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New England Magazine 



Ne^ Serie? ; Vol. 5. Old Series, Vol. 11 

September, 1891. — February, i8g2. 


86 Federal Street. 

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1892, by the 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

All rights reserved. 

Typography by New England Magazine, Boston, Mass. 

Presswork by Potter & Potter, Boston, Mass. 





Agriculture, A Future C. S. Plumb 311 

Atlanta George Leonard Chaney 377 

Brass Cannon of Campobello, The Kate Gannett Wells ."._.. 3 

Illustrations: The Brass Cannon; The Admiral's Chair, and Other Relics; Campobello; Easlport from Campobello; In 
the Fog at Campobello; Admiral Owen, from a Portrait preserved at Campobello; The Church, Schools and Rectory 
at Campobello. 

Burgess Edward, and His Work A. G. McVey 49 

Illustrations: Edward Burgess: The Puritan; The Mayflower; , — Goelet Cup, August, 1888; The Mayflower — 
Schooner rigged; The Puritan, Mayflower, and Volunteer after a painting by Halsall; The Volunteer rounding the 
Light-Ship, after a painting by Halsall; |The Papoose; The Volu7iteer in Dock; The Steam Yacht Jathuiel ; 
The Saladin; The Fancy; The Beatrix; The Oweenee; The Merlin; The " John H. Buttrick" ; The Carrie 

E. Phillips ; The Burgess Homestead at Beverly; Edward Burgess's Signature. 

Brunswick and Bowdoin College Charles Letuis Slattery 449 

Illustrations by Sears Gallagher, J. R. Brown, William F. Hersey, Charles H. Woodbury, and James Hall : 

Governor James Bowdoin; Bowdoin College Campus; Bowdoin College in 1830; Main Street, Brunswick; Joseph 
McKeen First President of Bowdoin College; King's Chapel, Bowdoin; Lincoln Street, Brunswick; Longfellow's 
Class Picture; Henry W. Longfellow at the age of Thirty-five; The Cabot Cotton Mill, Brunswick; Town Hall, 
Brunswick; House in which '" Uncle Tom's Cabin " was written, Brunswick; Up the Androscoggin ; Professor Cleve- 
land; Massachusetts Hall, Bowdoin; The Oldest House in Brunswick; Woodlawn, Brunswick; The first Meeting- 
House in Brunswick; William DeWitt Hyde, President of Bowdoin College; Joshua L. Chamberlain, ex-President of 
Bowdoin College; Chief Justice Fuller; Seal of Bowdoin College. 

Black and White Mrs. Lillie B. Chace Wyman 476 

With a Portrait of Lucy Stone. 

Butler's Boyhood, General Benjamin F. Butler 225 

Illustrations: Ye olde Powder Home; Captain John Butler — The Father of Benjamin F. Butler: Mrs. Charlotte Ellison 
Butler — The Mother of Benjamin F. Butler? Birthplace of Benjamin F. Butler, at Deerfield, N. H.; Waierville Col- 
lege in Benjamin F. Butler's Student Days; Miss Sarah Hildreth in 1839; Benjamin F. Butler in 1839; Mrs. Benjamin 

F. Butler. 

Brooks Phillips. Julius H. Ward 555 

Illustrations by Chas. H. Woodbury, Jo. H. Hatfield, Sears Gallagher, James Hall, Jos. R. Brown, and Louis A. Holman; 
Phillips Brooks as a Harvard Student; Rev. Alexander H. Vinton; St. Paul's Church; Boston Latin School, Bedford 
Street; Massachusetts Hall, Harvard; Rev. John C. Brooks; Rev. Frederick Brooks; Rev. Arthur Brooks; Professor 
William Sparrow; Theological Seminary, Alexandria; St. George's Hall, Alexandria: Mr. Brooks in His Old Room 
at Alexandria; Church of the Advent, Philadelphia; Phillips Brooks during his rectorship of the Church of the Advent; 
Church of the Holy Trinity, Philadelphia; Phillips Brooks during his rectorship of Holy Trinity; Old Trinity Church, 
Summer Street, Boston; Mr. Brooks's Residence, Clarendon Street, Boston; Trinity Church, Boston; Interior of 
Trinity Church, Boston; Phillips Brooks's house, North Andover. 

Bosphorus, The Alfred O. F. Hamlin 484 

Beaconsfield Terraces, The John Waterman 625 

Campobello, Brass Cannon of Kate Gannett Wells 3 

Converting of Obed Saltus Rose Terry Cooke 395 

Canadian Journalists and Journalism Walter Blackburn Harte 411 

Illustrations by John W. Bengough, Joseph Brown, Sears Gallagher, and others: 

"Grip;" Honore Beaugrand; Ella S. Elliott; John Robson Cameron; James Johnson: Watson Griffin; John Living- 
ston; Joseph Tasse; Eve H. Brodilique; John A. MacPhail; John Anderson Boyd; Edmund E. Sheppard; W. D. 
Le Sueur; J. Lessard; S. Frances Harrison; Nicholas Hood Davin; John W. Bengough; C. Blackett Robinson; D. 
J. Beaton; Hon. J, W. Longley, J. S. Willison; John Talon Lesperance; W. F. Luxton; Mclyneaux St. John; James 
Hannay; John Cameron; Edward Farrer; Robert S. White; Bernard McEvoy; The Globe Building, Toronto; The 
Mail Building, Toronto; The Empty Saddle, The Cartoon in " Grip " published after Sir John Macdonald's death; 
John V. Ellis; The Beauties of a Royal Commission, from " Grip," August 23, 1873. 

Corot — His Life and Work Camille 1 hurwanger 691 

Illustrations: Corot at Work in his Studio; A June Morning, and Portrait of Corot, engraved by M. Lamont Brown; 
Fontainbleau; Danse Antique; Orpheus; Le Soir; Le Matin; Ville D'Avray; The Dance of the Nymphs; Apple 

Child, Lydia Maria, Letters from Wendell Phillips to 730 

Churches of Worcester C. W. Lamson 768 

Illustrations: Old South Church; First Unitarian Church; New Old South; Interior of New Old South; Bancroft House; 
Rev. Aaron Bancroft, D. D.; Rev. Edward H. Hall; Central Church; Interior of Central Church; Rev. Seth Sweet- 
ser, D. D.; Rev. Davis Peabody, D. D.; Union Church; Rev. D. Dorchester, D. D., LL.D.; Trinity Church: Church 
of the Unity; Edward Everett Hale; First Universalist Church; All Saints Church; Rev. Wm. R. Huntington; 
Rev. Merrill Richardson, D. D. ; Pulpit of All Saints Church; Carved Stones from Worcester Cathedral; Swedish 
Congregational Church; Rev. H. S. Wayland, D. D. ; Main Street, Baptist Church; First Baptist Church; Notre 
Dame Church; Rev. Jonathan Going, D. D.; Plymouth Church; St. John's Episcopal Church; Window in St. 
John's Church; Pleasant Street Baptist Church; Rev. Father Fitton; St. Paul's Church; Figure of St. Paul; Pied- 
mont Church; Pilgrim Church; Gymnasium in Pilgiim Church; Sunday-School Rooms in Pilgrim Church. 


xii INDEX. 


Country Boy's Recollections of the War, a Albert D. Smith 812 

Delfshaven, The Start from Daniel Van Pelt 325 

Illustrations by J. H. Hatfield and others: 

St. Peter's Church, Leyden; Site of John Robinson's House at the right; In St. Peter's Church; The March Gate, 
Leyden; Map showing the Route of the Pilgrims from Leyden to Delfshaven; View in Leyden, unchanged since 1620; 
Tablet in memory of John Robinson, St. Peter's Church, Leyden; Site of John Robinson's House at Leyden: Canal at 
Leyden through which the Pilgrims passed on leaving the city; Canal at Delft through which the Pilgrims passed; 
View at Delft; Schiedam in the time of the Pilgrims; Church at Delfshaven — standing in 1620; Interior of Church at 

Dike, The Great Dike S. R. Dennen, D.D 338 

Dr. Cabot's Two Brains. A Story Jeannette B. Perry 344 

Illustrations by J. H. Hatfield: 

" They sat waiting expectantly in the twilight"; "He bent forward listening to a footstep outside"; " He examined 
the handwriting curiously "; " He started quickly, a subtle change coming into his face"; " He stood talking earnestly 
with Miss Delano." 

Dakota, Prairies and Coteaus of Sam. T. Clover 735 

Editor's Table 132, 270, 402, 549, 686, 820 

French Canadian Peasantry, The Prosper Bender 109 

Gould Island Mystery, The. A Story David Buff urn 77 

Illustrations: "Dorothy looked earnestly toward the Tiverton shore"; "I shall call you to account"; Dorothy watched 
from her window"; "Gould Island lay dark against the horizon"; The Old Friends' Meeting-house; "He had just 
time to conceal himself." 

Growth of a Vegetarian, The. A Story Mary L. Adams 101 

Granite Industry in New England George A. Rich 742 

Illustrations by Jo. H. Hatfield and Louis A. Holman. Biotite Granite; Hornblende Granite: Muscovite Granite; L T . S. Post 
Office, Brooklyn, N. Y. ; The Late Governor, Jos. R. Bodwel! of Maine; Sands Quarry, Vinal Haven, Me.; Shipping 
Granite at Vinal Haven, Me.; Methodist Book Concern, New York; Residence of Isaac V. Brokaw; John Peirce: Carnegie 
Free Library, Alleghany City, Pa. ; Residence of H. 0. Havemayer; Metropolitan Art Museum, New York: Washington 
Bridge over the Harlem River; James G. Batterson; Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument, Boston , New Erie County Savings 
Bank, Buffalo, N. Y.; Stony Creek Granite Quarry; Shipping Place, Stony Creek, Conn.; National Monument to the Fore- 
fathers, Plymouth; Prospect Heights, Water Tower, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Home and Haunts of Lowell Frank B. Sanborn 275 

Innocent, The. A Story Frances Courtenay Baylor 204 

Illustrations by J. H. Hatfield: 

" He was awfully comfortable"; " He was so careful of mamma"; "He played by the hour with the children "; "A 
dash, a flash, and he was gone "; " They heard him read Keble, and Robertson's Sermons." 

Journalism, Canadian Walter Blackburn Harte 411 

Jan Jansen, Sheep-herder. A Story Charles Howard Shinn 265 

John Parmenter's Protege. A Story Walter Blackburn Harte 792 

Lowell, James Russell Edward Everett Hale 183 

Lowell's " Pioneer " Edwin D. Mead 235 

Illustrations: Fac-simile of the Cover of The Pioneer; Circe, Frontispiece of the First Number of The Pioneer; Two 
Hundred Years ago — From the First Number of The Pioneer; Genevieve — From the Second Number of The Pio- 
neer; Dickens and the "Artist in Boots" — From the Third Number of The Pioneer; First Page of Lowell's Poem 
" The Rose" — From the First Number of The Pioneer; John Flaxman — From the Third Number of The Pioneer. 

Louisburg, Siege of S. Frances Harrison 261 

Lowell, The Home and Haunts Frank B. Sanborn 275 

Illustrations by William Goodrich Beal, Sears Gallagher, William Fuller Hersey, and others: 

Elmwood; Interior of the old West Church, Boston; Rev. Charles Lowell; The Hall at Elmwood; In the Library at 
Elmwood; Josiah Quincy, President of Harvard University, 1829-1845; Harvard University, with Procession of Alumni, 
1836; Harvard Square in 1823; President Kirkland; Rev. Robert T. S. Lowell ; The Charles River Marshes — "An 
Indian Summer Reverie"; Marie White Lowell: The Willows; The Ancient Willow: James Jackson Lowell: William 
Lowell Putnam; Charles Russell Lowell: The Lowell Lot at Mount Auburn: James Russell Lowell: At Appledore; 
Mount Kineo, Moosehead Lake — "A Moosehead Journal"; Beaver Brook; The Washington Elm at Cambridge; 
Robert Carter; Nathan Hale; Dr. Estes Howe; Arthur Hugh Clough; " Bankside," the Home of Edmund Quincy; 
The Cathedral at Chartres; Appleton Chapel; A Corner at Elmwood. 

Lowell and the Birds : ..... Eeander S. Keyser 398 

Lincoln, Abraham Phillips Brooks 681 

Letters of Wendell Phillips to Lydia Maria Child 730 

Illustrations: Fac-simile of Phillips' Letters; Wendell Philllips. 

Mont Saint Michel A. M. Mosher 193 

Illustrations by Louis A. Holman, H. D. Murphy, and others: 

Mont Saint Michel; The Cloister — A View taken from the Gallery; Galerie de l'Aquilon: from the Bayeaux Tapestry : 
Street in Saint Michel; The King's Gate and Watch Tower. 

Mice at Eavesdropping A. Rodent 5S1 

Illustrations by A. S. Cox: 

Headpiece; " Mister, what yer doin'? What yer doin'? " "A Precious Chair"; "A strange Expression of Distress 
escaped him." 

New South — The. A Rising Texas City - 6S 

INDEX. xiii 


NEWBURYPORT Ethel Parton 160 

Illustrations by J. H. Hatfield and H. D. Murphy: 

The old State House; The Noyes House; The Coffin House; Jonah and the Whale — Tile in the Coffin House; The 
old Elm at Newbury; Nathaniel Tracy; House where Tracy entertained Talleyrand; The Clam Houses at Joppa; 
Launch of the " R. S. Spofford"; On the Landing at Joppa; Curson's Mill; Lord Timothy Dexter from an old print; 
The Old South Church and Birthplace of Wm. L. Garrison; The Whitefield Cenotaph; Brown Square; High Street; 
The Mall; Theophilus Parsons; Statue on the Mall; Caleb Cushing; Residence of Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford; 
Residence of Hon. E. P. Dodge; Hall in the Dodge House. 

New South, The — Atlanta George Leonard Chaney 377 

Illustrations: The State House; Railway Station, Atlanta; The Kimball House; Pryor Street; Post-Office and Custom 
House; The State Library; The Governor's Mansion; Exposition Building; Office of the Atlanta Constitution; Young 
Men's Christian Association Building; Institute of Technology; Hebrew Orphan Asylum; Atlanta University; View 
in Grant Park; Statue of Hon. B. H. Hill; Peach-tree Street; The McPherson Monument; Monument to the Con- 
federate dead, Atlanta; Fort Walker. 

New South, The — The City of Fort Worth F. M. Clarke 538 

Odor of Sanctity, The. A Story Ellen Marvin Heaton 38, 303, 470 

Old-Fashioned Homily on Home. An S. R. Dennen, D.D 338 

Only an Incident. A Story Herbert D Ward 501 

Illustrations by Jo. H. Hatfield: 

" I am not a Professor"; " Why are you doing this"? " He put his hand to his face "; " While the man talked he ate 
in an absent-minded way"; " You forget, Mr. Kendall. I could engrave nothing but corals." 

Old Oaken Bucket, Author of — George M. Young 661 

Omnibus 135, 272, 407, 551, 688 

A Frugal Swain; Jennie Cotton; The Indian Corn, Julia Taft Bayne; Unattained, Le Roy Phillips; A Romance from 
Real Life, Andrew Tully; A Revelation, C. H. Crandall; A " Has Been," Harry Romaine; The Fire in the Grate, 
Charles Gordon Rogers; Trenton Snows, J. E. Cutter; A Christmas Toast, C. Gordon Rogers; The Fitting Finis, 
Harry Romaine; The Fire of Love, Harry Romaine; Let us Kiss and Call it Even, Fred Divine; Parepa's Song, Wil- 
liam T. Smyth. 

Pan-Republic Congress, A E. P. Powell 10 

Philip, Pontiac, and Tecumseh Caroline Christine Stecker 121 

The Public Libraries of Massachusetts Henry S. Nourse 139 

Illustrations: Public Library, Dedham; Bridgewater Public Library; Thayer Public Library, Braintree; Petersham Public 
Library; Duxbury Free Library; Stockbridge Public Library; Public Library, Princeton; Damon Memorial, Holden; 
Nevins Memorial Library, Methuen; Fitchburg Public Library; Hingham Public Library; City Library, Springfield; 
Warren Public Library; Free Public Library, New Bedford; Free Public Library, Worcester; Berkshire Athenaeum, 
Pittsfield; Temple Hall Library, Mashpee. 

Payne's Southern Sweetheart, John Howard Laura Speer 355 

Illustrations: Mary Harden; John Howard Payne at the age of nineteen; The Home of Mary Harden, Athens, Ga; " Rob 
Roy"; Mrs. Edward Harden; General Edward Harden; John Howard Payne in later life; Fac-simile of Payne's MS. 
of" Home Sweet Home"; Monument to Payne in Oak Hill Cemetery, Washington. 

Puritans, The. See Delftshayen Daniel Van Pelt 325 

Pen Pictures of the Bosphorus , Alfred D. F. Hamlin 484 

Illustrations by the Author, Louis A. Holman, and Charles H. Woodbury: 

On the Bosphorus; The Shores of two Continents alternately approach and recede; The Boat touches now at the Shore 
of Europe, and now of Asia; The " Castle of Oblivion"; In the Harem; The Bosphorus with its Villages and Palaces 
far below us; Innumerable Windows flood the Rooms with Sunshine; The Village Mosque is not far off; The narrow, ill- 
paved streets made wheeling almost impossible; The Mosque of Miri-Ma at Scutari; The projecting Wings and Bays 
absolutely disregard the line of Basement; A Turkish Interior; Stair Balustrade; A Street in Stamboul; Konak, near 

Phillips, Wendell, Letters to L. M. Child '. 730 

Prairies and Coteaus of Dakota, The Sam. T. Clover 735 

Illustrations: A prospective fortune in sheep; Artesian Glen at Springfield; A typical Dakota Barnyard; A Dakota Farm; 
The Successor of the Log Shack; Woonsocket's famous Artesian Well. 

Randolph of Roanoke and His People Albert G. Evans 442 

Summer Days on the North Shore Winfield S. Nevins 17 

Illustrations: By the Sea at Beverly; General Charles G. Loring's Place at Beverly; A Corner in the Loring House; 
Martin Brimmer's Place; G. B. Howe's Place at Manchester; The Everett Place at West Manchester; Brackenbury 
Lane; Ocean Drive at Beverly; Mr. Frank W. Breed's Residence at Lynn; Professor Elihu Thomson's Residence at 
Lynn; The North Shore Tally-ho; A Glimpse of Baker's Island; A Street in Beverly; The Library at Manchester; 
Emmanuel Church, Manchester; Mr. G. N. Black's Place at Manchester; Mr. F. Gordon Dexter's Place, Beverly 
Farms; Mr. John Shepard's Place at Beach Bluff; Mr. Charles Stedman Hanks's Place at West Manchester; Smaller 
Tally-ho; Mr. Russell Sturgis's Place at Manchester; Rev. Cyrus A. Bartol's Place at West Manchester; Mr. Joseph 
Proctor's Cottage, Manchester; Dr. Oliver jWendell Holmes's Place; Colonel A. B. Rockwell's Place; Mr. T. Dennis 
Boardman's Place; Mr. Joseph Le Favour's Place; Hon. Franklin Haven's Place; The Peckman Mansion. 

South, Woman's Movement in the A. D. Mayo 249 

Siege of Louisburg, A Glimpse of S. Frances Harrison 261 

South The, Why Defeated in Civil War Albert Bushnell Hart 363 

South, The New Atlanta , Geo. Leonard Chaney 377 

Salem Witchcraft, Stories of Winfield S. Nevins 517,664, 717 

Illustrations by Alfred C. Eastman, Charles H. Woodbury, James Hall, Jo. H. Hatfield, T. Hendry, and B. V. Carpenter: 
Headpiece; Governor Bradstreet; Site of " Salem Village" Church, Danvers; The Parris House, Danvers; Gage, 
Osborn, and Putnam Houses, Danvers; Old First Church (Roger Williams), Salem; Governor Bradstreet's House, 
Salem; Cotton Mather's Grave, Boston; Witch Hill, Salem, First Church in Salem, from an old Print. Samuel 
Sewall; "What a sad thing it is to see Eight Firebrands of Hell hanging there; " Site of Old Jail House, Salem; 
Sheriff Corwin's Grave, Salem; Cotton Mather; Howard Street Cemetery, Salem, where Giles Corey was pressed to 
death; The Giles Corey Mill, West Peabody; Site of Giles Corey's House; Jonathan Putnam's House, Danvers; 
Beadle's Tavern; William Stoughton, from the Portrait in Memorial Hall, Harvard; The Roger Williams House, 1635; 
A Corner of the House as it is To-day; Site of Court House where Witch Trials took place; Nathaniel Felton House; 
Nurse House, Danvers; The Nurse Monument; Jonathan Putnam House; Sarah Houlton House, Peabody; Burroughs 
put his finger in the bung of a barrel of cider and lifted it up; She pulled aside the winding-sheet and showed me 
the place. 

xiv INDEX. 


St. Louis, The City of Prof. C. M. Woodward. 588 

Illustrated under the direction of Mr. Holmes Smith of the St. Louis Museum of Fine Arts, by Ross Turner, Chas. H. 
Woodbury, M. O. McArdle, and others: 
Map of St. Louis; The Mercantile Club Building, St. Louis; The New Union Depot; A Bit of the Levee; St. Louis 
Bridge; James B.Eads; James E. Yeatman; The late Henry Shaw; Vaults of Equitable Building; Linnean House; 
Shaw's Garden; Apse of Christ Church Cathedral; Part of the Levee; Exposition Building; Dr. William J.Eliot; 
Grand Avenue Bridge; Church of the Messiah; Washington Avenue looking West; Lafayette Park in Winter; Read- 
ing-room, Mercantile Library; Mercantile Library; Fireplace in Mercantile Library reading-room; St. Louis Museum 
of Fine Arts; a St. Louis Residence; Vestibule of Museum of Fine Arts; Statue of Alexander von Humboldt; En- 
trance to Westmoreland Place; Grand Saloon of Mississippi River Boat; A Tide Marker in the Mississippi ; Head- 
light of River Steamer; The Levee End of the Great Bridge; The New City Hall; Premises of the Samuel Cupples 
Real Estate Company; Security Building; Ely Walker Dry Goods Company's Building; Dr. Wlliiam T. Harris; En- 
trance to Boatmen's Bank; Director's Room, Boatmen's Bank; Grain Barges on the Mississippi. 

Salem Witch, A A Story Edith Mary Norfis 628 

Illustrated by H. Martin Beal and William Fuller Hersey: 

Headpiece, 1690; " His strong frame shook with an agony too deep for words; " A Bit of Old Salem. 

Sixty Years Ago Lucy E. A. Kebler 797 

Trapping of the Widow Rose, The Francis Dana 534 

Tale of Narragansett, A Caroline Hazard. 805 

University of California, The Charles Howard Shinn 89 

Illustrations: Daniel Coit Gilman, first President of the University of California, from a Photograph taken in 1875; 
The Berkeley Foothills; Henry Durant; James Lick; S. C. Hastings; Edward Tompkins; H. D. Bacon; H. H. 
Toland: A. K. P. Harmon; Michael Reese; D. O. Mills; A General View of the University Buildings; F. L. A. 
Pioche; Professor John Le Conte; Professor Joseph Le Conte; The New Chemistry Building; The Berkeley Oaks; 
Professor W. B. Rising; Professor Irving Stringham; Professor Martin Kellogg; The Golden Gate from Berkeley; 
Professor G. H. Howison; Dr. J. H. C. Bonte; Professor Eugene W. Hilgard. 

Vacation Days at Aunt Phcebe's, Caroline Sinclair Woodward. 63 

Woman's Movement in the South, The A. D. Mayo 249 

Westminster Massacre, The J. M. French 318 

Why the South Was Defeated in the Civil War Albert Bushnell Hart 363 

Witch of Shawshine, The A Story A. E. B->-own 765 

Worcester Churches C. M. Lamson 768 

War, The, A Country Boy's Recollections of Albert D. Smith 802 

Yellow Wall-paper, The A Story Charlotte Perkins Stetson 647 

Illustrated by Jo. H. Hatfield: 

" I am sitting by the window in this atrocious nursery; " " She didn't know I was in the room; " " I had to creep over 
him every time." 


August and September Sketches Catherine Thayer 16 

Bob White Kate Whiting 77 

Buried City, A Arthur L. Salmon 108 

Bach and Beethoven Zitella Cocke 342 

Curtis, George William John W. Chadzvick 624 

Christmas Eve Agnes Maule Machar 663 

Dost Thou Think of me Often Stuart Sterne 354 

Deposed Florence E. Pratt 623 

Fisher Boat, The Celia Thaxter 309 

Fortune Telling Marion P. Guild.. 548 

Fairies ...Claude Napier 811 

Gwenlyn Ernest Rhys 533 

Gray Dawn, The S. C. Lapius 637 

Herons of Elmwood, The Henry W. Longfellow 65 

In Memoriam — Parnell T. H. Farnham 469 

JLowell, James Russell Sarah K. Bolton 192 

My First Love John Allister Currie 16 

Mozart and Mendelssohn Zitella Cocke 482 

Master of Raven's Woe, The Arthur L. Salmon 579 

Old Meadow Path, The Jean La Rue Burnett 48 

Old Oaken Bucket, The Samuel Woodworth 657 

Possession E. O. Boswall 224 

Pot of Honey, The Dora Read Goodale 317 

Phyllis , Henry Cleveland W'ood 44S 

Purification George Edgar Montgomery 580 

Pines, The Zitella Cocke 636 

Poems of Emily Dickinson Le Roy Phillips 311 

Retribution Ellen Elizabeth Hill 376 

Two Maidens, The Zitella Cocke 131 

'Tis Better to have Loved and Lost Philip Bourke Marston 6S0 

To-Morrow F. W. Clarke 716 

Tribute of Silence, The James Buckham 741 

Undercurrent, The C. H. Crandall 203 

When Thou art Far from Me Philip Bourke Marston 159 

Winter fulie AL. Lippmann 470 


New England Magazine 

New Series. 


Vol. V. No. 1 


Bv Kate Gannett Wells. 

THE history of the island of Camp- 
pobello, in Passamaquoddy Bay, 
off Eastport, Maine, still presents 
peculiar features of interest to those who 
care for romance in history. It pos- 
sessed singular picturesqueness, unpro- 
ductiveness, and courtly rule, — for here 
was maintained even till 1857 an almost 
feudal rule. William Owen of Wales, 
admiral, achieved distinction a century 
ago at the battle of Pondicherry in India, 
under Lord Clive, and when old and 
wounded asked for a pension or gratuity. 
Through the intercession of Sir William 
Campbell, governor-general of Nova 
Scotia, the English government in 1767, 
granted Passamaquoddy Outer Island to 
the admiral and his cousins, for it was a 
larger territory than could be deeded to 
any one individual ; and Owen in gratitude 
changed its name to Campobello. David 
Owen lived here as agent for the others, 
and as all of the original four owners 

died, the land became the property of 
William Fitz-William Owen. 

The young admiral, as he was called, 
was the hero of the land, and of the 
hearts of the girls, during the first half 
of this century. He was a man of iron 
will, strong affections, and sundry caprices. 
As a boy he was isolated from his family 
by military rule, and brought up in bar- 
racks. When asked his name at five 
years of age, he answered, " I don't 
know ; mother can tell you." From the 
barracks he went the round of boarding- 
schools, sometimes, when he had been 
very good, being allowed to wear a 
cocked hat and a suit of scarlet made 
from an old coat of his father's. Like 
all English boys he learned the catechism 
and collects. If wearied with repeating 
the Lord's Prayer, he wished he dared 
say it backwards, yet he feared that by so 
doing he might raise the devil, and that 
then it would be a long time before he 


would be allowed to wear again his 
favorite coat and hat. 

He was a naughty boy in little ways, 
though full of fun and of generosity, 
liking to argue, and generally gaining his 
point in discussion with other lads, espe- 
cially if it were about the subject of re- 
ligion. When he had been unusually 
obstinate, he comforted himself by his 
faith that God would interpose on his be- 
half and make him have a good time after 
all, in spite of the punishments he was 
called upon to bear and the loneliness 
that crept over him. Moreover, his 
dreams assured him that he was a 
special favorite of the Almighty. 

In 1788, the boy became a midship- 
man in a line-of-battle ship, and in due 
course of time cruised in the Bay of 

The Admiral's Chair and Other Relics. 

Fundy, helping in its survey. For three 
years his man-of-war must have been 
stationed at Campobello. His crew often 
went ashore in summer, tending a little 
garden in Havre de Lutre, and carrying 
the dahlias, for which the island has 

always been famous, to the pretty girls 
and the Owen ladies at Welshpool, who 
in return in the winter went to many a 
dance on board his ship. 

The boy grew into the middle-aged 
man, and when sixty-one years old, with 
the rank of admiral, came back to Cam- 
pobello to live. Somewhere in that long 
time he had captured two cannon from a 
Spanish pirate, and carried them away to 
his American home. Proud as he was of 
them, there is now no one living to tell 
who bled or who swore, or whether the 
Spanish galleon sank or paid a ransom. 
He placed them high on Calder's Hill, 
overlooking the bay, where they bid de- 
fiance to American fishing boats — for 
Campobello belongs to New Brunswick. 
He planted the sun-dial of his vessel in 
the garden fronting his house, and put a 
section of his beloved quarter-deck in 
the grove close to the shore. There, 
pacing up and down in uniform, he lived 
over again the days of his attack upon 
the pirate ship. He went back and 
forth over the island, marrying and 
\ commanding the people. He kissed 
N v the girls when he married 

them, and took fish and game 
as rent from their husbands. 
Now and then he gave a 
ball ; oftener he held church 
service in what was almost 
a shanty, omitting from the 
liturgy whatever he might 
chance to dislike on any 
special Sunday. 

Lady Owen was queen as 
he was king, and never did 
a lady rule more gently over 
storeroom and parlor, over 
Sunday-school and sewing- 
school. The brass andirons 
shone like gold. The long 
curving mahogany sofa and 
the big leathern arm-chair, 
with sockets in its elbows for 
candles, still tell the primitive 
splendor of those days. Re- 
ligion was discussed over water and 
whiskey, and the air, thick with murki- 
ness from the clay-pipes, recalled the 
smoke of the naval battles. 

Remittances did not always come 
promptly from England, and money was 


needed in the island ; so the admiral set tion of Campobello. As in the old Ger- 
up his own bank, and issued one-dollar man principalities, every Welshpooler 
certificates surmounted by his crest and must have craved a title ; there were 
his motto "Flecti non Frangi." But commissioners and surveyors of highways, 
somehow the time never came when he overseers of poor and of fisheries, asses- 
was called upon " to pay one dollar on sors, trustees of schools, inspectors of fish 

Admiral Owen. 


demand to the bearer at Welshpool," 
and the certificates remain to be utilized 
perhaps under a new financial epoch of 
good will and foolish trust. 

The island must have had some law 
and order before the advent of the ad- 
miral, for the town records for the parish 
of Campobello date from April 15, 1824, 
James M. Parker, town clerk. At the 
General Sessions of the peace holden at 
Saint Andrews, the shire town of Char- 
lotte County, New Brunswick, thirty-two 
officers were chosen for the small popula- 

for home consumption and for exports, 
for smoked herrings and boxes. There 
were cullers of staves, fence-viewers and 
hog reeves, and surveyors of lumber and 
cord-wood, lest that which should prop- 
erly be used for purposes of building or 
export be consumed on andiron or in 
kitchen stoves. 

In those days there was no poorhouse, 
though town-paupers existed, for one, 
Peter Lion by name, was boarded about 
for one hundred dollars and furnished 
with suitable food, raiment, lodging, and 




medical aid. Xo 
one kept him long 
at a time, whether 
because others 
wanted the price 
paid for his sup- 
port, or because 
he was an unwel- 
come inmate is 
unknown. Prices 
depend on sup- 
ply ; therefore it 
happened that the 
next pauper was 
boarded for fifty 
dollars. Again a 
lower price for 
board brought 
about a lower tax- 
the householders, 
in course of time an- 
other pauper was set up at 
public auction and the 
lowest bidder was intrusted 
with his care and mainte- 
nance. By 1829 the exports 
from the island justified the 
creation of harbor masters 
and port wardens, — more titles to be coveted. 
A ferry was established from Campobello to 
Indian Island and Eastport. The ferryman 
was " recognized in the sum of two pounds, 
and was conditioned to keep a good and 
sufficient boat, with sails and oars, to carry 
all persons who required between the ap- 
pointed places, to ask, demand, and receive 
for each and every person so ferried one 
shilling and three pence and no more." If 
any other than the appointee should have the 
hardihood to make a little money by trans- 
porting a weary traveller, such person was to 
be fined ten shillings, half of it to go to the 
informer and half to the ferryman, unless he 
had previously arranged with the licensee 
that he would afford him due and righteous 
satisfaction for each person so carried. 

As the population grew, the swine began to 
abound, and soon it was decreed that " neither 
swine nor boar-pig should go at large unless 
sufficiently ringed and yoked, sucking pigs 
excepted, on pain of five shillings for each 
beast." Then the sheep began to jump fences 
four feet high, — and their descendants have 
increased in agility. They ate the young 
cabbages, and standing at ease defiantly 


and lazily nipped off the dahlia buds. The town 
bestirred itself. Angry housewives, roused from their 
sleep by waking dreams of depredation committed, 
drove the sheep away with stock and stone. The 
following night the creatures returned, and the 
fisher-husbands, back from their business, sallied 
forth in vain. They could not run as fast as the 
women ; and week after week the sheep took all 
they wanted. It became necessary finally to es- 
tablish the sublime order of hog-reeves, who were 
privileged to seize any swine or sheep going at 
large which were not marked with the proper and 
duly entered mark of the owner, and to prosecute 
as the law directs. 

But how could sheep be marked when their fleece 
forbade their being branded ! As notable house- 
keepers vie with each other in receipts, so did 
each islander try to invent striking deformities for 
his sheep ; only the sucking lambs retained their 
birthrights till their later days. Because Mulholland 
made two slits in the right ear and took off its 
top, Parker cut off a piece from the left ear of 
his sheep, and Bowers made a crop under the left 
ear of his animal, close to its head. Yet the sheep 
ran loose until the people were directed to raise 
twelve pounds for building two cattle pounds, and 
William Fitz- William Owen, the admiral, was ap- 
pointed to erect the same. The poor rates had 
again lessened ; woe to the pauper boarders : — 
for the admiral wanted money for many another 
improvement on which his mind was bent. The 
General Sessions of the peace dared not neglect 
any suggestion which was made by a man who en- 
tertained all the distinguished guests who came to 
Passamaquoddy Bay ; for his fame had spread far 
and wide as host, theologian, and magnate. If it 
were difficult to restrain sheep and swine, still 
more difficult was it to prevent the trespasses 
of geese. Though many a bird was clipped in its 
infancy, and in winter killed and put down amid 
layers of snow and sent to the admiral as a peace 
offering or as tribute, still the public troubles in- 
creased, until it was ordered that horses and cat- 
tle should be impounded. Then peace at mid- 
night and safety by day rested over the island, for it 
was even resolved " that all dogs of six months 
old and upwards should be considered of sufficient 
age to pay the tax " ; but in what manner they were 
compelled to offer their own excuse for being re- 
mains unsolved. Perhaps no legal quibble was 
ever raised concerning the wording of the statute. 

Admiral Owen himself was overseer of the poor 
and school trustee. Whenever a roof-raising oc- 
curred, he knew how to send the children home to 
look after the chores, that their elders might join in 


the merriment. He soon became resi- 
dent magistrate, and signalized his author- 
ity by giving for three years certain wild 
lands as commons for cattle to those who 
should belong to the " Church Episcopal 
Congregation," when formed. The lease 
was duly signed by himself and by John 

With all this progress under William 
Fitz-William, there still remained unli- 
censed boys who ran wild, who believed 
in the uncounted wealth of an iron chest 
buried deep in the woods by smugglers, 
and gave their help in finding it. If the 
chest were ever hidden, it disappeared in 

The Church, School, and Rectory, at Campobello. 

Farmer, in trust for the people. Such 
privilege, even if actuated by worldly 
motives, proved of sacred benefit, for 
measures were immediately taken to form 
a Church Association and Corporation, 
with the proviso that such persons as had 
decided objections to profess themselves 
members of the church could by no 
means become a part of such corpora- 
tion. The admiral's cattle ranged free 
in the commons, but on all other licensed 
and marked cattle were paid the fees 
which accrued to the benefit of religion, 
— and large must have been the income 
thereof, — Owen reading the church ser- 
vices till 1842, when a resident mission- 
ary came to live on the island. 

The church having been fairly estab- 
lished and on the way to growth, Admiral 
Owen became a builder of bridges, letting 
out the work at the rate of "$1.12^ per 
man, per day, the day being ten hours 
of good and conscientious work for man 
or yoke of oxen." 

uncanny fashion ; but the cannon on the 
hill still remained as sentinels, until some 
boys took them off " for fun " one dark 
night and hid them in a ship then in 
Friar's Bay. The captain discovered the 
theft after he had been two or three days 
at sea. His honesty and Admiral Owen's 
anger effected their return after a few 
months ; for the vessel had to bear them 
to the West Indies and there re-ship 
them, amid kegs of rum, to Campobello. 
By that time the admiral's indignation 
had subsided, and he sent his son-in-law 
to apologize to the grandmother of the 
boys, whom he had maligned as special 
emissaries of Satan. The old lady re- 
fused to accept any regrets or apologies. 
Owen became more indignant than ever 
at her scornful words, and planted the 
cannon away from the hill overlooking 
her house, down on the point of land by 
his own home, and raised the British flag 
between them. His children and grand- 
children played around them. There 



they stayed, every now and then greeting 
some English ship of renown, until the 
Owen family, some ten years ago, went 
back to England, when the two old brass 
pieces were sold at auction. One was 
carried away to Portland Harbor. The 
other was bought by George Batson, Esq., 
of Campobello. 

The admiral died in 1857, at St. John, 
New Brunswick, where he had married a 
second time, and was brought back to the 
island for burial. His children and his 
grandchildren stayed in the primitive, an- 
cestral home till 1881, when the island 
was sold to an American syndicate. As 
long as any of the Owen family lived 
there they were beneficent rulers of the 
people, and maintained a courtly standard 
of manners and morals, the grace of 
which lingers among the islanders. Tradi- 
tion and fact still invest the Owen name 
with tenderness and homage, as was 
shown in July, 1890, when the great- 
grandson of the admiral revisited Campo- 
bello. Never has the old cannon belched 
forth its volume of sound more loudly 
than it did for Archibald Cochrane, who 
as a boy had often sat astride of it. A 
"middy," on board Her Majesty's flag- 
ship Bellerophon, he came back to his 
ancestral estates accompanied by the 
Metropolitan of Canada, Bishop Medley 
of Fredencton. The boy's sunny blue 
eyes and gentle smile recalled his mother's 
beauty to the old islanders. The Domin- 
ion flag and the English flag waved from 
every ship in port and from the neigh- 
boring houses, to welcome him back. 
As the steamer came in sight, the aged 
cannon, mounted on four huge logs of 
wood, gave forth its welcome. Each 
time the cotton had to be rammed down, 
and the cannon had to be propped up. 
Each time the match and the lighted 
paper were protected by a board held 
across the breach at arm's length ; but the 
brass piece did its duty, and the people 
called "well done" to it, as if it had 
been a resuscitated grandsire. The 
steamer answered whistle for cannon 
blast, and the children's laugh was echoed 
back across the water. 

It was dead low tide — and the tide falls 
twenty feet — when the venerable bishop 
came up the long flight of steps, slippery 

and damp with seaweed. Guarded on 
each side and before and behind, with 
umbrella in his hand for his walking- 
stick, the metropolitan of eighty-four 
years accepted the unneeded protection 
which Church of England reverence dic- 
tated. But as the boy ran quickly up 
the same steps, there was not a man who 
did not rush forward to greet him. The 
band played, while the women crept out 
from among the piles of lumber and 
waited for recognition. It came as the 
boy was led from one to another, bowing 
low in his shy, frank manner, cap in 
hand, to the women and girls, who had 
known him as a child, and shaking 
hands heartily with all the men, young 
and old. Away off stood two old ladies, 
who blessed the morn which had brought 
back their young master. Up to them 
he went with pretty timidity, and then 
boy-like hurried off to look at the cannon. 
He put his hand on it with a loving touch 
and a lingering smile, which to the older 
ones who saw it told of hidden emotion, 
which perhaps he himself scarcely rec- 

Silence fell as the metropolitan rose 
from the chair where he had been rest- 
ing and thanked the people for their 
greeting to the boy, because of his grand- 
parents. The midshipman's eyes shone 
as they fell on the faces, lighted up as 
they had not been for years, to see that 
the fair, five-year old boy who had left 
them had grown into the straight-limbed, 
graceful, manly, modest youth, whose 
greeting was as unaffectedly frank as their 
own. After a while midshipman and 
bishop stole silently away up to the graves 
of the old admiral and his wife, of the 
captain grandfather and the cousin, all of 
whom had been naval heroes. On to the 
Owen house went the boy and found his 
old haunts ; first, the nursery, then his 
mother's room, and next his grand- 
mother's ; out among the pines to the 
places where he had played, on to the 
sun-dial and the quarter-deck; all were 
revisited, with none of the sadness which 
comes in middle life, but with the sure 
joy of a child who has found again his 
own. He clicked the uncocked pistols 
of the admiral, and took up the battered, 
three-cornered hat. 



In the afternoon a game of baseball 
was played in his honor ; and never did 
his great-grandfather watch more eagerly 
for victory over the pirates than did this 
descendant watch that the game might 
be won by the Campobello boys. At 
evening, in the little English Church, 
where the bishop blessed the people and 
told of Lady Owen's deeds of mercy, the 
boy bent his head over the narrow book- 
rest, where were holes for the candles 
which, in his grandfather's day, each 
parishioner brought along to light the 
darkness at the hours of service. 

The next day the people gathered 
again at the wharf. The midshipman 
was a new old friend by this time. 
Once more the brass-piece sounded fare- 
well as he crossed the bay. It had been 

the playmate of his boyhood, his imaginary 
navy, his cavalry horse, his personal friend. 
By its side, he had never wanted to rest 
on chairs or sofas. Once more he turned 
to look at it as he went down the steps 
to the water's edge, and waved adieu to 
those who loved him for his mother's 
sake, with a fondness and pride, and a 
sense of personal ownership, unknown 
in "the States," where ancestry counts 
for but little. 

The old cannon still stands upright in 
Mr. Batson's store. No one would ever 
steal it again. No one can ever buy it 
away. From father to child it will de- 
scend, to tell of the English-American 
feudalism of a hundred years ago, and of 
the happy, bright boy, who found his 
father's home turned into a modern hotel. 


Bv E. P. Powell. 

NEW ideas, or the larger applications 
of old ones, work silently for 
a while, and then startle us with a 
sudden assurance of their possibility. 
We have not yet become reconciled to 
the idea that socially and politically noth- 
ing is permanent. We have also to be- 
come confident that movement of this 
sort is, in the course of each century, 
progress. The Darwinian idea has per- 
meated physical science ; it is slowly per- 
meating social science, that the eyes of 

evolution are in its forehead. Monarchy 
may dread change ; republicanism need 
have no fear. Whatever is before us, in. 
spite of blunders, is betterment. The 
last century closed up at the great Clear- 
ing House of popular opinion ; the pres- 
ent opened with the application of those 
digested opinions to government. Jeffer- 
son, in 1800, completed the greatest revo- 
lution the world has ever known. The 
quick result has been half a world in 
which freedom of thought and of labor 



have taken the place of autocracy. 
dei gratia has yielded to vox populi, vox 
dei as the fundamental social and eco- 
nomic principle. This revolution was 
not the spontaneity of a day. It was the 
culmination of the work of the whole 
antecedent century. Philosophy did not 
do its work in vain. Revolutions were 
also evolutions. Poets involuntarily sang 
for a purpose. Educators like Rousseau 
and Richter were at the bottom of it. 
Washington and Franklin and Paine had 
first to be made, before they could create 
the Republic. The Republic at last was 
to be bottomed on Democracy by the 
greatest of our statesmen, Thomas Jeffer- 
son. So the nineteenth century came in 
as an idea. 

A review of history will show us that 
mankind has busied itself in like manner 
in all the past. There have been no 
dark ages. Each century has in truth 
incubated a purpose of some sort ; and 
we inherit the same in the table of con- 
tents of our human biography. Luther 
began the sixteenth century with no nov- 
elty. He simply, in those theses on the 
cathedral door, wrote down what had 
already been thought out and felt out and 
worked out ; what some had been burned 
for, but what, after all, was fairly well 
established. It was the consummation, 
not the inauguration of an evolution. 

Has our own century been idle in 
thought and purpose? Do we go out 
without finding any columns of achieve- 
ment to add up, and with no visions and 
hopes to make assured? Are the men in 
platoons right, that we are to march on 
without change of countersign until the 
old heroism grows stale in our hearts and 
heads, and politics becomes an automa- 
ton? On the contrary, no century ever 
pulsated with nobler purpose or more 
vigorous endeavor. The apparent drift- 
ing of our moral and intellectual life for 
thirty years past has been not only in 
appearance. We are in the last decade 
of the century ; events do not crowd so 
much as ideas. These will hasten on to 
fulfilment. They cover every field of 
human energy. Education is at the bot- 
tom of all hope and progress ; and out 
of education has just been born the en- 
thusiasm called " University Extension," 

a term that fails wholly to convey to the 
popular mind the novelty and the great- 
ness of the purpose conceived. It is a 
purpose that will totally transform, and 
in some ways secure our popular educa- 
tion and obliterate our present inchoate 
popular methods. Not less grand and 
natural as a result of the past is the con- 
ception of a " World-wide Democratic 
Church." This is only the application 
of republicanism to theology and religious 
effort. It means the displacement of a 
world-wide monarchical church by a 
church based on popular sentiment and 
individual liberty. It is possible. The 
pope himself begins to desert the mon- 
archy. His recent encyclical is a plain 
effort to readjust the old church to modern 
progress. We still wait for a word to de- 
scribe succinctly the social struggle which 
in different quarters has striven and 
strives to embody itself in Nationalism, 
Socialism, Communism — Utopianism, 
perhaps. The idea is not yet thought 
through ; and it will be nameless until 
that is done. But the world throbs with 
the conviction that our inequalities are 
monstrous and largely needless. We 
have a fixed purpose to devise a remedy. 
These are some of the purposive trends 
of our age. The twentieth century will 
inherit a grand legacy. 

But are we at anchor politically? Evi- 
dently not. Omitting all notice of the 
crumbling of old autocracies and monar- 
chies — brute force and imperial force — 
it is clear that democracy itself is capa- 
ble of new expansions and applications. 
Internationalism is surely supplanting 
nationalism. Mr. Blaine showed his un- 
equalled statesmanship when he desired 
the Pan-American Congress, to be fol- 
lowed by Pan-American enterprises, and 
unfettered Pan-American commerce. 
Here was a bold break with conservatism. 
Precedent is valuable to establish equi- 
librium in society ; but the innovator is 
needed with far-sight to prevent a conse- 
quent stagnation of human purpose. 
Pan-Republicanism is another new phrase 
that covers an advance all along the line. 
It is the idea of a world-wide democracy 
instead of a duplication of republics : 
although the latter idea may be covered 
by it. The question now is, have we 



faith enough in us for so grand a purpose. 
No forward movement of humanity ever 
was or ever can be achieved without an 
enthusiasm. Have we the optimism that 
can go forward against all opposition and 
achieve grand things ? Generations come 
that can do this ; but other generations 
cannot. For the most the world moves 
in routine work, and reveres red-tape. 
I have faith that our generation is able 
to comprehend the grandeur of the idea 
and to work successfully at its accom- 
plishment. The proposition is to hold, in 
1893, in conjunction with the Columbian 
Exposition, a congress " of the enlight- 
ened and liberal minds of the world to 
discuss the interests of free institutions, 
and the best means for their promotion 
among the nations of the earth." The 
movement is already in the hands of a 
committee of two hundred representa- 
tive men in this country, together with 
committees in all foreign lands that are 
touched with aspiration for human pro- 
gress. Among the foreign members are 
Louis Kossuth, Sefior Castelar, the Presi- 
dent of the Brazilian Republic Fonseca, 
Henry Labouchere, Herbert Spencer, 
Professor James Bryce, Bartholdi, and 
many more. In this country, prominent 
workers cover every field of life and 
every persuasion. Cardinal Gibbons co- 
operates with Rabbi Gottheil, Bishop 
Cheney, and Robert Ingersoll. The 
Executive Committee consists of Colonel 
Ethan Allen, Hon. Andrew Carnegie, 
General Russell Alger, Governor Hoard, 
of Wisconsin, and nine more equally 
representative men. The inception of 
the plan is due, however, to a man of 
rare combinations, of modesty equalled 
by his daring, and executive power equal 
to his hopefulness and enthusiasm, Wm. 
O. McDowell, of Newark, New Jersey. 
He is himself unable to tell when or how 
the idea of a Congress of Republics en- 
tered his brain. Perhaps Bartholdi did 
more than he thought when he sent the 
statue of " Liberty Enlightening the 
World " to our metropolitan harbor. It 
was not set there for the benefit of Amer- 
ican commerce, but for the whole world, 
as it sailed in and out the waters of a 
democratic Continent. An interesting 
man is this McDowell, worth a moment's 

thought of ours. Some years ago he 
was sent for by Governor Tilden, to 
draft a will for him. Instead of the usual 
legal verbiage he began, "Whereas this 
is a natural conflict between the two 
forms of government that now rule the 
world, that which is based on the theory 
of the divine right of kings and that 
which is based upon the divine rights of- 
the people, and in order that the men 
who will be called on to fight the intel- 
lectual battles of the future may be duly 
prepared, — I dedicate my fortune to the 
education of mankind in Statecraft, on 
the lines laid down in the Declaration of 
Independence." This is surely the most 
curious will drawn up in our generation ; 
but it reminds us startlingly of the wills 
of Washington and Jefferson. One hun- 
dred years ago they did such things. 
Washington willed his property to found 
a National University at the Capital of 
the States. It is not yet organized, but 
it will be. Jefferson founded a university 
for his native state. Franklin left endow- 
ments for the apprentices who read the 
maxims of Poor Richard and practised 
them. What we have lacked of late is 
the enthusiastic belief in great principles 
that characterized these men. To asso- 
ciate our Columbian Exposition of what 
has been done with a zealous proclama- 
tion of what shall be done, is to complete 
and round out what was but half an idea. 
Mr. McDowall on Bunker Hill's Day 
of 1890, issued a manifesto from Faunce's 
Tavern in New York, Washington's head- 
quarters of one hundred years before. 
He said, " Not only in the United States, 
but in other countries of the world, there 
are a number of great patriotic societies 
devoted to the principles that a century 
ago resulted in the birth of these United 
States. Has not the time come for the 
issuing of an invitation to the patriotic 
societies of the world to each send one 
or more delegates to attend a Pan-Repub- 
lic congress?" With this interrogation 
went others as to time and locality to be 
chosen, and who should be invited to ap- 
pear as delegates, or to be represented 
by delegates ; also concerning the true 
functions of such an assembly. The idea 
at its conception was bold and full of 
enthusiasm, but discreet and timely. 



Copies of Mr. McDowell's letter were 
sent to every member of the Order of 
the American Eagle ; to the President 
and Vice-Presidents, Generals of the 
Sons of the American Revolution, and to 
the president of each State Society ; to 
the members of the late Pan-American 
Congress, and to the President of each 
Republic in the world ; to the press, and 
to representative men everywhere in sym- 
pathy with democratic institutions. 

This was the inauguration of the pres- 
ent scheme to bring the nineteenth cen- 
tury to a white heat of enthusiasm as it 
passes over its work to the twentieth. 
Hundreds of replies came from all over 
the world favoring the suggested Con- 
gress. The movement, after a few pre- 
liminary gatherings, took the form of a 
committee of two hundred representative 
citizens of the United States, acting under 
the name of the Pan-Republic General 
Committee. Its first meeting was held 
in New York City in December of 1890, 
for the purpose of planning its work and 
dividing the same among sub-committees. 

The outline of the work accomplished 
was to settle upon a name, and to define 
the object of the Congress ; also to sug- 
gest in more specific form the work to be 
attempted. The general scope of the 
proposed Assembly was defined to be 
" the consideration of the welfare of free 
institutions, and the best means of pro- 
moting the same." In the consideration 
of questions civil and political, the Con- 
gress will discuss Constitutional and ad- 
ministrative reform ; the establishment 
of legalized arbitration among all civilized 
peoples ; the amelioration of severities, 
and the extinguishment of injustice in 
administering government ; the dissolu- 
tion of standing armies, and the substitu- 
tion of the reign of intelligence and 
morals in place of brute force ; interna- 
tional intercourse on the basis of common 
and universal justice ; the general distri- 
bution of knowledge without hindrance, 
thus creating international intelligence ; 
the moral welfare of all peoples, and none 
the less the sanitary and general physical 
well-being of mankind. 

Mr. McDowell has published a valua- 
ble epitome of the work that is possible. 
Much of this is borrowed from the final 

recommendations of the Pan-American 
Congress. (1) Measures that pertain to 
universal peace. (2) The formation of a 
customs union for all governments. (3) 
The union of all the great ports of Re- 
publics by closer commercial ties. (4) 
The establishment of uniform customs 
regulations. (5) The adoption of uni- 
form weights, measures, and copyrights. 
(6) A common system of coinage. (7) 
A definite plan of arbitration. He would 
have discussed questions of human 
brotherhood, of labor and capital, of san- 
itation and health, of machinery and cor- 
porations, of banking, of stimulants and 
narcotics as effecting human degenera- 
tion, of economy and taxation, of educa- 
tion, of universal disarmament. " I de- 
sire that the flag of every Republic, 
wherever seen upon the face of the 
earth, shall be looked upon and wel- 
comed by mankind as a pledge, promise 
and hope of a brighter future for all peo- 
ple." Dr. Porrifor Fazer says, " The 
Congress might organize an international 
Bureau as distant from governments as 
are the trade federations of capitalists, to 
which all grievances of the oppressed in 
all nations should be addressed when not 
righted at home. It might provide for 
triennial sessions in the different republi- 
can countries, and make itself the organ 
and mouthpiece of the victims of injus- 
tice everywhere, entirely independent of 
the diplomatic complications which fre- 
quently prevent governments, even in the 
settled conviction and desire to do right, 
from speaking frankly to their fellow 
powers. The Siberian outrages of Rus- 
sia, the evictions in Ireland, the Jewish 
wrongs in Russia and Austria, the penal- 
ties of free speech in Germany, could be 
sternly rebuked by a voice — the voice 
of the people — which would command 
universal attention." Another suggestion 
is that the people can thus be educated 
to peaceful revolution. It is not improb- 
able that such an international concourse 
might, in time, become a legally consti- 
tuted Court of Inquiry into such popular 
questions as are suggested above, with 
certain powers to arbitrate. 

It is clear that such a Congress as is 
proposed will have before it work enough 
of a characteristic sort. Nor will it have 



at all clear sailing and harmonious co- 
operation for the good of humanity. 
There will be ambitions and conflict of 
opinions with no little prejudice, and un- 
doubtedly a large amount of " spread- 
eagleism." There will be out of the 
inchoate beginnings certain clear-cut 
ideas and purposes brought to the sur- 
face ; and men of clearest intellectual 
power and moral determination will finally 
come to the front and shape interna- 
tionalism into a world-wide democracy. 
There is little doubt but that the history 
of previous centuries will be, in great 
measure, repeated. The Franklins and 
JerTersons and Hamiltons will agitate with 
characteristic and distinctive form, each 
from his own standpoint ; and the end 
will be, as it always is, the triumph of 
judicious democracy. Extreme and re- 
volutionary measures will find advocates ; 
conservatives will wax eloquent over the 
grooves of the past. There is sure to be 
a clash with the relics of absolutism, the 
dei gratia in Church and State. Anarchy 
and Nihilism will manage sooner or later 
to be heard. Those who now lead may 
retire in alarm before the third triennial 
session of the Congress. We may be sure 
that the day is approaching for measures 
as startling as those of 1776 and 1800. 
The one need now is enthusiasm and 
faith. These alone have carried the 
world's greatest ideas forward to realiza- 

That such popular and special en- 
thusiasm is not lacking, the letters and 
speeches of the ablest men in this land 
and in Europe attest. Cardinal Gibbons 
writes, " It will strike down the barriers 
that separate nation from nation and race 
from race. I look with satisfaction upon 
the first steps to be taken in this direc- 
tion by the assembling of the Pan-Re- 
public Congress." General Sherman 
wrote, " America is only on the threshold 
of her history. The whole world turns to 
us to see the result of our experiment." 
Ex-President Cleveland writes, " I assure 

you I am in accord with this movement 
which has for its object the drawing of 
the republics of the world into closer 
bonds of sympathy." Professor Geikie 
of Edinburgh writes, " I am in hearty 
sympathy with the objects of the Con- 
gress, although I am a loyal subject of 
this old monarchical country." John 
Boyle O'Reilley wrote just before his 
death, " If popular liberty is good, and 
enthusiasm a virtuous force, such a con- 
gress ought to be held. The nineteenth 
century could not close with a nobler 
work." Bishop Potter writes, " I wish 
success to every wise effort to draw closer 
the republics of the world." Bishop 
Cheney responds, " Taught by the policy 
of the kings let republics of the world 
unite, not by the alliance of ruling fami- 
lies or conjunction of great armies, but 
by such conferences as may lead to a 
wider spread of free principles, and a 
concerted action in all that tends to ad- 
vance the rights of men." The grand- 
son of Patrick Henry, Hon. Wm. Wirt 
Henry, writes, " I am in full sympathy, 
and consider the movement most timely." 
Miss Frances Willard responds, " It is in 
the air, — the great word fraternization." 
Professor Winchell wrote, " It fires my 
enthusiasm to think of such a gathering 
for the practical recognition of the frater- 
nity of nations." These are but a hand- 
ful of the responses, cordial and glowing, 
that have come in, indicative of the 
popular sentiment. Our century will for- 
ever be known for our great deed, the 
obliteration of the principle that it is 
right for man to be held as property by 
man. This was an inevitable consequence 
of the principles promulgated in the 
Declaration of Independence. But the 
destruction of slavery only cleared the 
ground. We are now free to lead on. 
We have as yet done nothing in the way of 
establishing new and broader principles, 
such as our forefathers thought out, felt 
out, and established at the close of the 
last century. Our opportunity is at hand. 



By John Allister Currie. 

'^T^IS when the rosy petals of the day 

Are scattered softly on my chamber floor, 
*- Chasing the shadows out night's dusky door, 

I wake, and all the old desires that stay, 

Locked up within my heart, new influence ply. 
I part the casement and I seek the shore, 
To greet my sweet beloved at morn once more, 

And for a moment on her bosom lie. 

There is no other face one half so kind ! 

There is no other eye so blue to me ; 
Nor yet a bosom that I e'er could find, 

Filled with such moods and passions wild and free. 
There is no fairer cheek kissed by the wind, 

Than my first love's, that I love still — the Sea. 


By Catherine Thayer. 

BEYOND a sand-dune's slope, where the pale grass 
Clings with firm roots upon the shelving side, 
A storm-ribbed beach extends its shining length, 
A golden zone, confining the deep surge 
Of the vast ocean's ceaseless energy ; 
The tide waves flash translucent in the sun, 
Empearled with spray, then melt in snowy foam 
With gentle, rythmic murmur on its sands. 


By Catherine Thayer. 

THE grasses in the meadows by the bay 
Blend in rich harmonies of autumn tints, 
Faint russet, yellow, tinged with ruddy tones ; 
The glowing colors softened by the haze 
Until harmonious with the water's hue 
Of neutral gray — upon whose glassy calm 
Are mirrored forth the outlines of the hills, 
And the slow-gliding vessels' drooping sails. 

By the Sea at Beveriy. 


By Winfield S. Nevins. 

JOHN WINTHROP and his compan- 
ions on the good ship Arbella, in 
1630, may have been the first sum- 
mer visitors to the North Shore ; for 
Winthrop tells us in his delightfully inter- 
esting journal that, after coming to 
anchor inside of Baker's Island on the 
12th of June, " most of our people went 
on shore upon the land of Cape Ann, 
which was very near us, and gathered 
store of fine strawberries." Even Roger 
Conant, four or five years earlier, had 
been not unmindful of the attractions of 
this region, for when that observing 
pioneer sailed along the shore from 
Gloucester to the Naumkeag River he 
saw that the coast was one of uncommon 
beauty. And if he did not pick fine 
strawberries, he was apparently struck 
with the beauty of the landscape, with its 

fresh and charming lines, the picturesque 
coast, the undulating hills, soft hidden in 
the blue mist of morning or in the purple 
haze of evening. As has been well said, 
what Roger Conant and John Winthrop 
gloried in two hundred and sixty years 
ago strikes the observer to-day with the 
same gentle force ; whether he sails along 
the coast, or travels the centre of the 
Cape by the railway or by the winding 
road, acres of tiny forest, little villas, like 
diamonds in rich natural settings, broad 
and undulating fields, glimpses of the 
sea, all contribute to paint a picture for 
the traveller that cannot easily fade from 
his memory. Whether it was Governor 
Winthrop, or Governor Conant, or some 
more modern governor, who discovered 
the summer glories of this North Shore, 
it is certain that people who visit it once, 



come when they may, never leave it 
without the resolve to return. 

What is the North Shore? Where is 
it ? Some say it is the coast from W T in- 
throp Head to Point of Pines ; others 
say it is from Boston to Pigeon Cove at 
the extreme end of Cape Ann ; while 
still others say that the North Shore, as 
a summer resort, is the coast from Salem 
to the end of the Cape. Geographically 
and historically, perhaps, the North Shore 
is the Cape Ann coast between Beverly 
bridge and Pigeon Cove. Some noted 
summer resorts are included within this 
stretch of twenty-five miles of sea-shore ; 
the best known, perhaps, being Beverly 
Farms, Manchester-by-the-Sea, and Mag- 
nolia. Eastern Point, Land's End, and 
Pigeon Cove, though not as widely her- 

homes and all degrees of summer life 
may be found at these places, from that 
in the five hundred dollar cottage to the 
palatial dwelling whose cost is counted 
among the tens of thousands. One of 
the best known and most striking of 
these is the estate of Mr. John Shepard 
near Beach Bluff, in Swampscott — a 
stately mansion, overlooking the ocean, 
surrounded by charming grounds, and 
having every feature of attractiveness 
which an artistic mind could sug- 

Still another suburban residence in 
Swampscott which excites admiration is 
Mr. Elihu Thomson's, of Thomson- 
Houston fame. The house is of the 
colonial style of architecture, built of 
dark red brick with white woodwork 


Gen. Charles G. Loring's Place at Beverly. 

aided in these later years, are not less 

But one is tempted to reach out 
through historic Salem, with its Willows 
and Juniper Point, and picturesque Mar- 
blehead, with -its Neck, or Nanepashemet, 
to Swampscott the beautiful, and Nahant 
the secluded. All grades of summer 

trimmings, presenting a striking contrast 
with the deep green of the wide lawn in 
front and the neighboring grove. It 
occupies a slight rise of ground on a 
part of the old E. Redington Mudge 
estate, near the junction of the main 
street and Paradise Road. Just over the 
line in Lynn, one finds the charming es- 



tate of Mr. Francis W. Breed, like Mr. 
Thomson's, a combination of summer 
residence and permanent home. 

Historically speaking, Beverly and 
Manchester might contend for the honor 
of being the first to afford a summer 
home for wealthy Bos- 

tonians. It was in r— ■ — — — — 

the early spring of 
1845 that Richard H. 
Dana bought the 
Knowlton farm on the 
shore between the 
village of Manchester 
and the Kettle Cove 
settlement, and the 
same year built the 
old-fashioned square 
house which the trav- 
eller by rail or high- 
way may see to-day, 
in the woods on his 
right hand, as he jour- 
neys down along the 
Cape. Some years 
after Mr. Dana's ad- 
vent came Major 
Russell Sturgis, Jr., 
and President Bullard, 
who located further up 
the shore toward the 
village. The first es- 
tate purchased at 
Beverly Farms for 
strictly summer pur- 
pose was the Isaac 
Prince farm of one 
hundred acres, which 
Mr. C. C. Paine of Boston bought in 
1844 for $6000. A few weeks later, 
Hon. John G. King, of Salem, who 
had been a summer boarder at the 
Prince farm several seasons, bought 
the John M. Thistle place at Mingo 
Beach and remodelled the farmhouse 
into a summer cottage. This was prob- 
ably the first summer residence occupied 
on the Beverly shore. But the first house 
erected for strictly summer occupancy 
was built by Hon. C. G. Loring of Boston, 
during the winter of 1844-45, ne h^v- 
ing purchased the Benjamin Smith farm 
in 1844 for $4000. Another early sum- 
mer settler at the Farms was Mr. P. T. 
Jackson, who bought in 1845 and built 

in 1846. The largest and best known 
of these estates is that of Hon. Franklin 
Haven, of Boston. His first purchase of 
land was in 1846, and he has added to 
it several times since, until he has be- 
come the possessor of many broad acres. 

A Corner in the Loring House. 

The estate has become widely known 
through the somewhat celebrated Haven 
tax cases, growing out of an increase of 
valuation from $131,450 in 1885, to 
$439,500 in 1886. Mr. Haven's proprie- 
torship extends from the railroad track 
to the ocean, and from Beverly Farms 
station nearly to Pride's Crossing. Here 
we find something approaching the coun- 
try home of the landed Englishman — 
woods, fields, meadows and pastures, hills 
and valleys, brooks, ponds, and sea — 
grounds ample enough to take a drive in, 
and always hospitably open to the visitor 
in coach or saddle. Since the advent of 
these early settlements in Beverly and 
Manchester, hundreds of summer resi- 



dences have been built along the North 
Shore, and thousands of people occupy 
those residences every season, while 
more than a dozen great hotels have 
arisen on the coast to accommodate still 
other thousands of more transient visi- 
tors. The fertile farms have been trans- 
formed into broad, sweeping lawns with 
smooth-shaven grass, acres of shrubbery, 
of rhododendrons, of roses, and plants and 
flowers without number. The rocky 
wooded hills and pastures, where cows and 
sheep once picked a scant meal from 
between the boulders, now bud and bloom 
like fairyland. The once scraggy forests, 
strewn with tanglewood and underbrush, 
are now as trim as an urban grove, and 
the rough cart roads have been trans- 
formed into charming driveways, smooth 
and hard, winding in and out among the 

The name Beverly Farms was applied 
to this section of the town originally 
because it was a purely farming com- 
munity. John Blackleach, early in the 
seventeenth century, owned a farm which 
extended from Mr. Haven's present resi- 
dence to Manchester. Another farm 
extended from the westerly line of the 
Blackleach grant up the shore to Patch's 
beach, and was owned by William Wood- 
bury. The Blackleach farm came even- 
tually into the possession of Robert Wood- 
bury, who built, in 1673, the quaint old 
house near the Baptist Church, now oc- 
cupied by Dr. Curtis as a summer resi- 
dence. Men now living in the town of 
Beverly remember when the assessed 
valuation of the whole seashore section 
was only $25,000. To-day the summer 
residents alone pay taxes on real estate 

Martin Brimmer's Place. 

trees and through the lawns, bringing the 
traveller suddenly and unexpectedly upon 
some delightful sylvan bower, through 
which he catches a glimpse of a " stately 
mansion by the sea." For even the 
" cottage " that succeeded the farmer's 
old brown house of half a century ago 
has in turn yielded to the larger and 
more pretentious house of elaborate 
ornamentation and rich interior finish. 

assessed at over four millions. Many an 
acre which cost Mr. Paine S60 in 1844 
would now sell for more than $10,000. 

The earlier sea-shore residences, then 
called "cottages," were quite plain struc- 
tures, without and within, costing from 
$5,000 to $10,000. The Dana house at 
Manchester and the present Haven house 
at Beverly Farms (the latter built in 
1850 to replace one destroyed by fire), 



G. B. Howe's Place at Manchester. 

were larger than most of those built in 
the forties and early fifties. There was 
no particular architectural design about 
them. They were rather commonplace, 
and what would now be termed " barny," 
but comfortable, substantial homes. 
Twenty or thirty years ago the " Swiss 
villa " was all the rage. Perhaps the 
best example of this to-day is the resi- 
dence of Hon. Martin Brimmer, about a 
half mile west of Pride's Crossing sta- 
tion. Here we have a pretty cottage 
with piazzas, verandas, gables and lattice 
work, all surrounded by an abundance of 
trees and shrubbery, and a broad sloping 
lawn in front. The residence of Gen. F. 
W. Palfrey, on the high bluff in the woods, 

somewhat nearer the station (better 
known as " Cro' Nest"), is another good 
specimen of the earlier " Swiss villa," 
and remains practically without change 
since built. It is perched high above 
the street on a perpendicular bluff, and 
commands an extended view oceanward. 
Mr. Thomas E. Proctor's house, on Hale 
Street at the head of Prince, is another 
striking example of a modern Swiss villa 
on a lofty eminence. Seen from the 
highway it is both imposing and pictu- 
resque, while the view, looking off from 
the piazza, is one of great variety and 
rare beauty. A wonderful panorama lies 
before us : the harbors of Salem and Bev- 
erly, with their coves and points of and ; 

The Everett Place at West Manchester. 



Brackenbury Lane. 

Hospital Point shore, one long wide 
lawn, dotted here and there with cottages 
of various colors and designs, and clus- 
ters of trees and shrubbery ; the islands 
of the bay ; and, in the distance, the 
towers and roofs of Salem and old Mar- 
blehead. Well might the dweller here 
say, with the poet, 

" My house was built on the cliff's tall crest 
As high as an eagle might choose her nest; 
The builders have descended the hill 
Like spirits who have done their master's will. 
Below, the billows in endless reach 
Commune in uncomprehended speech." 

Of an entirely different type is the 
residence of Mr. F. Gordon Dexter, 
which is situated on the shore side of the 
railroad between the Farms and Pride's, 
reached by a winding driveway through 
the woods. It is after the pattern of 
1692, the old gambrel roof, 
plain ends and sides, entirely 
destitute of ornamentation, 
yet interesting and architec- 
turally and artistically attrac- 
tive. Only three or four 
houses of this style are to be 
found along the shore. An- 
other design, and a very rare- 
one on Cape Ann, ir; the 
massive stone mansion of 
Mrs. Franklin Dexter. It 
is located in the woods on 
the easterly side of Curtis 
Point, and between Prince 
Street and Mingo Beach. 

Seen from the water front, it looks very 
much like one of those famous old Rhin- 
ish castles. With the ocean at our feet 
as we sit on the piazza, and Marblehead 
and Salem in the distance on the other 
shore, it requires but a slight stretch of 
the imagination for us to apply those 
well-known lines of Byron : 

" The castle crag of Drachenfels 

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
Between the .banks which bear the vine; 
And hills all rich with blossomed trees, 
And fields which promise corn and wine ; 
And scattered cities crowning these, 
Whose far white walls along them shine." 

One other summer residence in this 
vicinity there is, something like the Dexter 
mansion : " Oberwold," in the woods, 
about half a mile inland from Beverly 
Cove. It stands on a slight knoll some 
rods off the main street, half hidden 
among the tall pines. A trifle gloomy at 
times, perhaps, the place has many at- 
tractions, especially for those who love 
the "murmuring pines and the hem- 
locks" that "stand like Druids of eld, 
with voices sad and prophetic." 

Ten or twelve years ago the " Queen 
Anne " cottage was built more frequently 
than any other, and seemed destined to 
supplant the " Swiss villa." About the 
same time there was a revival of the 
well-known "colonial" style of architec- 
ture. The residence of Mr. Amorv A. 
Lawrence on Hospital Point, built about 
1880, is one of the best specimens of 
the Queen Anne, especially as regards 
the interior ; and the residences of Mr. 

Ocean Drive at Beverly. 



Henry Endicott, on Neptune Street, and 
Mrs. Caroline Pickman in the immediate 
neighborhood, of the colonial. The 
Pickman estate ( with its beautiful man- 
sion built by the late W. D. Pickman in 
1 88 1 ) is not surpassed in situation 
and grounds by anything we shall find 

point, built by Hon. John A. Lowell 
about 1847-8. The Sohier cottage is 
of more recent date, and the Grover 
and Turner houses have been built 
within a few years, as has also the 
unique villa in the same group, that 
belongs to the Burgess estate. All these 

Mr. Frank W. Breed's Residence at Lynn 

along the whole North Shore. Between 
the Endicott and Pickman residences is 
one of the most charming estates on the 
coast, the villa of Mr. Joseph W. Le- 
Favor of Boston. On the northerly side 
is a lawn of considerable extent, made 
attractive by a profusion of flowers and 
shrubbery, while the outlook from the 
south is across the bay with its islands 
and white-winged messengers of com- 
merce. Next beyond Hospital Point, on 
Burgess Point, one finds a group of cot- 
tages which well illustrate the old and 
the new in designs for seashore houses. 
Here is the old Bardwell house, dating 
back a third of a century or more, and 
the Burgess mansion on the extreme 

newer houses are on what originally 
formed the extensive Lowell estate. 
Here the yacht designer, Edward Bur- 
gess, passed the pleasant summers of 
his youth ; and here he took his first 
lessons in yachting. He has sailed 
many a pretty yacht in these waters. 
Fifteen and eighteen years ago the races 
of the Beverly Yacht Club were mostly 
sailed off this shore, the start usually 
being made off Burgess Point, or between 
there and Hospital Point. A yacht race 
off Marblehead was unknown then ; now 
it is a thing of the past off Beverly. The 
old Burgess mansion has passed to the 
possession of Mr. R. C. Evans of Boston, 
and has been re-modelled the past spring. 



So Ave may follow this Beverly shore 
from the first summer residence at the 
Farms toward the town, until within a 
few rods of the harbor, where we shall 
find the newest hotel and the latest group 
of seashore cottages. Thus we see the 
whole coast line of the old town, saving a 
few beaches, in possession of the summer 
resident from the city. As Lucy Larcom, 
the true poet of the North Shore, and 
herself a native of Beverly, has well said : 

" Strangers have found that landscape's beauty out 
And hold its deeds and titles. But the waves 
That wash the quiet shores of Beverly, 
The winds that gossip with the waves, the sky 
That immemorially bends, listening, 
Have reminiscences that still assert • 
Inalienable claims from those who won, 
By sweat of their own brows, this heritage." 

When the best sites on the immediate 
shore had been occupied, seekers after 

many thousands to-day. The higher and 
rougher the hill, and the more dense the 
woods, the more valuable the property. 
Here the men of wealth will transform 
the rougher features of the landscape 
into beautiful lawns and terraces. " Em- 
bosomed in shady retreats," says a re- 
cent writer, " overlooking the coast towns, 
the islands, the surf-white shore, and the 
open sea, vexed with giant steamers and 
white with passing canvas, are their resi- 
dences, with wings, porticoes, piazzas, 
towers strange in architecture and richly 
garnished." This description will answer 
for half a hundred of these North Shore 
homes, and with slight variations might 
well apply to several hundred of them. 
As for Beverly itself, some persons there 
are who believe that it was destined to 
become a second Newport, but that the 
dissensions over the division question, 

Professor Elihu Thomson's Residence at Lynn. 

locations for summer homes built upon 
the higher lands back from the ocean. 
So, all along down this Cape Ann shore, 
not only in Beverly but through Man- 
chester-by-the-Sea, Gloucester, and Rock- 
port, we shall find their cottages and villas 
crowning the hill crests for a mile inland. 
For this reason, land which forty years 
ago would have been thought dear at 
twenty dollars an acre is worth half as 

and the sudden and enormous increase 
in valuations of land at the Farms have 
rendered that improbable. That the 
growth of the place was retarded for 
five or six years, no one will deny, 
though opinions may differ as to the 
causes; but the season of 1891 is wit- 
nessing an encouraging revival, and the 
Beverly Shore has never been more pop- 
ular nor more populous. The assessors 



The North Shore Taily-ho. 

of 1890 reduced Mr. Haven's valuation 
twenty-five per cent, and presumably 
will reduce that of other estates in 
time. The certainty of a low tax rate 
will do much to reconcile the divisionists 
to their fate, and time is already softening 
the asperities occasioned when the con- 
test first opened. The town has provided 
fine roads, an ample supply of water, and 
a fully equipped fire department for the 
Farms ; and with the tax question ad- 
justed, probably, peace will reign for a 
good many years. 

Beyond Beverly Farms a low marsh 
breaks through the coast line and 
separates the charming estate of Colonel 
Henry Lee, the last in Beverly, from 
the West Manchester group of summer 
estates. West Manchester has long been 
the summer home of the venerable Rev. 
Cyrus A. Bartol, many years pastor of 
the old West Church in Boston. Here he 
built a comfortable house nearly a quar- 
ter of a century ago, and a look-out or 
watch-tower that commands a fine view 

of the harbor and shore, — a familiar 
land mark from the water side — and 
on Fourth of July night, when it blazes 

pse of Baker's Island. 



A Street in Beverly. 

like a Pharos. No man has done more 
for the upbuilding of Manchester as a 
summer resort than Dr. Bartol. He 
invested his money here freely, and 
has made known the beauties of the 
place far and wide. The elegant and 
sightly villa of Col. Henry L. Higginson, 
perched high above the roadway and 
railway, and lying between the two, is 
one of the first to attract the eye of the 
traveller as he enters the town. When, 
in 1878, Mr. Higginson laid the founda- 
tion for his house on 
the summit of this 
hill, it was one of 
the roughest spots in 
town, and, while he 
has levelled and 
beautified the 
grounds in the im- 
mediate vicinity of 
the mansion, the 
natural features gen- 
erally remain undis- 
turbed. The " cra- 
dle knolls" have 
not been levelled 
down, nor the hol- 
lows levelled up ; 
the rocks and boul- 
ders still strew the 
ground, and the 
bayberry bushes and 
scrub trees entangle 
the feet as ever. 

Mr. Higginson evidently 
believes with the poet, Jones 
Very : 

"The plants that careless grow 

shall bloom and bud, 
When wilted stands man's nicely 

tended flower; 
E'en on the unsheltered waste, 

or pool's dark mud, 
Spring bells and lilies fit for 

lady's bower." 

West Manchester was 
once called "Newport"; 
just why it is a little diffi- 
cult to say. Perhaps, on a 
still summer day, it resem- 
bles the dreamy quiet of 
that famous watering place, 
for there is a soft midsum- 
mer air here that soothes 
and rests. On Tuck's point, not far from 
the little railway station, every summer, 
the Elder Brethren of Manchester hold 
their annual " meet," and partake of 
their annual clam chowder, which must 
be made by one of their number. These 
Elder Brethren include all who have 
passed the first half century of life, and 
who now live, or ever did live, in Man- 
chester. Manchester village is about a 
mile beyond this Cape Ann " Newport," 
at the point where historic Jeffrey's Creek 

The Library at Manchester. 



and the harbor mingle their waters. 
The original name of the settlement was 
Jeffrey's Creek, so called because William 
Jeffery was the first settler. Forty years 
ago more furniture was made in Man- 
chester than in any other town of its size 
in this country. But that industry, like 
the fishing business, which was once suc- 
cessfully pursued, is a thing of the past. 
The principal industry of Manchester 

Chapel up by the hotel is the outcome of 
the zeal and generosity of Major Russell 
Sturgis, Jr. In the Memorial Hall are 
the headquarters of the Grand Army 
post of the town and the rooms of the 
public library. Added to all these neces- 
sities and luxuries of modern civiliza- 
tion, the town is soon to have a water 

Among the summer residents have 

Emmanuel Church, Manchester, 

to-day is the very profitable one of cater- 
ing to the wants of summer residents. 
The summer residents have in turn done 
much for the prosperity of the place. 
Not only has their coming reduced the tax 
rate to six dollars on a thousand, and 
thus enabled the inhabitants to have almost 
city luxuries in the way of streets, lights, 
schools, and fire department, without 
burdensome taxation, but things more 
free and substantial have followed. The 
beautiful Memorial Hall, the pride of the 
town, was the gift of Mr. T. Jefferson 
Coolidge, and the pretty Episcopal 

been men and women of more than local 
renown. James T. Field, author, pub- 
lisher, and scholar, built a picturesque 
house on Thunderbolt Rock, and enjoyed 
many seasons here. It is related that 
while Fields was a boarder in Manches- 
ter, and just after he had bought there, a 
villager remarked to him on the railway 
station platform one morning : " Just 
think, some fool has purchased Thunder- 
bolt rock with the idea of building a 
house there." — "Yes," replied the pub- 
lisher, with a merry twinkle in his eye, 
" I bought it the other day." Here, too, 



Mr. G N Black's Place at Manchester 

have lived J. B. Booth, John Gilbert, 
Joseph Procter, and Mrs. Agnes Booth 
Schoeffel, all well-known stars in the 
theatrical world. Conway, Mrs. Bowers, 
Mrs. Vincent, our own lamented Warren, 
Jefferson, and others equally well-known 
have likewise admired the charms of 
Manchester-by-the-Sea. The summer 
home of Mrs. Mary Hemenway is here. 

Thirteen years ago there was not a 
house on Gale's Point, or Manchester 
Neck, as it used to be called. To-day 
more than a dozen stately residences 
crown the bluff. Dr. Bartol purchased 
the seventy-four acres of rocky, uninvit- 
ing pasture about 1871, and, cutting it 
up into house-lots, placed them upon the 
market. He built on two or three of 
these himself, and sold the others. Mr. 
George B. Howes built on the Point first, 
in 1879-80; and the following year, 
Colonel A. P. Rockwell, then president 
of the old Eastern Railroad, built a hand- 
some villa on the opposite side of the 
road. The easterly side of the Point is 
a rocky, precipitous bluff, rising nearly a 

hundred feet above the ocean which rolls 
at its base and crowned by one of the 
finest and most picturesque dwellings on 
the shore — that of Mr. George N. 
Black. Against this ledge, during a 
storm, the seas beat with great violence 
and with a deafening roar. 

It would hardly do to leave Manches- 
ter without a visit to that natural curiosity, 
the Singing Beach. The sand on this 
beach when struck by a carriage wheel, 
the heel of the shoe, or sometimes by 
an incoming wave, sends forth a musical 
sound. The note is shrill and clear when 
made by the foot, but when made by the 
action of the waves it is soft and sweet. 
In only a few places in the world is such 
a phenomenon known to exist. Hugh 
Miller, in his " Cruise of the Betsey," 
says that he and a companion performed 
a concert while walking over a beach on 
one of the Hebrides, and if they could 
boast of but little variety in the tones 
produced, they might challenge all Europe 
for an instrument of the kind which pro- 
duced them. 



Perhaps the most impressive scene to 
be witnessed along this part of the North 
Shore, especially during a storm, is from 
Eagle Head, near the residence of Mrs. 
J. H. Towne of Philadelphia. This bold 
headland rises abruptly from the ocean 
to a height of one hundred and thirty 
feet. Ordinarily the waves roll softly and 
quietly up its side. But during a storm 
the great billows come rolling in toward 
it swiftly, angrily, rising higher and higher 
until, checked by the protecting breakers 
beneath the surface, they seem to pause 
for a moment, like the couchant lion 
gathering for the final spring, and then 
in a twinkling they hurl themselves 

" These restless surges eat away the shore 
Of earth's old continent; the fertile plain 
Welters in shallows, headlands crumble down, 
And ihe tide drifts the sea-sands in the streets 
Of the drowned city." 

From the brow of this cliff one sees the 
coast line east and west very distinctly, 
dotted here and there with seaward gaz- 
ing villas. It is a magnificent prospect. 
A group of summer residences in an 
ideal locality is that on Goldsmith's Point, 
between Kettle Cove and Crescent Beach, 
in the extreme easterly end of Manches- 
ter. Kettle Cove, the little settlement 
of farmers and fishermen here used to be 
called. The farms are now kitchen gar- 

Mr. F. Gordon Dexter's Place, Beverly Farms. 

against the cliff with terrific force. " Above 
the beating of the storm, above the howl- 
ing of the wind as it sweeps through the 
forest, bowing the trees before it," writes 
one who has witnessed the scene, " rises 
the roar of this furious war of the waters 
and the rocks, like ten thousand in- 
furiated demons, each bent on destroying 
the other, and ruling both land and 

dens, and the keels of the fisherman's 
boats have rotted away. Mr. T. Jefferson 
Coolidge has here on the point, one of 
the most delightful of these North Shore 
homes. A smooth lawn in front, sloping 
to the shore, and in the rear a low wood, 
rendered almost impenetrable by the 
clinging vines and thick bushes, make a 
delightful combination and attest the 
purpose of the proprietor to afford a 



striking contrast between nature un- 
adorned and the beautifying skill of 
man. In close proximity is the pleas- 
antly situated cottage built by Rev. 
James Freeman Clarke about 1880. Here 
Dr. Clarke passed the summers of the 
remaining years that were given him, in 
the enjoyment of the rare beauties of a 
spot he loved so well. Beyond this point 

ton built the first summer residence. 
To-day there are more than a hundred 
of them, some of which are extensive, 
surrounded by lawns, made beautiful with 
plants, flowers, and shrubbery, or erected 
on the outer end of some jutting ledge 
that thrusts its nose well into the ocean, 
standing on the verandah of which is like 
a place on the deck of an ocean steamer. 

Mr. John Shepard's Place at Beach Bluff 

is a beautiful curving beach, rightly called 
Crescent Beach j and beyond this lies 
Magnolia, long known to the hardy 
fishermen, who alone constituted its in- 
habitants for two centuries, as Magnolia 
Point. This is the newest of these charm- 
ing North Shore resorts. Not until 1867 
did any one seem to realize its beauties 
and possibilities. In that year Mr. 
Daniel W. Fuller purchased the land on 
the immediate point ; but it was five 
years later that some gentlemen of New- 

The first summer hotel, the famous old 
Willow Cottage, situated near the fish 
house, and shaded by a group of his- 
toric willows, has passed from its former 
high estate to that of an all-the-year- 
round boarding-house, while the guests 
who come to Magnolia are now provided 
for by three or four large hotels and 
several smaller ones. Such is the growth 
of twenty years. A little distance back 
from this immediate point, where fifteen 
years ago, during an August week — 




Mr. Charles Stedman Hanks's Place at West Manchester. 

usually a very rainy week — the red- 
coated Salem Cadets encamped and 
drilled and paraded, to-day we find a 
veritable "city by the sea," and the 
" vet " of those days would scarcely 
recognize the old camp ground. The 
uninhabited forest of a few years since has 
disappeared, and in place of giant oaks 
one sees the picturesque chimneys and 
quaint gables of suburban mansions. 
Year by year the seekers for summer 
homes approach nearer and nearer to 
Rafe's chasm and Norman's 
Woe. For generations the 
old tradition of the wreck of 
the Hesperus on Norman's 
Woe passed from mouth to 
mouth, until Longfellow 
embodied it in his beauti- 
ful poem. Let us stand 
here on the cliff, looking 
out toward that fateful rock, 
and repeat once again some 
of those lines which tell the 
sad story : ' 

" It was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintry sea; 
And the skipper had taken his 
little daughter, 
To bear him company. 

•" Down came the storm, and 
smote amain 
The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused like a 
frightened steed, 
Then leaped her cable's 

" And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept, 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

" She struck where the white and fleecy waves 
Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side, 
Like the horns of an angry bull. 

" At daybreak on the black seadieach, 
A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 
Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

Smaller Tally-ho. 



" Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ! 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! " 

Another pitiful tragedy was enacted 
here in 1879, and another beautiful life 
sacrificed to the greed of the angry sea, 
which seems almost to have an antipathy 
for this particular bit of shore, and to be 
forever assailing it. It was on a delight- 
ful summer afternoon that Miss Marvin 
of Walton, N. Y., sat watching the con- 

finds the roughness of nature, the beauti- 
ful, the picturesque, the romantic, the 
pathetic, the joyous, and the legends of 
other days, mingled in a delightful 
irregularity and uncertainty hardly sur- 
passed by the Rhine itself. 

Extending back from Magnolia toward 
Essex for a mile or more is an almost un- 
broken wilderness, and in this deep wood 
grows the fragrant magnolia, first found 
on Cape Ann by stern old Cotton Mather 
two centuries ago, as he. rode from Salem 

Mr. Russell Sturgis's Place at Manchester 

tention between waves and rocks, well 
up the side of the ledge, in apparent 
security, when a treacherous sea, leaping 
high above her perch, bore her off in its 
soft embrace, only to return her lifeless 
form a few hours later. The iron cross, 
erected by sympathizing summer resi- 
dents to mark the spot where the body 
was laid when brought ashore, stands like 
a beacon light to warn others of the 
treacherous and uncertain nature of the 
waves at Rafe's Chasm. So all along this 
shore, from Beverly to Rockport, one 

to " the old sea brown fishing town " of 
Gloucester. The section of the country 
traversed by the railway between Man- 
chester and Gloucester combines the 
rugged and the beautiful, especially dur- 
ing late spring and early summer, for on 
the northerly side along the high hill the 
forest was destroyed a few years ago, and 
a young growth has succeeded it. The 
ground is broken and diversified by small 
ravines, and thickly strewn with large 
boulders, giving it a forbidding appear- 
ance in early spring ; but this is softened 



Rev. Cyrus A. Bartol's Place at West Manchester. 

in May and June by the beautifully rich 
and varied foliage of the young trees, 
the dark green of the oak, the silver 
white leaves of the poplar, the red buds 
of the maple, and the snow-white blos- 
soms of the wild cherry, and over all the 
dark, swaying top of some widespreading 
pine, the only relic of the forest of the 
early settler. 

Beyond Magnolia is quaint old Glou- 
cester, with its fishing vessels, and its 
fish houses and wharves ; and beyond 
Gloucester is East Gloucester and East- 
ern Point — for every projecting bit of 
land on Cape Ann is a " point." East- 
ern Point is a section of delightfully 
diversified landscape. Summer hotels, 
cottages, and farmhouses; hills, valleys, 

' v i> l"s¥§f 


*m ' MlaR* w - ,x?l 

Mr. Joseph Proctor's Cottage, Manchester 



and plains ; fields and pastures alternate. 
Between the harbor on the west and the 
ocean on the east, in the centre of this 
narrow neck of land, one is surprised to 
come suddenly upon a pretty sheet of 
fresh water some thirty acres in extent, 
whose shores are separated from the 
shores of the salt water by an extremely 

The story of the development of the 
Bass Rocks settlement on Eastern Point 
is rather a melancholy one. Mr. George 
H. Rogers expended more than a hun- 
dred thousand dollars to develop the 
place and bring it into the market ; but 
he died before his hopes could be realized 
and the property passed to other hands. 
But the ultimate result has 
justified Mr. Roger's judg- 
ment, for Bass Rocks has 
become a popular and pros- 
perous resort. E. P. Whipple 
once wrote of it : 

" To an ordinary July observer 

"■ J the principal productions of this 

) " ' portion of Cape Ann seem to be 

rocks and roses. Hence it is, I 

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes's Place. 

narrow ridge. At the 

end of the point is 

Gloucester Light, one of 

the best-known on the 

New England coast. It 

is this beacon which the 

approaching mariner 

hails with delight as he 

sails altfng the coast, 

seeking refuge from a 

coming storm, for he 

knows that once he has 

rounded Gloucester Light, 

his ship may ride safely at anchor in a 

good harbor. The light stands well out 

on the extreme point and in the midst of 

a field of irregular rocks. 

" A heap of bare and splintery crags 
Tumbled about by lightning and frosts, 
With rifts and chasms and storm-bleached jags 
That wait and growl for a ship to be lost : 
No island, but rather the skeleton 
Of a wrecked and vengeance-smitten one, 
Ribs of rock that seaward jut, 
Granite shoulders and boulders and snags, 
Round which, though the winds in heaven be 

The nightmared ocean murmurs and yearns. 
Welters, and swashes and tosses and turns, 
And the dreary seaweed lolls and wags." 

-L- A f^y 

Colonel A B. Rockwell's Place. 

suppose, that the air in the hot season is so 
sweet, pure, and invigorating. The gaunt, 
black rocks, which make vegetation almost 
impossible, and put down with a strong hand 
the timid efforts of the grass to go through 
the process which ends in a profitable crop of 
hay, are the grand agents which brace up 
and restore to normal strength constitutions 
debilitated by the strife and corrupt atmos- 
phere of large cities. You go over this wilder- 
ness and laugh at the potato patches with their 
grim surroundings of rocks, big enough for the 
missiles which the insurgent Titans hurled 
against the gods; you think that if the potatoes 
ever reach the family board they would partake 
of the hardness of their geological companions, 
and that the peculiar ' mealiness ' which is the 
only quality which makes the potato a palatable 
article of food will never characterize the potato 
raised on Cape Ann." 



Mr. T. Dennie Boardman's Place. 

The gate-house built at the entrance 
to Eastern Point is a striking architec- 
tural structure, in keeping with the rugged 
characteristics of the whole place. The 
residence of Judge E. J. Sherman near 
Little Good Harbor Beach illustrates 
man's love for the wild beauties of nature, 
for the judge not only founded his house 
on the traditional rock but placed it just 
as far out to sea as possible, so that a 
pebble might be dropped from the piazza 
into the restless surges directly below. 
Perched high above the ocean though it 
is, for it is nearly seventy feet at low 
water, the spray moistens the windows 
at times, and not infrequently an angry 
wave comes startlingly near the door. 

Between Gloucester and Rockport, on 
the immediate shore, the territory is an 
alternation of smooth, sandy beaches 
and rugged, rocky bluffs. Back from the 
shore is the same undeveloped country 
to be found all the way down the Cape 
from Manchester. Summer settlements 
are creeping along the water's edge, fill- 
ing in the unoccupied section, slowly but 
surely ; and ere long we may expect to 
see summer castles crowning the summits 
of the granite -browed hills in the inte- 
rior. Rockport itself is just what its 
name implies — a rocky port. The ex- 
haustless supply of fine granite beneath 

its thin soil is an equally exhaustless mine 
of wealth. Millions of dollars worth of 
granite have been quarried here, and 
even "the beginning of the end" is not 
yet. Tall derricks rise on every hand 
as one rides along the smooth, hard road- 
way leading from the railway terminus 
to the end of the Cape, their spider-like 
tops higher than the tops of the trees, 
reminding us of the numberless wind- 
mills in some parts of Germany and 
Holland. \Y&Vi 

Those who dwell on tnis Rockport 
shore enjoy attractions, especially on the 
ocean side, rarely given to seashore 
residents. From their piazzas they look 
out to the eastward upon the open sea, 
with nothing between them and Europe, 
not across some bay or cove to an oppo- 
site shore or distant island. To the 

Mr. Joseph Le Favour's Place. 



southward are those two mighty sentinels 
of Cape Ann, the Thatcher's Island light- 
houses, that stand guard over the whole 
coast and warn the incoming mariner of 
its reefs and shoals. They are often the 
first signs of land which the Atlantic 
traveller beholds as he nears the end of 
his long and frequently tempestuous 

" The rocky ledge runs far out into the sea, 
And on its outer point some miles away, 
The lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, 
A pillar of rire by night, a cloud by day. 

" Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same 
Year after year, through all the silent 
Burns on forevermore that quenchless 
Shines on that inextinguishable light. 

it. Bryant said no place of resort by the 
seaside had such forest attractions as 
Pigeon Cove. Dr. Chapin wrote : " The 
ocean view is one of the grandest I have 
ever seen." Higginson says in Oldport 
days : 

" I used to wander in these woods, summer after 

The Pickman Mansion. 

" The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din 
Of wings and winds and solitary cries, 
Blinded and maddened with the light within. 
Dashes himself against the glass and dies." 

Richard H. Dana, who first visited 
Rockport in 1840, was so impressed with 
its rugged charms, particularly on this 
point, that he remained several weeks, 
and came again every season for a num- 
ber of years and until he built in Man- 
chester. With him came William Cullen 
Bryant, poet of nature, and Rev. E. H. 
Chapin, the eloquent preacher. Thomas 
Starr King, the poet and historian of the 
White Alountains, found here mingled 
glories of seashore and mountains, while 
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, the lover 
of nature and the delightful essayist, 
visited Rockport and was charmed with 

Hon. Franklin Havens Place. 

summer, till I had made 
my own chart of their 
devious tracks, and now 
when I close my eyes in 
this Oldport midsummer, 
the soft Italian air takes 
on something of a Scan- 
dinavian vigor; for the 
incessant roll of carriages, 
I hear the tinkle of the 
quarryman's hammer and 
the Veery's song; and I 
long for those perfumed 
and breezy pastures, and 
for those promontories 

of granite, where the fresh water is nectar and 

the salt sea has a regal blue." 

Planting our feet on the farthest pro- 
jecting rock of this " tip end of land " 
during a storm, we may behold as grand 
a sight as is given to man to witness. 
Pen of man and brush of artist can tell us 
something of sections of the panorama, 
but the eye alone can comprehend the 
majestic whole, and to get the full realiza- 
tion we must also hear the roar and 
thunder of the mighty billows as they 
break on the ledges. 

Of a storm here in 1877, a New Orleans 
lady wrote : 

" As the eye goes back towards the sea, it be- 
holds a strange army advancing. They are old 
sea-Druids of the deep; their robes are woven of 
emerald water, their long beards are like snow, 



and their hair, whiter than the thrice washed 
fleece, floats out upon the winds. From their 
shoulders hang feathery mantles of spotless white, 
and they march forward with calm courage, born 
of belief in their own invincibility, till, suddenly 
catching sight of the stern foe in rocky silence 
waiting them on shore, they fall prostrate on their 
faces, their white mantles cover them, their white 
hair tosses and tangles in the gale, the great deep 
swallows them up, and the eye seeks them in vain 
in the tumultuous meadows of the sea." 

Other " points " further along, " round 
the cape " have their occupants. The 
summer colonies seem to have sought 
these points quite early, desiring, no 
doubt, to live undisturbed by the dust of 
the common highway, or the incessant 
roll and rumble of carriages, and to have 
only the splashing of the restless surges to 
intrude upon the Sabbath stillness of their 
retreats. The men who own these North 
Shore cottages and mansions are not of 
the class who enjoy what George Eliot 
called "fine old leisure." With few ex- 
ceptions they are busy professional or 
business men, who go back and forth to 
their daily labors in Boston offices and 
counting-rooms with as much regularity 
as the shoemaker or dry goods clerk. 
And the majority of them are early risers, 
for they go " in town " on trains which 
leave their railway stations by eight 
o'clock. There are among them lawyers 
and authors, bankers and brokers, whole- 
salers and retailers. Very little of the 
"life" which one sees at Newport or 
Long Branch is found on Cape Ann. 
Wealth and culture and society are here, 
but of the more quiet, undemonstrative 
kind. From four o'clock in the afternoon 
till sunset, a good many elegant turn-outs 

may be seen in Beverly and Manchester, 
but there is no broad avenue lined with 

To be sure, there is the somewhat 
noted Tally-ho Coach line from Pride's 
Crossing to Pigeon Cove, with daily trips 
on the Independence; and occasional 
side trips on the Myopia, which runs from 
Pride's to the polo grounds in Wenham- 
Hamilton, three times each week. A 
few of the young men of leisure indulge 
in polo, cross-country riding, and pony 
races during July, August, and Septem- 
ber, but most of these men have their 
business hours in Boston. 

From the end of Cape Ann, one is 
tempted to keep on around the shore of 
Ipswich Bay, where, on one side, are the 
well-known stone mansions of General 
Butler and Colonel Jonas H. French, 
past Conant Point in Essex to the great 
round hills and sand bluffs of Ipswich. 
Already the seashore mansion is seen 
along this part of the coast, which bids 
fair to rival the Cape Ann shore one of 
these days. Though lacking the tree- 
clad hills, this region has sand beaches of 
unsurpassed beauty. Plum Island's long 
stretch of white trends away towards 
Newburyport, where we shall find sum- 
mer houses around and in the city, for 
up the Merrimac are those of Hon. Har- 
vey N. Shepard and Harriet Prescott 
SporTord. Even into the very streets of 
the city one sees residences not surpassed 
in attractiveness or beauty of surround- 
ings by those along the shore ; one of 
the most charming of them being that 
of Hon. E. P. Dodge, the mayor of the 


By Ellen Marvin Heaton. 

OTIS improved rapidly. The lotus 
stage proved a brief one, as the 
doctor had predicted. Promotion 
from crutches to a cane enabled him to 
lengthen his walks, and as the distance 
to Mr. Campbell's house was an agree- 
able one, that often proved the limit of 
his stroll. 

But Edith was a great rover, and Otis 
was somewhat piqued by her frequent 
absence. He consequently fell into a 
habit of interviewing her father, and took 
a boyish delight in drawing out the old 
gentleman. Otis remarked with sur- 
prise how little intercourse men of the 
professor's type seemed to have with the 
world at large, or even with each other. 
President Ripley and Mr. Campbell came 
as near fraternizing as was possible to 
natures of their stamp. In former years 
they had been associated in Bellingham 
College, where the president had taught 
moral philosophy. Since then they might 
occasionally be seen exchanging reminis- 
cences, though their intercourse was ap- 
parently not exhilarating. 

The young man of the period, if not 
less susceptible than his father at the 
same age, is better regulated perhaps as 
to the affairs of the heart. Otis had not 
been without his pleasant flirtations. One 
or two of the girls most admired by him 
had only waived adieu to his attentions 
from the altar, leaving him in that mixed 
feeling of envy and relief known only to 
those whose hearts have been riven by 
such episodes. 

He had taken it for granted that some 
similar relations might develop in the pres- 
ent case, and help to while away his days of 
convalescence. But he was beginning to 
realize that the tender sentiment was all 
upon his side. His surprise at this state 
of things ripened into pique and ended 
in chagrin. 

On his way home, he called at the 
post office for his mail. There was with 

the rest a letter from his college chum. 
As he glanced down the page his face 
clouded, and, folding the letter abruptly, 
he hastened home. After congratulations 
upon his recovery, and certain items of 
class news, his friend made the heroic 
offer to run up to Rockford to cheer the 
tedium and monotony. 

"Guess not!" exclaimed Otis, laying 
the letter on his knee. " I don't care to 
have you bring yourself to bear upon 
Heavens ! Has it come to this "? 

Well, he would cure himself. Rutgers 
should come, — and he took up his pen 
to write. But he paused again. It was 
all very well, he reflected, for Edith and 
himself, — this drifting intimacy — friends 
as they were in childhood ! But how 
odious to see Edith in any similar relation 
with another, — with his chum ! Rutgers 
was always popular with the ladies, — 
handsome, too, and athletic ! And how 
Edith did admire robust men ! She had 
never said so, but he was sure of it. And 
Rutgers was such a fine brute of a fellow ! 
No, it was decidedly not to be thought 

" A good fellow in his place, — let him 
stay there ! " was the final verdict upon 
Rutgers ; and he wrote an excessively 
friendly letter, declining the proffered 
visit upon the plea of his projected trip. 

In the mean time, the closed parsonage 
continued a constant reminder of the late 
events ! To some it was a silent accuser. 
More than one felt that had he taken a 
less negative part, the result might have 
been different. Even Deacon Stores's 
triumph was modified by the growing 
suspicion that it was easier to do worse 
than better in filling the vacated office. 
In fact, it began to seem doubtful whether 
any desirable candidate would accept a 
call. The report of their pastor's resig- 
nation, and the occasion of it, spread 
abroad, and it was well understood what 
manner of preaching the church required. 



Invitations to fill the pulpit for a Sunday 
or two were extended to several desirable 
clergymen, but one after another declined. 

At length the Rev. Amos Barnes ac- 
cepted an invitation to occupy the pulpit 
for four consecutive Sundays. There was 
no doubt as to his soundness. Just be- 
fore the close of his first grim sermon, as 
he was piling awful terrors up, a heavy 
storm came on. Nature punctuated his 
anathemas with thunder and lightning, 
making the timid turn pale in superstitious 
awe, while old Captain Lord, the village 
skeptic, enjoyed the melodramatic effect. 
He had " come to see it through," he ex- 
plained to Deacon Myers on their way 
out of church. " I never saw a piece 
better mounted, deacon," said he. He 
had sat directly behind Deacon Myers, 
and it gave the latter an uncomfortable 
sensation to know that the captain was 
listening to the sermon. He could not 
help speculating upon what the sarcastic 
old fellow would think about each point. 
From speculating upon the captain's 
views, he drifted into criticising the ser- 
mon himself. This was plainly a tempta- 
tion of the devil ; but do what he would, 
he found himself thinking in this critical 
fashion the whole week through. When 
consulted as to the advisablity of giving 
the Rev. Amos Barnes a " call " he de- 
clined to express an opinion ; and then 
for two or three Sundays he did not go to 
church at all. His anxious wife took 
counsel of some of the brethren, telling 
of his strange melancholy and unrest ; 
and Aunt Hannah mentioned the matter 
to the doctor. 

" Get his wife to call me in for that 
cough of her's," said the doctor. " I 
shall prescribe ' Florida,' and that will 
cure him." 

There were symptoms of religious ex- 
citement under the leadership of the 
Rev. Amos Barnes. Classes were formed 
for religious purposes, and the waakened 
interest was the subject of congratulation. 

The religious excitement waxed apace ; 
though a few fastidious souls, disliking 
certain excesses, discontinued attendance, 
the majority of the church regarded the 
work under the Rev. Mr. Barnes as a re- 
markable outpouring of the Spirit. But 
at last there was an unfortunate occurrence, 

growing out of the reverend gentleman's 
occasional weakness for wine, which drew 
down upon his sacred head the censure 
of all ; and he left Rockford the follow- 
ing day. 

These mortifying experiences were re- 
garded by some as a visitation of Provi- 
dence, and such proclaimed their regret 
that the teaching of their late pastor had 
ever been brought in question. When 
matters were at the darkest, two of the 
brethren interviewed Mrs. Grant, with 
some hope of securing her influence 
towards recalling Mr. Chapin ; and in 
connection with this the question of the 
revival came under discussion. 

" Do I approve of revivals? " exclaimed 
Aunt Hannah. "Just as I approve of 
house-cleaning. When some people 
clean house, they turn everything out of 
doors, and make life unbearable. Others 
take one room at a time, and you 
wouldn't know anything was going on un- 
til you see that everything is clean. 
Under Mr. Chapin's teaching our young 
people were cleaning up their characters 
room by room. Look at them now ! " 

"There is much truth in your views, 
Sister Grant," said Deacon Stores amica- 
bly. " And our errand to-night is — that 
is, I mean to say that, since we are here, 
it will be well to decide upon some 
course. We thought that you and Dr. 
North might persuade Mr. Chapin — " 

"Well, you go to Dr. North," said 
Aunt Hannah. " If any one can patch 
up matters, he can. 

It was significant of the depth of hu- 
mility which the deacons had reached, 
that they were disposed to ask the doc- 
tor's aid. The doctor had watched the 
struggle with interest. But he had ab- 
stained from any active espousal of Mr. 
Chapin's cause, for he knew that his own 
standing with the church was not of the 
best. Of a deeply religious spirit, he 
was so indifferent to most of the sectarian 
divisions and controversies that he had 
replied to a certain question a good while 
before, "I am a Dutch Reformed Pres- 
bygational Baptist, with a side pew in a 
Methodist chapel." This speech had been 
widely quoted and laughed over by some 
at the time as the policy of a medical 
man bidding for popularity with all the 



sects. In reality, it was an honest ex- 
pression of the doctor's catholic interest 
in all forms of religious faith. The 
despairing deacons fared better at his 
hands than they feared. He heard them 
patiently, and did not censure their 
course. But he made it plain that the 
attempt to recall Mr. Chapin would be 
useless, as the latter had already made 
other plans for his future. 

The disappointment and chagrin of the 
deacons was pathetic. But the discipline 
altogether proved wholesome and effect- 
ual. When, a month later, they secured 
the services of the Rev. Anthon Stone, a 
more united parish, or a more charitable 
one, would have been hard to find. 


In the mean time, Edith had matured 
her plans. They were no longer vis- 
ionary, but such as she would have re- 
sorted to in case self-support had been 
a necessity. By diligent study of the 
New York newspapers she had discovered 
what are the wants of a great city. 
Among them, a position as visiting gov- 
erness, or as reader to an invalid, were 
places she might attempt to fill. Once 
launched, she might then plan for her 

Undoubtedly, the compensation would 
be moderate, and there was the problem 
of how to live. 

While she was still hesitating, an event 
occurred which precipitated matters and 
gave her future a more promising out- 
look. An operetta troupe, turning the 
summer to account, found it in its way to 
give a performance in Rockford. The 
good people of the place were much 
excited over the prospect of seeing 
" Pinafore." Aunt Hannah thought of 
Edith, and, knowing how Mr. Campbell 
would regard the occasion, she resolved 
not to risk his refusal. She accordingly 
invited Edith to tea upon the eventful 
evening, and made her quite ecstatic by 
exhibiting tickets for the entertainment, 
little dreaming of the consequences des- 
tined to follow her amiable plot. 

Edith drank in the music with a mind 
absorbed. Here were girls no older than 
herself, no better equipped either as to 

physique or voice, making a career. As 
she listened, she planned. What should 
prevent her doing likewise? Surely she 
could master one of those roles. 

No sleep visited her pillow that night. 
Early the following morning she called 
at the hotel and desired to see Professor 
Warner, the director of the troupe. His 
patronizing air was lost upon the eager 
girl ; and, in response to his request to 
sing something as a test of her voice, she 
stood up and sang a verse of a Scotch 
ballad, with such charming simplicity that 
the worthy man's manner changed to 
deference. His practical eye noted at 
once the points in her favor. Not least 
among them was her entire lack cf self- 
consciousness. It gave an air of distinc- 
tion such as no training could bestow. 
The quality of her voice, too, was not to 
be despised. The director perceived the 
lack of training, but that was a point in 
her favor perhaps ; there was nothing to 

But he had no idea of betraying his 
favorable opinion. He even scowled a 
little as he said her performance might 
be much worse. Unquestionably she 
might be trained to take some minor 
part. She could begin as one of the 
chorus. Here he consulted his watch 
and repeated that time would compel 
him to cut short the interview, but if 
Miss — 

" Edith Evelyn," she responded, with- 
holding her last name. 

If Miss Evelyn — a very nice name 
too for an artist — would apply to him 
after his return to town, say any time 
after October, he would see what could 
be done for her. 

Edith went home feeling that Fate 
smiled upon her projects. She examined 
her little hoard of money, the result of 
no little pinching and contrivance. The 
sum allowed her for personal expenses 
had largely been carefully laid aside, and 
she found with much satisfaction that 
there would be enough for a few weeks 
board, in case an engagement did not 
immediately present itself. 

There were other points to consider. 
Should she make a confidant of Aunt 
Hannah? What should she say to her 
father? She did not like the idea of 



doing anything clandestine. " Running 
away from home," — that was what she 
was contemplating. It sounded ignoble. 
It involved a sense of disgrace, — not 
only to herself but to the whole family. 
For a moment she faltered — but for a 
moment only. An overwhelming sense 
of her motives swept away all idea of 
disgrace, and her eyes glowed with re- 
newed purpose. Let people say what 
they pleased — there was no other way 
out of their troubles. Stay ! How would 
it do to sound her father as to adopting 
the occupation of a teacher? She had 
little hope of his encouragement. But it 
would prepare him somewhat for her 
final action. Great was her surprise, 
upon broaching the subject, to find him 
disposed to lend an attentive ear. 

H m ! Teaching was a very good 

way of renewing one's studies, and of 
finding out what one did not know. Yes, 
if just the right place could be found, — . 
No, certainly not New York. He was 
peremptory on the point of encountering 
the life of a great city. To her plea of 
desiring instruction in music he averred 
there was opportunity for that every- 
where. She could very likely exchange 
her services in English and Latin for 
tuition in music in the Westville Seminary. 
He was a trustee of that institution. He 
would see what could be done. 

Truth to tell, Edith's project was a 
great relief to her father. Her active 
habits and unconventional ways jarred 
upon him. To be sure, she had im- 
proved a good deal of late ; but what joy 
to have no one to disturb his literary 
seclusion ! Providence was kind ! He 
thought with satisfaction of the coming 
winter, and fell to considering what great 
work he might project for so favorable an 

Edith, on her part, felt that something 
had been accomplished, if not just what 
she aimed at. As the autumn wore on, 
she realized that the time for putting 
her plans into execution had arrived. 
She saw by the papers that the " Excel- 
sior Troupe " was back in town, and she 
began once more to consult the " wants " 
columns. She answered several adver- 
tisements for visiting governesses, and 
received one reply which asked her to 

call at ten o'clock the following Thursday. 
This was Tuesday. A hand-bag would 
contain all necessaries for a week, and 
her trunk could be packed before leav- 
ing, and sent for later. Her father 
would be obliged to make the best of her 
adventure, for the sake of public opinion. 
Since he had consented to a part of her 
plan, and the issue between them was\ 
only a question of locality, why, she could 
surely risk that. She visited Aunt Han- 
nah and explained as much of her plans 
as seemed best, knowing that her father's 
pride would prevent his admitting her 
course to be in opposition to his wishes. 
On Wednesday, when Mr. Campbell 
woke from his nap and prepared for his 
usual walk, he found a note affixed to his 
hat ; and opening it, he read with amaze- 
ment the following : 

" When you read this I shall be on my way to 
New York to secure a place which offers as 
teacher to young children in a private family. 
When you gave consent to my undertaking, you 
withheld your approval as to the place. I did not 
confide to you all my reasons for wishing to go to 
New York. They are such as you might not 
approve ; but it does not follow that they are un- 
worthy. I am sorry to run counter to your 
wishes, but I cannot effect my object elsewhere. 
You can truthfully say that this is a plan I con- 
sulted you about long since. No one need know 
that I left without your knowledge, or that you 
do not wholly approve. I have confided in no one, 
— not even in Aunt Hannah." 

The old man uttered a sigh of relief as 
he read the note the second time. " To 
secure a place which offers as teacher in 
a private family ! " he repeated. 

Since no one knew all the facts, and 
since it was so common a thing for New 
England girls to take positions as teach- 
ers, Mr. Campbell's chagrin over Edith's 
wayward course began to give way to 
a sense of relief. 

In the mean time, Edith was going 
through a variety of moods. The hour 
so long anticipated had struck. Freedom 
was before her. Why was it she lacked 
the elation which that should inspire? 
In its place was a chaotic mixture of 
hope, anxiety, firmness, and misgiving. 
When the conductor examined her ticket, 
she felt as if he must know she was leav- 
ing home clandestinely. A glance at his 
preoccupied face reassured her, and the 
similar aspect of her fellow-travellers 



showed how little interest the world has 
in the individual. This fact was empha- 
sized upon her arrival in New York. 
Not a person took the slightest notice of 
her except the cab-drivers. Once be- 
yond their solicitations, she felt like a 
chip escaped from a whirlpool. 

She had written from her home to the 
Young Women's Christian Association. 
How should she reach the place? She 
espied a policeman, and crossed the 
street to him. 

"Fifteenth Street near Fifth Avenue? 
Jump right into a Madison Avenue car," 
he answered, hailing the car in question. 
"Let her off at Fifteenth," she heard 
him tell the conductor. 

Now a full sense of the uncertainty of 
her undertaking rushed over her. What 
should she do if the place were closed 
or anything proved wrong? The blood 
rushed to her face, as she cast a quick 
glance about the car. Some of the oc- 
cupants were reading newspapers, others 
were intent upon the street lamps, watch- 
ing for their locality, while the major- 
ity of the women appeared to be 
taking an inventory of each others' 

" Fifteenth Street," announced the 
conductor at last, stopping the car and 
beckoning to her. As she descended 
and mingled with the hurrying stream of 
humanity upon the sidewalk, the sensa- 
tion of homelessness grew stronger. All 
the people walked with that decision and 
preoccupied manner characteristic of 
city folk. She felt her own irresolute 
gait to be in great contrast. 

"East or West?" asked a policeman, 
in response to her question. 

" It's the Young Women's Christian 
Association I want to find." 

"You can't miss it. Follow up this 
street, cross Union Square, and you'll 
find it just this side of the Avenue." 

This sounded simple, and she kept 
repeating it as she went on. She crossed 
the square, and crossed Broadway, passed 
the Association building without remark- 
ing it and accosted another policeman. 
When she finally found the place, she 
was so tired and confused that she could 
hardly state her wants clearly to the 

"Respectable boarding - place ! " re- 
peated the latter. " Sit down, please," 
she added kindly, " and I will give you 
a list. You seem very tired," — and she 
handed her a glass of water. Edith was 
near breaking down as she raised it to 
her lips, but the thought of how she was 
ever to get on in life if she fainted on 
the threshold, quickly brought back her 

"There," said the matron, "I have 
put them down according to locality. 
The first place is not far from here. I 
hope you will find quarters there. And 
here you will see what we have to offer 
in the way of help and recreation," she 
added, handing Edith a circular concern- 
ing the association. 

Edith thanked her, asked to be di- 
rected to the first place on the list, and 
ten minutes later was received in a shabby 
little sitting-room of a house on Twelfth 

"A room to yourself!" echoed the 
woman who received her, in a shrill tone, 
in answer to Edith's modest inquiry. 
" You're lucky to get a place at all. Eve 
only one vacancy — third floor back — a 
room with another girl." 

This was a feature Edith had not anti- 
cipated. She was unequal to further 
search, however, and arranged for a 
week's trial. 

" Dinner at half-past six," said the 
woman, as she closed the door upon her 
new lodger. Edith removed her hat and 
wraps mechanically. She realized that 
she would need all the philosophy she 
could summon to meet the conditions of 
such a life. How could human beings 
consent to live in this manner? Must 
she really conform to it? In all this 
great city was there not room without 
such crowding? Her room-mate had not 
returned when she was called to dinner. 
She came to the table with others a few 
minutes later, all casting curious glances 
at the new-comer. Edith found herself 
one of thirty women. The " home " 
would have been comfortable for eigh- 
teen. Her room-mate was a dressmaker, 
a Swiss girl, with an exuberant flow of 
animal spirits. She chatted continually, 
and assured Edith that she was very lucky 
to secure her present quarters. She her- 



self had tried so many lodgings, and 
" Ach ! Du lieber Gott ! what holes some 
of them were ! " 

The next morning Edith presented 
herself at the door of an aristocratic house 
in Thirty-eighth Street. A carriage was 
waiting in front of it, and a lady in driv- 
ing costume received her. 

"Oh, Miss Campbell, I see you are 
prompt. That is a virtue I appreciate." 

The favorable reception resulted in an 
engagement. Edith was to give two 
morning hours to two little girls, in 
elementary English branches. The hours 
must be early, as they went walking with 
their French maid later, and a visiting 
German governess filled up a part of the 

Madam was evidently a strict dis- 
ciplinarian, with a keen sense of the 
qualities requisite in a governess, and her 
manner showed plainly that her interest 
in Edith began and ended in the latter's 
adaptability to her own wants. As far 
as that went, the interview was satisfac- 
tory. The compensation was meagre — 
merely enough to cover Edith's weekly 
board-bill — but she was happy enough 
to secure the situation. 

The next thing was to see what pros- 
pect there was in the matter of the opera 
singing. Ignorant as Edith was of city 
localities and ways, it took her some time 
to find the proper place to make her 
application. But, once found, she was 
eagerly welcomed ; for the company 
lacked chorus voices, and Edith's quick 
ear enabled her to take her part in the 
chorus after a fortnight's training. A 
new world opened to her before the foot- 
lights. Some things were rather shock- 
ing to her ; but as member of so large a 
chorus, she knew that she was incon- 
spicuous, and soon grew accustomed to 
her part. 

Meantime, without going into details, 
she had written her father that her en- 
gagement at teaching proved satisfactory ; 
and, supposing her comfortably estab- 
lished, he dismissed anxiety and gave 
himself up to his abstractions. From her 
sister, Edith received nothing but words 
of approbation. It was an excellent 
thing, wrote Mary, to take up some regu- 
lar work in life, and she was sure Edith 

would realize the responsibility of training 
young souls. 

To her brother only could Edith con- 
fide all. It was a relief to write him the 
details of her life, and she let no day pass 
without some record. She bade him 
keep up good heart, as she felt confident 
of finding some place for him. " And 
when I am a prima donna, dear Joe, and 
you a brilliant scientific man, we will ex- 
change our castles in Spain for a snug 
little home together, and put behind us 
all the dreary past." 

Time, instead of relaxing, only strength- 
ened the girl's resolution ; for the ac- 
count her brother gave of his life in 
Marshville harrowed her soul. It seemed 
that the worthy ex-director of the reform 
school had not been successful in his new 
enterprise — Joe being really his only 
pupil. Necessity thus compelled him to 
fill up his house with boys of the class 
which more properly belong in institu- 
tions devoted to the development of 
weak intellects. His fame as a disciplin- 
arian was great, and there was no lack of 
applications from despairing parents who 
were glad to intrust to him not only the 
feeble intellect but often the depraved 
instincts of their sons. Consequently, 
Joe found himself associated with almost 
every form of morbid character. Among 
them was a lad of seventeen, named 
Walters, subject to attacks of such violent 
temper as to make him at times quite 
irresponsible. Edith's indignation grew 
with each letter which came from Joe, 
and her purpose to have him with her 
became her one absorbing passion. 

She had the good fortune after a few 
weeks to secure a position as reader to 
an elderly lady, which demanded two 
more hours daily, and gave her a little 
more money. The girl's life was far from 
a smooth one, however. She had to cope 
with the trials peculiar to the various 
strange relations which she now sustained. 
Mrs. Sinclair was exacting, and occasion- 
ally intimated that her children's progress 
was not all that she would like. And life 
in a "Woman's Home " is far from ideal. 
Most of the inmates, it must be said, 
were so worn out when night came that 
early sleep closed their eyes. As chorus- 
girl, Edith had to sustain the strain and 



stress of many uncongenial companions, 
of late hours, of extremes of weather, 
and — not the least item — the brusque 
training of an old German professor who 
regarded the girls only as so many ma- 
chines, whose vocal organs were the only 
ones of any account. He got into rage 
with any who were so unlucky as to catch 
cold. "Idiots!" he would exclaim. 
" Women are truly a curse to the race ! 
And you, Mademoiselle Evelyn — you 
whom I hoped to make something of in 
time, you must go and catch a cold ! 
Yes, catch it ! It would never catch 
you, if you had sense ! Remain after 
rehearsal, and I will try to put one grain 
of sense into you." 

" Ha ! there you are ! " he exclaimed 
as the others were departing. " Now tell 
me, where do you live ? What are your 
occupations? Have you plenty of fresh 
air by night, as well as by day ? H — m ! 
It is as I thought. You have been taught 
many things. But the most important of 
all, — the simplest rules of health — of 
those you are perfectly ignorant." 

Here followed minute directions as to 
her daily habits, with especial injunctions 
about throwing up the window of her 
room and breathing deeply " ten minutes 
at a time, several times a day." 

Edith was really grateful for this inter- 
est, and under these directions and sub- 
sequent ones from the old professor she 
did improve in health and strength. 

" Ha ! I see you do not despise coun- 
sel ! " said the old professor one day. 
"We will have you out of that chorus 
one of these days." 

Indeed, success was only a matter of 
time and health — Edith was convinced 
of this. But she seemed as far off as 
ever from knowing how to launch her 
brother. Her heart ached for him. At 
Christmas especially she longed for him, 
to have him with her, — to make sun- 
shine for him. She wrote a cheery Chris- 
mas letter and sent a little gift, and 
buoyed him up with the prophecy that 
their next holiday would be passed to- 

From the first, Mrs. Delevan had 
shown great curiosity regarding her young 
reader. She assumed the latter to be an 
orphan, having learned that her mother 

was dead. All her questions as to the 
father were in the past tense. " And so 
your father was a scholar?" "Was he 
long a professor in Bellingham College? " 
" Did he never marry a second time? " 

Edith did not correct the impression. 
It made it easier for her to speak of her 
solicitude about her brother's future. 
The keen old lady would have asked why 
that responsibility devolved upon her, 
had she supposed the father living. As 
it was, she shared the girl's interest in 
securing an opportunity for his scientific 

" Electricity ! ' she exclaimed one 
day. " Why didn't you say that before ? 
Why, if he has the making of an electri- 
cian in him, his career is assured. I 
don't mean talent of the mechanical 
kind, but real insight and genius. How 
do you know he has talent?" she asked 

Edith recounted Joe's achievements, 
with an enthusiasm which impressed her 
listener with the idea that a young Frank- 
lin was only awaiting his time to astonish 
the world, and left Mrs. Delevan revolving 
the matter in her mind. 

" I want you to come to tea next Sun- 
day evening, Miss Campbell, and meet a 
relative of mine," Mrs. Delevan said one 
day, shortly after the conversation. It 
was more a command than an invitation, 
but Edith was very thankful for the kind- 
ness which she knew was meant, and 
gladly accepted. The relative proved to 
be a man in middle life, with keen, pene- 
trating eyes, which regarded Edith with 
frank curiosity as she entered. The 
name was a familiar one to her, as it was 
one associated with some important ap- 
plications of electricity ; and she re- 
turned his gaze with interest. Could it 
really be the great inventor? As the 
evening progressed she decided in the 
negative. At tea the chat was of the 
usual kind, the rapid growth of New 
York, the increase of wealth and luxury, 
the elaborateness of modern life, and the 
rest. As they left the table, the guest 
suddenly asked Edith if she sang. She 
confessed to some ability, and was led to 
the piano, which she had never before 
seen opened. Edith was not much of a 
pianist, and of late she had become so 



dependant upon orchestral accompani- 
ment, that she hesitated. 

" Here is an old favorite of mine," 
said Mr. Stevenson, taking up a piece of 
music. " Can you sing this? " 

" ' Ave Sanctissima ? ' Yes, if you 

"Shall I play your accompaniment?" 

Edith thankfully assented. At the 
second line a man's rich voice joined in 
with the alto, and continued to the end. 

"You have had good training, Miss 
Campbell," said he, rising as they finished. 
Edith blushed, wondering what they 
would think of the kind of training she 
was receiving. 

" You ought to do something with that 
voice," he continued. " Such voices are 
in demand. Has it never occurred to 
you to fit yourself for a place in a choir? " 

It never had, and Edith blushed with 
excitement at the suggestion. " Do you 
really think I might aim at that?" she 

"Why not? It is only a matter of 

" Oh, if I thought so ! " she exclaimed. 
"You can't imagine — you don't know 
what it would mean to me ! " 

Her imagination pictured the snug 
fireside — her beloved brother beside it 
— his hated studies behind him — a 
chance for his genius to develop. She 
almost forgot her surroundings, so vivid 
was the picture, and she started when 

" I hear you have a brother, Miss 
Campbell, for whom you are anxious, and 
that he has an interest in electricity. 
Tell me what he has done to show it." 

Edith's eyes kindled. She recounted 
Joe's experiments, and in her story made 
frequent use of the name of the great 
electrician so closely connected with the 
science. She discoursed of her brother's 
experiments with batteries, of his tele- 
phones, and even of his poor little phono- 
graph, which was such an absurd failure. 
It appeared to be the failures which most 
interested her interrogator. She was 
plied with questions regarding them. 
The examination was really quite ex- 
haustive, and Edith was often puzzled 
for answers. 

" Well, if I keep on, I shall soon know 

your brother as well as — he appears to 
know me," said Mr. Stevenson at last, 
with a laugh. 

"You?" exclaimed Edith. 

" It seems he has been using my 
methods, and appropriating my inven- 
tions. I am not sure in fact but that he 
is in a fair way to improve upon them, 
by what you tell me." 

" You don't mean that you are — " 

"Yes — at your service, Miss Camp- 
bell. And at your brother's service, if 
he has in him a quarter of what you 
make me believe." Presently he added, 
kindly regarding Edith, " I am about 
starting for Europe, and shall not be able 
to see your brother until my return ; but 
then I think I can promise to give him 
a chance. You may tell him from me," 
he continued, " that there is plenty of 
room for such as he — although," he 
added smiling, " inventors don't often 
find out the value of their work until 
they read their own epitaphs. But let 
him come to me as soon as I get back." 

"Oh, it seems too good to be true ! " 
cried Edith, hardly able to control her 
feelings. " It has been so long in my 
mind, and — " 

"And if you would like to get some 
instruction for choir work," said Mr. 
Stevenson, rising to go, " I have some 
influence at St. Cecelia's Church — they 
call it the nursery for church choirs — 
and I will arrange for you to attend their 
rehearsals. Would that please you?" 

Edith's "Oh, thank you ! " was made 
very eloquent by her glowing face. 

Three days later she received a note, 
inclosing a line of introduction to the 
leader of the choir, with instructions 
about the rehearsals. In the mean time 
she had written of the good fortune to 
her brother. 

" He can see what you are, dear Joe, 
even through my poor descriptions of 
your experiments. It takes a rogue to 
catch a rogue, you know, and so it takes 
a genius to know a genius. Oh, my own 
dear, dear Joe ! Now we can wait pa- 
tiently. By the time you come I shall 
have evolved some plan for a little home 
together. Yes, we will have a little home 
of our very own." 

Then followed busy days — busy, buoy- 



ant days, when Edith looked inspired. 
What earnestness went into her rehear- 
sals ! She lived in an atmosphere of her 
own, which hardly admitted of fellowship. 
Her life was tense with her purpose. 
Her teaching was performed almost me- 
chanically — a fact which her keen-eyed 
employer very quickly detected, and one 
day she found a note awaiting her, which 
proved to be a curt notice that her ser- 
vices were no longer required. Edith 
acknowledged the justice of this, but she 
was powerless to break the spell in which 
she lived. Her whole life was bound up 
in her one great motive ; and since some 
assurance of success had come, her in- 
terest was only the more intense. It was 
only a matter of months now ! 

Even Mrs. Delevan felt aggrieved, at 
times, by Edith's preoccupation. The 
girl's heart went out through only two 
avenues, — music, and her brother. 
Music was the means ; Joe, the end. To 
Mrs. Delevan it seemed almost pathetic 
— this isolation of the ardent young 
girl. To Edith herself it was certainly 
a shield, protecting her from many un- 
pleasantnesses. Those among whom she 
moved felt that although with them, she 
was not of them. By some she was de- 
clared haughty — by others stupid and 
"pious." But she was let alone, or re- 
ferred to as " the Impenetrable " or " the 

Her leisure was now absorbed by a new 
interest. The great obstacle to making a 
home in the city was the high rents. 
Even such humble lodgings as she coveted 
were beyond her present means. And 
she realized more and more that a lead- 
ing part in the operetta, or a position in 
a " quartette choir," is not to be had im- 
mediately, even for a phenomenal voice ; 
and her's was not " phenomenal." Oh, 
how much time and training it required ! 
She did not care for that, if only she 
could secure the home, where she could 
see her brother's talents unfold in a con- 
genial atmosphere. 

One afternoon as she was poring over 
the " wants " column in the newspaper, in 
the hope of making another engagement 
as visiting governess, a card was brought 
her by the shabby waiting-maid : 

Felix North, M. D. 

What did he want? Why had he 
come? She had cut herself so com- 
pletely off from the past, become so ab- 
sorbed in the future, that the sensation 
of renewing old associations was almost a 
pain. But there was no help for it. 
Since he was here, she must see him, 
and she went downstairs. The doctor 
came forward eagerly as she entered, and 
grasped her hand. 

" Why, Edith ! Is this where you 
have lived all these months? We im- 
agined you in very different quarters." 

" I meant you should. Why did you 
spy me out? " returned the ungrateful 
girl reproachfully. 

He scanned her face with professional 
scrutiny, but she surely was not sick ; 
there was health and hope in the face. 

"Well?" she said in response to his 
scrutiny, smiling a little ruefully. 

" So you are not teaching in a family? " 

" No, I like my independence too well. 
And it is not so bad here as you may im- 
agine. Besides, I am here very little. 
I give lessons by the hour, and have 
some time left to give to — music," — 
she said, smiling oddly. " Perhaps you 
didn't know I had any gift for that ! " 

" Then the invitation I meant to give 
will be quite apropos," he returned. " I 
wondered if you would not go with me to 
hear ' Patience ' to-night." 

Was it pleasure that brought such a 
quick tide of color to her cheek, the 
doctor queried to himself. 

" Oh, I am so sorry, — really, — but 
I cannot ! I have an engagement to- 

"To-morrow night, then. Or would 
a matinee suit you better? " 

Her perplexity only deepened. " I 
am afraid I cannot promise even for 
that," she said. "I — I am a working- 
woman now, you see." 

The doctor was puzzled. There was 
something more than caprice in this. 
He had talked Edith's sudden move over 
with Aunt Hannah more than once. They 
agreed it was not strange that the high- 
spirited girl had chafed at the depressing 
conditions of her life at home. But now 
it occurred to him there was a further 
motive which had brought her here. 

Something — the look in his eyes per- 



haps — conveyed his thought to Edith. 
Why should she not tell him? Not all 

— not about her brother, no one must 
know that, else the plan might be thwarted, 

— but something. 

"You do not seem to take it seriously," 
she said, "but I am really developing 
quite a voice. They tell me I may hope 
to make something useful of it one of 
these days." 

" I congratulate you. And then? " 

" Oh, then, — then I will go to the 
opera with you with pleasure." 

The doctor shook his head. "You 
have not told me all," he said. " I have 
no right to demand your confidence. 
But I might be able to help you. Why 
not let me? " 

Edith faltered. She had stood alone 
so long ! But no ! If anything should 
happen ! No, she would not tell him. 
He rose and came to her. She also 
rose, and he took both her hands in his. 

"You shall keep your secret," he said, 
'• whatever it is. But remember, if at any 
time you need help, — " 

" Oh, thank you ! You are always so 
good ! " she murmured. Both realized 
how conventional they had become, and 

" I am coming again," he declared. 
" But not as a ' spy.' I am taking a holi- 
day and shall be here over Sunday. 
That must be a leisure day with you." 

"That is the worst of all days. The 
' inmates ' are all at home then." 

" Let me take you to a German Sun- 
day afternoon concert — the orchestra is 
so good !" To this Edith consented, and 
the doctor took his leave. 

On applying for a ticket for " Patience," 

— for he still determined to go, even if 
he went alone — the doctor was disap- 
pointed in being able to secure only a 
seat very near the front. It was better 
for seeing than for hearing, he found in 
the evening ; in fact, he could see every- 
thing upon the stage so plainly that he 
almost felt himself to be upon the stage. 

"Twenty lovesick maidens we!" 
There they all were, — powder, paint, 
and all ! But there was one among these 
" made-up " chorus girls who looked very 
natural, and — how odd ! — so like Edith 
Campbell ! Could it be ? It was Edith ! 

That would account for her embarrass- 
ment. The blood mounted to the doc- 
tor's brow. A sudden rage possessed 
him. This was no place for Edith ! He 
would not have it. He had hardly real- 
ized that she had grown to be a woman 
when she took this step. He shut his 
eyes and thought. He seemed to feel 
Edith's whole past. There was little or 
no formulating of ideas, but he entered 
into her life, felt the exuberance of her 
nature, felt its limitations, spurned the 
shams which she spurned, felt her recoil, 
and exulted in her escape. He opened 
his eyes to find the scene changed. 
Edith had disappeared. 

At the close of the next scene he left 
the theatre, glad to escape and to be 
alone. He knew that for the first time 
in his life, love had come to him. Yes, 
love had come, and there was no room 
left in his mind for any thought but 
thought of Edith. To snatch Edith 
away from the toiling life, to set her down 
in green pastures, to blossom like the 
daisies and sing like the birds, — care- 
free and joyous — he felt able to do all 
this ; this was what he would do. 

The doctor never knew where, or how 
far, he wandered. A little past midnight 
he found himself in front of his hotel, 
and, mounting to his room, he went to 
bed. He awoke after some hours of 
feverish sleep, resolved to seek Edith 
and say whatever the spirit prompted. 
Whether it would bid him confess his 
love, or whether he would only be able to 
remonstrate with her and beg her let him 
share her burdens as a brother might, he 
felt in doubt. 

Fortunately, she was at home. She 
had just come from answering an adver- 
tisement and was in a glow of satisfaction 
over a favorable engagement ; but a 
glance at his face distressed her. 

"What is it? " she faltered. 

" I know now why you could not ac- 
cept my invitation for last night, Edith." 

She grew scarlet. She was sure in- 
stantly that he had recognized her in the 
chorus. Her first impulse might natu- 
rally have been one of indignation. 
What right had he to call her to ac- 
count? — for that she felt was what he 
was doing. But she had never seen him 



look as he looked now. He was always 
so kind, so gay, even ! 

" I am going to confide in you," she 
found herself saying ; and motioning him 
to a seat near her, she poured forth her 
story. It was all about Joe. She de- 
scribed the hours they had passed to- 
gether, her brother's love of science, her 
assurance that he was destined to a great 
future if he could only have a chance. 
She told of his collections and experi- 
ments ; and then her face grew dark as 
she told of what her father had done. 
" He sent him away," she said at last — 
" and I vowed to rescue him. That is 
why I am here." 

They looked at each other in silence. 
The doctor felt intuitively that in this 
sister's intense nature there was no room 
yet for another love. It was more than 
the love of a sister ; it had all the fierce 
intensity of a mother's instinct. His 
own passion paled before it. 

"But that is all past," she resumed. 
" I am thinking of the future now." 
She recounted her interview with the 
great electrician. " And now what have 
you to say?" she concluded, her eyes 
radiant with pride and love and hope. 

"What have I to say?" he echoed. 

" I had something to say. I came on 
purpose to say it. But I only say, God 
bless you ! " 

But he stayed on, and asked questions 
about many little things. What did she 
do for recreation? How did she get 
home at night from the theatre ? Had she 
any pleasant friends? This solicitude 
was of so paternal a character that when 
they parted, and he held her hand so 
much longer than usual, Edith was con- 
scious of no new element in their friend- 
ship. The relief of confiding in so true 
a friend had been great, and she learned 
with real regret that he had decided to 
return at once to Rockferd, and their 
proposed excursion must therefore be 

Edith sat thinking a long time after he 
left. It was good to feel that so good 
and wise a friend knew of her course 
and did not censure it. It took out of 
her life some of the seed of bitterness 
which clandestine plans sow — whether 
the motives are justifiable or not. Then 
she fell to building air-castles in which 
her brother always figured as the ruling 
prince. The doctor, meantime, was wend- 
ing his lonely way back to his hotel with 
a strangely heavy heart. 

( To be continued.) 


By Jean La Rue Burnett. 

1SEE it now — a wav'ring thread of gold, 
Loose woven 'mid soft strands of emerald spray, 
Out from the shady wood it leads away 
And takes its zigzag course, in freedom bold, 
Across the velvet fields, there to unfold 
And lose itself in distant mists of gray : 
Along its length the lazy shadows play, 
Just as they did in happy days of old ; 
And by its side upon the thistle's plume 

The saucy blackbird swings his cooing mate, 
Or pipes at eventide his vesper lay, 
Where wee star-asters breathe their faint perfume, 
As slowly upward toward the moss-grown gate 
The lowing cattle wend their homeward way. 

Edward Burgess. 


By A. G. McVey. 

TWENTY years ago I can well re- 
member Edward Burgess as he 
sat on the work bench in Pierce's 
boat shop on Sixth Street, City Point, 
discussing with the then well-known 
builder of the Queen Mai?, Firefly, 
Water Witch, and other famous cat- 
boats, the elements of a design which he 

thought best for a cat-boat. Pierce was 
a great favorite with " Ned ; ' as he was 
then called, and among the crack cat- 
boats which he built for Sidney and his 
brother Edward were the Firefly, Kitty, 
Hoyden and others. 

The "Burgess boys " stood at the head 
of amateur yachtsmen in those days, and 



they were daring lads too. Fear was un- 
known to them, and it was the talk of the 
Point what a clever pair they were. 
" Ned " was the same modest lad that he 
was the man, and he always allowed that 
Sidney was the better sailor of the two. 
It was a fact that Sidney had the stick, 
while "Ned" looked after the sheets in 
the races. Fitted by years of boyhood 
experience, the late naval architect went 
step by step from the cat-boat to larger 

of the merchant princes of New England, 
and his sons were among the most favored. 
Simply the asking for a yacht by the boys 
met with a prompt lesponse. 

In those days Edward Burgess was 
very distant, extremely modest, and 
had but little to say. His voice was 
effeminate, and his manner also for 
that part, and he was most refined. 
Pierce often said of the Burgess lads, 
there never was a more gentlemanly and 

The Puritan. 

ones, finally ending up on his own glo- 
rious Volunteer. His was a practical 
water experience in racing boats for over 
a quarter of a century, and how well it 
stood to him, his great career showed. 
Little did he or I ever think at that time, 
as he sat on the bench in Pierce's boat 
shop, that years hence he would there de- 
sign the successful cup-defender. There 
was no reason why his mind should move 
in that direction, for his father was one 

manly pair than the "Burgess boys." 
Singularly, they were always called the 
"Burgess boys," just as the "Adams 
boys " are now. Their favorite boat build- 
er, Pierce, gradually withdrew from active 
work, and years before the death of Mr. 
Burgess he retired from business, and 
Henry Hutchings, the well-known builder 
at City Point, succeeded him. Lawley, in 
the mean time, had come to the Point 
from Scituate, where he had been build- 




The Mayflower. — Goelet Cup Race, August 10, 

ing lap-streak lobster boats and a few 
yachts, and as his yard adjoined that 
of Pierce, Edward Burgess, ever gravi- 
tating after information about matters 
naval-architectural, was not long in 

finding his way into Lawley's workshop. 
It was not long before Burgess grew to 
like young George Lawley, for immedi- 
ately after a strong friendship grew up 
between them which continued until the 

The Mayflower. —Schooner Rigged. 



death of Mr. Burgess. With his going 
into Lawley's workshop, then located on 
the south side of City Point, began the 
great career of Edward Burgess. Busi- 
ness, of its own accord, found its way to 
Lawiey, and the small firm, late of 
Scituate, suddenly jumped into promi- 
nence. Lobster boats were built no 
more, for orders for larger yachts had 
taken their place. To show how the late 
Mr. Burgess's mind leaned to yachts and 
yachting, a slight glance over his yacht- 
ing career will demonstrate. In the 
building season, which took in the win- 
ter, no weather was too stormy or cold 
enough to keep him from making his 

on that day, — and do you know that he 
was the same modest man when he came 
to talk over the plans of the Puritan and 
Mayflower that he was in those days when 
we sat on a tool chest discussing that cat- 

A stay in Europe of several years 
was made just about this time by Mr. 
Burgess, and he utilized his time 
abroad studying yacht designing and 
sailing or racing boats in England. 
It was while actually engaged on racing 
yachts in Britain, that he learned much 
about the cutter type of yacht ; and being 
an apt scholar, it was no task for him to 
learn the faults as well as the advantages 

The Puritan, Mayflower, and Volunteer 


weekly visit to Lawley's and Pierce's shops. 
An hour at the Point would not satisfy 
him, and the dark of evening often found 
him wending his way to his home on aris- 
tocratic Back Bay. Said I to Lawiey the 
other day, "What is your first remem- 
brance of Mr. Burgess? " Young George 
replied, " He came into my shop soon 
after we came to the Point and looked 
over a large cabin cat-boat which we 
were building, and putting his hand on 
her said, " She will make a very good 
boat." We chatted for awhile. " Call 
again," said I, and in a few days the 
stranger called again. We had a 
good talk for nearly the whole afternoon 

of the British type of yacht. He easily 
became familiar with the cutter rig, its 
construction and fitting, and also the 
handling of the same. Llis time spent 
abroad in study, and his practical expe- 
rience gained there, stood him in stead 
on his return to this country. The 
first we knew of him after his return, was 
his connection with the building of these 
boats of the Itchen ferry type, the Maris 
being one of them. Next he superin- 
tended the construction of the cutter 
Lapwings designed by Dixon Kemp for 
Commodore J. Malcolm Forbes. Figura- 
tively speaking, his experience was at 
arms length on the other side, so far as 



matters of rig and construction went. 
Not so with the cutter Lapwing. He 
had the plans and specifications in his 
control, and he was to see to it that in all 
matters they were carried out. 

The cutter rig was almost new over 
here then. Few yachts had runners, 
channels were seldom to be seen, and 
jigs and purchases were rare. The 
" reefed " bowsprit was a novelty, as were 
also chain halliards, and head sails set 

him. The cutter Bayaden, a Watson 
boat was the next foreign boat he had to 
deal with, and from her he learned much. 
Watson designed her for Commodore J. 
Malcolm Forbes, and she was supposed 
to have all the latest improvements. Her 
channels were steel, the rigging led along- 
side of the mast, and a number of im- 
provements could be seen on her over 
the Lapwing. 

With years of practical training in 

The Volunteer Rounding the Light Ship. 


flying. The blocks were quite different 
from those on our yachts ; in fact, the 
cutter was quite a wide departure from 
the American sloop. Abroad, the late 
Mr. Burgess got a very good idea of 
English sterns, but the fully drawn one of 
the Lapwing, gave him an excellent idea 
as to how it should be designed. 

After the Lapwing came the Medusa, de- 
signed by J. Beavor-Webb, manufacturer 
for Mr. Franklin Dexter ; as in the case of 
the Lapwing, Mr. Burgess had charge of 
her building, and Lawley built them both. 
Thus from the Lapwing, a thirty-five-footer, 
he went to a sixty-footer, and the experi- 
ence gained was of the greatest assistance 
to him. From these boats he learned 
the sizes of the scantlings, wire rigging, 
blocks, length of spars, displacement, 
and area of sail to wetted surface, all of 
which must have been of great benefit to 

cat-boats, several years' study and ra- 
cing in Britain, and the superintending 
of the Lapwing, Mars, and Medusa, 
Mr. Burgess started out on his 
career with the cutter Rondina, as his 
first venture. It was only a week ago 
that I saw her hauled out on the ways at 
Lawley's, just ten days after her de- 
signer's death. Alas, how sad ! — his first, 
the Rondina, and his greatest, the Volun- 
teer, side by side, on different ways, were 
being fitted out for the season's racing, 
a pleasure to which he looked forward 
with the greatest eagerness. 

Business reverses met his father, and 
from the merchant prince of one day, he 
became almost penniless the next. The 
luxuries of the world had gone out of 
the children's reach, and Sidney and 
Edward, with no income to fall 
back on, started out as yacht designers, 



inexperienced, and with no business. In 
a back room up three flights, at 7 Ex- 
change Place, Boston, they started, 
in October, 1883. A desk, a pair of 
"horses," one drawing board, a square, and 
a small outfit was all the office contained, 
and on the ground glass of the door was 
printed the words, " Burgess Bros., Yacht 
Designers." It was here the "boys" 
began. I well remember my first visit 
to the office. Sidney Burgess was 
out, but Edward was in, and to while 
away the time, he was reading a book on 
naval architecture. This was in the fall 
of 1883, October, I believe. 


cess meant everything. 

Trade was dull, no orders came in, but 
still the brothers kept up their courage. 
That fall and the following winter brought 
them no orders, and Mr. Sidney Burgess, 
seeing no favorable outlook, in May, 
1884, sailed for Europe, leaving the busi- 
ness in his brother's hands to work up, 
if such a thing might be possible. These 
were indeed sad days for the two broth- 
ers. From a home of the greatest lux- 
ury to one almost of want, was their lot. 
Neither had any business training, and 
the venture they were in for months 
yielded them nothing. 

Everything has an end, and so had 
the months of sadness to Edward Bur- 
gess. From across the water a challenge 
for the America's cup came, and the aris- 
tocratic boyhood companions of Edward 
Burgess rallied around him, and ten of 
them, with Commodore J. Malcolm 
Forbes at their head, formed the syndi- 
cate which built the Puritan. " I'll do the 
best I can, gentlemen ; I thank you most 
heartily," was Burgess's only reply; and 
with heart overjoyed at receiving his first 
order for months, he started the work of 
getting out the plans of the Puritan. It 
undertaking ; but to him suc- 

Tne Papoose 

He was sensible 
of his own inexperience and he sought 
the opinions of others, more practical 
than himself. He did not try to conceal 
matters. He went to spar-maker 
Pigeon, told him the situation, and for 
hours discussed the 
question of spars. 
Next Billman, the 
expert rigger, was 
called on, and the 
sizes and strength of 
the rigging were 
talked over, and that 
master hand in rig- 
ging, freely gave him 
the benefit of his 
great and practical 
experience. Lawley 
wound up his search 
for information about 
construction, and 
with McManus he 
discussed sails. For- 
tified with the advice 
of these four practi- 



cal men, he was well prepared for the 
great undertaking. 

He had nothing to guide him. — no 
yacht from which to obtain any data. 
Alone he was left to solve the problem. 
No such large single sticker, if we except 

to-day for what she did for American 
yachting ! From the Puritan he went to 
the Mayflower, and I well remember 
chatting with him about her. It was the 
talk of the country : " He can't beat the 
Puritan." Said I to him in his Ex- 

The "Volunteer" in Dock during Alterations. 

the Maria, had ever been built on 
this side of the water, and she was 
wholly original in many features of 
her design. There was no chance 
for him to take advantage as now in 
construction, for there was nothing to 
make comparisons with. Such a boat 
was unheard of on this side of the 
water. Unaided and unassisted, the pub- 
lic well know what a success he turned 
out in the Puritan. It was surprising, 
too, in the light of subsequent events, 
how nicely he balanced her, and how 
closely and carefully he sparred her. 
Her sail plan proved to be just the 
thing, just what she wanted, and. besides, 
it was the largest sail spread ever carried 
up to that date, excepting the Maria. 
The alterations on the Puritan were 
remarkably few, and those made were 
only slight ones, and only affected her 
trim. .. \f 

The races of the Puritan are well- 
known ; and her performances made 
Burgess. How the " old boat " -is loved 

change Place office, as we looked over 
the lines of the Mayflower, " Do you 
think she will beat the Puritan?' 1 ' 1 I 
shall never forget his answer, because it 
was so frank and honest : " With nearly 
six feet extra length, it will be disgraceful 
if she does not." 

In the designing of the Mayflower he 
was far better off than when he designed 
the Puritan. He now had data to go 
by, so that in the designing of the 
Mayflower he was much more at home. 
As with the Puritan, so with the May- 
flower. I followed her in her local trip 
and in all her races, and saw them both 
successfully defend the cup. 

With the success of the Mayflower, 
Burgess's business grew up at once, and 
from that time on he was ever a busy 
man. It amused him to hear the people 
say, "-The Puritan is the best boat, she 
cari beat the Mayflower," and he often 
laughed at newspaper writers who ex- 
pressed the same opinion in the columns 
of their journals. He told me frequently, 



when speaking of the matter, that it was 
a matter of sentiment for the Puritan, 
because she was the first. " Commodore 
Forbes," said he, "I am sure does not 
think so, and he ought to be good 

With increasing business he found his 
quarters too small in Exchange Place, 
and on his return from the America's cup 

and complete apartments ever occupied 
by a man of his profession. Like the oak 
from the acorn, so he grew in his busi- 
ness. Puritan, Mayflower, Volunteer, 
Merlin, Titania, Gossoon, Quickstep, Wild 
Duck, Sapphire, Jathniel, and Fancy in 
yachts, Carrie E. Phillips in the fishing 
fleet, and John H. Buttrick in the mer- 
chant service, form a group not yet 

The Steam -Yacht "Jathniel 

races in 1886, he moved to his new quar- 
ters in 22 Congress Street. " Burgess 
Bros., Yacht Designers," was still the sign 
on the door, and it remained so for several 
years, until Mr. Sidney Burgess returned 
from abroad and decided not to re-enter 
the work. "Edward Burgess" was then 
substituted, and this was the firm name 
at the time of his death. In Congress 
Street he started with two rooms, but 
his business grew so rapidly that after 
remaining here several years he moved 
to 50 State Street, where he remained 
until this spring, when he moved to 
his new quarters in Sears Building. 
Here he had a suite of five pleasant 
rooms, all equipped with the most mod- 
ern conveniences. I mention these things 
to show what an advance he made in seven 
years — beginning as he did in a small 
room and ending in the most convenient 

equalled by any professional designer. 
His prowess once asserted, business came 
to him unsolicited. He soon found him- 
self unable to cope with the work, and he 
engaged two assistants. 

The vessels designed by Mr. Burgess 
numbered 206, classified as follows : 
cutters, 38; sloops, 17; yawls, 1: cat- 
boats, 29 ; schooners, 23 ; steam yachts, 
35; fishing vessels, 1 1 j pilot boats, 3; 
working schooners, 3. 

During the Volunteer -Thistle negoti- 
ations I met Burgess very frequently, 
and we discussed the outlook. He 
always took a broad view of matters, 
and he had inside information regarding 
the Thistle's performances from his old 
friend Captain Arthur H. Clark, an 
American resident in London, and an ex- 
perienced yachtsman, who had cntre to all 
the principal yacht clubs in Britain. In 



fact, Mr. Clark was 
himself a member of 
the Royal Thames 
Yacht Club, and had 
watched the Thistle 
closely in all her 
matches. Burgess 
felt uncertain over 
the result, — and now 
for the first time will 
I make public what 
he thought. Said he : 

" The Thistle is a very 
fast boat; my friend on 
the other side has kept 
close watch on her, and 
he writes me to the effect 
that she is very fast, es- 
pecially off the wind. 
The coming cup races 
are very uncertain, and 
you are in a position to 
prepare our people for 

defeat. Be conservative in what you write for 
the Boston Herald; don't say that we are sure to 
be beaten, but tell them not to look for sure 
victory. In case defeat comes, then they will 
be better prepared for it." 

These were his words to me, and they 
had telling effect. I was blue all over, 
for I knew quite well the gauge of the 

The Saladin. 

man, and had made up my mind that he 
gave me the pointer to set me on the 


track. Nothing could better show 
the wide scope of the man, — wishing for 
victory as never before, still he gave 
his opponent full credit, and it turned 
out put too low an estimate on himself. 
I often chided him after the Volunteer 

The Fancy. 



races over his semi-prophecy, and he 
said, " It is better to be happily disap- 
pointed than to be struck down in cer- 
tainty." So it was always with him, — 
"I'll do the best I can," — always 
allowing that his opponent would do the 

While he was sombre and seclusive, 
still, he liked fun and relished a good 
joke. He could give a joke and take one. 
Often have I heard him laugh at a 
piece of wit which bounded on the 
shoulders of a brother yachtsman. The 
public well remembers his grand recep- 
tion in Faneuil Hall. He stood on the 

Paine. Dr. John Bryant and Mr. Charles 
A. Prince were on the platform, and Dr. 
Bryant turning to me said, " Let us walk 
across and congratulate them." Dr. 
Bryant led the way, followed by 
Mr. Prince, I brought up the rear. I 
could not help noticing how pleased he 
was to see them both. What a hearty 
shake of the hand he gave them ; what 
words of good cheer passed between 
them ! I was more than pleased when 
my turn came to greet the great pair. 
Imagine my surprise when Burgess said 
to me, "Your face is very familiar, 
where have I seen you?" Turning to 

platform on the left of General Paine, 
and the scene before him was one of ex- 
citement and astonishment. The Volun- 
teer 's crew had been brought to the city 
on the Boston Herald tug, and I entered 
the hall with them. That reception I 
shall never forget. Mr. Burgess stood on 
the platform, and the people in thousands 
crossed over it, each one in turn shaking 
hands with him and then with General 

General Paine, he said, " General, this 
gentleman's face is very familiar ; 
where have we seen him?" " How are 
you, General Paine?" was my salutation 
to Mr. Burgess, and he replied. " It has 
gone even beyond our expectations. My 
arm is nearly pulled off." I allude to 
this to show the sunny side of his life. 
and how he liked to crack a joke. 

Now as to his ability as a naval archi- 



tect. The records of the world do not 
show such a successful man, starting out 
with his limited foundation. He had no 
mold loft experience, neither was he a 
practical shipwright. These qualifica- 
tions are considered almost absolutely 
essential to success in his line, for in 
Britain the young student of naval archi- 

wide, and knowing the ins and outs 
of yacht designing, he always believed 
that no man's work should be underrated. 
He would never take a narrow view of 
matters, and unlike Watson, and other 
designers on the other side, he was never 
to be found adopting measures which 
would" prevent any type of boat from 

The Oweene 

tecture must pass through an apprentice- 
ship in one of the great shipbuilding 
yards, ending up on the draughting board. 
The mold loft experience is invalu- 
able to a naval architect, and once ac- 
quired, it is always of great help, espe- 
cially in fair-up vessels. Here the vessel 
is laid down in full size, and the battens 
are sufficiently rigid to even up the un- 
fair spots. 

Mr. Burgess was not narrow, and he 
never hesitated to adopt a good thing 
wherever he saw it. His scope was 

taking part in the racing events. One 
can hardly imagine that any circumstance 
could arise which would make it necessary 
for him to advocate the expulsion of any 
type of boat. He never could see why 
Watson should advocate barring out of 
the races the centreboard type of boat, for 
by its performances, Watson and the 
yacht designers of the world would be 
benefited by it. His boats, Puritan, May- 
flower, and Volunteer, opened the eyes of 
the average Britisher ; and he lived to see 
the rules barring out the centreboard 



The Merlin. 

revoked, and also had the pleasure of 
knowing that in the centreboarder Dora, 
Watson was beating not only his own, 
but all the keel boats of her class in 

Mr. Burgess rather inclined to cutters, 
and he was quick to see their many 

advantages. He was a cutter man, 
so far as the rig went, and in all his 
efforts his work showed that his boats 
had more of the cutter than the sloop 
in them. Being broad gauged, he easily 
saw the advantage of the cutter rig, 
and made no excuses for adopting it. 

The John H. Buttrick. 



No sectional feeling stood in his way, and 
he had the great faculty of improving a 
good thing. 

Some will claim that he was not an 
originator, and that he copied from 
others. All men are more or less copy- 
ists. Take the law, — one is strength- 
ened in this profession by studying the 
results obtained by others. The same 
can be said of medicine. The lawyer or 
physician who can fathom the works of 

of yacht designing ; for certainly the Vol- 
unteer, Mayflower, and Puritan have no 
sponsors, — they were the immediate pro- 
ductions of his own brain. Had he the 
inclination to copy, he could not have 
done it, for the reason that he had noth- 
ing to copy from. 

This article can be concluded in no 
better or more fitting way than in the 
words of Arthur Hamilton Clark, Bur- 
gess's life -long friend, and one whose 

The Carrie E. Phillips. 

the most learned and then surpass them, 
certainly must have strong talents, else 
he would be unable to go beyond them. 
Mr. Burgess found out what others in his 
profession had gained by years of expe- 
rience, and he profited by it. All works 
on yacht designing he carefully read, and 
culled the good from the bad. His mind 
led him to seek information wherever he 
could obtain it, and no fence was so high 
that he could not climb it. He was a 
student of naval architecture in its broad 
sense, and the world was his text-book. 
He was original in all the great essentials 

knowledge of the field in which he worked 
is greater than that of almost any other 
among us. 

"The genius of Edward Burgess lay in his 
remarkable powers of observation and selection; 
and while he did not discover any new element 
of speed, as did Chapman, Scott Russell, and 
George Steers, he still excelled these marine ar- 
chitects, and all others of our own or former 
times, in uniting known elements of speed as they 
had never before been combined. In this 
respect the Puritan was the most remarkable 
yacht ever constructed, inasmuch as she was the 
first vessel in which beam, the centreboard, out- 
side lead, the raking sternpost and cutter rig were 
united: beam and the centreboard were then 



The Burgess Homestead at Beverly. 

purely American features, while outside lead, 
the raking stern post and cutter rig were at that 
time entirely British characteristics, and it was a 
matter of doubt in the minds of many whether 
these elements of design could be successfully 
united. But Edward Burgess brought them to- 
gether in a manner which was very near to being 
a discovery if not an invention, and in the 
Puritan he did much to dispel the .clouds of 
prejudice on both sides of the Atlantic. 

Edward Burgess possessed a clear, open mind, 
free from prejudice of any kind. To him the 
science of marine architecture meant everything, 
and to illustrate how far he searched for the ele- 
ments of speed, it may be mentioned that he 
actually adopted an idea from the Chinese Junk, 
it being the battens in the sails, which the Chinese 
have used for centuries. 

As a marine architect his name and fame may 
safely be left in the hands of posterity. 
Among all the honored names of his profession, 
none will outshine that of Edward Burgess. 

His personal character was pure and noble, 

and his business integrity scrupulously honorable; 
his life was passed amid rehned surroundings, and 
he was blessed with advantages vouchsafed only 
to the few, which he improved to the utmost; 
j his gentle breeding and manly ways won him 
,' friendships on all sides, which he cherished and 
retained until the end. 

In his home he was happy, and when his duties 
were at an end, either amid the scenes of his 
toils or his triumphs, he lingered no longer, but 
hastened to his home, where love and peace 
awaited him. 

It is hard to realize that he is gone, and that we 
shall see him no more; but the creations of his 
brain, whether sailing on summer seas or driven 
before the wintry gale, are a more pathetic mon- 
ument to his memory than any that could be 
raised by other hands. 

" ' Ah, who shall lift that wand of magic power, 
And the lost clue regain? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower, 
Unfinished must remain.' " 



By Caroline Sinclair Woodward. 

ONE of the places to visit in New 
Hampshire was Aunt Phcepe's. 
It was a long, low farmhouse, 
with bull's eyes over the two front doors, 
and shining windows, with snowy curtains 
blowing in the sweet summer air. Time 
and weather had turned it black, from 
ridge pole to sill ; only the doors were 
white, in striking contrast. Within were 
open doors, through all the spacious low- 
ceiled rooms, revealing polished floors of 
yellow paint bestrewn with braided mats, 
and dressers filled with curious plates of 
delft and pewter porringers and platters. 
In one corner a tall clock ticked loudly 
all day, — its voice at night resounding 
above the chirp of insect life in solemn 
tones. Across the arch, above the dial, 
a jolly-faced sun chased a ship at sea. 
A settle, smooth and hard, with a scar- 
let broadcloth cushion, made from Aunt 
Phoebe's cloak, was set at one side of the 
wide fireplace. Doors opened into rooms 
on all sides, into the common sitting- 
room, into Aunt Polly's room, where was 
shall I say a thousand-legged table, and 
low, rush-bottomed chairs ; and where 
everything was homespun, table linen, 
bed-spread, sheets, and blankets. Aunt 
Polly's dress in every detail was the work 
of her own busy hands. She had a 
dresser also, and a copy of Bunyan's 
" Pilgrim's Progress," with strange let- 
tering and uncouth figures. In the twi- 
light she read to us from it, in a trem- 
bling voice — she had the palsy, — her 
finger following the text. That copy of 
Bunyan and her Bible and hymn book 
constituted her library. 

All the long summer mornings Aunt 
Phcebe moved about, intent on making 
butter, setting curd for cheese, salting, 
pickling and preserving. She was a 
short, fat woman, of fifty years, with no 
waist to speak of, — you only saw a line 
where her apron strings disappeared, — 
a pink and white complexion, almost 
without a wrinkle, an abundance of white 
hair, soft and wavy, and young blue eyes. 

In the afternoon she was always in the 
sitting-room, sometimes a press-board 
upon her lap, and near by a large iron 
goose. She made trousers for " Master 
Chace," as he was called, he having 
taught singing-school winter in and out 
for many years, in all the towns around. 
Dressed in a lace-frilled cap and wide 
muslin collar turned in at the throat, over 
a home-spun gown of blue, showing a 
string of gold beads, she was ready for 
the visit of any neighbor. In the even- 
ing she took her knitting; her hands 
were never idle. 

Passing in and out, and expressing her 
opinion, while on household errands, 
mostly relating to cooking, was Irene, the 
daughter. She was tall and thin, had a 
clear complexion, the blue eyes of her 
mother, and brown hair, coiled on the 
top of her head and held by a high- 
topped comb. Ear-rings almost a finger 
long were in her ears ; her dress was a 
homespun brown, short skirted, showing 
strong leather shoes upon a shapely foot, 
tied with leather strings, fitted and made 
by a shoemaker who, once a year, set his 
bench in the chimney corner, and cut out 
and sewed, hammered, pegged and nailed, 
until all the members of the household 
were neatly shod and mended ; then he 
went his way. Like Cowper's postman, 
he was a "light-hearted wretch," the 
news of all the country side on his gos- 
siping tongue. Wordy and witty in argu- 
ment, a singer of long pathetic ballads, 
and a jester, his visits were an event 
anticipated and enjoyed by old and 

Outside, attending to farm duties, was 
Jacob, Aunt Phoebe's son, also blue-eyed, 
large and slow. " Be you in a hurry ? ' ' 
was one of his sarcastic remarks, when 
Irene demanded that vegetables be 
brought in for dinner. He had hand- 
some features, and a rare, kindly smile. 
He was our "main-stay" in indulgences, 
allowing us to rake and hoe, drive oxen 
and climb apple trees. Under his guid- 



ance we hackled flax, and when, contrary 
to his advice, we tried threshing with a 
flail, and raised big bumps upon our fore- 
heads, he plastered us up with coarse 
brown paper soaked in vinegar. We 
rode the horse while he ploughed, falling 
off head first into the furrow. We were 
lifted in his strong arms on to the hay 
rack when it was full, and valiantly tried 
to assist in taking care of the fragrant 
hay as it came tumbling in upon us ; half 
buried, struggling up through the masses, 
tilting head over heels as the rack went 
over uneven ground, we had great fun out 
of it, and rode home in triumph in a top- 
heavy load, shouting as we bounded over 
the beam at the barn door. Stepping out 
upon a ladder set straight against a beam, 
we descended to the floor, so far below, 
in quite a dazed condition. 

Over all the long house stretched the 
garret, filled with stores of things, in 
piles and bins and bundles. Hanging 
from the beams overhead were pop corn 
and bunches of herbs and bags of garden 
seeds. At one end there was a loom, 
a spinning-wheel and a flax-wheel. Rainy 
days, this was our abiding place. We 
made scrambling voyages of discovery 
into dark gruesome corners under the 
low eaves, finding, one joyful day, a crock 
filled with butter-nuts, stored there five 
years before, as was remembered. In a 
wooden chest we found bonnets with 
wonderful brims and crowns, dresses with 
large flowers patterned upon them, and 
plaid cloaks set in yokes at the neck, 
with large hocks and eyes in curious de- 
signs to hold them at the throat. A thin 
white dress took my fancy. It had a 
hand-painted band around the skirt, of 
gay roses on white velvet. This was 
Leah's dress. She died of consumption 
while a young girl, and at the beginning 
of her illness she planted the chestnut 
tree, near the well, which then was a 
wide-spreading tree. Her narrow grave 
was in a corner of the orchard, and had 
a headstone of black slate. Wild roses 
grew thickly there, and clumps of golden- 
rod stood tall and graceful, brightening 
the quiet spot. At evening, the day's 
work over, Aunt Phcebe would stand 
upon the wide door-stone, her hands 
shading her eyes, and look toward the 

roses and golden-rod, a sad smile upon 
her face, for Leah was her favorite child. 

The great event of the vacation was a 
family junketing at the beach, seven miles 
away. Such baking, boiling and frying 
as went on for days ! Such a getting up 
early in the day ! Such a gathering of 
vehicles, packing of stores, and stowing 
away of children, — and finally such a 
locking up ! It all seemed interminable 
to us impatient ones, and we never felt 
sure of really going until rolling along 
the dewy road. 

At the extreme end of civilization at 
Hampton Beach lived Mother Nudd, a 
jolly, hospitable soul. Country parties 
going down engaged her entire house for 
the day. She and her maid laid the ta- 
ble, made the tea and coffee, cooked the 
eggs, and waited upon the party. In the 
big front chamber the children were 
rigged out in their bathing clothes, and 
with shouts of glee sped down the stairs, 
across the hot road and into the cool 
waves, which at high tide came quite to 
the roadside. 

Far out to sea, sails came and went. 
The Isles of Shoals lay, a dark line, 
against the horizon. The mackerel fleet 
was passing, a mass of snowy canvas ; 
boats loaded with fish and lobsters were 
coming in on the crests of the waves, 
high tossed one instant, then slanting they 
go, and the wave recedes and leaves them 
all upon the sands, a few wet and shining 
figures dragging the boats to safer land- 
ing. In our bathing clothes we run to 
get a sight of the fish still gasping, and 
the terrible lobsters, each with a peg in 
his claw. 

Exactly at twelve we dine, with prodi- 
gious appetites sharpened by sea air and 
the excitement of the early breakfast. 
As the tide goes out, we find upon the 
beach and in the crevices of the rocks 
such wonderful things, which we carry 
home, tied up in our bathing clothes and 
surreptitiously tucked into the wagon. 
An hour before sunset we start for home 
regretfully, tired but happy, — happy in 
the sunshine and fragrance of a day filled 
with comfort. 

One day, after finishing " Swiss Family 
Robinson," the idea came to us to lay 
out a village, build cottages, name it and 



own it. We selected a choice place on 
the farm, called Pine Pasture, and at one 
corner found a level spot beneath the 
trees, just suited to our purpose. There 
were no small stones there such as we 
needed, and we were obliged to climb 
the wall into the next lot for our supply. 
With infinite toil we carried them and 
built our cottages, laying the stones care- 
fully and filling the chinks with moss. 
Each cottage was two feet high, differing 
in shape and belongings, as became a 
village ; all had pine cones for chimneys, 
and were covered with coral moss, hiding 
the stones. We laid out winding walks, 
roadways and lawns, set hedges of pine 
and hemlock, with trees of taller 
branches, and transplanted violets and 
pretty green plants into the gardens, 
took milk-weed pods and, using sticks 
for legs, made singular looking animals, 
that stood in and around the stables. 
We named the place Mossland Village. 
It grew to sixteen houses, and its con- 
struction was one of the most delightful 

occupations of our vacation. Our dolls, 
invited from house to house, escorted by 
us, sat in stiff attitudes upon the lawn, 
staring at our labors in landscape garden- 
ing. When in triumph we led Jacob to 
see what we had done, he stood for a 
long time in profound silence ; and the 
smiles died out of our faces when he 
exclaimed : " Wall, that beats all ! Lug- 
gin' stuns inter this pastur', when all my 
life I've ben firin' 'em out ! " For the 
first time we were disappointed in Jacob ! 
Alas ! the day came when we were to 
return to the city and school. At the 
last moment we ran down the path to 
take farewell of our pretty playground. 
Chalked on a red board fastened to the 
nearest tree, this notice greeted our indig- 
nant eyes : "MOSLAN VILLAGE TO 
SAIL." "Tom Stockbridge ! " we ex- 
claimed in one breath, and, as if invoked, 
a hatless tow head appeared over the 
wall, and a wide mouth, showing its long 
line of broad teeth, grinned at us and 

James Russell Lowel 


By Henry Wadsworih Longfellow. 

WARM and still is the summer night, 
As here by the river's brink I wander ; 
White overhead are the stars, and white 
The glimmering lamps on the hillside yonder. 

Silent are all the sounds of day ; 

Nothing I hear but the chirp of crickets, 
And the cry of the herons winging their way 

O'er the poet's house in the Elmwood thickets. 

1 By kind permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., this beautiful tribute to Lowell, written by Longfellow 
many years ago, is republished here as one of the many similar tributes which have been paid to Lowell by his 
brother poets. Longfellow's other poem, " The Two Angels," commemorating the touching coincidence by which 
on the night of Mrs. Lowell's death a child was born to Longfellow, should be read, and the noble verses addressed to 
Lowell by Whitlier and Holmes. — Editor. 



Call to him, herons, as slowly you pass 

To your roosts in the haunts of the exiled thrushes, 
Sing him the song of the green morass, 

And the tides that water the reeds and rushes. 

Sing him the mystical Song of the Hern, 

And the secret that baffles our utmost seeking • 

For only a sound of lament we discern, 

And cannot interpret the words you are speaking. 

Sing of the air, and the wild delight 

Of wings that uplift and winds that uphold you, 
The joy of freedom, the rapture of flight 

Through the drift of the floating mists that infold you 

Of the landscape lying so far below, 

With its towns and rivers and desert places ; 

And the splendor of light above, and the glow 
Of the limitless, blue, ethereal spaces. 

Ask him if songs of the Troubadours, 

Or of Minnesingers in old black-letter, 
Sound in his ears more sweet than yours, 

And if yours are not sweeter and wilder and better. 

Sing to him, say to him, here at his gate, 

Where the boughs of the stately elms are meeting, 

Some one hath lingered to meditate, 

And send him unseen this friendly greeting ; 

That many another hath done the same, 

Though not by a sound was the silence broken ; 

The surest pledge of a deathless name 

Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken. 



DE QUINCEY used to speak of 
" the nation of London." As one 
travels through Texas, one can 
hardly think of it as simply a state ; it is 
of national proportions. The statisticians 
tell how many New Englands or how 
many European kingdoms could be drop- 
ped down in its borders with yet area 
left sufficient for a driveway many miles 

striking illustration of the new life of the 
" New South." 

As I recently travelled through the 
great state, I saw that in the greater por- 
tion of it there was a scarcity of wood- 
lands. I asked the question more than 
once, " Where do you get your timber? " 
The almost universal answer was, " From 
Beaumont." On my way home, over the 
Southern Pacific Railroad 
by New Orleans, I visited 
Beaumont ; and glad I 
was that I did so. 

Among the many in- 
teresting places I visited 
in Texas, none was more 
interesting than Beau- 
mont. It is in Jefferson 
County, — the county 

in breadth around the whole. The 
present development of many of its 
larger towns is one of the most re- 
markable spectacles in the country. 
The new State House at Austin 
is a building second only to one 
other in the United States in 
majesty and beauty, its cost having 
been defrayed by the grant of one 
million acres of land from this 
great state of nearly two hundred 
and seventy-five thousand square miles 
of territory. Waco, Fort Worth, Dallas, 
Houston, Galveston, San Antonio — of 
these important cities of Texas almost 
everybody knows something. I wish to 
speak in this article of a place in Texas of 
which few in the North know anything at 
all, and yet which affords in its way a 

Baptist Church, Beaumont. 

means much more in the South than 
in the North, — one of those towns 
settled while Texas was a republic, 
the site being granted by old settlers 
at a time when the iron horse was yet 
unknown in the state. There, evidently, 
the inhabitants only existed, as it were, 
till the advent of railroad communi- 



Mayor Alexander Wynne's Home, Beaumont. 

cation, in the fifties, between Houston 
and Orange — a distance of about a hun- 
dred miles ; and even then Beaumont 
was slow to put forth the hand and pluck 
the resources which lay around in super- 
abundance, waiting only to be utilized by 
energy and capital to make the place one 
of the leading places of the South. 
" What compose these illimitable forests?" 
is the first question that naturally arises 
as one comes to the Beaumont neigh- 
borhood. Taking a conveyance, I rode 
northward. From the edge of the city, 
as far as the eye could reach, nothing was 
visible but timber, timber, timber, on 
both sides of the Neches river, which is 
navigable for three hundred miles north 
of the city. Going west, I found small 
farms and prairie unbroken for miles, dot- 
ted with cattle. To the south there was 
the same prairie, occasionally studded 
with clumps of forest, till I came within 
sight of Sabine Lake, some nine miles 
wide by eighteen long, into which the 
Neches and Sabine rivers empty — the 
lake emptying itself into the celebrated 
Sabine Pass, and thence through the con- 

fined walls into the Gulf of Mexico, which 
is distant only thirty miles by rail from 
the city of Beaumont. 

By the latest statistics, the complete 
standing timber of the state of Texas 
amounts to ninety billion feet. In this 
immediate neighborhood, and within 
some eighty miles north of this city is an 
inexhaustible supply of the famous yellow 
pine, the strongest and most durable of 
timbers for all purposes, and capable of 
such finish that artistic manufacturers 
give it the preference for their beautiful 
productions. The curly pine is here also 
abundant, also cypress, so much used all 
over the country for shingles. A bare 
list of such of the Beaumont woods as I 
can remember will, I am sure, be of in- 
terest to many : Yellow pine, cypress, 
white oak, red oak, live oak, ash, peach, 
poplar, curly pine, holly, gum, sweet gum, 
hickory, cherry, orange, mulberry, cupo- 
la gum, magnolia, elm, pear, peach, apple, 
cherry, pecan, willow, ironwood, cotton- 
wood, china, lemon, walnut, cedar, etc. 
Surely the place may well be called the 
timber paradise. 



It is surprising to any visitor at the 
large lumber mills at this place, to wit- 
ness the rapidity with which the huge 
logs are hauled up dripping from the 
river and instantly sawed into various 
dimensions of timber, and then im- 
mediately loaded on to platform cars all 
ready for shipment ; — but, after wit- 
nessing this sight a visitor is less aston- 
ished than he otherwise would be, to see 
the enormous lumber booms all along the 
Neches River for a distance of fifteen 
miles or more above the city. 

Beaumont is situated two hundred and 
sixty-five miles west of New Orleans, on 
the same parallel, on the Southern Pacific 
line of railroad from New Orleans to San 
Francisco. It is on the west bank of the 
Neches River, one of the beautiful Texan 
streams, varying from three hundred to 
five hundred feet in width, and navigable 
three hundred miles to the north through 
the immense forests of yellow pine and 
other valuable timbers, and running south, 
as stated, to Sabine Lake and the historic 
Sabine Pass. 

Previous to the war Sabine City, now 
familiarly called Sabine Pass, boasted of 
a larger population than Beaumont. On 
the 8th of December, 1863, an event oc- 
curred there which has since caused it to 
be designated the Thermopylae of Texas. 
On the previous day the military com- 
mand stationed there was ordered to the 
interior of the state, leaving at the post a 
small company of artillery and a meagre 
detachment of cavalry. The artillery 
company, which numbered forty-two all 
told, officers and men, was stationed at a 
newly built fortification below the town, 
the remains of which are still visible. In 
the absence of the other officers, the com- 
pany was under the command of Lieu- 
tenant Dick Dowling. The armament 
consisted of six guns — two brass thirty- 
two-pound field howitzers, two twentv- 

four-pound, and two smaller guns. 


was the entire force and equipment — 
six guns and forty-two Irishmen, called 
the Davis Guard. On the morning of 
the 8th, as the story was told to me in 
Beaumont, a fleet with upward of five 
thousand troops aboard, appeared off 
Sabine Pass bar to force a way into Texas. 
A number of the light-draft vessels crossed 



Water Works and Manufactories by the Neches River. 

the bar, and two of them — the Clifton 
and the Sachem — undertook to pass the 
fort : one through what was called the 
Texas channel, the other through a chan- 
nel next the Louisiana shore. Under 
the command of Dick Dowling, fire from 

the fort was reserved until the two vessels 
came within point-blank range, abreast 
of certain stakes that had been fixed for 
target practice. When the fort did open 
fire, every shot told. One shot disabled 
the tiller of the Clifton, and this was fol- 

A Shingle Mill. 



lowed by an explosion on the Sachem, 
and the two vessels lay at the mercy of 
the victors, who did not even have a boat 
to go out and receive their surrender. 
But a still more remarkable thing was to 
transpire. After the two ves- 
sels were disabled, there was a 
conference held, and soon after 
the fleet disappeared from the 
waters of the Sabine Pass, 
leaving the Clifton and Sachem, 
with two hundred prisoners, 
in the hands of the forty-two 

in Houston." The story excited my cu- 
riosity, and on my visit to Sabine Pass, 
there the wreck of the Clifton stood 
prominently out. 

Beaumont is a city of five thousand in- 

W. A. Fletcher's Residence. 
H. W. Potter's Residence. 

Irishmen. "This," said my informant, 
" may or may not be recorded in history, 
but it is an undisputed fact, and Sabine 
Pass has since been called the Ther- 
mopylae of Texas. Dick Dowling died 
in Galveston a few years ago, and some 
of the command are at present living 

habitants, and I found improvements and 
extensions were going on all around. At 
each street corner one encounters bar- 
ricades, and piles of building material are 
everywhere visible. With all this develop- 
ment the public improvements keep pace, 
and yet the city has no debt. * 

The varieties and abundance of tim- 
ber surrounding Beaumont make it a no- 



table point for many manufacturers. The 
lands about produce cotton of a superior 
quality, from one and one-half to two bales 
to the acre ; rice lands abound between 
Beaumont and Sabine Pass ; corn will 
grow anywhere in the country ; and 
oranges are most successfully raised. I 
was informed by one farmer that he had 
fifty trees in a quarter of an acre and 
cleared five hundred dollars from them 
the year before. One old tree, thirty- 
two years old, produced two thousand 
oranges. Lemon trees are as productive 
as orange trees. Figs are native to the 
soil ; grapes of the finest kind are grown, 
and sugar-cane also seems to be at home 
in this favored country ; strawberries are 
raised ; and the Beaumont pears are not 
unknown in the city of Boston. The Le 
Conte and Keiffer pears are at home in 
this soil, bear early and abundantly, and 
so regularly (there being no off years) 
and bringing such good prices that they 
will always head the list of fruits for profit 
here. The fifth year from planting, the 
tree will be full of fruit, and the sixth year 
a full crop from every tree will be pro- 
duced. I passed a tree on which were 
three hundred large pears, in an ordinary 
front yard, a tree which received no cul- 
tivation or attention. It is an ordinary 
thing to raise ten bushels of pears on a 
tree. Elsewhere, the trees are nipped by 
early frost, but the Le Conte and Keiffer 
varieties seem proof against frost, as also 
against bugs and blight, in this climate. 
Cabbages, cauliflowers, tomatoes, Irish 
potatoes, sweet potatoes, beans, cucum- 
bers and squashes, onions, lettuce and 
all other kinds of vegetables are native to 
the soil. Nothing is required in this fa- 
vored section to raise enormous quanti- 
ties of vegetables and cereals but to plant 
them ; energetic practical husbandry will 
make such returns as to astonish the hus- 
bandman. I have dwelt on the Beau- 
mont fruits, but I cannot pass without 
saying something in particular about the 
watermelons. This is the home of the 
watermelon. No place can approach 
"Jefferson County" in the production of 
the watermelon, in quality and quantity. 
It begins to come in the middle of May 
or first of June, and yields a profit of 
from one hundred dollars to two hun- 

dred dollars to the acre. The melons 
range in weight from ten pounds up to 
seventy ! It is an inspiring sight to 
see an enthusiastic Negro eating into the 
concave of one of these mammoth seventy 
pounders. Were there railroad transpor- 
tation to northern, western and eastern 
points by refrigerator cars, watermelons 
could be raised here by the millions. 
The same may be said of muskmelons and 
other similar classes of fruit. But there 
is no way at present of disposing of even 
the crop produced. 

One of the most successful fruit grow- 
ers in the United States, Mr. H. M. 
Stringfellow, of Galveston County, Texas, 
speaks as follows of fruit-growing in and 
around Beaumont, where he has recently 
purchased and planted one thousand 
acres in fruit trees : 

" Strawberries will be a grand success and ex- 
ceedingly profitable around Beaumont. There is 
but one variety, however, that can be depended 
on for the best results — that is the Florida Xu- 
nan. Our growers have made much money out of 
it this season, as they do every year. They ship 
all over the state, and get five dollars net per 
crate of twenty-four quarts. You have greatly 
the advantage of us in abundant labor for picking. 
Beaumont ought to be the best strawberry grow- 
ing point in Texas. Many of our growers have 
already sold four hundred to five hundred dollars 
per acre, with the demand not half supplied, and 
crop not more than half gone. Around Beau- 
mont and throughout Jefferson County, straight 
to the Gulf, is the best section in Texas for raising 
fruits and anything in vegetables. From Beau- 
mont to the sea, should be the garden of the 

But let us look for a moment at the 
city of Beaumont itself, which has now 
fully waked up after a sleep of more than 
double the length of that of Rip Van 
Winkle. There are three saw-mills in 
active work, producing 142,000,000 feet 
of yellow pine during the year. There is 
one shingle mill, producing 55,000,000 
cypress shingles every year. 22,689 cars 
of yellow pine lumber and cypress shin- 
gles were billed from Beaumont during 
the last year, not counting the export by 

The annual business of the town at 
present aggregates about $5,000,000, 
the assessed valuation of real and per- 
sonal property for the present year being 
$2,000,000. The old city plat is 200 



acres ; the county has 660,000 acres of 
fertile land. There were in the county 
at the last census some 57,000 head of 
cattle, valued at more than $1,000,000. 
The city of Beaumont was incorporated 
in 1880. The Southern Pacific Railroad 
runs through the town as already noticed. 
It is the terminus of the Sabine & East 
Texas Railway, which runs north seventy- 
six miles to Rockland. It has a com- 
plete system of water works, and is sup- 
plied with electric lights and national 
banks, and an efficient fire department, 
street cars, opera house, and roller and 
grist mills ; it has a mattress factory, a 
furniture factory, and two brick manufac- 
tories, four hotels, and dry goods, grocery, 
and general merchandise stores which 
would grace a much larger city. 

The foundations are in, and work pro- 
gressing for the erection of a large car 
manufactory. The capital stock of the 
Beaumont Car Works Company is 
$500,000. The buildings will occupy a 
space of fifty acres, and will be the 
largest manufactory in the south. Its 
capacity at first will be for turning out 
twenty-five cars daily, and afterwards to 
be increased to forty cars daily. Here it 
is intended to manufacture, besides the 
regular rolling stock of railroads, the new 
refrigerator cars dispensing with ice. 
These cars are made so that any grade 
of temperature can be maintained for any 
length of time. 

These new refrigerator cars will be 
used to transport fruit, meat, fish, and 
vegetables so abundantly raised in the 
South, which it is now impossible to 
transport to foreign markets in a proper 
state, or at any profit to the exporter. 

The present wonderful development 
of the vast commercial interests of the 
city of Beaumont is mainly due to the 
business enterprise and strict integrity of 
such men as Wm. A. Fletcher, (whose 
name is familiar throughout the State 
of Texas) the Wiess brothers, John N. 
Gilbert, F. L., and G. W. Carroll, H. W. 
Potter, W. C. Averill, J. L. Keith, S. F. 
Carter, L. P. Ogden, and their associates, 
all of whom have made their magnificent 
financial success in this wide awake and 
thriving city of the New South. 

Through the courtesy of several of 

these gentlemen I enjoyed a charming 
trip down the beautiful Neches River, 
through the broad Sabine Lake and the 
famous Sabine Pass, to the Gulf of Mexico, 
passing in close proximity to the exten- 
sive jetties, which when completed, in 
connection with the dredging of Sabine 
Lake, will make Beaumont undoubtedly 
one of the finest inland harbors on the 
continent. That so magnificent a water- 
course has been left practically unde- 
veloped until the present time, must be 
certainly astonishing to any Northern 
visitor who can realize its great commer- 
cial importance, not only to the vast lum- 
ber interest of Beamont, but to all the 
rapidly growing towns in its vicinity. 

Although the transportation facilities 
by rail are extensive and increasing, still 
the shipment direct by vessels and 
steamers to the North, and to foreign 
countries via Neches River and Sabine 
Pass must necessarily add greatly to the 
commercial importance of Beaumont as 
a distributing centre. 

The large car works recently estab- 
lished at this place will also add greatly 
to its present prosperity. All kinds of 
steam and street cars are to be manu- 
factured, the location being especially 
adapted for this business, as the cars can 
be manufactured here much cheaper than 
elsewhere in the country, and being in the 
heart of the southern-pine lumber section 
all freight cars made by this company 
can be shipped loaded with lumber, or 
other freight, direct to their destination, 
thus saving an important amount finan- 
cially in the transportation expense of 
all new freight cars or those sent to be 

The religious denominations are well 
represented in Beaumont. 

What struck me particularly, during my 
visit to Beaumont, was the contrast be- 
tween that neat and unpretentious city, 
with no extravagant public or private 
buildings (although practically free from 
debt, and with its solid business pros- 
perity), compared with some of the 
imposing and extravagantly inflated west- 
ern cities, which have spread out far 
beyond their business capacity for years 
to come, the development having been 
in anticipation of business to be estab- 



lished j while at the South, at Beau- 
mont particularly, the other extreme is 
noticeable, the business interest there 
having been successfully developed and 
firmly established, this city now being in 
the best possible condition for a safe and 
steady growth, "slow and sure" having 
apparently been the wise business motto 
of its enterprising merchants. 

The public schools are most efficient, 
the white public school enrolling three 
hundred and fifty pupils ; and the colored, 
four hundred and twenty. The schools 
are open nine months in the year. 
The climate of Beaumont is mild 
and pleasant, the winters not 
being cold, nor the summers ex- 
cessively warm. The distribution 
of the rainfall is such that the 
place seldom suffers from drought. 
Being so near the Gulf, Beaumont 
is favored by a constant sea 
breeze, which not only makes the 

which, the state geologist affirms, proves 
that there is natural gas in close prox- 

In speaking of Sabine Pass here in 
Beaumont, it is always identified as part 
and parcel of the city ; its interests are 
thought of as the same as that of the 
town itself. After the present govern- 
ment appropriation is expended, Sabine 
Pass will be the deep water port of Texas, 
and through its waters will flow the great 
current of trade, not only of Texas, but 
of the northwest. The harbor is a na- 

Glimpses of the Business Streets of Beaumont. 

air agreeable, but helps to keep the 
place healthy. 

Three miles south of Beaumont there 
is one of those phenomena so common in 
this district of southeast Texas — the 
sulphur wells, or, as they are called here, 
the sour wells or mineral springs, which 
the medical faculty indorse for many ills 
of the flesh ; the escape from these wells 
burns freely when touched by a light, 

tural haven one mile in 
breadth and six miles in 
length, where vessels can ride 
at anchor in safety during 
any storm. An extraordinary 
phenomenon is what is known 
as the "oil pond," about 
twenty miles west of Sabine 
Pass, and extending about 
eight miles from shore, where 
during the most severe gale 
the waters are as placid as in an artificial 
lake in some private domain. 

Taking into account the sulphur wells 
and the " oil pond," geologists believe 
that there is not only natural gas, and 
mineral oil, but also iron in large quanti- 
ties running through Jefferson County 
to the Gulf of Mexico, needing only 
energy and industry for their develop- 


By Kate Whiting. 

A HAZE lies over meadow and hill, 
The drowsy calm of an August day ; 
The cattle lounge 'neath the shady trees, 
The wheat is swayed by the sleepy breeze, 

The bees hum by in an idle way, 
And a voice from the wheat pipes plaintive still, 
From morn to night, 
"Bob White ! Bob White !" 

Poor bird ! Does he answer not to your call? 

I have heard you whistle the long day through, 
Hidden away in the golden wheat. 
Do you think at last your love to meet 

As you call for him there in the falling dew? 
Who knows? Pipe on by the old stone wall. 
May he come ere night. 
"Bob White! Bob White!" 


By David Buffum. 


•HAT part of the island 
of Rhode Island called 
Ferry Neck, the spot 
where the first settlers 
built their houses and 
incorporated their 
" body politic," is a level peninsula near the 
north end of the island, comprising some 
three hundred acres and extending nearly 
to the mainland. Though comparatively 
destitute of trees, the location is beauti- 
ful. To the north is Mount Hope 
and the Cove ; to the south, you look 
down Narragansett Bay, past picturesque 
little Gould Island with its cliffs and thick 
pine woods, between the green and fer- 
tile shores of Rhode Island on the one 
hand and the wooded hills of Tiverton on 
the other, straight out to sea. 

Time has pretty effectually obliterated 
all traces of the houses of the settlers. 
Close to the south shore, however, can 
still be seen the remains of the foundation 
of a house built of small yellow brick, 
which would seem to indicate that the 
house which stood there was either of 
later date or better construction than 
the others. It was, in fact, both. It was 
standing and occupied long after the 
others had passed away ; and connected 
with it is a story, the outlines of which 
can be found in the old records of the 
Society of Friends in Rhode Island, and 
which is an illustration of the strange 
springs which govern our human nature. 

This house was built and for many 
years occupied by Isaiah Scott, a wealthy 
man for his times, who to the dignity of 
an elder in the Friends' meeting added 
the "claims of long descent." I should 



like to describe the house as gambrel- 
roofed and . large, with dormer windows 
and a handsome railing around the top, 
— and such a house would be suggested 
by the stately owner, who always rode a 
blooded horse and wore the finest of 
broadcloth. But I am sorry to say it was 
nothing of the kind. Though of a better 
build and larger size than its neighbors, it 
was still by no means large ; it had a 
barn roof, and was of quite commonplace 
appearance. Those who were privileged 
to enter the house, however, noticed that 
the plain furniture was solid and expen- 
sive ; that Friend Scott's wife and daugh- 
ter wore the finest and daintiest of Quaker 
costumes ; that the well-supplied table was 
waited on by a smart negro boy ; in fact, 
that the owner, though he prided himself 
on his plainness and sobriety, had all of 
the comforts and most of the luxuries at- 
tainable at that time and place. 

The time at which our story begins 
antedates the Revolution some ten or 
twelve years. It is an afternoon in Octo- 
ber, and Dorothy, Isaiah Scott's only 
daughter, stands on the front doorstep of 
the house and looks earnestly toward the 
Tiverton shore. As she stands thus, let 
us take her portrait. Her figure is slight, 
but graceful ; her features are small, but 
regular and pretty ; the dark eyes are 
perhaps a trifle too near together ; there 
is a straight nose, a short upper lip, a 
beautifully moulded chin. Her light 
brown hair is partially covered by a 
dainty lace cap. Her dress, of course, is 
drab, and she wears no jewelry except 
the plain gold pin which holds in place 
her white muslin neck-kerchief. 

As she gazes, a row boat puts out from 
the Tiverton shore and, driven by strong 
and swift strokes, rapidly approaches the 
island. Dorothy goes in and gets her 
"work," and seats herself on the door- 
step to wait its arrival. It is less than a 
miie to Tiverton, and the boat keel is 
soon grating on the shore in front of the 
house. A handsome, well-built young 
fellow, fashionably dressed, jumps out, 
secures the boat, and runs up the bank 
to the house, where Dorothy cordially 
greets him. There is no mistaking his 
errand : we see at once that he comes a' 
wooing, and also that Dorothy is thor- 

oughly mistress of the situation. Can it 
be that she is a flirt — this sweet, demure 
Quaker maiden? 

Presently the door opens, and Isaiah 
Scott steps out. With stately courtesy he 
shakes hands with the young man, and 
says, " How does thee do, John Brow- 
nell? " He does not add " I am glad to 
see thee," for he is not. John Brownell 
is well aware of this ; but although in gen- 
eral an exceedingly well-bred fellow, he 
is now in that state of mind in which he 
does not hesitate to go where he is not 
wanted : — he is in love. 

As the three talk, a dapper little fellow, 
clad in complete Quaker costume and 
walking briskly, comes round the corner 
of the house and joins them. He is 
kindly greeted by Isaiah, who does say in 
this case, " I am glad to see thee, Joseph 
Smith ; " and Dorothy, giving him her 
hand and a smile that amply rewards him 
for his six-mile walk, moves along the 
step and makes room for him at her side, 
— a favor she did not accord to John 
Brownell. He looks happy, but John 
Brownell is not jealous ; he does not fear 
this rival. 

Suddenly on the still October air comes 
the sharp ringing of a horse's hoofs on the 
hard bridle path that skirts the beech, 
and they see a horseman mounted on a 
powerful chestnut horse approaching the 
house at an easy canter. Like John 
Brownell, he is dressed in the best 
fashion of the period, and rides as only 
they ride who have been accustomed to 
the saddle from childhood. 

" There comes Peter Burton," said 
Dorothy quietly ; and the expression on 
Isaiah Scott's face, as he notices the faint 
flush on her cheek, is not a pleasant one. 
Can this be another wooer? Unques- 
tionably it is — and one regarded by 
Isaiah as the most dangerous of all. True, 
though a good-looking enough fellow, he 
had neither the good looks, the ease of 
manner, nor the polish of John Brownell, 
nor the spotless reputation of Joseph 
Smith ; and, though his estate was suffi- 
cient for the wants of those times, he was 
poorer than either, which in itself was 
enough to condemn him in Isaiah's eyes. 
Isaiah knew that maidens do not always 
choose with reference to these points : 



and though Dorothy was really no more 
in love with him than with her other ad- 
mirers, she was certainly much more inter- 
ested in him, which was a bad sign. 

Like John Brownell, Peter would take 
no hints from Isaiah ; any coldness or lack 
of welcome was lost on him. Isaiah had 
often wished he might tell him plainly to 
discontinue his visits. A true gentleman, 
however, he felt that he could not do this 
as long as he knew nothing definite 
against his character or social standing ; 
but recently he had heard things which 
he thought warranted him in taking this 
step, and it gave him a feeling of relief 
to think that he would soon be rid of one 
annoyance, and that this would probably 
be Peter Burton's last visit. 

There was a row of hitching-posts and 
a horse-block in front of the house ; but 
Peter, who was careful of his horse, rode 
straight to the stable and gave the animal 
into the charge of black Pascal. Peter, 
who always tipped him handsomely, and 
often lingered in the stable for a little 
talk about the horses, was great friends 
with Pascal ; and on this occasion the lat- 
ter remarked, with a tone of genuine re- 
gret in his voice : 

" I've got bad news for yer, Mars' 
Burton : I'm afeard this is yer las' visit 
to this place. Mars Brownell, he play 
a mean trick on yer." 

Peter grew pale. "What is it?" he 

" Well, las' evenin' I overheard Mars' 
Brownell telling massa 'bout yer bettin' 
an' racin' hosses long with Tom Briggs 
las' Sunday — " 

"The devil he did! " 

" Yes, Mars' Burton ; an' he said how 
ye'd overdrew yer 'count, an' it took yer 
three weeks ter make it right." 

"The infernal li — ," began Peter, 
and then checked himself, knowing that 
the story was true, and knowing also that 
in the eyes of Isaiah Scott his faults would 
not be condoned. 

" It's just my luck, Pascal," he said, 
" and probably this is my last visit. You 
needn't put up my horse — I'll be back," 
and he walked toward the house. 

His face was very pale as he joined 
the little group at the door. No one 
said much by way of greeting, but all 

shook hands with him, except John 
Brownell, who offered his hand, but was 

" No, I will not shake hands with you," 
said Peter hotly. " You have proved 
yourself to be no gentleman. Without 
any cause or any provocation, you have 
been maligning me and blackening my 
character to Mr. Scott." 

John started at this sudden explosion, 
but Isaiah replied with a quiet rebuke in 
his manner : 

" It would have been in better taste, 
Peter, to introduce this subject at some 
other time. As thee has introduced it 
however, let me say that thy charges 
are wrong. John did not volunteer his 
information, but I asked him some 
questions about thee — and questions 
which, as thee has been a frequent guest 
at my house, I had the right to ask ; and 
he simply told me what he knew." 

"Very kind in him!" retorted Peter 
with a sneer. " Black sheep as you 
choose to think me, I would not have 
stooped to such dirty work." 

Isaiah laid his hand on the young man's 
shoulder. " Peter," said he, " I am sorry 
to hear thee use such language. Under- 
stand that I do not consider thee a black 
sheep. I know thee has many excellent 
traits. But in betting and racing horses, 
in disregard of the Sabbath, and in thy 
carelessness in money matters, thee has 
shown a recklessness and lack of princi- 
ple which augur poorly for thy future. 
And therefore, while I would have preferred 
to speak to thee privately, let me say for 
myself and my wife that thy visits here 
do not give us pleasure, and we ask thee 
to discontinue them." 

Anger, mortification, and sorrow strug- 
gled in the young man's mind. His eyes 
filled with tears as he looked at Dorothy. 
So here was an end of it all. " Farewell, 
Dorothy," he said. " I have loved thee 
very dearly." 

Dorothy rose and, giving him her hand, 
said sweetly, " Farewell, Peter ; I cannot 
tell thee how sorry I am for all that 
has happened. I shall miss thee much." 
But she was very calm. For an instant, 
but only an instant, the thought flashed 
through his mind, " Does she, after all, 
really care anything for me? " 



He bade. farewell to Isaiah curtly ; then, 
stepping close to Brownell, he said in a 
low voice, with flashing eyes and through 
his set teeth : " For the part that you 
have had in this business I shall call you 
to account." 

"As you like," answered Brownell in 
the same tone. 

All overheard them, and as Peter dis- 
appeared around the house Isaiah said : 
" I trust, John, thee is too much of a man 
to pay any attention to his threat. It 
often shows more courage and a higher 
sense of honor to refuse a challenge than 
to accept one." To which John, anxious 
to keep Isaiah's good opinion, answered, 
" Of course." 

He was less anxious on that score how- 
ever, when he pushed off his boat that 
evening ; for when he rose to depart 
Isaiah accompanied him to the water's 
edge and said : " This has been a hard 
afternoon for me, John. It was a painful 
thing to have to speak to Peter as I did ; 
but I may now speak out all that is on 
my mind, and I have a few words for 
thee. It is but right for thee to know 
that, while I believe thy character to be 
excellent, there is no better chance for 
thee than for Peter, so far as Dorothy is 
concerned. Even if she returned thy 
feelings — which she does not — it is 
out of the question for her to wed a man 
of thy estate ; and it is better for thee to 
understand this thing in the beginning, 
and delude thyself with no false hopes." 

John Brownell had despised himself 
when he gave the information against 
Peter. Now that he saw that no advan- 
tage to himself could result from it, he 
despised himself more. 


Dorothy was up betimes the next 
morning, looking as fresh and sweet as if 
nothing had made a ripple on the placid 
waters of her life. Evidently, the unpleas- 
ant events of the previous day had not 
disturbed her night's rest. Why should 
they? True, she had lost a lover, and 
one who had interested her more than 
any of her other admirers, and she felt 
rather sorry ; but doubtless it was all for 

the best — and she had never lacked for 
lovers. Still, she did not eat her break- 
fast with quite her usual appetite, and 
she spent much of the forenoon in gazing 
from her chamber window over the shin- 
ing waters of the bay. She knew no 
meeting could take place between the 
two young men without one or the other 
crossing the bay ; and knowing them both 
much better than her father did, she had 
no doubt that Peter would carry out his 
threat, and she put little faith in John's 
meek " Of course" to her father's 
advice. The forenoon wore away how- 
ever without any boat putting out from 
either shore. After the noon meal she 
resumed her vigil, feeling more hopeful, 
as the afternoon passed, that the quar- 
rel might blow over. As the sun began 
to sink behind the western hills she was 
turning away from her window with a sigh 
of relief, when she saw a boat put out from 
Tiverton, which she instantly recognized 
as John Brownell's, and almost simulta- 
neously from the Rhode Island shore an- 
other, which she knew was Peter Bur- 
ton's. No other vessel was in sight, ex- 
cept a small boat far to the south, appar- 
ently containing two men and just 
disappearing behind Gould Island. 

Dorothy's heart gave a bound of fear 
and excitement as she saw the two boats 
move swiftly toward Gould Island, a place 
where more than one dispute had been 
settled by sword or pistol. But this feel- 
ing was quickly replaced by astonishment 
when, as they drew nearer, she saw only 
one man in each boat. What did it 
mean? If a duel was to be fought, where 
were the seconds? With breathless in- 
terest she watched John Brownell, who 
reached Gould Island first, draw his boat 
up on the beach, climb the rugged cliff 
above it, and disappear in the woods. 
Peter reached it a few minutes later and, 
drawing up his boat alongside John's, 
took the same path up the cliff and into 
the woods. 

Several minutes passed, and it was rap- 
idly growing darker, but Dorothy kept 
her straining gaze riveted on the island. 
Presently from the spot where the two 
men entered the woods, she saw one of 
them come out. He descended the cliff 
hurriedly, pushed off his boat, and in the 



fast-gathering gloom she could just dis- 
cover that he headed for the Rhode Is- 
land side ; then the darkness shut out 
the view, and heartsick she went down to 
the dining-room, where her parents were 
already seated at the tea table. She con- 
trolled herself however, and if they no- 
ticed her slight paleness and abstraction 
they attributed it to the events of the 
previous day. She said nothing of what 
she had just seen ; it would be of no use 
now, she reasoned, and they would blame 
her for not telling them of her apprehen- 
sions in the morning. 

That night, for perhaps the first time 
in Dorothy's life, her sleep was broken, 
and the first glimmer of dawn found her 
again gazing toward Gould Island. John 
Brownell's boat still lay where she saw 
him draw it up ! 

Dressing quickly, she ran downstairs, 
feeling that she must get some news as to 
what had passed on the island. She got 
it sooner than she expected. In the 
dining-room was her father, booted and 
spurred and with a grave look on his face. 
" I have just been to the Ferry, Dorothy," 
said he, " and I have sad news. John 
Brownell was found this morning on 
Gould Island, dead, with a bullet through 
his heart, and Peter Burton is nowhere to 
be found." 


Fifteen years have passed away, and 
Rhode Island, lovely as ever, is again 
basking in the October sun. Isaiah 
Scott's house and farm at Ferry Neck are 
unchanged, and as on that day when 
Peter Burton received his dismissal and 
departed in bitterness of soul, the fleecy 
clouds are floating above, the skies and 
waters have the same prismatic hues, and 
the meadows, verdant with grass or yellow 
with golden corn, are sloping in peaceful 
beauty to the shore. Changes have taken 
place nevertheless. Isaiah and his wife have 
long since been gathered to their fathers, 
and Dorothy and her husband reign in 
their stead. Did she marry Joseph Smith ? 
Joseph Smith, indeed ! She married 
Elkanah Perkins, the wealthiest merchant 
in Newport, and now spends only a part 

of her time at Ferry Neck ; and if you 
will examine the records of the Friends, 
you will find that poor Joseph, " faithful 
unto death," lived and died a bachelor. 
Other changes have taken place on Rhode 
Island. There is very little live-stock to 
be seen ; many of the farms look dilapi- 
dated and poor ; and across the north 
end of the island runs a line of fortifica- 
tions, garrisoned by British soldiers. We 
understand the poverty now : King 
George is master here, and at whatever 
cost, Rhode Island must contribute to the 
support of his army. 

On the opposite hills of Tiverton are 
the American forces, having in their ranks 
many of the unfortunate Rhode Islanders 
whose homes are going to ruin before 
their eyes. Miserable as many of the 
farms look, there is, near the centre of 
the island, one rather worse for wear than 
any of the others. For fifteen years it 
has been unoccupied ; its dooryard is 
overrun with blackberry vines ; its stone 
walls are broken and falling down, and 
the neighbors' cattle graze in its fields 
without let or hindrance. Several times 
has application been made to the Probate 
Court to have it divided amongst the 
heirs, but the objection has always been 
made that its owner, Peter Burton, may 
be still alive. And now, this bright Oc- 
tober day, comes the news, not only that 
he is alive, but that he has come home. 
Yesterday he landed in Newport from the 
Cuban vessel, it is said, a widower, bring- 
ing with him his little son and a negro ser- 
vant ; and that he has ridden out to look 
at his dilapidated place and, wretched as 
it is, is making arrangements to occupy 

It is Sunday, — and as the Friends 
gather at the meeting-house, Peter's re- 
turn is the universal topic of conversation 
among them. Many regarded him as 
little better than a murderer : in that un- 
precedented duel without seconds, who 
knew whether there were foul or fair play? 
A few, however, were more charitable, 
among them Joseph Simpson, a venerable 
man, long an " approved " preacher. 
"Friends," he says, "we must have 
charity for all men. Our church holds, 
with reason, that to take human life under 
any circumstances is murder ; but many 



of our younger Friends, especially since 
the war broke out, have adopted the 
standard of the world. And as to the 
Gould Island affair, who knows anything 
about it? Why there were no seconds, 
we cannot tell ; it was a singular affair. 
But let us not add the suspicion of foul 
play to the odium that already attaches to 
Peter Burton." 

There was some discussion as to the 
probability of his coming to meeting. 
Most thought 
he would come. 
To be sure, 
his name and 
poor John Brown- 
ell's were long 
ago stricken out 
of the books, but 
he was a birthright 
member, and surely 
after being away 
so long he would 
want to see the old 
meeting-house and 
the familiar faces 
of the Friends. 
They were not left 
long in doubt, for 
while they talked 
the clattering 
of horses' feet was 
heard, and pres- 
ently Peter Burton, 
richly dressed and 
well mounted, his 
little son on a smart 
pacer at his side, 
and his negro ser- 
vant following at a 
little distance, rode 
into the meeting- 
house yard. Nearly 
every one was look- 
ing at him as he 

and his son dismounted and gave the 
horses to the servant. 

Well, he is changed, but not as much 
as one would expect, is the general com- 
ment. There are lines on his clean-shaven 
face that were not there when he went 
away ; his hair is gray and he has grown 
stout. He has a cynical expression that 
is not exactly pleasant to see, but he does 
not look as if devoured by remorse, or as 

Dorothy looked earnest'y toward the Tiverton Shore 

if the recollection of his misdeeds had 
affected his health. 

It rather pleased the Friends that he 
attended meeting so soon after his arrival 
and many of them unconsciously began to 
have a better opinion of him. But if they 
knew the only motive that actuated him in 
coming they would perhaps have felt dif- 
ferently. It is not on account of the meet- 
ing or to revive old associations, but to see 
Dorothy that he is here. Though he has 
been married, and 
since his departure 
has seen much of 
the world, he has 
never been in love 
with any other wo- 
man. She has taken 
precedence of 
everything else in 
his thoughts, and 
though he doubtless 
knows it would be 
better for his peace 
of mind never 
to see her again, he 
has come here for 
that express pur- 
pose. As he walks 
toward the meet- 
ing-house, Elkanah 
Perkins's yellow 
coach — the only 
coach on the island 
— comes into the 
yard, and his heart 
gives a great throb 
as Dorothy alights. 
Her face is hidden 
by the Quaker bon- 
net, but he would 
know her among 
a thousand. He 
has not yet spoken 
to any of the 
Friends, most of whom he recognizes; 
but passing hurriedly by them, he steps 
up to her and, holding out his hand, says 
huskily, " Dorothy ! does thee know 

Dorothy was not startled : she was 
calm, as usual, for she had heard of his 
arrival and was prepared for this meeting. 
She replied very sweetly, and as with her 
old coquettish manner she took his hand 



and looked up from under the deep 
Quaker bonnet, for the first time in fif- 
teen years he sees her face. It is a pretty 
face. Except that the first freshness and 
bloom of youth are gone, it has changed 
but little, and yet somehow it gives him 
a shock, and a great and sudden change 
comes over him as he gazes. Was this, 
after all, the face that had haunted him 
and held him captive for so many years ? 
How he has idealized it ! Can it be that 
it really was as insipid as it looks now 
when he last saw it? He does not under- 
stand his own feelings, for he almost feels 
a dislike for the pretty woman whom he 
has so longed to see. Then a great throb 
of joy thrills through him. He is in love 
no longer ; the shackles which have kept 
him a slave for so many years have fallen 
to the ground and he is free ! 

After a few polite inquiries and com- 
monplace remarks he entered the house 
where most of the Friends were now 
assembled, and sat down in his old place. 
Never did air seem so sweet as that 
which streams in through the open door ; 
never did sky look so blue as the little 
patch he sees through the window back 
of the gallery ; never, it seems to him, 
even in his boyhood, did his blood so 
leap and throb through his veins. He 
was a man at last, and life seemed to 
open up before him with new possibilities, 
new hopes, and new aspirations. 

Then his thoughts went back over his 
life, so spoiled and wasted by his passion 
for this woman who never cared for him, 
and who passed unmoved through the 
trials that stirred his soul to its depths. 
He thought of the many irregularities by 
which he had sought to forget it ; of how 
in his bitterness he had lost all faith in 
God and man ; and the face of his dead 
wife rose before him — whose beseeching 
eyes always seemed asking for the love 
which he never gave, but which he kept 
for this soulless statue of flesh and blood. 
His face lost its cynical expression, and 
his eyes filled with tears as he bowed his 
face in his hands. 

For nearly an hour the Friends sat 
silent. At length Joseph Simpson rose 
and said impressively : " Dear Friends, 
the charge I have had laid upon me to 
give you this morning is a short one. As 

I took my seat the Lord was very near 
me, and the language of my soul was, ' I 
am the resurrection and the life, saith the 
Lord ; he that believeth on me, though 
he were dead, yet shall he live, and who- 
soever liveth and believeth on me shall 
never die.' ' 

Like balm the beautiful words fell on 
Peter's heart. Life ! yes, that was what 
he wanted. He had never lived before, 
but he would now, and he would believe, 
for belief is life-giving. And again he 
bowed his head, this time in silent thanks- 

Presently the shaking of hands in- 
dicated that the meeting was over. When 
Peter came to meeting he did not think 
he would soon want to repeat the experi- 
ence, but now everything seemed changed. 
He remained in his seat till Friend Simp- 
son passed down the aisle, when, after 
exchanging cordial greetings with the old 
man, he astonished him by asking if he 
might be restored to membership with 
the Friends. "It is impossible, Peter," 
said he. "We disowned thee because 
thy hands had shed blood, and we cannot 
receive thee back. But we shall be glad 
to have the assurance of thy repentance, 
and always pleased to have thee sit with 

Peter's face fell. Ever since he left 
Rhode Island he had lived among people 
who knew nothing of the Gould Island 
affair, and for the first time he realized 
the full weight of the stigma that rested 
upon him in this community. For an in- 
stant a touch of his old dogged reckless- 
ness came back to him ; but his better 
spirit asserted itself. " I ought to have 
known," said he, "that you cannot re- 
ceive me back ; and it is probably best 
for all concerned that you cannot. I 
suppose I am in bad odor with the 
Friends. But I have come home to 

" I am glad thee has, Peter. The past 
cannot be mended, but thee has probably 
many years of life before thee yet, and I 
feel sure thee will live them to better ad- 

The emotion incident to a change such 
as had come over Peter soon passes off; 
and on the following morning he felt glad 
that his desire to reunite himself with the 



Friends had been nipped in the bud. 
Though by birth and early education a 
Friend, he had seen nothing of the 
Friends since he left the island, and all 
his habits of life and thought were so 
different from theirs that he would not 
have made a good Quaker. He con- 
tinued, however, to attend their meet- 
ings, though not as regularly as Friend 
Simpson had hoped ; and as the weeks 
passed, a kindlier feeling toward him took 
root among them. 


Along the two roads which then, as 
now, extended down Rhode Island, known 
as the East and West roads, the British 
had stationed sentinels at stated intervals 
of from one to two miles. By this means 
they could keep posted as to the move- 
ments of the farmers, and detect any in- 
clination on their part to extend aid or 
comfort to the enemy. The rules, how- 
ever, were very lax. There were few 
ways in which the farmers could be of 
any assistance to the Americans, and the 
majority of those left on the Island, being 
Quakers, were non-partisans, and were 
allowed to pass and repass unchallenged. 
Though Peter Burton was a stranger, no 
exception was made in his case, and he 
came and went as he chose. But his was 
not a nature that could long remain 
neutral on any issue. His house was 
near the headquarters of General Pres- 
cott, with whom he soon became ac- 
quainted, and several times, by the in- 
formation thus obtained, he was able to 
put his countrymen at Tiverton on their 
guard and to defeat plans for surprising 
them and carrying off their cattle, grain, 
and supplies. 

In spite of the devastation of the is- 
land and the uncertain issue of the war, 
those were happy days to Peter. The 
sensation of being of some use in the 
world, and of doing things from other 
than selfish motives, was a new and deli- 
cious sensation ; and as he frequented 
the houses of the British officers, or 
stealthily crossed the bay at night to con- 
vey some needed information to the 
Americans, the ambition filled his mind 

to take his place and use his talents in 
the great struggle that was going forward. 
He was naturally a leader of men, and 
when, some weeks after his arrival, he 
was offered a^captain's commission in the 
Continental army, he gladly accepted it. 
Instead, however, of proceeding at once 
to Tiverton to take his command, he de- 
cided to remain a few days longer on the 
island, as a scheme was on foot to sur- 
prise the Americans at Quaker Point in 
Tiverton and carry off a large flock of 
sheep and a quantity of grain ; and he 
wanted, if possible, to get the particulars 
of this plan before leaving the island. 

It happened one evening, as he went 
to call on General Prescott, who liked 
company and liked to have him come in 
and take a social glass, he was told the 
general had gone to Newport. Waiting 
for a moment in the room, his eye fell on 
the general's desk, where lay carelessly 
an open letter addressed to Lieutenant 
Forbes, giving, as his glance at once took 
in, complete directions for the manage- 
ment of the Quaker Point expedition. 
Requesting the negro servant to go and 
fetch him a glass of wine, he slipped the 
letter into his pocket, — thinking only, 
in the anxiety of the moment, of how he 
could save the men at Tiverton. Then, 
drinking the general's health and asking 
the servant to give his compliments to 
him when he returned, he hurried home, 
had his horse saddled, and prepared for 
immediate departure. The negro, how- 
ever, was not so dull as he thought ; and 
just as Peter was buckling on his spurs, 
while his horse stood at the door, two 
stalwart fellows entered and, laying each 
a hand on his shoulders, arrested him as 
a spy. 

Peter saw that his case was desperate. 
He well knew the punishment of a spy. 
With the strength born of desperation 
he hurled his captors from him, and, leap- 
ing upon his horse, disappeared in the 
darkness. The men were on their feet 
in an instant and shouting at the top of 
their voices ; and not daring to go along 
the road, where he felt sure he would be 
stopped, Peter turned into an adjoining 
field, hoping to get across to the East 
Road and beyond the sentinels stationed 
there, before his pursuers, who would 



• w --■-' 


shali caii you to account 

probably keep to the road, could over- 
take him. He would also save by this 
course some two miles. But the night 
was excessively dark, and his horse, not 
being used to "cross country" work, 
refused many of the leaps, compelling 
circuitous journeys through gateways and 
gaps ; and when he came in sight of the 
East Road, the unusual number of mov- 
ing lights and the noise of horses' feet 
left him no doubt that his pursuers had 
reached it before him. There was but 
one chance left, and that a desperate 
one. By still keeping to the fields, he 
might work northward to the line of for- 
tifications, then, entering the road, run the 
gauntlet of sentinels, and escape to the 
low land of Ferry Neck, where, from its 
proximity to Tiverton, they would hardly 
dare follow him. 

Scarcely had he made up his mind to 
this, and turned his horse's head toward 
the north, when from behind the low 
stone wall just in front of him up jumped 
three men. Two bullets whizzed by his 

head and a third struck him in the leg. 
He was discovered, and in an instant a 
large body of horsemen were in hot pur- 

It is said by those who have narrowly 
escaped drowning, that in a few seconds 
a review of their whole lives has passed 
before them. It is so in many cases of 
danger. Following the blind instinct of 
self-preservation, Peter had urged his 
horse to a run, but he knew that prac- 
tically there was no hope. As the bullets 
whistled past his head, his mind went 
back with the rapidity of a dream to his 
happy boyhood ; then he seemed to be 
riding down to Ferry Neck to see 
Dorothy; and one dark night very like 
this rose before him, when he rode over 
these same fields after his dark errand to 
Gould Island. Then passed before him 
the wearisome and wasted years that he 
had since passed ; his marriage, which 
but for himself might have been a happy 
one ; and a picture of his little son, who 
was now fast asleep at home. 



A bullet struck him in the shoulder, 
wounding him severely, and by the sway- 
ing, uncertain motion of his horse he 
knew that he too was severely wounded. 
In a vague way he wondered how long 
this would last, and like a man falling 
asleep while listening to the ticking of a 
clock, he heard the measured hoof-beats 
of his pursuers' horses. Faint from loss 
of blood, his eyes involuntarily closed ; 
but he kept his seat and his hold upon 
the reins. Still swept rapidly before him 
the panorama of his life. Again he was 
landing at Newport ; again he was at the 
Friends' meeting; and again like balm 
there fell upon his ear the beautiful words, 
" I am the resurrection and the life ; he 
that believeth on me, though he were 
dead, yet shall he live." 

Another shot, and the curtain fell ; the 
panorama was over. Shot through the 
heart, he fell forward upon his horse's 
neck, and both came heavily to the 


By a singular coincidence, on the same 
day that Peter met his death, a mulatto 
named Joshua Nipson was arrested as a 

' Dorothy watcned trom her Window 

spy by the Americans at Tiverton, was 
tried, found guilty, and sentenced to be 
hanged. Tradition describes Nipson as 
a man of more than ordinary intelligence, 

Gouid Island lay dark against the horizon. 



though of ungovernable passions. He 
had always lived in Tiverton, and had 
been the trusted and confidential servant 
of John Brownell up to the time of the 
latter's tragic death. Before his execu- 
tion, which took place on the following 
day, he stated that he had a confession to 
make in regard to the Gould Island 
affair. His guard took it down in wri- 
ting ; and though but for Peter's return the 

money, and it had occurred to Nipson 
that in case of his master's death, which 
he thought almost certain, as he was a 
bad shot, he might appropriate these 
funds without detection, as no one else 
knew anything about them. He was 
therefore sorry for this change ; and 
while crossing the bay on his errand he 
devised a plan by which he might still 
possess himself of the money. Instead 

The Old Friends' Meeting House. 

whole thing had been well-nigh forgotten, 
it created quite a sensation in the camp. 
It seems that John Brownell, on re- 
turning from his last visit to Dorothy, 
had told Nipson of his rejection by 
Isaiah Scott, and also that he expected 
to be called out by Peter Burton. Later 
in the evening he called Nipson and told 
him that he was sorry for the part he had 
played in Peter's dismissal ; that further- 
more, as they had both been rejected, 
there was now nothing to quarrel over; 
and ordered him to cross the bay and 
convey his apologies to Peter and request 
him to meet him at Gould Island, alone, 
the next day at four o'clock, that he 
might make explanations and effect a 
reconciliation. Now it happened that 
Brownell had with him a large sum of 

of delivering his full message to Peter, 
he merely requested him to meet his 
master alone on Gould Island, naming 
the hour as half-past four, and giving him 
no hint as to the purpose of the meeting. 
The next day, after his master had landed 
on Gould Island, he approached the 
island from the south with a companion 
whom he had taken into his confidence, 
and landed in a little cove, where he 
could not be seen either from Tiverton 
or Rhode Island. Entering the woods, 
and making his way close to his master, 
who asked in surprise what had brought 
him there, he shot him through the 
heart, and then quickly appropriated the 
money, but left the watch and other val- 
uables. It had been his intention to kill 
Peter also, reasoning that, after what had 



happened at Isaiah Scott's, the public 
would believe that a duel had been fought 
which resulted fatally to both parties. 
But hearing Peter, who was doubtless 
armed, approaching, much sooner than 
he expected, and not having had time to 
re-load his pistol, he hastily retreated, 
and had just time to conceal himself 
behind some bushes when Peter reached 
the spot. From his place of conceal- 
ment he saw Peter carefully examine the 
body and the still smoking pistol which 
lay beside it — then with a muttered ex- 
clamation which he could not understand 
rapidly descend the cliff, get into his 
boat, and pull away. Nipson divided 
his booty with his companion, who had 
remained with their boat, and under 
cover of the darkness returned to Tiver- 

Why had Peter chosen not to tell 
what he knew about this matter? As he 
could not have suspected the presence of 
any one else on the island, he must have 
believed it a case of suicide. In his 
bitterness of soul, was he willing for 
Dorothy to look upon him as John Brow- 
nell's slayer? or did he believe that the 
circumstantial evidence against him was 
so strong that no denial or explanation 
on his part would be of any use? We 
cannot tell. He had apparently nothing 
to gain by his silence, and the motives 

that actuated him must always remain a 

To the Quakers who, though they had 
disowned him, could never get rid of the 
feeling that in a certain way he still be- 
longed to them, the knowledge of his 
innocence was most grateful. The black 
stain on his reputation was removed. 
His life had not indeed been what they 
could have wished, but he had " lived 
without fear, and died without reproach," 
and, non-partisans as they were, they 
did not think the less of him that 
he had lost his life in the service of his 

In the graveyard behind the old 
Friends' meeting-house — an obscure 
place and seldom visited — can be seen 
the graves of Dorothy Perkins and her 
family, Isaiah Scott and his wife, Joseph 
Simpson, and Joseph Smith. But Peter 
Burton's resting-place is still more ob- 
cure. This inscription : 

Here Lyeth ye Bodye of 

Peter Burton 

Who Died in the Service of his Countrye 

November ioth, 1778, 

Aged 42 Years. 

is found in the old family burying- 
ground on the Burton farm, far from the 
travelled road, and overgrown with black- 
berry vines and briars, on a rough slab of 
Rhode Island slate. 

Daniel C. Gilman. First President of the University of California. 



By C/iar/es Howard Shinn. 

THE University of California is the 
most important educational institu- 
tion west of the Mississippi. If 
we consider the quality of the work done 
there, the national reputation of many 
of its teachers and graduates, or the 
merely material subject of its endowment 
and resources, it is entitled to rank among 
the half dozen leading universities in the 
United States. The story of its develop- 
ment from a frontier school founded by 

a few New England men marks the finer 
and better side of California life. 

Thomas Douglass, of Connecticut, a 
graduate of Yale, of the class of 1831, 
who had reached San Francisco from 
Honolulu in 1847, began a school there 
in April, 1848, with thirty-seven pupils. 
Within two months the mines opened ; 
four of the five trustees and twenty-eight 
of the children were in the famous stam- 
pede which almost depopulated the sleepy 



village in the sandhills. Mr. Douglass 
closed his school and followed the cur- 

A number of college graduates were 
among the "Argonauts," and in the sum- 
mer of California's famous '49, several 
genuine outdoor schools were taught un- 
der spreading live-oaks, by graduates of 
Yale, Bowdoin, Amherst, Harvard, and 
Princeton^ in various growing mountain 

The first State Constitutional Conven- 
tion, which met at Monterey, in Septem- 
ber, 1849, contained many well-educated 
men, who were fully conscious of the im- 

Thomas O. Larkin of Monterey to aid in 
founding a college in California. In 
April, in 1849, while nearly all the men, 
women, and children in California were 
crazy after gold, Dr. Willey and Mr. 
Larkin were sitting in the old adobe 
custom-house at Monterey, trying to find 
out how to start a college. Dr. Willey 
and Dr. Rogers corresponded on the 
subject all that summer. Then Larkin, 
Willey and their friends did what they 
could to extend the college idea else- 
where. ±\X last two gentlemen owning 
land on the Guadaloupe river near San 
Jose offered to give a site. Trustees 

The Berkeley Foothills. 

portance of organizing a complete school 
system. A provision for chartering col- 
leges and caring for State University 
funds was inserted in the constitution. 
" Let us build up with the gold from our 
hills a university as great as Oxford," said 
one of the members in a speech. The 
temper of the founders of the state was 
broad and liberal. The debates of the 
time, and the constitution they adopted, 
show them in an admirable light. 

But a beginning had been made al- 
ready in another direction. Rev. Dr. 
Willey, in his " History of the College of 
California," published in San Francisco 
in 1887, says that Rev. Dr. William 
A. Rogers, of Boston, one of the over- 
seers of Harvard, influenced the noted 

were named, among whom were Dr. 
Willey ; Thomas Douglass, the first San 
Francisco teacher ; S. A T . Blakeslee ; and 
Rev. T. D wight Hunt, first pastor of the 
Congregational Church of San Francisco. 
This organization failed, and in Decem- 
ber, when the first session of the legisla- 
ture was held in San Jose, the trustees of 
the proposed college were Frederick Bil- 
lings ; Sherman Day, son of old President 
Jeremiah Day, of Yale ; Dr. Willey ; For- 
rest Shepard ; and Chester S. Lyman. 
Acting with them in all important mat- 
ters were Rev. J. A. Benton, Rev. T. D. 
Hunt, and Rev. J. W. Douglass, Xew 
Englanders, every one of them. A bill 
providing for college charters was passed 
by the legislature. Twenty thousand 



Henry Durant. 

dollars worth of prop- 
erty was required, and 
owing to the condition 
of land titles at that 
time, the proposed 
institution could not 
then be legally estab- 
lished. Besides, the 
friends of higher edu- 
cation were compelled 
to give all their ener- 
gies to the organiza- 
tion of the public school system, and the 
college idea had to wait for the fitting 
time and the trained idea. 

In 1853 the man came, and the hour. 
He was again from the heart of a New 
England college, 
this time from Yale. 
Rev. Henry Dur- 
ant, a former tutor 
at Yale, with letters 
from the president 
of that institution, 
came to California 
to devote his life 
to teaching and to 
the founding of a 
college. Horace 
Bushnell and Henry 
Durant graduated 
in the same class at 
Yale, and entered 
the ministry to- 
gether; later in life 
they were working 
side by side in Cali- 
fornia. But Durant 

was the pioneer, the real founder of the 
present University of California. 

Mr. Durant decided to begin work 
with a preparatory school in Oakland, 
then a sandy cattle pasture thickly cov- 
ered with immense live-oaks, beginning 
to attract a few settlers. Here, in a shanty 
the rent of which was one hundred and 
fifty dollars per month, gold coin in ad- 
vance, he taught from three to eight pupils. 
Four blocks of land, covering perhaps 
eight acres, in the very finest part of the 
oak forest, were chosen for the permanent 
site of the school. But land titles were in 
a state of chaos, and no man except Henry 
Durant could have secured the property. 
He stood among the squatters and pio- 

James Lick 

neers, the representative of the higher 
education, and so won their respect and 
affection that in all the years of growth 
which changed the village of tents and 
huts of 1853 to the present city of fifty 
thousand people, the name and memory 
of Henry Durant have remained first in 
the history of Oakland. 

When it was decided to move the 
school to the new site, the contractors, 
who were rascals, determined to jump 
the property. Durant suspected trouble, 
and made up his mind to block the game. 
He described the results in an article 
quoted in Willey's " History of the Col- 
lege of California" : 

" I came over at night, took a man with me, 
went into the (unfur- 
nished) house, put a 
table, chairs, etc. into 
one of the rooms up- 
stairs, and went to bed. 
Pretty early in the 
morning the contractor 
came into the house 
and looked about. Pres- 
ently he came to our 
door. Looking in, said 
he : ' What is here? ' 

" I was getting up. 
I told him I didn't 
mean any hurt to him, 
^ but I was a little in a 
5ft hurry to get into my 
new home, and I 
thought I would make 
a beginning the night 
before. I asked him 
if he would not walk 
in and take a seat. I 
claimed to be the pro- 
prietor and in posses- 
sion. He went oft. 

My friend went away, and in a little while the 

contractor came back with two burly fellows. 

They came into the room and helped themselves 

to seats. I had no means of defence except an axe 

under the bed. The contractor said to one of the 

men: 'Well, what will you do?' Said he : 'If 

you ask my advice, I say, 

proceed summarily," and 

he began to get up. I 

rose too, then, — about 

two feet taller than usual; 

I felt as if I was monarch 

of all I surveyed. I told 

him that if I understood 

him he intended to move 

into the room. Said I : 

' You will not only com- 
mit a trespass upon my 

property, but you will do 

violence upon my body. I 

don't intend to leave this s C. Hastings. 




Edward Tompkins, 

H. D. Bacon. 

H. H. Toland. 

room in a sound condition. If you undertake 
to do that, you will commit a crime as well as a 
trespass.' That seemed to stagger them, and 
finally they left me in possession." 

In 1855, the Academy Board of Trus- 
tees was reorganized and a charter for 
" The College of California " was obtained 
from the state. Among the first trustees 
were many of the leaders of the San Jose 
movement of 1849 — Frederick Billings, 
Sherman Day, S. H. Willey, J. A. Benton, 
Reverend T. Dwight Hunt, and others, 
with younger men, and Henry Durant as 
the master mind of the enterprise. The 
next thing was to raise more money, and 
Dr. Willey made a personal canvass at 
the East. But California was pouring out 
its millions of gold, and men said ; " Go 
to your own people." The effort was al- 
most a failure ; the work of founding a 
new college rested upon the shoulders of 
a few men, young then, and full of hope 
and energy, who had made their homes 
in California. The Academy or College 
school, had sixty pupils and some of them 
were almost ready for the chartered, but 
not yet established, college. 

Durant turned for help to Horace 
Bushnell, who came to California for a 
"camping out summer" in March, 1856. 

It was pleasant to see how the great New 
England clergyman " took hold " with all 
his might. He was invited to the tempo- 
rary presidency of the college, and at 
once started off on a horseback tour, look- 
ing for a suitable site, thus combining his 
own health-seeking plans with the idea 
of a great university, which would fitly 
crown the public school system of the 
state. Those who feel an interest in this 
picturesque episode in Dr. Bushnell's 
career will find it amply set forth in his 
" Life and Letters." His descriptions of 
California scenes and people often pos- 
sess a permanent value. It is rare to find, 
among the hundreds of later California 
writers, so exact and scientific observa- 
tions of climate and resources as Dr. 
Bushnell showed in his personal corre- 
spondence during this period. He went 
over the whole Bay region, the Martinez 
and Monte Diablo districts, the old Mis- 
sion San Jose, the Sunol and Livermore 
valleys, the Napa, Sonoma and Santa 
Rosa, and after some nine months spent 
in the open air, he made a detailed re- 
port to the trustees, and wrote an elo- 
quent " Appeal " for the college : then 
returned to Hartford, restored in health, 
and resumed his pastorate work. 

A. K. P. Harmon. 

Michael Reese. 

D. O. Mills. 


',[:- : />'^: 1 ' " 

i*£ ..„*._,. 

General View of the University Buildings. 

One may observe the " out-door 
elements " of early education here. The 
first school teacher in San Francisco fol- 
lowed his pupils to the mines ; the early 
teachers in the mountain counties taught 
under the oaks and pines, or in blue drill- 
ing tents ; the first president of the Col- 
lege of California spent his entire term 
of office in exploring the foothills and 
valleys of seven or eight counties, to dis- 
cover the best permanent site for the in- 
stitution. He occupied his whole time 
" examining views and prospects, explor- 
ing water-courses, determining their levels, 
and gauging their quantities of water, dis- 
covering quarries, finding supplies of 
sand and gravel, testing climates, inquir- 
ing, and even prospecting to form some 
judgment of the possibilities of railroads, 
obtaining terms, looking after titles, and 
neglecting nothing necessary to prepare 
the question for proper settlement." 
The report defined the requirements for 
a permanent site so well that the sub- 
sequent purchase of the Berkeley prop- 
erty was but the natural conclusion from 
his careful investigations. 

Dr. Bushnell, in his "Appeal" to the 
people, asked for an endowment of half 
a million of dollars, but thought that 
three hundred thousand dollars would 
do to begin with. There is hardly 
another document in the educational 

history of California so replete with 
dignity and common sense as this note- 
worthy "Appeal." A finer plea for the 
founding of a great Pacific Coast univer- 
sity was never made, before or since. 
The eloquence of men like Thomas 
Starr King, Frederick Billings, John W. 
'Dwindle, Edward Tompkins, John B. Fel- 
ton, and others of the group of intel- 
lectual leaders who founded the college 
and the university, only broadened the 
highway opened by Dr. BushnelPs Ap- 
peal. That struck the keynote. He 
could go back to old President Jeremiah 
Day, at New Haven, and say : " The 
Yale men mean to have a university out 
there in California." 

In 1857, the Berkeley site was deter- 
mined upon, and the "College school" 
was enlarged. During 1858, the Berkeley 
tract was nearly paid 
for; and in 1859, the „- — 

college organization 
was begun to receive 
the senior class of the 
academy. Mr. J. S. 
Brayton took Mr. 
Durant's place, and 
the latter, with Rev. 
Martin Kellogg orga- 
nized the first fresh- 
man class of the Col- 
lege of California in 

F.L. A. Pioche. 



June, 1 860. There were eight students ad- 
mitted, four of whom graduated. Profes- 
sor Kellogg was then sent to the Atlantic 
States, to present the needs of the col- 
lege. President Woolsey of Yale, Dr. 
Leonard Bacon, President Mark Hopkins, 
and many other college men heartily in- 

California. It could only be supported 
by direct contributions. In the last 
annual report of the College of Cali- 
fornia, that of 1868, Dr. Willey summed 
up the results of sixteen years' canvas- 
sing for supplies. The total was a 
little over sixty-three thousand dol- 

Professor John Le Conte. 

dorsed the plans of the institution. But, 
as Professor Kellogg reported, people 
said : " You are rich enough to endow 
your own college." 

The friends of the college received no 
encouragement from the rich men of 

lars. It all came in comparatively 
small sums from men who were not 
wealthy. The millionnaires, for sixteen 
years after Henry Durant had settled 
among the oaks " to start an academy 
which should stow into a universitv,*' 



had been urged to give the young institu- 
tion a fit endowment, but they saw no 
need of it ; they had come to California 
to make money, and they looked upon 
Durant, Bushnell, Tompkins, Willey, Ben- 
ton, and all the rest as very troublesome 
and crack-brained beggars. It is a strange 
and sad story. The first great group of 
California millionnaires, who ruled the 
Pacific Coast from 1853 to 1868, gave 
in the aggregate less than the price of a 
third-rate racehorse to the university 
idea. "California liberality" did not 
" pan out." Men of many millions figure 
in the lists of those days for a grudging 
hundred dollars given at long intervals. 
It was the college graduates, chiefly from 
New England, who built up the College 
of California. 

There was a famous alumni dinner in 
1864, when one hundred and twenty-five 
college graduates sat down together. 
Thirty-four colleges were represented. 
Yale had twenty sons ; Williams, eleven ; 
Harvard and Union, nine each ; Dart- 
mouth, seven. The " Associated Alumni " 
lasted some years, to be succeeded by 
separate college clubs, as the number of 
alumni on the coast increased. Now there 
has been a University Club established 
in San Francisco on the plan of the Uni- 
versity Club of New York, and it is a 
great success. 

The College of California graduated 

twenty-three men during its time, who 

are, of course, accepted alumni of the 

University of California. 

Dr. Willey in his book 

gives a list of nearly 

;.--v ':, v 


Professor Joseph Le Conte. 

seven hundred alumni of various colleges 
and universities who were residents of 
this coast in 1865. These were the men 
who did most to build up the State 
University, and to advance higher educa- 
tion in every possible manner. 

While this small group of singularly de- 
voted men were doing such pioneer work, 
and were holding up a standard of scholar- 
ship as high on the whole as that of any 
other college in the country, the coming 
State University was being endowed from 
another direction. In 1853, an "Act of 
Congress " gave California seventy-two 
sections of land, " for the use of a 

HIP 111! 

'fa ri 


The New Chemistry Building. 



seminary of learning." Ten additional 
sections granted by the same act " for 
public buildings " were set apart by the 
state for university buildings. This 

and industrial college." If the larger 
scheme of a true university could be 
adopted, then the valuable lands, build- 
ings, and whole organization of the Col- 

The Berkeley Oaks. 

magnificent land gift remained long un- 
used. It could not be obtained by the 
College of California. The political 
difficulties long prevented the location of 
these lands, and thus the state failed to 
secure the full possibilities of the gift. 
In 1862, however, the "Agricultural and 
Mechanical Arts College Act" gave Cali- 
fornia about 150,000 additional acres. 
The project of a " single state college " 
took shape by a legislative act of 1866, 
and in June, 1867, the Governor and 
State Commissioners chose a site in 
Alameda County, near Berkeley, where 
the College of California had already 
purchased one hundred and sixty acres. 
But the state idea was as yet crude, 
narrow, and undeveloped. It was left 
for Henry Durant and his friends to 
create the university. The plan of the 
state was to have an " exclusively scientific 

lege of California could be merged into it. 
Governor Low wrote on behalf of the 
state : the state had money ; it must also 
have the " scholarship, organization, en- 
thusiasm, and reputation" of the College 
of California. And so, with the under- 
standing that the college of Letters should 
be " second to none in the country," the 
men of the old college gave themselves 
and all they had to the state. March 
23, 1868, the act creating the university 
was passed, and the Berkeley students 
annually celebrate the day. 

The first president of the State L^niver- 
sity was Daniel C. Gilman ; and he laid 
its foundations broad and deep. When 
he decided to go to Johns Hopkins. 
California lost the greatest organizer of 
educational work ever known on the 
Pacific Coast. 

President Gilman was fortunatelv able 



to secure the active co-operation of many 
men of means who had hitherto held 
aloof. Michael Reese gave the univer- 
sity the "Francis Lieber library" of 
three thousand volumes of history and 
political economy. Dr. Adams of Johns 
Hopkins, in a lecture, once pointed out 
the interesting circumstances that both 
Lieber and Bluntschli, who were lifelong 
friends and associates in the same lines 
of work, gathered important libraries. 
The Lieber collection went to the Uni- 
versity of California, the Bluntschli was 
secured by Johns Hopkins. This is only 
one of the many bonds of union between 
Berkeley and Baltimore. Michael Reese 
also gave the university $50,000 for pur- 
chasing books. A pioneer banker, Pioche, 
gave his private library and fine collec- 
tion of shells, ores, and minerals. Fred- 
erick Tompkins founded the Agassiz 
Chair of Oriental Languages. D. O. Mills, 
now of New York, endowed the Mills 
Chair of Philosophy. Judge Hastings 
established the Law College by a gift of 
$100,000. Henry Bacon, in 1877, gave 
$25,000, besides books and works of art 
to the library. A. K. P. Harmon built 
the gymnasium. Harry Edwards of the 
old California theatre, James Keene, and 
others, added largely to the museum. 

Professor Irving Stringham. 

Professor Martin Kellogg. 

James Lick gave $700,000 to erect the 
Lick Observatory, on Mount Hamilton. 

Notwithstanding such gifts, and the 
growth of the public support, the univer- 
sity labored under a great difficulty — it 
was more or less "in politics." The 
"granger movement," which began in 
the closing days of President Oilman's 
administration, threatened to destroy the 
whole fabric. The terms of the magnifi- 
cent gift of the College of California 
were ignored by the promoters of the 
movement, and the effort to confine the 
functions of the State University to " agri- 
culture and industrial arts " was the lead- 
ing political issue for several years. In 
one form or another it lasted through the 
administration of the late Prof. John Le- 
Conte, which closed in 1881 ; and even 
now some of the ancient embers oc 
casionally blaze out again. 

In every department the university has 
kept well abreast of progress. Its classical 
department is in no wise inferior to that 
of Yale. The scientific requirements are 
well on a level with those of the Sheffield 
Scientific School. Professor Eugene W. 
Hilgard, head of the Agricultural College, 
has a national reputation. The gardens, 
experimental stations, and other depart- 
ments under his charge are scattered 
over the whole state, and comply in letter 
and spirit with the various acts under 



Professor W. B. Rising. 

which the university holds its lands. His- 
tory, English literature, and philology 
have also received especial attention, and 
have been in the hands of strong men. 

The two brothers, John and Joseph 
LeConte, the former of whom died April 
29th of the present year, have been the 
leaders of the university in science ever 
since its foundation. The late Professor 
Edward Rowland Sill was one of the wisest 
teachers of literature in the United States. 
Among the prominent professors connected 
with the university are Professor Martin 
Kellogg, Professor Bernard Moses, Pro- 

fessor Charles Gayley, Professor George 
Howison, Professor Irving Stringham, and 
Professor W. B. Rising. The present 
"academic senate " at Berkeley consists of 
seventy members, professors, associates, 
and instructors, a number of whom were 
with Henry Durant in the old College of 
California. The entire staff in all the col- 
leges, and at Mount Hamilton, contains 
one hundred and thirty-nine members. 

Dr. Durant lived to see the university 
organized, and was everywhere honored 
as the pioneer in the field. President 
Gilman was succeeded by President John 
LeConte, who continued his professor- 
ship. President W. T. Reid, formerly 
principal of the Boys' High School in 
San Francisco, was inaugurated in 1881. 
In 1885 he resigned to take charge of a 
school of his own, and Professor Edward S. 
Holden, the well-known astronomer, was 
elected president. Pie resigned in 1888, 
to become director of the Lick Obser- 
vatory, and Hon. Horace Davis of San 
Francisco, a Harvard man of long busi- 
ness training and high executive ability, 
became his successor, but resigned in 
1890. Professor Martin Kellogg, dean 
of the faculty, has since served as acting 
president. Too many changes, it must 
be confessed ; but the university has 
grown steadily all the while, the classes 
have increased in size, the endowment 
has grown, university alumni are better 
represented on the Board of Regents, 
political influences have been shorn of 

The Golden Gate, from Berke'ey. 



their power, and the people of California 
are more heartily in accord with the 
spirit of the workers at Berkeley. 

The " Board of Regents " is a cumbrous 
and badly constituted body. There are 
seven ex-officio members, the governor 
of the state, the lieutenant-governor, the 
speaker of the assembly, the state super- 
intendent of schools, the president of 
the agricultural society, the president of 
the Mechanics' Institute, and the univer- 
sity president. Several of them are very 
apt to be obscure and ignorant politi- 
cians. There are also sixteen other 
regents appointed by the governor, and 
approved by the State Senate. The aver- 
age of intelligence and business training 
has undoubtedly been higher among the 
appointed members, and when alumni 
of the university constitute a working 
majority of the Board, the political diffi- 
culties that have beset the university 
since its organization will be reduced to 
a minimum. 

Since the university was organized, 
there have been about six hundred and 
forty graduates, besides the twenty-three 
of the College of California. At the 
present time there are over 450 students in 
the colleges of letters and science at 
Berkeley. The associated colleges of law, 
medicine, dentistry, and pharmacy, in 
San Francisco, have 313 students, so that 
the total is nearly eight hundred. Canada, 
Australia, the Hawaiian Islands, Mexico, 
Japan, and many other countries are, or 
have been, represented among the stu- 
dents. Tuition is free, and, as in the 
University of Michigan, co-education has 
been the principle from the first. One 
young lady graduated in the class of '74, 
and about eighty-five have graduated 
since that time. The women have all 
taken good rank in their classes ; some 
have made exceptionally fine records as 
students. They take an active part in 
the University Alumni Association, and 
they also have an organization of their 
own, a branch of the Association of Col- 
legiate Alumnae. 

The University of California has sent 
out many men of mark. Professor Josiah 
Royce, of Harvard, is one of the gradu- 
ates, as is Dr. E. C. Sanford, of Clark 
University at Worcester. So also are 

five or six of the brightest young men 
and women in newspaper and magazine 
work in the West, and on the Pacific 
Coast. The college publications have 
always shown more mature thought than 
is usual among undergraduates. Much 
of this is undoubtedly due to the faith- 
fulness of the late Prof. E. R. Sill and 
his successor, Professor Cook, now of 
Yale ; but part of it comes from the fact 
that freshmen here are older and have 
seen more of life than is usual in Eastern 
colleges. The volumes of the Berke- 
leyan and the Occident, the former, under 
several administrations, a magazine, con- 
tain much work that runs well up toward 
first-class magazine standards. More 
than a dozen undergraduate poems writ- 
ten at Berkeley have appeared in the 
Century, lippincotfs, the Atlantic and 
similar publications. There was a little 
volume of "College Verses" printed in 

Professor G H. Howison. 

1883, which contained about sixty poems, 
full of the charm of individuality and 
what critics like to call " the flavor of the 

Berkeley, the spot chosen by the trus- 
tees of the College of California, is one 
of the most beautiful places in California. 
No university in the world has a more 



sightly home. It is on the high rim of a 
valley, at the base of the mountains, and 
it faces the Bay of San Francisco. The 
whole East Shore, from North Berkeley, 
south, past Oakland, to Fruitvale, a dis- 
tance of ten miles, is becoming a city of 
homes. In this region the oaks, streams, 
and high, frostless slopes of Berkeley, 
justify the rare judgment of Dr. Bush- 
nell, Henry Durant and Dr. Willey. It 
is a fit place to be the educational centre 
of California. Strawberry Creek, Grizzly 
Peak, the wild canons behind the univer- 
sities, and the ancient live-oaks that 
might have been visited by Nee, the 
Spanish botanist, a century ago, all re- 
main nearly as they were when Berkeley 
was established. A botanical garden is 
being planted on the extensive grounds 
by Professor Hilgard and his assistants, 
but the natural beauties of the site are 
retained and increased. 

The property and income of the Uni- 
versity of California represent a total of 
about $7,000,000, which fairly entitles 
it to rank among the six or seven 
best endowed universities in America. 
The plants and lands are worth $2,859,- 
790. The cash capital funds and endow- 
ments, aside from the state tax, are more 
than $2,000,000. The state tax now yields 
nearly $100,000 yearly. All but $90,000 of 
the Lick fund of $700,000 was spent in 
building the observatory, and the university 
spends nearly $15,000 annually, from its 
general fund, for the running expenses 
of this great "watch tower of the skies. 

* 0T^ 

Professor Eugene W. Hilgard. 

Dr. J H C Bonte. 

The future growth of the university " 
largely depends, in a material sense, on 
the growth of the income from the state 
tax of one cent on every hundred dollars 
of taxable property. 

The educational lack of California at 
present is in the line of preparatory 
schools. There are not enough univer- 
sity feeders in different parts of the state. 
The "new constitution" of California, 
in 1879, cut off the high schools from 
the state school provisions, and threw 
them on the charity of local boards of 
education. This, which was one of the 
worst results of the granger agitation 
before alluded to, soon began to affect 
the freshman classes of the university. 
As soon as the present system can be 
unified, and the lower schools graded up, 
the attendance at Berkeley may well in- 
crease from four hundred and fifty to 
three times that number. 

President Horace Davis, in his report 
for 1888, says, on this point, that the 
California institutions of secondary edu- 

" form three groups, without any organic connec- 
tion. First, the primary and grammar schools; 
second, the normal schools, partly overlapping 
the grammar, but not reaching the university; 
and third, the high schools, which are local in- 
stitutions, cut off from State aid, and varying in 
quality according to the community they repre- 
sent. Over all these is the university, with no 
power over any of them and having direct con- 
nection with only six high schools through its 
system of entrance on diploma. The university 
has thus accomplished by moral force what it had 
no legal power to do : it has forged a link of con- 
nection with the public school system; and now 



we want to go on and bring all the schools into 
direct communication with us, First, the normal 
schools should be graded up to university require- 
ments; thus two objects would be accomplished. 
The graduates of the normal schools would then 
be fit to teach the lower grades of the high 
schools; and secondly, the university could es- 
tablish a chair of pedagogics and train those 
normal graduates who enter the university in the 
higher methods of instruction, while now the 
graduate of the normal school is unable to pass our 
entrance requirements without private instruction." 

On the principles thus clearly denned, 
the friends of the University of Califor- 
nia, and its more than six hundred alumni 
are endeavoring to undo the work of the 
politicians of '79. The standard of 'the 
University must be maintained, and ad- 
vanced so as to keep pace with other 
first-class institutions. The lower schools 
must "grade up " and fall into line. For 
twenty years to come the most important 
work of California educators must be in 
this field ; and the men of the State 
University must furnish the leaders in the 
future as in the past. It is an old saying, 
that an educational institution is not 

fully established until the sons of its 
graduates are students in its halls. For 
the University of California that time is 
close at hand ; its earlier graduates are 
already men of mark in the rapidly grow- 
ing communities west of the Rocky 
Mountains, and their children are being 
fitted for the Berkeley college-group. 
University men are teachers in the com- 
mon schools, high schools, and private 
academies of the state. Each succeed- 
ing year sees the influence of the Uni- 
versity stronger and more widely diffused 
over the country. Another university, 
of great capacities for extended useful- 
ness, is almost ready for students at Palo 
Alto. It must be the work of every citi- 
zen that both institutions may worthily 
uphold the standards of higher scholar- 
ship. Both are needed, nor is there any 
serious danger that their interests can 
clash, now or hereafter. May they stand 
a thousand years hence, the Oxford and 
Cambridge of the millions of prosperous 
people of the Pacific Coast. 


By Mary L. Adams. 

r T"*HE garden-patch in front of Widow 
| Lathe's house was brilliant with 
x flowers. The vivid colors of the 
blossoms seemed to intensify the perfume 
that floated out to the passers-by. The 
sweet-peas caught with their fingers the 
pickets of the fence over which they 
poked their heads to see what was going 
on outside, — suffering for their curiosity 
by being torn from the vines by small 
purloining hands. 

The house that stood behind the flower 
bed was hip-roofed, and freshly painted. 
It had a little porch covered with vines. 
At one side of the door there was a large 
hook, from which Dr. Lathe's lantern 
had hung. When the light of that good 
man's life went out, the lamp of his 
profession was taken in. In its place 
swung a cage containing a parrot — a 

gray bird with crimson trimmings, whose 
character was not in keeping with his 
beauty. The bird was the only surviving 
member of Widow Lathe's family. It had 
been sent to her as the sole remaining 
possession of her one child, her son who 
was lost at sea. The widow worshipped 
the bird. It seemed to her as if the 
creature were apart of her lamented Billy ; 
and indeed it had a certain resemblance to 
him in its affectionate disposition and in its 
glib use of oaths. This last quality was a 
great cross to the widow, and she remon- 
strated often and earnestly with the bird, 
as she had with her son before — and with 
much the same result. 

For three whole weeks the parrot had 
been in Widow Lathe's possession, at 
once a comfort and a torment to her, 
and no one knew of his arrival. His 



mistress was waiting to cure him of his 
unfortunate habit before she introduced 
him to her friends. 

One afternoon, when the bird seemed 
pining for fresh air, she preached a touch- 
ing sermon, to which Billy listened, bri- 
dling on his perch and gently pecking her 
pale cheek, pressed against the wires. 
When she finished, she wiped the tears 
from her eyes, and hung the cage on 
the lantern hook above the luxuriant 

"Ah, Billy," she said, — she had got 
into the way of calling him by her son's 
name, and had she been an Egyptian 
she would have believed that her son's 
soul was imprisoned in the bird, — "Ah, 
Billy, if you are only good, you can stay 
out in the sunshine every day, from morn- 
ing till night, and smell the flowers. 
And there's not such a garden in all the 
town as this one, Billy. The flowers 
seem to love to grow for me here." 

She glanced about with tender pride 
and sniffed the fragrant air. Billy, too, 
appeared impressed by the scene. He 
was quite subdued when she turned again 
for a last word. 

" Now, remember ! It's your own 
fault if you have to stay shut up in the 
house. It breaks my heart to punish 
you," she said, in the same pleading tone 
she had once used to her son. She went 
in and left him, and the bird laughed 
and whistled ; no oaths or curses reached 
the listening ear indoors. 

For some time Billy thus swung hap- 
pily and virtuously above the flowers. 
Then his bright eye fell on a thin figure 
with black flapping coat-tails, stumbling 
up the road. It was the Rev. Joseph 
Maynard, coming to administer to the 
Widow Lathe the weekly condolence. 
He walked nervously, his clumsy feet 
sending the dust over his shrunken pan- 
taloons and his broadcloth coat. He did 
not look up as he approached the gate, 
but mechanically put out his hand to 
push it open. There was a subdued 
sound from somewhere as he did so, but 
he caught no distinct words. He glanced 
timidly into the yard, but he saw no one, 
when suddenly a clear, low voice as- 
saulted his shocked ear with, " You 
d d fool, go about your business." 

There was no mistaking this profane 
command. The reverend gentleman 
sprang back, and peered under the bushes. 
He saw nobody ; but with the instinctive 
deception to which the best are sometimes 
prone, he exclaimed in a hesitating tone, 
with an attempt at firmness : 

" Young man, if the worthy Widow Lathe 
heard you use such blasphemous words, she 
would not allow you to weed her garden. 
You need not hide. I know you are 
there ; and I am astonished and dis- 
tressed at your irreverence." 

While he spoke, the bewildered divine 
was ducking his head this side and 
that, to catch a glimpse of the offender. 

" D d fool ! d d fool ! reef your 

topsail ! d d fool ! " 

This burst of unholiness seemed surely 
to come from above. The Rev. Joseph 
Maynard jerked up his head. All he 
saw was a bird hopping on his perch 
above the flowers, and laughing in the 

" Tra la la, tra la la ! Oh, Lor' ! Oh, 
Lor'! Four o'clock! All's well! Wind's 
northeast ! Blows — " 

The Rev. Mr. Maynard did not 
wait for more. He turned and hurried 
down the street, pursued by Billy's 
fiendish laughter. When the dust that 
he raised in his retreat had settled, the 
widow appeared in her doorway. Her 
face was stern, and she looked at the 
innocent occupant of the cage in 
stony despair. Billy swung to and fro, 
apparently unconscious of her presence. 
Each remained silent for a moment ; 
then the widow grasped the cage. She 
carried it resolutely into the house, hold- 
ing it out before her, and walked with it 
to the store closet. The store closet was 
large, with one little window looking out 
upon the shed. It was a great contrast 
to the garden with the flowers. She 
placed the cage in a dark corner, and 
after opening the window to let in the 
air, she went out and locked the door. 
Then she tramped into the little sitting- 
room, dreary with its unpapered walls, its 
air-tight stove, its hair-cloth furniture and 
rag carpet, and took out her " work." Her 
mouth was very grim as she pinned one 
end of a sheet to her knee and began to 
hem. Through the afternoon she sat 



there, never looking up, except when the 
old clock wheezed out the hours and 
half hours. 

About three Billy began to call. The 
sounds issuing from the store closet came 
in at the sitting-room window ; but the 
widow was seemingly unmoved by the 
whistles and the screams. She listened 
calmly to coaxings and to oaths, never 
going near the reprobate, except to give 
him some food and, as night came on, 
to close the window. 

A few days later, Billy began to pine 
and lose his appetite. Then once more 
the widow resorted to prayers and tears. 
After an earnest plea she took the bird 
out of his cage and held him in her lap. 
He had been very lonely without the 
affection which he was wont to receive, 
and at her forgiving touch he nestled 
against her in a way which brought tears 
to the poor woman's eyes. 

" I believe you will be good now, 
Billy," she said, pressing him to her for- 
lorn heart. " You're a sight of company 
and a real comfort when you're good." 

She rocked him for a little while, and 
then replaced him in his cage and hung 
it outdoors over the flowers. For a time 
Billy was quiet ; but after the sun bright- 
ened him up and the soft wind ruffled 
his feathers he began to whistle and call 
as of old. The widow watched from be- 
hind the closed blinds of the sitting-room, 
and her heart beat quicker and her cheek 
grew pale as she saw the limp form of 
the minister coming down the road. 
She pressed her hands tightly together as 
he turned in at her gate. The parrot 
gazed at him out of his bright eyes with- 
out opening his beak. The Rev. Mr. 
Maynard surveyed him a moment when 
he arrived at the top step, and stretched 
his head toward the bird. " Pretty Polly ! " 
he said soothingly. " Pretty Polly ! " 

At this there came an explosion. Billy 
flew to the side of his cage, vainly trying 
to get at the offender. He was unable 
to reach him, but he gave vent to his 
feelings by a volley of oaths. The 
widow behind the blinds gave a sigh. 
The minister pushed open the door, and 
hurried into her presence, trembling with 

" Woman ! " he exclaimed, " how can 

you — how dare you, — you who profess 
to be a Christian, — keep such a creature 
as that bird in your house? " 

The widow drew herself up. "Sir!" 
said she, "I allow no man to call me 
woman in that tone ! " 

" You should not keep a bird who has 
twice cursed a minister of the gospel," 
retorted the reverend man. 

"Sir!" said the widow, "a minister 
of the gospel should not insult a woman 
in her own house, else he is no better 
than an ignorant bird." 

" Pardon me, madam," he said, " I 
forgot myself in my astonishment." 

"We both forgot ourselves," said she, 
quick to be reconciled — " I, in protect- 
ing my parrot, as a mother her offspring." 

" Heaven forbid that you should be 
the mother of such a creature ! " 

The widow felt the justice of the re- 
mark and made no defence. 

" I feel terribly enough," she said 
presently, " about this bad habit my bird 
has got. But we all of us have bad 
habits, and I try to be patient with this 
one. I've talked to him for hours to- 
gether. I've prayed with him. I'm be- 
ginning to think he'll never be any 
better." She wiped her eyes. "Oh, 
Mr. Maynard, you, with your ten children, 
don't realize what it is to be alone in the 
world with nothing but a parrot who 
swears. Yet he's such a loving creature ! 
I tell him he's a sight of company when 
he's good." 

The minister sat perplexed ; he had 
never before met with such a case. 

"One thing is sure," he said at last, 
" it isn't right to keep such a creature, 
who is so bad an example for the young. 
It's your Christian duty not to." 

" I can't give him away," she said. 

"It would be the same thing over again," 
he observed. 

" And I couldn't bear to part with 
him ! He's the last of my family ! " 

" But if it were shown you that it was 
your duty to rid yourself — and the town 
— of such a creature, you would do it?" 

The widow bowed ; and he went to 
work to convince her that it was a sin to 
keep the bird any longer. 

"What shall I do with him?" she 
sobbed at last. 



li Shoot him ! " said the parson. 

When he took his departure abruptly, 
Mrs. Lathe threw herself upon the slippery 
little lounge and wept aloud. Billy ex- 
hausted his oaths upon the receding 
clergyman, and then amused himself by 
calling the broken-hearted widow pet 
names in his gentlest voice. At this 
she only sobbed the harder. When she 
had quieted herself she went out to get 
the bird. He looked curiously at her 
red eyes and swollen face. She took 
him back to the store -closet, and there 
he remained for two days, during which 
the widow was undergoing a ceaseless 
struggle for light as to her duty. 

One morning, after a sleepless night, 
when everything was quiet and she knew 
she would be safe from interruption, she 
carried the parrot out to the barn. She 
was pale and faint. The doors on the 
opposite sides of the barn were open, and 
the sweet summer air filled the old cob- 
webbed building. Billy's drooped head 
lifted, and she saw his pleasure through 
her tears, and heard his soft words with 
anguish. She turned resolutely into the 
adjoining shed, and when she came back 
she carried an old musket in her trembling 
hands. She shut all the doors, and in 
the dim light examined the weapon. It 
was loaded, as she had left it. She 
placed it in a corner and looked at it 
nervously. It had not been fired since 
her son's youth. For a long time she 
regarded it, rubbing her hanrls together, 
and not once looking on the bird, who 
was calling her. Billy lost patience, and 
began to swear. The widow shouldered 
the gun. " This cannot be allowed ! " 
she muttered ; and while her forced 
anger was maintained at its height, she 
took aim, shut both eyes, pulled the 
rusty trigger, and — ! 

The next thing she knew she was lying 
on her back in the straw, with the gun in 
pieces around her, and the parrot screech- 
ing and fluttering in his cage. Her heart 
almost stopped beating. She tried to 
get up, but fell back. She tried again, 
and this time managed to pull herself 
upon her feet. 

She was only jarred, after all, and her 
strength came back as she stepped for- 
ward. She reached the cage. She gave 

a cry, and encircling the cage with both 
her arms, laid her face down on the 

" Oh, I have killed him ! I have shot 
him ! " she moaned, while the unharmed 
bird furiously pecked her cheek. She 
began to realize that Billy was lively for a 
dying creature. " I'm a wicked woman 

— a wicked woman!" she cried, when 
she had failed to find a scratch on him. 
" I deserve to be shot myself. Oh, how 
could I have been so cruel ? Oh, Billy ! 
Billy ! " 

Billy kicked and clawed and tried to 
get away. 

" He knows I am wicked — he feels 
it ! How can he ever trust a person so 

— so — so bloodthirsty ! " 

She put the parrot from her. His fear 
gradually subsided, and in half an hour 
he was quiet on his perch. The widow 
sat in an old cow-stall, long unused and 
empty, and watched him, listening to his 
oaths even with secret rejoicing and 
with self-condemnation. At last, stiff and 
worn out from her fall and her emotion, 
she got upon her knees and picked up 
the pieces of the exploded musket and 
hid them in the straw ; and while still 
upon her knees, she thanked her Creator 
that she had not been allowed to carry 
out her murderous design. 

She took Billy into the house, up the 
back stairs, to an old chamber overlook- 
ing the orchard. It was an antiquated 
storeroom, with odd pieces of furniture, 
blue bandboxes, old bonnets and old 
clothes in various stages of decay. There 
was a large window which opened into 
the boughs of an apple tree, and in the 
spring time the scent of apple blossoms 
mingled with the odor of the musty 
relics. Mrs. Lathe opened this window 
and placed Billy in his cage, on a table 
before it. 

" It's far away from the street, and 
from the neighbors," she said, as she 
surveyed him. " No one can hear him 
even if he screams. He'll get sun and 
air. I will tell Mr. Maynard I shot him. 
I will let him believe — a lie ! I — Oh, 
how sinful I have become ! But it is 
better to say I killed him than to have 
reallv done it ! What if I had killed 
him? Oh, Billy ! What if I had killed 



him — a living creature ! — sent him into 
— no one knows what ? " 

She bowed her head, and tottered 
from the room. In the course of a day or 
two she regained her self-possession, but 
her mind was filled with new ideas while 
she worked to make Billy's prison seem 
like the great out-of-doors he loved so 
much. She took a ladder and climbed 
upon the roof of the shed. From there 
she reached the storeroom window and 
nailed some slats across the lower half. 
She pushed the apple boughs, which had 
tapped on the glass for admittance so 
many years, into the room, to make "a 
green perch for Billy. She stowed away 
all the old traps in the attic, working 
incessantly, scarcely stopping to eat or 
sleep. Out in the garden she dug up 
many of her handsomest flowering plants, 
and these she potted and put into the 
freshly cleaned chamber. When every- 
thing was done that could be done to 
make the place bright and sweet and 
airy, she set wide the door of Billy's 
cage, and did not shut it again. 

The bird seemed timid at first, but he 
soon became used to his surroundings, 
and perched first on one green branch, 
then on another ; and the widow watched 
him pull the blossoms from her choicest 
geranium with a feeling almost ecstatic, 
while the tears rolled down her cheeks. 
She fed him with dainties, and then went 
away and left him to his new-found bliss. 

She could not accomplish much in the 
way of work, for her mind was filled with 
Billy. She would pause, broom in hand, 
and pinch her lower lip meditatively 
while she looked out of the open door 
into the hen-yard. The chickens strutted 
about looking for worms ; and she forgot 
Billy for a moment as her eyes followed 
the particular greedy chicken she had 
intended to kill for Sunday's dinner. 

" I thought I'd begin with that one, 
it seems so grasping and mean 
spirited," she said, as the selfish creature 
pulled a plump worm from a weaker sis- 
ter. " I was going to have it killed for 
to-day's dinner," she added, talking aloud 
to herself, after her manner, " but I guess 
I'll wait till Sunday. I believe I'll have 
just vegetables to-day. I don't believe 
I'd have relished it to-day. I'll have it 

for Sunday, and get Sam Mathews to kill 
it for me to-night." 

She turned from the door and, without 
finishing her sweeping, began to wash the 
potatoes for dinner. When they were in 
the pot she remembered that she had for- 
gotten to feed her hens. " I'm getting 
more and more forgetful and — and sloth- 
ful," she said as she mixed the feed. 
" Perhaps after a day or two I can think 
of something besides Billy and myself." 

She took the yellow bowl on her arm 
and went out into the yard. 

" Chick ! Chick ! Chick ! " Billy from 
his apple-bough echoed her words : 
"Chick! Chick! Chick! " 

The hens, big and little, tumbled over 
each other in their hurry ; and the doves 
from the roof of the barn circled about 
and finally joined in the feast. " Get 
out of the way, Spotty," said she to the 
greedy chicken to whom she was in the 
habit of talking. " You want all there 
is ! " She pushed her away and let the 
weak sister have her place. One or two 
of the chickens hopped into her lap as 
she stooped down, and she fed them 
from her spoon. The blue sky smiled 
above her and the soft wind blew about 
her as she ministered to her feathered 
family. Billy from the window sent down 
his approval. 

" How tame they are ! " she said aloud. 
" They're almost like folks ; and the doves 
too," she added, scattering a few handfuls 
of grain to the cooing pigeons. She turned 
toward the house again, shaking the re- 
mainder of the meal from the bowl as 
she walked. On the doorstep she turned 
and surveyed the peaceful scene once 
more. Her heart was softened, even to- 
ward the greedy chicken, who was gob- 
bling as fast as she could, and crowding 
with all her little might. " Poor things, 
poor things ! " she muttered ; " born just 
to die ! " 

That afternoon the widow saw the min- 
ister coming cautiously toward the house. 
He looked well about him before he 
opened the gate. There seemed to be 
no profane element in the quiet little gar- 
den, and he walked softly up the path 
and knocked at the door. Mrs. Lathe, 
with a calm face, let him in, and led the 
way to the sitting-room. The minister 



fidgeted in his chair and listened to the 
ticking of the clock. The widow re- 
mained silent opposite him. 

" A pleasant day," he ventured. 

"Very," she answered. 

" I noticed as I came along that old 
Deacon Mears was out in his wheel-chair, 
taking the air." 

" I'm sure I'm glad to hear it. I be- 
gan to think he had been out for the last 
time. Wonderful how he clings to life ! " 

"Just what I told his wife," said the 
minister, a little more at ease. He looked 
about inquisitively, first on one side, then 
on the other, as if he expected a gun or 
something else might explode. He talked 
on in an aimless way about Sister Mar- 
tin's rheumatism and the ailments of his 
other parishioners, interspersing these 
remarks with more words on the weather. 
At last the widow asked abruptly : 

" Why don't you ask where the parrot 

The parson jumped as if the gun had 
actually exploded. "I — I was coming 
to that," he said. "Where is he?" 

" I shot him ! " she exclaimed in a firm 
tone, telling her lie with heroic strength. 

"You did?" said the parson feebly. 

"Yes, I shot him," she repeated — 
and they stared at each other. 

" 'Twas a good work," said he at last. 

" It was not ! " cried the widow in an 
explosive way that made him jump again. 
" It was the wickedest thing I ever did' in 
my life ! " and there the subject was left. 

When Sunday came Mrs. Lathe looked 
out at the hen-yard, there in its church- 
like stillness. She was glad she did not 
have Sam Mathews kill the chicken for 
that day. She decided to have all the 
various vegetables, especially those she 
liked best. She would cook the kinds 
she usually ate with chicken, but she 
would go without the chicken. She lis- 
tened to the cooing of the doves and the 
soft clucking of the hens, and thought 
that they too felt the holy calm of the 
day. When the bell rang she put on her 
best black silk and her new bonnet, with 
its fresh folds of crape, and went to 
church, her mind still on her peaceful 
hen-yard. Even the denunciations of the 
Reverend Mr. Maynard could not disturb 
her revery ; and as soon as the service 

was over she hastened home and went 
out to the back stoop, in the shade, to 
look at the hens again. She ate her vege- 
table dinner with good appetite ; and 
when the dishes were cleared away she 
returned to the hens. At the end of 
the day she said good night to Billy me- 
chanically and went to bed, but she lay 
there half-conscious and wakeful all night. 
The next morning she was still in a brown 
study, but at noon, when she sat down to 
another vegetable dinner, she had formed 
her resolutions. When Freddy Johnson 
went by to school, she called him in and 
gave him a big doughnut, and when she 
had further won his heart by tucking a 
couple of ginger cookies into his pocket, 
she told him to stop at the minister's and 
ask him if he would come to see her that 

At two o'clock she was walking ner- 
vously about the house, when she saw the 
minister approaching. She met him at 
the door and unconsciously ushered him 
into the stuffy parlor, which was used 
only on state occasions. After the tribute 
to the weather Mr. Maynard cleared his 

" Young Frederick Johnson said you 
wished to see me," he said. 

"I did," said the widow, looking un- 
easily about her and turning paler. " I 
— I wanted to say something which I 
ought to say. I — " She stopped and 
swallowed convulsively again. It was 
difficult for a woman who had always 
been the soul of honor to make such 
a confession as she had to. She looked 
beseechingly toward the minister. He 
remained immovable. "I — I — I have 
deceived you," she faltered. "Hear 
me first, then judge me," she implored, 
as he rose in amazement. They 
both stood for a moment, looking in 
each other's face. "There is no ex- 
cuse for me — none, except my love for 
that parrot. He was the only human- 
seeming creature about me. Mr. May- 
nard, if I had killed that bird I should 
have been a criminal .' And I am no 
less a criminal, because I tried to do it — 
and the Lord interfered ! " She thrust 
out her hands dramatically. " Yes. 
I tried to do it ! I took that cruel 
gun and shot at him!" At this she 



sobbed aloud. When she gained control 
of herself she continued : " But the Lord 
interfered to save me from murder ! The 
gun exploded, and knocked me down. 
But Billy was saved ! And when I came 
to, I found my senses, and I repented 
having allowed any one to influence me 
to do something that was wicked, to keep 
the good opinion of people ! " 

The minister looked at her in amaze- 

" Mr. Maynard," she went on, " that 
bird was sent to me as all that was left of 
my dear son. He loved the bird as I 
loved it, and he bequeathed it to my 
care, and I believe that parrot is no more 
to blame for the words he speaks than an 
untaught child. He repeats what he 
hears. It is his human associates who 
are to blame. And have I a right to kill 
what my son — the Lord forgive me — 
may have helped to corrupt ? I will keep 
that bird till he dies. He shall have 
everything I can give him ; and I have 
made a vow never to kill a living thing so 
long as I live, and not to eat or use any 
living creature ! " As she gave utterance 
to these astounding sentiments she ap- 
proached nearer the parson, who kept 
backing before her until he sat down 
upon the sofa. The widow continued 
her discourse. 

" I will never eat a piece of any animal 
again ! " she repeated. " I believe it is as 
wicked to eat the creatures God made to 
beautify the earth as it is to kill them ; 
and that it is wicked to kill them, the 
Lord himself has shown me ! " 

"What will you do for food?" asked 
the parson, summoning together his argu- 
mentative powers. 

" I will eat vegetables, as I have this 
last four days. Vegetables were made to 
eat. Animals were not ! " 

Mr. Maynard rose to his feet. 

" How dare you say, after what you have 
read in your Bible, that animals were not 
made to eat?" he exclaimed. "Did 
not the Lord himself let down a sheet 
with animals to Peter, in a vision, and 
tell him to kill and eat? And how was 
Peter rebuked for refusing what the Lord 
•offered him? " 

"We can't explain everything in the 
Bible," said she. " Lots of things we be- 

lieve aren't meant literally. There are 
the parables. I will eat no animal," she 
cried with growing exaltation, " no fowl 
of the air, no creeping thing, nor any- 
thing of the kind ! " 

" Have you taken into consideration 
what this means?" asked the minister. 
"You must never touch fish, flesh, nor 
fowl? The very soup you eat is made 
from one of these." 

" I have done nothing but think and 
pray for the last week ; and as for soup, I 
shall use peas and beans." 

"The trimmings on your bonnets!" 
he added. She cast down her eyes. 

" I am in mourning ; when I lighten it 
I can wear jets. Ostrich feathers are 
taken from the live animal." 

" I fear you are sadly misguided," he 
said solemnly. " It sounds — somehow 
it sounds — popish ! — What shall you do 
with your hens? " he suddenly asked. 

" Keep them till they die of old age ! 
I can eat the eggs. Should I be any less 
wicked if I killed the hens to gratify my 
appetite, because I do not love them, 
than I should be if I killed Billy, whom I 
love more than any one on earth? I am 
going to love my hens and all God's 
creatures that he has given me to pro- 
tect, so that on the day of judgment I 
shall not be afraid to look Him in the 
face ! " 

The minister was reduced to absolute 
silence. He could not now even pray. 
" I must go away," he said, "and take it 
to the Lord in prayer." 

The next day he came again. The 
widow received him with her face still 
calm. "Speak right out," she said, her 
new ideas seeming to give her a feeling 
of supremacy over him. " It's the only 
way. Say what you think ! " 

Mr. Maynard gathered himself to- 
gether. " I've been praying and con- 
sulting the word of God," he said. "I — 
I — at first I thought to bring the case 
before the church — ; but — you 
are pretty well along in years — " 
Mrs. Lathe coughed — " and — and — I 
know you've been a good church worker 
and member, and I know" — he halted 
again, " to a certain extent — to a cei-tain 
extent, we can't help our views — and so I 
believe we'll say no more about it. This 



notion of yours can harm no one but 
yourself, and — if you really feel you are 
inspired in it — that you are led in that 
direction, why — I don't see — so long 
as you keep it to yourself — we might let 
it rest as it is." 

Mrs. Lathe said nothing. She only 
smiled. The Rev. Mr. Maynard returned 
the smile in a weak manner. Just then 
he sniffed the odor of steaming cabbage, 
which penetrated even to the sacred pre- 
cincts of the parlor ; and there was a hiss 
of boiling-over water, which called the 
widow to the kitchen. 

" Excuse me — the cabbage is boiling 
over," she said. She returned in a few 
minutes with a beaming face. "Won't 
you step out and have a bit of boiled 
dish? " she asked. 

The parson hesitated a moment, and 
then followed the widow into the kitchen. 

" It's boiled dish without corned- 
beef," she announced almost gayly. " It 
seems funny, but it's real relishing. Some- 
how the thought of eating an animal now 
makes me sort of sick. I feel like a 
cannibal. I have the same dinners I 
would have with meat, but I leave the 
meat out ; green peas and such things on 
lamb days, without the lamb — and so on." 

They sat down, and the minister asked 
a fervent blessing. The widow ate more 
than usual, and so did the Rev. Mr. 
Maynard. While they ate, they could 
hear the cheerful clucking of the hens, 
who seemed aware of their renewed lease 
of life ; and Billy whistled from his branch 
of the apple tree. 


By Arthur L. Salmon. 

DOWN, down, beneath the water's ebb and flow, 
A buried city lies with homes and towers : 
There, when the sun has set and winds are low, 
I rock and dream for hours ; 
And softly floating on the dusky tide 

In listless twilight rest, 
I hear far chimes of buried belfries glide 
Along the water's breast. 

At times, methinks, when from the quiet sky 

A cloudless moon in silver glory peers, 
Its streets and gabled houses meet mine eye, 

As in the by-gone years ; 
The murmurings of many voices rise 

In solemn mystic strain, 
And vanished faces under brighter skies 

Return to smile again. 

The voices of my childhood's happy days 

Come stealing upwards through the hush of night ; 
And through the lonely, long-deserted ways, 

There streams a flood of light. 
But ah, it is a dream, when winds are low, — 

Too dear a dream to last ; 
And mournfully the waters ebb and flow 

Above my buried past. 


By Prosper Bender. 

HE cession of Canada in 
1760, in ending the long 
duel between the two great 
colonies of the two leading 
European powers, is an ever 
memorable event, from 
which the greatest bless- 
ings have already sprung, 
with a broad horizon . of 
hope for the future. The 
French Canadians, by their manly and 
philosophic resignation to the decree of 
destiny, asserted the best title to the con- 
fidence of their conquerors, which they 
have since generally enjoyed. For years 
they had reason to complain of the ex- 
actions of their new masters ; but the 
Quebec Act of 1774, recognizing the offi- 
cial use of the French language and 
granting French civil laws, proclaiming 
free religious and civil rights, removed 
many of their grievances and gradually 
led to their becoming attached to British 
rule. After 181 2, political and constitu- 
tional differences, which had lain dor- 
mant during the struggle with the Amer- 
ican colonies, revived between the Lower 
Canada (Quebec) elective Legislative 
Assembly, mainly French, and the Gov- 
ernor-General of the Executive Council, 
appointed by the Crown, and they soon 
took menacing form. The Assembly had 
not the coveted power over the public 
expenditures and public appointments, 
both sides struggling bitterly for the suc- 
cess of their respective views. Race and 
religious prejudices imported into the 
country aggravated the dispute, and ex- 
cited, on the part of extremists, radical 
views, with revolutionary object. At 
length after a good deal of local disturb- 
ance and political agitation among the 
French Canadians, stimulated by Louis 
Papineau, a clever lawyer, who declared 
for a Canadian Republic, the rebellion of 
1837 broke out under his leadership. 
The revolutionary party being imperfectly 
armed, led by politicians instead of mili- 
tary men, and seriously opposed by the 

Roman Catholic clergy, was soon sup- 

The union of Upper and Lower Can- 
ada in 1840, under a system of responsi- 
ble government, based upon that of Great 
Britain, was accepted enthusiastically by 
the English of Upper Canada (Ontario) ; 
but with distrust by many of the French 
Canadians of Lower Canada. The latter, 
however, guided by sagacious statesmen 
and the clergy, decided to give it a fair 
trial. The relations between the two 
elements continued somewhat strained 
until 1849, when full and final acknowl- 
edgment of the principles of ministerial 
authority and related responsibility was 
granted. Those rights and privileges the 
French Canadians fully appreciated. 
They naturally desired the full benefits of 
the British system, despite the fossil no- 
tions and prejudices of some of the arbi- 
trary bureaucrats sent to represent Roy- 
alty in Canada, and administer their 
affairs. On receiving the full measure of 
responsible government, the political trou- 
bles of the French and other Canadians 
speedily died out, and their loyalty to 
Great Britain is decidedly gratifying to 
English statesmen of whatever party, who 
are proud of the sentiment of French 
Canadians, happily expressed by the late 
Sir George Cartier : " We are English- 
men speaking French." None more 
keenly appreciate the feeling voiced by 
the late Sir Etienne Tache, that " the 
last gun fired for British supremacy in 
Canada would be fired by a French 

In 1 86 1, Upper Canada had an excess 
of population over Lower Canada of 285,- 
427, and the increase of the surplus ex- 
cess continued till it reached nearly half 
a million in 1866. This was made the 
basis of a demand by the Liberals (the 
bulk of them Western men) for represen- 
tation by population ; but it was resisted 
successfully by the Conservatives, chiefly 
French, till 1867, when a crisis ensued. 
The leaders of neither party could com- 



mand a working majority in parliament, 
and a deadlock followed. Under those 
circumstances, a coalition of the hostile 
parties was formed and the union of all 
the British North America provinces was 
decided upon, under the title of the Con- 
federation or Dominion of Canada. Not- 
withstanding the greater increase still of 
British numbers after confederation, due 
to the addition of Nova Scotia, New 
Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, Man- 
itoba and the other Western provinces to 
the Union, the French in Canadian politics 
retain an immense influence. This is 
one of the wonders of our new world pol- 
itics. In fact, without the aid of the 
French, no important political step can 
be taken in Dominion affairs. They hold 
the balance of power. Their leaders have 
generally evinced not only sagacity, but 
remarkable courage and party loyalty. 
These qualities render them most useful 
colleagues on the one hand, and power- 
ful opponents on the other. 

The ablest and most distinguished of 
the French Canadian leaders, in the first 
quarter of this century, was Sir Hypolite 
Lafontaine. Appearing at a critical time 
in the history of his country, he rendered 
his people valuable service, politically 
and socially. It was his mission to intro- 
duce to his countrymen the benefits of 
the new privileges given them by the Act 
of 1838, and to obtain from unwilling 
governors their complete assent to the 
full operation of those reforms. Truly is 
it said that, when he retired from the 
government, the new system of self-gov- 
ernment was in thorough working order, 
though not so perfect in its details as it 
has since been made. M. A. N. Morin 
worthily followed in his footsteps, but 
with easier duties to perform. While 
continuing the training of the people in 
the work of responsible self-government, 
he succeeded in allaying the apprehen- 
sions of the British and gaining their 
respect by the moderation and wisdom 
of his public acts. Mr. Robert Baldwin 
of Upper Canada truly appreciated the 
merits and services of this statesman, his 
French colleague, for which he suffered 
at the hands of extremists of his province, 
and lost his parliamentary seat. But M. 
Morin did both himself and colleague 

honor in securing his election by a French 
constituency, which did not contain half 
a dozen of English votes at the time. 

Sir George Cartier followed those 
statesmen, having the advantage of their 
experience to guide him, no less than the 
co-operation of that able, energetic, 
and sagacious British chieftain, Sir John A. 
Macdonald. Each worked hard for coun- 
try and party, rendering valuable service 
to both for many years. Sir George pos- 
sessed the courage, determination, and 
fidelity of the Briton, united with the 
vivacity, cleverness, and courtesy of his 
race. Only a short time since, Sir John 
A. Macdonald in speaking of his former 
colleague's gifts, remarked : " He was 
the most far-seeing and practical of 
any politicians, I have ever known." 
Most of the great undertakings and re- 
forms carried in the Canadian Parliament 
since 1840, either originated with or were 
fostered by him, such as the act abolish- 
ing the remaining commercial and poli- 
tical restrictions ; the repeal of the 
navigation laws and differential duties ; 
construction of the Grand Trunk Rail- 
way ; Reciprocity Treaty with the United 
States ; the abolition of seignorial tenure ; 
and the settlement of the clergy reserves. 
Some of these measures aroused feelings 
equal in violence to those which have 
drawn universal attention to the Irish 
question. The civil code, the code of 
procedure, the cadastre, the revision of 
the various educational laws in favor of a 
more complete and uniform system, were 
other enactments previous to the union of 
all the British provinces under the Act of 
Confederation. The Treaty of Washing- 
ton, the Intercolonial Railway, the great 
improvement and extension of the canal 
system of Canada, now the equal of any 
in the world, were followed by the pur- 
chase of the Northwest, giving a new and 
a vast empire to Canada. To open up 
and foster the settlement of the new re- 
gion, as well as to bind all parts of the 
new union from the Atlantic to the Pacific 
close together for mutual benefit and 
support, the Canadian Pacific Railway 
was built. Most of these great enter- 
prises Sir George lived to see completed 
before his lamented death, and he truly 
deserved this gratification. Such labors 



and achievements form the staple of his 
fame, which will long be a sacred trea- 
sure to his countrymen. 

Sir George Cartier's successor, Sir 
Hector Langevin, has certainly shown 
much ability and tact in securing the 
loyal support of the British Protestant 
population of Ontario and the other prov- 
inces. The eminent qualifications for 
leadership of the French Canadians 
are daily manifested in the course 
of the Liberal chief at Ottawa, 
Hon. Wilfrid Laurier, who has gained the 
confidence and good-will of his own 
party, two-thirds of whom are Protes- 
tants. Able men like Hon. Edward 
Blake, the late leader of the Liberals, and 
his clever colleagues, Hon. Alexander 
Mackenzie and Sir Richard Cartwright, 
heartily co-operate with him, not only on 
account of his brilliant oratorical power 
and statesmanship, but his consistency, 
sterling honesty, and pure-minded patriot- 
ism. Another clever representative of 
this race is the Hon. Honore Mercier, 
Prime Minister of the Province of Que- 
bec, a man of vast political resources, ex- 
cellent judgment, and the best debater in 
the local house. 

The present condition and prospects 
of the Dominion have for some time 
commanded a considerable share of the 
attention of the leading men of all races 
and parties. That its actual position is 
not devoid of difficulties calculated to 
excite no ordinary uneasiness in many 
quarters, as well as a sense of the necessity 
of a prudent policy by both the leading 
parties, or by the sections of them averse 
to a revolutionary change, it would be ab- 
surd to deny. Popular opinion on some 
of the important issues of the day is much 
divided. Many Canadians, British and 
French, undoubtedly favor a further trial 
of the existing constitution, on the ground 
of uncertainty as to whether a new one, 
or one much different from the present, 
would be an improvement. On the other 
hand, many, especially among the work- 
ing classes, favor more intimate relations 
with the United States. Such questions 
as "the future of Canada," "the best 
commercial policy for Canada," and "the 
proper attitude for Canada toward the 
United States," etc., are topics of daily 

discussion, both in the press and at public 
meetings. The impression is steadily 
gaining ground that, despite more or less 
obstructive tariffs, or party political con- 
trivances, the trade of Canada and the 
Republic is certain to keep growing, and 
at a rapid rate, too. With expanded ma- 
terial, we usually look for and witness ex- 
tended social relations ; results which 
the recent history of the United States 
and the Dominion emphatically ex- 

The idea of the possibility of some de- 
cided change in the mutual relations of 
the several provinces, and some, also, in 
their relations with Great Britain and the 
United States ere long, has been generally 
admitted of late years. Many British 
Canadians openly extol a legislative union 
of the provinces, believing it would prove 
more economical than the actual system 
of confederation, with its various local 
legislatures and official systems, besides 
the general government at Ottawa. And 
recently a certain number have pronounced 
in favor of a Federation with Great Bri- 
tain. 1 But the French Canadians so far 
regard both schemes with disfavor and 
apprehension, stating' they would be at a 
numerical disadvantage at Ottawa in any 
settlement of provincial questions, and 
overshadowed as a foreign-ruled province, 
of a world-encircling empire like Great 
Britain's. They strongly desire to pre- 
serve their autonomy, and to exercise 
supreme power in the management of 
their local affairs. And when these 
political reforms are urged upon them, 
they deal freely in prediction and menace. 
Politicians and litterateurs speculate as to 
the probable consequences of the gravita- 
tion of any large province in the Domin- 
ion to the Republic, many naturally per- 
ceiving the vast increase of the moral 
and material difficulties that would be 
cast in the path of the weakened power, 
and the much greater likelihood of an 
early similar settlement of the other prov- 
inces within the same great prosperous 
constellation. It would not be wise on 
the part of the friends of British connec- 
tion to alarm French Canadian interests, 

1 " A united empire, with all the colonial possessions 
scattered throughout the world joined in a confederacy, in 
which all will be co-ordinate in power and equal in re- 



or offend their susceptibilities on such 

The ill-feeling and strained relations 
for some time existing between the 
French and British in Quebec and 
Ontario are a relic of the old troubles 
mainly arising from national and religious 
prejudice, from which the country has 
greatly suffered at times, ever since the 
conquest. Fanatics have always been 
numerous enough in each rival camp to 
supply subjects for quarrels, as well as 
disputants at short notice, to the danger 
of the public peace. In this way the 
growth of mutual confidence between 
Protestants and Catholics, and English 
and French is slower than it ought to be. 
At election times such prejudices are 
often found ready and effective weapons 
by either party, with mischievous results 
felt long afterwards. The terrifying pic- 
tures the French Canadian opponent will 
often draw of the British candidate, and 
of the woful consequences of his election, 
to the French and Catholic element, the 
shocking descriptions given of the past 
iniquities and probable future persecutions 
of the British tyrant, would be amusing, 
if not so liable to prove hurtful. On the 
other hand, to their honor be it said, 
even agricultural constituencies containing 
a French Canadian majority, have re- 
turned British or Protestant representa- 
tives mainly influenced by political or 
party motives, and sometimes despite the 
vigorous efforts of French fanatics. The 
appeals of liberal, broad-minded leaders, 
of either race, at critical seasons, fortu- 
nately prevail to overthrow prejudice, 
procure concessions, and avert disasters 
to the constitutional fabric. 

One often hears portions of the British 
element in the province of Quebec com- 
plain that they are not fairly treated by 
the majority. In reply to this accusation 
a recent Quebec paper, E Electeur, says 
that the British have, in reality, a larger 
representation in parliament than they are 
entitled to according to population. It 
fixes the Protestant population at 188,309 
out of a total of 1,859,027, and states 
that the Protestants are in a majority only 
in six out of the sixty-five electoral districts 
of the province ; viz., Compton, Stanstead, 
Brome, Missisquoi, Huntington, and Ar- 

genteuil. And yet there are ten Protes- 
tant members in the local house. In the 
legislative council, where Protestants have 
a right to only three seats, they have five ; 
and in the five districts they represent 
the Catholics are in a majority of 123,127. 
And the article concludes with the fur- 
ther statement that the Protestants are 
equally well treated in other directions. 
The Toronto Globe, a newspaper not by 
any means friendly to the French Cana- 
dians, says on this subject : 

" Those who, influenced by the vagaries of cer- 
tain newspapers, doubt that the population of the 
province of Quebec is generally exempt from reli- 
gious intolerance, should study the treatment of the 
Protestant minority in the matter of education. 
The two hundred thousand Protestants have nine 
hundred and sixteen elementary schools supported 
by the government, and under the control of a 
Protestant committee of the council of public 
instruction. ... In fact, the Protestants of the 
province receive much more than their share, 
based upon numbers, of the sum total of the' 
appropriations voted for public instruction." 

The annexation party is composed of 
both French and British Canadians, and 
although not large in numbers, is influen- 
tial in the principal centres of business 
and population. It has been quietly 
working for a good many years to leaven 
the surrounding community with its prin- 
ciples and its objects. In a young coun- 
try with a tentative constitution like 
Canada, such an organization can hardly 
fail to spread its opinions rapidly and 
gain in numbers fast. ^Most of the mem- 
bers possess the advantages conferred by 
travel, the comparison of the business 
conditions of the rival nations, with that 
useful and practical experience of the 
working of their respective institutions. 
The annexationists have not sought 
strength, much less mere notoriety, bv 
idle boasting or vainglorious predictions 
of early success. Their policy is to avoid 
ridiculous bombast and childish display 
which might be turned to the disadvan- 
tage of either of the great parties with 
which any of their members are con- 
nected. In that way they secure the 
sympathy of intelligent, sensible critics. 
In some directions they have to contend 
against prejudice, owing to the unfriendly 
attitude of the United States toward 
Canada ; but in the main this feeling is 
being rapidly replaced by esteem and 



good will. Annexation, many believe, 
would raise the country from an unpros- 
perous, dispirited condition, to one of 
great prosperity and importance. In 
truth, Canada needs and must have free 
•trade with her nearest, wealthy and pow- 
erful neighbor, whether under the form 
of Annexation or a Reciprocity Treaty. 
The striking success of great numbers of 
their fellow countrymen in the United 
States causes Canadians to realize the 
great importance of more extensive in- 
dustrial and social relations with it, and 
further they recall the rapid increase of 
' Canadian prosperity under the old Recip- 
rocity Treaty, although it only admitted 
a few Canadian products to the American 
market. A liberal policy on the part of 
the Republic might promptly bring about 
such results as the true patriots on both 
sides must desire. 

Political as well as other experiments 
are in this generation judged by their 
fruits. Many, French and British, be- 
lieve that the last experiment in con- 
stitution moulding has not evinced signs 
of great wisdom. The rapid, the startling 
growth of the debt of Canada, which has 
increased from $78,209,742 in 1870, to 
$238,000,000 in 1890, with a population 
almost at a standstill and a stagnant 
trade, has struck calm, impartial ob- 
servers with the idea that there has been 
something wrong in the government of a 
peaceful young state of enormous extent 
and great natural resources. Of course, a 
large portion of this debt was incurred 
for the construction of railways, improve- 
ments of canals, and similar political and 
commercial works ; but the results or re- 
turns do not compensate for the vastness 
of the new debt with its oppressive load 
of interest. They freely comment upon 
the fact that while the United States have 
reduced their debt from $59 to $16.50 
per head in twenty years, Canada has run 
up her's from $21 to $47. 

Other sources of discouragement are 
the local troubles, the large and steady 
emigration of Canadians of all origins to 
the United States. Actually twenty-eight 
thousand left the country last year. An- 
other of the influences quietly yet vigor- 
ously promoting, among French and other 
Canadians, annexation feelings is the al- 

ready huge debt of the Province of 
Quebec, with its heavy burdens and dis- 
couraging prospects of early and yet fur- 
ther considerable augmentation, for a new 
loan of nine or ten millions is contem- 
plated at an early day. 

No secular subjects elicit such remark- 
able differences between men of similar 
intelligence and abilities, even in the same 
community, as those connected with pol- 
itics. However well informed or honest, 
neighbors and fellow citizens and even 
friends will often see public transactions 
in the most different lights, forming op- 
posite conclusions. Thus, I am sorry to 
dissent from some of the opinions of a 
well-known Canadian writer for the press. 
I sincerely wish I could see the condition 
of my native land in that rose-colored 
light present to Dr. George Stewart, Jr., 
at the banquet to the Comte de Paris at 
Quebec City in October, 1890. A judi- 
cious critic, charming essayist, and reliable 
historian, his remarks on the state of the 
country, on that occasion, naturally elicited 
considerable applause. The subjoined ex- 
tract will give an idea of the learned doc- 
tor's views : 

" We are here a happy, a loyal, an indus- 
trious, and a religious people. We enjoy 
the freest system of Government in the 
world. Our Parliamentary methods have 
been borrowed from the splendid experi- 
ences of England and the United States. 
W T e think we have embodied the better 
features of both. We make our own 
laws. We regulate our own tariff. W T e 
afford our people perfect liberty of 
action as regards their politics, their reli- 
gion, and their way of life and movement. 
Our press is independent and free. The 
door to our highest offices is . never shut. 
We have unbounded confidence in the 
ballot box, and our appointed officers 
rarely afford grounds for criticism. Two 
great oceans wash our shores, and the 
land is rich, from the Atlantic to the 
Pacific, in the choicest products of the' 
field, the farm, the forest, and the prairie. 
Our soil from end to end, is abundantly 
watered by thousands of rivers and lakes, 
and population only is the demand of 
Canada. In time population will come. 
Our people are self-reliant. The best 
blood of France, of England, of Scotland, 



and of Ireland flows in their veins, and 
side by side the lusty young sons of an 
older civilization, born three thousand 
miles away, are working out a destiny, 
which three centuries ago was begun 
under conditions which more than once 
appalled the heart, but never crushed the 
spirit. Side by side, English Canadians 
and French Canadians are developing 
the resources of the land, rivalling each 
other in a friendly way only, dwelling 
together amicably, and working out, with 
equal intelligence and hope, the political 
and social problems which, from time to 
time, press for solution." 

I heartily indorse the speaker's re- 
marks concerning the loyalty of the peo- 
ple, their piety, industry, and excellent 
moral qualities, their free government, 
admirable parliamentary system, their 
independence, the freedom of the press, 
and particularly, their great natural re- 
sources ; but in a complete, survey of a 
subject, the shadows of the picture must 
be noticed as well as the lights. The 
perils of the political fabric, the serious 
disagreements among different races and 
creeds, the unfortunate condition of sev- 
eral of the provinces, some of them 
heavily indebted and poor, with no signs 
of early improvement, are entirely over- 
looked. Into the ill-governed provinces 
few capitalists enter, and few or no immi- 
grants, while multitudes of their own 
people, chiefly natives, continually move 
off to the United States. The prospect 
for the Dominion is not flattering, many 
writers and speakers openly declaring, 
from time to time, that Quebec and some 
of the other provices have no other re- 
source than an early call upon the federal 
government for increased subsidies in 
order to make ends meet. Present allow- 
ances come lamentably short of this re- 
sult. And the provinces cannot safely 
levy heavier taxes upon the farmers, busi- 
ness men, and artisans, while the foreign 
creditors insist upon the payment of all 
their interest. Much discontent prevails 
among the farmers ; they complain of 
constant increasing difficulties in their 
position, owing to heavier taxation of re- 
cent years, the greater cost of labor, and 
poor markets for their various products. 
In consequence of these drawbacks, there 

has been a material fall in the value of 
farms, even in the best districts. The 
American trade is sadly missed, and will 
be more so, and they sigh for a Recipro- 
city Treaty. But I do not wish to fur- 
ther enlarge upon such painful topics, 
and therefore return to the main subject 
of this paper. 

The intelligent and educated French 
Canadians are easily moulded into poli- 
ticians. They have a natural taste for 
politics, and possess the qualifications 
necessary, being fluent speakers, demon- 
strative, and excitable, with pleasing 
manners, which give a decided advantage 
over men less attractive, though other- 
wise as able. The system of education 
favored by their clergy, of combining 
classical with religious instruction, al- 
though adopted for the preparation of 
suitable candidates for their order, has 
been the means of preparing many a suit- 
able man for the political arena. Of 
course, as regards immediate results, the 
clergy soon saw that only a portion of 
their pupils or beneficiaries entered their 
ranks, the majority always drifting to the 
learned professions ; but with true patriot- 
ism they continued to prepare the French 
Canadian youth for the higher callings, 
and start them in careers of honor and 
usefulness. In this way popular chief- 
tains are prepared, the race enjoying an 
advantage over some others in the matter 
of a large proportion of college-bred 
political leaders. These facts explain 
the extent of the intellectual hiatus be- 
tween a set of distinguished politicians 
and professionals, and a large body of 
ignorant peasantry. Most of the notable 
figures in French Canadian politics and 
literature have been the sons of farmers. 
Often, indeed, too, was their education 
obtained at the cost of much self-denial 
on the part of parents. The clergy, 
friends, and relatives, realizing the im- 
portance of education, often encourage in 
substantial ways promising young men to 
devote themselves to the religious and 
other professions. Such distinguished 
men as Sir Hypolite Lafontaine, Morin, 
Papineau, Laberge, Etienne Parent, F. X. 
Garneau, L'Abbe Ferland, Bedard, Sir 
George Cartier, Lieutenant - Governor 
Letellier, and many others, were of such 



humble origin, beginning life as clerks in 
notaries' or lawyers' offices. 

The fluent, quick-witted rhetoricians of 
this people, with fair oratorical powers, 
soon acquire much ascendancy over 
the habitants. This influence some of 
them often put to a base use. The chief 
strength of such politicians lies in their 
knowledge of human nature, and mastery 
over the passions. Shrewdly, by means 
of varied and solid inducements, they 
secure not a few followers in the political 
arena. To young lawyers they hint of 
promotion to the bench ; to others, lucra- 
tive civil service appointments for them- 
selves or relatives, or valuable aid to local 
railways and other projects in which they 
are interested. There would appear to be 
some truth in the theory that most poli- 
ticians have their price, especially when 
we watch the course of these gentlemen. 
It must be admitted that such leaders 
have also British followers at their beck 
and call, men likewise willing to turn 
their talents and opportunities in public 
life to the best account, and they usually 
leave it not a little the better as to finan- 
cial condition. Rebellious member's of 
the House are often made tractable by 
other means, too, such as the sale, at 
fabulously low prices, of excellent tracts 
of land in the Northwest and elsewhere, 
for ranches or mining purposes. 

The average peasant is not easily ex- 
cited by questions of administration, ac- 
cusations, and counter-accusations of cor- 
ruption, extravagant management, and 
increase of taxation. Free mutual abuse 
and detraction is looked for at the hands 
of political opponents when they meet on 
the hustings, the strict limits of fact and 
politeness are sometimes, as in other 
democratic countries, overlooked. Poli- 
tical principles and ideals being by many 
little understood, worthy party interests 
often count for naught. One county 
will return a Liberal for the provincial 
chamber one day, and a Tory, a man of 
the opposite camp, for the Dominion 
party the next, as in Montmorency 
County last August, 1890. The farmer 
is more sympathetic and confiding than 
logical, and it is, therefore, easy to prac- 
tise upon his credulity. The politician 
possessing personal magnetism or some 

charm of manner will generally capture 
his susceptible heart ; reason too readily 
yielding to personal prejudice. None 
more enjoys befooling him than the poli- 
tician, who will often entertain his in- 
timate friends, after an election campaign, 
with humorous sketches of how he duped 
the farmers. To illustrate the extent to 
which many of the people may be im- 
posed upon, I shall mention the case of 
a notorious French Canadian politician, 
known to many by the sobriquet Le Grand 
Moulin, to designate his wind-mill style 
of oratory, doubtless. In spite of having 
committed his native province to all sorts 
of undertakings, each one more reckless 
than the preceding, this politician could 
yet stump many counties without raising 
a howl of indignation. While prime 
minister of the province, with only a 
numerically weak opposition to contend 
against, and many needy sycophants to 
humor and assist in various speculations, 
in return for their support, he ran up the 
provincial debt during his regime many 
millions of dollars. Notwithstanding 
these facts he could, because possessed 
of a fluent tongue and plausible manners, 
appear among the farmers, pretend undy- 
ing patriotism, often boast of valuable 
services never rendered, and so befool 
them generally that they would return 
him and even his creatures to Parliament. 
This self-seeking politician, by such arts 
and the ready use of melodramatic airs, 
contrived to maintain himself Premier of 
Quebec for several years to the great in- 
jury of the province. In their native 
innocence many of the habitants cannot 
believe that so good a speaker {un si beau 
parleur) could be such an arrant humbug, 
and unprincipled schemer. 

The good name and financial condition 
of the province of Quebec have suffered 
much on both sides of the Atlantic, owing 
to the deeds of corrupt politicians and 
unprincipled speculators. The province 
started in 1867, at the time of the forma- 
tion of the confederation, equal with On- 
tario. The Western province has now a 
surplus of over seven millions dollars, 
while the Eastern has a debt of over 
twenty millions dollars. The former has 
also been very generous to all sorts of 
public or promising undertakings, inclu- 



ding railroads, but taking, due precaution 
not to legislate in a way to put much 
money into the pockets of contractors 
and jobbers. Reckless politicians, like 
the one above referred to, never fail in 
Quebec to make out a strong case for the 
most visionary or dishonest projects if 
they promise large profits or advantages 
to party. A gratifying contrast to such 
a charlatan is Hon. Wm. Joly, who 
was premier of the province of Quebec 
for about eighteen months. This gentle- 
man's name is a synonym with all parties, 
races, and creeds, for probity and political 

One day, conversing with an able 
French Canadian journalist on the regret- 
tably backward condition of education 
among the masses, and the lamentable 
ease with which quacks and plausible 
political humbugs can carry their points 
outside or inside of parliament, he re- 
marked : " There is no such thing as 
public opinion among French Canadians, 
though the press will talk habitually of 
public opinion. We tell the people they 
think this or thus on such a subject, and 
whether they think so or not in the first 
instance, they finally persuade themselves 
they did originally." Without undertak- 
ing to strictly define the line of error or 
indifference at which a great number of 
those people halt in public or political 
action, I must admit that in this way, as 
also through weakness or apathy, too many 
come far short of duty to themselves and 
honest party, or country, by which all 
suffer and run serious danger. More 
knowledge, intelligent study of political 
questions, as well as firmness and justice 
in judging between political rivals, are 
urgently needed to secure that wise and 
honest system of government essential to 
the peace »and prosperity of this impor- 
tant central province. No matter how 
trivial or improbable may be an accusa- 
tion against a political opponent, if he be 
not eloquent and ready to reply at the 
instant — donner la replique, and with wit 
or force as well, he falls at once in the 
estimation of the people. Even if he be 
undoubtedly wrong, let him make an 
earnest and stirring defence, a little in 
the tu quoque style, and he will be sure 
to win much sympathy, if he do not 

actually turn the tables on a much better 
and honester man than himself. A poli- 
tician, of unenviable reputation, whose 
long flowing locks and charlatan looks are 
familiar to most of the people in the 
province, on one occasion was aggravated 
by the offensive personalities of a political 
opponent. He denounced from the 
public hustings the course of his adver- 
sary, characterizing it as the most infa- 
mous and ignominious he had ever 
known, stamping the base perpetrator of 
it as the vilest creature on earth. " But 
let him beware," he exclaimed, in his 
usual melodramatic tones, throwing his 
head backward and at the same time 
nervously raising one of the stray locks 
from his forehead with his right hand, 
" if he continue to pursue such slander- 
ous methods, I shall follow him on his 
chosen ground and repay him in his own 
coin." {Je le saiverai sur son propi'e 
terrain et le paierai de sapropre monnaie.) 
This unique style of defence aroused the 
speaker's unsophisticated hearers to no 
ordinary enthusiasm and admiration. 

One unfortunate habit of the people is 
that of looking to the government, or 
their rulers, for everything. If a bridge is 
wanted in a parish, a wharf or landing on 
a river bank, or a highway, or a public 
structure of any kind, the government 
must be appealed to through the popular 
representatives, or other leading citizens. 
Much money has been injudiciously spent 
in this manner, instead of the people 
being taught to depend upon their own 
efforts and resources. In Ontario we 
find a material contrast in this respect. 
Local councils or rulers look mainly to the 
people for local improvements, from the 
cutting out of the newest road into the 
last surveyed patch of bush, to the con- 
struction of the last schoolhouse erected 
for the children of the pioneer settlers. 
It would appear from a remark of Napo- 
leon III. to the late Mr. Washburn, 
minister to France in 1870-71, that the 
same tendency exists among the French. 
"The great trouble with the French," 
said Napoleon, "was that they always 
looked to the government for everything, 
instead of depending upon themselves." 

A Gascon politician secured his elec- 
tion by acclamation, by assuring the 



voters he had the ear and good-will of 
the government, and could obtain for 
them a new bridge, a new schoolhouse, 
better mail facilities, with other advan- 
tages. On presenting himself for re- 
election, he declared that the ministers 
had been too busy in other directions to 
grant what he had promised them; but 
they might expect them at an early day. 
No performance followed those promises 
either. He again sought re-election ; this 
time, also, assuring the voters the prom- 
ised benefits were sure to come. He ex- 
plained that the deputy minister of public 
works had informed him that the govern- 
ment proceeded methodically in such 
matters, and could not have acted other- 
wise. They had a long list of counties 
to serve this way, which came in alpha- 
betical order, and the turn of his and 
their county had almost arrived. By 
such declarations, enforced by a genial, 
plausible manner, the knave secured his 
third election, the people not distrusting 
his honesty after all. 

Election day in the rural constituencies 
is an exacting time. The habitant, with 
an air of pride and defiance wears the 
colored ribbon of his party in his hat or 
buttonhole. All work is thrown aside 
for the day, and he gives himself up to 
the pleasure of the political contest. The 
sightseer joins the voters on the way to 
and from the polls, and even the women, 
regardless of the weather, feel the excite- 
ment and interest of the day. The 
touters or cabaleurs call for the voters in 
wagons, with fluttering ribbons of the 
color of their chosen candidate at the 
horses' heads. They rake every cabin, 
hole and corner for a voter (e/ectei/r), 
disregarding fatigue, snubs, or rebuffs. 
They eloquently laud the character and 
merits of their favorite, drawing on their 
imagination, in order that, like charity, it 
may cover a multitude of sins. Their 
story of coming benefits from his election 
is often brighter than a fairy tale. At 
times they will almost use force to bring 
some recreant voter to the polls; and 
they have been known to imprison active 
touters or influential citizens, to prevent 
their using their influence in behalf of the 
opposite candidate, during the day of 
struggle. The Hon, M. P. Pelletier was 

thus disposed of during the recent local 
elections in Quebec in 1890. The com- 
mon folk have a curious habit of mixing 
titles in connection with candidates. 
During the canvass they will refer to the 
party candidate as "our member" ( notre 
membre), though not yet elected, while 
after his return they will speak of him 
merely as " our candidate " ( notre can- 
did at) . 

A meeting of the rival cabaleurs on the 
road, either with or without a voter 
"aboard," usually results in that prime 
test of party or personal superiority, a 
good race. The shouts of excited com- 
petitors and lashing of horses are thus 
made a prominent feature of the day; 
and indeed the goal itself sometimes 
hardly arrests the contest, the foaming 
horses and reckless drivers, unconquered 
in spirit, demanding another trial on the 
return trip. 

The French Canadians regard political 
events with calm enough tempers the 
greater part of the year, or the life of a 
parliament : but toward election time 
they become rapidly excited and perform 
acts — or many of them do — the like of 
which on other occasions would be con- 
sidered very reprehensible. Different 
rules of conduct seem permissible in po- 
litical matters. The offences committed 
are often injurious, and their concealment 
calls forth more acuteness still. The use 
of the ballot in French as well as British 
Canada has doubtless assisted in dimin- 
ishing considerably those frauds at elec- 
tions, formerly rather common and mis- 
chievous. All parties habitually accused 
each other of being the chief offenders. 
Some of the plain-spoken disputants oc- 
casionally plead in defence the necessity 
of their respective parties resorting to 
corruption, fraud, or violence now and 
then, just to prevent their opponents 
having it all their own way by the sole 
use of such rascally practices. Clever 
dodgers, cunning plotters, and muscular 
roughs all had their uses at elections in 
the old time, or in the pretty evenly- 
divided constituencies, particularly when 
political gladiators were the contestants, 
or the fate of parties hung in the balance. 
If the contest at the polls had been close, 
the excitement ran high, and the stronger 



party would take possession of the polling 
register and fill it with votes for their 
candidate. Hot-blooded appeals to 
muscle would also occasionally follow 
among the bullies (fiers a bras ) . After 
struggles, howls, and uproar, the fracas 
would end with " the survival of the 
fittest " and their manipulation of the 
registers for their particular man. After- 
wards, the blood of the " martyrs " often 
proved the seed of the lawyers and the 
harvest as well. 

Less violence but more ingenuity is re- 
sorted to since the use of the ballot boxes. 
Not long ago a leading politician found him- 
self defeated at the close of the poll. In 
the evening a crowd of admirers, the ma- 
jority of the residents of his own village 
called at his house to sympathize and 
cheer him with promises of future more 
successful support. He ordered them 
out, with hostile looks, calling them a 
pack of hypocrites, for their village 
showed a majority for his opponent. 
They one and all protested they had 
voted for him, and offered to take their 
oaths in support of their statement. 
This led to an investigation, and the dis- 
covery that during the absence of the poll 
clerk at the mid-day meal, emissaries of 
the opposite party had entered the poll 
house through a cellar trap-door, opened 
the ballot-box and extracted some of the 
bulletins and replaced them with a suffi- 
cient number of fictitious ones to insure 
the election of their own candidates. 

Experience has proved that however 
honest and wise may be the law in favor 
of legitimate elections, even in the least 
intelligent or progressive country, due 
care and vigilance are required for its 
proper carrying out. Among the tricks 
employed by rival politicians, I have 
heard of clerks who are paid by the pub- 
lic and should be fair or impartial to each 
side, deftly misusing their position to 
track the course of voters and give hints 
and reports in aid of some favorite candi- 
date, who can turn this help to the be^t 
account before the close of voting. I 
have heard of this trick, also : one voter 
is sent with a counterfeit ballot, which he 
deposits in the box, bringing back the 
proper paper given him by the chief poll- 
clerk or returning officer ; this one is 

now regularly crossed and marked and 
given to another person, with the promise 
of a reward should he duly deposit it and 
come back with a fresh ballot, to be used 
again in the same way. The law has 
been improved of late years, with the ob- 
ject of rendering gross irregularities diffi- 
cult, if not impossible ; but vigilance and 
honesty on the part of its executors con- 
tinue still indispensable in the public 
interest. Many of the rustics are liber- 
ally furnished with the material of the 
average politician. They have an easier 
or more elastic law of conscience in regard 
to public voting than to various other 
duties. They look upon the franchise as 
a species of private property which they 
have a right to sell to the highest bidder. 
The absence of exacting issues leaves a 
pretty large field open to the speculator 
and corruptionist. No wonder the re- 
sources of ingenuity are exhausted by the 
canvassers to devise means of evading the 
law, the most ridiculous bribes being 
resorted to. In certain cases, in addition 
to money deposited in the palms* of the 
children or of the voter's wife, stock- 
breeding privileges, presents of groceries, 
sucking pigs of popular breeds, etc., are 
cleverly employed. In fact all that can 
be extracted from either political candi- 
date, or from both, is considered legiti- 
mate spoil. Such patriots will visit the 
different election committees, accept all 
drinks and money offered them, indifferent 
as to the promised return. The warnings 
of the priests and exhortations of moral- 
ists will often be laughed at as idle wind. 
It is not seldom difficult to find out on 
which side they intend voting ; and they 
are often seen to join in the jubilation of 
the victors when they should be mourn- 
ing with the defeated party. If told their 
course is discreditable, they defend it 
with the reply that the candidate cares 
nothing for their interests and seeks their 
vote only for his own election and future 
advantage, often adding that he will not 
show himself until he desires re-election. 
They no doubt see too much reason to 
conclude that politics is too often pur- 
sued as a game mainly for individual and 
party advantages ; and therefore believe 
that the candidate should pay for the 
votes he solicits. 



Of course, all peasants are not alike in 
this respect. There are many who are 
sensitive to party views or appeals on 
grounds of principle, and will form opin- 
ions and honorably back them at the 
polls. There are also the old families 
connected with political traditions, who 
adhere to them strictly. This is so well- 
known to canvassers during election times 
that in computing the votes of a county 
they always place to one side a certain 
number known beforehand to belong to 
one side or the other, and consequently 
unapproachable or unpurchasable. 

The triumphal procession immediately 
after the election in a constituency is an 
important feature of the campaign, arous- 
ing general attention and exciting un- 
usual interest among the friends of the 
victor. The turnout is often attractive as 
regards decorations, numbers, and trium- 
phal insignia. The party, preceded by 
the Union Jack, is headed by the carriage 
containing the new member with a guard 
of friends, the bulk of the voters following 
in a train of carriages, two-wheeled open 
carts, and other vehicles. A few fiddlers 
and clarionet players accompany the cor- 
tege. The route is generally gay with 
flags of various forms and colors, displays 
of evergreens, and triumphal arches set 
up in conspicuous places. Should the 
procession pass a schoolhouse, an address 
and a bouquet is often presented to the 
member elect. These demonstrations 
frequently take place by torchlight, when 
the effect is picturesque, and often weird, 
as they proceed by hill and valley. After 
a pleasant, jolly parade enlivened by 
songs in which all join, or to the strains of 
music, the procession returns to the 
house of the member, or that of some 
friend, where speeches follow and a round 
of festivities to suit the tastes and wants 
of all present. Such rejoicing and gener- 
ous hospitality is the more welcome that 
treating or other favors to the voters, 
however slight, are now strictly forbidden 
by law before the elections. 

The French Canadians continue to 
cherish kindly feelings towards La Belle 
France as the mother country of their race, 
the great nation of whose glory also they 
inherit no small share. They are proud 
of her, despite material changes of time 

and lamentable reverses of fortune. Her 
power may be somewhat reduced, and 
her dazzling fame partially eclipsed through 
the bad errors and insane ambition 
of unworthy rulers ; yet her wondrous 
vigor, irrepressible spirit, and invincible 
patriotism enable her to sweep forward 
again majestically to the front rank of 
nations, to play once more a leading part 
on the world's imposing stage. The very 
name France remains an inspiration to 
her children in North America, asso- 
ciated with scenes, events, and characters 
which must ever occupy a brilliant posi- 
tion on the historic page. The worthy 
descendants of the old Gallic colonists 
follow all the mother country's experi- 
ences, woful or glorious, with the deepest 
interest, sympathy, and pride. But while 
mindful of ancient traditions and faithful 
to the duties of kinship, they are sensible 
and patriotic enough to respect the ob- 
ligations of their present position. Eng- 
land's policy touching Canada has re- 
flected a spirit of justice and friendly 
consideration truly wise and honorable, 
and it has been to the present hour 
heartily appreciated. In this way only 
can colonies of vigorous freemen be re- 
tained and developed into loyal, prosper- 
ous nations. The French Canadians have 
acted upon the counsel of the dying soldier 
to his son in M. P. A. de Gaspe's clas- 
sical work, Les Anciens Canadiens : 
" Serve thy new sovereign with as much 
zeal, devotion, and loyalty, as I have 
served the King of France, and may God 
bless thee ! " M. Faucher de Saint Mau- 
rice on a memorable occasion, but voiced 
the sentiment of his race, in the remark : 
" The French Canadians while truly loyal 
to England will never forget France." It 
is only natural, then, that in all their 
patriotic banquets and public celebrations 
the toast of La France is honored in con- 
nection with those expressing the well- 
known loyalty to Great Britain. 

One of their orators at the banquet 
given in October, 1890, at Quebec, to 
the Comte de Paris, thus apostrophized 
the old land : 

" Oh France, dear France, who could know 
and not admire and love thee ! Who could deny 
thy glory and thy genius — thy constant worship of 
art, thine aspirations so elevated, thy noble and 



generous character ! What people has loved 
truth, justice, and liberty more than thine — has 
struggled more for their triumph ! What nation 
has a more brilliant mind, a warmer heart, 
or feels more deeply that constant desire for 
higher and better things ! " 

At the same public banquet in honor 
of the claimant to the throne of France, 
the distinguished guest himself, in due 
appreciation of the high compliment paid 
him, as well as of the spirit and attitude 
hitherto manifested towards his family by 
the nation under whose flag he finds wel- 
come shelter, said : 

" . . . . Gentlemen, in your midst we forget 
that we are in exile. Is this not, in effect, a 
corner of France? At each step we take on your 
soil, we meet a familiar aspect, or a heroic sou- 
venir. The proud and touching device of your 
province, is it xvo\.,je me souviens (' I remember'). 
Your old city resembles one of the towns of Nor- 
mandy whose sons colonized the shores of the St. 
Lawrence. ... I have seen your monument 
raised to the joint memory of Wolfe and Mont- 
calm. England was generous when she inscribed 
on this column the names of the two great ad- 
versaries reunited in death and associated in 

His Royal Highness concluded an able, 
pathetic address with this toast, credit- 
able to both heart and mind — " Eng- 
land, Canada, and France." 

As already intimated, French visitors of 
respectability or distinction invariably meet 

with a hearty welcome in this province, 
no pains being spared to make the travel- 
lers from outre mer feel at home. Until 
recently, it was not an unusual thing to 
hear a peasant say, " But our good kin will 
come again." 

Making all due allowance, however, for 
the claims of kinship and legitimate com- 
munity of natural sentiment, it is only 
right to make, at this point, particular 
acknowledgment of the fact that the 
French Canadian to-day is as sensible of 
the privileges of British citizenship as any 
other section of Her Majesty's subjects ; 
nor would many of them return to the 
French rule were that option presented 
them to-morrow. Hon. Wilfrid Laurier 
exclaimed in the Dominion Parliament 
only the other day : " If I had my choice, 
I would not return to French alliance," 
adding : " If a poll were taken in Canada, 
all my countrymen would declare to the 
same effect." This exhibits a state of 
feeling no less than a measure of in- 
telligence well calculated to render them 
more useful and congenial citizens than 
if animated by "mere French ideas," 
whether it be their destiny to continue 
British subjects, or become citizens of 
the American Republic in the not distant 



By Caroline Christine Stecker. 

[ROM the "Mauvaises 
Terres " of the South 
Dakota lately came 
the news of an Indian 
uprising, speedily- 
quelled by the inter- 
vention of the United 
States troops. There 
came too, the news of the death of Sitting 
Bull. By the fate of this Sioux leader, 
progressive civilization added another 
name to its list of victims ; history once 
more repeated itself for the benefit of 
the American public. The Sioux diffi- 
culty sprang out of no new causes. It is 
the old story of Indian wrongs, inflicted 
by an inconsistent governmental policy, 
and resulting in internecine warfare. 
Territorial encroachment has ever been 
the primary grievance of the red race. 
That their complaints on this score have 
been just must be admitted ; and if under 
the cloak of the alleged grievance the 

* This essay was one of the first-prize essays for 
1890, the full subject as prescribed being" Philip, 
Pontiac, and Tecumseh : compare their characters 
and discuss their plans for Indian Union." Miss 
Stecker is a graduate of the Dorchester High 
School, Boston. Her prize essay of the previous 
year, on " Washington's Interest in Education," 
has been noticed in our pages; and her Old South 
lecture of last summer, on "King Philip's war," was 
printed in the December number of the magazine. 

In the preparation of the present essay the fol- 
lowing works were consulted : Adams's History of 
the United States, Arnold's History of Rhode 
Island, Bancroft's History of the United States, 
Church's Entertaining Passages relating to King 
Philip's War, Dodge's Our Wild Indians, Colton's 
Tecumseh : A Poem, Doyle's English Colonies, 
Drake's Book of the Indians, Drake's Life of 
Tecumseh, Dunn's Indiana, Ellis's The Red Man 
and the White Man, Everett's Oration at Bloody 
Brook, Fiske's Beginnings of New England, 
Gookin's Historical Collections of the Indians, 
Hollister's Mount Hope : an historical romance, 
Hubbard's Present State of New England, Irving's 
Philip of Pokanoket, Lossing's Our Country, 
Lowell Lectures on Massachusetts and its Early 
History, The Memorial History of Boston, Palfrey's 
History of New England. 

implacable resentment of a conquered 
to a conquering people has been con- 
cealed, it is not unnatural. 

The savage, in a more primitive age, 
was essentially a child of nature. The 
love of country was inherent with him. 
We who admire the sentiment in the 
lines of the poet, — 

" Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 
This is my own, my native land !" 

can surely appreciate this love of country 
in the Indian race. Beholding as they 
did the rapid invasion of their land by a 
foreign people, into whose hands the im- 
memorial birthright of the red man was 
being transferred, it is no wonder that 
they were roused to desperate action. 
And each of the three centuries which 
have passed since the settlement of the 
Europeans in America has in its course 
produced a great mind, under whose di- 
rection the Indian's cherished idea of 
expelling the intruders seems to have 
been less hopeless than it might at first 
seem in the face of the facts. The names 
of the three who stand pre-eminent 
among many conspicuous sons of the wil- 
derness, are Metacom (Philip), Pontiac, 
and Tecumseh. 

From their earliest occupancy of this 
country, the English-speaking race ad- 
mitted that the Indian tribes had natural 
rights to the soil they occupied, which 
could only be extinguished by " honora- 
ble treaty and fair compensation." As 
treaties can only be made between inde- 
pendent nations, this was a virtual recog- 
nition of the independence of the savage 

It was ordained, strange as it seems, 
that Puritan New England should be 
foremost in losing sight of the fact that 
the Indian tribes were independent na- 



tions by right. A cardinal error is appar- 
ent in her dealings with the natives : she 
assumed that the merely nominal submis- 
sion of the Indian tribes was something 
more. When the Pilgrims came to New 
England, it was as a " friend and ally " 
that Massasoit, the chief of the Wampa- 
noags, made the first cession of a large 
tract of territory and entered into a treaty 
of peace with the Pilgrims, then few and 
feeble. Later, when the Plymouth settlers 
increased in number, they seemed to lose 
sight of the fact that the submission of 
the tribes to the British crown, which the 
colonists construed as acts of subjection 
to themselves, was in the Indian mind 
the voluntary submission of an ally. Re- 
garding the savages as subjects, the Eng- 
lish considered them amenable to English 
law. Now the rule of an Indian sachem 
was absolute ; how then could he be 
reconciled to the interference of alien 
authority, or how could he brook his own 
arraignment before a foreign tribunal? 
It is here that the trouble arose which 
led to the estrangement of the two races. 

Massasoit, the Wampanoag sachem, 
always faithfully maintained the treaty 
made on the arrival of the Pilgrims. 
Dying nearly forty years after that treaty 
was signed, he left two sons, Wamsutta 
and Metacom, called by the English 
Alexander and Philip. The former suc- 
ceeded his father ; but his was but brief 
authority. Reports came to Plymouth 
that he was plotting with the Narragan- 
sett tribe against his white neighbors. 
He was apprehended and brought before 
the colonial magistrates, who " issued the 
matter peaceably" and dismissed him to 
return home. Before he had got clear 
of English territory he was seized with a 
fever, of which he died ; and his brother 
Philip became sachem. 

Thirteen years passed. By this time 
the ancient domain of his tribe had been 
reduced until only two narrow peninsulas 
on the eastern coast of Narragansett Bay 
remained. What blame could be attached 
to the new comers? They claimed they 
had honestly come by the land, as a letter 
written by Governor Winslow in 1676 
proves : " I think I can clearly say that 
before these present troubles broke out 
the English did not possess one foot of 

land in this colony but what was fairly 
obtained by honest purchase of the Indian 
proprietors." But Washington Irving's 
words throw a different light on the sub- 
ject : " It may be said that the soil was 
originally purchased by the settlers. But 
who does not know the nature of Indian 
purchases in the early period of colon- 
ization? The Europeans always made 
thrifty bargains, through their superior 
adroitness in traffic ; and they gained 
vast accessions of territory by easily-pro- 
voked hostilities. An uncultivated savage 
is never a nice inquirer into the refine- 
ments of law, by which an injury may be 
gradually and legally inflicted. Leading 
facts are all by which he judges ; and it 
was enough for Philip to know that before 
the intrusion of the European settlers his 
countrymen were lords of the soil, and 
that now they were becoming vagabonds 
in the land of their fathers." 

It is probable that all this time Philip 
was conscious of a vague injustice which 
he could not define. This, added to a 
mutual distrust, was not diminished by 
the frequent collisions between his tribe 
and the Plymouth colony. Affairs came 
to a crisis when, in 1674, Philip was ac- 
cused, on the evidence of John Sausamon. 
a " praying " Pokanoket, of " undoubt- 
edly endeavoring to raise new troubles,' y 
by " engaging all the sachems round about 
in a war." Without summons Philip came 
to Plymouth, where his protestations of 
innocence did not satisfy the colonists, 
although they " dismissed him friendly." 
He returned to his home at Mount Hope. 
The murder of Sausamon followed. This 
was without doubt committed at the in- 
stigation of Philip who, as sachem, had 
power of jurisdiction over a delinquent 
subject. Sausamon, in the opinion of his 
tribe, merited the fate of a traitor. Was 
it not ill policy then for the Plymouth 
magistrates to set aside Philip's tribal au- 
thority and mete out punishment to the 
executors of their chief's sentence ? 

This event alone seems to warrant the 
outbreak which followed, known in history 
as King Philip's war. It is unnecessary 
to give its minute details. Hostilities 
began with small depredations followed 
by bloodshed, at Swanzey, on June 20, 
1675. The alarm of war spread at once 



all over the country. Within three days, 
colonial troops hurried to the scene of 
hostilities. In less than a month Philip 
had fled to join the Nipmucks in Massa- 
chusetts. Bancroft thus describes the 
Indian conduct of hostilities : " On the 
part of the Indians the war was one of 
ambuscades and surprises. They never 
once met the English in open field, but 
always, even if eightfold in number, fled 
timorously before infantry. By the rap- 
idity of their descent they seemed omni- 
present among the scattered villages which 
they ravaged like a passing storm ; and 
for a full year they kept all New England 
in a state of terror and excitement." 

Before the autumn was spent, town after 
town in the Connecticut Valley had 
learned to know too well the sound of 
the Indian war-whoop. In the winter the 
English declared war against the Narra- 
gansetts, who had adopted Philip's cause, 
and an expedition was sent to their coun- 
try. The destruction of nearly three 
thousand of the tribe, and also of their 
stronghold, near what is now South Kings- 
ton, Rhode Island, was the result. Can- 
onchet, their chief, joined Philip with his 
remaining warriors, and remained Philip's 
ablest ally until his capture. The spring 
saw one Massachusetts town after another 
consumed to ashes. But as the season 
advanced, the Indians lost hope. Their 
starving condition had induced many of 
Philip's allies to become suppliants for 
peace. His forces were thus reduced. 
He was hunted from place to place by 
the English. He retreated to Mount 
Hope, to the " den whence he had ori- 
ginally gone forth, and was shot inglori- 
ously while, unattended, he was attempt- 
ing to run away." 

Philip has been the theme of much 
speculation. The circumstances of his 
life, the war which bears his name in 
history, his unfortunate fate, and, most of 
all, the ignominy with which his Puritan 
contemporaries have loaded his name — 
all have conspired to render him an ob- 
ject of compassionate interest. The efforts 
of " Washington Irving as his biographer 
and Southey as his bard" have insured 
his claim to the title of patriot, if nothing 
more. But there are writers who will not 
admit as much as this. They claim that 

Philip had " no grounds of complaint 
against the white man." They forget to 
take into consideration the fact that the 
very nature of the Indian precluded the 
possibility of a clear comprehension of 
the Englishman's "benevolent intentions." 
" It is one of the commonest things in 
the world," says Mr. Fiske, " for a savage 
tribe to absorb weak neighbors by adop- 
tion, and thus increase its force, prepara- 
tory to a deadly assault upon other neigh- 
bors." Is it then improbable that Philip 
should have regarded the effort to convert 
members of his tribe as an undertaking 
of this kind on the part of his English 
neighbors ? 

War and pillage were the ruling inter- 
ests of the Indians. With what impa- 
tience then must Philip have regarded 
the efforts of the English to keep peace 
between various tribes ! A feature too 
of Philip's Indian faith was that the spirits 
of friends and kindred must be propi- 
tiated by vengeance on those who had in- 
jured the departed. Three of the sachem's 
subjects, one his confidential friend, 
had, while fulfilling his commands, met 
their death by the English law. Did not 
their blood cry out for vengeance ? Defi- 
ance of Philip's tribal authority, interfe- 
rence in the administration of his govern- 
ment, total disregard of Indian custom — 
of all these the English had been guilty. 
It was a sufficient list of humiliations for 
a sachem to endure — one whose haugh- 
tiness of character was evinced by the 
reply made to the Massachusetts Gover- 
nor's ambassador : " Your governor is but 
a subject of King Charles of England. I 
shall not treat with a subject. I shall 
treat of peace only with the king, my 
brother. When he comes I am ready." 

If Philip had in truth uttered the elo- 
quent declaration which the genius of 
Edward Everett has put into his mouth, 
I think that I have shown that he had 
sufficient ground for it. Philip's reputed 
speech to John Borden of Rhode Island, 
quoted by Arnold, and rejected by Palfrey 
as "no material for history," is not far 
behind Everett's words in eloquence ; and 
if Mr. Easton's " Relation of the Indians " 
is of historical value, we may confidently 
assert that behind the "envy and malice " 
which Hubbard ascribes to him, Philip 



cherished sentiments of a very different 

Whatever had been the disposition of 
Philip before the death of Sausamon, it is 
certain that after it he took no pains to 
conceal his hostility to the English. As re- 
gards his plan of union, there is much 
difference of opinion. One of our pres- 
ent historians writes on the subject ■ 

" It is hard to tell how far Philip was personally 
responsible for the storm which burst upon New 
England. Whether his scheme was as compre- 
hensive as that of Pontiac in 1763, whether or not 
it amounted to a deliberate combination of all the 
red men within reach to exterminate the white 
men, one can hardly say with confidence. The 
figure of Philip in the war which bears his name, 
does not stand out so prominently as the figure of 
Pontiac in the later struggle. This may be partly 
because Pontiac's story has been told by such a 
magician as Mr. Francis Parkman. But it is 
probably because the data are too meagre. In all 
probability, however, the schemes of Sassacus the 
Pequot, of Philip the Wampanoag, and of Pontiac 
the Ottawa were substantially the same. That 
Philip plotted with the Narragansetts seems cer- 
tain, and the earlier events of the war point 
clearly to a previous understanding with the Nip- 

The early historians seem to have had 
but a vague idea of a concerted design 
on Philip's part. Hubbard mentions that 
the sachem had been " plotting with 
all the Indians round about" to make a 
general insurrection against the English; 
his authority is, however, only vague 
rumor from captives at Hadley and else- 
where. Cotton Mather never mentions a 
widespread conspiracy, nor does Increase 
Mather seem to have heard of one. The 
testimony of Captain Church is perhaps 
the most satisfactory. In his narrative of 
the war he states that it was " daily sug- 
gested to him that the Indians were plot- 
ting a bloody design ; that Philip, the 
great Mount Hope sachem, was leader 
therein ; and so it proved ; he was send- 
ing his messengers to all the neighboring 
sachems to engage them in a confederacy 
with him in the war." And again Church 
mentions that he was told by an Indian 
that " there would certainly be war ; for 
Philip had held a dance of several weeks 
continuance, and had entertained the 
young men from all parts of the country." 

The opinions of our later historians on 
the subject are very conflicting. Palfrey 
makes out that, " instead of being a far- 

reaching and well-organized campaign, 
what we commonly call King Philip's war 
was merely a succession of unconsidered 
and indiscriminate murders and pillages, 
taken up by one body of savages after 
another, as the intelligence of the at- 
tractive example of others reached 
them." Arnold thinks the testimony of 
Church and Hubbard conclusive of a 
concerted design, and regards the first 
hostilities as a premature outbreak pre- 
cipitated by Sausamon's murder. Ban- 
croft's view of the subject appears from 
the following : 

" There exists no evidence of a deliberate con- 
spiracy on the part of all the tribes. The com- 
mencement of war was accidental; many of the 
Indians were in a maze, not knowing what to do, 
and disposed to stand for the English, — sure 
proof of no ripened conspiracy." 

Dr. Palfrey has certainly weighed the 
subject most carefully, but we cannot 
concede the accuracy of his opinion, for 
it is evident that his reverence for the 
Puritans has somewhat prejudiced his 
opinion. Furthermore, we are not in- 
clined to defraud, as he has done, a 
chapter of New England history of all 
the elements of romance. He sees in 
Philip only a "squalid savage," one 
whose nature " possessed just the capa- 
city for reflection, and the degree of re- 
finement which might be expected to be 
developed from the mental constitution 
of his race." This seems to me to show 
as unlucky a bias of opinion on Dr. 
Palfrey's part as mention of the fact that 
Philip daubed his face with red paint. 
The question arises : were the ancient 
Celtic chieftains much higher in social 
status than was Philip ? And yet we do 
not call in question the patriotic spirit of 
Cassivelaunus, or deny that he possessed 
the mental capacity to confederate the 
British tribes against the Romans, on the 
score that the Briton in all probability, 
painted his body blue, and that his man- 
ner of living was hardly more luxurious 
than was Philip's in the wigwam which 
Palfrey terms a "sty." 

We will then assert that Philip pos- 
sessed the mental capacity to plan a 
union of the tribes ; that, moreover, he 
did plan one with the Massachusetts and 
Rhode Island Indians : that his plans 



did not go so far as to include the north- 
eastern Indian, for if they had, instead 
of retreating to Mount Hope before his 
death, he would have taken refuge with 
them ; that the troubles concerning 
Sausamon occasioned the premature out- 
break of the hostilities which he was en- 
gaged in planning. This would account 
for the reasons adduced by Dr. Palfrey 
as to the lack of evidence of a wide- 
spread conspiracy; that Philip entered 
into the war without sufficient munition ; 
that there was some delay on the part of 
the Nipmucks and Narragansetts before 
joining his party. It would account, too, 
for the tradition that Philip and his older 
chiefs were averse to the beginning of 
the war. 

The magnitude of the design, and the 
momentous change which a more success- 
ful execution of it might have occasioned 
in history, must ever make the inquiry 
whether there is a sufficient amount of 
evidence of a comprehensive plan on 
Philip's part, embracing all the New 
England tribes, one of the greatest inter- 
est and importance. Were such testi- 
mony forthcoming, the claim would be 
proved without the shadow of a doubt to 
the title of "great prince, sagacious 
warrior, and high-minded politician," 
with which romancers already invest 
Philip of Pokanoket, maintaining with 
the authors of " Yamoyden," that 

" He fought because he would not yield 
His birthright, and his father's field; 
Would vindicate the deep disgrace, 
The wrongs, the ruin of his race; 
He slew, that well avenged in death 
His kindred spirits pleased might be; 
Died for his people and his faith, 
His sceptre and his liberty." 

Nearly a century after the death of 
Philip another chieftain, who, like him, 
boasted the blood of the Algonquin race, 
but whose tribal seat was in the region 
of the Great Lakes, opened another 
bloody chapter in the nation's history. 
This was Pontiac, the Ottawa, a warrior 
known and respected, not only within 
the limits of the three confederated 
tribes, Ottawas, Ojibwas, and Pottawatta- 
mies, whose chief sachem he was, but 
throughout the length and breadth of 
the Mississippi Valley. 

The surrender of Quebec, in 1759, 
which wrought the downfall of French 
dominion in America, brought about a 
gloomy crisis for the Indian tribes. 
Throughout the struggle between France 
and England for the ascendency in Amer- 
ica, they had borne the marked part of a 
powerful nation whose alliance was neces- 
sary and who must therefore be conciliated 
at any cost. To the French, a race of 
courtiers, flattery had been easy, and it is 
therefore not wonderful that they man- 
aged to secure the firm friendship of the 
Indian tribes of the Northwest. We can 
judge then how deeply the latter must 
have felt the changed condition of affairs 
after the capitulation of Montreal. The 
English treated the Indians with studied 
neglect ; supplies were withheld ; the 
Indians were cheated and plundered by 
the English fur-traders, and treated with 
disrespect by the soldiers and officers of 
the military posts. But what most aroused 
the discontent of the Indians was the 
steady advance of the English settlements, 
which already were beginning to spread 
beyond the Alleghanies. The growing 
wrath of the red men was still further 
aggravated by the representations of the 
French Canadians. The latter declared 
that their French father, being old and 
infirm, had fallen asleep ; that in this sleep 
the English had possessed themselves of 
Canada ; but that he had again awakened, 
and would soon send an army to utterly 
demolish the English. The rising of a 
prophet among the Dela wares, who called 
upon his followers to return to the primi- 
tive life of their ancestors, and declared 
that by so doing their original power 
would return and they would succeed in 
expelling the white intruders from the 
country, was another influence which 
combined to work up Indian passion to 
fever heat. With so many causes to ex- 
cite the wild fury of the Indians, peace 
could not long be preserved. At this 
time Pontiac assumed direction of affairs, 
and by his genius changed what might 
have been but a momentary outbreak, 
into a long and well-organized campaign. 

The first distinct appearance of this 
Ottawa chief in history had been in 1760, 
when Major Robert Rogers was sent to 
relieve the French military posts in the 



Lake region, included in the capitulation 
of Montreal. Rogers had been detained 
a few hours by the great chief, but ap- 
parently only to impress the English with 
proper respect, for he remained on friendly 
terms with them for some time afterwards. 
Before his meeting with Rogers he had 
been the sworn friend of France ; indeed, 
in the French and Indian war he had 
fought on the French side, and it is said 
that he commanded the Ottawas at Brad- 
.dock's defeat. When he saw that the 
cause of France was a lost one, he was 
politic enough to make friends with the 
English, deceiving himself with the idea 
that the latter would honor him as the 
French had always done. But a few 
months were a revelation. He saw the 
peril threatening his race in the territorial 
encroachment of the English. He felt 
that there was no hope of deliverance 
from this peril save in opposing some 
check to the advance of the intruders. 
This he knew could only be done by the 
restoration of French dominion in the 
Mississippi Valley. Hence he was only 
too ready to give credence to the lies of 
the French Canadians. It did not take 
him long to decide upon war as the only 
alternative to the gradual but inevitable 
subversion of his race. And not only 
patriotism, but ambition urged him on. 
Before the beginning of the year 1763 
the emblematic tokens — the war-belt of 
wampum and the tomahawk stained red 
— were sent far and wide among the 
Indian tribes of the Ohio valley, and were 
received everywhere with approval. 

The tribes who were included in Pon- 
tiac's conspiracy were the Ottawas, Chip- 
pewas, Pottawattamies, Miamis, Sacs, 
Foxes, Menominies, Wyandots, Mississa- 
gas, Shawnees, Delawares and Senecas. 
Pontiac's plan of operation was for a sudden 
and simultaneous attack upon the western 
military posts, followed by the destruc- 
tion of the English frontier settlements. 
The time for striking the blow was set in 
May, 1763. With the beginning of spring, 
the Indians were prepared for war. In 
Pontiac himself was vested the particular 
glory of opening hostilities. On the 
twenty-seventh of April a general coun- 
cil of the various tribes was held at the 
River Ecorse near Detroit. Here Pon- 

tiac exerted his powers of oratory with 
distinguished effect. He recounted the 
wrongs of the Indian race ; he spoke of 
the impending danger, and he appealed 
to the superstition of his auditors, as well 
as their passion for blood and vengeance, 
by relating an Indian allegory. In it the 
Great Spirit was supposed to say : " As 
for these English — these dogs dressed 
in red, who have come to rob you of 
your hunting grounds and drive away the 
game — you must lift the hatchet against 
them. Wipe them from the face of the 
earth, and then you will win my favor 
back again and once more be happy and 
prosperous !" 

We can imagine how effective such an 
appeal must have been to the assembly 
of excited warriors. All were eager to 
attack Detroit, then the most important 
post in the Northwest. Pontiac's Indian 
ingenuity had already devised a plan of 
treachery, which was to be the first move- 
ment in his sanguinary scheme. He pro- 
posed it to the council and it was readily 

On May 1st, 1763, Pontiac came to 
Detroit with forty Ottawas," and on the 
pretext of performing a calumet dance 
for the edification of the garrison, received 
admittance to the fort from the comman- 
dant, Major Gladwyn. In this way the 
Indians, by taking note of the strength of 
the garrison and fortifications, were ena- 
bled to form the best plan of attack. 

On May eighth, Pontiac again presented 
himself before Gladwyn, with about three 
hundred warriors, and requested to hold 
a friendly council. By this means he ex- 
pected to gain admittance to the fort with 
his warriors, each of whom carried con- 
cealed weapons under his blanket ; and at 
a given signal these armed Indians were 
to fall upon the English and massacre all 
within the fort. Unfortunately for Pon- 
tiac, Major Gladwyn had received secret 
information — from whom it cannot be 
said with certainty — of the plot, so that 
he had prepared himself for the emer- 
gency. Pontiac was admitted to the fort, 
but barely had he entered the gateway 
when he perceived his good intentions 
were suspected. The garrison were under 
arms, the guards doubled, and the officers 
armed with sv/ords and pistols. 



Before the council began, Pontiac de- 
manded of Gladwyn why "so many of 
the young men were standing in the 
street with their guns." Gladwyn re- 
plied, "For the sake of discipline." 
Pontiac began the business of the council 
-with a speech of hollow friendship to the 
English. In the course of his address, 
he raised the wampum belt to give the 
signal of attack agreed upon. Simulta- 
neously Gladwyn made a sign, and the 
roll of English drums and the clash of 
English arms resounded throughout the 
fort. Pontiac, knowing his design be- 
trayed, was utterly disconcerted. Glad- 
wyn, however, allowed the council to 
break up without "open rupture," and 
Pontiac withdrew to his camp in wrath 
and mortification. 

On the tenth of May, Pontiac threw 
off all pretence of friendship, and made 
a furious attack on the fort. This was 
the beginning of a siege lasting for many 
months. Though Pontiac was personally 
unsuccessful, his allies were more fortu- 
nate. Every post west of Oswego, ex- 
cept Niagara, fell into their hands. 
Pontiac thus became lord of the whole 
Ohio valley. As soon as the forts were 
taken, war began on the western frontiers 
of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia. 
Parkman thus describes the state of 
affairs : 

" The Indian scalping parties were ranging 
everywhere, laying waste the settlements, destroy- 
ing the harvests, and butchering men, women 
and children with ruthless fury. Many hundreds 
of wretched fugitives flocked for refuge to Car- 
lisle and the other towns of the border, bringing 
tales of inconceivable horror. Strong parties of 
armed men who went out to reconnoitre the 
country found every habitation reduced to cinders, 
and the half-burned bodies of the inmates lying 
among the smouldering ruins." 

While these horrors reigned supreme 
on the frontier, Detroit was still invested 
by Pontiac ; but the fort held out bravely. 
A letter written from the fort, dated July 
9th, gives the condition of the garrison 
at this time. 

"You have long ago heard of our pleasant 
situation," it reads, " but the storm is blown over. 
Was it not very agreeable to hear every day of 
their cutting, carving, boiling, and eating our 
companions, — to see every day dead bodies float- 
ing down the river, mangled and disfigured ? But 
Britons, you know, never shrink; we always ap- 
peared gay to spite the rascals." 

On the twenty-ninth of July, a convoy 
of reinforcements and supplies arrived 
at Detroit. Captain Dalzell, who com- 
manded it, proposed to make a sally 
from the fort to attack the Indians in 
their camp. Gladwyn was finally in- 
duced to give his consent ; and in the 
night of July 31st, Dalzell marched with 
two hundred and fifty men to surprise 
the Indian camp. But Pontiac was on 
the alert. His warriors encountered the 
English near a small stream, called now 
Bloody Run, and Dalzell's forces were 
obliged to beat a retreat, with twenty of 
their number, including Dalzell, killed 
and forty-two wounded. This victory en- 
couraged the Indians, and they swarmed 
more than ever around Detroit and Fort 
Pitt. To the relief of the latter came 
Colonel Bouquet, in August, routing the 
Indians at Bushy Run, on his advance, in 
one of the best contested battles between 
red and white men. 

Towards the end of September, 
Pontiac's allies, growing tired of the 
siege of Detroit, fell off. Vainly trying 
to rally them, he was forced to abandon 
the siege in October, taking his stand in 
the Illinois country, where the French 
were still in possession. 

The double campaign of the English, 
in 1764, was a fearful blow to Pontiac's 
hopes. On the side of the northern 
lakes, Colonel Bradstreet had relieved 
Detroit and crushed the Indian insurrec- 
tion. Bouquet, on his part, had subju- 
gated the Shawnees and Delawares. 
Still Pontiac did not despair. The wav- 
ering Illinois tribes were brought into 
alliance by the threat of their destruc- 
tion. Then, determined to obtain the 
aid of the French, Pontiac sent the war 
belt to the Governor of New Orleans. 

Assured that the French Father could 
not aid his red children, Pontiac saw 
that his cause was lost, and he made up 
his mind to accept peace. Accordingly, 
he took his way to Ouiatanon, and there 
announced to George Croghan, the 
deputy of Sir William Johnson, that he 
was ready to bury the tomahawk, and 
stand no longer in the path of the Eng- 
lish. In August, 1765, this peace was 
ratified at Detroit. Nearly a year after- 
wards, Pontiac came to Oswego, and 



there concluded a treaty of peace with 
Sir William Johnson in behalf of the 
confederated tribes. This sealed his 
submission to the English. The follow- 
winter was spent by him on his hunting 
grounds by the Maumee. 

Although the ill-feeling of the tribes 
did not diminish for some time, Pontiac's 
movements are lost sight of until 1769, 
when he came once more to the country 
of the Illinois. Here, at the little settle- 
ment of Cahokia, the great Ottawa chief 
was destined to meet his fate, under the 
blow of a tomahawk from an Illinois In- 
dian, bribed with a barrel of rum by an 
English trader. The French buried his 
body with military honors near Fort St. 
Louis. Writes Parkman, his biographer : 
" Neither mound nor tablet marked the 
burial place of Pontiac. For a mauso- 
leum a city has risen above the forest 
hero ; and the race whom he hated with 
such burning rancor trample with unceas- 
ing footsteps over his forgotten grave." 

Dr. Ellis speaks of Pontiac as " the 
ablest and most daring and resolute sav- 
age chieftain known in our history. 
There have been," he says, " three con- 
spicuous men of the native race — the 
towering chieftains of the forest, signal 
types of all the characteristics of the 
savage, ennobled, so to speak, -by their 
lofty patriotism — who have appeared on 
the scene of action at the three most crit- 
ical eras for the white man on this conti- 
nent. If the material and stock of such 
men are not exhausted, there is no longer 
for them a sphere, a range, an occasion 
or opportunity in place or time here. 
The white man is the master of this con- 
tinent. An Indian conspiracy would 
prove abortive in the paucity or discord- 
ancy of its materials. W T hat the great 
sachem, Metacomet, or King Philip, was 
in the first rooting of the New England 
colonies, which he throttled almost to the 
death throe ; what Tecumseh was in the 
internal shocks attending our last war with 
Great Britain, — Pontiac, a far greater 
man than either of them, in council and 
on the field, was in the strain and stress 
of the occasion offered to him after the 
cession of Canada." 

Half a century had not passed after the 

death of Pontiac when the evil which he 
had foreseen and tried to avert became 
more apparent than ever. The Indians 
of the Northwest were fast, withering 
away before the steady advance of the 
white man. Soon after the conspiracy of 
1763 the English colonies had been en- 
grossed in their struggle with the mother 
country ; but upon the establishment of 
their national independence it was im- 
possible that the growing republic should 
not come into collision with the Indian 
tribes on the western borders. 

With the beginning of the nineteenth 
century, settlers began to pour into the 
Ohio valley ; with what rapidity may be 
seen when the fact is presented that in 
1800 there were probably twenty-five 
hundred whites in Indiana and Illinois — 
in 1810, twenty-five thousand. The con- 
tact between red and white men was at- 
tended by serious evils, and as usual the 
Indian was the sufferer. Contrary to law 
and existing treaties, the settlers entered 
the Indian hunting grounds. A rapid 
diminution of game followed ; hence the 
lands became worthless for Indian sub- 
sistence. The tribes were forced to re- 
move elsewhere, or sell the territory to 
the United States government. Inter- 
course with the white man and the white 
man's whiskey led to the utter demorali- 
zation and ruin of the Indian tribes. 
" No acid ever worked more mechani- 
cally on a vegetable fibre," says Adams, 
" than the white man acted on the 

The French had left, fifty years before, 
an after-penalty of savage warfare to the 
English. This the English left in turn to 
the Americans. Self-interest now occu- 
pied the place of sentimental attachment 
on the part of the Indians of the North- 
west, for their principal trade was on the 
line of the lakes, where were the British 
trading posts. So they were as ready now 
to listen to the British, as they had been 
to hearken to the French Canadians. 
And these British traders stimulated the 
growth of discontent among the savages. 
Cessions of land by some of the Indian 
tribes to Governor Harrison of the In- 
diana Territory, in 1S05, occasioned a 
fermentation of anger among the other 
tribes of the Northwest. Earlv in 1S06 



an Indian of the Shawnee tribe, claiming 
to be a prophet, gathered great numbers 
of followers about him. Although this 
Shawnee seems to have been less of an 
impostor than the prophet of Pontiac's 
time, his doctrine was somewhat similar. 
He called upon the Indians to renounce 
all innovations on their original mode of 
life, declaimed against witchcraft and 
drunkenness, and proclaimed that he had 
received power from the Great Spirit to 
confound enemies and cure diseases. Al- 
though he exercised much influence by 
means of his supposed supernatural power, 
he was only nominally the leader of the 
Indian movement which ensued — but 
really the agent of another, who came 
forward, as Pontiac and Philip each in 
turn had done, to champion the cause of 
his race. This was Tecumseh, the twin 
brother of the Prophet. 

The aim of these two brothers, or more 
properly of Tecumseh, was to establish an 
Indian confederacy, in which the war- 
riors, not the chiefs, should have author- 
ity and act as an Indian congress. The 
object of the confederacy was to prevent 
" piecemeal sale of Indian lands by petty 
tribal chiefs under pressure of govern- 
ment agents." Tecumseh maintained 
that the ownership of tribal lands was a 
communal ownership, — that no tract of 
territory could be sold by one tribe with- 
out the consent of the rest. At what 
time or period of his life Tecumseh re- 
solved upon his plan of union is uncer- 
tain. It was probably before 1806. To 
unite the tribes as he proposed was a 
work so difficult that it is astounding how 
much he accomplished. 

In 1809 several enormous cessions of 
land, amounting to about three million 
acres, were obtained by Harrison from 
the tribes in the Wabash valley. Creating 
wide-spread anger, it increased the in- 
fluence of Tecumseh and 4he Prophet. 
New chiefs joined the Shawnee confed- 
eracy, which in 1810 included the Wyan- 
dots, Kickapoos, Pottawattamies, Ottawas 
and Winnebagoes, Miamis, Weas and 
Chippewas. All was quiet through the 
winter, but events in the early part of the 
year 18 10 made Harrison suspect that 
hostilities were intended. In August he 
invited the brothers to a conference at 

Vincennes. Tecumseh accordingly came 
from Tippecanoe, where was a settlement 
of the confederacy, with four hundred 
warriors. The council took place on the 
twelfth of the month. Tecumseh' s bear- 
ing was very haughty throughout the in- 
terview. He opened the meeting with 
an eloquent speech, in which he declared 
that the Americans had driven the In- 
dians from the sea-coast and would soon 
push them into the lakes ; that, while his 
party had no intention of making war 
upon the United States, they were resolved 
to resist further cessions of land, and 
moreover wished to recover what had 
already been ceded. The governor told 
him plainly that the lands just ceded had 
been the property of the tribes which had 
sold them, and that the Shawnees had no 
right to interfere. Tecumseh broke into 
such violent denunciations of the United 
States government that the conference 
was broken up. Later, however, in a pri- 
vate conference with the governor, 
Tecumseh was more moderate. He 
stated that if Harrison would prevail on 
the President to give up the late purchases, 
and agree not to make another treaty 
without consent of all the tribes, he would 
pledge himself to remain at peace with 
the United States ; otherwise he must 
seek an alliance with the British. Harri- 
son replied that there was no probability 
of the President's agreement to the Indian 
claim. "Well," said Tecumseh, " I hope 
the Great Spirit will put sense enough 
into the great Chief's head to induce him 
to give up this land. It is true he is so 
far off he will not be injured by the war ; 
he may sit still in his town and drink his 
wine whilst you and I will have to fight it 

Notwithstanding ill-feeling, the winter 
of 1810-11 passed without hostilities. 
Tecumseh seemed still indisposed to an 
outbreak. On June 24, 181 1, Harrison 
transmitted an address to the Prophet 
and Tecumseh, intended to force an 
issue. In answer to it, Tecumseh sent 
word that he would come to Vincennes 
to explain his conduct. On the twenty- 
seventh he appeared with a large follow- 
ing. He stated that after much trouble 
he had induced all the northern tribes to 
unite, under his direction, in a confed- 



eracy, the example of which the United 
States had set ; that he was soon to start 
for the South to prevail on the tribes 
there to unite with the others, and he 
hoped that no attempt would be made by 
the Americans to enter the new purchase 
before his return in the spring. 

A few days later, Tecumseh set off on 
his mission, strictly ordering the Indians 
to keep peace while he was gone. Mean- 
while the Americans resolved upon ac- 
tion. On the thirty-first of July, the 
citizens of Vincennes voted that the 
Prophet's settlement at Tippecanoe 
should be broken up. Harrison, exer- 
cising discretion given by the govern- 
ment, raised a large force, and late in 
September marched up the Wabash 
valley. On November 6, the governor 
encamped near the Prophet's town. The 
Prophet sent a pacific message, and it 
was agreed that no hostilities should be 
committed ; but early in the morning of 
the seventh, the Americans were attacked 
by the Indians. A very sharp battle en- 
sued, and the Indians were defeated. 
The result of this action materially 
diminished the Prophet's influence, for he 
had promised the Indians an easy victory. 
The incantations by means of which he 
had controlled their actions were discov- 
ered to be impotent. 

Tecumseh returned from his southern 
mission to Wabash. " He reached the 
banks of the Tippecanoe," writes Drake, 
"just in time to witness the dispersion of 
his followers, the disgrace of his brother, 
and the final overthrow of the great ob- 
ject of his ambition, a union of all the 
Indian tribes against the United States, — 
and all this the result of a disregard of 
his positive commands." 

Until March 1812, there was peace 
along the border. Then Indian depre- 
dations began again. But Tecumseh was 
not yet ready for war. On May 16th, a 
grand council was held at Massassinway 
on the Wabash, in which the tribes still 
expressed themselves in favor of peace. 
Here Tecumseh made the following 
speech : 

" Governor Harrison made war on my people 
in my absence. It was the will of God that he 
should do so. We hope it will please God that 
the white people may let us live in peace; we 

will not disturb them, neither have we done it, 
except when they came to our village with the 
intention of destroying us. We are happy to 
state to our brothers present that the unfortunate 
transaction that took place between the white 
people and a few of our young men at our village 
has been settled between us and Governor Harri- 
son; and I will further state, had I been at home 
there would have been no bloodshed at that 

Up to the time war was declared be- 
tween the United States and Great % 
Britain, Tecumseh was unwilling to strike 
a blow against the United States. But 
the declaration of June 18, 181 2, altered 
his position. He soon after went to 
Maiden to join the British standard. 

With the British assumption of the 
quarrel in the northwest, it ceases to bear 
the character of a distinctive Indian 
struggle. We therefore need not follow 
it through all of its details. Tecumseh, 
indeed, remained conspicuous in every 
important action — at the battle of 
Maguaga, the capture of Detroit, the 
assault on Fort Meigs, and, last of all. 
the encounter on the Thames. It is re- 
ported that Tecumseh entered this last 
battle with the firm conviction that he 
would not survive it ; and such was the 
case, for he fell gallantly fighting at the 
head of his warriors. With his fall 
perished the last great confederacy of 
the Indian tribes. 

Of the three great leaders whose efforts 
I have tried to relate, it is hardest to 
judge the character of Metacom. Born 
in an early age, having the misfortune of 
being compelled to leave his biography 
to the mercy of his enemies, so much of 
his life is shrouded in mystery, or rather 
in oblivion, that what can be positively 
asserted in the case of his two com- 
patriots is, in his case, mere supposition. 
It is not, perhaps, fair, then, to compare 
his character with that of Pontiac and 
Tecumseh. But surely, we can say this : 
that he was their equal in patriotism, 
though probably he possessed neither 
their force of character, their power of 
combination, nor their indomitable cour- 
age ; otherwise, the results of King 
Philip's war would have been vastly 

Pontiac, the Ottawa, inherited the 
sagacious policy of Philip, adding to it a 


philosophy of his own. Very differently Though to the Indian mind Pontiac is 

from that of Philip stands forth the figure pre-eminently the hero of his race, to 

of Pontiac in the pages of history, for- the civilized mind Tecumseh occupies 

cing even his enemies to admiration. An that position. To us he seems a purer 

Englishman, writing of him in 1764, calls patriot than was Pontiac. Taking Pon- 

him the Mithridates of the West. Rogers tiac for his model, he was an improve- 

described him thus : " He puts on an ment on the original. Something of the 

air of majesty and princely grandeur, baser passions seems to have been omitted 

and is greatly honored and revered by in the imitation. Tecumseh did not, like 

his subjects." In Pontiac was embodied Pontiac, hide treachery under a coat of 

the ideal Indian leader — possessing, as dissimulation; he openly and frankly 

he did, all the strong savage qualities of avowed his intentions. He fought for 

his race, yet not without traits of nobility his country, with "redress," not "ven- 
of character — patriotic, eloquent, brave, - geance," as his war cry; and when the 

and ambitious, yet fierce, treacherous, re- futility of his hopes became apparent, he 

vengeful, and subtle. His patriotism seems was ready to find a manly death in the 

to have been subservient to his ambition. midst of battle. 


By Zitella Cocke. 

A LADDIE sailed out on a calm blue sea ; 
And two maidens fell a-weeping. 
" Alas," said they, 
" ' Tis a doleful day ; 
Mayhap nevermore 
To the sweet green shore 
Shall lover to me 
And brother to thee, 
Shall lover to thee 
And brother to me, 
Come back from the treacherous, smiling sea." 

A good ship went down in a wild, wild sea ; 
And two maidens fell a-weeping. 

The years passed by, 

And two cheeks were dry : — 
A wife and a mother, with babe on her knee, 
Sat crooning a tender old lullaby, 
Nor thought of the lover beneath the sea ; — 

But at eventide, 

By a lone fireside, 
A sister sat weeping for him who had died, 

Who came nevermore 

To the bright green shore, 
To wander with her the sweet meadows o'er. 


The subject of moral education in the public 
schools is at present enlisting more attention from 
teachers and the educational conventions than 
almost any other subject which comes before them 
for discussion. Rightly or wrongly, it is held by 
many that, whatever is to be said of the in- 
tellectual training given the boys and girls in the 
schools, the moral training given, the influence 
of the system upon character, is inadequate. 
How shall morals be taught in the schools? how 
shall we give the young people stronger and better 
wills and higher motives ? — are questions constantly 
asked. As in the case of some other questions 
often asked nowadays in connection with the public 
schools and general education, no little confusion 
and misapprehension result from many of these 
discussions of morals and moral training. Many 
of them have been directly connected with the 
discussions of religious teaching in the schools; 
and many advocates of a kind of religious teach- 
ing in the schools which most good people in 
America deem unwise are rather eager, in their in- 
sistence upon the necessity of religious teaching 
everywhere and always in order to good conduct, 
to paint the moral condition of the schools and 
the problem of moral education vastly darker 
than there is any ground for. The moral condi- 
tion of the public schools, so far as their own 
regime goes, is almost invariably excellent, prob- 
ably better than ever before in the history of the 
public schools in America. There was probably 
never before so fine a body of men and women 
engaged in the work of school-teaching in 
America as to-day. There is no class in the com- 
munity whose aims are higher, whose devotion is 
greater, or whose moral influence is more exten- 
sive or salutary; and what the teacher is, the 
school is. The greatest factor in the moral life 
and culture of the school, whatever books are 
conned there, will always be the high-minded 
teacher. Keep the high-minded teacher in the 
school, inspire the teacher with a proper sense of 
his vocation, and moral education will radiate 
from that teacher, whether the subject before the 
class be the Ten Commandments or the rule of 
three. Let this also be never forgotten : that far 
more moralizing than any particular study of 
morals in the schools is the very life and regimen 
of the school itself. This, if the life and regimen 
be worthy at all, is what — day in and day out, year 
in and year out — is training the child to habits of 
punctuality, obedience, order, neatness, attention, 
industry, truthfulness, respect for others, and ap- 
preciation of merit, as no amount of definitions of 
obedience, attention, and the rest, or of study of 
such definitions, could ever do. And this, we take 
it, is what is desired, when we talk of moral educa- 
tion in the schools — such education as shall make 
obedient, industrious, and truthful boys and girls, 
rather than boys and girls who can tell us cleverly 
and accurately what truth is, and what industry is, 
and what obedience is. We are of those who dis- 
trust the good of very much direct moral teaching in 
the schools — very much analytical study, we mean, 

on the part of the young folks, of the subject of 
duty and duties. We would not say absolutely 
that moral science, well presented, has no place 
in the public school, in the high school at any rate; 
but we do believe, generally speaking, that it is a 
study of very questionable advantage there. We 
hear much said nowadays, sometimes too much, 
about making education concrete. If there be 
any place where education should be concrete, it 
is in what concerns the moral education of boys 
and girls. What is wanted here is inspiration, 
something that shall kindle the sense of duty, 
something that shall give aim and impulse to the 
larger and better life, something that shall give 
the public and generous spirit, instead of the 
selfish and private spirit. 

We are prompted to these remarks by looking 
over the pages of the little book, just published, 
by Charles F. Dole, on " The American Citizen," 
which distinctly claims as its end and aim the 
teaching of morals in the schools. " We have in 
the great and interesting subjects of the conduct 
of governments, business, and society," says the 
author, " precisely the kind of material to furnish 
us indirectly with innumerable moral examples. 
The consideration of the public good, the welfare 
of the nation, or the interests of mankind, lie in 
the very region where patriotic emotion and moral 
enthusiasm are most naturally kindled." Mr. 
Dole's book belongs to an entirely different 
category from that of the various text-books of 
civil government — some of them excellent — of 
which we have lately had so many. It is a min- 
gling of ethics and politics in a simple, picturesque, 
and enthusiastic manner, which shows in Mr. 
Dole a very remarkable genius as a teacher of 
young people. The five parts of the book have 
the captions, "The Beginnings of Citizenship," 
" The Citizen and the Government, or the Rights 
and Duties of Citizens," " Economic Duties, or 
the Rights and Duties of Business and Money," 
" Social Rights and Duties, or the Duties of Men 
as they live together in Society," and " Interna- 
tional Duties, or the Rights and Duties of Na- 
tions." In some of these sections essentially the 
same subjects are treated as in the common text- 
books of civil government or the elementary 
works in political economy; but the strength of 
the book as a work for moral education lies in 
the way in which these subjects are treated, and 
the way in which there are mixed with them such 
lessons as those on the Family and its Govern- 
ment, the Schoolroom and its Government, the 
Playground and its Lessons, Personal Habits, the 
Principles that bind men together, the Abuses 
and Duties of Wealth, and the Great Social Sub- 
jects. Nothing could exceed the tact and beauti- 
ful spirit in which Mr. Dole brings home these 
subjects to the young people for whom his book 
is prepared. There is not a dull page in the 
book, nor a page that is not stimulating. We 
cannot conceive of a boy or girl being conducted 
through the book without being made more 
moral and noble by it; while we can easily con- 



ceive this of many a boy and girl schooled to ex- 
act definitions of morality and nobility. 

* * 

We have spoken in these columns of the 
Society recently organized for the Preservation of 
Beautiful and Historical Places in Massachusetts, 
a society of which Senator Hoar is president, 
and which numbers among its trustees such men 
as Hon. William S. Shurtleff, Philip A. Chase, 
Charles S. Sargent, Henry P. Walcott, George 
Wigglesworth, Charles Eliot, Frederick L. Ames, 
Christopher Clarke, Charles R. Codman, Ehsha 
S. Converse, Deloraine P. Corey, John J. Russell, 
Leverett Saltonstall, Nathaniel S. Shaler, George 
Sheldon, Daniel D. Slade, Joseph Tucker, George 
H. Tucker, and General Francis A. Walker. 
These names are a pledge that the new society 
will bring something to pass; and in truth it is 
already actively exerting itself. It has recently 
engaged Mr. J. B. Harrison as a kind of mis- 
sionary, to make a tour of the state for the pur- 
pose of arousing interest in the objects of the 
organization, of interesting local officials and the 
press, and making reports to the Society upon 
existing and proposed reservations. It was Mr. 
Harrison who aroused the sentiment for setting 
aside the land about Niagara Falls as a state 
reservation, and whose efforts resulted in the 
establisnment of the great state forest in the 
Adirondacks. We shall watch with interest his 
present work; and meantime we ask the atten- 
tion of our readers to the following, from the 
Society's latest document. It contains much 
information of interest far beyond the bounds of 
New England. 

" Places of historical interest or remarkable 
beauty should be withdrawn from private owner- 
ship, preserved from harm, and opened to the 
public for the following reasons : 

Because it is eminently true that 

' where great deeds were done, 
A power abides, transfused from sire to son.' 

Because the contemplation of natural beauty is 
found to refresh the tired spirits of townspeople 
as nothing else can. 

Because the visitation of such places educates 
the people in the love of nature, of beauty, and 
of native land. 

Because the private ownership of such places 
deprives the people of a source of education and 
refreshment which they need to enjoy. 

Because the private ownership of such places 
usually results in the destruction of that special 
beauty or interest in which their value to the 
Commonwealth consists. 

Because the public ownership of such places 
means not only enjoyment and enlargement for 
the people, but also, by reason of their attractive- 
ness, an increased resort of visitors, and a cor- 
responding increase of wealth in the neighbor- 
hood of the reservations, and throughout the 

Public reservations in the United States have 
been established: I, by national action; 2, by 
state action; 3, by municipal action; and 4. by 
private action. 

1. The following are examples of national 
reservations : 

The Yellowstone National Park : three thou- 
sand square miles of the public domain re- 
served from sale and settlement. 

The Chickamauga and Chattanooga National 
Military Park : seven thousand six hundred acres 
of private land condemned and purchased. 

The approaches to the Chickamauga Park : 
twenty-six miles of highway accepted by the na- 
tion as a gift from the States of Virginia and Ten- 

2. The following are examples of state reserva- 
tions : 

The New York State Forest Reserve in the 
Adirondack Mountains: many thousands of acres 
of the state domain reserved from sale and settle- 

The New York State Reservation at Niagara : 
about one hundred acres of private land con- 
demned and purchased. 

The Connecticut State Reservation in the 
townships of Bethel and Redding (The Putnam 
Memorial Camp) : thirty-eight acres, accepted by 
the state as a gift from two citizens. 

3. The following are examples of municipal 
reservations : 

Boston Common : reserved from sale and settle- 
ment by the first colonists. 

Franklin Park, Boston : condemned and pur- 
chased by the city. 

Institute Park, Worcester: accepted by the 
city as a gift from a citizen. 

The following are examples of reservations 
secured by private persons, with the approval of 
various legislatures. 

The Mount Vernon Estate, in Virginia: the 
property of a corporation, which is exempted from 

The Serpent Mound Park, in Ohio : the gift of 
a few persons to the corporation of Harvard 
University. The park is open to the public and 
it is not taxed. 

The Chittenango Falls Park in the townships of 
Cazenovia and Fenner, New York : the gift of 
several citizens to an incorporated board of trus- 
tees, who are required to keep the park open to 
the public forever. 

The Old South Church, in Boston : presented by 
a large body of subscribers to an incorporated 
board of trustees, who hold it as a memoral, 
exempt from taxation. 

The Longfellow Memorial Garden, in Cam- 
bridge, Massachusetts; presented by the Long- 
fellow family to an incorporated board of trustees, 
whose property is exempted from taxation. 

It is proposed to establish in Massachusetts a 
corporation to be called the " Trustees of Public 
Reservations." It is proposed to give these trus- 
tees the power to acquire, by gift or purchase, 
beautiful or historical places in any part of the 
state, to arrange with cities and towns for the 
necessary policing of the reservations so acquired, 
and to open the reservations to the public when 
such arrangements have been made. This Board 
of Trustees should be established without further 
delay, and for the following reasons : 

1. Because the existing means of securing and 
preserving public reservations are not sufficiently 
effective. Every year sees the exclusion of the 
public from more and more scenes of interest and 



beautv, and every year sees the irreparable de- 
struction of. others. 

2. Because, if it is desirable to supplement the 
existing means of securing and preserving the 
scenes in question, no method can be found which 
will more surely serve the desired end than that 
by means of which Massachusetts has established 
her successful hospitals, colleges, and art muse- 
ums; namely, the method which consists in setting 
up a respected Board of Trustees, and leaving all 
the rest to the munificence of public-spirited men 
and women. When the necessary organization is 
provided, the lovers of nature and history will 
rally to endow the trustees with the care of their 
favorite scenes, precisely as the lovers of art have 
so liberally endowed the art museums. 

3. Because a general Board of Trustees estab- 
lished with power to accept or reject whatever 
property may be offered it in any part of the 
state, will be able to act for the benefit of the 
whole people, and without regard to the principal 
cause of the ineffectiveness of present methods, 
namely, the local jealousies felt by townships and 
parts of townships towards each other. 

4. Because the beautiful and historical Com- 
monwealth of Massachusetts can no longer afford 
to refrain from applying to the preservation of her 
remarkable places every method which experience 
in other fields has approved. The state is rapidly 
losing her great opportunity to insure for the fu- 
ture an important source of material as well as 
moral prosperity." 

* * 
There is in England what is called an Art for 
Schools Association. This society, whose head- 
quarters are in London, and which has among its 
officers and patrons some of the best-known literary 
and artistic and philanthropic people of England, 
exists for the purpose of encouraging an interest 
in good art among the boys and girls in the 
schools, and of providing good copies of the 
masterpieces of art, at low cost, to be placed in 
the schoolrooms for the education of the pupils. 
The founders of this Art for Schools Association 
believe that it is a good thing for the boys and 
girls to grow up thus in daily companionship with 
what the world's best judgment has stamped as 
most beautiful, and that if this familiarity with 
the best works of art on the part of the school 
children, coming together promiscuously from all 
sorts of homes, can be made universal, it will do 
little less than revolutionize the public taste, 
besides adding so much to the true pleasure of 
life. There is no reason why in this day, when 
by the sundry heliotype, autotype, photogravure 
and other processes such excellent copies of the 

great pictures can be made so cheaply, any school 
or any home should be altogether destitute of 
beauty. We note with pleasure the large number 
of engravings and photographs and casts that have 
already found their way into many of our public 
schools. In the hall of the Girls' High School in 
Boston is a complete set, we think, of casts 
of what remains of the frieze of the Parthenon. 
Our higher institutions are doing much in this 
direction. The art galleries of Amherst College 
and Smith and Wellesley and other colleges are 
admirable. But much more needs to be done to 
arouse our people to a proper appreciation of the 
place of art in public education. Especially, to 
our thinking, is effort needed here in connection 
with the public schools, affecting those places 
where almost all of our people get all the regular 
education that they ever get, and affecting them 
at the time of life when they are most sensitive 
and impressible. There should be no school in 
the land where through the years of school life 
the boy and girl are not influenced by the Raphael 
or Rembrandt or Murillo or Millet hanging on the 
wall. There should be no city in the land with- 
out its Art for Schools Association — or if we 
please, since in this country we " promote " 
things, its Society for Promoting the Study of Art 
— to see that this interest is intelligently roused 
and intelligently met. 

But until such societies do exist in our cities, it 
is very pleasant to hear of individuals devoting 
themselves to this thing. Such an individual, 
such an Art for Schools man, is Mr. Ross Turner, 
the artist. Mr. Turner's home is in Salem, and it 
is for one of the public schools of Salem that he 
has done his good work, making its rooms beauti- 
ful and eloquent with the pictures which he has 
placed there for the culture and pleasure of the 
young people. Here, surely, is a hint for the 
educator and the philanthropist. Why may Ave 
not have in America a great phalanx of Art for 
Schools men, like Mr. Turner? When so many 
are quick with their money to found the library, 
to endow the college, to give the park, shall not 
this fine duty have attention also? 
, * 

We wish to express our obligations to the 
Gravure Etching Company of Boston for the use 
of the two cuts after paintings by Halsall which 
appear with the article on " Mr. Burgess and his 
Work," in the preceding pages. The original of 
" The Burgess Trio " — the Puritan , Mayflower 
and Volunteer — is in the possession of the Mas- 
sachusets Yacht Club; the original of the Vol- 
unteer is in the possession of William F. Weld, 


Some Quaint Supplications. 

The question of liturgical or non-liturgical wor- 
ship has called out warm discussion, and perhaps 
will continue to do so; it is a matter of which 
taste and training cause widely differing views. 
One argument is always in order : he who de- 
pends on a " form " is certainly sure to escape the 
shoals and quicksands which may wreck his less 
fortunate brother. He may be " cold," but at 
least he will not be absurd. It may be that some 
fervent soul, glowing with devotion, will not need 
to " seek words," but with ready tongue pour out 
his prayers and supplications; but many a wor- 
shipper has writhed as the person appointed to 
express the supplications and aspirations of a 
multitude has said things which the rules of de- 
cency forbade the listener to interrupt. 

The English Civil War, which caused such an 
upheaval of the nation, gave opportunity to " all 
sorts and conditions " of religionists to display 
their gifts. There are said to have been over two 
hundred different sects in England at that period. 
Preaching was heard in season and out of season, 
and the ministrants addressed their Maker in very 
familiar terms. 

On one occasion the Parliamentarian forces had 
suffered a severe defeat, and a fast was appointed 
in consequence. On the morning of the fast-day 
came news of another defeat. King, a minister 
in Coventry, thus expressed his feelings in view of 
this double trial : " Lord, we thine own people 
come here to humble ourselves for the defeat of 
our forces at Banbury, under the command of 
Colonel John Fynes, whose brother Nathaniel 
Fynes but lately had showed himself a coward at 
Bristol, so we might expect little better by trust- 
ing him; but Lord, — which is worse than both — 
thou hast even now sent us the news of our army's 
defeat at Lestithiall in Cornwall, and had we 
heard it sooner we would not have been humbled 
at this time." 

On a similar occasion, another preacher took 
high ground, saying : " Lord, thou hast given us 
never a victory this long while, for all our frequent 
fasting. What ! dost Thou mean, O Lord ! to 
cast us in the ditch and there leave us?" 

That quaint phrases were not peculiar to the 
Puritans, witness the prayer of a brave old Cav- 
alier, Sir Jacob Astley, before the battle of Edge- 
hill : " Lord, thou knowest how busy I shall be 
this day; if I forget Thee, do not thou forget 
me ! " — adding to his men, " March on, boys ! " 

After the landing of Charles Edward in Scot- 
land, in 1745, a Presbyterian minister in Edin- 
burgh added to his customary petition for King 
Ceorge : " And for this young person who has 
come among us seeking an earthly crown, do 
Thou of Thy gracious favor grant him a heavenly 
one ! " 

Equally quaint but touching is the prayer of 
Hearne, the Oxford antiquarian : " O most gracious 
and merciful God, wonderful in thy Providence, I 
return all possible thanks to Thee for the care 
Thou hast always taken of me. I continually 
meet with the most signal instances of this thy 
Providence, and one yesterday when I unex- 

pectedly met with three old manuscripts, for 
which in a particular manner I return my thanks, 
beseeching Thee to continue the same protection 
to me, a poor helpless sinner." 

An eccentric minister in Maine — to come 
from old England to New — was once conducting 
a prayer-meeting in a private house. It was a 
time of great religious excitement, and there were 
many meetings. Among the persons present on 
this particular evening was a woman who went 
about from place to place spinning, and un- 
fortunately had not a reputation for honesty. So 
many skeins of yarn were reckoned a day's work, 
— forty threads to the knot, seven knots to the 
skein. But she was often known to " cheat in 
the count." She had now " experienced a hope," 
and was loud and fervent in exhortation and 

prayer. Elder , who believed in works as 

well as faith, lifted his voice at the close of her 
address. " O Lord, bless Sister Lyddy," he cried, 
" bless her, and teach her to count forty." 

— Pamela Mc Arthur Cole. 

How John PIooker Became a D. D. 

The following story is told in the Religion 
Philosophical Journal: AT a reunion of the 
Thomas Hooker Association at Hartford, Conn., 
which is composed of descendants of Rev. 
Thomas Hooker, one of the founders of that city, 
and, as one of the speakers said, " as truly a 
nobleman as if he had been given the patent of 
nobility by some king, and indeed more truly 
so, for he derived his nobility from the King of 
kings," Hon. John Hooker, President of the 
Association, made a noteworthy speech in 
response to a call for remarks about the doctors 
of divinity in the Hooker family. He explained 
how, although a lawyer by profession, he was also 
a doctor of divinity. He placed his right to the 
doctorate, he said, not on the principle laid down 
by Xenophon, that he was a captain who had all 
the qualities of a commander, although he had 
never led an army, but on a sound legal basis. 

Mr. Hooker is an able lawer, who has had 
many years' experience with judicial tribunals and 
is the author of thirty-three volumes of reports 
of the Connecticut Supreme Court; and it may, 
therefore, be presumed that he knows what a 
" legal basis " is. When the fugitive slave law was 
passed, he was a young lawyer in Hartford, where 
Rev. James W. C. Pennington, a colored preacher, 
was settled over a church of colored people. 
Mr. Pennington, whose skin was very black, sought 
a private interview with the young lawyer and told 
him that he was a fugitive slave, that his real name 
was Jim Pembroke; and he expressed fears that 
he might be caught, and wanted advice. It was 
decided that the colored preacher should go out 
of the country and that Mr. Hooker should cor- 
respond with the old master, " stating to him that 
Jim was out of the country and that he could have 
no hope of reclaiming him, but that he was will- 
ing to give a little something for his freedom." 
The master wrote in reply to Mr. Hooker's first 
letter that Jim was a good blacksmith and he 



demanded $1,200 for him. This was discourag- 
ing. Months later a letter came from another 
man who said that Jim's master was dead, that he 
was adminstrator of the estate, and in order to 
close up the business, as Jim was out of the 
country, he would accept $150 for him. The 
money was sent. Meanwhile Pennington had 
gone to Europe. " While abroad he went to 
Heidelberg and was by the famous university 
there made a doctor of divinity; which honor he 
accepted with great grace, saying that he was 
perfectly aware that he did not deserve it on his 
own account, but accepted it as a tribute to his 
race. So that at the time this money was sent he 
was a doctor of divinity." 

The administrator had written Mr. Hooker that 
Jim was a part of the assets, that he had no 
power to set him free and that he could only sell 
him. "Accordingly on receiving the $150," says 
Mr. Hooker, " he sent me a bill of sale of James 
Pembroke, a negro slave," and for two or three 
days I was the owner of Rev. James W. C. Pen- 
nington, D. D.; probably the first instance in the 
history of the world when a man has been known 
in that sense, to own a doctor of divinity. Some- 
times they can be bought very cheaply, but not in 
this way. I had then acquired the title to him ; 
it was in my power to set him free; and I exe- 
cuted the paper by which I set free ' James Pem- 
broke otherwise known as Rev. Dr. James W. C. 
Pennington,' and the deed of manumission is on 
record in the public records of Hartford. In 
doing this I merely took my hands off from him; 
I gave him nothing; I simply let him go out of 
my hands. It was one of the elementary princi- 
ples of slave-law that a slave could own nothing. 
. . . Now the doctorate of divinity which Mr. 
Pennington fancied was his own property, was 
mine, and I never gave it up at all. So to this 
day I am, by the best of legal titles, a doctor of 
divinity, and therefore it was proper for me, if no 
one else responded to the call for doctors of 
divinity that are descended from Thomas Plooker, 
to present myself here, for the honor of our 
ancestor Thomas Hooker, as a doctor of divinity." 

A Frugal Swain. 

A LOW, brown cottage 'mid the rocks, 
Banked round with blushing hollyhocks 
And tawny daughters of the sun 
Whose robes are of his treasure spun ! 
My own, the humble tenement; 
'Tis here I cultivate content, 
And also — corn and Lima beans. 

Before my door no elm trees grand, 

A legacy ancestral, stand ; 

Instead of their majestic boles 

And lordly shadows on the ground, 

Behold a seemly row of poles 

With curling vines enwrapped and crowned. 

O pride of Lima ! seemest thou 

So like some pale, scholastic brow, 

The throne of philosophic thought ! 

Who would suspect there lurked in thee 

Such rampant vegetable glee? 

Hither no insect horde unclean, 

No beetle bearing on his back 

The felon stripes of buff and black, 
Provokes the ban of Paris Green. 
But where thy swarming tendrils fly, 
Swings hammock-like amid the leaves 
And gleaming fine against the sky 
The net the garden-spider weaves, — 
A pensive spinster much maligned, 
To geometric tastes inclined. 

You gaze far down the avenue 
Of mantling verdure wet with dew, 
Or upward look to where on high 
'Twould seem you almost might espy 
That mansion paradoxical, 
The house that was so very small, 
Where dwelt the Giant tall and grim, — 
That luckless ogre, to condense 
His length of limb, his bulk immense, 
Within so cramped a residence ! 
Sure, 'twas a kind release to him 
When fate his exit-bell had rung, 
And hero Jack the hatchet swung ! 

Close by appears, in phalanx met, 

A friendly host, with drooping lance 

And pearl-embroidered banneret : — 

Thy gift, benignant Samoset, 

Most bland of aborigines ! 

Great Solomon, who sang in praise 

Of love and herbs, did e'er he glance 

O'er goodly fields of growing maize ? 

Or did he know, in all his days, 

The savor of the milky ear, 

Or steam of fragrant succotash? 

Then would his choice seem not so rash. 

Wave all thy creamy tassels high, 
Brave Indian corn ! Some will aver 
A wakeful, silent listener 
In breathless nights of hot July 
May hear the throbbing and the stir 
Of limpid juices in thy veins 
And crackling of thy stalwart canes, 
As fairy castanets might sound. 

I know not ! — Nature grants to me 
The sleep she gives to bird and bee; 
Her dusky tresses, all unbound, 
With drowsy shadows fold me round. 

What matter, if at set of sun 
Her loving tasks are never done? 
The steadfast stars will wake with her. 
Each zephyr is her minister; 
Those watchers of the firmament 
Would scorn a spy impertinent. 

Ye proud and courtly, do not waste 

Disdain on my plebeian taste — 

This mild midsummer lunacy; 

It runs so in the family, 

From ancient grandsire handed down, — 

A gardener down East was he, 

Unfortunate, but of renown : 

And now, though distant miles and miles 

That homestead, — lost by serpent wile?. — 

Where'er a garden blooms and smiles. 

Our wandering and home-sick race 

Enjoys a glimpse of Eden's grace. 

— Jauiie Cotton. 

New England Magazine. 

New Series. 

OCTOBER, 1 89 1 

Vol. V. No. 2, 


By Henry S. Nourse. 

THE builder of the earliest store- 
house for books of which we have 
any trustworthy account caused to 
be inscribed over its portal the legend : 
Medicine for the Soul. There are numer- 
ous well- furnished public libraries in 
Massachusetts not unworthy to wear the 
same title, although they have visibly 
little in common with their Egyptian pro- 
totype. Unlike those of ancient, me- 
diaeval, or even comparatively modern 
days, they are not merely bibliomaniacs' 
museums, workshops for scholiasts, or 
cloisters for the use of an aristocracy of 
literary sybarites ; but rather may be said 
to serve as granaries, wherefrom to satisfy 
a popular appetite already voracious, and 
one that grows the faster the more it is 
fed. Their first aim might almost be 
thought to be to meet the increasing de- 
mand for mental stimulants and mental 
opiates ; for it is not to be denied that 
their most constant patrons do not crave 
costly or rare intellectual viands, nor 
even strengthening food ; but seek amuse- 
ment, distraction from care and ennui, 
solace in loneliness, occupation in hours 
of idleness or weakness. Many of these, 
however, do derive, often unconsciously 
perhaps, tonics for mental debility or 
medicaments for the soul. 

Pessimistic critics can see little that is 
hopeful in the unquestionably lamentable 
fact that a large majority of book bor- 
rowers give evidence of a low literary 
taste ; that the average reader prefers 

the brummagem to solid worth, the vapid 
novel to converse with genius, the buf- 
foonery of the clown to the fancy of the 
masters in wit and humor. But if the 
censors locally elected for the duty are 
worthy their high calling, and do their 
duty in excluding that which is unwhole- 
some, the free public library always 
proves a fountain of refining salutary in- 
fluences. It awakens new aspirations in 
some, inspires effort in many, extends 
the intellectual horizon, and tends to 
elevate the standard of living in the com- 
munity, and to add to the sum of human 
enjoyment. Not its least value is this, 
that it lessens the number of those whose 
desire for knowledge and yearning for 
romance find satisfaction in the dis- 
tortions and exaggerations and inanities 
of the cheap weeklies. The youth who, 
by the neighborhood of a choice read- 
ing-room or library, are privileged to 
enter into intimate fellowship with the 
regal minds of the ages, to commune with 
"the assembled souls of all that men 
hold wise," can hardly fail to assimilate 
something of value, to absorb many in- 
structive and ennobling lessons, and be 
made by it happier and better men and 
women, more valuable citizens of the re- 
public. If the library served only as an 
anodyne to the weary and suffering, and 
a pastime for the idle, it would, at least, 
be innocent compared with the narcotics 
with which, but for books, these might 
seek solace. Literary dyspeptics are less 
costly to the state than dipsomaniacs. 



When Mrs, Sheridan sought to flatter 
Dr. Johnson by telling him that she had 
always restricted her youthful daughtec£j_j 
reading to the Rambler, and similar im- 
proving works, he said : " Then, madam, / 
you are a fool ! Turn your daughter's 
wits loose into your library. If she is 
well-inclined she will choose only nutri- 
tious food ; if otherwise, all your precau- 
tions will avail nothing to prevent her 

1845, appropriated from the state's 
school fund a bounty of fifteen dollars to 
'each district which should raise a like 
":sum, and devote it to the establishing of 
a library. This plan of attaching to each 
common school a small select collection 
of books did not originate, however, in 
Massachusetts ; it was inspired by a New 
York enactment of 1835, which has been 
followed, with various changes of detail, 


Public Library, Dedhar 

following the natural bent of her in- 

Long ago, Thomas Carlyle, echoing 
what Socrates and Cicero had said cen- 
turies before, told the world that " the 
true university of these days is a collec- 
tion of books." In 1837, intelligent 
appreciation of this truth seems to have 
influenced the legislators of Massachu- 
setts, when they fostered the establish- 
ment of district-school libraries, by en- 
acting that each legally constituted school- 
district in the Commonwealth might 
found and maintain a library for the use 
of its children, raising for the purpose by 
taxation a sum not exceeding thirty dol- 
lars the first year, and not to exceed ten 
dollars per annum thereafter. This law 
failed to secure the results anticipated, 
until a legislative resolve which was 
passed in 1842, with the supplementary 
provisions added in 1843, 1844, and 

by most of the states of the Union. The 
scheme has met with very unequal suc- 
cess ; in many states having failed 
from the outset, or soon lost its useful- 
ness ; in a few proving more or less 
satisfactory, and flourishing down to the 
present time. The literature by this law 
disseminated throughout Massachusetts 
was of a thoroughly patriotic and health- 
ful character, and in most respects wisely 
chosen by the town committees. Har- 
per's Family Library figured quite prom- 
inently in the lists. But books especially 
adapted for the juvenile mind were con- 
spicuously absent, and an unduly heavy 
per centage of the volumes were those 
"which no well-regulated library should 
be without." The lack of provision for 
replenishment with new matter soon much 
limited the use of the books, and in time 
the death of the district-school system 
scattered them. Thev contributed greatly, 



Bridgewater Public Library. 

and, in many towns being included with 
larger collections, continue to contribute 
to the intellectual well-being of the com- 

If many instances of the unrestricted 
exercise of a privilege presume an un- 
denied authority for it, it might be ques- 
tioned whether the Massachusetts legisla- 
tion of 1 85 1, permitting municipalities to 
raise money by taxation for libraries, was 

not in the main superfluous. The gen- 
eral act of that year seems a natural 
corollary to a law of 1850, which pro- 
vided for the gradual abolition of the in- 
dependent school-district system which 
had been in vogue from revolutionary 
times ; although it is a suggestive coin- 
cidence that the first Public Libraries Act 
in England was also passed in 1850. 
The proximate impulse that led to the 

-~_ — , 

Thayer Public Library. Braintree. — Gift of Gen Sylvanus Thayer. 



law of 1 85 1 was, no doubt, the prolonged 
discussion in Boston of the social and 
patriotic need of a library which, unlike 
the institutions existing at that day, should 
be especially adapted to the wants of the 
less cultivated classes of citizens — a 
library not for scholarship, but for 
humanity. A special act authorizing 
the supply of this need was secured in 
1848 ; and such leaders in public opinion 
as Josiah Quincy, Edward Everett, Robert 
C. Winthrop and George Ticknor lent 
their wisdom and energy to the building 
of the new institution upon a popular and 
substantial basis. Mr. Ticknor's tireless 
enthusiasm carried so much influence, 
and his liberal views have so impressed 
themselves upon the constitution of pub- 
lic libraries, that he has not inaptly been 
called the father of the free library system 
in America. 

The Massachusetts law bestows upon 
towns and cities the right to establish 
and support public libraries for the use 
of their inhabitants, and to provide rooms 

It empowered the municipality to receive 
and administer any devise, bequest, or 
donation for library uses within its limits. 
But the privileges accorded by this act, 
which received the approval of the gov- 
ernor May 24, 1 85 1, had apparently been 
assumed by a few towns long before, 
under a liberal interpretation of the 
school library legislation of 183 7-1 845, 
and especially of the resolve of 1843, 
which applied to the few towns not dis- 
tricted. Nahant's School Library dates 
from 1 819, having its origin in a dona- 
tion to the community. Arlington's 
library, it is claimed, has been free to the 
town's people, and supported by annual 
appropriations, since 1837. More than a 
century before this state legislation, how- 
ever, the idea of a town library, was no 
novelty in New England. Books in early 
colonial days, when rigid economy was 
compulsory, were far from abundant, were 
chiefly of a devotional or theological 
character, and their cost was so consider- 
able that, even among professional men 

Petersham Public Library. 

therefor, under such regulations for their 
government as may be prescribed from 
time to time by the inhabitants of the 
towns, or the city councils. It authorized 
for the foundation and maintenance of 
such libraries a limited appropriation 
based upon the number of ratable polls. 

of the highest classical scholarship, a col- 
lection of one hundred volumes was very 
rare. The town library, when it existed, 
was therefore in the form of a few folios 
or quartos, or perhaps a single huge, en- 
cyclopaedic tome, kept in the meeting- 
house for general reference. 



Duxbury Free Library. — Gift of Mrs. George W. Wright. 

What weighty lore was stored in the 
first "public library" of Boston, men- 
tioned in the will of John Oxenbridge, 
and under what regulations it was man- 
aged, is not discovered ; but in its in- 
ception and administration the town ap- 
pears to have felt no lack of the authority 
conferred by the legislative action of 
185 1. It accepted the legacy of pounds 
sterling and volumes which founded it 
from the estate of the eccentric merchant 
tailor, Captain Robert Keayne, and as- 
signed a room to it in the new Market 
House, built in 1658. Of the original 
nucleus of the collection we have only 
this description from the will of Captain 
Keayne : " And though my bookes be not 
many nor very fitt for such a worke, 
being English and smale bookes, yet after 
the beginning the Lord may stirr vp 
some others that will add more to them ; 
and helpe to carry the worke on by 
bookes of more valew, Antiquity, vse, and 
esteeme." In 1682, the selectmen paid 
David Edwards thirty-four pounds ten 
shillings " for severall things he brought 
from England for ye vse of the Library," 

that sum being credited to " Captain 
Robert Keayne's legacie for ye vse of 
sd Library." In 1695, some of this 
literary property of Boston seems to have 
gone astray, for the voters in town-meet- 
ing assembled instructed the selectmen 
to demand wherever found, and take care 
of " all Bookes or other things belonging 
to the Library." In 1747, the Town 
House was burned, and with it probably 
Boston's first free public library. 

That Concord had a public circulating 
library in 1672 is attested by instructions 
that year given by the freeholders, " That 
care be taken of the Bookes of Marters 
and other bookes that belong to the 
Towne, that they be kept from abusive 
usage, and not be lent to persons more than 
one month at one time." Among the 
chief treasures of print in Wayland's public 
library are some folio works of Richard 
Baxter, part of a gift from the Hon. 
Samuel Holden of London, received in 
1 73 1 for the use of the church and con- 
gregation in the East Precinct of Sudbury. 
Church and town in Massachusetts were 
then practically inseparable, the meeting- 



house being the 
public arena where 
the people dis- 
cussed and settled 
in due form all 
matters of local 
improvement and 
finance, as well as 
of parish adminis- 
tration. These fo- 
lios formed a town 
or precinct library 
in the modern 
meaning of the 
words. The voters 
of Lancaster, at a 
regular town-meet- 
ing, March 22, 

1 731, established a free public reference 
library, by ordering the purchase of a 
single folio, a ponderous volume of nine 
hundred pages — Rev. Samuel Willard's 
" Complete Body of Divinity " — and in- 
structing the selectmen to make suit- 
able " provision for the keeping of it 
in the meeting-house for the town's 
use, so that any person may come there 
and read therein as often as they shall 
see cause ; and said book is not to be 
carried out of the meeting-house at any 


Public Library. — Gift of Hon. 
John Z. Goodrich. 

except by order 

Public Library, Princeton. — Gift of Edward A. Goodnow 

time by any person, 
of the selectmen." 

Among libraries historically famous is 
that of the town of Franklin, established 
in 1785 by one who was described by 
the grateful pastor of the parish in a dis- 
course celebrating the memorable event 
as " the ornament of 
genius, the patron of 
science, and the best of 
men." In the September 
and October numbers of 
this magazine, for the year 
1889, were published 
some interesting notes re- 
lating to this old library, 
at Franklin, including a 
note from Rev. William 
M. Thayer, stating that 
ninety of its original 116 
volumes still remained in 
the library, and giving the 
titles of some of the more 

5 important works. This 

y- f§ town was named in honor 

of Dr. Benjamin Franklin, 
and it was suggested to 
him by a nephew that he 
could most appropriately 
acknowledge the compli- 
ment paid him by giv- 
ing the townspeople a 



bell for their meeting-house. Franklin, 
who was then the American minister at 
the court of France, had his own opinion 
of suitability, and sent the nephew to his 
and America's friend, Dr. Richard Price, 
with a letter in which he requested a list 
of books, to cost twenty-five pounds, 
giving preference to such works as incul- 
cate principles of sound religion and just 

are enough to give our Puritan ancestors 
reasonable right to a caveat against the 
claim that the free town library in Massa- 
chusetts is a modern invention. 

Some astute thinkers have dared 
to blame our boasted system of common- 
school education for its overstimulative 
processes. They charge that the public 
schools, even of the lower grades, are 


Damon Memorial, Holden. — Gift of Hon. S. C Gale. 

In the letter was the fol- 

lowing : 

"A new town in the State of Massachusetts 
having done me the honor of naming itself after 
me, and proposing to build a steeple to their 
meeting-house if I would give them a bell, I have 
advised the sparing themselves the expense of a 
steeple for the present, and that they would accept 
of books instead of a bell, sense being preferable 
to sound. These are, therefore, intended as the 
commencement of a little parochial library for the 
use of a society of intelligent, respectable farmers, 
such as our country people generally consist of." 

About ninety of the one hundred and 
sixteen volumes received in 1758 have 
survived, and add to the weight, if not to 
the circulation, of the present free public 
library of Franklin. Research might dis- 
cover many other examples of early 
libraries in New England, similar to 
those here noticed, but though few, these 

too often caricatures in little of the uni- 
versity, devoted to the alphabet of orna- 
mental accomplishments instead of simply 
furnishing, as they should, the initial 
training for social and political useful- 
ness, and that they are, therefore, waste- 
ful of youthful energy and enthusiasm, 
and unsatisfactory in moral and intel- 
lectual results. A rational remodelling 
of the methods of public instruction must 
sooner or later come, when some portion 
of the complex curriculum through which 
all juvenile classes are now dragged will 
be left to the volition of such as are 
richest in mental endowments, or have 
developed special tastes, to pursue in 
academic institutions, the laboratory or 
the public library, where omnivorous 
cravings or dillettanteism can be indulged 
without fret of examination papers or the 



persistent memorizing of verbiage. The 
best education is self-education, that 
which follows the discipline of the school, 
being won from the study of books, man, 
and nature. But the public, despite the 
state's happy experiment of fifty years 
ago, has been very slow to realize the 
fact that, while the town library fills its 
highest vocation as a social factor in the 
community, it can also be wisely managed 
so as to become a potential help to the 
free school, a co-ordinate power in our 
system of education. Many of our libra- 
rians as well as boards of library trustees 
have, for several years, been using the 
literary stores in their custody with a full 
understanding of this truth, and with 
noteworthy helpfulness to teachers and 

Induced by records of such experience, 

and directed to expend in the founding 
of a free library, in any town having 
none, the sum of one hundred dollars for 
books, whenever such town shall have 
formally accepted the provisions of the 
act, elected a board of trustees in accord- 
ance with the existing state laws relating 
to libraries, and satisfactorily provided for 
the care, custody, and distribution of books. 
The act, in recognition of the disposition 
of mankind to esteem of little value that 
which has been won without labor or per- 
sonal sacrifice, stipulates that, to secure 
the state's bounty, an annual appropria- 
tion must be made by the town of not 
less than $50 if its last assessed valua- 
tion was $1,000,000 or upward; not less 
than $25, if said valuation was less than 
$1,000,000, and not less than $250,000; 
or not less than $15 if said valuation was 

Nevins Memorial Library, Methuen. — Gift of Heirs of David Nevins. 

and other strong testimony to the educa- 
tional value of the public library, the 
legislature of Massachusetts, in 1890, 
created a commission, whose defined duty 
it is " to promote the establishment and 
efficiency of free public libraries." The 
board, which consists of five members, 
appointees of the governor, has merely 
advisory powers so far as established in- 
stitutions are concerned, but is authorized 

less than $250,000. The commission 
serves without compensation, but is 
allowed $500 yearly for clerical assis- 
tance and incidental expenses. The 
present members of the commission 
are C. B. Tillinghast of the State 
Library (Chairman), Samuel S. Green 
of the Worcester Free Public Lib- 
rary, Henry S. Nourse of Lancaster, 
Miss E. P. Sohier of Beverly (Secretary), 



# # : . # < 

'. E ■> S;> ..,.* 

i : 'r ■■'*"" •':• 

Fitchburg Public Library. — Gift of Hon. Rodney Wallace. 

and Miss Anna E. Ticknor of Boston. 
The commissioners met for organization 
October 30, 1890, and issued an earnest 
appeal to the towns favored by the act. 
They hold regular meetings on the third 
Thursday of each month. Such legisla- 
tion as this of 1890 must, of course, meet 
the taunt that it is of the " grandmother 
type," another advance in benevolent 
educational despotism on the part of the 
state, although it in no way disturbs 
local control and support, but hastens 

self-development by demanding local 
initiative as a prerequisite to the assis- 
tance granted. Already, in England, cer- 
tain political economists, under the head 
of Herbert Spencer, are bewailing the 
" burden of impotence being day by day 
laid on all classes by the perpetual fore- 
stalling of human endeavor in every con- 
ceivable relation of life." They bitterly 
protest against what, with a touch of 
peculiarly ingenious malice, is styled 
"the attempt of Free Library agitators 

Hingham Public Library. — Gift of Hon. Albert Fearing. 



to make their own favorite form of re- 
creation a charge on the rates." But the 
arguments and objurgation of these in- 
dividual philosophers will hardly be 
listened to with patience in a democracy 
like ours — at least until we are prepared 
to indict as superfluous and tyrannical 
all state and municipal regulations which 
hamper private enterprise with the pur- 
pose of serving the common weal ; until 
we are willing to abolish free education 
because "extravagant," tending to " de- 
grade the teacher to an automaton," and 
interfering with "parental responsibility ; " 
until we abandon our national postal 
system as a government monopoly, peren- 
nially borrowing from the public purse to 
meet its deficits. The dominant tenden- 
cies all point the other way. The critics 
will be very few who will care to charge 
that this novelty in Massachusett's legisla- 
tion is a very radical advance towards 

the constitution which declares : " Wis- 
dom and knowledge, as well as virtue 
diffused generally among the body of 
people, being necessary for the preserva- 
tion of their rights and liberties, and as 
these depend on spreading the opportuni- 
ties and advantages of education in the 
various parts of the country and among 
the different orders of people, it shall be 
the duty of legislators and magistrates in 
all future periods of this commonwealth 
to cherish the interests of literature and 
science, and all the seminaries of them." 
The first annual report of the Free 
Public Library Commission covers the 
action of the board for three months 
only, and inasmuch as all steps in the 
main purpose of its creation had to await 
the motion of the interested towns at 
their regular March and April meetings, 
record of great progress was not to be 
expected. But the report is an unusually 



J ^\ 

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if\ :: 

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>■■■ -„.>.--5i8 

City Library, Springfield. 

state socialism, or deem it a mischievous 
intermeddling with individual effort. It 
does not obtrude aid in a way to paralyze 
local endeavor, but to encourage it. It 
is in direct sympathy with the clause in 

elaborate one, giving a full review of past 
library legislation, and the present con- 
dition of municipal libraries, including a 
classification of them with reference to 
the provisions of the new law. It forms a 



volume of two hundred and ninety pages, 
contains numerous illustrations, and is 
full of interesting matter not readily 
accessible elsewhere. Its chief feature is 
a comprehensive historical study of ex- 
isting popular libraries, to which the 
chairman of the board has devoted long 
and careful labor. This includes brief 

selves for books. This was due in great 
degree at least to the existence of 
numerous and excellent " social libraries " 
in all parts of the commonwealth. In 
the closing decade of the last century, 
one of the most promising signs of grow- 
ing prosperity, giving assurance that the 
oppressive burdens inherited from the 

II' i! 


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Warren Public Library. 

records of the generosity of many in- 
dividuals who have founded such libraries, 
contributed liberally to their increase, or 
been prominent in the erection of build- 
ings for them. The " solvent power of 
free human initiative," which Herbert 
Spencer and his disciples laud so much, 
and claim to be ultimately potent for the 
removal of all obstacles that can beset the 
path of humanity's advance, has done 
very much for Massachusetts in the 
founding of free institutions, religious and 
secular, charitable and educational. It is 
exactly forty years since its municipalities 
were specifically endued with the right to 
levy taxes upon their citizens for the 
building and maintenance of libraries. 
At first they were very slow to take ad- 
vantage of the privilege of taxing them- 

long war for independence were fast dis- 
appearing, was the growth of library 
associations, until in each considerable 
village there was a group of readers and 
thinkers combined for the purchase of 
standard authors, which every one perused 
in his turn. The number and beneficial 
influence of these increased under the 
legislation of 1 798 and 1806, which favored 
the incorporation of social library pro- 
prietors for the convenience of acquiring 
and managing property ; and few towns 
but soon had one or more choice literary 
collections, cared for and slowly aug- 
mented by contributions and annual 
assessments paid by the shareholders. 
Quite often these were accessible to read- 
ers not proprietors, upon payment of a 
small fee per volume borrowed, or a 



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Free Public Library, New Bedford. 

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in i til 

Free Public Library, Worcester. 



stated sum by the year, and a few 
of the more wealthy or liberal as- 
sociations sometimes offered their col- 
lection for reasonable public use with- 
out compensation. The free library of 
Oakham is a rare survival of the latter 

A little before the middle of the present 
century there arose a marked increase of 
popular interest in better methods of 
farming and horticulture, which found 
expression in the organization of numer- 
ous local agricultural societies or clubs, 

and patriotic generosity of some citizen 
who would not wait for the slow move- 
ment of public opinion and town-meeting 
discussion. But the town libraries are 
few, upon the shelves of which there are 
not many well-thumbed works of standard 
character, received as a legacy from col- 
lections which, though superseded, thus 
perpetuate their beneficent influence. 

The Library Act of 1857 was the di- 
rect result of a doubt as to the legality 
of Wayland's action in establishing its 
free library, which was opened to the 

Berkshire Athenaeum, Pittsfield. — Gift of Hon. Thomas Allen. 

each of which soon had its small accumula- 
tion of volumes devoted to the profes- 
sion that boasts itself as old as Adam. 
The social, district school, and agricul- 
tural club libraries, jointly and severally, 
laid the foundations of, and made pos- 
sible, the modern town library — the 
library of the people, fashioned to the 
needs and tastes of all classes, and free 
to all. The historic evolution was far 
from uniform. Sometimes, as in Ashby, 
the new institution seems to have been 
built upon the district libraries solely; 
or, as in Sutton, upon the agricultural 
club's collection as a nucleus. Far 
oftener it grew out of the social library, 
as in Harvard and Medford, or from the 
union of two, or all three classes, as in 
Framingham and Hatfield. Some sprang 
full panoplied from the wise forethought 

public August 7, 1850. Instead of pass- 
ing special legislation, as had been done 
for Boston in 1848, a general law was 
enacted. New Bedford was the second 
town to take action under this law, and 
Southborough, the third, both in 1852, 
although the library of the former was 
not in use until 1853. Chicopee and 
Lunenburg established free libraries in 

1853, Boston, Groton, and Peabody in 

1854, Lenox, Beverly, Framingham, and 
Newburyport in 1855, Bolton, Harvard, 
Leominster, Medford, Wakefield, and Wo- 
burn in 1856. Now 175 of the 351 
towns and cities of Massachusetts pos- 
sess and wholly control libraries free for 
circulation to all their citizens ; 28 have 
free libraries wherein the management 
is shared by the town with some asso- 
ciation of individuals, or with trustees 



who hold their authority by terms of a 
special act of incorporation or under the 
provisions of a founder's will; 22 have 
libraries free for circulation — with the 
exception of the Westfield Athenaeum, in 
which the books are free for use of the 

books of this richly endowed institution 
were free to the public to use only " on 
the premises," an annual fee of one dol- 
lar being required of those who desired 
the enjoyment of their home use. For 
fifteen years the associated founders of 

Temple Hall Library, Mashpee 

general public only in the reading-room 
— over which the municipality has no 
control, but which receive the aid of 
annual appropriations from the public 
treasury. In 21 towns there are free 
public libraries, in the support and man- 
agement of which the municipality has 
no part. 

Besides the four classes thus desig- 
nated, there is one other, which once 
had more numerous examples in the 
state, but is now represented only in the 
towns of Conway and Rockport. Early 
in the history of town libraries the at- 
tempt was sometimes made to derive an 
income from fees charged for the use of 
books, copying the custom among the 
old-time social libraries. The fee, how- 
ever insignificant, of course shuts out 
from the privileges of, the institution a 
majority of those who most need what 
the public library can and should give, 
and is therefore no true economy. Of 
this the records of the City Library of 
Springfield afford a remarkable illustra- 
tion. Until within a very few years the 

the library labored to secure such appro- 
priations from the city as would warrant 
extension of privilege to the circulation 
of books. The desired end was at length 
attained May 25, 1885. At that date, 
under the fee system, in this wealthy city 
of over 37,000 inhabitants, having 55,000 
volumes in its public library, there were 
but 1 100 card holders, and the circulation 
was 41,000 volumes. Within a year 
thereafter, the card holders of the free 
library numbered over 7,000 and the 
circulation of books had risen to 154,- 
000. So extraordinary an increase of 
usefulness was no less astonishing than 
gratifying to those who had long argued 
that a more liberal policy would bear 
fruits far outweighing the few hundreds 
of dollars collected in fees, and that the 
necessary increase in expenditure would 
prove in every way a sound business in- 
vestment. The experience of other 
towns wherein a restrictive system has 
given place to entirely free circulation 
has invariably been similar to that of 
Springfield. The two towns that retain 



the fee system cannot too soon imitate 
the majority. 

Of the 248 public libraries hereinbefore 
classified, most of the smaller and some 
of the larger occupy rooms in buildings 
partly devoted to other uses, usually the 
town hall ; but for fully one-half the 
whole number special accommodations 
have been provided, at an aggregate cost, 
including two or three not yet completed, 
of over $4,600,000. Several are so roy- 
ally domiciled as to afford a liberal edu- 
cation in architecture to the communities 
about them. The buildings as a class are 
among the most tasteful in the common- 
wealth, many of them being from happy 

absorbed. They vary in style of construc- 
tion through all orders of architecture, 
from the plain, rectangular edifice of 
brick known as the Cushman Library of 
Bernardston, the octagonal Goodnow 
Library of Sudbury, the little cubical 
fire-proof building of native stone given 
to the town of Cummington by the 
poet Bryant, to those elaborate and 
picturesque piles of massive masonry 
which owe their being to the genius 
of the great architect, H. H. Rich- 
ardson, at Easton, Maiden, Quincy, and 
Woburn. 1 They vary no less in their 
interior finish and furniture than in their 
exterior constructive features. The un- 

Sawyer Free Library, Gloucester. — Gift of Samuel F. Sawyer. 

designs of noted architects. They vary in 
costliness from the little wooden structure 
built for the native Indian community of 
Mashpee by the Temple Hall Library 
and Reading-room Association, in 1888, 
at a cost of $1,500, to the many-roomed 
palace of wrought stone which fronts upon 
Copley Square in Boston, in which, though 
incomplete, about $2,000,000 have been 

adorned simplicity of the many, that pre- 

1 The Woburn Library was the subject of a special article, 
fully illustrated, entitled " A Model Village Library," in 
the New England Magazine fpr February, 1890. Views 
of the Easton, Maiden, and Quincy libraries, as well as 
others mentioned here, will appear in connection with 
other articles in the magazine, which is the reason why they 
are not here inserted. A view of the Manchester library 
appeared in the last number of the magazine. The pur- 
pose of the present illustrations is not to show the finest 
library buildings in the state, although some of the finest 
are included, so much as the various types of buildings. — 



tend only to give convenient shelter and 
shelving for books, is in marked contrast 
with the sumptuous fittings in hard woods 
marbles and metal, the luxurious appoint- 

and so useful in its object lessons, that it 
is strange to find that very few towns have 
such a museum. In the larger cities, 
and wherever there exist local historical, 

Public Library, Boston. 

ments and artistic decorations of such 
memorial halls as those of Manchester, 
Methuen, Northampton, and Fitchburg. 
In Barnstable, Chelsea, Duxbury, and 
Gloucester, private residences have been 
adapted, quite successfully, to library 
uses, the spacious grounds about them 
adding a charming setting too often lack- 
ing in the site of town buildings. The 
library buildings or halls in twelve towns 
— Acton, Andover, Bridgewater, Canton, 
Foxborough, Framingham, Lancaster, 
Leicester, Milford, Northampton, North 
Reading, and Palmer — are dedicated to 
the memory of the soldiers of the lo- 
cality who gave their lives for their coun- 
try in the Rebellion, thus appropriately 
serving as permanent lessons in patriot- 
ism. Among the city libraries, a few of 
those most richly endowed by the bene- 
factions of individuals have special rooms 
devoted to art collections. The most 
noteworthy of this class are those of 
Cambridge, Fitchburg, Woburn, Maiden, 
Gloucester, and Pittsfield. The estab- 
lishment of a museum accessory to the 
library, containing local relics illustrative 
of New England domestic life in colonial 
or revolutionary days, miscellaneous me- 
morials of historic persons, events or 
epochs, and cabinets of minerals, birds, 
collections from all the departments of 
Nature's realms, curiosities from foreign 
countries, etc., offers so permanent an 
attraction, and one so easily attainable 

antiquarian, or scientific societies, the 
purposes of the museum are best served 
by such associations. Thus in Deerfield, 
under the wise and enthusiastic leader- 
ship of the Hon. George Sheldon, the 
Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association 
has accumulated and appropriately pre- 
serves specimens of the clothes, furniture, 
farmer's and mechanic's tools, kitchen 
utensils, weapons of war and chase, prod- 
ucts of home industries, scores of arti- 
cles such as now are, or are becoming, 
very rare, which tell of vanished customs, 
revolutionized labor, and all the struggles 
and economies of that primitive rural 
life which developed New England patri- 
otism, wealth, and independence. Such 
records of our ancestors' daily thought and 
work disclose a mode of living almost as 
foreign to the youth of to-day as the 
civilization of Pompeii, or the commun- 
ism of the aboriginal Nipmucs ; and they 
have not only their anthropological inter- 
est to the student, but a patriotic and 
educational value to the people of all 
classes. For the unstudious youth they 
do more than supplement printed history 
and inherited tradition, — they " create 
a soul under the ribs of death." Little 
museums of greater or less historic and 
scientific interest add to the perennial at- 
tractiveness, and sensibly extend the use- 
fulness, of the libraries in Ashfield, Becket, 
Bridgewater, Hingham, Lancaster, Lex- 
ington, and Wayland. 



Besides the annual expenditures met 
by appropriations from the tax levies, 
which amount to about $400,000, the 
income of over $2,000,000 in endowment 
and special funds is available for the pur- 
chase of books and support of the public 
libraries of Massachusetts. The number 
and amount of endowment funds, no less 
than the number of library buildings 
which have been erected as memorials 
of individuals or families, clearly point 
to the fact that the " free initiative," 
even in New England, is not always the 
intelligent vote of a town-meeting accept- 
ing a financial burden for the public good. 
Quite as often it is the generous impulse 
of some individual, one resolved to jus- 
tify to the world his possession of super- 
abundant wealth, or who seeks to secure 
for himself or those dear to him grateful 
and imperishable remembrance. En- 
dowments and bequests have not been 
more numerous than might have been 
anticipated, and they may be expected to 
increase as wealth and taste and general 
culture increase ; for it would be difficult 
to imagine a cenotaph more permanently 
conspicuous, and yet popularly useful, 
than that assured by the gift of a memo- 
rial structure, consecrated in the donor's 
name to the gathering and garnering of 
deathless relics of genius, which genera- 
tion after generation will make the goal 
or resting place of their daily walks. 
The name of Munroe will not soon fade 
from the people's memory in Concord, 
nor that of Winn be forgotten in Woburn. 
The Ames family will long have honor in 
Easton, the Nevins in Methuen. Con- 
verse will ever be a household word in 
Maiden, Wallace in Fitchburg, Clapp in 
Belchertown, Thayer in Braintree, Wilde 
in Acton, Rindge in Cambridge, Robbins 
in Arlington, Heywood in Gardner, Gale 
and Damon in Holden ; and many another 
name has won undying local respect, at 
least, through well-considered beneficence. 

In the 248 public libraries of the state 
referred to in the classification previously 
given, there are 2,468,000 volumes, besides 
pamphlets ; or one and one-ninth books 
for each man, woman, and child of the 
248 towns and cities owning them. The 
old town of Lancaster has long boasted 
possession of one of the best selected 

libraries as well as the largest library in 
proportion to its population in the com- 
monwealth. It now has 11,776 pam- 
phlets and 21,585 bound books — that 
is, over ten bound volumes for each soul 
of the town. It has an annual circulation 
in between six and seven volumes to each 
inhabitant, or 29 to each family. This 
library is supported chiefly by town ap- 
propriations, but has trust funds amount- 
ing to $8,200. Phillipston's free library, 
with 5000 volumes, ranks next in ratio of 
books to population, having also about 
ten bound books to each citizen. This 
prominence it owes in part to the endow- 
ment fund of $5,000 received in i860 
from Jonathan Phillips — for the town 
makes no appropriation for books — and 
partly to that persistent decrease in pop- 
ulation, which is so sadly universal in 
exclusively agricultural towns through 
which no railway passes. This decrease 
for the period of thirty years is over 
thirty-three per cent, a ratio of loss ex- 
ceeded by but one town in Worcester 
County, and by but very few in the state. 
In Sudbury, the Goodnow Library having 
nearly 11,000 volumes, the ratio is about 
nine books to each inhabitant of the town. 
An endowment fund of $20,000 gives it 
this rank, as the income of this only is 
devoted to the library's maintenance. 
In Cummington the Bryant Free Library 
has over eight volumes for each of the 
inhabitants, and Nahant shows the same 
proportion. Bernardston, with a fund of 
$10,000, has six volumes to each soul; 
Concord with funds amounting to $33,- 
000, Wayland, Petersham, and Tyngs- 
borough have each five ; Weston, Little- 
ton, Lincoln, Lexington, and Hubbards- 
ton four volumes respectively to each soul 
within their limits. The records of cir- 
culation are very defective, and it is not 
certain that a uniform method of reporting 
the facts has been adopted by librarians. 
Moreover the various local conditions 
affecting the public use of privileges 
offered are important factors to be con- 
sidered. Hence a comparison of the 
statements of various librarians would be 
of very doubtful value. It may be in- 
ferred, in a general way, that the circum- 
stances most favorable to a large home 
circulation are not so much a great num- 



ber of volumes in proportion to the num- 
ber of families having access to them, or 
the high average culture of the people, 
but a concentration of population, the 
frequent accession of new literature, 
opening the library every day and even- 
ing, and a liberal recognition of the pop- 
ular and juvenile tastes. The hill town, 
with its widely scattered households and 
a library which is open only on Saturday 
afternoons — or, as is reported to be the 
fact in one such town, like the Sabbath 
School library open only on Sunday 
noons — with seventy-five per cent, per- 
haps, of its reading matter standard au- 
thors antedating the last war, cannot 
expect to boast a circulation of books 
comparable with that which is so often 
reported from a compact village where 
the library, with its cozy reading-room 
attached, is open three hundred days in 
the year, and fifty per cent of its shel- 
ving is devoted to the latest fiction, illus- 
trated juveniles and periodicals. Given 
a thickly settled community in which 
youthful humanity predominates, as is 
often the case in a manufacturing town, 
and all that is necessary in order to ob- 
tain a phenomenal circulation is to in- 
clude in the annual accessions an undue 
proportion of sensational or flashy novels. 
The social library of half a century or 
more ago was wont to assign the proprie- 
tors a six weeks' lease of the volume 
borrowed, which fact gives some true 
indication of the leisurely manner of 
reading then in vogue, a manner which 
the book devourers of to-day may at 
least excuse, for the culture it produced. 
Now a third part of six weeks is the 
longest time most book borrowers desire 
for the conquest of an octavo, and many 
librarians restrict the loan of any very 
popular new work to a single week. By 
the Baconian dictum, " some books are 
to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and 
some few to be chewed and digested." 
The patrons of the old social libraries 
mostly read to digest, but in the free 
public library the tasters demand most 
attention. It is the taster that swells the 
circulation. Fortunately, from this class, 
by the normal development of the appe- 
tite for reading when means for its quali- 
fication are accessible, the army of book 

lovers and students of literature is largely 

With such variety in the administrative 
boards as the classification of public libra- 
ries before given discloses, it is inevitable 
that there should be found very variable 
economy of management. Those trustees 
who are subject to the jealous watchful- 
ness of the tax payer are less likely to 
be wasteful in their expenditure of mu- 
nicipal appropriations than those who 
expend the income of private endow- 
ments. Experience also tends to show 
that the library wholly under municipal 
control is more likely to be popularly 
useful than the one independent of the 
town-meeting ; and though the literary 
standard may not be kept quite so high 
as it would be by an incorporated associ- 
ation, it is not often seriously degraded. 
If, as occasionally happens, personal ani- 
mosities or local politics have an untoward 
influence in the selection of trustees, any 
check from this cause will be but tem- 
porary. As at the festival of Apollo in 
Delos of old all hostile thoughts were 
banished as a profanation of the sacred 
rites, and Greek and Persian reverentially 
joined in the common cult, so into the pub- 
lic library the fume of faction rarely 
enters. It is the one spot sacred to 
peace. The cost of administration in 
the smaller towns generally seems to be 
reduced to its lowest terms, while among 
the larger municipalities an instance can 
occasionally be found where but a meagre 
share of a generous appropriation adds 
interest or weight to the book shelves 
and reading tables j an extravagant per 
centage having been lavished upon need- 
lessly fine catalogues and high-salaried or 
numerous assistants, employed in the 
development and support of an elaborate 
system, where simple, inexpensive meth- 
ods would serve the public as well or 
better. Sometimes a year's income, or a 
sum that would give from five hundred to 
a thousand volumes to the library, is 
wasted upon the printing and binding of 
a catalogue, which the people are ex- 
pected to purchase at cost, but which 
experience proves must be given away, 
or three-fourths of the edition will remain 
stored in some corner, soon to become 
superannuated and about as useful as the 



same weight of last year's almanacs. 
Such costly enterprises, if undertaken at 
all, are legitimate only in libraries the 
income of which is not only extraordinary 
but derived from other sources than tax- 
ation. The card catalogue, with manu- 
script lists of additions posed, in the 
library, and cheaply printed annual but- 
letins of accessions, is all that is needfull 
in the majority of towns. 

In the cities, the question of opening 
the library on Sunday afternoons is one 
that merits and has excited much debate. 
The Worcester Free Public Library was 
the first to try the experiment of admit- 
ting the people to its reading-room and 
to the use of books for reference, on 
Sunday. This it did as early as Decem- 
ber, 1872. But seven other cities are 
known to have followed Worcester's ex- 
ample. These are Boston, Brockton, 
Chelsea, New Bedford, Pittsfield, Salem, 
and Springfield. The town of Belmont, 
after a trial of about eight years, has 
recently abandoned the custom, it being 
the unanimous decision of the trustees 
" that the benefit derived by the public 
was not sufficient to warrant the expense 
incurred in the employment of a suitable 
care-taker." In Worcester, every Sun- 
day, from two hundred to three hundred 
persons avail themselves of the privileges 
extended them, and the resulting benefit 
to individuals and to the city is reported 
to be obvious and eminently satisfactory. 

There were in Massachusetts, when the 
first report of the Library Commission 
was published, one hundred and three 
towns in which there was no library freely 
open to the public. But of these towns 
Washington has coequal rights with 
Becket in the library and reading-room 
known as the Athenaeum, in the latter 
locality ; Bradford has an association in- 
corporated and a fund accumulating for 
the purpose of establishing a free library 
u in the near future"; Marshfield has a 
foundation and building fund for library 
purposes, which will become available in 
1892 ; Brewster, Nantucket, and Shel- 
burne have within their bounds valuable 
libraries now open to the public upon 
payment of an annual fee. Many other 
towns in the list have small association 
libraries supported by annual payment or 

subscriptions. Thirty-five have at their 
late town meetings accepted the statute 
provisions which entitle them to the ap- 
propriation promised from the state ; and 
the Free Public Library Commissioners 
are busy in the work of studying the 
peculiar needs and local conditions of 
these towns — for each furnishes a dis- 
tinct problem — and have already col- 
lected and forwarded the books which are 
to constitute the foundations of 28 new 
libraries. The total population of the 103 
towns, by the census of 1890, was 131,102. 
Only 11 of them had a population of 
over 2,500 each, and 52 had less than 
1,000 each. Classed by counties, 19 are 
of Berkshire, 13 of Hampden, 11 of 
Hampshire, 10 of Bristol, 9 of Franklin, 
8 of Essex, 7 of Plymouth, 7 of Barn- 
stable, 5 of Norfolk, 5 out of the 6 towns 
of Dukes, 4 of Middlesex, 4 of Worcester 
and Nantucket. A majority are examples 
of that much-to-be-lamented decadence in 
prosperity which each census emphasizes 
anew — the blight that threatens the in- 
dependent existence of those smaller 
rural towns which lie on the hill slopes 
away from the great highways of human 
intercourse, or possess no watercourses 
suitable to drive the wheels of manufac- 
ing industries. Several are coast towns, 
without harbors to entice commerce or a 
soil that rewards agriculture. The heart 
and soul of these little democracies, the 
native youth, year by year are wiled away 
to the industrial and commercial centres, 
leaving a heavier burden in life for those 
remaining behind to bear. If the free 
library is an added inducement to con- 
tent in the young, one that can serve, 
even in the smallest degree, to restrain 
this exodus from a life which is patriotism's 
best school, the state's small expenditure 
in its behalf is made in pursuance of the 
wisest policy. 

The results of the step in educational 
legislation which Massachusetts has taken 
in advance of her sister commonwealths 
will be watched with great interest through- 
out the republic. Already New Hamp- 
shire and New York have taken prelim- 
inary action in the same direction. Others 
will follow if the success here equals its 
present promise ; for at no time in the 
history of the republic has it been more 



evident that the permanency of our in- 
stitutions and national character rests 
upon the average culture of the people 
— their intelligence in the management 
of their own government. That culture 
must be self-culture — an education com- 
ing after the teachings of the common 
schools, wisdom gained by experience 
of life, personal labor and thought, 
aided by what other men have lived and 
labored and thought, as it has been told 
in books. The free public library becomes 
therefore a national need, to create and 
encourage a love for reading as one 
efficient means in raising the standard of 
public intelligence. Its power is greater 
here than in other countries, because the 
free school has fitted all classes to become 
readers, and all are ready to yield to the 
stimulus and enjoy the means of gratifica 
tion when set before them. 

To attempt, in the founding of free 
libraries, to impose any inflexible plan 
upon our New England towns, with their 
varying social conditions, would be neither 
easy nor judicious. The local situation 
and present or possible heritage affect 
even the proper selection of a list of 
books. But there are certain general 
principles which may be formulated, 
some of which deserve especial considera- 
tion, from the fact that they are practically 
ignored in a large proportion of existing 
town libraries. Those who would build 
wisely a free library in the average rural 
village will begin by catering to the ap- 
petites and digestion of those they wish 
to benefit. They will aim to win the 
attention and good-will of their audience 
before lecturing it about the higher cul- 
ture. They will innocently amuse before 
too anxiously striving to instruct. They 
will try to entice the many into the habit 
of reading, in the sure hope that while 
the moiety may never rise above super- 
ficialities, a few will acquire sound literary 
taste, become at least thinkers, if not 
scholars, or be stimulated to noble. aims 
in life ; while all will be stirred to greater 
mental activity, or derive pleasant relief 
from tedium and care. From its founda- 
tion such a public library should be 
especially rich in lessons of patriotism 
directed to the young ; for the hope, 
the very life, of republican institutions 

hang upon the patriotic enthusiasm of its 

In many a Massachusetts town, if the 
student seeks for full details of its early 
political growth, for the stories of its 
founders and military or civic heroes, 
for even the writings of its dead authors, 
unless they are very famous, he must 
go to the musty manuscript archives 
at the state house and county re- 
gistry, and to the great granaries of the 
historical and antiquarian societies, — any- 
where but to the shelves of the town's 
own library. This is not as it should be. 
The town library fails in one of the most 
important reasons for its being, if it does 
not become a treasury of local history 
and biography, a popular repository of 
anything procurable, whether printed 
page, manuscript, or picture, that tells 
aught of the trials and pluck of the town's 
pioneers ; that serves to illustrate the 
social, intellectual, and religious move- 
ments among its people ; that preserves 
faithful record of accidents and incidents, 
saying and doings, amusements and in- 
dustries, manners and customs. The 
garnering of such local matter need cost 
but little. The most valuable part of it, 
perhaps, will be gleanings of one or two 
enthusiastic searchers in the few old 
attics that were not ravaged during the 
rebellion to feed the mordacious paper 
mill. From a dark corner in such a gar- 
ret, not many months ago, was brought to 
light, with many another unique local, a 
parchment-bound volume of ancient 
parish records, inestimable in value to 
town and church history. But the bulk 
of discoveries will be of " unconsidered 
trifles." Even these rarely fail to tell 
something about the lives, thoughts, or 
deeds of the Fathers. And what is his- 
tory, whether it be of town or of an age, 
but a procession of trifles seen from an 
exalted standpoint? A chronologically 
arranged collection of olden-time waifs 
and estrays, such as can be gathered by a 
little, well-directed diligence in any old 
town, will prove of more abiding interest 
in a town library than most modern 
novels, besides subserving more useful 
purpose, as a mirror reflecting the man- 
ners of the past far more clearly than 
many a solid octavo. A like collection 



of ephemeral printed locals of the day, 
judiciously preserved from the waste- 
basket, will grow more and more valuable 
with the march of years, and a century 
hence rank as historic treasure. It is a 
good rule to accept every gift of book or 
pamphlet offered. Pamphlets can be 
simply classified and tied in bundles, or 
kept in pasteboard boxes. Duplicates 
can be made very useful by exchanges 
with other libraries. The worthless or 
worse can be condemned to their proper 
limbo ; but there should be a conserva- 
tive hesitation in even classing things 
merely trivial as worthless. Books of the 
controversial type, if given place, should 
always come by gift, not by purchase 

from the tax paid by the people. The 
reading public will, directly or indirectly, 
dictate in some degree what books shall 
be bought for their free library ; but for 
every two or three shelves filled by pur- 
chase, another will be needed for gifts 
and gleanings, if the librarian and trustees 
in charge are properly enthusiastic and 
wise in their work. But diligence in 
accumulation is of less importance than 
discretion in the choice of books. For 
the builders of the town library should 
never forget that it is a part of the 
American scheme of free education ; it 
is to become, in the prophetic words of 
George Ticknor, " the crowning glory of 
our public schools." 


By Philip Bourke Mars ton. 

WHEN thou art far from me, while days go by 
In which I may not hear thy voice divine, 
Or kiss thy lips, or take thy hand in mine, 
I walk as 'neath a dark and hostile sky. 
And the Spring winds seem void of prophecy, 
Nor is there any cheer in the sun's shine, 
But present Grief and future Fear combine 
To overthrow me, when on Love I cry. 
I am as one who through an alien town 

Journeys alone, some wild and wintry night, 
And from the windows sees warm light stream down, 

While for the wanderer is no heat nor light — 
But far, far off, he has a lordlier home, 
Whereto, one day, his weary feet shall come. 



By Ethel Par ton. 

HIRTY years ago, 
Doctor Holmes, in the 
opening chapters of 
" Elsie Venner," gave 
the public a delightful 
description of the three 
old towns, each with a 
port in its name, which 
lie in line with one 
another on the New 
England coast as the 
traveller goes down 
East — Newburyport, 
Portsmouth, and Port- 
land. Mellow with age, blessed with fine 
square mansions and sunny gardens, he 
found in them a certain Oriental char- 
acter in common ; while about the two 
first named there hung besides a glamour 
of departed greatness and of the social 
state and magnificence which belonged 
to the day of cocked hats and foreign 

In Newburyport, the first of Doctor 
Holmes's trio, the era of the city's great- 
est prosperity is doubtless also that of its 
highest historic interest ; nevertheless, 
the local annals are not without interest 
from the first, and there remain relics of 
a very early date as fine in their way as 

the imposing homes of the old-time mer- 

The colony of Newbury was founded 
in 1635 by a band of settlers who came 
from Ipswich, where they had passed the 
winter, by boat, landing upon the bank 
of the little river Parker, some miles 
south of the Merrimac, along the shores 
of which extends the city of to-day. 
Here they built their first meeting-house 
on a spot which they expected would 
become the central point of the settle- 
ment, and around it, within a radius of 
half a mile — a further distance being 
prohibited on account of danger from 
the Indians — were clustered the first 
homes of the colonists. The site was no 
doubt selected on account of the abun- 
dance of meadow land for pasturage, 
being surrounded on three sides by salt 
marshes which extended far up the course 
of the river, along its creeks, and from 
its mouth to that of the Merrimac, sep- 
arated from the sea only by a low range 
of sand hills. Other settlers joined them 
within a few months, and the number of 
cattle owned among them was so large 
that for the first few years the salt marsh 
was almost essertial to the existence of 
the community. But a few years later, 

^#t^ ^mm&zms^ 

Parker River Bridge. 



feeling the necessity for more good few years ago found there a secret closet, 

ploughing land and accessible fencing built into the substance of the structure 

stuff, the majority of the colonists deter- itself, with no access from any story, in 

mined upon removal, selecting this time such a way that it could have been 

The Old Stone House. 

a spot a short distance from the Mer- 
rimac around a little green which still 
marks the lower end of the town. With 
them came their minister, the Rev. 
Thomas Parker, a person of much note 
in his day, in whose honor the settlement 
had been named, — he having been for 
some time minister in Newbury, England, 
before coming to Massachusetts. He 
took up his abode in the new house 
erected for his nephew, the Rev. James 
Noyes, who had been chosen teacher to 
the community at the same time that his 
uncle was chosen pastor ; and this house, 
the oldest in Newbury is still standing, 
its inmates being sixth in descent from 
the original owner. 

It is a well-preserved and dignified old 
house, time-stained, and with a sharply 
sloping roof, yet wearing its antiquity 
unobtrusively. Within, it is full of the odd- 
ity, unevenness, and unexpectedness which 
make the charm of so many ancient 
houses. But its glory is its chimney. 
This is a mighty structure of brick, mea- 
suring twelve feet square and looking 
large enough for a small house in itself. 
Workmen busy at some repairs about it a 

reached only from the cellar. No one 
for many years had known of its exist- 
ence, but it was doubtless designed as a 
hiding-place for gold or valuables, perhaps 
in case of Indian raids. Nothing there 
hidden could have been found, though 
the house were ransacked by the keenest 
enemy or even burned to the ground. 
The old Noyes house is 244 years old. 
Several other houses remain of a date but 

The Noyes House. 



The Coffin House. 

a few years later, and of these the most 
interesting are perhaps the Stone House 
and the old Coffin house. This latter is 
a picturesque dark building set a little 
back from the street, the particular boast 
of which is two hearths adorned with 
small, square Dutch tiles, upon which are 
represented Scripture scenes in blue, the 
quaintest depicting Jonah, just delivered 
up, seated on the shore gazing at a whale 

— of a species unknown to natural history 

— whose ferocious jaws are provided with 
teeth like an alligator's. The Stone 
House, or old garrison-house, stands by 
itself at the head of a green lane. It 
is a building delightful to the eye, both 

Jonah and the Whale — Tile in the Coffin Hous 

within and without, its chief exterior 
beauty being its deep and hospitable 
porch with great rough doorstone, arched 
doorway and overhanging vines. The 
place was formerly called the Pierce 
Farm, and belonged to the ancestors of 
President Pierce. The town at one time 
stored its powder here, and the old rec- 
ords relate that an explosion once oc- 
curred which blew out one end of the 
house and landed an old negro woman 
in her bed, safe, but astonished, among 
the boughs of an apple tree. 

The history of old Newbury cannot 
be called eventful, but even its triviali- 
ties — as they now seem — make pleasant 
reading. Aquilla Chase and his wife 
are presented and admonished for pick- 
ing peas on the Sabbath day. Elizabeth 
Randall is presented for using reproach- 
ful language to Goody Silver, whom she 
so far forgot herself as to call a " base 
lieing divell," "tode" and " sow." A 
jury of twelve women hold an inquest on 
the body of one Elizabeth Hunt and 
return a verdict that the death of " the 
said Elizabeth was not by any violens or 
wrong dun to her by any parson or thing 
but by som soden stoping of her breath." 
There are many entries concerning earth- 
quakes, which come frequently " with a 
great roreing noise" and cause much 
terror, but do no harm. The weather is 
faithfully recorded, and there is some- 



thing pathetic in such an entry as this of 
January 24, 1686 : "So cold that ye sac- 
ramental bread is frozen pretty hard and 
rattles sadly into ye plates." A differ- 
ence between the Rev. Mr. Parker and 
his flock upon a matter of church govern- 
ment stirs the community to its very 
depth and calls forth interminable letters, 
protests, explanations, decisions, and ap- 
peals from decisions. Mingled with all 
this are the records of crops, the appor- 
tionment of land, and all the careful 

reprieved and afterwards set free. During 
the three years of Sir Edmund Andros's 
rule the townsfolk keenly resented the 
tyrannical restraints imposed upon them ; 
and there is a tradition that when the 
rumor came of the uprising against him. 
Samuel Bartlet, the village basket-maker 
and fiddler, was so eager to have a hand 
in his overthrow that he flung himself on 
his horse with his long sword hanging to 
the ground and rode full speed to Bos- 
ton, the steel tip as it struck against the 

The Old Elm of Newbury. 

business routine of a growing town in 
the olden time. 

Here and there occur items connect- 
ing the village life with the larger spiritual 
and political movements of the country, 
as that which notes how Robert Pike is 
disfranchised and fined twenty marks for 
maintaining the right of Quakers to preach ; 
or that relating how the young Quakeress, 
Lydia Wardwell, is "severely whipt " for 
appearing naked in Newbury meeting- 
house as a sign to the ungodly. More- 
over, the town had a case of witchcraft 
of its own, and its witch, one Goody 
Morse, was actually tried and sentenced 
to death several years before the great 
outbreak of the witchcraft delusion at 
Salem ; but through the persistent 
efforts of her husband, and the cle- 
mency of Governor Bradstreet, she was 

stones in the road leaving a trail of fire 
behind him all the way. 

The home life of the people was for 
many years simple, primitive, and im- 
mensely laborious. There was little 
variety of trade. Most of the citizens 
were farmers, whose day's work began 
at dawn and ended, sometimes, at dark ; 
though often there was husking to be 
done by the light of the moon or of lan- 
terns hung in the barn, or the mending 
of harness and repairing of implements 
beside the hearth, where the women sat 
at their sewing or spinning. The farmers 
wore homespun clothes, and once a year 
the tailor with his goose went from house 
to house, staying a few days at each. 
The wives and daughters were notable 
needlewomen, and the outfit of a bride 
was expected to be proof of the skill of 



"% m 

Nathaniel Tracy. 

her hands. A bride who could afford to 
have her wedding gown brought from 
England was looked upon with awe and 
envy, and her children were allowed 
peeps at the treasured garment as a 
special treat in after years. There were 
few festivals to break the year-long round 
of toil, and these were celebrated with 
hearty eating, vigorous dancing, rather too 
much rum and hard cider, and no attempt 
at elegance beyond muslin gowns and 
extra candles. 

House of W. R. Johnson, where Tracy entertained Tallyrand. 

Such was the little town, sturdy and 
primitive, dependent upon the soil. 
Very different was the city which grew 
from it and absorbed it a few years later, 
rich, prosperous, powerful, conscious of 
its importance, and not without a sober 
magnificence, finding the source of its 
wealth not in the soil, but in the sea, and 
lands beyond the sea. 

The change came about naturally 
through the altered situation of the 
town itself, which, uncoiling as it were 
from the original little knot of houses 
nestled between salt marshes and inland 
fields, had crept slowly toward the Mer- 
rimac, and now lay stretched at length 
along its shore with the harbor bar close 
in sight, and the sound of waves heard in 
its streets whenever the wind blew from 
the east. Commerce became the main- 
stay of the inhabitants. Ship-yards were 
established and shipbuilding became a 
thriving industry. During the Revolu- 
tion, armed vessels were built in the town 
by government order. Privateers swarmed 
out of the port and rendered good ser- 
vice to their country, besides bringing 
rich profit to their owners. There were 
gay scenes on the wharves when the 
townsfolk gathered to witness the arrival 
of prizes or the return of one of their 
own victorious vessels. An English ship, 
the Friends, from London 
for Boston, was captured by 
stratagem at the mouth of 
the river within view of the 
town. A native of the place, 
Captain Ofrm Boardman, hav- 
ing guessed from her move- 
ments that she was mistaken 
in her course, put off with 
seventeen companions to 
take advantage of her error. 
Hailing her and finding that 
she supposed herself to be off 
Boston Harbor, they offered 
their services to pilot her in : 
but no sooner were they al- 
lowed to come on board 
and gathered with their arms 
on deck than Captain Board- 
man ordered the ship's colors 
to be struck. Taken entirely 
by surprise, and most of his 
crew being forward, the Eng- 



lish captain could but comply, and his 
vessel, which was well armed and proved 
to be loaded with coal, wine, vinegar, 
and live hogs for the use of the British 
troops in Boston, was brought into port 
amidst great rejoicings. But this was 
an exceptional event. Most of the 
prizes brought in were won by hard 

mouth, England, where many of them 
remained two or three years. Nor were 
these the only prisoners from the patriotic 
port, since there were Newburyport men 
in the crews of vessels hailing from other 
places, a large number of whom endured 
cruel experience of British prisons and 
prison ships. Among the Plymouth 

The Clam Houses at Joppa. 

fighting, and often against heavy odds, 
the privateers being frequently absurdly 
small and ill-equipped. It was customary 
to put up prayers in the churches at their 
sailing, and there is a characteristic blend- 
ing of audacity, anxiety, and piety in the 
note sent up to the pulpit by the captain 
of a little twenty-five tonf sloop, the Game 
Cock, carrying four swivels and a handful 
of men, requesting the congregation to 
pray for his success in " scouring the 
coast of our unnatural enemies." 

There was, unhappily, a dark side to this 
brilliant picture. Twenty-two vessels, 
carrying a thousand men, left Newbury- 
port during these eventful years, and were 
never afterwards heard from, some per- 
ishing no doubt from storm or wreck, 
while others were sunk or burned in 
combat. Many more were lost and their 
fate known. The entire crews of two 
Newburyport privateers were consigned 
to the famous Old Mill prison at Ply- 

prisoners were the three brothers, Henry, 
Cutting, and Daniel Lunt, of whom the 
two former were afterwards lieutenants 
under the command of Paul Jones on 
board the Bonhomme Richard. Henry 
Lunt tried twice to escape, and in one 
attempt was severely wounded in striving 
to force himself through an iron grating, 
yet on his recapture he was punished by 
being thrown into the "black hole" of 
the prison, and no care given his wound 
until mortification set in, and he nearly 
lost his life. He obtained his liberty at 
last with many others through the efforts 
of Benjamin Franklin in negotiating the 
exchange of prisoners. A fourth brother 
of this family, Ezra, it may be added, 
was a captain in the army and was close 
beside General Lee at the battle of Mon- 
mouth, and within hearing of the words 
addressed to him by Cxeneral Washington 
when he rode up in his historic rage and 
saved the day. 



Launch of the " R. S. Spofford. 

But perhaps the most picturesque 
figure, and certainly one of the most 
important in Newburyport during the 
Revolution was that of Nathaniel Tracy, 
a rich merchant of the place who ven- 
tured all his fortune on the sea. It was 
he who owned and sent out of Newbury- 
port Harbor in August, 1775, the first 
privateer fitted out in the United States. 
Between that time and 1783 he was 
chief owner of no merchant vessels, 
valued with their cargoes at $2,733,300; 
23 of these were letters-of-marque, 
mounting 298 guns, and registering over 
1,600 men. During the same time he 

On the Landing at Joppa. 

was also principal owner of 24 cruising 
ships, carrying 340 guns, and nearly 3000 
men. At the end of the war there re- 
mained of his fleet of merchantmen but 
13 vessels. Of the 24 cruisers but 1 was 
left ; but he could show for them a 
record of 120 vessels taken from the 
enemy, with 2225 prisoners of war; 
while the sale of these vessels and 
their cargoes had brought $3,950,000 in 
specie, of which Mr. Tracy gave more 
than $1,670,000 for various public uses. 
Surely his cruisers, before they were lost, 
captured, or destroyed, had amply ful- 
filled their mission toward their country. 
But the fortunes of 
-1 their generous owner 
never recovered 
from the shock of so 
many and such heavy 

He was indeed a 
merchant prince, 
both liberal and mag- 
nificent. He pos- 
sessed a town house 
and country seats. 
He had beautiful 
gardens, shrubbery, 
hot-houses, and arti- 
ficial fish-ponds. 
He must have also 
owned lands beyond 
the bounds of his 
native citv. for it 

2r:*- --^1 



used to be said of him that he could 
travel to Virginia and sleep every night 
beneath his own roof-tree. He kept 
fine horses with splendid equipages and 

is composed of different terraces. There 
is likewise a hot-house and a number of 
young trees. The house is handsome 
and well finished, and everything breathes 

Curson's Mill. 

liveries. His wife wore notable laces 
and embroideries, and they entertained 
with lavish hospitality. His house was 
provided with a deep, cool wine-cellar 
— such as many Newburyport houses 
can still show, although the visitor who 
to-day peeps into their dark recesses 
is not likely to behold there aught but 
empty blackness and ancient cobwebs ; 
and it is related that Mr. Tracy on 
one occasion caught two of his negroes 
in this sacred precinct, one with a lifted 
silver goblet in his hand, filled to the 
brim with rare old wine in which he 
was just about to drink to better times. 
Another very different anecdote reminds 
us of this same cellar and its contents. 
Talleyrand, during his stay in the city in 
1780, spent an evening in the Tracy 
household, with his friend the Marquis de 
Chastellux and two other distinguished 
French gentlemen. The Marquis has 
left a record of their visit. 

"This is in a very beautiful situation," 
he says, speaking of the house, "but of 
that I could myself form no judgment, as 
it was already night. I went, however, 
by moonlight to see the garden, which 

that air of magnificence accompanied 
with simplicity which is to be found only 
among merchants. The evening passed 
rapidly by the aid of agreeable conversa- 
tion and a few glasses of punch. ... At 
ten o'clock an excellent supper was served. 
We drank good wine, Miss Lee sang, and 
prevailed upon Messrs. Talleyrand and de 
Vaudreuil to sing also. Towards mid- 
night the ladies withdrew, but we con- 
tinued drinking Madeira and Xery. Mr. 

Tracy, according 
country, offered 
accepted by M. 
de Talleyrand 
and M. de Mon- 
tesquieu, the 
consequence of 
which was that 
they became in- 
toxicated and 
were led home, 
where they were 
happy to get to 
bed. As to my- 
self, I remained 
perfectly cool, 
and continued 

to the custom of the 
us pipes, which were 

Lord Timothy Dexter. 




to converse on trade and politics with 
Mr. Tracy." 

It may have been the pipes that so 
overcame M. de Talleyrand and his 
friend, but I think we may doubt it with- 
out uncharitableness, since it was then no 

The Old South Church, and Birthplace of William Lloyd Garrison 

very uncommon occurrence for natives 
of the place, bred up in that custom of 
the country, to suffer in the same way. 

Nor was Mr. Tracy's establishment by 
any means the only one conducted on a 
magnificent scale. The wife of Tristram 
Dalton, another wealthy merchant and 
the first Massachusetts senator, " rode 
out bride " in a coach with six white 
horses decorated with wedding favors, 
coachmen and footmen in brilliant new 
liveries, and accompanied by four out- 
riders. His return from the seat of gov- 
ernment with his family was announced 

as that of "The Hon. Tristram Dalton, 
lady, and suite." Newspapers of the 
day contain advertisements of porters, 
gardeners, waiters, skilled ladies' maids, 
and others whose services are required only 
where life is carried on liberally and 
r luxuriously. Teach- 
ers of dancing and 
fencing were in re- 
quest. Dinners, 
balls, and other fes- 
tivities were fre- 
quent, and beside 
private entertain- 
ments the city 
boasted an elegant 
assembly-room with 
parlors and draw- 
ing-rooms attached, 
where the beaux 
and belles displayed 
their grace, their 
laces, and their 
French velvets on 
the dancing floor, 
while their elders 
played at cards. 
Jellies, fruit, cakes, 
wines, and hot 
punch were the 
favorite evening 
refreshments, with 
the "whips" of 
delicately flavored 
cream which pre- 
ceded the introduc- 
tion of ices. Sylla- 
bub, an earlier fav- 
orite, a mixture of 
milk, wine, sugar, 
and spice, served 
from a glass bowl standing upon a little 
square table made for the purpose, had 
not wholly gone out of fashion, though its 
place was being rapidly usurped by tea. 
The costumes were often of great rich- 
ness, the finest fabrics being especially 
brought from Paris and Lyons to the 
ladies of the Port. 

Nor was this society brilliant merely in 
an external sense. There was a small 
proportion of roystering young blades 
whose antics met with more toleration 
than would be granted them now, while 
it was considered one of the plainest 



rules of friendly courtesy to overlook en- 
tirely the occasional excesses at festal 
times of gentlemen of sedater character. 
But during the twenty-five years of the 
city's great prosperity, the open-handed 
patriots, Tracy and Dalton, were but two 
in a group of notable men, among whom 
were numbered Theophilus Parsons, in 
whose office were the three brilliant young 
students, Rufus King, Robert Treat Paine, 
and John Quincy Adams, studying law at 
the same time ; the Rev. Edward Bass, 
afterwards first bishop of Massachusetts ; 
Theophilus Bradbury, judge and member 
of Congress ; Jona- 
than Jackson, long 
in the public ser- 
vice ; Ralph and 
Stephen Cross, ship- 
builders and patri- 
ots ; and Jacob 
Perkins, the inven- 
tor, then employed 
in making for the 
government, dies for 
the stamping of coin, 
and plates for stere- 
otyping bank bills. 
Other rich and gen- 
erous merchants 
there were too, and 
always a sprinkling 
of fine old sea cap- 
tains and dashing 
young officers, at 
home for a sight of 
wife or sweetheart 
between two priva- 
teering trips or mer- 
chant voyages. 

The first of the 
series of disasters 
that befell the thriv- 
ing city — the third 
in Massachusetts, 
only Boston and 
Salem outranking it 
in importance — was 
great and sudden. 

The Embargo was proclaimed in De- 
cember, 1807 ; the city's trade was 
soon reduced to a few coasters and 
smugglers ; the wharves were lined with 
idle ships and crowded with muttering 
sailors ; the sound of hammers ceased 

in the ship-yards, and snow drifted win- 
ter long through the ribs of unfinished 
vessels on the stocks. The first anni- 
versary of the issue of the Act of Em- 
bargo was signalized by the tolling of 
bells, firing of minute guns and hanging 
of flags at half mast. A procession of 
sailors with crape on their arms marched 
to the sound of muffled drums, escorting 
a dismantled ship on a cart, bearing a 
flag inscribed " Death to Commerce." 
A young man dressed like an old sailor 
stood on the quarter deck with a spy- 
glass in his hand, beside whom was a 

The Whitefield Cenotaph. 

painted motto, " Which way shall I steer?" 
Every little while he cast the lead, as if 
taking soundings among shoals, and on 
arriving opposite the Custom House the 
car was halted and he made a speech re- 
flecting severely upon the Government. 



Four years later occurred the great 
fire of Newburyport, which swept away 
in a night the very heart of the city, 
clearing a tract of sixteen and a half 
acres and consuming nearly two hundred 
and fifty buildings, many of them among 
the most valuable in the place. The loss 
was about a million — not very terrible in 
this day of treble and quintuple million- 
naires, but a calamity of appalling mag- 
nitude in that more moderate time. 
Prompt and generous help was sent from 
cities, religious societies, and individuals, 
the city of Boston leading with $24,000. 
One of the best-remembered gifts was 
that of the Shaker communities of New 
Hampshire who sent five wagon loads of 
wisely selected goods — food, clothing, 
bedding and the like — such as were 
among the first needs of the burned-out 
citizens. On the road a driver of one 
of the loads was asked to sell some of 

it was the accident of his thus losing his 
employment which caused him to leave 
the town and enter elsewhere upon that 
career with which the world is familiar. 

Following close upon the fire came the 
War of 181 2. Disapproved throughout 
New England, it was nowhere more hear- 
tily detested than in Newburyport. An 
adventurous minority, it is true, saw in it 
a chance for further privateering, and 
some very brilliant achievements were 
the result of the little fleet which they 
sent forth. The sloop of war Wasp — 
named doubtless for the famous Wasp of 
the fight with the Frolic — was built and 
manned at Newburyport, and sailed 
thence with a crew of young and green 
hands (all of whom were sea-sick for the 
first week out), a few days after celebra- 
ting Washington's Birthday by a ball on 
board. In three months she took and 
destroved twelve British merchant vessels 

Brown Square. 

his commodities. "The goods are not 
for sale, friend," was the answer, "but 
if thou art a sufferer, take what thou 
needest." None were taken, and the 
wagon reached Newburyport with its load 
unlightened. One of the burned-out 
storekeepers was an uncle of George 
Peabody with whom the famous banker 
was at the time employed as clerk, and 

and sent a thirteenth into port, having 
been several times fiercely engaged with 
armed vessels of greatly superior strength. 
Her fate was long unknown, but it was at 
last made certain that she went down at 
sea in the night, after having fought a 
British frigate until quite disabled. Fifty 
thousand dollars of prize money was dis- 
tributed by the government to the heirs of 



her officers and crew. Yet in spite of a 
maritime record like this, much of the 
Newburyport shipping remained hauled 
up at the wharves during the years of the 
war, useless, the masts crowned with those 
inverted tar barrels for the protection of 
the rigging, which were jocularly known 
as "Madison's Nightcaps." 

The period of depression in the city's 

years ago has not been replaced ; while 
the largest has been emptied of its 
looms, men and machinery being now 
employed in the South ; nor is it likely 
to be used for the same industry 

Shipbuilding experienced a moderate 
revival, and old men can remember see- 
ing eighty vessels on the stocks at the 

High Street. 

fortunes was about as long as had been 
that of its wealth and importance. There 
were no large capitalists left ; after so 
much disaster and so many losses men 
had become timid and slow to risk their 
money in large enterprises ; many of the 
old trades had been of necessity aban- 
doned and others did not quickly take 
their places, and commerce had betaken 
itself to other ports. But at the end of 
nearly a quarter of a century, matters 
began to mend. Very gradually the city 
ceased to decay — then began once more 
to live. Some of the ancient industries 
were revived, and new ones were intro- 
duced. A cotton mill was built. Others 
followed, and at one time it was supposed 
that Newburyport was destined to become 
a factory town of which this business 
should be the chief support. But it does 
not now appear that this expectation is 
to be realized. A mill burned down some 

same time. But it decayed again, and 
for six years no vessels were built. Now, 
though work in the old ship-yards has been 
resumed and the number built tends to 
increase, it is not yet a large one. Sev- 
eral other businesses are carried on in 
the place, which are interesting from the 
length of time they have been established. 
The new fancy for gold beads, for instance, 
creates a demand which Newburyport 
does much toward supplying, but it is no 
new fancy there. Since the time when 
the string of little yellow spheres consti- 
tuted the sole and cherished adornment 
of the frugal farmers' wives, there has 
been a Moulton of Newburyport engaged 
in their manufacture. The business was 
founded at least as early as 1717, and 
possibly, as recently discovered records 
seem to show, a quarter of a century 
before that. 

The manufacture of shoes in the New 



England towns dates back to the middle 
of the last century, when small coasting 
vessels carried the produce of their farms 
to New York, returning with hides, which, 
during the long winters when no farm 
work could be done, were made by hand 
into shoes. Later, the use of machinery 
of course changed the entire character 
of the business, and its introduction into 
Newburyport under the new form is due 

easy walking and driving distance of the 
town, — the High Street of which indeed 
continues on through Newbury across the 
River Parker and is lined on both sides, 
as it merges from a street into a country 
road, with farms, fields of onions, and 
plenteous apple orchards. The farming 
lands of the Newburies are in many parts 
so singularly fertile, green and beautiful 
as to suggest a scene of rural Old 

The Mall. 

to a few persons, of whom the present 
mayor, Mr. Elisha P. Dodge, has been 
the most prominent. It has so grown 
and thriven that we now not infrequently 
see the city referred to in the direct if 
unpoetic English of the newspapers as 
one of the " shoe towns " of Massachu- 
setts. Cinderella should be its patron 
lady, for the shoes made there are chiefly 
of the feminine gender. 

The Newburyport of to-day yet keeps, 
amid much that is modern, many things 
reminiscent of each of its different stages 
of development. Set apart from the 
mother colony of Newbury in 1764 as a 
separate township, the boundaries of 
which were later altered and enlarged, 
Newburyport lies along the Merrimac in 
a strip too narrow to include much beside 
the city itself. But Newbury and West 
Newbury, its near neighbors and rela- 
tions, abound in ancient farms within 

England rather than of New England. 
There is, too, an unusual persistence of 
the old names and ownership, that re- 
minds one of the older country. Kent's 
Island, for instance, — a farm occupying 
a "Marsh Island" so like that of Miss 
Jewett's story as to have been claimed for 
its veritable scene — bears the name of 
one of the original settlers, to whom it 
was granted in 1647, an d st iU belongs to 
the same family. The estate was entailed 
to the oldest male heir, and so descended 
until an unforeseen trouble arose — the 
birth of twin sons, of whom not even a 
tedious legal suit and investigation could 
decide which was the elder — in conse- 
quence of which the property was equally 
divided. In Oldtown, as that part 
of Newbury adjacent to the city called, 
everybody is cousin to everybody else, 
and some of the ancient names have 
become so common as to serve hardly 



Theophilus Parsons. 

better than no name at all. A stranger 
is entirely bewildered, and even among 
natives brought up under the shadow of 
the family tree there is confusion, and 
some curious devices are resorted to, to 
distinguish different members of the 

The Oldtown church, which replaces 
a much older edifice destroyed by fire, 
is not especially interesting ; but the 
little graveyard opposite it, occupying a 
partially terraced slope descending to a 
pond, contains a number of such epi- 
taphs as delight the antiquary. That of 
Timothy Noyes, who died in 1718, reads 
thus : 

" Good Timothy in 
HisYouthfull days 
He liued much 
Unto Gods prayse 
When age came one 
He and his wife 
Thay liud a holy 
& a pious life 
Therefor you children 
Whos nams are noyes 
Make Jesus Christ 
Your only Choyse. 

The lower waterside region of the city, 
called Joppa, possesses interest alike 
through picturesqueness and association. 
Its dingy houses and clam sheds at the 
verge of the tide are hardly pleasing in 
themselves, and if at some times one's 
nostrils are there filled with the delicious 
savor and saltness of the sea breeze, at 

others they encounter a very ancient and 
fish-like smell, which the native of New- 
buryport does not wholly enjoy, and the 
inland visitor still less. But the river 
view, seen at first in glimpses between 
the houses and further down in its full 
breadth and beauty from the long open 
stretch of the sea wall — this view is 
entirely beautiful. 

The Merrimac, widening to its mouth, 
there spreads sparkling over the broad 
expanse of the Flats, full and blue at 
high tide with white sails skimming its 
ripples ; at low tide leaving in the curve 
of the shore wide stretches of green eel 
grass, shallow water, and glistening mud 
where the clammers wade and bend at 
their work. The two points, Salisbury, 
and Plum Island, a light-house brilliant 
in dazzling whiteness upon the latter, 
mark where the river narrows again two 
miles below to meet the sea, and the line 
of white-caps, if the wind is fresh, can 
plainly be seen breaking across the bar. 
If it blows hard, their steady roar is in 

Statue on the Mall. 



Caleb Cushing. 

one's ears ; and after listening awhile it is 
not difficult to distinguish the separate 
crashing stroke of each great wave. If 
it blows a gale, spray fills the air and 
drives across the street ; thick yellow 
flakes of foam strike against the windows 
of the opposite houses, where some fall 

entire crest of a wave of especial height 
and violence will sweep across the narrow 
roadway and whirl its dying eddies 
against the threshold of a dwelling. 
Some of the Joppa houses still retain the 
little railed platform on the roof, which 
in the city's seafaring day was used not 
to enjoy the view, but to scan the sea for 
incoming sails. Often have the women 
of the household crouched there in squally 
weather, the family telescope steadied on 
the railing before them, gazing at the 
tempestuous white fury of the South 
Breaker, a perilous shoal well known to 
mariners, extending seaward from Plum 
Island, where some black mass of wreck- 
age would be tossed and tumbled and 
dashed to pieces as they looked. Nor 
do all the tragedies of the waterside 
belong to time of storm. 

It was on the 15 th of March, but 
in bitterly cold weather, that a boy, a 
fisherman's son, playing about the street, 
chanced to look out upon the harbor, and 
saw there a boat manned by five men. 
He continued his play, but some time 
after looked again, and noticed that it 

Residence of Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford. 

back and some adhere, while others hang, 
a strange burden, on the boughs of the 
lilac bushes at the door. In the wild 
gales of the equinoxes or the fierce 
storms of winter, it sometimes happens 
that not spray and foam only, but the 

had made no progress. He thought it 
odd, but went on playing, looking up 
again and yet again to see the boat still 
in almost the same position. At last his 
curiosity was sufficiently aroused to impel 
him to go into the house for a telescope. 



Looking through that, he observed that 
the men, though sitting in their places as 
if to row, were not rowing. He spoke to 
a neighbor, and soon a dory was manned 
and put off to investigate. As they ap- 
proached, they saw the men in the other 
boat sitting straight and still, each in his 
seat as if nothing was amiss, — only, they 

ories of old-fashioned sermons of vigor- 
ous doctrine and frequently of violent 
politics, of long-drawn hymns " deaconed 
out " verse by verse, of prayers for ves- 
sels outward bound, of the annual con- 
tribution taken up the Sunday before 
Thanksgiving for the ransom of captive 
sailors in Algiers — the Old South has 

Residence of Hon. E. P. Dodge. 

did not row nor move. As they came 
nearer they saw why. Every man was 
dead, with staring eyes wide open. Their 
boat, it was ascertained, had been cap- 
sized, but they had succeeded in right- 
ing her and climbing into her. There, 
drenched with the icy water, the mercury 
at zero, their oars lost while they strug- 
gled in the river, they had sat helpless, 
and had frozen stark and stiff in sight of 
home. One of them was the father of 
the boy who had first discovered the 
drifting boat. 

Not far from Joppa, but nearer to the 
heart of the city, stands the First Presby- 
terian Church of Newburyport, commonly 
called the Old South Church, one of the 
buildings most full of historic associations. 
Besides such memories as it shares with 
other old churches of the place — mem- 

other claims upon public interest. There 
George Whitefield, to whose eloquence 
the founding of the church was due, 
often preached. Almost next door to it 
he died on the morning of the Sabbath 
when he had expected to preach there 
once again ; within its precincts his 
bones now lie, and a cenotaph of marble 
has been erected to his memory. It 
does not cover his remains, however, for 
his bones are underneath the pulpit, and 
can be viewed by the curious visitor. 
The bones of the right arm were once 
stolen from the coffin and taken to Eng- 
land, but were restored several years 
later by the conscience-stricken possessor, 
accompanied by proofs that the restora- 
tion was genuine. It is certainly a sin- 
gular fate, that the bones of the great 
English preacher should thus be on ex- 



hibition in a New England church, like 
those of a saint in Catholic Italy. The 
first minister of the church, a friend of 
Whitefield, the Rev. Jonathan Parsons, 
assumed his charge in 1746, having him- 
self urged at his ordination all the reasons 
he could find against his fitness, conclu- 
ding by asking the congregation if they 
still desired him for their minister. Their 
reply being in the affirmative, he accepted 
the call, and the services proceeded. 
He must have been a man of unusual 
force and spirit. At the outbreak of the 
Revolution, when patriotic feeling ran 
high, many ministers treated the burning 
questions of the hour from the pulpit, 

Hall in the Dodge House. 

and urged their hearers to the resistance 
of tyranny. But Jonathan Parsons did 
more. He closed one of his sermons 
with an appeal to his hearers to form 
volunteer companies, and invited such as 
were ready to enlist to step out into the 
broad aisle. There was no hanging back. 

Ezra Lunt was the first to come forward 
before the eyes of the congregation ; 
others followed ; and before the meeting 
broke up there had been raised within 
the church walls the first volunteer com- 
pany organized for service in the Con- 
tinental Army. Afterwards, under Cap- 
tain Lunt, it rendered a good account of 
itself at Bunker Hill. 

Yet another interesting scene was en- 
acted there during the Revolution. The 
expedition against Quebec under Bene- 
dict Arnold, which embarked from New- 
buryport for the Kenneftec, was quartered 
in the city for several days, the troops 
being in part accommodated in the rope- 
walks of the 
place, while 
others camped 
near Oldtown 
Green, and the 
higher officers, 
Arnold, Aaron 
Burr, Daniel 
Morgan, Henry 
Dearborn, and 
others, were lav- 
ishly entertained 
by representative 
citizens — a cour- 
tesy which was 
repaid by treating 
the inhabitants to 
a grand review 
before their de- 
parture. One 
day of their stay 
was Sunday, when 
the troops, with 
flags flying and 
drums rolling, 
marched to the 
Old South, where 
their chaplain, 
the Rev. Samuel 
Spring, had been 
invited to preach. 
Tradition tells us 
that citizens crowded the galleries and 
every available standing point elsewhere, 
but the body of the church was given up 
to the soldiers, who were halted in the 
aisles until his arrival. As he entered 
and passed through their lines to take his 
place in the high, carved pulpit — a stal- 



wart, handsome, bright-eyed young man, 
six feet tall and of fine military carriage — 
they presented arms, then stacked their 
muskets in the side aisles, and took 
their seats, and the service began, the 
preacher's text being, " If thy Spirit go 
not up with us, carry us not up hence." 
Two days later, amidst a tumult of 

the Sabbath." But of the sixteen others, 
most are modern and of religious, not 
historic, interest. Two, however, have 
pleasing associations and traditions. The 
church of the First Religious Society 
(Unitarian) does not date back further 
than 1 80 1, but is notable for its fine, 
old-fashioned architecture. The inte- 

W. R. Johnson's House. — Formerly Tracy's Country Seat. 

popular excitement, the expedition em- 
barked upon eleven transports, and glided 
out of the harbor on a fine breezy morn- 
ing, with music on the decks and white 
sails shining in the sun. But some of 
those who had heard the young minister's 
discourse had been so pleased and im- 
pressed, that when in two years' time the 
new North Church desired a pastor, a 
letter was written inviting his acceptance 
of the charge. He was still with the 
army, and his reply, dated " Ticonderoga, 
August 12," declined the offer on the 
ground of his engagements as chaplain. 
But no sooner was he released from those 
engagements than he accepted the re- 
newed request. He was for forty-two 
years the pastor of the North Church of 
Newburyport, and was father of the noted 
Gardiner Spring of the Brick Church, 
New York. 

Newburyport is well provided with 
churches ; so well that it is not difficult to 
believe the statement of an old local 
geography, that the place has always been 
remarkable for its " strict observance of 

rior remains substantially unaltered to- 
day, and the minister still preaches from 
a tall pulpit reached by two narrow 
flights of stairs, lifted so far above the 
congregation that every time he sits down 
he becomes invisible. The present build- 
ing replaces one which occupied the site 
of the present Market Square, and was 
purchased and destroyed by the city. 
It was in front of this former church that 
a crowd of ship carpenters, under the 
lead of Eleazer Johnson, made a fine 
bonfire from a pile of boxes of tea, some 
time before the Boston Tea Party had 
made the destruction of the hated article 
a favorite act with patriots. The spire 
of this church was once struck by 
lightning, and as Benjamin Franklin 
chanced to be in town, he of course 
visited it to investigate ; a letter of his is 
preserved in which he minutely describes 
the effect of the electric fluid, and its 
manner of passing from the belfrey to a 
room below along a clock wire " no bigger 
than a common knitting needle," which it 
"blew all to smoke." 



The society was organized in 1725, 
and the Rev. John Lowell settled as its 
first pastor. A curious fact in its history 
is that Mr. Fox, at one time its minister, 
was the first to introduce the idea of 
Sunday-school picnics to the people of 
the staid old city, who were at first 

Pulpit of the Old South Church. 

greatly shocked and then much amused 
thereby. It struck them as undignified 
and absurd to see a minister driving out 
into the country in a wagon with a crowd 
of young folks and a pile of lunch baskets. 
The spectacle, now so familiar, excited 
laughter and ridicule, and these gay and 
simple pioneer picnic parties were dub- 
bed derisively " Fox's Caravans." The 
fashion soon became popular, however, 
as indeed picnics without the special 
countenance of the church had been from 
a very early day. No city can show a 
more delightful variety of attractions of 
wood and field, riverside and seaside, 

than can Newburyport, and every sum- 
mer sees an almost universal outflocking 
of the inhabitants to enjoy them. The 
two beaches, Salisbury and Plum Island 
are in particular the scene of summer 
long festivity. 

The Episcopal Church of St. Paul's 
had for its minister 
during the Revolu- 
tion, the Rev. Ed- 
ward Bass, afterwards 
first bishop of Massa- 
chusetts. He can- 
not have been as 
ardent in his politics 
as the other clergy 
of the town, or he 
could hardly have 
made, nor his congre- 
gation have accepted, 
the compromise 
which was effected in 
the church service. 
He would not pray 
for the success of the 
patriots, and his flock 
would not allow him 
to pray for the king, 
so all prayers of a 
public and political 
nature were omitted 
entirely. He was 
nevertheless occa- 
sionally hooted in the 
streets as a Tory. 
Nor were his sup- 
porters in England 
satisfied with his half- 
way position, and 
they withdrew the 
assistance formerly given him, on the 
ground that had he been truly loyal 
he could not have remained in such a 
nest of disaffection as Newburyport. 
The church lost by theft a few years 
ago a silver communion service given 
by William and Mary to King's Chapel. 
Boston, and by the society there, which 
was already well provided, presented to 
the younger and poorer church. A 
former rector of St. Paul's, Rev. William 
Horton, left a public bequest in the form 
of a sum of money to build an almshouse, 
which was erected three years ago in a 
beautiful rural situation on the outskirts 



of the city, and is a fine and substantial 

Among other buildings of note in the 
city is the Public Library, founded in 
1854 by Josiah Little, with a gift of five 
thousand dollars, since supplemented by 
others from citizens and friends. George 
Peabody in 1868 gave it fifteen thousand 
dollars. Within recent years an annex 
has been built through the munificence 
of the late Mr. Michael Simpson, and a 
reading-room established and maintained 
by Mr. William C. Todd. The library 
building was originally the town house of 
Nathaniel Tracy. It has been enlarged 
and altered of necessity to accommodate 
both the books and the public ; but the 
two rooms are preserved in one of which 
George Washington held his reception on 
his visit to the place, while the other was 
used for the same purpose by Lafayette. 
The latter contains many interesting por- 
traits, the property of the Historical So- 
ciety, while autographs and other relics 
are displayed in different parts of the 
building. Next door to this fine old 
edifice stands the fine new one of the 
Young Men's Christian Association, re- 
cently completed, the generous gift of 
Mrs. George Corliss, as a memorial of 
her husband. 

But the charm of Newburyport is its 
High Street, three miles in length, wind- 
ing in beautiful curves along the summit 
of the slope upon which the city is built, 
lined on both sides with trees, the noble 
old elms in many places meeting in an 
arch of green above the roadway. On 
the upper side of the street many of the 
houses are set back upon the Ridge, a 
higher crest of the slope, and are ap- 
proached by lawns or terraces. The 
houses are both of the old style and the 
new, mingled not inharmoniously ; but to 
the eye of a stranger the old — square, 
dignified, ample, simple in outline and 
hospitable in suggestion — would seem to 
preponderate, lending as they do its dis- 
tinctive character to the street. Not far 
from midway of its length is a public 
park, encircling a pond, which tradition 
states was created in a night by an earth- 
quake in the early days of the town. 
This pond is in a deep depression sur- 
rounded by green terraces, which are in 

turn surrounded at their upper level by 
broad walks shaded by drooping elms. 
Close back of this park rise the two old 
Burying Hills ; at one end of it is a 
statue of Washington by Ward, at the 
other a large grammar school ; the build- 
ing of the High and Putnam schools is 
opposite to it, and the Court House 
stands within its precincts. Green Street, 
which leads from it to the river, shows at 
the foot of its shady, sloping avenue a de- 
lightful glimpse of blue water; and of 
this the citizens can never be deprived, 
since land has recently been secured 
there for a future riverside park. Few 
cities can show a more pleasing and 
characteristic public ground than the 
park already existing, nor a more fit and 
attractive situation than that of the one 
to come. 

Newburyport is associated with the 

St Paul's Church. 

names of a number of noted persons, 
besides those already mentioned. William 
Lloyd Garrison was born here, in a house 
still standing, next but one to the Old 
South Church. From the age of four- 
teen to that of twenty-one he was a 
printer in the office of the Newburyport 



The Leigh House, Newbury. 

Herald, and the first paper which he 
edited was published in Newburyport. 
A fellow-townsman, Isaac Knapp, was his 
partner in the publication of the famous 
Liberator. Caleb Cushing, the city's 
first mayor, was born across the river in 
Salisbury, but is always considered, and 
considered himself, a Newburyport man. 
Major Ben : Perley Poore's charming resi- 
dence at Indian Hill has long been noted 
for its beauty, and for the many curiosi- 

ties collected within its picturesque walls 
during the late owner's lifetime. Gen- 
eral A. W. Greely is a native of the 
place, and it is a pleasing incident that 
on the return voyage after his terrible 


Indian Hii! Farm, 



Arctic sojourn, the ship in which he was 
on its way to Portsmouth, first neared the 
coast off the mouth of the Merrimac, thus 
giving him for his first sight of his own 
country the familiar outlines of the Old- 
town hills and the white spire of a church 
near his home. William Wheelwright, 
the great projector of public enterprise in 
South America, was also a native of New- 
buryport, and remembered the city of his 
birth in his will, bequeathing to it a hun- 
dred thousand dollars for the purpose of 
scientific education, the income of which 
is at present expended in sending students, 
to the Institute of Technology in Boston. 

of tobacco, with a motto above, in Latin, 
" In essentials, united ; in non-essentials, 
liberty ; in all things, charity." The 
name of another poet, the late John Boyle 
O'Reilly, neither a native nor a resident 
of the city, is yet one closely connected 
with it. A lover of the old town, his 
face was well-known upon its streets ; 
he had within it many personal friends, 
and was a frequent visitor to the large 
Parochial School, where all the children 
knew and welcomed him. A reading 
circle recently founded bears his name. 

The poet Whittier, born in Haverhill 
and long a resident of Amesbury, has 

Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford's beauti- 
ful home, Deer Island, midway of the 
Merrimac and connected with the New- 
buryport shore by Chain Bridge, the 
oldest suspension bridge in New England 
and a most picturesque structure, is well- 
known to the public through pictures and 
descriptions. The ancestors of both Long- 
fellow and Lowell were Newbury men ; 
and Mr. Lowell preserved at Elmwood 
the panel which formerly adorned the 
mantelpiece of the Rev. John Lowell of 
Newburyport. Upon it is a painting rep- 
resenting a group of ministers seated 
around a table bearing a bowl and a dish 


spent much time in Newburyport, and 
seems to belong to it as much as to either 
of the other towns. He has indeed made 
the Merrimac the most musical of our 
rivers, and bestowed upon the inhabitants 
of its whole seaward valley the delight of 
dwelling in a region lovely not alone in its 
natural aspect, but filled with the beauty 
of a poetry that uplifts and glorifies alike 
its traditions, household tales, and visible 
nature. If no line has here been quoted 
of the many he has written at once apt 
and beautiful, descriptive of scenes and 
persons mentioned, it is only through fear 
of the temptation to quote too much. 



The Y. M. C. A. Building. 

Almost every portion of the Essex land- 
scape has somewhere been touched by 
Whittier ; and upon no portion has he 
dwelt with greater frequency than upon 
the places round about old Newbury port. 
John Pierpont, the writer of hymns ; 
George Lunt, the poet ; Hannah Gould, 
a literary light of some magnitude in her 
day, whose verses celebrating what Dr. 
Holmes rather slightingly calls that 
" stately vegetable," the old elm of New- 

bury, are not yet forgotten ; John B. 
Gough, the temperance orator — better 
known to the old town, however, in the 
days of his shame than those of his 
fame ; Golonel T. W. Higginson, once 
the young minister of the old Unitarian 
church ; Jane Andrews, most inspiring 
of teachers, and writer of exquisite stories 
for children — all these names, too, belong 
more or less intimately to the city's his- 


By Edward Everett Hale. 

IF any journal in the world should 
express love and regret upon the 
death of James Russell Lowell it 
is the New England Magazine. For 
he has been a New Englander, through 
and through, of the best stock. And 
since he knew what he was, or indeed 
that he was anything, he has been proud 
that he was a New Englander. No per- 
son has understood our dialect better 
than he, no one has used it to more pur- 
pose, no one has gone to the root of our 
character and history better than he, no 
one stood for us more loyally when fools 
or knaves attacked us, and no one has 
done us more credit in the fields of litera- 
ture and history. 

And we remember how much of his 
life has been given to the periodical lit- 
erature of New England. Before he was 
twenty years old he was an editor of the 
college magazine, Harvardiana. In 
1842, he was one of the pack-horses, 
who worked in the team of my brother's 
magazine, the Boston Miscellany. The 
masterly papers he published there, in 
prose and in verse, immediately com- 
manded attention. The essays on the 
Old English Dramatists were first pub- 
lished there. So soon as that magazine 
was given up, therefore, when his friend 
Mr. Carter projected the Pioneer, as a 
sort of successor to it, with just the same 
form, type, and purpose, he became the 
editor of the Pioneer. It speaks of the 
school in which all these young men 
were bred, that the page, the type, the 
width of columns of these magazines 
were taken from the two-column pam- 
phlet editions of Chapman, the English 
publisher, in which, at that time, they 
were reading their Browning. 

It was in 1843 that the three numbers 
of the Pioneer were published, — and 
that the Pioneer ceased to be. This was 
fourteen years before Messrs. Phillips and 
Sampson gave the dinner party at which 
the Atlantic was born, — and Mr. Lowell 
then became its first editor. Mr. Phil- 

lips, — who should be gratefully remem- 
bered as a true publisher, a spirited and 
forward-looking man, to whom Boston, 
not to say American literature is largely 
indebted, — convoked a party of gentle- 
men to dine with him and his partner 
Mr. Sampson. At that party there were 
present, I think, Mr. Emerson, Mr. Pres- 
cott, Mr. Parkman, Dr. Holmes, Mr. 
Lowell, and Mr. Underwood. I will not 
dare name other guests. When the din- 
ner was wellnigh ended, Mr. Phillips 
made a little speech, in which he said 
that the firm of Phillips & Sampson were 
going to establish a magazine. He said : 
"We do not pretend that we can write 
such prophecies as Mr. Emerson, such 
history as Mr. Prescott and Mr. Parkman, 
such poetry as Dr. Holmes or Mr. 
Lowell ; but we do pretend that we 
know the American people better than 
any of you." This was perfectly true, — 
and each of these gentlemen knew it. 
All of those I have named, excepting 
perhaps Mr. Emerson, became contribu- 
tors to the new magazine, and Mr. 
Lowell for some years was the editor in 
chief — with the constant assistance, I 
believe, of Mr. Underwood. Afterward, 
at the request of Ticknor & Fields, he 
took charge of the North American Re- 
view, — and he continued this charge, in 
connection with Professor Norton, for 
several years. Mr. Lowell was, there- 
fore, his life through almost, one of 
the honorable craft of editors. He is to 
be remembered first of all as the most 
distinguished editor of New England 

Mr. Lowell, like his kinsman Dr. 
Plolmes, has again and again, in joke or 
in earnest, dwelt on the advantage to any 
man of having a good New England 
ancestry. Dr. Holmes has insisted on 
the value of having this ancestry made up 
in part of old New England ministers ; 
and I think we could find passages to 
that effect in Mr. Lowell's backward- 
looking glimpses. He had this good 



fortune. His father was, for half a cen- 
tury and. more, the beloved and honored 
minister of the West Church in Boston. 
This was the radical church of its day 
when it was under the ministry of May- 
hew, who has been called " the John 
Baptist of the Revolution." Mayhew met 
Sam Adams in the street one morning, 
and said to him, " Adams, we have com- 
munion of churches ; why do we not have 
communion of states? " And from those 
words of his, it is said, grew the Com- 
mittees of Correspondence, which ri- 
pened into the Confederacy, which ripened 
into the Union. The West Church never 
lost its attitude of independence. Dr. 
Lowell would never take any theological 
name, which should part him from other 
Congregationalists ; and his successor, Dr. 
Bartol, has always been true to such tradi- 
tion. The grandfather of Dr. Lowell was 
also one of the New England ministers. 
He was one of those who preached ser- 
mons when young men went out to fight 
the French, and preached sermons again 
in memory of their death when they had 
been slain in battle. He was of New- 
buryport, and for two generations the 
family counts as of Essex County. But 
Lowell's grandfather, he who comes be- 
tween the Newbury minister and the Bos- 
ton minister, is the John Lowell to whom 
Massachusetts men owe the phrase in our 
constitution, " All men are created free 
and equal." Lowell was in the Con- 
stitutional Convention of 1780. He in- 
troduced into the Bill of Rights this 
passage from the Bill of Rights of Vir- 
ginia, with the avowed determination of 
emancipating every slave in Massachu- 
setts ; and the freedom of every slave 
followed as soon as that constitution went 
into effect. There is a good sort of 
grandfather for the author of the " Biglow 
Papers ! " Farther back they were Boston 
people for a generation ; but the origin 
of the family is in old Newbury. A John 
Lowell arrived there in 1639, with a son 
who was also John Lowell, and he was 
a cooper. In those days they spelled it 
Lowle, but the other name has got too 
well established to permit anybody to 
change it back again. To this day, New 
York people, unless they have the ad- 
vantage of a New England education, 

pronounce the name Lowle or Lole. But 
this may be as they say " chick'n." The 
city of Lowell in Massachusetts is named 
in honor of an uncle of the poet Lowell, 
a son of the constitution-maker, who was 
among the first to see that Massachusetts 
was to become a manufacturing region, 
and to introduce the manufacture of cot- 
ton. Another relative, a son of this 
gentleman, is the John Lowell, Jr., who, 
dying without issue, made the people of 
Massachusetts his heirs by establishing 
the free courses of education which are 
known in Boston as the Lowell Institute, 
so admirably administered to this day. 

My own personal relation with Lowell 
began when we were both boys in Har- 
vard College, He was a little older than 
I, and was one class in advance of me. 
My older brother, with whom I lived in 
college, and he were most intimate 
friends. He had no room within the 
college walls, and was a great deal with 
us. The fashion of Cambridge was then 
literary. Now the fashion of Cambridge 
runs to social problems. But then we 
were interested in literature. We read 
Byron and Shelley and Coleridge and 
Keats, and we began to read Tennyson 
and Browning. I first heard of Tennyson 
from Lowell, who had borrowed from 
Mr. Emerson the little first volume of 
Tennyson, ■ — which, by the way, contains 
some poems which have never been 
printed elsewhere. We actually passed 
about Tennyson's poems in manuscript. 
Carlyle's Essays were being printed at the 
same time, and his French Revolution. 
In such a community, — not two hundred 
and fifty students all told, — literary 
effort was, as I say, the fashion, and 
literary men, among whom Lowell was 
recognized from the very first, were 
special favorites. Indeed, there was that 
in him which made him a favorite every- 

The Alpha Delta Phi was introduced 
in Cambridge in those days< It was 
formed without the knowledge of the 
members of the government, and in 
actual defiance of college laws. This, 
of course, made it all the more interest- 
ing. It was a purely literary society, and 
the members were eager to do good lit- 
erary work in it. Practica'ly. the little 



society of Alpha Delta Phi edited Har- 
vardiana for 1837 and 1838. Lowell 
went into this enterprise eagerly. He 
contributed some little poems, but more 
of his work was in short essays, and he 
wrote two numbers of what they called 
"Skillygoliana." All magazines then 
followed the lead of Blackwood, and this 
was their faint imitation of the miscel- 
laneous chat with which every number of 
Blackwood ended. Then there was what 
one might call the stereotyped imitations 
which college magazines of those days 
thought it funny to print. The Hasty 
Pudding Club in those days had two ora- 
tions and two poems in every year. The 
poems of the class of '38 were by Lowell 
and the late Rev. J. F. W. Ware. Here 
are a few lines from Lowell's poems. It 
should be remembered that railroads were 
a novelty in those days. 

"Perchance improvement, in some future time, 
May soften down the rugged path of rhyme, 
Build a nice railroad to the sacred mount, 
And run a steamboat to the muses' fount ! 
O happy days ! when " steaming " to renown, 
Each bard shall rise, the wonder of his town ! 
Oh happy days ! when every well-filled car 
With stubborn rhymes in rugged strife shall jar, 
And every scribbler's tuneless lyre shall squeak, 
While whizzing swiftly up Parnassus' Peak !" 

" Fain would I more ; — but could my muse as- 
To praise in fitting strains our college choir? 
Ah, happy band ! securely hid from sight, 
Ye pour your melting strains with all your 

might; — 
And as the prince, on Prosper's magic isle, 
Stood spell-bound, listening with a raptured 

To Ariel's witching notes, as through the trees 
They stole like angel voices in the breeze, — 
So when some strange divine the hymn gives 

Pleased with the strains he casts his eyes about, 
All round the chapel gives an earnest stare, 
And wonders where the deuce the singers are, 
Nor dreams that o'er his own bewildered p?.te 
There hangs suspended such a tuneful weight." 

It was a matter of course that he should 
be chosen the poet of the class. The 
feeling of the class was as distinct then 
as would now be the feeling of those who 
survive, that here was the poet of New 
England. And Lowell wrote, with more 
care than he had then given to anything, 
his class poem. But at that time he was 

incurring college censure, chiefly for non- 
attendance at morning chapel. It is to 
be remembered that this meant being up 
and dressed and present at six in the 
morning, if it was then light enough for 
the chaplain to read, — and as the sun 
rose later the hour for chapel was pushed 
along to match it. I remember that 
Lowell had a curious superstition that if 
he were only in place Monday morning, 
the "faculty" would see him there, and 
that that would answer, with evening 
chapel regular, as it was. But it would 
not answer. The bolt fell, to the distress 
of his near friends who had been hoping 
to pull him through. It was perfectly 
known that the government did not want 
to dismiss him. His father was the inti- 
mate friend of all of them, and every- 
body knew his promise. He was in no 
sort a rebel against college rules or sys- 
tems. He was a sufficiently good student, 
and every one knew how well his literary 
work was done. I remember that he al- 
ways received forty-eight, which was the 
highest number which could be given for 
themes, by the critical Edward Tyrrel 
Channing, who had marked his charac- 
teristics at that early time. But Lowell 
could not bring himself to prayers, and 
accordingly, when the last term came, he 
was suspended, and sent to Concord for 
the rest of the term. The indignity was 
added that he should not be present at 
Class Day, the last day of the term, to 
deliver his own poem. Sadly the class 
had to print the poem, which is now 
among the rare nuggets of American lit- 
erature, and to go through their ceremo- 
nies without a poet. I have heard in 
later years, what I did not know then, 
that he rode down from Concord in a 
canvas-covered wagon, and peeped out 
through the chinks of the wagon to see 
the dancing around the tree. I fancy he 
received one or two visits from his friends 
in the wagon, but in those times it would 
have been treason to speak of this. 

" We must go ! for already more near and more 

The tramp of the paleface falls thick on the 

ear — 
Like the roar of the blast when the storm-spirit 

Is the clang of the trumps and the death-rolling 




Farewell to the spot where the pine-trees are 

O'er the flowery turf where our fathers are 

lying ! 
Farewell to the forests our young hunters love, 
We shall soon chase the deer with our fathers 

above ! 

" We must go ! and no more shall our council- 
fires glance 

On the senate of chiefs or the warrior's dance, 

No more in its light shall youth's eagle eye 

Or the glazed sight of age become young in its 

Wail! wail! for our nation; its glory is o'er; 

These hills with our war-songs shall echo no 

And the eyes of our bravest no more shall look 

As they hear of the deeds of their fathers in 
fight ! 

" In the home of our sires we have lingered our 

Our death-song is swelling the moan of the 

Yet to each hallowed spot clings fond memory 

Like the mist that makes lovely yon far distant 

The eyes of our maidens are heavy with weeping, 
The fire 'neath the brow of our young men is 

And the half-broken hearts of the aged are 

As the smoke curls its last round their desolate 

dwelling ! 

" We must go ! but the wailings yewring from us 

Shall crowd your foul prayers from the Great 
Spirit's ear, 

And when ye pray for mercy, remember that 

Will forgive (so ye taught us) as ye have for- 
given ! 

Ay, slay ! and our souls on the pinions of prayer 

Shall mount freely to Heaven and seek justice 

For the flame of our wigwams points sadlv on 

To the sole path of mercy ye've left us — to die ! 

" God's glad sun shone as warm on our once 
peaceful homes 

As when gilding the pomp of your proud swell- 
ing domes, 

And his wind sang a pleasanter song to the 

Than when rustling the silk in your temples of 

For He judges not souls by their flesh-garments' 

And His heart is as open for us as for you; 

Though he fashioned the Redman with duskier 

Yet the Paleface's breast is far darker within ! 

" We are gone ! The proud Redman hath melted 

like snow 
From the soil that is tracked by the foot of his 

Like a summer cloud spreading its sails to the 

We shall vanish and leave not a shadow behind. 
The blue old Pacific roars loud for his prey, 
As he taunts the tall cliffs with his glittering 

spray ; 
And the sun for our glory sinks fast to his rest, 
All darkly and dim in the clouds of the west ! " 

I have looked in vain in Mr. Cabot's 
"Life of Emerson" for any allusion to 
Mr. Lowell's making Emerson's acquain- 
tance at that time. I should like to know 
whether they did not meet then, and I 
have some vague impression that they 
did. Lowell was already an enthusiast in 
what it is fair to call the worship of Mr. 
Emerson. In "My Study Windows," he 
says of the first Phi Beta oration, which 
Dr. Holmes calls " our literary Declara- 
tion of Independence," that it was " an 
effort without any former parallel in our 
literary annals, a scene always to be trea- 
sured in memory for its picturesqueness 
and its inspiration." 

Mr. Lowell never maintained any ani- 
mosity against the college for the suspen- 
sion which sent him to Concord. In 
fact, he profited by the time he spent 
there. He was under the tender and 
satisfactory oversight of Dr. Ripley and 
Mrs. Ripley, — names loved and honored 
in all New England memories, — and un- 
doubtedly spent the months to great ad- 
vantage. Let the young reader observe 
that he was always a reader. To the end 
of his life he enjoyed reading, read with 
an iron memory, and knew what he was 
reading for. He left college well for- 
ward in lines of literary life which were 
really not known at that time by many 
men much older than he who had literary 
aspiration. Here is a little note of his, 
which I find in an old portfolio, which 
must have been written in 1839 or 1840, 
— that is to say, when he was about 
twenty years old. I think the note worth 
copying, as showing his interest in a line 
of research which is not yet followed by 
many students, and which then was known 
by an even smaller proportion of thought- 
ful men. 

M Wednesday. 

" Dear L., — I have been at the book-auctior. 


and bought Jacob Behmen's " Philosophy," small compatible with extensive legal attainments. One 

quarto, for $, ditto " Epistles " for $1.45, and side was occupied by a large book-case, the green 

Randolph's " Poems " for $.55. Burnham ran me silk behind whose glass doors made an impene- 

up, but they are good books. I have just got a trable mystery of the learning within, and whose 

letter from the Man. Come up this evening if mahogany had assumed a sympathetic similitude 

nothing prevents, will you? of hue with law-sheep." 

T R L " 

J ' Then follow two or three pages of 

In 1838, the career of letters did not amusing incidental good precepts for 

exist in New England. For a man to say incipient attorneys, and at last the first 

that he was going to live as a man of client appears. 

letters would be as if a man should say „ Iwas aroused from my reverie by a shadow 

tO-day that he was going to live as the against my glass door. It was a client-like shadow. 

director of Steam air-vessels. Nat. P. It had a well-to-do-in-the-world look, and a liti- 

Willis was perhaps the only instance of a § atin S one withal. It was a shadow that would 

, ij- 1 ■ -tr 1 pay well. It was perhaps a shadow that had a 

man who had given himself to letters, claim on the 0cean i nsurance office. I was sure 

and his success was not such as to excite it was not Peter Schlemel's shadow, because that 

ambition in that line. Lowell certainly was pinned up forever in Hawthorne's ' Virtuoso's 

knew that, in theory, he must attach him- Collection ' That it was the shadow of a real 

,_ ' r . iTij r • man admitted not the shadow ot a doubt. My 

self to one of the established professions, cottage in the countryj wit h the white lilac and the 

and he Studied law. The habit of the honeysuckle in front, and the seat just large 

time was for a pupil to take three or four enough for two under the elm-tree, drew ten years 

terms in the Cambridge law school, and nearer in as many seconds. I debated in my own 

. . r i • mind the hgure tor the carpet in the back parlor, 

spend the rest of these years in some and decided to leave it to my wife# T determined, 

lawyer's office. His name, therefore, if I met Jones, to buy that bay mare he had 

will be found as a Bachelor of Laws on spoken of so highly. I should take little Tommy 

the Cambridge catalogue of the year J? the Boston Museum to see the man swallow 

, /. , • r 1 • himself (as he had done under the patronage of 

1840; and for the practice of his pro- the Emperor of Russiaj and seV eral other great 

fession he Studied in the office of Mr. princes) and whom I thought the greater wonder, 

Loring, a gentleman distinguished through inasmuch as most men are such impostures that 

New England as a counsellor and ad- they must find it easier to make their friends 

, r 1 j • • j swallow them than to do it themselves. And 

vocate and for the dignity and true little Mary ^«/^ have the rocking-horse, — that 

loyalty of all his work, in court or before was certain. 

the public. But Mr. Lowell did not pre- "The door opened, and a man, whose face I 

tend, and nobody else pretended, that he dimly remembered, came in. He was certainly 

,. , , . / , . somebody I had met somewhere. It was very 

Studied law With any great enthusiasm. flatt ering in him to remember me. I asked him 

He and Story, his classmate, with many to take a chair, at the same time putting an easy 

Of their Other friends, were marked as arm-chair in the place of the very hard one with 

men of letters. He opened his office forward-sloping slippery bottom, which I keep 

. _ , r . .. n . . for bores. He did not sit down, but, taking off 

Virtuously. It was in the building at the his hat> eradicated a small file of papers from the 

foot of Court Street, on the site of that mass of red bandanna and other merchandise 

which was well burned out a year ago. which filled it, and, selecting one, handed it to 

In the Boston Miscellany in 1842, he ^; It was doubtless a succinct statement of his 

gives an amusing sketch, which he calls, ° a !f j; was right> It read as follows, and was a 

"My First Client," which is probably model of its kind. 

more than half true. "Thomas Mortmain, Esq. to John Brown, Dr. 

"I sat in my new attorney's office. I had just ' ( ] T ° 2 ^ si g ns ' at & 1 * £ 2 -°° 

been admitted to the venerable fraternity of the ' l . ' — " I,2 5 

Bar. As I turned my admiring gaze from one " l sl g n hoard 1.25 

part to another, I thought — perhaps it was preju- " " painting and lettering do., 

dice — that I never saw a room into which, as 4 ft - at #1.50 . 6.00 

from a natural taste and instinct, the wronged " " lettering name on glass 50 

and oppressed portion of the community would 

flock more readily. It seemed exactly suited to „ #11.00 

the circumstances and wants of that numerous " ^ ec " payment. 

and highly respectable class of our fellow-citizens, j am afm j d t h at the first client was the 

It was large, well lighted, and of easy access. It , ^ , , u _ ^ u-\;„„4-;^„ ^f u\ \r^^^c 

had no clrpet, nor any other sign of comfort or last ' But the Publication 01 "A Year S 

taste, both of which are generally esteemed in- Life," his first volume of poems, as early 



as 1 84 1, challenged the attention of 
every one in America who knew what 
poetry was. It is what it says it is. It 
presents many memories, tender and even 
personal, of the year of his engagement 
with Anne Maria White, — to whom he 
was married in 1844, and with whom he 
lived in the happiest union conceivable 
until her death in 1853. 

We write of schools and college as the 
scenes of a man's education. A happy 
home and a wife with whose life his life 
was absolutely one were Lowell's educa- 
tion to the life before him. Miss White 
was a charming girl, — of remarkable 
genius, of perfect simplicity, of exquisite 
beauty, of entire self-forgetfulness, who 
was willing to enjoy the luxury of love. 
And Mr. Lowell was a young man, of 
almost exactly her age, with an eye for 
every beauty of nature, as she had, curi- 
ous in literature as she was, with the in- 
born love for rhythm and melody which 
she had, unselfish and careless of circum- 
stances, as she was. They had both 
grown in the fearless school of religion ; 
they had been taught to love God and to 
love their neighbor — and both of them 
did so, "from native impulse, elemental 
force." Neither of them had ever sup- 
posed that they were children of wrath, 
or were in any danger of hell. They 
saw each other ; they talked with each 
other on the most serious themes, as on 
the slightest ; they walked . together ; 
they loved each other. There was the 
natural doubt whether they should not 
wait before they were married till a more 
fixed income was secured by the husband. 
But he had a home in his father's house, 
— a home where his father loved her as 
a daughter, — and to that home he car- 
ried her. Their marriage was in 1844. 
He was twenty-five years old, and she 
was twenty-one. 

Never were love's anticipations more 
real ; never was a home more happy. 
It is fair to say that the necessities of 
married life, that his wife's eager and 
close connection with the philanthropic 
endeavors of the best transcendental 
schools, quickened him to his best work. 
If there were an innate vein of laziness 
in his constitution, such as that avoid- 
ance of morning chapel intimated, — 

her eager determination that this world 
should be a better world drove that 
away, and set him to work in lines far 
nobler than the study of laws of rhythm 
or of the structure of verse. He would 
have said himself, that if there had been 
no Maria White there would have been 
no "Biglow Papers." 

She died in 1853. They had had 
two children, one of whom died young. 
Mrs. Lowell's poem, " The Alpine 
Sheep," addressed to a friend who had 
lost a child, has gone everywhere, — with 
a word of courage that hardly any other 
words have borne. 

" When on my ear your loss was knelled 
And tender sympathy upburst, 
A little spring from memory welled, 

Which once had quenched my bitter thirst." 

After her early death, Mr. Lowell 
printed, privately, and not for publica- 
tion, twenty of these poems. Some of 
them, like " The Alpine Sheep," had 
been already published. That is one of 
the perfect poems. " The Morning 
Glory" is, perhaps, not so widely known. 


We wreathed around our darling's head the morn- 
ing glory bright; 

Her little face looked out beneath, so full of love 
and light, 

So lit as with a sunrise, that we could only say, 

She is the morning glory bright, and her fair types 
are they. 

So always from that happy time we called her by 

that name, 
And very fitting did it seem, for sure as morning 

Behind her cradle-bars she'd smile to catch the 

first faint ray, 
As from the trellis smiles the flower, and opens to 

the day. 

But not so beautiful they rear their airy cups of 

As turned her sweet eyes to the light, brimmed 

with sleep's tender dew; 
And not so close their tendrils fine round their 

supports are thrown, 
As those dear arms whose outstretched plea 

called all hearts to her own. 

We used to think how she had come, even as 

comes the flower, 
The last and perfect added gift to crown Love's 

morning hour, 
And how in her was imaged forth the love we 

could not say, 
As on the little dewdrops round shines back the 

heart of day. 



We never could have thought, oh God ! that she 
would wither up 

Almost before the day was gone, like the morn- 
ing glory's cup; 

We never could have thought that she would bow 
her noble head, 

Till she lay stretched before our sight withered 
and cold and dead ! 

The morning glory's blossoming will soon be 

coming round, 
We see their bows of heart-shaped leaves upspring- 

ing from the ground; 
The tender things the winter killed renew again 

their birth, 
But the glory of our morning has passed away 

from earth 

In vain, oh Earth ! our aching eyes stretch over 

thy green plain; 
Too harsh thy dews, too cold thine air, her spirit 

to detain; 
But in the years of Paradise, full surely shall we 

Our morning glory beautiful twine round our dear 

Lord's knee. 

In 1855, Mr. Lowell was appointed 
Mr. Longfellow's successor as the Smith 
Professor of Modern Languages at Cam- 
bridge. This was fourteen years after he 
published his first volume of poems, — 
twelve years after he edited the Pioneer. 
The years had been well spent. Almost 
every year saw a new volume of poems or 
of prose essays. In July, 1 85 1 , he crossed 
the ocean with his wife and child. They 
spent the winter in Rome, and renewed 
the old daily intimacy with their dear 
friends, William and Emily Story. They 
returned in December, 1852. He was 
active in political work, more with his 
pen than on the platform ; and the " Big- 
low Papers" made him known where no 
mere literary reputation would have gone. 
All the same, he was all the time a 
student. He lectured a good deal in the 
Lyceum courses in different parts of the 
country. In the winter of 1854-185 5, he 
delivered his first full course of twelve 
lectures on the British poets, in the series 
of the Lowell Institute, founded by his 
cousin, and bearing the family name. 

I bid young poets and young critics 
and young authors to observe that these 
years in which his reputation was made 
in England and America were years of 
hard work. There was, perhaps, a streak 
of indolence in his physical make-up, 
which hindered him in matters requiring 
bodily endeavor. But none the less he 

was always at work. He is to be counted 
in as on the side which says in literature, 
that if you mean to publish anything it 
must be finished before you publish it. 
He stands with Horace at the beginning 
of that list and Dr. Holmes at the end of 
it. There is none of the happy-go-lucky 
nonsense, — the " go as you please " 
craziness. He does not send an editor a 
copy of verses, saying, " I have just dashed 
this off," or, " I could do a great deal 
better." When he can do better, he 
does. Mr. Higginson, his neighbor and 
friend, has preserved an anecdote which 
tells us how very early in life he had laid 
out a course of personal reading and 
study on the methods of English verse- 
writing ; and to the day of his death he 
would have been the first authority on the 
mere mechanics of poetry, as well as a 
sympathetic enthusiast in its noblest 
flights. He was " a maker and a poet," 
— yes ; but he would as soon have been 
a farmer without plough or hoe, or a 
printer without types, or a singer when 
born dumb, as he would have pretended 
to be a poet without diligent study of 
what other poets had done, and of their 
ways of doing it. 

In 1855, as has been said, he was 
appointed Smith Professor at Cambridge. 
The charge implies a general supervision 
over the study of the modern languages 
of Continental Europe and their litera- 
ture. It had been well filled by Henry 
W. Longfellow since 1836, — and with 
him, as with Mr. Ticknor, his successor, 
Lowell had lived on friendly, even inti- 
mate terms. He gave himself loyally and 
diligently to his college duties. He was 
an admirable lecturer, — and he did not 
disdain the work of teaching a language 
itself, if he had not a fit teacher at hand. 
I remember that at one time, in some 
vacancy of other teaching, he taught both 
Italian and German. He was always 
kind to young men ; and any one who 
had at heart a real cultivation in language 
or literature was wellnigh sure of his 
personal friendship. 

Six years after, the war broke out. 
Immediate relations of his were among 
the most distinguished young officers of 
the Massachusetts contingent ; and the 
death I dare not say of how many of 



these fine young men in the very crash 
of battle called out all the noblest sympa- 
thies of those around him, and seemed 
to bring him more than ever into every 
effort, public or private, by which he 
could help in the struggle. The " Com- 
memoration Ode," which is spoken of 
by critics the most competent as the 
American poem most likely to stand for- 
ever among the first in our language, is a 
fit monument of such duties. 

This may be a fit place to say that when- 
ever it was his place to appear as a speaker, 
his manner was absolutely simple, and 
in the same proportion natural and effec- 
tive. He was wholly at his ease before 
an audience, and knew nothing and 
therefore needed none of the acquired 
arts of elocution. 

In no reference to Mr. Lowell's life 
should his invariable kindness be forgot- 
ten, particularly as it was shown to young 
and unknown authors. There is a gen- 
eral feeling that editors, as such, dislike 
young authors. My experience has been 
exactly in the other direction. I have 
edited magazines and newspapers myself ; 
I have been on familiar terms, which I 
may call in many cases the terms of 
friendship, with Mr. Hale of the Boston 
Miscellany ; with Mr. Lowell, Mr. Bowen, 
and Dr. Peabody of the North American 
Review ; with Mr. Alden of Harper's; 
with Mr. Gilder of the Century ; with Mr. 
Mead of the New England Magazine; 
with Messrs. Merriam, Mabie, and Abbott 
of the Christian Union ; with Mr. Ward 
and Mr. Richardson, of the Independent; 
with Mr. Thorndike Rice of the North 
American Review; with Mr. Metcalf of 
the Forum; and Mr. Walker of the Cos- 
mopolitan ; and in every instance I may 
say that those men were eagerly on the 
lookout for ability, freshness, for what I 
call a light pen, among authors as yet 
unknown. Certainly, Mr. Lowell was 
most careful in this regard. If he read, 
in a magazine of which he had no charge, 
something which he thought good, he 
would write a note of sympathy or en- 
couragement to the author. You remem- 
ber him as interested in the first steps of 
tottering young authors, to whom he 
would gladly lend a hand. 

I do not know how far his diplomatic 

career was a surprise to him. The elec- 
tion of President Hayes was due, in large 
measure, to the determination of thought- 
ful and conscientious men that their 
opinion should be respected in the 
choice of candidates ; and they never 
had any reason to regret the share they 
took in that election. " It was such a 
pleasure," as one of them once said to 
me, " to wake up in the morning and not 
to be afraid to read your newspaper," for 
the four years of that perfectly clean ad- 
ministration. The newspapers have told 
the interesting story of the way by which 
Mr. Kasson, who had been appointed to 
Spain, exchanged that post for the mis- 
sion to Austria, so that Mr. Lowell was 
sent to Spain. I was afterwards in Spain, 
with letters of introduction from Mr. 
Lowell, and was in a position to see how 
cordially and gladly he was received 
among cultivated men. His knowledge 
of the Spanish language was admirable 
when he went there, but he at once took 
the most careful pains that his pronunci- 
ation and accent should be more ac- 
curate ; and during the time of his stay 
there he made himself the friend of 
everybody who was engaged in the im- 
provement and uplifting of Spain itself. 
If the government had thought, or if 
anybody had thought, that his appoint- 
ment there was merely the appointment 
of a literary man to a place of literary 
leisure, such people were mistaken. He 
was always a man of genius, who under- 
stood the demands of office, and he 
never would have undertaken any duty 
to which he was not willing to lend him- 
self. So it proved that his correspond- 
ence was accurate, that it enlightened 
the secretary of state on just the points 
on which he wanted to be enlightened. 
And thus, as a perfect matter of course, 
when a vacancy occurred in the mission 
to England, Mr. Lowell, probably more 
to his surprise than to that of anybody 
else, was appointed there. 

A curious incident delayed his transfer 
to England. The health of Mrs. Lowell 
at that time was so delicate that she 
could not be moved from the room in 
which she was. Mr. Lowell, therefore, 
wrote to Washington that he should be 
unable to accept the appointment which 



was so honorable to him. Just at this 
moment it befell that the curtains of 
Mrs. Lowell's bed took fire. Nurses and 
attendants were frightened out of their 
senses, she alone retaining her presence 
of mind. She, who had been helpless 
but just before, sat up and gave direc- 
tions for extinguishing the conflagration, 
and, in one word, she received such 
vitality, if one may so speak, that she 
was a new person. The physicians were 
delighted with the result of this fortunate 
misfortune. They told Mr. Lowell that 
no difficulty would follow her removal ; 
and it was thus that, I think by telegram, 
he withdrew the letter which he had sent 
to Washington. To the fortunate inci- 
dent of the lighting of a bed-curtain 
with a candle was due Mr. Lowell's dip- 
lomatic career in England. 

Of that career this is hardly the place, 
and I am hardly the person, to speak in 
detail. But it belongs to the best lines 
of American diplomacy. Our diplomatic 
service does not train men to the diplo- 
matic profession. Franklin used to say 
that he won all his successes by telling 
the truth ; and he certainly was all the 
better a negotiator, that he never stepped 
upon the lower steps of the diplomatic 
ladder. This country has never appeared 
to better advantage in the eyes of 
thoughtful people in Europe, than when 
it sent such men as the Everetts, Mr. 
Irving, Mr. Motley, Mr. Abbot Lawrence, 
Mr. George Bancroft, Mr. John Bigelow, 
or Mr. Lowell, into its diplomatic service, 
— men, none of whom had been trained 
in the lower grades, as they are called, 
of what is called the diplomatic profes- 
sion. With England our relations are 
specially intimate. We do speak the 
same language ; some of us think we 
speak it better than she does. Our 
cousins are there, our grandfathers' 
gravestones are there, and we have as 
good a right to Shakespeare as they, and 
a good deal more right to Milton. Some- 
body who can rightly express the inborn 
sympathy which makes the two nations 
one is of more use to both nations than 
anybody who knows only the fine details 
of histories of forgotten treaties, or of 
the points on which former ages have 
managed to differ. 

His diplomatic correspondence is ex- 
cellent reading. I wonder that no pub- 
lisher has made a collection of these let- 
ters, which are the property of the public. 
I had meant to give some passages from 
them here, but I must reserve them for 
some other opportunity. His career in 
England made him a personal favorite 
there, as he was already in America. It 
was said, on high authority, that no man 
not an Englishman was so widely loved 
and honored. And he gained this hold 
on men's regard by gaining a hold on 
their respect. No American has been 
more true to the principles on which 
alone our Republic stands, nor are there 
any better statements of those principles 
than there are in some of his addresses. 

An effort was made, at some public 
meetings of Irishmen, to show that he 
had been sluggish, or worse, in the failure 
to attend to the interests of naturalized 
Irishmen who had been arrested in Eng- 
land. The correspondence shows, on the 
other hand, the most diligent care. But it 
was perfectly true, as he says in one of his 
letters, that " naturalized Irishmen seem 
entirely to •misconceive the process through 
which they have passed in assuming Ameri- 
can citizenship, looking upon themselves 
as Irishmen who have acquired a right 
to American protection, rather than as 
Americans who have renounced the claim 
to Irish nationality." In an earlier letter 
he had called attention to Parnell's letter 
of Paris, February 13, "in which he 
makes a distinction between the Ameri- 
can people and ' the Irish nation in 
America.' This double nationality is 
likely to be of great practical inconveni- 
ence whenever the coercion bill becomes 
law. The same actor takes alternately 
the characters of a pair of twins who are 
never on the stage simultaneously." 

The innate humor of Mr. Lowell shows 
itself in almost all these despatches ; — 
and who knows what good things have 
been left out ! Congress is very hard on 
the State Department, and compels it to 
cut down the despatches to the minimum, 
so that it is to be feared that we lose 
what might be the most readable things. 
He ends one of these Irish despatches 
by saying, of a man who lived in Ireland 
thirteen years, and then claimed to be 



an American : " I cannot help thinking 
that the British government would be jus- 
tified in questioning the final perseverance 
(if I may borrow a theological term) of 
adopted citizenship under adverse cir- 
cumstances like these." 

Probably it was an advantage to both 
countries that the Foreign Secretary was 
the late Lord Granville. Between him 
and Mr. Lowell there existed warm per- 
sonal regard. Lord Granville once wrote 
to Mr. Lowell to ask him to dinner. He 
said in the note that it was absurd to give 
so short notice as he gave to " the most 
engaged man in London." Lowell re- 
plied, " ' The most engaged man in Lon- 
don ' is very glad to dine with the most 

Since his return from England, Mr. 

Lowell's health had not been strong. For 
some years he was resident with his 
daughter ; but he enjoyed his return to 
Elmwood, after the lease had expired 
under which it had been occupied in his 
absence. Still he said to me one day 
when I met him, " Yes, I am glad to be 
at Elmwood. — but the house is full of 
ghosts." Since he had lived there be- 
fore, the second Mrs. Lowell had died ; 
Cambridge was not the Cambridge of his 
boyhood nor of his college professorship. 
Still, he was always cheerful, singularly 
cordial to visits of strangers, who must 
often have bored him badly, and quite 
ready to lend a hand wherever there 
was an opportunity. His was one of 
those lives which we were not ready to 
part from. 


By Sarah K. Bolton. 


HE great trees murmur at the midnight hour ; 
The birds in silence wait : 
A soul is passing to the Fount of Power, — 
Elmwood is desolate. 

Lover of nature, lover of his race, 

Learned, and true, and strong : 
Using for others, with surpassing grace, 

The matchless gift of song, — 

When clouds hung darkest in our day of pain, 

He prophesied the light ; 
He looked adown the ages for the reign 

Of Brotherhood and Right. 

Proud of his country, helping to unbind 

The fetters of the slave : 
Two worlds their wreaths of honor have entwined 

About an open grave. 

Great in his simple love of flower and bird, 

Great in the statesman's art, 
He has been greatest in his lifting word 

To every human heart. 

He lived the lesson which Sir Launfal guessed 

Through wandering far and wide ; 
The giver must be given in the quest : 

He gave himself, and died. 

Mont Saint Michel. 


By A. M. Mosher. 

'HE interest which all musi- 
cal Americans are now 
feeling in the Parsifal is a 
quite sufficient reason for 
asking the company of 
some in a visit to the 
scene of so many of the 
legends of the Round 
Table ; although surely 
no ulterior inducement need be urged 
for a visit to beautiful Mont Saint 

Standing boldly off the coast of Nor- 
mandy, at the point where Brittany comes 
to touch hands with her sister province, 
rises Mont Saint Michel. In reality this 
gigantic rock stands in an estuary of the 
river Couesnon, which separates the two 
provinces. According to old chronicles, 
both Normans and Bretons claimed the 
Mount, and some mildly scornful rhymes 
passed to and fro. The Bretons put it 
thus : 

" Le Cou'esiion dans sa folie 
A mis le Mont en Normandie." 

to which the Normans retorted : 

\ " Si bon n'etait Normandie 

Saint Michel ne s*y serait mis." 

Normandy, whether by the gentle logic 
of her rhymes, or by more material 
methods, appears to have gained undis- 
puted possession, and to-day has for 
rival only the Bay of Cancale, which at 
high tide turns the Mount into an island, 
while in low waters one may reach the 
place on dry land. 

An English poet has named Cancale 
" the blue, savage Norman bay " — 
savage, because when the tide rises, 
instead of the gradually advancing and 
receding waters, one great wave sweeps 
to the base of the rock and surrounds it ; 
and woe betide the belated traveller if 
caught in its swift course. At low tide 
the danger is no less, because of the quick- 
sands, which for centuries have been a 
terror to pilgrims and travellers, many 
thousands having perished in their 
treacherous snares. Several years ago, a 
road, raised to a point of safety, was con- 
structed, and to-day the journey is made 
without danger. 



Mont Saint Michel was already famous 
in those days when brave knights rode 
away to the wars of the Holy Land. 
To-day it is valued as a monument of art, 
and for its ecclesiastical, military, and 
civil history. " Rock, city, stronghold, 
cathedral" — representing the idea of 
chivalry through Charlemagne, and of 
Christianity through St. Louis, it stands, 
one harmonious mass of grandeur and 

We had turned our backs on Paris at 
the moment when that city loses the 
charm which May bestows, which June 
holds fast to, which July has not quite 
taken away, but which August has shat- 
tered. For when the nightingales of the 
Woods of Meudon have ceased their 
singing, and the little balcony-cafes along 

large, have lost their charm. What 
wonder, then, if the surest road to comfort 
seems to lead shorewards? and what 
wonder that of all places we choose Mont 
Saint Michel? A day there, even under 
dull skies, must be set down among the 
white days. How then when under the 
bluest of skies touched with white woolly 
clouds, with a cool sea air, and the full 
of an August moon to lend charm to the 
scene at night? 

All the way down from Paris we felt 
and acted like four children let loose 
upon a holiday. One of us is a scholar 
with archaeological tendencies; another, 
a veritable poet, a dreamer of dreams ; a 
third carries a sketching book, and that 
conglomeration of utensils which a student 
at the Julian studio in Paris is seldom 

The Cloister. — A View taken from the Gallery. 

the Seine near St. Cloud, where in spring- 
time we were sure of quiet suppers, with 
gay chats over our bifteck au Chateau- 
briand and Romaine salad, — the slow, 
yellow sunsetting and plashing river-boats 
being the best of the feast — when these 
joys are at an end, because the crowds 
seek our favorite nooks, then the heart 
turns elsewhere. The boulevards, now 
resonant with the voice of the world at 

seen without ; the fourth is only a per- 
son who cannot paint, but sees pictures, 
who cannot rhyme, but feels poems, and 
as for archaeology, would rather toss up 
an omelet or whisk together a Welsh 
rarebit than read a musty book or remem- 
ber a musty date ; indeed, people say 
that her artistic and poetic capacities 
have vented themselves in her omelets 
and rarebits. Here then were four points 



of view from which to see Mont Saint 
Michel, and all four found their satisfac- 

The journey through Normandy is a 
joy. Millet's brush has turned into 
pictures the green fields, pretty cottages, 
and quaint churches of his native prov- 
vince. His " Sower " surely went forth 
to sow among these fields and streams. 
Could we catch sight of the interior of 
the thatched cottage past which our train 
rushes, we should doubtless see his " Wo- 
man at the Churn." Off there on 
that green slope we see a little church 
with a ragged stone wall around it, 
and flocks of birds about the tower 
— a perfect mate to the " Church of 
Greville " which adorns the walls of 
the Louvre. Three hours hence, at 
the sound of the sunset bell, that 
couple at work in the field, a half- 
mile away, will stand with bowed 
heads, and we should see " The 
Angelus " as Millet saw it before he 
gave it to the world. Thus Millet 
everywhere. A peasant woman car- 
rying a hamper of cream cheeses 
daintily arranged, each in its tiny 
straw basket lined with fresh grass 
and clover, comes into our railway 
carriage, and three blue nuns, looking 
like beauties in their faultless pale 
blue robes with white girdles, also 
join us, all being bound, as we are, 
for the Sacred Mount. It is nearly 
sunset when we reach Pontorson — 
a pretty little Norman town, famous 
as the old fief of Bertrand du Gueslin. 
We are glad to leave the railway 
carriage, and we speedily climb to 
the top of the queer old diligence 
which will take us to the end of our 

Miles of sand lie between us and the 
Mount. The heat of the sun is tem- 
pered by the fresh air from the sea. The 
sky, softly blue, seems like a silken tent 
spread over us. No noise is heard save 
the dull roar of the tide, which will soon 
sweep landward. The flocks of sheep 
feeding upon the salt marshlands know 
this sound of warning, and simply betake 
themselves to safer pastures. The swing 
of our sleeply old diligence, rolling noise- 
lessly along the sands, provokes quiet 

fancies and revery. We think of the old- 
time pilgrimages made hither. Charle- 
magne in his day, the pious king St. 
Louis, and kings and emperors of less 
piety came as pilgrims to the Mount. 
It is related that on the 8th of June, 
1450, Duke Francis of Brittany made a 
famous pilgrimage, to obtain from heaven 
the repose of the soul of his brother 
Gilles, who had some time before died 
imprisoned in the castle of his brother 
Francis. And much need there was that 

Galerie de I'Aquilon. 

this soul should be quieted ; for strange 
tales were whispered from castle to castle 
of the poisoning of Gilles of Brittany in 
his castle-prison, and that it was Duke 
Francis himself who had done the deed. 
A restless ghost, liable to appear at un- 
expected moments and corners, must 
have lessened the pleasures of Duke 
Francis's life in his Chateau de la Hai'- 
douinays. At all events, he desired that 
a mass should be said for the soul of his 
brother in the basilica of Mont Saint 
Michel, and hence it came to pass that the 
fine old town of Avranches, asres ago con- 




O «o 



o w 

z < 








quered and reconquered by the dukes of Nor- 
mandy and Brittany, and so long quarrelled over 
by French and English kings, but to-day holding 
its ecclesiastical place in grim state, on this June 
morning in the fifteenth century was full of excite- 
ment. The mass was to be held at noon. At eleven 
o'clock a cannon fired from the Mount announced 
the fact of low tide — a special attention paid to 
Duke Francis and his suite, who otherwise might 
have been swallowed, ducal crests and all, in the 
dangerous quicksands, and the restless soul of 
poor Gilles might even now be loitering in limbo. 

At the moment of the firing of the cannon, 
all the bells of Avranches rang out a noisy peal, 
and the gates of the castle swung open to let pass 
the noble cavalcade, and, with drums and trumpets 
sounding and banners flying, the start was made. 
It is related that Duke Francis was very pale that 
day and trembled in his saddle, and his face wore 
a troubled look. The dukes of Brittany, we know, 
led strange lives, and were given to unhandsome 
doings. The veritable Bluebeard's castle was not 
far from that of Duke Francis, and the ungentle 
recreations of that ungentle man were the talk 
of the province even in those days. 

All these queer tales come into the mind as 
we plod our way, following a motion that only 
a Norman diligence has the kink of achieving. 
But now we round a curve, and lo ! as if swung 
against the sky, whose blue is fast turning into 
gold as the sun goes down, looms the mighty 
Mount, all shining in the sunlight, its walls and 
towers and heaped-up battlements ablaze, while 
at its base the grays and violet blend hazily into 
a harmonious mass, turning the solid masonry 
into the dreamy lines of some fantastic castle. 
Oh ! wonder of wonders. Even so Mont Saint 
Michel shone out in the middle century days, 
and we feel ourselves set back into those times. 
Tales of the crusades, of knights and the old 
dukes of Normandy and Brittany come to the 
fore. The legends of the Mount flash into the 
mind. So given over to the mediaeval spirit 
are we, that we might easily mistake that flitting 
cloud that seems to touch the western wall of the 
abbey, for the "White-veiled Fairy of the Sands," 
the same who saved the life of her cavalier-lover 
Aubry, he being cruelly imprisoned in one of the 
dungeons of the monastery, made by digging into 
the solid rock. Flitting along the sands in the 
moonlit midnight, on these errands of love, no 
wonder the creeps went down the backs of the 
super - superstitious Normans, who whispered 
strange tales to their children of the "Veiled 
Fairy of the Sands." Only her true knight 



knew, when she whispered " Aubry " 
into the one small opening of his dun- 
geon, that the voice was a girl's voice, 
and that the bread and wine were actual 
food and drink brought by his " Reine." 
He whispers his thanks and his love. 
The whispers seem to her to come from 
the bowels of the earth — so deep and 
underground are these dungeons. She 
shivers, half for love, half for fear, and 
speeds away, flitting, flitting 
over the sands, to return with 
each successive midnight. It 
is the memory of this old 
tale that causes the little 
cloud to resemble the white- 
veiled fairy, and bring to 
mind other old-time stories 
of monks and knights and 
sets the rhythm of the middle 
ages agoing in the fancy. 

There is no knowing how 
long this dreaming might 
have gone on had not our 
diligence put an end to it by 
coming to a full stop ; and 
instead of knights and dukes 
and fairies we see everyday 
nineteenth-century travellers 
descending from their places 
and hurrying to the gateway. 

Entering the town, which 
is mostly one street, encir- 
cling the base of the rock in 
a gradual ascent, we are con- 
fronted by a bit of French 
history in the shape of two 
pieces of cannon, abandoned 
by the besieging English in 
1434. We pass through a 
second gate and, following 
the queer, narrow street, find 
ourselves at the entrance of 
the most enticing of kitchens. 
The day has grown into twilight, deep- 
ened by the high walls and narrowness 
of the streets ; and the interior of Madame 
Poulard's kitchen affords a good subject 
for a picture, one that Teniers would 
have delighted in. 

Before a deep, broad chimney with its 
roaring log-fire stands our famous hostess, 
sung by poets, painted by artists, and 
known all over France as " the Queen of 
Mont Saint Michel." Two rows of 

chickens, strung upon long spits, revolve 
slowly before the fire, and have reached 
that climax of color and crispness that 
might tempt a saint into the sin of glut- 
tony. Madame herself, standing in the 
firelight, holds a six-feet-long handle of a 
large fryipg-pan, in which an omelet fit 
for the gods is forming and browning. 
Madame is pretty, brunette and bright- 
eyed. Her hair is faultlessly arranged ; 


Street in Saint Michel. 

she wears the daintiest of collars and 
cuffs, and a large blue apron protects 
her tidy black gown. She has never 
been known to lose her temper and she 
has never lost her complexion, albeit for 
a score of years she has roasted the 
chickens and cooked the omelets that 
have made famous her little hostelry. 
We must not, however, give to our host- 
ess the credit of having invented the rare 
omelet that gives the name to her little 



The King's Gate and Watch Tower. 

inn. It is to the clergy of France that 
we owe this, as well as many another good 
dish. Monks of two orders gave the 
name to the famous Chartreuse and Bene- 
dictine liqueurs. The delicate Floguard 
cakes, the sausages of the Abbe Lamou- 
roux, the sauce of the Abbe Bergougnoux, 
yea, even the historic omelet of Mont 
Saint Michel, the secret of which has 
come down through centuries from the 
ancient abbes of the place — all have 
come from the clergy. Meanwhile, Ma- 
dame's omelet, tossed lightly from the pan 
to the platter, has come to the table ; we 
have eaten and drunk of her good fare, 
served by her own hands ; we have taken 
our coffee outside, sitting at one of the 
small tables in the narrow street; the 
poet and the scholar have sat lost in their 
thoughts and looking things unutterable 
over their cigars ; and it has come to be 

ten o'clock, with the twi- 
light of that region still 
upon us. To-morrow we 
are to explore the monas- 
tery which crowns the 
summit of the rock. Sleep 
should come between, and 
we go to our dormitories. 
In this unique inn there 
is no office ; no hotel 
clerk presses a button, 
and, by virtue of a bell- 
boy, a glib order and a 
lighted candle, launches 
us into the assigned quar- 
ters. Instead, each trav- 
eller receives from the 
hostess a smiling good- 
night, and a small paper 
lantern lighted by a bit 
of candle inside, and bear- 
ing outside the legend 
"Poulard." A narrow 
flight of stone stairs brings 
us from the little street to 
the top of the inner wall 
of the town ; we cross a 
bastion, round a tower of 
the eleventh century, creep 
timidly through dark 
arches, climb long flights 
of stone steps, mossy and 
worn, and at last reach the 
building where the sleep- 
ing-rooms are. Each separate bedroom 
is as it were a balcony built out from the 
rocky mountain, and commands a splendid 
view. We look down into the narrow 
street where we lately took our coffee, 
and see other little lanterns like ours 
dancing hither and thither ; we look up 
into the mysterious arches and windows 
of the monastery standing solemnly up 
there against the night sky, or we look 
out and away across the sands to the sea. 
Whether below, above, or seaward, all is 
weird and shadowy and dreamy in the 
light of the August moon which, swung 
low in the sky, looks red and swollen out 
of its natural size, and seems to be droop- 
ing earthward. This moon has witnessed 
strange scenes in her time. Far away there 
where the Bay of Cancale now lies shin- 
ing once stood vast oak forests, and 
therein Druids celebrated their mysterious 



rites and offered their horrible sacrifices. 
An ancient rhyming monk of the sixth 
century has sung of this forest, which 
bore the name of Scissy. Black-robed 
priestesses garlanded with vervain, swing- 
ing their lighted torches, their white arms 
gleaming in the streaming light as they 
swung and circled among the shadows of 
the sombre oaks, must have made a weird 
picture under a moon like this ! 

Such matters and fancies fill our minds, 
and to say that our quartette slept much 
that night would not be to tell the truth. 
The solemn antiquity of the place made 
havoc with the .nerves of the man of 
dates ; the poet rhymed his thought and 
set his song asinging ; the little painter 
perched herself in her casement and 
caught bits of the scene in pastel; and 
the fourth body thought long upon the 
historical omelet, and laid schemes for 
securing the secret of its perfection. But 
lest injustice be done her, let us say that 
her's was the last head of the four to be- 
take itself to sleep ; for not until the moon 
had gone down into the waves of Can- 
cale, and the star lagging after had 
vanished, did she disappear from her win- 
dow. At last the bats and the night- 
birds had it to themselves — the Mount 
slept. Madam Poulard, too, rested from 
her labors ; and not until the coffee and 
fresh rolls and butter were brought to our 
rooms did we rise to meet the next day's 
plans. At ten o'clock a guide came to 
conduct us through the monastery. 

We are indebted to legends and tradi- 
tion for whatever is known of Mont 
Saint Michel before the eighth century. 
The disappearance of the druidical forests 
where the Bay of Cancale now is, is an 
undisputed fact, well proven by the char- 
acter of the deposits in the soil. Just 
how this transformation was brought 
about has always been clear to the Gallic 
mind, through the " Legend of the Bre- 
ton Flood," which is one of innumerable 
tales stored away in Breton families, like 
so much linen and silver, passing down 
through many generations, and told to 
the children of Normandy and Brittany 
to-day. This particular legend is an 
agreeable one, and is said to have been 
arranged expressly for the benefit of a 
bishop of St. Malo. It relates that " as 

the waters increased, Amel the pastor 
and Penhor his wife, together with their 
child, Raoul, were upon the point of being 
submerged. At the moment when the 
peril is greatest, Amel places Penhor, 
holding the child in her arms, upon his 
head for safety. As the water still rises 
Penhor places the little one upon her 
head. The flood mounts higher and 
higher until only the blond hair of the 
child and a bit of its blue dress appear 
upon the surface of the water. An angel, 
flying heavenward, perceives upon the 
water this bit of blue and gold, and says, 
'There is a little one who belongs to 
me,' and proceeds to raise it. She finds 
it difficult, because attached to the little 
Raoul is Penhor his mother, and she in 
turn is held fast by Amel the husband. 
The angel, smiling, drops a tear as she 
be holds this ' grappe des cceurs ' — this 
cluster of hearts — and will not separate 
them." The legend adds, " Families in 
which there is love on earth remain 
united even in heaven." 

There is also a Norman legend of this 
same flood, of a much less delicate and 
tender quality. Indeed, when one knows 
what weird and horrible tales serve as 
bedtime stories for the little folk of these 
coasts, one is not surprised at the quiet, 
serious, even sad faces of the children 
one sees there. Fancy the effect of such 
a paragraph as this, from a legend con- 
cerning Judas Iscariot, when put into 
nursery rhymes, and whispered into the 
ear of a half-asleep child : 

" St. Brandan met Judas upon a rock 
in the middle of the Polar Sea. Judas 
passes one day of each week there, in 
order to cool himself from the fires of 
hell. A garment that he had given in 
charity to a leper is suspended before 
him and tempers his sufferings, etc." 
The Norman small boy goes off into 
dreamland on such like stories, as a Ger- 
man child would doze off on a Grimm 
tale, or an American baby on its Mother 

In the druidical days, and through 
the Roman conquests, indeed until the 
eighth century, the Mount was called 
Tombeleine ; several legends serve to 
account for this name. Later on Saint 
Michael came upon the scene, and there- 



after played a great part in France, both 
in church and state. The pagan idea of 
deity, as a god of force, a fighting god, 
expressed by Odin and Thor, found 
satisfaction in St. Michael, slayer of 
dragons, who also had been a prince of 
the Chosen People — a patron saint in 
their synagogue. We now see St. 
Michael becoming the guardian of the 
Church and of France. He it was who 
furnished the vial of oil at the baptism 
of Clovis, the first Christian king of 
France. He also drove the Germans 
from the soil ; and having accomplished 
these things he cast eyes about the coasts 
of France in search of a spot worthy of 
him, and a fit person to serve his purpose. 
Mount Tombeleine and Saint Aubert then 
came into conjunction. 

Near Avranches, in the year 660, St. 
Aubert was born. His family was rich 
and noble. In those days a man who 
had not slain at least one dragon could 
lay small claim to distinction in the best 
circles. St. Aubert had slain his mon- 
ster, and in the year 704 had been made 
Archbishop of Avranches. He loved 
solitude, and was wont to dream and 
meditate in the forests of Scissy. The 
story goes that in this forest, Michael 
appeared to St. Aubert in a dream, com- 
manding him to build upon the summit 
of Tombeleine an edifice in honor of him. 
St. Aubert at first put no faith in the 
vision — nor did the second appearance 
move him ; but a third manifestation and 
command to go to the mountain and re- 
main there until his task was ended con- 
vinced his doubtful mind. It is claimed 
that the finger of the archangel, in the 
strenuousness of his appeal, chanced to 
make its impress upon the forehead of St. 
Aubert, and some ardent polemics have 
been the result ; but the skull of St. 
Aubert, treasured among other relics in 
the church of St. Gervais at Avranches, 
with " an oblong opening in the right 
parietal bone, large enough for a finger 
to enter it," ought to settle the matter 
surely ! The story proceeds : St. Au- 
bert goes to the mountain accompanied 
by a multitude of peasants, singing hymns 
as they march thither. Great difficulties 
are overcome in miraculous ways. Fresh 
water being needed, Michael finds a way 

out of the dilemma by piercing a rock, 
whence a fountain bursts forth ! This 
still exists. St. Aubert's edifice was at 
first little more than a grotto, but finally 
a small temple was raised and a college of 
twelve monks established. Aubert died 
in 725, seeing his work already venerated 
by the whole world, Tombeleine thus be- 
came Mont Saint Michel, and the cross 
took the place of the dolmen. 

Already many pilgrimages had been 
made to the Mount. The old French 
King Childebert went in great pomp and 
placed his royal crown at the feet of the 
statue of the archangel which surmounted 
the temple. In 713, Pope Constantine 
sent many valuable relics to St. Aubert. 
Saints, popes, kings, and peasants con- 
spired to glorify the Mount, with which 
great victories and many miracles are 
associated. Charlemagne, with his mil- 
itary, political, and intellectual power, 
added much to the fame of the place. 
To him, St. Michael was the celestial 
chevalier of France, and the figure of 
this saint was emblazoned upon the ban- 
ners that led his great armies wherever 
they marched. His pious attentions to 
the shrine of Saint Michael were not 
without their influence abroad, and Mont 
Saint Michel became, if a modern word 
may be used to express a mediaeval con- 
dition, a "fad" among kings, popes, and 

Throughout the " Song of Roland," — 
that early epic of France, Mont Saint 
Michel figures under its most ancient 
surname: " Ange du Peril" Afterwards 
it came to be called '■ Saint Michel du 
Peril" ; finally "Saint Michel au Peril 
de la Mer" which name it still holds. 
Roland and Oliver and Ogier, the Dane, 
figure in the old legends of the place, 
and a story is told of St. EfTlane, who 
had married a princess more beautiful 
than the day, but had left her to go and 
spread abroad the faith in Brittany. He 
landed at Mont Saint Michel at the mo- 
ment when his cousin Arthur was about 
to attack a horrible dragon whose breath 
was fire and whose eye was like lances. 
He is said to have assisted Arthur out of 
his strait by a miracle. 

Naturally the legends of Arthur and 
the Knights of the Round Table abound at 



the Mount, since Brittany claims to have 
contributed to literature these wonderful 
Arthurian legends. Says one chronicler : 
"Arthur, son of the Duke of Cornou- 
ailles, married Guinivere, daughter of a 
duke of Brittany, who died in 542." 
Arthur slays the terrible giant who had 
lived for seven years upon young chil- 
dren only, but who had by way of variety 
one day seized upon the Duchess of 
Brittany and carried her away to his cave 
on Mont Saint Michel. Arthur and two 
chosen knights rode alone at night to the 
Mount. Arthur, leaving the two at the 
foot, went up alone to the encounter. 
"At the crest of the mountain he sees 
the giant sitting at supper, gnawing on 
the limb of a man, warming his huge 
frame by the fire where three damsels 
turned three spits, whereon were spitted, 
like larks, twelve newly born children." 
The struggle which follows Arthur's furious 
attack is thus described : " They fiercely 
wrestled and both fell, rolling over one 
another, then tumbled, wrestling and 
struggling and fighting frantically, from 
rock to rock till they came to the sea." 
Arthur, having won the battle, desires the 
Duke of Brittany to " build a church 
upon the Mount and dedicate it to the 
Archangel Michael." Thus Mont Saint 
Michel figures in the Arthurian Legend 
fully two hundred years before we meet 
it in that of St. Aubert. 

The stories of Tristram and Isault and 
of Sir Galahad are linked with those of 
the Mount, and the legend of Parsifal 
(in English, Percival), follows. After a 
series of striking adventures, Parsifal 
comes to the Court of Arthur, then held 
at Nantes, in Brittany, where, after giving 
proof of his chivalry in various exploits, 
he is received into the order of the 
Knights of the Round Table. He sets 
out in quest of the Holy Grail, suffers 
some trials, and being expelled from the 
Circle of the Knights wanders for four 
years in despair. He is received once 
more into the Brotherhood. He is puri- 
fied by suffering, and becomes a true 
Knight of the Holy Grail — an order 
representing spiritual chivalry, in contrast 
with the Knights of the Round Table, 
which order represents the glories of sec- 
ular chivalry. 

Poets and novelists have found rich 
material in the legends of Mont Saint 
Michel. The Lutheran Uhland employs 
one of the best known, called " La Croix 
des Greves," in a poem beginning : 

" Es ist die Kirche wohlbekannt, 
Sankt Michael von Berg genannt, 
Am Ende vom Normannenlande, 
Atif eines hohen Felsen Rande" 

Paul Feval also has written charming 
stories in which these legends play a 

After the death of Charlemagne, in 
814, the monastery continued to increase 
in power and glory ; but it was the first 
Duke of Normandy who was to add lustre 
to this glory. Rollo, desirous of expiat- 
ing former iniquities, bestowed rich gifts 
upon the monastery. Thus Pope of 
Rome, King of France, and Duke of 
Normandy joined in making glorious this 
shrine of Saint Michael — a rare trium- 
virate of power and influence ! 

Under the rigors of Rollo's reign, many 
families sought safety within the walls, 
among others, the family of Bertrand du 
Gueslin — that Breton of Bretons ; and 
here dates the origin of the little town at 
the base of the Rock. 

In 996, Duke Richard I., grandson of 
Rollo, established at Mont Saint Michel 
the Benedictine Monks, then come to be 
the most celebrated order in Europe. 
Richard II. added greatly to the struc- 
tures of the monastery, intrusting the 
details to Hildebert II., fourth abbe of 
the Mount. The transept and a part of 
the nave, built by him, remain to-day. 

Early in the eleventh century, the 
audacious young Norman Duke, Robert 
le Viable, was having his day. In fact, 
Falaise, where lived the pretty Harlette 
who won his heart and gave to Nor- 
mandy her William the Conqueror, is not 
far from Mont Saint Michel ; and to-day 
we see the women of Falaise at their 
work, at the same spot on the river bank 
where the little Harlette bent over her 
washing when Robert spied her from his 
window and fell captive to her beauty. 
The mad pranks of Robert had given 
material for many tales connected with 
Mont Saint Michel ; but the deeds of his 
son, William the Conqueror, contributed 



much more gloriously to its history. For 
the Mount makes its first and only ap- 
pearance on any tapestry, in connection 
with the story woven by Duchess 
Matilda's fair hands, as she sat among 
her women and sang the praises of her 
gallant lord in the curious web of the 
Bayeux Tapestry. The story is told, how 
Duke William had invited his Saxon guest 
Harold to go with him to conquer the 
great Conan, Earl of Brittany. They came 
to the river Couesnon, and the Tapestry 
describes the disasters which befell them 
and their army in crossing the treacher- 
ous quicksands which surround the Mount. 
Above this panel is the legend : " et hie 
transieruntflumen." Another panel shows 
Harold dragging two of his companions 
out of the quicksands, the inscription 
above reading : " hie Harold dux tra- 
herat eos de arena." The Mount figures 
comically in the drawing, both as to the 
elevation and architecture of the minute 
temple perched on top of a green hillock. 

Abbe Robert de Torigni seems to have 
brought with his advent a period of 
prosperity for the abbey. During the 
thirty- two years of his government, 1154— 
1 1 86, "the study of the sciences, letters, 
poetry even, received a fruitful impulse." 
But to King Philip Augustus are due the 
most magnificent additions to the abbey, 
especially the north battlement named 
La Merveille, while the great St. Louis, 
during his pilgrimage in 1256, increased 
the fortifications and built the north 
tower, thus assuring the defence of the 
abbey. The place suffered many times 
from lightning, but the ruined parts were 
as often restored. King Philip the Hand- 
some, after a pilgrimage, rebuilt the town 
and undertook many enterprises there. 

From the year 13 14, Mont Saint Michel 
became an important point in the wars 
of the period, and was guarded in the in- 
terests of the kings of France as well as 
of the Holy Michael. King Charles VI., 
late in the fourteenth century, when on a 
pilgrimage, confirmed Abbe Le Roy as 
captain of Mont Saint Michel. He was 
the first of the abbes to place armories 
upon the walls of the abbey. His coat 
of arms ornaments the stalls of the choir 
which he rebuilt in 1389. It was during 
the reign of Charles VII. that the longest 

siege made by the English occurred, last- 
ing from 1423 to 1434, and ending in 
the English abandoning their artillery, 
two pieces of which we saw as we entered 
the first gate of the town. This obstinate 
resistance was made under command of 
a monk, John Enault, supported by 
valiant Norman warriors, thus preserving 
to France the only point on the coast 
that has never been surrendered. While 
this famous siege went on at Mont Saint 
Michel, the Maid of Orleans was fulfilling 
her sacred mission of driving the English 
from France, — this short but brilliant 
episode of the Hundred Years War, cover- 
ing the years 1428-31 only. And so 
goes on the history of Mont Saint Michel. 
Thirty-four abbes successively governed 
the place. In 161 5, Louis XIII. named 
Henry of Lorraine as commandant ; his 
son the Duke of Guise succeeded him. 
Then followed the troubles with the Hu- 
guenots, and the thrilling story of Mont- 
gomery appears among the records of 
Mont Saint Michel. 

As we wander with our guide through 
the gloomy arches, seeing on one hand 
the dungeons, — veritable holes, whence 
prisoners were seldom brought out alive 
— and on the other the oubliettes, all 
those underground horrors which some 
writer has called " the black entrails of 
Mont Saint Michel," we feel a sense of 
despair and our hope is chilled ; we are 
oppressed with the stories these granite 
blocks tell us. Some event in the his- 
tory of France is recorded at ever} 7 turn. 
Here in one of the lower vaults of the 
abbey stood the Iron Cage of the Car- 
dinal. In the darkest of the dungeons, 
Dubourg, imprisoned by Louis XIV., died 
of cold and hunger, gnawed by rats. 
Through these gloomy corridors walked 
the Man with the Iron Mask. It is a 
dark, a terrible record ! 

The crypt named des gros piliers ex- 
cites our wonder — twelve enormous 
pillars, each one twelve feet in circumfer- 
ence. But it is a relief to leave these 
dismal regions, and ascend to the more 
cheerful salle des chevaliers, which shows 
the human side of the monaster}-. It is 
pleasant to imagine the gatherings of 
knights in the mediaeval times, when, 
bent on quest or tourney, they were wont 



to flock to the Mount, where they were 
sure of right royal entertainment ; for the 
monks of Mont Saint Michel were noted 
for their hospitality. What turning of 
spits and unearthing of rare old wines 
took place then ! What fires must have 
roared in their wide-throated chimneys, 
inside of which a score of knights could 
stand ; what rattling of armor and clank- 
ing of spurs and greeting of brothers-in- 
arms rang through these spacious halls ! 

What words could describe aright the 
beauty of the basilica and the wonderful 
cloister, with their two-hundred columns 
of polished porphyry, no two carved in 
the same design ! A legend of this clois- 
ter tells that the sculptor Gaultier was a 
prisoner in the monastery, whose liberty 
was promised him as a reward for carving 
the pillars of the cloister ; but when he 
had finished this work of greatest beauty, 
he went mad and threw himself into the 
abyss beneath. 

So we wander on, up and down, — and 
outside we stand on giddy heights. From 
one of the towers we admire the delicate 
flying buttresses ; from a parapet we see 
the pinnacles, and the dainty stone carv- 
ings of the escalier des dentelles. We find 
ourselves in grim company up among the 

gargoyles — dogs, dragons, griffins, all sorts 
of fantastic and impossible beasts, a solemn 
and silent company, sternly guarding the 
secrets they know. 

Louis XIV. turned parts of the abbey 
into a prison. Louis XV. continued to 
use it in the same way. In 1790, the 
monks were dispersed and the entire 
abbey was used as a prison, into which 
the revolutionists hustled three hundred 
priests of Avranches and Rennes. Finally, 
the Convention converted the place into 
a state prison. In 181 1, Napoleon made 
of it a house of correction, and the Re- 
storation turned it into a central prison 
of correction. Many mutilations are the 
result of these various changes. The 
prisons were abolished in 1863; but 
between the years 1793 and 1863 more 
than fourteen thousand prisoners had 
been placed at Mont Saint Michel. In 
1865, the abbey was leased to the bishop 
of Avranches for a term of nine years, and 
he, aided by Napoleon III., made many 
repairs. It has remained for the Society 
of Fine Arts to do justice to the value of 
this historic spot, by purchasing it, thus 
restoring to France a monumental trea- 
sure, alike valuable to archaeologist, artist, 
historian, and poet. 


By C. H. Crandall. 

THE times drag on. Why is it thus that men 
Are but the subjects of dull, soulless things, 
When God said unto them : Be ye as kings ? 
Why is there such applause tumultuous when 

One man becomes what all were meant to be ? 
Why see so many faces at life's y?/<? 
Hard-formed and blinded with an irksome weight, 

Men gazing hard for what a child may see ? 
Why is life's dew thus dried in early morn? 
The answer falls as lightning from above : — 
More than my spirit do ye prize your dust! 
O ruin-fronting rabble, ye do turn, 

With eyes averted, from your angel — Love, 
A demon leads you, and his name is Lust. 


By Frances Courtenay Baylor. 

T was in the evening, and 
the party assembled at 
the Harford's country 
place in Virginia was 
grouped about a glorious 
wood fire that glowed 
and flamed up under the 
high-shouldered mantel- 
piece, with its wreaths of 
fine wood carvings be- 
longing to the Grinling 
Gibbons period of deco- 
ration, barbarously pain- 
ted by the preceding gen- 
eration and restored by the present 
one. It was a fire to draw reminis- 
cences, stories, old memories, strange 
adventures, sighs and laughter out of 
Timon of Athens. It was a room of 
rooms to talk in, with its wainscotted 
walls, its ancestral portraits, its rows 
of English classics (first editions, that 
would have made the mouth of the bib- 
liophile water with envy), its polished 
floors, its serious old mahogany furniture 
as background for much modern elegance 
and luxury. It was the time when peo- 
ple talk best, — somewhere near mid- 
night, say ; and it was a party of all ages 
and both sexes ; people who knew each 
other well, but not too well ; people who 
were not dull, not tired, not engaged, not 
even too much in love, although there were 
young men and maidens among them. 

They had been " telling stories " for 
an hour ; and a highly respectable lean 
and slippered pantaloon of an old justice 
had been talking of a cause celebre, that 
had been " the most remarkable that he 
could recall in the course of a long pro- 
fessional career, and a wide acquaintance 
with the criminal classes." A good deal 
of comment, grave and careless, had fol- 
lowed his narrative. Suddenly Theodora 
Grey — " one of the Greys of Hatton," as 
the pantaloon would have called her, he 
being a Virginian of the old school, and 
as much in the habit of classifying people 
into families, as if they had been plants 

instead, and he a botanist of the strictest 
sect — sat bolt upright in her chair and 
took the words out of his mouth, her face 
bright with the thoughts that animated 

"The criminal classes," she quoted. 
" Don't talk of the criminal classes, judge. 
The ground is hollow beneath your feet. 
Oh, Pve got a story that I shall insist 
upon telling, whether anybody wants to 
hear it or not ! — a regular Miss Braddon, 
Wilkie Collins, Gaboriau, of a story, — my 
connection with the criminal classes." 

The judge looked shocked. A Grey of 
Hatton connected with the criminal classes 
was an idea that positively refused to 
enter his respectable head ; in all its 
hoary or sunny days, and in all its wide 
experience, it had never encountered 
anything so astounding, or reflected that 
the poles of virtue and vice, respectability 
and disreputability, are really shaded into 
each other so finely that it is only the 
All-seeing Eye that can tell where one 
begins and the other ends. "There is 
none good. No! not one," and "Call 
thou nothing common nor unclean," were 
not texts that the judge had pondered 
over. His creed would have shown fam- 
ilies like his own and the Greys set dis- 
tinctly on the right hand, as sheep, who 
could do no wrong that society was not 
bound to forgive ; and the rest of the 
world as distinctly set on the left, as goats, 
from whom everything or nothing was to 
be expected. So he arched his eyebrows 
and said, "You jest, Miss Theodora. 
Ah ! let me see. You are thinking of 
that rascally factor of your grandfather's 
— Higgs, Briggs, some such name." His 
aristocratic memory could not be bur- 
dened with such a patronymic. There 
was no such family as the Higgses in 

" O Theodora, tell your story ! " ex- 
claimed Anna Barstow, a gushing and 
giggling maiden of this period, who was 
as eager to hear a new thing as any 
Athenian of old, and feared besides that 



the flood-gates of anecdotage were about 
to be opened upon her. 

"Oh, no! not that," said Theodora, 
ignoring the interruption and addressing 
the judge. " Miggs the name was. It 
was dreadful, wasn't it? He ruined my 
grandfather almost, you know. No, this 
is quite a recent thing comparatively, and 
vastly more interesting, I can promise 

" About six years ago — I feel myself 
growing impressive already, you all look 
so interested, — no it was seven years 
ago, the winter I came out — I went to 
New Orleans to be with Kate. My mar- 
ried sister," she explained to a gentleman 
on her right, whom she had met three 
weeks before, and with whom she had had 
such an almost unbroken tete-a-tete, after 
the manner of country-houses, that he 
already knew more about her and her 
family than if they had met casually in 
London or New York for fifty years run- 

"Ah! yes, — Mrs. Manning," he re- 
plied, with a little nod, placing her with- 
out the least difficulty, although Theodora 
was one of five girls, four of whom were 
married, all the way from California to 

"Yes," resumed Theodora. "Well, it 
was delightful there — New Orleans al- 
ways is delightful, in season and out of 
season, to me ; its gutters and all its 
vices are so much more to me than the 
virtues of any other place, — " 

"Miss Theodora!" exclaimed the 
judge. "A Virginian talking of" — 

"Go on, Theodora," urged Anna Bar- 
stow, cutting him short again. 

"Yes, I can't help it," said Theodora, 
going on and looking at the judge. 
"The climate is so delicious, for one 
thing. I hate cold weather. It always 
makes one feel vaguely unhappy about 
everything, although I am as strong as — 
as — " 

"Samson," put in Mrs. Barstow, a ner- 
vous wreck in bombazine, who had been 
knitting up the ravelled sleave of her 
cares into an afghan, for five years past — 
a huge and ineffably hideous affair, six 
by six, and intended, she said, "just to 
lay over her feet when she wanted to 
lounge on the sofa," — which was saying 

a great deal, for her feet as well as her 

"Yes. Well, I was delighted to find 
that mamma and I were to be with Kate 
for the whole winter," said Theodora; 
" and now, I warn you, my story is really 
going to begin ! The very first Sunday 
after I got there, the rector of Kate's 
church (I mean St. Boniface), an English- 
man, and a great friend of the house, 
came to call ; and in the course of his 
talk he told us about the Mothers' Meet- 
ing, and the Guild tea, and gave the 
parish news generally, and then said that 
there was a great deal of sickness and 
destitution that winter, and that it was a 
grief not to be able to relieve it more 
fully. And then he said, 'An application 
of some sort is made to me every day. 
Yesterday, for instance, I had a most dis- 
tressing appeal — not that it was so pain- 
fully urgent, but that it should be made 
at all ! The fellow was a gentleman, an 
English gentleman ! His name is Sey- 
mour. He is a son of Sir John Seymour, 
Governor of the Bank of England. Such 
a pleasant, manly young fellow — hardly 
more than a lad ! It seems that he has 
quarrelled with his father, and been kicked 
out, and thought this just the place to make 
a future in. He has been here three weeks 
now, and hasn't got anything to do, and 
his money is all gone, and the poor boy 
is in an awful way. His harpy of a land- 
lady has seized his luggage, if you please. 
So he came to me, very properly, as a 
clergyman and a fellow countryman. 
Family quarrel, apparently ! Sad things, 
family quarrels, — everybody right, and 
everybody wrong, and no getting any- 
body to concede anything or yield an 
inch ! I felt awfully sorry for him, of 
course. And I can't doubt him. You 
never heard a straighter story. And then 
he is evidently such a simple-hearted lad. 
So I did what I could. But we of the 
cloth are not gold mines exactly, and are 
bad things to fall back upon when people 
quarrel with the Bank of England. I 
really don't see what is to be done. I 
am boarding myself, you see ; otherwise, 
I would shelter him until he could look 
about him a bit.' The moment he had 
finished Kate burst out with — " 

" Is there such an institution as the 



Bank of Scotland?" interrupted Miss 
Monroe, a spinster with a thirst for accu- 
rate information. 

" Not to my knowledge, madam," said 
the judge, with a benignant wave of his 
hand, " although under the charter of 
union with Great Britain — " 

"Theodora, we are waiting," said 
Anna Barstow impatiently. 

"Yes, I know," replied Theodora smil- 
ing. " Well, Kate, you know, is the kind- 
est, most warm-hearted, impulsive crea- 
ture in the world." (The gentleman on 
the right, encountering her glance, nod- 
ded confirmation) . " So she said, ' Oh, 
if that is all, don't worry about that. 
Send him right up here to us. We'll 
take care of him for a month or so, and 
I'll make Rob find him something some- 
where. Rob ought to — I remember his 
telling me that he met Sir John Seymour 
in London when he was there, and went 
over the bank with him. And oh, the 
money in it ! And now to think of this 
poor, foolish fellow being out here with- 
out a cent ! It's too dreadful ! And it 
was just like a coarse wretch to keep his 
luggage, and turn on him ! Mind you 
tell him, Mr. Curtis, that Rob is away and 
can't call, but that we know his father, 
and insist on his making us a nice, long 
visit. Do go and have his luggage sent 
right out of that horrid woman's house, 
and pay whatever he owes, and let me 
know what it is.' 

" Mr. Curtis seemed rather surprised 
by the success of a dimly seen ' chance 
for his protege J and by the infectious 
nature of his own enthusiasm. It reacted 
upon himself, for he thanked Kate warmly, 
agreed to do as she suggested, and colored 
when mamma said, ' Hadn't you better 
wait until Robert returns, dear? What 
would he say ? ' ' Rob always says, " Do 
as you please and you will please me," 
mamma ; you know that, perfectly well,' 
was Kate's reply, and Mr. Curtis said 
warmly, ' Have no fear, Mrs. Grey. The 
boy is a boy to all intents and purposes, 
and is a perfect gentleman, I assure you. 
If I know anything, I know an English 
gentleman when I see one.' 'Oh, that is 
all right, of course,' Kate said. 'Sup- 
pose you bring him up to call first — to- 
morrow. It will be less awkward for him, 

less embarrassing. His position is such 
a mortifying one. And then when he 
goes I will write him a formal invitation 
and say that I hear he is travelling for 
pleasure in this country, and that I hope 
he will like it as much as I did in Eng- 
land, and that as I am so much in the 
debt of his countrymen for their extreme 
hospitality, my husband and I would be 
gratified — Oh, I'll make that all right! 
Do you bring him to call, — about four, 
Mr. Curtis?'" 

" W T hat are the correct hours for call- 
ing in New Orleans? Among the best 
people, I mean?" asked Miss Munroe. 

" In my time " — began the judge. 

" Miss Grey, you are not comfortable. 
Let me put this at your back," said the 
gentleman on her right ; but he got only 
a smile in acknowledgment, as Theodora 
continued : 

" When Mr. Curtis had gone, mamma 
still looked very dubious, and said, 
' Katherine, what will your brother James 
say to this? Have you thought of that? ' 
And Kate laughed and said, ' Oh, Jim is 
sure to say that we shall all certainly be 
robbed and murdered, and advise me to 
shut my doors in poor young Seymour's 
face, and see to all the bolts from garret 
to cellar. You know Jim is always sure 
when the day is warm that there's going 
to be an earthquake ; but all the same it 
never comes. Don't you worry, little 
mother. It is all right, I tell you. How 
would you like it if Jim happened to get 
stranded in a foreign country, and was 
suspected and ill-treated, and not ad- 
mitted into respectable families? Just 
tell me that: " 

"A great risk, I must say," said the 
judge. "But my father used to say that 
even a rogue might be the better for 
association with honest men, and misfor- 
tune has put many an honest gentleman 
below the salt around our mahogany. I 
trust you had no reason to regret your 
timely hospitality." 

" It seems to me that your sister should 
have thought of you, Miss Theodora," 
said the gentleman on the right. 

" Should you say, now, that Americans 
are not well received abroad? " asked the 
spinster opposite. 

" Wait a minute — chain six, loop, knit 



two, and repeat. I can't keep it in my 
head," said Mrs. Barstow. 

" Go on, Theodora. You were saying 
— " said Anna Barstow. 

"Very well," said Theodora, going on. 
" Next afternoon two cards were brought 
up ; that of our clergyman, and a narrow 
bit of pasteboard on which was inscribed 
in plain text, ' Mr. Seymour ; ' ' Junior 
Carleton' had been traced out, and the 
address of the flinty-hearted landlady 
substituted. Kate and I both examined 
it, and agreed that it was very nice, and 
we went downstairs together. Mr. Curtis 
shook hands with us and introduced his 
friend, with whom Kate shook hands 
warmly. I bowed, and while the other 
three members of the party were carrying 
on a triangular talk about the weather 
and so on, I took a good look at Mr. Sey- 
mour, as well as I could without seeming 
to stare rudely. He was very tall, very 
slim, very fair, as rosy as a girl. His 
eyes were blue, set in a long, narrow 
fashion, extremely candid in expression. 
'Candor, the limpid clearness of a child's 
eyes, the innocence of an animal's,' was 
what I thought of them. His nose was 
long, but handsome for all that. His 
forehead, a retreating one, was redeemed 
by a lot of soft little waves of light hair, 
that gave him a ' good-little-boy-out-for- 
a-visit ' air. His whole appearance was 
eminently gentlemanlike and very youth- 
ful. He had the manner, or rather the 
absence of manner, of a well-bred English 
youth, quite careless of the impression he 
is creating, at ease without being forward. 
He talked little, and said nothing — 
nothing in the least original, or startling, 
or clever, that is. He seemed immensely 
good-natured and a trifle clumsy, and 
more than a trifle stupid, but responded 
pleasantly to Kate's efforts to be friendly, 
and kind, and hospitable. I had a few 
words with him before they left, and 
partially echoed Kate's fervently ex- 
pressed hope that he would ' give us the 
great pleasure of a lo ng visit.' He thanked 
her cordially, in simply constructed stac- 
cato phrases, such as ' Thanks, awfully,' 
and 'You are very good, really,' and 
agreed to all that was proposed. ' It is 
really most kind of you,' he repeated, 
just as he was putting on his hat. 

" ' Not at all,' said Kate, determined to 
make the way of the forlorn foreigner as 
satin-smooth as possible, and rob the 
affair of the abnormal air, speaking cheer- 
fully and chattily as of an everyday 
occurrence. ' Not at all. My husband 
and I are quite devoted to entertaining 
any and every Englishman who comes to 
New Orleans, for we have immense 
arrears to pay up in the way of hospitality. 
You can't think how much kindness we 
have received in England. And then, 
my husband knows your father. Didn't 
Mr. Curtis tell you? O yes ! He break- 
fasted, or dined, or walked, or something 
with Sir John, and went over the bank 
with him, when he was in London. I 
really forget what they did exactly, but I 
know he liked him immensely.' Mr. 
Seymour stopped caressing his hat and 
said, 'Oh, he did, did he? Met the 
Governor ! Mr. Curtis hadn't mentioned 
it. Let me see — when was that? ' 

" ' Oh, a long time ago, five years, quite,' 
said Kate. 

" ' Very nice to meet friends of my 
father, I'm sure. When did you hear 
from him last, might I ask? He doesn't 
waste much ink on me, nowadays. I was 
such a little chap then, don't you see. 
I don't remember hearing him speak of 
Mr. — ah, Manning.' 

"'Oh, you wouldn't, of course — the 
acquaintance was so very slight? And 
we have not had any correspondence 
with him, ever. It was only a pleasant 
coincidence, knowing him at all,' ex- 
plained Kate. 

" ' Oh, yes — quite so — most pleasant,' 
Mr. Seymour agreed, and again caressed 
his hat. 

'"And you will come to-morrow, 
won't you? I shall send for your lug- 
gage at one, shall I ? ' asked Kate, having 
previously made sure from Mr. Curtis 
that it was redeemed and that all was 
' settled ' ; and he thanked her quietly 
again, accepted quietly, and bowed him- 
self away. 

" 'What a shy, nice young fellow,' said 
mamma as soon as he was gone, and Kate 
had sunk on the nearest sofa and de- 
manded breathlessly, ' Well, what do you 
think of him ? ' 'My dear, I think he 
is charming! Such good manners, such 



a frank, honest expression, — delightful ! 
Did you see how careful he was to screen 
me from the draught, and how nice about 
getting the cream and sugar quite right 
for my tea? And bidding me so espe- 
cially goodby, too ! Our young men 
are never civil to an old woman scarcely, 
and when they are it is so evident that 

ence, and that Sir John was a curmud- 
geon and not nice; and finally that it 
would be delightful if he should take a 
fancy to Bessie Turner, who was rolling 
in money and a dear little thing, and 
would make the ' very nicest possible wife 
for him.' 

" Kate wrote her husband a perfect 

He was awfully comfortable. 

they consider it a dreadful tax upon their 
time and courtesy ? One can see that he 
has been most carefully bred and trained 
in the best drawing-rooms of England. 
As a Seymour he would be, naturally. 
I knew he was an English gentleman the 
moment I saw him. And really there are 
few things more charming than a high- 
born, high-bred English gentleman, young 
or old. He seems quite a boy. Don't 
you think so ? ' 

" ' Yes,' said Kate, — * and how simple 
he is ! I like him so much. Don't you, 
Theo ? ' And I replied that I did, — for 
I did ; and we all agreed in a grand fem- 
inine chorus that he was extremely nice ; 
that it would be very nice to have him 
visit us ; that it was monstrous for a 
father to turn his son out on a cold, cold 
world for nothing except a family differ- 

volume that night, all about the charms, 
the woes, the wants, past, present, and 
future, of the family protege and, seal- 
ing it, said rather dubiously, ' I hope 
Rob won't take up any ideas, mamma.' 
We understood her, for our minds were 
choke-full of the same subject ; and 
mamma said decidedly, ' My dear Kath- 
erine, it is only necessary to look at Mr. 
Seymour and hear him talk for five min- 
utes, to know that he is a perfect gentle- 
man ; ' and we all went to bed. 

" Kate, always a charming hostess, out- 
did herself next morning in little prepa- 
rations for the coming guest. He should 
see that we knew how to receive misfor- 
tune within our gates, and how to honor 
it, too. So all the morning long she was 
flitting into the room that was to be Mr. 
Seymour's, with fresh flowers, with writ- 



ing materials, with flasks of Jean Maria 
Farina and bay rum, and what not. The 
room was Jim's when he was at home, 
and as sacred as a shrine, as a rule, when 
he was absent, he being the most partic- 
ular of men. All of Jim's possessions 
were recklessly displaced and consigned 
to closets, — all except his favorite Turk- 
ish dressing-gown and fez, which with his 
meerschaum and a package of perique 
and an armchair made, as Kate justly 
expressed it, ' a comfortable, suggestive 
corner.' Rob's shaving-stand and its 
appurtenances were brought down, and 
his liqueur-stand filled, for other corners. 
Heaps of books and periodicals and late 
papers were heaped on his table, and a 
student-lamp (taken out of my room), 
placed beside them. Kate sent her maid 
out and bought a pair of slippers, there 
not being a shoe in the house that would 

He was so careful of mamma, 

fit an English foot. His bath was pre- 
pared, and enough towels, sponges, gloves, 
straps, and Coudray soaps filched from a 
private and sacred store of such things 
that Jim kept in his wardrobe to have 
satisfied the most fastidious supporter of 
zinc institutions. 

" In the course of the morning, the 
exercise of our benevolent sentiments 
had so expanded the family heart that it 
became a furore of feeling for an inno- 
cent exile whom a wicked parent had 
basely banished from his heart and 
home, — for a martyr. That women love 
a martyr was shown very clearly. Even 
Glaudine, the maid, on being given the 
tragic outlines of the sad story, by Kate, 
with certain reserves (her mouth full of 
pins, as she ' did over ' the pincushion) , 
even Glaudine was all softness and sym- 
pathy, and presently volunteered ' with 
the permission of Ma- 
dame ' to add a whisk- 
broom to the toilet 
outfit ; and Kate, as a 
last touch, bade fare- 
well to every fear and 
got down a box of 
Jim's " Reinas " and put 
them on the mantel, 
in case 'the poor fel- 
low should be eccen- 
tric enough to prefer a' 
good cigar to a pipe.' 
Mamma, at the last 
moment, brought down 
a Bible and Prayer- 
book and put them on 
the table near his bed, 
together with her pet 
album of English 
views, photographs 
that ' might remind 
the poor boy of home.' 
At two, his luggage 
came, and as to quan- 
tity and quality was so 
British that we could 
but smile as it was 
brought in. Boot- 
trees, sticks, gun-case, 
travelling-clock, de- 
spatch - box, dressing- 
case, two ' boxes ' fairly 
papered with labels, 



a Gladstone bag, three umbrellas, a 
medicine - chest, — they were all there, 
and a lot of parcels not to be identified 
besides. At five came Mr. Seymour, 
swinging a fourth umbrella, and walking 
briskly. He was received warmly, the 
whole garrison presented arms, as it 
were, and he was duly installed. We had 
rather dreaded breaking the ice ; but 
there seemed no ice to break. He 
showed no sort of embarrassment or 
confusion, he was not depressed or mor- 
tified, or anything that was likely to make 
us or himself uncomfortable, and ac- 
cepted the strange position in which he 
found himself without demonstration of 
any kind, which we set down as a triumph 
of good-breeding over circumstances ; 
he talked simply and naturally, blushed 
rosily and engagingly ; ' hoped we 
shouldn't find him a tremendous nui- 
sance,' had five o'clock tea with us, and 
disappeared to dress for dinner. He 
looked extremely well when he rejoined 
us in full canonicals, so much so that 
mamma whispered to me, ' What a thing 
race is ! How good blood tells! ' as we 
went in to dinner. 

" ' You have made me awfully comfort- 
able,' he had said to Kate previously. 
' It was really awfully good of you, and I 
am sure I am awfully indebted.' He 
looked very pleased and grateful, and 
colored higher and higher with each 
'awfully.' His talk all through the meal 
was of the most commonplace character ; 
but his manners were so good that they 
would have covered a multitude of plati- 
tudes, and we all read in each other's 
eyes that we liked him, and thought him 
a manly, modest, ingenuous youth, a de- 
lightful Desdichado, — not witty, not 
agreeable, it was true, but still delightful. 
We had a pleasant evening together, and 
he helped to shut up the house, turned 
out the gas in the lower hall, laughingly 
quoting Kate that he was to make himself 
quite at home, and saying that he ' must 
really be made useful,' and went to bed a 
member of the family, to all intents and 

" And a very great honor for him, I am 
sure. Wouldn't you like a footstool, Miss 
Theodora?" said the gentleman on the 

" Hum, hum ! " said the judge, and 
said no more. 

" W T ould you use dark brown, the very 
darkest shade, or light brown, almost on 
the yellow, next?" asked Mrs. Barstow 
of everybody in general. 

" I know what's coming ! You were 
all robbed and murdered that very night ! 
Don't stop, Theodora," exclaimed Anna 
Barstow. " Oh, delightful ! — dark lan- 
terns and knives, and all that, don't you 
know ! " 

The gentleman on the right, at whom 
she was looking, was so moved at the 
thought of an even possible past danger 
for a certain person, that he was impelled 
to protect her even at that date by put- 
ting his chair two inches nearer her's. 

"Robbed and murdered, indeed!" 
said Theodora sidling into the opposite 
corner of her chair, and hoping devoutly 
that she did not look as conscious as she 
felt. " You couldn't imagine a pleasanter 
member for any family than Mr. Reginald 
Pomfret John de Bathe Seymour made. 
That was his name. We saw it on his 
letters, and admired its aristocratic sound 
and culminating consequence vastly." 

The gentleman on the right, having 
been cruelly christened "Jeremiah" and 
further doomed to be known as " Pills- 
bury," felt afresh and more keenly than 
ever before how sharper than a serpent's 
tooth it is to have an absurd name, 
especially when you are thinking of ask- 
ing the most charming woman in the 
world to exchange a pretty one for it. 
With instant and complete comprehen- 
sion Theodora hastily resumed her story. 

" He spent six weeks with us, and I 
must say that his conduct was faultless. 
We were never done telling each other 
what a good fellow he was, though we 
could not deny that he was dull, without 
accomplishments or resources, and rather 
heavy, consequently, on our hands now 
and then. But always so amiable, so 
gentlemanly, holding Kate's skeins, 
plunging after my scissors if I chanced 
to drop them, shutting doors, opening 
windows, moving about the drawing-room 
like a cat, without ever displacing or 
knocking over anything ! So different 
from Rob, who always stumbled over two 
chairs and a footstool whenever he left 



the room, and broke three of Kate's best 
pieces of bric-a-brac in one year ! And 
then his behavior to mamma ! Every 
morning he knocked at her door, and 
brought her down to breakfast, which was 
more than Jim had ever dreamed of 
doing. ' James has no idea of the defer- 
ence due a woman of my age and station, 
to say nothing of my relation to himself, 
although he is a good son in the essen- 
tials,' said mamma. Every evening, when 
she sat on the veranda, he saw that she 
had the chair she liked, her shawl or 
book, or whatever it might be. Her 
wishes were commands, her commands 
obeyed with a pleasant eagerness that 
was most winning, as of a pleasure con- 
ferred instead of a service rendered. 
He never seemed to forget or neglect her, 
had always a pleasant word and smile for 
her, never seated himself until she either 
took her chair or left the room, and liked 
her extremely, I am sure. ' She's got a 
look of my mother,' he said one day, — 
and that pleased mamma most of all. 
He actually went to work and made a 
very pretty screen of bamboo and Japanese 
paper for her room. He played by the 
hour with the children, and seemed to 
get as much fun as they did out of it. 
He gathered roses by the handful in the 
garden every morning, and arranged them 
in the vases most tastefully. He was 
great friends with all the animals — the 
horses, the cat, the dog. He spent 
hours in catching chameleons, and would 
exclaim, ' See ! the beggar,' delightedly, 
when one of them would puff himself out 
like a pouter-pigeon. He took long 
walks and brought us back flowers from 
the swamp. He went shooting and 
brought us back birds. He went fish- 
ing and brought us back fish. He was 
never tired of catching tree-frogs, was 
enchanted when he found one in the key- 
hole- of the front door and another sound 
asleep in the heart of a rose, and when 
he was tired of them would put the ' little 
chaps ' down on the grass as gently as 
though they had been babies and he a 
woman. He would play at cat's-cradle 
on the veranda for a whole morning 
with a neighbor's child, with the most 
perfect patience and good-humor, saying 
that he Miked little kids, of all things.' 

He went to church regularly with us and 
put his rosy face in his hat before service 
a V Anglais, and then looked to see that 
we all had hassocks. He took a class in 
Sunday school at Mr. Curtis's request, 
and created quite a sensation among the 
young ladies who had other classes across 
the way, he was so evidently a good- 
looking and distinguished stranger. I 
passed by one day and heard him saying, 
' It's tremendous work hammering this 
Calvary catechism into your heads, young 
'uns ! I never was a clever chap myself, 
but you needn't mix' em all up as you do ; 
Moses wasn't the strongest man, and 
Adam wasn't the meekest man at all, and 
I've got the birch for less in my day, I 
can tell you.' 

" He was always most polite and con- 
siderate to the servants, who liked him to 
a woman. We had no men about the 
place. He seemed to care very little 
about society, but made no objection to 
going out with us, was wonderfully popular 
and made much of, especially by certain 
mondaines, and the Anglomaniacs were 
a unit as to his perfections. A Liverpool 
bagman, commercially received and so- 
cially disliked, brought up in the fear 
and admiration of a lord, said of him at 
one party, that he was * a toppin h'aris- 
tocrat and no mistake ; an out-and-outer ! ' 
and added that ' there was no mistakin' 
an English gentleman, and that there 
were no what-would-be-called-in-the-old- 
country gentlemen in America at all,' — 
by way of being particularly civil to his 
host, and showing that he knew whereof 
he spoke. 

We, of course, had kept what we knew 
of Mr. Seymour to ourselves, and he was 
generally thought to be a prize matri- 
monial, instead of a detrimental. All 
the manoeuvring, mammas were sweetly 
civil to him, all the ambitious young 
women prepared themselves to be trans- 
lated to another and higher sphere. 
Du reste, he was young, good-looking, 
good-mannered, and made the one ap- 
peal that the most hospitable of com- 
munities can never resist, in being a 
stranger. His social success was there- 
fore really remarkable ; but it did not 
turn his head in the least. He remained 
simple, modest, stupid, irreproachable. 



He did not inaugurate so much as a 
single flirtation ; and when the greatest 
coquette of the day showed him no small 
favor, he said that he wondered what she 
meant when she said thus and so. Alto- 
gether I was so much struck by all these 
circumstances that I christened him ' The 
Innocent,' and talked of him always as 
such when Kate and I, before retiring, re- 
viewed the events of the day, sitting in 
her dressing-room. Once or twice, three 
or four times indeed, he lapsed into little 

susceptibilities. She treated him as 
though he had been the Prince of Wales 
in exile. She was always all goodness 
and graciousness to him, and never per- 
mitted herself the luxury of being dull or 
preoccupied, lest he should fancy that we 
were tired of him, and that he was an un- 
welcome guest. It was for a week an 
agonizing problem with her how to give 
him the money she suspected he needed 
for his small personal expenses. At last 
she hit upon the plan of putting ten 

W'"t:(: : Mm^^:Mimh 


"He Played by the House with the Children." 

vulgarisms of speech or behavior, that 
struck us as extraordinary ; but Kate 
always accounted for them on the ground 
that his life as a child had been so un- 
fortunate, and he left to maids and 
grooms, as he had told us, owing to his 
wicked father's indifference and aversion. 
As for Kate's treatment of him, you can 
fancy nothing more entirely, beautifully, 
delicately kind and considerate. She 
was all nervousness lest something should 
be said or done to wound his diseased 

dollars at a time in small change in a cer- 
tain vase on the drawing-room table, and 
saying to us collectively : ' If anybody 
wants any money for car-fare or anything, 
it is in the pink Minton bowl in there,' 
and further perjuring her dear soul by 
telling him that it was a habit of ours to 
help ourselves from a general fund of this 
kind. We all went solemnly through the 
farce of going trippingly across the room 
to this vase, and extricating small coins 
from it when we were going out, by way 



of example — an example followed by 
Mr. Seymour. 

" Mr. Seymour's wishes, wants, prob- 
able feelings, actual needs, were studied, 
met, pondered over, prayed over almost, 
all during his stay ; and rather than have 
hurt his feelings, I do believe that Kate 
would cheerfully have been minced and 
served on toast. She was vexed with 
Rob for writing that he ' hoped it was all 
right,' and perfectly indignant with Jim's 
letter to mamma, in which he said : ' Get 
rid of the fellow as soon as possible. 
What is Kate thinking of? She must be 
mad — taking a fellow with no known 
antecedents, credentials, nothing, into 
her house ! Rob has spoiled her en- 

"' Isn't that too like Jim for words?' 
she cried to me. ' Jim wouldn't take St. 
Paul in without perfectly satisfactory let- 
ters of introduction, shipwrecked or not.' " 

"Well, it is all very well to call him 
* the apostle of Great Britain,' but he 
would certainly not be received there 
now-a-days without something of the 
sort," said the gentleman on the right ; 
"and" (with a meaning glance at Theo- 
dora), " under the circumstances, I think 
your brother was perfectly right, — per- 
fectly right." 

" Letters are of the first importance 
when one goes abroad, are they not, Miss 
Grey? I am told that however evidently 
refined and accomplished one may be, 
one is ignored completely without them," 
said the spinster. 

"That is not my experience," said the 
judge. " Perhaps I have had exception- 
ally good fortune, but the fact is that 
when I was abroad I found no difficulty 
whatever in taking my proper place 
among gentlemen. It had not occurred 
to me to take any precautions in the 
matter, it seemed so entirely a matter of 
course. And to be quite frank, I cannot 
say that I should have particularly cared 
had it been otherwise, — or mortally af- 
fronted. In my own state, of course, 
non-recognition would have meant some- 
thing very different, but abroad — How- 
ever, as it chanced, I had nothing to 
complain of. I remember I fell into con- 
versation with the Duke of Ledford in a 
railway carriage, in Sussex, and we ex- 

changed cards at parting, and he was 
really most polite in urging me to make 
him a visit. And afterwards I met the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer at my hotel 
in London, and we had a number of talks 
about matters of general interest, and 
there was no stiffness, no pretence, what- 

Theodora, are you never going on? " 
asked Miss Barstow. "What happened? 
How long did he stay? " 

"Why this happened," replied Theo- 
dora, as she accepted a fan from the gen- 
tleman on the right. " One day, as I 
was walking around the garden, Mr. Sey- 
mour joined me. His face was very 
much flushed. He looked troubled. 
His sentences were more staccato and 
choppy than ever. And troubled he 
was, — might well be, — as appeared 
when after some sympathetic remarks 
and questions he told his tale. His 
father was thought to be dying. His 
sister had written him to return at once, 
as he was in further danger of being dis- 
inherited, thanks to a scheming step- 
mother. He had no money. His efforts 
to get or earn some had been a failure. 
It was all ' miserable,' he said, and he 
looked miserable enough. He unbut- 
toned his coat and got out two letters, 
which he gave me in support of his state- 
ments ; and I said all the kind things 
that I could think of, and promised to 
consult Kate and see what could be done. 
I went in, found Kate, and went into 
secret session with her over it, with closed 
doors. Together we talked it all over; 
together we read the two letters. The 
first was written in a large, bold hand on 
the paper of the ' Guards Club,' and ran 
as follows : 

"' Dear Seymour : — Your letter of the 15th 
followed me up to Town. Sorry to see that 
things are going so ill with you. You certainly 
have had a confounded run of luck, or America 
is a humbug. I always said it was all rot, going 
out there. I'd help you out of the muddle with 
all the pleasure in life, but the fact is that I am 
in the hands of the Jews, myself, and have only 
three shillings left of my last fiver. I've half a 
mind to put on my swagger suit and go down to the 
' Oaks ' and cheek the Governor out of a fifty 
pound note before he could catch his breath ! 
I've got a cab at the door and must be off. 

" ' Yours faithfully, Herbert de Vere.' 

" Kate smiled. * That seems genuine 



enough,' sne said, giving expression to 
long-repressed doubts. 

"The second letter was an unpreten- 
tious production after the striking pot- 
hooks, huge square envelope and crest 
of the De Veres. It was written on 
ruled paper, in a semi-educated hand. 
It was not well expressed or indeed well 
spelled, and most final and fatal of all, 
it smelled of musk. Kate cried out 
' Too ! ' and ' Pooh ! ' and made a very 
wry face as she took it and then handed 
it back and bade me read it. I did so. 
It was long, rambling, was signed ' Your 
fond sister, Maude Egerton Seymour,' 
and the gist of it was a deceived father 
couchant, dying alienated from his only 
son ; a wicked step-mother rampant, with 
teeth and claws like a griffin ; and a sis- 
ter regardant, who implored her brother 
to return to England at once. When I 
had finished and folded it, Kate and I 
exchanged glances, and I said firmly, 
'That is not the letter of an English 
lady, Kate. Look at the handwriting, 
and the nursery-maid English : " what- 
ever shall I do if you don't come soon," 
— and then that smell ! ' And Kate, the 
dear, loyal thing, said, ' Oh, well, you 
know, Theo, how they have been neg- 
lected in childhood ! I dare say she was 
left to the servants, too.' This seemed 
to account for everything, and we then 
went on to consider ways and means of 
helping the Innocent. As to means, we 
were only modestly furnished ; but Kate 
said she had a way of managing if neces- 
sary, and did not think it necessary to go 
into particulars. At dinner that day she 
atoned for some disloyal thoughts by an 
even increased cordiality to her guest, 
and after dinner he opened his heart to 
her fully — so fully that she came up 
stairs with tears in her eyes and told me 
that I ought to be perfectly ashamed of 
myself to harbor base suspicions against 
Mr. Seymour, and added that she had 
been feeling a good deal disappointed in 
me lately, for I had never been the same 
girl since I had lived with Uncle Bogardus 
in Paris for two winters. And I felt this 
to be so unjust that I had some words 
with her, and we both went to bed in a 
small tempest of grief and wrath. Next 
morning Kate went down town early. 

She came bacK in excellent spirits, and 
meeting me said, ' Are you such a goose 
as to mind anything I said last night?' 
And then she kissed me and whispered 
so that mamma should not hear, ' I've 
got the money ! I sold that ring that 
Mrs. Dill gave me when I married, and 
was only too glad of an excuse to get 
rid of it. Only don't tell Rob, for he 
likes Mrs. Dill, and it has always been 
my belief that she was engaged to Rob 
with that ring once, she was so sweetly 
sweet when she gave it to me, and talked 
with such reserve of him.' 

"Well, Mr. Seymour looked as bright 
as she did at luncheon, and that very 
afternoon began to pack. We all helped 
him ; we were all extremely sorry to lose 
him. We all felt suddenly reinspired 
with untold faith in him. We all gave 
him little souvenirs of one kind or 
another, which he took with genuine af- 
fection shining in his blue eyes, and hon- 
est gratitude mantling itself in the vivid 
blushes of his always rosy cheeks. 
Mamma was quite overcome. ' Go down, 
Theodora,' she said, 'and tell him that I 
particularly wish him to accept that 
Turkish fez and dressing-gown of James's, 
that he has found so comfortable.' She 
put him up Jim's Himalaya travelling- 
rug, which was almost equal to giving 
him Jim's front teeth. Kate presented 
him with Rob's brandy-flask, given him 
by Mrs. Dill on his marriage. When the 
time came to say good-by, we were all on 
the verge of tears, — what with his dying 
father, his wicked stepmother, the uncer- 
tainty as to whether he would be cursed 
and disinherited, or blessed and forgiven, 
and the certainty that we should never see 
the charming young fellow again, — our 
own poor, forlorn, unhappy Innocent ! He 
felt it himself. His face got redder than 
ever, his utterance choky, and when he 
bolted into his cab at last, I am certain 
that he was a most unhappy man. We 
thought we had seen the last of him, 
but we were mistaken, for presently he 
bolted back again, holding a bouquet that 
one of the children had given him 
through the window of the carriage. 
' Mrs. Manning,' I heard him say to Kate, 
who was alone on the veranda outside, 
'you have given me a great deal too 



much money. I can't, I won't take it 
all. A hundred and fifty will be quite 
enough to take me — home. Here ! 
take this.' 

" ' Oh, no ! no ! I can't really ! I 
can't indeed,' said Kate. ' Pray keep it, 
Mr. Seymour. You must. Something 
might happen. And you are so far from 

millionnaires from the cradle to the 
grave ! Poor fellow ! I never said any- 
thing, but I thought horrid things, some- 
times, after talking to Theo, — and that 
was just as bad — worse, far worse ! ' 

" * The midday post brought a letter 
from Rob, in which he said that he was 
coming home, and that he hoped • the 

A Dash, a Flash and He was Gone! 

home ! I wouldn't for the world have 
you placed in a false position where you 
were not known. I insist upon your 
keeping it, and you can return it at your 
convenience, you know.' Then there 
was a silence, and then I heard him walk 
away, after saying, ' You are so good. I 
never can — good-by ! ' 

"'Oh, poor fellow,' said Kate, when 
he had driven off and she had joined me. 
1 Poor fellow, his eyes were full of tears, 
and he almost shook my hand off. Such 
a grateful heart ! and we have really done 
very little. Oh dear, I wish I hadn't 
doubted him, ever? I can't forgive my- 
self, and all because he wasn't prosper- 
ous ; just as if everybody can always be 

Britisher had got his remittances and 
been restored to his friends.' It brought 
another from Jim, who said that he was 
coming home, and that if that English- 
man had not already been kicked out of 
the house, it would give him the greatest 
possible pleasure to perform that office 
for him. In a week they both came. 
They arrived late at night, and next 
morning (my room was next to Jim's) I 
heard the sound of doors — cupboard, 
closet, wardrobe doors, being opened 
and shut, and Jim walking excitedly up 
and down his room. I laughed, for I 
knew what was going on, and Jim's wrath 
never alarms anybody, it is tempered 
with so much kindness and generosity. 



Then I heard him give the bell a furious 
jerk, and when Glaudine answered it, I 
heard him, ' what-the-mischief -ing and 
' what-the-devil'-ing her, demanding to 
know what had become of about fifty of 
his most private, particular, and sacred 
possessions. Her timid replies did not 
satisfy him, and her respectful manner 
gave him no peg on which to hang a 
quarrel and vent his anger, so I heard 
him bounce into mamma's room over- 
head presently, when every possible con- 
cession and explanation was given, and 
restitution promised ; but all the same a 
grievance the whole episode was to him 
at that time, and a grievance it has 
always remained, and it has colored 
his views about every English institu- 
tion, from whitebait to the land laws. 
How he abused poor Mr. Seymour ! 
Taken with Rob's laughing and chaffing 
remarks, we got very sensitive on the sub- 
ject, which did more to divide a united 
family than anything else has ever done. 
' It is that dressing-gown,' said mamma 
to me. 'James has the best heart in the 
world, but I have never been able to get 
another at all like it. And then you 
know poor Reginald Seymour was so un- 
fortunate as to spill some ink on his new 
carpet, and it can't be matched, and James 
was always particular from a child, like 
his dear father.' 

" At the end of the season, mamma and 
I came home, and that summer we all 
went to England very unexpectedly. In 
all that time not one word or line had 
reached us from Mr. Seymour. But the 
first person introduced to us at the very 
first dinner that we went to in London 
was Miss Maude Seymour, daughter of 
Sir John Seymour. Kate and I both 
beamed at her, and Kate said, ' I am so 
glad to meet you, Miss Seymour. I 
know your brother Reginald very well. 
He stayed with us last winter, and we 
liked him so much.' Miss Seymour 
looked as though she were amiably in- 
clined to ' do the civil,' as her brother 
used to put it, but seemed also much 
puzzled. ' My brother Reginald,' she 
said. ' Oh, here in London I suppose 
you mean ! ' 

" ' Oh, no. In New Orleans, where 
we live. We have only just come to 

London,' said Kate. 'Allow me to pre- 
sent my husband to you.' 

" ' In New Orleans ! That's in America 
somewhere, isn't it,' asked Miss Seymour. 
'Reginald has never been to America.' 

" ' Why, he spent six weeks with us, I 
tell you, last winter — all January and 
part of February,' exclaimed Kate. 

" ' That is impossible,' said Miss Sey- 
mour calmly. ' Reginald was with us in 
Italy all winter, and never left us for a 

" 'He was, 1 said Kate. ' But how can 
that be when he was with me ? ' 

" ' Reginald was not with you, excuse 
me, he was with papa and me at Mentone 
first, then in Florence and Rome,' said 
Miss Seymour severely. She looked at 
Kate coldly, and repeated, ' He has never 
been in America at all.' 

" ' Well, I certainly met a gentleman 
who called himself Reginald Pomfret 
John de Bathe Seymour, and said that he 
was the son of Sir John Seymour, the 
Governor of the Bank of England, and 
that he had a sister named Maude. Why, 
I read one of your letters to him,' said 
Kate with warmth, resenting her tone a 

"'That is papa's name and my name, 
and Reggie's name. But my brother has 
never left home. He is a confirmed in- 
valid, and you can't have read my letter, 
for I never wrote him in America in all 
my life — he was never there J Miss Sey- 
mour insisted. 

" Dinner was announced just then, and 
Rob laughed out, loudly, and whispered 
' Sold ! little woman ; regularly sold ! I 
always said so. Jim must know this,' and 
Kate turned away angrily from them both 
and took the arm of her escort, and 
would not so much as look at Rob while 
the meal lasted, she was so vexed. The 
moment it was over and the ladies went 
upstairs to the dressing-room, Kate seized 
my arm, and together we tackled the 
Seymour, and told her all about the 
affair. She listened placidly, but with 
reserve, remarked several times that it 
was ' very curious,' repeated all that she 
had previously said, and whenever we 
met her afterwards — as it happened 
quite often — was distant and distinctly 
avoided us, evidently having labelled us 



in her mind as 'queer/ or 'shady,' pos- 
sibly as 'dangerous.' She made Kate so 
angry by this that she declared that she 
'should not believe one word that girl 
had said ; that charming Mr. Seymour 
was much more likely to be what he had 
declared himself to be, than that, etc., 
etc' And it was so funny to see the 
superb scorn with which Kate treated her 
when they met at the American minis- 
ter's ! But between ourselves, we were 
aghast, staggered, obliged to admit that 
there was ' something wrong,' something 
rotten in — New Orleans. Mamma alone 
refused to doubt, and would not be con- 
vinced. ' He was a mere boy — such a 
charming boy,' she said ; and Kate said, 
' He was always playing with the children ; ' 
and I said, ' He was much too stupid to 
have played such a part ; ' and while we 
were talking Rob's cab drove up, and he 
came back from our banker's with our 

" ' I say, Kitty, I've news for you as is 
news,' he said when he came in. ' I've 
a letter from Canada asking me what I 
know about my friend Sir Hugh Le De- 
spencer, who stayed with me in New 
Orleans last winter. He's staying with 
the Ashtons there, and they are delighted 
with him. He introduced himself to 
them as a friend of ours, if you please. 
Here's a go, Mrs. N.' There's a 
note for you, enclosed, from Mrs. Ash- 
ton ; read it, — read them both.' 

" ' It can't be him,' cried Kate, regard- 
less of grammar. ' It isn't Mr. Seymour 
at all, — it is some other man ? ' ' Do 
take off those boots, Robert, they creak 
abominably,' said mamma. 

" ' // is, it must be the Innocent! ' I 
cried ; and Kate and I fell upon the let- 
ters and devoured their contents. Sum- 
marized, they amounted to this. Sir 
Hugh was charming. They had been 
charmed to meet such a great friend of 
ours, and with such late and full news of 
us, and all our doings. Sir Hugh was 
stopping with them. It was delightful 
to have him do so. Sir Hugh was a 
great favorite in society and invaluable at 
home, so kind to the children, so beauti- 
fully attentive to dear mamma, for whom 
he had made ' a most lovely bamboo 
screen.' It was very sad that he should 

have quarrelled with his father, but fathers 
were often so unreasonable, and all the 
Despencers were noted for their tempers. 
Sir Hugh was not at all clever, certainly, 
but one could see in every act and word 
that he was a gentlejnan born. Harry 
had lent Sir Hugh twenty pounds when 
he first came, and had introduced him 
to Mr. Duncan Maclntyre, the Premier, 
who had been most kind to him. Sir 
Hugh had been recently called back 
home to be reconciled to a dying father, 
and Mrs. Maclntyre, a woman of inde- 
pendent fortune, had given him a check 
for a hundred pounds in the most de- 
licate manner possible, which would cer- 
tainly be a service for the time being to 
poor, dear Sir Hugh, in his awkward 
position, and would certainly be returned. 
Sir Hugh was full of gratitude to, and ad- 
miration for, each and every member of 
the Manning household, and it would be 
pleasant to know more about a mutual 
friend, so we must write by return post. 

" ' Gracious mercy, Rob / It is the 
same man ? My goodness ! He must 
be an adventurer ! He must have taken 
in the Ashtons just as he did us ! He 
has seen them all in our album, and heard 
us talk about them, of course ! Oh, isn't 
it dreadful ! I can't believe it, Theo. 
He was so good and gentle with baby 1 
He had tears in his eyes when -he went 
away,' said Kate, moved to tears herself 
almost ; ' and I liked him so much, — 
and just think what he was to mamma ! 
I can't believe it. If you laugh, Robert, 
I shall perfectly hate you.' 

" Mamma still insisted there was some 
mistake — perhaps Sir Hugh had come 
into a property and changed his name ! — 
and at last went to her room. Rob did 
not laugh then. He was too much 
annoyed himself about the whole affair. 
The Ashtons were intimate friends of 
many years standing, luckily, — Colonel 
Ashton in command of a regiment of the 
Household troops stationed in Canada. 
Rob wrote him at once and enclosed a 
check for the twenty pounds Sir Hugh 
had borrowed of him as our friend, and 
begged his acceptance of it, told him the 
whole story, regretted that the Mac- 
Intyres had lost so much, and in time 
had his check returned, and heard from 



the colonel that Sir Hugh had disappeared, 
and that Mrs. Maclntyre had made him 
the thirty-nine articles of her faith, and 
declared that adventurer or not, he was 
heartily welcome to what she had given 
him, — but that he was nothing of the 
sort. Nobody could deceive her about 
an English gentleman. ' I thought / 
knew one,' added the colonel; 'I could 
have sworn that that fellow was one, and 
I have known a good many of them, and 
shoals of men who, alas ! were once Eng- 
lish gentlemen — on the Continent, and 
all over the world, blackguards of every 
variety. It is not remarkable that your 
wife, an American lady, should have been 
victimized, when I, a man, and an Eng- 
lishman of no small experience, have 
been completely taken in. I liked the 
fellow. My wife swears by him still, and 
her mother, who is a Frenchwoman, and 
a very prejudiced one, declares that he is 
the only polite and agreeable Englishman 
that she has ever known. So you see 
there is no one here who bears him any 
malice, much less you, or yours.' " 

"He was quite evidently a gentle- 
man," said the judge, and nodded ap- 

" I suppose now that there is a great 
deal of feeling between the French-Cana- 
dians and the English?" inquired the 

The gentleman who had been on the 
right, but unable to bear the thought of 
Miss Theodora " actually under the same 
roof with — with a — anything,'' 1 had 
picked up the poker and viciously mended 
the fire, thereby relieving his feelings in 
some measure, now said, " I can't think 
how they could have subjected you to 
such an association, — I really can't, 

" What next, Theodora ? I hope some- 
thing that will make " crillies " run down 
my back," gushed Miss Barstow. " I 
hope he turned up one night in London, 
or at some country house, with a crape 
mask on. and carried his shoes and a 
dark lantern in his hand. Ugh ! " 

" Not he," said Theodora. " I may as 
well say at once that we never saw him 
again ; but we heard of him often enough, 
although we did not at the time know it. 

" After spending a year abroad we came 

home, and two years later one of my 
cousins, May Carruthers, wrote me a con- 
fidential letter. A great friend of her's 
wished to know, ' for private reasons that 
need not be made known,' whether we had 
ever heard in England of a very charming 
man, Lord Vivian Vavasour, who had 
been for some weeks creating a great 
sensation in Cincinnati. ' My uncle, 
Mr. Boehm of Boehm & Company, bank- 
ers, Paris, who is staying with them, says 
that nobody could deceive him as to 
being an English gentleman,' wrote May, 
' and the moment he set his eyes on Lord 
Vivian he knew that he could be no other 
than a man of distinguished lineage, and 
of the best ton, but still my friend has 
reasons for wishing to know a great deal 
more ; in fact, all that is to be known.' I 
wrote disclaiming all knowledge of Lord 
Vivian, and very soon had a second letter 
from May. Lord Vivian had disappeared, 
and had forgotten to return a very valu- 
able diamond ring that May's friend, a 
belle and beauty, had given him to wear ; 
had gone off owing Uncle Boehm fifteen 
hundred dollars, owing to some irregularity 
of a check drawn by him, but of course 
it would be explained — fifteen hundred 
dollars was nothing to a Vavasour. 

" Three years later a friend of ours, a 
lawyer, on a visit here, was giving an 
amusing account of the capture of a 
chevalier d'industrie, Viscount Tollemache, 
in San Francisco, by the New York 
detectives. Pinkerton had sent out two 
of his best men he said, and they found 
the fellow, the petted, curled darling 
of the best circle in the city. The 
leader of the German was his shadow. 
The mothers, daughters, and dudes lived 
for him, and babies licked the spoon, 
as the advertisements say. Any enter- 
tainment that he graced was a grand 
success. Any affair that lacked that 
honor was more or less of a failure. 
All the beauties were scrambling for a 
seat in the Peeresses Gallery, and the 
belles schemed to get so much as a but- 
ton from his uniform when he appeared 
in his naval toggery. The grandmothers 
to a man were all on his side, and bets 
were being made at the clubs as to how 
much the leading fathers would give as a 
dot for the daughter whom he might 



select. All the clubs had given him 
cards of admission, and meant to renew 
them indefinitely. All the would-be 
fashionable youths w r ere dressed after 
him, and his popularity was something 
phenomenal. Pinkerton's men were stag- 
gered. They were old foes in the force, 
and were on their mettle. They dis- 
agreed about the case, and both went to 
work cautiously and independently. Vis- 
count Tollemache was living at the best 
hotel, paid his bills, had no vices, was 
universally admitted to be ' a perfect 
gentleman,' and considered irreproach- 
able in his conduct. The detectives saw 
him for the first time at the theatre. ' No- 
thing in it ; wrong scent,' said A. ' You 
can't fool me when it comes to an Eng- 
lish gentleman. I was gamekeeper to. 
the Earl of Seaforth in the old country 
for fifteen years.' ' I'm not so sure of 
that,' said B. ' He looks the swell, but 
I've been longer in the force than you, 
and I've seen more paste diamonds in 
consequence. I don't say he is, but I 
don't say he ain't, neither.' They both 
worked for a month, and then on the 
same day ran him down from different 
starting-points, were reconciled, arrested 
him, and took him to the hotel. Arrived 
there, they took him to his room. He 
offered no sort of resistance. And then, 
unfortunately, they began to discuss the 
conduct of the case. Each claimed the 
entire credit of the capture. They both 
got more and more angry, excited, ab- 
sorbed. Meanwhile, Viscount Tollemache, 
unobserved, slipped nearer and nearer to 
the window behind them ; a dash, a 
flash, and he was gone ! 

" Two years after that, a friends of our 
introduced Jim to an English gentleman 
who had, as he said ' gone in for ' an 
orange plantation in Florida. They spent 
several days at a country-house together, 
and one night in the smoking-room, when 
they chanced to speak of English immi- 
gration to this country, Jim mounted his 
favorite hobby-horse, which is the reck- 
less way in which Americans open their 
doors to any and every Englishman, with 
or without credentials, taking his posi- 
tion, character, respectability, for granted 
if he presents none, and never being at 
the pains of verifying such as he may 

have provided. His views, so far from 
provoking opposition, were heartily ech- 
oed by his companion. 'You can't be 
too careful,' he said. ' Why, only last 
year, I was regularly done myself. I'll 
tell you how it happened. I drove into 
my post-town one day, and went up to 
the station where I had some matter to 
look to, and there I saw a tall chap walk- 
ing about, and I saw at once that he was 
an Englishman. I took a good look at 
the fellow and said to myself, "I can't 
be mistaken in an English gentleman," 
so I went up to him and said my name 
was Charteris, and he said his name was 
Bellamy, and we shook hands, and then 
we had a good deal of talk about people 
and things at home, which was very 
agreeable — at least to me. He knew a 
lot of my people, and had seen my 
brother a few weeks before, and his 
cousin, Montagu Bellamy, had married a 
cousin of mine, Mabel Effingham, and I 
knew quite well who he was, had often 
heard my brother speak of Dick Bellamy, 
Hightowers's brother in the Guards, at 
least. So the upshot of it was that I 
asked him to make me a visit. He was 
down there, he said, to look at some 
plantations, and I carried him off home 
that very day in my dog-cart. He spent 
several weeks with me, and all went well. 
My wife was charmed with him, and my 
mother-in-law quite in love with him, 
and no wonder, for he was positively ten- 
der to her, — always shutting doors, fetch- 
ing shawls, and picking up pocket hand- 
kerchiefs — you know the sort of thing. 
Yet the fellow was not a drawing-room 
poodle merely, he was a capital shot, 
and caught more fish in a week than I 
could in a year. So everything went on 
for some time and at first I had not a 
shadow of suspicion that anything was 
wrong, but finally he did one or two little 
things, said something that struck me as 
not at all the thing I had a right to ex- 
pect from him ; and then he talked one 
day rather too much about that stupid 
banker of his in London, and I got un- 
easy. So without saying a word to the 
ladies, I went into town and wired my 
cousin St. Albans in Canada, and he 
wired back, "Your friend is a swindler." 
The fellow must have seen something in 



my manner anu have taken fright, for 
without waiting for me to return, he had 
gone, leaving a note for me, " pressing 
business, etc., etc.," as I found when I 
got back, and saved me the trouble of 
kicking him out. And about a year 
later, some relatives of my wife in Boston 
gave us all the news we have ever had of 
him, for he turned up there, looked them 
up at once, presented himself as Lord 
Alfred Manners, and swindled them out 
of nine hundred dollars, captivated the 
entire community and departed "uni- 
versally regretted " as the obituary no- 
tices put it.' 

"As an Anglophobist, Jim was highly 
gratified by this recital, and wrote us all 
about it by the next post, having made 
some confidences in return, you may be 
sure, and compared notes with Mr. Char- 
teris, greatly to their mutual entertain- 

"Some little time after this a friend 
of mine went abroad ; and this friend 
had the strength of mind to keep a diary 
of his European tour and not merely to 
intend to keep one. And on his return 
to this country I found matter for reflec- 
tion in his account of that very common- 
place transit, a voyage from New York to 
Liverpool. Soon after starting, he said 
it was rumored that there was a criminal 
on board who was to be delivered up to 
English justice ; and as everybody was 
in that vacant state of mind in which a 
reported nautilus sends half the passen- 
gers to one or the other side of the ship, 
and confidences had been exchanged 
between entire strangers that surprised 
confider and confidant ever afterwards, 
such thrilling tidings naturally caused a 
pretty stir. By night a hundred different 
rumors were afloat about the affair, and 
the ladies all in a buzz appealed with 
swift instinct to the captain. The cap- 
tain sifted the stories and admitted the 
fact. There was a criminal on board, 
charged by John Clapp of London with 
forging an acceptance of a bill of ex- 
change for one hundred pounds sterling, 
and arrested in Montreal. He was to be 
turned over to the police authorities of 
Liverpool, and was in his charge and that 
of a detective. ' Oh ! poor thing,' said 
the ladies. ' What does he look like ? — 

Have you seen him ? — Can't we see him ?' 
Do let us see him ! — What will his sen- 
tence be ? ' The captain shook his head 
at the last demand, and answered the last 
question : ' There is no saying ; but he 
will probably get six months at hard labor 
in Clerkenwell Prison.' And then he 
said, ' I have had several talks with the 
fellow. You'd never take him for a crim- 
inal — in fact it isn't proven, you know. 
And I have my doubts ! I'm giving him 
the benefit of them in my treatment of 
him, allowing him a good deal more lib- 
erty than is generally accorded. He's a 
particularly nice fellow, quite the English 
gentleman, really, and in my position I 
know, coming into contact with so many 
of them, and belonging as I do to the 
Naval Reserve, as it were in the Royal 
Navy, practically. I am confident that I 
am right that far. He may be entirely 
innocent of the offence with which he is 
charged. He may be a bit of a scape- 
grace, a sprig of nobility sowing wild oats 
over in America, is my theory ; but a 
gentleman born, a gentleman bred, I'd 
lay a thousand pounds ! Not a clever 
fellow, but sound views ; detests Glad- 
stone ; very good-looking fellow, too/ 
The ladies on hearing this unanimously 
resolved that see him they must, could, 
would, and should. See him they did, 
on deck, and heard him, too, — for what 
should he do the next evening (Sunday) 
but burst out with Hymns Ancient and 
Modern, Moody and Sankey, Adam's 
"Holy Night," and Gounod's "Ave 
Maria," all sung in a rich, sweet, if not 
particularly cultivated tenor voice ! The 
captain was human, and yielded to the 
pressure ; and once knowing the truth, 
there were not ropes enough on board to 
keep the ladies away from Mr. Lionel 
Dalrymple Bouverie. The consequence 
was that the ladies talked to him, heard 
him talk, heard him sing, saw his profile 
against several good sunsets, heard him 
read Keble, and Robertson's Sermons, 
learned that he was a nephew of the 
Bishop of Sodor and Man (Soda & Man, 
a wag on board put it, alluding to a well- 
known combination ordinarily expressed 
as a Soda & B.), and the feminine mind 
was made up. There was a mistake some- 
where, a conspiracy. A man with a good 



tenor voice, and such a name, a classical 
profile, an uncle who was a bishop in the 
English church, a forger ! — preposter- 
ous ! The ladies did not brood over the 
matter in the cabins merely. They sent 
him wine, books, notes. They talked 
themselves, each other, and their male 
belongings and slaves on board into a 
firm belief in a blackly wronged Bou- 
verie, shot baleful glances and sarcastic 
little speeches at the anti-Bouverites, a 
respectable minority, chiefly male and 
middle-aged. A subscription list was 
taken around for the purpose of furnish- 
ing Mr. Bouverie with legal advice 
and protection, and his popularity stood 
even this supreme test. By the time 
they reached Liverpool, even the detec- 
tive had ceased detecting, all barriers had 
been burned away by his ardent admirers, 
and he mingled with the passengers as a 
victim. The captain had sent his own 
servant to wait on him, two school girls 
from Topeka had begged for a lock of 
his hair, and other fair ones for photo- 
graphs, and in all the autograph books 
on board nearly was to be seen in huge 
dashing characters, ' Lionel Dalrymple 
Bouverie,' opposite such appropriate 
verses as Tennyson's ' Oh ! selfless man 
and stainless gentleman ! ' — with the 
name of the steamer and date. My 
friend was a wretch of an Anti-Bouverite. 
He declared that it was his belief that 
the gentleman in question got a good 
round sum in loans alone from suscepti- 
ble sentimentalists, having detected three 
such in the act of giving him a roll of 
bank bills, — three old ladies. He talked 
by the hour with a particularly meek little 
man from Utah who was ' most sure ' and 
willing to ' bet his bottom dollar ' that 
' that there man was the same man that 
was out in Salt Lake City two years ago 
and played about the smartest confidence 
game off on a merchant there of the 
name of Pope, William D. Pope, pre- 
tended to be adjuster for some estate in 
England, and worked the thing in so 
fine with what he knowed of the law in 
both countries and the family, that he 
had cleared out with a pile and hadn't 
never been heard tell of, though a reward 
for a thousand dollars had been offered 
by Jefferson Ott, Pope's lawyer, who was 

mad enough to have killed him on sight, 
most.' My friend was foolish enough to 
repeat this, but the ladies were a match 
for him. They had found out from the 
stewardess that the little man was a Mor- 
mon, and a Mormon could not give evi- 
dence against the nephew of a bishop, 
say what he might. They told the Vic- 
tim, who remarked without heat, 'What 
extraordinary tales do get about, to be 
sure ! ' and was said by them to have 
taken it ' as a Christian should.' But as 
much cannot be said for the detective, 
when in the confusion of landing ai 
Liverpool and in consequence of the re- 
laxation of all discipline, the bogUb 
nephew of a venerated prelate slipped 
out of his grasp, baggage and all, as 
neatly as possible, leaving him in a swear- 
ing, tearing fury, quite painful to witness. 
" Lastly, — dear, dear ! just look at the 
clock ! 1 had no idea it was so late, but 
my story is nearly done — lastly, I went 
on to New York last winter to be brides- 
maid to my friend, Edith Williams, and 
at the wedding I met the best man, who 
proved to be an old acquaintance, Comte 
de Grenouillac. I had known him in 
Paris very well and was glad to see him 
again, saw a good deal of him when the 
wedding was over. He gave me a full 
account of himself, and I could almost 
have shut my eyes and imagined myself 
back at the Hotel Verville, where he used 
to dine every Sunday with Uncle Bo- 
gardus and me, — it was so familiar, the 
sound of his high, chirruping voice, his 
queer French-English ; these had not 
changed, although the little man was so 
bronzed, bearded, altered otherwise, that I 
did not recognize him at first. ( I am bach- 
eldore ! Je roide partottt comme les balles. 
I come to arrive from the Indes,' he 
explained. He had been all around the 
world and had had many strange adven- 
tures. He related a good many of 
them to me, and in this way it came 
about that we ' returned to our muttons,' 
as he always would say. For one morn- 
ing he told me of a visit he had made to 
the Governor-General of India, of the 
house-full of guests assembled there, and 
their mode of life, amusements, and so 
on, and finally of a * young English ' who 
was of the party, ' ires poll ei distingue 



pour un Anglais ; ' but not clever the 
least in the world, quoique handsome as 
I could not imagine, the ladies say ; but 
' essentiellement le John Bull. 1 He went 
on to say how he was ' named Airle de 
Valdegrave,' how he had created 'furore' 
' un succes fou ' and then ' He las! fragility 
of glory of this planet-here, honors of 
the popularity — there arrives un coup 
terrible! Another young English le beau- 
Secretaire de Milord, rival of Airle Valde- 
grave, has the suspicions, send telegrajne 
to Angleterre, and Lady Valdegrave send 
back word " Ce n' est point mon fils? 11 est 
ici." What do these droles of English ! 
They explode not, speak nothing ! The 
Secretaire assembled with all in smoking- 
room, gives the paper to Valdegrave, and 
he, as cucumber cool, goes to Milord, 
admirably makes compliments, ses adieux, 
all regarding, tears the paper and puts it 
in the fireplace, et puis — ' Here the 
count kissed his fingers as to a vanishing 
friend. He was full of enthusiasm. A 
Frenchman could not have done it better 
in his opinion. He had cried ' Bravo ! 
Bravissimo ! ' in himself, he said. And 
of one thing he was certain. The fellow 
was 'English gentleman, ' pur sang if 
menteur of the occasion.' The comte 
said that he had been ' yaires ' in Eng- 
land, and had ' grandmawther dame 
d'honneur de sa Majeste la Reine d' Angle- 
terre — naturellement^ on that point he 
was connoisseur and could not be de- 
ceived. Well, Kate and I gave always 
our New Orleans Roland in exchange for 
each of these Olivers, as they came in, 
and would always say to each other when 
we heard them, ' Can that have been the 
Innocent ? ' And we always ended by 
agreeing that it was impossible. But all 
the same it was the Innocent in every 

" ' He was the cook, and the captain bold, 
And the mate of the Nancy brig, 

And the midshipmite, 
And the boatswain tight, 

And the crew of the captain's gig.' 

" And this is how we found it out ; 
there is nothing mysterious or remarkable 
about that, whatever. I picked up the 
New York Trumpet one morning, and 
there it all was. The Innocent had been 
at his old tricks, and had been arrested. 

There were two columns of him, giving 
first his picture, which we recognized in- 
stantly, and then his history. The article 
was headed 'A Bogus Britisher.' His 
latest achievement had been getting a 
large sum on false pretences from an 
eminent lawyer in Maine, to whose 
daughter he was engaged. His role and 
name, Willoughby Podmore, Q. C, alias 
Reginald Pomfret John de Bathe Sey- 
mour — how it stared at us — son of Sir 
John Seymour, Governor of the Bank of 
England, alias Sir Hugh Le Despencer, 
Lord Vivian Vavasour, Viscount Tolle- 
mache, Herbert De Crespigny, R. N., 
Lord Alfred Manners, Mr. Bellamy of the 
' Blues,' Lionel Dalrymple Bouverie, etc., 
a long list. He was the son of an Eng- 
lish gamekeeper, employed by a great 
noble, in the west of England. He was 
one of the cleverest and most noted 
swindlers known to the police, and there 
were a great many people in Canada, 
America, England, Australia, New Zea- 
land, who had loved and mourned him. 
He had served two terms at Dartmoor ; 
and by comparing dates we saw that he 
had been shipped to the West Indies 
after the first one, and had come from 
there to us in New Orleans. Numbers 
of his victims had declined to prosecute 
him, f generally his female friends who 
supplied him with enough money to have 
comfortably supported a man of less ex- 
travagant tastes.' His various exploits 
were narrated, and then came a personal 
description. We devored it. Weight, 
height, coloring of hair and eyes, age — 
all corresponded. There could be no 
sort of doubt. And when it came to 
' mole on left leg, piece gone from lobe 
of right ear,' we couldn't stand another 
word. ' Crillies ' ran down my back, I 
assure you, and Kate turned so sick and 
faint that I had to get her some camphor 
and a fan. 'To think of his having 
stayed under our roof! The change 
from Dartmoor to Honeysuckle Cottage 
and us must have been rather striking, I 
should hope,' I said to Kate. ' I have 
no doubt that he is going about the world 
this minute describing himself as our most 
intimate friend.' 'Don't talk of it. It 
is too dreadful for words,' cried she, and 
would not hear anything more at the 



time. Now she always insists that there 
must have been some good in him some- 
where — ' so gentle with baby, and then 
the tears in his eyes when he said good- 
by, Theodora. He couldn't have put 
those there ! ' Mamma has never been 
able to bring herself to do more than 
speak of him as that ' misguided, unfor- 
tunate youth.' Marked copies of the 
Trumpet poured in upon us for two 
weeks, and two of them came from Rob 
and Jim who were both away. We had 
weakly hoped that they might not see it, 
but when did an article of this kind ever 
escape the wrong eyes ? Being so abun- 
dantly supplied, I sent a few copies off 
myself, one to Miss Seymour, one to Mr. 
Charteris, and others to the acquaintances 
of that mutual friend, the Innocent. And 
now my story is done ! " 

" I have done a sprig and a half of em- 
broidery, and knitted two squares since 
you began," said Mrs. Barstow, holding 

them up and smiling with satisfac- 

" My dear, we are all very much in- 
debted to you," said the judge, rising 
with some difficulty, and making a beauti- 
ful, low bow over the hand she extended 
as she said good-night. 

"It wasn't much, after all," said Anna 
Barstow discontentedly ; and adding, 
" Good-night, everybody," she took her- 
self off. 

The gentleman on the right lighted 
Anna's bedroom candle for her as she 
passed him, and got a giggle and glance 
of the quality known as " killing " in re- 
turn. It did not kill or even wound him, 
and presently he was performing the same 
office for Miss Grey. But the candle 
would not light at first, went out, had to 
be rekindled, and of course there was no 
harm in talking while this was being done. 
And no fingers were burned, though some 
were held rather longer than usual. 


By E. O. Boswall. 

EAGERLY, with flying feet, 
The tide comes in ! 
Possession must be very sweet, 
For eagerly, with flying feet, 
The tide comes in. 

Slowly, with reluctant feet, 

The tide goes out. 
Possession must be very sweet, 
For slowly, with reluctant feet, 

The tide goes out. 


[ From the manuscript of General Butler's forthcoming Autobiography. With the consent of General Butler, and by 
the kindness of his Publisher, Messrs. A. M. Thayer & Co., of Boston. The illustrations are also loaned by them, 
being taken from those which are to appear in the book.] 

MY paternal grandfather was born 
in Woodbury, Connecticut, of 
Irish descent, and of a most 
strictly Irish Presbyterian family, as his 
own name Zephaniah, and his uncles', 
Levi and Malachi, most plainly show. 
The branches of the family were numer- 
ous, and the names of those who were of 
the proper generation to take part in the 
War of the Revolution will be found in 
the local history of that contest wherever 
Connecticut men took part, whether in 
Pennsylvania or Wyoming, or in the 
western reserve of Ohio. 

Zephaniah went to Quebec with Wolfe, 
and I have the powder-horn which he 
bore, dated April 22, 1758. 

He went from Connecticut to the town 
of Nottingham in New Hampshire, and 
married Abigail, daughter of General 
Joseph Cilley. They had several children, 
the youngest of whom was John, my 
father, who was born May 17, 1782. He 
married Sarah Batchelder of Deerfield, 
New Hampshire, June 5, 1803. By her 
he was the father of three girls, Polly 
True, born June 8, 1804; Sally, born 
March n, 1806; and Betsey Morrill, 
born January 9, 1808. The last of these 
is now living at Nottingham, New Hamp- 
shire, the widow of the late Daniel B. 
Stevens, Esq. Mrs. Sarah Batchelder 
Butler died February 23, 1809. John 

Butler then married Charlotte Elli- 
son, July 21, 181 1. She bore him 
three children. The eldest, Char- 
lotte, born May 13, 181 2, died in 
August, 1839. The second child, 
Andrew Jackson, was born February 
13, 181 5, and died February 11, 
1864. The third, Benjamin F., 
was born at Deerfield, New Hamp- 
shire, November 5, 181 8, about 
four o'clock in the afternoon. 

Upon the breaking out of the war of 
181 2, John Butler applied to the war de- 
partment for permission to raise a com- 
pany of light dragoons among his neigh- 
bors. Permission was granted, the com- 
pany was raised, and he was commissioned 
its captain on the 23d of July, 181 2. 

Captain Butler served with his troop 
on the northern frontier until he broke 
his left leg. The broken limb was so 
badly set that he could not thereafter- 
wards wear a boot, and he resigned his 
commission. Unwilling to remain idle 
while the war was going on, and having a 
taste for the sea and shipping, he sailed 
from Portsmouth in a privateer fitted out 
by himself and his friends. He did some 
harm to the enemy, and in return there- 
for he received a commission from the 
government to be the bearer of de- 
spatches to General Jackson at New 
Orleans. He carried out his mission and 
was thus enabled to make the acquain- 
tance of General Jackson, for whom he 
entertained the highest respect and ad- 
miration. Hence, having a son born on 
the 13th of February, 181 5, he named 
him Andrew Jackson. 

The war being practically ended, as 
the battle of New Orleans was fought 
after the treaty of peace had been agreed 
upon, my father turned his attention to 
mercantile voyages, going several trips to 
the West Indies and Spanish Islands on 
the coast of South America. While so 
engaged he took letters of marque under 



Bolivar, and with his vessel formed a part 
of Bolivar's expedition. When Bolivar 
crossed the Cordilleras, my father returned 
to the West India Islands, and, in order 
to refit, landed at the Island of St. Chris- 
topher (St. Kitts), one of the British 
Islands. While there he died of the 


Captain John Butler. — The Father of Benjamin F. But'e 

yellow fever, el vomito. So did some por- 
tion of his crew and one of his officers, I 
believe his first officer. That pestilence 
and its terrible results was among the 
first diseases of which I remember ever 
to have learned from my suffering mother. 
I mention this because it made so indeli- 
ble an impression on my memory that it 
impelled me, when I was older, to in- 
vestigate that scourge to such extent as I 
might, and this investigation had some 
effect upon my conduct of affairs in later 

The death of my father in St. Kitts, 
and the irrecoverable loss of what he had 
there, left my mother in a state of com- 
parative poverty. But against it she 
struggled with wisdom and vigor, and 

with some success. My Uncle Benjamin 
took charge of my brother in his younger 
years, and so long as he lived looked 
after him. My mother and my younger 
sister went to live for a period with my 
Uncle William and my grandmother on 
my father's side. They owned and car- 
ried on a small farm in Not- 
tingham, New Hampshire. 

It is, proper, however, 
that something should be 
said of that mother, whom I 
love, honor, and revere be- 
yond any other person ever 
on earth. Her father and 
mother were Scotch Presby- 
terians. My grandfather, 
Richard Ellison, when a 
?v young man, had fought at 

the battle of Boyne Water 
for King William, and had 
received some reward which 
enabled him and his wife to 
come to America. He joined 
the colony about London- 
derry, New Hampshire, and 
took up a farm at North- 
field, on the Pemigewassett, 
or main branch of the Mer- 
rimack River. Here he had 
several children, the young- 
est of whom was my mother. 
He and his family removed 
to Canada about the time of 
my mother's marriage. They 
were respectable and hon- 
orable people, and were cer- 
tainly long lived, for my mother's sister 
lived to exceed the age of one hundred 
and four years. 

I, at four years of age, was thought to 
be a puny child, — probably the results 
of my mother's anxieties and fears for 
my father during his absence. Quiet, 
gentle, and eager to learn, I was taught 
my letters by my mother and given a 
slight advance in the spelling-book. In 
the summer I was sent away to school at 
Nottingham Square. This was quite two 
miles away from our home, especially as 
the last half of the distance was up a 
very steep hill, on which the Vermont 
traders in the winter, going down to 
Portsmouth with their sleighs heavily 
loaded with produce, sometimes had to 



double up their teams. I attended that 
school for six weeks, and learned to read 
with but little difficulty. I remained at 
home during the autumn, and then it 
was that our shoemaker gave me the 
book of all books for a boy, " Robinson 
Crusoe." The question was not whether 
I wanted to read it, but whether I could 
be kept from reading it, so as to do the 
little matters that I ought to do, and was 
able to do, called in New Hampshire 
nomenclature, " chores." My mother, 
laying aside her labors which were quite 
necessary for our support, taught and ex- 
plained the book to me with great pains. 
But being a religious woman of the 
strictest sect of Calvin, she thought that 
I ought not to have so much secular 
reading without some Christian teach- 
ing; and so we struck a bargain that I 
should learn so many verses in the New 
Testament if she would help me read so 
many pages in Robinson Crusoe, she 
agreeing to explain both to me. My 
reading, thereupon, was almost continu- 
ous, scarcely anything but eating and 
sleeping intervening. To force me out 
of doors to take required exercise, she 
was obliged to send me on errands, and 
make me get up the cows from the pas- 
ture, the limit of which was about a mile 
away. I had to get up early in the 
morning to drive them forth, and go out 
late in the afternoon to drive them back ; 
and as they were by that _ time likely to 
have wandered far off from the opening 
of the lane into the pasture, it gave me, 
in the course of the day, about two miles 
to run. The nearest boy lived a mile 
from us, and as he had his own duties to 
attend to, I saw very little of him. 

Every fair evening, before her labors 
began by the light of the candle, and 
when I had no light to read by, my 
mother, wrapped up if it was cold, used 
to sit teaching me the names of the stars 
and constellations. These she had 
learned of her father, who was some- 
what of a scholar. She told me about 
the signs of the zodiac, and about the 
rising and setting of the sun. I remem- 
ber once she stood in a very terrific 
thunderstorm by the window fearlessly, 
— I now suppose that I might be like 
fearless, — and explained to me all that 

she knew — or was then known — of the 
lightning. She told me never to be 
afraid of it, because it was in God's 
hands ; that if He willed my destruction 
by it, it was not to be evaded or shunned, 
and, therefore, was not to be dreaded. 
When the evenings were dark, her labors 
with her needle began earlier. 

In the following winter, my mother 
and my uncle provided a home for me 
in Deerfield, with Aunt Polly Dame, — 
no relative of mine save that she was 
aunt to all the world. She was a good 
old lady, taken care of by her daughter, 
and sat in the corner spinning flax on 
what was called "the little wheel," to 
distinguish it from the "great wheel " on 
which wool was spun. 

I went to school, and I think was liked 
by my teacher, for I was not a trouble- 
some scholar, except in the way of ask- 
ing very many questions, and of seeking 

Mrs. Charlotte Ellison Butler.— The Mother of 
Benjamin F. Butler. 

explanations about matters which I was 
not infrequently told did not concern 
me. The school at Deerfield Parade 
lasted longer than that at Nottingham. 
I remained during the summer term, 
reading everything I could find, almost 
committing to memory the almanac, and 



vexing everybody who came into the 
house for explanations regarding the 
signs of the zodiac. Upon this last 
matter I could get no further informa- 
tion, the usual answer being that it did 
not concern me. But this did not pre- 
vent my asking the next person that I 
thought could tell me. I appropriated 
the full astronomy of the almanac, and 
profited much by it. 

In the winter of my sixth year, I 
walked from my home every morning 
down to Nottingham Square to school, 
carrying my dinner in a little package. 
Provision had been made, that if it be- 
came stormy, I was to be taken into the 
tavern near the schoolhouse, and there 
kept until the weather cleared and the 
roads were again passable, — which they 
sometimes were not for three or four 
days. I then learned that there was a 

according to the chapters. But when 
they began fighting with each other, I 
got mixed up, because, according to my 
understanding, the first of these ought to 
have passed away when the others came 
on the scene. My reading did not inter- 
fere with my school lessons, which I pur- 
sued with a great deal of eagerness and 
pleasure, and also with much success, 
owing to a tenacious and exact memory. 
Before I was seven years old, I could 
answer all the questions in Whelpley's 
Compend of History, a very bulky vol- 
ume, the answers having been picked out 
for me to learn, by being marked by the 
master's pencil. I remember now one 
example which will illustrate the sort of 
instruction that I received ; that is to 
say, I learned the words, but what they 
meant was then utterly uncomprehended. 
For example, one of the questions was 

Birthplace of Benjamin F. Butler at Deerfield, N. H. 

small town library there, and of all things 
that a boy of that age should read, I was 
allowed to take from the library Rollin's 
Ancient History, — and I read it. 

I had not the slightest knowledge of 
chronology, and I thought the events in 
the history followed one after another in 
point of time, — the Assyrians, the Per- 
sians, the Greeks, and the Romans, 

substantially this, as I remember it, and 
although I have not seen it for more 
than sixty years, I think I state it accu- 
rately : " If these States had not declared 
their independence, what would they 
now be?" Answer: "Little better than 
British Provinces." But what a British 
Province was, I had no earthly idea, and 
I asked the teacher one dav. He had 



seventy scholars beside myself, and I do 
not now blame him for not answering 
me. He told me that he did not have 
time to explain it to me. Well, I do not 
think he had. 

But there was another part of my 
education which was thoroughly instilled, 
— the traditional history of the Revolu- 
tion, and its battles and events. Two of 
our neighbors were Revolutionary pen- 

taken, and sometimes saved by the faith- 
ful musket of the husband or father. 
Then they came down to later times, — 
the opening of the Revolutionary War, 
the massacre at Lexington, and the battle 
of Bunker Hill ; and so talked on until 
I had as deep-seated a prejudice against 
a red-coat as our turkey gobbler exhi- 
bited to a red petticoat, when he drove 
my sister into the house. Thus I was 

Waterville College in Benj. ButJer's Student Days 

sioners, and our kitchen fireside was a 
very pleasant resort for them, as the 
cellar was furnished with an unlimited 
quantity of cider, which was drawn for 
them in a tall, yellow earthen pitcher 
with an overhanging lip dropping away 
from each side. To fill it three-parts 
full, and then bring it up from the cellar, 
was about the extent of my physical 
ability ; but that I was to do. Then they 
would take down from the mantel-tree 
some red peppers which hung on a string 
under the gun, and cut them up and put 
them into the cider. Next, they set the 
pitcher down on the hearth before a 
blazing fire, held up by a forestick, — a 
stick about four feet long and eight inches 
through, — so that the cider would get 
very much heated ; and then it was drunk 
with a gusto that almost makes me wish 
I had some now if I could enjoy it half 
as well. Then followed stories of the In- 
dian wars ; of garrison houses, and of 
women running from the fields of corn, 
pursued by savages, and sometimes over- 

taught that the highest achievement in 
life was to get behind a stone wall and 
shoot a Britisher, and I longed for the 
time when I should grow up to do it. So 
thoroughly was this drilled into me, that 
in after life it was a matter for reasoning 
on my part whether I should treat an 
Englishman decently. 

The difference between this feeling 
and that which I had toward the French- 
men, who fought us with the Indians, and 
who helped the savages scalp us, was that 
the French were poor fellows who did not 
know any better ; and besides, the French 
had helped us in the Revolution against 
the British, so that we would forgive 
them, but the Britishers, never ! 

As time wore on, I was literally adopted 
by my grandmother, my grandfather 
having died several years before. She 
was a very remarkable -looking woman, who 
stood about five feet eleven inches in her 
stockings. She was then in the neigh- 
borhood of eighty years old, and walked 
with a stick, yet she was as erect as ever, 



and was the most imperious person I have 
ever seen, to everybody but me. She 
had a most inflexible will, apparently 
never yielding to others, and subjecting 
all others to herself. She read to me, 
but inasmuch as she read as she had been 
taught in her youth, it was almost unin- 
telligible, and this caused some difficulties 
between us. For example, she always 
pronounced w-o-u-l-d as if it were spelled 
w-o-o-l-d, and s-h-o-u-l-d as if spelled 
sh-o-o-l-d, and she taught me that the 

Miss Sarah Hilcireth in 1839.— Five years before her Mar- 
riage with Mr. Butler. 


name of the sign of conjunction (&) at 
the end of the alphabet was ampersand, a 
word which I learned afterwards, from an 
old spelling book of her generation, was 
really "and per se." She told me the 
history of battles as they were known and 
seen by her, the daughter of a general 
and the mother of a captain in the first 
and second wars with England, and all 
the pathetic incidents of the wars, like 
the capture and death of Jane McRea, 
who was surrendered to the French, and 
scalped by their Indian allies, in the 
northern part of New York. 

She told me, boy as I was, of the in- 
justice of the men toward the women, and 
toward their own younger brothers, in 
assuming to enforce the law of primogeni- 
ture, and how, when they failed to pass 
it in the constitutional convention of 
New Hampshire, the men made their 

wills so as to accomplish the same thing, 
giving substantially all to the eldest son. 
I reverenced her. 

She ate two of her meals at the same 
time as the rest of the family, having a 
table to herself, and I alone had a place 
at it, generally sitting on the elbow of 
her arm-chair. She also taught me fully 
to understand her politics, which, so far 
as I could understand them, were that 
there ought not be any kings, princes, 
barons, nobles, or knights. She never 
said anything against aristocrats, and my 
memory of her now is that if ever there 
was a high-priestess of the aristocracy, 
she was one, and especially did she 
dilate upon the fact that her family, the 
Cilleys, was the best in the state. 

Can any one doubt where I learned 
my political status : democratic politics 
in government and personal aristocracy? 

I give these details, although they may 
seem puerile. In time, they had great 
effect upon the bent of my mind, though 
not much then, because the most of what 
was said I did not understand. But I 
remembered it all, and it came up to 
meet every emergency of thought later on. 
Hence my democracy ; for her's was the 
only political teaching I ever had until I 
learned political economy from the books, 
and that was no teaching at all. 

My grandmother died at the age of 
eighty-four. A severe cold brought her 
life to an end, when her physical and 
mental strength were apparently as good 
as ever. Her sister, Alice Cilley, married 
Captain Page and went to Maine, first 
settling in Hallowell, and afterwards living 
in Cornville with one of her children. I 
never saw her until after I went to col- 
lege in Maine, and I may possibly have 
occasion to refer to her hereafter. She 
died in 1849, at the age of ninety-nine 
and a half years, and was able, the sum- 
mer before she died, to mount her own 
horse without assistance, and ride out 
some three miles to visit a neighbor. 

I attended a partially private school or 
academy at Deerfield until I was eight 
years old. In this school almost every 
branch of practical learning was taught 
except the languages. There were many 
young men in the school, and some young 
women. My teacher was Mr. James 



Hersey, afterwards postmaster of Man- 
chester, New Hampshire, a city which 
had no existence in those days. His 
specialty was English grammar, — at 
least he made it so with his pupils, — and 
he was the most intelligent teacher of the 
English language I ever knew. He saw 
to it that we were thoroughly versed in 
the rules, and explained the difficulties 
of construction of our language with great 
clearness, so that even I, the youngest, 
understood them. His favorite exercise 
was parsing. We used very different 
text-books then, from those now in use. 
Among them were Pope's " Essay on 
Man " and Cowper's " Task," and I 
remember I got my first feeling of hos- 
tility to slavery from being called upon to 
parse a half page beginning " Is India 
free, or do we grind her still? " 

Our teacher taught us to construe 
verse, — that is, to render it into prose, 
so as to show the grammatical construc- 
tion of the parts. There was a sort of 
constructiveness about that putting of 
verse into prose which chimed in with 
my love of putting things together ; and 
I became quite an adept. I speak of 
this because an incident regarding it had 
an effect on my whole after life. 

It had been debated whether it was 
not desirable that I should go to college, 
for my mother's most ardent desire was 
that I should become a Calvinist Baptist 
clergyman. Ways and means were pretty 
narrow, and it was doubtful whether the 
plan could be carried out. Boys went to 
college in those days at the age of from 
twelve to fifteen. Judge Josiah G. Abbott 
of Boston, one of the ablest gentlemen 
now at the bar, with whom I have prac- 
tised for many years and know how thor- 
ough his training was, went to Harvard 
at twelve. 1 

There was an examination at our 
school at which all the Methodists and 
other clergymen, and principal men of the 
vicinity were present. The first class in 
parsing was called, and I, naturally in size 
and every way, was at the foot of it. 
We had "Pope's Essay on Man" as our 
text-book ; for in those days there were 
no easy books for children, — none of 

1 Alas ! I have lost my friend by death since this sentence 
was first written. 

the thousand treatises that have been in- 
vented since to teach children not to 
think, and that are at the present day, I 
believe, a great hindrance to intelligent 
education. I remember this paragraph 
was the opening one of the recitation : 

" The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
Had he thy reason would he skip and play? 
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, 
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood." 

"Parse lamb," said the master to the 
pupil who stood at the head of the class. 
He tried. 

"Wrong; next." He tried. 

" Next." He tried, and so down 
through the class, some eight in all. 
Then came my turn. 

I said : " Lamb is a noun in the ob- 
jective case and governed by dooms." 

"How do you know that?" said the 

"Because I construe the paragraph. 

Benjamin F. Butler in 1839. 


'Thy riot dooms the lamb to bleed to- 
day; had he thy reason, etc.'" 

"Right," said the master; "take the 
head of the class." 

I did so ; and it was the proudest 
event of my life. A consultation was 
held by all those who had a right to be 
consulted, and it was decided that I 
should be sent to Exeter to be fitted 
for college, with the hope that a free 
scholarship might be found for me. I 
continued my studies, and late in the 



Benjamin F. But!er. 

following autumn I went to Exeter. 
Here I commenced the study of Latin, 
and soon afterwards that of Greek. I 
must say, truthfully, that my learning at 
Exeter did not amount to much. To be 
sure, I acquired the Latin grammar with 
a certainty of memory that was excelled 
only by my uncertainty as to the mean- 
ings of the rules it contained. My 
learning was nothing but memorizing. 
It was the same in the study of Greek. 
I was far too young to appreciate the 
beauties of the "Iliad," but I was rea- 
sonably well taught in the conjugation of 
Greek verbs. 

I attended the Unitarian Church, as 
the rules of the school required. Boy- 
like, I was confused by the new doctrine 
of one God and the Son of Man, as op- 
posed to the doctrine of the triune God, 
— Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. I had 
been taught the latter, and I could not 

permit myself to have any doubts con- 
cerning it. 

In 1825, there was springing up on 
Pawtucket Falls of the Merrimack River, 
the second great manufacturing town in 
Massachusetts, Waltham on the Charles 
being the first. This town, afterwards 
Lowell, was then known as East Chelms- 
ford. It had a growth unexampled in 
those days, and almost equalling the 
mushroom growth of towns in some of 
the western States at the present day. 
The constitutional convention of 1820, 
by a new section, made cities possible in 
Massachusetts, fixing the limit of popu- 
lation at which any town could become a 
city at twelve thousand. This was the 
population of Boston, and that town be- 
came a city in 1822. But in 1S36, 
Lowell's population had increased to 
twelve thousand, and she became the 
second city. A clergyman, who had be- 



friended my mother, built a house in 
Lowell for her to occupy, and by his ad- 
vice I came to Lowell from Exeter at the 
end of the winter term in 1828, and 
studied my Latin at home during the 
spring and summer. Seth Ames, after- 
wards Justice of the Supreme Court of 
Massachusetts, kindly permitted me to 
read Virgil in his office. He amused 
himself in hearing my recitation of the 
text, and taught me to scan the versifica- 
tion of the original. Later in the year 
it became necessary that I should earn 
some money, and my mother got me a 
place at Meecham & Mathewson's, the 
Franklin bookstore, the only establish- 
ment of the kind in the town. I re- 
mained with them until December 18, 
when the Lowell High School was es- 
tablished, through the exertions of Rev. 
Theodore Edson, . rector of St. Anne's 
Church. Mr. Edson, having come to 
Lowell in 1825, remained as rector of St. 
Anne's for over sixty years, most re- 
spected and most loved by his fellow- 
citizens. To him more than to any 
other, Lowell owes its school system, 
which, during its whole existence, has 
been one of the best established, most 
thoroughly cared for, and most highly 
successful of kindred institutions in the 
State. Mr. Edson was a brave man as 
well as a good man. When he perceived 
the right thing to do, he did it, regard- 
less of personal consideration, or of 
danger to himself. 

Kirk Boot, who discovered the ad- 
vantages of this locality as a water 
power, was then the leading mind in 
Lowell. He had been an English cav- 
alry officer, and his family had occupied 
what was known as the Boot estate in 
Boston, since changed into the Revere 
House. He was a very positive man, 
and inclined to be imperious toward 
everybody, especially toward those who 
stood in apparently dependent relations 
to himself. 

The edifice of St. Anne's Church and 
the parsonage attached, had been built 
by the Merrimack Manufacturing Com- 
pany, and, as I have said, Mr. Edson, 
the young clergyman, had been installed 
therein. Mr. Boot had built for himself 
a mansion not far from it. He was a 

devout Episcopalian, and had a highly 
ornamented pew of large dimensions, 
after the manner of English squires in 
parish churches. To support this church, 
the operatives of the Merrimack Manu- 
facturing Company were taxed a small 
sum, — I think thirty cents each month, 
— and this sum was deducted from their 
wages. Mr. Boot, from his training, was 
not as much impressed as Mr. Edson was 
with the necessity for the education and 
welfare of the common people, who 
were, of course, the operatives in the 
mills. Almost all of the land on which 
the town stood was held by the proprie- 
tors of the Locks and Canals on the 
Merrimack River. They sold off this 
land, and they also sold the water power 
furnished from the Merrimack River by 
a dam. This dam was put across at the 
head of Pawtucket Falls, although the 
law said that there should be no dam, 
because it would affect the navigation of 
the river. The water was conducted 
through the new town of Lowell, at first 
by a canal, which had been established 
by the Proprietors of the Locks and 
Canals about the year 1792. for the pur- 
pose of taking boats around the falls. 

With a foresight as sagacious and re- 
markable as was the persistency with 
which the scheme was carried out, Mr. 
Edson, in connection with a committee 
of the citizens of the new town, deter- 
mined that two squares or commons, the 
North and South Common, should be 
dedicated to the public use. It was 
done ; and the commons remain even to 
this day the breathing and recreation 
points of the citizens. That enterprise 
for the benefit of the laboring man rnd 
woman and their children was not op- 
posed by Mr. Boot, as the land was com- 
paratively valueless. But Mr. Boot was 
astounded when the young clergyman 
proposed that two schoolhouses, costing 
more than $20,000, should be erected 
for grammar schools, — one on the corner 
of each park. A very considerable num- 
ber of buildings for primary schools, then 
termed infant schools, had been hired 
and put in use in various parts of the 
town, but up to that time, anything like 
instruction of the elder classes of chil- 
dren was not provided for, save that two 



or three small rooms had been hired for 
that purpose. The taxation of that day 
for those new grammar school buildings 
of brick would be borne substantially by 
the manufacturing companies and the 
Proprietors of the Locks and Canals. 
Mr. Boot declared that this could not 
and would not be done. A town meet- 
ing was called, to appropriate for such 
expenditure by the town. Mr. Boot ap- 
peared in person and opposed the prop- 
osition. He was backed by the manag- 
ing agents of the several mills. They 
made speeches against it. The proposi- 
tion seemed not to have the slightest 
chance, when in one corner of the hall 
stood up a slender, smooth-faced young 
gentleman of winning manner and grace- 
ful ease of speech, and declared to the 
meeting that it was necessary for the 
instruction and training of the children 
of the people of the town that the appro- 
priation should be passed. He was sur- 
prised and chagrined, he said, at the 
opposition of the representatives of the 
manufacturing corporations, because it 
was necessary for the safety of their 
property and the insurance of its value 
that the manufacturing community which 
they were drawing around them, espe- 
cially the younger portion, should be 
thoroughly trained and educated, that 
they might know their duties as men and 
women, and their rights as citizens and 

His speech was called at that time rad- 
ical in an almost unheard of degree, al- 
though it was accompanied by an appeal 
for religious instruction in connection 
with the secular instruction. But it evi- 

dently was carrying the meeting. The 
debate was extended by several replies, 
no man speaking in favor of the proposi- 
tion save the young clergyman. Never- 
theless it was apparent that if the vote 
were to be taken then the appropriation 
would prevail. Accordingly, a motion to 
adjourn to a day in another week for its 
consideration was made and carried by 
its opponents. During the adjournment 
Mr. Boot informed Mr. Edson that any 
further advocacy of this proposition would 
so far meet with his disapprobation that 
he should withdraw from his church and 
from attendance upon his ministration ; 
that he should give his attendance and 
influence to another religious society, 
and that all support of St. Anne's in any 
way by the manufacturing companies 
would be withdrawn. 

Few young pastors of the fashionable 
churches of the town, and certainly very 
few of the not very popular religious per- 
suasion, would have been found at the 
next town meeting under such discourag- 
ing influences and surroundings. The 
day of the meeting came. The young 
pastor was there. With a firmness equalled 
only by the eloquent appeal made for his 
fellow-citizens of the coming generation, 
he answered every argument against the 
proposition, and after a long debate the 
vote was taken and the proposition was 
carried. The schoolhouses were built 
and occupied. In the upper story of the 
southernmost one a Lowell High School 
was taught. Here I received, if not the 
most part, the best of all my educational 
teaching in my preparation for col- 


By Edwi?i D. Mead. 

HE history of 
the magazines 
which have failed 
is one of the most 
interesting chap- 
ters in the history 
of literature, and 
one of the most 
pathetic. The 
New England fields especially are strewn 
with these dead magazines ; and sel- 
dom has the old word, " whom the gods 
love die young," received more striking 
illustration than here, — with such pecu- . 
liarly high hopes and fine ideals and good 
promise have been born so many of these 
New England magazines destined to early 
death. No other of these short-lived 
journals has been quite so famous as the 
Dial ; but the old Massachusetts Maga- 
zine, born just as the republic was born 
in 1789, the old New England Magazine, 
started by Mr. Buckingham in 1 831, to 
which Dr. Holmes contributed the first 
of his papers bearing the title of " The 
Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table," the 
Massachusetts Quarterly, with which 
Theodore Parker was identified, the Radi- 
cal, launched so bravely by Mr. Morse, Mr. 
Hale's Old and New, and a dozen other 
New England magazines were so remark- 
able in various ways that they all deserve 
to have their biographies written. 

Among all these New England ventures 
loved of the gods, no other was quite so 
short-lived as that which is just now 
brought back to special remembrance — 
Lowell's Pioneer. It was born in Jan- 
uary, 1843, and lived three months. 
Then the publishers failed, we are told in 
the books, and this was why the bantling 
died. And this is undoubtedly the truth ; 
but in order to get the whole truth we 
doubtless need to add the notice printed 
at the bottom of the last page of the last 
number, — to which we have not seen 
any reference in the books : 

" The absence of any prose in the present num- 
ber of the Pioneer from the pen of Mr. Lowell, 

and the apparent neglect of many letters and con- 
tributions addressed to him personally, will be 
sufficiently explained by stating that, since the 
tenth of January, he has been in the city of New 
York in attendance upon Dr. Elliot, the distin- 
guished oculist, who is endeavoring to cure him 
of a severe disease of the eyes, and that the med- 
ical treatment to which he is necessarily subjected 
precludes the use of his sight except to a very 
limited extent. He will, however, probably be 
enabled, in time for the fourth number, to resume 
his essays on the Poets and Dramatists, and his 
general supervision of the magazine. R. C." 

R. C. was Robert Carter, Mr. Lowell's 
associate editor and proprietor. This 
notice was the end of the Pioneer. 
The fourth number never appeared ; but 
the notice shows that when this third and 
last number was published, immediate 
death was not anticipated, and also shows 
that Mr. Lowell was utterly disabled and 
had been so almost from the time of the 
preparation of the first number, so that 
the new magazine — most hazardous of 
all risks — was really getting on as it 
could, without its editor. It is no won- 
der that it died. Had Mr. Lowell re- 
mained well, with his remarkable inven- 
tiveness and energy, we may be quite 
sure that the experiment would somehow 
have been continued longer. 

Yet magazines had a way then of dying 
in the very act of announcing their plans 
for the future. The Boston Miscellany 
died that way just before the Pioneer was 
born. The Boston Miscellany lived just 
a year, we think, — the year 1842. 
Nathan Hale was its editor, and Lowell 
wrote almost as much for it as he did for 
the Pioneer itself — it was the first maga- 
zine with which he was really identified. 
At the end of 1842, Mr. Hale retired, 
with a valedictory, — introductions and 
valedictories were prominent features in 
that time — and it was announced that 
he would be succeeded by Henry T. 
Tuckerman. But he was not succeeded 
by Mr. Tuckerman, and the number of 
the Boston Miscellany containing his vale- 
dictory was not succeeded by any other 
number. Whether this was because the 


JDiterarjh an& Critical JJtagajhu 



JANUARY, 1843. 

VOL. !.— NO. I. 

Reform, therefore, without bravery or scandal of former times and persons ; but yet set it down to thyself | 
as well to create good precedents as to follow them. lobd bacon. 



Three sheet periodical. printed by freeman and bolles. $3 per. acn. in a^ 



" publishers failed" we do not know; 
but promptly the next month the Pioneer 
appeared, and Mr. Hale speaks of this, 
in his article in the preceding pages, as 
the successor of the Miscellany. Cer- 
tainly it was much the same kind of a 
magazine ; its pages looked like those of 
the Miscellany, and its contributors were 
largely the same. The editor's Introduc- 
tion was as follows. We give it entire, 
as it is a characteristic expression, and 
the first important one, of those views of 
our American literature which continued 
to control Mr. Lowell, and of which the 
next notable expression was in the " Fa- 
ble for Critics." 

Dr. John North, a man of some mark in his 
day, wrote on the first leaf of his note-book these 
significant words : " I beshrew his heart that 
gathers my opinion from anything wrote here ! " 
As we seated ourselves to the hard task of writing 
an introduction for our new literary journal, this 
sentence arose to our minds. It seemed to us to 
point clearly at the archwant of our periodical 
literature. We find opinions enough and to spare, 
but scarce any of the healthy, natural growth of 
our soil. If native, they are seldom more than 
scions of a public opinion, too often planted and 
watered by the prejudices or ignorant judgments 
of individuals, to be better than a upas-tree shed- 
ding a poisonous blight on any literature that may 
chance to grow up under it. Or if foreign, they 
are, to borrow a musical term, " recollections " of 
Blackwood or the quarterlies, of Wilson, Macaulay, 
or Carlyle — not direct imitations, but endeavors, 
as it were, to write with their cast-off pens fresh- 
nibbed for Cisatlantic service. The whole regiment 
comes one by one to our feast of letters in the 
same yellow domino. Criticism, instead of being 
governed as it should be by the eternal and un- 
changing laws of beauty which are a part of the 
soul's divine nature, seems rather to be a striving 
to reduce Art to one dead level of conventional 
mediocrity — which only does not offend taste, 
because it lacks even the life and strength to 
produce any decided impression whatever. 

We are the farthest from wishing to see what 
many so ardently pray for — namely, a National 
literature ; for the same mighty lyre of the human 
heart answers the touch of the master in all ages 
and in every clime, and any literature, as far as it 
is national, is diseased, inasmuch as it appeals to 
some climatic peculiarity, rather than to the uni- 
versal nature. Moreover, everything that tends 
to encourage the sentiment of caste, to widen the 
boundary between races, and so to put farther off 
the hope of one great brotherhood, should be 
steadily resisted by all good men. But we do long 
for a natural literature. One green leaf, though 
of the veriest weed, is worth all the crape and 
wire flowers of the daintiest Paris milliners. For 
it is the glory of nature that in her least part she 
gives us all, and in that simple love-token "of her's 
we may behold the type of all her sublime mys- 

teries; as in the least fragment of the true artist we 
discern the working of the same forces which cul- 
minate gloriously in a Hamlet or a Faust. We 
would no longer see the spirit of our people held 
up as a mirror to the Old World; but rather 
lying like one of our own inland oceans, reflecting 
not only the mountain and the rock, the forest 
and the redman, but also the steamboat and the 
railcar, the cornfield and the factory. Let us 
learn that romance is not married to the past, that 
it is not the birthright of ferocious ignorance and 
chivalric barbarity, — but that it ever was and is 
an inward quality, the darling child of the sweetest 
refinements and most gracious amenities of peace- 
ful gentleness, and that it can never die till only 
water runs in these red rivers of the heart, that 
-cunning adept which can make vague cathedrals 
with blazing oriels and streaming spires out of our 
square meeting boxes 

" Whose rafters sprout upon the shady side." 

We do not mean to say that our writers should 
not profit by the results of those who have gone 
before them, nor gather from all countries those 
excellencies which are the effects of detached por- 
tions of that universal tendency to the Beautiful, 
which must be centred in the Great Artist. But 
let us not go forth to them; rather let us draw 
them by sympathy of nature to our own heart, 
which is the only living principle of every true 
work. The artist must use the tools of others, 
and understand their use, else were their lives 
fruitless to him, and his, in turn, vain to all who 
come after : but the skill must be of his own toil- 
some winning, and he must not, like Goethe's 
magician's apprentice, let the tools become his 
masters. But it seems the law of our literature to 
receive its impulses from without rather than from 
within. We ask oftener than the wise king of 
Ashantee, " What is thought of us in England? " 
We write with the fear of the newspapers before 
our eyes, every one of which has its critic, the 
Choragus of his little circle, self-elected expounder 
of the laws of Nature — which he at first blush 
understands more thoroughly than they whom 
nature herself has chosen, and who have studied 
them life-long — and who unites at pleasure the 
executive with the judiciary to crush some offender 
mad enough to think for himself. Men seem en- 
dowed with an insane alacrity to believe that wis- 
dom elects the dullest heads for her confidants, 
and crowd to burn incense to the hooting owl, 
while the thoughtful silence of the goddess makes 
them mistake her for her bird. 

We boast much of our freedom, but they who 
boast thereof the loudest have mostly a secret 
sense of fetters. 

" License they mean when they cry liberty; " 

and there is among us too much freedom to speak 
and think ill — a freedom matched with which the 
lowest of all other slaveries were as the blue tent 
of Heaven to a dungeon — and too little freedom 
to think, and speak, and act the highest and 
holiest promptings of the eternal soul. We cheat 
to-morrow, to satisfy the petty dunning of to-day; 
we bribe ourselves with a bubble reputation, 
whose empty lightness alone lends it a momentary 
elevation, and show men our meanest part, as if 

— -v 

'"■"'■ '':W : ' 

■■lliil4 *■ 





we could make ourselves base enough to believe 
that we should offend their vanity by showing our 
noblest and highest. Are prejudices to be over- 
come by grovelling to them? Is Truth no longer 
worthy of the name, when she stoops to take 
Falsehood by the hand and caresses her, and 
would fain wheedle her to forego her proper nature ? 
Can we make men noble, the aim and end of 
every literature worthy of the name, by showing 
them our own want of nobleness? In the name 
of all holy and beautiful things at once, no ! We 
want a manly, straightforward, true literature, a 
criticism which shall give more grace to beauty 
and more depth to truth, by lovingly embracing 
them wherever they may lie hidden, and a creed 
whose truth and nobleness shall be insured by its 
being a freedom from all creeds. 

The young heart of every generation looks forth 
upon the world with restless and bitter longing. 
To it the earth still glitters with the dews of a yet 
unforfeited Eden, and in the midst stands the un- 
tasted tree of knowledge of good and evil. We 
hear men speak of the restless spirit of the age, as 
if our day were peculiar in this regard. But it has 
always been the same. The Young is radical ; the . 
Old, conservative : they who have not, struggle 
to get; and they who have gotten, clinch their 
fingers to keep. The Young, exulting in its tight 
and springy muscles, stretches out its arms to clasp 
the world as its plaything; and the Old bids it be 
a good boy and mind its papa, and it shall have 
sugar-plums. But still the new spirit yearns and 
struggles, and expects great things; still the 
Old shakes its head, ominous of universal anarchy; 
still the world rolls calmly on, and the youth 
grown old shakes its wise head at the next era. 
Is there any more danger to be looked for in the 
radicalism of youth than in the conservatism of 
age? Both gases must be mixed ere the cooling 
rain will fall on our seedfield. The true reason 
for the fear which we often see expressed of a 
freedom which shall be debased into destructive- 
ness and license, is to be found in a false judg- 
ment of the natural progress of things. Cheer- 
fully will men reverence all that is true, whether 
in the new or old. It is only when you would 
force them to revere falsehoods that they will re- 
luctantly throw off all reverence, without which 
the spirit of man must languish, and at last utterly 
die. Truth, in her natural and infinitely various 
exponents of beauty and love, is all that the soul 
reverences long; and, as Truth is universal and 
absolute, there can never be any balance in the 
progress of the soul till one law is acknowledged 
in all her departments. Radicalism has only 
gone too far when it has hated conservatism, and 
has despised all reverence because conservatism is 
based upon it, forgetting that it is only so inas- 
much as it is a needful part of nature. To have 
claimed that reverence should not play at blind- 
man's-buff had been enough. 

In this country where freedom of thought does 
not shiver at the cold shadow of Spielberg (unless 
we name this prison of "public opinion" so), 
there is no danger to be apprehended from an ex- 
cess of it. It is only where there is no freedom 
that anarchy is to be dreaded. The mere sense 
of freedom is of too pure and holy a nature to con- 
sist with injustice and wrong, We would fain 

have our journal, in some sort at least, a journal 
of progress, — one that shall keep pace with the 
spirit of the age, and sometimes go near its deeper 
heart. Yet, while we shall aim at that gravity 
which is becoming of a manly literature, we shall 
hope also to satisfy that lighter and sprightlier 
element of the soul, without whose due culture 
the character is liable to degenerate into a morose 
bigotry and selfish precisianism. 

To be one exponent of a young spirit which 
shall aim at power through gentleness, the only 
mean for its secure attainment, and in which 
freedom shall be attempered to love by a rever- 
ence for all beauty wherever it may exist, is our 
humble hope. And to this end we ask the help 
of all who feel any sympathy in such an undertak- 
ing. We are too well aware of the thousand 
difficulties which lie in the way of such an attempt, 
and of the universal failure to make what is writ- 
ten come near the standard of what is thought and 
hoped, to think that we shall not at first dis- 
appoint the expectations of our friends. But we 
shall do our best, and they must bear with us, 
knowing that what is written from month to 
month, can hardly have that care and study which 
is needful to the highest excellence, and believing 

" We shall be willing, if not apt to learn; 
Age and experience will adorn our mind 
With larger knowledge: and, if we have done 
A wilful fault, think us not past all hope, 
For once." 

The Pioneer had forty-eight pages in 
each number, or about one-third as 
many pages as the New England Maga- 
zine ; and it was illustrated with what 
the prospectus called " engravings of the 
highest character, both on wood and 
steel." The steel engravings in the first 
number were certainly well executed. 
There were two of them — Flaxman's 
"Circe," engraved, as were almost all the 
pictures in the three numbers, by John 
Andrews, and a picture by G. Cuitt, 
entitled "Two Hundred Years Ago." 
These were the only illustrations in the 
first number, aside from the " emblemati- 
cal marginal drawings" which accom- 
panied Mr. Lowell's poem, "The Rose," 
and which the Advertiser, in its notice 
of the magazine, pronounced " a beauti- 
ful novelty in the line of magazine em- 
bellishments." These drawings, with the 
poem, occupied two pages, and were 
highly praised by other papers besides 
the Advertiser. The first of these two 
pages is reproduced herewith, as showing 
the style of illustration which so won the 
admiration of the Pioneer' 1 s constituency. 
The second number contained a senti- 
mental picture entitled " Genevieve," 
"designed expressly for the Pioneer, by 



I. B. Wright," illustrating Coleridge's 
poem, "Love," and two outlines from 
Flaxman's well-known illustrations of 
Dante. The third number contained 
another of Flaxman's outlines, and an 
etching by D. C. Johnston, illustrating a 
passage in Dickens's " American Notes ; " 
there was also a coarse woodcut of 
Flaxman placed at the head of an article 
on Flaxman, ,by W. W. Story. This com- 
pletes the list of the illustrations in the 
three numbers, all of which, except the 
Flaxman outlines, are here reproduced. 
The table of contents of the first num- 
ber was as follows : 


Hudson River : A Poem, By T. W. Parsons; 

Voltaire, A Poem. 

Aaron Burr. By John Neal. 

The Follower : A Poem. 

The Cold Spring in North Salem : A Poem. By 

Jones Very. 
Sixteenth Exhibition of Paintings at the Boston 

Athenceum, 1842. By I. B. Wright. 
Acceptable Worship : A Poem. By W. H. 

The Armenian's Daughter. By Robert Carter. 
Sonnet. By J. R. Lowell. 
Academy of Music — Beethoven's Symphonies. 

By J. S. Dwight. 
Longing: A Poem. By W. W. Story. 
The Tell-tale Heart. By Edgar A. Poe. 
The Poet and Apollo: A Poem. H. P. 
The Plays of Thomas Middleton. By J. R. 

The Rose. By J. R. Lowell. 

Literary Notices : — Hawthorne's Historical 
Tales for Youth; La Fontaine's Fables; Nature, 
a Parable; The Salem Belle; The Career of 
Puffer Hopkins; American Notes for General 
Circulation; The Rights of Conscience and of 
Property; Sparkes's Life of Washington; Ameri- 
can Criminal Trials; Confessions of St. Augus- 
tine; Life in Mexico. 

Foreign Literary Inteeligence. 

Lowell's own contributions to the 
second number were a charming essay on 
"Song Writing," which subject he prom- 
ised to " resume at some future day," 
and the sonnet "To M. O. S.," besides 
three or four book notices. The third 
number contained from his hand only 
the sonnet entitled "The Street." 

Nathaniel Hawthorne appeared as a 
contributor to the second number of the 
Pioneer, his " Hall of Fantasy " being 
the opening piece in the number ; and 
to the third number he contributed 
"The Birth-mark." Poe contributed 
something to each of the three numbers, 

and so did Parsons. Whittier's " Lines 
written in the Book of a Friend " were 
printed in the second number ; and in 
the last number there was a poem 
by Elizabeth Barrett, "The Maiden's 

On the inside cover pages of the 
second number, the publishers printed a 
number of notices of the first number, 
which had appeared in " the most re- 
spectable journals of the country," felici- 
tating themselves that " the verdict of 
the press had been unanimous in favor 
of the Pioneer.' 1 '' These notices are al- 
most as varied as those which Lowell 
himself prefixed to the "Biglow Papers," 
and we should like to quote many of 
them, as showing the impression which 
the Pioneer made upon the newspaper 
fraternity of 1843. The Boston Daily 
Advertiser, the Boston Bay State Demo- 
crat, the Boston Daily Mail, the Boston 
Transcript, the New York Union, the 
New York Tribune, the Philadelphia 
Saturday Museum, and N. P. Willis's 
Brother Jonathan are the papers heard 
from. The Bay State Democrat, whose 
notice is the only one which we can give, 
wrote : 

There is something refreshing and invigorating 
in the work, and we have to thank the editors for 
a delightful evening's entertainment in perusing 
its contents. The introduction, by one of the 
editors, probably Mr. Lowell, is bold and manly; 
and if the strong, clear, and somewhat original 
ideas there expressed are lived up to in the future 
conduct of the work, we predict for it a wide 
and honorable popularity in the literary world. 
Among the best articles, we notice a graphic 
sketch of Aaron Burr, done in Neal's best style; 
but there is contained in this article some un- 
called for and disgraceful allusions' to the patriot 
Jefferson, that any American, at this day, ought 
to be ashamed to pen. Neal can command pub- 
lic attention by his talents, without dabbling in 
such filthy puddles as the partisan slang against 
that great and good man. For the poetry of the 
number not much can be said. It is about as 
good as the usual run of magazine poetry, and 
serves as an agreeable relief to the eye. after a 
close application to the solid columns of the 
prose matter. From this, however, we must ex- 
cept "The Rose," which is a very pretty affair, 
and the novel style of pictorial illustrations that 
accompany the piece will, we think, commend 
itself to general approval. The critique on the 
last Athenaeum Exhibition of Paintings is 
racy and spirited. It is by I. B. Wright. His 
fondness for the art is evidently deep, and chas- 
tened by a correct taste ; and his playful satire is 
admirable. The " Armenian's Daughter " is a 

Genevieve." — From the second number of "The Pioneer." 

LOWELL'S «pioneer: 


highly interesting and well told tale; author not 
stated. J. S. Dwight's paper on Beethoven's 
Symphonies, as performed by the Boston Acad- 
emy of Music, is well written, and calculated to 
excite an increased interest in the performances 
of that society. We like Mr. Dwight's style 
much; with a soul full of his subject, he seems 
to sit down and discourse of it to the reader in a 
rich and flowing strain of unaffected eloquence. 
The " Tell-Tale Heart," by Edgar A. Poe, is an 
article of thrilling interest. It is the tale of an 
unconscious madman. We must try to copy it 
for our readers soon. The critique on the Plays 
of Middleton, by the senior editor, is a paper of 
great power, well calculated to set one a thinking 
for himself, and this is the greatest merit of criti- 
cal notices. But this is more; it is a profound 
investigation into the spirit of poetry, and an 
able defence of its influence over the mind. If 
Mr. Lowell, or any other man, could come up to 
the ideas advanced in the article, in his poetical 
productions, he would be the poet of the day, and 
age. The beauties of Middleton, as illustrated 
by the editor, are highly attractive. The literary 
notices by the editors are just and discriminating, 
and betray sound judgment and refined taste. 
The embellishment of the work, besides the 
wood illustrations of " The Rose," are two splen- 
did steel engravings by J. Andrews. 

The Transcript was " glad to perceive 
a sensible omission in the usual fashion 
plate of popular periodicals." All of 
the literary magazines of that time had 
published fashion plates. The Boston 
Miscellany had done so. The Pioneer 
abandoned the custom with some vehe- 
mence, remarking to its readers, with 
reference to the Flaxman outlines which 
accompanied its second number, that 
"in real value they exceed a host of 
tawdry fashion plates." 

The Tribune, referring to Mr. Lowell's 
word about creeds, in his Introduction, 
said : 

" This may be all well enough, but we cannot 
understand what definite meaning the writer at- 
taches to a creed which consists in freedom from 
all creeds. If he intends precisely what he says, 
he seems to us to use words without meaning; 
but if he means a creed not framed upon others, 
carrying its worth in its truth, not in its having 
been believed before, he ought to have said so." 

But by far the most interesting of 
these newspaper notices is that from the 
Brother Jonathan, by N. P. Willis. One 
can imagine Lowell sanctioning or direct- 
ing its appearance with the rest — for 
very likely he did direct it — with much 
the same humor with which he afterwards 
prepared those imposing notices from 

the Higginbottomopolis Snapping- turtle 
and the Salt-river Pilot. 

" J. R. Lowell, a man of original and decided 
genius," said the reviewer, " has started a monthly 
magazine in Boston. The first number lies be- 
fore us, and it justifies our expectation, viz., that 
a man of genius, who is merely a man of genius, 
is a very unfit editor for a periodical." 

He then proceeds with his bill of par- 
ticulars against the new magazine, and 
much of his criticism is, to our thinking, 
quite valid ; but his generality reads 
rather queerly now, as we remember the 
notable editorial capacity displayed by 
Lowell in connection with the Atlantic 
and the North American. 

To many Boston people, turning the 
pages of the Pioneer, the article on the 
Exhibition of Paintings at the Athe- 
naeum, by LB. Wright, and that on the 
Academy of Music Concerts, by John 
S. Dwight, will have a peculiar interest. 
Mr. I. B. Wright was evidently a man of 
singular versatility. He was the designer 
of the picture of " Genevieve " in the 
second number of the magazine, already 
spoken of, and he was the author of a 
remarkable production, entitled " Dream 
Love," of which instalments appeared in 
the second and third numbers, and which 
was still "to be continued" when the 
magazine died — a production which was 
a kind of cross between " an eloquent 
article," as which the editors described 
it, and the " namby-pamby love tales and 
sketches," of which they announced that 
none were to be admitted to the pages 
of the Pioneer. His article upon the 
Athenaeum Exhibition, which seems to 
have been a pretty large one, including a 
considerable number of works by the old 
masters, as well as works of the contem- 
porary Boston artists, is an interesting 
revelation of the conditions of the art 
life of fifty years ago. There is much 
" fine writing" in it, and some whole- 
some and courageous criticism • and 
the closing reflections upon "the deadly 
hand of the past" which lay so heavily 
upon the Boston painters of 1843, crush- 
ing out their genius and making poor 
imitators of them, suggests that Emer- 
son's "Nature," which was then half a 
dozen years old, had been read by Mr. 



Dickens and the Arts si in Boots 

From the third number of "The Pioneer." 

"Are there no faces and forms, are there no 
lives and deaths, burials and marriages, within 
our own land, and next our own doors? Shines 
not the sun upon America, gilding and coloring 
its landscape with as various hues as when the 
masters breathed the atmosphere of this earth? 
Is nature used up? Is character gone? Is vir- 
tue extinct? Is vice rooted out? Where were 
the old masters that taught the old masters? 
Where was their Italy but in their eyes and 

Mr. Dwight's articles upon the Acad- 
emy of Music and Beethoven's Sym- 
phonies show the same fine culture and 
true feeling in the field of music that 
have been shown in everything in his 
whole career as a musical critic, which, 
beginning before the Pioneer was born, 
and continued in uninterrupted vigor to 
the present day, constitutes him in many 
respects the most remarkable figure in 
the musical life of Boston. The opening 
of the first article, in which the writer 
felicitates himself and Boston upon the 
manifestly better patronage of the best 
things in music, will be entertaining read- 
ing for those who attend the present 
symphony concerts. 

Robert Carter, who was Mr. Lowell's 

associate in his magazine enterprise, had 
come to Boston from Albany only two 
years before, but at once formed a strong 
friendship with Lowell, which lasted until 
his death in 1879. He was of just the 
same age as Lowell, and full of the same 
pioneering, reforming spirit. He was 
afterwards, for a time, private secretary 
to Prescott, the historian ; he was a 
helper of Kossuth ; he became the edi- 
tor of the Commonwealth, and a leader 
in the organization of the free-soil party, 
and he did much newspaper work of a 
high quality. It is stated that he left a 
volume of memoirs which remains un- 
published. If any part of the volume 
relates to Lowell and these old days of 
the Pioneer, it certainly ought to see the 
light. To the Pioneer itself he con- 
tributed a serial story, entitled " The 
Armenian's Daughter." 

Lowell's own poetical contributions to 
the Pioneer were all adopted afterwards 
into his published collections — as. we 
think, were all the poems contributed to 
the Boston Miscellany. His prose con- 
tributions do not appear in his collected 
works. Not the least interesting of these 



were some of his book notices, especially 
the notices of Dickens's " American 
Notes " which was just then arousing 
the waspishness of superficial American 
folk, and of Longfellow's " Poems on 
Slavery." The notice of Dickens was 
as follows : 

"American Notes, for General Circulation." 
By Charles Dickens. This book has been too 
widely read to need any elaborate criticism on our 
part. There are one or two points in it, however, 
on which we wish to say a word. The book has 
been loudly complained of as superficial, and as 
vilifying our country and its institutions. We do 
not think that it can fairly be called superficial (in 
a derogatory sense), because it was not intended 
to be deep. Mr. Dickens's philosophy has always 
been rather of the eyes and heart, than of that 
higher and more comprehensive kind, with which 
the inner eye and the soul have to do. Such a 
traveller as De Tocqueville is properly expected 
to give a philosophical analysis of our govern- 
ment and its operations, and philosophical con- 
jecture as to its ultimate tendencies and results. 
But we could not rightly expect from Mr. Dickens 
anything more than the necessarily cursory obser- 
vations of one who has shown himself to be the 
keenest and shrewdest observer of his time. 

To judge from the tone of a large share of the 
criticisms on this lively jeu d' "esprit (for such it 
may be rightly called), it would seem that our 
people imagined that, because they had admired 
Mr. Dickens's other works, he had no right to do 
anything but admire everything of theirs in turn. 
The Americans are the only nation who appear to 
think that they can say what they please of others, 
and that others have no right to say what they 
please of them. Mr. Dickens's remarks on slavery 
seem to have raised the greatest storm of indigna- 
tion, and yet the greatest part of his chapter on 
this system, which (call it crime or misfortune) 
is surely the darkest plot on our national char- 
acter, consisted only of quotations from our own 
newspapers. If the eyes and mouths of our own 
countrymen are to be forever sealed on the ques- 
tion which more nearly concerns their interest 
and honor than any other, they should thank God 
for what little light they are per milted to gain 
from an intelligent foreigner, whose vivid expo- 
sure of the abuses of his own system of govern- 
ment give him the better right to strike at those 
of our own. A man of genius, like Dickens, is a 
citizen of the world, and belongs as much to 
America as to England. If our narrowness and 
cowardice in this matter are not outgrown, we 
might as well publish expurgated editions of 
Shakespeare and all others who satirize and revolt 
at tyranny (as all great minds must), — nay, of 
the Declaration of Independence itself. 

The greatest and deepest fault we have to find 
with the book is the too frequent eulogy of 
brandy and water, and the ill-concealed satire of 
the temperance reform — a reform which has 
been and is doing incalculable good throughout 
the land; which is spreading peace and inno- 
cence where only degradation skulked be- 
fore, and which is insuring stability to our free- 

dom, by teaching men to set free and respect 
themselves, without which they can have no true 
reverence for anything. 

The notice of Longfellow's " Poems on 
Slavery" is the most interesting of the no- 
tices, chiefly on account of the strong words 
on the anti-slavery reform, into which 
Lowell was already throwing himself. 

" Poems on Slavery." By Henry Wadsworth 
Longfellow. Cambridge : John Owen. This is a 
little volume which we think likely to do a great 
deal of good. Professor Longfellow is perhaps 
more widely and popularly known and admired 
in this country than any other writer, certainly 
than any other poet; while many of his poems 
have been translated into German by Freiligrath, 
and Bentley has now and then the good taste to 
steal them for his Miscellany. In this instance 
we think the popularity — interdum vulgus rec- 
tum videt — a proof of merit in the author. His 
style has just enough peculiarity to render it at- 
tractive, and, at the same time that it is strongly 
tinged with romanticism, the structure of the 
verse, the rhythm of the melody, and the develop- 
ment of the sentiment are so gracefully simple as 
to be even at once with minds of the highest and 
lowest range of education. Such a man as this, 
so well known as a polished scholar of general 
literature, so always welcome to every fireside as 
a poet whose muse has never in any way spotted 
the virgin white of her purity, will find a ready 
hearing, when he comes as a pleader on either 
side of a vexed question, with many who to all 
others would be resolutely deaf. 

We do not join in the torrent of eulogy upon 
the fearlessness and nobleness of spirit evinced 
by the author in publishing this little pamphlet, 
because we think that it is yielding quite too 
much to the exacting spirit of evil to say that a 
man does any more than his simple duty to his 
instincts when he espouses the cause of right. It 
is always an argument of greater courage in a 
man (so far as that goes) to deny and refuse the 
divine message that is sent to him, as it always 
is sooner or later, for in so doing he causes his 
guardian angel to hide her face from him in sor- 
row, and defies the Spirit of God in his own soul, 
who is thenceforth his most implacable foe and 
one that always vanquishes at last. The senti- 
ment of anti-slavery, too, is spreading so fast and 
so far over the whole land, that its opponents are 
rapidly dwindling into a minority. Moreover, 
such praise, if any there be, should be given to 
the early disciples and apostles of this gospel, 
men and women who have endured for their faith 
such spiritualized martyrdom as the refined nine- 
teenth century is still tenacious of inflicting. 
There, for instance, is William Lloyd Garrison, 
the half-inspired Luther of this reform, a man too 
remarkable to be appreciated in his generation, 
but whom the future will recognize as a great and 
wonderful spirit. There, too, is Whittier, the 
fiery Koerner of this spiritual warfare, who, Scae- 
vola-like, has sacrificed on the altar of duty that 
right hand which might have made him acknowl- 
edged as the most passionate lyrist of his time. 
There is the tenderly-loving Maria Child, the au- 

j ^%\ 

In his tower sate the poet 

Gazing on the roaring sea, 

" Take this rose,''*" he sighed, " and throw it 

Where there 's none that Ioveth me. 

" Oa the rock the billow bursteth 
And sinks back into the seas, 
But in vain my spirit thirsteth 
So to burst and be at ease. 

" Take, oh sea, the tender blossom 
That hath lain against my breast, 
On thy black and angry bosom 
It will find a surer rest. 

Life is vain and love is hollow, 
Ugly death stands there behind, 
Hate and scorn and hunger follow 
Him that toileth for his kind.'" 

Forth into the night he hurled it 
And with bitter smile did mark 
How the surly tempest whirled it 
Swift into the hungry dark. 


Foam and spray drive back to leeward, 
And the gale with dreary moan 
Drifts the helpless blossom seaward, 
Through the breakers all alone. 


Stands a maiden on the morrow, 
Musing by the wave-beat strand, 
Half in hope and half in sorrow 
Tracing words upon the sand. 


" Shall I ever then behold him 
Who hath been my life so long, — 
Ever to this sick heart fold him, — 
Be the spirit of his song ? 

The First Page of Lowell's Poem, "The Rose." — From the first number of " The Pioneer 



thor of that dear book, " Philothea," — a woman 
of genius, who lives with humble content in the 
intellectual Coventry to which her conscientious- 
ness has banished her — a fate the hardest for 
genius to bear. Nor ought the gentle spirit of, 
Follen, a lion with a lamb's heart, to be forgotten 
whose fiery fate, from which the mind turns hor- 
ror-stricken, was perhaps to his mild nature less 
dreadful than that stake and fagot of public opin- 
ion, in dragging him to which many whom he 
loved were not inactive, for silence at such times 
is action. And Channing, a man great and origi- 
nal in perceiving, elucidating and defending those 
moral truths which others were the first to dis- 
cover. When we see these, and such as these, 
denounced as self-interested 
zealots, by those who have 
never read a word of their 
controversial writings, we 
know not whether to be most 
surprised at the fearless ig- 
norance, which classes such 
widely different natures to- 
gether, or at the contending 
simplicity which receives such 
oracles for gospel, and is 
pleased to accept that as 
knowledge which is truly but 
the over-running of surplus 
ignorance. That some of 
them are " unguarded in their 
expressions" we allow, but a 
great idea has seldom time 
to waste in selecting what 
Hotspur would have called 
"parmaceti phrases," and the 
spirit of reform does not 
usually make a fiery spirit 
more mild. Luther was the 
greatest blackguard, as well as 
the greatest reformer of his 
time, and Milton threw dirt 
(not, however, without a few 
chance fallen rose leaves in 
it) at Salmasius, not only 
without stint, but with an 
evident satisfaction. Men 
who feel that they are in the 
right are prone to indigna- 
tion at those who oppose 
them, and those who do not 
live in glass houses some- 
times make it their profession to throw stones. 
To return, Professor Longfellow rarely or never 
touches the deepest instincts of our nature, but he 
runs over the wide scale of natural sentiment 
with the hand of a master. His strength lies in 
what we may call the spiritual picturesque. His 
mind is of a reflective cast. He has little pas- 
sionateness, and his thoughts run so readily into 
soliloquy, that we think a more strict self-judgment 
would have deterred him from ever attempting the 
dramatic form of expression. He has remark- 
able delicacy and grace, sometimes rising into 
vigor, of diction, and a delightful spirit pervades 
all that he writes, which is never (as is too often 
the case) belied by the private and personal char- 
acter of the author, who in an eminent degree 
attracts the love as well as the admiration of his 

friends. We know no writer whose poems tend 
more decidedly to elevate and refine the feelings 
of his readers, and so to purify the source of their 
thoughts, while at the same time he cultivates their 
romantic sentiment, thereby increasing the nicety 
and extent of their sympathies. 

There is no use in quoting from any volume of 
Professor Longfellow's. His poems have such a 
wonderful faculty of domesticating themselves by 
every fireside in the country, that they are every- 
where recognized inmates. Some of those in this 
little volume seem to us to be deficient in force, 
and without enough certainty of aim. Perhaps 
the best in conception is the " Slave Singing at 
Midnight," and the best in expression "The 

John Flaxman. — From the third number of "The Pioneer, 

Slave's Dream," a subject which we have seen 
handled before, but never so beautifully. There 
is nothing of the spirit of controversy in these 
pages, and though we might be tempted some- 
times to ask for more energy, yet we are sure that 
those writings do most good which strive to make 
the beauty of the right more apparent, rather 
than those w T hich inveigh against the loathsome- 
ness of the wrong. 

There is an interesting review of Ma- 
caulay's " Lays of Ancient Rome," which 
had then just appeared. It is impossible 
to give this here in full, but we quote its 
opening paragraph for the sake of show- 
ing the rather severe opinion which 



Lowell held of Macaulay in 1843, and 
which very likely remained his opinion. 

Thomas Babington Macaulay is the best 
magazine writer of the day. Without being a 
learned man, he has a vast fund of information 
always at command, the accumulation of a quick 
eye, and a retentive memory. Always brilliant, but 
never profound; witty, but not humorous; full of 
sparkling antithesis, polished, keen, graceful, he 
has more talent than any prose writer living. He 
is a kind of prose Pope, in whom we can rind no 
great ideas, no true philosophy, but plenty of 
philosophizing, who never writes above his read- 
er's easy comprehension, and whose sentences we 
always acknowledge as lucky, rather than admire 
as new or beautiful. He has thoughts enough, 
but no thought. His analysis of character are 
like a professor's demonstrations in the dissecting 
room; we see all the outward mechanism by 
which the spirit made itself visible and felt, but 
after all, only a dead body lies before us. He 
galvanizes his subjects till they twitch with a 
seeming life, but he has not the power of calling 
back the spirit and making it give answers from 
the deep. In short, he is not a genius. In poli- 
tics, he is a whig; one of that party which is 
neither conservative nor radical, but which com- 
bines in its faith some of the faults of both, and 
whose doctrine seems to be " reform, as far as we 
are concerned." His sympathies seem to be 
fashionable, rather than the result of a warm 
heart or philosophic thought. If there were a 
Greek or Polish revolution, he would forget that" 
freedom spoke any other language but that of 
Leonidas and Sobieski, and, overlooking the 
struggling mass of degraded humanity that pined 
and murmured around his very door, would sat- 
isfy his classic sympathy for the advance of man 
by writing Greek and Polish war songs, to be ad- 
mired by everybody to-day, and then to retire 
upon such precarious pittance of immortality as 
is furnished by the charitable corner of a country 

There is no word which Lowell wrote 
for the Pioneer which is not interesting 
as read to-day. There are many pas- 
sages from the essay on " Middleton," and 
from the essay on "Song Writing," which 
we should like to set upon a second cir- 
culation ; but space is left us for only a 
single passage from the latter essay, — a 
charming pastoral picture, which, put 
into the dialect of Hosea Biglow, would 
be the counterpart of "The Courtin'. " 

We confess that the sight of the rudest and 
simplest love-verses in the corner of a village 
newspaper oftener bring tears of delight into our 
eyes than awaken a sense of the ludicrous. In 
fancy we see the rustic lovers wandering hand in 

hand, a sweet fashion not yet extinct in our quiet 
New England villages, and crowding all the past 
and future with the blithe sunshine of the pres- 
ent. The modest loveliness of Dorcas has re- 
vealed to the delighted heart of Reuben count- 
less other beauties of which, but for her, he had 
been careless. Pure and delicate sympathies 
have overgrown protectingly the most exposed 
part of his nature, as the moss covers the north 
side of the tree. The perception and reverence 
of her beauty has become a new and more sensi- 
tive conscience to him, which, like the wonderful 
ring in the fairy tale, warns him against every 
danger that may assail his innocent self-respect. 
For the first time he begins to see something 
more in the sunset than an omen of to-morrow's 
weather. The flowers, too, have grown tenderly 
dear to him of a sudden, and, as he plucks a 
sprig of blue succory from the roadside to deck 
her hair with, he is as truly a poet as Burns when 
he embalmed the " mountain daisy " in deathless 
rhyme. Dorcas thrills at sight of quivering Hes- 
perus as keenly as ever Sappho did, and as it 
brings back to her, she knows not how, the mem- 
ory of all happy times in one, she clasps closer 
the brown, toil-hardened hand which she holds in 
hers, and which the heart that warms it makes as 
soft as down to her. She is sure that the next 
Sabbath evening will be as cloudless and happy 
as this. She feels no jealousy of Reuben's love 
of the flowers, for she knows that only the pure 
in heart can see God in them, and that they will 
but teach him to love better the wild-flower-like 
eauties in herself, and give him impulses of 
kindliness and brotherhood to all. Love is the 
truest radicalism, lifting all to the same clear- 
aired level of humble, thankful humanity. Dorcas 
begins to think that her childish dream has come 
true, and that she is really an enchanted princess, 
and her milk-pans are forthwith changed to a 
service of gold plate with the family arms en- 
graved on the bottom of each, the device being a 
great heart, and the legend, God gives, man only 
takes away. Her taste in dress has grown won- 
derfully more refined since her betrothal, though 
she never heard of the Paris fashions, and never 
had more than one silk gown in her life, that one 
being her mother's wedding dress, made over 
again. Reuben has grown so tender-hearted, 
that he thought there might be some good even 
in "Transcendentalism," a terrible dragon of 
straw, against which he had seen a lecturer at the 
village Lyceum valorously enact the St. George. — 
nay, he goes so far as to think that the slave- 
women (black though they be, and therefore not 
deserving so much happiness) cannot be quite so 
well off as his sister in the factory and would 
sympathize with them if the constitution did not 
enjoin all good citizens not to do so. But we are 
wandering — farewell, Reuben and Dorcas I re- 
member that you can only fulfil your vow of be- 
ing true to each other by being true to all, and 
be sure that death can but unclasp your bodily 
hands that your spiritnal ones may be joined the 
more closelv. 


By A. D. Mayo. 

T is not easy to-day to com- 
prehend the full signifi- 
cance of the revolution 
in American society in- 
augurated by the late 
Civil War. A few of the 
most obvious effects of 
the great war are known 
to all. The complete de- 
struction of the most 
powerful aristocratic class in Christen- 
dom, as far as concerned its direct 
influence upon national affairs ; the 
abolition of the semi-feudal institution 
of American slavery, and the elevation 
of five millions of people, to all the 
rights of American citizenship ; the 
overthrow of the leading industrial 
system that had prevailed nearly three 
centuries, in a country as large as 
Europe outside the Russian Empire ; 
the bitter struggle, perhaps not yet 
over, that has accompanied the re- 
adjustment of civil, social and financial 
relations between the two races that peo- 
ple sixteen great states, — these and 
other results of that tremendous conflict 
are already apparent to all. But other 
and less obvious consequences are begin- 
ning to appear, in the slowly developing 
life of the new republic. These changes, 
revealed or hidden, in the midst of which 
we live to-day, may be summed up as the 
radical transformation of an Anglo-Saxon, 
semi-aristocratic into an American, dem- 
ocratic order of human affairs. Until 
the breaking out of the war, American 
society, in the old East and through the 
entire South, was a gradual broadening 
of the aristocratic order of British civil- 
ization from which it sprung. No less in 
Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, 
than in Richmond, Charleston, and New 
Orleans, were the claims of superior race, 
family, inherited wealth, culture and so- 
cial station acquiesced in, with only a 
prospect of gradual change. Thirty 
years ago Emerson said : " Old 
England extends to the Alleghanies ; 
America begins in Ohio." The emanci- 

pation of the southern negro and his 
recognition as a full American citizen 
completed the process, begun by the 
naturalization of the immigrant European 
peasant in the North, and cast into the 
trembling balance of national affairs a 
make-weight which has finally committed 
the Union to the cause of popular gov- 
ernment and republican society. 

There are still powerful organizations 
and influences on the ground that fiercely 
challenge that result, and threaten new 
conflicts of these tendencies on new 
issues. What is implied by the term 
" Bourbonism " in the South; the con- 
centrated influence of a zealous and able 
priesthood in more than one division of 
the American church ; the attempt, in 
certain quarters, to rally the cultivated 
class, by a sort of literary Free-masonry, 
to distrust in American ideas ; the affec- 
Vtion of narrow cliques, in all social cen- 
es, to bring in the European ideal of a 
superior social caste ; the prodigious and 
rapid centralization of vast industrial 
interests in the grasp of gigantic corpor- 
ations, — here is certainly a counter 
current, not to be overlooked and not 
without great influence, either for whole- 
some restraint or mischievous obstruc- 
tion. But, however protracted may be 
the struggle, and however numerous the 
changes of scenery in the shifting drama 
of the future, no thoughtful man can 
long doubt on which side the victory will 
rest. For evil or good, the democratic 
idea is bound to prevail in American 
affairs. That idea is not communistic, 
anarchical or subversive of inevitable 
gradations in society. It is the progres- 
sive reconstruction of human affairs 
around the idea that every human being 
shall have fair opportunity to develop 
what has been given him by his Maker, 
with the corresponding obligation that 
every human being is bound to use his 
superiorities and successes for the uplift- 
ing of all. Said Lord Napier to a dis- 
tinguished American clergyman, forty 
years ago, " Great Britain is on the same 



inclined plane as the United States. You 
are only a little farther down the grade 
than we." The complete outcome of 
the American experiment in our New 
World will be the emancipation of man- 
kind through every nook and corner of 
the inhabited earth. We can baffle, em- 
barrass, and complicate the movement 
through its entire progress. We can 
plunge this continent into new and bloody 
wars. We may so hinder the preparation 
of the "common people" for their fu- 
ture dominion, that the rule of the many 
shall become the dominion of a mob, 
only mitigated by the stolid resistance 
of the select minority. But if we bear 
ourselves in wisdom and patience, the 
coming in of the people's day will not be 
the sunset of liberty, but the sunrise of a 
nobler social order than has yet been 
known to mankind. One of the logical 
results of this condition of affairs is the 
theme of the present essay. 

When I speak of "The Woman's 
Movement in the Southern States " I 
encounter the risk of a varied misap- 
prehension. The enthusiastic advocate 
of "Woman's Rights" may fancy lam 
about to announce a grand rally to the 
standard of woman suffrage, and all things 
inscribed on that banner, among the 
southern sisters. A "stalwart" politi- 
cian may suspect that I am about to 
reveal the existence of a far-reaching 
conspiracy among the mothers of sixteen 
states to train their offspring for another 
war against the Union. The summer 
correspondent, whose knowledge of south- 
ern womanhood is confined to the obser- 
vation of the crowd of handsome lady 
loungers on the piazzas of southern 
watering places, may query whether there 
is any " movement " at all in these slum- 
brous realms of "good society." Yet 
others may think I am to tell the won- 
drous story of a resurrection into superior 
womanhood among the freedmen and 
" poor white trash." It is concerning 
none of these specially, though of some- 
thing including them all incidentally, that 
I write. 

I am not speaking on this delicate 
theme " as one having authority," although 
I have seen many things. A northern 
man, Puritan by descent, aristocratic in 

the grain, with liberal democratic and 
cosmopolitan theories in religion and 
public affairs, educated by thirty years in 
Massachusetts, New York, and Ohio, I 
never had an intimate acquaintance with 
one woman of southern birth until a dozen 
years ago, and had scarcely travelled in 
the South until " called " on the ministry 
of education in which I have been en- 
gaged for the last twelve years. But my 
opportunities during these years for look- 
ing into southern society as it is being 
shaped by the generation of young peo- 
ple born since the opening of the Civil 
War have been, perhaps, unusual, certainly 
very widely extended. That overlook 
includes a perpetual journeying through 
all these states during the entire school 
year, with constant public addresses, in- 
spection of southern schools of all grades, 
entertainment in the homes of every 
class, frequent preaching in the churches 
of all denominations, with the friendly 
personal confidences of great numbers of 
representative men and women. And, 
without changing a single feature of my 
theory of American society and with no 
consciousness of having been swerved 
from the right line of fidelity to funda- 
mental American principles by the friend- 
liness of these people, I have come to a 
few conclusions possibly novel to some 
of my readers, but welcome surely to 
every one who rejoices in the name of 
American woman. 

Perhaps there was never a more com- 
plete ignorance of the actual condition 
of society between two sections of the 
same country than between our northern 
and southern states for a generation pre- 
vious to the late war. Whatever of in- 
timate commingling had existed in the 
earlier days of the republic had almost 
passed away in the growing estrangement 
that came of the continued exasperation 
of the slavery controversy. The northern 
people who travelled South were chiefly 
of the sort who sympathized with south- 
ern institutions, and saw only the sunny 
side of that land. Our white southern 
visitors were entirely of the ruling class, 
on errands of business, pleasure, or poli- 
tics, commonly the guests or associates 
of their special northern friends. Mutual 
distrust and misapprehension ruled the 



hour. Slavery was a picturesque drop- 
curtain, which shut away the real condi- 
tion of the southern people from the 
North as completely as its prototype 
before the stage. 

Among these figures, the southern 
woman of the ruling class (for the North 
saw no other) was prominent. The 
ordinary idea of this type of American 
womanhood, even among the masses of 
intelligent people of the North, was a 
woman of tropical nature, with fascinating 
person and manners, a despot in society, 
often eccentric and imperious after the 
style of the " leading lady " on the stage, 
averse to labor, contemptuous of self- 
support, listless and tempestuous by turns, 
a tyrant among her slaves, and a fury in 
sectional politics, the most influential 
factor in the impending war. And still, 
although the past twenty-five years has 
virtually thrown open the southern states, 
and the entire region from Washington 
to Texas swarms with winter tourists, the 
old notion dies hard. I am asked a 
dozen times a week, by excellent people, 
in all parts of the North, if I do not find 
the southern women filled with bitterness 
over the results of the war, and if the 
southern girl of the period is not that 
contradictory nondescript, at once a list- 
less, shiftless, superficial butterfly of so- 
ciety, and an artful conspirator against 
the peace of the nation. True, I have 
noticed that whenever two young women 
of similar capacity, culture, and social 
status are brought together, from Massa- 
chusetts and South Carolina, a new 
mutual admiration society is imminent. 
The most enthusiastic crowd that an 
elderly gentleman can pilot through the 
glories of Back Bay, Bunker Hill, Faneuil 
Hall, Concord, and the Harvard campus 
is the flock of bright southern girls which 
every season brings on its flight to our 
northern summer schools. Still, the aver- 
age New England or western community 
obstinately holds on to the picture of the 
southern woman painted on the drop- 
curtain, and half suspects a northern man 
of being the victim of a sentimental craze, 
who ventures to tell the story of the new 
woman's movement at the South as it 
looks to unprejudiced though friendly 
eyes. I do not pretend to know all 

about these matters of which I write, — 
and many a southern woman might 
honestly believe me wrong in my diag- 
nosis of southern social affairs ; but I do 
know more than the majority of my 
northern friends. 

It should be said, in the first place, 
that the popular northern idea of the 
southern woman of the leading class, 
before the war, was largely evolved from 
the realm of romance. That the superior 
woman of the South was characterized in 
those days by the early development of 
personal charms, a winning social grace 
and friendliness, and an ambition for social 
superiority in that concentrated her educa- 
tion on social culture, was doubtless true. 
But the notion that the leading class in 
the South was distinguished by superior 
descent or eminent culture from a similar 
class in the old northern states was un- 
true. The best "old families" of both 
sections came from similar original Brit- 
ish stock, — the great intelligent, pro- 
gressive middle class that has created the 
new republic and reconstructed the Great 
Britain of two centuries ago. 

The opportunities afforded by foreign 
travel and education of the ordinary 
American type for girls half a century 
ago, for the growth of fine womanly 
qualities among these classes, was very 
evenly distributed through the states east 
of the Alleghanies. While the southern 
schools for girls were sufficiently numer- 
ous and well-appointed to meet the 
ordinary demand for the education of 
the young woman of the better class — 
the only woman who was schooled at all 
— and many of the more favored girls 
were sent North or to Europe for better 
training ; yet, on the whole, the " female 
seminaries " of the old North, imperfect 
as they may have been, were the better 
of the two, and the average of book- 
learning and the scholarly habit more 
marked among the young women north 
than south of Washington. 

Yet the southern woman of thirty 
years ago was just what the woman of 
New England, Pennsylvania, or New 
York would have been, had her grand- 
father removed to Georgia or Texas, and 
had she been reared amid the influences of 
the southern country life of that remote 



era. The North saw our southern sister 
at the most and least attractive angles of 
her life, — as the brilliant idol of society, 
and as the listless victim of an indolence 
largely the result of enervating climate, 
unwholesome habits of living, and the 
demoralizing environment of a servile 
class. But the southern woman the 
North did not see was of the same essen- 
tial type it loves and honors at home. 
On a thousand lonely plantations, often 
in unwholesome and discouraging sur- 
roundings, born into a state of society 
from which no woman could escape, the 
majority of the planters' wives and 
daughters bore themselves, in those old 
days, with the same womanly devotion, 
intelligence, quiet energy, and daily self- 
sacrifice that everywhere characterized 
the superior American woman of the past 

Indeed, while all the advantages of 
slavery were monopolized by the negro 
savage, who was changed by two centuries 
of servitude into the " American citizen 
of African descent" we beheld in 1865, 
and while the aristocratic man of the 
South did seem to reap undeniable re- 
sults in the enjoyment of personal, social, 
and political power, the heavy end of 
that lot was always lifted by the woman. 
The Christian wife and mother could not 
but look with silent dismay down into the 
black, bottomless gulf of temptation that 
yawned below the cradle of every boy. 
Her husband's slaves were a mob of half- 
civilized children, always under her feet, 
and her life at home, with many redeem- 
ing attractions, was a daily service of toil, 
anxiety and often, half-hopeless effort to 
hold things together and do her full duty 
as mistress of the mansion. The prevail- 
ing idea of womanhood forbade her to 
step out upon a multitude of paths open 
to her sister of the North. To teach, to 
engage in any industrial calling of self- 
support, except on the compulsion of dire 
necessity or from the impulse of genius, 
was not for her. No rage for religious 
speculation tumbled the placid waters of 
her country church, and the Protestant 
clergy had practically as thorough control 
of her education as the Catholic priest- 
hood assumes for the young women of 
their flocks to-day. 

That such a life, with its peculiar 
romance and excitement, was a powerful 
stimulus to deep thought and brooding 
sentiment, giving to the character of the 
southern woman that undertone of pathos 
and intensity that still hangs about her like 
the sad and almost tragic refrain of her 
whole life, we can easily understand. 
That it developed a type of woman most 
powerful in her hold upon the men of her 
own section, and, as she comes to be 
better known, destined to be more largely 
influential than ever before in the na- 
tional life, we cannot doubt. The finest 
fruits of aristocratic society are always 
garnered by the best women. The 
South, before the war, was rich in ex- 
cellent women who, like their sex every- 
where, committed body and soul to their 
own order of social affairs, were the 
most precious of the manifold treasures of 
that mysterious land. 

Said a northern soldier's wife : 

" I lived a while, during the war, in a camp of 
Confederate prisoners, as the wife of the com- 
mander of the post, whose duty it was to open the 
letters that came to these men from their families 
and friends. As I looked at the photographs of 
women that came in these letters, I couldn't 
wonder that these men were ready to fight to the 
death under the powerful spell of those eloquent 
faces and flashing eyes." 

We are hearing great things nowadays, 
and I have seen in my numerous visita- 
tions, something of the vast mineral 
treasures of the South, almost undis- 
covered before the year i860, now prom- 
ising to surpass the richest deposits in 
any land. But the one mine from which 
the South will gather pearls beyond price, 
in the upward lift to its enlarging destiny 
through the years to come, is the marvel- 
lous treasure-house of its young woman- 
hood, — in the days of the mothers hid- 
den from the nation by the drop curtain 
of slave society, now opening, in the 
deeper realms of life, moving to its right- 
ful influence and its own peculiar place in 
the American sisterhood to whom we 
look for the redemption of the land. 

The great broom of war swept the 
eleven seceding states of the South almost 
clean of effective white manhood through 
four awful years. For the first time in 
the history of these states, the white 



women of every class were left in virtual 
possession of the home life. The South, 
in i860, was a vast, sparsely populated 
country, with but one great city south of 
Washington, the superior people dispersed 
through the quiet plantation life of the 
old regime. There, far from the alarm 
of invasion, the va«t majority of these 
women, through four terrible years, car- 
ried in their arms the entire home life of 
these states ; not only bearing the burdens 
so nobly assumed by their northern sisters, 
the management of children and the 
work for the soldier in camp, field, and 
hospital, but, in large measure, occupied 
by the management of more than four 
million slaves, in a state of wild sup- 
pressed expectancy such as only they 
could comprehend. How wonderfully 
well they went through that awful period ; 
how, day by day, their faculty of ad- 
ministration grew apace ; how they 
thought and pondered and wept and 
prayed and suffered on, thousands of the 
best of them in the grip of relentless 
poverty, — all this was veiled from us. 
What we did hear was the very obvious 
fact that the woman, South, even, beyond 
her sister in the North, was a flame of 
fire in the cause she had been educated 
from her cradle to believe was the cause 
of God, and that its overthrow would in- 
volve the destruction of all good things 
given to her in this world. 

And the strange thing, even yet not 
fully comprehended by many of our sis- 
ters of the South, is that no schooling 
less stringent than the frightful ordeal of 
a destructive civil war, which virtually 
exhausted the life of an entire generation 
of women, could have brought the woman 
of the South up to the threshold of the 
magnificent opportunity on which her 
foot is planted to-day. Neither we nor 
she could have seen how, beyond the 
smoke and dust of war, the glory of the 
Lord was on its way for her deliverance, 
and that the downfall of the cause for 
which she so bravely gave her life was to 
be the signal for an uplift of which she 
had never dreamed. 

For the one thing needed by the 
southern white woman, of every class, a 
generation ago, was emancipation from 
the spell cast over her executive energies 

by the very constitution of society into 
which she was born. With an excess of 
chivalric devotion to women, that to our 
cooler northern temperament appears 
almost romantic, the southern man, in 
the old time, never fully understood that 
the most genuine worship of woman is 
shown by the large appreciation of her 
nature and her place in the modern 
world and the ready offer of the helping 
hand in every honest and womanly effort 
to do her best for her country and man- 
kind. Chivalry, always the same in es- 
sentials, flowers out in varied expression 
from age to age. The knight of five 
centuries ago, in Europe, was a stalwart 
brother, clad in cumbrous brass or 
sheathed in shining steel, ready to break 
his own heart or crack his rival's head in 
behalf of a blooming damsel who could 
probably neither read nor write, but 
whom he adored as " queen of love and 
beauty." The American knight of to- 
day is a fine young fellow in citizen's 
dress, who gives his hand, with his heart 
and his pocket-book in it, to his little 
sister, his pretty cousin, or his youngish 
maiden aunt, saying, " Go, dear, to the 
university and study to your heart's con- 
tent, — and when you come home with 
your diploma in your reticule, we'll crown 
you queen of love and beauty and prin- 
cess of light." It is beginning to be 
understood among the noblest women of 
the South that in no way save by the 
complete wreck of the old order could 
the young woman of to-day be found, 
like the wise virgin, with lamp trimmed 
and burning, awaiting the bridegroom, — 
the woman's "calling and election" in 
the "grand and awful time" which our 
eyes behold. 

The slaveholders of the South, in 
i860, did not number the present popu- 
lation of Boston, and the entire body of 
people personally interested in the insti- 
tution could hardly have amounted to 
three of the eight millions of the white 
people of the South. That class, in 
i860, was the most powerful aristocracy 
in Christendom. It ruled the American 
republic, plunged the nation into a civil 
war, and almost swung the two foremost 
powers of Europe over to itself. In 
1865, that body of people was more com- 



pletely overwhelmed than any similar 
class in modern times. Not only was its 
political domination in national affairs 
forever gone, but it was reduced to almost 
absolute poverty, without the severe in- 
dustrial executive training that makes 
poverty the lightest of all burdens for the 
young man and woman of the North. 
Not one in ten of these old respectable 
families has emerged from this financial 
wreck, or will ever stand again on its feet 
in the old way. Of course, the woman 
bore the cross in this complete prostra- 
tion of loftiest hopes. In 1865, many 
thousands of the women of the leading 
class of the South were left with a less 
hopeful outlook for the life of comfort 
and household ease so dear to every 
woman than multitudes of the servant 
girls that swarm the pavements of our 
northern towns on the evening of a 
summer day. 

But to another class of southern wo- 
men this experience came in another 
way. Far more numerous than the 
throng of suffering women of the better 
sort was the great crowd of the wives 
and daughters of the non-slave-holding 
white man. Under this class, minus the 
fringe of "poor white trash," the tramps 
of the South in all but their lazy deter- 
mination not to tramp, must be included 
a variety of people, from the reckless 
woodsman in the pine forests of the 
Atlantic and Gulf Coast, through the 
vigorous farmers of the Piedmont realm, 
over among the two million dwellers in 
the interminable mountain region, as 
large as Central Europe, that extends 
from Harper's Ferry almost to within 
sight of the lovely capital of Alabama. 

Of the white women of these various 
classes we at the North knew nothing — 
and know very little to-day. That many 
of them were ignorant, often vulgar and 
weak in their womanhood, living in 
strange discomfort, we have been told, 
with variations, by the omniscient metro- 
politan reporter, by the omnipresent 
drummer and, later, by the novelists of 
the South, who have penetrated to their 
homes. But the other side of the story 
has not been told. These people are 
almost wholly of the original British 
stock that peopled the New England and 

the Middle States, radically kind and con- 
fiding, their vices and follies rather the 
faults of neglected children than of the 
depraved class that is the terror of our 
great American towns. Hence we need 
not be surprised to learn that to this 
class the war brought a great era of 
emancipation and found in it a people 
ready to step out into the light before 
the country. 

The first result of peace was to bring 
multitudes of the men of this class for- 
ward as buyers and owners of better 
lands than they could obtain under the 
old order of affairs. All over the South, 
especially on the beautiful slopes and in the 
vast mountain regions, we see the rising 
homes of these new folk. We meet their 
boys in all the growing villages. They 
swarm in Texas. The city of Atlanta, 
has almost been created by them, with 
Senator Joe Brown as their " best man." 
In the schools for girls, these shy, awk- 
ward, shut-up maidens are carrying off 
the prizes and going forth as teachers. 
They are the "factory girls" in the new 
cotton mills, and are ready to work, as 
they are taught, in the various ways by 
which thousands of American women are 
earning honest money. If I were twenty 
years younger, I would go in, as a mis- 
sionary of the education of the head, the 
heart, and the hand, at Harper's Ferry, 
and only come out for supplies, till not 
only was my hair gray, but my head bald, 
and I ready to embark on the long 
journey to the Beyond. One of the 
noblest of the good women teachers of 
North Carolina, who established a school 
for girls in the chief town in that won- 
derful upland world of the old North 
State, writes : 

" The prospects for my boarding-school for the 
more favored young ladies of the vicinity are 
excellent. But oh, for money, money, money, to 
educate the poor, dear ignorant girls of this glo- 
rious mountain land ! " 

What can be done with the children, 
even of the lowest class of this sort, the 
"trash" of the coast country, may be 
known by sitting on the platform of Amy 
Bradley's Tileston school, in Wilmington, 
North Carolina, and lookirfg into the 
faces of four hundred of them, — as fair 
to look upon as our own little New En^ 



land boys and girls. Our North is rich 
in the honors of philanthropy ; but no 
work done for the uplift of the children 
will shine with a brighter record than the 
twenty-five years' service of Amy Brad- 
ley, a Boston schoolmistress, in the 
draining of the Wilmington " Dry Pond," 
through the steady financial backing of 
Mrs. Mary Hemenway, who, not content 
with her gift of $125,000 for the educa- 
tion of the poor of that locality, and her 
munificence to the colored folk at Hamp- 
ton Institute, has now built on even 
broader foundations, in her school of ele- 
mentary learning and industrial arts in a 
suburb of Norfolk. 

And what of the negro women — the 
three millions of them between the Poto- 
mac and the Rio Grande? What has 
emancipation and a generation of freedom 
done for them? For the vicious, weak, 
and foolish, what liberty always does at 
first for an enslaved race — barring the 
ferocity that always flares out from a 
similar emancipated class in the lower 
regions of European life. Let us not for- 
get that our Freedman is the latest comer 
who knocks at the door of the world's 
new civilization. The colored ancestry 
of the most civilized of these people dates 
back less than three hundred years ; 
while probably a third of them would 
find their grandfathers of a century ago 
in the jungles of the Dark Continent. 
Among these women are as many grades 
of native intellectual, moral, and execu- 
tive force, to say nothing of acquirements, 
as among the white people. The planta- 
tions of the Gulf, the Atlantic Coast, and 
the Mississippi bottoms swarm with negro 
women who seem hardly lifted above the 
brutes. And I know a group of young 
colored women, many of them accom- 
plished teachers, in Washington, D. C, 
who bear themselves as gently and with 
as varied womanly charms as any score 
of ladies in the land. 

The one abyss of perdition to this class 
is the slough of unchastity in which, as a 
race, they still flounder, half-conscious 
that it is a slough, — the double inheri- 
tance of savage Africa and that one hate- 
ful thing in slavery for which even good 
old Nehemiah Adams could find no ex- 
cuse. But here things are mending, — 

a good deal faster than the average south- 
ern man will allow, though all too slow to 
justify the fond enthusiasm of those else- 
where who only know the negro as the 
romantic figure in the great war, and the 
petted child of the Christian church in 
the North and foreign lands. I have 
looked upon many thousands of these 
girls, in the schools established by the 
splendid philanthropy of the North and 
in the local public schools of the southern 
country ; and I am sure that in the midst 
of this wild, weltering sea of unstable 
womanhood is slowly forming a continent 
of pure, honest, Christian young women, 
who have before them a nobler mission 
field than the women of any civilized 
land, in the redemption and training to 
personal morality of their sisters of the 

For here is the fulcrum over which 
any lever that would lift the younger 
colored people must pry. No read- 
juster politician, preaching a gospel of 
repudiation ; no clamor for the right to eat 
and sleep and ride and study in the 
same place as the white man ; no craze 
for the higher education, or any device 
of mental or industrial culture that leaves 
out of account the foundations of a solid 
and righteous life ; no ecstasy of senti- 
mental or passional religion that floats 
away soul and sense in a deluge of muddy 
emotion ; nothing but the severe training 
of more than one generation of these 
colored girls in the central virtue of 
womanhood can assure the success of 
this entire region of American citizen- 
ship. Until the colored woman has her 
feet securely planted on that rock, all 
that any or everybody can do for her 
race is like treasure flung into an abyss. 
As she gains on that path, all good things 
will come to her and hers. The radical 
disability of the negro to-day is the fatal 
disability of a feeble morality. In all 
else, though not an imitation white man, 
notably no revised edition of the Anglo- 
Saxon white man, he has a wealth of 
nature and a speciality of gifts that will 
bring him out one of the most useful 
and, by all odds, the most picturesque of 
the characters in our manifold American 

And now, how are these women of the 



South, the various grades and classes of 
them, bearing themselves at the opening 
of the great day of woman's destiny 
through these states of the Southland? 
For we need not fancy that the southern 
woman, of any class, is going back to the 
place where we saw her a generation ago. 
The old places have passed away. She 
cannot be the same Lady Bountiful on 
the plantation ; she cannot queen it, as 
of old, in Washington, or be the same 
kind of southern portent abroad, the same 
" low-down ' ' white woman of the moun- 
tains, the same slave mother, even the 
same reckless companion of the white 
man's folly, as in the days gone by. 
There are plenty of women in all these 
states who do not know this ; who will 
still pine for what is forever gone, or 
wreck themselves in frantic struggles 
after what can never be to them what it 
was to their mothers, even if obtained. 
But in any thoughtful estimate of woman- 
kind we must leave out the conventional 
sisterhood, foolish or respectable, that 
never looks beyond the hour and drifts, 
like one of the great flowery grass-islands 
of the shallow bayou. When we write of 
the southern woman's movement, we 
mean the movement of all women in the 
South who " having eyes, see, and having 
ears, hear," and having souls welcome the 
call of God and go forth, ofttimes under 
a cloud of local prejudice, but more and 
more coming to be known as the leaders 
of the higher society in every state. 
How are these young women meeting the 
call ? What is of far more importance to 
some of us, what can the women of the 
North do to help them in these toilsome 
early years? 

The South of to-day is still an all-out- 
doors country, as large as Europe out- 
side of Russia, its eastern slope and 
southwestern empire in some ways con- 
trasting like our own East and West ; 
yet its oldest states, like Virginia and the 
Carolinas, in many important respects a 
border-land, to be waked up and thor- 
oughly populated, in the same manner as 
our new Northwest. In all these states, 
leaving out half-a-dozen border cities, 
there is but one town of metropolitan 
dimensions and character, — New Or- 
leans ; a dozen others, some of historic 

importance, others of recent growth, of 
fifty thousand and upwards, and a larger 
number of between five thousand and 
twenty thousand ; in all, not so many 
people gathered in proper city life, in the 
thirteen states below the border, as in 
New England. The vast majority of the 
superior families of the South still abide 
in a quiet country or village life which, 
in all save cheapness of living, is below 
that of the corresponding region in any 
northern state in the opportunities for 
personal culture and diversified industry, 
so valued by our American young women 
of ability and spirit. 

Through these vast areas, in all these 
states, common schools have been estab- 
lished, chiefly since 1870, better than 
ever were thought of before, but in most 
places outside the larger towns, lament- 
ably ineffectual to meet the needs of the 
people. School districts five miles square, 
— such muddy miles in winter, such 
blazing miles in summer ; log or indif- 
ferent frame schoolhouses, with all sorts 
of substitutes ; teachers, paid twenty dol- 
lars, thirty dollars, possibly forty dollars a 
month, and " find themselves " for a term 
of three to four months in the year in the 
Gulf region, from four to five elsewhere ; 
the absolute separation of the races in all 
schools controlled by the southern peo- 
ple ; — these drawbacks to education in 
the country bear heavily on the white 

The agricultural life of all these states 
is improving ; but a plantation in central 
Georgia or a stock-farm in southeastern 
Texas is about the slowest coach in which 
an ambitious American woman can be 
"booked" for her life journey. The 
bright young men are flying from this 
life in crowds. They cannot be expected 
to stand by the " old folks at home " and 
fight out the battle of their changing 
system of labor, when every growing 
county town, little city, and, especially, 
the rising empire beyond the Mississippi 
are beckoning them to the rewards of 
active enterprise. One of the chief 
hindrances to the rapid change of south- 
ern country life is this drifting away of 
the young men, who would naturally 
become the leaders in all progressive 
things, leaving on the ground so many of 



the unenterprising, vicious, idle youth, 
who have only vigor enough to stand up 
to the home crib and eat their fill. So, 
more and more, with notable exceptions 
in every state, the country, which was the 
stronghold of the old southern society, is 
left to the negroes, the poorer white men 
who come in and buy or rent the farms, 
and the women of the old families, who 
must stay where there is a house to cover 
and a granary to feed the home flock. 
Into such a life as this, bereaved of so 
many influences, outside the home en- 
joyed by the young women A other por- 
tions of the country, myriads of southern 
girls are born ; and there they must stay, 
unless they develop an energy of which 
the most enterprising girl is not always 
capable, to push out, get a fair education 
from a neighboring academy, contriving 
meanwhile to get money enough to meet 
reasonable demands for dress, and the 
little outings that vary the monotony of 
the home. There are few of the avenues 
for industrial success open which invite 
the northern woman who would care for 
herself. Such occupations imply a con- 
centrated population, with money to spend 
and a growing taste for expensive living. 
To a limited extent a portion of these 
girls are occupied in the old style " fancy 
work," which is sold in the cities. Some 
of them go to the towns and find occupa- 
tion in the ordinary wants of a village of 
a thousand to five thousand people, where 
every avenue of domestic labor and the 
rougher outdoor labor is occupied by 
colored women, the abler of whom are 
making their way into occupations that 
are monopolized by respectable white 
women through the North. 

At present, the one broad avenue out 
of this quiet country life is school-teach- 
ing. Here the young women of the 
better class are rapidly • coming into 
almost complete possession. The young 
men fit for this work are largely seeking 
other and more lucrative employments. 
The average boy of twelve, even in the 
cities, leaves school, at least to begin to 
play "little man," and keep the wolf 
from the door. The daughters of the 
humbler white families, with increasing 
exceptions, are unfit for this work, save 
in remote localities and ignorant districts. 

So these young women of the old planta- 
tion families, a generation of whom have 
come up since i860, are now, under the 
supervision, often merely nominal, of a 
limited number of " superintendents," 
teaching the new public schools of the 
South. In places where the colored 
youth are not up to the work, they are 
in the negro schools, in Baltimore and 
Charleston largely in the ascendant. 

It would awaken the most indifferent 
to a lively sympathy, to see how thousands 
of these young women are toiling for the 
moderate education that will fit them for 
this work, as well as to obtain the or- 
dinary culture of a woman in good so- 
ciety. The most enterprising girl 
of a numerous household will, in some 
way, get together the one or two hundred 
dollars for which a year's schooling can 
be had in one of the academies that 
dot the country at intervals all over the 
South, and were the only schools of the 
mothers. Many of them were overthrown, 
but have been largely re-established, 
mostly without endowments, often with 
good teachers, working on meagre wages, 
the authorities turning every way to 
handle the crowd of eager applicants who 
often, not able to face the moderate ex- 
pense, are willing to pledge their future 
for any assistance. In one of these 
schools this good girl, probably over- 
worked, often does a remarkable amount 
of solid study in a short time, leaving 
when the funds give out. Their wisest 
teachers speak of the constitutional sensi- 
tiveness of great numbers of these young 
women, the inheritance of a generation 
born in a revolutionary period, as a 
serious drawback to the intense and pro- 
longed effort they attempt to make. 
This girl goes home to take the neighbor- 
hood school, or finds a better place else- 
where, and uses her little earnings to pay 
her debt or pull up her sisters below, the 
whole family being harnessed to her, till 
the load is drawn, the harness breaks, or 
the brave daughter marries and is relieved 
by the next in turn. 

Under this pressure, in country and 
city, very early marriages, into which the 
element of support largely enters, are 
inevitable. However social philosophers 
may deplore what they are pleased to call 



the American decline of marriage, and 
however hateful may be the social rot of 
easy divorce, we are inclined to think 
that the evil resulting from these very 
early marriages of immature, half-edu- 
cated girls — with the fearful break-down 
of health and happiness, including its 
reflex action on the masculine South — is 
a yet more serious social portent than 
frequent divorce, which all thoughtful 
Christian people deplore. Be that as it 
may, when the Southern people are for 
the first time getting upon the ground a 
system of education for the masses, it is 
little short of a providential interposition 
that so large a proportion of the choice 
young women of sixteen states are thus 
brought into the profession of instruction. 
To realize this fact we must imagine the 
entire wealthy and cultivated class in a 
northern state suddenly reduced to almost 
absolute poverty and the foremost young 
women of these families driven for a 
livelihood to teach in country district, 
village, and city schools, with the ladies 
of rich, well-known families, employed 
in the seminaries of secondary instruc- 
tion. It brings the finest culture and 
the consecrated young womanhood of 
the South into direct contact with the 
masses of children, — a beautiful " ob- 
ject lesson " in the divine way of 
lifting up the lowly and binding " all sorts 
and conditions " together by an enduring 
social bond. 

Fifteen years ago, these schools were 
largely taught by elderly men and women 
who had lost their all, and were qualified 
only as the ordinary woman or man of a 
superior class may be for this difficult 
work. But now the younger women are 
coming in ; and by their prodigious efforts 
to attain academical education, their at- 
tendance in multitudes on the summer 
institutes now held in all the states, in 
exceptional cases by visitation to the 
North at vacation schools, they are rap- 
idly preparing themselves for this good 
work. A more attractive, inquisitive, 
"plucky" crowd of young women is not 
to be found in this or any country. They 
are doing more valuable work for the 
children, under greater hindrances, for 
smaller pay, than any class of women 

Outside of this, there is coming up in 
all the prosperous southern cities a mod- 
erate interest in opening new industrial 
avenues for white women. In every 
one of them there is the nucleus of an 
association, and in most of them an ac- 
tive society of ladies for the encourage- 
ment of home work, which will possibly 
grow into a school for artisans. Few of 
these movements have reached an in- 
fluential stage of development, and the 
girls wishing to fit themselves as teachers 
in such ways must still rely to a large 
extent upon instruction from without. 

Just below this class is coming up, in 
some portions of the South, a crowd of 
the daughters of the poorer white people 
of the hill and coast country, to co- 
operate in this educational work. Some 
of the girls' seminaries that I have visited 
are largely filled with this class of stu- 
dents. With all sorts of drawbacks, 
often with lack of health and home cul- 
ture in manners, and with no previous 
habits of application, they yet show no 
fatal lack of ability. Indeed, many of 
the finest pupils in all these schools are 
from such homes. One young woman, 
to whom it was my office to present a 
prize for superior scholarship in English 
literature, at the end of two years' 
schooling had written a critical essay on 
one of Shakespere's plays which brought 
another testimonial, from the Shake- 
spere Society of London. Yet this fine 
student was preparing to go back to her 
mountain home, to teach on the poor 
wages of the village school, to repay her 
brother the loan for her own education, 
his only opportunity for a two years' 
outing. My life for a dozen years past 
has been lived among such experiences 
as this, and I have come to realize, al- 
most with a flaring up of fiery indigna- 
tion, the supreme folly and intolerable 
selfishness of the awful luxury and waste- 
ful expensiveness that confronts me on 
coming homeward to the great centres 
of social recreation, after three-fourths 
of every year passed amid such longing 
for the bread and water of life. The 
women of our country have it in their 
power to educate every good girl thus 
struggling for the knowledge which must 
be the outfit for self-supporting woman- 



hood, by giving the margin that, be- 
yond all reasonable claim for comfor- 
table and even elegant living, now goes 
over into the social abyss. 

The great want of the better sort of 
colored young woman for the elementary 
schooling and industrial training which 
will make her an effective teacher, a 
worker in the church, a leader in the 
society of her people, and a Christian 
wife and mother, is being supplied by a 
group of admirable schools, largely sup- 
ported by northern funds, though partly 
by tuition fees paid in money or in labor. 
Money judiciously given for student aid 
to these schools goes to a good place. 
A great work could be done in southern 
cities by establishing an annex to the 
public schools for the training of large 
numbers of colored girls in home indus- 
tries, skilled housekeeping and the many 
ways of getting a living now opening to 
them. In every community there are 
bright graduates from the schools, from 
worthy families, who, leaving their studies 
at twelve or fourteen, have nothing to do 
but hover about a crowded country home, 
swarm the town pavements, and fall away 
under such temptations as beset all who 
live in this style. If these girls could be 
offered a thorough training of a year in 
a good school of housekeeping, or the 
many trades and industries by which a 
young woman can live, the present fear- 
ful condition of southern household ser- 
vice would be reformed, these children 
saved from abject poverty, shiftlessness, 
and impurity, and a great many would 
all the time be marching out of the 
slough of despond toward the uplands 
of a wholesome social life. A plant of a 
few thousand dollars in any southern 
city would purchase and furnish a suita- 
ble . house among these people, where a 
good white or colored woman could live, 
making it a model home, receive her 
classes, train her pupils in practical home- 
making and, as opportunity offered, in- 
troduce new departments, till it became 
a centre of the better life to the whole 
aspiring class in the town. If a north- 
ern woman with tact and common sense, 
she could interest the best of the Chris- 
tian workers of the town in her enter- 
prise, and there might be awakened a 

new understanding and sympathy between 
the good working women of both sec- 
tions. Thanks to a few noble women 
and the wise administration of the public 
school system of Washington, D. C, this, 
feature of the education of these people 
is now being rapidly developed there — 
though still far from sufficient to meet 
the dire necessity. We must do a prodi- 
gious amount of such work during the next 
twenty years, or by and by we shall have 
a black slough at the bottom of American 
-society whose malaria will taint every 
palace and make republican government 
a chronic conflict. It would be best that 
some of these industrial homes should 
not be under the control of churches or 
connected with private or public schools, 
but be independent centres of good liv- 
ing, attracting by their own merits. 
These homes should at once be estab- 
lished, on a large scale, in every consid- 
erable southern city. Each of these 
towns is now educating a large number 
of bright young colored girls, who are 
all the time exposed to the demoralizing 
influence of the multitude of idle and 
vicious negroes, the pest of southern 
society. The time is at hand when only 
a thorough system of vagrant laws, with 
truant schools, possibly compulsory in- 
dustrial schooling, will save the cities and 
villages of all these states from the un- 
endurable nuisance of becoming a para- 
dise for all the drift of every color and 
condition in the South. 

Anybody can run out these lines of 
thought, and conjecture the result of this 
sympathetic movement of the Christian 
women of the country toward the thou- 
sands of young white women in the South, 
who need all that can be offered — all the 
more because they are not asking for 
themselves. And it does not require the 
imagination of a Zola to portray the re- 
sult of letting the daughters of these 
millions of emancipated slaves come up 
ignorant, vulgar, lazy, the great Amer- 
ican sewer under the back windows of 
every respectable home. 

All that any wise and loving woman 
hopes for her sex in the new republic is 
hoped and prayed for by thousands of 
young women in the South. For good 
or evil, the woman of the South has 



made an irretrievable forward movement 
in the past thirty years. She must be the 
most influential factor in the upper realm 
of the new southern life. The home, the 
school, the church, the lighter industries, 
literature, art, and society will be her 
preserve. What she makes the new 
South, our children will find it, a genera- 
tion hence. Shall they find it another 
hostile land, threatening new revolutions, 
or shall it be to them a land of welcome 
and of patriotic union with all that is best 
and most precious at home ? 

But why, somebody may ask, talk to us 
of these things? Cannot the women of 
Texas and Louisiana and Alabama take 
care of themselves, bring up their own 
families, educate their sons and daughters, 
live in their own way without our help ? 
Have we not enough to do here in New 
England, New York, in the West, and 
beyond the mountains, to keep the north- 
ern end of the Union from going to the 
bad, that we must be burdened with this 
record of the trials, temptations, and 
needs of our sisters in the South ? I have, 
more than once met just this word, as I 
have urged these claims of the South 
upon us. It has the twang of the query 
of the oldest bad boy of Mother Eve : 
" Am I my brother's keeper " ? After 
that, we seem to hear, chanting down 
through the centuries, the other song : 
u Whosoever giveth a cup of cold water 
to one of these little ones, in my name, 
shall in nowise lose his reward." 

But we write to the young women of 
our country, born in this glorious morning 
hour of the new republic, who must press 
onward if that republic is to be saved for 
the noblest civilization possible to this 
new age. To these young women of the 
North, we say : These young women of 
the South, your sisters and mine, are now 
doing so much to help themselves, are 
working and reaching upward so bravely 
after the best, that it should bring a blush 
of shame to the brow of any woman o-r 
man to speak those careless or cruel 
words that so easily fall from thoughtless 
or heated lips. Leave to the machine 
politician, to the narrow sectarian church- 
man, to whoever has neither interest nor 
ambition above the miserable petting of 
self, the poor amusement of bluffing sweet 

charity and heavenly justice with argu- 
ments like these. Leave to the soulless 
satellite of fashion, to the stolid herd 
mired in gross comfort and smothered in 
stupid content in handsome environment, 
the conviction that the chief end of the 
woman of the upper class in America is 
to build a little social paradise, fence it in 
with a high hedge, and put a snapping 
terrier at the gate — leave it to such to 
go their way with this poor apology for 
not hearing a divine call. But let the 
young sisterhood that lives for what is the 
highest and wisest and holiest, make 
haste over the borderland, bearing gifts 
of love and hope and good cheer to the 
thousands who are only awaiting their 
coming to run forward with welcome in 
their outspread hands, and thanksgiving 
in their overflowing hearts that, after a 
forty years' wandering of the fathers and 
mothers through a wilderness of blind 
contention closed by desolating war, we, 
their sons and daughters, find ourselves, 
at last, on the other side of Jordan, to 
abide together in the promised land. 
Believe nobody who declares that the 
young women of the South are haters of 
their country ; enemies of the North, 
proud and disdainful of the sympathy of 
good American people anywhere. There 
is nothing between the young women of 
the North and South save their ignorance 
of each other, and the difficulty of getting 
hold of each others' hands. If a thou- 
sand of the better sort of girls from Vir- 
ginia, Mississippi, and Texas could live 
for three summer months with a thousand 
of a similar class from Massachusetts, 
Ohio, and California, there would be a 
thousand new friendships and a rush of 
letters, North and South, which would 
wake up the drowsiest postmaster at the 
cross-roads, and bring two thousand fine 
fellows to the " anxious seat," with in- 
quiring minds concerning their sister's 
new dearest friends. There is no duty 
or privilege more imperative or inviting 
for the well-to-do young women of our 
northern states, than to put themselves in 
communication with their sisters in the 
South, by all the beautiful, beneficent 
devices so easy to any young woman 
really bent on having her own splendid 
will ; n l aer own womanlv way. 


By S. Fratices Harrison. 

IN the year 1 749, a curious money trans- 
action took place between England 
and her colonies in North America ; 
the sum of about one million dollars being 
conveyed across the ocean, divided up 
into hundreds of stout casks and solid 
chests. The money was mostly in Spanish 
dollars, presumably some of the recovered 
Spanish treasure that was in those days 
the universal bone of contention and 
golden goal of the nations. Some of 
these old Spanish dollars are still some- 
times to be seen in New England farm- 
houses, in the pockets of hoarding fisher- 
men, or made into brooches for the belles 
of inland towns. Copper coin also came 
in abundance along with the Spanish dol- 
lars, and twenty- seven carts or trucks were 
required to convey all this precious cargo 
from the wharf to the provincial treasury 
in the town. We may imagine the rap- 
idity with which the news was circulated, 
and its effect upon the population of 
young Boston ; we may imagine the de- 
lighted Tories standing in their open 
doors and at their open windows to watch 
the carts go by, while here and there a 
group of half-discontented colonists 
showed by their bearing that first glimpse 
of hostility afterwards to deepen into the 
defiance which would awake a revolution. 
These murmured among themselves that 
all the gold in the Spanish mines — nay, 
all the treasure that Sir William Phipps 
had seen with his own eyes and which 
was so wonderful that it had sent some 
of his sailors mad — would not recom- 
pense the colonies for what they had 

Five years before, France and England 
had again declared war, and the attitude 
of the English colonists towards the 
French in Canada was properly and loy- 
ally antagonistic, as every one knows. 
William Shirley, an English lawyer, was 
at that time governor of Massachusetts, 
and among other designs he had enter- 
tained for the subjugation of the French 
was an expedition against the strong city 

of Louisburg, situated on the island of 
Cape Breton, near Nova Scotia. Read- 
ers even of superficial histories know 
something about this expedition ; how it 
was raised in an incredibly short period 
by stalwart New Englanders, assisted by 
an English Commodore and fleet, and 
what its results were. But not very many 
know much about the actual town of 
Louisburg, what it consisted of, and how 
the expedition proceeded. A certain re- 
markable Samuel Waldo of Boston, — 
Brigadier Waldo he is usually called, — is 
an excellent authority on these points, 
and we are enabled by perusing some of 
his letters and proposals from 1730 to 
1759, the vear °f hi s death, to get a very 
clear idea of this once famous fortress, 
named after the King of France and 
guarded jealously by the soldiers of France 
as the key to his majesty's possessions in 
America. To-day, when we are shown 
two tiny dots on the map, called St. Pierre 
and Miquelon, and told that they repre- 
sent the French possessions in America, we 
instinctively turn to some such forgotten 
character as Brigadier Waldo for informa- 
tion with regard to the times when Que- 
bec was not the only walled and fortified 
city in North America. 

Samuel Waldo was born in Boston, in 
the year 1696. He was, in common 
with most men about him, actuated very 
early in life by sentiments of independ- 
ence and by admiration of all successful 
qualities. In 1 7 3 1 , he established a paper 
mill, and in other ways laid the founda- 
tion of a handsome fortune, although he 
has not always been considered a per- 
fectly straightforward man of business. 
From the year 1730, he had been in- 
timately connected with the Province of 
Nova Scotia, and, in fact, received in 
that year the whole of the Stirling grants 
in that province. A short sketch of the 
checkered history of these lands will be 
in order, as laid down by Samuel Waldo 

In 1 62 1, Sir William Alexander ob- 



tained a patent to hold under the Crown 
of Scotland the land now known as Nova 
Scotia, which he sold in 1630 to Claude 
de la Tour, a famous Frenchman of those 
days. The next entry in the original docu- 
ment is 1 1 63 1 : "Lewis Thirteenth gave 
the Government of Nova Scotia to Charles 
de Sieur Estina, Sieur de la Tour." 
Twenty years after, 1651, — "Lewis 
Fourteenth being informed of the Prog- 
ress and Improvements made in Acadia 
by the Sieur de la Tour confirms him in the 
Post of Governor and Lieutenant- Gen- 
eral, and in the Property of the Lands 
before granted to him." The next entry 
is three years later — 1654: "Cromwell 
took Possession, and Charles de Sieur 
Estina, son and heir of Claude de la 
Tour, coming to England and making his 
claim under Sir William Alexander, then 
Earl of Sterling, and the Crown of Scot- 
land, Cromwell allowed it." In 1656, 
these lands passed into the keeping of Sir 
Thomas Temple, and after many vicis- 
situdes and three treaties, Breda, Rys- 
wick, and Utrecht, John Nelson, nephew 
of the aforesaid Sir Thomas Temple, 
parted with " the whole to Samuel 
Waldo of Boston, in New England." It 
appears that there was a slight difficulty 
in settling his claims and entering upon 
his possessions, for in 1723 the record 
says, " the within-mentioned Samuel 
Waldo is now in London, and is desirous 
of bringing forward settlements on the 
said Land, whereby a strong and useful 
colony may be established there, and 
serve as a curb to the growing power of 
the French in that Part of the World, to 
which end he proposeth," etc. Two 
promises only did he require from the 
government — positive confirmation of 
his right and the establishment of a well- 
equipped garrison, and other signs of 

For his own part Waldo was full of 
promises, and evidently possessed a very 
pushing character. His first proposal 
runs as follows : 

"To begin upon the Immediate settlement of 
the said Tract of Land by a considerable number 
of Familys from Switzerland, the Palatinate, and 
other Parts adjacent where he has now some con- 
tracts depending for a large number of Familys 

1 Canadian Archives. Report for 1886. 

who are to settle on same Lands .... the first 
settlement to be made on or near St. Mary's Bay, 
which is the nearest good Land to the Fort of 
Annapolis Royall." .... 

The second proposal was to the effect, 
more generous than at first sight might 
appear, that the said Samuel Waldo 
would pay towards the support of the 
home government in this province a quit 
rent of one shilling for each and every 
hundred acres of land, the said quit rent 
to become payable in ten years after 
taking up any of the said lands. His 
third proposition is even more generous. 
He petitions to settle two thousand fami- 
lies at least within ten years from the 
date of establishment of government, and 
that " without putting the Crown to any 
more expence more than as before men- 
tioned, which is an expence it has been 
at for above twenty-eight years past, and 
without having effected the settlement of 
Ten Familys on the Whole Tract of 
Land." His magnanimity almost out- 
does itself when, in the fourth and last 
proposal, he promises to " mark and lay 
out for His Majesty's use, as a Nursery of 
White Pine Trees, in one or more Bodies 
where the same may be found most 
abounding with such Trees, and lying as 
near as possible to the Sea, or near some 
Navigable Rivers." This truly magni- 
ficent offer is followed by an eloquent and 
exhaustive peroration on the general 
features and physical advantages of the 
colony : 

" It may soon become of great service to the 
Kingdom of Great Britain in taking off many of 
its Manufactures in Exchange for Hemp, Flax, 
Masts, Iron, and all other Navall Stores which 
this Country is very capable of producing, As well 
Furrs, Fish, Oyl, and Whalebone, besides furnish- 
ing the Sugar Colonys with Provisions, Boards, 
Slaves, and other necessarys. It will add to the 
Revenue by the Quitrents about ^"20,000 per 
annum; and add to the Honour of the Crown in 
extending and securing the Dominions, and the 
Trade and Fishery of the Nation, enlarging its 
number of subjects by the Addition of Foreign 
Protestants from the Palatinate, Switzerland, etc., 
and securing its northern Colony and Limitts, and 
that, too, with very little if any expence to the 
Crown. It is to be hoped, therefore, that this 
fine Country will no longer lie unimproved and 
neglected, especially as the French in that neigh- 
bourhood are doing everything that is possible to 
extend their Dominions and settlements, and have 
begun to make encroachments on the English 
rights in the Western Parts of the Province of the 



Massachusetts Bay, and in the Northern Parts of 
Nova Scotia. . . . Such a colony as is here pro- 
posed to be erected in Nova Scotia, joyned with 
the other Northern Provinces, may, with the assist- 
ance of Great Britain, be able to curb the growing 
power of the French in Canada, or Nova France, 
and finally be a means for the King of Great 
Britain to acquire and hold the sole Sovereignty of 
all North America.''' 

Read in the light of subsequent events, 
this document bears marked testimony to 
the feelings of a man who, whatever else 
he was, was British to the heart. 

It will be seen that Waldo was one of 
the first to sound that warning note, which 
was ere long to ring through the forests 
and farms of Acadia. 

To revert now to the year 1745, when 
an expedition was first suggested against 
Louisburg by the Assembly of Massachu- 
setts, it seems perfectly clear that the 
moving mind in this convention was 
Governor Shirley. Certain British officers 
arriving at Boston from Louisburg, re- 
ported a mutinous state of affairs in the 
French garrison, which kindled the idea 
in Shirley's mind that now or never must 
the scheme be tried. At first the assem- 
bly declined to support the motion, fear- 
ing the superior numbers and tactics of 
the French, but finally agreed to attempt 
the reduction of Cape Breton with 3,250 
volunteers, depending also on help from 
the royal authorities. On the 25th of 
January, 1745, preparations began, and 
the reader who may be anxious for a 
more picturesque account of these pro- 
ceedings than I can give, can be referred 
to no better place than Hawthorne's 
"Grandfather's Chair." That it was a 
rash undertaking is certain, but there was 
a spirit of daring and of patriotism in it 
which carried its projectors through to 
success and made their fame. Bells rang, 
drums beat, all the old firearms in the 
country were brought out and polished, 
and seven weeks after the little colonial 
force was ready to start under the 
command of General Pepperell, Brigadier 
General Waldo, Colonels Moulton, Hale, 
Willard, Richmond, Dwight and Gridley. 
Pepperell was a wealthy merchant and, 
after much consideration, was chosen by 
Governor Shirley to undertake the com- 
mand. Everything went as well as could 
be expected until a message was received, 

the day before the sailing of the New 
England fleet, that Commodore Warren 
refused to co-operate. I do not see that 
much blame can attach to the English 
commander, for the odds were tremen- 
dous and were more clearly known to him 
than to the raw and inexperienced forces 
he was asked to ally himself with. Shir- 
ley communicated with the home govern- 
ment, and later the fleet sailed away for 
Louisburg, where it was much wanted. 
The disposition of the New England 
troops was in this wise : Massachusetts 
contributed in all a force of 3,400 men, 
including artillery, under Lieutenant-Col- 
onel Gridley and Colonel Dwight, men 
for whale boats, and a company of car- 
penters under Captain Bernard ; Connec- 
ticut sent one regiment under Wolcott, 
governor of the province ; New Hamp- 
shire one regiment, under Colonel More ; 
and about thirteen boats in all were fur- 
nished from all three Provinces. About 
thirty-four guns was the extent of their 
artillery ; and with this insignificant force 

— for such it was — these men, Pepperell, 
Waldo and Wolcott, advanced upon the 
massive stone walls and parapets of 
Louisburg. The city of Louisburg itself 

— while strictly a fortress, walled and 
bristling with hundreds of cannon — was 
still a city, divided rectangularly by streets 
as ordinary towns are, extending about 
five miles each way, from north to south 
and from east to west. A walled city, to 
denizens of the New World, is always an 
object of great interest. As the tourist 
who should pass outside the picturesque 
pile of Chepstow Castle or Haddon Hall 
and think he is seeing all when he sees 
the curious loopholes, the slits that serve 
for windows, the half-ruined towers, the 
glimpse of turret and archway, never 
seeking to inquire for the green sward of 
the back parterres ; the sloping terraces, 
the wealth of life and beauty and quaint 
mediaeval charm behind the doors, so the 
reader who looks at Lieutenant-Colonel 
Gridley's map of Louisburg and estimates 
it as a fortress and nothing more, makes 
a very great mistake. Behind those solid 
walls, which the powerful Louis never 
dreamed would be dismantled twice by 
the English, lay a town, alive, human, 
confident, nursing the fallacious hope 



that its safety lay in its barriers and 
bridges, and that no enemy could ever 
disturb them. Everything in the con- 
struction of this mighty fortress was ar- 
ranged with an eye to the glory of France 
and with the thought of the splendors of 
the old land. The gates were the Queen's 
Gate, Dauphin Gate, Frederick's Gate, and 
the Maurepas Gate. Bridges to all these 
led over the ditch which surrounded the 
city. Proceeding west after entering 
Queen's Gate we should first of all have 
passed the Queen's Bastion ; then walk- 
ing along the ramparts we should have 
passed into the main citadel, around 
which were clustered the barracks, the 
governor's apartments, the chapel and 
the guard-house. After making the tour 
of these buildings, we might emerge upon 
one of the many places d'armes where the 
French soldiers would doubtless have 
been engaged in military exercises. A 
square place beyond the first place men- 
tioned was the general parade ground ; and 
in what we should call the next block was 
situated the nunnery. Returning to the 
ramparts by way of the Place d'Armes, 
we should have encountered the immense 
lime kiln, ordnance store, and general 
storehouses ; and walking northwest we 
should have reached the Dauphin Bastion 
and Dauphin Gate, defended by an im- 
mense circular battery. Retracing our 
steps and walking due west, we should 
have passed the Frederick's Gate, Battery 
la Grave, crossed a long bridge over a 
pond of considerable size, and reached 
the Maurepas Bastion. From here we 
should have proceeded almost due north, 
gained the Brouillan Bastion, passed the 
picquet line, glanced at the Prince's Bas- 
tion and, turning a few yards west, gained 
again the Queen's Gate and the bridge, 
by which we had entered. This route 
would have followed a kind of irregular 
circle and will serve us as we traverse 
in thought the mighty fortress so superbly 
planned and erected. 

The 30th of April is usually given as 
the day of the arrival at Gabarus Bay — 
a bay so large that the " entire British 
navy may ride in it with safety." The 
first engagement took place that day, the 
colonial forces suffering no loss, but the 
French losing eight men killed and ten 

taken prisoners. Waldo comes into sight 
on the 2d of May, when a battery of 
thirty guns was deserted by the French in 
the most inexcusable hurry, they having 
been alarmed by the burning of several 
storehouses in the harbor of the town. 
The following day Waldo's regiment seized 
these guns, thereby winning a most im- 
portant position. Upon this signal vic- 
tory, if it may be called such, the English 
troops proceeded at great risk and much 
personal suffering to erect five batteries 
against the town, mounted with the few 
guns they had brought with them. On 
the 1 6th of May the great west gate and 
flank of the citadel were destroyed by a 
small circular battery supported by Rich- 
mond's regiment. On the 20th of May 
Tidcomb's battery was erected and after- 
wards was " of great service in destroy- 
ing the circular battery." On the 26th 
of May an attempt was made to take the 
great Island battery of thirty twenty-eight- 
pounders, by which the English lost sixty 
men " killed and drowned " and one hun- 
dred and sixteen taken prisoners. This 
repulse only stimulated the colonists to 
greater endeavors, and on the nth of 
June, Gorham's regiment erected a small 
circular battery on the northeast main- 
land, by which the French guns were 
eventually taken. 

Finally on the 17 th of June, after a 
siege of forty-nine days, Louisburg capit- 
ulated, and thus a decisive and ominous 
blow was dealt at the power and posses- 
sions of the French arms in America. 

Various have been the opinions ex- 
pressed by writers of that day and of this 
w'th respect to the peculiar circumstances 
under which this signal feat was 
achieved. Some chroniclers have recog- 
nized in it the superior moral administra- 
tion and personal force of the Saxon 
Protestant race ; others have contended 
that the whole affair was a matter of 
chance, a historical accident for which 
the Fates alone were responsible. The 
curious sequel was that by the treaty of 
Aix la Chapelle, Louisburg was in a year 
or two ceded again to France, and thus 
all the suffering and privation, all the 
peril and prowess of the colonists and 
their English allies was lost, or compara- 
tively lost. 



Waldo, however, never lost sight of his 
favorite project. We find preserved in 
the archives l a, copy of a long letter 
which he wrote on the 7th of November, 
1757, to the Right Hon. William Pitt, 
giving a great mass of " intimations," and 
very shrewd ones too, as to methods of 
military procedure in case a further at- 
tempt at the reduction of Quebec should 
be determined on. The best time for 
the expedition, he writes, would be 
" about the latter end of April or the be- 
ginning of May, the coast being then clear 
of ice, the weather then good and daily 
growing better, and no annoyance then 
arising from Foggs." He concludes : 
" It can't reasonably be supposed that 
Louisbourg, by effectual measures being 
taken, can hold out above fourteen days 
after being invested, but should the siege 
continue a month it will afterwards be the 
very best season in the year for an at- 
tempt upon Quebec, in which, with good 
pilots and a sufficient force by sea, and 

1 Canadian Archives report for 1886: Secret and Miscella- 
neous Papers, 1756- 1761, page 74. 

one that can be depended on to join in 
aid by land, *the wished for success may 
be expected." 

From his very comprehensive letter, 
accompanied by two careful plans, it may 
be inferred that Samuel Waldo had made 
the most of his unusual opportunities. 
If his name be not an illustrious one, it is 
at least deserving of remembrance. That 
Britain was not blind to the endeavors of 
her New England subjects to secure her 
rights in North America appears from the 
fact of that million dollars which arrived 
in Boston Harbor in 1749. Hawthorne 
has said that " every warlike achievement 
involves an amount of physical and moral 
evil for which all the gold in the Spanish 
mines would not be the slightest recom- 

" But we are to consider that this siege 
was one of the occasions on which the 
colonists tested their ability for war and 
thus were prepared for the great contest 
of the Revolution. In that point of view 
the valor of our forefathers was its own 


By Charles Howard Shinn. 

THERE was a sheep-herder in the 
Kern River country, California, — 
a blue-eyed, yellow-haired man, 
who used to write me letters. He will 
never write any more ; he is dead, and 
the little flock that he tended so well, 
and which provided him with his food and 
clothing, is astray in the mountains, de- 
stroyed by wild animals, or gathered into 
some ranchman's larger flock. 

Jan owned his sheep and herded them 
himself. His range — and a good one it 
was, though small — lay between the 
forks of the river, an enormous promon- 
tory accessible only by a narrow trail 
between the rocks. He had no relations 
in the state, and, as he often wrote me, 
wanted no company except his books 

and his sheep. But when I first met Jan 
he was a wealthy and handsome young 
fellow, the pride of his township, and 
considered the best " catch " in the re- 
gion for any one of the bright-eyed 
farmers' daughters. Poor Jan, to lose 
all his possessions except a few old books 
and a few silly sheep, and to die in the 
mountains with no companion except his 
dog ! Poor Jan ? Well, I am not so 
sure about that. His letters never struck 
me that way. Sometimes they were so 
sweet and kindly, so simple, childlike 
and invigorating, that I used to say to 
myself: " Happy Jan! fortunate, plucky 
Jan ! " 

Still, it was a grave disaster, and men 
talk of it to this day, down in the " Dutch 



settlement " out on the moist lands in the 
heart of the valley, where the jansen 
farm lies. It goes by that name still 
among the old folk, you know. 

The Jansens were Danes ; but Low 
Germans, High Germans and all the 
Scandinavian people come under the 
general phrase " Dutch " in our part of 
the country. When Jan came over, a 
jolly, sweet-tempered, lovable fellow of 
twenty-two or three, just out of the best 
schools of Copenhagen, he sometimes 
tried to explain that he was anything ex- 
cept Dutch or German, that he was a 
Dane, with Ogier the paladin, and Cnut 
the conqueror, for his heroes. It was of 
no avail, however ; he was always " Dutch 
Jansen " to the end of the chapter. 

The elder jansen came to California 
early in the fifties. He left the mines 
alone, and planted cabbages, which he 
took to a sloop that plied on the sloughs, 
and sold for twenty-five dollars a wheel- 
barrow load. He bought more land, and 
raised more cabbages to buy more land 
with. Then his wife, who had been a 
faithful money-getter, died suddenly and 
left Jan, the only child. Jan, when ten 
years old was sent to Copenhagen, like a 
bale of goods, in charge of bluff Captain 
Bagge of the wheat-clipper Jutland. 
There were relatives in Copenhagen, 
nice, dignified, official people, who moved 
in diplomatic circles, and were much 
ashamed of the cabbage garden, whose 
one redeeming virtue was that it was so 
far away from Denmark. Among their 
friends they talked occasionally of their 
eccentric millionnaire cousin, who owned 
a large estate in California, and when a 
pretty girl said : " I suppose he grows 
oranges and has a vineyard," they said: 
" Certainly." And they burned the let- 
ters in which the elder Jansen spoke so 
proudly of his acres on acres of cab- 
bages, beets, cucumbers and onions, all 
so profitable, and so dreadfully common- 

Little Jan was very bright, and was 
made much of by his fine relatives, who 
came to look upon him as almost their 
own son. They made plans to keep him 
with them always, to have him get into 
the Government service, and marry the 
chief counsellor's second daughter. They 

brought him into notice in the proper 
directions, and affairs went so well that 
by the time Jan graduated with honors, 
there seemed to be no more promising 
young man in all Copenhagen. They 
would not have wished for a change in 
any direction except one, and really that 
was but a slight matter, a thing to be 
outgrown in a little while. 

The fact was that Jan at twenty-one 
was almost too gentle, too thoughtful, too 
willing to give up his way, when no prin- 
ciple was involved, and altogether too 
stubborn about some foolish notions. 
Perhaps he stayed too much with that 
poet and story-maker, Hans Christian 
Andersen, who liked the young man 
exceedingly. Perhaps he was trying to 
write books himself, and that were a fool- 
ish piece of business, not half so sensible 
as to be a district magistrate, or an 
Under Inspector of Forests, with an 
official residence, and a pension after 
twenty years' service. But the best way 
to cure the lad's distemper, said his rela- 
tives, was to fetch him fairly on the path 
that led to matrimony. Wherefore, the 
counsellor's second daughter was invited 
to spend a fortnight at the country house, 
and it was strongly hinted to quiet Jan 
that she was lovely, modest, well-to-do, 
and uncommonly m demand. So deftly 
was all this managed that hardly less than 
a miracle could have prevented the de- 
sired result. Hardly had the fortnight 
half gone before the good aunts and un- 
cles would have refused to give a rix- 
dollar for a guaranty of their scheme, 
so much was Jan interested in the pretty 
girl. Nor, to say truth, was she indiffer- 
ent. Then came that unfortunate letter. 

It must needs be told that Jan's 
mother had possessed the greater share 
of the family acumen. She had first 
suggested cabbages, and the plank walk 
to the slough ; she had counselled land, 
and more land, and yet more. When 
she died, the elder Jansen ceased to be 
aggressive, though Jan thought that his 
father could hold what he had. But here 
came a long letter, the first from the old 
man for nearly a year, and it was full of 
things to make the son reflect. Rail- 
roads were racing up the valley, anxious 
to get the traffic ; new towns were bios- 



soming out from tents new-pitched to-day 
to orderly communities, and three-story 
buildings of a month later ; mighty spec- 
ulative enterprises, long vaguely fore- 
shadowed, had suddenly burst upon the 
quiet farms of the "Dutch settlement." 
And who so willing, so active, so ready 
to take stock in the brickyards, the 
lumber syndicate, the new hotel, the 
street cars to Milpitas, as the merry- 
hearted old cabbage-grower? How every- 
thing had prospered, too ; the original 
six acres of the truck farm on which the 
Jansens had begun life was worth a hun- 
dred dollars a front foot for business 
blocks in the new county seat ! Yet 
there was an underlying note of anxiety. 
" If this goes on, you shall be three times 
over a millionnaire," wrote the elder Jan- 
sen ; and a minute later, " every one is 
in it"; and yet again, "It is not possi- 
ble that prices can go back now." 

" Poor father ! " said Jan, remember- 
ing some of his mother's last words, 
impressed strongly on his mind by ear- 
nestness and repetition, " I am going out 
there to help him." He left Copenha- 
gen two days later, and he never went 

There was plenty of talk when Jan 
Jansen came home to the California farm. 
His father was thought very rich, director 
in many companies, and a shrewd man 
of business. Jan was his only child and 
heir. Besides, he was most pleasant to 
look upon, and as bright and modest as 
he was handsome. His English speech 
was better than if it had been perfect ; 
it had the most entrancing little ripple 
and accent, that you hoped he could 
never lose. As I said at the first of this 
story, he was " the pride of the town- 

Jan threw his whole weight into busi- 
ness, and pretty soon found that, as he 
suspected, matters were serious. Inter- 
est charges ate up the income. Lands, 
houses, and securities sold at a profit had 
been bought back for another rise, and 
were dependent in the last analysis upon 
local politics. The other town at the 
end of the valley wanted to be the county 
seat, and the new settlements in the foot- 
hills might turn the scale. Wise specu- 
lators were hedging on the sly, but Jansen 

had no margin left to work on. So all 
that summer, Jan, who had not forgotten 
Copenhagen, wrestled with the finances 
of the family. The old man leaned more 
and more on his patient, deliberate, 
straightforward methods. The careful, 
conservative banking element said among 
themselves that there was good stuff in 
young Jansen. Here a sale of land at 
cost, there a debt refunded at lower in- 
terest. No more waste or speculation. 
The few men who were on the inside 
began to think that Jansen's resources 
were larger than they had supposed. 
The young man knew as election-day 
approached that even if the county-seat 
was moved, the property could be sold 
so as to " clean up " a few thousand dol- 
lars. " Enough for Copenhagen," he 
thought, "for people live quietly there." 

Rising tides of contending parties ; 
undercurrents, black and corrupt ; fiery 
speeches and clangorous brass bands ; 
seething saloons, running with beer and 
brandy ! — wilder and more turbulent 
beat the public pulse all that last week, 
till Jan thought he was in the midst of 
civil war. Then the election, the great 
crowds struggling and shouting, the 
gleams of hope alternating with despair. 
Midnight : all the telegraph wires sang 
pseans for the village on the other side 
of the valley ; Jan went home to comfort 
his father, and plan for the sale of the 

The elder Jansen was visibly broken 
long before the famous county- seat elec- 
tion contest was over with. It lasted six 
months, and all the prominent lawyers 
took part. The old county seat crowd 
put up the money — all but the Jansens. 
"The elections were fair enough," they 
said. "Whiskey, bribery, illegal voting? 
Possibly — and on both sides." None 
of the politicians took any comfort from 
this view of the case. Major Sourmash 
often referred to the Jansens as " refu- 
gees, sir, from the monarchical institu- 
tions of Europe ; unable, sir, to under- 
stand our republican system. The im- 
pressive spectacle, sir, of a free people 
appealing to the judiciary to regulate the 
elections is wholly lost upon Dutch 

Jan worked day and night until he 



understood exactly how affairs stood. 
At least he thought he knew. " Father," 
he said, " if you will draw that fifteen 
thousand dollars out of the Savings 
Bank, and let all the land go, every acre, 
we shall have about twenty thousand dol- 
lars left to invest as we please." 

" My boy," was the hesitating answer, 
" it is not in the bank now. I am sure 
it is just as safe." 

" Where is it?" 

" Lent to Wilhelm Elerhorst for better 
interest. He is good as wheat ; every 
one trusts him." 

Jan struggled with himself. He did 
not know why he felt so badly over the 
fact. Elerhorst was reputed to be very 
rich ; it was true that many of the neigh- 
bors let him keep their surplus funds, 
sometimes without interest. A genial, 
generous fellow, one of the pioneers of 
the valley, and yet — Jan determined to 
ride to town and ask about Elerhorst's 
standing. He found the ex-county seat 
shaken as by a whirlwind. Men were 
gathered in groups, talking loudly and 
crying for vengeance ; women and chil- 
dren were clustered about, listening to 
the talk ; extras from the press of the 
local newspaper were being passed around. 
He rode up and took one that was taken 
and given in silence. These were the 
headings, a full-face screamer : " Wilhelm 
Elerhorst Disappears. Defaulter for 
Thousands of Dollars. Many Farmers 

Jan folded the paper up, put it into 
his pocket, and went home without a 
word. The old man grew weaker, and 
lost his interest in affairs, but Jan held 
on, paid up every debt, and went to the 
mountains with his father. There the 
worn-out pioneer died and was buried. 
The boy came back for a time, and lived 
in a small cottage, the first that his pa- 
rents had built . after cabbage-growing 
began to pay. He moved his library, his 
manuscripts, and personal effects to the 
old house that he had kept because it 
was worth so little, and for the first time 
for two years he had a long rest, and 
began to read and study again. 

There was an old banker in San Fran- 
cisco who had watched Jan Jansen's ca- 
reer with much interest. He wrote him 

and made a flattering offer. "We can 
use your business talent, your firmness 
and honesty. You can have a place in 
our bank." Jan knew how unusual such 
an offer was, and it had an attractive side ; 
in Copenhagen bank cashiers were some- 
body, and he knew he could work his 
way up to that. Yes ! he would accept ; 
in a day or two he would go to the city 
to thank his friend, and to begin work. 

A neighbor drove past, and tossed him 
a letter — Danish ; the seal of a relative 
at whose house he had lived so long. 
Such friendly and pleasant letters as the 
aunts and cousins wrote ! He broke the 
seal and read to the end ; he put the 
letter in his pocket and went to the 
sloughs. He took a boat and rowed for 
hours along the wide, lonely channels of 
blue, still waters, till the tules and cat- 
tail walls changed to low marsh-grass 
expanses on the very borders of the ship 
channels. Here, in a place so lonely 
that hardly once in ten years had any 
one found it, on a square rod of sand, 
miles from track of hunter's punt, or 
fisher-boat, was an old scow half over- 
turned, and propped up against a pile of 
driftwood ; a poor, half-insane man had 
once lived there for a summer, and then 
wandered off, no one knew where. 

Jan stayed for hours on the desolate 
island. The darkness came, but he knew 
one paragraph in the letter by heart long 
before he had left the cottage. It re- 
ferred to the daughter of the counsellor. 
" Hilga has been the social queen all 
winter, and now she is to be married to 
an officer in the navy, a vice-admiral's 
son. She spoke of you the other day ; 
she said you wrote such charming letters 
that she could almost see California, and 
she hoped so much that all your affairs 
would come out right. You must write a 
book, she said ; you could be a poet ; in 
fact, you were one already. I am so 
glad, dear boy, that you have written her 
only friendly letters, the way things have 
turned out, and that you will not feel 
badly over this. For truly, the whole 
family have climbed so fast of late that 
there is talk of her father for Chancellor, 
and I don't know how many other super- 
lative offices." 

" Only friendly letters ! " said Jan to 



himself. " Only friendly letters ! " The 
moon rose and found him on the sand in 
the shelter of the scow, sitting like one 
lost, crying out at times in turbulence of 
soul : 

" Hilga knows," he said once : " she 
knows that I will not trouble her life. 
But I thought that all was plain between 
us forever, and I cannot let go ; I cannot 
even now." 

Then the man stretched out like one 
dying, and gripped hard to the sand, 
weeping and wild. It is well for us some- 
times that no other mortal hears the 
things we say ; it is well that we ourselves 
forget the form and fashion of them, for 
they are dreadful as perdition ; they put 
the smell of fire on our garments. 

The summer sunrise was rosy-purple in 
the east over Mission Peak, as Jan left 
the island in the sloughs, and went home 
to his cottage. Henceforth, he had de- 
cided, he might live as he chose. No 
banking or active business, but a life of 
study in the Sierras. Perhaps it was a 
foolish plan ; but he always seemed to 
make whatever he did appear the only 
possible thing to do. He simply took 
his five thousand dollars or so, bought a 
few hundred sheep, and two claims, one 
in a sheltered valley for winter, the other 
for summer pasture and far up in the 
Sierras. Then he spent all the rest of 
his money, a couple of thousand dollars, 
for a wedding gift for Hilga, and he wrote 
her a manly and brief letter, wishing her 
happiness. Then he trudged off, driving 
his flock, and when he was fairly settled 
in his cabin, I sent him the books he 

After a little he found that he could 

clear three or four hundred dollars a year, 
and he never failed to spend half of it 
for books. He became a botanist and 
naturalist, and for ten or twelve years he 
lived this peaceful life in the moun- 

At first blush it seems a sad story — a 
lost fortune and faithless sweetheart, to 
use the plain word. But I assure you 
that none of his friends ever thought so. 
It was impossible not to feel that he had 
outgrown it all, and that his life was both 
large and full. His old banker friend 
once spent a week with him in the Kern 
River country, and when he came back, 
said : " That man is free from all the 
aches, pains, and worries that beset the 
rest of us. Sometimes when you are 
with him you feel as if he was as large 
as all outdoors." 

" Found dead in his cabin — heart 
disease," was what a correspondent of 
the Kern Gazette wrote. "Tramps," he 
continued, " fired the cabin a few days 
after the burial, and the next time your 
reporter passed the spot, there was only 
a pile of ashes to mark it. The sheep 
were scattered in the canons, and the 
place was frightfully desolate. Poor Jan- 
sen, who was once rich and respected, 
must have been an unusually hard case 
to have degenerated into a tramp sheep- 

How Jan himself, who had a rare hu- 
mor of his own, would have enjoyed that 
paragraph ! It summed up the mere sur- 
face of the event ; the underlying real- 
ities were of quite another sort. There 
are those who gather strength for their 
hours of weakness from memories of Jan 


It is a noteworthy and impressive fact, that 
Lowell's last important task was the revision of 
his works for publication in the new uniform edi- 
tion — the first complete uniform edition — which 
now lies on the table, a joy to the eye, while the 
tolling bell still sounds in the ear. These ten 
noble volumes are his great monument, and a 
fitting memorial and symbol in their fair com- 
pleteness of the complete life that is ended. It 
is a peculiar blessing to have these placed in the 
hands at this time; for it is in turning their uni- 
form pages, volume by volume, greeting the old 
familiar titles in solid phalanx and in this most 
favorable setting, that we realize with new and 
deeper force the greatness and the opulence of 
the author's mind. Second only to Emerson 
among American writers, — such we think will be 
the verdict of literary history, — no other Ameri- 
can writer has been so representative of the 
American mind, and no other has been so many 
sided. As a poet, no other has touched so many 
strings. Wit, humor, satire, pathos, prophecy, 
wrath, warning, lamentation, — there is no quality 
which he seems to lack, no instrument which he 
fails to use, no great mood to which he does not 
give great expression. Equally great in prose 
and poetry, he was equally great as scholar and 
man of affairs, lover of gardens as lover of town, 
true American citizen and true citizen of the 
world; his Cambridge "the very best spot on the 
habitable globe," yet none more native to West- 
minster, none more at home with Miles Standish 
and John Winthrop, none more with Edmund 
Spenser and Lessing and Dante. He was at 
once the most local of men and the most 
universal of men. He is affectionate neighbor to 
each Elmwood teamster and bobolink and dande- 
lion, homesick always when far oft from " old 
Harvard's scholar factories " ; and yet 

" his fatherland must be 
As the blue heaven wide and free ! 

Where'er a human heart doth wear 
Joy's myrtle-wreath or sorrow's gyves, 
Where'er a human spirit strives 

After a life more true and fair, .... 
Where'er one man may help another, — 
Thank God for such a birthright, brother! — 
There is the true man's birthplace grand, 
His is a world-wide fatherland! " 

In the pages of no other American writer do 
we find such a mirror of the American life of the 
time in which he lived, with all its varied political 
and literary interests. In the pages of no other 
do we find so many windows through which to 
look out upon the broad fields of the world's his- 
tory and literature and civilization. A thorough 
acquaintance with all that Lowell wrote is a lib- 
eral education. No American can afford to be 
without this acquaintance. There should be no 
American home without this noble monument, 
whose last stone the great man polished and then 

It was a fitting and significant thing that Lowell 

should call the little magazine which he started so 
courageously in 1843 The Pioneer; for he was 
himself a pioneer, a radical, and a reformer, from 
the beginning to the end, and this it seems to us 
is the central thing to be observed concerning 
him. In his Birmingham address on " Democracy," 
in 1884, he spoke of himself as "by temperament 
and education of a conservative turn." This is 
true enough if by conservatism he meant a rever- 
ence for history and the heritage of civilization, a 
hatred of disorder and impatience, and a love of 
the things that stand for culture. In this sense is 
not every scholar and every thoughtful man a con- 
servative ? Every thoughtful man dreads " violent 
changes," because history has taught him how 
often these fail to go to the root of the matter and 
really give that education which must somehow be 
given in order to make the change constitutional 
and valid. But if by conservatism he meant content 
with the existing state of things and the spirit that 
says, " Let well enough alone," then Lowell was 
not conservative by temperament, and was still 
less so by conviction. " Reform, therefore, with- 
out bravery or scandal of former times and per- 
sons; but yet set it down to thyself as well to 
create good precedents as to follow them" — that 
was the motto from Lord Bacon which he set on 
the cover of The Pioneer, and that was the 
dominant, irrepressible feeling of the man, both as 
concerns literature and as concerns politics, from 
the days of The Pioneer and of the aggressive, 
almost defiant Americanism of the Table for 
Critics, to the Socialism of this same Birmingham 
address of 1884. "Socialism means, or wishes 
to mean," he said here — and this at the very 
time when men were talking most about his con- 
servative and aristocratic tendencies — "co-opera- 
tion and community of interests, sympathy, the 
giving to the hands not so large a share as to the 
brains, but a larger share than hitherto, in the 
wealth they must combine to produce — means, 
in short, the practical application of Christianity to 
life, and has in it the secret of an orderly and 
benign reconstruction." And social reconstruction 
in some manner he held to be inevitable. "There 
has been no period of time in which wealth has 
been more sensible of its duties than now. It 
builds hospitals, it establishes missions among the 
poor, it endows schools. It is one of the ad- 
vantages of accumulated wealth, and of the leisure 
it renders possible, that people have time to think 
of the wants and sorrows of their fellows. But all 
those remedies are partial and palliative merely. 
It is as if we should apply plasters to a single 
pustule of the small-pox with a view of driving out 
the disease. The true way is to discover and to 
extirpate the germs. As society is now con- 
stituted these are in the air it breathes, in the 
water it drinks, in the things that seem, and which 
it has always believed to be the most innocent 
and healthful. The evil elements it neglects cor- 
rupt these in their springs and pollute them in 
their courses." This word was spoken in almost 
his last political address, an address inspired 



throughout with that same desire and demand for 
"a wider and wiser humanity" which inspired 
"The Legend of Sir Launfal "; and it is the gos- 
pel of the cardinal reform of to-day. He knows well, 
with his broad and tender human sympathy and 
his instinct for justice, that almost every noise at 
the gate which frightens the comfortable and 
complacent folk " turns out at worst to be a poor 
relation who wishes to come in out of the cold "; 
and he ranges himself on the side of innovation 
and experiment and large hospitality with a joy- 
ous and buoyant confidence. 

It was after the Pioneer magazine had run its 
short course that Lowell gave the same title, " The 
Pioneer," to one of his poems, a poem which 
throbs with the spirit of progress and reform and 

" Come out, then, from the old thoughts and old ways, 
Before you harden to a crystal cold 
Which the new life can shatter, but not mould." 

So he sings in his poem; and this same pioneer- 
ing spirit, this spirit of democracy, of simple 
humanity, we find everywhere. It speaks in the 
great lines of the " Commemoration Ode " and 
"Under the Willows," in the beautiful poem on 
Burns, in that very Burns-like poem, " The Heri- 
tage," in those poems like "A Parable" and 
"The Search," in which the central idea of 
"Launfal" finds varying expression, in the 
poems " To the Past " and " To the Future," in 
the grand "Ode" which appeared among his 
earlier poems, in the "Ode to France" and in 
the fine sonnet beginning, 

" The Hope of Truth grows stronger day by day; 
I hear the soul of Man around me waking." 

Indeed, as one begins upon a list of this sort, one 
sees that the list can hardly have an end. Every- 
where in Lowell is this spirit of reform and of the 
pioneer, from the half dozen democratic and pro- 
phetic songs in the little collection of the " Earlier 
Poems," to the " Epistle to George William Curtis," 
in " Heartsease and Rue',' which seems to us the 
most significant of Lowell's later self-revelations. 

Lowell was a reformer his whole life long, 
always turning from the purely literary studies 
and the purely literary creation, which were such 
delight to him, to the tumult of affairs, because 
he had the Puritan conscience which would not 
let him rest while wrongs and injustice were 
about him. He knew that he was as much 
preacher as singer; it was the way he character- 
ized himself in the " Fable for Cities " : 

" His lyre has some chords that would ring pretty well, 
But he'd rather by half make a drum of the shell, 
And rattle away till he's old as Methusalem 
At the head of a march to the last new Jerusalem." 

But it is in the lines addressed to George William 
Curtis that he puts most impressively the conflict 
in his own nature between the pure man of letters 
and the reformer. Nothing could be more beauti- 
ful than the picture he paints here of the quiet, 
studious Elmwood days, the garden walks, the 
library hours, the communion with nature and 
with poets. 

" For years I had these treasures, knew their worth, 
Estate most real man can have on earth. 
I sank too deep in this soft-stuffed repose 
That hears but rumors of earth's wrongs and woes; 
Too well these Capuas could my muscles waste, 
Not void of toils, but toils of choice and taste; 
These still had kept me could I but have quelled 
The Puritan drop that in my veins rebelled. 
But there were times when silent were my books 
As jailers are, and gave me sullen looks; 
When verses palled, and even the woodland path, 
By innocent contrast, fed my heart with wrath, 
And I must twist my little gift of words 
Into a scourge of rough and knotted cords 
Unmusical, that whistle as they swing 
To leave on shameless backs their purple sting." 

This is just the same in its spirit and purport as 
those lines of Whittier published forty years 
before in Lowell's Pioneer: 

" From youthful hopes — from each green spot 
Of young Romance and gentle thought, 
Where storm and tumult enter not, 

" From each fair altar, where belong 
The offerings Love requires of Song 
In homage to her bright-eyed throng, 

" I turned to Freedom's struggling band — 
To Freedom's cause proscribed and bann'd — 
To the sad Helots of our land" — 

or as that still more noteworthy bit of Whittier's 
self-revelation in the closing lines of " The Pano- 
rama " : 

" Oh, not of choice, for themes of public wrong 
I leave the green and pleasant paths of song, — 
The mild sweet words which soften and adorn, 
For griding taunt and bitter laugh of scorn. 
More dear to me some song of native worth, — 
Some homely idyl of my native North, 
Some summer pastoral of her inland vales. 
Or, grim and weird, her winter fireside tales, 
Haunted by ghosts of unreturning sails. . . . 
And if no song of idlesse I have sung, 
Nor tints of beauty on the canvas flung, — 
If the harsh numbers grate on tender ears, 
And the rough picture overwrought appears, — 
With deeper coloring, with a sterner blast, 
Before my soul a voice and vision passed, 
Such as might Milton's jarring trump require, 
Or glooms of Dante fringed with lurid fire." 

The most impressive word perhaps which has 
been spoken concerning Lowell since his death 
was that spoken by Mr. Curtis at the recent gath- 
ering at the Academy in Ashfield. It was a word 
of rebuke for those who in this latest time have 
been free in their criticisms of Mr. Lowell for 
his sharp words upon vicious tendencies in our 
American politics. These strictures of his have 
been so hotly resented in some quarters as to 
draw a shower of unpleasant epithets, making not 
a few who were big enough and old enough to 
know better talk of him loosely as un-American, 
as denationalized, as Europeanized. Never were 
utterances more paltry or profane. Never was 
stauncher American or stauncher democrat than 
James Russell Lowell; and the rebuke of his 
critics and the eulogy of him as the very type of 
the best American citizenship came fittingly from 
the lips of Mr. Curtis. 

The noble lines which Lowell prefixed to his 
" Three Memorial Poems " showed how deeply 
he had felt the criticisms which had been made 
upon him, as well as reasserted the duty of the 
citizen and the patriot to love his country only 
" so as honor would," not dethroning judgment, 
and not failing to speak the bitter word whenever 



"public shames 'wm "more shameful pardon." 
Mr. Curtis's tribute recalls how it was in the lines 
which Lowell addressed to himself that this sub- 
ject was also so impressively touched upon. We 
have spoken of this " Epistle to George William 
Curtis " as the most important of Lowell's later 
self-revelations. The first part of it was written 
in 1874, when the storm against Lowell for his 
allusion to America, in the Ode to Agassiz, as 
the " land of broken promise " was fiercest. Even 
Curtis, it appears, had been pained and offended. 
The most valuable part of the poem is the poet's 
defence of himself. He speaks of his high hopes 
of the republic and his great dreams of its future, 
he speaks of the young martyrs who poured out 
their blood to save the country in her hour of 
need, and of the ampler atmosphere which he 
looked to see blown clear by the electric gust of 
the war. 

" I looked for this; consider what I see — 
But I forbear, 'twould please nor you nor me 
To check the items in the bitter list 
Of all I counted on and all I mist. 
Only three instances I choose from all, 
And each enough to stir a pigeon's gall: 
Office a fund for ballot-brokers made 
To pay the drudges of their gainful trade; 
Our cities taught what conquered cities feel 
By aediles chosen that they might safely steal ; 
And gold, however got, a title fair 
To such respect as only gold can bear." 

With this enumeration of what were and what 
remain our three great dangers and disgraces — 
corruption at the ballot-box, the misrule of our 
cities, and the vulgar worship of money — he has- 
tens to the close. 

" Was I too bitter? Who his phrase can choose, 
That sees the life-blood of his dearest ooze? 
I loved my Country so as only they 
Who love a mother fit to die for may; 
I loved her old renown, her stainless fame, — 
What better proof than that I loathed her shame? 
That many blamed me could not irk me long; 
But, if you doubted, must I not be wrong? 
'Tis not for me to answer: this I know, 
That man or race so prosperously low 

Sunk in success that wrath they cannot feel, 
Shall taste the spurn of parting Fortune's heel; 
For never land long lease of Empire won 
Whose sons sate silent when base deeds were done." 

This, we have said, was written in 1874. But 
it was not published then. It was " tost unfin- 
ished by," and left until 1887, when the touching 
postscript was added, telling of the sadness of the 
days at Elmwood after the return from England, 
and the memories of Longfellow and Emerson 
and those who had gone. But in adding this, the 
poet struck out nothing which he had written 
thirteen years before. In revising the Ode to 
Agassiz for the new edition, he did indeed change 
the phrase " land of broken promise " to " land 
of Honest Abraham." But we think the phrase 
had better have been left unchanged. Land of 
broken promise it is just as often as it is false to 
itself and its high calling. It is a weak people 
that resents honest criticism; and America has 
only reason to be grateful to Lowell for blushing 
at what was shameful in her politics, and for re- 
minding her people with righteous indignation 
and with power, that " a country worth saving is 
worth saving all the time." 
* * 

The picture of Mr. Lowell in his study at Elm- 
wood, which appears as the frontispiece to the 
present number of the magazine, is, we think, the 
last photograph ever made of Mr. Lowell. It 
was made by Mrs. J. H. Thurston of Cambridge, 
at the instance and for the use of Prof. J. W. 
McCammon, to whom Mr. Lowell gave kind 
assistance in connection with the preparation of 
an illustrated lecture upon the homes of American 
authors. It is by Mrs. Thurston's kindness that 
we are enabled to present it. 

Owing to the pressure of matter in the present 
number, the publication of Mrs. Heaton's serial 
story, "The Odor of Sanctity," is interrupted for 
a month. The next instalment will appear in the 
November number. 


The Indian Corn. 

O laughing, yellow-bearded Corn ! 

Thou art the heir, the eldest born; 
On every side through all our land 
Thy serried rank rejoicing stands, 

Thou lusty darling of the morn ! 

All dainty flowers we laugh to scorn; 
Thou fillest Plenty's golden horn, 
And food for all is in thy hand, 
O laughing, yellow-bearded Corn ! 

Our oriflamme thou shalt be borne; 

No race a nobler crest has worn 

Since Henry bore to high command 
Plant a-genet in old England; 

Come, thou ! our Goddess' cap adorn, 

O laughing, yellow-bearded Corn ! 

— Julia Taft Baync. 


In springtime days their young hearts dream 

Of love and tenderness, 
As, severed by a tiny stream, 

They seek a fond caress. 

And still as summer slips away 

Upon the shore they stand, 
And vainly strive from day to day 

To clasp the other's hand. 

The autumn comes; but undismayed 
They laugh, " Our goal we'll gain 

When winter's sprites for us have made 
This gulf a frozen plain." 

* * * . * * * * 

An icy path connects them now; 

The lovers still are there, 
But he's long since a withered bough 

And she, the vine, is bare. 

— Le Roy Phillips. 




New England Magazine. 

New Series. 

NOVEMBER, 1891. 

Vol. V. No. 3 


By Frank B. Sanborn. 

HE child is father of 
the man," said that 
poet with whom James 
Lowell was very early 
familiar ; and so we 
may look for intima- 
tions of the immortality which our poet 
has apparently received in the deeds 
and dreams of his boyhood. I once 
had a friend whose hobby was . heredity 
(or one of his hobbies, for he kept 
a stable full of them), who was not 
much at home in Wordsworth. Wish- 
ing to use this paradox of that poet 
as an illustration of his theme, but 
inverting it in his topsy-turvy mem- 
ory, he wrote, as a maxim of heredity, 
"The man is father of the child." I told 
him there was no disputing that, but 
perhaps he had better invoke some other 
authority. Both these epigrams were 
verified in the case of Lowell : his 
youth did foreshadow his maturity, but 
it was also the maturity of his father, his 
grandfather, and his great-grandfather, 
which reappeared in modern garb in his 
own middle and later life ; and, as happens 
with most of us, it was now one ancestor 
and now another, in the long line, who 
showed his traits in this most gifted of the 
Lowell family. At one time it was the 
tolerant, sensible, and learned father, Dr. 
Charles Lowell ; at another, the sturdy 
and political judge, his grandfather, or 
the pious and spirited old minister of 
Newburyport, Rev. John Lowell, his 

great-grandfather, of whom an anecdote 
or two has come down to us. Nay, the 
Boston cooper and shoemaker who were 
father and grandfather of Rev. John 
Lowell (born in 1703), with their plain 
mechanic virtues and their homely dialect, 
may have had much to do with the 
crowning glory of Lowell's career — his 
invention and perpetuation of Hosea Big- 
low/the perennial Yankee. These inter- 
mediate Lowells, coming between the 
half- mythical Percival of Newbury, with 
his romantic name, and the clerical John, 
first of the thirty whose names now stand 
in the catalogue of Harvard, — these 
handicraft Lowells partook, no doubt, of 
that thrifty vernacular character which 
Emerson praises in the churls around 
Monadnoc : 

" Will you learn our ancient speech? 
These the masters who can teach : 
Fourscore or a hundred words 
All their vocal muse affords; 
These they turn in other fashion 
Than the writer or the parson. 
For that hardy English root 
Thrives here, unvalued, underfoot; 
Rude poets of the tavern hearth 
Squandering your unquoted mirth, 
Which keeps the ground and never soars, 
While Jake retorts and Reuben roars." 

Let us fancy these craftsmen and lexi- 
cographers in the background, while we 
look at the clerkly line that has kept 
Harvard College so busy for one hundred 
and seventy years : Johannes, the first 
minister, graduated there in 1721 ; then 



followed three other Johannes, his nep- 
hew, son, and grandson, in 1753, 1760, 
and 1786; then the brothers of Johan- 
nes the Federalist, Francis Cabot, in 
1793, and Charles in 1800; and then a 
long line of Johns, Franks, Charleses, 
Edwards, Jameses and Percivals, down 
to 1 89 1. Charles, the youngest son of 
Judge John Lowell (who died in 1802), 
was born in 1782, graduated in the same 
class with Allston the painter and Chief- 
Justice Shaw, in 1800, studied law at 
home, theology in Edinburgh, and in 
1806 was ordained minister of the rich 
and flourishing West Church, where he 
preached for more than half a century. 
He, as we know, was the father of James 
Russell Lowell, — who was his youngest 
son, as he had been his father's youngest 
— and to this son imparted much of his 

consider the expediency of dismissing 
Rev. Thomas Barnard, then the minister 
of a church in Newbury." It was de- 
cided to release him from his life engage- 
ment in that town. The question then 
came up, should a recommendation be 
given him for another parish. " To this," 
said his grandson, Rev. Charles Lowell, 
" one of the council objected, unless he 
should ascertain, on inquiry, that Mr. 
Barnard believed the doctrine of the 
Trinity." Mr. Lowell rose, with much 
emotion and, addressing the moderator, 
said, " If that question is put, sir, I shall 
leave the room, and take no more part in 
this council." The question was not put, 
and Mr. Barnard was soon after ordained 
at the First Church in Salem. Dr. 
Lowell, who did not himself believe in 
the Trinity, also reports that his famous 


own nature, and no little of that accumu- 
lated patrimony of culture and principle 
in the vigorous Lowell stock. His grand- 
father, Rev. John Lowell of Newburyport, 
was an important member of a church 
council held some time in 1750, "to 

predecessor at the West Church in Bos- 
ton, Dr. Jonathan Mayhew, had doubts 
about the Trinity, and was excluded from 
the Boston Association of Ministers on 
that account. The religious opinions of 
Dr. Lowell, thus inherited and trans- 



Interior of the Old West Church, Boston. 

mitted, descended to his most illustrious 
and youngest son. 

Dr. Lowell was the child of a third 
marriage, and there was indirect cousin- 
ship, through a former marriage of his 
father, with Harriet Brackett Spence, 
daughter of Keith Spence of Portsmouth, 
N. H., and Mary Traill, daugther of an 
Orkney subject of King George. This 
cousinship, which later led to a marriage, 
had no small share in his early education ; 
but that was begun at school, by the 
father of Ralph Waldo Emerson, not yet 
a parish minister, Rev. William Emerson, 
who taught the Roxbury grammar school 
about 1790. For some offence Mr. Emer- 
son made Judge Lowell's son bend over 
his desk, and gave him the accolade of 
every schoolboy in those days, — a single 
blow with a cowhide, — as Dr. Lowell 
himself reports in his sketch of William 
Emerson, written forSprague's " Annals of 
the American Pulpit." It must have been 
this blow which James Lowell vicariously 
returned in his Class Poem of 1838, 
when castigating the Transcendentalists. 

Charles Lowell began to fit for college 

at Andover, but completed his course 
with Rev. Mr. Sanger in Bridgewater, 

Rev. Charles Lowell. 




and so well was he pleased with this 
tutor that after graduating in 1800 and 
studying law a while with his brother 
John, the noted Federalist, he went back 
to Bridgewater to begin the study of 
theology. It was not unusual at that 
time for young Bostonians to pursue post- 
graduate studies in Edinburgh, as Dr. 
Walter Channing and Theodore Lyman 
did ; and Charles Lowell, at his father's 
death in 1802, found himself able to 

The Hal) at Elmwood. 


enter the University of Edinburgh for 
theological study. He heard Dugald 
Stewart lecture for three years, was often 
an inmate of his family, and had for 
fellow-students Sir David Brewster and 
Prof. Thomas S. Traill, a second cousin 

of Miss Harriet Spence, to whom Charles 
Lowell was betrothed before sailing for 
Scotland. In 1804, he travelled through 
England and Wales with his brother 
John, made the acquaintance of Wilber- 
force and Earl Stanhope, heard Pitt, Fox, 
and Sheridan in the House of Commons, 
and Mrs. Siddons at the theatre ; then 
went to Paris to witness the first public 
appearance of Napoleon as Emperor, and 
made the customary tour through France, 
Switzerland, and 
Holland. Returning 
from Europe in 
1805, he began to 
preach at once, and 
was ordained in 
"New Boston, " 
January 1, 1806. 

On the 1 st of 
October following, at 
the age of twenty- 
four, he married 
Miss Harriet Spence, 
who was of Orkney 
descent on both 
sides, and from her 
there came to her 
youngest son the first 
lessons he got in bal- 
lad literature. He 
also, as he once said, 
inherited from his 
mother his habit of 
correct English, con- 
cerning which I have 
heard a pleasant 
anecdote. In Lon- 
don, many years ago, 
he met at dinner 
Dr. William Smith, 
a Scotchman, editor 
of innumerable dic- 
tionaries, and a man 
who thought ex- 
tremely well of him- 
self. This gentleman 
had certain Scot- 
ticisms lingering on 
his tongue, but was astonished to find an 
American pronouncing English correctly, 
and much at home in that language. 
"But where did ye get it?" said the 
doctor. To which Lowell replied., in 
the words of the old ballad, — 



" I got it in my mother's wame, 
Where ye. sail never get the same." 

The father also has some share in the 
elegance of diction and elocution. When, 
says Dr. Peabody, "he announced a 
hymn, saying, ' Let us sing to the praise 

The West Church — now, alas, closed — 
rapidly filled under the earnest and grace- 
ful ministrations of the young preacher, 
and in a few years a new and larger edi- 
fice was built. Dr. Lowell, in one of his 
sermon-notes, is careful to say that it 


In the Library at Elmwood. 


and glory of God,' the intonation of 
his voice had already attuned the congre- 
gation to worship, before the first line of 
the hymn was read. He had a deep 
chest-voice, clear, penetrating, and at the 
same time sweet and tender, and, with 
an unusual range of inflection and modu- 
lation, lending itself with the utmost 
flexibility to the sentiment to which it 
gave utterance." Of personal beauty, 
too, which is not to be despised in a pul- 
pit orator, Dr. Lowell was not deficient, 
for of him and Harriet Spence it was 
said, as has been said of so many others, 
" that there never was seen a handsomer 
couple than Charles Lowell and his 

cost $50,000, and it numbered among its 
worshippers eighty years ago the wealthi- 
est people of Boston. But near by, on 
the slope of " Nigger Hill," dwelt a de- 
spised and lawless population of several 
colors, — "largely black" says Dr. Pea- 
body, " but with a coarse white intermix- 
ture, in crowded, tumbledown tene- 
ments, where crime ran riot, and into 
which no decent person could enter with 
conscious safety." To these persons 
Dr. Lowell made himself a missionary; 
he beguiled some of them to enter his 
church, and he visited them in their own 
houses, in their poverty and vice and 
disease, and made himself their friend. 
When the region became more respectable, 



and was the refuge of many fugitive 
slaves (among them Lewis Hayden), Dr. 
Lowell still continued their friend, in 
spite of the odious Fugitive Slave Law of 
1850. He told Dr. Peabody that he had 
written to Daniel Webster after his 7 th 
of March speech in 1850, expressing his 
surprise and indignation that he, a sen- 
ator from Massachusetts, should advocate 

Josiah Quincy, President of Harvard University, 1829-1845. 

a law which condemned to fine and im- 
prisonment a man who should merely 
decline to aid a United States officer in 
the capture of a fugitive slave. And in 
a letter to Theodore Parker (June, 1854), 
which is in my possession, Dr. Lowell 
says : 

" All along T have condemned the Fugitive 
Slave Law, publicly and privately. When Sha- 
drach (a fugitive who was rescued from his cap- 
tors) was here, I read the note he sent to the 
churches, prayed fervently for him, and that he 
might not be returned again to slavery. I have 
always supposed I was the only minister in Boston 
who did so. But more than this. A colored man 
called on me as a committee, and asked me if I 
would go to a meeting to be held in Faneuil Hall 
in reference to the fugitives, and would open the 
meeting with prayer. I answered yes, and went 
and prayed fervently that the fugitives might es- 

cape, and the inhuman law might be repealed. 
I have so much introduced slavery into my prayers 
in the church and prayed for its extinction, that 
some have complained of it, though it has been 
borne with. One person, not of my parish, said 
that ' the minister who would pray that the laws 
should not be obeyed, ought to be prosecuted.' " 1 

It was largely in consequence of his 
labors among the poor outside his own 
church, and his pastoral cares, that Dr. 
Lowell's health failed in 181 8, 
and he was induced to leave 
Boston and take up his abode 
in Cambridge ; and this was the 
occasion of his buying Elmwood 
from the heirs of Elbridge 
Gerry who had formerly owned 
it. He had become a Profes- 
sor of Harvard College in 18 10, 
and was looking to Cambridge 
as the place for his children's 
education, and therefore he was 
I the more willing to remove 

thither. Cambridge was then 
what James Lowell found it in 
1830, "essentially an English 
village, quiet, unspeculative, 
||§-- without enterprise, sufficing unto 

itself," — a town of about three 
thousand people, or smallei 
than Concord is now. In one 
edge of the village, not far from 
Watertown, a governor of Mas- 
sachusetts and vice-president of 
the United States had fixed his 
residence — an old colonial 
mansion of wood, built for a 
provincial magnate of some 
distinction, Thomas Oliver, who when 
the Revolution came on had to flee 
his country for his opinions and con- 
duct. His spacious grounds, well-planted 
with trees and hedges, had been further 
improved by Elbridge Gerry, who. no 
doubt, planted many of the trees which 
now adorn Elmwood. But the pine- 

1 In view of the recent death of Robert Lowell, elder 
brother of the poet, his father's testimony to Theodore 
Parker in the same correspondence , concerning this sen 
will be interesting. Dr. Lowell wrote (June. 1S54) : " Per- 
haps you do not know that my son, who is an Episcopal 
minister at Newark, devoting himself to the poor especially, 
is an open and earnest opponent of slavery. He advocate? 
the admission of colored delegates to the Episcopal Con- 
vention in New York, and soon after had a colored minister 
to preach for him." In a letter just received, he says: 
" I have followed closely even' movement in Boston, and, 
on the whole, it may be hoped that public opinion is get- 
ting fixed in the right direction, I preached upon a man's 
being a man, Sabbath before last, and hope to cast the first 
vote that I have given for freedom this fall." 

3 S 



Harvard Square in 1823. " Cambridge Thirty Years Ago." 

trees, which outnumber the elms, wil- 
lows, ashes, oaks, chestnuts, maples, and 
other deciduous trees, were planted, I 

President Kirkland. 

fancy, by the Lowells ; and many of them, 
from their height and size, must be 
younger than the poet himself. For the 
pine of New England, the softly beauteous 
white pine, was hardly much used as an 
ornamental tree till the present century 
was well advanced, and seldom was 
planted even then, but allowed to stand 
where the forests had been cut, or where 
it had seeded itself. .Its frequent use of 
late years must be due in part to the 
honor which Emerson bespoke for it, in 
those poems written in Lowell's youth, 
and which have now become so familiar 
and proverbial : 

Whether is better, the gift or the donor? 
' Come to me,' 
Said the pine-tree. 
I am the giver of honor.' ,- 

James Russell Lowell, named for his 
grandfather or other auburn-haired an- 
cestor, was born among the trees and 
lilac-bushes of Elmwood. February 22, 
1 819 ; and he grew up there amidst the 
sights and sounds of the country, out of 



doors, and in the companionship of books 
and learned men indoors. His father, as 
appears by the notes to the sermons 
which he printed so often in the years 
from 1807 to 1840, was a careful scholar 
and antiquary, not upon the broad scale 
which the present age demands, but as 
such qualities were valued in his own 
time. One inducement drawing him 
toward Cambridge — after the death of 
Vice-President Gerry, in 1814, threw 
Elmwood into the 
market — was, no 
doubt, the college 
library and the 
learned society in 
that town, where 
then nourished that 
more renowned but 
less gifted antiquary 
and annalist, Dr. 
Abiel Holmes, the 
father of Oliver 
Wendell and John 
Holmes, life -long 
friends of James 
Lowell, though older 
than he by ten and 
six years respec- 
tively. Mr. John 
Holmes a few years 
ago, in a Harvard 
College periodical, 
described so well the 
region in which 
Lowell's boyhood 
was spent, that I 
may quote his 
words : 

" The house itself 
indicated three great 
periods; it was built by 
a prosperous loyalist, 
used as a soldiers' hospi- 
tal during the Revolu- 
tionary War, and after- 
wards inhabited by one 
of the early governors 
of the independent State 
of Massachusetts." 

The loyalist was Thomas Oliver, the 
lieutenant-governor under King George 
at the time of the Stamp Act ; and 
the governor was Elbridge Gerry, one 
of the signers of the Declaration of 
Independence, one of the framers of 
the Constitution of 1787, and finally 

vice-president of the United States under 
the mild and philosophic Madison, whom 
the Lowell family in 18 14 held in such 
unmeasured contempt. 

" The grounds surrounding the house formed 
an interior solitude, where the singing of the wind 
through a belt of pines sounded the keynote of 
all the vague associations that lay in the young, 
creative mind of Mr. Lowell. The situation, de- 
cidedly rural, favored that accurate acquaintance 
with birds and trees which he has often shown 
himself to possess. — an accomplishment befitting 

Rev. Robert Traill Spence Lowell. 

a poet. Over in " Sweet Auburn," then so called 
(not yet a cemetery), was a lovely solitude, 
with well-grown woods, one commanding hill, and 
one broad, level, grassy avenue." 

The birthplace, home, and grave of the 
poet, all lie within a short radius, in 
this once secluded but now too much 



frequented corner of Cambridge. Of the 
town and its less respectable inhabitants, 
Mr. Holmes, in a recent contribution to 
the monthly magazine called The Writer, 
thus speaks : 

"Old Cambridge in Mr. Lowell's youth was 
little more than a village; indeed, the expression, 
' down to the village,' was in use. The old Puri- 
tan industry and thrift prevailed; but there were 
those who were not content with life in water 
colors, but demanded a stronger liquid to produce 
the desired tints, and chose the path of pleasure 
rather than that of thrift. They did some desul- 
tory work, in deference to necessity, but their best 
efforts were given to the small game on the 
marshes. The exertion necessary in this pursuit 
they could endure, it being free from any taint of 
regular industry. But angling, sedentary and 
contemplative, was their preference. To throw 
the line into the dark eddies by Brighton Bridge, 
and at ease await the fish who was to outrun the 
largest dimensions offered by tradition, was com- 
plete happiness. Mr. Lowell viewed these excep- 
tional beings with the eye of a humorist, rather 
than of the moralist. As a spectator he appre- 
ciated the irregular light which they threw on the 
monotonous path of steady industry." 

and clients of the good clergyman, and 
they paid for this hospitality by contribu- 
ting to the dialect vocabulary of the fu- 
ture poet of Yankee land. They did 
this in his youth ; and even in his middle- 
age poem, " Under the Willows," he 
reports the same instruction from them : 

" Here sometimes, in this paradise of shade, 
Rippled with western winds, the dusty Tramp, 
Seeing the treeless country burn beyond, 
Halts to unroll his bundle of strange food 
And munch an unearned meal. . . . 
The Scissors-grinder, pausing, doffs his hat, 
Grimy Ulysses ! a much-wandered man, 
Whose feet are known to all the populous ways, 
And many men and manners he hath seen. 

Pithily Saxon in unwilling talk, 
Him I entrap with my long-suffering knife, 
And, while its poor blade hums away in sparks, 
Sharpen my wit upon his gritty mind." 

This was an old habit of Lowell's, even 
from his boyhood. In his first visit to 
the White Mountains (as I conjecture, in 
1834, the year that he entered college), 

The Charles River Marshes- 

An Indian Summer Reverie. 

As Lowell himself had said in one of 
his inimitable essays : 

" Where everybody was overworked, they sup- 
plied the comfortable equipoise of absolute leisure, 
so aesthetically needful." 

They were also, like the shiftless and dis- 
reputable denizens of West Boston, in 
Dr. Lowell's early ministry, the friends 

Lowell says, " I was walking through the 
Franconia Notch, and stopped to chat 
with a hermit, who fed with gradual logs 
the unwearied teeth of a sawmill. I 
asked him the best point of view for the 
Old Man of the Mountain. ' Dun no, — 
never see it.' Too young and too happy 
either to feel or affect the Juvenalian in- 



difference, I was sincerely astonished, and 
I expressed it. The log-compelling man 
attempted no justification, hut after a 
little while asked, ' Come from Bawsn ? ' 
'Yes' (with peculiar pride). ' Goodie 
to see in the z/ycinity o' Bawsn.' 'O 
yes ! ' I said. ' I should 
like, 'awl, I should like to 
stan' on Bunker Hill. 
You've ben there offen, 
likely?' ' No-o,' unwil- 
lingly, seeing ' the little 
end of the horn ' in clear 
vision at the terminus of 
this Socratic perspective. 
'Awl, my young frien' 
you've larned now that wut 
a man kin see any day for ?& 
nawthin', children half 
price, he never does see. 
Nawthin' pay, nawthin' 
vally.' " 

I place this anecdote at /,' 
the beginning of Lowell's 
college course, when he 
had passed his entrance 
examination and was spend- 
ing the vacation ; so much \ 
shorter then than now, in \ 
a journey to the White 
Mountains, — the farthest 
trip he had yet taken, for 
his range as a lad, in his 
father's chaise, or in the 
stage coach, was not a very 
wide one. In comparison 
with him, one of his classmates at Har- 
vard, the once-celebrated " Lighthouse 
Thomas," had been a great traveller : for 
Thomas had seen Canada and Martha's 
Vineyard and Nantucket. As an intro- 
duction to what I am to say of Lowell's col- 
lege-life, let me quote the story of Charles 
Grandison Thomas, who graduated with 
Lowell in 1838, but who had formerly 
been a classmate of Thoreau for a year, — 
a man with a peculiar history, which 
Lowell in after years was fond of men- 
tioning. He was called "Lighthouse 
Thomas " because he finished his prepa- 
ration for Cambridge, not at Exeter, An- 
dover, or Boston, but in a lighthouse 
near Edgartown on Martha's Vineyard. 
He was born in the Adirondac woods (at 
Denmark, Lewis County), in 18 10, and 

died, a successful lawyer, at Cambridge 
in 1879. Lowell published in 1838, in 
the college monthly, Harvardiana, 
Thomas's autobiography, from the college 
class-book, — a most curious record of 
privation and boyish industry, in the 

Maria White Lowell. 

woods of New York and Canada, among 
charcoal-burners and lumber - dealers. 
His first occupation was trout-fishing, 
his next was charcoal-burning, — but 
neither of them were very productive for 
the maintenance of this Adirondac or- 

"For three years," he says, "I suffered from 
cold and hunger; I learned experimentally the 
fact that a person could live almost exclusively on 
potatoes, and without shoes in the winter. In 
my twelfth year my whole library consisted of an 
Almanac and Testament. I had never seen an 
arithmetic, and I was not taught to numerate two 
or three figures till my fourteenth year, when the 
widow of a neighboring judge gave me this in- 
formation; and about the same time taught me 
to tell the time of day by her clock, which I then 
thought a very novel and curious thing, and 
looked at it as though it owed me a quarter's rent. 
By chance one of her laborers gave me an 



The Willows. 

arithmetic, which I constantly kept in my hat for 
use whenever my overseer's back turned. In my 
eleventh year I fell in with a man who had no 

fixed place of residence, to whom I engaged for 
the season. His business was that of making 

shingles, wherever 

Among them one, an ancient willow, spreads 
Eight balanced limbs, springing at once all round 
His deep-ridged trunk." 

the forest he could steal 
the timber to the best 
advantage; mine was to 
assist him to cook his 
food in a hut." 

In 1829, Thomas 
went to Martha's 
Vineyard to visit 
the grave of his 
sister, earned twenty 
dollars on Cape Cod 
the next winter, and 
in the spring of 
1830 went to school 
at Edgartown, near 
which place he 
found his light- 
house, ■ — " built in 
the water at a dis- 
tance of about half 
a mile from the 
land, with which it 
was connected by a 
bridge." He then 

" Here I lived almost 
entirely on bread and 
water, at the rate of 
forty or fifty cents per 
week, and attended as 
intensely as possible to- 



my studies, for about three years, with such intervals 
of interruption as were necessary to defray my 
expenses. Here I fitted for college. ... On 
my arrival at Cambridge, in 1833, after a passage 
of three sleepless nights around Cape Cod, I 
found myself obliged to wait six weeks, or during 
the long vacation, for an opportunity of presenting 
myself for examination. I obtained a room in 
College, and lived six weeks on about $1.50, 
which was all I had. The day of examination at 
length arrived, and I succeeded in entering col- 
lege. Yet I was almost totally ignorant of the 
correct pronunciation of the English language; 
as to Latin and Greek, my pronunciation in every 
recitation excited the laughter of my classmates." 

One would suppose that such a man 
would have more difficulty in passing the 
entrance examination than his classmate 
Thoreau, who in the same year (1833), 
presented himself, — for Thoreau writes : 

" I was fitted, or rather made unfit for college at 
Concord Academy and elsewhere, mainly by myself, 
with the countenance of Phineas Allen, preceptor: 
' One branch more,' to use Mr. Quincy's words, 
'and you had been turned by entirely; you have 
barely got in.' However, I was in, and did not 
stop to ask how I got there." 

But Thoreau kept on and graduated in 
1837, while Thomas in 1834 went back 
and entered the Freshman Class again, 
with Lowell and Story, Nathan Hale, and 

The college president of Thoreau, 
Lowell, and Thomas, was Josiah Quincy, 
who had succeeded President Kirkland a 
few years before, and whose son, Edmund 
Quincy, of Bankside, Dedham, became in 
after years Lowell's most intimate friend 
among the followers of Garrison. He 
was some ten years older than Lowell, 
but had the same taste for leisure and 
scholastic pursuits, and the same inherited 
hatred for slavery. In later years, as we 
know from the striking sonnets written by 
Lowell on Edmund Quincy's death, his 
pleasant home at Bankside was one of the 
poet's familiar resorts, — standing on the 
edge of Charles River, as Judge Hoar's 
house at Concord does beside the Mus- 
ketequid, — and remembered with that, 
when Lowell found himself by the Eure at 
Chartres. But Quincy like Dr. Holmes, 
was in College long before Lowell, whose 
best-known classmates were Story the 
sculptor, the late Judge Devens, Rufus 
King (of Cincinnati), and Dr. G. B. 
Loring. Thoreau graduated a year be- 
fore him, in the class with John Weiss, 

and Edward Hale in the class of 1839, a 
year after Lowell. Nathan Hale, an 
older brother of Edward, was Lowell's 
classmate ; and these two, with Rufus 
King (a grandson of the old Federalist 
senator, Rufus King) became editors of 
the college monthly, Harvardiana. 

The outward aspect of Harvard Col- 
lege at that time may be seen in the 
accompanying view ; its democratic and 
comprehensive inner life can be inferred 
from the association, in one class of some 
.seventy persons, of rude backwoodsmen, 
like Lighthouse Thomas, elegant young 
gentlemen like William Story, Nathan 
Hale, and Rufus King, and trained 
scholars, such as Lowell was even then, 

James Jackson Lowell. 

tnough indolent and pleasure-seeking like 
so many lads in college. 

The intellectual and social life of Cam- 
bridge, when the class of 1838 graduated, 
was perhaps as attractive as at any time 



William Lowell Putnam. 


before or since. President Kirkland, of 
whom Lowell in his " Fireside Travels " 
has left so charming a sketch, had been 
dead for some years, and Dr. Holmes had 
just left Cambridge for Boston ; but 
Allston was living at "The Port " ; Judge 
Story on Brattle Street ; the Fays in their 
large house, where now the " Harvard 
Annex" is; Professor and Mrs. Farrar 

were on Kirkland Street ; Longfellow, a 
slender, blond young professor, was lodg- 
ing in the Craigie House, which became 
his home afterward ; Dr. Palfrey, Pro- 
fessor Andrews Norton, and the saintly 
Henry Ware, were at home near Divinity 
College, and there were many other dis- 
tinguished or agreeable young persons in 
the college town. 



Charles Russell Lowell. 


Margaret Fuller, whom Holmes and 
Lowell found so antipathetic, had left 
Cambridge for Groton in 1833, and 
Groton for Providence in 1837, but she 
frequently visited Mrs. Farrar and other 
friends at Cambridge, and drew about 
her many women and some young men 
of much intellectual and spiritual sym- 
pathy \ among whom a few years later was 

Maria White of Watertown, who married 
her poet in 1844, William White, her 
brother, was a classmate of Lowell in 
college and afterwards in the law school, 
and it was through him, I suppose, that 
Lowell became acquainted with his bride, 
then living with her parents and sisters in 
the fine old house at Watertown, a mile 
or two only from Elmwood. 



Richard Dana, who had been an elder 
schoolmate of Lowell at the savage board- 
ing-school of William Wells, not far from 
Elmwood, was a law student of Judge 
Story in 1838, having returned from his 
"two years before the mast," and gradu- 
ated in 1836. Without belonging to 
Margaret Fuller's circle, young Dana had 
inherited and imbibed an elementary 
kind of transcendentalism, which led 
Father Pierce of Brookline, then sitting 
on the platform at his fifty-third Com- 
mencement, to make this note in 1836 : 
"A dissertation by Richard H. Dana, 
son of R. H. Dana, and grandson of the 
former Judge Francis Dana, was on the 
unique topic, ' Heaven lies about us in 
our Infancy.' He is a handsome youth, 
and spoke well. But his composition 


™*n*tM, » F^- 

^4. - *«yjf r 

The Lowe'l Lot at Mount Auburn. 

was of that Swedenborgian, Coleridgian, 
and dreamy cast which it requires a 
peculiar structure of mind to understand, 
much more to relish." Father Pierce 
had not read Wordsworth, but Professor 
Edward Channing had, and gave Dana 
this line for a subject. 

Lowell had two brothers and two sisters. 
Charles, Robert, Mary, and Rebecca. 
He was the youngest of the family. 
Robert Traill Spence Lowell, who became 
an Episcopal clergyman, and whose recent 
death has been the occasion of many 
newspaper articles, noticing his fine abili- 
ties as a poet and novelist, was three 
years his senior. Mary Lowell married 
Samuel R. Putnam, a Boston merchant, 
and also became well known in literature, 
as well as for her earnest work in various 
reforms. She still lives 
in Boston, and Mr. Lowell 
I % - was much with her in his 

%J later years. She was the 

mother of William Lowell 
Putnam, one of the three 
brilliant nephews of 
Lowell, who fell in the 
war — the others being 
General Charles Russell 
Lowell and James Jack- 
son Lowell. The war 
came very close to Lowell 
personally. In the pri- 
vately printed edition of 
the Commemoration Ode, 
the names of eight of his 
kindred who fell are 
given, among them being 
the heroic Colonel Shaw. 
There is a charming 
picture of a snowball fight 
at Elmwood, with the 
three young nephews, in 
Lowell's essay, "A Good 
Word for Winter," written 
in 1870. 

"Already, as I write, it is 
twenty-odd years ago. The 
balls fly thick and fast. The 
uncle defends the waist-high 
ramparts against a storm of 
nephews, his breast plastered 
with decorations like another 
Radetsky's. How well I recall 
the indomitable good humor 
under Are of him who fell in 



James Russell Lowell. 


the front at Ball's Bluff; the silent pertinacity 
of the gentle scholar who got his last hurt 
at Fair Oaks; the ardor in the charge of the 
gallant gentleman who, with the death wound in 
his side, headed his brigade at Cedar Creek ! 
How it all comes back — and they never came ! " 

As for the scenery of Cambridge in 
I ^38, — turning back again to the earlier 
time — the Washington Elm was then in 
its glory, and the "Sweet Auburn" of 
Lowell's childhood had become the 

cemetery of Boston's worth, wealth, and 
beauty, though the graves were yet few, 
and the little mound over the grave of 
the first child, " the morning glory," was 
still ten years in the future. 

"The six old willows at the causey's 
end" were there, as they are there now, 

" There in red brick, which softening time defies, 
Stood square and stiff the Muse's factories, — " 



At Appledor 

as Lowell irreverently termed the col- 
leges, in which he " recited " and de- 
claimed, and held evening revels with 
Devens and Charles Miller and William 
Story, but in which he did not live, — for 
both at school and in college he resided 
with his father at Elmwood, as Story did 
with his father in another old colonial 
house, on Brattle Street, between which 
and Lowell's home stood the Washington 
headquarters, then known as the Craigie 
House, and later as the home of Long- 
fellow. Farther on the Boston road, and 
not far from the colleges stood another 
three-story colonial house, intended for 
the bishop's palace, if Massachusetts 
could have endured a bishop, and oc- 
cupied, after the surrender at Saratoga, by 
the officers of Burgoyne, who were quar- 
tered in Cambridge before they were 
sent down to Virginia. " The hooks were 
to be seen," says Lowell, "from which 

had swung the hammocks of Burgoyne's 
captive red-coats." The whole town had 
an old-fashioned air, and as Lowell said 
in 1853, "some of that cloistered quiet 
which characterizes all university towns ; 
even now," he adds, "delicately thought- 
ful Arthur Hugh C lough tells me he 
finds in its intellectual atmosphere a re- 
pose which recalls that of grand old 
Oxford." The "intellectual repose" of 
the town was greater in 1852-3, than in 
1838, when Emerson's Divinity School 
address and Alcott's Boston teachings 
had disturbed the dons of Cambridge, as 
well as the merchants and ministers of 

Lowell's college life was at first that of a 
well-taught and well-bred schoolboy, for 
he entered at the age of fifteen, and may 
even, like a classmate of my own, have 
spent some part of his Freshman year in 
the boyish clasp of a jacket. But manly 

Mount Kineo, Moosehead Lake. — "A Moosehead Journal 



airs and feelings are soon developed in 
college, and the studious boy became the 
carefully clad and gay Sophomore and 
Junior. In the first term of his junior 
year, at the age of seventeen, he was 
elected into the Hasty Pud- 
ding Club, of which his 
father and Washington All- 
ston had been members in 
1798. This was not the 
oldest college society, for 
the " Institute of 1770 " and 
the Phi Beta Kappa ante- 
dated it, — but it was that 
to which it was then the 
greatest pleasure and social 
distinction to belong. Its 
name described its feasts, 
which consisted only of hasty 
pudding and hominy, with 
milk, and that form of pud- 
ding known as "fry" — all 
served with molasses, and 
eaten with silver or pewter 
spoons. The meetings for 
more than fifty years, tili 
1849, were held at the 
rooms of its members who 
lived in college ; the pudding 
was made by a staid matron 
not far from the college- 
yard ; two of the younger 
members carried the pudding 
pot from her -house to the 
appointed room, and a bowl 
of the pudding was always 
carried to the tutor or proctor 
who ruled in the " entry " 
on which the festal- room 
opened. The records of this club were- 
always kept in verse, and Lowell, as 
secretary for his class, wrote copious 
verses in its records which, I read with 
avidity and some disappointment when 
I succeeded to the office in 1853. 
Probably he printed some of these smooth 
and trivial verses in the college magazine, 
Harvardiana, as the custom was when 
we had a magazine, but I have not been 
able to trace any of them. They were 
all composed before he was well along in 
his nineteenth year, and it is seldom that 
poems of that juvenility are worth pre- 
serving. But I remember they were writ- 
ten in the elegant and legible hand which 

all Lowell's correspondents will gratefully 
remember, and which, I suppose, he 
learned of his English-born schoolmaster, 
William Wells, 1 who flogged and wrote 
like an. English master of the eighteenth 

. ■■' . . .. . - - - 

Beaver Brook. 

century. Lowell, was also one of the two 
"poets" of the Hasty Pudding Club in 
1837 (J. F. W. Ware being the other), 
as his brother Robert had been five 
years earlier in 1832; and "Lighthouse 
Thomas " was one of the two "orators," as 
well as "chorister," for it was then the 
custom to give two Hasty Pudding poems 
and two orations in a year. In this office 
of "poet " I also succeeded the two Lowells 
in 1854. Among the " Pudding members " 
of Lowell's class were Judge Devens, 

1 The school was in a large three-story house near Mount 
Auburn, to which, at the age of fifty-four, Mr. Wells, who 
had been a thriving publisher in Boston (Wells & Lilly), 
removed in 1827. Its methods and discipline are all de- 
scribed in Adams's " Richard Henry Dana." 



-« - -Mff 

W \ 

The Washington Elm at Cambridge. 

William Aspinwall, William Bowditch, 
Wendell Davis of Greenfield, Prof. H. L. 

Robert Carter. 

Eustis, Rufus King, Patrick Jackson, 
(whose sister Anna was the mother of 
Charles Russell Lowell, Jr., and James 
Jackson Lowell, ) Dr. Loring, Howland 
Shaw, and two Rotches from New Bed- 
ford. Story was not a member, nor was 
William White. Charles Miller, who 
'afterwards became the son-in-law of 
Gerrit Smith, would perhaps have been a 
"Pudding member" if his gayeties had 
not removed him from college too soon. 

Lowell also, as is well-known, was sent 
away from college in his senior year and 
spent the last term in Concord, living on 
the main street of that village, next door 
to Samuel Hoar's house, and opposite 
that of Colonel Whiting, one of the early 
Abolitionists of Concord. He was put 
under the guidance of Rev. Barzillai 
Frost, who in a competitive contest of can- 
didates had been chosen over Theodore 
Parker as the colleague of old Dr. Ripley, 



then in the fiftieth year of his ministry 
and his residence in the old manse. Con- 
cord, was just becoming the Mecca of 
pilgrims who had seen the new star in 
the East, and worshipped it ; but only one 
or two of the famous authors had yet 
fixed their abode there. Emerson had 
been living in his own house for three 
years, and Thoreau, recently graduated 
from Harvard, was looking for a school 
to teach, in Maine, in Virginia, or wher- 
ever there might be wanted a " teacher 
in the higher branches of useful litera- 
ture," as Dr. Ripley said in recommend- 
ing young Thoreau " to the friends of 
education." Alcott and Margaret Fuller 
were occasional visitors at Emerson's 
house, where also the son of Dr. Lowell 
was welcomed and often called. I sup- 
pose Lowell's acquaintance with Judge 
Hoar, who graduated in 1835, began in 
this spring and summer at Concord, 
though no trace of this appears in the 
Class Poem, which he wrote while wan- 
dering in the Concord woods and pas- 
tures — perhaps sometimes with Henry 
Thoreau or his brother John. He attended 
the ministrations of Rev. Mr. Frost, and 
used to quote with some glee from what 
he called " the Niagara Sermon " of that 
clergyman, written after his first visit to 
those Falls, which the young lady, pos- 
sibly of Concord, said, " she had never 
seen, but always had heard them highly 
spoken of." Lowell complimented Con- 

Nathan Hale. 

Dr. Estes Howe. 

cord in his preface to the Class Poem as 
a place where, " though the situation is 
low, the air is salubrious." He added, 
"The inhabitants are hospitable and pleas- 
ant ; moreover, which is rare in country 
towns, they mind their own business won- 
derfully. I have been informed that 
this last is only at one end of the town." 
Dr. Hale does not seem to be very well 
acquainted with this Concord experience 
of Lowell's, and says he was there " under 
the tender and satisfactory oversight of Dr. 
Ripley and Mrs. Ripley." But the good 
doctor's wife had long been dead, and in 
1838 Dr. Ezra Ripley at the age of 
eighty-seven, was under care himself in 
his own parsonage house, where Lowell 
doubtless called on him, and from which 
the old pastor, a few months later, wrote 
to Dr. Charming a pathetic letter com- 
plaining of the Transcendentalists. " De- 
nied, as I am, the privilege of going 
from home," he wrote in February, 1839, 
" of visiting and conversing with en- 
lightened friends, and of reading, even; 
broken down with the infirmities of age, 
and subject to fits that deprive me of 
reason and the use of my limbs, I feel it 
a duty to be patient and submissive to 
the will of God, who is too wise to err 



Arthur Hugh Ciough. 

and too good to injure." He was, there- 
fore, in no condition to take the oversight 
of a livery youth, whom President Quincy 
and the whole Faculty of the college had 
found themselves unable to keep within 
bounds. I suppose Dr. Hale was think- 
ing of Mrs. Samuel Ripley, the doctor's 
daughter-in-law ; but she was then in 
Waltham, looking after her husband's 
parish and school. She came to know 
James Lowell very well, through her 
acquaintance with Dr. Francis, then 
minister of Watertown, whose parishioners 
were the Whites, where Lowell visited so 
constantly from 1838 onward. 

Dr. Ripley, with his wife's grandson, 
Waldo Emerson, chiefly in mind, wrote to 
Dr. Channing, in the letter above quoted, 
" I would not treat with disrespect and 
severe censure men who advance senti- 
ments which I may neither approve nor 
understand, provided their authors be 
men of learning, piety, and holy lives. 
The speculations and novel opinions of 
such men rarely prove injurious." 

Young Lowell, not having the deep ex- 
perience of the old Concord pastor, dealt 
out in his raw and shallow poem a much 
harsher censure on the wise man at 
whose house he was entertained and 
whose disciple he soon became. While 
complimenting Emerson for his letter to 
Van Buren in favor of the Cherokees and 
Seminoles, Lowell printed these lines, 
which could apply only to Emerson, who 
was still, in 1838, called "Reverend." 

Woe for Religion, too, when men who claim 
To place a " Reverend " before their name 
Ascend the Lord's own holy place to preach, 
In strains that Kneeland 1 had been proud to 

And which, if measured by Judge Thacher's scale, 
Had doomed their author to the county jail ! 
Alas ! that Christian ministers should dare 
To preach the views of Gibbon and Voltaire ! 

1 Abner Kneeland, once a minister, had shortly before 
been sent to jail in Boston by Judge Thacher for " blas- 
phemy," and the Boston Advertiser had suggested the 
same course with Mr. Alcott. 


Bankside," the Home of Edmund Quincy. 



The Cathedral at Chartres. 

Nor could the youthful satirist, not yet 
imbued with his father's and grandfather's 
opinions on slavery, refrain from attack- 
ing Garrison and Phillips and Edmund 
Quincy, whom he soon adopted as his 
political guides. He thus addressed them 
in his Class Poem : 

" Bold saints ! why tell us here of those who scoff 

At law and reason thousands of miles off? 

Why punish us with your infernal din 

For what you tell us is the planter's sin? 

Why on the North commence the fierce crusade, 

And war on them for ills the South has made? " 

These were, no doubt, the opinions of 
m^st undergraduates at Cambridge in 
Lowell's college days, as they were in 

mine ; nor had he learned among the' 
citizens of Concord, old or young, opin- 
ions very different, for only a handful of 
Concord people were Abolitionists in 
1838. But he could have learned a 
sounder doctrine from his own father, 
who, in a sermon printed in 1828, ten 
years before, had said : " I have not been 
accustomed to consider anything imprac- 
ticable thai it was well should be done. 
What was once thought more visionary 
than the project of Clarkson and Wilber- 
force to abolish the slave trade in England ? 
and yet not only the English have 
discontinued it, but most other nations ; 
and the time appears to be hastening 



when this foul blot shall not be found on 
the escutcheon of any people." Dr. 
Lowell had also shrewdly intimated that 
men need not have all the virtues before 
they were allowed to tell the truth, for he 

poetry that I have seen in his early 
effusions. It certainly applies to Maria 
White, and was followed by many another 
love sonnet and canzonet more perfect 
in their form, but not more pleasing in 

Applaton Chapel. 

gave twice at the ordination of young 
ministers a sermon on "The Wisdom 
and Goodness of God in appointing Men 
and not Angels to the Christian Min- 
istry." It was first preached at the 
ordination of Rev. D. H. Barlow, father 
of General F. C. Barlow, in Lynn, and 
was fully justified in the event, as it has 
often been in other instances. 

Cet age est sans pitie. From the heart- 
less nonsense of this youthful period, 
common enough to brilliant men in their 
teens, Lowell was snatched in a moment, 
as it were, by the lovely Maria White, his 
good angel and his true love. He seems 
to have knelt at her shrine even in 
Concord, for the sonnet of dedication in 
his Class Poem appears to be addressed 
to her, and is the first glimpse of good 

sentiment than this, which is seldom re- 
printed : 

" Lady ! whom I have dared to call my muse, 

With thee my lay began, with thee shall end; 
Thou cans't not such a poor request refuse 

To let thine image with its closing blend ! 
As turn the flowers to the quiet dew, 

Fairest, so turns my yearning heart to thee, 
For thee it pineth, as the homesick shell 

Mourns to be once again beneath the sea; 
Oh ! let thine eyes upon this tribute dwell, 

And think — one moment — kindly think of me! 
Alone — my spirit seeks thy company, 

And in all beautiful communes with thine ; 
In crowds — it ever seeks alone to be, 

To dream of gazing in thy gentle eyne. 

" Concord, August 21, 1838." 

There hangs at Elmwood a portrait of 
Maria Lowell painted by Page about the 
time that he was celebrated by Lowell as 



the great coming painter of America. l I 
became familiar with it from seeing it 
hung in Mrs. C. R. Lowell's house while 
the bereaved husband was absent from 
Elmwood in Europe or elsewhere, and 
whither I went in 1853-4 to read Greek 
together with Charley Lowell, as his 
friends called him — the "Young Tele- 
machus " of Lowell's Moosehead Journal, 
and one of the heroes who died in the 
Civil War. It was by him that I was 
first taken to call on Lowell at Elmwood, 
I suppose, in 1853 ; but I never saw 
Maria Lowell, and can only sp'eak of her 
as I have heard her described by others 
— by Mrs. Anna. Lowell, by Wendell 
Phillips, by Miss Anne Whiting of Con- 
cord, who was for a time her teacher, and 
by many more who had the privilege of 
knowing her. She was evidently one of 
those rare persons who cannot be fully 
known by what they say and do, but who 
add to that an ineffable something from 
the treasures of the spirit within the veil, 
and from the sweet potency of character. 
She had talent in abundance, but less 
than Lowell's, while she excelled him in 
that insight and spiritual power which is 
given in larger measure to good women 
than to great men. The saying of Milton 
and St. Paul concerning Adam and Eve 

" He for God only, she for God in him," 

seemed to be reversed with the two 
Lowells in their paradise ; it was through 
her that he was brought nearer to the 
divine life, and drawn aside from the 
occupations and frivolities, the borrowed 
opinions and habitual compliance of his 
easy nature. 

1 This, we think, is the portrait copied for publication in 
the little volume of Mrs. Lowell's poems, and reproduced 
with the present article. The portrait of Lowell by Page, 
painted at the same time, is reproduced as the frontispiece 
to the first volume of the new edition of " Lowell's Poetical 
Works." The two photographs by Elliott and Fry of Lon- 
don, were perhaps the best of the later pictures of Lowell. 
The earlier photograph by Couly of Boston, reproduced in 
the last number of the New England Magazine, was 
especially liked by Lowell himself, being often spoken of 
by him as his best photograph. Of the portrait belonging 
to the time of his Harvard professorship, reproduced in 
connection with the article on " Harvard College during 
the War," in the May number of this magazine. Mr. 
Lowell wrote the following pleasant note to the engraver, 
Mr. Brown, who had sent him a proof. The note is dated 
June 1, 1891, and must therefore have been among the last 
which he wrote: "Perhaps when my face was first de- 
signed, I might, like King Alfonso El Sabio, have made 
some suggestions for the better. But it is now seventy-two 
years too late. Your engraving seems to me a very good 
one, and as for corrections, I don't know my own face well 
enough to venture any advice. I suppose the sun saw me 
truly in 1863, and that you have repeated truly what he 
saw. That is as it should be. " — Editor. 

In the matter of poetry Lowell soon 
recognized this direction from a higher 
power than his own, and in the " Proem " 
to " A Year's Life," his first acknowledged 
publication, in 1841, he thus declared it : 

" So brighter grew the earth around, 
And bluer grew the sky above; 
The Poet now his guide hath found, 
And follows in the steps of Love." 

He had, indeed, found his guide in more 
directions than one. The aspirations 
-and purposes of Maria White, like those 
of Anne Greene who captivated Wendell 
Phillips a few years earlier, were all noble 
and open. She joyfully ranged herself 
and drew her dear friends to the side of 
those public causes which Alcott, Emer- 
son, Phillips, and their friends had pointed 
out to her : the emancipation of the 
slaves, the enfranchisement of women, 
the elevation of the poor, the reformation 
of the criminal, the repeal and removal 
of outrageous laws and customs, whether 
in the state, the church, or in society. 
In such generous causes Maria White was 
irresistible, not so much by what she said 
and wrote, as by the charm of feminine 
goodness which inspires sympathy with 
all that is excellent when we see it in a 
living presence. She was herself the 
nobility of thought and life which she de- 
clared in melodious words ; and those who 
saw and heard her needed no other per- 
suasive. " I was born in a country," said 
Sir Robert Wilson on a memorable occa- 
sion, " where the social virtues are re- 
garded as public virtues." In a sense 
still higher are the social virtues of 
women like Maria Lowell public virtues \ 
and very important was the influence of 
such women in the long struggle between 
freedom and human slavery in the United 
States. To her we, no doubt, owe the 
timely, constant, and effective support 
which Lowell, the poet of the younger 
generation in her time, gave to the anti- 
slavery cause when it needed all the aid 
that genius and culture could bring against 
its overmastering opponents. 

Having engaged himself for marriage 
before he was one and twenty, it was 
needful that the young poet should not 
depend on literature alone for the sup- 
port of a family. He, therefore, entered 



the Harvard Law School before his friends 
R. H. Dana and E. R. Hoar left it in 
1839, and he graduated there along with 
his classmates Story, Devens, Hale, and 
King, and his future brother-in-law, Wil- 
liam A. White, in 1840. During these 
years he was frequently drawn to Green- 
field, where his classmate Wendell Davis 
lived, and where Charles Devens soon 
settled, and we shall soon see how pleas- 
antly he looked toward Greenfield as an 
escape from the drudgery of law. He 
opened an office at 10 Court Street, 
Boston, in 1840-41, and there occurred 
that interview with his first client, which 
Dr. Hale has recalled from the grave of the 
Boston Miscellany of 1842. But there 
are other sentences in " My First Client " 
which may be cited : 

" I had been in my office a month. I had 
fourteen blank writs and other blanks in abun- 
dance, and my own face, from constant association 
began to grow blank also. ... A friend, dis- 
guised as a substantial farmer without any bump 
of locality, had three several times inquired 'if 
this were Mr. Mortmain's office,' at every door on 
both sides of the street. Three times, also, with 
a thick file of papers in my hand I had hurried 
the same individual to and from the Court House 
in the most sidewalk-crowded parts of the day. 
Still my door had not once opened unexpectedly. 

" The eyes of a man who has nothing to do are 
keen. I saw everything. ... I knew by sight 
every crack in my ceiling and the peculiar ex- 
pression of every paving-stone under my window. 
... I knew familiarly all the men in pea-jackets 
who leaned all day against the lamp-posts. I 
speculated upon the age required to entitle a man 
to green baize jackets, having observed that the 
wearers of them were a peculiar race, who had 
apparently come into the world in green jackets to 
illustrate Wordsworth's doctrine of ' not in utter 
nakedness.' ... I was sure for nearly five minutes 
that the man in the white hat and the brass chain, 
unsuggestive of any watch, was looking for my 
office. ... I didn't see how people could eat 
peanuts, but supposed they were used to it. I 
thought how pleasant it would be in Greenfield now, 
and was just starting for ' the Glen ' with a rapturous 
party, when I was roused from my reverie by a 
shadow against my glass door. . . . My cottage 
in the country, with the white lilac and the honey- 
suckle in front, and the seat just large enough for 
two under the elm-tree, drew ten years nearer in 
as many seconds." 

" I have heard of Greenwich mean 
time," wrote George T. Davis to the 
committee of a bar-dinner, which he 
could not attend because of a referee- 
case in the little town of Greenwich, — 

"and I fully expect co nave one to-day." 
The disappointment of Lowell when an- 
ticipating a Greenfield good time, to find 
that his expected client was a dun, must 
have been greater than that of his friend 
George Davis, on the occasion mentioned. 
The allusion to " the cottage in the coun- 
try " becomes pathetic when we reflect 
that the briefless barrister was waiting to 
be married, and wanted to earn a little 
money, instead of having it given to him 
by his friends. Mr. Stephen M. Allen, 
who was associated with Lowell during 
the period of his nominal law-practice, 
has preserved a few incidents worth re- 
cording. He says : 

" One morning I called upon him and he was 
walking the floor excitedly. After exchange of 
salutations he looked up and said, ' Allen, can you 
tell me how and where I can earn an honest dol- 
lar? ' I answered that I could tell him where he 
could get a hundred if he wished, and offered to 
supply him with ready money. ' That is not what 
I want,' said he. ' I want to earn some money.' " 

Colonel Higginson was one who knew 
Maria White, and he has lately said of 
her in an article in Harper's Bazar: 

" Maria White was a singularly gentle person 
in her aspect and manners — fair, sweet, benign, 
thoughtful, ideal — and it was beneath the sur- 
face that the firmness of purpose lay. She had 
been for a time a pupil with her cousin, the late 
Maria Fay of Cambridge, at the Ursuline Con- 
vent near Boston, and was there, if I mistake not, 
at the time it was burned by a mob. This may 
well have imbued her with the love of religious 
freedom. She had been a member of some of 
Margaret Fuller's classes', and shared their tonic 
influence. She had also spent much time in the 
study of Rev. Convtrs Francis of Watertown, a 
man of unusual learning, and a reformer, though 
a mild one. At his house she had doubtless met 
his more potent and energetic sister, Lydia Maria 
Child. Moreover, Maria White's own brother, who 
was Lowell's classmate, had given up all else to 
devote himself to the anti-slavery agitation,, be- 
coming an itinerant lecturer in the cause. It was, 
in a manner, a foregone conclusion that Maria 
White should be a reformer, and equally so that 
her lover should. He was, as he has since said, 
' by temperament and education of a conserva- 
tive tone,' and it needed a strong influence to 
transfer him to the progressive side." 

Lowell's neighborhood to Watertown, 
and his connection with the White fam- 
ily there may have brought him early into 
acquaintance with Levi Thaxter of that 
town, who graduated at Harvard in 1S43, 
studied Browning and the law, and mar- 
ried Miss Celia Leighton of Appledore. 



This courtsllip and marriage took him 
much to the Isles of Shoals, near Ports- 
mouth, where Lowell's mother had lived, 
and Lowell for some years was familiar 
with those rocky islands and that pleas- 
ant shore, where the Wentworths and 
Pepperells, Whippers, Atkinsons, Vaughns, 
and Jaffreys so long dwelt in colonial 
times. Mrs. Thaxter has made herself 
the special poet of the Shoals ; but Long- 
fellow and Whittier have also dealt with 
that picturesque sea-coast, and Lowell in 
his " Pictures from Appledore " has pre- 
served the memory of wonderful sights 
and sounds there, in a verse that makes 
one think more of Browning and Thaxter, 
than of Tennyson. 

Robert Carter's house in Sparks Street 
was one of the resorts of Lowell in Cam- 
bridge, as was also, of course, the house 
of Dr. Estes Howe, who had married an 
elder sister of Maria White. In the 
"Fable for Critics," where Lowell says, 

" I can walk with the Doctor, get facts from the 
And take in the Lambish quintessence of 
John, — " 

he means Doctor Howe, Don Roberto 
Carter, and John Holmes, the brother of 
the poet. These were all members of 
the famous Cambridge whist-club, to 
which for half a century or so Lowell 
belonged, and whose surviving members 
met to play a final game with him in 
Elm wood but a few weeks before his 
death. Carter was a person of singular 
education and experience, who had ac- 
quired a vast multitude of facts concern- 
ing the past and the present, and who 
wrote with excellent facility and generally 
on the right side in politics. Estes 
Howe was always on the right side, and 
held to his political opinions as firmly as 
any man ever did. He is not to be con- 
founded with the more eminent Dr. 
Samuel Howe (a distant relative), who 
sat beside him in the same political par- 
ties and at the same club tables in 
Boston for many years. Both were warm 
friends of Charles Sumner, and of Long- 
fellow, at whose house in Cambridge both 
Sumner and Lowell were always at home. 

The connection of Lowell with the At- 
lantic Monthly marks how far Harvard 
had gone forward politically from the 

time, in 1850-55, when no professor or 
undergraduate was expected or, if it 
was possible to suppress him, was allowed 
to say anything unfavorable to human 
slavery, and its champions, North and 
South. Lowell's chief interest in the 
magazine was at first political, and he 
told me (in one of those visits that he 
made at Concord to confer with Emerson 
about the new magazine, and to meet the 
unaccommodating Thoreau), that he had 
thoughts of a department in the Atlantic, 
to be carried on under the sign of a 
broom at the masthead, like old Van 
Tromp's flagship in the English chan- 
nel, — which should be devoted to sweep- 
ing out such creatures as Caleb Cush'ing, 
Ben Hallett, and the other " Northern 
men with Southern principles," who then 
disfigured our politics. He also told me, 
when I urged him in 1858 to make the 
acquaintance of John Brown, then at 
Theodore Parker's in Boston, that he had 
in 1856 serious thoughts of sending 
Hosea Biglow out to Kansas as a free- 
state settler, and thus continuing the 
"Biglow Papers," which slumbered from 
1848 to 1 86 1, as we know. Something 
prevented the acceptance of Parker's 
invitation to meet John Brown at his 
house in Exeter Place, and the two men 
never met. 

In 1857, Lowell was married to Miss 
Frances Dunlap of Portland, who had had 
charge of the education of his daughter 
during his residence abroad, after the 
death of his first wife. The second Mrs. 
Lowell died in London in 1885, during 
Lowell's residence there as American 

It was in 1858, that the famous party 
which Stillman the artist has painted in 
the Adirondac forest, went thither, as 
described by Emerson in one of his later 
poems : 

" We chose our boats, each man a boat and guide, 

Ten men, ten guides, our company all told; 

Ten scholars, wonted to lie warm and soft 

In well-hung chambers, daintily bestowed, 

Lie here on hemlock boughs, like Sacs and Sioux. 

Off sounding seamen do not suffer cold, 

And in the forest, delicate clerks, unbrowned, 

Sleep on the fragrant brush, as on down-beds. 

We were made freemen of the forest laws, 

All dressed, like Nature, fit for her own ends, 

Essaying nothing she cannot perform. 

Our foaming ale we drunk from hunters' pans, 



Ale and a sup of wine ; our steward gave 
Venison and trout, potatoes, beans, wheat bread; 
All ate like abbots. 

And Stillman, our guides' guide and Commodore, 
Crusoe, Crusader, Pius y£neas, said aloud, 
Chronic dyspepsia never came from eating 
Food indigestible." 

These " ten scholars," who called them- 
selves "The Adirondac Club," were, in 
fact, a detachment from the " Saturday 
Club," organized by Horatio Woodman 
about 1856 ; and, besides Woodman and 
Stillman, they were Emerson, Agassiz, 
Lowell, Dr. Jeffries Wyman, Dr. Estes 
Howe, Judge Hoar, John Holmes, and 
S. G. Ward, the banker, then of Boston, 
but later of New York. Only four of the 
party now survive ; but the portraits of 
all, "in habit as they lived," were painted 
by Stillman among the tree trunks which 
he loved so well to put in his pictures. 
It was no new experience for Lowell to 
" camp out," for he had done it in his 
Mooshead journey, a few years earlier, 
when he visited Mt. Kineo, and saw the 
lone tree on Katahdin, to which one of 
his most striking poems is addressed. 

P'rom the Adirondac woods, from 
Appledore and Kineo and Katahdin, 
those savage sea and mountain pieces 
where Nature is all and man is naught, 
Lowell could pass in later life, grown 
sadder and wiser from contact with that 
ancient mariner, Time, to the wonderful 
Cathedral at Chartres, where its Gothic 

and Norman art, high raised in air, 

" Looks down unwatchful on the sliding Eure, 
Whose listless leisure suits the quiet place, 
Lisping among his shadows homelike sounds, 
At Concord and by Bankside heard before." 

We cherish in the library at Concord 
the manuscript of this poem, crowded 
with art in words, as a Norman cathedral 
is with art in stone, and with that strange 
mixture of the worldly and the worship- 
ping frame of mind which the subject of 
the verse itself exhibits. Europe, happily 
not seen by our poet until the fairest 
and saddest features of life had been 
shown to him at home, nevertheless 
made a profound impression on his 
susceptible, versatile and twofold nature. 
To this some of the unrest and bitterness, 
seen now and then in his later verses, 
is due. But he returned from all his 
European experiences with a warm affec- 
tion for that one angle of the world that 
had ever been his home, and where his 
funeral chapel and his grave now are, — 
the groves and streets of Cambridge; 
and the hill-pastures and brooks of Water- 
town, Elmwood, Auburn, and Beaver 
Brook were dearer to him than all the 
magnificent scenery and climate in 
Europe, as he himself has said : 
" Kindlier to me the place of birth 

That first my tottering footsteps trod; 
There may be fairer spots of earth, 
But all their glories are not worth 
The virtue in the native sod." 

A corner of Elmwood. 


By Ellen Marvin He a ton. 

R. FIELD had be- 
come so comfortably 
adjusted to his 
bachelor conditions, 
that he contemplated 
the possible end of 
that period with ap- 
prehension. His 
frequent letters to his 
wife and daughter were brief and cheerful. 
Like many American fathers of his stamp, 
whose development has been in the finan- 
cial direction solely, and who desire to 
make up for other deficiencies in the 
only way possible, he closed each letter 
with the injunction not to stint them- 
selves, but to have every luxury that 
money could procure. He referred 
jocularly once or twice to Maud's titled 
admirer, saying he was sure she was too 
level-headed to give him any encourage- 
ment. As an admirer he was well enough, 
"a feather in her cap," but as a husband 
he would be a " thorn in the flesh ; " 
with which piece of paternal admonition 
he dismissed the matter from his mind 

Great was his disgust, therefore, when 
Mrs. Field imparted to him the fact that 
Prince Padua had intrusted her with his 
sentiments concerning Maud. He re- 
gretted that his resources would not per- 
mit him to approach the subject of mar- 
riage in the American way, which he 
lauded greatly. He believed it was not 
the custom for American fathers to make 
marriage settlements. Therefore, the 
aspirant for Miss Maud's hand, if an 
American, would have to be equipped 
with a profession which would ensure 
their united future, in that wonderful 
country where ability and talent meet 
with sure recompense. Mercenary con- 
siderations ought not to contaminate the 
tie ; sentiment alone was the atmosphere 
in which two souls should approach each 
other. Had he been so happy as to 

have been born in America, he felt sure 
he could have achieved a career. Un- 
fortunately, he was handicapped with the 
traditions of an aristocratic race. He 
would leave it to madam to decide 
whether the lustre of that historic name 
would count in the balance, although 
lacking the material wealth to properly 
support its renown. 

" H — m ! " exclaimed Mr. Field as he 
finished. " Very cunning ! That prince 
would be worth his weight in gold as a 
diplomatist. He has pulled the wool 
over the women's eyes, — but he'll find 
an American father a different article." 

He rose and paced the room. Memory 
recalled his daughter's childhood, and his 
heart glowed again with the recollections 
of that period. The old man was not 
given to retrospect or analysis. But he 
was now painfully aware of the changed 
relations of his life. Paternal love had 
lapsed into pride, and that had developed 
into respect — an unnatural reversion, 
caused by his children's consciousness of 
their superior acquirements. He colored 
with resentment as he reflected how long 
he had been an object of patronage from 
wife and children. But, after all, this 
condition of things was not peculiar to 
him. Were not Brown and Robinson, 
and in fact most of his friends, in the 
same boat? He turned away from the 
consideration of his domestic relations to 
that of his daughter's future. 

He took up his wife's letter again. 
She evidently took for granted his readi- 
ness to settle a princely sum upon Maud 
in furtherance of the projected alliance. 
Every fibre of his nature revolted at the 
thought of such a marriage. Antipathies 
of race, religion, caste, — all sprang full- 
armed to life The Puritan in him shoul- 
dered arms. 

In this frame of mind he sat down to 
write. But, alas ! between our concep- 
tions and their expression, what an 



abyss often ! As he read over his letter 
he felt with chagrin what a futile protest 
it was. He tore it up in disgust, and 
started on another effort. Then he re- 
flected that, cipher though he might be 
in his wife's estimation, no final action 
could be taken without him ; and with 
the ocean rolling between them, resis- 
tance was easier. 

Here his eye caught sight of the even- 
ing paper. As he unfolded the journal a 
staring heading arrested his attention. 




Great heavens ! Why, he had made a 
heavy deposit with them only that morn- 
ing. He had left the street before noon 
with no suspicion of impending disaster. 
He consulted his watch. It was rather 
early for the usual nightly gathering of 
the brethren in finance at their uptown 
rendezvous — the lobby of the Fifth 
Avenue Hotel. But he was too restless 
to wait, and he betook himself to these 
headquarters, where he found a knot of 
excited capitalists. What he gleaned 
from the incoherent mass of ejaculations 
and predictions was not calculated to 
soothe the mind of a man whose invest- 
ments were mostly of a character which a 
financial crisis would sweep away ; and 
such a crisis was doubtless imminent. 
For the first time in his life, Mr. Field 
was overtaken with vertigo, as he took 
his solitary way back to his own home. 

Such crises are too familiar to require 
description. Many predicted a repeti- 
tion of the panic of '73. Although the 
struggle was a desperate one, it proved 
less sweeping than was feared ; yet the 
wreck of more than one colossal fortune 
made it memorable in the annals of 

As the anxious weeks rolled on they 
left their mark upon the harassed old 
man. He lost confidence in his own 
powers. Sleep forsook his pillow. His 
trembling hands gave token of waning 
strength, and " nervous prostration " 
hailed her victim. 

Another letter from his wife, pressing 

the proposed marriage, goaded him almost 
to madness. In his trouble he had almost 
forgotten the matter. His wife's re- 
proaches developed a curious psycho- 
logical condition in the struggling man : 
he became a coward. Instead of admit- 
ting that he was in no condition to settle 
a large sum upon Maud, he wrote that 
some important transactions which he 
was contemplating would make it ex- 
pedient to postpone for a few weeks the 
decision as to Maud's portion. If his 
ventures turned out favorably, his daughter 
should be no loser by the delay. 

He wondered if his wife would take 
alarm. In his transactions hitherto there 
had been no question of an "if." Now 
that little word haunted him. All 
night he combated the idea of an unsuc- 
cessful issue. In the morning the reflec- 
tion in his mirror was that of an aging, 
haggard man. His gait, too, had grown 
unsteady. His first act was to look over 
his accounts and see what could be turned 
into "Governments" and settled upon 
his family, in case worse came to worst. 
His next step was to seek Rogers — a 
former protege of his, and now an esteemed 
broker. The latter greeted his benefactor 
with pain, as he remarked his changed 
aspect. He received the securities Mr. 
Field placed in his hands, and promised 
to convert them into "Governments," 
and put them into safekeeping for Mrs. 
Field's use, " in case," — here the old 
man came near breaking down, — 

" Merely a prudential measure, you 
know, Rogers — proper in such precari- 
ous times," he added as he went away. 

All day Rogers was haunted by the 
apparition of his haggard face and trem- 
bling hands. He hastened to carry out 
his instructions, despatched his own busi- 
ness, and, instead of going home, dined 
at an up-town restaurant : and soon after 
seven o'clock he rang at Field's door. 

He found the latter at his writing- 
table — a mass of papers before him. 
Several sheets were covered with figures, 
over which he was poring. As Rogers 
entered he looked up with a bland smile, 
showing no surprise at the unexpected 

"See here, Rogers," said he, "I've a 
scheme for making a colossal fortune; 



and the wonderful thing is how little capi- 
tal it takes to start it. Once started, it 
rolls up like a snowball. The difficulty 
is to keep it secret. We don't want any 
syndicate or stockholders to absorb our 
funds. Look at these figures. You see 
I start with $5,000. Now cast your eye 
down to the bottom of this page and see 
the result — $700,000,000! Oh, you 
needn't start ! The calculations are cor- 
rect. I've been over them so many times 
that my brain is in a buzz. What do the 
figures represent? Ah, my boy, that's 
the secret — and when two share a secret 
it is no longer a secret. But you shall 
know some day ; and meantime you shall 
be my man of business. Not another 
man lives whom I'd trust. We'll astound 
the world, my boy ! There never was 
such a scheme invented. And it was all 
worked out by this little clockwork inside 
my brain. Just listen, and you can hear 
it going ! " 

He paused and held his forehead close 
to Rogers's ear. The latter recognized 
with horror that he was talking with a 

"Yes," he said soothingly, knowing his 
only hope of managing the excited man, 
" it is buzzing away famously. And you 
know it will work just as well when you 
are asleep, and not tire you half so 

"But I'm not tired!" exclaimed the 
old man. "And I want to see whether 
there is any end to these figures. I tell 
you, Rogers, it's a bonanza ! Petro- 
leum — gold mines, — nothing ever in- 
vented can hold a candle to it ! You sit 
there and read the paper, while I cipher." 

" I thought of trespassing upon your 
hospitality," said Rogers. "There's a. 
little business I want to attend to up- 
town, and if you'll give me a bed I shall 
inflict myself upon you for the night." 

" Bed, my dear boy ! A dozen of 
them, if you can go to bed after hearing 
this ! But you always lacked imagina- 
tion, Rogers. You're prosaic. That's 
what makes you so valuable. I could no 
more sleep than — than the vault of 
heaven. The top of my head is the 
vault of heaven, and the stars in it twin- 
kle' so that I am as exhilarated as - — as if 
I'd been drinking champagne. But I 

pledge you my word, Rogers, that I 
haven't taken a drop of anything — not 
a drop ! " 

He was turning again to his figures 
when Rogers laid his hand gently upon 

"Only a moment!" he said. "You 
know I've not heard anything about your 
family for a long time. I'm going out 
for an hour presently, and then you can 
go on with your work. But now, tell me 
how is Otis? Where is he, and where 
,are your wife and Maud? " 

" Oh, they're in Paris just now. That 
confounded prince still tags them about. 
But you don't know about that affair. 
Well, there's my last letter. It will amuse 
you to read it. But, sh ! sh ! sh ! " the 
old man glanced fearfully about, as if the 
obnoxious suitor were listening, — " that 
poverty-stricken fraud of a prince mustn't 
get a hint of this scheme of mine, or 
he'll marry Maud without waiting for a 
settlement. I've been putting them off 
all these months, you see." 

Rogers pocketed the letter, glad to get 
the address so easily. 

" Ha ! ha ! " laughed the old man. 
" I'll settle his porridge for him ! I'll 
get you to write Mrs. Field that I've lost 
everything — not a copper left! You'll 
see how soon the prince'll turn his back 
upon them and seek his maccaroni." 

"just so ! " agreed Rogers. "A good 
joke ! And I might say that Otis would 
join them and bring them back home. 
He's somewhere on the other side, isn't 

"Yes, — but I forget where. Oh, 
there's his last letter, just see for your- 

"Good. I'll look it over later," said 
Rogers, pocketing it also. "And now 
I'll be oft. You'll be done with your 
figures by the time I'm back? " 

" Can't say. When a man's figuring 
is bringing him in millions an hour, you 
can't expect him to knock off for a 

He was growing irritable over the de- 
lay, and he turned his back with decision 
and resumed his work. 

Rogers's first step was to seek the near- 
est physician. He stated the case and 
found his fears fully confirmed, 



"I'd better not go back with you," 
said the doctor. " I'll drop in later upon 
some pretext, so that he won't suspect I 
come professionally. Meantime, get him 
to take these drops. If they put him to 
sleep before I come, so much the better." 

They agreed that Otis should be noti- 
fied at once, and Rogers proceeded to 
cable to the address he found in the letter. 
Within an hour he was back in Mr. 
Field's room. The latter was still poring 
over his figures. He raised a warning 
finger as Rogers entered, and glanced 
at him rather sulkily. Rogers sat quietly 
down and took up a newspaper, watching 
the old man over the top of it. Presently 
the latter looked up and said irritably : 
'What you waiting for, Rogers? Why 
don't you go to bed? " 

"So I will," assented Rogers, "if I 
may first help myself to a little water. I 
must take my ' drops.' " 

"What do you take them for?" de- 
manded the old man. " Can't you sleep? 
Better live without sleep than get the 
opium habit. Better die and done with 
it ! " he continued, growing more excited. 
" Look at me ! I haven't slept as much 
in two months as I used to in a week ; 
and here I am with a head as clear as a 
bell ! Why, I worked this scheme out 
nights while I lay awake. It's all a notion 
— that we need so much sleep. You 
don't catch me wasting so much time in 
bed hereafter. I used to lie there fuming 
because I couldn't sleep ; so I took to 
figuring nights, and it cured me. Don't 
be a fool, Rogers. If you can't sleep, 
then read, work, — anything except swal- 
low opium." 

" But these drops are brain food. 
You've got to feed the brain if you want 
it to work." 

" Brain food ! Let me look at it." 

He shook the phial, and then read the 
directions : " Twenty drops in water. 
Repeat in half an hour if necessary." 

" Repeat in half an hour ! Then, why 
not take forty drops at once, and done 
with it?" 

" I believe I will," assented Rogers. 

"Well, then, fix me up some, too. 
I don't believe in medicating, but I 
believe in nourishment for the brain. 
Pooh ! that's nothing ! " he ejaculated, 

swallowing the drops which Rogers pre- 

The latter made a feint of taking the 
same, saying, " Now, if you want it to do 
you any good, you must give it a chance. 
It's nearly ten o'clock, any way. Why 
not go to bed? " 

" No. Go yourself. I'll throw my- 
self down on this lounge for half an hour. 
Here's your room, just next to this. 
Make yourself at home." 

With this hospitable injunction he 
closed the door upon Rogers. The 
latter sliding the bolt in the door be- 
tween them, went through the other door, 
which led into the hail, and stole down- 
stairs to the faithful Mills. After ex- 
plaining his fears, he stationed Mills upon 
the front steps to await the doctor. When 
the latter arrived, the patient was in a 
sound sleep, and nothing could be done 
but remove him to the bed in the adjoin- 
ing room and await the effect of rest. 
Rogers removed all the old man's papers, 
that nothing might remind him of his de- 
lusions ; and then, stretching himself 
upon the lounge, he fell to considering 
what ought to be done in case he grew 

The next thing he was conscious of 
was the figure of the old man stealthily 
creeping about the room, searching for 
something. It was daylight, and Rogers 
recognized symptoms of growing mania 
in the glittering eyes and stealthy move- 
ments. The glances directed toward 
himself boded ill, and it was with a feel- 
ing of relief that he saw the man care- 
fully open the door of the next room and 
pass in. Rogers sprang into the hall and 
awakened Mills. 

It was. several minutes before Mr. 
Field reappeared. . Rogers shuddered as 
he saw that he had an open razor in his 
hand. Was he about to take his own 
life ? Should they spring upon him and 
disarm him ? But no, — he stole softly 
toward the lounge. In his surprise at 
finding Rogers no longer there, his arm 
fell and the razor dropped to the floor. 
He gazed wildly about him, and then 
threw up his hands screaming, " Thieves ! 
Thieves ! I'm robbed ! " 

" He fancies I've robbed him ! He 
meant to kill me ! He won't touch vou. 



Go, tell him you have me safely con- 
fined," whispered Rogers, pushing Mills 
into the room. 

As soon as the maniac saw Mills he 
screamed again, " I'm robbed, robbed ! 
That villain has made off with millions ! 
Send for the police ! Quick ! " 

" I've got him locked up safe and 
sound, sir," said Mills. "If you will go 
quietly to bed, sir, we'll manage it all 

" Oh, Mills, don't leave me ! " entreated 
the poor old man, breaking down and 
beginning to weep. A tremor seized 
him, and he clung to Mills like a scared 

In the mean time, Rogers had sent a 
messenger for the doctor, and by the 
time the latter appeared, Mills had suc- 
ceeded in soothing Mr. Field and getting 
him to bed. During the day his moods 
alternated. The fiction of Rogers having 
been given over to the police pacified 
him only temporarily. He began to call 
for his treasure, insisting that the room 
had been full of bags of gold. But, fortu- 
nately, before his sister's arrival he yielded 
to the medical treatment, and she found 
him with his eyes closed in peaceful sleep. 
Mrs. Grant was deeply afflicted. But 
no crisis ever bereft Aunt Hannah of her 
judgment, and she resolutely opposed 
summoning Mrs. Field to her husband's 
bedside. It would only complicate mat- 
ters, she said, adding that she should re- 
move her brother to Rockford as soon as 
it was possible. 

There were times when her brother 
recognized her, and he seemed soothed 
by her presence. At the end of a week 
the removal was decided upon and hap- 
pily accomplished. The effect of the 
change was so favorable that Mrs. Grant 
had hope of a permanent recovery. Dr. 
North shook his head. The mania was 
over, but the vacancy and compliance 
into which the patient had settled were 
the fell symptoms of decaying powers. 


The despatch announcing his father's 
condition reached Otis as he was upon 
the point of starting for a short tour in 

Switzerland. There would be just time 
to catch the next steamer from Bremen, 
and the two companions were the last 
passengers who boarded the vessel. 

A few days after his father's removal to 
Rockford, Otis arrived and joined his 
aunt in caring for the helpless invalid. 
The young man now realized for the first 
time in his life what that father had 
achieved. Seeing him lying prone amid 
the debris of the fortune he had reared, 
like another Samson suddenly become 
helpless, Otis learned too late to appre- 
ciate the powers of which his father was 
now shorn. He must himself now take 
the helm, unfitted as he was. He smiled 
bitterly as he thought how little the man- 
agement of the remnant of their fortune 
would task his ability. The relief of 
finding his mother and sister provided 
for was so great that he forgot, for the 
moment, his own changed prospects. 
With Rogers's help he went through the 
accumulated piles of papers, a futile but 
necessary task. 

In the mean time, Mr. Chapin had 
matured the plans which had been 
forming in his mind during the past 
months, and he went on to Rockford to 
superintend the removal of his effects to 
the new scene of his labors. The doctor 
claimed him as guest. After a busy day 
over practical matters, the evening was 
consumed in receiving visits from old 
parishioners. It was late before the 
two friends found themselves tete-a-tete, 
and free to exchange notes of experience. 

" I don't blame you for turning your 
back upon church work," said the doctor, 
as he turned the key upon the last visitor. 
"There is so much humbug in human 
nature that " — 

"Oh," exclaimed Mr. Chapin, "I 
have never for a moment thought of 
abandoning my profession. If I have a 
passion it is for human nature. I must 
work for it some way." He folded his 
arms upon the table and leaned forward 
over them — a way he had when ab- 
sorbed in his topic. " There never was 
a time," he resumed, "when such work 
was likely to be so fruitful as now. 
Formerly, priests preached and laymen 
listened. Now one hears these subjects 
discussed on all sides. Theological 



subterfuges are exposed. Superstitions 
attached to creeds, like barnacles to ships, 
are stripped off unceremoniously. Re- 
ligion is descending from the pulpit to 
the people, — coming out of the sanctuary 
to permeate social life. Many people 
remarking these changes distrust them. 
It is customary to say that we are now in 
a state of transition, — the inference being 
that change is dangerous, permanence 
desirable. Permanence means stagna- 
tion, and we ought always to be in a state 
of transition. But there is danger that 
in expelling shams we throw away what is 
valuable. The upper classes incline to 
recognize nothing higher than an en- 
lightened intellect ruled by a moral 
legality, while masses of men, set free from 
superstition, are sure to make material 
advantages the aim of existence." 

" And," said the doctor, " the tide in 
that direction is setting fearfully strong. 
What can be brought to bear upon it I 
confess I cannot see." 

" Intelligent spiritual development is 
the only hope," responded Mr. Chapin. 
" Religion is natural to men. So long as 
only natural religion is taught, men will 
receive it. The revolt is not against re- 
ligion, but against theological subtleties 
and shams." 

" Every man his own priest ! The 
outcome of your method, Chapin, would 
be the death of all you ecclesiastics. 
Your occupation would be gone." 

" No ; we would turn our shepherd's 
crooks into ploughshares," said Mr. 
Chapin smiling. "And that is just what 
I propose doing." 

He then recounted his plans. His 
wife's grandfather had died during the 
winter and left her in his will the farm 
on Long Island where his long life had 
been passed. It was within half an hour 
of New York by rail. Mr. Chapin pro- 
posed to go there, carry on the farm, and 
associate with it such missionary work as 
he could build up in the slums of the 

" Why, my dear fellow, you cannot run 
the machine all day and all night too ! 
You'll break down within a year ! " ex- 
claimed the doctor. 

But Mr. Chapin asserted that he would 
be the gainer for some hours of labor 

daily, in the open air. Experience would 
prove how much he could bear. He said 
something about employing Scandinavian 
labor for the bulk of the work. 

" I know what you will do," said the 
doctor. " You'll turn the place into a 
'Scandinavian Immigrants' Home.' " 

Mr. Chapin smiled. " It occurred to 
me there was an opportunity of doing 
something of that kind, in a small way," 
he admitted. "You see, buildings have 
accumulated with the years. There are 
two old cottages upon the place which' 
could be made very comfortable." 

" Oh, I see ! You are going to wallow 
in your natural propensities ! But when 
a man is working in the line of his tastes 
he can bear twice as much as when work 
is uncongenial. So I bid you God-speed. 
Keep a tramps' home, if you like : and, 
upon my word," here the doctor 
dropped his bantering tone, " I would 
rather work among that class than among 
the fashionable rich, who cultivate re- 
ligion as they do art, — they make it 
decorative ! Now there is a set whom I 
know in New York — I have some rela- 
tives among them. Their last fad is 
Theosophy. They have circles for the 
purpose of 'cultivating the higher life.' 
It's nothing but Buddhism. I've nothing 
to say against Buddhism, I'm sure. But 
the joke of it is they imagine they have 
gotten hold of some new truth. The 
corner-stone of Buddhism is renuncia- 
tion — precisely that of Christianity. But 
I have yet to learn what they renounce." 

Mr. Chapin shook his head. " It is 
only the aroma of a religion which 
reaches them," said he. "They wander 
in the fog of sentimentalism. That law 
is as inexorable in the spiritual as in the 
physical realm is the great truth Budd- 
hism inculcates. If they would only 
receive that, their standard of values 
would change entirely." 

" By Jove, Chapin, you ought to have 
a church in a great city — " 

Mr. Chapin put up a deprecating hand. 
"No! I should attract only cranks. 
Look at Ember and Fotheringay. They 
have tried it and failed. I should only 
construct one more pigeon-hole." 

" But are you going back upon 



" I am certainly not going back upon 
worship. Without worship, human nature 
grovels. The vacuum it leaves is always 
filled by some force disintegrating to 
character.. "But," he continued, "there 
is such a lamentable propensity in human 
nature, when pigeon-holed, to resolve it- 
self into all forms of affectation and 
hypocrisy, that it's worth considering, I 
sometimes think, whether some method 
more favorable to the teaching of truth 
cannot be found." 

North raised his eyebrows. "What 
next?" he exclaimed. " Everything goes 
to co-operation nowadays. Why not try 
co-operative religion?" 

" Don't you see, North, that such 
evangelistic work as I speak of is co- 
operative? And there is wonderful 
vitality in it." 

"But they run into grooves sooner or 
later. They end in a sect." 

"Not all, not necessarily." 

"What will you tell people who ask 
you what you believe? Do you believe 
in the supernatural? " 

" In the sense that there are . things 
which transcend our experience — yes. 
In the sense that things occur which con- 
flict with law, — no." 

"Do you believe in a future life? " 

"Yes, and a past, too." 

"Upon my word, Chapin, there is 
nothing negative about you. Tap you 
anywhere and you run belief." The 
doctor looked at his friend critically. 
" You can't keep silence," he said. " You 

will bubble over. It will be impossible to 
keep so much ardor under lock and key." 

Mr. Chapin smiled. " Words are 
cheap," said he. "I shall get to work 
and turn my back upon abstractions." 

" I hope you will pitch into the decora- 
tive Christians." 

" I shall begin at the other end of the 
scale. That is all I am clear about." 

He was as good as his word. A fort- 
night later found him established in his 
new home. A Scandinavian family was 
quartered in one of the cottages to assist 
in farm work. Mr. Chapin rose with the 
sun, labored with his hands all the morn- 
ing, and devoted the rest of the day to 
work in the slums of New York. A large 
room was fitted up for evening classes, 
and another for recreation. One thing 
led to another, and help was soon needed. 
One of the cottages upon the farm was 
made comfortable for summer use, and 
became a sanitarium for delicate mothers 
and children. Both Mr. Chapin and 
his wife devoted themselves to teach- 
ing those waifs, and the influence which 
these trained batches of women carried 
back with them was not the least im- 
portant part of the work. The "con- 
tagion of good " is a potent thing, as the 
changed aspect of the poor quarter in 
which Mr. Chapin worked soon proved. 
The people became less brutal, and the 
tenements cleaner. Perplexities were 
not lacking, but they were met and over- 
come, and the enterprise prospered 

(To be continued.) 


By Celia Thaxter. 

WHAT dost thou, little fishing boat, 
From the green, flowery coast remote? 
Adown the west the sun sinks fast, 
It lights thy sail and slender mast. 
The day declines, — O haste thee home ! 
Against the rocks the breakers foam. 



Under the measureless blue sky 
Eastward the vast sea spaces lie, - 
Wide scattered sails upon the tide 
Down o'er the world's great shoulder glide, 
Or silent climb the trackless waste, — 
But, little fisher-boat, make haste ! 

The snow white gulls soar high and scream, 
Soft clouds melt in a golden dream, 
Bleached rocks and turfy valleys lie 
Steeped in a bright tranquillity ; 
But autumn wanes, and well I know 
How swift the hurricane may blow ! 

Before thee, lo, the lovely coast 

Beckons, and like a friendly ghost 

The lighthouse signals thee — afar 

I see its gleaming silver star, 

Where the sun smites its glittering pane, — 

O little skiff, glide home again ! 

Somewhere along the land's fair line 
A light of love for thee may shine, 
When presently the shadows fall, — 
And eyes to which thy gleam is all 
Of good the round world holds, will gaze 
Out o'er the darkening ocean ways 

To seek thee ; therefore hasten home ! 
Here swings the breaker into foam. 
The waning moon breeds many a gale. 
Turn then, and gladden with thy sail 
The faithful eyes that long for thee, 
The. heart that fears the treacherous sea. 




By Le Roy Phillips. 

HER message to a world she never knew 
Reveals the thoughts sweet nature would disclose 
To one unmoved by earthly fame, who chose 
To toil apart, unknown, and so withdrew, 
And, guided by a higher Mind, while true 
To nature and herself, her spirit rose 
To share a sweet companionship with those 
Whose hallowed eyes see things beyond our view, 
She heard kind Nature speaking everywhere, 
Whose constant voice was soft with melody ; 
She praised the budding flowers that make earth fair ; 
Some tender thought in each she loved to see, — 
Or spoke, perchance, of earthly joy and care, 
Or talked with Death, her soul's own liberty. 


By C. S. Plumb. 
Vice-director of the Purdue University Agricultural Experiment Station. 

IT is the year of our Lord 2000, and 
Henri Joly, the director of a French 
agricultural experiment station, and 
Richard Grimes, holding a like position 
in the Indiana agricultural experiment 
station, are in correspondence with each 
other. At the International Conference 
of Station Directors at Berlin, they had 
met and begun an acquaintance which 
had continued by means of telephone 
correspondence in matters pertaining to 
agricultural science. To be sure America 
is but a short distance off, and M. Joly's 
private flying car could convey him there 
in a few hours, but M. Joly is a busy man, 
and it is a most difficult operation for 
him to leave his work long enough to eat 
his meals like a rational animal. In fact, 
his wife complains that he neglects her, 
and the family in general, for his phos- 

phates, and nitrogen feeders, and elec- 
tric plants. 

M. Joly, in his communication with 
Professor Grimes, had expressed a very 
great desire to learn about American 
methods of farming. When a boy he 
had heard his grandfather say that, while 
the Americans were a very chic people, 
they were the most profligate of their re- 
sources of any people on the face of the 
globe. But since his grandsire's day, he 
knew that the Americans had changed 
greatly, that they were no longer abori- 
gines, but represented the most advanced 
type of an agricultural people. As a race 
they had always been famous for their 
Yankee ingenuity, and while in the 
nineteenth century they had aston- 
ished civilization with their mechanical 
devices for the benefit of commerce and 



the arts, the dawn of the twenty-first cen- 
tury lighted up a more wonderful and 
marvellous era of agricultural progress 
than the sanguine student of a century 
before would ever have dared to con- 
ceive ; for, realizing that agriculture is 
the true foundation of national prosperity 
and the source of all wealth, the Amer- 
ican people had bowed down to the 
goddess of Agriculture, and trodden Mam- 
mon in the dust. The bright, ambitious 
students of the day concentrated their 
thoughts upon agricultural science, and 
leading institutions throughout the land 
were known as agricultural colleges 
and universities. In this respect, the 
Americans, with their accustomed wis- 
dom, had recognized the necessity of 
concentrating their efforts to the develop- 
ment of the fount of national prosperity 
— agriculture. 

One night in January, according to 
agreement, at the urgent solicitation of 
M. Joly, Professor Grimes delivered a 
telephonic lecture to the students of the 
National Agronomic University of France, 
" On the Economy and Methods of 
American Farming of To-day." About 
one thousand students gathered in the 
telephone hall at the college. This room 
was of special construction, having a wide 
rear, and gradually coming to a point or 
focus, like a funnel. The floor and furni- 
ture were heavily rubber coated, so that 
no appreciable noise occurred in the 
room through walking or moving about. 
A large telephone connected with the 
point of the room, from without, and one 
thousand small telephones united with 
this one, and then diverged to each desk 
in the room, where each one was con- 
nected with the side of the head rest. 
Each listener leaned back in the chair, 
the telephone came in contact with the 
ear, and the voice was heard. 

The following is an abstract of the lee- 
ture as prepared for the Paris Tei7ips by 
one of the instructors in the University. 

Said Professor Grimes : In the latter 
part of the nineteenth century, the people 
of the United States first turned their 
attention to the development of agricul- 
ture from a scientific standpoint, by 
establishing a number of experimental 
stations. This was first done by several 

individual states, notably Connecticut, 
New Jersey, North Carolina, Massachu- 
setts, New York, and Ohio. In a few 
years, however, the Congress of the 
United States, impressed with the great 
value of the work in agricultural research 
done by the then existing state stations, 
passed a law, donating to each agricul- 
tural and mechanical college that had 
been established by governmental action, a 
sum of fifteen thousand dollars each per 
annum, for the furtherance of agricul- 
tural research. These institutions, thus 
assisted by the necessary funds, pro- 
duced such effective results that, very 
early in the twentieth century, they were 
greatly increased in number, by Congress 
establishing one station in each state for 
every one hundred thousand inhabitants, 
so that, as a result, some states had two 
score or more of stations scattered over 
their boundaries, in which labored eager 
and wise investigators, graduates of our 
agricultural colleges. So effective has 
been the work of these institutions and 
the agricultural colleges of the country, 
that to-day each county in every state sup- 
ports an agricultural experiment station. 
These county stations are officially con- 
nected with a central station, with head- 
quarters at the state capital, and all 
these stations have official connection 
with the United States Experiment Sta- 
tion at the capital of the nation — Wash- 
ington. No scientist is employed in any 
of these stations unless a graduate of an 
agricultural college, and he cannot hold 
a position without having passed a rigid 
examination before a government ex- 
amination board, consisting of ten sta- 
tion directors, who meet once a year for 
this purpose. Hence these experiment 
stations are entirely under the control of 
men specially adapted to the work, and 
consequently the results secured from 
their labors are decidedly satisfactory. 
As we have no politics now, of the sort in 
former days, one of the serious obstacles 
to progress in this work has been removed, 
for incapable men appointed through 
political interference in this work are a 
thing of the past. 

The farmers of America are a very 
happy and prosperous people, and this 
has been brought about through a com- 



bination of education with an application 
of methods secured through facts largely 
deduced from station investigation. The 
agricultural school sends its graduates 
among the people, farming practices 
gradually improved through the influence 
of these young men, and as steadily the 
percentage of illiteracy and ignorant man- 
agement was reduced. Finding that agri- 
culture was becoming a fashionable oc- 
cupation, many people of rare ability 
adopted it as a profession, so that to-day 
this business is followed by a more illus- 
trous class than is any other kind of labor. 
It combines such independence, such de- 
lightful living, such a rational application 
of the mind and such helpfulness, that it 
is far more attractive to our people than 
anything else. 

Our farms are all small holdings, the 
largest being fifty acres, while the or- 
dinary size is ten acres. Each home- 
stead is located about ten rods from the 
asphalt roadway, while the barn (we have 
but one barn on a farm in America) is 
located in the centre of the farm. A 
pneumatic tube running under ground 
connects the cellar of the house with the 
barn, so that when having no other means 
of transit, except to walk, persons may 
enter the pouch of the tube and be con- 
veyed to and from the barn with electric 
rapidity. Horses are used some by farm- 
ers, but generally vehicles having pneu- 
matic, rubber-tired, bicycle wheels, with 
ball bearings, are conveyed from point to 
point by means of electric motors stored 
beneath the wagon bed. Our modern 
motor is noiseless, is easily managed, 
and gives greater satisfaction than horse 
power, either attached to heavy wagon 
loads or to light buggies such as are con- 
ducted by ladies. The principal use we 
have for horses at the present time is for 
racing contests, and for table use, as we 
esteem the meat a great delicacy. The 
expense of maintaining a horse for labor 
far exceeds the expense of an electric 
motor, while the risk from sickness and 
death does not occur with the motor. 

The influence of electricity on our 
farming occupation is exceedingly great. 
Every farmer has an electric plant in his 
house, which connects with the whole 
establishment, and not only materially 

lightens the labor of the women, but 
assists in farm-work in many particulars. 
In the house the rooms are lighted by 
electricity ; doors and windows are 
opened and closed by pressing an elec- 
tric button ; butter extractors are oper- 
ated by electric power ; an inverted 
brush-box with a handle, worked by a 
motor, is passed over the floor to sweep, 
requiring simply the guidance of hand 
power; dish-washing machines are run 
by the lightning-like fluid, and likewise 
the elevator in houses two stories high ; 
all cooking is conducted in electric 
stoves ; and all clothing is washed and 
ironed by simple, inexpensive machinery, 
run by electricity. As a result of this 
lightening of women's labors on the 
farm, while a century ago the larger per- 
centage of the women in our insane 
asylums were farmers' wives, to-day these 
form the smallest percentage of those 
from any walk in life. In fact, no women 
in America find greater enjoyment in 
their homes than do our farmers' wives. 

On the farm, electricity serves many 
important purposes. Barn doors are 
operated by electric power ; an electric 
fork conveys the hay and fodder from the 
wagon to the barn, and from mow to 
manger ; automatic electric shovels clean 
out the manure troughs behind the cattle ; 
the farm bell is rung by electricity ; 
ploughs, mowing machines, hay tedders 
and rakes are operated by electric motors ; 
and all animals are slaughtered by means 
of electric connection. In the nineteenth 
century the experiment station began to 
study the effects of electricity upon the 
vegetable growth, and such progress has 
been made that to-day all of our market 
gardeners grow vegetables under the in- 
fluence of electricity. It has been dem- 
onstrated that electrically grown vege- 
tables are of superior quality and 
tenderness. Lines of electric wires dis- 
tributed through the propagating pits, 
and even in the fields on the farm, have 
greatly increased the yield and early 
maturity of crops, while destroying all 
fungus growth and insects adjacent to the 

Everybody possesses apparatus for 
spraying plants for the destruction of in- 
jurious insects and fungi, and he would 



be considered a singular farmer at the 
present day who neglected to use his in- 
secticides and fungicides. Injurious in- 
sects, however, are held in check by 
many farmers by the use of beneficial in- 
sects. On every well-regulated farm are 
small pens for breeding beneficial insects. 
Enough of the food of the insect is grown 
to supply them in abundance, and each 
farmer has an insectary of the size re- 
quired by his fields and crops. The 
Hessian fly, chinch bug, Colorado potato 
beetle, and rose bug are held in check by 
beneficial insects. Farmers propagating 
beneficial insects train them to come at 
the call of a whistle, so that the trained 
ones are easily collected in the field when- 
ever desired. It is an amusing scene to 
watch a number of Dodono hitata, feed- 
ing on potato beetles, drop their prey, 
and fly to the insectary at the call of the 
whistle. Their intelligence is marvellous. 
A special line of these beneficial insects 
may be purchased of the larger seed deal- 
ers and growers. 

The care of our live stock has been re- 
duced to such a science, that seemingly 
a maximum of profit is secured. Animals 
of all classes are fed on a scientific basis. 
Each farmer has an analytical machine, 
by which he can analyze his own feeding 
stuffs, fodders, or soils in a few minutes. 
From time to time he analyzes, in order 
to note any change in the character of 
the food. Each animal is carefully 
studied, and fed according to the pur- 
pose in view, a certain number of pounds 
of albuminoids, carbohydrates, crude 
fibre, etc., as the case may be. Through 
investigation begun at several of our ex- 
periment stations, we are enabled to pro- 
duce any class of flesh for food that we 
wish. By following the directions of the 
Henri Prescription Book, one is enabled 
to deposit alternate layers of lean and fat 
upon the animal carcass, or entirely one 
or the other. Photographs of the effects 
of food upon the animal system, taken 
about one hundred and twelve years ago, 
show that this work was then in its 
crudest stage. Through our knowledge 
of the effects of food upon the animal 
system, we are also enabled to secure 
nothing but pure cream from our cows, if 
we see fit, or the reverse. Yet breed 

has been so influenced here by artificial 
conditions that the Jerseys of some breed- 
ers yield nothing but cream from very 
ordinary food, while the Holstein-Friesian 
cow under average circumstances will 
make many hogsheads of milk a year ; in 
fact, cows of this breed oftentimes require 
slings beneath the udder to support its 
great weight. 

Automatic milking machines are com- 
monly used here now. By a special 
arrangement, a system of tubes with 
automatic pumps are connected with the 
teats, and these with a tube which passes 
back of the udder and connects with 
another tube, which conducts the milk to 
a butter extractor, where the butter is 
taken from it. The skim milk is carried 
by other pipes back to tanks in the 
mangers, where it is fed to the cows as 
may be necessary, thus preventing all 
loss. This arrangement relieves the 
farmer of the worry of milking by hand 
a kicking cow, or one with small teats. 
The animals are kept in barns where the 
temperature in winter is always constant, 
being regulated by electricity. None of 
our American cattle have horns, though 
two hundred years ago hornless cattle 
were uncommon. 

In the western states, there used to 
be, in the days of my grandfather, a great 
loss of corn fodder and straw, each year, 
through allowing these valuable substan- 
ces to be exposed to all kinds of weather, 
and trampled under foot by stock, burned 
or thrown to waste. We now most care- 
fully utilize these foods, by having silos 
for the preservation of corn fodder when 
green, and by tearing the corn and wheat 
stems into shreds when dry, and feeding 
them with a grain ration. All such fod- 
ders are now carefully husbanded by us. 

It is only quite recently — say for one 
hundred years — that Americans have 
exercised much care in the conservation 
of soil fertilizers. But the exhaustion of 
the soil was steadily impressed upon the 
people, and finally, after much earnest 
effort on the part of some of our Atlantic 
states experiment stations, the attention 
of the people was drawn to this waste, 
and an active movement was begun to 
conserve our common farm fertilizers and 
apply them scientifically, and also those 



manufactured and sold in the market. 
All solid and liquid farm manure is care- 
fully protected. The liquid manure is 
conducted from each animal to strong 
cement tanks below the stable. When 
one tank is fi