRS.     LEIGH     GROSS     DAY 

SPRINGFIELD,      ILLINOIS 


coarse 


,  he  is  up  ir> 
V)  Traio  Ijt's  \or?e. 

|ke.  cmaAs  carn&  a 

;         <J  x 

*  |jfc  ev'er  saw 


'cause/ 


ope,  of  l^is  DttD 

I  III       '4-  U-     '     Jr-      f 
sljall  fyar>g  iTwiTTj  rpirje-fihen   J.  |\riow, 

-Sarjia.  Will  reorS 


l^e.  Ti^os  ope,  pirjrjeo 


J\?e,        rj  . 
uJTw 


a  [0170 


J  sfyall  Say  it)  rpy  TjoTe-  "l^eaY  Sor/la, 
dltase/ lea^e.  Sonje  lime-  Toy 

JfjaTWiH  rjelp  To  anjuse  apd  efjleVfain 

N5  \     I  •        {    \       »       '» 
7\  darlmcr  bakv 
/|          jf 

J(;e^wl}en  Hr;0  w^oil^e's  le 


v  >'»^>'— / 

Mlry.Laly  Lro%  were  oX  jp&  jf-^ft  \T;^   tf  n  ^  ^  ^ 

tTt  is  jU3f  fourtee?  "fo^y.  ^trt  ^,  ^  ^   ^^       ^    ^ 


,JfoW  Jm  sure  JcarjIur^eTsfar^  cf, 
(Or  wf 


Qjuse      t  i»  orjl    a  iirjy 


J^  Ijis     iclure  u 


J  «> 


itor 

i   l)aif  So  tin  cw  me/. 


7  To  lotf^.  tTTb 

&s  "?0«-y  oanee    cmd  Tlutter    by 
,    .   Wayihtauqn The  elouos  ani  sroi.-.. 

T  L-'L      3       4       -41-     U' 

^o  l^is  norpje.  —  up  There/  mine,  slw- 

iW  t^e's  oUer.  ^  JtfiJ,  Jeouji  J^UQ  ^^  |^88  J^ 

ijuTTfle  Tpessaae^Will  nop/e  To  oo. 
Cause -Ipe  anqeAs  Will  iel\  jjirp  iT  camt 


WOMEN    WEAVERS   OF 
THE    PROVINCES 


By     GRACE    ASPINWALL 


IT  is  difficult  to  realize  that  in  one 
night's  sail  from  Boston  one  may 
reach  a  region  where  the  spinning  wheel 
and  the  loom  are  still  in  frequent  use; 
but  all  through  the  Provinces,  Nova 
Scotia,  Prince  Edward's  Island  and  New 
Brunswick,  linen  and  woollen  goods  are 
still  made  for  domestic  use  in  the  big 


families  that  prevail  there,  and  where 
everything  in  life  is  much  the  same  as 
in  the  "good  old  times." 

It  is  charming  to  the  novelty-seeker 
to  travel  into  the  green  "Evangeline 
country"  and  come  suddenly  upon  a 
vine-covered  cottage  with  a  woman  spin- 
ning busily  before  the  door  in  the  Sum- 


A      SPINNER      TN      THE      EVANGEUNE      COUNTRY 


55« 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


mer  sunshine.  The  wheel  will  doubt- 
less be  found  to  be  old  and  time-worn 
and  just  such  a  wheel  as  was  in 
use  a  hundred,  nay  even  two  hundred 
years  ago.  Indeed,  it  may  have 
served  in  the  family  quite  as  it  is  a 
century  ago. 

Such  a  sight  makes  one  feel  very  far 
away  from  the  bustle  and  rush  of  modern 
times  and  makes  one  almost  forget 
the  wear  and  tear  of  great  cities 
where  looms  of  factories  strip  off  in 
one  moment  what  it  takes  some  of 
these  contented  spinners  a  week  to  do. 


WEAVING     LINEN 


On  a  recent  journey  to  the  Provinces, 
the  writer  was  shown  at  least  twenty 
looms  in  working  order  set  up  in  the 
farm  houses,  and  used  regularly.  Some 
of  the  busy  women  were  turning  off 
linen  or  wool  stuffs,  and  they  showed 
with  pride  just  how  it  was  done,  the 
clank,  clank  of  the  loom  sounding  very 
clumsy  and  strange  to  the  city  visitor. 
The  looms  are  usually  set  up  in 
the  big,  roomy  attics,  but  in  some  cases 
they  are  in  the  kitchen  or  in  rooms 
by  themselves. 

The  homespun  woollen  goods  that  was 
turned  out  was 
beautiful  and  soft 
and  had  the  inde- 
finable charm  about 
it  that  all  hand- 
made things  have. 
The  goods  show- 
ed a  variety  of 
colorings,  all  dyed 
at  home :  dark  blue, 
crimson,  browns  of 
various  shades  — 
tan,  black,  purple 
and  green ;  some  of 
the  homespun  was 
mixed,  and  .a  few 
pieces  were  striped. 
Very  little  of  this 
goods  is  sent  out  of 
the  Provinces,  but 
is  used  at  home  for 
the  making  of  the 
men's  clothes  and 
the  gowns  for  the 
women  and  girls. 
It  does  not  occur  to 
these  simple  people 
how  highly  appre- 
ciated this  material 
would  be  among 
fashionable  women, 
who  are  eager  for 
all  manner  of  hand- 
made materials  and 
are  willing  to  pay 
large  sums  for  it. 


WEAVING     WHITE      WOOL     FOR     BLANKETS 
(559) 


560 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   tor   FEBRUARY,    1905 


FILLING     HER     SPOOLS 


The  provincials  look  upon  the  goods 
as  far  less  desirable  than  "store-made" 
materials,  but  it  is  cheaper  for  them  than 
the  factory  goods,  and  thus  they  weave  it. 

The  linen  made  on  these  looms  is 
very  beautiful  and  makes  charming 
Summer  gowns,  but  it  is  used  for  sheets 
and  simple  underclothes  instead. 

Rag-carpet  looms  are  also  to  be  seen 
everywhere  in  the  Provinces,  and  the 
carpets  are  woven  for  the  floors  out  of 
the  worn-out  clothes  of  the  family.  A 
cheap  brussels  carpet  with  gaudy  scrolls 
would  be  highly  prized  by  these  people, 
who  rather  despise  their  own  artistic  rag 
carpets  which  are  all  the  rage  among 
people  of  taste  nowadays,  one  man 
worth  many  millions  having  just 
ordered  woven  on  a  country  loom  in 
Connecticut  200  yards  of  rag  carpet- 
ing for  his  new  Summer  home. 


In  England  just  now  it  is  the  fashion 
for  great  ladies  to  become  skillful  spin- 
ners and  sometimes  weavers.  Queen 
Alexandra  is  an  accomplished  spinner, 
and  has  been  photographed  with  her  flax 
wheel  while  at  work. 

The  object  of  the  queen  and  her  ladies 
is  to  bring  hand  weaving  into  favor  once 
more,  and  Her  Majesty  and  the  English 
peeresses  wear  a  great  many  homespun 
gowns  made  in  the  smartest  tailor  fashion 
and  having  a  distinct  style. 

The  Countess  of  Aberdeen,  when  she 
was  in  Canada  as  hostess  of  Govern- 
ment House,  took  a  keen  interest  in 
these  workers  on  home  looms.  For 
years  the  countess  has  been  very  active 
in  her  work  of  encouraging  hand  indus- 
tries at  home,  and  is  an  accomplished 
spinner  and  weaver  herself.  In  fact,  all 
her  household  linen  is  hand-made,  and 


THE    HOME 


56' 


a  great  part  of  it  was  made  by  her  own 
hands  and  the  rest  by  women  under  her 
patronage  in  Scotland  and  in  the  Can- 
adian provinces. 

She  paid  several  visits  to  Nova  Scotia, 
New  Brunswick,  and  Prince  Edward's 
Island  during  her  husband's  period  of 
government  in  Canada,  and  paid  espe- 
cial attention  to  those  women  who  had 
spinning-wheels  and  looms.  In  the 
cheery,  humble  cottages  and  farm-houses 
the  charming  countess  sat  down  before 
the  great',  clumsy  looms  and  gave  the  de- 
lighted women  instruction  upon  points 
that  they  did  not  know.  They  were 
astonished  at  her  skill  and  at  once 
became  ambitious  to  follow  her  instruc- 
tions. 

The  countess  still  remembers  these 
women  in  America,  and  sometimes  sends 
an  order  to  them  for  some  homespun 
woollen  stuff  or  some  linen. 

This  she  does  to  keep  alive  the  inter- 
est in  home  weaving  and  the  women 


take  great  pride   in   filling  her   orders. 

The  old-fashioned  bed-spreads  are 
also  woven  on  some  of  these  looms,  and 
the  designs  of  some  are  very  handsome 
and  distinctly  artistic.  They  are  in 
colors  and  have  a  heavy  fringe  with  a 
knotted  heading.  Lady  Aberdeen  or- 
dered a  dozen  of  these  made  two  years 
ago,  some  of  which  she  kept  and  others 
she  sent  as  gifts  to  her  friends. 

Shawls,  stockings,  cardigan  jackets, 
caps,  mittens  and  leggings  are  all  knit 
by  these  industrious  women  during  the 
long  Winter  evenings,  and  they  are  made 
from  fine  yarns  spun  on  the  big  wheels 
and  dyed  to  rich  colors  in  domestic  dye 
pots. 

Of  late  years  a  great  many  hand-knitted 
sweaters  for  both  men  and  women  have 
been  made  of  this  homespun  yarn  in  the 
Provinces,  and  among  those  who  were 
fortunate  enough  to  know  them,  they 
wear  better  and  have  a  finer  appearance 
than  the  machine-knitted  garments. 


KNOW     YOUR     PLANTS 

By    EVA     RYMAN-GAILLARD 

GIRARD,       PENNSYLVANIA 


CEBRUARY  is  the  month  when  floral 
catalogues  are  sent  throughout  the 
land  and  every  flower-lover  who  reads 
the  descriptions  and  sees  the  beautiful 
illustrations  of  new  varieties  of  plants  is 
tempted  to  buy  them.  As  a  rule  these 
novelties  are  all  that  is  claimed  for  them, 
IF  they  are  properly  cultivated;  but 
often  they  are  purchased  by  people  who 
know  nothing  of  their  nature  and  needs, 
and  who  give  them  little  care,  and  then, 
because  results  do  not  equal  those  de- 
scribed by  the  florist  who  spent  time, 
study  and  expense  on  them,  he  is  ac- 
cused of  misrepresentation. 

Be  sure,  before  buying  any  plant,  that 
you  know  what  its  needs  are  as  to  condi- 
tions of  soil,  temperature,  light  and  other 


essential  points,  and  that  you  can  supply 
them.  If  this  is  not  possible — well,  let 
someone  with  money  to  spare  do  the 
experimenting,  while  you  grow  those  you 
understand;  for  a  thrifty  plant  of  the 
commonest  kind  is  more  ornamental 
than  a  sickly  specimen  of  the  rarest 
novelty. 

One  source  of  failure  and  disappoint- 
ment is  found  in  the  floral  articles  pub- 
lished on  every  hand,  and  this  is  true 
for  several  reasons.  One  is  that  many 
of  them  give  the  name  of  the  writer,  but 
no  hint  as  to  whether  their  home  is  in 
Maine,  or  in  Texas;  another  is  that 
when  such  information  is  given  the 
reader  pays  no  attention  to  it,  and  a 
third  is  that  many  a  writer  is  not  writing 


562 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 


from  an  experimental  knowledge. 

A  writer  living  in  the  southern  states 
may  describe  to  the  most  minute  particu- 
lar how  success  was  achieved  in  growing 
a  certain  class  of  plants,  but  the  one 
living  in  the  North  who  follows  those 
instructions  is  foreordained  to  fail- 
ure. 

In  the  southland,  where  an  early 
Spring  and  a  late  Fall  gives  a  long  sea- 
son in  which  plants  may  grow  from  the 
seed  and  complete  their  natural  period 
of  bloom,  there  is  no  need  to  take  time 
by  the  forelock  as  must  be  done  farther 
north,  where  the  flower-lover,  if  wfse, 
will  have  many  a  seed-pan  tucked  in 
among  the  window  plants  before  this 
month  ends. 

The  seedling  plants  which  have  been 
transplanted  two  or  three  times  before 


being  put  into  the  open  ground  have 
a  start  which  insures  a  fairly  long  season 
of  blooming  before  being  spoiled  by 
frosts. 

Fuchsias  and  other  wood-stemmed 
plants  which  have  been  wintered  in  the 
cellar  will  show  signs  of  life,  and  should 
be  brought,  gradually,  to  the  light  and 
warmth.  If  they  need  pruning  (as  most 
of  them  will  to  secure  symmetrical  form, 
do  it  at  once,  thereby  forcing  new 
branches  to  start  and  greatly  increasing 
the  number  of  blooming  points  on  the 
plant. 

Look  over  the  cannas,  dahlias  and 
other  stored  roots,  and  if  any  show  signs 
of  decay  remove  them,  for  even  one  or 
two  that  are  bad  now  means  that  all 
touching  them  will  be  spoiled  by  plant- 
ing time. 


A    WESTERN    WIFE 

By    WILL     CHAMBERLAIN 

JEFFERSON,     SOUTH      DAKOTA 


CHE  walked  behind  the  lagging  mules 
That  drew  the  breaker  thro'  the  soil; 
Hers  were  the  early  rising  rules, 
Hers  were  the  eves  of  wifely  toil. 

The  smitten  prairie  blossom'd  fair, 
The  sod  home  faded  from  the  scene; 

Firm  gables  met  the  whisp'ring  air, 
Deep  porches  lent  repose  serene. 


But  with 'ring  brow  and  snowy  tress, 
Bespeak  the  early  days  of  strife ; 

And  there's  the  deeper  wrought  impress- 
The  untold  pathos  of  the  wife. 

O  western  mother!  in  thy  praise 
No  artist  paints  nor  poet  sings, 

But  from  thy  rosary  of  days 
God's  angels  shape  immortal  wings! 


NEW    WINTER    SALADS 

By     KATHERINE    E.     MEGEE 

WAYNESBORO,     VIRGINIA 


JVJO  dinner,  however  unpretentious,  is 
complete  without  a  salad.  This 
dish,  when  properly  concocted,  is  at 
once  an  appetizer,  an  aid  to  digestion, 
and  the  connecting  link  between  the 


heavier  courses  of  the  dinner  proper  and 
the  dessert.  The  housewife  who  caters 
wisely  is  alive  to  this  fact,  and  is  ever 
on  the  alert  for  something  wholesome  in 
the  way  of  a  salad  which  is  at  the  same 


THE    HOME 


563 


time  a  little  out  of  the  ordinary,  in  order 
that  there  may  be  no  tiresome  monotony 
in  the  favorite  dish. 

Various  mixtures  are  employed  for 
marinating  salads,— a  rich  mayonnaise, 
the  plainer  French  dressing,  or  a  simple 
dressing  of  oil  and  lemon  juice  —  the 
kind  depending  wholly  upon  the  nature 
of  the  salad. 

A  good  general  purpose  dressing, 
which  possesses  the  further  virtue  of  its 
keeping  qualities  to  commend  it,  is 
made  as  follows: 

Beat  the  yolks  of  eight  eggs  till  smooth  ; 
add  one  cup  sugar,  one  tablespoon  each  of 
salt,  ground  mustard  and  black  pepper,  a 
dash  of  cayenne  and  one-half  cup  cream; 
mix  thoroughly  in  order  that  all  the  ingredi- 
ents may  be  incorporated.  Bring  to  a  boil 
one  and  one  half  cups  vinegar,  add  one  cup 
fresh  sweet  butter  and  bring  again  to  a  boil, 
then  pour  it  over  the  other  mixture,  stir  well, 
and  when  cold,  bottle.  Keep  in  a  cold  place. 


ITALIAN  CHICKEN  SALAD:  Take  a 
sufficiency  of  the  white  meat  of  cold  fowls 
and  pull  into  flakes;  then  pile  it  mound 
fashion  in  the  center  of  a  shallow  salad  dish 
and  pour  over  it  a  rich  dressing.  Have  ready 
two  fine  heads  of  lettuce  crisped  in  ice  water; 
strip  off  the  outside  leaves,  shred  the  inside 
and  arrange  neatly  in  a  ridge  around  the 
chicken.  On  top  of  the  lettuce  place  a  chain 
formed  of  the  whites  of  three  eggs  cut  into 
rings.  Serve  a  portion  of  the  lettuce  with 
each  helping  of  chicken. 


SWEDISH  HERRING  SALAD:  Soak  two 
herrings  over  night ;  boil  one  dozen  medium 
sized  potatoes  in  their  jackets,  when  cold, 
peel  and  cut  into  dice;  chop  a  large  onion 
fine;  bone,  skin  and  dice  the  fish,  season 
with  pepper  and  add  enough  vinegar  to 
moisten.  Transfer  the  mixture  to  a  large, 
flat  dish,  pour  over  it  a  cup  of  rich,  sweet 
cream  that  has  been  thoroughly  chilled,  gar- 
nish with  hard-boiled  aggs  and  sliced  beets, 
and  serve  at  once. 


SWEETBREAD  SALAD  :  Soak  one  pair 
sweetbreads  in  cold  water  one  hour,  then 
drain  and  put  into  boiling  water  to  which  has 
been  added  one-fourth  teaspoon  salt  and 
two  teaspoons  lemon  juice.  Cook  slowly 
for  twenty  minutes,  then  plunge  at  once  into 
ice  water.  When  firm  and  white,  cut  into 
slices,  mix  with  one  cup  chopped  celery, 
marinate  with  French  dressing,  stand  on  ice 
until  thoroughly  chilled,  then  serve  in  nests 
of  crisped  lettuce.  Dress  with  mayonnaise. 


SPICED  SALMON  SALAD:  Stand  a  can 
of  salmon  in  a  pot  of  boiling  water  and  boil 
hard  for  twenty  minutes ;  take  out  can,  open, 
and  drain  off  the  oil ;  then  turn  the  fish  into 
a  deep  bowl,  stick  around  it  a  dozen  cloves, 
sprinkle  lightly  with  salt  and  pepper  and 
cover  with  vinegar.  Let  stand  six  hours. 
Drain  off  the  vinegar,  dress  the  fish  with 
mayonnaise  or  any  rich  salad  dressing,  and 
arrange  for  individual  serving  in  rings  of 
tomato  jelly.  Garnish  with  thin  slices  of 
lemon. 

OYSTER  SALAD:  Have  ready  a  head  of 
fine  lettuce  crisped  in  ice  water,  select  the 
best  leaves  and  arrange  for  individual  serv- 
ing in  pretty  salad  saucers.  Also  have  ready 
one  quart  large  oysters  plumped  and  chilled. 
Marinate  the  oysters  with  a  salad  dressing, 
let  stand  five  minutes,  then  arrange  in  the 
lettuce  cups,  dress  with  lemon  juice,  garnish 
with  sliced  lemon,  and  serve  with  cheese 
straws. 

BAKED  BEAN  SALAD:  Turn  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  cold  baked  beans  ( canned  ones 
may  be  used)  into  a  salad  dish;  add  a  minced 
onion  and  one  tablespoon  tomato  catsup ;  stir 
lightly,  dress  with  mayonnaise  and  serve. 

HAM  AND  VEGETABLES:  Heap  two  and 
one-half  cups  ham  in  the  centre  of  a  shallow 
salad  dish  and  pour  over  it  a  mayonnaise 
dressing;  around  the  ham  arrange  a  border 
of  cold-boiled  potatoes  cut  into  cubes,  and 
on  the  outer  edge  a  border  of  pickled  beet 
cubes.  Garnish  with  fringed  celery. 

To  fringe  celery  stalks,  cut  them  into  two- 
inch  lengths;  stick  several  coarse  needles 
into  the  top  of  a  cork ;  draw  half  the  stalk 
of  each  piece  of  celery  through  the  needles 
several  times,  then  crisp  in  ice  water. 

LAMB  SALAD  :  Dice  a  sufficiency  of  cold 
boiled  lamb;  add  half  the  quantity  of 
chopped  olives;  wash,  crisp  and  arrange  for 
individual  serving  the  inside  leaves  of  a  head 
of  lettuce.  Arrange  the  meat  mixture  in  the 
cups,  dress  with  salad  dressing  and  garnish 
with  pickled  capers. 

HOT  CABBAGE  SALAD  :  Shave  the  cab- 
bage fine  and  put  on  to  cook  in  just  enough 
water  to  prevent  burning.  When  tender, 
add  half  a  cup  of  cream  or  rich  milk  ;  bring 
to  a  boil,  season  with  salt,  pepper  and  a 
tablespoon  of  butter  and  add  enough  vinegar 
to  give  it  the  desired  flavor.  Let  boil  up, 
add  a  beaten  egg,  stir  well  and  serve. 


FRUIT  SALAD  :  Arrange  alternate  layers 
of  pineapple  and  bananas  in  a  salad  dish, 
sprinkling  each  layer  with  sugar  and  grated 
nutmeg.  Turn  over  all  a  glass  of  sherry, 
and  serve. 


j64  THE    HOME 

LITTLE     HELPS    FOR    HOME-MAKERS 


For  each  little  help  found  suited  for  use  in  this  department,  we  award  one  yearly  subscription  to  the  National 
Magazine.  If  you  are  already  a  subscriber,  you  can  either  extend  your  own  term  or  send  the  National  to  a  friend. 
If  your  little  help  does  not  appear,  it  is  probably  because  the  same  idea  has  been  offered  by  someone  else  before 
you.  Try  again.  Enclosed  a  stamped  and  self-adressed  envelope  if  you  wish  us  to  return  unavailable  offerings. 


INK    STAINS 

By   MRS.  J.  H. 
JOHNSON 

Loveland,  Colorado 

To  remove  ink  stains 
from  -cotton  or  linen  : 
Rub  the  spot  as  soon 
as  possible,  thoroughly, 
with  lemon  juice  and 
salt ;  place  over  a  bowl 
and  turn  boiling  water 
on  it  until  the  bowl  is 
half  full  or  more,  keep- 
ing the  goods  taut.  Now 
turn  a  saucer  over  it  and 

let  steam  five  minutes,  then  rub  and  wring  out.  Repeat 
the  process  until  removed.  If  a  trace  is  left  it  will  dis- 
appear in  the  wash. 

KEEPING     RIBBONS     IN     PLACE 
By    MRS.   S.   W.   SHERMAN 

Maiden,  Massachusetts 

A  way  to  keep  the  child's  hair  ribbon  in  place. 
When  the  hair  is  ready  for  the  ribbon,  first  place  a 
small  elastic  band  (as  a  security  for  the  ribbon)  around 
it  several  times ;  then  under  one  portion  of  band  draw 
through  one-half  of  ribbon's  length,  and  bringing  ends 
forward  tie  in  the  usual  manner.  My  mother  used  this 
method  for  me  and  I  in  turn  have  used  it  for  several 
years,  and  while  it  is  not  an  unusual  thing  for  girlie  to 
come  from  school  with  ribbon  untied,  she  has  never 
known  a  lost  ribbon. 

SOAP     ODDS    AND    ENDS 

By    ALLINE    DE    MARET 

Mineral  Wells,  Texas 

Save  your  small  bits  of  soap  in  a  low  jar :  when  the 
jar  is  full,  reduce  to  small  shavings  and  add  a  teaspoon- 
ful  of  your  favorite  toilet  water.  Pour  boiling  water 
over  this  and  let  it  stand,  when  settled  pour  water  off 
and  behold !  you  have  a  dainty  toilet  necessity. 

WHEN    COOKING    SAUERKRAUT 
By    MAUDE    W.     DIKE 
West  Concord,  Minnesota 

To  prevent  scenting  up  the  whole  house  when  cook- 
ing sauerkraut,  cook  it  in  a  covered  dish  in  the  oven. 
We  use  the  bean  jar. 


A    REMOVER 
By    MRS.    W. 


OF    RUST 


E.    BROWN 
Pomfret  Center,  Connecticut 

I  had  much  trouble  with  the  tank  in  my  kitchen 
stove.  Water  would  rust  in  it  so  I  could  not  use  it.  It 
became  coated  with  layers  of  rust.  I  boiled  washing 
soda  in  it  for  a  few  weeks,  and  cleaned  it  so  perfectly 
that  it  has  never  rusted  since ;  that  was  several  months 
ago.  I  boil  my  discolored  tinware  in  sal  soda  water 
They  come  out  silvery-wjiitfl. 


USES    FOR    A    MEAT    CHOPPER 

By    MRS.   C.    C.   REDFIELD 
Harlan,  Iowa 

I  find  my  meat  chopper  useful  for  many  things  other 
than  chopping  meat.  Use  the  vegetable  plate  and 
chop  seeded  or  seedless  raisins  for  cake  ;  green  toma- 
toes for  piccalilli;  apples  for  mince  pies;  nut-meats  for 
cake,  ice-cream  or  candy  or  lemon  for  pie.  And  farm- 
ers' wives  will  find  that  rendering  lard  is  made  easy  by 
using  the  meat  chopper  instead  of  a  knife  to  cut  the 
lard.  With  the  small  plate  in  the  chopper  put  through 
dried  bread  or  crackers,  dried  celery  leaves,  sage  and 
parsley.  If  these  are  put  away  in  fruit  jars  they  will 
keep  perfectly  for  a  long  time.  Horseradish  is  as  good 
as  though  grated. 


TO     DETECT    CHALK     IN     MILK 
By   J.    A.    KIEFERLE 

Los  Angeles,  California 

Dilute  the  milk  in  water ;  the  chalk,  if  there  be  any, 
will  settle  to  the  botton  in  an  hour  or  two.  Put  to  the 
sediment  an  acid,  vinegar  for  instance,  and  if  efferves- 
cence takes  place,  chalk  is  present  in  the  milk.  I  have 
tried  this  a  number  of  times,  and  have  been  able  to 
bring  the  guilty  parties  to  justice.  • 


'A    LITTLE    HELP' 


THE    HOME 


565 


TO    POLISH    A    STOVE 

By    HATTIE    E.    COBURN 

Greene,  Maine 

Put  a  quantity  of  stove  polish  into  a  dish,  add  equal 
parts  water  and  turpentine  and  a  few  drops  of  varnish, 
mix  this  well  together ;  apply  with  a  small  paint  brush. 
Let  the  polish  dry,  and  then  rub  briskly  with  a  stove 
brush.  This  will  give  a  glossy  polish,  that  will  last 
from  one  Spring  until  the  next.  This  should  not  be 
used  on  the  top  of  a  cook-stove  that  is  in  use  every 
day,  for  the  odor  would  be  rather  offensive  when  the 
polish  was  first  put  on.  It  is  an  excellent  polish  for 
stoves,  that  are  not  used  through  the  Summer. 


THE    KITCHEN    "WORK-STOOL" 

By    MRS.    P.   VAN    WINKLE 

Chicago,  Illinois 

At  any  of  the  large  department  stores  a  "work-stool" 
can  be  purchased  for  about  eighty-five  cents.  The  one 
in  my  kitchen  is  in  almost  constant  use.  ''I  can't  sit 
down  to  wash  dishes"  so  many  women  say ;  but  that 
is  because  the  chair  they  use  is  too  low,  and  the  water 
runs  up  their  sleeves.  Also,  "  It  looks  lazy."  The 
stool  should  be  about  eight  inches  higher  than  an  ordi- 
nary chair  and  the  water  will  not  run  up  the  arms,  and 
as  one  is  already  half  standing,  it  is  easy  to  rise  to  at- 
tend to  other  duties,  so  one  does  not  look  lazy. 


AN      EXCELLENT     DRY-CLEANER 

By  S.  I.  D.  W. 

Sunny  side,  Washington 

By  the  use  of  dry  Ivory  soap  and  gasolene,  one  may 
obtain  results  which  he  may  never  attain  through  the 
use  of  gasolene  only.  Especially  is  this  true  where  the 
article  is  both  grease-spotted  and  dusty  or  grimy  from 
ordinary  use.  Thoroughly  rub  the  soiled  spot  or  gar- 
ment with  the  dry  soap.  Allow  to  stand  for  several 
hours  or  over  night.  Then  sponge  with  gasolene  and 
rub  dry  with  a  clean  cloth.  In  sponging,  begin  at 
outer  edge,  even  better  a  short  distance  from  spot,  rub 
lightly,  gradually  working  to  soiled  place,  and  using 
more  gasolene,  always  rubbing  the  right  way  of  the 
goods.  In  this  way  one  can  usually  avoid  the  ugly 
rings  so  often  encountered  in  cleaning.  Be  sure  there 
is  no  water  in  the  gasolene  or  there  will  be  spots. 
Where  the  gasolene  is  perfectly  pure,  this  method 
cleans  the  most  delicate  goods  beautifully. 


FROZEN    EGGS 

By  FANNIE   M.    NEWKIRK 
La  Belle,  Missouri 

In  cold  weather  it  often  happens  that  a  nest  of  frozen 
eggs  are  found  hidden  away  in  the  haymow.  Pour 
boiling  water  over  them  and  set  them  aside  till  the 
water  is  cold,  and  on  breaking  the  eggs,  the  yolk  will 
be  as  soft,  and  beat  up  like  an  egg  that  had  never  been 
frozen. 


PREPARING    BEEF    TONGUES 

By   MISS    FANNIE   L.    PARTRIDGE 

Batavia,  Illinois 

Buy  the  tongue,  asking  the  butcher  to  trim  off  the 
roots.  Wash  it  thoroughly,  then  take  a  stone  crock 
deep  enough  to  hold  it,  rub  it,  (the  tongue) ,  all  over 
with  molasses,  about  two  tablespoonful  for  one  tongue; 
next  sprinkle  a  very  little  powdered  saltpetre  on  both 
sides;  last,  put  in  a  dish  and  cover  thick  with  dry  salt. 
I  use  table  salt.  Turn  it  over  every  day"  for  a  week; 
longer  won't  hurt  it.  Keep  it  cooL  To  finish,  take  an 
empty  barrel,  put  in  the  bottom  an  old  pan  with  some 
ashes  in  it  and  make  a  smoke  of  anything,  cobs  best  of 
course,  lay  a  stick  across  the  top,  run  a  wire  through 
the  top  of  the  tongue  and  suspend  as  high  as  you  can 
in  the  barrel,  cover  with  some  old  carpet  or  burlap  and 
keep  the  smoke  going  a  day.  Then  you  can  hang  it 
up  in  the  cellar,  and  cook  it  when  you  please.  If  you 
and  all  your  guests  don't  say  it  is  delicious  cut  thin  for 
tea,  or  for  a  sandwich,  you  will  be  the  first  not  to  say 
so.  It  will  pay  you  to  try  it.  A  smoked  tongue  costs 
seventy-five  cents  in  market,  hard  to  get  and  a  poor, 
dried  up  thing.  You  can  omit  the  smoke  if  you  choose. 
I  have  prepared  many ;  have  one  in  pickle  now.  I'd 
like  a  slice  this  minute. 


FUEL    ECONOMY 

By   CORA    M.    TETTER 

Walden,  New  York 

Take  all  pieces  of  slate  from  coal  cinders,  sprinkle 
well  with  cold  water,  and  they  will  burn  like  fresh 
coaL 


A    PIE    IDEA 

By   JESSIE   GILGER   LONG 

Van  Buren,  Ohio 

I  find  it  a  great  help,  when  mixing  pie  pastry,  to 
cover  several  extra  tins;  set  them  away  in  a  cool  place, 
then  when  I  want  a  fresh  pie  all  I  have  to  do  is  fill  the 
crust,  bake  it,  and  I  have  a  pie  with  about  half  the 
labor  of  the  old  way.  This  does  away  with  mixing 
pastry  every  time  you  want  a  pie.  National  sisters, 
try  it. 

A     MAGIC      MITTEN     FOR     NUMB 
HANDS 

By  LUCY   M.  COOK 
New  England,  North  Dakota 

About  fifteen  months  ago,  my  fingers,  and  finally 
my  hands,  sometimes  one,  sometimes  the  other,  would 
become  numb  at  night.  This  numbness  seemed  to  be 
caused  by  a  nervous  tension  in  the  fingers.  The  mitten 
was  a  chance  discovery  and  gave  instant  relief.  Make 
the  mittens  the  exact  size  of  the  hand,  with  pasteboard 
fronts  and  cloth  backs,  without  a  thumb.  They  will 
stay  on  nicely  without  tying.  They  hold  the  fingers 
straight  while  one  is  leeping. 


SEASONING    A    FOWL 

By   LILLIAN    DIEFFENBACH 

Sanborn,  New  York 

To  improve  the  flavor  of  fowl,  when  seasoning  it,  add 
ginger  to  the  salt  and  pepper,  and  rub  this  into  flesh 
well.  For  a  change,  try  putting  an  onion  and  an 
apple  in  ducks  in  place  of  the  usual  bread-crumb 
dressing. 


MENDING    BROKEN    CHINA 

By   FLORENCE 

Worcester,  Massachusetts 

When  china  is  broken  do  not  put  it  in  water.  Tie 
firmly  together,  put  in  a  basin,  cover  with  skim  milk, 
set  on  the  back  of  stove  and  boil  one  hour.  Let  it 
stand  in  the  milk  until  cold  and  it  will  never  come 
apart. 


566 


NATIONAL   MAGAZINE  for  FEBRUARY,    1905 


HOW   TO    BEHEAD    A    BOTTLE 

By  Mrs.  T.  J.  H. 
Milwaukee,  Wisconsin 

When  far  from  town  and  in  need  of  jelly  glasses  take 
some  bottles  or  glass  jars;  saturate  a  thick  cord  ip  tur- 
pentine, tie  cord  around  bottle  below  neck  and  ignite 
cord  with  a  match.  Let  cord  bum  till  a  little  click  is 
heard.  If  directions  are  followed,  the  bottle  or  jar  will 
be  cut  off  evenly  where  the  cord  passed  around  it. 


ONE    FOR    BOSTON 
By  J.  G. 

Catskill,  New  York 

I  discovered  one  day  that  the  best  way  to  make  cod- 
fish fine  and  smooth  for  the  fish-ball  mixture  was  to 
run  it  through  the  meat  grinder.  The  grinder  will 
take  bits  of  skin  and  tough  pieces  that  are  ordinarily 
wasted.  The  first  time  I  tried  this  the  fish  halls  were 
pronounced  "  the  best  we  ever  had." 


PASSING    « LITTLE    HELPS" 
ALONG 

By    MRS.    ELLA    CARTWRIGHT 

Canal  Dover,  Ohio 

Perhaps  some  of  the  National  readers  would  like  to 
know  how  I  have  made  "Little  Helps"  serve  my  neigh- 
bor as  well-as  myself.  JKnding  it  difficult  to  remember 
so  many  little  things,  which  I  was  anxious  to  try,  I 
clipped  them  from  the  magazine  and  after  pasting 
onto  a  card-board  I  hung  in  a  convenient  place  in  my 
kitchen.  By  frequent  reference  to  them  I  soon  had  them 
committed  to  memory.  When  I  received  the  next; 
month's  National  I  gave  the  card  of  "helps"  to  a  friend 
and  hung  a'  new  card  for  myself.  This  aroused  the 
home  missionary  spirit  in  me,  and  I  now  present  a 
card  of  "little  helps"  to  some  friend  each  month, 
always  keeping  the  latest  list  for  myself. 

COOKING    HINTS 

By  MRS.  ISABEL   DUDLEY 
New  Providence,  Iowa 

Put  a  tabtespoonful  of  vinegar  in  the  water  before 
poaching  eggs  and  they  will  remain  whole.  Cook  gra- 
ham mush  closely  covered ;  it  cooks  quicker  and  tastes 
betto.  Add  a  little  sugar— about  the  same  quantity 
as  you  use  of  salt — when  frying  potatoes;  they  brown 
nicer  and  taste  better.  When  roasting  a  fowl  lay  in 
roasting-pan  breast  downward;  the  white  meat  is  much 
softer  and  move  juicy. 

A    PAN-CAKE    *  POINTER" 

By   SYLVIA 
Roscommon,  Michigan 

The  disagreeable  smoke  which  usually  fills  the  house 
while  pan-cakes  are  being  baked  may  be  greatly  less- 
ened in  this  way.:  To  grease  the  griddle  use  a  slice  of 
raw  turnip  on  the.  end  of  a  fork,  and  dip  in  melted 
grease.  The  smoke  is  absorbed  by  the  turnip. 


MENDING    GRANITE    POTS 

By    MRS.    GEORGE.   HULSER 
Auburn,  Iowa 

I  have  been  delighted  to  find  that  I  could  mend  my 
granite  or  agate  basins  by  chipping  off  the  enamel  so 
that  a  small  circle  of  the  iron  base  is  exposed  around 
the  hole  to  be  soldered— which  I  do  by  using  the  sharp 
comer  of  a  chisel  I  then  sand-paper  the  iron  and  give 
it  a  coating  of  zinc  solution  and  proceed  as  with  tin. 

YOUR    MATTRESSES 

By  PORTIA 
Bishop,  California 

Housekeepers  who  have  to  have  mattresses  made 
over  every  few  years  may  save  this  expense  by  having 
'at  hand  a  large  darning  needle  or  a  straight  sacking 
needle  and  some  upholsterer's  cord  or  twine — a  small 
tightly  twisted  cord  — and  whenever  a  "tacking"  is 
broken,  use  your  needle  and  twine  right  away.  Put 
the  needle  through  the  same  place  as  the  original  tack- 
ing, and  fasten  with  the  leather  pieces,  pulling  the 
string  tight  and  fasten  securely  in  a  square,  knot.  You 
will  be  surprised  to  see  how  much  longer  your  mat- 
tress will  last  and  it  will  not  grow  "  lumpy  "  and  un- 
comfortable to  lie  on. 

A    REMEDY    FOR    CATARRH 

By  MRS.  A.  R.  TUCKER 
South  Otselie,  New  York 

In,  a  country  where  nine-tenths  of  the  human  family 
are  afflicted  with  catarrh  in  some  form,  a  simple  and 
inexpensive  catarrh  cure  should'  be  one  of  the  greatest 
of  "little  helps."  If  those  so  afflicted  will  try  for  sixty 
days  the  old  "German  Remedy"  —  which  consists 
simply  of  washing  the  feet  each  night  in  cold  or  cool 
water,  rubbing  dry  with  a  coarse  towel  and  putting  'on 
a  pair  of  fresh,  clean  stockings  every  morning  —  they 
will  as  heartily  believe  in  it  as  I  do,  although  the 
remedy  is  so  simple  most  people  will  not  try  it. 


CLEANING  COMBS  AND  BRUSHES. 

By  B.  N. 

Eldora,  rowa 

To  clean  combs  and  brushes  use  gasoline,  which 
removes  all  oil  and  dees  not  impair  the  bristles,  as 
ammonia,  borax  and  such  things. 


MOTHS    IN    CARPETS 

By  M.  V,  HUGHES' 
Norwood  Park,  Illinois' 

To  destroy  moths  in  carpets,  take  one-half  cup  salt 
dissolved  in  hot  water,  saturate  edge  of  carpet,  lay  on 
doth  and  iron  till  dry. 


TO    FRESHEN    RIBBONS 

By    MRS.   J.   A.    LANE 

Miami,  Florida 

Wash  ribbon  in  warm  soap-suds,  wring  out,  and  iron 
at  once  with  hot  iron ;  when  ironed,  take  in  hands  and 
crumple  and  crush;  iron  again  and  you  will  be  sur- 
prised at  the  soft,  glossy  ribbon  you  will  have. 


FOR    BURNS 

By   H.   A.   L. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire 

For  any  kind  of  a  bum :  Take  equal  parts  flour  and 
cooking  soda,  and  water  to  make  a  thick  paste ;  bind 
on  the  burn  quickly  and  it  will  relieve  smarting  and 
prevent  blisters. 


COMMENT 


By    FRANK    PUTNAM 

BY     ALL     MEANS     BUILD    A    SEA-LEVEL    CANAL 


THIS  magazine  has  from  the  first  advo- 
cated the  construction  of  a  sea-level 
canal  across  the  Isthmus  of  Panama. 
Beyond  question,  a  majority  of  the 
American  people  believed  this  to  be  the 
only  plan  seriously  considered,  when 
congress  finally  voted  to  abandon  nego- 
tiations with  Nicaragua  and  purchase 
the  old  Panama  concession.  It  appears 
now  that  the  engineers  of  the  federal 
commission  are  not  agreed  whether  the 
canal  should  be  cut  to  sea-level,  or  built 
with  costly  locks  and  dams. 

Considering  that  there  is  strong  evi- 
dence that  it  will  take  little  if  any 
longer,  and  cost  little  if  any  more,  to 
cut  a  sea-level  canal  than  to  build  a 
canal  with  locks,  dams,  spillway,  etc.; 
and  considering  further  that  these  locks, 
dams,  etc.,  will  always  be  liable  to  de- 
struction by  earthquake,  by  a  foreign  foe 
or  even  by  a  single  malicious  individual, 
the  wonder  is  that  there  can  still  be 
any  serious  advocacy  of  the  lock-canal 
plan  from  any  disinterested  source. 

No  one  disputes  the  superiority — in 
usefulness  and  safety  —  of  a  sea-level 
ditch  over  a  lock  system.  All  agree — 
and  must  agree — that  the  former  would 
be  cheaper  to  operate,  easier  to  defend 
and  to  keep  in  good  condition,  than  the 
latter.  Suppose,  then,  it  should  require 
a  few  more  years  in  the  making,  and 
cost  a  hundred  millions  more  of  money. 
Whatever  is  worth  doing  at  all  js»worth 
doing  right.  The  Panama  canal  is  not 
to  be  built  for  an  occasion,  or  on  a 


wager,  but  for  all  time.  It  will  help  our 
east-and-west  trade — the  nation  will  get 
its  money  back  from  that  source  in  time; 
but,  more  important  by  far  than  this,  it 
is  designed  to  afford  a  short  cut  between 
coasts  for  our  warships  in  time  of  need. 
Trade  had  been  pleading  for  the  canal 
for  half  a  century,  without  avail.  The 
rush  of  the  battleship  Oregon  around 
Cape  Horn  struck  fire  in  the  national 
imagination,  and  insured  its  digging. 

As  Mr.  George  W.  Crichfield  aptly 
remarks  (in  the  North  American  Review 
for  January)  "a  stick  of  dynamite  in  the 
hands  of  an  Indian  would  blow  up  the 
costly  Alhajuela  dam,  or  the  Bojio 
dam,  or  the  locks  at  Miraflores  or  Pedro 
Miguel,  or  the  Gigantic  Spillway;  and 
an  accident  to  anyone  of  these  would 
render  the  canal  useless  for  months  or 
perhaps  years." 

There  appears  to  be  nothing  approach- 
ing a  certainty  as  to  how  many  hundred 
millions  of  dollars  of  the  public  money 
must  be  spent — but  there  does  appear 
a  practical  unanimity  of  opinion  that  all 
estimates  so  far  published  are  too  low. 

The  United  States  will  build  and  own 
and  control  the  canal.  It  is  to  be  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  our  property  for- 
ever. I  think  we  can  confidently  look 
to  the  president  to  see  that  the  job  is 
not  botched  through  any  mistaken  policy 
of  cheese-paring  economy.  Still,  if  you 
have  any  misgivings  on  that  point,  it 
might  be  well  to  write  and  tell  him  how 
you  think  your  money  should  be  spent. 


568  NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   FEBRUARY,    1905 

WHAT    THE    NEGRO    GOT    WITH     His    FREED.OM 


14R.  KELLY  MILLER  of  Howard 
University  presents  in  this  number 
of  the  National  Magazine  his  views  on 
the  relations  of  the  white  and  black  races 
in  the  United  States.  In  brief,  Mr. 
Miller  disclaims,  for  the  educated  negro, 
any  desire  for  social  affiliation  with 
white  folk,  but  demands  equality  in 
politics  and  labor  as  the  black  man's 
right. 

Mr.  Miller  is  eloquent,  and  he  enlists 
my  sympathy,  but  he  is  not  logical,  in 
that  he  requires  society  to  proclaim 
an  equality  that  nature  has  not  seen  fit 
to  establish.  No  man  is  born  free,  and 
no  two  men  are  born  equal.  Men  and 
races  must  still  survive  or  perish  by  their 
own  merits  or  lack  of  them.  It  is  sup- 
posable  that  if  the  white  population  of 
the  North  were  all  transferred  to  the 
South,  and  the  white  population  of  the 
South  all  transferred  to  the  North, 
the  negro  would  find  his  condition  bet- 
tered— but  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  hold 
to  the  great  ideal  of  an  ultimate  day 
when  all  men  shall  be  equals  and 
brothers — but  I  recognize  that  as  yet  we 
are  not  far  on  the  road  toward  that  day. 
Meantime,  it  is  right  and  proper  and  in- 
evitable that  the  superior  race  should 
retain  control  of  the  government  of  com- 
munities composed  of  both  races.  Ad- 
mirable theorists  can  readily  supply  a 
wiser  plan  than  this,  but  Nature  knows 


none  better, else  she  would  have  put  it  for- 
ward. White  men  will  continue  to  rule 
in  the  South,  and  should  continue  to 
rule  there  without  regard  to  numerical 
majorities,  until  the  day  comes  when 
they  are  intellectually  and  morally  the 
inferiors  of  their  former  slaves.  Do  we 
expect  that  day  ever  to  come?  Do  we? 
Is  there  anything  in  the  contrasted  his- 
tories of  the  two  races  to  suggest  it? 

Here  is  the  nub  of  the  discussion: 
White  men  South  have  disfranchised  the 
masses  of  the  black  men  South.  The 
North  has  uttered  no  protest — has  ac- 
cepted the  situation.  The  South  is 
doing  what  it  can  do  to  solve  the  race 
problem  rationally  by  giving  the  negro 
education  that  will  fit  him  to  do  well 
such  work  as  nature  has  fitted  him  to  do 
at  all.  In  all  this,  the  white  men  of  the 
South  have  done  and  are  doing  precisely 
what  the  white  men  of  the  North  would 
do  if  in  their  place — no  more  and  no  less. 

The  negroes  have  nothing  further  to 
hope  from  a  sentimental  appeal  to  the 
North  in  regard  either  to  social  or  politi- 
cal privileges.  They  have  gained  their 
freedom  from  slavery,  and  with  it  they 
have  gained  the  right  to  "make  good  or 
get  out" — just  the  same  as  all  the  rest  of 
us.  They  must  now  hoe  their  own  rows, 
or  yield  the  tools  to  better  men.  Booker 
Washington  is  working  on  the  right  line. 
There  are  others.  More  power  to  them  I 


\ 


A    CASE    WHERE    EVERY    KNOCK    Is    A    BOOST 


THE  experiences  that  Russia  is  under- 
going these  days  forcibly  remind  me 
of  the  apt  motto  of  John  Heusner's 
Booster  Club,  out  in  Chicago,  to-wit, 
"Every  Knock  is  a  Boost."  Russia  is 
certainly  getting  plenty  of  hard  knocks, 
and  has  more  coming,  unless  the  czar 


gives  in  to  Japan, very  soon.  Despotism 
is  a  rotten  foundation  to  build  a  state 
upon  in  these  days.  Democracy  is  a 
better.  The  Russian  people  are  learning 
this  lesson.  It  will  be  worth  all  it  costs 
them,  and  more.  Japan  is  the  "Little 
Schoolmaster"  of  the  twentieth  century. 


FRONT       VIEW       OF       THE      JACKSON       TRUST     AND       SAVINGS       BANK      IN       THE      NEW 
RAILWAY      EXCHANGE      BUILDING      AT      CHICAGO 


THE    HEAD    OF    THE    "DECKER    BANKS" 

By    JOE    MITCHELL     CHAPPLE 


Among  these  men  of  achievement  whom 
I  am  proud  to  call  friends  is  Mr.  Edward 
Decker  of  Wisconsin.  Mr.  Decker  is 
well  known  throughout  the  Middle  West, 
where  he  went  in  his  early  manhood, 
and  where  his  career  has  .been  one 
fraught  with  deep  and  vital  interest. 
Born  in  Casco,  Maine,  he  has  lived  long 
enough  to  christen  and  see  grow  up 
a  new  town  with  the  name  of  his  birth- 
place. He  is  a  fine  type  of  the  sturdy 
State  of  Maine  pioneers  who  have  passed 
on  to  the  Middle  West  and  achieved  suc- 
cess in  spite  of  all  obstacles.  A - story  is \ 
still  told  of  him  in  Casco,  Maine,  of  how 
sixty  years  ago  he  returned  home  from 
Boston,  where  he  first  went  to  seek 
his  fortune  within  sight  of  the  present 


SHOWING     THE 
DIRECTORS' 


PRESIDENT 
ROOM 


THERE  is  more  inspiration  to  me  in 
meeting  men  who  have  had   long, 
useful   and  active  careers  than  can  be 
drawn  from  reams  of  printed  biography. 


569 


THE    HEAD    OF    THE    "DECKER    BANKS" 


National  Magazine  office.  He  bought 
at  his  old  home  a  large  quantity  of 
woollen  socks  from  the  country  store- 
keeper, which  that  gentleman  had  on 
hand  and  was  glad  to  dispose  of  at 
a  Yankee  bargain  price.  Young  Decker 
took  them  back  to  Boston  with  him  and 
sold  them  at  a  handsome  profit.  This 
was  a  triumph  of  the  Yankee  trading 
spirit,  for  to  the  ordinary  observer  it 
might  have  seemed  like  "carrying  coals 
to  Newcastle"  to  bring  goods  to  Boston 
from  a  little  country  town  in  Maine  and 
then  resell  them  in  the  staid  old  Hub; 
but  the  boy  was  quick  to  see  the  opening 
for  a  good  deal,  and,  like  all  successful 
men,  his  wisdom  lay  in  grasping  the 
opportunity  when  it  came. 

It  does  not  seem  possible  that  Mr. 
Decker,  as  active  as  he  is,  has  nearly 
approached  four-score  years,  but  when 
it  is  recalled  that  he  settled  in  the  in- 
terior of  Wisconsin  before  Senator  Phile- 


tus  Sawyer,  with  whom  he  was  closely 
associated  during  the  life  of  that  distin- 
guished Wisconsonian,  some  idea  of  the 
lapse  of  time  is  realized  in  which  Mr. 
Decker  has  been  prominent  in  that  state. 
He  traveled  that  great  section  of  Wis- 
consin in  which  he  is  now  so  well 
"known  at  a  time  when  it  was  peopled 
almost  solely  by  the  red  men.  The 
creative  spirit  was  indicated  by  this 
young  pioneer  when  he  struck  out  into 
the  unblazed  wilds  of  the  deep  forest 
and  located  in  Keewanee  County,  in  the 
Green  Bay  peninsula,  with  which  he  has 
been  closely  associated  for  nearly  a  half 
century,  since  it  was  first  organized  and 
placed  upon  the  map.  For  many  years 
he  was  a  tried  and  trusted  servant  of  the 
people,  and  the  esteem  in  which  Mr. 
Decker  is  held  all  through  that  section 
is  indeed  a  rare  tribute  to  his  kindly 
spirit  and  unswerving  integrity.  Mr. 
Decker  served  in  the  state  senate,  and 


A      GLIMPSE     OF     THE      CASHIER'S      QUARTERS 
570 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  "DECKER  BANKS" 


MR.      E.     DECKER 


during-  the  war   he  was  made  provost 
marshal. 

He  was  unanimously  renominated  by 
his  party  for  a  second  term  in  the  senate, 
but  firmly  and  positively  declined  the 
honor.  A  mass  convention  was  called, 
representing  all  political  parties,  think- 
ing this  of  course  would  compel  him  to 
accept  the  renomination ;  but  his  duties 
he  felt  were  in  other  directions,  and  he 


declined  again  this  splendid  tribute  to 
his  public  worth.  This  incident  serves 
to  show  what  Mr.  Decker's  public  career 
might  have  been  had  he  chosen  a  politi- 
cal life,  as  this  was  long  before  the  time 
that  Senator  Sawyer  entered  public  life. 
Mr.  Decker  had  determined  upon  a 
strictly  business  career,  and  business  it 
was. 

In  1900  he  was  a  candidate  for  con- 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  "DECKER  BANKS" 


gress  in  a  strong  republican  district,  and 
made  a  remarkable  showing,  which  indi- 
cated his  personal  popularity  with  the 
people  among  whom  he  has  lived  for  so 
many  years. 

It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  visit  Mr. 
Decker  at  his  spacious  home  in  Casco, 
which  has  one  of  the  largest  private 
libraries  in  the  state,  and  few  men  are 
more  interesting  conversationalists,  for 
Mr.  Decker's  broad  interests  and  careful 


very  time  that  Edward  Decker,  alone 
and  unaided,  built  and  equipped  a  rail- 
road which  opened  a  large  tract  of  rich 
country  and  which  has  developed  the 
resources  of  that  part  of  the  state  in 
a  way  that  cannot  be  measured. 

Ever  since  he  first  settled  in  Wiscon- 
sin he  has  been  keenly  interested  in 
newspapers,  but  his  natural  bent  was 
toward  banking,  and  the  nine  banks 
known  as  the  "Decker  banks"  through- 


VIEW     SHOWING     THE     TELLERS'     SECTION     OF     THE     JACKSON     TRUST     AND     SAVINGS 

BANK,     CHICAGO 


study  of  men  and  events  make  his  keen 
comments  of  rare  value.  He  is  one  of 
those  men  who  have  helped  people  to 
help  themselves,  and  he  is  always  anx- 
ious to  build  up  the  district  in  which  he 
lives.  For  many  years  there  was  no 
railroad  in  the  section  where  he  was 
located,  and  it  was  thought  that  during 
the  storm  and  stress  of  the  panic  of  1893 
it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  any 
venture  of  this  kind;  but  it  was  at  this 


out  that  section  speak  volumes  for  the 
standing  and  ability  of  the  banker. 

Like  all  men  of  purpose  and  achieve- 
ment, he  had  an  ambition,  and  that  was 
to  have  a  bank  in  Chicago — the  thriving 
city  which  he  visited  on  his  first  trip 
west  seeking  his  fortune,  nearly  sixty 
years  ago,  when  Chicago  was  a  small 
and  struggling  town — an  ambition  that  is 
now  accomplished;  and  it  is  indeed  a 
pleasure  to  note  how  much  satisfaction 


S7? 


THE    HEAD    OF    THE    "DECKER    BANKS 


he  has  in  the  bank  with  which  his  sturdy 
sons  and  son-in-law  are  connected  —  co- 
workers  with  their  father  in  the  crowning 
achievement  of  his  career. 

Sitting  in  the  handsomely  furnished 
directors'  room  of  his  Chicago  bank,  the 
Jackson  Trust  and  Savings  Bank,  which 
has  been  recently  removed  to  the  new 
Railway  Exchange  building,  Mr.  Decker 
presents  a  picure  of  serene  contentment. 
The  new  bank  is  a  fine  specimen  of 
business  development  and  the  result  of 
the  accumulated  three-score  years  ex- 
perience of  its  owner.  The  fact  that 
deposits  doubled  within  a  few  months 
after  Mr.  Decker's  control  of  the  bank, 
speaks  volumes.  It  includes  in  its  board 
of  directors  Mr.  Joy  Morton,  who  is  in- 
terested, together  with  his  brother,  Hon. 
Paul  Morton,  secretary  of  the  navy;  Mr. 
D.  H.  Burnham,  architect  of  the  hand- 
some building  in  which  the  bank  'is 
located,  (who  has  recently  been  commis- 
sioned by  the  war  department  to  go  to 
the  Philippines  and  prepare  a  plan  for 
beautifying  Manila,  and  whose  achieve- 
ments as  architect  of  the  Columbian  Ex- 
position at  Chicago  gave  him  national 
and  international  prominence) ;  Mr.  Wil- 
liam C,  Thome,  manager  of  the  Mont- 
gomery Ward  Company;  Mr.  R.  E.  Is- 
mond,  president  of  the  Chicago  Real 
Estate  Board;  Mr.  Charles  O.  Austin, 
one  of  the  best  known  bankers  in  the 
country;  B.  F.  De  Muth,  one  of  the 
prominent  merchants  of  Chicago;  Mr. 
W.  R.  Morrison,  treasurer  of  the  Stand- 
ard Office  Company,  closely  and  con- 
fidentially associated  with  Mr.  Earling, 
president  of  the  Chicago,  Milwaukee  & 
St.  Paul  railway.  William  M.  Lawton, 
cashier,  is  Mr.  Decker's  son-in-law,  and 
Mr.  W.  H.  Egan,  the  president,  is  a 
well  known  and  popular  young  banker. 
Mr.  David  Decker,  the  vice  president, 


is  the  eldest  son  of  Mr.  Decker  and  has 
long  since  won  his  spurs  in  the  manage- 
ment of  his  father's  extensive  and  varied 
interests.  These  names  comprise  one  of 
strongest  directorates  of  any  bank  in 
Chicago. 

The  bank  is  provided  with  all  the 
very  best  and  latest  banking  equipment 
and  safety  vaults,  and  has  become  very 
popular  among  all  classes  of  depositors, 
because  it  affords  not  only  a  convenient 
place  for  doing  banking  down  town,  but 
is  also  so  thoroughly  entrenched  behind 
its  competent  management  that  it  in- 
spires growing  and  unlimited  con- 
fidence. 

After  all  is  said  regarding  what  Mr. 
Decker  has  achieved  in  a  financial  and 
industrial  way,  it  is  the  real  worth  of  the 
man  back  of  it  that  counts  for  most,  for 
if  there  ever  was  a  man  imbued  with  the 
old-fashioned,  sterling,  New  England 
principles  of  integrity  and  probity,  it 
is  this  man  who  left  his  home  in  Maine 
as  a  mere  lad,  to  build  up  for  himself 
a  name  which  in  the  closing  years  of  his 
life — no  matter  how  long  that  life  may 
be  —  proves  a  source  of  comfort  and 
satisfaction  not  only  to  himself  but  to 
all  who  know  him. 

It  has  never  been  my  fortune  to  know 
a  man  who  does  more  good  in  a  modest, 
retiring  way  than  Edward  Decker,  and 
he  has  the  satisfaction  of  realizing  in 
words  and  acts  the  gratitude  and  appre- 
ciation for  the  unostentatious  good  he 
has  been  doing  every  day  of  his  long  life. 

Through  it  all  he  remains  one  of  the 
squarest,  kindliest,  keenest  and  best 
business  men  in  the  country,  and,  is  still 
actively  employed  during  every  minute 
of  his  working  day,  not  merely  in  busi- 
ness, but  in  rounding  out  to  full-orbed 
proportions  a  true  type  of  the  best  kind 
of  American  citizen. 


573 


ROOSEVELT      DAY,     MAY      5,      1903,      IN  '    ALBUQUERQUE,     NEW     MEXICO. 


ALBUQUERQUE,  METROPOLIS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST 


ALBUQUER- 
QUE, the 
commercial  and  fi- 
nancial center  of 
New  Mexico,  lies  in 
the  midst  of  the  fer- 
tile valley  of  the  Rio 
Grande,  about  mid- 
way between  Kan- 
sas City  and  Los 
Angeles,  on  the 
main  line  of  the 
Santa  Fe  railroad. 
Its  situation  is  ideal.  From  the  mesa 
on  the  eastern  limits  of  the  city,  where 
the  University  of  New  Mexico  stands, 
and  with  the  Sandia  mountains,  twelve 
miles  east,  for  a  background,  the  view 
takes  in  the  Jemez  mountains  sixty  miles 
north,  the  San  Mateos,  seventy  miles 
west,  and  the  Socorros  and  Magdalenas 
seventy-five  miles  south,  while  with  the 
glass  may  be  seen  the  Mogollons,  more 


COURT    HOUSE    AT  AL- 
BUQUERQUE, NEW 
MEXICO 


than  225  miles  to  the  southwest.  To 
the  north  and  south,  for  hundreds  of 
miles,  the  valley,  with  its  grain  and 
alfalfa  fields,  its  orchards  and  vine- 
yards, stretches  out  to  the  horizon.  On 
the  west  lies  the  historic  Rio  Grande. 

In  1880  not  one  house  stood  upon  the 
present  site  of  Albuquerque.  To  day  it 
is  a  modern,  progressive  and  rapidly 
growing  city  of  15,000  people,  with 
a  population  as  energetic,  as  enlight- 
ened and  as  public-spirited  as  any  in 
the  world. 

Its  many  natural  advantages  have  con- 
tributed to  make  it  what  it  is,  but  the 
chief  factor  in  its  upbuilding  has  been 
the  enterprise  of  its  citizens. 

New  Mexico's  climate  is  world-fam- 
ous. Albuquerque  is  the  most  favored 
spot  in  New  Mexico.  Its  altitude,  5,000 
feet;  its  latitude,  500  miles  south  of 
Denver;  its  clear,  dry  and  invigorating 
atmosphere;  its  pure  water,  its  ample 


574 


ALBUQUERQUE,    METROPOLIS    OF    THE     SOUTHWEST 


accommodations,  its  modern  conven- 
iences and  opportunities  for  amusement 
all  combine  to  make  it  the  perfect  resort 
for  health-seekers.  Several  thousands 
of  them  make  it  their  home  each  Winter. 

The  city's  water  supply  is  drawn  from 
wells  600  feet  deep  and  is  inexhaustible. 
This  water  has  been  pronounced  by  the 
most  eminent  chemists  and  bacteri- 
ologists to  be  unexceptionally  pure  and 
free  from  contamination.  An  abundant 
underflow  for  irrigation  purposes  is 
found  everywhere  in  the  valley  at 
depths  from  ten  to  thirty  feet. 

The  municipal  government  of  Albu- 
querque is  a  model.  Its  affairs  are  hon- 
estly and  ably  administered  in  all  de- 
partments. Its  streets  are  clean  and 
splendidly  lighted;  it  has  fifteen  miles 
of  cement  sidewalks  and  five  more  of 
vitrified  brick  and  wood;  its  water  and 
sewer  systems  are  perfect;  its  police  and 
fire  departments  are  especially  efficient. 
It  has  a  public  library  containing  over 
five  thousand  volumes,  which  is  sup- 
ported by  the  people  through  a  tax  levy. 
The  home  of  this  library  is  a  building 
costing  $20,000,  given  to  the  city  by 
a  public-spirited  citizen. 

The  schools  of  A]buquerque  rank  with 
the  best  in  the  country.  -  There  is  a 
large  school  building  in  each  of  the 
wards,  the  capacity  of  each  of  which 
has  been  doubled  during  the  past  year 
at  a  cost  of  $35,000.  There  is  a  fine 
central  school  building  in  addition.  Al- 
buquerque has  spent  for  its  school  houses 
$105,000.  Then  there  are  the  private 
schools  —  St.  Vincent's  academy,  St. 
Mary's  academy,  the  Presbyterian  Mis- 
sion school,  Harwood's  Home  (Metho- 
dist) and  several  others,  all  with  large 
attendance.  The  University  of  New 
Mexico  is  located  on  a  commanding 
mesa  at  the  edge  of  the  city,  and  stu- 
dents from  the  whole  territory  in  large 
numbers  come  each  year  to  attend  it. 
The  Hadley  Hall,  a  handsome  $20,000 
structure,  gives  a  department  devoted 
exclusively  to  the  study  of  climatology, 


with  a  special  reference  to  the  effect 
of  climate  on  the  cure  and  prevention  of 
tuberculosis  and  kindred  diseases,  the 
only  institution  of  this  kind  in  the  coun- 
try. The  university  is  maintained  by 
the  territory  and  endowed  by  the  United 
States  with  a  liberal  donation  of  public 
land.  Albuquerque,  is  also  the  location 
of  a  large  government  Indian  industrial 
school  with  more  than  three  hundred 
pupils. 

The  city  is  well  supplied  with 
churches.  All  the  leading  denomina- 
tions have  congregations,  and  there  are 
twelve  handsome  church  buildings  which 
would  do  credit  to  any  community. 

There  are  many  places  for  public 
entertainment,  including  the  new  Elks 
Opera  House,  built  by  the  local  lodge 
of  that  order.  This  building  cost  $75,- 
ooo,  seats  1,000  and  is  the  most  com- 
plete theater  between  Kansas  City  and 
Los  Angeles.  It  is  fully  equipped  with 
modern  stage  appliances,  scenery,  etc., 
and  many  towns  of  double  its  size  in 
the  East  have  nothing  to  compare  with 
it.  The  management  is  progressive  and 
all  attractions  are  secured  that  travel  in 
this  part  of  the  country.  As  an  instance 
of  how  things  are  done,  Weber  &  Fields 
of  New  York,  on  a  tour  from  New  York 
to  the  Pacific  coast,  played  in  Albu- 
querque to  a  large  audience,  this  being 
the  only  stopping  place  between  the 
Missouri  river  and  California,  except 
Denver. 

The  Commercial  Club  of  Albuquerque 
has  been  and  is  the  head  center  of  every 
movement  looking  to  the  advancement 
of  the  interests  of  the  city.  It  is,  in 
fact,  a  chamber  of  commerce.  It  is 
always  on  the  lookout  for  opportunities 
to  interest  capital  in  local  enterprises, 
and  frequently  lends  a  helping  hand  in 
the  way  of  financial  assistance  to  induce 
capitalists  and  manufacturers  to  locate 
here.  It  has  a  club  building,  erected  by 
the  people,  which  cost  $150,000  and  is 
one  of  the  handsomest  structures  de- 
voted to  club  purposes  in  the  country. 


575 


ALBUQUERQUE,    METROPOLIS     OF    THE    SOUTHWEST 


It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  no  club 
in  any  city  of  double  its  size  in  the 
country  has  a  home  to  compare  with  it. 
There  are  many  social  features  connected 
with  the  club,  also. 

The  Alvarado  hotel,  erected  by  the 
Santa  Fe  railroad,  cost  $200,000  and  is 
without  doubt  the  best  hotel  in  the 
Southwest.  It  is  built  in  the  mission 
style  of  architecture  and  is  complete  in 
every  particular.  The  table  cannot  be 
excelled  and  the  service  is  perfect.  It 
is  very  handsomely  furnished,  and  will 
accommodate  more  than  two  hundred 
guests.  Every  modern  convenience  is 
found  here.  It  is  almost  always  full, 
and  is  crowded  during  the  Winter 
months. 

The  Santa  Fe  station  is  also  a  very 
handsome  building  in  the  same  style  of 
architecture,  thoroughly  up-to-date. 

The  city  has  two  public  parks  which 
are  carefully  looked  after  and  beautified 
by  the  park  commission. 
.  There  is  an  extensive  electric  power 
plant  which  furnishes  electricity  for 
manufacturing  as  well  as  lighting  pur- 
poses, and  another  one  of  great  capacity 
is  now  in  course  of  erection. 

The  Gas  Company,  a  large  concern, 
furnishes  excellent  gas  at  reasonable 
prices,  and  a  franchise  to  a  competing 
company  has  just  been  granted. 

The  electric  street  car  system  is  com- 
pletely equipped  with  the  most  modern 
cars  and  appliances  and  compares  favor- 
ably with  any  in  the  country,  excepting 
none.  There  are  now  about  five  miles 
of  track  in  operation  and  extensions  will 
be  made  at  once. 

Two  telephone  systems,  the  Automatic 
and  the  Bell,  furnish  good  service,  hav- 
ing in  use  about  eleven  hundred  instru- 
ments. 

There  are  two  daily  papers,  the  Albu- 
querque Journal,  issued  every  morning, 
and  the  Albuquerque  Daily  Citizen, 
issued  every  evening  except  Sundays; 
six  weekly  papers  anrl  several  monthly 
publications. 


The  banks  of  the  city,  four  in  num- 
ber, are  among  the  most  solid  institu- 
tions in  the  country,  and  the  amount  of 
business  transacted  by  them  is  astonish- 
ing, their  last  statements  showing  de- 
posits aggregating  over  $4,000,000. 

St.  Joseph's  Sanitarium,  one  of  the 
largest  in  the  West,  and  costing  about 
$70,000,  is  located  here.  It  is  in  charge 
of  the  Sisters  of  Charity.  Its  corps  of 
trained  nurses  cannot  be  excelled.  Its 
accommodations  are  first  class  in  every 
sense.  The  Santa  Fe  Pacific  has  also  a 
fine  hospital  here  for  the  use  and  benefit 
of  its  employes. 

New  Mexico  is  one  of  the  largest 
wool-producing  states.  The  annual  clip 
is  about  30,000,000  pounds.  Of  this, 
about  6,000,000  pounds  are  shipped 
from  or  handled  in  Albuquerque. 

The  truck  gardens  send  their  produce 
from  Albuquerque  to  all  parts  of  the 
Southwest.  Celery  of  the  finest  quality, 
luscious  melons,  cabbages,  sweet  po- 
tatoes, cauliflowers,  onions,  etc.,  are 
grown  in  great  quantities  and  are 
eagerly  sought  for  all  over  this  section 
of  the  country  on  account  of  their 
quality.  The  markets  are  as  good  as 
are  to  be  found  anywhere.  The  best  of 
Kansas  City  and  native  meats,  fish,  oys- 
ters, game,  fruit  and  vegetables  of  home 
production  from  California,  Arizona 
and  Mexico  are  always  to  be  had.  The 
profusion  and  varieties  of  "good  things 
to  eat"  are  the  constant  wonder  of  stran- 
gers. 

Large  bodies  of  bituminous,  lignite 
and  anthracite  coal  are  located  almost 
at  our  doors,  and  when  the  new  Albu- 
querque Eastern  railroad  shall  be  com- 
pleted, large  coal  fields  now  developing 
will  be  opened  within  twenty  miles  of 
the  city. 

Albuquerque's  railroad  facilities  are 
excellent,  the  Santa  Fe  railroad  extend- 
ing from  Chicago  to  the  coast,  giving 
it  access  to  all  points  north,  south  and 
west.  The  Albuquerque  Eastern  is  now 
building,  and  when  completed  will  open 

576 


ALBUQUERQUE,    METROPOLIS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST 


A    GROUP    OF    VIEWS    OF    ALBUQUERQUE    AND     ITS    ENVIRONS,    INCLUDING    THE 
UNIVERSITY,   BANKS,   CLUBS,   HADLEY   LABORATORY,    ROBINSON    PARK  AND 
ST.   JOSEPH'S   SANITARIUM 


up  a  large  country  to  the  east,  connect- 
ing the  city  with  the  Rock  Island  and 
the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  systems. 

A  trade  territory  of  100,000  square 
miles,  or  a  district  larger  than  the  six 
New  England  states  and  New  York  com- 
bined, is  tributary  to  Albuquerque, 
which  gives  the  place  a  wholesale 
trade  much  larger  than  that  of  any 
eastern  city  five  times  its  size.  This 
trade  territory  is  fast  increasing  in 
wealth  and  population,  and  there  is 


every  reason  to  believe  that  the  vol- 
ume of  business  will  be  doubled  in  the 
next  five  years. 

The  machine  shops  of  the  Santa  Fe 
Pacific  are  located  here,  furnishing  em- 
ployment to  more  than  1,000  men. 

The  American  Lumber  Company  has 
erected  here  a  saw-mill  admitted  to  be 
the  most  up-to-date  enterprise  of  the 
kind  in  the  country.  It  manufactures 
about  150,000  feet  of  lumber  daily;  it 
operates  in  connection  with  the  mill  an 


577 


ALBUQUERQUE,    METROPOLIS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST 


extensive  planing  mill,  an  immense  box 
factory,  and  is  now  building  a  sash  and 
door  factory  as  large  as  any  in  the  West. 
The  machinery  used  is  all  of  the  latest 
invention  and  cannot  be  surpassed. 
The  plant  covers  150  acres,  employs 
about  1,000  men  and  ships  its  products 
to  all  parts  of  the  United  States  and  the 
Republic  of  Mexico. 

The  Albuquerque  Foundry  and  Ma- 
chine Works,  the  largest  in  the  South- 
west, produces  every  kind  of  iron  and 
brass  castings,  supplying  the  railroads 
and  the  trade  generally  in  New  Mexico 
and  Arizona.  It  employs  a  large  force. 

The  Wool  Scouring  Mills  is  another 
large  industry.  It  handles  about  4,500,- 
ooo  pounds  annually. 

The  Rio  Grande  Woollen  Mills  Com- 
pany manufactures  cassi meres,  dress 
goods,  blankets,  capes,  leather  goods, 
etc.,  of  the  finest  quality,  beside  having 
a  large  wool-scouring  mill  attached.  Its 
machinery  is  of  the  latest  pattern  and  its 
plant  is  complete  in  every  detail.  "From 
the  sheep's  back  to  yours,"  is  its  motto, 
and  it  states  the  fact.  Annual  output, 
$180,000. 

The  Southwest  Brewery  and  Ice  Com- 
pany produces  annually  30,000  barrels 
of  beer,  which  by  many  is  considered 
superior  to  some  of  the  famous  eastern 
beers.  It  also  operates  a  large  ice  plant. 

The  Crystal  Ice  Company  also  pro- 
duces a  great  quantity  of  ice,  about 
thirty  tons  daily  the  year  around. 

The  Rio  Grande  Flour  Mills  grind 
immense  quantities  of  the  wheat  raised 
in  the  valley,  and  supply  thousands  of 
people  with  a  superior  grade  of  flour. 

There  are  many  other  manufactures 
here  —  three  planing  mills,  four  brick 
yards,  five  carriage  and  wagon  makers, 
three  candy  manufacturers,  three  bot- 
tling works,  four  cigar  factories,  one 
overall  manufacturer,  two  steam  laun- 
dries, etc.  In  the  wholesale  trade  the 


city  has  the  following:  seven  wholesale 
wool  and  hide  dealers,  two  wholesale 
grocers,  two  wholesale  general  merchan- 
dise dealers,  three  wholesale  hardware 
dealers,  five  implement  dealers,  three 
wholesale  liquor  dealers,  three  wholesale 
commission  merchants,  three  lumber 
yards  and  five  wagon  dealers. 

Retail  grocers  and  merchants  carry 
full  stocks  of  goods,  which  excel  in 
every  way  those  carried  in  cities  of 
twice  the  size  in  the  East,  and  many 
people  from  all  parts  of  New  Mexico 
and  Arizona,  attracted  by  the  facilities 
offered  here,  come  to  Albuquerque  to 
shop. 

There  are  no  vacant  houses  in  the 
city,  although  during  the  last  year  more 
than  a  hundred  new  residences  have 
been  built.  All  of  these  are  substantial 
modern  buildings  and  many  of  them 
have  cost  from  $10,000  to  $20,000. 
There  is  a  constant  demand  for  more 
houses,  and  very  many  are  now  in  pro- 
cess of  building. 

During  the  year  many  handsome  busi- 
ness blocks  have  been  erected,  and 
many  more  are  now  on  the  way. 

In  conclusion,  and  to  emphasize  the 
energy  and  public  spirit  of  the  citizens 
of  Albuquerque,  I  want  to  mention  that 
the  Territorial  Fair  is  held  in  Albuquer- 
que every  year  at  a  cost  to  the  people,  by 
subscription,  of  $7,500  annually.  To  in- 
duce the  lumber  company  to  locate  here, 
the  business  men  purchased  and  gave 
to  it  1 10  acres  of  land  at  a  cost  of 
$30,000.  The  city  has  given  for  terminals 
to  the  Albuquerque  Eastern  Railroad 
company,  by  subscription,  lands  pur- 
chased oy  them  for  $30,000.  These  are 
only  a  few  of  the  instances  where  this 
public  spirit  has  been  manifested. 

Albuquerque  is  the  best  city  of  its 
size  in  the  country,  and  is  growing  more 
rapidly  than  any  other.  It  has  the 
brightest  future  of  any. 


578 


DEPARTMENT      OF      PROGRESSIVE      ADVERTISERS 


E  ARE  just  emerging  from 
by  far  the  greatest  Holiday 
business  we  have   ever  heard 

of  in  the    history  of  the  Diamond,  Watch  and 
'  Jewelry  business.  Never  before  has  the  country-wide  good 
will  and  acquaintance  enjoyed  by  our  house,  been  so  plainly  and 
overwhelmingly  demonstrated  to  us.     More  than  one-half  of  the 
tremendous  volume  of  Christmas  business  handled  by  us,  came  from 
'     persons  living  at  a  distance  who  had  previously  purchased  from  us,  and 
who  found  an  established  trading  connection  with  us  at  a  time  like  Christ- 
mas, a  great  and  timely  convenience,  involving  no  delay. 

The  Privilege  is  Yours  too 

The  same  invitation  that  has  brought  us  thousands  of  customers  from  all  over 
America,   is  open  to  you  and  your  account  will  be   very    welcome. 

Please  send  your  name  and  address  for  a  copy  of  our  1905  Catalogue.     When  you 
receive  it,  glance  through  the  wealth  of  gems  and  jewels  illustrated  on  every  page 
and  make  a  selection  to  be  sent  for  your  inspection.     Any  article  that  you  select,  will 
be  sent  at  once  without  your  incurring  any  obligation  or  a  penny  of  expense.     If  you  are 
pleased  with  what  we  send,  and  are  satisfied  that  the  price  is  very  reasonable,  you  may  pay 
rone-fifth  and  keep  it,  sending  the  balance  to  us  in  eight  equal  monthly  payments. 

If  You  Select  a  Diamond  |^^g 

e  steaily  increasing  at  the  rate  of  twenty  per  cent  annually.  You  can  make  a  diamond  purchase 
J  an i  ideal  method  for  saving  during  1905,  and  at  the  same  time  enjoy  the  constant  pleasure  and  prestige 
" which  comes  to  every  wearer  of  the  precious  gems. 

Your 
Credit 


No  matter  how  far  away  you 
may  be,  you  can  do  business 
with  us  quickly,  confidentially 
and  satisfactorily.  We  open 


If  you  prefer  to  do  business  on  a/ 
cash  basis,  we  have  a  proposi-' 
^on  ^at  w*"  interest  you,  as 
follows:  Select  any  diamond 


IAVE1 

Dl 


TO   /"*  (\r\f\    Charge    Accounts     with    any  that  you  want  and  pay  cash  for  it,  and  we  will 

*°  VJVJVJU.    honest  person,     and   whether  give  you  a  signed  agreement  to  take  it  back  at 

you  are  a  $10  per  week  employe   or  a  wealthy  anytime  within  one  year,  and  give  you  spot  cash 

employer,  we  want  an  opportunity   to    submit  for  all  you  paid — less  ten  per  cent.    Thus,  you 

our  goods  to  you  on  approval,  and  to  offer  you  might  wear  a  fifty   dollar  Diamond  for  a  year, 

every  courtesy  and  advantage  of   the   popular  then  send  it  back  to  us  and  get  $45,  making  the 

Lof  tis  System.    We  guarantee  confidential  rela-  actual  cost  of  wearing  a  fine  Diamond  for  a  whole 

tions.  year,  less  than  10  cents  a  weak. 

f  i  I «-»  ri  tlf"OO  inH  T^Yoh  J^ncfo  Every  Diamond  that  we  sell  is  ac- 
VJU.O.1  ailLCC  <auu  J-i^vv-iiciligc  C0mpanied  by  a  signed  certificate  of 
value  and  quality.  Every  Diamond  that  we  ever  sold  is  good  for  full  value  in  exchange 
for  other  goods  or  a  larger  Diamond. 

Ri  i  \ror-o  f\f  Flick  w/-»ti/lG  should  give  particular  attention  to  the  re- 
DUyerS  OI  l-/iamOUaS>  liability  of  the  house  from  which  they  buy.  In 
M  n  H  Flllf  Vlf '\1~r»f"loc  no  other  class  of  merchandise  is  quality  of  such 

11VA   •*•  **»C    TT  titwiit-o  paramount     importance     as     in     Diamonds, 

Watches,  and  Jewelry.  Our  best  guarantee  of  every  representation  made  is  that  we  have 
kgrown  to  be  the  largest  retailers  of  Diamonds  in  the  world.  At  the  St.  Louis  Exposition 
'we  were  awarded  the  highest  honors  (Gold  Medal),  after  the  Superior  Jury  had  made  a 
side-by-side  comparison  of  our  goods,  methods,  terms  and  prices  with  those  of  other  ex- 
hibitors, including  many  from  foreign  countries. 

Please  write  today  for  Catalogue. 

'ESTA 

»/ 

Diamond   Gutters  and 
Manufacturing   Jewelers 

B   10,  92  to  98  State  St.,  Chicago 


IND 


LOFTIS  BROS.  $  CO.  (Jffi 


.WIN  A 
HEART 


Dept. 


T)on't  fall  to  mention   "Th*  National   Masn7ln*>"   wWn   wrltlnr  to  «rtv'<>rtl*pr« 


WHAT  kind  of  music  gives  the  greatest 
pleasure  to  the  largest  number  of 
people  is  not  a  difficult  question 
to  answer.  Paderewski  may  do  his  best 
but  he  can  never  reach  the  heart  of  the 
multitude  as  the  inspiring  sound  of  a 
brass  band  does.  Who  has  not  run  his 
young  legs  off  to  keep  up  with  sounds 
that  sent  every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body 
dancing  merrily  and  made  life  one  dream 
of  bliss.  Oh,  the  intoxication  of  it  !  It 
always  was  three-quarters  of  the  circus. 


c.  G.  CONN. 

Therefore,  when  I  discovered  an 
Apollo  driving  a  madly  prancing  quad- 
riga above  a  highly  ornate  booth,  whose 
Corinthian  pillars  upheld  a  pediment 
upon  which  in  bas-reliefs  were  centaurs 
dancing  to  the  piping  of  seductive 
nymphs,  the  whole  apparently  carved 
from  old  ivory,  I  noted  the  contents 
and  found  horns  of  such  beauty  and 
elegance  that  the  capers  of  the  classic 
figures  were  quite  explained.  It  was 
the  dear  familiar  brass  band  in  the 
highest  possible  style  of  the  art. 


Brass  is  a  good  thing  to  make  a  popu- 
lar noise  with,  but  C.  G.  Conn  has  de- 
cided that  America  can  have  hers  gold- 
plated  and  jewel-studded.  Why,  a  cor- 
net player  must  love  his  instrument  like 
a  sweetheart  to  judge  by  the  delicate 
lace-like  tracery  engraven  upon  her  gold- 
en garments  and  the  diamonds,  emer- 
alds, and  rubies  that  encircle  her  neck 
and  glitter  upon  her  finger  pieces. 

One  cornet  beauty  had  a  brooch  made 
of  the  gold  head  of  an  elk,  in  relief,  sur- 
rounded by  a  heart  outlined  with  emer- 
alds. This  was  a  pretty'  compliment 
paid  to  the  city  of  his  birth,  Elkhart, 
Indiana,  by  Mr.  C.  G.  Conn,  who  has 
made  that  city  famous  the  world  over  for 
the  perfection  of  the  instruments  manu- 
factured in  his  great  factory — the  largest 
in  the  world. 

Beginning  shortly  after  the  close  of 
the  Civil  war  with  the  manufacture  of 
rubber  mouth-pieces  for  brass  instru- 
ments, Mr.  Conn's  giant  energy  was 
bent  upon  attaining  the  utmost  perfection 
and  the  results  show  what  American 
pluck,  energy,  and  determination  can 
accomplish,  since  he  stands  today,  easily, 
king  in  the  realm  of  wind  instruments  ; 
and  reaching  out  for  new  worlds  to  con- 
quer has  invaded  the  territory  of  strings 
and  is  sparing  no  expense  and  pains  to 
earn,  in  the  future  history  of  music,  the 
title  of  the  American  Stradivarius.  His 
recreation  is  yachting  and  he  is  as  ex- 
pert in  that  as  in  all  his  undertakings. 
His  latest  purchase  he  personally  brought 
over  from  Europe  by  way  of  the  Ber- 
mudas and  it  is  now  the  .handsomest 
of  the  fleet  upon  the  great  lakes.  For 
he's  a  Western  man  heart  and  soul,  is 
Mr.  C.  G.  Conn. 

While  I  was  gathering  these  partic- 
ulars in  regard  to  this  energetic  Ameri- 
can, who  has  placed  his  country  in  the 
front  rank  of  the  world's  music  makers, 
musicians  were  gazing  lovingly  at  the 
beautiful  display. 


THE  C.  G.  CONN   EXHIBIT. 


One  little  man  was  enamoured  of  a 
Sousa-phone.  Oh,  you  should  not  fail 
to  see  a  Sousa-phone  1  It  is  not  small, 
delicate  and  feminine  as  its  name  would 
indicate.  It  looks  as  though  it  would 
have  to  be  carried  by  an  elephant  and 
played  by  a  cyclone,  but  that  little  man 
was  dead  in  love  with  it.  He  wanted  to 
feel  its  golden  arms  going  several  times 
around  his  body  and  while  breathing  his 
devotion  into  its  mouth,  hear  it  rumble 
back  its  appreciation  in  a  double  B-flat 
basso.  Odd  ambition  for  a  little  man! 

There  were  horns  that  looked  as 
though  a  new  chapter  could  be  added  to 
the  ever  popular  fairy  tale  of  the  three 


bears  and  have  more  bears,  and  of  a  kind 
that  smoked  pipes,  for  they  were  from  a 
size  suited  to  the  "  weeny,  little  bitsie 
bear"  to  the  "great  big  hoarse  bear," 
but  they  were  saxophones  and  instead  of 
smoke,  there  would  come  out  of  them  a 
mellow,  soul-soothing  sound. 

After  all  was  looked  over  I  decided 
that  if  Gabriel  should  want  to  change 
the  style  of  his  trumpet  and  get  a  few  of 
the  modern  improvements  all  he'd  need 
to  do  would  be  to  drop  a  line  to  C.  G. 
Conn,  Elkhart,  Indiana, —  who  received 
the  Grand  Prize  at  the  Louisiana  Pur- 
chase Exposition — and  the  order  would 
be  promptly  filled. 


C.   G.   CONN   BOOTH   AT   WORLD'S   FAIR. 


HOW    NED    WON    AT    "BUNCO" 


4<  LJAVE  you  ever  been    buncoed?" 
I  I  It  was  Miss  Pierson  who  spoke, 
and  Ned  Rightman  looked  at  her  quizzi- 
cally. 

"Buncoed?     Well  —  er — in  what  way 

buncoed   in    love?  —  no,   not    unless 

you've  a  gold    brick    up   your  sleeve, 
and—" 

"Well,  would  you  like  to  be  bun- 
coed?" interrupted  Miss  Pierson,  ignor- 
ing his  supplementary  remarks,  "if  so, 
come  over  tonight  at  eight-thirty.  I've 
invited  Jack,  and  Charley,  too." 

"Jack  and  Charley,  why— 

"Come  now,  I've  planned  to  have  you 
all  three  at  once  to  see  how  you  act  to- 
gether." 

"All  right;  count  on  me,"  called  Ned, 
as  he  turned  to  hurry  down  the  street, 
for  the  whistle  of  the  suburban  train  had 
sounded  its  approach. 

Margarette  Pierson  was  a  great  favorite 
of  the  little  suburban  town  and  an  ac- 
knowledged leader  in  social  events.  Her 
three  persistent  admirers  were  Ned 
Rightman,  Jack  Freemont  and  Charlie 
Hawkins,  all  bright  fellows  with  excel- 
lent prospects.  The  situation  had  grown 
so  complex  that  Margarette  felt  she 
simply  had  to  do  something  to  settle 
matters,  but  when  it  came  to  deciding 
she  hesitated.  This  is  how  she  came  to 
plan  a  "Bunco  Duel,"  as  she  called  it, 
between  her  suitors,  for  what  girl  does 
not  love  a  romance? 

Each  ring  of  the  door  bell  that  even- 
ing announced  the  arrival  of  one  of  the 
party.  First  Charley,  then  Ned,  then 
Jack;  each  wondering  what  it  all  meant, 
and  each  resolved  to  see  the  finish,  only 
to  lose  their  doubts  and  misgivings  the 
next  minute  under  the  radiance  of  Mar- 
garette's  smiles  and  attention. 

"/hen  the  preliminary  greetings  were 
over,  the  young  men  were  seated  at  the 
table  in  the  center  of  the  drawing  room 
and  the  bright  red  box  containing  the 
new  game,  "Bunco,"  with  its  endless 
new  situations  and  amusing  combina- 
tions, was  brought  forth.  Margarette  sat 


at'the  table,  as  umpire,  her  pulse  quick- 
ening as  the  cards,  ten  to  each,  were 
dealt  around.  These  ten  cards  repre- 
sented the  "Bunco"  pile  of  each  player, 
and  the  first  to  diminish  his  pile  in 
order  of  sequence  was  the  winner,  for  he 
had  cleared  himself  and  the  others  were 
left  "buncoed."  Margarette  had  figured 
it  out  that  the  man  who  couldn't  be 
"buncoed"  was  the  one  for  her,  all  other 
things  being  equal,  and  she  never 
watched  a  game  with  such  breathless 
interest. 

In  the  order  of  sequence  the  game 
progressed,  each  man  concentrating  his 
energy  and  thought  to  the  possible  re- 
duction of  his  "bunco"  pile.  Phenome- 
nal runs  marked  different  stages  of  the 
game,  only  to  be  checked  by  an  oppo- 
nent, who  held  the  effective  "stop" 
card,  which  came  to  the  rescue  at  many 
a  critical  moment.  Charlie  had  several 
of  these  runs;  it  seemed  as  if  he  was 
possessed,  and  each  time  Margarette 
held  her  breath.  Jack,  too,  came  in 
as  a  close  second.  Between  them  they 
seemed  to  make  all  the  runs,  while  Ned 
Rightman  played  in  evident  hard  luck; 
his  original  pile  of  ten  bunco  cards  had 
only  been  reduced  to  eight,  when  each 
of  his  opponents  had  but  one.  The 
close  fight  between  Charlie  and  Jack 
was  creating  consternation  in  the  heart 
of  Margarette.  She  now  realized  that  it 
was  no  longer  a  matter  of  indecision  on 
her  part,  she  knew  who  she  wanted 
to  win — and  that  man  was  Ned  Right- 
man. 

But  the  fates  seemed  to  decree  other- 
wise. Charlie  with  a  number  "3"  up 
felt  the  game  already  won,  while  Jack 
with  a  "6"  watched  each  sequence  grow 
toward  his  number  with  greedy  eyes. 
One  pile  after  another  came  up,  but  Ned 
could  not  untangle  the  numbers  he  held 
nor  break  into  his  bunco  pile. 

At  a  time  when  it  seemed  something 
surely  must  happen  to  decide  the  remark- 
able contest,  Margarette  arose,  stood 
beside  Ned,  her  cheeks  aflame  with  ex- 


582 


HOW    NED    WON    AT    "BUNCO" 


citement.     No,  he  held  no  "stop"  card; 
Charlie  would  go  out  the  next  play. 

Hiding  her  despair  she  looked  across 
at  Jack,  and  her  hopes  arose;  yes,  that 
look  on  his  face  meant  something — he 
must  hold  a  "stop"  card,  and  that  will 
prolong  the  game  anyway. 

And  so  it  was  when  Charlie  exuber- 
antly tried  to  play  his  last  card  he  was 
interrupted  with  a  boisterous  laugh  from 
Jack,  who  played  his  little  "police- 
man." 

Margarette  sighed;  it  was  a  relief,  but 
the  danger  was  hardly  less  great  with 
Jack  ready  to  play,  but  his  "bunco"  was 
several  numbers  removed  from  the  se- 
quence and  it  gave  Ned  another  chance 
to  play. 

When  the  key  of  the  sequence  seemed 
to  lie  in  Ned's  hands  for  the  first  time, 
number  after  number  he  played,  and  his 
opponents  looked  OK  in  astonishment. 
One  by  one  his  bunco  pile  was  dimin- 
ished, and  still  no  end. 

Although    Margarette     was     excited 

before,  she  could  hardly  contain  herself 

now.     It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true. 

But  the  game  was  not  won  yet.     Ned's 


phenomenal  run  had  placed  him  an 
equal  with  his  opponents  and  the  great- 
est fight  of  the  game  was  on.  Clear 
head  and  quick  eye  marked  the  careful 
playing,  until  the  end  came.  Ned  had 
his  last  card  from  his  bunco  pile,  and 
pushed  back  from  the  table.  For  a 
moment  he  thought  he  felt  the  warm 
touch  of  Margarette's  fingers  on  his 
cheeks.  That  was  all. 

The  boys  crawled  into  their  top  coats, 
pronouncing  the  evening  the  most  excit- 
ing of  their  lives.  As  they  were  about 
to  leave  Margarette  detained  Ned  with 
a  gentle  pressure  of  the  hand. 

"I'm  glad  you  won.  Ned.  It  means 
so  much  to  me." 

"In  what  way,  my  dear?" 

"Well,  I  didn't  want  to  get  buncoed." 

"You  get  buncoed?  It  was  I  who  was 
playing." 

"That  didn't  make  any  difference, 
Ned.  You  were  playing  for  me." 

"For  you?  I  won  the  game,  but  does 
that  mean  I've  won  you?" 

"Stupid — must  I  literally  throw  my- 
self at  you?" 

Well,  she  didn't. 


AN   ANCIENT  DUEL   IN  JAPAN  —  NO  BUNCO  HERE 


THE    MAKING    OF    PARKER    PENS 


IT  was  a  just  retribution.  When  I 
found  myself  at  the  exhibit  of  the 
Parker  Pen  Company  in  the  Varied  In- 
dustries building  and  attempted  to  regis- 
ter with  a  fountain  pen  that  was — 
not  a  Parker  — my  ink-smeared  fingers 
brought  forth  comment  that  was  not 
ink-smeared.  The  fountain  pen  with 
which  I  tried  to  register  was  thrown 
across  the  aisle  and  the  Parker  took  its 
place  and  since  that  time  I  have  been 


GEORGE    S.    PARKER,   MAKER  OF   THE    FAMOUS 
"LUCKY    CURVE"    FOUNTAIN    PEN 

able  to  register  my  name  without  fear  of 
mottled  ringers.  As  I  looked  through 
the  glass  case  at  the  workmen  busy  turn- 
ing out  the  holders  of  Parker  pens,  some- 
how the  memory  of  the  "Lucky  Curve" 
came  to  mind,  and  it  was  like  finding 
a  horseshoe. 

This  exhibit  was  interesting,  showing 
processes  as  well  as  products.  There 
was  a  piece  of  Para  rubber,  nearly  a  foot 
high,  from  the  trees  of  Brazil;  near  by 
was  the  crude  washed  rubber,  showing 


the  first  process"  when  it  is  rolled  on 
molds  or  mandrils  which  are  of  the  diam- 
eter of  the  size  of  pen  holder  desired. 

There  was  scarcely  a  time  during 
the  Exposition  that  there  was  not  a 
throng  about  this  booth  witnessing  the 
operations  of  producing  Parker's  "Lucky 
Curve"  pens.  The  finishing  was  done  at 
the  factory  at  Janesville,  Wisconsin,  as 
there  was  not  space  enough  provided  at 
the  Fair  for  the  entire  process,  and  each 
pen  passed  through  fifteen  hands  at  the 
factory  after  the  work  done  at  the  Fair. 

Surrounding  the  booth  were  letters 
addressed  to  the  Parker  Pen  Company 
from  almost  every  nation  on  the  globe, 
showing  the  large  area  which  this  little, 
mighty,  gold-tipped  instrument  covers. 

The  Parker  pens  are  the  only  ones 
bought  with  an  absolute,  written  guaran- 
tee, and  no  matter  where  they  are  pur- 
chased they  can  be  either  exchanged  or 
returned  until  perfect  satisfaction  is 
secured.  There  was  a  significant  sign 
over  the  booth  which  read:  "They  work 
for  you  but  feed  themselves,"  emphasiz- 
ing the  strong  point  of  the  Parker  pen 
which  eliminates  the  horror  of  ink  stains. 

It  was  interesting  to  study  the  throng 
passing  the  booth.  Here  were  the  sturdy 
Boers  from  South  Africa  writing  their 
names  in  a  cramped  hand,  followed,  per- 
haps, by  the  inevitable  American  girl 
writing  in  the  perpendicular  hand  typical 
of  the  dash  and  verve  of  our  own  land. 
The  business  man  registered  with  the 
same  sangfroid  with  which  he  would 
sign  a  check  and  the  traveling  man 
covered  the  lines  with  a  hotel  register 
dash,  and  then  the  mother,  who  perhaps 
had  written  but  a  few  letters  since  the 
family  came,  was  there  to  register  for  the 
Parker.  In  fact,  I  know  of  no  exhibit 
where  there  was  shown  more  intense 
personal  interest  in  the  product  than 
the  Parker. 

"Here's  to  the  *  Lucky  Curve;'  may  it 
ever  radiate  .the  good  luck  its  name 
implies  1 


INSURANCE    INVESTMENTS  *  By  Henry  L.  Shumway 
SOME    POINTS    FOR    THE    PUBLIC    TO    CONSIDER 


COR  several  weeks  the  public  mind 
has  been  exercised  over  "  frenzied 
finance,"  one  element  of  which  has 
been  quite  an  extended  discussion  of 
the  wisdom  or  honesty  of  those  who 
have  charge  of  the  investment  of  the 
assets  of  life  insurance  companies.  This 
general  agitation  has  created  distrust 
and  a  considerable  stock  panic,  in  which 
fortunes  have  been  made  and  lost,  but 
the  stock  transactions  have  been  outside 
the  list  considered  desirable  for  the  in- 
vestment of  "trust  funds,"  and  the  gains 
or  losses  do  not  materially  affect  this 
class  of  securities. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  upon 
the  proper  channels  of  investment  for 
such  assets  as  are  held  by  life  insurance 
companies,  and  several  large  lines  of 
bank  and  trust  company  stocks  and  cer- 
tain railroad  and  other  securities  have 
been  declared  as  speculative,  either  of 
themselves  or  because  of  the  methods 
by  which  they  are  handled. 

By  the  last  annual  report  of  the  insur- 
ance department  of  Massachusetts,  the 
assets  of  the  life  insurance  companies 
represented  in  the  state  amount  to 
$2,203,508,103,  the  fire  insurance  com- 
panies report  $363,344,936,  and  the  mis- 
cellaneous companies  other  than  life  and 
fire  report  $52,681,429.  Here  then  is 
a  vast  aggregate  of  two  billion,  six  hun- 
dred and  nineteen  million,  five  hundred 
and  thirty-four  thousand,  four  hundred 
and  sixty-eight  dollars,  (2,619,534,468) 
which  must  be  invested,  and  the  life 
companies'  reserves  are  especially  held 
to  contribute  a  three  and  one-half  per 
cent,  income.  It  is  not  probable  that 
the  other  companies  are  expecting  a 
lower  rate  of  interest. 

An  important  question  which  has  not 
yet  had  due  recognition  is: — if  the  stocks 
of  national  banks,  trust  companies,  etc., 
are  to  be  ruled  off  the  list,  as  some  of 


the  writers  on  "frenzied  finance"  de- 
mand, what  satisfactory  channels  of  safe 
and  remunerative  investment  are  open? 
The  problem  would  be  difficult  if  this 
great  sum  was  alone  in  the  investment 
market  as  a  buyer,  but  there  are  other 
billions  in  private  and  quasi-public 
hands  in  active  competition  for  the  safe 
and  the  productive.  There  is  a  limit  to 
the  safe  placing  of  capital,  and  with  the 
restrictions  advocated  by  current  criti- 
cism that  limit  is  so  near  as  to  raise  the 
question  of  what  latitude  is  admissible 
to  the  men  charged  with  the  administra- 
tion of  these  vast  sums. 

The  same  critics  complain,  too,  be- 
cause certain  officers  of  the  great  life 
companies  are  also  active  in  the  manage- 
ment of  other  large  financial  institutions. 
They  are  men  of  exceptional  financial 
skill,  or  they  would  not  be  in  their  offi- 
cial and  responsible  positions.  Natur- 
ally they  have  other  interests,  among 
which  is  the  administration  of  their  own 
private  fortunes,  which  naturally  are  of 
considerable  amount.  Why  should  they 
be  debarred  from  taking  part  in  other 
financial  institutions,  in  which  they  have 
a  personal  interest? 

To  restrict  the  field  of  investment  will 
certainly  reduce  the  rate  of  income;  and 
to  exclude  from  the  management  of  these 
fiduciary  instituions  all  those  who  have 
other  private  or  quasi-public  financial 
interests,  is  to  offer  a  premium  upon 
cheap  and  incompetent  men,  and  the 
two  restrictions  if  enforced  as  the  critics 
seem  to  insist,  can  work  only  harm  and 
disaster. 

There  should  be  reason  even  in  fault- 
finding, and  there  are  other  faults  beside 
those  so  vehemently  insisted  on  by  these 
critics,  who,  it  is  quite  apparent,  are 
not  working  absolutely  and  entirely  in 
the  interest  of  the  public  which  they  so 
loudly  profess  to  serve. 


A    TRIP   TO    MEXICO  WITH   CHARLES   H.   GATES 


CHARLES     H.     GATES 


HAVE     you  the  needs  of    travelers   by  rail.      Mr. 

ever    met  Gates  owns  his  dining  car,  the  Toledo, 

Charles   H.  and  has  sufficient  refrigerator  room  to 

Gates  of  Tole-  provide  fresh  meat  and  other  perishable 

do?   World-re-  luxuries   for  a  trip  around  the  world, 

nowned    man-  There  is  genuine,   fresh  cream  for  the 

ager  of  Mexi-  coffee  and   cereals  every  morning,    in- 

can    tours    is  stead  of  the  usual  condensed  essence, 

he.       If    you  and  there  is  also  a  supply  of  water  from 

have  not  met  one  of  the  famous  springs  carried  in 

him,  you  have  sealed  cans.     In  short,   every  detail  is 

missed   much,  carefully  thought  out  beforehand,   and 

No  one  could  on  these  trips  every  comfort  and  luxury 

contemplate  a  is  provided  that  could  be  found  in  the 

trip  to  Mexico  most  palatial  hotels, 

without  desir-  Mr.  Gates  is  no  ordinary  man.     He  is 

ing  to  go  with  one  of  those    big,  jovial,  whole-souled 

Gates,  for  his  gentlemen  who  make  everyone  around 

tours  are  a  part  them   happy,  and  no  railroad  magnate 

of  the   annals  "to  the  coupon  born,"  could  enjoy  him- 

and  history  of  self  in   his  special  car  more  than   the 

the     land     of  tourists  do  in  the  comfortable  surround- 

Montezuma.  ings  provided  for  them  on  these  tours. 

Years     ago  Mr.    Gates,   though    his   complexion 

Mr.     Gates  lacks  many  degrees   of  the  darkness  of 

served    the  the   Spaniard   or  Mexican,   is   quite  at 

public  as  a  home   in   Mexico,    and  speaks  Spanish 


ticket  agent, 
and  had  good  opportunities  for  studying 
all  the  moods  and  impulses  of  the 
American  traveler — good  and  bad  side 
alike  —  and  to  practice  the  art  of 
pleasing  people.  He  realized  that 
Americans,  although  impulsive,  erratic 
and  easily  irritated,  are  just  as  im- 
pulsive, inversely,  in  appreciation  of 
correct  service  as  they  are  in  their 
blunt  frankness  in  pointing  out  a 
blunder.  Twelve  years  ago  Mr.  Gates 
made  his  first  tour  to  Mexico,  accom- 
panied by  a  small  and  select  party,  and 
every  year  since  then  the  number  of  the 
party  has  increased,  while  the  service 
and  equipment  is  constantly  improving, 
until  now  it  is  conceded  the  world  over 
that  the  Gates  special  train  for  Mexico 
has  no  rival  in  the  perfection  of  its  ser- 
vice. In  fact,  it  is  provided  by  a  rail- 
way man,  who  thoroughly  understands 

586 


RUINS     AT     TEPASTECO 


A    TRIP    TO    MEXICO    WITH    CHARLES    H.    GATES 


with  an  accent  that  gets  things  done. 
The  natives  all  like  him,  just  as  every- 
body does  who  has  met  him,  especially 
those  who  have  taken  this  trip  with  him, 
for  this  is  not  a  business  with  him — it 
is  his  life  pleasure. 

This  year  a  new  feature  has  been 
added  in  the  composite  car,  called  the 
"Ohio,"  twenty-one  feet  of  which  is 
devoted  to  a  smoking  and  lounging 
room,  a  bath  room  and  barber  shop 
being  also  provided  in  the  same  car. 
This  secures  not  only  the  comfort  of 
the  smoking  men,  but  insures  the  com- 
fort of  the  ladies  and  non-smokers,  as 
they  can  be  sure  of  a  clear  atmosphere 
to  breath  in  the  Pullmans,  free  from 
gusts  of  smoke. 

One  especially  attractive  feature  about 
the  tours  is  that  Mr.  Gates  sees  that 
everything  worth  visiting  is  included; 
his  people  miss  nothing,  and  he  spares 
no  expense  to  contribute  to  the  per- 
fected pleasure  of  h<s  guests.  If  you 
ever  want  to  feel  like  a  millionaire  just 
for  a  month  or  so,  write  to  Mr.  Gates 
about  the  Mexican  tour,  and  if  you 
don't  agree  with  me  when  you  return 


STREET     IN     CUERNAVACA 

you  are  past  all  hope  of  tasting  the  real 
pleasures  of  the  age. 

The  traveling  passenger  agents  of  the 
United  States  have  recently  visited 
Mexico  under  the  Gates  wing,  and  the 
way  they  sing  the  praises  of  this  tour 
is  the  strongest  enconium  Mr.  Gates 


ON     LAKE     CHAPALA 


can  have,  for  no  people  are  better  fitted 
to  judge  of  the  comforts  provided  on 
a  railway  trip  than  are  these  men,  whose 
life  work  makes  traveling  an  every-day 
task.  And  it  is  the  highest  possible 
tribute  that  three  hundred  energetic, 
keen-witted  passenger  agents  were  united 
in  their  praise  of  Mr.  Gates  and  the 
Gates  method,  and  came  home  singing 
paeans  to  their  tour  conductor.  There 
is  something  more  than  a  ticket  and  a 
baggage  check  connected  with  the  Gates 
tours. 

There  are  people  who  go  to  Mexico 
by  buying  a  ticket  several  yards  long, 
and  they  chase  baggage  at  every  stop, 
wander  about,  spending  many  lonesome 
and  weary  hours  trying  to  find  places, 
and  expect  to  learn  in  a  few  weeks  what 
it  has  taken  Mr.  Gates  twelve  long  years 
to  acquire.  It  does  not  need  a  great 
deal  of  shrewdness  to  understand  that 
a  man  who  has  made  a  special  study  of 
this  proposition  is  likely  to  be  able  to 
give  the  individual  members  of  his  party 
the  very  best  that  can  be  procured,  from 
the  time  of  starting  on  February  21  to 
the  climax  at  the  Grand  Canyon  in  Ari- 
zona. 

There  is  a  social  side  also  to  these 
parties.  Friendships  are  formed  that 
last  a  lifetime,  and  not  the  least  of  these 
is  the  happy  remembrance  of  the  cheery 
Boniface,  Mr.  Gates  himself.  In  the 
evenings  the  spacious  dining  car  is 
cleared  for  receptions  and  balls,  and 
general  merriment  and  a  good  time  are 


587 


A    TRIP    TO    MEXICO    WITH    CHARLES    H.    GATKS 


the  order  of  the  day  or  night.  It  has 
been  ray  good  fortune  to  make  many 
trips  in  various  parts  of  the  world,  but 
I  never  enjoyed  a  trip  with  a  more 
delightful  feeling  of  ease  and  comfort 
than  this  one  to  Mexico;  and  I  think 
one  reason  for  this  was  that  it  was  con- 
ducted specifically  and  exclusively  on 
the  American  plan.  There  was  no  radi- 
cal change  of  diet  or  water,  and  there 
was  a  blissful  absence  of  the  annoying 
features  which  usually  make  traveling 
irksome  and  the  traveler  criss-cross. 

The  object  in  life  for  the  moment  with 
both  Mr.  Gates  and  his  party  is  enjoy- 
ment, and  this  fact  seems  to  be  recog- 
nized even  in  Mex- 
ico, for  there  are 
no  people  who  visit 
the  republic  who 
are  more  welcome 
than  Mr.  Gates  and 
his  tourists.  They 
are  cordially  met 
by  the  highest  offi- 
cials, as  well  as  by 
the  picturesque 
natives  in  the  most 
remote  section. 

The  tour  is  a 
novel  life  experi- 
ence, and  the  party 
has  the  advantage 
of  seeing  the  coun- 
try while  comfortably  housed  on  the 
train,  only  stopping  at  hotels  that 
are  known  to  be  the  best  of  their 
kind  in  the  City  of  Mexico.  The 
itinerary  is  'so  arranged  that  it  gives 
a  glimpse  of  the  real  people  of  Mexico 
and  a  comprehensive  idea  of  beautiful 
country,  not  only  covering  the  accus- 
tomed routes,  but  also  many  points 
never  heretofore  visited  by  the  tourist, 
such  as  the  ruins  at  Teposteco,  Cuerna- 
vaca,  where  the  old  stone  palace  of  Cor- 
tez  may  still  be  seen,  and  the  clock  pre- 
sented to  him  by  Charles  Fifth,  and 
Lake  Chapala,  a  highland  lake  in  the 
tropics.  Zacatecas  takes  one  back  to 


Biblical  times,  and  a  special  trip  is  ar- 
ranged to  Oaxaca  and  the  ruins  of  Mitla, 
the  party  being  in  charge  of  competent 
guides.  The  prehistoric  Indian  pueblos 
of  New  Mexico  are  also  visited.  It 
requires  only  a  few  lines  to  give  a  list 
of  these  places,  but  during  the  trip  a 
long  vista  of  history  is  unrolled,  cover- 
ing a  period  of  many  centuries. 

This  area  is  not  only  interesting  to 
Americans  as  being  part  of  our  country 
before  even  the  red  man  gave  up  his 
land  to  the  progressive  Pilgrim  fathers, 
but  provides  the.  traveler  with  a  change 
of  scene  so  complete  as  to  be  an  abso- 
lute rest  in  itself.  Then  you  pass  from 


PYRAMID     OF     CHALULA 

the  biting  blasts  of  February  and  March 
into  a  land  of  sunshine  and  flowers,  less 
than  fifty  hours  distant.  A  place  where 
the  tired  brain  can  rest  and  yet  be  inter- 
ested in  its  surroundings  and  distracted 
from  its  own  moody  idleness.  This  tour 
is  a  radical  departure  from  the  usual 
method  of  sitting  about  on  the  hotel 
veranda,  gorging  big  meals,  driving 
about  seeing  the  local  sights,  and  danc- 
ing merely  to  aid  digestion.  What  is  it 
that  remains  in  our  memory  in  the  years 
to  come?  Is  it  the  dinners  and  the  long 
cigars  smoked  in  the  piazza  chairs? 
Why  not  spend  our  rest  period  in  laying 
up  memories  and  substantial  informa- 


588 


A   ikir  TO  MEXICO  WITH  CHARLES  H.  GATES 


tion  that  will  be  a  joy  to  us  and  will 
last  as  long  as  memory  itself  endures? 
The  old  world  has  its  Riviera,  its 
Italy,  its  India  and  its  Egypt,  and 
Americans  are  just  beginning  to  ap- 
preciate the  fact  that  they  have  all  these 
advantages  right  on  their  own  soil,  to 
be  reached  with  much  less  difficulty  and 
discomfort  than  the  Britisher  can  get  to 
his  Winter  playgrounds.  The  saying 
of  F.  Hopkinson  Smith  in  "A  White 
Umbrella  in  Mexico,"  charmingly  por- 
trays the  delights  of  the  country,  which 
he  calls  "a  tropical  Venice,  son  of  bar- 
barous Spain." 

Mexico   may  be  appropriately  called 


BIRD'S-EYE    VIEW    OF   GUANAJUATO 


the  Egypt  of  the  new  world,  on  account 
of  its  store  of  antiquities  and  curious 
natural  scenery,  and  its  history  running 
far  back  into  prehistoric  times,  as  shown 
by  its  ruins,  the  date  of  which  no  man 
can  determine.  Its  lofty  mountains,  its 
rich  tropical  foliage,  its  mementoes  of 
the  Spanish  conquest,  when  Cortez  in- 
vaded this  land  only  twenty-seven  years 
after  the  discovery  of  America,  all  com- 
bine to  make  Mexico  a  country  second 
to  none  in  romantic  interest.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  realize  that  here  we  have  a  land 
whose  civilization  is  probably  older 
than  that  of  Egypt,  though  its  origin  is 
veiled  in  a  mystery  so  dense  that  it  hai 


baffled  the  researches  of  all  historians. 
Everyone  who  has  visited  the  country 
will  agree  that  now  is  the  time  to  visit 
Mexico,  while  the  original  ruins  still 
remain,  for  even  Mexico  is  catching  the 
infection  of  American  progress,  and  its 
picturesque  ruins  many  not  long  remain. 
It  can  be  safely  promised  that  Charles 
H.  Gates  will  not  give  a  single  dull  or 
tedious  day  to  his  tourists,  while  anyone 
may  travel  in  comfort  under  his  protec- 
tion. Many  single  ladies  make  this  tour 
unescorted.  Only  one  hint  is  necessary, 
and  that  is  to  take  as  little  baggage  and 
as  few  business  troubles  as  possible  with 
you,  but  be  sure  to  take  with  you  a  good 
camera.  A  first 
class  physician 
travels  with  the 
party,  and  every 
emergency  is  pro- 
vided for.  I  al- 
most forgot  to 
mention  that  Mr. 
"Larry"  Matthews 
of  Yellowstone 
Park  fame  is  the 
commissary  on 
Gates  tours,  and 
I  need  say  no  more. 
Send  in  your  name 
to  Charles  H. 
Gates,  Toledo,  or 
to  W.  H.  Eaves, 
Boston,  and  be  sure  you  are  booked  in 
time,  for  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  the 
party  will  soon  be  complete. 

The  climax  of  the  trip  is  the  visit  to 
the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona.  Various 
attempts  have  been  made  to  describe 
and  photograph  this  marvelous  place. 
It  is  200  miles  long,  thirteen  miles  wide, 
and  one  mile  deep,  with  hundreds  of 
mountains  clustering  about  it  and  show- 
ing all  colors  of  the  rainbow.  It  is  a 
place  to  be  seen  and  felt  rather  than 
described.  Charles  Dudley  Warner  in 
"Our  Italy"  writes  of  the  Grand  Canyon 
as  follows: 
"The  most  interesting  territory  of  its 


A   TRIP    TO    MEXICO    WITH    CHARLES    H.    GATES 


size  on    the  globe 

There  are  some  experiences 
that  cannot  be  repeated  — 
one's  first  view  of  Rome, 
one's  first  view  of  Jerusa- 
lem. But  these  emotions 
are  produced  by  associa- 
tion, by  the  sudden  stand- 
ing face  to  face  with  the 
scenes  most  wrought  into 
our  whole  life  and  educa- 
tion by  tradition  and  reli- 
gion. This  was  without 
association,  as  it  was  with 
out  parallel.  Wandering  a 
little  way  from  the  group 
and  out  of  sight,  ....  I 
experienced  for  a  moment 
an  indescribable  terror  of 
nature,  a  confusion  of  mind, 
a  fear  to  be  alone  in  such 
a  presence.  .  .  .  Creation 
seemed  in  a  whirl.  It  is 
only  within  the  last  quarter  of  a  century 
that  the  Grand  Canyon  has  been  known 
to  the  civilized  world.  It  is  scarcely 
known  now.  Those  who  best  know  it 
are  most  sensitive  to  its  awe  and  splen- 
dor. It  is  never  twice  the  same,  for 
it  has  an  atmosphere  of  its  own." 

The  series  of  articles  on  Mexico  pub- 
lished a  year  ago  in  the  National  at- 
tracted wide-spread  interest,  and  now  is 
the  opportunity  for  some  of  our  readers 
to  see  this  country  to  best  advantage. 
One  thing  about  it  is,  that  when  you 
come  back  from  Mexico  you  have  more 


of  a  feeling  of  interest  in  the 
sombrero  and  the  mantilla. 
We  are  apt  at  times  to  think 
that  all  of  the  best  of  life  is 
bound  up  in  our  own  big 
land,  but  there  is  mucn 
in  a  trip  to  old  Mexico 
to  broaden  the  mind.  It 
seems  to  furnish  us 
Americans  with  what  we 
have  not  had  before,  and 
that  is  an  historical  back- 
ground. As  England  and 
Germany  trace  the  wind- 
ing path  trodden  by  the 
feet  of  their  4  ancestors 
across  seas  and  continents 
to  Asia  and  the  ancient 
Euphrates,  so  we  can  point 
with  equal  pride  to  ruins  that  undoubt- 
edly antedate  the  wonders  of  the 
East. 

Here's  hoping  that  some  of  you  will 
be  among  the  party  that  will  start  with 
Mr.  Gates — let  him  know  that  .you  saw 
it  in  the  National,  the  best  is  yours  after 
that — when  he  climbs  up  the  rear  plat- 
form of  his  observation  car  and  calls 
(I  fancy  I  see  him)  "All  aboard  for 
Mexico!"  in  that  lusty  American  tongue 
so  soon  to  be  resigned  for  the  liquid 
Latin  of  the  tropics. 


THE         RAILROAD 
TRACK 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  COMPOSITE  CAR   "OHIO" 


DEPARTMENT   OF   PROGRESSIVE   ADVERTISERS 


THE 

BACKBONE 

OF  A  MIGHTY  NATION 

is  good  food — food  for  brain,  food  for 
brawn,  food  that  is  strengthening,  that  gives 
energy  and  courage.  Without  a  proper 
appreciation  of  this  great  fundamental  truth 
no  nation  can  rise  to  greatness. 

As  an  article  of  food,  soda  crackers  are 
being  used  more  and  more  every  day,  as  is 
attested  by  the  sale  of  over  300,000,000 
packages  of  U  need  a  Biscuit,  which 
have  come  to  be  recognized  as  the  most 
perfect  soda  cracker  the  world  has  ever 
known. 

And  so  Uneeda  Biscuit  will  soon 
be  on  every  table  at  every  meal,  giving  life, 
health,  and  strength,  to  the  American  peo- 
ple, thus  in  very  truth  becoming  the  back- 
bone of  the  nation. 


NATIONAL  BISCUIT  COMPANY 


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THERE  is  immense  satisfaction  in 
finding  3rour  own  judgment  verified, 
and  I  felt  a  thrill  of  interest  when  passing 
the  exhibit  of  the  Baldwin  Piano  Com- 
pany in  the  Liberal  Arts  Building — dur- 
ing the  closing  days  of  the  Fair  —  I 
saw  that  the  jury  had  agreed  with  my 
earlier  impressions  and  awarded  them 
the  Grand  Prize.  There  was  that  superb 
modern  art  piano  standing  in  the  pavil- 
ion that,  during  the  Fair,  had  been  the 
cynosure  of  so  many  eyes,  the  piano  that 
not  only  combines  the  most  artistic  afTd 
exquisite  workmanship,  but  bears  the 
impress  of  practical  utility  and  durability 
which  insures  popular  favor  in  American 
eyes.  The  approving  comment  of  the 
young  maiden:  "That's  just  what  I  want 
when  I'm  married,"  and  the  appreciation 
of  the  sensible  matron :  "Wouldn't  that 
fit  nicely  in  our  new  home,"  might  both 
be  heard,  as  well  as  the  soliloquy  of  the 
expectant  groom,  who  had  dreams  of 
how  this  piano  might  adorn  the  home 
which  he  planned  to  furnish  in  the  near 
future. 

Then  the  business  man  recognized  the 
practical  value  of  the  Baldwin.  "Now 
that's  what  I  call  a  sensible  piece  of 
furniture,"  he  said. 


The  Baldwin  Company's  exhibit  of 
processes  as  well  as  products — the  first 
of  the  kind  ever  seen  at  an  exposition — 
including  a  model  of  the  factory  and 
various  parts  of  the  piano,  explained  to 
the  casual  observer  more  about  the  con- 
struction of  the  instrument  than  could 
all  the  literature  on  the  subject  that 
might  be  found  stored  in  all  the  Carnegie 
libraries  combined.  The  story  was  told 
in  a  way  both  explicit  and  impressive. 

As  I  stood  in  the  Liberal  Arts  Palace 
and  heard  the  closing  chords  of  a  march 
of  triumph,  I  instinctively  looked  around 
for  the  hidden  genius  with  the  flowing 
hair;  certainly  there  was  the  De  Pach- 
mann  touch  but  no  De  Pachmann,  only 
a  Baldwin  Piano  Player  subtly  interpret- 
ing the  thoughts  and  feelings  of.  the 
great  composer.  As  the  vibrations  of 
sound  never  cease,  so  the  memory  of 
success  achieved  by  the  Baldwin  Piano 
Player  is  certain  to  impress  purchasers 
in  all  the  future  years  with  the  full  mean- 
ing of  what  is  contained  in  those  magic 
and  earnestly  desired  words,  "Grand 
Prize,"  and  inasmuch  as  not  only  the 
jury  and  myself  but  the  general  public 
agree  in  this  award,  I  have  much  satis- 
faction in  recording  the  fact. 


DEPARTMENT      OF      PROGRESSIVE      ADVERTISERS 


ri 


Shredded  Wheat  t)j.  Beef 


The  illustration  shows  the  comparative  cost  of  beef  and  shredded  wheat  —  pound  for  pound. 
C.  This  is  not  the  entire  lesson—  the  Michigan  State  Agricultural  College  Report  upon  the  com- 
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Shredded  Wheat  Biscuit 

contains  zYt  times  more  nutrition  than  ten  cents'  luorth  of  sirloin  steak.  This  is  a  double 
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exact  proportion  required.  Shredded  Wheat  Biscuit  may  be  served  in  many  ways  and  are  partic- 
ularly good  with  milk,  cream,  fruits  or  vegetables.  C.  Try  Triscuit,  the  Shredded  Wheat 
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THE    NATURAL   FOOD    COMPANY 

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BACK  in  the  old,  creaking  rocking- 
chair  for  the  first  time  in  months, 
and  what  soothing  memories  that  croak 
— croak — croak  awakens  as  the  pendu- 
lum motion  seems  to  bring  us  right 
together  again  for  one  of  our  old-time 
chats. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  that 
Christinas  tree!  It  was  not  large,  but 
it  was  laden  to  the  ground  with  remem- 
brances from  thousands  of  our  good  sub- 
scribers of  the  National— simple  sub- 
scriptions —  but  accompanied  with  a 
word  of  greeting  that  will  be  ever  cher- 
ished. It  took  some  time  to  fix  up  my 
tree,  but  now  that  I  am  "grown  up"  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  assisting  in  the  prep- 
arations —  and  Santa  Glaus  was  very 
genial.  There  were  envelopes  on  that 
tree  bringing  messages  from  all  parts  of 
the  world, — India,  Australia,  England, 
Germany,  China,  Porto  Rico,  Canada, 
Cuba,  Mexico,  the  Philippines,  in  fact 
the  postmarks  on  those  letters  circled 
the  globe,  even  as  the  envelopes  covered 
the  Christinas  tree.  I  think  I  never 
enjoyed  a  celebration  more — even  in 
early  childhood,  before  I  met  Santa 
Claus — for  every  branch  of  the  tree  was 
laden  with  words  that  awakened  memo- 
ries of  affectionate  appreciation. 
*  #  * 

How  many  hours  I  sat  and  looked  at 
my  Christmas  treasures  I  do  not  know. 
How  my  thoughts  flashed  from  one  part 
of  the  world  to  another,  visiting  in 
fancy  the  happy  homes  whence  these 


remembrances  had  come,  and  seeing  in 
each  one  the  picture  of  a  reader.  The 
gay  tinsel  on  the  tree,  the  fluttering 
candles,  the  rich  green  of  the  graceful 
branches,  all"  aided  memory  and  fancy 
as  I  sat  in  meditation,  relieved  for  the 
moment  of  the  pressure  of  business,  far 
from  the  hurly-burly  of  the  work-a-day 

world. 

*        *        * 

My  Christmas  occurred  on  the  same 
day  as  yours,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that 
Sunday  was  the  real  Christmas  day  and 
Monday  the  radiant  afterglow  of  the 
happiest  holiday  season  that  I  have  ever 
known.  If  you  have  ever  sat  at  the 
bedside  of  a  loved  one  for  weeks  before 
the  Yule  Tide  season,  in  chilling  sus- 
pense, not  knowing  what  a  day  may 
bring  forth,  then  you  know  something 
of  the  hope  and  gratitude  that  fills  the 
heart  when  the  dear  one  is  given  back 
after  a  siege  of  critical  illness.  The 
future  stretches  out  before  you  bright- 
ened by  the  presence  of  your  loved  one, 
whose  return  to  health  you  regard  as  the 
most  precious  gift  bestowed,  and  one 
that  has  come  direct  from  the  Great 
Giver  —  you  are  in  tune  with  life  as 
never  before. 

There  will  be  struggles  and  shadows, 
but  somehow  these  only  serve  to  make 
the  splendor  of  the  dawn  more  precious. 
My  Christmas  for  1904  has  treble  space  in 
my  Pleasure  Book,  for  I  have  recorded  my 
heartfelt  appreciation  of  the  kind  remem- 
brances of  the  National's  subscribers. 


596 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


As  1  sat  before  my  Christmas  tree  on 
Sunday  evening,  lost  in  meditation,  the 
hours  stole  on  to  that  witching  time 
'twixt  day  and  dark,  and  in  the  early 
Winter  twilight  this  reverie  passed  un- 
consciously into  a  dream.  I  was  on 
a  great  mountain  peak,  with  surround- 
ing mountains  on  all  sides,  and  below 
me  the  valley  was  all  clothed  with  Christ- 
inas trees  of  varying  sizes — a  forest  of 
radiance,  gilded  with  the  glow  of  sun- 
beams as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  out 
into  the  purple  tinted  horizon.  Every 
tree  was  laden  with  simple,  beautiful 
remembrances,  and  each  gift  bore  on  it 
a  name  and  carried  with  it  a  message  of 
hope  and  inspiration  to  some  discour- 
aged or  disheartened  mortal.  No  one 
soul  on  earth  was  forgotten,  and  the 
fluttering,  white,  fairy  missives  required 
no  puzzled  brow  to  grasp  the  meaning, 
for  each  message  was  clear  and  trans- 
parent in  the  splendor  of  that  light. 

Looking  down  the  vista  of  lustrous 
green,  I  gazed  into  the  valley  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountains  as  it  lay 
bathed  in  brilliant  sunlight,  and  slowly 
a-  sense  of  awe  stole  over  me.  A  light 
breeze  stirred  the  tree-tops;  they  bowed 
in  mute  obeisance  toward  that  radiance 
below,  above  and  beyond.  I  now 
understood  that  this  was  more  than  an 
earthly  brightness,  and  that  the  tender 
thought  for  the  happiness  of  all  mortals, 
the  beauty,  the  inspiration,  the  love,  all 
radiated  from  The  Sun  of  Righteous- 
ness, symbolized  by  the  sunbeams  spread 
over  the  mountains  and  valley,  the  source 
of  Content  and  Peace  on  Earth. 

When  I  awoke  the  candle  lights  were 
blinking  and  nodding  a  kindly  good- 
night, and  Christmas-Sunday  had  passed 
the  midnight  into  a  new  day. 

dft 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT  has  not 
yet  been  elected  president  of  the 
United  States.  The  formal  election  will 
occur  on  February  8, .when  the  electoral 
college  meets  in  Washington,  and  the 


messengers  bring  the  votes  of  the  several 
states  and  deliver  them  to  congress. 
These  will  be  carefully  counted,  with 
a  touch  of  old-time  stateliness  and  then 
Mr.  Roosevelt  will  be  formally  and 
actually  elected  to  the  presidency.  The 
electoral  college  has  become  merely 
a  matter  of  form,  and  it  is  typical  of 
many  of  the  old-time  tenets  of  govern- 
ment that  have  become  almost  obsolete 
as  we  pass  from  decade  to  decade  in  this 
swift-running  age. 

When  I  witnessed  this  ceremony  years 
ago  it  brought  back  to  mind  the  period 
when  the  electoral  college  spent  some 
time  in  reaching  results,  even  though  the 
actual  election  had  occurred  months 
before.  In  those  days  the  college  was 
something  of  a  nominating  convention, 
and  we  may  surmise  that  there  was  much 
log-rolling  and  keen  maneuvering,  even 
though  the  choice  of  the  sovereign  voters 
had  been  made.  This  evidences  a  trend 
in  our  national  affairs  toward  concentra- 
tion which  has  simplified  presidential 
elections,  and  as  time  goes  forward  more 
and  more  the  results  of  the  coining  elec- 
tion will  be  predetermined  by  the  people, 
long  before  even  the  nominating  conven- 
tions are  gathered  together. 


IF  I  were  asked  for  a  personal  opinion  as 
to  the  general  policy  of  the  president 
during  the  next  four  years,  I  should  say 
it  might  be  aptly  expressed  in  his  own 
phrase,  whch  was  one  of  the  significant 
shibboleths  of  the  campaign,  "A  Square 
Deal  for  Every  Man."  If  there  ever 
was  a  man  who  stood  straight  up  and 
down  in  his  convictions  it  is  the  Rough 
Rider  president,  and  his  success  has 
been,  doubtless,  largely  due  to  this  fact. 
It  seems  that  the  results  of  the  recent 
election,  instead  of  bringing  to  him  an 
increased  sense  of  importance,  as  promo- 
tion does  to  some  subordinate  officials,  it 
has  rather  imbued  him  with  the  spirit  of 
Abraham  Lincoln  when  he  said  that  "if 
his  election  had  occasioned  others  pain, 


597 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


he  could  not  rejoice  in  that  fact."    He  is     give  even  one-tenth  of  what  we  have? 


the  same  hearty,  wholesome  and  humane 
man  that  he  was  when  he  first  undertook 
the  solemn  responsibilities  thrust  upon 
him  four  years  ago,  with  the  added  power 
gained  through  practical  experience. 
Perhaps  there  is  no  one  in  the  country 
who  is  so  well  able  to  provide  us  with  a 
complete,  well  written  and  interesting 
History  of  the  United  States  as  is  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt.  His  "Camp  Life  and 
Hunting  Trail"  and  other  books  of  vig- 
orous Americanism  have  become  classics 
in  eager  hands  of  American  boys  and 
girls,  and  an  admirable  text-book  for  use 
in  the  public  schools  could  be  made 
from  some  such  compilation  of  epigrams 
from  his  public  and  private  writings  and 
addresses  as  "A  Square  Deal  for  Every 
Man,"  which  was  arranged  by  Robert  J. 
Thompson  of  Chicago,  and  published  in 
the  National  Magazine  for  October. 
I  verily  believe  that  the  president  would 
ask  for  no  greater  monument  to  his 
memory  than  to  have  the  philosophy  in 
which  he  believes  and  up  to  which  he 
has  striven  to  live,  thus  to  inspire  the 
young  people  of  his  native  land  with 

lofty  ideals. 

£ 

IV? EXT  month  I  am  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  taking  with  me  to  Washington 
three  boys  from  various  parts  of  the 
country:  Simon  Simonson,  of  Boise 
City,  Idaho,  who  sold  the  largest  number 
of  magazines;  Warren  Hastings,  of  Eliza- 
beth, New  Jersey,  and  Merrill  Blosser, 
of  Napanee,  Indiana,  who  not  only  sold 
magazines,  but  sent  in  the  prize  contri- 
bution on  what  he  would  do  with  $500. 
These  contributions  were  most  inter- 
esting, and  the  contribution  of  Master 
Blosser  will  appear  in  the  National.  He 
even  infidentially  sent  us  a  drawing 
and  Dimensions  of  the  coop  for  raising 
chickens,  and  did  not  forget  that  some 
of  the  money  was  to  go  to  charity,  a 
point  too  often  overlooked  even  by  men 
of  merit  and  large  means  —  magnates,  if 
you  please  —  for  how  few  of  us  plan  to 


When  I  arrive  in  Washington  with  my 
trio,  look  out!  We  are  going  to  see  the 
senate  in  session  and  the  house  in  an 
uproar — I  mean,  of  course,  also  in  ses- 
sion. We  are  going  to  see  the  Washing- 
ton monument,  the  library  and  all  the 
other  places  of  historic  interest.  Then 
every  evening,  if  we  are  not  too  tired, 
we  are  going  to  brush  up  our  information 
on  civil  government  and  make  this  visit 
not  only  one  of  pleasure  but  one  of  last- 
ing profit  and  educational  value  through- 
out our  lives.  In  fact,  we  are  just  going 
to  have  a  good  time,  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  words;  the  same  kind  of  time  that 
the  boys  and  I  always  have,  whether  at 
the  St.  Louis  Exposition,  the  Pan-Ameri- 
can, or  in  Jamaica. 

Jl 

CPEAKING  of  the  boys,  I  think  there 
has  been  no  recent  scene  at  the  White 
House  more  interesting  to  me  than 
watching  little  Quentin  Roosevelt  en- 
gaged in  making  up  his  book  of  mono- 
grams. Attired  in  his  sailor  suit,  with 
his  bright  blue  eyes — that  remind  one  so 
much  of  his  father's- — sparkling  with  de- 
light, he  was  busy  at  the  desk  of  the  door- 
keeper. Armed  with  a  pair  of  shears 
and  various  rough  scraps  of  papers,  he 
was  cutting  out  monograms  to  be  after- 
ward pasted  into  his  book,  and  was  pur- 
suing his  task  with  all  the  energy  that 
might  be  expected  from  the  son  of  his 
energetic  father. 

How  easily  supplied  our  real  needs  are 
after  all,  provided  we  bring  enthusiasm 
to  our  work  or  play.  Here  was  the  son 
of  the  president  amusing  himself  with 
scraps  of  paper  and  a  shears  with  even 
more  enjoyment  than  magnates  clipping 
coupons,  in  a  way  that  made  grave  sena- 
tors, congressmen  and  cabinet  ministers 
recall  the  days  of  their  own  boyhood, 
and  remember  the  enthusiasm  of  those 
years  from  eight  to  twelve  years  of  age. 
When  he  gathered  all  his  clippings  into 
an  envelope  and  went  off  with  a  hoppety 


598 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


skip  across  the  waiting  room,  it  was  easy 
to  see  why  the  president  is  so  thoroughly 
in  sympathy  with  the  home  spirit  of  the 

nation. 

# 

A  STORY  was  recently  told  of  the 
elder  Judge  Peckham,  father  of  the 
justice.  In  the  early  days  of  dentistry 
a  hickory  plug  was  put  into  the  cavity 
to  fill  the  space  where  a  tooth  ought  to 
be.  This  plug  had  to  be  gently  pounded 
into  its  desired  position.  The  old  judge 
was  somewhat  addicted  to  strong  lan- 
guage, and  when  the  dentist  began  his 
work  the  judge  indulged  in  some  classic 
comment.  As  the  tapping  of  the  plug 
continued,  he  threw  all  dignity  to  the 
four  winds  of  heaven,  and  his  language 
became  decidedly  "more  forcible  than 
elegant."  When,  however,  he  arose 
from  the  chair,  after  what  seemed  to 
him  an  interminable  period  of  agony,  he 
pulled  out  all  the  stops  in  his  vocabulary 
for  a  grand  climax.  The  impression  on 
his  listener  seems  to  have  been  deep  and 
lasting.  As  the  judge  passed  out,  the 
dentist  grimly  remarked  to  a  waiting 
patient: 

"Wasn't  it  beautiful?  It  wasn't  really 
necessary  to  pound  half  as  long,  but  I 
did  so  enjoy  his  inflection  that  I  almost 
pounded  the  hickory  plug  into  splinters. 
Wonderful  command  of  language  the 
judge  has!" 

Jl 

I  WISH  I  could  give  you  a  picture  of 
the  National  Magazine  office  just  as 
it  is  this  glorious  Winter  day,  with  its 
sixty-five  windows  of  prism  glass  diffus- 
ing a  flood  of  sunlight  throughout  the 
broad  floorspace.  The  light  and  sun- 
shine are  all  pervading,  as  not  a  surly 
face  nor  sour  expression  can  be  seen. 
When  I  say  that  all  workers  in  the  Na- 
tional love  their  work,  I  am  only  record- 
ing a  unanimous  vote  spoken  in  action 
every  day.  There  is  plenty  of  good- 
nature, hope  and  enthusiasm  in  our 
office,  along  with  the  air  and  sunlight. 


But  this  is  not  all.  When  the  Dey  time- 
clock  registers  the  passing  in  and  out 
of  the  workers  at  noon,  its  chimes  have 
scarcely  died  away  before  the  sweet- 
toned  Emerson  piano  and  the  Simplex 
piano  player  begin  to  play.  Precisely 
at  twelve  o'clock  every  day,  when  the 
whistle  blows  and  the  machinery  stops, 
the  piano  player  produces  bewitching 
strains  from  the  beautiful  new  Emerson 
piano  which  adorns  our  office,  and  the 
place  is  full  of  melody  that  prepares 
everyone  for  lunch  with  a  spirit  of  good 
cheer  triumphant  —  and  good  appetites. 
Our  daily  concerts  might  be  of  interest 
to  you;  they  range  all  the  way  from  the 
Pilgrim's  Chorus  in  "Tannhauser" 
to  the  latest  phase  of  ragtime,  for  we 
must  confess  to  a  liking  for  ragtime. 
Oliver  Metra's  "Marches  des  Volon- 
taires"  is  an  especial  favorite.  When 
the  fascinating  strains  of  a  waltz  or  two- 
step  peal  out,  the  young  people  keep 
time  with  the  music  in  the  poetry  of 
motion — or,  in  plain  English,  begin  a 
dance.  In  my  office  are  growing  the 
cocoa  palms  which  we  brought  from  the 
West  Indies  trip,  and  delicate  English 
ivy  and  other  trophies  of  the  European 
trip.  Over  my  head  is  that  eagle  which 
was  sent  us  from  the  Olympics,  spread- 
ing his  wings  over  the  editorial  desk. 
Here  we  are  always  pleased  to  entertain 
visitors,  and  they  are  always  welcome  to 
come  to  the  National  office.  We  are 
located  on  the  corner  of  Dorchester  and 
Crescent  avenues,  close  to  a  little  or- 
chard of  old  apple  trees,  and  nobody 
need  fail  to  find  us,  because  the  conduc- 
tors on  the  Boston  Elevated  cars  are 
persevering  in  calling  out  "Cottage 
Street,  Crescent  Avenue  and  National 
Magazine,"  as  the  car  reaches  the  point 
on  the  avenue  opposite  our  building. 

I  write  these  lines  while  the  strains 
of  Lacalle's  "The  United  States  For- 
ever" are  being  played  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  our  noon  concert.  We  should  not 
consider  our  equipment  complete  with- 
out the  Emerson  piano  and  the  Simplex. 


DEPARTMENT      OF      PROGRESSIVE      ADVERTISERS 


FAMILY  PROTECTED. 

INDEPENDENCE 
//?  OLD  AGE  ASSURED 


By  a  POLICY  CONTRACT  in  the 

HOME  LIFE  INSURANCE  COMPANY 
of  New  York. 

(  Geo.  E .  Ide ,  President) 


fail   to  mention    "The   National    Magazine'     when   writing  to  advert  ist-r 


MARQUIS      ITO,       CHIEF      OF      THE     "ELDER      STATESMEN"      OF      JAPAN,      PRINCIPAL 
ADVISER     OF     THE      MIKADO     AND     ONE     OF     THE     FOREMOST     AMONG     THE 

BUILDERS     OF     MODERN     JAPAN 
From  a  stereograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 


THE       CZAR       AND       THE       CZARINA,       FROM       A       RECENT       PHOTOGRAPH.  —  HARDLY 

ANYONE     ELSE     ON     EARTH     HAS     BEEN     MORE     IN     THE     PUBLIC      EYE     DURING 

THE     LAST     YEAR     THAN     THIS     ROYAL     PAIR,     WHOSE      THRONE     HAS     OF 

LATE    APPEARED    TO    BE    MENACED    BY    A    VOLCANO    OF    REVOLT 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 


VOL.  XXI. 


MARCH,     1905 


No.  6. 


/fairs  af  Washington 


WORLD  events  present  graphic  pic- 
tures in  contrast.  On  Sunday,  Janu- 
ary 22,  I  saw  President  Roosevelt  sitting 
in  his  pew  in  the  Dutch  Reformed 
church  in  Washington.  An  edifice  plain 
— even  to  severity;  no  glittering  altar  or 
candles.  Behind  the  pulpit  five  panels 
of  oak  on  which  was  carved  the  cross. 
The  massive  beams  overhead  were 
rugged  reminders  of  the  sturdy  people 
that  followed  Zwingli  when  he  differed 
with  Martin  Luther.  Through  the  four 
large  stained  glass  windows  on  one  side 


poured  the  Winter  sun,  lighting  up  the 
simplicity  of  the  interior.  The  pastor 
delivered  his  message  of  the  gospel, 
emphasizing  the  virtue  of  being  "doers 
of  the  Word"  —  work,  hardship  and 
vigorous  service  for  the  Master  were 
what  he  urged  upon  his  flock. 

It  was  a  glimpse  of  the  inner  life  of 
a  president  reared  in  the  atmosphere 
of  self-reliant,  religious  teaching.  The 
sturdy  Dutch  spirit  of  the  Reforma- 
tion was  here  reflected.  In  this  worship 
all  distinctions  were  dissolved.  There 


THE      PENSION      BUILDING,      WHERE      THE      INAUGURAL      BALL      IS      TO      TAKE      PLACE 


578 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


was  no, surpliced  choir;  the  singing,  in 
which  all  joined  earnestly,  with  fervor 
worthy  of  their  ancestors,  was  led  by  a 
single  chorister. 

The  pastor  made  a  mistake  in  the  num- 
ber of  the  hymn  announced.  He  saw 
the  look  of  dismay  on  the  face  of  the 
chorister,  arose,  begged  pardon  for  his 
error  and  made  it  117  instead  of  115. 
This  incident  served  to  show  the  uncon- 
ventionality  of  the  service  —  it  might 
have  been  a  family  worship,  so  free  was 
it  from  all  formality.  After  heartily  join- 
ing in  the  Doxology,  three  Amens  were 
sung  by  the  congregation  and  the  presi- 
dent and  that  little  assembly  received 
the  benediction  of  the  pastor  and  passed 
out  into  the  Winter  sunshine. 

Attired  in  a  "Prince  Albert,"  wearing 
no  overcoat,  and  carrying  his  gloves,  the 
president  walked  vigorously  to  the  White 
House.  No  equerries  awaited  him  at  the 
door,  no  guard  with  clanking  sabers,  no 
equipage  of  ornate  design.  Raising  his 
hat  to  the  people  right  and  left,  he 


walked  quickly  on.  A  friend  in  an  auto- 
mobile sped  by;  the  drivers  of  carriages 
slackened  their  pace  to  permit  the  presi- 
dent to  cross  before  them.  And  Theodore 
Roosevelt  returned  home  from  divine 
worship  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  that 
Winter  day,  guarded  only  by  the  love, 
confidence  and  friendship  of  his  country- 
men, armed  with  an  appreciation  of 
the  real  spirit  of  democracy  and  an 
intelligent  and  honest  sympathy  with  his 
fellow  men.  What  higher  attribute 
could  any  ruler  possess? 

Contrast  this  scene  with  that  on  the 
banks  of  the  Neva  at  the  same  hour  of 
the  same  day.  Picture  the  czar  of  all 
Russia  at  worship,  with  the  same  Winter 
sun  pouring  in  through  the  cathedral 
windows;  the  rich  robes  of  priests,  the 
chanting  of  choirs;  the  luxury  of 
the  Romanoff  dynasty.  Outside  in  the 
Admiralty  Square  were  the  people  plead- 
ing for  help  and  sympathy  from  the 
"Little  Father."  Surrounded  by  dukes 
and  courtiers,  guards  and  cordons  of 


A     VIEW     OF     THE      GREAT       INNER       COURT   "  OF      THE       PENSION       BUILDING,     WHICH 

IS      TO      BE     THE      SCENE     OF     SPLENDID     FESTIVITIES      ON      THE 

OCCASION      OF      THE      INAUGURAL      BALL 


A     NEW     PHOTOGRAPH      OF      THE      MEMBERS     OF     THE     CIVIL     SERVICE     COMMISSION; 

GENERAL     JOHN      C.      BLACK,     CHAIRMAN,     SEATED;      ALFORD      W.      COOLEY     AT 

HIS     RIGHT,      AND      HENRY     F.     GREENE     BEHIND      HIM 

Photograph  by  the  Illustrated  Press  Association 


58o 


NATIONAL  _MAGAZi\K    for    MARCH,    1905 


MISS     EVELYN      WALSH,     THE      LOVELY     YOUNG      DAUGHTER     OF 
MB.     AND    MRS.     THOMAS     F.     WALSH     OF     WASHINGTON 


armed  men,  the  emperor's  sympathy  for 
his  fellow  men  on  that  fatal  Sabbath  was 
expressed  in  crimson  tears1— the  blood  of 
his  people  reddening  the  snow. 

And  yet  in  the  heart  of  Nicholas,  sur- 
rounded by  his  little  family,  there  may 
have  been  an  earnest  prayer  for  peace. 
In  those  moments  when -a  throne  was 
shaken  by  the  hoarse  cries  of  incipient 
revolution,  lie'  may  have  trembled  —  a 
prisoner,  —  the  pulsation  of  human 
sympathy  with  his  people  shut  off  by 
the  traditions  of  his  realm:  an  auto- 
crat and  yet  unable  to  enforce  his 
God-given  impulses.  Irony  of  fate, 
when  two  of  the  greatest  nations  of  the 


earth,    under   the    same    Winter's   sun, 
present  such  varied  pictures. 

The  scenes  of  history  shift  as  the  acts 
of  governments  proceed,  enlarging  or 
contracting  the  great  heart-power  of  the 
peoples  of  the  earth. 


/"\N  the  Monday  morning  following,  I 
had  a  peep  into  the  president's  private 
office  before  the  work  of  the  day  had 
begun.  It  was  only  a  few  minutes  after 
eight.  The  fire  in  the  grate  had  just 
been  started.  The  personal  characteris- 
tics of  the  president  were  indicated  in 
that  office.  Over  the  mantel  is  a  large 


AFFAIRS    AT  WASHINGTON 


SENORITA  ROSA  ALVAREZ  CALDERON,  THE  SECOND 'DAUGHTER 
OF   SENOR   MANUEL   ALVAREZ  '  CALDERON,   THE   MINI- 

ISTKR     FROM     PERU 
.  Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clinedinst 


painting  of  Lincoln  and  also  a  small 
basrelief.  On  a  tiny  brass  tablet  was  a 
facsimile  of  an  autograph  copy  of  the 
sonnet  "Opportunity,"  by  the  late  Sena- 
tor John  J.  Ingalls,  and  on  the  same 
shelf  were  the  stirring  verses  of  "God 
Save  the  Nation,"  by  J.  G.  Holland. 

On  the  desk  was  a  bouquet  of  light 
pink  carnations,  and  a  cluster  of  the 
president's  favorite  flower,  the  dainty 
heliotrope,  giving  out  a  delicate  perfume. 
A  number  of  books  were  scattered  about, 
and  among  them  I  noticed  Taine's  "His- 
tory of  the  French  Revolution,"  Bnsho- 


da's  "Soul  of  Japan,"  and  reports  and 
documents  in  true  literary  array,  which 
suggested  that  the  president  never  loses 
a  moment,  but  gathers,  in  a  brief  breath- 
ing space  from  work,  information  and  in- 
spiration from  his  books.  Everything 
was  adapted  for  work;  the  little  cane- 
seated  chair  in  which  he  sits  is  sim- 
plicity itself.  On  his  desk,  under  the 
paper-weight,  was  an  accumulation  of 
official  papers  that  represented  an  ardu- 
ous morning's  work.  Business-like  and 
simple  was  the  office,  yet  there  were 
the  little  details  that  spoke  of  the  char- 


582 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


REPRESENTATIVE   HENRY   D.  CLAYTON   OF  ALABAMA,  IN   A 

PERSUASIVE     MOOD 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904.  by  Clinedinst 


acter  of  the  occupant.  By  the  fireplace 
was  a  large  globe,  perhaps  three  feet  in 
diameter,  and  I  noticed  that  the  map  of 
Russia  was  turned  toward  the  chair  of 
the  president,  so  as  to  be  within  his 
direct  gaze. 

When  the  president  came  into  the 
office  at  nine  o'clock  prepared  for  work, 
it  was  with  the  manner  of  one  who  loves 
his  occupation.  It  was  not  long  before 


the  anterooms  were  thronged  with  dis- 
tinguished visitors  from  many  nations 
of  the  world. 

One  little  incident  impressed  me, 
showing  that  the  spirit  of  that  Sunday 
worship  abides  through  the  week  of  hard 
work.  In  talking  with  him  for  a  few 
minutes,  he  remarked  that  his  favorite 
poem  is  Julia  Ward  Howe's  ''Battle 
Hymn  of  the  Republic,"  and  somehow 


AFFAIRS    AT   WASHINGTON 


583 


REPRESENTATIVE      JOHN     DALZELL     OF      PENNSYLVANIA,      KING 

OF    THE     "  STAND-PATTERS "    AND    A     POWER    IN    TARIFF 

LEGISLATION,  —   INCIDENTALLY       ONE       OF      THE 

HANDSOME      MEN      OF      THE      HOUSE 

Photograph  by  dined  inst 


the  speech  and  action  of  the  man  at 
once  swung  into  the  rhythm  of  the 
lines. 

£ 

IN  the  state  department  just  across  the 
street,  another  notable  man  was  early 
at  work  on  that  bright  Monday  morning. 
The  nation  appreciates  the  work  of  John 
Hay,  who  is  depriving  himself  of  all 


social  and  other  pleasures  toward  which 
he  would  naturally  incline  in  order  to 
understand  the  needs  of  state  upon  which 
he  concentrates  and  rivets  his  whole  at- 
tention. His  desk  is  covered  with  docu- 
ments of  vital  importance  to  the  nations 
of  the  world.  Here  he  sits  greeting  the 
diplomats  hour  by  hour,  and  intuitively 
grasping  world  situations  with  a  finesse 


584 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for   MARCH,    1905 


that  has  never  been  surpassed.     Straight, 
sturdy  and  square  is  the  characteristic 


mail,  his  brow  wrinkled  in  deep  thought, 
it  seemed  as  though  he  were  painting 


REPRESENTATIVE       CHARLES       H.       GROSVENOR       OF        OHIO,       THE 
LIGHTNING        CALCULATOR        OF       THE      REPUBLICAN       PARTY 
AND     ONE     OF     ITS      REAL      LEADERS      IN     THE     HOUSE, 
GIVING    AN  .  IMITATION     OF    HIS    PARTY     SHOWER- 
ING     THE      BLESSINGS        OF       PROSPERITY 

UPON      THE      LAND 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clmedinst 


touch  given  by  John  Hay  to  American 
diplomacy. 

As  I  sat   and   watched  him  open  his 


a  mental  picture  which  only  the  future 
could  reveal.  But  with  all  this  deep 
concentration  of  thought  there  is  mixed 


AFFAIRS     AT     WASHINGTON 


5*5 


THE    HOUSE    COMMITTEE    THAT   VOTED    TO    IMPEACH    FEDERAL    JUDGE    SWAYNE. 

—  FROM   LEFT   TO   RIGHT,   SEATED:   DE   ARMGND,   POWERS,  PALMER,  CLAYTON, 

PARKER;    STANDING:    GILLETTE,    LITTLEFIELD 


keen  sympathy  for  his  fellow  man.  His 
great  policy  of  the  open  door  in  the  Far 
East  and  his  note  of  neutrality  to  Japan 
and  Russia  are  among  those  things 
that  have  marked  the'  nation's  grasp  of 
diplomatic  affairs,  and  which  prove  that 
Secretary  John  Hay  has  a  clear  under- 
standing of  and  sympathy  with  all  that 
concerns  other  countries  as  well  as  his 
own.  His  protection  of  China,  actuated 
by  the  highest  of  human  motives,  has 
become  an  international  policy;  the 
treatment  of  Spain,  following  the  Span- 
ish-American war,  in  fact  all  the  nego- 
tiations of  the  state  department  under 
the  touch  of  John  Hay,  have  been  tem- 
perate and  kindly  and  have  shown  an 
appreciation  of  the  rights  of  others. 

31 

rvOWN  the  darkened  corridor  I  passed 
into  the  room  of  General  Adna  N. 
Chaffee,  commander  of  the  army.  In 
the  corner  of  the  office  was  a  bust  of 
Sheridan,  and  on  the  walls  hung  por- 
traits of  noted  American  soldiers.  The 
general  is  a  stalwart  man,  every  inch  a 


soldier.  He  wears  the  treble-star  insignia 
of  his  rank.  On  his  coat  front  are  two 
rows  of  buttons,  and  I  had  a  good 
view  of  these  as  I  entered,  for  the  coat 
was  buttoned  up  and  the  wearer 
pa-cing  to  and  fro  in  military  style. 
After  he  greeted  me,  he  sat  down  at 
his  desk  and  adjusted  a  large  pair  of 
bone-rimmed  "specs,"  and  I  looked  into 
the  kindly  eyes,  almost  hidden  under 
their  shaggy  brows. 

No  matter  how  rigorous  may  be  his 
discipline,  I  was  impressed  with  the 
idea  that  here  was  a  man  who  had  come 
from  the  ranks  of  the  people  armed  to 
the  full  with  the  capacity  for  sympathy 
with  his  fellow  man,  sympathy  in  its 
highest  and  best  sense. 

Asked  concerning  the  chances  of 
the  American  boy  jn  an  army  career 
he  said:  "Why  not?  The  possibili- 
ties are  as  great  for  a  soldier  in  peace 
as  in  war.  It  is  not  always  the  historic 
deeds,  applauded  by  trumpet  notes,  that 
counts  most  for  the  country.  It  is  the 
quiet  service  that  counts.  Good  Ameri- 
can courage  is  worth  just  as  much 


586 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    MARCH,    1905 


SENATOR-ELECT    FRANK     P.    FLINT     OF    CALIFORNIA,    THE    SUC- 
CESSOR   OF     MR.    BARD,     WAS     BORN    IN     MASSACHUSETTS 
AND    WENT    WEST    TO    GET    RELIEF    FROM    ASTHMA. 
HE   IS    A    LAWYER    AND    FRUIT-GROWER    AND 
SAYS     HE     AGREES     WITH      THE      PRESI- 
DENT'S   VIEWS   ON    CORPORATIONS 
Photograph  by  Schumacher,  Los  Angeles 


today   as   it    ever    was." 

There  are  few  men  in  public  life  who 
can  tell  a  better  story  than  General 
Chaffee. 

My  visit  bore  fruit  in  a  promise  from 
the  warrior  that  I  know  will  be  appre- 
ciated by  the  readers  of  the  National. 
He  is  going  to  relate  to  me  from  time 
to  time  incidents  of  his  own  life  and 
.career,  which  I  am  sure  will  be 


of    deep    interest    to   all   our   readers. 


IN  connection  with  the  army  service,  it 
seems  to  me  that  there  is  nothing  that 
is  more  gratifying  to  Uncle  Sam  than 
the  generous  way  in  which  the  disabled 
or  old  soldiers  are  provided  for,  as  illus- 
trated in  the  recent  meeting  of  the  board 
of  managers  of  the  national  soldiers' 


AFFAIRS    AT   WASHINGTON 


587 


SENATOR     ORVILLE     H.    PLATT     OF    CONNECTICUT,     A     VETERAN 

STATESMAN    OF     THE     HIGHEST     CONTEMPORARY     RANK 

Photograph  by  Clinedinst 


homes  for  volunteer  soldiers.  These 
homes  were  first  established  by  act  of 
congress  in  1866,  and  the  appropriation 
is  $3,807,689,  which  provides  for  25,000 
veterans  of  the  Civil  War. 

No  other  nation  in  the  world  deals  so 
generously  with  its  soldiers  as  does 
America.  True,  there  is  an  institution 
in  Chelsea,  England,  and  there  is 
Des  Invalides  in  France,  which  partake 
of  the  nature  of  the  American  homes, 
but  they  are  not  so  complete.  Our  sys- 
tem of  national  homes  for  volunteer  sol- 
diers was  the  outgrowth  of  the  national 


soldiers'  home  in  Washington  for  the 
regular  army,  which  was  established  in 
1851,  and  up  to  this  time  has  never  cost 
the  government  one  penny,  as  it  is  en- 
tirely provided  for  by  the  soldiers  them- 
selves. This  is  done  by  means  of  a  pay- 
ment at  first  of  twelve  and  one-half  cents 
per  month,  paid  in  by  the  enlisted  men. 
All  moneys  left  by  the  soldiers,  or  any 
gratuities  are  turned  into  this  fund,  and 
it  is  most  creditable  to  the  regular  army 
of  the  United  States  that  this  institution 
has  been  so  well  maintained  as  to  re- 
quire no  appropriation.  There  are  now 


588 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    MARCH,    1905 


950   veterans   in   the   national   home  at 

Washington. 

Jl 

OMING  out  of  the  war  department, 
I  met  Secretary  Shaw  on  his  way 
over  to  the  treasury  building.  I  think 
there  is  no  one  in  public  life  in  Wash- 
ington who  can  talk  more  lucidly  upon 
any  given  subject  than  can  the  secretary. 

Once  inside  his  room,  I  saw  that 
a  mass  of  business  awaited  him,  includ- 
ing numerous  applications  for  adjustment 
on  cases  of  importation.  It  is  one  thing 
to  have  a  protective  tariff,  but  it  is  quite 
another  thing  to  have  a  department  that 
enforces  it  in  the  spirit  of  protection  and 
for  the  benefit  of  American  workmen. 
One  of  the  cases  under  discussion  was 
where  goods  had  been  bought  in  Europe 
at  a  special  discount  at  a  season  when 
they  were  not  in  demand,  then  shipped 
over  here  later,  when  their  value  was 
much  more,  but  still  entered  at  the  dis- 
count rate  for  payment  of  duty.  The 


CAPTAIN       JOHN      W.      WEEKS,     REPRESENTATIVE- 
ELECT   FROM    THE    TWELFTH    MASSACHUSETTS 
DISTRICT,  SUCCEEDING     SAMUEL     POWERS 
Photograph  by  Chickering 


position  taken  by  the  treasury  depart- 
ment was  that  the  value  of  those  articles 
at  the  time  of  shipment,  when  they  were 
sent  over  for  competition  with  products 
of  American  workmen,  was  considerably 
more  than  the  price  originally  paid,  and 
this  was  taken  into  consideration  in  ad- 
justing the  duty  on  them.  It  was  con- 
sidered unfair  to  American  workmen  to 
take  the  cheap  manufactures  of  dull 
months  in  foreign  factories  and  place 
them  in  competition  with  the  well  paid 
labor  of  our  own  men. 

Hardly  had  the  secretary  finished  lis- 
tening to  the  appeals  of  some  importers, 
supported  by  congressmen,  when  he  was 
confronted  by  "Uncle  Joe"  Cannon, 
speaker  of  the  house.  Uncle  Joe  came 
in  brisk  and  business-like,  though  he 
stated  that  he  came  for  "nothing  in  par- 
ticular, but  just  for  a  call."  There  was 
an  inquiring  glance  from  the  secretary. 

"I  thought  I  would  drop  in  to  see 
about  money  matters,  incidentally,"  said 
Uncle  Joe  who  keeps  a  keen  watch  on 
the  situation  in  regard  to  finance  and 
wants  to  know  just  how  the  money  is 
spent — and  where  it  is  coming  from. 

Unlike  many  speakers,  Uncle  Joe  is 
very  active  in  getting  into  close  touch 
with  not  only  the  gavel  exercises  at  his 
desk,  but  with 'all  that  goes  on  in  the 
departments.  I  have  met  him  in  nearly 
every  public  building,  on  all  kinds  of 
days  and  at  varying  hours  when  con- 
gress was  not  in  session.  In  this  way  he 
spends  his  days,  and  in  the  evenings,  if 
he  attends  any  function,  he  gives  the 
assembly  a  touch  of  that  homely,  com- 
mon-sense eloquence  that  characterizes 
the  man,  and  reminds  the  hearer  of 
Abraham  Lincoln. 

AS  I  was  leaving  the  treasury  denart- 
men  I  saw  a  tall  form  made  taller 
still  by  a  shining  silk  hat,  coming 
down  the  street.  It  was  unnecessary  to 
resort  to  a  telescope  to  find  out  that  this 
was  Vice  President-elect  Fairbanks.  At 
his  side  was  a  schoolmate  of  the  early 


AFFAIRS    AT   WASHINGTON 


589 


THE     BOARD     OF     MANAGERS     OF     THE     NATIONAL     SOLDIERS      HOME 

From  left  to  right,  standing— Captain  Henry  E.  Palmer,  Omaha,  Nebraska;  Colonel  Walter  P.  Brawn  low, 
Jonesboro,  Tennessee;  John  M.  Holley,  La  Crosse,  Wisconsin;  General  Charles  M,  Anderson,  second 
vice  president,  Greenville,  Ohio ;  Major  William  Warner,  Kansas  City,  Missouri. 

From  left  to  right,  seated  —  General  J.  Marshall  Brown,  Portland,  Maine;  Colonel  Henry  H.  Markham, 
Pasadena,  California ;  General  Martin  T.  McMahon,  president,  New  York ;  Colonel  George  W.  Steele, 
secretary,  Marion,  Indiana;  General  Thomas  J.  Henderson,  first  vice  president,  Princeton;  Illinois. 
Photograph  by  the  National  Press  Association 


days,  who  had  come  to  Washington  to 
bear  the  ballot  of  his  state. 

The  vice  president  frequently  walks 
from  his  home  to  the  capitol,  which  is 
a  distance  of  about  three  miles,  and  if 
ever  any  of  his  friends  feel  the  need  of 
exercise,  I  would  advise  them  to  try 
keeping  up  with  those  long  legs,  that 
stride  over  the  ground  at  such  a  rapid 
pace,  though  never  too  swiftly  to  stop 
for  a  greeting  with  a  friend; 

The  vice  president  spoke  at  the  Mc- 
Kinley  banquet  January  31,  and  his 
was  indee4  an  eloquent  tribute. 


It  does  not  require  a  great  deal  of 
penetration  to  see  that  Senator  Fair- 
banks gave  up  his  arduous  work  in  the 
senate  with  reluctance  to  take  the  office 
of  vice  president,  for  as  chairman  of  the 
committee  on  public  buildings  and 
grounds  he  had  planned  and  accom- 
plished much  toward  providing  the  gov- 
ernment with  adequate  quarters,  and  has 
done  much  to  beautify  the  capital. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  We  walked 
through  the  capitol  grounds,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a  faint 
suggestion  of  Spring  in  the  air.  The 


5go 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


REPRESENTATIVE    VESPASIAN    WARNER    OF  ILL- 
INOIS,    WHO     SUCCEEDS     E.     F.     WARE      OF 

KANSAS   AS    PENSION    COMMISSIONER 
Photograph  copyrighted,  1904,  by  Clinedinst 

vice  president  seemed  to  be  in  tune 
with  the  spirit  of  the  day,  and  here  again 
in  this  close,  intimate  friend  of  McKin- 
ley,  I  caught  another  glimpse  of  the 
homely,  friendly,  democratic  qualities 
that  distinguish  American  public  men. 

<£ 

I  WENT  over  to  the  house  side  about 

noon.     Speaker  Cannon  came  in  five 

minutes  before  the  hour  with  Congress- 


man Tawney  of  Minnesota.  He  stopped 
to  hold  one  of  the  old-time  political  con- 
ferences with  his  arm  on  the  congress- 
man's shoulder,  but  just  on  the  stroke  of 
noon,  the  conference  was  over  and  the 
gavel  in  the  left  hand  of  the  speaker 
came  down  with  its  accustomed  force 
and  decision.  Scarcely  had  the  "Amen" 
been  said  at  the  conclusion  of  the  prayer 
before  out  came  another  folded  handker- 
chief, to  be  flourished  and  shaken  free 
of  creases  and  the  business  of  the  house 
began.  When  the  house  is  in  committee 
of  the  whole,  Uncle  Joe  holds  his  salon 
in  the  speaker's  room,  and  it  is  there 
that  you  can  see  him  at  his  best,  in  the 
midst  of  his  work  and  yet  relieved  from 
the  strain  of  presiding  over  the  house. 

The  lobby  of  the  house,  before  the 
opening  of  the  regular  sessions,  I  have 
always  found  to  be  a  pleasant  place  for 
a  chat  with  the  various  congressmen, 
and  there  are  three  in  whom  I  am  spe- 
cially interested.  One  of  these  is  Judge 
B.  F.  Birdsall  from  the  third  district  in 
Iowa,  who  succeeded  Speaker  Hender- 
son, and  who  hails  from  the  district  in 
which  I  was  born,  so  that  I  always  feel 
that  I  have  a  sort  of  relationship  with 
him  and  look  for  his  pleasant  greeting. 
Then  there  is  Mr.  Webb  H.  Brown  from 
the  Wisconsin  district  where  I  lived  for 
many  years,  and  who  has  made  a  splen- 
did record  during  his  two  terms  in  the 
service.  The  third  of  "my  members'* 
is  Congressman  Powers,  for  whom  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  voting.  His  name  is 
familiar  to  almost  everyone  on  account 
of  the  work  he  has  done  on  the  commit- 
tee in  charge  of  the  Swayne  impeach- 
ment proceedings.  Mr.  Powers  has  re- 
tired to  continue  the  practice  of  law,  and 
he  is  to  be  succeeded  by  Captain  John, 
W.  Weeks. 

Among  the  new  congressmen,  none 
will  enter  the  historic  halls  of  the  nation 
with  brighter  prospects  than  Captain 
John  W.  Weeks,  of  the  Newton-Brook- 
line  district,  Massachusetts.  Inasmuch 
as  I  was  a  voter  in  his  district  at  the^ 


REPRESENTATIVE    AND    SENATOR-ELECT    JAMES    A.    HEMENWAY     OF    INDIANA, 
WHO    SUCCEEDS     VICE    PRESIDENT-ELECT     FAIRBANKS    IN     THE    UPPER 

HOUSE     OF     CONGRESS 
Photograph  copy  righted,  1904.  by  dined  inst 


592 


AFFAIRS   AT  WASHINGTON 


OUTLINE  MAP  SHOWING  THE  SIZE  OF  THE 
PROPOSED  STATE  OF  ARIZONA  (TO  BE  COM- 
POSE!) OK  THE  TERRITORIES  OF  NEW  MEXICO 
AND  ARIZONA)  AS  COMPARED  WITH  THAT  OF 
TEXAS.— ALTOGETHER  TOO  LARGE;  THE  TERRI- 
TORIES SHOULD  BE  ADMITTED  SEPARATELY 
AND  AT  ONCE,  THOUGH  OKLAHOMA  AND  IN- 
DIAN '  TERRITORY  MIGHT  FAIRLY  BE  UNITED 
IN  ONE  STATE 


time  of  the  election*  I,  as  well  as  a  host 
of  other  friends,  feel  a  deep  personal  in- 
terest in  his  career;  and  I  believe  that 
no  man  ever  went  to  congress  more  thor- 
oughly qualified  for  the  work  than  is 
Captain  Weeks.  '  His  long  service  as 
mayor  of  Newton,- where  he  was  the 
unanimous  choice  of  his  neighbors  year 
after  year  and  administered  the  local  gov- 
ernment in  a  manner  never  surpassed, 
has  given  him  an  opportunity  to  gain 
fundamental  experience  in  civikgovern- 
ment.  Strong  and  vigorous,  the  new 
congressman  has  a  most  attractive  per- 
sonality. 

The  service  rendered  by  Captain  Weeks 
in  the  naval  militia  of  Massachusetts, 
previous  to  and  during  the  Spanish- 
American  war,  won  for  him  the  highest' 
praise  from  the  navy  department.  A 
graduate  of  Annapolis,  he. has  always  felt 
a  very  keen  interest  in  the  naval  affairs 
of  the  country,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped.that 
Speaker  Cannon,  in  making  up  his 
committees,  will  not  overlook  this  fact, 
because  it  would  be  a  positive  loss  not 
to  have  the  benefit  of  the  knowledge 
which  Captain  Weeks  possesses  applied 


to  naval  affairs  during  his  term  in  con- 
gress. Few  men  enter  congress  with 
more  hearty  and  cordial  support  from 
their  home  district. 


THERE  was  something  suggestive  of 
the  formality  of  old  colonial  days  in 
the  opening  of  the  impeachment  trial  of 
United  States  Judge  Swayne  of  the 
northern  district  of  Florida.  Six  chairs 
were  set  before  the  front  row  of  seats 
on  the  republican  side,  and  when  the 
managers  on  the  part  of  the  house  ap- 
peared at  the  door,  there  was  an  immedi- 
ate/cessation of  all  other  business. 

When  the  representatives  appeared  in 
the  rear  of  the  senate  chamber  they  were 
announced  by  Alonzo  H.  Stewart,  assis- 
tant sergeant  -  at  -  arms  of  the  senate. 
When  the  representatives  had  taken  their 
seats  in  the  front  row,  Sergeant-at-arms 
Ransdell  ascended  to  the  speaker's  stand 
and  impressively  demanded  silence  by 
repeating  the  old  formula: 

"Hear  ye!  Hear  ye!  All  persons  are 
commanded  to  keep  silence  on  pain  of 
imprisonment,  while  the  house  of  repre- 
sentatives is  exhibiting  to  the  senate  of 
the  United  States  articles  of  impeach- 
ment against  Charles  Swayne,  district 
judge  for  the  northern  district  of 
Florida." 

The  articles  of  impeachment  were  read 
by  Representative  Palmer  and  the  house 
managers  withdrew  in  stately  fashion. 
The  senate  then  chose  Senators  Fair- 
-  banks  and  Bacon  to  notify  the  supreme 
court.  At  two  o'clock  Chief  Justice 
Fuller,  in  bis  official  black  robes,  en- 
tered and  was  escorted  to  the  presiding 
officer's  desk,  and  the  impeachment 
tria*!,  the  first  on  record  since  that  of 
.Secretary  of  War  Belknap  in  1876,  began. 
Senator  Platt  was  chosen,  at  the  request 
of  Senator  Frye,  to  preside  over  the  sen- 
ate while  it  is  sitting  as  a  court. 

An  appropriation  of  $40,000  was  made 
for  the  trial,  which  is  regarded  by  many 
prominent  senators  as  a  farcical  proceed- 


AFFAIRS   AT   WASHINGTON 


593 


ing,  the  outgrowth  of  animus  rather  than 
a  sincere  seeking  for  justice.  But  the 
edict  of  the  house  for  an  impeachment 
had  to  be  obeyed,  and  it  will,  at  least, 
furnish  a  variety  in  the  program  of  the 
work  of  congress  during  this  session, 
however  much  delay  it  may  occasion  in 
the  adjustment  of  other  matters. 


IN  the  house  restaurant  I  was  im- 
pressed with  the  change  that  has  come 
over  the  character  of  the  food  ordered 
by  the  members  of  congress  there  during 
the  past  few  years.  I  believe  I  did  not 
see  a  single  meat  order  in  the  number 
of  lunches  served  that  day.  Congress- 
man McCleary  of  Minnesota  was  well 
content  with  a  simple  bowl  of  custard, 
which  "mother  used  to  make."  Mr. 
Burleigh  of  Maine  had  mince  pie  and 
baked  apple.  Judge  Palmer,  who  is  con- 


ducting the  Swayne  trial,  sat  contentedly 
munching  zwiebach  and  thinking,  and 
the  luncheon  of  Congressman  Vreeland 
of  New  Jersey  was  equally  simple.  If 
the  appropriations  of  the  present  congress 
are  to  be  gauged  by  the  costliness  of  the 
food  consumed  in  the  restaurant,  we  may 
be  sure  that  they  will  come  within  bounds 
that  will  be  entirely  satisafctory  even  to 
, Uncle  Joe  Cannon. 

A  great  many  called  for  "half  and 
half,"  and  it  flashed  across  my  mind, 
"Is  it  possible  that  our  national  legisla- 
ture is  breaking  the  rule  against  the 
serving  of  intoxicants?"  But  when  the 
''half  and  half"  appeared  I  found  that 
it  was  nothing  more  alarming  than  half 
milk  and  half  cream,  and  I  think  at  least 
half  of  the  congressmen  there  had  this 
with  crackers  as  their  lunch,  while  they 
discussed  the  important  and  weighty 
matters  of  the  government.  So,  after 


THE      JOLLY       LITTLE       DAUGHTERS      OF      MINISTER      CALDERON      SETTING      OUT      FOR 

SCHOOL      IN      WASHINGTON 


594 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  MARCH,    1905 


SENATOR       ALEXANDER       STEPHENS       CLAY      OF 
GEORGIA,    QUIET,    DEEP,     FAR-SIGHTED 

all,  it  looks  as  though  the  influence  of 
Charles  Wagner's  "Simple  Life"  is  be- 
ginning to  make  itself  felt,  and  it  may 
be  that  we  shall  become  more  and  more 
imbued  with  the  conviction  that  very  lit- 
tle is  required  for  the  actual  necessities 
of  life.  I  have  nowhere  seen  this  trend 
of  modern  thought  more  emphasized 
than  in  the  house  restaurant  in  the 
national  capitol.  Nor  does  this  sim- 
plicity mean  that  the  legislators  snatch 
a  hasty  meal  and  rush  away — on  the  con- 
trary, they  take  time  to  talk  over  and 
discuss  what  has  been  done  and  is  still 
to  be  done  in  the  house. 

Governor  Deneen  of  Illinois  is  evi- 
dently one  of  those  who  aspire  to  "the 
simple  life,"  since  he  has  decided  to  do 


SENORA  DONA    MARIA    SAGASETA    DE     GAMBOA, 

THE    WIFE    OF    THE  FIRST     SECRETARY    OF 

THE    MEXICAN     EMBASSY    AND    A    TYPE 

OF    MEXICAN     BEAUTY 
Photograph  by  Clinedinst 

without  a  personal  military  staff,  finding 
no  law  that  compelled  him  to  have  one. 
No  gold  lace;  no  more  curvetting 
horses  and  gallant  riders  with  martial 
air  and  glittering  swords  for  him. 

Jl 

/CONGRESSMAN  McCLEARY  of 
Minnesota  will  likely  be  the  next 
chairman  of  the  appropriations  commit- 
tee, and  he  is  specially  fitted  for  the 
post.  A  teacher  for  many  years,  he  has 
the  faculty  of  lucidly  explaining  matters, 
and  is  a  careful  and  close  student  of 
public  events.  He  has  written  text- 
books on  civil  government  which  have 


AFFAIRS    AT   WASHINGTON 


$$5 


SENATOR     WILLIAM     MORRIS     STEWART     OF     NEVADA,     WHO     RETIRES      FROM    PUBLIC 
LIFE    ON     MARCH    4TH     AFTER    SERVING    FIVE    TERMS    IN    THE    UPPER    HOUSE 

been  in  use  for  many  years  in  schools     one  of  those  men  who  do  their  work 
and  academies  in  this  country.     He  is     quietly  but  thoroughly,  and  he  is  also 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


an  effective  speaker.  His  famous  speech 
of  '96  had  more,  perhaps,  to  do  with  the 
deciding  of  the  currency  conflict  than 
any  other  one  document  on  that  subject. 
I  have  often  heard  him  spoken  of  as 


most  distinguished  legislative  body  in 
the  world,  and  goes  into  new  undertak- 
ings with  all  the  buoyancy  and  enthusi- 
asm of  youth.  It  was  late  in  the  after- 
noon that  I  had  a  chat  with  Senator 


SENATOR     LEE     SLATER     OVERMAN     OF  NORTH     CAROLINA,  A 

LAWYER,     AN     L.   L.   D.     OF     TRINITY  COLLEGE     AND     A 

MAN       INCLINED      TO      LOOK     ON  THE       SUNNY 

SIDE     OF     LIFE 


"Congressman    McCleary, 
that    speech    in    '96." 


who    made 


IT   is  a  rare   privilege  to  talk  with  a 

United  States  senator  who  deliberately 

and  of  his  own  choice  retires  from  the 

senate  after  thirty  years  of  service  in  the 


Stewart  of  Nevada  in  the  room  of  his 
committee  on  Indian  affairs.  Seated  at 
a  long  table,  strewn  with  big  volumes 
bound  in  calf,  I  found  the  senator  who 
has  been  such  a  familiar  figure  for  years 
past,  and  he  seemed  to  be  just  in  the 
right  mood  for  a  chat.  I  ventured  to  ask 
him  first  whether  it  was  necessary 


AFFAIRS    AT    WASHINGTON 


597 


for  a  young  man  with  a  political  career 
in  view  to  take  up  a  special  college 
course  in  the  study  of  economics  and 
government.  In  his  gruff,  hearty  way 
the  patriarch  from  Nevada  said: 

"Begin  at  the  bottom  and  work  up. 
Understand  the  political  fabric  and  your 
constituency  before  you  attempt  to  rep- 
resent them." 

We  were  interrupted  by  a  number  of 
Indians,  who  seemed  to  look  on  the 
senator  as  their  special  advocate,  and  it 
is  true  that  he  has  proven  himself  to  be 
absolutely  faithful  to  their  interests.  On 
their  departure,  he  grimly  remarked  to 
me:  "I  have  been  on  both  sides  of  the 
senate  and  know  how  it  goes." 

When  he  had  completed  his  work  on 
the  amendment  to  the  Indian  appropria- 
tion bill,  he  took  off  his  spectacles  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair.  He  •  spoke 
of  old  days,  and  told  me  how,  at  the  time 
his  folks  moved  from  Galion,  in  western 
New  York,  he  owned  a  dog  that  was  an 
expert  in  coon  hunting.  Though  .the 
embryo  senator  was  then  too  young  to 
take  much  part  in  the  coon  hunts,  still, 
since  the  dog  was  his,  he  shared  in  the 
profits  of  the  chase,  and  at  that  time 
they  received  fifty  cents  for  the  hide  of 
the  animal  and  as  much  for  the  oil.  This 
source  of  revenue  gave  the  young  trader 
a  good  start,  but  it  did  more  than  that, 
for  it  taught  him  his  first  lesson  in  that 
self-reliance  that  has  been  one  of  the 
chief  characteristics  of  his  career.  He 
said: 

"I  recall  during  those  early  days  that 
I  had  a  predilection  for  a  political 
career,  and  remember  walking  twenty 
miles  to  hear  Joshua  Giddings  speak. 
I  began  to  study  law,  but  at  that  time 
I  had  no  definite  idea  of  ever  reaching 
the  senate.  That  story  you  heard,"  he 
went  on,  "about  me  rehearsing  my 
speech  so  loudly  in  my  room,  has  no 
foundation  in  fact;  it  is  nothing  more 
than  a  Mark  Twain  fable." 

I  pressed  my  query  regarding  the 
future  of  the  American  young  man;  the 


senator  turned  abruptly  and  took  down 
a  Congressional  Directory. 

"Let  us  look  into  this  matter,"  he 
said  as  he  began  looking  over  the  bio- 
graphical sketches. 

It  was  astonishing  to  watch  him  point 
out  how  few  of  the  senators  or  represen- 
tatives in  that  book  had  enjoyed  a  col- 
lege education.  I  asked  if  the  aca- 
demies and  small  colleges  were  not 
better  represented. 

"That  does  not  count;  the  small  col- 
leges may  be  classed  with  the  high 
schools.  I  still  hold  that  the  young  man 
of  today  must  begin  at  the' bottom  of  the 
ladder  in  order  to  be  a  complete  success 
and  get  close  to  the  people's  point  of 
view.  After  stroking  his  beard  a  few 
times  he  struck  his  hand  vigorously  on 
the  table,  as  he  declared  that  the  great 
message  to  deliver  to  young  men  today 
is  their  inalienable  right  to  labor;  both 
a  right  and  a  duty.  He  added  that  this 
might  not  necessarily  mean  opposition 
to  labor  unions,  but  the  right  to  work — 
who  dares  to  deny  that  to  an  American 
citizen  and  call  this  a  free  country? 

Senator  Stewart  first  won  his  renown 
as  a  mining  lawyer,  and  has  probably 
handled  and  won  more  important  cases 
than  any  other  lawyer  of  his  time.  He 
related  experiences  of  his  trip  across  the 
Isthmus  of  Panama  in  1849  to  California, 
and  said  that  even  at  that  time  the  canal 
was  looked  upon  as  a  possibility  of  the 
near  future.  Once  established  on  the 
Pacific  coast,  he  concentrated  all  his 
energies  on  his  profession,  and  when 
Nevada  was  admitted  into  the  Union  in 
1864,  he  was  one  of  the  first  senators 
from  the  new  state. 

At  this  point  in  the  chat  we  were 
interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  some  in- 
formation regarding  an  amendment  to 
the  Indian  appropriation  bill.  This 
turned  his  attention  to  the  subject  of 
the  wrongs  of  the  Indians,  and  his  tower- 
ing form  shook  with  passion  when  he 
referred  to  the  ravages  of  the  land  thieves 
of  the  West  who  have  gobbled  up,  by 


598 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  MARCH,    1905 


means  of  leases  and  other  devices,  the 
large  tracts  of  land  that  ought  to  go  to 
the  small  fanners.  Senator  Stewart  in- 
sisted that  his  trip  taken  last  year 
through  that  country  had  convinced  him 
of  the  iniquity  of  such  proceedings,  and 
his  intention  is  to  endeavor  to  have  the 
land  sold  in  small  tracts  of  forty  acres, 
or  about  that,  and  the  money  given  to  the 
Indians.  In  this  way  he  believes  that 
the  great  natural  wealth  of  that  country 
can  be  developed  until  it  becomes  a 
veritable  Eden. 

"The  country  of  small  homes  and 
small  farms  is  the  country  that  is  rich 
and  prosperous.  Look  at  Japan,  at 
France,  at  Iowa,  Indiana,  Ohio,  and  the 
prosperous  states  of  the  West,"  said  the 
senator.  "It  is  the  independent  house- 
holder that  make  the  nation  strong." 

"When  I  came  to  Washington  in  '64," 
he  continued,  "I  met  the  man  whom  I 
consider  was  the  greatest  this  nation  has 
ever  known — Abraham  Lincoln.  Who- 
ever met  him  or  had  dealings  with  him 
could  not  doubt  the  fact  that  Lincoln 
was  without  a  peer.  Next  to  him,  I  always 
admired  Grant  —  that  large-hearted  and 
noble  man — a  warrior  stern  and  inflexi- 
ble, but  always  susceptible  to  the  kindly 
impulses  of  his  nature.  In  all  my  life 
I  never  met  two  more  tender-hearted 
men  than  these  two. 

"I  knew  intimately  Conkling,  the  im- 
perious, and  Elaine,  the  intrepid,  I  knew 
very  well,  and  I  recall  the  time  in  the 
house  when  an  attack  was  made  by 
Conkling  on  a  relative  of  Elaine's.  The 
bitterness  of  that  discussion  created  one 
of  the  greatest  political  party  divisions 
known  to  the  country.  Of  course  you 
know  that  I  stood  by  Conkling,"  he 
added  with  the  flash  of  the  fighting 
spirit  in  his  eye. 

I  had  just  come  from  viewing  the 
statue  of  Senator  John  J.  Ingalls  of 
Kansas,  which  had  been  placed  in  Statu- 
ary Hall  that  day,  with  an  appropriate 
ceremony  by  the  senate  and  house.  The 
pedestal  was  decorated  with  stars  and 


stripes,  and  the  statue  itself  was  a  work 
of  art  by  Niehaus.  The  tall  form  of  the 
Kansas  senator  was  depicted  in  his 
"Prince  Albert"  coat,  his  eyeglasses 
hanging  on  his  breast  and  the  fingers  of 
one  hand  carelessly  placed  between  the 
pages  of  a  book.  So  life-like  is  the  ex- 
pression that  one  almost  feels  that  the 
statue  is  about  to  speak.  The  conversa- 
tion now  turned  upon  this  statue,  and 
Senator  Stewart  related  the  incident  of 
Ingall's  reply  to  Voorhees  of  Indiana. 
He  said  that  he  really  replied  to  him 
twice,  but  his  first  effort  was  not  done  in 
his  best  style,  and  it  was  thought  that  the 
halting  and  hesitating  manner  of  this 
speech  was  not  accidental  but  designed 
to  draw  out  Voorhees  to  a  second  attack. 
If  so,  it  proved  successful.  Senator 
Stewart  said  that  during  the  second 
attack  by  Voorhees,  Ingalls  kept  his 
head  down  at  his  desk,  and  never  ceased 
to  study  the  reply  which  he  had  pre- 
pared the  night  previous.  When  Voor- 
hee.s  sat  down,  Ingalls  rose  and  delivered 
the  bitter  speech  that  actually  killed 
Senator  Voorhees.  The  combat  between 
these  men  was  literally  a  duel  to  the 
death. 

Senator  Stewart  turned  from  these 
reminiscences.  "But  we  have  nothing 
of  this  kind  in  recent  years,"  he  said; 
"we  are  coming  around  to  the  sensible 
view  of  things,  and  if  I  had  a  piece  of 
advice  to  offer  to  young  men,  it  would 
be  to  have  no  regrets  for  the  past,  no 
foreboding  for  the  future,  but  to  take 
good  care  of  the  present.  Don't  worry 
about  the  crop  if  the  seed  is  all  right. 
Keep  your  heads  up  and  win  respect. 
Even  a  jackass,"  said  the  senator 
with  a  smile,  "will  keep  his  head  up 
if  he  knows  there  is  a  meal  of  oats 
ahead." 

It  was  a  picture  to  be  long  remem- 
bered, to  see  the  stately  senator  looking 
back  on  his  career  with  serene  content- 
ment, resting  in  the  belief  that  he  had 
done  his  best  and  looking  forward  to  his 
retirement  with  a  complacency  that  had 


AFFAIRS    AT  WASHINGTON 


599 


no  trace  of  his  years,  but  savored  rather 
of  the  eagerness  of  a  young  man  about 
to  start  out  on  a  new  career. 

I  can  hardly  conceive  a  picture  of  the 
senate  in  session  without  the  sturdy  form 
of  Senator  Stewart  up  near  his  seat  in  the 
rear  row,  with  his  flowing  white  beard  and 
patriarchal  appearance,  and  I  imagine  I 
shall  still  hear  his  deep  voice  speaking  in 
the  senate  chamber,  and  see  him  coming 
down  the  aisle  with  his  coat-tails  flying, 
delivering  some  of  his  views  with  the 
force  of  strong  conviction. 


CENATOR  CHARLES  W.  FAIR- 
BANKS,  who  has  just  been  elected 
vice-president,  has  acknowledged  to  me 
more  than  once  his  personal  obligation 
to  his  private  secretary,  Jerry  A.  Mathews, 
and  more  than  once  has  the  senator  ex- 
pressed to  me  his  confidence  in  the 
latter's  integrity  and  ability.  Every- 
body in  Washington,  high  or  low,  knows 
Jerry  Mathews.  For  nine  years  he  was 
the  Washington  correspondent  of  the 
Chicago. Daily  News  and  other  leading 
newspapers.  His  health  failing  under 
such  exacting  work,  he  accepted  an  offer 
from  Charles  G.  Dawes,  then  comptroller 
of  the  currency,  to  become  assistant  re- 
ceiver of  the  Globe  National  Bank  of 
Boston.  He  had  studied  law  in  the 
night  schools  at  Washington;  he  devoted 
the  year  he  was  in  Boston  to  hard  prep- 
aration, took  the  Massachusetts  state  bar 
examination,  and  was  admitted  in  Boston 
in  February,  1901,  to  practice  before  the 
supreme  judicial  court  of  Massachusetts. 
He  has  since  been  admitted  to  practice 
before  the  highest  court  of  Indiana  and 
to  the  United  States  supreme  court. 
Mr.  Mathews,  although  a  Hoosier  born, 
has  frequently  expressed  to  me  his  love 
for  Boston  and  his  personal  obligations 
to  Mr.  Alfred  Hemenway,  of  the  Suffolk 
bar,  for  the  sympathy  and  encourage- 
ment given  by  the  latter  during  his  law 
studies  in  Boston.  Mr.  Mathews  re- 
signed his  position  with  the  Globe  Bank 


JERRY     A.     MATTHEWS,     PRIVATE      SECRETARY 

TO    SENATOR    FAIRBANKS,    WILL  SHORTLY 

BEGIN    THE     PRACTICE    OF    LAW 

receivership  in  1901,  to  accept  a  place 
with  Senator  Fairbanks.  He  has  re- 
mained with  him  at  the  latter's  request, 
declining  other  lucrative  offers,  but  will 
shortly  retire  to  engage  in  law  practice, 
in  which  he  is  assured  of  a  good  income. 

Jt 

IT  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  United 
States  is  the  only  country,  among  the 
great  nations  of  the  earth,  'that  does  not 
certify  the  quality  of  the  gold  and  silver 
articles  manufactured  within  its  boun- 
daries. The  British  people  have  long 
had  their  "hall-mark,"  and  in  Germany, 
France,  Spain,  and  even  Japan,  there  is 
a  definite  standard  as  to  the  value  of 
articles  manufactured  from  the  precious 
metals.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  a 
bill  introduced  by  Representative  Vree- 
land  and  passed  by  the  house  prohibits 
the  use  of  the  words,  "Warranted  U.  S. 
Assay,  14  karats,"  or  other  degrees  of 
fineness,  often  placed  on  the  inside  of 


6oo 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


HONORABLE   E.    B.  VREELAND,    REPRESENTATIVE 

IN    CONGRESS    FROM   THE   THIRTY-SEVENTH 

NEW    YORK    DISTRICT 

watch  cases  to  give  the  impression  that 
the  purity  has  been  certified  by  the  United 
States,  when  in  fact  it  has  not.  Indeed, 
the  treasury  department  says: 

"The  United  States  government  does 
not  assay,  stamp,  or  in  any  manner  de- 
termine or  certify  to  the  fineness  of 
watch  cases,  plate,  jewelry,  or  other 
goods  made  from  gold  or  silver,  and  all 
representations  calculated  to  convey  the 
impression  that  it  does  so  are  deceptive 
and  may  very  properly  be  forbidden 
under  penalty." 

In  other  words,  aside  from  the  detri- 
mental influence  of  this  misleading  in- 
ference in  our  own  country,  this  deception 
has  brought  American  manufactures  into 
disrepute  in  foreign  markets.  The  meas- 
ure now  to  be  brought  before  the  senate 
is  along  the  same  lines  as  Mr.  Hep- 
burn's "pure  food  bill,"  so  far  as  it  tends 
to  protect  American  standards  in  its  pro- 
hibition of  a  most  flagrant  misuse  of  the 
name  of  the  United  States,  and  it  is  to 


be  hoped  this  will  be  accepted  as  the  ini- 
tial step  in  legislation  requiring  a  censor- 
ship of  the  precious  metals  in  the  arts, 
similar  to  that  prevailing  in  foreign  coun- 
tries with  which  our  industries  must 
come  into  competition.  This  bill  has 
been  vigorously  pushed  by  Mr.  A.  L. 
Sackett,  representing  the  Dueber-Hamp- 
den  company  of  Canton,  Ohio. 

It  has  been  favorably  reported  by  the 
senate  committee  on  interstate  and  for- 
eign commerce  and  will  probably  pass  at 
this  session. 

No  one  who  knows  John  C.  Dueber  of 
Canton,  Ohio — the  home  of  William 
McKinley  —  and  is  familiar  with  his 
career  as  a  manufacturer,  fails  to  appre- 
ciate the  fact  that  few  men  have  more 
successfully  conquered  great  obstacles, 
and,  as  the  active  spirit  behind  this 
measure,  he  is  simply  urging  those  prin- 
ciples of  absolute  integrity  which  have 
characterized  his  years  of  commercial 
activity. 


JOHN    C.    DUEBER,  THE   FATHER  OF  THE   WATCH- 
CASE    BUSINESS    IN     AMERICA 


THE     HONOR     OF    AUTHORSHIP 


By     MARY     MORRISON 

BIG       RAPIDS,       MICHIGAN 


({  P\O  you  think  you  could  eat  an 
U  egg,  Azalia? — a  soft-boiled  one, 
or  maybe  a  poached  egg  would  relish. 
There's  a  fresh  one  laid  this  morning." 
Jane  Millikan  looked  anxiously  in  at  the 
bed-room  door. 

"Is  there  two  fresh  eggs,  Jane?" 
Aazlia  raised  her  head  from  the  pillow 
and  looked  inquiringly  at  her  sister. 

"No,  I  hain't  found  but  one  this 
morning,  _ but  I.  hain't  been  out  to  the 
barn  yet;  like  enough  I  can  find  another 
somewhere  about  when  I  get  time  to 
look.  I'll  boil  it  soft.  Soft-boiled  eggs 
is  easy  to  digest,  so  I've  heard." 

"Cook  one  for  you,  too,  then." 
Azalia' s  voice  took  on  a  querulous  tone. 

"Now,  Azalia, you  know  I'm  clean  sick 
and  disgusted  with  eggs.  I'd  rather 
enough  sight  have  a  nice  piece  of  fried 
pork.  I  ain't  meachin'  like  you  be,  any- 
how, and  my  stomach  is  strong  as  an 
ostrich's.  I  wish  you  wasn't  so  notional. 
You  had  better  try  and  get  up  pretty 
soon,  if  you  can.  I'll  fetch  in  a  cup  of 
hot  water  directly  the  tea  kettle  boils. 
It'll  tone  up  your  stomach,  like 
enough."  Then,  to  herself: 

"She's  n.ervous  as  a  witch  and  she 
ain't  wrote  overly  much  lately,  neither. 
Seems  to  me  it  drags  along  awfully,  now 
that  it's  got  so  near  the  end.  I  s'pose 
it's  hard  to  find  just  the  right  way  to 
dispose  of  'em  all  satisfactorily.  It  must 
be.  'Most  as  hard  as  tryin'  to  find 
places  for  a  raft  of  poor  relation.  None 
of  'em  seems  to  fit  anywhere.  I'll  hitch 
up  and  take  her  out  somewhere  after 
breakfast.  A  little  fresh  air  will  do  more 
for  her  than  anything  else,"  she  decided 
musingly,  going  back  to  her  making  of 
toast  and  boiling  of  eggs. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  ride  but  some- 
where, Azalia?"  she  asked,  as  her  sister 
sat  listlessly  chipping  off  bits  of  egg 


shell  and  piling  them  into  little  heaps. 
"Appears  to  me  you  look  pale  this  morn- 
ing. Didn't  you  rest  well?" 

Azalia  shook  her  head.  "I  never  rest 
well,  Jane.  I  should  think  you  would 
know  that,"  she  said  irritably. 

"It's  all  on  account  of  the  book, 
Azalia.  Writing  is  such  exciting  work. 
I've  always  said  it,  and  I  say  yet,  that 
it's  'nough  sight  harder  than  housework. 
I'd  a  deal  rather  stand  over  the  tub  the 
hottest  day  that  ever  was,"  declared  Jane 
commiseratingly,  "but  I  wouldn't  be- 
grudge doing  of  it  if  I  only  could,"  she 
added  with  enthusiastic  fervor. 

"How  is  it  coming  on?  I  hain't  heard 
you  read  any  -for  quite  a  spell.  Has 
Elizabeth  Lord  left  her  man  yet?  I 
don't  see  how  she  can  stand  his  ways 
much  longer.  She's  put  up  with  too 
many  of  'em  a'ready.  You  are  making 
her  almost  too  meek,  Azalia.  It  ain't 
in  human  nature  to  put  up  with  so  many 
little  miser'ble  things  without  resenting 
'em." 

"She  ain't  going  to  leave  him,  Jane. 
That  would  spoil  the  whole  story,"  de- 
clared Azalia,  emphatically. 

"Dear  me!  I  shan't  sleep  nights  along 
of  thinking  about  her  if  you  mean  to 
keep  her  right  there  with  her  nose  on 
the  grindstone.  It  ain't  no  wonder  you 
don't  rest  well,  Azalia,  along  of  deliber- 
ately keeping  her  right  there  when  you 
might  just  as  easy  let  her  get  away  where 
she  could  take  a  minute's  peace;  and 
her  so  sick  and  ailing,  too.  That's  the 
beauty  of  writing.  It's  so  much  nicer 
than  having  to  live  it  all  out  whether  or 
no.  You  can  help  all  the  suffering  ones 
and  kill  off  all  the  villains  and  fetch 
things  out  just  as  they  ought  to  be, 
which,  goodness  knows,  never  happens 
in  real  life." 

Aazlia  smiled  satirically.     "But  you 


602 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


see,  Jane,  that  wouldn't  do  at  all.  No- 
body would  read  such  a  book  as  that. 
You've  got  to  have  just  so  much  misery 
or  your  story  lacks  interest." 

Jane  looked  incredulous.  "Misery 
ain't  particularly  interestin'  to  me,"  she 
said  tersely.  "Anyhow,  a  funeral  ought 
to  be  exciting  enough  for  most  folks. 
I'd  kill  him,  Azalia,  if  I  couldn't  git  rid 
of  him  any  other  way.  He's  past  re- 
forming. He's  the  very  image  of  old 
Fiant.  We'll  drive  out  that  way  today, 
I  guess,  and  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  you'd 
feel  different  about  keeping  him  along 
any  longer  than  you  have  to.  Prob'ly 
Mis'  Fiant  will  be  out  luggin'  up  water 
for  all  that  drove  of  cattle  he  keeps 
around  him.  She's  had  it  to  do  all 
Summer,  beside  splitting  her  own  wood, 
and  she  with  four  men  to  cook  for  and 
three  babies  to  look  after.  They're  all 
babies  you  may  say;  only  fifteen  months' 
difference  between  Johnnie  and  the 
twins.  I've  said  all  along,  ever  since 
you  begun  it,  Azalia,  says  I,  that  Eliza- 
beth Lord  and  her  husband  is  Sarah 
Fiant  and  her  man  right  over  again.  I 
always  want  to  do  something  desperate 
when  I  think  of  him,  and  it  would  relieve 
my  feelings  to  have  the  other  one  killed 
off,  anyhow.  Sort  of  a  burning  in  effigy, 
you  know."  Jane  Millikan's  face  glowed. 

"The  book"  was  the  one  all-absorbing 
interest  of  her  life.  It  was  her  first  con- 
scious thought  in  the  morning  when  she 
arose  noiselessly  and  kindled  the  kitchen 
fire,  careful  not  to  disturb  her  sister's 
fitful  slumber;  it  ruled  the  momentous 
question  of  breakfast,  presided  at  the 
planning  of  dinner  and  was  the  chief 
anxiety  in  the  preparation  of  supper. 
Was  such  a  dish  easily  digested?  Would 
it  tempt  Azalia's  capricious  appetite? 
A  certain  portion  of  the  weekly  butter 
money  was  scrupulously  set  aside  for  the 
purchase  of  fish,  an  article  of  food  in 
which  Miss  Jane  placed  implicit  faith  as 
affording  nourishment  for  the  brain. 

Miss  Jane  had  a  great  respect  for 
brains,  and  the  thought  that  the  Vermont 


branch  of  the  Millikan  family  really 
possessed  sufficient  of  the  gray  matter  to 
"write  a  book"  was  balm  and  solace  to 
her  starved  soul.  There  were  brainy 
people  among  the  Millikans.  There  was 
a  judge,  two  doctors  and  a  minister  in 
Uncle  Isaac's  branch,  who  lived  in 
Dalby,  and  there  was  an  editor  and 
a  teacher  of  German  in  Uncle  Bradley 
Millikan's  family  who  lived  in  Bristol; 
but  the  honor  of  authorship  had  been 
reserved  for  a  child  of  Jeremiah  Milli- 
kan, who  had  lived  and  died  on  a  little 
stony  hillside  farm  in  Vermont,  although 
she  was  forced  to  admit  that  the  two 
years  spent  by  Azalia  in  Bristol  aca- 
demy, through  the  kindness  of  Uncle 
Bradley  Millikan,  had  made  this  possi- 
ble. It  was  the  one  restraining  thought 
in  the  exuberance  of  her  triumph.  After 
all,  there  must  be  a  certain  amount  of 
training,  without  which  genius  was  a 
poor, crippled  bird  with  a  disabled  wing. 

But  for  that,  she  too  might  have  writ- 
ten a  book.  The  pathos,  the  tender 
touches  of  sentiment  glowed  and  thrilled 
in  her  own  heart,  but  before  the  rusty, 
unused  machinery  of  expression  they 
were  but  mute,  dumb  voices  at  whose 
impotence  she  wept.  But  Azalia  could 
write.  Words  came  to  her  with  a  readi- 
ness before  which  simple  Jane  stood 
amazed.  It  was  in  Azalia  then  that  her 
hopes  were  centered.  She  was  the  one 
chosen  and  anointed  to  uplift  the  family 
standing  from  the  dead  level  of  medioc- 
rity. Happy  Jane,  if  her  humble  efforts 
made  this  easier  of  accomplishment. 

She  assumed  gladly  all  the  menial 
tasks  of  the  little  household.  Azalia's 
time  was  too  precious  for  commonplace 
duties.  She  kept  the  house  sweet  and 
cheerful.  There  were  flowers  every- 
where in  Azalia's  room.  Climbing  ivy 
reached  out  dainty,  decorative  fingers 
toward  the  topmost  row  of  pictured  dead 
and  gone  Millikans  on  the  walls;  trail- 
ing sprays  of  adventuresome  wandering 
Jew  swung  from  the  hanging  baskets 
here  and  there;  hardy  pink  geraniums 


THE    HONOR    OF   AUTHORSHIP 


603 


bloomed  on  the  window  sills  and  a  frag- 
rant white  nicotina  made  the  evenings 
sweet  with  incense. 

.  "I'll  pick  a  bunch  of  roses,  white  ones, 
and  set  them  right  on  the  table  where 
Azalia  can't  help  seeing  and  smelling 
them  all  the  time.  White  roses  is  for 
lovers  and  weddin's,"  she  had  said  when 
the  heroine,  Elizabeth  Conrad,  was  con- 
sidering the  attentions  of  Samuel  Lprd. 
Now  that  her  choice  had  turned  out  so 
badly,  Jane  was  plotting  to  excite  Azalia 
to  the  point  of  summarily  disposing  of 
him  by  driving  her  out  on -the  Fiant 
road  where  she  might  have  the  benefit 
of  a  scene  from  real  life. 

The  way  was  sweet  with  clover  fields 
and  wayside  flowers,  and  Azalia  sniffed 
languidly  at  the  fresh  odors.  Jane  re- 
garded her  with  anxiety.  "You  better 
not  write  nights  any  longer,  Azalia,"  she 
said  decisively.  "You're  gettin'  real 
hollow-eyed." 

"Oh,  I'll  last  till  it's  finished,  I 
guess."  Azalia  laughed  scornfully. 

"Now,  Azalia!"  Jane's  cheeks  flushed 
consciously.  Was  this  really  the  secret 
of  her  over-anxiety?  "Never  mind 
about  Mis'  Fiant,"  she  said  suddenly, 
turning  down  a  shady  by-road;  but  her 
sister  grasped  the  reins. 

"Yes,  we'll  go.  I  don't  generally  give 
up  when  I  start  to  do  a  thing." 

Her  childish  petulance  struck  oddly 
on  her  sister's  sensibilities.  Azalia's 
nerves  certainly  needed  attention.  She 
talked  soothingly  of  the  crops  and  the 
prospects  for  fruit,  but  Azalia  did  not 
trouble  herself  to  reply.  Her  gaze  wan- 
dered aimlessly  about.  Suddenly  her 
eyes  brightened;  her  breath  came  quick. 
In  a  field  close  at  hand,  a  slender 
woman  in  a  bedraggled  calico  dress  was 
breathlessly  chasing  a  herd  of  cattle  that 
had  broken  into  a  field  of  corn.  Back 
and  forth,  around  and  around,  past  the 
break  in  the  fence  which  they  declined 
to  see,  she  pursued  them  vainly,  and 
down  by  the  barn,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  stood  a  stalwart  man  watching 


her  with  evident  vrath.  Finally  he 
turned  deliberately  around  and  went  into 
the  house.  They  could  see  him  in  an 
easy  chair  before  the  open  door. 

Jane  drove  up  to  the  fence  and  hitched 
her  horse.  Then  she  went  into  the  field 
and  with  a  stout  cudgel  stood  guard  at 
the  gap,  and  when  the  unruly  herd  came 
tearing  past  she  charged  upon  them  like 
a  fury,  putting  them  to  rout  and  guiding 
them  into  the  road.  Then  she  found 
a  grassy  seat  for  the  gasping,  breathless 
woman  and  proceeded  to  put  up  the  rails 
again  into  a  respectable  fence. 

Azalia  sat  with  clenched  hands  and 
flashing  eyes  regarding  the  man,  who  at 
his  ease  watched  proceedings. 

When  Jane  came  back  she  started  at 
sight  of  her  sister's  face.  "She'll  find 
a  way  to  dispose  of  him,  all  right,"  she 
thought,  but  she  wisely  preserved  a 
golden  silence. 

After  Jane  had  gone  to  bed  that  night 
and  the  little  house  had  settled  down  in- 
to the  quiet  of  slumber,  Azalia  crept 
from  her  bed  and  lit  a  lamp.  She 
shaded  it  carefully,  lest  its  rays  peep 
through  a  crevice  in  the  curtain  or  creep 
over  the  worn  threshold.  Then  she  took 
fresh  paper  and  pencil  and  wrote  rapidly, 
page  after  page.  Words  stumbled  over 
each  other  and  crowded  into  her  over- 
excited brain  faster  than  her  fingers 
could  transcribe  them.  Ten,  eleven, 
twelve,  one,  and  still  she  wrote  on. 

Finally  as  the  hammer  of  the  old  clock 
struck  three  she  gathered  them  together 
and  put  them  away.  Then  she  went  to 
bed  and  slept.  It  was  done, — well  or 
ill.  The  perplexing  problem  of  conflict- 
ing characters  was  at  last  adjusled,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  weeks  she  could  rest. 

It  was  late  next  morning  when  she 
awoke.  Several  times  Jane  had  tiptoed 
carefully  in,  but  she  had  not  the  heart 
to  disturb  such  refreshing  sleep.  A 
gentle  flush  was  on  Azalia's  cheek,  and 
her  breathing  was  long  and  full.  Pres- 
ently she  opened  her  eyes,  to  see  Jane 
regarding  her  anxiously. 


604 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


'•It's  done,  Jane,"  she  said  simply. 

Jane  clasped  her  hands  in  astonish- 
ment. "Did  you— is  he ? " 

"I  killed  him  with  kindness,  Jane." 

"It  was  too  easy,  I'm  afraid,"  whis- 
pered Jane  ruefully.  "Where  is  it?" 
Her  eyes  shone  with  excitement;  her 
breath  came  hurriedly. 

Azalia  regarded  her  wonderingly.  All 
her  tensity  of  nerve  seemed  to  have  gone 
to  Jane,  who  stood  panting,  expectant. 

"The  Book!"  She  clasped  her  hands 
nervously  together  as  Azalia  brought  it 
forth.  She  had  forgotten  about  break- 
fast. Chapter  by  chapter  they  went  over 
it.  It  was  wonderful,  touching.  No 
such  book  had  ever  appeared  so  far  as 
they  knew.  The  characters  were  real 
men  and  women;  they  lived  real  lives. 
The  joy  was  real  joyousness,  and  the 
misery  very  intensely  human. 

Azalia  ate  her  breakfast  with  a  relish ; 
there  were  no  haunting  uncertainties  to 
take  away  her  appetite;  but  Jane  ate 
nothing.  She  was  feverishly  arranging 
and  preparing  for  its  initiatory  trip  into 
that  realm  of  mystery,  a  publisher's  pre- 
cincts, "The  Book."  Its  destination 
had  long  been  decided. 

She  experienced  a  slight  shock  of  sur- 
prise at  the  amount  of  postage  required 
to  send  so  much  bulky  manuscript,  an 
amount  that  must  be  doubled,  she  knew, 
to  insure  its  safe  return;  but  of  course 
it  was  needless  to  enclose  return  postage. 
No  sane  publisher  would  refuse  it. 

She  turned  away  from  the  postoffice 
with  a  light  step.  It  seemed  so  near 
fulfillment;  this  all-absorbing  wish  of  her 
life.  Only  a  short  time  of  waiting  now, 
and  yet  as  the  days  went  slowly  on  her 
courage  flagged.  Suspense  was  hard  to 
bear. 

All  Miss  Jane's  fund  of  sturdy  New 
England  sense  seemed  to  have  been 
transfered  to  Azalia  in  those  days.  The 
book  was  done.  Into  it  she  had  put 
her  life,  her  soul.  Whether  anyone  else 
was  ever  able  to  see  it,  it  was  there  and 
she  was  satisfied.  She  went  on  the  even 


tenor  of  her  way,  calmly  content.  The 
weekly  trips  to  the  village  postoffice 
held  no  terrors  for  her;  did  not  excite 
her  over-much.  Of  course  it  would  be 
returned;  manuscripts  always  were.  She 
was  not  at  all  disappointed,  therefore, 
when  a  neighbor  one  day  left  a  package 
at  the  door,  but  Jane  grew  pale  and 
trembled. 

"Never  mind!  there  were  other  edi- 
tors," so  Azalia  assured  her. 

But  a  hunted  look  came  into  Jane's 
eyes  as  the  experience  was  repeated  time 
after  time. 

The  pages  grew  spiled  and  worn  with 
long  journeyings  to  and  fro,  and  the 
words  became  illegible  in  places.  It 
was  a  drain  on  their  slender  resources, 
this  constant  demand  for  postage.  Jane 
needed  the  money  for  medicine,  so 
Azalia  decided,  and  one  day  she  laid  the 
precious  pages  away  in  the  garret  while 
Jane  watched  her  dumbly. 

She  grew  pale  and  thin  as  the  days 
brightened  once  more  with  Spring-like 
tints,  and  contracted  a  habit  of  pressing 
her  hand  to  her  side.  The  freshest  of 
new-laid  eggs  failed  to  tempt  her  capri- 
cious appetite.  "I  ain't  sick,"  she  told 
Azalia  fiercely.  ''I  don't  need  no  cod- 
dlin'." 

One  morning  she  arose  early.  A  new 
light,  born  of  some  secret  decision,  was 
in  her  eyes.  "I'm  going  a-visitin'." 
she  assured  Azalia,  when  questioned  as 
to  her  intentions.  "I'm  going  to  Uncle 
Isaac's." 

"It  will  be  a  change  and  do  her 
good,"  decided  her  sister,  and  she  made 
her  departure  as  easy  of  accomplishment 
as  possible. 

The  question  of  fare  had  been  the 
hardest  to  meet.  Azalia  suggested  the 
drawing  out  of  a  portion  of  their  little 
nest-egg  from  the  village  bank,  but  Jane 
refused  peremptorily.  The  exigency  was 
met  by  the  disposal  of  a  favorite  cow, 
which  Jane  saw  led  away  without  a 
regret. 

Azalia  watched  her  with  astonishment. 


THE    HONOR    OF    AUTHORSHIP 


605 


Jane   was   usually  tender  of    heart. 

The  simple  preparations  were  all 
made,  the  packing  an  accomplished  fact. 
She  was  to  start  on  the  early  morning 
train.  Late  at  night  she  crept  from  her 
bed  and  went  upstairs.  When  she  came 
down  she  carried  a  bulky  package  which 
she  deposited  in  the  bottom  of  her  trunk, 
carefully  replacing  the  articles  of  cloth- 
ing in  the  order  in  which  they  had  been 
packed. 

In  a  month  she  returned.  She  was 
better.  All  she  needed  was  a  change  of 
scene,  so  Azalia  declared,  and  the  old 
routine  of  every-day  life  resumed  sway; 
but  the  Spring  seemed  gone  from  Jane's 
life.  It  dragged  on  from  day  to  day, 
dumb,  devoid  of  purpose. 

It  was  Azalia  who  managed  affairs  and 
kept  up  the  thousand  and  one  little 
things  that  constitute  the  machinery  of 
even  the  humblest  household.  She  made 
the  butter  and  marketed  it;  she  assumed 
the  care  of  the  poultry  and  attended  to 
the  fruit  in  its  season.  Jatte  sat  by  the 
window  for  the  most  part,  with  her  knitr 
ting  in  her  lap,  but  she  did  not  often 
pick  up  the  shining  needles.  Instead, 
she  stared  with  unseeing  eyes  down  the  - 
long  stretch  of  dusty  road  that  led  to  the 
village,  and  one  day  into  the  range  of 
her  vision  came  a  green  express  wagon 
whose  driver  halted  at  the  little  gate. 
His  wagon  bore  a  bulky  box,  whiclrlye 
lifted  to  the  ground  with  difficulty. 

She  watched  intently  while  he  brought 
it  through  the  gate  and  moved  it  foot 
by  foot  nearer  the  house.  She  went  to 
the  door.  "Fetch  it  in,"  she  said 
tersely.  Its  appearance  was  evidently 
no  surprise. 

He  hoisted  it  through  the  doorway 
and  awaited  further  orders.  Evidently 
he  expected  to  be  asked  to  split  off  the 
heavy  board  cover,  but  he  was  not. 

She  took  a  shabby  little  purse  from 
her  pocket  and  paid  him  the  sum  he 
asked,  then  shut  the  door  upon  his 
retreating  figure.  Then  a  little  of  the 
old  brisk  energy  returned  as  she  went 


hurriedly  out  to  the  woodshed  for  the 
axe.  When  she  returned,  the  sound  of 
sturdy  blows  and  slivering  pine  echoed 
through  the  house.  She  worked  swiftly. 
Azalia  had  gone  to  the  village.  She 
might  be  back  at  any  minute. 

When  she  returned,  the  room  was  fur- 
nished with  row  on  row  of  shining, 
cloth-bound  books  in  wine-red  and  gold, 
their  dark,  rich  beauty  flashing  forth  from 
the  top  of  the  old-fashioned  dresser, 
from  the  shelves  of  the  quaint  little  tri- 
angular what-not  in  the  corner,  whose 
usual  quota  of  ancient  bric-a-brac  had 
been  ruthlessly  consigned  to  an  empty 
box,  and  from  the  mantlepiece.  They 
made  a  brave  showing  and  "Elizabeth 
Conrad's  Mission"  spoke  with  two  hun- 
dred welcoming  tongues,  as  Azalia  en- 
tered the  room. 

She  sank  weakly  into  a  chair  and 
stared  at  them. 

Jane  laughed  triumphantly.  "It's  pub- 
lished, Azalia,  and  it's  ours  —  our  book. 
We  made  it— all  of  it.  If  folks  don't 
want  to  read  it  they  ain't  'bleeged  to." 
"But  how  —  who?"  began  her  sister 
eagerly,  but  Jane  turned  away  with  a 
mysterious  air.  "Never  mind,"  she 
said.  "It's  published  and  it's  ours." 

"A  real  library,"  the  neighbors  said. 
Jar\e  seemed  to  find  satisfaction  in  the 
fact  that  the  volumes  were  all  identical. 
"There  was  not  one  too  many.  She  never 
offered  one  for  inspection  or  examina- 
tion. "It  would  only  be  casting  pearls 
before  swine,"  she  decided.  There  they 
were,  if  anyone  cared  to  read  them;  but 
no  one  asked  the  privilege  until  one  day 
Mrs.  Fiant  took  one  timidly  down  from 
the  shelf  and  turned  the  leaves  curiously. 
She  grew  interested,  then  absorbed. 
Jane,  coming  in  from  the  kitchen,  saw 
and  stepped  back  softly. 

"Azalia,  come  here!"  she  whispered 
excitedly.  They  peered  through  a  crack 
in  the  door.  "It's  her — her  own  life 
she  is  reading.  Do  you  suppose  she 
will  know?"  They  watched  her  silently, 
but  she  did  not  see  them.  Her  eyes 


6o6 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


devoured  page  after  page  and  the  words 
burned  deep  into  her  soul.  Yes,  it  was 
her  life — hers  and  John's.  She  felt  all 
the  pity  and  pathos  of  it — the  mistaken 
romance  and  the  awakening.  The  ro- 
mance had  been  so  short  and  the  awak- 
ening so  long.  It  was  not  over  yet. 
Every  day,  it  seemed  to  her,  she 
sounded  new  depths  of  degradation — of 
bondage. 

The  afternoon  waned  steadily.  Four 
o'clock  —  five— six — and  still  she  read 
on.  No  sound  disturbed  the  silence  of 
the  still  Summer  afternoon.  Even  the 
clock  in  the  kitchen  had  ceased  to  strike 
the  hours,  and  stood  silent  and  dumb, 
during  this  travail  of -a  soul. 

At  last  it  was  finished.  She  laid  the 
book  down  with  a  long  breath  as  of 


returning  consciousness.  Her  eyes 
shone  with  a  light  new  to  them — the 
light  of  hope.  The  bitterness  had  faded 
out.  She  read  the  book's  title  over 
reverently:  "Elizabeth  Conrad's  Mis- 
sion." It  was  a  prophecy.  She  took 
the  book  to  Jane.  "I'd  like  to  take  this 
home — to  John,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 

Jane's  face  shone  with  exaltation. 
"Take  it  and  welcome,"  she  said.  She 
watched  the  woman  passing  from  her 
sight  with  a  new,  firm  tread,  then  she 
went  to  Azalia  and  took  both  her  hands 
and  held  them  tightly.  "It's  'Sarah 
Fiant's  Mission'  now,"  she  said. 

Azalia  smiled.  "That  is  honor  enough 
for  one  book,  Jane,"  she  replied,  and 
Jane  acquiesced  with  a  sigh  of 
content. 


THE    INFINITE    HUMANITY     OF    JESUS 

( From  Ernest  Kenan's  "  Life  of  Jesus.") 

IN  him  was  concentrated  all  that  is  good,  all  that  is  lofty  in  our 
nature.  He  was  not  sinless;  he  conquered  these  same  passions 
that  we  fight  against;  no  angel  of  God  comforted  him  save  his  own 
good  conscience;  no  Satan  tempted  him  save  that  which  every  man 
bears  in  his  heart.  Just  as  many  of  his  great  qualities  have  been  lost 
to  us  through  the  intellectual  failings  of  his  disciples,  so  it  is  probable 
that  many  of  his  faults  have  been  concealed.  But  never  has  any  man 
so  much  as  he  made  the  interests  of  humanity  predominate  in  his  life 
over  the  pettiness  of  self-love.  Unreservedly  bound  to  his  mission, 
he  subordinated  all  things  to  that  mission  so  entirely  that,  to- 
wards the  end  of  his  life,  the  universe  no  longer  existed  for  him. 


MISS  HERITABLE  SOMERS  had 
come  down  from  Concord,  New 
Hampshire,  to  Virginia,  nearly  a  year 
before,  to  keep  house  for  her  nephew, 
Paul  Somers,  and  a  young  Virginian, 
Robert  Phelps,  who  had  gone  into  the 
apple  fanning  business  together — Paul 
supplying  the  necessary  capital,  and 
Rob  the  land.  The  plantation  had  been 
in  the  Phelps  family  for  more  than  a 
hundred  years,  and  it  was  a  beautiful 
place  in  one  of  the  loveliest  valleys  in 
the  world — the  Shenandoah. 

Miss  Mehitable  had  found  everything 
different  in  the  South  from  what  she  had 
expected.  The  plantation  was  in  an 
excellent  condition  and  the  colored  peo- 
ple on  it  willing  and  industrious.  In- 
deed, she  had  almost  gotten  over  her 
jealous  anger  at  Jamestown  coming 
before  Plymouth  Rock. 

When  Paul  came  to  the  South  on  his 
new  venture,  all  the  ties  except  those  of 
locality  which  bound  Miss  Mehitable 
to  New  England,  were  broken.  She  had 
been  a  mother  to  Paul  since  the  death 
of  his  own — her  sister  "Lyddy" — and 
when  he  urged  her  to  come  and  "make 
home"  for  him  and  his  partner,  whose 


By  HELEN  CORINNE 
GILLENWATER 

WASH  I  NGTO  N,      D.     C. 


parents  had  lately  died,  she  did  so  grate- 
fully. Everybody  on  the  place  loved 
and  respected  her,  and  Rob  Phelps  had 
often  wondered,  since  her  coming,  how 
he  had  ever  gotten  along  without  "Aunt 
Hitty,"  as  he  lovingly  called  her. 

Miss  Mehitable  stood  at  the  table  in 
the  long,  cool,  Summer  kitchen  mixing 
biscuits.  The  day  was  Sunday,  but  the 
Presbyterian  church  at  Concord  was 
several  hundred  miles  away,  and  there 
was  no  preaching  in  the  little  meeting 
house  near  by,  it  being  the  circuit  minis- 
ter's Sunday  to  supply  at  Cedar  Grove, 
in  the  next  county.  But  Miss  Mehitable 
had  New  England  notions  of  Sabbath 
observance,  and  if  she  could  not  attend 
divine  services  she  could  "do  her  work 
as  by  a  law  divine,"  and  as  she  measured 
baking  powder  and  molded  skillfully  she 
sang  sonorously,  if  nasally:  "All  Hail 
the  Power  of  Jesus'  Name." 

The  singing  was  impressive,  at  least 
to  Eliza  standing  by  a  post  of  the 
kitchen  porch,  the  cream  and  butter  for 
supper  in  her  hands.  Her  black  face 
was  radiant,  and  her  body  keeping  time 
to  the  music.  As  Miss  Mehitable  con- 
cluded the  stanza  ending:  "Come  join 
the  everlasting  song  and  crown  Him 
Lord  of  All,"  Eliza  ejaculated  fervently: 
"Hallelujah!" 

Miss  Mehitable  dropped  the  biscuit 
cutter  in  her  amazement.  "For  gra- 
cious sake,  Eliza,  what  ails  you?  Are 
you  going  crazy?" 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  MARCH,    1905 


"No'm,  Miss  Hitty,  but  I  reckon  ef 
you'd  'a'  gone  on  singin'  much  longer 
lak  dat,  I'd  got  religion." 

"You!  Religion!  Why  Liza,  you  are 
the  most  godless  creature  I  have  ever 
seen.  I  Lave  been  here  a  year,  come 
next  Tuesday,  and  I  know  that  you 
haven't  been  to  church  even  once  in  that 
time." 

*  "Yas'm,  Miss  Hitty,  I  knows  dat,  but 
it's  de  fault  of  dem  low-live  niggers 
down  Mt.  Zip  way." 

"Mt.  Zip!"  Miss  Hitty  gasped.  "Do 
you  mean  the  A.  M.  E.  church  Mt. 
Zion?" 

''Yas'm.  It's  my  scorn  of  de  mem- 
bers of  dat  chutch  make  me  call  it  Zip. 
Yuh  see,  Miss  Hitty,  I  used  to  wuship 
dar;  member  of  de  choir  and  president 
of  de  Foreign  Ladies'  Missionar' 
Siciety." 

"You  mean  the  Ladies'  Foreign  Mis- 
sionary Society,  don't  you,  Liza?"  said 
Miss  Mehitable,  helping  along. 

"Yas'm.  'Bout  a  year  ago  I  was 
pinted  de  large  delegate  to  de  Darters  of 
Epworth  convention  down  to  Richmon', 
and  dat  yaller  nurse  gal,  Fanny,  up  to 
de  Halsey's,  she  dun  make  remarks 
afore  de  meetin'  'bout  my  larnin'.  Said 
dat  'dar  should  be  some  one  lib'rally  ed- 
dicated  to  represent  Zion.'  I  don' 
reckon  she  know  what  she  was  talkin' 
'bout  She  got  a  grudge  ag'in'  me 
'cause  'Mr.  Lee's  Sam'  was  keepin'  com- 
pany 'long  of  me.  Well,  arter  de  meet- 
in'  I  tol'  Fanny  dat  I  would  like  to 
speak  to  her  private  'bout  de  matter, 
outside — " 

"What  did  you  say  to  her,  Liza?" 
Miss  Mehitable  interrupted.  She  had 
a  keenly  developed  sense  of  humor  and 
Eliza  was  very  diverting. 

"I  didn'  waste  no  words  on  dat  nig- 
ger, Miss  Hitty.     I  jus'  distracted  two 
of  her  front  teeth,  I  did.     She  dun  raise 
a  row  'bout  it,  and  had  me  churched." 
"Churched!      What    does    churched 
mean?" 
"It  means  dat  twelve  niggers  set  on 


you  afore  de  congregation." 

"Set  on  you!"  shrieked  Miss  Mehit- 
able. 

"Yas'm — set  in  jedgment." 

"Oh,  I  see.  A  jury  of  members  of  the 
church  settle  the  dispute  for  you  pub- 
licly." 

The  memory  of  it  was  sweet  to  Eliza. 
She  put  the  cream  and  butter  on  the 
table  and  warmed  up  to  her  subject, 
gesticulating  freely. 

"They  dun  ax  me  ef  I  had  anything 
to  say  tor  myself,  and  I  said  dat  I 
didn'  have  nothin'  to  say  for  myself, 
but  dat  I'd  like  to  know  what  right 
dem  twelve  black  crows  had  to  set 
on  me  anyway.  And  den  I  lit  into 
dem.  Oh  Lawd,  but  I  dun  make 
dem  niggers  squirm  afore  I  got 
through.  Our  family's  dun  live  in  dis 
place  for  more'n  a  hundred  years,  and 
I  knows  de  'iculiarities  of  ebery  coon  in 
de  country,  and  I  even  visited  de  sins  of 
de  parents  on  dem  afore  I  got  through. 
When  I  finished  brudder  Tompkins 
made  a  motion  to  'journ  into  zecutive 
session,  and  dey  dun  fine  me  ten  dollars 
or  leab  de  chutch." 

"So  you  left,  Liza?" 

"'Course  I  lef';  but  I  dun  got  a  let- 
ter from  de  correspondent  secretary  de 
odder  day,  callin'  me  'a  dear,  back- 
slidin'  sister, '_an'  sayin'  'dat  dey  would 
demit  de  fine  ef  I  would  declar'  de  error 
of  my  ways,  and  return  to  de  fold.' ' 

"Why  didn't  you  do  so,  Liza?  You 
were  certainly  much  in  the  wrong  and 
you  must  not  lose  your  immortal  soul  for 
sinful  pride." 

"No'm,  I  reckon  not,  Miss  Hitty;  but 
I  ain't  a-goin'  back  dar  no  mo'.  Dat 
onery  nigger,  Fanny,  went  down  to 
Richmon'  las'  Winter  and 'come  back 
with  two  new  teeth  in  de  place  of  dem 
I  distracted  -dem  kind  what  you  can 
put  in  and  take  out  you'self.  An'  one 
of  dem  had  gold  set  in  it,  and  Fanny 
ain't  dun  nothin'  but  grin,  grin,  eber 
since.  Dem  teeth  was  too  much  fer 
Sam.  He  dun  trapse  'roun'  arter  Fanny 


ELIZA'S    GOLD    MINE 


609 


now,  an'  I  dun  hear  he  calls  her  'Goldy.' 
It  makes  me  sick,  an'  I  thinks  too  much 
of  our  family  to  'sociate  with  sech-like, 
Miss  Hitty." 

"Let  me  see  your  teeth,  Liza,"  said 
Miss  Mehitable,  thinking  to  comfort  the 
girl  a  little;  for  she  evidently  took  Sam's 
defection  much  to  heart.  Liza  opened 
her  mouth  willingly,  showing  a  fine  set 
of  ivories;  not  a  tooth  missing,  and  all 
perfect  in  shape  and  color. 

"Why,  Liza,"  Miss  Mehitable  said 
encouragingly,  "you  ought  to  be  proud 
of  your  teeth.  They  are  perfect  and  far 
prettier  to  look  at  than  false  ones  of  any 
kind.  Just  see  how  this  gold  crown 
spoils  the  looks  of  my  mouth." 

She  showed  the  awe-struck  Eliza  the 
gold  tooth  that  took  the  place  of  a 
bicuspid. 

Eliza  held  up  her  hands  in  amaze- 
ment. "Name  of  Gawd!  Miss  Hitty, 
whar  did  you  get  dat  ar?  I  ain't  never 
knowed  thar  war  sech  a  thing  as  a  gold 
tooth  entire." 

"The  dentist  down  in  Richmond  put 
it  there  last  Winter.  You  know  I  went 
there  to  get  some  dental  work  done." 

Eliza  looked  at  Miss  Mehitable  as  if 
the  latter  had  been  suddenly  elevated  to 
a  pedestal.  Then  she  said  wistfully: 
"Mout  I  see  dat  tooth  ag'in,  Miss 
Hitty?  It  certainly  is  beautiful." 

Miss  Mehitable's  mind  came  back 
suddenly  to  other  things  beside  the 
humor  of  Eliza's  narrative;  the  smell  of 
something  dangerously  crisp  roused  her. 
"No,  you  may  not,"  she  said  sharply. 
"I've  fooled  too  long  as  it  is,  and  here 
come  the  boys  up  the  walk  already,  and 
supper  only  started."  She  dashed  to 
the  oven  and  rescued  her  biscuits. 

But  Eliza,  after  supper,  moth-like 
came  back  to  the  flame.  "What  did 
you  say  dat  dentist  man's  name  down 
to  Richmon'  is,  Miss  Hitty?  I  is  clean 
fergot." 

"I  didn't  say;  and  I  don't  know  why 
you  want  to  know,  but  his  name  is  Carey 
—Theodore  Carey." 


"Thank  you,  ma'm.  I  allus  was  dat 
curious  old  Marsa  Bob  you'sd  to  call  me 
'a  human  'terrogation  pint.'  But  I 
reckon  I'd  bettah  go  light  de  lamps  and 
stop  botherin'  you  with  my  nigger  non- 
sense." 

II 

Two  weeks  afterward,  Eliza  came  to 
Miss  Mehitable,  who  was  sitting  on  the 
porch  sewing  peacefully.  It  was  Miss 
Mehitable's  hour — dinner  was  over,  the 
house  in  order  and  tea  several  hours  off. 
Eliza  knew  that  it  was  "the  time  for 
asking." 

"Miss  Hitty,  I  is  gwine  to  ax  a  favor 
of  you." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"You  know  you  dun  promise  me  some 
time  off  dis  Summer,  and  now  dat  the 
preservin'  and  picklin'  is  ober  I'd  like 
to  visit  my  cousin  down  to  Richmon', 
who  I  ain't  seen  for  nigh  onto  five  years, 
ef  you  is  willin'." 

"But  Liza,  it  is  an  expensive  trip. 
Have  you  the  money?" 

"Yas'm.  You  see,  since  dat  low-live 
Sam  throw  me  down  I  ain't  bought  no 
dress  fixin's,  an'  I  is  saved  nearly  a  hun- 
dred dollars.  I  axed  Mr.  Bob  for  it  las' 
night." 

"Well  then,  Liza,  of  course  you  may 
go,  for  two  weeks,  but  you  must  be  back 
here  before  the  apple  pickers  come." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Hitty.  I  reckon 
I'll  go  on  Monday." 

Eliza  stayed  away  her  two  weeks,  but 
wrote  that  she  would  be  home  on  the 
night  train  of  the  last  day.  Miss  Mehit- 
able sent  the  little  colored  boy  to  the 
train  to  meet  her  and  left  word  that  she 
would  see  her  at  breakfast.  Nine 
o'clock  was  Miss  Mehitable's  hour  for 
retiring,  and  not  once  in  her  life  had 
she  remained  up  beyond  that  time  ex- 
cept when  "Lyddy"  died.  She  was 
wont  to  date  everything  from  "the  time 
Lyddy  died" — even  when  the  census 
enumerator  had  asked  her  age  she  had 
replied:  "Let  me  see,  I  was  thirty-five 
the  year  Lyddy  died,  and  that's  been 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  MARCH,    1905 


seventeen  years  ago." 

While  Eliza  waited  on  the  table  the 
morning  after  her  return,  she  preserved 
her  usual  respectful  silence.  But  Rob 
was  feeling  in  high  spirits  and  there  was 
no  escape  for  her.  "Well,  Lize,"  he 
said,  "what  kin'd  of  a  time  did  you  have 
down  to  Richmond?" 

"Moughty  fine,  Mr.  Bob.  Richmon' 
shore  is  a  pretty  place." 

"Did  you  catch  a  beau  there?" 

Eliza  sniffed.  "I'd  like  to  know  what 
I  got  a-doin'  with  dat  no'count  city 
trash." 

"What  did  you  do  with  all  that  money 
you  took  to  the  city,  Liza;  did  you  en- 
dow a  library?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  is  talkin' 
'bout,  Mr.  Bob,  'less  you  is  pesterin'  me 
like  you  allus  do." 


ELIZA 


"I  asked  you  what  you  did  with  all 
your  money." 

A  pleasant  recollection  must  have 
come  to  the  girl,  for  she  grinned  expan- 


sively. By  that  grin  she  was  lost.  Rob 
gave  a  whoop  of  joy  and,  jumping  up, 
grabbed  Eliza,  threatening  her  with  his 
knife.  "Grin,  Liza,  grin  again,"  he 
said,  "or  I'll  murder  you!  Look,  Paul! 
Look,  Aunt  Hitty!  Now  Lize,  what  did 
you  do  with  that  money.  Answer  me." 

"I  'vested  it,  Mr.  Bob.  Honest,  I 
did." 

"So  I  see,  Liza.,"  said  Paul,  "and  in 
a  gold  mine." 

Miss  Hitty  was  speechless.  Liza's 
grin  revealed  the  secret  of  her  visit  to 
Richmond  and  her  investment.  Three 
gold  teeth  occupied  the  central  position 
in  her  upper  jaw.  "Fool !"  Miss  Mehit- 
able  cried  witheringly.  It  was  the  meas- 
ure of  her  scorn. 

Eliza  slunk  into  the  kitchen  and  kept 
out  of  Miss  Mehitable's  way  as  much  as 
possible  all  that  day. 

The  next  Sunday  afternoon  the  two 
men  were  lounging  with  their  cigars  on 
the  front  porch.  Around  the  corner  of 
the  house  crept  Eliza,  swept  and  gar- 
nished, as  it  were,  in  all  the  glory  of 
pink  calico  dress  and  red  sunbonnet. 

"Good  heavens,  Liza,  you  look  like 
a  Venetian  sunset.  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

"Mought  I  have  old  Nell  and  the  side 
saddle  for  the  matter  of  two  hours  dis 
arternoon,  Mr.  Bob?" 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"I  is  had  a  'viction  of  sin  today,  an' 
I  is  gwine  to  Mt.  Zion  to  de  meetin'. " 
Rob  grinned  and  winked  at  Paul.  "All 
right,  take  old  Nell,  but  don't  you  get  in 
any  more  scraps,  or  you'll  be  in  jail 
next,  and  I'll  have  to  'distract'  those 
brass  teeth  of  yours  to  pay  your  fine. ' ' 

Eliza  vanished  toward  the  stables. 
Twenty  minutes  later  she  rode  down  the 
drive  seated  triumphantly  on  old  Nell, 
dress  looped  up  and  willow  switch  in 
hand. 

"There,  you  raw-boned  Yankee,"  said 
Rob,  "goes  a  piece  of  old  Virginia." 

Miss  Mehitable  was  down  in  the  rose 
garden,  planted  by  Rob's  mother. 


ELIZA'S    GOLD    MINE 


611 


gathering  a  bouqet  for  the  tea  table. 
Old-fashioned  moss  buds  she  picked 
lovingly,  saffron-colored  tea  roses,  white 
"Martha  Washingtons  " — the  bush 
brought  from  Mt.  Vernon  when  Mrs. 
Phelps  had  returned  from  her  bridal 
tour  to  Washington — and  delicate  "Mal- 
maisons."  "The  boys"  strolled  down 
to  her  and  all  three  stood  at  the  gate  in 
the  peace  of  the  twilight.  The  last 
dilapidated  buckboard  of  the  colored 
people  from  up  in  the  Gap  had  passed 
by  on  its  way  home  from  meeting,  and 
no  Eliza  had  appeared. 

"I  reckon   Fanny  has  done  for  Eliza 


this  time,"  said  Rob,  "and  I—" 

Paul  interrupted:  "What's  that  coming 
over  the  hill?"  A  flash  of  pink  ap- 
peared, with  a  black  something  beside 
it,  and  then,  behind,  an  enormous  shape. 
As  it  came  into  full  view  Rob  roared 
with  laughter.  It  was  Eliza,  and  a  colored 
man  escorting  her,  and  behind*  them,  fol- 
lowing like  a  dog,  lumbered  o.ld  Nell. 

"Why  it's  Liza;  and  who  is  that  with 
her,  Rob?"  asked  Miss  Mehitable. 

"That  is  'Mr.  Lee's  Sam,'  Aunt 
Hitty. 

"Liza's  gold  mine  seems  to  be  a 
paying  investment,"  laughed  Paul. 


THE    MISSING    TOOTH 

By    DALLAS     LORE     SHARP 

Author  of  "Wild  Life  Near  Home,"  "Roof  and  Meadow,"  etc. 

SOUTH     HINGHAM,    MASSACHUSETTS 


THE  snow  had  melted  from  the  wide 
meadows,  leaving  them  flattened, 
faded  and  stained  with  mud — a  dreary 
stretch  in  the  gray  February  light.  I  was 
on  my  first  round  after  the  long  Winter 
and  had  stopped  beside  a  little  bundle 
of  bones  that  lay  in  the  matted  grass 
a  dozen  feet  from  a  ditch.  Here  was 
the  narrow  path  along  which  the  bones 
had  dragged  themselves;  there  the  hole 
by  which  they  had  left  the  burrow  in  the 
bank.  They  had  crawled  out  along  this 
old  run-way,  then  turned  off  a  little  into 
the  heavy  Autumn  grass  and  laid  them 
down.  The  snows  had  come  and  the 
Winter  rains.  Now  the  small  bundle 
was  whitening  on  the  wide, bare  meadow, 
itself  almost  as  bleached  as  the  bones. 

It  was  the  skeleton  of  a  muskrat,  and 
something  peculiar  in  the  way  it  lay  had 
caused  me  to  pause.  It  seemed  out- 
stretched as  if  composed  by  gentle 
hands,  not  flung  down  nor  wrenched 
apart.  The  delicate  ribs  had  fallen  in, 
but  not  a  bone  was  broken,  not  one 


showed  the  splinter  of  shot  or  a  crack 
that  might  have  been  caused  .by  a  steel 
trap.  No  violence  had  been  done  them. 
They  had  been  touched  by  nothing 
rougher  than  the  snow.  The  creature 
evidently  had  crept  out  into  the  run-way 
and  died. 

This  indeed  was  true:  it  had  starved, 
while  a  hundred  acres  of  plenty  lay 
round  about  it. 

Picking  up  the  skull,  I  found  the  jaws 
locked  together  as  if  they  were  a  single 
solid  bone.  One  of  the  two  incisor  teeth 
of  the  upper  jaw  was  missing  and  ap- 
parently had  never  developed.  The  op- 
posite tooth  on  the  lower  jaw,  thus  un- 
opposed and  so  unworn,  had  grown  be- 
yond its  normal  height  up  into  the  empty 
socket  above,  then  on,  turning  outward 
and  piercing  the  cheek-bone  in  front  of 
the  eye,  whence,  curving  like  a  boar's 
tusk,  it  had  slowly  closed  the  jaws  and 
locked  them,  rigid,  set,  as  fixed  as  jaws 
of  stone. 

Death  had  lingered  cruelly.     At  first 


6l2 


the  animal  was  able  to  gnaw;  but  as  the 
tooth  curved  through  the  bones  of  the 
face  and  gradually  tightened  the  jaws, 
the  creature  got  less  and  less  to  eat, 
until,  one  day,  creeping  out  of  the  bur- 
row for  food,  the  poor  wretch  was  unable 
to  get  back. 

One  seldom  comes  upon  the  like  of 
this.  It  is  commoner  than  we  think; 
but  it  is  usually  hidden  away  and  quickly 
over.  How  often  do  we  see  a  wild  thing 
sick — a  bird  or  animal  suffering  from  an 
accident  or  dying,  like  this  muskrat, 
because  of  some  physical  defect?  The 
struggle  between  two  lives  for  life,  the 
falling  of  the  weak  as  prey  to  the  strong, 
is  ever  before  us;  but  this  single-handed 
fight  between  the  creature  and  nature 
herself  is  a  far  rarer,  silenter  tragedy. 
Nature  is  too  swift,  too  merciless  to 
allow  us  time  for  sympathy.  \t  was  she 
who  taught  the  old  Roman  to  take  away 
his  weak  and  malformed  offspring  nnd 
expose  it  on  the  hills. 

There  is  scarcely  a  fighting  chance  in 
the  meadow.  Only  strength  and  craft 
may  win.  The  muskrat  with  the  missing 
todth  never  enters  the  race  at  all.  He 
slinks  from  some  abandoned  burrow,  and 
if  the  owl  and  mink  are  not  watching, 
dies  alone  in  the  grass,  and  we  rarely 
know. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  impression 
made  upon  me  by  those  quiet  bones.  It 
was  like  that  made  by  my  first  visit  to 
a  great  city  hospital — out  of  the  busy, 
cheerful  street  into  a  surgical  ward, 
where  the  sick  and  injured  lay  in  long 
white  lines.  We  tramp  the  woods  and 
meadows  and  never  step  from  the  sweet 
air  and  the  pure  sunlight  of  health  into 
a  hospital.  But  that  is  not  because  no 
sick,  ill-formed  or  injured  are  there. 
The  proportion  is  smaller  than  among 
us  humans,  and  for  very  good  reasons, 
yet  there  is  much  real  suffering,  and  to 
come  upon  it,  as  we  will  now  and  then, 
must  certainly  quicken  our  understand- 
ing and  deepen  our  sympathy  with  the 
life  out  of  doors. 


Here  are  the  voles.  I  know  that  my 
hay  crop  is  short  a  very,  very  little 
because  of  these  mice.  Nevertheless, 
I  can  look  with  satisfaction  at  a  cat 
carrying  a  bob-tailed  vole  out  of  the 
meadow.  The  voles  are  a  pest — "injuri- 
ous to  man."  I  have  an  impulse  to 
plant  both  of  my  precious  feet  upon 
every  one  that  stirs  in  its  run-way. 

Perhaps,  long  ago,  my  forbears  had 
claws  like  pussy;  and  perhaps  —  there 
isn't  the  slightest  doubt  —  perhaps  I 
should  develop  claws  if  I  continued 
to  jump  at  the  mice.  But  a  series  of 
accidents  to  the  little  creatures  and  some 
small  help  from  me  has  quite  changed 
that. 

They  have  eaten  bread  with  me,  and 
I  can  no  longer  lift  up  my  heel  against 
them.  I  might  hurt  a  mouse  that  I 
had  rescued  yesterday. 

When  the  drought  dries  the  meadow, 
the  voles  come  to  the  deep,  walled  spring 
at  the  upper  end,  apparently  to  drink. 
The  water  usually  trickles  over  the  curb, 
but  in  a  long  dry  spell  it  shrinks  to 
a  foot  or  more  below  the  edge,  and  the 
voles,  once  within  for  their  drink,  cannot 
get  out.  Time  and  again  I  had  fished 
them  up,  until  I  thought  to  leave  a 
board  slanting  down  to  the  water, 
so  that  they  could  climb  back  to  the  top. 

It  is  stupid  and  careless  to  drown 
thus.  The  voles  are  blunderers.  White- 
footed  mice  and  house  mice  are  abun- 
dant in  the  stumps  and  grass  of  the 
vicinity,  but  they  never  tumble  into  the 
spring.  Still,  I  am  partly  responsible 
for  the  voles,  for  I  walled  up  the  spring 
and  changed  it  into  this  trap.  I  owe 
them  the  drink  and  the  plank,  for  cer- 
tainly there  are  rights  of  mice,  as  well 
as  of  men  in  this  meadow  of  mine,  where 
I  do  little  but  mow. 

Then  there  is  my  empty  chimney. 
Nature  lays  hold  of  this  by  right  of 
eminent  domain  and  peoples  it  with  a 
questionable  folk;  but  after  I  have 
helped  rear  one  of  the  families  upon  the 
back-log  or  in  the  stove-pipe  flue  my 


THE    MISSING   TOOTH 


613 


resentment  disappears.  At  first  I  felt 
like  burning  them  bag  and  baggage,  but 
they  were  flung  absolutely  upon  my 
mercy,  and  no  man  is  a  match  for 
a  wailing  infant. 

I  wonder  if  the  nests  of  the  chimney 
swallows  came  tumbling  down  when  the 
birds  built  in  caves  and  hollow  trees? 
It  is  a  most  extraordinary  change,  this 
change  to  the  chimney;  and  it  has  not 
been  accompanied  by  the  increase  of 
architectural  wisdom  necessary  to  meet 
all  the  contingencies  of  the  new  hollow. 

Their  mortar,  which,  I  imagine,  held 
firmly  in  the  trees  and  caves,  will  not 
mix  with  the  chimney  soot,  and  a  hard, 
washing  rain,  when  the  young  are  heavy, 
often  brings  the  nest  crashing  into  the 
fireplace. 

Many  a  fatality  among  the  birds  and 
animals  comes  about  by  sudden  fright. 
A  situation  that  would  have  caused  no 
trouble  ordinarily  becomes  a  hopeless 
tangle,  a  trap,  when  the  creature  is  in 
a  panic  of  fear. 

Last  Winter  I  left  the  large  door  of 
the  barn  open,  so  that  my  flock  of 
juncoes  could  feed  inside  upon  the  floor. 
They  found  their  way  into  the  hayloft 
and  went  up  and  down  freely.  On  two 
or  three  occasions  I  happened  in  so  sud- 
denly that  they  were  thoroughly  fright- 
ened and  flew  madly  into  the  cupola  to 
escape  through  the  windows.  They  beat 
against  the  glass  until  utterly  dazed,  and 
would  have  perished  there,  had  I  not 
climbed  up  later  and  brought  them 
down. 

Hasty,  careless,  miscalculated  move- 
ments are  not  as  frequent  among  the 
careful  wild  folk  as  among  us,  perhaps; 
but  there  is  abundant  evidence  of  their 
occasional  occurence  and  of  their  some- 
times fatal  results. 

Several  instances  are  recorded  of  birds 
that  have  been  tangled  in  the  threads  of 
their  nests;  and  one  instance  of  a  blue- 
bird that  was  caught  in  the  flying  meshes 
of  an  oriole's  nest  into  which  it  had 
been  spying. 


I  once  found  the  mummied  body  of 
a  chippie  twisting  and  swinging  in  the 
leafless  branches  of  a  peach  tree.  The 
little  creature  was  suspended  in  a  web 
of  horse  hair  about  two  inches  below  the 
nest.  It  looked  as  if  she  had  brought 
a  snarled  bunch  of  the  hair  and  left  it 
loose  in  the  twigs.  Later  on,  a  careless 
step  and  her  foot  was  fast,  when  every 
frantic  effort  for  freedom  only  tangled 
her  the  worse.  In  the  nest  above  were 
four  other  tiny  mummies  —  a  double 
tragedy  that  might  with  care  have  been 
averted. 

A  similar  fate  befel  a  song  sparrow 
that  I  discovered  hanging  dead  upon  a 
barbed-wire  fence.  By  some  chance  it 
had  slipped  a  foot  through  an  open  place 
between  the  two  twisted  strands  and 
then,  fluttering  along,  had  wedged  the 
leg  and  broken  it  in  the  struggle  to 
escape. 

We  have  all  held  our  breath  at  the 
hazardous  traveling  of  the  squirrels  in 
the  tree-tops.  What  other  animals  take 
such  risks  —  leaping  at  dizzy  heights 
from  bending  limbs  to  catch  the  tips  of 
limbs  still  smaller,  saving  themselves 
again  and  again  by  the  merest  chance. 

But  luck  sometimes  fails.  My  brother, 
a  careful  watcher  in  the  woods,  was  hunt- 
ing on  one  occasion  when  he  saw  a  grey 
squirrel  miss  its  footing  in  a  tree  and 
fall,  breaking  its  neck  upon  a  log  be- 
neath. 

I  have  frequently  known  them  to  fall 
short  distances,  and  once  I  saw  a  red 
squirrel  come  to  grief  like  the  grey 
squirrel  above.  He  was  scurrying 
through  the  tops  of  some  lofty  pitch 
pines,  a  little  hurried  and  flustered 
at  sight  of  me,  and  nearing  the 
end  of  a  high  branch  was  in  the  act  of 
springing,  when  the  dead  tip  cracked 
under  him  and  he  came  tumbling  head-: 
long.  The  height  must  have  been  forty 
feet,  so  that  before  he  reached  the 
ground  he  had  righted  himself  —  his  tail 
out  and  legs  spread  —but  the  fall  was  too 
great.  He  hit  the  earth  with  a  dull  thud 


614 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


and  before  I  could  reach  him,  lay  dead 
upon  the  needles,  with  blood  in  his  eyes 
and  nostrils. 

Unhoused  and  often  unsheltered,  the 
wild  things  suffer  as  we  hardly  yet 
understand.  No  one  can  estimate  the 
death  of  a  year  from  severe  cold,  heavy 
storms,  high  winds  and  tides.  I  have 
known  the  nests  of  a  whole  colony  of 
gulls  and  terns  to  be  swept  away  in  a 
great  storm;  while  the  tides,  over  and 
over,  have  flooded  the  inlet  marshes  and 
drowned  out  the  nests  in  the  grass — 
those  of  the  clapper-rails  by  thousands. 

I  remember  a  late  Spring  storm  that 
came  with  the  returning  redstarts  and, 
in  my  neighborhood,  killed  many  of 
them.  Toward  evening  of  that  day  one 
of  the  little  black  and  orange  voyageurs 
fluttered  against  the  window  and  we  let 
him  in,  wet,  chilled,  and  so  exhausted 
that  for  a  moment  he  lay  on  his  back  in 
my  open  palm.  Soon  after  there  was 
another  soft  tapping  at  the  window — and 
two  little  redstarts  were  sharing  our 
cheer  and  drying  their  butterfly  wings  in 
our  warmth. 

During  the  Summer  of  1903  one  of  the 
commonest  of  the  bird  calls  about  the 
farm  was  the  whistle  of  the  quails.  A 
covey  roosted  down  the  hillside  within 
fifty  yards  of  the  house.  Then  came  the 
Winter, — such  a  Winter  as  the  birds  had 
never  known.  Since  that,  just  once  have 
we  heard  the  whistle  of  a  quail,  and  that, 
perhaps,  was  the  call  of  one  which  the 
game  protective  association  had  liberated 
in  the  Spring  about  two  miles  away. 

The  birds  and  animals  are  not  as 
weather-wise  as  we;  they  cannot  foretell 
as  far  ahead  nor  provide  as  certainly 
against  need,  despite  the  popular  notion 
to  the  contrary. 

We  point  to  the  migrating  birds,  to 
the  muskrat  houses,  and  the  hoards  of 
the  squirrels,  and  say,  "How  wise  and 
far-sighted  these  nature-taught  children 
are!"  True,  they  are,  but  only  for  con- 
ditions that  are  normal.  Their  wisdom 
does  not  cover  the  exceptional.  The 


grey  squirrels  did  not  provide  for  the 
unusually  hard  weather  of  last  Winter. 
Three  of  them  from  the  wood  lot  came 
begging  of  me,  and  lived — on  my  wis- 
dom, not  their  own. 

Consider  the  ravens  that  neither  sow 
nor  reap,  that  have  neither  store-house 
nor  barn,  yet  they  are  fed  —  but  not 
always.  Indeed,  there  are  few  of  our 
Winter  birds  that  go  hungry  so  often, 
and  that  die  in  so  great  numbers  for  lack 
of  food  and  shelter  as  the  crows. 

After  severe  and  protracted  cold,  with 
a  snow-covered  ground,  a  crow  roost 
looks  like  a  battle-field,  so  thick  lie  the 
dead  and  wounded.  Morning  after 
morning  the  flock  goes  over  to  forage 
in  the  frozen  fields,  and  night  after  night 
returns  hungrier,  weaker  and  less  able 
to  resist  the  cold.  Now,  as  the  darkness 
falls,  a  bitter  wind  breaks  loose  and 
sweeps  down  upon  the  pines. 

"List'ning  the  doors  an'  winnocks  rattle 
I  thought  me  on  the  owrie  cattle," 

and  how  often  I  have  thought  me  on 
the  crows  biding  the  night  yonder  in 
the  moaning  pines! 

It  grew  dark  at  five  o'clock,  with  the 
temperature  steadily  falling.  Now  it  is 
nearly  eight  and  the  long  night  is  yet 
but  just  begun.  The  storm  is  increas- 
ing. The  wind  shrieks  in  a  thousand 
voices  about  the  house,  whirling  the  fine 
icy  snow  in  hissing  eddies  past  the  cor- 
ners and  driving  it  on  into  long,  curling 
crests  across  the  fields.  I  cannot  hear 
the  roar  as  the  wind  strikes  the  shoal 
of  pines  where  the  fields  roll  into  the 
woods,  for  my  blazing  fire  talks  so  in- 
cessantly. But  I  know  the  sound.  And 
I  can  see  the  tall  trees  rock  and  sway 
with  their  burden  of  dark  forms. 

As  close  together  as  they  can  crowd 
on  the  brittle  limbs,  cling  the  crows, 
their  breasts  all  to  the  storm.  With 
crops  empty,  bodies  weak  and  life-fires 
low,  they  rise  and  fall  in  the  cutting, 
ice-filled  wind  through  thirteen  hours 
of  night.  Is  it  a  wonder  that  the 
small  flames  flicker  and  burn  out? 


THE     CONQUEST    OF    THE     PLAINS 

By     GOVERNOR    GEORGE    C.     PARDEE    OF    CALIFORNIA 

PRESIDENT     OK     THE     TWELFTH      NATIONAL     IRRIGATION     CONGRESS 


"THE  value  of  irrigation  as  a  wealth 
'  producer  has  been  so  thoroughly 
demonstrated  as  to  be  axiomatic.  From 
the  most  ancient  times  it  has  been  prac- 
ticed in  various  parts  of  the  world,  but 
it  has  remained  for  the  twentieth  century 
to  inaugurate  such  stupendous  achieve- 
ments of  this  nature  in  western  America 
— the  conservation  and  distribution  of 
water  under  governmental  control  over 
vast  areas  of  fertile  but  hitherto  unpro- 
ductive land — as  to  compel  the  attention 
and  admiration  of  the  world. 

When,  on  June  17,  1902,  an  ever- 
memorable  anniversary  for  all  Ameri- 
cans, President  Roosevelt  signed  the  act 
to  appropriate  the  receipts  from  the  sale 
of  public  lands  in  certain  states  and  terri- 
tories to  the  construction  of  irrigation 
works  for  the  reclamation  of  arid  lands, 
the  art  of  husbandry  began  a  peaceful 
territorial  conquest,  and  an  era  of  na- 
tional expansion  commenced  along  more 
enduring  lines  than,  judging  by  history, 
may  be  attained  through  conquest  of 
arms.  No  mere  military  achievement 
can  bring  such  honor  and  surety  In  ex- 
tending our  national  possibilities  or  in 
broadening  our  civilization.  The  con- 
quest of  the  plains,  while  involving  none 
of  the  cruel  and  wasteful  extravagances 
of  war,  is  destined  to  bring  the  riches 
of  peace  far  beyond  present  comprehen- 
sion. 

In  the  great  West  and  Southwest  —  in 
the  area  embraced  within  North  Dakota, 
South  Dakota,  Nebraska,  Kansas,  Okla- 
homa, New  Mexico,  Colorado,  Wyoming, 
Montana,  Idaho,  Utah,  Arizona,  Ne- 
vada, Oregon,  Washington  and  Cali- 
fornia— are  more  than  five  hundred  mil- 
lions of  acres  awaiting  the  life-giving 
touch  of  water  now  mostly  running  to 
waste.  Private  capital  already  has  done 
much  to  inaugurate  the  reclamation  of 
public  lands  and  to  make  clear  the  eco- 


nomic possibilities  of  this  vast  region; 
but  it  has  become  evident  that  the  only 
instrumentality  powerful  enough  to  deal 
satisfactorily  with  the  mighty  problem  is 
the  government  of  the  United  States. 

Near  the  base  of  Mount  Union,  in  the 
state  of  Wyoming,  are  the  beginnings  of 
three  great  river  systems,  the  Missouri, 
the  Columbia,  and  the  Colorado,  which, 
with  their  numerous  tributaries,  furnish 
the  key  to  the  glorious  future  of  this  im- 
mense region.  Within  this  vast  area  lie 
some  of  the  most  fertile  lands  to  be 
found  within  the  borders  of  any  country 
— lands  which  need  only  the  magic  touch 
of  water  to  enable  them  to  give  forth 
a  wide  range  of  rich  products,  from 
wheat  through  all  the  semi-tropical  fruits 
to  cotton.  This  land,  wedded  to  the 
irrigation  ditch,  will  support  in  comfort 
and  luxury  the  many  millions  who  are 
destined  to  inhabit  it.  Thus  a  section 
embracing  half  the  area  of  the  United 
States,  which  hitherto  has  found  its  chief 
source  of  wealth  in  the  metals  and  the 
stock  range,  will,  through  the  agency  of 
national  irrigation,  base  its  permanent 
and  greater  prosperity  upon  the  safer, 
surer  and  greater  riches  coming  from  an 
irrigated  soil. 

The  Colorado  river  system,  including 
its  several  large  tributaries,  is  of  the 
highest  industrial  importance  to  Wyo- 
ming, Colorado,  Utah,  Nevada,  Arizona 
and  California.  This  great  system 
drains  225,000  square  miles  of  moun- 
tain and  valley,  fed  by  the  eternal  snows 
of  the  Rockies,  and  forces  its  way 
through  the  picturesque  battlements  of 
the  Grand  Canyon,  and  through  the 
sleeping  ages  has  been  building  its  fertile 
delta  in  Arizona,  in  California,  and  in 
Lower  California.  This  great  stream, 
the  Nile  of  America,  as  it  well  has  been 
called,  is  to  be  the  mother  of  advanced 
and  teeming  civilization  in  the  empire 


6i6 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for  MARCH,    1905 


of  the  Southwest.  Here,  both  in  Cali- 
fornia and  in  Arizona,  individual  enter- 
prise and  energy  in  building  irrigation 
works  have  produced  surprising  results. 
In  the  Imperial  valley,  for  example,  in 
the  southeastern  corner  of  California, 
where  but  four  years  ago  was  only  an 
expanse  of  so-called  desert,  there  is  now 
a  community  of  several  thousand  per- 
sons. Through  the  utilization  of  water 
from  the  Colorado  river  it  has  been 
shown  that  a  great  portion  of  this 
hitherto  barren  soil  can  produce  almost 
every  variety  of  useful  grains,  fruits  and 
vegetables  known  within  the  United 
States.  Similar  successful  beginnings 
elsewhere  in  the  "arid  regions"  present 
living  proof  of  the  stupendous  possibili- 
ties of  the  future,  when  Uncle  Sam  shall 
have  invested  his  idle  millions  in  the 
development  of  his  almost  undreamed-of 
resources  in  the  water  and  the  soil. 

What  most  immediately  concerns  us 
now  is  that  the  extension  of  irrigation  be 
comprehensive,  that  the  water  be  equit- 
ably distributed,  and  applied  as  cheaply 
as  is  consistent  with  the  best  results  to 
the  people.  The  dominating  principle 
should  be  to  enable  the  waters  to  be 
utilized  without  being  monopolized.  In 
the  various  states  of  the  West  supple- 
mentary legislation  will  be  required  in 
many  particulars  to  meet  the  differing 
conditions.  The  National  Irrigation 
Congress  at  its  annual  meetings  is  ex- 
pected to  perform  important  and  valur 
able  work  in  the  consideration  of  the 
legal  problems  which  accompany  the 
great  undertaking.  Much,  very  much, 
depends  upon  the  wisdom,  the  integrity 
and  the  rightly  directed  energy  with 
which  the  precious  waters  shall  be 
conserved  and  made  useful  to  the 
people. 

As  President  Roosevelt  well  said  at 
the  time  of  signing  the  act, "The  passage 
of  the  national  irrigation  law  is  one  of 
the  great  steps,  not  only  in  the  progress 
of  the  United  States,  but  of  all  man- 
kind. It  is  the  beginning  of  an  achieve- 


ment so  great  that  we  hesitate  to  predict 
•the  outcome." 

The  president  also  put  it  well  when  he 
said: 

"  During  the  time  of  my  presi- 
dency there  has  been  no  measure  in 
which  I  have  taken  a  keener  interest 
than  that  which  started  the  policy  of 
national  aid  to  the  cause  of  irriga- 
tion.    I  have  felt  that  the  use  of  the 
rivers  and  small  streams  of  the  states 
of  the  Great  Plains  and  the  Rocky 
mountains  for  irrigation  was  even 
more  important  to  the  future  of  this 
country  than    the  improvement  of 
the  course  of  these  same  riyers,  lower 
down,  as  an  aid  to  navigation,  and 
when  I  became  president  one  of  the 
first  things  to  which  I  turned  my 
attention  was  the  effort  to  secure  the 
passage  of  the  law  which  inaugu- 
rated this  system." 
And  closely  connected  with  the  ques- 
tion of  irrigation,  the  conserver  and  pro- 
tector of  it,  in  fact,  is  the  matter  of  our 
forests,  concerning  which  the  president 
says: 

"Wise  forest  protection  does  not 
mean  the  withdrawal  of  forest  re- 
sources, whether  of  wood,  water  or 
grass,  from  contributing  their  full 
share  to  the  welfare  of  the  people, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  gives  the  assur- 
ance of  larger  and  more  certain  sup- 
plies. The  fundamental  idea  of  for- 
estry is  the  perpetuation  of  forests 
by  use.  Forest  protection  is  not  an 
end  of  itself;  it  is  a  means  to  in- 
crease and  sustain  the  resources  of 
our  country  and  the  industries  which 
depend  upon  them.  The  preserva- 
tion of  our  forests  is  an  imperative 
business  necessity.  We  have  come 
to  see  clearly  that  whatever  destroys 
the  forest,  except  to  make  way  for 
agriculture,  threatens  our  well-being. 
The  practical  usefulness  of  the  na- 
tional forest  reserves  to  the  mining, 
grazing,  irrigation,  and  other  inter- 
ests of  the  regions  in  which  the 


THE    CONQUEST  OF   THE    PLAINS                            617 

reserves  lie  has  led  to  a  wide-spread  connection    therewith    are    under    way. 

demand  by  the  people  of  the  West  Truly  an    auspicious    beginning    has 

for  their  protection  and  extension."  been  made  in  the  mighty  enterprise  of 

The  report  of  the  secretary  of  the  in-  national  irrigation,  which,  I  take  it,  is 

terior,  recently  issued,  shows  that  the  as  important   and    far-reaching    in    its 

faith  of  the  president,  reflecting  that  of  promised  results  as  any  other  policy  of 

the  people,  was  well  founded,  and  that  government.     A  great  navy  will  protect 

the  great  work  already   is  well  under  us  from  foreign  attack;  a  great  army  will 

way.     Twenty-one  contracts  for  irriga-  enable  us  to  conquer  our  enemies — both 

tion  construction  have  been  let,  involv-  will  make  possible  a  great  nation.    Irri- 

ing  an  expenditure  of  $3,270,787,  and  gation,  beginning  where  these  two  have 

will  be  pushed  to  completion  as  fast  as  left  off,  will  make  certain  not  only  such 

possible,   the   works    being  located    in  greatness  as  the  army  and  navy  make 

Idaho,  Colorado,  Nevada  and  Arizona,  possible,  but  it  will  also  make  not  simply 

There  also  has  been  allotted  for  surveys  two  blades  of  grass  grow  where  before 

and  construction  work  for  the  reclama-  only  one  grew,  but  will  cover  the  desert 

tion     service     in    various     states    and  with  verdure  and  the  naked  plains  with 

territories     the    sum     of     §23,699,642,  homes  in  which  shall  dwell  peace,  plenty 

and      investigations      of     projects      in  and  contentment. 


THE    URGE   OF  THE  RACE 

By    J.     A.     EDGERTON 

TO  the  West!    To  the  West!     So  the  human  tides  sweep 
From  land  unto  land,  like  a  billow  of  light. 
O'er  Asia,  o'er  Europe,  and  thence  o'er  the  deep, 

As  the  snow  from  the  peak,  came  the  avalanche  bright. 
It  surged  o'er  the  wave  to  a  clime  that  was  new, 

A  shore  that  was  virgin,  a  threshold  untrod, 
That  gleamed  on  humanity's  wondering  view 

Like  the  world-spirit's  last  revelation  from  God. 
Then  on,  ever  on,  over  mountains  it  rolled, 

O'er  rivers  and  plains,  without  pause,  without  rest, 
Till  it  came  to  the  verge  by  the  Gateway  of  Gold; 

And  still  it  flows  on  to  the  West,  to  the  West. 

To  the  West!    To  the  West!     In  the  path  of  the  sun, 

It  speeds  to  the  isles  of  the  Orient  sea, 
Where  the  New  and  the  Old  shall  clasp  hands  and  be  one 

In  the  cosmical  brotherhood  waiting  to  be; 
Till  the  impulse  that  stirred  at  the  cradle  of  Man 

Shall  have  finished  its  course  and  encircled  the  earth, 
To  return  and  awaken  each  slumbering  clan 

Of  the  nations  that  lie  'round  the  place  of  its  birth; 
And  the  wave  on  humanity's  ocean  made  bright 

By  the  glitter  of  empires  that  rose  on  its  crest, 
Shall  have  left  'round  the  planet  a  girdle  of  light, 

As  it  surged  on  its  way  to  the  West,  to  the  West. 


ON    THE    ALTAR    OF    MOLOCH 


By    CHRISTOBELLE    VAN    ASMUS    BUNTING 

EVANSTON,    ILLINOIS 


Then  shall  I  be  upright,  and  I  shall  be 
innocent  from  the  great  transgression. 

—  Psalm    XIX-I3. 

H,  hello!  Mrs.  'Dick'— been  out 
here  long?" 

"No,"  and  Peggie  sat  down  in  a 
rocker  on  the  south  porch  of  the  Country 
club.  "I've  just  come.  Dick  has  some 
friends  in  town,  and  we're  out  for  din- 
ner. Who  are  you  with?" 

"Oh,  I  am  with  Alfred  Wallingford. 
I'm  to  meet  them  in  the  library,"  and 
Kate  Ashworth  sat  opposite  Mrs. 
"Dick"  on  the  railing.  She  rested  on 
the  palm  of  either  hand  and  swung  her 
feet. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Peggie. 

"Why,  he  is  visiting  Mrs.  Herbert 
Lawrence.  He's  from  Canada  some- 
where. An  excellent  rider,  a  beautiful 
swimmer,  plays  golf  beyond  words,  and 
has  a  voice  that  makes  you  almost  wish 
to  die  when  he  sings." 

"You  mean  he  sings  well?"  Peggie 
smiled. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  it's  divine.  I  told 
him  the  other  day  if  he  would  only  talk 
and  sing  to  me  over  the  telephone,  I'd 
love  him  forever." 

"How  bold  of  you!"  Peggie  tried  to 
look  shocked. 

"It  may  sound  that  way,  Mrs.  'Dick,' 
but  he  has  already  asked  me  three  times 
to  marry  him,  and  he's  about  to  ask  me 
again." 

"What  shall  you  say?" 

"I  shall  say  'yes,'  of  course.  Why 
not?  One  old  maid  is  enough  in  the 
family,  and  Mary  does  very  well;  but.  a 
palmist  told  me  last  week  that  I  had  an 
active  turn  of  mind — and,  well,  I'm 
afraid  I  might  get  meddlesome." 

"So  you've  decided  to  marry,  have 
you?" 

"You  don't  blame  me,  do  you,  Mrs. 


'Dick?'  Besides,  he  has  a  heap  of 
money.  Has  all  his  wardrobe  made 
abroad.  Goes  over  every  other  fortnight 
or  so — most  nonchalantly." 

"Is  he  good  looking?"  Peggie  asked 
interestedly. 

"Yes,  good  enough;  I  don't  like 
handsome  men." 

"No?  And  he  has  money  and  all  that?" 

"Yes,  heaps  of  it." 

"Well,  I  should  imagine  he  might  do 
very  well." 

Peggie  laughed  lightly. 

"How  old  is  he?"  she  said  again. 

"About  six  years  older  than  I.  Just 
Mary's  age.  You  know,  Mrs.  'Dick,' 
I  always  said  I'd  marry  a  man  with  black 
hair,  —  very  dark,  at  any  rate  —  but 
then —  '  and  Kate  slid  down  from  the 
railing  and  took  a  chair. 

"One  can't  have  everything,"  Peggie 
said  consolingly. 

"No,  that's  just  it.  One  can't  have 
everything,  and — so — well— as  he  is  so 
awfully  fond  of  me,  I  reckon  we'll 
marry.  I  am  to  tell  him  tonight 
finally." 

"Why  are  you  so  undecided?" 

Kate  drummed  with  her  fingers  on 
the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"I  don't  think  I'll  tell  you,"  she  said. 

"I  can  guess,"  Peggie  persisted. 

"Maybe  you  can." 

"You're  in  love  with  someone  else. 
Harold  Stevenson,  for  instance." 

."Well,"  said  Kate,  thinkingly,  "it 
might  even  be  that;  but  it  isn't.  You 
could  never  guess  until  you  met  him." 

"Horrors!"  exclaimed  Peggie,  "is  he 
cross-eyed?" 

"No,"  and  Kate  looked  very  serious, 
"he  is  not  anything  like  that  at  all. 
And  his  eyes  are  rather  nice.  I  am  sure 
he's  very  kind.  Oh,"  and  Kate  rose 
suddenly,  "I  promised  to  meet  them  at 
six  and  it's  'most  half-after  now." 


ON    THE   ALTAR    OF    MOLOCH 


619 


"Who's  coming  out?"  asked  Peggie. 

"I  don't  know  who  all.  It's  Mrs. 
Lawrence's  party." 

"Is  he  bright?"  Peggie  pursued 
again. 

Kate  had  already  gotten  to  the  door. 
She  was  about  to  open  it  when  Peggie 
last  spoke.  She  came  running  back. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dick,"  she  said  hurriedly, 
"you're  'getting  awfully  hot.'  Don't 
guess  any  more,  please.  I'd  hate  to 
have  you  think  my  husband — well — " 

"Well,  what?"  asked  Peggie. 

"Well,"  and  Kate  bent  over  her  and 
said  almost  under  her  breath — "well, 
what  he  is. " 

"Oh,"  said  Peggie,  startled. 

"Meet  us  after  dinner,"  Kate  went  on, 
"and  you  shall  see  for  yourself." 

Peggie  rocked  contentedly  to  and  fro 
on  the  south  veranda.  She  could  see 
the  road  through  the  trees  and  she 
watched  for  Dick  and  his  friends. 

"Kate's  a  dear  child,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "I  should  hate  to  see  her  un- 
happily married.  I  wonder  what  there 
is  about  him.  She  says  I  shall  see 
for  myself.  I  can't  imagine  anything. 
Maybe  he  is — oh,  no,  it's  nothing  like 
that,  she  says.  Well,  I  shall  soon  learn," 
and  Peggie  rocked  on. 

"Someone  whistled.  It  was  Dick. 
They  were  already  coming  up  the  walk 
— three  of  them. 

"Why,"  said  Peggie  as  she  waved  her 
hand  and  nodded,  "Dick  didn't  tell  me 
one  of  his  friends  was  a  hunchback. 
How  dreadful!  Kate  may  be  glad  Mr. 
Wallingford  is  not  that."  She  went  in- 
side and  met  them  at  the  stairs. 

In  the  casino,  where  they  sat  at  a  table 
for  four,  Peggie  found  Mr.  Barclay  at 
her  right.  She  tried  not  to  be  too  nice 
to  him,  lest  he  might  notice  her  atten- 
tion and  attribute  it  to  his  affliction.  On 
the  other  hand,  she  thought  he  might 
think  her  more  gracious  to  Dick's  other 
friend,  Mr.  Dixon.  Peggie  was  most 
uncomfortable,  and  she  felt  everyone 
must  notice  it. 


It  was  Mr.  Barclay  himself  who  put 
her  at  her  ease. 

"Mrs.  Kendall,"  he  began,  "I  met 
a  friend  of  yours  in  Berlin  last  Sum- 
mer." 

"Indeed,"  and  Peggie  smiled  sweetly. 
"Tell  me  about  it." 

"It  was  quite  by  accident.  We  found 
ourselves  seated  side  by  side  at  the 
theater;  and,  each  recognizing  the  other 
to  be  an  American,  we  began  convers- 
ing. When  we  were  leaving  I  asked 
him  to  call  on  me,  as  it  came  out  that 
we  were  both  to  remain  there  some  time 
— can't  I  help  you  to  something,  Mrs. 
Kendall?"  he  said  suddenly,  as  Peggie 
seemed  to  be  looking  for  something. 

"Oh.  thank  you,"  she  said,  "I  would 
like  some  water.  Thank  you.  Excuse 
my  interruption." 

"No  apologies,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  re- 
turned. 

Peggie  had  already  forgotten  his  de- 
formity. "He  is  charming,"  she  was 
saying  to  herself. 

"I  think,"  Mr.  Dixon  joined  on, 
"that  Mr.  Barclay  is  exciting  your  inter- 
est too  greatly.  He  is  a  joker,  Mrs. 
Kendall.  Do  not  be  disappointed." 

Dick  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"Mrs.  Kendall  is  a  match  for  him," 
he  said  gaily. 

"I  am  sure  they  are  both  very  rude," 
Peggie  went  on,  turning  to  Mr.  Barclay. 

"Do  tell  me  whom  you  met." 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  went  to  my 
pocket  for  my  card,  and  I  came  on  one 
that  Dick  Kendall  had  sent  up  to  me 
one  day  a  year  ago,  when  in  Boston,  As 
fortune  would  have  it,  I  had  none  of  my 
own  along,  so  I  explained  and  wrote  my 
address  on  the  back  of  this  one.  He 
turned  it  over  naturally  enough,  when  I 
handed  it  to  him,  and  then  it  came  about 
that  he  was  an  old  sweetheart  of  yours, 
Mrs.  Kendall!" 

"Please  tell  me,"  Peggie  coaxed, 
"who  was  he?" 

"Mr.  Henry  Sherwood." 

"No — really?"  Peggie  said  very  much 


620 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for  MARCH,    1905 


amused.  "I've  not  seen  Henry  in  years 
—eight,  at  least.  Tell  me,  is  he  as 
good-looking  as  ever?" 

"That  I  can't  say,  not  having  known 
him  before,  but,  except  for  a  few  heart- 
aches, I  imagine  he  is  yet  very  good- 
looking." 

"There,  that  will  do,"  said  Dick. 
"Henry  Sherwood  comes  too  near  home 
to  be  .interesting." 

"What  a  jealous  husband  you  have, 
Mrs.  Kendall!"  And  then  they  all 
laughed. 

Peggie  said  afterward  to  Dick:  "What 
a  pleasant  dinner  we  had,  didn't  we?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dick.  "Old  Barclay  is 
very  entertaining.  He  never  changes, 
either,  and  no  matter  the  time  or  the 
place,  he  can  always  be  depended 
upon." 

"Where  did  you  meet  him?"  Peggie 
asked. 

"One  Summer,  coming  back  from 
England.  He  had  the  cabin  next  to 
mine." 

"Oh,"  said  Peggie,  "the  Summer 
John  was  born." 

"Yes,  that  was  the  Summer." 

"What  is  his  business?"  Peggie  ar- 
ranged some  flowers  in  a  vase.  "Pretty, 
aren't  they?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  very.  Why,  he  writes  on  phil- 
osophy and  sociology  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know.  He  has  written  several 
books  and  he  writes  for  the  heavy  maga- 
zines." 

"Heavens,  Dick!  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me?  How  stupid  he  must  have 
thought  me  —  but,"  and  Peggie  laughed 
lightly,  "it  wouldn't  have  made  the  least 
bit  of  difference,  anyway.  I  couldn't 
talk  along  his  lines,  no  matter  how  hard 
I  tried." 

'That's  just  where  you're  wrong. 
You're  the  brainest  woman  I  know." 

"Poor  Dick!"  Peggie  laughed  teas- 
ingly. 

"No,  but  you  are.  What  is  science, 
anyway?  It's  only  the  cvery-day  things. 
It's  not  something  alien  we  have  to  hunt 


for.  It's  something  we  can't  get  away 
from.  It's  fact.  That's  what  it  is." 

"I  know,"  said  Peggie,  "but  you  must 
admit,  Dick,  that,  as  a  rule,  scientific 
people  like  to  make  out  it's  most  any- 
thing else;  and  they  go  rambling  along 
in  the  sky  and  talk  so  high  in  the  air, 
that  I  must  confess,  stupid  or  not,  I 
can't  cope  with  them.  I  just  can't, 
that's  all." 

"Well,  you  can  see  that  Barclay's  not 
that  sort,  can't  you? — and  he's  the  right 
kind.  It's  the  brainy  men  who  talk 
plain  sense,  and  sense  that  is  tangible 
and  understandable.  These  people  who 
talk  so  metaphorically  don't  know  them- 
selves what  they're  saying.  They  are 
talking  against  time — most  of  them." 

"Well,  anyway,  Dick,  I  like  your 
friend  mighty  well.  Do  you  know,  I 
forget  all  about  his  deformity  1  Why,  I 
got  so  I  wasn't  even  sorry  for  him.  He 
seems  so  contented  and  happy  and  all 
that,  you  know.  As  a  rule,  are  scientists 
optimists?" 

"I  think  they  ought  to  be,"  and  Dick 
blew  some  smoke  Peggie's  way.  He 
smiled  at  her.  "I  don't  think  either 
one  is  a  controllable  matter." 

"From  one  thing  to  another,"  Peggie 
said  suddenly.  "How  do  you  like  Kate 
Ashworth's  fiancee?" 

"You  mean  that  lank,  English-looking 
individual?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Wallingford." 

"So  Kate's  to  marry  him,  is  she? 
Well,  he  won't  bother  her  much  with  his 
brains.  He  is  not  even  a  sciolist." 

"I  guess  he  must  be  very  stupid. 
Dreadfully  horsey,  you  know,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  but  entirely  empty- 
headed.  Poor  Kate!  I  wish  she 
wouldn't  do  it.  She's  so  very  clever 
herself.  Awfully  impulsive,  though.  I 
suppose  that's  why  she  did  it.  She 
never  stops  to  think,  ever.  But  she  is 
a  good  child — all  heart.  There's  not 
an  unkind  or  disagreeable  thing  about 
her." 

"When  is  it  to  be?"  Dick  took  out  his 


ON    THE   ALTAR    OF    MOLOCH 


621 


watch.  If  you  will  take  me,"  he  said, 
"I'll  go  for  a  drive  with  you  this  morn- 
ing." 

"All  right,"  and  Peggie  went  to  the 
window.  "It's  a  beautiful  day.  I'll 
take  you  out  to  The  Pines."  Then  she 
turned  and  went  over  to  the  table.  "Do 
you  remember  anything  about  The 
Pines?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  her  smiling, 
"did  you  break  your  promise?" 

"That  I  would  never  drive  with  any- 
one else  through  the  'Shaded  Pass?'  ' 

"Did  you?"  he  asked. 

"Never,"  she  vouched. 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  he  answered 
her. 

"Well,  you'll  feel  better  if  you  do," 
and  Peggie  left  Dick  to  go  for  her  wraps. 
"See  about  the  cart,  will  you?"  she  said 
as  she  went  toward  the  hall,  "Dick," 
she  called  from  the  stairs,  "call  up  Mme. 
McRhea  and  tell  her  I'll  be  in  tomorrow 
—  same  time.  Say  I'm  HI,  or  some- 
thing." 

"Oh,  the  way  of  women!"  Dick 
called  back  as  he  went  to  the  telephone. 


Peggie  left  Dick  down  town  and  as 
she  drove  by  the  Ashworth's  on  her  way 
home. 

"Come  home  to  lunch  with  me?" 
Peggie  asked  of  Mary,  as  she  came  out 
to  talk  with  her. 

"I'd  like  to,  but  I  can't,  Peggie. 
Kate's  going  to  Louisville  tomorrow, 
and  everything's  upside  down  getting 
her  ready." 

"Oh,  I  thought  she  was  not  going  till 
the  fifteenth." 

"That's  what  we  all  thought,  but  some- 
body or  other  is  to  give  a  big  affair  next 
Monday,  and  so  my  lady's  got  to  go. 
She  hasn't  even  all  her  things  ready, 
and  I'm  to  send  everything  when  they're 
done." 

"You'll  be  saved  that  trouble  if  Mme. 
McRhea  has  them.  They  won't  be  done 
till  Kate's  home  again.  I'm  awfully 


sorry  you  can't  come  over.  Come  to- 
morrow then." 

"All  right,  I  will." 

"Hello,  Mrs.  'Dick,'"  Kate  called, 
coming  down  the  steps.  "I'll  say  good- 
bye to  you,"  as  she  came  to  the  car- 
riage. 

"Have  a  good  time,  said  Peggie. 

"Thanks,  I  will.  Louisville  is  a  great 
place,  Maude  says.  I  know  I'll  have 
the  time  of  my  life." 

Peggie  drove  home  by  herself  and 
lunched  with  the  children. 


On  Peggie's  next  day  at  home  Mr. 
Barclay  called.  It  was  an  exceptionally 
pleasant  afternoon.  Peggie  turned  it 
into  a  sort  of  informal  musical.  Dorothy 
Stevens  was  there  and  she  played,  and 
Louise  Hudson  sang  a  duo  with  Mr. 
Remington.  Miss  Gehr  gave  parts  from 
"Mignon"  with  her  usual  brilliantly 
charming  execution.  Peggie  even  dared 
to  think  of  making  a  match  between  her 
and  Mr.  Gilbert.  When  she  was  plan- 
ning it  in  her  own  mind  she  noticed  Mr. 
Barclay.  He  was  sitting  a  little  apart 
from  the  others  in  a  straight  backed 
chair. 

"Too  badl"  she  said  to  herself,  "and 
he  looks  so  uncomfortable  there,  too. 
I  wonder  if  his  back  hurts  him.  Why 
don't  he  sit  among  the  pillows  1"  She 
got  up  and  went  to  him. 

"Come  over  here,"  she  said,  "and 
have  some  pouchong." 

"Thank  you,"  and  Mr.  Barclay  smiled 
at  her  graciously. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Peggie,  making 
sure  he  was  comfortable  without  appar- 
ently seeming  to  do  so,  "that  I'd  no 
idea  you  were  such  a  brainy  man?" 

He  was  pleased. 

"Indeed,"  he  said  banteringly,  "is 
it  possible?" 

"Oh,  you  need  not  joke,"  Peggie 
went  on.  "Dick's  told  me  all  about 
you." 

"Mrs.  Kendall,  when  you've  known 


622 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


that  indescribable  gentleman  as  long  as 
I  have,  you  won't  believe  all  he  tells 
you." 

Peggie  laughed. 

"How  will  you  have  your  tea — some 
lemon  and  sugar?" 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

"Oh,"  Peggie  continued  confidently, 
"I've  known  Dick  much  longer  than 
you  have.  Why,  we  used  to  run  away 
from  school  together." 

"How  interesting.  Tell  me,  was  he 
ever  thus?" 

"Yes,  he  doesn't  change.  Did  you 
used  to  run  away  from  school,  too?" 
Peggie  said  hastily.  She  felt  very  foolish 
for  asking  such  a  silly  question. 

Mr.  Barclay  sipped  the  tea. 

"Not  often,"  he  said,  "I  never  had 
a  sweetheart." 

Peggie  knew  her  looks  belied  her  as 
she  replied,  trying  to  be  coy,  "I  don't 
believe  you."  She  added  quickly, 
"Pardon  me,  please,  I'm  going  to  ask 
Mrs.  Hudson  to  sing." 

"Certainly,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Remington  came  up  just  then 
and  Peggie  left  them  together.  She 
breathed  more  easily  by  herself. 

II 

Peggie  was  tearing  up   photographs. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said  to  Dick  as  he 
kissed  her  on  leaving,  "if  these  people 
knew  I  were  tearing  up  their  photos, 
they'd  never  forgive  me.  I  know  it's 
heathenish,  even  heartless;  but  if  there 
is  one  thing  I  hate  more  than  another 
it's  a  lot  of  old  cardboards  that  no  one 
would  ever  recognize.  Of  course  I'd 
not  destroy  these."  She  put  her  hand 
on  a  few  in  the  corner  of  her  desk 
drawer.  "This  is  my  death  corner,  and 
I  couldn't  replace  them."  It  was  rain- 
ing—  fitting  obsequies  over  the  heads 
that  Peggie  was  leading  to  the  guillotine. 
In  the  midst  of  it  all  Kate  Ashworth 
came  in. 

"Oh!"  said  Peggie.  "I'm  so  glad 
you're  home."  Then  after  greeting  her 


she  took  her  by  either  shoulder  and  held 
her  off.  "Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "what 
is  the  matter?  You  are  ill!" 

"Yes,"  said  Kate,  "I've  come  to  tell 
you  about  it." 

"Heavens!"  sa*id  Peggie,  "it's  not 
serious,  I  hope?"  She  was  thinking  in 
her  own  mind  that  it  was,  surely. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "let  us  go  in 
here."  She  led  the  way  to  a  little  sit- 
ting room. 

"Are  we  quite  alone?"  Kate  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie,  "I'll  close  the 
door.  Now,"  she  said  coming  back, 
"what's  the  matter?" 

Kate  was  as  white  as  death  and  her 
eyes  were  red  and  hollow  looking. 
Never  had  Peggie  seen  such  a  dread- 
ful, awful  change  in  anyone. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  again.  "Maybe 
I  can  help  you." 

"You  are  the  only  one  who  can,"  and 
Kate  grasped  the  arms  of  her  chair 
tightly.  ''I  couldn't  tell  my  father,  and 
Mary  could  not  understand;  and  I  have 
no  mother;  and  3^ou,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  will 
have  to  help  me."  She  looked  almost 
crazed.  Peggie's  own  mind  was  un- 
steady. 

"Surely,"  she  kept  saying  to  herself, 
"surely,  I  am  dreaming.  It's  not  Kate 
at  all.  Careless,  self-willed,  impulsive 
Kate!"  and  the»  she  brought  herself 
back  suddenly. 

Kate  was  saying,  "It's  the  worst 
thing  that  could  ever  happen  to  a 
woman. 

"What?"  said  Peggie  startled. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  I've  lost  my  own 
self-respect. 

"Oh,"  said  Peggie  hysterically,"that's 
not  the  worst  thing,  you  know.  It's 
worse  to  have  others  lose  their  respect 
for  you.  In  your  own  mind,  to  lose  your 
self-respect  is  worse,  perhaps,  but  when 
it's  only  yourself,  you  can  hide  it,  you 
know." 

"That  shall  rest  with  you,"  and  Kate 
stood  by  a  center-table  and  rested  on 
one  hand.  She  looked  straight  across 


ON    THE    ALTAR    OF    MOLOCH 


623 


at  Peggie.  Their  eyes  met.  Kate's 
were  full  of  pleading  hope.  Peggie's 
told  of  wild  despair.  Neither  spoke  for 
several  seconds;  then  Kate  said,  still 
looking  into  Peggie's  eyes:  "Yes,  Mrs. 
'Dick'— that's  it!" 

"What?"  gasped  Peggie.  "I  don't 
understand."  She  tried  to  speak  care- 
lessly. "I  don't  know  at  all  what  you 
mean.  Tell  me,  please,"  she  said  ex- 
citedly. 

"I  have  told  you,"  said  Kate  with  the 
tears  streaming  down  her  face  and  drop- 
ping onto  her  own  hand.  "I  have  told 
you,  and  you  refuse  to  comfort  me. 
Good  God,  Mrs.  'Dick' — you  have  got 
to  help  me." 

"Heaven  have  mercy!"  and  Peggie 
came  and  took  Kate  in  her  arms.  She 
drew  her  to  a  couch  in  the  corner. 
"Help  you!"  she  said,  "of  course' I 
will  help  you." 

She  drew  Kate  to  her,  but  Kate  pushed 
her  back. 

"Let  me  tell  it  first — everything,"  she 
sobbed. 

"I  will  listen,"  said  Peggie  sympathe- 
tically. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  where  to  com- 
mence. It's  all  like  an  awful  nightmare. 
I  don't  even  remember  clearly."  She 
spoke  rapidly.  "We  were  at  the  club 
for  dinner— fourteen  of  us— and  a  Mrs. 
Lavender  was  my  chaperon.  She  was 
as  young  as  I.  You  see,  I  should  never 
have  taken  anything.  I'm  not  used  to 
it;  but  when  you're  out  that  way  and 
everyone's  expecting  you  are  used  to 
that  sort  of  thing  and  all,  it's  hard  to 
show  yourself  to  be  so  unsophisticated. 
I  don't  know  all  they  had  to  drink;  but 
Mr.  Duval,  whom  we  came  with,  was 
called  away.  His  father  was  ill  Oh,  if 
it  had  only  been  mine!  And  so,  he 
asked  one  of  the  other  men  to  look  after 
me.  Well,  when  we  got  ready  to  go, 
Mrs.  Lavender  said  as  we  lived  in 
opposite  directions,  and  as  Maude  was 
going  my  way,  she  thought  if  I  did  not 
mind  she  would  go  with  some  of  the 


others.  It  was  only  an  informal  dinner 
and  it  was  not  very  late,  you  know,  and 
we  were  all  going  on  the  car.  Oh !  Mrs. 
'Dick' — why  did  I  ever  go?"  and  Kate 
sighed  hopelessly. 

"Go  on,  dear,"  said  Peggie  soothingly. 

"Well,  fate  surely  was  against  me,  for 
the  cars  were  not  running.  The  man 
with  me  suggested  we  walk  up  a  way 
and  meet  it.  I  agreed.  I  thought  the 
others  directly  behind  us.  Anyway,  Mrs. 
'Dick',  I  was  not  responsible.  Never 
before,  you  know,  had  I  been  to  an 
affair  of  this  sort.  Seems  Maude  had 
not  either,  but  a  brother  of  a  friend  of 
hers  belongs  to  that  fast  set,  and  some- 
one had  invited  her  on  his  account.  He 
was  away — and  they  asked  Maude  on  her 
friend's  account;  and  that's  how  I  got 
there.  Mrs.  Williams  didn't  approve  at 
all  of  our  going,  but  because  Maude  was 
anxious  to  take  me  about,  she  consented. 

"Well,  as  I  said,  we  had  walked  away 
from  them  all,  and  the  Alt  House  being 
only  a  short  distance  from  where  we 
were,  he  asked  if  I  minded  to  walk  there 
and  he  would  order  a  cab.  I  agreed, 
thinking  it  best  to  get  back  as  soon  as 
possible.  He  was  most  courteous  and 
we  talked  back  and  forth.  Really,  I 
don't  know  what  I  said.  You  see,  I'd 
never  been  about  like  this,  and  it  had 
all  gone  to  my  head.  Things  were  misty. 
I  felt  like  my  eyes  were  blinded. 

"I  remember  as  we  came  into  the  Alt 
House  he  said,  'We  could  stay  here  all 
night.'  'Yes,'  I  answered,  'we  could  do 
much  worse.'  I  think  that  was  the  un- 
fortunate remark.  He  took  me  to  a 
chair.  'I'll  order  the  cab,'  he  said. 

"When  he  disappeared  down  the  cor- 
ridor and  I  did  not  feel  the  necessity  to 
keep  up  a  conversation,  I  got  very  stupid. 
I  felt  uncontrollably  sleepy.  When  he 
came  again  he  noticed  it. 

"'Come  in  here,'  he  said,  taking  my 
arm  and  walking  toward  a  cafe.  'You're 
tired.  I  will  order  something  to  revive 
you.' 

"I    followed    stupidly,    and   I   drank 


624 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for  MARCH,    1905 


what  he  gave  me.  I  don't  know  the  rest 
at  all,  Mrs.  'Dick.'  Everything  was  so 
hazy  and  then— all  blank.  Seemed  to 
me  we  were  standing  in  an  elevator,  and 
I  leaned  heavily  against  him  for  support. 
At  any  rate,  when  the  next  day  came 
I  found  myself  in  a  strange  room.  He 
had  gone." 

Peggie  was  stupefied. 

"Oh,  my  Godl"  she  exclaimed,  wip- 
ing her  brow. 

"No  one  ever  can  know  the  anguish, 
the  remorse,  the  tearing  of  my  heart,  the 
unutterable  overwhelming  that  came 
over  me,"  Kate  went  on  almost  madly. 
"On  a  table,  by  a  telephone,  I  found 
a  half-smoked  cigar  and  a  note.  Oh! 
the  calm  coldness  of  it!"  she  gasped. 
"He  said  he  did  not  wish  to  disturb  me, 
that  I  seemed  to  be  sleeping  restfully, 
and  that  he  had  an  engagement,  so  he 
could  not  wait.  He  thought  it  would  be 
wise  to  telephone  Mrs.  Williams  that 
I  had  spent  the  night  with  one  of  the 
chaperons.  Oh!  Mrs.  'Dick' — to  think 
of  it  all!  Well,  it  seemed  that  they  had 
not  even  missed  me.  Maude  came  in 
and  thought  I  had  come  before  and  gone 
to  sleep,  and  she  was  not  up  yet  when  I 
telephoned." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie  breathlessly. 

"That's  about  all,"  Kate  went  on 
hopelessly.  "I  never  met  him  again. 
You  see,  Maude  did  not  go  in  that  set. 
He  is  a  married  man,"  she  added  bit- 
terly. "His  wife  is  abroad  with  her 
mother." 

"My  God!"  said  Peggie,  then  he  can't 
marry  you?" 

"I  should  not  marry  him,"  Kate  said 
fiercely,  "even  if  he  begged  me  on  his 
knees." 

"But  Kate,"  and  Peggie  sprang  to  her 
feet.  "What— what  will  you  do?"  She 
turned  to  the  window.  "Oh,  I  know," 
she  said,  grasping  at  a  ray  of  hope,  "you 
will  marry  Mr.  Wallingford,  of  course." 

Peggie  went  back  and  took  Kate's 
hand.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  went  on  ex- 
citedly, "of  course,  and  you  will— I 


mean  you  can — 

"Don't,"  said  Kate,  standing  before 
her.  "No;  I'll  not  do  that,  either.  I 
told  him  before  I  left  I  would  not  marry 
him.  I  could  not  marry  a  man  like 
him." 

She  went  over  to  the  table  again. 
"Mrs.  'Dick,'"  she  said,  turning 
abruptly,  "I  am  not  hunting  a  husband 
now;  I  am  hunting  a  shelter." 

"Are  you  sure  you're  not  mistaken?" 
Peggie  asked  hopefully. 

"Yes,"  Kate  answered  sadly;  "I  am 
sure  of  it." 

"And  he  does  not  know  it?"  she 
asked  again. 

"No  one  knows  but  you  and  I." 

Peggie  saw  the  situation  quickly.  She 
came  and  stood  beside  Kate  and  put 
her  arm  about  her. 

"I  will  help  you,"  she  said,  "and  ex- 
cept Dick,  there  will  never  a  soul  in  this 
wide  world  know  anything. 

"What  will  you  do?"  Kate  asked. 

"We  shall  go  away." 

"Where?" 

"We  shall  see,"  and  Peggie  even 
smiled.  "It's  not  the  awfulest  thing, 
dear,"  she  said.  "You  were  foolish, 
but  you  did  not  really  fall.  You  will 
outlive  it." 

"Heaven  spare  me!"  she  said,  turning 
to  Peggie.  "Pray  that  I  may  die." 

"We  shall  leave  on  Monday,"  said 
Peggie  reassuringly. 

Kate  went  home  and  Peggie  watched 
her  from  the  window. 

"Wh>  was  she  ever  born?"  she  said 
despairingly. 

When  Dick  came  home  that  evening 
Peggie  told  him  all  about  it. 

Dick  took  it  harder  than  Peggie  ex- 
pected. He  paced  the  floor  like  a  man 
gone  mad.  He  demanded  that  justice 
should  be  done,  and  he  vowed  he  would 
see  to  it  that  it  was.  Kate  had  always 
been  like  a  little  sister  to  him.  It 
seemed  he  could  not  have  it  so. 

But  Peggie  persuaded  Dick  that  there 
was  no  justice  in  things  of  this  sort. 


ON    THE   ALTAR    OF    MOLOCH 


625 


They  were  beyond  repair.  There  was 
nothing  gained  by  trying  for  it.  All 
they  wished  was  to  save  Kate  and  there 
was  only  one  way — to  keep  secret. 

"To  think,"  said  Peggie,  "that  gener- 
ous, loving,  whole-souled  Kate  should 
come  to  this!  Why,  it  seems  the  cruel- 
-  est,  most  unjust  and  unlikely  thing  in 
the  whole  wide  world.  That  child 
wouldn't  harm  anyone." 

"It  was  a  bad  place  to  send  her. 
And  what  are  women  coming  to  — " 
Dick  went  on — "drinking  in  this  man- 
ner? Oh,  the  beastly  mask  society 
travels  under!  Good  Godl  There  should 
be  laws  to  prevent  it." 

"Poor  Kate,  she  hated  to  appear  'so 
unsophisticated,'  she  said.  Why,  the 
child  doesn't  even  know  what  they  gave 
her." 

"They  are  a  bad  lot  there,"  said  Dick 
again.  Then  he  added  slowly,  "What 
are  we  going  to  do?" 

"We  must  take  her  away  at  once,  of 
course." 

"Oh,  yesl"  Dick  had  not  thought  of 
this. 

"I  shall  go  over  tomorrow,"  Peggie 
continued,  "and  say  I've  developed  a 
sort  of  insomnia  —  a  nervous  collapse, 
as  it  were,  atnd  that  the  doctor  has  ad- 
vised a  sea  voyage  and  several  months 
in  the  south  of  France,  if  possible. 
There  is  a  particular  rest  cure  he  advo- 
cates with  a  peculiar  air  that  can  only 
be  gotten  there." 

"How  is  that  to  benefit  Kate?"  Dick 
asked. 

"When  I  tell  Mary  this  and  dilate 
.on  it  extensively  she  will  decide  that  if 
Kate  could  go  too  she  would  surely  be 
helped.  They  can  see,"  said  Peggie, 
"that  Kate's  not  well.  She  looks  like 
a  ghost." 

And  it  was  just  as  Peggie  had  antici- 
pated. Mary  was  indeed  greatly  worried, 
and  she  begged  Peggie  to  take  Kate 
along.  On  the  twenty-third  of  February 
they  sailed. 

Peggie  closed  the  house,  and  sent  the 


boys  off  to  school,  and  Dick  took  a 
vacation.  They  took  Kate  to  a  retreat 
and  gave  out  that  she  was  a  young 
widow.  Peggie  and  Dick  left  her  for 
short  trips,  and  Kate's  letters  home  were 
full  of  new  scenes  and  places,  and  of 
Peggie's  slow  recovery  and  her  own 
more  rapid  one. 

Kate's  child  was  born  in  September. 
It  was  a  girl,  and  it  was  a  fine  healthy 
baby. 

When  she  was  nearly  three  months 
old  they  left  her,  and  Kate  came  home 
again  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendal.  Mary 
was  delighted  at  Kate's  improved  health. 
Her  face  was  fuller  again  and  her  eyes 
were  clear  and  bright.  She  looked  the 
same  old  Kate,  but  Mr.  Ashworth  missed 
the  careless  happiness  she  used  to  have. 

"It  is  because  she  is  older,"  Mary 
said  to  him  one  night  when  Kate  was 
playing  a  plaintive  melody  on  the  guitar. 
"She  can't  always  be  a  child,  you  know. 
I  think  a  little  dignity  becomes  her." 

"I  suppose  you  are  right,"  Mr.  Ash- 
worth  answered  her.  Then  he  called: 
"Come  "here,  Kate,  and  see  your 
Daddy." 

'Kate  sat  on  a  low,  straight  chair  be- 
side him. 

"Daddy,"  she  said  after  a  little,  "tell 
me  about  my  mother." 

"You  are  much  like  her,  Kate,"  he 
answered,  "and  she  loved  you  dearly." 
He  patted  her  head  soothingly. 

"I  suppose  she  did,  and  if  for  no  other 
reason — just  because  she  was  my 
mother." 

"Yes,"  he  said  again,  *'a  girl's  mother 
is  her  strongest  tie  of  sympathy." 

"I  think  you 're  right,"  she  said  slowly, 
and  they  were  both  silent  —  then  she 
added:  "I  never  knew  what  it  was  to 
have  a  mother." 

"Poor  child!"  he  said  caressingly. 
"No,  you  never  did." 

Ill 

Peggie  was  besieged  with  invitations 
and  callers.  Everyone  was  delighted  to 


626 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


have  her  home  again.  Even  Mrs.  Potter 
had  said  most  sincerely  that  the  whole 
place  seemed  to  have  lost  interest  while 
she  was  away. 

And  so  Peggie  decided  to  give  a  musi- 
cal. 

Musicals  were  Peggie's  stronghold. 
She  said  to  Dick  that  they  were  the  most 
satisfactory  sort  of  entertainment. 

"It  gives  every  one  an  excuse  for 
doing  something,  you  know.  It  fur- 
nishes conversation  and  all  that.  No 
more  trouble  than  a  reception  and  ten 
times  more  enjoyment.  People  feel  flat- 
tered. Those  who  perform  are  pleased 
to  have  been  asked  to  do  so;  and  those 
who  look  on  feel  honored  to  have  been 
asked  to  come.  Of  course  they  are  de- 
lighted. They  'dote  on  music.'  It's  a 
dainty  way  to  pay  a  compliment." 

"Yes-,"  agreed  Dick,  "I  used  to  feel 
that  way  when  you  used  to  ask  me." 

"Did  you?"  she  said,  "how  funny!" 

And  so  it  came  that  on  Friday  Peggie's 
home  was  a  scene  of  much  gaiety.  It 
was  practically  the  first  affair  of  the 
season,  and  there  was  a  perceptible  dis- 
play of  new  gowns  and  hats.  Every- 
body came.  Darrell  Stevens  brought 
his  wife;  Mrs.  Smith  was  bringing  out 
another  niece.  Louise  Hudson  and 
"King"  came  late.  She  wore  a  new 
imported  thing  of  real  lace  and  delicate 
lavender -drab  stuff.  Peggie  smiled 
knowingly  at  her  when  she  came  in. 
"King"  was  radiant.  When  Louise  had 
sung  and  she  and  Peggie  were  standing 
together  for  a  minute,  she  turned  to 
Peggie  and  said: 

"I  miss  Teddy  Carr." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Peggie. 

Mr.  Vroom  came  up  just  then  and 
Peggie  left  them  to  greet  Mr.  Barclay, 
who  had  only  just  come. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  Peggie  said, 
extending  her  hand.  "Dick  said  last 
night  you  were  here.  I  was  afraid  you 
might  not  get  my  word." 

"Thank  you,  I  did — though  I  should 
have  come  anyway.  There  was  such  an 


influx    of    carriages    into    Washington 
street,    that    my  curiosity    should   have 
brought    me.      The     club's     deserted. 
Everyone  must  be  here." 
Peggie  laughed. 

"Come  and  have  some  tea,"  she  said, 
"and  what  have  you  been  doing  lately?" 

They  went  together  to  where  a  group 
of  men  were  gathered.  "Miss  Kate 
Ashworth's  making  tea  in  here,"  she 
said.  As  they  came  to  them  George 
Hardy  was  saying: 

"It  is  a  pity,  Miss  Kate,  you  stayed 
away  till  after  the  tournament.  It  wasn't 
half  a  tournament  without  you.  I  know 
several  bets  that  had  to  be  canceled." 

Kate  smiled  sweetly. 

"I've  not  played  in  so  long,  I've 
'most  forgotten  how." 

"Don't  you  say  that,"  Mr.  Hardy 
returned.  Then  he  added  laughingly, 
"That  becomes  Miss  Ashworth  better. 
We  won't  let  you  go  back  on  us  like 
that." 

"Here,"  said  Kate,  "do  drink  this 
tea.  I  poured  it  hours  ago.'" 

"You're  very  kind."  Then  as  he 
tasted  it  Mr.  Hardy  said  again,  "Yes, 
I  taste  the  ice  in  it." 

Everyone  laughed.  Kate  said: 
"Please  don't  be  unkind  to  me." 

"Who's  unkind  to  you?"  Peggie 
asked  just  then.  "Let  me  introduce 
Mr.  Barclay,"  and  Peggie  went  the 
rounds. 

"You've  met  Miss  Kate,"   she  said. 

"Yes,  I  met  Mr.  Barclay  a  year  ago," 
Kate  answered  cordially.  She  reached 
over  to  shake  hands. 

Soon  Kate  found  herself  alone  with 
him. 

"Were  they  teasing  you?"  he  asked 
her. 

"Oh,  no,  only  joking.  I  used  to  be 
quite  athletic,  you  know.  Won  a  cup 
last  year — but,"  she  added  slowly,  "I 
seem  to  have  gotten  over  caring  for 
things  like  that  any  more.  I  think  I 
must  be  getting  old." 

He  looked  at  her  sympathetically.   He 


ON   THE   ALTAR    OF    MOLOCH 


627 


read  what  they  all  had  failed  to — that 
Kate  had  a  sorrow. 

"We  ourselves  know  best  what  we 
should  do,"  he  said. 

Kate  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"Or  what  we  should  not  have  done." 
Her  heart  gave  a  leap.  "Oh,  what  have 
I  said?"  she  thought  to  herself  despair- 
ingly. 

But  Mr.  Barclay  did  not  seem  to  have 
heard — or  at  least  to  have  understood, 
for  he  returned  consolingly: 

"We  cannot  put  off  what  is  foreor- 
dained." 

"Do  you  believe  that?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  looking  at  her,  "I 
do." 

Mrs.  Hudson  came  over  with  Mr. 
Vroom  and  the  conversation  became 
general. 

"Poor  Kate!"  Peggie  said  to  Dick 
after  dinner.  "It  will  take  years,  and 
years,  and  then  more  years,  before,  — 
oh,  it  will  take  forever!" 

"Yes,"  said  Dick.  "Kate  is  a  woman 
with  a  past.  Oh  God,  I  wish  I  could 

kill  him!" 

J» 

When  Peggie's  grandmother  died  her 
estate  was  divided  between  Peggie  and 
a  cousin.  Now  Peggie  had  word  of  the 
cousin's  dearth,  and,  being  the  nearest 
living  relative,  she  found  herself  the 
recipient  of  another  little  fortune.  She 
felt  it  necessary  to  attend  the  funeral, 
and  so  Peggie  went  back  home.  She 
was  gone  nearly  three  weeks,  and  on  her 
return  a  couple  of  days  later,  while  down 
town  she  met  Kate  Ashworth  driving 
with  Mr.  Barclay.  They  were  just  going 
by  Fowler's,  when  Peggie  came  out. 
She  had  stopped  there  to  have  some 
flowers  sent  to  the  church.  John  had 
asked  her  to.  They  evidently  had  seen 
her  go  in,  for  they  were  waiting  for  her 
when  she  came  outside.  Peggie  was 
surprised  and  she  showed  it. 

"You're  the  very  person  we  are  look- 
ing for,"  Kate  began.  "Get  in,"  she 


said,  making  room,  "we'd  like  you  to 
go  with  us." 

"Where?  asked  Peggie. 

"Come  and  you  shall  see. 

"Why,  I  guess  I  can  go,"  said  Peggie 
doubtfully,  as  she  got  in. 

"We  will  go  out  Madison,  said  Kate 
to  Mr.  Barclay  as  he  tightened  the  reins. 

"Now,  said  Kate,  when  they  were 
fairly  started,  "we  are  going  to  drive  to 
Thorneville  and  be  married. 

Peggie  looked  around  startled. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  why  not?"  Kate 
asked. 

"There  is  no  reason,  I  suppose,"  said 
Peggie  quickly,  "only  do  you  think 
it  quite  kind?  Your  father  will  feel 
badly  that  you  have  not  taken  him  into 
your  confidence.  He  has  always  been 
a  good  father,  Kate.  I  think  you  are 
not  treating  him  with  consideration." 

Peggie  was  almost  beside  herself. 
Beyond  her  surprise  there  was  a  secret 
fear  that  Kate  was  marrying  this  man 
to  make  a  home  for  her  child.  She 
would  induce  him  in  some  way  to  adopt 
her.  Her  heart  went  out  to  them  both. 
Kate  could  not  love  him,  she  thought — 
a  girl  like  Kate  who  was  athletic  and 
robust.  How  could  she  even  have 
thought  of  it — and  there  he  was,  only 
an  excuse  for  a  man  physically,  'though 
Peggie  knew  he  had  a  noble  character. 
She  even  thought  that  with  his  physical 
infirmity  that  Kate  was  cheating  his  soul. 
Peggie  knew  in  her  heart  that  Kate  was 
as  pure  as  gold,  but — what  would  he 
think? 

"Well,  Mrs.  'Dick,'  "  Kate  was  say- 
ing. "It's  just  this  way:  Warren  and 
I  have  decided  we  will  marry.  Now, 
neither  one  of  us  cares  to  make  a  social 
affair  of  it.  You  know,  people  will  talk 
just  as  much  if  we  announce  it  one  week 
and  marry  the  next,  as  if  we  marry  and 
announce  it  all  at  once.  Mary  would 
never  consent  to  let  it  go  by  without 
a  large  display,  I  know.  And  as  for 
poor  dear  Dad,  he  will  think  it  is  all 
right  if  I  tell  him  it  is.  Warren  sails 


628 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  MARCH,    1905 


in  two  weeks  for  Berlin,  and  we  must 
make  haste  if  I  am  to  accompany  him." 

"I  understand  your  feeling,  Mrs.  Ken- 
dall," Mr.  Barclay  said  deliberately, 
"but  there  is  also  a  strong  argument 
against  it.  We  love  one  another,"  he 
said,  "and  I  know  that  Mr.  and  Miss 
Ashworth  would  hardly  comprehend  that 
on  the  part  of  their  daughter  and  sister. 
I  know  they  would  say  her  to  be  impul- 
sive and  erratic,  even;  but  I  know,  too, 
what  they  do  not  know,  and  that  is,  that 
this  child  is  not  going  to  be  regretful." 

He  spoke  with  deep  feeling  and 
Peggie  began  to  relent.  She  thought 
she  understood  him  and  that  Kate  had 
told  him  everything. 

"It  is  the  inevitable,"  she  said  to  her- 
self; "I  cannot  stop  them  now." 

It  was  a  twelve-mile  drive,  and  the 
afternoon  was  gone  when  they  reached 
the  place.  They  had  no  difficulty  in 
finding  a  justice  of  the  peace.  He  was 
an  old  man  who  asked  few  questions. 
Peggie's  presence  seemed  to  reassure 
him.  When  they  came  to  the  house  and 
Mr.  Barclay  left  Kate  and  Peggie  to  in- 
quire, Peggie  grasped  Kate  by  the  arm. 

"Look!"  said  she,  "watch  him  go  up 
the  walk!  See  how  crippled  he  is!  See 
there — look  how  he  goes  up  the  steps. 
Oh!"  said  Peggie,  "think  calmly,  Kate, 
think!" 

Kate  turned  to  her. 

"Leave  go  my  arm!"  she  said  fiercely. 
"I  would  be  despicable  to  dare  think  of 
such  a  thing.  You  think,  Peggie" — Kate 
had  never  called  her  Peggie  before — 
"what  am  I  giving  him?  Who  am  I  that 
I  should  set  myself  even  beside  him?" 

"Then  you  have  told  him  everything?" 
she  asked  almost  gladly. 

"No,"  said  Kate,  "I  have  told  him 
nothing. ' ' 

"You  will  never  tell,  then?" 

"Yes,  when  it  is  over.  I  am  going  to 
bring  her  back  with  us." 

"Oh,  Kate,"  said  Peggie,  almost 
breathlessly.  "You  cannot  make  him 
understand." 


Mr.  Barclay  was  coming  back  to  them. 

"Oh,  Kate,"  she  said  despairingly. 

Kate  saw  the  grief  in  Peggie's  eyes. 
"Never  fear,"  she  said  calmly.  "I 
think  I  can.  At  least,  I  shall  try." 

Peggie  was  thinking  in  her  own  mind, 
"It  would  have  been  better  if  the  child 
had  died." 

ji. 

They  all  went  inside  together  and  it 
was  almost  dark  when  they  came  out 
again.  Mr.  Barclay  and  Kate  were  to 
take  a  train  that  came  through  about 
midnight  and  Peggie  was  going  to  drive 
back  alone. 

"Give  us  your  blessing,  Mrs.  Ken- 
dall?" he  asked  smiling. 

She  took  Kate  in  her  arms  and  kissed 
her.  To  Mr.  Barclay  she  gave  her  hand. 
"There  is  something  about  'the  peace 
that  passeth  all  understanding' — may  it 
be  with  you  both,"  Peggie  said. 

"I  understand  you,"  he  said,  looking 
into  her  eyes.  "I  will  be  good  to  her." 

The  eyes  of  all  were  moistened.  Peg- 
gie got  into  the  carriage  and  started 
home.  It  was  quite  dark  now  and 
Peggie  felt  her  nerve  weakening.  As 
she  came  to  the  outskirts  of  the  village 
she  heard  a  dog  bark.  How  it  startled 
her!  Her  mind  was  a  chaos  of  every- 
thing. 

She  told  Dick  afterward  that  the  drive 
home  was  indescribable.  Dick  had  been 
waiting  for  some  time  for  her.  He  had 
put  the  boys  to  bed  and  had  told  them 
their  mother  had  telephoned  them  good- 
night. Someone  was  ill.  She  would 
be  late.  And  then  Dick  walked  up  and 
down  the  side  piazza  for  an  hour  and  a 
half.  At  last  he  heard  the  carriage  com- 
ing up  the  drive.  Peggie  fairly  fell  into 
his  arms. 

"Tell  Mason  to  put  them  up  here  for 
the  night.  I  don't  know  where  they 
belong." 

"All  right,"  said  Dick,  leading  her 
inside. 

Peggie  dropped  limply  into  the  first 
chair. 


ON    THE    ALTAR    OF    MOLOCH 


629 


"Here,  drink  this,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,  and  now,"  said  Peggie, 
"telephone  to  the  Ashworths  that  Kate 
is  with  me  and  will  stay  here  tonight." 

"Oh,"  said  Dick,  wonderingly. 

"She's  all  right,"  Peggie  continued, 
"tell  them." 

When  Dick  came  back  Peggie  had 
gone  upstairs.  He  followed  her  there. 
She  had  thrown  herself  on  the  bed  and 
was  weeping  and  sobbing. 

"Poor  child!"  said  Dick,  sitting  down 
beside  her,  as  he  smoothed  her  hair  and 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheeks.  "Poor 
child — something's  been  too  much  for 
you." 

Peggie  wept  on. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "it  was  a  straw  too 
much."  She  reached  for  Dick's  hand. 

"Nobody  ever  called  me  a  child 
before,"  she  said,  putting  his  fingers 
to  her  lips.  "It  seems  I've  always  been 
grown  up — that  I  have  always  been  a 
woman." 

"There,"  said  Dick,  sympathetically, 
"you  are  my  dear  child." 

Then  after  a  little  Peggie  sat  up  and 
told  him  everything  that  had  happened. 

"I  meant  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "that 
Barclay  has  been  very  attentive  to  Kate 
lately." 

"Well,"  said  Peggie,  "I  hope  God 
will  be  good  to  them.  He  has  always 
been  so  good  to  me,"  and  she  drew 
Dick  to  her  and  kissed  him. 


In  the  morning  Peggie  went  to  the 
Ashworth's  and  told  Kate's  story.  At 
first  it  was  received  with  great  concern, 
but  like  everything  else  that  can't  be 
helped,  it  became  less  and  less  disap- 
proved, until  at  last  it  seemed  the  very 
best  thing  after  all.  Mary's  great  regret 
was  the  lost  opportunity  for  a  beautiful 
wedding. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ashworth  good- 
naturedly,  "we  shall  not  overlook  that 
when  you  step  off,  Mary." 

They    all    laughed,   and    Mary  went 


home  to  lunch  with  Peggie.  That  after- 
noon they  went  to  Lyon's  to  order  the 
announcement  cards. 

IV 

It  was  not  until  a  year  from  that 
Spring  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barclay  came 
home  again.  Mary  came  up  after 
Peggie  the  next  morning. 

"Do  come  over,"  she  said  excitedly, 
"and  see  what  Kate's  brought  back  with 
her.  But  I  must  tell  you,"  she  went  on 
— "It's  a  little  girl  about  two  years  old. 
Kate  found  her  somewhere  on  their 
travels,  and  nothing  would  do  but  she 
must  have  her — think  of  it!  and  so  War- 
ren adopted  her.  They  don't  know  a 
thing  about  her  family,  but  she  is  bound 
to  be  all  right.  She's  just  too  dear  and 
cute  for  anything — and  really,  Peggie, 
Kate  could  easily  pass  her  off  as  her 
ownl  She's  just  the  image  of  Kate." 

'•How  extraordinary!"  said  Peggie. 
"I'm  dying  to  see  her — wait,  I  will  get 
my  hat  and  come  right  along." 

"She  calls  me  'Aunt  Mary' "  said 
Mary  eagerly  as  they  came  down  the 
steps.  "And  father,  'Grandda'.'  Kate 
taught  her,  you  know;  and  she  is  so 
sweet,  so  beautiful,  so  lovely." 

There  were  tears  in  Peggie's  eyes. 
Mary  looked  at  her. 

"That's  just  the  way  I  feel,"  she  said, 
taking  out  her  handkerchief.  "And  to 
think  that  that  sweet  little  baby  might 
have  grown  up  away  off  in  a  srtange 
land  and  Kate  might  never  have  found 
her!" 

"Yes,"  said  Peggie,  "I  know  it." 

£ 

They  were  all  in  the  living  room  and 
Peggie  followed  Kate  upstairs.  Once 
in  her  room,  Kate  turned  and  looked  at 
Peggie.  She  came  over  to  her  and 
rested  either  hand  on  Peggie's  shoul- 
ders. 

"He  says  you  are  a  true,  noble  woman, 
Peggie." 

Peggie's  eyes  welled  again. 


630  NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 

"He  is  one  in  ten  thousand,"  Peggie  everything    else  —  blessed   is    a   noble, 

said  quietly.  broad-minded  man." 

'Yes,"   answered   Kate,   "there   is  a  Peggie  leaned  forward  and  kissed  her. 

another  beatitude— 'Blessed  are  the  pure  Both   women    felt    the    benediction   in 

in  heart;  the  peace-makers;   they  which  their      hearts     as      Peggie     whispered 

do  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness;  softly: 

?.nd  they  that  mourn';  but  above  all —  "Amen." 


POET-LORE 

(One  of  Edwin  Markham's  finest  and  most  widely  quoted  lyrics) 

THE  poet  is  forever  young 
And  speaks  the  one  immortal  tongue. 
To  him  the  wonder  never  dies, 
For  youth  is  looking  through  his  eyes. 
Pale  listener  at  the  heart  of  things, 
He  hears  the  voices  and  the  wings ; 
He  hears  the  skylark  overhead  — 
Hears  the  far  footfalls  of  the  dead. 

When  the  swift  Muses  seize  their  child, 

Then  God  has  gladness  rich  and  wild ; 

For  when  the  bard  is  caught  and  hurled, 

A  splendor  breaks  across  the  world. 

His  song  distils  a  saving  power 

From  foot-worn  stone,  from  wayside  flower. 

He  knows  the  gospel  of  the  trees, 
The  whispered  message  of  the  seas ; 
Finds  in  some  beetle  on  the  road 
A  power  to  lift  the  human  load ; 
Sees,  in  some  dead  leaf  dried  and  curled, 
The  deeper  meaning  of  the  world ; 
Hears  through  the  roar  of  mortal  things 
The  Gods'  immortal  whisperings ; 
Sees  the  world  wonder  rise  and  fall, 
And  knows  that  Beauty  made  it  all. 

He  walks  the  circle  of  the  sun, 

And  sees  the  bright  Powers  laugh  and  run. 

He  feels  the  motion  of  the  sphere, 

And  builds  his  song  in  sacred  fear. 

He  finds  the  faithful  witness  hid 

In  poppy-head  and  Pyramid ; 

The  Godless  Heaven  or  the  Pit  — 

And  shakes  the  music  out  of  it. 

All  things  yield  up  their  souls  to  him 

From  dateless  dust  to  seraphim. 


A    NEW    CLASS    IN    THE    SOUTH 


By    LUCY    SEMMES    ORRICK 

CANTON,       MISSISSIPPI 
ILLUSTRATIONS      BY      A.      GERTRUDE      ORRICK 


NEW  conditions  have  developed  a  new 
order  of  things  in  the  South.  A 
new  class  is  making  itself  felt.  The 
overseers,  small  farmers,  backwoods- 
men, have  become  active,  moving, spirit- 
ful  men.  The  war  that  united  the  old 
South  and  left  such  scars  on  the  aristoc- 
racy, but  leveled  the  old  barriers.  The 
poor  wayfarers  who  had  rested  so  long 
under  the  powerful  wing  of  the  land- 
holders, some  listlessly  indifferent,  others 
suffering  with  their  country,  mounted 
the  wall,  and  the  prospect  before  them 
gave  them  new  views.  The  old  ideals 
called  to  them  and  they  were  men 
enough  to  answer.  Flushed  with  a 
strange  new  vigor,  a  brief  space  sufficed 
in  which  to  gauge  the  possibilities  before 
them,  and  they  set  out  to  do.  Since 
then  they  have  traveled  far. 

Where  once  the  old  planter  sat  in 
state,  his  then  poverty-stricken  neighbor 
now  too  often  rules  in  deep  content,  hug- 
ging the  joy  of  possessing  the  broad 
acres  that  seemed  in  '60  as  far  beyond 
his  grasp  as  the  nebulous  milky  way 
from  ours.  The  strife  which  placed  the 
overseer  in  temporarily  absolute  charge 
of  the  plantation,  stripped  the  master, 
whose  beloved  home,  or  what  was  left  of 
it,  went  into  the  hands  of  the  manager 
for  services  rendered  during  the  war. 
By  right  of  such  title  one  sits  in  the 
halls  of  an  old  war  governor,  his  "over- 
lord," while  the  governor's  children  are 
scattered  far  and  wide,  some  mere  boys, 
long  since  dead  on  the  field  of  battle, 
some  rich,  some  poor,  but  none  able  to 
buy  from  the  present  owner  the  home  of 
his  fathers.  Here  and  there  the  sons  of 
the  old  planters  do  still  hold  the  property 
of  their  ancestors,  and  maybe  a  cluster* 
of  plantations  down  in  the  Mississippi 
bottoms;  but  the  overseer,  the  small 
farmer,  to  whom  the  power  and  domin- 


ion of  the  planter  was  the  acme  of 
earthly  desire,  now  tastes  the  bliss  of 
possession,  alas,  without  the  right  of 
birth;  but  he  has  power,  power  over 
lands  and  men,  and  sweet  indeed  it  is 
to  those  who  have  felt  the  governing 
hand. 

These  are  the  men  who  have  awak- 
ened. Surprising  as  it  may  seem,  con- 
sidering their  presumed  lack  of  ambi- 
tion, they  are  forging  ahead,  prepared 
for  the  opening  by  the  toil  and  privation 
that  evolve  of  necessity  the  endurance, 
energy,  foresight  which  are  the  bases  of 
commercial  power  in  the  man  of  the 
North;  and  to  this  equipment  is  added 
a  strength-giving  idealism  and  high  pur- 
pose which  was  born  with  their  oppor- 
tunity of  '65.  We  are  not  dealing  with 
those  in  whom  hatred  of  class  is  an  in- 
stinct, for  they  are  not  the  constructive 
elements  in  a  new  civilization.  Instead 
of  any  vulgar  rejoicing  in  the  tragedy 
that  has  been  their  making,  these  new 
men  with  eager  willingness  recognize, 
accept  and  proudly  uphold  the  old  type 
of  Southern  planter  as  the  highest  stand- 
ard of  a  man.  With  the  old  conceptions 
of  patriotism,  they  set  out  to  help  renew 
the  life  of  the  land  which  is  to  every 
Southerner  as  France  is  to  the  French- 
man and  as  Japan  is  to  the  Japanese. 

Where  it  has  fallen  to  one  of  these 
new  Southerners  to  tread  as  owner  the 
spacious  drawing  room  of  the  planter,  it 
also  falls  to  him  as  if  through  the  impera- 
tive direction  of  the  old  regime  to  obey 
to  the  utmost  his  conception  of  "noblesse 
oblige."  Under  this  influence  he  gathers 
about  him  the  relics  of  the  old  days;  he 
seeks  them  out  and  buys  them  in  against 
aliens — some  might  think  with  the  spirit 
of  the  new  rich  that  seeks  to  veneer  itself 
with  a  worth  that  belongs  to  another; 
but  in  the  generality  of  cases  this  is 


632 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


THE  OLD  SOUTHERN  PLANTER 

not  so.     It  is  the  spirit  of  "noblesse 


oblige"  working  in  these  memory - 
haunted  places,  which,  once  robbed  of 
their  rightful  owners,  become  suddenly 
mournful,  spent  and  lifeless,  that  stirs 
the  new  masters  with  a  passionate,  South- 
loving  determination  to  revivify  it  all. 
In  the  new  position  they  would,  to  the 
best  of  their  ability,  perpetuate  in  them- 
selves and  their  children  the  characteris- 
tics of  the  stately  old  planter  who  will 
always  be,  in  the  South  and  far  beyond 
it,  the  standard  of  high  honor,  courtly 
manners,  generosity  and  contempt  for 
money. 

Side  by  side,  it  might  be  said,  with 
the  sons  of  the  planters  these  men  are 
working.  But  neither  forgets  the  past. 
With  the  inborn  understanding  of  the 
things  that  are  great,  the  one  with  manli- 
ness accepts  defeat,  the  other,  with  the 
daily  example  of  the  splendid  acceptance 
beside  him,  with  equal  manliness  ac- 
cords to  the  fullest  that  real  considera- 
tion which  is  the  essence  of  perfect  sym- 
pathy. 

These  people  of  the  hills,  the  clay- 
banks,  the  poor  farms,  are  giving  their 
sons  and  daughters  all  the  purchasable 
advantages  that  a  planter  gave  or  gives 
to  his  children;  they  are  sending  them 
into  colleges,  fields  of  medicine,  minis- 
try, politics,  urging  them  into  business, 
toward  success,  and  eventually  they  will 
reach  it. 

While  not  all  of  these  men  are  of  that 
fiber  that  disdains  political  trickery  or 
anything  that  is  little  or  base;  while 
hardened  by  contact  with  the  rugged 
side  of  life,  or  inheritors  of  shrewdness 
thus  generated  till  able  to  meet  the  cold, 
"tough-hided"  business  methods  of  the 
day  with  methods  of  equal  toughness, 
still  they  are  fearless,  independent  men, 
less  polished,  less  cultured  and  easy  of 
manner  than  the  sons  of  the  old  regime, 
vbut  in  many  things  true  to  the  core. 
For  the  men  of  the  South  of  whatever 
class  and  however  faultily  inclined,  have 
as  a  body  four  great  requisities  of  a  gen- 
tleman— fearlessness,  honor  of  women, 


A    NEW    CLASS    IN    THE    SOUTH 


633. 


honor  of  age,  and  honor  of  honor  itself. 
It  is  in  this  new  force  that  the  old 
owners  of  the  soil  find  a  great  power 
toward  the  upbuilding  of  the  South. 
The  two  are  working  for  the  same  end. 
So,  harmoniously,  they  move  on  to- 
gether, opening  up  the  wealth  of  the 
country,  renewing  the  life  of  the  land, 
dividing  up  the  great  cotton,  sugar  and 
rice  fields  under  capable  negroes,  inject- 
ing new  vigor  into  the  management  of 
things.  Through  them  the  vast  timber 
lands  of  rare  woods  are  sending  out  sup- 
plies to  the  Union  and  foreign  countries. 


song  of  progress,  or  it  may  be  that  in 
the  deepest  recesses  of  his  heart  a  shad- 
owy regret  is  lurking  for  that  broader, 
freer  side  of  life  his  people  will  never 
know  again.  But,  however  bereft  he 
may  be,  however  burdened  personally 
by  the  debts  that  can  never  be  paid,  his 
pride  in  and  love  of  his  land,  his  pleas- 
ure in  its  growing  prosperity  predomi- 
nates over  all. 

While  the  sons  of  the  humbler  workers 
may  be  happy,  even  enthusiastic  in  their 
present  unexpected  exaltation,  while  they 
may  believe  in  their  country,  and  may 
love  it,  there  is  much  to  come  before 


THE  SOUTHERN  PLANTER  OK  TODAY 

Iron  and  coal  mines,  riches  of  vegetable 
products,  fisheries,  oyster  beds, and  game 
are  developing  under  the  double  touch. 
Factories,  mills  and  foundries  are  hum- 
ming, back  from  the  towns.  The  South 
has  awakened  from  her  long,  grief- 
softening  sleep,  but  as  the  planter's 
son  gazes  over  what  was  once  a  private 
domain — the  splendid  stretches  of  forest 
land,  noble  spaces,  distances  and  still- 
nesses of  nature  thus  disturbed,  upon  the 
forces  that  are  pressing  in  upon  his 
home,  his  kingdom,  who  can  tell  what 
thoughts  are  surging  in  his  mind?  It 
may  be  they  are  singing  the  exultant 


THE  SOUTHERNER  OF  THE  NEW  CLASS 

they  can  taste  the  deep-seated  joy  that 
animates  the  old  class  in  the  future  of 
the  South.  With  the  combined  strength 
and  purpose  of  these  two  classes,  with 
all  the  gifts  that  Providence  has  lavished 
on  the  men  of  the  Gulf  and  Atlantic 
states  and  on  their  country,  who  can 
doubt  that  out  of  the  old  regime  and 
the  new,  devoted  not  to  the  lust  for  gold, 
but  to  the  enriching,  beautifying  and 
developing  of  the  South  for  the  love  of 
the  South,  must  come  such  inevitable 
results  in  men  and  wealth  and  power  as 
shall  merit  again  the  absorbed  eye  of  all 
the  world. 


THE  WITCH-CROW  AND   BARNEY  BYLOW 

A    MODERN    FAIRY    TALE    FOR    OUR   BOYS    AND   GIRLS 


By    JAMES     BALL     NAYLOR 

MALTA,     OHIO 


(  Publication  of  this  story  was  begun  in  January) 

V. 

BARNEY  left  the  livery-barn  quite 
early  next  morning— urgently  pro- 
pelled by  a  hostler  with  a  piece  of  strap 
in  his  hand.  Heavy-eyed  and  but  half 
awake,  the  lad  hardly  realized  what  was 
happening  till  he  was  out  in  the  alley 
and  alone.  Then  of  a  sudden  he  be- 
came conscious  of  the  smarts  occasioned 
by  the  playing  of  the  strap  about  his  bare 
legs,  and  he  stooped  and  feelingly  rubbed 
his  injured  members. 

"There's  lots  of  mean  people  in 
a  city,  I  guess,"  he  grumbled,  fetching 
a  yawn  and  shivering  as  the  damp  of  the 
gray  morning  penetrated  his  scant  attire. 
"What  was  the  use  of  that  fellow  using 
a  strap  on  me?  I  wasn't  hurting  any- 
thing, sleeping  on  that  bundle  of  straw. 
It  seems  that  I'm  going  to  have  a  tough 
time  of  it,  sure  enough." 

He  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his 
pockets  and  sauntered  out  upon  the 
street.  Few  people  were  abroad,  but  the 
trolley  cars  were  running,  factory  whis- 
tles were  screeching  —  the  hive  of  in- 
dustry was  beginning  to  buzz.  Barney 
again  shivered,  hunched  his  shoulders 
and  went  pattering  along  the  thorough- 
fare, no  destination  in  mind,  no  object 
in  view.  His  limbs  were  stiff  and  sore; 
his  feet  were  tender;  every  muscle  in  his 
body  ached.  His  stomach  was  afflicted 
with  a  gnawing  emptiness,  but  the 
thought  of  sweetmeats  was  nauseating. 

"I  need  a  warm  breakfast,"  he  deter- 
mined; "I  haven't  had  anything  warm 
to  eat  since  I  left  home.  But  how  am 
I  going  to  get  it?  Well,  I'll  have  to 
depend  upon  myself,  I  reckon;  nobody 
else'll  help  me,  that's  sure.  I'll  just 
have  to  make  the  best  of  my  one-sided 


bargain  with  old  White  Feather;  but  it 
looks  to  me  like  it  was  going  to  be 
a  mighty  poor  best." 

His  aimless  footsteps  brought  him  to 
a  cheap  restaurant  with  an  obscure,  nar- 
row entrance.  He  stooped  and  peeped 
into  the  dusky  interior.  A  rough-look- 
ing man  jostled  past  him,  strode  through 
the  doorway,  and  seated  himself  at  one 
of  the  small  tables.  Barney  quickly  and 
quietly  followed  the  man  and  took  a  seat 
at  the  same  table. 

A  waiter  came  forward  to  take  their 
orders. 

"What  will  you  have  this  morning,  Mr. 
Gross?"  he  asked,  addressing  the  man 
at  the  table. 

"Hot  rolls,  fried  potatoes,  and  a  cup 
of  coffee,"  Mr.  Gross  replied. 

"I'll  take  the  same,"  Barney  volun- 
teered. 

"This  boy  with  you,  Mr.  Gross?"  the 
waiter  questioned,  nodding  toward  Bar- 
ney. 

"No,"  Mr.  Gross  grunted  laconically, 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  tablecloth,  upon 
which  he  was  drawing  geometric  de- 
signs with  his  thumbnail. 

The  waiter  gave  Barney  a  searching 
look  of  suspicion,  evidently  questioning 
the  lad's  ability  to  pay,  then  turned  and 
retreated  to  the  rear.  Barney  was  gravely 
concerned  as  to  the  outcome  of  his  rash 
venture,  but  he  kept  his  seat  and  was 
duly  alert  for  what  ill  might  threaten 
him.  However,  the  waiter  filled  the  two 
orders  and  made  no  further  remarks. 

Barney  and  his  companion,  the  morose 
Mr.  Gross,  ate  in  silence.  Though  there 
was  a  sense  of  dread,  of  impending  mis- 
adventure weighing  upon  him,  the  boy 
enjoyed  his  meal.  The  waiter  again 
came  to  the  table  and  dropped  a  small 
ticket  at  each  plate.  Barney  had  eaten 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


635 


at  a  restaurant  once  before,  in  company 
with  his  father,  so  now  he  knew  the  pur- 
pose of  the  bit  of  pink  pasteboard. 

"Twenty-five  cents, "  he  mumbled,  his 
mouth  full  of  food.  "I  s'pect  they'll  get 
tired  of  waiting  while  I  count  out  that 
many  pennies,  one  at  a  time,  but  they'll 
have  to  wait — or  do  without  their  pay." 
He  glanced  across  the  table  at  his 
companion's  ticket;  it  was  marked 
"3oc." 

"I  don't  understand  this  thing,''  the 
boy  mused;  "we  both  got  the  same." 

Mr.  Gross  arose  from  the  table,  picked 
up  the  ticket  and  approached  the 
cashier's  desk;  Barney  followed  him. 
Mr.  Gross  and  the  cashier  got  into  an 
altercation  —  the  former  claiming  that 
his  ticket  called  for  five  cents  more  than 
his  breakfast  amounted  to,  and  the  lat- 
ter maintaining  that  he  had  nothing  to 
do  with  that  —  and  the  waiter  was  called 
up  to  adjust  matters.  The  delay  thus 
occasioned  enabled  Barney  to  pile  upon 
the  desk  the  twenty-five  pennies  needful 
to  settle  his  bill. 

The  cashier  picked  up  the  boy's  ticket, 
glanced  at  the  pile  of  pennies,  and  de- 
manded sharply: 

"Where  did  you  get  those?" 

"In  my  pocket,"  Barney  answered  in- 
nocently. 

"Don't  get  gay,  now!"  the  cashier 
snapped. 

"Well,  I  did  get  them  in  my  pocket — 
or  out  of  my  pocket  —  I  don't  know 
which  I  ought  to  say." 

And  Barney  grinned  good-naturedly; 
his  breakfast  had  dispelled  his  gloomy 
thoughts  and  forebodings. 

The  cashier  eyed  him  keenly  for  a 
moment;  then  he  said: 

"Where  did  you  get  those  pennies, 
before  you  got  them  in  your  pocket?" 

"I  didn't  get  them  anywhere,"  Barney 
replied. 

"Oh,  come  off!"  sneered  the  cashier. 

"I  didn't,"  the  lad  insisted. 

"Why,  you  put  them  into  your  pocket, 
didn't  you?" 


"No,  sir." 

"You  didn't?" — in  great  surprise. 

"No,  sir;  I  didn't." 

"Well,  if  you  didn't,  who  did?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  don't  know?" 

Barney  shook  his  head,  and  added  in 
words:  "I  don't  know  how  they  got  into 
my  pocket — I  don't  know  whether  any- 
body put  them  in  there." 

The  cashier  gasped  and  stared.  It 
was  evident  he  considered  the  boy  a  glib 
but  unreasoning  young  liar. 

"Well,  we  have  no  use  for  the  pen- 
nies," he  remarked  at  last. 

"It's  all  the  money  I've  got,"  Barney 
returned. 

The  cashier  irritably  raked  the  pennies 
into  his  palm  and  dropped  them  into  the 
till.  Then  he  said: 

"Now  you  get  out  of  here,  and  stay 
out.  There's  been  a  number  of  tills 
tapped  and  slot-machines  broken  open 
lately,  and  the  lot  of  pennies  you  have 
and  the  crooked  tale  you  tell  makes  me 
suspicious  of  you.  Don't  you  come  in 
here  any  more." 

Barney  did  not  tarry  to  attempt  to 
clear  himself  of  the  unjust  imputation; 
he  was  glad  enough  to  escape  without 
further  parley,  knowing  well  he  could 
make  no  explanation  that  would  be 
believed. 

"This  thing's  going  to  get  me  into 
a  peck  of  trouble — I  can  see  that,"  he 
muttered  as  he  shuffled  along  the  street. 
"But  what  else  can  I  do?  I'd  hunt  for 
work — yes,  I  would!— if  it  would  do  any 
good.  But  what  use  would  it  be  to  work 
and  get  nothing  for  it?  The  money 
would  melt  right  out  of  my  fingers.  Oh, 
I  wish  I  could  go  to  work  and  earn 
money!  I  know  I  could  find  a  job  in 
a  big  place  like  this.  But  there's  no 
use  to  wish — no  use  to  think  about  work. 
All  I  can  do  is  to  do  as  I  am  doing,  even 
if  they  put  me  in  jail  for  it.  Wouldn't 
I  like  to  wring  old  White  Feather's  ndck! 
And  I've  got  to  have  some  new  clothes 
pretty  soon — a  new  hat,  anyhow;  this 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for    MARCH,    1905 


old  thing's  about  ready  to  drop  to  pieces. 
Well,  I  might  as  well  go  and  try  to  buy 
one  right  now;  waiting  won't  make  the 
job  any  easier." 

Seeing  a  number  of  cheap  wool  hats 
displayed  in  front  of  a  store,  he  stopped 
and  inquired  the  price. 

"Fifty  cents  apiece,"  snapped  the 
young  salesman,  who  stood  upon  the 
step  twirling  the  brush  with  which  he 
had  been  dusting  the  articles  displayed. 

Barney  doffed  his  own  dilapidated 
headgear  and  tried  on  one  hat  after  an- 
other. 

"Those  are  for  men,"  the  salesman 
explained;  "you  won't  find  one  to  fit 
you.  Come  inside  and  I'll  sell  you 
a  good  one — a  boy's  hat." 

"For  how  much?"   Barney  inquired. 

"One  dollar." 

"Too  much,"  Barney  whispered  to 
himself. 

And  he  continued  to  try  and  retry  the 
hats  before  him.  The  thought  of  having 
to  fish  one  hundred  separate  coins  from 
his  pocket,  with  the  eye  of  the  salesman 
fixed  upon  him,  was  dreadful. 

Presently  the  little  fellow  selected  a 
hat  he  thought  would  do,  although  it 
rested  snugly  upon  his  ears  when  he  put 
it  on,  and  said:  "I'll  take  this  one." 

The  salesman  smiled  pityingly,  but  he 
took  the  hat  from  the  boy's  hand  and 
retreated  to  the  interior.  Barney  fol- 
lowed, and  while  the  salesman  was  wrap- 
ping up  the  article,  the  boy  industriously 
and  rapidly  counted  out  the  pennies 
necessary  to  the  purchase. 

"There  you  are,"  remarked  the  sales- 
man, pushing  the  package  toward  the 
purchaser. 

"And  there's  your  money,"  Barney 
returned,  pointing  toward  the  pile  of 
brazen  coins. 

"Whew!"  whistled  the  salesman,  his 
eyes  very  wide.  "All  in  pennies,  eh? 
Say,  young  man!  Where— where— " 

And  he  stopped  speaking  and  stared 
hard  at  the  urchin.  Barney  caught  up 
his  purchase  and  made  for  the  door. 


"Hold  on  —  wait  a  moment!"  the 
salesman  cried. 

But  Barney  slid  out  the  door,  and  as 
he  crossed  the  street  the  heard  the  sales- 
man excitedly  calling  and  shouting 
someone's  name. 

The  lad  was  so  pleased,  so  elated,  over 
his  first  attempt  to  obtain  new  wearing 
apparel  that  a  spirit  of  foolhardiness 
seized  him;  and  immediately  he  deter- 
mined upon  a  second  venture. 

A  short  distance  from  the  scene  of  his 
first  triumph,  he  entered  another  shop 
and  asked  for  a  shirt.  Here  a  pretty 
young  woman  waited  upon  him.  Barney 
did  not  know  the  size  of  the  garment  he 
required,  but  the  pretty  young  woman 
thought  she  knew  —  after  carefully  look- 
ing him  over — and  began  searching  for 
it.  Barney  industriously  plied  his  nim- 
ble fingers,  and  just  as  the  saleswoman 
shoved  the  wrapped  article  toward  him, 
he  laid  the  last  penny  requisite  upon  the 
counter. 

Then  a  startling  thing  happened.  The 
young  woman  took  a  hasty  look  at  the 
pile  of  pennies  and,  raising  her  voice 
to  a  shrill  screech,  called: 

"Here's  one  of  them  now,  Mr.  Bris- 
tow!  Come  this  way — quick!" 

Barney  heard  quick  footsteps  and  saw 
several  men  approaching  from  the  rear 
of  the  room.  He  snatched  up  his  pur- 
chases, tucked  one  under  each  arm,  and 
made  rapidly  for  the  open  air. 

"Stop  him!"  shrieked  the  young 
woman. 

"Head  him  off!"  cried  the  men. 

Out  the  door  and  down  the  street  sped 
Barney,  a  half-dozen  persons  in  pursuit, 
all  shouting  and  gesticulating.  A  num- 
ber of  other  shopkeepers  and  clerks 
joined  in  the  chase;  a  dog  ran  out  of  an 
alley  and,  nipping  at  the  boy's  heels, 
barked  vociferously. 

"Stop  thief!  Stop  thief!"  yelled  the 
growing  crowd. 

A  cabman  pulled  his  vehicle  across 
the  street  to  obstruct  the  fugitive's  flight, 
but  Barney  made  a  detour  and  was  still 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


637 


far  ahead  of  his  pursuers. 

"Stop  the  till-tapper!  Stop  the  penny- 
thief  1" 

A  tall  policeman  barred  the  lad's 
path,  swinging  his  club  and  command- 
ing: "Halt!  Stop!  Stop!" 

But  Barney  slid  under  the  upraised 
arm  of  the  officer,  wriggled  free  from  the 
detaining  hand  that  fell  upon  his  shoul- 
der, and  shot  into  a  shadowy  passage 
between  two  tall  buildings  This  led 
him  into  a  big  warehouse.  Among 
boxes,  barrels  and  crates  he  threaded 
his  way  and  emerged  upon  another 
street.  This  he  crossed,  dashed  through 
another  alley,  and  came  out  upon 
a  quiet  thoroughfare  where  but  few  peo- 
ple were  in  sight.  All  sounds  of  pursuit 
had  died  out,  but  on  and  on  he  went, 
slowing  his  pace  to  avoid  attracting 
undue  attention.  And  he  did  not  stop 
until  he  reached  the  suburbs,  a  region 
of  vacant  lots  and  tall  board  fences. 

Here  he  sought  out  an  obscure  spot, 
cast  himself  down  in  the  grateful  shade 
of  a  gnarled  old  apple  tree  and  quickly 
fell  asleep,  completely  worn  out  with  his 
morning's  adventures. 

He  awoke  with  the  late  afternoon  sun 
shining  full  in  his  face.  Slowly  he  got 
upon  his  feet,  and  stretched  his  limbs 
and  yawned.  In  an  adjacent  grove  of 
oak  trees  a  flock  of  crows  were  raising 
•  a  clamorous  hubbub  and  flitting  from 
one  perch  to  another.  Presently  a  great 
owl  emerged  from  the  green  of  the  bit  of 
woodland,  in  slow  and  dignified  retreat 
from  its  tormentors,  who  were  swarming 
in  its  wake,  cawing  uproariously.  Lead- 
ing the  band  of  black  marauders  was  the 
white-feather  crow! 

"White  Feather!  White  Feather!" 
Barney  screamed  lustily,  forgetting  in 
his  excitement  his  need  to  remain  unob- 
served, his  danger  from  those  who  were 
on  the  outlook  for  him. 

The  white-feather  crow  left  the  flock 
following  the  owl,  circled  a  few  times 
high  above  Barney's  head,  and  alighted 
upon  the  topmost  bough  of  the  old  apple 


tree.  There  it  sat,  stretching  its  neck 
and  impudently  peering  down  at  the  boy. 

"White  Feather — you  mean  old  thing!" 
Barney  cried,  provoked  by  the  crow's 
cool  insolence. 

The  uncanny  bird  opened  wide  its 
mouth,  blinked  and  gurgled,  and  rolled 
its  head  from  side  to  side,  like  a  person 
in  a  spasm  of  silent  laughter. 

"Well,  you  are  mean!"  Barney  sput- 
tered angrily.  "You  ought  to  be 
ashamed,  too,  playing  such  a  low-down 
trick  upon  a  poor,  innocent  boy  that 
never  harmed  you!" 

The  white-feather  fowl  fluttered  its 
plumage,  beat  its  side  with  its  wings, 
rolled  its  eyes,  and  croaked: 

"Haw,  haw,  haw!  Pshaw!  Phsaw! 
Bawrney  Bylaw!" 

"Oh,  you  can  laugh — I  don't  care!" 
Barney  whined,  almost  in  tears.  "But 
I'll  bet  you  wouldn't  laugh,  if  somebody 
had  played  such  a  trick  on  you — had  got 
you  in  such  a  fix.  I'll  bet  you  wouldn't 
think  it  much  fun  to  be  chased  and 
yelled  at  and  called  a  thief." 

The  bird  bobbed,  cocked  its  head,  and 
winked  impertinently. 

"Haw,  haw,  haw!"  it  chuckled.  "Law, 
law!  Bawrney  Bylaw!" 

Perhaps  it  was  thinking  it  had  been 
chased  and  called  a  thief  many  a  time; 
that  every  member  of  its  family,  almost, 
had  been  served  in  like  manner.  At 
any  rate,  it  appeared  to  take  a  keen  de- 
light in  the  boy's  tale  of  discomfiture. 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  get  me  out  of 
this  fix!"  Barney  cried  pettishly. 

"Haw,  haw,  haw!"  the  eccentric  crow 
cawed  delightedly.  "Naw!  Naw!  Bawr- 
ney Bylaw!" 

It  laughed  till  it  tumbled  from  its 
perch,  and  turned  a  summersault  in 
mid-air.  But  it  caught  itself  before  strik- 
ing the  ground,  and  set  off  after  its  com- 
panions who  were  mere  specks  on  the 
smoky  horizon. 

Barney  sighed  dolefully  as  he  watched 
its  departure.  When  it  was  out  of  sight, 
he  picked  up  his  bundles  and  made  his 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    MARCH,    1905 


way  to  a  brook  that  ran  through  the  bit 
of  woodland  near-by.  There  he  stripped 
and  took  a  bath  in  a  clear  pool.  Then 
he  cast  aside  his  old  hat  and  shirt  and 
donned  the  new  ones  he  had  had  so 
much  trouble  in  purchasing,  and  set  out 
to  return  to  the  heart  of  the  city,  choos- 
ing the  less  frequented  streets  to  avoid 

observation. 

VI 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening  Barney 
found  himself  down  at  the  water  front  of 
the  city  —  weary,  hunted  and  hungry. 
Before  him  was  the  river  and  the  ship- 
ping; behind  him  the  great  town  throb- 
bing with  life  and  restlessness;  and 
around  him  a  chaos  of  moving  vans, 
trucks  and  drays.  At  the  wharves  and 
docks  lay  great  steamers  loading  and  un- 
loading— floating  monsters  with  big  black 
horns  and  dragon-like  eyes,  the  one  red 
and  the  other  green — and  out  in  mid- 
stream, a  part  of  the  enveloping  gloom, 
were  tugs  and  ferries, — other  monsters — 
puffing,  screeching  and  churning  the 
inky  water  into  sooty  foam.  A  rampart 
of  gloomy  warehouses,  tall  and  somber, 
guarded  the  shore,  and  huddled  at  its 
base  were  cheap  shops  and  low  saloons. 

Barney  stood  under  a  swinging,  crack- 
ling arc-light  and  viewed  the  scene, 
shivering  with  nervousness,  his  ears  filled 
with  the  din  of  it  all,  his  heart  filled  with 
dread  of  he  knew  not  what.  Heavy 
vehicles  screaked  and  rumbled;  drivers 
whipped  and  swore.  Steamboat  mates 
stormed  and  cursed,  and  strings  of 
colored  deckhands  crooned  eerie  sing- 
songs as  they  streamed  along  stages  and 
gang-planks.  Donkey-engines  chugged 
and  snorted;  ropes  and  pulleys  creaked 
and  rattled;  boxes,  barrels  and  bales 
thumped  and  bumped,  as  they  dropped 
upon  oaken  decks  or  shot  swiftly  into  the 
yawning  holds  of  great  vessels. 

Down  on  one  corner  of  a  dock,  in  the 
full  beam  of  a  steamer's  searchlight,  but 
out  of  the  way  of  rolling  trucks  and  shuf- 
fling roustabouts,  a  small  group  of  street 
gamins  were  shaking  pennies  and  laugh- 


ing and  chattering  like  a  bunch  of  black- 
birds. Barney  was  hungering  for  boyish 
companionship,  starving  for  boyish  fel- 
lowship; and  now  he  threw  discretion 
to  the  winds,  forgot  that  he  was  a  hunted 
fugitive,  and  sauntered  down  and  joined 
the  group  of  urchins. 

"Hello,  Rube!"  one  of  them  cried 
gaily,  backing  out  of  the  game  and  mak- 
ing a  bow  of  mock  humility  to  Barney. 
"Glad  to  see  you.  Wen  did  you  get  in, 
Rube?" 

"My  name  isn't  Rube,"  Barney  re- 
plied quietly,  looking  over  his  ques- 
tioner's bowed  head  at  the  boys  hunker- 
ing upon  the  dock. 

"Aw,  yes  it  is,"  the  street  Arab 
laughed,  drawing  himself  erect.  "All 
guys  w'at  comes  from  de  country  is 
Rubes.  Come  up  to  de  city  to  make 
y'r  fortune,  I  s'pose — all  hayseeds  does. 
Well,  here's  y'r  show,"  striking  an  atti- 
tude and  pointing  at  his  kneeling  com- 
panions. "You  can  make  'r  lose  a  for- 
tune dere  in  a  very  few  minutes,  as  I 
know  to  me  sorrow.  Dey  cleaned  me 
out  o'  nineteen  cents  in  no  time;  I's 
bankrupt,  an'  got  to  start  life  all  over 
again.  Ain't  you  sorry  fer  me,  Rube?" 

And  the  grimy-faced  lad  sniffled,  wiped 
the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and 
made. a  pretense  of  weeping. 

"But  I  tell  you  my  name  isn't  Rube," 
Barney  returned,  ignoring  the  other's 
plea  for  sympathy;  it's  Barney — Barney 
Bylow." 

"Aw,  dat's  all  right— all  right!"  the 
gamin  chuckled.  "It's  a  good  Irish 
name,  too.  Me  name's  Mickey  Marvel, 
an'  I's  as  Irish  as  de  ol'  sod  itself. 
Shake." 

The  two  shook  hands  and  Mickey 
continued : 

"Want  to  take  a  hand?"  with  a  jerk  of 
his  thumb  indicating  the  game  in  pro- 
gress. "It's  great  fun,  an'  maybe  you'll 
win  a  pile." 

"It's  gambling,  isn't  it?"  Barney  ob- 
jected. "I  don't  want  to  gamble." 

Those    in    the  game    overheard    the 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


639 


country  boy's  remark,  and  tittered 
amusedly,  but  did  not  stop  playing. 

"Naw,  'tain't  gamblin',"  Mickey  has- 
teed  to  explain;  "it's  jes  shakin'  pen- 
nies. Shootin'  craps  is  gamblin'.  Got 
any  pennies — want  to  try  it?" 

Barney  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"It  wouldn't  do  me  any  good,"  he 
remarked. 

"Wouldn't  do  you  any  good?"  Mickey 
exclaimed  incredulously.  "W'y,  you 
might  win — might  win  a  lot." 

"It  wouldn't  do  me  any  more  good  to 
win  than  to  lose,"  Barney  returned  in 
a  tone  of  deep  dejection. 

"Listen  to  dat,  fellers!"  Mickey  cried, 
turning  to  his  companions.  "Here's  a 
guy  w'at  says  it  wouldn't  do  him  no 
good  to  win  a-shakin'  pennies.  W'at  do 
you  t'ink  o'  dat,  now?" 

"He's  a  millionaire,  an'  don't  need 
de  money,"  one  of  the  boys  made 
answer. 

Then  all  laughed. 

"Try  it  once,"  Mickey  persisted. 

Barney  shook  his  head;  then  he  asked 
shrewdly: 

"Why  don't  you  try  it  again?" 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  dey'd  cleaned  me 
out?"  Mickey  snapped,  giving  an  irri- 
table hitch  at  the  bootblack  kit  sus- 
pended from  his  shoulder. 

"I'll  lend  you  some  money,"  Barney 
offered. 

"You  will?"  in  tone  of  delight.  "How 
much  you  got?" 

"I've  got  lots — of  pennies." 

"Dat's  de  stuff!"  Mickey  cried  in  an 
ecstacy.  "I'll  tell  you  w'at  we'll  do; 
we'll  play  pards.  I'll  do  de  playin'  an' 
you'll  be  de  banker.  If  we  wins,  we 
splits  even;  if  we  loses,  I'll  pay  you 
back  half  soon's  I  get  it.  Is  dat  fair- 
does  dat  suit  you?" 

"I  don't  want  any  back,  whether  you 
win  or  lose,"  Barney  replied  apathetic- 
ally. 

"You  don't?"  Mickey  exclaimed  in 
astonishment  and  admiration.  And  the 
other  boys  paused  to  listen.  "Well,  you 


must  be  a  millionaire!  You's  a  dead- 
game  sport,  anyhow — dat's  sure.  But 
come  on.  You'll  be  me  mascot,  an'  I'll 
jes  clean  dese  fellers  out  in  no  time." 

The  game  was  played  as  follows:  Each 
boy  put  up  a  penny,  then  each  in  turn 
took  up  the  whole  lot  of  coins,  shook 
them  between  his  palms,  and  threw  them 
upon  the  ground.  The  one  throwing  the 
most  "heads"  won  all  the  pennies. 
Then  all  put  up  a  cent  each  again,  and 
thus  the  game  went  on. 

But  as  a  mascot  Barney  for  a  time 
proved  a  rank  failure,  though  he  was 
a  commendable  success  as  a  "banker." 
Penny  after  penny  he  passed  over  to 
Mickey,  who  lost,  and  continued  to  lose 
stoically.  However,  the  tide  of  fortune 
turned  at  last  in  favor  of  the  two 
"pards,"  and  soon  the  Irish  lad  won 
back  all  he  had  lost,  and  nearly  all  be- 
longing to  his  associates. 

"Here's  w'ere  I  quits  de  game,"  he 
said  decidedly,  rising  and  jingling  the 
money  in  his  pocket. 

The  other  boys  did  not  care  to  con- 
tinue to  play — with  most  of  the  money  in 
Mickey's  possession,  and  he  out  of  the 
contest— and  stood  about  grumbling  at 
their  ill  luck. 

Mickey  was  jubilant. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  we'd  clean  'em 
up?"  he  cried  gleefully,  slapping  Barney, 
who  stood  a  passive  spectator  of  his  new- 
found chum's  good  fortune,  on  the  back. 

"I  knowed  I  could  do  it  in  de  end; 
I  can  alluz  play  better  on  borried  money 
— dat's  a  fack.  But  say!" — in  boundless 
admiration— "You  was  cool— cool  as  an 
ol'  hand  at  de  biz.  Me  a-losin'  an' 
a-losin',  an'  you  a-shovin'  up  de  stuff, 
a  cent  at  a  time  — jes  as  if  you  had 
a  bar'l  of  it.  Have  you  got  any  left?" 

"One  penny,"  Barney  answered 
calmly. 

"Hullee!"  Mickey  ejaculated.  "Did- 
n't we  run  a  close  chance  o'  goin' 
broke?  Good  t'ing  de  luck  changed  jes 
w'en  it  did.  How  many  pennies  did 
you  'ave  in  de  start — do  you  know?" 


640 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


"One,"  Barney  replied  composedly. 

"Naw!"  Mickey  exclaimed,  provoked 
at  what  he  thought  Barney's  thick- 
headedness. "You'sgot  one  now;  but 
how  many  did  you  'ave  in  de  start? 
See?" 

"One,"  Barney  reiterated  placidly. 

"Aw,  come  off!"  Mickey  muttered, 
his  deep  disgust  evident  in  voice  and 
manner.  "W'y  you  give  me  more'n 
twenty— dat's  sure." 

"Yes,  an'  w'ere  did  he  get  'em?"  one 
of  the  other  boys  cried  sneeringly. 
"Maybe  he's  'fraid  to  tell;  an'  maybe 
dat's  de  reason  he  won't  own  to  havin' 
so  many." 

"Look  'ere,  Bud  Brown  1"  Mickey 
snorted  hotly,  his  black  eyes  flashing. 
"Don't  you  go  to  slingin'  no  slack  like 
dat,  'rme  an'  you'll  come  togedder.  Bar- 
ney's me  pard  from  dis  on,  an'  I's  goin' 
to  stand  up  fer  him.  See?" 

Evidently  Bud  Brown  saw,  for  he  kept 
a  discreet  silence. 

"Now  Barney,"  Mickey  said,  turning 
to  his  protege,  "we's  goin'  to  divvy  up. 
Here's  half  de  stuff;  take  it." 

"But  I  don't  want  it,"  Barney  pro- 
tested. 

The  Irish  lad  gave  a  grunt  of  surprise, 
and  his  associates  looked  at  the  country 
boy  in  open-mouthed  wonder. 

"You  won't  take  it?"  Mickey  ques- 
tioned incredulously.  "Wat's  de  mat- 
ter wid  you,  anyhow?  'Fraid  shakin' 
pennies  is  gamblin'?" 

Barney  shook  his  head  rather  unde- 
cidedly, for  he  was  not  sure  as  to  the 
moral  status  of  the  game. 

"Wat's  de  matter  den.-"'  Mickey  in- 
sisted. 

Barney  made  no  reply,  and  the  other 
boys  all  stood  and  stared  at  him. 

"Well,  you's  got  to  take  y'r  share  of 
de  swag,"  Mickey  said  with  sudden 
determination.  "Hoi'  out  y'r  paw." 

But  Barney  resolutely  put  his  hands 
behind  him. 

"Here,  dat  won't  work!"  Mickey 
snapped  irritably.  "You  take  dis 


stuff,    'r   I'll   shove   it  in   y'r  pocket." 

"Please— please  don't  do  that!''  Bar- 
ney pleaded  earnestly. 

Mickey  was  completely  nonplussed; 
and  his  companions  looked  at  one  an- 
other in  blank  amazement.  What  sort 
of  youngster  was  this,  who  begged  not 
to  have  money  forced  upon  him ! 

"W'y — w'y?"  was  all  Mickey  could 
say. 

"Because  —  because,"  Barney  began, 
then  choked,  swallowed  and  went  on: 
"You  keep  it,  Mickey,  and  buy  us  both 
a  supper." 

"Well,  don't  dat  settle  it?"  the  Irish 
boy  laughed.  "Say,  fellers!  Hear  dat? 
He  wants  me  to  buy  him  a  supper." 
Then  to  Barney:  "Can't  you  buy  y'r  own 
grub?  Don't  you  know  w'ere  to  go  an' 
get  it?" 

"No,"  Barney  replied. 

"Well,  I'll  go  wid  you;  but  you's  got 
to  be  a  man,  an'  pay  y'r  own  bill,  Now 
take  dis  stuff." 

Barney  again  quickly  put  his  hands 
behind  him,  but  Mickey,  with  a  laugh, 
skillfully  dropped  the  handful  of  coins 
into  his  protege's  left  pocket. 

"Oh,  why  did  you  do  that!"  Barney 
wailed.  "Now  you've  lost  them  all." 

All  the  boys  laughed  heartily;  Barney 
was  the  most  amusing  urchin  they  had 
ever  met — his  verdancy  was  refreshing. 

"Yes,  I's  lost  'em,"  Mickey  giggled, 
."but  you's  got  'em." 

"But  I  haven't  got  them!"  was  the 
astounding  declaration. 

"Wat!" 

"I  haven't!" 

"Were  is  dey,  den?" 

"I— I  don't  know!" 

'Aw,  come  off!" — contemptuously. 
"Dey's  in  y'r  pocket.  Let  me  see." 

Mickey  thrust  his  hand  into  the  unre- 
sisting Barney's  pocket,  and  found  it 
empty !  The  Irish  boy  started  back,  pale 
as  paper,  his  eyes  wide  open  and  his 
mouth  quivering. 

"W'y— w'y,  w'at— w'at  did  you  do  wid 
de  money?"  he  gasped  huskily. 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


641 


"Nothing,"  Barney  replied,  fidgeting 
about  uneasily;  "I  didn't  touch  it." 

•'Ain't  it  dere?"  one  of  the  boys  in- 
quired with  grave  interest. 

"Naw,"  said  Mickey,  solemnly  shak- 
ing his  head. 

"Aw,  stuff!"  sneered  one  boy. 

"Bosh!"  commented  another. 

"It's  a  fack,"  declared  Mickey.  "I's 
tellin'-  you  de  troof.  If  you  doesn't 
b'lieve  it,  try  fer  y'rselves." 

The  challenge  was  promptly  accepted; 
one  after  another  thrust  a  hand  into  Bar- 
ney's pocket,  and  brought  forth  nothing. 
Amazement  bordering  on  superstitious 
awe  rested  upon  each  countenance.  For 
a  few  moments  silence  reigned. 

Then  Mickey  said  with  an  uneasy 
laugh:  "Say,  Barney!  You ' s  de  great- 
est ever — you  is!" 

"The  greatest  what?"  Barney  asked. 

"W'y  de  greatest  fakir,  'r  hoodoo, 
'r  w'atever  you  is — dat's  w'at." 

"But  I'm  not — "  Barney  began,  in  an 
attempt  to  disclaim  the  questionable 
honor. 

"Don't  explain  nothin'  to  dese  fel- 
lers," Mickey  shut  him  up.  "I  doesn't 
know  how  you  do  it,  but  you  can  tell  me 
after  w'ile — w'en  we's  by  ourselves.  You 
an  me'll  work  de  graft  to  beat  de  band; 
we  can  make  a  bar'l  o'  stuff — bettin'  wid 
fellers.  Gee!  But  you's  a  -slick  one! 
An'  to  t'ink  dat  I  took  you  fer  a  softy! 
Hullee!  But  come  on;  let's  go  an'  hunt 
some  grub." 

Silently  Barney  accompanied  his  new- 
found friend.  The  latter  led  the  way  to 
a  dingy,  ill-smelling  restaurant  a  few 
squares  back  from  the  water-front.  There 
the  two  seated  themselves  at  a  small,  oil- 
cloth-covered table  and  partook  of  a 
supper  of  garlic-flavored  soup  and  bread 
and  butter. 

When  they  had  finished  their  frugal 
repast  Mickey  remarked: 

"Now  you  can  settle  y'r  bill  an'  I'll 
settle  mine." 

"But  I  have  no  money,"  was  Barney's 
natural  objection. 


"No  money?"  cried  Mickey. 

"Only  a  penny." 

"Come  off!" — incredulously. 

"That's  all  I  have."  And  Barney 
held  up  the  single  coin,  in  proof. 

"Aw,  you's  jokin' —  you's  foolin' !" 
grinned  Mickey.  "Don't  hand  me  no 
gag  o'  dat  kind.  Didn't  I  divvy— didn't 
I  give  you  half  de  stuff?  You's  not  got 
it  in  y'r  pocket,  I  know,  but  you's  got  it 
hid  'bout  you  some'rs.  You  can't  give 
me  no  game  like  dat." 

"No  indeed— indeed,  Mickey,"  Bar- 
ney insisted  earnestly,  "I  haven't  the 
money  you  put  in  my  pocket — not  a  cent 
of  it  anywhere." 

Mickey  stared,  stupefied. 

"Honest?"  he  whispered. 

"Honest!"  Barney  replied  with  proper 
solemnity  and  unction. 

"Well,  you  is  a  hoodoo!"  the  Irish 
ragamuffin  muttered,  his  tone  and  man- 
ner suggesting  covert  disgust  or  open 
admiration — or  both. 

Then  he  asked:  "W'at  become  o'  de 
stuff?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Sure?" 

"Sure!" 

"W'y,  Barney,  it  couldn't  get  out  o' 
y'r  pocket." 

"It  did,"  Barney  answered. 

"Dat's  so" — with  a  reflective  shake 
of  the  head. 

"Does  all  money  act  dat  way  wid 
you?" 

"Yes." 

"Hullee!"  exclaimed  Mickey,  his  eyes 
popping  open.  "An'  dat's  w'y  you 
didn't  want  to  take  de  swag — de  stuff  I 
put  in  y'r  pocket,  den," 

"Yes,"  Barney  admitted. 

"W'at  got  you  in  such  a  fix  as  dat?" 
Mickey  questioned. 

"I — I  don't  want  to  tell  you,"  Barney 
stammered;  "you  wouldn't  believe  me; 
you'd  think  me  crazy." 

Mickey  was  silent  a  moment,  then 
made  answer,  musingly:  "I  guess  dat's 
right  No  feller  could  explain  a  t'ing  o' 


642 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


dat  kind  widout  folks  callin'  him  nutty — 
crazy.  It's  a  mighty  tough  shape  fer  a 
chap  to  be  in,  too."  Then,  suddenly, 
after  another  moment  of  grave  thought: 
"Well,  I  sp'ose  I'll  'ave  to  settle  de  bill 
ber  us  bofe.  Were  you  goin'  to  hang 
out  tonight?" 

"Where  am  I  going  to  stay — to  sleep?" 
Barney  returned. 
"Sure." 

"I  don't  know;  I  have  no  place." 
"Well,  you  can  roost  wid  me,"  Mickey 
offered.  "I'sgot  a  nest  in  de  attic  o' 
one  o'  de  rookeries  on  de  river  bank. 
Jes  wait  till  I  settle  de  bill,  an'  we'll  go 
an'  turn  in." 

On  his  return  from  making  payment 
to  the  proprietor,  who  was  himself  wait- 
ing on  table  in  the  rear  of  the  room,  the 
Irish  lad  remarked  carelessly: 

"W'en  I  give  dat  bloke  de  stuff  all  in 
coppers  he  laughed  an'  said  de  cops  was 
lookin'  fer  a  kid  dat  had  been  shovin' 
a  lot  of  'em  all  over  de  town.  Come  on; 
le's  be  turnin'  in  fer  a  snooze." 

At  the  announcement  Barney  changed 
color,  but  Mickey  did  not  notice  his 
companion's  agitation,  and  together  the 
two  left  the  place. 

As  they  were  slowly  climbing  the  dark, 
rickety  stairs  leading  up  to  Mickey's  den 
under  the  eaves  of  a  tall  rookery,  the 
country  boy  asked: 
"Are  you  an  orphan,  Mickey?" 
"Yep,"    Mickey    replied    laconically 
and  complacently,  as  though  orphanage 
were  the  natural  and  to-be-desired  state 
of  all  youngsters. 

Barney  sighed  heavily;  he  was  think- 
ing of  home  and  its  manifold  comforts. 
On  reaching  the  small  room  which 
Mickey  had  graphically  and  truthfully 
described  as  a  "nest,"  and  which  was 
lighted  alone  by  a  dingy  skylight,  the 
two  tumbled  down  upon  a  pallet  of  musty 
comforters  in  one  corner  and  sought  rest 
and  sleep. 

But  just  as  Barney  was  crossing  the 
border  of  dreamland,  Mickey  called  him 
back  with: 


"Say,  Barney?" 

"What?"  the  latter  responded  drows- 
ily. 

Mickey  sat  erect  and  asked:  "If  you 
can't  keep  no  money  in  y'r  pockets,  how 
did  it  come  you  could  give  me  all  dern 
coppers  to  shake  wid?  Say!" 

"I  just  gave  you  one  at  a  time,"  Bar- 
ney offered  in  explanation. 

"Dat's  all  right,"  Mickey  said;   "but 
you  had  more  dan  one  in  y'r  pocket,  'r 
else  you  couldn't  'ave  give  me  so  many." 
"I   didn't  have  more  than   one  at  a 
time,  in  my  pocket." 
"Wat!" 
"I  didn't." 
"Doesn't  you  never?" 
"No,  and  when  I  take  that  one  out 
another  one  comes." 
"Hullee!"  was  all  Mickey  could  say. 
After  a  momentary  silence  he  dropped 
back  upon  the  cot,  muttering: 

"Well,  if  dat  don't  jar  me!  I  can't 
make  nothin'  of  it;  I  can't  understand 
it." 

"Neither  can— can  I,"  Barney  mum- 
bled sleepily. 

A  few  minutes  later  both  were  sound 
asleep,  and  Barney  was  dreaming  of 
the  comforts  of  home,  perhaps,  and 
Mickey  was  dreaming  of  a  morrow  free 
from  want  and  care. 

VII 

The  next  morning  Barney  and  Mickey, 
lying  upon  their  humble  pallet  and 
lazily  blinking  at  the  gray  dawn  stealing 
in  through  the  dingy  skylight,  resolved 
themselves  into  a  ways  and  means  com- 
mittee, and  discussed  what  they  would 
do  and  how  they  would  do  it. 

"De  first  t'ing,"  Mickey  remarked, 
with  an  earnestness  and  solemnity  befit- 
ting to  the  subject  and  the  occasion,  "is 
to  see  'bout  gettin'  some  breakfast." 

"I'id  like  to  wash,  first,"  Barney  made 
reply,  the  force  of  habit  strong  upon  him. 

"Wash  w'at?"  Mickey  interrogated. 

"My  hands  and  face— and  comb  my 
hair,"  said  Barney. 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


643 


"W'at  you  wants  to  do  all  dat  fer?" 

"Because  I'd  feel  better,  and  because 
it's  the  proper  thing  to  do.  Mother 
taught  me  to  wash  before  meals,  always. 
Don't  you  ever  wash,  Mickey?" 

"No.  Wat's  de  use?  A  feller  jes' 
goes  an'  gets  dirty  ag'in." 

Barney  was  shocked,  and  gave  his 
companion  a  brief  lecture  upon  the 
ethics  of  cleanliness. 

"You's  got  parents,  eh?"  Mickey  said 
sullenly. 

"Yes,"  Barney  answered. 

"An"  I  s'pose  you  run  off  from  a  good 
home?" 

Barney  admitted  the  fact. 

"An'  you  never  had  to  shift  fery'rself, 
never  had  to  make  y'r  own  livin' — eat 
w'atever  you  could  ketch,  an'  sleep 
w'erever  you  could  find  a  place  to  drop 
down,  eh?" 

"N-o,  not  till  now,"  Barney  replied, 
a  catch  in  his  voice. 

"Den    you    doesn't  know   nothin'  - 
nothin'  at  all,"  Mickey  declared.    "Wait 
till  you's  been  up  ag'in  de  t'ing  as  long's 
I  'ave — den  you  can  talk.   You's  a  plumb 
fool,  Barney — you  is!" 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  you  is — fer  comin'  to  de  city; 
fer  cuttin'  loose  from  de  ol'  folks.  You's 
got  a  heap  to  learn,  you  has." 

"Maybe  I  was  foolish  to  leave  home," 
Barney  said,  after  a  few  moments  of 
sober  reflection,  "and  maybe  I  have  a 
lot  to  learn,  but  I've  got  to  learn  it — 
that's  all.  I  won't  go  back  home — not 
yet,  anyhow." 

"W'y?" 

"Because." 

"  'Cause  w'at?  'Fraid  de  ol'  man' 11 
flog  you?" 

"N-o." 

"W'at,  den?" 

"All  the  people — all  the  boys,  espe- 
cially— would  laugh  at  me,"  Barney  ex- 
plained. 

"I  sees,"  said  Mickey,  nodding 
sagy.  "Dat's  so.  Well,  den,  if  you's 
made  up  y'r  mind  to  stay  in  de  game, 


le's  plan  out  w'at  we's  goin'  to  do. 
Course  I  could  go  out  an'  do  a  few 
shines,"  patting  the  kit  at  his  side,  "but 
I's  hungry  right  now." 

"I  can  furnish  the  pennies,"  Barney 
grinned,  rising,  ':but— but — " 

"But  w'at?"  Mickey  asked  quickly. 

•'I  don't  want  to  pass  them." 

"W'y  doesn't  you?" 

"I'm  the  boy  the  police  are  after." 

"Hullee!"  was  Mickey's  exclamation 
of  surprise.  "Is  dat  so!  No  wonder 
you's  shy  of  passin'  any  more  of  'em. 
But  I'll  do  it;  I  isn't  scared  of  shovin' 
'em.  Fish 'em  out;  I'll  fill  me  pockets." 

Barney  obeyed  the  order,  dropping 
one  penny  after  another  into  Mickey's 
ready  palm;  and  the  latter  crammed  his 
pockets  until  they  bulged. 

At  last  he  announced:  "Dat's  plenty 
—fer  dis  time."  Then  abruptly:  "Say!" 

"Well?"  said  Barney. 

"Wonder  if  I  could  pull  out  coppers, 
an'  keep  a-pullin'  'em  out  fr'ever  an' 
f'rever,  as  you  does,  if  I  had  on  dem 
pants  o'  y'rs." 

"Wonder  if  you  could,"  Barney  specu- 
lated. 

"Le's  swap  pants,  an'  see,"  Mickey 
suggested. 

"All  right,"  Barney  agreed. 

Acting  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
they  made  the  exchange.  Mickey  im- 
mediately explored  the  depths  of  his 
new  possessions,  and  brought  forth  the 
penny  he  found. 

"Dere's  one,"  he  said,  holding  it  up 
between  the  thumb  and  finger  of  his 
right  hand. 

Barney  nodded. 

Mickey  transferred  the  coin  to  his  left 
palm,  and  made  a  second  exploration, 
but  his  hand  came  forth  empty. 

"Dere's  no  more  dere,"  he  announced 
in  a  tone  of  disappointment. 

"Of  course  not,"  Barney  laughed. 
"You  can  have  only  one  penny  at 
a  time.  You'll  have  to  get  rid  of  that 
one  in  your  hand  before  another' 11  come 
in  your  pocket." 


644 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


"W'y,  dat's  a  fack,"  Mickey  grinned. 
"I  clean  fergot  'bout  dat.  I'll  t'row  dis 
one  on  de  floor." 

He  did  so,  and  again  sent  his  right 
hand  to  the  bottom  of  his  pocket. 

"Any  there?"  Barney  inquired  with 
keen  expectancy. 

"Naw,"  Mickey  replied,  disgust  evi- 
dent in  voice  and  manner.  "De  t'ing 
only  works  fer  you.  Le's  swap  back." 

Barney  nodded  approval  to  the  propo- 
sition, and  a  minute  later  each  boy  was 
again  in  possession  of  his  own  trousers. 

"De  t'ing's  in  you,  Barney,  an'  not 
in  y'r  trousers,"  Mickey  declared  em- 
phatically. 

Barney  nodded  his  conviction  of  the 
truth  of  the  statement. 

"Hullee!:>  cried  Mickey,  with  start- 
ling suddenness,  throwing  up  his 
hands. 

"What's— what's  the  matter?"  asked 
the  country  boy,  in  genuine  concern. 

Mickey  burst  out  laughing. 

"W'y,  all  dem  coppers  you  give  me  is 
gone;  me  pockets'  is  empty.  Wouldn't 
dat  shake  you?" 

"I  put  on  your  trousers,  you  know," 
Barney  said,  grinning  sheepishly,  "and 
I  can't  have  more  than  a  penny.  See?" 

"Well  I  guesses  I  sees,"  the  Irish  lad 
replied,  making  a  wry  face.  "An'  I 
sees,  too,  dat  we's  got  to  do  our  job  all 
over  ag'in — got  to  make  anoder  draw  on 
de  bank.  Understand?" 

"Yes." 

"All  right,  den.     Fork  over." 

Again  Barney  "forked  over,"  and 
again  Mickey  crammed  his  pockets. 

"Are  you  going  to  spend  all  those 
today?"  the  former  asked,  uneasiness 
patent  in  his  voice. 

"Yep — fer  sure,"  was  the  determined 
response.     "Wa't's  de  use  o'  havin'  a 
good  graft  an'  not  workin'  it — hey?" 
.    "But  I'm  afraid  of  the  police,"  Bar- 
ney objected. 

"Aw,  stuff!"  Mickey  cried  scornfully. 
"De  cops  won't  get  onto  de  game;  dey's 
slow — dead  slow." 


"They  got  onto  me,"  the  country  boy 
answered  petulantly. 

"Yes,  dat's  so,"  Mickey  admitted. 
"But  you  tried  to  shove  de  stuff  at 
stores,  an'  places  like  dat,  didn't  you — 
puttin'  up  a  cent  at  a  time?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,"  the  Irish  lad  went  on  with 
complacent  self-confidence,  "I  knows 
a  game  dat  beats  dat  one  a  block.  All 
de  boys  is  wantin'  coppers  to  shake  an' 
match  wid,  an'  all  de  fruit-stand  fellers 
is  wantin'  'em  fer  change;  so  I'll  jest 
swap  wid  'em  —  tradin'  pennies  fer 
nickles,  an'  dimes,  an'  quarters.  See? 
Dey'll  all  be  glad  to  get  'em,  an'  I'll 
give  'em  a  few  extra  ones  ev'ry  deal — 
no  need  o'  us  bein'  stickin' — an'  dey'll 
feel  good,  an'  won't  squeal.  Wa't  does 
you  t'ink  o'  dat  fer  a  scheme?" 

"It's  all  right,"  Barney  said,  with 
manifest  admiration  for  his  partner's 
resourcefulness.  . 

"Den  le's  take  a  sneak,  an'  see  how 
de  t'ing  works." 

Forth  the  two  went,  and  had  breakfast 
and  put  Mickey's  expedient  in  opera- 
tion. It  worked  admirably.  Soon  the 
stock  of  pennies  was  exhausted,  but  the 
Irish  boy  had  a  handful  of  coins  of  larger 
denominations.  Then  they  adjourned 
to  a  secluded  spot,  and  when  they 
emerged  Mickey's  pockets  were  again 
bulging  with  pennies. 

Until  noon  they  worked  "de  graft," 
as  Mickey,  termed  it.  Then  he  re- 
marked: 

"Seems  to  me  we's  done  enough  fer 
one  day.  Le's  count  up,  an'  see  how 
much  we  got." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  Barney  assented 
heartily.  He  was  weary  of  tramping 
from  one  part  of  the  city  to  another;  and 
his  nerves  were  worn  with  the  excite- 
ment of  what  he  regarded  as  ever-pres- 
ent danger  of  arrest  and  imprisonment. 

"Purty  nigh  ten  dollars,"  Mickey  an- 
nounced jubilantly,  when  he  had  com- 
pleted the  count  of  the  money  in  his 
possession.  "Hullee!  Ain't  dat  great? 


THE    WITCH-CROW    AND    BARNEY    BYLOW 


64S 


W'y  dis  graft's  better'n  a  license  to 
steal — an'  dat's  no  joke.  Now,  we'll 
lay  off  an'  spend  w'at  we's  got;  den 
we'll  dig  up  ag'in." 

"I  can't  spend  any  of  it,"  Barney  re- 
marked rather  downheartedly. 

"Dat's  all  right— all  right,"  Mickey 
cried  cheerily,  giving  his  partner  a  re- 
assuring slap  on  the  back.  "I  can  spend 
it  feryou;  it's  jes  de  same.  See.?" 

"What' 11  we  spend  it  for?"  Barney 
asked  by  way  of  reply. 

"W'at'll  we  spend  it  fer?"  Mickey 
laughed.  "Well,  listen  at  de  chump! 
Spend  it  fer  all  de  t'ings  we  wants,  dat's 
w'at;  fer  candy,  an'  lemonade,  an'  ice- 
cream, an'  all  dem  t'ings.  Den  we'll 
tend  de  'teayters,  ride  on  de  'lectric  cars, 
go  out  to  de  parks  an'  de  zoo,  take  in 
de  'scursions  up  to  de  Island — an'  all 
dem  'musements.  Aw,  we'll  find  plenty 
to  spend  it  fer — leave  dat  to  me.  An'  I 
doesn't  peddle  no  more  papers  'r  shine 
no  more  shoes— dat's  flat.  I's  a  capital- 
ist now,  I  is." 

"And  what  am  I?"  Barney  inquired, 
plainly  dissatisfied  with  the  unimportant 
and  passive  part  he  was  compelled  to 
play. 

"W'y,  you's  me  silent  pardner," 
Mickey  answered  composedly.  "Come 
on,  let's  go  an'  'ave  a  bang-up  dinner." 
For  several  days,  Barney  could  never 
tell  how  many,  for  one  day  seemed  to 
merge  into  another  in  a  way  that  was 
most  perplexing,  the  two  "pards"  carried 
out  the  plans  that  had  origin  in  the  fer- 
tile brain  of  the  Irish  boy.  They  gorged 
themselves  with  indigestible  sweetmeats; 
they  set  their  stomachs  awash  with  un- 
wholesome beverages.  They  bought 
themselves  new  clothes — loud  and  bi- 
zarre; they  went  to  all  sorts  of  public  en- 
tertainments— wherever  they  could  gain 
admittance — and  indulged  in  all  sorts  of 
amusements.  Mickey  smoked  cigarettes, 
and  bragged  in  a  loud  and  lordly  way; 
Barney  chewed  gum  and  swaggered. 
Both  were  fast  becoming  idle,  unprinci- 
pled nuisances.  The  city  boy  had  been 


industrious  and  honest,  to  say  the  least; 
the  country  boy  had  been  clean  and  up- 
right, if  just  a  little  perverse.  But  now 
the  two  were  in  a  fair  way  to  degenerate 
into  worthless,  nasty  little  criminals. 

Yet  all  of  Mickey's  former  associates 
looked  admiringly  upon  the  twain,  and 
envied  them  their  remarkable  good  for- 
tune. 

One  day  the  two  pardners  went  up  to 
the  Island,  a  Summer  resort  a  few  miles 
from  the  city.  On  the  way  back  Mickey 
cocked  his  heels  upon  the  guard-rail  of 
the  boat,  blew  a  cloud  of  cigarette  smoke 
into  the  air,  and  drawled  lazily  and 
affectedly : 

"Ain't  dis  great,  me  friend?  We's 
havin'  de  times  of  our  lives,  we  is;  we's 
cuttin'  as  big  a  swell  as  millionaires 
does.  Ain't  it  bully?  Say!" 

"I'm  getting  tired  of  it,"  Barney  said 
gloomily. 

"I'm  getting  tired  of  it,"  Barney  said 
gloomily. 

"Tired  o'  w'at?"  Mickey  asked 
sharply,  jerking  down  his  feet  aud  whirl- 
ing around  in  his  chair. 

"Of  the  city  —  of  everything,"  Barney 
answered. 

"An'  I  s'pose  you's  t'inkin'  o'  playin' 
de  prodigal  son  —  t'inkin'  o'  goin'  back 
home,"  Mickey  sneered. 

"Yes,"  Barney  replied  simply. 

"Well,  you  isn't  a-goin'  to  do  it — you 
hears  me!"  Mickey  cried  angrily. 

"Why?"  the  country  boy  inquired 
innocently. 

"W'y!"  Mickey  snapped.  '  "Jes  'cause 
you  isn't — dat's  w'y.  Spose  I's  goin'  to 
let  loose  of  a  good  t'ing  like  dis  is? 
Hullee!  Not  if  I  knows  meself!" 

"I  can  go  if  I  want  to,"  Barney  said 
stubbornly. 

"Well,  you  can't  —  so  dere!" 

"I  will!" 

"You  won't!" 

Then  each  sat  and  glared  at  the  other 
—  unrighteous  rage  flushing  both  boyish 
faces;  but  neither  would  condescend  to 
utter  a  further  word  on  the  subject. 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


It  was  dark  when  the  excursion  steamer 
reached  the  city.  Mickey  and  Barney 
silently  debarked;  and  upon  the  wharf 
were  met  by  Bud  Brown. 

"I's  been  waitin'  to  see  you  two  fel- 
lers," he  said. 

"Wat  fer  —  w'at  you  want?"  was 
Mickey's  ungracious  inquiry. 

"Want  to  know  w'at  terms  you's  goin' 
to  offer  me,"  Bud  replied  smoothly. 

"Terms?"  Mickey  cried. 

"Yep— terms,"  Bud  said  with  an  in- 
solent grin.  "You  two  blokes  has  been 
a-flyin'  high — wearin'  swell  togs  an* 
takin'  in  all  de  shows,  an'  all  dat.  I 
wants  to  be  a  member  of  de  firm.  See?" 

"Well,  you  can't,"  snapped  Mickey. 

"Can't  I?"  his  insolent  grin  widening. 

"No,  you  can't" 

"W'y?" 

"  'Cause  you  can't— dat's  all." 

"Dat's  y'r  final  answer,  is  it?" 

"Yes,  it  is." 

"Den  I  knows  wa't  to  d'pend  on — an' 
w'at  to  do,"  Bud  said,  turning  away. 

"W'at  you  mean?"  Mickey  asked  with 
growing  uneasiness. 

"Nothin',"  Bud  answered  surlily, 
making  off  up  the  wharf. 

"Look  'ere,  Bud,"  Mickey  hastened 
to  say  in  a  more  conciliatory  tone.  "Me 
and  Barney  can't  take  no  more  pards  in 
on  dis  t'ing.  If  we  could,  we'd  take 
you.  Wouldn't  we,  Barney?" 

Barney  nodded  a  doubtful  and  almost 
imperceptible  affirmative. 

"But  we  can't  at  all,  can  we,  Barney?" 


Mickey  pursued. 

Barney  grunted  a  decided  and  unmis- 
takable negative. 

"Den  de  jig's  up,  all  right,"  Bud  mut- 
tered. 

"W'at  you  mean?"  Mickey  growled. 
"Out  wid  it." 

"Jes  dis,"  Bud  answered  coolly:  "I 
comes  in  on  de  graft,  'r  I  tells  de  cops." 

"Tell  de  cops?"  Mickey  gasped, 
aghast  at  his  former  associate's  perfidi- 
ous design.  "Tell  'em»  w'at?" 

"Dat  you  two  is  de  guys  dat's  been 
tappin'  all  de  tills  an'  robbin'  all  de  slot 
machines,"  was  Bud's  cool  reply. 

"But  we  isn't!"  Mickey  objected. 

"Maybe  you  can  make  de  judge 
b'lieve  dat  —  w'en  twenty  witnesses 
swears  dat  you's  been  blowin'  in  all 
kinds  o'  money  — maybe  you  can,"  Bud 
sneered;  "an"  maybe  you  can  explain 
w'ere  you  got  all  de  money  you's  been 
spendin'— if  you  didn't  steal  it." 

Tongue-tied  with  surprise,  Barney 
and  Mickey  stood  and  stared  at  the  au- 
dacious speaker.  Presently,  however, 
the  Irish  boy  found  voice  to  say: 

"An'  you's  goin'  to  peach  —  goin'  to 
tell  decops?" 

"Yes,  I  is." 

"Do  it,  den  —  you  sneak !"  Mickey 
cried  wrathfully,  recklessly. 

Bud  Brown  gave  a  taunting  laugh,  and 
ran  away.  Barney  and  Mickey  silently 
made  their  way  to  their  den  under  the 
eaves  of  the  tall  rookery,  crestfallen  and 
thoughtful. 


(TO     BE    CONCLUDED    IN    APRIL) 


BEAUTIES    OF    THE    AMERICAN    STAGE 


By    HELEN    ARTHUR 

NEW     YORK     CITY 


XIV 

CHRISTIE  MACDONALD 

A  MAN  whose  daughter  wished  to  go 
on  the  comic  opera  stage  once  said 
to  me:  "If  Alice  would  only  duplicate 
Christie  MacDonald's  career,  I  shouldn't 
mind  in  the  least."  There  is  no  doubt 
but  that  Christie  MacDonald  carries  to 
her  work  that  charm  and  daintiness  char- 
acteristic of  her  in 
private  life,  and 
that  into  her  home 
she  brings  none 
of  the  "shop"  of 
her  profession. 
She  has  married 
into  the  aristocracy 
of  the  stage,  her 
husband  being  the 
youngest  son  of 
Joseph  Jefferson, 
and  though  they 
are  both  players, 
they  have  a  charm- 
ing little  apartment 
in  New  York  City 
where  they  try  to 
spend  as  much  time 
together  as  the  ex- 
igencies of  stage 
life  will  permit. 
It  was  there  that  I 
saw  her,  and  here 
are  some  of  her 
views  on  her  pro- 
fession: "Let  a 
girl  consider  the 
stage  as  a  means 
of  livelihood  from 
a  sane  and  logical 
point  of  view;  don't 
talk  to  her  about  its 
temptations.  Just 
have  her  say,  'I  CHRISTIE 


care  enough  about  the  work  to 
succeed  in  it.  I  am  strong  and  self- 
reliant  enough  to  make  myself  what  I 
wish  to  be.'  If  one  has  a  silly  and 
frivolous  idea  of  life,  one  will  ultimately 
arrive  at  the  same  destination,  whether 
the  route  be  by  way  of  clerking  in  a 
department  store  or  singing  in  the  back 
row  of  the  chorus.  Given  some  talent, 
a  large  capacity  for  work  and  real  sturdi- 
ness  of  character  and  I  will  guarantee 


MACDONALD     IN     " THE      SHOGUN " 


648 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


a  quicker  rise  on  the  stage  than  in  any 
other  profession. 

"I  was  born  and  reared  in   Boston. 
How  well  I  remember  going  with  a  party 
of  girls  to  see  Francis  Wilson  in  'Ermi- 
nie' — inwardly  how  I  wished  that  I  was 
playing  the  role  opposite  to  him,   and 
was  it  not  a  trifle  odd  that  my  first  part 
should  be  that  of  'Marie'  in  a  revival  of 
that  same  'Erminie?'     I  am  so  glad  that 
Mr.  Wilson  is  succeeding  in  legitimate 
comedy  work.     He  was  always  funny  to 
me,  and  the  greatest  tribute  I  know  of 
to  his  power  was  that,  night  after  night, 
the  orchestra  would  laugh  at  his  antics. 
In  musical  comedy,  what  is  chiefly  lack- 
ing is  action;  it  is  sacrificed  to  a  song 
or  a  dance,  but  we  are  gradually  working 
up  to  the  grade  of  the  real  old  comic 
opera— the    Sullivan   kind  —  and  I   arn 
confident  that  Mr.  George  Ade  will  be 
a  great  factor  toward  the  development 
of  that  movement  in   America.      'The 
Sultan  of  Sulu  and  'The  Sho-Gun'  are 
long  strides  in  that  direction.     Mr.  Ade 
is  so.  unassuming.      Someone  told  me 
about  a  New  York  Johnnie  rushing  up 
to  him  the  night  that  our  play  opened 
and  saying  in  an  affected  manner,  'By 
Jove,  my  deah  chap,  I  meant  to  get  over 
to  the  opening  of  'The  Sho-Gun,'  but 
somehow  my  dates  got  mixed.      How- 
ever, I  shall  try  to  look  in  on  the  last 
act.'     Whereat  Mr.  Ade  remarked  dryly, 
'It  is  barely  possible  that  it  may  be  on 
tomorrow  night.'  " 
"Do  you  ever  have  stage  fright?" 
"Yes,  indeed,    audiences    affect    me 
easily.     I  am,  I  think,  diffident  at  heart, 
and  if  people  do   not  seem  to  care  for 
my  work,  I  grow  worse,  instead  of  just 
showing  them  what   I    can    do;  if  only 
they  manifest  some  enthusiasm  at  first, 
it  is  the  greatest  help  in  the  world  to 
me.     Sometimes,  when  I  have  sung  the 
same  song  for  six  nights  and  two  mati- 
nees each  week  for  five  months,  in  the 
midst  of  it  all,  I  am  struck  by  a  queer 
kind  of  stage  fright  $  an  awful  horror  that 
I  may  have  left  out  a  verse  or  that  I  shall 


not  be  able  to   remember  what  comes 
next,  but  on  I  go  like  an  automaton. 

"But  do  let  us  stop  talking  about  my- 
self." Then,  in  the  prettiest  French,  she 
called  to  her  maid  to  bring  in  afternoon 
tea,  and  during  the  rest  of  my  stay,  I 
appreciated  the  force  of  rny  friend's  de- 
sire that  his  daughter  should  be  like  my 
hostess,  whose  social  charm  has  remained 
intact  although  she  is  in  public  life. 

je 

XV 
GRACE  GEORGE 

IT  was  in  the  large  and  beautifully  ap- 
pointed private  office  of  her  "man- 
ager," W.  A.  Brady,  that  I  got  a  chance 
to  talk  to  his  young  "star,"  Grace 
George. 

The  room  was  done  in  deep  red  and 
the  furnishings  were  in  leather  and 
ebony — the  very  heaviness  of  it  all  con- 
trasting with  the  fair  beauty  and  slight 
figure  of  Miss  George,  making  her  stand 
out  like  a  Dresden  shepherdess  sud- 
denly transfered  from  the  blue  and  gold 
drawing  room  to  the  somber  library. 
She  had  just  returned  from  a  road  tour 
with  the  "all-star  'Two  Orphans'  com- 
pany," where  she  played  Louise,  the  role 
made  famous  by  Kate  Claxton,  who 
alone  remains  of  the  original  cast. 

"It  is  a  trifle  disconcerting  to  talk  in 
this  room,"  said  Miss  George,  as  she 
looked  rather  helplessly  at  the  scores  of 
photographs  of  herself  which  were  in 
evidence.  "A  few  people  in  this  world 
seem  to  be  able  to  escape  comparisons, 
but  actresses,  never;  the  historians, 
aided  by  that  most  pitiless  of  illustra- 
tors, the  photographer,  are  too  numerous. 
But  then  the  stage  has  its  compensation. 
Look  at  dear  old  Mrs.  Gilbert;  how 
happy  she  must  have  been  at  her  recep- 
tion! It  has  been  an  inspiration  to  me 
and  no  work  now  seems  too  hard  if  only 
one  could  gain  such  love  and  apprecia- 
tion as  came  to  her. 
"I  chose  the  stage  as  my  profession, 


GRACE       GEORGE 


650 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


just  as  many  a  girl  chooses  journalism 
or  medicine — because  it  appeals  to  her 
more  than  anything  else  in  the  world.  I 
went  to  a  dramatic  school — J  do  not 
regret  it — one  gets  from  certain  sources 
just  what  one  goes  to  find,  and  I  got 
an  opening.  It  was  a  small  part  in 
'The  New  Boy'  and  I  was  evidently  not 
noticably  bad,  for  after  that  Mr.  'Froh- 
man  put  me  in  'Charlie's  Aunt.'  These 
small  parts  were  the  first  rungs  in  the 
ladder;  then  I  climbed  a  little  further 
up  by  reason  of  the  roles  I  had  with 
Charles  Dickson  in  'Jealousy'  and  'The 
Undeveloped  Bud,'  but  no  manager 
hurried  to  get  my  valuable  services,  and 
I  was  one  of  many  who  one  morning 
waited  in  the  outside  office  of  Brady 
and  Ziegfeld,  Jr.,  to  see  if  there  was 
'anything  for  them.' 

"Little  I  dreamed  of  what  might  de- 
velop from  a  chance  application !  Young 
Mr.  Ziegfeld  gave  me  a  part  —  the  Vi- 
comtesse  in  'Mile.  Fifi,'  but  when  Mr. 
Brady  saw  me  he  said:  'She'll  never  do,' 
and  I  felt  the  ladder  wobble. 
"He  changed  his  mind,  and,  by  way  of 
further  and  complete  revenge,  I  married 
him. 

"Then  Mr.  Brady  starred  me  in  'Her 
Majesty,'  but  illness  forced  me  to  with- 
draw the  piece.  The  next  year  Lottie 
Blair  Parker  wrote  'Under  Southern 
Skies'  for  me,  and  that  was  more  than 
successful;  three  companies  are  playing 
in  it  at  the  present  time. 

"Women  playwrights  seem  to  bring 
me  luck,  for  Frances  Ay  mar  Mathews' 
'Pretty  Peggy'  was  liked  by  the  public, 
and  presented  the  most  fascinating  of 
studies  to  me, — that  of  Peg  Woffington. 
I'm  so  fond  of  her — you  know  all  players 
have  their  favorite  roles,  often  not  the 
ones  so  selected  by  the  world,  —  and 
Peg  is  mine. 

"I   played   'Frou-Frou'   a  few  times, 
because  I  feel  one  part  played  continu- 
ously is  more  than  bad  for  me;   I   must 
have  new  tasks  if  I  am  to  develop. 
"This  season  I  shall  produce '  Abigail.' 


What  does  the  name  suggest?  A  Mary 
Wilkins  story?  Yes,  it  is  a  New  Eng- 
land type  —  a  prim  little  maiden  who 
is  the  bookkeeper  in  a  big  New  York 
firm.  I  am  telling  just  one  thing  about 
the  author  beside  the  name  —  Kellett 
Chalmers,  an  American. 

"Both  Mr.  Brady  and  I  believe  in  the 
American  playwright,  and  we  intend  to 
discover  as  many  of  the  home-grown 
article  as  possible;  so  far,  if  this  be 
patriotism,  as  a  virtue  it  has  not  been 
without  its  reward." 

£ 

XVI 
NANCE    O'NEIL 

TALK  about  the  fascinations  of  the 
stage!  How  painfully  humdrum  any 
other  existence  would  seem  to  Nance 
O'Neil,  into  whose  short  career  have 
been  crowded  more  varied  experiences 
than  come  to  most  actresses  during  an 
entire  lifetime.  Interviews  are  not  the 
breath  of  heaven  to  this  young  woman, 
who  reluctantly  left  the  whitest  of  An- 
gora cats  (I  afterward  learned  its  dis- 
tinguished name  is  Magda)  and  gave 
my  hand  a  grasp  which  indicated 
strength  if  not  cordiality. 

"I  do  not  like  to  see  newspaper  peo- 
ple, because  they  want  me  to  talk  about 
myself  —  the  egotism  of  one's  holding 
forth  for  forty-five  minutes  on  that  sole 
topic!  I  can't.  I  simply  can't!  Yes, 
I  can  answer  questions,  but  just  the  bare 
catechism  in  itself  forces  me  into  my 
shell." 

I  caught  the  half-defiant,  half-reserved 
look,  and  I  knew  that  it  must  take 
a  long  time  to  win  the  confidence  of 
her  solitary  soul.  She  reminded  me  of 
a  thoroughbred,  just  broken  to  the  har- 
ness and  restive -mean while.  'Her  light 
brown  hair  tumbled  about  her  face,  not 
conveying  disorder,  only  its  refusal  to 
stay  bound. 

She  is  very  much  alive,  this  young 
woman  whose  childhood  was  spent  on 


BEAUTIES    OF    THE    AMERICAN    STAGE 


651 


her  grandmother's  ranch  near 
Oakland,  California,  where 
Miss  O'Neil  was  born.  "It 
was  in  the  Bret  Harte  country 
— Calaveras  County.  How  I 
love  the  wide  stretches  of  land 
out  there.  Here  in  Massa- 
chusetts I  have  a  place  — 
Tyngsboro  —  a  few  hundred 
acres;  my  friends  consider  it 
a  large  estate,  but  you  can 
imagine  how  small  it  seems 
to  me.  Always  as  a  child  I 
dreamed  of  the  stage;  vague 
fancies  of  a  woman  and  a 
wild,  tumultuous  audience. 
Just  as  soon  as  I  could  get 
away  from  the  girls'  semin- 
ary, where  I  felt  imprisoned, 
I  took  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  my  present  manager,  Mr. 
McKee  Rankin,  and  he  gave 
me  a  part,  of  necessity  the 
smallest.  We  played  in  San 
Francisco  most  of  the  season. 
How  I  worked  and  worked 
—  here  was  my  chance  to 
justify  my  amazing  conclu- 
sion that  I  had  it  in  me  to 
become  an  actress.  It  can 
not  be  said  truthfully  that  I 
was  then  deemed  remarkable. 
The  next  year  I  played  with^ 
this  same  company,  learning  new  parts 
and  studying  as  before.  We  played  all 
sorts  and  kinds  of  towns  —  there  is 
scarcely  a  variety  of  audience  unknown 
to  me.  We  went  to  Hawaii,  where  we 
met  the  most  delightful  people — thor- 
ough cosmopolitans — and  the  place  itself 
is  heavenly. 

"In  1895  we  came  east  to  play  in 
repertoire,  and  I  think  it  was  in  Wash- 
intgon,  D.  C.,  that  I  received  my  first 
really  flattering  praise.  The  following 
year  I  came  to  the  Murray  Hill  theater, 
here  in  New  York,  and  the  critics  have 
never  allowed  me  to  forget  those  days. 
I  was  said  to  have  'arrived.'  One  is 
glad  to  'arrive'  in  New  York,  but  one 


NANCE      ONEIL 

doesn't  care,  to  be  reminded  of  it  at 
every  subsequent  return.  The  next  year 
I  was  made  a  star.  My  opening  bill  was 
'The  Jewess,'  and  I  worked  harder 
than  before,  there  was  so  much  more  to 
conquer.  The  following  season  I  started 
on  my  tour  around  the  world  —  to  travel 
is  my  second  greatest  happiness.  I 
think  I  have  spent  Christmas  on  every 
continent  —  how  well  I  remmeber  that 
day  in  Cape  Town.  We  were  there 
when  martial  law  was  declared.  I  gave 
a  morning  performance  for  the  benefit  of 
the  Soldiers'  Fund  for  Comforts.  I  can 
see  the  strange  audience  even  yet,  and 
their  enthusiasm  is  a  happy  memory  to 
me.  I  stayed  seven  months  in  South 


652 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


Africa.  I  went  through  the  Kimberly 
mines  and  Cecil  Rhodes'  great  estate. 
Do  you  know  that  there  are  fourteen 
more  varieties  of  heather  on  Table 
mountain  than  can  be  found  in  Scot- 
land? I  brought  over  many  souvenirs, 
but  until  I  had  a  home  in  which  to  put 
them,  I  always  opened  my  trunks  in  fear 
and  trembling. 

"In  Australia  I  remained  a  year  and 
one-half;  the  audiences  were  more  than 
generous  to  me,  and  I  was  happy.  Oh, 
the  beauty  of  the  colors  in  those  lands: 
a  narrow  street,  the  yellow  houses  on 
either  side,  at  the  end  a  mass  of  green 
waving  palms,  and  above  them  the  bluest 
of  blue  skies;  nothing  equals  it  in  gor- 
geousness.  I  have  put  into  one  of  the 
coast  towns  when  the  tide  was  so- low 
that  the  black  men  waded  out  to  meet 
our  boats  and  carried  us  to  land  on  their 
backs.  We  were  at  Lourenzo  Marquez, 


which  is  at  the  head  of  Delagoa  Bay  — 
the  bay  whose  waters  for  brillance  cannot 
be  matched  —  on  the  night  of  the  festi- 
val in  honor  of  the  birthday  of  the  crown 
prince  of  Portugal:  the  gay  uniforms, 
the  happy  crowd,  the  strangeness,  the 
almost  madness  of  that  beautiful  night, 
remains  and  forms  a  part  of  my 
subconsciousness.  Then  I  came  back 
to  my  own  country.  I  am  proud  of  my 
triumph  in  Boston,  though  I  have  had 
nothing  to  complain  of  elsewhere.  All 
I  desire  is  to  command  serious  attention. 
What  I  hope  to  do,  I  cannot  tell  to  you, 
I  cannot  even  talk  about  it.  I  shall  only 
keep  on  working,  and  I  shall  never  give 
up." 

,  Nance  O'Neil,  fine,  strong  and  mag- 
netic— the  best  type  of  reliant  American 
womanhood — somehow  I  know,  I  feel, 
that  you  will  reach  the  goal  on  which 
your  heart  is  set! 


HAUTA    *    By  Zona  Gale  and  Yone  Noguchi 

( From  "  Kicho  No  Ki,"  Mr.  Noguchi's  newest  book,  lately  received  from  Tokyo.) 

BENEATH  the  cherry  blossoms  sleeping 
I  dream  all  the  weary  night 
That  from  the  sky  the  snow  comes  creeping 
Oh,  white ! 
Yoi,  yoi,  yoiya  sa. 
Ah,  Lord  Love,  'twas  not  the  snow 
But  the  flowers  falling  so. 
Yoi,  yo'i,  yoiya  sa. 

Tonight  the  tree  leaned  low  and  said : 
"  My  root  shall  pillow  thy  tired  head, 
And  my  petals  be  thy  bed." 
Yoi,  yoi,  yoiya  sa. 

O  Lord  Love,  how  the  night  wind  sighs ! 
Is  it  a  song  for  a  flower  that  dies  ? 
May  I  not  gojwith  the  wind  that  blows 
Away? 

What  does  it  dream,  what  does  it  say? 
Who  knows? 
Yoi,  yoi,  yoiya  sa. 

0  Love,  Lord  Love,  by  the  silver-lipped  stream 

1  lie  and  I  long  and  I  dream,  I  dream. 
Ah,  Love,  Lord  Love,  it  is  hard  to  keep 
All  one's  dreams  for  sleep  — 

O  the  pity  to  be  but  the  maid  who  waits 
To  win  her  joy  from  the  jealous  fates ! 
Yoi,  yoi,  yoiya  sa. 


OUIDA    IN    HER    WINTER    CITY 


By  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

Author  of  "  For  the  Pleasure  of  His  Company,"  "  Exits  and  Entrances,"  etc. 

CAMBRIDGE,       MASSACHUSETTS 


THE  way  was  made  plain  for  me  one 
evening  in  a  brilliant  salon  in  the 
Palazzo  Barbarini,  half-way  up  the  street 
of  the  Four  Fountains  in  "Rome,  my 
Country,  City  of  the  Soul!"  You  will 
remember  how  the  superb  palace  stands 
back  from  the  steep  street  and  is  shut 
off  from  it  by  a  stately  screen  of  fretted 
bronze  and  marble,  erected  about  half 
a  century  ago;  but  the  palace  is  old,  O, 
so  old,  so  very,  very  old  —  as  Ouida 
might  say  in  her  mellifluous,  rhythmical 
prose. 

The  palace  grew  to  vast  proportions 
during  the  reign  of  Pope  Urban  VIII, 
the  pompous,  the  purse-proud,  the  vain- 
glorious. He  was  a  Barbarini  and  there 
were  bees  upon  his  crest,  as  there  are 
bees  swarming  all  over  that  wondrous 
hive;  the  smallest  suite  in  it  numbers 
forty  rooms,  and  it  was  to  a  chamber  in 
one  of  these  I  was  happily  bound. 

At  the  tip-top  of  the  palace  there  is 
a  frescoed  hall  where  one  sees  the  Bar- 
barini bees  flocking  in  the  face  of  the 
sun  and  obscuring  it — to  typify  the 
splendor  of  the  family;  yet  Urban  the 
Eighth  seems  not  to  have  been  well 
satisfied  with  the  chief  members  of  it,  for 
he  complained  that  he  had  four  relatives 
who  were  good  for  nothing,  namely: 
a  cardinal  who  was  a  saint  and  worked 
no  miracles;  a  cardinal  who  was  a  monk 
and  had  no  patience;  a  cardinal  who 
was  an  orator  and  did  not  know  how  to 
speak;  and  a  general  who  could  not 
draw  a  sword.  I  fear  His  Holiness  had 
a  bee  in  his  bonnet. 

Speaking  of  bees  reminds  me  that 
I  was  lately  taking  their  name  in  vain.  I 
have  always  wanted  to  write  a  quatrain, 
but  never  succeeded  until  the  other  day, 
when  one  came  suddenly  to  view  in  my 
mind's  eye.  Of  course  I  was  delighted, 


especially  so,  since  it  came  without  an 
effort,  as  one  sneezes;  indeed  it  had  to 
come  or  something  worse  might  have 
happened.  Here  it  is: — 

THE  FIRMAMENT 

The  Sun  in  his  glory  o'er  seven  seas  ; 

The  Moon  to  silver  the  seas  that  are  seven; 
The  little  Stars  swarming  like  golden  bees 

In  the  blue  Hive  of  Heaven. 

Now  what  is  the  matter  with  that?  I 
felt  that  there  was  something  wrong,  but 
could  not  tell  what  it  was  until  a  friend 
sadly  discovered  to  me  that  I  had  un- 
consciously plagiarized.  The  stars  I 
sang  of  were  Shelley's  before  I  hived 
them  in  my  blue  hive  of  heaven,  he  says 
of  them  in  his  poem  "The  Cloud" : 

"  I  laugh  to  see  them  whirl  and  flee 
Like  a  swarm  of  golden  bees." 

So  now,  if  I  ever  presume  so  far  as  to 
publish  those  lines,  I  shall  have  to  head 
them  thus: 

THE  FIRMAMENT 
(With  apologies  to  Shelley  and  his  Maker.) 

But  this  is  not  at  all  what  I  should 
have  said  long  ago,  and  will  say  now, 
without  stopping  a  moment  in  the  gal- 
lery below  to  look  for  the  last  time  on 
the  pitiful  face  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  her 
eyes  swollen  with  weeping  and  she  look- 
ing as  if  she  were  just  going  to  burst 
into  tears.  The  Storys,  who  for  many 
years  made  their  home  in  the  Palazzo 
Barbarini,  had  bidden  me  to  dinner,  and 
it  has  taken  me  all  this  time  to  get  there. 

William  Wetmore  Story,  poet,  painter, 
sculptor,  musician,  playwright,  amateur 
actor,  novelist,  essayist,  lawyer,  and  his 
lovely  wife — both  now  gone  from  hence 
—these  two  rare  souls  made  ever  memor- 
able at  least  one  night  in  Rome.  When 
they  learned  that  I  had  not  yet  met 
Marion  Crawford  they,  in  very  pity,  said: 


654 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


"You  shall  meet  and  know  him  at  last," 
and  a  messenger  was  at  once  dispatched 
to  a  neighboring  hotel  where  ^he  novelist 
was  lodging  at  the  time.  Alas!  He 
was  not  in,  and  I  didn't  see  him  until 
long  afterward,  when  he  ran  me  down 
in  Providence  hospital,  at  Washington, 
D.  C.,  where  he  made  life,  even  there, 
worth  living.  We  fell  to  talking  of  many 
authors,  the  Storys  and  I,  and  especially 
of  those  who  have  known  and  loved  Italy 
and  have  written  of  her  from  the  heart. 
Of  course  among  these,  if  not  chief 
among  them,  was  Ouida,  and  I  said  as 
much.  Mrs.  Story  agreed  with  me  and 
warmly  seconded  all  that  I  had  uttered 
in  praise  of  her  friend.  Mr.  Story's 
judgment  was  qualified;  he  was  not 
exactly  disparaging,  but  he  was  not  quite 
enthusiastic.  He  was  ever  a  very  kindly 
gentleman,  of  the  sweetest  nature,  and, 
I  believe,  charitable  to  all. 

I  was  about  to  visit  Florence,  and 
Mrs.  Story  said:  "You  must  see  my  dear 
friend,  Ouida.  I  shall  give  you  a  letter 
to  her."  This  proposal  delighted  me, 
and  Mr.  Story  smiled  a  little  at  my 
enthusiasm,  whereupon  his  amiable 
wife  said  in  a  caressing  voice,  "Ah! 
William,  William,  you  don't  appreciate 
her!" 

Well,  I  went  to  Florence,  and  very 
shortly  after  my  arrival  forwarded  the 
letter  of  introduction  to  Ouida.  With 
much  interest  I  awaited  developments, 
but  had  not  long  to  wait.  A  letter  was 
delivered  in  reply  to  the  one  forwarded 
within  four  and  twenty  hours.  It  was 
written  in  a  very  large  hand  on  very 
small  paper,  the  pages  measuring  about 
three  and  a  half  by  five  and  a  half 
inches,  and  having,'  by  actual  count,  just 
ten  words  to  the  page  and  two  to  the 
line.  I  thought  with  awe  of  the  size 
and  weight  of  one  of  her  voluminous 
manuscripts,  if  written  by  her  own  hand, 
that  of  "In  Maremma,"  for  example. 
The  note  in  question  said: —  "Mme. 
Ouida  presents  her  compliments  to  Mr. 
Stoddard  and  will  be  pleased  to  see  him 


at  five  o'clock  tomorrow  afternoon."     So 
far  so  good. 

There  was  a  day  of  waiting  and  wan- 
dering in  the  "Flower  City"  before  I 
could  hope  to  lay  eyes  on  Ouida.  She 
had  become  a  fixture  and  a  feature  there. 
For  a  time  she  vibrated  between  her 
Florentine  home  and  the  Langham  hotel 
in  London;  thus  she  met  the  extremes 
that  could  never,  under  any  circumstan- 
ces, meet  each  other.  A  long,  narrow, 
winding  street  in  Florence  with  a  streak 
of  sunshine  on  one  side  of  it,  chill 
shadow  and  mystery  on  the  other;  and 
Portland  Place,  London,  W.  —Ye  Gods 
and  little  fishes,  only  to  think  of  it! 

Florence,  the  home  and  haunt  of 
Dante,  who  hailed  it  as:  "La  bellissima 
e  famocissima  figlia  di  Roma!"  Where 
Giovanni  Boccacio,  with  his  "Decam- 
eron," made  merry  through  all  the 
horrors  of  the  plague  and  thus  enriched 
forever  the  sparkling  pages  of  the  Gesta 
Romanorum.  Whence  the  soul  of 
Savonarola,  like  Elijah  of  old,  ascended 
to  the  highest  heaven  in  a  chariot  of 
fire.  The  garden  of  the  flower-like 
angels  of  Fra  Angelico;  the  glorious 
sarcophagus  of  the  magnificent  Medici. 
Florence,  in  whose  purple  twilight  the 
mysterious  Brotherhood  of  the  Miseri- 
cordia,  with  their  veiled  faces  and  their 
inviolable  incognito,  go  silently  to  and 
fro,  doing  their  works  of  mercy  unknown 
to  one  another,  visiting  their  sick,  bury- 
ing their  dead,  and  ever  a  whispered 
prayer  upon  their  lips.  And  all  the 
romance  and  the  rhyme  from  Romola  to 
the  pale  face,  in  half-wound  curls,  peer- 
ing from  Casa  Guida  windows — no  won- 
der that  the  English  colony  has  claimed 
Florence  for  its  own,  and  that  the  Ameri- 
can colony  is  ever  ready  to  dispute  it 
with  them. 

I  thought  the  street  Ouida  lives  on 
cheerless  and  forbidding.  Italian  streets 
are  very  apt  to  be  unless  they  are  steeped 
in  sunshine — the  fierce,  hot  sunshine 
that  she  revels  in,  and  sheds  over  her 
glowing  pages  with  a  lavish  hand.  The 


OUIDA    IN    HER    WINTER    CITY 


655 


FACSIMLE  —  EXACT      SIZE  —  OF      LAST      PAGE     OF     OUIDA'S 
LETTER,      SHOWING      HER       AUTOGRAPH 


houses  were  very  much  alike  all  up  and 
down  the  street;  they  looked  as  if  they 
had  been  quarried  in  the  solid  rock  and 
might  be  fortifications  or  convents,  for 
aught  we  know  who  pass  within  their 
shadow.  I  knocked  and  was  admitted, 
for  it  was  five  o'clock  and  it  semed  as  if 
all  the  bells  in  Christendom  had  gone 
mad  with  the  joy  of  it.  A  liegeman  in 
somber  livery,  who  seemed  to  have  out- 
lived his  interest  in  the  transient  world, 
saluted  me  with  a  furtive  glance  and  led 
me  up  a  flight  of  marble  stairs  that  was 
like  a  petrified  shiver.  We  passed 
through  a  large  and  lofty  chamber  lit- 
tered with  potted  palms;  a  few  very  tall 
ones  were  in  green  painted  tubs.  These 


were  the  pride  of  that  impossible  tropic. 
This  cheerless,  scattering  jungle  was  for 
the  moment  the  hunting  ground  of  four 
or  five  pet  dogs,  small  and  woolly,  and 
not  sweet  tempered;  they  complained  of 
my  intrusion  upon  their  domain  and  fol- 
lowed my  leader  and  me  through  a 
glazed  gallery  to  a  boudoir,  where  I  was 
invited  to  be  seated.  It  was  a  fantastic 
room  I  found  myself  alone  in — alone 
saving  the  presence  of  the  dogs,  who 
ceased  barking  to  nose  my  legs  with  in- 
terest. The  room  was  small  and  oval 
and  domed;  there  was  a  window  open- 
ing upon  a  cold,  gray  court,  and  two 
doors,  by  one  of  which  I  had  just 
entered;  the  frescoed  walls  reproduced^ 


656 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


with  pleasing  effect  the  trellis  of  an 
arbor;  a  climbing  vine  embellished  it; 
large,  fat  roses  blazed  among  the  leaves 
that  sought  in  vain  to  veil  their  carnal 
blushes.  Above  the  rose  arbor  the  deep, 
blue  sky  was  flecked  with  feathery  clouds 
and  there  sported  a  wilderness  of  sky-- 
larks. Near  the  window  was  a  sleepy- 
hollow  chair,  a  chair  like  an  upholstered 
sitz-bath;  a  Chinese  screen  partially  hid 
from  view  a  huge  copper  scaldino  filled 
like  a  crater  with  live  coals;  there  was 
a  center  table  that  looked  bare,  but  ele- 
gant; two  or  three  elaborately  carved 
seats  completed  the  furnishing  of  the 
apartment;  the  floor  of  concrete  was  as 
a  sheet  of  ice  unto  the  feet. 

Enter  Ouida!  A  little,  round  lady, 
very  plump  and  pleasing;  her  brown 
hair  fell  upon  her  shoulders  like  a 
schoolgirl's,  and  with  scarcely  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  ripple  in  it;  she  was  dressed 
in  fluffy  white,  a  girlish  frock,  its  full 
waist  dotted  with  dimples  in  which  were 
buried  knots  of  very  narrow  baby  blue 
ribbon ;  the  general  effect  was  not  unlike 
that  of  a  sweetheart's  pin  cushion  on  the 
cheffonier  of  a  new-born  freshman. 

I  was  greeted  prettily,  and  the  lady, 
waving  me  to  a  seat  near  her,  sank  into 
the  sitz-bath  chair,  discovering  some 
inches  of  shapely  white  stocking  and  two 
jolly  little  feet  tucked  into  the  bluest  of 
satin  slippers.  She  was  the  picture  of 
cosy  self-content,  and  I  was  mighty  glad 
of  it.  She  was  like  some  downy  bird- 
ling  in  her  comfortable  nest,  this  won- 
derful Ouida — for  she  is  nothing  short 
of  wonderful,  let  him  who  will  deny  it. 
She  nestled  there  and  cocked  her  head 
and  fluttered  her  tiny  hands — they  are 
almost  as  a  child's  and  cheeped,  bird- 
like  but  not  in  a  voice  of  melody;  it 
seemed  to  me  that  she  should  have  a 
rich  contralto  vocal  organ,  a  little  husky 
as  with  the  haze  of  the  Italian  twilight; 
but,  alas!  it  is  strident  and  unmusical. 

I  endeavored  to  engage  her  upon  the 
subject  of  her  contemporaries,  and  she 
pecked  a  little  at  some  of  them,  but  who 


does  not  do  that?  I  wondered  what  sne- 
thought  of  Marion  Crawford,  if,  indeed, 
she  ever  gave  him  a  thought — the  Marion 
Crawford  who  knows  his  Italy  through 
and  through  and  has  helped  us  to  know 
it  better  than  we  should  without  his 
capital  romances.  '  She  ruffled  for  a 
moment,  then  preened  her  plumage  and 
said:  "I  don't  know  him;  but  he  has 
stolen  my  thunder,  and  I  shall  tell  him 
so  if  I  ever  meet  him!"  I  pictured  to 
myself  that  meeting:  a  rosy  storm-cloud 
submerging  a  singularly  serene  obelisk 
for  a  moment,  and  then  melting  at  its 
feet  in  the  voluptuous  languor  of  that 
Lotus  Land.  No  one,  however  vexed, can 
long  remain  intemperate  in  the  presence 
of  high  breeding. 

I  tried  in  every  possible  way  to  beguile 
this  most  interesting  lady  to  talk  of  her- 
self and  of  her  books,  but  she  parried 
every  question  of  a  personal  nature  with 
another  that  thwarted  my  aim,  and  we 
seemed  to  get  on  very  smoothly  only 
when  we  were  pacing  hand  in  hand 
a  neutral  ground. 

That  she  has  known  and  loved  Italy 
with  the  passionate  love  it  so  often  in- 
spires in  emotional  and  imaginative 
natures  is  evidenced  by  almost  every 
line  she  has  published  concerning  life 
in  that  glorious  land.  Whenever  she 
writes  strenuously  she  plunges  her  pen 
into  the  ink  of  enthusiasm,  and  her  pace 
is  unfaltering  until  she  halts  at  the  colo- 
phon. While  we  were  sitting  there, 
gradually  beginning  to  understand  one 
another, — it  is  said  Ouida  detests  Ameri- 
cans and  she  knew  I  was  one  of  these  — 
I  wondered  how  it  was  possible  for  such  • 
a  wee  hand  to  accomplish  the  manual 
labor  necessary  to  put  on  paper  the  whole 
library  of  her  books;  I  said  as  much  to 
her,  but  she  only  laughed  at  me  as  if 
I  were  an  overgrown  schoolboy  trying 
to  pay  a  compliment  and  doing  it  in 
a  pretty  bungling  way.  Heaven  knows 
how  many  volumes  she  has  published, 
how  many  tons  of  paper  her  scroll-like 
chirography  has  covered,  how  many 


OUIDA    IN    HER    WINTER    CITY 


657 


miles  of  words  she  has  woven  together* 
in  a  single  one  of  her  works.  With  her 
it  must  have  been  a  labor  of  love,  this 
romancing,  which  is  no  labor  at  all,  but 
a  rest  and  a  refreshment  so  long  as  it 
lasts.  No  one  could  laboriously  fill  great 
volumes  like  hers  unless  for  the  very  love 
of  it — volumes  filled  with  such  fire  and 
fury,  such  joy  and  rage,  and  ecstacy  and 
despair — and  set  the  whole  in  an  atmos- 
phere throbbing  with  life  and  light,  and 
lay  all  against  a  background  that  dazzles 
and  scintillates, until  a  reader  of  the  right 
sort  is  drunk  with  color  and  perfume  and 
melody;  which  are  the  heart  and  the 
soul  and  the  life  of  Italy — the  real  Italy, 
the  only  begotten  Italy  of  Romance  and 
Song  and  Fable. 

I  was  thinking  of  this,  and  I  looked  at 
her,  this  human  fairy  hovering  by  her 
glowing  scaldino,  and  trying  to  realize 
that  it  was  really  she  who  had  worked 
all  those  little  miracles,  and  was  think- 
ing how  good  it  was  to  be  there,  when 
the  silent  servitor  ushered  in  a  guest.  I 
arose  at  once;  Ouida  sprang  forward  to 
welcome  a  silver-mounted  nobleman, 
who  looked  as  if  he  had  just  stepped 
from  the  pages  of  Bulwer  or  Disraeli,  or 
from  a  frame  in  the  Hall  of  the  Ances- 
tors ill  tuneful  Ruddygore.  It  was  quite 
sudden  and  unexpected  and  a  little  start- 
ling, the  tableau,  I  mean,  but  I  had  suffi- 
cient presence  of  mind  to  gasp  farewell; 
she  whispered  an  aside:  "Come  again 
tomorrow,  at  the  same  hour!"  The 
next  moment  I  was  alone  in  the  gray 
street,  grayer  now  for  the  precipitated 
transformation  scene  and  my  informal 
exit. 

Did  I  call  the  next  day  at  the  same 
time  and  place?  I  did!  Mme.  Ouida 
was  not  in!  It  must  be  that  she  loathes 
Americans,  thought  I.  This  is  not  sur- 
prising. Do  we  not  loathe  Englishmen, 
Frenchmen,  Germans,  etc.,  when  so 
disposed?  Of  course  we  do.  Perhaps 
my  ears  deceived  me  when  I  thought  she 
whispered  as  I  vanished:  "Come  again 
tomorrow,  at  the  same  hour."  With  me 


that  was  as  good  as  a  command;  indeed, 
it  was  very  much  better,  for  with  me 
a  command  usually  shatters  itself  like 
an  arrow  on  the  Helmet  of  Navarre. 
Possibly  the  Lily  of  the  Arno,  as  she 
lifted  her  white  throat  above  that  hedge 
of  snowy  chiffon,  had  not  suggested  any 
happy  return.  Hallucinations  are  some- 
times distinguished  as  such  with  extreme 
difficulty.  However:  we  had  observed 
with  propriety  the  customary  usages  of 
society;  I  had  almost  had  the  time  of 
my  life;  she  had  honored  the  request  of 
her  friends  the  Storys,  to  whom  she  thus 
dedicates  that  splendidly  tragic  tale,  "In 
Maremma:  "In  memory  of  those  hospit- 
able doors  which  the  Etruscan  Lion 
guards,  this  tale  of  an  Etruscan  tomb  is 
dedicated:  To  my  dear  friends  The 
Storys." 

I  had  not  been  long  at  my  hotel,  after 
returning  from  the  Palace  of  the  Ouida, 
when  a  breathless  messenger  arrived 
with  a  note  addressed  to  me,  in  fact 
a  note  within  a  note;  the  first  ran  as 
follows : 

"Dear  Sir:  Enclosed  note  should 
have  gone  to  you  this  morning.     I 
left    word   if  by    any    chance    you 
should  come,  to  ask  you  to  wait,  but 
I  did  not  get  home  until  half  past  six. 
"Come  again  at  4  tomorrow  (Fri- 
day) and  I  will  be  sure  to  receive  you. 
"Ever  Yrs,      Ouida." 

The  enclosed  reads  thus: 
"Dear  Sir:  "I  find  I  must  go  into 
the  country  today  and  am  not  sure 
at  what  hour  I  shall  return,  so  will 
you  come  to  me  tomorrow  afternoon 
instead. 

"With  comps  yrs        Ouida." 

These  notes  were  evidently  written  in 
the  fraction  of  a  moment  and  were  very 
sparsely  punctuated,  but  they  served  their 
purpose  when  they  were  at  last  delivered. 

I  went  again  to  Ouida's  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour.  The  grave  and  reverend 
major  domo  almost  smiled  when,  he 
seemed  to  recognize  me;  even  the  canine 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for   MARCH,    1905 


contingent  faintly  wagged  the  unanimous 
tail.  I  began  to  think  that  perhaps, 
after  all,  I  was  not  unwelcome  to  this 
mysterious  habitation. 

I  was  assured  that  no  member  of  that 
household  was  ever  visible  save  only  its 
mistress,  her  pets,  and  the  tall,  slim, 
solemn  usher.  I  could  easily  believe  it, 
and  believe,  also,  that  the  Palazzo  was 
a  mighty  cold  and  cheerless  place  in 
Winter,  as  Italian  Palazzos  are  bound  to 
be  at  this  season,  and  that  very  little 
sunshine  ever  found  or  lost  its  way  in 
here.  Yet  the  sunshine  of  Ouida's 
books  is  of  the  finest,  and  her  pages  are 
steeped  in  it;  there  is  ever  in  them  the 
out  of  door  atmosphere  that  is  thrilling 
with  bird  and  insect  vitality  and  breath- 
ing all  the  delicious  odors  of  upland  and 
lowland,  field  and  forest.  She  drives 
daily  into  the  country  and  it  is  of  course 
then  that  she  absorbs  the  life  of  it  that 
is  to  be  born  again  in  her  books.  Per- 
haps one  writes  better  from  memory 
than  from  careful  notes  conscientiously 
taken  on  the  spot;  certainly  one  writes 
with  less  restraint,  with  more  enthusi- 
asm, and  can  without  a  qualm  of  con- 
science supply  whatever  is  lacking  in  the 
landscape  or  the  incident.  There  are 
even  artists  who  paint  in  this  manner, 
and  their  compositions  are  dream  pic- 
tures not  to  be  despised. 

On  my  second  visit  the  boudoir  bower 
looked  quite  familiar,  and  Ouida  was 
more  pleasing  than  ever.  We  began 
where  we  left  off,  and  chatted  and 
chatted,  but  seemed  not  to  be  saying 
very  much  that  was  worthy  of  remem- 
brance. She  expressed  some  interest  in 
the  South  Seas,  having  read  with  delight 
Julien  Viaud's  "La  Mariage  de  Loti," 
(known  in  the  English  version  as"Ra- 
rahu"  )  by  Piere  Loti,  but  I  think  had 
read  no  further  in  the  voluminous  litera- 
ture of  the  Summer  Isles  of  Eden. 

Her  heart  seemed  to  have  been  early 
given  to  Italy  and  the  Italians,  though 
she^  evidently  had  suffered  the  shattering 
of  her  ideals  and  was  not  glad  to  dwell 


upon  the  subject  of  her  adopted  country. 
It  had  been  whispered,  very  loudly,  that 
there  was  an  affair  of  the  heart  in  which 
the  youthful  Italian  hero  had  proved 
faithless;  but  who  can  tell?  or  should 
tell?  or  would  tell,  even  if  he  could? 
That  Ouida,  like  the  poet  in  his  Golden 
Clime,  is  "dowered  with  the  hate  of 
hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn,  the  love  of 
love,"  she  has  again  and  again  evi- 
denced. For  her  hate  of  hate  see  her 
"In  a  Winter  City,"  her  scorn  of  scorn 
has  embittered  her  "Friendship,"  her 
love  of  love  is  overflowing  in  "Signa," 
"Pascarel"  and  "In  Maremma."  When 
I  asked  her,  during  our  second  inter- 
view, if  she  did  not  love  Italy  above  all 
lands,  she  hesitated  before  replying;  I 
said:  'Surely  you  must,  for  I  have  never 
read  stories  so  permeated  with  the  very 
life  and  soul  of  a  people;  body  and  blood 
are  there,  on  every  page,  and  only  one 
who  has  known  and  loved  them  could  so 
make  them  live  forever!'  She  answered 
quietly:  "I  liked  them  before  I  knew 
them  as  I  know  them  now."  To  this 
hour  I  am  not  quite  sure  of  her  meaning, 
for  her  latest  stories  of  Italian  life  still 
throb  with  the  old  passion. 

We  were  getting  cosy  rather  slowly 
and  might  have  ultimately  become  con- 
fidential, but  the  door  was  thrown  open, 
and  a  very  stately  personage,  richly  em- 
bossed with  decorations,  appeared  at  the 
threshold — perhaps  he  had  lately  assisted 
at  some  stately  function  and  had  entered 
for  a  moment  to  delight  the  eye  of  this 
wielder  of  the  most  spectacular  of  pens. 
He  was  greeted  with  acclaim,  the  Prince 
— and  Ouida's  flattering  aside  to  me, 
"Come  again  tomorrow,  at  the  the  same 
hour,"  was  the  gentlest  of  dismissals. 

Tomorrow,  at  the  same  hour,  Florence 
was  far  behind  me,  and  my  letter  of 
regret  to  Ouida  proved  to  be  a  last 
goodbye. 

*  #  *  # 

Do  you  remember  these  Hnes  from  the 
volume  I  cannot  forget? 

"He  was  only  a  little  lad  coming  sing- 


OUIDA    IN    HER    WINTER    CITY 


659 


ing  through  the  Summer  weather; 
singing  as  the  birds  do  in  the  thickens, 
as  the  crickets  do  in  the  wheat  at 
night,  as  the  acacia  bees  do  all  the 
day  long  in  the  high  tree  tops  in  the 
sunshine. 

"Only  a  little  lad  with  brown  eyes  and 
bare  feet,  and  a  wistful  heart,  driving 
his  sheep  and  his  goats,  and  carrying 
his  sheaves  of  cane  or  millet,  and  work- 
ing among  the  ripe  grapes  when  the  time 
came,  like  all  the  rest,  here  in  the  bright 
Signa  country. 

"Few  people  care  much  for  our  Signa 
and  all  it  has  seen  and  known.  Few 
people  even  know  anything  of  it  at 
all,  except  just  vaguely  as  a  mere 
name. 

"Assisi  has  her  saint,  and  Perugia  her 
painters,  and  Arezzo  her  poet,  and  Siena 
her  virgin,  and  Settignano  her  sculptor, 
and  Prato  her  great  Carmelite,  and 
Vespignano  her  inspired  shepherd,  and 
Fiesole  her  angel-monk,  and  the  village 
Vinci  her  mighty  master;  and  poets 
write  of  them  all  for  the  sake  of  the 
dead  fame  which  they  embalm.  But 
Signa  has  found  no  poet,  though  her 
fame  lies  in  the  pages  of  the  old  chroni- 
clers like  a  jewel  in  an  old  king's  tomb, 
written  there  ever  since  the  Latin  days 
when  she  was  first  named  Signome — a 


standard  of  war  set  under  the  moun- 
tains. 

"It  is  so  old,  our  Signa,  no  man  could 
chronicle  all  it  has  seen  in  the  centuries, 
but  not  one  in  ten  thousand  travelers 
thinks  about  it.  Its  people  plait  straw 
for  the  world,  and  the  train  from  the 
coast  runs  through  it:  that  is  all  it  has 
to  do  with  other  folks. 

"Passengers  come  and  go  from  the  sea 
to  the  city,  from  the  city  to  the  sea, 
along  the  great  iron  highway,  and  per- 
haps they  glance  at  the  stern,  ruined 
walls,  at  the  white  houses  on  the  cliffs, 
at  the  broad  river  with  its  shining  sands, 
at  the  blue  hills  with  the  poplars  at  their 
base,  and  the  pines  at  the  summits,  and 
they  say  to  one  another  that  this  is 
Signa. 

"But  it  is  all  that  they  ever  do;  it  is 
only  a  glance,  then  on  they  go  through 
the  green  and  golden  haze  of  Valdorno. 
Signa  is  nothing  to  them,  only  a  place 
that  they  stop  at  a  second.  And  yet 
Signa  is  worthy  of  knowledge." 

I  dare  not  quote  farther,  for  the  story 
drags  one  to  the  very  end,  but  it  can  no 
longer  be  said  that  Signa  has  found  no 
poet.  Signa  has  found  her  poet,  her  in- 
comparable prose-poet,  and  lives  an 
eternal  youth  in  that  poet's  delicious 
prose-poem,  Ouida's  "Signa." 


THE  CROW 

By    ALICE     F.     TILDEN 

MILTON,     MASSACHUSETTS 

I 

THOUGH  ye  sing  of  Spring  and  the  birds  that  wing 
Their  way  through  the  early  dawn, 
In  the  first  bright  days  that  gild  and  glaze 

The  gray  of  Winter  wan ; 
Though  robin  and  blue-bird,  sparrow  and  jay 

Your  joyous  heart  may  know, 
Sing  of  them  all,  an  ye  will  and  may, 
But  give  me  my  friend  the  crow! 

II  ' 

When  the  ring  of  the  skate,  that  clanged  but  late, 

Its  sharp-cut  tune  must  cease,— 
When  to  Ocean's  gray  sails  the  ice  of  the  bay, 

And  leaves  the  shore  in  peace; 
When  the  morning  breeze  with  breath  of  the  seas 

Brings  chill  of  melting  snow, 
And  Nature  stirs  'neath  the  pall  that  is  hers, 

Hark  to  our  friend  the  crow!  * 


III 

All  Winter  long,  with  saddened  song, 
He  has  haunted  snow  and  tree; 


THE   CROW 


66 1 


But  his  joyous  throat  now  sounds  a  note 

Cruel  and  bold — but  free! 
Free  as  the  rush  of  the  flooded  stream 

To  the  flooded  plains  below; 
Free  as  a  wild  heart's  freest  dream — 

Liberty's  friend — the  crow! 

IV 

Though  the  time  be  brief,  and  the  full-grown  leaf 

Our  fetters  again  may  see, 
At  thy  wild  call  we  one  and  all 

Turn  our  steps  to  Arcady. 
O  buccaneer  of  the  air!  we  hear 

Thy  note  with  hearts  aglow 
For  earth's  pulse-beat  beneath  our  feet, 

And  the  friend  of  the  winds,  the  crow! 


THE    COMEDY    OF    MASKS 


By    ANNA     McCLURE    SHOLL 


NEW     YORK     CITY 


(Publication  of  this  story  was  begun  in  January) 

VI 

GAYLORD'S  hansom  was  making 
slow  progress  amid  the  throng  of 
vehicles  in  Carlton  street,  the  majority 
•)f  them  headed  for  the  American  am- 
oassador's,  who,  according  to  custom, 
was  keeping  open  house  on  this  Fourth 
of  July  afternoon. 

By  his  side  sat  Mrs.  Gay  lord,  prettily 
gowned,  and  having  in  her  manner  a 
certain  bright  assurance,  which  was  the 
feminine  reflection  of  her  husband's 
growing  fame.  He  was  at  least  the  por- 
trait painter  of  the  hour;  and  after  his 
hour  was  over  he  would  still  be  great, 
having  made  some  private  contracts  with 
eternity  of  which  these  gay  dwellers  in 
time  were  not  aware. 

"My  dear,  I  thought  I  saw  Justin 
Morris  just  then!"  Mrs.  Gaylord  said, 
laying  her  hand  on  her  husband's  arm. 

"Not  unlikely.  His  designs  for  the 
town  hall  at  Wadehampton  were  accepted 
four  weeks  ago.  I  knew  he  was  coming 
over." 

She  was  leaning  out  of  the  hansom. 

"There  he  is  again.  Yes,  it  is  Justin. 
Can't  we  hail  him  somehow?  Ah,  he's 
gone!" 

"We'll  meet  him  at  the  ambassador's, 
no  doubt." 

"Wadehampton,  did  you  say?  Isn't 
that  near  Sir  Henry's  seat?  I  wonder  if 
Justin  knows — 

"Knows  what,  Kitty?" 

"Well,  knows  of  Sir  Henry's  devotion 
to  Diana." 

"Probably  he  does;  what  of  it?" 

"It  ought  to  be  proof  enough  to  him 
that  she  made  a  fool  of  him  last  year." 

"Justin  Morris  is  not  an  easy  mark  to 
make  .a  fool  of.  I  could  never  see  that 
Diana  Mainwaring  led  him  on." 

"Men  never  see  anything,"  his  wife 
answered  resentfully.  "Margaret  Bent- 


ley  saw.  Poor  child!  I  think  she'll 
never  recover  from  it." 

"I  should  say  she  was  convalescent," 
Gaylord  remarked  drily. 

"That  is  one  of  your  horrid  speeches. 
You  never  give  a  woman  credit  for  hav- 
ing a  memory." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear.  Jeal- 
ousy has  a  strong  memory.  Only  love 
forgets." 

"She  has  every  reason  to  be  jealous. 
Myself,  I  blame  Diana  for  the  whole 
trouble.  She  knew  her  power  and  she 
used  it.  If  she  were  any  other  woman, 
I'd  predict  her  marriage  with  Sir  Henry 
before  Autumn.  He's  crazy  for  her,  but 
she — she  may  be  only  amusing  herself 
again." 

"I  don't  blame  her.  We're  all  trying 
to  get  amusement  out  of  life,  to  balance 
the  score.  Me,  I  paint  portraits  pour 
passer  le  temps!" 

"Don't  quote  French  ever  before  peo- 
ple. Your  accent  is  so  bad." 

Gaylord  chuckled. 

"It  can't  be.  No  one  ever  smiled  at 
it  in  Paris." 

"O,  the  worse  it  is,  the  more  solemn 
they  look.  Well,  at  last  we're  here. 
Can't  you  just  pick  out  the  American 
women! — no  tag-ends,  no  pearls,  no  lace 
collars,  no  frizzes! — the  nice,  trim  dears! 
But  I  must  say,  Walter,  English  men  are 
stunning;  they  always  suggest  an  early 
life  of  cold  tubs,  and  cold  school  rooms 
and  unlimited  bread  and  butter.  Such 
clean,  splendid  creatures!  If  I  weren't 
married  to  you—  '  she  added  dreamily. 

"Ghastly,  but  final,"  he  said. 

They  were  soon  in  the  ascending 
throng  on  the  great  staircase.  Mrs. 
Gaylord,  who  had  a  weakness  for  "feet- 
men,"  as  she  called  them  in  private, 
heard  their  names  loudly  announced  with 
true  American  delight.  Their  greetings 
over  with  the  ambassador,  who  had 


A    COMEDY    OF    MASKS 


663 


honored  Gaylord  with  a  moment's  con- 
versation, Mrs.  Gaylord  took  her  hus- 
band's arm. 

"Let  us  go  straight  to  the  dining  room 
— real  American  coffee,  dear,  and  Ameri- 
can layer  cake  from  Fuller's,  and  straw- 
berries as  big  as  plums  they  say — there's 
Justin  Morris  coming  up  the  stairs  now. 
Let  us  wait  for  him.  Doesn't  he  look 
thin — but  distinguished!  You  "should 
paint  his  portrait." 

Gaylord  went  forward  to  meet  Justin 
with  a  hearty  welcome.  The  two  men 
had  always  been  very  good  friends. 

"And  what  brings  you  to  London?" 
Mrs.   Gaylord  said   as  he  greeted  her. 
"The  Wadehampton  business.    I  have 
been  there  a  week — only  came  up  to  Lon- 
don yesterday." 
"You  are  becoming  famous." 
"No,  I   am  only  doing  business  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic." 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  been  working 
too  hard." 

"Hard  work  is  the  one  joy  you  can  be 
sure  of." 

They  were  at  the  door  of  the  dining 
room,  when  the  men  perceived  from 
a  certain  excitement  in  Mrs.  Gaylord' s 
manner,  and  her  eager  rushing  forward, 
that  she  saw  friends.  Following  her, 
they  found  themselves,  before  Justin  had 
time  to  drop  out,  in  a  group  which  in- 
cluded Mrs.  Craig,  the  Bishop  and  Mar- 
garet. 

Justin's  embarrassment — he  had  seen 
neither  the  matron  nor  his  former  fiancee 
for  nearly  a  year — was  at  once  relieved 
by  a  very  perceptible  kindness  in  Mrs. 
Craig's  manner  as  she  held  out  her  hand 
to  him. 

"This  is  a  great  pleasure,"  she  said 
simply.  "I  know  why  you  are  in  Lon- 
don—  the  Wadehampton  triumph.  I 
must  tell  you  why  we  are  here.  The 
Bishop  is  attending  a  church  council, 
and  I  am  looking  after  the  worldly  end 
of  his  spiritual  matters  as  usual." 

"Mrs.  Craig  reconciles  two  worlds.  I 
have  much  to  learn  from  her,"  the 


Bishop  said  smiling,  but  his  keen  eyes 
were  searching  Justin's  face. 

The  young  man  turned  to  Margaret, 
who  had  been  regarding  him  coolly. 
She  had  an  assured  manner,  as  if  a 
year's  residence  with  a  wealthy  and 
fashionable  woman  had  given  her  con- 
fidence. Her  props  were  always  from 
without. 

"You  like  London?"  he  asked. 

"As  much  as  I  have  seen  of  it.  It 
is  an  impressionist  picture  done  in  char- 
coal. May  I  congratulate  you  on  the 
Wadehampton  victory?" 

Justin  bowed  and  said  nothing. 

"Are  you  returning  there?"  Mrs. 
Craig  asked. 

"Yes,  in  a  few  days.  I  have  another 
commission  in  that  part  of  the  country: 
the  restoration  of  a  wing  of  the  Croft- 
field  Manor  —  the  seat  of  Sir  Henry 
Marchmont." 

There  was  a  sudden  silence  of  the 
kind  which  reveals  a  community  of 
thought.  Margaret  broke  it. 

"Did  you  know  that  Miss  Mainwaring 
is  engaged,  or  about  to  be,  to  Sir 
Henry?" 

The  audacity  of  the  speech,  made  with 
her  usual  saccharine  manner,  took  Justin 
so  much  by  surprise  that  for  a  moment 
his  self-possession  was  in  power  of  any- 
one who  might  or  might  not  come  to  his 
rescue. 

The  Bishop  spoke. 

"And  have  you  seen  Mr.  Gaylord's 
portrait  of  Miss  Mainwaring  at  the  aca- 
demy?" 

"I  have  not  yet  had  the  opportunity." 

"I  will  take  you  there  this  afternoon 
if  you  like,"  Gaylord  said,  it's  a  good 
show  this  year — a  remarkably  good  show 
— some  stunning  Sargents." 

"Ah,  there  is  Mr.  Hartley,"  Mrs. 
Craig  said.  "Was  there  ever  such  a 
reunion!" 

Hartley,  rounder  and  pinker  than  ever, 
was  getting  through  the  crowd  with  the 
ease  of  a  fat  man.  His  blue  eyes,  which 
had  a  baby  effect  in  his  large,  plump 


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face,  opened  wide  at  the  sight  of  Justin. 

"Lord  bless  me!"  he  exclaimed  with 
involuntary  cordiality;  then,  remember- 
ing Justin's  villainy,  he  stiffened  a  little 
as  he  held  out  his  hand  and  asked  the 
usual  questions.  Not  waiting  for  an- 
swers, he  turned  abruptly  away  and  in- 
quired of  Margaret  if  she  had  had  any- 
thing to  eat. 

Justin  slipped  an  arm  through  Gay- 
lord's. 

"Take  me  to  the  academy,  if  you  can, 
right  away." 

"Surely.     We'll  go  at  once.' 

Mrs.  Craig  overheard  him. 

"I  suppose  it  would  be  the  wildest 
good  fortune  that  you  are  not  engaged 
for  dinner  tonight,"  she  said,  address- 
ing herself  to  Justin. 

"I  am  not  dining  out  tonight,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"Then  dine  with  me  at  my  club  tete- 
a-tete,  will  you  not?" 

She  named  the  hour  and  the  place, 
and  he  thanked  her  heartily,  wondering 
if  a  year  of  Margaret's  service  had 
pleaded  for  his  integrity. 

Arrived  at  the  academy,  Gay  lord  led 
him  directly  to  a  portrait  before  which 
the  crowd  was  gathered.  The  first 
glance  at  it  gave  him  the  old  sensation 
of  a  sudden  flash  of  light  before  his  eyes. 

In  the  catalogue  it  bore  the  title  "The 
Lady  in  the  Domino,"  but  it  seemed  to 
Justin,  as  he  gazed,  that  all  the  world 
must  know  it  was  Diana. 

She  had  been  painted  full  length,  the 
soft  lace  ruffles  of  a  ball  gown  showing 
beneath  the  black  silk  domino  which 
was  slipping  from  her  bare  shoulders. 

Half  turned  from  the  spectator,  she 
was  looking  back,  her  dark  eyes  mysteri- 
ous, her  red  mouth  close  shut,  yet  with 
a  sweetness  in  its  lines  that  contradicted 
the  withdrawn  expression  of  her  face. 
One  hand  was  half  hidden  in  the  folds 
of  the  domino,  the  other,  raised,  held 
a  little  mask  of  black  velvet.  Above  her 
forehead,  in  the  soft  dark  hair,  was  a 
silver  moon. 


"She  chose  her  own  costume  and  pos- 
ture," Gaylord  said.  "It  is  wonderful!" 

Justin  wanted  to  be  alone  with  her. 
He  resented  the  crowd;  he  resented 
Gaylord.  Alone  with  her!  his  own  love, 
his,  though  she  might  break  his  heart — 
had  broken  it  as  far  as  the  heart  of  a 
strong  man  whose  strength  is  in  his  un- 
ceasing work  can  be  broken.  He  had 
spent  a  year  with  her  in  spirit;  not  a 
day  nor  an  hour  passing  that  was  not 
illumined  with  his  love  of  her — but  by 
that  light  he  had  thought  and  felt  to 
some  purpose:  enriched  as  true  lovers 
are  always  enriched  by  the  wealth  of 
a  keener  imagination,  a  wider  scope  of 
power.  He  had  believed  more  and 
more  that,  despite  her  words,  he  would 
win  from  her  some  day,  somewhere,  the 
confession  that  her  soul  was  true — true 
to  him.  Toward  Margaret  he  had  felt  no 
further  responsibility,  since  she  had  un- 
conditionally dismissed  him. 
.  Today's  revelation  —  the  impending 
engagement  of  Diana  to  Sir  Henry 
Marchmont  —  seemed  to  mock  the 
dreams  of  the  past  year.  But  there 
was  no  mockery  in  the  pictured  face 
before  him,  only  the  mysterious  shadow 
of  the  soul. 

"This  portrait  is  more  full  of  enchant- 
ment than  any  other  I  can  recall,"  Jus- 
tin said. 

Gaylord  smiled. 

"I  came  under  her  spell  as  I  painted 
her.  I  try  always  to  be  dominated  by 
the  personality  of  the  sitter.  Some- 
times it  is  difficult.  With  her  it  was 
easy." 

Justin  nodded.  She  had  called  him 
far,  far  away — to  regions  of  imperial 
beauty — called  him  to  suffer  it  all  over 
again  he  knew,  but  he  answered,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  portrait  smiled  and 
beckoned  him  further. 

On  his  way  to  dinner,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  ask  Mrs.  Craig  not  only  of 
Margaret's  present  state  of  mind — for  he 
hoped  that  all  trace  of  her  unhappiness 
was  over — but  if  the  report  were  true 


A   COMEDY   OF   MASKS 


665 


that  Diana  was  engaged  to  Sir  Henry 
Marchmont. 

He  found  his  hostess  waiting  for  him 
in  an  esoteric  reception  room  significant 
of  the  higher  everything  for  which  the 
club  stood. 

She  welcomed  him  warmly.  They 
were  soon  facing  each  other  across  a 
little  table. 

"Do  you  know  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you  again,"  she  began.  "I  have  been 
waiting  for  just  such  an  opportunity.  I 
would  not  make  one  in  New  York. 
Forced  occasions  are  about  as  productive 
of  results  as  fossils.  First  of  all,  I  did 
you  an  injustice  last  Summer.  My  dear 
boy,  why  couldn't  you  have  spoken 
yourself?  Walter  Gaylord's  word  was 
naturally  thought  more  loyal  than  true, 
though  in  the  end  I  knew  it  was  true." 

Justin  smiled,  but  made  no  reply. 

"Why  couldn't  you  have  said  that 
meeting  was  accidental?  Diana  would 
never  explain,  of  course — perverse,  ador- 
able thing  she  is!  I  ought  to  have 
known  better  than  to  ask  her." 

"You  are  friends  again?" 

"We  were  never  anything  else.  Diana 
has  a  sense  of  humor  and  so  have  I,  and 
humor  will  hold  two  friends  together 
when  heroics  won't.  We  care  so  much 
that  we  care  lightly.  On  coming  to 
London,  I  looked  her  up  at  once — found 
her,  incidentally,  such  a  great  lady.  She 
has  become  quite  the  fashion  over  here." 

"Is  it  true?"  Justin  asked  with  an 
effort  to  keep  his  voice  firm,  "that  she 
is  engaged,  or  about  to  be,  to  Sir  Henry 
Marchmont?" 

"I  trust  she  is.  It  is  time  Diana  fell 
in  love  like  a  normal  woman.  As  for 
him,  he  adores  her.  I  hope  you  never 
adored  her,"  she  added  with  a  bluntness 
unusual  to  her. 

The  rose  light  of  the  shaded  candles 
hid  his  sudden  pallor. 

"It  would  have  been  useless  if  I  had 
I  would  only  have  been  one  more  in  her 
collection." 

She  was  looking  at  him  searchingly, 


but    his    quiet    voice    reassured    her. 

"Diana  has  always  excited  jealousy, 
she  is  so  sure,  so  quiet." 

"Tell  me,  is  Margaret  happy?"  he 
asked. 

"She  does  not  seem  to  me  like  an  un- 
happy girl,  but  I  don't  pretend  to  know 
exactly.  She  is  not  as  ingenuous  as  I 
once  thought  her." 

"She  is  not  ingenuous  at  all,"  Justin 
abruptly  said. 

The  matron  smiled,  but  made  no  reply. 

"I  hope  she  is  happy.  I  am  glad  she 
is  under  your  protection." 

"Will  you  never  forgive  her?" 

He  looked  surprised,  troubled,  appre- 
hensive. 

"I  have  nothing  to  forgive." 

"She  thinks  you  have.  She  fears  that 
she  was  too  hasty  in  breaking  the  en- 
gagement. She  wishes  that  she  had 
trusted  you  more." 

This  did  not  sound  like  Margaret. 
He  wondered  what  was  back  of  such 
protestations. 

"Does  she  speak  often — in  this  way?" 

"Not  often — two  or  three  times." 

"Lately?" 

"Since  the  Wadehampton  matter 
brought  your  name  up." 

"Mr.  Hartley  admires  her  very  much, 
does  he  not?" 

"He  is  very  attentive  to  her." 

"Does  she — does  she — " 

"Respond?  I  think  she  is  waiting  for 
you,  Justin." 

"She  dismissed  me  finally." 

"A  woman's  word  is  never  final." 

A  chill  oppression  settled  upon  him. 
The  woman  he  loved  had  forgotten.  The 
woman  he  did  not  love  had  remembered. 
He  thought  of  his  words,  spoken  from 
a  sense  of  duty.  "In  a  year  you  may 
know  whether  you  love  me  well  enough 
to  marry  me  without  explanations  or 
demands."  What  if  she  should  claim 
him  on  these  conditions!  If  Hartley 
would  only  propose  to  her,  offering  her 
a  diamond  as  big  as  a  bean! 

Early  next  day  he  went  again   to  the 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


academy.  The  emptiness  of  the  spacious 
rooms  imparted  to  him  a  thrill  of  satis- 
faction. He  would  be  alone  with  Diana. 

But  someone  was  there  before  him. 
To  his  intense  disgust  he  recognized  the 
tall,  commanding  figure  of  Sir  Henry 
standing  motionless  before  the  portrait. 

Justin  turned  to  go,  but  at  that  instant 
the  baronet  looked  around,  and  spoke 
his  name. 

"Mr.  Morris!  you  are  just  the  man  I 
want  to  see.  What  day  are  you  coming 
down?" 

"I  had  thought  of  Wednesday." 

"You  are  coming  to  me,  of  course. 
You  will  do  me  the  honor  of  being  my 
guest  at  the  Manor." 

"My  intention  was  to  go  to  the  inn  at 
Wadehampton." 

"I  will  not  hear  of  it.  Some  old 
friends  of  yours  will  be  down  for  the 
week-end— Bishop  Herbert  and  Mrs. 
Craig  and  Miss  Mainwaring.  They 
would  be  charmed  I  know  if  you  were 
of  the  party." 

Justin  bowed  slightly. 

"Don't  think  me  ungracious,  Sir 
Henry,  if  I  decline  your  hospitality.  I 
could  never  combine  business  and 
pleasure." 

"You  can  have  just  as  much  freedom 
as  you  like;  I'll  put  you  in  the  old  wing 
— you  could  have  quiet  and  space  there, 
that  the  inn  doesn't  offer:  and  you  need 
only  join  us  at  dinner,  if  you  wish  your 
days  to  yourself." 

While  Sir  Henry  was  speaking,  Justin 
was  studying  him  in  the  light  of  what 
he  had  heard  on  the  previous  day.  The 
baronet  was  a  fresh-looking,  well  set  up, 
well  bred  young  Englishman  of  about 
thirty  years  of  age,  whose  conventional 
appearance  concealed,  as  Justin  knew  on 
good  authority,  not  only  a  more  than 
average  amount  of  scholarship,  but  a 
religious  nature  which  had  attached  him 
to  the  High  Church  party  and  made  of 
him  an  active  participant  in  church 
affairs. 

These  aspects  of  his  character  added 


to  Justin's  depression.  When  he  had 
finally  given  his  reluctant  promise  to 
go  to  the  Manor,  and  had  taken  leave  of 
Sir  Henry,  he  went  out  into  the  misty 
sunlight  of  a  London  Summer  day  with 
a  sinking  of  the  heart  that  made  the  old 
city  seem  to  him  for  once  intolerably 
dreary.  Had  his  rival  been  of  higher 
rank,  more  conspicuously  wealthy,  he 
would  have  been  more  hopeful,  know- 
ing Diana's  unassumed  indifference  to 
worldly  advantage.  But  this  man's  ele- 
vation of  character  and  deep  religious 
spirit,  combined  with  his  very  genuine 
learning  might  well  appeal  to  that  fas- 
tidiousness in  her  which  seemed  to  take 
the  place  of  the  moral  sense;  might 
appeal,  besides,  to  her  longing  for  novelty. 
He  had  observed  that  highly  educated 
American  gentlemen  were  not  as  a  rule 
as  religious  as,  Englishmen  of  the  same 
class.  In  the  old  churches  of  London 
City  —  which  he  had  frequented  years 
ago  as  a  student  of  architecture — he  had 
often  seen  at  the  noon  hour  gentlemen 
enter  and  kneel  in  prayer.  This  grace 
of  devotion  now  seemed  to  him,  in  his 
not  ignoble  jealousy  of  Sir  Henry,  the 
one  quality  lacking  which  you  felt  just 
short  of — the  highest  breeding. 

The  idea  might  be  whimsical,  but  it 
possessed  him,  led  him  through  winding 
streets  into  the  dimness  of  a  church 
whose  open  door  invited  him  in.  There 
he  knelt  and  thought  of  her.- 

VII 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day 
Margaret  Bentley,  seated  alone  in  the 
little  drawing  room  of  Mrs.  Craig's  apart- 
ment, was  allowing  herself  the  luxury  of 
resentful  imaginings.  That  she  had  not 
brought  her  banker  to  the  point  of 
a  marriage  proposal  was  a  reason  at  that 
moment  for  bitter  thoughts  of  life. 
Poverty  had  always  seemed  to  her  like 
spinsterhood,  the  fruit  of  bungling. 
Looking  back  over  the  past  year,  she 
tried  to  see  just  where  she  had  been 
careless  and  clumsy,  that  she  should  now 


A    COMEDY    OF    MASKS 


667 


have  the  prospect  of  being  interminably 
poor  and  unmarried.  Perhaps  her  show 
of  grief  over  her  broken  engagement  had 
been  kept  up  too  long,  leading  the  kind 
little  man  to  believe  that  she  was  incon- 
solable. She  had  reason  to  know  that 
his  fat  encased  a  romantic  imagination 
worthy  of  a  long,  thin  knight. 

Well,  there  was  another  road  to  matri- 
mony if  Hartley  did  not  speak  soon ;  if 
the  gleam  of  the  diamond,  first  beckon- 
ing on  the  afternoon  when  he  had  handed 
her  his  handkerchief,  proved  but  a  will- 
o'-the-wisp.  She  could  still  claim  Jus- 
tin's promise  implied  in  his  words  "in 
a  year  from  now  you  may  know  whether 
you  love  me  enough  to  marry  me  without 
demands  or  explanations."  And  Justin 
was  by  no  means  a  bad  match,  since  his 
success  in  an  international  competition 
had  made  him  almost  as  much  the  fashion 
as  Gay  lord  was. 

Diana  had  evidently  thrown  him  over, 
but  as  long  as  Diana  was  unmarried, 
Justin,  who  loved  her,  as  Margaret  per- 
ceived with  the  keen  insight  of  a  cold 
and  jealous  nature,  would  not  bf;  likely 
to  remember  an  honorable  obligation. 

"And  he  belonged  to  me  first,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "He  shall  belong  to  me 
again  if  I  choose." 

It  seemed  to  her  the  amen  of  fate  that 
at  that  moment  his  card  was  handed  in. 
He  had  asked  for  Mrs.  Craig,  not  for 
her,  but  she  requested  the  servant  to 
show  him  up. 

His  start  of  surprise,  his  embarrassed 
look  told  her  that  the  meeting  was  not 
altogether  welcome.  She  resolved  at 
once  upon  her  course  of  action. 

"Mrs.  Craig  is  not  in,  but  I  could  not 
deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you, 
Justin." 

Her  pale  face,  framed  in  its  gold  hair, 
was  raised  to  his  appealingly.  Mrs. 
Craig's  words  sounded  in  his  ears  like 
the  knell  of  doom. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  altogether  dis- 
pleased to  see  me,"  she  said. 

"There  is  a  year  between   us,  Mar- 


garet,"  he  answered,  "and  more  than 
a  year  of  misunderstanding." 

"For  which  I  am  responsible,"  she 
said  quickly. 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  Despite 
of  what  Mrs.  Craig  had  told  him,  this  was 
an  attitude  which  he  could  reconcile  with 
no  previous  knowledge  of  her  character. 

Had  the  intervening  months  changed 
her  essential  nature?  He  almost  resented 
her  sudden  magnanimity  as  putting  upon 
him  a  burden  of  responsibility  which  he 
could  not  bear.  He  loved  Diana — would 
always  love  her,  time  and  absence  hav- 
ing but  heightened  his  passion — must 
therefore  be  faithful  to  her  at  any  cost. 
Neither  the  old  nor  the  new  Margaret 
could  claim  him,  and  he  hardened  him- 
self to  say  the  necessary,  brutal  words. 

"It  was  all  my  fault,"  she  said  softly, 
a  caress  in  her  voice.  "I  did  not  trust 
you  enough;  I  was  blinded  with  my 
jealousy,  but  ought  that  not  to  plead  for 
me?  Isn't  jealousy  a  proof  of  love?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  it  is,"  he  answered 
coldly,  "not  of  deep  love;  but  then," 
he  added,  obeying  he  knew  not  what 
impulse  to  speak  the  bald  truth  to  her, 
"your  love  can  go  no  deeper  than  your 
character." 

"Thanks,  Justin ;  I  don't  deserve  this.' ' 

"I  am  afraid  you  do  deserve  it,  Mar- 
garet; you  spied  upon  me  when  I  was 
innocent — innocent  as  you  that  morning 
that  I  should  find  Miss  Mainwaring  at 
the  village." 

"What  made  you  take  that  road, 
then?"  she  said,  something  of  the  old 
sharpness  in  her  voice. 

"My  restlesness." 

"And  your  restlessness  was  the  result 
of?" 

"The  consciousness  that  I  loved  Miss 
Mainwaring,"  he  answered  calmly. 

She  was  not  prepared  for  this.  She 
stared  at  him  a  moment,  then  in  a  voice 
of  triumph  brought  out: 

"I  was  right  then !  May  I  ask,  Justin, 
why  you  engaged  yourself  to  me,  when 
you  did  not  love  me?" 


668 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


His  face  softened. 

"That  is  a  question  you  have  the  right  to 
ask.  Margaret,  I  did  think  I  loved  you." 

"Till  the  sun  put  out  the  candle." 

"Till  I  knew  who  had  the  power  to 
make  me  suffer." 

"That  I  did  not  have!  No,  I  thank 
God  I  am  not  a  heartless  coquette. 
Welll  you  will  get  your  fill  of  suffering. 
She  played  with  you,  but  she  will  marry 
Sir  Henry.  Diana  Mainwaring  has  ice 
in  her  breast.  I  hope  you  are  not  foolish 
enough  to  love  her  yet." 

His  smile,  his  only  answer,  nerved  her 
for  her  last  effort. 

"I  love  you  yet  —  love  you  enough, 
Justin,  to  marry  you  without  explana- 
tions and  without  demands." 

He  made  no  reply.  She  put  a  hand 
on  his  wrist. 

"I  claim  you  by  that  promise. 

"You  dismissed  me  finally." 

"I  was  wild  with  jealousy,  Justin. 
Don't  turn  me  off.  I  am  lonely, 
wretched.  I  love  no  one  in  the  world 
but  you." 

She  had  taken  both  his  hands  in  hers, 
was  drawing  him  toward  her  with  a 
grasp  that  felt  like  steel.  Tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes  pleaded. 
He  was  suffering  acute  misery.  She  .was 
actually  repulsive  to  him,  yet  he  dared 
not  loose  the  tense,  cold  fingers.  If  she 
loved  him,  was  faithful  to  him,  he  could 
not  throw  her  off,  no  matter  what  she 
had  once  said  and  done. 

In  his  face  she  read  his  struggle. 

"I  love  you,  Justin — I  love  you,"  she 
repeated. 

"Would  you  marry  me  knowing  that  I 
love  Diana  Mainwaring?"  he  said 
hoarsely,  determined  to  be  at  least  true 
with  her. 

"You  are  under  a  spell.  It  isn't  love. 
She's  not  worthy  of  you,  Justin.  She 
would  fling  you  away — has  flung  you — 
like  an  old  glove." 

"Nevertheless  I  love  her,  not  you!" 
he  cried,  wrenching  his  hands  away  in 
sudden  revolt. 


"And  you  are  deserting  me!" 

"No,  I  am  not  deserting  you.  You 
can  hold  me  to  my  word,  but  I'll  not 
play  the  hypocrite  with  you.  I'll  give 
you  my  name;  I'll  support  you — if  you 
insist." 

"  Why  did  you  say  those  words  to  me 
a  year  ago  about  marrying  me,  if  you 
did  not  wish  to  do  it?" 

"Why  did  you  dismiss  me  finally,  if 
you  mean  to  claim  me  again?"  he 
counter-questioned. 

"I  claim  you  because  I  love  you!'' 
she  cried,  all  tears,  softness  and  en- 
treaty. He  was  amazed  and  dumb- 
founded; convinced  of  her  sincerity  at 
last  to  the  point  of  suffering  for  her  if 
not  with  her.  He  could  no  longer  resist 
her  tears.  He  would  accept  the  burden, 
and  try  to  kill  the  passion  that  had  swept 
his  life  on  to  great  achievements  in  his 
work,  to  a  wider  range  of  thought,  to 
nobler  perspectives  of  emotion.  Turn- 
ing his  back  on  these  regions,  he  would 
go  into  the  narrow  yard  and  shut  and 
bar  the  gate  behind  him. 

He  was  about  to  speak  when  a  knock 
came  at  the  door.  Hartley's  card  was 
handed  to  Margaret. 

"Go  now,  Justin,"  she  whispered 
hastily,  "and  come  again  to  see  me." 

He  nodded,  and  left  her,  unspeakably 
glad  of  the  interruption,  as  if  it  gave 
him  a  reprieve. 

In  the  corridor  of  the  hotel  he  met 
Mrs.  Craig  and  explained  that  he  had 
called  on  her,  and  that  Margaret  had 
received  him. 

"Come  back  with  me,"  Mrs.  Craig 
urged,  "for  at  least  five  minutes.  I  want 
a  little  talk  with  you." 

"Mr.  Hartley  is  with  Margaret  in  your 
drawing  room." 

"Well,  let  us  sit  here,  then.  No,  I 
am  going  soon  to  Chelsea  Old  Church 
to  a  wedding  there.  Let  me  give  you 
a  lift  on  your  way." 

When  they  were  in  the  hansom  she 
asked  him  abruptly:  "Have  you  made 
it  up  with  Margaret?  I  presume  you 


A    COMEDY    OF    MASKS 


669 


haven't.     You  look  too  solemn." 

"O,  I  suppose  we'll  worry  it  through," 
Justin  remarked  carelessly,  "but  it  might 
be  as  well  to  say  little  about  it  as  yet. 
Plasters  and  seams  are  not  ornamental." 
"No,  I  agree  with  you  that  it  is  well 
to  keep  quiet  about  a  reengagement,  but 
may  I  tell  Diana?  It  might  make  her 
feel  better  about  her  own  romance,  which 
I  verily  believe  is  imminent,  if  she  knew 
that  Margaret  was  to  be  happy  again." 
The  bitter  look  in  Justin's  eyes  was 
unobserved  by  the  matron.  He  was 
leaning  on  the  doors  of  the  hansom  and 
gazing  straight  before  him.  Despite  his 
fashionable  dress,  with  its  latest  English 
touches,  there  was  something  monastic 
in  his  clear-cut,  clean-shaven  face  and 
tall,  spare  figure,  an  impression  height- 
ened by  the  gravity  of  his  bearing. 

"Tell  Miss  Mainwaring  by  all  means," 
he  answered,  "if  you  think  it  would 
make  her  feel  better,  though  according 
to  report  of  her  she  would  have  forgot- 
ten the  incident  by  this  time. 

"Diana  forgets  nothing.  Her  memory 
is  a  picture  gallery." 

"A  tranquil  place — a  picture  gallery," 
Justin  said. 

Meanwhile  Margaret  was  kissing  her 
hand  to  the  gods,  suddenly  again  aware 
of  her  existence  after  a  long  period  of 
neglect. 

Hartley  had  been  but  a  few  moments 
in  the  drawing  room  when  she  observed 
that  his  clear,  pink  skin  was  taking  on 
a  deeper  pink,  his  eyes  a  deeper  blue. 
Love  with  him  was  a  rosy  emotion,  as 
comfortable  as  a  plump  silk  cushion. 

"Miss  Margaret,"  he  began,  "I  have 
not  had  a  year  of  your  friendship  with- 
out the  growing  desire  of  converting 
friendship  into  a  deeper  feeling.  I— I— 
admire  you — more — than  ever.  Indeed, 
let  me  say  that  I  love  you." 

His  round  face  was  crimson  now. 
To  relieve  his  embarrassment,  he  fum- 
bled in  his  vest  pocket,  and  brought  out 
a  white  velvet  ring-box.  Margaret,  pale, 
astonished  and  tumultuously  resentful  of 


having  spoken  to  Justin,  when  half  an 
hour  more  would  have  set  everything 
right,  watched  the  little  banker  like  one 
half  fascinated;  when  the  lid  of  the  box 
flew  up,  she  could  not  keep  back  an 
exclamation  of  wonder.  In  the  pink 
satin  folds,  almost  obscuring  the  ring  on 
which  it  was  mounted,  was  the  largest 
diamond  she  had  ever  seen — a  glorious, 
pure  incarnation  of  flashing  light.  The 
moment  she  beheld  it  she  knew  what 
she  must  do.  The  sight  of  such  a  gem 
would  clarify  the  most  bewildered  state. 
Here  was  an  opportunity  to  make  a  kind 
man  happy,  and  to  teach  a  cruel  one 
a  life-long  lesson.  Secure  of  Hartley, 
she  could  still  hold  Justin  till  Diana  was 
safely  married. 

Hartley  was  taking  the  ring  from  its 
soft  bed. 

"Don't  take  it  out.  It  looks  so  lovely 
there,"  she  cried  in  a  pretty,  innocent 
voice,  bending  over  it  like  a  happy 
child;  and  her  happiness  was  indeed 
unfeigned. 

"But  it  mustn't  stay  here.  It's  for 
your  finger,  Margaret — if  you — will  have 
me." 

He  was  looking  at  her  so  earnestly, 
and  with  such  respectful  ardor  in  his 
clear,  blue  eyes,  that  for  one  instant 
Margaret  felt  a  sensation  of  shame.  She 
dropped  her  eyes,  her  real  confusion 
paling  her  cheeks.  If  he  had  only  come 
half  an  hour  sooner! 

"Don't  keep  me  in  suspense,"  he 
said.  "Tell  me  you'll  have  me,  Mar- 
garet. I'm  not  worthy  of  you,  I  know. 
I've  knocked  around  the  world  a  good 
deal." 

Margaret  had  little  sense  of  humor,  but 
even  through  her  tumult  she  felt  that 
"rolled  around"  would  have  been  the 
more  accurate  expression.  Hartley's 
rotundity  gave  the  lie  to  an  angular 
metaphor. 

"I'll  not  keep  you  in  suspense,"  she 
said,  suppressing  a  smile.  "I,  too,  have 
cared — have  grown  to  admire  you — to — 
to—" 


070 


NATIONAL  MAGAZINE  for  MARCH,  196$ 


She  could  not  bring  out  the  word. 
Hartley  rescued  her. 

"I  know,  I  know.  You've  made  me 
the  happiest  of  men." 

As  he  spoke  he  slipped  the  ring  on  her 
finger,  where  the  great  diamond  by  its 
magnificence  changed  at  once  her  state. 
She  was  no  longer  a  private  secretary. 
She  was  one  of  "the  worthy  rich." 

She  looked  upon  it  doatingly.  With 
such  a  ring  on  her  finger  she  could  face 
any  misfortune,  remove  any  obstacle. 

But  her  sense  of  justice  was  not  to 
be  dimmed  even  by  the  flashes  of  a  gem. 
She  would  exercise  stern  self-denial  until 
she  could  avenge  herself  upon  Justin. 

"May  I  ask  a  favor?"  she  said  softly. 

"A  thousand,"  he  answered,  beaming. 

She  loved  his  lavish  talk.  Justin  had 
used  the  language  of  courtship  as  spar- 
ingly as  if  each  word  were  a  tariff  on  his 
purse. 

"May  I  ask  if  the  engagement  may 
not  be  kept  secret  for  a  while?  It's  not 
quite  a  year,  you  know,  since  my  en- 
gagement with  Mr.  Morris  was  broken, 
though  for  some  months  I  have  known 
lhat  my  soul  was  never  his.  It  is  the 
way  heaven  prepares  you  sometimes  for 
the  one  great  love  of  your  life." 

Hartley  looked  at  her  admiringly.  He 
was  always  too  aware  of  his  weight  of 
flesh  to  have  much  leisure  to  think  of 
his  soul,  but  he  had  great  respect  for  the 
souls  of  others.  Margaret,  slender, 
blonde  and  translucent,  seemed  to  him 
all  spirit  That  she  should  wish  to  keep 


the  engagement  secret,  though  it  went 
against  his  usual  openness,  seemed  to 
him,  under  the  circumstances,  singularly 
modest  and  sweet  of  her.  He  had  al- 
ways despised  women  who  married  again 
the  day  after  their  divorce,  or  girls  who 
slipped  from  engagement  to  engagement 
with  conscienceless  ease. 

"Just  as  you  will,  dearest/'  he  said, 
"I  am  yours  to  command.  Whatever 
you  say  is  law." 

What  a  man  for  matrimony!  With 
a  wealthy  and  obedient  husband,  she 
could  scale  the  highest  social  Alps. 

She  wondered  what  virtues  of  char- 
acter had  drawn  this  golden  fortune  to 
her;  suddenly  contemptuous  of  the 
lonely  sisterhood  from  which  she  had 
just  emerged.  Commanding  wealth,  she 
should  soon  outstrip  Diana,  who  had  not 
been  clever  enough  to  look  higher  than 
a  baronet. 

"How  you  understand  me,  Philip!" 
she  said  fervently. 

At  the  sound  of  his  name  on  her  lips, 
he  beamed. 

"Margaret,  I  am  the  happiest  man  in 
the  kingdom.  May  I  kiss  you?" 

She  held  her  cheek  to  his  lips  an 
instant.  Again  he  admired  her  reserve, 
and  congratulated  himself  on  the  treasure 
he  had  found. 

When  he  was  gone,  she  replaced  the 
ring  in  its  box  and  locked  the  box  in  her 
trunk.  She  could  do  without  the  sym- 
bol of  power  a  little,  since  she  possessed 
the  reality. 


(TO   BE   CONTINUED) 


SWEET    CHARITY    j*    The  Louisville  Courier- Journal 


When  a  fellow  comes  to  you  and  says  he  is  cold, 

Hand  him  a  leaflet : 
If  he's  hungry  and  ragged  and  ailing  and  old, 

Hand  him  a  leaflet. 

His  long,  weary  struggle  may  nearly  be  o'er, 
For  nurture  and  clothing  his  need  may  be  sore, 
But  his  need  for  good  precepts  is  very  much  more,— 

So  hand  him  a  leaflet. 


Never  turn  a  starved  chap  empty-handed  adrift  — 

Hand  him  a  leaflet : 
Do  something  to  give  the  poor  fellow  a  lift  — 

Hand  him  a  leaflet. 

Cast  tracts  on  the  waters ;  who  knows  but  some  day 
When  you  may  be  hungry  and  ragged  and  gray, 
Some  kind-hearted  person  will  moral  words  say  — 

And  hand  you  a  leaflet  ? 


JAPANESE    ARTISTS    IGNORE    THE    WAR 


REFLECTIONS     SUGGESTED     BY    A     VIEW    OF     THE 
AUTUMN     EXHIBITION     IN     TOKIO 

By    YONE    NOGUCHI 

HALF-TONE      PLATES      ENGRAVED     BY     MARTIN      BUERGER 


"BUTTERFLIES,"    BY   TAKEJI   FUJISHIMA 


BEAUTY  and  Art  are  not  forgotten  in 
Japan,  although  the  special  attention 
of  her  people  is  abruptly  turned  toward 
Manchuria.  The  artists — those  who  fol- 
low after  the  European  or  American 
methods  in  expression  and  technique — 
are  making  a  stride  most  remarkable, 
while  the  Japanese  of  blo.od  and  cannon 
are  marching  toward  Harbin. 

The  Autumn  exhibition  of  the  Hakuba 
Kai  was  a  strong  protest  against  the 
possible  turning  to  be  only  a  war  nation. 
The  exhibition  was  a  good  one,  and  it 
has  delighted  thousands  of  people.  After 
all,  thank  God,  Japan  does  not  forget 
that  she  is  a  nation  of  poetry  and  art.' 
There  are  with  us  artists  who  are  sincere 
and  there  are  people  who  understand  and 
appreciate.  There  was  the  most  notable 
absence  of  war  pictures.  The  artists  at- 
tempted to  express  Beauty  and  Love  in 


the  purest  sense.  Their  heads  have  been 
turning  to  Woman  and  Nature  while 
people  were  talking  of  war  and  war. 

The  Hakuba  Kai  was  a  movement 
which  had  Kiyoteru,  Kuroda  as  its  center, 
— he  who  has  exhibited  with  such  suc- 
cess in  the  Paris  salon.  Mr.  Kuroda's 
work  this  year  called  particular  attention 
to  portrait  painting  in  which  tone  and 
color  were  distinguished.  His  "Flowers" 
was  charmingly  created.  Such  a  deli- 
cacy and  yet  a  sure  touch  it  expressed. 

Mr.  Yeisaku  Wada's  "Aruka?  Naki- 
ka?"  ("Is  there  any  thorn?  Is  there 
not?")  was  another  great  achievement. 
His  skill,  experience  and  study  are  fully 
exhibited  in  that  picture.  He  is  a  fol- 
lower of  the  European  art  and  was  a  stu- 
dent for  some  ten  years  in  Paris  and  has 
but  recently  returned  to  Japan.  It  is  his 
temperament, — and  his  passion — to  love 


672 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  MARCH,    1905 


the  Genroku  period,  when  our  people 
lived  in  love  and  fancies.  He  has  spent 
many  years  in  perfecting  his  knowledge 
of  the  customs  and  spirit  of  that  period. 
And  still  he  is  a  young  man  and  his 
future  is  eagerly  regarded.  For  his  pic- 


Samurosuke  Okada's  "Omakage" 
(Likeness)  is  a  picture  of  a  young  woman 
of  the  Genroku  period  also.  It  has  depth 
and  fancy.  It  dreams.  Then  a  study  of 
nature  by  this  same  artist  called  Fuyu- 
gare  (Winter  barrenness)  is  also  distin- 


"  FLOWERS,"     BY     KIYOTER17     KUREDA 


tures  in  this  exhibition  one  of  the  stores 
from  ancient  Mitsue  in  our  oldest  and 
most  historic  province  furnished  him  the 
costumes  and  two  famous  Geisha  girls 
of  the  Shinbashi  Quarter  posed  for  his 
"Aruka?  Nakika?"  That  is  the  best 
painting  that  has  appeared  in  Japan  for 
some  five  years.  One  of  Wada's  aims  is 
to  marry  Literature  and  Art. 


guished  by  a  wonderful  subtilety  and 
fancy.  It  is  the  finest  study  of  nature 
ever  done  by  a  Japanese  artist.  For  ten 
years  has  Okada  been  studying  upon  this 
one  subject  alone  and  he  has  painted  it 
twenty  times,  but  not  until  the  twenty- 
first  trial  did  he  achieve  a  masterpiece, 
for  it  is  inded  that.  Okada  is  both  a 
poet  and  an  artist.  He  has  the  rare  gift 


JAPANESE    ARTISTS     IGNORE    THE    WAR 


673 


of  painting  the  very  essence  of  the  season 
in  his  pictures;  the  delicate  green  breath 
of  Spring,  the  Summer  light,  the  Winter 
greyness. 

Mr.    Nakagawa's     "  Young    Singing 
Girl"  aroused  much  popular  admiration. 


by  R.  Miyake  most  excellent.  He  has 
left  the  period  of  the  detail  painting  and 
grasps  the  simplicity  and  general  effect. 
His  "Summer  Clouds"  are  charming, 
and  also  his  "Autumnal  Day,"  showing 
a  road  leading  from  the  forest  growing 


"IS  THERE  ANY  THORN?   IS  THERE  NOT?"   BY  YEISAKU  WADA 


A  purely  decorative  piece  by  T.  Fuji- 
shima  was  "Cho,"  (butterflies)  in  which 
the  girl's  sweet  profile  and  the  fluttering 
butterflies  were  very  distinct  against  the 
solid  background  of  dark  green.  ' '  Morn- 
ing," by  the  same  artist,  was  another 
graceful  picture. 

Among  the  water  colors  were  ten  pieces 


wider  and  wider  under  the  full  shower  of 
the  brilliant  Autumnal  sunshine.  Such 
a  warm  color  and  delicacy  of  touch. 
Other  exhibitors  were  Mr.  Yamamoto 
and  Mr.  Hashimoto  and  some  twenty 
others,  among  them  two  foreigners,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Whitman,  whose  pictures  were 
sent  from  Belgium.  One  of  Yamamota's 


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"LIKENESS,"   BY   SAMUROSUKK   OKADA 

studies  was  a  wide  and  solitary  expanse 
of  sky  alone.  Another  was  his  "Rice 
Field"  and  the  U§.t,  most  mystic  and 


"YOUNG  SINGING   GIRL,"   BY   H.   NAKAGAWA 

yet  clothed  with  a  power  and  depth 
of  tone,  his  "Island  Which  Is  About 
to  Disappear." 


BEGINNINGS    OF    JAPANESE    SEA'  POWER 

( From  "  Japan  in  the  Beginning  of  the  2oth  Century "  a  wonderfully  useful  hand-book  published  by  the 
Japanese  imperial  commission  to  the  Louisiana  Purchase  Exposition.) 


THE  naval  warfare  forms  a  compara- 
tively unimportant  chapter  so  far  as 
the  ancient  history  of  Japan  is  con- 
cerned. To  enumerate  those  that  are 
worthy  of  mentioning,  in  the  first  place 
we  have  the  expedition  of  Korea  by  the 
Empress  Jingo  in  the  second  century 
A.  D.  About  ten  centuries  after,  the 
naval  battle  at  Dannoura  between  the 
Genji  and  Heike  clans  may  be  noted. 
The  invasion  of  Kyushu  by  Kublai 
Khan's  armada  in  the  next  century  is 
perhaps  the  most  memorable  event  of 
foreign  invasion  that  ever  occurred  in 
Japan  within  the  period  of  authentic  his- 
tory. The  annihilation  of  that  armada 
was  even  more  complete  than  the  equally 


memorable  destruction  by  England  of 
the  Spanish  armada.  Toward  the  close 
of  the  same  century  Japan  took  the 
offensive  against  China  and  several  en- 
counters occurred  between  Hideyoshi's 
fleet  with  that  of  Korea  off  the  coast  of 
that  peninsula.  It  ought  to  be  remem- 
bered, however,  that  the  warships  of 
those  days  were  not  properly  warships  as 
the  term  is  now  understood,  for  they 
were  merely  armed  merchantmen  and 
even  fishing  junks.  There  was  no  fleet 
properly  so  called  in  time  of  peace. 
It  was  only  recently  that  Japan  ob- 
tained warships  built  in  modern  style. 
The  modern  navy  was  instituted  as 
a  department  of  the  government  in  1872. 


TIME  TO  PREPARE  FOR 
SPRING  GARDENS 


By     EVA     RYMAN-GAILLARD 

GIRARD,       PENNSYLVANIA 


/CERTAIN  classes  of  very  desirable 
plants  are  rarely  seen,  and  among 
those  neglected  ones  are  aquatics;  yet 
little  tubs  sunk  in  garden  or  lawn  makes 
it  possible  to  have  them  and  their  beauty, 
coupled  with  the  fascination  of  watching 
them  develop,  is  ample  reward  for  the 
little  work  required. 

March  is  a  good  time  to  get  ready 
tubs;  barrels  sawed  into  two  parts,  or 
whatever  will  hold  water  when  sunk  in 
the  ground.  Some  fertilizer  and  soil 
may  be  put  in  each  one,  ready  to  be 
covered  with  water  when  the  tank  is 
sunk;  and  if  this  preliminary  work  is  done 
the  probability  is  that  the  tanks  will  be 
made  use  of  —  otherwise  the  chances  are 
against  an  aquatic  display  in  the  garden. 

Rustic  seats  with  canopy-like  frames 
may  be  made  this  month  and  placed  in 
position,  ready  for  the  planting  and 
training  of  vines.  Plan,  also,  for  a  little 
rustic  arbor  with  roof,  where  the  ham- 
mock may  hang  between  vine-wreathed 
posts,  under  a  vine-draped  roof  —  pro- 
tected from  sun  and  rain  by  day,  and 
from  dew  at  night.  » 


Evening-bloomers  form  another  class 
of  plants  too  seldom  seen.  What  could 
be  more  refreshing  than  these  white 
flowers  spreading  their  petals  at  sun- 
down, and  filling  the  air  with  fragrance. 
Because  we  use  verandas  and  hammocks 
most  at  this  hour  these  plants  should 
be  placed  where  we  can  enjoy  them 
as  we  rest  —  not  away  back  out  of 
sight. 

Plan  for  at  least  one  bed  of  evening- 
bloomers  this  year,  and  for  it  I  would 
suggest  a  clump  of  the  tropical-looking 
datura  in  the  center;  around  them,  a 
band  of  the  giant  nicotiana,  and  at  the 
edge  a  border  of  evening  primrose.  All 
have  white  blossoms,  and  their  manner 
of  growth  makes  a  mound-like  mass  of 
foliage  against  which  the  blossoms  make 
a  fine  showing. 

The  hardy,  ornamental  grasses  which 
grow  from  one  to  ten  feet  in  height  de- 
serve a  place  in  every  lawn.  Their 
beautifully  marked  foliage  lasts  until  late 
in  the  fall,  and  the  plume-like  blossoms 
stay  on  the  stalks  nearly  all  winter. 

Whatever  is  decided  on,  remember 
that  a  number  of  plants  of  one  class 
make  a  far  more  effective  showing  than 


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one  plant  of  this,  that,  and   the  other 
sorts. 

When  one  begins  to  plan  for  plants  of 
a  new  (to  them)  class,  the  natural  ques- 
tion is— What  shall  I  get,  and  where  shall 
I  get  it?  Space  forbids  naming  indi- 
vidual varieties,  but  the  solution  is  easy: 
read  the  advertisements  of  different 
florists  and  send  for  their  cata- 
logues. In  them  will  be  found  de- 


scriptions and  cultural  directions. 
If  failure  comes  with  the  first  trial  (as 
it  possibly  may)  do  not  blame  the  florist, 
but  look  for  a  cause.  These  dealers 
know,  only  too  well,  that  one  dissatisfied 
customer  will  talk  against  them  a  dozen 
times  where  a  dozen  pleased  customers 
would  never  speak  a  word  of  praise,  and 
not  one  of  them  would  knowingly  send 
out  poor  stock — ordinary  business  sense 
would  keep  them  from  doing  so. 


MONEY    IN     POULTRY 

By     B.     R. 

GO  R  DO  N  S  VI  LL  E,       VIRGINIA 


«THERE  is  a  fortune  in  a  hen's  in- 
sides,"  said  a  wise  Frenchman,  and 
though  a  fortune  may  not  be  obtainable, 
still  a  large  sum  of  money  can  be  easily 
made  by  keeping  from  one  to  five  hun- 
dred hens  for  their  eggs.  The  rearing 
of  chickens  is  much  less  profitable. 

The  following  simple  method  has  been 
found  an  entire  success,  the  average 
from  each  hen  yelding  not  a  dollar  a 
year,  as  has  been  optimistically  stated, 
but  nearly  always  — more ! 

Large,  ordinary  pullets  were  selected — 
and  the  great  secret  of  success  lies  in 
this — one  was  never  kept  longer  than 
three  years.  Old  hens  produce  each 
year  fewer  eggs,  eat  more,  work  less  and 
are  more  susceptible  to  disease  than 
young  fowls.  This  is  almost  invariably 
the  rock  of  disaster  with  beginners,  — 
they  will  not  get  rid  of  the  old  stock 
systematically.  The  cocks  should  be 
changed  annually,  now  and  then  buying 
Leghorns. 

If  the  poultry  houses  are  of  oak  there 
will  be  less  trouble  with  vermin.  In 
the  Spring  paint  the  roosts  and  nests 
with  crude  carbolic  acid,  repeating 
whenever  it  is  necessary.  This  will 
absolutely  keep  vermin  away,  even  from 
setting  hens. 


The  poultry  houses  must  be  scrupu- 
lously clean,  and  three  things  always 
kept  therein  —  lime,  ashes  and  sand. 
These  should  be  in  separate,  shallow 
boxes,  so  that  the  fowls  may  eat  and 
wallow  at  their  pleasure.  Once  a  week 
give  them  fresh  nests. 

Less  depends  on  the  quality  and  quan- 
tity of  their  fQod  than  on  the  regularity 
with  which  it  is  given.  In  the  Winter 
feed  twice  a  day,  a  warm  mash  in  the 
morning  and  grain  at  night.  This  pre- 
supposes that  they  have  sufficient  range 
to  obtain  green  food,  otherwise  this  too 
would  be  required. 

All  fowls  relish  table  scraps, —  meat 
skins,  broken  bones,  vegetables,  any  and 
everything  left  from  the  table.  If  these 
are  well  chopped  and  made  into  a  thick 
mash,  with  the  addition  of  Indian  meal 
and  hot  water,  they  will  rejoice  greatly 
and  pay  constant  tribute.  Never  give 
them  sloppy  food ;  it  is  always  more  or 
less  injurious.  From  the  middle  of 
August  until  the  middle  of  September 
halve  their  food,  when  they  will  moult 
and  begin  laying  early  in  the  Autumn. 
Pure  water  in  clean  vessels  is  absolutely 
essential. 

To  break  hens  from  setting,  put  them 
in  a  house  where  there  are  no  nests  and 


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677 


feed  and  water  well.  In  four  days  they 
are  generally  cured,  are  in  good  condi- 
tion and  will  soon  recommence  laying. 
Young  hens  seldom  have  disease. 
The  great  scourge  is  cholera,  and  it 
may  be  warded  off  by  this  simple  pre- 
ventive given  in  a  state  agricultural  re- 
port, and  which  has  proved  efficacious: 
Twice  a  week  during  the  Summer  give 


ten  drops  of  sulphuric  acid  in  one  gallon 
of  water  and  allow  them  no  other  drink- 
ing water  that  day.  Sulphuric  acid  is 
a  deadly  poison  and  must  be  carefully 
administered. 

With  systematic  attention  to  these 
requisites,  it  is  possible  to  have  hens  lay 
almost  continuously  throughout  the 
year. 


PLEASANT      ENTERTAINMENTS      FOR 
EASTER      WEEK 

By    KATHERINE    E.     MEGEE 

WAYNESBORO,       VIRGINIA 


IN  the  social  world  Easter  marks  the 
renewal  of  the  gayeties  suspended  dur- 
ing Lent,  and  women  who  entertain  to 
any  great  extent  are  again  on  the  alert 
for  ideas  and  suggestions  along  that  line, 
especially  those  which  have  been  put  to 
the  test 

A  society  matron  who  had  long  held 
the  notion  that  as  an  initiatory  a  series 
of  small  entertainments  are  not  only 
more  enjoyable  to  the  guests  but  also  less 
burdensome  to  the  hostess  than  a 
"crush,"  put  the  matter  to  test  last  year 
during  Easter  week  and  was  delighted 
with  the  experiment. 

First,  there  was  a  morning  card  party, 
with  a  buffet  breakfast  at  twelve  o'clock. 
To  this  function  a  limited  number  of 
congenial  women  were  invited.  An 
afternoon  reception  followed,  and  being 
a  more  formal  affair,  the  invitation  list 
was  proportionately  extended  and  in- 
cluded all  to  whom  the  hostess  was 
under  social  obligations  or  whose  ac- 
quaintance she  desired  to  cultivate. 
Then  came  an  eight  o'clock  dinner,  to 
which  only  intimate  acquaintances  were 
invited.  By  this  arrangement  and  divi- 
sion all  factions  of  society  were  in- 
cluded, all  social  requirements  recog- 
nized and  yet  upon  each  occasion  only 


congenial  people  were  brought  together. 

In  the  matter  of  decorating  the  house 
the  season  of  the  year  was  considered, 
and  a  compliment  paid  to  nature,  by 
selecting  Spring  colors  as  a  motif  for 
the  color  scheme.  The  house  was  made 
attractive  by  the  artistic  arrangement  of 
ferns,  palms,  vines  and  white  hyacinths, 
Easter  lilies  and  white  roses  which  de- 
lighted the  eye  and  filled  the  house  with 
fragrance. 

The  morning  party  being  an  informal 
affair,  the  hostess  received  alone.  Small 
tables  were  placed  in  convenient  places 
in  the  double  parlors  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  players.  The  score  cards 
were  green  silk  pin  cushions  fashioned 
to  simulate  apples.  They  were  distri- 
buted from  a  fancy  basket,  and  the  imi- 
tation was  so  clever  that  upon  first  sight 
they  appeared  to  be  real  fruit.  Score 
was  kept  by  means  of  white-headed  pins. 

The  breakfast  menu  included  hot 
bouillon  with  whipped  cream  served  in 
dainty  green  cups,  apple  and  celery 
salad,  stuffed  eggs,  meat  sandwiches, 
jelly  cubes,  small  cakes,  frappe  and 
coffee. 

As  each  guest  helped  herself,  the 
matter  of  servants  and  serving  was  re- 
duced to  the  minimum,  which  is  no 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE  for   MARCH,    1905 


small  consideration. 

At  the  afternoon  reception  the  hostess 
was  assisted  in  receiving  by  several 
ladies  invited  for  that  purpose.  Tea 
was  poured  by  one  of  her  girl  acquaint- 
ances; another  supplied  the  guests  with 
delicious  fruit  punch,  while  a  third 
served  sweet  wafers  and  bonbons. 

One  of  the  most  pleasant  features  of 
the  afternoon  entertainment  was  the 
music,  provided  for  the  occasion,  under 
cover  of  which  it  was  so  easy  to  keep 
up  a  steady  flow  of  conversation. 

The  musicians  were  stationed  in  an 
alcove  off  the  reception  hall  and  screened 
from  view  by  palms  and  other  potted 
plants. 

For  the  dinner  twelve  covers  were 
laid.  The  table  was  covered  with  a 
handsome  white  cloth,  the  beauty  of 
which  was  accentuated  by  the  heavy 
silence  cloth  beneath  it  The  decora- 
tions were  exceedingly  simple  and  in 
harmony  with  the  general  motif.  In  the 
center  of  the  table  was  a  low,  white 
basket  filled  with  white  roses  and  stand- 


ing on  a  mat  of  fern  leaves.  Cut  glass 
dishes  filled  with  olives,  Spring  radishes, 
salted  almonds  and  bonbons,  each  rest- 
ing on  a  mat  of  fern  leaves,  were  dis- 
posed here  and  there  on  the  table  and 
contributed  to  its  festive  appearance. 
At  each  place  was  a  single  white  rose, 
to  which  the  name  card  was  attached. 
The  souvenirs  were  tiny  fancy  baskets- 
filled  with  candied  fruit.  The  china 
used  was  white  with  dainty  decorations 
in  green.  The  following  was  the  menu, 
served  in  courses  in  the  order  given. 

MENU 
OYSTER  COCKTAIL  IN  LEMON  CUPS 

BROWN  CONSOMME 
OLIVES  CELERY 

ROAST  BEEF      BROWNED  GRAVY 
ASPIC  JELLY 

POTATO  ROSES  WITH  PARSLEY  GARNISH 
GINGER  SHERBET 

PEAS  AND  NUT  SALAD  IN  LETTUCE  CUPS 

ICE  CREAM  CAKE 

COFFEE 


BONBONS 


SALTED  ALMONDS 


THE    SUNNY    SIDE     OF     LIFE 

By     EMMA    B.     VAN     DEUSEN 

CAZENOVIA,       NEW       YORK 


««I/NEAD    love    into   the   bread  you 

bake;  wrap  strength  and   courage  " 
in  the  parcel  you  tie  for  the  woman  with 
the  weary  face;  hand  trust  and  candor 
with  the  coin  you  pay  to  the  man  with 
the  suspicious  eyes." 

The  above  words  from  the  maxims  of 
a  popular  belief,  should  be  burned  into 
the  hearts  of  the  people. 

To  follow  their  precepts,  would  indeed 
be  living  in  harmony  with  all  mankind, — 
would  be  bringing  the  principles  of  the 
intellectual  and  spiritual  planes  into  our 
daily  existence.  Love — strength — cour- 
age— trust — candor!  How  the  practice 
of  that  which  these  words  imply,  would 


sweep  the  world  of  doubt,  and  gloom, 
and  suspicion,  filling  it  instead  with 
attributes  of  the  millennium,  radiant 
with  the  light  of  the  divine  sunshine. 

Too  many  dwell  in  the  shadow;  and, 
although  they  would  be  shocked  at  the 
idea  of  not  performing  each  duty  con- 
scientiously for  their  family,  yet  they  do 
these  things  with  such  a  martyr-like 
spirit,  with  such  vigorous  protest  of 
manner,  that  the  pleasure  in  receiving 
them  is  taken  away. 

Said  the  little  girl  with  quivering  lip: 
"I  would  rather  mamma  did  not  make 
me  those  delicious  apple  turnovers,  than 
to  scold  all  the  while  she  is  making 


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679 


them.     I  would  rather  have  a  kiss  than 
a  turnover." 

Sunshine  is  free,  and  a  recognized 
cure  for  many  ills.  You  have  read  of 
the  French  physician  who  has  houses 
with  glass  walls  built  for  his  patients. 
There,  all  day  they  may  luxuriate  in 
the  magic  energy  of  the  health-giving 
beams,  "given  for  the  healing  of  the 
nations." 

Said  the  doleful  one  to  the  doctor: 
"Every  person  I  ever  knew,  who  has 
died,  has  passed  in  solemn  review  in  my 
mind  today, -and  all  have  said  I  could 
not  live." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  madam," 
sternly  demanded  the  medical  man, 
"that  you  have  sat  here,  in  this  dark 
corner,  holding  communion  with  dead 
folks,  instead  of  getting  out  into  God's 
sunshine  this  glorious  day?" 

When  the  gloomy  one  declares  that  no 
brightness  is  in  life,  tell  him  of  the 
brave  young  man  whose  bones  are  ossi- 
fied, but  who,  by  the  use  of  the  thumb 
and  index  finger  of  his  right  hand,  con- 
trives to  write  messages  of  cheer  to  the 
world;  of  the  girl  in  the  wheel-chair, 
whose  lite  .3  an  inspiration  to  many;  of 
the  woman  blind,  but  comforting  thou- 
sands. 

"There  are  those  whose  hearts  have 
a  slope  southward,  and  are  open  to  the 
whole  noon  of  nature."  Those  are  the 
cheery-faced  men  and  women  whose 
company  is  sought;  but  pessimists  and 
cranks  are  always  avoided. 

You  remember  the  story  of  the  old 
lady  in  the  poor-house,  who  had  not 
a  thing  she  could  call  her  own.  When 
asked  the  meaning  of  her  happy  face, 
she  replied  she  had  so  much  to  be  thank- 
ful for.  In  answer  to  the  wondering 
question,  "How  so?"  she  said  the  only 
two  teeth  she  had  left,  met !  - 

Charles  Lamb's  opinion  was  that  a 
hearty  laugh  was  worth  a  hundred 
groans,  in  any  market. 

Said  the  caller  to  the  invalid:  "No 
one  would  mistrust  the  rain  was  pouring 


in    torrents  outside,    'tis  so   bright  and 
cheery  in  here." 

Birds,  plants  and  animals  die  when 
deprived  of  a  plentiful  supply  of  oxygen, 
why,  then,  would  not  man? 

Keep  the  physical,  mental,  and  moral 
sunshine  from  your  home,  and  you  have 
a  poor  place  to  dwell  in.  Throw  aside 
the  shutters— let  the  bright  stream  pour 
in!  Never  mind  if  it  fades  the  carpet — 
faded  carpets  are  better  than  faded  lives. 
"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the 
mother  of  the  restless  six-year-old. 

"Oh/'  she  replied,  "I  long  to  get  out- 
doors where  I  can  breathe." 

Blessed  be  the  home  where  harmoni- 
ous agreement  and  genial  good-fellowship 
prevails. 

A  man  who  had  many  misfortunes 
declared:  "Some  way,  nothing  can  keep 
me  down.  If  I  were  to  be  hung  tomor- 
row, I  believe  I  should  sleep  well 
tonight." 

When  troubles  multiply  thick  and  fast, 
and  you  wonder  what  worse  can  happen, 
take  the  view  of  the  person  from  whom 
all  material  comforts  had  been  swept, 
and  who  sat  on  the  hill-top  watching  his 
house  burn  to  the  ground.  "What  are 
you  laughing  for?"  asked  his  friend,  as 
peal  upon  peal  broke  from  his  lips. 

"Oh,  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  man, 
"how  wretchedly  complete  it  all  is!" 
We  will  find  what  we  seek. 

"Look  for  goodness,  look  for  gladness, 
You  will  find  it  everywhere." 

We  get  what  we  give,  and  if  we  persist 
in  scattering  sunshine  along  the  high- 
ways and  byways  of  life,  in  some  hour 
when  least  expected,  we  will  meet  our 
own  returning. 

A  little  of  shadow  is  good  for  us :  we 
would  not  otherwise  appreciate  bless- 
ings. 

"Intc  ?ach  life  some  rain  must  fall, 
Some  c'ays  be  dark  and  dreary." 

The  world  is  clothed  in  darkness  a 
part  of  each  twenty-four  hours,  but  it 
isn't  night  all  the  time.  With  the  rising 


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NATIONAL    MAGAZINE    for    MARCH 


of  the  day-king  all  nature  rejoices, 
and  the  songs  of  the  birds  burst 
forth. 

As  nothing  can  estimate  the  value  of 
the  creating  and  exhilarating  power  of 
the  great  healing  agent,  neither  can  be 
measured  the  out-reaching  and  strength- 
ening influence  of  a  happy  disposition. 
Of  one  possessing  such,  be  it  said:  "In 
that  day  many  will  rise  up  and  call  her 
blessed." 

It  "is  hard   sometimes  to    turn  from 


present  griefs  or  past  sorrows  and  look 
hopefully  upon  life,  but  it  can  be  done. 
Mental  sunshine  is  as  necessary  to 
physical  well-being  as  the  rays  of  the 
orb  that  warms  the  world. 

By  placing  the  will  in  harmony  with 
the  dominating  Will  of  the  universe,  by 
resolutely  saying,  "For  me  there  is  hope 
and  truth  and  love,"  much  can  be  done 
to  dissipate  clouds  of  despair,  and  fill  the 
whole  being  with  the  energizing  force  of 
joy  in  living. 


SCHOOLROOM  TRIALS  *  By  Anna  Gertrude  Brewster 


POLLY- 


PAUL— 


I  study  hard  as  hard  can  be, 

And  it  annoys  me  so 
That  teacher  always  calls  on  me 

For  the  one  thing  I  don't  know! 


It  happens  every  single  day  — 
I  cannot  understand  — 

If  there's  an  answer  I  can  say, 
She  never  sees  my  hand ! 


THE     HOME 


681 


LITTLE     HELPS     FOR     HOME-MAKERS 


For  each  little  help  found  suited  for  use  in  this  department,  we  award  one  year's  subscription  to  the  National 
Magazine.  If  you  are  already  a  subscriber,  you  can  either  extend  your  own  term  or  send  the  National  to  a  friend. 
If  your  little  help  does  not  appear,  it  is  probably  because  the  same  idea  has  been  offered  by  someone  else  before 
you.  Try  again.  Enclose  a  stamped  and  self-adressed  envelope  if  you  wish  us  to  return  unavailable  offerings. 


SOME    USES   OF 
BORAX 

By  IDA   P.   BENSON 

Wadsworth,  Nevada 

Borax  will  soften  water. 
Borax  is  a  bleach  and 
will  prevent  clothes  turn- 
ing yellow. 
Borax  fixes  colors. 
Borax  added  to  starch 
gives  a  superior  gloss  to 
the  clothes. 

Borax   relieves  hoarse- 
ness. 

Borax  cures  sore  throat. 
Borax  preserves  the  teeth  and  heals  the  gums. 
Borax  exterminates  ants,  bugs,  and  roaches. 

By    OLIVE    E.    HARRINGTON 
Altamont,  Kansas 

Take  a  solution  of  warm  water  and  borax  and  it  will 
cleanse  hair  brushes  and  combs  perfectly. 

Borax  dampened  with  a  little  water  and  rubbed  on 
the  scalp  cures  dandruff. 

A  pinch  of  borax  added  to  warm  hard- water  softens  it. 

Borax  used  when  boiling  clothes  whitens  them  more 
than  any  other  washing  powder. 


HANGING   UP   CLOTHES   IN    COLD 
WEATHER 

By    CLARA    M.    GUMMING 
Centerville,  South  Dakota 

The  unpleasantness  of  hanging  up  clothes  in  cold 
weather  can  be  mitigated  by  a  little  preparation  before 
going  out  of  doors.  Take  each  piece  and  shake  out, 
and  then  take  hold  with  both  hands  of  the  end  to  be 
hung  on  the  line,  and  drop  into  the  basket,  putting  in 
the  pieces  just  as  you  wish  them  hung  up.  It  is  best 
to  hang  sheets  and  tablecloths  by  the  hem  to  save 
them  whipping  out.  If  they  must  be  left  out  all  night, 
at  dark  roll  them  over  once  or  twice  on  the  line  and 
pin  securely ;  in  the  morning  unroll  them.  If  a  sudden 
wind  starts  up  they  cannot  be  damaged.  Another 
help  is  to  have  mittens  made  of  white  canton  flannel. 
Lay  your  hand  on  the  cloth  and  work  around  with 
pencil,  leaving  half  an  inch  for  seam,  stitch  around 
with  machine  and  they  are  done. 


SALT    FOR    BLACK    ANTS 
By    ALICE    CHENEY 

Wayne,  Maine 

In  certain  seasons  the  large  black  ants  become  very 
troublesome,  getting  even  into  the  ice-box  if  their  ad- 
vance is  not  checked.  Judging  from  the  number  of 
applications  I  had  last  year  for  "  something  that  will 
drive  away  the  pests  with  no  danger  of  poisoning  the 
family,"  it  is  not  very  generally  known  that  common 
salt  freely  sprinkled  where  they  gather  will  drive  them 
away,  yet  such  is  the  case.  Try  it  and  be  convinced. 


RELIABLE     PIE-CRUST 

By    WINNIE    F.    BUTTON 
New  Sharon,  Maine 

If  hot  water  is  used  in  making  pie-crust,  it  will  not 
bend  outward  and  allow  the  contents  of  custard  or 
other  pies  containing  a  soft  filling  to  run  out  in  the 
oven.  Put  the  soda  and  cream  tartar  in  the  flour,  stir 
the  hot  water  into  it,  and  add  melted  butter  or  lard. 
This  pie-crust  is  easily  worked  and  is  light  when  baked. 

WHEN     MAKING     BREAD 

By    MRS.    M.    T.    B. 
Belmont  County,  Ohio 

With  a  large  family  and  the  numerous  duties  of  the 
average  farmer's  wife,  one  needs  good  management  to 
lessen  the  burden.  An  experienced  friend  taught  me 
how  to  make  bread  up  at  night  and  thus  save  time  and 
labor.  Two  years  ago  I  conceived  the  idea  of  putting 
the  dough  into  the  pans  during  the  night,  instead  of 
punching  it  down  as  was  generally  necessary.  Since 
then  I  have  always  followed  this  method,  and  find  it 
much  easier  than  my  neighbors'  who  make  their  bread 
up  in  the  morning.  During  the  Winter  of  course  it 
takes  more  care  to  have  the  room  heated  properly  but 
during  warm  weather  "it  works  like  magic."  When 
my  family  was  smaller  I  found  the  easiest  time  for 
baking  pies  or  cakes  was  before  breakfast  when  the 
fire  was  clear.  With  wood  or  gas  one  can  have  a  good 
fire  any  time,  but  here  we  burn  coal.  That  baking 
time  now  has  to  be  given  to  packing  dinners  for  four 
hungry  school  children,  though  even  yet  I  snatch  time 
to  bake  their  cakes  in  muffin  pans  while  the  breakfast 
is  under  way. 

COOKED     FROSTING 

By   MRS.    H.    H.    B. 

Caledonia,  New  York 

To  make  cooked  frosting  soft  and  creamy,  put  only 
enough  water  in  the  sugar  to  dissolve  it ;  add  a  pinch 
of  cream  tartar  or  of  baking  powder.  Cook  quickly, 
watching  it  closely  until  it  will  spin  a  thread  from  the 
spoon.  Beat  the  white  of  egg  vigorously  with  an  egg 
beater  for  at  least  three  minutes.  Beat  while  pouring 
the  syrup  in  and  for  a  few  minutes  afterwards.  Your 
frosting  will  rarely  fail  to  be  creamy. 

CUSTARD,    NOT    CORNSTARCH 

By    MRS.    A.    W.    PERRIN 
San  Antonio,  Texas 

DEAR  EDITOR:  When  we  received  the  National 
for  January,  the  other  day  I  was  both  amazed  and  sur- 
prised to  see  that  you  had  made  Mrs.  A.  W.  Perrin, 
San  Antonio,  Texas,  say  that  "  baked  comstarch  will 
not  curdle  but  be  smooth  and  firm  if  the  dish  contain- 
ing it  be  set  in  a  pan  of  hot  water  in  the  oven."  I 
always  knew  that  I  wrote  a  villainous  hand,  but  I  was 
amused  to  think  that  anyone  could  take  such  a  state- 
ment as  even  a  "  little  help,"  and  mortified  to  think 
what  housekeepers  could  think  of  me.  I  wrote  CUS- 
TARD, not  cornstarch.  an  article  which  I  believe  no 
one  ever  induced  to  curdle  by  any  treatment.  Respect- 
fully, MRS.  A.  W.  PERRIN,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 


682 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for   MARCH,    1905 


WASHING    CHAMOIS 
By   N.  E.   W. 
Zanesville,  Ohio 


SKIN 


Many  people  find  it  difficult  in  washing  chamois  to 
keep  it  soft  and  pliable,  but  by  rubbing  it  vigorously  in 
lukewarm  water,  using  any  brand  of  soap  you  wish, 
you  can  wash  it  clean.  Then  rinse  twice  in  same  tem- 
perature of  water  and  lay  on  clean  cloth  to  dry.  The 
principal  thing  is  to  rinse  all  the  soapsuds  out  before 
drying. 

TO     REMOVE     RUST     FROM 
CLOTHING 

By    MRS.    J.    B.    MCALLISTER 
Richwood,  Ohio 

While  rinsing  clothes,  take  such  as  have  spots  of 
rust,  wring  out,  dip  a  wet  brush  in  oxalic  acid,  and  rub 
on  the  spot,  then  dip  in  salt  and  rub  on,  and  hold  on 
the  hot  tea  kettle  and  the  spot  will  immediately  dis- 
appear; rinse  again,  rubbing  the  place  a  little  with  the 
hands. 

A    WASHING    HINT 

By    MRS.    ANNA    M.    WHITE 
Richmond,  Maine 

To  wash  a  dark  percale  or  satine  dress— put  two  or 
three  quarts  of  flour  starch  into  sufficient  water  in  a  tub 
to  wash  it  nicely.  Rub  well,  rinse  and  hang  in  the  shade 
to  dry.  Enough  starch  will  remain  in  the  goods  to 
make  it  appear  like  new  when  ironed  on  the  wrong 
side. 

TO     SAVE    EGGS 

By    MRS.    A.    M.    COLEGROVE 

Coral,  Michigan 

Stir  your  cakes  the  same  as  usual  except  that  you 
leave  out  the  eggs.  After  your  baking  is  added  and 
tins  greased,  the  very  last  thing  before  placing  them 
in  the  oven,  stir  in  one  tablespoon  of  clear  snow  for 
each  egg  you  would  have  used.  Your  cakes  will  be  light 
and  tender.  Try  it. 


CORNSTARCH     IN     CHOCOLATE 

By    A. 
Angelica,  New  York 

If  a  dainty  cup  of  chocolate  or  cocoa  is  desired  to 
serve  with  wafers,  a  little  corn  starch  may  be  used  to 
advantage.  Take  a  pint  each  of  milk  and  water,  two 
squares  of  Baker's  chocolate  and  sugar  to  suit  the 
taste.  Dissolve  two  teaspoons  of  corn  starch  in  a  little 
cold  milk,  and  stir  into  the  boiling  chocolate.  Serve  a 
spoonful  of  whipped  cream,  sweetened  and  flav.ored 
with  vanilla,  in  each  cup. 


TO    POLISH    GALVANIZED    WARE 
By    LEONE    PITTMAN 

Rinard,  Illinois 

To  clean  galvanized  iron  (as  buckets,  tubs,  etc.) 
dampen  a  cloth  in  kerosene  and  rub  until  the  dirt  dis- 
appears, then  polish  with  old  papers,  and  they  will 
look  as  well  as  new.  This  is  the  best  "Little  Help"  we 
have  found  for  a  long  time.  I  am  a  little  girl  1 1  years 
old.  I  like  the  National  Magazine  better  than  any  I 
ever  saw. 


MORE     LEMON     HINTS 
By    SADIE    VAN    TYNE 

Chelsea,  Michigan 

Hot  lemonade,  taken  at  bed-time,  is  good  to  break 
up  a  cold. 

The  juice  of  one  lemon  in  a  goblet  of  water,  without 
any  sugar,  taken  at  least  half  an  hour  before  breakfast, 
will  clear  a  bilious  system  with  great  efficiency. 
Lemon  juice  will  also  take  out  mildew. 

CELERY     LEAVES 

By    EVELYN    PARKES    ADAMS 
McMinnville,  Oregon 

To  have  always  on  hand  a  supply  of  celery  leaves 
for  soups,  trim  off  the  green  leaves  before  serving  the 
celery,  mash,  drain  and  place  in  a  warm  oven  for  a  few 
hours ;  when  thoroughly  dry,  crush  them  and  put  in  a 
tin  can  with  cover.  A  pinch  of  this  powder  gives  a 
more  delicate  celery  flavor  to  pressed  meat  and  stews 
than  does  celery  seed. 

REMEDIES    FOR    BURNS 

By    MRS.    SARA    B.    COMBS 
Fowler,   Colorado 

When  badly  burned  by  concentrated  lye,  bathe  the 
part  at  once  with  vinegar.  In  a  second,  relief  is  ob- 
tained, and  pain  is  almost  banished.  Syrup  or  molas- 
ses applied  to  a  bum  from  fire,  is  soothing  as  well  as 
excluding  air.  While  common  soda  is  good  for  ex- 
cluding air,  it  does  not  give  the  relief  that  syrup  does. 


INEXPENSIVE   CLOTHES  RACKS 

By    MRS.    LEE    S.    GREEN 
Austin,  Texas 

Take  barrel  hoops  and  saw  each  in  three  equal  parts, 
then  wrap  with  clean  strips  of  cloth  and  tack  a  loop 
in  the  center  to  hang  up  by.  These  make  excellent 
racks  for  shirtwaists  and  skirts  to  keep  them  in  shape 
and  from  wrinkling. 

TO     DISPEL    SOUP     ODORS 

By    ELLEN    BATTERSBY 
San  Antonio,  Texas 

The  disagreeable  odors  arising  from  the  boiling  vega- 
tables  can  be  easily  dispelled  by  adding  a  crust  of  bread 
to  the  soup,  letting  it  float  on  top  of  the  other  ingredi- 
ents. 

TO     CLEAN     THE     CHIMNEY 

By    JOSEPHINE    PETTIGREW 
Bolckow,   Missouri 

Burn  all  potato  parings  in  the  stove,  and  the  flue 
will  never  light.  Our  flue  was  always  a  torment  to  us 
until  we  learned  this  simple  remedy. 


CURE     FOR     EAR-ACHE 

By    JEANNETTE    BEDDOME 

Minnedosa,  Manitoba 

Place  a  stem  of  the  pipe  against  the  patient's  ear,  put- 
ting a  thin  rag  over  the  bowl  to  prevent  ashes  scattering 
and  blow  the  smoke  into  the  ear.  A  number  of  our 
men  use  a  pipe,  yet  we  keep  one  in  the  house  solely  for 
the  ear-ache  cure. 


THE  HOME 


683 


CARE    OF    NEW    BOOKS 

By    MARY    NACHTRIEB 

Cascade,  Iowa 

Lay  the  book  back  downward,  on  a  table  or  smooth 
surface.  Press  the  front  cover  down  until  it  touches 
the  table,  then  the  back  cover,  holding  the  leaves  in 
one  hand  while  you  open  a  few  of  the  leaves  at  the 
back,  then  at  the  front,  alternately  pressing  them  down 
gently  until  you  reach  the  center  of  the  volume.  This 
should  be  done  two  or  three  times.  Never  open  a  book 
violently  nor  bend  back  the  covers.  It  is  liable  not 
only  to  break  the  back  but  to  loosen  the  leaves. 

CURES     FOR    HICCOUGHS 

By    MRS.    L.    W.    BACON 

Valley  Springs,  California         • 

Give  one  tablespoonful  pure  lemon  juice  at  frequent 
intervals,  as  required ;  it  has  cured  when  doctors  have 
despaired.  Another  cure  is  to  order  the  sufferer  to 
keep  his  tongue  out  of  his  mouth  to  judge  of  his  con- 
dition, and  not  to  withdraw  it  until  directed  so  to  do. 


A    MISCELLANY    BOOK 

By    MRS.    GERTRUDE    JAY 
Creston,  Iowa 

A  scrap  book  of  clippings  from  newspapers  and 
magazines  will  be  found  of  great  help  to  the  house- 
keeper. These  may  be  recipes,  little  helps  for  the 
household,  or  anything  along  a  literary  line.  The 
housekeeper  of  modern  life  has  use  for  all,  and  if  easily 
accessible,  will  be  "  just  the  thing  "  very  frequently. 

MENDING    STOCKINGS 

By    LELA    MOORE    SINNOTT 
Randalia,  Iowa 

The  stockings  which  I  buy  for  my  six-year-old  are 
much  too  long.  I  cut  them  off,  at  the  top,  to  the  right 
length  and  lay  the  upper  parts  away.  When  he  has 
worn  out  the  knees,  as  boys  are  apt  to  do,  I  sew  on 
this  new  top  and  have  another  pair  of  stockings  as 
good  as  the  first,  as  one  pair  of  feet  will  outwear  sev- 
eral legs. 

WINTER    CARE    OF    BEETS 

By    H.    S.    KOKEN 

Nora,  Nebraska 

In  the  Fall  we  put  our  beets  in  a  barrel  in  the  cellar 
with  alternate  layers  of  earth  and  beets  so  they  will 
keep  in  fine  condition.  Then  any  time  during  the 
Winter  when  work  is  not  so  pressing,  and  as  fast  as 
the  fruit  jars  become  empty,  we  can  fill  them  with 
beets  and  have  them  as  we  want  them ;  they  are  excel- 
lent when  canned. 

FRUIT    AND    BAG    SHOWERS 

By    MRS.    F.    B.    MAXWELL 
River  Forest,  Illinois 

Like  "  Linen  Showers,"  the  "  Fruit  Shower  "  is  very 
acceptable  to  the  prospective  bride.  Held  at  the  home 
of  one  of  her  girl  friends,  each  one  brings  a  can  of  fruit 
or  a  couple  glasses  of  jelly.  In  this  way  the  bride  has 
quite  a  start  in  fruit,  without  taxing  anyone  much. 
The  "  Bag  Shower  "  is  the  same  plan,  each  one  making 
a  bag  of  some  kind,  from  a  laundry  bag  to  a  dainty 
chamois  bag  for  jewels. 


COLD-STARCHED     IRONING 

By    MRS.    M.    S.    AINSLIE 
Cypress,  Texas 

Rub  the  starched  pieces  with  a  rag  that  has  been 
wrung  out  of  water  that  contains  a  few  drops  of  kero- 
sene. You  will  be  surprised  how  much  easier  they 
iron.  It  will  also  give  a  nice  gloss. 

MEAT-PIE    CRUST 

By    MRS.    J.    C.    R. 
Alliance,  Nebraska 

If,  in  making  meat  pie,  the  crust  be  left  thin  enough 
to  drop  from  a  spoon  instead  of  rolling,  better  results 
will  be  obtained. 

A    HELP     FOR    THE    BOYS 

By    MRS.    ALMON    GOODWIN 
Fairfield,  Maine 

Let  the  mothers  try  knitting  or  crocheting  a  loop  on 
the  wrist  of  each  mitten  to  hang  it  up  by. 


By 


'A    DRESSMAKER1 
Ozark,  Missouri 


To  find  the  right  side  of  woolen  dress  goods  of 
smooth  surface,  hold  the  goods  level  with  the  eyes  be- 
tween them  and  the  light,  if  it  looks  fuzzy  it  is  the 
wrong  side.  The  right  side  is  always  singed  smooth 
by  the  manufacturer. 

WHEN    WASHING    MUSLINS 

By    MISS    ELLEN    PRITCHARD 
Laurier,  Ontario 

To  keep  delicate  colored  prints  and  muslins  from 
fading  when  washing  soak  in  salt  water  for  half  of  an 
hour. 

A    LAMP    HINT 

By    MRS.    A.    D.    SCAMMELL 
Bellevue,  Ohio 

Try  blotting  paper  in  the  holder  under  a  bracket  or 
hanging-lamp,  and  the  oil  will  go  no  further. 


By    MRS.    T.    M.    CLEVELAND 
Lewiston,  Maine 

Persons  suffering  from  asthma  may  be  greatly  re- 
lieved by  smoking  sumac.  Gather  the  green  leaves 
while  fresh,  dry  them,  and  smoke  in  a  common  clay  pipe. 

MAKING   DRAWN-WORK  COLLARS 

By    NINA    BIRCH 
Xenia,  Ohio 

I  will  tell  you  my  way  of  making  the  drawn-work 
collars  now  so  popular.  Do  not  use  embroidery  hoops; 
instead,  after  pulling  the  threads  I  sew  firmly  to  a 
piece  of  stiff  cardboard,  then  cut  away  the  card  from 
beneath  the  threads  and  you  have  it  ready  for  work 
and  firmly  and  equally  stretched.  Do  not  remove 
until  entirely  finished  and  your  collar  will  be  perfect 


SONNETS    FROM    HENRY     D.    MUIR'S 

NEWEST    VOLUME 

i 

ANIMALISM 

To  be  a  dog,   a  free  and    careless  rover, 

Low-crouching  in    the    daisy-dotted  field; 
Down  grasses  lush    to   roll    over  and  over 

Catching  a  thousand    odors  —  late  unsealed 
By   Nature,  in  her    boundless    prodigence; 

To  leave  the  trim    and   measured  paths  of  habit 
For  one  wild  hour-long    revelry  in  sense; 

To  splash  in  stream;    through   brush  to  course   the   rabbit; 
To  take    with   bounteous    chest  the   sun-cleansed  air! 

For  is   this  life   I    live?    these    pulseless  years! 
These  starving  hours   that   pine   for  kindlier  fare! 

These  bounded  days  of   narrow  hopes  and  fears! 
A  baser,  grosser  life   than    my  poor  dog 
E'en  dreams  of,  —  at  my   feet  stretched  like  a  log. 

II 

CHICAGO 

With  those  who  blame   their  gods  for  some  ill  chance 

And  rail  unwittingly    along   the  dark, 

Stood   I,   Chicago!    and   thy   faults  were  stark 
Before  mine   eyes  —  thy  giant   arrogance, 
The  lewdness   of  thy   postures   and   thy  glance, 

Thy  brutal,   stolid  creed,   thy   sordid  arc 

Of  widening   unrest,  —  these   did    I   mark ; 
And  hurled   at  thee  my  curse,   as    poisoned  lance. 
But  when,   on  distant  levels  of  the  plain, 

I    mused   amid   the  snapping   mongrel  crew, 
And  saw   thee   bend   not,    for  complete   disdain, 

One   mighty  sinew   from  its   purpose   true, 

But  rearing  proud   and   stalwart, —  then    I  knew 
Thy  face  in  truth  ;    I   was  thy  son  again. 


AOTE 


COMMENT 


By     FRANK     PUTNAM 


KANSAS  reader  of   the   National 
sends  me  an  excited  letter  denounc- 


ing   the   Magazine  for    what  he  terms 
"your  (my)  pert  paragraph  announcing 


NOTE  AND  COMMENT 


685 


your  determination  not  to  join  the 
"Anvil  Chorus'  of  American  magazines 
protesting  against  divers  grave  public 
abuses  of  private  privileges,"  etc.,  etc. 
He  adds  sadly  that  he  is  now  convinced 
the  National  Magazine  "means  to  shirk 
its  sacred  duty  as  a  leader  in  the  forma- 
tion of  right  public  opinion." 

By  which,  I  suppose,  he  means  that 
we  show  no  disposition  to  buck  up  and 
fight  for  his  particular  set  of  "right 
public  opinions." 

Now,  to  state  a  plain  fact  simply, 
I  feel  no  call  to  set  up  an  Oracle 
Shop,  not  even  here  at  the  crossing  of 
Culture  street  and  Piety  avenue,  in 
Boston.  Possibly  Mr.  McClure's  readers 
needed  to  be  told  that  John  D.  Rocke- 
feller was  a  highwayman.  I  never 
doubted  for  a  minute  that  every  man, 
woman  and  child  in  the  National  family 
knew  it  without  being  told.  It  may  be 
that  the  readers  of  Everybody's  didn't 
know  that  the  grisly  vultures  of  Wall 
street  and  all  the  little  Wall  streets  ARE 
grisly  vultures,  but  our  folks  knew.  Our 
folks  knew  that  Rhode  Island  elections 
were  corrupt — they  read  what  Governor 
Garvin  said  about  it  in  the  papers. 
They  know,  too,  that  every  time  a  pure 
food  bill  shows  its  head  in  congress  the 
'cowardly  scoundrels  who  thrive  by  poi- 
soning us  with  bogus  foods,  and  bogus 
medicines,  and  bogus  drinks,  find  repre- 
sentatives and  senators  cheap  enough 
and  mean  enough  and  contemptible 
enough  to  stab  the  said  bill  to  death  in 
the  secret  dark  of  committee  rooms;  or 
to  waylay  it  and  leave  it  to  lie,  tied  hand 
and  foot,  in  the  files,  so  that  it  need  not 
come  to  an  open  ballot,  which  would 
show  us  just  who  handled  the  dagger 
and  tied  the  ropes,  and  would  give 
us  a  chance  to  nail  the  miscreants  at 
.the  polls. 

Our  folks  know  that  if  the  railroads 
could  be  run  by  just  plain  railroad  men, 
there  would  be  mighty  little  kicking 
about  either  accidents  or  unfair  rates. 


They  know  that  railroad  men  —  the  men 
who  really  manage  tracks  and  trains  and 
do  the  work  and  the  business  —  are 
mostly  keen,  candid,  square  men,  not 
overly  anxious  to  gouge  anybody  for 
private  gain.  Our  folks  know  these 
things  about  the  railroad  men,  because 
a  lot  of  our  folks  ARE  railroad  men,  and 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  railroad  men. 
They  know,  moreover,  that  the  big  steel 
highways  are  NOT  left  to  be  managed  by 
real  railroad  men,  but  have  latterly  fallen 
under  the  evil  and  corrupt  control  of  the 
grisly  vultures  of  Wall  street,  so  that 
their  stocks — once  a  secure  investment 
for  small  savings — are  now  become  as 
treacherous  as  a  poker  deck  in  the  hands 
of  a  card  sharp.  Our  folks  have  seen 
how  the  stocks  of  most  of  the  railroads 
have  been  inflated  and  unloaded  on  the 
public,  and  scared  or  juggled  down  and 
bought  in  again  until,  finally,  there  is 
hardly  a  single  steam  highway  that  isn't 
trying  to  earn  dividends  on  stocks  and 
bonds  that  represent  several  times  the 
real  value  of  the  property — an  unjust  tax 
on  the  traveler  and  the  shipper,  an 
unjust  and  ungrateful  job  put  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  real  railroad  men  that 
have  it  to  do — a  situation  that  nets  noth- 
ing to  anybody  but  the  big  gamblers  and 
that  grows  worse  instead  of  better  with 
every  year  that  passes. 

Our  folks  know  these  things — and  they 
know  that  they  voted  for  Roosevelt,  or 
most  of  them  did,  including  a  good  many 
democrats  and  socialists  and  prohibs  and 
antis  —  because  they  had  a  hunch  that 
Roosevelt  would  try  to  get  decenter, 
honester  conditions  to  govern  in  the 
matter  of  the  steel  highways — which  are 
just  as  essentially  PUBLIC  highways, 
and  just  as  necessary  to  the  life  of  the 
people,  as  the  publicly  owned  dirt  high- 
ways. And,  now  that  our  folks  see 
President  Roosevelt  urging  congress  to 
pass  a  law  that  will  create  a  federal  rail- 
road board  with  power  to  stop  some  of 
the  dirty  juggling  and  to  punish  the  jug- 


686 


NATIONAL    MAGAZINE   for  MARCH,    1905 


glers,  they  are  with  him  strong,  and  they 
are  with  Mr.  Bryan  and  Mr.  Williams 
and  whoever  else  on  the  democratic  side 
has  brains  enough  and  courage  enough 
to  help  forward  the  president's  plans. 

Our  folks  remember  that  there  was 
a  time  when  all  the  highways  were  pri- 
vate ways,  and  that  some  private  indi- 
vidual had  leave  to  take  toll  of  you 
whichever  way  you  went.  People  stood 
that  for  a  good  while,  but  finally  they 
got  tired  of  it  and  decided  to  throw  the 
highways  open  to  all  comers  on  the  same 
terms.  One  of  these  days  we  will  do 
this  with  our  steel  highways.  Presi- 
dent Roosevelt  evidently  doesn't  think 
the  country  is  ready  for  it,  or,  instead 
of  asking  for  a  rate  commission  he  would 
be  asking  for  a  government  ownership 
commission.  The  big  railroad  manipu- 
lators evidently  don't  believe  the  people 
know  enough  to  come  in  out  of  the  wet, 
or  they  would  be  mighty  glad  to  com- 
promise gracefully  on  a  real  rate  com- 
mission, with  real  powers.  Mr.  Bryan, 
on  the  other  hand,  representing  some- 
thing less  than  one-half  of  the  voting 
population,  and  Mr.  Debs,  with  his 
half-million  rapidly  growing  to  a  million, 
and  some  other  considerable  fractions  of 
the  people,  evidently  DO  believe  we  are 
ready  for  public  ownership  of  the  steel 
highways. 

Mr.  Bryan  took  it  up  some  months 
ago,  offering,  for  a  starter,  the  proposi- 
tion that  the  states  should  individually 
own  and  operate  the  railways  within 
their  rerpective  borders.  I  pointed  out 
at  that  time  the  absurdity  of  such  a  plan 
—its  attempt  co  icsolve  organization  back 
into  chacs— and  I  buppc  e  otL-r  critics 
contributed  to  Mr.  Bryai/s  education  on 
this  point,  for  he  has  now  progressed  so 
far  as  to  say  ihat  the  main  lines — the 
trunk  lines — should  be  owned  and  opera- 
ted by  the  national  government,  while 
the  state  governments  look  out  for  the 


smaller  lines — the  feeders.  At  this  rate 
of  advancement,  Mr.  Bryan  ought  to 
catch  up  with  the  main  federal  ownership 
party  within  six  months,  and  when  he 
does,  I  suppose  he  will  take  the  seat  at 
the  head  of  the  table — the  way  these 
pesky  orators  who  arrive  late  have  of 
persuading  us  that  THEY  really  mapped 
out  the  path  we  arrived  by.  But  I  per- 
sonally don't  care  a  rap  who  rides  into 
office  on  the  new  movement,  if  he  is  as 
good  a  man  as  Bryan,  or  Debs,  or  Wil- 
liams, or  Roosevelt,  or  Joe  Folk,  or  La- 
follette  the  new  senator  from  Wisconsin, 
or  Governor  Douglas  of  Massachusetts — 
(and  there,  by  the  way,  is  a  man  that 
will  bear  watching  when  his  party  wants 
presidential  timber) — or  Governor  Den- 
een  of  Illinois  or  Congressman  Hearst. 

My  guess  is  that  government  owner- 
ship of  the  railways  will  be  the  leading 
issue  of  the  next  presidential  campaign. 
The  only  thing  that  might  keep  it  from 
being  so  would  be  the  creation,  mean- 
while, of  a  rate  commission  that  should 
actually  abolish  the  trust  graft  of  secret 
rebates.  And  there  is  just  about  one 
chance  in  ten  millions  that  the  present 
congress,  or  its  immediate  successor, 
will  enact  any  such  law.  It  might  be 
done,  if  the  big  railroad  manipulators 
were  as  smart  as  they  think  they  are — 
smart  enough  to  yield  a  part  to  save 
a  part.  But  it  isn't  the  nature  of  hogs  or 
men,  once  they  plant  their  feet  in  the 
trough,  to  get  out  until  they  are 
kicked  out.  These  big  fellows  whose 
paid  lobbyists  swarm  in  the  Washington 
hotels  this  Winter  will  kill  the  goose  that 
lays  their  golden  egg.  There  is  that  flaw 
in  human  nature.  It  is  a  saving  flaw, 
for  without  it  despots  would  seldom 
twist  the  screw  just  that  one  last  turn 
that  rouses  man  to  revolt  and  progress. 

(It  certainly  does  beat  all  how 
those  peppery  Kansas  people  make  a 
lazy  man  sit  up  and  think,  now  and  then.) 


ONE     OF     THE      EXCLUSIVE     DESIGNS     OF     THE     A.      B.     CHASE      PIANO 


THE   A.    B.    CHASE    PIANO    IN    OUR    HOME 


WHEN  the  National  Magazine  came 
to  its  new  home  in  the  Dorchester 
District,  it  seemed  necessary  for  me  to 
take  up  my  residence  there,  too,  in  order 
to  be  near  the  office.  While  we  were 
moving  we  were  some  weeks  without 
a  piano,  and  until  then  I  never  realized 
just  what  it  meant  merely  to  have  a  piano 
in  the  house,  even  though  it  may 
remain  silent  for  months.  For  the  first 
few  days  we  came  and  went  to  get  "set- 
tled," and  there  was  little  in  those  rooms 
to  afford  food  for  thought  except  the 
wall  paper.  It  was  at  this  time  that 
I  acquired  the  habit  of  lying  back  in  my 
rocking  chair  to  smoke  and  gaze  at  the 
walls  of  the  room,  the  dining-room  being 
usually  my  happy  hunting  ground;  and  I 
had  not  studied  that  paper  long  before 
I  suddenly  imagined  myself  spirited  from 
this  gaslit  scene  of  confusion  among  my 
household  gods  to  beautiful  Florence. 
And  why?  Because  on  our  dining-room 
wall  is  depicted  a  mingling  of  fleur-de- 
lis  and  the  regal  coat  of  arms  of  the 


De  Medici  family.  These  flowers  were 
adopted  as  part  of  the  emblazonment  oi 
this  royal  family  because  in  a  critical 
battle  a  maid  appeared  crowned  with 
the  blossoms  and  led  the  troops  on  to 
victory,  deciding  the  fortunes  of  the  day 
in  favor  of  the  Florentines. 

On  our  wall  paper  also  appears  three 
gilt  balls,  which  might  denote  the  occu- 
pation of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  who 
brought  prosperity  to  Florence  by  loaning 
money  at  the  lowest  possible  rate  of  in- 
terest. He  was  also  an  apothecary,  and 
the  sign  of  the  three  balls  was  adopted  to 
distinguish  the  Medici  loan  shop  from 
all  others.  My  meditations  on  Lorenzo, 
ancient  Florence  and  the  flower-crowned 
maid  with  her  wreath  of  fleur-de-lis 
always  brought  me  back  sooner  or  later 
to  the  fact  that  "Music,  heavenly  maid,'" 
had  not  accompanied  us  to  our  new 
home,  for  we  were  still  without  a  piano. 

Some  years  ago,  on  one  of  my  first 
visits  to  the  White  House,  I  saw  there 
a  piano  that  caught  my  fancy,  I  always. 


687 


THE    A.    B.    CHASE    PIANO    IN    OUR    HOME 


remembered  the  make,  and  felt  a  sense 
of  personal  acquaintance  with  that  piano 
such  as  I  have  felt  for  no  other.  This 
particular  instrument  was  owned  by 
William  McKinley,  and  when  I  heard 
its  music  I  thought  there  was  something 
in  the  ringing  tones  that  seemed  in 
consonance  with  the  manhood  of  the 
president,  as  he  stood  and  sang,  in  his 
mellow,  rich  bass,  the  old  familiar 
hymns.  Again  I  well  recall  how  he 
clapped  his  hands  when  the  strains 
"Louisiana  Lou"  reverberated  along  the 
historic  corridors  of  the  White  House. 

It  may  have  been  a  matter  of  senti- 
ment, but  when  I  went  in  search  of 
a  new  piano  I  determined  that  it  must 
be  just  such  a  one  as  had  charmed  me 
on  those  memorable  occasions  with 
President  McKinley  and  his  family.  I 
felt  that  if  I  must  discard  the  old  instru- 
ment that  had  been  a  good  friend  for 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  I  could  replace  it 
with  nothing  but  an  A.  B.  Chase  piano. 

I  may  say  right  here  that  I  think  we 
are  too  much  bound  by  narrow  prejudice 
in  judging  that,  in  order  to  have  some- 
thing good,  we  must  always  go  to  that 
particular  spot  where  a  certain  good 
thing  has  always  been  produced  in  years 
past.  I  think  this  idea  frequently  pre- 
vents our  getting  the  best,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  we  persist  in  looking  in  only 
one  direction  for  it.  Now,  I  reasoned 
with  myself,  why  is  it  not  possible  for 
the  A.  B.  Chase  Company  to  produce 
as  good  an  article  as  any,  provided  they 
put  the  material,  the  art,  the  knowledge, 
the  devotion  and  enthusiasm  into  their 
work  that  have  been  put  in  by  the  old, 
tried  and  long-established  firms? 

Well,  the  new  piano  arrived  while  I 
was  in  St.  Louis,  and  it  stood  for  some 
months  in  the  box  at  our  place  of  busi- 
ness. I  had  decided  that  the  piano 
should  enter  our  home  as  a  Christmas 
gift  to  the  lady  who  presides  in  that 
humble  abode.  It  was  necessary  to  get 
the  piano  onto  the  second  floor  of  the 
house,  and  this  required  careful  manipu- 


lation as  the  windows  in  the  broad  front 
bay  of  the  room  destined  for  the  piano 
are  decidedly  narrow.  The  piano  movers 
were  summoned,  but  it  was  somewhat 
late  before  they  come  around  to  do  their 
work.  The  mistress  of  the  house  was 
absent  making  a  call — well  timed,  you 
see  —  when  the  men  arrived,  who  with 
silent,  careful  tread  commenced  their 
work.  Soon  the  piano  hung  suspended 
— like  Mahomet's  coffin  —  'twixt  earth 
and  heaven,  in  the  evening  air,  a  mys- 
terious visitor  seeking  entrance.  For 
some  time  I  was  beset  by  anxious  doubts 
regarding  the  size  of  the  window;  but 
the  piano  came  in,  with  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  to  spare.  Once  inside,  I  found  a 
place  for  it,  where  I  thought  it  ought  to 
go,  pending  the  decision  of  the  Higher 
Authority  in  our  menage. 

It  was  dusk,  and  I  tip-toed  softly 
into  the  room,  after  I  had  dismissed 
the  men,  and  began  to  pick  out  a 
note  here  and  there.  The  treble  was 
sweet  and  clear  as  the  "pipe  of  half 
awakened  birds;"  the  bass,  played 
softly  in  the  twilight,  seemed  like 
the  rustle  of  the  wind  through  the 
tree  tops,  or  across  a  field  of  waving 
wheat;  and  as  I  played  on  and  gathered 
the  chords  together,  I  was  reminded  of 
the  musical  booming  of  the  sea  in  some 
distant  cave.  Then  as  the  darkness  deep- 
ened, the  first  air  I  played  on  the  piano 
was  "Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  which,  with 
scarcely  a  change  of  chord — so  it  seemed 
— glided  into  "Nearer  My  God  to  Thee," 
for  it  appeared  most  appropriate 
that  the  first  melodies  played  on  this 
piano  that  is  a  counterpart  of  the  one 
William  McKinley  possessed  should  be 
those  two  hymns  that  he  loved  and  that 
are  entwined  with  sacred  memories  of 
years  ago. 

When  I  say  that  this  A.  B.  Chase  piano 
has  the  sweetest,  fullest,  ringing  tones, 
and  that  one  note  blends  most  exquisitely 
into  another  with  that  subtle  blending  so 
difficult  to  find  in  any  piano,  which  is  only 
heard  in  perfection  in  the  human  voice, 


688 


THE    A.    B.    CHASE    PIANO    IN    OUR    HOME 


I  am  stating  nothing  but  the  plain  truth. 
Every  note  of  the  several  octaves  of  that 
keyboard  responded  true  to  the  touch 
with  a  delicate  quajity  of  tone  that  must 
win  for  this  piano  an  enduring  place  in 
our  affections.  I  considered  this  the 
more  remarkable  because  it  had  been  for 
months  past  in  storage.  And  the  case 
—well,  let's  turn  on  the  lights. 

It  is  Christmas  Eve  in  our  home.  The 
lady  of  the  house  has  returned,  and  I 
lead  her  into  the  parlor,  where  I  had 
turned  up  the  gas  —  the  piano  stands 
open.  Here  and  there  the  holly  glis- 
tens, and  in  one  spot  is  the  white  gleam 
of  the  berries  of  the  sacred  and  historic 
mistletoe  —  those  berries  glisten  for  a 
moment.  We  come  to  the  beautiful 
mahogany  inmate  with  its  burnished  sur- 
face and  panels  inserted  across  the  front, 
whereon  the  surface  is  dull  finished 
.and  throws  up  in  relief  the  carved 
spray  with  which  each  panel  is  deco- 
rated. On  the  center  panel,  above  the 
middle  of  the  keyboard  is  carved  an 
ancient  lyre. 

What  did  the  recipient  of  the  gift  say? 
Well,  I  won't  tell,  but  I  will  say  that 
it  was  the  first  article  of  furniture  ever 
selected  alone  and  unaided  by  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house  in  which  no  flaw  could 
be  found.  That  piano  was  exactly  right 
in  the  eyes  of  a  certain  housekeeper. 
But  I  had  better  draw  a  veil,  for  we  all 
know  what  it  means  to  offer  a  gift  that 
exactly  meets  the  wants  of  our  loved  ones 
and  is  fully  appreciated.  There  was  a 
quiet  half-hour  in  our  home  that  will 
ever  be  remembered  in  connection  with 
our  A.  B.  Chase  piano. 

I  thought  perhaps  the  new  piano 
might  be  like  a  new  toy  at  Christmas 


time  to  the  girls  and  boys.  Next  day 
the  paint  wears  off  and  the  horn  gives 
forth  only  a  hoarse  echo  of  its  sonorous 
Christmas  Day  tone.  But  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  I  had  arisen  and  had  my 
hearty  laugh  over  some  joke,  ancient  or 
otherwise,  I  went  again  to  the  piano  to 
play  something  —  or  rather  to  play  at 
something— for  I  play  a  few  old  standard 
airs  that  I  am  sure  all  my  neighbors  know 
by  this  time.  There  is  "The  Jolly  Far- 
mer," by  Schuman,  which  I  have  been 
able  to  play  for  the  last  seventeen  years ; 
there  are  snatches  of  seventeen  operas, 
none  of  which  would  stand  the  test  of  the 
musical  score,  and  about  seventeen  meas- 
ures from  seventeen  rag-time  songs  that 
I  have  heard  in  the  last  seventeen  years 
— you  see  seventeen  is  a  magic  number 
with  me  so  far  as  the  piano  is  concerned. 
I  must  be  unconsciously  going  back  to 
the  old  Arabian  scale  of  seventeen  notes, 
for  which  we  have  substituted  our  present 
arbitrary  scale,  the  latter,  by  the  way,  has 
been  quite  hard  enough  for  me.  I 
always  choose  the  easiest  setting  of  a 
piece,  and  greatly  prefer  flats.  A  piece 
in  two  or  three  sharps  staggers  me,  where 
one  in  four  or  five  flats  is  easy.  I  am 
far  from  a  musical  genius,  as  I  have 
played  just  enough  Beethoven  to  know 
how  to  pronounce  his  name,  and  Gounod 
is  beyond  me.  Dear  old  Mendelssohn  I 
love,  and  Mozart;  for  these  sweet,  tune- 
ful masters  I  think  the  A.  B.  Chase 
piano  was  made  especially.  So  I  may 
as  well  confess  that  my  pet  in  the 
household  is  not  a  cat,  a  dog,  or  a 
canary,  but  the  piano,  which  I  feel 
disposed  to  caress  in  the  same  manner 
that  I  might  a  living  pet  whenever  I 
come  into  its  vicinity. 


POLO       AT       THE      COUNTRY       CLUB,      BROADMOOR,      COLORADO       SPRINGS,      COLORADO 


By    HENRY    RUSSELL    WRAY 

Secretary  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce 


THINK  of  a  city  which  enjoys  317 
clear  days  annually  and  220  abso- 
lutely cloudless  days.  Such  a  statement 
staggers  the  average  reader,  if  he  has 
never  visited  Colorado  Springs,  Colo- 
rado, the  wonderful  city  of  the  Rockies, 
which  holds,  through  nature's  liberality, 
a  monopoly  on  pure  air  and  almost  per- 
petual sunshine. 

Close  to  the  foot  of  the  famous  Pike's 
Peak  is  this  community  which  has  at- 
tracted the  attention  and  admiration  of 
the  traveler,  the  home-seeker,  and  the 
invalid.  Its  inhabitants  are  essentially 
cosmopolitan,  for  they  come  from  the 
cultured  classes  of  the  United  States  and 
Europe. 

Nature,  at  Colorado  Springs,  has  been 
lavish  with  her  choice  possessions  of 


pure  air  and  mountain  spring  water,  life- 
giving  sunshine  and  diversified  scenery 
of  unsurpassed  grandeur.  Man  has 
taken  advantage  of  these  gifts  by  build- 
ing in  their  midst  a  city  whose  reputa- 
tion as  a  health  and  pleasure  resort  is 
second  to  none  in  the  world.  Its  beau- 
tiful homes,  wide  avenues,  modern  trol- 
ley system,  cool  nights  in  Summer, 
sunny  days  in  Winter,  drives  and  trails, 
parks,  porous  soil,  absence  of  mud  and 
slush,  make  it  a  veritable  Mecca. 

By  trolley  ride,  twenty-five  minutes 
from  the  heart  of  the  city,  one  reaches 
the  healing  springs  of  Manitou.  A  ride 
of  twenty  minutes  in  another  direction 
brings  the  visitor  to  the  canons,  caves, 
caverns  and  mountain  waterfalls,  of  great 
grandeur.  The  trips  by  mountain  rail- 


691 


COLORADO    SPRINGS 


NEW    COUNTY    COURT    HOUSE,    COST    $375,000,   AT 
COLORADO    SPRINGS 

ways  are    not  surpassed    in  beauty  of 
scenery  in  all  Europe. 


COLORADO    SPRING'S   NEW    CITY  HALL,  UNDER 
CONSTRUCTION  IN  IQOS,  COSTING  $200,000 


the  canons  and  peculiar  formations  be- 
tween  Colorado   Springs    and    Cripple 


LAKE 


MONUMENT      VALLEY      PARK      (COST     $750,000)      COLORADO      SPRINGS 


No  doubt  the  grandest  and  longest  to 
be  remembered  sights  in  Colorado  are 


Creek.      One  of    the  most  stupendous 
pieces  of  railroad  engineering  in  modern 


M.      C.      A.     BUILDING,    COST      $IOO,OOO, 
COLORADO     SPRINGS 


BROADMOOR    CASINO,    A     SUBURB    OF    COLORADO 
SPRINGS 


692 


COLORADO    SPRINGS 


times  is  the  "Short  Line"  running  from 
Colorado  Springs  through  the  moun- 
tains to  the  heart  of  the  gold  district. 
Last  year  this  road  handled  ninety  per 
cent,  of  trans-continental  traffic  as  the 
gold  fields  and  the  grand  scenery  along 
the  route  is  of  national  reputation.  En- 
route  the  tourist  can  view  at  close  range 
Point  Sublime,  Cheyenne  Canon,  Silver 


patients  are  living  and  engaged  in  busi- 
ness in  every  city  and  village  of  the 
state,  while  others  have  returned  to  their 
eastern  homes  absolutely  well,  with  no 
sign  of  any  return  of  the  trouble.  It  is 
not  a  question  of  temporary  amelioration 
or  a  soothing  of  symptoms,  but  one  of 
permanent  and  positive  cure. 

Now  one  or  two  words  regarding  the 


BRIDAL     TRAIL    IN     BEAR     CREEK     CANON,     AND     SHORT     LINE     RAILWAY,    COLORADO 

SPRINGS 


Cascade  Falls,  St.  Peter's  Dome  and 
many  other  wonder  spots.  From  the 
start  the  road  leads  a  winding  course 
toward  the  summits  of  the  mountains  till 
it  reaches  a  point  10,000  feet  high  and 
is  then  but  three  miles  from  Cripple 
Creek.  No  tourist  thinks  of  passing  this 
wonderful  scenic  trip  of  forty-six  miles 
without  a  visit, 

Selected  cases  of  pulmonary  tuber- 
culosis sent  to  Colorado  Springs  and  its 
vicinity  have  been  cured,  and  many  such 


Winter  climate  of  Colorado.  A  promi- 
nent eastern  businessman  recently  said: 
"I  used  to  send  my  wornout  men  to 
the  South  to  recuperate.  In  late  years 
experience  has  taught  me  to  send  them 
to  the  Colorado  mountains,  Summer  or 
Winter — and  in  a  total  of  200  cases  there 
has  not  been  one  that  has  not  been^uch 
benefited.  I  tried  it  for  three  months 
myself,  and  discovered  that  a  breath  of 
that  air  out  there  is  like  a  tonic  before 
breakfast.  About  the  first  thing  I  did 


693 


COLORADO    SPRINGS 


PIKE'S      PEAK      FROM     DALE      STREET,      COLORADO      SPRINGS  ;    PHOTOGRAPHED      WITH 

A      TELESCOPIC      LENS 


was  to  engage  a  rig,  and  through  Decem- 
ber, January  and  February  I  went  driv- 
ing practically  every  day.  What  people 
need  when  they  are  fagged  is  not  to  visit 
a  place  from  which  they  will  return  full 
of  malaria  and  generally  enervated,  but 
to  visit  a  place  where  they  will  be  stirred 
up,  built  up — a  place  from  which  they 
can  come  back  feeling  like  new  men." 

A  well  known  author,  after  spending 
five  Winters  in  the  Rockies  of  Colorado, 
wrote  as  follows  regarding  its  Winter 
climate: 

"Tell  a  man  that  you  have  spent  the 
Winter  in  the  Rockies,  and  he  will  look 
at  you  with  an  air  of  mingled  admiration 
and  pity,  the  tribute  paid  by  comfortable 
mediocrity  to  painful  heroism;  he  will 
think  of  you  as  you  think  of  Nansen  and 
Peary.  His  free-will  offering  of  admira- 
tion makes  it  the  harder  to  tell  him  the 
truth.  At  the  same  time  his  unwar- 
ranted pity  for  one  who  had  to  dwell  in 


"that  semi-arctic  region"  brings  back  to 
memory  the  real  pity  you  experienced  for 
him  last  Winter,  when  you  were  basking 
in  the  clear  sunshine  of  the  Rocky 
Mountain  region  and  reading  of  trans- 
portation tied  up  by  heavy  snowfalls, 
and  many  people  perishing  in  the  bitter 
cold  of  the  eastern  states." 

Too  often  the  Easterner  who  is  famil- 
iar with  the  Winters  of  Florida  and  the 
South  generally,  reads  an  account  in  the 
morning  paper  of  Colorado  being  under 
"six  inches  or  six  feet  of  snow.  Both 
statements  are  equally,  ignorantly  false 
and  grossly  misleading.  The  threshold 
of  the  Rockies  is  Colorado  Springs.  This 
city  is  situated  at  the  base  of  the  Rockies 
on  a  plateau  about  6,000  feet  above  sea 
level.  Towering  over  its  head,  and  pro-' 
tecting  it  from  the  north  and  west  winds, 
is  the  Frontier  Range,  crowned  by  the 
majestic  monument,  Pike's  Peak.  This 
range  rears  its  head  over  and  above  this 


694 


COLORADO    SPRINGS 


city  from  four  to  eight  thousand  feet. 
In  Winter  on  Pike's  Peak  there  may  be 
"six  inches  and  perhaps  six  feet  of 
snow,"  but  this  is  far  removed  from 
Colorado  Springs,  for  the  peak  is  eight 
miles  in  an  air  line,  and  the  storm  at  its 
summit  is  8,000  feet  above  the  city.  Of 
course  the  Associated  Press  reporter  can- 
not explain  in  detail  his  line,  "Six  feet 
of  snow  in  the  Rockies."  Now  in  hun- 
dreds of  cases  those  in  the  East  who 
read  this  dispatch  are  walking  through 
inches  of  slush  and  perhaps  thanking 
a  generous  Providence  they  do  not  have 
to  live  in  Colorado,  while  the  Colorado 
man  or  woman  is  basking  in  glorious 
sunshine  and  reveling  from  October  to 
March  in  such  sports  as  riding,-  driving, 


automobiling,  golf  (two  courses),  polo 
(two  fields),  tennis,  cricket,  wheeling, 
trap  -  shooting,  cross  -  country  riding, 
coaching,  coyote  and  jack  rabbit  hunt- 
ing. Truthfully  has  it  been  said:  "Com- 
paratively equable  temperature;  mini- 
mum precipitation;  low  humidity;  mini- 
mum wind  movement;  maximum  sun- 
shine. These  five  characteristics  belong 
to  the  Rocky  Mountain  climate  all  the 
year  'round,  in  Winter  as  truly  as  in 
Summer." 

The  old-timer  will  still  go  to  Florida 
and  California,  but  the  day  is  not  far 
distant  when  thousands  of  Easterners 
will  fly  from  the  rigors  of  the  Atlantic 
coast  climate  and  learn  of  the  wonders 
of  a  Colorado  Winter. 


CATHEDRAL    SPIRES     IN    THE    GARDEI 
GODS,    COLORADO    SPRINGS 


695 


LET'S 

TALK.  IT 

OVER. 


THIS  is  indeed  the  age  of  advertising. 
I  received  a  letter  the  other  day  ad- 
dressed as  below.  Now  this  is  not  a 
tribute  to  the  editor  of  the  National 
Magazine,  but  to  Advertising.  It  shows 
how  quickly  the  whole  American  people 
may  be  leavened  through  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  an  advertiser  who  starts  out  with 
determination  and  plans  for  publicity. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  fea- 
tures in  American 
magazine  and 
periodical  work 
today — the  power 
of  introducing  a 
person  or  an  arti- 
cle of  merchan- 
dise to  eighty  mil- 
lions of  people, 
and  standing  as  a 
medium  between 
them  until  they. 
are  thoroughly 
familiar  with  each 
other.  Advertis- 
ing never  fails  to  interest  the  American 
people,  provided  the  article  advertised 
has  usefulness  and  merit. 

It  may  interest  the  readers  of  the  Na- 
tonal  to  know  that  we  have  been  adver- 
tising the  magazine  during  the  past  few 
months  in  periodicals  whose  united  cir- 
culation approximates  ten  millions.  The 
results  are  beyond  all  expectations  and 
in  spite  of  our  increased  press  equip- 
ment, which  is  nearly  double  what  it 
was  a  year  ago,  we  have  to  crave  the 


TRADE   MARK   AND  U.  S.  A.   THE  ONLY  ADDRESS 


indulgence  and  patience  of  our  subscrib- 
ers for  an  occasional  delay  in  getting 
their  copies  of  the  magazine  to  them. 
We  have  now  overcome  this  delay. 

If  every  reader  of  the  National  knew 
how  much  it  means  to  a  publication  to 
have  them  "acknowledge"  the  introduc- 
tion to  advertisers  and  secure  the  prof- 
fered information  about  the  goods  adver- 
tised, I  think  each  one  would  sit  down 
and  write  to  every 
advertiser  as  soon 
as  he  appears.  A 
single  postage 
stamp  thus  spent 
will  do  us  and  our 
advertisers  thou- 
sands of  dollars 
worth  of  goods. 
This  is  the  age  of 
cooperation,  and 
we  know  that  our 
readers  under- 
stand that  results 
can  be  obtained 
are  obtainable  in 
making  a  special 


no 


this    way    that 
other.      We   are 

effort  to  edit  our  advertising  columns 
with  scrupulous  care,  and  invite  your 
criticism  if  you  find  in  them  something 
that  you  consider  not  exactly  right.  We 
want  no  advertising  in  the  National  that 
is  not  thoroughly  reliable  and  just  what 
it  is  represented  to  be. 

We  have  some  eloquent  letters  from 
advertisers.  One  writes  to  say  that  he 
received  178  replies  from  his  advertise- 


696 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


ment  in  our  columns  within  the  FIRST 
FIFTEEN  DAYS  from  the  mailing  of 
the  magazine,  and  the  character  of  the 
letters  received  by  our  advertisers  con- 
vinces them  that  we  have  the  right  kind 
of  readers. 

It  is  the  custom  of  publishing  informa- 
tion regarding  new  and  desirable  mer- 
chandise in  their  advertising  columns 
that  has  made  American  periodicals  what 
they  are  today,  and  the  advertiser  will 
continue  to  do  his  part  so  long  as  he 
can  have  evidence  from  the  magazine 
readers  that  his  advertisements  will  at 
least  be  carefully  read.  So  if  we  are 
reinforced  with  information  that  close 
attention  is  paid  to  this  department,  we 
shall  be  able  to  keep  on  improving  the 
quality  of  the  National  and  will  be  able 
to  offer  our  subscribers  a  constantly  bet- 
ter, bigger  and  more  attractive  magazine. 

There  is  a  tendency  among  some  of 
the  larger  publications  to  absorb  the 
whole  appropriation  of  an  enterprising 
concern,  and  in  this  way  'kill"  a  good 
advertiser  at  the  start,  for  he  will  prob- 
ablly  not  receive  the  desired  results  by 
placing  all  his  business  with  one  big 
magazine — even  though  that  one  be  the 
National.  Each  magazine  reaches  a 
constituency  different  in  large  part  from 
any  other,  and  in  order  to  procure  the 
best  results  the  general  advertiser's  ap- 
propriation should  be  spread  out  among 
several  desirable  mediums.. 

Let  us  make  this  year  memorable  for 
results  in  our  advertising  field.  We  have 
the  right  constituency:  we  have  the  peo- 
ple who  will  not  hesitate  to  write  and 
tell  us  when  they  think  we  have  a  good 
thing  in  our  pages — and  vice-versa.  As 
the  business  world  is  the  reservoir  from 
which  the  periodical  must  draw,  we 
earnestly  desire  the  cooperation  of  our 
readers  in  "taking  note"  of  our  "advs." 


AT  the  close  of  the  World's  Fair  at  St. 
Louis  there  seemed  no  more  appro- 
priate souvenir  to  bring  home  to  our  staff 


of  workers  than  Ingersoll  watches,  which 
were  handsomely  put  up  in  special 
souvenir  cases.  These  watches  not 
only  supply  our  force  with  the  standard 
time,  but  afford  a  suggestive  remem- 
brance of  the  great  Exposition;  as  in 
addition  to  a  colored  picture  of  the 
Cascades  on  the  face,  on  the  case,  are 
the  heads  of  Jefferson  and  Napoleon  in 
bas  relief. 

The  office  force  was  called  to  the 
"music  corner"  by  the  stirring  strains 
of  our  Simplex  Piano  Player  and  Emer- 
son Piano  and  each  worker  was  given 
a  watch,  presented  with  the  belief  that 
there  would  never  be  any  occasion  for 
tardiness  with  such  a  time  piece. 
This  incident  was  but  one  of  many  that 
serve  to  brighten  the  pages  in  the  life 
of  the  National  Magazine  work- 
rooms; for  the  older  the  magazine 
grows,  the  closer  seems  to  be  the  rela- 
tionship of  all  concerned.  The  first 
watch  was  presented  to  the  one  who  had 
been  the  longest  in  the  employ  of  the 
National.  Pledges  of  mutual  helpful- 
ness were  renewed. 

We  feel  that  the  same  spirit  that  exists 
in  the  home  office  is  also  to  be  found 
throughout  the  country  wherever  the 
magazine  finds  a  welcome  among  our 
appreciative  readers  and  subscribers. 
As  I  could  not  resist  reminding  our  force 
upon  this  occasion,  the  National  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  commercial  proposi- 
tion for  producing  printed  matter  upon 
white  paper,  to  be  sold  in  bulk  or  in 
monthly  instalments;  the  heart  and  soul 
of  the  workers  goes  into  every  page  and 
the  influence  radiates,  we  believe,  to 
our  readers,  reflecting  a  purpose  that 
is  worthy  of  the  attention  of  the  most 
earnest  and  enthusiastic.  Our  employees 
share  our  views,  and  it  is  truly  a  de- 
light to  look  into  the  faces  of  those  who 
are  working  with  us  and  realize  that  they 
grasp  the  purpose  behind  the  work. 

The  only  regret  that  the  National  feels 
in  connection  with  these  happy  half 
hours  of  rest  and  recreation  is  that  they 


697 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


cannot  be  participated  in  by  all  our  sub- 
scribers as  well,  for  all  have  a  share  in 
the  splendid  success  achieved  by  the 
magazine  at  the  World's  Fair.  The  way 
in  which  those  Ingersoll  watches  were 
received  was  certainly  a  tribute  to  the 
makers,  and  if  gifts  of  ten  times  the 
commercial  value  had  been  offered 
they  could  not  have  been  more  appreci- 
ated than  were  those  souvenirs  that 
furnish  a  remembrance  at  once  useful 
and  enduring,  of  the  greatest  Exposi- 
tion that  the  world  has  ever  witnessed. 


"THERE  are  few  more  interesting  per- 
sonalities in  the  publishing  world 
today  than  Mr.  William  C.  Hunter  of 
the  Star  Monthly  and  Boyce's  Weeklies. 
A  glance  at  a  little  advertising  pamphlet 
"The  Hustler,"  that  he  used  to  send  out 
broadcast  proclaims  the  genius  of  the 
man.  His  keynote  is  optimism,  and  if 
ever  there  was  a  man  full  of  sunshine  and 
good  cheer  it  is  Mr.  Hunter.  Country 


bred,  he  exemplifies  the  amplitude  of  the 
open  air,  and  has  never  departed  from 
the  cheery  expression  of  thought  that  re- 
minds the  reader  of  the  old-time  flower 
garden  that  blooms  around  the  door  of 
the  old  home.  In  addition  to  this  charm, 
Mr.  Hunter  has  a  genius  for  saying  the 
right  thing  at  the  right  time,  and  saying 
it,  too,  in  such  a  way  that  he  never  fails 
to  leave  a  pleasant  impression.  I  think 
I  heard  more  concrete  philosophy  in  the 
thirty  minutes'  talk  I  had  with  him  than 
I  have  in  any  lecture  I  ever  attended. 
It  was  a  practical  philosophy  of  life  and 
every-day  affairs. 

I  feel  inclined  to  paraphrase  Emer- 
son's bit  of  verse  and  say  that 
"All  the  world  loves  a  cheerful  fellow," 
If  anyone  doubts  this,  let  him  sit  down 
and  run  over  the  list  of  his  acquaint- 
ances and  those  he  has  met  in  the  course 
of  business  operations.  The  people  you 
think  of  first  —  are  they  not  the  genial, 
the  pleasant,  the  courteous?  Cheerful 
people  have  precedence  every  time,  and 
yet  they  little  suspect  what  an  influence 
hangs  about  those  busy  desks  of  theirs; 
nor  how  the  glow  of  heart  warmth  casts 
forth  its  cheery  waves  despite  the  sur- 
roundings of  steel-yard  business  propo- 
sitions. It  does  not  need  a  long  ac- 
quaintance-ship to  decide  that  Mr. 
Hunter  is  certainly  one  of  these  bene- 
factors of  the  human  race. 


COL.    WILLIAM     C.     HUNTER 


IT  has  often  occurred  to  me  that  people 
as  a  rule  do  not  sufficiently  value 
statuary.  For  myself ,  I  have  always  con- 
sidered no  room  quite  complete  that  has 
not  in  it  some  specimen  of  the  sculptor's 
art.  This  may  not  be  carved  in  Floren- 
tine marble,  but  it  conveys  a  picture  and 
presents  an  idea  more  clearly,  I  believe, 
than  any  other  art  can  do.  In  talking 
with  representatives  of  the  Foreign  Plas- 
tic Art  Company  of  Charlestown,  Massa- 
chusetts, I  have  been  amazed  to  find  that 
reproductions  of  the  richest  gems  of  the 
sculptors' s  art,  descended  to  us  from  the 


698 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT 


genius  of  all  ages,  may  be  had  at  a  price 
so  modest  that  these  works  of  art  are 
within  the  reach  of  any  ordinary  wage- 
earner  for  the  beautifying  of  his  home. 
It  is  truly  gratifying  to  learn  of  the  won- 
derful awakening  of  interest  throughout 
the  country  in  providing  school  rooms 
with  pieces  of  statuary  which  are  in 
themselves  real  educators. 

In  my  own  office,  on  my  desk  I  have  a 
bust  of  Ben  Franklin  some  three  feet 
high,  a  replica  of  the  one  by  Houdon, 
the  French  sculptor.  On  the  wall 
above  the  desk,  is  a  bas  relief  of 
The  Trumpeters,  which  is  reproduced 
from  the  Cantoria  frieze  in  Florence. 
This  is  of  special  interest  to  me,  because 
I  made  a  visit  a  few  years  ago  to  the 
famous  city,  and  there  stood  for  some 
time,  Baedeker  in  hand,  gazing  at  the 
original  of  this  little  bit  of  "plastic  art." 
It  is  a  delightful  representation  of  music 
and  childhood,  and  is  like  a  ray  of  sun- 
light in  the  room. 

In  another  corner  is  a  small  copy  of 
the  celebrated  Venus  de  Milo,  and  on 
the  wall  above  it  a  reproduction  of  a 
head  of  Cupid,  and  the  fine  bas  relief 
known  as  the  Arabian  Horseman. 

Just  outside  the  door  of  my  private . 
office  is  a  bust  of  Longfellow,  standing 
on  a  pedestal  about  four  feet  high.  This 
is  a  reproduction  of  one  that  occupies 
a  prominent  position  in  the  Poets'  Cor- 
ner in  Westminster  Abbey.  How  well 
I  recall  the  first  time  I  stood  on  foreign 
soil  and  looked  at  that  familiar  face; 
what  pleasure  it  gave  me  to  see  our  poet 
recognized  in  the  memorial  hall  of 
English  literature.  The  bust  of  Lincoln 
by  Volke  also  occupies  a  prominent 
place  in  our  office,  nor  is  Washington 
forgotten;  we  have  a  bas  relief  of  him 
by  Houdon,  which  was  copied  from  a 
sculpture  which  was  in  turn  a  copy  of 
the  painting  by  Trumbull;  this  picture 
is  now  in  Yale  University.  The  musi- 
cians are  at  present  represented  by 
Beethoven,  but  we  shall  probably  add 
others  as  we  enlarge  our  collection  from 


time  to  time.  One  of  the  pieces  of 
which  we  are  especially  proud  is  an 
equestrian  statue,  about  three  feet  high, 
of  Paul  Revere,  just  as  we  imagine  him 
in  his  famous  ride  to  Lexington  from 
opposite  the  old  North  Church, two  points 
of  historic  interest  for  visitors  to  Boston. 

It  would  be  difficult  for  me  to  compute 
just  how  much  these  sculptures  influence 
me.  They  are  not  merely  molded  clay, 
they  are  symbols  of  the  most  won- 
derful craft  in  the  world ;  and  when  I  sit 
alone  in  the  office  in  the  evening  they 
"keep  me  company,"  and  many  an  idea 
and  inspiration  I  draw  from  them. 

We  have  the  arts  pretty  well  re  presented 
in  our  plant,  so  far  as  decorations  and 
music  are  concerned,  and  our  workers 
find  the  office  so  attractive  that  it 
is  left  at  night  with  regret,  and  entered 
with  eager  anticipation  at  the  beginning 
of  each  new  day  —  at  least  I  can  vouch 
thus  much  for  myself. 

I  wonder  if  all  our  readers  quite  real- 
ize what  a  power  a  little  bit  of  statuary 
is  in  a  home — even  more  than  it  is  in 
an  office.  I  know  of  nothing  connected 
with  my  youthful  days  that  has  left  so 
marked  an  impression  on  my  mind  as 
the  little  bust  of  Charles  Dickens  that 
stood  underneath  the  old  clock,  on  the 
mantel  in  the  sitting  room  at  home. 
Many,  many  a  time  have  I  looked  upon 
that  massive  brow  and  flowing  beard; 
and  when  at  last  I  was  considered 
sufficiently  advanced  to  be  supplied  with 
his  writings,  I  felt  that  I  already  knew 
the  man  intimately.  Probably  that 
little  statuette  did  not  cost  more  than 
$l-75>  yet  it  had  a  lasting  influence  on 
the  tastes  of  four  growing  boys. 

In  justice  to  the  children  let  them  have 
every  beautifying  and  elevating  influence 
about  them.  Let  them  have  statu- 
ary, flowers,  books,  music,  that  will  lead 
them  into  wide  fields  of  lofty  thought 
and  give  them  other  interests  than  those 
of  local  gossip  and  every  day  affairs. 
Write  Foreign  Plastic  Art  Co.,  Charles- 
town,  Mass.,  for  prices  and  catalogue. 


699 


THE    ART    OF    KEEPING    WARM 


IT  is  said  that  the  water  of  hot  springs 
in  Iceland  was  utilized  for  heating 
purposes  centuries  ago,  and  also  that  the 
Egyptians  were  not  ignorant  of  the  value 
of  hot  water  for  this  use,  but  it  remained 
for  American  ingenuity  to  turn  to  practi- 
cal account  the'  distribution  and  radia- 
tion of  heat  by  means  of  this  medium, 
and  to  bring  to  perfection  the  art  of 
keeping  warm. 

It  is  not  a  far  cry  back  to  the  days  of 
open  hearths,  when  the  good  people  sat 
with  faces  almost  blistered  by  the  glow 
of  the  fire,  and  backs  as  chilly  as  ice- 
bergs; then  came  the  day  of  the  base- 
burner,  when  the  difficulty  of  dispersing 
the  heat  still  remained  unsolved,  though 
more  radiating  warmth  was  obtainable 
than  with  open  hearths.  Nor  was  this 
problem  definitely  disposed  of  until  the 
simple,  yet  perfect,  solution  of  radiators 
appeared, producing  an  even  temperature 
over  every  inch  of  a  given  space,  the 
steam  or  hot  water  needed  being  exactly 
determined  by  the  number  of  cubic  feet 
to  be  heated,  windows  and  walls  being 


THE    ''GOOD    OLD    WAY" 


important  factors  and  carefully  calcu- 
lated upon.  A  few  years  ago  nearly  all 
the  heating  plants  were  confined  to  pub- 
lic buildings,  schools  and  churches,  but 
when  it  is  considered  that  we  have  about 
6,000,000  homes  in  our  towns  of  2,500 
inhabitants  and  over,  and  over  9,000,- 
ooo  homes  in  towns  of  under  2,500  in- 
habitants, some  idea  will  be  gained  o^ 
the  vast  work  that  lies  before  such  a  cor- 
poration as  the  American  Radiator  Com- 
pany. There  is  no  doubt  but  that  this 
means  of  heating  will  be  universal  in  a 
short  time,  when  once  the  pertinent  and 
scientific  fact  is  understood  that  this 
method  heats  every  foot  of  space  to  an 
even  temperature.  This  truth  is  not 
yet  fully  grasped,  for  it  is  nothing  un- 
usual to  see  a  person  on  first  entering 
a  room,  heated  in  this  way,  move  close 
to  the  radiator,  evidently  not  realizing 
that  just  as  much  heat  can  be  obtained 
in  any  other  part  of  the  room  as  by  hug- 
ging the  radiator. 

If  there  was  one  exhibit  at  the  Fair 
that  more  than  another  emphasized  the 
progress  in  American  home-building,  it 
was  that  of  the  American  Radiator  Com- 
pany. There  was  something  cosy  about 
this  means  of  heating,  even  in  the  warm 
days  of  Summer;  it  seemed  to  proclaim 
home  comfort  to  every  passing  observer. 
It  emphasized  the  wonderful  advance 
in  home-building,  for  it  was  only  in  1865 
that  the  first  steam  and  hot  water  radia- 
tor was  used  in  this  country.  Though 
the  American  Radiator  Company  has 
accomplished  so  much,  it  is  not  pro- 
tected by  patents  of  any  kind;  but  they 
have  so  thoroughly  worked  out  the  heat- 
ing problem  to  a  fixed  and  scientific 
conclusion  that  they  do  a  large  percent- 
age of  the  business  in  this  line  in 
America. 

The  warmth  is  the  heart  of  the  home, 
and  in  these  days  it  would  indeed  be 
folly  for  anyone  building  a  house  of  even 
moderate  size  not  to  stop  and  consider 


THE    ART    OF    KEEPING    WARM 


the  problem  of  heating,  for  this  is  of 
first  and  vital  importance.  It  would  be 
interesting  to  gather  statistics  on  the 
number  of  new  homes  to  be  built  in 
1905,  and  how  they  are  to  be  heated; 
this  is  more  than  a  mere  business  propo- 
sition, for  the  health  and  happiness  of 
the  home  is  determined  by  the  amount 
of  comfort  obtainable  in  the  house.  An 
even  temperature  in  the  room  insures  an 
even  temperament  for  the  individuals 
inhabiting  it,  and  illness  obviated  is  an 
increased  capacity  for  bread-winning. 
These  facts  are  becoming  widely  known 
— thanks  to  advertising — and  the  houses 
built  throughout  the  country  districts  are 
often  so  perfect  in  respect  to  heating 
equipment  as  to  excel  their  city  neigh- 
bors in  real  comfort. 

That  the  career  of  the  American  Ra- 
diator Company  embodies  an  important 
chapter  in  natural  means  of  heating  was 
recognized  by  the  grand  prize  awarded 
them  at  the  St.  Louis  Exposition.  The 
remarks  of  visitors  passing  this  exhibit 
at  the  Fair  furnished  the  company  with 
those  tributes  dear  to  the  heart  of  every 
manufacturer.  "Here's  a  radiator  like 
ours;"  or,  "We  have  one  of  your  radia- 
tors in  our  home — it's  just  right.  We've 
been  comfortable  ever  since  we  have 
had  it." 

Among  the  thousands  of  people  using 
this  means  of  heating,  the  company  re- 
ceived but  one  complaint  of  their  goods 
at  the  Fair,  and  on  carefully  investigating 
that  it  was  found  that  it  was  a  case  of 
having  the  boiler,  grate  and  the  kitchen 
range  attached  to  one  chimney  flue. 


SHE  DOESN'T   DO   IT   NOW 

It  is  a  fascinating  study — this  question 
of  heat— and  perhaps  it  would  not  be 
a  wild  prophecy  to  predict  that  when 
Bellamy's  "Looking  Backward"  is  real- 
ized we  shall  have  radiators  to  warm  our 
public  streets — just  as  commonly  as  they 
are  now  lighted — as  well  as  our  houses. 
At  all  events,  the  question  of  heat  with- 
in four  walls  has  been  so  well  answered 
that  now  it  is  only  a  matter  of  fuel  rather 
than  any  difficulty  regarding  the  distribu- 
tion of  heat.  And  the  wonderful  feature, 
which  touches  all  pocketbooks,  is  that 
the  saving  of  fuel  and  labor  in  steam  or 
hot  water  heating  pays  in  time  for  the 
outfit.  This  does  not  take  into  con- 
sideration the  added  saving  in  household 
cleanliness — by  the  absence  of  dirt,  ashes 
and  coal  gases  from  the  living  rooms. 


OUR    MODEL    HOUSE    AT    ST.    LOUIS    FAIR 


YE    OLD     GRIST    MILL' 


OLD  GRIST  MILL 


WHAT  is  more  picturesque  than  the 
old  grist  mill  with  its  ponderous, 
overshot  water  wheel?  For  centuries  it 
has  been  made  a  familiar  theme  in  song 
and  story,  and  the  same  sentiment  still 
clings  to  it  as  in  days  of  yore.  Possibly 
there  are  but  few  of  these  old  mills  still 
in  use  in  this  country,  but  the  most  of 
us  who  have  been  "country  born  and 
bred"  can  still  cherish  fond  memories  of 
some  familiar  old  grist  mill  and  the 
stream  that  yet  runs  by  it. 

It  was  down  by  the  mill  and  along  by 
the  bank  of  the  stream  that  the  boys  and 
girls  went  "a-maying"  to  find  the  sweet- 
scented  arbutus  in  early  Springtime. 
Jolly  times  were  those:  the  girls  playing 
house  with  their  dolls  and  lunch  baskets, 
while  the  boys  searched  far  and  wide  for 
mayflowers  and  violets  with  which  to 
bedeck  their  lady's  bower. 

I  make  a  practice  of  trying  at  least 
one  well  advertised  health  food  or  bever- 
age every  month,  for  I  believe  in  pro- 
gressiveness,  and  if  there's  anything 
good  to  be  had  that  I  haven't  got,  I 
want  it.  Not  long  ago  I  decided  to  try 
some  substitute  for  coffee.  I  am  so 
passionately  fond  of  coffee  that  it  was 
with  some  misgivings  that  I  "softened 
my  heart"  and  consented  with  myself  to 
give  a  fair  trial  to  some  other  breakfast 
drink.  The  next  question  was,  what 
substitue  for  coffee  is  there  that  will 
likely  be  satisfactory.  Instantly  I  re- 
called a  notable  exhibit  four  years  ago 
of  the  Old  Grist  Mill  Health  Foods  and 


Wheat  Coffee  at  the  Food  Fair  in 
Mechanics  Building,  Boston,  and' I  saw 
again  the  old  grist  mill  on  the  stage, 
with  its  real  wheel  and  real  water.  In 
all  of  those  four  years  I  had  occasionally 
thought  of  it,  so  now  in  my  need  of 
a  substitute  for  coffee  it  at  once  recurred 
to  me,  for  it  had  been  one  of  the  exhibits 
at  the  fair  that  especially  impressed  me. 

So  the  grocer's  boy  was  instructed  to 
bring  a  package  of  Old  Grist  Mill  Wheat 
Coffee,  and  as  I  sat  sipping  my  morn- 
ing cup,  with  the  delightful  knowledge 
that  it  would  do  me  no  harm,  I  began 
to.  think  of  all  that  this  innovation  in 
breakfast  beverages  must  mean  to  some 
Americans  —  the  difference  between 
sickness  and  health. 

Fourteen  years  ago  there  were  two 
young  men  deeply  absorbed  in  the  com- 
mercial proposition  about  cereals;  they 
were  S.  M.  Pennock  and  H.  M.  Thomp- 
son. Mr.  Pennock  had  been  forced  to 
the  conclusion  that  coffee  was  injurious 
to  him,  so  one  time  when  preparing  the 
wheat  for  whole  wheat  flour,  the  idea 
occurred  to  him  that  it  might  be  possi- 
ble to  use  this  grain  as  a  coffee  substi- 
tute and  he  began  to  experiment.  His 
efforts  were  soon  crowned  with  success, 
and  he  realized  that  wheat  coffee  was 
palatable  but  not  distressing.  The  next 
question  was  to  find  a  suitable  name  for 
the  new  product.  Now  Mr.  Pennock 
was  the  son  of  a  Vermont  miller,  and, 
as  you  know,  it  does  not  matter  what 
business  a  man  may  be  engaged  in,  he 
never  quite  forgets  the  scenes  of  his 
youth,  especially  if  he  hails  from  the 
good  green  hills  of  Vermont.  Mr.  Pen- 
nock recalled  his  father's  mill,  and 
quick  as  a  flash,  came  the  name  for  the 
coffee:  "Old  Grist  Mill." 

The  first  labels  bore  the  name  only 
—  same  as  used  -on  their  flour — "Old 
Grist  Mill,"  but  one  day  an  artist  came 
along  with  a  sketch  of  an  old  mill  at 
Scituate  on  Cape  Cod,  dating  back  to 


702 


"YE    OLD    GRIST    MILL" 


the  time  of  the  Pilgrims.  This  was  so 
emblematic  of  the  early  settlers  from 
Holland  and  England,  as  well  as  his 
father's  old  mill,  that  Mr.  Pennock  and 
his  partner  at  once  adopted  it  as  a  sign 
and  trade  mark  for  all  the  products  of 
this  firm.  It  seemed  a  special  coinci- 
dence to  me  to  find  this  historically 
named  product  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Bunker  Hill  monument,  and  to  recall 
the  fact  that  my  first  acquaintance  with 
Old  Grist  Mill  Wheat  Coffee  dated  from 
my  examination  of  their  exhibit  in 
Mechanics  Hall,  which  was  erected  and 
is  owned  by  a  society  of  which  Paul 
Revere  was  president.  It  is  conceded 
that  New  England  has  won  laurels  in 
the  art  of  cooking  as  well  as  in  the 
defence  of  the  nation,  and  it  is  certain 
that  the  Old  Grist  Mill  Wheat  Coffee 
will  add  to  its  prestige. 

In  talking  with  Mr.  Thompson  I 
found  that  wheat  coffee  might  be  said 
to  be  the  outcome  of  their  Entire  Wheat 
flour,  which  at  first  was  the  only  product 
of  this  concern,  though  they  now  pro- 
duce several  other  food  products  "to 
keep  the  mill  grinding,"  so  to  speak. 

The  wheat  used  in  the  Old  Grist  Mill 
products  comes  from  California  and  is 
a  variety  specially  well  suited  for  the 
coffee  purpose  and  to  obtain  the  real 
roasted  effect  and  blend  of  coffee.  Ex- 
periments have  been  made  with  grain 
from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  the  Cali- 
fornian  wheat  has  passed  the  test  more 
successfully  than  any  other. 

Mr.  Thompson,  the  surviving  partner 
— Mr.  Pennock  having  died  several  years 
ago— is  a  man  who  enters  heart  and  soul 
into  the  work  in  which  he  is  engaged, 
and  he  has  been  a  public  benefactor  in 
putting  on  the  market  a  line  of  truly 
healthful  and  nourishing  products.  I 
think  there  is  no  reader  of  the  National 
who  has  felt  the  ill  effects  of  coffee 
drinking  who  will  not  be  benefitted  by 
changing  to  Old  Grist  Mill  Coffee,  and 
I  feel  sure  that  when  the  change  is  once 
made  there  will  be  no  great  desire  to 


return  to  the  original  beverage.  There 
is  something  specially  attractive  about 
wheat  coffee, which  I  think  comes  in  part, 
at  least,  from  the  pleasant  mental  asso- 
ciations, for,  somehow,  as  I  peered  into 
my  first  cup,  I  could  see  mirrored  at  the 
bottom  the  historic  old  mill  and  imagine 
the  wheel  turning  out  Grist  Mill  Coffee 
instead  of  flour.  When  you  sip  this 
coffee  you  may  think  of  "Ben  Bolt"  and 
all  the  other  pretty  "mill"  songs  and 
stories  you  have  ever  heard,  and  your 
breakfast  cup  puts  you  in  good  humor 
for  the  entire  day.  So  if  you  even  sus- 
pect that  coffee  is  harming  you,  or  you 
desire  to  try  a  good  thing,  just 
send  for  a  sample  package  of  Old  Grist 
Mill  Wheat  Coffee  and  you  will  thank 
me  for  the  suggestion. 

The  wide  area  in  which  Old  Grist 
Mill  Wheat  Coffee  is  being  used  is  in- 
creasing every  day,  and  today  it  can  be 
found  not  only  in  the  large  stores  of 
New  York,  Brooklyn,  Chicago  and 
Boston,  but  also  throughout  New  Eng- 
land, New  York,  Pennsylvania,  Ohio 
and  many  western  states. 

As  at  the  Mechanics'  Food  Fair  in 
Boston,  the  good  people  passed  around 
and  got  samples  of  the  various  eatables, 
let  the  readers  of  the  National  send  in 
to  the  Old  Grist  Mill  Health  Food 
Headquarters  at  City  Square,  Charles- 
town,  Massachusetts,  and  procure  a 
sample  of  the  Old  Grist  Mill  Wheat 
Coffee  and  see  for  themselves  just  how 
much  this  valuable  product  emphasizes 
the  fact  "there  is  a  table  beverage  that 
cheers  but  does  not  inebriate"  and 
better  still  is  a  healthful  drink  with  a 
delicious  taste. 

The  finest  mind  will  not  long  continue 
to  do  good  work  unless  it  is  supported 
by  a  healthy  body.  Then  long  may  the 
wheels  of  the  good  "Old  Grist  Mill"  go 
round,  bringing  solace  and  comfort  to 
our  plate  and  cup,  and  filling  both  with 
food  that  serves  to  rejuvenate  the  old 
and  invigorate  the  young,  making  us  all 
"healthy,  wealthy  and  wise." 


7°3 


RETAIL    PREMISES    OF    MARSHALL    FIELD     &    COMPANY,    STATE,  WASHINGTON    AND    RANDOLPH    STREETS 

AND    WABASH    AVENUE 


MARSHALL    FIELD,    THE    MERCHANT 


By    JOE    MITCHELL    CHAPPLE 


ON  a  bitter  cold  day  in  January,  a 
lady  who  has  known  me  well  since 
the  day  of  my  marriage  stood  with  me 
before  one  of  the  spacious  show  windows 
of  Marshall  Field  &  Company  in  Chicago, 
and,  looking  on  a  display  of  Summer 
dresses,  she  exclaimed : 

"Here  are  the  newest  fashions  for  next 
Summer!  You  have  to  come  to  Chicago 
to  find  the  fashions  of  the  world  forecast 
months  ahead,"  she  added  the  last  sen- 
tence with  that  pretty  twist  of  her  head 
that  settles  matters  definitely. 

This  lady  is  a  "globe  trotter,"  famil- 
iar with  every  city  in  Europe  and 
America,  and  I  had  no  doubt  but  that 
she  kitew  whereof  she  spoke ;  therefore, 
I  listened  with  respectful  attention 


when  she  went  on  to  inform  me  that 
there  is  no  house  in  the  world  that  seems 
quite  so  keen  in  this  matter  of  antici- 
pating the  demands  of  the  future  in 
women's  wear  as  the  establishment  of 
Marshall  Field  &  Company,  Chicago. 
Doubtless  this  is  one  of  the  factors  that 
has  made  this  concern  one  of  the  great- 
est dry  goods  stores  in  the  world,  with 
a  frontage  of  almost  four  city  blocks, 
bounded  by  State  street,  Washington 
street,  Wabash  avenue  and  Randolph 
street;  having  a  floor  area  of  over  twenty- 
three  acres;  with  furnishings  and  equip- 
ment that  represent  the  most  advanced 
ideas  in  commercial  progress.  It  is 
truly  an  education  to  shop  there. 

An  opening  at  Marshall  Field  &  Com- 


MARSHALL    FIELD,    THE    MERCHANT 


pany's  takes  its  place  as  a  social  event 
in  Chicago,  and  in  this  great  store,  the 
monument  of  a  wise  merchant's  genius, 
will  be  found  on  opening  day  every  class 
of  society.  It  is  clearly  understood  that 
there  may  be  obtained  the  best  goods  at 
the  lowest  prices;  and  the  purchasers 
have  absolute  confidence  in  the  integrity 
of  the  firm.  So,  the  neatly  wrapped  par- 
cels marked  with  Marshall  Field  & 
Company's  name,  have  as  certain  a  guar- 
anteed value  as  though  they  held  so  many 
carats  of  gold ;  for  back  of  every  parcel  is 
the  full  measure  of  the  true  gold  of  char- 
acter and  integrity  established  by  the 
great  merchant  who  was  once  a  clerk  in 
a  Massachusetts  store. 

The  life  story  and  career  of  Marshall 
Field  is  something  more  than  a  record  of 
commercial  success.  It  illustrates  the  fact 
that  the  "genius  of  the  age  is  business," 
and  the  rapid  growth  of  this  particular 
establishment  typifies  the  expansion  of 
the  American  nation.  From  an  unpre- 
tentious beginning,  a  young  man — 
born  in  Conway,  western  Massachusetts, 
— who  made  his  first  entrance  into  the 
business  world  as  a  clerk  in  Pittsfield, 
Massachusetts,  has  become  a  living  em- 
bodiment of  great  achievement  that  has 
as  much  significance  historically  as  the 
deeds  of  warrior  or  states- 
man. The  same  purpose 
that  dominated  the  blue- 
eyed,  young  man  selling 
goods  over  the  counter  to 
his  Pittsfield  customers,  still 
controls  the  silver-haired 
merchant  who  has  won 
laurels  as  the  world's  great- 
est business  man.  That 
close  attention  given  to  the 
individual  customer  whom 
Marshall  Field  served  with 
his  own  hands  in  the  old 
days,  is  now  given  on  a 
larger  scale  to  the  host  of 
buyers  at  the  great  retail 
and  wholesale  establish- 
ments, which  have  become 


the  pride  of  the  modern  mart  of  the 
West. 

On  entering  the  retail  store,  I  was  im- 
pressed not  so  much  with  the  magnifi- 
cance  of  the  furnishings  and  the  abun- 
dance of  convenient  devices  for  the 
lightening  of  labor  and  the  comfort  of 
the  customers,  not  even  with  the  luxuri- 
ance and  variety  of  the  articles  displayed 
for  sale,  as  with  the  fact  that  this  store 
possessed  all  the  features  of  a  public 
institution,  and  was  not  merely  an  arena 
for  barter.  Everything  that  can  be  done 
for  the  general  welfare  of  the  customers 
is  done,  and  an  afternoon's  shopping 
there  is,  perhaps,  as  pleasant  as  attending 
a  matinee.  The  considerate  attention 
shown  to  each  customer— whether  that 
customer  buys  or  not  —  stamps  Marshall 
Field  &  Company's  with  the  rare 
quality  of  hospitality,  and  this  courtesy 
is  not  bestowed  upon  the  customer 
alone,  but  is  extended  equally  to  every 
employe. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  realized 
that  business  need  not  be  a  warfare.  In 
this  store  it  is  not  considered  essential 
that  the  seller  take  advantage  of  the 
buyer,  but  goods  are  offered  at  a  fair 
price  and  the  purchaser  is  told  the  exact 
truth  about  them.  The  fact  that  an  arti- 


ONE  OF  "THE  SPACIOUS  SHOW  WINDOWS"  OF  MARSHALL  FIELD 
&  CO.,  WHERE  STYLES  REIGN  SUPREME 


cle  comes  from  Marshall  Field  &  Com- 
pany's is  a  hall  mark  of  its  value — equal, 
in  fact,  to  an  appraisal — and  there  is  no 
occasion  for  the  old-time  duel  between 
the  buyer  and  seller.  The  value  of  the 
goods  is  fixed,  and  the  price  is  as  un- 
alterable as  stern  facts  themselves. 

The  respectful  and  intelligent  atten- 
tion of  the  great  force  of  salespeople  in- 
dicates personal  interest  taken  in  their 
work,  and  every  means  is  employed  to 
stimulate  the  interest  of  the  nearly  eight 
thousand  employes;  they  are  invited  to 
offer  suggestions,  and  in  case  any  of 
these  are  adopted  and  put  into  practice 
a  reward  is  paid.  Severe  and  constant 


ENTRANCE    TO    THE    POTTERY    SECTION 

criticism  of  all  advertisements  is  en- 
couraged, and  the  following  errors  are 
especially  sought  out:  any  exaggeration, 
a  wrong  price,  a  misspelled  word,  an  un- 
grammatical  or  a  false  statement  »of  any 
kind. 

The  Book  of  Rules  repays  close  study; 
it  shows  the  admirable  manner  in  which 
the  establishment  is  managed.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  concluding  portion 
of  one  rule;  after  recommending  the 
"greatest  courtesy,"  whether  the  visitor 
merely  wishes  to  look  around  or  to  buy, 
these  words  occur: 

"Under  no  circumstances  allow  the 
customer  to  leave  the  house  dissatisfied." 


The  confidence  of  the  public  has  been 
gained  by  emphasizing  the  old-fashioned 
ideals  of  integrity.  There  is  no  idle 
speculation  as  to  whether  it  will  "pay" 
to  do  a  thing  or  not.  That  question  was 
settled  in  the  first  inventory,  and  the 
gradual  evolution  that  has  followed  is 
a  most  interesting  study. 

A  glimpse  into  the  gymnasium,  read- 
ing room  and  library  during  the  noon 
hour  shows  that  the  interests  and  com- 
fort of  the  employees  are  always  a  prim- 
ary consideration.  There  is  a  medical 
room,  a  rest  room,  bath  room,  and  even 
a  school  room,  where  many  of  the 
younger  employes  add  to  their  stock  of 
knowledge,  the  desirability 
of  which  is  emphasized  by 
the  members  of  the  firm. 
The  following  extract  from 
a  bulletin  shows  the  kindly 
feeling  existing  between 
the  heads  of  the  house  and 
the  workers. 

"NOTICE:  It  is  the  wish 
and  purpose  of  the  house 
that  no  employe,  no  matter 
how  unimportant  his  or  her 
position  may  be,  shall  be 
forgotten  or  lost  sight  of; 
but  instead,  that  every  one 
whose  name  is  on  the  pay- 
roll shall  be  recognized  as 
a  part  of  this  great  force, 
and  that  his  or  her  efforts 
shall  be  carefully  and  fre- 
quently considered  by  the  one  above 
her  or  him  in  authority." 

Is  this  not  sufficient  to  inspire  any 
employe?  It  is  assumed  by  the  manage- 
ment that  if  promotion  does  not  come  to 
any  worker  after  three  years'  service, 
something  is  wrong,  either  with  the  firm 
or  with  the  employe.  Inquiries  are  insti- 
tuted, and  if  it  is  found  that  full  justice 
has  been  done  by  the  firm,  it  is  con- 
cluded in  the  case  of  this  particular 
worker  that  he  or  she  is  unsuited  for  the 
line  of  work  adopted,  and  the  person's 
services  are  dispensed  with;  for  this  firm 
desires  only  the  best,  whether  it  be  in 
employes  or  goods.  The  usual  rule 


MARSHALL    FIELD,    THE    MERCHANT 


however,  is  for  a  clerk  to  remain  almost 
a  lifetime,  and  there  are  many  who  have 
completed  their  twentieth  or  twenty-fifth 
year  in  this  service  and  even  longer. 
There  is  a  delightful  spirit  of  co-opera- 
tion throughout  the  establishment.  I 
thought  how  Charles  Dickens,  with  his 
heart  on  fire  for  the  betterment  of  the 
conditions  of  the  poor  and  needy,  would 
have  delighted  to  see  his  most  sanguine 
hopes  for  the  welfare  of  working  people 
fully  realized,  and  their  interests  actually 
incorporated  with  those  of  the  capital- 
ists, not  as  a  matter  of  charity,  but  as 
a  paying  investment.  Truly  these,  are 
enlightened  times,  as  revealed  in  this 
one  phase  of  merchandis- 
ing at  its  best.  In  the 
wholesale  house  of  Marsh- 
all Field  &  Company  all 
the  out-of-town  buyers  re- 
ceive the  same  courteous 
attention  as  those  in  the 
retail  store.  They  are  shown 
all  the  newest  things  on  the 
market  and  advised  as  to 
their  purchases.  If  a  mer- 
chant over-buys,  he  is  in- 
formed of  this  as  candidly 
as  when  he  under-buys,  and 
each  customer  is  urged  to 
come  to  market  often  and 
keep  in  touch  with  all  the 
changing  features  of  the 
trade. 

Many  merchants  whom  I  have  met  in 
cities  throughout  the  Middle  West  insist 
that  they  owe  all  they  possess  today  to 
the  knowledge  they  secured  through 
doing  business  with  Marshall  Field  & 
Company,  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
wide  range  of  experience  acquired  by 
this  establishment  in  its  dealings  with 
the  markets  of  the  world  is  always  at 
the  service  of  the  customers.  Many  of 
these  business  men  are  convinced  that 
their  connection  with  this  great  firm  has 
been  the  foundation  of  their  commerical 
success. 

It  was  a  rare  pleasure  to  go  through 


the  massive  granite  building  on  Adams 
street,  in  which  the  wholesale  depart- 
ment is  located.  A  number  of  young 
men  arrive  early  in  the  morning,  about 
six  o'clock,  and  begin  opening  the  mass 
of  mail  that  pours  in  each  day.  After 
the  letters  have  been  assorted  at  the 
mailing  desk,  they  are  sent  to  the  vari- 
ous departments  as  the  contents  demand. 
The  credits  are  judicially  determined 
beneath  the  light  of  the  green  electric 
shades,  where  the  army  of  bookkeepers 
are  busy  with  accounts,  all  classified  by 
states.  Over  3,500  men  are  at  work  in 
this  building,  and  each  floor  presents 
a  scene  of  bustling  activity,  character- 


A   PORTION   OF  THE  MAIN  AISLE 

istic    of     Chicago    push    and    energy. 

On  the  carpet  and  rug  floor  the 
visitor  is  shown  a  fine  assortment  of 
these  goods  suspended  on  rollers,  hang- 
ing like  maps  against  the  wall,  a  display 
that  in  itself  presents  an  exhibition  of 
the  industries  of  the  Orient  and  Occi- 
dent. 

In  the  shipping  room  are  swift-mov- 
ing trucks,  carrying  baskets  laden  with 
parcels  of  all  sizes,  numbered  so  that 
each  article  can  be  easily  located  at  any 
time.  Every  possible  device  seems  to 
be  utilized  to  systemize  and  expedite 
shipments,  and  the  great  endless  chain 


MARSHALL   FIELD,     THE     MERCHANT 


elevator  pours  forth  its  cases  and  pack- 
ages every  second,  all  marked  and  ready 
for  prompt  shipment. 

The  importation  department  of  this 
concern  is  an  extensive  business  in  itself. 
Goods  are  received  direct  from  all  parts 
of  the  world,  and  the  markings  on  the 
bales  and  cases  show  the  curious  hiero- 
glyphics of  the  written  language  of  the 
peoples  in  the  far  East  and  far  West 
whose  products  are  here  offered  for  sale. 
One  marking,  however,  is  universal,  for 
numerals  are  as  easily  read  in  Arabic  as 
in  English. 


floors  of  this  massive  building  are  like 
a  vast  machine,  minute  and  exact  in  the 
working  of  each  individual  department, 
all  being  fed  from  large  warehouses  in 
other  parts  of  the  city,  one  being  across 
the  street,  reached  by  a  subway. 

Carefully  classified,  according  to  geo- 
graphical location,  are  the  records  of 
young  merchants  starting  in  business  in 
every  part  of  the  country.  Through  the 
wholesale  department  they  are  assisted 
in  getting  over  the  first  hard  bumps,  and 
it  would  be  a  revelation  to  many  of  us 
if  we  could  see  this  carefully  detailed 


MASSIVE      GRANITE     BUILDING     ON    ADAMS     STREET,     IN 

MENT     IS     LOCATED 


WHICH      THE     WHOLESALE     DEPART- 


In  one  department  I  was  reminded  of 
the  universal  demands  of  children  the 
world  over.  Here  was  a  multitude  of 
little  red  wagons — the  identical  little  red 
wagons  of  our  own  childhood— rocking 
horses  and  toys  of  all  kinds,  to  supply 
requirements  that  are  as  fixed  in  child- 
hood as  in  any  other  period  of  life.  This 
is  indeed  a  busy  spot  when  once  the 
holiday  purchasers  have  commenced  to 
make  up  their  lists.  The  entire  nine 


record  of  personal  habits,  temperament 
and  general  disposition  of  each  one  to 
whom  a  line  of  credit  had  been  given. 
The  credit  department  of  a  wholesale 
house  analyzes  each  customer  with  a 
logical,  psychological  minuteness  as  ex- 
haustive as  Herbert  Spencer's  research. 
To  me  the  all  important  part  of  my 
visit  was  to  meet  the  dignified,  unassum- 
ing, gray-haired  man  sitting  behind  a 
plain  black  walnut  partition,  flanked  on 


MARSHALL     FIELD,     THE    MERCHANT 


either  side  by  stenographers  and  clerks, 
and  in  the  midst  of  business  activities 
as  quiet  and  sereree  as  though  sitting 
at  his  hearthstone.  There  is  some- 
thing especially  kindly  in  the  expression 
of  those  blue  eyes,  beneath  the  massive 
brows;  Mr.  Field  is  a  man  who  under- 
stands human  nature  and  values  integ- 
rity. His  whole  purpose  in  business 


MARSHALL     FIELD,     THE     MERCHANT 

may  be  embodied  in  a  few  words,  "Sell 
the  best  goods  possible  to  obtain  at  the 
lowest  possible  price  and  always  merit 
the  confidence  of  the  public." 

I  ventured  to  suggest  the  value  of  his 
personality  as  an  inspiration  to  custom- 
ers and  employes,  but  Mr.  Field  came 
near  to  breaking  friendship  with  me  right 
there. 

"None  of  this  over-due  praise!  Busi- 
ness is  a  simple  proposition  of  demand 
and  supply — of  the  cooperative  spirit,  not 


only  between  the  merchant  and  cus- 
tomer, but  between  the  employer  and 
employes.  Personality  is  not  of  much 
consequence  if  the  business  proposition 
rings  sound." 

But  to  me  it  seemed  that  the  secret 
of  the  great  merchant's  success  was 
revealed  in  a  single  sentence: 

"If  I  buy  for  cash  and  obtain  a  dis- 
count, the  man  who 
purchases  from  me 
and  pays  cash  i  s 
surely  entitled  to  the 
same  considera- 
tion." 

While  in  Mr. 
Field's  private  office 
I  noticed  a  simple 
calendar  on  his  desk, 
showing  a  picture  of 
the  state  house  on 
Beacon  Hill,  for  the 
Massachusetts  man 
has  not  forgotten  his 
native  Bay  State.  A 
brief  chat  with  Mr. 
Field  is  always  an 
inspiration,  and  his 
unaffected  ways  and 
kindly  words  speak 
more  strongly  of  the 
inner  force  of  the 
man  than  any  rhe- 
toric could  do. 

Marshall  Field's 
insight  into  the 
needs  of  the  people, 
present  and  future, 

is  exemplified  in  his  splendid  gift  of  the 
Field  Columbian  Museum  to  the  city  of 
his  triumphs. 

The  museum  is  a  fitting  tribute  to  the 
great  Middle  West,  of  which  the  donor 
stands  a  true  and  noble  factor.  Mr.  Field 
is  a  fine  compound  of  New  England  in- 
tegrity and  Western  activity,  and  a 
worthy  citizen  of  that  nation  that  un- 
rolls the  scroll  of  fame  for  her  native  sons 
who  achieve  success,  as  well  as  for  the 
alien  brothers  within  her  gates. 


ROMANTIC    MEXICO-    THE    LAND    OF    THE 

MONTEZUMAS 


STRETCHING  along  our  southern 
border  like  a  huge  cornucopia,  sug- 
gestive of  its  own  opulence,  lies  the 
beautiul  Republic  of  Mexico  — the  land 
of  the  Montezumas.  No  other  country 
in  all  the  world  possesses  a  more  ro- 
mantic history,  or  is  wrapped  about  with 
a  more  fascinating  veil  of  mysticism. 
Indeed,  so  closely  interwoven  are  fact 
and  legend  that  the  task  of  separating 
tradition  from  real  history  would  be 


Looking  back  to  that  remote  period, 
it  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  the  culture 
and  luxuriousness  of  the  Toltecs.  With 
their  poets  and  architects  and  sculptors, 
they  transformed  their  capital  at  Tula 
into  a  veritable  Athens  of  the  New 
World. 

When,  early  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
the  Spaniards,  led  by  the  dauntless  and 
unscrupulous  Cortez,  found  their  way 
from  the  West  India  Islands  into  Mexico 


PYRAMID      OF     THE     SUN,     SAN     JUAN,     MEXICO 

well-nigh  impossible.  Ancient  ruins  and 
crumbling  pyramids  tell  their  silent  story 
of  prehistoric  habitation,  but  reveal  no 
record  of  the  hands  that  reared  them. 
The  Toltecs  were  the  first  historical 
family  of  Mexico.  To  this  people, 
"coming  from  the  north,"  is  ascribed 
not  only  the  oldest  but  the  highest  cul- 
ture of  the  Nahua  nations.  To  them 
was  due  the  introduction  of  maize  and 
cotton,  the  skillful  workmanship  in  gold 
and  silver,  and  the  art  of  building  on 
a  scale  of  vastness  still  witnesssed  to  by 
the  mound  Cholula.  The  Mexican  hi- 
eroglyphic writing  and  calendar  are  also 
declared  to  be  of  Toltec  origin. 


PYRAMID     OF    THE     MOON,    SAN     JUAN,     MEXICO 

they  marveled  at  the  evidences  of  civili- 
zation and  progress  to  be  seen  on  every 
hand.  For  three  centuries  had  reigned 
the  native  sovereigns  of  the  Aztecs. 
There  were  organized  armies,  official 
administrators,  courts  of  justice,  high 
agriculture  and  mechanical  arts,  and 
buildings  of  stone  whose  architecture 
and  sculpture  amazed  the  builders  of 
Europe.  How  a  population  of  millions 
could  inhabit  a  world  whose  very  exist- 
ence had  hitherto  been  unknown  to  geo- 
graphers and  historians  and  how  a 
nation  could  have  reached  so  high  a 
grade  of  barbaric  industry  and  grandeur, 
was  a  problem  which  excited  the  liveliest 


ROMANTIC    MEXICO— THE   LAND    OF   THE   MONTEZUMAS 


MEXICAN     CHILDREN      PLAYING     ON      RUINS     OF 
ANCIENT     BRIDGE 


curiosity  of  scholars  and  gave  rise  to 
a  whole  literature. 

But  alas  for  Mexico!  Conquest,  at 
whatever  cost,  was  the  only  thought  of 
Cortez.  All  over  the  sun-kissed  land, 
nestled  beneath  the  soft  blue  of  southern 
skies,  the  ruthless  invader  left  his  trail 
of  blood  and  ruin,  and  tore  from  his 
throne  the  last  of  the  Montezumas! 

It  is  not,  however,  the  old  Mexico  of 
Montezuma,  nor  of  Cortez,  nor  of  Maxi- 
milian that  concerns  us  today,  but  the 
modern  Mexico  founded  by  Juarez — the 
Lincoln  of  his  race — and  perpetuated 
by  that  great  and  good  man,  President 
Porfirio  Diaz.  Under  a  quarter  of  a 
century  of  his  wise  and  just  administra- 
tion, the  old  republic  is  thrilling  and 
throbbing  with  new  life  and  new  energy. 

And,  oh,  what  a  treasure-land!  What 
wondrous  possibilities  she  holds  in 
latency  and  what  untold  riches  await 
her  intelligent  development! 

In  view  of  these  attractive  facts  and 
conditions,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  just 
now  magic  abides  in  the  very  word 
"Mexico."  Nor  is  it  wonderful  that 
Americans,  quick  to  see  the  opportunity 
for  profitable  investment,  are  pouring 
across  the  border-line  with  capital, 


energy,  enthusiasm  and  skill.  With  this 
influx  of  new  life,  and  with  modern 
methods  of  doing  things,  it  does  not 
require  the  gift  of  prophecy  to  see  in 
the  near  future  the  land  of  the  Monte- 
zumas blossoming  as  a  rose. 

The  most  potent  factor  in  the  civiliza- 
tion and  progress  of  any  country  is  the 
railroad.  Rich  soil  and  rich  mines  are 
of  comparatively  little  worth  if  there  is 
no  way  of  transporting  up-to-date  im- 
plements and  machinery  for  cultivation 
and  production  and  no  adequate  facili- 
ties for  reaching  the  markets  of  the 
world.  Wide  awake  men  are  quick  to 
recognize  this  truth.  They  realize  that 
the  railroad  is  the  pioneer  that  blazes 
the  way,  and,  as  a  natural  sequence,  all 
other  things  essential  to  human  progress 
and  well-being  follow  in  its  trail.  For 
instance,  when,  in  1879,  Diaz  first 
fought  his  way  to  the  front,  Mexico 
was  torn  by  revolution;  bandits  infested 
the  San  Antonio  trail;  the  streets  of  the 
cities  were  unpaved,  unlighted,  and  sani- 
tation had  no  place  in  municipal  con- 
sideration ;  the  government  was  without 
credit  abroad  or  respect  at  home! 

Today  the  National  Lines  of  Mexico, 
like  ribbons  of  steel,  have  taken  the 
place  of  the  old  San  Antonio  trail.  And 
how  changed  the  way  of  travel !  Creaky, 
slow-moving  stage  coaches  then;  Pull- 
man cars,  fleeter  than  the  north  wind, 
safety,  comfort,  luxury  now!  Electric 
railways  radiate  from  cities  to  suburban 
villas;  streets  are  asphalt  paved,  electric 
lighted,  with  subterranean  drainage;  fur- 
naces and  factories  smoke  day  and 
night;  mountains  are  pouring  forth  pre- 
cious ores;  from  field  and  garden  comes 
the  musical  hum  of  busy  industry,  while 
Mexican  bonds  command  a  higher  price 
than  ever  before  in  the  country's  history. 
Only  the  railroad  in  combination  with 
intelligent  rule  could  have  made  this 
picture  possible. 

High  speed  and  high  tension  char- 
acterize the  civilization  of  today.  The 
fundamental  idea  is  to  "get  there." 


ROMANTIC    MEXICO— THE    LAND    OF    THE    MONTEZUMAS 


Rapid  transit  grows  more  rapid  year  by 
year  in  response  to  the  inexorable  com- 
mand: "faster,  faster" — and  the  end  is 
not  yet.      For   example,    when   Mexico 
first  began  to  show  her  alluring  features 
to    her    neighbor   across  her    northern 
boundary,  a  new  transportation  problem 
presented     itself.       American    railroad 
companies  are  not  slow,  and  soon  they 
were  sending  their  iron  horses  right  into 
the  heart  of  the  republic.     It  remained, 
however,  for  the  Iron    Mountain  route 
and  its  southern  connections  to  outstrip 
all  the  others  in  the.  matter  of  speed, 
and  to  lessen  the  time  between  St.  Louis 
and   the  City  of  Mexico  over  nineteen 
hours!    This  matchless  highway  of  steel 
early  in  the  new  year  inaugurated  a  new 
double  daily    sleeping  car    service  be- 
tween the  "Mound  City"  and  the  "City 
of  Delights,"  as  the  capital  city  of  the 
Mexican  republic  is  aptly  termed.   Leav- 
ing St.  Louis  at  2.21  p.  m.,  the  train 
runs  over  its  own  tracks  to  Texarkana; 
the  Texas  and  Pacific  railway  to  Long- 
view,  Texas;  the  International  and  Great 
Northern  railroad   to  Laredo,  and  The 
National   Lines  of  Mexico  to  the  City 
of    Mexico,     making    the     remarkable 
schedule  of    sixty-nine  hours  and  five 
minutes.      This  for  the    business   man 
whose   time  is  precious.      But  for  the 
tourist,  or  one  who  may  travel  leisurely, 
there  is  so  much  to  tempt  one  to  loiter 
by  the   way,   and,    as   liberal   stop-over 
privileges  are  allowed,  one  may  indulge 
such  temptations. 

Leaving  Union  Station,  St.  Louis,  at 
8.20  p.  in.,  on  the  Texas  and  Mexico 
Special  on  the  Iron  Mountain  route, 
you' arrive  at  Little  Rock,  Arkansas,  the 
next  morning  in  time  for  breakfast. 
Here  a  superb  dining  car  is  attached 
to  the  train.  Meals  are  served  a  la 
carte,  the  menu  and  all  appointments 
being  strictly  first  class.  From  Little 
Rock  it  is  less  than  an  hour's  run  to 
Benton,  Arkansas,  where  direct  connec- 
tion is  made  with  the  train  of  the  Little 
Rock  and  Hot  Springs  Western  railroad 


"LAS  CHINAMPAS"  MEXICO'S  RICH  VEGETABLE 
GARDENS,  SANTA  ANITA,  MEXICO 

for  Hot  Springs,  the  greatest  and  most 
popular  all-year-round  health  and  pleas- 
ure resort  in  the  country. 

No  one  should  fail  to  tarry  at  least 
a  day  or  two  at  the  Carlsbad  of  America. 
Aside  from  its  thermal  waters  whose 
fame  is  world-wide,  it  is  perhaps  the 
most  cosmopolitan  little  city  in  the 
United  States.  Hot  Springs  is,  pri- 
marily, a  health  resort,  but  year  after 
year  the  votaries  of  pleasure  and  fashion 
gather  here  to  indulge  in  rounds  of 
gaiety  and  to  enjoy  the  novelty  and 
excitement  of  its  colorful  life. 

The  train  continues  on  its  journey 
through  the  fragrant  pine  forests,  the 
rich  fruit  farms  and  broad  cotton  fields 
of  Arkansas  to  Texarkana,  and  thence 
across  the  Lone  Star  state  to  Austin  and 
San  Antonio. 

Here,  again,  the  tourist  will  want  to 
linger,  for  San  Antonio  holds,  as  with 
a  spell,  all  who  come  within  her  gates. 
There  is  so  much  to  see,  so  much  to 
charm — her  historic  Alamo,  quaint  old 
missions,  beautiful  plazas,  tinkling  foun- 
tains, palm-fringed  parks  and  her  pic-, 
turesque  river  winding  in  sinuous  ways 
between  myrtle-bordered  banks  —  "Old 
Santone"  the  people  lovingly  call  it. 


ROMANTIC    MEXICO-THE    LAND    OF    THE    MONTEZUMAS 


Here,  too,  one  will  quaff  the  health- 
laden  waters  of  the  hot  sulphur  wells, 
whose  reputation  has  reached  the  remot- 
est corners  of  the  earth. 

San  Antonio  the  beautiful,  the  pictur- 
esque, the  idyllic;  the  mecca  of  invalid8 
— the  place  to  weave  roseate  dreams  and 
to  revel  in  the  very  "joy  of  living!" 

At  Laredo,  Texas,  you  cross  the  Rio 
Grande  river  and  change  flags,  money 
also,  if  you  wish  to  handle  the  current 
coin  of  the  realm,  but  you  do  not  have 
to  change  cars,  as  the  same  palatial  Pull- 
man in  which  you  left  St.  Louis  will 
transport  you  into  the  capital  city  of 
the  sister  republic. 

There  is  no  best  season  to  visit 
Mexico.  It  is  delightful  all  the  year. 
Lying  far  to  the  south  of  us,  we,  for- 
getful of  altitude,  naturally  associate  it 
with  tropical  heat,  but  this  is  a  great 
mistake.  December  is  the  coldest  month, 
the  average  temperature  being  fifty-five 
degrees  Fahrenheit.  May  is  the  warm- 
est month,  averaging  sixty-four  degrees. 
The  difference,  therefore,  between  Win-- 
ter  and  Summer  is  barely  perceptible. 
The  coffee  plantations,  the  orange,  ba- 
nana and  cocoa  groves  never  feel  the 
sting  of  Jack  Frost,  while  strawberries 
ripen  at  Christmas,  and  vast  plains  are 


AT  THE  AQUEDUCT,  ORIZABA,  MEXICO 


SAN  ANTON  FALLS,  CUERNAVACA,  MEXICO 

flower-decked  all  the  year. 

Relative  to  agriculture,  Hon.  Jno.  W. 
Foster,  when  United  States  minister,  de- 
clared : 

44  Mexico  can  produce  all  the  coffee 
consumed  in  the  United  States.  It  has 
a  greater  area  of  sugar-producing  land 
than  Cuba  and  of  equal  fertility.  Its 
capacity  for  the  production  of  vegetable 
textiles  is  equal  to  that  of  any  country 
in  the  world.  The  tropical  dyes  and 
drugs,  and  all  the  fruits  of  the  world  can 
be  successfully  cultivated.  Its  varied 
climate  admits  of  the  growth  of  all  the 
cereals  of  all  the  zones.  Its  ranges 
afford  the  widest  scope  and  the  best 
conditions  for  wool  and  stock  raising, 
while  skillful  mining  engineers  claim 
that  its  mineral  wealth  yet  hidden  away 
in  the  recesses  of  the  mountain  ranges 
is  superior  to  that  of  California,  Nevada 
or  Australia." 

Mexico  is  everybody's  country.  The 
artist  delights  in  its  picturesqueness;  the 
writer  of  romances  finds  fascinating 
themes  ready  for  his  pen;  the  sight-seer 
carries  away  pleasant  memories  of  snow- 
capped mountains  and  flowery  fields;  of 
pueblos,  bowered  in  tropical  bloom;  of 
quaint  market  places,  wonderful  old 
cathedrals,  and  customs  that  date  back 


ROMANTIC    MEXICO— THE    LAND    OF    THE    MONTEZUMAS 


HOME    OF    THE    PEON— THE     ADOBE     HUT—    CITY 
OF     MEXICO 

to  the  days  of  Montezuma;  while  the 
invalid,  fleeing  from  the  rigors  of  a 
norther'.  Winter,  forever  after  dreams 
of  its  blue  skies  and  balmy  breezes. 

The  City  of  Mexico,  the  social  and 
political  center  of  the  republic,  is  full 
of  charm  for  the  tourist.  Facing  the' 
beautiful  Zocalo  plaza,  stands  the  grand 
cathedral,  one  hundred  years  in  build- 
ing, and  just  opposite  the  president  s 
palace.  In  the  shadow  of  the  cathedral 
is  the  flower  market,  heavy  with  the 
fragrance  of  magnolias  and  roses.  Less 
than  a  square  away  is  the  National 
Museum,  containing  the  sacrifical  stone 
of  the  Aztecs,  the  famous  calendar 
stone,  and  many  other  things  of  in- 
terest. 

Leading  from  the  center  of  the  city 
to  Chapultepec — the  home  of  Mexico's 
rulers,  from  Montezuma  down  to  Jaurez, 
and  the  Summer  home  of  President 
Diaz— is  the  Paseo,  one  of  the  finest 


driveways  in  the  world. 

But  dear,  very  dear,  to  the  feminine 
heart  are  the  bargains  in  drawn  work,  so 
lavishly  displayed  by  special  dealers, 
and  carved  leather  and  filigree  silver 
found  in  the  shops  along  San  Francisco 
street.  Still  the  pleasure  that  lingers 
longest  in  the  memory  is  a  canoe  voyage 
up  the  Viga  canal,  the  oldest  artificial 
waterway  in  the  world,  to  Santa  Anita, 
the  Venice  of  Mexico. 

But  what  pen  is1  facile  enough  to  give 
anything  like  a  graphic  picture  of  a  land 
so  rich  in  natural  resources  and  so  fraught 
with  the  spirit  of  romance  and  song  and 
story?  Who  can  tell  of  the  traditions, 
the  legends,  the  shrines  and  the  temples 
of  Mexico?  No  one.  The  only  way  is 
to  see  for  ones  self.  Anytime  is  the 
best  time  to  go.  Both  a  Winter  and 
a  Summer  resort,  Mexico  welcomes  you 
out  of  the  heat  and  out  of  the  cold,  for 
in  the  highlands  of  the  tropics  all  days 
are  lovely  days. 


MAGUEY    FIELD,    SAN    ANGEL,    MEXICO 


I    MASONIC  TEMPLE        2  CATHEDRAL  OF  IMMACULATE  CONCEPTION       3  COUNTY  COURT  HOUSE 
4     ELKS     CLUB,     B.  P.  O.  E.     NO.     1087  5     VIEW     OF     BAY     SHELL     ROAD 


MOBILE,    ALABAMA,  QUEEN    CITY  OF  THE  GULF 


By   J.    CHARLES    CARROLL 


MOBILE,  Alabama,  may  justly  be 
called  the  Queen  City  of  the  Gulf, 
being  only  thirty-three  miles  from  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  pleasantly  situated 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Mobile  river  on  the 
bay,  between  the  extreme  cold  of  the 
North  and  excessive  heat  of  the  tropical 
zone.  Here  the  air  is  tempered  by  the 
balmy  breezes  of  the  Gulf,  and  the  varia- 
tions in  temperature  are  but  slight,  which 
make  Mobile  a  delightful  place  of  resi- 
dence both  in  Summer  and  Winter. 

In  1702  the  French  explorers,  the 
brothers  Bienville  and  Iberville,  planted 
a  colony  at  Twenty-seven  Mile  Bluff, 
which  was  removed  in  1710  to  the  pres- 
ent site  of  the  city  of  Mobile.  The 
Choctaws,  known  as  the  Mobilia  or  pad- 
dling Indians,  long  occupied  this  part  of 
the  country,  and  gave  their  name  to  the 


river  and  bay — hence  the  name  of  the 
city,  Mobile. 

Five  flags  have  waved  over  the  city, 
emblems  of  the  rule  of  as  many  civilized 
powers,  the  French,  Spanish,  English, 
American  and  Confederate.  Mobile  still 
bears  traces  of  this  change  of  rulers  in 
the  names  of  the  business  and  residential 
streets  in  the  down  town  districts.-  Such 
names  as  Dauphin,  Conti,  Royal,  St. 
Louis,  St.  Joseph  and  St.  Anthony  are 
readily  recognized  as  not  belonging  to 
our  English  tongue.  Many  of  the  streets 
are  narrow  and  old-fashioned,  and  though 
the  ancient  land  marks  in  the  business 
districts  have  been  demolished  by  the 
march  of  progress  —  being  replaced  by 
up-to-date  buildings  eight  and  ten  stories 
in  height — yet  numbers  of  the  old  time 
Southern  homes  are  in  good  preserva- 


MOBILE,  ALABAMA,  QUEEN  CITY  OF  THE  GULF 


tion  and  seem  likely  to  remain  in  use 
for  many  years  to  come.  Among  the 
new  buildings  may  be  mentioned  the 
City  Bank  and  Trust  Company,  Masonic 
Temple,  Bienville  hotel,  the  establish- 
ment of  Pollock  &  Bernheirner,  the  Lein- 
kauf  Bank  building,  Elks'  Home,  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association,  Adams 
Glass  company,  the  Fidelia  Club,  the 
establishmentof  L.  Ham m el  &  Company, 
as  well  as  many  new  and  handsome  dwell- 
ings on  the  residential  streets. 

Mobile  owns  its  own. water  and  sewer- 
age works,  having  expended  $750,000  in 
the  construction  of  these  improvements 
and  has  one  hundred  miles  of  water 
mains,  furnishing  water  of  the  purest 
quality  at  low  rates  to  the  citizens. 
There  are  one  hundred  miles  of  electric 
car  lines  and  all  the  business  districts 
are  paved  with  asphalt  throughout,  as 
are  also  many  of  the  residential  thor- 
oughfares. 

There  are  eight  banks  with  a  combined 
capital  and  surplus  of  over  $6,078,486, 
six  ice  plants,  three  breweries,  three  elec- 
tric plants,  and  two  grain  elevators,  hav- 
ing a  storage  capacity  of  500,000  bushels. 
There  are  two  cotton  mills,  five  brick 
factories  and  many  smaller  indus- 
tries. 

The  chief  feature  of  Mobile,  however, 
is  its  port,  and  much  of  the  wealth  of 
the  city  flows  through  this  avenue.  In 
addition  to  the  five  railroad  lines  which 
enter  the  city,  fifteen  steamship  com- 
panies are  represented  in  the  port.  The 
following  figures  will  give  an  idea  of  the 
growth  of  Mobile  as  a  seaport  for  the 
past  ten  years,  from  1894  to  1904;  dur- 
ing the  year  of  1894  the  imports 
amounted  to  $817,085,  the  exports  to 
$6,423,576,  while  in  1904  imports  were 
$8, 278, 789  and  exports  $28,540,789.  The 
importation  of  bananas  alone  figures  at 
$303,478  for  1894,  and  for  1904  it 
amounts  to  $11,879,475.  More  sisal 
grass  is  imported  through  Mobile  than 
passes  through  any  port  in  the  world, 
and  in  1904  this  import  amounted  to 


$4,389,739,  and  cotton  exports  for  that 
year  were  $7,785,800.  For  the  past  ten 
years  imports  and  exports  have  increased 
in  a  ratio  of  400  per  cent,  and  the  in- 
crease on  cotton  alone  has  been  200  per 
cent. 

This  port  also  does  an  immense 
amount  of  business  in  the  exportation 
of  timber,  lumber  and  manufactured 
hard  woods  to  Europe,  Mexico,  Cuba, 
and  South  and  Central  America.  There 
are  sixty  sawmills  operating  in  Mobile 
district,  with  an  aggregate  cutting  capa- 
city of  7,000,000  feet,  and  representing 
an  investment  of  over  $40,000,000. 
More  business  is  done  through  this  port 
with  Cuba,  Mexico,  South  and  Central 
America  than  through  any  other  Gulf 
port.  Regular  sailings  are  made  three 
or  four  times  a  week,  always  with  large 
consignments  of  freight  and,  during  the 
Winter  months,  the  tourist  travel  yields 
a  large  revenue. 

Being  the  only  sea  port  of  Alabama, 
and  lying  at  the  mouth  of  the  great  sys- 
tem of  the  state's  water  ways — of  which 
the  Warrior  and  Cahaba  rivers  are  im- 
portant parts  —  Mobile,  with  its  great 
natural  advantages,  seems  destined  to 
become  the  cheapest  coal  port  of  the 
world.  This  opinion  is  shared  by  the 
Hon.  J.  W.  Burke,  late  collector  of  cus- 
toms for  the  Port  of  Mobile,  who  stated 
before  an  annual  convention  of  Alabama 
commercial  bodies  that 

"The  great  Warrior  coal  fields  are  the 
only  practicable  source  on  the  American 
continent  from  which  coal  may  be  floated 
to  tide  water  in  all  seasons  of  the  year 
at -a  price  lower  than  the  cost  of  British  . 
tide  water,  the  Atlantic  seaboard  or  any- 
where else." 

It  is  a  wellknown  fact  that  the  quality 
of  the  coal  mined  in  the  Warrior  fields 
is  equal  to  that  of  any  bituminous  coal 
found  in  any  country. 

With  regard  to  the  industries  of 
Mobile  it  may  be  asked  what  can  be 
advantageously  manufactured  in  the  city. 
The  answer  is,  practically  everything 


MOBILE,    ALABAMA,    QUEEN    CITY    OF  THE    GULF 


into  the  composition  of  which  cotton, 
iron  and  timber  enter,  but  perhaps  the 
truck  gardens  and  fisheries  are  among 
the  most  interesting  industries.  Over 
6,750,000  pounds  of  fish  and  100,000 
barrels  of  oysters  are  handled  annually 
in  Mobile,  while  the  truck  gardens  send 
their  products  to  all  parts  of  the  country, 
for  this  is  one  of  the  richest  farming 
districts  in  the  South.  Tomatoes,  cab- 
bages, turnips,  okra  and  the  luscious 
strawberry  are  to  be  found  here  in  the 
Winter  months;  and  the  markets  are 
noted  for  the  quality  and  variety  of  vege- 
tables sold  at  all  times  of  the  year. 

Visitors  to  Mobile  find  beautiful 
drives  extending  from  the  city  in  almost 
every  direction,  the  favorite  and  most 
attractive,  perhaps,  being  that  on  the 
Bay  Shell  Road,  which  runs  along  the 
western  part  of  the  bay.  The  city  is 
also  rich  in  handsome  parks,  among 
which  may  be  mentioned  Bienville  park, 
named  in  honor  of  the  old  explorer. 
Here  may  be  seen  some  of  the  magnifi- 
cent oaks  and  lovely  magnolia  trees, 
which  are  clothed  in  a  garb  of  verdant 
green  all  the  year  around,  while  the 
chirping  of  numerous  birds  in  the  depths 
of  Winter  convinces  the  tourist  that  he 
is  indeed  in  the  sunny  South.  The 
Winter  visitor  will  find  abundant  sport 
in  hunting  deer,  ducks,  squirrels,  snipe 
and  quail,  which  are  to  be  found  in  the 


woods  in  the  vicinity  of  the  city,  while 
for  those  who  love  fishing,  all  kinds  of 
fresh  and  salt  water  fish  abound  in  the 
streams  tributary  to  Mobile  Bay  and  in 
the  bay  itself. 

One  striking  feature  of  life  in  Mobile 
which  attracts  the  attention  of  the  tourist 
and  draws  large  crowds  to  the  city  from 
almost  all  parts  of  America  is  the  festival 
of  Mardi  Gras,  or  Boeuf  Graus,  as  it  is 
sometimes  called.  This  is  one  of  the 
old  Roman  Catholic  feasts  of  Latin- 
American  and  South  American  countries, 
imported  from  the  mother  continent, 
and  falls  on  Shrove  Tuesday.  During 
the  forty-eight  hours  of  grotesque  day 
and  night  parades,  the  streets  are 
thronged  with  sightseers.  These  hours 
of  frolic  are  followed  by  magnificent  tab- 
leaux on  which  much  time  and  care  are 
expended,  and  by  balls,  where  the  gor- 
geous costumes  of  the  maskers  and  the 
rich  gowns  of  the  ladies  of  the  city  and 
of  the  many  visitiors  from  a  distance 
make  up  a  picture  of  color  and  move- 
ment that  rivals  the  kaleidescope,  and 
will  never  be  forgotten  by  those  who  are 
so  happy  as  to  witness  it.  The  stranger 
will  do  well  to  visit  Mobile  at  this  time 
of  the  year,  and  add  this  delightful 
memory  to  his  recollections  of  the  Queen 
City  of  the  Gulf,  with  its  hospitable  peo- 
ple, delightful  climate  and  many  other 
attractive  features. 


HOTEL  BICNVtLLE, 

MOBILE'S    NEW  HOTEL, 

•  -OBILF.  ,  ALABAMA'. 


OFF    FOR    THE    INAUGURATION 


OVER    THE     B.    &     O. 


IF  there  is  in  the  United  States  a  rail- 
road that  is  closely  associated  with 
our  national  history  and  development, 
that  road  is  the  Baltimore  &  Ohio.  It 
is  not  only  the  pioneer  of  American  rail- 
roads, but  it  has  been  identified  with 
American  progress  ever  since  the  first 
rails  were  laid.  Its  fame  is  heralded  far 
and  wide,  and  everyone  is  familiar  with 
the  picture  that  represents  it — the  dome 
of  the  capitol  in  Washington — with  the 
magic  letters  B.  &  O.  Not  long  ago 
a  distinguished  public  man  made  the 
emphatic  statement  that  no  American 
citizen  could  be  considered  as  properly 
educated  until  he  had  visited  Washing- 
ton. It  might  be  said  with  equal  truth 
that  most  people  consider  their  visit  to 
the  capital  city  especially  memorable  if 
they  have  traveled  via  the  B.  &  O. 

The  line  from  Chicago,  St.  Louis, 
Cincinnati  and  Pittsburg  to  Washington 
is  without  doubt  the  most  picturesque 
and  interesting  route  that  can  be 
selected,  made  especially  delightful  by 
the  convenience  of  its  modern  and  luxu- 
rious equipment.  Every  innovation  and 
improvement  in  railway  travel  that  marks 
the  progress  of  our  nation  is  usually  ini- 
tiated and  adopted  by  the  B.  &  O. 

This  road  has  its  headquarters  in 
Baltimore,  and  has  been  associated  with 
some  of  the  most  striking  scenes  in  our 
history.  It  was  at  "The  President's 
Station"  in  Baltimore  that  President 
Lincoln  started  on  his  trip  to  Washing- 
ton for  inauguration  in  1861,  when  his 
life  was  imperiled  by  those  who  desired 
to  prevent  his  being  made  president; 
those  who  have  studied  national  history 
will  recall  many  another  incident  in 
which  this  railroad  figures. 

In  connection  with  the  Baltimore  & 
Ohio  railroad,  mention  must  be  made  of 
the  "Book  of  the  Royal  Blue,"  edited 
by  W.  E.  Lowes.  This  publication  has 
a  high  rank  because  of  the  fine  quality 
of  its  literary  matter.  Mr.  Lowes  has 


been  a  sort  of  godfather  to  the  Associa- 
tion of  American  Press  Humorists,  and 
the  pages  of  "The  Royal  Blue"  are  al- 
ways replete  with  gems  of  wit,  which 
have  greatly  helped  in  the  gaining  of  its 
present  circulation,  although  its  adver- 
tising pages  are  devoted  entirely  to  the 
Baltimore  &  Ohio  railroad. 

Among  its  many  interesting  features 
to  the  modern  American,'  is  the  fact  that 
the  B.  &  O.  was  the  first  road  to  utilize 
locomotive  power;  the  first  to  use  the 
telegraph;  the  first  to  penetrate  the 
Allegheny  mountains;  the  first  to  em- 
ploy electricity  as  a  motive  power  and 
this  is  surely  an  indication  of  the  pro- 
gressive spirit  that  always  characterizes 
this  company.  Any  tourist  desiring  to 
make  the  very  best  of  his  trip  will  see 
to  it  that  he  travels  at  least  one  way  on 
this  road. 

At  the  St.  Louis  Exposition  the  fa- 
mous B.  &  O.  exhibit  in  the  Transporta- 
tion Building  was  awarded  twenty-nine 
gold  medals,  the  very  highest  award  of 
the  Exposition.  It  was  most  fascinating 
to  examine  the  models  of  the  different 
types  of  locomotive  in  use  on  this  road 
from  its  establishment  to  the  present 
day  —  the  contrast  between  the  first 
engines  and  the  monsters  of  1904  being 
indeed  great.  Every  advance  in  the 
evolution  of  railway  equipment  was  indi- 
cated in  the  Transportation  Building. 
Everyone  was  interested  in  these  exhi- 
bits, for  where  is  there  a  small  boy  or 
man  who  has  not  at  some  time  felt  an 
absorbing  ambition  to  become  a  railway 
engineer?  There  is  something  about  the 
speed  and  movement  of  the  railway  train 
that  appeals  to  the  American  mind. 

The  time  is  already  at  hand  when  the 
compilers  of  our  school  text  books  are 
not  afraid  to  mention  by  name  the  pio- 
neer railways  which  have  done  so  much 
toward  developing  this  country;  and 
naturally  the  Baltimore  &  Ohio  com- 
mands first  attention.  Q  rr 

wJO 

f?l  v] 


• "