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ma 15 

New England Magazine 

An Illustrated Monthly 


MARCH, 1907 — AUGUST, 1907 

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1907, by 


in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington 

All Rights Reserved 

Boston, Mass. 


6 Beacon Street 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2012 


VOL. XXXVI MARCH, 1907 — AUGUST, 1907 


Abdication of Martha Ware, The (Story) Mary Caldwell Richardson . . . 369 

After Seven Years (Story) Harriet Gaylord 695 

American Shipping and Shipping Legislation David Perry Rice, A.B 50 

Architect and His Work, A New England (see "New 

England Architect and His Work, A") 

Arduous Outing, An (Story) Edith M. Blanchard 71 

A Singer of Southcreek (March) Mabel Ward Cameron 103 

A Singer of Southcreek (April) Mabel Ward Cameron 177 

Book Notes (March) 128 

Book Notes (April) 256 

Book Notes (May) , 384 

Book Notes (June) 511 

Book Notes (July) 640 

Book Notes (August) 767 

Books as I See Them (March ) Kate Sanborn 117 

Books as I See Them (April) Kate Sanborn 249 

Books as I See Them (May) . .Kate Sanborn 380 

Books as I See Them (June) ■. Kate Sanborn 503 

Books as I See Them (July) Kate Sanborn 634 

Books as I See Them (August) • Kate Sanborn 758 

Boston Journalism, Nineteenth Century (see "Nineteenth 

Century Boston Journalism") 
"Boy's Town," A Day in Howells's (see "Day in Howells's 

'Boy's Town,' A") 

Captain Whitehouse Frank West Rollins 684 

College Presidents in the South, New England (see "New 

England College Presidents in the South") 

Colonial and Patriotic (March) Elisabeth Merritt Gosse 124 

Colonial and Patriotic (April) Elisabeth Merritt Gosse 253 

Colonial and Patriotic (June) Elisabeth Merritt Gosse 508 

Colonial and Patriotic (July) Elisabeth Merritt Gosse 638 

Colonial and Patriotic (August) Elisabeth Merritt Gosse 763 

Concerning Home and School (March) Sarah Louise Arnold 81 

Concerning Home and School (April) Sarah Louise Arnold 209 

Concerning Home and School (June) Sarah Louise Arnold 493 

Concerning Home and School (July) Sarah Louise Arnold 618 

Connecticut, Tobacco -Culture in (see "Tobacco-Culture in 


Counsels of Brother James, The (Story) Alice E. Allen 188 

Crisis, A Massachusetts R. L. Bridgman 63 

Crusade, A New England (see "New England Crusade, A") 

Day in Howells's "Boy's Town, " A Calvin Dill Wilson & 

David Bruce Fitzgerald 289 

Editorial (March) 92 

Editorial (April) 214 



Editorial (May) 342 

Editorial (June) • -■ 486 

Editorial (July) 611 

Editorial ( August ) 73 6 

Editor's Table (March) 112 

Editor's Table (April) 244 

Editor's Table (May) 374 

Editor's Table (June) - 498 

Editor's Table I July) 629 

Editor's Table (August) 753 

Family Doctor, The F. E. C. Robbins 627 

Fate oi the Heretic, The F. W. Burrows 335 

( ialvcston, an Epitome of American Pluck Frank Putnam 387 

l rardens, School Philip Emerson 85 

1 ierman Teacher Teaches, The G. Stanley Hall 282 

Heretic, Fate of the (see "Fate of the Heretic, The") 
Home and School (see "Concerning Home and School") 

1 louston, Texas, an Inland Seaport Frank Putnam 352 

How I Saw the Monitor-Merrimac Fight Joseph McDonald 548 

Howells's "Boy's Town," A Day in (see "Day in Howells's 
'Boy's Town,' A") 

Imprisoned by Icebergs (Story) Thomas J. Partridge 554 

Intervention at Providence, An (Story) Gilbert P. Coleman 426 

King Spruce (see "Old King Spruce") 

Lamey I >aisy, M.D. (Story) Mary Agnes Griffin 457 

Legends of Old Xewgate, Nos. 10, n George H. Hubbard 218 

Light-Keeper of Old Seguin, The Charles E. Allen 700 

Longfellow Memorial Abroad, A 208 

Massachusetts Crisis, A R. L. Bridgman 63 

Men and Affairs at Washington (June) David S. Barry 404 

Men and Affairs at Washington (July) David S. Barry 565 

Men and Affairs at Washington (August) David S. Barry 703 

Mr. Brown's Appetite (Story) Mary K. Ward 348 

Mrs. Blunt's Rebellion (Story) Harriet A. Nash 481 

National Society of New England Women E. Marguerite Lindley 120 

New England Architect and His Work, A Oscar Fay Adams 432 

New England College Presidents in the South George Frederick Mellen 468 

New England Crusade, A George Walter Chamberlain. . . 195 

England Scenery, Old-Time (see "Old-Time New 

England Scenery ") 34 

Newgate, Legends of Old, Nos. 10, 11 (see "Legends'of Old 

I Means in Transition Frank Putnam 228 

Nineteenth Century Boston Journalism (March) E. H. Clement 41 

Nineteenth Century Boston Journalism (April) Fl. H. Clement 170 

Nineteenth ( entury Boston Journalism (May) E. H. Clement 321 

Nineteenth Century Boston Journalism (June) E. H. Clement 462 

Nineteenth Century Boston Journalism (July) E. H. Clement 558 

Nineteenth ( fentury Boston Journalism (August) E. II. Clement 729 

Old Kin- Spru< e Holman F. Day 

If For the Honor of Britt's Busters 15 

1 1 1 "Ladder" Lane's Soiree 273 

IV. The Barony of "Stumpage John" 416 

V. The Red Throat of Pogey 578 

VI. The Men for En< hanted 670 

Old-lime New England S< '-nery iiti ,,,., 34 



On the Trail of Roger Williams Whitman Bailey 54 r 

Our Gateway to Mexico, San Antonio (sec "San Antonio, 

Our Gateway to Mexico") 

Price of Eden, The (Story) Mabel S. Merrill 745 

Reprieve, The (Story) Annie Hamilton Donnell 589 

Restoration to Sanity A (Story) Isabel Holmes 303 

Rights Belonging to the Noblesse in Canada Viscount de Fronsac 621 

Roger Williams, On the Trail of (see "On the Trail of 

Roger Williams") 

Rural-Degeneracy Cry, The Edward A . Wright 152 

Rut, The (Story) Edith M. Blanchard 317 

San Antonio, Our Gateway to Mexico Frank Putnam 595 

School Gardens ' , Philip Emerson 85 

"Seeing Boston" (Story) Frances R. Sterrett 690 

Shipping Legislation (see "American Shipping and Shipping 


Singer of Southcreek, A (March) Mabel Ward Cameron 103 

Singer of Southcreek, A (April) Mabel Ward Cameron 1 77 

Tickle-Town Topics 

(May) In the Cellar — Sweetening — Culprit's Escape 
— New England Apostrophes 345 

(June) The Backwoods Line — New England Apos- 
trophes 490 

(July) Crumbs 616 

(August) Morte d' Arthur 739 

Tobacco -Culture in Connecticut Robert A . Logan 298 

Troublesome Conscience, A (Story) Ethel P. Waxham 750 

Twin Cities of North Texas Frank Putnam 716 

Uncle Primus Tells a Ghost Story (Story) Pauline C. Bouve 27 

Unfinished Flag, The (Story) '. Kendrick Ferris 449 

Unscheduled Rehearsal, An (Story) James William Jackson 241 

Views of Old-Time Boston 159 

What 's the Matter with New England ? 

I. Maine Frank Putnam 515 

II. New Hampshire Frank Putnam , 643 

What's Doing at Washington (March) David S. Barry 3 

What's Doing at Washington (April) David S. Barry 131 

Wireless Elopement, A (Story) Stella Miller Neal 95 


Agamenticus Gwynn Myrick 320 

At Service Isabella Howe Fiske 456 

Ballade of the Woods on a Winter's Night Frank Putnam 40 

Bas-Reliefs Isabella Howe Fiske 637 

Bravery Margaret N. Goodnow 610 

Brook Farm Margaret Ashmun 368 

Calendar of Wild Flowers, A Elizabeth West 497 

Cinnamon Rose Dora Read Goodale 43 1 

Clown's Prelude, A Charles Hamilton Musgrove . 35 1 

Creeds Isabella Howe Fiske 489 

Cruel Name, The Theodosia Garrison 715 

Dream Angel, The Cora A. Matson Dolson 213 

Dying Dogma and Living Religion Alice Spicer 594 



Fireflies Abbie Farwcll Brown 757 

(Join' \\ .iv ( tat West Edith Minitcr 331 

s on the I lill. The Charlotte Mellen Packard 564 

s Party. The Elizabeth Finley 102 

1 low Happiness Came Cora A. Matson Dolson 766 

Infinite. The Edith Summers 485 

Inland Tide. The Stephen Tracy Livingston 288 

Journey, The Clinton Scollard 373 

Lady-Slipper, The T. C. Crowell 316 

Little Gray Owl, The Cora A. Matson Dolson 80 

Little Voyager, The Pauline Frances Camp 62 

Little World before Me as 1 Lay, A Jessie Wallace Hughan 489 

Love Died Last Night Stacey E. Baker 615 

Meadow Lark, The Clinton Scollard 176 

Morning-Glories Edith Summers 577 

Mt. Washington Charlotte W. Thurston 425 

\ 1 v Tent Lillian Burleigh Miner 344 

November and March Isabella Howe Fiske 40 

1 >ld Cambridge Clara Lathrop 32 

( )n an Immortal Song Fanny Runnells Poole 151 

( )n the Lake Arthur L. Salmon 272 

g Pantomime, The Sinclair Lewis 557 

Path of Years, The Mary A. P. Stansbury 588 

Penitent to a Violet, A Mary Wilder Pease 510 

Plowboy, The Margaret Ashmun 309 

Prairie Woman's Vision, The Margaret Ashmun 414 

Quatrain, The Sinclair Lewis 615 

Renewal Curtis Hidden Page 1 76 

da, Tin- Clinton Scollard 507 

Scriptures Isabella Howe Fiske 281 

S ■ M usic Charles E. Whitmore 502 

Sonnet to The Sonnet Charlton Lawrence Edholm . . . 694 

S< >rr< >w Maud Browne 75 7 

n >rrow and Spring Charles Hanson Towne 288 

Sunset Road, The Pauline Frances Camp 415 

II. Iward Everett Hale Benjamin Reynolds Bulkeley . 141 

I Fnreality Flora B. Davis 496 


"I he silent man who has his way" 

New England Magazine 

Volume XXXVI 

March, 1907 



What's Doing in Washington 

By David S. Barry 

THE question so often asked 
whether the dominance of 
New England in na- 
tional affairs so long 
maintained is on the wane 
makes a study of the per- 
sonnel of the New Eng- 
land delegation in Con- 
gress especially interest- 
ing at this time. 

Comparisons are odious, 
and if this were not so it 
would be, perhaps, unfair 
to compare the public men 
of New England to-day, 
man by man, with their 
predecessors since the 
days of the first Congress, 
but it is not necessary to 
do this in order to get the 
material for forming an 
opinion as to the merit of 
those now prominent in 
the public eye and to 
make an estimate of them 
mentally, physically, fi- 
nancially, morally, so- 
cially and otherwise. 

New England public 
Washington taken as a whole are 
probably as good all around men as 




men in 

were those who have gone before. 
In the days when statesmen were 
few they loomed up larger 
in the public eye than 
they do to-day and it may 
be that there were more 
big men in proportion to 
the whole number than in 
the present generation. 
The larger the number, of 
course, the less brilliant 
the average, and a glance 
at the biographies of 
statesmen of bygone days 
will show that the names 
of but a very few are re- 
tained in the public mem- 
ory. Long processsions 
of public servants have 
passed into oblivion just 
as there are amongst those 
in power to-day a large 
majority whose names 
will soon be lost. 

One observation quite 
popular nowadays, ap- 
pears to be founded on 
fact. This is that New 
England as well as other sections is 
replacing its old fashioned states- 
men who were scholars, and law- 



yerSj and jurists and diplomats and 
men of letters, with plain everyday 
business men. Commercialism is 
crowding" itself to the front among 
the public men of New England as 
well as among those of other States, 
and there are those who, disturbed 
at this tendency, predict the early 
extinction of that type of public 
man represented by the Websters, 
the Adamses, the Ameses, the 
Gerrys, the Everetts, the Win- 
throps, the Choates, the Cushings, 
the Stunners, the Wilsons, the 
Boutwells, the Daweses, the 
Bankses, the Longs, the Robinsons 
of Massachusetts, the Ellsworths and 
the Trumbulls of Connecticut, the 
Fessendens, the Morrills, the Reeds 
and the Dingleys of Maine, and the 
Edmundses of Vermont. 

There are many able men, many 
honorable, useful and in every way 
attractive characters among those 
of the New England delegation 
who do not properly come with- 
in the definition of statesmen and 
some of the very best of these are 
the men who represent the type 
known as commercialists ; that is, 
they are business men pure and 
simple, educated for business and 
gravitating into public life by the 
force of circumstances, or the dic- 
tates of ambition. It is not putting 
the case too strongly to say that the 
foremost man in the New England 
Congress delegation today, the one 
who possesses more native ability 
and more power of accomplishing 
results based on practical, sensible, 
constitutional principles, involving 
patriotism as well as politics, is that 
one who, universally recognized as 
the leader of the Senate, is neverthe- 
less a business man pure and simple 
whose knowledge and experience of 

public affairs has been obtained 
while immersed in the demands of 
a business career — Nelson Wilmarth 
Aldrich of Rhode Island. , 

That the tendency of modern 
dominating commercialism is to 
bring business men to the front as 
the old type of statesman retires is 
clearly shown in the rapidly chang- 
ing personnel of the Congress dele- 
gation from Massachusetts. With 
Winthrop Murray Crane, a paper 
manufacturer from a New England 
mill village succeeding George 
Frisbie Hoar in the Senate, it is 
plain to see what the end will be. 
It is already possible for those who 
have given this subject thought to 
predict with some degree of confi- 
dence that Senator Henry Cabot 
Lodge will be the last of the class of 
citizens of Massachusetts, who are 
educated for the public service and 
represent in the Senate the interests 
and the traditions of that portion 
of the people who are not directly 
connected with business affairs. 
Mr. Lodge was born to the purple 
as it were, and he looks it. His 
wealth was inherited like his blue 
blood, and in forming and announc- 
ing his opinions on public questions 
he is influenced no further by mate- 
rial considerations than is essential 
to such regard for political affairs 
as will render certain his re-election. 
History proves that all successful 
statesmen have been first successful 
politicians, and in this the present 
senior Senator from Massachusetts 
is no exception. Mr. Lodge is a 
very practical man when it comes 
to keeping his political fences in re- 
pair, publishing the creditable pro- 
ducts of his facile pen, and giving 
to the world a proper impression of 
his course on public questions. 


But, being' a free agent in all other 
respects, he is able to survey the 
field from the view points of an 
hereditary statesman. 

By reason of his long experience 
in public life, his high reputation as 
an author and orator, his command- 
ing position on the committees of the 
Senate, and incidentally, because of 
his close personal 
relations with the 
President of the 
United States, to 
say nothing of his 
aristocratic fam- 
ily connections, 
and the personal 
and intellectual 
a 1 1 r a c t i ons of 
himself and the 
various members 
of his family, 
Senator Lodge 
exercises a strong 
and in some re- 
spects unique in- 
fluence over the 
public, official and 
social life of 
Washington. His 
wife is a leader in 
the best element 
of society; one of 
his two sons is 
a poet of grace and an Egyptologist 
of repute. His daughter, the wife of 
Representative Augustus P. Gard- 
ner from the Sixth Massachusetts 
district is very little in Washington 
owing to the delicate state of her 
health which leads her to spend the 
winter months in the south. The 
spacious and attractive home of the 
Lodges on Massachusetts avenue, 
between 17th and 18th streets, is a 
resort for the exclusive fashionable 
and administration set, and there is 


little worth knowing of what is go- 
ing on in Washington that is not 
discussed in its earliest stages in the 
charming great library of this inter- 
esting house. The long existing 
friendship between Theodore 
Roosevelt and Henry Cabot Lodge, 
dating back at least twenty-five 
years, has never been broken. 
Differences on public ques L ions may 
have arisen, but the intimate, 

« friendly, affec- 

tionate relations 
UP of the various 

members of the 
Roosevelt and 
Lodge families 
have never been 
disturbed. The 
two families are 
indeed like one. 
They exchange 
visits in a neigh- 
borly way, they 
drop into one 
another's houses 
to take pot luck, 
they ride horse- 
back together 
and are in all 
the phases of 
daily life on 
terms of the 
closest friend- 
ship. President 
Roosevelt calls 
Senator Lodge 
habitually "Cab- 
ot," and the Senator calls the Presi- 
dent "Theodore." They have worked 
and played together for many years 
and their ambitions lie in the same 
direction. Generally speaking, Sena- 
tor Lodge is the favorite and recog- 
nized spokesman of President 
Roosevelt on the floor of the Senate. 
This condition, however, is not 



likely much longer to exist as it is 
the belief of the best posted public 
men in Washington that Mr. Roose- 
velt will soon be his own represent- 
ative in that honorable body as it is 
understood to be his present plan 
to seek a seat therein as the succes- 
sor of Thomas C. Piatt or Chauncey 
M. Depew. 

Massachusetts' junior Senator W. 
Murray Crane, as until recently he 
has written the name, which now 
appears on the Senate roll-call and 
in other official lists as Winthrop M. 
Crane, took first rank among- the 
commercial Senators the very first 
day he entered the Senate Decem- 
ber 6, 1904 as the successor of Mr. 
Hoar. No greater contrast is pos- 
sible between two men than between 
the scholarly, profound, experiencd 
lawyer-statesman, born among 
statesmen and bred to the life of a 
statesman, and the plain business 
man from the mill village. Yet it 
might not be fair to say that the 
public services of Senator Hoar, 
great as they were, were more val- 
uable to the State of Massachusetts 
and to the general public than those 
which are now being rendered by 
Senator Crane in his capacity as 
representative of the plain everyday 
business interests. 

Mr. Crane cannot make a speech. 
He has no brilliancy of con- 
versation. He knows little about 
books, he has few social attributes, 
he is lacking in imagination, and 
speaking of him as a Senator, ac- 
cording to the popular ideal, it is 
quite within the bounds of truth to 
say that he does not look the pare. 
Mr. Crane is a small, thin, unobtru- 
sive man, with a soft, low voice. 
He; goes in and out among his col- 

leagues quietly and modestly and 
attracts little attention among those 
who are unacquained with his per- 
sonality. A close inspection of this 
interesting man, however, shows a 
broad full forehead, a keen intelli- 
gent eye, and an atmosphere of gen- 
eral effectiveness that in this prac- 
tical age serves well to offset what- 
ever he may be lacking in the out- 
ward marks of statesmanship. 

Lititle more than two years as 
Senator Mr. Crane has made his 
activities felt in the Senate. It is 
L^id to be a fact that he is thor- 
oughly acquainted with every Sen- 
ator on both sides of the chamber 
and that he knows each of them 
through and through. As there are 
Senators, Mr. Crane's colleague, 
Senator Lodge, possibly being one 
of them, who know little about the 
personality of some of their col- 
leagues with whom they have served 
for many years, Mr. Crane's knack of 
"sizing up" men and "getting next" 
to them can well be appreciated. 
He has in a measure taken the place 
of Senator Allison, long the peace- 
maker -among disagreeing factions. 

Senator Crane's power of ingrat- 
iating himself with his brother Sen- 
ators, posting himself as to their 
strong and weak points, finding out 
their peculiarities and making an 
estimate of their abilities and ambi- 
tions is the secret of the influential 
position which he has so early as- 
sumed in the Senate. As a confiden- 
tial emissary, pacificator and suc- 
cessful go-between Mr. Crane has 
few if any equals. He is one of the 
original Roosevelt men and until 
recently the President has been in 
the habit of turning to Mr. Crane 
for information and advice at im- 
portant periods in his administra- 


tion, and yet, Mr. Crane was the 
alert, sleepless, untiring deputy of 
those who in the rate bill fight of 
last session succeeded after the bit- 
ter struggle which is still fresh in 
the minds of the public in lining up 
the Republican side in opposition 
to the policy of the administration. 

At the present session of Con- 
gress, moreover, it was Mr. Crane 

who, as the confidential represent- 
ative of the Republican leaders of 
the Senate performed what might 
have been with some men the un- 
pleasant duty of telling his col- 
league, Senator Lodge, that if his 
amendment to the Foraker resolu- 
tion in the Brownsville affair en- 
dorsing the act of the President in 
dismissing the colored troops as 



constitutional wore persisted in as 
originally drafted it would be de- 
feated. Discussing recently the 
subject of the new class of men 
which Massachusetts is sending' 
he Senate, a public man said, 
"Mr. Crane is a very valuable 
Senator, lie is distinctly not of the 
type of men whom Massachusetts 
has been wont to send to the Senate 
and not perhaps of the class that in 
justice to herself the State should 
put into high public office. But 
while it is true that Senator Crane 
was not elected because he is rich, 
it is also true that had he not been 
rich he would not have found him- 
self in a situation where his elecdon 
from the State of Massachusetts 
would be possible." 

The secret of Senator Crane's 
ability to do things is found largely 
in his habit of moving quickly and 
silently and going always straight 
to the point. It is well remembered 
in Washington how he had been 
offered and declined the Secretary- 
ship of the Treasury before it was 
even known that he was being con- 
sidered for the place. In response 
to the request of President Roose- 
velt Mr. Crane came to the Capital 
one morning on the midnight train 
from New York. He went over 
to the White House for break- 
fast, declined the appointment, 
and got the ten o'clock train 
back to the metropolis, without 
even leaving a foot print. He sur- 
prised everybody then just as he did 
last year when he announced his 
engagement o a prominent member 
of the most fashionable set of 
Washington society. Mr. Crane 
- iety man himself and 
participated jusl as little as possible 
all hi-, life in SO 'ailed social affairs, 

die limit of his frivolous activity be- 
ing a church social in Dalton. Now 
he has a fine house in the center of 
Washington's west end and seems 
to be as successful as a man of 
fashion as he is as a peacemaker and 
Senator. It is true of Mr. Crane as 
the late Senator Ingalls once said 
of Senator Allison that "he could 
walk from Chicago to Washington 
on the keys of a piano and never 
strike a note." 

So far as the Massachusetts dele- 
gation in the House of Representa- 
tives is concerned there is only one 
of them who has achieved anything 
like a national reputation and who 
has in him the stuff out of which 
real statesmen are made. He has- 
lifted himself above his fellows and' 
left his mark in the House of Repre- 
sentatives. This is Samuel W. Mc- 
Call of Winchester, lawyer, author, 
editor and publisher, a man who, as 
a Senator would be able creditably 
to fill the shoes of any other of the 
distinguished Senators from Massa- 
chusetts in the days gone by. 

Mr. McCall's chief characteristic 
as a public man is his clear-headed 
intelligence and fearless independ- 
ence. He has not hesitated to take 
ground against his party on more 
than one public question and in do- 
ing so has not weakened himself as 
a Representative or as a Republi- 
can, largely for the reason that it 
has not been possible for any one to 
misunderstand his motives. He 
thinks for himself and acts for him- 
self and yet he accomplishes results 
within his party organization guided 
constantly by the desire to serve his 
Slate and his country. 

The McCalls take little or no part 
in the social life of Washington. 
The Congressman lives this winter 


;at a hotel, his family being abroad, 
and as he is a modest, quiet, unas- 
suming man whose tastes run in the 
direction of reading and study and 
writing, rather than towards public 
prominence and conviviality, little 
is seen or heard of him outside of 
the chamber of the House of Rep- 
resentatives and the committee 


rooms of the Capitol. Big men are 
few in the House of Representatives 
and for the past few years the Re- 
publicans have been conspicuously 
weak in this regard. There are 
some good strong men there, how- 
ever, and in making a list of them 
no one with any regard for accuracy 
would omit the name of Mr. McCall. 
Representative Weeks of Newton 
is a fine type of the business man in 
Congress. He does his work intel- 
ligently and well, and in debate 

speaks successfully, forcefully, and 
always to the point. 

The Stale of Maine is and has al- 
ways been fortunate in the class of 
men sent to represent her at Wash- 
ington. The House of Representa- 
tives is not as strong as when 
Thomas B. Reed and Nelson Ding- 
ley were there, and it is probable 
that never again, certainly not until 
there has been an awakening of pub- 
lic sentiment on this question of 
perpetuating the era of statesman- 
ship will men of that calibre be 
elected to Congress. In the Senate 
Maine is strong because she has re- 
elected over and over again the same 


men, neither of them of great talents 
or commanding ability, but both 
veterans in the public service. Eu- 
gene Hale of Ellsworth is the senior 
Senator, having taken his seat 
fourteen days before his colleague, 

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William Pierce Frye of Lewiston, 
was sworn in. This was in March, 
1881. Mr. Hale succeeded Hannibal 
Hamlin, and Mr. Frye succeeded 
James G. Blaine. Both had long 
been members of the House of Rep- 
resentatives, Mr. Hale for ten years 
and Mr. Frye for twelve. They are, 
therefore, veterans indeed. The 
senior Senator will be seventy-one 
years of age next June and the 
junior Senator was seventy-five last 

It has often been said of Mr. Hale 
that if he had not married a rich 
woman he would have been one of 
the figures of overshadowing promi- 
nence in Congress and in the Repub- 
lican party, and that lie might have 

reached the Presidency. Mr. Hale is 
today a strong figure in the Senate, 
but not a leader, a fact due very 
largely to the peculiarities of his 
temperament and habits. In the 
Flouse of Representatives, where he 
was James G. Blaine's right hand 
man, he was known popularly as 
"Bubby Hale." But he was no more 
the creature of "the man from 
Maine" then than as a barefoot boy 
in the early days in Ellsworth he 
was the inferior of the older boy 
whom he then looked up to in rever- 
ence, now his colleague in the Senate. 
Senate Hale has in his make-up not 
one drop of demagogic or sycophan- 
tic blood. Indeed, it is his out- 
spoken, direct mediod of speech and 



1 1 


conduct that has made him what it 
must be admitted, he is, an unpopu- 
lar person. Although a public man 
in Washington almost continuously 
for more than 
thirty-five years 
Senator Hale 
has more ene- 
mies than friends 
a m o n g Con- 
gressmen, public 
officials, news- 
paper corres- 
pondents and 
citizens of 
Washington gen- 
era lly. Even 
those who most 
dislike him, how- 
ever, admit that 
he has brains. 
He is very clear 
headed, posses- 
ses a fund of 
common - sense, 
and is one of the 
most effective de- 
baters in the 
Senate. He 
lacks tact and 
good nature, but 
grim humor that is very pleasing to 
those who are not the victims of it. 
If Mr. Hale had not married a rich 
woman he would have had to work 
and therefore, would not presum- 
ably have fallen into those ease-lov- 
ing habits which have prevented him 
from winning his spurs as a states- 
man. Although not a carpet knight 
Senator Hale has been a persistent 
society and club-man and diner-out 
for many years and has probably 
long ago forgotten the time when, if 
ever, he was wont to burn the mid- 
night oil. 

Mr. Hale's strength in the Senate, 


like that of Mr. Frye's, comes not so 
much from conspicuous ability and 
industry as from the important com- 
mittee places he holds as the result 
of his long continuous service. 
Chairman of naval affairs, second on 
appropriations, and a member of 
Canadian rela- 
tions, census, fi- 
nance, Philippines 
and private land 
claims, he is so 
entrenched that 
little important 
legislation can be 
enacted without 
his knowledge 
and consent. Mr. 
Hale, moreover, is 
one of the coterie 
of Republican 
Senators who 
dominate the af- 
fairs of the body. 
He is consulted 
by the actual lead- 
ers and is an inti- 
mate associate of 
them all. But of 
late years his ad- 

REPRESENTATIVE LIT- viCe haS n0t bee11 

tlefield of maine taken altogether 
seriously because 
he is "agin" everything and es- 
pecially the Government. When 
the late Thomas B. Reed found 
himself thus out of sympathy 
with his party and its policies, 
he retired to private life, and this 
is what many people think Sen- 
ator Eugene Hale should do. Be- 
cause of the fact that he is Chair- 
man of the committee on naval 
affairs and yet opposed to practically 
every piece of legislation recom- 
mended by those who are favorable 
to building up and properly equip- 



ping the navy and maintaining the 
efficiency of its personnel at the 
highest possible point, a situation is 
created which is very unsatisfactory 
to everybody concerned and which 
would hardly be tolerated in any 
legislative body less completely 
governed by tradition, precedent 
and courtesy than the United States 
Senate. Mr. Hale's usefulness as a 
practical accomplishing Senator 
ceased as long ago as 1898 when his 
sympathies were so strongly op- 
posed to those of the United States 
that he was jocularly known as the 
"Senator from Spain," a designation 
unwittingly given to him one day 
by his colleague, Mr. Frye, who in 
his capacity of President pro tem- 
pore was presiding over the sessions 
of the Senate. Mr. Hale, to put it 
plainly, has of late years been noth- 
ing more or less than a "kicker," but 
of course he will remain in the Sen- 
ate so long as the State of Maine 
cares to have him there and he cares 
to stay, and at present there is no 
indication that he is contemplating 

Mr. Frye, like Mr. Hale, occupies 
the very influential committee 
places, but there the comparison 
ends, as he is a man of entirely dif- 
ferent temperament, habits and en- 
vironment. Mr. Frye gets little op- 
portunity of late to preside over the 
Senate as Vice-President Fairbanks 
is very punctual and constant in at- 
1 en dance, but as President pro tem- 
pore during the last administration 
the Senator from Maine made a 
reputation as an alert, intelligent 
and fair-minded presiding officer. 
This is somewhat surprising in view 
of Mr. Frye's strongly partisan na- 
ture, deep prejudices and emphatic 
manner of expressing his opinions 

on all questions, public and private. 
As a speaker Mr. Frye is more fiery 
than Mr. Hale. In addition to his 
office of President pro tempore, Mr. 
Frye is chairman of commerce, a 
member of foreign relations, fisher- 
ies, Pacific railroads and two unim- 
portant committees and thus pos- 
sesses a great deal of power. 
In his seventy-seventh year Mr. 
Frye begins a new term of six years 
in the Senate. Mr. Hale, five years 
younger, has four years ahead of 
him in his present term. Maine, at 
least, therefore, will not send any 
young blood to the Senate for some- 
time to come. When she does get 
ready to do so, the State will prob- 
ably draw upon the House of Rep- 

There is at least one man there of 
senatorial size, although possibly of 
popularity insufficient to elect him 
to such a high office, if others of 
prominence aspire to it. Charles 
Edgar Littlefield is a man of the 
stripe of Samuel W. McCall. He 
has brains, independence and cour- 
age. He is not so much of a schol- 
ar, perhaps, and student, although a 
plodder, and not so rounded off and 
polished as the Massachusetts Rep- 
resentative and it cannot be truth- 
fully said that either has in his 
make-up that indefinable but neces- 
sary characteristic to a successful 
public man, — personal magnetism. 
Although intelligent, conscientious, 
and industrious, Mr. Littlefield has 
never possessed especial influence 
with those who control the House of 
Representatives any more than has 
Mr. McCall. But this is not alto- 
gether uncomplimentary to either of 
them. The little group of so-called 
leaders in the House are small men, 
much smaller in calibre than cither 



Mr. Littlefield or Mr. McCall. They 
rule by power of organization, not 
by right of ability, and it is no dis- 


credit to any member of the House 
that he is left outside the breast- 

Mr. Littlefield, however, is him- 
self responsible to a certain degree 
for his lack of influence in his own 
body. When he first came to Con- 
gress he took front rank as a con- 
stitutional lawyer, but he had in him 
that impalpable something that 
when he was addressing the House 
caused his colleagues to feel that 
he was assuming to preach to 
and instruct them. His voice is 
rasping and his manner somewhat 
dictatorial, not to say egotistical. 
Then, he or somebody for him set 
him up as the mouthpiece of Presi- 
dent Roosevelt in the early days of 
his trust-busting policy and the 

claims made for him in this regard 
were promptly turned into ridicule 
by an unfeeling press. The states- 
man from Rockland was at that 
time dropped into a hole where he 
did not belong, but from which he 
has never been able entirely to 
emerge. Mr. Littlefield's intelli- 
gence, honesty, high purposes and 
conscientious devotion to duty have 
been conspicuous marks of his pub- 
lic career and undoubtedly his ser- 
vices are entirely satisfactory to his 
constituents. Should the State send 


him to the Senate as the successor 
either of Mr. Hale or Mr. Frye she 
might go farther and fare worse. 

Vermont occupies a strong place 
in the Senate, chiefly because of the 
long public service of her senior 
Senator, Mr. Proctor. The Green 
Mountain State has always sent 



men of good ability and high char- 
actor to both houses of Congress. 
Much of Mr. Proctor's conspicuous 
influence is due to the prestige given 
to him in coining to the Senate from 
President Harrison's cabinet and as 
the successor of George F. Ed- 
munds who, at the time was looked 
upon as the strongest man on the 
Republican side of the chamber. 
Mr. Edmunds had and has a fine in- 
tellect and is a great lawyer. His 
career in the Senate was marred 
somewhat by his extreme partisan- 
ship which, however, he seems to 
have dropped promptly on taking up 
his residence in Philadelphia, where 
he has since been a plain and pros- 
perous lawyer. 

Senator Proctor is no chicken 
himself as he was born in June, 183 1. 
His present term in the Senate will 
expire in 191 1, and it is generally 
understood that he will be succeeded 
by his son, Fletcher, the present 
Governor of the State. Senator 
Proctor can hardly be regarded as 
the type of the business man in the 
Senate because he had practically 
retired when he entered it. He is a 
business man, however, and a most 
successful one. During his eighteen 
years residence in Washington he 
has had an eye out for business all 
the time. He has invested very 
largely in real estate here, both in 
the commercial and residential sec- 
lions of the city and. has done this 
with such careful and accurate judg- 
ment that it is thought his holdings 
will very greatly increase in value as 
Washington continues to grow. 
Some flippant persons have been 
known to refer to Mr. Proctor as the 
monumental statesman because of 
his monopoly of the marble and 
granite quarries, much of this pro- 

duct being used also in the big 
building operations now under way 
in Washington. 

It is the concensus of opinion 
among men well posted as to the 
personnel of the Senate and House 
of Representatives to-day and of 
past years that one of the best of the 
type of statesman-Senators passed 
away when Senator Orville H. Piatt 
of Connecticut died. He was a 
hard working, conscientious, high 
minded man who took his duties, if 
not himself, seriously, and who was 
never trivial in the discharge of 
them. He had, however, a keen 
humor and much dry wit. He 
was a real leader of the Senate and 
every man in it had much regard 
for his opinion. He died at the very 
height of his usefulness and his 
place has not been filled. His suc- 
cessor, Mr. Brandegee is a lawyer, 
and said to be a man of good parts, 
but he is young and untried and has 
his future before him. The suc- 
cessor of General Hawley, who Avas 
the type of the soldier as Senator 
Piatt was the type of the statesman, 
Mr. Bulkeley, is a natural product 
of modern methods in business and 
modern organization in politics. 
He is nearly seventy and as his ex- 
perience has not been in the line of 
statesmanship little in the way of 
elevating the standard of Senatorial 
intelligence or character is to be ex- 
pected from him. 

A study of the field as a whole 
seems to furnish material to those 
who argue that the day of the states- 
man, at least the old fashioned 
statesman, in New England, as else- 
where in the United States, is pass- 
ing away. Whether the change is 
to be deplored is a matter for care- 
ful consideration. 


By Holman F. Day. 


For the Honor of "Britt's Busters" 

JUST how Tommy Eye escaped 
so nimbly from the ruck of the 
fight at the foot of Pugwash 
Hill he never understood, his wits 
not being of the clearest that day — 
and the others being too busy to 

But he did escape. One open- 
handed buffet sent him reeling into 
and through some wayside bushes. 
He sat on his haunches on the other 
side a moment like a jack-rabbit and 
surveyed the stirring scene, and 
then made for higher ground. At 
the end of an enervating sixty days' 
sentence in the county jail — his sev- 
enteenth summer "on the bricks" 
for the same old bibulous cause ; 
second offense and no money left to 
pay the fine — Tommy did not feel 
fit for the fray. 

He sat on a boulder at the top of 
the rise for a little while and gazed 
down on them — the hundred men 
of "Britt's Busters," bound in for 
:he winter cutting on Umcolcus 
waters. They were fighting aim- 
lessly, "mixing it up" without any 
especial vindictiveness, and Tommy, 
an expert in inebriety, sagely con- 
cluded that they were too drunk to 
furnish amusement. So he rolled 
over the boulder and nestled down 
to ease his headache, knowing as a 
teamster should know, that Britt's 
tote wagons were to hold up at the 
Pugwash for an hour's rest and bait. 

For that matter, a fight at the 
Pugwash was no novel incident, not 
for Tommy Eye, at least, veteran 
of many a woods campaign. 

The hour's hang-up at the hill is 
a teamster's rule as ancient as the 
tote road. 

And' the fight of the in-going crew 
is as regular as the halt. All the 
way from the end of the railroad 
the men have been crowded on the 
wagons with nothing to do but ex- 
press personal differences of opin- 
ion. Every other man is a stranger 
to his neighbor, for employment 
offices do not make a specialty of 
introductions. As the principal 
matter of argument on the tote 
wagons is over the question of 
which man is the best man, the 
Pugwash Hill wait, where there is 
soft ground and elbow room, makes 
a most inviting opportunity to settle 
disputes and establish an entente 
cordiale that will last through all 
the winter. 

Two other men, two men who 
had been on the outskirts of the 
fray from its commencement came 
leisurely up the hill and sat down 
on the boulder behind which was 
couched Tommy Eye. 

One was the Honorable Pulaski 
D. Britt, ex-State senator and lum- 
ber baron of the Umcolcus, and em- 
ployer of "Britt's Busters." The 
other was Colin MacLeod, the 




young giant who for live years had 
been camp and river boss of the 

The Honorable Pulaski uicked 
the end of a big cigar into the open- 
ing- in his bristly gray beard where 
his month was hidden, and lighted 
it. As an afterthought he offered 
one to MacLeod. The young man, 
his elbows on his knees, his flushed 
face turned aside, shook his head 

"Well, you're having a run of 
cuss-foolishness that even our 
champion fool. Tommy Eye him- 
self, couldn't match," snorted the 
old man, rolling his tongue around 
his cigar. 

Tommy behind the rock rolled 
one ear up out of the moss. 

"Here you go pouncing into that 
car today where my new time- 
keeper was and go to picking a fuss 
with him and — " 

"He was the one tha: started it, 
Mr. Britt," said the boss, in the dull 
monotone of one who has said the 
same thing many times before in 
answer to continued recrimination. 

"Don't bluff me," snapped the 
Honorable Pulaski. "You were 
gossiping over a lot of his private 
business with that Ide girl — and 
bringing me into it, too. You can't 
fool me ! Old Jeff back in the car 
heard it all. The young feller had 
a right to put in an oar to stop you 
and he did it, and I'll back him in 

"Yes, and you went and intro- 
duced him to Miss Tdc — that's some 
more of your backin'," said Mac- 
Leod, bitterly. 

"Just common politeness — just 
common politeness \" cried Britt, 



impaticn Jy. 

"That girl hasn't said she'd marry 

you, has she? No! I knew she 
hadn't. Well, she has got a right 
to talk with nice young men that I 
introduce to her and there's nothing 
to it to make a fuss over, MacLeod 
— only common politeness. You're 
making a fool of yourself and set- 
ting the girl herself against you by 
acting out jealous like that before 
the face and eyes of every one- 
Now quit it and get your mind on 
your work. You understand that I 
won't have any more of this scrap- 
ping in my crew." 

With a blissful disregard of the 
inconsistency of his command he 
gazed through smoke clouds down 
at the men below who were list- 
lessly exchanging blows or rolling" 
on the ground locked in close em- 

MacLeod stood up and tugged 
the collar of his wool jacket awajr 
from his throat. 

"I ain't much of a man to talk my 
business over with any one, Mr. 
Britt," he said. "But you are put- 
ting this thing on a business basis 
and you don't have the right to do* 
it. I ain't engaged to Nina Ide and 
I ain't asked her to be engaged to- 
me, for the time ain't come right 
yet. But there ain't nobody else in 
God's world goin' to have her but 
me. She ain't too good for me, even 
if her father is old Rod Ide. I'll 
have money some day myself. I've 
got some now. I can buy the- 
clothes when I need 'em, if that's 
all that a girl likes. But it ain't all 
they like — not the kind of a girl that 
Nina Ide is. She knows a man 
when she sees him. She knows that 
I'm a man, square and straight and 
one that loves her well enough to 
let her walk on him, and that's the 
kind of a man that a girl born and! 



bred on the edge of the woods 

He drew up his lithe, tall body 
and snapped his head to one side 
with almost a click of the rigid 

"Along comes that college dude," 
he gritted, "just thrown over by a 
city girl and lookin' for some one 
else to make love to, and he cuts 
in — ;" his voice broke — "you see 
what he done, Mr. Britt! He 
helped her off the train before I 
could get there. He put her on the 
stage and rode away with her, while 
you were makin' me handle the 
men. And he's ridin' with her now, 
damn him, and he's a-talkin' with 
her and laughin' at me behind my 
back !" He shook both fists at the 
road to Castonia settlement, snak- 
ing over the hill, and there were 
tears on his cheeks. 

"He probably isn't laughing very 
much," replied Britt, dryly. "Not 
since you plugged that spike boot 
of yours down on his foot there on 
the depot platform. A nasty trick, 
MacLeod, that was." 

"I wish I'd 'a' ground it off," mut- 
tered the boss. He struck his spikes 
against the boulder with such force 
that a stream of fire followed the 

"He can't do it — he can't do it, 
Mr. Britt ! He can't steal her ! I've 
loved her too long, and I'll have 
her. You just gave off your orders 
to me about fighting. You don't 
say anything to those cattle down 
there that are fighting about nothin'. 
You let them settle their troubles. 
Here I am !" He struck his breast. 
"For five years first up in the dark 
of the mornin', last to bed in the 
dark of the night. I've sweat and 
swore and frozen in slush and snow 

and sleet, driving your crew to make 
money for you. And I've waded 
from April till September, broken 
jams and taken the first chance in 
the white water, so that I could get 
your drive down ahead of the rest 
And now when it comes to the 
matter of hell and heaven for me you 
tell me I can't stand like a man for 
my own." 

He bent over the Honorable Pul- 
aski, his face purple, his eyes red. 
Britt took out his cigar and held it 
aside to blink up at this disconcert- 
ing young madman. 

"I tell you, you are taking chances 
Mr. Britt. You have bradded me on 
and told me that a man of the woods 
always gets what he wants if he 
goes after it right. Twice today 
you have stood between me and 
what I want and have let a college 
dude take the sluice ahead of me. 
You pay me my money, but don't 
you do that again. I'm going to 
have that girl, I say! I've waited 
for her since she was sixteen. The 
man that steps in ahead of me, he's 
goin' to die, Mr. Britt. And the 
man that steps between me and 
that man, when I'm after him, he 
dies, too. And if that sounds like 
bluff, then you haven't got Colin 
MacLeod sized up right, that's all !" 

The Honorable Pulaski shuttled 
his eyes under the other's savage 
regard. He knew when to bluster 
and he knew when to palter. 

"MacLeod," he said at last, get- 
ting up off the rock with a grunt, 
"what a man that works for me does 
in the girl line is none of my busi- 
ness. But after that kind of brash 
talk I might suggest to you that a 
cell in State prison isn't going to 
be like God's outdoors that you're 
roaming around in now." 



The boss spread his nostrils con- 

"Furthermore, this college dude 
that you are talking about as though 
he were a water-logged j ill-poke, 
was something in the football line 
when he was in college — I don't 
know what, for I don't know any- 
thing about such foolishness — but, 
anyway, from what I hear it was up 
to him to break the most arms and 
legs, and he did it, I understand. 
This is only in advice, MacLeod — 
only in advice," he cried, flapping a 
big hand to check impatient inter- 
ruption. "When Tommy Eye, the 
drunken fool fell under the train at 
the junction today, as he is always 
doing, that feller Wade picked him 
up with one hand as I'd pick up a 
blind pup — and lugged him across 
and put him aboard the other train 
like a pound of sausage meat. All 
with one hand! Saved the fool's 
life and didn't turn a hair over it. 
So, talk a little softer about killing, 
my boy, and, best of all, wait till 
you find out that he wants the girl." 
He walked down the hill. 

"Go to blazes with your advice, 
you old fool !" growled MacLeod, 
under his breath. "He's lookin' for 
it! He's achin' for it! He gave me 
a look today that no man has given 
me in ten years and had eyes left 
open to look a second time. He'll 
get it!" 

As he turned to follow his em- 
ployer he saw the recumbent 
Tommy and went out of his way 
far enough to give him a vicious 

"Get onto the wagons, you rum 
keg, or you'll walk to Castonia." 

"Be jigged if I won't walk!" 
groaned Tommy, surveying the re- 
treating back of the boss with sud- 

den weak hatred. "So there was a 
man who saved my life today when 
I didn't know it ! And there was 
another man who kicked me when 
I did know it. It's the chaney man 
he's after and the chaney man was 
good to me ! I'll make a fair fight 
of it if my legs hold out, and that's 
all any man could do." 

The horses were still munching 
fodder and the gladiators, thankful 
for an excuse to stop the fray, were 
stupidly listening to a harangue by 
the Honorable Pulaski, who was ex- 
plaining what would be allowed and 
what would not be allowed in his 

Tommy Eye ducked around the 
bushes and took the road with a 
woodsman's lope, his wobbly knees 
getting stronger as the exercise 
cleared his brain. 

A woodsman's lope is not impres- 
sive viewed with a sprinter's eye. 
Nor is a camel's stride. But either 
is a great devourer of distance. So 
it happened that Tommy Eye, 
sweat-streaked and breathing hard, 
caught up with the sluggish Cas- 
tonia stage while it was negotiat- 
ing the last rock-strewn hill a half 
mile outside the settlement. 

Dwight Wade, time-keeper of the 
Busters, heard the stertorous puff- 
ing and looked around to see 
Tommy Eye clinging to the muddy 
axle and towing behind. Tommy 
divided an amiable and apologetic 
grin between Wade and the girl be- 
side him. 

'Tm only — workin' out — the — 
the budge!" Tommy explained be- 
tween the jerks of the wagon. 
"Don't mind me !" 

Down the half mile of dusty de- 
clivity into Castonia, the only 
smooth road between the railroad 


[( J 

and the settlement, the stage made 
its usual gallant dash with chuck- 
ling axle boxes and spacking of 
splay hoofs. 

And Tommy Eye came limply 
slamming on behind. 

Civilization sets her last outpost 
at Castonia in the shape of plate 
glass windows in Rodburd Ide's 
general store. Civilization had 
some aggravating experiences in 
doing this. Four times hairy icon- 
oclasts from the deep woods came 
down, gazed disdainfully at these 
windows as an effort to put on airs, 
and smashed them with rocks dug 
out of the dusty road. Four times 
Rodburd Ide collected damages and 
renewed the windows — and in the 
end civilization won out. 

Those experienced in such things 
can tell a Castonia man anywhere 
by the pitch of his voice. Everlast- 
ingly, Umcolcus pours its window- 
jarring white waters through the 
Hulling machine's dripping ledges. 
Here enters RagmufT stream, bel- 
lowing down the side of Tumble- 
dick, a mountain that crowds Cas- 
tonia close to the river. Most of the 
men of the settlement do their talk- 
ing on the platform of Ide's store, 
with the spray spitting into their 
faces and the waters roaring at 
them. And go where he will a Cas- 
tonia man carries that sound in his 
ears and talks like a foghorn. 

The satirists of the section call 
Ide's store platform "The Blow- 
down." In the woods a blowdown 
is a wreck of trees. On Ide's plat- 
form the loafers are the wrecks of 
men. Here at the edge of the 
woods, at the jumping-off place, the 
forest sets out its grim exhibits and 
mutely calls, "Beware !" There 
are men with one leg, men with one 

arm, men with no arms at all; there 
are men with hands maimed by 
every vagary of mischievous axe or 
saw. There are men with shanks 
like broom sticks — men who sur- 
vived the agonies of freezing. 
There is always a fresh subscription 
paper hung on the center post in 
Ide's store meekly calling for "sums 
set against our names" to aid the 
latest victim. 

Wade, looking at this pathetic 
array of cripples as he slowly swung 
himself over the wheel of the stage, 
felt that he was in congenial com- 
pany; for the foot that MacLeod 
had so brutally jabbed with his 
spikes had stiffened in its shoe. It 
ached ' with a dull, rancor-stirring 
pain. When he limped across the 
platform into the store, carrying the 
girl's valise, he hobbled ungrace- 
fully. The loungers looked after 
him with fraternal sympathy. 

"The boss spiked him down to 
the deepo," advised Tommy, slat- 
ting sweat from his forehead with 
muddy forefinger. "He's the new 

"Never heerd of the boss calkin' 
the chaney man before," remarked 
Martin McCrackin, rapping his pipe 
against his peg leg to dislodge the 

Tommy twisted his face into a 
prodigious wink, jabbed a thumb 
over his shoulder at the store door 
and gazed archly around at the 
circle of faces. 

"He cut the boss out with the Ide 
girl !" He whispered this hoarsely. 

The listeners looked at the door 
where Wade and the girl had dis- 
appeared and then stared at each 
other. They had viewed the arrival 
of the stage with the dull lethargy 
of the hopelessly stranded. Now 



they displayed a reviving interest 
in life. 

"And that was all he done to him 
— step on his foot?" demanded a 
thin man, impatiently twitching the 
stubs of two arms, off at the elbows. 

"Old P'laski !" said Tommy, with 
meaning. "Used his old elbows for 
pick-poles and fended Colin off." 

"It will git him, though !" said an- 
other. He had shapeless stumps of 
legs encased in boots like exagger- 
ated whip-sockets. 

"You bet it will git him !" agreed 

Rodburd Ide, busy, chatty, jokey, 
accommodating little man, trotted 
out of the store at this instant with 
a handful of mail to distribute 
among his crippled patrons. 

"That's what the river boys call 
this crowd here," he said, over his 
shoulder to Wade who followed 
him. "The 'It'11-git-ye Club.' I 
guess It will get ye some time up 
in this section ! Here's the last one, 
Mr. Wade. Aholiah Belmore — 
that's the man with the hand done 
up. Shingle saw took half his fin. 
Well, 'Liah, don't mind ! No one 
ever saw a whole shingle sawyer. 
It's lucky it wasn't a snub-line that 
got ye. There's what a snub-line 
can do, Mr. Wade." 

He pointed to the armless man 
and to the man with the shapeless 

"All done at the same time — 
bight took 'em and wound 'em round 
the snub post." 

"And it's a pity it wa'n't our 
necks instead of our legs and arms," 
growled one of the men ; "trimmed 
like a saw log and no good to no- 
body r 

"Never say die — never say die!" 
chirruped '.he jovial "mayor of Cas- 

tonia." He set back his head in his 
favorite attitude, jutted out his mat 
of gray chin beard and tapped his 
pencil cheerily against the obtrusive 
false teeth showing under his 
smoothly shaven upper lip. "Your 
subscription papers are growing- 
right along, boys. The first thing 
you know you'll have enough to buy 
artificial arms and legs, such as we 
were looking at in the advertise- 
ments the other day. It beats all 
what they can make nowadays — 
teeth, arms, legs and everything." 

"They can't make new heads, can 
they?" inquired Tommy Eye, whose 
mien was that of a man who had 
something important to impart and 
was casting about for a way to do 
it gracefully. 

"Who needs a new head around 
here?" smilingly inquired the 

"Him," jerked out Tommy, point- 
ing to Wade. "Leastways, he will 
in about ten minutes after the boss 
gits here." And having thus deli- 
cately opened the subject Tommy's 
tongue rushed on. "He was good' 
to me when I didn't know it!" His 
finger again indicated the time- 
keeper. "I ain't goin' to see him 
done up anyways, but in a fair fight. 
But he's comin'. There's blood in 
his eyes and hair on his teeth. I 
heard him a-talkin' it over to him- 
self — and he's goin' to kill the 
chaney man for a-gittin' his girl 
away from him. Now," concluded 
Tommy, with a hysterical catch in 
his throat, "if it can be made a fair 
fight, knuckles up and man to man, 
then, says I, here's your fair notice- 
it's comin'. But there's a girl in it, 
and girls don't belong in a fair fight 
— and T'm afeard — I'm afeard I 
You'd better run, Chaney Man."' 



Nina Icle was in the door behind 
her father. Her face was crimson, 
and she winked hard to keep the 
tears of vexed shame back — for the 
faces of the loungers told her that 
Tommy had been imparting other 
confidences. She did not dare to 
steal even a glance at Wade. She 
was suffering too much herself from 
the brutal situation. 

"A girl 1 His girl! " repeated Ide, 
seeing there was someihing he did 
not understand. "Who — " 

"Father!" cried his daughter, and 
when he would have continued to 
question, snapping his sharp eyes 
from face to face, she stamped her 
foot in passion and cried/' Father!" 
in a manner that checked him. He 
stood surveying her with open 
mouth and staring eyes. 

Dwight Wade had fully under- 
stood the quizzical glances that 
were levelled at him. It was not a 
time — in this queer assemblage — 
for the observance of the rigid social 
convenances. Taking the father 
aside would be misconstrued — and 
slander would still pursue the girl. 

"Mr. Ide," he cried, his eyes very 
bright and his cheeks flushing, "I 
hope you and the others here will 
understand this thing right. It is 
all a mistake. Mr. Britt introduced 
me to your daughter and I paid her 
a few civilities, such as any young 
lady might expect to receive. But 
I seem to have stirred up a pretty 
mess. It's a shameful insult to your 
daughter — this — this — oh, that man 
McLeod must be a fool!" 

"He is !" said the girl, indignantly. 

"And he's a fighter," muttered 
Tommy Eye. 

Rodbury Ide clutched fast into 
his beard and blinked his round eyes 
with some perplexity. 

"It isn't a very nice thing, any- 
way you look at it, this having two 
young men scrapping through this 
region about my girl. It isn't that 
I don't expect her to get some at- 
tention, but this is carrying atten- 
tion too far." 

He took her by the arm and led 
to one side. 

"Nina, there is nothing between 
you and Colin MacLeod?" 

"Nothing, father. We have 
danced together at the hall, and he 
has walked home with me — and 
that's the only excuse he has for 
making a fool of himself in this 

"And — and this new man, here?" 

''I never saw him till this very 
day! Oh, that jealous idiot! This 
stranger will think we are all fools 
up here!" Tears of rage and shame 
filled her eyes. 

Ide's gaze, wandering from her 
face to Wade and then to the loaf- 
ers, saw one of Britt's great wagons 
topping the distant rise and he 
heard a wild chorus of hailing yells. 

"You run up to the house, girl," 
he said. 

"I'll not," she replied. And when 
he began to frown at her she clasped 
his arm with both her hands and 
murmured, "He's a stranger and a 
gentleman, father, and they're abus- 
ing him. He is nothing to me. 
He's in love with another girl. It 
was through being obliging and 
kind to me that this horrible mistake 
has been made. Now I'll not run 
away and leave him to suffer any 

Rodburd Ide, an indulgent father, 
scratched his nose reflectively. 

"It isn't the style of the Ide fam- 
ily to leave friends on the chips, 
Nina," he said — "not even when 



they're brand new friends. We 
know what an in-going* lumber crew 
it. and he probably doesn't, and it's 
the green man that always gets the 
worst of it. So I'll tell you what to 
do ! Invite him up to the house and 
you and ma entertain him until 
P'laski and I can get this thing 
smoothed over." 

Tommy Eye, hovering near in 
piteous trepidation lest his kindly 
offices should miscarry, overheard 
the invitation chat father and daugh- 
ter extended to the young man who 
was gloomily eyeing the approach 
of the wagon. 

"Yess'r, they've got the right of 
it," stammered Tommy, unluckily. 
"You'll git it if ye don't — and the 
'It'11-git-ye-Club' will see ye git it. 
Ye'd best run !" 

Wade looked into the flushed face 
of the girl, at the officious father of 
commiserating countenance and at 
the loungers who had heard 
Tommy's condescending counsel 
and were looking at him with a sort 
of scornful pity. 

Again that strange, sullen, gnaw- 
ing rage at the general attitude of 
the world toward him took posses- 
sion of Wade. He felt a bristling at 
the back of his neck and in his hair 
■ — the primordial bristling of the 
beast's mane. 

"It is kind of you to invite a 
stranger," he said, "but I fear that 
among these peculiar people even 
that kindness would be miscon- 
strued. I belong with Britt's crew. 
I'll stay here, [ think." 

There was that in his voice which 
checked further appeal. The girl 
stood back against ihe wall of the 

The Honorable Pulaski was the 
first off the wagon and he greeted 

!de with rough cordiality. When 
the latter began to whisper rapidly 
in his ear, he shook his head. 

"I've wasted a good deal of val- 
uable time and some temper holding 
those two young fools apart today," 
he snapped. "The last thing Mac- 
Leod wanted to do was to lick me. 
Now I'm too old to be mixed up in 
love scrapes. I'm going over to 
measure that spool stock and the 
one that's alive when I get back, I'll 
load him onto the wagon and we'll 
keep on up river." He strode away 
leaving the "mayor" champing his 
false teeth in resentful disappoint- 

But the autocrat of Castonia had 
a courage of his own. He set back 
his head and marched up to Mac- 
Leod who was standing in the mid- 
dle of the road, his jacket thrown 
back, his thumbs in his belt. 

"Colin," he demanded, indifferent 
as to listeners, "what's all this about 
my girl? Can't she come along 
home, minding her own business, 
like the good girl that she is, with- 
out a fuss that has set all the section 
wagging tongues? I thought you 
were a different chap from this?" 

"He had his lie made up when he 
got here, did he?" gritted MacLeod. 

"I believe what my own girl 
says," the father retorted. 

"So he's got as far as that, has 
he? I tell ye, Rod Ide, if you don't 
know enough — don't care enough 
about your own daughter to keep 
her out of the clutches of a cheap 
masher like that — the kind I've seen 
many a time before — then, by the 
gods, it's where I grab in. Ye'll live 
to thank me for it. I say, ye will! 
You don't know what you're talkin' 
about now. But you'll know your 
friends in the end." 



He put up one arm, stiffened it 
against Ide's breast and slowly but 
relentlessly pushed him aside. 

Viewed in the code of larrigan- 
land, the situation was one that 
didn't admit of temporizing or medi- 
ation. The set faces of the men who 
looked on showed that the trouble 
between these two, brooding 
through the hours of that long day, 
was now to be settled. As for his 
men, Colin MacLeod had his pres- 
tige to keep — and a man who had 
suffered a stranger to carry off the 
girl he loved without fitting rebuke 
could have no prestige in a lumber 
camp. And it was that prestige 
that made him worth while, made 
him a boss who could get work out 
of men. 

The uncertain quantity in the sit- 
uation was the stranger. 

With one movement of heads all 
eyes turned to him. 

He was not a woodsman, and 
they expected from him something 
different from the usual duello of 
the woods. 

They got it ! 

For instead of waiting for the 
champion of the Umcolcus to take 
the initiative, this city man calmly 
walked off the store platform at this 
juncture and bearded the champion. 

"And there ye have it — two bucks 
and one doe!" grunted old Martin. 
"The same old woods wrassle." 

The boss dropped his hands at his 
side as the time-keeper approached. 
He grinned evilly when he noted 
the limp. Wade came close and 
spoke without anger. 

"I see you are still determined to 
be a fool, MacLeod. I want no 
trouble with you. Aren't you will- 
ing to settle all this fuss like a 

"That's what I'm here for," re- 
plied the boss with grim signifi- 

"Then go and offer an apology to 
that young lady. Do it, and I'll 
cancel the one you owe to me." 

If Wade had been seeking to pro- 
voke he could have chosen no more 
unfortunate words. 

"Apology!" bawled MacLeod, 
harshly. "Do ye hear it, boys? 
Talkin' to me like I was a Micmac 
and didn't know manners ! Here's 
an Umcolcus apology for ye, ye 
putty-faced dude !" 

His lunge was vicious, but in his 
contempt for his adversary it was 
wholly unguarded. A woodsman's 
rules of fistics are simple. They 
can be reduced to the single pre- 
cept : Do your man ! Knuckles, 
butting head, a kick like a game- 
cock with the spiked boots, grapple 
and choke: — not one is called unfair. 
MacLeod simply threw himself at 
his foe. It was blood-lust panting 
for the clutch of him. 

Those who told of it afterward 
always regretfully said it was not a 
fight — not a fighi as the woods looks 
at such divertisements. No one 
who saw it knew just how it hap- 
pened. They simply saw that it had 

To the former football centre of 
Burton it was an opening simple as 
"the fool's gambit" in chess. His 
tense arms shot forward, his hands 
clasped the wrists of the flying 
giant with snaps like a steel trap's 
clutch, his head hunched between 
his shoulders, he went down and 
forward, tugging at the wrists, and 
by his own momentum MacLeod 
made his helpless somersault over 
the college man's broad back. And 
as he whirled, up lunged the should- 



ers in a mighty heave and the 
woodsman fell ten feet away — fell 
with that soggy, inert, bone-crack- 
ing thud that brings a groan invol- 
untarily from spectators. He lay- 
where he fell, quivered after a mo- 
ment, rolled and his right arm 
twisted under his body in sickening 

The girl gave a sharp cry, gath- 
ered her skirts about her and ran 
away up the street. 

"He's got it!" said 'Liah Belmore, 
with the professional decisiveness 
of the "It'll-git-ye Club." 

"I've read about them things 
bein' done by the dagoes in furrin' 
parts," remarked Martin McCrack- 
in, gazing pensively on the prostrate 
boss, "but I never expected to see 
it done in a woods fight." 

There was silence then for a mo- 
ment — a silence so profound that 
the breathing of the spectators 
could be heard above the summer- 
quieted murmur of the Hulling Ma- 
chine. Wade walked over and 
stood above the fallen foe. He was 
not gainsaid. Woods decorum for- 
bids interference in a fair fight. 

As he stood there, a rather tem- 
pestuous arrival broke the tenseness 
of the situation. From the mouth 
of a wood road leading into the 
tangled mat of forest at the foot of 
Tumble-dick came a little white 
stallion drawing a muddy gig. 

Under the seat swung a battered 
tin pail in which smouldered dry 
fungi, giving off a trail of smoke be- 
hind — the smudge pail designed to 
rout the blackflies of summer and 
the "minges" of the later season. 

An old man drove — an old man 
whose long, white hair fluttered 
from under a tall, pointed, visorless 
wool cap with a knitted knob on its 

apex. Whiskers, parted by his on- 
rush, streamed past his ears. 

He pulled up so suddenly in front 
of Ide's store that his little stallion 
skated along in the dust. 

"Hullo," he chirped, cocking his 
head to peer, "Cole MacLeod 
down !" 

He whirled, leaped off the back 
of the seat and ran nimbly to the 
prostrate figure. 

"Broken!" he jerked, fumbling 
the arm. "No-no! Out of joint!" 

"Let the man alone," commanded 
Wade. "He'll need proper attend- 

"Proper attendance !" shrilled the 
little old man, snapping his eyes. 
"Proper attendance ! And I guess 
you haven't traveled much that you 
don't know me. Here, two of you 
come and sit on this man ! I'll have 
him right in a jiffy. Don't know 
me, eh?" He again turned scornful 
gaze on the time-keeptr. "Prophet 
Eli, the natural bonesetter, mediator 
between the higher forces and man, 
disease eradicator, the 'charming- 
man' — I guess this is your first time 
out-doors ! Here, two of you come 
and hold Cole MacLeod !" 

When Wade, knitting his brows, 
manifested further symptoms of in- 
terference, Rodburd Ide took him 
by the arm and led him aside. 

''Let the old man alone," he said. 
"He'll know what to do. A little 
cracked, but he knows medicine 
better than half the doctors that 
ever got up as far as this." 

They heard behind them a dull 
snap and a howl of pain from Mac- 

"There she goes back," said Ide. 
"He's lived alone on Tumble-dick 
for twenty years and I suppose 
there's a story back of him, but we 



never found it out this way. We 
just call him prophet Eli and listen 
to his predictions and drink his herb 
tea and let him set broken bones 
and charm away disease — and 
there's no kick coming, for he will 
never take a cent from anyone." 

Four men had carried MacLeod to 
the wagon. His forehead was bleed- 
ing but he was conscious, for the 
sudden wrench and bitter pain of 
the dislocated shoulder had stirred 
his faculties. 

"Well, you've had it out, have 
you?" demanded the Honorable Pul- 
aski, coming around the corner of 
the store and taking in the scene. 
"What did I tell you, MacLeod? 
Listen to me next time !" 

"And you listen to me, too !" 
squalled MacLeod his voice break- 
ing like a child's ; "this thing ain't 
over! It's me or him, Mr Britt. If 
he goes in with your crew, I stay 
out. If you want him, you can have 
him, but you can't have me. And 
you know what I've done with your 
crews !" 

"You don't mean that, Colin," 
blustered Britt. 

"God strike me dead for a liar if 
I don't." 

"It's easier to get time-keepers 
than it is bosses," said the Honor- 
able Pulaski with the brisk decision 
natural to him. He whirled on 
Wade. "You'd better go home young- 
man. You're too much of a royal 
Bengal tiger to fit a crew of mine." 

He turned his back and began to 
order his men on board the tote 

Wade stood looking after them as 
they "rucked" away, his face work- 
ing with an emotion he could not 

"Well, that's Pulaski, all over!" 

remarked Ide at his elbow. "He'll 
fell a sawlog across a brook any 
time so as to get across without 
wetting his feet, and then go off 
and leave the log there." 

He stood back and looked the 
young man over from head to feet, 
with the shrewd eye of one apprais- 
ing goods. 

"Mr. Wade," he said at last, "will 
you step into my back office with 
me for a moment?" 

When they were there, the store- 
keeper perched himself on a high 
stool, hooked his toes under a 
round, stuck his face forward and 
said : — 

"Here's my business, straight and 
to the point. I'm a little something 
in the lumbering line up this way 
myself. What with land, stumpage 
rights and tax titles I've got two 
townships, but they're off the river 
and I haven't done much with 'em. 
I'm goin' to be honest and admit I 
can't do much with 'em so long as 
Britt and his gang control roll- 
dams, flowage and the water for the 
driving pitch the way they do. 
They haven't got the law with 'em, 
but that makes no difference to that 
crowd, the way they run things. 
Now you don't know the logging 
business, but a bright chap like you 
can learn it mighty quick. And 
you've shown today that there are 
some things you don't have to learn, 
and that's how to handle men — and 
that's the big thing in this country 
as things are now. What I want to 
ask you, fair and plain is, do you 
want a job?" 

"What, as a prize-fighter?" asked 
the young man, surlily. 

"No, s'r, but as a boss that can 
boss and has got the courage to 
hold up his end on this river! 



You've made a reputation in the 
last half hour here that's worth ten 
thousand to the man that hires you. 
There's money in the lumbering 
business, Mr. AVade. The men that 
are in it right are getting rich. 
But you've got to get into it pickid- 
end to. Here's the way you and I 
are fixed : you might wait for ten 
years and not find the opportunity 
I'm offering you. I might wait ten 
years and not find just the man I 
could afford to take in with me. 
I've sized you. You seem right. 
Are you interested enough to listen 
to figures?" 

And then Ide, accepting his po- 
lite silence as assent, rattled off into 
his details. At the end of half an 
hour Wade was listening with a 
new gleam of resolution in his eyes. 
At the end of an hour he was blot- 
ting his signature at the bottom of a 
preliminary article of agreement 
that was to serve until a lawyer 
could draw one more ample. 

"And now," said Ide, slamming 
his safe door and whirling the knob, 
"it's past supper time and my folks 
are waitin'. And it's settled that 
you stay with us. I say, it's settled! 
Where else would you stop in this 
God-forsaken bunch of shacks? I've 
got a big house and something to 
eat. Come along, Mr. Wade ! I'm 
hungry and we'll do the rest of our 
talkin' on the road." 

The young man followed him 
without a word. And thus entered 
Dwight Wade into the life of Cas- 
tonia and into the battle of strong 
men in the north woods. 

In front of the store, as they is- 
sued, the "It'11-git-ye Club" was still 
in session, as though waiting for 
something. They got what they 
were waiting for. 

"Boys," announced their satisfied 
"mayor," "I want to introduce to 
you my new partner, Mr. Dwight 
Wade — though he really don't need 
any introduction in this region after 
today. Boy !" He called to a 
youngster. "Get a wheelbarrow and 
carry Mr. Wade's duffle up to my 
house." He pointed to the young 
man's meagre baggage that had 
been thrown off the tote wagon. 

As Wade turned away he caught 
the keen eye of Prophet Eli fixed 
on him. The eye was a bit wild, 
but there was humor there, too. 
And the cracked falsetto of the old 
man's voice followed him as he 
walked away beside his new spon- 
sor : 

"Oh, the little brown bull come down 
from the mountain, 
Shang, ro-ango, 

Whango-whey ! 

And as he was feelin' salutatious, 
Chased old Pratt a mile ,by gracious, 
Licked old Shep and two dog Towzers, 
Then marched back home with old 
Pratt's trousers, 

Whango-whey !" 

"Yes, as I was tellin' you a spell 
ago — just a little cracked!" apol- 
ogized Ide. "There's my house, 
there ! The one with the tower. 
And there's my girl, Nina, waiting 
for me at the gate." 

Uncle Primus Tells a Ghoft Story 

By Pauline Carrington Bouve 

"So Judy say she don' 'b'leve in 
ghoses, do she?" 

I was sitting in the shade of a 
giant horse-chestnut tree that stood 
near the "big gate" of the plantation 

I don't know why I should have 
been thinking about the mysteries 
of life and death that particular 
morning. Perhaps it was the prox- 
imity of the family grave-yard that 
was plainly visible from where I sat. 
The formal hedges of box that en- 
closed it and the dark sombre green 
of the pines that shadowed the 
white headstones, made a dark 
square on the hillside with the 
stretches of sun-scorched fields all 
about it. Perhaps, too, Aunt Judy's 
dogmatic assertion as to any revel- 
ation of the occult, had aroused the 
spirit of combativeness. 

There was a feud of long stand- 
ing and exceeding bitterness be- 
tween Aunt Judy and Uncle Primus 
and I was sure that an avowal pro 
or con from her would induce him 
to take an opposite view of the case. 
I felt that there was a latent desire 
to confute Mammy's scepticism in 
his voice as he spoke, so I said in 
rather a conciliatory way : "That's 
what she told me but I have never 
settled the question." 

Uncle Primus eyed me closely. 
"You needn't wan' ter settle it, 
neither. It 'pears ter be things az 
is bes' unsettled, 'cordin' ter my 
'pinion. When a pusson aint never 
seed a ghos', he don' put much re- 
liance in ghoses, but when a pusson 

have seed one, why den de case iz 

"That's natural enough," I re- 
marked. "Did you ever see one, 
Uncle Primus?" 

He appeared to be extremely busy 
with a rusty bit of iron he held in his 
hand, turning it about and eyeing it 
first with one half-shut eye and then 
the other. I began to think that 
the direct question had been unwise, 
when suddenly he walked over to 
where I was sitting under the tree, 
and seated himself on a horse-block 
that stood within a few feet of me. 

"Did I ever see a ghos', wuz you 
sayin', Miss Vi'let? Well fer an 
actual fac' I has done dat very thing, 
jes' az sho' az you iz settin' under 
dat tree an' I'se settin' on dis here 
horse block !" 

There was a note of solemn con- 
viction in Uncle Primus' voice that 
whetted my curiosity. 

"You have? Well, tell me about 
it. I never saw anybody else that 
had seen one. I'd like to hear about 

"Well, now, Miss Vi'let, some- 
times I thinks it are a ticklish thing 
ter set down an' talk 'bout spirits 
same az 'bout livin' folks, kase ef 
dey had de power ter come back 
onct, why hasn't dey got de power 
ter come back agin? Dat's what I 
say ter myself. An' I don' know but 
how it may be a dange'us thing, 
talkin' 'bout sech retu'nin's f'om de 
yuther worl', but az long az you 
done ax me de p'inted question, I 
gwine give you de p'inted trufe." 




As my raconteur paused, a dim 
recollection of certain hints let fall 
from Mammy came to my memory. 
But I dismissed those as unworthy 
when I glanced into the serious face 
of my vis-a-vis. 

He seemed to pause in order to 
collect his recollections and mar- 
shall them in order before him, be- 
fore he resumed. 

"I reckin you've often hearn tell 
uv Miss Vinnie Daindridge what 
wuz ole Squire Daindridge's onliest 
chile an' yo' pa's cousin, young 
Mars Charlie Leighton?" he in- 
quired. I nodded. Indeed the story 
had come to me through so many 
various and divers sources that I 
was quite anxious to get a more de- 
tailed rendition of it, especially if 
this romance of long ago had a 
ghostly element in it. 

"You mean the one my papa loved 
so much, don't you?" 

"Jes' so," was the reply. "Dat 
how it happen I knowed all 'bout it, 
Mars Charlie always bein' wid our 
boys so much — dey wuz kin, you 
know. Well, it do seem strange 
when I come ter think uv it dat po' 
ole Primus should hev been de in- 
strument choosed fer dat message — 
but I'se gwine 'long too fas' alto- 
gether. In de fust place, Miss- 
Vinnie, she wuz one uv de kind 
what wants a man down on his 
knees in de dirt all de time a-tellin' 
her she's de fust one in de whole 
worl' — not dat it aint right an' prop- 
er fer a man ter think it ter be de 
case wid his sweetheart — but Mars 
Charlie he were high strung an' 
proud an' mettlesome, he were, an' 
dem two wuz always a-fussin' 'bout 
d?s or dat. Pcared like de mo' dey 
loved one anuther de mo' dey fuss. I 
don' know how dat wuz but dat iz de 
wav it look ter me, fer I wuz de one 

what fotched de letters an' de bo- 
kay's 'tween 'em all de time — Mars 
Charlie had omplicit confidence in 
me in sech matters, kase you see, I 
had been mah'ed fo' time an' he 
'lowed a pusson dat had dat ex- 
pe'yunce, wuz wuth listenin' ter. 
Enny way I wuz de one he choosed 
— an' I done my bes' ter keep de 
peace, but it wuz'nt no use, seems 
like. Ef he axed enny uv de yuther 
young ladies ter go awalkin' or ter 
dance wid him, why den she let her- 
se'f loose ter caper 'roun wid all de 
young fellers about, an' she sholy 
knowed how ter run a man crazy. 
Den Mars Charlie he'd perten' ter 
be mighty peart fer a while, but 
mos' in general he'd try ter mek 
fren's, an' den dere 'ud be mo' let- 
ters an' mo' bokays. I could allers 
tell how things wuz gettin' 'long 
dis way — ef it goin' ter suit him, 
why I'd get a dollar or a half dollar 
or a quarter, 'cordin' ter de degree 
uv luck he had — an' ef it wuz goin' 
'tother way roun', why, it wuz a ten 
cent or a five cent piece. Yo' may 
be sho' honey, I wuz always fer 
peaceful relations, I kin tell you. 

Well, den, things wuz comin' long 
all right when all uv a suddint, dey 
fly up 'bout some foolishness agin. 

"Dis time, I say, 'Mars Charlie/ 
I say, 'you gwine ter do dis way 
onct loo often, an' she gwine do dis 
way onct too often, an' den whar 
will you bofe be?' 

"'You're right,' he say ter me; 
'Primus you has spoke de words uv 
soberness an' trufe,' he says. 

"Well, sho' 'miff, he sent me over 
dere ter de Willows — dat's her pa's 
place — wid a letter. But Miss Vin- 
nie she wuz asettin' on de po'ch 
talkin' very lively wid some young 
gentleman, an' she jes' read what I 
give her an' say keerless like: 'Tell 



him I am engaged fer this evenin'/ 
she says. 

"I come back an' delivered her 
word which made me mad, too, kase 
the gen'elman she wttz a-flirtin' 
wid couldn't hoi' a candle side uv 
Mars Charlie. Mars Charlie, he say 
'very well, Primus,' and he got on 
his horse and rid off an' dat night 
he took Miss Bessie Danvers ter de 
party. He didn't write no mo' 
notes, an' I begun ter feel lonesome 
like in my min' an' in my pockets. 
So I made bol' ter say one day : — 

" 'I gwin over ter Mars John 
Daindridge's today, ef you got a let- 
ter or anything fer ter send, sah?' 
His face look red an' den it look 
white. He says — 'Nothin' today 
Primus'. I say 'yes sah, all right 
sah, only I wuz thinkin' ' — den I 
felt foolish. — 'Well what youse 
thinkin' ?' he ax. 

"Well/ I say, 'I wuz thinkin' 
Miss Vinnie aint lookin' peart here 

" 'Do you think Primus' — den he 
stopped — and I say — 'Yas, sah, I 
does.' Den he sot down an' wrote 
a letter mos' big az a book. An' I 
cah'ied it over ter Miss Vinnie. But 
La! wimmin' is queer — I seed how 
her eyes dey shine an' how her face 
rosied all over an' I says ter my- 
se'f, 'Primus ez no fool, sho' !' Nex' 
minit you could have called me a 
fool a hundred times an ? I'd agreed 
fer what should she do but read dat 
letter, den han' it ter me an' say : 
'You may han' this back ter Mr. 
Leighton, it requires no anser,' an' 
den she go long in de house hum- 
min' a chune. Well, dat knocked 
me, it did ! 

"I didn't know how ter give dat 
letter back but I had ter do it some- 
how, so I says 'Mars Charlie, Miss 

Vinnie she tol' me dat dere wuz no 
anser — an' she give me i/irk yo' let- 
ter. But she's a-foolir/ sho' I says 
fer Mars Charlie tuned while as 
de wall. He tored dat lettei up in 
little fine scraps, but he never op- 
ened his mouf. Somehow I feel 
skeered lookin' at him. Den dere 
wuzn't no mo' letters an' I feel lone- 
somer an' lonesomer. 

"Den all uv a suddint de wah done 
bust right over our hades an' fust 
thing I knowed Mars Charlie like 
all de res' uv 'em enlisted ter be a 
soldier. Now, I says, dey'll mek 
up — he didn't say nuthin' ter me 
'bout it an' fo' long I seed dat he 
wuz gwine off widout mekin' up. 

"De night 'fo' he went off — I says 
'you wants me ter do an' errant fer 
you tonight I reckin' Mars Char- 
lie?' but he shook his hade. 

" 'Tis too late' he says. 

"Never b'leve it's dat, sah' I says 
' — I been watchin' things mighty 
close lately — ' 

" 'No, Primus,' he says — 'it's too 
late.' Den he says 'here's some- 
thing to remember me by/ an' he 
give me dis." 

Uncle Primus fished in his capa- 
cious pocket for a moment and ex- 
torted therefrom a ring of keys, to 
which was attached by a leather 
string a tarnished Confederate but- 

"I kep' it — an' it seem like when 
I looks at it, it bring dem ole times, 
bright an' fresh ter my min' onct 

' 'I ain't never gwine ter ferget 
you, Mars Charlie,' I mek reply, an' 
when you come back, I hope you'll 
let me do errants for you same az 
uv ole.' He looked at me wid his 
eyes sorrowful like — 'If I ever want 
another errand done, I'll let vou 



know.' he say, and den he shuk my 
han' an' I felt a lump come a-risin' 
up in my th'oat, kase till right den 
I never knowed how much I think 
uv Mars Charlie, seem like — 

"Den after he done gone ter de 
army, I felt mo' an' mo' lonesome, 
kase all uv em mos' had done gone 
off ter fight de Yankees. 

"Well sometimes we hearn one 
had beat an' sometimes de yuther; 
whichever way it wuz gwine ter 
turn out 'peared hard ter tell — co'se 
I done been hankerin' after free- 
dom, but I hankered after yuther 
things too, seem like. 

"Well, the summer it wuz mos' 
gone, an' I uster say ter myse'f de 
happiness an' de laughin' an' de 
singin' done goin' too, wid de flow- 
ers. Sometime I slip over ter see 
how Miss Vinnie gettin' 'long and 
she look ter be slimmer an' paler 
den what she uster wuz, an' I 
hearn dat de yuther young feller 
she done sent off a long time ago, 
'bout time Mars Charlie went ter de 
wah. I uster think a heap 'bout 
things dem times. I reckin all uv 
us did — niggers an' white folks. A 
gr'et big change whether it be good 
or bad, mek people feel strange. 

"One evenin' I wuz comin' 'long 
dis very road aponderin' all dis 
changin' 'bout uv things an' fight- 
in' an' all, when I hearn a horse 
comin' up de road. I couldn't see 
him kase I hadn't got ter de ben' 
uv de pike. I didn't think no mo' 
'bout it, till I come aroun' de ben' 
an' right dar on his horse sot a sol- 
dier. I knowed he wuz a Confed- 
erate by de grey cote an de brass 
buttons a-shinin'. 'Twas gittin' on 
towards dusk an' I couldn't see de 
man's face till I come clos' up ter 

"Den I stopped short off wid a 
col' kin' uv surprise arisin' over me, 
fer it were Mars Charlie a settin' 
dar on dat horse ! 

"He didn't look exackly nacher- 
al 'count uv bein' so awful white 
an' I wuz too took a-back ter speak 
fer a minit. 

' 'Lord love you, Mars Charlie' ! 
I say at las', 'I never hearn you wuz 
comin' at all. How you git here 

" T had ter come,' he answer, 
an' his voice sounded slow an' tired 
like. 'I want you to tell Miss Vin- 
nie she will see me without fail this 
day week !' 

" 'Yes sah,' I say— 'I'll go tell her 
fust chance I gits. But dey sholy 
will be glad ter hear you done got 
back,' I say. He didn't say nothin' 
— but jes' kep' lookin' at me hard. 
I begun ter feel strange an' wuz 
'bout ter say : 'Iz yer feelin' bad, iz 
you bin hurted, sah' — 

" 'Tell her a week from today — 
she will see me,' he said takin' no 
notice uv what I ax him. 

" 'I always done yo' errants' I 
say, 'an' I'll do dis one same as 
yuthers,' I say. 

''Thank you. Primus,' he say, 
and he rid off. 

"What a fool nigger, I sez ter my- 
se'f, ter let him go 'long widout 
axin' nothin' 'bout whether he been 
hurted? An' wid dat I run along 
ter ketch up wid Mars Charlies — 
but nary thing did I see up nor 
down de long road. I stopped still 
an' say, 'Primus, nigger, iz you 
crazy? — which way dat horse 
gone ?' 

Den I peered backward an' forwards 
but der wuzn't no horse dar. 

" 'Well I ain't had a drink sence 
las' Saturday' I says, 'an' I ain't 



asleep. I don't know what's de mat- 
ter, but I sholy done had a talk 
wid Mars Charlie !' 

"I went on up ter de house an' 
tell you' pa an' dem. 

" 'Why, Primus,' dey all say — ■ 
'why didn't you bring him right 
to the house? Where did he go?' 

" 'May de Lord tek me dis min- 
it,' I say, 'but I don't know whar he 
gone. He jes' went clear out uv my 
sight; dat all I kin tell you 'bout it.' 

"An' we lookt an' lookt fer Mars 
Charlie but no Mars Charlie come. 
Ole Marster 'lowed I'd been nap- 
pin', but I knowed better. 

"I jes' had ter go over ter de Wil- 
lows nex' day, an' I tole Miss Vin- 
nie jes' dem very words he say. She 
b'leeved me f'om the fust. But 
somehow she look sad kase it were 
strange nobody else had done seed 
him 'cep' me — I wuz standin' dar on 
de po'ch talkin' ter Miss Vinnie, 
when a man come ridin' up ter de 
do' wid a letter in 'his han'. It were 
wrote ter Mars Steve, Miss Vinnie's 
pa, from a fren' uv his in de army 
an' it tole how Mars Charlie Leigh- 
ton had done been shot dade in de 
dusk uv de evenin' de day befo' at 
Cedar Crick ! 

"I aint never seed such a face as 
Miss Vinnie's wuz when her pa, he 
not knowin' all I knowed, read dem 
words — she seem lak she wuz turned 
ter stone. 

" 'Mars Steve,' I says, 'how kin 
dat be true when I done seed Mars 
Charlie day fo' yestidy evenin' nigh 
'bout dusk jes' az plain az I sees you 
now, sah?' But Mars Steve never 
tole me how ter dis day. Den I re- 
member de words, 'Tell her she'll 
see me a week from terday widout 
fail,' an' a feelin' like a dumb chill 
creep up my back. 

" 'Don' you think no mo' 'bout dat 
what I tole yer, Miss Vinnie,' I say, 
'kase it jes' nacherly obleged ter be 
a dream,' I say. 

" 'No, it wusn't a dream,' she say 
ter me an' a strange look came into 
her eyes — 'it wuzn't a dream' — she 
says slow like, '// was a message! " 

" 'Well, sah, I feel mighty bad 
then 'bout tellin' her an' I feel wuss 
an' wuss, when nex' day she wuz 
took sick. 'Twuz some kin' uv 
fever, dey say up at de gre't house. 
Dey done everything dey could fer 
her, but 'twuz'nt no use, honey. 
Jes' exacly a week f'om de time 
Mars Charlie sent dat word by me. 
Miss Vinnie were dade ! 

"'Yes, chile, dat's de Lord's ow-< 
trufe — an' dere ain't no way uv 
'splainin' some uv His ways.' 

"What do you think was the mat- 
ter with Miss Vinnie?" I asked, a 
sudden moisture in my eyes blo.- 
ting everything from my vision save 
the headstones on the hillsides. 

"De doctors say az how it wuz 
somethin' de matter wid her brain, 
but I knowed better. I knowed 
'twuz jes' her heart abreakin' on ac- 
count uv dat las' quar'l wid Mars 

Uncle Primus cleared his throat 
at last. 

"Judy kin b'lieve what she chuze. 
I don' keer nothin' 'bout her insin- 
yations," he said, in a voice that be- 
tokened a long sense of injury, — 
"but I knows what I knows, an' 
dere's no gettin' roun fac's. Yo' pa 
an' ma knowed de whole thing, an' 
so did ole Miss. I don' speak 'bout 
dat exper'yance only ve'y seldom, 
but I feels easy in my min' 'bout one 
thing. I knows dat Mars Charlie 
an' Miss Vinnie done made fren's 
now, onct and fer all." 

Old Cambridge 

By Clara Lathrop 

Gray street with slow gloom-dripping eaves 
Bare elms that span the pale March sky, 

Where sodden in snow-folded leaves 
The long-worn pathways lie. 

There's never light on wave or shore 
Can match your sombre windows' gleam, 

Where flickering candles' midnight lore 
Lighted the quest supreme. 

Your heritage, to hold apart 

In memories finer than all strife 
Deep pride of patient, studious art 

Enshrined in nobler life. 

Perchance some white-locked scholar-shade 
Pacing at dusk by churchyard rail, 

Sighs for the clash of gong and trade 
On still hours' tranquil tale. 

Yet is not sad, perceiving well 

How through the new lands, wide and bold 
Fair flames his hard-won truth, to tell 

Of greater gain than gold. 

And deathless in each wandering heart 
Where beats the old blood's silent pride 

Of jealous honor, shrined apart, 
His old ideals abide. 

So, turning to his rest, he smiles 
To feel the feet that farthest roam, 

Pause, when from dust of foreign miles 
The gray town calls them home. 




As illustrated by the 



From Drawings by W. H, BARTLETT 
With Descriptions by N. P. WILLIS 

Reproduced from 


Published in London by 




"Besides the beauty of nature, which is prodigal on the borders of 
this lovely lake, there is little of interest beyond what is found in the recol- 
lections of the Indian wars. Penhallow's History, which till lately has 
been a rare book, has rescued New Hampshire from the obscurity in which 
some of the other states remain, on these curious and interesting subjects. 

''One wonders, in reading of the critical adventures of the early settlers, 
what offset the country could give them against such a frail tenure of life. 
'' 'At one time,' says the journal, 'the people of Dunstable were advised 
of a party of two hundred and seventy Indians that were coming upon 
them. Their first descent was on the third of July, when they fell on a 
garrison that had twenty troopers in it, who, by their negligence, keeping 
no watch, suffered them to enter, which tended to the destruction of half 
their number.' 

"After that, a small party attacked Daniel Galusha's house, who held 
them in play for some time, till the old man's courage failed ; when, on sur- 
rendering himself, he informed them of the state of the garrison ; how that 
one man was killed, and only two men and a boy left; which caused them 
to rally anew, and with greater courage than before. Upon which, one with 
the boy got out on the back side, leaving only Jacob to fight the battle, who 
for some time defended himself with much bravery; but overpowered with 
force, and finding none to assist him, was obliged to quit it, and make his 
escape as well as he could; but before he got far, the enemy laid hold of 
him once and again; and yet, by much struggling, he rescued himself. 
Upon this, they burnt the house; and next day about forty more fell on 
Amesbury, where they killed eight; two, at the same time, who were at 
work in a field, hearing an outcry, hastened to their relief, but being pur- 
sued, ran to a deserted house, in which were two flankers, where each of 
them found an old gun, but neither of them fit for service; and if they 
were, had neither powder nor shot to load with; however, each took a 
flanker, and made the best appearance they could, by thrusting the muzzles 
of the guns outside the port-holes, crying aloud, 'Here they are, but do not 
fire till they come nearer.' which put the enemy into such a fright, that they 
instantly drew off !" 




(From Mount Washington) 

"In looking in this direction from the elevated summit of Mount Wash- 
ington, the eye drops upon a region of climate entirely different from that 
on its southeastern side. The towns of Lancaster and Jefferson, though 
something north of the White Mountains, enjoy a benign, tranquil atmos- 
phere, such as is not known for two or three hundred miles further south, 
and with the beauty of the scenery and the number of water-courses, it is 
a little Arcadia in the bosom of the north. The peculiar climate felt here 
is owing to the proximity of the White Mountains, which form a wall of 
thirty miles from north to south, either checking entirely the eastern 
winds, or elevating them into a region far above the surface. The westerly 
winds, again, impinging against the mountains, (but in an elevated part,) 
are arrested, leaving the towns below in the same tranquility as is felt by 
a person coming near a large building in a high wind. 

"The snow rarely lies permanently here until after the tenth or fif- 
teenth of December, and generally leaves it about the middle of March ; at 
this time the earth is usually free from frost. A stick forced through the 
snow in the month of February enters the earth without difficulty, the snow 
falling so early as to prevent the frost from penetrating to any depth, and 
dissolving the little which had previously existed. Hence the pastures be- 
come suddenly green, and the cattle are safely turned into them in the 
middle of April ; the time of pasturage is, therefore, as long here as in 
Connecticut. In this manner that tedious period, known as the breaking 
up of the frost, is here chiefly prevented; and the warm season is annually 
lengthened, so far as the purposes of gardening and agriculture are con- 
cerned, about a month every year. 

"Rains and snows, in this part of the country almost universally come 
from the western side of the heavens, and chiefly from the northwest. 
Snow falls here in a singular manner. A light, fleecy shower descends fre- 
quently for a few minutes in the morning, when the sky becomes perfectly 
clear, and the day perfectly fine. In this manner it has been known to fall 
thirty successive days, and yet to cover the ground scarcely to the depth 
of six inches. By this gradual accumulation, it has sometimes risen in the 
forests to the height of thirty inches ; commonly it has not succeeded eight- 
een. Travelling in the winter, therefore, is easy and pleasant in this neigh- 
borhood, and the weather is generally delightful." 




(From Near Crawford's) 

"The White Hills have. a double claim to their title — one founded upon 
the fact that for nine, ten, and sometimes eleven months in the year they 
are covered wLh snow; and the other that, in all clear days, (the only 
time in which they can distinctly be seen,) white fleecy clouds resting upon 
them give them a white aspect. When viewed from a neighboring posi- 
tion, they are always, except where snow lies, or the rocks are naked, 
shrouded in misty azure. 

"The height of these mountains has been a subject of much dispute. 
A scientific gentleman, whose remarks on physical subjects merit con- 
sideration and respect, supposes the summit of Mount Washington to be 
aboiu seven thousand eight hundred feet above the level of the ocean ; 
seven-ty-two feet below the point, which, in the latitude of forty-four de- 
grees fifteen minutes (that of these mountains) is the estimated point of 
perpetual congelation on the eastern continent. This point, he says, from 
the greater coldness of the American climate, cannot exceed, but must 
rather fall short, of what it is in the European climate. The climates of 
America are indeed colder than those of Europe in the same latitude dur- 
ing the winter, but in the summer they are generally much hotter. 

Nor are the mountains in any part of New England of sufficient height 
and extent to lessen materially the degree of heat generally prevailing. 
The air on the summit of Mount Washington, therefore, must continually 
be rendered less cold by the ascent of the intensely heated atmospheres 
from the subjacent regions. As the whole country partakes of this heat, 
the ascending volume, whencesoever derived, must be heated to nearly 
the same temperature. It seems scarcely credible, therefore, that the tem- 
perature of the atmosphere around the single point of Mount Washington 
should not, during the summer, be sensibly raised by the general heat of 
the country; for we are to remember that this is the only height in the 
United States which approximates near to the region of perpetual frost." 



Ballade of the Woods on a Winter Night 

By Frank Putnam 

The winds sing low on the tree-clad hill, 
Cold and clear in the white moonshine ; 

Grey winds that worry the snow at will 
Have wiped out all of the footprints fine 
Down to the last least three-toed sign ; 

Nature in pity of their hard plight 

Saves her wee folk from the hounds' design : 

Peace reigns in the woods this wintry night. 

Each in its nest is safe and warm — 
Even the crow in the tree-top sleeps, 

Head 'neath wing and back to the storm ; 
Fox in his dream grim vigil keeps — 
Peers and listens and crawls and leaps, 

And wakes in a fury of red delight. 

The mild stars swim in the ether's deeps : 

Peace reigns in the woods this wintry night. 

Stung by the cold, the branches snap, 

Only the trees seem half-forlorn ; 
They sway and sigh in a nodding nap, 

Seeming to wait for the sun-bright morn. 

A dead leaf late from its moorings torn 
Swims in circles of sapphire light, 

Flutters and fades, on the wind upborne : 
Peace reigns in the woods this wintry night. 

Prince ; in the Town are hope and fear 

As keen as any here hid from sight ; 
But here is never a prayer or tear: 

Peace reigns in the woods this wintry ?iight. 

November and March 

By Isabella Howe Fiske 

I am half loth to plant you 

Within the garden drear, 
Yet courage, cotyledons, 

And think the spring is here. 
The earth, chill with November, 

Doth your heart's secrets know, 
And March shall call the crocus 

Despite the lingering snow. 

1 9th Century Boston Journalism 


... .Players, musicians and critics of the last quarter of the last century — First appear- 
ance of Julia Marlowe — Mary Anderson, her admirers and critics — William Winter's 
letter— -Mme. Modjeska as first seen at the Boston Museum — Henry A. Clapp and his in- 
fluence as a critic — Maida Craigen — Adelaide Neilson. l 

AM going to linger awhile yet 
in the realm of the aesthetics, 
in which I made my first ap- 
pearance in Boston journalism, 
when summoned by William A. 
Hovey, in 1875, on his appoint- 
ment as editor-in-chief of the 
Transcript, to be his first assistant. 
There will be 
something doing, 
to be sure, when 
this chronicle 
reaches the politics 
of my administra- 
tion. But, really, 
when you come to 
think of it, the art 
and artists, the 
musicians and ac- 
tors I have known 
are much more en- 
during in the place 
and hold they have 
upon the public in- 
terest than the 
politics and politicians. Is it not so? 
What is James G. Blaine, for in- 
stance, but the shadow of a name? 
He could not even enforce his recip- 
rocity tariff policy on his own party 


policy upon the greedy commercial- 
ized Republicanism of his day. Pol- 
itics, as Robert Louis Stevenson has 
said, is the most clumsy and disap- 
pointing and intractable of busi- 
nesses. It is mostly wind, and the 
wind bloweth where it listeth. Bris- 
tow, to whom I gave my civil ser- 
vice reform enthu- 
siasm in the 
youngest days of 
my editorship of 
the Transcript, is 
not even a name to 
present genera- 
tions. Poor Gar- 
field is remem- 
bered only by the 
tragic end of his 
career. No, the 
world does not 
live and progress 
only, or even 
chiefly, in its state- 
craft or wars. In- 
dustries, inventions, social move- 
ments, the arts, education, litera- 
ture, are the important and lasting 
things that leave their impress and 
keep their interest from age to age. 

in his lifetime, any more than the History is being rewritten now on 
politician who shoved him away this principle, as exemplified by 
from the trough, William McKinley, Freeman and Green in England and 
could enforce his repentant revision Taine and Jusserand in France, 




Mommseii in Roman history and 
Mahaffy in Greek. 

Julia Marlowe has outlived both 
Blaine and his panegyrist, Ingersoll, 
who dubbed him the "Plumed 
Knight," and who was among the 
financial backers called upon for 
fifty or a hundred thousand dollars 
getting her started on the road to 
fame and fortune. Among the 
clippings in an old scrap-book of 
those days is an account of a dinner 
given in her honor at Providence on 
the occasion of her first appearance 
in "Cymbeline," twenty years and 
more ago. I had the honor of pre- 
siding at that banquet, with Miss 
Marlowe on my right hand and Mr. 
Taber on my left. I remember in a 
general way the fatherly and expert 
criticism I poured into her shell-like 
ear, and the sweet, girlish manner 

in which she allowed it all to pass 
out at the other ear, so far as I could 
ever observe in her subsequent ca- 
reer. I have seen Mr. Sothern re- 
ceive hours of similar counsels as to 
his impersonations from his host at 
private entertainments in the same 
bland air of docility and with equal 
effect on his subsequent rendering 
of the role under discussion. I have 
often fancied I saw his fine, large 
eye rolling in quiet humor under his 
polite, submissive reserve on such 

Mary Anderson was another of 
the. lovely American artists I had 
the honor of counseling in the days 
of their youth. But "Our Mary" 
was truly grateful for hints and 
helps from all quarters, and did her 
best to profit by them. I remem- 
ber a delightful long afternoon's 



conversation with her after her re- 
turn from her successful London 
season, when she told me of the ad- 
vantage it had been to her to have 
the artists, literary men and critics 
run in to see her and advise with her 
about her dresses, stage-settings and 
the reading of her lines. As she sat 
in her American rocking-chair in her 
parlor at the Vendome, rocking very 
hard as she talked, American-girl 
fashion, I thought how refreshing 
an object of contemplation she must 
have been to such painters as Watts 
and Alma Tadema and to such 
worldlings as the Prince of Wales 
and Mr. Gladstone and such poets 
as Tennyson and Browning, and 
such students of human nature as 
Wilkie Collins and W. S. Gilbert, 
all of whom were evidently fasci- 
nated by her perfect beauty and her 
naive, unspoiled and unafraid Amer- 
ican girl's ways. It was under Gil- 
bert's personal direction that she 
created his Galatea and his Clarisse 
in "Comedy and Tragedy." Alma 
de Tadema had dressed her after a 
Tanagra figurine, but Gilbert blunt- 
ly growled at the bunchiness of the 
costume for Galatea, and it was left 
to the always clever American adap- 
tability, tact and taste in feminine 
dress to realize the author's ideal of 
his Grecian figure. It was while she 
was breakfasting at; the Prime Min- 
ister's house in Downing Street that 
the attempt was made to blow up 
the Admiralty building with dyna- 
mite. "A few minutes later," says 
Mrs. Navarro in her "Memories," 
"Mr. Gladstone was helping me 
with my wraps which he put on up- 
side down, making amusing remarks 
about ladies' cloaks in general and 
mine in particular." 

In Boston Longfellow had been 


very kind to her and several times 
accompanied her to the Italian 
opera. The poet, Aldrich, also en- 
tertained her at a reception at which 
Edwin Booth and Tomaso Salvini 
were also guests. But it had not 
been wholly smooth sailing always 
for Mary Anderson, in Boston. 
There were those of the critics who 
with the marvellous acumen of the 
craft, had discovered the patent fact 
that she was voting and unformed 



boJi in taste and art, and could dis- 
cover nothing more, and were not 
enough in love with art to wish 
they might, — helping out the artist's 
shortcomings with the evident in- 
tention. I forget just what quarrel 
of critics an old letter in the crabbed 
but clear handwriting of William 
Winter is memento of, but it tells 
sufficiently well its own story and 
no doubt Mr. Winter would gladly 
see it reproduced for the record of 
his attitude towards the meteoric 
career of its subject. Mr. Winter 
and I had been colleagues on the 
New York Tribune, and as the 
work of both of us came at night 
and our afternoons were therefore 
free, we often rambled together 
about the city streets or parks and 
became quite familiar with each 
other's point of view. As I had 
been only the Night-Editor of the 
Tribune I was rather proud of my 
performances as Critic in Boston, 
and let my mentor in dramatics see 
what I was doing in his own metier. 
It was thus that he came to send me 
the following among other similar 
notes about other artists of our mu- 
tual acquaintance : 

December 30, 1885. 
My dear Clement : 

Delighted to get your letter! Still more 
delighted to have your approval and sym- 
pathy as to the stand I have taken with 
regard to the acting of Miss Mary Ander- 
son! Your article in the Transcript is 
true — every word of it — and it is set down 
with grace and feeling as well as truth. 
I have carefully watched and studied the 
progress of Miss Anderson since she first 
appeared in New York, which was in 1877 
— eight years ago. T know and can recall 
every step of the way. She is a great 
woman and a great actress. The talk 
about her "coldness" is rubbish. She has 
more feeling in any five minutes of her 

performance of Juliet than most women 
have in all their lives. The person who 
can see and hear her in that Parting Scene 
and perceive no feeling in it must be made 
of sawdust. Is it not rather a comic spec- 
tacle to behold the mud-turtles of the dis- 
reputable press standing forth as instruct- 
ors to a young and beautiful and most 
tender and angelic woman in the art of ex- 
periencing the highest and holiest emo- 
tions of human nature? As a matter of 
fact — well, I need not tell you, for you 
know them, what it is that these people 
call feeling. It makes a man ashamed of 
being human to read and hear such ribald 
nonsense and vileness as these writers put 
forth. Thank God the stage has, in Miss 
Anderson, a noble power and a glorious 
example ! For my part, I am passing from 
the scene; but as long as I can write or 
speak I will honor that true woman, that 
illustrious lady, that great actress, with 
all the intellectual power that may be 

Accept my fraternal grip of the right 
hand of friendship and believe me 

Faithfully yours, 

William Winter. 

Mrs. James T. Fields, in her 
charming "Authors and Friends," 
speaking of Longfellow's theatre- 
going says : "In spite of his dislike 
of grand occasions where he was a 
prominent figure, he was a keen 
lover of the theatre and opera. 
There is a tiny notelet among his 
letters, with a newspaper paragraph 
neatly cut out and pasted across the 
top detailing the names of his party 
at a previous appearance at the 
theatre, a kind of notoriety which he 
particularly shuddered at; but in or- 
der to prove his determination in 
spite of everything he writes be- 
low : "Now for 'Pinafore' and an- 
other paragraph. Saturday after- 
noon would be a good time." He 
easily caught the gayety of such oc- 
casions and in the shadow of the 



curtains in the box would join in 
the singing or the recitative of the 
lovely Italian words with a true 
poet's delight." In his white old 
age, the poet was safe in ardent 




championship of ladies in distress 
at the hands of unsympathetic crit- 
ics. Mme. Modjeska was severely 
snubbed by the eminent critic of the 
Advertiser, Mr. Henry A. Clapp, on 
her first appearance in the East, at 
the Boston Museum. She had then 
only recently mastered the English 
language for public use, incited 
thereto by an enterprising theatre- 
manager of the Pacific Coast where 
she had settled with a colony of ex- 
iled compatriots never expecting to 
act again. The pathetic interest in- 
spired by this charming victim of 
Russian despotism and the brilliant 
conversational powers of her ac- 
complished husband, whom the 
public here were taught by press 

agents to refer to as the Coun: Bo- 
zenta, enlisted Longfellow's warm 
sympathies with her endeavors to 
perfect her speech for the English- 
speaking stage. But Clapp was 
cold and difficult in a rather finical 
and unrelenting criticism of her de- 
ficiencies in the vernacular; the 
work she had accomplished to do 
as well as she did seemed to receive 
no allowance from him in his esti- 
mates of her art. My notices of her 
acting, on the contrary, made as lit- 
tle as possible of the pronunciation 
of the lady whose previous experi- 
ence had all been only in the chief 
theatres of Poland. I had empha- 
sized rather the exquisite refine- 


ment of her conceptions, the distinc- 
tion of her carriage and manners in 
the delineation of characters in mod- 
ern life and the delicacy and reserve 
of her expression of "emotion," all 
the more effective for this measure, 

4 6 


effect through repression being then 
something new in our experience 
with "emotional plays" and "emo- 
tional actresses." 

It was at a Sunday afternoon re- 
ception given to Mine. Modjeska 
(by another exile in Boston, the 
brilliant young Southern author, 
Mrs. McDow r ell, who had come here 
from Mississippi and gone to our 
public schools, though a married 
woman, for the sake of becoming a 
Boston author, which she actually 
succeeded in doing with Mr. Long- 
fellow's constant aid) that I found 
myself gently followed up by the 
venerable poet. I supposed he was 
wishing to speak with Mr. John S. 
Dwight, the distinguished editor of 
Dwight's Journal of Music, who 
was busily talking with me. But, 
no, it was myself that Mr. Long- 
fellow was addressing. He began 
by telling in beautiful, simple lan- 
guage of the old Covenanters, who, 
at their religious services would 
bring down their swords or muskets 
with resounding clangor to manifest 
approval of good points in the ser- 
mon or prayer to which iliey were 
listening. Then he dwelt on the 
misfortune of writers for the press in 
never hearing from their audience 
when they had done something fine. 
And all this was to lead up to some 
delightful things he had to say 
about my notices of Mme. Mod- 
jeska's acting. He did not spare 
my contemporary's opposite treat- 
ment of the stranger from "the fair 
land of Poland." I remember now 
only two phrases of this, to me, very 
precious discourse (which was de- 
livered with the shyness which was 
characteristic of the great man in 
doing any graceful bit of kindness) 
"the elegance of simplicity," and 

"the cachet of the gentleman." I 
had many another tilt with Mr. 
Clapp over the merits of actors and 
plays, but never again with any 
such distinguished and avowed sec- 
ond in my duel as Henry Wads- 
worth Longfellow. 

Henry A. Clapp was such a fig- 
ure in the annals of the Boston 
stage and the Boston press that he 
deserves a paragraph to himself. 
Perhaps no man ever better earned 
and deserved the extraordinary faith 
that was pinned by the Boston pub- 
lic to his judgment. He was high- 
minded, painstaking, conscientious 
and with his college education, and 
above all with his training for the 
law — and, moreover with a large gift 
of language and native taste in style, 
— he dignified his calling and gave it 
an authority such as it has seldom 
won at other hands in this city. He 
was originally part of the admirable 
staff of the Advertiser in its palmy 
days, the days when it was the 
morning daily par excellence, and 
was 'on the doorstep of everybody 
who was anybody in the best parts 
of the town. The panegyrist at a 
memorial service in his honor in his 
native Dorchester, after his un- 
timely dea.h just three years ago, 
has given so good an account of his 
methods of criticism, and his crit- 
icism was so important a part of 
Boston's life of his day, that I cannot 
do better than borrow his account of 
it : "His method in criticizing a 
play worthy of extended notice was 
usually to give an historical or a 
biographical account of its origin; a 
description of the acts and scenes 
as they should be placed upon the 
stage; a comment on any prominent 
actors who had essayed the parts; 
and then to show the usefulness of 



the play from a moral or aesthetic 
standpoint; and its proper place in 
dramatic literature — this he usually 
prepared in advance. Then, on the 
evening of the performance he 
would criticize the actors in their 
respective roles. . . .With him what- 
ever was good in life was best; the 
evil was beneath contempt, beyond 
the pale of criticism. If this, in a 
measure drifted into his writings it 
was to those who knew him as nat- 
ural as heart throbs. Locke Rich- 
ardson, the emi- 
nent reciter, once 
said that he had 
remarked to the 
critic of ihe New 
York Tribune: "I 
presume, Mr. Win- 
ter that you stand 
at the head of the 
dramatic critics of 
this country.' 'No,' 
replied Winter, 
'You must except 
my friend Clapp of 
Boston.' As a 
Shakesperian com- 
mentator Clapp 
took very high 
rank. On this 
score we have the 
evidence of such 
authorities as 
Richard Grant White, Howard Fur- 
ness and our own Dr. Rolfe. The 
latter. said to a well known Boston- 
ian after a lecture of Clapp's, 'I 
can sit at Henry's feet and be 
taught'— a tribute which sets one 
to wondering whether it were the 
finer testimony to the erudition of 
the one or to the magnanimity of 
the other." 

A time-browned clipping from the 
Advertiser of Tuesday morning, 


February 2, 1886, turns up among 
my clippings containing a model 
example of the Clapp criticism of 
his best days. The subject was the 
performance for the first time of 
a drama from the pen of Mr. Dion 
Boucicault which served the double 
purpose of introducing also, for her 
first appearance on a public stage, 
Miss Maida Craigen. The criticism 
filled a long column and a half and 
is divided and proportioned into its 
respective parts precisely as des- 
cribed by the Dor- 
chester memorial 
service orator 
quoted above. 
There is first the 
general fanfarron- 
a d e : "A n e w 
drama from the 
pen of Mr. Dion 
Boucicault is an 
event of real sig- 
nificance, even. ab- 
solute importance. 
There are some 
good and several 
great things for 
which only an un- 
discriminating per- 
son will look in 
that clever gentle- 
man's work ; deep 
passion, profound 
intuition into the human heart, the 
finer artistic skill in the construction 
of the plot, — little or nothing of 
these is ;o be discovered in the best 
of his dramatic compositions. But 
freshness, vivacity, the charm of the 
bright, quick, Irish wit and of a 
droll and genial humor, the drafts- 
man's eye for services, the painter's 
eye for color, the genuine histrionic 
instinct which knows how both to 
select and to reproduce the character 



forms which it sees, and finally a 
masterly knowledge of the stage and 
its effects, — these are a grand stock 
in trade for any modern playright," 
etc.. etc. After this scoring start we 
are off in the careful description of 
"The Jilt," — its scene, its time, itb 
characters and its plot. Then comes 
an analysis of its story's significance 
and literary qualities with a compar- 
ison and contrast between "The 
Jilt" and "London Assurance." And 
then! and then, — what everyone 
looked for and read with admiration 
or indignation in his criticism — the 
comment on the several actors in 
the play, wherein each would be 
awarded as careful and conscien- 
tious an estimate as though the 
writer had been, instead of a drama- 
tic critic, a judge of probate and 
dealing out justice and property in 
the most solemnly and prayerfully 
considered an apportionment that a 
just judge could make. 

Ah! but he had his pets and, too, 
he could be prejudiced. But his 
foibles came to be allowed for in the 
discussion which went on in ever> 
household over his appraisals and 
awards of praise and blame. Miss 
Craigen came off well on this occa- 
sion,— as Mr. Clapp says, "justified 
the enthusiasm of her friends, 
charming in youthful freshness, she 
made a delightful picture to the eye 
and what was far more significant, 
seized the idea of the part firmly and 
presented it with grace and truth. 
Miss Craigen showed little 01 
nothing of the inexperience and the 
timidity of the comparative novice, 
and her performance was open to 
this criticism,— that her girlis.hness 
sometimes seemed to be a phase of 
a carefully and delicately regulated 
self-consciousness As a whole 

the assumption was very satisfac- 
tory ; the young lady's speech was 
exquisite in its easy distinctness ; 
and her playfulness and feeling were 
alike fine, delicate and vital. Mrs. 
Vincent played the housekeeper in 
her usual droll fashion ; but it would 
certainly be refreshing if she would 
ever commit a part to memory." 
We can imagine the shock that 
would thrill a thousand gentle 
breasts at this severity of Mr. 
Clapp's with dear old Mrs. Vincent. 
But we can also imagine his Boston, 
including Mrs. Vincent herself, after 
some tears, kissing the rod. 

It is but fair to add that Mr. 
Clapp's friends, including his Dor- 
chester eulogist, knew well enough 
of the spots on the sun. He simply 
had the defects of his qualities. 
Episcopalian as he was, he remained 
a good deal of a Puritan and a bit 
of a pedagogue ; and his personal 
dignity sometimes led him into ab- 
surd situations. While he treated 
most of the great artists with fair- 
ness (except, perhaps Modjeska) to 
the lesser strugglers he could be 
less than just or kind sometimes. 
Miss Adelaide Neilson he consid- 
ered absolutely perfect. "She was 
his ideal," says the Dorchester au- 
thority, "in voice, reading, gesture, 
carriage, facial expression and in 
her wonderful sympathetic power to 
smile with her audience or to shed 
tears with them." It was a point 
with Mr. Clapp carried to the ex- 
treme of priggishness never to meet 
or to know the actors whom he 
wrote about. A friend once intro- 
duced him on the street' and so sud- 
denly that there was no opportunity 
to avoid the meeting. He had 
quickened his pace, lifting his hat 
in passing, to avoid the introduc- 



tion, but his friend halted him and 
the fatal "blot on the scutcheon" 
was effected. He was discomfited 
and cut short the interview. But he 
had not then criticized Miss Mathi- 
son. The story is told in Dorches- 
ter that "after he had placed Miss 
Neilson upon her pedestal he sent 
her word that he would like to call 
upon her. He received, of course, a 
most cordial invitation. At the ap- 
pointed hour he sent in his card to 
her parlor and was bidden to come 
up. When ushered into her pres- 
ence he found her in bed taking her 
rolls and coffee." 

It was, perhaps, on this very oc- 
casion that, after hearing so much 
for so many years about Mr. Clapp's 
refusing to meet actors and ac- 
tresses I was dumbfounded one 
morning on calling to pay my re- 
spects to Miss Neilson at the old 
Tremont House, to encounter him 
just leaving. My purpose was to 
leave a -couple of sonnets, which I 
had composed to her eyebrow, and 
which ran : 

To the Most Fair and Excellent 

Sweet Shakespeare sprite ! Art thou 
so quickly fled? 
'Tis but an hour ago that from our 

Of Shakespeare pictures thou hast 
Thy train of heroines, fairer e'en in 
Ten thousand times as warm in grace 
and love ! 
Dear, melting Juliet; slandered Imo- 
And queen of r.ll, the flashing Rosa- 
Thy Romeo, happy Romeo above ; 
Malvolio, our own starched Puritan — 
By him this verse is to your Pull- 
man pinned. 

Boston will go cross-gartered, yellow 

Make what amends we can to 

Shakespeare's ghost 
For our grim fathers if thou but for- 
To say we ne'er again may be thy host. 
Forswear that word "farewell!" 

Come back tomorrow ! 
'Tis twenty years till then; but we 

have waited 
Twenty times that since Shakespeare 

lived before ; 
And this farewell hath been so sweet 

a sorrow 
That we would turn from e'en where 

bears are baited 
To thy farewells should they be yet 

a score. 

E. H. Clement. 
February 29th, 1880. 


American Shipping and Pending 
Shipping Legislation 

By David Perry Rice, A. B. 

I. The Shipping Bill. 

The true theory of commerce be- 
tween nations is "equality and re- 
ciprocal benefits. 

On February 14th, 1906, the 
United States Senate passed a Ship- 
ping Bill by a recorded vote of thir- 
ty-eight to twenty-seven against. 

During the special session of Con- 
gress now in progress, the sponsors 
of the bill in the "House" are ex- 
erting themselves to push it for- 
ward into enactment; but there 
now seems to be more division of 
opinion than hitherto. 

The latest press report from 
Washington, however, calls atten- 
tion to the fact that Section 22 of 
the Dingly Tariff Bill of 1897 al " 
ready contains a provison for the 
protection of American shipping. 
This section provides for a ten per- 
cent increase in tariff duties on 
goods imported in foreign vessels ; 
which provision has been practical- 
ly a dead letter because of existing 
reciprocity treaties with thirty-one 
of the maritime nations of the 
world. These treaties give free 
shipping privileges without discrim- 
ination in return for the same con- 

It must be well known that those 
within the inner commercial circle 
of the nation have declared for the 
Senate's Shipping Bill and a general 
subsidy policy. And these leaders, 

wnh great astuteness, advance the 
argument that foreign shipping in- 
terests generally oppose tihe bill ; 
and, therefore, the provisions of the 
bill must be right and favorable to 
American interests, — because for- 
eigners oppose it. 

As it happens, this opposition, on 
the part of foreign representatives, 
is exceedingly tame, because the in- 
jury to foreign shipping interests 
by this bill, if enacted into law, 
would be slight, and at the same 
time foreign competitors, in gener- 
al, would still have more than an 
equal chance with American ship- 
owners in competition for American 
foreign carrying trade, as this trade 
is now in their possession. These 
leaders intend to use this very tame 
opposition on the part of foreign 
representatives as a fulcrum upon 
which to rest the lever of public 
opinion to raise the shipping bill 
into statutory enactment by the ac- 
tion of Congress. 

Let not the uninitiated be de- 

Th<* principles of this bill would 
create a huge advantage for the 
wealthy class, while at the same 
time, it furnishes a few palliatives 
in the form of tonnage, bounties, 
and retainers, or gifts, to sailors 
and officers. 

The chief provisions of the Ship- 
ping Bill are three : — First, an ap- 
propriation of money out of the na- 




tional treasury to pay subventions 
of five, four, and two and a half dol- 
lars a gross ton per year to Amer- 
ican buik vessels employed in the 
foreign trade ; second, an appropria- 
tion of money to pay retainers to 
volunteers, in order to encourage 
the existence of a naval volunteer 
force; and third, an appropriation 
of money to pay subventions for 
carrying the mails to foreign ports 
in this continent to South America 
and Africa, and to Asia and the 

It is a trite question to ask con- 
cerning the present condition of our 
foreign trade by sea, because nine- 
ty-two percent of it is carried in 
vessels owned and manned by for- 
eign nations. And it is valuable, as 
a preliminary to the discussion of 
these chief features of the bill, to 
fix in mind two questions : — Are 
the measures in the bill sound in 
principle or calculated in practical 
operation to deprive foreign nations 
of their ascendancy over and pos- 
session of the greater part of Amer- 
ican commerce in the foreign trade? 
The second question is, will these 
measures restore to the United 
States control over its own com- 
merce and enable it to protect it- 
self from the usurpations of foreign 
nations? In monetary value this 
loss of control and the usurpations 
of foreign nations has cost the 
United States during the past thirty 
years the sum of $3,500,000,000, and 
we now pay each day to foreign na- 
tions about $500,000 for our ship- 

Turning here to the first chief 
provision of the bill in order, a na- 
val volunteer enrollment. Two mat- 
ters must be considered in any de- 
termination of the necessity for 

such an enrolled volunteer force. 
One is that a retainer would have 
liitle influence in increasing the 
number of practical sea-men for the 
emergency of war. The other is 
that an effective law for the pro- 
tection of American shipping in the 
foreign trade would exclude the ne- 
cessity for such a bonus, for a heal- 
thy demand for seamen would be 
thus stimulated by an increased 
commerce. An increased commerce 
engenders the sea-habit, and an 
abundance of sailors of good fight- 
ing quality are available in time of 
war. This fact was well evidenced 
by the wonderful American success- 
es on the ocean in the war of 1812. 
But the navigation laws in force up 
to this time were protective laws. 

The desideratum is to stimulate 
the demand from the outside for 
American vessels and sailors. 

The second chief provision of the 
bill is a tonnage subvention. 

Broadly speaking, upon general 
principles any business that must be 
given a bounty to sustain it is a bad 
business venture. This is true of a 
tonnage bounty for American ves- 

The practical operation of a ton- 
nage bounty would be as follows : — 
Every owner of an American ves- 
sel participating in the foreign 
trade (and they are few), or deep 
sea fisheries, would be given by the 
government a bounty amounting to 
from two to fifty thousand dollars, 
more or less, each, per year, accord- 
ing to the size or tonnage of the 
vessel. And how would such a me- 
thod work ! The result would be 
that the owner of large vessels 
would possess an immense advan- 
tage over the owners of small ones, 
because a bounty would furnish 



ships of high tonnage a large cap- 
ital, while these same ships have a 
larger earning capacity. The rea- 
son that a big ship receives a large 
tonnage bounty is obvious; the ad- 
vantage in earning capacity is ex- 
plained in this way. The greater 
the carrying capacity of a vessel, 
the less proportionately it costs to 
transport its freight. While a ship 
with a small cargo capacity may 
earn a slight profit, provided it car- 
ries enough freight to pay its ex- 
penses, a ship carrying a large car- 
go earns a profit commensurate 
with the excess of its carrying ca- 
pacity over the amount of freight 
sufficient to pay its operating ex- 
penses. In vessels of from eight 
to fifteen thousand tons, this excess 
is very large and represents the 
ship's earning capacity. 

By this method, the government 
would appear to be in the relation 
of a silent and interested partner 
with the shipping companies oper- 
ating large ships, and the latter 
would grow richer and stronger, 
while the smaller companies must 
take the business which remains 
and be worsted in an unequal com- 
mercial struggle. As has been set 
forth the large vessels gain the as- 
cendancy, not only on account of 
their large tonnage bounty, but by 
reason of their greater profits. Con- 
sequently, they would be able to 
make cheaper freight rates, and con- 
trol the shipping of the nation. An 
illustration of big ships eligible to 
receive tonnage bounties are four 
twenty thousand ton steamships of 
the Great Northern Railroad Com- 
pany on the Pacific, each of which 
would receive about $too,ooo. Fif- 
teen big steamships of the Standard 
Oil Company also would receive 

large bounties. These steamships 
would thus be able to control large- 
ly the shipping at their port of en- 
try. It is significant that the Pres- 
ident of the Great Northern Railroad 
Company, Mr. J. J. Hill, does not 
favor subsidies on principle or as a 
business proposition, a fact to which 
I will refer later in this article. 

On the other side, it may be con- 
tended that a tonnage bounty would 
be of much needed aid to vessels of 
small tonnage, employed in the for- 
eign trade, and enable them to com- 
pete more easily with foreign ships 
of the same class. This is fair rea- 
soning, so far as it goes. But it must 
be understood that capital invested 
in a foreign built ship, particularly 
in England, is fully twenty-five per- 
cent Jess than in an American ves- 
sel of like tonnage, and the cost of 
manning is also less. Hence a 
bounty for American vessels of 
small tonnage would only about off- 
set the advantage of a smaller in- 
vestment possessed by the foreign 
ship. But whence is the gain to 
the little American vessel, when the 
big American vessel controls the 
shipping rates ! 

Partnership on the part of the 
government with any private busi- 
ness is undemocratic, and tends to 
create a monopoly for a few com- 
panies or individuals, which" is un- 
just to the other companies or in- 
dividuals attempting to win success 
in the same line of commerce. The 
provision in this section of the bill 
is "an article of co-partnership" 
with owners of big ships to the dis- 
advantage of owners of small ones. 

The third chief provision, em- 
bodied in section five of this bill, 
provides for subventions for the 
carrying of mails on American 



steamships. Contracts for this pur- 
pose with any American Steamship 
Company are limited to a term not 
less than five nor more than ten 
years ; whereas, the payment of ton- 
nage bounties, as provided under 
the section previously discussed, 
may be paid indefinitely. 

The United States now pays mail 
subventions to six lines, amount- 
ing to $1,515,000.00 per year. Thir- 
teen new mail subventions would 
increase the amount paid for car- 
rying foreign mails to about $4,500,- 
000 yearly. Tonnage bounties, added 
to this sum, make a possible annual 
expenditure of about $7,000,000, 
which more than equals the sub- 
sidies and bounties, aggregating $6,- 
636,612, now paid by the English 
government yearly. This latter 
sum, paid by England, includes the 
new Cunard subsidy of one million 
and one hundred thousand dollars, 
which was England's method of 
meeting any possible advantage lent 
to American shipping by J. P. 
Morgan & Company's shipping 
trust combine, formed a few years 

This is a special example of the 
action other nations or England her- 
self again may take to meet any ex- 
tension of a subvention policy on 
the part of the United States gov- 
ernment. Any possibility of such 
commercial warfare may now be 
avoided by enacting laws for the 
protection of American commerce, 
which is the needful policy. 

A condition, however, confronts 
us, not a theory. New steamship 
lines must be established to serve 
our increasing foreign commerce. 
The fact is that the United States is 
losing a whole lot of trade with Ar- 
gentina and Brazil and South Af- 

rica, because of a lack of steamship 
service direct to the United States. 
Nearly all the freight to and from 
Argentina and Brazil and this 
country is first carried to Europe ; 
to England, France or Italy, and 
thence to its destination. 

Qjrect steamship lines certainly 
are warranted by the present vol- 
ume of trade. For note that the 
total export and import trade of Ar- 
gentina with the United States in 
1904 was $34,687,000, and the for- 
mer country is growing rapidly in 
population and in wealth. From 
South Africa the export and import 
trade is now upwards of $30,000,- 
000 yearly; and this freight was al- 
most entirely conveyed by foreign 
vessels. , 

The condition of American car- 
rying trade in the Pacific ocean, es- 
pecially in the orient, is no better 
than in the Atlantic. Diplomatists 
and travellers, journeying in the 
far East, hunt almost in vain for 
the American flag on vessels now 
doing the carrying trade there. To 
enable the United States to com- 
pete with those foreign vessels, 
now controlling our trade with 
China and Japan, some measure 
must be instituted by Congress to 
gain back that carrying trade. It 
will not return of itself. It is pro- 
posed by this bill to administer the 
stimulant of expensive mail subven- 
tions and tonnage bounties to the 
present feeble body of American 
Shipping as an antidote. But such a 
stimulant can be but temporary and 
intermittent in efTect. It could nev- 
er control the situation for Ameri- 
can ships. Why? Because the rem- 
edy proposed in this bill does not 
regulate the movement of foreign 
ships in the American foreign trade. 



This is the thing that must be 

And it can be done by exercise 
of the sovereign power, inherent in 
our government, on the ground of 
national duty. 

This sovereign power includes the' 
right to regulate conditions in the 
interest of public welfare and pri- 
vate justice, and to thwart usurpa- 
tion of trade-rights on the part of 
great corporations abroad, as well 
as at home. 

Discussing generally this bill, it 
ought not be necessary to reiterate, 
that the keynote to any and all ob- 
jections to a subsidy and subvention 
bill is that none of its provisions at- 
tempts really to protect American 
Shipping in the foreign trade. 

And for nearly fifty years, the in- 
dustry of shipping has been the 
only one exposed directly 10 foreign 

What would happen if there were 
no tariff laws to protect certain 
American industries from the com- 
petition of aggressive foreign na- 
tions? Our American industries 
would be decimated, or many li- 
quidated in bankruptcy, because of 
the cheaper labor of Europe and the 

What would happen if there 
were no coast-wise laws to restrict 
to American owned vessels the sea 
commerce between American ports? 
Indeed, let us suppose that, instead 
of enacting coast-wise laws, Con- 
gress had passed a law to give sub- 
ventions to American vessels and 
certain stated fees to American 
sailors and officers engaged in the 
coast-wise trade, as a means to stim- 
ulate and protect commerce between 
American cities and states from the 
aggressions of foreign ship-owners. 

Such means as a protection would 
have been ineffective, absolutely. 

And, it is evident, that the pro- 
posed bill would be equally inef- 
fective as a protection in any true 
sense against the aggression or 
greed of foreign ships. 

The controlling thought in enact- 
ing our coast-wise laws was to pro- 
tect American rights and to elim- 
inate- unjust competition; and the 
method of subventions does not ac- 
complish this end. 

Foreign ships have 'no right to 
come to the United States and en- 
gage in domestic commerce by sea, 
and the coast-wise laws stopped it 
by postive interdict. 

It is contended, therefore, that 
the same considerations, which ap- 
ply to the regulation of the coast- 
wise commerce of the United 
States, apply equally well, in kind 
to our foreign commerce. The 
same considerations, however, do 
not apply in extent, because the 
right of foreign nations to use their 
own ships in the direct trade with 
the United States must be consid- 
ered. And it must be conceded that 
the rights of two nations engaging 
in direct trade are mutual. 

Certainly, a subvention system 
cannot be justly claimed to protect 
American commerce, as a whole, 
and everyone who understands 
what abundant fruitage this purely 
artificial system would yield to a 
few American companies, has just 
cause to frown upon the furiher 
extension of a subvention policy. 

A potent objection to a subsidy 
policy is easily advanced on moral 
grounds. Fifty years ago, a limited 
subsidy policy was the opportunity 
for bribery and favoritism. 

Those who would pay for it, and 



the favorites of politicians, inva- 
riably received the governmental 

This was a scandal and a festering 
sore on the body politic. 

Have we any guaranty that his- 
tory will not repeat itself, in the 
year 1907, in the face of avoidable 
temptation ! 

A subsidy policy, moreover, stim- 
ulates the evil in a great present 
day problem, viz :, how to assert 
and protect the rights of all citi- 
zens, equally, in the face of corpo- 
rate power and monopolist greed. 
Such a policy, once adopted, would 
concentrate more industrial wealth 
and political power in the hands of 
the few. 

It is precipitous, to say the least, 
to throw American Shipping into 
the whirlpool of a subsidy system. 
A less dangerous position should 
be chosen upon calmer waters, and 
protection be given our shipping 
by shutting out usurpers by posi- 
tive legislative enactment. 

II. Preferential Duties. — Present 
Day Testimony and Histor- 
ical Precedents. 

In order to promote the upbuild- 
ing of American shipping, the Unit- 
ed States must have in view one ob- 
ject, viz., to carry a fair proportion 
of its own exports and imports in 
American vessels. It has never car- 
ried all of its imports and exports, 
even under its most exclusive poli- 
cy, and never will, inasmuch as oth- 
er foreign nations have reciprocal 
trade rights and facilities. 

How, then, may the desired ob- 
ject be accomplished? It is an- 
swered by the application of a sys- 

tem which is correct in principle, 
democratic in method, and just and 
effective in operation. 

The principle is one of reason- 
able national self-interest. The 
method is a regulation of shipping 
by navigation laws adaptable to 
present conditions and to the mu- 
tual rights of the United States and 
of each nation with which it has 
trade relations. 

Whether such navigation laws 
shall take the form of a preferen- 
tial duty, or otherwise, both the 
commercial and ethical conditions 
of modern life must determine. 

A discriminating duty law, which 
favored the shipping interests of the 
United States by a ten percent re- 
bate of tariff rates on goods shipped 
from all countries in American ves- 
sels, has the sanction of successful 
operation. Ethical conditions, how- 
ever, have changed, and the United 
States and the majority of nations, 
instead of feelings of hostility, now 
entertain the interests of peace and 
brotherhood one with another. And 
this changed attitude calls for a 
modification of measures. 

An illustration will make clear 
the wide difference between a sys- 
tem of subventions and a preferen- 
tial duty law, and the illustration, 
tho a crude one, is taken from the 
stenographic reports of the Mer- 
chant Marine Commission. The 
chairman, Senator Gallinger of New 
Hampshire, asked a certain witness 
at a hearing at Portland, Oregon, 
the following question : "Is there 
any difference, in fact, between tak- 
ing an amount of money out of the 
Treasury and paying it to the ship- 
ping interests, or halting the mon- 
ey before it reaches the Treasury 
and rebating it." Answer : "There 



is one very important difference if 
you will pardon me . . .When 
you take a sum of money out of the 
Treasury it is given to one individ- 
ual. Harlan & Hollingsworth, for 
example, build a ship and take $50,- 
000 out of the Treasury. When 
they build the ship they get the 
subvention, and Moran Brothers of 
Seattle, for example, who are not 
so fortunate as to obtain an order, 
do not get anything. On the oth- 
er hand, if you grant a rebate for 
bringing goods in an American ship 
everybody could get that. We have 
going out of this port certain little 
lumber droghers, as we call them. 
They are American ships. Suppose 
the drogher goes to Hong Kong 
with a cargo of lumber and comes 
back with a lot of Chinese matting 
and gets a rebate. At the same 
time James J. Hill's twenty thou- 
sand ton steamer goes with a car- 
go and comes back with a cargo. 
Both are treated alike. I believe 
we would popularize the rebate 
system. Every man who had money 
to put into a ship could build a ship 
and be sure that he could get a 
share of the rebate. I think there 
is a very material difference be- 
tween stopping the money before it 
gets into the Treasury and taking 
it out after it gets there." 

The foregoing is a fair example 
of the comparative operation of a 
preferential duty law and a subven- 

An influential owner of vessels on 
the Great Lakes, Captain David 
Vance, submitted this opinion to 
the Commission : "The upbuilding 
of American shipping and a mer- 
chant marine would be more ef- 
fective and permanent if done in 
the way of discriminating duties 

than by a direct subsidy, a most of- 
fensive manner to the larger number 
of the people of this country." 

One of the most prominent and 
experienced railroad presidents in 
the United States, and an owner of 
large steamships is Mr. James J. 
Hill of St. Paul, Minnesota. At a 
hearing before the Commission in 
New York City, he made the fol- 
lowing statement: "From the first, 
having looked into the matter with 
a good deal of care, I have become 
more and more convinced that no 
direct subsidy will result in build- 
ing up a merchant marine of any 
consequence. Anything that the 
government could afford to do would 
soon be lost among a comparative- 
ly small number of ships. This 
small number would get the bonus, 
and we, as owners of large ships, 
would get our share ; but if we can- 
not live without it (subsidy), as a 
commercial transaction we will 
make a very poor race with it, be- 
cause if we have to depend on that, 
it is a broken reed." 

Mr. Lewis Nixon, the naval archi- 
tect and ship-builder, also gave as 
his opinion before the Commission, 
that preferential duties would drive 
all the most valuable package 
freight, such as silk and champagne, 
right to the American ship. 

James Rolfe, Jr., president of the 
Ship-Owners Association of the 
Pacific Coast said before the same 
Commission : "I am strongly in 
favor of a reduction of import du- 
ties on all cargoes imported in 
American vessels. It is the idea of 
giving the ship-owner an opportun- 
ity of helping himself and the gov- 
ernment not paying something for 
nothing. It gives the American ship 
in foreign ports the preference of 



freights to the extent of the reduc- 
tion in the duty, and our American 
manufacturers and producers are 
not injured in any way by such re- 
duction in duties." 

At this point of the discussion, a 
brief outline of early navigation 
laws, passed by Congress to control 
shipping in the foreign trade, and 
an explanation of how that control 
was gradually lost, will be useful to 
enlighten the problem "how to pro- 
tect our foreign shipping to-day." 

It was in 1792, that Congress first 
instituted navigation laws. Two of 
the most important laws provided 
as follows : First for an allowance 
of a draw back of ten percent on the 
duty payable on all goods imported 
in American vessels, owned and 
navigated according to law by citi- 
zens of the United States; and sec- 
ond, for favorable tonnage or port 
duties for American vessels. 

By these navigation laws Con- 
gress sought to control its own ex- 
port and import trade and it did 
control that trade. By the year 
1795, ninety per cent, of our com- 
merce on the sea and in 1796, nine- 
ty-two per cent, was carried in 
American vessels. 

This control was gradually les- 
sened by reciprocity treaties par- 
tially over the direct trade in 1815, 
and wholly over both the direct 
and indirect trade in 1828 and 1830. 

The situation now is that all con- 
trol over foreign shipping in favor 
of American shipping is given over 
through reciprocity treaties. 

The first reciprocity treaty was 
made with England in 181 5, which 
was simply a privilege granted to 
English ship-owners to participate 
in the trade with America. This 
was done by. suspending the dis- 
criminating duty law against Eng- 

lish goods transported in American 
vessels. Similar reciprocity treaties 
were entered into with other foreign 

This concession to England was 
practically compulsory. Our com- 
missioners, who negotiated the 
treaty of peace after the war of 
1812, had promised it; and Con- 
gress, animated also, by a desire to 
promote the interests of agriculture 
by influencing lower shipping rates, 
voted it. 

It must be said of this limited 
policy that it did not occasion the 
loss of any appreciable amount of 
shipping in American vessels, but 
it successfully lowered the rate 
charges slightly by allowing vessels 
of foreign nations to compete with 
American vessels in the direct 

The next, and the harmful conces- 
sion to foreign ships was made by 
Congress during the years 1828 and 
'30. The Act of 1828 gave to any 
foreign nation, which entered into 
a reciprocity treaty with the United 
States, the privilege of participating 
in any and all our foreign trade, 
both the direct and indirect, — in re- 
turn for the same concession. 

England, however, did not then 
avail herself of the provisions of the 
act of 1828, because her vessels were 
all employed in the trade of her nu- 
merous colonies and in the direct 
trade with the United States. 

But later, the British Act of 1849 
met the terms of our act of 1828, 
and since that date English vessels 
have participated freely in the trade 
of the United States with all other 
nations. In the course of eighty- 
seven years, maritime reciprocity 
treaties have been entered into with 
forty-two different countries, and 
the United States now has such 



is one very important difference if 
you will pardon me . . .When 
you take a sum of money out of the 
Treasury it is given to one individ- 
ual. Harlan & Hollingsworth, for 
example, build a ship and take $50,- 
000 out of the Treasury. When 
they build the ship they get the 
subvention, and Moran Brothers of 
Seattle, for example, who are not 
so fortunate as to obtain an order, 
do not get anything. On the oth- 
er hand, if you grant a rebate for 
bringing goods in an American ship 
everybody could get that. We have 
going out of this port certain little 
lumber droghers, as we call them. 
They are American ships. Suppose 
the drogher goes to Hong Kong 
with a cargo of lumber and comes 
back with a lot of Chinese matting 
and gets a rebate. At the same 
time James J. Hill's twenty thou- 
sand ton steamer goes with a car- 
go and comes back with a cargo. 
Both are treated alike. I believe 
we would popularize the rebate 
system. Every man who had money 
to put into a ship could build a ship 
and be sure that he could get a 
share of the rebate. I think there 
is a very material difference be- 
tween stopping the money before it 
gets into the Treasury and taking 
it out after it gets there." 

The foregoing is a fair example 
of the comparative operation of a 
preferential duty law and a subven- 

An influential owner of vessels on 
the Great Lakes, Captain David 
Vance, submitted this opinion to 
the Commission: "The upbuilding 
of American shipping and a mer- 
chant marine would be more ef- 
fective and permanent if done in 
the way of discriminating duties 

than by a direct subsidy, a most of- 
fensive manner to the larger number 
of the people of this country." 

One of the most prominent and 
experienced railroad presidents in 
the United States, and an owner of 
large steamships is Mr. James J. 
Hill of St. Paul, Minnesota. At a 
hearing before the Commission in 
New York City, he made the fol- 
lowing statement: "From the first, 
having looked into the matter with 
a good deal of care, I have become 
more and more convinced that no 
direct subsidy will result in build- 
ing up a merchant marine of any 
consequence. Anything that the 
government could afford to do would 
soon be lost among a comparative- 
ly small number of ships. This 
small number would get the bonus, 
and we, as owners of large ships, 
would get our share ; but if we can- 
not live without it (subsidy), as a 
commercial transaction we will 
make a very poor race with it, be- 
cause if we have to depend on that, 
it is a broken reed." 

Mr. Lewis Nixon, the naval archi- 
tect and ship-builder, also gave as 
his opinion before the Commission, 
that preferential duties would drive 
all the most valuable package 
freight, such as silk and champagne, 
right to the American ship. 

James Rolfe, Jr., president of the 
Ship-Owners Association of the 
Pacific Coast said before the same 
Commission : "I am strongly in 
favor of a reduction of import du- 
ties on all cargoes imported in 
American vessels. It is the idea of 
giving the ship-owner an opportun- 
ity of helping himself and the gov- 
ernment not paying something for 
nothing. It gives the American ship 
in foreign ports the preference of 



freights to the extent of the reduc- 
tion in the duty, and our American 
manufacturers and producers are 
not injured in any way by such re- 
duction in duties." 

At this point of the discussion, a 
brief outline of early navigation 
laws, passed by Congress to control 
shipping in the foreign trade, and 
an explanation of how that control 
was gradually lost, will be useful to 
enlighten the problem "how to pro- 
tect our foreign shipping to-day." 

It was in 1792, that Congress first 
instituted navigation laws. Two of 
the most important laws provided 
as follows : First for an allowance 
of a draw back of ten percent on the 
duty payable on all goods imported 
in American vessels, owned and 
navigated according to law by citi- 
zens of the United States; and sec- 
ond, for favorable tonnage or port 
duties for American vessels. 

By these navigation laws Con- 
gress sought to control its own ex- 
port and import trade and it did 
control that trade. By the year 
1795, ninety per cent, of our com- 
merce on the sea and in 1796, nine- 
ty-two per cent, was carried in 
American vessels. 

This control was gradually les- 
sened by reciprocity treaties par- 
tially over the direct trade in 181 5, 
and wholly over both the direct 
and indirect trade in 1828 and 1830. 

The situation now is that all con- 
trol over foreign shipping in favor 
of American shipping is given over 
through reciprocity treaties. 

The first reciprocity treaty was 
made with England in 181 5, which 
was simply a privilege granted to 
English ship-owners to participate 
in the trade with America. This 
was done by, suspending the dis- 
criminating duty law against Eng- 

lish goods transported in American 
vessels. Similar reciprocity treaties 
were entered into with other foreign 

This concession to England was 
practically compulsory. Our com- 
missioners, who negotiated the 
treaty of peace after the war of 
1812, had promised it; and Con- 
gress, animated also, by a desire to 
promote the interests of agriculture 
by influencing lower shipping rates, 
voted it. 

It must be said of this limited 
policy that it did not occasion the 
loss of any appreciable amount of 
shipping in American vessels, but 
it successfully lowered the rate 
charges slightly by allowing vessels 
of foreign nations to compete with 
American vessels in the direct 

The next, and the harmful conces- 
sion to foreign ships was made by 
Congress during the years 1828 and 
'30. The Act of 1828 gave to any 
foreign nation, which entered into 
a reciprocity treaty with the United 
States, the privilege of participating 
in any and all our foreign trade, 
both the direct and indirect, — in re- 
turn for the same concession. 

England, however, did not then 
avail herself of the provisions of the 
act of 1828, because her vessels were 
all employed in the trade of her nu- 
merous colonies and in the direct 
trade with the United States. 

But later, the British Act of 1849 
met the terms of our act of 1828, 
and since that date English vessels 
have participated freely in the trade 
of the United States with all other 
nations. In the course of eighty- 
seven years, maritime reciprocity 
treaties have been entered into with 
forty-two different countries, and 
the United States now has such 



And there is the further consider- 
ation, which is the one of moment, 
that no foreign nation will have rea- 
son to seek retaliation, if Congress 
shall enact navigation laws with an 
honest purpose to protect its own 
shipping and merchant marine, 
without doing injustice to the ship- 
ping of any other nation. Freedom 
for each foreign nation to trade 
with the United States in products 
of both countries and in vessels of 
both nations, e. g. in the direct 
trade, is perfectly fair. 

The third obstacle to discriminat- 
ing duties : viz., low tariff duties, 
may be discussed under the modern 
question : "How shall preferences 
for American shipping be applied?" 

The manner of application must 
have regard for present tariff con- 
ditions ; and the chief argument 
against the adoption of preferential 
duties is one of method. A discrim- 
inating duty law cannot be applied 
uniformly, it is said, for this rea- 
son ; nearly all the imports from a 
few foreign nations, notably those 
of South America and Asia are on 
the free list, or enter the United 
States, under a low tariff duty. 
Hence a rebate of ten percent would 
amount to nothing, since ten per- 
cent off of nothing is nothing. This 
would not be effective. 

On the other hand, a method 
much simpler than a preferential 
duty, and one which has the merit 
of adaptability and uniformity, is a 
positive national statute law which 
prohibits participation in the indi- 
rect trade of the United States by 
vessels of any foreign nation. To 
illustrate, such an enactment would 
simply prohibit French vessels from 
the carrying trade between Germany 
and the United States, or German 

and English vessels from the car- 
rying trade between the United 
States and France. 

A method of this kind eliminates 
the necessity of any manipulation of 
the tariff schedule ; as a matter of 
business detail it is a labor saver 
to custom house officials ; and its im- 
port and good intention would be 
better understood and appreciated 
by foreign nations. As a national 
law it could be easily enforced. A 
violation of it would be an act of 

If it be contended that England's 
ascendancy over American com- 
merce would not thus be removed, 
by discrimination against foreign 
vessels in the indirect trade alone 
or by positive restriction, the point 
is a timely one. 

England and her colonies are con- 
sidered a unit as regards participa- 
tion in trade favors and English 
vessels would be unrestricted in car- 
rying goods between their col- 
onies and the United States. These 
colonies are numerous and have a 
large import and export trade. 
But this question of making a dis- 
tinction between England and her 
colonies in granting shipping priv- 
ileges, is a question sui generis, and 
must be settled by the wisdom of fu- 
ture events and calls, possibly, for 
special enactment. 

At the present time, American 
vessels are unable to compete with 
those of England, France and Italy 
in the trade with Argentina. Indeed 
there are now no direct steamship 
lines to the latter country. What 
shall be done about so important a 
matter? After Congress shall have 
abrogated the existing slavish re- 
ciprocity treaties, and enacted laws 
prohibiting participation by ships of 



foreign nations in our indirect 
trade, it is reasonable to advocate 
the beginning of a new supplemen- 
tary policy on the part of our gov- 
ernment. That policy is the use of 
United States cruisers, renovated, or 
adapted when built, for carrying 
freight, mail or passengers, in the 
establishment of such new lines of 
trade. This policy does not imply 
interference with private shipping 
interests, now established, or that 
may be established, in a proper and 
business-like manner, by private en- 
terprise. In our navy, are fourteen 
battle-ships, and twenty-four cruis- 
ers, besides many monitors, and 
torpedo boats. Two or even four 
of these cruisers could be easily 
spared on the Atlantic to create 
direct lines to South Africa and 
South America; and for the Pacific 
trade, our navy could and should 
donate to the cause of American 
Shipping three or four more cruis- 
ers ; and a more wholesome respect 
for the flag and the people of the 
United States would undoubtedly 
be engendered thereby. 

Such a policy means a legitimate 
governmental enterprise, if only on 
the ground of carrying United 
States mails; and it would serve 
a useful purpose. It would save 
to the United States an immense 
sum of money annually, now paid 
for maintaining a part of our naval 
armament, which is unremunera- 
tive; for a large import and export 
trade is already in existence and 
awaiting the establishment of such 
steamship lines. Moreover, the de- 
mand for seamen would be thus 
increased, who would become a 
part of our Merchant Marine, and 
a valuable national asset without 
direct expense. 

The public influence of so rea- 
sonable an innovating policy would 
tend to turn the attention of our 
whole people from an over abound- 
ing barbaric spirit of war to the 
ethical spirit of industry and peace. 

It is argued by many that a gen- 
eral subvention or subsidy mea- 
sure, as the bill under discussion 
is, should be enacted and tried on 
the ground that five European 
monarchical nations, and Japan 
have adopted a similar policy, and 
that the shipping of each nation 
has flouished under it. This is hard- 
ly justifiable ground for the demo- 
cratic United States to act upon. 
Our nation is one of the largest 
importing and exporting nations of 
the world, and without any intel- 
ligent attempt at regulation of its 
own foreign commerce, which has 
resulted in nearly entire extermina- 
tion of American vessels from the 
ocean in foreign trade, why should 
not any kind of advantage offered 
and given by foreign nations to their 
ship-owners be effective in winning 
American commerce? But should 
American ships be built and restored 
to their former commercial pres- 
tige upon the sea by protective 
laws, the foreign argument for a 
subsidy is greatly weakened, be- 
cause the opportunity to prey up- 
on American commerce by foreign 
nations will be cut off thereby. 

Let the people of the United 
States pause, consider and deter- 
mine that our commerce in the in- 
direct foreign trade must be pro- 
tected by an act of Congress, just 
as much as our domestic commerce 
was protected by the enactment of 
the existing coast-wise laws, and 
for the same fundamental reasons. 

The problem in both cases is the 



same. The evil to be overcome in 
both cases is the encroachment of 
foreign vessels upon American com- 
merce where they have no national 
rights, and where such action on 
their part is inimical to the inter- 
ests and rights of the United States 
and its future ship-owners. 

Such a policy, as is here advo- 
cated, sets an example of national 
democracy before the world-pow- 
ers ; for the principle upon which 
such control rests, — national self- 
protection and reasonable self-in- 
terest, — is as sane and perennial as 
life itself. 

The Little Voyager 

By Pauline Frances Camp 

Oh, the ways are many to Drowsy Land, 
Some one, I know, would try them all. 
'Tis hey, to-night, for a big balloon, 
Big and round, like a silver ball. 
Up through the dark, it swings along, 
Blown by the night wind's rustling song. 

Slowly it sways and swings this way, 

Poising at last, just overhead, 
When down drops a glimmering rope of light, 

And anchors it safe to a tiny bed ; 
And climbing the ladder of silver beams, 
Some one embarks for the land of dreams. 

All through the nigh;, in the shining thing, 

Silent they float through the cool, sweet dark. 

Reeds they dip in the foamy clouds, 

Where the summer lightnings glint and spark, 

And east and west, o'er the wind swept sky, 

The twinkling, golden bubbles fly. 

Do you ask me how Some One comes home again? 

When deep in the west, dips the silver sphere? 
Oh, never a thought do I give to that, 

Perhaps the sun is the charioteer. 
T only know that the tiny bed, 
Pillows each morning a golden head. 

A Massachusetts Crisis 

By R. L. Bridgman 

STATE histories are not pub- 
lished much in these days, at 
least, there is no recent one of 
Massachusetts worthy of the name, 
and one of the best informed libra- 
rians in the state is authority 
for saying that nothing adequate 
to the subject covers any of the 
ground since the adoption of the 
constitution in 1780. Modern 
Massachusetts history remains un- 
written. This is much as if a Life of 
George Washington should be oc- 
cupied largely with the cherry tree 
and the hatchet, while the author 
ignored his service as commander- 
in-chief of the revolutionary armies 
and as president of the United States 
for eight years. Yet Massachusetts 
has a fertile and highly important 
history, full of deep, popular and 
scientific interest in recent years, 
history of large consequence to the 

From personal observation of the 
life of Massachusetts for the last- 
thirty years and from what is popu- 
larly known of the previous years 
since the adoption of the constitu- 
tion, I make the proposition here, 
which will be supported by many 
facts and reasons, that the greatest 
crisis in the history of Massachu- 
setts since the adoption of the na- 
tional constitution was that through 
which she passed in 1896 when she 
had to settle whether or not she 
would retain her system of annual 
elections of state officers and of 
members of the legislature. That 


momentous issue was settled right 
and now the hopeful prospect is that 
she will never reverse her judicial 
decision, that she will never ap- 
prove a policy which will constrict 
the political life-currents, which will 
cause disuse and atrophy of the po- 
litical judgment, which will increase 
political negligence and aversion to 
public affairs, which will expose 
many private rights to assault, and 
which will surrender invaluable 
public rights to those who would 
prostitute them for private gain. 

It was a long campaign which 
preceded the voting. It was a hard 
fight for some who threw them- 
selves into it as a matter of public 
duty as vital as if a call to war for 
the life of the state. Most of the 
people took the matter calmly, but 
chey acted deliberately and for the 
best. For many years agitators for 
biennials of one sort or another had 
brought their petitions to the legis- 
lature. Sometimes it was for bien- 
nial elections of state officers and 
members of the legislature. Some- 
times it was for those propositions 
plus biennial sessions of the legisla- 
ture. Criticism of the legislature, 
which is always popular, but which 
is likely to be vehement in propor- 
tion to ignorance of the truth about 
it, was poured out vigorously to dis- 
credit the members and to persuade 
the people to have as little of them 
as public business would permit. 
Other states were quoted as exam- 
ples and the resources of argument 



were exhausted. Business men, 
particularly, were the source of the 

But though they habitually se- 
cured a majority, yet they could 
never get the necessary two-thirds 
two years in succession to pass the 
constitutional amendment through 
the House. They never would be 
able to do it. That was a clear dem- 
onstration by the years of repeated 
failure. So the situation stood till 
1895, when a decided change oc- 
curred. Its consequences were so 
evident during the session that 
warning was given to the opponents 
of biennials that a new and alarming 
situation existed. If the combina- 
tion were characterized by its con- 
sequences to the state, it might well 
be called a conspiracy, but being, 
for the most part, supported by men 
who believed that they were acting 
for the public welfare, let it be called 
merely a combination. Yet such 
were the methods employed by 
some people in support of this com- 
bination, that the vote which was 
given on the last stage of the meas- 
ure would never have been secured 
without the use of means which the 
law brands as a state prison offense. 

In 1895 a new spirit of determina- 
tion was evident. The political 
powers had set their teeth that bi- 
ennials should be put through. 
Screws were twisted which had not 
been turned before. At the opening 
of the session it was announced, 
from the chair of the House, that bi- 
ennials was one of the things to be 
passed. With the new determina- 
tion the amendment made the pass- 
age of the legislature of 1895. 

Then was organized the Annual 
Elections League. Organization 
was effected at a meeting at Par- 

ker's. Some of the members of the 
House and leading labor men were 
foremost in the action, an encour- 
aging proportion of the Whole num- 
ber being republicans. This league 
held meetings during the season be- 
fore the session of 1895, active work- 
ers in it being the late Mayor Elihu 
B. Hayes of Lynn, the late George 
E. McNeill and other labor men. 
Contact was established with the 
labor organizations all over the state 
and preparation made for the com- 
ing severe struggle. 

Then came the momentous ses- 
sion of 1896. From the outset it 
was a hopeless case for the friends 
of annual elections. Republican or- 
ganization was utilized to the ut- 
most. Party pressure was brought 
to bear. We saw our friends pulled 
away from us right and left. Their 
mouths were silenced. Privately 
they would say : "We are with you. 
We know that this is wrong. But 
we have simply got to do it." Mem- 
bers were threatened with political 
death if they dared to vote against 
biennials. I know a case where 
members of a business men's organ- 
ization waited upon a member with 
this threat. 

Gross intimidation of employees 
was practiced by employers in order 
to prevent them from speaking at 
the committee hearing. On the day 
when the hearing was held in the 
hall of the House of Representa- 
tives, word came in writing from 
one of the labor men who was ex- 
pected to speak that he had been 
told by his employer : "If you go 
to that hearing, you need not come 
back to work." Similar word came 
from another who was expecting to 
come, that he would lose his situa- 
tion if he came. 



So effort was made to cripple by 
force and threats the cause of the 
people and of the public welfare, 
and it prevailed. That feature of 
the contest, at least, deserves the 
name of conspiracy. Of course the 
committee report was favorable and 
then came the contest to get the 
necessary two-thirds vote in the 
House. Even then the outcome was 
doubtful. Democrats were against 
the proposition and a few republi- 
cans could break the ranks and pre- 
vent a two-thirds vote. The un- 
precedented course was taken of 
sending out a notice by the commit- 
tee to rally every possible vote for 
the measure. A counter notice was 
sent out by the democrats with a 
warning not to pair, for every no 
vote was worth two yeas. 

But the minority fought in vain. 
Merits of the case counted for little. 
Partisan pressure settled it. Party 
whips brought the reluctant mem- 
bers into line and the necessary vote 
was secured. 

Then the case went to the people. 
With consummate skill the support- 
ers of the measure had made the test 
come in a presidential year, when . 
the popular mind was engrossed 
with national politics and when it 
would be practically impossible to 
get the ear of the people for a state 
issue. Most of the education, most 
of the wealth, most of the element 
which dreads a change in the exist- 
ing order, most of the newspapers, 
especially the large dailies, the de- 
termined and remorseless corpora- 
tive strength, the solid array of busi- 
ness men's organizations, a horde of 
big and little republican politicians, 
the hustling corporation lobby, and 
ihe example of every state in the 
Union, except Litte Rhody, were in 

this combination for biennials It 
seemed resistless and the biennial 
men were jauntily confident of a 
sweeping popular victory, espec- 
ially in view of the long and un- 
broken succession of majority votes 
in the legislature giving assurance 
of a majority at the polls. It has 
been charged, as a discredit to an- 
nuals, that the politicians and the 
lobby were on that side. That is ab- 
solutely incorrect. Any one who 
was in the thick of that fight 
against biennials knows what hit 
him. But now the republican poli- 
ticians have heard from the people 
and never again will they line up 
for biennials. 

For the annuals men the outlook 
was desperate. Those who went 
into the fight went in with despera- 
tion. On their side was an un- 
known republican support, headed 
by a good array of influential names, 
nearly all the democratic party, 
(then by far in the minority), the 
solid labor organizations, the tradi- 
tion of the state, and the prestige of 
the Massachusetts political advance 
beyond other states, due in part to 
her frequent discussions of public 
questions and the exercise of the 
popular judgment at the polls. 

Then was formed a new and far 
stronger organization than ever. 
The Anti-Biennial League was set 
on its feet. Ex-Governor George S. 
Boutwell was president. Gamaliel 
Bradford was secretary and treas- 
urer. Strong republicans were 
named among the officers and with 
grim determination to make as hot 
a fight as possible, the league en- 
tered the field. Prominent republi- 
cans, such as Senator Hoar, ev-Gov- 
ernor Long, ex-Collector A. AY. 
Beard and a long array of familiar 



names broke the force of the repub- 
lican phalanx by which the amend- 
ment had been pushed through the 
legislature by criminal means in 
part. Headquarters were taken and 
the campaign was opened. 

Foremost of the workers, giving 
time and money, was Gamaliel 
Bradford. Had it not been for him, 
as far as men can see, the cause 
would have been lost. From a po- 
litical point of view, there were 
three critical stages in the move- 
ment, in either of which had there 
been failure, the result would have 
been different. Very early in the 
struggle, before most people were 
awake to the situation, it became 
necessary to call attention to the 
crisis and to emphasize the vital ne- 
cessity of annual elections. That 
was attempted through a little book 
and the one copy which was read 
by Gamaliel Bradford made the edi- 
tion a success, no matter whether 
all the other copies failed. It was 
Bradford who advanced the funds. 
It was he who planned the flooding 
of the state with literature and hand 
circulars, and paid the bills from his 
private purse in order that the work 
might not lag for want of money. 
It was Bradford who devised and 
had put up all over the state the big 
posters, so that he who ran might 
read, calling the voters' attention to 
the vital issue. 

After a time the biennialists saw 
that it was a harder fight than they 
supposed. Then they bestirred 
themselves. They put out their big 
posters, too. They published on the 
walls their array of great names, as 
Bradford had done. But, thanks to 
him, to his tireless energy, ingenu- 
ity, enthusiasm and money, the anti- 
biennial men were always one lap 

ahead. The biennialists could not 
catch up. 

One great peril had to be encoun- 
tered. It was that the republicans 
might make biennials a party issue. 
The conspirators and the combiners 
laid their plans for it. The commit- 
tee on resolutions of the republican 
state convention was packed against 
us. They stood thirteen to two in 
favor of biennials. At that point 
came the invaluable service of Elihu 
B. Hayes. Foreseeing, from his po- 
litical experience, where the danger 
point was, he had secured a place 
for himself on that committee. In 
private session he fought out the 
issue and won, putting his argument 
on the grounds of party expediency. 
He should certainly precipitate a 
contest in the state convention, he 
told them, if the biennial plank were 
inserted. No possible good could 
come to the republican party by put- 
ting in the plank, he argued, and ar- 
gued soundly. If they put it in they 
would surely lose votes by it. If 
they left it out, they would be more 
likely to hold their party vote. He 
carried his point and the platform 
was silent on biennials. It was a 
great peril averted. 

Then the democrats put a plank 
in their platform, opposing bien- 
nials. That helped line up that 
party, while the republicans were 
left free. Hard was the work and 
much was the ingenuity spent in de- 
vising means to get the anti-biennial 
arguments before the people. Hand 
circulars were distributed by hun- 
dreds and thousands to all sorts of 
people, on the streets, on the cars, 
at political meetings and wherever 
opportunity offered. 

At that time the A. P. A. move- 
ment was in its expiring gasp. The 



remaining members became satisfied 
that biennials were against public 
Welfare. They claimed to control 
30,000 votes and they reported that 
word was passed around for all the 
members to go against biennials. 
Organized support was welcomed. 
Particularly did the labor men stand 
up for what really concerned them, 
as a class, more than any other class 
in the state. Anti-biennial banners 
were carried in the Labor-day pa- 
rade ; the local labor unions were 
stirred to action and efforts were 
made to impress upon all laboring 
men the seriousness to them of the 
crisis which confronted the state. 
Their interest then was and now is 
peculiarly vital and they have a 
great stake in frequent opportuni- 
ties to agitate for the justice and 
timeliness of their cause. Some 
anti-biennial rallies were held, but 
it must be confessed that the at- 
tendance was small. 

Then came the election. Nothing 
had occurred to indicate the result 
other than the failure of the people 
to become disturbed by the argu- 
ments for biennials, and the knowl- 
edge that a great many republicans 
and the solid democracy (except 
a few of the business and capitalist 
class) were against biennials. With 
intense solicitude, therefore, the re- 
ceipt of the election returns was 
awaited. Figures by wire were re- 
quired for only the first of the two 
amendments for too many other 
facts were wanted to permit taking 
the returns for both the amendments 
for state officers and members of the 
legislature. As it was understood 
that the democratic vote was prac- 
tically solid, the point to be watched 
was the excess of the "no" vote over 
the democratic vote. 

First of all the cities and towns to 
be heard from on that eventful night 
was Acushnet 1 . Its critical figures 
were these : democrats, ten ; "no," 
ninety. It was a lightning flash of 
joy and victory out of the black 
clouds of doubt and anxiety. Dem- 
ocrats, ten ; "no," ninety. That 
meant that, in addition to the demo- 
crats, a strong republican vote was 
against biennials. So the reports 
came rolling in. Few held up to the 
high, proportion of the first town, 
but they were overwhelmingly on 
the right side. Not for a moment 
after the first town, during the 
whole night, was there a moment of 
doubt. It was simply a question of 
figuring up the majority. 

When the official vote was pub- 
lished it showed 115,505 for the first 
amendment to 161,263 against it, or 
an adverse majority of 45,758. The 
second had 105,589 yeas to 156,211 
nays, or an adverse majority of 50,- 
622. The total vote on the first 
amendment was 276,768 and on the 
second, 261,800, while the aggregate 
for the presidential electors having 
the highest votes on the several 
tickets was 389,799, showing that 
there were at least 113,121 voters 
who voted for electors who did not 
vote on the biennial amendments. 
If they did not vote "no," it is 
equally true that they did not vote 
"yes," and the argument from their 
abstention is in favor of annual elec- 

So much for a hundredth part of 
the story of the anti-biennial cam- 
paign and vote. Massachusetts 
had met the greatest crisis in her 
history since she adopted the na- 
tional constitution, not excepting 
the issues involved in the constitu- 
tional conventions of 1820 and 1853, 



the establishment of the board of 
education, the civil war, the fight 
over prohibition or the woman 
suffrage vote, and she had decided 
rightly. By their sober judgment 
the people held to the sound theory 
of their political life, and it is not 
probable that that crisis will ever 
be faced again. 

Xow for the reasons for this pre- 
diction, but, first, pardon a few per- 
sonal words. Upon beginning my 
newspaper work at the legislatnre, 
I was in favor of biennials of both 
sorts, — elections and legislative ses- 
sions. To me, as to other people on 
the ontside, the case for biennials 
seemed strong. Under that im- 
pression, when new to state house 
work, I had published a table of 
figures from lengths of terms and 
value of experience, and other 
reasons, demonstrating, from that 
point of view, the benefit of bien- 
nials. It was the same sort of stuff 
as is now advanced upon that side. 
lint, with years of close contact with 
the life of the state as it manifests 
Lself, at the state house, not only 
have my views changed completely, 
but I now realize that the subject 
is far broader and deeper than even 
most of the annuals men themselves 
suppose, and that it vitally concerns 
the growth and progress of the 
state, the attainment of justice for 
he weak, the security of oppor- 
tunity for progress and the well be- 
ing of every man, woman and child 
within the borders of the state. Not 
an argument for biennials touches 
bottom by a long way. That entire 
consideration <>\ the Held is super- 
ficial and fails to comprehend the 
relations and activities of part with 
part and of parts to the whole. 
It is nothing in favor of biennials 

that the business men and the con- 
servative sense of the community 
want as little political agitation as 
possible. Business men want things 
done and they are so busy that they 
have no time to study the rights 
and relations of men, other than as 
they are involved in the acquisition 
of wealth and the development of 
material prosperity. It was a Con- 
gregational deacon who was leading 
counsel for the offending corpora- 
tion and promoted its methods in 
the worst scandal ever exposed by a 
legislative investigation. If some 
of these men who refuse to take any 
interest in politics themselves and 
wish to prevent others from doing 
so would only give more time to 
their political duties, not only would 
the state secure valuable service, 
but their point of view would change 
essentially. Again, naturally, all 
people with more than the average 
of this world's goods, with some- 
thing to risk and nothing to gain 
from agitation of the relation of 
labor to capital, of capital to the 
public, and whose social function is 
to sit on the safety valve so thai 
there shall not be a blow-out from 
below, dislike anything which dis- 
turbs them. They are excellent 
people. Others in their place would 
feel as they feel, for that would be 
natural. It is not strange that the 
wealthy and controlling classes, the 
so-called respectable element, are 
for biennials and that the real pub- 
lic interests have had to encounter 
their powerful opposition. But the 
annuals men affirm that their policy 
is essential to the good of all classes. 
They ask only for justice, for busi- 
ness men, for timid interests, for 
capitalists, for salaried persons, for 



wage-earners, for strong and weak 

Most important in the entire situ- 
ation is the legislature. Governor 
and other state officers are a neg- 
ligible consideration compared with 
the legislature. But when the de- 
cision has been reached upon that 
point, then the conclusion is easy 
that, all things considered, it is well 
to elect state officers annually. Pub- 
lic business demands constant at- 
tention, and we should not have half 
of our public scandals, and should 
have more public progress if voters, 
especially the indifferent leaders in 
business, gave to the Common- 
wealth what she may rightfully 
claim. If one family of four or five 
demands all a man's time but an 
hour or two on election day, cannot 
the voter give at least that much 
once a year? Public wants of each 
person, with his thousand contacts 
with the laws, are more serious and 
complex than his private wants. 
Moreover, as the state advances, its 
wants increase as a circle increases 
in circumference as its diameter is 
lengthened. The state's progress is 
in every direction, not in a straight 
line only. The more it advances, the 
more it wants, just as the more a 
man knows the greater is the bound- 
ary which separates his knowledge 
from his ignorance and the more he 
knows the greater seems to be his 

At every point where the state 
has a commission for watching the 
welfare of the people, ihere is a 
point where constant attention is 
imperative for the good of the pri- 
vate citizen, and there are number- 
less points besides, in Tie relations 
of classes, in the control and man- 
agement of property, in the relation 

of the people to their public ser- 
vants, and in their developmenl of 
self-service for themselves, where 
careful study is imperative. Yet al- 
most nobody, probably absolutely 
nobody at all in the entire state, is 
giving to the public questions the 
attention which they deserve. Not 
a statesman J ever knew or heard of 
in the state has ever shown any ade- 
quate comprehension of the bigness 
and complicated nature of the state 
problems. Not a legislator has 
shown such a capacity. Newspaper 
men are utterly incapable of the ser- 
vice. The most they can do is 
merely to look at the mass and com- 
plexity of the business and present 
scrappy statements about the most 
important. State business is not a 
quarter understood or realized, even 
by the people who make it. Good 
stories for newspapers are as thick 
at the legislature as ever nuggets 
were in the richest gold mine ever 
opened, yet they go unpublished 
simply because to print them would 
give a seemingly unbalanced pro- 
portion of state house news, though 
if the same matter were obtained 
outside of the state house, it would 
have a scare head. 

Within these limits it is impos- 
sible to more than hint at the mag- 
nitude and complexity of the state's 
interests which are constantly press- 
ing for immediate attention. Yet 
the popular feeling is so strongly 
against giving them their due at- 
tention that it is a marvel that so 
much good is done as is actually ac- 
complished. In the case of every 
petition presented at the legislature, 
the presumption is that it ought to 
be killed and it will be killed unless 
it shows that it ought to be spared. 
So popular is it to criticize the leg- 



islature that from early in the ses- 
sion the members are hounded by 
a demand to get through and go 
home, and newspapers and politi- 
cians are free in their condemnation 
if they delay after the lawn mower 
is brought out. Every inducement 
is put upon t(he members to neglect 
their work, except the demands of 
those who must have attention, 
fighting for their rights and for 
progress in the face of public impa- 
tience. The wonder is that Massa- 
chusetts has not long ago adopted 
both biennial elections and sessions 
of the legislature, as most other 
states have, and the fact that she 
has not proves that the urgency of 
her business, on the whole, has pre- 
vented. As to other states, just a 
word here to say that Massachusetts 
is pioneer where they follow. She 
studies in advance, in many cases, 
where they imitate. Not only is she 
right in attending to her public 
business, but they would be far bet- 
ter off, even if they do not see it in 
that light, if they should return to 
annual elections and legislative ses- 

In conclusion, to justify the pre- 
diction that Massachusetts will 
never face such a crisis as she faced 
in 1896, are these pertinent reasons. 
We are a democracy, a government 
of the people, by the people, and for 
the people. More and more the peo- 
ple must control their government. 
More and more they must take 
deeper interest in public affairs. 
Less and less will they surrender 
themselves into the hands of the 

great trusts and corporations, or 
into the hands of their political ser- 
vants. More and more will the peo- 
ple demand to be in close touch with 
the government and with their leg- 
islators. To the minds of most men 
of affairs and to most politicians in 
Massachusetts, as far as inquiry has 
revealed, the present agitation for 
biennials, in view of the large votes 
for Moran in Massachusetts and for 
Hearst in New York, is ridiculous 
and untimely politics. For the pres- 
ent, at least, they say, it is the in- 
nings of the mass of the people and 
any effort, as the biennial movement 
is an effort, to take away half of 
their opportunities of expressing 
themselves at the polls, will be over- 
whelmingly defeated. That judg- 
ment is surely correct. 

But even here, the politicians' 
judgment is not up to the times. 
This demand of the mass of the 
people to keep the government 
closely under their hands marks a 
permanent advance toward firmer 
control and more direct touch be- 
tween people and government. In 
their organic life the people have 
come to a higher stage. Never will 
they be back upon the level of 1896. 
State and personal interests com- 
bine to make the organic life more 
intense, the individual activity 
greater and the danger of sloth- 
ful surrender less. Therefore the 
prediction claims justification that 
the great crisis which was safely 
passed through in 1896 will never 
recur in the organic life of Massa- 

An Arduous Outing 

By Edith M. Blanchard 


DECLARE! It's real reck- 
less !" murmured Mrs. Guptil 
anxiously as the express 
slipped around curves on schedule 
time. "Sir," she whispered loudly, 
to a man in front who tinned at her 
prodding finger. "Do you know the 

"Wlho? Why, certainly not!" 

"Oh ! I thought maybe you 
might. Seems to me nobody'd run 
cars at this risky clip 'less they was 
in drink !" 

The stranger stared, then his gaze 
grew kind. 

"There is not the slightest dan- 
ger, Madam," he said, quietly. "I 
have been on this train nearly every 
morning for ten years, and nothing 
has hap — " 

"Ten years !" broke in Mrs. Gup- 
til. "I don't see how you stand it! 
How your head must feel ! Why, 
mine's whirlin' now — an' this is the 
first time I've stepped in cars for — 
it must be longer'n twenty years !" 


"Yes. An' Caleb — my husband, 
you know — Caleb Guptil, was with 
me then an' I wish he was now. It 
seems awful queer an' I don't b'lieve 
it's right, to be travelin' so far with- 
out him!" 

"You are going a long distance?" 
asked the stranger, his eyes wander- 
ing back to the financial page. 

"Yes! To the city!" The tones 
was so proudly impressive that it 
caused a half absent smile. 

"Why, that is er — forty minutes 

from where you got on," said the 
gentleman, pleasantly. "About 
twenty miles?" 

"No. Jest nineteen an' a quarter 
— mile mark's right opposite our 
depot. I didn't feel as if I'd oughter 
come, but the minnit Caleb heard 
'bout the convention he would hev 
it thet I needed a vacation an' 
should go, even if there was so 
much to do on the farm an' car 
tickets so expensive an' all !" 

"Are you to stay long?" 

"Oh, yes ! I shan't git back 'til 
to-morrow night ! Caleb arranged 
for me to stay at the minister's to- 
night — his wife wrote a real hospit- 
able letter, soon as she heard of my 
intentions. She said she'd hev 
somebody at her depot to meet any 
train I — oh, my sars !" 

The exclamation was so full of 
dismay that at last she had the 
stranger's undivided attention. 

"I don't b'lieve Caleb wrote what 
train !" she gasped. "He was goin' 
to write again, but I'm 'fraid he 
didn't ! He bought two postage 
stamps an' one was on the mantel 
piece when I come away — I remem- 
ber seein' it ! Oh, what be I goin' 
to do? I knew I hadn't oughter 
come !" 

With reassuring words, the 
stranger did his best to calm her. 
His paper had to be folded up un- 
read, but as the train slackened 
speed he had the satisfaction of see- 
ing his chance acquaintance fairly 




"Now, remember," he repeated, 
as he reached for his hat, "that I 
will send a cabman. Wait until the 
crowd passes and if no one else 
meets yon, let him drive yon wher- 
ever yon wish to go. Understand?" 

"Yes," said Mrs. Gnptil, warmly. 
"You've heartened me np wonder- 
ful — you're jest as good as — why, 
my sars! He's gone!" 

A few minutes later she was on 
the station platform, hemmed in by 
hurrying people who jostled her 
spacious satchel right and left as 
they pushed past. As the crowd 
thinned she grew decidedly ner- 

"Beg pardon, Marm," said a voice 
at her elbow. "Are yon the lady 
that came in on the train with Mr. 
Brixton, Marm?" 

"Mr — Oh, then you ain't from the 
minister's ! Yes, I guess I — There, 
if I'd a knowed his name was Brix- 
ton I'd asked if he was any relation 
to the family thet's jest moved onto 
the farm down by — " 

"Beg pardon, Marm, but Mr. 
Brixton said I was to drive you 
somewhere. Shall I carry your grip 

Mrs. Guptil followed him doubt- 
fully, and near the cab, stopped 

"Will it cost much for a ride in 
it?" she asked, hesitatingly. 

"Oh, no, Marm ! The charge'll 
be according to the time you take, 
Marm, but I reckon it won't be over 
two dollars." 

Mrs. Guptil retreated perceptibly. 

"You don't mean jest for a ride? 
You do? Why, two dollars was all 
we got for a buggy we sold last—" 

"You don't have to pay anything, 
Marm," interrupted the cabby. 
"Mr. Brixton will settle." 

"He will? Are you sure? Oh, I 
guess I beiter not let him spend so 
much money on me !" protested the 
good woman, fighting against her 
desire to try the unknown luxury. 

"Mr. Brixton don't care how 
much money he spends, Marm," 
explained the man, patiently. "He's 
got barrels of it — and he said par- 
ticular that I was to drive you." 

With a sigh of relief, Mrs. Guptil 
put aside her scruples and stepped 
gingerly into the strange vehicle. 
The cabman waited. 

"Where is it you want to go, 
Marm?" he finally inquired. Mrs. 
Guptil stared in astonishment. 

"Why, to the Bees !" she cried. 
"Didn't you know? The conven- 
tion of the Busy Working Bees !" 

"And where might the — the Bees 
be meeting, Marm? What hall or 
church?" he questioned, uncom- 
fortably aware of snickering station 
loungers edging nearer. 

"Why, the — the — why, I can't 
think now to save my life ! But the 
minister's name is Mr. — Mr. — - 
There ! If you hadn't asked me, I 
could hev' told you ! Ain't there 
anybody here thet knows? Don't 
he?" she inquired, pointing at the 
cabman's professional brother who 
had moved nearest. 

"Bees?" repeated the individual 
addressed, very solemnly, as he 
stepped forward. "Was you look- 
ing for bumble or honey, Marm?" 

"Drop that !" was hissed into his 
ear. "I'm looking after her — see?" 

"Aw g'wan !" was the retort. 
"You can't feel a joke when it hits 
you hard ! Take her over on Eighth 
street — there's some kind of a blow- 
out at the little church there — they 
are skiddooing for it to beat the 
band this morning!" 



After the first few blocks, Mrs. 
Gnptil began to enjoy her ride. 
Sitting bolt upright with her satchel 
on her lap, she beamed benignly on 
the world at large as she marveled 
at the noise, the crowd, and some 
dirty babies sitting contentedly in a 
puddle of brown water in the mid- 
dle of the street. As she hesitated 
about rescuing them, she saw some- 
thing that made her stare in joyful 

"Mr. Driver!" she called. "You 
wait a minute !" 

Her feminine tones being per- 
fectly inaudible to the man behind, 
the cab kept on. 

"Stop, Mr. Driver !" she cried, 
shrilly, turning in her seat to beat 
the back of the hansom vigorously 
with both fists. "Be you deef? I 
demand to be let out ! Stop me, I 

The cabman, hearing at last, 
jerked his horse to the sidewalk and 
swung down. 

"What's the trouble — now?" he 
asked, rather sharply. Mrs. Guptil 
neither saw nor heard as she 
brushed him aside and confronted 
a stout lady on the sidewalk. Two 
seconds later she turned back with 
her face wreathed in smiles. 

"It's a Bee!" she explained, 
breathlessly. "I told her by the 
club colors — gold an' black ! She's 
got a bow on jest like mine, an' 
she's goin' to the convention, so I'm 
all right now, Mr. Driver ! You tell 
Mr. Brixton thet — why, he's gone !" 
she cried in real disappointment. "I 
wanted to send word, to — wal', 
never mind ! What did you say 
your name was?" 

"It's Mullen— Mrs. Betsy Mullen. 
I've come forty miles to Minister 
Purdy's convention an' — " 

"There!" exclaimed Mrs. Guptil, 
stopping short. "If thet ain't the 
most extraordinary thing thet ever 

"What? Where?" inquired her 
new acquaintance, trying unsuc- 
cessfully to look in all directions at 

"Why, to think thet name 
slipped me ! I couldn't tell the 
driver where I wanted to go, to save 
my life !" 

"Where was you goin', then?" 

"We were jest huntin' for the 
Bees. I tell you I was tickled when 
I see your bow! Says I, there's a 
sister worker thet can take me right 
there ! My ! It must be nice to 
know your way in all this crowd !" 
she finished admiringly. 

"Yes, I— yes," agreed Mrs. Mul- 

"Which way do we — wal' for the 
land's sake!" exclaimed Mrs. Guptil 
with another sudden stop. "I had 
s'picions all along an' now they're 
more ! Thet carriage driver wasn't 
takin' me to the church at all — he 
was headed jest opposite to where 
you're goin' !" 

"So he was !" said Mrs. Mullen, 
slowly. "But he would hev landed 
you all right, I guess. I jest come 
down this street to git some dinner 
'fore I went into the convention." 

"My sars ! You do know all the 
crooks an' turns, don't yer ! Wal', 
I guess 'tis time for a meal. Is there 
an economical eatin' place near 
here?" she inquired, deferentially. 

Mrs. Mullen peered down the 
street and her dim eyes fell on a 
glittering window in the next block. 

"Land, yes !" she cried, carelessly. 
"Come along o' me !" 

With much dignity the two el- 
derly pilgrims directed their steps 



down the street, entering" the place 
with tightly grasped satchels and 
bobbing bonnet roses, and advanc- 
ing down a lon°" room lined with 
counters and astonished men. 

"We'll keep on to the ladies 1 
eatin' room," whispered Mrs. Mul- 
len, stiffly. "It's through thet door 
at the back, I guess." 

"Ain't it awful musty smellin' ?" 
returned Mrs. Guptil, snuffing care- 
fully. "I'll bet three cookies thet 
tain't been aired for a month an' 
I've a great mind — " 

"Come this way, please !" inter- 
rupted a white-aproned man, bar- 
ring their progress. 

"He's goin' to 'scort us in !" ex- 
plained Mrs. Mullen. "Those city 
folks are reel perlite. Come, sister 
Guptil, he wants us to come." 

With heads held higher than 
ever, they followed through a queer 
little back room, a hall that was 
cramped and odorous, and found 
themselves — on the sidewalk ! 

"Sorry we can't entertain you, 
ladies," said their guide. "But our 
license allows us to sell to men only. 
You can get all you want at Fla- 
herty's — just down this alley. Good 
day, Madams!" 

Two puzzled women stared at the 
closed door and then at each other, 
the man's words, quick and strange, 
had been almost unintelligible. 

"What in time's the matter with 
thet fellar?" demanded Mrs. Guptil. 
"What in the world was he talkin' 
about? Where's the ladies' dinin' 
room an' what — O— Oh ! — E— Eh ! 
—O—O—O—O—oh !" she cried, 
ending with a scream. 

"What is it? What? Be you 
sick— or hurt? What? Can't you 
speak?" demanded Mrs. Mullen, 
shaking her companion's arm vig- 

orously. Mrs. Guptil couldn't, but 
she pointed a trembling forefinger 
at some big flaring letters. 


Across the street were a few trees 
and a little trodden grass — one of 
the city's breath-spots — and to this 
the two women hurried. Not until 
they were seated on a well-worn 
settee did either speak, then Mrs. 
Guptil expressed herself frankly. 

"An' it's tumble — tumble," she 
wailed, accusingly, "to hev to al- 
ways remember thet I, Sophronia 
Guptil, hev been inside a rum 
shop !" 

"Wal', s'posin' you hev !" retorted 
Mrs. Mullen, irritably. " 'Twas 
only a mistake — tain't likely you'll 
ever go agin !" Suddenly she burst 
into nervous tears. "Oh, I'm a 
wicked woman !" she cried. "I'm 
awful wicked! But I'm punished! 
I was in there too — an' besides thet 


"There, there !" soothed Mrs. 
Gupil, her resentment dying, T 
don't see nothin' wicked about it — 
'twas a mistake jest as you say. 
The folks you knew must hev 
moved sudden — there, I b'lieve I 
hev got my white bow in my 
satchel after all !" she exclaimed, 
beginning a hurried search. "Yes, 
here 'tis! P'raps I'd better pin it 
on — it'll look better when we go 
back by that — place — don't you 
think so?" 

Mrs. Mullen sat bolt upright and 
her lip quivered childishly. 

"It'll look as if you was a white 



ribboner an' I wasn't !" she observed 
in an injured tone. 

"Why, the idea ! How you talk !" 
Mrs. Guptil's fingers pinned and 
unpinned the bow uncertainly. It 
was much too small to divide, and 
she looked at it hesitatingly. 

"Wal', 'twill only serve me right 
to be took for a drinker !" went on 
Mrs. Mullen, dolefully. "After all 
my wickedness — " 

"There, there," soothed Mrs. 
Guptil, again. "You hain't done 
nothin' wicked, I keep tellin' you ! 
Let's go somewhere an' get suthin' 
to eat now." 

"I — I don't b'lieve I want any — 
any dinner," objected her compan- 
ion, looking helplessly around. 

"Stuff! Yes, you do too! I'll pin 
this white bow right on there — so ! 
You can wear it an' welcome, if 
you're 'fraid folks will think you're 
what you ain't !" 

Mrs. Mullen's wrinkled face went 
red, then white. 

"Take it off— take it off! I am 
what I ain't!" she blurted, hysteri- 
cally. "I've deceived all along! I 
never was here before in my life — I 
don't know one street from another 
—I— I'm lost!!" 

Mrs. Guptil stared, incredulous 
and speechless. 

"I — I was lost when you fust saw 
me!" gasped Mrs. Mullen. "I've 
been lost ever since I set foot in this 
wicked place ! An' now — now we're 
both lost ! !" Mrs. Guptil continued 
to stare. 

"Don't look at me like that!" 
cried Mrs. Mullen, with childish 
fright. "I know I'm wicked — I told 
you so ! But I'm gettin' punished 
for it! Can't you say suthin'?" she 
begged miserably. 

"Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty !" 

droned Mrs. Guptil. "When any- 
thing exasperates me more'n com- 
mon, I always count thct many slow 
'fore I speak — it's best, I've found! 
Now what made you do it?" 

"Y — you !" faltered her compan- 
ion. "You praised me for knowin' 
the way 'til I didn't dast to tell I 
didn't! An' I thought I could — " 

"Wal', my pewter!" ejaculated 
Mrs. Guptil, provoked to strong 
language. "Of all the — never mind, 
I'll count !" When she finished, she 
took up her satchel deliberately. 
"W>e won't say no more about it," 
she announced calmly. "We'll get 
a bite to eat an' then hurry to the 
convention or we won't get there 
to-day !" 

Mrs. Mullen refused to budge. 
Her recent experience in strange 
streets had shaken her nerves 
rudely. Insisting that she was not 
hungry, she flatly declined to hunt 
further for food, so Mrs. Guptil 
started alone. 

When she returned, it was with a 
generous amount of sandwiches and 
fruit. After some urging, Mrs. 
Mullen dispatched six sandwiches 
and three bananas — for which she 
did not offer to pay. More urging 
was required to move her from the 
settee, but finally the elderly couple 
marched along. They walked and 
walked, inquiring from men, women 
and children, at last a blue-uni- 
formed officer put them on the 
front seat of a street car with the 
strict injunction not to stir until the 
conductor told them to. 

It was a three mile ride and che 
united efforts of the conductor, mot- 
orman and passengers, were hardly 
equal to keeping them aboard so 
long, but eventually they were as- 
sisted to the sidewalk in front of the 

7 6 


Eighth street church — for which 
the cabman had started when Mrs. 
Guptil was lured from the vehicle 
by a Bee ribbon. 

They found the place filled with 
women, all chattering" about the ex- 
ercises which had just ended. The 
Rev. Mr. Purdy came forward to 
greet them and they found that 
Caleb Guptil had not used his sec- 
ond postage stamp, nevertheless, 
the minister welcomed Mrs. Guptil 
warmly, urging her to be his wife's 

An hour later, eight visiting Bees 
sat down to an early supper in the 
minister's comfortable home. 

"I made tea for this meal," said 
Mrs. Purdy, brightly, "because it 
seems to be everybody's supper 

"Wal', I never drink it !" observed 
Mrs. Mullen, in her habitually in- 
jured tone. "I alius take coffee 
every single meal." 

Mrs. Purdy, with cheeks pink 
from extra exertions, smiled pleas- 

"You shall have it in no time !" 
she promised. "Anyone else prefer 
coffee? No? Well, please begin 
your suppers and not wait for me. 
And help yourselves to everything, 
for Mr. Purdy may forget to. And 
be sure there is plenty more of 
everything in the pantry." 

Every Working Bee except Mrs. 
Mullen began at once. She sat 
stiffly erect, touching neither the 
back of her chair nor the table. 
Everybody urged her to cat, but she 
declined positively, informing them 
repeatedly that she could not cat a 
mouthfu] without her coffee. It 
soon came; a fragrant draught, in 
the most delicate of china cups. 
Mrs. Mullen took one look. 

"Hev you got a clean cup an' 
saucer?" she asked. "A little big- 
ger cup than thet?" 

"Why, yes, of course!" replied 
the astonished minister's wife. 
''What do you — " 

"There's one on the sideboard, 
now," interrupted Mrs. Mullen. 
"If somebody'll hand it, I'll show 
you how to make coffee — coffee thet 
is right !" 

Getting the cup, she called for 
hot water and an extra spoon ; then 
amid interested silence, took one 
spoonful of the clear brown bever- 
age and put it into the second cup, 
filling it half full of hot; an- 
other spoonful of coffee followed, 
then more hot water filled the cup. 

"There !" she said with much sat- 
isfaction. "When it's made jest so 
— it's puffect !" 

A chorus of astonished questions 
came from all sides. 

"Two spoonfuls of coffee to a cup 
is enough for anybody !" maintained 
Mrs. Mullen. "Any more flies to 
my head, an' I guess it does to 
everybody's ! An' as for tea," she 
declared with blunt emphasis. "I've 
heerd thet there ain't so — very — 
much difference 'tween tea an' 
liquor drunkards !" 

"Mrs. Mullen, do you take one 
lump or two?" inquired Mr. Purdy, 
breaking the awkward silence that 
settled pall-like. 

"Four," mumbled the lady ad- 
dressed, with her mouth full of cold 

When the meal was over and 
cleared away, Mrs. Guptil dis- 
covered that she had never been so 
tired in her life. Confessing the 
fact to Mrs. Purdy, she was urged 
to go to bed for a long night's 
rest instead of accompanying the 



others to the evening session of the 

"Then you can really enjoy the 
club meetings to-morrow," sug- 
gested the minister's wife, sympa- 
thetically. "We are a little short 
of room, so I shall be obliged to put 
you in with Mrs. Mullen — hope you 
won't mind? It is the first door on 
your left — go right up. You will 
find your friend there already, I 
think — she asked to go when she 
finished supper. Now get well 
rested! Good night, and pleasant 
dreams !" 

Mrs. Guptil found her bedfellow 
beneath the quilts, snoring audibly. 
Making her own preparations for 
the night as quietly and quickly as 
possible, she turned off the gas, 
opened both windows, and crept 
into bed with a long-drawn sigh of 
satisfaction. Mrs. Mullen awoke 
with a shrieking snore, clutching 
her companion tightly. 

"Them lights hev gone out ! 
Somebody's blowed 'em !" She 
cried frantically. "Hurry, or we'll 
be gastocated !" 

"Nobody hain't — why, 'twas me ! 
But I didn't blow 'em !" cried Mrs. 
Guptil, bewildered by the sudden 
attack. "Don't you s'pose I know 
better'n thet? An' the windows are 
all wide open anyway ! I guess I 
scared you comin' in so quiet 

"Oh! O-h! O-o-h!" screamed 
Mrs. Mullin, her voice partly muf- 
fled by bed clothes pulled over her 

"What ails you? What's the 
matter?" demanded Mrs. Guptil. 
Moans and groans continuing, she 
became frightened enough to drag 
the quilts firmly back. 

"Don't! The windows!" ejacu- 

lated Mrs. Mullin. "Shet 'em quick 
— if you don't want me to get my 
never-get-over !" 

Mrs. Guptil released her hold in 
sheer amazement — and deliberate- 
ly lay down. "You don't want to 
sleep with the windows down tight, 
— tain't healthy," she said, quietly. 

"I do ! I ain't never slept with 
a window open in my life, an' I'm 
healthy enough !" insisted Mrs. 
Mullen. "An' I couldn't sleep in 
the dark, no way ! Will you please 
shet the windows so I can git up 
an' light them three gas prongs?" 

"I was told only yesterday," she 
grumbled on, as she received no 
answer, "that gas ain't never safe 
when tain't lighted ! The pipes are 
likely to bust at any minnit — so 
we've got to light 'em !" 

Mrs. Guptil, tired and sleepy, 
spoke with stern emphasis. 

"Never yet, hev I slept in an air 
tight room with lights burnin', an v 
I ain't goin' to begin tonight ! Keep 
still, now, so we can get some 
rest. Good-night." 

There was silence just long 
enough to make Mrs. Guptil repent 
her irritability : then her companion 
sneezed. Two minutes later she 
sneezed again. 

"Yes, I am gettin' cold," she quav- 
ered, "but never mind ! Nobody 
cares ! We've all got to be boxed 
sooner or later — I guess 'twon't 
make much difference just when ! 
Cher-choo ! Cher^ch-o-oo ! 

Mrs. Guptil turned over impa- 

"If you feel so bad as thet, you 
can close 'em! But if you hev 
your way 'bout the windows, I shall 
hev mine 'bout the gas ! Thet 
ain't more'n fair, is it?" 

Mrs. Mullen climbed out of bed, 


shut and locked both windows 
tightly, before she replied. 

"If you think it's right to make 
me stay in the dark an' danger," 
she said meekly, "I'll try to stand 
it — but I know I shan't sleep a 
wink! Hark!! what was thet?" 

Mrs. Guptil sought refuge in sil- 
ence and finally her timid companion 
found her way back to bed — only 
to toss and turn, sit up or nudge 
violently at frequent imaginary 

"Wal', I summy !" exclaimed 
Mrs. Guptil at last in desperation. 
"If you was one of my children, 
Mrs. Mullen, I'd trounce you well ! 
I ain't sure but what you need it 
more as 'tis ! How d'you s'pose 
we're goin' to rest any? Won't 
you keep still — an' sleep?" 

"I can't — in the dark !" was the 
faint reply. "I tried, but I really 

"Will you if there's a light?" 

"Yes, o'course I — " 

"Then light the gas, and don't 
move or speak ag'in tonight!" cried 
the weary woman, losing all pa- 

After Mrs. Mullen had once more 
climbed forth and lighted all three 
gas jets, she remained motionless 
for at least fifteen minutes, and Mrs. 
Guptil dozed off — only to be almost 
immediately awakened by the open- 
ing and shutting of drawers. 

"What's— what's the matter 
now?" she inquired sleepily. 
"What you lookin' for?" 

"My pocket book," mumbled 
Mrs. Mullen, now minus teeth. 

"Pocket book! Why, you can't 
want it 'fore mornin'!" 

"Yes, I kin too! I was wonderin' 
if I didn't bring the key to the red 
hen house. If I did, Cyrus'll hev to 

climb in an' out the windows every 
time he — " 

"But what you lookin' in Mrs. 
Purdy's bureau for?" questioned 
Mrs. Guptil, becoming wider awake. 
"Your things ain't in there !" 

Mrs. Mullen turned to stare with 
toothless dignity. 

"They be too !" she insisted. 
"You needn't think I'm pokin' 
round in her things ! I ast her to 
take every one on 'em out right af L er 
supper, so's I could unpack my grip. 
It's makes it so much more home- 
like thet I alius think it's best, even 
for two nights !" 

Slowly, laboriously, Mrs. Guptil 
sat up. 

"You get straight back into this 
bed an' stay here, Betsy Mullen !" 
she commanded in an awful voice. 
"It must be long past midnight, an' 
neither of us hain't slept none to 
speak of! You mind, now, or I'll — 
My sars ! Why, I'm dreadful ex- 
asperated — one, two, three, four, 
five, six — " 

Mrs. Mullen obeyed in rather sul- 
len silence, and before long began 
to repeat her nose solos ; but by 
the time Mrs. Guptil had finished 
counting, she found that her former 
desire to sleep had fled — it was her 
turn to be restless. 

The closed room grew so increas- 
ingly warm that at times she felt 
stifled. When her companion's 
snores were literally shaking the 
house, she slipped softly out of bed 
and attempted to open a window 
wide enough for one breath of fresh 
air. It was no use. Mrs. Mullen's 
music ceased instantly and she sat 
up with strenuous objections. After- 
ward Mrs. Guptil tried opening the 
door of the spacious closet, but her 



bedfellow heard by instinct and 
awoke to complain of draughts. 

By morning, Mrs. Guptil was a 
wide-eyed physical wreck, with such 
a splitting headache that she could 
eat no breakfast. When the other 
visitors started out to see the city 
for an hour before the morning ses- 
sion of the Busy Working Bees, she 
followed, miserable enough, with 
the loquacious Mrs. Mullen trudg- 
ing at her side. In a souvenir store, 
that lady became so deeply mter- 
ested in some gaudy postals that all 
except Mrs. Guptil started on. She 
waited dutifully; waited until her 
patience was exhausted. Turning 
toward the postal counter with the 
intention of telling Mrs. Mullen that 
she could not, and would not stay 
longer, she was astonished to find 
that the cause of all her troubles 
was not there — nor in the store. 
Thoroughly alarmed, she hurried 
out — and * espied her sister Bee 
plodding down the street a block 

"Wal', my sars !" she murmured 
in disgust. "If thet don't beat all, 
after my waitin' for her ! An how 
she ever got out 'thout my seem' 
her is more'n I can tell !" 

Excited, weary and nervous, 
weighed down by her big, unneces- 
sary satchel, Mrs. Guptil became so 
breathless that she gained but little 
on the object of her pursuit until 
she saw Mrs. Mullen enter the big 
doors of a department store. When 
she reached the entrance she stood 
and waited again — this time a full 
half-hour ! Afraid of being late for 
the convention and disliking to go 
there alone, she finally plunged 
among the mass of shoppers inside 
and began a bewildered and fruitless 
search in every aisle. 

Suddenly a stern-faced man took 
her arm and led her resolutely to a 
small room in the rear where there 
were more men with severe faces, 
who asked her strange questions. 

"I guess I don't jest foller you," 
said the puzzled woman. "I d'know 
what you mean ! I come in this 
place after Mrs. Mullen 'cause I 
wanted to git to the convention 
soon as I could. I thought the ad- 
mission was free. Hed I oughter 
hed a ticket?" 

"Does it well, doesn't she?" re- 
marked the man who had brought 
her in. "It is no use, old lady — ■ 
we're on ! Your description arrived 
at least two weeks before you did ! 
Miss Milton will attend to you," he 
added, touching a bell. 

Five minutes later, Mrs, Guptil 
was in a smaller room with a 
woman who insisted on thoroughly 
ransacking her satchel. 

"Wal'," said Mrs. Guptil, watch- 
ing the performance in perplexity, 
"I must say thet this is the queer- 
est — what in the world makes you 
want to peek in my grip, anyway?" 

"Say, but you are a peach !" 
laughed the woman, admiringly. 
As she glanced up, however, her 
manner changed. "The charge is 
shop-lifting," she said. 

"Shop-lifting?" cried Mrs. Guptil, 
repeating the unfamiliar word. 
"Why, thet means thet — " 

"If you are rich, you are a klep- 
tomaniac ; if you are poor, you're 
— a thief!" volunteered the woman, 
closing the bag with a snap. "Noth- 
ing in there ! Now I will search 
your person." 

"Me? Me! You think thet I— 
Sophronia Guptil — am a thief?" 
Now fully comprehending the 
whole affair, her ample breast 



heaved and her tired eyes flashed 
indignation. "Yon search !" she 
panted. "Search me from 1113- head 
to my heels ! I defy yon or anybody 
else to lind anything thet ain't 
mine! Me — a thief! Me — -who 
wouldn't steal a piece o' cracked 
corn from a chicken ! Yon search !" 

The woman did so in the most 
thorongh way known in department 
stores ! Then there were many 
apologies from all concerned and 
the offer of a carriage to convey the 
victim to the Busy Working Bees. 
Sadly and wearily she refused it; 
she had no desire left for anything 
but home. So a clerk rode with her 
to the station and left her on board 
a train that was being made up. 

Clasping her pnecious satchel 
tightly, she put her throbbing- head 
back and closed her tired eyes. Her 
mind was a muddle, through which 
puffing steam and clanging bells 

sounded pleasantly, for they meant 
"home." The whistle's warning 
shriek made her sit up nervously,, 
however — and she saw, toddling ex- 
citedly toward the open car win- 
dow, the cause of all her tribulations 
—the lost Mrs. Betsy Mullen! 

"Here you be, at last !" she cried. 
"I thought you was lost ! Em look- 
in' for City hall. Some little child- 
ren told me this was it, but tain't f 
Why, what you doin' in thet car, 
sister Guptil? You ain't goin 5 " 
home? Why, we hain't been to a 
single Bee session yet !" she pro- 
tested, puffing breathlessly along- 
side as the wheels began to move. 
"An' my soul an' stars ! — I shell be 
scared to death to sleep alone — " 

The train pulled away and Mrs. 
Guptil addressed the back of the 
next seat in an undertone. 

"I b'lieve Ed hed to counted 'fore 
I answered her!" she said, solemnly. 

The Little Gray Owl 

By Cora A. Matson Dolson 

In our tree is a little gray owl that I know 

And all through night, he cries, Wo! Wo! Wo! 

And the noise that he makes is enough to scare 

A mouse, or a toad, to some deep-down lair, 

And to make the chicks, the wee down-covered things 

Afraid to stir under mother-hen's wings. 

But the little gray owl, on the limb up high, 

Is only reciting his thoughts to the sky; 

For he thinks that the moon, and himself, and each 

The wisest, of all, in this great world are, 
Since no one at all, in this big world, but they, 
Know day is the night, and that night is the day. 


/fome and 

By Sarah Louise Arnold 


The Education of Girls 

THE education of the daughter 
of the house gives rise to 
many vexed and ever-recur- 
ring questions. Concerning her 
brother our minds are somewhat 
at ease. The machinery of school 
and college is adapted in general 
to meet his needs. If he pur- 
poses to be a lawyer, a minister, or 
a physician, the coast is clear. If 
he has ambition to become a civil 
engineer or an electrician, his path- 
way is open. If he hopes to distin- 
guish himself in the business world 
he has countless opportunities both 
for instruction and for apprentice- 
ship. But such is not the case with 
his sister. While she may achieve 
greatness in any of these fields by 
virtue of superior talent or excep- 
tional opportunity, the machinery of 
education has not been adapted to 
her needs and she works against ob- 
stacles in preparing for her future. 
In school and college she follows 
the path which has been marked 
out for her brother. Experiment 
has sufficiently proved that she is 
able to master intelligently the 
tasks which are set before him. She 
may preach if she chooses, she may 

practice if she will, she may enter 
the field of business ; for all these 
her complete right has been con- 
ceded. Nevertheless, it has not yet 
been proved that education for these 
purposes is well adapted to her 
needs, nor that the schooling which 
is possible for her under present 
conditions provides for her the ideal 

It is agreed that there must be a 
common training which is desirable 
for boy and girl alike. Brother and 
sister, husband and wife may read 
the same books with enjoyment and 
appreciation, listen to the same con- 
cert, admire the same picture, de- 
light in the common endeavor for 
the advancement of their race. They 
may share with equal interest in the 
same business, perhaps, and they 
may profit together under the same 
instruction. This is true to a cer- 
tain degree. It does not follow that 
in all ages and under all conditions 
their instruction should be identical 
and their immediate purposes with- 
out differentiation. Exactly as 
their personal tastes and interests 
may differ in their daily life, so their 
definite preparation for their differ- 
ing fields of activity should be de- 
termined by the demands of that 



held and the essential characteris- 
tics of the type which we are seek- 
ing- to develope. 

In the field of higher education 
the interest has been centered in the 
past, first, upon securing an oppor- 
tunity for such education, and sec- 
ond, upon proving that women 
could profit by it as well as their 
brothers. Colleges are now open 
to women throughout the country. 
They may pursue their studies in a 
college for women or, as in the 
West, they may proceed from the 
kindergarten through the university 
in the same classes with their broth 1 
ers. The right having been estab- 
lished and their ability having been 
clearly determined, the imperative 
question of to-day is not whether 
they should be educated, but what 
type of education is best suited to 
develope them in the wisest way. 
This is perhaps the most important 
question concerning education 
which is emphatically appealing to 
us for decision. 

In the early attempts to secure 
education for woman it was neces- 
sary to prove or to imply that her 
life in the home was restricted and 
that it was necessary for her to es- 
cape from its bondage. It was nat- 
ural that this plea should be over 
emphasized and that the tendency 
to distort the argument should 
steadily increase. Therefore, the 
popular mind expects the educated 
woman to be unfamiliar with the de- 
mands of home life. It is surprised 
if she is familiar with and is pre- 
pared for its responsibilities. "Why 
are you sending your daughter to 
college? I thought she was engaged 
to be married !" "Why are you buy- 
ing those books, Kate? Get some 
table linen for your housekeeping in- 

stead." Such comments and ques- 
tions, frequently repeated, indicate 
the separation between the thought 
of home-making and home-keeping 
and the ideals of education. 

Furthermore, it is doubtless the 
truth that the tendency toward 
"emancipation," so-called, has led 
to the withdrawal from common re- 
sponsibilities and burdens. The 
woman who earns her own living 
easily provides for the necessities 
of life, is free to work, to read, to 
study, to travel, to enjoy herself, and 
she naturally shrinks from assum- 
ing cares and responsibilities which 
will limit this freedom. The 
thought of personal restriction has 
become irksome and anything ap- 
proaching limitation or confinement 
is to be avoided. She becomes ac- 
customed to free and generous ex- 
penditure, unquestioned. She comes 
and goes without consulting the 
convenience of others and she is 
loath to yield this privilege. This 
kind of freedom has been considered 
so desirable that the life of the home 
as opposed to it has been pushed 
out of clear perspective and the nor- 
mal life of women has not been 
honestly and fairly considered. 

There are signs of a reaction in 
our thought concerning this prob- 
lem. In the endeavor to secure 
finer and more generous conditions 
for society, in any attempt to serve 
the public welfare, we are con- 
fronted by the truth that the devel- 
opment of the individual depends 
largely upon his environment in 
the home. If every home in the 
community were wisely adminis- 
tered and well maintained we should 
advance rapidly in paths of peace. 
This problem is more pressing than 
that of the navy or the tariff and is 



better worth our common consider- 

When we look upon the home in 
this light it seems imperative that 
those who administer and maintain 
it should recognize their opportun- 
ity and their privilege. They should 
at least concede a part of the time 
given to their education for the de- 
termination of the factors which 
govern its welfare and the prepara- 
tion for its best and wisest admin- 
istration. Without undue senti- 
mentality and without a weak 
yielding to the demands of tradi- 
tion, we may yet fairly insist that 
the education of women should in- 
clude definite preparation for the 
maintenance of the home and care- 
ful consideration of the relation of 
the home to the common good. The 
fact that some women may not pre- 
side over homes of their own does 
not in the least alter the general 
question nor warrant us in exclud- 
ing from the education of women a 
consideration of the work which is 
to be their greatest and most sacred 

There is no doubt that many mar- 
riages are delayed, that the thought 
of individual homes is abandoned 
and that many homes are given up 
after a brief experiment because the 
home makers have not studied their 
art, and have not learned how ex- 
penditure can be adjusted to in- 
come, how non-essentials can be 
made subordinate to the essentials, 
and how the complex life of the 
family may be so administered that 
each member may get the best out 
of every day. Those who have 
studied the problem know that 
the failures are due largely to igno- 
rance and inefficiency. If women 
are to accept such responsibilities, 

they certainly ought to be prepared 
to meet them wisely. Tt is idle for 
us to assume that the average girl 
is well prepared to meet them under 
existing conditions of life and 
schemes of education. How can 
progress be made in this direc- 

Something has been conceded by 
accepting in our public schools 
courses of study in household arts 
which balance the courses in manu- 
ual training provided for the boys. 
This, at least, indicates that we ex- 
pect our daughters to be intelli- 
gently familiar with the necessary 
processes which go on in our homes. 
This instruction, however, is spo- 
radic and infrequent. It is not re- 
quired for entrance to high school 
or college and it has not yet been 
considered essential to a liberal edu- 
cation. The physician spends four 
years after graduation from college 
in professional study and he serves 
two or three years more in hospitals 
at home or abroad before he enters 
upon his practice. The lawyer adds 
three years of professional training 
to his undergraduate course. The 
teacher follows a prolonged course 
of normal training. The business 
man serves a long apprenticeship. 
But the home keeper steps lightly 
from college into the responsibil- 
ities of the home as readily as if she 
were prepared to meet them. The 
health of the family, the cost of liv- 
ing, the adjustment of the home in- 
terests are now in her hands, and 
she has to guess at the solution of 
her problem or depend upon her 
neighbors for a recital and interpre- 
tation of their experiences, when 
she seeks enlightenment. Such a 
condition is absurd and it is time 
for us to recognize its absurdity. 



The tuition of girls, already be- 
gun in schools which admit house- 
hold arts should be extended 
throughout the school course, unless 
it is definitely and wisely provided 
for in the home. It should be re- 
quired unless the student has proved 
that she has already received the 
instruction outside the school ; — 
that she is capable and well in- 
formed. The maturer education of 
women in academy and college 
should include physiology and hy- 
giene, sanitation, with a fair knowl- 
edge of the fundamental sciences, a 
knowledge of foods and their prepa- 
ration, of clothing and its manu- 
facture, of house-building, lighting, 
heating, ventilating and all the kin- 
dred questions. The well trained 
woman should also see the relation 
of these home questions to the pub- 
lic life. The milk supply, questions 
of drainage and sewerage, the adul- 
teration of foods, all these should be 
within her field of observation and 
she should be intelligently in- 
structed concerning them. The 
care of children, the elementary 
principles of nursing, the necessities 
of youth and age, these too are sub- 
jects for her consideration. She is 
narrowly educated if these have 
not been included; she is ignorant 
and untaught if she attempts them 
without instruction. 

Whatever may be her position in 
the world she cannot waive these 
responsibilities. No life which can 
be imagined frees her from such de- 
mands. She is not equal to the sit- 
uation, she is not prepared for the 

life she has to lead, she is not reason- 
ably nor generously educated, ex- 
cept as she has made herself ready 
to meet these responsibilities. 

No one imagines that this course 
of instruction, however it may be 
secured, completes the requirements 
of the woman's education. Know- 
ing these specific subjects, she must 
also add the training which will give 
her general intelligence, sympathy 
with life, admiration for the good 
and the beautiful, and ability to per- 
ceive it wherever it may be found. 

Her academic training will be 
none the less effective because it is 
no longer separate from the general 
training requisite to a woman's life. 
The poem, the painting, the statue 
will appeal not less but more to the 
woman whose education has been 
wisely planned. If this ideal of edu- 
cation were conceded we should 
soon discover in our colleges for 
women a differentiation of courses 
and a greater emphasis upon sci- 
ence with possibility of experiment 
and practice in the common arts, 
which are so curiously vague and so 
strangely misunderstood. We 

should multiply institutions for such 
specific training, and should lay 
greater stress upon the education 
which is provided by the home it- 
self. Furthermore, seeing the sub- 
ject in its true perspective, we 
should learn that the larger freedom 
lies not in relief from immediate re- 
sponsibility, but in the ability to do 
our part in the world's work and in 
the larger knowledge which makes 
us free to serve. 

School Gardens 

By Philip Emerson. 

THE ancestral home of this 
school garden is a farm 
among the New England 
Hills. From beneath the shelter 
-of the homestead's mighty oak a 
barefoot boy often trudged forth 
following his father along the "Old 
Road" to the sunny kitchen gar- 
den. The boy shared in the work 
■of preparing the level beds of soil 
for onions, beets, parsnips, and the 
like, and begged to help plant the 
sweet corn, beans, and peas. In the 
walled garden, just beyond the 
dooryard well, where were plums, 
pears and grapes, currants and 
.gooseberries, rhubarb and horse- 
radish, he gathered hops for yeast, 
sage for Thanksgiving turkey stuf- 
fing, and caraway seeds for his own 
cookies. Although playing Indians 
or going fishing seemed greatly 
preferable to the labor of planting, 
hoeing, or harvesting the more ex- 
tensive field crops, the charm of 
the farm life, amid cultivated fields 
and the wild wood that encroached 
on pasture and meadow, still pos- 
sessed the boy's soul when a city 
school claimed his supervision. 

The genesis of one school garden ' 
is doubtless typical of all. Knowl- 
edge of the value of the boyhood 
training he received on a New 
Hampshire farm must have led 
Superintendent Peaslee of Lynn to 
urge the School Committee to ap- 
propriate money for gardens in the 
:school yards of the city of Lynn. 

Personal realization of the value 
of contact with the problems of na- 
ture doubtless led the business men 
of the city to respond so generous- 
ly to the solicitation of the princi- 
pal of the Cobbet School that plans 
for gardening were given wide 
scope. The movement is the em- 
bodiment in practical form of the 
dreams of pent-up city folk, who 
wish for their children at least a 
tithe of the opportunities that were 
the heritage of all ere stores and 
factories called us from the farm- 
stead to the city tenement. The 
school garden is a phase of the re- 
turn to nature. 

The Puritan spirit emphasized 
duty, not beauty. The pioneers of 
the New England uplands, and 
their descendants with difficulty 
wrestled a livelihood from stony 
hillsides. They had no time for 
art. The brick walls of the early 
factories, and the neighboring rows 
of tenements were wholly ungra- 
cious, and destitute of the charms 
that gather round farm homes with 
the growth of tree and vine. But 
ship and factory in time brought 
prosperity and leisure, and village 
improvement societies marked the 
natural awakening to the value of 
beautiful surroundings. The old- 
fashioned gardens that were an 
heritage from England in prosper- 
ous colonial towns are coming in- 
to general favor. Private lawns 
and public parks are gay with beds 



of tulips in spring- and brilliant 
with annuals in the autumn. It is 
therefore natural that school gar- 
dens should very commonly take the 
form of an effort to beautify the 
bare gravels of school yards. In- 
deed too frequently the school play- 
ground has disappeared, and the 
relaxation of recess with it, that the 
greensward, shrubbery and flower 
plots typical of suburban homes 
might surround the schoolhouse and 
please the passerby. In Lynn no 
school yard lacks its lines or beds 
of shrubbery or flowers ; yet gener- 
ous space has been everywhere 
conserved for sports. While re- 
sponding to the call of the times 
that beauty should be present ev- 
erywhere, no other right of the 
children has been sacrificed in at- 
taining this. 

These introductory paragraphs 
illustrate the truth that school gar- 
dens are representative of broad so- 
cial movements. Other instances 
of the applicability of this truth 
might be considered. There is 
alarm at the concentration of pop- 
ulation in cities, and t;he related 
failure to appreciate farm oppor- 
tunities. The school garden in 
some of its forms is a response to 
this feeling of danger. The tene- 
ment has replaced, in part, the vil- 
lage home. The school garden may 
serve to renew a love for true 
homes and homeyards that shall 
clear up the neglected spots of city 
outskirts and lead many families 
to purchase homes, health and hap- 
piness in the suburbs. School gar- 
dens are significant of the aims of 
the people, and have been founded 
as one of the many means that are 
to secure social advance. 

The Cobbet School gardens, re- 
sponsive to these social forces, were 
started in 1902. One April day, 
while the girls of the eighth grade 
were in the cooking school, the 
boys of the same classes came to 
the school yard with their teach- 
ers. There they received their first 
lesson in manual training. Circu- 
lar beds, ten feet in diameter, were 
outlined on the hard gravel, at 
either side the front door. Then 
with crowbar and pick, with shovel 
and hoe, the gravel was removed 
and wheeled away to grade up a 
hollow in the yard. The labor soon 
discovered some muscles that Swed- 
ish gymnastics had given scant 
development, but the pupils worked 
with a will until a full foot of ashes 
and pebbles was removed. Some 
who were slow to comprehend their 
books proved ready of wit with 
tools in their hands. The teachers 
knew their pupils better through 
training them under new and freer 
conditions. It was immediately ev- 
ident from a pedagogical standpoint 
that this commencement ought not 
to be the end. 

Many a lesson have teachers as 
well as pupils learned from these 
two garden plots. The first year 
they were neatly edged with sod, 
then planted with annuals and bed- 
ding plants. What a jolly chance 
they gave for games of tag. In- 
stead of merely reducing the size 
of the playground they seemed to 
multiply its power to give health- 
ful exercise. But alas, the turf! 
In the excitement of sport every 
runner discovered that the smaller 
the circle the quicker he could com- 
pass it. By imperceptible degrees 
the ring of grass disappeared. But 



the flowers rose into view and were 
too dearly cherished to encroach 
upon even when thereby one might 
hope to escape capture. The dif- 
ficulty has been solved by placing 
a low rail about these beds. This 
protects the beds even when, while 
planted with bulbs in autumn or 
seeded in spring, they show only 
bare soil. The children find num- 
erous secondary advantages ; for 
instance the rail serves very well 
as a seat. Every year the two cir- 
cles present a fresh problem. The 
teachers have learned much in 
planning and directing their treat- 
ment. Now, tall perennial grasses, 
intermingled with gesneriana tu- 
lips, occupy the centers. The 
broad outer rings are used for tu- 
lips and pansies in spring, and for 
annuals, or tender plants such as 
carnation pinks, foi the summer and 
autumn. We profit by the advice 
of the gardeners of the district, 
and the homes of all the children 
hear of the results. 

The hearty approval of the school 
authorities, indicated by their award 
of twenty dollars to the school for 
soil, was most important. Official 
sanction and aid should be given 
school gardens from the first. In- 
deed, a good start is so often the 
one thing needful for full success. 
The community is ready to aid 
teachers and scholars to continue 
the good work. One neighbor of 
the Cobbet School offered a large 
number of bulbs for the gardens. 
But there was then no soil free to 
receive them. Rather than aban- 
don the gift, the principal resolved 
to present the case to several of 
the parents and ask their aid. The 
first gentleman called upon re- 

sponded at once with a ten dollar 
'bill. This at once met the immedi- 
ate need, but such unexpected 
interest and hearty support meant 
that plans ought to expand. 
The first gifts of plants and 
money were but precursors of 
further aid. Not every parent 
could give ten dollars or five dol- 
lars, and indeed comparatively few 
have been invited to make contri- 
butions ; but while some have de- 
clined to help, the people generally 
have readily given aid in propor- 
tion to their means, thereby secur- 
ing the moral support and active 
interest of the community. 

The progress of the work often 
recalled the exploit of Tom Sawyer 
in whitewashing a fence with ease. 
The work of excavating trenches 
in which to place soil was assigned 
by sections to the boys of different 
rooms. The gravel was very com- 
pact and the picks were heavy. The 
wheelbarrow loads of gravel or soil 
were unweildy for little chaps to 
trundle along. But the boys who 
were not sharers in the work cast 
envious eyes upon those who could 
handle a shovel or hoe at recess or 
before school instead of merely 
playing. Every class besought an 
assignment. It was hard to keep 
the children from working in in- 
clement weather. This threatened 
difficulties. One irate parent for- 
got that his boy might have caught 
cold as a result of racing through 
mud puddles, rather than because 
he shoveled wet gravel at school 
before the principal came and bade 
him wait for sunshine to return. 
The father therefore vigorously a- 
nathematized the garden work n the 
daily paper. The School Commit- 



tee, however, voted approval at its 
next meeting", one member testify- 
ing that whereas he could hardly 
get his boy to sweep the concrete 
walk at home that same boy was 
ready to work hard in the school 
garden. It was evident that out- 
door labor had acquired an interest 
and standing that was a valuable 
feature of a boy's education ; and 
the next issue of the Lynn Item 
expressed the editor's praise and 
gave a long illustrated sketch of 
the gardens. 

One of the earliest features of 
the Cobbet gardens to take shape 
was the wild garden. A ten foot 
strip of soil varying from eight to 
sixteen inches in depth was placed 
next the iron street fence during 
the first two years of the work. It 
is a hundred and fifty feet in length. 
As soon as a portion of the bed was 
ready transplanting commenced. 
Groups of boys met the principal 
soon after sunrise on many morn- 
ings, went to the nearest wood- 
lands or wild pasture lands, and 
carefully spaded up shrubs, herbs, 
and ferns, with their roots sur- 
rounded by generous masses of 
their native soil. These were taken 
to school in a wheelbarrow and lit- 
tle carts. After a halt for break- 
fast on the way, there was still 
time to set the plants in the school 
garden before the opening bell 
rang. At other times parties of 
boys and girls, with a teacher or 
two, accompanied the principal on 
collecting trips at the close of the 
school day. Sometimes Saturday 
* excursions were made deeper into 
the woods, or out along country 
roadways. One of the parents 
loaned his coachman and carriage 

that larger shrubs might be 
brought without difficulty. And all 
this work afforded further oppor- 
tunity for knowing individual chil- 
dren and for leading them to know 
and love nature. 

It is surprising how many native 
plants can find a home within a few 
hundred square feet of space. For 
three years plants have been 
brought to our wild garden and 
yet there is abundant room for 
more. There are some fifty shrubs 
ranging from viburnums ten feet 
in height to the little prairie willow 
and the low blueberry bushes. 
Many of these species are repre- 
sented by clumps rather than sin- 
gle specimens. Though tall they 
take seemingly no ground space 
for humbler plants grow among 
them and find nearly as much 
room as though there were no roots 
beneath and no branches above. 
There are groups and colonies of 
some two hundred and fifty native 
herbs, ferns, sedges, and the like, 
growing thriftily; yet generous 
space is left for half as many new 
species to be added. After the 
common desirable sorts had been 
taken from the woods of Lynn, 
plants were brought from distant 
points. In 1904 dozens of new 
species were introduced from New 
Hampshire, New York and the 
southern New England coast. 
Friends of the school, as well as its 
teachers and pupils, took pains to 
secure growing wild plants and to 
bring them safely to the gardens. 

Since the garden adjoins a main 
street in the heart of the city, it 
attracts general interest. When 
plants are at their best, pencilled 
wooden tags raised high on neat 



sticks tell the children, and the pub- 
lic, tod, their names and values. 
Many a man or woman sees in the 
garden for the first time since 
childhood days the rarer wild flow- 
ers he used to seek. The botany 
class of the High School visit the 
garden with their teacher since it 
exhibits more plants than miles of 
field work could discover. The 
children of the primary and ele- 
mentary classes, with their teach- 
ers, gather beside it at recess to 
greet and discuss the new flowers 
as they appear. In fact for school 
and city alike the wild garden pre- 
sents the seasonal cycle of plant 
life attractively and in manifold va- 

The gardens are closely related 
to school work. Near the water 
plants and the swamp plants of the 
wild garden, in their sunken tubs, 
is a space that is as yet given up to 
geographical plants. Here there 
are square-yard plots of the grains, 
— wheat, rye, barley, oats, and 
buckwheat; also patches of fodder 
crops, — alfalfa, millet, cow-peas, 
vetch, Kaffir-corn, broom-corn, field- 
corn ; and plots or specimens of 
such other economic plants as cot- 
ton, flax, hemp, tobacco, sugar- 
beets, chicory. These plots are ev- 
en more valuable than related spec- 
imens in the school museum, for 
the purpose of giving meaning and 
interest to the text of school ge- 
ographies. Many a passing work- 
man or woman, too, pauses to look 
through the fence and read the labels 
that name the various crops. The 
gardens help the prescribed school 
studies in other ways also. For in- 
stance they afford an ever available 
source of material for nature study 

and for drawing lessons, and the 
experiences and observations of the 
children as they work in the gar- 
dens furnish stimulating subjects 
for practice in composition. 

Class room studies aid the garden 
work. When the children begin 
to dig in the earth in spring they 
are ready to study the soil and its 
care with interest. The school 
principal, therefore, prepared a 
series of brief texts on the relation 
of the soil to plants, the formation 
of soil, soil texture, tillage, and 
soil fertility. After experiments in 
the classroom, and experience in 
the garden, coupled with discus- 
sion by the class and reading at the 
library by individual pupils, the 
short and simple sentences of the 
text, embodying the new ideas and 
vocabulary, were presented to the 
class to make the work definite. 
These have been published in the 
Popular Educator for May, 1905. 
This year texts will be added on 
the character and requirements of 
a few common vegetables and 
flowers, also on the life history and 
means of combating the most 
troublesome weeds. Thus the 
work in the gardens becomes sys- 
tematic and intelligent, and the ex- 
perience with concrete problems 
there gained leads to the formula- 
tion of general conclusions that 
will be very broadly applicable 
through life. 

The Cobbet gardens have com- 
menced growth along many lines 
during their three years of life. 
There are vines started at the foot 
of the buildings to clothe their bare 
brick walls with the beauty of 
waving foliage. A new garden bed 
has just been opened where the 

9 o 


wild plants will be grouped by 
families and genera, the ferns to- 
gether, the asters, the goldenrods, 
the violets, the orchids and others. 
We fight the weeds even in the 
wild garden, but plan to devote one 
small bed solely to specimens of 
weeds properly labeled. In one 
corner is a large and flourishing 
bed of perennial flowers. There 
flourish the old-fashioned favorites 
of colonial days and also some of 
the best modern introductions. 
We receive gifts from home gar- 
dens and also distribute many seed- 
lings and root divisions to start 
gardens of hardy flowers in the 
home yards of the poorer quarters 
of the district. Within the school 
yard, also, is a bed exhibiting some 
two dozen sorts of perennial and 
annual herbs, from sage and hyssop 
to pennyroyal and summer savory. 
Evidently a school garden may 
take many forms that have interest 
and practical value. 

After all, the feature of the Cob- 
bet gardens that takes most space 
is the group of beds for vegetable^ 
distributed in the sunny spots be- 
tween the trees on the south side 
of our yards. Every class has a 
garden plot and every one raises 
two or several sorts of vegetables 
in the course of the season, under 
the guidance of their teacher, often 
advised by some member of the 
local horticultural society. In the 
fifteen hundred or more square feet 
of soil devoted to this work, practi- 
cally all the various sorts of garden 
vegetables and small fruits are 
found. Seeds of all kinds were gen- 
erously given the school by 
Schlegel & Fottler of Boston. 
Some of the products are taken 

home by the children, some are 
given to patrons of the school, 
some are sold, — and some, alas, are 
stolen. Hoodlumism sadly discour- 
ages the work at times. The cats 
nibbled off the earliest pea-vines, 
street urchins of other districts 
pulled the best of the early radishes, 
our carnations adorned the button 
holes of a gang of young sports, 
the celery disappeared stalk by 
stalk before it was blanched, even, 
while a dollar's worth of cauli- 
flowers were cut the night before 
it was planned to harvest them. 
Some products were exempt be- 
cause so rarely cultivated that their 
virtues were unappreciated, for in- 
stance, Brussels sprouts, salsify, and 
strawberry tomatoes. Such checks 
to the work have had compensating 
values. The children realize the 
disappointment that comes to the 
owner whose cherished flowers and 
fruit are stolen. They are there- 
fore ready to respect the property 
rights of the people of the district. 
They have replanted beds that have 
been despoiled, thus learning to 
persevere in the face of discourage- 
ment. The gaidens have positive 
ethical values. 

One of our ideals is to make the 
t garden self-supporting. We are on 
the alert to utilize the waste of the 
district. When a cellar is dug at a 
season when there is little demand 
for soil, that which is excavated is 
secured for the school at low rates 
or even as a gift. Much manure is 
obtained free of cost, and at times 
that which would otherwise be 
thrown into the harbor. The pro- 
ducts of the garden, in spite of 
thieves, bring considerable return. 
Radishes and lettuce, peas and 



beans, corn and other less common 
products find ready sale. This year 
we shall raise many hardy perennial 
flowering- plants from seed in our 
cold frame and the adjoining gar- 
den plot, and shall place these on 
sale. Seedling bulbs of gladioli 
produce fine, large bulbs in a sea- 
son or two, fit for sale at several 
times the price of the bulblets, and 
they afford flowers while growing. 
School gardens ought to bring re- 
turns, and need not be a source of 
continual outlay, for the children 
should learn the economic possi- 
bilities of gardening. 

Besides serving as a laboratory 
for experiments by every class with 
its teacher, and a museum of living 
specimens of all our common plants 
of the kitchen garden, the flower 
and vegetable beds are models for 
the children's home gardens. Over 
two-thirds of our eight hundred 
pupils had home gardens in 1904. 
More than thirty dollars' worth of 
penny packages of seeds were pur- 
chased, and in addition some hun- 
dreds of packages of government 
seeds were given away. Of course 
the babies of the block, the cats and 
the puppies, destroyed some gar- 
dens, while the plants in others 
died during the season of country 
vacations, yet many produced 
flowers and vegetables worthy of 
place on home tables, and all 
taught the children practical les- 
sons of labor and life. 

One of the ultimate aims of the 
Cobbet gardens is to arouse the 
community to such a love for gar- 
dening as shall make every family 
desirous of occupying a home per- 
manently, which they may make 
beautiful and also profitable in its 

surroundings. There will be less 
call for moving vans when more 
seeds and garden tools are in de- 
mand. Fathers will spend less time 
in saloons the more they spend 
with their children in garden work. 
Thrifty habits may thereby be 
formed and money saved to pur- 
chase homes that have become en- 
deared by home labor, until the 
city's population shall become more 
stable. School gardens and related 
children's gardens at home are so- 
cial forces of value. 

The school garden movement de- 
serves adoption by all school sys- 
tems, for it so relates itself to the 
ordinary school curriculum, and so 
aids the accomplishment of the ends 
of education, that it is no fad, but 
is a means of instruction and train- 
ing of prime value. The movement 
deserves support by every commun- 
ity for it will in turn richly reward 
its promoters. The school gardens 
of Lynn have met the hearty com- 
mendation of our local Houghton 
Horticultural Society, and have 
been stimulated by the annual 
prizes of the society. Now the 
spirit of interest awakened at the 
Cobbet School gardens is giving 
new life to this old and honorable, 
but lately declining, horticultural 
society, stimulating its activities 
and increasing its membership. It 
may be prophesied that as the chil- 
dren come both to love garden work 
and to perform it intelligently and 
skilfully, the art of horticulture 
will be yet more honored, our cities 
will become more beautiful, and 
our people more prosperous and 
happy through an enlarged and en- 
riched home life. 

9 2 



Founded 1758 

Published monthly at 
8 Dix Place, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 

Editor, Winthrop Packard. 


U. S., Canada and Mexico $3.00 per year 
Foreign Countries . . . $3.75 per year 

Remit by draft on Boston, Express or 
Post Office Order, payable to 

New England Magazine 

Sifting Popular Statistics 

The National Civic Federation 
fulfills one great function among 
many others in the sifting of sta- 
tistics current on public questions 
which pass as the staple data of the 
controversy without due warrant 
for so doing. An evident error in 
the statistics of child labor in the 
United States, the collision of au- 
thorities on the subject in the Na- 
tional Civic Federation's discussions 
has availed to narrow down so that, 
whereas it had been believed that 
the number of children of tender 
years employed in mills and 
factories was two million, the fact 
seemed to be that taking out the 
million and more engaged in agri- 
culture and the half million who 
were under sixteen but probably 
over fourteen, the total number 

would not be more than two hun- 
dred thousand. This little correc- 
tion of more than a million and 
three-quarters was certainly worth 
while making, and must be taken 
into account in all future discus- 
sions of child labor, and legislation 
against it. Similarly the statistics 
concerning immigration have been 
put through the sifting process of 
discussion on the Federation plat- 
form, with the result of assigning 
some important premises assumed 
in the argument over restriction of 
immigration to the category of 
things that are "not so." 

It is familiarly stated, for in- 
stance, that the proportion of "alien" 
dependents out of each one thou- 
sand alien population is thirty as 
compared with five in one thousand 
of the naturalized population and 
two-and-one-half in every one thou- 
sand of native population. Of this 
statement, taken from the Bureau 
of Immigration Report for 1904,. 
Mr M. Nathan Bijur, vice-president 
of the United Hebrew Charities,, 
leaves absolutely nothing. Though 
it started in an official document and 
has gone the rounds of the entire 
literature of immigration statistics, 
he pronounces it, "absolutely a base- 
less statement ; it has not the ghost 
of a foundation and never had." 
His demonstration is too long for 
quotation here but the main point of 
it is that the Bureau's report com- 
pares the one million of males for- 
eign born of voting age in the 
United States unnaturalized, ac- 
cording to the census of 1900, with 
the thirty thousand alien depend- 
ents. Now this one million repre- 
sents only males of voting age. On 
the other hand the total of thir.y 
thousand alien dependents is made 



up of men, women and children, 
and not only that but men, women 
and children who have been in this 
country all the way from five to 
seventy years. The New York 
State Board of Charities report for 
1905, taking nine hundred and thir- 
ty-nine cases of inmates in the 
almshouses, tabulated by the Com- 
missioner-general of Immigration, 
found that 554 of these were wo- 
men, and that more than seventy- 
five percent of all the cases in the 
almshouses tabulated in the govern- 
ment report had been in the coun- 
try five years and some forty, fifty 
and sixty years. Manifestly all de- 
ductions drawn as to character of 
present immigration as to disease, 
dependents, insanity, etc., based on 
such figuring are utterly mislead- 
ing. In short, Mr. Bijur contends 
that the criminality, the drunken- 
ness, the "crimes" for which juve- 
nile prisoners have been convicted 
are such offenses as go everywhere 
with a poor population and that 
you would naturally find more poor 
among the immigrants than rich and 
hence that you are not discovering 
anything startling when you reveal 
that the immigrant is poor. But 
Mr. Bijur goes on to prove that 
though the immigrants are poor, 
to bring up one million people to 
the age of the immigrants coming 
to us each year would admittedly 
cost the country over $500,000,000 
and hence we are that much "in" 
annually through immigration. 

Professor Walter F. Willcox of 
Cornell University on the same side 
of the discussion contended that if 
we were to reverse the traditional 
policy of the country, that of hos- 
pitality to European new-comers, 
"the burden of proof that it is in- 

jurious must be held to rest with 
the other side." He shows that the 
population of Europe has increased 
from 130,000,000, according to our 
best knowledge, in one hundred and 
fifty years to the present 400,000,- 
000. At that distance of time there 
were practically no people of Euro- 
pean stock living outside of Europe, 
while at the present there are one 
hundred millions of such. He point- 
ed out that notwithstanding the mil- 
lions of people are coming to us 
from Europe, the population of 
Europe is growing faster than ever 
before, because of the benefits sent 
back to Europe, not only from the 
United States but from South Amer- 
ica and Australia. In other words, 
the movement of the population 
looked at as a world-question is 
evidently for the world's good and 
hence establishes the presumption 
in favor of the traditional "open 
door" policy of the United States. 
It is only when the immigration 
shall become, instead of one million 
or so a year, five million or ten mil- 
lion a year that Professor Willcox 
would begin to worry and then he 
would only ask the question "Is the 
process ,of assimilation keeping pace 
with the process of immigration?" 
He did not believe in the statistics 
of immigrants' extra criminality any 
more than Mr. Bijur did. "I con- 
fess," he says, "that I have been un- 
able to find in the figures properly 
qualified the evidence that there is 
any considerably greater tendency 
on the part of the immigrants them- 
selves to commit crime than there is 
on the part of the native popula- 
tion." Professor Maurice Loeb re- 
marked upon the statistics that 
"they are really very startling — so 
startling that there is evidentlv 



something' wrong in them." He il- 
lustrated it from those concerning 
the criminality of Chinamen in this 
country. "Of course," he argued, 
"if ninety-six per cent of the China- 
men happened to be of an age when 
the criminal tendency is strongest, 
whereas only twenty-four per cent, 
of the entire population of the 
United States are of that age, you 
would expect the Chinaman to suffer 
by a comparison based on these 
statistics." The same thing is true, 
of course, as regards Italians, Rus- 
sians and immigrants generally as 
reported upon by the Bureau of Im- 

The Boston Post-Master 

The new Post-Master General, as 
a Bostonian, must have had his at- 
tention called often during the past 
dozen years to the postal reforms 
advocated by the Postal Progress 
League, whose headquarters were 
for years in Boston but have with 
the broadening of the movement 
to the West been transferred to 
New York City. The League is 
about to issue a periodical with an 
edition of 500,000. Mr. Meyer's 
residence in several continental 
countries during his diplomatic 
career must have brought home to 
him the responsibilities of the post- 
al service for promoting the wel- 
fare of the great mass of the peo- 
ple everywhere, — possibilities to 
which the United States postal ser- 

vice is as yet a stranger. It is one 
of the curious outs in our national 
achievement that even such coun- 
tries as Italy and Turkey in Europe 
enjoy lower rates of postage, to- 
gether with better facilities t!han 
we do; while such advanced and 
enlightened nations as Great Britain, 
Germany, France and Switzerland 
fairly distance it in the use of mod- 
ern inventions and methods of com- 
munication - and transportation in 
connection with the post office. The 
commercial interest in the tele- 
graph, telephone and express ser- 
vices has thus far triumphantly 
stood off the reform which would 
make the modern system available 
at cost to the whole public. 

Mr. Meyer is first of all the suc- 
cessful man of business. His train- 
ing in politics at home and in di- 
plomacy abroad should enable him 
to bring matured abilities to his 
new task of making the United 
States Postal Service second to none 
in the world. The time is auspi- 
cious, the spirit of reforming pro- 
gress is in the air; the new year 
marks the end of the domination of 
the railroad influence in legislation 
by means of free passes to nation- 
al legislators and officials. Massa- 
chusetts would give the new post 
master general a hearty send-off in 
a career which would identify a 
representative son of hers with a 
policy resulting in the bringing up 
of the United States postal service 
to the full measure of social use 
and importance emplified by the 
modern post office in Europe. 

A Wireless Elopement 

By Stella Miller Neal 

ii I TELL you plainly, I don't 

X like it. This cutting off your 
own family ! There'll always 
be orphans' homes and always 
somebody to endow 'em, but it isn't 
every man has as likely a grand- 
daughter to inherit his fortune as 
you have, Cap'n North. That's the 
way / feel about it. It's going 
against nature, / say." 

"Nature be hanged !" roared the 
testy old man, who had called in 
"Squire" Benton to draw up a new 
will. "It ain't a question of nature. 
If 'twas, I'd have a grandson to take 
up the business when I'm through 
with it. I won't be opposed any 
longer. Pheby's got' to take her 
place or be put in it. That's what 
I've got to say." 

"Of course, of course, it'll be just 
as you say," said the Squire, drily. 
"But maybe Miss Pheby don't think 
it's merely a matter of business. 
Most young women I've seen seem 
to sort of think marriage is a matter 
of sentiment." 

"Sentiment ! Bah ! And most 
young women that you've known 
made fools of themselves, I bet. I 
tell you Pheby shall marry Whit- 
lock — by Bunting, she'll marry him 
to-morrow, or I'll leave every cent 
to the Orphans' Home down at 

"M-m. What seems to be Miss 
Pheby's intention in the matter?" 

"Intentions ! She ain't got any. 
She wants to marry Dick Fairchild 
— no account house-planning fellow. 
Says she don't love Whitlock. 

Love ! Bah ! I tell you she don't 

"M-m !" said Benton, again. 
"Well, I reckon a girl might go a 
shorter way and fare worse'n young 
Dick. He's a clever young man, 
North. Got ideas about his head 
and ain't afraid of himself. House 
planning ain't a slouch profession 
these days ; good men get good 
money. Tain't like it was in our 
day — just a roof and four walls made 
a house, and styles were all one in 
houses. People want something 
different these days, and they pay 
for it. Young's Dick's all right, I 
should say. An' if he loves her"' — 

"Loves ! A lot lovin' would help 
him to keep the Line a running! 
Do you think I've worked seventy 
year to get the North Line settled 
good and firm, an' that I'm going to 
turn it over to a young noodle that 
spends his time drawing curly 
things on paper to build fool houses 
by. The North Line's going to play 
between them southern islands and 
our ports long after the old man's 
dead- — I tell you that, and by all 
that's holy that girl's got to marry to 
keep it going. Why, Benton, them 
German ships has been pushing me 
out right in my own ports, or trying 
to. I've got 'em on the run now, 
but if a poor hand took hold, they'd 
drive us out in two years. No sir. 
No architects for me. I ain't many 
more years on this deck, an' Pheby 
must marry Whitlock. He's the 
only man along the coast that knows 
the business the way I do. He's 


9 6 


been a boy under me an' now he's 
a man under me, an' he's been in 
every port we reach. You can't fool 
him an' you can't bluff him. He'll 
hold his own with the Dutchmen. 
They won't make much more off'n 
him than they have off'n the old man 
— an' that an't much !" 

"Couldn't he do that for you and 
not marry Pheby? Be reasonable, 

"That's what Pheby's always 
saying. You been talking to her? 
Well, he might fight 'em as hard as 
manager as he would if he was 
Pheby's husband — an' again he 
might not. If they paid him a big 
salary, or made him manager, or 
something — why, where'd you be? 
The North Line would be done for 
— gone to Davy's locker. Why 
couldn't Pheby 'a' been a boy? What 
can a girl do ? No ! No ! She's got 
to marry Whitlock — and by crab, 
she'll marry him tomorrow." 

"Look here, Cap'n, what good's 
it going to do to disinherit Pheby — 
s'posin' she dont marry Whitlock?" 

"Yes, that's it. What good'll it 
do. But if I can't have my way in 
one thing, I will in another. So 
that's settled, Benton. Don't you 
let me hear another thing about it. 
It's settled!" and the glasses on the 
table hopped and rang as the Cap- 
tain brought down his big fist. 

"Just as you say, Cap'n, just as 
you say. But let's have Miss Pheby 
in — just to talk it over like and tell 
her what you want." 

"Talk! Ain't I talked till I'm 
winded? But she might as well 
know. It'll hurry her some to get 
ready to-morrow — eh, Squire?" 

"Pheby, Pheby," he called, throw- 
ing open the door and waiting. He 
was one of the fast disappearing line 

of seafaring men such as the Cape 
and the North Shore produced for 
generations — men who knew clan- 
ger, faced it bravely, and had their 
own way on sea and land. For a 
hundred and fifty years the Norths 
had lived at Wellport, on the quiet 
little Wellport bay, fourteen miles 
or so down from Provincetown and 
the tip of the Cape, where the old 
Bay State melts into the ocean. 
Cap'n Ezra was the last of the line, 
and he was valiantly fighting death. 
Besides him, there was not a North 
remaining except Phoebe. But he 
had profited more than any others, 
for he had shrewdly built up the 
North Line into a great shipping 
company between southern ports 
and northern cities, driving out 
rivals as they appeared — except the 
German line that had of late given 
him more worry than all the others 
he had vanquished. He knew well 
enough their plan was to keep in 
business until he died, hoping then 
to win the advantage his keen busi- 
ness sense refused to yield. 

But though the Captain might 
know the resources of the "Dutch- 
men," he didn't know those of his 
granddaughter Phoebe ; she was a 
daughter of the Norths, and under 
the careless manner that she wore 
were the resolution and shrewdness 
of the Captain himself. 

"What is it, Grandfather," she 
asked, as she gave Squire Benton a 
smile and nod. 

"Set down, Pheby. I want to talk 
to you about Whulock." 

"Again, Grandfather?" 

The Squire put his hand up to 
cover a smile. 

"Yes, Pheby. I've had Squire 
here come over to-night to get his 
opinion. You know what I want, 



Pheby — Eve told you often enough. 
I'm gettin' old, and I want to die 
knowin' that things ain't goin' to 
rack and ruin. Pheby, they's no use 
talkin', the North Line has got to be 
run ! 

"Why, of course, Grandfather. 
Nobody thinks anything else. It 
will be." 

"Not if some curly-queue drawing 
feller marries you, it won't, Pheby. 
You got to marry Whitlock." 

"I'm afraid not, Grandfather. I 
don't see how it means that. The 
Line can go on without that." 

"No!" thundered the Captain. "I 
say no! Who'd run it?" 

"Ed manage it, Grandfather? 
Don't you think I know something 
about the line? Eve known pretty 
near as much about it as you have." 
"Yes," he said impatiently, "I 
guess you know somethin' about it, 
but you can't run it. A woman can't 
make things go, they don't know 
how to start even. No, by Jerry ! 
You got to marry Whitlock, for he's 
the only man that can beat them 
Dutchmen and save the Line. And 
right here is the end, Pheby. You 
marry Whitlock to-morrow, or 
Squire Benton will draw me a new 
will and leave everything to the Or- 
phans' Home." 

"Yes, Grandfather," she smiled 
back; but the Squire saw that she 
grew a bit white. 

"Don't you think I mean it?" 
roared the old man. 

"Yes, I think you do, and I never 
knew a North who went back on his 
word. And that means Em not go- 
ing to marry anyone but Dick, for 
five said so." 

There was another brave smile, 
and she poked old Tabby indiffer- 

ently with her slipper. Her grand- 
father exploded. 

"Dick Fairchild! Lazy! Good 
for nothing! He hasn't energy 
enough to take care of himself. 
You've said you won't marry any 
one but him, eh? Did he ever say 
he'd marry you? Did he ever ask 
you to marry him? In my day a 
young man had spunk enough to 
court a girl." 

"But Grandfather — you know ! 
Dick hasn't any fortune — no money 
except what he makes. And he's 
proud. He wouldn't ask an heiress 
to marry him, and, of course he 
thinks I am to have your money. 
Now that Em not, of course — Oh, 
he'll ask me now, I guess." 

"Pheby girl, you — you — don't drive 
me too far. I don't want to cut you 
off, dear. Be reasonable. Whit- 
lock's a good fellow and loves you — 
and besides, he's got a tidy bank ac- 
count of his own. What do you 
want ?" 

"There, Grandfather, don't get ex- 
asperated again. You're lots nicer 
when you're not angry — and harder 
to resist." 

"Yes, I s'pose so. Why don't you 
do what I want, then?" 

"I would if I could." One arm 
was round his neck. "But you 
know I can't, Grandfather. I don't 
care for Whitlock, and — he drinks." 
Squire Benton turned an inquiring 
glance on the Captain. 

"Drinks ! Bah ! Young men sow 
their wild oats ! Drinks ! Don't I 
drink? — always have. Once he's 
married, he'll be all right." 

"But he must be that way before 
I marry him — and he isn't. I don't 
think I'd be a success as a reformer." 
"Pheby, Pheby, you're mad ! Cod- 
fish, but you take it cool. One 

9 8 


would never think it was such a lit- 
tle thing to turn down a cool mil — 
never mind ! Pheby, I'll play fair. 
You marry either Dick Fairchild or 
Whitlock by tomorrow noon, and 
the money's yours anyhow." 

"Is that fair, Grandfather? Why, 
you know Dick's on his way to 
Europe !" 

The Captain grinned sheepishly 
and looked down as he met the 
Squire's eye. Then he chuckled. 

"Well, I'll stand by what I said." 

"Then I suppose it's settled/' said 
Pheby, quietly, with a little hard set 
about the lips. "Well, I'll agree, 

"That's right, my dear ! That's 
the way. No use for you to-night, 
after all, Squire. I told you. Keep 
a firm hand on the women, that's 
the way. So you will marry Whit- 
lock, Pheby? At noon to-morrow, 

"I said I would marry him or Dick 
by noon, to-morrow, Grandfather. 
That's all. Good-night. Good- 
night, Mr. Benton." 

She took the old lawyer's hand 
affectionately, but her thoughts 
were elsewhere. 

"I told you, Squire, I told you," 
boasted the Captain, as he said 

"Yes, Cap'n, you told me. Well, 
I'll come round 'long about eleven 
to-morrow, and see what happens." 

Phebe was up before six in the 
morning. She had a long walk be- 
fore her ? and she was in such haste 
that she took no breakfast. Tt was 
scarcely seven when she knocked at 
the door of the old dwelling house 
bv the door of which hung the fresh- 
ly-made sign, WILLIAM HACK- 
KTT, Lawyer, Justice of the Peace. 

"Why, Phoebe, you here?" 

Six feet of sturdy young man 
concentrated itself in the surprise 
with which Mr. Hackett spoke. 

"Yes, I know, Billy. But it's aw- 
fully important. I walked all the 
way over to South Wellport. I 
want you to marry me." 

For a moment his face glowed. 

"Marry you ! Why, Phoebe, you 
know there hasn't been a day" — 

"Yes, I know, Billy, but I don't 
mean... that way. I want you to 
marry me to somebody else." 

He turned and looked out of the 

She went over and laid a hand on 
his shoulder. "If it could be any- 
body else, Billy, it would be you. 
But it's only Dick. I'm in trouble, 
and I want you to help me." 

He took her hand and held it a 
moment. "Tell me about it," he 
said, simply. 

She ran through the story. 

"So you mean to marry Dick," he 
said. "But Dick's somewhere off 
the Newfoundland coast. If you 
promised your Grandfather, Phoebe, 
I'm afraid you're done for. There 
isn't any way" — 

"Oh, but Billy, there is. Won't 
that do?" 

He glanced at the scrap of paper 
she had been scribbling on. 

"By George, girl, you're — you're 
splendid. Wait. I'll see if it will 
go — I think it will. You ought to 
be a law}^er's wife. . . .Phoebe!" 

"Billy, it's too bad, but—" 

"Yes. . .1 know. I promise. Now, 
let's see if it will do." 

He began to plod his way through 
the books. 

"O. K., Phoebe," he said at last. 
"It'll do. But we must hurry. 
You've no time to lose. We must 
drive up to Wellport and then back 



to the station, you know. You need 
a license." 

There was a little catch in 
Phoebe's voice as she said, "All 

"Well, that's done," said Billy, 
climbing into the buggy off the car- 
riage step before the town hall. 
"Now for the station. It's quite a 
drive back to South Wellport when 
you're in a hurry, Phoebe. We'll 
have to flick old Dan some to keep 
up his trot." 

"They'll let us, won't they?" 
Phoebe asked. "Do they let people 
use it? They do, don't they?" 

"Well, I don't think they do a 
great deal of local business, you 
know, but they can as well as not. 
Anyway, I know Wright. O, we'll 
do it all right, if we can only reach 

A half hour's fast driving brought 
them to the Highlands overlooking 
the Atlantic, east of South Well- 

"Now for business," muttered 
Billy, as he pulled up before a little 
red office building inside a high 
stockade. "Hallo ! Wright !" 
"I say, Wright " he added as the 
door was thrown back, "Invite us 
in. We've important business. 
Anything doing?" 

"No. Just on watch with Mosely 
here, and making out reports. We 
picked up the Carmania half an hour 
ago, but nothing doing, and we 
dropped her again." 

"Well, you get in there mighty 
quick, and pick her up again. 
Wright. We want her, and want 
her mighty bad. Get busy, old 

Wright went inside promptly. 
"Come in," he said. "Have a chair, 
Miss — " 

"Miss North, for the present, 
Wright. Mr. Wright, Miss North. 
He and Moseley will be our wit- 

Wright looked puzzled, but be- 
gan to work his key. "I'll pick her 
up allright," he said, as he drew the 
loud blue flashes from the instru- 
ment. "ECC, ECC... She's just 
about off... ECC... ECC. ..ECC. .. 
She's driving east pretty fast over 
the Banks, but this call ought to get 

"ECC, ECC," went the call. Mose- 
ley sat back in his chair and 
watched. Billy and Phoebe leaned 
forward anxiously. Billy reached 
over and put his hand on hers. 
"ECC... ECC... ECC..." 
The call went on interminably. 
Then suddenly Wright and Moseley 
became alert. 

"Here you are, Hackett. I've got 
her. What next?" 

"Get Richard Fairchild, second 
class passenger. Get the ship's 
chaplain, and have another operator 
there that knows the code." 

For a few minutes Wright worked 
the instrument rapidly. 

"It'? a wedding, Wright," Hackett 
said, hoarsely, as they waited for 
the response. His face was hard 
and his jaw set. 

"Fairchild, chaplain, and two code 
operators on hand," announced* 

"fell Fairchild that I am Billy 
Hackett, and I have a license here 
to marry him and Phoebe North. 
Miss North is here ready. I'm a 
justice of the peace and will perform 
the ceremony here. The chaplain 
must perform it on the ship." 

A surprised oath slipped out of 
Wright's mouth. Then he became 
busy again. 



"Fairchild says he doesn't under- 
stand," he said, presently. 

''Tell him my Grandfather says 
that I must marry either Edward 
Whitlock or him by noon to-day, 
and I'm going to marry him. I'll 
explain — sometime." 

"Doesn't. . .care. . .what. . .reason 
. . .is. . .so. . .gets. . .young. . .lady," 
spelled out Wright. "Go on, Billy. 
We may lose 'em, you know." 

Then the old, simple service 
riashed across the water — "Do you, 
Richard Fairchild, take this wom- 
an?" Back flashed the brief, "I do." 
"Do you, Phoebe North, take this 
man?" "I do,". said Phoebe, and the 
words flashed eastward to her lover. 
Then the last words of proclama- 
tion were interchanged, and there 
came, "Tell my wife I'll be home 
next steamer." 

Congratulations from Captain and 
passengers came for a few minutes 
in a stream; but Phoebe had slipped 
her hand into Billy's again, and 
dropped trembling into a chair. 

"Billy," she queried, as the faint- 
ness passed, "aren't you. . .awful. . . 
hungry ?" 

"Hungry? Phoebe, you don't 
mean you didn't have breakfast?" 

She shook her head. "There 
wasn't time." 

It was a strange wedding break- 
fast — a few crackers, some cheese, a 
little chianti, served on a rough 
table in the little room of the wire- 
less station, looking down the sand- 
cliffs of the Highlands. But it 
was proffered heartily and eaten 

"You and Mr. Moseley have been 
very good, Mr. Wright," said 
Phoebe, blushing, "I don't know 
how to thank you." 

"There's no need," he said, as he 

clasped her hand. They stood at 
the gate and waved their hats after 
the departing buggy. 

At the Cap'n's, the little wedding 
party was waiting; for Phoebe's 
Grandfather could see only one out- 
come to the agreement he had struck 
with Phoebe, and had called in 
friends for the marriage. But where 
was Phoebe? 

"I ain't seen her this morning," 
said old Mrs. Eddy, the house- 
keeper. "She wan't to breakfast, 
and no more she wan't in her room. 
1 tell ye, Cap'n, she ain't plannin' to 
marry him." 

"Pshaw !" said the Captain ; but 
Squire Benton saw the anxiety 
creep into his wrinkled face. "Marry 
him! Of course she'll marry him! 
She give her word, and no North 
ever give his word an' went back on 
it. They ain't that kind." 

"Cap'n, you gave your word, too. 
You told her that she must either 
marry Fairchild or marry Whitlock 
by noon to-day, or you'd cut her off. 
Didn't you?" 

"Yes," said the old man, a little 
sheepishly, then chuckled again as 
he thought of his bargain. "But she 
can't marry Fairchild, far's I see. 
He must be way east o' the Banks 
by now, Squire." 

"Just so," said the Squire. "That's 
why I don't think you was quite { 
fair with her, Cap'n. However, she 1 
made the bargain. But if she should 
marry Fairchild, Cap'n — just s'pos- I 
in' she did find a way, — would you | 
keep your word? That's what I J 
want to know." 

"If she can marry Fairchild, an' j 
him half way to Europe, and do it j 
by noon to-day," responded the Cap- 
tain, firmly, "I'll stick by my word 
and she can take him and the money ! 



too. But," he added, chuckling 
again, "you see she can't." 

"Well, here she is, Cap'n, her and 
— by Tripe, she's got her lawyer all 
right, too. There's Billy Hackett 
helping her out of his buggy. Cap'n, 
I bet—" 

But the Captain wasn't listening. 
He was at the hall door, calling up- 
stairs. "All right, Whitlock. You'd 
better come right down, I guess. 
Pheby's been off buggy-ridin' in- 
stead o' gettin' into her weddin' 
togs. She won't mind being mar- 
ried without 'em, I guess." 

A minute later Whitlock came 
awkwardly, and rather crestfallenly, 
into the room, for by this time the 
story of Phoebe's bargain and the 
terms on which he was to get his 
wife had spread all over Wellport. 
But no one had much time to notice 
him, for Billy and Phoebe were en- 

"I'm sorry to have kept you wait- 
ing, Grandfather," Phoebe said, 
gently, " and Mr. Whitlock," she 
added, less sweetly. "But I couldn't 
get here a minute sooner. I've not 
had a moment's time since early 

"Well, never mind that," said the 
old man, testily. "Be.ter late than 
never — eh, Whitlock? Here she is, 
if she did make us think she'd run 
away, and the sooner we get it over, 
the quicker. Step up, Pheby. Billy, 
do you want to be best man? Got a 
best man engaged, Whitlock? 
Billy's a mighty good one — ain't he, 
Benton ?" 

Whitlock looked uncomfortable 
and began slowly to turn a rich 
red, but Billy intervened. 

"Before that," he said, "I guess 
I've got something here that may 

interest you, Cap'n. You'd better 
read it first." 

He handed a paper to the Cap- 
tain, then stepped back, nodding his 
head in answer to a questioning 
glance from Benton. 

"This is to certify," read the Cap- 
tain, slowly — "What in the dev- 
— What is this, Hackett? What do 
you mean by this foolery? Married 
to Fairchild ! Why, he's half way 
to Ireland — I hope he'll stay there !" 

"So he is, Captain. But as justice 
of the peace, and on proper license, 
and according to law, — the whole 
thing's perfectly straight, Captain, 
— I married him and Phoebe at a 
quarter after eleven this forenoon, 
just as the certificate says." 

The old man turned a blank coun- 
tenance from face to face, till he 
caught a smile on Benton's. 
"Squire," he shouted. "What does 
this mean? Have you any sense? 
Tell me what is this game this 
young snipe is trying to work." 

"I don't know, Cap'n, but knowin' 
Billy pretty well, I suspect he 
knows, and on general principles, 
I'd be willin' to bet that Pheby and 
Fairchild's married." 

"Married ! By crab, they can't — 
he's half way — " 

"You have forgotten something 
you ought to remember, Cap'n," said 
Hackett. "You've been living with- 
in three miles of a wireless telegraph 
station for three years now, and 
using the thing on your own boats. 
I married Phoebe and Fairchild by 
wireless, in proper form, and" lie 
continued, "as I understand it, in 
pursuance of an agreement between 
Phoebe and you about the disposi- 
tion of your property. Isn't that 
so, Cap'n? Phoebe has kept her 
part of the contract, and I take it 



you are read}' to keep yours. Good- 
bye, Whitlock," he broke off, noting 
the bridegroom's attempt at a silent 
disappearance. "Better luck next 

There was a roar of laughter, and 
Whitlock hurried away. 

"By thunder," blustered the Cap- 
tain ; but suddenly the humor of the 
situation got on his New England 
consciousness, and he joined in the 
laugh at his vanishing favorite. Then 
he turned to Phoebe. 

"Girl," he said, "you got me, and 
you trapped me, and you disap- 
pointed me. But a North never 
broke his word yet, and I guess you 
can make the old Line go if Fair- 
child can't. Maybe he can — far's I 
know. I reckon he'll have to try. 
Squire, what do they say at wed- 
dings? 'Bless you, my children.' 
By nails, there's only one of 'em 
here. The other's half way to — " 

"But he's coming back on the 
next steamer," said Phoebe. 

The House -Party 

By Elisabeth R. Finley 

Dear Hostess Life, I know I'm but a guest, 
A short week-end is all I'm asked to share, 
But, ah, the welcome of your face is fair 
And in your house you offer me the best ! 

My fellow-guests are such a set of men 
As I must love, and kindliness and wit 
About your table make no deficit ! 
For such companionship, I thank you then ! 

Upon the morrow, each must take the road 
For other guests succeed us 'neat'h your roof. 
Yet, if, of pleasure, you would have our proof, 
Foretell reunion in a new abode ! 

But e'er I go, lest I should be forgot 
Let me my name upon your guest-book write 
God grant, dear Hostess, on its pages white 
'Mid greater names, that mine shall make no blot! 

A Singer of Southcreek 

By Mabel Ward Cameron 

Chapter VII. 

THE incoming tide was rippling 
softly on the flats, covering 
them and creeping up over the 
strip of stones and pebbles toward 
the fine, white sand of the beach be- 
yond. Dinner over, Louise Benton 
and the youthful candidate for the 
priesthood were standing at the 
head of the rough stone steps that 
led down over the bulkhead. The 
sun had set, but the glories in the 
brilliantly colored sky still lingered 
and were reflected in the water. 
Schools of small fish, that had been 
driven in well towards the shore by 
some finny enemy, ruffled the sur- 
face of the lake-like expanse, 
or leapt, glistening, out of their ele- 

Louise sighed. "A night to be on 
the water. If only the tide were 
further in I would take you out in 
the canoe; but just now nothing but 
a flat bottomed boat could pass over, 
and I draw the line at a tub." She 
turned towards the young man. 

Edward Prior, the divinity stu- 
dent, sent from the school at Mid- 
dletown each week to take charge 
of the services in the Southcreek 
Episcopal chapel, was a man who 
would easily find followers in any 
environment. Tall and athletic, he 
was a fine specimen of young man- 
hood. When referring to him, peo- 
ple were wont to use the expression, 
"muscular Christianity." 

"The moon will be up later," said 
he. "When we get back from the 


mail I will take you for a paddle, or, 
excuse me, you may take me, for 
as usual, I suppose you prefer to 
'paddle your own canoe.' ' : 

For a short distance they walked 
along the bulkhead, and then strik- 
ing across the golf links, a short cut 
brought them to the village street. 
The thoroughfare was gay with life, 
shore people and villagers all wend- 
ing their way to "the center," for 
the sorting and giving out of the 
evening mail was the most impor- 
tant event of the day in Southcreek. 

Past the ancient cemetery they 
went and up the hill, on the top of 
which stood the oldest church, a 
square, roomy building, colonial 
pillars at the front, and belfry tow- 
ering high ; past the dry-goods and 
grocery store, the evening meeting 
place for the men of the village ; 
past the tiny Episcopal chapel, and 
thence to the shoe store. Here a 
noisy, laughing crowd almost en- 
tirely made up of young people was 
assembled. Groups were standing 
on the walk and out as far as the 
middle of the wide street. Others 
were seated in rows on the wooden 
steps of the store, or along the nar- 
row piazza. Everywhere was the 
chatter of voices, interspersed with 
laughter, whistling, and singing, as 
greetings and gossip were ex- 

Louise and Edward made their 
way through the crowd on the steps 
and entered V\t building. A corner 
had been appropriated by Uncle 

io 4 


Sam. and a suitable partition, with 
rows of numbered boxes, screened 
the post-office. Here the post mis- 
tress stood behind the closed shut- 
ter awaiting the coming of the mail. 
At ihat moment Ephraim Pond ap- 
peared making his way with some 
importance up the steps and through 
the doorway. He was a short man, 
but possessed of great strength, 
and his back, upon which he bore 
the heavy mail bag, was bent, the 
result of years of such service. Now 
the post-mistress, alert and quick 
in her movements, was busy stamp- 
ing and sorting. Soon she threw 
open the shutter, and Louise and 
Edward were among the first to re- 
ceive their letters. Asking pardon, 
the young man hastily tore open an 
envelope and read the enclosure. 

"It is as I thought," he said. 
"The Bishop thinks best to give me 
a change of work. I am rather dis- 
appointed. I like it here so much. 
I have been coming here so regu- 
larly for a year past, that I feel very 
much at home." 

Two very pretty girls had come 
in with the first crowding rush from 

"Are we going to have choir prac- 
tice, to-night, Mr. Prior?" asked 
Florilla Bill, the younger of the two. 
"If so, who will play the organ? 
Nan Metcalf told me to let you 
know that she would not be here. 
She has gone to New Haven." 

Marianna, the elder sister, had 
passed to the other side of Miss 

"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Prior, 
"perhaps your sister — Miss Bill," 
leaning forward to look at the lat- 
ter. "It is jolly to have you back 
in Southcreek. You will play for us 
;o-night, will yon not?" 

There was formality in the young 
girl's manner as she voiced her re- 
fusal, and turning abruptly, she 
stooped to say something to a little 
child standing near. 

"I see my finish," said Miss Ben- 
ton, laughing, "Moons and canoes 
are not for me, and, oh ! you had 
forgotten all about your choir, Ned 
Prior ! What a joke on you ! So I 
will not paddle my own canoe, but 
if you will ask me with deep enough 
humility I will come over to your 
hot, stuffy, dearly beloved chapel 
and paddle your — what is it? A me- 

"Thank you, Louise," said the 
young man, gravely. He spoke to 
her, but his eyes were looking be- 
yond her, and his searching, some- 
what saddened glance rested for a 
moment upon Marianna's troubled 
face. "Are you coming, Miss Bill?" 
he asked. 

"No, my voice has left me." 

"You, Florrie, will not desert us?" 
he said, turning to he younger sis- 

"Why should I? What's the 
matter with my voice? As far as I 
know it's all right," was the flippant 
answer. Leaving Marianna to take 
home the mail, she joined Mr. Prior 
and Miss Benton as they walked 
back to the chapel. "Did you see 
the porpoises jumping this morn- 
ing?" she asked. "Silvie and I were 
rowing over to the point. The tide 
was high, and how they did jumpf 
So near us, too ! I found a lot of 
gold and silver shells for your 
mother, Miss Benton. She told me 
she thought them pretty. One can 
find so few along the home beach 
now, but they are as thick as mus- 
sels on Pachoug Point." 

They turned into the rather dimly 



lit chapel. Florilla, sitting down on 
a bench near the door, proceeded to 
untie the handkerchief into which 
she had gathered her treasures. 
Thin and transparent, in some cases 
resembling in form the shells of 
small round clams, they lay in her 
lap heaped in contrasting color. 
Such shells are used by the women 
of this vicinity in their fancy work. 
They are fastened to lamp mats and 
picture frames, or stuck in a foun- 
dation of plaster-of-Paris on vases 
and boxes. A more pretentious 
mode of ornamentation is to string 
them on seines, and suspend them 
for sash-curtains at windows, or for 
portieres. In the parlor now in the 
Bill home hung a piece of work of 
this sort, the work of the dead sis- 
ter's fingers. 
. The effect of these draperies was 
not unpleasing, the shells being sus- 
pended along the twine in such a 
way as to show to the greatest ad- 
vantage their beautiful coloring that 
shaded from the darkest grey — al- 
most the black of oxidized silver — 
to pure white, and again, through 
the gradations of gold to the pink of 
newly burnished copper. 

"Look I" said Florilla, holding up 
a shell that she had been polishing 
with her finger. "See how irides- 
cent it is. I told your mother I 
would show her how to fasten them 
on fish-net." 

Miss Benton, passing up the 
aisle, seated herself at the melod- 
eon. "Now what do you suppose 
are the schemes this time of that in- 
teresting young person?" she said 
to Mr. Prior, who was turning the 
leaves of a hymn book. "Last year 
her deep affection and unremitting 
attention to my guileless and un- 
suspecting parent were rewarded at 

the end of the season. Mother was 
so sorry for the 'overworked child', 
as she designated her — I'd like to see 
anyone get much work out of Flor- 
rie Bill ! — that to cheer her during 
the coming lonely winter she gave 
her her string of beautiful mummy 
beads that she had brought from 
Egypt. Last year it was cottage 
cheese, and in the Autumn, beach 
plums — for 'jell'. This year it 
seems it is to be gold and silver 
shells, and a string 'drape' for our 
'best room' ! Which of the rooms 
would you call the best, Ned? 
Shall we use the fish-net as a back- 
ground for the old blue china in the 
dining-room — Lafayette might not 
look out of place landing amidst 
such nautical surroundings ! Or will 
it harmonize better with the Rus- 
sian copper and Navajo blankets in 
the only other room down stairs — 
barring the kitchen. Do you know 
that I am beginning to suspect that 
we are lacking in the requisite num- 
ber of partitions, according to 
Southcreek standards. We cer- 
tainly have no place to correspond 
to the sanctuary of the gold shell 
drapery of the house of Bill. Mar- 
ianna, they say, is very nice and all 
that. Do you know her well — what 
do you think of her?" 

"I would rather not discuss Miss 
Bill, Louise." 

Miss Benton looked up quickly, 
watching closely for a moment. 
"She does not interest me enough 
to become a subject for discussion, 
and she certainly was rather rude, 
Ned, to-night, at least, even you 
must admit that. Are all your par- 
ishioners subjects for sacred silence? 
She must have a hard time at home, 
I fancy, and it would be sur- 



prising- if all those kids did not get 
on her nerves occasionally." 

'''And Florilla isn't much help, I 
fear. It is kind in your mother to 
take an interest in the child ; her 
influence is sure to be uplifting. 
You ask about Marianna. Yes, I 
felt that I knew her well last year. 
She has a remarkably fine character. 
The home life of the family is beau- 
tiful. I wish you would call there 
some day. Will you?" 

Louise did not answer, but sat 
looking down at the keys of the 
primitive instrument before her. 
Her left hand lay in her lap, but the 
fingers of her right hand were play- 
ing over and over a tune that 
sounded like a child's simple exer- 
cise. Suddenly she straightened 
herself from the rather drooping at- 
titude and looked up at the young 
man, her face lit with a mischievous 

"Ned, there are mer-creatures out 
in the Sound. Did you know it? 
Mother discovered them, or rather 
their voices. It is only occasionally 
that one can hear them. All the 
conditions must be just right: the 
tide out, but coming in, preferably 
a storm brewing. One must sit in a 
rocking chair facing the sea, and 
there must be no land noises. 
Everything must be absolutely 
quiet around one — no conversation, 
nothing. As one rocks back and 
forth, ignoring the noise of the 
water near shore and listening at- 
tentively for a sound far out beyond 
the waves, one will hear a distant 
murmur that sounds something like 
the song in a sea-shell when held to 
the ear, but more like a hoarse, 
monotonous chorus of low, bass 
voices. I suppose yon don't believe 
me! I wish you could hear it once; 

for it is weird. Mother talked about 
the 'mermen's song' for years, but 
I never caught it until this summer. 
Listen ! This is it. 

J°< Jewfa 

One cannot get the gruff, hoarse 
cadence on any instrument, of 
course ; but that is the air. 'Mother's 
.Mermen's Melody' — from Connec- 
ticut's prosaic coast!" 

She played the air again, impro- 
vising an harmonious accompani- 
ment, and carrying it from one key 
to another. Ceasing rather abruptly 
to play and standing up, she turned 
towards Mr. Prior. 

"I wonder why the Bill clan left 
the Congregational church. They 
say a Bill family has owned a pew 
there ever since the church was 
founded, and goodness knows how 
many years ago that was ! Now, no 
one of that name is on the member-, 
ship list of ye ancient meeting 

"It was some awkward blunder 
made by a new minister several 
years ago, he — hush !" Florilla, pass- 
ing up the aisle towards them, 
stooped and picked up a letter. 
"Here's part of your mail, Mr. Prior. 
Won't you feel grand when you are 
addressed as 'Reverend'!" 

"Oh, the Bishop's letter, did I 
drop it?" 

"Where do you think he will send 
you?" asked Louise. 

"He says to some place in the 
Berkshires, and," he paused, a mus- 
ing, far off look in his eyes, "per- 
haps it will be just as well — better." 

Louise played the bars of a hymn 
from the book opened before her, re- 
peating the refrain before she spoke 



again. "Wiell, we will miss you, 
Ned. There is no doubt of that. 
What with no caddy capable of 
coaching, I shall not play in the 
next match. Edith Gaillard is 
coming, and I had begun to plan all 
sorts of festivities for Saturdays, 
hoping you could be induced to 
come down on an early train each 
week. You haven't seen my auto 
yet. Yesterday my progress was 
triumphal — one awful nightmare of 
shying horses, scattering chickens, 
shrieking kids, barking curs, and in- 
sulting hayseeds. Next week, I 
thought, with Edith here, I would 
take you both to share my pleasant 
progress. Beware of clergymen, 
Florrie, embryo or otherwise ; they 
are an unknown and uncertain 
quantity, as you see." 

"Yes, and the strawberry festival, 
and the fair of the ladies' guild," 
chimed in Florrie. "The one last 
year was the best we ever had, all 
because you got so many from the 
beach to come. If you're not here 
this summer I know everything will 
be a fizzle. You remember how 
you, and Annabel, and Marianna, 
and I went to the 'Druid rocks' after 
ferns and wild flowers to trim up 
the hall?" Florrie appeared quite 

"Yes, I remember, Florrie, quite 
well, very well indeed. That day 
in the woods was one to remember, 
and the—" 

"Stop your solemnity,you two," 
interrupted Louise, recovering her 
accustomed gayety. "Speed the 
parting, welcome the coming man, 
Florrie. I see in my mind's eye a 
grand and glorious youth, his spec- 
ialty, fairs and festivals. He like- 
wise knows divers and many ways 
of raising money, and can hypnotize 

and make summer shore people un- 
bend, and give over their cash, as 
never Ned Prior did! Methinks he 
is even now on the boat upon the 
mighty Connecticut river, meaning 
to be in Southcreek in time for ser- 
vice to-morrow, to spy on his pre- 
decessor, and get the lay of the land. 
If he materializes, Ned, bring him 
down with you for dinner, that I 
may judge of him as to whether he 
has the making of a coach and 

Chapter VIII. 

At half past eight o'clock in the 
morning, having breakfasted two 
hours before, and, in the meantime, 
having done their numerous house- 
hold duties, the members of the 
Bill family were assembled in the 
commodious kitchen. Marianna 
had swept and dusted the entire first 
floor, Maud and Minta had together 
made all the beds, Embargo had 
wiped the dishes which his mother 
had washed, and had then beaten 
the stiff batter of a delicious cake for 
her, which even now Mrs. Bill had 
opened the oven door to examine,. 
The spicy odor filled the kitchen, 
and the children sniffed the air with 
pleasurable anticipation. Mrs Bill 
broke a wisp from a broom and ran 
it into the loaf, announcing as she 
drew it out clean of any batter that 
the cake was done. 

The outside door opened and 
Bland Allison Silver, or "Silvie", as 
he was called, came in. He had 
been to the big barn helping his fath- 
er in the care of the animals. Not 
only the horses had to be groomed, 
but the yoke of big prize oxen 
received the same care. The latter, 
hitched to a hay cart, stood in the 
driveway, near the kitchen door, for 
Mr. Bill was going after a load of 



hay from his salt meadow. These 
oxen, Ruby and Garnet, were the 
especial pride of Mr. Bill's heart. 
They were enormous beasts, the 
great strength of their muscles and 
sinews concealed under an abundant 
covering of flesh. Their dark red 
hides were absolutely clean, soft, 
and as shining and glossy as silk. 
This was the result of Silvie's un- 
stinting, daily care, and the appreci- 
ative animals, unyoked, would fol- 
low the child all around the yard, or, 
called by name, would obediently 
answer the summons. 

McKinley Tariff followed Silvie 
indoors, his little arms piled high 
with a load of fire-wood, and baby 
Anti-Trust toddled after, lugging a 
trailing stick which dragged and 
bumped after his little feet. Mari- 
anna ran to relieve him of his self- 
assumed burden, taking him in her 
arms to wipe his chubby face and 
kiss him. 

"Baby help," said he. 

"Yes, baby did help," laughed 

Remembering her own youthful 
experience as a country school 
teacher, and the disgust and annoy- 
ance occasioned by a dirty scholar, 
Mrs. Bill was ultra particular as to 
the appearance of her own children 
in the class room. The usual daily 
custom was carried out this morn- 
ing, the children passing in review 
before her and Marianna ere start- 
ing for the schoolhouse, that their 
elders might put their seal of ap- 
proval upon freshly washed hands 
and faces and well brushed hair. 

Silver was the last to leave the 
house, starting down the road alone. 
The world about him was filled with 
the glories of October. The day, 
even at this hour of the morning, 

was fairly sultry. A soft haze rest- 
ed over all the landscape. Under 
his feet the road was strewn, as if 
with a thick carpet, with the fallen 
autumn leaves. The general effect 
of them was golden, and the bright 
yellow of their color seemed reflect- 
ed in the air all about him. Though 
he could not have analysed the feel- 
ing, the effect upon his susceptible 
child nature was intoxicating. 

He lingered on his way, although 
his conscience warned him to hurry. 
As he walked, he thrust his bare feet 
deep into the fragrant masses, de- 
lighting in the odor of the earth and 
dying leaves. He bounded and 
leaped, throwing his head back to 
take deep breaths of the transmuted 
golden atmosphere. His childish 
eyes sought out a distant tree, and 
although he could not have express- 
ed the feeling, his heart was glad. 
The tree, a giant maple, stood out 
from its fellows, marked by its ex- 
treme coloring — one gorgeous mass 
of scarlet. As if to emulate the ex- 
ample, the leaves of a much smaller 
tree in close proximity had turned 
a uniform crimson. 

The air, so soft and balmy, was 
full of sweetness. Piles of apples, 
heaped under trees in the orchards, 
and repeating the variegated hues 
of the autumn foliage, sent forth 
pleasant odors. Late blooming 
flowers, at the roadside or in the 
gardens, exhaled their fragrance 
under the influence of the morning 
mist. A turn in the road revealed 
a not very distant hillside. Rough- 
hewn boulders, grey and rugged, 
stood out in bold relief surrounded 
with the brilliant coloring of the 
maples and the rich, subdued 
brown of the oak trees. Here and 
there the harmonizing green of the 



pines and hemlocks made a pleas- 
ing contrast. 

Outlined among the trees, 
gleamed the square, white spire of 
the Methodist church. Beyond this 
the woods grew more dense and 
wild. Silvie sighed as he thought 
of the chestnut trees that were 
there. His heart was with the 
squirrels, working now, he knew, 
among their branches. It was in 
the early morning that the little 
creatures were the most industrious. 
The twigs that held the burrs, 
gnawed by them, would fall to the 
ground, and a plentiful harvest 
awaited anyone who would frighten 
away the busy workers and appro- 
priate the nuts. 

With a sudden leap in the air 
Silvie threw off the insidious spell 
which Nature seemed weaving 
around him, and started at a slow 
trot for the schoolhouse, now only a 
few rods ahead. Few buildings of 
a like kind are left in the country. 
In most instances they have been 
replaced by modern structures suit- 
able for a graded school. South- 
creek, however, was behind the 
times in this as well as in many re- 
spects, and an unimposing, plain, 
one-storied building was the goal to 
which Silvie now hastened. It was 
painted white and from the pointed 
front of the roof a flag floated. In- 
side there were no division walls. 
The several grades of scholars all 
sat in the single large room. The 
teacher was a young man who lived 
in Quohonk. He wore a bicycle 
suit, and the wheel on which he rode 
to school each morning was stand- 
ing in the small, whitewashed vesti- 
bule. Here, also, were the pegs 
upon which the children hung their 
coats and hats. 

On the road in front of the school- 
house, the assembled children were 
noisily playing, but even as Silvie 
joined them, the bell in Mr. Chaw- 
kens' hand was rung for school to 
open. Inside the contrast was 
marked. None of the golden glory 
of the outer world permeated the 
whitewashed walls. Silvie was un- 
easy, restless. From the window 
near his seat he saw his father pass. 
He had the ox-team with him, and 
as the huge, gentle beasts came 
down the road, dragging the large, 
empty cart after them, they moved 
their heads lazily from side to side. 
Mr. Bill walked at their heads. He 
held a long-lashed whip in his hand, 
and occasionally flicked at them, as 
he uttered the "gee" and "haw" 
which guided them. 

Soon after Marianna passed on 
her way to the post-oflice. Silvie 
gave an impatient kick. It was 
hard luck to have to stay indoors f 
The flies buzzed and danced on the 
window pane. "Don't fool your- 
selves; summer hasn't come back," 
he thought. The children were all 
becoming restless. It was warm in 
the room. Silvie glanced surrepti- 
tiously around. Almost every desk 
was decorated with a red cheeked 
apple to be eaten at recess. He 
looked across at Embargo who did 
not seem to feel the restlessness of 
the other children, but sat stolidly 
doing his simple task in addition, 
seriously counting the numbers on 
his fingers. 

Maud and Araminta, sharing a 
desk, were busily using some col- 
ored crayons. In lieu of doing their 
lessons, they were making paper 
windmills. Silvie rested a large 
geography on his desk to form an 
upright screen, and behind this 



refuge began drawing pictures. In- 
variably these took the form of sail- 
boats, each topped by a tiny repre- 
sentation of a United States flag. 
He felt dissatisfied and unhappy. 
He knew he should be studying, but 
he wanted to be out — out in the glad 
sunlight. His class in arithmetic 
was called, and he with others were 
sent to the black-board. The teach- 
er reached up to a cabinet fastened 
high on the wall over his desk, and 
took down a box of chalk, pieces of 
which he distributed. 

Silvie took up an eraser, and giv- 
ing a quick glance towards Mr. 
Chawkens to see if he were looking 
his way, put it up to his lips and 
blew a white cloud over his nearest 
neighbor. For retaliation he re- 
ceived from the boy a sly, but vig- 
orous kick. This he returned with 
interest. Oh, how he wanted to get 
to the woods — or the water. After 
all he believed he would rather go 
to the water. 

Recess time came and in line the 
boys marched out after the girls. 
At the door discipline was broken. 
Silvie leaped from the step, 
whooped aloud, doubled up his fists 
for a short bout with his neighbor 
of the arithmetic class, and then 
started off down the road at a brisk 
run. Embargo, catching sight of 
him, ran calling after him, but soon 
gave up the chase and returned to 

Silvie sped on down t'he path, 
never once turning his head to catch 
even a momentary glimpse of his 
deserted schoolmates. A few rods 
farther on he turned from the main 
road, and darting between two 
rough, high posts that marked the 
opening, he found himself in a wild, 
rled lane, or private way, whose 

winding length led directly down 
to the summer homes upon the 
beach. Near the boundary fences 
sturdy ferns were growing as fresh 
and green as in mid-summer. Here 
and there gleamed out the bunches 
of brilliant red berries of the bitter- 
sweet, or the bright elongated bar- 

Climbing the fence at his right, 
Silvie struck out, his pace slacken- 
ing, straight across the golf links, 
appropriately so called, for like the 
famous St. Andrews links in Scot- 
land, the Southcreek links is by the 
sea. With the laying aside of clubs, 
and when the links is deserted by 
the human interlopers, come again 
to their former haunts the native 
quail. All day long at intervals, can 
be heard their whistle, not the well- 
known "Bob White" of the breed- 
ing season in the late spring, but a 
whistle clear and sweet, sounding 
only one note. 

As Silvie passed on, quietly alert 
and on the lookout, he was rewarded 
by the sight of several plump little 
bodies moving about where erst- 
while he had, in the capacity of 
caddy, searched for lost balls. Again 
a swift whirr of wings bore several 
of the pretty, startled creatures, low 
flying over the bunker. Covering 
the ugly frame-work of a towering 
wind-mill, a honeysuckle vine was 
growing in rank profusion. Its 
leaves were still shiny and green, 
and here and vhere peeped forth a 
belated blossom. 

Silvie made a detour around the 
nearest house, and leaping over the 
bulkhead, landed in the soft sand of 
the beach. Under the bright blue 
sky the waves of the Sound were 
stilled. The sea was absolutely 
quiet. Not a ripple stirred the sur- 



face. Silvie pushed his father's flat- 
bottomed row boat, left over night 
drawn well up on the beach, down 
to the water, and as she floated off 
jumped on to the bow, sitting there 
for a moment before moving to the 
middle seat, where he took up the 

The autumn coloring of the dis- 
tant trees, blending harmoniously, 
made a background for the widely 
extending semi-circle formed by the 
summer homes. The elongated 
shadows of the houses seemed to 
stretch to unknown depths. The 
sunlight was bright, but over all 
rested the soft purple haze peculiar 
to October, which, mingling like 
smoke amidst the brilliant colors of 
the autumn foliage, fell with the 
softness of a chiffon veil over trees 
and shrubs and water, half obscur- 
ing the vision. 

The child rowed straight out for 
a distance, and then allowed the 
boat to drift for a few moments be- 
fore he threw out the anchor. Go- 
ing up to the bow, he knelt and 
leaned his elbows on the tiny, three- 
cornered seat. All about him fishes 
were jumping. They leaped from 
the quiet water, looking when their 
scales were touched by the sunlight 
as if covered with silver, and throw- 
ing off drops of water that flashed 
like veritable diamonds. Overhead 
a king-fisher was calling clamor- 
ously — a harsh discordant cry. 

Very near him a school of por- 
poises were lifting their huge bodies 
lazily from the water as they rolled 
across the bay towar'ds Pachoug 
Point. A pair of wild ducks ar- 
rested their flight and alighted in the 
water near the boat. The child re- 
mained motionless watching the 

creatures near him, and he uttered 
a protesting exclamation when the 
sound of a gun somewhere on shore 
startled the ducks to a continuation 
of their flight. 

Near shore, a small sail-boat was 
making slow progress, keeping a 
straight course in front of the cot- 
tages. Her sail was spread to catch 
any possible puff of wind, but she 
was propelled by a pair of oars in 
the hands of a young man who stood 
erect in the bow. Silvie, after 
watching for a moment, decided to 
imitate him. Standing up, he leaned 
over the bow and commenced to 
draw in the anchor. There seemed 
to be some difficulty about this, for 
the boat was lying just over a bed 
of thick, rank seaweed, and as Silvie 
gave a vicious yank to the painter 
he lost his balance and fell over- 

This of itself would not have been 
a serious matter for he was fearless 
in the water, and could swim and 
dive like a wild duck; but, as he 
went overboard the painter twisted 
around one of his legs, and, in try- 
ing to free himself from this, his 
arms became enmeshed in the long, 
waving eel-grass which twined its 
sinuous, strong fibres about him, 
holding him in a tight embrace. 
Once only he opened his eyes under 
water, as in diving he always did, 
but the knowledge that he was en- 
snared in a bed of the eel-grass 
struck such terror to his soul that 
his heart failed him, and he lapsed 
into unconsciousness, even as he 
held his breath preparatory to the 
upward motion he would have made 
had he not been hampered by the 
deadly, clinging weeds. 

(To be continued.) 

A Worsted Paradise 

It is a clever piece of needle-work this 
worsted Paradise, and was considered by 
my grandfather a triumph in art and par- 
lor decoration. Within a circle of full- 
blown roses with nicely shaded petals, 
which still retain their brilliant carmine 
hue, despite the sunlight of half a century, 
is pictured a charming pastoral scene. 

As I regard it, I see before me a peace- 
ful, practical Utopia perpetuated by my 
grandmother's ingenious needle ; one which 
appeals to me as it did to the fancy of an 
earlier generation. With but a few slight 
changes grandmother's rural picture might 
be pronounced a realistic rendering of that 
much quoted quatrain : — 

"A book of verses underneath the 

A jug of wine, a loaf of bread and 

Beside me singing in the wilderness, 
Oh, wilderness were Paradise enow." 

For though minus the "jug of wine," the 
"loaf of bread" and even the "book of 
verses," the picture still contains the es- 
sential features, without which even the 
Garden of Eden could have had no proper 
excuse for being, namely the youth and 

These worsted-work young people are 
sensibly attired in modern dress according 
to the standard of my grandmother's 
fashion plates; this, in itself is a distinct 

improvement upon the costumes worn in 
most conventional Utopias, where floating 
draperies, diaphanous in texture seem to 
be all the vogue. Such draperies are well 
enough in groups of statuary, but should 
be utterly tabooed by sensible young 
couples bent on exploring country districts, 
climbing stone-walls and marching through 
brambles and briar patches. The lovers in 
this sylvan scene are comfortably seated 
under a spreading apple-tree, which neither 
old Omar nor his interpreter could have 
planted better than did my grandmother,, 
who placed it close by a friendly picket- 
fence, against which the backs of the 
idyllic pair are resting. 

The picket fence might have seemed out 
of place in the effusion of Fitzgerald, but 
in reality it is a clever and practical sug- 
gestion, and much can be said in its favor 
with which old Omar's wilderness can 
never hope to vie. 

Grandmother never could have planted 
her Paradise in any wilderness; — not she, 
a true descendant of the Pilgrims who had 
so thoroughly explored that quality of 
country. With a regard for truth and for 
utility, she placed her you h and maiden 
within a verdant meadow which stretches 
out before them, green and inviting. One 
must be ultra-poetic or over-aesthetic to 
insist on a wilderness when such a pleas- 
ing outlook is offered. 

The two young people are watching with 
evident enjoyment a large and friendly 
looking dog of breed anonymous, who sits 




close by with one paw resting upon the 
young man's knee. 

Surely the introduction of a well-loved 
dumb animal into this bit of Paradise de- 
notes a knowledge of human nature and a 
perception of average needs and tastes, 
which does my grandmother much credit. 
The cultured few have recourse to a book 
of verses when in Utopian solitudes, but 
average folk leave tastefully bound vol- 
umes at home upon the parlor table ; they 
much prefer to be accompanied upon their 
sylvan rambles by an accommodating, 
kindly dog, who wags his tail when patted, 
demands not the expenditure of intellect- 
ual effort and barks discreetly at the ap- 
proach of any unwelcome comer. Such a 
four-footed friend is of more value than 
many books of verses. 

The worsted-work young people are 
plump and buxom and seem in no imme- 
diate need of nutriment to be supplied by 
any "loaf of bread" or "jug of wine." 
Indeed, these minor accessories which 
seem not out of place in the fair quatrain, 
are hardly to be tucked under the arms of 
a devoted swain sauntering across the hills 
upon a summer's day. The "loaf of 
bread" and "jug of wine" may be quite in- 
dispensable as oriental attributes ; they are 
in keeping with Omar's wilderness but are 
not needed in grandma's worsted Paradise. 
In her practical realm they are somewhat 
suggestive of basket-picnics, and so she 
has supplied her Eden with something 
more sensible and quite as hygienic. Upon 
the "bough" she has provided some ruddy 
apples which may be promptly utilized if 
the young couple desire physical suste- 

The time has passed when it was dan- 
gerous to introduce the apple into the Gar- 
den of Eden. Its healthful qualities have 
too long been appreciated, and only an ele- 
vated market value, or a poor crop limits 
the widespread distribution. Moreover, 
the modern Eve retains her comfortable 
place beside the picket-fence while her 
companion shakes down the fruit, which 
she accepts or not as she sees fit ; and 
should mutual recriminations follow, the 
man must bear the blame. She who first 

tasted of the "tree of knowledge" has 
since learned by experience that it is more 
blessed to let the man do the giving, 
woman is busy enough with the forgiving. 

Grandmother's worsted youth can cut a 
gallant figure shaking down appetizing 
Baldwins or Sweetings for his beloved, 
such as he never could hope to rival in 
effectiveness by the conveyance of any 
luncheon-basket containing the "jug of 
wine" and "loaf of bread." Or if the 
swain must have a basket to encumber an 
arm for which he might find better use, 
why not have a more bountiful supply of 
edibles for mutual refreshment. A loaf of 
bread is in itself an awkward thing to 
handle and needs an accompanying knife 
and pat of butter, and since one naturally 
recoils from rudely breaking it and then 
consuming it, in dry and shapeless lumps, 
why not the properly constructed sandwich, 
tasty with ham or chicken? Why not 
some hard boiled eggs, a couple of rasp- 
berry tarts, or better yet a tempting pump- 
kin pie? Undoubtedly in grandmother's 
common-sense Paradise there would be 
pie, dear to New England hearts and dear- 
er yet to their digestion. If once the 
luncheon-basket were introduced there 
must be pie, and therefore, I rest contenc 
that the traditional apple alone remains to 
satisfy the hungry in this worsted work 

With pride and with humility I oft dis- 
play grandmother's clever handiwork. 

"See the fine stitches," I murmur, "and 
note the brilliant colors. Grandmother 
dyed the worsted and it has never faded ; 
yes, she designed the wreath of roses quite 
by herself, and for the central picture she 
had but a small colored print to copy ; 
this she enlarged to fill the space within 
that floral circlet." 

"The flower that once has blown, forever 
dies." So sings the Persian poet, who 
also mourns : — 

"That spring should vanish with the 

That youth's sweet-scented manuscript 

should close." 

What knew he of wreaths of bright and 
never fading flowerets, such as sprang into 



life 'neath grandmother's ingenious needle, 
endowed with a perpetual youth? Petals 
that never fade or shrivel up, and dainty 
worsted rosebuds unchanged because of 
the elixir imparted by their creator, who 
dipped her threads in brilliant fadeless 
dyes. The poet's tender blossoms may 
have been lovelier in their brief and tran- 
sient day, but how shall they compare 
with the unchanging flowers that rear 
their heads in my grandparent's Garden of 
Eden, untouched by half a century? 

Framed in its dark mahogany, I view 
this restful bit of long ago, this worsted 
Paradise. We have no time to waste on 
such creations in these progressive times. 
We have too many missions to accomplish, 
too many artistic and intellectual schemes 
to foster. Grandmother never attended 
lectures, nor clubs, nor classes. What did 
she know of woman's suffrage, or evolu- 
tion or esoteric Buddhism? She had a 
very simple creed, a very restful home. 
She never wrote a paper on Hygiene or 
Social Economics, or studied up bacteria, 
yet she was strangely healthy. Had she 
aspired to enter these advanced fields of 
learning, it is doubtful if my grandfather 
would have applauded or even approved ; 
yet it is certain he prized this piece of 
needle-work above Raphael's madonnas 
and numbered it among his dearest treas- 
ures, and would have backed it against the 
choicest work of art. 

As I gaze on this worsted Paradise, I 
sigh regretfully because I may not set foot 
upon its verdant heath. I am shut out by 
the smooth, mocking glass through which 
I cannot hope to pass, unless like "little 
Alice" I first have fallen asleep, or like 
some rude destroyer I shatter it to bits 
and so work havoc in the lovely land I fain 
would enter. 

Yet while I sigh for "auld lang syne," 
I bow in acquiescence to a small voice 
which murmurs in my ear : — 

"This worsted Paradise is not for you, 
nor would you be content to dwell therein, 
save in imagination. Your Paradise is 
bounded by high brick walls, approached 
through city thoroughfares. Tts trees are 

those that flourish in decorated palm- 
rooms; its flowers bloom in ornamental 
pots, and over all, electric lights twinkle 
discreetly behind gauzy colored masks. 
Within this realm a hidden orchestra dis- 
courses pleasing harmonies, while many 
mysterious knobs summon obsequious 
waiters, who like Aladdin's slaves appear 
in 'response to the ring.' The maiden in 
your Eden sits among many cushions re- 
splendent in evening dress, while her at- 
tendant swain, attired in unimpeachable 
broad cloth and generous shirt-front gazes 
at her admiringly from the depths of a 
Morris chair." 

"This is your Paradise," the small voice 
murmurs. "Behold how comfortable, how 
luxurious. Is it a trifle ennervating? 
Take care then lest you be caught a-nap- 
ping among the many cushions." 

Each one's Utopia is, after all, only a 
matter of personal preference and the 
"fool's Paradise" is always somebody else's 
country, never one's own. 

Yet the electric lights go quickly out, 
the orchestra stops playing, and oftentimes 
the palms prove "papier mache." Un- 
doubtedly the atmosphere grows close and 
heavy, and the obsequious waiter demands 
perpetual fees, and then — perchance a 
vision of that worsted Utopia may kindle 
a momentary pang of regret and rise in 
tantalizing pastoral simplicity, tempting the 
maiden to toss the cushion to the floor, 
while the attendant youth forsakes the al- 
luring Morris chair, that they together 
may temporarily escape, what neither 
would after all forego, even to enter that 
worsted Paradise. 

It was not a poet's Utopia or rhymes 
and wildernesses and oriental dreams. It 
was a realistic common-sense community, 
where practical prosaic people might dwell 
in undisturbed tranquility, and enjoy sim- 
ple pleasures which came but at rare in- 

Grandmother's needle-work stands as a 
symbol of something which has passed 
away even with her generation. 

Each age and individual claims the pre- 
rogative of fashioning a new Utopia, and 
each one urges the evident superiority of 


i [ 5 

"his Garden of the Hesperides. And who 
shall say which is the fairest? 

The roses which grandmother designed 
and executed are very fresh and bright, 
yet they are best, encircling the sylvan 
scene she wrought so tastefully. Her 
worsted Paradise is with us still in printed 
sheet and pictured form, but of the sub- 
stance there is no more. That has de- 
parted, and should we seek to enter it, we 
shall but meet with disappointment, for is 
it not another "Paradise Lost?" 

Caroline Ticknor. 

Second Hand Books 

I have always been a lover of books. 
My library is not large, but every book 
in it has a personality for me; and many 
of them have associations that make them 
doubly dear. Some of them I have never 
read, and perhaps never will read, yet I 
would not sell them for ten times their 
worth ; for they are gifts from friends of 
other days, or from loved ones who have 
parted from me forever. Thus my books 
delight me in many different ways ; some 
because of their contents ; some because of 
the pleasure I derive from merely looking 
at their beautiful or bizarre bindings; 
some because they bring back to me, 
whether I read them or gaze on them with 
dream-dimmed eyes, the dear one whose 
name is on the fly-leaf. 

But the most interesting of all are those 
which I have bought at second hand. 
About one-fifth of my collection was 
gleaned from the auction rooms and old 
book stores, and it is in them that I find 
many stories, sad, gay or unfathomable, 
that were not the work of the author's 
pen. I buy only rare or valuable books at 
second hand, and the very fact that they 
have been sold is often a sad story in it- 
self. I never buy a fine volume in this 
way without endless speculation as to the 
cause of its sale by the original owner ; 
loss of fortune ; the greed of grasping- 
executors or heirs ; the lack of apprecia- 
tion of "les nouveaux riches" or what not. 

Often I find little keepsakes in them; 

sometimes a holiday card, sometimes a 
photograph or picture. One day I picked 
up an "Ancient Mariner" illustrated with 
the weird conceits of Dore. I was pleased 
with my purchase, and, glancing hastily 
through it, brought it home under my arm. 
After dinner I examined it more carefully, 
and found several of the pictures most 
beautifully illuminated by a hand that 
must have been very familiar with the 
brush. The artist, perhaps, was stricken 
before the work was finished; or maybe it 
was to have been a gift, and she who was 
to have received it died and the inspira- 
tion ceased with her life ; or maybe it was 
stolen; — such is the endless fancy that 
dwells in these discarded treasures. 

Another time I chanced upon an ex- 
quisite copy of Thomas Moore's "Lalla 
Roohk." On the fly-leaf half erased but 
still legible, was the single line: — 

"My Nourmahal; My Soul's Delight." 

I turned a few pages, ,and a withered 
leaf fell to the floor. In the gloomy quiet 
of that dusty old shop, a feeling of 
mingled awe and sadness came upon me 
as I stood there musing. 

"All in that garden bloom, and all 
Are gathered by young Nourmahal, 
Who heaps her basket with the flowers 
And leaves, 'till they can hold no 

So sang Moore ; and this poor brown 
thing was no doubt gathered by the 
"Nourmahal" to whom her "Selim" had 
sent the pretty gift book with its loving 

"Why." thought I, "did 'Nourmahal' 
have to part with her treasure? Was it 
death or a lover's quarrel, poverty or a 
broken home ? What sad accident of life 
could have brought this precious momento 
of happier days to' so low a fate?" 

I paid the trifling sum the dealer asked ; 
and often, in the glow of the hearth em- 
bers, I sit and ponder over the story that 
will never be told. 

But sometimes the little mysteries of my 
books reveal themselves. I was browsing 
around an old book shop one day when T 
came across a first edition of Thompson's 



"Four Seasons and Other Poems." I did 
not know, at the time, that it was a first 
edition; and I would have passed it by as 
being too old and time worn had I not 
noticed that it contained a book plate. 
When a volume has a book plate in it, I in- 
variably examine it with great care. This 
one, I found, had belonged to a student of 
the University; for it contained his class 
numerals and the seal of the University. 
This made me wish to possess it, and I 
paid the few cents which the dealer had 
set as his price. It had a strange fascina- 
tion for me. I could never read that book 
plate without feeling that a sad story must 
lie behind the sale of this old work. 
Thinking over it several times fixed the 
name of the former owner in my mind 
unconsciously; and I asked several of the 
professors if they had ever heard it, think- 
ing they might recall it, but without result. 

One day I was looking over a number of 
class records at my fraternity house. In 
one of the oldest I found the ominous 
black border that tells of death; — and the 
same name that was upon the book label 
in my "Four Seasons" was in this sad 

The book itself often tells me a great 
deal about its former owner. Sometimes 
I am quite sure I know just what kind of 
a person he or she was. I have an old 
pocket-sized anthology, the pages of which 
are still uncut save at the places where I 
would have cut them had I bought it new ; 
and I have never had any desire to add 
a single page to those opened by my pre- 
decessor. I know I would have loved that 
man — he was a man ; for there are cigar 
ashes here and there — for he has thumbed 
my favorite poems into shabbiness, and 
the book always opens to Wordsworth's 
"Daffodils." He must be dead now; for 
the shininess of the leather shows that he 
carried it almost constantly, and I am sure 
he would never have parted with it were 
he alive. 

A book like this has such an old fash- 
ioned, unpretentious gentility about it that 
it assumes by right a place of honor upon 
my shelves. It stands there apparently 
perfectly at home among its new com- 
rades and I often find myself wondering 
whether its owner was not a friend of the 
person who originally possessed my dog- 
eared old Isaak Walton. They seem so- 
perfectly companionable that I am forced 
to suspect that they have met before, and 
that they exchange reminiscences in my 
absence. After all, the world is such a 
small place that the same man might have 
owned them both. 

Sometimes I buy a book hastily, and 
upon bringing it home find that it is not 
welcome. Several of my books have stood 
upon the shelves for days before they 
ceased to disturb the harmony of the lib- 
rary; and many times I have had to take 
them away again. One in particular I wil 
never forget. It was a Hedouin edition of 
Rousseau's "Confessions," and I am con- 
vinced that it once belonged to a barber. 
I know it was always repulsive. Although 
my friends were unable to detect it, I am 
sure it had a faint odor of hair oil about 
it. Needless to say, I disposed of it, and 
yet it was in excellent condition. Perhaps, 
had I been more patient and kept it longer, 
the bad influence of its former association 
would have worn off. 

This has frequently been the case. New 
volumes can be added to the library and 
cause no change, except the filling of 
empty spaces ; but a second hand book 
impresses me with the individuality of the 
person it dwelt with before, and it takes 
some time to find whether or not we wil 
be congenial. As a rule, the newcomer 
stares at me for several nights until I 
take it down and read it ; then it goes 
back on its shelf, and is no longer a lonely 
stranger, but a well loved friend. 

James S. Boyd. 




*By Kate Sanborn^ | ^ 


I prefer a novel with quotable bits; with 
expressed opinions on life that one remem- 
bers and thinks upon, rather than those 
with mysterious plots, depressing revela- 
tions of unhappy lives; or those mainly 
•devoted to the tortures or ecstacies of one 
more pair of lovers. And if a novel pos- 
sibly combines all these, then I rapidly 
skim and skip through it, only on the look- 
out for a striking thought. All the novels 
hy "John Oliver Hobbes" have this special 
characteristic. You cannot forget her 
way of looking at the drama of life, with 
its comedy and tragedy. And with her, 
Fate overruled all, making human en- 
deavors and struggles of no real avail. 
She often accentuated this belief. 

In her last novel, finished shortly before 
her sudden death, "The Dream and the 
Business" you will find her a thorough 
Fatalist. She says, or makes one of her 
characters say : 

"Do you believe in fate? I used not 
to believe in it. I thought at one time 
that chance and mischance ruled the world. 
It was a lazy stupefying idea; it made en- 
thusiasm ridiculous and work pitiful. To 
sit getting shrewder and leaner, and more 
grasping, waiting for one's chance, as it is 
called, did not seem to me worth while. 
Fate is better. It comes — it is not to be 
•snatched as it passes by. You may be 
•asleep ; when you wake up you find it wait- 

ing there by your side. You may be half 
dead ; it touches you, and you live. And it 
is not a fate stolen from some other ; for it 
is your very own, for you yourself, and for 
no one else." 

To me, a laid out path which one must 
tread, with every event inevitably arranged 
with no hope of alteration or escape, is 
more dismal than any other vagary of 

Many of earth's great ones have been 
fatalists. I was impressed by reading that 
Ruskin once said when he noticed a friend 
with a glass of sherry by him, that he be- 
lieved it had been ordained from all Eter- 
nity whether the man should drink that 
wine or not. 

To give such importance to trifles seems 
petty occupation for the invisible Power 
that plans. And still a choice was open — 
for his friend could enjoy half of the wine, 
leaving the rest in the glass. 

Here are a few of her comments : on an 
uncongenial couple : "Both looked resigned, 
and at the stage in unsatisfactory human 
relationships when the pair, having ex- 
hausted their mutual dislike, were almost 
attached to each other by a common bond 
of suffering." 

"It is absurd to hope that any true union 
should be between two persons while one 
of them remains behind the footlights and 
the other walks in the fresh air. They are 




subjects not only of two separate but of 
two opposite kingdoms/' 

"Men have passionate bodies ; women 
have passionate souls; artists have pas- 
sionate souls and bodies. No wonder they 
are misunderstood ; or can it be that they 
are understood too well?" 

There is a strain of bitterness and pessi- 
mism, which comes from too keen knowl- 
edge of motives and an unsatisfied heart. 
This may be her own experience. 

"Is not the fairy tale of the Sleeping 
Beauty the story of every girl who is intel- 
ligent and well guarded? She is sent to 
sleep lest she should think too much and 
too soon. When the hour of her awaken- 
ing strikes, as it must at some time, it is 
hoped that she may be old enough, or pa- 
tient enough, or sly enough, or strong 
enough, to bear the sudden sight of real- 

"If she can not face them, she may turn 
over and feign a sleep till she dies. If she 
be horrified, dismayed, broken-hearted or 
condemned to a desperate, endurance which 
is accepted by others, as her destiny, she 
is enjoined to remember how blessed she 
was to have had such a long slumber in 

This sad story has the same publisher 
as all her other books. T. Fisher Unwin, 

Did you know? — I did not until recently, 
that Mrs. Cragie's father is John Morgan 
Richards, president of the American So- 
ciety in London during 1901-1902, who in 
his most interesting book, "With John Bull 
and Jonathan" gives reminiscences of 
"Sixty Years of an American's Life in Eng- 
land and in the United States." His pic- 
ture shows a strikingly distinguished look- 
ing man, and his gifted daughter greatly 
resembled him. 

His father was a Presbyterian minister, 
who was called to the church of Aurora, 
on the shores of Cayuga Lake, where 
friendship of his parents with John Mor- 
gan (Governor at one time of New York) 
caused them to give their second boy his 

The style is chatty and agreeable, and 
the volume has a decided historical value. 

The eighth chapter which is devoted to 
his daughter "Pearl," is to me very touch- 

The noted divine in London, Dr. Parker, 
took a deep interest in the little girl, so 
original, so full of versatile gifts. 

He once wrote of her, "How did she 
begin the world of letters? I can tell yon. 
She has always been a devotee of the fam- 
ily ink-horn, and early she went in even 
for printer's ink." 

She was a born mimic, full of enthusi- 
asm and merriment and was fond of invent- 
ing imaginary companions to whom she 
told stories by the hour. As she developed, 
she became an earnest student, an excel- 
lent musician, sang sweetly; dramatic in- 
stinct always strong, from the early days 
when she begged for a toy theatre with 
pasteboard figures, and would make little 
speeches for each as she pushed them on 
the stage. In maturity, she wrote several 
very successful plays, was accomplished in 
journalism and art criticism. 

How sad that with all these talents and 
every advantage that affection and wealth 
and high social position could give her, 
she was not a happy woman. Her father's 
book is published in London by T. Werner 

Between the innocent if rosy Dreams of 
Mrs. Cragie's "Sleeping Beauty" and Mrs. 
Parson's sapient and serene "Business" 
there is a long distance and the middle 
way seems the safest. 

Her book, "The Family," publishers, G. 
P. Putnam's Sons. Price $3.00 — a study of 
the sexual relations, matrimonial customs 
and so on — which has been so severely 
criticized and denounced, she announces as 
prepared as "a time saving text-book for 
lecturers to elementary students in sociol- 

But as fact-food to dispense to elemen- 
tary classes or to young girls at Barnard 
College, it is still extremely advanced. 
As an Ethnographical and Historical Out- 
line, she has collected an immense amount 
of curious and valuable information ; but 
is it advisable to give to girls all the details 
in all departments of this theme ? She pro- 
poses that the young women students 



should pay weekly visits to poor families 
known to them and armed with pad and 
pencil take careful notes regarding the 
family relation. One sample Record in her 
Introduction convinces me that the mother 
would feel herself rudely questioned, and 
her husband would resent this inquisitorial 
intrusion into the most private matters. 

This ever present problem of the sex 
question as it regards informing children 
of its various dangers, contrasted with the 
normal view, would better be managed by 
the parents, for the real responsibility rests 
on them. That they often neglect or pur- 
posely avoid the subject makes one more 
danger. Otherwise devoted parents never 
speak to sons or daughters about the right 
care of either bodies or souls ; hence, most 
deplorable results. If lectures could be 
given to "elementary classes,'' vividly por- 
traying the hideous and inevitable results 
of imprudence and sin, in women ; the 
mental tortures, suicides, insanity ; once 
fair, happy faces, upturned in dark waters, 
or peering from behind prison bars — after 
the crime of infanticide, driven to this by 
desperation ; or worst of all changed to a 
brazen lure, obliged to degrade themselves 
for support. 

Following the same wretched errors, 
come a gaunt train ; drunkenness even to 
the gutter ; and the fatal habits of cocaine, 
chloroform, morphine, taken up to distract 
thought, to be continued in physical and 
mental misery till Death kindly ends the 
first Chapter. There would be at least 
less excuse for such wholesale ruin. They 
could not then mourn over lack of advice 
and training, while now bitter experience 
is their sole teacher. 

So much, as I see it, for the Dreams and 
the Business. Romance and Reality. 

Now for recent novels. I am assured 
that the latest novel from Mrs. Henry De 
La Pasture, author of "Peter's Mother," 
which, by the way, has been dramatized 
and played in London as a success, with 
the King himself expressing his approba- 
tion. "The Lonely Lady" is a novel to be 
read, talked of and remembered. E. P. 
Dutton & Co., New York. The same firm 
recommend "The Sweetest Solace," by John 
Randal. Consulting with various author- 
ities and studying the newest novels at 
hotel stands, I offer a list of those worth 

1. "A Spinner in the Sun," by Myrtle 
Reed. G. P. Putnam's Sons. 

2. "The Mystery," by Stuart Edward 
White and Samuel Hopkins Adams. Mc- 
Clure, Phillips & Co. 

3. "By the Light of the Soul," by Mary 
Wilkins Freeman. Harpers. 

4. "The Far Horizon," by Lucas Malet. 
Dodd, Mead & Co. 

5. "The Sovereign Remedy," by Flora 
Annie Steel (among the six best "sellers" 
in England). Doubleday, Page & Co. 

6. "The Privateers," by H. B. Marriott 
Watson. Doubleday, Page & Co. 

7. "The Secret of Toni," by Molly Ell- 
iott Seawell. D. Appleton & Co. 

8. "The Silent War," by John Ames 
Mitchell. Life Publishing Co. 

9. "The Amulet," by Charles Egbert 
Cradock. MacMillan Co. 

10. "Truthful Jane," by Florence Morse 
Kingsley. D. Appleton & Co. 

The -National- Society~of~N.ErWomen 

"A people which takes no pride in the 
noble achievements of their remote ances- 
tors will never achieve anything worthy to 
be remembered by remote descendants." — 

The birthday anniversary of the National 
Society of New England Women was cele- 
brated on January 24 at Delmonico's, and 
was one of the most delightful social events 
of the season. It always is, for it, like 
'old home week" brings many members 
from remote locations, beside representa- 
tives from the various colonies. There was 
an attendance of upwards of five hundred. 

The president, Mrs. Theodore Freling- 
huysen Seward, was assisted in receiving 
by Vice-President Miss Lizzie Woodbury 
Law, Mrs. Stuart Hull Moore, president 
Colony Eight of Brooklyn, Mrs. Sarah L. 
Flowers, president Colony Six, Ruther- 
ford, and Miss Temperance Pratt Reed, 
president Colony Eleven, Toledo, O. 

Presidents of the other colonies were un- 
able to be present to assist in the receiv- 
ing line. Representatives from nearly all 
the Colonies were present. No one was 
more warmly welcomed than Mrs. B. B. 
Kenyon, who has always been active in 
the interests of the National Society, but 
v/ho has resided in Boston the past three 

The decorations were as usual red and 
white, and Mrs. Seward was fairly loaded 
down with bunches of red roses, gifts of 
loving friends. The refreshment tables 
were a very attractive part of the occasion, 
especially the tea and coffee table, presided 
over by Mesdames Charles Quimby and 
Albert Thorndike and Miss Mary Bowron, 
prominent officers of the Society. 

A hidden orchestra of strings dispersed 
sweet music throughout the afternoon. 

Much of the success was due to the able 
management of Mesdames Weeks, Warner, 
Noble and Clement, committee on social 

Another interesting event of last month 
was a luncheon given by Mrs. Edwin A. 
Tuttle, chairman of Ways and Means 
Committee at her home on Lexington Ave- 
nue, which was patronized by about one 
hundred members of the Society. 

The last month's meeting of Buffalo 
Colony, Two, was largely attended in spite 
of bad weather. 

Margaret Fuller Ossoli, the brilliant ec- 
centric New England writer, was the sub- 
ject of the meeting. Her writings in New 
England and on Horace Greeley's Tribune, 
her life in Rome, her connection with the 
short-lived Roman Republic and many 
other interesting facts in her life, also her 
tragic death, were described in a paper by 
Mrs. Thomas French. The Reverend 
Thomas French read extracts from her 
love letters. 

Excellent music and a brief business 
meeting completed the interests of the day. 

Red and white carnations decorated the 
tables, also the buffet table, from which 
refreshments were served at the close of 
the programme. Bows of red and white 
tulle added to the festive air. Among the 
guests of honor were several officers of the 
Western Federation of Women's clubs, 
prominent among them Mrs. E. G. Parker 
of Lockport, second vice-president, and 
Mrs. C. A. Tyler of Alden ; also officers 
of the City Federation of Women's clubs, 
among whom were Mrs. John Miller Hor- 



ton, president, Mrs. William G. Justice, 
first vice-president, Mrs. Edgar C. Neal, 
third vice president, and Mrs. Percival M. 
White, corresponding secretary. 

The hostesses for the day were : Mrs. 
H. J. Morgan, Mrs. George A. Wallace, 
Mrs. Thomas Oswald, Mrs. Henry Essex, 
Mrs. Frank Comstock, Miss Helen Hay- 
den, Miss Kate Jarrett, Miss Clara Green, 
Miss Mary Park, Mrs. Charles A. Hayden, 
Mrs. D. E. Brong, Mrs. Charles J. Jackson 
and Mrs. B. H. Grove. 

The president, Mrs. Wallace, while re- 
turning home from the meeting, had the 
misfortune to fall, sustaining a severe 
rwist fracture. A similar accident has 
happened to Mrs. Oswald, Vice-president ; 
and to Miss Cora Wheeler, president of 
Colony Nine. 

Colony Eight, Brooklyn, is extremely vig- 
orous, and at its second meeting of the 
season on January 10, eight new members 
were admitted, making the total enrollment 
about one hundred and thirty. Under the 
tactful, yet ingenious guidance of its presi- 
dent, Mrs. Stuart Hull Moore, the Society 
has developed unique features in its enter- 
tainments. At the January meeting a 
"Thimble Party" was inaugurated in order 
to increase the acquaintance of its mem- 
bers. The women gathered early in the 
afternoon with their knitting, or fancy 
work and spent a pleasant hour, working 
in chatty groups, first being warmly wel- 
comed by the president and her corps of 
officers. Later in the afternoon the as- 
sembly took on a more business-like aspect 
as the president called the members to or- 
der and, after executing some necessary 
business, introduced Miss Mary O. Harris, 
who spoke earnestly and interestingly upon 
the "Work on the Labrador Coast by Dr. 
Grenfel," she having been the Doctor's 
guest during the summer and having per- 
sonally investigated the hospital, missions 
and settlements. The Colony has met with 
a great loss recently in the deaths of two 
members, Miss Marian W. Morton and 
Mrs. W. P. Boggs. Miss Morton was a 
charter member and had been from the 
beginning active as the first chairman of 
the house committee, filling the same office 
with great capability and grace. On Jan- 
uary 26 the Colony gave a luncheon at the 
Montauk Club. 

It was a brilliant success, about two 
hundred members and their guests sat 
down to tables decorated with red carna- 
tions and ferns arranged in individual pots 
as souvenirs. The details of the occasion 
were finely executed by Mrs. G. D. Cooper 
and her committee, Mesdames H. W. 
Vaughn, John L. Salter and Charles D. 
Van Winkle. To Mrs. W. D. Emerson, 

Mrs. Henry B. Shutc and Mrs. Washington 
Hull is also due much of the success. 

In the receiving line with the president, 
Mrs. Stuart Hull Moore, as guests of 
honor, were Mrs. Theodore F. Seward, 
president of the National Society, Miss 
Margaret Lindley, chairman of Colonies, 
and Miss Charlotte Morrill, Mrs. Charles 
B. Bartram and Miss Alice M. McGowan, 
speakers of the day. 

The menu comprised all the delicacies 
the caterer and chef of the Montauk Club 
could provide, and concluded with individ- 
ual mince pies, a tribute to the breakfast 
customs of early New England. Mrs. Moore 
impressed the value of this accessory on 
her guests by explaining the various 
struggles with the caterer and chef (who 
were not of New England heritage, and 
objected to the innovation. "Pie and pat- 
riotism characterized early New England, 
and we were determined to have it here 
to-day at our first social breakfast.'' 

The toasts were to have been to the 
women of the past, of to-day, and the 
future. Miss McGowan, who was to' have 
spoken for the past, was absent through 
illness. Miss Morrill gave a most brilliant 
and strong address on "The Are-Nows." 
Mrs. Bartram spoke eloquently for the 
daughters, urging a backward turning to 
the character building of early New Eng- 
land. Mrs. Henry Firth Wood entertained 
with her inimitable recitations which of 
course kept the audience in roars of 
laughter ; and Mrs. Florence LeRoy added 
the charm of fine singing. 

It is with pleasure that we produce this 
month a picture of Miss Cora M. Wheeler, 
the newly elected president of Colony 
Nine, Utica, N. Y. Miss Wheeler was born 
and educated in New England and comes 
of New England ancestry on both sides. 
She belongs to the Daughters of the Amer- 
ican Revolution through her great-grand- 
father on the mother's side, Eliphalet 
Thorp, who served as a minute-man with 
rank of Sergeant on the alarm of April 
x 9.< 1775, marching from Dedham to Lex- 
ington. His name afterward appears as 
Lieutenant and then as Captain in service 
at West Point and other stations on the 
Hudson, until 1780. The Thorp ancestry 
may be traced back to Samuel Thorp, 171 1, 
who was in the siege of Louisburg. 

Miss Wheeler's grandfather, Eliphalet 
Thorp, Jr., who is spoken of as "a shining 
light of the olden time," was one of the 
most conspicuous and influential men of 
Athol, Mass. A man of fine physique, 
broad-minded, generous-hearted and pub- 
lic-spirited, with a strong sense of justice, 
he rilled a large place in the community 
for many years. He carried on a success- 



ful paper manufactory, making writing 
paper and afterward wrapping paper. He 
took an active interest in town affairs, 
often serving as moderator at town meet- 
ings in a very just and acceptable manner. 
He was a member of the Board of Select- 


men for twelve years, being chairman from 
1820 to 1825 inclusive, and again in 1844. 
He was justice of the peace, and for a long 
time tried civil and criminal cases and was 
often cited as referee. He represented his 
district in the legislature in 1832, and was 
known outside of Athol, often procuring 
distinguished speakers to come from Boston 
for the, edification of the townspeople on 
secular and religious topics. He died in 
1 856 and his wife survived him until 1862. 

Of their eleven children, five sons and 
six daughters, ten were married and lived 
to an advanced age. Maria married Dan- 
iel Bingham Wheeler, a New Hampshire 
man, whose father, Daniel Wheeler, was a 
dignified and respected figure in his native 
town of Lempster, N. IT., where he held 
many local offices. lie was said to bear 
a striking resemblance to Daniel Webster — 
indeed this likeness is marked in the pic- 
tures which have been preserved. 

Daniel Bingham Wheeler as a young 
man left the farm life of New Hampshire 

to seek better educational advantages, and 
eventually to teach school in Massachusetts. 
There he married Maria Thorn, and in the 
historic town of Quincy, Mass., Cora 
Maria Wheeler was born. Mr. Wheeler 
had, distinctively, a legal mind. Remark- 
ably clear and brilliant in his grasp of a 
subject, he desired and intended to enter 
the law as a profession. But as a teacher 
he was always successful and finally made 
teaching his life work. His wife, Maria 
Thorp, was a rarely sweet and sunny 
spirit, a woman of great executive ability, 
much loved in every community where she 

Miss Cora M. Wheeler was educated in 
Cambridge and Boston and taught success- 
fully in the schools of Cambridge for eight 
years. In 1882, after special training, she 
came to Utica and established herself as a 
teacher of elocution in its various branches, 
and with the exception of a year at the 
Chicago Normal School, her work has been 
in Utica and vicinity, where she is well 
known and highly esteemed as a teacher 
and public reader. 

There is a pretty story on record, of one 
of Miss Wheeler's ancestors on the Thorp 
side. The widow Markham's son, who 
came over with her, settled in the Massa- 
chusetts Colonies and married a girl in the 
Rhode Island Plantation. In order that 
each might be married in his own colony, 
they joined hands across the brook which 
was then the line between the two colonies, 
and were married by Governor Winthrop. 
The stream is called the "Bride's Brook" 
to this day. 

Last month's social meeting of the 
Toledo Colony, Eleven, was given by Mrs. 
S. H. Waring, treasurer of the Colony. 
The programme consisted of excellent 
music and a paper by Mrs. Lewis C. Lay- 
lin, wife of Ex-Secretary of State Laylin, 
Columbus, O., who was a guest on this oc- 
casion. Her paper was most appropriate 
and interesting, and was on the Dewey, 
Wolcott and Herrick families who lived in 
Berkshire county, Mass., and who were 
prominent in the Revolution and in the 
later history of Massachusetts. Hugo 
Dewey, Samuel Wolcott and Ezekiel Her- 
rick, who are tre direct ancestors of Mrs. 
Laylin and her sisters, were especially 
noted, and the paper was a fitting intro- 
duction to a valuable family collection of 
old books, curios and Revolutionary relics 
which the colony viewed at the close of 
the program. Tea and wafers were served 
to conclude the afternoon. 

Mrs. J. Kent Hamilton will be hostess to 
the colony at its next meeting. 

Colony Eleven has a very excellent ar- 
rangement of By-Laws, one paragraph of 



which is especially praiseworthy, and I take 
the liberty of quoting it. 

Section 7. Article 2 — "The Historical 
committee shall, so far as possible, obtain 
data of each member's ancestry, and shall 
keep a record of the work of the Colony. 
It shall request each member to furnish a 
sketch concerning an ancestor, of some in- 
cident pertaining to the history of New 
England. The chairman of this committee 
shall be custodian of such papers, and they 
shall become a part of the archives of the 

In speaking of the prosperity of the Col- 
onies, there is but one sad depressed mem- 
ber of our family or fraternity. I refer to 
Colony Ten, San Francisco. No Colony 
ever started with brighter prospects, or 
more earnest, capable members. Our 
president there, Mrs. John F. Swift, wife 
of onr former Ambassador to Japan, the 
secretary, Miss Jennie Partridge, and all 
other officers and members were earnestly 
enlisted in the cause. The great earth- 
quake disaster of last year shattered most 
of their homes and paralyzed all their in- 
terests and prospects. Their president's 
beautiful home, which was furnished with 
valuable curios she and her husband had 
collected the world over was burned, with 
all their possessions, and trieir fortune so 
shattered that even yet they have scarce 
the means for the comforts of life. The 
Colony members at once undertook the 
care of all New England sufferers, regard- 
less of membership in their Colony, and 
also of all others they could possibly reach 
out to. Miss Partridge and others whose 
homes were left intact erected temporary 
camps on their premises and cared for the 
sufferers night and day. Later on she 
wrote the National Society asking that all 
contributions be sent her for distribution 
among the needy New Englanders. The 
letter arrived near the close of the club 
season and our president thought it wise 
to delay the call for help until autumn, 
when cold weather would bring additional 
suffering and want. This decision was 
sent in reply to their secretary's letter ; and 
true to her word the call was sent forth by 
our president early in winter to all of our 
Colonies, suggesting contributions for the 
needs that present themselves to our San 
Francisco members. This winter the Col- 
ony chairman in sending a contribution of 

$11.00, contributed by some members of 
the National Society, asked regarding the 
benificence that is reported to be remaining 
unused in San Francisco. The reply from 
their president is that a man from the east, 
Chicago, I believe, is paid a salary of 
$6000.00 for the purpose of disbursing the 
generous contributions that have been re- 
ceived there; that his manner is more than 
arrogant, it is so cruelly insulting that any 
well-born person would starve or freeze 
rather than make second application to 
-him ; that the citizens of San Francisco 
feel their honor and dignity have been 
slighted in having this man placed at the 
head of the charity department, since there 
are many able citizens who would gladly 
have given their services and who under- 
stand the poor of their own location better 
than any stranger could. The Colony 
president also writes that rather than be 
insulted by asking this man for relief for 
the poor New Englanders in her charge, 
she supplies them from her own meagre 
purse, which certainly shows a great sacri- 
fice on her part, and that the rudeness they 
have to encounter in obtaining relief for 
their poor is very great. I make this pub- 
lic notice and trust that the president of 
every Colony will kindly send what moneys 
or clothing can be collected, no matter how 
insignificant the amount, directly to Mrs. 
John F. Swift, president Colony Ten. N. S. 
N. E. W., Berkley, Cal., where she is stay- 
ing with friends. Miss Partridge, secretary 
of Colony Ten, who cared for the destitute 
all through the summer months, finally be- 
came„ill of nervous prostration and is not 
yet at her post of duty. 

Colony Fourteen, Minneapolis, has com- 
pleted its charter membership of forty and 
elected its officers, who are as follows : 
President, Mrs. Sampson R. Child; first 
vice-president, Mrs. Robert Enegren ; sec- 
ond vice-president, Mrs. Fremont M. 
Jaynes ; recording secretary, Mrs. Guy C. 
Barnes ; corresponding secretary, Mrs. C. 
S. Allanson ; treasurer, Mrs. G. F. H. 
Howarth ; assistant treasurer, Mrs. Robert 
L. Pennv ; council, Mmes. J. H. Johnson, 
J. A. Brant, H. B. Smith. D. B. Willett. 
At their first social meeting Mrs. Fremont 
Jaynes read a paper on the early days of 
the colonists at Plymouth and the perils 
and hardships of the forefathers. 

Colonial and Patriotic 

By Elisabeth Merritt Gosse 

The interest in Valley Forge and its 
memories is ever growing among the mem- 
bers of the various patriotic societies. 
many of whose members trace their an- 
cestry directly back to those who lived 
through the suffering of those dark days 
at Valley Forge. The first great work of 
the National Society of the Daughters of 
the Revolution was the erection of a monu- 
ment at Valley Forge to the memory of 
these hero patriots. It is of great interest 
therefore, to learn that since the national 


government has taken the land consecrated 
by the sufferings of the starving troops en- 
camped there under command of General 
Washington, to be held forever as a na- 
tional park, that an important group of 
buildings has been planned of deepest in- 
terest to all patriotic people. There is first, 
the Washington Memorial Chapel ; and 
there is to be also, a Patriots' Hall, a tower, 
and a rectory, on this sacred ground. The 
Memorial Chapel will have a "Cloister 
of Colonies," each of the thirteen original 
states taking a bay in the cloister. New 
Jersey and Pennsylvania have already 
taken their bays, and the Massachusetts 
Society of the American Revolution, has 
been asked to stand sponsor for one of the 
bays. On the front of the building will be 
five bays facing the ground, across the 
valley, which was occupied by the Massa- 
chusetts troops. About $2000 is required 
for each bay, a small part of this sum 
being set aside for the care and mainte- 

nance of the cloister. Societies and chap- 
ters might well plan to honor some patriot 
by providing a memorial in choir or sanc- 
tuary of the chapel, in the tower, or a win- 
dow in cloister or hall, even in a pew, or a 

Patriots' Hall, as a memorial to the pa- 
triots of the past, will be arranged as a< 
meeting place for the patriots of the pres- 
ent. It iwll contain on its first floor, which 
is to be connected with the Memorial Chap- 
el, vestry and choir rooms for the use of 
the clergy and choirs. There will be also 
a library and banquet hall, the latter con- 
nected with ample kitchens on the floor be- 
low, these to be at the services of such 
patriotic societies as may care for a day of 
encampment at Valley Forge. The library 
will be mostly devoted to books of histori- 
cal research, especially those connected with 
the history of our country and the War of 
the Revolution. For this library the Rev. 
W. Herbert Burk of Norristown, Pa., is 
gathering information in regard to the men 
of Washington's Army at Valley Forge, 
in order that there may be kept here a per- 
manent record of their achievements. He 
is obtaining also lists of their descendants, 
and thus the traditions of the camp which 
have so far been the heritage of the fami- 
lies of- patriots,, will become the heritage 
of the nation. 

On the second floor of Patriots' Hall 
will be an audience room, capable of seat- 
ing several hundred persons. Its walls will 
be lined with cases, containing a collection 
of objects illustrating American history. 
The nucleus of this is a fine collection of 
Indian relics, given for this purpose by the 
late Rev. Jesse Burk. To this Mrs. Brice 
of Reading, Pa., has lately added the "Mary 
Regina Brice" collection of historical docu- 
ments and manuscripts. The approach to 
the hall will be called "The Porch of the 
Allies," each bay of which will be a me- 
morial of those, who with Lafayette and' 
Steuben, came across the seas to aid the 
cause of American liberty. The tower will 
serve as a memorial and bell tower, giving 
from its height a superb view of the enj 
campment and surrounding countrty. A 
fine chime of bells will be placed in the 

It is estimated that $50,000 will be re- 
quired to complete and furnish Patriots^ 



Hall. A part of this sum is already pledged 
by the Valley Forge Memorial Associa- 
tion, the same association which some 
years ago raised the money with which 
Washington's headquarters at Valley Forge 
were purchased. Money, books, and_ relics 
are now needed. Money with which to 
build; books for the Washington Memorial 
Library, together with data of the lives of 
the men who served at Valley Forge; and 
relics for the Valley Forge Museum. All 
checks should be sent to the treasurer of 
the Valley Forge Memorial Association, 
Charles N. Comfort, 500 Stanbridge street, 
Norristown, Pa. ; and for information con- 
cerning other matters of relics, books, 
data, etc., the Rev. W. Herbert Burk may 
be addressed at All Saints' Rectory, Nor- 
ristown, Pa. 


Successful cooperation of four patriotic 
societies in the Commonwealth of Massa- 
chusetts — the Sons of the Revolution, the 
Sons of the American Revolution, the 
Daughters of the American Revolution, 
and the Daughters of the Revolution, — in 
decorating the Paul Revere School, sug- 
gested the formation of a permanent com- 
mittee which should stand ready to fur- 
ther any patriotitc work which demanded 
united action on the lines for which the 
several societies were formed. Conse- 
quently, on the sixteenth of February, 
1899, twenty-three regularly appointed dele- 
gates from the Sons and Daughters of the 
Revolution and the Sons and Daughters of 
the American Revolution, organized as a 
committee and adopted by-laws. 

They selected the name of "Advisory 
Committee on Cooperation in Patriotic 
Work," as covering well the ground, and 
indicating their purpose. The committee 
as now constituted, consists of four dele- 
gates-at-large, and one delegate from each 
chapter in the four societies. While one 
regular meeting is held each year for re- 
ports of the year's work, yet the commit- 
tee is called together as often as occasion 
requires, the four delegates-at-large form- 
ing the executive board. Each chapter 
may, through its delegate, present at any 
time, as the need demands, such business 
as may properly be undertaken by the com- 
mittee, the request for action being made 
to the delegate-at-large, who represents the 
society to which the chapter belongs, the 
request being then brought to the execu- 
tive board. Mr. Walter Gilman Page, his- 
torian of the Sons of the Revolution, is 
the very efficient chairman of the advisory 
committee, and Mrs. Mary A. Chapman, 
ex-state regent of the Daughters of the 
Revolution, is secretary and treasurer. 

Mr. Page succeeded General Francis H. 
Appleton of the Sons of the American 
Revolution, who had held the office from 
the formation of the committee. 

If this committee had accomplished noth- 
ing from the time of its formation in 1899, 
up to last June, when its efforts to save the 
Old State House proved so successful, this 
one deed alone would justify its existence, 
and prove that those who are interested in 
it, have a right to demand the support of 
every loyal and patriotic person in the 
state of Massachusetts, and even in New 
England, since Boston is truly the heart of 
New England. This advisory committee 
forms just the rallying point needed, for 


resistance to those who would thoughtlessly 
destroy what we most cherish, and had it 
existed years ago, the famous Governor 
Hancock mansion would yet be standing, 
facing Boston Common. As it is we may 
look with pride at some of the achieve- 
ments of the committee in the past seven 
years : The naming of Lafayette Mall on 
Boston Common ; the protection of Copp's 
Hill Burying Ground ; work for the preser- 
vation of the Old North Church; investi- 
gation concerning the preservation of Paul 
Revere's old home at the North End; at- 
tendance on Dorchester Monument hear- 
ing; petition to Congress for purchase of 
land at Yorktown ; petition to name Boston 
schoolhouse for Paul Jones ; uniform dec- 



oration of graves of Revolutionary sol- 
diers, the appointment of a committee 
which, with Governor Guild, himself a 
member of several of the patriotic societies, 
saved the Old State House from further 
desecration by the Transit Commission. 
And to this may be added the influence 
brought to bear upon Mayor Fitzgerald 
when iconoclasts had voted to change the 
name of Dorchester street, the famous 
road along which Washington's soldiers 
marched on their way to Dorchester 
Heights, a historic name proudly borne 
for over one hundred and twenty-five years, 
to that of "St. Augustine's avenue," simply 
because a church dedicated to that saint 
had been builded there. 

Newly elected officers of the Society of 
Colonial Wars in the Commonwealth of 
Massachusetts are : Governor, Joseph 
Grafton Minot; deputy-governor, Nathaniel 
Johnson Rust; lieutenant-governor, Francis 
Henry Appleton ; secretary, Edward Web- 
ster McGlennen ; deputy secretary, Walter 
Kendall Watkins ; treasurer, Charles Sher- 
burne Penhallow ; registrar, Paul Masca- 
rene Hubbard ; historian, Barrett Wendell ; 
genealogist, Walter Kendall Watkins; 
chancellor, Charles Upham Bell; surgeon, 
Dr. Charles Montraville Greene ; chaplain, 
the Right Rev. Bishop William Lawrence ; 
gentlemen of the council, Albert Alonzo 
Folsom, Henry Morton Lovering, Dr. 
Moses Greeley Parker, Edward Tobey 
Barker, John Henry Brooks, Samuel Ar- 
thur Bent, Dawes Eliot Furniss, Edwin 
Sanford Crandon and Desmond Fitzgerald; 
membership committee, Walter Kendall 
Watkins, William Wallace Lunt, Charles 
French Read, Alexander Wadsworth Long- 
fellow and Henry Nelson Bigelow. The 
former board of officers were practically re- 
elected, but few changes being made. The 
society has voted to postpone its annual 
dinner, — which will be its fourteenth, — 
until some time in the spring, when there 
is more, leisure for speakers and busy men 
of affairs. Last year the society commem- 
orated the birthday of Benjamin Franklin, 
January 17, but as the dinner is a moveable 
feast, an historic date of the spring time 
will be selected. At its last meeting, held 
at Young's Hotel, the speaker was Edward 
Little Rogers of Cambridge. 

Another society, which has just held its 
asnual meeting with election of officers, is 
the Society of the Sons of the Revolution, 
a society which marked the birthday an- 
niversary of Franklin by a dinner at the. 
Somerset, with a large delegation present 
from Virginia, strengthening the friend- 

ship between the Old Bay State and the 
Old Dominion. Re electing their president, 
Eben Francis Thompson of Worcester, 
other officers are : Vice-president, William 
Sumner Appleton ; secretary, Frank Hud- 
son Carruthers ; treasurer, Charles Irving 
Thayer ; registrar, Willis Whittemore 
Stover; historian, Walter Gilman Page; 
chaplain, the Rev. Edward Huntting Rudd. 
The board of managers is composed of 
William Curtis Capelle, Frederick Banker 
Carpenter, Lombard Williams, Harry 
Young, Charles Hayden, Edwin Brichard 
Cox, Henry Cormerais French, Henry 
Warren Dexter, and Charles D. Burrage. 

The triennial convention of the National 
Society, Sons of the Revolution, will be 
held next year, as usual, in Washington. 
Delegates and alternates from the Massa- 
chusetts Society will be R. Henry W. 
Dwight, the Rev. Edward Huntting Rudd, 
General Hazard Stevens, James Atkins 
Noyes, and Frank Rollins Carpenter, Gen- 
eral William Franklin Draper, Henry Eddy 
Cobb, the Rev. Edward Everett Hale, 
Crarles Herbert Allen, and Samuel Pierce 

Yet another society to hold its annual 
meeting in the month just gone by is that 
of the Massachusetts Society of United 
States Daughters of 1812, of which Mrs. 
Nelson V. Titus was founder, and has al- 
ways been president. Other officers are: 
Vice-president, Mrs. S. Willard Venson ; 
recording secretary, Mrs. Helen S. Burton; 
corresponding secretary, Mrs. E. E. Tilden; 
treasurer, Mrs. W. H. Alline; registrar, 
Mrs. Fannie D. Ward ; assistant regis- 
trar, Miss Hettie B. Ward; historian, Mrs. 
PI. F. Gleason; council, Mrs. Abijah 
Thompson, Mrs. Tilton E. Emery, Mrs. 
K. D. Tower, Dr. Blanche A. Deniz, Miss 
Flarriet W. Foster, Miss Sarah E. Foster, 
Mrs. Isabelle A. Newton, and Mrs. James 
F. Thomas. After the election, which w as 
held at Hotel Oxford, a breakfast was 
served to members and guests, the tables 
being beautifully decorated with small 
American flags and white carnations, the 
color of the society. Most conspicuous was 
a floral representation of the old frigate 
Constitution, the restoration of which has 
always been the aim of this branch of the 
United States Daughters of 1812. Among 
the speakers were the Rev. W. H. Morri- 
son of Brockton, and the Hon. Solon W. 
Stevens of Lowell, who made a most elo- 
quent address on the work done by the so- 
ciety in saving the frigate Constitution. 
Mrs. Titus, founder of this society, is also 
founder of the Adams chapter, D. R. of 
Quincy, and has always been notable for 
her patriotic work. 




The Massachusetts Society, Daughters 
of the Revolution, of which Mrs. Adeline 
Frances Fitz is regent, are to hold their 
annual meeting on March 17, the ballot 
being prepared by Mrs. Clinton Viles, Mrs. 
Mabel Priest, Mrs. Henry Weston, Mrs. 
John Clapp, and Mrs. Susan Plummer. 

A new chapter has just been formed in 
the Society of the Daughters of the Revo- 
lution, and named Lafayette chapter. Its 
regent is Mrs. Emily H. Gosselin. Other 
officers are : Vice-regent, Miss Effie L. 
Esten ; secretary, Mrs. Annie L. ' Mason ; 
treasurer, Mrs. Harriet W. Smith; his- 
torian, Miss Edith M. Witherell. The 
state regent, Mrs. Fitz, and the state his- 
torian, Mrs. Alice M. Granger, have been 
made honorary members. Deliverance 
Munroe chapter, of Maiden, at its last 
meeting, enjoyed a fine paper on "St. 
Petersburg," given by Mrs. E. C. Kimball 
of that city. Adams chapter of Quincy, 
meeting at the historic Adams House, in 
which it has headquarters, had a paper by 
Mrs. Porter on "Historic Places of Bos- 

"Dorothy Q" chapter, named for the 
heroine of Oliver Wendell Holmes' poem, 
met last month with Mrs. Clinton Viles in 
Brookline, when Mrs. Henry Grant Wes- 
ton, regent of Washington Elm chapter of 
Cambridge, gave a paper entitled, "Snap 
Shots from Uncle Sam's Camera." Mary 
Washington chapter of Clinton, at its 
last meeting, had a paper dealing with the 
life and work of Mrs. Flora Adams Darl- 
ing, founder of the National Society, 
Daughters of the Revolution. Judith 
Badger Cogswell chapter, of Haverhill, is 
called upon to mourn the loss of its founder 
and first regent, Mrs. Oliver Taylor, who, 
but recently passed to the higher life. The 
growth and success of this chapter are in 
large measure due to her efforts and help- 

Mercy Savary chapter of Groveland has 
been holding some interesting meetings, 
notably those held in the Savary home- 
stead, a magnificent specimen of Colonial 
architecture, rilled with beautiful speci- 
mens of colonial furniture, silver and china, 
and occupied to-day bv descendants of the 

Revolutionary heroine for whom the chap- 
ter is named. 


The Despatch Rider monument is to be 
unveiled in Orange, N. J., on June 14, and 
on the same day the city of Orange will 
celebrate its centennial. The Sons of the 
American Revolution of New Jersey have 
appointed a committee to devise ways and 
means for the purchase of General Wash- 
ington's headquarters in Preakness, the 
building being now owned by former Gov- 
ernor Murphy, who is interested in the 
project, and who has given an option for a 

The Fairbanks Family Association in 
America is arranging a bazaar to be held 
in Boston some time during the spring, for 
the purpose of . further restoration of the 
Old Fairbanks House in Dedham, which 
the association now owns. 

Longfellow's centenary birthday, Febru- 
ary 27, was very generally observed in New 
England. William D. Howells, the dis- 
tinguished author, was the orator at the 
Cambridge ceremonies ; and in the after- 
noon, under the management of Miss Bra- 
zier, regent of John Paul Jones chapter, 
D. A. R., the Rev. Henry R. Rose of Phila- 
delphia gave a delightful lecture on "With 
Longfellow in Evangeline Land." The dis- 
tinguished group of patrons and patron- 
esses included Longfellow's daughter, Mrs. 
J. G. Thorpe and others of the family, 
Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, Mrs. Ole Bull, 
Mrs. Arthur Astor Carey, Frank Sanborn, 
who was a personal friend of Longfellow, 
Edwin D. Mead, the Rev. E. A. Horton, 
General Nelson A. Miles, Mrs. Louise 
Chandler Moulton, Mrs. Daniel Lothrop, 
and Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford. 

Officers of the new chapter, John Paul 
Jones, which was organized on December 
10, are : Regent, Miss Marion Howard 
Brazier; vice-regent, Mrs. Elisabeth Mer- 
ritt Gosse ; recording secretary, Mrs. 
Blanche B. Booth ; corresponding secre- 
tary, Miss Elal C. Fairbanks ; treasurer, 
Miss Cora E. Burt; registrar. Miss Edith 
Le Baron Hersom ; historian, Mrs. Nellie 
S. Griffin. 

"The New Art of An Ancient People, 
..The Work of Ephraim Mose Lilien" 
(B. W. Huebsch, New York) intro- 
duces a new author as well as a new art- 

Mr. M. S. Levussove who writes this 
appreciation of Lilien's drawings and in- 
terprets them in the light of the awak- 
ening art-spirit of the Jewish people, has 
been for a number of years an instructor 
in the Art Department of the College of 
the City of New York. This monograph 
is written sympathetically yet without un- 
due bias. 

Briefly but entertainingly he covers his 
subject, never losing sight of the main 
point, that the awakening art-spirit among 
the Jews is exemplified by Lilien's works. 
The book strikes a new vein in the liter- 
ature of art and will be of equal interest 
to those who wish to see the pictures and 
those who would read about them. 

The book is beautifully printed on India 
tint paper and appears in two bindings — 
boards at 75 cents and limp leather at $2. 

Baby-Craft or Just What to do for 
The Baby. By Alice B. Stockham, M. 

Attractively bound in baby-blue Fair- 
field linen here is another book of advice 
for young mothers to lean on (and young 
babies to fatten on?). "A rosary of facts;" 
— we are told — "replete with knowledge 
for parent and nurse." Baby-Craft tells 
how the baby is affected before birth, and 
how it in turn affects the mother; gives 
plain directions for baths, dressing and 
feeding; explains that quarrels and dis- 
agreements in the home are pictured forth 
in colic, fevers and unrest in the baby; 
that a peculiar and perverse child may 
not be a bad one but simply needs to be 
understood; and names certain preventives 
for common and simple diseases. (Stock- 
ham Publishing Co., 70 Dearborn St., Chi- 
cago. 25 cents.) 

Behind the Scenes With Wild Animals. 

By Ellen Velvin. 

This is an interesting tale of the train- 
ing of wild animals for the stage and Zoo 

with plenty of amusing and thrilling an- 
ecdote of happenings behind the scenes. 
The chapters deal with First Impressions 
of a visitor behind the scenes, Perils of 
the Runway, Photographing the Animals, 
which is not so easy as it seems, since 
it is necessary for the photographer to 
enter the cage, Animals' Individualities, 
The Young of the Wild, The Training 
of an Animal Trainer, Inside Life of An- 
imal Shows, The Treachery and Vicious 
ness of Animals, and the Public's Point 
of View. (Moffat, Yard & Co.) 

"Boy Wanted." By Nixon Waterman. 

One of the most attractively printed of 
this season's books with its brown cover 
on which is a photograph of a whole- 
some, barefooted country boy, not a 
"Goody-goody" but the sort that will en- 
joy and profit by the verses, — Nixon Wa- 
terman's verses without any question — to 
be found inside. It is a book which par- 
ents will put into the hands of their boys 
with perfect confidence that it is "just 
the thing." Mr. Waterman says in his 
preface that "in presenting this book of 
cheerful counsel to his youthful friends, 
and such of the seniors as are not too old 
to accept a bit of friendly admonition, the 
author desires to offer a word of explana- 
tion regarding the history of the making 
of this volume. So many letters have been 
received from people of all classes and 
ages requesting copies of some of the 
author's lines best suited for the purpose 
of engendering a sense of self-help in the 
mind of youth, that he deems it expedient 
to offer a number of his verses in the 
present collected form. While he is in- 
debted to a great array of bright minds 
for the prose incident and inspiration 
which constitutes a large portion of this 
volume, he desires to be held personally 
responsible for all the rhymed lines to be 
found within these covers." 

The spirit of the book is in the little 
verse found on the cover : 

"Do not loiter or shirk, 

Do not falter or shrink ; 
But just think out your work 
And then work out your think.' " 
(Forbes and Company, Chicago.) 

New England Magazine 


APRIL, 1907 

Number 2 



^T is all very well for the 
American people to as- 
sume a contemptuous 
disregard of Congress 
and of what it may or 
may not do, but, never- 
theless, if the truth were 
known it would be demonstrated that deep 
j down in their hearts the public have respect 
for their lawmakers and are more or less 
interested in them as individuals. 

So much has been said of late about the 
alleged decadence of the United States Sen- 
ate and its reputed domination by corpora - 
tion interests that the House of Representa- 
tives has failed to receive its due share of 
notoriety. Speaker Cannon in his numer- 
jous postprandial speeches loves to dwell 
upon the nearness of "the popular branch" 
to the people, and of its genuinely demo- 
cratic character. The voters have at all 
times, he says, through their representa- 
tives, chosen by popular vote, the power to 
control absolutely all legislation, and by 
the simple rule of the majority to dethrone 
the Speaker, thus making him ever mind- 
ful of his responsibility to his masters. It 
is not necessary to impeach the Speaker of 
the House of Representatives, Mr. Cannon 
says, to get rid of him. He can be shorn of 
jhis power at any time by a majority reso- 

Whether in exploiting this proposition 
[Speaker Cannon means to reflect upon the 
existing methods of electing Senators by 
legislative vote and form an argument in 
favor of choosing them by direct vote of 
the people is not clear. But on all occa- 
jsions the Speaker voices his own belief 

that the office he holds is of the very high- 
est, and next to that of the President. He 
loses no opportunity to poke fun at the 
Senate, and has been known to say in all 
seriousness that he would not exchange for 
a seat in that body the gavel which he now 
holds. Speaking recently on a festive occa- 
sion graced by the presence of the President 
and Vice-President of the United States, 
two or three members of the Cabinet, in- 
cluding Secretary Root, Justices of the Su- 
preme Court of the United States, members 
of the Diplomatic Corps, officers of the 
Army and Navy, and many distinguished 
citizens in private life, Uncle Joe, in eluci- 
dating the principle upon which the Gov- 
ernment is founded, how one good man 
succeeds another and the people rule, made 
a hit, although not perhaps just the one he 

His homely, pleasant face, flushed with 
good nature and with good cheer, his thin 
sandy gray hair, like his cravat, all awry, 
his inevitable cigar held in his right hand, 
while he gesticulated with his left, his waist- 
coat unbuttoned and his shirt-front rum- 
pled, the Speaker asked what would hap- 
pen if at that very moment the walls of the 
building in which the distinguished audi- 
ence was seated should crumble, the earth 
be rent in twain, and everybody in the room 
dropped into the cavity, to be lost from 
sight forever. Quick as a flash a guest who 
it was afterward learned was prompted bv 
Secretary Taft sang out: 

"Why, Shaw would be President." 
And that was literally true, according to 
provision made for the Presidential suc- 
cession, commencing with the Vice-Pres- 



ident and ending with the last installed 

member of the Cabinet. The interruption 
spoiled the Speaker's point, perhaps, but 
every one understood that he was merely 
trying to illustrate the fact that in public 
as in private life, when one man dies, no 
matter how great may have been the niche 

Sen. Frank Ji. Brandegec, of Connecticut 

he tilled, another rises at once to take his 
place, and the Constitutional and govern- 
mental machinery moves on. 

Consideration of the Speaker's proposi- 
tion leads naturally to the query, Who 
are to take the places of the men who to- 
day have ( h;irge of the work of framing and 
enacting Legislation in the Senate and the 
Hon '• of Representatives? The old ones 
are dying off, but do the new ones give 
promise of being able to fill their shoes? 
In spite of ;ill that has been said of late de- 
wy to the standing of the United 
States Senate as a whole, and of its mem- 
ber- individually, the fact remains that it 
often been described, "the 
greatest legislative body on earth," and that 
it. is controlled largely by men of brains, 
character, and patriotism. But as a result 

Republican side of the chamber, taking the 
prominent Senators alphabetically, Mr.f 
Aldrich of Rhode Island, Mr. Allison of 
Iowa, Mr. Burrows of Michigan, Mr. 
Cullom of Illinois, Mr. Frye of Maine, Mr. 
Hale of Maine, and Mr. Proctor of Ver- 
mont have all reached that point in life 

of recent Senatorial elections, the fact be- 
came apparent that the new men who are 
coming to the Senate, and especially the 
young ones, as well as the juniors now in 
service, do not seem to include in their 
ranks men of the force and ability of those 
who are passing away. 

In the Senate, for instance, it will not be 
long before the real leaders there, those who 
are directly responsible for its policies and 
its politics, will have passed into private 
lfie, or into eternal rest. The ablest men 
in the Senate to-day are the oldest men, 
and among their juniors there are few, if 
any, who have as yet demonstrated their 
claims to the right of leadership. On the 

i 1 1 i i i 1 1 1 

! I ! I 

J I I I i 


\ i i J ! 



1 I I I I 



Sen. John C. Spooner, 
of Wisconsin 

Bep.C. A. Sulloway 
New Ham 

where it is certain that the end of their public careers can 
easily be foreseen. The youngest of them all, Mr. Aldrich, is 
the actual leader of the Senate, and happily he is much 
younger in mind and body than his sixty-five years might indi- 
cate. Mr. Aldrich, under ordinary circumstances, is good for 
ten or fifteen years more of Republican leadership, should he 
care to remain in the Senate so long; but the same cannot 
be said of the older ones among his colleagues, who have for so 
many years stood shoulder to shoulder with him in mapping out 
and enforcing Republican policies of legislation. 

Mr. Allison of Iowa, who has done more perhaps during his 
unprecedentedly long service in Congress, which already covers 
thirty-four years of continuous membership in the Senate, is 
seventy-eight years old. Moreover, the long and severe illness 
from which he has recently recovered has left its mark upon 
him, and it is only reasonable to assume that the expiration 
of his present term in the Senate, Mar. 4, 1909, will mark his 
retirement from public life. Mr. Allison has long been known 
as ''the wisest man in Congress," and President. Cabinet 
members, and Congressional colleagues, who have had cause 
to know of his industry and conservatism and long-headed 
statesmanship, are more than willing to concede that the ap- 
pellation fits him to a nicety. 

The Maine Senators, Messrs. Hale and Frye, cannot, from 
the very nature of things, remain at the helm much longer. 
The one is seventy, the other is seventy-six, and even should 
the Pine Tree State continue to honor itself and them by re- 
turning them to the Senate, they cannot much longer bear the 
brunt of the battle, but must give way to younger and more 
vigorous colleagues. This is true, also, of the other Republi- 
can Senators mentioned, who, by reason of their long service, 
if for none other, fill the important committee chairmanships 
and occupy the places of responsibility and power, where they 
control all matters of legislation. The oldest of this group of 
Senators, although just reelected, is, because of age and ill- 
health, already unfitted for the tasks that he is called upon to 
perform, and they are, therefore, assumed by his more youthful 
colleagues. This is Senator Cullom of Illinois, chairman of 
the Committee on Foreign Relations. He has already passed | 
his seventy-seventh birthday, and even if his mental faculties 
were unimpaired by that fact, he could not stand the physical 
strain of attending to the daily duties of his office. 

These men and their less conspicuous party colleagues, many 
of them men of ability far beyond what has been accorded ; 
them by the public, are the ones who have conducted the I 
affairs of the Senate and who must at no far distant day lay j 
flown the burden and give an account of their stewardship. 
Among those of fewer years who have assisted in the workl 
are such men as Senators Crane of Massachusetts, Foraker of) 
Ohio, Knox of Pennsylvania, Lodge of Massachusetts, and 
Spooner of Wisconsin. Messrs. Foraker and Spooner are in- 
deed themselves veterans, having served long in public life, | 
but physically they are so vigorous and strong as to lead themj 
to be classed quite generally as among the younger men of thel 
Senate. Mr. Spooner is sixty-four, although a stranger looking 
down upon him from the gallery would not think him much 



above fifty, while Mr. Foraker was but sixty on his last birth- 
day. Mr. Spooner is neither gray-headed nor bald-headed; 
the Ohio Senator is both. Senators Crane, Knox, Foraker, 
Lodge, and Spooner all have some of the attributes of states- 
men, but all possess some characteristics which serve to make 
it doubtful whether any of them would be as successful in the 
roll of Senate leaders as those whom the hand of time gradually 
is forcing to relinquish power. 

Mr. Foraker is hot-headed and impetuous, and possesses 
none of that diplomacy and tact so necessary in one who would 
be a modern leader of men. Messrs. Knox and Spooner are 
able, specious lawyers, but their tastes do not seem to run in 
the direction of arranging details and manipulating the political 
iffairs of the body. Mr. Knox in particular is a very modest 
man, who, since coming in the Senate from the cabinet of Presi- 
dent Roosevelt, has contented himself with making one or two 
speeches and as acting as advisory counsellor to the active 
political managers under the direction of Senator Aldrich. 
Senator Lodge is perhaps the best fitted among those of what 
night be called the middle group of Senators, regarding them 
r rom the standpoint of age, to step into the place of leader. Mr. 
Lodge is a man of exceptional ability — that much is conceded 
ven by those who question his good judgment on all occasions. 
He is, moreover, a man of education and long experience in 
public life, a good speaker, a clear writer, of fine address, and 
)f the very highest private character. He is inclined possibly 
;o be too impetuous, too nervous and impatient, at times, but 
t is conceded generally that as the mouthpiece of the President 
)f the United States on the floor of the Senate he has acquitted 
limself most admirably in a difficult role and shown himself, 
noreover, to possess many of the qualities of successful leader- 
ihip. Mr. Lodge is now and has long been the real chair- 
nan of the Committee on Foreign Relations, and he occupies 
nany other places of power in the Senate. If the State of 
Massachusetts shall continue him in the Senate it will not be 
ong before he will be recognized as one of its few foremost 
jnembers. He is not yet fifty-seven years old. 

His colleague Mr. Crane, who is three years younger, al- 
hough he has been in the Senate but little more than two 
rears, is already one of the political leaders of that body, but 
|n matters of legislation he is what his qualifications fit him 
p be, a counsellor rather than an advocate. Mr. Crane never 
bade a speech, and probably could not make one. He has 
lot the education nor the experience in public life that has 
alien to the lot of Mr. Lodge, but as a plain, successful business 
nan engaged in the handling of great affairs, and conservative 
b the last degree, his advice is constantly sought by the powers 
hat be. He and Mr. Lodge work together for the benefit of 
viassachusetts and the country at large, not forgetting that 
ncidentally they are loyal members of the Republican party; 
nd as Mr. Crane has evidently a long lease on his seat in the 
Senate, the future status of Massachusetts there seems to be 
rell secured. 

Now as to the really young men among the Republicans in 
pe Senate, what is there to expect ? There is Mr. Beveridge 
f f Indiana, Mr. Dolliver of Iowa, Mr. Brandegee of Connec- 

Sen. Wm. B. Allison, 
of Iowa 

Rep. R. G. Cousins, 
of Iowa 


Hep. Sereno Payne, 
of New York 

Rep . Champ Clark, 

of Missouri 


ticut, Mr. Burkett of Nebraska, who are already in, and Will- 
iam Alden Smith of Michigan, Jonathan Bourne, Jr., of Oregon, 
and others who are coming. Mr. Beveridge is forty-four, Mr. 
Dolliver forty-nine, Mr. Brandegee forty-two, and Mr. Burkett, 
the baby of the Senate, thirty-nine. None of these youthful 
Senators, with the possible exception of Mr. Beveridge, has as I 
yet shown his spurs as a statesman, and the Indiana Senator, I 
because of his reputed egotism, does not have that hold upon 
the confidence and respect of his Republican colleagues that! 
is necessary in one who aspires to be their leader. Mr. Bev-! 
eridge is a high-minded, patriotic man, industrious and consci- J 
entious, a good talker, but one of such exuberant enthusiasm [ 
that his efforts to convince his colleagues and the public do 
not carry that weight which they should have coming from one l 
who aspires to be a leader among his fellows. Mr. Beveridge, i 
like the others in his class here mentioned, would not have, 
the judgment, the balance, the conservatism, of an Aldrich or| 
an Allison if they lived a thousand years. That is why they arej 
not regarded as in line of succession to the leadership. 

William Alden Smith of Michigan, elected as the successor 
of Gen. Russell A. Alger, comes to the Senate with ten years'! 
experience in the House of Representatives to aid him. He! 
is in his forty-eighth year, and while he has been noted in the 
House as an orator of the florid school and a man of decided i 
opinions on all public questions, especially those relating to 
our foreign affairs, he is not one of those who have been looked, 
upon as in any sense leaders. That, however, considering the 
personnel of the leadership of the House of Representatives, 
is not in any sense to be considered as a reflection upon Mr. 
Smith. He may develop faster in the more easily tilled if not 
more fruitful soil of the Senate. 

In Jonathan Bourne, Jr., of Oregon, New England has a son 
of whom she may well be proud, and of whom she may well 
expect to hear great things. He is the son of that eminent citi- 
zen of Massachusetts who made fame and fortune in the mill 
business with which the son is still connected. Young Bourne 
left New Bedford, his father's home, for Harvard College, and 
on graduation did not go back to the Cape country, but took 
the advice of Horace Greeley to go West. Once before he ! 
was a candidate for the Senate, which has long been the goal! 
of his ambition, and, nothing daunted by defeat, with the deter- 
mination that made the fame and fortune of his family, casting! 
aside frivolity, he set himself to a business career, and made' 
such an enviable name for himself that at last he won the prize,' 
and for this both Oregon and New England are to be congratu-j 

On the Democratic side of the Senate chamber the situation! 
is even less encouraging. There is no leader there. The lata 
Senator Gorman, who was the leader of the Senate Democrats; 
if anybody ever was, used to say that all the Democratic Sen-j 
ators were leaders; that none of them would consent to be pri-j 
vates; and he would give that as a reason why they did not] 
accomplish more politically. It is fact, remarkable as it mayj 
seem, that the Republicans to-day have a two-thirds majority 
in the Senate, and that there are no Democratic Senators from 
any State north of Mason and Dixon's line: so what could the 



I Senate Democrats do if they did have a leader? They have 
good men on that side of the chamber, but they too are old 
ones and about to pass away. Mr. Blackburn of Kentucky, 
whose long term as a public man has ended, has been the nom- 
inal leader since Mr. Gorman died — but only nominal; and 
young Mr. Bailey of Texas, who has in him some of the stuff 
of which leaders are made, has clipped his own wings by the 
j sale of his soul to the money-devil. Messrs. Morgan and 
Pettus are able men, but as they are eighty-two and eighty-five 
respectively, and their successors already elected and waiting 
for them to die, little can be expected of them in the way of 
j leadership. But with only thirty out of the ninety Senators that 
comprise the total membership, it makes little difference to 
I the Democrats whether they have leaders or not, and certainly 
it makes just as little difference to their Republican colleagues. 
The little band of Democrats across the aisle will continue 
to be admired and respected, but in the framing of policies 
and the enactment of legislation they will be ignored. 

If the Senate- is to be crippled for the want of leaders when 
those who now occupy the centre of the stage shall have re- 
tired from the limelight, what shall be said of the House of 
j Representatives ? The prospect there is no better. The Re- 
publican majority is not so great, it is true, but it is great 
(enough; and judging from the signs of the times, it will be 
many a long day before the Democrats assume the reins of 
power and control in the lower branch. The triumvirate who 
have long ruled there, consisting of the Speaker and the two 
Republican members of the Committee on Rules, Representa- 
tives Dalzell of Pennsylvania and Grosvenor of Ohio, and 
their lieutenants, Representative Payne of New York, figure- 
head chairman of the Committee on Ways and Means, and 
the chairmen of the other important committees, — like Tawney 
lof Minnesota, of appropriations; Fowler of New Jersey, of 
(banking and currency; Cousins of Iowa, of foreign affairs; 
Sherman of New York, of Indian affairs; Cooper of Wisconsin, 
of insular affairs; Hepburn of Iowa, of interstate and foreign 
commerce; Sulloway of New Hampshire, of invalid pensions; 
Hull of Iowa, of military affairs; Foss of Illinois, of naval 
'affairs; Overstreet of Indiana, of post-offices; Lacey of Iowa, 
lof public lands; and Burton of Ohio, of river and harbors, — 
pre nearly all men of the most mediocre ability, or of old age, 
or of both, or who have already been marked for slaughter 
py their constituents. The best of these men is Mr. Burton, 
a man of ability, honesty, independence, and force, and who, 
largely because of that fact, finds himself generally opposed 
by those who control, through the Committee on Rules, the 
[legislation of the House. 

Mr. Cannon is an old man now. He will be seventy-one in 

May, and is beginning to show the marks of age and of re- 

ponsibility. He will probably continue, however, to be the 

peaker in the incoming Congress, but can hardly expect to 

inger on the stage much beyond that time. One who has been 

for years his co-worker on the floor, the venerable Gen. 

harles H. Grosvenor of Ohio, a member of the Committee 

on Rules, has already retired, and the place in the House that 

has known him so long will know him no more forever. 

Rep. C. H. Grosvenor 
of Ohio. 

Sen. J. W. Bailey, 
of Texas. 



Congress loses a picturesque figure in the 
passing oi General Grosvenor, but it can- 
not be said beyond question that an up- 
right, honest statesman has been lost to 
Congress by Ins retirement. Grosvenor 
has been an interesting character, a strong 
party debater, a loyal Republican at all 

Sen. Fo raker, of Ohio 
.in^t after making his Brownsville Speech 

times, bu' a man whose public and private 
charactej lias been su*~h as to keep him at 
all times within the realm of suspicion. Ap- 
parently he has known no duty beyond that 
of loyalty to his party, and on more than 
one occasion he has been suspected and 
even accused of taking advantage of his 
position as a Republican of influence to 
further hi- private interests. He has never 
been convicted of wrong-doing, it is true, 
and he has many loyal and devoted friends 
who assert thai there is no dishonest hair 
in his white head. This may be true, and 
yet nothing is more certain than that the 
wheels of legislation will not cease to re- 
volve because this white-headed, white- 
whiskered, ferret eyed old gentleman of 
seventy three, who has lived on the past 
glories of the Civil War, bows to the will 

of his constituents and retires from Con- 
gress to accept, if offered, from a compla- 
cent if not altogether grateful administra- 
tion, a more or less lucrative and dignified 
federal office. 

The next in order of Speaker Cannon's 
lieutenants, in the management of the 
House, Mr. John Dalzell of Pittsburg, is 
not an old man. He is just sixty-two. He 
is a lawyer, and a good and successful one. 
His character is above reproach, and his 
high standing with his constituents was 
well demonstrated in the last elections, 
when, after a fierce fight upon him by the 
labor-unions, he was triumphantly elected. 
Mr. Dalzell probably will continue to serve 
on the Committee on Rules, and it is not 

yet known who will be assigned as his 
Republican colleague there to take the 
place of General Grosvenor. Possibly the 
honor will fall to the Hon. Sereno E. 
Payne, although, as it is now fairly well 
understood that there will be some sort of 
a revision in the tariff by the incoming 
Congress, it may be necessary to remove 
Mr. Payne from the chairmanship of the 

Hon. John Sharp Williams, of Mississippi 



Sen. Albert J. Beveridge, of Indiana 

Way- and Means Committee, as he was 
once before passed over by the late Speaker 
Reed. When Mr. Reed was confronted by the 
anomalous situation of Mr. Payne in line 
for the head of that important commit- 
tee at a time when the Republican party 
found it incumbent upon them to pass a 
tariff bill, he was not embarrassed and did 
not hesitate. Brushing aside the rule of 
seniority of sen-ice supposed to be binding 
upon him, he went over the head of Mr. 
Payne, whom he knew was not fitted for 
the work of framing a tariff bill, and chose 
his< ol league, Nelson Dingley, Jr., of Maine, 
to do the work. Then, later, when no 
tariff bill legislation was to be enacted, 
Mr. Payne was placed at the head of the 
committee, and with an avidity that spoke 
volume for his lark of pride and self-re- 
spect he accepted, and has remained as 
chairman in all these years while the 
committee has done nothing. 

This is the group of men that run 
' ' House of Representatives to-day,— 
Speaker Cannon, Dalzell, Payne, and" the 
others, and whatever may be said of 
them, it is a fact that no better men seem 
to be forthcoming. The younger ones give 

no promise of higher things. Burton of 
Ohio might make good if given a chance, 
and possibly he will be brought to the front 
now that a vacancy has been created in the 
ranks of the small number that have been 
managing affairs so long. Great things 
have been predicted for a number of men 
who sit in the House of Representatives 
to-day, but who cut no figure whatever 
there. It is the easiest place in the world 
to make a reputation if a man only has the 
courage to say boldly what he thinks. Ora- 
tory is practically a lost art in the House, 
and the man who can make a speech out of 
the ordinary commands universal attention. 
Ten years or so ago it was said that an 
orator and a statesman had come out of 
the West who would make his name a 
household word throughout the land, yet 
he has sat year after year silent in his seat, 
except on one occasion, and to-day is no 
more known to the public than when he 
first entered Congress. This is Robert G. 
Cousins, of Iowa, who, owing to the death 
of the late Congressman Hitt of Illinois, 
finds himself chairman of the Committee 
on Foreign Relations. He is only forty- 
eight years old, but he has been fourteen 



years in Congress. He is a giant in phys- 
ique, handsome in his way, a bachelor, 
and a favorite in society. This latter fact, 
perhaps, may account for his failure to 
make good the promises of his friends that 
he would become a statesman. Nine years 
ago, after the blowing up of the Maine in 
the harbor of Havana, Mr. Cousins made 
a speech which electrified the House. The 
country, too, applauded it, all losing sight 
for the moment of the fact that in quoting 
eloquently Kipling's "Lest We Forget" he 
entirely misunderstood and misconstrued 
the significance and meaning of it. That 
applause apparently was too much for Mr. 
Cousins, for he has never piped another 
tune. He is a type of a man of good parts 
who sits inert while men of greater years 
but less ability take it upon themselves to 
run things as they see fit. 

In the House of Representatives there 
is a chosen Democratic leader, but his fol- 
lowers do not seem to be very proud of 
him, or very loyal to him, although he is 
an honest man of good ability. It is char- 
acteristic of the Democrats of the House 
of Representatives, as of the Senate, that 
they all want to be generals, and thus it is 
that the leadership of John Sharp Williams, 
of Mississippi, is constantly being chal- 
lenged by such Democrats as Champ 
Clark and Judge De Armond, of Missouri, 

and others who think they are better fitted 
for the task than he. Possibly they are. 
Mr. Williams seems to have made no more 
of a success than his predecessor, Mr. 
Bailey, did, and that is not saying much. 
Just now, moreover, Mr. Williams is pre- 
paring to enter the canvass for election to 
the Senate as the opponent of the notorious 
Governor Vardaman. The Mississippi 
man, like his ambitious party rivals from 
Missouri and elsewhere, is devoted to the 
Presidential aspirations of William J. 
Bryan ; although he, too, disagrees with 
some of the peerless leader's dearest polit- 
ical principles. Mr. Williams now favors 
the nomination of Mr. Bryan on a plat- 
form opposing government ownership of 
railroads, and the other prominent Demo- 
crats of the House favor Mr. Bryan's nomi- 
nation on any platform. 

Judge De Armond is probably the most 
able all-around Democrat in Congress, but 
he is not popular, and it is not probable 
that he would be chosen party leader if he 
were. It is the day of small men in the 
House of Representatives much more dis- 
tinctly than in the Senate, and it is only 
necessary to go back a generation ago to 
note how poorly those who represent the 
two great political parties there to-day 
compare with their illustrious predeces- 



How richly runs life's record on for thee, 
Rounding the goal of five and eighty years, 
Meeting large issues with a front that cheers 

Wide legions of thy fellows, setting free 

Into the sunshine of thy liberty 

How many a soul companioned else with fears, 
How many a heart that sate erstwhile in tears, 

Teaching the world the worth of man to see. 
The heavenly kingdom dost thou still proclaim, 

E'en Christ's good-will and peace across the land, 
The dignity of service in His Name 

Whose praise is wrought in many an earnest band. 
And so may those who later tell thy fame 

Speak best thy praises as they "lend a hand." 




HE two men "hopped" the 
broad expanse of Patch Dam 
heath, springing from tussock 
to tussock of the sphagnum 
moss. In that mighty flat they 
seemed as insignificant as frogs, and their 
progress suggested the batrachian, as they 
leaped and zigzagged. 

Ahead bounced Christopher Straight, the 
few tins of his scanty cooking-kit rattling in 
the meal-bag pack on his back. 

At his heels came Dwight Wade, blanket- 
roll across his shoulders and calipers and 
leather-sheathed ax in his hands. Sweat 
streamed into his eyes and, athlete though 
he was, his leg muscles ached cruelly. The 
September sunshine shimmered hotly across 
the open and the young man's head swam. 

Old Christopher's keen side-glance noted. 
With the veteran guide's tactful courtesy 
toward tenderfeet, he halted on a mound 
and made pretense of relighting his pipe. 
There was not even a bead of perspiration 
on his face and his crisp, gray beard seemed 

"I 'm ashamed of myself," blurted the 
young man in blunt outburst. His knees 
trembled as he steadied himself after his last 

"It ain't exactly like strollin' down the 
shady lane, as the song says," replied old 
Christopher, with gentle satire. He looked 
toward the fringe of distant woods. 

"We could have kept on around by the 
Tornah trail, Mr. Wade, but I reckon you 
got as si< k as I did of climbin' through old 
Britt's slash. And until he operated there 
last winter it used to be one of the best 
trails north of Castonia. I blazed it myself 
forty years ago." 

"And just a little care in felling would 
have left it open," fried the young man, 

"There wa orders from Britt to drop 
ev'ry top across that trail that could be 
dropped there, Mr. Wade. So, unless they 

come in flyin'-machines, there 's been few 
fishermen and hunters up the Tomah trail 
this season, to build fires and cut tent- 

"Does the old hog begrudge them that 
much from the acres he stole from the people 
of the State?" demanded Wade. 

" He 'd ruther you 'd pick your teeth with 
your knife-blade than pull even a sliver out 
of a blow-down," replied Christopher, 
mildly. He tossed his brown hand to point 
his quiet satire, and Wade's eyes swept the 
vast expanse of wood, from the nearer 
ridges to the dim blue of the tree-spiked 

Christopher put his hand to his forehead 
and gazed north. 

" I can show you your first peek at it, Mr. 
Wade," he said, after a moment. "That 's 
old Enchanted — the blue sugar-loaf you 
see through Pogey Notch, there. Enchanted 
stream comes down through the notch. Un- 
der that sugar-loaf is where we are bound, 
to Ide's holdin's." 

There was a thrill for the young man in 
the spectacle — in the blue mountains 
swimming above the haze, and in the un- 
tried mystery of the miles of forest that still 
lay between. Even the word "Enchanted" 
vibrated with suggestion. 

The zest of wander-lust came upon him 
once more — the zest that four days of 
perspiring fatigue, uneasy slumbers under 
the stars, puffing scrambles through under- 
growth and up rocky slopes, had dulled. 

"That's Jerusalem Mountain, layin' a 
little to the left," went on Christopher. 
"That's Britt's principal workin' on the 
east slope of that this season. He '11 yard 
along Attean and run his drive into En- 
chanted — and that 's where Ide and you 
will have a chore cut out for you." The old 
man wrinkled his brows a bit, but his voice 
was still mild. 

The romance oozed from Wade's thrill. 
The thrill became moi 3 like an angry bris- 



tling along his spine. During the days of his 
preparation for this trip into the north 
country, Rodburd Ide — suddenly become 
his partner by astonishing juncture of cir- 
cumstances — had spent as much time in 
setting forth the character of the Honorable 
Pulaski D. Britt as he had in instructing his 
neophyte in the duties of a timber explorer. 
As a matter of fact, Ide left it mostly to old 
Christopher to be mentor and instructor in 
the art of "exploring," as search for timber 
in the north woods is called. Ide was better 
posted on the acerbities and sinuosities of 
Britt's character than he was on the values 
of standing timber and the science of eco- 
nomical "twitch -roads," and, with sage 
purpose, he had freely given of this infor- 
mation to his new partner. 

" Don't worry about the explorin' part — 
not with Christopher postin' you," Ide had 
cheerfully counselled when he had shaken 
hands with them at the edge of Castonia 
clearing four days before. "You and he 
together will find enough timber to be cut. 
But you can't get dollars for logs until 
they 're sorted and boomed — and that 
part means dividin' white water with Britt 
next spring. So, don't spend all your time 
measuring trees, Wade. Measure chances!' ' 

Now, with his eyes on the promised field 
of battle, Wade grunted surlily under his 


For four days he had struggled behind 
old Christopher through tangled under- 
growth of striped maple, witch hobble, and 
mountain holly — Mother Nature's pa- 
thetic attempt to cover with ragged and 
stunted growth the breast that the Honor- 
able Pulaski D. Britt had stripped bare. 

"He cut her three times," Christopher 
explained. "First time the virgin black 
growth — and as handsome a stand of 
timber as ye ever put caliper to; second 
time, the battens — all under eleven inches 
through; third time, even the poles. That 's 
forestry as he practises it!" 


Wade had seen rotting tops that would 
have yielded logs — the refuse of the first 
reckless and wasteful cutting. He had 
passed skidways and toiled over corduroy in 
which thousands of feet of good spruce had 
been left to decay. The deploring finger of 
the watchful Christopher pointed out butts 
hacked off head high. 

"The best timber in the log left standin' 
there, Mr. Wade. But Pulaski Britt ain't 
lettin' his men stop to shovel snow away." 

Britt behind him in the tangled under- 
growth! Britt about him in the straggle of 
trees on the hardwood ridges! Britt ahead 
of him where the black growth shaded the 
mountains in the blue distance! The same 
Britt who had so contemptuously tossed 
him aside as useless baggage when Foreman 
Colin McLeod had demanded his discharge ! 

Wade clutched calipers and ax and went 
leaping after old Christopher with new 
strength in his legs. 

But in spite of the vigor that resentment 
lent him he was glad when the guide tossed 
off his pack beside a brook that trickled un- 
der mossy rocks on the hardwood slope. It 
was good to hear the tinkle of water, to feel 
the solid ground after the weird wobbling of 
the sphagnum moss, and to snuff the smoke 
of the handful of fire crackling under the 

They were munching biscuits and bacon, 
nursing pannikins of tea between their 
knees, when Christopher cocked an ear, 
darted a glance, and mumbled a mild oath, 
as savor to his mouthful of biscuit. 

"Set to eat a snack within a mile of 
Misery Gore and one of them crows will 
appear to ye. And that 's the old he one of 
them all." 

The old man who came shuffling slowly 
down the path was gaunt with the lean ess 
of want and unkempt with the squalor of 
the hopelessly pauperized. 

"It 's one of the Misery Gore squatters, 
Mr. Wade. All Skeets and Bushees and 
married back and forth and crossways and 
upside down till ev'ry man is his own grand- 
mother, if he only knew enough to figger 
relationship. All State paupers, and no 
more sprawl to 'em than there is to a fresh- 

Old Christopher, with Yankee contempt 
of the thrifty for the willing pauper, grum- 
bled on in his derogatory explanations after 
the old man sat down opposite them. Wade 
winced before this brutal frankness, accus- 
tomed to the politer usages of society. He 
plainly felt worse than the subject, who 
looked from one to the other, his blue lips 
slavering at sight of the food. 

"It ain't no use to set there and drool like 
a hound pup, Jed," snapped old Christo- 
pher, cutting another slice of bacon. " We 're 



bound in for a fortnifs exploriiv-trip and 
we ain't got do grub to spare." 

The patriarch oi Misery Gore drew a 
grea>v bit oi brown paper from his ragged 
vest, unfolded it. and took out what was 
apparently a long hair from his grizzly 
beard. He pinched the thieker end between 
dirty thumb and forefinger, stroked the 
whisker upright, and held it before his ga- 
ping mouth. The whisker slowly bent over 
toward Christopher. 

•' 'Lectric!" announced the experimenter, 
in thick, stuffy tones, as though he were 
talking through a cloth. 

Again he gaped his toothless mouth and 
the whisker bent toward the uninviting 

" 'Lectric!" He grinned at them, rolling 
bis watery eyes from face to face to seek 
appreciation. It was evident that he con- 
sidered the feat remarkable. 

"Full of it! Er huh! Full of it!" He 
stroked his thin fingers down his arm and 
slatted into the air. " Storms, huh ? I know. 
Fair weather, huh? I know. Things to 
happen, huh? I know. I can tell." 

He hitched nearer and looked hungrily 
at the bread and bacon which Christopher 
immediately and ruthlessly began to wrap 

"Them wireless telegraph folks ought to 
know about you," grunted the guide. 
"Don't pay any attention to the old fool, 
Mr. Wade. He don't have to beg of us. 
Rod Ide furnishes supplies to these critters. 
Law says that the assessor of the nearest 
plantation shall do it, and then Ide puts in 
hi- bill to the State. You need n't worry 
about their starvin'." 

" You 'd all see us starve on Misery Gore," 
wailed the old man. "You'd all see us 
starve!" His tone changed suddenly to 
weak anger. "Lie 's an old hog. No tea. 
No tobarker." 

■ Yes, and he ain't been so lib'ral with 
turkeys, plush furniture, and champagne 
as he ought to be/ 5 growled Christopher, 
relishing his irony. 

" Jf there is anything that you really need, 
Mr. Mr.—" 

•• Skeet," snapped the guide. 

"—Mr. Skeet, 1 '11 speak to Mr. Ide 
about it when — " 

"Mr. Wade," broke in Christopher, 
"what 's the need of wastin' good breath on 
that sculch? They get all they deserve to 

have. They 're too lazy to breathe unless it 
come automatic. They let their potatoes 
rot in the ground, and complain about 
starvin'. They won't cut browse to bank 
their shacks, and complain about freezin'. 
The only thing they can do to the queen's 
taste is steal, and it 's got so in this sec- 
tion that there ain't a sportin'-camp nor a 
store wangan that it 's safe to leave a thing 

He began to stuff tins into the mouth of 
the meal-sack, glowering at the ancient 

"They nigh put me out of bus'ness 
guidin' hereabouts. Stole ev'rything from 
my Attean camp that I left there — and it 
ain't no fun to tugger-lug grub for sports on 
your back from Castonia." 

When the last knot in the leather thong 
was twitched close and the bountiful meal- 
sack was closed, old Jed abandoned hope 
and wheedling. He brandished the whisker 
at Christopher, his moth-speckled hand 

" Old butcherman ! " he screamed. "'T was 
my Jed. Off here!" He set the edge of his 
palm against his arm. 

Christopher's face grew hard under his 
frosty beard, but his cheeks flushed when 
Wade gazed inquiringly at him. 

"It 's a thief's lookout when there 's a 
spring-gun in a camp," he muttered. "There 
was a sign on the door sayin' as much. It 
ain't my fault if folks has been too busy 
stealin' to learn to read. If you ever hear 
anything about it up this way, Mr. Wade, 
you need n't blame me. They had their 
warnin' by word o' mouth. I 'm sorry it 
happened, but — •" 

"What happened?" 

"Young Jed Skeet joined the "T will- 
git-ye Club' a year ago with a fin shot off 
at the elbow." 

Christopher swung his pack to his back, 
stuck his arms through the straps, and 
marched away. W r ade followed with a new 
light on some of the accepted ethics of 
human combat in the big woods. Old Jed 
shuffled behind, a toothless Nemesis gasp- 
ing maledictions in stuffy tones. 

"We '11 swing over the ridge and go 
through Misery Gore settlement, Mr. 
Wade," said the old guide, after a time, 
divining the reason for his companion's 
silence. "It may spoil your appetite for 
supper, but it will prob'ly straighten out 



some of your notions about me and that 

On the opposite slant of the ridge a ledge 
thrust above the hardwood growth, and 
Christopher led the way out upon this 

"There! Ain't that a pictur for a Sussex 
shote to look at, and then take to the woods 
ag'in?" he inquired, with scornful disregard 
for any civic pride the patriarch of Misery 
might have taken in his community. 

The few miserable habitations of poles, 
mud, and tarred paper were scattered 
around a tumble-down lumber-camp, relic 
of the old days when "punkin pine" tur- 
reted Misery Gore. 

"I suppose the man who named it stood 
here and looked down," suggested Wade. 

"It was named Misery fifty years before 
this tribe ever came here. I reckon they 
heard of it and it sounded as though it might 
suit 'em. They 're a tribe by themselves, 
Mr. Wade. They 've been driven off 'n a 
dozen townships that I know of. Land- 
owners keep 'em movin'. Towns drive 'em 
out to the woods again. I reckon this is 
their longest stop. This Gore is a surplus 
left in surveying Range Nine. Sort of a no 
man's land. But they had n't ought to be 
left here." 

There was so much conviction in the old 
guide's tone, and the contrast of utter ruin 
below was so great, its last touch being 
added by the pathetic old figure in rags at 
the foot of the ledge, that the young man's 
temper flamed. He had been pondering the 
spring-gun episode with no very tolerant 

"For God's sake, Straight, show some 
man-feeling. Is the selfishness of the woods 
down to the point where you begrudge 
those poor devils that wallow of stumps and 

Christopher received this outburst with 
his usual placidity — the placidity that only 
woodsmen have cultivated in its most artis- 
tic sense. 

"Look, Mr. Wade!" He swept his hand 
in the circuit that embraced the panorama 
of ridges showing the first touches of frost, 
the hills still darkling with black growth, 
the valleys and the shredded forest. 

"There she lays before you, ten thousand 
acres like a tinder-box in this weather, dry 
since middle August. You 've seen some of 
the slash. But you 've seen only a little of it. 

Under those trees as far as eye can see 
there 's the slash of three cuttin's. Tops 
propped on their boughs like wood in a 
fireplace! Draught like a furnace! It's 
bad enough now, with the green leaves still 
on. It 's like to be worse in May before the 
green leaves start. And about all those 
dod-fired Diggers down there know or care 
about property interests is that a burn 
makes blueberries grow. They have done it 
in other places. They 're inbred till they 've 
got water for blood and sponges for brains. 
When the hankerin' for blueberries catches 
'em they '11 put the torch to that under- 
growth and refuse, and if wind helps and 
rain don't stop it they '11 set a fire that will 
run to Pogey Notch like racin' hosses, roar 
through there like blazin' tissue-paper in a 
chimbly-flue, and then where '11 your black 
growth on Enchanted be — the growth 
that 's goin' to make money for you and 
Rod Ide ? I tell ye, Mr. Wade, there 's 
more to woods' life than roamin' through 
and cuttin' your gal's name on the bark. 
There 's more to loggin' than the chip-chop 
of a sharp ax, or the rick-raw of a double- 
handled gashin'-fiddle. And when it comes 
down to profit, you can't be polite to a por- 
cupine when he 's girdlin' your spruce -trees, 
nor practise society airs and Christian char- 
ity with dam fools, whether they 're dude 
fishermen tossin' segar-stubs or such spon- 
taneously combustin' toadstools as them that 
live down yonder eatin' the State's pork and 
flour. I 'm up here with ye to tell ye some- 
thing about the woods, Mr. Wade. And it 
ain't all goin' to be about calipers, the diff- 
'runce between the Bangor and New 
Hampshire scale, and how stumpage ain't 
profitable under nine inches top measure — 
no, s'r, not by a blame sight!" 

There was no passion in the old man's 
covert remonstrance, but there was an 
earnestness that closed the young man's lips 
against argument. He followed silently 
when Christopher led the way off the ledge 
and down the slope toward the settlement. 
Old Jed took up his position at the rear. 

The first who accosted them was a slat- 
ternly woman, her short skirts revealing 
that she wore men's long-legged boots. She 
rapped the bowl of a pipe smartly in her 
palm, to show that it was empty, and de- 
manded tobacco. She scowled, and there 
was no hint of coaxing in her tones. 

When Wade looked at her with an ex- 

i 4 6 


pression of shocked astonishment that all 
his resolution could not modify she sneered 

at him. 

"Oh, you think we don't know northin 
here — ain't wuth noticin' 'cause we live 
in the woods, hey? Well, we do know 
something. Here, Ase, tell this sport the 
months of the year and then let 's see if he 's 
stingy enough to keep his plug in his 

Ase, plainly her son, lubberly and man- 
grown, roared without bashfulness: 

° Jan'warry, Fub'darry, Septober, Ock- 
juber, Fourth o' July, Saint Padrick's Day, 
and Cris'mus — gimme a chaw!" 

Two or three men lounged out-of-doors 
— one with his arm significantly off at the 
elbow. But there was not even a shadow 
on his vapid face when he looked at Chris- 
topher, author of his misfortune. 

"Ain't ve goin' to give me a piece of your 
plug, Chris?" he whined. "Seem's if ye 
might. You 'n' me 's square now — I got 
your pork and you got my arm." 

"There! Hear that?" growled Straight 
in Wade's ear. "Put your common-sense 
calipers on this stand of human timber and 
see what ve make of it." 

Wade, looking from face to face, as the 
frowsy population of Misery lounged closer 
about him, half in indolence, half in the 
distrustful shyness that the stupidly igno- 
rant usually assume toward superior stran- 
gers, noted that though the men displayed 
an almost canine desire to fawn for favors, 
the women were sullen. The only excep- 
tion was a very old woman who hobbled 
close and entreated: 

"Ain't you got northin' good for Abe, nice 
young gentleman? Poor Abe! Hain't got 
no friend but his old mother." She hooked 
a hand as blue and gaunt as a turkey's claw 
into Wade's belt and held up her spotted 
face SO close to his that he turned his head 
in uncontrollable disgust. 

"Your hands off the gentleman, Jule," 
commanded Christopher, brusquely. "It 's 
old |ide, mate of the old he one that has 
been chasin' us," he explained, with more 
of that blissful disregard for the feelings of 
ubjects that had previously shocked 
the young man. "There's old Jed and 
young Jed — old Jule and young Jule. 
They ain't even got gumption enough here 
to change names. And that's Abe — the 
choice specimen that she 's beggin' for. 

Look at him and wish for a pictur'-machine, 
Mr. Wade!" 

He had thought there could be no worse 
in human guise than those he had seen. But 
this huge, hairy, shaggy, almost naked 
giant cowering against the side of a shack 
with all the timidity of a child marked a 
climax even to such degeneracy as he had 
quailed before. 

" Mind in him is about five years old and 
will always stay five years old," said the 
guide, pointing to the wistful, simpering 
face. "Body speaks for itself. Look at 
them muscles. I 've seen him plowin' 
hitched with their cow. Clever as a mule. 
He 's the old woman's hoss. Hauls her on a 
jumper clear to Castonia settlement." 

"An animal!" Wade gasped. 

"Not much else. Afraid of the dark, of 
shadows, and women mostly. Strange 
women! Once a woman scared him in 
Castonia and he ran away like a hoss, drag- 
gin' the jumper. Old Jule hitched him to a 
post after that." 

Cretinism in any form had always shocked 
Dwight Wade inexpressibly. He turned 
away, but the old woman was in his path, 

The next moment a tall, lithe girl ran 
swiftly out of a hut, seized the whimpering 
old woman, tossed her over her shoulder as 
a miller would up-end a bag of meal, and 
staggered back into the hut, kicking the 
frail door shut with angry heel. Wade got 
an astonished but a comprehensive view of 
this "kidnapper." There was no vacuity 
in her face. It was brilliant, with black eyes 
under a tangle of dark hair disordered but 
not unkempt like that of the females he had 
seen in Misery. Her lips were very red, and 
the color flamed on her cheeks above the 
brown of the tan. In that compost heap of 
humanity the girl was a vision, and Wade 
turned to old Christopher with unspoken 
questions on his parted lips. 

"Don't know," said the guide, lacon- 
ically, wagging his head. "No one knows. 
She 's with 'em. But you and me can see 
that she ain't of 'em. She 's always been 
with 'em as fur back 's I know of her — and 
that was sixteen years ago, when she was in 
a holler log on rockers for a cradle." 

"Stolen!" suggested Wade, desperately. 
The thought had a morsel of comfort in it. 
That a girl like that could belong by right of 
birth in this tribe, that a girl with — ah, 



I now he realized why his heart had throbbed 
at sight of her — that a girl with Lyde 
(Barrett's hair and eyes could be doomed to 
this existence was a knife -thrust in his 

\ And the toss of her head and the rebel- 
liousness in the gesture — the defiance in 
Ithe upward flash of the sparkling eyes, — 
subdued in Lyde Barrett's case by conve- 
yances, — the mnemonics of love, whose 
suggestions are so subtle, thrilled him at the 
sudden apparition of this forest beauty. 
Reason angrily rebuked this unbidden 
comparison. He bit his lips and flushed as 
hough his swift thought had insulted the 
society belle. Old Christopher put into 
;>lunt woods' phrase the pith of the thoughts 
hat struggled together in Wade's mind. 
The guide was looking at the closed door. 

There 's lots of folks, Mr. Wade, that 
lon't recognize plain white birch in some 
)f the things that 's polished and set up in 
:ity parlors. I 've wondered a good many 
imes what a society cabinet-shop, as ye 
[night say, would do to that girl." 

"They must have stolen her," repeated 

Old Christopher tucked a sliver of plug 
nto his cheek. 

"That would sound well in a gipsy fairy- 
tory, but it don't fit the style of the Skeets 
nd Bushees. They 're too lazy to steal any- 
hing that 's alive. They want even a shote 
dlled and dressed before they '11 touch it. 
Klear 's I can find out, the young one was 
landed to 'em, and they was too dad- 
blamed tired to wake up and ask where it 
tame from. They did n't even have sprawl 
:nough to name her. I did that," he added, 
:almly. "Yes," he proceeded, smiling at 
kVade's astonished glance; "I was guidin' 
l sport down the West Branch just before 
hey drove the tribe out of the Sourdna- 
leunk country — under old Katahdin, you 
mow. I see her in that log cradle, and they 
vas callin' her 'it.' So me 'n' the sport got 
ip a name for her. Kate Arden, for the 
nountain. 'Tain't a name for a Maine girl 
o be ashamed of." 

. It occurred suddenly to Wade, gazing at 
he old man, that the quizzical screwing-up 
)f his eyes was hiding some deeper emotion; 
for Christopher's voice had a quaver in it 
Ivhen he said: 

"Poor little gaffer! Some one ought to 
have taken her away from 'em. But it 's 

hard to get folks interested in even a pretty 
posy when it grows in a skunk-cabbage 

He looked away, embarrassed that any 
man should see emotion on his face, and 
uttered a prompt exclamation. 

Threading their way in single file among 
the blackened stumps that bordered the 
Tomah trail to the north came a half-dozen 

"That 's Bennett Rodliff ahead, and he 's 
the high sheriff of this county," growled the 
old man. "There 's two deputies and two 
game-wardens with him — and old Pulaski 
Britt bringin' up the rear. Knowin' 'em 
pretty well, I should say that it spells 
t-r-u-b-1-e, in jest six letters. I ain't a great 
hand to guess, Mr. Wade, but if some one 
was to ask me quick, I should say it was the 
same old checker-game that the Skeets and 
Bushees have been playin' for all these 
years, and that it 's their turn to move." 

The sheriff and his men tramped into the 
little clearing and gave the usual greeting 
of woods wayfarers — the nod and the al- 
most voiceless grunt. The Honorable Pu- 
laski was a little more talkative. He was 
also in excellent humor. 

"Hear you and Rod Ide have hitched 
hosses, Wade," he cried. " I 'm mighty glad 
of it. That lets me out of thinkin' I got you 
up here on a wild-goose chase. I was sorry 
to dump you, but it would take nine time- 
keepers to make a foreman like Colin 
McLeod, and when he put it up to me you 
had to go. It was business, and business 
beats fun up this way." 

The young man did not reply. Words 
seemed a useless agency of emotions just 

The Honorable Pulaski turned from him 
briskly and ran appraising eye over the 
miserable huddle of huts. With the true 
scent of primitive natures for impending 
trouble, the population of Misery edged 
around this group of new arrivals, the men 
in advance and wistful, the women behind 
and sullen. 

"Well, boys," said the Honorable Pu- 
laski, "it 's just this way about it, and we 
can all be reasonable and do business like 
business men." His air was that of a man 
dealing with children or savages. "As far 
as I 'm personally concerned, I hate to 
bother you. But I represent the other own- 
ers of this township, and the other owners 

i 4 8 


arc n't as reasonable about some things as 
I am " 

He paused to light a long cigar. No one 
spoke, lie proffered one to Wade, who 
shook his head with a little unnecessary 

Britt talked as he puffed. 

u Now — pup-pup ■ — now, boys, pup — 
you know as well as I do that you 've squat- 
ted right in the middle of a lot of slash that 
we had to leave, and it lays in a bad way for 
tire. You ain't so careful about fire as you 
ought to be." He held up his cigar. " Here's 
my style. I don't smoke till I'm out of the 
trail. I — pup-pup — own land and that 
makes the difference. You don't own land. 
I don't want to bring up old stories, but you 
know and I know that the prospects of six 
cents a quart for blueberries makes you 
demnition forgetful about what 's been said 
to you. You 've started some devilish big 
fire's. Here 's the September big winds 
about due — and this one that 's just 
springing up to-day is a fair sample — and 
all is, the owners can't afford to run chances 
of a fire that will stop God knows where if 
it gets to running in this five thousand acres 
of dry tops and slash. 

"Here's Mr. Ide's representative," he 
continued, flapping a hand toward Wade. 
" They 've got black growth to the north and 
he '11 tell you just the same thing." 

"Well, Mister Mealy-mouth," sneered 
young Jule over the heads of the others, "git 
to where you 're gittin' to. We don't want 
no sermons. It 's move ag'in, hey?" 

"It's move," snapped the Honorable 
Pulaski, his ready temper starting at the 
woman's insolent tone, "and it's move 
damn sudden." 

Whether it was a groan or growl that 
came from the wretched huddle, Wade, 
looking on them with infinite pity, could not 

"I could put ye plumb, square out of the 
county," roared Britt; "I 've got land juris- 
di< tion enough to do it. But you be reason- 
able and J Ml be reasonable. I won't drive 
ye too far. J '11 have four horses over from 
in-, cedar operation to tote what duds you 
want to take and haul the old women. 
Sheriff Rodliff and his men, here, will go 
a long a nd see that you have grub, and don't 
to light fires. Jn fact, everything will 
be arranged nice for you, and you'll like 
when yon get there." 

"Where?" asked young Jed. 

"On Little Lobster — the old Drake 
farm," said the Honorable Pulaski, trying 
to speak enthusiastically and signally failing. 

" O my Gawd," moaned young Jed, 
" most twenty miles to hoof it, and when ye 
git there no wood bigger 'n alder-withes and 
all the stones the devil let drop when his 
puckerin'-string bruk. Hain't a berry. 
Haint northin' to earn a livin'." 

"You never earned your living and you 
don't want to earn your living," retorted 
Britt. "You just want to stay up here in 
the big timber and start fires." 

"No, Mr. Britt, we simply want the 
chance to be human beings," cried a tense 
and piercing voice. The girl had reap-j 
peared in the door of the hut. Above the j 
meek lamentations of those about her, her] 
voice was as the scream of a young hawkj 
above the baaing of sheep. She pushed her 
way through them and stood before the 
Honorable Pulaski, palpitating, glowing, 
splendid in her fury. But she propped her 
brown hands on her hips — a woman of the 
mob — and Wade noted the attitude and 
flushed at the shamed thought that this was 
Lyde Barrett in hair and eyes and radiant 

In this crisis, by right of her intelligence 
her daring, her superiority, the girl seemed 
to belong at the head of the pathetic herd 

"That 's what we want, Mr. Britt. You 
are driving us back toward the settlement 
again. And then some bow-legged ole 
farmer will lose a sheep by bears or a hen b) 
hawks and we '11 be set upon and driver 
back once more to the woods. And ther 
you will come and huff and puff and blov 
our house down and chase us away to the 
settlement. 'The law! The law!' you keep 
braying like a mule. You kick us one way 
the settlement kicks us another. By God 
Mr. Britt, I did n't ask to be put on 
earth. But now that I 'm here I 've a righj 
to ground enough to set my feet on, and s< 
have these people. We are using no mon 
of your stolen ground here than we 'd b<| 
using in another place, and here we stayl'i 
She stamped her foot. 

"You young whippet," snorted the Honj 
orable Pulaski, "don't sneer to me about thj 
law, when I 've got eviction-papers in 


this count- 

pocket and the high sheriff 
at my back." 

"How about the law that makes wil 



land owners pay squatters for improvements 
to land?" demanded the girl. "I know 
some law, too." 

! "Do you call those hog-pens improve- 
jments ? " He swept his fat hand at the huts. 
! " You may pay some one a dollar an acre 
for that blue sky above us and claim that 
Lou own that, Mr. Britt. You may fore- 
dose a mortgage on the sun and claim that, 
too. You may claim all of God's open 
:ountry here in the big woods. But I know 
that you can't shut even paupers out from 
:he lakes and the streams any more than 
^ou can take away God's sunlight from 

"I don't know where you got your law, 
>roung woman, but I 'd advise you to get 
setter posted on the difference between 
•ight of way to State waters and squatting 
m private land. Now I ain't got time to — " 

"We '11 not go back to the settlement — 
lot one of us." She set her feet apart and 
)ent fiery gaze on him. 

Britt looked away from her to his circle 
)f supporters. The deputies bent their 
leads low over their upcocked gun-barrels 
hide their furtive grins at sight of the 
imber baron thus baited by a girl on his 
^reserves. Even the broad face of the 
iheriff was crinkled suspiciously. The 
yrant flamed with the quick passion for 
vhich he was noted in the north country. 

"Look here, Rodliff!" His voice was 
like cracking twigs. "Pile the dunnage out 
>f those huts. If any one gets in your way 
Irive a stake and tie 'em to it." He stuck 
lis bulgy nose into the air to snuff the direc- 
ion of the wind. "Then set fire to ev'ry 
lamn crib. The wind 's all right to carry 
t toward the bog." 

"I don't believe you 've got law enough 
p your pocket to do a thing like that, Mr. 
pritt," broke in Wade, with heat. 

"You don't, hey?" 

"Not to throw old men and women and 
hildren out of their houses and leave them 
iielterless a dozen miles from a building, 
here must be another way of getting at 
lis eviction matter, Mr. Britt, one that 's 
|ifferent from burning a hornet's nest." 

"This don't happen to be any of your 
pecial business," roared the tyrant. "If it 
fas, you 'd stand by property interests in- 
tead of backing up State paupers." 

"Mr. Sheriff, are you going to do that 

"I 'm here by order of the court, to do 
what Mr. Britt wants done to protect his 
property," replied the officer. "I 'm to exe- 
cute, not to plan nor ask questions." 

"King Spruce runs this county, not 
human feelin's," muttered old Christopher 
in Wade's ear. "You won't get any satis- 
faction by buttin' in. I 'm ready to move. 
I don't like to see such things done, and I 
don't believe you do. Come on!" He 
swung his meal-bag upon his shoulders. 

But the young man lingered doggedly, 
his eyes on the face of the girl. 

" Buckin' a high sheriff and his posse ain't 
ever been reckoned as a profitable business 
speculation in these parts," mumbled the 
guide. "It wouldn't amount to a hoorah 
in tophet, and you 'd probably wind up in 
county jail." 

The girl was gazing shrewdly at this sud- 
den champion. There was no shade of 
coquetry in her glance. It was the frank 
gaze of man to man. 

"I protest, Mr. Britt," cried Wade. 

"And that 's all the good it will do," 
snorted that angry master of the situation. 
"Rodliff, you 've got my orders!" 

Young Jed, sidling near Britt, with the 
mien of a Judas and with manifest intent to 
curry favor, whimpered: 

"We don't back her up in all she says, 
Mr. Britt. We ain't got rights and we know 
it, but we 've got feelin's. Be ye goin' to do 
the us'al thing about damages, Mr Britt?" 

"Why," roared the tyrant, bluffly, "ain't 
the land-owners always made it worth your 
while to move? It's all business, boys! 
Don't let fools bust in. We don't want fire 
here. Get to Little Lobster as quick as the 
Lord '11 let ye. We '11 have six months' 
supply of pork, flour, and plug tobacco 
there waitin' for ye. All with the land- 
owner's compliments. We 've always be- 
lieved that the easiest way is the best way, 
but you don't buy that way by buckin'. 
Buck, and the trade is all off — and you 
get thrown into another county. Close your 
girl's mouth and keep it shut." 

"There!" grunted old Christopher, "if 
ye have n't got any more sympathy to waste 
on critters like that" — a jab of his thumb 
at young Jed — "you'd better come 

But at sight of woe on the faces of the 
women, and mute entreaty in the eyes of 
the girl, Wade still lingered. 



"She's speakin' for herself," whispered 
young Jed. hoarsely. "She don't want to 
leave the woods because your boss, Colin 
McLeod, is courtin' her and she 5 s waitin' 

to see him. now that he 's back from down 

Riotous laughter "gullied" in the throat 
of Pulaski Britl as he -tared from the scarlet 
of the girl to Wade's confusion. 

"Courtin' her, hey? Another case of it? 
1 say, Rodliff, pretty soon there won't be a 
whole arm or leg left on my boss, if this 
young man, here, keeps chasin' him round 
the country and breaks a bone on him for 
ev'rv girl the two of 'em get against to- 

1 [e laughed to the full content of his soul, 
and then turned on the girl. 

"Why, you ragged little fool, Colin 
Mi Leod is crazier than a hornet in a thrash- 
in '-machine over Rod Ide's girl. He 's up 
in camp now with an arm strapped in front 
of him on a board, in fond remembrance of 
a fight he and this young dude here got into 
over her. And he 's up there beyond Pogey 
Notch fitting on a stump, swearing at the 
choppers and bragging with every other 
breath that he '11 kill the dude and marry 
the girl - and I don't reckon he 's changed 
hi- mind in two days." 

''You lie!" screamed the girl. 
"Hold on, there, Miss Spitfire," broke in 
the sheriff, himself highly amused by the 
humor of the situation as it appeared to 
him, ''there is n't a man between Castonia 
and tJmcolcus but what is talking about it. 
A hundred men saw the fight. I reckon five 
hundred have heard McLeod ravin' about 
how much he loves the Tde girl. So if he 
ever courted you it must have been just for 
ke of geiiing wonted to the game." 
Even the fawning male citizens of Misery 
cackled their little chorus in the laughter 
thai followed the high sheriff's jest. 

She drey, back -lowly and gazed on them 

all, her lip- rolled away from her white 

teeth. Those jeering faces from "outside" 

represented property, law, the smug self- 

ction of ;ill who despised Misery 

[ualid breed. 

The) tood there in the midst of the land 
o arrogantly claimed, ready to toss her 

' ' uk, n- in the everlasting game of 

battledore and shuttlecock. They were 

afraid for the dollars thai made them differ- 
ent from the wretches of Misery. They 

gloried in their dollars — they mocked her 
in a moment the bitterness of which only 
her heart understood. Let them look out 
for their dollars, then. 

Up there where the blue hills divided was 
sitting Colin McLeod calling on the name 
of another woman and nursing a wound 
received for that woman's sake. Let him 
look out for himself! 

"We can make the Blake cutting camps 
with you to-night," said Britt, his mind on 
business once again. "We '11 take good 
care of you, and you might as well start one 
time as another. Out with the stuff and 
down with the houses, Rodliff." 

The girl ran into the hut, lifted one of the 
cedar splints that made the floor, and took 
out a section of iron gas-pipe — the most 
prized possession of the tribe. It was their 
wand of plenty. It was Mother Nature's 
crutch. Out of it flowed bounty. 

Into the unplugged end she poured all 
the kerosene there was in a battered can. 
Then she stuffed into the tube a mass of 

; T was a torch — the torch for the blue- 
berry barrens. Dragged after one, it left a 
blazing trail such as no other form of igni- 
tion could produce. 

There was a flicker of fire in the rusty 
stove. She stuck the wicking into the coals 
and on the iron stalk a flame-flower sprang 
into huge blossom. 

She burst through the hut's rear window 
and ran straight for the edge of the clearing, 
toward the fuel piled high in the forest 

In that moment of blind and desperate 
fury she realized that the wind was swinging 
into the north. It was there that the man 
was sitting at the foot of Pogey Notch. Ah, 
what a furnace-flue that would make! 

The roar of voices behind, voices en- 
treating, voices of malediction, made her 
smile. Above all was the Llonorable Pu- 
laski's bull roar. She began to drag the 

"Catch her! Damnation, catch that 
girl!" howled Britt. 

Immediately his cry changed to "Shoot 
her!" He did not mean it the first time he 
cried it. He did mean it the second time. 
The deputies stared after her and joggled 
their weapons on their arms. 

"Shoot her, or fifty thousand acres of 
timber are gone!" 


But that was quarry before which official "I could have told him," mused old 

guns quailed. Christopher, looking on the Honorable 

In his fury and his panic and his desper- Pulaski, struggling dizzily to his feet, 

ate fear for his fortune, Britt seized a gun "havin' watched her more or less since I 

from the nearest deputy and aimed it. named her, that she wa'n't a real sociable 

Wade struck it up with a furious oath. kind of a girl to joke with on matters that 's 
Britt made as though to club him out of the as serious to women as love is." 
way. The young man clutched the gun and Sheriff Bennett Rodliff spoke the pro- 
twisted it from the old man's quivering logue to that conflagration: 
clutch. When Britt lunged forward to " There is hell in the core of that fire," 
seize another rifle Wade struck him under he said. 
the jaw and he went down like a felled ox. 

The girl was out of sight in the woods, but [Note. — The fourth story of this series, 

yellow smoke shot with bright flame marked " Ladder" Lane's Soiree, will appear in the 

her course. May number.] 



We would salute each day 

As one great gift from wisdom of our God; 

Then bravely face our work or play 

Humbly and proudly. This glad sod 

Angels and gods aforetime trod; 

Shall we ennoble life as they, 

Or in vain dreaming pass the hours away? 

Vast are the issues of the common day, 

And fraught with deathless music are the tones, 

Perchance, to which this old world moves along! 

Oh, the whole world a nobler gladness owns 

For that our Newman writ his glorious song, 

Becalmed amid the Bonifacian strait, 

One immemorial week: what there befell, 

When Inspiration thus defeated Fate, 

'T would best befit th' angelic choir to tell! 

Led by the Voice as by the Vision led, 

To thine appeal, O Song, upon the pulsate air, 

We have entrusted precious moments of our Dead, 

Ere yet the grave inclosed what seemed so fair! 

Only the presence of our Loved to share 

When "with the morn those angel faces smile." 

Thine is the clear Voice speaking through the night; 

And when, one day, released from care and guile. 

On us shall dawn the one supreme delight, 

May we, earth-freed, 

From buoyant thankfulness, and our late need, 

Still breathe this hallowed prayer: "'Lead, kindly Light' 

Forever lead!" 



say that the hill towns of 
New England have suffered 
sadly in the past from decline 
in farming and other indus- 
trial interests is but perpetra- 
ting a hackneyed truism. Evidences of it 
are pitiably abundant — as varied as the 
marked characteristics of the people and 
their natural environments. 

But the conditions have changed. Evi- 
dences of decay are disappearing. Depress- 
ing influences are being banished as new 
opportunities for work and advancement 
are being discovered. Reasonable encour- 
agement is taking the place of demorali- 
zing disheartenment. 

Rural betterment, especially in the hill- 
town sections of New Hampshire, Massa- 
chusetts, and some parts of Maine and 
Vermont, certainly must now be more 
manifest to the fairly observant than is 
continued social degeneracy or even indus- 
trial decadency. 

And so horrifying forms of the rural- 
idegeneracy cry, as applied to the average 
New England hill town, when heard now 
are not wholly warranted by the actual 
conditions. In many cases this cry is 
greatly exaggerated, and may be compla- 
cently regarded as the expression of an 
opinion which has become a sort of socio- 
logical fashion, or as a convenient news- 
paper space-filler. 

The reoccupancy of neglected farms is 
the mosl important factor in the improving 
condition of the hill towns. Within the past 
five years a remarkable demand for these 
low-priced properties, and also for farming- 
bind- under good cultivation, has devel- 

I >>r. George M. Twitchell, of Maine, a 

•.i/.ed authority on New England ag- 

ricultural matters, at the meeting of the 

chu eit- State Board of Agriculture, 

told of one man in Maine who had 

sold one hundred a no 1 twenty-six farms in 

that State during the previous nine months, 

and had received over six thousand letters 

within a year regarding Maine farming- 
property. Ninety per cent of the real es- 
tate sold was to be improved for agricul- 
tural purposes. Dr. Twitchell estimated 
that there was the same increasing demand 
in Massachusetts. He said men were sell- 
ing their places in Western States and com- 
ing to New England to buy farms near 

For several years previous to 1903 Massa- 
chusetts had been accustomed to issue 
through its Board of Agriculture descrip- 
tive catalogues of low-priced, or wrongly 
called "abandoned," farms. Since that 
date the writer has been informed, in an 
interview with the secretary of the board, 
that the publication of all such lists has 
been discontinued, owing to the fact that 
such properties were being so rapidly pur- 
chased that the means formerly used for 
disposing of them were no longer necessary. 
The secretary has also stated to the writer 
that there are now practically no aban- 
doned farms in Massachusetts. 

This demand has continued without im- 
portant interruption during the past five 
years, and is increasing quite generally in 
most parts of New England. The largest 
number of purchasers are included in two 
classes, widely different in character and 
purpose, but both of great value in improv- 
ing the small town in which they locate. 
One of these classes is composed of city 
people who are establishing summer resi- 
dences; the other includes those who, hav- 
ing more or less knowledge of agriculture, 
are seeking inexpensive lands for perma- 
nent occupancy and cultivation, a large pro- 
portion of them taking up light specialties 
such as vegetable-gardening, fruit-culture, 
poultry-raising, etc. 

Among the latter are many city-bred 
men and women who, having had experi- 
ence in business and salary uncertainties, 
are securing economical places where their 
families can be assured a home. Not a few 
intelligent mechanics and skilled laborers 
are seeking the country for the same rea- 



son. Business consolidations, with their 
consequent reduction of salaried positions, 
and labor troubles, with their enforcements 
of idleness and arbitrary expense, are do- 
ing more to repopulate the hill towns with 
a desirable class of residents than is gener- 
ally realized. 

A few foreigners are also locating on 
farms in these places. They are almost in- 
variably young men who, having worked 
as hired help among American farmers for 
a year or more, have learned enough of lo- 
cal farming-requirements to warrant them 
in taking farms of their own. Most of 
these are Swedes and Polanders. In buy- 
ing farms they pay little or nothing down; 
they work hard, are thrifty, of temperate 
habits, and are almost always successful. 
Though not public-spirited, they make re- 
liable citizens and are helpful elements in 
a farming-community, at least to the ex- 
tent of increasing land values. 

Many facts could be given illustrative 
of what new-comers of the three classes re- 
ferred to above are doing in the industrial 
betterment of the hill towns and for them- 
selves. The following among many others 
have come under the writer's personal ob- 
servation while living in the localities. 
They illustrate how each class is among 
the causes that are placing these small 
farming-towns where they cannot be justly 
accused of remaining in a condition of de- 

After leaving the Connecticut Valley, in 
going west over the Boston and Albany 
railroad, an hour's ride from Springfield 
brings the hill-town visitor to the pictur- 
esque little town of Huntington. Here 
country homes are prettily strung along 
the banks of the Westheld and mark the 
borders of the hill-town section, as farm- 
houses begin to dot in white and green and 
brown the surrounding hillsides, which 
here are of more gradual and accessible 
slope than just beyond. 

The next station, six or eight miles be- 
yond, is Chester. Huntington and Ches- 
ter, with the riverside and mountain roads 
leading out from both, may be considered 
as the eastern gateways respectively to the 
Hampshire and the Berkshire hills. West- 
erly and northerly from these two towns, 
and rising from them to an elevation from 
six hundred to eight hundred feet above 
the railroad and from sixteen hundred to 

eighteen hundred feet above sea-level, is an 
uneven and in some parts a rugged table- 
land of large extent and varied features. 
On this table -land, if anything so uneven 
may be called so, are several small towns 
which are fairly typical of a large number 
of New England hill towns in their social 
and industrial conditions. No better sec- 
tion of size and diversity could be selected 
in which to find illustrations of those con- 

The town of Chester contains two vil- 
lages. The one through which the railroad 
runs is a manufacturing and business vil- 
lage, small, but of considerable local im- 
portance as the only near-by marketing- 
place for two or three surrounding farming- 
towns. It lies snugly in the narrow valley 
between abrupt hills and under the shadow 
of Mt. Gobble, the first elevation of im- 
portance in the immediate vicinity of the 
railroad — an elevation of striking fea- 
tures and romantic beauty despite its unac- 
countable name. The other village, of 
tasteful summer residences and well-kept 
farmhouses, is located on a hill-crest per- 
haps four miles away to the north and east. 

One contrast in spirit between the little 
communities on the outlying hills and their 
more industrially favored neighbors in the 
valleys is seen in these two villages in the 
same town. On the principal residence 
street of the manufacturing-village one of 
the most noticeable buildings is a pretty 
little stone structure built several years ago 
for an atheneum. It has remained unfin- 
ished and unused through lack of public 
interest. In the little village on the hill, 
with less than one tenth of the population 
of the village in the valley, is a public li- 
brary and reading-room so well maintained 
and conducted on such modern methods as 
to cause a leading sociologist of Boston to 
include it among four or five other institu- 
tions in Massachusetts considered worthy 
of special visits for rural sociological study 
last summer. 

About five miles from the Chester rail- 
road-station, just after reaching the table- 
land referred to, can be found a good illus- 
tration of how men coming from the city 
and taking' low-priced farms in decadent 
hill towns are benefitting these communi- 
ties in practical ways, while enhancing the 
value of their own properties by using 
business-like methods in their manage- 



ment. Here is a pretty farmhouse in good 
condition capable of accommodating com- 
fortably a family of eight or ten. It is on a 
farm of forty acres, on a main thorough- 
fare, and adjoining on all sides farms suc- 
cessfully conducted. 

Up to five years ago the house and farm 
had been rented for several years for only 
$30 for an entire year. Four years ago the 
place was rented for $40; I saw the lease 
made out at that yearly rental. The next 
year a man from New Haven, Conn., who 
had been physically incapacitated for his 
duties in chemical work and who was not a 
farmer, took the place and began to prop- 
erly fertilize portions of it and to otherwise 
improve it. 

Last summer he told me that during the 
previous year he had sold $600 worth of 
products from the place. In addition, a 
generous quantity of farm produce had 
been used by his large family, and important 
improvements made. The value of the 
property to him and as a community asset 
has been more than trebled during his oc- 

About two miles from this place, in a still 
more isolated and unfavorable locality, is a 
farm which for some time had been in a 
state of partial neglect, but is now culti- 
vated vigorously by a young Polander with 
whom I am acquainted. After working a 
short time among local American farmers 
as a farm-hand, he purchased the farm 
three or four years ago. It was spoken of 
as a $3,500 farm. With practically no cash 
capital to start with, during the second year 
of his occupancy he paid off $800 of his in- 
debtedness on the place from his earnings, 
besides improving the farm and fairly well 
stocking it. 

M;iny similar cases could be cited in 
more or less favorable localities. They 
certainly are evidences of an improving 
condition in rural matters, industrially at 
least. The Polander's farm is about seven 
miles from the railroad village of Chester, 
the nearest and a not over-desirable mar- 

In the central part of this elevated sec- 
tion is the town of Worth ington, eleven 
miles from a railroad, and as yet not reached 
by any public conveyance except the daily 
stage. A good riverside and mountain road 
connects it with Huntington. The pretty 
village is delightfully located on rolling 

lands. It is not far from the junction bor- 
ders of Vermont, New Hampshire, and 
Massachusetts; and except for some natural 
features peculiar to itself, it is not unlike 
many towns of from six hundred to twelve 
hundred inhabitants in these States — 
towns desirable for summer visitors. Its 
record of past decadency and recent revi- 
viscency is much the same as that of the 
similar towns in the adjoining States. 

Twenty-five years ago its brightest sons 
and daughters were deserting it. A dozen 
years ago its staunchest and most hopeful 
friends must have confessed to its decadency 
if not to its degeneracy. The outward ap- 
pearance of the naturally pretty village, 
the neglected grounds, the depressing road- 
side derelicts, etc., told the oft-repeated 
rural story. Half-a-dozen years ago its sons 
and daughters were returning for summer 
visits, bringing city friends and helpful re- 
sources and inspiring influences with them. 

To-day there is a modern and well- 
patronized hotel there, a number of estates 
greatly improved for both summer resi- 
dences and farming-purposes, and several 
attractive places where city boarders are 
taken. Two summers ago the writer, while 
tramping among the hills of this section, 
passed through this town and was struck 
with the many pleasing indications on all 
sides of recent village-improvement work. 
Public and private grounds had been made 
unusually attractive in simple but system- 
atic ways. 

This was noticeable not only in the vil- 
lage itself, but also along the roadsides in 
the outlying parts of the town, conveying 
the impression of general thriftiness and 
growing prosperity, far indeed from any- 
thing like that of degeneracy. Upon ask- 
ing a gentleman, who had lived there for 
some time, the cause of the decided change 
for the better, he said it was the coming of 
the city people. 

During one period of two years and more, 
within the past five years, spent among 
the hill towns of Western Massachusetts, 
I did not see a professional tramp in any 
of these places — at least not to recognize 
him as such. One reason for this fortunate 
condition, of course, is the distance from the 
railroads. And then, this class of city vis- 
itors are not enthusiastic mountain-climbers 
and are sensitive as to woodpile-work oppor- 
tunities and watch-dogs. 



In one of these towns where I stopped 
"or months at a time for three years, while 
naking a special study of hill-town ad- 
vantages and needs, I did not see a single 
:ase of habitual idleness; such a thing as a 
ocal common loafer seemed to be un- 
known there. 

Most of the time I lived in a rather 
rugged manner the life of the farming- 
people. I worked shoulder to shoulder with 
the farmer and with his hired man, doing 
my full share of work in every department 
3f farm labor common to the locality, at 
ill seasons of the year. I also lived the life 
hi the city guest; in fact, chummed it with 
pretty much every specimen of humanity 
to be found in hill towns, summer or win- 
der, from the summer pleasure-seeker to 
the winter lumberman with our companion- 
ible axes; from the favored child of smiling 
fortune to the little drudging waifs locally 
known as "State kids." 

In these ways I came to know something 
;>f the home life, the industrial life, and 
the community life of these people and 
places. An indifferent reader about them, 
or a casual observer of the stalwart hearts 
that have stood loyally by the best com- 
munity interests and principles, while their 
native towns have declined and suffered, 
can have small conception of the extent to 
which a wholesome respect for good con- 
duct and a willing support of moral laws 
have been retained through the public 
work and private example of these strong- 
principled and loyal men and women. 

Unlike degenerate city slums, when bet- 
terment building is started in a small and 
slighted hill town there is quite sure to be 
found a good substantial foundation to 
commence building upon at once. This 
good social element may not be large nor 
conspicuous in the average little community, 
but it is there, and quickly responsive to 
the right touch. Its basic principles are 
still sound; they have not crumbled nor 
weakened under their heavy burden of 
adverse circumstances. Many individual 
examples of this, amounting to the truly 
heroic in patient and steadfast endeavor, 
are to be found in these little communities. 

Middleneld, a little hill town in Hamp- 
shire County, Massachusetts, furnishes 
many interesting and convincing proofs of 
the responsiveness of these neglected and 
decried communities to the spirit of co- 

operative helpfulness, when manifested in 
agreeable ways by people coming to them 
from the city as summer visitors or resi 
dents. Here was originated the "City- 
Country Club" plan, which is proving an 
important and a very pleasant agency in 
rural betterment. The methods and ac- 
complishments of this plan are worthy of 
more consideration than can be devoted 
to them in this article. 

The village is located on a high ridge, 
eighteen hundred feet above sea-level, four 
miles from the railroad-station of Middle- 
field. The best farming-lands of the town 
are from five to eight miles from the sta- 
tion. Up to three years ago there was no 
telegraph nor telephone line to the vil- 
lage, its only connection with the outside 
world being the daily stage. Through the 
work of the City-Country Club a public 
telephone was established three years ago, 
and during the past year private telephones 
have been very generally placed in farm- 
houses throughout the town. The town is 
also now favored with two rural-free-de- 
livery routes, the convenience and value 
of which to the isolated farmer's family 
can hardly be realized by the city resident. 

The town has been classed among the 
decadent and the degenerate. It certainly 
has been sadly decadent as to population, 
and industrially. Its population at one 
time was about one thousand; it decreased 
continuously until, four years ago, it was 
about four hundred. Since that it has been 
increasing very encouragingly, owing to the 
advent of city people and the renewal of 
interest in their old home by returning sons 
and daughters. Years ago it had some 
manufacturing industries of importance, 
but they gradually disappeared, until only 
one mill remained. This one was destroyed 
four years ago by a disastrous freshet that 
ruined all prospects of reinstating man- 
ufacturing industries for years to come. 

In this condition of affairs the people 
had occasion to be disheartened, but the 
town could never justly be accused of 
serious permanent degeneracy. There was 
enough of the good element of stalwart 
loyalty to worthy traditions to preserve a 
wholesome community spirit, even if the 
little place had not the financial resources 
for making the spirit manifest in village 
improvement and kindred work. 

In a general way, the record for the past 



twenty-five years of this little town of many 
industrial disheartenments has been known 
to me. During that time there has been 
some occasion for attributing degeneracy 
to it. But there has been a very noticeable 
improvement in recent years. I have spent 
much time in the place during the past 
three years, and am intimately familiar 
with its recent social life and public affairs. 

During these three years I learned of 
only one criminal arrest being made there 
within that time, and of no other occurrence 
justifying an arrest. This case was one in 
which two well-known neighboring farm- 
ers, very industrious men, having a long- 
standing disagreement, one of them, who 
had brought with him from New York a 
few years before a muscular code of eth- 
ics and a notably hasty temper, decided to 
bring the matter to a climax with his fists, 
for which indulgence he was duly fined. 

This disturbance of the peace, which in 
the city would have been passed by as of 
not sufficient importance to be worthy of 
a newspaper head-line, was of a kind so 
rare in this reputed decadent hill town that 
it shocked the little community to a degree 
such as a city resident would hardly imag- 
ine possible. A very observing and well- 
informed gentleman from Brooklyn, N. Y., 
after having spent weeks of summering in 
the town, said he had never heard any pro- 
fanity in the place. 

Several years ago the writer visited the 
one summer resident from the city then 
locating in Middlefield. The new resident 
was improving his cottage grounds. He 
employed to assist him in this work a native 
farmer, who needed all he could earn at 
odd jobs. One day while working over 
the soil on the lawn the farmer asked his 
employer what he proposed to plant there. 
When he learned that a pretty floral ar- 
rangement was contemplated, the practical 
farmer, who had no use for the ornamental, 
indignantly threw down his spade and 
gave up his job, saying, "I '11 be d — d if 
I '11 work on a posy-bed." His ideas were 
not locally exceptional at that time. 

Within the past five years the little town 
has become a favorite summering-place 
with a goodly number of city people, a 
bright and pleasant colony of whom is 
now regularly established there. Last sum- 
mer, when there, the writer saw most 
pleasing evidences in abundance that the 

farmers all through the town were vyin^ 
with each other in beautifying their home 
grounds with floral and other ornamenta 
work. In the days of the scornful farmei 
and the despised " posy-bed" the little 
hill town may have been somewhat de 
generate; in these days of city inspirers i 
could hardly be so considered. 

Among a creditable number of villag 
improvements originated by the City 
Country Club in Middlefield, there has no 
been one in which a large portion of th(j 
local residents have not heartily cooperate 
and assisted with their money and labo] 
One of the largest undertakings of the 
club has been the removal of a long row o 
unsightly church horse -sheds from a local 
ity where they obstructed a superb view o 
the Berkshire hills, and marred the appear 
ance of the village, to a less objectionable 
site. Considerable opposition was antic- 
ipated by the club from the old residents 
who naturally clung to the old, familial 
custom of having sheds in the rear of the 
church. But it was all pleasantly accom 
plished; and at an expense of several hun 
dred dollars the city and country people 
combined have made a local improvemenl 
greatly to the credit of their community 

The value of city-country club work is 
well demonstrated in this town. Some oi 
the things accomplished, though of modeslj I 
proportions financially considered, are stri- I 
king illustrations of the possibilities of thisj 
new form of summer club life. In addition 
to obtaining the liberal telephone service I 
and removing the sheds, as mentioned, the 
club has been the means of removing othei | 
unsightly buildings, greatly improving the 
roads and roadsides, getting measures undei 
consideration for a village water-supply.j l 
and doing much of inestimable value inl 
bringing a new life into the community | 
and uplifting its spirit. 

That there is something more than a| 
sentimental or esthetical benefit in suchl, 
cooperative work as this is shown from' 
the fact that many purchases of real es-. ! 'i 
tate have resulted directly from it. Landsj I 
and buildings for years regarded asj | 
doomed to utter neglect and disuse havei 
been purchased recently in most encour-IJ 
aging numbers for immediate improve-!,, 
ment and occupancy. In Middlefield therei I 
have been more purchasers of land for both* k 



farming and summer-residence purposes 
during the first three years of the City- 
Country Club's existence than there were 
during the previous twenty-five years com- 
bined. The demand is increasing, and 
from a class exceptionally desirable as res- 
idents and citizens. Within two years a 
modest but well-managed hotel has been 
established by the first president of the 
% club. Another, on a larger scale, will prob- 
ably be opened by other parties next sea- 

Light manufacturing and handicraft 
have discovered opportunities in the coun- 
try, of late, which were not thought of as 
among the possibilities twenty years ago. 
In visiting Montague, a prosperous town 
in Franklin County, Massachusetts, last 
year, I found a number of skilled city 
workmen located there. Some of them had 
bought homes and were working at their 
iticjltrades in adjoining manufacturing towns 
and villages connected by trolley. The 
III trolley, by the way, is of special value to 
the small villages adjacent to manufactur- 
ing-towns. There is considerable opposi- 
un-lltion to it from the city element in some 
pltl little places where summer visitors are 
enl I) colonizing, as injuring the drives and as 
it) detracting from the genuine rural charac- 
teristics, such as have chiefly brought the 
is city people there. 

of Among the tradesmen in Montague was 
etfan intelligent and enterprising cigar-maker 
ihtwho had come from New York, bought a 
fej comfortable home, fitted up a shop in his 
01 j house, and was successfully carrying on his 
ice business there, surrounded by pleasant and 
ki most desirable social advantages. The 
ef | number of similar cases is increasing in 
different parts of New England. Here is 
a hint for settlement-workers and others 
aiming to mitigate the crowded tenement 
in rand "sweat-shop" evils. 
til Excessive use of "hard cider" and other 
intoxicants is among the exaggerated ac- 
cusations of the rural-degeneracy cry. 
Though tramping and driving a great deal 
among small hill towns, in two years' time 
I encountered among them only one case 
of conspicuous or clearly defined drunken- 
ness. This was a very mild form following 
el a day of " cattle-show " celebrating. The 
:-l only active offensiveness of the man con- 
•j sisted in his being too persistent in making 
e maudlin explanations, to friends and 

strangers alike, of his unfortunate and 
exceptional condition. His humiliation as 
he came to his senses after his ejection 
from the little country hotel was pathetic. 
Such an exhibition was so rare in the com- 
munity that it attracted an amount of at- 
tention surprising to the visitor. 

Cummington, a little town of perhaps 
six hundred inhabitants or more, is charm- 
ingly located among the hills of Western 
Massachusetts, and only a few miles from 
the Vermont line. It has two important 
distinctions, — that of being the birthplace 
of the poet Bryant, and that of being lo- 
cated the most distant from a railroad of 
any town in the State, about seventeen 
miles. No trolley-line reaches it as yet, 
though one on paper gives it encourage- 

In this pretty little town accused of de- 
generacy is annually held one of the best 
and most largely attended agricultural 
fairs, or "cattle-shows," of this region. 
This fair is the event of the year, not only 
for local residents, but also for country 
people from towns and obscure settlements 
for miles around. No better place could be 
desired for obtaining facts about the hol- 
iday manners and morals of the people. 
The rural visitors came here to " celebrate," 
and have the time of the year after a long 
season of hard summer and autumn work. 
It would seem that indications of degen- 
eracy might be expected here if anywhere 
in public. 

I walked fifteen miles over the hills'' to 
attend this fair. The walk took me through 
parts of three towns. I was on the fair 
grounds continuously during the two days 
of the fair, from morning until its close 
late in the afternoon. Neither on the way 
to the fair nor at the fair itself did I see any 
recognizable case of intoxication, nor any 
annoying sights or disturbances. There 
was not a single case of arrest for any 
cause whatever, though the attendance on 
one of the days was about six thousand, 
and opportunities for misdemeanors were 
abundant and to the viciously inclined 
somewhat tempting. At another agricul- 
tural fair visited the same season in a still 
smaller hill town the same creditable rec- 
ord was shown. 

In church attendance and Sabbath ob- 
servance the small towns of New England 
are making a far more encouraging show- 



ing, with their humble country church 
equipment and simple services, than are 
the cities, with their wealth of church at- 
tractions. One third of New York's pop- 
ulation is infidel, agnostic, or in some way 
non-religious, while but a very small per 
cent of those professedly religious, either 
Protestant, Catholic, or Jewish, are reg- 
ularlv or even customarily found within 
the churches. Other large cities, even 
ordinary manufacturing-towns, are doing 
but little better religiously. 

In rural New T England the church is the 
social centre. In the average hill towns, 
as I have seen them, three fourths of the 
adult resident population are church- 
members; nearly everybody is friendly to 
the church and contributes to its support, 
even if contributions are necessarily small. 
In large cities the regular church attend- 
ance seldom exceeds ten per cent of the pop- 
ulation. In these small places, notwith- 
standing the vastly greater inconvenience 
and the fact that little or no choice of 
preacher or other church attraction is af- 
forded, much more than fifty per cent of the 
population usually can be considered as 
churchgoers. This depends largely, how- 
ever, upon whether the local clergyman 
happens to be a good country pastor, 
friendly, and in familiar touch and sym- 
pathy with the life and needs of the people; 
these needs are heartfelt, and the people 
sensitive and discerning, though it may be 
under a rugged exterior. 

The country school is not decadent. The 
number of school buildings has decreased 
with the population, but a lowering of their 
educational standard has been prevented 
by the combined efforts of state and town. 
This is true of the average hill town. A 
feature quite generally adopted in recent 
in localities where children live long 
distances from the schoolhouse is that of 
providing for their being carried to and 
from g< hool at public expense. The re- 

quirements of farm work, especially in 
harvesting crops liable to serious injury 
by sudden changes of weather, reduce the 
attendance average; but the average is 
creditable generally, and in some commu- 
nities surprisingly good when the unfa- 
vorable conditions are taken into consid- 

The small towns of New Hampshire 
have been greatly benefited during the past 
five years by the old-home week move-}! 
ment, originated in that State by Governor? 
Rollins. In Massachusetts, which has 
had for three years a very active and en 41 
terprising old-home week State associa-l 
tion, good results from this work are verylfl 
noticeable. Work like that of the Massa-j 
chusetts Civic League, which has beenji 
directed very prominently to rural better-lj 
ment during the past two years, is of in 
calculable benefit to the small towns, which 
have little political or legislative power in- 

Among other agencies markedly helpful 
to rural social and industrial life, and work-l 
ing in many new lines that were unknown 
ten years ago, are the modernized national 
and state boards of agriculture, with their 
experiment-stations and their bulletins and 
other free printed matter, giving the latest 
results of scientific and practical agricul 
tural work; arts-and-crafts settlements 
which bring together skilled workmen and 
establish congenial colonies of them, while 
developing new opportunities for native 
men, women, and children; the city-coun 
try club plan, which brings city and coun 
try people together in village-improvement 
work, as well as in summer sports and pas 

All of these and other modern agencies 
from without, and a new hope and new 
ideas developing within, are surely, and in 
some cases rapidly, improving the social 
and industrial condition of the hill towns 
of New England. 

Views of Old -Time Boston 



From Drawings by 


With Descriptions by 


Reproduced from AMERICAN SCENERY, Published in 
London by George Virtue, 26 Ivy Lane, 1840 


{From the east) 

THIS view is taken from a long cape, sometimes cut off by water 
overflowing the marshes, and called William's Island. Five or six 
years ago it was a thinly cultivated and neglected spot, scarce known, ex- 
cept to adventurous boys who pulled across from the city wharfs, and to 
the one or two farmers who inhabited it. Now, with the suddenness which 
attends speculation in our country, it is grown suddenly into a consequential 
suburb, with a showy hotel and steam-ferry, and citizens and strangers 
resort to it to eat French dinners and pass the hot weeks of the summer. 

"Boston, from this point of view, is very picturesque. The town rises 
gradually from the water's edge to the height surmounted by the State- 
house, whose lofty cupola brings to a point all the ascending lines of the 
picture; Dorchester Heights rise gracefully on the left limit of the bay, 
and Bunker Hill, famous in American story, breaks the horizon on the 
right. In the centre lie the forest of shipping and the fine ranges of com- 
mercial buildings on the water side; and, turning from this view, the har- 
bor, with its many small islands, stretches away behind to the sea, tracked 
by steamers and sprinkled by craft of every size and nation. Like every 
other bay in the world, that of Boston has been compared to Naples; but 
it has neither its violet sky nor its volcano, yet it may be mentioned in the 
same day." 

1 60 




















STATE Street, called King Street in the days of Stamp Acts and 'the 
regulars,' is the main artery of the heart of New England. The old 
State-house, which stands at the head of it, was called the Town House, 
and was first erected in 1660. It is honorably mentioned in a book of trav- 
els, written in a pleasant vein, by 'John Josselyn, Gent.,' who visited the 
colonies in 1663. 

'"There is also a Town House,' he says, 'built upon pillars, where 
the merchants may confer. In the chambers above they hold their monthly 
courts. Here is the dwelling of the Governor (Bellingham). On the south 
there is a small but pleasant common, where the gallants, a little before 
sunset, walk with their marmalet madams, as we do in Moorfields, till the 
nine o'clock bell rings them home to their respective habitations; when 
presently, the constables walk the rounds, to see good order kept, and to 
take up loose people.' 

"The State-house has been twice burnt, and rebuilt. A council cham- 
ber, ornamented with full-length portraits of Charles II. and James II., 
formerly occupied the cast end; and it was in this chamber that James 
Otis declared before a court of admiralty that 'taxation without repre- 
sentation is tyranny,' — a phrase which became, before long, a slogan in 
the mouths of the people. 

"'Then and there,' writes President Adams, 'was the first scene of the 
first act of opposition to the arbitrary claims of Great Britain. Then and 
there, the first child of Independence was born.' It was upon a trial of the 
question of 'Writs of Assistance,' a power which was required for the 
Board of Trade to enforce some new and rigorous Acts of Parliament 
touching trade; and Otis opposed the Attorney-General. 'As soon as he 
had concluded,' says the historian, ' Otis burst forth as with a flame of 
fire, with a promptitude of classical allusion, a depth of research, a rapid 
summary of historical events, a profusion of legal authorities, a prophetic 
glance into futurity, and a torrent of impetuous eloquence which carried 
all before him.' This was the preparation for resistance to the Stamp Act, 
and the Revolution followed." 



•'T~~ V HERE are very few remaining of the many covered, gable-ended, 
A top-heavy, old houses which constituted the compact centre of 
Boston in the days of English governors. The finest specimens long stood 
in the neighborhood of Faneuil Hall; but, with one exception, we believe, 
their picturesque heaps of triangles have dropped beneath the merciless 
hand of speculation and improvement. Boston has not grown so thriftily, 
or rather so miraculously, as the capitals of other States, through which 
the flood of emigration rolls more directly; but it is certainly the hand- 
somest town in the United States, and probably its prosperity is more 
permanent and solid. Its granite houses and fine public buildings are in 
strong contrast with the description given of it by John Josselyn, Gent., 
who visited it in 1638, and afterwards favored the world with his observa- 
tions under the title of 'New England Rareties.' 'Having refreshed my- 
self for a day or two on an island in the bay,' he says, 'I crossed the harbour 
in a small boat to Boston, which was then rather a village than a town, 
there not being more than above twenty or thirty houses: and presented 
my respects to Mr. Muthrop (Winthrop?) the governor, and to Mr. Cot- 
ton, the teacher of Boston Church, to whom I delivered from Mr. Francis 
Quarles, the poet, the translation of several Psalms in English metre for 
his approbation. ' 

"A facetious bookseller, John Dunton, visited Boston some fifty years 
afterwards; and, in a book upon his 'Life and Errors' gives a humorous 
account of its inhabitants in his time. The passage, which is now com- 
monly made in from sixteen to twenty-five or thirty days, occupied the un- 
fortunate bibliopole four months; and he was reduced, at the latter part 
of it, to one bottle of water for four days. 

" ' When we came in view of Boston,' he writes, 'we were all overjoyed, 
being just upon the point of starving; we put off to land in the long boat, 
and came ashore near the Castle, which stands about a mile from Boston. 
The country appeared at first a barren waste, but we found humanity 
enough when we came among the inhabitants. We lodged the first night 
at the Castle, and next morning we found our way to Boston Bay over the 
ice, which was but cold comfort to us after we had been stowed up so many 
months in a cabin. The air of New England was sharper than at London; 
which, with the temptation of fresh provisions, made me eat like second 
Mariot at Gray's Inn. The first person that welcomed me to Boston was 
Mr. Burroughs. He heaped upon me more civilities than I can reckon up, 
offered to lend me moneys, and made me his bedfellow till I had provided 



THE pretty peninsula of Dorchester Heights, which seems to throw 
its arm protecting ly around the southern bay of Boston, was set- 
tled by a company of pilgrims who came out to New England during the 
administration of Governor Winthrop, in Massachusetts. The party con- 
sisted of two Puritan clergymen, 'with many godly families and people' 
from Devonshire and Somersetshire, who embarked in the Mary John in 
the spring of 1630. The historian states that they had some difficulty in 
the passage with the master of the vessel, Captain Squibb, 'who, like a 
merciless man, put them and their goods ashore on Nantasket Point, not- 
withstanding his engagement was to bring them up Charles river.' They 
obtained a boat, however, and, having laden her with goods, and manned 
her with able men (' not more than ten, well armed, under Captain South- 
cot, a brave Low-country soldier'), they followed the river for about ten 

"After landing their goods on a steep bank, they were alarmed at the 
information that there was encamped near them a body of three hundred 
savages. Fortunately, they had been joined by an old planter, who knew 
enough of the Indian tongue and disposition to persuade the chiefs not to at- 
tack the body till morning. At daybreak, some of the savages made their 
appearance, but stood awhile at a distance. At last one of them held out 
a bass, and the pilgrims sent a man with a biscuit to exchange for it, and 
thus a friendly intercourse was established. Not liking the neighborhood, 
however, they descended the river again, and an exploring-party having 
discovered some good pasture at Mattapan (present Dorchester), they 
settled there. 

"The neighboring peninsula of Shawmut (now Boston) was destined 
to be the principal settlement, and Dorchester is at this day a rural suburb 
of the capital of New England. 

"The view of Boston from these heights is very commanding. The 
bay, with its fortified islands, stretches away to the right, beautiful from its 
shape and from the brightness of its water; the city, clustering upon its 
heights, rises in graceful lines to the pinnacle State-house; and the country 
to the left is all that is lovely in cultivation, sprinkled here and there with 
gay and thrifty-looking villages. The calenture of speculation is just now at 
its height in America; and Dorchester, like other places, is laid out in lots, 
and busy with the builders of fancy cottages and hotels. If calculation has 
not overreached itself, the suburbs of Boston will soon sparkle with villas 
on every hillside; within the horizon." 



" / ""]P V HIS picturesque and beautiful burial-place occupies a grove, for- 
-i- merly an academic and sylvan retreat for the students of Harvard 
College, near-by. It is about five miles from Boston, and presents nat- 
urally a most agreeable mixture of hill, valley, and water, forming alto- 
gether the beau-ideal of a site for the purpose to which it is at present 

"-If we are not mistaken, the people of the United States owe the most 
creditable and delicate taste, newly awakened throughout the country on 
the subject of sepulture, to one of their most distinguished poets, the Rev. 
John Pierpoint, author of the 'Airs of Palestine.' By his exertions, mainly, 
a society was formed for the purchase, appropriation, and improvement 
of the beautiful spot represented in the drawing; and at present most of 
the wealthier citizens of the capital of New England are possessors of ver- 
dant and flowery enclosures, which are ornamented even more tastefully 
than the celebrated cemeteries of Pere la Chaise. In doing away thus with 
the neglectfulness and dreariness of the outer aspect of the grave, death, 
it seems to us, is divested of half its terrors, while a refined and salutary 
feeling is awakened in the bosoms of the living. 

"The example of this cemetery has been followed in other cities; and 
in Philadelphia, particularly, there is a most sweet spot selected upon the 
banks of the Schuylkill, and appropriated to this purpose. The refine- 
ment has spread all over the^country; and in a few years, probably, the 
burial of the dead will be associated in the minds of the people of the 
United States only with sylvan repose and the* sacred loveliness of conse- 
crated natural beauty." 

j 68 


; Bimthorne" in His "Stained-glass" Attitude 



The Gilbert and Sullivan Operas as They Were First Received in 
Boston : Personal Recollections of Henry Irving : 


EFORE I had finished my tour 
of duty as critic of music, 
drama, and art, which was 
the better to fit me for the 
duties of chief editor, falling, 
in a sort of civil-service rotation, to my lot 
in the year 1881, and of which I was re- 
lieved in 1906, — twenty-five years almost 
to a day, — Boston had the felicity of see- 
ing Henry Irving, the most notable figure 
of the modern stage. The knighting of Sir 
Henry in the last years of his life was but 
a faint and superfluous decoration to add 
to a distinction unequalled by that of any 
actor of his time. Acting was the least of 
his accomplishments. In truth it must be 
admitted that he was not so very much of an 
actor not so good an actor, merely as 
actor, say, as his own son, now among us 
and recalling vividly his father's greater 
personality. It was among my most in- 
structive experiences to study this person- 
ality, and to recognize in his unique and 
enormous success in life the truth that in 
England, as well as hen.-, the career is open 

to talents in spite of the tradition that 
British society is laid off in caste's com- 
partments, each hermetically sealed and 
totally inaccessible from its next adjoin- 
ing section or class. Here was a man whol 
started as a drug-store clerk and became! 
in his prime the arbiter of elegances in the 
greatest city in the world, a gentleman, a 
man of influence in many spheres outside] 
of his own. That art is a democracy hasi 
passed into a proverb; but Irving lifted 
his whole guild and its vocation along with 
him in his rise, and this was his real con-j 
tribution to the theatre of his time. 

We had all been familiar long before hisj 
arrival on these shores with his peculiar- 
ities, his exaggerated, melodramatic postur-i 
ing, his strange pronunciation, which had 
come to us phonetically in Punch, along! 
with caricatures of his writhings in "The 
Bells." When we had him before us, 
therefore, the critical mind, not being| 
wholly absorbed in the startling novelty, | 
was free to analyze the Irving style and 
try to account for its oddities. It was the) 



work of a true artist — an artist, however, 
who was up against certain rigid limita- 
tions in his natural dower, but who had 
that great faculty for art-work of seeing a 
picture in his mind and the still more rare 
faculty of looking back upon himself in 
that picture as though he were outside of 
it. He could put himself in the place of 
the audience as well as in the picture, with 
the endeavor to see himself as others saw 
him, and at the same time make others 
see him as he saw himself. With him the 
production began to count heavily again, 
comparatively, as regards the piece itself. 
There is a reaction since his leadership 
passed in favor of simplicity in production 
— simplicity almost to bareness, such as 
that of the great Elizabethan stage. But it 
is to be noted that the Irving production 
was governed by the nicest discrimination 
between the possible and the impossible, 
between elaborateness that tells and mere 
loading-on of detail. He had the painter's 
eye for rich effects and again for delicate 
effects of color; the master's sense of bal- 
ance and dignity and effectiveness of the 
composition in one of those great pictures 
the frame of which is the proscenium and 
the figures living and moving and speak- 
ing men and women. Such were his care 
and taste that he took measures to have 
the materials, the stuffs and painted scenes 
and stage-properties, not in their first gar- 
ish brightness and cleanness and newness, 
so as to avoid all gaudy and violent effects. 
His solicitude and conscientiousness left 
no detail unstudied, and he spent whole 
days at the theatre trying experiments and 
rehearsing the component elements of his 
moving pictures, down to the servants, the 
pages, and choruses and mobs of peasants 
and villagers and supers. One member c [ 
his company was brought over seas and 
carried about this continent, at a high sal- 
ary, to sing a single song in a single piece 
in the repertory. 

While perfectly conscious of the great 
role he was playing in restoring the Eng- 
lish-speaking stage to its old dignity and 
importance, — a national and an interna- 
tional responsibility which he felt almost as 
a consecration to a public duty, — he was 
personally modest, simple, and charming 
in his manners. He had the gift of kind- 
ness, friendship, and amiability. He had, 
too, a keen scent for bounce and affectation 

toleration for weakness, and scorn for pride 
and presumption. It was a rare pleasure 
to get at the earnest, genuine man in a 
quiet supper for a few chosen cronies after 
the tumult and the shouting. It appeared 
on such occasions that Irving was no great 
wit. He never shone in epigrams or funny 
stories; he never led in or greatly enjoyed 
any noisy sport. He spoke less perhaps 
than any one in the company, but he had 
weight when he did speak, and he philos- 
ophized most sanely and conservatively. 
He was conservative in English politics, 
but no toadying respecter of personages or 
rank as such. I remember how he took off 
Lord Tennyson's foibles, his stolid self-im- 
portance, and his tenacity in monopoli- 
zing the bottle of port (after a generous 
indulgence at the dinner-table) in the smo- 
king-room. Apparently he loved to get 
about him, in each city in this country, 
the "characters" of the place — the odder 
the better. W 7 ith the local wag or other 

Sir Hsnry Irving as "Duboscq' 


celebrity putting forth his best paces, it 
was the easier and more economical of his 
own forces to entertain his company. 
Sometimes he would indulge in a funny 
story of personal experiences, but more 
often he was the good listener. There was 
no affectation or exaggeration in the fra- 
gility of his health and physique. He pro- 
tested in a dignified and argumentative way 
against the theory of some critics (among 
whom was myself) that he was not an ac- 
complished actor, and was not content to be 
lauded rather as a manager and mounter 
of plays: he would appeal to the record of 
the runs of his most famous impersonations 
as proof against this judgment. 

One remark of his I was much impressed 
by as showing the purely professional char- 
acter of his general culture. I had been try- 
ing to convince him of possibilities in the 
"creation" by him of the role of Sir Harry 
Vane in a certain great American historical 
drama such as the American journalist 
of my years then is very apt to be writing. 
He had objected that it was of too local an 

Sir llcury Irving as "Eugene Aram 1 

interest for him. I asked him if the Eng- 
lish did not look upon the seventeenth 
century Puritan New England as inti- 
mately connected with, if not a leader in, 
the Cromwellian Commonwealth? "They 
never heard of it," said Irving. "How do 
you think of New England now, then?" I 
asked. "Why, if we think of it at all," said 
the best Charles I. the stage is ever likely 
to see, unless it be his son, "it is as some 
far-away provincial, agricultural country, 
such as Australia." 

Mr. Irving, however, was not blind to 
the sombre grandeur and dramatic possi- 
bilities of the epoch as revealed in Haw- 
thorne's "Scarlet Letter," and he lamented 
that there was no adequate dramatic ver- 
sion available to him. He encouraged me 
to write for the stage and paid me the com- 
pliment of saying that at least my dialogue 
in the apotheosis of the regicide which he 
did not care for would come trippingly 
off the tongue. He also purchased a dra- 
matic adaptation of a French novel which 
seemed likely to furnish parts for himself 
and Miss Ellen Terry, which, however, he 
never reached in actual production. It 
shows the good heart of the man that on 
his last visit to this country, his days of 
production of novelties being over, as he 
said, he returned the manuscript to me to do 
with as I pleased, although he had once 
bought and paid for it. 

Another most interesting event of my 
experience as dramatic critic of the Tran- 
script was the first appearance of what 
soon became a delightful craze, unparal- 
leled in our dramatic and operatic annals 
— the Gilbert and Sullivan series of Eng- 
lish operettas. 

I have always claimed for myself the 
unique distinction of having been the first 
man in America to appreciate "H. M. S. 
Pinafore," and I substantiate this claim 
by the fact — to which my companion at 
that first performance in this country at 
the old Boston Museum in 1878 was always 
willing to testify — that when I laughed 
out aloud and alone in an otherwise silent 
and mystified audience at "Hardly Ever!" 
the eminently correct critic of the Adver- 
tiser, Mr. Clapp, turned in his seat and 
cast a swift but severely reproachful glance 
at so indecorous a disturbance of good 
order by one of his guild of critics. The 




Study of a Group of People, who have been specially invited to an Afternoon Tea, to hear Herr Bogoluboffski, 
the great planist, and slgnor jenkini, the famous tenor. somehow or other, however, neither of these gentlemen* 
happen to turn up, and to compensate for their unaccountable absence, little blnks, the host (who, by the way, tries) 


of Eugene Aram," (to very slow music on the Piano by Mrs. Binks), before anybody can manage to get away. 

confusion of ideas which this and some of 
the succeeding operettas of the perfectly 
matched British team caused in a public 
which had never before seen anything be- 
tween the classical grand opera or opera 
comique and the extravaganza or musical 
burlesque, and did not quickly catch on 
to the Gilbertian irony, persisted for a long 
time. In those days, before the present ar- 
rangements for copyrighting British works 
of the kind existed, it was possible to steal 
any success of the kind, and "Pinafore com- 
panies" of every grade and style of compo- 
sition, professional and amateur and mixed 
professional and amateur, church choir, 
and Sunday school included, one often saw 
in elaborate stage settings and rich cos- 
tumes in such theatres as the Boston — 
"Pinafore" performed with all the solem- 
nity and elaboration of Grand Opera. I re- 
member one cast which included that grand 
old diva of Italian opera, Adelaide Phil- 
lips, as the bumboat woman, Little Butter- 
cup; though this profanation of a great 
name and talent did not seem so shocking 
here, where Addie Phillips had been known 

from a child as a dancing-girl, as, say, in 
a pas de deux between the pieces of a good 
long old-fashioned bill at the Boston Mu- 
seum with her brother Master Adrian, who 
died only last month. There was another 
Pinafore troupe which had in it the grand 
old oratorio basso Myron W. Whitney. It 
was a curious sensation to hear his decla- 
ration, heretofore linked with scriptural 
phrases, majestically turning off those 
nonsense lines of Captain Corcoran. It 
added a touch of the sublime (ever within 
a hair's breadth of the ridiculous, accord- 
ing to the proverb) which even the auda- 
cious mind of the author of the lines 
could hardly have conceived in writing 
them, when the ponderous basso, with all 
his wonted dignity, replied to the rollick- 
ing chorus of the self-satisfied British tars 
chanting the glories of the jackies of Her 
Majesty's Navy: 

You are very, very good, 

And, be it understood, 

I 'm a right good Captain too. 

It is well worth while to hark back a 
moment to this event of the late 70's, be- 



cause it marked an epoch, undoubtedly, 
in the evolution of the present promising 
American and English dramatic produc- 
tion. Hundreds and thousands of works 
on the borderland of burlesque, with a 
serious purpose back of them to expand in 
progress into more serious work, were the 
fruit of a happy thought of the two London 
Bohemians. It is said that the financial 
difficulties of the widow and family of a 
well-known artist on the staff of Punch 
caused the friends of the deceased to organ- 
ize a benefit for which F. C. Burnand and 
Arthur Sullivan promised to collaborate 
in a musical feast. "Box and Cox" was 
the result, and in seven days it was written, 
rehearsed, and performed. The genre thus 
created became the field in which Sullivan, 
in collaboration with Gilbert, achieved 
those memorable successes, — "Trial by 
Jury," "The Sorcerer," "The Pirates of 
Penzance," "Patience," "Iolanthe," and 
the "Mikado." It was in the latter piece, 
by the way, that Richard Mansfield, who till 
that time had been frequenting the Tran- 
script editorial rooms mainly with reading- 
notices of Jordan and Marsh's bargain 
sales as their advertising-agent and now 
and then with a piece of original verse for 
the Poets' Corner, made his first howlingly 
successful appearance on the stage, as 
the comically gloomy Japanese statesman 
Koko, with his wide-flung dance of melan- 
choly and despair — a triumph of genu- 
ine inspiration which he has never since 

After the most charming opera of them 
all, "Patience; or Bunthorne's Bride," 

came over, in a year or so, Bunthorne 
himself — for it was commonly understood 
that Gilbert had drawn this character, with 
his penchant for "stained-glass attitudes" 
and the adoration of lilies and sunflowers, 
from no less a personage than Oscar Wilde. 
No less a personage than Oscar Wilde, 
therefore, in the course of time, and in 
the pursuit of publicity, walked into the 
editorial sanctum of the Transcript, one 
day, in the broad light of noon, with his 
knee-breeches and plum-colored silk coat 
and waistcoat cut somewhat in the fashion 
of Sir Peter Teazle's. He looked as though 
boys had been following him on the street. 
He had delivered his lecture, and it had 
not been treated with marked respect, 
either by the press or by the small portion 
of the publfc present; and the apostle of 
Beauty, with a large B, felt it necessary 
that some explanations of his mission 
should be given to the public. Our half- 
hour chat was entirely amicable and very 
interesting to me. All I now remember of 
it is the sweetness and veneration with 
which my visitor spoke of his personal ac- 
quaintance with Ruskin, and of the in- 
fluence he had had upon young fellows like 
himself at Oxford in opening their minds 
towards the duty of doing something for 
the amelioration of the lot of the deprived 
classes in England. He spoke with enthu- 
siasm of the practical work they had been 
incited to by Ruskin, which he had shared 
in with great zest. They had been giving 
their own labor, with hands and arms that 
had been accustomed only to wielding 
college oars or cricket-bats, in building a 
road and "fixing up" a tumble-down 

A Famous Scene from "Patience" 



bridge, to the great benefit of one of the 
neglected suburbs of the town. 

At the same time, it was true that his 
fame, on which he had come to America 
apparently, was based entirely, as the 
Transcript of the day had said, on his 
serving as the subject of a caricaturist. Cer- 
tainly his message as conveyed in his lec- 
ture and in several incidental letters to 
the newspapers was not anything to shake 
the earth; it needed no Oscar Wilde to 
come from England to teach the neighbors 
of Emerson and Thoreau, Whittier and 
Longfellow, that beauty and refreshment 
for the soul are to be found in the contem- 
plation of nature, of wild flowers and wild 
birds and wild woods. It was because the 
sincerity of all Wilde's preaching on this 
subject was very deeply suspected that he 
was given the semi-cold shoulder in Bos- 
ton that has only been paralleled by New 
York's unmerited snubbing of Maxim 
Gorky under a complete misunderstand- 
ing of his case as ingeniously worked up 
to satisfy the vindictiveness of one of the 
yellow papers of the metropolis which had 
failed to secure his writings for the press. 
Oscar Wilde appeared in New York with 
letters of introduction written by Minister 
Lowell and Mr. George W. Smalley, the 
London correspondent. But notwithstand- 
ing this, the leading writers, poets, and 
journalists kept pretty well out of his way. 
The Murray Hill fashionables, however, 
and the soi-disant intellectuals among 
them made the usual display of their snob- 
bery and idiocy, and nobody could blame 
the clever and probably hard-up Wilde 
for taking advantage of his opportunity 
to fill his houses. It turned out that 
D'Oyley Carte, the same manager who 
had produced the opera containing the 
caricature of Wilde, was his manager here 
and was running him as a speculation. 

That friend of my youth when I was an 
"editor-and-proprietor," for a brief sea- 
son, in New lersey, Mr. Edmund C. Sted- 
man, the dean of the New York literary 
guild and historian of the Victorian poets, 
wrote: "As I have devoted months to point- 
ing out the talents of other young English 
poets — genuine workers, who would scorn 
such advertising — no one suspects me of 
jealousy. It is simply self-respect, and 
contempt for our rich people here — who 
see no difference between writers, be- 

Oscar Wilde as He Looked on His Visit 
to Boston 

tween Longfellow and Emerson — and 
Bryant — and Wilde ! After being a kind 
of missionary here for twenty-five years, I 
must own that society here has not ad- 
vanced, as to literature, one particle. They 
see pictures and decoration and so have 
had to know T something about those things, 
but they never read books. I am now hes- 
itating whether to send to my tailor for 
buckles and breeches and hose, or to 1 sell 
my house and go to the country. Of course 
I do not wish my personal action reported, 
— this is a private letter, — but I want 
you to understand how men like myself 
regard this thing. I do hope that Boston 
will not aid New York in making America 
again the rightful laughing-stock of Eng- 
land. I suppose Wilde and Carte will cart 
away $100,000 and London will think us 
all d— d fools." 

But the New York World took the Tran- 
script severely to task for what it called 
its pharisaic attitude, and pictured the 
dread possibility that the abhorrence of 
Boston's cultured population might com- 
pel the w r andering bard of Beauty to con- 
sume the baked beans of the country at his 
hotel in gloomy isolation. It pretended to 
believe that Boston feared her "violet 
crown" was imperilled by the superior in- 


sight and appreciation of Murray Hill for sort of thing from New York, and was so 

Oscar Wilde. At all events, although fully even twenty-five years ago, when all this 

warned of what would happen to him, the occurred. But Boston has never repented 

fate of the unfortunate aesthete was sure of preventing the "Bacchante" presented 

"if he took his lily in one hand and his life to it by Mr. Stanford White from raving 

in the other and set out for Boston." "Bos- in her can-can through the Public Library 

ton will treat him with Rhadamanthine quadrangle; nor has the editor of the Tran- 

justice as a lecturer, but it will utterly ig- script repented of the position he took in 

nore him in his human and social aspects that matter either. As he said in 1882, 

if the 'Culture' of Boston goes in any proper in reference to young Wilde's success in 

awe of the Transcript. This is possibly a Gotham, "There are some things that can 

merited, but certainly it is an awful, fate." be done in New York that cannot be done 

However, Boston is quite well used to this in Boston." 



With nesting birds and flowers new-blown 
The Spring makes new my grief again. 
Returning life thrills nerve and brain — 
Like flame it burns me, flesh and bone. 

I thought the buried grief was gone; 
But now it springe th up like grain 
To bear an hundred-fold of pain — 

I had not hid it, had I known. 

Ah, spare me, Springtime! Winter's sting 
Was kind, I knew, and kept me numb. 
But who could know, when all was dumb, 

How birds would pierce me when they sing? 
W T hat will it be if Summer come, 

And harvest-time ? — Nay, spare not, Spring. 



This morning, at the shattering of the dark, 

I heard the meadow-lark, 

And gave him buoyant heed, 

Knowing the icy spell was snapt indeed. 

What lyricked he ? 

Faith, hope, and love, these three; — 

All vernal life in rapt epitome. 

And faring forth I felt myself a part 
Of what that song-enamored throat was voicing; 

And, although mutely, I upraised my heart 
In reverent rejoicing. 




N the morning of the day 
when Silver Bill had unwisely 
yielded to the temptation to 
play truant Zack Garrett 
came down the back stairs 
of his home even more slowly than usual, 
for he anticipated the tirade from his 
mother's tongue which awaited him as 
soon as he should enter the kitchen, and 
after a sleepless night he felt less able to 
endure this daily trial than usual. During 
the summer permission had been given 
nim to return home, but this was not per- 
haps an unmixed kindness on the part of 
the authorities of Southcreek. 

He was so completely ostracized that he 
found it very difficult to get employment, 
and gradually he had lost all ambition, not 
only in regard to his present needs and per- 
sonal appearance, but for any future suc- 
cess in life as well. In fact, both he and 
his widowed mother were wrecked phys- 
ically and mentally with what they had 
endured, and could only subsist from day 
to day as best they might. The young man 
had once been able to command good 
wages as an expert carpenter, but now 
his necessity kept him constantly at work 
digging clams, with which he daily sup- 
plied the fish-market of a neighboring 

It was the season for cranberry-picking , 
and the previous day a crowd of young 
people had met at Ephraim Pond's cran- 
berry-meadow. The old man had met 
Zack on the road, and perhaps with some 
idea of restitution — for if the truth were 
known, he was heartily ashamed of his 
part in the young man's punishment — he 
had asked him to go over to the meadow 
and join the workers. It was with a feel- 
ing of mingled shame and angry resent- 
ment that he remembered his experience 
during the long day. Having once under- 
taken the work he would not leave, al- 
though once the overseer, seeing how it was 

with him, had come to offer him his pay, 
that he might stop if he wished. 

There had been few open taunts or 
sneers, though once his quick ears had 
heard a snickering small boy announce to 
his mate that "Zack Garrett is a bird." 
This was no new taunt from the village 
small boys, but the reference to the tar and 
feathering brought only an added touch to 
the depth of anguish in his soul. It was the 
hopeless feeling of complete isolation that 
most embittered him — the knowledge that 
as often as, in the progress of his picking, 
he moved in the direction of any one group, 
those composing it would invariably rise 
from their stooping posture and go else- 
where. Then, too, through the long, lonely 
day, weary as he was in body and mind, he 
was conscious that his eyes were ever seek- 
ing the group where worked the young sis- 
ter of his dead sweetheart. 

Florilla Bill, more for the fun — consid- 
ering it a picnic — than for the money she 
might earn, had stayed away from school 
that she might join her mates at the cran- 
berry-patch. She was growing so like An- 
nabel that the resemblance startled Zack. 
It had been a weary, unhappy day — 
the last, he assured himself, that he would 
ever spend in company with his former 

To-day he was to have employment of 
another nature. Captain Tracy had asked 
him to take his small boat from its summer 
anchorage, and, while the bridges were up 
to allow of the passage of the boats, bring 
her around to her winter quarters in the 
creek. After a hurried breakfast he started 
out for his day's work. His face wore the 
sullen expression that was now almost habit- 
ual. His shoulders were bent, and his sham- 
bling gait betokened one who had lost all 
ambition. Reaching the beach, he pushed 
off in his small rowboat, and rowed with 
short, jerky movements having no rhythm 
nor apparent purpose. In less than an hour 
he reached Captain Tracy's boat, anchored 
near the Benton pier. Another hour was 


1 7 8 


consumed in washing her out and making 
everything tidy and shipshape. He un- 
furled the sail, but there was no wind to 
take it. Grumblingly he stood up in the 
bow and proceeded to propel the craft with 
backhanded strokes of the oars. The 
rhythm of the measured "chunk, chunk" 
of the dip of the oars in the tranquil water 
played a solemn accompaniment to his 
morbid thoughts. 

Florilla Bill was walking on the beach, 
her hand shading her eyes as she looked 
out to sea. Pie turned his head to follow 
her seemingly searching glance, and per- 
ceived the object of it. Silvie, whose boat 
was anchored not far away, was in the act 
of straightening himself to stand erect. 

"A Bill, a Bill, always one of that fam- 
ily! I can never get clear of them." Zack's 
thoughts grew still more bitter. "I believe 
I could strangle that girl; yes, I could choke 
her. How soft her neck would feel under 
my fingers, and how that proud head would 
droop! She would never stick her chin up 
in the air that way when I would be coming. 
Oh, those cold, contemptuous eyes that 
make believe now they don't see me! Per- 
haps they would show that they knew me 
and would plead for life. I suppose I '11 
end in the asylum yet. Perhaps mother 's 
righ' when she says I look crazy! Yes, 
Florrie Bill, with all your sassy, high-flying 
ways, I 'd like to choke you! But oh, you 're 
so like Annabel, as Annabel was before she 
grew so thin. O Annabel! Why didn't 
your folks send you to Colorado or some- 
where to cure your poor lungs — oh!" He 
groaned aloud. He turned his head away 
from the shore and the disconcerting vision 
that reminded him of his lost love. 

Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of 
alarm, and throwing his anchor overboard, 
he leaped with agility into the rowboat 
which trailed behind. He had seen Silvie 
when he went overboard. It was the work of 
only a few seconds to reach the spot of the 
• \( ( idcrit. Leaning far over the side of the 
boat, lie groped around in the waving sea- 
weed with his eel-spear. Almost at once it 
came in contact with the child's sweater. 
Guiding the yielding little bod v to the sur- 
face, Zack reached down and pulled it 
aboard. For a few seconds he held the 
child in such a position that the water ran 
out of his lungs, then placing the limp little 
figure in the bottom of the boat, he bent his 

back to the long, even strokes which quickly 
brought them to shore. 

It was not the first time he had seen an 
apparently drowned person, and before 
this he had helped in restoring suspended 
animation. After forcing a drink of whiskey 
from his flask between the child's tightly 
clenched teeth, he set to work in earnest 
moving the little arms up and down in an 
effort to open the lungs and force them to 
resume their work. The thought of this 
great responsibility so unexpectedly and 
suddenly thrust upon him came to him 
with a flood of emotion. He felt that he 
must have help, but he did not dare to stop 
working over the boy even to stand up and 
call aloud. What if he should, in truth, 
die ! What if he — Zack — were found 
alone with the dead body? Would that 
mean another coat of tar and feathers — 
or worse? His murderous thoughts of a 
few moments ago came surging through 
his mind, overwhelming him with contri- 

"O God! O God!" he groaned. The 
memory of those days when he, a little boy, 
"got religion" up at the big old church on 
the hill came to him, and for the first time 
in many months he prayed. 

" O Lord God, Heavenly Father, forgive 
me for my wickedness, cleanse my heart, 
and help me to bear my lot. O God, for- 
give my wicked thoughts, and help me to 
bring back this life. Don't send another 
drowned child home to the Bills. Help, 
help, in the name of thy Son I ask it — 
Amen," he added, aloud. 

He set to work with renewed energy, and 
in what seemed hours, but in reality was 
but a few minutes, a little shivering sigh 
came from the child's lips, and soon his 
eyes opened. Immediately he tried to sit 
up, but Zack laid a gently detaining hand 
on his shoulder. 

"Here, Silvie," he said, "take a swig 
from my flask. You 've had an accident, 
but you '11 be all right now; just lie still a 
moment. Let 's see first how you feel. I '11 
go in a moment and try and find a team to 
take you home." Dazed and faint, Silver 
obeyed, the unaccustomed drink of whiskey 
helping to stupefy him. 

In the meantime Florilla, tired of calling 
and gesticulating to the unheeding Silver, 
had, just before the accident, turned and 
was walking on the bulkhead towards the 



golf links to the path that led across in the 
direction of the village. Stopping to look 
back, she discovered the group on the beach, 
and recognizing her brother in the recum- 
bent figure, she hurriedly retraced her 
steps, quickening her pace to a run as she 
neared it. 

Zachariah, relieved from the extreme 
tension of the last few moments, drew him- 
self to his full height, stretching his tired 
limbs, and awaited her approach, his usually 
sombre face illumined with a pleasant smile. 
The muscles around his eyes had relaxed, 
and the frown — almost a permanent fix- 
ture on his brow — for once had lifted. 
The eyes themselves beamed and shone as 
he watched the approach of the fleet-footed, 
graceful girl. 

As Florilla came up to him she gave her 
head a contemptuous toss, drawing her 
skirts around her with a marked gesture, 
as if to avoid the contact of her drapery 
with something loathsome. Holding her 
head still higher, she exclaimed: "How do 
you dare smile at me, Zachariah Garrett! 
You keep your smiles for those that want 
them ; and it will be a long time that they 
will go begging, too, in these parts at least. 
What are you doing with my brother any- 
how? Did he strike you, Silvie? I saw 
you, Zack Garrett. You pushed him down 
when he tried to get up. I saw you, and 
there will be others that will know of it be- 
fore sundown." 

She faced the young man, standing be- 
tween him and the unusually quiescent 
Silver, her manner that of a youthful tigress 
defending her young. She stamped her 
foot in the excess of her passion. 

"Howdo you dare touch my little brother; 
how do you dare! And how do you dare 
even look at me — much less smile, you 
— you — devil /" 

The last word, the worst in her vocab- 
ulary, she whispered between clenched 
teeth, shaking her head, thrust forward in 
a snakelike fashion, with a trembling, side- 
wise motion. As she finished her tirade, 
she stood quite still, facing her victim, with 
her head still lowered and thrust forward, 
her eyes, blazing with temper, looking full 
into his. 

For a moment he stood as if stupefied, 
the smile of welcoming pleasure frozen, as 
it were, on his features. But with an hys- 
terical indrawing of her breath she broke 

the spell wrought by the expression of her 
intense feeling, and with a little quavering 
cry she stepped backwards and threw her 
head up once more to its usual haughty 

Zack stepped a pace forward, the ex- 
pression of his face changing to one of 
malignant fury. He stretched one hand 
out in front of him, the fingers curved and 
rigid, as if, like a wild beast, he would tear 
his prey. Immediately, though, he drew 
back, and with a gesture of absolute de- 
spair brushed the gathering moisture from 
his brow with the back of the same hand. 
His face assumed a look pathetic in its ex- 
treme hopelessness, and, turning without a 
word, he walked slowly down to where, at 
the water's edge, his rowboat, only half 
beached, rose and fell with the gently lap- 
ping waves. 

Florilla knelt by the side of her brother. 
"Get up quick, you bad boy, and come 
home at once with me. Where have you 
been all the morning, I'd like to know, and 
why did n't you answer or pay any atten- 
tion to me when I called you? You heard 
me, you know you did! Here I 've had 
to stay home from cranberry-picking just 
to hunt you up, you horrid, bad boy, you! 
We Ve had dinner, and you '11 catch it 
when you get home; and you 're to come 
along home, right off, too. Get up, I say!" 

Silvie tried to stand up, but fell back 
again into a sitting posture. "I wish you 'd 
stop talking so, Florrie. I was drowned, 
truly drowned, and he saved me and brought 
me back to life. He 's a good man, and I 
love him!" 


"It does seem hard," mused Mrs. Bill, 
"and Anti-Trust not quite two years old." 
She was seated before a high, old-fash- 
ioned chest of drawers, looking over some 
little garments. "They all need mendin', 
every one, but if I only could get time to 
crochet some new edgin' for the necks, 
with new sleeves, I 'm sure they 'd do." 

She held up a tiny white dress worn 
through in spots. "But the flannels! 
There 's no use talkin', I can't make 'em 
go again; they 're as stiff as boards. Oh, 
if some one would only take some of my 
po'try, an' pay me for it, too, how it would 
tide me over now! — Tide — tide — 

i So 


"Oh, tum-te-tum, the tlowin' tide, 
Your waves arc swishin' far an' wide, 
Send your billows rollin' high, 

" Ope' 'e door. Ope 1 'e door/' a childish 
voice called, followed by wild yells and the 
hammering of little fists. 

Mrs. Bill sprang from her chair and 
opened the door with a bang. ''Will you 
never leave me in peace? Go away, go 
away, anywhere, only out of my sight!" she 
-creamed, and gave little McKinley Tariff 
and Anti-Trust each a stinging slap on the 
cheek. "Go to Marianna," she added, as 
she shut the door again. " Oh, I 'm so 
nervous," she wailed, " and I just had a 
good endin' to that verse. Now I Ve for- 
gotten it." 

She resumed her seat and undid a parcel 
of tiny embroidered flannels, consisting of 
pinning-blankets, skirts, and a little shawl 
made to fold over in three-cornered fash- 
ion, the better to show the elaborately em- 
broidered points. 

"I ought to have looked these over be- 
fore," she thought; "they 've been washed 
so often that they '11 be too stiff and hard 
for the little thing. If only The Shore News 
would keep that po'try an' pay me for it, 
I would be independent then." 

It was not that Captain Bill was unable 
to give his wife the money needed. It is 
more than likely that had he fully under- 
stood her feeling in the matter he would 
have indulged her in a shopping-trip to 
New Haven. He was devotedly attached 
to his wife and children, and intended that 
the whole family should have everything 
they needed, "in reason." His ideas, how- 
ever, were often at variance with those of 
his wife and progressive daughters. He 
had the reputation in the village of being 
"pretty smart" in money matters, not to 
say "near." It had been noticed that he 
usually returned from a peddling-trip by 
way of Quohonk Bank, where he had an 
account, there being no such institution 
in Southcreek. 

Mrs. Bill, sitting alone in her room, held 
up a little white bonnet to the light. "How 
well that's lasted! Why, mother handed 
that out to me for Annabel. 'T was one 
her mother worked for her to wear. I won- 
der what 's ever become of the afghan she 
gave me J don't remember usin' it since 
Bland Allison Silver was a baby. I must 

have put it up in camphor somewhere 
about. It 's likely up garret. But every one 
of the children has worn that cap, and not 
a thread of the 'broidery broke, either. It 
'most seems as if 't was molded to the 
shape o' the dear little bald heads. How 
soft an' cunnin' they are! 

"Well! if it 's only a girl I '11 try to be 
reconciled. Nina, Ninetta, Anita. I 'm 
bound she shall have one of those sweet 
furrin names. Nina, Ninetta, Anita." The 
alliteration pleased her. "Mother says I 
orter name her after me. But what sort 
of a verse would that make ! Amanda — 
gander — dander! Mother Bill was down, 
too, the other day. She hinted right out 
that we orter give her her name. Jane Bill! 
Ain't that plain? An' it brings such sad 
rhymes! Jane — pain ■ — bane — rain — 
insane! No, it must be something that will 
sing in my head. 

"Down the road tripped little Anita — 
Bland Allison Silver ran to meet her — 
Araminta said she was fleeter — 
Father and mother stayed to greet her — 
The horse she rode tried to unseat her — ! 

Why, I 'd never have any trouble to find a 
last line to her verses!" 

Later she passed into Marianna's room. 
The latter was sewing. McKinley Tariff 
and Anti-Trust were sitting on the floor 
quietly playing. 

"My precious children! My darling 
baby boys, give mother a kiss!" She 
hugged McKinley convulsively and turned 
to her daughter. "You are a good girl, 
Marianna, and I have something here for 
you. If anything happens to me, re- 
member that your mother appreciated 

She handed a slip of paper to her, and 
went out of the room and down -stairs. 
Marianna opened it and read: 

"Marianna, daughter dear, 
Sent to bless, sent to cheer, 
Who so bright, with never a tear? 

"Who helps me mend the children's clothes? 
Who trims the dresses, darns the hose? 
Who turns her back upon her beaux? 

"Who makes the bread and bakes 1be cake? 
Whose jell with pride we all partake, 
For no one can the equal make? 



"Sweeping or washing, cheerful ever, 

The fond home ties no one can sever; 
[I cannot get a line here, but will later on, when I 
have time to think.] 


"Sweet face, fair form, thine eyes of brown 
Look clearly out without a frown; 
Oh, proud am I that I do own 
a Marianna." 

Marianna smiled as she read. The door 
opened again and her sister Florilla, next 
younger than herself, entered. Florilla was 
just seventeen. She still wore her hair in 
long braids, and this coiffure, with her short 
bicycle skirt, made her appear still younger. 
She had her schoolbooks in her hand, and 
threw herself into a chair in an awkward 
attitude of fatigue. Every pleasant day 
she rode back and forth to Quohonk Cen- 
ter, a distance of four miles, on her wheel. 
She had been one of the fortunate scholars 
from Southcreek to pass the examination 
for the Quohonk High School, which she 
had been attending for two years. 

Not having a high school of its own, the 
law of the State obliged the town of South- 
creek to pay, at the nearest one, the tui- 
tion of any scholar capable of taking, and 
expressing a wish for, more advanced study 
than the small district schools of the town 
itself afforded. Therefore, for two years, 
Florrie's name had appeared in the yearly 
town report among the miscellaneous 
school expenses as "Tuition, Florilla Bill, 
Quohonk Center High School, $15.00." 
Some one maliciously remarked that " Flo- 
rilla Bill was on the town now." 

"Ma has been writing some more of her 
ridiculous verses, I suppose," said she, as 
she reached out to take the paper lying 
now on her sister's work-table. 

Marianna laid a gently detaining hand 
on it. "I would rather not have you," 
she said, deprecatingly. 

" Oh, very well. The sentiments are too 
high for me probably. You always stick 
up for Ma, but in your heart I know you 
feel just as I do; only I am willing to say, 
right out loud, that she is too absurd for 

"O Mary Ann, 
Come wash the pan," 

she sang mockingly. "I wonder Pa can 
let her make such a fool of herself. The 
worst of it is, he thinks it is all real. He 
thinks she is an Elizabeth Barrett Brown- 

ing, Jean Ingelow, and Mrs. Sigourney 
rolled into one. I stood it until that epi- 
taph business last year, when she not only 
insisted upon burying Annabel in that ab- 
surd way next the salt marsh, her grave in 
plain sight of every one passing on the 
beach road, but capped the climax with 
that awful epitaph. It was too much for 
me! I '11 never, never get over the morti- 
fication of the whole affair." She was cry- 
ing hysterically now. 

"Say, Marianna! Who do you suppose 
I caught placing flowers on Annabel's 
grave?" The expression of her face 
changed. She ceased crying, and watched 
her sister furtively from the corners of her 

"I went around that way on my wheel 
this morning, the longest way to Quohonk. 
I was early and felt like the ride, and who 
should I see tenderly placing (she held up 
a hand affectedly and went through the 
motion of laying something on the floor) a 
great, big bunch of asters and zinneas on 
our beloved Annabel's resting-place but 
your beautiful Mr. Prior. Now what do 
you think of that? He looked real mad, 
if he is going to be a clergyman. Would n't 
that be just a little bit spicy for the gos- 
sips?" Florilla stood up, stretched her 
arms above her head, arranged a stray lock 
of hair, then sauntered from the room sing- 
ing a bar from a popular song as she went. 

Marianna had felt her face flush during 
Florilla's monologue, and her ears^ still 
burned and tingled. She had bent her 
head lower over her sewing, and, after her 
sister went, the tear she had struggled to 
keep back fell on the new silk, making an 
ugly spot. So this was the explanation! 
She knew Florilla, merciless in her youth- 
ful inexperience, would give her no peace 
were she certain of the secret she even now 
half suspected. But left to herself Mari- 
anna could blush or even cry without crit- 

She laid aside her work and, leaning her 
head on her hand, looked from the window. 
It had been such a day as this a year ago, 
though a month earlier in the season, that 
Annabel and she had taken a long walk 
with Mr. Prior. When he left them at the 
gate she had felt so buoyant, so sure, with- 
out defining the certainty, that he cared 
for her, so happy when he told her he 
would come the next evening to see her! 



Then came the awful tragedy. The next 
afternoon Annabel had been brought home 
drowned, and the officious townspeople had 
tarred and feathered Zack Garrett as being 
the suspected cause of her suicide. Mari- 
anna, conscious of the gossip, had felt the 
mortification of it quite as deeply as her 
sister. Exaggerating the unkindness of it, 
she had brooded in secret for many weeks, 
isolating herself, and scarcely leaving the 

Each Saturday through the autumn and 
early winter she had hoped and watched 
for Ned Prior's coming, determined to re- 
fuse, and yet longing to see him. Hurt 
and indignant, she imagined that she, as 
we. I as the whole family, had lose caste in 
his eyes, and so she resolutely determined 
to put away the thought of him forever. 
At Christmas-time she went to spend sev- 
eral months with an aunt in Hartford, 
and immediately after her return, the next 
July, he had been transferred to a parish 
in the Berkshire Hills. And now he was 
back again! 

"He was so much liked," she thought, 
as she sat dejectedly in the waning light. 
"It was such a surprise when he singled 
out Annabel and me from all the other 
girls, and seemed so marked in his atten- 
tion — poor, conceited fool that I was, 
when it was Annabel all the time! He was 
in love with her — I see it all now. Dear, 
dead sister, should I begrudge you so small 
a thing as flow T ers on your grave?" 

She arose and, closing her door, locked 
it. Returning to the low seat by the win- 
dow, she sat down, folding her hands list- 
lessly in her lap, her tears unrestrained. 
The day had been a particularly hard one. 
The state of her mother's health was a 
constant worry, and the added household 
cares which she had assumed to relieve 
her weighed far too heavily on her young 
-boulders. She had kept the younger 
children with her, too, the greater part of 
the day, and she felt worn, weary, and old 
beyond her years from the effort to amuse 
and quiet them. In former times she had 
shared this latter task with Annabel, and 
now the full significance of her loss came 
to her with all the freshness of a new grief. 
She forgot everything in connection with 
Annabel's death except her own deep sense 
of personal loss. 

"I want my sister," she sobbed. "I 

w r ant my sister; I want my sister." Becom- 
ing more calm, she spoke aloud: "Anna- 
bel, are you here, dear? I feel as if you 
were. If only I could see you, then we 
would talk it out and my head would get 
relief. My brain is so tired! If you were 
here, dear sister, I would tell you that I 
would be glad, glad, to have you marry 
him. And I would help you with your 
housework, darling, and take care of your 
children. There must always be one old 
maid aunt in every family. I shall never 
marry, anyway. O my dearest, how 
happy we might all be were you here now! 
Oh, if I only had you, that I might con- 
fess my folly, my stupid, wicked folly! O 
sister! I want my sister; I want my sis- 

She leaned her elbows on her knees and, 
burying her face in her hands, sobbed out 
the anguish of her soul. • The striking of 
the tall old clock at the head of the stairs 
recalled her to a sense of her ever-present 
duties. She arose once more, and, going 
to the washstand, poured out some cold 
water and bathed her cheeks and eyes. She 
straightened her figure, taking several deep, 
full breaths. 

"I will not give way like this again," 
she said aloud. "I will not think of him. in 
that way again, and I will do my duty 
here. I will distract my mind, as Aunt 
Mary always advises. I will not grow 

She opened her Bible, and taking out a 
piece of ribbon which served as a book- 
mark, examined it with gravity for a mo- 
ment. It had the device of a Greek letter 
college society on it, and on some occa- 
sion had been used as a badge. 

She unlocked the door and slowly made 
her way down-stairs. She went to the 
kitchen, lifted a lid from the stove, and 
threw the ribbon into the fire. She watched 
it burn and shrivel away before replacing 
the lid. "The only thing of his I have!" 
she sighed. 

"I am going to the fair at Quohonk 
Center to-morrow, Pa," she announced, 
as she entered the dining-room. "May 
Silvie come, too?" 

"It'll mean a day lost at school," replied 
Mr. Bill, "but we'll see what Mother 

"Please let me, Pop," pleaded Bland 
Allison Silver. "I have mv clam money 



to spend. Oh, go along, Dad, say yes!" he 
added, as his father still hesitated. 

"Hush! Don't speak so loud! Your 
Ma is in the parlor. She had a regular 
tantrum a while ago, and then she went in 
there and locked herself in. Perhaps her 
brain 's churnin' out more po'try. I 'm 
real worried lately about your Ma, chil- 
dren. She acts so violent-like that some- 
times I 'm most afraid she 's goin' insane. 
Perhaps she ought to be sent to an insan- 

"Sanitarium, father," corrected Florilla, 
giving her head an impertinent toss; "from 
the Latin, sanitas, health." 

" Goll ding it, Florrie Bill, don't you try 
any o' your hifalutin' tricks on me! I guess 
I know how to talk, even if I did n't go to 
Quohonk High School. Hush, hush!" he 
added, altering the angered tone of his 
voice, "she 's comin' out. Want a pencil, 

Amanda Bill moved slowly forward. 

"Husband and children, farewell," she said. 
"My cats and my chickens, farewell. 

My tub and my stove, 

The home that I love, 
Farewell to you all; farewell." 

"That '11 be all right, Mandy," said Mr. 
Bill, taking her hand and patting it. 
"You 're tired out. Lie down on the sofy 
and rest." 

Presently the husband and wife were 
left alone, the children going about the 
various duties that fell to them at sundown. 
William Bill, sitting by the stove, took off 
his boots and stretched his feet towards 
the heat. It was cold for the first week in 
October. That morning, ice, a quarter of 
an inch thick, had been found. 

Amanda lay very still on the sofa, her 
eyes closed. Mr. Bill's shoulders com- 
menced to shake as he chuckled silently to 
himself. He turned his large, good-natured 
face towards his wife. 

"Wake, Mandy?" he asked, softly. 

Mrs. Bill opened her eyes, smiled faintly, 
and closed them again. 

"I was thinkin', Mandy, about its bein' 
a boy. There hain't been a Dewey yet in 
our village. I guess I '11 give the Senate the 
go-by. George Dewey Bill sounds grand, 
don't it? But then there was Schley. He 'd 
'a' done as well in Dewey's place. And 
Roosevelt. 'There 's a hot time in the old 

town to-night,' "he sang, or rather bellowed. 
"WVn't that great, jest?" said he, slap- 
ping his thigh. "Roosevelt Bill, Schley 
Bill — by gum! I never was so stuck for 
a choice in my life! It must be somethin' 
norticle, too, I 'm bound. There will be no 
foolin' round the farm for this kid. No 
sir-ee, he 's goin' to be brought up on the 
water. Cabin-boy — deck hand — cap'n! 
Cap'n of a river steamer, anyway. Who 
knows — mebbe the cap'n of a Sound 
Steamer! Yes, his name must be norticle, 
an' I '11 see he lives up to 't. Dewey Bill, 
Schley Bill. All that 's ancient history. 
How would a Jap name do ? They 're so 
smart on the water! I dunno, I '11 think it 
out — plenty o' time." 

Amanda Bill turned uneasily. "But 
Ninetta," she said. "What an airy verse 
Ninetta would make — without a fetter — 
none better. Or Nina, fairy Nina. 

"Oh, have you seen her, 
My gentle Nina? 

Nina — Ninetta — Anita." 


The day for the County Fair, held at 
Quohonk Center, dawned bright and clear, 
and soon after breakfast Marianna and 
Bland Allison Silver were on their way to 
the railroad-station. Throughout the year 
the former had rebelled at her mourning - 
dress, her grief at the loss of her sister be- 
ing overruled by the shame she had felt at 
the manner of her death. The black dress 
seemed to her as an ever-present reminder 
to all of Southcreek of the whole dreadful 

It was, therefore, greatly to her satis- 
faction that she wore to-day a colored 
blouse. All summer she had sold fresh 
eggs to the shore people, and with the 
money thus obtained had purchased the 
violet silk from which she had fashioned 
the blouse. She had felt extravagant when 
she put so much of her hard-earned money 
into the silk, but had yielded to the temp- 
tation to be dressed more like the city girls 
she used to see at the beach. One of her 
customers had given her, with other cast- 
off finery, a bunch of artificial flowers. 
These she had pinned in her black straw 
hat, and now she was starting for Quo- 
honk Fair, flushed and excited, secure in 

iS 4 


the fooling that she was very becomingly 

•* Mary Ann has lightened her mourn- 
ing," said Mrs. Tracy to her husband, as 
they passed in their buggy, bound also for 
the fair. '•Lavender's real becomin' to 
her. She 's a mighty good-lookin' girl. All 
the same, she 's lost that young slip of a 
Tiseopal minister. All the 'Piscopalians 
1 Ye ever knew were fickle, anyway. The 
Bills orter have remained in the faith o' 
their fathers. They don't none of 'em go 
to church reg'lar since they went over to 
another faith. It's awful to consider that 
all this may have been sent to them by a 
just God as a punishment for their triflin' 
with him. And the end is not yet! They 
say that young man's one thought now is 
for Miss Benton. That 's why her folks is 
stayin' so late to the beach. Want to marry 
her off, o' course." 

Bland Allison Silver looked up several 
times to his sister's face. A thought seemed 
to strike him. "Say, sis, you 're a peach." 

To cover his embarrassment at having 
been surprised into a compliment, he 
stooped and, filling his pockets with horse- 
chestnuts, commenced throwing them at 
anything that seemed suitable for a target. 

The brother and sister had planned to 
drive to the fair, but Mr. Bill returned 
from one of his peddling-trips only the day 
before, and the horse needed a rest. 

When Marianna and Silver reached 
the station they found many of their fel- 
low townspeople assembled. The former 
stopped to speak to Mrs. Phelps while her 
brother ran to buy the tickets. Mrs. Phelps, 
dressed in her best, was in a conversational 
mood. Her hair, naturally curly, was ar- 
ranged in five small ringlets hanging in a 
row across her forehead. These bobbed as 
she talked. Although grey-haired, she wore 
an overbrimmed hat. In fact, all the assem- 
bled matrons wore hats rather than bonnets. 
'Die older the face, the more giddy the 
hat," thought Marianna, eyeing one par- 
ticularly gorgeous creation which, loaded 
with pink roses, was perched over a very 
careworn, wrinkled old face. 

.V the thought passed through her mind, 
a party advancing towards her from the 
other end of the platform caught her eye, 
and her heart gave one wild thump and 
then U>r a moment seemed to stand still. 
Walking near the tracks were Louise Ben- 

ton and her mother, and with them, slowly 
pacing by the young girl's side, was Mr. 
Prior. Louise was talking with her accus- 
tomed gaiety. She wore an expensive 
tailor-made suit. Marianna noticed the 
accessories, — the elaborately embroidered 
linen shirt-waist, stylish stock of a new de- 
sign, the curiously woven bead chain from 
which was suspended a lorgnette, and the 
belt, pinned with an antique cameo. In 
her hand she carried a kodak. 

"I must get a shot at the oxen," she was 
saying. At sight of Marianna, Mr. Prior's 
face lit up with pleasure. He bowed, taking 
off his hat with the exaggerated sweep af- 
fected by college men, and evidently would 
have stopped to speak with her, but she 
turned abruptly, and, with her head haugh- 
tily poised, passed him with only a cold 
nod as acknowledgment of his profound 

"Old Bill's Mary Ann is mighty stuck- 
up," said Mrs. Phelps to she-of-the-pink- 
roses. "Them as carry their heads high 
may be brought low. She '11 be brought 
down a peg or two yet or I 'm mighty mis- 

"I might have let him speak to me," 
thought Marianna, as she took her seat in 
the train. "After all these months it was 
strange not to say even 'how-de-do.' As 
well as we knew him last year, too! But 
then he might have come to the house once, 
at least, after Annabel died, if for nothing 
else than a parish call. It was Annabel, of 
course; he was in love with Annabel. Oh, 
if he should suspect I had ever been such 
a fool! That Benton girl can have him 
and welcome." 

She drew herself proudly up and looked 
from the window; but her heart ached, 
and she wished, oh, how she wished that 
she were at home! 

The fair was held on a vacant lot next 
the Methodist Church, by the side of which, 
screened by a large piece of white cotton 
cloth, a palmist, announcing himself as 
" Cairo," told fortunes by reading the hand. 
Further on, the pop-corn man drove a 
thriving trade. He was one of the charac- 
ters of this section of the country. His 
cart, from which the horses had been un- 
hitched, was painted white, and above the 
wheels it was enclosed in glass. Inside, it 
was divided into sections. Towards the 
front was a counter on which his wares 



were displayed, — buttered pop-corn in 
bags, and sweet bars, white, pink, or choc- 
olate. At the back of the cart was the ap- 
paratus for popping the corn over a gas- 
olene flame. The man stood in a small 
space between the two sections, turning 
first to his fire and then leaning out of a 
window towards his customers. He wore 
a short white coat, white cap, and a clean, 
stiff, waiter's apron. At the corners of the 
roof he had placed flags, which floated 
gaily in the breeze. Underneath the cart 
hung the harness for the horses, the bells 
on which, when in use, jingled merrily and 
were known far and wide throughout the 
country as heralding the approach of the 
r pop-corn man." 

Silver inaugurated his holiday by buy- 
ing a pink bar of pop-corn. Further on he 
invested in peanuts from a man who was 
loudly extolling his wares: "Here 's where 
you buy your peanuts. Come and try 'em 
before you buy 'em; then you won't get 
stuck. Five cents a pint, ten cents a quart. 
If you don't like 'em, bring 'em back and 
get your money back." 

Try as he would, the peanut-vender 
could not make the noise of his two rival 
hucksters who stood near each other a few 
yards away. One of these, after doing 
tricks of legerdemain to attract the crowd, 
would give a tremendous yell: "Hi, yi! 
One man is as good as another to me — 
a darned sight better, especially if he pays 
me a quarter." He was selling a collection 
consisting of pens, a holder, a ring, cuff- 
links, and a collar-stud. "All going for a 
quarter. I do not ask you a dollar and a 
quarter, but give back your dollar and 
keep the quarter!" 

A series of loud cracks from a whip 
came from his rival. The latter stood in 
the tail end of a cart from which the horses 
had been unharnessed. On either side, 
resting on the ground, were huge leather 
cases for whips. "Here! here! here!" he 
shouted, punctuating each exclamation 
with a sounding crack of the whip he held 
in his hand. "If you 're a dealer, here 's 
your chance to deal. Here 's a whip that 
is wire covered and absolutely water-proof. 
Is there a dollar here? A dollar buys the 
lot," said he, holding out four whips in a 
bunch. "Wait for your change. Don't go 
away without your change." He kept up a 
steady flow of language, like an auctioneer. 

Silver grabbed at his sister's dress, pull- 
ing her back to listen. He had his eye on 
some small whips which were being sold 
from a table near the cart. He wanted one 
badly, but hesitated before purchasing, as 
he had only part of the money to spend 
that he earned in August selling clams. At 
the rate of five cents a quart, he had not 
acquired a fortune, and he well knew how 
many temptations to buy fascinating ob- 
jects would present themselves in the course 
of the day. 

"Come on, Silvie, do! That 's a dear," 
pleaded Marianna. Among the crowds 
passing in all directions she was conscious 
of only one form, one face. Mrs. Benton 
and her little party were moving in their 
direction, and her only thought now was 
to avoid them. But as she fairly dragged 
Silver away in the other direction, she 
caught the tones of Miss Benton's culti- 
vated, through rather high-pitched, voice. 

"O Mr. Prior, do look! What an ab- 
surd man selling those whips! He looks 
ready to burst with enthusiasm, with a 
face like a lobster! And all these queer 
people ! Every girl in her Sunday best, I sup- 
pose. I would like to kodak everything 

— everybody. So quaint, so original!" 
Marianna 's cheeks burned and her eyes 

flashed, though filling with tears. "What 
business has she to come to our fair just to 
make fun of us?" she thought, indignantly; 
"and Mr. Prior, what a hypocrite he is to 
listen to her, when he pretends to be such 
friends with all the Southcreek people — I 

— I hate him!" 

With her gentle soul unusually perturbed, 
she hurried the bewildered Silvie to the 
small tent where tickets were sold, and 
bought two for the exhibition-tent. Once 
inside, she breathed more freely, recovering 
her accustomed calm poise. The Bentons 
were evidently more interested in watch- 
ing the people and peddlers outside on the 
grounds than in examining the legitimate 

Marianna took an intelligent interest in 
the prize potatoes, squashes, and vegetables 
of all sorts; while Silvie's fancy was cap- 
tured by a large naphtha launch, the ex- 
hibit of a local firm. Passing from the 
large tent to a smaller one which opened 
from it, they looked at the poultry, angora 
cats, and rabbits, and Silver fed the squir- 
rels with peanuts. 



"There are n't half as many exhibits as 
last year. I wish I had n't come," thought 
Marianna. Even the fancy-work, much of 
it well done, failed to interest her. 

"What a lot of work just to be worn 
out," she thought, as she stood in front of 
the home-made rugs. These latter were 
hung over a line against the wall and next 
the patchwork bed-spreads, all forming a 
background in front of which stood the ta- 
bles burdened with embroideries, crocheted 
laces, shellwork, and the various products 
of the fingers of industrious New England 
women. One rug, made after the same 
method as most of its fellows — the rags, 
cut in thin strips, having been drawn 
through the meshes of coarse canvas — far 
surpassed them all in originality of design. 
On a black background were large conven- 
tional figures in vivid greens and reds. It 
looked more like an oriental rug than the 
product of New England. Marianna liked 
to do fancy-work and had often braided 
the rags which were fashioned into the 
"mats" in common use at home; but to- 
day, standing dispirited before it, though 
admiring the brilliancy of this master- 
piece, she could only think of the toil it 
represented, and sighed as she moved on 
to examine the preserves, jellies, and home- 
made breads, pies, and cakes. 

She looked about for Silvie, found him 
near the florist's exhibit, and after buying 
some rare lily bulbs, she was forced to 
follow him out again into the sunlight. In 
spite of the neatly packed luncheon which 
she was carrying in a basket, and which, 
early that morning, she had looked forward 
to eating somewhere in the open air, she 
now had half a mind to go home, leaving 
it with Silvie, to be consumed by him and 
some chance friend. 

"Fairs are not as nice as they used to 
be," she thought. 

On a slightly elevated band-stand the 
Quohonk Fife and Drum Corps was play- 
ing patriotic airs. The men wore a very 
brilliant uniform consisting of white duck 
trousers, scarlet coats braided with gold, 
and red caps, on the fronts of which were 
the letters, "Q. D. C." fashioned in gold, 
and surrounded by a wreath of golden 
leaves. The vibration of the drums was 
unpleasant to Marianna, although Silvie, 
delighted with the noise, sprang and jumped 
through the crowd and narrowly escaped 

being run over by a wagon driven reck- 
lessly across the grounds. 

The man of the whips was selling other 
things now. He quickly disposed of a lot 
of men's coarse handkerchiefs, selling them 
in lots of half a dozen each. 

"Here is a fine convex, concave, hollow- 
ground razor — don't touch the blade," 
said he, in warning, as he passed the arti- 
cle to one of his audience for closer exam- 
ination. With a preliminary flourish he 
opened out another one, and, pointing with 
it, singled out from the crowd a small, 
weazened specimen of faded manhood. 

"Hello, Abe Story! What are you doing 
in these parts ? Doing every one you can, 
I '11 be bound." His sally, accompanied 
by a distorting wink, was received with 
appreciative guffaws, and, having sold the 
razors, and seeing the crowd in such good 
humor, he now took them into his confi- 

"Now I '11 tell you what I '11 do." He 
had been shouting, but his voice suddenly 
assumed a low, conversational tone. "I '11 
tell you what I '11 do," he repeated. "Do 
you see this fine leather pocket-book?" 
holding up a cheap imitation. "I '11 tell 
you what I '11 do. I '11 dive right here," 
suiting the action to the word and reach- 
ing into a box at the side of the cart, "and 
I '11 put four good lead-pencils with the 
book. Examine the lot and I '11 tell you 
what I '11 do. Here, you see, is a place for 
your money, and here 's a place for the 
money you have n't got. You could not 
buy the lot in any stationer's for less than 
fifty cents. Shall I sell them for twenty- 
five cents? Shall I sell them for twenty- 
four cents ? Shall I sell them for nineteen 
cents, or fourteen and a half cents?" He 
was exciting himself into a fury, punctuated 
by stamps and shrieks to mark his ques- 
tions. "No! Whoever will hand me ap 
ten cents gets the lot. Who wants them 
for ten cents ? Young America, here 's 
your chance. Thank you," leaning affably 
forward as he made an exchange in his 
own favor. 

Silver looked longingly at the table of 
toy whips. Should he buy one? The 
one he wanted would cost at least fifteen 
cents, and that was just the sum remain- 
ing in his pocket. In the candy-booth were 
some red and white peppermint lozenges 
stamped with mottoes. These also were 



very tempting. He decided to wait a little 
longer before parting with the last of his 
"clam money," which had been slipping 
through his fingers very fast. His dark 
blue sweater was decorated with two gor- 
geous devices which he had bought. One 
was a likeness of Roosevelt on a large gilt 
disc; the other, a small pair of tongs hold- 
ing a tiny imitation block of ice, the tongs 
suspended from a bar on which was printed 
the legend, "Don't you wish you were the 



As he stood before the table of whips he 
suddenly caught sight of Mr. Prior. The 
young student was a great favorite with 
the small boys of Southcreek. He had or- 
ganized baseball teams and had stimulated 
them to many athletic contests; and had 
once taken Silver, with four others near 
his age, to camp for a week on the long 
point which stretched from the south of 
Southcreek beach far out into the Sound. So 
far to-day Silver had not had a chance to 
speak to Mr. Prior, but now, catching sight 
of him standing only a few rods away, and 
for the moment quite alone, he darted 
towards him through the crowd. He ducked, 
and, passing safely under a horse's head, 
skirted the back of an intervening buggy, 
and stood with his toes turned in, gleefully 
hopping first on one foot and then on the 
other, right in front of the young man. 

Marianna hardly had time to miss him 
from her side before, to her dismay, she 
saw him talking familiarly with Mr. Prior, 
who was holding the boy by one shoulder. 
Should she run away — could she elude 
them if she tried? She was tall, and Mr. 
Prior, head and shoulders above the crowd, 
could trace her anywhere. The thought 
had scarcely time to pass through her mind 
ere he stood by her side. He held his hat 
in his left hand, his right stretched out in 

"Should old acquaintance be forgot, 
Miss Bill?" he said. 

Something in his face, the expression of 
his eyes, made her forget the long year that 
had passed since last she spoke with him. 

r To be 

The scandal of Annabel's death, his re- 
missness in never coming to see her after 
that sad event, the village gossip concern- 
ing his attentions to Miss Benton, Flo- 
rilla's story of the flowers for Annabel's 
grave, her own self-torture over her feel- 
ings for him, — all, all were forgotten. The 
long year now passed was as if it were not. 
It seemed but yesterday that she had 
walked through Southcreek by-roads with 
him, listening to his low-pitched voice, 
thrilled by his presence near her, happy 
and buoyant of spirit with an unexplained 

" Silvie has asked me to share your lunch- 
eon," he said. He held up a paper bag. 
"We '11 'divvy up square,' as the boys 

A new spirit seemed to take possession 
of Marianna. Why not, after all? Through 
the crowd she caught a glimpse of Louise 
Benton. The latter was using her lorgnette, 
and the glance she gave Marianna became 
an impertinent stare. 

"Where shall we have our spread?" the 
deep-toned masculine voice was asking. "I 
must lay in a supply of peanuts and pop- 
corn, if only to show to Silvie my appreci- 
ation of his invitation." 

Marianna, conscious still of Miss Ben- 
ton's notice, laughed softly. She gave her 
head a bewitching side toss and looked up 
into his face. 

"We were thinking of going across to 
the cemetery," she said. "Do you think 
you would relish a repast among the shades 
of the departed?" 

"The shades of the departed won't 
trouble me much if my companions of the 
flesh are good to me." His tongue uttered 
the commonplace remark, but his eyes 
were saying, "With you, anywhere with 

And as they started away from the fair 
grounds, her heart, throbbing beneath the 
violet folds of her new silk blouse, took up 
the refrain of his unspoken words. "With 
you," it beat, "with you, anywhere with 
continued ] 



UNT Esther rose to her feet, 
pushed back her faded sunbon- 
net, and peered anxiously 
down the road that led to 
the village. 
' Seems 's if Hitty 'd ought to be a-com- 
in'," she said to herself. 

Aunt Mehitabel was nowhere in sight, 
and Aunt Esther returned to her daffodil- 
bed. It was just the morning to work in 
the daffodils, warm and golden, with a 
cool, sweet wind blowing down from the 

wooded hills across the river. 


shinin' after rain,' " murmured Aunt Es- 
ther, as she picked up her trowel. " Esther's 
head is as full of scripture texts as her spice- 
cake is of raisins," Brother James often 

Steeped in sunshine, Aunt Esther's little 
garden gave out warm, earthy odors. Al- 
ready, in opening daffodils and budding 
tulips, streaks of bright color showed 
against the brown of the soil. Over in the 
shade of the lilacs was a wealth of gold and 
purple, where the pansies grew. And every- 
where there were lilacs. Bushes grew all 
along one side of the garden and extended 
back of the house. Two long rows, one on 
either side, shaded the walk which led 
through the yard to the road. They were 
now in the full glory of blossom, and the 
air was heavy with their homely, whole- 
some fragrance. 

Aunt Esther sniffed appreciatively. 
"Seems 's if most everything that 's ever 
happened to Hitty an' me has happened in 
lilac-time," she thought. "Sad things and 
glad things, too; though sometimes, now- 
adays, I can't hardly tell which was sad 
and which was glad. 'T was a day like 
this forty years ago, come the first of May, 
that mother died and left Hitty an' me to 
bring up the baby. My, what a difference 
that baby made, though! Does seem now 
as if I had n't really lived till I held him in 
my arms. And just to think of that mite 
of a baby bein' Brother James!" Aunt Es- 
ther smiled a Little wistfully. "What Hitty 
1 88 

an' me would ever 'a' done all these years- 
without Brother James to advise and coun- 
sel us, I'm sure I d' know." 

Aunt Esther rose again to her feet and 
looked down the quiet road. There was 
no one in sight. "Somethin's kept Hitty 
to the village," she said. Then, as her 
fingers loosened the earth around the tulips, 
her thoughts went back again into the far- 
away time which the scent of the lilacs 
brought so vividly before her. 

"'A little child shall lead 'em,' it says 
somewheres in scripture," she thought, rev- 
erently. "An' someway seems 's if ever 
since he was big enough to talk Brother 
James has always done the leadin'. He was 
always sensible — James was — and al- 
ways told Hitty an' me just the best thing 
to do. When sister Tildy up and married 
that music-man, what did James say? 
'Keep quiet, girls,'— them was his very 
words — 'an' make the best of it.' And 
we did — • Hitty an' me — though of course 
folks talked a lot. Then, next year, when 
Tildy died and left us Jim to bring up, 
'We '11 manage someway,' said Brother 
James. And we managed. Poor James! 
That was n't long before his disappoint- 

The tulip-buds became a blur of yellow 
before Aunt Esther's eyes. She found a 
clean corner of her apron and wiped her 

"How Molly Brown, or any girl in her 
senses, could 'a' loved Seth Wilson more'n 
she did Brother James I never could see." 
Aunt Esther gave a resentful little dig. 
"Mercy," she exclaimed, in quick contri- 
tion, "I do hope I didn't hurt that fish- 

The sun was growing warm. Aunt Es- 
ther moved into the cool shade of the lilacs 
and began carefully to transplant the pansy 

" 'T was lilac-time, too, when Molly and 
Seth got married," she went on. "And 
that was when Brother James went to New 
York to live. 'All things work together for 



good/ the good Book says, and Iain'tsayin' 
but what they do. But 't was pretty middlin' 
hard for Hitty an' me to let him go. And 
Molly died — poor girl! Mebby she wa' n't 
none too happy. Folks said Seth took to 
drinkin'. Anyway, he got killed buildin' 
on a bridge over to Milford. And there was 
little Molly — and she was left to Brother 
James. I d' know, now, what James would 
do without Molly. But she's been a hard 
child to bring up in the nurture and admo- 
nition of the Lord. We always said — 
Hitty an' me — that she 'd be spoiled havin' 
her own way in everything. ' Can you spoil 
a May breeze lettin' it blow the way it wants 
to?' Brother James said. Mebby he was 
right. Molly's turned out a sweet girl, and 
a good one. We can't all be capable." 

Aunt Esther picked a small pink garden 
daisy that had ventured to bloom among 
the pansies. Someway, it seemed to her 
that little, light-hearted Molly, with her 
fragile pink-and-white prettiness was like 
the daisy. "Only sweeter, of course," she 
said, "a good deal sweeter." Aunt Esther 
threw the daisy out into the heap of weeds 
in the path. Then she reached out and 
carefully picked it up. "I'm dretful fond 
of Molly," she said, and she slipped the 
daisy into her apron pocket. 

"'Twa'n't more'n a year after Molly 
went to James's house to live," resumed 
Aunt Esther, "before something had to be 
done about Tildy's boy. Jim was the dear- 
est boy — next to Brother James, of course. 
Such eyes as he had — has yet, for matter 
0' that! And such coaxin' ways!" Aunt 
Esther laughed aloud. " I remember as 
well as if 't was yesterday the time we left 
him to milk the cows and found him, when 
we came home long after dark, out in the 
barn with the lantern, makin' an organ 
out of a cigar-box and some lead-pencils. 
And there was that time we sent him to ask 
after Brother Rice, who was sick, and he 
did n't come back all the afternoon, and 
finally we found him in the 'Piscopal 
Church playin' away on their new organ. 
Jim did n't know he'd done anything wrong 
either. He always meant to be a good boy 
— Jim did. But someway he just could n't 
get music out of his head long enough to get 
anything else in. James said, when we 
went to him for advice, ' It might be some- 
thing a great deal worse, girls. When you 
tried to make Jim into a farmer you forgot 

to take his father into account' — James 
does say queer things sometimes. So then 
he tried his hand at it. He took Jim right 
away to New York and gave him all the 
music he wanted — even sent him into fur- 
rin parts for a couple of years. We thought 
— Hitty and me — that the boy would get 
sick to death of music. But, mercy, he's 
all music. And it's just wonderful the way 
he's gettin' on. He's been gone from the 
farm now nigh on to eight years. I declare 
for 't how time does fly. 'A thousand 
years are but as yesterday when it is past,' 
as the Psalmist says — " 

"Be you talkin' to yourself, Esther?" a 
strong, reliant voice broke in upon Aunt 
Esther's musings. 

" Mebby so, Hitty — sometimes I guess 
I do speak right out, I get so busy thinkin'. 
How late you be!" 

Aunt Mehitabel sank limply upon the 
top step of the porch. The purple and 
white lilacs nodding overhead showed 
something the same resemblances, the same 
differences, as did the twin sisters. About 
Aunt Esther was a delicacy of form and 
coloring wholly lacking in her larger, 
stronger sister. Born and bred in the 
strictest of Methodism, this form of relig- 
ion was as vital a part of each as is the scent 
of a lilac. In Aunt Mehitabel, it had be- 
come a matter of works, strong and stren- 
uous. In Aunt Esther, no less real, it was 
of the gentle, sensitive, retiring-by-itself-to- 
pray-and-meditate sort. Brother James 
said, "When I'm sick I want both girls in 
the room. Hitty can make the mustard 
pastes, but it takes Esther to do the pray- 
ing. I want to feel Hitty's hands. But I 
want to see Esther's face." 

Aunt Mehitabel pulled off her sunbon- 
net and began to fan herself vigorously. 
"I fell in with Sister Sary," she said. "And 
you know Sary. She'd talk an arm off a 
blacksmith. I did think I never should get 
away. Here's the letter. I declare for 't 
I'm beat out. I ain't got breath enough 
left to read it." 

"You'd better sit still a spell, Hitty," 
said Aunt Esther, taking the letter. "You're 
all het up. Your face is as red as a piny." 

Carefully, Aunt Esther cut off one end 
of the envelope with her garden shears. 
Never in all her life had Aunt Esther torn 
open a letter. She did n't like to see Molly 
do it. 

i go 


•'I d' know as I can make it out without 
mv glasses/' she said, "Jim does write 
something dretful to read." 

'•Dear Aunties," she read, pausing now 
and then for anxious scrutiny, "at last I 
have the position — -the very one I've 
wanted and worked for all these years. It's 
almost too good to be true, isn't it? And 
it never would have happened to me if I 
had n't been Uncle James's nephew. Any- 
wav, now that I'm duly installed as organ- 
ist of one of the first churches in the city, 
will you forgive me for not being able to 
milk those cows? 

"But this isn't the best news — that is 
coming. I'm going to be married. No 
one knows about this yet but Uncle James 
— and Molly, of course. She is the sweet- 
est girl. And we want you to come down 
at once — she and I. Yes, you must. Jake 
and Elviry can run the farm, and you come. 
We need you. Uncle James says so, too. 
Write when, and let it be soon. 



"There's a word or two I couldn't just 
make out," said Aunt Esther, carefully re- 
folding the letter. "But I guess I got the 
sense of it." 

" Humph! " said Aunt Mehitabel, " strikes 
me there ain't much sense to get, Esther. 
I always knew he would, though." 

"Would?" echoed Aunt Esther. 

•Would marry Molly. Didn't you, 

"I sort o' thought mebby he would 
sometime," said Aunt Esther, slowly. "I 
suppose it's sort o' natural, ain't it, Hitty?" 

'■ Mebby 't is, and then again, mebby 
'tisn't," said Aunt Mehitabel. "You 
need n't say anything, Esther. I know by 
your face just how you feel. But it's my 
way to speak out. I think just as much of 
Molly as you do. But she ain't the sort o' 
wife our Jim needs to bring out the best 
that's in him, and you know it. She 's in- 
capable and clingin' and childish, and she 
always will be. She needs some one with 
plenty of means, who'll always take care of 
her. And Jim'-, got his own way to make, 
and he's goin 5 to need ;ill the help he can 
get to make it." 

Aunt. Esther's fingers closed gently over 
the little daisy in her pocket. "Brother 
James worships 'em both," she said, 

quietly. "I could see, when they was here 
last, that he'd just set his heart on their 
gettin' married." 

"Any one with half an eye could 'a' 
seen that all along," said Aunt Mehitabel, 
tartly. But her face softened as she added, 
"Well, probably James knows best." 

Aunt Esther brightened. "Yes, Hitty, 
I guess he does," she said. 

Suddenly, Aunt Mehitable sprang to her 
feet, listening intently. "Esther King," 
she exclaimed, "do you hear them whistles? 
It's noon, and the potatoes ain't even 

"Well, Hitty?" Brother James smiled 
across the breakfast-table at his sister. 
"Your forehead reminds me of Sunday 
mornings long ago when I wanted to go 
fishin' and your heart warred with your 
conscience. What 's the trouble*? Out 
with it." 

Aunt Mehitabel looked up. Brother 
James's face was still as fresh in its coloring 
as his heart was strong in its hope and hap- 
piness. Aunt Mehitabel was suddenly 
struck by its fine, unconquerable spirit, its 
ever-enduring youth. Her grim face re- 
laxed. "I declare for 't, James," she said, 
"you don't grow old a mite." 

"Can't, out of compliment to Molly," 
he said, glancing at the flower-like face of 
the girl opposite him. Molly blushed de- 
lightfully. And Brother James went on. 
"But that is n't the cause of your troubled 
brow, Hitty." 

It was Aunt Esther who answered, 
"We're both a little mite worried," she 
said. "You see, Jim wants we should go 
and hear him play this morning. And 
we've just found out that he plays at — an 
Episcopal Church." 

"Well?" questioned Brother James. 
Molly turned her startled, starlike eyes up- 
on Aunt Esther's flushed little face. 

Molly's eyes always gave the idea of be- 
ing startled. "It's really quite easy to get 
there," she said, in a clear, high voice 
which matched her eyes. "I can't go to- 
day — I 'm so sorry! And Jim has gone — 
he goes early to practise, you know. Uncle 
almost never goes. But he'll put you on 
a car, and you won't have a bit of trouble." 

"It ain't the gettin' there," said Aunt 
Mehitabel grimly. "Esther an' me have 
got tongues in our heads, and we ain't 


1.9 1 

afraid to use 'em, so I guess we could get 
there. But we are Methodists." 

"Mehitabel an' me," interrupted Aunt 
Esther, nervously, "don't countenance 
goin' away from one's own church. We 
ain't never been in an Episcopal Church 
except that once when Jim ran away and 
played on the organ. We can't bear to 
hurt Jim's feelin's — and he seems dretful 
set on our goin'. But it don't seem quite 
consistent someway." 

"I, for one," continued Aunt Mehitabel, 
"don't approve of the Episcopal doctrine 
in regard to — " 

"You aren't going for the doctrines, 
Auntie," said Molly, gently. "You're go- 
ing just to hear Jim play. Think how 
disappointed he'll be if you aren't there. 
He's talked about it for so long. Oh, you 
must go just this once — indeed you 
must." - 

Aunt Esther looked distressed. "What 
do you think, James?" she said, timidly. 
"Don't you think — that is, do you think 
— on Jim's account — " 

"Yes, James," said Aunt Mehitabel, 
"you tell us — you know best." 

Brother James stirred his coffee leisurely. 
"Go hear Jim play," he said. "The boy's 
heart is quite set on it. You've been Meth- 
odists for sixty years, girls, and if your 
Methodism can't stand one Sunday at an 
Episcopal Church there's something the 
matter with it, that's all. Now go and get 
ready, and I '11 put you on the car — " 

"James," said Aunt Esther, flushing, 
"we'd just as soon walk — Hitty and me." 

"Walk?" gasped Molly. "Why, it's 
miles, Auntie." 

"Esther and me," said Aunt Mehitabel, 
"ain't ever just approved of cars bein' run 
on the Sabbath day." 

"'No manner of work,' the Bible says," 
said Aunt Esther. "Runnin' cars must be 
middlin' hard work, Molly." 

"The cars will run whether you go on 
them or not," said Brother James. "Any- 
way, if you hear Jim play to-day you'll 
need to patronize them." 

Aunt Esther looked appealingly at Aunt 
Mehitabel. "Mebby," she began — 

But Aunt Mehitabel interrupted her. 
"James knows best about such things," 
she said. "We'll go, Esther." 

At the corner, James put his sisters 
on a car. All the wav from the house he 

had given them careful directions. "Take 
a west-bound car at 59th Street," he said 
again; "that will take you past the church." 

Aunt Mehitabel sank into a seat. Her 
unwilling Methodistic hands clutched the 
Prayer-book Molly had forced into them. 
Aunt Esther dropped down beside her. 
Anxiety was written in every line of her 

In the general exodus at 59th Street, 
Aunt Mehitabel followed the crowd. Aunt 
Esther followed Aunt Mehitabel. "How'd 
you know which car 'twas?" she asked, 
in undisguised admiration. "I couldn't 
'a' told one of 'em from another." 

"I've been on cars before," said Aunt 
Mehitabel. Her nervousness, less apparent 
than Aunt Esther's, made her irritable. 
"Besides, where would all these people be 
goin' in their best clothes it 't was n't to 
church, I'd like to know? Now, you keep 
your eyes open," she went on. "It's the 
first big brick church on the left, James 

" 'The goats on the left,'" murmured 
Aunt Esther. 

"Ain't you ashamed, Esther King," said. 
Aunt Mehitabel, sharply, "callin' our dead 
sister's child a goat?" 

Aunt Esther's sensitive face flushed. "I 
did n't," she said; "I did n't mean Jim — 
I didn't mean any one particular, Hitty." 

"It sounded so," said Aunt Mehitabel. 
"But I d'know, Esther, but what I'd about 
as soon be called a goat as a sheep after all. 
I always did hate sheep." At that minute 
Aunt Mehitabel's keen old eyes caught a 
glimpse, on the right-hand side of the street, 
of a high brick church surmounted by a 
gold cross. She clutched at the passing 

"Is that an Episcopal Church?" she 

The conductor nodded and reached for 
the rope. "Stop the car, lady?" he asked. 

"Is it where James King Maxon plays 
on the organ?" 

" Could n't say, lady. ' ' The man grinned. 
"Let you off?" 

"James said the left side," said Aunt 

"Only 'Piscopal Church hereabouts," 
said the man, as the car came to a stand- 
still on the corner above the church. 

" 'T is n't like James to make a mistake," 
said Aunt Esther, as she sprang spryly 



down. Aunt Mehitabel followed more 

" Tames did n't make a mistake," she 
said* "• If any one made a mistake, that man 
did. He didn't even know that Jim played 

'•It's on our left hand now, Hitty," 
said Aunt Esther, as they hurried back to 
the church, "so I guess it's all right. My, 
what a big church!" 

Inside the vestibule they found them- 
selves in a new, strange world. Their feet 
sank into a carpet of rich gold-brown vel- 
vet. Subdued colors — amber and ame- 
thyst, crimson and blue — fell about them. 
Music, solemn and far aw r ay, stole across 
the silence. Aunt Esther caught her breath. 
Someway, she thought of the winds in the 
woods at sunset. 

Costly silks rustled past. Heavy per- 
fumes hung upon the air. Of the two 
country-looking old ladies none of the 
richly dressed worshippers took the slight- 
est notice. At last, a young man with a 
prematurely old face moved slowly toward 
them. He bowed courteously and mur- 
mured something in a monotone. 

"No," said Aunt Mehitabel, sharply. 
The man bowed his head and went slowly 
and solemnly away. 

''What 'd he say?" said Aunt Esther. 
"I don't know," said Aunt Mehitabel. 
"I can't understand such gibberish. And I 
don't want to. What would Brother Palmer 
say to see you an' me conversin' with a 
strange man in the church entry? We'll 
just wait till the crowd gets in and then 
we'll go in and take a seat somewheres 

Aunt Esther nodded approvingly. Hitty 
always knew what to do. To herself, she 
said something about wolves in sheep's 
clothing; then she instantly reproached 
herself for even thinking such an unchar- 
itable thing. 

The music died away. From the far- 
off chancel came the sound of the minis- 
ter'"- voice intoning solemnly. Then, with 
one accord, the great congregation sank to 
the floor. A strange awe, a wonderful ela- 
tion, filled Aunt Esther. Out there in the 
vestibule, she would have knelt, too, had 
not Aunt Mehitabel caught her quickly 
by the arm. " What are you doin', Esther?" 
she said. "Folk Ml think you're plumb 
crazy. " 

"It's so beautiful, Hitty," murmured 
Aunt Esther, apologetically. 

Just then the outer door opened. A broad 
shaft of sunlight came in, and with it — a 
part, it seemed, of the soft daffodil radi- 
ance — was a girl. She was tall and ex- 
tremely slender, and she was dressed in 
white. She came hurriedly forward, the 
door closing noiselessly behind her. Some- 
way, it did not seem to shut out the sunshine; 
that lingered with the girl. Straight to the 
wondering old ladies she came. "Did no 
one offer you a seat?" she asked. 

The girl's voice was deep and sweet. 
Aunt Esther closed her eyes. She saw the 
sunshine on the daffodils in the old garden 
at home. She smelled lilacs. " 'As the 
light of the mornin', ' " she murmured. 

Aunt Mehitabel 's voice aroused her. 
"Mebby that was what that queer-talkin' 
man meant," she was saying; "but we 
did n't want to go in with him, so we told 
him so." 

"Anyway, we did n't care a mite about 
goin' in," Aunt Esther hastened to add. 
"We can hear just as well out here." 

The tall girl looked down into the gentle 
brown eyes. Her own eyes were brown, 
like a brook where the sunshine strikes 

" Oh, you must go in," she said. Then 
she smiled. To that wonderful smile Aunt 
Esther responded instantly. 

"We've come all the way from Kings- 
bridge, Lewis County, as you might say," 
she said, "almost a-purpose to hear our 
nephew play on the organ." 

A strange brightness came to the girl's 
face. "Are you James Maxon's aunts 
from up the State?" she said, "the two 
dear old ladies who live all by themselves, 
and who tried to make him a farmer ? Oh, 
I just know you are." She held out both 
hands impulsively. 

Both old faces beamed with joy. That 
this girl knew their Jim to them was not 
strange. The strange thing was that there 
were people who did not know him. "Do 
you know Jim real well?" asked Aunt 
Mehitabel. Aunt Esther held out her 

"Indeed I do," said the girl, "and you, 
too. Jim — Mr. Maxon — is a good 
friend of mine, and he's told me all about 

"Is that Jim playin' on the organ now?" 



asked Aunt Esther, in an awed whisper, 
as the music poured out. 

"Mr. Maxon doesn't play here," said 
the girl, gently. Then, at the disappoint- 
ment in the two faces, she added, " Oh, I 
am so sorry! Who could have sent you 
here? This is the Church of St. Agnes. 
Mr. Maxon plays away over on the other 
side of the city." 

"Can we get there?" cried Aunt Me- 

"Oh, not now," said the girl. "It's a 
long way from here. But you must go 
this evening or next Sunday. Jim — Mr. 
Maxon — is one of the finest organists in 
all New York." 

She said this with a pretty pride which 
went straight to the hearts of the adoring 
old ladies. 'And now that you're here," 
she hurried on, "why not stay and hear me 
sing? You see, I'm here to-day just on 
trial. I'm to sing the offertory. I go to 
Mr. Maxon's church myself. And it's 
through him that I'm to have this trial. 
I'm so anxious to succeed! But the con- 
gregation of St. Agnes is very critical. And 
I know no one except Dr. West, the rector. 
You see, I'm almost as much a stranger 
as you are. Do please stay, and I'll sing 
just to you." 

Aunt Esther lifted faintly wistful eyes 
to Aunt Mehitabel's face. "Why not, 
Hitty," she said, "as long as we're here?" 

"I wish I knew what Brother James 
would say," she said. "It don't seem quite 
consistent — " She glanced at the girl. 
"We'll stay," she said. 

During the offertory Eleanor sang. The 
elaborate solo which showed the range of 
her voice, and which she had practised es- 
pecially for the congregation of St. Agnes, 
remained unopened. For Eleanor, the 
congregation of St. Agnes did not exist. 
For Eleanor, in all the church, there were 
but two listeners — two timid, trusting old 
ladies, with faces that shone, with hearts 
that believed. To them, Eleanor sang: 

"Jesus, Lover of my soul, 
Let me to thy boscm fly." 

The voice with its golden depths died 
away. The congregation of St. Agnes 
found itself stirred, thrilled, lifted out of 
itself, out of the sordid every-day things 
of life. A satisfied rustle testified to its 
unanimous approval of the new soloist. 

In one of the back seats Aunt Mehitabel 
sniffed. Aunt Esther wept unrestrainedly 
into her handkerchief. " 'She that looketh 
forth as the mornin,'" she murmured. 

Eleanor went with them to 59th Street 
and put them on the car. At the last min- 
ute she said, "Tell Jim — Mr. Maxon — 
that I have the position at St. Agnes, thanks 
to you. To-morrow I'm coming to see 
you. Good-by, and — thank you." 

The two old ladies sat silently for some 
time. Aunt Mehitabel held the Prayer- 
book almost tenderly. Vaguely she felt 
that it had something to do with the love- 
liness of Eleanor. Aunt Esther was lost 
in thought. At last, she spoke softly. 

" Of course I know things is for the best, 
someway," she said, "but if it could 'a' 
been a girl like Eleanor, now — " 

"What you talkin' about. Esther?" said 
Aunt Mehitabel, sternly. Aunt Esther had 
spoken her own thought. 

"Molly's a good girl," went on Aunt 
Esther, "but, as you said the mornin' the 
letter come, someway she ain't just the 
best wife for Jim." 

"If they're suited I d' know as you an' 
me's got any call to worry," said Aunt 
Mehitabel. "James seems satisfied, and I 
guess he knows best." 

"Yes, Hitty, of course," said Aunt Es- 
ther. But her voice was wistful. "She'd 
'a' understood," she thought, as the car 
flew along, "Eleanor would — just how 
I feel about things. Mebby she could 'a' 
explained some things that always puzzled 
me. Seems 'most as if all my life I 'd been 
a-needin' her." 

Dinner was over. Explanations had been 
made. Something about his sisters' ad- 
ventures had greatly amused Brother 
James. He had cast a quick, questioning 
look at Jim. But Jim had shaken his head. 
At the mention of Eleanor his fine, proud 
face had flushed sensitively. Molly had 
clapped her hands. "It's as good as a 
story," she had said. 

In the dusk, Jim played to the two old 
ladies the plaintive songs they loved best. 
As he finished "Annie Laurie" he turned. 

"Did you like her?" he asked. 

Aunt Mehitabel turned an astonished 
face toward her nephew. Aunt Esther 
spoke out her thought. 

"Eleanor?" she said. 



11 Eleanor," said Jim. His voice caressed 
the name. 

"She was 'even as a mornin' without 
clouds,' " said Aunt Esther. "I loved 

"I'm so glad!" Jim sprang to his feet. 
The next minute he had an arm around 
each of the old ladies. "I wanted you to 
know her. I knew if you did you must love 
her. She is all that you say, Aunt Esther, 
and more — Oh, more than any one can 
say! Then think — think of her caring 
for me." 

Jim's voice broke with feeling. His face 
was boyish and yet strong with a new man- 
liness. "Tell me you're glad it's Eleanor," 
he pleaded. 

"Eleanor?" Two voices said the word. 
Two faces, surprised, incredulous, flushed 
with wonder and a growing gladness, turned 
toward him. 

"But Molly?" faltered Aunt Esther. 
Lovely as the dream of Eleanor was, she 
was loyal to Molly. "You wrote — we 
thought — is n't it Molly, Jim?" 

It was Jim's turn to look puzzled. "I 
wrote that I w r as to be married," he said; 
"but I didn't say it was Molly. Molly? 
Why, she's my sister. Besides — " 

"What does Brother James say to this?" 
Aunt Mehitabel's voice was stern and un- 
compromising. "He was set on your 
marryin' — you and Molly." 

Just then the door opened. Sweet as a 
pink apple-bloom, Molly fluttered in. Be- 
hind her was Brother James. 

"Molly," cried Jim, "help me to con- 
vince these two dear souls that we — you 
and I — don't want to marry each other." 

"Marry?" screamed Molly. "O Jim, 
how funny! Why, it's Eleanor, Aunties. 
Did n't Jim write? I don't want to marry 
Jim — " Molly broke off suddenly, her 
cheeks crimson. 

Aunt Mehitabel's eyes were on Brother 
James's face. Aunt Esther's, troubled and 
perplexed, turned in the same direction. 
Aunt Mehitabel's face was round and 
rosy. Aunt Esther's was pinched and pale. 
But under the stress of the same inward 
emotions the sisters looked suddenly! 
startingly alike. Aunt Mehitabel spoke 

"Do you approve, James?" she asked. 

Brother James's eyes twinkled. "Of I 
what?" he asked. 

"Of Jim and Eleanor?" said Aunt Me- M 
hitabel, sternly. 

"Indeed, yes," said Brother James, 
heartily. "There's only one marriage of l 
which I approve more fully — that's myl 

"James!" gasped Aunt Mehitabel. 

"Yes," said Brother James. He glanced! 
toward Molly, and his voice grew tender.! 
" We came to tell you — Molly and I. We| 
are to be married." 

"Molly?" exclaimed the two startled 
old sisters. Then Aunt Esther opened] 
her arms. " Come here, child," she 

Molly hid her burning face on Aunt Es-L 
ther's arm. One hand groped for Aunt 
Mehitabel's. "Don't be angry," she 
pleaded. "I — I — we can't seem to help 

Aunt Esther patted Molly's back re- f 
assuringly. " 'Marryin' and givin' ink 
marriage,' " she murmured. 

Aunt Mehitabel reached out and caught I 
the bit of a hand in both her strong ones. I 
"It's all right, Molly," she said, "andl 
we're both glad — Esther and me. We've I 
been a couple o' fools not to see before howj 
the land lay." She glanced across at herl 
brother's proud, happy face, and her se-| 
rious old eyes twinkled. "I always felt, "j 
she said, "James knew best." 




ERE and there down the ages, 
possessed of the restless spirit 
for adventure and moved by 
zealous religious enthusiasm, 
have various representatives 
of the Aryan race sought to turn the hands 
upon the dial-plate of time backward as 
they have ever pointed the dominant races 
of the world westward. To such enthu- 
siasts the Orient, especially the Holy Land, 
rich in sacred historical associations and sup- 
posed to be literally " flowing with milk and 
honey," seemed to offer the greatest induce- 
ment of any land for permanent possession. 
More than nine 

centuries ago this 
pirit impelled Wal- 
ter the Penniless 
and Peter the Her- 
mit to attempt to 
recover Palestine 
from Mohammedan 
power. This spirit it 
was that moved the 
Crusaders of West- 
rn Europe, from 
Godfrey de Bouillon 
to St. Louis and Ed- 
ward I. However 
much the perspec- 
tive gives one to 
admire in the lives 

of those who were willing to sacrifice all to 
se ' possess the Holy Land; whatever the spirit 
') which impelled children to the number of 
70,000 to leave home and native land on 
the beautiful banks of the Rhine and Rhone, 
of the Seine and the Weser, in the delusive 
hope of finding their way to the " Promised 
Land," one must confess that those dra- 
matic incidents show high endeavor and 
sad disappointment. 

"Westward the course of empire takes 
its way" in spite of fanatic or philosopher 
is as true as when the Irish bishop George 
Berkeley first penned it. 

Nevertheless, in the world-wide move- 
ment for cooperation in the nineteenth 

Headquarters of the Movement at Lebanon, Maine 

and twentieth centuries more of good will 
and of blessing has been diffused by the 
dominant races of the world eastward as 
well as westward than in all the preceding 

In teaching the world religious tolera- 
tion, that men of many races are fit for 
political freedom, and that material well- 
being should abound everywhere, our 
country, the United States of America, — 
the land "where caste has never had a 
footing nor left a trace," — has taken and 
is taking an enviable position in the world. 
With these national excellences are 
found strange con- 
trasts: goodness jos- 
tles against wicked- 
ness; simple faith, 
against hollow pre- 
tense; where hon- 
esty abounds knav- 
ery is found; skill 
finds its counterpart 
in schemes; and 
righteousness, in hy- 

Our New Eng- 
land crusades are 
of miniature pro- 
portions compared 
with those of the 
Middle Ages, yet 
the story of two attempts to colonize the 
Holy Land and the various incidents con- 
nected with these schemes are of interest. 
Pathetic indeed is the story of "the 
American Agricultural Mission," composed 
of a few sons and daughters of Massachu- 
setts who purposed to introduce the Bedouin 
of Syria to American ideals and American 
customs and habits. Sailing from Boston 
on July 24, 1852, on the bark L. and A. 
Hobart, Phillip Doddridge Dickson, of 
Groton, and his young wife were ambitious, 
through examples of American industry 
and the use of American methods of farm- 
ing, to become independent missionaries 
among the Mahometans of Syria. Unac- 


9 6 


customed to the climate of the Orient, Mr. 
Dickson died in the East, Apr. 25, 1853. 
Left alone in a strange land, his widow de- 
cided to return to her friends in New Eng- 
land, and on July 27 sailed on the bark 
Benjamin Adams for Boston. Upon ar- 
riving in Boston, on October 21, she learned 
that her father-in-law, Walter Dickson, 
and his family, having sailed from Boston 
a few days before on the bark John 
Winthrop, had passed her on the ocean, 
destined for the land she had just left. 

Walter Dickson and his family succeeded 
in reaching the port of Jaffa in safety in 
the winter of 1854. Just outside of the 
ancient port of Syria he was able to estab- 
lish himself as a missionary-farmer and 
during the next few years to found a small 
American colony. 

To this land of caste, but rich in historic 
associations, came a few families from Ger- 
many who joined in this colonizing scheme, 
giving to the enterprise a German-American 
flavor. This was somewhat strengthened 
by the intermarriage of two of the sons of 
Germany with two of the daughters of 

Little protection was then afforded) 
womanhood or foreign residents in thel 
land of the Arab and the Bedouin, al- 
though recognized the world over for nine-f 
teen hundred years as "the Holy Land." 
Slow indeed have the natives of Syria been 
in adopting new customs and modern f 
methods of gaining a livelihood. The last 
quarter of a century has witnessed the con- 
struction of the first carriage-road from! 
Jaffa to Jerusalem, as well as the first rail- ; 
road. Little wonder, then, that the pio-l 
neers of American life and industry in 
Palestine were martyrs to the power of the 
Sublime Porte. 

The American Mission Colony, however, 
attracted considerable attention and much! 
sympathy from the United States on ac-j 
count of the terrible outrages committee] 
by the Arab hordes upon it from 185J 
to 1858, when the colony was aban-| 

Established in the outskirts of Jaffa and 
living after the manner of peasants, a moll 
simple and economical life, the Missior 
Colony was annoyed by petty stealings 
and bold-faced robberies until the frightfu 


Jaffa from the Sea 



>utrages and massacre of the eleventh of 
January, 1858. 

In 1856 John A. Steinbeck, of the Ger- 
man part of the colony, was married to 
Almira, daughter of Walter Dickson. His 
brother Frederic W. Steinbeck wed Mary 
E. Dickson, another daughter of the leader 
k of the colony. 

Surrounded by treachery and lawless- 
™i|ness, the colonists found it more and more 
( 2i difficult each year to protect themselves. 
P [n October, 1857, Frederic W. Steinbeck, 
with his family, was living in a small hut 
within the enclosure of his father-in-law, 
Walter Dickson, about twenty yards from 
the house of the latter. Of beautiful com- 
plexion, with light hair and graceful form, 
Mrs. Mary E. Steinbeck had been rudely 
issailed by the Arab populace from time 
to time. As her husband was young, fear- 
ess, and powerful, she had great confi- 
dence in his ability to protect her. 
One morning in October, 1857, while 
«i tier husband was at work in the field, two 
i Arabs, the one dressed like a soldier and 
iif|the other like a Bedouin of the hills, rode 
up to Mrs. Steinbeck's door and demanded 
Eire for their pipes. Having no fire in the 
house, she sent her sister Caroline to her 
mother's to get it for the Arabs. Soon the 
men rode off, but as this was an unusual 
3ccurrence Mrs. Steinbeck watched them 
from a hill near her house. Much to her 
surprise, she noticed that they entered the 
neighboring garden of young Nahas, where 
A.bou Esta lived — the second garden 
from their own. A long time she stood 
watching, but they did not reappear. 
Next morning her husband's brother, 
JJohn A. Steinbeck, hearing of the visit of 
lithe Arabs, went to Abou Esta's garden and 
(inquired of Esta if he knew who the horse 
en of the day before were. Abou Esta 
plied that he did know them and that 
hey were people of the neighborhood; but 
e refused to divulge their names, or to give 
ny specific information concerning them. 
The colonists often drove their cattle 
four or five miles from home for pasturage, 
sually two or three persons would go with 
he cattle, and sometimes they would re- 
in away from home all night. 
Early in January Frederic W. Steinbeck 
ent alone with the cattle, intending to 
pass the night away from home, as he had 
done before. About sunset he saw two 

men dressed in Bedouin costume on a hill 
at some distance watching him. They 
seemed to be desirous of avoiding his ob- 
servation, and he, thinking that their in- 
tention was to steal his cattle, drove the 
herd home that night and stated these 
strange circumstances to his wife. 

These and many other unpleasant oc- 
currences had caused Frederic W. Stein- 
beck to remove to the home of his wife's 
father, where the two families were living 
early in January, 1858. Here they were 
sleeping on the night of January 11. The 
lights were extinguished and darkness 
brooded over the "Holy Land." The clock 
struck ten and midnight was swiftly ap- 

Suddenly a rap is heard at the gate in 
front of Walter Dickson's house. Mr. 
Dickson and his son-in-law respond. In- 
quiry is made from without for a stray 
cow. Being told that there was no stray 
cow in Mr. Dickson's yard, after some 
delay the men went away. Again all re- 
tire for the night, but in about half an hour 
a voice without the gate called, "Stein- 
beck," and Frederic went to the gate. 
Voices from without told him that they 
had been to see Abdallah, a neighboring 
shepherd, who, they said, told them the 
cow was in Mr. Dickson's yard. Then 
they requested to be let in to look for her, 
but were refused. Mr. Dickson climbed 
upon the wall and saw five men standing 
outside the gate. He then fired a gum at 
random, as is the custom in Palestine when 
there is danger. 

Retiring, the families were disturbed a 
little later by the baying of the dogs, and 
Mr. Dickson and Mr. Steinbeck, going 
out, found the gate broken down. Stand- 
ing without the gate and close to the wall, 
the Arabs shot Frederic W. Steinbeck, who 
crawled into the house and expired a few 
minutes later. Mr. Dickson withdrew, en- 
tered his house, and fastened the door. 
While attempting to staunch the blood from 
Mr. Steinbeck's wound, the Arabs burst 
open the door, stunned Mr. Dickson with 
a blow on the head, plundered the house, 
and subjected Mrs. Dickson and Mrs. 
Steinbeck to the grossest indignities. They 
departed near daybreak, taking all the 
plunder which they were able to carry. 
They had no horses, and it would be im- 
possible to carry their plunder over a much 



frequented public road in the early morn- 
ing without being seen. Abou Esta's gar- 
den near-by was the most convenient place 
where their booty could be secreted. It 
was understood that Esta himself was un- 
friendly to the Mission Colony because 
he had been imprisoned by the Governor 
of Jaffa on a charge of stealing sheep from 
John Dickson, one of the members of the 
colony. At this point the consul of the 
United States at Jerusalem came to the 
front, and his letter to the United States 
government dated at Jaffa Jan. 17, 1858, 
tells the story as follows: 

Sir: It is my painful duty to inform you that, 
on the night of the nth of January, 1858, an at- 
tack was made upon the house of Walter Dick- 
son, an American citizen residing at Jaffa. The 
house was forcibly entered; he himself was struck 
down by a blow upon the head; his wife and 
daughter violated, and Frederic Steinbeck, a 
Prussian, but who had American letters of pro- 


N *%, 

The Dickson Monumenl at Groton. Ma 

tection, murdered. The house was pillaged of 
most of its contents. 

On the receipt of the above intelligence I had 
an interview with Dr. Rosen, the Prussian Con- 
sul at Jerusalem. We agreed entirely as to the 
steps to be taken. We went together to the pacha 
of Jerusalem, represented to him the urgency of 
the case, and the necessity of his acting directly 
and energetically in the matter. The pacha im 
mediately despatched a note to the Governor of 
Jaffa, directing him to use the most energetic 
means for discovering the culprits. He also sent 
one of his council to see that these measures were 
put into effect at once. 

The next day I went to Jaffa. On the 15th I 
presented the case before the Governor of Jaffa 
the officer sent by the pacha, and the full council 
or medjlis. I used most forcible but not undigni 
tied language, making them understand that I 
was determined to press the matter with the ut- 
most force, etc. 

[Signed] J. Warren Gorham, 

U. S. Consul, Jerusalem 

Mr. Gorham was assisted by Edwin 
De Leon, U. S. Consul-General in Egypt, 
and the Turkish authorities took prompt 
and effective action. The culprits werq 
captured and tried. They made a full 
confession and were imprisoned for their 
crime, and the Turkish government paid 
a little more than $2,000 indemnity. "The 
American Agricultural Mission" of Jaffa| 
was broken up. In September, 1858, Wal 
ter Dickson and the colonists returned tc 
this country, where they have since lived. 

In the village cemetery of the famou 
old town of Groton, Massachusetts, stands 
the Dickson-Steinbeck monument, telling 
the sad tale of the chief actors in the Jaffa 

[West Side] 


Jan. 21, i860, 
JEt. 61. 
A Missionary in Palestine 


SARAH His wife 


May 27, 1878, 
JEt. 78. 

[North Side] 
Killed by Arabs 

in Jaffa, Palestine, 

Jan. 12, 1858, 

JEt. 36. 



Datjk. of WALTER & 
Died Dec. 10, 1867, 
JEt. 34. 



George Jones Adams, President of the Palestine 
Emigration Association 

Scarcely had the tragic fate of the Jaffa 
Mission ceased to furnish items of interest 
for our daily papers when, although over- 
shadowed by the clouds of our civil strife, 
another movement to colonize Palestine 
was started here in New England. 

One day early in 1862 there appeared 
in the writer's native town in the good, 
old State of Maine a certain Mr. Adams, 
who introduced himself as a minister of 
the gospel and suggested that he be per- 
mitted to hold a series of meetings in the 
schoolhouse of District No. 1, as there 
was no meeting-house within several miles 
of the settlement. 

No sooner had this man commenced 
his meetings than it became apparent that 
he was perfectly familiar with the Bible 
from Genesis to Revelation. To the un- 
lettered country folk he seemed a wonder- 
ful man. Soon he became the editor of a 

C. A. Adams, the Ten-year-old Son of the 

Founder of the Movement 


paper. Himself the antagonist of all 
churches, he styled his paper "The Sword 
of Truth and the Harbinger of Peace, pub- 
lished by G. J. Adams, editor and pro- 
prietor, South Lebanon, Maine." The first 
number of this publication was issued 
Sept. 15, 1862, and it soon found friends 
in the neighboring village of East Roches- 
ter, New Hampshire, and in the more dis- 
tant villages of York and Surrey, as well 
as from Addison, Indian River, and Jones- 
port on the eastern coast of Maine. 

George "Joshua" Adams, as he for a 
time called himself, was a man with a ca- 
reer when he first visited the country vil- 
lages of Maine. He it was who had sought 
to become the successor of Joseph Smith, 
the Mormon prophet who was shot at 
Nauvoo, Illinois, May 27, 1844. Having 
been defeated for Mormon leadership by 
the adherents of Brigham Young, he made 



himself so disagreeable to the policy of the 
latter that he was finally ejected from the 
Mormon Church. Drifting back to New 
England, he tried to rally followers about 
the cultured city of Springfield, Massa- 
chusetts. Failing, he drifted on to the 
isolated country towns of Maine, where, 
after four years of effort, wise or otherwise, 
he was able to establish "The Church of 
the Messiah" among the isolated hamlets 
of Maine. Possessed of good natural abil- 
ity, great personal magnetism, merciless, vi- 
tuperative power of denunciation, unfail- 
ing enthusiasm for his cause, and the abil- 
ity to quote scripture to subserve his pur- 
poses on all occasions, he became a shining 
light among the country clergy of Maine. 

In calling upon the people to establish 
a colony in Palestine, this ambitious apostle 
of a would-be new faith appealed mainly 
to three motives: 

To the pious and devout, he proclaimed 
the speedy coming of the Messiah for the 
purpose of establishing a temporal king- 
dom in the Holy Land. He reenforced this 
by appealing to them to stand ready with 

him to rally round the standard of the 
Redeemer when he should reappear upon 
the Mount of Olives. 

To the shrewd, calculating Yankee skip- 
pers and small country tradesmen, he talked 
of the return of the Jews, who, under divine 
command, would soon proceed from the 
four quarters of the globe to take up the 
land of their forefathers, and become per-i 
manent inhabitants of Palestine. To reach 
this class his discourses were rich in sug-J 
gestions that a rise in values would be sure 
to follow their return, and that it would; 
be wise to secure the corner-lots a little in 
advance and so derive the legitimate profits 
from a "corner" in Palestine real estate. 

To the farmer and the market-gardener,! 
he spoke much of the vineyards and thei 
orange-groves, of the richness of the soil.! 
of the certainty of three crops each yeari 
and of the land everywhere "flowing witty 
milk and honey." 

In imagination these country folk saw| 
their bountiful wheat-fields waving on the 
plains of Sharon ready for the early harj 
vests. Already they were slaking thei] 

Marble Hall," Residence of the Hon. Herbert E. Clark at Jerusalem 



thirst from " Jacob's well" and bathing 
in the tepid waters of the Mediterranean. 
Having persuaded a goodly company 
of respectable, honest-hearted people, na- 
tives of the Pine-Tree and Granite States, 
to unite with him, he proceeded to organ- 
ize the "Palestine Emigration Associa- 
tion," of which he became president. In 
I order that the work should not savor too 
much of worldly things, there must be a 
"Joshua" and a "Caleb" "to go up to 
spy out the land." Among the devout 
1 followers of "The Church of the Messiah" 
two were found worthy of this great con- 
l: [] summation. Mr. A. K. McKenzie, of In- 
dian River (whose name for some unex- 
plained reason does not appear among 
I those who subsequently settled in Pales- 
tine), represented "Caleb," and George 
| Jones Adams (who was fortunate enough 
■to pass through the world under various 
Ijaliases) personated "Joshua" of old. To- 
gether this Caleb and Joshua journeyed 
jto the Holy Land in 1865. 

Returning full of charming descriptions 
|of the "Promised Land," this modern 
I" Joshua" busied himself in attempting 
ltd perfect the final arrangements for the 
peparture of his colony. Through corre- 
spondence with the Hon. Lot M. Morrill, 
|)f Augusta, then United States senator 
from Maine, he opened correspondence 
ith E. Joy Morris, of the Legation of the 
nited States of America in Constanti- 
lople, asking for a grant of land on the 
ncient plains of Sharon in Syria for the 
Use of the proposed American Colony, 
ilarly in the year 1866 the minister of for- 
ign affairs at Constantinople communi- 
:ated from the Sultan of Turkey a nega- 
ive answer to the prayer of the applicants, 
ind transmitted copies of the Sultan's re- 
ily to the Hon. Lot M. Morrill and George 
Joshua" Adams before the departure of 
he colonists from the State of Maine. 
So far as can be learned at this distance 
f time, no one of the proposed company 
xcept our "Joshua" knew in advance 
hat the attempt to colonize the Holy Land 
vas absolutely forbidden by the Turkish 

Day by day the preparations went on. 
lere and there in the scattered hamlets 
rom the valley of the Salmon Falls to the 
alley of the Narraguagus could have been 
ound numerous honest-hearted enthusi- 

Hon. Herbert E. Clark, Honorary U. S. Vice- 
Consul at Jerusalem 

asts disposing of their goods and chattels, 
perchance even of the patrimonial estate, 

— the slow accumulation of a toilsome life, 

— that they and their families might join 
the emigration. 

At length the Nellie Chapin, a bark of 
nearly six hundred tons burden, was char- 
tered to transport this "American Emi- 
gration Association" from Jonesport, 
Maine, to Joppa in Palestine. The bark 
was freighted with Maine lumber sufficient 
to erect a meeting-house, a schoolhouse, 
and some twenty dwellings for the colonists, 
who, including one or two special passen- 
gers, numbered one hundred and fifty- 
eight souls — men, women, and children. 
Bidding farewell to the unsympathetic 
land of their nativity, they sailed from 
Jonesport on August 11, 1866. Of the voy- 
age I will let one of the company, now the 
honorary Vice-Consul of Jerusalem, speak: 

Being at the impressible age of ten and having 
always lived inland, the voyage made an impres- 
sion which I shall never forget. The whole life 
and change to a sea-voyage on a sailing-ship was 
so extreme that the impressions of the trip have 
always remained vividly with me. The morning 
we left my grandfather's farm [in the valley of 



Charles M. Corson, now City Messenger, 
Dover, N. H. 

the Salmon Falls] for Portland seems like yester- 
day. That afternoon we embarked on a steamer 
at Portland for Jonesport. The party was com- 
posed of some twenty-five persons from our lo- 
cality, including the Maces, the Clarks, the Tib- 
betts, and the Corsons. On the following evening 
we arrived at Jonesport, where we remained 
about two weeks, while the ship was being 
loaded with lumber and building-material for the 
houses of the colony. 

The tender towed the Nellie Chapin out of 
port; we were some forty-two days on the way, 
and arrived at Jaffa Sept. 22, 1866. The cabins 
in the ship were arranged between decks, and were 
mostly composed of doors for the future houses 
of the colonists. Each family brought out their 
own household goods, greater portions of which 
were stored and stacked in the space between the 
lines of the two cabins. I remember how this 
9ta< k of goods caused a great deal of anxiety for 
a time during the commencement of our first 
storm, which occurred when we came into the 
Gulf Stream, some four or five days out. Some 
of the lashings breaking loose, there was danger 
of the shifting of the whole stack of furniture. 
The danger passed, our fears subsided. 

Life on board was not monotonous for us 
children. Of the younger members of the party, 
few were seasick. Our only trouble was to get 
enough to eat. The food for so large a party was 
naturally a seafaring diet, salt beef and fish, 
stewed beans, boiled potatoes, plum duff, etc. — 
all indifferently cooked in a small galley by two 

men. In limited shares, each family obtained 
their portion from the galley. 

For the older members of our party the voy- 
age soon became monotonous, and I well remem- 
ber hearing my parents talking in private of the 
weariness of the voyage and of their anxiety for 
the future. 

The whole party was wonderfully free from 
sickness during the trip. We were to have touched 
at Gibraltar to land mail and secure fresh pro- 
visions, but the loss of two days in passing through 
the straits and one day of severe head winds out 
of the Mediterranean, causing us to tack ship 
what seemed to me an infinite number of times 
during the whole day and night, occasioned a 
change in plans. The evening before we reached 
Gibraltar I shall never forget. Every one was 
talking of the joy of seeing land. On the morrow 
all were on deck early to see land, which we were 
close under. How beautiful was that sunrise over 
the port bow, through heavy clouds with a stiff 
head wind and a rising sea! How long it seemed 
since the tugboat cast off and left us alone in end- 
less space of sea and air off the coast of Maine! 
My first view of land after leaving my native 
country, which seemed so far away, was the 
"Spanish coast." 

The morning of the second day's delay found 
the good ship Nellie Chapin becalmed on the 
African coast not far from the port of Tangier, 
out of which came creeping later in the day, un- 
der lateen-sail, propelled mostly by stalwart 
Algerian sailors, a fruit-boat which came along- 
side, to the delight of us children. The quanti- 
ties of grapes and green figs offered for sale meant 
much more to a New England country boy of 
ten than can be described. 

On the third day, after sighting land early in 
the morning, with a favorable wind, making some 
nine knots an hour, the ship's company decided 
that they would not stop at Gibraltar, having lost 
so much time and feeling their responsibility for 
the expenses of the ship should they fail to reach 
their destination and discharge her within the 
time for which she was chartered. Passing Gib- 
raltar, I well remember our race with a steamer, 
and how we left her far behind for several hours 
until the wind dropped, near the end of the after- 
noon, when the steamer left us far behind. For 
a sailer our vessel was remarkably fast. 

Passing the Gulf of Lion, we had our second 
storm at sea. Here we barely escaped a most 
serious accident. A couple of heavy seas and the 
gale threw our ship nearly on her beam-ends, 
and the wheel having broken away from the two 
men who were steering, had not one of our party, 
Captain Wass, been able to get hold of the wheel 
at once, it seems possible that all had been lost, 
especially had she lain on her starboard long 
enough for another wave to have struck her. 

As we passed Malta we encountered our third 
storm, and all I saw of the town was dark cliffs 
under heavy clouds. We made land off the head- 
land of Carmel on our forty-second day from 
Maine, and came to anchorage off Jaffa late in 
the afternoon. After some delay the colonists 
were permitted to land and camp on the shore 
north of the town, where they landed their cargo 
and discharged the ship as soon as possible. Here 
each family erected, for protection from the sun 



and night air, such shelter as they could impro- 
vise. My father and a few others were able to 
get rooms in the outbuildings in the garden of 
the German Consul. 

As the Nellie Chapin was obliged to anchor 
some two miles from shore, the unloading of the 
lumber was a difficult task. Exposed to the burn- 
ing sun and to the sea-water, without proper 
food, in a climate entirely different from our na- 
tive climate, within one month of our arrival my 
father and two of my brothers died of Syrian 

Our modern "Joshua" had taught his 
followers that upon reaching the Holy 
Land, the aged, of whom there were sev- 
eral in the party, would renew their youth. 
No sooner had the families landed upon 
shore with their household goods than the 
men and boys joined the ship's crew in 
rafting the lumber shoreward. Of the party 
was one whose locks, bleached by the snows 
of sixty winters, displayed the first signs 
of the return of youthful vigor and vivac- 
ity. Now be runs far out in shallow water 
and, seizing a stick of timber, hastens 
toward the shore. Again and again he out- 
strips many younger, until his associates, 
recalling the words of their great leader, 
suggest the renewal of youth. On the shore 
the women and children repeat the sug- 
gestion, and the whole colony unite in 
pontaneous joy, believing that they have 
discovered the fountain of life. Alas, how r 
short the time which taught the folly of 
(their suggestion! Six weeks on the burn- 
ing sands of Jaffa, under the Mediterranean 
sky, sealed alike the fate of youth and age. 
As the spirit for leadership had to be 
secured by drawing a large company 
around him, the vices of Mr. Adams grad- 
er finally came under their observation. On 
uthe outward voyage he held a two days' 
Jt i discussion with Dr. Mayo G. Smith, of 
to Boston, a celebrated spiritualist who had 
ds, taken passage on the Nellie Chapin. With 
ff0 jthe partv all in sympathy with the chief 
■j apostle of "The Church of the Messiah," 
jst, for. Smith was at a great disadvantage. 
n |On the second day, however, Mr. Adams's 
followers observed that his argument was 
extravagant, ill-advised, filled with vitu- 
peration, harsh, severe, and unjust. Upon 
removing his furnishings from his berth 
in the Nellie Chapin at Jaffa, his friends 
discovered a score or more of empty liquor- 
bottles which he had concealed on the voy- 
age after using their contents. Then they 
understood the cause of his ill-advised 

Rev. Robert F. Emerson, now of East 
Rochester, N. H. 

speech in the discussion with Dr. Smith. 
This incident was related by the discoverer 
of the bottles. Two weeks later, two wit- 
nesses now living found their wretched 
leader lying upon the sands of Jaffa 
wrapped in the stupor of complete intox- 
ication. Hoping to conceal the actual con- 
dition in which the colonial enterprise was 
placed by this discovery, they seized an old 
shay-top and concealed the drunken leader 
from his admiring adherents. Yet within 
one short hour every member of the Amer- 
ican Colony learned of the sad condition 
of their chief, and realized for the first 
time that " the blind was leading the blind." 
Adams had thrown his colony upon the 
tender mercies of the Ottoman government 
in the hope that by pleading and appeal- 
ing for sympathy he would be permitted 
to acquire lands and establish the colony 
in the outskirts of Joppa on certain favor- 
ite plots of land lying on the plains of an- 
cient Sharon, which he had "espied out" 
the year before. The Hon. J. Augustus 
Johnson, then American consul at Bey- 
rout, who had the opportunity to become 
conversant with the situation of the col- 



onists, says: "At that time, foreigners were 
not permitted to take up land in their own 
names, but obliged to hold it by some fic- 
tion, as in the name of a Turkish subject, 
or of a female, women not being regarded 
as subjects of any government. This 
question of title," he adds, " became a source 
of much trouble among men who wished 
to own in fee simple the title to their own 
individual hearthstones." 

Gen. Victor Beauboucher was consul, 
and J. F. Hermann Loewenthal, vice-consul, 
of the United States at Jaffa at that time, 
and to these gentlemen the colonists 
brought their troubles. On Nov. 27, 1866, 
Levi Mace, a native of Lebanon, Maine, 
a victim of this colonial humbug, petitioned 
as follows: 

To the Honorable, the Vice-Consul of the United 
States at Jaffa, Syria: The undersigned begs leave 
to call your attention to the situation of himself 
and family, consisting of wife and five children. 
The children are three girls of the following ages, 
sixteen, fourteen, and ten years, and two boys aged 
twelve and seven. And further prays for relief from 
your hands, by forwarding us to our native land. 
I embarked my all in the colony expedition to this 
country upon representations made to me. Up- 
on arrival, I find none of them fulfilled, and am 

Rev. W. If. Bid well, Special Commissioner 
to the Adams Colony 

now in poverty, with no way to obtain a living, 
and further, have been a cripple from the first 
few weeks out from home. I see no way for me to 
reach my own sweet country but through your 
assistance, and nothing but starvation for us all [I 
if we remain here. Hoping for a favorable con- 
sideration of this petition from your hands, I re-1 
main your most humble servant, 

Levi Mace, i 

In the meantime two camps had been 
formed, the adherents of the apostate apostle! 
and the seceders, of whom Mr. Mace was| 
one. On Nov. 30, 1866, the adherents, toil 
the number of sixty-three, petitioned for j 
the removal of Mr. Loewenthal, and on] 
December 22 he was suspended. Mr, 
Adams formulated a long list of charges) 
against the vice-consul, but whether Loe-i 
wenthal or Adams himself had extortedj 
the hard-earned dollars from the colonistsi 
I am unable to state. Certain we are thai! 
the seceders charged all their misfortunes! 
to the apostate, while his adherents attrib-j 
uted them to the vice-consul. Wherevei 
it actually belonged, we may be certain thai) 
in the Holy Land, as the world over, the! 
"other fellow" is always the guilty one. 

The Hon. E. Joy Morris, in his letteii 
to the United States government dated a' 
Constantinople, Dec. 12, 1866, recommend 
ing that the effects of the colony be sole 
to defray their expenses back to America 
makes some remarkable statements conl 
cerning the Adams enterprise in Pales! 
tine. He says: 

No country presents so many objections tl 
Christian colonization as the Turkish Empira 
That Americans should leave their own promisj 
ing country for this misgoverned, impoverishedj 
and demi-savage land, where no man's life il 
safe beyond the walls of the towns, is indeed sur 
prising, and can only be accounted for by tha 
spirit of adventure inherent in the American chai 
acter. The cruel deceptions of the colony at Jaff.' 
will serve as an admonitory lesson to all who ar! 
disposed to undertake a similar experiment. 

During the two years that this experi 
ment was on trial conditions surroundinj 
the colony constantly grew harder an 
harder. Early in the year 1867 Secretarj 
Seward commissioned the Rev. Waltel 
Hilliard Bid well, favorably known as th 
editor of the Eclectic Magazine and Amen 
ican Biblical Repository, who chanced to t 
travelling in the Orient, to visit the Amei 
ican Colony at Jaffa and to report to thl 
government upon its management. 

Shortly before his arrival at Jaffa thes 




industrious sons of New England had sown 
! their fields to wheat, on their favorite plots 
on the very plains of Sharon, and upon the 
day of Mr. Bidwell's inspection, at the 
season when all New England was slum- 
bering beneath the snows of winter, were 
to be seen the rich green blades of wheat 
waving in the gentle breezes of a Palestine 
spring. Having borrowed from the col- 
onists their most ornamental furniture, 
our apostolic leader entertained the dis- 
tinguished American in royal style. A 
favorable report was sent to Washington. 

Six weeks later all was changed: the 
beautiful blades of young wheat now stood 
dried and withered by the scorching sun 
of summer; with no means for irrigation, 
their entire crops were ruined. Their seed 
had been borrowed, and starvation now 
stared them in the face. 

Diplomacy forms a large part of life, 
and George Washington Adams was a dip- 
lomat to perfection. Growing short of 
funds, he had several bills exchanged for 
small coins, suggestive in value of the 
"widow's mite." With his pockets full of 
these, arrayed in his finest costume. Mr. 
Adams sallied forth to town. Approach- 
ing the centre of Jaffa, everywhere were 
to be seen numbers of poor Arabs loitering 
about. Thrusting his hands into his pock- 
ets, he scattered the streets with coins for 
the beggarly Arabs. By gesticulations he 
conveyed to them the impression that he 
was possessed of great wealth. 

Soon after this proceeding he was vis- 
ited by a wealthy Jew who "lets out money 
gratis and brings down the rate of usance." 
Together they discuss financial schemes and 
money-making, and incidentally, as it were, 
Mr. Adams referrs to his great possess- 
ions in America, and to his ship laden with 
wealth then on its way to Jaffa. The Jew 
being pleased with such an American, they 
frequent each other's society, their conver- 
sation gradually becoming more and more 
confidential. At last, based upon pretense 
and promises alone, the Jew loaned "Josh- 
ua" Adams the equivalent of $1,200. Days 
went by; no ship arrived, and the Jew, 
getting anxious, called on the president of 
the "Palestine Emigration Association." 
Smooth promises were made, but no money 
came. Growing more and more anxious, 
this bondless Shylock visited his Antonio 
more frequently, and at last the reverend 

signor Antonio literally kicked the poor 
Jew off his veranda into the streets of Jaffa. 
Thus our "Mr. Scatter-copper " became 
"Mr. Gather-gold." 

Having lost confidence in their leader, 
his adherents, whom I believe to have been 
sincere, honest-hearted people, seceded, 
and in one way or another made their way 
back to their native land. 

Mark Twain in " The Innocents Abroad" 
refers to the colonists as follows: 

But I am forgetting the Jaffa colonists. At 
Jaffa we had taken on board some forty mem- 
bers of a very celebrated community. They were 
male and female; babies, young boys, and young 
girls; young married people, and some who had 
passed a shade beyond the prime of life. I refer 
to the "Adams Jaffa Colony." Others had deserted 
before. We left in Jaffa Mr. Adams, his wife, and 
fifteen unfortunates who not only had no money 
but did not know where to turn or whither to go. 
Such was the statement made to us. Our forty 
were miserable enough in the first place, and they 
lay about decks seasick all the voyage, which 
about completed their misery, I take it. How- 
ever, one or two young men remained upright, 
and by constant persecution we wormed out of 
them some little information. They gave it re- 
luctantly and in a very fragmentary condition, 
for, having been shamefully humbugged by their 
prophet, they felt humiliated and unhappy. In 
such circumstances people do not like to talk. 

E. K. Emerson, now of Indian River, Maine 



Mr. Eolla Floyd, of Jerusalem, Palestine 

The colony was a complete fiasco. I have al- 
ready said that such as could get away did so, 
from time to time. The prophet Adams — once 
an actor, then several other things, afterwards a 
Mormon and a missionary, always an adventurer 
— remains [1868] at Jaffa with his handful of 
sorrowful subjects. The forty we brought away 
with us were chiefly destitute, though not all of 
them. They wished to get to Egypt. What might 
become of them then they did not know and prob- 
ably did not care — anything to get away from 
hated Jaffa. They had little to hope for; because 
after many appeals to the sympathies of New 
England, made by strangers of Boston, through 
the newspapers, and after the establishment of 
an office there for the reception of money contri- 
butions for the Jaffa colonists, one dollar was 
subscribed. The Consul-General for Egypt 
showed me the newspaper paragraph which men- 
tioned the circumstances, and mentioned also the 
discontinuance of the effort and the closing of the 
office. It was evident that practical New Eng- 
land was not sorry to be rid of such visionaries, 
and was not in the least inclined to hire anybody 
to bring them back to her. Still, to get to Egypt 
was something, in the eyes of the unfortunate 
colonists, hopeless as the prospect seemed of ever 
getting further. 

Thus circumstanced, they landed at Alexan- 
dria from our ship. One of our passengers, Mr. 
Moses S. Beach, of the New York Sun, inquired 
of the Consul-General what it would cost to send 
these people to their home in Maine by the way 
of Liverpool, and he said fifteen hundred dollars 

in gold would do it. Mr. Beach gave his check 
for the money, and so the troubles of the Jaffa 
colonists were at an end. 

It was an unselfish act of benevolence; it was 
done without any ostentation, and has never 
been mentioned in any newspaper, I think. 

Therefore it is refreshing to learn now, several 
months after the above narrative was written, I 
that another man received all the credit of this j 
rescue of the colonists. Such is life. 

Deserted by his followers, our distin- 1 
guished dramatist disposed of his interest J 
in the American Colony and planned to 
seek "pastures new." While thus ab- i 
sorbed there appeared as a visitor at his [ 
home an eminently cultured Englishman 
whose life had been enriched by the train- j 
ing of Oxford and Cambridge. Together 
the two conversed on the sacred associa-i 
tions of the Holy Land and on the needs 
of an institution for Christian training and 
culture there. Our old humbug had made | 
it appear that he was at that very time es- 
tablishing on the spot an American college. 
The cultured manner of the Englishman! 
had already done its work. Together they' 
discussed educational problems in Eng- 
land, and the would-be-founder sought ad- 1 
vice on many points. The Englishman's 
specialties were considered, and he was: 
then and there appointed to a favorite f 
professorship at a liberal salary. Other 1 
plans were discussed, and it gradually de-j 
veloped that the founder needed morej 
funds to open the institution. The English- 1 
man agreed to advance the money and 
take security upon the property. The 
money was advanced and Mr. Adams 
agreed to meet the Englishman in Jerusa- 
lem on the following day, to sign and re- 
cord the necessary papers. 

The Englishman journeyed to the holy 
city; long he waited at the consulate's office. 
As no college founder appeared, he in-j 
quired about the American settlement at| 
Jaffa and particularly about this magnetic 
manipulator among men. To his surprise, 
the property had just been transferred, 
and he found that his late enthusiastic co- 
adjutor owned absolutely nothing in the 
Holy Land. Hastening back to Jaffa, he 
learned that "the skipper" had left port, 
bag and baggage. 

North of the city of Jaffa some half- 
mile from the shore the colonists had 
erected, in 1866 and 1867, a meeting-house,! 
seventeen dwelling-houses, and a large. 



hotel, all built from their own Maine lum- 
ber. These buildings, in a good state of 
preservation, are now occupied by Ger- 
mans, who have tried hard to have the col- 
ony called a Temple or German Colony; 
but it is still called, by the local govern- 
ment and the natives alike, "The American 
Colony." After forty years only two of the 
houses are owned by the original colonists. 

When the colonists landed at Jaffa, Sept. 
22, 1866, there was not a carriage-road in 
any part of Palestine. To-day there are 
fine roads all over the Holy Land. Recently 
a railroad has been constructed from Jaffa 
to Jerusalem, a distance of forty miles, and 
all kinds of modern institutions abound. 

Among the Americans who remained in 
Syria, mention may be made of Mr. Rolla 
Floyd, tourists' guide, and of the Hon. Her- 
bert E. Clark, honorary U. S. Vice-Consul 
at Jerusalem. 

Most of the colonists returned to their 
native land, and have passed away ere this 
story appears. A few are still living, and 
are filling honorable stations in life. Mr. 
E. K. Emerson, of Indian River, Maine, 
was a member of the rescue committee to 
bring the last portion of the colonists to 

New England. He is a prominent and re- 
spected citizen of the Narraguagus Valley. 
Rev. Robert F. Emerson, of Rochester, 
New Hampshire, then fresh from the Civil 
War, enjoys the distinction of having won, 
under such difficulties as have been already 
described, the heart and hand of one of the 
charming daughters of a colonist. He is 
well known as postmaster, lecturer, and 
clergyman. The proposed schoolmaster of 
the colony, Mr. Charles W. Tibbetts, of 
Dover, New Hampshire, was among the 
first to return to ancient Towwow (Leb- 
anon) in Maine. He studied law, and is 
editor and proprietor of the New Hamp- 
shire Genealogical Record — a magazine de- 
voted to New Hampshire family history. 
Mr. Charles M. Corson, the city messen- 
ger, and manager of the opera-house, of 
Dover, New Hampshire, was among the 
American colonists at Jaffa, — - 1866-1868. 
The "Palestine Emigration Associa- 
tion" and the American Colony at Jaffa 
ended in failure. Looking back in memory 
over the forty years that have elapsed since 
that event, those who remained affirm that 
all that is best in Syrian life has been intro- 
duced within this period. 


- > -. 


W^lM I|, 

The American Settlement near Joppa, Palestine 






NEAR the entrance to the "Shanklin Chine," a famous chasm in the Isle of 
Wight, is a little spring, flowing from a terrace over a stone wall, where a 
simple drinking-fountain has been placed. Above it hangs a shield, half hidden in 
the clustering ivy, bearing an inscription written by Henry W. Longfellow at the 
request of Tennyson when the former was a guest of the Laureate in 1868. 



O traveller, stay thy weary feet; 
Drink of this fountain, pure and sweet; 

It flows for rich and poor the same. 
Then go thy way, remembering still 
The wayside well beneath the hill, 

The cup of water in His name. 


Home and 







OPULAR interest in education 
to-day centres about the vari- 
ous problems of industrial 
training. A distinguished ad- 
vocate of technical instruction 
has recently defined the term " industrial 
education" as "Education which prepares 
the pupil for self-support." Without qual- 
ifying the definition or questioning the 
general acceptance of the statement, we 
may yet naturally inquire by what means 
a boy or girl may be prepared for self- 
maintenance, or, in other words, made 
ready to earn his living. 

The immediate reply is that such prep- 
aration consists first in the acquisition of 
technical skill. This theory is to some de- 
gree justified by the callings which demand 
of the worker merely repetition of certain 
manual processes, in which swiftness of 
accomplishment and accuracy of touch in- 
sure a larger product and fix the value of 
the hour of labor. In such positions the 
desirable qualities are the qualities of the 
machine, — speed and certainty. Techni- 
cal skill, won, after the first instruction, 
through mere practice, may be the essen- 
tial qualification. 

So soon, however, as the task requires 
judgment as well as dexterity; when ways 
and means have to be balanced and suited 
to changing conditions, or new methods de- 
vised, the general training becomes a mat- 
ter of immediate concern. Now the ability 
to learn a new order of things may be quite 
as important as the power to follow the old 
regime. The constructive or creative power 
involves readiness to observe and ability to 
interpret existing conditions, as well as im- 

agination to picture new and possible mod- 
ifications of these conditions. And such 
powers are the product of the broader, 
more generous training, combined with the 
technical instruction. In proportion as the 
calling makes such demands upon the 
worker, he must be liberally prepared for 
his work. The recognition of this truth 
postpones the period of specific instruction 
in the art or craft, in order to secure the 
more generous foundation; and this is not 
wholly for the sake of the so-called " culture 
value" of such training, but because the 
task in itself demands the fruits of a liberal 

For the two types of work which have 
been suggested trade-schools and technical 
colleges have been called into being. Ac- 
cording to the goal of his ambitions, or per- 
haps in recognition of the immediate neces- 
sity for self-maintenance, the youth chooses 
the one or the other, — the "short cut" to a 
specific task, or a solid preparation for a 
chosen field, which may include various 
possible endeavors. 

It would be interesting to compare the ad- 
vantages of the opportunities offered by 
such instructions and the corresponding 
progress of the pupils who complete their 
courses of study. With these we may deal 
later. Let us rather consider a third qual- 
ification for self -maintenance. 

The work of the world is not accom- 
plished by separate unrelated individuals, 
but by society. One works always in com- 
bination with others. To general intelli- 
gence and technical skill the trained worker 
must add ability to cooperate with others 
in the necessary business relations — to 




act in accordance with recognized and ac- 
cepted customs, and to deal fairly with all 
whose welfare is affected by him. Certain 
personal qualities are indispensable here, 
and certain elementary training must be 
assured — either at home or in the school — 
if the worker is to fulfil the conditions which 
are implied in cooperation and service. 

Consider a single example. The tele- 
phone-operator must be skilled and dexter- 
ous in the management of her equipment; 
she must understand how to deal with the 
mechanism which is put under her charge. 
Her duty is evident; that is, so far as she 
can, to enable this complex system, which 
has been installed at so great a cost, to ren- 
der its utmost service to the public. She 
must therefore bring to her task not simply 
intelligence and skill in manipulation, but 
judgment, tact, courtesy, unfailing patience, 
cheerfulness of temper, a readiness to serve, 
and a recognition of her obligation. This, 
you say, is too much to ask of a young girl. 
It is not too much, however, to ask that she 
aspire to securing these qualities in order 
that she may do her work well, and become 
really serviceable to her employer and to 
the public. 

Tt is easy to see that mere technical skill 
forms but a slight part of her equipment. 
Qualities of character, the true conception 
of responsibility, and a fine sense of loyalty 
in service, — these are indispensable; and 
these should be inculcated both in the home 
and in the school. Every one who reads 
these columns will remember many in- 
stances when patience, courtesy, and unfail- 
ing good temper in the service at the tele- 
phone have been of in estimable advantage to 
him ; and will doubtless also recall difficulty 
in securing the carriage of a message because 
human indisposition blocked the path. The 
mechanism failed because the operator 
missed the essential art of service. Does 
not this suggest the truth that education for 
self maintenance should place more em- 
phasis upon the responsibilities which are 
assumed in service, and the loyalty with 
which these should be met? 

When we consider the matter, we real- 
ize that the safety of any undertaking in 
which many persons are concerned de- 
pends upon the loyalty of each member 
to the common good. The railroad must 
count upon the faithful service of every 
man on the road. The failure of switch- 

man, of telegraph-operator, of depot-mas- 
ter, of conductor, may mean the sacrifice 
of human life. Here the need of loyalty is 
evident; and though we are yet far behind 
other civilized countries in our recognition 
of this need and the proper placing of re- 
sponsibility for accidents, yet, nevertheless, [ 
the public recognizes the necessity of un- 
failing loyalty in service and expects every 
man to meet his responsibility, whatever* 
it may cost. 

The youth who leaves the home life to 
assume business duties should have been! 
trained in the home and school to under- 1 
stand the meaning of the duties which he j 
is to assume. He should have been pre-) 
pared for loyal service. The home is often 
remiss in this regard. The child is the cen- 
tre there, and everything is done for his 
pleasure or advantage. He is ministered 
unto, but does not always learn to minister. 
He therefore overestimates his own pleas- 
ures and underestimates his duty towards 
others. From this atmosphere he enters 
into the business world ill-fitted for the de- 
mands which it makes upon him. 

Life in school does little to combat this 
tendency, for the school also is created for 
the sake of the child. It has this advantage 
over the home : in the class the pupil deals 
with others and submits to the general rule. 
His individual and especial advantage is 
not considered first and foremost. Yet, on 
the other hand, he is constantly receiving 
and is seldom giving. He takes for granted 
this machinery which has been established 
for his good and gives little consideration 
to the thought or sacrifice which has made 
his education possible. The school gives 
him the intellectual equipment, but does 
little to attract his attention to his duty 
toward his co-workers. 

The technical school may not go much 
farther than the common school in prepar- 
ing him for self-maintenance. Technical 
skill it develops; knowledge of the condi- 
tions of business life is secured in some de- 
gree; but the moral insight which enables 
the student to distinguish between his rights 
and the rights of others, between the life of 
impulse and self-gratification and the lim- 
itations of freedom which are necessitated 
in service, the school may fail to provide. 
The employer discovers technical skill or 
business ability linked with carelessness in 
execution, forgetfulness of responsibility, 



sensitiveness under criticism, and an over- 
weening regard for personal advantage. 
What is the remedy ? 

Evidently, a clearer conception of all that 
is involved in education. The new educa- 
tion, so-called, has been most generous in 
its desire to give every opportunity to the 
student. The school equipment is superb, 
the curriculum is all-inclusive, discipline is 
gentle, and the requirements are softened 
to make the path of learning as delightful 
as possible. We have come to share in the 
feeling which the loving grandmother ex- 
pressed: "I cannot bear to have that child 
do anything for himself that I can do for 
him." Education has been poured into 
the lap; it is secured almost without effort. 
This advantage is not fairly measured or 
appreciated, and the qualities which are the 
fruit of self-denial, of persistent effort, of 
diligent striving, are not secured by the 
generous and kindly provision which leaves 
everything within reach and affords no 
place for self-exertion. No one can under- 
stand or appreciate the work of another un- 
less he himself has learned how to strive. 
One who has been accustomed always to 
receive will have difficulty in giving his 
share. One who has considered his personal 
interests paramount will find it impossible 
to consider fairly the interests of others. 
Evidently, then, the child who has been the 
centre of the home scheme and the school 
scheme has some bitter lessons to learn 
when he takes his place in the business 

Home and school should unite in the 
effort to develop, even in the young child, 
the sense of responsibility. Some tasks 
should regularly be imposed which have to 
do with the general good. For these the 
child should be responsible. He should not 
be allowed to omit them or slight them or 
render anything less than the best service 
in performing them. If they interfere with 
his pleasures, the pleasure, and not the 
task, should yield. Regularly and steadily 
he should be held responsible for this con- 
tribution to the welfare of the home. It 
may be building the fire every morning; it 
may be bringing in the wood at night; it 
may be going for the milk, or getting the 
mail; — however simple, or however slight, 
it should be performed with unfailing reg- 
ularity and fidelity, without dallying and 
without excuses. 

As the child grows, the task should be 
adapted to his increased ability and matur- 
ity. But some responsibility should always 
be his. As soon as possible he should be 
taught to care for his own property, in order 
that he may acquire the property sense, to 
enable him to distinguish between a thing 
that is his and that which belongs to another. 
Learning to value that which is his, and 
bought with a price which he has measured, 
he is enabled to recognize the care which is 
necessary to preserve it. A maid who has 
never paid for a cup and saucer of her own 
thinks it a slight thing to break a dozen be- 
longing to her mistress. A girl who has 
never earned or made a dress may easily be 
careless in wearing and injuring the dress 
which her mother has provided. The boy 
who is freely spending his father's money, 
without earning, is not in a way to appre- 
ciate the value of the money which is paid 
to him for his first labor. Nor can he ap- 
preciate the value of that labor except as he 
has been trained to see it in relation to the 
tasks which have been exacted of him. 

The spending of an allowance, however 
small this may be, is an invaluable training. 
The necessity of caring for one's own gar- 
ments, for one's room, for pet animals, for 
children, — all these develop the sense of 
responsibility; while conference concern- 
ing the family expenses, the ways and 
means, the reason for buying this and go- 
ing without that, will help the child to meas- 
ure the spendings which he observes in busi- 
ness and the reason for considering all the 
elements which are essential to proper ex- 
penditure. He cannot learn to care for 
another's property until he has learned to 
care for his own. He will recognize the 
recklessness of his careless expenditure if 
he has been trained through consideration 
of the family expenses. It is the home 
rather than the school which must make 
this contribution. 

Further, the "ability to do without" must 
somewhere be developed. The employer 
requires a particular service in some time 
of stress. The youth has planned to go at 
that time to the theatre or concert. He must 
either give up his personal privilege or must 
omit an important service which he might 
render his employer. Unless he has learned 
to do without, he will find it difficult to sac- 
rifice the anticipated pleasure. He will make 
excuses for limitinsr his allegiance to the 



business interests. He should be trained 
for such service in the home. It is, there- 
fore, not an unmitigated hardship when 
the child is obliged to defer the thing which 
he wants in order that he may accomplish 
the thing which he ought to do. The staying 
after school to get the "examples" done 
was not altogether an unhappy experience. 
Remaining in at recess because the task 
had not been accomplished had its helpful 
as well as its harmful side. Forfeiting the 
picnic or the ride because the "chores" 
must be done carried useful admonition; for 
the power to serve in cooperation with others 
demands the power of going without the 
personal pleasure, and this power is not se- 
cured except through practice. 

Just here, perhaps, we may pause to see 
the relation between independence and 
obedience in the business relation. Both 
qualities are probably essential. We are 
told that the working world lacks men of 
initiative who are prepared for leadership. 
It is very evident, however, that initiative 
and independence are not the only, and 
perhaps are not the first, characteristics to 
be secured. Obedience to the directions 
of the employer or the requirements of the 
business are first in importance, and one 
may ruthlessly abandon pet ways of doing 
things, and even beloved theories of action, 
in order to yield the complete obedience 
which is required in service. The time for 
initiative and independent action comes after 
this lesson of obedience has been learned. 
The youth is trusted to act for himself after 
he has shown that he can obey orders. His 
bonds thus become wings; but it is never 
safe for him to substitute independence 
and initiative for the will of his employer. 

Just here many a woman fails to feel 
business obligations. The thing which she 
wants most is uppermost, and she em- 
phasizes the personal desire or convenience, 
rather than the good of the business. She 
does, not what she is told, but what it is 
convenient to do. She considers a piece of 
work unimportant and omits it, although 
she has been told to perform it. Her ex- 
cuses are not excuses; she has failed to do 
what by contract she had promised to do. 
She h?ifj no right to substitute her judg- 
ment for that of her employer. In general, 
the gir] has this difficult lesson to learn, — 
that in the office, the store, or the bank she 
is expected to perform the tasks which have 

been cut out for her, rather than those 
which she might mark out for herself; and 
she is not at liberty to withdraw from their 
performance so long as she holds her posi- 

The difficulty which the young woman 
meets in adjusting herself to business con- 
ditions is largely due to the fact that she 
has not learned that the environment of the 
home and of the office are distinctly differ- 
ent, and that her new employment necessi- 
tates adherence to fixed conventions in 
matters which she has heretofore consid- 
ered as determinable by individual taste. 
Prescriptions as to dress have not been 
suggested to her. At home she has delighted 
in ornament, has taken pleasure in laces, 
ruffles, and trailing skirts. Where and 
when should she be taught that simplicity, 
absolute neatness, and complete adaptabil- 
ity to the work to be done are the chief 
requirements in the dress of the business 
woman. Ornament cannot precede util- 
ity; furthermore, at her work ornament is 
out of place. The dress which does not at- 
tract attention is most fitting. Refinement 
of taste is made evident by simplicity and 
appropriateness in dress. 

This transition from earlier standards is 
often made with difficulty. Here the school 
might help to establish the standards, for 
the home often presents few opportunities 
for such teaching, and its judgment is not 
likely to be infallible. One could almost 
wish that the employment called for a pre- 
scribed uniform, which would in so many 
cases increase the dignity of the worker. 
In any case, the desire to be beautifully 
dressed should give way to the ambition to 
be fitly dressed for the business position. 

The manner of the worker cannot be 
neglected in our consideration of education 
for service. The work in itself is supposed 
to be for the service of others. Considera- 
tion of others is, therefore, indispensable. 
Ready and complete courtesy, which is al- 
ways cheerful, thoughtfulness of others, 
and tactful consideration are imperative 
elements in the equipment of the worker. 
One has no right to intrude his moods and 
tenses into the work of the day. He must 
learn to restrain the sharp reply, to withhold 
the curt response, to guard the tone as well 
as vocabulary, and to express only kind- 
ness and thoughtfulness. These cannot be 
expressed except as they exist. The desire 



I to serve will secure this education in the 
ji end. Discourtesy is unpardonable. 

The manner of the worker should be 
; dignified and self-controlled. The work 
does not call for the expression of personal 
I views, but merely such conversation as be- 
I longs with the business. Impersonal ac- 
1 ceptance of criticism, with such self-con- 
I trol and dignity as commands respect, are 
j required of the worker. These are a safe- 
I guard as well as a constant help; and these 
1 are acquired through the associations of 
j the home and the school alike. 

It should not be overlooked here that the 
I worker, in undertaking any service, is sup- 
j! posed to share in the desire to secure the 
result for which the business is organized. 
He must be loyal to its interests. The name 
of the firm, his employer, and associates 
are partly in his keeping, and he is not justi- 
fied in referring to them in any but a re- 
spectful and courteous manner. The se- 
crets of the house should be inviolable. 
Matters pertaining to the business should 
never become the subject of public conver- 
I sation. The names of his associates should 
not be published in the street-cars nor on 
street-corners, nor should they ever become 
the matter of gossip and careless comment. 

He is bound, not only to discretion, but to 
absolute reticence concerning the interests 
of his employer and the enterprises with 
which he is associated, and this bond holds 
even after he leaves his employment. This 
sense of honor is binding, of course, in pro- 
portion as one is educated and re6ned. 
Such a conception of one's employment is 
not as common as it should be, but it should 
become the standard for every boy or girl 
who is consciously trained for service in the 

We need to inculcate by every possible 
rneans a finer standard of loyalty in service 
and of responsibility in meeting the daily 
tasks. The training of the school should 
not stop with the mere technical or intellec- 
tual accomplishment, nor should the home 
be absolved from the final preparation of 
its children for the tasks which await them. 
Somewhere the responsibility of this train- 
ing should be placed, and somewhere these 
finer qualities, on which success is so largely 
dependent, should be assured. After all, it 
is fidelity and loyalty that make the task 
worthy of the man, and not a mere trick or 
sleight-of-hand. Somewhere in our educa- 
tional mechanism we must include the finer 
preparation for service. 



I saw an angel in my dreams last night: 
An angel, in my room, dressed all in white. 
I did n't see its wings; I think that they 
Were folded, somehow, from my sight away. 

I saw it just as plain as it could be; 
And it knelt down and said a prayer for me. 
And after the sweet little prayer was said, 
It rose, and smoothed the pillow for my head, 

And drew the coverlet and tucked about; 
Then, softly as it came in, it went out. — 
And I was not one bit afraid, because 
It looked, to me, the same as Mamma does. 




Founded 1758 

Published monthly at 
6 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



I". S.j Canada, and Mexico . . $3.00 per year 
Foreign Countries S3.75 per year 

Remit by draft on Boston, Express 
or Post-Office Order, payable to 

Panama's Rival, Mexico's Inter- 
ocean Railway 

A GREAT event in railway-develop- 
ment, and one with an important 
bearing on the fortunes of the Panama - 
Canal route, has passed almost without 
notice in this country, which is really most 
intimately concerned, — the opening, in the 
last of January, of Mexico's short inter- 
oceanic railway line, the Tehuantepec rail- 
way. At the narrowest waist-line of Mex- 
ico, between the Gulf of Mexico and the 
Pacific Ocean, at the bottom of the great 
depression making in from the jutting 
promontorv of Honduras, Mexico is only 
130 miles wide. The route of the railway, 
with all the deflections from the bee-line to 
meet the exigencies of the engineering, is 
but 190 miles. This railway was in fact 
completed some two years ago, but the 
opening had to wait upon the construction 
of the two terminal ports, Coatzacoalcos 
on the Gulf side, and Salina Cruz on the 
Pacific side. The first promotion of a rail- 
way across the Tehuantepec Isthmus was 
begun as long ago as 1842. That scheme 
was abandoned in a few years, to be suc- 
ceeded by equally futile attempts in 1850, 
1885, 1887, and 1892. It was not until 
1898 that the project which has just been 
pushed to completion was commenced, and 
then the first and most difficult part of 
the task was to tear up and relay the whole 
of the previously finished portion. 

The engineering has been of the charac- 
teristic thoroughness of British construc- 
tion, and included the building from the 
ground up of the two terminal ports. The 
incidents here of heroic conquest over na- 
ture were not such as spanning chasms and 
climbing mountain-sides, as in most Mex- 
ican and South American railway con- 
struction, but of facing the deadly miasma 
of swamps, the poisonous night-vapors, 
the disease -spreading insects, the fever- 
ous vegetation, the utter absence of com- 
forts and conveniences of life. The out- 
lay of $30,000,000 on this hundred-and- 
ninety-mile railway and its two artificial 
ports is regarded with great satisfaction 
by the Mexican government and by the 
investors themselves. President Diaz and 
the principal members of his cabinet, with 
the foreign diplomatic corps and many dis- 
tinguished visitors, participated in the open- 
ing, January 23. The proceedings included 
the stately entrance of the first vessel, the 
Arizonian of the new American -Hawaiian 
line, into the inner harbor of Salina Cruz 
on the Pacific; the transference of its cargo 
by the use of all the modern appliances of 
freight-handling, such as are seen at the 
best docks in America and Europe to-day, 
into the waiting train of the National Te- 
huantepec Railway; and the reloading of 
the cargo on a vessel which awaited it at 
the other made terminal port of Coatza- 

East and West are joined together by a 
new link in this national railway of the Re- 
public of Mexico. The importance of the 
event has been little grasped by the public 
as yet; only in well-informed railway cir- 
cles is its meaning fully realized. Even 
when the Panama Canal is constructed it 
must perform an important function in the 
trade between the two coasts of the United 
States, as the respective distances from 
New York to San Francisco via Tehuante- 
pec and via Panama are 4,226 as against 
5,495, a difference in favor of the Mexican 
Isthmus of 1,269 m iles. The saving be- 
tween New Orleans and San Francisco is 
even greater, being over 1,600 miles; while 
the reduction of the distance from Liver- 
pool to San Francisco as compared with 
that via Panama will be 856 miles. It is 
figured, too, that where at present it costs 
about $3.10 to handle a ton of freight across 
the Isthmus of Panama, the same can be 



undertaken by the Isthmus of Tehuante- 
pec for $2.00 — besides the advantages in 
time and speed to be gained via Tehuan- 

" The Splendors of War " 

A FERVENT protest has been issued 
in a broadside, under such names 
as Carroll D. Wright, Edwin D. Mead, 
Edward Everett Hale, Cardinal Gibbons, 
John Mitchell, Miss Jane Addams, Miss 
M. C. Thomas, Prof. Charles Zueblin, 
Prof. C. M. Woodward, and other mem- 
bers of the Jamestown Exposition Ad- 
visory Board, against "the extravagant 
militarism" of the program of the Expo- 
sition. It is pointed out in this protest that 
out of thirty-eight items of attraction issued 
by the official organ of the Exposition, 
eighteen are such as "greatest military 
spectacle the world has ever seen," "grand- 
est naval rendezvous in history," "greatest 
gathering of warships in the history of the 
world," "reproduction of the Monitor- 
Merrimac battle at the place where fought," 
"international races of submarine war- 
ships," "races of military airships of dif- 
ferent nations," etc., etc., the whole winding 
up with "a great living picture of war, with 
all of its enticing splendors." The protest 
undoubtedly represents the best public 
opinion of the country when it says that 
this program is both a shock and a sur- 
prise to three quarters of the American 

An utterly different program for the 
Jamestown Exposition was first submitted 
to the public. As late as last June the offi- 
cial organ gave it out that the historical 
occasion which the Exposition commem- 
orates would be "fittingly observed, first, 
by emphasizing the great historical events 
that have marked the progress of America 
from the first settlement; second, by an in- 
dustrial exposition, primarily of American 
skill and art; and third, by an international 
military naval and marine celebration." 
Now, apparently, the "enticing splendors 
of war" have been placed to the fore, mag- 
nified beyond all measure. The original 
appropriation of $200,000 for the whole 
show has been almost equalled by the outlay 
upon the military part of the Exposition 

alone. But it is not waste of money that the 
protest emphasizes. It deprecates the 
freshening of the memories of the Civil War 
by a spectacle of one of the tragical battles 
of that war simply to attract and amuse a 
crowd of careless spectators. Guns and 
gunboats are given perhaps not a monop- 
oly, but the primacy, as the exponents of 
American aims and achievements in these 
three hundred years. "W T hat would the 
founders of the American republic say to 
this amazing program?" asks the protest. 
"Do we not know well, have we not their 
solemn word, that it is treason to all for 
which they labored and to which they 
aspired ? It was precisely to help the world 
away from these baleful old vanities and 
wrongs that they founded the Republic." 
Washington's words concerning war, "with 
all of its enticing splendors," were: " My first 
wish is to see this plague to mankind ban- 
ished from the earth." There is no criticism 
upon a proper display of military and naval 
ships as an incident of the Exposition. But 
to arrange it expressly as a festival of war 
instead of a celebration of peace is a woeful 

The best feeling of the day in all na- 
tions is exemplified in the progress of 
arbitration, the raising of a hall of inter- 
national justice, the universal wish and 
prophecy of peace by leading statesmen, the 
coming Hague conference. That we are at 
the dawn of an era of industrialism which 
shall supplant the old era of militarism 
should be emphasized in any international 
gathering, and the Exposition in Virginia 
should add its pledge and aspiration to the 
up-to-date policy of fraternity and co- 
operation among the nations, rather than 
glory in our supposed ability to overawe, 
crush, and destroy. 

Professor Calvin M. Woodward, as presi- 
dent of the American Association for 
the Advancement of Science, in the open- 
ing address at its meeting in New York 
in December last, observed: "The episode 
of the early Jamestown was not a military 
campaign nor a naval victory; it was rather 
a step in the conquest of nature, and a chap- 
ter in human progress. I trust it is not too 
late to give to the Jamestown Exposition a 
tone less warlike, and to put the emphasis 
where it must in future belong, — upon edu- 
cation, science, industry, commerce, and 
social progress." 



A Monument to Fulton 

A HUNDRED years ago this coming 
August the first "useful and profit- 
able" steamboat ever built was launched 
at New York, and, by making a trip up 
to Albany and back, established the packet 
line which, under various names, has lasted 
to the present day. The designer and 
builder of the boat was Robert Fulton, 
whom historians now generally recognize 
as the inventor of the steamboat, and there- 
fore as the father of steam navigation. 

What are the facts in the history of the 
steamboat? As far back as 1543 the steam- 
boat was heard of, and it is interesting to 
note that the artist in this most remote 
case was a Spaniard, one Blasco de Gary, 
who by royal command exhibited his in- 
vention in the harbor of Barcelona. How- 
ever, it is but just to Fulton's memory to 
note that nothing practical resulted from 
this sixteenth-century experiment, nor, in- 
deed, from any subsequent attempt of the 
kind up to the building of the Clermont. 

In 1707 a steamboat designed by an en- 
gineer named Papin was tried on the river 
Fulda in Germany. About thirty years 
later an Englishman, Jonathan Hull, ex- 
hibited a steam towboat on the Thames 
at London. Even in America Fulton had 
predecessors. Indeed, it is more than 
probable that Fulton, when a boy, was 
told of the trial which took place on the 
Conestoga River, Pennsylvania, in 1763, 
two years before Fulton was born. Ches- 
ter County, the scene of the attempt, is 
next to Lancaster County, in which is the 
town of Fulton (then called Little Britain), 
where the builder of the Clermont was born. 
Then, too, he must have been more or less 
familiar with the work of James Rumsey, 
— whose steamboat was operated on the 
Potomac in 1784, in the presence of Gen- 
eral Washington, — and also with the trial, 
at Philadelphia, the following year, of a 
steamer designed by John Fitch. Then 
there is the case of Nathan Read, who 
experimented with a steam paddle-boat at 
Danvers, Massachusetts, in 1789. In 
France, whither Fulton went from England 
in 1797, he may have become acquainted 
with the experiments in steam navigation 
made by two noblemen, Count d'Auxiron 
and the Marquis de Jouffroy, and by the 
Abbe Arnal. 

However, this is the main fact, now un- 
disputed: that the Clermont, launched at 
New York in August, 1807, was the first 
unqualified success. "Every attempt at 
constructing useful steamboats, previous j 
to mine, failed," wrote Fulton to one ofj 
his critics; and that is a now-established J 
fact. Again, defending his reputation from 
the charge of dishonesty in this connection, 
he said: "For in obtaining my patent I 
swore I believed myself the original dis- 
coverer and inventor of the thing patented." 
Which is fair enough, also, for the differ- 
ence between the Clermont and her pred- 
ecessors is the great difference between 
success and failure, and if the Clermont 
had been built as they were built she must 
inevitably have added another failure to 
the list. By making success she earned for 
her designer the title of inventor. 

Fulton, like many another genius, had a 
large variety of occupations. If America 
honors him to-day as the father of steam 
navigation, she might also honor him ass 
the father of that inland navigation which 
has done so much to develop our national 
resources and make us great among all 
peoples. For he was a champion of water 
ways long before he took an interest in 
steamboats; and, indeed, it was as an advo- 
cate of waterway improvements that his 
fellow countrymen first heard of him. He 
seems to have been among the first, if nol 
the very first, to foresee how much dependec 
upon waterway development in this coun 
try; and in 1796, in a treatise, he broachec 
the subject, which has ever since been 0. 
paramount importance in the United States 
In fact, to-day it explains the existence 
one of the most popular non-partisan organ 
izations, the National Rivers and Harbor; 
Congress, which is composed of public 
spirited men representing all parts of th( 
country, and which at present is trying t< 
secure from the government an annual ap« 
propriation of fifty million dollars for water 
way improvement. In the treatise referre* 
to Fulton argued in favor of developing 
as routes of commerce, canals in place c 
the old turnpikes, and if he could hav 
lived a hundred years longer he would havl 
seen the fulfilment of his dreams in thij 

The year 1807 was the most remarkabl 
period of Fulton's life, for it witnessed thj 
success of his steamboat and the popula 



[reception of his plan to build the Erie Canal. 
[Both of these projects, so far as Fulton was 
[[concerned, were the fruit of a great imagi- 
1 1 nation combined with unremitting labor. 
|jj Capping it all was the enthusiasm of the 
(genius and the patriot. Fulton was a gifted 
ijartist, but he would have sacrificed every 
[(personal gain if only his native land could 
j jderive some benefit from his sacrifice. This 
lis the inevitable conclusion one reaches in 
ha study of his words and deeds. If proof 
jibe asked, then one has but to point to the 
i [fact that in spite of all his opportunities for 
[aggrandizement this great American died 
I [penniless. Some thirty years after his death 
I the government allowed his heirs $76,300 
i for the use of one of his steamboats pressed 
j into the military service during the War 
lof 181 2. Incidentally, he was a dutiful son; 
I for, being left fatherless at the age of 
I three, his first earnings, resulting from 
[portrait and landscape work done in Phil- 
[ adelphia from his seventeenth to his twenty- 
I first year / were devoted to buying a home 
I in the country for his mother. 

He intended to return to Philadelphia, 
■put instead, through the kindness of ad- 
r biirers of his drawings, he went to Eng- 
I land to study art under his fellow country- 
Ifnan West. But, once abroad, he soon 
I (succumbed to the spell of the mechanic 
I arts, and his mind turned completely round 
i from aesthetic to practical things. One of 
1 those who influenced him at this time was 
j [he Duke of Bridgewater, then famous as 
■I canal-builder, and from him the young 
I American took a good many of his ideas on 
• Inland navigation. It was in these days, 
IIls we see by his letters, that he conceived 
I (he idea of designing a steamboat. 

jj In 1797, at the age of thirty-two, he went 

] jo Paris, and there, that year, in the com- 

Jpany of Joel Barlow, the immortal author 

J If "Hasty Pudding," experimented on the 

lieine with a submarine explosive to which 

j |e gave the name of torpedo. Then he 

I luilt a submarine boat, in which Napoleon 

J look a passing interest, and which, on July 

X , 1801, at Brest, had a fairly successful 

: trial. But, much to his disappointment, 

either France nor England would buy this 

wention, which now, after a century, is jus- 

fied by the importance which the subma- 

|ine boat has assumed in naval operations. 

But meantime Fulton had made the ac- 

juaintance of Robert R. Livingston, the 

American minister to France, who in 1798 
had unsuccessfully tried to operate a 
steamboat at New York. Learning of Ful- 
ton's cleverness as an inventor, the diplo- 
mat proposed a partnership, with the ulti- 
mate purpose of securing the exclusive 
right to run steamers in New York waters. 
A boat built by Fulton and tried at Paris 
in 1803 was sufficiently promising, as a 
model, to warrant a more ambitious un- 
dertaking, and in 1806 Fulton returned to 
America to begin work on the Clermont, 
which took her name from Livingston's 
country-seat on the Hudson. The boat was 
one hundred and forty feet long and six- 
teen and one-half feet broad. It is a curious 
fact — a commentary on French claims of 
priority in steam navigation — that in 
France the first steamboats were called 
Fulton boats. 

The story of the launching of the Cler- 
mont and of the excitement her appearance 
on the Hudson created is familiar to every 
schoolboy, but what seems to have escaped 
general attention is the circumstance that 
the terror inspired among superstitious 
sailors at night by the approach of the 
strange craft spouting fiery cinders (they 
used wood in the boilers then) later turned 
to fury at the thought that here was a dan- 
gerous competitor. Indeed, up to the time 
of his death Fulton was involved in inces- 
sant litigation by carriers who attacked 
his vessels by alleging flaws in patents and 
in legislative grants. 

Fulton not only built the first steam 
packet, but he also built the first steam 
ferry-boat (the double-ender, steered at 
either end), and the first steam war-vessel, 
the Demalogos, which was launched in 
18 14; he constructed the first of the steam- 
ers to ply between New York and the ports 
on Long Island Sound; and he also designed 
the steamer that led the way to the commer- 
cial development of the great cities of the 
Middle West which lie along the Mississippi. 

This remarkable inventor, this no less 
remarkable patriot, died on Feb. 24, 18 15, 
and now, just a century after the produc- 
tion of his greatest work, the citizens of 
New York, who owe as much to him as to 
any other man, are about to erect a mon- 
ument to his memory, and a suitable tomb 
to take the place of the grave which all 
these years has been one of the least con- 
spicuous features of Trinity churchyard. 



[Continued from December issue] 

No. 10. Starkey 's Fate 

FEW years previous to the 
opening of the nineteenth cen- 
tury a gang of counterfeiters 
nourished in New England, to 
the great annoyance of honest 
people and the serious injury of trade. No- 
torious among the members of this gang 
were Stephen Burroughs, Samuel Corson, 
James Smith, and Abel Starkey, all of 
whom, excepting the first named, were at 
one time or another imprisoned at Newgate. 
So cunning were these men that for a long 
time they defied all efforts to arrest them 
or break up the gang. At length, however, 
the vigilance and determination of the offi- 
cials triumphed, and the principal offenders 
were captured, Stephen Burroughs alone 
escaping. But even he was driven from 
the country and spent his remaining years 
in Canada, where he is said to have aban- 
doned counterfeiting and other criminal 
practices and to have settled down to a 
quiet and law-abiding life. 

In one of our rural districts there still 
stands (or did stand less than a score of 
years ago, for the writer has seen it) an old 
house which was for a long time the favor- 
ite rendezvous of this counterfeiting gang. 
The house is known as the "lightning- 
splitter," from its peculiar shape. The 
body of the structure consists of a single 
story; but the roof is extraordinarily high 
and steep, and contains three successive 
Stories of attics. The third of these attics, 
just under the ridge-pole, was the retreat 
of the counterfeiters, and there for years 
they eluded detection. 

Ostensibly the place was the home of an 
old couple who lived in a poor way on the 
products of their small farm, having little 
to do with their neighbors and giving little 
encouragement to those who were inclined 
to visit them in a friendly way. Because of 
their unsociable ways, ''Old Shepardson" 


and his wife were far from popular with the 
townspeople, yet they were inoffensive and 
home-keeping bodies whom one would be 
slow to suspect of systematic law-breaking. 

It caused no little surprise, therefore, 
when a posse of officers pursuing Corson 
and Starkey, the notorious counterfeiters,! 
tracked them, as they supposed, to this 
house and felt sure that they were about 
to make a capture; but though they sur-| 
rounded the house so as to make escape 
impossible, the most careful and thorough [ 
search failed to discover either the fugitives 
or any trace of unlawful practices carried on 
there. The Shepardsons professed utter 
ignorance regarding the couterfeiters and 
protested against the rude disturbance of 
their peace. At the same time they invited' 
a search of the premises and seemed zeal- 
ous in the assistance which they offered. 
They conducted the officers to every room 
in the house, and brought lights for the 
more careful examination of cellar and 

The unsuccessful result of the first inves- 
tigation convinced both officers and public 
for a time that there had been a mistake 
and that the trail had deceived them. The 
sheriff departed, therefore, with profuse 
apologies for his unjust suspicions, and as- 
sured the aged couple that he would not 
allow himself to be misled in future. It was 
not long, however, before the same experi- 
ence was repeated with others of the gang; 
and within a few months it happened sev- 
eral times that counterfeiters fleeing from 
justice took their course towards this spot 
and were traced in some instances to the 
vicinity. In spite of the apparent innocence 
of the occupants, suspicion deepened in the 
public mind that the place was not what it 
seemed. From time to time different officers 
examined the premises, but always with the 
same result; and they went away feeling 
half ashamed of themselves for having mo- 
lested the old couple. To be sure, no on e 



had ever explored the third attic; for that 
seemed impossible as well as unnecessary. 
No entrance to the place had ever been 
found. Stairways or ladders led from floor 
to floor as far as the second attic, but there 
the ascent ended. The ceiling of this room 
was plastered, and not even a trap door 
opened into the room above, which thus 
appeared to be wholly inaccessible unless a 
passage thereto should be cut through the 
laths and plastering. From the outside of 
the house no entrance was visible, nor even 
the smallest window or opening for the ad- 
mission of light. Furthermore, it was evi- 
dent that the space above the ceiling must 
be very small, and not high enough even at 
the middle under the ridge-pole for a tall 
man to stand erect. Several times the offi- 
cers had spoken of breaking through the 
plaster to examine the dark attic; but the 
plan seemed utterly absurd, and had been 

However, the closest secret will out at 
last, and this was no exception to the rule. 
A posse of officers under Sheriff Johnson, of 
Worcester, had followed two of the counter- 
feiters closely for three days, and were al- 
most upon their heels when they entered 
this now famous house. Confident that 
their quarry were now in a trap, the sheriff 
stationed half a dozen men at different 
points outside the building, with orders to 
shoot any man who should attempt to leave 
till he came out. Then with three others he 
entered the house and began once more a 
careful search. 

All were determined that nothing should 
elude them this time. First they went to 
the cellar and examined every part of it 
minutely with lanterns. Each object was 
moved, and the wall and floor were scruti- 
nized inch by inch, and tested with a hammer ; 
but no place of escape or concealment was 

Then the different stories of the house 
were taken in order, with like care and a 
similar result. Furniture was tumbled 
about, rugs were lifted (there were no car- 
pets), and clothing was taken from closets. 
Exact measurements were made of rooms, 
partitions, and walls, to make sure that 
there were no blind closets capable of secre- 
ting a man. At length they reached the sec- 
ond attic, and when it had been submitted 
to the same investigation without result, the 
question of the smaller attic immediately 

under the ridge was raised. Jiy means of a 
step-ladder the officer in charge made a mi- 
nute examination of the ceiling, and found 
it to be genuine and perfect. A place at one 
end where the plastering had fallen was un- 
mended; but an examination of the spot re- 
vealed nothing. There was only blackness 
beyond, and the fact that the plac 'iad been 
left in its broken condition seemed in itself 
to prove that there was nothing to be con- 
cealed above. 

To go any further in that direction seemed 
so absured that Johnson determined at least 
to make another examination of the house 
and other buildings before doing it. They 
accordingly descended to the ground floor, 
and, passing through the kitchen, waited 
for a few minutes to warm themselves be- 
fore the fire which burned brightly in the 
great fireplace at the end of the room. 
While standing there one of the men threw 
upon the fire a handful of trash that had col- 
lected in his pocket, and unintentionally in- 
cluded with the rest a small paper of snuff. 
A minute later the sound of an ill-suppressed 
sneeze was heard coming apparently from 
the chimney. 

The fireplace was a large affair with its 
chimney built quite outside the house, but 
standing close against the gable. Already 
it had been examined to the extent of stoop- 
ing down and looking up through the chim- 
ney to the sky overhead; but now Johnson 
exclaimed, "There is some one in that chim- 
ney, and I will find out who and where he 
is!" It was the work of a few minutes to 
rake out the fire and throw the brands and 
ashes out-of-doors. Then, armed with pis- 
tols, the sheriff stepped into the fireplace 
and began to ascend the chimney first, 
shouting up a summons to any one con- 
cealed there to surrender. Instead of an 
answer, a brick dropped on his head caused 
him to fall half stunned to the floor of the 
fireplace, whence he was dragged by his 
men. That he was not killed outright was 
due to the fact that the brick in falling 
had struck a projection in the chimney and 
glanced, so giving him only a sidelong blow. 

It was now evident that the entrance to 
the third attic was through the chimney, 
and that the fugitive criminals were there, 
prepared to resist capture. Furthermore, 
their position gave them an immense advan- 
tage over their pursuers in case of an as- 
sault. Every attempt to climb up from the 



fireplace only meant death or serious injury 
to the officer who should make the attempt. 
And an attack by breaking through the ceil- 
ing of the second attic would give the be- 
sieged an opportunity to use pistols effect- 
ively while the officers exposed to their aim 
could not see them in the darkness of their 

Not knowing whether they were armed, 
Sheriff Johnson put a ladder against the 
chimney outside the house and climbed to 
the top, once more calling upon the counter- 
feiters to surrender, and preparing to de- 
scend upon them if they still failed to re- 
spond. As there was no answer, he again 
entered the chimney, but this time his prog- 
ress was arrested by a pistol-shot fired from 
below, which wounded him severely in the 
leg. He was able, however, to climb to the 
top once more, and when he was safely down 
the ladder his comrades hastily dressed the 
wound in a temporary fashion, and he de- 
clared his purpose to continue his efforts 
till the rogues were captured. 

After a few minutes' study of the situation, 
he dispatched one of his men to a neigh- 
boring store to procure some brimstone, 
and while he was gone the fire was rekin- 
dled in the fireplace. When the messenger 
returned the brimstone was thrown upon 
the fire, and a minute later a broad board 
was placed over the top of the chimney. 
Of course the kitchen quickly became unin- 
habitable; but that was nothing to the con- 
dition of things in the close, unventilated 
attic where the counterfeiters were con- 
cealed. There a few minutes of spasmodic 
coughing were succeeded by silence, and 
when, a little later, some of the officers with 
an ax cut a hole through the roof and en- 
tered, they found the men whom they were 
seeking unconscious frcm suffocation. They 
quickly brought them out, and a few min- 
utes in the open air were sufficient to re- 
store them. Their captors, however, did 
not wait for this before placing heavy irons 
upon each one, that there might be no 
chance of escape. 

When the room was clear enough for ex- 
amination it was found to have been most 
carefully constructed for its purpose. Be- 
ing tightly sheathed on all sides so that no 
smallest ray of light could shine out to at- 
tract attention, its one opening was a door 
in the side of the chimney, through which 
members of the gang entered and departed 

via the fireplace. With the ordinary draught 
they had no trouble from the smoke, and 
even found the chimney a sufficient ventila- 
tor for their little shop. As a matter of fact, 
the fire was rarely kindled in that particular 
fireplace except on occasions when a raid 
was expected. But everything was in a 
state of constant preparation, and when 
fleeing criminals had safely entered the se- 
cret chamber a roaring blaze was immedi- 
ately kindled, and by the time their pursu- 
ers entered, the chimney presented a most 
unlikely line of retreat. The secret might 
have remained unbroken had not Corson 
thrust his head out into the chimney to lis- 
ten to the conversation below just at the[mo- 
ment when the paper of snuff was thrown 
upon the fire. And it was his sneeze that 
betrayed the hiding-place. 

The broken plastering at the farther end 
of the room had been artfully contrived by 
the counterfeiters to make their retreat the 
more secure by its apparent innocence. 
The wall of the den on that side was sev- 
eral feet from the break and sloped away 
to the top in such a manner that it was con- 
cealed from view. As an additional pre- 
caution it was carefully blackened, so that 
one peering up through the lathing from be- 
low saw an apparently empty and dark 
garret. The entire plan of the place re- 
vealed a degree of ingenuity worthy of a 
better cause. 

The wounded sheriff felt himself well re- 
paid for the discomfort which he suffered 
by the capture he had made. Besides three 
of the most notorious counterfeiters of the 
gang (for one was there at work when the 
others arrived), he took the Shepardsons 
and a large quantity of counterfeit coin, to- 
gether with numerous counterfeiting-tools 
and other implements of the trade. After 
such an achievement it is easy to believe 
that he was for many years a famous local 
hero, and that the story of Sheriff Johnson 
and the counterfeiters was one of the most 
popular legends of the time. 

Among those captured by Johnson was 
Abel Starkey, who was tried, convicted, and 
sent to Newgate Prison for a term of twenty 
years. There his ingenuity and industry 
enabled him to lay aside a considerable 
sum of money, and his good behavior won 
him the consideration and even the friend- 
ship of many of the prison officials. It was 
thought by some of them that he had re- 



formed, and so far as the rules of the prison 
would permit they trusted him freely. 

When the new prison at Wethersfield was 
completed and plans were made for the re- 
if moval of the convicts to the more modern 
I structure, Starkey declared to some of his 
\i fellow convicts that he would never go to 
the new jail. On the night of September 
28, the day previous to the contemplated 
removal, he asked permission of the officials 
to spend the night in the caverns under- 
ground. For some years these had been 
abandoned, and the convicts had slept in 
cells in the large building above ground. 
But Starkey had entered the prison when 
the underground shafts were still in use; 
and he now pleaded that he wanted to have 
one last reminder of the old times before 
leaving the place forever. As there seemed 
no good reason for refusing, and as the un- 
derground rooms were apparently even 
more secure than those above, his request 
was granted. 

For some unexplained reason the iron 
hatch over the prison well was left unfast- 
ened that night. Possibly this neglect may 
be in some way connected with the small 
sum of money found in Starkey's possession 
next day; but that is a matter of conjecture, 
not of positive history. One thing only is 
certain. During the night Starkey laid hold 
of the well rope and with its aid began to 
climb towards the prison yard. When al- 
most at the top the rope broke, precipita- 
ting him to the bottom of the shaft. The 
bucket fell with him, causing a crash which 
attracted the attention of the officer on 
guard and led to an investigation. Upon 
descending into the mine, the warden and 
his assistant found Starkey lying dead in 
the well, with his skull crushed either by 
the heavy bucket or by the rocks which he 
struck in his descent. Thus on its last day 
of service the old prison witnessed a trag- 
edy which formed the closing scene in the 
history of one of the most desperate bands 
of outlaws that ever infested New England. 

No. 11. Henry Wooster, Tory 

During the War of the Revolution the 
dwellers on opposite sides of Long Island 
Sound were bitterly hostile, and the villages 
along the coast witnesses of many a serious 
encounter as the result of this hostility. The 

people on Long Island were Tories for the 
most part, and they made it very uncom- 
fortable for any citizen who did not sym- 
pathize with the loyalist cause. In Connect- 
icut, on the other hand, the patriot spirit 
predominated, and a Tory in Connecticut 
met with much the same treatment that was 
bestowed upon patriots across the Sound. 
Furthermore, privateering expeditions on a 
small scale were not uncommon, in which 
persons from one side of the Sound would 
raid some settlement on the other side 
for purposes of plunder or reprisal. Of 
course such a condition of affairs engen- 
dered much hard feeling and gave rise to 
no little cruelty and lawlessness. As usually 
happens at such times, the worst elements 
in the community took advantage of the 
opportunity afforded for indulging their 
criminal propensities; and not a few other- 
wise good and law-abiding citizens were be- 
trayed by the general excitement into partic- 
ipation in acts which, under ordinary cir- 
cumstances, they would have condemned as 

Among those patriots who were unfortu- 
nate enough to be living on Long Island at 
the outbreak of the war was Captain Eben- 
ezer Dayton, a man of great independence 
of spirit, fearless, energetic, and warmly at- 
tached to the American cause. Naturally 
he aroused the animosity of his Tory neigh- 
bors by his outspoken loyalty to what they 
considered the side of treason and rebellion. 
At first this animosity showed itself in petty 
slights and slurs, that were harmless though 
bitter. The family was ignored in society; 
the children were taunted at school; and 
in countless trifling ways they were all made 
to feel the resentment of that popular opin- 
ion which they had ventured to defy. 

As the war continued and the war spirit 
burned more fiercely, the hostility of their 
neighbors took on more serious forms. The 
feeling of enmity was deepened in no slight 
degree by the suspicion that Captain Day- 
ton w r as furnishing aid and information to 
the patriot forces, and that fugitives from 
Tory justice or indignation often found 
shelter beneath his roof. As a consequence, 
slights and jeers were now accompanied by 
overt acts of injury to person and property. 
Threats followed, and it became evident 
that the safety of his family from insult and 
danger could only be secured by leaving 
the Island. This was, indeed, the very re- 



suit that the loyalists wished to bring about. 
They felt that the presence of so pronounced 
a rebel in their midst was at once a reproach 
and a menace. 

It was in January or February, 1780, 
that Captain Dayton, seeing the trend of 
things, took such of his property and house- 
hold goods as he could transport and crossed 
the Sound to Connecticut. He was fortu- 
nate enough to secure a large and comfort- 
able residence more than sufficient for the 
needs of his family in the little village of 
Bethany, a few miles northwest of New 
Haven. And this shelter he generously 
shared with others. Several of his neigh- 
bors, who, like himself, were sympathizers 
with the patriots, left Long Island at the 
same time, bringing with them quite large 
sums of money, and for a while made their 
home at Captain Dayton's house. 

The Captain was a business man, carry- 
ing on a nourishing and important trade in 
foreign goods and articles of considerable 
value. He had no store, as he doubtless 
would have had had he lived at a later pe- 
riod, but travelled about the country with 
a large peddler's wagon — a common prac- 
tice with enterprising merchants in the days 
when the population of the country was 
scattered and the means of travel limited. 
Steam and electricity have reversed the 
order of retail trade. Now the railway and 
trolley bring the customer to the centre of 
trade, where he finds such wares as he 
needs. Formerly the peddler's wagon 
brought goods and tradesman to the cus- 
tomer, and offered him a limited choice of 
wares. Not a very satisfactory method, 
we should think, but the best the circum- 
stances permitted. Among these travelling 
merchants Captain Dayton soon won for 
himself a prominent place, the household- 
ers along his route finding him both enter- 
prising and trustworthy. His surplus stock 
was stored in the attic and unoccupied 
rooms of his house, and this often repre- 
sented a considerable money value. 

During the month of March, only a few 
weeks after his arrival in Connecticut, the 
reserve stock ran short along certain staple 
lines and Dayton was obliged to go to Bos- 
ton to replenish his store. The trip re- 
quired several days, and was accomplished 
by stage. It happened also that on the very 
flay when he set out for Boston the former 
neighbors who had been staying at his 

house took their departure, so that Mrs. 
Dayton was left alone with three small 
children and two colored servant-children. 
She was a brave woman, however, and ac- 
customed to the charge of home affairs, 
and no thought of fear entered her mind. 

It had been no secret when the band of 
exiles left Long Island that they took with 
them a goodly sum of money and not a little 
valuable property ; but public opinion would 
not sanction the open confiscation of their 
goods, and they were allowed to depart 
without molestation. Some of their former 
neighbors, however, were less scrupulous 
than the rest, and they determined to cap- 
ture these stores for the support of the loy- 
alist cause. 

The enterprise originated in a gathering 
of low characters at the public-house, and 
the first thought of the conspirators was 
that of robbery for their own enrichment. 
But, supposing that a number of men were 
still sheltered under Captain Dayton's 
roof, the would-be burglars feared to carry 
out their purpose. They therefore enlisted 
the interest of several other young fellows 
who, though not criminals, were quite ready 
to engage in any daring scheme for injur- 
ing the patriots. To them it was not a mat- 
ter of robbery, but of confiscation and pun- 
ishment for rebellion. To further give color 
of military justice to the plan, an unscrupu- 
lous officer in the British service was in- 
duced to take command, and definite ar- 
rangements were made for crossing the 
Sound and raiding the Dayton house. 

The time chosen for the attempt chanced 
to be the very night when Dayton had set 
out for Boston and the other men had left 
the house, although this was clearly un- 
known to the raiders. On that night seven 
men, led by one Alexander Graham, a de- 
serter from the Continental army and at 
that time holding a commission from the 
British, embarked in a boat from Long 
Island and, crossing to a point near New 
Haven, proceeded without delay to the 
Dayton homestead in Bethany, arriving 
there about midnight. 

It was a moonless night, and so quiet 
were their movements that no one had been 
awakened or disturbed on the way. At the 
house they made no effort at stealth, but 
relied on their numbers to overawe the in- 
mates. Forcing a window on the lower 
floor, they rushed in and up the stairs to 



ie bedrooms where they expected to find 
'aptain Dayton and his friends. The room 
'hich they entered on the lower floor was 
Irs. Dayton's sleeping-room, and she was 
f course awakened by their entrance. As 
3on as they passed through she sprang up 
nd, rushing to a window, called loudly for 
elp. No one responded, however, and the 
Dbbers, not finding any one up-stairs, 
uickly returned, bound Mrs. Dayton fast 
ith a sheet which they tore into strips, 
ad, setting a guard over her, gave them- 
ilves to the congenial task of ransacking 
ie house. This work they did most thor- 

For two hours they searched the place 
om garret to cellar, collecting a large store 
f articles of value. There were hand- 
erchiefs of silk and linen, ladies' gowns, 
Iver shoe-buckles, worsted goods, cloaks, 
Dats, various articles of linen, a spy-glass, 
no muskets with their accoutrements, 
)ur halberds, besides other arms, and, by 
means of least importance, four hundred 
nd fifty pounds in gold, silver, and copper 
oin and tw T o hundred Continental paper 
ollars. The booty was indeed rich, though 
ot so rich as it would have been had they 
ome before the departure of Captain Day- 
)n's friends. 

To gather all this together involved no 
ttle labor, and when their task was com- 
leted and the men felt certain that no prize 
ad escaped their notice they decided to 
est and refresh themselves before taking 
reir departure. They ordered the colored 
hildren to place upon the table the best 
ie larder afforded, carefully watching 
rem the while to prevent escape or the 
oncealment of anything good. To make 
ie feast complete they procured a light and 
rought out from the abundant supply in 
ie cellar as much liquor as they wished. 
Then, after they had satisfied their appe- 
ites and gathered up whatever they could 
onveniently carry away, they deliberately 
estroyed everything of value that remained. 
:he wine in the casks and bottles they let 
ut upon the ground. Chinaware and fur- 
iture they smashed. What could not easily 
e broken they disfigured, and in every way 
ommitted as much wanton damage as pos- 
ible. The entire amount of property taken 
nd destroyed that night, including bonds, 
otes, and the like, amounted to not less 
lan five thousand pounds. 

It was after two o'clock in the morning 
when the raiders left the house. And it was 
much later than that before Mrs. Dayton 
was able to free herself and arouse the 
neighbors to the pursuit of the fugitives. 
By the time this was accomplished they 
were well on their way. 

Expecting pursuit, Graham and his men 
did not think it wise to return by the way 
they had come. Besides, they had some 
business to accomplish in behalf of the loy- 
alist cause. Consequently, they decided to 
remain hidden with friends in Connecticut 
till the affair should blow over, or at least 
till the eagerness of pursuit should have 
abated in some degree. Instead, therefore, of 
retracing their course to New Haven, they 
merely went a short distance in that direc- 
tion and then, making a detour, continued 
their march several miles further towards 
the northwest and away from the Sound. 

In Gunn-Town, a part of Middlebury, 
there lived a staunch Tory woman with 
w T hom they knew they would be safe, and 
towards her house they now took their way. 
Their purpose in doing this was twofold. 
First was the idea of throwing their pursu- 
ers off the scent. They knew it would not 
be long before Mrs. Dayton would alarm 
her neighbors, and they feared to risk a 
stern chase for Long Island, loaded as they 
were with plunder. Then, too, they wished 
to keep up communication between these 
Connecticut Tories and their friends across 
the Sound. Not a little valuable informa- 
tion was often secured in this manner by 
scouting or raiding parties who secretly 
visited these trusted friends and kept them 
in touch with the loyalist forces. 

The way to M idlebury was lonely and 
settlers few. As the hours swiftly passed 
and two o'clock became three and four, 
Captain Graham's band felt that there was 
little chance of meeting any wayfarers. Per- 
haps, also, the good wine which they had 
drunk quite freely at the Dayton house 
made them overconfident, so that they went 
along more carelessly than they had done 
in the early evening. But lovers kept late 
hours then as now; and young Chauncey 
Judd, of Waterbury, was just returning 
from a visit to his sweetheart w T hen, as ill 
luck would have it, he met the raiders upon 
a narrow bridge. The meeting was unex- 
pected on both sides, and Chauncey had 
no time for either concealment or flight. 



In fact, he was surprised in the midst of a 
lover's reverie and was too dazed to think 
of either. 

On their part, the raiders were scarcely- 
less disturbed than he. They dared not let 
him pass, had they been minded to do so, 
without first making sure of his political 
bias, lest he should prove hostile to them 
and disclose the direction of their flight. 
Before he could collect his thoughts, there- 
fore, they surrounded him and demanded 
his name and errand abroad at that time 
of night. He told them both without hesi- 
tation, and then requested them to let him 
go on his way without further hindrance. 

"Not so fast, young man," responded 
Graham. "We will let you go in a moment 
if you prove yourself a good and loyal cit- 
izen and worthy of freedom. Let us hear 
you shout, ' Hurrah for King George!' " 
"G — d d — n King George!" was Judd's 
quick and vigorous response. The answer 
of course assured his captors that the young 
man was a patriot and at the same time it 
aroused their anger. "You young rebel," 
thev retorted, "we must teach you a lesson 
in loyalty. Before we are through with you 
you will either sing a different song or you 
wont be able to sing at all." 

So saying, they took him down to the 
river-side and plunging him into the almost 
freezing water, held him under the surface 
till he was nearly strangled. Then bringing 
him out, they repeated their challenge: 
"Shout, ' Hurrah for King George!' " 
Again came the reply as at first, and the 
ducking was repeated. At length, after 
many duckings accompanied with not a 
few cuffs and kicks and other violence, the 
youth, more than half dead, feebly shouted, 
"Hurrah for King George!" and so es- 
caped further persecution for the time. 
After a short consultation, however, the 
fugitives decided that the only safe course 
for them was to take him along with them 
in their flight. 

In the house of the friendly citizen of 
Gunn-Town was a cellar kitchen where 
Graham and his party were concealed for a 
number of Hays, Judd remaining with them. 
In this kitchen was a well containing seven 
or eight feet of water, into which, whether 
seriously or not we do not know, they talked 
of putting their prisoner. But their hostess, 
a stern and matter-of-fact old lady, begged 
that they would not do this — not that she 

felt any twinges of pity for the youthful 
patriot, but because, as she said, "it would 
spoil the water." 

The raiders, conscious of the danger oi 
staying in patriot territory, were anxious tc 
be on the move as soon as possible. They 
therefore took advantage of the first favor- 
able night to make another stage on theii 
homeward journey. It was after midnight! I 
the rain was falling heavily, and everything I 
was wrapped in profoundest darkness wherj I 
they turned their steps southward towards' j 
Long Island Sound, taking Chauncey witt» 
them. Just before daybreak they came tc J 
the town of Oxford and found shelter in thc-1 
barn of a Tory sympathizer. This frienc I 
did not dare to lodge them in his house, fo]| 
he was known to be a loyalist and his neigh 1 1 
bors watched him very closely. By greaijj 
care, however, he was able to conceal that 
men for a few days under the hay in a re 1 1 
mote loft ; but he urged them to move on a» 
the earliest possible moment. So far frorrB- 
blowing over, the indignation that had beer I 
aroused by the robbery at Captain Day<| 
ton's had increased with every day that the j 
robbers eluded search. A sharp watch hacj I 
been kept along the shore, and the feelinr! j 
was general that the raiding-party had no 
returned to the Island, but that its member * ; 
were still concealed with friends somewherij ' 
in the vicinity of the outrage. Naturally '-. 
there was increased suspicion of the Torie] 
and deepened animosity towards all whej 
were known to sympathize with the loyalB" 
ist cause. Captain Dayton also, upon his re , 
turn from Boston, had done everything ii - 
his power to stimulate the efforts of hi: I | 
neighbors in their search for the men whq 
had done him so much harm. 

One bitter cold night Graham and hi 
men learned that a whale-boat was read! ; 
for their use at Stratford ; so they took theijf 
booty and their captive and made a force(|; I 
march to the coast village of Stratford, be, 
ing carried by their host a part of the waj, 
in a farm-wagon. Without difficulty, and} -: 
as they supposed without discovery, the;? 
reached the coast, found the bo it, and 
crossed the Sound to their own territory. I 
was a hard night even for those who wen 
exercising at the oars. As for poor Judd 
lying bound and helpless, his hands anc 
feet were so badly frost-bitten that he neve 
fully recovered from the sufferings of tha 
trip. Still, he preferred to suffer with th 



old rather than to afford the slightest aid 
;o his captors by rowing. 

The trip across the Sound was accom- 
plished successfully and without opposition. 
After more than a fortnight of hiding and 
danger the band found themselves once 
nore on Tory soil, and fancied themselves 
luite secure. But they had not reckoned 
jpon the swiftness and determination of 
:heir pursuers. On the way from Oxford 
;o Stratford they had passed through Derby, 
n which town they were seen by a late trav- 
eler who, more fortunate than Chauncey 
Judd, eluded their observation and spread 
■if- :he news among the townspeople. At first 
le thought them a company of late roister- 
ers whom it would be well to avoid; but 
2 vhen he noted their silence and estimated as 
it : veil as he could their numbers he was con- 
vinced that this was none other than the band 
)f raiders about whom the whole community 
lad been excited for more than a week. 

With amazing rapidity the men of the 
rillage were awakened and gathered to- 
gether. Without loss of time two whale- 
Doats were manned and set off down the 
•iver, under command of Captain William 
lark and James Harvey. Swiftly and si- 
ently they rowed across the Sound but a 
ew rods behind the other boat, and, land- 
ng almost as soon as the fleeing Tories, 
:aptured all but one of their number just 
„•; jnside the British lines. They also recov- 
ered the booty and the captive Judd. 
■A Chauncey Judd when retaken was in a 
!„£ condition bordering on insanity, and it was 
^several days before he recovered his mental 
^•balance. The repeated threats of death 
ind the hardships he had suffered caused 
Ji severe shock to his nervous system, which 
iffected him as long as he lived. For months 
le would start up in his sleep as from a 
lightmare, shouting, "Hurrah for King 



The six raiders who were captured were 
.aken at once to New Haven and brought 
speedy trial. In dealing with such cases 
here was little delay, and judgment was 
neted out with considerable severity. Gra- 
ver iiam, the leader of the band, was shown to 
^ 3e a deserter from the American army. He 
jjd^as carefully searched and, concealed in 
eve; |:he lining of his coat, was found a commis- 
sion from General Howe authorizing him to 

serve as a recruiting-officer for the British. 

tt was in furtherance of this work that he 

had delayed the return to Long Island and 
made the trip to Middlebury. When the 
paper was discovered Graham made full 
confession, and was executed as a deserter. 

The remaining five were convicted of rob- 
bery, and sentenced to Newgate Prison for 
various terms. Among them was a young 
man named Henry Wooster. He was a 
member of a very respectable family that 
had formerly lived in Derby, Connecticut, 
but had been compelled to remove to Long 
Island because of their Tory sympathies. 
He had joined the expedition with no crim- 
inal purpose, looking upon it as a justifiable 
reprisal for indignities suffered by himself 
and other members of his family at the 
hands of the patriots. For his share in the 
raid he was sentenced to pay a fine of fifty 
pounds and to be imprisoned four years at 

Within a week from the time of his arrival 
at Newgate, Wooster had made a most 
careful and thorough examination of the 
entire mine and had estimated the chances 
of escape at the different points. His 
thought turned first and most naturally 
towards the well and the seventy-foot shaft 
as the probable avenues to liberty. But he 
was speedily convinced that escape through 
either of these was impossible without the 
aid of a confederate above ground; and 
even- hint at a bribe was scornfully re- 
jected by even the meanest of the prison 
officials or sen-ants. Possibly this impreg- 
nable virtue was due to the popular hatred 
of the Tories as much as to a conscientious 
adherence to duty; but in any case it effec- 
tually frustrated all plans that might be 
made with reference to the two shafts. 
The practicability of a general insurrection 
on the part of the prisoners against the 
guard was considered and abandoned. Fi- 
nally, he settled upon the old drain as af- 
fording the one chance of success. 

As already described, this drain was built 
of stone and cement, far too narrow to ad- 
mit the body of a man and strongly secured 
at the inner end with stout bars of iron not 
easily removed. Wooster reasoned that if 
he could but loosen these bars and a few 
stones at the opening he should find the 
drain less carefully laid throughout the 
greater part of its length. The most serious 
problem seemed to be that of obtaining the 
tools necessary for the work. And these 
his native ingenuity soon supplied. 



At an early hour every morning the hatch- 
way at the top of the thirty-foot shaft was 
opened and the inmates of the mine were 
summoned above ground for their day's 
labor. Only three were permitted to ascend 
at a time, one squad being led to their posts 
of service and chained to wall, ceiling, or 
anvil-block before the next detachment 
was called up. Wooster, being of a mechan- 
ical turn, was assigned to a position in the 
nail-shop, than which no task could have 
suited him better. Each day he succeeded 
in secreting about his person small frag- 
ments of nail-rods which he carried with 
him down the shaft at night and kept for 
his own project. He also manufactured a 
key with which he could remove his own 
fetters and those of such of his fellow pris- 
oners as he thought best as soon as they 
were safely in the caverns for the night and 
the guards had left them. 

With these bits of nail-rod for his only 
tools he began picking at the stones and 
cement about the entrance of the drain till 
he was able to remove one after another of 
the bars, which in turn were used as effec- 
tual implements for the loosening of the 
stones. The work was slow and tiresome, 
but a couple of nights sufficed for the com- 
plete removal of the external course of stone 
and the discovery that the next course 
would be less difficult. By the end of the 
week he had loosened so many of the stones 
that he could take them out and crawl his 
entire length into the drain. Soon he found 
that he could work even more rapidly; for 
in many places the channel was large 
enough without any work, and, as he had 
surmised, the stones were much more irreg- 
ularly and carelessly laid than at the en- 

Once it was well begun, the work went 
on systematically night, after night. As 
soon as the prisoners were remanded to the 
caverns for the night and felt themselves 
secure from intrusion by the prison author- 
ities, Wooster would unlock his fetters and 
remove his clothes. Then he would crawl 
into the drain and work for a fixed time re- 
moving stones and mortar, which, being 
brought to the entrance, were taken by 
others who acted as his assistants and care- 
fully scattered through the most remote and 
unoccupied parts of the mine. The dim- 
ness of the light and the extent of the cav- 
erns made it possible to deposit a good deal 

of rubbish in various parts without an; 
danger of attracting the attention of th 
guards who made occasional visits of in 
spection during the daytime. After work 
ing as long as he deemed it wise he woul< 
come out, resume his clothes, restore th 
stones and bars at the entrance so that the j 
would not betray him, and retire toslee]) 
until morning. 

Thus week after week passed and th 
tireless worker was near the end of his task! 
Only a few feet of the masonry intervened 
between him and the outer world. Bui 
these last few feet, like the first, were muclj 
more difficult than the rods intervening. 

One night he was working with the inj 
tense eagerness inspired by the hope c« 
speedy success when he heard a dull soumj 
in the drain behind him and, investigating 
found that a large stone had fallen into th| 
drain from above and so completely blocked 
the passage that he could not crawl over i 1 j 
The discovery almost unnerved him. Her' 
was a predicament indeed. The drain war 
too narrow to admit of his turning. He haj 
not enough nail-rods to complete the worii 
of digging out, even if the time would pei| I 
mit him to accomplish the feat that nigh j I: 
And at that distance there was no hope ell; 
his making himself heard by those in th|| 
cavern. A cold sweat burst from every por<| | 
After all his labor it seemed that he mu 
perish here in this miserable drain far b< 
yond the reach of human help, and his char 
nel of escape become his tomb. 

It was not easy, however, to daunt th 
courage of Wooster. With a degree of er 
ergy and patience seldom equalled, 
worked till he succeeded in grasping tfc 
stone with his feet, and slowly, inch b 
inch, he pushed it backwards until a d< 
pression in the bottom of the drain pe 
mitted it to sink so far that he could cra\? 
over it and make his way back to the mir 
just in time to put on his clothes and fette] 
in readiness for the morning summons 
work above ground. His bruised and e: 
hausted condition would excite no susp 
cion on the part of the prison officials; f( 
the free admission of liquor to the prise 
often turned the caverns into a perfect pai 
demonium of drunken carousal, and it wj 
no uncommon thing for prisoners to corr 
up in the morning badly bruised and di 
figured by a quarrel with their fellows. 

So great were the shock and exhaustic 



^suiting from this experience that Wooster 
ras unable to return to his work in the drain 
3r a number of nights. When he did so he 
lade short work of his task, and about 
ne hour before daylight of the third night 
e had the unspeakable satisfaction of 
reathing the air of freedom. He advised 
le men to remain in the prison till the next 
ight, in order that they might start imme- 
iately upon being sent down to the caverns 
nd so have the whole night to make the 
rst stage of their escape. But so great was 
leir excitement when they knew that the 
ay was open that they could not be re- 
gained from immediate departure. They 
ere the more eager because they feared 
iat at this last moment their work might 
e discovered and all hope of escape cut off. 
Unable to control the men, Wooster fi- 
ally yielded and led out with himself all 
ho had been committed with him for the 
)ayton robbery, besides a number of other 
bries whom they found at Newgate upon 
leir arrival. Once outside the drain, the 
Len scattered and concealed themselves 
tnong the rocks and woods of the Turkey 
ills till the coming of another night should 
■M-ive opportunity to continue their flight. 
F ! The result proved the superior wisdom of 
lit booster's advice. Of course the escape was 
pro iscovered in the morning and searching- 
m irties scoured the region for the fugitives. 
it* early all of them were retaken; but Woos- 
"lm ;r, with his customary sagacity, hid himself 
curely and evaded pursuit. Climbing to 
ttt ie top of a tall hemlock, he concealed 
)fa imself among the thick branches, fasten- 
1, 1 Lg himself by his fetters to the tree so that 
g tk 1 was able even to sleep in safety for a part 
li 1 : the day. Like the more famous fugitive 
a 4 .ing Charles, he saw the prison officers at 
p« ie time passing very near his place of con- 




it if* 1 
com • 


cealment and heard them discussing the 
adroitness of his escape. 

Defying the pangs of hunger as he had 
previously defied the difficulties and dan- 
gers of the drain, he remained hidden in 
the tree four days, in order that the search- 
ing-parties might conclude he had escaped 
and so relax their vigilance. Then he de- 
scended, and made his way to the home of 
a friendly Tory, who secreted him for a 
week while he rested and regained full 
strength for further flight. Leaving this 
shelter, he made his way to the coast in the 
neighborhood of New London, where he 
succeeded in getting on board an English 
vessel and enlisted in the British service. 
He remained with this vessel till the close 
of the war and for some years after, doing 
good service in various parts of the world. 

Meanwhile his parents had heard noth- 
ing from him and supposed him to be dead. 
With the restoration of peace they returned 
to their former home in Derby, Connecti- 
cut, and settled down to the old farm life. 
One evening a young man came to the 
house and asked lodging for the night. 
W T ith ready hospitality they received him, 
and he entertained them for some time with 
stories of travel in foreign countries. At 
length the conversation turned upon the 
Revolution, and the hospitable couple told 
the supposed stranger the story of their lost 
son. Having gradually prepared their minds 
for the disclosure, their guest acknowl- 
edged that he was the son whom they had 
mourned as dead, and furnished unques- 
tionable proof of his identity. The joy of 
the aged couple was of course unbounded, 
and the conditions of restored peace made 
it possible for the young man to settle 
quietly in the old home without fear of 



Transforming the Mediaeval Town at the Foot of the Mississippi 

Valley into a Modern City in a Day : A Forecast of Her 

Great Destiny and Some Impressions of Present Aspects 

MAGINE an American city of 
three hundred and fifty thou- 
| sand inhabitants and nearly 
\\1 two hundred years old that 
never had a cellar nor a sin- 
gle foot of underground sewer; that took 
— and still takes — its whole supply of 
drinking-water (excepting a few artesian 
wells of recent date) di- 
rectly from the clouds, 
storing the rain in cis- 
terns above ground ; 
that stands, for the most 
part, on ground two feet 
below the level, at high 
water, of the mighty 
river that flows through 
its centre ; a city built on 
marshy ground at the 
river's edge, originally, 
and reclaiming the 
marsh just rapidly 
enough to make room 
for its own growth; a 
city, therefore, without 
suburbs; a city sur- 
rounded by river, lake, 
and marsh, and in- 
dented with many 
streams and bayous. 

Thus was New Or- 
leans, three years ago. 

To-day, the adminis- 
trator-, of the city's public business have 
gone far in laying permanently the founda- 
tions for a city of a million inhabitants; a 
city to possess a complete system of under- 
ground sewers, ample and scientific drain- 
age, and a water-supply to be taken from 
the Mississippi River. To-day, New Or- 
leans presents the unique spectacle of a 
great modern city that is to be plumbed 
practically all at once. Seventy miles of un- 

Mr. Charles Janvier, Vice-President of 

the Canal -Louisiana Bank and a 

Leader in Public Affairs 

derground sewers were opened some mont 
ago; two hundred miles more are almo: 
ready to be opened as this is written; an 
other hundreds of miles will follow speedj 
ily. The first connections o'f business an 
private houses with the mains were made i. 
October, 1906. The drainage system we 
then completed, and work was soon to begi' 
on the waterworks sy<j 
tern. There remainei 
some question of a leg;! 
settlement with a pr 
vate water company oj 
erating an antiquate 
and absurdly i n a d e 
quate plant, and hole 
ing, as I was informed 
an exclusive franchisj 
But there was not and 
not the least doubt 
New Orleans' purpo 
to supply her own wat 
through her o w n s y 
tern, and at once. It 
safe to say that with 
five years a majority 
New Orleans will 
tain their supply fr< 
the city's works, ai 
that within ten years 
one of the 75,000 a 
terns which are now 
most the sole source of supply, and whij 
provided breeding-places for the mosqif 
toes that spread the fever, will remain 
use. The cisterns have all been screens 
so mosquitoes can no longer enter them. 

Nothing Like It in Our History 

Nowhere else in America has any ge 
eration been privileged to witness a traif 





Gibson Hall, Tulane University, the Harvard of the South 

J :ormation so complete and extraordinary 
is that which is now in process in the me- 
ropolis of the southern half of the Missis- 

Iuppi Valley. It is a transformation from 
mediaeval conditions to the standards of the 
Itwentieth century. 
[1 Up to the time when the work on mod- 
.|Krn sanitation for New Orleans was fairly 
r | begun, it is safe to say that half the people 
' Jjof the city were firmly convinced that neither 
j ( drainage nor underground sewers could ever 
y be made to work successfully there. Three 

^ears ago, if you dug down two feet, you had 
.1 1 pond on your hands — or on your lot. 
"j Underdrainage has worked a miracle, so 
u ;hat to-day cellars for new office-buildings 

ire being sunk to a depth of fifteen to 
I wenty-five feet below standard level. The 

did way of getting a basement is illustrated 
Y in the Howard Memorial Library building. 
.,| Mr. Beer, the librarian (and, by the way, 

■ Dne of the quiet, superbly efficient men that 
•jbuild for a city's glory shyly but strongly, 

■ Jwith little thought of personal recognition or 
•Jreward), showed me through Howard Me- 

I morial one night in October. After we had 
jviewed the shelves on the main floor, and 
^admired the cozy nooks in gallery alcoves, 
we visited the basement, Mr. Beer leading 
,jlhe way with a lighted taper. There, too, 
were thousands on thousands of volumes, 
safely but shabbily housed, mines of mate- 
rial for specialists of the future to delve in. 
'But what struck me most forcibly was an 
overhead water-pipe with which I collided in 
the shadowy dusk. After that preliminary 
accident I groped with bent shoulders be- 
hind my guide. The basement was merely 
h a shallow excavation in an artificial mound. 

How Obstacles Promote Improvements 

Since there is no natural drainage from 
city to river, it was necessary to provide 
means of forcing the flow; this is done with 
various pumping-stations. Drainage and 
sewerage pipes, though built in separate 
systems, are alike in this respect: they run 
down hill for a distance, then must needs 
be emptied by lifting-pumps, and the flow 
started anew on another down-hill stretch, 
to yet another pumping-station. The two 
systems were made separate in order to 
avoid an evil that characterizes drainage 
and sewerage systems in most Northern 
cities. Where drainage and sewer pipes are 
one system, it is necessary to make the 
pipes so large that it is not possible success- 
fully to flush them often, if at all. The re- 
sult is, in most cities, that vast masses of 
sewage remain under the pavements, send- 
ing up clouds of unwholesome gases at every 
manhole, to menace the health of the peo- 
ple. New Orleans has made her drainage- 
channels big enough to carry off the sud- 
den, tremendous downpours of her tropical 
showers, and has built her sewers small 
enough so that these can be flushed daily, 
or as often as may be found needful, with- 
out overtaxing the water-supply. 

Probably the waterworks system has not 
yet taken final form in the plans of the 
commissioners. But in the main it is ex- 
pected to be similar to that of Omaha, 
which takes its water-supply from the Mis- 
souri River through a series of three huge 
basins, located beside the stream above the 
city. It is estimated that the silt to be taken 
from the first settling-basin in New Orleans 

1 3° 


will in time raise the land-level of the entire 
city. Chemical processes will be employed 
in the second and third basins to precipitate 
solid matter that does not settle to the bot- 
tom of the first basin, the water will be fil- 
tered as it leaves the third and last basin, 
and will then enter the pipes for distribu- 

were two principal causes of the delay. On 
was the fact that the carpet-baggers an 
negro legislators whose reign was ende 
with a rifle-volley in 1876 left the cit 
stripped to the bone and staggering unde 
the burden of immense debts. The watei 
works, the fire department, the sewers, eve 

President Craighead of Tulane University in His Study 

tion throughout the city. The system as a 
whole is being built for a city of half a mil- 
lion people, but it is so planned that it can 
readily be made to serve double that num- 
ber, and there is every prospect that a mil- 
lion people will call New Orleans home in- 
side another ten or fifteen years. 

Two Great Handicaps Removed 

A good many people North have won- 
dered why New Orleans, with her natural 
advantages, did not more quickly advance 
in wealth, population, and the moderniza- 
tion of her civic services. I take it there 

the police, had been farmed out to priva 
grafters, favorites of the administrate 
In the thirty years since 1876, when whi 
home rule was restored by an appeal to tl 
elemental manhood of the Anglo-Saxc 
race, regardless of constituted authoriti 
acting under a pitiful misconception of tl 
fundamental facts at issue, New Orleai 
has been slowly, laboriously, patiently : 
gaining control of her plundered pub! 
services and lessening the burden of h 
huge illegitimate debt. The other princip 
factor operating for delay was the perio 
ical outbreak and constant dread of yelk 
fever. No one knew certainly the nature 




(Photo by Moses) 

A Glimpse of the Famous Old French Market 

lie terrible disease. Its appearance was al- 
ways the signal for a thousand quarantines, 
-against commerce and travel, even be- 
ween neighboring villages, — and enforced 
vith shotguns pointed by men filled with 
he fear of death for themselves and their 
oved ones. This grim spectre has been 
aid forever. It is now known precisely how 
he fever is disseminated, and how it can be 
>revented. Never again will New Orleans 
Lave need to dread it as she has dreaded it 
n the past. She has only to maintain an 
fficient quarantine against the breeding- 
places of the fever in the tropics, and to 
eep her own standing water-supply 
creened. Proof sufficient that city and 
tate have learned this lesson is afforded 
3y the recent revelation of the fact that dur- 

ing the summer of 1906 the Slate Board of 
Health of Louisiana maintained an organ- 
ization of seven hundred experts and secret- 
service men, covering a million miles of 
tropic land, and sea, to guard against the 
introduction of yellow fever into the State. 
And the work was successful beyond even 
the most sanguine expectation. Precedents 
all indicated there would be some recurrent 
cases, following the outbreak of 1905. There 
was, in fact, riot a single case in New Or- 
leans, and only one in the State. 


Capital Filling All Channels 

New Orleans relieved of the fear of yel- 
low fever is a city inspired with old hopes 
revived, and with new hopes and plans more 
daring than anv ever entertained before. 



-: fl 


f i^J* 


•P^" . 

„ \ 

Mansion in the Old French Quarter 

A Modern Residence on St. Charles Ave. 


Capital now fears not to flow into all the 
channels of her manifold activities. Build- 
ing is in progress everywhere — a genuine 
boom, without the Western accompaniment 
of a wild gamble in land values. Land is 
gaining steadily in value, but there has not 
as yet" been anything like a speculative in- 
flation of prices. 

New Orleans. ^The old, leisurely life is col- 
ored, truly, with something of the urgency 
of modern commercialism, in business chan- 
nels, but pleasure still ranks business. Pleas- 
ure is the business of most importance here. 
And why should it not be so, if men are to 
build in order to live, and not merely to live 
in order to build? Living is a fine art, in 

Maidi Gras Street Scene: A View of the Parade in Canal Street 

Many magazine -writers have made the 
public familiar with the old-world charm of 
the architecture of the French Quarter of 
New Orleans. It seems to me regrettable, 
and probably unwise, that builders of so 
many handsome new homes are departing 
from the architectural models that seem so 
perfectly suited to the climate. Houses that 
one might duplicate on Riverside Drive in 
New York, on the Lake Shore Drive in 
Chicago, on Commonwealth Avenue in Bos- 
ton, — these appear in increasing numbers 
along the finer residential streets of New 

Southern hospitality is not mythical£in 

which excellence can be attained only under 
favorable climatic conditions. Even the 
poor are skilled in the art beneath these ge- 
nial skies. One hears much of the Northern 
winter cold as a spur to physical energy. 
Consider here the testimony of one experi- 
menter who finds that he can do prodigies 
of labor in New Orleans impossible to him 
in any Northern city; who has reached the 
conclusion that one expends fully one- 
fourth his physical energies in resisting the 
savage antagonism of the Northern winter, 
and who feels that in New Orleans all his 
forces are happily released for application 
to the work in hand. 



Passing of Historic Shrines 

A wonderful old city: a marvellous new 
pity. Her past a romance in hues most 
livid: her present starred with portents of 
Industrial and commercial greatness. One 
llay in late November the papers printed 
he news that the house in which General 

Mr. S. F. Kohnke, President of the 
New Orleans Board of Trade 

Andrew Jackson made his headquarters be- 
bre the battle with Pakenham's men, and 
vhich later was occupied by General Beau- 
egard, had just been marked for demoli- 
ion to make way for huge railway termi- 
lals — an incident indicative of the chan- 
ging orders. "Youth will be served." "To- 
day is built upon the ruins of yesterday." 
'Money makes the mare go." One could 
}uote aphorisms at great length to embody 
the idea. Perhaps the one last quoted best 
embodies it. No arrogant foreigner can 
tairly accuse American cities of maintain- 
ing a spirit of childish reverence for historic 
memorials. If a shrine chances to stand in 
the way of a projected canning-factory, why, 
so much the worse for the shrine. Boston 
has preserved a few of her priceless inher- 
itances of the older days, New York still 
permits Trinity modestly to remind the 
passer of the continued if somewhat apolo- 

getic existence of God in a city given over to 
Mammon, and it has been calculated by 
shrewd sons of worldliness that these old 
things really pay — in the worth-while 
sense, the dollar-and-cents way, I mean. 
People come long distances to see them, 
and leave money behind. One must of 
course smile at their rustic enthusiasm, but 
one cannot deny the value of their patron- 
age. Perhaps New Orleans will, before it 
is too late, set apart by common accord cer- 
tain of her historic buildings for permanent 
preservation, and make sure of their per- 
manency in the only way that it can be made 
sure. Possibly Mr. Godchaux and Mr. 

Mr. Philip Werlein, President of Philip 
Werlein, Ltd. 

Trezevant, of the New Orleans Progress- 
ive Union, will deem this suggestion worthy 
of consideration. 

Four Monuments and Their Significance 

Four of the public monuments of New 
Orleans impress themselves strongly upon 
the memory of the visitor. Jackson and 
Lee are of course the chief deities. Lee 
stands atop a huge column set upon a 
mound raised perhaps thirty or forty feet 
above the sea-level, in St. Charles Avenue. 
Broad stairways lead up to the base of the 
column from the circular walk of cement 

2 34 


that surrounds the mound. On any pleas- 
ant night in late October and early Novem- 
ber I found hundreds of boys and girls at 
play on this circular walk — most of them 
on roller skates. Now and then I heard a 
rattle as of rapid rifle-fire and caught a 
flashing glance of figures flying down the 
stairway — youngsters experimenting with 

Mr. Emilien Perrin, President of the 
Equitable Real Estate Co., Ltd. 

new methods of sudden death, gliding down 
the steps on rollers. Two of New Orleans' 
Immortals not made famous in battle, but 
in the paths of peace, were JohnMcDonough 
and Margaret Haughery. The one lived a 
long life frugally and shrewdly, and dying, 
devised to New Orleans a fund from which 
more than a score of public schools have 
been built; the other — -the first woman to 
be honored with a public statue in America 
— gave of her love and labor, and induced 
others to give of their wealth and time, in 
philanthropies unnumbered. She was es- 
pecially the friend of the poor and the lowly, 
and their children. I never pass that statue 
without lifting my hat in reverence to wom- 
anhood, and withal a speculative wonder 
why the men of other cities have not reared 
monuments to women of like quality. 

Women in Municipal Housekeeping 

Speaking of women, I am reminded that 
it was the women of New Orleans who fi- 

nally gave direct direction to and made pos- 
sible the execution of the plans for the sys- 
tem of modern sanitation and water-supply 
now in process of construction. It seems 
they grew weary of hearing the men of the 
town talk of these things year in and year 
out, and by concerted action put life into 
the project. Women who were taxpayers 
were given leave to vote on proposals to 
bond the city for these improvements, and 
it was by their ballots that the proposals 
were carried. I have always contended that 
municipal government, akin in so many 
ways to good housekeeping, affords an ad- 
mirable field for the exercise of feminine 
administrative talents, and I am delighted 

Mr. Albert Godchaux, President of the 
New Orleans Progressive Union 

to be able to cite this instance in proof 

A Forecast of Mighty Growth 

The stranger in town, if he be of an ob- 
servant sort, takes note of many facts and 
tendencies not apparent to most natives. 
These latter sit too close to the stage to 
take it in as a whole ; they see clearly only a 
part of what is taking place. Then, too, 
their judgments are likely to be colored by 
prejudices of one kind or another. The 
Orleanian who has seen his city's expecta- 
tions defeated again and again through a 



Chief of Police Whittaker, a Natural Fighting -man ancTa Storm Centre of 
Red-ho Politics 

ifetime^of patient watching, who has seen 
ler change so slowly and gradually that she, 
ike him, seemed merely to be growing old 
md gray without gaining in vigor or power, 
his man can be pardoned for regarding 
vith a sceptical eye the new hopes and plans 
>f the younger generation that is now ha- 
tening the city forward into line with her 
lestiny. What is New Orleans' destiny? 
A^ell, in my opinion, New Orleans will with- 
n a half-century rank third or fourth among 
American cities, in size, wealth, and com- 
nerce. Her rivals, and the only cities that 
vill be in her class, will be New York in the 
Sast, Chicago in the Central North, and 
Seattle or San Francisco in the West. More 
md more the population and wealth of 
America centre in the Mississippi Valley. 
The East and West coast regions also gain, 
:>ut not in like ratio. There will be a great 
:ity at the top of the valley and another 
it its foot. These cities will be linked by 
waterways big enough to float the largest 
xean vessels, and linking the Great Lakes 
with the Gulf of Mexico. 

Development of New Commercial Zones 


A new fact for the consideration of po- 
too, litical economists is the growing tendency 
1 by of the United States to divide commercially 
The into three north and south zones : one along 

the Pacific coast, eastward to the Rockies; 

a*second comprising the valley of the Mis- 

sissippi; and a third embracing the States 
east of the Alleghanies. Chicago and Illi- 
nois are now far more active in financing 
the new industries of the Gulf South than 
New York or New England. New York 
supplies the money for the development -of 
the East coast, and in a way supplies also 
the social and political inspiration for that 
region. Her great capitalists have in a sense 
converted many of the East coast States in- 
to industrial satrapies, whose mission seems 
to be to pour dividends into Wall Street. 
Virginia, proudest of the proud, the Old 
Dominion and the Mother of Presidents, is 
to-day a fiscal dependency of New York. 
New England sends her surplus funds 
shrewdly, as of yore, into every field that 
offers good security and reasonable returns. 
She is behind many — too many — of the 
Georgian and Carolinian cotton-mills where 
little children are being fed remorselessly 
into the machinery along with the cotton. 
She has funds, too, at work in New Orleans; 
and in the Texas oil and lumber develop- 
ments her men and her money are as active 
as any. But the trend in the Gulf South 
is away from economic dependence upon 
the East. Three successive cotton crops 
worth six hundred million dollars each to 
the South have figured big in removing the 
necessity for financial dependence upon'any 
distant money-loaner. The banks of New 
Orleans are not numerous, considering the 
size of the city. She has but twenty-three, 


with resources of $104,000,000. This sum 
is $80,000,000 above the total two years ago. 
There is room for half a dozen more, and the 
best possible field for the investment of their 
resources in the development of the city's 
new commercial and industrial life. They 
need not go abroad either to get money or to 

Joseph M. Leveque, Editor of Harlequin 

a Powerful Factor in the Fight for 

Real Democracy in Louisiana 

invest it profitably. On every hand old of- 
fice-buildings are being remodelled and new 
ones ascending, and there is so strong and 
steady a demand for offices that the rates 
are high and none that is desirable need 
stand vacant. 

Standards of Labor Are Rising 

Wages of workmen in all lines are good, 
and work is plenty. White workingmen need 
no longer fear to take up residence in New 
Orleans. The old bogy of competition with 
black labor is laid, for good and all. The 
black man has reached his limits, industri- 
ally, as well as socially and politically — 
not the limits set by white men, but limits 
set by natural law. In the old plantation 
days Sambo was indispensable; but he does 
not take any such rank in the industrial or- 
ganization of a'^ modern city. There he is 

falling out of the race, unequal to the de- 
mands laid upon the worker by the intricate 
machinery of modern civilization. 

The City's Press as an Index 

An infallible index of the civilization of a 
city is its newspaper-press. How admirably 
are the soul-qualities of New York and Bos- 
ton and Chicago — to cite three widely fa- 
miliar examples — mirrored forth in the 
daily papers published in these cities! New 
Orleans' daily papers speak of, and for, 
strongly contrasting constituencies: the 
Times-Democrat for the families of wealth 

The McDonough Monument 

and social rank, the planters and the ex- 
ploiters and developers of wealth; the Pic 
ayune, racy of the old Creole South, clear 
and ultra-conservative and piquant — de 
veloper of several brilliant individual talents 
among them the late Catherine Cole an( 
the currently delightful Dorothy Dix. Th< 
Times-Democrat under Major Page Baker' 
direction is an admirable blend of that ok 
Southern chivalry of which our histories in 
formed us in mid-western country schools ; 
quarter-century or more ago, and of tin 
keenly alert new spirit of practical progress 
I doubt if there is a finer editorial page ii 



America than that of the Times-Democrat — 
and its cotton reports are celebrated in all 
the cotton exchanges of the world. The 
Daily States represents officialdom in Lou- 
isiana — and I am informed that official- 
dom in Louisiana is a tremendous machine, 
in numbers and in power. My own im- 
pression of the editorial page of the Daily 
States is that it bespeaks the presence in 
Louisiana of a strong group of citizens of 
conservative political tendencies, averse to 
the new ideals so widely prevalent among 
the rank and file of both partie's in the North. 
The Evening Item, now in new hands and 
to be thoroughly reorganized, should [take 
rank with the best of its contemporaries. 
Probably the most interesting single figure 
in New Orleans journalism is Joseph M. 

Mr. M. B. Trezevant, Secretary of the 
New Orleans Progressive Union 

Leveque, editor of Harlequin, a weekly 
journal. A born hater of shams and frauds, 
and a first-class fighting-man, Mr. Leveque 
has made his paper a genuine and strong 
influence for the purification of local politics. 
No grafter is safe from his caustic pen. If 
sometimes he errs, it is not to be wondered 
at, because he is always in action. His 
plucky little craft is now engaging single- 
handed the three big frigates of the daily 
press — the Times-Democrat, the Picayune, 

and the States — in an effort to oust Chief 
of Police Whittaker, another able fighting- 
man, who, like Leveque, is either loved or 
hated by every one that knows him. There 
is something tonic in contact with these pos- 
itive men; something reminiscent of early 
Western days, when men wore their virility 
outside, like a garment, and lowered eyes 
before nothing on two legs. The later devel- 
opment of Northern cities is bringing in a 
breed of duckers and cringers, a semi-serv- 

Temple Sinai, One of New Orleans' Many 
Handsome^Jewish Houses of Worship 

ile tribe, painful in the sight of a survivor of 
other days; a breed of hired men, accepting 
without demur social as well as industrial 
inferiority to their masters. The South has 
not yet arrived at this stage, and I hope she 
never will. 

One of the Great Natural Shipping-Depots 

Industrially, New Orleans hopes as much 
from her situation at one of the three great 
shipping-stations on the nation's map as 
she does from the development of home en- 
terprises. On this head Mr. M. B. Treze- 
vant, secretary and manager of the New Or- 
leans Progressive Union, has this to say: 

"In miles, it is a far cry from New Eng- 
land to New Orleans. But do you know 
that the very foundations of New Orleans lie 

2 3 8 


Hon. Martin Behrman, Mayor of New Orleans 

upon New England bed-rock ? Over a hun- 
dred years ago the coastwise trading-ships 
of the North Atlantic brought down in bal- 
last huge granite flagstones which pave 
many of the streets of New Orleans to-day, 
and carried back bales of cotton, barrels of 
molasses and sugar, for New England con- 
sumption. In the present day, however, the 
commerce between these two sections of the 
country has expanded so the great lines of 
trunk railways and huge freight steamers 
convey this traffic back and forth, while 
other lines radiate like the sticks of a fan 
to the South, Southwest, and Central West; 
and the mighty Mississippi River and its 
numerous large and small tributaries draw 
the commerce of nearly half the States of 
the Union through the gateway of New Or- 
leans and distribute these products to the 
ports of the world lines. In addition to wa- 
ter transit by means of some twenty-three 
or more trans-Atlantic steamships via the 
Mississippi River, [there are seven trunk 
lines now operating into New Orleans, and 
in the early summer the 'Frisco-Rock Island 
combination will reach from the Crescent 
City to the Rocky Mountains. 

"The geographical situation of New Or- 
leans makes it inevitable that the Panama 
Canal should be spoken of in the same 
breath. Nearer by six hundred miles than 
New York, and nearer than any other great 
seaport of the country, the position of New 
Orleans commands the gateway to Panama. 
Within the next eighteen months the United 
States Government will have completed the 
dredging of Southwest Pass to the depth of 
thirty-five feet, enabling the largest steam- 
ships afloat to come up to the wharves of 
the city, one hundred and ten miles away, 
into an absolutely storm-proof harbor, with 
over two hundred feet of water beneath 

"Just a few days ago some two hundred 
and fifty of the leading bankers and business 
men of New Orleans tendered a banquet to 
President J. T. Harahan of the Illinois Cen- 
tral Railroad. Mr. Harahan said: 'In the 
territory lying south of the Missouri and 
Ohio Rivers must come the great industrial 
expansion of our country, and the trend of 
commerce from that territory ought to be 
along the lines of least resistance. Accord- 
ing to natural law, this direction is south, 






i " ■ i ■ ' ■■/ 

■ i 






Mardi Gras River Scene: Arrival of Rex and His Escort at the Citv Front 

and the natural outlet, of course, is New 
Orleans. I am individually, as well as for 
the lines I represent, greatly interested in 
this question, and feel that New Orleans 
should have its rightful share of the con- 
stantly increasing trade with the tropics 
which is now moving and will continue to 
move in tremendously increasing volume 
after the completion of the Isthmian Canal. 
At least eighty per cent of the Panama traf- 
fic should pass through New Orleans, and 
for that reason I heartily approve of and 
will assist the people of New Orleans, the 
Mississippi Valley, and Central West in 
their demand that a part of the government- 
owned vessels shall operate between New 
Orleans and Colon. We have here a won- 
derful harbor, excellent shipping-facilities, 
and miles of water-front where freight can 
be transferred direct between railway-car 
and ships.' 

"There are fifteen miles of wharfage at 
New Orleans, and the city administration 
is expending for and has practically com- 
pleted steel sheds along a great portion of 
these wharves, which will cost over two 
million dollars. These are public wharves 
where any and all ships may land. In ad- 
dition to these, the Illinois Central Railroad, 
Texas and Pacific, and Southern Pacific 

Railroads have spent other millions in im- 
mense grain-elevators and private wharves, 
while the Southern and 'Frisco Railroads 
jointly are now expending upward of four 
million dollars in elevators, slips, and ter- 
minals, in anticipation of an immense 
oceanic trade. This combination has al- 
ready spent some three millions of dollars 
in acquiring terminals in the heart of the 
city, and will expend another million in 
erecting a union passenger-depot. 

"In 1900 the ocean tonnage coming to 
New Orleans was 1,543,979 tons. In 1906 
these figures had grown to 3,196,380 tons, 
showing an increase of over one hundred 
per cent. In 1900 the exports from New 
Orleans amounted to $114,483,031. At the 
close of the fiscal year of 1906 these had 
grown to $149,174,718, an increase of over 
thirty-three per cent. The imports for the 
same period rose from $18,478,396 to $40,- 
258,009, or an increase of 115 per cent. 

"The most remarkable increase was 
shown in coffee importations, which rose 
from some 44,000,000 pounds in 1900 to 
214,000,000 pounds in 1906, showing the re- 
markable increase of some 475 per cent. 
An increase of 100 per cent in the banana 
receipts brought 10,000,000 bunches of ba- 
nanas into New Orleans. In these two par- 



Cotton Ready for Shipment. New Orleans Is the Greatest Spot Market in the World 

ticulars — coffee and bananas 
leans leads the world." 

New Or- 

Undeveloped Summer Outing-Places 

There is an impression prevalent at the 
North that New Orleans is insufferably hot 
in summer; that everybody who can goes 
North to escape the broiling heat. This, 
like many another "general rumor," is 
wide of the truth. There are many delight- 
ful places along the Gulf, where the sum- 
mer heat can be faced as agreeably as in 
Wisconsin and New England resorts to 
which, undeniably, a good many wealthy 
Orleanians go for the summer months. And 
the new spirit that is remodelling the city 
will shortly bring into its service the wide 
and all but unoccupied spaces fronting on 
Lake Ponchartrain. There, and all along 
Iiayou St. John, an arm of the lake that 
runs far into the city, will one day be set up, 
hundreds, nay thousands, of fine homes. 

Indeed/ 1 incline that there will some time 
be the finest residential portion of New Or- 
leans. It is almost incredible, yet true, that 
to-day no car-line reaches the lake at or 
near the point where Bayou St. John joins 
its waters with those of the lake. Here 
should be situated one of the loveliest sum- 
mer outing-places in all America. 

Thousands of the New England's read- 
ers are familiar with the quaint old-world 
charms of the New Orleans of yesterday. 
All have read, at least, the oft-told story[of 
her historic places, her incomparable res- 
taurants, her cities of the dead all entombed 
above ground, her open sewers, and her win- 
ter carnival, Mardi Gras. The old is pass- 
ing, and in its stead is rising, with extraor- 
dinary rapidity, one of the great world- 
cities, preserving all that was most delight- 
ful in the elder day, I trust, and presenting 
it in the dress and environment of the new 
— the Venice of America, and soon to be 
the Winter Capital of America. 



HE "big" room of the old 
country house was in a state 
of utter confusion. All over 
the floor lay crepe paper, cush- 
ions, rugs, and a medley of 
other paraphernalia incident to the amateur 
play which the house party had enthusias- 
tically planned and rehearsed for presenta- 
tion on the coming evening, and in which 
Miss Beatrice Morris was to play Princess 
to Mark Barley's Prince. 

As Miss Morris stepped into the room for 
an inspection she wondered if order could 
possibly be evolved from the chaos in time. 
Mechanically she lifted the lid of a box 
which the maid, or somebody, had left upon 
a chair in the middle of the room. A mass 
of fragrant violets lay disclosed; and on top 
of their dainty sweetness was a card ad- 
dressed to her. Just then a girl's voice 
called — voices had been calling all that 
blessed day. Dropping the lid Miss Morris 
hurried to obey the summons. In the hall 
she passed the "villain," bound for the 
theatre with a burden of chairs and cush- 
ions, w 

"I '11 be back in a moment, Mr. Graf," 
she assured him as she hurried by. 

Some little time elapsed, however, before 
she was free to return. Just as she reached 
and drew aside the curtains leading into the 
"theatre" she became aware of a tableau 
not on the program for the evening, but 
for which the properties were evidently well 
suited. In the middle of the room stood 
the "villain;" and, at his feet, the box of 
violets. He stood with folded arms, the 
side of his face turned toward the curtained 
doorway. With an instinctive feeling that 
something impended, Miss Morris allowed 
the curtains to slip from her fingers, while 
an irresistible influence held her where she 
could command a view of the scene through 
the slight opening between the portieres. 

A moment the man stood still, his fore- 
head wrinkled in a frown and an air of evi- 
dent indecision enthralling him. That 
mesmeric hold was thrown off the next in- 

stant. The folded arms dropped to his side 
with a decisive suddenness. His hands 
slipped into his pocket with a solemn cer- 
tainty; and in a flash his foot struck the box 
of violets so accurately and vehemently that 
it shot across the waxed floor, a rift of blue 
sky in a snow-cloud, on through the drapery 
of the stage, far away into the dark corners 
under the miniature stage of the mimic 
theatre. Then the man's hands came 
slowly out of his pockets, a single uncouth 
but finished word escaped his mustached 
lips, and he turned to the door. 

Miss Beatrice changed her mind about 
further decorating for at least a quarter of 
an hour. When she did return there were 
others with her, all intent on the prepara- 
tions for the evening. There was no respite 
to the pinning, tacking, and draping until 
dinner-time arrived. When the dining was 
over and done with Miss Morris went into 
the little greenhouse which served as a con- 
servatory. It was nearly time to dress, and 
she hurried. But Mark Harley was not too 
much concerned about his lines to notice 
what became of her. She was suffered to 
clip and arrange in peace and quietness for a 
minute by the clock; then he came toiler. 

"You are going to look beautiful to- 
night," he told her. 

She knew the prediction was prompted 
by his faith rather than a desire to say 
something pretty; and she thanked him 
with a smile. 

"You are going to wear- — what kind of 
flowers?" he questioned. 

"That is telling," she declared, as she 
snipped a carnation from the stem. "Do 
you understand?" 

He nodded an assurance that he did. 

"I was wishing you might wear your 
favorite flowers in the play," he continued, 
only a little discouraged. "You are invin- 
cible when you join forces with the color 
and perfume of violets." 

"Thank you; but there are no violets in 
the greenhouse," she reminded him. "If I 
had known the Prince cared I might have 




provided some. Your Royal Highness will 
take the will for the deed, will you not ?" she 
queried, with a pretty intonation. 

"I tried to provide some," he explained, 
acknowledging her gracious address with a 
slight bow; "but something happened to 

" Indeed." she commented. " I thank you 
for your thoughtfulness. Did the florist for- 
get to send them?" she asked, with a note of 

"I suppose so. The maid says if they 
have been delivered she can't find them; 
and it is impossible they should come now. 
That is why I asked you what you are going 
to wear. I — I — " 

"Yes," she vouchsafed, with a rising in- 
flection. "You what?" she added, as he 
seemed to be lost in thought. 

"I had meant to ask that you wear the 
violets, if you — if you cared in that way to 
answer a question I want you to answer." 

"What is the question?" she queried, 
though she appeared vastly more interested 
in tying up a bunch of carnations. The ex- 
ertion she put upon her white teeth to hold 
one end of the string brought a maddening 
color tingeing her cheek. 

"It isn't anything very new," he sug- 
gested; " it is n't anything you don't know." 

Her color deepened, and she wound more 
slowly. Harley looked about apprehen- 
sively. It was not a favorable place for his 
purpose. Some one might appear at any 
moment and only the most subdued and 
passionless tones could fail of being over- 

" You know I love you, Beatrice," he told 
her, in a self-contained tone that neverthe- 
less bespoke repressed power and passion. 
"I want you to be my wife. I meant to tell 
you this, to ask if you would think it over 
and answer me with the violets. They 
have n't come and — but— will you tell me 
without them?" 

The color left her face as he spoke and 
came surging back into its paleness as he 
ceased and bent his insistent eyes upon her. 
Hut she only shook her head. There was a 
present finality about her negative that 
must have startled him. He stood still a 
moment; then, as voices drew near, he 
turned away. 

"Will you ask Mr. Graf please to come 
here for a minute?" she called after him 

He turned again and looked at her. Per- 
haps he thought she was treating his con- 
fession as of little moment after all, for he 
simply bowed his acknowledgment of her 

Mr. Graf could not have been far dis- 
tant. The briefest time sufficed for his 

"You wished to see me, Miss Morris?" 
he asked, brightly. "lam at your service 
with all my heart, especially my — " 

She stopped him with a gesture and the 
faintest smile. 

"I want you to help me," she told him, 
slowly, without at first taking her attention 
from the flowers; "because I can trust you 
to keep a secret." 

He waited wonderingly as she turned her 
gaze fully upon him and strove to look 
straight into the heart that he boastingly 
placed at her service. 

"I am going to wear violets to-night," 
she continued, without the movement of an 
eyelash; "and I want you to get them for 

"Where — where will I — ?" he began, 
in a stammering voice; but she stopped him 
again by the impatience of her glance. 

"It is a secret, you know," she said. 
"Don't speak so loud. No living soul is to 
know, save ourselves — ever; but I must 
have the violets to-night." 

She knew that her tone fell almost im- 
perceptibly to the key of a menace. The 
man looked at her steadily while she spoke. 
A flaming color in his face told that he un- 
derstood, at least in part. 

"So!" he observed; "somebody has been 
telling tales out of Sunday school." 

There was a venom in his sneer that re- 
vealed more of his character than the girl 
had ever known before. It struck her with 
a little chill. 

"Nobody told," she assured him, sternly. 
"I saw! It remains yet to be learned 
whether I tell or not. I don't want to; but 
I shall wear violets to-night. Do you under- 

He folded his arms in his rebellious and 
characteristic way. Then, after an instant, 
without venturing any defence, he turned 
away defiantly and left her. 

She waited just a little longer, until she 
had given him what time she thought neces- 
sary. When she reached the big room the 
violets were there, in a somewhat battered 



box, on the chair as she first found them. 
She quickly caught up the fragrant burden 
and sped to her room. 

As she stood alone at the play-room door 
an hour later one might have understood 
the ignoble jealousy of Mr. Graf. She 
seemed like a vitalized portrait into which 
something of every known feminine charm 
had found its way through a master-painter's 
brush. There was a color in her face born 
not so much of the recent adventure as of a 
womanly expectancy. A play-gown of a 
princess suggested dream fancies. Mark 
Harley looked through the doorway of the 
opposite room, caught his breath, and 
looked again. Surely she was a dream! 
The slenderly tall and exquisite figure was 
hers; the red-gold hair was all her own 
peculiar glory; but the violets? They 
could be only dream flowers. " Beatrice ! " 

She turned quickly at his advance. The 
overmastering beauty of her face and the 

perfume of violets bereft him of words for a 
breath. Then he stammered: 

"Are you real?" 

"Very real," she said, softly. 

"And the violets — ?" 

"—Are real, too." 

"Do they mean anything?" he almost 

She let her glance slip away from his as 
her color came and fled. 

" They were yours once; you should know 
what they mean," was all she said. 

He shook off the spell of the dream no- 
tion, as if he feared that the next instant 
would be the passing of opportunity; and he 
trembled as he put his arm about her. 

A tinkling stage bell suddenly broke the 

Not only the Villain but Prince and Prin- 
cess played well that night. They had 
caught the true spirit of their parts in an 
unscheduled rehearsal. 



Sweet, humble, stainless flower! 
Didst blossom for this hour? 
Thy pureness hath a spell 
Befitting Easter well! 
And oh! thy crimson breath! 
What is it that this saith? 
"Love conquers hate, and Life 
Is victor in the strife'" 

Editor's Table 

A Forgotten Hymn 

IT is difficult for a girl of our era to realize the 
discouraging atmosphere in which her great- 
great-grandmother pursued even the mildest of so- 
cial dissipation. 

She dwelt under the sway of a theocracy very 
nearly as powerful as that of the Church in the 
Middle Ages. Besides the laws which restrained 
the Puritan maiden within the bounds of a very 
sober existence, including many "Blue Laws" over 
which we now indulge in a quiet chuckle, every 
possible appeal was made to her conscience, and 
many innocent recreations were painted in as 
sombre and even ghastly tones as the familiar 
"Dance of Death," at one time so universal in 
mediaeval towns. So thoroughly was the child 
imbued with the conviction that dancing and kin- 
dred amusements were sinful that it was inevita- 
ble that in later years she should impart to her 
own children these same views; so that two cen- 
turies and more have not yet smoothed away the 
austere lines from Polly's brow, in rural New 

In turning the leaves of the family Bible in an 
old Rhode [sland home, I came across a curious 
set of verses, the writing nearly illegible from age. 
Mr. Lorenzo KLnowles, in the possession of whose 
family the homestead h;is always remained, gave 
me the following accounl of them. 

In the days of the early settlement of Kingston 
(then known as Little Rest) it was customary to 
sing this hymn from time to time in the meeting- 
housi , as a warning to frivolous young people. 
The last occasion on which it was sung was re- 
membered by Mr. Kriowles's grandmother, who 
was present. The clergyman was one Gershum 
Palmer, than ninety-two years of age. It was 
nect ary for two of the "pillars of the church" 
to support his tottering steps to and from the pul- 


On this occasion the venerable man sang the 
hymn through as a solo, at the commencement of 
the meeting. The tune having been handed down 
in the family from generation to generation, Mr. 
Knowles was obliging enough to sing it for me. 

Contrary to my expectation, it was not familiar. 
It was pitched in a minor key, harmonizing well 
with the general cheerfulness of the words, abound- 
ing in quavers and accidentals, and terminating 
in a rising inflection. It is easily recognizable, how- 
ever, as of the same school as the hymns sung by 
the Ironsides; and faint echoes of it may be heard 
in almost any remote hamlet in Eastern New Eng- 

The age was not an imaginative one, and we 
are not surprised to learn that "Wicked Polly" 
was not an apocryphal person. The poor little 
maiden lived and died in the Rhode Island town 
whose citizens sang this mournful memorial ode 
— a pathetic little figure, whose wistful face haunts 
me as I write, and whose sins were those of our 
pretty sisters of to-day. God rest her pleasure- 
loving little soul! 


O young people, hark while I relate 
The story of poor Polly's fate! 
She was a lady young and fair, 
And died a-groaning in despair. 

She would go to balls and dance and play, 
In spite of all her friends could say; 
"I '11 turn," said she, "when I am old, 
And God will then receive my soul." 

One Sabbath morning she fell sick; 
Her stubborn heart began to ache. 
She cries, "Alas, my days are spent! 
It is too late now to repent." 

She called her mother to her bed, 
Her eyes were rolling in her head; 
A ghastly look she did assume; 
She cries, "Alas! I am undone. 



"My loving father, you I leave; 

For wicked Polly do not grieve; 

For I must burn forevermore, 

When thousand thousand years are o'er. 

"Your councils I have slighted all, 
My carnal appetite to fill. 
When I am dead, remember well 
Your wicked Polly groans in hell!" 

She (w)rung her hands and groaned and cried, 
And gnawed her tongue before she died; 
Her nails turned black, her voice did fail, 
She died and left this lower vale. 

May this a warning be to those 
That love the ways that Polly chose. 
Turn from your sins, lest you, like her, 
Shall leave this world in black despair! 

The Rev. Gershum Palmer was a type of his 
stern, self-denying race. His circuit embraced 
sixty miles of the almost trackless wilderness where 
King Philip so long defied the white men whom 
his prophetic vision .foresaw as the despoilers of 
his race. 

Once a month he preached at Kingston, in the 
building serving as meeting-house and school- 
house. Upon these occasions the wooden screen 
which separated the two rooms was raised, and 
held in place by large pegs, making cne big room. 
Mr. Palmer served all his life without pay, "partly 
because," as Mr. Knowles remarked, "the people 
were poor; partly because they understood that 
the gospel was free!" 

There are few stronger contrasts than the pleas- 
ure-loving little Puritan maiden and this stern 
•old man borne feebly to his pulpit to denounce, 
almost with his last breath, the life of that Polly 
whose funeral sermon he had, as a young man, 

This funeral sermon is unfortunately lost to us, 
nor is it known who composed the words of 
"Wicked Polly." 

John D. Swain. 

A Literary Infancy 

PERHAPS my experience has been unique. In 
fact, I have pretty good proof of it; because I 
have never seen anything similar written up, and 
•everything that man has ever imagined, or felt, 
or thought has appeared in print of late. So with 
this assurance, I view in my mind's eye my forth- 
coming effusion with all the joy that Jeannette 
Gilder may have felt for her premeditated 'Auto- 
biography of a Tomboy," or Mrs. Martha Baker 
Dunn for "My Shakespeare Progress" and her 

other delightfully personal essays. The former 
must have thought distinction about to emanate 
from her pen, because every woman has not been 
a Tomboy, — unfortunate fate, perhaps, — and, 
moreover, it is not every woman that would own 
up to it. As for Mrs. Dunn, she certainly knew 
that no other mortal could have progressed in the 
study of Shakespeare in exactly her way. Shake- 
speare and measles seem incompatible, albeit we 
know that that bard stooped to many earthly 
things. Nevertheless, through the joys and sor- 
rows of the blurry, blotchy world of that catarrhal 
fever, Hamlet stood before Mrs. Dunn's childish 
mind, and with spring freshets, war murmurings, 
seminary breakfasts, and other ordinary incidents, 
more nobles followed " that trod the ways of glory." 
With these two ladies of distinction I am compar- 
able only in that I am experiencing a pleasure 
which they perchance may have enjoyed in those 
good days when they thought a new thought and 
uttered a new story. 

I am about to write of a literary infancy. Alas, 
that it must be mine, for it will forthwith be dubbed 
conscious and vain from its autobiographical na- 
ture! But I fail to know another's. And that 's 
the very point! As far as I can gather, no one else 
ever had a literary infancy. The annals of the 
dead I have not gleaned; the words of the living 
have been quite enough for me. 

But perhaps it may be well to elucidate that 
necessarily unfamiliar term, "literary infancy," so 
that the patient reader may realize what it is that 
he or she has never had. Minerva sprung from 
the brain of Jove full armed. So have others — 
the tutelary deities of the printed page. Fully 
equipped, they have issued from their college halls 
into the bracing air of an editorial office, forthwith 
to be known of all men. And if you were to ques- 
tion these great lights, as I have of late, each would 
smile most graciously — for affability is the badge 
of all their tribe — and say that his was a peculiar 
case! O fortunate beings, to have escaped the 
teething and verbal hesitation of a literary infancy! 

To my sorrow I began to realize this unnatural 
fact a few months ago, when, with a sheepskin 
under my arm, I set out to look, at least, upon the 
world of letters. I was out for experience by the 
quickest possible method. I was young — unde- 
niably and irrevocably young — and I fully real- 
ized how such immaturity stood against me. Pitt, 
I believe it was, who said that to be young was not 
a crime, but a disadvantage. Would that I could 
have met him. He of all men mast have known 
and understood. 

My wanderings took me to men of years and ex- 
perience, and at their feet I humbled myself. I 



did not ask a place. I know a thing or two even 
then. But how to begin? Plow to write? Where 
to write? What to write? For many years those 
rive letters, W-R-I-T-E, had sounded upon my 
ears in all the soft cadences and nasal qualities 
that the human voice can compass, and they had 
become part and parcel of my soul. But how had 
others put this gospel into practice ? 

That 's something, however, I shall never know; 
for after six months at it, I have given up caring. 
Henceforth, I shall go my own way without plan- 
ning to rely upon another's helpful experience. 
As a courtly gentleman of the old school says, "I 
shall act as I do please." Literary parlance knows 
not the words, ""When I was your age, I did so 
and so." No one was ever a literary infant; con- 
sequently no one ever did "so and so." 

It was strange how they all of that influential 
circle looked upon me as a special case to diag- 
nose and dose, with only the five immortal letters 
in common sounding with great unction from the 
depths of editorial chairs. "Go to New York," 
one said. "Stay in Boston," another advised. 
"Write abroad in the world," said a third. Write 
at home in peace and quiet; travel; try for an 
office place; learn shorthand; be clear; be charm- 
ing; be a reporter; be individual; be simple; ab- 
sorb all the magazines; get righteously mad; keep 
the poetry in your soul; watch life; think a great 
deal; be sparkling; be smooth and quiet as a brook; 
be alert; don't learn shorthand; watch events; get 
over formality; get copy on timely subjects; find 
your forte; be out-of-doors; watch nature; don't be 
a Puritan; think of natural similes; sleep an abun- 
dance; learn to run the best typewriters; mix with 
people; don't be a reporter; do unusual things; 
gain experiences out of the ordinary; read The 
Boston Transcript. Heaven knows what I was 
not to be and do! Of such is the kingdom of let- 
ters. Yet there was never a word from those lips 
whereon to build from some one's, experience. No 
one said, "I did this when I was twenty-odd, and 
later that, and found them good." Writing has 
no code, and few men an infancy. 

It would be unfair to these worthy friends if I 
nr-gk-rjed to -_d\r special credit to the only one of 
their number who may even in a slight degree lay 
claim to a literary infancy. He is a young man 
— young as compared with an old man — and a 
bachelor, precise and serious. 

"May I venture to ask of you," T inquired at a 
i loment when his confidence waxed warm and 
dangerous, "how you gained your literary posi- 
tion with the publishing-house? T want to 
know how you began? Did you start at the 
bottom ?' ' 

"Why, yes; I '11 tell you exactly," he acquiesced. 
"I did begin at the bottom." 

Eureka! Perhaps he r e after all was a man who 
had been a literary infant — even yet a youth — 
and who still might find charm in a check for two 
dollars and a half. 

"You have been at the bottom?" I asked, trem 

"Surely. When I left college I went straight to 
such-and-such a firm, and," he smiled, "became 
emptier of waste-baskets." 

He stopped, and then, as if catching a gleam of 
hope in my eye, added hastily, "But that place 
with us is now filled." 

Some day that bachelor will enter Limbo, and 
I shall be on the outskirts to look on, and maybe 
to suggest to the Powers That Be. 

But out of all the strange contradictions of these 
kind, good men and women, I shall always remem- 
ber a word dropped by the way with a gracious 
smile from Mr. F. Hopkinson Smith. "There is 
no such thing as genius in this world," that artist- 
in-all-ways said. "Plain plodding wins the mark." 
I told a friend in turn, and he wisely commented, 
"No such thing as genius? I don't agree. I think 
it takes genius to plod." 

So, whether my friend were right or no, I am 
plodding through my infancy, dreaming dreams 
and seeing visions. Perhaps I shall never grow 
up. It 's just in case I should that I have written 
these words. This is a day when every child has 
a right to have his say — and get it published if 
he can. And if I should ever grow up it will be 
good for me to recall that I was not as other men 
were; that I was not born great; that my bread is 
the bread of toil. It is good to recollect days when 
you had more time than money; when you evolved 
hats out of hats; when, in your mind's eye, you 
saw every piece of meat that entered the house pass 
in quick succession through the prosy stages of 
roast, cold slice, scallop, and stew. Such recollec- 
tion I say, is good. It is the needed draught of 
bitter for the soul. 

Lucile Gulliver. 

The Passing of the Linguist 

IT is time to discontinue the ancient languages 
as an obligatory study in colleges, and even as 
a common branch in other schools. The reason 
for learning them has departed. They were once 
necessary because the treasures of the world were 
contained in them. Greek and Latin were the 
languages of civilization for three thousand years. 
Authors had to write in them to get readers, and 



readers had to learn them to get what was written. 
Europe, like China, had a literary language which 
was distinct from the vernacular, and every 
scholar had to learn two languages. 

But this condition no longer exists. Four great 
languages have sprung up in modern times — 
French, German, English, and Russian — which 
now contain about all that is known. Latin and 
Greek have ceased to be living languages, and 
they contain little of our latest and most valuable 
information. Hopelessly dead, they can hereafter 
be used only as graveyards in which to dig up rel- 
ics of the past. Authors everywhere write in the 
vernacular, and modern thought can be expressed 
only in modern ways. The ancient languages had 
no words for many things that we must communi- 
cate ; they would have to be reconstructed to serve 
modern purposes. 

There have already been some reforms in edu- 
cation looking to the retirement of the ancient 
languages from their great eminence. Our col- 
leges have provided scientific courses from which 
they are excluded; and in the regular course they 
are made optional, or given only slight attention. 
The time has now come, however, to drop them 
entirely, except for specialists, or for limited uses 
in philology. Our time is too precious to devote 
years to the acquisition of what is so little used. 

Everything of value in the Greek and Latin 
languages has been translated. Scholars can get 
it in less time, and get it better, than by translating 
it themselves. Few learn these languages well 
enough to get the sense as accurately as they can 
from translations. The exact meaning, moreover, 
is seldom required, only the general sense being 
needed. More people, too, would read the clas- 
sics if they read them in their own language, and 
did not have to read so slowly and laboriously. 
The effort required to understand things in a for- 
eign tongue takes away much of the capacity to 
grasp their meaning. The little gained in accuracy, 
therefore, is overbalanced by the loss sustained in 
getting any meaning at all. 

The fact that the New Testament was written 
in Greek, which makes its study a favorite with 
theologians, is a small practical consideration. Be- 
sides the fact that this has been translated many 
times, and that there are abundant notes to ex- 
plain the various renderings, the Bible, like all 
ancient writings, is simple, and requires no study 
of fine shades to get its meaning. The story of 
the Prodigal Son cannot be better understood in 
Greek, and it is not modified by the variations or 
uncertainties in the text. Nor is great accuracy 
important. The general thought is enough for 
the reader. It is seldom necessary to know mi- 

nutely what was said to understand substantially 
what was meant. It is confusing to throw erudi- 
tion into such simple narratives, which can be 
understood without effort. The Bible, like other 
books, should be read cursorily for the general 
thought rather than punctiliously in fragments 
or by going minutely into the construction of sen- 
tences. We only make the reading hard by trying 
to do it too learnedly. 

Nor is there much need of these languages for 
purposes of original investigation. About all in 
which they can help has been investigated. For 
theological and historical purposes they have been 
so often examined that little remains for research; 
and while critical historians must always study 
them, it wall be as a specialty. It is not necessary 
for all to learn them in order that a few may un- 
derstand them.. The specialists are but one or 
two in a thousand; and they should study them 
as Egyptologists do their materials, leaving the 
rest of the world unburdened with them. 
. The value of the classics as treasuries for spe- 
cialists even is much less than formerly. Men do 
not give to the investigations and opinions of the 
ancients the same weight that they once did. They 
seldom regard them as authoritative except on a 
few points of history. We care little what the an- 
cients thought on philosophy, science, or theology. 
These subjects have been more critically exam- 
ined in late years, and the best information ob- 
tainable is in modern languages. The average 
man, and even the average scholar, needs nothing 
in the ancient writings for his purpose. The world 
is going on to something else, and the interest in 
antiquities is yearly declining. 

Many new interests, moreover, have arisen in 
recent years. The modern world has been won- 
derfully productive. New states and new discov- 
eries have created a new situation in general. His- 
tory is largely modern, and science is almost 
wholly so. Besides the new languages which must 
be learned, and new facts of history, many new 
sciences have appeared, and the old ones have 
been greatly extended. The amount of informa- 
tion which the world contains is enormous. There 
is more to learn than formerly, and more of it 
must be learned, making burdens for scholars 
which were unknown a century ago. If we learn 
all we should of what is going on now, and what 
has recently been added to science, we shall have 
no time for much else, however useful it may be. 
We cannot study as much Latin as when we had 
nothing else to study, or read as many ancient 
books as when we had no modern ones, or give 
as much attention to old problems as when we 
had not so many new ones. The people are now 



deluged with books, discoveries are piling up about 
us, new enterprises are multiplied, the world is 
changing fast, and the changes are calling out 
much literature. If we keep abreast of these 
late developments we cannot give much time to 
the past — certainly not the proportion hitherto 

The discipline sought through the ancient lan- 
guages is much overrated, and can easily be sup- 
plied from other sources. It is doubtful if the 
memory should be cultivated to the extent of load- 
ing it with the details of extinct languages. When 
we consider that each language has many thou- 
sands of words, that many of the words have sev- 
eral meanings, and that the irregularities of spell- 
ing, pronunciation, and idioms are endless, the 
items are too numerous to be profitably used. 
Thought cannot act freely or strongly amid such 
a multitude of elements. It is kept clear only when 
it works with a limited number of facts. Too 
much memory makes too little thought, and great 
scholars are often weak thinkers. There may be 
too much erudition for strength of intellect. Peo- 
ple should not know much more than they need, 
and they should learn rather to use what they 
know than to increase it recklessly. For this they 
may not learn too many things that are not avail- 
able for any definite purpose. Cramming is always 
deprecated in education; and one should not only 
not know too much, but he should not know the val- 
ueless. When several whole languages are dumped 
on the infantile mind it is in danger of being 
swamped. If each word were a fact in history or 
science, and each idiom a relation in the affairs of 
life, a world of information would be taken in — ■ 
so much that there would be little room for any- 
thing else, or for the movements of thought itself. 
The time has come to consider how much may be 
admitted to the mind, and of what kind. 

Since there is so much new history and so many 
new sciences, so that the number of things which 
must be learned is yearly increasing, we cannot 
afford to burden ourselves with anything not obvi- 

ously needed. Were people instructed in all they 
should know, the mind would have all it can hold, 
and none would take in languages for mere filling. 
The sciences and current events give us what is 
nearer to our work than the ancient languages. 
These are not only not used, but they are dropped 
as soon as they are acquired. We should learn 
what will stay with us, and be augmented with 
more of a like kind. We can act better in the 
present if we are wholly in the present. When 
we think of one thing and act on another, we can- 
not act to advantage. We have no time and no 
mind to waste. Only the best can profitably be 
taken in; and, however useful Greek and Latin 
may be, we should not study them if anything 
else is more useful. We ought to select our in- 
formation, and no more learn what we do not 
want than do what we do not want. The mind 
should not be filled with mere lumber. When 
there is so much to put in that is available for our 
purpose, we cannot without loss put in anything 
which is likely never to be applied. Having no 
superfluous space there, we should not use up any 
intellectual strength for nothing. 

For these reasons the ancient languages should 
be left to those who will do special work in them, 
— mostly historians, antiquarians, and philolo- 
gists. Others use them too little to justify the 
work and time required to learn them. We are 
each year specializing more. One cannot any 
longer be a universal scholar, like Leibnitz or 
Bacon. Each takes a limited field, and qualifies 
himself to operate in that alone; and the geologist 
has no more use for Latin than the engineer has 
for botany. While each should learn a little of 
everything to broaden his mind, and know the 
relative position of his specialty, he should not 
give the bulk of his time at any period to what is 
only another specialty, as the ancient languages 
are. He should sever himself for his special work, 
and make all else converge to that, and use only 
so much as can be thus converged. 

Austin Bierbower. 



73y Hate Sanborn^ \ 

CERTAIN persons meeting me seem to feel an 
obligation to say at once, "What are you 
reading now?" as if books were my only interest. 
I refuse to talk on books, new or old, unless with a 
rare thinker who makes it worth while, so I reply 
evasively and try other topics. 

But what have I been reading of late ? 

Well, I have tried to understand that great inde- 
pendent thinker of Germany, Friedrich Nietzsche, 
who, like Hegel, is considered "an European 
event" and has a following of his own — a distinct 
school of thought. His last years were spent in an 
insane asylum, and that sad taint is mixed with 
most of his estimates, apothegms, and darts. His 
Editor allows that "To a large extent because of 
his highly condensed, epigrammatic, and elliptic 
style, which sometimes made the full meaning 
difficult even for a German to attain, he has been 
almost unknown in this country until a few years 

Almost all great geniuses have possessed a cer- 
tain amount of both conceit and insanity, and he 
does not lag behind. He says, " I have given to the 
Germans the profoundest books they at all possess 
— a sufficient reason why they should not under- 
stand a word of them." 

He abominates Wagner, and devotes large space 
to deriding his work. His groupings of authors 
with a damning line for each, with some truth in- 
termixed, — like Carlyle's description of Charles 
Lamb as "diluted insanity," — are certainly stri- 

My Impracti cables: 
Seneca, or the toreador of virtue. 
Rousseau, or return to nature in impuris natural- 

Dante, or the hyena poetizing in tombs. 
Kant, or cant as an intelligible character. 
Victor Hugo, or Pharos in the sea of absurdity. 

Liszt, or the school of running after women. 

George Sand, or the milch cow with the^fine 

Michelet, or enthusiasm which strips off the 

Carlyle, or pessimism as an undigested dinner. 

John Stuart Mill, or offensive transparency. 

Zola, or the delight to stink. 

"Emerson — much more enlightened, more 
discursive, more varied, more refined, than Car- 
lyle; above all, more fortunate. One who instinc- 
tively nourishes himself solely with ambrosia, 
leaving alone what is indigestible in things." 

Carlyle, who had much love for Emerson, said, 
nevertheless, "He does not give us enough to 
chew," which may be rightly said, but not to 
Emerson's prejudice. 

His hatred of Christianity is too blasphemous 
to repeat, and sounds like crazy ravings. 

His epigrams are good and original: ( 

Even the boldest of us have but seldom the 
courage for what we really know. 

From the military school of life, What does not 
kill me strengthens me. 

Help thyself; then every one helps thee — prin- 
ciple of brotherly love. 

Contentedness is a prophylactic even against 
catching cold. Has a woman who knew she was 
well dressed ever caught cold ? I put the case that 
she was hardly dressed at all. 

If a woman possesses manly virtues, she is to be 
run away from; and if she does not possess them, 
she runs away herself. 

At last, and quite behind the times, I tried to do 
what Emerson advised against with Grote's 
History of Greece, and "wade through the volu- 
minous annals," in two large volumes, of Prince 
Chlodwig of Schillingsfuerst; but the first volume 
is heavy, and the second, while of vital interest to 
those who were personally concerned, and all in 
the German nation who enjoy dangerous frank- 

2 49 

2 5° 


ness. spicy gossip, State secrets laid bare, and a 
rare chance to see the inside wheels moved, is too 
big a task for a busy American woman. 

Then it has been reviewed universally by the 
best critics. 

[Macmillan Co. S6.00, net.] 

There are many other new and important pub- 
lications in two volumes which deserve enthusi- 
astic praise. 

''The Life and Letters of Lafcadio Hearn." By 
Elizabeth Bisland, who, with tact which proceeds 
from unselfish, devoted friendship, has kept her 
work in the background and allowed the man to 
speak to us through letters far more engrossing 
than those of any of the world's famous letter- 
writers and through occasional bits of pathetic 
autobiography. And unlike some of the highly 
praised but artificial epistolary efforts of the last 
century, written for the public eye, and sometimes 
addressed to two or three admirers, Hearn's heart- 
revelations and exchanges of thought were poured 
out to one friend who was begged to keep them 
entirely to himself. Hence their peculiar charm. 

He felt he could write most successfully on the 
exotic, the eccentric, the fantastic, minute, or 
supernatural; but in fact he excelled, whatever 
theme was taken. 

He fascinates me, more even than did Amiel 
with his Journal, and I could quote all day as he 
talks on the ancient music and musical instru- 
ments; Creole and negro ditties; the earliest relig- 
ions; legends of strange faiths; folklore; studies of 
Japanese life, literature, and religion; Chinese 
ghosts; our many incarnations; metaphysical 
idyls; French translations. This is but a hint of 
the variety of his themes and his skill and scholar- 
ship in treating them. 

And all this accomplished while working daily 
for bare support as journalist or teacher — held 
back by distressing handicaps, as the loss of one 
eye, weak lungs and heart, and terrible, constant 
risk of utterly losing eyesight by incessant work, 
which must be done. 

When I think of his superb courage, and of 
Stevenson's, who after a severe hemorrhage dic- 
tated the last part of "Weir of Hermiston," in the 
deaf mute language, a bit at a time, to his step- 
daughter, I simply bow in silent reverence and 
pray to be always brave and cheerful. 

The tributes from his Japanese admirers to 
J ham at his funeral were beautiful. One said, 
"Like a lotus the man was in his heart; a poet, a 
thinker, loving husband and father, and sincere 
friend. Within that man there burned something 
pure as the vestal fire, and in that flame dwelt a 
mind that called forth life and poetry out of the 

dust, and grasped the highest themes of human 

Another wrote, "Surely we could lose two or 
three battleships at Port Arthur rather than 
Lafcadio Hearn." 

[Houghton, Mifflin and Co.] 

I was shown an enlarged copy of Richard 
Hengist Home's "New Spirit of the Age" the 
other day in a friend's library, and longed to pore 
over it for weeks. ("Browse," some say; but why 
do they use that word when its meaning is "to 
nibble at twigs, as a sheep"?) William Hazlitt 
wrote the original "Spirit of the Age; or, Con- 
temporary Portraits" in 1825, and Home edited 
the "New Spirit of the Age" in 1844. 

A properly "enlarged" book is a precious thing. 

Curtis Guild, Sr., has several very fine speci- 
mens; but these six volumes are especially valu- 
able from the number of letters, the very letters of 
each author mentioned, either of a social, business, 
or literary nature. 

There is a portion of the original MSS. of Ion, 
by Thomas Noon Talfourd, and I enjoyed a 
characteristic note from Charles Lamb to Chailes 
Cowden Clarke, who had sent him a story of 
which he wrote: "Who the devil wrote that novel? 
I am too old to care for narrative; but Mary was 

You read in Home's hand, "The annotations 
in pencil are all by my friend Leigh Hunt, to 
whom I lent the volume." 

The first volume gives sketches and portraits of 
Dickens, Thomas Ingoldsby, Landor, William 
and Mary Howitt, Dr. Pusey, G. P. R. James, 
Mrs. Gore, Captain Marryatt, Mrs. Trollope, 
Talfourd, Milnes, Hartley Coleridge, Words- 
worth, and Leigh Hunt, with many autograph 

I give one letter from Miss Barrett to Home in 

Writing is so bad; having to write is so bad, and 
I don't suppose you could write in the way I do, 
leaning backward, instead of forward; lying 
down, in fact. 

How you would smile sarcasms and epigrams 
out of the "Hood" if you could see from it what I 
have been doing, or, rather, suffering lately. Hav- 
ing my picture taken by a lady miniature-painter, 
who wandered here to put an odd vow of mine to 
proof. For it was n't the "ruling passion strong in 
death," — I thought by your smiling you may 
seem to say so, — but a sacrifice to Papa. 

The only thing fixed is a journey from here; and 
"if I fall," as the heroes say, why you and Psyche 
must walk by yourselves. She, at least, won't be 
the worse for it. We are to have one of the patent 
carriages, with a thousand springs, from London, 
and I am afraid of nothing. We shall set out, I 
hope, in a fortnight. 



But I must not tarry, for there are many other 
books I "am reading." 

Yes, I "am reading," have been reading, and 
shall continue to read four biographies, all so full 
of "meat" that they cannot be dismissed lightly 
and can only be given honorable mention now. 

First, "The Autobiography and Memoirs of the 
Duke of Argyll (1823-1900)." Edited by the 
Dowager Duchess of Argyll, with portraits and 

George Douglas was the eighth Duke of Argyll, 
K. G., K. T., a noble man in every sense of the 

A remarkable brain, soul, heart, were his; and 
he was interested in everything worthy of his study, 
be it ever so unusual. 

From boyhood his special tastes and reading 
were directed to the biological branches of natural 
science, especially ornithology. 

He describes with enthusiasm "Fossil Leaves 
in Mull": "Fossilized wood at Dunrobin with 
shales;" in one of which he detected the tail of a 
fossil fish, and in another the scale of a gamoid 

He writes: "That scale told a tale indeed. It 
had belonged to a fish that swam in the old red 
seas or lakes. The mud of that sea had been con- 
verted into stone. It had then been elevated into 
dry land. It had next supported a fine forest of 
Araucarian pines. These, again, had been 
destroyed and submerged and fossilized. And a 
root which had supplied the quantities of fossil 
wood had never let go its grip upon the rock on 
which it had stood, which told of a much older 
world, as compared with which the now long- 
vanished Araucarians were young indeed." 

He visited Hugh Miller, whom he said, "first 
cast the light and charm of poetry on the dry 
paths of science." 

At one time he would be studying "Animal 
Mechanics;" then, "Aquatic Larvae;" next, writ- 
ing poems on the song of the willow-wren, the wind 
on the lonely moor, or some favorite view which 
he could also paint skilfully. 

His close observation of nature is illustrated by 
this story: 

Noticing a raven flying over his head with some- 
thing in his bill, he shouted and the bird dropped 
his find. It was a fir-cone covered on the inside 
with a small parasitical fungus. He says: "I sent 
it to Sir William Hooker, and he writes to me that 
it is the Parichena Strobilina, of which only one 
other specimen has ever been found in Scotland, 
and that it is very rare anywhere. Had the raven 
a private museum?" 

Now all this would not be so noteworthy if the 

observer had been a man like the one who re- 
gretted he had not given his whole life to the dative 
case, or the person described by Dr. Holmes who 
only studied one kind of beetle, until he resembled 

The list of his published works fills more than 
five pages of the book, and in fine print. He was 
an accomplished agriculturist; beloved by his 
tenantry; his oratory was of the first rank. Cham- 
berlain regarded him as one of the greatest figures 
of his age. 

He was called the "Nestor of British politics," 
yet at the beginning of one chapter he says, "I 
must now with regret turn to politics." 

Gladstone considered him the greatest orator of 
the House of Lords. 

He was a noted champion of the Church of 
Scotland; sincerely interested in many philan- 
thropies and charities, as the Lifeboat Cause. 

He knew all the famous men of his country, and 
describes them impartially; his reports of their 
conversations are to me the best part of the whole. 

A witty Scottish nobleman is alleged to have re- 
marked, when search was made for a biographer 
of the late Mr. Gladstone, that it would require a 
joint-stock company to write his life. The same 
remark applies to the Duke of Argyll. " There was 
no field of human thought which he did not enter, 
no region of science which he did not explore; 
there was nothing in nature which did not interest 
him, and there were few subjects upon which he 
could not discourse." 

And leaving him reluctantly, I give his impres- 
sive verdict: "There is always plenty to learn, even 
to the end." 

[E. P. Dutton and Co., New York. $10.00, net.] 

The other three biographies, to which I can 
now only allude, are: 

"Memorials of Edward Burne-Jones." [Mac- 
mill an Co. $4.00.] 

"The Life of Goethe." By Albert Bielschow- 
sky. Translated from the German by William A. 
Cooper. Illustrated. [G. P. Putnam's Sons.] 

"The Journal and Letters of Samuel Gridley 
Howe." Edited by his daughter Laura E. Rich- 
ards, with Notes and a Preface by Frank B. San- 
born. [Dana Estes and Co.] 

First volume "The French Revolution." 

The remainder of my reading must now be con- 
densed in literary tabloids: 

Mark Twain has sent forth his pronouncement 
on Christian Science, but it is neither convincing 
nor amusing. Of course it will sell. 

Dr. Streeter, of "Fat of the Land" fame, tried 
farming in bed, and Mr. Clemens has apparently 
gone to bed for the rest of his life. It is there that 



he eats, compose?, and smokes. I forgot, as Elbert 
Hubbard says; " Every once in a while " he emerges 
to displav his snow-white costume (not a robe de 
unit, but a flannel suit), with a Cavalier or Trouba- 
dour cloak of same unsullied hue slung jauntily 
over his shoulders. 

If Mrs. Clemens were alive I — but never mind. 

[Harper's. Illustrated. Si. 75.] 

Sincere praise for Benson's last but one, "From 
a College Window." [Putnam's. $1.25.] 

"Xewer Ideals of Peace," by Jane Addams, 
makes one think soberly and believe in her sug- 
gestions and statements: a grand presentation of 
conditions we ought all to know about. [Macmillan 
Co. Si. 25.] 

Dr. W. H. Thomson's study of "Brain and Per- 
sonality" will be spoken of later — a most im- 
portant contribution to our slight knowledge on 
this subject. [Dodd, Mead and Co., New York. 

"Studies in Seven Arts," by Arthur Symons, 
gives the most original and worth-while criticisms 
that I have come across on the special themes he 
takes. [E. P. Dutton and Co. $2.50.] 

Kate Sanborn. 

Striking Instances of Wit in Noted Men 

IT is interesting to observe some of the quoted 
wit of great men. For instance, the bright and 
solitary instance given by the solemn poet Words- 

He said to a party of friends, "Gentlemen, I 
never was witty but once in my life." 

This remark roused a clamor for that one 'scin- 
tillation, so he kindly gave it. "I was standing at 
the door of my cottage one fine morning when a 
laborer passed along who stopped to inquire if I 
had seen his wife go that way. 

"And I said to him, 'My good man, I did 
not know until this moment that you had a 
wife.' " 

The laugh which followed was long and loud, 
hut it was hardly a tribute to Wit. 

Then in Parker's Life of Choate, who was most 
brilliantly keen and witty, one instance is given of 
his "delicious humor" which impresses me as far 
from delicious or in the least humorous. 

Ji was a fiercely cold day in winter and, some 
friend commenting on the unusual frigidity, the 
legal fencer and eloquent pleader replied, "Well, 
it 's not absolutely tropical." 

If a woman had made such a self-evident re- 

mark, would it have been considered so deliciously 
humorous that it must be preserved ? 

Herbert Spencer said of his own wit: "My 
tendency towards facetiousness was the result of 
temporary elation, either caused by pleasurable, 
health-giving change, or, more commonly, by 
meeting old friends. Habitually, I observed that 
on seeing the Lotts after a long time I was able to 
give vent to some witticisms during the first hour 
or two, and then they became rare." 

If examples of his wit as given by himself and 
friends be fair representatives of his wit when 
cerebral activity was propitious, no one need regret 
their paucity. 

He tells us that once when in the Isle of Wight 
and sitting down to dinner at Freshwater, "I made 
Lewes laugh by exclaiming, 'Dear me, these are 
very large chops for such a small island.' " 

Which reminds me of a similar remark by a 
woman when some fine wine which her host 
bragged of as very old was served to her in a tiny 
glass: "Is n't it rather small of its age?" 

Here is one more of Spencer's awakenings as 
repeated by one of the sisters with whom he 
boarded for some time. She writes: "Mr. Spencer 
had no great native fund of wit, and it is to be 
feared his jokes were sometimes of a rather heavy 
type. For instance, when telling us little anec- 
dotes about George Eliot he added, in a whimsical 
way, that he had often joked her about her dia- 
bolical descent. It may have been that we looked 
a little blank at this, not understanding what he 
meant, or perhaps he thought the joke was too 
subtle for our understanding, for he proceeded to 
explain that as her name was Marian, she was also 
a Polly Ann (Apollyon)." 
Help! Help! 

The dreary old jokes brought out, over and over, 
by famous raconteurs like Chauncey Depew show 
a low ebb of real spontaneous wit at men's dinners. 
I '11 quote a few words written to me by an editor 
of one of the most important New York dailies, to 
show the honest impression of cultivated men 
about wit being only a man's prerogative: 

"I used to think that there were no humorists 
of the female sex; but one day, in Puck, Madeline 
Bridges, in the course of a colloquy between desert 
nomads, made one of them ask the other to ' come 
in out of the simoon,' as we in American slang ask 
people to 'come in out of the wet.' Whereupon I 
concluded that a sense of humor did exist in the 
feminine mind." 

If that strikes any one as humorous, they must 
be easily satisfied. Kate Sanbobn. 

Colonial and Patriotic 


A GREAT deal of interest is felt by the mem- 
bers of the various colonial and patriotic so- 
cieties in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts 
in the petition of Hon. Winslow Warren and 
others for legislation to prohibit the use of the 
Old State-house and other historic structures of 
like importance and interest for commercial pur- 
poses, and also to promote their preservation. 
The petition, which came before the Committee 
on Cities on the morning of Friday, March 8, for 
a hearing, is embodied in Senate Bill No. 189, as 
follows : 

"To preserve the Old State-house as an His- 
toric and Patriotic Memorial, and to prohibit its 
use for any other purposes. 

"Be it enacted by the Senate and House of 
Representatives in General Court assembled, and 
by the authority of the same, as follows: 

"Section I. The Old Colonial State-house sit- 
uated at the head of State Street in the city of 
Boston shall be preserved as an historic and patri- 
otic memorial, and no encroachment upon nor 
alteration of said building, nor use of the same 
for business, commercial, or- transit purposes, 
shall be made, except the use of the basement un- 
der the eastern end of said building and the space 
under the western end and beneath the ground 
or first floor thereof for transit purposes, as 
provided by the Boston Transit Commission: 
provided, that no entrance nor stairway to the 
tunnel or subway adjacent to said building shall 
be made on or adjacent to the Washington 
Street front thereof, and no part of the walls 
of said Old State-house shall be disturbed or al- 
tered except by way of restoring them to ancient 
condition as hereinafter provided. 

"Sec. 2. The city of Boston is hereby author- 
ized and required to preserve and maintain said 
Old State-house as an historic and patriotic me- 
morial, and is authorized with the approval of the 
governor of the Commonwealth first obtained in 
writing to make such restorations therein as will 
restore the same to its form and condition in Co- 
lonial days. 

"Sec. 3. The Supreme Judicial Court shall 
have jurisdiction in equity upon the petition of 
the governor, mayor of Boston, or of ten or more 
inhabitants of the Commonwealth to enjoin and 

restrain any violation of the provisions of this 

Among the speakers at this hearing, which 
was largely attended by the members of the many 
patriotic societies, were Hon. Winslow Warren; 
the Hon. Eben Francis Thompson of Worcester, 
president of the Massachusetts Society, Sons of 
the Revolution; Dr. Moses Greeley Parker of 
Lowell, president of the Massachusetts Society, 
Sons of the American Revolution; Mrs. Evelyn 
Fellows Masury, state regent of the Daughters of 
the American Revolution, and others as well known. 
The Paul Revere Memorial Association has 
purchased the Paul Revere House at the North 
End, and plans for its restoration are now in the 
hands of Mr. Joseph E. Chandler, the architect, 
only about $4,000 being needed to complete the 
work. Mr. Walter Gilman Page, so prominent in 
the Society of the Sons of the Revolution, which 
started the movement for the preservation of the 
Paul Revere House, and chairman of the Com- 
mittee on Cooperative Work, states that it is the 
wish of the association to restore the house and 
establish there a sort of cooperative settlement 
which shall be a permanent object-lesson in patri- 
otism and in American history to that foreign- 
born population now settled in the neighborhood. 
With this house preserved and restored there will 
be a line of Paul Revere memorials, from the 
Old North Church to the Concord Bridge, to 
keep fresh the memory of the man whose romantic 
ride occupies a large part in the story of April 19. 

Mr. Page, by the way, who has attained a na- 
tional reputation as a painter of historical sub- 
jects, is painting a fine portrait of the patriot- 
hero, James Otis, for the Massachusetts build- 
ing at the Jamestown Exposition. 

On the twelfth anniversary of the founding of 
the National Society, Daughters of the American 
Revolution, on Oct. 11, 1902, the ceremony 
of breaking the ground for the building of Me- 
morial Continental Hall was appropriately cele- 
brated. While the process of breaking the ground 
was going on, — the site being a beautiful spot on 
Seventeenth Street in the national capital, — 
Mrs. Cornelia Cole Fairbanks, then president- 
general, and Mrs. Mary S. Lockwood, marched 
out to the centre of the grounds, and shovelled 




some of the earth into flower-pots. In one of these 
Mrs. Lockwood planted thirteen osage orange 
seeds, to represent the thirteen original States, 
and a sufficient number in the others to give each 
of the remaining forty-five States a ''Liberty 
Tree/' These were cared for in the propagating- 
garden of the Agricultural Department, and, 
sprouting, grew and flourished. At the following 
Congress the roll of the famous thirteen States 
which drove the dragon flag of St. George and "all 
the King's men" off the soil of the former British 
colonies was again called, and the regent of each 
State as called received the plant assigned to it to 
be taken within its State borders and planted in 
some public park or place, where it will remain a 
perennial reminder of the ceremonial of the ground- 
breaking for this famous edifice. In the history 
of the tree, the osage orange of the Osage Indians, 
there will be a colonial, continental, and revolu- 
tionary history . Many of the state societies of the 
D. A. R.have held impressive ceremonies over this 
patriotic tree-planting. And as the years go on the 
trees bearing blossoms and fruit will be emblem- 
atic of the height, breadth, and fruitage of this 
great national organization. 

In Brunswick, Georgia, the other day, was 
planted the Liberty Tree given to the State of 
Georgia, with very impressive ceremonies. The 
tree was planted in Queen's Square, under the di- 
rection of the local chapter, of which Mrs. C. F. 
Coney is regent, and around its roots was placed 
soil from each of the thirteen original States, 
and from several other States in the Union, Gov- 
ernor Guild of Massachusetts, Governor Utter of 
Rhode Island, Governor Roberts of Connecticut, 
and Governor Cobb of Maine being New Eng- 
land governors who took especial interest in the 
matter. An eloquent address was made by Con- 
gressman William G. Brantley, and then a pro- 
cession was formed of young girls dressed in white 
and the national colors, representing the thirteen 
Colonial States and the forty-five other States, 
each of whom deposited a handful of soil from 
the State she represented at the foot of the tree. 
Tt is of interest to note that each State sent his- 
toric soil, that from Maryland being taken from 
Capitol Hill at Annapolis, where stands the his- 
toric old State-house wherein General Washing- 
ion resigned his commission to Congress on Dec. 
23, 1783, and where also the treaty of peace with 
England was signed. Governor Cox of Tennessee 
senl soil taken from the base of the monument 
of James K. Polk, and more from the base of the 
monument erected to Jackson. 

Governor Swanson of Virginia sent soil taken 
from the base of the Washington statue; and 

Governor Hagerman of New Mexico sent soil 
taken from the grounds about the old State-house 
in which Gen. Lew Wallace, when governor, 
wrote the celebrated story of " Ben Hur." 

Know Old Cambridge ? Hope you do. 
Born there? Don't say so. I was, too. 
Nicest place that ever was seen, 
Colleges red and common green, 
Sidewalks brownish, with trees between. 

— O. W. Holmes. 

Every year hundreds of tourists come to Cam- 
bridge, reverencing it as one of the first settled 
towns of New England, for nearly three centuries the 
home of Harvard College, and the home of many 
eminent men, poets and literati; and the scene of 
the first camp of the American army of the Rev- 
olution. A fine and most patriotic work has been 
undertaken and most successfully carried through 
by the Pilgrimage Committee of Hannah Winthrop 
Chapter oi the Daughters of the American 
Revolution, in compiling their "Historic Guide to 
Cambridge," a handsome book of over two hun- 
dred pages, profusely illustrated. The various 
chapters of the book were carefully written by 
members of the Pilgrimage Committee, which is 
composed of Miss Marion Brown Fessenden, 
Miss Carrie J. Allison, Mrs. Margaret J. Brad- 
bury, Mrs. Adah L. C. Brock, Mrs. Jennie L. R. 
Bunton, Miss Laura B. Chamberlain, Miss Elis- 
abeth Ellery Dana, Miss Althea M. Dorr, Mrs. 
Sibyl Clarke Emerton, Mrs. Lillian Fisk Ford, 
Mrs. Mary W. G. Goodrich, Mrs. Mary Isabella 
James Gozzaldi, Miss Elizabeth Harris, Mrs. 
Agnes H. Holden, Miss Eliza Mason Hoppin, 
Miss Alice M. Longfellow, Miss Henrietta M. 
Mclntire, Mrs. Sarah R. McKenzie, Mrs. Nellie 
Munroe Nash, Miss Lydia Phillips Stevens, Mrs. 
Grace Jones Wardwell, Mrs. Annie L. L. Went- 
worth, Mrs. Estella Hatch Weston, Mrs. Isabel 
Stuart Whittemore, and Miss Sarah Alice Worces- 
ter. The book, handsomely bound in gray cloth, 
stamped with the Continental blue of the D. A. 
R., and bearing the insignia^of the National So- 
ciety, contains pictures of Cambridge's many 
notable houses, several maps, and an itinerary for 
the convenience of tourists. It is receiving high 
praise from Cambridge historians, and reflects the 
greatest credit upon the chapter members. Han- 
nah Winthrop Chapter, of which Miss Caroline 
F. Neal is regent, has done much fine patriotic 
work, notably in being instrumental in restoring 
the old Fort Washington, and having the grounds 
about it made into a public park. 

Old Colony Chapter of the D. A. R. of Hing 
ham has received the funds belonging to the Gen- 
eral Benjamin Lincoln Chapter of the Sons of the 



American Revolution, that chapter having given 
up its charter. The money will be used for the 
marking of historic spots. 

Mrs. Donald McLean, president-general of the 
National Society, Daughters of the American Rev- 
olution, has again called upon the New England 
States for money and contributions towards the 
completion of Continental Memorial Hall, and 
especially for funds for the thirteen columns of 
the portico, which are to stand for the thirteen 
Colonial States. Massachusetts daughters, having 
decided not to ask the State Legislature for the 
necessary sum of $2,000, knowing that Governor 
Guild would not approve of such an appropria- 
tion of the people's money, have voted to raise the 
required amount independently, and therefore 
each member of the society in Massachusetts will 
undoubtedly furnish her quota. In some chapters 
it is being taken from the chapter treasury; in 
others, it is being raised by individual subscrip- 

The newest D. A. R. chapter in New England, 
that of Woburn, Massachusetts, is named the 
Baldwin Chapter, in honor of that Gen. Loami 
Baldwin who first propagated that delicious fruit. 
This chapter received its charter on Tuesday 
evening, February 26, at a public meeting. One 
of the most interesting addresses on this happy 
occasion was made by Mrs. Grace LeBaron 
Upham, who had an added interest from the fact 
that she is a descendant of that William Locke 
who was the pioneer in the settlement of the town 
of Woburn. 

Washington's Birthday was celebrated in the 
far-away city of Mexico by a Colonial Ball given 
by the Benjamin Franklin Chapter of the D. A. 
R. of that city. 

The Annual Congress of the Sons of the Amer- 
ican Revolution will be held this year in Denver, 
and some time in June undoubtedly will be selec- 
ted, as Denver will be a more attractive place to 
visit then than on April 30 and May 1, the cus- 
tomary dates for the annual meeting of this so- 
ciety. A suitable badge is being designed for the 
members who attend the congress, by Secretary 
Holbrook of the Colorado Society, and Mrs. Frank 
H. Pettingill. It will embrace suggestions of Pike's 
Peak, the gateway of the Garden of the Gods, a 
portion of the seal of the State of Colorado, a bit 
of the Santa Fe trail, and an old-time prairie 

At the annual meeting of the State of Maine 
Society, Sons of the American Revolution, these 
officers were elected: president, George E. Fel- 
lows, who is president of the University of Maine, 
at Orono; senior vice-president, Col. Frederick 

E. Boothby, of Portland; registrar and secretary, 
Nathan Goold, of Portland; librarian, Albert F. 
Stubbs; historian, Augustus S. Moulton; chap- 
lain, the Rev. Joseph B. Shepard; councillors, 
Edward H. Everett, Charles F. Flagg, Thomas 
J. Little, and Herbert Harris, all of Portland, 
and Warren H. Vinton, of Gray. Vice-presidents 
were elected to represent each county in Maine. 


An interesting old house in Reading, perhaps the 
oldest in the town, is that occupied by Mrs. G. W. 
Grouard, in Woburn Street. This house was built 
in 1740 by Dr. Sanborn, then minister of the par- 
ish. Mrs. Grouard, since purchasing the house of 
Dr. Sanborn's descendants, has been careful to 
retain the original characteristics as far as possi- 
ble. In the kitchen Governor Brooks of Medford 
drilled his minute-men, these men being the first 
to arrive on the village green on the morning of 
the battle of Concord and Lexington. When the 
report came that the British were to encamp on 
Reading Common, the women and children of 
the town fled to this house, bringing their beds 
and sleeping in the great kitchen. 

So great has been the interest of the public in 
the preservation of the old Rebecca Nourse House, 
in Danvers, that it is announced that the amount 
needed for the purchase fund, $2,000, has been 
reached, subscribers making this possible. The 
work of rescue is not, however, complete, as a 
mortgage of $5,000 stands upon the whole prop- 
erty, and this must be cleared. It will be remem- 
bered that it was not possible to buy the house 
with one acre of land around it. The only way to 
do was to purchase the whole farm of twenty-five 
acres, and this has now been done. Besides the 
lifting of the mortgage, there remains the necessity 
of further contributions for repairs and intelligent 
restoration of the house. 

Mrs. Richard Jackson Barker, vice-president- 
general from Rhode Island in the National So- 
ciety of the Daughters of the American Revolu- 
tion, has presented Miss Marion Howard Brazier, 
regent of the new John Paul Jones Chapter, with 
a gavel made of wood from the oldest house in 
Tiverton, a house which once sheltered General 
Washington and other patriots. 

Senator Burnham has introduced a bill providing 
that September 23 shall be set apart as "Paul 
Jones Day," and that on that date all United 
States vessels in port shall "dress ship." 

Book Notes 

Timothy's Magical Afternoon. 

Another of the Altemus' Magic Wand Series, 
with fantastic illustrations by John R. Neill. It is 
the story of how a little boy, Timothy MacDon- 
ald, spends a Saturday afternoon with the aid of 
a magic wand acquired in a New York elevated 
train. An old gentleman sitting opposite Timothy 
forgot his cane when he left the train, and Tim- 
othy, rushing after him to restore it, found him- 
self in possession of a wonderful wand, instead of 
the supposed cane, with a pair of wings on his 
shoulders and the power of becoming whatever he 
wished by the mere act of washing it. A gay time 
had Timothy, and many were the pranks he 
played; but as the day drew to an end he longed 
to be "Plain Timothy" once more, and was very 
glad to hurry home in time to eat dinner with his 
mother. (Henry Altemus Co., Philadelphia.) 

The Garden and Its Accessories. By Loring 


Beautifully printed, with one hundred and two 
illustrations from photographs, this book will be 
welcome to all lovers of outdoor living. More and 
more is it becoming the fashion to make gardens 
into living-rooms — and a blessed fashion it is. 
The author describes the kind of garden the Amer- 
ican type should be; that is, an intimate sort of 
garden that possesses comfort and beauty apart 
from floral display, and looks attractive when no 
flowers are in bloom. He shows how home 
grounds, both modest and elaborate, may be 
given an individual and livable air by the proper 
use of such garden accessories as summer-houses, 
arbors, fountains and pools, sun-dials, benches, 
and other features. (Little, Brown & Co., Bos- 
ton. Price, $2.00, net.) 

The Bundle Handkerchief. By Elisabeth 

Merritt Gosse. 

A clever little essay printed in booklet form, re- 
produced by permission from The New Eng- 
land Magazine. It is a picture of Salem, with 
a little peep at old Salem institutions and fash- 
ions, one of the most picturesque of which is the 
bundle handkerchief. 

The Hope of Immortality, Our Reasons for 

It. By Charles F. Dole. 

This is the 1906 Ingersoll Lecture. These lec- 
tures arc made possible by the bequest to Harvard 
University by George Goldthwait Ingersoll of 
five thousand dollars for a lectureship fund, so 
that one lecture on this subject — The Immortal- 
ity of Man — might be delivered and published. 
Mr. Dole, well known as a speaker and writer, 
has never given us anything more succinct, logi- 
cal, or forceful than this. And yet his attitude in 
searching for reasons for immortality is singularly 
Jonate. "The more I know about life, the 
more I desire to discover rationality in it. I had 
rather be a citizen for even a brief period in a sig- 
nificant and intelligent world than to live forever 


in a meaningless world." Again he says, "We 
can bear death for ourselves if we are not wanted 
anywhere. But we do wish to be able to re- 
spect the world we live in, and we could hardly 
respect a universe that created a Socrates or a 
Michael Angelo only to destroy him." These sen- 
tences serve to show the mental tone of the whole 
powerful essay. It sums in a nutshell the cogent 
reasons which have inspired, in savage and sage 
alike, a belief in a higher state. (Thomas Y. 
Crowell & Co., New York. 70 pages, i6mo, 
cloth. Price, 75 cents, net. Postage, 8 cents addi- 

Putting the Most into Life. By Booker T. 


The author of "Up from Slavery" and the 
founder of Tuskegee Institute has been accustomed 
to give talks before his students on the most prac- 
tical subjects possible. He does not deal with 
theories, but with facts, and those facts which will 
most assist Ms hearers in their struggle toward 
good citizenship. A recent series of these addresses, 
and one of the best, has been enlarged by the au- 
thor, and now appears with the apt title of "Put- 
ting the Most into Life." It is discussed under 
six heads, dealing with the physical, mental, spir- 
itual, and racial aspects of the case. The discus- 
sions are broad-gauge, sensible, and inspired by 
that intense desire for uplift which has caused the 
author himself to rise from the humblest ranks to 
a position of commanding influence. 

While primarily intended for members of his 
own race, the message is one that could well be 
heeded by every class of men. It is directed to 
the general need, and toward a complete and 
rounded development. Couched in brief, simple, 
yet vigorous language, its truths strike home. 
But the author's ability to draw forceful lessons 
needs no comment. (Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., 
New York. i2mo. Price, cloth, 75 cents; limp 
leather, $1.50.) 

The Foolish Almanac Second. 

From the sub'ime to the ridicu'ous is but a step, 
but it is not often that foolishness and wit join 
hands to produce anything so clever as "The Fool- 
ish Almanac." Gaily bound in a bright cloth 
cover, with a perpetual Pass from Worryland to 
Laughter, Good until Doomsday, but to be used 
only on the Foolish Almanac Second Limited, it 
is bright and jolly from start to finish. (John W. 
Luce & Co., Boston.) 

The King's Daughters' Year-Book. By Mar- 
garet Bottome. 

To the lovers of Mrs. Bottome this comes as an 
especially dear message from her now that they 
can hear her helpful words no more, and the fine 
photograph of her used as a frontispiece will make 
the book doubly precious. While primarily in- 
tended as a daily companion for members of the 
international organization of which Mrs. Bottome 

Hon. William E. Chandler, of New Hampshire, President of Spanis! 
Treaty Claims Commission 

New England Magazine 


MAY, 1907 

Number 3 



Ex-Senator William E. Chandler, of New Hampshire and Washington, in a 
New Role : His Extraordinary Personality and Achievements : His Own 
Story of the Famous Controversy with President Roosevelt, of His Work on 
the Spanish Claims Commission, and in the Hayes-Tilden Contro- 
versy of a Generation Ago : Senator Chandler as God- 
father to the New Navy ; Its Real Father, Benjamin 
Winslow Harris, of East Bridgewater 

HE filing of a suit at law 
against that remarkable 
woman, Mother Eddy, 
brings again into the 
limelight that remark- 
able man and typical 
New Englander, William 
Eaton Chandler, lawyer, editor, politician, 
md statesman, formerly State legislator, So- 
icitor, and Judge-Advocate General of the 
NTavy, Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, 
secretary of the Navy, Senator of the United 
states, and now President of the Spanish 
Treaty Claims Commission. 

Until George W. Glover took it into his 
Lead to bring suit against his mother and to 
employ as leading counsel his old New 
Hampshire friend and neighbor, the public 
Lad largely overlooked the fact that Mr. 
Chandler is a lawyer. So rnuch of his active 
ife has been spent in the public service or 
>n the editorial tripod that his legal learning 
nd experiences have been naturally over- 
hadowed. But Mr. Chandler is a lawyer, 
nd a good one. He was born in New 
Hampshire, of poor but honest parents, 
ypes of the old-fashioned New Englanders 
f that day. He graduated at the Harvard 

Law School and was admitted to the bar 
more than half a century ago, — in 1855, 
to be exact, — and here he is to-day in his 
seventy-third year taking up an intricate 
law case containing vast possibilities, at the 
busiest season of his exacting work on the 
Claims Commission. Among his interesting 
mementos is the little account -book 1 by 
which he can even to-day tell at a glance 
just how much money he spent from day to 
day at college. 

You can't keep "Bill" Chandler in the 
background. He is a man of such intense 
vitality, maintained at the very highest point 
of efficiency by a long life of abstemious 
habits and regular hours, that his energy 
never lags. Mentally and physically he is 
always on edge. The passing of years is as 
nothing to him, and, barring accident, he 
has many years of usefulness yet before him. 
"Early to bed and early to rise makes a 
man healthy, wealthy, and wise" has long 
been the motto of this son of the New Eng- 
land hills. He works while others sleep and 
sleeps while others play. The result is that 
he has crowded into his life more experi- 
ences and accomplishments than generally 
fall to the lot of poor mortal man. 




Ex-Senator Chandler's Washington Home, 1419 I Street, 

Washington shares with New Hampshire 
pride in the possession of Mr. Chandler. He 
is one of the oldest inhabitants of the Cap- 
ital. It is more than forty years since he 
first came into her midst, and he has been 
here continuously ever since, except when at 
his other home in Concord. Andrew John- 
son was President of the United States 
when Mr. Chandler, a comparatively young 

man, made his bow to Washington as Soil 
itor and Judge-Advocate General of ip 
Navy, and it is interesting to note that "tl 
Senator" pictures this unique type of Am j- 
ican, not as the drunken boor of the pubi 
fancy, but as a mild-mannered, earne| 
quiet, kindly man, who did surprising 

well, in view 

of his antecedents and 



Some Personal Characteristics 

In his long life in Washington, Mr. Chand- 
ler has identified himself with many local 
interests. He spends his summers, or a por- 
tion of them, at his Concord home, but for 
the rest of the year he is domiciled at 141 9 I 
Street in this city, an attractive brick house 
in the very centre of what was a few years 
ago the most fashionable locality, but which 
is fast being encroached upon by hotels and 
business-houses. The location is still most 
desirable, however, 
^ven for residence 
purposes. He built 
lis house many 
^ears ago, but it is a 
*ood one yet, and 
will undoubtedly 
serve the Chandlers 
is a residence for 
many years to come. 
Always an early 
iser, Mr. Chandler 
:an be seen almost 
my morning at half- 
3ast eight walking 
briskly along Fif- 
eenth Street to the 
)ffices of the Claims 
Commission on H 
Street, only one and 
1 half blocks from 
lis house, after ha v- 
ng breakfasted and 
ttended to his pri- 
ll ate correspond- 
ence at an hour 
efore other ofhce- 
olders are out of 
ed. He rarely 

saves the Commission before six o'clock, 
nd after dinner takes a jaunt around the 
treets in the business section for the pur- 
»ose of stretching his legs and getting air. 
When he first came to Washington Mr. 
s ^Chandler's hair and rather thin beard were 
s black as the poetical raven's wing. Now 
bey are as white as the equally poetic driven 
Ami now, and it must be admitted, with all due 
.pubespect, that he is a handsomer man now 
han he was then. Time has softened Mr. 
Chandler, — at least it has knocked off the 
11( 1 eough outer edges, — and if his tongue is as 
harp and his pen as vitriolic as of yore, he 


Wm. E. Chandler, in Boyhood, with His Father 
and Mother 

loes not so often let loose the dogs. 

never was as bitter as he seemed to be to 
those who knew him only superficially. In 
the Senate he would say things to the Dem- 
ocrats that would make them literally tear 
their hair and gnash their teeth and cause 
the newspaper men in the gallery to rub 
their hands with glee, but after the occasion 
of his little fling had passed the Senator 
would be found hobnobbing with his vic- 
tims as if he had naught but the kindliesl 
feeling for them. 

To most men it is given to have the ex- 
citing episodes of 
their lives take 
place in the days of 
their youth, but Mr. 
Chandler at seven- 
ty-three is as much 
of a storm centre as 
he was twenty-five 
or thirty years ago, 
and just as able to 
give and take the 
hardest knocks. 
Old age has not 
brought decrepi- 
tude to him. He 
is in as perfect phys- 
ical trim now as 
he always was, and 
has never had a 
touch of intellectual 
dry rot. He is as 
slender and wiry 
and supple and 
muscular as a grey- 
hound. His eye is 
bright, his step firm 
and quick, and not 
even the sign of 
baldness has ap- 
peared on his honored pate. Although 
never much of a figure in the social life of 
the Capital, Mr. Chandler in later years has 
enjoyed dining out and mingling with the 
men who are doing things. He likes to 
match his wit against theirs and to rub 
elbows on terms of friendly intimacy with 
men of all classes, all creeds, and all politics. 
Mr. Chandler, while not by any means a 
wealthy man, is well enough oft" in worldly 
goods to make him comfortable and content. 
Years ago he became interested in one or 
two business ventures in Washington that 
have turned out well, and his little paper in 
Concord, the Monitor, is still doing business 



at the old stand. He has been twice mar- 
ried, his first wife being the daughter of 
Governor Gilmore, and his second, of Sen- 
ator John P. Hale. It is a singular and in- 
teresting coincidence, often referred to by 
public writers, that Senator Hale (of Maine) 

The Grandson of William E. Chandler, Lieut. 

Clark R. Chandler, who Graduates from 

West Point This Year 

married the daughter of Senator Chandler 
(of Michigan), and that Senator Chandler 
married the daughter of Senator Hale. By 
his first wife William E. Chandler had 
three sons, the oldest of whom is Com- 
mander Lloyd Chandler, U. S. Navy, at 
present living in Washington. The young- 
est boy, the -on of the present Mrs. Chand- 
ler, is a student at Harvard. 

Mr. Chandler did not want to leave the 
Senate. He was driven out by the New 
England railroads, whose grip upon polit- 

ical affairs he had attempted to shake, but 
which he thinks never will be shaken — at 
least, not in the lifetime of men now living. 
When he did go out he retained such hearty 
good-wdll on the part of his colleagues on 
both sides of the chamber that they united 
in urging upon President McKinley the 
desirability of placing him at the head of the 
newly created Spanish Treaty Claims Com- 
mission, an appointment which Mr. McKin- 
ley was only too glad to make. 

Mr. Chandler was the central figure in 
that most exciting political controversy 
which resulted in making Rutherford B. 
Hayes President. He made fame as Secre- 
tary of the Navy in President Arthur's cab- 
inet by enforcing the policy and issuing the i 
orders that brought our modern steel navy 
into existence. He was a Senator while 
other Presidents came and went. He served 
in his present position under President 
McKinley, and now retains it under Presi- 
dent Theodore Roosevelt. This is a unique 
record, and it is an evidence of the high to 
esteem in which Mr. Chandler is held that 
his term has been twice extended since the 
regrettable episode of the railroad-rate-bill 
fight of last year, involving a question oi 
veracity between himself and the President 
of the United States. The point involved 
in that dispute was this: President Roose- 
velt was negotiating with the Democratic 
Senators, whose spokesman in this partic- 
ular fight was Senator Tillman, ranking 
Democrat of the Interstate Commerce 
Committee. The President and Senatot 
Tillman were not, and are not, on speaking 
terms, therefore Mr. Chandler, a mutua 
friend, was employed as intermediary. Thi 
President suddenly abandoned the negotia, 
tions and accepted the propositions of thl 
Republican Senators, without notifying M]]| 
Tillman. Mr. Tillman made in the Senat 
a statement of the facts as given him by Mi 
Chandler, acting for the President. Senato 
Lodge then went to the telephone and re 
turned with the President's assurance tha 
the account of his doings and sayings on th 
point in dispute as given by Mr. Chandle 
was a deliberate and unqualified falsehood 

This question of veracity, long excitedl; 
discussed, has never been satisfactory 
settled. The following is Mr. Chandler' 
own account of the controversy, prepare' 
by him by request. It leaves out, of course 
the strictly personal features of the dispute 



Mr. Chandler's Own Story of the Fa- 
mous Controversy with the President 

"Soon after I entered the Senate, in 1887, 
Senator Piatt of Connecticut offered to 
yield to me his place upon the Interstate 
Commerce Committee, expressing the hope 
that I would use any influence which I 
might possess to protect the New England 
roads against discrimination which might 
be proposed in behalf of the roads coming 
from the West to New York City. In the 
course of my service 
it became my duty 
to oppose the anti- 
scalping bill, mak- 
ing it a crime for a 
broker to sell an un- 
used railroad ticket, 
and the pooling bill, 
by which all the 
railroads of the 
United States were 
to be authorized to 
enter into pooling 
contracts covering 
the whole country, 
making one huge 
combination four- 
teen billions strong 
andabolishing com- 
petition everywhere 
on all the railroads, 
from the East to the 
West and from the 
North to the South 
The^ anti - scalping 
bill and the pooling 
bill passed the 
House of Representatives and I assisted in 
their defeat in the Senate, aided by Senator 
Tillman and Senator Chilton, who were 
members of the Committee. For this work 
of duty I received heavy punishment in 
1 90 1, accomplished by the corrupting passes 
and the corrupting money of the Boston and 
Maine Railroad. 

"Instead of authority to the railroads to 
pool their earnings and destroy competition, 
I advocated governmental control of rates 
through the Interstate Commerce Commis- 
sion, and for five years after leaving the 
Senate continued unremitting in my efforts 
to get such power for the Commission, 
which the Supreme Court had gradually de- 
prived of what little authority it had pos- 

Senator Chandler on His 
Way to the Capitol 

sessed to do business. During the winter of 
1905 and 1906 I opposed in my fashion, by 
writing freely for the newspapers, any 
granting of the right of review of the deci- 
sions as to rates of the Commission by any 
court. I held that the Government had the 
right to take a part in fixing the rates, and 
need not invite the courts to participate in 
the process. Therein, of course, I differed 
from such great lawyers as Senators For- 
aker, Knox, and Spooner. The refusal to 
grant an express court review deprived the 
railroads of no lawful protection. Passen- 
gers and shippers could not ride or send 
their freight for the prices fixed by the Com- 
mission, if the railroads chose to refuse to 
carry the mj for 
those rates. Tt 
would be necessary 
for the passengers 
and shippers, armed 
with the decision of 
the Commission, to 
go to the courts to 
compel the rail- 
roads to assent to 
the rates, and when 
thus pressed in the 
courts the railroads 
could get all the 
protection they were 
entitled to. If man- 
damus was asked 
for, they could set 
up their constitu- 
tional right to be 
protected against 
confiscatory rates. 
So they could if pen- 
alties were sued for 
or damages sought. 
In three ways they 
had the right to 
the Commission, and 
why they should be 

Senator Chandler Is 
a Brisk Walker 

resist the decision of 
there was no reason 
given a fourth. 

"These being my views, I did not believe 
in granting what was called a broad court 
review, or any express court review. How- 
ever, when the President decided to engage 
in an effort, while expressly granting a 
court review, to limit it to an inquiry 
whether the Commission had exceeded its 
powers and whether the constitutional 
rights of the shippers had been invaded, 1 
did my best to assist him in that movement, 



Hon. William L. Chambers, Member Spanish Treaty Claims Commission 

which it seemed certain could be carried by 
more than twenty-five Democratic votes 
joined to more than twenty Republican 
votes. Circumstances beyond my control, 
however, resulted in our defeat, and the 
broadest possible court review was granted 
by the bill. Nevertheless, the law is a dis- 
tinct assertion of the power of the Govern- 
ment to control rates through the Interstate 
Commerce Commission, which will never 
be restricted or defeated; and as Senator 
Tillman well said, in dosing the debate, 

this assertion of power never would have 
been made if it had not been for its initiation 
and advocacy by the President." 

The period of his life when Mr. Chand- 
ler's conduct aroused the fiercest animosity 
and made him the subject of a controversy 
conspicuous for its bitterness, even in the 
annals of public affairs in the United 
States, was those months in the fall of 1876 
and the spring of 1877 when he was the 
active agent of the Republican party in 
bringing order out of the chaos that followed 



Judge William A. Maury, Member Spanish Treaty Claims Commission 

the presidential election of 1876, a fight that 
ended in the creation of the famous Elec- 
toral Commission and the subsequent in- 
auguration of Rutherford B. Hayes as 
President of the United States. Those were 
strenuous times, indeed, and in reading the 
history of them now it seems almost beyond 
belief that our laws and constitution stood 
the strain and that the Government in 
Washington continued to live without a 
second civil war. Mr. Chandler, at the 
solicitation of The New England Mag- 

azine has written for publication therein this 
account of his participation in that historic 
political battle, an account that is as modest 
as it is truthful. 

Mr. Chandler in Hayes-Tilden Fight 

"In 1868 and 1872 — the Grant can- 
vasses — I was a member of the National 
Committee from New Hampshire, and its 
secretary, and I conducted the two canvasses 
from the Fifth Avenue Hotel with Governor 



Hon. Garrett 

J. Dickema, Member Spanish Treaty Claims Commission 

Claflin of Massachusetts chairman in the 
first, and Governor E. I). Morgan chair- 
man in the second, and one clerk and a mes- 
senger. In 1876 I continued a member of 
the committee, but remained at home in 
New Hampshire most of the time. Senator 
Zachariah Chandler was chairman and Gov- 
ernor McCormick of Arizona, secretary. 
In October Mr. Chancjler sent to New 
Hampshire for me to come to New York, 
and then requested me to go to Ohio and 
[ndiana, where he said there was danger of 

defeat in the State elections. I went and 
found that there was danger. I saw Gov- 
ernor Hayes at Columbus, and also visited 
Indiana. We carried Ohio by about ten 
thousand, and lost Indiana. I returned to 
New York and reported, and went back to 
New Hampshire. On election day, in the 
afternoon, I went from Concord to Boston 
and on to New York by night train, reach- 
ing the Fifth Avenue Hotel a little before 
complete daylight. Mr. Vilas, at the clerk's 
desk, told me that Tilden was elected. I 



Interior of Court Room, Spanish Treaty Claims Commission 

said I could not believe it, and went around 
to the committee-room No. 1. There was 
no one there. In the hallway I met John C. 
Reed of the New York Times, just arriving. 
He told me that if we had carried South 
Carolina and Florida, also one or two small 
far Western States, we had saved the elec- 
tion. We went into the committee-room. I 
examined the various dispatches on the 
deserted desks, and then went up to Senator 
Chandler's room and with difficulty aroused 
aim from sleep and told him what we hoped 
md asked him if he knew to whom he had 
jeen telegraphing in several States the night 
Defore. He was very weary and gave me 
little information and told me to do what I 
thought best. Returning to the committee- 
room, I wrote various dispatches, signing to 
some Mr. Chandler's name and to others 
my own, and Mr. Reed took them down 
town to send by telegraph. Mr. Reed, a 
few years after, told an absurd story about 
these incidents which the New York Sun 
mercilessly ridiculed. 

"Then I went to breakfast and came 
back to the committee-room about the time 
that various callers began to arrive, and 
shortly Mr. Chandler came down. We dis- 

cussed the situation, and he sent out his 
famous telegram, 'Hayes has 185 votes and 
is elected.' Our spirits arose during the 
day, and in the afternoon there was a con- 
sultation as to what should be done. Among 
other plans adopted it was decided that I 
must go South; so Mrs. Chandler and I left 
New York between nine and ten o'clock, 
reached Washington in the early morning, 
and then started South by way of Lynch- 
burg, where we found we must stay all night. 
This I regretted, because it gave an oppor- 
tunity for other people to catch up with me. 
On Friday morning we left, and upon ar- 
riving at Danville found the train from the 
North directly from Richmond had failed to 
make the connection, so when we went on 
South we were far ahead of others; indeed, 
had gained time by going around by Lynch- 
burg. When starting and en route I thought 
of stopping in South Carolina, but con- 
cluded to go straight on to Florida. 

The Battle in Florida 

"Upon arriving at Tallahassee, I found 
that the State was very close, and that the 
Canvassing Board had judicial powers to 



throw out returns appearing to be, or shown 
to be, erroneous. On the face of the returns 
as they came in the Hayes electors had 
about fifty majority in the State. Both 
sides, however, began to get together testi- 
mony for attacking the returns in a dozen 
counties or more. Northern visitors ar- 
rived, and by the time the Canvassing Board 
began its work there was a great mass of evi- 
dence ready. After the returns were opened 
the Democrats claimed that a regular return 
should not be accepted from Baker County, 
where two precincts had been thrown out by 
the county canvassers, which would have 
given Tilden ninety majority in the State. 
We conceded that the board had a right to 
do this if it chose, but that it must also go 
on and inquire into the correctness of re- 
turns from other counties. The Democrats 
said that we must correct the Baker County 
error and stop there. The Board, however, 
composed of two Republicans and one 
Democrat, proceeded to investigate all the 
contested counties, and finally found a 
majority for the Hayes electors of nine 
hundred, which was sustained by the final 
decision of the Electoral Commission in 
Washington, eight to seven. Of course 
there w r ere many incidents during the 
Florida canvass. Francis C. Barlow, who 
had been sent there with other Repub- 
licans, was under my direction made our 
leading counsel in the canvass, but aban- 
doned us and tried to induce the Can- 
vassing Board to count the State for Tilden. 

"William T. Pelton, telegraphing from 
Air. Tilden 's house, and Manton Marble 
and others endeavored to buy the Canvass- 
ing Board, as was proved by the cipher dis- 
patches placed by me in the hands of Mr. 
Whitelaw Reid for deciphering and for pub- 

"On my return to Washington Senator 
Aaron A. Sargent, chairman of the Senate 
Committee on Florida, asked my assistance 
when he was making his report, and I pre- 
pared for him and he adopted a statement 
of the law showing that the results, as de- 
clarer] by the canvassing boards of the vari- 
ous States, must be accepted by the Con- 
gress when counting the electoral votes. It 
also showed that the Cronin vote in Oregon 
must be rejected as the creation of the Gov- 
ernor and not of the canvassing body, which 
was the Secretary of State. This statement 
of the law was the first announcement of the 

view which finally prevailed in the Electoral 
Commission. I speak of it because Senator 
Sargent freely attributed to me that part of 
his w r ork. While in Florida I was in con- 
stant telegraphic communication with South 
Carolina and Louisiana and knew what the 
probabilities were as to the decisions of the 
canvassing boards in those States. Return- 
ing to Washington, I acted under Senator 
Chandler for the National Committee in 
the preparation of the Hayes case for the 
Electoral Commission. All these things 
were stated by me in my testimony before 
the Potter Committee in the summer of 

"I am prepared to say that there was no 
doubt about the legal title of President 
Hayes, there was no doubt about his moral 
title, and there was no doubt about the im- 
moral and dishonest character of the Tilden 
canvass. Mr. Tilden w T as worth four or five 
millions of dollars, and spent hundreds of 
thousands of dollars in his attempt to secure 
the election, and his managers attempted 
corruption in Oregon, South Carolina, 
Florida, and Louisiana. Senator Hale has 
in his hands the memorandum-book of 
Senator Zachariah Chandler which shows 
that all the expenditures of the Republican 
National Committee during the canvass of 
1876 and down to the inauguration of 
Hayes in 1877 were only about $200,000." 

The public has little appreciation, appar- 
ently, of the scope or status of the work in- 
volved in the duties of the Spanish Treaty 
Claims Commission, of which Mr. Chandler 
is president, and which will expire by limi- 
tation of executive order next September. 
On this interesting and important subject 
he says: 

Mr. Chandler Sums Up the Work of 
the Spanish Claims Commission 

"On Wednesday, the sixth of March, 
1 90 1, I called on President McKinley withjl 
Senator Lodge, and with great cordiality II 
and kindness the President asked me to be-m 
come president of the Commission. I hadB 
hardly anticipated this offer, which hadB 
been, I think, suggested by Senator Lodge .1 
Entering upon the duties with agreeableB 
associates, I soon found myself interested in I 
the principles of international law with ref-B 
erence to the claims of the citizens of one j 
nation against the government of anotherB 



nation, especially claims for damages done 
to the property of such citizens living in the 
foreign country during an insurrection. 

"Two well-established principles soon 
became clearly apparent; first, that a nation 
putting down a formidable insurrection 
which had gone beyond control could not be 
responsible for damages done by the in- 
surgents unless it could be shown in a spe- 
cial case that there was gross neglect on the 
part of the government to use due diligence 
to protect alien residents from the injury 
done by insurgents ; secondly, it was equally 
clear that aliens living or having property in 
a country where a formidable war of insur- 
rection was going on must submit to any 
injuries done as a result of the war move- 
ments of the government to suppress the in- 
surrection, although they were entitled to 
be protected from unnecessary and wanton 
destruction done by the government troops. 
Various questions of citizenship also arose, 
four-fifths of the claimants being natural- 
ized Spaniards. Very few of them actually 
lived in this country, and many of them held 
certificates hastily, without sufficient proof, 
or fraudulently obtained. Of the sixty 
million dollars of claims preferred by 542 
claimants, fifty-six millions were for dam- 
ages done by the insurgents, or war damages 
done by the Spanish troops while trying to 
suppress the insurrection. Comparatively 
few of these claims have been brought within 
the exceptional principles which would re- 
quire an allowance of damages. In addi- 

4 tion, there were several hundred claims of 
seamen on board the battleship Maine, or 
of their families, for injuries or death result- 
ing when that ship was blown up in Havana 
harbor in February, 1898. These were 
ruled out by the Commission, on the ground 
that soldiers and seamen cannot have indi- 
vidual claims against a foreign nation but 
must look only to their own government to 
secure for them redress, and that they could 

will only expect in addition to pensions such 
sums as Congress might voluntarily choose 
to give them. There have been twenty-five 
or thirty claims for personal damages where 
American citizens were arrested and de- 
tained by Spain, and some of these have 
been found to be meritorious, so that hand- 
pome sums by way of damages have been 
allowed them. All the 542 claims were 
originally those of American citizens in 
Cuba against the Spanish government for 

omissions to protect, or for unjustifiable in- 
juries inflicted, from which claims the 
United States in the peace treaty agreed to 
release Spain and to investigate them and 
pay those found to be just. Out of the 542 
claims, 341 have been disposed of, and 36 
awards made for $648,936.34. 

"To some persons it appears as if too 
much time had been taken and too much 
expense incurred in ascertaining the facts 
upon which the decisions of the Commission 
have been and are to be made. But such is 
not my opinion. This is the last work of my 
public life, and concerning it I can say with 
more confidence than I can of any other 
such work of mine, that it has been, so far 
as methods are concerned, faultlessly done. 
The decisions of the majority of the Com- 
mission may be erroneous, but Congress 
has not seen fit to subject them to revision 
by the Supreme Court." 

Benjamin Winslow Harris, of Massa- 
chusetts, the Real Father of the 

New Navy 

Writing of William Eaton Chandler in- 
evitably forces reference to the interesting 
and important fact that it was during his 
administration of the Navy Department 
that the first definite steps were taken look- 
ing to the building of our modern navy. It 
has been asserted by many writers and by 
many more politicians that the late William 
Collins Whitney, Secretary of the Navy in 
the first administration of President Cleve- 
land, was entitled to the honor claimed for 
Mr. Chandler. But Mr. WTiitney's distinc- 
tion in this direction came to him because 
of the fact that during his administration 
some of the ships, notably the Dolphin, the 
dispatch boat claimed by him and his bu- 
reau chiefs to be " structurally weak," and 
which is afloat, swift, and sound to-day, 
although her maker, John Roach, is in his 
grave, where he was driven after bankruptcy 
and poverty brought about by baseless 
political scandal, came to their completion 
under his authority. But it w r as Secretary 
Chandler who authorized the laying of the 
keels for the first of our new steel ships. 
That is a fact of record. 

It is not to Mr. Chandler, however, but to 
another eminent New Englander, who 
passed away but a short time ago, that the 


Judge Benjamin Winslow Jlanis, "The Real Father of the New Navy" 

distinction is due of being known in history 
as the actual "father of the new navy." 
This distinguished man, whose place in 
history should he made secure before the 
great work with which he was so closely 
identified while serving in Congress is for- 
gotten, was the Hon. .Benjamin Winslow 
Harris of East Bridgewater, Mass., who 
died at that place on the seventh of Febru- 
ary, 1907, after serving since his retirement 

from Congress, for twenty consecutive years, 
as judge of the probate court for Plymouth 

Judge Harris was the predecessor in 
Congress of the Hon. John D. Long and 
the successor of Oakes Ames. He was a 
man of high character, great ability, intense 
industry, and keen sense of duty. He was 
born in East Bridgewater, Nov. 10, 1823, 
his mother being a lineal descendant of 



Kenelm Winslow, brother of Governor 
Winslow of the Plymouth Colony. He at- 
tended the public schools in his native town 
and later went to Phillips Academy at An- 
dover, teaching school in his spare moments. 
In April, 1847, ne entered Harvard and 
graduated from the law school in 1849 an d 
opened a law office in East Bridgewater, and 
afterwards, in 1863, in Boston, his partner 
being Payson E. Tucker, and the firm most 
successful. He served in the legislature, was 
District Attorney of southeastern Massa- 
chusetts, Internal Revenue Collector, and 
was first elected to Congress in 1874. In the 
47th Congress, when he was chairman of the 
Committee on Naval Affairs, which impor- 
tant post he occupied for more than eight 
years, he submitted a report on the subject 
of "construction of vessels of war for the 
navy." It was a masterful document, show- 
ing much technical knowledge and pains- 
taking research, and it furnishes unques- 
tionable proof in support of the claim that 
to Judge Harris and to none other belongs 
the honor of being known as "the father of 
the new navy." 

A Masterly Report 

Officially this historic Congress compila- 
tion is known as Report No. 653, House of 
Representatives, 47th Congress, first session. 
It is now entirely out of print and there are 
very few copies extant. It is a volume of 230 
printed pages, containing statistics as to the 
personnel and equipment of the navy, the 
testimony of officers and experts, and the 
recommendations of the committee for 
needed legislation. This potential if almost 
forgotten report fixes upon Judge Harris, 
beyond the shadow of a doubt, the paternity 
of the modern steel navy which to-day has 
grown to such vast proportions just as the 
records of the Navy Department for the 
period immediately following the date of the 
report show that the credit for carrying out 
the devised policy of Judge Harris belongs 
to William Eaton Chandler. 

Judge Harris in his report called attention 
to the fact -that on Jan. 1, 1882, the naval 
register contained a list of 140 vessels: eight 
were propelled by steam and were "unfin- 
ished and utterly worthless;" fourteen were 
"worn out, obsolete, and worthless vessels, 
which it would be shameless folly and un- 
pardonable extravagance to attempt to re- 

pair;" eight were old sailing-ships; two were 
iron-clads, also "utterly worthless;" ten 
were tugs, "worn out and useless — "with the 
result that forty-two ships fell out of the list 
at once, leaving ninety-eight, of which fifteen 
were navy-yard tugs of no use for war pur- 
poses. It was found "that our humiliation 
is not yet complete," for of the eighty-three 
remaining, fourteen are "old sailing-vessels 
of a bygone age of an outgrown and aban- 
doned system." There were indeed at that 
time but thirty-eight vessels that were of any 
practical value whatever, and even some of 
them were of the type most desirable for 
times of peace. Of these, Chairman Harris 
expressed his lack of profound respect. 

After comparing the naval power of the 
United States. on the ocean with that of 
Great Britain, France, Germany, Russia, 
Holland, Austria, Italy, Spain, Denmark, 
and Japan, the committee said: 

"In view of the facts thus presented, the 
committee feel that the time for wise and 
energetic action has come. The work of 
reconstruction must be begun and pushed 
with a vigor, in order that new vessels prop- 
erly armed may be ready to fill the places of 
vessels of the present navy as fast as they 
become unfit for further service. Our pres- 
ent navy of wooden steam-vessels, without 
rebuilding, will be entirely out of service in 
ten years. A wooden steam-vessel has an 
active and efficient life of from but twelve to 
fifteen years. After that period such vessel 
is kept in service only by costly repairs; to 
rebuild a wooden ship is quite as costly gen- 
erally as building an entire new vessel, and 
the advantages of the new ship are many 
and obvious. No old vessel would ever be 
rebuilt in the navy if there was no restric- 
tion on the power of the department to 
build new vessels. This restriction has 
worked loss to the government and harm to 
the navy from the beginning." 

Then came this rather strong language 
for an official report : 

"Longer to delay action looking to the 
building up of our navy would, in the opin- 
ion of your committee, be not only folly, but 
even crime. No nation can afford to be 
shorn of its powers of offensive or defensive 
war, and this great nation, bounded by two 
oceans and having a seacoast line of greater 
extent than that of any other nation on the 
globe, and furnishing material for commerce 
greater than that of any other nation, is 



practically defenceless at home and could 
strike but a feeble blow on the sea. The 
wasteful extravagance of such a condition 
would be manifest in one day of war with 
any great naval power. To block up for a 
single day the great harbor of our com- 
merce, by the fleet of our enemy, would cost 
our people more than would be the cost of 
an invincible navy. To shut up our great 
seaports, from which flow out to the markets 
of the world our surplus products, for one 
week would work a mischief incalculable 
and cause a loss greater than the cost of a 
hundred of the heaviest ships of war in the 
world. Readiness for war would prevent 
such calamities. To be unprepared for war 
is to invite it. No maritime nation is less 
prepared for war than ours to-day." 

Judge Harris took a deep interest in his- 
torical and genealogical subjects, and was a 

member of several societies devoted to the 
studies of those matters, including the Old 
Bridgewater Historical Society. In the 
affairs of his native town he was always 
active, and enjoyed the prominence and in- 
fluence w r hich came to him as the leading 
citizen of the community. 

Judge Harris w r as a well-known figure in 
Washington, and was extremely popular 
here, as he was in his home town and State. 
He had much personal magnetism, a most 
attractive and engaging voice and manner, 
with a fine physique and bearing. He was 
an excellent speaker and debater, his long 
practice before the bar having given him a 
good training in this regard. He enjoyed a 
wide personal acquaintance, and had for 
many years been active on the stump in 
various political campaigns in eastern and 
western States. 



The lake is still and lonely. 

Far off, the banks appear 
Like lands of mystic fable, 

And phantom isles are near. 

With weary, sad persistence 
I drag the depths profound; 

For my dead self I 'm seeking, 

That somewhere here lies drowned. 

Sometimes the rope stirs something 
That lies there out of sight; 

Sometimes the wrack draws upward 
Like a dead face floating white. 




'Twinkle, twinkle, 'Ladder' Lane, 
With your wavin' winder-pane, 
Up above the world so high, 
Like a flash-bug in the sky." 

HE fire -lookout at the Attean 
station winked this ditty hu- 
morously with playful helio- 
graph to "Ladder" Lane, 
lookout on the high bald poll 
of old Jerusalem Knob. The Attean look- 
out got it by telephone from Castonia. 
Lyrist unreported. 

Jerusalem station is more serene in its 
isolation than the other five lookouts on the 
mountains of the north country. It has no 
telephone. Lane allowed to his lonely self 
that he got more news than he really wanted, 
anyhow. And most of the news was of the 
sort that the humorous Attean lookout, or 
the equally humorous Squaw Mountain 
man, considered as likely to tease the cranky 
solitary on the highest and farthest outpost 
of the chain of lookouts. They whiled away 
their solitude by gossipy chattings over the 
wire. Lane confined himself to terse wink- 
ings that would have been gruff if it were 
possible for a heliograph to be gruff. He 
seemed to take a certain grim pride in the 
fact that he was a thousand feet higher than 
any of them and commanded 300,000 acres. 

Sitting now in the glare of the September 
sunshine on the flat roof of his cabin, he 
gravely and stolidly scrawled down the 
words of the verse as the Attean heliograph 
with snappy blink and steady glare spoke to 
him in the Morse code. 

"Huh!" he grunted, and went on writing 
with stubby pencil his interrupted day's 
entry in his official diary. For the twenty- 
fifth time he wrote: 

"Clear, bright, and still dry." 

He screwed his eyelids close to peer into 
the heavens bending over him, hard as the 
bottom of a brass kettle. He took off his hat 
and held it edgewise at his forehead while 

his gaze swept the mighty range of his 
vision. An imaginative person might have 
smiled at the likeness between his brown 
and bald poll, thrust above the straggle of 
hair, and the bare and bald poll of old 
Jerusalem, rounding above the straggle of 
growth on its lower slopes. 

Some one bawled at him from the ground 
below. Lane did not start, though that was 
the first human voice he had heard in two 

The young man who stood there, and 
who had come across the gray ledges from 
the edge of the timber growth, carried an 
arm strapped to a board and in a sling. 

" Do you ever look at anybody if they 're 
nearer than ten miles away?" inquired the 
visitor, with the teasing irony that it seemed 
popular in the Umcolcus region to employ 
with "Ladder" Lane. 

When the old man stood up the fitness of 
his sobriquet was apparent. He unfolded 
himself, joint by joint, like a carpenter's 
rule, and stood gaunt as a beanpole and 
seven ax-handles tall. 

The name painted on the door of the 
photograph-" saloon" that even now lies 
rotting on the banks of Ragmuff in Castonia 
Settlement is "Linus Lane. Tintypes and 
Views." No one in Castonia ever knew 
from just where he had come. Oxen or 
horses and a teamster hired for each trip 
had dragged the rumbling van from settle- 
ment to settlement at the edge of the woods, 
and finally to Castonia, where it arrived 
hobbling on three wheels, one corner sup- 
ported by a dragging sapling. Lane strode 
ahead, swearing over his shoulder at the 
driver, and his ill-temper did not seem to 
leave him even when he had opened his 
door for business. It is remembered that 
his first customer was old Bailey, who was 
corresponding with an unknown woman 
down country and who came for a tintype 
with hair and whiskers colored to the hue 




of the raven's wing, evidently desiring to 
make an impression on his correspondent. 
And when old Bailey, shocked and disap- 
pointed at the painful verity of the tintype, 
had muttered that it did n't seem to be a 
very pretty picture, Lane, doubled like a 
jack-knife under the saloon's low roof, had 
yelled at him: 

"Pretty picture! You come to me with a 
face like a scrambled egg dropped into a 
bucket of soot and complain because you 
don't get a pretty picture ! Get out of here ! " 

And he had stopped slicing up the sheet 
of tintypes, slammed it on the floor, drove 
out old Bailey, nailed up the door of the 
saloon, and started for the big woods with 
his few possessions on his back. 

To those who remonstrated on behalf of 
the offended old Bailey, Lane said he had 
been getting into that mood toward human- 
ity for some time, and was taking to the 
woods before he expressed his disgust by 
killing some one. 

Therefore the job on the top of Jerusalem 
that fell to him quite naturally after a five 
years' sojourn as a recluse at its foot was a 
job that fitted admirably with his scheme of 

"And it looks up there like it must have 
looked when Noah said, 'All ashore that 's 
goin' ashore,' on Mount Ariat, or wherever 
't was he thro wed anchor," announced 
Tommy Eye, of Britt's crew, returning once 
from a Sunday trip to the fire-station. 

For, painfully acquired, with gouges, 
clawings, and scratches to show for it all, 
"Ladder" Lane had accumulated com- 
panions of his loneliness, to wit: — 

One bull moose, captured in calfhood in 
deep snow; two bear cubs; a raccoon; a 
three-legged bobcat, victim of an excited 
hunter; two horned owls; and a fisher cat. 

On this menagerie, variously tethered or 
crated in sapling cages, the visitor with the 
disabled arm bestowed contemptuous side- 
glance while he blinked at the tall figure on 
the cabin's flat roof. 

Without haste, Lane withdrew himself 
through the roof-scuttle like an angle-worm 
drawing into his hole; without cordiality he 
appeared at the cabin door, lounging out 
into the sunshine. 

"I suppose you are still doing the second- 
hand swearing for Britt, MacLeod," he 

The young man grunted. 

"How did ye hurt your arm? Britt 
chaw it?" 

"Peavy-stick flipped on me," growled 
the young man, willing to hide his humili- 
ation from at least one person in the world 
— and the hermit of the Jerusalem station 
seemed to be the only one sufficiently iso- 

"Huh! I thought his name was Wade." 

There was no spirit of jest in the tone. 
The old man surveyed him sourly. "That 's 
what the Attean helio said." 

"Is that what you use them things for — 
to pass gossip like an old maids' quiltin'- 

"There 's a good deal in this world in 
letting a man place his own self where he 
belongs," remarked Lane, with calm con- 
viction. " I ' ve let you prove yourself a liar. ' ■ 

He turned and went into the cabin and 
back up the stairs to the roof, picking up a 
huge telescope as he went. Something in 
the valley seemed to have attracted his at- 
tention. MacLeod followed, his face red, 
oaths clucking in his throat. 

In the nearer middle ground of the great 
plat of country below, Patch Dam heath 
was set into the green of the forest like a 
medallion of rusty tin. To the west of it 
smoke began to puff above the tree-tops. 

"On Misery," mumbled Lane, his long 
arms steadying his instrument. Then with 
the caution of a man of method he went 
into the scuttle-hole and secured his range- 

"What 's the good of tinker-fuddlin' with 
that thing?" demanded MacLeod; "it 's on 
Misery, as you said." 

"Two hundred and fifty-nine degrees," 
muttered the fire-scout, booking the figures 
in his dog's-eared diary. 

"Say, about that fire, Mr. Lane," blurted 
MacLeod, nervously. " I 'm up here to-day 
by Mr. Britt's orders to tell you not to re- 
port it. It 's on Misery Gore, and he 's 
there looking after it, and it 's all right. So 
don't report it. Of course you know Attean 
can't see it, and it ain't goin' to be worth 
while to report. I know all about it, and 
that 's the truth." 

Lane, without bestowing a glance on the 
speaker, was setting up his heliograph tri- 
pods. At the young man's last words he 
grunted over his shoulder: 

"So it was a peavy-stick! But they told 
me his name was Wade." 


2 75 

"Now you look here," stormed the tim- 
ber-baron's boss, "you can slur all you want 
to about my lyin', but I tell you, Lane, this 
is straight goods. You report that fire, 
after the orders you 've got from Britt, and 
you '11 lose your job. I know what I 'm 
talkin' about." 

Lane kneeled, his thin trousers hanging 
over his slender shanks like cloth over 
broomsticks. MacLeod stifled an inclina- 
tion to take him in one hand and snap him 
like a whiplash. The old man was peering 
through the centre hole in the sun-mirror, 
bringing his disks into alignment. 

"Britt has got orders from the court, and 
he 's there to put the Skeets and Bushees 
out and torch off their shacks. That 's all 
there is to that fire, Lane, and Britt don't 
want a stir and hoorah made about it. He 
told me to tell you that. He says the cussed 
newspapers get a word here and a word 
there and they 're always ready to string out 
a lot of lies about King Spruce and wild- 
landers and how they abuse settlers and all 
that rot — and it hurts prominent men, 
like Mr. Britt and his associates, because 
folks get wrong ideas from the papers. Now 
you know that! Don't report that fire, 

It was fulsome appeal and eager appeal, 
and MacLeod was apparently obeying 
some very emphatic orders from his supe- 
rior, who had supplied language as well as 
directions of procedure. 

But the old fire-warden kept on with his 
preparations, exact, careful, without baste. 

"He said you'd understand — Britt 
did," clamored MacLeod, hastening around 
in front of the heliograph. "You know it 
ain't right to have those people there in this 
dry time, with all that slash about 'em. Mr. 
Britt will make it all right with them — the 
same as the landowners always do. It will 
be the papers that will lie and call the land- 
owners names for the sake of stirrin' up 
a sensation about leadin' men — makin' 
politics out of it and gettin' the people 
prejudiced so as to put more taxes onto 
wild lands." More of Britt's ammunition! 
"Mr. Britt said you'd understand — and 
you do understand — and you can't report 
that fire." 

Lane set his gaunt grasp about the handle 
of the screen, ready to tilt it for the first 

"I understand just this, MacLeod, — 

that I 'm a fire-warden of the State, sworn 
to do my duty as my duty is spread before 
me." He swept his left arm in impressive 
gesture. "Look behind you! Do you see 

Smoke was ballooning from the notch of 
the woods below them. Round puffs 
seemed to be dancing in fantastic ballet 
from tree-top to tree-top. 

"That's a fire, MacLeod. I take no 
man's say-so as to what and why. That 
may be Pulaski Britt smoking a segar. It 
may be Jule Skeet's new spring bonnet on 
fire. I don't care what it is. It 's a fire and 
it 's going to be reported. Stand out of 

His code-card was in the top of his hat. 
He waved the headgear impatiently at 
MacLeod, his right hand still on the handle 
of the screen. 

MacLeod had vivid knowledge of what 
the injunctions of Pulaski D. Britt signified 
in this case. Britt had not hesitated to rely 
upon the loyalty of "Ladder" Lane, for 
Britt, when State senator, had caused Lane 
to be appointed to the post on Jerusalem. 
MacLeod reflected, with fury rising like 
flame from the steady glow of his contemp- 
tuous resentment at this old recalcitrant, that 
Pulaski Britt would never make allowance 
for failure under these circumstances. To 
be sure, that fire yonder did n't look like a 
carefully conducted incineration of the 
dwellings of Misery Gore, and it was a little 
ahead of time — that time being set for the 
calm of early evening. But orders from 
Britt were — to his men — orders from the 
supreme tribunal. 

" Britt put you here ! " stuttered MacLeod. 

"I 'm working for the State, not Pulaski 
D. Britt," replied the old man. 

"And I 'm workin' for Britt, and, by the 
gods, he runs the State in these parts ! Him 
and you and the State can settle it between 
you later, but just now — " he swung to one 
side, leaned back, and drove his foot with 
all the venom of his repressed rage against 
the apparatus — "that fire-report don't go!" 

"Ladder" Lane, serene in his proud 
conjuration, "The State," had expected no 
such enormity. The heliograph skated on 
its spider legs, went over the edge of the 
roof and, after a hushed moment of drop, 
crashed upon the ledge with shiver and 
tinkle of flying glass. 

The boss of "Britt's Busters" turned and 



darted through the scuttle and down the 
stairs, excusing to himself this flight on the 
ground of his out-of-commission arm. 

He leaped out into the sunshine and clat- 
tered away over the ledges, the spikes in his 
shoes striking sparks. 

He had made half a dozen rods when he 
heard the old man scream, "Halt!" Mac- 
Leod kept on, with a taunting wag of his 
well hand above his head. The next mo- 
ment a rifle barked and the bullet chipped 
the ledge in front of him. 

"The next one bores you in the back, 

He stopped then, and whirled in his 

Lane stood at the edge of his roof, his 
rifle-butt at his cheek. 
"Come back here!" 

"You ain't got the right to hold me up, 
Lane. I '11 have the law on ye ! " 
"Come back here!" 

There was a grate in the tone, a menace 
not to be braved. 

The young man shuffled slowly toward 
the cabin, roaring oaths and insults to which 
Lane deigned no reply. 

MacLeod did not try to run when the 
warden disappeared for his trip to the door. 
He waited sullenly. 

Near the door was a good-sized empty 
cage of strong saplings, built in "Ladder" 
Lane's abundant leisure for the reception of 
any new candidate that might present itself 
for the menagerie. The old man jerked his 
head sideways at it. There was a gap of 
three saplings in the side, and the poles stood 
there ready to be set in. 

"I won't be penned that way," squalled 
MacLeod. "I ain't no raccoon." 

But the bitter visage of the warden, the 
merciless flash of his gray eyes, and the 
glint of the rifle-barrel, swinging into line 
with his face, combined with the sudden 
remembrance that it was hinted that "Lad- 
der" Lane was not always all right in his 
head, drove the stubborn courage out of 
MacLeod. He slunk, rather than walked, 
into the cage, with the mien of a whipped 
beast. The old man set the saplings one by 
one into place and nailed them with vigorous 

"How long have I got to stay here, 
Lane?" he pleaded. 

"Till I can turn you over to them who 
will put you where you >>elong for destroying 

State's property and interfering with a 
State officer." 

The old man turned away and gazed out 
over the forest stretches between Jerusalem 
and Misery. MacLeod, clutching the bars 
of his cage with his left hand, looked too. 

It was no puny torching of the Misery 
huts that he was looking on, and he realized 
it with growing apprehensiveness as to his 
zeal in suppressing news. 

Vast volumes of yellow smoke volleyed 
up over the crowns of the green growth. It 
was a racing fire — even those on Jerusalem 
could see that much across the six miles be- 
tween. Spirals waved ahead like banners 
of a charging army. Its front broadened as 
the fire-troops deployed to the flanks. 
Ahead and ever ahead fresh smoke-puffings 
marked the advance of the skirmish-line. 
Now here, now there, drove the cavalry 
charges of the conflagration, following 
slash-strewn roads and cuttings, the dun 
smoke ripping the green of the maples and 

"It 's liable to interest Pulaski D. Britt 
somewhat when he finds out why Jerusalem 
lookout ain't calling for a fire -posse," Lane 
remarked, bitterly. 

The situation seemed to overwhelm the 
boss. He looked with straining gaze at the 
rush of the conflagration and had no word 
for reply. 

"But it may not all be loss for you," the 
old man proceeded, grimly. "Perhaps the 
girl will be burned up — perhaps that was 
in your trade with Britt." 

"I don't know what you mean about any 
girl," mumbled MacLeod, looking away 
from the old man's boring eyes. 

"You 're a liar again, as well as a dirty 
whelp of a sneak." 

Lane spat the words over his shoulder, 
stumping away, the bristle of his gray 
beard standing out like an angry porcupine's 

"I don't allow anybody to put them 
words on me," roared MacLeod. 

"You don't, heh?" Lane whirled and 
stumped back. He bent down and set his 
face close to the saplings, his eyes narrowing 
like a cat's, his nose wrinkling in mighty 
anger. "You can steal time paid for by 
Pulaski Britt and hang around Misery 
Gore and coax on an ignorant girl into a 
worse hell than she 's living in now" — he 
pointed quivering finger at the smoke- 



wreathed valley — "when you know and / 
know and every one on these mountain-tops 
of the Umcolcus knows and gossips it with 
the settlements that you 've picked her up 
only to throw her farther into the wallow 
where you found her. It 's the Ide girl 
you 're courtin\ It 's poor little Kate of 
Misery that you 're killin\ There is n't 
another man in the north woods mean 
enough to steal from a girl as poor as she 
is — steal love and hope and faith. It 's all 
she 's got, MacLeod, and you've taken all." 

The young man grunted a sullen oath. 

"There 's a lot I could say to you," raged 
Lane, "but I ain't going to waste time doing 
it. I '11 simply express my opinion of you 

He spat squarely into the convulsed face 
of Mac Leod,and went away into his cabin. 

As the hours of the day went on, Colin 
MacLeod, caged, helpless, set high on the 
bald brow of old Jerusalem, where every 
phase of the great fire was spread before his 
eyes, found abundant opportunity to curse 
himself for a fool. In time, of course, Attean 
or some other point would realize the extent 
of the conflagration and call for assistance. 
But now, hidden under Jerusalem and con- 
fined to the slash under the green trees, it 
was a racing ground-fire that crouched and 
ran. It came rapidly, but in a measure 
secretly. It showed a subtility of selection. 
It did not waste time on the green forest of 
beeches and maples. It was hurrying north 
toward its traditional prey. That prey was 
waiting for it, rooted on the slopes of Jeru- 
salem, on the Umcolcus, on Attean and the 
Enchanted — the towering black growth of 
hemlock, pine, and spruce — the apple of 
Pulaski Britt's commercial eye — the hope 
of his associates. Once there, it would 
spring from its crouching race on the ground. 
It would climb the resinous trunks and 
torch and flare and rage and roar in the 
tinder-tops — a dreaded "crown-fire" that 
only the exhaustion of fuel or the rains of 
God would stop. 

Attean would see that fire leaping past 
Jerusalem and would swear and wonder and 
report too late. 

Just now hours were as precious as days. 

Men could do nothing at midday with 
the wind lashing behind. MacLeod knew 
well how that fire should be fought. But 
with men on the way ready to flank it at 
nightfall and work ahead of it with pick and 

shovel and beating branches of green — the 
winds stilled and the dews condensing* — 
it could be conquered — it must be con- 
quered then, if at all. 

Woods-fires sleep at night. The men who 
fight them may as well sleep at midday. 

With the dropping of the sun and the 
sinking of the winds the fires drowse and 
flicker and smoulder. Then must one at- 
tack the monster; for at daybreak he is up, 
ravening and roaring and hungry. 

And now — not even Britt's own crew of 
loggers at the foot of Jerusalem had word 
and warning. MacLeod bellowed appeal 
to be let out. He besought Lane to hurry 
down the mountain to camp. He howled 
frightful oaths and abject promises, mingled 
with threats. 

At dusk the old man came out of his 
cabin and brought bread and water and 
bacon to his captive without word. He fed 
him with as much unconcern as he brought 
browse to the tethered bull moose and dis- 
tributed provender suited to the various 
tastes of his menagerie. 

The darkness settled in the valleys first, 
and one by one fire-dottings pricked out — 
blazing junipers and the stunted new growth 
of evergreen. From Jerusalem the great 
expanse seemed like a mighty city, its win- 
dows alight, its streets and avenues illu- 
minated gloriously. 

MacLeod, silenced except for an occa- 
sional hoarse quack of appeal, paced his 
little cage despairingly. 

"Ladder" Lane sat on the flat roof silent 
as a spectre. So the hours dragged past. 

"I thought so!" grunted the old man at 
last. "That's what I've been sitting up 

From his eyry he saw light flickering in 
the stunted growth far down Jerusalem, 
zigzagging nearer. At last it emerged and 
came across the ledges — a flare of hissing 
birch bark stuck into a cleft stick. There 
were several men hastening along in the 
circle of its radiance. Lane could hear afar 
their gruntings of exhaustion. 

"If I ain't mistook, it 's your friend 
Britt," remarked the old man, maliciously, 
as he passed MacLeod's cage on his way to 
meet the visitors. 

And it was Britt — Britt with his hat in 
his hand, perspiration streaming into his 
beard, his stertorous breath whummling in 
his throat. Lane knew the man who bore 

2 7 S 


the torch as Bennett Rodliff, high sheriff of 
the county. 

" It 's been — God ! — awful work — but 
we 've — come round the east — edge of it, 
Lane," panted Britt. Commanding general 
in the grim conflict, he had been willing to 
burst his heart in order to establish head- 
quarters in the one spot from which he 
could mobilize his forces and direct their 
tactics. " How many men have you ordered 
in, Lane?" 

"Not a man!" 

"Not a — not a — you stand there and 
tell me you have n't reported and called 
for every man that Attean and Squaw can 
reach?" He began to curse shrilly. 

"You 'd better save your wire-edge, Mr. 
Britt," counselled Lane. "You 're goin' to 
need it. Come here till I show you some- 

One of the sheriff's men lighted a fresh 
sheet of bark at the dying flare of the other, 
and Lane led the way to the cage, where 
MacLeod peered desperately between the 

"Just a moment, Mr. Britt!" broke in 
the warden, again checking the lumber- 
baron's fury; "this man came up here to-day 
with what he said were your orders not to 
report that fire and — " 

"That fire!" roared Britt, fairly beside 
himself, "why, you devilish, infernal — " 

"A moment, I say! When I set up my 
heliograph he kicked it off the roof. There 
it lies just as it fell. You and he can settle 
your part of it! As for my part of it, I have 
arrested him by my authority as a fire- 
warden. The sheriff, here, can take him 
whenever he gives me a receipt and makes 
note of my complaint." 

"I did what you told me to, Mr. Britt," 
protested MacLeod, his voice breaking; 
" he was reportin' the first puff of smoke and 
said that you and your orders could go to 
thunder. He did n't pay any attention — 
and I just did what you told me to. I — " 

' L Shut up!" The Honorable Pulaski, 
crimson with anger, apprehensive as to his 
own reputation in this conspiracy, and 
shamed by the exposure of his methods, 
bellowed his order. "We '11 settle this later. 
Knock away those saplings, some one. 
MacLeod, get down this mountain, even if 
you break your neck doing it, and get your 
crew to the front of that fire! I — I — have n't 
got the breath to talk to you the way you 

need to be talked to. As you stand, you 're 
only half a man on account of a girl." He 
darted quivering finger at the disabled arm. 
"And it 's your other little damn fool of a 
girl at Misery that torched that fire when 
she heard that you 'd jilted her. Now is it 
women or woods, after this?" 

"Woods, Mr. Britt!" stammered the 
boss, eager to conciliate this raging bull. 

"Then get to the front of that fire and 
stop it, even if you have to lie down and roll 
over on it. It 's a fire your pauper sweet- 
heart started, and that you 've arranged, by 
your infernal bull-headedness, to let burn. 
Stop it, or keep going! It won't be healthy 
in my neighborhood." 

"I '11 stop it or die tryin', Mr. Britt." 

Lane leaned his back against the cage and 
faced the group, his gaunt arms reaching 
from side to side. 

"You can't free a prisoner that way, Mr. 
Britt," he said, firmly. " You take this man 
away from me — or if the high sheriff, here, 
lets him go — I '11 report the thing under 
oath to the Governor and the people of this 
State — and I reckon you can't afford to 
have that done. I propose to have it known 
why Linus Lane did n't do his duty in re- 
porting that fire." 

"Take that old fool away from there and 
let that man out," commanded Britt, his 
passion blind to consequences. He could 
see no very clear way out of his muddle, to 
be sure. He seemed to be in for wicked 
notoriety, anyway. Just now his burning 
thought was to get "Roaring Cole Mac- 
Leod," master of men, at the head of that 
fire, to hold it in leash until more assistance 
came. He knew his man. He understood 
that MacLeod, bitter in the consciousness 
of his blunder, was now worth six men. 
"Rodliff, I'll take the consequences," he 
shouted. "Let my boss out." 

But the high sheriff seemed to be doubtful 
as to the consequences that he also would 
have to accept. Just then he had clearer 
notions of official responsibility than did the 
Honorable Pulaski D. Britt. 

"This man is under arrest all regular," 
protested Rodliff, "and I 've just the same 
as heard him own up that he interfered with 
Warden Lane in his duty. The Governor 
himself would n't have the right to order me 
to let a prisoner go before a hearing on the 
case. That 's law, Mr. Britt, and — " 

"Talk that south of Castonia," broke in 



the Honorable Pulaski. "Just now law 
won't put that fire out and save a fifty- 
thousand-acre stand of black growth. Lane, 
you 've got to be reasonable. Mistakes 
have been made, but they '11 be rectified. 
You can't afford to be obstinate in this 

But the old man did not move from the 
cage. The flaring of the torch lighted his 
solemn and unrelenting countenance. The 
worried face of MacLeod peered out over 
one of the extended arms. 

"What — what was it happened to 'em on 
Misery, Mr. Britt?" he asked, humbly. 

"I told you!" snapped Britt, glad of a 
momentary excuse to cover the embarrass- 
ment of this general defiance of his dig- 
nity. "Your black-eyed beauty, there, that 
you 've been fooling with when my back 's 
been turned, is jealous of Rod Ide 's girl and 
took to the bush with a blueberry-torch 
dragging at her heels to show her feelings in 
the matter. I 'd have shot her like I would 
a rabbit if it had n't been for your particular 
friend, Wade." The wrathful sneer of the 
Honorable Pulaski was a snarl that would 
have done credit to "Ladder" Lane's bob- 
cat. "When you come to settle accounts 
with that critter, MacLeod, break his leg, 
and charge it on my side of the ledger." 

"So he was there, hey?" asked the boss, 

" He was there long enough to assault me 
like a prize-fighter when I was protecting 
my property." 

"Why didn't you kill him?" demanded 
the boss, with venom. 

"By the time I got a gun he was out of 
sight at the tail of the fire, chasing the girl, 
with old Chris Straight, his guide, at his 
heels. I believe they were proposing to 
rescue the girl," concluded Britt, with a 
mirthless chuckle. "The only consolation 
I 'm getting out of that fire down there is 
that maybe it 's burning that Wade and the 
girl, whatever they call her, and will chase 
the Skeets and Bushees south and catch 
them, too. If it does I '11 be willing to let a 
thousand more acres burn to the south." 

But it appeared that the choicest section 
of the Honorable Pulaski's charitable hopes 
was doomed to disappointment. 

A torch, tossing from the edge of the 
stunted growth, marked the approach of 
some one. 

"The top of Jerusalem seems liable to be 

a popular roosting-place for all them that 
ain't wearing asbestos pants," remarked the 
high sheriff, drily. "A rush of excursionists 
during the heated spell, as the summer 
boarder ads say! Lane, can you give the 
crowd anything to eat at your tavern except 
broiled moose and fricasseed bobcat?" 

The pleasantry evoked no smile. For the 
little group at the cabin, Pulaski Britt first 
of all, with his keener eyes of hate, recog- 
nized those who were approaching. 

Old Christopher Straight came ahead 
with the torch. The girl of Misery Gore, 
moving more slowly now that she saw the 
group at the top of Jerusalem, her face sul- 
len, her head cocked defiantly, was at his 
back, and D wight Wade was at her side. 
Far behind, at the edge of the torch's radi- 
ance, slouched a huge figure of a man. It 
was foolish Abe, the hirsute giant of the 

"And now, speaking of arresting in the 
name of the law," gritted the lumber-baron, 
"and your duty that you seem so fond of, 
Rodliff, get out your handcuffs for some- 
thing that 's worth while. It 's three years 
in State prison for maliciously setting fires 
on timber-lands. It 's a long vacation in 
county jail for assaulting a man without 
provocation. There 's the girl who set that 
fire; there 's the man that struck me. So 
you see, Lane, your prisoner is going to have 

Lane came suddenly away from the cage. 
The torch showed his face working with 
strange emotion. 

" Mr. Britt," he said, appealingly, to the 
astonishment of the senator who under- 
stood this sour woods' cynic's nature, 
"there are crimes that ain't crimes in this 
world — not when they 're judged by God's 
own scale. There 's your fire yonder! Some 
one is responsible for it. But not that poor 

"I saw her set it myself, you devilish 

"Not that poor girl, I say. Those that 
threw her — her with the pride of good 
blood that she felt, but did not understand 
— her with her longings, her intelligence, 
her hopes that her blood gave her — " 

"Blood!" roared the Honorable Pulaski, 
"what do you know about her pedigree ?" 

"Those that threw her into that pen of 
swine, men like you that have persecuted 
her and wonder why she does n't cower and 



squeal like the rest of those witlings, men 
like that whelp in that cage there, giving 
her a traitor hand to make believe lift her 
out of the mire and then throwing her back 
into hell — all of you are responsible for that 
fire. You bent the limb. It has snapped 
back and struck you in your faces. It 's the 
way of the woods." 

"Well, of all the infernal nonsense I ever 
listened to, this sermon on Mount Jeru- 
salem clears the skidway," blurted Britt. 
" You stand up at the trial and repeat that, 
Lane, and you '11 get your picture into the 

"And I guess a lot of the rest of us will 
before this scrape gets straightened out," 
muttered the high sheriff, bodingly. 

"Mr. Britt, you 're going to be sorry for 
it if you drag that ignorant and abused girl 
away to prison," announced Lane, with 
such fire of conviction that the timber-baron, 
cautious in his methods and always fearing 
the notoriety that would embroil the great 
secrets of the timber interests with public 
opinion, blinked at the oracular old warden 
and then at the still defiant face of the girl. 
Like most untrained natures in whom 
passion has unleashed natural high spirit, 
she seemed incapable of calm reconsider- 
ation. She had made such protest against 
the enormity of her persecution as oppor- 
tunity had put into her heart as right and 
into her hands as feasible. 

" We were fools to bring her here and toss 
her into the old hyena's claws," muttered 
Wade in Christopher's ear. " We might have 
known that he and his crowd would make 
for Jerusalem." 

"I did know it," returned the old guide, 
quietly. "And I knew just as well what 
would happen to us in the runway of that 
fire to-morrow." 

"Lane," broke in the Honorable Pulaski, 
with decision, "two trials won't stir this 
thing any worse than one. You 've arranged 
for one. Go ahead with MacLeod. I '11 
have the girl." 

Those who looked on Lane's face only 
knew that mighty passions were agitating 
him. But in speculation they found no 
clue. His voice broke and quavered. 

"Mr. Britt, things have been mixed for 
me in this world till I don't hardly know 
what is right. I 've tried to do my duty as 
it 's been laid out for me. But in climbing 
up to it there 's some things I have n't got 

the heart to step on. Perhaps in this thing 
we 're mixed in now we 've all been more or 
less wrong. I don't know. I have n't got 
the head to-night to figure it out. Perhaps 
it 's best that what has happened on Jeru- 
salem to-day don't get out. I don't know 
as that 's right. But I '11 say this: give me 
the girl; you can take MacLeod." 

The Honorable Pulaski hesitated, then 
"hemmed" hoarsely in his throat, scruffed 
at his beard, looked significantly at the high 
sheriff, and then called him apart by a nod 
of his head. 

When he returned to the group he said 
crisply, "It 's a trade! Under the circum- 
stances, I don't suppose even such a little 
tin god as you will have anything to say 
about it outside," he sneered, running red 
eye over Dwight Wade. The young man 
did not reply, but his face gave in his assent. 

Lane pried away the saplings and Mac- 
Leod stepped out. 

" Give him a camp lantern," commanded 
Britt. " Get your men to that fire at day- 

"Tell me that they've all been lying 
about you, Colin," cried the girl, her cheeks 
crimson, her heart going out to him at sight 
of his face, "and I '11 go with you! I '11 
work with you! I'm sorry for it, if it's 
made you mad with me." 

With Britt's flaming regard on him Mac- 
Leod only moved his lips without words. 

"Ladder" Lane came out of the cabin 
with two lighted lanterns. A set of line- 
man's climbers jangled dully at his belt. 

"No, you'll not go, girl!" he cried, 

With hands on her hips, she threw back 
her head, her nostrils dilating. 

"I 've paid a big price for you this night," 
he went on, more gently, "and it is n't to a 
cur of that calibre that I '11 be giving you. 
MacLeod, here 's your lantern! Away, 

"And I '11 go, I say, if you '11 tell me 
they 've lied. Colin, darling, tell me!" But 
he started away, spurred by a ripping oath 
of the Honorable Pulaski. She tore herself 
from the restraining grasp of Wade and ran 
after her lover. 

At her movement, Abe, cowering in the 
gloom away from the torch-lighted area of 
ledge, started behind her with canine loyalty. 
He had followed her into the fire-zone when 
his mother had screamed command into his 



ear. His mother and this girl, her prote'ge', 
were the only ones who ever gazed on him 
without disgust. 

"Abe!" shouted " Ladder" Lane. He 
spoke in a peculiar tone — a tone in which 
the fool evidently recognized something of 
an old-time authority; for he uttered a little 
bleat, in curious contrast with his giant 
bulk, and halted. 

"Fire, Abe!" cried Lane, brandishing his 
arm in the direction of the distant flamings. 
"Mother want her saved from fire. Fetch, 
Abe!" It was surely the tone of authority 
that the witling recognized and which took 
the place of his own volition over his giant 
strength. He sped after the girl, seized her 
in spite of her furious protest, and bore her 
back to the cabin, her struggles exciting only 
his amiable grins. 

Lane pushed him and his burden into the 

"Now, Abe, mother say watch her. No 
go into fire! Watch till I come!" He came 
out with placid confidence that his order 
would be obeyed, and the mien of the giant 
gave excellent confirmation. 

"Men," he said, grimly, looking round 
on their faces, "I 'd rather trust that girl to 
the fool than to all of the rest of humankind. 
Pretty hard verdict on humankind — but 
I 've had reasons in my life to distrust men 
— and the higher the men the more I dis- 
trust them. Don't any of you interfere in 
that duet in there. There 's only one thing 
that I ask you to do here till I come 
back — whoever stays here. Feed the ani- 
mals. You can't corrupt them" He was 
"Ladder" Lane once more, sour in his 

"Where are you going, Lane?" de- 
manded Britt. 

The old man shook a telephone cut-in 
sender at him. 

"I 'm going through the woods ahead of 
that fire to tap the Attean line and send my 
report and call for men," he said, calmly. 
"I 'm still the fire-warden of Jerusalem 

He set away, striding over the ledges, his 
lantern winking between his thin legs. 

"Looks like a cross between a lightning- 
bug and a grampy-long-shanks," observed 
the sheriff, his cheerfulness increased by the 
happy disposal of his troublesome prisoners. 
"Travelling on underpinning like that, 
he '11 have his word in before daybreak." 

But Pulaski Britt was not yet wholly 
satisfied on a matter that began to engross 
his inquisitiveness as soon as greater mat- 
ters had been settled. He ran after the 
warden, shouting an order for him to wait. 

The little group heard the colloquy, for 
Lane did not stop and the Honorable 
Pulaski had to bellow his question. 

" Say, Lane, in case anything should hap- 
pen to you! Ain't you going to let me do the 
square thing ? If this girl is yours, say the 
word. I '11 look after her. Is she yours?" : 

"No!" squalled the old man, with a fury 
in his tones like the rasp of a file on their 
flesh as they listened. And the next words 
seemed to be a cry wrung from him without 
his will: "If she were, by Almighty God, I 
would have killed you and Cole MacLeod 
before this." 

He went flitting down the slope of Jeru- 
salem like a will-o'-the wisp, and they stood 
in silence and watched him out of sight. 



On stony, upland pasture-slopes 
God's decalogues are set. 

His pentateuchs are written in 
The five-fold violet; 

And where the rocks are smitten, 
With springs the land is wet! 




^Y first experience as a teacher 
| of pedagogy began twenty-six 

years ago in a course of twelve 
Saturday morning lectures 
given to Boston teachers in a 
hall on Bromfield Street, under the auspices 
of Harvard College. In introducing me, 
President Eliot frankly spoke somewhat as 
follows: "I have never had much faith in 
pedagogy, for it has seemed to me too often 
only to make mediocrity and the common- 
place respectable. There are many, how- 
ever, who think it enough of a science to 
have a place in a college curriculum. Here 
is a young man who has studied this science 
and is fresh from Germany, its home. Those 
who follow this course may perhaps in the 
end be able to judge with more intelligence 
whether I am right or those who believe in 
this department are. I shall try to follow 
the course myself, and am ready to revise 
my opinion if I see ground to do so." 

This introduction created on the instant a 
situation I had not dreamed of before, but 
one which was tense and stimulating in the 
highest degree to me then. If I failed, he 
could say, "You see, I was right; there is 
nothing in it." If I succeeded, on the other 
hand, who could know but that I might 
sometime hope to attain what was then to 
ambitious young students, at least to those 
reared near the heart of New England who 
daily pray with their faces toward the gol- 
den State-house dome, the supreme earthly 
felicity of a chair, or even a foot-stool, at 
Harvard. I thought I did fairly, though by 
no means ideally, well. At any rate, my 
audience improved in quality and number, 
and a second dozen lectures was called for 
and given in the same hand-to-mouth wise, 
for till the last six weeks of my six years' 
stay abroad I had never dreamed of bring- 
ing my small store of psychological and 
philosophical knowledge down to the point 
of applying it to education. But, alas, 
President Eliot, whom I revered then and 
do yet as almost the superman (or Ueber- 
mensck) in American education, was un- 

converted and the Harvard chair was not 
constructed. But an ampler, and to me yet 
more desirable, field at the Johns Hopkins, 
then the leader and the light in higher edu- 
cation, was opened to me in preference to 
other and more worthy competitors for it, 
because, as I learned later, of my work in 
that sombre Bromfield Street hall. In the 
first of the conferences that followed each 
lecture, the then Superintendent of Boston 
schools, Dr. Philbrick, almost challenged 
me to visit them freely and report, if I could, 
any single defect. "For," he added, "while 
nothing human is perfect, I maintain that 
the schools of Boston are as nearly so as it 
falls to the lot of human institutions to be- 

It was during these courses that I be- 
came first painfully aware that many of the 
best and ablest American teachers suspected 
everything "made in Germany." One emi- 
nent man accused me violently in the press 
of being unpatriotic, and warned teachers 
not to listen to me, lest their loyalty to their 
own system of education should be im- 
paired. Another published a book in which 
he wrote that, despite my rosy presentation 
of the Teutonic school system, it was certain 
that if any American parents sent their chil- 
dren there, they would come home with 
the habits of loving black bread, sausages, 
sauerkraut, and lager beer, that they would 
disbelieve in God, affect foreign ways, and 
distrust things American. The principal of 
a large school assured me with some heat 
in a conference that I was undermining faith 
in our school system, idealizing Germany, 
that I was ignorant of schools in this coun- 
try, and that in all I said there lurked im- 
plied disparagement of them. One edu- 
cator who occupied one of the very highest 
positions in the country attended a few 
times and withdrew, telling a friend of 
mine that he did so because he was too 
good an American citizen to listen to my 
comparisons. Another principal declared 
that everything I described was as unprac- 
tical as moonshine and metaphysics. These, 



and not a few other criticisms which I best 
remember, very likely had only too much 
justification in the imperfections of my pres- 
entations, which were many and great, and 
from my enthusiasm for Germany, which 
perhaps reached its flood-tide about then. 
Yet now, after a quarter of a century while 
educational opinion here has greatly broad- 
ened and pedagogic intelligence has vastly 
increased, we still often observe traces of 
the old spirit. My own zest for things Ger- 
man has undergone great modification, and 
is, I hope, more judicious, since in certain 
respects it has suffered abatement, and I be- 
lieve myself to be now quite sane upon this 
subject, although the old note of distrust of 
influences from abroad and the old suspi- 
cion still often makes itself heard, albeit 
with less strength and frequency. Thus, in 
general, I think that educational opinion in 
America is now happily poised between 
Teutonophilic and Teutonophobiac tend- 
encies, so that the best minds are every- 
where very ready not only to listen to, but 
to profit by, suggestions from there and 
from every other land — as, indeed, the ma- 
jority were then, though in less degree than 

It has often been said that no two coun- 
tries need and can profit by each other gen- 
erally so much as Germany and America. 
This I firmly believe, for in scores of ways 
that I have elsewhere tried to enumerate 
they supplement and complement each 
other. So true is this that an American 
professor imported from and made in Ger- 
many has rather formally and publicly in- 
augurated himself as the mediator between 
these lands, saying that when he writes Eng- 
lish he seeks to present the best side of Ger- 
man institutions and ideas, and when he 
writes German he holds a brief for Amer- 
ican interests, thus trying to conceal from 
each the bad points and reveal in strong 
light the good points of the other. This, I 
believe, is a most wholesome function, and 
I presume something has thus been accom- 
plished in the great work of making these 
two nations still better acquainted and more 

My purpose in this brief article is only to 
sketch in the roughest way a few points in 
the general educational system of the Ger- 
many of to-day, which I have often revis- 
ited, and which I think American teachers 
should know and profit by. I must leave to 

some one else the no doubt equally impor- 
tant function of characterizing points in our 
own system which I believe would be help- 
fid to the fatherland. I will begin in the 
very heart of the people's schools, as they 
are actually worked, and with a point than 
which I believe no other stands out in more 
striking contrast to our own practices. 

This may be expressed in the truism, 
"The German teacher teaches" This sim- 
ple phrase really constitutes practically the 
key-word — the open sesame — to the sys- 
tem of popular education in Germany. The 
teacher there is not a hearer or a setter of 
lessons. Indeed, many of them would hardly 
understand what this function meant, if it 
were translated into their tongue. Neither 
are they to any great extent markers. I re- 
peat, "The German teacher teaches." Each 
wishes to be the source, if not almost the 
sole source, of the pupil's knowledge. The 
ideal is for the instructor's mind to be 
charged to the full, not only with informa- 
tion, but with inspiration, incentive, and the 
spirit of guidance. This does not mean that 
the pupil is passive. On the contrary, the 
ideal is extreme and incessant alertness, co- 
operation, and response, teacher and class 
always working together and both alike act- 
ive. One finds this difference at once in 
comparing text-books in this country with 
those in Germany. Here, texts are many, 
large, frequently going into details with fine 
print which may be omitted in the lesson, 
but the text-book often contains the sum in 
full quota of the knowledge to be imparted, 
and the teacher must get it from the text- 
book into the pupil's mind, and that intelli- 
gently. Hence, we often have so many 
pages, paragraphs, or chapters "set" as the 
basis of the next lesson's quiz. Under this 
system, the text-book business has grown 
to enormous proportions and its influence 
dominates in many ways and places. The 
best available talent is employed in making 
and in selling books, while the best paper, 
type, wide margins, and copious explana- 
tions, examples, and references are given. 
Thus the teacher is liable to become a book 
driver and to subordinate himself to the 
text. The book is the teacher's instrument. 

In Germany, all this is precisely reversed. 
In some subjects there are practically no 
text-books, and in others the only text per- 
mitted the children is the briefest kind of 
abstract or outline, which the teacher am- 



plifies and which serves as a memorandum 
of what has been taught. Moreover, these 
tiny booklets are often extremely cheap, 
may even be in paper covers, and are meant 
to be perishable. They are so inexpensive 
that the German parent would never think 
of asking the state or city to purchase books, 
poor though that parent be. I have a Ger- 
man arithmetic containing nearly 4,000 
sums and costing two and one-half cents. 
Often all these tiny repetiteurs are taken 
home over night and used simply to facilitate 
a review process in the pupil's mind of what 
the teacher has taught during the day. Amer- 
ican teachers are always struck, and more 
and more unfavorably as they have been 
accustomed to our elegant and expensive 
texts, with the poor quality of the paper 
and binding, and sometimes, though far less 
often, of the type provided in Germany. 
But the German child uses these manuals 
but little, and has beside them his own often 
far more copious notes of what is embodied 
in the course. Indeed, he is often supposed 
to make a text-book for himself each year 
out of what he has learned in class. 

This method, too, involves a great num- 
ber of books for teachers, so that if the pu- 
pil has far less, the teacher has far more lit- 
erature at command than here. The books 
of reference found in German schools, some 
of them prescribed by law, others by the 
inspector, and still others bought by the 
teacher from his own meagre resources, all 
bear witness to the ambition of the German 
pedagogue to make his own mind the source 
of most of the knowledge that the pupil gets. 
His preparation consists, not in macerating 
a small body of information by means of 
superfine methods, but in massing facts and 
instances and imparting them in profusion 
and connectedly in large wholes, after first 
exciting the greatest interest possible and 
making the child's mental appetite strong 
and his digestion vigorous. We have in this 
country but few books of just the type of 
which the teacher's reference libraries in 
Germany are composed. 

Another result of the fact that the teacher 
teaches is that time for study in school 
hours is practically unknown. The child's 
every moment at school is spent in class 
with his mind in the closest and most fructi- 
fying rapport with that of the teacher. 
The method of requiring a young child to 
study is thought to be unnatural and funda- 

mentally wrong. Knowledge must be got 
in common. The very presence of others 
focussing to the same point is itself a great 
mental stimulus and makes far more work 
possible, and with less fatigue and ennui. 
A teacher who permitted children to study 
in school would be thought to be lacking in 
resources or derelict in duty. Book work 
must be in the nature of a review of matter 
that has been carefully wrought out in 
school, and the law authorizes one hour of 
home work for the younger and two for the 
older children of this kind. The child may 
fairly be asked to apply a principle, that it 
already well understands and has already 
applied to one set of facts, to another slightly 
different. It may retranslate a passage in 
a language which it is just beginning after 
the teacher has translated it perhaps over 
and over and had the child write the defi- 
nition of every new word (for all dictionary 
work is thought wasteful for beginners), 
but it should never be given a new passage 
of which it is to grope or puzzle out a trans- 
lation. This method of getting knowledge 
in common and of then briefly conning it 
over alone involves a valid principle of psy- 
chology which makes for great mental econ- 
omy. Children are intensely social, and when 
working together with the teacher they al- 
most inspire each other each to do their best. 
The cooler reflective work alone is suitable 
for the solitude of home. 

Another result of the principle that the 
teacher teaches is seen in the school appa- 
ratus. This is often prescribed by law, and 
no German school, however humble or ru- 
ral, is complete without its cabinet and, as 
far as my experience goes, its room for spec- 
imens, diagrams, often apparatus specially 
bought, sometimes ingeniously adapted toys, 
and perhaps things made by the children 
to illustrate mechanical principles. Fre- 
quently there are photographs and usually 
representatives, sometimes copious, of the 
fauna and flora of the region. All these re- 
inforce the power of the teacher, are his 
repertory of valuable resources, and stim- 
ulate the interest of the student, making in- 
telligible many an intricate problem which 
would otherwise transcend his powers of 
comprehension. They are also great time- 

I have known teachers, who succeeded in 
printing interesting, copiously illustrated 
text-books that we should think admirable, 



to be criticized for having either not com- 
pleted their own mental growth, or for seek- 
ing a cheap and rather improper popular- 
ity or financial return, while such books 
would rarely be used by good teachers, be- 
cause each would have evolved in the course 
of years effective methods or unwritten 
books of his own, so that to use another's 
method would be to abdicate his own ped- 
agogic power and individuality. 

In the many German schools which I 
have visited I never saw anything like what 
in this country would be called a recitation 
in which the pupil is summoned to repro- 
duce, point by point, something he had pre- 
viously read with this end in view. Prep- 
aration for such a performance would be 
thought to be beset with most of the evils 
that we condemn as cramming. It would 
mean inertness on the part of all the chil- 
dren who are not reciting, and the descrip- 
tions sometimes given in Germany of Amer- 
ican teachers seated at their desks, calling 
upon one pupil after another to recite, and 
marking the performance of each, is re- 
ceived with mingled incredulity and hilarity. 
To imbibe and then regurgitate knowledge 
is an educative process of but limited value. 
Formal examinations, especially for young 
children, are looked upon as wooden ped- 
agogy. The teacher in close rapport with 
his class needs no such device to determine 
fitness for promotion, but could on the mo- 
ment form a very just judgment of each 
child's proficiency. Under this method, of 
course, study hours and study rooms, 
where quiet is sacredly maintained, are 
practically unknown. 

Always and everywhere, too, I have been 
struck with the profusion of charts, dia- 
grams, objects in the schoolroom for which 
often not only a cabinet, but a room, is set 
apart. German educational literature 
abounds in these, others are made by teach- 
er or pupil or collected, and I have heard 
school buildings, finished and furnished but 
without this material, compared to corpses 
or bodies without souls. The German 
teacher earns his bread by the sweat of his 
brow. He is generally animated, perhaps 
active, walking up and down, sometimes 
enforcing all he says with fire and gesture. 
He does not believe in soft or sessile ped- 
agogy. Teaching is hard work, and the 
mind, not only of the master, but of the pu- 
pil, is tense throughout. The teacher is 

thorough, masterful, loves authority, and 
has it in full measure. He promotes by an 
act of sovereign will. There is almost no limit 
to the amount of scolding of which he is 
capable, and his tongue-lashings and fre- 
quent bitter, biting sarcasm are well calcu- 
lated to flay the slow or dullards into activ- 
ity. If the authority of the teacher and par- 
ent conflict, it is the teacher always who 
wins out. The school law does not permit 
young children in term time to attend balls 
or theatres, so real and earnest, as the poet 
declares life to be, is the school. All this, 
I take it, is involved in the simple dictum, 
The German teacher really teaches. Let me 
present one somewhat more concrete illus- 

Some years ago I was greatly interested 
in following the work in Latin through one 
of the nearly 400 German gymnasia. The 
boy enters the lowest class, sexta, at the age 
of nine, after three years in Vorschule. Even 
if he has chanced to have women teachers 
before, he now bids adieu to them for good. 
Every first step in Latin is taken with the 
teacher. Simple, primer-like sentences are 
pronounced alternately and in concert. Each 
word is written; its stem, termination, gen- 
der, meaning, are gone over. Everything is 
parsed, for drill in grammar is incessant 
and thorough and reviews and re-reviews 
are unremitting. Every new word is writ- 
ten, and elemental Latin position, first with 
very petty variations from the sentences 
read, is practised. The vocabulary is at 
first quite subordinate to construction and 
meaning, but just as fast as the former ex- 
pands, so fast increases the total percentage 
of Latin words used by the teacher to the 
pupil and given back. Before the end of 
this year the regular inflections are pretty 
well mastered and what little the child has 
learned is known almost by heart. There 
are, however, practically no full conjuga- 
tions or declinations studied or memorized 
as such at any stage. In quinta, irregular 
verbs, dependent, conditional sentences, 
the ablative absolute, interjections, frequen- 
tatives, desiderative, diminutive, and other 
forms are practised, and in oral transla- 
tions into Latin a vocabulary of between 
one and two hundred words is made the 
most of. There is more attention given to 
etymologies and constructions than to mean 1 
ing, and throughout this year the ideal is 
still little matter and much form. In quarta, 



some larger chrestomata, Nepos, and Livy 
are read. A new writer is begun with great 
detail. Everything is explained, all the 
rough places are smoothed by the teacher, 
and the child has nothing to do at home save 
to recall what has been told him. Reviews, 
often back to the beginning, persist and 
continue later, but are more and more rapid. 
In tertia, moods and tenses are wrought out 
with great thoroughness, selections from 
Ovid, Tacitus, and other writers are read, 
along with many exercises and extempora- 
lia, all of which are corrected and the poor- 
est of which must be rewritten. Transla- 
tions are joint products of the teacher and 
all the pupils, feeling their way along very 
slowly. Retroversion is now quite common, 
and not a little Latin that has been read is 
memorized. Despite the amount of gram- 
matical work that has been done, there is 
no general grammar, but in the two tertia 
years the hardest and most detailed grammat- 
ical work is done. Good passages are read 
aloud with elocutionary effect, and not only 
they, but occasional sentences which illus- 
trate important grammatical rules, are 

By the time the boy has attained unter 
and ober secunda, or is fifteen, the amount 
of reading done is surprising. It comprises 
at least eight orations of Cicero, several 
books of Livy, the Eclogues, at least six 
books of the ^Eneid and Lucretius and 
Tibullus. These constitute the stataric 
reading, but besides these not a little cur- 
sory reading is done in other writers. Every- 
thing is given historic setting, and great at- 
tention is now paid to the content of the lit- 
erature read. There is still much drill on 
temporal, causal, and final clauses, position 
of words, etc., and many phrases are to be 
learned. Poetry is sometimes poetically 
translated, and I have seen a teacher require 
an ober tertia class to express a German 
thought in good Latin prose and also in 
good poetry. 

During the two prima years come per- 
haps the De ofnciis, De Senectute, and the 
whole of Tacitus' Germania and Agricola, 
perhaps six books of Sallust, one or more 
books of Quintillian, and Horace's Odes, 
Satires, and Epistles. Interspersed are ex- 
ercises in Latin history, lectures, a little but 
not very much archaeology, some attention 
to provincialisms and peculiar forms char- 
acteristic of different authors, much Latin 

conversation, and occasional disputations. 
Pupils are summoned, now to repeat the 
content or substance of a lesson, now to re- 
peat the author's phrases, to explain pas- 
sages, imitate styles, and write sentences of 
different patterns.* The general idea is for 
the pupil to take no step by himself at first. 
Only during the last few, and perhaps very 
few, years does the teacher retire a little 
and require the pupil to come forward and 
work independently. 

The claims of the classics are never dis- 
puted inside the walls or within the sphere 
of influence of the gymnasia. The teachers 
believe in a sentence sense as if it were an 
independent faculty and capable of indef- 
inite development. They seem to hold that 
every new word in Latin opens up a new 
associative tract in the brain, or brings to 
power a new neuron. They revere Latin 
as the voice of an extinct race from which 
they have most of all to learn. They do not 
study it to find etymologies of their own 
language, but rather to form Teutonic 
equivalents for everything they find in 
Latin. Being a dead language, all the cul- 
ture that focusses in it is a purely mental 
product, and Rome lives again in the minds 
of the pupils. A defunct world is recon- 
structed by imponderable words ; thus they 
learn how the inner world looked to and 
how the mind worked in an extinct race. 

In all this work I do not remember ever 
to have heard a reference to an examination , 
and the home work is not preparatory for, 
but reminiscent of, the work in class. Great 
stress is laid upon the ear and the oral func- 
tion, and everything is done with zefet, ani- 
mation, and contagious interest on the part 
of the teacher. The course above sketched 
is only a composite photograph made from 
notes, and is not precisely that followed 
anywhere, but I believe it presents a correct 
picture in essentials of the best gymnasial 
work. It is not edifying to compare either 
the process of the results of Latin teaching 
there with those in this country, despite the 
fact that our tongue is far more intimately 
related to Latin than is the German lan- 
guage. I have never seen in the whole field 
of education a more remarkable combina- 
tion of mechanical drill work with sustained 
enthusiasm and interest than is this master- 
piece of pedagogy, the German instruction 
in Latin. Compared with this, the results 
attained in teaching secondary Latin in 




this country are on the whole nothing less 
than ridiculous or contemptible, according 
to one's mood. This is strong language, 
but I use it deliberately after a comprehen- 
sive survey lately made on this subject as 
taught in American high schools. Does the 
American Latin teacher teach ? 

If my space were unlimited, I should like 
to add further notes of observations on three 
other topics; namely, music, which is usually 
taught not by special but by class teachers, 
all of whom in the normal schools must be 
able to play some instrument, and where, 
in the fourth year of volksschule, I have 
been asked to select from fifty folksongs, 
chorals, etc., which children who did not 
read notes could sing by heart; of the nature 
study in the youngest grades, which is at its 
best a model of thoroughness in its method 
and copiousness in material, closely corre- 
lated with language on the one hand and 
with practical life on the other. I should 
especially like to describe the also rather re- 
cent development of industrial and commer- 
cial education which has evolved under con- 
ditions quite different and along lines quite 
diverse from those in our country, the sig- 
nificance of which is that its influence seems 
to be extending to the highest grades of edu- 
cation, until many Germans now fear that 
their national system will topple over toward 
the practical. The marvellous advances of 
Germany in nearly all the skilled industries, 
some of which they command, the fact that 
such a large proportion of the details of 
business, even in London, are directed by 
trained Germans, their influence and in- 
creasing numbers in the trade and industry 
of nearly every South American State, the 
rapidly rising tide of commercial prosperity 
in that country, all point in this direction. 
Even a fourth added theme is tempting; 
viz., the German art of making educational 
exhibits. In my opinion, nothing ever at- 
tempted in this line has yet quite equalled 
the illustrations of the educational system 
of this country from kindergarten to pro- 
fessional school that were brought together 
at St. Louis. For instance, of the gymnasia, 
typical schools, one new and one the ancient 
Schule-Pforte, were set forth vividly in a 
way to show at a glance the details of or- 

ganization, administration, pedagogics, ap- 
paratus, rooms, etc., for every grade; and so 
on through each department. The contrast 
between the methods of this exhibition and 
our own must have been suggestive to both 

Finally, I know very well that all these 
excellences are not universal in Germany, 
and that some of the best of them are prac- 
tically an impossibility here. I realize 
keenly what seem to me the grievous de- 
fects of German education, first among 
which I should place the indifferent hygi- 
enic and architectural quality of their 
school buildings as a whole and the low 
place occupied by sports and athletics. In 
higher grades, of course, Jahn's Turner 
system really does wonders for those who 
cultivate it, but most of its devotees are 
adults. The years of training in the army 
make it a great national school of health 
and physical development and have made 
the importance of body culture no doubt 
somewhat less there than is the case here. 
The spirit of discipline, training, dressur, in 
this autocratic country is so highly de- 
veloped that it no doubt sometimes retards 
the growth of individuality and independ- 
ence, although I believe that it is a fault that 
leans to virtue's side for the rank and file of 
children. The tension is often great and 
may be sometimes too great and sap the 
vigor of under-vitalized children, but even 
this is perhaps eliminating those unfit for 
an educational career. Training in the cat- 
echism seems to me wooden and without 
vitality. I think the children would profit 
by longer vacations, especially in the cities, 
where childhood tends to slow deteriora- 
tion. The climate perhaps safeguards the 
German child somewhat from over-exhaus- 
tion with his work. Perhaps it is the resi- 
due of a long Puritan ancestry that also 
makes me critical of the large number of 
Sunday schools devoted to industrial and 
trade courses, for I would like to see this 
time kept sacred to more cultural and hu- 
manistic lines of development. That Ger- 
many is just now advancing more rapidly 
along practical than purely cultural lines 
seems to me evident, and I am old-fash- 
ioned enough to regard this with some regret. 



A hundred miles the village street' 

Lies distant from the sea, 
Yet here are tides that surge and beat 

No less impetuously. 

All unrestrained, on every hand, 
The flood of springtime pours; 

It finds the hills and meadow-land, 
And creeps up to our doors. 

Its seaweed is the verdant grass, 
Its currents mount the trees, 

Its white-caps into blossoms pass 
And scatter in the breeze. 

Was ever a tumultuous main 

Like this mad inland tide? 
See how the clouds, half torn to rain, 

As tossing galleons ride! 



The day she died was like no other day. 

Not that the sun had ceased to shine for me, 
Not that the blossoms on the hawthorn-tree 

Lost their white wonder, or the pallid May 

Grew dark because she softly went away; 
Not that a gloom fell o'er the quiet sea, 
Or the glad birds hushed their old symphony: 

Nay, for wild joy o'er all the wide land lay. 

Oh, on that morn when her young soul went forth 
It seemed to me as if the whole world sang, 
As if the sun flamed redder than red wine, 

And I was mocked by all the Spring's wild mirth. - 
If she had died when Autumn's requiem rang 

I might have felt Earth's sad heart grieve with mine! 




ELLS'S famous book, "A 
Boy's Town," is a recollection, 
doubtless somewhat idealized 
by perspective, of his youthful 
I days in Hamilton, Ohio. It stands alone, 
I as the most significant book on the subject 
of boyhood which has been written by an 
| American author, being at once a history, 
an analysis, and an illumination of juvenile 
thought, relationship, work, and play. It 
is fascinating, instructive, complete, both 
as a record of inci- 
dents and of the im- 
pressions made by 
them on a sensitive 
mind. In it, Mr. 
Howells speaks of 
himself as "my boy" 
and of his compan- 
ions as "the boys." 
Hamilton is now a 
brisk, bustling city of 
thirty thousand peo- 
ple. In the early for- 
ties it was a frontier 
town in the depths of 
a great forest. The 
Indian peril had long 
passed, but the crum- 
bling stockade and 
block -houses of the 
fort were still in ex- 
istence. The local 

pride of the town, which is not, like so 
many places, forgetful of its traditions, 
has decreed that this old defensive struc- 
ture shall be reproduced in stone; and 
the work is now well under way. When 
completed, Fort Hamilton will be shown 
precisely as it was at the beginning of the 
last century, but with the area somewhat 
reduced, as a part of the ground which was 
within the limits of the original stockade is 
occupied by buildings too valuable to be re- 
moved . 

The oldest house in Hamilton stands on 
the southwest corner of Front and Davton 

Howells's Boyhood Home 

Streets, and but half a square from the 
steep bank of the Big Miami River. It is a 
two-storied frame structure, massively tim- 
bered, with low ceilings, open fireplaces, 
and cupboards built in the walls. A great 
tree grows in the yard, bending its branches 
above the roof and overshadowing square 
beds of old-fashioned flowers. This has 
been the home of the Earharts for consid- 
erably more than a century. The present 
owner and occupant of the house, Mr. 
George T. Earhart, is the only man still 
living in Hamilton 
who was a boyhood 
friend and compan- 
ion in sport of Will- 
iam Dean Howells. 

Mr. Earhart b e - 
longs to a family 
which has been 
closely identified with 
the history and 
growth of Hamilton. 
His father was the 
engineer who deter- 
mined the route of 
the Cincinnati, Ham- 
ilton, and t>ayton 
railroad. The son 
entered the service 
of the same corpora- 
tion and remained 
with it during his en- 
tire active life. Now, 
in his retirement, he is a property-owner, the 
Vice-President of the Cemetery Association, 
and a leading member of the Butler County 
Monument Committee, under the auspices 
of which Fort Hamilton is being recon- 
structed and a unique and magnificent build- 
ing erected as a memorial to the Butler 
County soldiers who served in the Civil 
War. Mr. Earhart is a tall, spare man, who 
carries his years lightly and who retains his 
enthusiasms. He is a brisk walker, a genial 
companion, fond of anecdote, and with a 
storehouse of memories, on any particular 
one of which he can lay his hand at will. 




The Ei 


When, early on a bright May morning, 
we knocked at Mr. Earhart's door and 
asked him to tell us something about the 
boyhood of William Dean Howells he at 
once became interested. 

"The best thing I can do," he said, "will 
be to go with you and point out all the 
places where Will Howells and I used to 
play together. It will be as much a matter 
of interest to me as it is to you. If you will 
come again, another day, and let me know 
in advance, I will have a carriage for you." 

And this was not chiefly for ourselves, for 
we were strangers. We realized that, so far 
a- Mr. Earhart was concerned, the name of 
William Dean Howells was one to conjure 
with; that it would produce hospitality and 
reminiscence and horses and carriages and 
almosl anything else we might, but did not, 

We waiter! in the parlor during the few 
minute- occupied by our host in preparing 
for the expedition about the town. The 
books on the centre table attracted our at- 
tention and we opened one at random. It 
copy of Howells's "Stories of Ohio." 
On the fly leaf was written: "To the little 

grandson of my old playmate, George T. 
Earhart. W. D. Howells." We next picked 
up a magazine and glanced through its 
pages. It contained a short story by the 
same author, and on the margin above the 
heading was pencilled: "From your old 
schoolmate, W. D. Howells." Our inves- 
tigations were interrupted at this point, but 
we had seen enough to assure us that if 
George Earhart had not forgotten Will 
Howells, neither had Will Howells forgotten 
George Earhart. 

When Mr. Earhart came in, he carried a 
copy of "A Boy's Town" in his hand. 

"I am going to take this along," he said, 
"for the purpose of showing you how ac- 
curately and vividly the descriptions it con- 
tains portray the localities." 

And at intervals during the day, as we 
stood contemplating a ruined mill, a lock 
on the abandoned canal, or a stretch of river, 
Mr. Earhart would seat himself under a 
tree and read aloud the word-picture con- 
tained in the book; and always there was 
the unvoiced suggestion: "Think of it, 
young men, Will Howells wrote that." In- 
deed, one of the finest things we saw that 



day was Mr. Eaifaart's intense and unaf- 
fected admiration for the friend of his boy- 

"As a preliminary." we suggested, while 
standing on the porch, "please introduce 
us to Ho wells as a lad. What was his per- 
sonal appearance ?" 

"Well, he was small for his age, tow- 
headed, blue-eyed, and remarkably thin. 
He was by no means robust looking, though 
I think he was always perfectly healthy. He 
had an alert, intelligent face; but. in general, 
there was little in the boy to suggest the 
man. His brother Joe was a much more 
striking and aggressive youngster, and he 
often had Will under his wing, in a protect- 
ive way. In other words, Joe usually did 
the fighting." 

"There was some righting to be done 

"Yes. In those days there was a fierce 
antagonism between the boys of Hamilton 
and those of Rossville. just across the river, 
and they had frequent encounters. These 
fights often took place on the covered bridge 
which connected the two villages. If there 
was a circus at one end of the bridge, the 
boys of the other place usually had to fight 
their way across in order to enjoy the show. 
A big Rossville boy, who was the bully of 
his own neighborhood, would occasionally 
steal into Hamilton, swoop down on the 
smaller chaps at play, appropriate their 
tops or marbles, cuff them all round, and 
retire to his own side of the river, where he 
would recount his exploits with all the vain- 
gloriousness of an Indian chieftain who had 
taken the fort." 

" Can you recall the names of the fellows 
to whom Howells refers, in his book, as 
'the boys'?" 

"All of them, I think:. The gang, as it 
would be called now. but was n't then, con- 
sisted of Joe. Sam. and Will Howells: Ed. 
Charlie. Billy, and Jess Smith; Tom. War- 
ren, and Harry Corwin; Jim and Jasper 
Snider: Charlie and Ham- Sargent: Jack 
and Theodore Hittle: Harry and Charlie 
Erwin: Ed and Mike Bibb: Theodore and 
Dan Thorp: Ah" and Jimmy Thomas: Jack 
and Sam Reed: Joe. Jack, and Tom Budd: 
Will Echelberger. Jim Fulkerson. Tom 
Lewis, and Yal Scitlord, this last being a 
round-faced Dutch boy. who lived directly 
opposite the Howells home. There was also 
a semi-attached member of the crowd. 

whose name was John Rorick. close asso- 
ciation with whom was regarded as distinctly 

and deliciously perilous. Rorick afterward 
redeemed his juvenile reputation by serv- 
ing bravely throughout the Civil War. Will 
refers to him in the book as the boy he once 
succeeded in enticing into the schoolroom for 
a single, brief half-day.*" 

At the front gate. Mr. Earhart stopped 
and pointed with his stick. 

"Yonder." he said, indicating the north- 
west comer of Dayton and Second Streets. 
just a square away, "is the site of the house 
in which Will Howells "s lather lived when 
he resided in Hamilton. The dwelling was 
taken down years ago and replaced by a 
store. We will go and look at it presently. 
I call your attention to the locality now in 
order to bring out one of Will's youthful 
weaknesses. He was an ordinarily cou- 
rageous boy; but ghosts, or anything which 
suggested them, terrified him beyond meas- 
ure. Xow. in the forties, a tombstone-ma- 
ker, named Aaron Potter, had his estab- 
lishment on the corner diagonally opposite 
that on which we are standing, and the 
white stones were set up in the yard. To 
get to our house or to his grandfather's or 
to the river it was necessary for Will to pass 
that tombstone yard, and this was always 
attended by enormous difficulties. Indeed, 
there was but one way he could manage it 
at all. He was accustomed to approach the 
dreaded locality cautiously and on the other 
side of the street: then, when he was near 
as he dared go, he would make a sudden 
dash and pass at a full run, never slacking 
his pace until he felt the security of safe dis- 

"Of course, you are speaking of after 
dark." we suggested. 

"No; of broad daylight." 

We glanced at each other. This was 
something to be remembered of the boy 
who afterward wrote weird stories and col- 
lected them under the title of " Questionable 

'A ghostly tale would always scare Will 
haK to death."' continued Mr. Earhart. 
meditatively, as we turned into Second 
Street. "There is the old Erwin house" — 
pointing to a brick dwelling standing in a 
yard and half hidden by the foliage of ma- 
ples — "where Will once went to spend the 
night with the Erwin boys. The three sat up 
until twelve o'clock, telling eravevard sto- 


Lamb's Mill 

First Lock 

ries and tales of dreadful adventures. Fi- 
nally, they put out the candles and crept to 
bed ; but Will could not sleep. It was a blus- 
tery night; the wind blew torrents of rain 
against the windows; the trees creaked as 
they bent in the blasts, and their boughs, 
sweeping the sides of the house, sounded 
like hands searching for an entrance. Will 
lay in bed gasping and shivering. A cold 
perspiration stood on his forehead and he 
felt the paralysis of fear creeping along his 
limbs. At last, unable longer to endure the 
strain, he sprang out of bed, rushed across 
the hall, and pounded at the door of Mr. 
Erwin's bedroom. 

" ' What 's wanted ? ' asked the occupant, 
awakened from his first sleep. 

"'I want to go home,' yelled Will. 

"'Well, go!' 

" 'I can't. I'm afraid.' 

"'Nonsense! What are you afraid of?' 

"' Please, Mr. Erwin, I'm afraid of 

'"Now, what's the trouble, youngster?' 
asked the host, thrusting his head out of the 
door, and by this time thoroughly awake. 
'I thought you were here to stay all night 
with Henry and Charlie. Run and crawl 
into bed, and you will be all right.' 

" ■ No, 1 won %' Will protested, vigorously. 
'The boys are asleep, and the room is full 
of queer noises. I can't stay in there. I 
want to go home.' 

"Mr. Erwin snorted with disgust. Still, 
knowing something of the lad's temper- 
amental peculiarities, he concluded it would 

be a real kindness to take him home. Ac- 
cordingly, he arose, dressed, lighted his lan- 
tern, and, grasping Will by the shoulder, 
marched him down the street, pausing now 
and then to shake the foolishness out of 

We continued, to walk northward. 
"All this was common and forest when 
Will Howells and I were boys," said Mr. 
Earhart, waving his hand in a gesture which 
seemed to sweep the paved streets and 
closely built houses out of existence and to 
restore the primitive order. "Our favorite 
place for kite-flying was just where that 
factory stands." 

He indicated a huge, red brick structure, 
covering an acre of ground, the chimneys of 
which were pouring masses of black smoke 
against the sky. 

" Our playground was large. It included 
all the territory between the river and the 
canal, which here bend away from each 
other, and it was about two miles in length 
from south to north. The first lock on the 
canal was an attractive spot for larking, 
playing marbles on the towing-path and 
watching the boats pass from one level to 
another. This first lock was the resort of 
all the boys in town, big and little; but only 
the bolder spirits ventured as far as the sec- 
ond lock, a mile further up. Indeed, an ex- 
pedition to the second lock was considered 
in the light of an adventure, not to be en- 
tered on without due consideration of the 
perils involved. Traditions of the time when 
the Indians captured boys and carried them 



far into the wilderness to westward had 
something to do with this timidity; but the 
most alarming danger was a possible en- 
counter with a mildly insane old fellow, 
who roamed the woods to northward of the 
town and who on slight provocation, as that 
of happening to crack a bad nut, would fall 
into a paroxysm of vociferous and impotent 
rage. I do not remember that he ever 
harmed any one, but we boys regarded him 
with mortal terror." 

" Was Ho wells a boy who entered heartily 
into youthful sports?" we asked. 

"Yes and no. Generally, he was ready 
as the next one to suggest a game or to take 
up with one proposed, and when he played 
he did it with dash and vim. But there 
were times when he preferred to sit apart 
and merely watch what was going on. This 
was especially true of swimming. Often, 
when we other boys were splashing in the 
water, Will would prop himself against the 
trunk of a cottonwood-tree on the bank and 
gaze dreamily out over the water for hours at 
a time. When we called to him and urged 
him to come in, he would smile and shake 
his head. Of course, I realize now, as I did 
not then, that the brooding impulse was in 

him early, and that even then the impres- 
sions of boyhood, of which he has told so 
wonderfully, were imprinting themselves on 
his brain. In other words, he was uncon- 
sciously collecting literary material. 

"One of Will's boyish characteristics was 
a passion for pets. He was the original 
breeder of rabbits and pigeons in Hamilton. 
He was also the owner of a huge dog, called 
Tippecanoe, abbreviated in use to Tip, and 
he spent much time in training the animal, 
which was of an unruly disposition, to draw 
a small wagon. Finally, despairing of ma- 
king the dog perfectly submissive to harness, 
Will persuaded his father to buy him a goat. 
This was the beginning of infinite trouble. 
The goat soon became famed for a propen- 
sity to chew garments it found hanging on 
clothes-lines. Will was always overlooking 
the necessity of keeping the goat tied up, 
and the possible appearance of the animal 
in almost any back yard added an anxiety to 
washday. I do not remember what definite 
action, if any, was taken in the case, but I 
recall very distinctly the disfavor in which 
the goat was held by the housewives of the 

We inquired whether Ho wells, as a boy, 

The Second LockJ| 



Giles Female Academy 

manifested the possession of unusual abil- 
ities, prophetic of the literary distinction he 
was afterward to attain. 

"Not in a way which attracted particular 
attention at the time, or which led any one to 
predict a peculiarly brilliant career for him," 
Mr. Earhart replied. "Of course, after 
Will became famous as an author it was 
remembered that he had an early bent for 
literature. Thus, Mrs. David McClung, 
who was Anna Harrison, the granddaughter 
of William Henry Harrison, had a boy-and- 
girl acquaintance with Will. She lived with 
her Grandfather Sutherland on his farm, 
about one and a half miles from Hamilton; 
and, as the Howellses and the Sutherlands 
were intimate, Will often spent a day at the 
farm. Some years ago, Mrs. McClung, in 
telling me of those times, recalled the fact 
that Will nearly always had a book with 
him when he came to the country, and she 
said that he seemed to regard these visits 
as favorable opportunities to wander off by 
himself and read. 

"Jiut a taste for reading is possessed by 
thousands of boys who have n't the latent 
ability to write fiction and poetry. I am 
inclined to attach more significance to the 

fact that Will always had an unusually 
happy faculty for describing places and 
people. His talk was naturally picturesque 
and illuminated by vivid imaginative 
flashes. He was able to grasp and to put 
into words, as none of the rest of the boys 
were, the salient features of a landscape 
or the distinguishing peculiarities of a 

u In addition to this, Will possessed, and 
does still, one of the most tenacious and in- 
fallible memories with which a human being 
was ever endowed. Everything seemed to 
photograph itself on his mind and to remain 
there indelibly. I had an illustration of this 
two years ago, when he visited Hamilton 
and I drove him about the town. He not 
only picked out the houses and stores which 
were standing in the forties, but instantly, 
and in every case correctly, named the peo- 
ple who then occupied them. More than 
that, he was able to indicate the exact loca- 
tion of every house which, in the long in- 
terval, had been torn down. 'There,' he 
would say, as we drove along, 'Smith's 
pork-house stood.' 'That was the lot on 
which Jones had his wagon-factory.' Nor 
did he make a single mistake. One who 



had a plot of the old town before him 
could not have been more accurate. 

" On the second day of his visit, Will en- 
tered Stevens's mill, which is on the bank 
of the river, and asked the privilege of look- 
ing out of the window which opened on the 
water. Permission was given, and Will 
stood at the window a long time, examin- 
ing the opposite shore of the stream. He 
afterward said he was searching for a par- 
ticular cotton wood-tree, which was associ- 
ated in his mind with certain incidents of 
his boyhood. The individuality of that tree 
had so impressed itself on his mind that he 
could recall it after more than half a cen- 
tury. ' ' 

We turned southward toward the business 
quarter of the city. At the corner of Water 
and Market Streets Mr. Earhart stopped in 
front of an old brick building, which seemed 
to combine the purposes of dwelling and liv- 

"In the forties," he said, "that was the 
Giles Female Academy, a girls' school 
which took boys as well, and was glad to get 
them. There a dozen or fifteen of us, Will 
Howells among them, were sent to acquire 
the rudiments of education. Will was an 
apt pupil, bright, studious, and easily a 
leader in mastering certain branches of 
knowledge, as grammar and geography. 
But he had absolutely no head for figures, 
and in arithmetic he was a dismal failure. 
■ Simple addition worried him, and fractions 
were mysteries he could not solve. The last 
time I saw him he jokingly referred to his 
inability to add, subtract, multiply, or di- 
vide with any assurance of reaching correct 

Within fifty feet of the front door of the 
old Female Academy there is a crumbling 
culvert, spanning the narrow channel of an 
abandoned "hydraulic," or raceway. Here, 
on the broad stone coping, the small boys of 
old Hamilton, before they reached an age 
when they could be trusted on the river, sat 
and fished ; and Mr. Earhart explained that 
here Howells made his first essays in the art 
piscatorial. He has probably since found 
better sport than offered under the low 

"The forties w T ere practical days, and 
most boys were then taught trades," re- 
marked Mr. Earhart, as we wended our 
way up High Street. "Before he was four- 
teen Will Howells had learned to set type in 

his father's printing-office. The elder How- 
ells, whose name was William C, edited a 
newspaper, in which he advocated strong 
Whig principles and took advanced ground 
on the question of the abolition of slavery. 
His journalistic attitude offended many peo- 
ple in Southern Ohio, which was then 
dubbed 'The South Carolina of the North,' 
and the opposition finally became so strong 
that, abandoning the attempt to publish a 
newspaper in Hamilton, he removed to Day- 
ton, and, later, to the northern part of the 
State, where he founded The Ashtabula 
Sentinel, of which his son Joseph Howells 
is still editor. There can be no doubt that 
Will inherited literary tendencies. His 
father was an able and forceful writer, and 
was himself the author of a book, ' Recollec- 
tions of Ohio,' which was published in 
1875, and is a work of no inconsiderable 
literary value. Will's aunt, his father's sis- 
ter, who lived at Wheeling, West Virginia, 
was also an author and poet, and many of 
her productions may be found in magazines 
of that period." 

On our way to view the printing-office, 
which is a printing-office still, Mr. Earhart 
took us in and introduced us to Doctor 
Howells, an uncle of the famous author, and 
his only relative still residing in Hamilton. 
Doctor Howells is a small man, with long 
white hair and courtly, old-school manners. 
There is a certain indefinable family resem- 
blance between him and his distinguished 
nephew, but it would not be sufficiently stri- 
king to attract the attention of one unac- 
quainted with the relationship. With one 
exception, a sofa, every article of furniture 
in Doctor Howells 's outer office, where he 
received us, was of colonial make, and the 
pictures were those of the statesmen famous 
in the days before the Civil War. Doctor 
Howells 's reminiscences, while interesting 
and valuable, did not cover the precise 
ground we wished to explore, — the boy- 
hood of the author of "A Boy's Town." 

Wishing to determine whether the fact 
that so well-known a man as William Dean 
Howells had spent his boyhood in Hamilton 
was still popularly cherished as one of the 
valuable traditions of the town, we deter- 
mined to visit three places in quest of in- 
formation, — the studio of the leading pho- 
tographer, the largest bookstore, and the 
public library. Mr. Earhart said that the 
thought of making such an experiment had 



not occurred to him, but that he would be 
interested in knowing what outcome it 
would have. 

At the photographer's, we asked the 
young woman in attendance whether she 
could furnish us with pictures of any houses, 
streets, or localities which were in any way 
associated with the life of W. D. Howells. 
After consideration, and a withdrawal for 
consultation with some one invisible, she 
informed us that she could supply a picture 
of the block in which the store was located. 
This puzzled us, until Mr. Earhart whis- 
pered that there was a mercantile establish- 
ment in Hamilton which was known as 
Howells's store, the correspondence of 
names being purely fortuitous. 

"No," we said. "We are thinking of 
William Dean Howells." 

The young woman shook her head, neg- 
atively. "I think the gentleman you have 
in mind must have moved away from Ham- 
ilton before we came," she remarked. 

We agreed that this was probably the 

At the bookstore, we inquired whether 
we could purchase the works of W. D. 

Howells, complete. The proprietor sug- 
gested ordering a set, but said he had only 
two or three volumes in stock. In answer 
to a question, he replied that he had no 
marked demand for Howells's novels, over 
those of any other popular author. 

At the public library, however, the at- 
tendant had quite a different story to tell. 
All of Howells's books were not only on 
the shelves, but w T ere in constant circula- 
tion. Indeed, they were so assiduously read 
that it was frequently necessary to replace 
the worn-out volumes with new copies. 
There was in Hamilton, we were assured, a 
distinct Howells cult. When we asked 
whether the author's early residence in the 
town had anything to do with the existence 
of this cult, the attendant said she thought 
it had; that numbers of Hamilton people 
read his books because they regarded him 
almost in the light of a fellow townsman. 

It occurred to us that the combined facts 
of this small direct sale and this large free 
circulation might furnish to the W. D. 
Howells of the present a text for a discourse 
on the subject of the wrongs authors suffer 
from libraries. 

'*..:' • 

The Old Swimming- Place 



It may be mentioned, as a curious com- 
mentary of fate on men and things, that, 
since the forties, there has been, in one re- 
spect at least, a widening divergence of 
spirit between Howells and Hamilton. Mr. 
Howells has frequently announced an ab- 
solute disregard of the unusual as one of 
his literary canons. He has no use for hair- 
breadth escapes and uncommon happen- 
ings. Hamilton, on the other hand, has 
probably been the scene of more unusual 
and bizarre incidents than any place of equal 
size in the State of 
Ohio. Associated 
with its history, it 
has a long record of 
blood-curdling trage- 
dies and unsolved 
murder mysteries. 
Either Hamilton has 
failed to live up to 
Mr. Howells's theo- 
ries, or his ideas 
are strangely contra- 
dicted by events in 
his boyhood town. 

Mr. Earhart would 
be satisfied with noth- 
ing less than an in- 
spection of all the 
localities made inter- 
esting by association 
with the early life of 
his noted friend; and 
we were nothing loth, for it was like visiting 
the haunts of Longfellow, of Emerson, or of 
Lowell under the guidance of one who had 
a store of personal reminiscences, which he 
was glad to relate. We rode miles on 
street-cars and walked other miles beyond 
the ends of street-car lines. We saw the first 
lock on the canal; the second lock, to which, 
in the old time, the boys considered it peril- 
ous to venture; the grove in which hickory - 
nuts^ were gathered; Lamb's mill, which 
furnished a base for the game of hide-and- 
seek; the reach of river which was favored 

for swimming; and, not least, the island in 
the river on which, it was fearfully imag- 
ined, a hostile band of Indians always 
lurked, awaiting an opportunity to swim 
the narrow channel, attack the town of 
Hamilton, and massacre its inhabitants. 

At the end of the day Mr. Earhart con- 
fessed that he was a little wearied; but his 
enthusiasm was unabated, and he urged 
us to come again and go over the ground 
more leisurely. 

" One thing more," he said, as we were 
about to bid him 
adieu. "You have 
heard that there is 
always a little streak 
of eccentricity some- 
where in the person- 
ality or in the ances- 
tral history of a great 



Georgre T. Earhart 


"Well, Will How- 
ells's grandfather was 
a Millerite. When- 
ever he saw an espe- 
cially black cloud in 
the sky he hastened 
home and donned his 
ascension-robes, to be 
ready for the conclu • 
sion of earthly mat- 

Our day in "A 
Boy's Town" gave us one leading impres- 
sion: that William Dean Howells, as a 
boy, possessed the power of attaching his 
companions to him with hooks of steel. 
We have never seen a more beautiful and 
admiring affection than that of Mr. Ear- 
hart for the friend of his youthful days. 
He had for him only words of praise, and 
he undoubtedly felt a genuine personal joy 
in the greatness and fame which the little 
tow-headed boy with whom he played back 
in the forties has worked out with his brain 
and pen. 

Havana Tobacco in Connecticut 



ASSING through Connecticut 
in mid-summer the traveller is 
attracted by the view from the 
car window, of certain luxuri- 
ant, semi -tropical -appearing 
< rops that cover the farms lying adjacent 
to the Connecticut River. These are the 
harbingers of Connecticut's tobacco-fields. 
The toba< ( o-plant is strictly an American 
by birth. Jt was one of the staple products 
of the much-limited husbandry of the first 
American,- the North American Indian. 
Little doubt exists that they cultivated it 
from the most remote times. Jt has been 
recorded that Champlain, in i 605-1606, 
found them growing gardens of corn and 
tobacco about the present sites of Portland 
and Boston. 


Tobacco had its place, an important one, 
in the history of the early Colonies. It was 
the glory and prosperity of the first great 
English Colony in North America, even as 
later it became its bane. It has been legal 
tender, and continued to be for some time 
in Maryland after the establishment of pa- 
per currency, being considered more stable. 

It was the stipend paid to many a colonial 
pastor. There are not lacking moralists 
who will argue the inception of slavery, with 
its blighting curse, to the August of 16 19, 
when a Dutch trader sailed up the James 
River in Virginia and sold his cargo of "20 
Negars" to the tobacco-planters along its 
banks. Andrews says that "in the settle- 
ment of Maryland it was grown almost to 
the exclusion of cereals and food-products," 



so that the growing of the latter was finally 
enforced by law. 

It is also known that one of the first trade 
"combinations" was the cooperation at- 
tempted between the early settlements of 
Virginia and Maryland to restrict the 
growth, that the price might be advanced. 
Since Raleigh introduced it to the cultivated 
world of Europe (though it had been car- 
ried to Europe at an earlier date) it has held 
its sway, for good or ill, as the individual 
may see it. Its cultivation is now world- 
wide; its revenue, one of the great factors of 

Of its early growth and cultivation in 
Connecticut but little is known, other than 
that it was grown in a small way for indi- 
vidual uses, or as a curiosity since its earli- 
est settlement. It came hither most likely 
from Virginia. Not until about 1830-1840 
was it grown commercially. Since then the 
cultivation has been steady, with increasing 
acreage until in the season of 1905 approxi- 
mately 13,000 acres were grown and har- 

Connecticut produces what is termed a 
wrapper-leaf tobacco, used almost exclu- 
sively for the outer covering or wrapper of 
cigars. There are two distinct types grown, 
— the Connecticut Broadleaf and the Ha- 
vana Seed, the latter being an introduction 
of a Cuban or Havana plant some years ago, 
and acclimated to Connecticut. There are 
many varieties of these two types peculiar 
to certain localities. The same methods of 
cultivation and treatment are in general 
accorded both. The rich alluvial soil of the 
Connecticut Valley, in combination with its 
climate, is responsible for the flavor, texture, 
and remarkable quality of its tobacco prod- 
uct, now so favorably known and sought 
after in the tobacco-markets of the world. 

With the famous districts of Vuelta 
Aba jo in Cuba and the Island of Sumatra, 
Connecticut divides the honors for produ- 
cing the choicest cigar-tobacco grown. Its 
product has caught the cigar-smoking pub- 
lic, whose dictum must be regarded by the 
manufacturers. The ideal cigar to many is 
that made up of a Havana filler of high 
grade with the Connecticut wrapper, the 
blend "being perfect, and preferred to the 
all-Havana product of any grade or price . 
It is almost wholly a question of individual 
taste, and many and varied are the combi- 
nations offered to the public. 

Nowhere is greater care exercised in the 
growing, curing, and handling of the leaf 
than by the Connecticut growers. The sell- 
ing-price being largely fixed by the qua lily 
of the product, the incentive of producing 
the best is ever before them. To this end 
they give not only the best known treat- 
ment to the land, but are ever on the alert 
to adopt the latest and most approved 
methods of cultivating and curing. 

The soil is heavily manured each year 
with ordinary stable manure and commer- 
cial fertilizers, the latter applied at the rate 
of about one and one-half tons to the acre, 
at a total net cost of about $60 per acre ; in 
some instances amounting to $100. 

The plants are largely set out by machine , 
first being grown to the height of about 
three inches in seed-beds. 

Under the present method about 7,000 
plants are set out per acre. Cultivation is 
done in part by machine and part by hand . 

The growing-season requires about ten 
weeks; plants set out in mid- June are har- 
vested in late August. 

The cutting is done by hand, as extreme 
care is necessary in handling the ripe plants 
in order to avoid any tearing or breakage of 
leaf, which would affect its market value. 
The plants are allowed to lie on the ground 
for several hours after cutting, that the sun 
may wilt the leaves. They are then strung 
on laths, the lath being driven, or "speared," 
through the main stalk at the base, the oper- 
ation being accomplished by means of a 
movable metal spear-head placed on the 
end of each lath. 

Usually about five or six plants, governed 
by the size, are hung on each lath, tips 
down. The plants are then carted to the 
curing-sheds, or barns, on special built 

The tobacco-sheds, as shown in the illus- 
tration, are strongly constructed, with many 
narrow doors provided on all sides for venti- 
lation, to aid the curing. Long stringer- 
pieces are run lengthwise of the shed, and 
on these the laths with the hanging plants 
are suspended, sufficient space being al- 
lowed for the free circulation of air. | 

The curing-season requires, ordinarily, 
about six weeks' time, the weather again 
being the element most to be contended with . 
When the plants are first hung in the shed 
they are bright green in color, changing to 
the delicate shades of brown as the curing 



Wilting the Crop 

proceeds. After the curing is perfected, 
which means that all the moisture in the 
plants has been evaporated, and when suit- 
able weather conditions avail,— that is, a 
"damp" or moist spell, which thoroughly 
softens the now brittle hanging plants so 
that they may be handled free of breakage, — 
they are taken down and carried to the 
stripping-room, and there the leaves are 
stripped from the main stalk and tied in 

In large measure the crops are sold in 
this form, and the "sweating," assorting in- 
to grades and sizes, is done in the ware- 
houses of the tobacco buyers, or dealers, 
though not a few of the growers, particu- 
larly the larger ones, do all of this work on 
their own plantations and sell their product 
dire< t to the consumer. 

Tobacco-leaf growing may well be classed 
among the hazardous risks. It is most un- 
certain. In the growing-season insects and 
disease may damage and a wind and hail 
storm cause irreparable loss. A section of 

the Broadleaf district was invaded by such 
a storm in the mid-August of last season, at 
the very threshold of harvesting, and an 
area of several hundred acres of what had 
promised to be a banner crop was wiped 
out. During the hanging or curing season 
a protracted spell of damp weather will 
cause "pole sweat," the partly cured leaves 
absorbing the moisture, causing it to swell 
and rot on the stalks; more or less of this 
is met with every year. 

This past season the introduction of arti- 
ficial heat to the sheds has been tried, to 
overcome the evils of damp weather condi- 
tions and hasten the curing. It is thought 
to be successful. The scarcity of good farm 
help is in evidence here, as it is elsewhere, 
and high wages are offered as inducement 
at harvest-time. About twenty per cent of 
the population of the State are interested in 
tobacco-culture. The acreage of each farm 
is, of course, limited, though of late years 
many corporations have engaged in the 
business, several operating farms of from 



Harvesting Tobacco 

one hundred and fifty to three hundred 

The centre of growing is in Hartford 
County, along the line of the Connecticut 
River. A small area is also grown in the 
valley of the Housatonic River. The Broad- 
leaf variety is mainly grown in the immedi- 
ate vicinity of Hartford, while the Havana 
seed is cultivated in the towns of Suffield 
and Windsor to the north. An attempt was 
made in the years 1 900-1 903 to grow to- 
bacco under shade in Connecticut, having 
as its object the production of a wrapper- 
leaf that might displace the Sumatra prod- 
uct, of which several million dollars' worth 
is imported annually into the United States. 
Considerable capital was sacrificed. Though 
the object was highly laudable, the result 
was unsatisfactory. The Department of 
Agriculture at Washington has given con- 
siderable aid to the Connecticut growers 
through cooperation in efforts to secure a 
more uniform and profitable type of leaf; 
by selection of seed to this end; by exper- 

imental work in the field. One of the il- 
lustrations shows an experimental plot 
operated by the department, where seed- 
selection, hybridizing, etc., are being carried 
on. They have also made extensive soil sur- 
veys of the valley lands. The Connecticut 
Agricultural Experiment Station also con- 
tributes valuable experiment-work, aid in 
determining the value of fertilizers, and 
other phases of the work. 

The acreage grown has more than 
doubled since 1890, as the following list 
will show: 

1890, 6,331 acres cultivated. 

1900, 10,948 acres cultivated. 

1901, 11,782 acres cultivated. 
1904, 12,705 acres cultivated. 

Though the total acreage of the State 
will undoubtedly show an increase for some 
years hence, yet the sections where the 
choicest grades are produced are already in 
great part under cultivation. The money 
value of the tobacco crop, relative with 


other leading crops grown in the State, is The United States Government has aided 

shown by the following: the tobacco-growers of the country by re- 

I9 o 4 strictive duties on all imported leaf and to- 

Acreage Farm Value bacco products, the most formidable rival 

Hay 4^4,751 87,651,018 of the Connecticut leaf, the product of the 

Tobacco 12,705 4,838,191 Dutch Island of Sumatra, being taxed $1.85 

1 otatoes 3 2 > 2 54 2,229,396 p er p 0un( j on ner wrapper-leaf. 

It will be noticed that the net returns There has been great discussion over a 

from the leading crop (hay) are not greatly bill introduced in Congress which, if en- 

in excess of the tobacco crop, though the acted into law, would admit tobacco and 

acreage of the former is forty times greater tobacco products of the Philippines into 

than the latter. It represents about two per the United States at twenty-five per cent of 

cent of the area of all crops, yet it yields the existing Dingley rates, and, after Apr. 

almost twenty per cent of the gross returns. n, 1909, absolutely free. 

While Connecticut tobacco acreage is Among the Connecticut growers opinion 

overshadowed by the great tobacco-grow- has been divided on the measure, the great 

ing States of Kentucky, North Carolina, majority holding that no reduction from the 

and Virginia, yet she has the distinction of existing rate of duty should be made, 

standing highest in the average money value However this may be, the future of the 

per acre of all the tobacco-producing States, Connecticut product is safe. Her markets 

and fourth in total valuation of the crop (see are widening. Her tobacco-planters, with 

Year-book, Department of Agriculture, the aid of science and knowledge, are aim- 

1904). This report shows her total product ing to produce a higher standard of quality, 

for that year to have been 21,407,925 pounds They hope to make her name, through their 

at an average farm value per pound, on product, as famous as her manufacturers 

December 1, of 22.6c, with the average yield have done, "the tick of whose clocks is 

per acre of 1,685 pounds. heard round the world." 




by fair means, then with boot and thumb- 

He passed some laborers on the shady 
side of the street, eating their cold lunch 
with apparent relish. A joke of their num- 
ber raised a chorus of horse-laughs, and the 
thought crossed his mind, How care-free 
they are, knowing nothing of vast business 
complications, sleepless pillows, and indi- 
gestion. He stopped a moment before a 
window to set his watch by the standard 
time. An officious breeze carried compli- 
ments to his ear: 

"See him, Mike, the bloated millionaire? 
Thinks we 're most as good as the dirt under 
his feet. How do I know him ? Did n't I 
see him comin' and goin' every day when I 
was employed on that new buildin' they put 
up next to his office?" 

The contrast between his actual thought 
and the hod-carrier's conception of it made 
him smile grimly. " Cattle, all of them," he 
muttered. The incident furnished an addi- 
tional weapon for the battle. There was a 
contemptible vein in the lower class, and the 
feather-brained philanthropists only pam- 
pered it. 

When Winchendon stepped into the ele- 
vator on its return trip he had the air of a 
victor. The tension of the whole man had 
relaxed, the glitter in his eyes had softened, 
and his step on the marble floor was less 
imperious, though he carried himself with 
superbly unconscious assurance. 

As he turned down the narrow street 
where his rather obscure lunchroom hung 
out its sign modestly, a man looking seedy 
and down on his luck sidled past him with 
averted eyes, and passed on, but not before 
Winchendon had recognized Tom Barrows, 
the chum of his boyhood. The financier 
felt a sort of contempt for the man, from his 
own entrenched fastnesses. Why had n't 
Tom succeeded like himself, in some de- 
gree, at least? Each had started on the 
same salary, three dollars a week, when they 
came together to the city. He supposed 
Tom had never forgiven him for refusing a 


INCHENDON'S private sec- 
retary laid aside the three anon- 
ymous notes, thinking to de- 
stroy them as he regularly de- 
stroyed others of the same 
| brood. But a second thought fluttered buz- 
I zingly in the neighborhood of his intention. 
I He took up the notes and looked them over 
j again, while a smile not exactly genial crept 
I along the line of his mustache. The senti- 
I ments of the three, in juxtaposition, were 
peculiar, to say the least, and this peculiarity 
I decided their lease of life. He returned each 
I to its envelope and placed the three in the 
I assorted pile requiring Winchendon's per- 
sonal attention. 

An hour later Winchendon came into the 
office and stopped to speak a word to his 
secretary. He was a large man on the right 
side of sixty. He seemed to radiate aggres- 
sive masterfulness as he stood there. Mad- 
der had felt it the moment he opened the 
door, and knew the "power" had been 
freshly turned on, by the steady glance in 
the financier's blue eyes, and the relentless 
lines of his determined jaw. Even the cleft 
chin which had strayed into his face by mis- 
take, apparently, seemed ready to join the 
other forces to beguile the unwary. 

He passed to the inner office and sat 
down to examine his mail. Selecting the 
letters marked "Personal," he pushed the 
others aside for later examination. Madder 
felt some misgivings as the door closed, and 
squared his own jaw, which did not lack 
capacity, to face a possible thunder-clap. 

It is the expected that fails. Winchendon, 
after a hasty examination of the "Person- 
als," put the anonymous and others in his 
pocket and walked out past Madder with a 
preoccupied air and a step that rather in- 
vited an obstacle for the pleasure of crush- 
ing it. He was due at an important noon 
meeting, where he would have to tilt at 
close range with a spirit equal to his own. 
The cruel expression deepened upon his 
face, as he walked along the few blocks to 
the rendezvous. He must conquer — if not 



loan, to start a little business with. But 
Tom had no business ability, and he, Win- 
chendon, could n't encourage hangers-on. 

As he sat in his corner, munching bread 
one remove from sawdust, which he heart- 
ened with butter, sparingly, he recalled the 
visit of Tom's wife to his office, less than a 
month ago. He had half doubted her state- 
ment then, that her husband knew nothing 
of her appeal to him for a position, but some- 
thing in the man's looks to-day confirmed 
it. He had dealt decisively with her. An 
overpoweringly busy man must be flinty. 
He had been minded at the time to hand her 
a five-dollar bill, she looked so frail and piti- 
ful, but his caution had stepped to the front 
in time to save him from establishing a 
dangerous precedent. 

It was evening when he let himself into 
an imposing, pillared mansion near the 
square. The stillness of the broad, silent 
hall seemed to envelop him strangely, as he 
hung his hat on the tree, absent-mindedly. 
All the members of the family were at the 
mountains, and the servants on holiday va- 
cation — not a soul in the place, except 
James and Mary, the care-takers. It was 
his custom when detained in town to spend 
the night there, but it had never before 
seemed so intolerably lonely. He wondered 
now why Mary had n't lighted the hall, and 
pressed the electric button with some im- 
patience. The broad light invaded the still- 
ness and disclosed the bronze Hercules in 
the corner, whose grim strength seemed to 
close with his own as he strode past him and 
opened the door of the library. He quickly 
dispelled the gloom there also, and sat down 
in his leather-cushioned arm-chair beside the 
green table under the drop-light, took some 
memoranda from his pocket, and looked 
them over. He had scored a triumph that 
day, a big one, and feverish satisfaction was 
throbbing through his nerves. But what a 
battle it had been between wills of steel! 
The more finely tempered had won. He had 
diverted millions from that wild-cat Out-of- 
Town-Tenement Scheme into the channels 
supplying the reservoir of which he was 
rhief engineer, and which must be kept 
level with the brim though the earth were 
drained. It was running over through great 
plenitude at this moment — so much so that 
the problem of new sluice-gates was press- 
ing hard for solution. But he knew he 
should solve it. 

He leaned back in his chair, drew up an- 
other for his feet, and sat nursing his self- 
complacency. How successful he had al- 
ways been ! How many he had left behind 
in the race! He swelled unctuously with the 
thought. At the moment Tom Barrows 
again crossed his line of vision. "Poor 
devil," he thought, indulging in momentary 
pity. He recalled the face of Tom's wife and 
her pitiful appeal, with a slight regret that 
he had let her go away empty-handed. 
"That five-dollar bill in my pocket would 
have helped her," he said, reflectively. But 
this would have been obscure. He believed 
in giving with a flourish, to the sound of 

The unread mail in his pocket claimed 
attention. "It's a good deal of a grind," he 
thought, as he wrinkled his forehead over 
half a dozen business letters. Never at ease! 
He paid dearly enough for success. Pres- 
ently, he came upon one of those which 
Madder had subjected to mental parley, 
and read: 

"It must be a satisfaction to you to know 
that you are the best hated man in Amer- 

He tore the sheet across with deliberation 
and threw it into the waste-basket beside 
him. "Don't you wish you were in my 
shoes?" he muttered. 

Then came a begging letter, which he 
tossed after the other. The second of the 
trio next claimed his attention: 

"If the devil doesn't keep you stirring 
brimstone through all eternity, it will 
be because he holds a meaner job for 

Winchendon tore this into fragments. 
The savage coarseness was painfully dis- 
cordant. He felt resentful toward Madder. 
Why the devil did n't he destroy the screed ? 
His secretary was in league with the others 
to rasp him. Their ill-will usually passed 
over his head, or amused him because he 
knew it was rooted in jealousy. But this — 
well, the good-will of even a dog was pleas- 
ant. He knew the prime movers of the 
hatred. He could thank The Touchstone 
and other sheets of the same complexion for 
these anonymous courtesies. They kept the 
kettle of criticism at white heat. AH cranks 
took the cue from them. "A free press!" 
How he would like to throttle it! 

The third, the last of the lot, was in an- 
other vein: 



"Set your house in order, for your soul 
will be required of you to-night." 

Winchendon read it with a chill creeping 
up and down his spine. The paper fell from 
his relaxed fingers. Was it a veiled threat 
against his life ? He was familiar with pleas- 
antries of that sort, but this had a mystical 
ominousness behind it. The sentence 
standing erect and clear on a broad white 
page had an air of sentient dignity. He 
pushed the paper from him, and got up to 
walk off his nervousness; but the sentence 
seemed to follow him round the room, like a 
thing "uncanny." He was not in the habit 
of paying much attention to his soul. He 
had no time. Even the Sunday-morning 
services in the church of which he was a 
financial pillar had to be sandwiched be- 
tween "stock certificates" and "securities." 
The wave of satisfaction upon which he had 
been sailing had been breasted by a counter 
e of powerful dimensions, and over- 
helmed. Something strange and mysteri- 
s brooded over the room. He breathed 
erently, had a curious sensation, as if he 
d moved out of himself. A peculiar sink- 
g feeling came over him. He must have 
d an imaginative molecule lurking some- 
here, for he thought he heard a soft rush 
of wings, as of a covey of birds, in the still- 
ness. He peered into the shadows behind 
the furniture. Threats against his life had 
developed caution. The books in solid 
phalanx on the four walls seemed to stand at 
attention. The bust of Carlyle had a cyn- 
ical mien towards him, and Emerson's calm 
eyes questioned him from the opposite cor- 
ner. Neither of them had ever troubled him 
before. They had affiliations with his family 
ly. Something had crumbled his iron will 
powder. He staggered as he walked, 
anic had seized him. He was going to die 
one. He thought to ring for Mary to call a 
ysician, but sank instead into his chair, 
strained by a second thought. This 
ange, impalpable thing that was closing 
around him was outside the skill of a doctor. 
He tried to get a grasp of himself. He had 
always said that he would die bravely when 
his time came. He remembered now that 
en had been known to die from sheer 
ght, and saw, by some conjuring trick of 
icy, a double-leaded editorial in The 
^ouchstone coupled with his name, to that 
i effect. 

The panic passed, and a peculiar drowsi- 

ness crept over him, pressing down his eye- 
lids. He was passing into the subconscious 
condition, a region of the soul's activity un- 
frequented for the most part by those who 
are blinded by the smoke of the battle. The 
sentence that glowed like fire on the white 
sheet had blazed his way across the bound- 
ary. He was breathing the rarified atmos- 
phere through which strange dreams may 

He seemed to stand on an extensive plain 
between two broad highways thronged with 
eager crowds forging ahead on some all- 
absorbing quest. He looked down at his 
feet to see a strange, unwieldy creature, 
long, low, and horribly repellent, crouched 
close to him — dumb, yet quivering with 
unfathomable stored-up energy. He felt 
mystical kinship with the covered myriad 
tentacles extending from both sides, with an 
enormous power of expansion and contrac- 
tion. These it fastened with serpent-like 
stealthiness in the lower limbs of the many 
who halted to examine it, and held them as 
by some horrid hypnotism until they were 
drained of blood, all unconscious, when they 
were let go to move along limply, while 
others, blind as the foregoing, walked de- 
liberately into the same trap. The crea- 
ture's hideousness had nevertheless a hor- 
rible fascination for him. As if in answer to 
his unconscious inquiry, its head turned 
slowly, and the eyes, cunning, cruel, devil- 
ish, looked into his with a triumphant as- 
sumption of hand-to-glove consanguinity 
between them. The truth bore down upon 
him. He had begotten this creature'. Its 
heart had beat from his. He loathed it un- 
speakably, yet could not escape from its 
domination. The creature had become his 
master! . . . He heard the distant rush and 
roar of an oncoming tempest over the plain, 
which swelled in volume until a very pande- 
monium raged around him and his Creature. 
He saw despairing men rushing to self- 
destruction, the shadowy forms of women 
wringing their hands, children crying for 
bread. He heard his name coupled with 
deep curses; poisoned arrows pierced him 
from all sides. He writhed under the torture, 
and his mighty struggle to escape broke the 
spell. He came back slowly to normal con- 
sciousness of himself seated in his high- 
backed chair in his library, and looked 
around fearfully. He passed his shaking 
hands over his face to find it damp and 



clammy. What was the meaning of this 
strange experience? He had pooh-poohed 
stories of dreams which were realities and 
realities which were dreams; now he could 
tell a tale. His normal and abnormal con- 
sciousness seemed blended inextricably. 
The haunting sentence on the paper was no 
dream. It still glowed like fire under the 
drop-light. He tried to rise from the chair, 
but sank back weakly, drained of vitality 
through every fibre. 

He pulled himself together by degrees 
while Carlyle opposite glowered at him 
darkly. This strange, horrible experience — 
how should he interpret it? His own soul 
answered, his poor, lean, shrivelled soul, 
now turning round and round helplessly 
under the awakened sense of its own petti- 
ness. The symbolism of the whole was 
mercilessly clear. "The best hated man in 
America." By the teaching of the arrows he 
realized how dreadful was that hatred. And 
he deserved it. The maddened crowd 
seemed to still surge around him. A great 
longing to right the wrongs grew and grew 
within him. 

His accumulated wealth dragged him 
down like a millstone. But how could he 
stop the wheels of the intricate mechanism 
he had set in motion; how traverse the net- 
work of cause and effect through all its un- 
derground intricacies? To change the fig- 
ure, how plant a blow between the eyes of 
the Creature that should stun until it could 
be hewn piecemeal ? 

He got to his feet at last and paced the 
room slowly. The walls closed around him 
and shut off his breath. Let him get into 
the open. He went out in the hall and took 
his hat from the tree. The familiar action 
reassured him. Sudden death seemed re- 
mote, and the work to be done loomed up 
largely in the foreground. 

VVinchendon walked slowly down the 
avenue and crossed into the Square. A 
clock began the hour, and he stopped to 
count the strokes. It was midnight. He 
dropped down on a bench near the fountain. 
The restful murmur of the water mocked 
him. It was a sultry night in August, and 
the stars shone sluggishly. The Dipper 
hung slantwise just before him. He was no 
longer million-ridden, but a whistling, bare- 
foot boy driving the cows home from pasture 
and wondering if the star not quite plumb in 
the Dipper had been brushed aside a little 

by the wing of an angel. He remembered, 
too, the fancy that if he had been tending 
things up there at the time he would have 
set it straight again. The sweetness of these 
simple imaginings floating across the dis- 
cord within him nearly broke his heart, 
while helping to restore his equilibrium. He 
took off his hat and the night air touched his 
forehead soothingly. After the wildfire ex- 
citement of years his pulses had begun to 
beat in unison again with mother Nature. 
Madness ? No ! a thousand times, no ! Mad- 
ness lay behind him. He was sane to-night 
for the first time in forty years of money- 
madness which had sunk from sight sud- 
denly, while his childhood hand seemed to 
reach to him yearningly across the inter- 
vening chasm. He had lost his mother 
early, and a vague feeling of something 
missing had entwined with his growth. He 
had fancies of seeing her bending over his 
bed at night ; and sometimes when he came 
home tired from the field on summer eve- 
nings, and stopped to dabble his feet in the 
brook between the alders, he thought he 
heard her whisper, "Herbert, Herbert," 
lovingly. He told this once to Deborah 
Brisk, and he still remembered the half- 
scared look she gave him, then turned to say 
something to Mahala Stevens in an under- 
tone, of which he caught the word "mother," 
and the oracular remark: "I always knew 
he would be an odd child." 

When had greed begun to work ? He had 
always divided his few marbles with Tom; 
also the big red apple Deborah Brisk never 
failed to give him for running an errand.! 
And when he earned a few cents more than, 
Tom, who was less alert, he always evened! 
up with his chum. What had come over 
him that the sight of Tom shabby and dis-j 
heartened only made him more flinty; and 
how could he have refused that frail woman! 
without the quiver of an eyelash ? He struck 1 
against the roll of bills in his breast pocket; 
(he had reached the bank too late to deposit); 
with a groan. If he could only cast them at, 
her feet ! He went back to the question. Thej 
greed had begun when he came to the city.; 
Madness was in the air, and he had ab-i 
sorbed it. He could trace its working to his| 
first raise from three to five dollars a week 
while Tom's was but four. He began to see! 
then that it was in him to distance others on 
the same ground. And the madness had: 
grown yearly by nurture. 



An uneasy feeling that the Creature still 
crouched beside him, invisibly, brought him 
to his feet. He crossed the Square and 
plunged into the human hive which bor- 
dered two sides of it. The night air swept 
up toward him heavy and malodorous. The 
tenement congestion had overflowed on the 
sidewalks and into the street, and he had to 
pick his steps between men and women and 
children lying there promiscuously, in the 
sleep of exhaustion, or temporary oblivion 
through potations. The wakeful ones sitting 
here and there in doorways eyed him sus- 
piciously. Who of his stripe would be there 
at that hour except as a spy ? A woman with 
a child at her breast stared distrustfully as 
he passed, and gave the sleeping man at her 
feet a warning kick, when he started up with 
an oath to look after a possible "cop" in 
citizen's clothes. Others, the offscourings, 
stared dumbly, with stolid inexpressiveness. 
Nothing mattered to them. 

As Winchendon threaded his way in the 
germ-laden atmosphere his self-accusations 
became unbearable. For it was to afford 
breathing-space for the congested districts 
that the movement for model out-of-town 
tenements at a low rent, to be reached daily 
by car or ferry, had been set on foot by the 
great-hearted philanthropist he had an- 
tagonized. He, even he, had lassoed the 
wildcat " Out-of -Town-Tenement Scheme," 
and chuckled over his success. "They 
should be housed like the cattle whose 
brothers they were." He groaned aloud at 
the recollected brutality of his speech. It 
had been a part of his madness. The groan 
was echoed close beside him by a child in 
pain, cradled in a woman's arms. Her eyes 
[spared him pity as he stopped there. 

" You — you feel sick ? " she asked, in halt- 
ing English. 

He looked at her dumbly. Would not she, 
would not they all, turn upon and rend him 
jif they knew ? 

" So sick that I am sorry for you," he said, 
with a strange glance at the child, which 
made her cuddle it closer. He brought up 
quarters and dimes from his pocket, which 
fell scattering around her, and passed on, 
leaving her too bewildered for thanks. 

He plunged along with his thought in a 
ferment over plans for opening a new sluice- 
gate to his reservoir if he should live to see 
the morrow. A cry from within a narrow 
doorway even with the sidewalk claimed 

him. A child stood at the foot of the dim 
stairway, looking very small and pitiful in 
the light of the street-lamp. He saw the 
tears glistening as she lifted her eyes to him 

" Have you seen my papa ? "she quavered. 

"Your papa?" His first glance covered 
her lone forlornness, from her thin, dis- 
tressed face to her little bare feet. 

"Yes. He went for the doctor." Her 
voice sounded thin and unchildish. "I'm 
afraid. Mamma does n't open her eyes any 
more, and Bertie is saying his verses over 
and over, and his eyes look dreadful." 

"Where do you live ?" She motioned up 
the stairway. He peered into the dimness. 
"Show me the way," he said, abruptly, not 
trusting his voice. 

"Are you the millionaire?" The piping 
inquiry cut through him like a blade. 

"Did you expect him?" he asked. 

"Mamma used to tell us when we were 
hungry that mebbe a nice millionaire would 
be good to us some day; but she has n't said 
so lately," the child added, wistfully. 

"He has come now." He felt her slim 
fingers close around his trustingly as she 
led him up the stairs and through a long, 
narrow passage to a door in the rear, which 
she opened. The dim light of a lamp on the 
mantelpiece of the room showed extreme 
destitution. A voice in one corner drew 
Winchendon 's glance from the bare table, 
with half a loaf of bread on it, to a cot where 
a boy of ten or twelve in high fever was re- 
citing lines in his delirium, with trained ac- 
cent and somewhat heavy emphasis : 

"Speak kindly to the millionaire; 

Perhaps he does his best. 
Don't try to drive him to despair 

With rude, unfeeling jest. 
Don't laugh at portraits which display 

His face — " 

He rambled off into unconnected sen- 
tences. "Don't mind Bertie," the child 
said, as she drew him to the bed in the cor- 
ner opposite, where her mother lay. He 
looked down upon the still face with a pang. 
It was the woman whose appeal he had de- 
nied. He had stumbled upon Tom's family. 

"Why won't she open her eyes?" the 
child wailed . " Mamma , mamma . ' ' 

"Why?" He dared not harbor the 
thought that she was beyond his eleventh- 
hour succor. 

"Oh, why did n't you come when mam- 

3 oS 


ma could see you?" A cry from the cot cut 
off his reply, and drew him over to the boy, 
who opened wide, roving eyes upon his face. 

"It's the millionaire, Bertie," the child 
said, gently. 

"You've come at last, then." The boy 
rose on his elbow in the fever. "The Uni- 
versal Target!" he shouted. "Mamma, 
why do they call him the Universal — " his 
voice trailed off again into the recitation 

"Speak kindly to the millionaire; 
He has a right to live 
And feel the sun and breathe the air — " 

His fictitious strength failed, and he sank 
back exhausted. 

"Bertie learned that from a newspaper 
he picked up on the street," the child told 
Winchendon. " Mamma taught him how to 
speak it. She used to teach other boys till 
she got sick. Papa calls Bertie's piece 'rot, ' " 
she added, guilelessly. 

Winchendon had grown abnormally sen- 
sitive. The fine irony lurking beneath the 
smooth versification seared a tender spot. 
The boy repeated drowsily: 

"You may be rich yourself some day 
Before your life is through; 
Speak kindly, and remember he 
Is human, just like you" 

Hasty steps sounded along the passage, 
the door was flung open, and Tom, followed 
by the doctor, came in and went straight to 
the bed. They gave no heed to the figure 
beside the cot, but Winchendon recognized 
Dr. Joy, who had once pulled him 
through an attack of la grippe, and who 
gave much gratuitous service to the 

"Don't say she's dead," Tom implored. 
" She was breathing when I went out." The 
child began to whimper. 

The doctor was testing the heart's action. 
"We shall have her restored presently," he 
said, while he chafed her hands and next 
produced a vial from which he forced a few 
drops of a liquid between her lips. She 
came back to consciousness and opened her 
eyes. Tom had to restrain the child from 
falling upon her as the two stood waiting 
hungrily. The doctor continued to use re- 
storatives, and she smiled faintly as her eyes 
closed in slumber. 

"It's a case of depletion through hunger; 

that's the bald truth," the doctor said aside 
to him. "That pride of yours — but we are 
going to turn over a new leaf — " 

"Speak kindly to the millionaire; 
Perhaps he does his best." — 

"To drain the poor, yes," Tom supple- 
mented. "He's kept those verses going for 
a week. It 's enough to drive you mad." He 
was going across to the boy with the doctor, 
and came face to face with Winchendon, at 
whom he stared blankly. He had supposed 
the looming figure in the corner was the 
janitor. The doctor nodded and passed on 
to the boy. Winchendon was the first to re- 
cover speech. 

" I was prospecting around here," he said, 
with forced lightness, "and came upon your 
little girl in the doorway looking for her 
papa. I came up to — to keep her com- 
pany." Tom only stared dumbly. "I've 
made up my mind, Tom, that it 's time for 
me to begin to unload. I may as well start 
with you." He could see Tom stiffen as he 
took bills of three figures from his bulging 
pocket-book, and tried to force them into 
the man's closed hand. "Don't refuse me, 
Tom," his voice was that of a supplicant. 
" Don't crowd me back into the hell I 've just 
got out of." His voice broke, but he caught 
it up again quickly. The roll of bills lay on 
the floor unheeded. " For the sake of the old 
days of bare feet and patched breeches, 
Tom. Do you remember what the old gipsy 
told us that night we stole down to the camp, 
by the river; how she squinted in our palms: 
'big heart little gold, little heart big gold, 
but boys together again when they are gray. ' 
Do you mind she could n't see the life-line 
in our hands, the grim was so thick where 
we had picked up potatoes all day, and she 
sent us to wash it off in the river? Mind 
how Deborah made me say my prayers over 
seven times that night for stealing a march 
on unholy ground?" 

The water stood in Tom's eyes. How 
well he remembered — and yet — it must 
be — his millions had toppled him over. 
Else why would he be throwing hundred- 
dollar bills around ? It was only that noon 
he had passed him stiff as a ramrod. This 
sudden outbreak could have only one mean- 
ing. Winchendon interpreted his uneasy 
glance at the doctor. 

"You think I'm crazy. Here, doctor, 
can't you prevail? Can't you make him 



understand that I'm sane now for the first 
time in years?" 

"Curious," said the doctor, "that sanity 
is so often mistaken for madness, and the re- 
verse. You remember," to Winchendon, 
"I told you once you would one day re- 
cover your reason. I noted private ear- 
marks." He stooped to pick up the roll of 
bills. "Here, man, don't stand in your own 
light and his. He 's asking a favor, not con- 
ferring one. Come. Your wife and boy will 

be around shortly, if you use this judi- 

"With more to follow," Winchendon 
said. "There is a position waiting for 

Still dazed, Tom took the bills. 

"Speak kindly, and remember he 
Is human, just like you." 

came from the cot. 

"Just like you," Dr. Joy repeated. 



The black interminable furrow rolls 

Beneath his share; his feet unwilling tread 
The steaming soil, moist-heavy. Overhead 

The heavens declare the spring; on distant knolls 

A green mist wraps the trees' lone-standing boles; 
His boy-heart feels its currents, coursing red, 
And dimly wonders why the world is fed 

Each year anew with youth's life-hungering souls. 

Not his to choose; yet could he boldly fare 
Afield, how would he spurn this task unsought, 

And thread the teeming brooks, free-wandering where 
He now must send his wistful-winged thought! 

How glad forget the rude laborious care 
Wherewith the comfort of mankind is bought! 





walked before them. He was 
a tall boy for his age, slightly 
knock-kneed, and consequently 
his toes were prone to turn in. 
He threw his legs awkwardly from side to 
side, apparently taking delight in exagger- 
ating his peculiarities. Occasionally he 
would give an upward leap, waving his 
arms, windmill fashion, in the air. 

They crossed the village street — a fair, 
broad avenue, shaded on either side by 
rows of stately trees, elm and maple — and, 
leaving the crowds behind them, entered a 
narrow road, dividing a small park in two. 
The grass grew soft and green on either 
side, and Silvie, giving a sudden run, turned 
a quick somersault; then, lying on his back, 
he threw his feet well over his head, his 
knees touching the ground behind him. At 
the same time he stretched his arms to their 
extreme limit in the other direction. 

"Did you ever see such absurd contor- 
tions?" laughed Marianna. 

" Silvie 's all right," said Mr. Prior, 
laughing also. 

Crossing a railroad-track which cut 
through the park just at the entrance to the 
cemetery, they entered between the high 
stone gate-posts, and, turning to the left, 
moved slowly through the oldest part of the 
ancient "yard." Here were headstones 
dating from the seventeenth century. 

"This is the oldest grave here — that of 
the first person buried in Quohonk; the 
wife of a high dignitary of the land, too, I 

Marianna was standing before a roughly 
hewn granite stone. It was high and nar- 
row, and looked more like a rude hitching- 
post than a monument. It was simply en- 
graved with initials and the date, 1670. 

"Come here," called Mr. Prior, "I have 
found some very quaint verses." Taking 
out his note-book to copy them, he read 
aloud as he wrote: 

"'He many weeks felt Death's Attack 
But fervent prayers kept him back 
His faith and patience 'twas to try 
And learn us how to Live and Die 
Having the wings of faith and love 
& Feathers of an holy Dove 
He bids this wretched world Adieu 
& swiftly up to Heaven flew 
Disturb not then his precious Dust 
With Censors that are most unjust.' 

According to that, his wings and feathers — 
big F but small w — sprouted before he 
bade 'this wretched world adieu.'" 

"Yours is dated 1736; here is a later one 
that is rather quaint," called Marianna, 
who had moved a few rods away. 

The young clergyman shut up his note- 
book. "I suppose one could find many in- 
teresting epitaphs. Some day when I have 
time I must come over here prepared to 
search for them; just now I have no time for 
anything other than luncheon." 

Past the limit of the graves they came to 
the brow of a ravine. Here a grove of pine- 
trees defined the hillside. A few yards down 
they found a comfortable resting-place 
where they could sit on the ground, which 
was thickly bestrewn with clean, aromatic 
pine-needles. Far below, gliding through a 
pleasant pasture-land, was a sluggishly 
flowing stream. On its other bank was a 
farmhouse; and from where they sat they 
could see a man passing in and out from 
house to barn. The picture thus presented 
was one suggestive of quiet domestic peace 
and prosperity. 

The weather, which only yesterday had 
been quite cold, had moderated and the sun 
shone warm and bright. Crickets were gaily 
chirping all about them. A large milkweed 
butterfly fluttered near, while overhead a 
white-winged gull poised for an instant on 
wide-spread wings and then turned sharply, 
flying straight towards the not very distant 

Marianna's home-made "raised biscuits" 
and cakes, with hard-boiled eggs and 
bunches of Concord grapes, were spread out 
in company with the ham sandwiches and 




doughnuts from Mr. Prior's paper bag. 

Everything tasted so good; they were so 

hungry; the air was so bracing; the sunlight 

so warming; the odor of the pine-needles so 

refreshing; the whole world an idyl! O 

youth and sentiment, a whole year is not too 

long to wait for the reward of such an hour! 

Silvie went in search of horse-chestnuts. 

Squirrels were leaping amongst the branches 

overhead, and he felt the need of something