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* 1 1;# v> ^«r 

New England Magazine 


c/7« Illustrated Monthly 



March, 1908 — August, 1908 


Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1908, by 


in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington 

All Rights Reserved 




Bertrand L. Chapman, President Charles Everett Beane, Editor 

294 Washington Street, Boston, Massachusetts 




About Hooks 

About ( )ld Ladies Beth Bradford Gilchrist 118 

Among the New Books H. Addington Bruce 504 

Architecture and the Public W. P. P. Longfellow 362 

Artists' Series, Famous American . F. W. Coburn 

A New England Interior," bv Edmund C. Tarbell 96 

• The Art Students," by Philip Hale 196 

" Portrait oi My Daughters, " by Frank W. Benson . 328 

' The Egyptian Princess," by Louis Kronberg 499 

' The Fog Warning," by Winslow Homer 617 

Agriculture," by Vesper L. George 687 

Beautiful New England 

March 1 

April ; 129 

May 257 

August 641 

Book> As I See Them Kate Sanborn 

March 123 

July . 629 

Boston as a World Port Thomas F. Anderson 393 

Boston Finance Commission, The 13 

Boston. Historic Thomas F. Anderson 559 

Business City Government, A Mayor G. A. Hibbard 9 

Camp Fire of Company C, The (Story) William Arnold Jacobs 471 

Charms of Kidney Pond, The Fannie Fern Andrews 222 

Congress and "Unfinished Business," What 
New England says on 

A Symposium by Hon. J. H. Gallinger, Hon. W. P. Dillingham, Hon. 
Louis A. Frothingham, Ex. -Gov. Lucius T. C. Garvin, and Hon. Edwin W. 

Higgins 583 

Conquest of the Mitten. The (Story) Mabel S. Merrill 347 

Conquest of Pain, The Herbert 0. McCrillis . 244 

Convention, The (Story) F.W. Burrows 731 

Country and Hunt Clubs of New England . . . .Mary H. Northend 667 

Country Life, a New Way of Enjoying Nathaniel Coit Greene 283 

Doing and Writing Dr. Edward Everett Hale 521 

Down in Maine Charles Everett Beane 

New York Innocent sin the Maine Wilds . 169 

The Valley of the Upper Kennebec 330 

Along Arnold's Line of March 477 

Wit}] Kineo as I he Hub of the Universe 597 

Whitewinging along the Jagged Coast 649 

- >ming, An (Story) Mabel S. Merrill 186 

Editorial ' 98,241 

Experiment, An (Story) J. /. Belle 16 

Famous New England Artists' Series. See Artists' Series 

F ; i^lit s in Early New England History, Great . .H. Addington Bruce 191 

Be a Camper F.W. Burrows 411 

it Fight - in Early New England History . . .H. Addington Bruce 191 

I The storming of Fort Mystic 


INDEX iii 

Great Issues of the Coming Presidential Campaign, What New England says on 
A ySymposium by Hon. Charles S. Hamlin, Samuel J. Elder, William 
Lloyd Garrison, Ex. -Gov. John MeLane, Hon. Patrick J. McCarthy, Hon. 
George L. Lilley, Hon. Theodore Bodenwein, and Hon. Alexander Troup 453 

Heart of the Hills, In the (Story) .Raymond Warner 737 

Her Standing Offer (Story) Susan B. Rabbins 88 

Historic Boston Thomas F. Anderson 559 

How You May Own a Paying Farm Nathaniel Coit Greene 537 

In the Heart of the Hills (Story) Raymond Warner 737 

Ink When it is Red, The (Story) May Ellis Nichols 557 

Investor, The New England George Hudson 639 

Is New England's Wealth in Danger? Philip W. Ayres 

Our Vanishing Forests 35 

Our Water Powers 145 

What the States are Doing 291 

Our National Resources in the White Mountains 435 

Last Charge of the Free Lance, The Melville Chater 114 

Life Saving Service, The Frederick Rice, Jr 309 

Love Token of Simeon Knox, The Marie Antoinette McKim 745 

Mariners Three (Story) Gilbert P. Coleman 164 

Matter of Nerve (Story) F.O. Bartlett 27 

Month of Flowers, The Photographs by Thomas E. Marr 385 

Most Inspiring Estate in New England, The . . .Nathaniel Coit Greene 537 

Museum of Connecticut Antiquities, A Frederick Rice, Jr 21 

New England's Greatest Bank A. Cromwell 378 

New England Investor, The George Hudson 639 

New Way of Enjoying Country Life, A Nathaniel Coit Greene 283 

Of Fringes Esther Matson 112 

On the Farm Photographs by Thomas E. Marr 513 

On Painting John Ea Farge 229 

Our New England Alps Thomas F. Anderson 213 

Panics and Currency Reform, What New Eng- 
land says on 

A Symposium by Henry Cabot Lodge, Jacob H. Gallinger, Nelson Wil- 

(1 marth Aldrich, Frank B. Brandegee, Samuel W. McCall, John W. Weeks, 

I David J. Foster, A. B. Capron, Joseph H. Walker, Garrett Droppers, Arthur 

B. Chapin, J. Bernard Ferber, Robert Luce 61 

Parasite, The (Story) Freeman Putney, Jr 92 

Patricia's Fatiguing Day (Story) Emilia Elliott 52 

Paying Farm, How you may Own a Nathaniel Coit Greene 537 

Progress of Exaggeration, The Edward Everett 579 

Proposed Railway Merger, What New England 
says on the 

A Symposium by T. E. Byrnes, Louis D. Brandeis, Norman H. White, 
Hon. Rollin O. Woodruff, Hon. William E. Chandler, William T. Haines, 

Dr. FennerH. Peckham, and Howard O. Sturges 265 

Republican Platform, What New England says 
on the New National 

A Symposium by Ex. -Gov. George H. Utter, of Rhode Island, George H. 

Moses, Frank L. Greene, and Nathan M. Wright 723 

Romance of Sharon, A Sada Ballard 618 

Roosevelt's Presidency, What New England says on 

A Symposium by Winston Churchill, Wm. De W. Hyde, Dr. Henry B. 
Blackwell, Joseph H. Soliday, Elmer C. Potter, Senator Wm. O. Faxon, 
Everett J. Lake, Frank L- Dingley, George Colby Chase, Fletcher D. Proctor, 
Edward M. Deavitt, Thomas C. Cheney, C. J. Bell, Hon. John O. Tilson, 
Rathbone Gardner, and Frederick" H. Jackson 199 


Sculpture Prof. George Santayana 103 

Lover's Paradise, A Sherman T. Franklin 689 

Spinster's Wedding Journey, The Marie Antoinette McKim 494 

Springfield, The Connecticut Valley's Model 

Cil \ . .Ernest Newton Bagg 711 

Steubentown Diplomacy (Story) F.W. Burrows. . 161 

Story of Fraternity, A . Philip Avery Hastings 759 

Stor) of the Woman's Club Movement Helen M. Winslow 543 

Tommv Stevens, Peacemaker (Storv) Harriette C. Baker 373 

Versatility of Aunt Mary, The (Story) Belle Brolaski 623 

Voyageurs, The F.W. Burrows 33 

War of a Grandmother, The (Storv) Emilia Elliott 527 

Wellesley Letters (Concluded) . . H.B. Adams 82 

Whaling, Past and Present Albert C. Church 419 

What New England Says: 

( )n Panics and Currency Reform. A Symposium 61 

< )n Roosevelt's Presidency- A Symposium 199 

( >n The Proposed Railway Merger. A Symposium 265 

On the Great Issues of the Coming Presidential Campaign. A Symposium 453 

On Congress and Unfinished Business. A Symposium 583 

( »n the New Xational Republican Platform. A Symposium 723 

Word to Young Writers, A The Publishers 450 

World's Legislature is Here, The R. L. Bridgman 355 

World Port , Boston as a Thomas F. Anderson 493 

Worm, The (Story) Florence Martin Eastland 500 

Yankee Recruit in the Philippines, A Charles A. Campbell 697 


Apple Blossoms Jane C. Crowell 377 

At the Ferry Ruth Sterry 593 

Count ry Road, The Nathan Haskell Dole 417 

Garden of Remembrance, A Cora A. Matson Dolson 534 

How Strange Ethel Hobart 346 

Love's Day Anne P. L. Field 163 

On a Cloisonne Yase Margaret Ashmun 615 

Robin, A Eleanor Nicol 361 

> s '" Nathan Haskell Dole 535 

Sweet Home Influence, The W. Livingston Lamed 557 

Swimmin' E. L. Sabin 622 

Town and Country Isabella Howe Fiske 185 

Triolet . . Stacey E. Baker 636 

Ida A . Ilathorne 628 

Visions Dorothy King 503 

Voices of the Hill Dorothy King 594 

White Horse Ledge, The Annie M. Street 000 

NeAv^Eival crixd 


New Hampshire 

The Wizard Tree, 

Cathedral Woods, Intervale 

Logging in the 

Maine Woods 

Early Spring in 

Rhode Island 


mil v 

A March 


in Sight 

Opjright, 1907, by E. Chickering 

Hon. George A. Hibbard, Mayor of Boston 

New England Magazine 

Vol. XXXVIII MARCH, 1908 Number 1 



Mayor of Boston 






OSTON, for the next two years at least, I hope, is committed 
to the problem of establishing a business administration of 
municipal affairs. Without any attempt to analyze the exact 
causes which led to my recent, election, the one prominent factor 
to my mind is that my campaign was waged on a promise to 
attempt a business administration, and this was emphasized to 
the exclusion of almost every other consideration. My determin- 
ation to continue in that course is more firmly fixed than ever, if that were possible, 
and I am simply waiting to see what support I shall be given in my program by the 
citizens at large. This is a particularly fortunate time in which to take up such a 
task, and it appeals to me all the more strongly for the reason that it will be sub- 
stantially a new trail which we shall blaze out together. 

The divorce which for years has existed between business methods and muni- 
cipal administration is a curious situation, to say the least. When it is considered, 
for instance, that the city of Boston has a weekly pay-roll of over $155,000, that 
municipal undertakings which may cost ten, fifteen, and even twenty millions of dol- 
lars are under way or projected for the immediate future, and that the cost of each 
municipal extravagance or piece of maladministration rests as a direct burden on 
the shoulders of the people themselves, the general indifference to the size of the 
problem becomes even more striking. 

A month ago, when I assumed office, it was the size of the city debt which im- 
pressed me most forcibly. The fact that the sinking fund and interest charges on 
the same aggregated yearly an amount far in excess of what is required in many 
American cities of considerable size to meet all their municipal expenditures aroused 
a wave of sympathy for my fellow citizens in general. And yet I never had any 
doubt as to the honesty of that total. I did feel that Boston was suffering perhaps 
from the result of too vivid an imagination on the part of its city fathers, and that 
in certain lines we had spent money above our immediate needs. Notwithstanding 
this, I rested firm in the belief that the city possessed what it had paid for and that 
future generations at least would profit by the extravagances of the past. 

Now, though only a month in office, I must confess I have been obliged to give 
over even that solace. While my examination to date has, through lack of time, 
been only of a cursory nature, I fear we may as well admit that a large part of the 
money borrowed and expended has been absolutely wasted. The total amount of 



money which the city has expended on sewers alone reaches a spectacular figure. 
Properly spent, Boston to-day should be in possession of an ideal sewerage system. 
Instead, the confession must be made that throughout the city there are at the 
present time main sewers which never met the building specifications and which 
will never perform the functions required. There are stretches of high-priced 
gravity sewers which come so close to the surface that they are absolutely useless 
for the purposes for which they were built. Already the city in certain cases is 
duplicating these plants to face out the problem. 

What has been said in general about the sewers can also be said of the bridges. 
Fortunately, these criticisms can also be made of almost every American city of 
any size. Therefore Boston is not to be regarded as specially or particularly handi- 
capped in this respect, and these samples are simply selected to point out to what 
condition the system of running municipal corporations on a political basis has 
brought the country at large. Of course it can be easily appreciated that to remedy 
such a situation, as far as concerns past expenditures, is beyond the power of any 
chief executive. The problem of the day is how to safeguard future expenditures, 
either for maintenance or construction, and how best to establish methods of ad- 
ministration which will make impossible a return to the old political basis by reason 
that an aroused public sentiment will fight any such degeneration from a standard. 
What we are going through now is a homely task of house-cleaning. I stated 
a short while ago that there were seven hundred unnecessary employees, whose 
services could easily be dispensed with, drawing pay from the city. I am inclined 
now to believe that I underestimated the number, but time will best set the real 
figure. This house-cleaning I should say has really been made easy by the boldness 
with which the city pay-roll has been littered with mere salary-drawers. The pay- 
roll lists thus show "tree-climbers" in the Sewer Department, "boatmen and 
swimmers" in schoolhouses, and "sailors," "caulkers," and "shipwrights" in the 
street-cleaning divisions. Week after week for an indefinite period "rubber-boot 
repairers" who were clerkers, "oil-testers" whose sole activities consisted in swing- 
ing lanterns which burned the fluid, "wharfingers" who spent their time on ledges, 
and "sign-painters" who had never touched a brush passed in solemn procession 
through the Treasury Department, drawing ample remuneration for their alleged 

Under this system day-labor street-construction work in the city of Boston has, 
in certain instances, cost two hundred per cent more than contract work. The 
mere collection of taxes has aggregated a cost per bill far in excess of what any 
corporation would stand. The Finance Commission, which is even yet at work on 
the subject, has in the meantime, through the daily newspapers, exposed the almost 
criminal absence of business judgment in the matter of supply contracting. In 
the mere item of coal, it will be remembered, the statement was made, and never 
seriously questioned, by the attorney for the Finance Commission, that apparently 
" anything that was black and would burn was good enough to sell the city for coal." 
Under this happy-go-lucky system the municipality was purchasing cement as a 
retail customer and buying bricks and tile and other material of like nature in the 
same peculiar manner. 

These references to a few instances will, I think, make it plain how large the 
task at hand is of installing a sane business administration in the municipal govern- 
ment. As I said at the beginning, this problem has become a pressing one in a 
number of municipalities throughout the country at this exact time. As might be 
expected, with the problem there has developed a variety of ideas as to the best 
method of solution. The very size of the undertaking inclines many to the belief 



that permanent government by commission is the sole means of successfully grap- 
pling with it. In no one of the cities is the matter so involved as in Boston, and 
although I stand before the Legislature as a petitioner for power to reorganize the 
departments on a business basis, I am unalterably opposed to a permanent form of 
government by commission. I can imagine how a point may be raised that there is 
a difference between my preaching and my practice on this subject, and the bill for 
which I have petitioned the General Court may be cited. Of that bill I would say 
that it is the result of my desire to save the people of Boston from permanent gov- 
ernment by commission; and furthermore, to my mind it is the only available 
means of escape from such a situation. 

There is at the present time a general misunderstanding as to the scope of that 
measure. For that reason I think it well perhaps to make plain the end in view. 
Here is the text of the bill in general : 

Petition and Act of Mayor George A. 


Government of Boston, its Finan- 
ces and Departments, to the Gen- 
eral Court of 1908. 

To the Honorable Senate and House of Rep- 
resentatives of the Commonwealth of 
Massachusetts in General Court Assem- 
The undersigned, Mayor of the City of 
Boston, respectfully petitions for the pas- 
sage of an act relating to the city govern- 
ment of Boston, its finances and depart- 
ments, substantially as set forth in the ac- 
companying bill, and for such further leg- 
islation, if any, as may be necessary to carry 
out the objects and purposes referred to. 
Mayor of Boston, Mass. 

An Act relating to the city govern- 
ment of Boston. 
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of 
Representatives in General Court assem- 
bled, and by the authority of the same, 
as follows: 
Section i. The duties now imposed by 
law or ordinance upon any department of 
the city government of Boston, except the 
duties imposed by law upon the police 
commissioner, the license commissioners, 
the school committee, the city clerk, the 
board of assessors, the board of election 
commissioners, the trustees of the public 
library and of the city hospital, the park 
commissioners, the commissioners of sink- 
ing funds, the overseers of the poor and the 
soldiers' relief department, may at any time 
during the calendar year nineteen hundred 

and eight, or from time to time during said 
year, be transferred by the mayor on the 
recommendation of at least five members 
of the finance commission to any now ex- 
isting department of the city government, 
or to any new department established by 
the mayor on the recommendation of said 
commission for the purpose. 

Whenever any new department is es- 
tablished under this provision, the mayor, 
on the recommendation of the finance com- 
mission, shall determine whether said de- 
partment shall be placed in charge of a single 
head or an unpaid board of three or more 
persons, and in the former case shall fix the 
salary to be paid to such head of depart- 
ment. Whenever the duties of any now ex- 
isting department are transferred hereunder 
to any other now existing department the 
mayor and finance commission may fix the 
salary to be paid to the head of such depart- 

Sec. 2. Whenever during the year nine- 
teen hundred and eight, subject to the fore- 
going exceptions, the mayor on the recom- 
mendation of the finance commission, de- 
sires to transfer the duties then imposed by 
law or ordinance upon any department, or 
to create any new department, or to fix any 
salary, the finance commission, prior to 
making a recommendation to transfer the 
duties then imposed by law or ordinance 
upon a department to another department, 
or to create a new department, or to fix any 
salary, shall pass such recommendation at 
a public session of which one week's notice 
shall be given by advertisement in at least 
four daily newspapers published in the city 
of Boston, and upon the filing in the office 
of the city clerk of the city of Boston of a 



certificate of the said vote signed by the sec- 
retary or executive clerk of the commission, 
by live members of the commission and by 
the mayor, said recommendation or order 
shall become operative, and any depart- 
ment the duties of which shall thus have 
been transferred to another existing depart- 
ment or to a new department established 
for the purpose shall cease to exist, and the 
term of office or employment of every person 
in the said department shall thereupon 
cease to exist, unless said order provides 
for their transfer. 

Sec. 3. Any head of department and 
the members of any board established by 
the mayor on the recommendation of the 
finance commission as hereinbefore pro- 
vided shall be appointed by the mayor with- 
out confirmation, and all such heads of de- 
partments and members of boards and all 
persons hereafter appointed by the mayor 
as the head of any department of the city 
government, whether created by law or 
ordinance, shall hold office until death, 
resignation or removal. The mayor shall 
have full power to remove any head of a 
department or member of any board in 
charge of a department for such reasons as 
he shall deem sufficient, and every person 
or board in charge of a department shall, 
with the approval of the mayor, have the 
power to remove any subordinate for such 
reasons as he shall deem sufficient without 
notice and without any restriction whatso- 
ever, except that no veteran 01 the civil war 
shall be deprived of any rights now secured 
to him by law. All employees of said city 
other than the mayor or heads of depart- 
ments, members of boards in charge of de- 
partments, the private secretaries of the 
mayor and other employees of his office, 
members and employees of the law depart- 
ment and assistant assessors, shall be sub- 
ject to the rules established by the board 
of civil service commissioners under the 
provisions of chapter three hundred and 
twenty of the Acts of the year eighteen hun- 
dred and eighty-four and the amendments 

Sec. 4. All the powers now vested by 
law in the city council of Boston or in either 
branch thereof over appropriations, trans- 
fers and loans are hereby suspended until 
June 30, 1909, and are hereby transferred 
to and vested in said finance commission, 
to be exercised by said commission from the 

date of the passage of this act to the thirtieth 
day of June in the year 1909. During said 
period to June 30, 1909, no money, whether 
obtained from taxes, income or loans, shall, 
except as hereinafter provided, be expended 
for the city of Boston or the county of Suf- 
folk unless an appropriation has been made 
therefor by the mayor and the finance com- 
mission. The finance commission may at 
any public session of which notice has been 
given as provided in section two of this act 
authorize within the limits now fixed by 
law for the raising of money by taxation or 
by loan the several departments of the city 
government or any of them to expend money 
for such purposes as may be specified in a 
vote passed at such session. Such vote shall 
specify, with such particularity as the com- 
mission may see fit, the number of employees 
to be employed in any department, the sal- 
aries or wages to be paid to such employees, 
the duties to be performed by them, and 
hours of labor for such employment except 
where the same are fixed by law, and the 
purposes for which and the manner in 
which the money shall be expended. A 
certificate of such vote, signed by the sec- 
retary or executive clerk of the commission 
and five members of the commission, shall 
forthwith be transmitted to the mayor, who 
may within ten days thereafter disapprove 
the same in whole or in part by communi- 
cation signed by him and sent to the com- 
mission. On the expiration of said period 
of ten days the said vote shall be operative 
as an appropriation to the extent of all the 
items therein which are not disapproved in 
said communication from the mayor, and 
the items thus disapproved shall be null and 
void. Said commission may also make an 
appropriation for such reserve fund as the 
mayor on the recommendation of said com- 
mission deems proper. In case of delay in 
passing or approving such appropriation 
order, the mayor on the recommendation of 
the finance commission may by order au- 
thorize the expenditure by any department 
of an amount not exceeding one-half its ap- 
propriation for the preceding financial year. 
Such appropriation orders may be passed 
from time to time, and shall include, with- 
out submission to the mayor or any power 
on his part to disapprove the same, appro- 
priations from taxes and income sufficient 
to meet the annual requirements of the city 
and county debt, the payments required by 



George A. O. Ernst Randall G. Morris John F. Kennedy John F. Moors 

John A. Sullivan Nathan Matthews George U. Crocker 


Created by an Act 0} the Legislature. Approved by the Governor 

Now Co-operating with the Mayor in His Efforts to Reor- 
ganize the Departments of the City 

7, 1907, 

NATHAN MATTHEWS, Chairman. Former Mayor of Boston ; member of the law 
firm of Matthews & Spring. Long regarded as an expert on municipal activities. 

JOHN A. SULLIVAN. Former Congressman from the Tenth District. Served four 
consecutive years, and was recognized as one of the Democratic leaders of the 
House. Many times mentioned as a possible candidate for Mayor of Boston. 

GEORGE A. O. ERNST. Lawyer; former member of the School Committee; Pub- 
licist, and a man especially noted for his mastery of detail. 

GEORGE U. CROCKER. Former Treasurer of the City of Boston. Former mem- 
ber of the City Government. Financial authority. 

JOHN F. KENNEDY. Special representative of Organized Labor under the provi- 
sions creating the Finance Commission. 

JOHN F. MOORS. Member of the firm of Moors & Cabot, Bankers. President of 
the Public School Association, and leader of their various campaigns to keep the 
schools out of politics. 

RANDALL G. MORRIS. Prominent real-estate superintendent and trustee. Recom- 
mended by the Chamber of Commerce according to the provisions creating the Com- 



statute to be made to the Commonwealth, 
the annual expenditure of the police, and 
licensing board, as provided by law, and 
such expenditures for the county of Suffolk 
as the city is by law required to pay. As 
soon after the passage of this act as practic- 
able, and again in the month of January, 
1009, the finance commission shall pass an 
appropriation order intended to include the 
expenditures of the city and county out 
of taxes and income for the fiscal years 
1008-1909 and 1909-1910 respectively, 
to be designated as the annual appro- 
priation for the year in question, and 
the mayor may add to such order such 
appropriation as he may deem proper for 
the expenditures of said finance commission. 
Additional orders may be passed from time 
to time for appropriations within the limit 
set by law for taxation in said city, but the 
expenditures of the several departments 
for the year shall be adjusted on the basis 
of the annual appropriations. Upon the 
passage of the annual appropriations every 
head of a department or board in charge of 
a department shall proceed to fix the num- 
ber of offices or positions and the salary and 
compensation of its officers, employees and 
workmen so far as the same are not fixed in 
the appropriation order, so as not to ex- 
ceed individually or in the aggregate the 
salaries or compensations provided for in 
said order, and for such purpose shall have 
power to abolish, without notice to the in- 
cumbents, any positions or offices, regard- 
less of any ordinance, order or vote of the 
city council, without any restriction what- 
soever, except that no veteran of the civil 
war shall be deprived of any rights now se- 
cured to him by law. Any person holding 
an office or position so abolished shall have 
his name placed on the civil service list so 
as to be eligible for employment by said 
city in a similar capacity. 

Se< . 5. The auditor of said city with the 
written approval of five members of said 
commission and of the mayor may from 
time to time make transfers from any item 
or appropriation for any department to any 
other item for the same department, and may 

make transfers from the general treasury or 
from the appropriation for the reserve fund 
to any appropriation for any department, 
and between the first day of December, 
1908, and the first day of February, 1909, 
the auditor may, with the written approval 
of the mayor and a majority of the finance 
commission, make transfers for the purpose 
of balancing and closing the accounts of 
the city from any appropriation met by 
taxes or income to any other such appropri- 
ation, or from any appropriation met by 
loan to any other such appropriation. 

Sec. 6. Any vote authorizing the issue 
of a loan shall specify the number of years, 
not exceeding forty, for which the bonds 
shall run, and may provide that the loan be 
issued in a serial form payable in annual in- 
stalments with no provision for the accumu- 
lation of a sinking fund. No vote author- 
izing the issue of a loan shall be valid unless 
a certificate is attached thereto signed by 
five members of the commission and the 
mayor that in 'their opinion the loan is not 
to meet a current expense. 

Sec. 7. The finance commission of said 
city referred to in this act is the commission 
of seven persons appointed by the mayor of 
said city under an order of the city council 
approved by him March 7, 1907. The term 
of said commission is hereby extended to 
June 30, 1909. Any vacancy at any time 
arising in the membership of said commis- 
sion shall be filled in the manner provided 
for the filling of vacancies in said order ap- 
proved March 7, 1907. 

Sec. 8. The finance commission shall 
submit to the city council of Boston before 
June 30, 1909, a final report of its doings, 
and shall submit to the legislature before 
February 15, 1909, a report with such rec- 
ommendations as it sees fit to make respect- 
ing changes in the laws governing said city 
and its departments. 

Sec. 9. All acts and parts of acts in- 
consistent with the provisions of this act are 
hereby suspended until June 30, 1909. 

Sec. 10. This act shall take effect upon 
its passage. 

The one and favorite argument against this measure is that it will deprive the 
Mayor of the city of powers he now holds, and on that I desire to make these state- 

1. In so far as the bill substitutes the Finance Commission for the City Council 



in the matter of appropriations and loans, it is merely a temporary measure in- 
tended to cover the financial operations of the city during the next fifteen or sixteen 
months, pending the enactment by the Legislature of 1909 of the new and perma- 
nent city charter which everybody believes to be necessary. 

2. The bill does not in any manner diminish the present powers of the Mayor 
over appropriations, loans, or in any other particular. 

3. On the contrary, the bill, if passed, will increase temporarily the powers of 
the Mayor over appropriations and loans by giving him an absolute veto over the 
several items of any appropriation or loan bill. 

4. The bill also increases the power of the Mayor in the matter of appointments 
and removals by giving him the power temporarily to make appointments without 
confirmation and by restoring to him the power of removal which he possessed 
prior to 1904. 

5. So much for that part of the bill which relates to appropriations and ap- 
pointments. The bill also provides for doing now through the joint action of the 
Mayor and Finance Commission what the City Council in most cases has no power 
to do; that is, to consolidate and reorganize the different departments. The City 
Council now possesses this power over a very few of the departments, but the greater 
number of them are tied up by statute in such a manner that in order to effect a 
reorganization there must either be a special act of the Legislature or some general 
power vested in somebody to act for the Legislature in the matter. 

6. My own feeling in the matter is this. I feel that I have been elected to effec- 
tuate certain economies and reforms, and that I ought to be given a chance to do 
the work early in my administration, so that my election and these reforms will be 
justified before my term of office expires. With the city government as at present 
constituted and the departments organized as they are to-day, it is, in my opinion, 
impossible to effect any substantial and immediate retrenchment of expenditure or 
improvement in administrative methods; but if the Legislature will temporarily 
vest the power of making appropriations and of reorganizing departments in the 
Mayor and the Finance Commission, which has spent the last six months in a careful 
study of the needs and methods of the different departments, I am confident that a 
long step can be taken in the desired direction, and taken at once. 

7. It should be particularly remembered that no recommendations of the Fi- 
nance Commission can be put into operation or have any effect without the approval 
and order of the Mayor. The Mayor has the absolute power of control, and thus 
can be held strictly responsible for results. Under the present system nobody can 
be held responsible. 


By J. J. BELL 

ITH a heavy sigh Miss Pinch 
tore up a sheet of closely 
scrawled essay paper and 
dropped the fragments into a 
large bowl at her elbow. Ten 
years ago she had purchased the bowl as a 
receptacle for rose-leaves, but she had never 
used it for that purpose. Things had not 
turned out as she had expected. The dingy 
town parlor with its cupboard bed was still 
her abode, and the cottage in the country, 
with its small secluded rose-garden, was 
still a dream — a dream that, alas, had of 
late grown hopeless. 

Miss Pinch was flat, spare, and forty, and 
she did nothing to disguise the facts. Per- 
haps she even accentuated them. Her hair, 
for example, was drawn back from her brow 
so tightly as to put a peculiar strain on her 
face from the tip of the nose upwards, and 
her garments were severely close-fitting. 
When she was sitting she looked fairly tall; 
when she stood she appeared rather small — 
the result of Providence having supplied 
her with a very long body and very short 
legs. Her face was pale, but her eyes were 
brightly brown and sympathetic; and her 
few women friends generously agreed that, 
if she did her hair differently and dressed 
herself with some taste, she might not be 
quite such a fright. 

Miss Pinch stirred the fragments in the 
bowl with the butt of her pen, and sighed 
again. "I'm sure I don't know what has 
come over me," she thought. "I can't get 
a story to run. Nothing done for a fortnight 
except those verses for the Christmas cards, 
and they bring in so little, and won't be 
published for a year and a half. And I'm 
sick of doing 'In Memoriam' quatrains for 
Moldy & Co. at two-and-six apiece. Oh, 
dear! I think I'll do an 'In Memoriam' 
for myself!" She laughed miserably, and 
took a little note-book from the drawer of 
her writing-table. She had bought it ten 
years ago, and the first dozen pages were 
headed "Estimate." She turned them rap- 
idly and others after them, and came to a 

page headed "Capital." A tear dropped 
presently, but she dried it carefully with 
the corner of her blotter, and proceeded 
to a page marked "Savings." Here she 
took out her handkerchief. "I know it all 
so well," she cried to herself, "and yet I 
can't help looking at it. This book's just 
the graveyard of my hopes." 

;She put it away, wiped her eyes, laid a 
fresh sheet of essay paper before her, and 
bit gently at the butt of her pen. 

"Perhaps I could manage the Christmas 
poem for The Parlor Pictorial. The editor 
said he would have it illustrated if he got it 
in good time. ... It would mean five 
shillings at any rate." 

She dipped her pen, wriggled on her chair 
for ten seconds, and then wrote: 

"Hail, brightest season of the year! 
When holly-berries deck the snow, 

good cheer, 

long ago!" 

"Rhyme first and reason afterwards," 
she murmured, gazing at the blank spaces, 
which she would fill later. "Oh, its awful! 
. . . How I detest writing seasonable 

She proceeded with the second stanza: 

"When Santa Claus, with well-filled pack, 
Strides gaily o'er the wintry wold, 

nothing lack, 

young and old." 

"Good heavens, what rubbish I'm wri- 
ting! And the room stifling! I wish August 
were past." 

She rose and went to the window. But 
she did not open it. A dense cloud hung 
low above the town, and the light was lurid. 
"It's going to be thunder," she thought, 
with a shudder. "I've felt it in my head 
for days." Miss Pinch was terrified by a 

She went back to the table, but she could 
write no more. She took out the note-book 
again, and turned to a page which she had 
avoided before. It was headed "Brother 
James," and down the cash column ran 



such figures as £10,^25, £15, £30, £50, 
£20, with a date against each. There were 
many entries on the page, many on the next, 
and the next, and the next again. Several 
entries were for £100; one was for £300. 
The grand total of these pages represented 
the money she had handed over during the 
last ten years to her younger brother to en- 
able him to carry on his electrical experi- 
ments and investigations. It also repre- 
sented nearly all her father's legacy, plus 
her own savings, plus the gains from her 
literary labors. Miss Pinch knew that her 
worldly possession at the moment was a 
trifle under £200. 

Her widowed father's modest fortune 
had been equally divided between his son 
and daughter. The son had spent his share 
long ago, and had made free with that be- 
longing to his sister. Remembering her 
father's words, she could not refuse the 
young man when he asked for money. 
" James is a genius," her father had said 
to her, "and you are not, thank God. Take 
care of the boy, have patience with him; 
and if you don't get your reward here you'll 
get it hereafter." 

Surely she had done her duty by her 
brother. Surely she had had patience with 
him.- She had lived, or rather existed, by 
her pen in order that she might be able to 
meet his demands. And yet — 

Had she not told him a fortnight ago 
that she could give him no more, that she 
trusted him no longer, that she intended to 
enjoy the remnant of her fortune by spend- 
ing it entirely upon herself? And had she 
not regretted her words the moment he was 

She had not seen him since. He had not 
come to take tea with her on Sunday, as 
was his custom, and to tell her the old, old 
story about matters having never looked so 
bright as they did at present. She had 
missed him, though she had pretended to 
herself that her heart was hardened against 

" Oh, I was wrong," she sighed, replacing 
the note-book in the drawer; "I should 
have had patience with him — I snould 
have trusted him to the uttermost farthing. 
What does it matter whether I live in the 
town or the country? Ah, James!" 

Presently she attempted a fresh attack 
on the Christmas poem, but she had not 
written a line when a vivid flash of light- 

ning caused her to drop her pen and rise 
from the table in a panic. She flew to her 
cupboard bed, pulled the door after her, 
and collapsed. Burying her face in the 
pillows, she lay quaking with terror. Twen- 
ty dreadful minutes passed. 

In the midst of a rattle of thunder she 
heard the parlor door open. 

"Nice day, old girl," said her brother's 
voice. "Hullo! Where are you?" 

"I'm here, James. Lie down on the 
sofa, and perhaps you won't get struck." 

"Struck? Oh, you mean the lightning. 
I thought you had got over that funky feel- 
ing long ago. That's why you're in bed? 
I was afraid you were ill. But I wish you'd 
come out. I want to speak to you." 

She heard him lay his hat on the table, 
and step towards her refuge. "O James, 
please — please don't open the door. Ah, 
what an awful peal!" 

"But I want to speak to you, Jane. It 
is n't much of a storm, and you need n't be 

"I — I can't come out. Do lie down, 
James. There's another! It's coming 

"Rubbish, old girl! However, I suppose 
you'll stick to your principles. I've ex- 
plained lightning scientifically to you be- 
fore, and — " 

"I know. But I 've read of so many peo- 
ple being struck, and houses, too. . . . Are 
you lying down?" 

"No; I'm sitting — reading your poem 
on Christmas." 

"O James!" 

"I can't say I'm struck by it any more 
than the lightning," he said, with a laugh. 
"I'm afraid your muse requires tickling up, 
old girl. You should give her a Welsh rare- 
bit and a bottle of stout for supper every 
night. I know a fellow who does really 
excellent poems on a like foundation." 

Miss Pinch was too well used to her 
brother's flippant observations to make any 
protest. She merely groaned as another 
rumble reached her ears. 

"How's biz?" inquired James, who was 
smiling to himself and pencilling a calcu- 
lation beneath the Christmas poem. He 
invariably referred to his sister's literary 
occupation as "biz." 

"I — I've been rather dull lately," she 
replied. "I've stuck in the middle of a lot 
of stories, and others which I have completed 



have been returned to the — Oh, that 
dreadful thunder!" 

"That's bad," said her brother, calmly, 
looking towards the closed cupboard. He 
had his sister's bright brown eyes; but he 
lacked her plain features. "That's bad," 
he repeated. "But cheer up, old girl!" 
(He usually invited her to "cheer up" just 
before he asked for money.) "I wanted to 
see you about - — " 

"James, do you require some money?" 
she asked, interrupting him. 

There was a slight pause, and then he 
said, "I thought you couldn't spare any, 

"I — I find I can manage to spare a — 
a little. Why did n't you come to tea on 

"Was called to London on Saturday. 
Only got back this forenoon. I ought to 
have let you know, but I 'm a careless beg- 
gar. I'm going off again to London this 
afternoon. Must leave in a few minutes." 
He was still smiling and calculating. 

A flash and a peal followed his words, 
and for a little while there was no sound 
from the cupboard. 

"How much do you w T ant, dear?" said 
Miss Pinch, at last. 

"Well, I've a big experiment on just 
now, old girl." He glanced at his figures 
and dropped the pencil. "I should like at 
least a hundred and fifty." 


"And I'd like the money before I go to 
London. A cheque will do. I can get it 
cashed there, you know." 

The woman in the dark was having a 
great fight with herself. 

"Is it very serious, James?" she asked, 
in a choked voice. 

"It will complete my — my greatest ex- 
periment to my entire satisfaction. Mat- 
ters were never so bright as they are now." 

How often she had heard the last sen- 
tence ! 

"But if you can't spare it, Jane," he 

"I can spare it — I will spare it," she 
said to herself. Then aloud, "I'll give you 
a cheque, James, for all the money I have 
in the bank." 

"Has it come to that?" he said, softly, 
getting up and going to the window, where 
for fully a minute he stood silent, watching 
the heavy rain. " Do you think I'm a brute 

to take the last of your money?" he sud- 
denly asked. 

"No, dear. You believe in yourself, and 
I — I believe in you," she replied, gently. 

"Bless you!" he murmured. He waited 
till the next flash and peal had passed, and 
said, in a business-like tone, "Would you 
mind giving me the cheque now? It's 
nearly time I was going." 

She could brave poverty for his sake; 
could she also brave the lightning ? 

"Must you have it now, James? Is it 
absolutely necessary ? ' ' 

"It will make all the difference in the 
world if I have it now," he replied, still 
watching the rain. 

"O James, I'm so terrified!" she ex- 
plained, and he heard the door creak. " Do 
come back from the window," she pleaded. 

She came to the table trembling and 
blinking. When she had written the cheque 
she again called him from the window. 

"Here it is, James dear, and I hope — I 
hope — " 

A flash came, but it was a faint one, and 
the thunder was long in following. The 
storm was nearly over. Yet she buried her 
face in her arms on the table, and quivered. 

Her brother touched her on the shoulder. 
"Look up, Jane," he said, and something 
in his voice made her obey. 

"This is the completion of my greatest 
experiment," he went on, taking up the 
cheque and examining it. "Is there anything 
you would n't do for me, my sister?" 

She stared at him, wondering. . . . 

He tore the cheque in pieces, flung them 
on the table, and, with a broken laugh, 
caught his sister in his arms. There she 
missed the next and last flash of the storm. 
She knew that something good had hap- 
pened, but she could not ask him, and he 
could not tell her for a while. 

But at last his triumph burst forth. "It 
has all come back — all our money — yours 
and mine — over and over again — thou- 
sands and thousands!" 

"Not thousands!" she gasped. 

"Yes. Thousands in cash, and thou- 
sands in shares. I'm a limited company 
now, old girl, and you're worth fifteen 
thousand at least!" 

"Me? Me?" cried Miss Pinch, who 
would certainly never have written such 
bad grammar. 

"Of course. Don't I know how much 



I've got from you? You're only getting it 
back with interest. . . . But I must go. 
Come along to the station and see me off." 

It was just ere the train started that Miss 
Pinch, who was in a wild state of confusion 
and rapture, put a question to her brother. 

"What was the great experiment you 
pretended you wanted the cheque for, 

"Didn't you guess?" 

"How could I?" 

He looked into her brown eyes for a mo- 
ment. "Dear old girl, it's time you were 
flitting for a rest to that little cottage in the 
country. We'll do some house-hunting 
when I get back on Monday." 

Half an hour later Miss Pinch tore up 
her Christmas poem and stirred its frag- 
ments in the bowl which — oh, joy! — was 
going to be used for rose-leaves after all. 
Then she rang the bell for her landlady, 
and, probably by way of celebrating her 
sudden accession to fortune, she ordered 
an egg with her tea. 



The fair cold moon in silence climbs 
The star-flecked, planet-peopled steeps, 

And silent o'er the city's chimes 

Each pulsing sun-speck round her sweeps. 

What cataclysmic destinies 

In yonder wondrous orbs are wrought — 
With fire-gulfs heaving, vast as seas — 

While on they journey, mute as thought? 

No whisper from the awful wake 

Of worlds that, through th ' ethereal void, 
Their measure-mocking courses take, 

By power supernal constant buoyed! 

Only along these thronged streets, 
Where busy idlers constant press, 

Each senseless stone with clamor greets 
The clanging iron's harsh distress. 

Here shameless trifles shriek and roar, 

And Folly insolently cries — 
Unheeded, yonder, sweep and soar 

The paths the worlds of God suffice. 



HEN the Connecticut branch 
of the Daughters of the Revo- 
lution four or five years ago 
established a museum of co- 
lonial antiquities at Windsor, 
"the original home of American Democ- 
racy," in the former homestead of Chief 
Justice Oliver Ellsworth, they created a 
model repository which ought to be known 
to all of us of New England. Preservation 
of the precious relics of our past has become 
almost universally recognized as a pressing 
duty, if we are not to be entirely neglectful 
of the interests of the future. Funds are 
raising, at this writing, for the equipment 
and adequate furnishing of the historic 
Paul Revere House, in North Street, Boston. 
A popular subscription has been started to 
save from destruction the ancient Royall 
House in Medford, closely connected with 
many historical occurrences since its erec- 
tion in 1738. The Longfellow House in 
Portland, filled with reminiscences of the 
most popular of our poets, has become the 
leading attraction to visitors in the Maine 

This movement to keep as historical mon- 
uments houses that have been the scene of 
historical happenings in the colonial and 
revolutionary periods has extended to 
scores of towns in our section. Even our 
manufacturing cities, most of which have 
no history of the kind that gets into the 
books — for they have been doing nothing 
more important in their comparatively brief 
existence than to clothe the naked, shoe the 
barefoot, and dose with patent medicines 
the ailing of all nations — have begun to 
look around for architecture suitable to 
memorialize. Witness the present project 
of the Art Association of Lowell to make a 
local centre of interest in the fine and ap- 
plied arts at the Worthen Street birthplace 
of James A. M. Whistler — an undertaking 
which might have amused the author of 
"The Gentle Art of Making Enemies." 

To all connected with these and similar 
efforts to preserve as much as possible of the 
New England heritage the success thus far 
achieved by patriotic women of Connecticut 
in this plan of making a historic mansion 
serve as a beautiful and appropriate back- 
ground for objects contributed from various 
sources should be a source of constant en- 
couragement. By cooperative effort, cover- 
ing the whole State, assurance has been 
gained that a refined and well-designed 
building of our best school of architecture 
will henceforth be cared for in a manner 
consistent with its dignified traditions; that 
at one central point in the State a large pro- 
portion of the best surviving pieces of colo- 
nial furniture and other objects will be 
available for the study of all interested in 
them, and that the surroundings in which 
these things are shown will be of a char- 
acter to reveal rather than obscure their ar- 
tistic qualities. 

The pleasantness of the location, the 
quiet dignity of the house and its immediate 
surroundings, are thoroughly impressive to 
one approaching the Oliver Ellsworth Man- 
sion for the first time. The trolley from 
Hartford or Springfield on the west side of 
the river now passes the door, though when 
I first visited the house, in 1904, soon after 
it had been taken over by the Daughters, 
a walk of two or three miles from the green, 
at Windsor, through a series of well-kept 
tobacco-farms was involved. 

Later, on the occasion of a trolley flight 
through New England 'to the metropolis, 
the serene attractiveness of the place was 
found to have been only enhanced by the 
effort to remove everything in the surround- 
ings at all suggestive of the tumbledown 
and dilapidated. Architecturally, the man- 
sion is now thoroughly expressive of the well- 
ordered life of an age when manners still 
outweighed money in the accounting of a 
gentleman or gentlewoman, and when reg- 
ularity of attendance at church did not pre- 



The drawing-room of the Oliver Ellsworth Mansion. In this room are a replica of the bust of 
Chief Justice Ellsworth and several historically interesting pieces of furniture 

elude but rather enforced niceties of con- 
duct, attire, and equipage. 

By virtue of its past the house deserves 
to be perpetually spick and span. Other- 
wise, injustice would be done to the good 
judgment of Oliver Ellsworth, he who pre- 
pared the scheme of our national judiciary 
which went into effect in the autumn of 
1789 and who was selected to put into ac- 
tion the machinery which he himself had 
designed. Of the many explicit decisions 
handed down by our first Chief Justice, 
none, certainly, is clearer and more un- 
equivocal than this one regarding his own 
residence: "I have visited several countries, 
and I like my own the best; I have been in 
all the States of the Union and Connecticut 
is the best State; Windsor is the pleasantest 
town in the State of Connecticut; and I have 
the pleasantest place in the town of Wind- 

Sight in early autumn of the hazy hills 
to the west, across opulent tobacco-fields, 

and of the broad, shallow Connecticut be- 
neath high sand-banks to the rear of the 
house in no wise tends to disprove the plausi- 
bility of this pronouncement. To-day the 
richest agricultural territory in New Eng- 
land, this section of the Connecticut Val- 
ley is one of the fairest to look upon. 

This, then, is the place which through 
the generosity of heirs and descendants of 
Oliver Ellsworth has been turned over to 
the patriotic women of Connecticut with 
no restriction except that it shall be kept 
in good condition. The task of preserving 
it is not so difficult. Jerry-building was 
unusual, honest carpentry the rule, at a 
time when beams had to be hewn out by 
hand, chimneys built to stand straight and 
draw vigorously rather than sag and smoke. 
The evident soundness of the timbers and 
other woodwork in the Ellsworth Mansion 
astonishes the visiting public. It is hard to 
realize that the house was already a land- 
mark when George Washington, in his 



The ground-floor sleeping-room. Important framed documents are on the wall, and admirable 
examples of colonial furniture throughout the room 

memorable New England trip of 1789, tar- 
ried here for a few hours to inspect the 
home of his good friend and associate, and 
when, according to tradition, he entertained 
the older children of the Chief Justice by 
logging them on his knee while he sang that 
fine old ditty "The Darby Ram." The 
keen-sighted President must have got here 
a good impression of the honest house- 
building in the Nutmeg State. 

Present furnishings seem so entirely to 
belong to the mansion — that, of course, 
is the peculiar charm of it — that descrip- 
tion of the interior would be practically fu- 
tile without immediate reference to the re- 
markable things which the rooms contain. 
Some of the objects now on exhibition ac- 
tually belonged to the house in Oliver Ells- 
worth's day; many others have been con- 
tributed by individuals or patriotic assor 
ciations. Fortunately, the rooms have not 
been stuffed with furniture to resemble an 

antique shop — the fate of too many Amer- 
ican museums of art and archaeology. 
Good taste has been displayed in the ar- 
rangements, to such an extent that one 
seems to be in a habitable house, not in a 
show-place. This sensation is certainly 
somewhat analogous to that received in the 
celebrated Skansen historical museums at 
Stockholm, where exhibits of a given period 
are displayed in small separate and archi- 
tecturally appropriate buildings. 

The brass knocker on the front door 
brings a well-spoken colored attendant, 
born on the place, and descended from one 
of the servants of the Chief Justice's day. 
She admits to a main hall of goodly propor- 
tions. It is not, indeed, of exaggerated size 
like that desired by a Chicago multi-mil- 
lionaire who commissioned his architect, 
"Build me a house for two hundred and 
fifty thousand. Build it in any style, and 
of any material you like. Only build it so 



that every time one of my friends crosses 
the threshold for the first time he will ex- 
claim, 'My God, what a hall!'" 

Not of such dimensions is the central 
hall of the Ellsworth House, but still it is 
ample enough in relation to the other com- 
partments. It contains a number of impor- 
tant pieces of furniture — among others 
a tall clock of the best period, presented 
by the Elizabeth Clarke Hull Chapter of 

to be epitomized in this room. The style is 
one unsuited, of course, to express a wide 
range of ideas and emotions. It appears to 
have been best suited to the temperamental 
needs of people like the fathers of our Con- 
stitution, who saw clearly enough to pro- 
duce a logical and well -articulated scheme 
of political government, but who lacked 
sufficient conception of the complexity and 
necessary mutability of the social organism 

The dining-room and breakfast-room. Church service and tankards on the mantelpiece and a 
glimpse into Mrs. Jemima Ellsworth's breakfast-room to the right 

Ansonia. On the walls are historically val- 
uable prints; along them, colonial chairs of 
various antecedents. 

In the main drawing-room, to the right 
of the hall, standing on a pedestal draped 
with Old Glory, is a reproduction of a bust 
of Chief Justice Ellsworth, the original now 
in the Supreme Court Room at the Capitol 
in Washington. 

The elegance of Georgian art, as exem- 
plified in the designing of furniture, seems 

to foresee how inevitable must be such 
straining and warping as the Constitution 
has been from time to time subjected to. 
The spirit of the eighteenth century, the 
finish and refinement of its civilization, the 
love of sympathy, balance, antithesis, the 
extreme respect for the classical tradition, 
— for a concrete example of all this look 
at the pieces over which Justice Ellsworth's 
effigy presides. One or two of them in 
workmanship and motive date back of the 



Another corner of the drawing-room. A reproduction of a painting of the Chief Justice 
and his wife hangs over the fire-place 

middle eighteenth century, and get even 
closer than the rest in point of time and in- 
spiration to the Italian Renaissance. Such 
a creation is the magnificent lowboy, as- 
signed to the date 17 10, once the property 
of Mrs. Jemima Leavitt Ellsworth, mother 
of the Chief Justice. Its maker had the 
artist's inheritance and temperament. Greek 
workers sometimes discovered finer curves 
than his, but hardly any more adequate to 
express an idea. 

The skill and good taste of these unknown 
but not unhonored artists of the eighteenth 
century, socially humble for the most part 
and ranking below the class of gentle peo- 
ple in the colonies, affected the whole fab- 
ric of society even in colonies like Connec- 
ticut and Massachusetts, here the amenities 
of life are popularly believed to have suf- 
fered from Puritanism. As a matter of 
fact, in the large dining-room of the Ells- 
worth Mansion, which, with the adjacent 
breakfast-room, lies to the left of the main 

hall, the pewter cups from the service of 
the First Church of Lebanon are as shapely 
and elegant in their way as certain other 
cups there which recall the fondness of our 
ancestors, even those of the Puritan per- 
suasion, for concoctions in which the potent 
element was just rum. Church and tavern, 
mansion and farmhouse, all, before 1800, 
commanded the efforts of individual crafts- 
men who knew something of good propor- 
tions and could apply skilfully to their 
work such design as they understood to be 
worthy of consideration from the intellec- 
tual heavy-weights of the age. All that 
concerned eating was particularly a sub- 
ject for display of the artisan's skill, as 
witness the carved sideboard, the triangular 
cupboard, the mahogany table, the half 
hundred or more articles of pewter and old 
china, the small silver, and many other 
things in the rooms where the Ellsworth 
family habitually broke bread. 

The simple trade tools with which in 



every colonial village competent workmen 
carried on the traditions of their crafts, 
brought from abroad, are represented, to 
a limited extent, in one of the up-stairs 
rooms at the Ellsworth House. Here are 
the implements of the iron- worker's rolling, 
important in a day when iron nails were 
fashioned by hand. The familiar candle- 
moulds recall the dips of tallow or bayberry 
wax, with which the gloom was punctuated, 
if not dispelled, in old-time halls and bed- 
rooms. Spinning-wheels and flax-wheels 
formerly owned in the Ellsworth family 
are there, and an old hand-loom from one 
of the down-river towns is notable because 
on it was once woven a piece of cloth from 
which a suit was measured for the Father 
of his Country. 

The sleeping-rooms have been appro- 
priately fitted out. Good-looking beds 
were a requisite part of the equipment of 
gentlefolk's houses in times when curtains 
shutting out the draught were quite as nec- 
essary to health as powder and patches to 
appearance. Rev. Truman Marsh, rector 
of the Episcopal church in Litchfield in the 
closing years of the eighteenth century, 
slept in a big tester bedstead which now 
occupies large space in the front bedroom, 
south. In the room over the main draw- 
ing-room is another great four-poster. On 
this is spread a remarkable and elaborate 
piece of embroidery which stands to the 
credit of Abigail Wolcott Ellsworth and 
sisters. These girls did it, we are informed, 
to celebrate the approaching nuptials of 
their brother, one of the sons of the Chief 
Justice. Near-by is the mahogany cradle 
in which several generations of Ellsworths 
were rocked, in defiance of principles of 
child-rearing to-day generally advocated. 
Interestingly, it contains two dolls, fabled 
to be likenesses of the twins who were born 
shortly after Washington's memorable visit 
at Windsor. 

A single sleeping-room, in the old set-up 
of the house, was on the ground floor to the 
rear of the main drawing-room. This has 
been made the repository of a number of 
entertaining articles. The tall mahogany 
run-around, essentially a graduated series 
of circular disks consituting a very com- 
modious tea-tray, often provokes the curi- 

osity of visitors. A beautiful library mirror 
with classical carving is worth noting. 
Among a score or more of objects on the 
wall is a quaint old-fashioned sampler, 
worked by Ann Cates, born in Gloucester- 
shire, England, in 1794, and settled as a 
young woman in the Connecticut town of 

Rag carpetings throughout the house 
give a touch that is in character. They are 
of modern weaving. Most of the wall-paper, 
too, is of recent manufacture, though se- 
lected with a view to its harmonizing with 
colonial architecture and furniture. 

The wall-paper, however, in the front 
room to the right of the hall is distinctly 
historical. It represents one of the early 
importations brought by the Chief Justice 
in 1802 from Paris, whither he had gone 
on a diplomatic mission. The wall-paper 
of those days was sold in tw r enty-six-inch 
sheets instead of rolls. These sheets were 
pasted one by one upon the wall — very 
neatly and accurately in Justice Ellsworth's 
house, as befitted the character of the man. 
The freshness of the paper has been notably 
well retained; beside it any but the best of 
modern wall-paper would took tawdry. 

New T England needs as many more small 
local collections, of old things attractively 
displayed, as there is excuse for creating. 
Almost equally with the great museums, 
such as the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, 
permanent exhibitions like that at the Oli- 
ver Ellsworth House accomplish a large 
work of popular education. The mansion 
in Windsor does much more than cultivate 
patriotic sentiment among those who visit 
it — admirable though the resultant en- 
couragement of patriotism is. It shows 
many beautiful objects under conditions 
such that even the most unresponsive are 
likely to be impressed by the desirability 
of our recovering something of our ances- 
tors' appreciation of good style and good 
workmanship. Such impressions eventually 
find expression, in many individual cases, 
in improved surroundings in homes and 
public places. They thus become part of 
the experiences that are rapidly raising the 
standard of living and the standard of think- 
ing in this country. 



ATHROP, dreamer of dreams 
and lazy scribbler for bread, 
having loafed in the June sun- 
shine the major part of the day, 
determined to take the car 
back to the city and the seasonless roof- 
tops, and appease the fag end of his con- 
science by work. But while waiting for his 
trolley he wandered down an aimless side 
road and there, surrounded by rolling green 
fields, found tucked away a tiny inn, so 
like in appearance and location the hostel- 
ries of England as he imagined them to be 
that he was tempted within. 

He found a cool room with rough oak 
tables overlooking, through wide open win- 
dows, an acre of green, fringed in the dis- 
tance by full sapped trees. Near-by a large 
maple almost thrust its branches into the 
room, and here robins hopped from bough 
to bough, singing their chuckling songs. It 
was the time of day when, if all be at peace, 
shaded chambers grow cool and drowsy, 
while the heat shimmers without. Noises 
are subdued, coming wearily as from a dis- 
tance, albeit with none of the mellowness of 
twilight hours. Even the insects move list- 
lessly and stick closely to the shaded side 
of things. 

Of the unaproned proprietor, who en- 
tered as though surprised at rinding a guest 
at this time of day, Dick ordered some 
mild cream cheese, crackers, and a bottle 
of English ale. Then he gave himself up 
to the illusion of the hour: he was in Eng- 
land — the poet's land — and all was well 
with him. His long legs curled beneath the 
table, he settled far back, one arm upon the 
board and lean fingers twined about the 
handle of the old pewter mug. While his 
uneven features could not be called hand- 
some, they were attractive to most, because 
of a certain droop of the lips which were 
given the lie by laughing eyes. And there 
was the air of a gentleman about him, which 
was not interpreted through any one char- 
acteristic, but which rather represented the 
summing up of them all. Men liked him 

in their idle moments; women, at all times. 
He was forever pleasantly surprising the 
former and winning forgiveness of the 

Had he the impulsive gift of song that 
Keats had, he would now have sung as 
Keats sang. The songs were in his heart, 
the pictures before his eyes, every sense 
atune — but they were for him dreams to 
be enjoyed unexpressed. 

So he sat for an hour, when the soft 
melody of the afternoon was sharply inter- 
rupted by the spitting chug of an automo- 
bile. It was as though a gnome should 
tumble, coughing, into an evensong of fai- 
ries. The frail thread of his dreams was 
instantly snapped. And so, with a sigh, 
Dick reached in his pocket and paid his 
score. For a second he hesitated, and then, 
ashamed of himself for the mood, tossed 
out his last ten cents as fee. It was a fair 
day, and the fifteen-mile walk home might 
turn out rather a treat. 

He arose to escape the noisy party he 
anticipated, but checked himself as he saw 
by the door a young woman of twenty, 
dressed in the lightest of pinks and whites. 
He could think of nothing but an apple- 
blossom come to life in human form. She 
appeared frightened, and held one white- 
gloved hand to her lips as though checked, 
at sight of the stranger, in some sudden im- 
pulse. Her big brown eyes were shaded by 
a black picture-hat, but Dick pierced the 
shadows beneath and saw that they were 
trembling upon the verge of tears. The 
light feather boa about her neck was ban- 
died about by the baby breeze from the 
windows. Otherwise, the two stood facing 
one another for a moment as immovable as 
though in a picture. 

Then she entered a few steps with a de- 
licious rustling sound, stopping again as 
Dick advanced as if in answer to a call. 

" Pardon me," she trembled, in a musical 
voice that fitted well into the scene of a few 
minutes gone, "but — have you been sit- 
ting here long ? My brother — I am wor- 


2 S 


ried — I thought possibly he might be 

"I have been here a little over an hour," 
answered Dick, gently. "I have seen no one 
enter or leave. Perhaps if I call the pro- 
prietor — " 

" Would you be so good?" she exclaimed, 
in relief at the suggestion. 

The proprietor knew Air. Winthrop well, 
but he had not been here to-day. 

The girl, as though exhausted by this ab- 
rupt termination of a last resource, sank 
half faint into a chair. She stared blankly 
at Dick. Her look was almost a plea — a 
hopeless prayer for some miracle to happen 
through him. He looked back into her 
eyes, sensing her appeal partly and yet not 
sure of what to do. He saw her eyes grow 
dim. Then her head sank to the table and 
was buried on her arm. 

He felt ridiculously helpless in this crisis. 
He watched the black feathers on her hat 
bob up and down as her shoulders rose and 
fell to her convulsive weeping. It occurred 
to him that the only thing to do was to put 
his arm across her shoulders, that she might 
feel there was a man's strength near her. 
She was the sort of a girl who prompted 
one to such a gentle act. But he could n't 
do that, he reasoned. And there was noth- 
ing to say of comfort, because he knew 
nothing of what the trouble was. 

So he stood there and waited. The cho- 
king demon without had grown silent, and 
the robins chuckled on all alone in a world 
which was to them without sorrow. The 
grass-perfumed air swept in and stirred her 
hair. He found himself wishing that she 
were here with him, a laugh in her eyes. 
Perhaps a man could catch the will-o'-the- 
wisp songs and sing them to such as she. 

When she finally raised her averted head, 
lightly brushing her eyes and the damp 
curls, he spoke: 

"If there is any possible way in which I 
can be of help to you, I should be glad." 

"If you only could!" she gasped, her full 
lips still twitching. As she gained better 
control of herself, she ran on, her eyes meet- 
ing his squarely but with an odd look of 
wonder in. them: 

"It's strange, but when I came in — and 
saw you — I felt that in some way you 
could help — were to help. Perhaps I'm 
silly because — so very tired." 

She tried her best to smile, as though 

anxious to make light of her mood in spite 
of her earnestness. She half rose as though 
to go, but Dick, sitting down opposite, said, 
with a calmness that gave her confidence: 
" It may be that I can. Tell me about it." 
She did not hesitate, although it was man- 
ifestly difficult for her to express herself. 

"It's — my brother — Robert. He has 
been under a strain and — everything is all 
mixed up. To-day he was to meet a man 

— and I fear he has lost his nerve. He 
left several hours ago and came down this 
way. After he had gone," she shuddered, 
"I found he had taken his pistol." 

The utterance of her fear seemed to par- 
alyze her into silence. 

"And so you are trying to find him?" he 
prompted. "Describe him to me." 

"He is about your size and age — but 
much thinner, and very pale. There are 
streaks of gray in his hair. His eyes are 
brown — like mine. He is wearing a blue 

"Have you notified his friends or — or 
the police?" 

"Oh, no! That would be too horrible if 

— if everything is all right. It is only a 
feeling of danger I have." 

"And this man he was to meet — did 
that trouble him?" 

The color flew from her cheeks till they 
were chalk white, and then returned as 
quickly in burning crimson. 

"It is terrible! He f eared — Oh, if you 
should meet him will you tell him I will do 
that — that it's best — and is n't his fault?" 

She stopped suddenly, seeming to realize 
the absurdity of her hope and the indelicacy 
of telling these things to a stranger. 

"There is nothing to do," she said. "I 
suppose I must just wait." 

For a moment Dick's thoughts wandered 
in a maze of fantastic suggestions. Finally 
he said, bending forward over the table: 

"Do you believe in luck — just sheer, 
naked luck?" 

"I — I don't know," she answered, in 

"Well, I do. It has served me once or 
twice. Perhaps it will serve you; only you 
must believe. You must say over and over 
to yourself, 'If I just wait, everything, is 
coming out all right.'" 

"Oh, I will!" she cried, excitedly. 

"Then we'll try. There are three roads 
from the turnpike a little way back, and he 



has gone along one of them. We will draw 
lots to see which of the two we shall follow; 
and then again, to see which one you take 
and which one I take." 

He drew an envelope from his pocket 
and tore off three slips of paper, which he 
numbered one, two, and three. He shuffled 
these behind his back and then asked her to 
draw. Then of these two she drew again. 

"You see," he said, "how simple it is. 
You keep along this road and I take the 
middle road. Now," he said, rising, "it is 
only a short time before dark, so we must 

For a second they stood before one an- 
other. In this common mission they seemed 
drawn into a strong intimacy. If she 
should cry now he would not hesitate to 
put his arm over her shoulders. And he 
felt that she would expect this, and that 
even in the stress of her present worry she 
realized that she would. She extended her 

"I believe! I believe!" she said, quickly. 
"And when you find him you will tell him 
as I bade you?" 


"It seemed half like a dream." Then 
she added, "But I believe." 

Women had a habit of believing in Dick 
because he so believed in himself. He es- 
corted her to the car, which greeted her 
with sharp barks, like a good-natured bull- 
dog, and here again she held out her hand. 
It seemed as though she hated to part with 
this first tangible hope. 

"You ought to be growing on one of 
those apple-trees, you know," he said, for- 
getting himself for a moment. 

She withdrew her hand and looked away 
from him. Then she started, and said: 

"You will come back and tell me, no 
matter what result? Our house, the Win- 
throp house, is just a little way back on the 
main road." 

"I'll come back with him," he said, con- 
fidently. "Good luck!" 

"Oh, and good luck to you! I think I 
would rather you found him." 

He stood there in the road until her face 
was blurred in the dust from the big ma- 
chine which whisked her off. 

Cutting across the fields, he found the 
middle road and trudged on gayly, confi- 
dently, for so it is you must go if you play 
luck at all. The sun, getting low behind 

him, burnished the light clouds ahead of 
him to a reddish copper. It did n't seem 
possible that the same summer day could 
furnish a setting for both this song of a girl 
and the grim tragedy of her brother. He 
and his revolver had no place here. Yet he 
remembered that the only funeral he had 
ever been forced to attend was upon such 
a day, and that then he thought the light- 
some day the grimmest sort of a setting. 

He passed man after man, and made 
many inquiries, but met with no success 
until, some three miles down the road, he 
found a farm hand who had seen Winthrop 
pass two hours before. 

"He looked kinder down in the mouth," 
ventured the man. 

It was just as the dusk was beginning to 
deepen that he came to a grass-grown road 
leading to the left. This stopped him. If 
he were in Winthrop's mood, he reasoned, 
this would be just the path he would choose. 
But it was getting dark and he could not 
afford to waste time in a false move. He 
took a copper from his pocket and spun it 
in the air. 

"Heads, I go down here; tails, I go on." 

The penny fell heads up. And at that 
moment he heard a pistol-shot not a hun- 
dred yards away. 

Plunging down the road and around a 
corner, Lathrop came upon a tall man with 
iron-gray hair, dressed in a blue suit. He 
stood beside a large tree, looking frightened 
and self-conscious. One hand was behind 
his back, and there was a thin curl of smoke 
above his head. His face was haggard, 
his eyes heavy as though from lack of sleep, 
his loose lips bloodless. For a second Dick 
stared at him, and then managed to gasp: 

" Good Lord, you tried it and — missed!" 

Winthrop's eyes rested upon him, but it 
would have been hard to say whether they 
saw or not. They were as blank as those of 
a corpse. 

Removing his hat, Lathrop wiped his 

"You nearly scared the life out of me," 
he exclaimed. 

"Who the devil are you?" 

"I come with a message from your sis- 
ter. She says, 'I'll do it; it's for the best 
and it is n't your fault.'" 

The man shivered as though in a spasm. 
Then he clenched his teeth and moved his 
right arm from behind him. 



"By God, she won't," he muttered. 

Lathrop sprang, and for a minute the 
two rolled upon the ground. But it was a 
brief struggle; Winthrop was as weak as a 
fever patient. When Lathrop made his 
feet with the gun in his hand, the other 
faced him as though about to continue the 
fight. Then he slumped to the ground 
and, burying his face in his hands, sobbed 
liked a whipped schoolboy. 

Dick seated himself near-by with a sigh 
of relief, and, lighting a cigarette, smoked 
on contentedly. The trees at a distance 
were becoming blurred; the shadows about 
the trunks deepening. The birds were find- 
ing their nesting-places with sleepy twitter. 
At a distance down the road he heard a 
driver urging his jaded horse to the barn. 
Near him he harkened to one of the most 
pitiable sounds in nature ■ — the choking 
sobs of a man. 

Dick's thoughts soon strayed back to the 
inn, and so he dreamed on until Winthrop 
started to his feet. 

"See here," broke in Dick, "I seem to 
have got thrust into this in some way. Now 
I'm here I'd like to help. Tell me about 

"Who are you?" Winthrop demanded, 

"No one in particular," he answered. 
" My name is Lathrop. All I know of this 
is what I've seen and the little your sister 
told me." 

He paused, then leaning forward said: 

"See here, tell me about it, old man." 

A man — especially a weakling — will 
in Winthrop's frame of mind grasp at straws. 
He had passed the point where he had any 
pride left. And more, there was a surety 
of at least a sympathetic listener in this 
stranger who had already played a part in 
his life. The dark shadowed his face and 
made it easier. 

''It is n't the sort of thing a man likes to 
tell," he trembled. "But I'm all in, any- 
way. I wish to God my hand had been 

Dick saw him knead his fist into the turf. 
He lighted another cigarette and waited. 

"To cut it as short as possible, I gam- 
bled all of my own money and most of my 
sister's. Then I got desperate, and on a 
last play to get it all back forged a check on 
a fellow who is gone on Dorothy. She met 
him one summer at Newport. I've never 

seen him, but I've heard about him. He's 
bad — rotten — and no more fit to marry 
her than — than I am to be her brother." 


"I got my money back and tried to re- 
deem the check. But he 's got it, and now 
he's holding it over my head to scare the 


"I've held out all along. But he is com- 
ing to-night, and says either I give my con- 
sent or he sends me to jail. I — I lost my 
nerve. I knew I'd give in and that she'd 
marry him to save me. She's that kind. I'm 
a dog, all right, but I don't mean to do that. 
There's another way." 

"But why don't you go to jail and have 
it over with?" 

"To jail, man? Do you think I could 
stand that?" 

"No," agreed Dick, slowly, "I don't be- 
lieve you could. I think, myself, you have 
taken the right course. But there's the 
girl — she objects." 

He thought a moment. 

"Say, I'll bet he's a coward — bigger 
than you. Why don't you face him and — 
kick the tar out of him ? " 

"What good would that do if — if I 

"I don't know," said Dick, "but it would 
be good fun." 

"Anyhow," added Winthrop, "I'd give 
in. I know I should. I'm a coward and 
know it, but I'm not a dog. The girl sha'n't 

"I should say not," agreed Dick, with 
surprising warmth. Then like an inspira- 
tion a solution came to him. 

"See here," he blurted out, "that seems 
to be the trouble — you'd give in. But the 
thing has got to be met somehow. You say 
he's never seen you. Why don't you let 
me face him? He can't scare me. Go 
ahead, let me at him. It's a chance, you 

" Supposing you lose? I won't go to jail." 

"I won't lose," said Dick, cheerfully. 
"And besides, you can shoot yourself just 
as well afterwards. And I'll give you back 
your gun to do it with." 

For a minute Winthrop squirmed. Then 
he rose to his feet: 

"It's a devilish queer thing to do," he 
said. "You sort of lend me your nerve, 
eh? But it's for her sake." 



"You bet your life it is," answered Dick, 
hastily. "And all you've got to do is to 
keep out of sight." 

Two hours later Dick was waiting in the 
big library of the old Winthrop mansion 
when Archibald Van Horn was announced. 
The odor of apple-blossoms filled the room. 
His eyes still burned with the memory of that 
glance she gave him as she departed. He 
could still hear the frou-frou of her skirts. 
He wondered what a man would not do to 
save such as she. Had he been in Van 
Horn's place, knowing what he now knew 
of himself, he would never have ventured 
up those stairs. 

Yet, all unconscious, Van Horn entered. 
Tall, flat-chested, weak-eyed, dressed im- 
maculately, he paused at the door and 
looked inquiringly about him. 

"Come in and sit down," suggested 
Dick. "You'll pardon me, of course, if I 
don't shake hands with you." 

As Dick looked at the figure, the joke of 
such a marriage struck him so forcibly that 
he had much ado to keep from chuckling. 
Van Horn himself did not appear at ease. 
He had expected a different sort of prospect- 
ive brother-in-law. 

"We might as well clear the decks at 
once," began Dick. "I offer you twice the 
face value of the check. Will you accept it?" 

"Do you value your sister at so low a 
figure, Mr. Winthrop?" 

It is difficult to sit quiet when your mus- 
cles suddenly contract, but with an effort 
Dick did so. 

"You know, I suppose, that she heartily 
despises you?" 

" Mere girlishness. She has promised to 
marry me, has n't she, if you give your 

"Yes, God bless her," answered Dick, 
below his breath. 

" Did you bring the — er — document 
with you?" 

"Yes," answered Van Horn. 

"Ah,"sighed Dick, in relief. "That really 
makes it very simple. Give it to me." 

As he spoke, he reached in his hip pocket 
and drew out the revolver he had wrenched 
from Winthrop. He cocked it and held it 
playfully in his hand, pointed at Van Horn's 
toes. The latter grew purple at the lips. 
He sat perfectly motionless. 

"Come," said Dick, encouragingly; "this 
thing might go off." 

"You — you — " 

"Come. Hurry, please." 

Van Horn fumbled in his pocket, drew 
out a wallet, fumbled in that, and finally 
threw the check on the table. 

"This is highway robbery," he choked. 

" Something of the sort. But it's a darned 
sight more honorable than the thing you 

As Dick studied the check and then tore 
it to little bits, Van Horn ventured to his 
feet. But Dick stopped him. 

"Hold up your hands," he commanded. 
"This has been so dead simple that there 
was no fun in it. I now purpose to kick you 
three times for my own personal satisfac- 
tion. One!" 

Van Horn was propelled forward three 

"Hands up. Two!" 

Van Horn howled with rage and pain. 

"Three!" concluded Dick, and brought 
his foot as far back as for a goal from the 
field, which quite took Van Horn out the 

"And to think," said Dick, after he had 
quieted Winthrop and was left to explain 
the details to the girl, " to think your brother 
was ready to kill himself for such a 

"But it's you who made it such a trifle! 
Robert could n't have made it — come out 
so. And the luck — you must n't forget 
the luck!" 

Dick raised his eyes. They had been 
studying the soft white hand which rested 
upon the chair near him. It was like a 
petal, he thought. Now when he looked 
into the misty region where her soul lived 
his head grew dizzy. She stood very close 
to him and, though silent, yet seemed to be 
whispering something to him. Really the 
only thing to do, he thought, was to draw 
her still closer and kiss the little curls that 
grew just above the ears. But he stood 
quite motionless and turned his gaze to the 
open window. The night out there seemed 
very lonely. 

" Yes," he said, finally, coming to himself, 
"we must remember the luck. It was good 
luck for you, was n't it?" 

Then he turned quickly to go. If ever 
he was to go, he must go quickly. 

"I shall be late in town," he explained. 
He smiled to himself as he recalled that the 
fifteen-mile walk still lay ahead of him. 



But he would need that now — every mile 
of it. 

She seemed to take his departure as a 
surprise. And yet, after all, of course he 
must go. Queer, during the last few mo- 
ments it had seemed to her, unreasoning, 
that he was to be here forever. 

"But you'll come back?" she begged, 
eagerly. "We owe you so much!" she 
added, fearing she had been overbold. 

He did not know the she knew, deep in 
her heart, what coming back would mean. 
He thought it was his own secret, and feared 
that at best it was but a summer dream. 
So he said: 

"I think I shall toss up a coin." 

"And believe — believe as you did this 

"Yes," he said, "as hard as ever I am 



She has a smile in her eyes to-day, 

Dear little girl who sailed so far 
Into the mists of the far-away, 

Drifting, drifting over the bar. 
Now, blest be the tide which brought her back, 

Baby boat on the unknown sea, 
All safe from the wave and wind and wrack, 

Creeping again to me. 

Ah, the piteous cries for our aid! 

Ah, the helplessness of it all! 
Poor little voyager so afraid, 

Lost and scared in the dreary pall. 
There was no smile in her eyes that night, 

Nought but a look that wrung the heart; 
Nothing to do but to wait and fight, 

Praying to do our part. 

There is a smile in her eyes to-day, 

Eyes so merry and full of fun. 
And somebody's dimples coax for play. 

Little she recks of danger run, 
Tossed and spent in a perilous race; 

Nothing to her that night at sea. 
But I look deep in the baby face 

Creeping again to me. 



HEY were encamped on the 
banks of a swift little stream, 
woods to the rear and pine 
scrub on the farther shore — 
these and the mists of the early 
morning alone visible. Two of the voya- 
geurs were fishing for breakfast in a deep 
black pool near the shore; the others, busy 
about the camp. 

First Voyageur. Ed! — Sh! — Come 
over here! What do you make of that? 

Ed. It's Stick Jessup. By Jove, he's hit 
the long trail, and with all his duffle! What 
do you make of it, Joe? 

Joe. That he's a wise Stick! Take a 
look at this. (He unrolls a map.) Here's 
the divide. This is where we started. Now 
do you see what that three-doll ar-and-a-half- 
a-day guide of ours has done to us ? 

Ed. (after studying the map). You don't 
mean to say that he has brought us down 
the wrong river! 

Joe. That is precisely what he has done, 
though. This, my boy, is the noble Rochelle. 
We have railed it two hundred miles into the 
woods to a jumping-off place and then, 
under Mr. Jessup's masterly guidance, we 
have paddled our way back again. 
Ed. And now ? — 

Joe. And now, instead of being in the 
heart of the primeval, as we have fondly 
imagined, we are in our own back yards. 

Ed. We must lynch him! — that at least. 
Call the fellows. Stop him! 

Joe. Hold on. They are still in paradise, 
and they have only half an hour more of it 
at best. Let them alone — in common 
humanity. In half an hour the mill-whistle 
will blow, and then it will be all over. Now 
they are next to nature's heart. Listen to 
them talk, will you? 

George (in canoe, to Harry, ditto). Oh, 
I tell you this is magnificent. I can feel 
the ozone breezes in my lungs. 

Harry. Do be still. There's fish here. 

Jessup says so, and I can see 'em. They're 

lying over the bottom as big as hemlock logs. 

George. Don't ask me to be still. I 

can't. It's magnificent! These unbroken 

forests full of wild life! They have never 
heard the ring of the woodman's axe or felt 
the impress of human feet before this day. 
Ed. Never! Heavens, hear them rave. 
They have three minutes more. 

George. Give us a line of Dick Hovey! 
Look at those wild duck! (A dog howls.) 
Wolves! (Branches crackle.) Bear! Oh, 
this is simply great. It is the life that makes 
steel of men's nerves. 

Harry. It is glorious, old man, but do be 
still. I tell you there 's fish here — monsters. 
Jessup says so, and I can see 'em. (The 
mill-whistle blows.) What on earth do you 
call that? 

George (solemnly). I've read about it, 
but I never believed that it could be so per- 
fectly tremendous. It's the call of the bull- 

The eaves-droppers lay on their backs 
roaring, howling, and holding their sides. 
Gently very gently, they unfolded the truth 
to the erring ones. An hour later there was 
a gloomy council. Stick Jessup's fate hung 
in the balance. 

Ed. Well, now I don't know. We've 
had our fun. I'm peeled from head to foot, 
and chewed by every kind of bug known 
and unclassified. We've eaten dirt and 
ashes, slept on roots and rocks, breathed 
smudge, and fought mosquitoes all night. 
If that is n't nature's heart I don't know the 
real thing when I see it. Besides that, we 
have seen the big fish in their native habitat 
— on the bottom of the river — heard the 
wolves howl and the bears prowl, and 
George here has listened to about the 
chestiest bull-moose that ever bellowed. I 
say Jessup is a trump. 

Joe. I'm perfectly satisfied. We have 
successfully bluffed ourselves into a notion 
of the sublime. 

George. I want Jessup's hair, that's 
what I want! There is a real wilderness, 
and we have been given this — this dirty 
gutter, swampy wood-lot, and poisonous air. 

Ed. Ozone breezes, my boy. And you 
will never hear the equal of that bull-moose 
again. Three cheers for Stick Jessup! 


3K $J% 


A typical slash. Three hundred acres daily, thirty-five thousand annually, are thus 
cut over in the White Mountain region 

The Presidential Range from the valley of the Androscoggin. The hills in the foreground 
have been cut over and burned over 



Forester of the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests 
and of the Dartmouth College Grant 

ITHOUT iron and without 
coal and comparatively with- 
out agriculture, without mines 
of copper or the precious met- 
als, New England's natural re- 
sources are her forests, her unrivaled water- 
power, and her quarries of granite and mar- 
ble. Of these the forests and the water- 
power are by far the more important, be- 
cause they may be made permanent through 
the recuperative power of the forest. Large 
portions of New England are non-agri- 
cultural natural forest lands. 

Experts tell us that the supply of coal for 
the country at large is limited, that the an- 
thracite supply may come to an end within 
two decades, and that the bituminous sup- 
ply in sight may not last our growing pop- 
ulation more than five decades. Whether 
or not these estimates are correct, electricity 
in more ways than one is taking the place of 
coal. The future is likely to be the age of 
electricity, from which more and more we 
shall get our light, heat, and power. Elec- 

tricity is generated by water-power, and 
water-power depends upon the forests; from 
which we may expect that from this time 
on the values of water-powers are likely to 
increase. Hidden away, therefore, in the 
forest covers lie the intangible springs of 
energy from which are derived not only a 
very large part of our present well-being, 
but also in larger measure the well-being of 
the future. Owing to the high elevation at 
which the rivers of New England have their 
sources and to the granite ridges which run 
parallel to the seacoast, the water-powers 
on these rivers surpass those upon any 
others east of the Rocky Mountains. It 
would appear, then, that the commercial 
supremacy of New England in the nation's 
affairs is secure, provided this one thing is 
guarded, — that the forest cover is kept in- 

tact. 'iOV'Yv 

In the several New England States the 
extent of the forest cover is greater than 
half a century ago, owing to the number of 
abandoned farms. Fifty-two per cent of the 




The Madison Spring Hut of the Appalachian Mountain Club. At the top of the "Valley-way 

between Mt. Adams and Mt. Madison 

State of Massachusetts is now under some 
form of forest cover, and nearly the same 
proportion holds in Connecticut. Rhode 
Island is said to have the largest propor- 
tional forest-covered area in the Union. 
In New Hampshire more than seventy 
per cent of the land area is in forest, one- 
third of the State never having been cleared. 
In Maine and Vermont the areas covered are 
proportionally only a little less than that of 
New Hampshire. From these statements 
it might be supposed that the future both 
of water-power and electrical development 
in New England is quite free from danger. 
But there are three factors of very 
far-reaching significance which challenge 
thought. In the first place, the forest re- 
sources of the country at large are disap- 
pearing. The timber States that led in pro- 
duction in 1850 — New York, Pennsyl- 
vania, and Ohio — are now far down the 
list. New York ranks nineteenth and Penn- 
sylvania ninth. After their timber suprem- 

acy passed, in 1870, Wisconsin, Michigan, 
and Minnesota led for three decades. Now 
these have sunk in the scale, and Washing- 
ton, Louisiana, and Arkansas head the list. 
We are told by Mr. Gifford Pinchot, Chief 
of the United States Forest Service, whose 
estimates have been worked out with pains- 
taking care, that we are on the verge of a 
timber famine, evidenced by the continued 
rise in price of all kinds of timber, and that 
this scarcity is one to which in its effects and 
discomforts the recent scarcity of coal is 
hardly a circumstance. As the timber sup- 
plies in other States disappear, the country 
turns for material to the Eastern mountain 
forests, as will be shown later on. In 
the second place, the character of the for- 
est has greatly changed. When forests are 
cleared at the West the land is used for the 
most part in agriculture, but in the East- 
ern mountains, where it is unfit for agri- 
culture, it has been cut in a manner which 
for the most part has no regard for the fu- 



The top of Mt. Madison, 5,200 feet high, from the side of Mt. Adams. The cloud covers 
the stone hut seen in the opposite picture 

ture; so that the forest area has seriously 
deteriorated, and especially from the point 
of view of future timber-supply it is now 
of comparatively little value. It has been 
facetiously said that we are in the age of 
bushery, not of forestry. In the third place, 
the steep slopes, which are by far the most 
important from the point of view of the 
equable flow of streams, are being cut off 
in a manner that insures an evil result both 
progressive and permanent. This is due to 
the sudden demand in the manufacture of 
paper pulp for spruce, a species limited 
in the United States to Northern New Eng- 
land, New York, the northern part of the 
Lake States, and a few other places. The 
pulp-makers use a total of not more than 
five per cent of the timber cut in the United 
States in a year; but because the area of 
spruce growth is so limited, and because it 
occurs for the most part on steep mountain- 
sides, this five per cent covers many thou- 
sands of acres in the high mountain regions 

of New England, the protection of which is 
essential to the equable flow of New Eng- 
land rivers. It is this protective forest that 
lies at the strategic point, which is vanish- 
ing, at the rate of three hundred acres 
daily in the White Mountains, or thirty- 
five thousand acres annually. And there is 
another consideration. In the high moun- 
tains the forest is valuable not only for the 
timber which it produces and for the flow 
of rivers which it protects, but also because 
it feeds the higher life and relieves the 
physical strain which binds men in an in- 
exorable grasp. In the White Mountains 
business men and statesmen, editors and 
teachers, working men and women, and 
their little ones, to the number of many 
thousands, come annually for this respite 
from ordinary care. To these the forests 
are a perpetual source of inspiration. 

If one walks along any one of a thousand 
delightful country roads in New England 
and observes the growth of trees he is likely 










to gather two impressions, — the extent to 
which the landscape is covered with some 
form of forest growth, and the wasteful 
methods of lumbering seen in the patches 
of ugly slash where the timber has been 
removed. If in southern New England, 
his eye ranges far over the round hills, cov- 
ered with hardwoods, intermingled with 
groves of pine of various ages. The younger 
second-growth trees very largely predom- 
inate. If in the mountain region, he sees 
hardwoods in the valleys mingled with 
spruce-trees, which form pure stands on the 
steeper and higher slopes, because spruce 
is the most shallow-rooted of trees and cov- 
ers the thin soils in which others cannot find 
sustenance. But whether in the lower hills 
or in the mountains the slash patches cov- 
ered with debris arrest his attention. In 
many places every tree is felled, whether to 
be used or not, in order to be out of the way 
for the removal of more valuable neigh- 
bors. In the mountains from one-fourth to 
one-half or even three-quarters of the en- 
tire stand may be left lying on the ground, 
discarded in getting out the commercial 
trees. Of primeval timber he will see 
very little, and of the "old-growth pines" 
of a generation ago none whatever, only 
here and there the enormous pine stumps 
that witness the giants of old. Of white 
pine the primeval growth is restricted to a 
few groves, a total of about thirty-five acres, 
in southwestern New Hampshire, not far 
from where that State joins Massachusetts 
and Vermont. These belong to an intelli- 
gent lumber man, who holds them at a very 
high price, and cuts one now and then when 
an order for large-sized material is received. 

Fire twenty years ago burned away two feet 
and eight inches of soil 

Fire and erosion have destroyed the soil en- 
tirely. No future growth possible, where 
once stood a heavy forest 

The largest white-pine tree in New Eng- 
land known to the writer was cut from these 
groves two years ago. The picture of its 
stump appears on another page. It is five 
feet and six inches in diameter inside the 
bark, and the rings on the stump, two hun- 
dred and fifty-one in number, show its 
growth to have continued at a uniformly 
rapid rate up to its two hundred and first 
year. The rings of the last fifty years are 
close together, indicating very slow growth. 
From a commercial point of view it had 
reached its period of maximum accretion 
fifty years ago and should have given place 
then to a young growing tree that would 1 
have maintained the rapid rate; but from 
the aesthetic point of view it should have 
stood for at least another fifty years before 
its end. It was worth a long, hard pilgrim- 
age any day. The reason that these large 
primeval pines have not already been cut 
away is their comparative inaccessibility. 
A swamp on one side and a mountain on 
the other, together with their great size, has 
prevented their removal, other timber in 
the region having been abundant until quite 

One does not go far through the wood- 
lands of New England without coming upon 
the portable saw-mill, which has been de- 
scribed by one who loves the unbroken 
landscape as a peripatetic nuisance, but 
which really is a useful part of civilization 
from the point of view of lumber for houses, 
boxes, furniture, and tools. It is the waste- 
ful method of lumbering with which we 
have our quarrel, not with the conversion 



of trees into useful articles; for most trees 
should grow to be cut and used. It is in the 
places of special beauty, on lawns, in parks, 
along the highways and streams, around the 
waterfalls, and on the prominent mountain- 
sides, that the forests should stand, as on 
the steep slopes for protection of stream- 
flow. But it is true that if a forest is treated 
rightly, so that only the mature trees are 

or go far up into northern New England at 
the sources of the rivers along the border- 
line of Canada. In these places the virgin 
spruce may yet be found in considerable 
patches even as much as a township, but 
areas as large as this are now very rare. In 
the high mountain region of New Hamp- 
shire one finds the old-growth spruce only 
upon the steep slopes above two thousand 

Mt. Jefferson and the castellated ridge. The forests on these slopes have been 
cut off in the last three years 

removed, by which means alone the energy 
of the soil can best serve mankind, then the 
beauty of the forest is largely retained along 
with its use. In a rightly managed forest 
one has his cake and yet eats it too, for the 
energy of the soil in reclothing the land- 
scape is wonderful, and is seldom fully 
realized except by those who become famil- 
iar with the habits and growth of trees. 

The primeval spruce of New England is 
much more abundant than pine, but one 
must either climb the mountains to see it 

feet, or in difficult valleys like the Rocky 
Branch or the Tuckerman's Ravine. Log- 
ging railroads have been constructed very 
recently into Rocky Branch, into the beau- 
tiful Pemigewasset Wilderness, up the Swift 
River Valley beyond Passaconway village 
in Albany, and up Moosilauke Brook into 
the Lost River country. With unexampled 
rapacity and greed the beautiful valley of 
the Lost River has been cut over completely 
within the last three weeks, leaving a long 
trail of ugly slash, because the company 



that owns the land, although professing 
earnestly that they would save this tract, 
were unable to restrain their contractor, who 
preferred to get his money by slashing 
through without regard to the plainly blazed 
lines, although offered a fair price for the 
timber to let it stand. The Lost River is a 
charming and wonderful stream. Eight 
miles west of North Woodstock it disap- 
pears under a great rock, and flows for 
half a mile under ground, with only two 
short reappearances within that distance. 
It follows a rocky course at the bottom of 
a series of caverns, some twenty in number, 
in one of which, forty feet high, the little 
river falls fifteen feet in the deep, dark 
twilight, thumping on its anvil of stone. 
Of those who have penetrated this deep wil- 
derness more than one has been struck by 
the unusual reverberation, forever saying, 



#!#» > \ o b 


Tim-pum,tim-pum, turn, turn. Tim-pum, tim-pum, turn, turn 

But" what, you ask, has this to do with 
the wealth of New England ? How" are her 
forest resources disappearing? What is 
the area cleared? Does it seriously affect 
the stream-flow? Are the factories on the 
great rivers in danger of having less horse- 
power to turn their tremendous paddle- 
wheels? To those who are statistically in- 
clined we will give the figures later. Let me 
give an example of what has taken place on 
the north slope of the Presidential Range, 
on the sides of Jefferson, Adams, and Mad- 
ison. This is sometimes called the Ran- 
dolph forest, because at the foot of these 
mountains, in the valley, there is a little 
town of that name. Until three years ago 
there stood on these mountain-sides a forest, 
now unhappily demolished, which for ages 
past was probably the most majestic in New 
England. Twelve miles long and four miles 
wide, it stretched from the Israel and Pea- 
body Rivers, through nearly a mile of ele- 
vation, to within one thousand feet of the 
rocky summits five thousand feet high. 
From the great spruce-trunks two feet 
through in the valley at the lower edge, it 
stretched up through every form of spruce 
and balsam fir to the little scrub on the 
mountain-sides, which looks like moss from 

the valley, but proves an impenetrable 
thicket of ancient trees, an impassable 
barrier, if one tries to cross it. You may 
sit down or lie down upon the tops of this 
old forest. Still farther up it is only ankle 
high, and spreads out a little low carpet of 
trees. For three years four hundred men, 
distributed in eight lumber-camps, have 
been cutting over this area. Vast masses of 
debris line the water-courses, ready to burst 
into flame from the match of a careless 
passer-by. Fire follows the lumbermen al- 
most invariably, and often goes far beyond 
them with its trail of desolation. There re- 
mains of this great forest only small pieces 
at high elevation and the slopes adjoining 
the beautiful " Valley-way," a charming trail 
between Adams and Madison, leading up to 
the Madison Spring Hut of the Appalachian 
Mountain Club. This active, broad-gauge 
club (may it live long and prosper) has made 
accessible by paths and trails nearly every 
peak in the White Mountains, and one of its 
members, Professor Edmands, of Cambridge, 
who has been especially devoted to the Ran- 
dolph forest, has constructed many miles of 
paths leading up from Randolph to the tops 
of each of the Presidential Range, even 
to the top of Mt. Washington. The lower 
reaches of these paths are unfortunately 
seriously cut over, and several miles of them 
are demolished. Some of them, however, 
have been kept open by the operating com- 
pany. This whole forest has been stripped 
off without regard to the future, and even 
the Valley-way itself is being cut off this 
winter. The entire piece has been felled, 
largely by contractors who care nothing 
for the future yield of the forest, and whose 
sole object is to log as rapidly and as cheaply 
as possible, and to get the largest present 

The situation in the Zealand Valley, a tract 
of thirty-five thousand acres lying west of 
the Randolph forest, is even less reassuring. 
This was logged by the same wasteful 
method twenty years ago, then burned over, 
then partly burned over again in the dry 
summer of 1903. Throughout its length 
and breadth almost no useful growth is 
found. One of the forest officers in Wash- 
ington calls it " Death Valley." Large areas 
are like the bad lands of the West, with low, 
scrubby bushes in an unyielding soil; while 
on the steep slopes and the high ridges fire 
and erosion together have laid bare hun- 

4 2 


Interior of a spruce forest in the 
White Mountains 

dreds of acres which once produced a mer- 
chantable crop of spruce of excellent qual- 
ity. These barren slopes will remain so un- 
til another ice age shall grind up the overly- 
ing rocks and deposit the beginnings of a 
new fertility. In the mountains the soil it- 
self is largely of vegetable origin, and in- 
flammable. One of the illustrations on an- 
other page is that of a tree in this valley 
from whose roots the fire of twenty years 
ago burned away two feet and eight inches 
of soil. In many places the prostrate trunks 
of the former forest eight to sixteen inches 
in diameter are lying prostrate and bare in 
the sun on the dry rocks with no vegetation 
in the vicinity. A mountain soil severely 
burned will produce little but wild bird 
cherry bushes (Prunus Pennsylvanica) of 
no value whatever, except that they afford a 
very poor, thin cover to the meagre soil. 

In the high mountains, where the sum- 
mers are short and cold, tree-growth is very 
slow. At an elevation of two thousand five 
hundred feet it takes an average spruce- 
tree one hundred and twenty-five years to 
become six inches in diameter, which is the 
smallest commercial size now used. From 
two to three centuries are required for a 
useful forest to reappear after clean cutting 
of the spruce for pulp, and when the soil is 
burned over it usually becomes, in greater or 

less degree, permanently crippled. More 
than two hundred thousand acres in the 
White Mountains have been burned over, 
eighty-four thousand having been run over 
by fire in the single year 1903. There is 
progressive and permanent evil result which 
is slowly but very surely reducing the White 
Mountains to the same barren condition 
found in China and Palestine. Look at the 
Sugar Loaves, Mt. Oscar, Pine Mountain, 
Mt. Echo, Zealand Valley, the steep slopes 
of Mt. Webster, once covered with forests, 
the two-thousand-acre burn in Franconia, 
the eight-thousand-acre burn in Bethlehem, 
the nine-thousand-acre burn on the steep 
slopes of Lincoln last summer, the twelve- 
thousand-acre burn this year on the Magal- 
loway between Maine and New Hamp- 
shire, Mt. Forest in Berlin, and the exten- 
sive fires, each covering an entire township, 
in Milan, Kilkenny, and Stark. How im- 
portant, therefore, not only from the point 
of view of a continuous supply of useful 
timber, but also from that of the run-off of 
the streams, that the forests, on the steep 
slopes, should be intelligently managed so 
that the mature trees only are removed, 
fires are prevented, and the forest cover re- 
mains unbroken. 

In the White Mountain region there are 
about two million acres which cover the 


Primeval pines, the last groves in New Eng- 
land, at Winchester, New Hampshire 

One of the paths on the Presidential Range. Several miles of paths like this 

have been demolished 








A part of the castellated ridge of Mt. Jefferson. Slopes as steep as this are cut for pulp 

water-sheds of the four great rivers whose 
sources lie in these hills, — the Connecticut, 
the Merrimac, the Saco, and the Andros- 
coggin. It has been estimated by the For- 
est Service that about ten per cent of this, or 
two hundred thousand acres, were in 1903 
virgin merchantable forest; but through 
the lumbering operations since, one-half of 
this virgin timber has already disappeared. 
It is estimated that one hundred and 
twenty thousand acres are barren and 
waste land, that two hundred and fifty 
thousand acres in the valleys are agricul- 
tural land, that twenty-five thousand acres 
are covered by water; the remainder, there- 
fore, a little more than one million and a 
half of acres, is cut-over, or culled, land. 
Portions of this are still in fair condition, 
having been cut previous to fifteen years ago, 
when the only object was to secure saw-logs. 
During the last fifteen years twenty-nine 
million dollars have been invested in paper 
and pulp plants in the White Mountain re- 
gion alone which use material down to six 

inches in diameter. It is this more recent 
cutting, therefore, that is stripping the for- 
ests clean, and it is only in the last five years, 
since the timber has been all taken out of 
the convenient valleys, that the operators 
have attacked the steep slopes and the high 

Of the above area in the White Moun- 
tains, large lumber and pulp companies 
own a little less than one-half, or about nine 
hundred thousand acres; hotel companies 
own twenty-eight thousand acres; the farm- 
ers own the agricultural land for the most 
part, the two hundred and fifty thousand 
acres mentioned above; and the remainder, 
which is a very large one, or about eight 
hundred and twenty-five thousand acres, is 
owned by small holders of forest land. It 
is the policy of the large companies to pro- 
tect their own land as far as possible and to 
buy from the small owners the standing 
timber, but not the land. Having no in- 
terest in the land, but only in the timber, 
they strip it clean. 

4 6 


The maples in a mountain valley. A "sugar orchard 

The paper and pulp industry in New 
England has made a phenomenal growth. 
Thus in 1900 there was a total capital in 
the six New England States of sixty million 
dollars, employing eighteen thousand men, 
and yielding an annual product to the value 
of fifty million dollars. Five years later, in 
1905, some of these figures had more than 
doubled, and all showed remarkable in- 
crease; thus the capital invested in 1905 
was one hundred and seven million dollars, 
the men employed more than thirty thou- 
sand, and the value of the annual product 
seventy-three million dollars. With a busi- 
ness like this to support, how long will the 
limited areas of spruce hold out? The an- 
swer to this question is fairly definite. Op- 
erators in the spruce woods in the several 
States have been asked, " How long, at the 
present rate of consumption, will the timber 
last?" The replies from different localities 
are nearly uniform, and may be trusted as 
the best judgment of those who know 
most about the subject. These reports give 

for Maine fifteen years, New Hampshire 
twenty-eight years, Vermont thirty years. 
Western Massachusetts thirty-five years, and 
the average for New England is twenty-four 
years. The supply in New York is good for 
nineteen years, in West Virginia for twenty- 
three years, in Michigan twenty, and in 
Wisconsin thirteen; and the average for the 
United States is twenty-one years. As one 
has well said, in the life of a nation a decade 
is a very short period, and a century counts 
not more than a decade in the life of an in- 
dividual. Moreover, the rate of consump- 
tion is almost certain to be increased with 
our ever-growing population. Meanwhile, 
the stripping of the mountains goes steadily 
forward and tends, with the constant rise in 
price, to go constantly higher and steeper. 
This picture is not fanciful, nor is it pleas- 

Limited as we know the supply of spruce 
to be, the supply of hardwoods is likely to 
be even earlier exhausted. The hardwood 
supplies which gave lumber and furniture 



to 7 the great West were drawn in large meas- 
ure from the fertile river-bottoms of Ohio, 
Indiana, and Illinois, which regions are now 
devoid of timber and given over to agricul- 
ture. The situation is less pressingly marked 
in Michigan, Missouri, and Arkansas; but 
the end of the hardwood supply in these 
States is clearly in sight, so that students of 
the subject in the, Forest Service at Washing- 
ton name twelve years as the period when 
the hardwood supply will be gone. In spite 
of an ever-increasing demand for hardwood, 
the supply decreased fifteen per cent last 
year. It is not surprising that the country 
at large is turning to the mountains of the 
Appalachian Range for hardwoods. The 
increase in the amount cut last yare in 
Maine and New Hampshire over the amount ' 
cut in 1900 was one hundred and fifty-four 
per cent; and the total increase in New 
England, comparing the same two years, 
was one hundred and nine per cent. Facts 
like these cannot fail to impress even the 
casual ob server. 

A step in the direction of saving the for- 
ests has been taken in the effort to secure in 
the White Mountains and in the southern 
Appalachian Mountains national forest re- 
serves. The forces of New England are 
unanimous in requesting the Congress of 
the United States to appropriate the money 
necessary to establish these timber reserves 
and to protect the headwaters of the great 
rivers on which the manufacturing-plants of 
New England are located. Every Congress- 
man from New England, every newspaper 
in New England, every Governor and May- 

Stump of the largest white pine-tree in New 

England, cut two years ago ; six feet 

and five inches in diameter 

In the Zealand Valley, where fire has destroyed 

the greater part of 35,000 acres of soil. 

The knoll was once forested 

or and business corporation, is for this re- 
serve. The Boards of Trade, the Lumber- 
men's Associations, clubs and societies of 
every sort, have petitioned Congress year 
after year. There is an equal unanimity from 
the eight Southern States whose sources of 
power lie in the southern Appalachians. 
Why has4he Congress of the United States 
not responded? For this reason: that the 
numerous body of Representatives from the 
Middle West do not appreciate the situation. 
They are not accustomed to the mountains. 
They are unfamiliar with the problems of 
water-power and the need of forest preser- 
vation. Most of them have never seen the 
extensive destruction of soil by fire and ero- 
sion, nor have they felt the distressing ef- 
fect of destructive floods. Those to whose 
attention the subject has been thoughtfully 
presented, including the Speaker of the 
House of Representatives, reply that the 
proposition is "too big." It will cost, they 
say, hundreds of millions of dollars, and 
they are unwilling to open the flood-gates 
of the treasury to any log-rolling scheme. 
They point to the river and harbor appro- 
priation bills and the pension appropria- 
tion bills as warnings against it; to which 
New England and the Southern mountain 
States, united and determined, make this 
reply: Whatever the cost in appropriations, 
the cost to the country in diminished re- 
sources, in the high price of timber, in the 
uneven flow of water, injurious both to 
manufactures and navigation, in the tre- 
mendous destruction by flood, in farms 



overflowed and cities submerged, will be one 
hundred times or one thousand times greater 
than the most liberal appropriations by Con- 
gress. One flood in 1902 did damage in the 
Southern States to the amount of eighteen 
million dollars, and the flood in the Ohio in 
the vicinity of Pittsburg alone caused dam- 
age last spring estimated at ten million dol- 
lars. Moreover, the areas in the high moun- 
tains both at the North and the South are 
limited, as pointed out recently by the 
Secretary of Agriculture. When the two 
high mountain regions are secure, the head- 

waters of the interstate streams will be 

Every reader of The New England 
Magazine can lend a hand. The time is 
now ripe for letters to members of Con- 
gress, especially letters to Congressmen 
from their constituents in the Middle West. 
Let every man and every woman who is 
interested in New England industries, and 
every lover of New England woods and 
hills, get letters from his friends and ac- 
quaintances, just now, to members of Con- 
gress, both Senators and Representatives. 

Franconia Notch and the Pemigewasset Valley. The heaviest logging operations now going on in 
the White Mountains centre in this valley 



Author of " The Apple of Discord" " Happy Returns" etc. 

UNE first is my wedding-day, 
Mrs. Hackett, and I'd like to 
slick up the room some for my 

The aging face with its ruddy 
bloom had a softened, expectant look as the 
man smiled down at his landlady. 

She paused in her dusting, hands as 
usual seeking rest on her bulbous hips. 
Robert Harland's dry humor caught fire 
from the fun-sparks of his twinkling eyes as 
he saw her blank amazement. 

"You're thinking me too old, now, honest, 
are n't you, Mrs. Hackett?" 

Her face burned red, and the desk got 
an extra polish as she answered: 

"Well, we ain't either of us spring chick- 
ens, a nd I own up I ain't thought o' you as 
the marryin' kind. But I reckon it's all 
right if you ain't picked out some pretty girl 
like that to bring up!" 

Her fat finger indicated the photograph 
of a face in the springtime of life, the ques- 
tioning eyes filled with maiden dreams. 

Mr. Harland, looking guilty, faced the 
mantel and the pictured eyes. The mount- 
ing blood stained his thin skin a brighter 
red as the landlady's sharp glance studied 
his conscious silence. Some inner emotion 
held him, till he blurted out: 

"She — she's my daughter by my first 
wife," and the man cleared his throat with 
an apologetic little laugh; but the woman 
believed him not at all. He ran slender 
fingers through his iron-gray hair and re- 
moved his glasses, with which he had been 
reading the paper. 

"Takin' off yt>ur specs won't bring you 
back to the buddin'-time o' life, where she 
stands. Why, man alive, you an' me are 
just yellow leaves waitin' for a extry blast o' 
wind from the north to flutter down an' be 
forgot. To be sure, Jack Frost has given you 
a extry touch up o' red; but the sunset ain't 
the dawn, no matter how bright it's painted, 
'cause the shadders come and the night ends 

"How about the stars, my friend ? " asked 
a grave voice. 

Again the duster stopped as she made 

"You're right; there be the stars!" 

Doubled over a rocker, she rubbed away 
on the same place with forgetful vim. The 
man was seated, reminiscent eyes seeing the 
past, as absently he worked a loose slipper 
back and forth on his heel. His true age 
appeared, as the illumining glow of his 
sunny smile and alert attention fled. There 
was a great sadness, but underlying it a 
greater hope, as finally he lifted a worn old 
face rejuvenated by sunshine of the heart. 
Another pair of eyes filled with sombre 
memories, unlit by any glow of eager ex- 
pectation, questioned his gravely: 

"How old be you, sir?" 

"No fair!" he protested, smiling up at 
her. "But I'll tell if you will!" And a 
quizzical look sought to tease. 

"Sixty-five come April!" Sharp as a re- 
port the words rang out with all a veteran's 
pride over the vanquished weakness of her 

" Methuselah ! Sixty-six next December," 
fibbed the courteous Mr. Harland, adding 
two years to his real age. Then she pro- 
nounced judgment: 

"There ain't no f " 

" ool like an old one! " finished the ancient 
lover, gayly. 

"Beg pardon if I'm rude, sir. I ain't 
knowed you long, but I like you, an' even 
if it ain't none o' my business I hate to see 
you make a crazy blunder! I married a 
man younger 'n me, and now I ain't wife, 
maid, nor widow — but a bitter ol' woman 
workin' out her day alone an' waitin' for 

She turned her back to him, but in the 
mirror above the mantel he caught the 
pathetic working of a time-worn face from 
which the hardened mask had fallen. With 
a swelling compassion of the heart he arose 
to allay her fears and essay comfort, but in 




the same telltale glass she saw him, and, 
turning, tied from utter breakdown. 

Straightening into a brief erectness, before 
the mirror, Mr. Harland spoke to his image: 

"You'll never grow old, Rob, with her 
beside you!" 

Then, turning his attention to the room, 
the only home spot he had to offer, he de- 
cided to get flowers, candy, and fruit, as 
well as magazines. His face bore a pleased 
expectancy as he planned it all, the lines on 
the high, white brow smoothing out won- 
derfully, exorcised by the magic of his 

When a particularly easy and attractive 
rocker was added to her furnishings of the 
room,- the landlady squeezed herself into it 
and indulged in a brief respite from work, 
and the pleasure of self-communion. 

"That's the way with a man! Anything 
for a pretty young face! Us old ones kin 
turn our dresses, slave our lives away, and 
retrim our bonnets or go lackin'. But this 
old beau '11 run out o' things to do, he's so 
lavish at the start. An' then he'll up an' 
die, leavin' her alone, the bloom o' her 
youth rubbed clear off by a ol' man's 

The door-knob turned, and the object of 
her thoughts beamed upon her across an 
armful of bundles. 

"To-morrow's the day, madam! But 
I'm glad to see you sitting down, Mrs. 
Hackett. I don't believe I ever caught you 
at it before. Is n't that a dandy little rocker, 
and won't it please Right?" 

"Wat you call her?" 

"Maria, an old-fashioned name, though 
Right 's up to date; but I boiled it down to 
Riry, Ria, Ri, and finally Right, 'cause 
she's never wrong, you know." 

"You'd better wait till you've wore her a 
spell o' twenty-five year, afore you say she's 
fast color an' all Right. They's apt to be 
tears, rough places, sickness, an' graves. 
An' ain't you scart you'll run out o' glad 
things to do if you use 'em all up on the 
weddin'-day? You'd orter string 'em out 
some. She'll need 'em!" 

The old croaker paused, half regretful, as 
she saw the man's fingers stop in the untying 
of a package, a shadow creep into the 
pleased eyes. With shining face clouded, 
he resumed his attack upon the knotted 
string, talking as he did so: 

"I reckon my love will stretch across the 

little span of years left me, Mrs. Hackett. 
But you'll understand when you know 
Right that there's no danger of her ever be- 
ing forgotten. But are n't these mighty 

He held up a great bunch of lilies-of-the- 
valley, and her eyes softened at their fra- 
grant beauty. 

"I guess you won't mind, but I knew she 
would n't enjoy hers if you did n't have 
some too, so I ventured to bring these 
posies to you, Mrs. Hackett." 

A painful delight flamed over her sur- 
prised face as the landlady started up. The 
rocker rose with her, bringing an easing 
burst of laughter as she pushed it off. 

"You're a gay old schemer, Mr. Harland, 
bribin' me to favor the matin' o' May an* 
December! But all the same, I thank 

He was touched at the softening effect of 
the unusual pleasure as the woman buried 
a faded face in the fresh blooms. 

"I ain't never had a flower give me since 
— baby died." The voice was held steadily 
to an unemotional pitch. 

"Most folks wait till death comes an' 
then try to sweeten a thing that God himself 
can't make right this side o' heav — " 

The word stopped short, but without a 
quiver, and Mr. Harland found himself 

The wedding-day smiled sunnily, as Mrs. 
Hackett, behind lace curtains, watched for 
the coming of the bridal pair. Her lilies 
sweetened the air of the stiff, graceless par- 
lor, while a tired heart throbbed with olden 
memories as a carriage drove up to the door. 

Mr. Harland, with face like the rising 
sun, an evanescent youth breathing in his 
every motion, assisted a little gray-clad 
figure to alight. A curtain stirred, but the 
bride's sheltering veil baffled curiosity. 
With arm brazenly about his wife, the groom 
led her up the walk and into the hall. 

The disappointed watcher waited for the 
sound of ascending steps, expecting the 
usual shy retreat of the newly wedded from 
prying eyes; but the door was flung open, 
and a jubilant lover said, exultantly: 

"This is Right, Mrs. Hackett, and I 
know you'll be good to her!" 

A soft voice laughed happily, and Mrs. 
Hackett found a pair of impulsive arms 
about her neck. She let the bride hide her 



blushes, while rhythmically patting "the 
young thing's" back and smiling across the 
girl up into the dancing eyes of the proud' 

Stepping back, Mrs. Harland busied her- 
self with the knot of her veil, saying 

"I can't thank you enough for your good- 
ness to that dear old husband of mine!" 

Thinking how the adjective must hurt, 
the landlady replied: 

"Law, child, I ain't done nothin' but 
what I'd oughter! But if you need any 
motherin' it would be a comfort to a child- 
less ol' woman like me, an' — " 

But the two women faced each other, as 
the bride, unveiled, drew apart in merry 
consternation. Mrs. Hackett's mouth hung 
agape. She saw a pure old face — pink 
with excitement and the deathless bloom 
God gives his rare souls, who come unspotted 
through many sorrows — smiling at her 
from its frame of gray hair, with hazel eyes 
of tender amusement. 

"Rob, what have you been telling her?" 

The husband in the throes of happy con- 
vulsions replied only with a jolly outburst 
of infectious mirth. 

"Why, ma'am, he owned up to a first 
wife; but he said this was his weddin'-day 
an' the girl in the silver frame on the mantel 
was his bride, an' — " 

"Come now, Mrs. Hackett! Did I say 

"You the same as; sayin' no an' actin' yes 
like a moon-struck boy! Ma 'am, he tol' me 
she was his daughter by his first wife; but 
he fired up like a Fourth-of-July celebra- 
tion, an' o' course I expected the girl for his 
bride! Now I know he was just a bustin' 
with laugh." 

The bride sat down weakly, ripples of 
amusement stirring her, as her dark eyes 
rollicked with first one and then the other 
through her sparkling glasses. Strangled 
words bubbled into audible speech at last: 

"Why, I 've been a grandmother since the 
first of May! That's why I went to our 
Margaret and left this dry old joker so long, 
Mrs. Hackett. But I'll protect you from 
him in the future." 

The groom, jovial and unrepentant, stood 
guard behind Right's chair, enfolding her 
with his caressing glance. 

"He saved himself by the letter of the 
truth; for I am his first wife and I hope 

his last — if you ever can believe these 

The soft old face flushed up with a pretty 
faith, which she lifted to her husband. The 
maid he had won was constantly stealing 
back from the past to know a flitting resur- 
rection through the eyes of his wife, the 
mother of his children. 

"The girl on the mantel is our baby, 
Margaret, a mother herself now. The 
rest — " her voice hung hesitant, then fin- 
ished gently — "are with God." 

The low vibrations of her tone were rich 
with feeling, and Robert Harland bent, 
lifting her from the chair. 

" Come, Right, you're tired. We'll go — 

But the bride turned at the door, her 
gentle, near-sighted eyes smiling into the 
dimmed ones of the landlady. 

"This is our wedding anniversary, Mrs. 
Hackett. We were married forty years ago 
to-day; but time can't cure Robert of his 
foolish lover ways. They grow and flourish 
with the years; I guess because he thinks I 
need them more now." 

Her lovely spirit shone through the deli- 
cacy of her sensitive face like an illumining 
light through old porcelain. 

With a strange throbbing of the throat, 
Mrs. Hackett followed the pair into the 
hall and watched their slow ascent. The 
groom made his bride rest on the landing, 
her erect little figure with its plump curves 
outlined against the red wall-paper. As they 
smiled down at her, Mrs. Hackett burnished 
the mirror in the hat-rack with her best 
handkerchief and called up: 

"I'm sure you're welcome home, ma'am; 
an' if they's anythin' I kin do — " 

But the groom broke in: 

"She's a giddy young thing, this bride 
of mine, gay as a butterfly's wing, and I'm 
counting on you to keep her livened up 
when I'm away, Mrs. Hackett. And now!" 
— he stood poised for flight, comically 
shielding Right — "I give you leave with all 
the rice and old shoes you can muster!" 

"Go 'long with you!" retorted a voice 
none too steady, which added in an under- 
tone, "you everlastin' boy!" 

At the closing of the bridal-chamber door 
Mrs. Hackett paused in her rubbing, seeing 
a distorted face in the mirror. 

"You old fool, the blur's in you! But 
thank God for the sunset an' the stars!" 

Patricia, her chin in her hands, surveyed 
him carefully 



ATRICIA sat on the back 
fence, almost hidden by the 
low-spreading branches of an 
old apple-tree. Below her, on 
the grass, lay a small, curly, 
black dog, his brown, trustful eyes fixed 
confidently on Patricia. 

''Really, you know," the child said, 
gravely, "it's a very perplexing situation. 
Aunt Julia need n't have been so inhospit- 
able. Why did n't I wait until Daddy got 
home! Daddy's so much more — -convinc- 
able. But it's no use now; Daddy never 
goes back on Aunt Julia." 

Patricia slipped from the fence. "I 
rather think you and I 'd better go down to 
the back meadow to talk things over; it's 
getting pretty near sewing-time." 

Out in the meadow, flat on her back in 
the long grass, Patricia set herself to the 
task of solving this perplexing situation. 

Half an hour earlier she had appeared 
back from one of her desultory rambles, 
accompanied by this most forlorn of all for- 
lorn dogs, explaining that she had met him 
on the road, and he had followed her home. 
It was no unusual occurrence; but when 
Patricia added that he did n't seem to be- 
long to anybody, and she thought she would 
keep him, Miss Kirby promptly and firmly 

To Patricia's pleading, that he was poor 


and lame and homeless, that Cassar, the 
pointer, was the only dog they had now, 
and he was too old to play much, Miss 
Kirby had proved adamant. Patricia 
might give her foundling a good meal, but 
keep him she could not. 

Whereupon, Patricia, having given the 
wanderer what was in reality several meals 
condensed into one, had retired with him 
to think things over. 

"It really seems as if you'd been meant 
for me," she told him now; "I found you. I 
can't see why Aunt Julia won't look at 
things in a proper light. I'm afraid she 
hurt your feelings. Aunt Julia generally 
means pretty well, but she's apt to speak 
out sort of quick. We Kirbys mostly do. 
I wonder what your name is?" 

The dog, stretched comfortably out in the 
warm grass, quite as happy and contented 
as if he had been everything he was n't, 
sat up suddenly, with a short little bark, as 
if trying to give the desired information. 

Rolling over, Patricia, her chin in her 
hands, surveyed him carefully. "You 
are n't very handsome just now; but then, 
I know lots of people who are n't very good 
looking. I don't see why that saying Aunt 
Julia is so fond of — about ' Handsome is 
as handsome does ' — should n't apply to 
dogs as well as people. All the same, you 
are a very mixed numbery sort of a dog: 



you've got one and three-quarters ears, 
three and one-half legs, — at least you don't 
use that front paw very much, — and half 
a tail; and your hair is rather — patchy. 
But inside, I'm sure you're all right. And 
you have got beautiful eyes; they're all 
there, too." 

The dog blinked back at her soberly, 
wagging his abbreviated tail in apologetic 

" You've simply got to have a home," 
Patricia went on; "and it's up to me to find 
you one. But I think you'll have to have a 
bath first, and your paw bandaged." 

Jumping up, Patricia darted back to the 
house, and around to the side door, leading 
to her father's office. Presently, she reap- 
peared with a cake of antiseptic soap, a box 
of salve, a roll of bandage, a pair of scissors, 
and a bath-towel; with these gathered up 
in the skirt of her frock she led the way 
down to the brook, followed by a most un- 
suspecting small dog. 

Ten minutes later that same small dog 

— decidedly sadder and wetter, if not wiser 

— lay shivering on the sunny bank, while 
Patricia rubbed him vigorously with one of 
her aunt's largest bath-towels. 

Then the cut paw was salved and ban- 
daged, and the most hopelessly tangled 
knots of curls cut away. After which, Pa- 
tricia, sitting back on her heels, studied her 
charge approvingly. 

"If Aunt Julia could see you now! Why 
did n't I do all this first ? But — well, Aunt 
Julia 's made up her mind; and she isn't 
exactly the changey kind. I wonder if 
you'd like it at the Millers'? They've got 
a lot of children, but they're ever so nice 
children! They've three dogs now, so one 
more ought n't to count — and you'd have 
plenty of company." 

The dog, whose only present anxiety was 
to feel dry once more, merely rolled over on 
his back by way of answer. 

"Oh, but you mustn't!" Patricia pro- 
tested. "You'll get all dirty again. I know 
it's horrid to feel too clean, but, you see, 
it's so necessary to make a good first im- 
pression! I reckon it was the first impres- 
sion that made all the trouble with Aunt 
Julia this morning. Come on, we'll start 
right off; it's a pretty long walk to the Mil- 

They went 'cross-lots, stopping for more 
than one romp by the way, one quite as 

light-hearted and irresponsible as the other; 
though behind Patricia lay more than one 
neglected task, and before her companion 
stretched a possibly homeless future. 

It was a nearly perfect June day, the 
blue sky overhead just flecked with soft, 
fleecy white clouds, and with enough 
breeze stirring to lift Patricia's short brown 
curls and fan her sun-burned cheeks. 

Out on the highroad the wild roses were 
in bloom, and the air was full of soft sum- 
mer sounds; the very birds hopping lightly 
about from fence to fence had a holiday 
air — and to Patricia there was something 
very friendly in the inquisitive cock of their 
pert little heads, as they stopped now and 
then to inspect her. 

"Oh!" she cried, joyously, reaching up 
on tiptoe to gather a spray of wild roses 
just above her head," are n't we having the 
loveliest time, Dog?" 

Her companion wagged agreeingly; he 
was, at any rate. The hot sun on his back 
felt exceedingly good; he began to entertain 
hopes of actually feeling really and thor- 
oughly dry again — sometime. 

"That's the Millers' house — the brown 
one, beyond the curve," Patricia told him. 
And as it was the only house in sight, he 
had no trouble in locating it. 

"I'm sure you'll be happy there," Pa- 
tricia added. "It's funny there are n't any 
children, or dogs, about. There's Mrs. 

Mrs. Miller was hanging out a wash. 
"Patricia Kirby!" She pushed back her 
sunbonnet, the better to survey the child. 
"Where is your hat? You're redder 'n one 
of my big pinies!" 

Patricia put her hand up to her head. 
"Maybe I left it in the meadow; I'm not 
sure I've had it on at all this morning." 

"Well!" Mrs. Miller's tone was em- 
phatic. "The children and the dogs 've all 
gone off picnicking," she added. "I sup- 
pose you've come to see them?" 

"N-no," Patricia answered. "I came to 
bring you a — present, Mrs. Miller. The 
nicest — " 

She stopped abruptly, as Mrs. Miller 
rushed by her, with a shriek, waving her 
apron frantically. 

On the grass, spread out to bleach, lay 
one of Mrs. Miller's best table-cloths; and 
in the middle of the cloth Mrs. Miller's 
present was rolling and twisting his damp, 



dusty little self, uttering all the while short, 
sharp little barks of satisfaction. 

Hut he was on his feet before any one 
could reach him, and with one corner of 
the cloth caught in his mouth, had run 
gaily off. 

••"Head that dog off, Patricia!" Mrs. 
Miller screamed. "What dog is it, anyway 
— mischievous, good -for nothing little 
scamp? He doesn't belong about here! 
Ten to one, he followed you in. I never 
knew such a child for ta- 


with strav doors!' 

After several strenuous 
moments the cloth was 
rescued. "Is it hurt very 
much?" Patricia asked, 

Mrs. Miller held it up; 
one of the corners was 
torn and frayed rather 
badly, and the whole 
cloth was covered 

warmly. "If he don't get started mighty 
quick I '11 help him along a bit with a broom- 

Patricia drew herself up. "I — I think 
I'll be going." 

"But, Patricia," Mrs. Miller called after 
her, "what was that about a present? 
Something your aunt sent?" 

"No, Aunt Julia didn't send him. I 
brought you a — a dog, Mrs. Miller." 
" That little nuisance! Well, of all — " 

Patricia waited to hear 
no more; not until she was 
some distance up the road 
did she turn to her charge, 
limping ostentatiously in 
the rear. 

" That was another bad 
first impression, Dog! It 
was n't my fault this time. 
Really, I'm very much 
ashamed of you." 

Dog sat down, holding 
up a bandaged paw. His 

Lay shivering on the bank while Patricia rubbed him 

with grass-stains and dirt. "You can see 
for yourself," she said, wrathfully; "and it a 
new cloth — never used yet!" 

"But it'll wash, won't it?" Patricia sug- 
gested. "And the torn part won't show 
when it's on the table; and it won't show 
when it's folded up in the drawer." She 
stooped to lay a restraining hand on the 
wrongdoer, who already had an eye on va- 
rious other articles scattered about the grass. 
"I would n't have thought he could run so, 
with a lame paw, would you, Mrs. Miller?" 

"The sooner he runs out of my sight, the 
better for him," Mrs. Miller declared, 

whole dejected little body expressed peni- 
tence of the deepest dye. 

Patricia softened. "I'm not so sure 
whether, after all, you would have liked it 
at the Millers.' I'm a good deal disap- 
pointed in Mrs. Miller, myself." 

She sat down on the grass beside the 
road to rearrange the loosened bandage. 
" Puppies will be puppies, I suppose. Dad- 
dy says you must always take the intention 
into consideration — and I don't suppose 
you intended to be bad. It's dreadfully easy 
to be bad, without intending to. I certainly 
hope it won't be washing-day at the next 



place. The idea of having Thursday for a 
wash-day, anyhow! Dear me, where is the 
next place?" 

The dog crawled into her lap, trying to 
lick her face. He was not in the least anx- 
ious to decide upon any "next place." Sit- 
ting there in Patricia's lap, in the shade of a 
wide-spreading maple, seemed a very agree- 
able method of passing the time. 

"I think," Patricia said, stroking the 
little black head, " we'll try Miss Jane. 
You don't know Miss Jane. She's awfully 
nice. She and her sister have n't any dog, 
but they've got a cat; you wouldn't mind 
that — she's a very intelligent cat; Miss 
Jane says so." 

To reach Miss Jane's it was necessary to 
leave the highroad for a narrow, winding 
lane. A quarter of a mile further on they 
came to the little white house. Patricia 
thought it very lonely looking, but perhaps 
her companion might think otherwise. 
"And I do think," she said, gravely, "that 
it's very good of me to bring them such a 
nice dog — to keep the tramps off." 

A large gray cat, sunning herself on one 
of the gate-posts, was the only sign of life 
about the house 

But not for long. The next moment an 
exceedingly astonished, irate cat was taking 
an unusual amount of exercise in the prim 
little garden, urged cheerily on by a small, 
curly dog, whose three legs seemed quite as 
effective as most dogs' four. While down 
the path from the house came Miss Jane 
and Miss Susan, also stout, elderly, and 
unaddicted to overmuch exercise, anxious 
for their cat, anxious for their garden, most 
of all anxious to get this strange intruder 
off the premises. 

" Go away, little girl, and take that horrid 
dog with you," Miss Jane commanded, 
shaking a stick she had picked up. 

Patricia's eyes flashed. "I'm not ' little 
girl. 1 I'm Patricia Kirby!" 

"Pa-tri-cia Kir-by! Upon my word!" 
Patricia's bare curls were blown and 
tangled; her face, hot and dusty; her blue 
gingham frock, fresh that morning, be- 
tween water and dust was a sight to be- 
hold. She bore very little resemblance to 
the Patricia Kirby Miss Jane was accus- 
tomed to see in church on Sunday, or some- 
times driving about with Dr. Kirby. 

"Whatever are you doing alone so far 
from home, Patricia?" Miss Susan asked, 

coming up. The cat had retired to the shel- 
ter of a tall tree, from a branch of which she 
glared down on her pursuer, who lay hot 
and panting on the ground below. 

Patricia pointed to the dog. "Why, I 
came on purpose to bring you him — for 
a present, you know." 
Miss Jane gasped. 

"He's a very nice dog," Patricia went 
on. "I'd love to keep him for myself; only 
Aunt Julia — Aunt Julia seemed to think 
one dog was enough. I don't think Aunt 
Julia is particularly — enthusiastic, about 
dogs. You would like him, would n't you ? " 
Not dust, heat, nor weariness could hide 
the persuasive charm of Patricia's quick 
upward smile. 

Before that smile Miss Jane, who was 
very soft-hearted, wavered; but Miss Susan 
shook her head resolutely. "Augusta would 
never hear of it for one moment!" 

"Is Augusta your cook?" Patricia asked. 
Cooks were that way sometimes; even 
Sarah had her moments of revolt — so far 
as Patricia was concerned. 

"Augusta is our cat," Miss Jane ex- 
plained. She felt grateful to Susan, and 
sorry for Patricia. 

Patricia sighed; she had recognized the 
finality in Miss Susan's tone. "Do you 
know of any one who would like a dog," 
she asked, " a very nice dog ? " 

"You might try the Millers'," Miss Jane 

"I — I don't believe Mrs. Miller would 
care for him," Patricia answered, hurriedly. 
She turned to go. "Why, where is he?" 

"Perhaps he's waiting outside in the 
road for you." Miss Susan was not ordina- 
rily so inhospitable, but the minister was 
coming to supper that evening; and, like 
Martha of old, Miss Susan was burdened 
with many cares. 

Patricia sighed again; the road outside 
the low white fence seemed suddenly very 
long and sunny. She was tired and dis- 
couraged; above all, she was hungry. 

"Before you go, Patricia," Miss Jane 
said, kindly, "come round to the kitchen 
and have a glass of cool milk and a cookie." 
The kitchen door had been left open in 
the excited rush of a few moments before. 
As the three neared it now, Miss Susan 
darted forward, with very much the same 
shriek of horrified dismay as Mrs. Miller 
had uttered not long since. 

5 6 


Mounted on a chair, his feet firmly 
planted on the kitchen-table, was a small 
black dog, just finishing the contents of a 
large glass dish standing at the edge of the 

"It's my custard," Miss Susan wailed, 
"and the minister coming to supper!" 

The "very nice dog" turned round, lick- 
ing his chops contentedly. It almost seemed 
as if he winked at Patricia. 

The next instant, skilfully dodging Miss 
Susan, he had retired to the side yard, to 
finish licking his chops. Truly, it was a 
red-letter day for him. He wagged affably 
at the eloquent Miss Susan; surely he had 
paid her the highest compliment in his 

"Oh, I am so sorry," Patricia declared. 
"He must have been very hungry — I 
could n't have given him nearly enough 
breakfast." Then she brightened. "After all, 
Miss Susan, I don't suppose he's ever had 
custard before; and I know Dr. Vail has — 
lots of times." 

Which view of the case did not in the 
least appeal to the indignant maker of the 

Seeing which, Patricia concluded that 
the best thing to do was to take her charge 
away as quickly as possible. And in the 
confusion milk and cookies were quite for- 

"Really, you know," Patricia admon- 
ished, once they were outside the gate, 
''you're not behaving at all well! Tearing 
table-cloths, chasing cats, and eating up 
custards are n't at all good dog manners." 

The culprit, quick to detect the disap- 
proval in Patricia's voice, thought it time 
to limp again. 

"Is your paw very bad?" Patricia asked. 

The dog assured her that it was. 

"I don't know what we're going to do 
next," Patricia told him. And once back 
on the main road, she came to a standstill. 
She could n't take her protege home; even 
less could she desert him. She sat down by 
the roadside to consider the matter — to 
consider various other matters, as well. 
Even with Patricias there comes the mo- 
ment of reckoning. 

Aunt Julia had said that the next time 
she evaded sewing-lesson she must go to 
bed at five o'clock. Patricia stretched out 
her tired little legs; at the present moment 
that particular form of punishment did not 

appear very unendurable. Just now, how- 
ever, it seemed doubtful if she would be 
at home by five o'clock. 

Also, Daddy had said that the next time 
she broke bounds in this way he should be 
obliged to punish her. Patricia fanned her- 
self with a decidedly dingy pocket-handker- 
chief; she wished Daddy had said — how. 

"I'm not saying you're not a very nice 
dog," Patricia patted her companion, 
curled up on the folds of her short skirts; 
" still, if I had n't met you this morning — " 

The dog blinked sleepily, licking her 
hand. Perhaps he was thinking of a poor, 
forlorn little animal who until that morn- 
ing had been hunted and driven, half 
starved, never caressed. 

"I wonder," Patricia said, anxiously, "if 
Mr. Carr would n't like you? We'll go see, 
at any rate." 

Up the hill they trudged, to where, in 
his little cabin, lived old Carr, the cobbler. 

He was at his bench as usual, and he 
paused, needle in air, at sight of his visitors. 

Patricia was growing desperate; she went 
straight to the heart of her errand. 

She and Carr were great friends, and the 
latter was immensely interested. Over his 
spectacles he surveyed the pair. Patricia's 
gray eyes had lost their confidence; they 
were almost as unconsciously pathetic as 
the dog's brown ones. 

"Well," Carr said, slowly, "there's no 
denying a dog's company; and since old 
Sampson died — " 

Patricia beamed. "Then you will take 
him? And you won't mind if he's rather 
— lively? You see, he's so very young. 
Maybe, I'd better tell you everything." 
And sitting down on one end of the work- 
bench, Patricia made full confession of her 
charge's misdoings. "But I think he's sor- 
ry," she ended hopefully. 

"Sure, Miss," Carr assented; "especially 
as to the custard — that there was n't more. 
What's his name, Miss?" 

"I don't know. I've called him just 

"I reckon he won't care what he's called, 
so long as you don't call him too late for 
dinner," Carr remarked. "How about 
Custard? It'd keep his sin afore him." 
He took a piece of rope from the floor. " I 'd 
best tie him for a bit at first." 

It was half-past four when Patricia 



reached home. Sarah was up-stairs and 
Aunt Julia busy with callers. Making a 
hasty raid on the pantry, Patricia slipped 
quietly up the back way to her own room. 
Aunt Julia had said it must be bed; and 
there was no particular use in waiting to be 

She was just getting into bed, after a 
hurried bath, when Miss Kirby, having 
learned from certain unmistakable evi- 
dence that Patricia had returned, came 

"Patricia!" she exclaimed, her voice ex- 
pressing almost as much relief as displeas- 
ure, "where have you been?" 

Patricia moved restlessly. "I've been 
— everywhere!" 

"Sarah has ransacked the entire neigh- 
borhood." Displeasure" was fast becom- 
ing the dominant note in Miss Kirby's 
voice now that Patricia was safe in bed 
before her. "Of course you understand," 
she began. 

Patricia raised a small, flushed face. 
"Please, Aunt Julia, I'm in bed — and 
you did n't have to send me. I 've had a 
most fatiguing day; and I'm dreadfully 
afraid that if you start in to talk to me the 
'Kirby temper' '11 make me say something 

Miss Kirby sat down, surveying her 
niece in silence for a moment. Patricia 
had frankly stated a quite undeniable fact; 
and she had no desire to put the matter to 
the test. "Very well," she said, presently, 
"we will wait until to-morrow morning." 

"But that would be ever so much worse," 
Patricia pleaded. "I do so hate waiting for 
things. I thought — maybe — if I went 
straight to bed — you'd skip the — talk 
part, this time. I'm very tired; finding a 
home for a dog takes it out of you a lot. 
People 'round here don't seem very anxious 
to have dogs. And — I went considerably 
beyond bounds — so I 've got Daddy to 
settle with yet. All the same, I did find him 
a home, Aunt Julia — I have n't got that 
on my mind." 

Miss Kirby rose, and going over to the 
bed bent and kissed the tired, wistful face. 
Patricia had a fashion of exciting sympa- 
thy at the wrong time, in a way that was 
perilous to discipline. "For this time, 
then, Patricia," she said. "Now I must go 

Left to herself, Patricia suddenly remem- 

bered that there was to be strawberry short- 
cake for supper. Oh, dear, if only Custard 
had chosen any other day to drift across her 
path! A sent-to-bed bed-supper meant 
simply bread and milk. Patricia wondered 
if Dr. Vail would mind about not having 
custard as much as she did about not hav- 
ing strawberry shortcake. She decided 
that when she was grown up and had little 
girls of her own she'd never send them to 
bed early on strawberry-shortcake night. 

She heard her father drive into the yard, 
heralded by Caesar's deep bark. Caesar 
had gone with the doctor on his day's 
round. Patricia knew how he was running 
about now, looking for her. She hoped 
Sarah would forget and leave the screen 
door open. Caesar would be sure to come 
up-stairs then. She rather thought Daddy 
would delay his coming until after supper. 

Sarah was taking in supper now; she 
could hear the dishes rattling. She was 
very hungry; that hasty raid on the pantry 
had not been very satisfactory. If Custard 
had felt that way she did n't much blame 
him for eating up Miss Susan's custard. 
Probably no one had ever taught him that 
it was wrong to take what did n't belong to 

There! Sarah was bringing up her sup- 
per now! 

Patricia sat up in bed; even bread and 
milk appeared highly desirable at that mo- 

But there was more than bread and milk 
on the tray Sarah carried. Patricia stared 
at the generous square of strawberry short- 
cake, plentifully supplied with cream, in 
wondering silence. 

Sarah brought a small table to the side 
of the bed. "Miss Julia, she done send 
some message 'bout this 'ere cake, Miss 
P'tricia; but, law o' mercy, I'se clean for- 
got the most 'portant word. Hit were some- 
thing 'bout you-uns having had a fat-fat-" 

"Fatiguing day?" Patricia suggested, 
taking little anticipatory pickings at the 
corners of the shortcake. 

Sarah nodded her turbaned head. 
"Where's you-un been all day, Miss P'tri- 
cia?" she enquired, severely. 

"If you don't mind, Sarah — I'm very 
hungry and tired — I won't go into that at 
present. I had something very important to 
see to." 

"Humph!" Sarah grunted. "Nice do- 



ings, worrying your pore aunt near to 'strac- 
tion — the doctor, he ain't come home to 
dinner — to hear 'bout your carryings-on. 
What you think he's goin' say — when 
Miss Julia tells him?" 

Patricia was absorbed in eating bread 
and milk. "It must be dreadful to be really 
starved, Sarah," she observed. 

"Where you get your dinner, Miss P'tri- 

"I did n't have any," Patricia answered. 

"My sakes!" Further speech failed 
Sarah. She turned away. 

Patricia's next visitor was old Caesar. 
Standing by the bed, he asked as plainly as 
dog may what in the world she was doing 
there at that time of day? He accepted sol- 
emnly his share of the good things going, 
then stretched himself out on the floor beside 
the bed, to mount guard — but not until he 
had told her as forcibly as he could that the 
summer evening was unusually fine, and 
that there were several little affairs in the 
garden requiring their joint supervision. 

"But I can't go, Caesar," Patricia told 
him. She was always sure that her dumb 
friends understood quite well all she said 
to them. "There comes Daddy now." 

"It doesn't seem to be solitary confine- 
ment, Patricia," Dr. Kirby said, as he came 
in and seated himself on the side of the bed. 

Patricia stretched out a welcoming hand. 
"It's hours and hours since I've seen you, 

Dr. Kirby took the outstretched hand 
gravely. " From your aunt's account, there 
would appear to have been hours and hours 
in which she did not see you, Patricia?" 

"I'm afraid I was gone a long while, 
Daddy; but I came home just as soon as I 
got things straightened out." 

"Suppose you give me the particulars, 

And moving so as to rest her head on her 
father's knee, Patricia told in detail the 
story of her day's experiences. She had 
the comforting conviction that when Daddy 
knew all he would not be very displeased 
with her. 

More than once, during that recital, the 
doctor's mouth twitched under his mus- 
tache, and he turned rather suddenly to 
look out of the window. 

" But, Pat," he exclaimed, as she finished, 
"what made it so imperative for you to find 
that tramp dog a home?" 

Patricia's gray eyes were very earnest. 
"Some one had to do it, Daddy." 

The doctor smoothed back the soft, thick 
curls. "But, Pat, I cannot have you bur- 
dening yourself with the responsibility of 
finding homes for all the stray dogs that 
cross your path." 

" He was so miserable, Daddy — outside; 
and so really nice — inside I I don't believe 
he liked being a tramp dog." 

The doctor stooped and kissed her; it was 
not easy to be severe with Patricia. "Still, 
dear, it must not happen again; you run 
too great a risk; stray dogs are not always 
very dependable as to temper." 

"It's going to be mighty hard not to, 

"And Patricia, where are my scissors, 
and salve, and soap?" 

"I'm afraid — -down by the brook; so's 
the towel. I was glad I'd watched you 
bandage Caesar's paw that time." 

"That is all very well; but, Patricia, you 
are not to meddle with any of the office 
things again without permission, And 
now, about this matter of breaking bounds 

Patricia looked up quickly. "You — 
you'll 'take the intention into considera- 
tion,' Daddy?" 

The doctor smiled. "Yes, but," his face 
grew grave again, "I must also take into 
consideration the fact that this is by no 
means the first time you have gone wander- 
ing off, causing your aunt a great deal of 

"I can't think why she will worry so. I 
always come back all right." 

"That is not the point. It must be only 
the yard for the rest of the week, Patricia." 

Patricia drew a long breath. "Well," 
she said, slowly, "I am glad it's Thursday 
night 'stead of Monday morning." 

Patricia sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. 
What had wakened her? 

A second series of short, sharp little barks 
sent her hurrying to the window. On the 
path below, a bit of frayed rope dangling 
from his neck, stood Custard. 

When the doctor came down-stairs, 
twenty minutes later, he found Patricia on 
the back steps, with Custard in her lap, 
busily placing a fresh bandage on the hurt 
paw. "Daddy," she cried, lifting her face 
for his morning greeting, "wasn't it too 



lovely of him to hunt me up. Is n't he the 
most grateful dog ever was?" 

The doctor patted the dog's rough head, 
then stooped to examine Patricia's work. 
"Not a bad job for an eleven-year-old, 

"I could do it better, only I had to make 
a strip from a piece I found in Aunt Julia's 
scrap -bag," Patricia explained. 

"Patricia!" Miss Kirby exclaimed from 
the doorway, "your dress is only half but- 
toned, and your hair is — Patricia Kirby, 
have you gone and hunted up another dog! " 

'Tt's the same one, Aunt Julia. He has 
improved a lot, hasn't he? If you'd seen 
how glad he was to see me! I suppose he'll 
have to be sent back. Caesar likes him 
pretty well; he did n't growl at him once 
when I introduced them to each other." 

"It's a question whether sending back 
will do any good," the doctor said. He was 
watching the two on the steps. 

Patricia stroked the bandaged paw gently. 
"I can't take him — I can't go out of the 
yard, can I, Daddy?" 

"Decidedly not." 

"Could n't you take him in the gig with 
you, Patrick?" Miss Kirby felt that she 
was playing a losing game. 

"Going quite in the opposite direction." 

"And Jim?" 

"Goes with me." The doctor was still 
studying the two on the steps. 

"If he stays one day we are doomed!" 
Miss Kirby declared. 

"That only leaves you and Sarah, does n't 
it, Aunt Julia?" Patricia asked, cheerfully. 

Miss Kirby was not without a sense of 
humor. "I am afraid Sarah is out of the 
question," she said; "and if he waits for 
me to take him he will stay here — alto- 

Patricia was quick to catch the longed- 
for concession in her aunt's voice. Drop- 
ping Custard, she ran to hug Miss Kirby. 
"Oh, you darling! But, Daddy," she 
turned anxiously, "oh, do you suppose 
Mr. Carr will mind very much?" 

"I rather think he will be able to bear 
the disappointment," the doctor answered. 

I '.*f^ 

Senator Nelson Wilmarth Aldrich, Author 
of the proposed Aldrich Bill 


A Symposium by Henry Cabot Lodge, Jacob H. Gallinger, Nelson Wilmarth Aldrich, 

Frank B. Brandegee, Samuel W. McCall, John W. Weeks, David J. Foster, 

A. B. C apron, Joseph H. Walker, Garrett Droppers, Arthur 

B. Chapin, J. Bernard Ferber, Robert Luce 

Introduction by DAVID S. BARRY 

ASHINGTON seems to be 
about as uncertain as are other 
parts of the country as to the 
efficacy of the currency leg- 
islation to which Congress has 
given such careful consideration, to cure the 
present evil and prevent a repetition of it. 
It seems to be as generally feared by 
the statesmen as by those who have more 
intimate knowledge of the commercial and 
industrial situation that while the financial 
stringency which brought about conditions 
sometimes described as a "panic" have 
improved, there is an industrial depression 
which may continue for some time to come. 
Nobody seems to know definitely whether 
the currency legislation of Congress is to 
mend matters materially, although it is an 
encouraging sign that nobody thinks it can 
make them worse. The uncertainty as to 
the measure of relief and assistance that 
will be afforded is due largely to the uncer- 
tainty as to what caused the money short- 
age which has brought about the unsatis- 
factory industrial situation. Not being able 
to diagnose to their own satisfaction the 
disease, the doctors are more or less at sea 
in their efforts to find a remedy. 

The most eminent financial authority in 
Washington, Senator Nelson Wilmarth Al- 
drich, of Rhode Island, chairman of the 
Finance Committee, the real author of all 
financial legislation of the present day, him- 
self has his doubts. He is inclined to think 
that the so-called panic had no real exist- 
ence, but that the business world simply 
felt the injurious effect of the hoarding of 
money by individuals and country banks 
through excitement following the disclo- 

sures of the speculative performances of the 
high financiers of Wall Street. 

Senator Aldrich thinks that there will 
be plenty of money when those who need- 
lessly locked it up let it out, and that legis- 
lation which he supports will act as a pre- 
ventive rather than a cure of like attacks. 
The legislation he regards as more in the 
nature of a concession to sentiment than to 
necessity for a change in the law. 

The present proposed law is not intended 
by its authors and sponsors to be an over- 
hauling of the statutes relating to finance; it 
is simply designed to meet the present emer- 
gency of a lack of cash, and the most bene- 
ficial results are expected of its exactment. 
The conditions in Congress at the opening 
of this campaign for finance legislation are 
peculiar. The Banking and Currency Com- 
mittee of the House, where financial legis- 
lation might be expected to originate, is so 
made up that no legislation can proceed 
from it, its chairman, Mr. Fowler, of New 
Jersey, being devoted to his hobby of asset 
currency, to which the leaders in both 
Houses and apparently the rank and file 
are unalterably opposed. To the Senate, 
therefore, the country turns in its predica- 
ment; and to the Senate and the Speaker 
of the House of Representatives, aided and 
assisted by the Republicans as a party, 
without regard to the Banking and Curren- 
cy Committee, the country will be indebted 
for the desired legislation. 

Although the Aldrich Bill is not intended 
to be a thorough, complete, and lasting 
overhauling of our financial and currency 
laws, the debate that was opened by the 
author of the bill upon its being considered 




in its completed form will be more compre- 
hensive than any that has taken place in 
Senate and House since the repeal of the 
silver-purchase clause of the Sherman Act 
in 1893, when Grover Cleveland was pres- 
ident of the United States. 

Senator Aldrich is not an orator in the 
popular meaning of the word, but he is a 
financial authority, better posted, perhaps, 
on financial and tariff subjects than any 
man now in public life. When he speaks 
the Senate listens; and as he never discusses 
subjects unless he knows about them, Con- 
gress and the country derive much infor- 
mation from what he says. The Rhode 
Island Senator is averse to being interviewed 
for publication, believing that it is safer 
and better in every way for the people to 
derive their information as to his views on 
public questions from his utterances and 
his actions in Congress. But he was in- 
duced to allow himself to be quoted as to 
some statements with regard to the present 
bill. Mr. Aldrich said: 

"When the Finance Committee came to 
the consideration of what form the legisla- 
tion to be proposed sought to take there 
was scarcely any division of sentiment. 
Senator Hale, I believe, made the sugges- 
tion that there were two ways of providing 
a remedy, there being no question in the 
mind of any thinking man that some sort 
of provision ought to be made to give the 
country an ample supply of currency in 
times of great demand. One was to proceed 
in the simplest way, with the amendment of 
existing law, which would be accomplished 
with the least disturbance. The other was 
to proceed with a bill which would over- 
turn the present system, involve us in a 
long discussion, and perhaps result in a 
measure that would be so attacked as to 
cause uneasiness in a business situation still 
fraught with some anxiety. Not a single 
member of the committee, Republican or 
Democrat, with the exception of Senator 
Hansbrough, who favors the central-bank 
plan, was in favor of going along the lines 
of the revision of the whole financial and 
currency system, I do not think there was 
a single member of the committee who was 
not seriously desirous of doing the very 
best thing for the country. 

"All felt that there should be legislation, 
and it was finally decided that the bill now 
before the committee should be drawn. 

This provides that national banks should 
be permitted to issue in times of great 
demand for currency notes based on a 
certain percentage of the value of bonds, 
well known and recognized as safe invest- 
ments. There has been commendation of 
the bill, and criticism. The criticism comes 
from bankers who have been engaged for 
years in a propaganda in favor of changing 
our system of currency from that based on 
bonds to that based on the assets of a bank r 
or on commercial credit. 

"If it had been of vital national impor- 
tance to change at this time the whole form 
of the currency system, if we were begin- 
ning all over again, or if the present system 
had actually been destroyed, then the com- 
mittee might have favored a plan for a cen- 
tral bank. Or it might have favored some 
other plan. But what it desired more than 
anything else was to suggest a plan which 
would provide a means of furnishing cur- 
rency when needed and that could be passed 
by Congress. It felt that the eyes of the 
world were on us, and that if we tried some 
complicated scheme that could not be 
passed, or if passed broke down, it would 
discredit us in the eyes of the world." 

In his speech in the Senate, Mr. Aldrich,. 
of course went into the subject more in de- 
tail, and also explained more fully the scope 
and effect and object of the measure which 
he presented as a temporary measure of 

Except that Senator Aldrich, a Rhode 
Island man and chairman of the Commit- 
tee on Finance, has decided views — pos- 
sibly because of this fact — New England 
has not taken a prominent part in the pres- 
ent campaign for currency and financial 
legislation. For many years Representative 
William C. Lovering, of Taunton, a mem- 
ber of the Committee on Coinage, Weights, 
and Measures, which, contrary to a pop- 
ular impression derived from its name, has 
little or nothing to do in currency legisla- 
tion, that being dealt with almost entirely 
by the Committee on Banking and Curren- 
cy, has talked on the general subject of 
finance in season and out. He has prepared 
many a bill about which he has consulted 
the authorities with characteristic indus- 
try and persistence, but which has never 
emerged from the Congressional files. This 
year Mr. Lovering seems to have aban- 
doned the subject, and has not made reply 



to the request of The New England Mag- 
azine for a statement in reply to the three 
following questions submitted to nearly all 
of the members of the New England dele- 

(1) Will the Aldrich Bill give the neces- 
sary relief? 

(2) Should we have a central national 

(3) Has there been a panic in New Eng- 
land ? If so, is it not all over ? 

Other members of the delegation have 
been no less responsive, although giving in 
each case a fairly good excuse for not de- 
siring publicly to discuss the financial ques- 
tion at this time. Senator Crane, for in- 
stance, with his customary reticence or, 
rather, lack of loquacity, authorizes an- 
swers to the questions as follows: 

(1) "Yes." 

(2) "It's not practicable; not now, at 
any rate." 

(3) "Yes, but things are improving now." 
The senior Senator from Connecticut, 

Morgan G. Bulkeley, dodged the questions, 
although he is known to have rather strong 
views on all aspe'cts of the general subject 
of finance. A business man of wide and 

important interests, he has at various times 
made suggestions as to what Congress in its 
wisdom ought to do; but now that it is about 
to do something, Senator Bulkeley evidently 
does not care to formally announce his 

Senator Frye and Representative Little- 
field of Maine frankly state that they have 
been unable to give this important subject 
such careful consideration as would be justi- 
fied in expressing definite opinions and an- 
swering specific questions, and therefore they 
courteously decline to do so. So does Sen- 
ator Dillingham of Vermont, for like rea- 
sons, and one of the most active and gener- 
ally most willing talkers, ex-Senator Wil- 
liam E. Chandler, in explaining that he 
cannot talk on the subject for publication 
because he has no positive views on it, adds 
with characteristic candor, "I wish I had." 

There are, however, other members of 
the delegation, both in the Senate and in 
the House of Representatives, who have 
been willing to submit their views for publi- 
cation in The New England Magazine 
in the form of replies to the three questions 
above set forth, and their statements fol- 

Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, oj Massachusetts 

I think the Aldrich Bill will prove a 
most beneficial measure. It must be remem- 
bered that in legislation of this kind it is 
very frequently out of the question to get 
the best possible arrangement. Personally, 
I believe that all national -bank currency 
should be based on a gold reserve, as is 
done in the Bank of England and the Bank 
of France. I also believe that our bank sys- 
tem should be organized with a central 
bank; but neither of these plans can be 
carried out, because there is an opposition 
in Congress strong enough to defeat them. 
We must, therefore, do the best that is pos- 
sible under the circumstances. 

I do not think the English system of rais- 
ing the rate of discount and, if necessary, 
suspending the Bank Act, which is equiva- 
lent to a suspension of specie payments, is 
a good system at all. It is rigid and violent. 
I much prefer the German system of a cur- 

rency to be issued in excess of the normal 
amount, and taxed so that it will come out 
when needed and be retired w T hen the need 
ceases because it is no longer profitable. 
It is the German plan which has been 
adopted in the Aldrich Bill. 

As for the basis of circulation, we have 
taken that to which we have been accus- 
tomed for the last forty years, and have 
simply enlarged it by permitting the basis 
to be not only government bonds, but bonds 
of States, counties, and municipalities, and 
certain railroad securities. It seems to be 
forgotten that these identical forms of se- 
curities for circulation were urged by the 
financial interests of the country as security 
for government deposits; and when they 
issued those, deposits increased, and they 
are now used in accordance with the law 
for that purpose. 

I repeat that I do not think bonds the 



best basis for currency, but it is the best 
obtainable, and the one to which we are 

The Aldrich Bill will, therefore, give us 
an easy method of getting additional cur- 
rency in times of stringency, which is 
guarded against inflation by the tax when 
high rates disappear. 

There has been no especial panic in New 

England. We have felt there, as all the 
country has felt, the depression of last au- 
tumn and the consequent currency strin- 
gency, but all the trust companies and banks 
in Massachusetts stood firm, and there was 
only one large industrial failure in. the State. 
It seems to me that the panic, if one chooses 
to call it so, is over, and we are returning to 
normal and steady business conditions. 




Senator Jacob H. Gallinger, oj New Hampshire 

With a larger per capita circulation than 
has ever been known in the history of the 
country, it would seem that there should be 
no occasion for a financial stringency such 
as we have recently experienced, and the 

conclusion is inevitable that either those at 
the head of our large banking institutions 
have been improvident and reckless in their 
management, or else that the people of the 
country lost confidence in our financial in- 



stitutions and resorted to the policy of with- 
drawing their funds from the banks and 
hoarding them. Very likely both conditions 
contributed to the recent financial troubles; 
but however that may be, it has become 
manifest that in times of financial strin- 
gency we should have some system of elas- 
ticity in our currency that would enable the 
government to increaset he currency issue 
and thus temporarily bridge over the de- 

It seems to me that the Aldrich Bill, 
when it has been perfected, offers as rea- 
sonable and safe a solution of the problem 
as we can hope to reach during the pres- 
ent Congress. If a law along the lines of 
the Aldrich Bill had been on the statute- 
books a few months ago it can readily be 
seen that relief measures could have been 
adopted that would have relieved the sit- 
uation in the beginning, and prevented the 
development of what proved to be a very 
troublesome situation. Even assuming that 
the bill is not as complete and comprehen- 
sive a measure as it should be, it is certainly 
a step in the right direction, and will serve a 
very useful purpose while other measures 

are taking shape in the minds of those who 
are best qualified to advise on the subject. 

I have never believed that the establish- 
ment of a central national bank would meet 
the varying demands of the business inter- 
ests of the country, and I feel quite certain 
that no such experiment will be tried in the 
near future. 

I assume that there has been in New 
England a condition of things that may well 
be called a panic, and I do not believe that 
the trouble is over by any means. When the 
railroads and other great industrial enter- 
prises are borrowing money as high as 10% 
it is manifest that the financial situation 
is not as satisfactory as is desirable. It is 
also a well-known fact that in the cotton- 
mills of the New England States there has 
been a curtailment of employment, and that 
all business enterprises are practising the 
most rigid economy. The probabilities are 
that so far as the banks are concerned the 
condition of things is better than it was a 
little time ago, but there is still much anxiety 
felt lest the production of the factories shall 
continue to be curtailed, resulting in a less- 
ening demand for labor. 


Senator Nelson Wilmarth Aldrich, of Rhode Island 

(i) The first question is answered so far 
as it can be answered now by what I have 
already said. 

(2) I should, of course, favor the estab- 
lishment of a central bank; but the plan is 
impracticable because, if for no other reason, 
Congress would not agree to it. 

(3) There has not been, I think, a real 

panic in New England, but the stringency 
has been felt there as elsewhere. The dan- 
ger to New England lay chiefly in the fear 
of what would happen to the New York 
banks. If they had gone down they would 
have, of course, carried many New England 
banks with them, and then there would 
have been a panic or worse. 


Senator Frank B. Brandegee, of Connecticut 

I do not think that anybody can answer 
with certainty your questions, and I am 
sure that I can say all that I ought to say 
about them in a very few words. 

Your first question is, "Will the Aldrich 
Bill give the necessary relief?" 

Replying to this, I would say that very 

few people expect that the Aldrich Bill as 
it was introduced will become law. It has 
already been amended in several important 
particulars in committee, and will doubt- 
less be further amended in each branch of 
Congress; and if a bill known as the 
Aldrich Bill shall finally become a law, it will 



be the product of a compromise by a con- 
ference committee of the two Houses. 
Whether that result will furnish the neces- 
sary relief or not is a matter of prophecy, 
which I am not sufficiently qualified to deal 

As to what is past in the financial diffi- 
culties, of course, nothing can relieve. As 
to the present situation, I do not think 
any financial legislation by Congress is de- 
sirable. I think it is better, safer, and wiser 
to allow the present situation to work itself 

out under existing law. The banks and 
financial men of the country understand 
the laws governing the finances of the coun- 
try, as they stand now, and I think in the 
present unsettled condition of business any 
attempt to change our financial laws and 
regulations would add to the confusion. 
There is no consensus of opinion in the 
country as to what ought to be done. The 
leading business sections of the country 
differ among themselves, and, indeed, 
leading financiers and experts of the same 



sections are far from agreed as to what, if 
anything, should be done. In my opinion, 
therefore, it is better for the country, until 
public opinion clarifies itself, that Congress 
should not attempt to do anything with a 
view of affording relief to the present sit- 
uation. The Aldrich Bill, as finally passed, 
will look to the future entirely. It does not 
pretend to be a general revision or change 
in our currency system. It provides simply 
for the expansion of the bank-note issue of 
the country in the future, to tide over an 
emergency which may or may not arise. 

If the next panic shall not appear to be 
imminent for several years it is perfectly 
impossible for anybody to say now with 
any certainty how that or any other meas- 
ure designed to operate in the future would 
work. Personally, I feel that our financial 
system and our tariff system — defective as 
they may be in particulars — are so funda- 
mentally connected with (and indeed al- 
most the basis of) our commercial life that 
they should be changed only with the most 
extreme conservatism. 

Your second question is, "Should we 
have a central national bank?" 

I do not regard this question as impor- 
tant, so far as any immediate prospect is 
concerned. My belief is that if we had 
some such great central and controlling 
institution as the Bank of England or the 
Imperial Bank of Germany the supply of 
our circulating medium of exchange would 
be much better and more scientifically reg- 
ulated than it is at present. I think that 
over-extension of credit would be less liable 
to occur, and that that great central institu- 
tion, being in close touch with every sec- 
tion of the country, would be in position to 
see clearer and act wiser than the many 
banks at present scattered all over the 
country. For the present, I regard this as 
an academic proposition. I do not believe 
that there is any possibility that Congress 
at present would authorize the creation of 
such a bank. 

Your third question is, "Has there been 
a panic in New England? If so, is it not 
all over?" 

I do not feel that I can answer this ques- 
tion technically as a banker or business 
man; for I am neither. From all that I 
know as a lawyer and as a public man in 
touch with my constituents, I should say 
that there has been no panic in the State of 

Connecticut. I do not recall that any banks 
there have suspended or that there has been 
any great calling of loans by the financial 
institutions. Money has been tight there, 
and the banks, in order to hold themselves 
in readiness for whatever might occur, have 
been conservative about making new loans; 
but I do not know of a single instance in 
which there has been a run upon a bank or 
an instance in which any bank in Connecti- 
cut has had to be helped by other interests 
in order to sustain itself during the last year. 
Business has fallen off in Connecticut, and 
there have been some failures by manufac- 
turing concerns which had become over- 
extended; but so far as my State is concerned 
I should not say that there has been any 
panic, and so far as I am informed, I think 
that has been and is the situation generally 
throughout New England. I do not antic- 
ipate that business will regain its former 
prosperous condition for some time. I 
think the recovery from depressed business 
conditions will be slow, but I think there 
will be such a recovery shortly and that it 
will be a normal and wholesome one. 

If I may be allowed to express an opin- 
ion not strictly in answer to either of your 
three questions, but in a degree pertinent 
thereto, I would say that in my opinion it 
is the duty of every business man and es- 
pecially of every legislator, both state and 
national, and of every man of influence 
throughout the country, in such times as 
the present and under such conditions as 
prevail, to so order and shape both his 
speech and his conduct as to suppress hys- 
teria and demagogery; to quiet the appre- 
hensions of the people; to allay feuds and 
antagonisms between labor and capital, 
and between the poor and the well-to-do. 

This country can never permanently pros- 
per by setting one group of men on top of 
another, or by the success of the propa- 
ganda of hatred and discord. Labor can 
never be well paid except as capital is made 
productive; and capital can never be made 
productive until the men who have it can 
safely see far enough into the future to be 
assured that tranquillity, conservatism, and 
common sense are liable to prevail before 
they risk their money in the construction, 
maintenance, or extension of the mam- 
moth instrumentalities of production, trans- 
portation, and distribution which are nec- 
essary in the commercial world of to-day. 



Representative Samuel W. McCall 

Representative John W. Weeks 


Representative Samuel W. McCall, of Massachusetts, a Member of the 
Committee on Ways and Means 

I really have not studied the Aldrich Bill, 
and I could give no opinion concerning it 
that would be of any value to the readers 
of The New England Magazine. 

As to the central national bank, an insti- 
tution of that character such as they have 
in England and France would be a good 
thing, except for the danger that it would 
inevitably get into politics. When it grew 
into a very powerful and efficient institu- 
tion it would become very popular for 
statesmen in need of votes to bang it. Po- 
litical objection is the chief one I see. 

As to the panic in New England, I think 
that the general suspension of the banks 
for about as long a period as occurred in 

1893, and the very great difficulty in getting 
money, would indicate that there had been 
a serious crisis, if not indeed what might 
be called a panic. Whether it is over or 
not I do not know. 

In '93 the farms of the West were heavily 
mortgaged and that section of the country 
was poor. To-day it is rich, from a succes- 
sion of great crops. If it were poor, as in the 
former period, I believe the industrial drag 
following the acute financial symptoms would 
be long continued. But the Western banks 
are now able to loan money to New Eng- 
land manufacturers. If the government 
does nothing to disturb confidence I believe 
we shall soon again see good times. 


Representative John W. Weeks, of Massachusetts, a Member of the 
Committee on Banking and Currency 

First. The Aldrich Bill would doubtless but have no doubt that, with proper safe- 
provide a safe currency. I am inclined to guards, any bond referred to in the bill 
disapprove of the railroad bond as security, would furnish a safe basis; but it is not a 



technically sound proposition any more 
than is our national-bond-secured circula- 
tion. It is inelastic, and it assumes that 
national banks will own other bonds than 
government bonds, or that they will pur- 
chase them when the emergency arises. If 
the bank owns the bonds as a permanent 
investment that amount of money will not 
be available for 
commercial b u s i - 
ness; and as all of 
a national bank's 
funds should be 
available for com- 
mercial purposes, I 
hesitate to approve 
that part of the 
propositon. If it has 
to purchase the 
bonds, when the 
emergency arises it 
will naturally make 
a fictitious price for 
securities of the 
necessary charac- 
ter, and would be 
likely to make losses 
when the emergency 
had passed; and it 
would create a tend- 
ency on the part of 
banks to speculate in 
municipal and other 
similar bonds — a 
course to be dis- 

Second. The 
wisest thing, taking every view-point into 
consideration, would be to establish a large 
central bank; but, in my judgment, the coun- 

Representative David J. Foster 

try is not prepared for such a change. It 
would almost certainly be opposed by one 
party — and a very large section of the pres- 
ent dominant party. Therefore, I do not 
consider it advisable to urge central-bank 
legislation at this time. 

Third. There has been a panic in New 
England, but the New England banks 
were in better shape 
to meet it than 
banks in any other 
part of the country. 
Very many leading 
men in New Eng- 
land had felt that it 
was time for con- 
servative action 
many months before 
the collapse came, 
last October. When 
it did come, there- 
fore, to alarge extent 
the banks were pre- 
pared; and it is no- 
ticeable that no 
government money 
was sent to New 
England during the 
panic, and compar- 
atively little gold 
was brought from 
foreign countries. 
The panic is over, as 
far as currency dif- 
ficulties are con- 
cerned, but it will 
take many months 
to get back to normal conditions. I can- 
not see any possibility of good business con- 
ditions until after the presidential election. 


Representative David J. Foster, of Vermont 

The Aldrich Bill is now pending in Con- 
gress, and will doubtless come before the 
House for consideration in the near future. 
It should be stated at the outset, therefore, 
that whatever is here stated should not be 
understood as indicating my attitude toward 
the bill. It may be desirable to enact the 
bill into law although one may be doubtful 
as to whether it will accomplish its purpose. 

In reply to the question, " Will the Aldrich 
Bill give the necessary relief?" I reply that 

I fear not. In the first place, we should go 
back of the disease and seek a preventive 
rather than a remedy. The one preventive 
of conditions through which we have just 
passed is found in a wise, conservative, law- 
abiding administration of our banks. The 
fact that money is so plenty to-day where it 
was not to be had a few weeks ago, taken in 
connection with the conditions revealed in 
some of the great banks and trust compa- 
nies of New York, plainly demonstrates 



that the real trouble was not the scarcity of 
money. People who had their money on 
deposit in those banks and trust companies 
became justly alarmed. And in their fright 
they did what people will always do in that 
condition, — they fc withdrew their money 
from the banks and from circulation. We 
need, therefore, first of all, a more strict re- 
gard for the law in 
the administration 
of our trust com- 
panies. Honesty 
and conservatism 
and sound judg- 
ment in connection 
with these banking 
institutions will go 
far to prevent a 
panic at critical 

But as a remedy 
the Aldrich Bill, it 
seems to me, cannot 
accomplish what it 
would. It would 
doubtless be help- 
ful, and particu- 
larly in the East. 
But it must be 
remembered that 
the currency pro- 
posed by the bill 
would have to be 
prepared by the 
government after 
the crisis had been 
reached. It is 

hardly to be supposed that the govern- 
ment would keep it on hand ready for dis- 
tribution. This would require time. Then, 
too, while the Eastern banks are generally 
in a position to secure the necessary bonds, 
this islnot true of the Western banks. As a 

Representative A. B. Capr 

rule, it will be found that those banks do 
not have on hand either the bonds required 
by this bill or the assets which can be 
promptly exchanged for such bonds. 

I would answer the second question, 
" Should we have a central national bank?" 
in the affirmative. But this is a compar- 
atively new proposition to our people, and 
it is useless to ex- 
pect such a bank 
in the near future. 
The scheme re- 
quires much care 
and study, and 
public opinion must 
be crystallized in 
its favor before the 
necessary legisla- 
tion can be had. 

To the third 
question, "Has 
there been a panic 
in New England?" 
I reply, "Yes." 
And to the query, 
"Is it not all over?" 
I answer, "Yes." 
That is to say, we 
have had through- 
out New England a 
financial panic, and 
owing to the sound- 
ness and conserv- 
atism of our bank- 
ing institutions the 
people whose money 
was deposited in 
them never lost faith in them and compar- 
atively little inconvenience was experienced 
by them. I believe, however, that we have 
seen the worst, and that in a few months we 
shall see prosperous conditions in the indus- 
trial and business circles of New England. 



Representative A. B. C apron, of Rhode Island 

(i) The recent financial flurry, which 
at the time portended a panic, served to 
emphasize the utterly unelastic conditions 
which surround our present currency sys- 
tem, based, as it is, entirely upon United 
States bonds, which conditions are sought 

to be corrected by the Aldrich Bill. The 
circulating notes secured by bonds or other 
interest-bearing obligations of states and 
cities, the Panama Canal bonds, and the 
first mortgage bonds of railroads, surround- 
ed by the necessary safeguards, would fur- 

7 2 


Representative Joseph H. Walker 

nish an emergency circulation of notes, the 
stability and security of which would never 
be questioned and would prevent the re- 
currence of the monetary stringency which 
tends to check the annual normal move- 
ment of the great crops and to paralyze 

Therefore, I feel certain that the enact- 
ment of the Aldrich Bill into law will go a 
long way towards giving necessary tem- 
porary relief. The possible dangers which 
have been held up as a menace to the ab- 
solute safety of the currency so secured 
and issued will vanish when the limitations 
and safeguards provided in the bill are 
fully understood. The absurdity of the 
contention that the Aldrich Bill would work 
solely in the interest of Wall Street is re- 
vealed when we consider that the securities 
upon which the proposed circulating notes 
are based are those a country bank in 
every State remote from Wall Street would 
be likely to hold, and which are more fre- 
quently issued by states and cities of the 
South and West. The need of those sections 
for currency with which to move the great 
crops of cotton and grain annually proves 
that it is not the money centre of the coun- 
try which most needs the currency thus 

provided. No one will deny that had the 
Aldrich Bill been in force the recent pan- 
icky conditions would not have occurred. 

(2) From such study of the question of 
the establishment of a central national bank 
as I have been able to give, I believe that 
if a law could be so drafted as to keep the 
institution wholly out of politics, and have its 
control vested in a managing board elected 
by the banks of all the States, controlled 
something after the manner in which the 
Bank of England is managed, thus taking 
the government out of the banking business 
and leaving the fiscal control of all the vast 
matters pertaining to banking in the hands 
of a competent agency, it might be in the 
direction of an ideal scheme in the solution 
of the great problem. As the question is 
of such vast proportions, it should be evolved 
with great care and deliberation. There 
would be no chance for an enactment of 
such measure by this Congress, thus the 
need of the passage of the Aldrich Bill as 
a temporary expedient becomes the more 

(3) My first sentence in reply to the first 
question would imply that I do not consider 
that there has been a panic. Certainly there 
has been none in New England. When 
only one bank in the city of Providence has 

Representative Robert Luce 



suspended; when no industrial establish- 
ment has shut down, and every one has re- 
turned to full time, with no diminution of 
wages, and money is plentiful at normal 
rates of interest, surely all the elements of 

a panic are absent. The healthy present 
condition in manufacturing and financial 
enterprises proves that the flurry has re- 
sulted in giving a normal tone in all trade 


Representative Joseph H. Walker, Massachusetts Legislature 

I do not believe that the Aldrich Bill 
will prevent future panics and work the 
necessary reform in the currency. The re- 
cent currency stringency is passing, if not 
passed. Now is the time for sound perma- 
nent legislation and not for temporary ex- 
pedients. A sound system of currency would 
make this country the recognized financial 
centre of the world, and would help out 
trade and business. 

There is but one sound system of cur- 
rency; viz., an asset currency, amply se- 
cured, with proper and adequate provi- 
sions for prompt current redemption and 
a guaranty fund. The issue of currency is 
a proper function of a bank. Banks receive 
deposits which are merely demand obliga- 
tions upon them. Bank notes are merely 
the evidences of demand obligations upon 
the banks issuing them, and differ in no 
essential respect from deposits. They, like 
deposits, must be promptly paid, and for 
this purpose adequate reserves are neces- 

In order that bank notes may circulate 
as money without reference to the particu- 
lar bank which issues them, and be- 
cause those who hold them have not con- 
sciously trusted any particular bank, it is 
necessary that they be guaranteed by a 
fund raised from all the banks. Gold, and 
gold alone, must be the ultimate founda- 
tion of our currency. The gold basis must 
be ample, but under a sound system of cur- 
rency less gold would be required than un- 
der the present system. 

A sound system would result in an au- 
tomatic expansion and contraction of cur- 
rency to meet the exact needs of commerce 
month by month and year by year. This 
law of supply and demand would work 
quietly and inexorably. An emergency cur- 
rency, which requires a blast of trumpets 
to scare everybody, when it is about to be 
issued, would be a potent influence to bring 
on and intensify an impending panic. Let 
us have a sound system, and let us have it 
now. We must inevitably come to such a 
system in the end, and no step should be 
taken by Congress which is not plainly a 
step in advance. 

A central bank would be unpopular and 
is unnecessary. It would be fruitless to at- 
tempt it at this time, even if it were desir- 
able. A sound currency can be had without it. 

Was there a panic in New England re- 
cently ? If so, is it over ? 

There was a sharp currency stringency 
in New England, as elsewhere. It did not 
reach the point of a popular panic here, but 
we barely escaped it. Confidence was 
shaken all over the country, and we are 
face to face with a business depression. The 
acute phase is now over, but if we are to es- 
cape hard times confidence must be restored. 

No one thing would tend more surely to 
restore confidence than the prompt passage 
by Congress of a currency law which should 
be, not a temporary expedient, but a real 
solution of the problem, — a guaranty 
against currency stringency and currency 
panics in the future. 


Representative Robert Luce, House Chairman Committee on Ways 
and Means, Massachusetts Legislature 

Although a novice in finance cannot hope 
to say anything on the currency question 
that will aid its solution, perhaps he can 

help other novices to grapple with it by de- 
tailing how he has himself thought it out, 
homely and crude though his method be. 



Imagine three persons: Uncle Sam, a 
borrower; Nephew Henry, with $100,000 
in gold or its equivalent; Henry's Brother 
Jonathan, needing currency in his business. 
Nephew Henry lends to Uncle Sam $62,- 
500 of his gold or its equivalent and gets a 
note — called a "bond" — which he re- 
turns to Uncle Sam for safe keeping (and 
security for the next transaction), and on 
which Uncle Sam pays Henry two per cent 
interest. Then Hen- 
ry gives to Brother 
Jonathan $62,500 
in bank notes of 
small denomina- 
tions, in return for 
gold or its equiva- 
lent, on which no 
interest is paid. 
Result: Uncle Sam 
has the use of $62,- 
500; Nephew Henry 
is just where he was 
at the start, but 
draws two per cent 
interest on $62,500 
for his trouble; 
Brother Jonathan 
has $62,500 in cur- 
rency with which 
to do business — 
just as useful for 
his purposes as was 
the gold or its 
equivalent that he 
gave up. 

Of course Uncle 
Sam is the govern- 
ment; Nephew 

Henry, the national] bank; Brother Jona- 
than, the public. 1 

Trouble comes when Brother Jonathan 
either has use for more than $62,500 in 
currency or does not need it all. If he has 
too little, business is hampered; if too much, 
he goes to speculating with the excess. 
How shall his supply be adapted to his 
need at the moment? 

Mr. Aldrich says: "Let Nephew Henry, 
the banker, at times when more currency 
is needed, lend some of that $37,500 differ- 
ence between what he lent Uncle Sam and 
his total capital to another man, say the 
treasurer of a State or city, and on the 
strength of the municipal or other bond he 
gets for it, deposited with Uncle Sam for 

Representative J. Bernard Ferber 

security, issue more bank notes when they 
are needed." That is the gist of the " asset- 
currency" solution. 

Details do not affect the principles in- 
volved. If a government can best regulate 
the volume of its currency through the me- 
dium of bankers, the Aldrich plan may be 
the wisest course. If the credit of a govern- 
ment, expressed in large denominations, is 
to be converted into small denominations by 
passing it through 
the machinery of 
banks, there would 
seem to be no rea- 
son why the credit 
of States and muni- 
cipalities, or even 
quasi -public cor- 
porations, might 
not safely be put 
through the same 
pulverizing process, 
to make it available 
for use in the trans- 
actions of trade and 
industry, assuming 
proper protection 
and guaranty. 

It might also be 
efficacious to have a 
central bank, as a 
sort of governor on 
the pulverizing en- 
gine, although pub- 
lic sentiment is so 
strong against such 
an institution that 
as a practical matter 
it is probably not 
worth while now to discuss it. 

In my judgment the currency is but a 
single factor, and a relatively unimportant 
factor at that, in the making of commercial 
depressions. It has more share in producing 
those spasms of commercial depression 
which we call panics. An adequately elastic 
currency would mitigate the losses of pan- 
ics, not prevent them. 

Finance is not a science; it is a state of 
mind. A financial crisis is a popular mood. 
Commerce has not the lymphatic temper- 
ament. The fever of speculation is inevi- 
tably followed by the depression of reaction. 
That depression seems to be our state to- 
day. The worst of it is past. How long 
it will take to get back to the normal is the 



merest guesswork. In the past recovery 
has usually been slow, but it has usually 
been after a drop concurrent with bad crops, 
war, or some other value-destroying epi- 
sode. This time no such hindrances to 
convalescence appear. There is lack of 
the usual danger symptoms, — big failures, 
starving hordes in the cities, terror behind 
every counter. So we may hope for speedy 

recovery of the sick man. One thing is sure, 
— he has a disease peculiarly adapted to the 
healing processes exemplified by Christian 
Science. He can surely aid his own cure 
by his own mental processes. The impor- 
tant thing, therefore, is to convince him 
that he has no organic disease. So let every- 
body preach optimism. 


Representative J. Bernard Ferber, Chairman House Committee on Banks 
and Banking, Massachusetts Legislature 

"Will the Aldrich Bill prevent future 
panics, and work the necessary reform in 
the currency?" you ask. The man who is 
wise enough to construct by legislation any- 
thing that will guarantee freedom from fu- 
ture panics is a wiser man than any the 
world yet knows of. That the Aldrich Bill, 
or any other system to be used in an emer- 
gency that will give us more currency in 
time of need, will have a tendency to avert 
panics which are caused, as was the last, 
by a money famine is not to be gainsaid. 
But as part of a permanent financial sys- 
tem, as a measure that will "work the nec- 
essary reform in the currency," it is a mere 
makeshift. It is merely another piece of 
patchwork upon a badly constructed build- 
ing which the owner has n't the courage to 

It has serious defects even beyond those 
inherent in the present inelastic bond- 
secured currency system, without the re- 
deeming feature which was the moving 
cause in the establishment of our present 
currency system; viz., the necessity of cre- 
ating a market for the government bonds 
during the war. The Aldrich plan, which 
will permit the issue of currency against 
State, municipal, and railroad bonds, will 
create a market and thereby aid in the pro- 
motion of loans which in many cases ought 
to be discouraged rather than encour- 
aged. The prevailing tendencies in mu- 
nicipal extravagance, so well illustrated in 
Boston in recent times at least, ought not 
to be encouraged by low interest rates on 
municipal bonds because of their desirabil- 
ity for currency use. And permitting rail- 
road securities to be used for such pur- 
poses opens the door (considering some re- 

cent disclosures in railroad financiering) 
to serious abuses both in the creation of 
unnecessary or inflated securities and in 
bringing pressure to bear upon government 
officials to accept them as security for cur- 
rency issue in order to enhance their mar- 
ket value. 

The chief argument urged for the Aldrich 
Bill is that it is the only currency measure 
that can be gotten through Congress; and 
although nearly all the leading banking 
men and treasury officials, present and re- 
cent, who have given much study to our 
currency problem are agreed that our pres- 
ent currency system is unscientific, anti- 
quated, and inadequate, yet they are willing 
to take the Aldrich Bill, which merely am- 
plifies the present system (with some added 
defects), for emergency purposes, because 
they say it is politically impossible to secure 
a real reform of the currency upon a scien- 
tific basis. 

This brings us to the second question: 
"Should we have a i central bank'?" 
Though leading financiers have advanced 
all kinds of schemes for reform, some of 
much merit, nearly all students of the prob- 
lem are more nearly together upon the sug- 
gestion of a central bank than upon any 
other system. Its successful operation in 
all important European governments is 
an additional argument for its adoption. 

Yet this system, more than any other, is 
dismissed from consideration by those who 
discuss it because they say, "The people 
are opposed to it." If that is true it is of 
course sufficient reason for its dismissal. 
But if true it is a sad commentary upon our 
people, who, rich in educational facilities, 
have supported other great reforms which 

7 6 


made for national prosperity, when they 
were shown the need for them. I do not 
believe it is true. No popular prejudice 
which may exist temporarily, if it exists at 
all, and which is based erroneously, as this 
is, upon a suspicion, directed against our 
leading bankers, that they would use a cen- 
tral bank in their own interest and against 
the interest of the people, will long survive 
against right principles after a vigorous 
campaign of education is inaugurated. 

Such a bank must have the confidence of 
the people and the support of the govern- 
ment. The latter would, indeed, exercise 
an effective control in it. The managers 
of such a bank would be interested in earn- 
ing the confidence and support of the peo- 
ple, as otherwise it would fail. In other 
words, patriotism and business go hand in 
hand. The magnificent conduct of the 
great financial institutions in New York in 
our recent panic in aiding weaker ones is 
excellent evidence of this. A people which 
after a campaign of education, grasped and 
decided rightly, in spite of demagogic ap- 
peals, the "silver question" can be counted 
upon to decide again, correctly, what the 
financial interests of the country require. 

But they require leadership, and further 
education upon this problem. Such leader- 
ship and education they have not had. 
The great bankers themselves are at fault 
here. They are not themselves united 
upon any system. While none of them 
deny the efficiency of a central bank, they 
have n't had the courage to fight for it, but 
have been and are supinely willing to ac- 
cept — indeed they offer — weak and in- 
efficient alternatives. Two great associ- 
ations like the New York Bankers' Associ- 
ation and the New York Chamber of Com- 
merce, united as closely as are the interests 

of these organizations, propose different 
plans, though they agree on general prin- 
ciples. Let them get together and agree 
on something that is right, and then pros- 
ecute a vigorous campaign of education for 
it, and what is " right" will and must be- 
come "politically expedient" or else pop- 
ular government must be admitted a failure. 

Your third question is, "Was there a 
panic in New England recently, and if there 
was is it over?" 

Possibly recent occurrences might not be 
correctly described technically as a "pan- 
ic." It has been called a "financial flurry," 
and "the late unpleasantness." "Financial 
stringency," I should say, would better ex- 
press it. But by whatever name it is called, 
there is no doubt New England had a seri- 
ous and very uncomfortable few months. 
Clearing-house certificates are generally 
incidents of panic. Deposit checks for pay- 
envelopes; sky-high interest-rates for money; 
banks giving their own checks for $100 in 
exchange for $1,000 in currency; the small- 
est gain in Savings-bank deposits since 1878, 
chiefly owing to large withdrawals; de- 
pleted reserves; and other occurrences of 
like character, are all evidences of our recent 
very uncomfortable situation. 

Is it over? The money stringency is 
pretty well over. Clearing-house certifi- 
cates have all been retired, reserves have 
increased, and interest-rates have fallen. 
Loans, though not plentiful and probably 
not to be had for speculation, can be had 
upon good collateral. But the returns of 
the effects of the recent situation are not 
all in yet, and other struggling sufferers 
from the recent disease will yet have to 
perish commercially in the liquidation that 
will follow. 


Professor Garrett Droppers 

Under present conditions of conducting 
industry and promoting what is called pros- 
perity, reactions in the business situation are 
almost inevitable. But to confuse such a 
reaction with a total suspension of our 
banking and credit system is to miss the 
point entirely. Under an efficient banking 
organization these alternations of prosper- 

ity and depressions could be adjusted with 
comparatively little loss of confidence or 
of property. Under an inadequate system 
we are bound to suffer from the extremes 
of both, panics and disasters following in- 
evitably in the wake of a period of prosper- 
ity. The adequacy of the banking system 
is, therefore, the key to the situation. The 

Professor Garrett Droppers 


recent panicjias taught us this lesson con- 

We all agree, at least, on the nega- 
tive point that the American national 
banking system fails at the point where 
it should be effective. Precisely when 
loss of confidence is imminent the banks 
are obliged by law to curtail their loans 
and refuse assistance to even the most 
legitimate demands. The national-bank 
law is explicit on this point. It states 
that whenever the reserves of a bank fall 
below the required limit the bank must re- 
fuse to make loans until the legal propor- 
tion is restored. As the notes of the na- 
tional banks are based on an issue of govern- 
ment bonds, which are held at monopoly 
prices, it is impossible for the banks to ex- 
tend their note issues and, therefore, ac- 
commodate the demands of their custom- 
ers. The law provides a rigid rule which 
forces every bank to look out for itself at 
the expense of the community. It is only 
those banks which see that compliance with 
the law spells ruin, not merely to the in- 
dustrial and commercial interests, but, in 
the end, to their own interests as well, that 
help to relieve the situation. It is question- 
able whether the issue of clearing-house 
certificates and the assistance lent by the 
Secretary of the Treasury are within the 
provisions of the law. Strictly interpreted, 
these are illegal acts made necessary by the 
rigid provisions of the National Bank Act. 

The Aldrich Bill proposes to provide for 
an additional issue of bank notes whenever 
an emergency exists. Its chief provisions 

(i) A possible addition of $500,000,000 
of bank notes to the existing currency, 
whenever an emergency arises. 

(2) The security for these notes to be 
certain Federal, State, municipal, railroad, 
and other bonds, the soundness of which 
is guaranteed by certain provisions. 

(3) This issue to be under the supervis- 
ion of the Comptroller of the Currency. 

(4) This issue of emergency notes to be 
restricted to 75% of the par value of the 
bonds. A small tax of one-half of one 
per cent per month on the amount of 
notes in circulation to be paid into the 
division of the redemption of the treasury, 
and to be credited to the reserve fund 
held for the redemption of these notes. 

The Aldrich Bill is so essentially defec- 

tive that it has been generally criticized, 
not only by business men, but by the very 
bankers who are supposed to be most bene- 
fited by it. It can hardly, under the most 
favorable circumstances, secure the nec- 
essary amount of elasticity, and, in addition, 
it will create independent evils which in 
many cases must be worse than the dis- 
ease itself. For instance, for every seventy- 
five dollars of new bank notes a national 
bank must invest one hundred dollars in 
bonds. It is true that a bank may have 
some of these bonds in its possession, but 
in most cases a bank would have either to 
borrow or purchase the bonds which are to 
serve as security for the note issue. Bond- 
holders would naturally hold these secur- 
ities for higher prices, and in this way place 
obstacles in the path of the banks desiring 
to give relief to the situation. Speculators 
in bonds would thus be benefited when, as 
a matter of fact, we have too much spec- 
ulation already. Furthermore, the note 
issue would have no relation whatever to 
the demands of legitimate business, but, 
rather, to the condition of the bond market. 
The system is so cumbrous that a panic 
might occur before the notes could be is- 
sued to meet the emergency; and, finally, 
the issue of these notes would be universally 
interpreted as a forerunner of panic. 

For all these reasons it is doubtful 
whether the Aldrich Bill would have any 
influence whatever, either in delaying the 
coming of a panic or in diminishing its 

At present, the National Bank Act pro- 
vides that whenever the reserves fall be- 
low twenty-five per cent of the liabilities 
in the central reserve cities the banks must 
cease making loans until that reserve is re- 
stored. Under our present system this 
provision is necessary, for otherwise a 
bank could expand its loans until the re- 
serve was practically exhausted. In effect, 
the Aldrich Bill nullifies these provisions 
and permits, therefore, an indefinite in- 
flation of the credits of the bank without 
any limitation or restriction. 

The countries of the civilized world, ex- 
cepting Canada and the United States, have 
agreed upon a system that has demonstrated 
its power to meet any reasonable emergency. 
This is the Central or Federal bank sys- 
tem, the best-known example of which is 
the Imperial Bank of Germany — the so- 

Honorable Arthur B. Chapin 



called Reichsbank. [Such a bank, if estab- 
lished in the United States, would have 
at least eventually a monopoly of the bank- 
note issues. These notes would be legal 
tender as between all other banks, and, 
therefore, would be part of the reserves of 
all other banks. This Federal bank should 
have at all times a large amount of metal- 
lic reserve in proportion to its liabilities, 
say 40% or perhaps even 50%. Beyond a 
certain amount of what is called the fidu- 
ciary circulation it might require gold for 
notes, as does the bank of Germany to-day 
— provided, however, that it could always 
issue in excess of this requirement on con- 
dition that it pay a tax of six per cent on 
such additional circulation. 

Such a bank would have power to tide 
over emergencies by lending liberally to 
banks whenever the need arose, but at the 
same time checking excessive expansion by 
raising its rate of interest. If the penalty 
for all excess issues were a six per cent tax 
there could not be much inducement to is- 
sue notes for any long period of time. 

A Federal bank, under a united and 
responsible management, and under the 
constant scrutiny of public opinion, could 

regulate its rate of interest with much more 
certainty than under any other system; and 
at the same time, there could be no collapse 
of credit as at present, for the entire indus- 
trial community would know that the gov- 
ernment stood behind the issuing bank. 
The function of banking, so far as the issue 
of notes is concerned, is closely allied to the 
functions of government in general. Gov- 
ernment is primarily a protective institution, 
and such a bank would in its essence exist 
for the purpose of protecting the industrial 
credit and the commerce of the country. 
It would be a most useful institution in 
connection with a postal savings project — a 
measure likely to be brought up for dis- 
cussion in the present Congress. It would 
be a government depository, and as an agent 
for the government through all its branches 
it would come in close touch with other 
banks and the community at large. Such 
an institution, organized under definite re- 
strictions, would serve as a great balance- 
wheel in our entire financial system, and 
would give to the United States what it can- 
not have under any other system, — perfect 
security, and elasticity in its note circula- 


Arthur B. Chapin, Treasurer and Receiver-General 0} the 
Commonwealth 0} Massachusetts 

The Aldrich Bill will in the main allow 
national banks to issue an extra amount of 
money at special times, and under special 

It is, however, a financial tonic when the 
money situation becomes run down from 
the decrease in the normal money supply 
caused either from the large demand for 
money or the withdrawal of it from the 
banks, its customary reservoirs, and the 
hoarding of it. Such a bill, while good 
as far as it goes, will not prevent panics 
when the people are frightened and the 
confidence of the public is shaken, for the 
banks themselves share in the lack of con- 
fidence when the general public are suffer- 
ing from the disease. 

The great bulk of business must be done 
on credit, and credit requires confidence, 
which means "trust in" anything; for ex- 
ample, the deposits in the national banks 

and trust companies of Boston are about 
four hundred million dollars, but there is 
only about forty million dollars in gold and 
silver currency, so if every one who has 
money on deposit in Boston should on the 
same day ask for the amount of their de- 
posit in legal currency they could only re- 
ceive about ten cents on the dollar in actual 
money. This condition, of course, would 
never happen; but when a large amount of 
money above the normal is drawn from the 
banks people begin to become frightened, 
lose confidence, and draw out more money, 
which makes the situation worse, and the 
money supply has to be increased from 

The Aldrich Bill enables the banks to 
temporarily increase their supply, but does 
not increase public confidence. The clear- 
ing-house certificates increased the money 
supply, in one sense, by allowing the differ- 



ent banks who form a clearing-house to do 
their business among themselves without 
actual currency; but a clearing-house is 
only local, and the different clearing-houses 
are not properly affiliated, as was shown 
last November. 

The State of Massachusetts, for example, 
owed to certain New York institutions, for 
money borrowed, two million dollars, and 
had issued its notes for it. These notes 
came due in November, and in ordinary 
times would have been given to the banks 
in New York to collect; but these New York 
institutions would not take checks on Bos- 
ton banks, owing to the discount by the 
New York banks of two dollars a thousand 
charged for Boston checks. They de- 
manded payment from the State of Massa- 
chusetts either in New York drafts or gold 
or silver. The Boston banks where the 
State money was on deposit did not want 
to send that amount of gold or silver to 
New York, so they furnished New York 

The Aldrich Bill will not remedy this 
lack of confidence between the groups of 
banks of different cities. 

This can be done, however, by some 

central bank in which all the banks have 

This central bank should have the United 
States Government back of it in a way sim- 
ilar to the government banks of other coun- 
tries. It could serve as an equalizer of the 
money supply by sending it where it was 
especially needed at certain seasons of the 

New England, as well as the rest of the 
country, has been suffering from a panic or 
business crisis, which apparently reached 
its height about November. It has taken 
the form of a slowing down of business, 
and there will not be such high speed 
reached again for some time. 

My own idea is that there will be still 
more slowing down before we get back to 
normal again — and that does not mean the 
extravagant, feverish pace at which we 
have been going of late. 

Many people must study again in their 
business dealings the exact meaning of 
honesty, efficiency, and economy; and this 
applies as well to the working man as to 
the banker, as well to the employee as to 
the employer. 



Restless, eager, human tide, 

Off to toil with the day begun, 
Dreaming the things which are to be, 

"Deeds to be wrought ere set of sun — 

I pray thee strength when the crisis waits. 
When Error knocks at thy sacred gates 
I pray thee sight, that thine eyes may see 
Far as the brink of eternity. 

Weary, hopeless, heartless tide, 

Trudging home through the darkness late; 
Dreams all shattered, hopes deferred, 

Crushed in the throng at Mammon's gate- 

I pray thee peace, for the day is done; 
And whether the battle be lost or won, 
Coming up by a crimson way 
Is To-morrow, the glorious promised day! 






"I thought I saw a kangaroo 
A-striding down the hill. 
I looked again and saw it was 
A picturesque jeune file." 

— LegendaMCMVI. 

SING of men this time, O 
learned Daddies; it would 
hardly do to say "of arms and 
the man." "Arms and the 
man!" Mercy! how that would 
Bolles of the Math Depart- 

shock Miss 
ment. She's the one who said she did not 
like those rustling silk skirts some of the 
girls wear, they are so suggestive of under- 
clothes! Isn't she the coy one? 

The regulations here concerning men 
callers are quite strict, and still very liberal, 
too. You can receive them any time during 
the day, or go riding with them, only you 
must not be out at night. 

And you must n't have any caller on Sun- 
day, unless he happens to be your fiance. 
If you'll say you're engaged to be married 
to the male in question he may come. 

One Freshie here asked permission to 
have a man call Sunday, and was asked if 
she were engaged to him. 

She hesitated a little, and then replied: 
"No, not exactly. But I think I will be 
Sunday, if you let him call." 

There are all sorts of beaux who hang 
around here. Of course we don't see much 
of them, unless we chance to be the inter- 
ested party, and the girls don't mention 
such things much; but naturally the sub- 
ject is one of deep and perennial interest. 

There's one girl here, Alice Jaynes, who 
has a sweetheart whose father is a big-bug 
Britisher and lives in Ottawa. He was in 
the diplomatic corps at Washington for 
some years, and during that time sent his 
son to a prep school somewhere in New 
York. Here the young man fell in love 
with Alice, who is the daughter of the head- 
master of the school. 

He took it very hard, and was for getting 
married right away, although he was eight- 
een and she seventeen. The parents inter- 
fered, however, and sent the youth to Har- 
vard and the damosel to Wellesley. His 
father is frightfully rich and has strings of 
titles and all that, and I suppose he did n't 
take kindly to his son tying up with a 
Yankee schoolmaster's daughter; although 
Alice told me he was very nice about it, 
called on her father, and was very refined 
and courteous and everything that an Eng- 
lish nobleman should be. 

The tide of true love continued to flow, 
none the less. The boy has whole heaps of 
spending-money, and insists on loading her 
with every conceivable thing she can or 
cannot want. He has furnished her room 
elegantly, and takes her riding in the most 
adorable of automobiles, and lives up to the 
limit of all the privileges that student gov- 
ernment will allow him. He swears he'll 
marry her anyhow when she gets through 
college, and I hope he will, for he 's a dear 
— such a boyish looking, ruddy-faced Eng- 
lishman, full of spirits and sunshine. 

Then there is a teacher of German in a 
private school somewhere in the vicinity 
who comes to see Edith Jeffers. He is the 
limit looking, but awfully clever; that is, he 
knows a great deal, though he stammers so 
he can't tell it. She used to go to school to 
him when he taught in Providence. He fell 
in love with her and she with him. When 
she graduates I suppose they'll marry. 

Some of us girls overheard them talking 
the other night. He was speaking baby 
talk to her, and it would have made a horse 
laugh. When you mix broken German 
English and baby talk and stuttering all 
up together — you see the infinite possi- 

Another of the romances on at present 
is that of an old man of seventy who is about 
to marry one of the young graduates who 
is instructor in the Botany Department. 
He's rich as Croesus. She says she loves 
him for himself alone (she's twenty -five) 



and cares nothing for his money. Would 
you believe her, if you were I ? I would n't 
if I were you. 

We had piles of fun the other day at a 
picnic, with a lot of Harvard men. Each 
girl invited a fellow. We got boats and went 
down the lake and had a spread on the 
grass under the trees. Just as we arrived 
there we discovered we had forgotten the 
root beer and ginger ale, which we had left 
at Stone Hall. So my man and I rowed 
back after it; that is, he rowed and I sat in 
the boat and watched him. We went up to 
Stone and got the liquid and brought it 
down to the boat. We started back for the 
picnic-ground, when the man (it was Ed 
Fifer) said to me: 

"What's the matter with having some 
of that root beer? I'm dry as a lime- 

He must have been, too, poor fellow, for 
it was a hot day, and the sweat was just 
pouring off his face. 

"Good," said I. "I'm thirsty, too." 

We tried to open a bottle, but as we had 
no corkscrew we could not. 

"Here; let me have it," I suggested. 
"I'll just tap it on the row-lock and crack 
the neck. I've read of people doing that 
with bottles." 

It was a brilliant thought, as the sequel 

I gave it a gentle tap or two. Nothing 
doing. Then I gave it quite a smart 

It came, all right, then. The top of the 
bottle, with a report like a cannon, blew 
off, and the root beer, which had been heat- 
ed by the sun and was good and lively, 
spurted ten feet. 

To make matters worse, we happened 
to be, right then, just alongside a boat con- 
taining one of the primmest of the Faculty, 
who was to be our chaperone. She gave 
a jumplwhen she heard the explosion, and 
then when she got a discharge of root beer 
in the face she made another lunge, her boat 
upset, and over she went into the waters of 
Lake Waban. 

She made a terrific splash, and I was so 
startled by it, and by my own amazing 
triumph in "cracking the neck of a bottle," 
that I came near losing my balance and 
going over, too. But I did n't. 

Ed moved our boat around with a stroke 
of his oar and grabbed her as she came to 

the surface, blowing and sputtering. Then 
of course we had to take her back to Col- 
lege Hall. By the time we had rowed once 
more to the picnic-grounds Ed must have 
been pretty tired, though he did n't com- 

He was rather inclined to blame him- 
self (though of course he was not at fault 
at all), but the girls told him to cheer up, 
as they always drowned a chaperone or two 
when they had a picnic. 

We had a most elegant feast, and then 
we all got in the boats, and fastened them 
together, and floated on the water, toward 
evening when we had cooled off a little, and 
sang songs. Oh, the singing and the man- 
dolins and the guitars sounded divine on 
the water! 

But I had to laugh every time I would 
think of that poor Faculty being pulled 
into the boat and looking like a sick musk- 

The boys gave us a funny parody on 
our yell. Our yell properly is : 

"Tra-la-la, tra-la-la 
La-la-la, la-la-la, 


The parody consisted in running in the 
names of the stations in the railroad be- 
tween here and Boston, just before getting 
to Wellesley: 

"Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, 
La-la-la, la-la-la, 

Riverside, Wellesley Farms, Wellesley Hills, 

Good-night, Babbo, I'm sleepy, and 
don't know much about men anyhow, ex- 
cept that there are none of 'em as nice as 
my daddy, which same I analyze and adore 
and war ship. 

"What does 'war ship' mean?" said the 
German to the American girl he was try- 
ing to court. 

"War ship? Why, that's a man-of-war, 
a ship with guns and cannon on it, and all 
that sort of thing." 

"Ach, no! War ship, war ship! You 
don't understand. When I say, for in- 
stance, 'I war ship you.'" 

"Oh, yes; that's different." 

Good-night. I war ship you. 
Your daughter, 






" O have you seen young Lochinvar, 
A-coming from the West ? 
He was in an automobile, 

And had on a spotted vest. 
I prithee if thou seest him 

To tell him this from me: 
If he asks me I'll go with him 
To his ain coun-tree." 

— Literary Hash, Eesh. 

I'm down here at Springfield, Mass., at 
Kitten's house for over Sunday. You re- 
member Kitten is the girl you saw when 
you were here, and you asked me, "Who 
is that clean girl?" That's all over the col- 
lege now, and Kitten is known as the 
"clean" girl. And she is, too; her skin is 
so fresh and pinky-white looking, and her 
mouth is so lovely! 

But I'm not going to tell you about her 
now — perhaps I may another time de- 
scribe her home here at Springfield, but 
just now I must tell you about Young 
Lochinvar. We have dubbed him that be- 
cause he did not "come out of the west" 
(lucus a non lucendo), and because his pass- 
ing at Wellesley was altogether about the 
most romantic thing that has happened 
since I 've been here. 

Some time ago Clarice and I went in to 
Boston with Helen Barton to see the Copley 
Art Exhibit. Helen graduated at Wellesley 
two years ago, and is back now taking some 
sort of a postgraduate art course with Miss 
Fendore. And oh, she's the grandest girl, 
so sensible and fine, and so awfully sweet! 
She's just too dear for anything. Every- 
body just adores her. 

She's had quite a romance. Last year 
she was abroad with her mother and met 
an Italian artist with whom she proceeded 
to fall desperately in love. He ditto. They 
got along swimmingly until her mother saw 
what was going on and put her foot down 
upon it; for it has always been a sort of a 
family understanding that Helen was to 
marry Will Meagher, who has oodles of 
money and is playing at practising law in 
New York. Mrs. Barton declared the dago 
to be impossible. He was poor. That was 
bad enough. But worse even, if there be 
any worse, he was Italian; and Mrs. Bar- 
ton was firm in her opinion that no French- 
man or Italian is fit to be a husband. 

So they broke it off. But Helen loved 

him. Because she told Clarice and me so 
one night, and told us how perfectly grand 
he was, so noble looking, and such beauti- 
ful eyes, and so gentle and high-minded, 
and so gifted, too. She knew he would be 
a famous artist some day. Michelangelo 
and Leonardo and all those old ones would 
look like thirty cents when Alessandro (that's 
Lochinvar's name) settled down to business 
and began painting and sculping for good. 
And sing? Why, she said his voice was 
something to dream about. 

Well, we looked around at the exhibit 
and were very much interested. They were 
copies of the old masters, some of them very 
clever. There was a Mona Lisa and a Car- 
paccio, "St. George and the Dragon," 
which were wonderfully good. Also Jo- 
seph Lindon Smith had some water-color 
copies of Botticelli frescoes that were fine. 
And lots and lots of Velasquez — I should 
say forty — ugly things like Philip IV. and 
Maria Teresa with the hoop-skirt — some- 
thing fierce. I cannot conceive of the why- 
fore of his popularity. But you don't want 
my half-baked art criticisms. 

Well, as we came out Helen grasped our 
arms and hurried us along down the street, 
and she was evidently laboring under great 
excitement. When we turned the corner 
she let go of us and leaned against the wall 
and gasped for breath. 

"What is it?" we asked. 

"What in the world is the matter?" 

"It's he!" she panted. 

"He? Who?" 

"Alessandro! " 


"Yes. I saw him just as we were com- 
ing out." 

Great excitement and buzzing by all 

We had to hurry to the train, and all the 
way out to Wellesley we talked it over. 
Why was he here ? What did it mean ? And 
so on, and so on. Helen could not explain it. 
When she had parted with him in Rome she 
had told him that she could never see him 
more, and gave her reasons. She said that 
he made no answer, except to throw back 
his shoulders and look very grand and say: 
"Very well; I shall not disturb the peace 
of your family, but I shall marry you, just 
the same," and straightway he left her. 

It had now been almost a year since that 



P When we got to Wellesley Helen insisted 
on my staying all night with her. She 
boarded at a house in the village. We had 
gotten into bed, and lay there talking, when 
we heard music. A harp began to thrum 
right under our window, which was open a 
little. And then there rose upon the still 
air the clearest, most caressing, tenor voice 
I ever heard in or out of grand opera. It 
sang the tower song from the Troubadour. 
And oh, as the words rang out so limpid 
and sad and deliciously melancholy, " Non 
ti scordar di mi" it seemed that all my 
blood was congealed, and I just lay there 
trembling. I could n't think of anything 
but how beautiful and divine and sad it was. 

When it was over I touched Helen's 
hand, and found it cold as ice. 

" Helen," I cried, " it is— " 

"Yes," she said, catching her breath, 
"it is he." 

"Oh, wasn't it angelic!" I exclaimed. 

And then we both cried. 

"O Helen," I said, "I'd be the happiest 
person in the world if some one loved me 
like that." (Think of it, Daddies, and I 
meant it, too. But don't you care! There's 
no danger of 'em twanging the light guitar 
and lum-ti-tum-tumming about your li'l 
button-nosed one.) 

" But I'm not happy at all," she moaned. 


" 'Cause I 'm going to marry Will 

"Why? If you don't love him why do 
you marry him?" 

"Oh, I don't know. It's something 
dreadful. How do I know what to do and 
why I do it. Everybody talks about a girl 
doing this way or that way, if it's right, or 
if she truly loves, and all that, when half 
the time she don't know what right is, 
and don't know whether she loves or not." 

"But you know whether you love Ales- 
sandro or Will, don't you?" 

"Well, Will's very nice. He's good, and 
all that. And he's American. But Ales- 
sandro stirs me terribly! Maybe that's 
just foolish nonsense, though. How in the 
world is any one going to tell?" 

And so we discussed it in all its pros and 
cons, and in the morning were no nearer a 
solution than when we began, as is usual 
with discussions, male and female. 

Well, things went along, and I heard no 
more of Alessandro for awhile. Whether 

Helen did or not I can't say, but rather im- 
agine that she was receiving some communi- 
cation — at least she knew something se- 
cret that I could n't worm out of her. Fi- 
nally it was arranged that an engagement- 
dinner was to be given for her and Will at 
Will's uncle's, said uncle residing at Worces- 
ter. Helen did n't seem to me to be very 
happy; but when I broached the subject to 
her, she said: 

"Don't worry, dearie. I've thought it 
all over and settled it. So we won't open 
the subject again." 

The day of the engagement-dinner, to 
which I was not invited, as only relatives 
were to be there, I went to Boston to see 
about getting my pink dress, and whom 
should I meet right in front of the Tou- 
raine but the little Baron von Steinwitz, 
whom you remember we knew so well, and 
whom you liked so well, in Berlin. He 
threw six polite fits upon seeing me, and 
nothing would do but I must go in the ho- 
tel and see his mother, which I did, as I al- 
ways liked the old lady. While we were 
talking there in the library the baron said: 

"You must meet my friend, Prince Al- 
essandro Boni, who is here with us." 

I pricked up mv ears at the "Alessan- 

"Marvellous chap!" went on the baron. 
"So accomplished! Paints, rides, fences, 
sings, is a linguist and an archaeologist, and 
is very rich, also." 

"Bring him in!" I exclaimed. "He's 
just the one I was looking for." 

The baron laughed till his little bald 
head grew red. Then he jumped up. 

"Ah, here he is now!" he cried. 

A tall, distinguished, foreign-looking man 
came in, with olive dark face and charming 
moustaches and jet black hair. He smiled 
as he saw my companions, and showed a 
row of exquisite teeth. As he came closer 
I saw his eyes, and then I knew I was gazing 
upon no other than Helen's Alessandro, 
prince or no prince. Another pair of eyes 
such as those could not exist. 

We talked awhile, and I was threshing 
my brains to see how I could introduce the 
subject of Helen. All the meddling blood 
of my ancestors was aroused. I thought of 
that engagement-dinner and of Helen there, 
so forcedly calm and so inwardly unhappy. 

Well, fortune favored the butt-inskies, 
and pretty soon the baron and his mother 



were called away to see some one and I was 
left alone with Br'er Lochinvar. Just as 
soon as they were out of the room I leaned 
over to him and said: 

" Do you know Helen Barton?" 

The blood left his cheeks, and he asked, 
''Why? — Er — yes." 

"Do you know that to-night her engage- 
ment to Mr. Meagher will be announced?" 

"What? I do not understand. Where 
is this?" 

"At Worcester, at a dinner at his uncle's." 

"You do not mean this. Tell me." 

I told him all I knew — and more, of 

His eyes snapped. He stood up, and 

"Where is this — Worcester?" 

"It is about forty miles from here." 

"Is there a train?" 

"I don't know. We can ask at the 

We went to the office and discovered that 
there was no train that would get him there 
before eleven. 

He excused himself and left me hurriedly. 

Then the Steinwitzes came back. I 
asked them about Prince Boni. They told 
me that by the death of his two brothers 
he had been left sole heir to one of those 
vast estates near Florence, that he had also 
an elegant house in Rome and a villa on 
Lake Maggiore, and that he had been 
elected to the Parliament and was altogether 
a grandee. Then I told them Helen's story, 
and how she had thought him to be poor. 
They laughed and said that was like him, 
he hated ostentation and liked to masquer- 
ade as a poor artist. 

While we were talking in came his High 
Illustriousness again, this time with a green 
coat on and other automobile toggery. 

"Miss Brown," he said, "do you like 
automobiling ? " 

"I worship it." 

"Would you be willing, upon the assur- 
ance of my entire respectability by these 
mutual friends, to accompany me for a 
little jaunt — say to Worcester?" 

"To Worcester? Why, that's forty miles 
and more! I — why — " 

Then the old baroness broke in. She 
sees things quickly, and is the most alive of 
any woman of sixty I ever knew. 

" Of course she will, Prince. And if you 
will get a big car, Hans and I will go, too." 

"I have an immense machine out here. 
It will hold us.all. It's a Napier." 

So — hurried preparations, and off we 

We worried somewhat carefully along out 
of the city, but once the road was clear we 
simply flew. Oh! it was simply glorious! 
Alessandro sat in front with the chauffeur, 
who was also an Italian, and kept urging 
him on, "Presto! Presto!" 

We skimmed up the hills and whizzed 
by lakes and barely touched the bridges. 
Was n't it great, Babbo ? And all going to 
rescue a fair maiden, too! Young Lochin- 
var in an automobile! I was in the seventh 

Alessandro had explained to me, I forgot 
to say (for I fear as a novelist I don't get 
events in their proper order), that he wanted 
me along, as it might be necessary to have 
some one to vouch for him. 

It was dark when we reached Worcester. 
We all went to a hotel which the chauffeur 
showed us and removed the stains of travel, 
and then, taking a little boy to show us the 
way, we rode up to the house. It was an 
imposing-looking stone residence, and all 
lit up. 

The maid let us in, thinking doubtless 
that we were expected guests. Before we 
knew it, almost, we were right in the draw- 
ing-room, where sat the family in council. 
They looked surprised to see these strangers, 
and Helen, seeing Alessandro, went white 
as death. They all stood up, and then be- 
fore any one else could speak, out steps la 
Sua Vossignora Mister Alessandro, and 
thus to them: 

"You will pardon me for this intrusion, 
and I ask your pardon for my friends who 
have come at my instance. I have no apol- 
ogies to make, except that, in order to save 
people from unhappiness, from something 
they may ever regret, from some fatal step, 
it is sometimes necessary to break the con- 
ventions of society. 

"Possibly, however, I may not detain 
you long. It all depends upon Miss Bar- 

Then he looked right at Helen and said, 

"She must decide now. Will she take 
the poor artist, or — not." 

Mrs. Barton spoke up, with some heat. 
"You have no right to ask such a question 
here. You are — " 



"Wait, Mother," interrupted Helen. "He 
would not ask this, I am sure, to make 
trouble. He is right. I must decide." 

"You have decided," exclaimed her 

"Yes, I have. But it is not yet too late 
to undo it, if it is wrong." 

"But" — commenced her mother. This 
time Will Meagher restrained her. 

" Just a minute! " he said. " I think, Mrs. 
Barton, that this is a matter for the young 
lady — and me — to decide. And I want 
you to let Helen alone. If she loves some 
one else she ought not to marry me. Let 
her speak from her own heart. I am perhaps 
as much interested in this thing as any- 
body, and I say that whatever she decides 
I shall defend her in it, and approve it." 

"Thank you, Will," she said. "I am 
sure I am placed in a very delicate position. 
I do not want to do you wrong. I do not 
want to offend my mother. I do not want 
to make, a mistake in my own life. I have 
not deceived you, Will. You know I have 
told you all about my Roman experience. 
I — " and then she grew silent. 

"Miss Barton has only to speak," said 
Alessandro, in a low voice, "and I will go 

"No," she answered. "Do not." And 
she held out her hands to him. "I think I 
must follow my heart, and my own womanly 
convictions. Forgive me, Mother, Will, all 
of you, but I must take the poor art- 

Alessandro bent and kissed the tips of her 

Then I could n't hold in any longer, but 
just clapped my hands and cried out: 

"Goody! Goody! And he isn't poor at 
all, Mrs. Barton. He's rich, and he's a 
prince, and he's just perfectly grand!" 

Everybody looked at me as if I were 
crazy. Will shook hands with Lochinvar 
and said: 

"It's all right, sir. All I can say is, you 
have the finest woman in the world. It hits 
me pretty hard, but I suppose I '11 get over 
it. Anyhow, I '11 look pleasant and take my 

And then there were introductions and 
explanations all around, and it all came out 
in true story-book fashion. 

Helen is to be married next month. 

Was n't that strenuous and gorgeous, 
though, Daddies? 





And they released Barabbas, and he went 
Forth from his dungeon, joying in the grace 
Of life regained; yet, as he passed, a face 

Shone out from the dim corridor, and bent 

Its gaze upon him; questioning, intent. 

He knew that brow where anguish had its place, 
Those lips prophetic, sealed now for a space, 

Those eyes, deep-welled with awful, still content. 
The robber paused to marvel at the Man 

Whose death should serve for his; nor spoke aloud 
The foul jest in his throat. He stayed to scan 

Once more that visage calm; then, trembling, bowed 
With fear and harsh, soul-harrowing grief, he ran 

And hid himself, sick-hearted, in the crowd. 



ONAS stood at the line fence 
and looked approvingly over 
his neighbor's broad fields. 
The last load of hay had just 
gone to the barn, and Jonas 
felt almost as pleased as he did when his 
own haying was finished. As he looked he 
could see Rachel now and then, as she led 
the horse that was operating the hay-fork. 
As he looked at her, the owner and manager 
of the productive acres next his own, there 
was an expression of anticipatory proprie- 
torship in his eye; for Rachel had only to 
say the word — one short, simple word — 
to become Mrs. Jonas Leeds. 

Jonas turned away, at length, with a 
smile on his face. It was time to be looking 
after the chores, for he was going to call on 
Rachel that evening, and he liked to start 
early, as he invariably took his departure at 
nine o'clock. 

Rachel graciously received his congratu- 
lations on getting in her hay. She told him 
how many tons she thought she had, and 
the probability as to there being a good 
second crop. She discussed the merits of 
her new horse hay-fork, and advised him to 
put one in his own barn. She talked per- 
sistently on agricultural subjects, as they 
sat in her pleasant sitting-room. The door 
was open into the kitchen, and they could 

see Mrs. Culver, Rachel's housekeeper, 
reading at the table. 

At nine Jonas rose from his chair and 
looked down at Rachel from his lank six 
feet of height. Rachel stood up also, and 
braced herself to receive his semi-weekly 
proposal. He varied the formula a little 
each time, and on this occasion he said: 

" You do not forget, I trust, that you have 
only to say the word at any time, Miss 
Rachel, and we will join forces. Our two 
farms, as well as our two hearts, will then 
be one." 

He smiled down at her. Rachel some- 
times thought that she might possibly ac- 
cept him if only he would not smile; but that 
made it impossible. It was a very wide 
smile, and his teeth were very large and 
strong, and somehow it made her think of 
hunger and ferocity. 

"Do not forget, dear lady," he said, ten- 
derly, "that this is a standing offer, and at 
any time that you are ready, I am." He 
let her fingers go reluctantly, and went out 
of the room, pausing in the kitchen a mo- 
ment to speak kindly and somewhat patron- 
izingly to Mrs. Culver. The outside door 
closed behind him, and his footsteps could be 
heard on the gravel walk. 

Rachel sat motionless till the clock struck 
the half hour; till Mrs. Culver folded her 



newspaper, took her light, and went up- 
stairs; till she had ceased to move about up 
there and the house became still. Then 
Rachel left her chair and began pacing 
slowly back and forth. She was a woman 
of about thirty, with a pleasing face, brown 
from her out-of-door life, and lighted up by 
a pair of very fine blue-gray eyes. As she 
walked she began to speak softly to herself. 

"I wonder if I shall marry him, in time ?" 
she said. "I don't like him; I dread having 
him call here; but sometimes I have a feel- 
ing that in the end I shall marry him. He 
is very persistent, and there is a great deal 
in getting used to a man and seeing much of 
him. At times I hate him and fear him. I 
suppose that is nerves. And again I feel as 
if it would be the best thing for me to do, to 
marry him. I wonder if that is common 
sense? I like my independence, in a way, 
but once in a while I feel so tired of it all, 
and as if I'd like to be rid of the responsi- 
bility and the having to act a man's part. 
And Jonas Leeds is a good manager — 
better than I am." 

She was silent as she quickened her steps 
a little. Suddenly she dropped her face in 
her hands on the high back of a. chair, and 
sobbed, like one unaccustomed to tears i 
" O Philip, Philip! Why did you go away? 
I loved and trusted you perfectly — per- 
fectly. We would have been happy to- 

She cried silently a little longer, then 
raised her head and brushed away her tears, 
defiantly. "I won't go through that again. 
I've been over it a hundred times, and it 
does no good. I know he loved me for a 
time; but what ended it I don't know. How 
I have missed him!" Her lip trembled, but 
she set her teeth upon it sternly and began 
her walking again. 

"Anyway, judging from my observation, 
very few married people are happy. They 
just get along and make the best of things. 
And after all, if a man is good to a woman 
and loves her in his selfish, limited way, I 
suppose it is as much as she can expect. I 
wonder. if Jonas really loves me?" She 
walked the length of the room several times 
in silence. Then she took her lamp and 
went up-stairs to her room. "I'll find out," 
she said, a queer, half cynical, half humor- 
ous smile on her face. 

When next Jonas called at Rachel's Mrs. 
Culver met him at the door with a sad 

countenance. "She's sick," she whispered, 
"but you can see her. She has n't taken to 
her bed yet, but she will soon, poor thing. 
Her mother before her went the same way, 
I've been told." 

Jonas went on tiptoe into the next room. 
Rachel lay among pillows in a big chair, and 
it seemed to him that already she was piti- 
fully wasted and pale. She coughed, as he 
opened the door, and pressed her handker- 
chief to her lips. "Good-evening, Jonas," 
she said, weakly, holding out her hand. He 
took it gingerly and then sat down awk- 
wardly. "I — I hadn't heard about your 
being sick," he said. 

"I shall be better in a few days," she 
said, coughing some more. 

Jonas shook his head commiseratingly. 
Her being so hopeful he felt sure was a bad 

There was a long, uncomfortable pause; 
then Rachel spoke, in a voice that shook a 
little. "About that standing offer of yours, 
Jonas," she said. "I've been thinking it 
over some as I lay here. And really it does 
seem as if it would be nice to have some one 
to look after my interests. I feel sure you'd 
manage things better than I do. I 've hated 
to admit it, but I have n't made as much 
money as some folks think, and this year 
I 've lost money on the farm. So I 'm think- 
ing more about your offer than I did." 

Jonas looked scared. He did not know 
it, but while the light was dim on her face it 
was quite bright on his own. " Don't worry 
about business matters till you feel better," 
he said, nervously. "You are tired to- 

"Yes," she sighed; "I'm so tired." 

He started up with alacrity. "I'd bettergo 
home then, so you'll have a chance to rest." 
He went out of the room without seeing her 
outstretched hand. 

"Good-night," he said at the door, and 
she answered faintly. 

When the sound of his hurried footsteps 
had died away Rachel sat up very straight, 
with flashing eyes and an indignant color in 
her cheeks. Then suddenly she sank back 
weakly, and laughed long and silently. 
"Well," she said, "I've found out, and now 
I'll get well as soon as I can without dis- 
turbing Mrs. Culver's ideas too much." 

It was the next afternoon, and Rachel sat 
at the window among her pillows, reading. 
It was raining dismally, but she looked 



peaceful and happy, though now and then 
she cast a scornful glance across the wet 
fields toward the roofs of Jonas Leeds's 

At length she laid down her magazine to 
rest her arm, for her reclining position made 
it hard to hold anything for long at a time. 
As she did so she became aware of a low- 
toned conversation going on in the front 
hall. Mrs. Culver was talking to a man. 

Rachel listened intently. Could it be 
Jonas? No; it was a far more agreeable 
voice than his. She tried to think whose it 
was, but before she could decide the door 
opened and a man came in. 

As she recognized him, she said but one 
word: " Philip!" 

"I have just heard," he said, sitting 
down near her, and looking at her with 
great gentleness and sympathy. 

Rachel's heart was beating fast, and she 
had hard work to keep the tears out of her 
eyes. "How did you hear?" she asked, 
more to gain time than because she cared. 

"It was by the merest chance. I was 
coming home from the city and had to wait 
at the junction. Jonas Leeds was waiting 
there for the train to the city, and he told 
me. His train came before he had time to 
tell me any details. It seems he is off for 
quite a long business trip. So then I came 
here instead of going home." 

"What did he tell you?" she asked, 

Philip hesitated. "Why, he told of your 
broken health, and he said that you were in 
financial difficulties about your farming." 

Rachel was silent, her eyes cast down. 
Philip moved his chair nearer. "I'm so 
sorry," he said. 

"Never mind my affairs," said Rachel. 
"I want to hear about yours." 

"And I want to tell you," he said, quickly. 
"For five years I have been superintendent 
at Mr. Sylvester's farm. It is a very respon- 
sible position, and he has paid me a large 
salary. I've worked very hard and I've 
not spent a cent foolishly, so that I have 
nearly all my earnings saved and invested." 

" Mr. Sylvester's is only five miles away," 
Rachel said, "and I have never seen you." 

"No," he answered. "I have kept away 
on purpose." 

Rachel's eyebrows lifted. 

"Yes, on purpose," he repeated. "You 
must know whv." 

She shook her head. 

"I thought you'd understand," he said. 
He got up and went across the room and 
shut the door into the kitchen. 

"Rachel," he said when he came back, 
"while your uncle was alive and you were 
living here with him, a poor girl, I was free 
to ask you to be my wife; and if you were 
willing, as I hoped you would be, I could 
work and support you as best I could. But 
when your uncle died, leaving you this 
splendid farm, you became at once a rich 
woman, and what right had I, a poor man 
with only my two hands as capital, to ask 
you to share my lot ? So I worked and saved, 
hoping the time would come when I could 
offer myself to you. Your misfortunes have 
brought that time sooner than I had ex- 
pected. Rachel, I have loved you and 
wanted you all these long years. Can you 
give me the answer I have come for?" He 
held out his hands, and Rachel laid hers in 
them, while tears slowly filled her eyes. 

"I have wanted you, Philip, too, so many 
times," she said, as he kissed her. 

"Poor little woman," he said, gently. 
"Every one has told me how prosperous 
you were, and how happy, and I never 
imagined you were wearing yourself out 
with work that is too hard for you." 

" But, you," Rachel protested. "It is not 
right for you to be burdened with an invalid 

He laid his finger on her lips. "I shall 
have to give Sylvester a month's notice, but 
after that I shall take you to some warmer 
climate and you will regain your health." 
He smiled hopefully, but his eyes were 
anxious. "You don't know what a good 
nurse I am. — I must go, now," he said, 
rising. He arranged her pillows with gentle 
hands, moved her chair so she had a differ- 
ent view from the window, and put a has- 
sock under her feet. "I shall be back in the 
morning with the minister," he said. "In 
the meantime get all the rest you can and 
don't worry." He smoothed back a lock of 
her hair, stooped and kissed her, and a 
moment later had gone. 

Rachel lay quiet till she heard the outer 
door close; then she started up suddenly as if 
to call to him, but after a moment's thought 
she settled back again, with a tremulous 
smile on her lips. 

Philip had gone out to see the minister 



start on his way home, and now he came 
back into the house. 

"You must not tire yourself," he pro- 
tested, as Rachel came quickly to meet 

"Philip," she said, "I have a confession 
to make. I have married you under false 
pretences. Your wife has deceived you." 

Philip looked puzzled, and a little anxious. 
"I don't understand you at all," he said; 
"but I wish you would not excite yourself." 

Rachel laughed. "Look at me," she said. 
" Can't you see that I am in perfect health ? " 

He looked at her with startled eyes. Her 
head was thrown back, her eyes were bright, 
her lips red, and there was upon her face the 
beauty which only love imparts. 

"Why, you do look well," he said, slowly 
and wonderingly. 

Then she told him of her plan to test the 
affection of Jonas Leeds. 

"But I don't understand," said Philip. 
"He said you looked terribly." 

"And so I did," smiled Rachel. "I put 
on an old magenta dress that had been in 
the family for years and that made me look 
like a fright. I sat in shadow, and Jonas's 
imagination did the rest — I really have 
quite a respect for his imagination. Mrs, 
Culver helped out the illusion, too. You see 

I had a little cold in my throat from working 
on the hay. I was tired, too, and a few days' 
rest was just what I needed; so everything 
worked together for my plan." 

It took some few minutes for Philip to 
really comprehend the situation; then his 
face lighted up joyously. " Oh, my dear, 
my dear!" he cried. "I am perfectly happy 
now. I am going to take care of you just the 
same, though, and we will get the farm to 
paying again." 

Rachel laughed softly. "The farm never 
paid better than it is doing now." 

" But — but — Jonas said — " 

"What did he say?" 

"Why, that you had lost money on your 
farm this year." 

"That is just what I told him, Philip — 
and it was true. You see, a few weeks ago, 
one day, I had a little small change in my 
pocket. There was a hole, and the money 
fell out somewhere about the place. Is n't 
that losing money on the farm?" 

" Ye-s," said Philip, slowly, and then they 
both laughed. 

" Why did n't you tell me this yesterday ? " 
he asked. 

Rachel laid her head on his shoulder and 
said, very low, " I started to, but — you see, 
dear, I wanted to make sure of you first." 



HE Parasite pulled up his fish- 
line, swung over his head the 
three-pound harbor polluck 
that it brought, and slammed 
the fish on the wharf, the blow 
at once depriving it of life and freeing it of 
the hook. Rebaiting with part of a clam, 
the Parasite again cast the line into the 
dock, took his seat on an overturned trawl- 
tub, and leaned back comfortably against 
the fish-shed, occasionally puffing his short, 
amber-stemmed, silver-mounted pipe. 

It was ideal fishing — or as nearly ideal 
as salt-water fishing ever is. The air was 
warm and the lazy western breeze from the 
mainland brought a faint hint of the June 
wild roses. The old building shielded the 
Parasite's head from the rays of the after- 
noon sun, which here and there brazened 
the slope of a wave. Up in the inner har- 
bor a dory crept from the side of a schooner 
and, with four fishermen at ease on her 
thwarts, plugged toward shore. The Para- 
site shook his head. 

" Everything has an engine in it now- 
adays," he murmured, sorrowfully. "Every- 
thing! This is a commercial and sordid age. 
All the poetry is going out of life. No won- 
der people will not buy books of verse!" 

He thought regretfully of the eight hun- 
dred and fifty-odd copies of " Sea Kelp and 
Foam Thoughts," original edition one thou- 
sand, that lay stacked in the garret up at the 
house. This book of his poems was still on 
sale at the local stores, but three years had 
not quickened the demand and the Para- 
site's father, Joshua Fenn, who had financed 
its publication, had long since given up 
hope of seeing his money back. Joshua 
Fenn at that moment was wheeling a barrow 

down the next wharf, and as his tall, 


stooped figure came within range, a slight 
frown puckered the Parasite's forehead. 
The painful lack of gentility in Mr. Fenn's 
occupation as foreman for the Ocean Fish 
Company had troubled the Parasite ever 
since he had been old enough to distinguish 
the difference between his father's every- 

day appearance and his own. This after- 
noon the old man's reddened boots, dis- 
colored overalls, soiled shirt, and shape- 
less hat certainly did contrast unfavorably 
with the son's neat tan shoes, flannel suit, 
and white duck cap. But if the father had 
worn all the clothes his money had paid for 
he would have had to put on the flannels 
and the duck cap and the tan shoes, while 
the Parasite would have stood naked be- 
fore Neptune, all of which would have been 
too ridiculous. 

The line twitched as a fish nibbled; the 
Parasite quickly jerked it, and then, as the 
cotton sagged, he let it drift again. The 
tobacco bubbled in his pipe, and he was 
rapping out the dottel on the spile-head, 
preparatory to a fresh charge, when a wom- 
an's voice interrupted him: 

"If you're Willie Fenn, and a boy up the 
w'arf says you are, I'm the new girl your 
pa's hired. S'posin' you come up t' the 
house an' let me in an' show me w'ere some 
things are. I s'pose there's an awful mess 
o' dishes and such t' clean up, after two 
men folks livin' by theirselves for two 

The elided "h's" told the Parasite that 
the girl was from one of the provinces — 
probably Nova Scotia. As he looked up, 
he involuntarily straightened on the trawl- 
tub and, directly against his will, half 
raised his cap. In years he had not thus 
saluted the old housekeeper whose long 
term of service for him and his father had 
ended a fortnight before. But this maid 
did not answer to the mental description 
he had framed of the new "hired girl" his 
father had engaged at the employment- 
agency over in town. There was nothing 
in her appearance either of the unkempt, 
worn-faced drudge, or of the over-laced, 
over-dressed, " stylish " type. Perhaps twen- 
ty-five years old, she had a face showing 
both tan and color, a forehead as serenely 
smooth as a young girl's, under its mass of 
neatly dressed dark hair, and a chin de- 
cidedly firm but not unpleasantly square. 



For a woman she was tall, though not stri- 
kingly so, and her figure, even in the poorly 
fitting home-made dress she wore, snowed 
well nourished and well exercised. 

The Parasite had not reached the age of 
twenty-nine years without having made 
love to an occasional woman, nor, being a 
poet as well as an unusually handsome man, 
with his plump red cheeks, dark eyes, and 
heavy black mustache, had he escaped the 
experience of being made love to. Never 
having reached a materialistic, self-support- 
ing stage, he had not allowed any of these 
entanglements to progress to the point of 
permanent enthralment, but had trained 
himself to regard women as creatures ideally 
superior to himself, but practically created 
for the harmless entertainment of his most 
idle and gracious hours. His mother, who 
had died when he was a half-grown boy, 
and an older sister, now living in the far 
West, had both petted and spoiled him. 
Other women had continued the treat- 
ment. But he raised his cap to this newly 
arrived servant, who greeted him on the 
old wharf by his first name. 

'You're Willie Fenn, ain't you?" she 
asked, as he failed to speak. 

The Parasite frowned. That diminutive 
of his first name annoyed him, but some- 
how he had never been able to outgrow it, 
and he was still "Willie" to his friends and 
neighbors of Hardyport. Only the girls and 
old ladies at the summer boarding-houses 
on the "Neck" called him Mr. Fenn when 
they wanted a rocking-chair or a fan. This 
young woman must be taught. 

"I'm Mr. Fenn," he replied, stiffly. 
"You may call me Mr. William, if you 

" Oh ! " she returned. " Then, Mr. Willie- 
um, would you please come up an' open the 
house ? My trunk is on th' steps. Or, if you 
like, you can lend me your key till I have 
one o' my own." 

"I'll come," he decided, and reeled up 
his line while she waited. Then, as he 
started to walk up the wharf, she demanded: 

"Ain't you goin' to take your fish?" 

"Why, no, I hadn't thought of it." 

"To-morrow's Friday," she insisted. 
"Those cunners'll make a good fry for 
breakfast. You better bring 'em." 

"But I have n't anything to put them in," 
he objected. 

"Can't you string 'em on the line?" 

"I could, but I don't care to carry a 
string of fish through the streets." 

"All right. Then I will. Give me the 

"But, you — you know — " he feebly 

The girl held out her hand and he passed 
the line to her. 

"If you insist on it," he faltered. "I — I 
guess I won't wait. I '11 go ahead up to the 
house and — and see about things. That 
trunk ought not to be left on the steps alone, 
you know." 

"All right, Mr. Willie-um," was the quiet 

The Parasite gazed at her suspiciously 
for a moment. He did not just like that 
three-syllabled pronunciation of his name. 
The girl's face was perfectly placid, how- 
ever, as she picked up one of the small fish 
and thrust the end of the line through its 

"You won't need the pollock," he di- 
rected. "They're not good this time of 

For answer, she picked up the three- 
pound fish, and, with an easy sweep of her 
arm, sent it flying far out into the dock. 
Then the Parasite made his way home. 

To both the Parasite and his father it 
was a great relief to have a woman like Mag- 
gie at the helm of the household. Beyond 
question, she was at times somewhat mas- 
terful, especially on wash-days, but such 
little inconveniences are as nothing to a 
man when compared with the horror of 
washing his own dishes. Of the elder Mr. 
Fenn's comfort she took particular care, and 
although not an old man, he welcomed her 
little attentions, her care for his slippers, 
his glasses, and his paper, with the eager- 
ness of one who had missed such things 
during the long years since his wife had 

Of the Parasite she was tolerant, but she 
utilized him. Always addressing him re- 
spectfully as "Mr. Willie-um," she made 
him bring up her coal and chop her kind- 
lings, both of which tasks the old house- 
keeper had been obliged to accomplish for 
herself. When cold weather came, and a 
fire was started in the hot-air furnace, Mag- 
gie suggested that he sift the ashes. 

The Parasite protested. 

"It's sinful waste," she assured him, "to 
throw out good coal. You try it now, reg- 



ular, and it won't tire your back when you 
get used to it." 

She smiled at him, and the Parasite sulk- 
ily sifted the ashes, until one day he shov- 
elled them unsifted into the waste-barrel. 
Maggie detected him at this trick in less 
than three days, and, throwing a shawl over 
her head to keep the dust from her hair, 
descended to the cellar and stood over him 
while he cleaned up the entire accumula- 
tion. Then, after he had wrathfully tossed 
the sieve into a corner and she was preceding 
him to the stairs, he yielded to a sudden im- 
pulse, caught her by the shoulders, turned 
the supple figure in his arms, and kissed 
her squarely upon the mouth. 

She freed herself easily, wiped her face 
with a corner of her apron, and stood for a 
minute eying him. 

"You've no business to do that," she 
protested, finally, but without excitement. 
"I'll leave this day week." 

There was a tone of finality in the words 
which convinced the Parasite that she meant 
them. For a day he reviewed the matter. 
At first he wondered why he had made such 
a fool of himself. Then, as he considered the 
girl's face and figure, he told himself that 
it was evident that she "exercised consid- 
erable fascination" over him. She was of a 
good down-east family. The most brilliant 
plan to prevent her leaving would be for 
him to marry her. They could never get a 
better housekeeper, and then there was the 
item of wages which might be saved. As 
usual, selfishness was the mother of finance 
in a mind unaccustomed to even small finan- 

That evening he broached the matter to 
his father. For years Mr. Fenn had been 
patiently waiting for the Parasite to achieve 
with his brains the success which he never 
would carve out with his hands. Somehow, 
the great career had always lain just beyond 
the horizon. Ever since the graduation 
from the academy the father had learned to 
lean less and less upon the son who should 
have been the staff of his right hand. Pa- 
tiently he had waited, not understanding, 
knowing his own ignorance, worried by the 
youngster's dreaming indolence, but ever 
hoping that he would finally make good. 
Even now, although the boy had passed well 
into manhood, Mr. Fenn waited wearily, 
yet still hoping. But as this new idea was 
broached, he looked troubled. 

"I'd like Maggie ter stay, Willie, but 
how can ye support a mate ? Ye ain't arnin' 
much, ye know." 

"I think I can get some more engage- 
ments to read my poems out of town," be- 
gan the Parasite, hopefully. "If I can only 
average three or four nights a week at five 
dollars a night, it will keep us going — as 
long as we live here. And then you know I 
do get some verse accepted occasionally. 
Just as soon as my name gets well known — " 

"Yes, I know. But ye ain't had only one 
engagement ter read for three months. An' 
five dollars in three months don't go very 
far toward provisionin' a craft fur two, even 
supposin' ye don't ship a baby or so. But 
I ain't got nothin' ter say. Ye '11 do ez ye 
please, and I cal'late I'm supportin' both 
o' ye now, ez 't is." 

That Saturday night Maggie sat at the 
table in the " settin'-room," busy at some 
mending. As the Parasite lay on the sofa, 
the lamplight, which was kind to her, ren- 
dered her face almost beautiful as he stud- 
ied it. The Parasite's heart beat faster, and 
he cleared his throat several times. 

"Maggie," he blurted out, finally, "do 
you think you could marry me?" 

The girl dropped her work, turned, and 
looked at him in apparent surprise. 

"No," she replied, calmly, "I don't think 
I could." 

"Why not?" demanded the Parasite, 
sitting up in astonishment. 

Maggie considered. "Well," she re- 
plied, finally, "I don't see how you could 
take care of a woman, when you can't take 
care o' yourself." 

"I can," he declared, indignantly. 

"But you don't," she insisted. "You're 
costin' your father money right along, and 
you must owe him a lot on printin' that 

"The books are there," he defended. 
"When they're sold father '11 get his money 
and a good profit, too." 

"W'en they're sold!" She smiled. 

"Do you mean they can't be sold?" he 
demanded, nettled at her tone. 

"The stores don't seem t' get rid o' 
them," she returned. 

"That's because they don't push them. 
I could sell them." 

"Then, w'y don't you?" she taunted. 

"I will I" he exclaimed, smiting the table 
theatrically. "I'll not have those books 



flung in my face again! I'll go out to-mor- 
row and begin selling them. Other great 
authors have done the same thing." 

"Mr. Willie-um, if you'll sell enough of 
those books to pay back to your father the 
four hundred dollars you owe him I'll be- 
lieve you more of a man than I do now. 
And w'en that four hundred dollars is paid, 
then, perhaps, you can talk about marryin'. 
But not before!" 

The next Monday morning the Parasite 
left his bed at an unusually early hour, for 
the enthusiasm of the new idea was still 
bright. But the rough places in the road of 
the book-canvasser were hard to his unac- 
customed feet, and at eleven o'clock he was 
back at the house, discouraged and whin- 
ing. Maggie listened to his story, left her 
wash-bench, dried her arms, went up-stairs, 
and in a few minutes reappeared in a fresh 

"Where are you going?" asked the Para- 
site, from his seat by the stove, as she put 
on her hat. 

" Going out t' show you how t' sell books." 

"But you've never sold books, have 
you?" he objected, aghast. 

"No, but I'm goin' t' try till I find out 
how," she declared. "You git on your 

"I'll go," he faintly assured her. "You 
need n't come. I guess I can keep on try- 
ing if you can." 

He did not return until seven o'clock that 
night, and then reported having sold two 
books. The next day he started out again, 
and through the winter he kept on with the 

work with varying success. The poems 
were mostly on local subjects, and sold, on 
the whole, very well, but it was late in March 
when, one evening, he brought a little roll 
of bills and showed it to her. 

"That's the final payment," he said. 
"I'm mighty glad of it, because I think I 've 
been to every possible purchaser in town. 
It's a rather pleasant, if novel, experience, 
though, to have cleared that debt." 

The girl nodded at him and smiled. 

"Wat you goin' to do now?" she asked. 

"I've hardly considered. I've had time 
for little writing lately, but some good 
thoughts for poems have come to me. It 
seems as if there was something I intended 
to do, though, as soon as I got through be- 
ing a book-agent. By Jupiter!" he ex- 
claimed, in confusion, "I was — I — I for- 
got I — " 

"Willie," she broke in, a little malicious- 
ly, "you don't want to write any more po- 
ems. I've been talking to the Ocean Fish 
Company people and they need a clerk in 
their office. If you want to take the job 
they will pay you fourteen dollars a week 
and there's a good chance to rise. Will you 

The Parasite nodded and started' to 
speak, but she stopped him with a gesture. 

"And now about that — that other matter 
you spoke of a w'ile ago, and have 'most 
forgotten since. Your father an' me have 
been talking it over, and we've reasoned it 
out that what you need ain't a wife, but a 
mother. So I've promised your pa to be a 
mother to you — Mr. William!" 

Famous New England Artists Series 

Copyrighted, 10'>7. by Walter Rowlands 

I. "A New England Interior" 

By EDMUND C. TARBULL, Member of Ten American Painters 

The canvas is owned by Miss Catherine A. Codman 



EDMUND C. TARBELL regards the "New England 
Interior" as one of his most successful works up to 
this time. By the critics it has generally been hailed as a 
thoroughly worthy member of a remarkable series which 
has included among many others: "The Girl with the 
Horse," shown at Chicago in 1893 and for many years on 
exhibition at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts; "The Opal," 
which created a sensation at the first "two-man exhibition" 
of Messrs. Tarbell and Benson in Boston; "The Venetian 
Blind," now in the Worcester Art Museum; "The Blue 
Veil;" the "Girl with a Dog;" "A Girl Crocheting," ac- 
claimed generally as the extraordinary canvas of the art sea- 
son of 1905, and by many enthusiasts as the most admirable 
genre-picture yet painted in the United States. 

The "New England Interior" was shown unfinished at 
the 1 906-1 907 exhibitions of Ten American Painters in 
New York, Boston, Chicago, and other cities. Mr. Tarbell 
has since repainted portions of the work. 

As a picture, the "New England Interior" shows the in- 
fluence which study of Vermeer, Pieter de Hoogh, and others 
of the Dutch painters has had upon Mr. TarbelPs production, 
directing his profound knowledge of the technique of paint- 
ing and his appreciation of beauties of line and color toward 
a result that is at once naturalistic and decorative. 

Such art has popular as well as professional appeal, so 
that Mr. Tarbell at the age of forty-five has a national and 
international reputation surpassed certainly by no other 
New England painter. He has never stopped growing, and 
his following, long fanatically zealous in his praise, becomes 
bolder in its eulogia each year. It is nowadays frequently 
asked what artist in any country is painting better than this 
Bostonian, whose achievements in art in the twentieth 
century seem destined to take rank in critical and popular 
estimation with those of the great New England writers of 
the nineteenth century. 



An Illustrated Monthly. Founded 1758 

Why a New England Magazine ? 

A MAN who would be useful to him- 
self and to others must throughout 
his life occasionally pause, look himself 
squarely in the mirror, and ask this 
searching question: 

What for? 

As with himself, so is it also with the 
many and varied institutions which man 
creates — including a magazine. This mag- 
azine is no exception. To have a defi- 
nite purpose and to labor earnestly and in- 
telligently toward its fulfilment we must 
first determine just what that purpose is. 
We must ask ourselves that straightfor- 
ward question: 

What for? 

We cannot answer by borrowing glory 
or incentive from the past. Our heritage 
of history can be at best only the foundation 
for the future. On it we must build our 
modern structure by modern plans to satisfy 
modern needs. The needs, we feel sure, 
exist. Our plans, we are equally sure, will 
satisfy the needs. Hence our succession to 
this time-honored and time-approved mag- 
azine. Hence also our inspiration as we 
take up the task of making The New 
England Magazine a more influential 
factor in the life of New England than it 
has ever been before. 

From the very beginning New England 
has been a self-contained community. Al- 
ways loyal to the country of which it has 
been a part, always ready to lend its influ- 
ence and its hearty aid to neighbors near 
and distant, it has still preserved an integ- 
rity distinct and distinctive. The causes 
which joined to make this so are in the his- 
torian's province. We are now concerned 
with the simple fact that it has been so. 

To-day New England is a community 
hardly less distinct than of old. People 
move from Pennsylvania into Ohio, or from 


Maryland into Virginia, scarcely noting 
that they have passed from one group of 
States into another. But when folks go into 
or go out from our New England States they 
cross a well-defined line. They pass from 
one community into another. Other sec- 
tions of the country are knit together by 
local influences and interests, but in no 
other section are these local interests so ex- 
actly bounded by State borders as here. 
For example, the tariff. Its effects on all 
New England, and our relation to it, differ 
from the relationship everywhere else. Just 
now, also, the conservation of forests is 
more vital to us than to other sections, be- 
cause of our great water-power, because of 
the vast mills which are grinding our trees 
to pulp, and because the forests are yet in a 
state where prompt and wise action will 
save them. 

New England also enjoys the distinction 
of having contributed to the country at 
large a long line of illustrious men, whose 
combined influence without doubt exceeds 
that contributed by any similar group of 
States. This naturally fosters a wholesome 
and well-justified home-pride, a community 
of interest. 

Again, a very considerable portion of the 
material contributed to magazines pub- 
lished out of New England is furnished by 
writers in New England. Of this matter a 
good share interests our people more keenly 
than the people elsewhere. There is also 
unmeasured volume of latent material yet 
to be written, upon themes furnished by 
our romantic history and our active pres- 
ent. There should logically be a medium 
for gathering this wealth of matter, and 
presenting it in its richness to the very peo- 
ple whom it most concerns, the people 
whose moral right to it consists in their 
deepest appreciation of it. 

Scattered over this whole country are in- 
creasing thousands of New Englanders, car- 



ried thence by circumstances. Loyal to 
their native soil as the Britisher is to his Old 
England, these born-and-bred New Eng- 
landers look back with eager eyes to the 
scenes of their bringing up. They keep al- 
ways alive their delight in all that concerns 
the old home and the friends of yore. Their 
affiliation is never broken. To these an ac- 
tive, progressive, cheerful exponent of the 
things and people of New England cannot 
fail to be a welcome courier of dear associ- 

Broadly, then, in answer to the question 
"What for?" our purpose is to fill the very 
definite need for a live exponent of New 
England for New Englanders, and pretty 
largely by New Englanders. (We make no 
mention of ex-New Englanders — there are 
no such.) We shall not fight anybody's 
battles, or wilfully further any selfish cause. 
We shall aim to give each month a generous 
portion of such matter as will make for 
cheerful, wholesome, useful life in New 

1758 to 1908 




For Augutt 1758. 

By Urbanus- Filter. 

Bofton : Printed and Sold by 

Tcnjimia Mxoai, a Tbt *r* PnKi.iJ 
OBfcc »«• tbt (jmr.-Hafi. 

In these pages and elsewhere much has 
been printed relating to the historic early 
issues of this magazine. It is sufficient here 
to say that its founder saw a definite pur- 
pose for the magazine, which it fulfilled. 
Reflecting to the folks of pre-Revolutionary 
days the "new and entertaining and useful 
Remarks" of their own contemporaries, it 
serves us to-day by adding valuable and en- 
tertaining details to our records of colonial 
life in New England. Apparently the early 
purpose, like ours, was to furnish an avenue 
of expression for the overflowing thought of 
the times. Indeed, in proclaiming the ob- 
jects of the magazine, the editor wrote: 

"Various subjects are almost endless, and 

new Writers in the present and in following 
Ages may still find sufficient Follies, Weak- 
nesses and Dangers among Mankind, to be 
represented in such a Manner as to guard 
Youth against them." 

History is not wanting to show that there 
were follies enough to fill more than one 
magazine, and The New England Mag- 
azine of August, 1758, and succeeding issue 
show that the material was used and used 
well. Playful indeed, yet keen, was the 
writing of this — - 

"I believe that I shall believe that the 
Clergy are more pious than other Men, 
when I see good Reason to believe it." 

Thus, mingling satire with quaint humor, 
the editors set themselves to their ambitious 
labors as guardians of youth, "Undermin- 
ing the Interests of Ignorance, Vice and Fol- 
ly." Apparently this "undermining" was 
completely accomplished, for there comes a 
lapse in which nothing is seen of the fight for 
youth — or of The New England Mag- 
azine. In the aosence of facts, let us as- 
sume that the editors fully achieved their 
good purpose, and that youth was amply 
safeguarded; that when their next time of 
introspection came round and they asked 
"What for?" the answer came to them, 
"No good reason, therefore not," and that 
thus The New England Magazine was 

When it came to light again it by no means 
took up its career where it had left off. It 
was resumed with a character fully abreast 
of its time, if indeed it was not in advance. — 
But you have read the details in these pages. 

Poring over the later issues, our greed for 
good reading and fascinating history could 
revel and be satisfied. But what will best 
serve us — and you — in this practical 
hour is the past's contribution to our future 
progress. Three important facts we note, 
which gave power to the magazine in years 

(1) Its spirit was hopeful, helpful, cheer- 

(2) Its policy was ever constructive. 

(3) It helped to make young writers. 
That former editors presented a deal of 

history is not so noteworthy; for this was a 
most obvious course in a country where the 
very trees bristled with history. But the 
three canons already numbered indicate a 
carefully planned and very positive policy. 
That policy is a heritage worth while. 



No worthier tribute can be paid to the 
past than to acknowledge this magazine's 
relation to Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes, 
Emerson — and Dr. Hale. Whether the 
magazine developed them more than they 
developed it is of little consequence, since 
both grew together and both prospered. In 
opening the way for many less noted but 
successful writers, in moulding the thought 
of thoughtful New Englanders, in further- 
ing the historical classes in Old South, in 
stimulating admiration for New England 
institutions and men, this magazine has 
built a foundation on which we may well 
boast and build. 

The Future 

As times and manners and people change, 
so must a magazine of the people change 
apace. Fortunate we shall be if we can 
fuse the power of our historic past to the 
modern forces of our future. We stand al- 
most bewildered amid the abundant sources 
of material for a twentieth-century New 
England Magazine. 

We have scarcely glanced up from our 
three canons carried over from the past 
when, behold! all around us is a theme both 
broad and inspiring. "Beautiful New 
England!" — a region rich in its Creator's 
choicest gifts. Where is there found within 
an equal area such varied wealth of natural 
grandeur ? Not its rugged mountains alone, 
but its rolling hills, its shores, its bays, its 
forests, its mountain streams, its fields, its 
birds, its flowers, — to describe them justly 
has busied our most inspired poets. People 
come long journeys to see and draw inspira- 
tion from beautiful New England. Others 
are born and grow up in this glorious envi- 
ronment, and later are called to other parts, 
there to appreciate even more dearly the 
scenes of their former days. Success beck- 
ons some here, some there. Home anywhere 
is a tender memory. But throughout the 
land, the home-call which touches the most 
hearts the most deeply is the call of home 
in beautiful New England. 

Still others there are who remain to grow 
rich in the increasing enjoyment of their 
native surroundings. They know and love 
the picturesque open country — ; it is their 

In picturing beautiful New England we 
shall not be confined to views of natural 

scenery. Not by any means! We shall have 
at our disposal a truly remarkable comple- 
ment of well-planned towns and cities, 
parks, gardens, historic landmarks, and ex- 
ceptional specimens of fine architecture in 
public buildings and private homes. New 
England abounds in all of these. The arts 
have been generously employed to make the 
more closely populated spots only less pic- 
turesque than the open landscapes. 

Thus is offered to us — and you — a 
never-failing gallery of pictures — pictures 
that will couple with their own beauty the 
associations of home and the romance of 

We shall publish many pictures — more 
than have been published in the past Our 
selection will be from the best photographs 
made by artists of known merit. We shall 
employ the highest available mechanical 
skill, that they may be faithfully presented, 
in their full artistic value. 

By written word also we shall present the 
beauties of New England — articles by au- 
thors well qualified to appreciate and inter- 
pret those elements which delight the aes- 
thetic sense and lend color and refinement 
to human life. 

Outdoor life, too, deserves its just share 
of attention. The Maine Woods! The 
mere name makes hearts beat faster and 
eyes twinkle with delight. Where is there 
a playground to compare with Maine? 
Whether to fish or hunt, or paddle, or 
sail, or just to camp and tramp, men 
come hundreds of* miles and in a few days 
or weeks gather exhilaration for a whole 
year. All New England is picturesque. 
And the scenery is as varied as human ca- 
price. So we shall show, in text and picture, 
the beauties of New England in glimpses 
which cannot fail to enrapture those who 
have seen them, and to inspire desire in 
those who have not. 

Rufus Choate once remarked with some 
lament thai our literature and art were too 
completely fabricated and depended too 
little upon history for their foundation. 
Rufus was right. His lament, less true of 
our own time, is still a beckoning beacon to 
writers of romance, bidding them come and 
dip into the boundless wealth of history for 
theme, inspiration, and fact. Writers who 
ignore this supply of material wilfully throw 
away one of their best assets, for it takes but 
a thought to note that most of the world's 



greatest writings in prose and verse have at 
least a historical basis. Such writings it is 
our purpose to encourage and to publish. 

Already in contemplation is a series of 
articles on prominent New England fam- 
ilies and their homes, to be prepared with 
especial eagerness for those factors which 
have contributed culture and character to 
the individuals. Home life is beyond ques- 
tion the one most potent influence for refine- 
ment, and home >and family are nowhere 
more firmly founded than here in New 
England. So these articles, while affording 
interesting facts, will also, we hope, furnish 
examples of that most refining of all in- 
fluences — - family life. 

Keep Your Boys at Home 

But there are two well-defined thoughts 
of which these others are but details — two 
thoughts of service to New England that are 
with us day and night. New Englander! 
Mill-owner, merchant, doctor, lawyer, farm- 
er, clerk — keep your boys at home in New 
England. Boards-of -trade, patriotic so- 
cieties, wives, mothers — keep your boys at 
home in New England. Self-interest, local 
interest, State interest — all demand that 
you use every means in your power to check 
the drain upon the youth and energy of 
New England that results from mistaken 
ideas of the golden opportunities of far- 
away. Opportunity! Is not New England 
full of opportunities? 

In manufacture is not New England 
first? And have we not. streams as yet un- 
dammed ? If we manufacture, must we not 
sell? Have we not harbors and shipping? 
Are we awake to the possibilities of foreign 
export ? Our farms — unprofitable some 
have called them — has not the European 
who has seized upon what we have deserted 
put us to shame and shown us new possi- 
bilities in intensive agriculture ? Dearth of 
opportunity! No, rather a dearth of young 
men to seize and to develop opportunities 
that lie all around us. The New England 
Magazine is now looking for the right man 

to present this momentous subject to New 

Come Back Home 

The second consuming thought concerns 
the message of The New England Mag- 
azine to those hundreds of thousands of 
New Englanders who have trekked beyond 
our borders, or whose fathers have trekked 
before them. To such may our each and 
every issue say, softly but insistently, " Come 
Back to New England" — New England, 
land of our fathers, land of our boyhood, 
land of beauty, land of opportunity, of 
culture, of rest — home. 

All this and more we have in definite 
plan. Rather ambitious, you say? Right, 
indeed! But not impossible; surely not t 
when coupled with zealous and untiring 
labor. And as we progress, shall we not 
be building what we have planned — a 
modern New England Magazine for mod- 
ern New Englanders? 

Your Part 

We cannot build a magazine for the peo- 
ple without the people. You must be with 
us, else we fail. You must help. We earn- 
estly seek your suggestions or views on any 
and every detail of the magazine or its pol- 
icy. Criticism will be as welcome as com- 
mendation — perhaps more so. A little 
later we shall devote a few pages in each 
issue to letters from the people. We shall 
plan other means for giving you an active 
part in this magazine — and plans for us to 
serve you, entirely apart from the magazine 
itself Meantime it will be our constant 
purpose and constant labor to deliver each 
month a genuine living magazine of New 
England for New Englanders. 

As we go to press with this number, we 
are moving into larger quarters in the "Old 
South" Building, where our friends are cor- 
dially invited to call upon us. 

Rodin's "Ceres," Museum of Fine Arts 



COME only as a non-sculptor 
to non-sculptors; so that our 
discussion together must turn 
on what the common man can 
feel and learn in the presence 
of sculpture, rather than on its .technical 
processes, its development, or its peculiar 
demands upon the artist. For this reason, 
too, I must absolve myself from dealing 
with sculpture in so far as it is a purely 
formal, a non-representative art. Yet that 
is perhaps what sculpture is at bottom. 
The impulse to mould, like the impulse to 
kick or to dance, is inherent in our infant 
natures. It marks a certain exuberance in 
animal life, and it yields the singular pleas- 
ure of seeing matter, essentially something 
so alien and obdurate, yield to our influ- 
ence, take on new forms through our agency, 
and move in sympathy with the movement 
of our fancy. That is a most beatific expe- 
rience of power and of inner kinship with 
the world; and no one who has ever loved 
mud-pies or sand-castles need be told what 
it is. 

Non-representative or formal sculpture 
has another elementary charm of which I 
will not speak: it is decorative. Archi- 
tecture itself, in so far as it is controlled by 
aesthetic considerations, is a sort of deco- 
rative sculpture on a large scale; and all the 
mouldings and carvings with which it is 
diversified, by which its surfaces are varied 
in value and richness, are sculptures when 
taken by themselves. Even representative 
sculpture may be used for this purpose. 
Battle-scenes with the centaurs alternate 
in the Parthenon with the conventional 
triglyph; and the jutting edge of the cor- 
nice terminates at the angle in a most spir- 
ited lion's head. All this is arranged, we 
may presume, with an architectural pur- 
pose, in order to vary the light and shade, 
to vivify the structural lines, and to secure a 
perfect combination of clearness with rich- 
ness; of making the whole at once solemn 
and delightful. It is the privilege of good 
things, as of good people, to have many ad- 

ventitious uses; and so a work of sculpture 
which is interesting as a representation 
may besides be placed to advantage, so that, 
by the way, it may make a good spot in a 
larger composition. Thus stone statues and 
Hermae set along the walks of a park lose 
nothing of whatever beauty they may have 
individually by marking at the same time 
rhythmic divisions in the landscape, and 
adding a note of mossy gray to the general 
greenness. Such effects, however, should be 
left for the landscape gardener and for the 
architect to study — persons who know very 
well that they may call on the sculptor to 
carry out a part of their design, and to set 
his jewels, as it were, in the midst of their 

The aspect of sculpture which remains, 
then, and to which I will ask you to con- 
fine your attention, is the value which it may 
honestly have as a representative art, and 
for the community at large. And I wish to 
emphasize the word honestly; for here, more 
if possible than in other matters, we need to 
remember Dr. Johnson's maxim and 
11 Clear our minds of cant." We may be 
obliged to speak conventionally and tell 
white lies for the sake of civility; we may 
even be carried down this dreadful current 
of irrational life, unable to resist custom 
and tradition in our actions; but nothing 
obliges us to think absurdly; in reflection, 
at least, we may face the facts, and be sin- 
cere with ourselves in our silent allegiances. 
Now, what function does sculpture really 
perform among us? In what way are we 
happier because there are statues and frag- 
ments in museums, statuettes in houses, or 
monuments in public places ? That we are, 
or might be, the happier for such things is, 
I believe, a fact: otherwise it would be better 
to turn these ghostly marbles into honest 
lime, these bronzes into useful plumbing, 
and, if the same thing were true of painting, 
to make a bonfire of all the easel-pictures in 
the world and celebrate thereby the advent 
of moral and intellectual freedom. There is 
one commanding fact about modern civil- 




ization which we must keep constantly in 
mind, I think, in dealing with all our higher 
or ideal activities, whether education, art, 
philosophy, or religion. Modern civiliza- 
tion is an alien thing, something super- 
posed and imported; not the natural growth 
or expression of practical life grown refined 
and ideal, but, on the contrary, a set of les- 
sons inflicted and of adopted ornaments, 
accepted by races and nations ashamed of 
their nakedness and not divining, or not 
trusting, their own ideal capacities and vo- 
cation. The result is that we are in danger 
of being either artificial or barbarous, either 
dupes or sceptics; either condemned for 
half our lives to study dead and foreign 
languages, or else incapable of saying any- 
thing well in our own. It is therefore a very 
delicate and dangerous task that is now 
imposed on the critic and on the teacher: 
for if he is the defender of tradition he 
seems to wish to fasten an alien tyranny on 
the life of the world; while if he throws tra- 
dition off he seems to be lending a hand to 
brutishness and anarchy. The solution, as 
it seems to me, lies in accepting tradition 
provisionally and merely as a good example : 
as a prototype to fix our eye upon in work- 
ing out our own design. We may use it as 
a crutch for a sprained ankle, to be dis- 
carded on convalescence; not as a wooden 
leg, to be preferred all our life long to a real 
one. And we have real legs to stand on, if 
we only learn how. Life can never be muti- 
lated: when cut down, it springs up again on 
new soil and generates a different ideal. 
Our borrowed civilization is merely a re- 
hearsal; we must learn all we can of it, but 
only that we may do better in the play. 

Now no element in this alien pedagogic 
civilization of ours is more obviously alien 
than the art of sculpture. This age offers 
no natural models for such work, no nat- 
ural occasions for producing it, no natural 
function for it when produced; and what 
is more, it is very doubtful whether we pos- 
sess unimpaired that playful technical im- 
pulse which, were model, occasion, and 
function all present, might produce that* 
sort of work again. I know very well that 
there is interesting sculpture in our own 
day — sometimes decorative, sometimes poet- 
ical, more often merely academic. Instincts 
are mechanically rooted in our natures 
and do not perish when the opportunity 
for exercising them is withdrawn — that is 

one of the agonies of existence; and I 
dare say in heaven, where there are no 
bodies, some of us will still try to be sculp- 
tors atavistically. And besides, to explain 
the persistence of sculpture, there is the 
prodigious inertia of human society in all 
that relates to the expression of consecrated 
emotions. In respect to honoring the dead, 
in cemeteries or elsewhere, it always seems 
safer to do the conventional thing: and as 
some put on mourning, and others say 
prayers, and others send flowers, so still 
others must command funeral monuments 
of the sculptor, or, if it comes to that, even 
equestrian statues. But who who might 
be, otherwise, forgotten is now remembered 
on account of a monument? And what 
shade cares to be flattered and honored in 
such a way? In these days, if such monu- 
ments arrest our attention, we think of their 
style, not of their motive; and if they declare 
the glory of anybody it is that of the sculp- 
tor, not of the person commemorated. 
There is indeed one sort of figure, other 
than dolls, which has a real function in our 
society: the images which are placed in 
Catholic churches; sculpture, in this de- 
partment, ought to be a living art. And it 
has actually responded, perhaps more than 
academic sculpture, to the changing spirit 
of the age; but the result proves very clearly 
how little the age can express in sculpture. 
The use of images is itself, I venture to 
think, merely a tradition; it is no longer a 
spiritual necessity. Once the whole culture 
of the time could throw itself into these 
compositions; they were studied in the flesh 
and addressed to the spirit, they breathed 
the devotion they were called upon to stim- 
ulate; to-day they look for the most part like 
painted sugar. 

In other words, sculpture has become an 
unnecessary art, subsisting by force of so- 
cial inertia and the illusions of individuals; 
it is no longer an appropriate nor a suc- 
cessful means of expressing what we have 
to say. But we must not suppose for a mo- 
ment that such was the case when those 
works were produced which the Greeks, or 
even the Middle Ages and Renaissance, 
have left us. What we collect and display in 
museums, what we conscientiously seek to 
enjoy, what we go to hear lectures about, 
lest inadvertently we should miss some rec- 
ondite claim which it has to our interest, — 
all this was once something natural. It was 



produced quite simply in the workshop, for 
the ordinary market. There were no Sa- 
lons nor exhibitions in those days; the pub- 
lic relations and business of life required 
such objects, and an honest workman's 
guild was formed to supply them. When 
the manufactured objects got old they were 
replaced by new and better ones — for 
each period, while the art was alive, had 
the well-grounded assurance that its work 
was better, and expressed current feeling 
better, than that of an earlier time. They 
were produced and appreciated like the 
words of a living language, because they 
came from the fulness of the heart, and 
everybody understood and took them for 
granted. How natural it was for the Greeks 
to make statues is too well known to need 
repetition; not only were they in love with 
the body, but they had an almost supersti- 
tious craving for giving everything a plastic 
embodiment; their temples could not be 
without a visible god, and they could not 
go home happy after a victory unless they 
first erected a trophy on the battle-field. In 
a different fashion, some Christian ages 
have also lent themselves to visible expres- 
sion, and demanded it, in a way quite im- 
possible to us, with our drab indistinction 
and shrinking neutrality of soul. The 
Renaissance was an age when every man 
humored his humor: how should people 
with a sensitive eye, or any manual dexter- 
ity, have avoided reproducing the loud pose, 
the arrogant gesture, the unembarrassed 
personality, the vivid sensuous unmasking 
of everybody around them? The result is 
that their works, the inevitable expression 
and mirror of their time, remain its me- 
morial. They are not only splendid and 
moving in themselves, but full of various 
instruction for us. 

Statues speak by gesture; and we must 
be silent to understand. We must let them 
speak to us directly, without literary or 
second-hand interpretations coming between 
them and us. I don't know how psychol- 
ogy should explain the mechanism of this 
silent communication; but experience at- 
tests that the communication occurs. As 
we feel elective affinities in the presence of 
living people, and are able to fall in love, 
so we feel currents of influence, sympathetic 
reactions, in the presence of images. Doubt- 
less the stimulus in this case loses in inten- 
sity — for a statue has less animal magnet- 

ism in it than a man. But it gains corre- 
spondingly in persistence — for a statue is 
always in the same mood, and however 
slight the contagion of feeling which we 
undergo in its presence, it is a cumulative 
impression; the next moment does not show 
us our magnetic friend doing something in- 
consistent with his original character, and 
giving us another idea of himself. In time, 
therefore, the companionship of a plastic 
form can become a positive and appreciable 
influence; it can exercise a hypnotic power 
over our organs and bid them operate under 
its control; we shall imitate and render it 
over, as we do the way of smiling and of 
walking of the people we live among. We 
shall reproduce in ourselves by this means 
the very physiological process, and generate 
the very mood, which filled the artist in the 
quick moment of creation, when, chisel in 
hand, after a last happy touch, he stepped 
back from his work and cried, "That's it 
at last; it is finished!" 

Gesture is the first language and the most 
moving; perhaps it would still suffice for 
communication if we needed to know men 
only and not things, friends only and not 
strangers, present events only and not those 
occurring elsewhere or in distant times. An- 
imals, in influencing and understanding 
one another, are satisfied with action, or 
with that incipient action which we call 
attitude; and man reverts to the same, 
abandoning the artifice of language, when- 
ever he has his whole self to express, and is 
too full of feeling to know or to care whether 
he is expressing anything. Gesture is in- 
telligible even beyond the limits of the hu- 
man species; we know how it would feel to 
fly like the eagle, or sing like the lark, or 
swim like the porpoise. Vice versa, a dog 
will understand his master's mind — the 
mood and intent of it — though not those 
verbal perspectives there which are some- 
times dignified with the name of reason. 
Even if our bodies be not descended from 
animals, it is plain that our souls are exten- 
sions of theirs. They and we have the same 
rudimentary needs, the same essential ideal 
direction. Life seems to possess a greater 
vagueness, a greater universality, than its 
organs, so that we can have premonitions of 
other sorts of motion and feeling than are 
possible to our particular bodies. 

Here, then, is an advantage which plastic 
arts enjoy over literature: they express 



something profounder, more elemental, and 
they express it all at once, by a sort of vital 
contagion which they emit. Moreover, that 
round-about mode of expression which we 
call speech is necessarily intermittent; the 
most voluble and feminine of us cannot be 
talking all the time; the most polite, the 
most lecture-loving, cannot be listening to 
discourses during the whole twenty-four 
hours. Plastic expression, on the contrary, 
is perpetual; it costs no effort; it makes no 
noise; it does not fatigue either the agent or 
the beholder; and it continues to exert its 
force, perhaps it exerts its force most effi- 
caciously, when it works unawares. As 
even when we are asleep the substance of 
our bodies continues to have material 
weight and, according to the law of gravity, 
makes its presence felt throughout the uni- 
verse, so by another law which yet awaits 
some Newton to formulate it scientifically, 
the mere form or movement of bodies 
seems to exercise a magic suasion upon all 
surrounding things. This suasion some- 
times prompts to actual imitation, some- 
times to a mere complementary response or 
adjustment; but there is no form that does 
not subtly give to other forms a somehow 
corresponding twist. Of this influence we 
find an extreme and important instance in 
the human capacity to imitate literally, and 
to perceive. The constant radiation of 
forms is often imperceptible, like the light 
of the stars by day; yet it works on even 
then, and modifies the stronger forces by 
which it is obscured. When we are in bru- 
tal contact with objects we do not notice 
their aesthetic expression; but if we had time 
to discriminate what we undergo, if we 
were more thoroughly conscious, we should 
be aware that things in this world are all 
like the heroes in Homer, who assault each 
other with their eloquence before they 
strike their blow. And the eloquence of 
dumb things is unceasing; being an ema- 
nation of their structure, it lasts as long as 
they do; it works by perpetually under- 
mining and reorganizing the structure of 
what it penetrates into. Even without giv- 
ing attention we are subject to ambient in- 
fluences from every quarter, and are made 
over into the likeness, or at least into the 
record, of the company we keep. 

This fact has two important conse- 
quences, on which the dignity of the sculp- 
ture hangs: first, that form and attitude ex- 

press vital habit; and second, that they do 
so by tending to melt and recast in us our 
own ethics, our own possible actions, our 
own vital habit. Sculpture is thus a most 
veracious historical document; it introduces 
us, without requiring other equipment on 
our part than sensitiveness, to the inner 
moral life and disposition of past ages. 

And it does this by doing us at the same 
time another wonderful service: I mean, by 
renewing our own inner moral life and dis- 
position. For it is the sense of this renewal 
within us, of this impulse and budding ca- 
pacity to be stronger, straighter, simpler, 
calmer, and bolder than we ordinarily are, 
that reveals to us what the statue expresses; 
for those qualities might have existed to any 
extent in the model or in the artist's inten- 
tion, and we should never know it unless the 
work succeeded in the first place in com- 
municating those qualities, or some begin- 
nings of them, to us. 

In this way sculpture, which is apparently 
the most stolid and material of the arts, 
turns out to be deeply and directly moral. 
It does not operate by filling us in the first 
instance with ready-made ideas. Ready- 
made ideas are things which, being the sur- 
face products or the bubbles of mind, are 
quite ineffectual in changing its depths. 
Instead of bringing ready-made ideas, 
sculpture affects the sub-soil of ideas within 
us; it modifies, by a sort of invisible irriga- 
tion, the ideas we are henceforth able to 
breed, to love, or to adopt. 

A consequence of this is that details and 
accessories are not important in sculpture; 
they are rather dangerous and disturbing. 
Even virtuosity, what is sometimes called 
realism, I mean skill in measuring and 
copying the surfaces of models, cannot help 
the sculptor to escape being empty and 
trivial; while, on the other hand, want of 
these accomplishments will not destroy the 
force of sculpture when it is backed by a 
noble ethos, by a steady habit of life and 
an uncrossed artistic tradition. Egyptian 
sculpture, for instance, is in a sense very 
rude; it is conventional, monotonous, stiff, 
and childish; yet it is sublime; nay, it is 
sweet, friendly, and delightful; it fills us 
with a sense of security; it seems to gaze 
upon us with a religious cilm which passes 
into our spirits, or at least refreshes them; 
it reveals to us the possibility of patience; it 
reminds us that there may be gods, or stead- 

Meleager, in Fogg Museum, Cambridge 



fast mortals, that sit, placid and ironical, 
in the midst of a drifting world. On the 
other hand, many figures that diversify 
contemporary exhibitions contain evidence 
of long study with random masters, keen 
observation of random models, ingenious 
illustration of random ideas; taking note 
of these facts, we decree the artist a medal; 
and, having paid him for his work, we rele- 
gate it to some museum, or some public 
square, where many will pass it by and few 
will stop to look at it. Why should any- 
body stop ? He would find nothing beauti- 
ful there, nothing important. There is no 
ethos in such a work, no trained bearing, no 
moral firmness. Neither the artist nor his 
contemporaries are at home in their bodies, 
or masters of them. The only structure, 
and therefore the only ethos, which a sculp- 
tor can render is that which he finds, either 
materially in his model, or generally in his 
world and in his technical tradition; but his 
technical traditions are now broken and 
conflicting, his world has an artificial cul- 
ture and masquerades; and as for his mod- 
els, they are the street-boys of Naples or the 
street-girls of Paris, and the ethos of these 
interesting creatures remains just what it 
was, after he bids them turn up their eyes 
and calls them angels, or fold their hands 
and calls them madonnas. No, sculpture 
is not a matter of surfaces; it is not enough 
to reproduce nicely a mechanical straining 
of the muscles. Those muscles must first 
have been taught to relax or to strain them- 
selves to some purpose, so that when their 
expression is caught and fixed by the artist 
it may continue to mean something to the 
beholder, and may refresh him with that 
fine quality of life which it implies. To es- 
tablish his correspondence of life with form 
there must be a long education in the race, 
generations of consecutive living and single- 
mindedness; only then can figures and atti- 
tudes have character enough to interest, or 
force to chasten, or charm to last. But then 
they will have these powers in an eminent 
degree; for the soul, as Aristotle taught, is 
itself an expression or function of the body, 
an inner register of instant readiness and 
potential action; and just this potential ac- 
tion, just this readiness, just this soul, is 
what the sculptor seizes in its material 
ground, through which it can be repro- 
duced and recovered at pleasure. 

Here let me dwell for a moment on a point 

which may have its importance for some of 
us if, in walking through a gallery of sculp- 
ture, particularly if it be sculpture of a single 
period, with a uniform style and generic 
choice of subject, we receive a somewhat 
meagre impression. Everything is white, 
everything is smooth, a set of bare figures, 
standing each alone, one foot before the 
other, and one hand held out in the hope of 
being graceful. Now this jejeune effect of 
many statues together is partly due to there 
being many. We should see more richness, 
more meaning, if we saw but one at a time; 
this is one of the evils of collections. Sculp- 
ture is in this respect a little like philosophy. 
When many systems of philosophy are sur- 
veyed one after the other they come to seem 
thin, verbal, artificial; yet very likely each 
system alone, if understood in its implica- 
tions and allowed to deliver its message un- 
disturbed, might seem infinitely pregnant, 
the richest of possible presences. The rea- 
son is that both philosophy and sculpture 
are synthetic; they pass from the many to 
the one, from the multifarious to the essen- 
tial, from manifestations to their principle. 
Hence if the anagram is not deciphered, if 
the work of sculpture or philosophy is not 
pondered and fathomed, if it is taken for 
one more surface, no more significant than 
any other, then it will perforce seem poverty- 
stricken, monotonous, cold. It is a seed, 
rather than a flower; to understand it we 
must let it sink into us, unfold itself in us; 
we must give it time to start all the tenden- 
cies to ordered motion which it epitomizes; 
and then, in its familiar presence, we shall 
feel the whole world opening out again be- 
fore us, but now, in consequence of the sin- 
gle and central attitude we shall have 
learned to assume, that world will wear a 
new order, a marvellous harmony: it will 
seem, in fact, to consist of sheer contribu- 
tions to this one image, to this consummate 
symbol. Thus the statue that had no color 
will glow with all the colors in the world; 
what had no motion will vibrate with many 
possible passions; yes, the latent tears of a 
whole mysterious universe will seem to be 
gathered here, welling up in the presence 
of this patient expectancy, of this eternal 
memory. Time runs so fast that we can 
never live largely save in reflection; and just 
because everything real is ambiguous and 
imperfect in its actuality we must appeal to 
representation to render it clear and whole. 



The level of representation is the level of 
memory, of reason, and of humanity; art, 
in rising to this level, lifts us from the flux 
of existence to some ideal which the flux 
would gladly embody, if it could only stop 
long enough to embody anything. The ful- 
ness of life, in order to gather itself together, 
must put on the form of eternity. That is 
why sculpture is so still, and so great. 

What happens in sculpture is the reverse 
of what, in this re- 
spect, happens in 
most of the other 
arts. A playwright 
or novelist, for in- 
stance, may begin 
with an idea, with 
the conception of 
some culminating 
act or situation, or 
perhaps with the 
general feeling, the 
moral complexion, 
of some character. 
From this starting- 
point his work will 
proceed to develop 
that pregnant entity 
into apt incidents 
and speeches. He 
will devise means of 
bringing out his 
central idea in as 
many scenes as pos- 
sible. Similarly, a 
lyric poet deploys 
and elaborates his 
emotion; what came 
to him as a single 
pang he utters in a 
long flux of words 
and images. He 

passes, if you will, from the one to the many, 
from a dumb feeling to many details that 
make that feeling articulate, and reproduce 
that experience in a symbolic and communi- 
cable form. To be sure, the spectator at the 
play, or the reader of poetry, if he is to un- 
derstand what is put before him, must bring 
that detail together again in his mind, and 
let it reproduce there the integral idea, the 
supreme sentiment, which the discursive 
work started with and was meant to express. 
This labor of synthesis, left in most arts for 
the public apprehension to do, because the 
parts remain distinct, is done for us in 


sculpture by the artist. In sculpture the 
parts work, or ought to work, only in the 
whole. The sculptor meets us, as it were, 
at the journey's end; he gives us, through a 
form and attitude which enlist our involun- 
tary sympathy, a single impression, as direct 
and poignant as a smell. Out of this one 
impression we must pass to its submerged 
justification: to the acts, the words, the end- 
less situations, in which such a sentiment 
might be manifested 
in real life. And evi- 
dently we can draw 
such justification 
only from our own 
quickened imagina- 
tion. Unless the 
given presence at- 
tach itself to a fund 
of experience and 
of potential life in 
ourselves it will re- 
main insignificant. 
It will seem the 
photograph of an 
incident, the fixing 
of a chance grim- 
ace, at best a grace- 
ful composition of 
lines and surfaces. 
And while such an 
effect is of course 
legitimate enough, 
and may be very 
beautiful, it is not 
what gives sculp- 
ture its special po- 
tency, its ideal bur- 

The ideal burden 
of sculpture, how- 
ever, is immense; 
sculpture is wonderfully pregnant. Yet 
to read this latent meaning is easy, be- 
cause the significance of sculpture is like 
that of natural bodies: it is communicated 
to us not by words or other indirect sym- 
bols, but by physical contagion, so that it 
grows up in us of itself. To direct this 
spontaneous growth into specific feelings, 
however, the work of sculpture must be 
boldly posed and delicately treated — not 
a wrong or ambiguous stroke anywhere, 
not a detail too much. Otherwise it will not 
define our own reaction unequivocally; it 
will not give a perceptible and specific twist 

Bartlett Collection, Museum of 
Fine Arts 



to our life; in a word, it will not mean any- 
thing. Looseness in the other arts is not 
fatal to effect. Obscure speech, drifting 
music, hybrid architecture, vague paint- 
ing, may all interest through the beauty of 
their parts or the volume of them. Where 
the medium is very rich, or where adventi- 
tious associations are easy to pick out, the 
essential meaning of a form is not all that 
the work depends upon. We may find it 
delightful in sundry ways without exacting 
perfect unity, or that suspended animation, 
infinite potency, and eternal charm of which 
I was speaking. But sculpture, unless it 
has this supreme quality, has very little to 

Its material must indeed be fine; but the 
importance of material in sculpture is not 
for the sake of its independent effect, but 
that it may render form with enough sub- 
tlety and elasticity. If casts are unsatisfac- 
tory it is not chiefly because their color is 
ordinarily so ugly and glaring; it is because 
chalk will not render delicate tensions; nor 
plaster, delicate surfaces. The general 
shape of the original is reproduced, as the 
shell reproduces the general shape of a 
chestnut, but, it must be confessed, without 
much of its substance or of its flavor. And 
marble, no matter how pure, will not go 
far towards making a statue beautiful, as it 
might a building, neither will malachite 
nor gold. Nor can the literary value of 
sculpture, the story it tells, the associations 
it has, raise it for more than a moment above 
insignificance; for if the story or the emo- 
tion were better rendered, as it easily might 
be, in another medium, the sculpture would 
cease to interest us at all or would have to 
interest us for its proper plastic or decora- 
tive function. 

The answer, then, which I am able to 
give to the general question, "What has 
the community to gain by attention to sculp- 
ture?" is the following: We are able to gain 
two things: moral stimulation and histor- 
ical insight. Sculpture makes a double ap- 
peal to us: first, in that it recasts us inwardly 
and gives us the sense of a more perfect pos- 
sible temper and life; and secondly, in that, 
by so doing, it offers us a key to the temper 
and life of the ages that produced it, en- 
abling us to interpret imaginatively and 
truly the cold facts of history. The force 
of sculpture is primarily moral; for while of 
course it gives, at certain moments, a sen- 

suous or aesthetic pleasure, this pleasure is 
deep, steady, and recurrent only in so far 
as it accompanies a sort of rejuvenation and 
chastening of our vital attitude; a new birth 
of simplicity and vigor in our souls. The 
sight of what human nature might be in its 
purity and freedom thaws us, as it were, 
and causes the genuine ideal to stir again 
within, straining the swaddling-clothes in 
which convention has wrapped it. But this 
moral renewal has, incidentally, an intellec- 
tual function, when the freedom and sim- 
plicity expressed in sculpture are the record 
of what a less encumbered civilization may 
have allowed men to approach in some past 
age. Then the plastic works they have be- 
queathed to us throw us, by force of physi- 
cal contagion, literally into the attitudes 
which their purer genius prompted them to 
assume. Both these services rendered by 
sculpture are, I venture to think, particu- 
larly opportune and useful in our contem- 
porary self-education. We are all eager for 
historical insight. We feel that the events of 
the past, even when they are vividly re- 
corded in literature, covered a fascinating, 
irrecoverable life. We would fain feel what- 
ever men have sincerely felt, and build our 
wisdom on the sum of their experience. If 
any device can help us to put ourselves in 
their place, we welcome it heartily. We 
wish to know how they talked and dressed; 
and where theatrical representations, for 
instance, touch our imagination in no other 
way, they sometimes succeed in touching it 
by offering us a picturesque copy of the 
externals of another age. But these repro- 
ductions are our own work; whatever ar- 
chaeological accuracy they may possess, 
they have not the accent and truth of an 
actual survival. Sculpture, on the other 
hand, is a genuine heirloom; it is an unin- 
tentional, and therefore a quite sincere, be- 
trayal of the spirit that created it. And, 
furthermore, it does not touch externals, 
but the very heart and inmost disposition 
of its authors. It puts us, if we are docile 
to its influence, in a position really to un- 
derstand the past. 

And again, we in these days are excep- 
tionally hungry for beauty. The multiplic- 
ity of pretty things, of incompatible styles 
of evanescent sunsets and moonbeams and 
half-understood music, play at best on a 
latent capacity in us to pass, in one direc- 
tion or another, to something better than our 



ordinary neutral state. Those sentimental 
and sensuous beauties are like whiffs from 
a garden, or bird-notes in wood, caught for 
a moment and then lost again, leaving us 
stirred but not strengthened, arresting our 
attention as if they had something perti- 
nent to say, but cheating that attention, as 
if they spoke a foreign language and came 
from another quite irrational, non-practical 
world, into which we could never pass, at 
least not if we hoped to carry our waking 
minds and our essential interests with us. 
Yet the fact that such mystic or insignifi- 
cant beauties attract and delight us for a 
moment shows that we have a capacity to 
grow, that our senses are capable of more 
harmonious and congenial reactions than 
ordinary objects arouse, that our imagina- 
tion is ready to fall into new and more 
beautiful pictures, if only a better world 
supported our idealizing effort, rendering 
it applicable and steady. The soul, if I may 
say so, is always waiting for good news. 
Now a suggestion or hint of such good news 
comes in what we call sensuous beauty; in 
intellectual beauty the same good news is 
rendered clear and articulate; for we call 
beauty intellectual when we not only feel 
its mysterious charm, but understand that 
what charms us is some intelligible excel- 
lence — some harmony, utility, force, or 
significance in what we see. The good news 
that great sculpture brings us is that man is 

perfectible; that the animal in him can be 
the instrument, not the foe, of the spirit; 
that what is truly natural in him is not his 
vice or confusion, but that clear organic 
energy that fights against vice and confu- 
sion, and by contrast with which vice and 
confusion are first seen. The mere sight of 
a beautiful form quickens the sense for this 
so natural ideal and, as Plato puts it, causes 
the wings of the soul to .begin aching and 
sprouting; but when this beautiful form is 
the token of some past triumph of spirit, 
the causes and circumstances of which his- 
tory can describe, then our excitement be- 
comes understanding and that moment of 
inspiration a positive lesson in wisdom; for 
it helps us to discriminate good from bad 
tendencies, successes from failures, in the 
history of mankind. Here, then, is a study 
fruitful in pleasures — in pleasures which 
are the sign of a moral quickening and im- 
provement in those who sincerely enjoy 
them. Here is a means of recovering our 
true selves, and at the same time penetrating 
to civilizations which, though remote per- 
haps in time and place, are possibly the 
most congenial to us essentially. What a 
privilege this is that falls to the lover of 
sculpture! He is fascinated by what chas- 
tens him, and, in the familiar presence of 
antiquity, he is liberated and encouraged 
to be himself. 



That tempting range of relevances. — George 

FRINGE, like the fragrance of 
a flower, serves as a go-between 
twixt the tangible and the in- 
tangible, the material and the 
spiritual, worlds. When I plead 



k^ mil 

guilty to an inordinate love of fringes it is 
partly, I confess, for no reason well defina- 
ble and partly because of that very hint they 
give of something other than themselves. 

I am aware that a hem is a much prop- 
erer thing. There is righteousness in hems. 
At least there is if I am to believe my sister 
Susan — the sister whom nobody ever pre- 
sumes to nickname; the sister who is al- 
ways the pink of propriety, in dress and 
manner and moral sageness. 

Susan says a fringe is a nuisance, and she 
instances our two precious and unique Per- 
sian rugs that have fringed ends. To be 
sure, those ends do occasionally get into a 
great unwarrantable tangle and trip me up 
at the very times when I am most in a hur- 
ry to arrive somewhither. Nevertheless, I 
hold that even at such times those would-be 
kindly rugs are but telling me in their own 
way that haste makes waste. They are but 
making another plea for the quiet life that 
is^now so sadly out of date. 

And pray what, indeed, would those self- 
same rugs be without their delightful 
fringed ends? Where, too, would one half 
the charm of many an old Oriental or co- 
lonial fabric be without its fringe? Those 
lovely East India embroidered shawls, — 
the sort your grandmother knew so precisely 
how to drape around her shoulders, — 
surely they would lack the better part of 
their inimitable grace if bereft of their 
waving borders of knotted silk. 

There is a sense of finish, of perfection to 
a degree, about a fringed material. It is as 
though the artist or the craftsman had 
joyed in his work to such an extent that 
when all was done he must needs, out of 
the sheer bounty of his heart, give extra 
measure of beauty. 

Look, too, how nature, that greatest 
craftsman of all, when to all practical pur- 
poses she seems to have finished many of 
her creations, throws herself with utter 
abandon into what appears to us, at least, 
mere decorative effect. Note how marvel- 
lous is her fringed gentian. See what myriad 
colored threads she weaves about each sep- 
arate eye of the peacock's tail. 

I go back to it — my contention that of 
all material, man-made objects a fringe is 
the most poetic. It serves as a symbol for 
that subtle, ineffable quality, the same 
quality which in landscape-painting Corot 
of all artists best knew how to interpret for 
us. Those tone pictures of his are akin to 
the happy word-picturings of another artist, 
a craftsman of words, who has sung to us 
of "the fringed osiers by the river's bank." 

How impossible it would be to para- 
phrase that line and yet keep the inde- 
scribable feeling of it! Surely it is not to be 
denied that certain words, certain phrases, 
have association belonging to them, ma- 
king a very part of them, and yet not a part, 
even as an invisible but none the less real 

So the Bible and Shakespeare are rich in 
fringed words, and suggestive phrases, viv- 
idly contrasting with the commonplace 
pieces of every-day writing that is made up 
of words, phrases (and ideas, alas! also), 
that are merely definite, detached, uninter- 

I know of a certain man, no less than a 
Dean as to conventional rank, and strait- 
laced enough as to behavior and all the 
usual tenets of the law, who yet mentally 
journeys very far abroad. Certain tours of 
his I daresay venture close to the forbidden 
lands of heresy, to the near confines of 
which the "fringes of thought," waving 
like acacia boughs, do sometimes lead him. 
He it was first drew attention for me to the 
superior allurements of such thought fringes 
— to their peculiar magic as compared 
with the dulness of solid Gradgrind facts. 

How often, said he once — and surely 



all must have felt so — does the real value 
of a book come from the borderland of 
thought and feeling suggested by it rather 
than from any definite matters which it 
avowedly set out to portray. 

How often have I, for my part, thought that 
in regard to the still/liscussed college train- 
ing it is not at all the learning won from 
either the text-books or the professors, but 
rather the habits suggested and the distinct 
atmosphere, the fringes as it were, of the 
college culture that really count. 

Somebody, speaking of that fascinating 
subject, gardens, divided them into two 
kinds, — one, the kind made to look into; 
the other, the kind made to look out from. 
Now the garden of the human mind is not 
so different. The difference, however, be- 
tween peopit- in this particular is actually 
appalling. Some characters there are which 
insist upon your looking into them. They 
are unhappy unless topics of conversation 
have direct personal bearing upon them- 
selves. They are the rigid, hemmed-about 
characters, and, you have to confess, they 
have none of the never-failing charm of 

those other personalities that are fringed 
about, that have sympathies "catching at 
all things," that bid you look, not in but 
out, — the personalities that inspire. 

Yes, she may still urge her orthodox 
hems, may my sister Susan. For my part, 
they come too closely under the rule of 
thumb; there is too much of the T-square 
about them, albeit I grant they do possess 
a praiseworthy simplicity and reserve. 
Priscilla, I mind me, could wear a starched 
and hemstitched collar with trying cuffs to 
match, and yet preserve a witchery of her 
own. Some rare persons — and sects also, 
it may be — are able to make a generous 
allowance on their hems. 

Nevertheless, do I prefer to stake my 
welfare on a fringed faith, and to laud the 
fringe per se; for has it not the beauty of 
flexibility and the utility of being adaptable ? 
Has it not proved, beyond all peradven- 
ture of doubt, that it possesses the superior 
quality of suggestiveness ? Best of all, has 
it not the power to relate isolated and solid 
facts to all the universe? 



FREE LANCE he had lived: 
sole, impregnable, sufficient, 
had he thought his thoughts, 
fought his fights, sinned his 
sins. Now, beaten to the last 
trench, he nailed his pennon to the shat- 
tered staff: a Free Lance he would die! 

Before him lay the street flooded with 
the prodigality of color and life which 
marks an exhibernating city; the Square was 
a bower of waving green. The Free Lance 
lounged against the hotel portal, the warm 
spring sunshine on his face, and planned 
his last charge. 

Reporters who had consulted the hotel 
register found that the Free Lance hailed 
from Quartz, Col. He was known for a big 
mine-owner, a millionaire — and, indeed, 
just then Quartz City was a synonym for 
wealth. They also found a name which was 
duly printed under new arrivals. They 

might have substituted " " 

with equal truth, and so we prefer to call 
him the Free Lance. Moreover, though the 
city was strange to him, he was not quite a 
stranger to the city; he still cherished boy- 
ish recollections of life on the upper West 
Side when there were fewer houses than 
now and more vacant lots for ball-playing. 
Nor had he always been a Free Lance; 
time had been when he was an enthusiastic 
undergraduate in a class whose motto ran, 
"One for All — All for One." He had 
stood high in that class — too high, perhaps. 
If at its dispersion he could but have steeled 
himself to the ladder's bottom rung he 
might now have been a model of salaried 
respectability. As it was, he had striven 
alone and failed; had drifted and sunk, 
year by year, the derelict of a thousand 
ventures, until one morning in Quartz he 
had awakened to find himself forty and pen- 
niless, the undisputed half-owner in one 
barren gold-mine, and — such was his 
boast — a Free Lance. 

"Well, good-by, Carmack," he had told 

his partner in his most graceful, gentleman- 
bankrupt fashion. "The jig's up. Accept 
my share in the 'Reciprocity;' perhaps it'll 
pan out yet — as real-estate. You might 
sell it for a cemetery. Think I '11 drift east- 
ward on the chance of a fatted calf. You 
know, cattle's the one thing I have n't tried." 

And thereupon Carmack had eyed him 
curiously, searchingly, and had spoken, as 
became the Scriptural context, in parable. 

"Partner," he had said, "my recollec- 
tion is that Prodigal did n't quit until he 
was down to hog-feed. You've got some- 
thing left in the pocket o' your jeans an' 
don't know it — it's a college education. 
Now, supposin' I state the 'Reciprocity' is 
O.K.; that all she needs is — what'll we 
call it ? — reorganization 1 Supposin' you 've 
got photographs, reports, maps, an' speci- 
mens to prove it ? I stay West, you know, 
in touch with the properties; you go East, 
in touch with fy-nance. I'm the Board o' 
Directors, with all the handsome names you 
please, in entire harmony with myself; 
you're the president, living at a swell ho- 
tel an' engaged in negotiatin' what we '11 re- 
fer to hereinafter as an increase of capital 
stock. That's where your college education 
— which includes rich friends — helps us 
out. Speakin' strongly, I know mines; you 
know men. It's a good combination. What 
do you say?" 

What the Free Lance had then said he 
now reiterated to himself as he lounged 
against the hotel portal in the sunshine that 
warm spring afternoon. It was, in effect, 
that such things had been done before and 
would be done again; that if he risked no 
one, dishonored no one, but himself, whose 
business was it but his own? And draw- 
ing forth a packet of gilded, embossed 
parchments, each flourishingly headed " Cer- 
tificate of Stock," he lingered with artistic 
satisfaction over the authoritative lilt of 
their engraved clauses. 
As he glanced up, his eye was caught by 


a headline in a proffered newspaper. He 
bought a copy from the boy and read the 
article — a summary of an intercollegiate 
track-team meet which was to be held up- 
town that afternoon. It struck hirn that 
here was an excellent opportunity for re- 
newing old and valuable acquaintanceships. 
He consulted his watch, then hurried down 
Twenty-third Street, up the elevated steps, 
and into a northbound train. 

He seated himself and gazed curiously 
out of the window. He was not yet reaccus- 
tomed to the city; it still gave him a strange 
sensation which he compared to that of 
looking upon some changed, once familiar 
face. At Fiftieth Street there entered a 
group of men in whom he realized with a 
queer shock the truth of his comparison. 
He rose, followed them into the next car, 
and there, seating himself somewhat aloof, 
scanned them covertly. As he watched, 
long-forgotten mannerisms of pose and ges- 
ture flashed forth, identifying forcibly their 
matured faces. He recognized his univer- 
sity's colors on the button that showed in 
each lapel, and reflected that here were but 
a few of the men upon whom he was priv- 
ileged to draw drafts of old friendship. 
And yet he had sometimes doubted the ad- 
vantages of a college education! He stirred 
with the opening words of his campaign on 
his tongue, then sank back for a final re- 

Soon enough — say within a year — the 
crash was bound to come. By then he 
would be safely out of reach. There would 
be much talk and print, of course, but who 
would care? The delicate point of honor 
he had settled comfortably with himself, 
and who else between earth and sky was 
there? No wife, no child, no friend. He 
had expended his last dregs of conscience 
in careful, disinterested search: he was, he 
thanked Heaven, a law exclusively unto 

But already the train was far uptown 
and had grown more crowded at each stop. 
The Free Lance chafed to find his friends 
surrounded by a swarm of youths whose 
loud, authoritative talk of amateur records, 
expert forecasts, and weather conditions 
caused him to sigh wearily. How could 
grown men find food for such interminable 
discussion in some athlete's let-down ten- 
don? Still, he felt sorry for the fellow; a 
let-down tendon, he knew, was no joke. 

The train came to a final stop; the Free 
Lance was swallowed in a multitude of en- 
thusiasts who edged feverishly down -stairs 
on each other's heels and, dashing across 
the street, skirted some high boardings 
over which rose a grand-stand presenting a 
rear view of wedged humanity. Along the 
kerb stretched a file of men who, planted 
with forests of flags, orange, blue, and crim- 
son, shouted hoarsely, "Here y'are, all the 
colors! Buy yer colors before enterin'!"' 
The Free Lance, pressing after his friends r 
turned up a long, board-walled alley and 
fell into line some distance behind them; 
he was combatting an odd reluctance to 
make himself known. Presently a great 
roar resounded within, whereat callow 
youths, greenbacks in hand, shuffled im- 
patiently, craning towards the box-office. 
Again the roar resounded, again and again ; 
the Free Lance felt his blood creep queerly, 
and his fingers twitched as he counted his 
change. Inside there followed another stam- 
pede to the grand-stand. This boyish im- 
petuosity, during which he quite lost sight of 
his men, irritated the Free Lance; he lounged 
after the ruck, took an isolated seat, and 
gazed about him with peevish delibera- 

The great green oval was framed on three 
sides by tier upon tier of shimmering life, and 
on the fourth the high boardings swarmed 
with a desperate barnacle growth. Against 
this sober background there flared flutter- 
ing splotches of orange, blue, and crimson. 
The distant clubhouse was a very ant-hill 
of egress and regress; knots of men spat- 
tered the green; kodakers lined the smooth 
track; loosely robed youths strolled apart in 
pairs; one tiny figure ran from point to 
point, hurling huge, reverberating facts 
through a megaphone. The Free Lance 
perceived that the games were well ad- 
vanced; the hammer-throwing contestants 
had dwindled to three, and the group about 
the distant, gallows-like erections held but 
a few white-clad survivors. 

The hurdles, low and high, were set up 
and the final heats run in quick succession. 
The Free Lance refused to rise with the 
crowd, but picked his favorites, and as 
each victoriously breasted the tape he aug- 
mented the gale of applause with a meagre 
handful of approbation. A juvenile group 
near-by exasperated him with green, un- 
qualified enthusiasms: he withdrew and 



strolled moodily up and down behind the 
benches. He experienced the sensation of 
being the one solitary, unaccompanied 
spectator, and retaliated by denying sternly 
the gala spirit of the multitude. 

Mixing with a more mature stratum of 
audience, he recognized his friends gestic- 
ulating wildly in a sea of orange. About 
them crowded many faces he know, or 
thought he knew. There was Pierce, 
prince of meerschaum-colorers; and "Bull" 
Edwards, who made the one glorious touch- 
down in the game of '85; and old "Sleek" 
Miller, who stole the tombstone on Hallow- 
e'en! Yet he looked again and they were 
stout, middle-aged strangers. Was it that 
the Free Lance had been overeager to in- 
carnate the army of ghosts that had sud- 
denly sprung up from some forgotten cor- 
ner of his brain? Then something hap- 
pened on the track, and his blood leaped 
afresh to find that the men he watched 
were, after all, but riotous, overgrown boys. 
One tall, eye-glassed person, extending a 
provocative arm towards a distant rival 
contingent, as though urging it to fall upon 
him, was shouting hoarsely: 

"Won by a yard, I tell you! Saw it my- 
self! We can lick those fellows any time," 
he announced. "We've licked 'em before; 
we can always lick 'em!" 

He adjusted his glasses and set his teeth 
for more. With piston arm and strident 
tone he urged lagging runners to "Come 
on!" When the broad jumper fell back- 
wards he caught his breath and squirmed. 
He watched the pole-vaulter clear the bar, 
with an anxious groan, supplementing his 
applause with "We've licked 'em before; 
we can always lick 'em!" eager alike for 
approbation or contradiction. But he was 
only one of many; save for the Free Lance, 
no one noticed him. 

A great voice, coming out of the air, re- 
counted the points scored by each university, 
and named the mile-run as a deciding fac- 
tor. A knot of bath-robed youths issued 
from the club-house and tiptoed up the track. 
Fluttering splotches of color rose at their 
passing, and strange choruses reverberated 
snappily, each ending with a threefold cry 
of some champion's name. The Free Lance 
leaned forward and watched the nearing 
figures; this time he rose with the crowd, 
somewhat flushed, his jaw twitching, his 
hands clenched. 

We see you, we're a-watching, 
We've got our eyes upon you; 
'Noughty-One is counting on you, 
'Noughty-One is confident; 
Confident and counting on you — 
Burney! Burney! Burney!" 

The crowd sank. The Free Lance sat 
down mechanically; he found himself ask- 
ing his neighbor, in a stunned, wandering 

"Wasn't that Burney? What — what 
do they mean? Who's Burney?" 

The other indicated a runner, a slim, boy- 
ish youth blushing through his self-posses- 

"But that cry . . . Noughty-One!" 
The Free Lance seemed quite dazed. 

" Oh, that's a revival. His name is Burns, 
but they've nicknamed him after Burney, 
the old-timer, class of '86. The men yelled 
that at Burney fifteen years ago; he was a 
great runner, and we 've never quite forgot- 
ten him, you see." 

"I — I see," said the Free Lance. "Yes, 
yes!" His voice trembled foolishly. 

A puff of smoke spurted above the row 
of bent athletes, and they leaped forth. At 
the quarter a Crimson and a Blue had de- 
tached themselves; a line of figures straggled 
through thirty yards amid which came two 
Orangemen. At the half, the pair ahead 
had increased their lead, the Crimson in 
advance, the Blue dogging his heels. The 
distant column began to contract ominously, 
men passing and repassing amid storms of 
applause. At the third quarter the Orange- 
men were seen to steal slowly along the line 
and burst into the open. Spurting alternate- 
ly, they crept inch by inch upon the leading 
pair; but in a desperate struggle with the 
lagging Blue, for right of way, one fell 
weakly back; the other, plunging past, wore 
down the intervening space with great 
strides. Then it was that the Crimson 
judged her man secure; then it was that the 
Orange and Black judged her man's strug- 
gle heroic but too late. It was a crucial 
ordeal of yards and seconds: those seconds 
when a crowd forgets that it is jumping, 
gesticulating, hurling hysterical incoher- 
ences; when a runner's face sets in grotesque 
contortion and he sees, feels, knows noth- 
ing of life save one far, fluttering white 

The pursuer, at his antagonist's heels > 



wavered, his head swaying limply, when 
across the roar there rang : 


We see you, we're a-watching, 

We've got our eyes upon you; 
'Noughty-One is counting on you, 
'Noughty-One is confident; 

Confident and counting on you — 

Burney! Burney! Burney!" 

F The fainting runner stiffened, and gritted 
his teeth on all that was left in him; then, 
as though galvanized with sudden, irresist- 
ible force, he flung himself to the fore, burst 
the tape, staggered ten yards, and fell head- 

All was drowned in a great rush and roar. 
Below, the revived runner rose head and 
shoulders in air over a swarm of men; on 
every side the stands were emptying in a 
stampede towards the centre of the field. 

The Free Lance perceived that his throat 
was sore and that he trembled from head to 
foot. He was eager for some answering 
face, some clutching hand, to throw him 
into boisterous laughter or a silly sob, he 
knew not which. Alone he strolled aim- 
lessly about the thronged oval. Athletes 
were holding court amid circles of hand- 
shakers; regiments of youths marched 
afield, glutting themselves on wild, compli- 
cated chants; everywhere figures were en- 
countering with a hearty hand-grip and an 
exchange of reminiscences. Conservative 
business men were paying bets and wager- 
ing recklessly on the future; a group of 
staid middle-agers followed a youthful 
champion, shouting, "He's little, but oh, 
my!" The spectacled gentleman, atop of 

a bench, kept defiantly inquiring what the 
matter was with the class of '79. Every one 
seemed brimful of uproarious congratula- 
tion. Amid this vast carnival of brother- 
hood the Free Lance slouched moodily, like 
one who had forgotten the password of 

Suddenly he straightened into action, as 
though shaking himself free of somewhat, 
and turned his back upon the scene. With- 
in the gate he encountered a group of fa- 
miliar faces, lit with hilarious fellowship. 
Now or never! He drew forth the packet of 
parchments and fingered them busily, as if 
to fix his unstable mood; then he stepped 
forth, rehearsing a phrase of hesitant rec- 
ognition. Shoulder to shoulder, swept by a 
swift impulse, he passed on and out. 

No, no, not here I He would see them 
singly in their offices down-town, amid the 
prosaic routine of rumblings, tickings, clang - 
ings; where men forgot their hearts and 
talked dry business; where nobody cared, 
no wife, no child, no friend; where he was a 
Free Lance. 

They were just behind him; he could 
hear them reminiscing among themselves: 

"We see you, we're a-watching, 
We've got our eyes upon you; 
'Eighty-six is counting on you, 
'Eighty-six is confident — " 

Of a sudden the Free Lance shredded 
his papers, then turned impetuously with 
outstretched hands. 

"Boys," he said, gulping unexpectedly, 
"don't you know me?" 



N most communities there 
seems to exist a prejudice in 
favor of young people, a kind 
of civilized Minotaur with a 
preference for youths and 
maidens. Poets sing the praises of bright 
eyes and golden ringlets, story-tellers vie 
with physiologues in mapping the anatomy 
of hearts at all stages of immaturity, and 
■common people look to the list of their 
young acquaintance in a perennial hope of 
finding literature ready-made by nature. 
But what novel, even of the bastard prob- 
lem brood, chooses its heroines from the 
ranks of old ladies ? What poet descants on 
the charms of the nonogenarian ? 

Wordsworth has some moralizing to do 
about an ancient huntsman and about a 

"Not all alive, nor dead, 
Nor all asleep — in his extreme old age." 

Holmes paints a grandsire in guise of a 
withered leaf. The pictures are not enticing. 
Perhaps the poets have hobnobbed so long 
with love that they too are become blind. Or 
it may be their experience with old ladies 
has been limited. If so, they are to be com- 
miserated, not condemned, and their words 
on the subject frankly ticketed as being in- 
fested with a fallacy. Technically, it is 
known as the fallacy resulting from too- 
hasty generalization. 

Not being a poet, and only to be con- 
victed of verse-making in odd moments, I 
feel no obligation either to honor or to prac- 
tise the traditions of the guild. Therefore 
I am free to confess myself in love with 
old ladies. 

I like to look at an old lady. It is not a 
casual glance that contents me, a general 
survey of the old lady and her books, her 
Watts' Hymnbook, her Bible, her Barnes' 
Notes, her pictures, Washington standing 
by the pillar in close proximity to the fam- 
ily homestead shaded by its century-old 
elms; her claw-foot tables and chairs that 
have "Story" written all over them. Nei- 

ther do I advocate a stare. To stare is to 
confess yourself a backward scholar in the 
advanced mathematics of ways and means. 
But to sit down in leisurely fashion and look 
at an old lady without seeming to watch her 
— have you ever tried the diversion ? It is 
harmless and warranted not to keep you 
awake o' nights, though if you have never 
done so before the old lady may dwell on it 
when she lies and thinks in the small dark 
hours or in the early dawn. 

You will not have to search far afield to 
find a pretty old lady. Seldom will you 
meet with one who is not pleasant to gaze 
upon. Her hair is white and silky and gen- 
erally parted in the middle, with stray wisps 
creeping out from beneath the ruffles of her 
cap. Color, delicate as a girl's, flushes into 
her face when you come. Her cheek as she 
turns it to your lips, if you are a favorite of 
hers, brushes yours with the soft touch of 
rose-petals; you linger over her hands as 
over pale flowers. Her eyes may not see as 
well as they did once, but they are more 
tender than when they were brighter. There 
clings about her a kind of delicate sweetness, 
the fragrance of beautiful living, distilled 
from countless thoughts and deeds, frail 
kindnesses she has forgotten long ago. 

Have you ever watched a La France rose 
wither ? Its head droops a little on its stem; 
its firm velvety petals grow softer, cling to- 
gether gently; tiny wrinkles crisscross its 
smooth pinkness; its fragrance takes on a 
far-away, lingering quality. Old ladies are 
human La France roses. They fade, with 
nothing dry or hard or brittle in the process. 
Their wrinkles are the fine mint-marks 
brave living and pure thinking have stamped 
upon their faces. They nominate the worth 
of the gold. I should not know my old la- 
dies if their wrinkles were erased. Death 
sometimes does it, turning back with gen- 
tle hand the pages of the years, but I love 
them better with their wrinkles. Babies are 
smooth, blank-faced little creatures. If 
they knot their countenances it is only by 
way of expostulation or inquiry. In general 




they are as like as beans in a pot. Not un- 
til they grow old enough to get a few lines in 
their faces does looking at them amount to 
much more than gazing at the blank pieces 
of a Chinese puzzle. 

Old ladies play the andante movement in 
the human concerto; their key-note is rest. 
Young girls are all excitement, all straining 
forward, all eagerness — theirs is the allegro 
vivace. The allegro sets your feet to danc- 
ing, the andante quiets. A calm-eyed old 
lady is a mender of frayed nerves not to be 
surpassed by the best-selling "tonic" in 
Quackdom. With her low-toned voice, her 
gentle touch, she is the soul's masseuse, a 
magician who creates an atmosphere of 
quiet and of peace. 

If I could do but one, and had to choose 
between looking at an old lady and talking 
with an old lady I would decide to talk with 
her. It is like dipping into a girl's faded 
diary. Now and again I come upon pages 
pasted together, and those I may not read. 
A delicate old-time flavor of romance, even 
of adventure, steals from between the shut 
leaves. Perhaps some day they will be un- 
sealed to me. 

You have a taste for the historical novel ? 
You enjoy getting the feel of days that are 
gone? Put down your story and go to see 
the oldest old lady you know. If you do not 
know any, make the acquaintance of one 
quickly. You have no time to lose. She 
has books not to be equalled by those in 
your library, and well worth the reading. 
They are all books of remembrance, these 
volumes that crowd the old lady's shelves, 
folios more precious than any to be found in 
the old bookstore you frequent, first editions 
of a date so dim that each year renders 
them more priceless. The time is not far 
distant when no love may buy a peep with- 
in their yellowed pages. 

Books, typed and leaded, are elusive 
things. They look to be the frankest crea- 
tures in the world, to take all humanity in- 
to their confidence, to stand ready to tell 
their secrets to any eye. A book lying on 
its back unfolds itself in the most ingenuous 
fashion; it seems by its very attitude to call 
hospitably to the possible reader and say, 

"Al open am I, pas in and sped the faste!" 

At heart every book worth reading is an 
aristocrat. Not to the casual reader does 
ah c prove a password that will admit to the 

inner chambers. They have a gentle fash- 
ion of withdrawing themselves, have the 
books, a courteous way of refusing intimacy 
to the overcurious. The mere intellectual 
gymnast accounts himself satisfied and says 
lightly, "I have performed a new literary 
stunt: I have read another book." His un- 
derstanding is darkened by his own shadow, 
and he does not know that to him has been 
denied the freedom of a high fellowship. 
Y"et despite disappointments books thrill at 
the touch of a new hand. It may be but a 
stranger's; the alien reads and passes on 
forever. Or it may prove a friend's, a lov- 
er's, and for such an one the welcome is 
shadowed by no delicate reservations. So 
it is with the volumes in the old lady's li- 
brary. Only the hand of love may turn 
their pages, only the eye of sympathy may 
read their secrets. 

There is little fiction here. In the old 
lady's youth novels were accounted peril- 
ously akin to devil's bait. These books tell 
of life and of living as the old lady knew 
them. They are histories, biographies, an- 
notated with quaint notes that run along 
the margins in fine old-style handwriting. 
This is a volume of autobiography. Take 
it down reverently and read. It speaks of 
the old lady's youth. It tells you how as 
a child she drove to church with her brothers 
and sisters of a cold New England winter 
Sabbath and with only her footstove for 
warmth sat through two sermons that in- 
variably ran into the nineteenthlies and 
twentiethlies. It recounts Thanksgiving in 
the square farmhouse: the gigantic bakings 
in the great brick oven; the bountiful feast 
that in its plenty never forgot the poor and 
possibly dinnerless; the waning of the after- 
noon with the big brothers at watch for the 
moment of the sun's setting that no frac- 
tion of time might be lost from the evening's 
frolic in the wide kitchen when puss-in-the- 
corner and blind-man's-buff made the raf- 
tered room ring with young laughter. Turn 
the pages and read how the old lady, a prim 
miss in her teens, rode on the first railway- 
train that ran in New England. Here is a 
description of her first — and last — night 
at the theatre: when the time arrived for 
the ballet, and she saw the famous Clara 
Fisher, scantily attired in flesh-pink tights 
and microscopic skirts and carrying a little 
broom in her hand, dance on the stage, 
singing " Buy a broom, buy a broom," she 



was so shocked that she fled from the box. 
Being followed up and questioned by the 
kindly but sophisticated old gentleman who 
had invited her to the play, she begged him 
to let her wait while he should return to 
the performance — she would not wish to 
interfere with his pleasure. 

She likes to hear your laugh ring out as, 
her cheeks pink with excitement, she sits 
straighter in her chair and with graphic 
gesture describes the interlude between the 
strait-laced little country girl and the 
gallant old Boston beau. You are laugh- 
ing with, not at, her. 

Books written nowadays often leave out 
what you most want to know. They are 
not infrequently desultory imaginings. The 
would-be artist forms a mosaic of odd little 
stones, shells, curiosities, drawn, one here, 
another there, from the mantelpiece collec- 
tions in the front parlors of the early nine- 
teenth century. He fits them together in a 
frame of fancy, rivets it securely with a real 
personage or two, dashes over the whole a 
wash compounded of well-known facts to 
give the effect of authentic history, and calls 
it a novel of eighteen-twenty or of eighteen- 
thirty, as the case may be. At best it leaves 
much to be desired. 

The old lady's volume seldom fails like 
the book in cloth covers. She takes you out 
into the pantries and lets you nibble at will 
from the well-stocked shelves. If you think 
of him at all, you think with pity of the 
person who knows no old lady. The stones 
in the front parlor make cold eating. The 
old lady has a chapter on dressmaking. "I 
make a two-breadth skirt for my little sister 
while my mother is away," she heads it. 
Another on spinning and weaving. Turn to 
the table of contents and glance through it. 
Indian Relics; The Wigwam; Old Letters; 
An Old-time Dancing-School; Kitchen 
Frolics; Training-Day; Revolutionary He- 
roes — she knew them herself, three ancient 
captains from Washington's army. Her 
father was a fighter. With the eye of mem- 
ory she sees again the two "pontoons" that 
stood in honored rustiness behind the par- 
lor door. 

The next to the last chapter is one of 
bedtime stories — tales her mother, her aunt, 
her grandmother, once told her of the still 
more distant past they knew. After the last 
she has not yet written -finis. It is still un- 
finished, for it is a chapter of dreams. In 

them she is now a child, as once when a 
child she saw herself a woman. Age has 
made the foreshadowing finger to slip back- 
ward. If you look in on her of a morning 
she will tell you how last night the fire in 
the great kitchen went out, how her brother 
could not kindle it by striking a spark from 
the flint and she was sent to the nearest 
neighbor's for a live coal; or how through 
dewy June ways between fields where bob- 
olinks lilted rollickingly from bobbing yel- 
low buttercups she rode to the village sitting 
astride the big white horse, two more chil- 
dren clinging on behind her, and a third 
slipping off the tail. 

There was one — did I call her old ? 
Eternal youth had set its spring within her 
mind. She drew her life from many sources; 
to do this is not to levy on the years for age. 
I verily believe she was older in the second 
decade of the century than at its close. The 
longer I knew her the younger she grew, 
the sweeter, the prettier. It was on her lap 
I sat, a tiny girl, and delightedly picked out 
familiar-looking the's and a's and ever 
longer words from the old Bible. You re- 
member how you learned to read yourself 
from the first chapter of Genesis? Or was 
it the first of John? 

"In the beginning was the Word." 

There is a small brown book that looms 
large on my childhood's horizon. From it 
this dearest old lady of them all taught me 
geometry, a medley of queer definitions over 
which it is to be feared I exercised my "for- 
getter" far more actively than my "remem- 
berer." Mixed with points, angles, cones, 
quadrilaterals, come trooping diagrams of 
flowers and of leaves, curious black-and- 
white spectres about which I conversed 
glibly but which I never by any chance con- 
nected with the jaunty dandelions and nod- 
ding daisies out-of-doors. There was a 
"Logick," too, but over that oblivion has 
drawn its shadowy curtain. I fear I had no 
abiding love for learning. I very much pre- 
ferred our Sunday evening diversion when, 
the family away at church, we two sat to- 
gether in the lamplight and dug for nuggets 
in the old hymn-book. There was a new 
hymn-book, but the light of common day 
shone too whitely through it. "Golden 
words" we were after, words with the glint 
and glamour of something unseen and won- 
derful about them, whose very letters hinted 




at the shimmering walls of the New Jeru- 
salem and whose sound held the rustle of 
angels' wings. 

All that was years ago. More lately I 
have often come upon her sitting by her 
window with a parti-colored silken drift of 
patchwork pieces in her lap, her flowers and 
books around her. We have talked, and 
from her store she has brought forth things 
new and old. The mind's reach largely de- 
termines its grasp; the heart's love, its ac- 
tivity. There are young in years as well as 
old who live atrophied lives, half their na- 
tures dead or sleeping the sleep that seldom 
knows awakening. Her thoughts embraced 
the world, and there was little done upon 
the earth that did not hold for her a vivid 
interest. To approve strongly or as strongly 
to disapprove was her wont. Powerful 
minds approach an opinion through no 
winding avenues; they cut across the vacant 
lots of indecision. Alive to the slenderest 
tendril of her nature, she was therefore a 
life-giver. Dull wits were brought to her to 
sharpen, worried hearts to be infused with 
courage. A physician to the weak, an inspi- 
ration to the strong, she never quite learned 
how to conjugate the verb to serve in its 
passive form. 

There were two others with whom she 
loved to visit when life gave her opportunity. 
One was tall and straight and dowered by 
inheritance with that ingrained Scottish 
passion for doing that lets go hardly of the 
busy world. Up with the birds, she held 
life strongly in her two deft hands. The 
years stretched behind her, clean and fair 
and active, and she never saw the day when 
she felt life had no more to yield her than the 
heart-hunger of idleness. The other was a 
piquant little lady with a wit as finely 
wrought as a violin-bow. From the strings 
of ordinary living she evolved melodies so 
quaint, so delicately humorous, so full of 
old-time pleasantry, woven of lingering 
holds, high final fifths, hurried staccatos, 
that it would seem some ancient spinnet, 
long dust-covered, were being retouched to 
sound by hands that once drew from it for- 
gotten favorites. 

The three slipped away within a year or 
two of each other, the little lady last, tip- 
toeing not without gladness over the thresh- 
old of the Great Unseen. That world had 
grown to her a more friendly place than 

They are not all actors in a play that is 
past, these old ladies I love. I am thinking 
of the Genius. When I look at her I see the 
moon shining stilly on bare waters; a quiet 
fragrance drifts to me as from cloistered 
gardens; I hear the gentle twitter of birds 
that wing their way through night's shadowy 
tree-coverts. Beauty is a fairy circle. A sin- 
gle sound, an odor, the turn of a phrase, the 
curve of a cheek, may draw you into the 
magic ring, far-stretching in its delights. 
Could the Genius, I wonder, ever have had 
more potency to set this fairyland unfolding 
in a heart than she has now? Could she have 
been more beautiful when she was young? 
Comparisons are cheap things. They are 
the bargains set out on brain-counters to 
lure one-sided minds. The Genius was the 
morning once, warm, golden, strong. Now 
she is cool-colored evening, silvery-white, 
yet with the flush of afterglow in her soft 
cheeks. And who shall say which is better 
when both have been pronounced good? 

The Genius has written romances; she 
still writes poems that are songs. You may 
turn the pages of a great monthly and come 
upon one to-day, a lyric struck warm and 
sweet and palpitating from a heart that has 
not forgotten to gather roses while it has 
learned how to pluck rue. Far and wide 
are scattered the men and women who 
know and love her through her works. But 
the Genius is more wonderful than her 
books. Her poems are the records of her 
thoughts; some indeed have passed and left 
no trace, others out of type have fashioned 
for themselves memorials. Yet whether 
speaking or silent, remembered or forgot- 
ten, they live upon her face. You may read 
there the substance of all that she has pub- 
lished, of much that is unpublished, of some- 
what to which in her gentle modesty she 
makes no claim. After all, to be a woman 
is greater than to be a poet. 

The Genius I admire from a distance. It 
is not given to many mortals to speak often 
with the muses. In the main I am content 
with looking at her. For more intimate 
pleasures I turn to another old lady. 

She too is food for the eyes. I remember 
seeing her once with violets on her breast. 
She was wearing a soft black gown with 
rare white lace at neck and wrists and a 
snowy bit on her rippling hair. The violets 
were not more tender than her loveliness; 
their fragrance was not sweeter than her 



welcome. She is a violet herself, delicate, 
fragile, bearing about in her heart perpet- 
ual spring. Time was when she laughed in 
the full sunshine. Now she walks or sits 
resting, half in sunshine, half in shadow. 
Good cheer may not be stranger to a sunless 
twilight if the twilight is the strongest radi- 
ance you have ever known. A Laplander 
would blink in the brightness of a clear 
New York morning. But to have grown 
wonted to the full glory and then to see the 
sunshine slip away and still to smile is the 
true test of courage. There are saints in 
the world who wear no aureole, heroes whose 
names are written large in no Hall of Fame. 
Not that she will let me call her either saint 
or heroine. The violet does not know its 
own sweetness. 

Wherever she goes she carries with her 
what artists in marbles, in pigments, in 
words, call " atmosphere." Young girls, 
like new countries, rarely have this intan- 
gible personal possession. It comes only 
from living and from much living. You 
go to Europe or to the Orient for scenery 
etched against the background of a thou- 
sand history-crowned years. You must go 
to old ladies for life with its sharp outlines 
softened and blurred into picturesque per- 
spective. This old lady is essentially a 
home-maker. Turmoil of woman's rights, 
bustle of woman's clubs, flurry of woman's 
grasp at manhood, does not disturb her 
gentle calm. She is finely old-fashioned. 

Whether or not you have ever felt it before, 
when you come into contact with her you 
gain a sense of being at home in the world. 
If you are glad she gives to your happiness 
the touch of an abiding joy; if you are sad 
she does not let you go from her presence 
without a stirrup-cup. She has brewed it 
herself from bitter herbs and sweet, ming- 
ling rue and heartsease, wormwood and 
sage, and at the last she has added a sprig 
of rosemary. Did you desire to forget? 
You drink and go away to remember, with 
saner lips to taste of what was bitter and to 
know it has been transmuted into sweet. 

Now and again when I tap at her door 
I find her locking away her memories. For 
me she sometimes brings them out again — 
boyish pranks, gay girl-mischiefs, young 
spring romances, laid away long ago with 
sprigs of lavender scattered between their 
folds. Often she turns them over with the 
touch of tender thoughts. It was once when 
I had come upon her thus that she said to 
me, with the far-away look in her eyes, 
"My dear, we old people are often lonely. 
The sadness lies in that it is not always 
necessary. The loneliness that knows it- 
self unfriended is not so hard to bear as the 
loneliness that knows itself unneeded. To 
be of no use in the world and yet to live on 
— ah, that is bitter! For we have something 
to give, something that you young ones 
need and we are glad, so glad to give — if 
you will but come to us and take." 


IT is difficult to know which of us are 
wholly sane — especially if others are 
coveting our possessions! 

A wealthy Massachusetts farmer has re- 
cently been committed to an asylum be- 
cause he protected stray cats instead of 
leaving them to starve to death as do many 
owners of fine homes by the sea. He also 
kept some cows which had outlived their 
usefulness: because he loved them. 

But, worse than all, he had constructed 
on the north side of his house a large funnel 
with its mouth towards New Hampshire. 
He said that the only pure air in the world 
came from New Hampshire, and he wanted 
to get all he could of it. This may have been 
a bit of subconscious suggestion, or possibly 
an inspired hint of a new wonder on the 
way to realization! No air can be purer, 
or more stimulating, than that circulating 
around the snow-clad mountains of the 
Granite State. And would it be more of a 
marvel, more seemingly miraculous, to be 
able to press a button and so fill a room 
with this unsullied oxygen than to talk 
across an ocean by wireless? 

We may yet be able to easily ventilate a 
stuffy, overheated hall where the audience 
sit, almost narcotized by the vile, dangerous, 
used-up atmosphere, with refreshing breezes 
from Mount Washington or Monadnock. 

All honor to this man's devotion to his 
native State — another victim of the com- 
monplace dullards who adjudge a new or 
unusual idea a sure proof of lunacy. 

This story is apropos of the intention of 
the editor to give more space to strictly 
New England themes and books by New 
England authors — not that New Eng- 
enders are not interested in every good 
thing, everywhere, but to try to infuse a 
special New England flavor into this de- 

partment. Occasionally it will be agreeable 
and worth while to look back and realize 
how much has been achieved in our group 
of six States in literature, art, music, travel, 
philanthropy, agriculture, forestry, and the 
profitable entertainment of visitors who 
come to us as tourists or seeking a perma- 
nent summer home. 

Ex-Governor Rollins, in starting the 
"Old Home Week," has accomplished un- 
told good, bringing back successful exiles to 
wake up and cheer up the sleepy old hill 
towns with a reviving blend of sentiment 
and generous donations. 

But to the true New Englander every 
week is "Home Week," wherever he may 
be, and he is always glad to hear good news 
from his native State. 

Nothing could be more fitting to begin 
with than Miss Katharine M. Abbott's sec- 
ond volume, "Old Paths and Legends of 
the New England Border," a companion to 
her popular " Old Paths and Legends of 
New England." This book, enriched with 
165 illustrations (six colored) and a route 
map, will be found invaluable by one who 
desires intimate acquaintance with the 
famous beauty-spots of Connecticut, Deer- 
field, and Berkshire. So far above the aver- 
age books of this class that it is a guide- 
book de luxe, the further interpretation of 
the subject has been done by artists, "each 
of whom has deeply breathed the air of 
this, his native heath." The poets whose 
verses are quoted also "sprang full-armed 
from this rocky land spied out by their fore- 

As you read, you unconsciously are gain- 
ing new knowledge of the westward path 
trodden by our ancestors, and of the expe- 
riences, peaceful or tragic, of our colonists. 

And the capital anecdotes she introduces 




are mostly new to me, and all deserve a 

Here are two about persons in Saybrook, 
Connecticut: "In the days of cottage prayer- 
meetings at 'The Point,' one hundred years 
ago, a lady directed her servant to go to 
each neighbor and say that Mrs. Bowles 
will have the prayer-meeting here to-night. 
She carried out instructions to the letter: 
1 Mrs. Bowles says the prayer-meeting will 
be here to-night,' and each lady arranged 
her chairs, put on her best gown, and made 
ready for the coming of the parson. In con- 
sequence, there was no meeting at all." 

In the church built on the Green in 1680 
a Connecticut Synod adopted the celebrated 
"Saybrook Platform" of 1708. Some years 
ago a fisherman met a farmer driving a 
wagon-load of white-fish for his rye and 
potato fields: "Say, Cap, what is this 'Say- 
brook Platform' they talk about?" 

'"Saybrook Platform,' Squire? Why, I 
guess it's that old platform down yonder, 
they used to clean fish on." 

In Lyme, Connecticut, they still have the 
McCurdy House where Washington and 
Lafayette were both entertained, and it was 
at an inn not far from Lyme that Franklin 
ordered a peck of oysters for his horse. 
Some one has said that Franklin anticipated 
most of the discoveries and inventions that 
were exploited later. It is interesting to 
know that he also founded the first circu- 
lating library and the first fire-insurance 
company in America. 

Pigs do not often figure in historic annals, 
but Miss Abbott gives us two instances. 
Our ardent, romantic, and ever-faithful 
friend Lafayette adorned his home with 
many souvenirs of America, as was to be 
expected, but he was devoted to us in the 
smallest matters. In displaying his farm, 
Lafayette related that an English nobleman 
had observed, concerning a certain superior 
pig, that the general could boast of having 
the finest one England could produce. 

"Excuse me," said the general, "I must 
inform you it came from Baltimore." 

When it was almost time for pig-killing 
on Shelter Island the British chose that spot 
for a foraging expedition. The burning 
question was, How could the pigs be con- 
cealed? for pigs will squeal, and the ladies 
had before seen pigs strung at the yard-arm. 
A witty dame concocted the brilliant idea 
of ripping up the feather-beds and sewing 

in the pigs, and these went comfortably to 
sleep while the troops searched the house, 
thus preserving the winter's bacon. 

When New Haven was invaded, in 1779, 
ex-President Daggett of Yale was too fear- 
less and lost his life. "He peppered away 
solus at the British, near Milford Hill. An 
English officer, surprised at the curious in- 
dependence of the old gentleman, cried out, 
' What are you doing, you old fool, firing on 
his Majesty's troops?' 

"'Exercising the rights of war,' said 
President Daggett. 

'" If I let you go, you old rascal, will you 
ever do it again?' 

"'Nothing more likely,' he answered. 
He was dragged out from his cover and in- 
jured fatally." 

The chapter on the history, noted inhab- 
itants, and various attractions of Guilford, 
Connecticut, furnishes some peculiarly 
Yankeeish anecdotes, as the keen retort to 
Master Samuel Johnson, a famous teacher 
and fierce Federalist, who believed the coun- 
try to be going over "to demons, dema- 
gogues, Democrats, and devils." His fa- 
vorite pupil was Fitz-Greene Halleck, to 
whom he presented Campbell's "Pleas- 
ures of Hope." Johnson was unusually 
thin, and being much bothered by a per- 
sistent tin peddler to buy, finally said, "Have 
you a pair of tin boots?" 

"Yes, just to fit you," and he brought out 
a pair of tin candle-moulds. 

Deerfield, Massachusetts (Pocumtuck), 
is an interesting village to study and visit, 
whether you look up the story of the 
cruel massacres by the French and Indians, 
or are satisfied to wander down the old 
street with its glorious trees, whether you 
go there to work or to admire and purchase 
the work of others, or to get inspiration 
from the brainy men and women who 
abide there. 

Honorable George Sheldon is the Grand 
Old Man of the place, and he never seems 
to be weary of showing strangers the treas- 
ures of the past which he has collected at 
Memorial Hall — from the oak door with a 
tomahawked hole through which the bullets 
sped to kill, to a tiny shoe of a little girl car- 
ried into captivity or the small "chunki 
stones" found by those who turned up the 
soil, their use never positively known. Mr. 
Sheldon is the historian of Deerfield and 
has done lasting service by giving honor to 


I2 5 

those colonial heroes who otherwise might 
have been forgotten and by preparing sev- 
eral histories and monographs regarding 
those exciting times. 

It has been a Paradise of peace for artists, 
as Fuller and Champney and several women 
authors have found pleasant homes there in 
the well-preserved houses of the bygone 
times when carpenters built "on honor." 

Mrs. Elizabeth W. Champney has writ- 
ten Eunice Williams's strange adventures 
(for children) in "Great Grandmother's 
Girls in New France." 

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman has dram- 
atized a bit of the fearful crisis in " Silence," 
Silence Hoit being her heroine. 

Madeleine Yale Wynne tells an unforget- 
able, ghost story of the mysterious "Little 
Room" at the Manse where she now re- 
sides. The village has also a house de- 
voted to "Arts and Crafts;" another is oc- 
cupied by two sisters who are well known 
by their skilled photography; another is de- 
voted to the exquisite " blue-and-white " re- 
productions of old stitches, dyes, coverlets, 
and embroidered linen. 

The women of Deerfield have not allowed 
their old town to go to sleep satisfied with 
its past. It is thoroughly awake to-day: full 
of activity, success, and artistic paying re- 

Here are a few anecdotes which could 
only come from New England: 

" Deerfield 's Tory minister, Mr. Ashley, 
had spoken of the doom of those Americans 
fallen at Lexington as being fearful in the 
next world. A week later he found his pul- 
pit door spiked up. Turning to Deacon A., 
a blacksmith, he requested him to undo the 
fastening, who, with a very proper gravity, 
replied that he did not use his hammer on 
the Sabbath. Finally an axe was procured. 

"Another day an incensed patriot neigh- 
bor jostled him. Mr. Ashley queried why 
this rude treatment, saying, 'You should not 
rebuke an elder.' He replied, 'An elder, 
an elder! — if you had not said you was 
an elder I should have thought you was a 
poison sumach.'" 

At Shelburne Falls — formerly North- 
west Deerfield — some one remarked that 
the water in the river was very low. "Yaas," 
drawled a bystander. "It lacks a quart of 
being any water in it." 

I notice an odd use of a word in a letter 
of instruction to Captain Lyman in 1755. 

"You must deliver up the person captivated, 
or scalps of those you kill." 

I must quote a droll hit at a man who was 
"a leetle nigh." So penurious, it was said, 
that whenever he went to work down in the 
meadow he would stop his clock from run- 
ning, thinking it would last longer. 

Northampton, Stockbridge, and the Berk- 
shire region are more familiar to many of 
us; but the younger generation will enjoy 
reading of Catherine Sedgwick, and her 
friends Charlotte Cushman, Fanny Kemble, 
and the famous Field Brothers. Longfellow 
was told on a drive to Stockbridge that the 
very grasshoppers of the valley chirped, 
"Sedgwick, Sedgwick." 

This volume and the one which preceded 
it show infinite research, rare discrimination 
in selection of material, a graceful, easy style 
which conceals the hard work of prepara- 
tion, and a well-balanced appreciation of 
the humorous as well as the serious side of 
early New England life. 

Those who read the first book will soon 
own this; and no one can become acquaint- 
ed with the second without promptly order- 
ing the first. 

G. P. Putnam's Sons are the publishers 
of both; price of each, boxed, $3.75. 

Miss Crawford's "Little Pilgrimages 
Among Old New England Inns" follows 
most naturally. We all know the good 
work of Mary Caroline Crawford as critic, 
essayist, biographer, and pilgrim, a success 
in each, besides having the wonderful art 
of being a welcome and desirable inter- 

She devotes seventeen chapters to her 
theme, and the book is profusely illustrated. 
She tells us that in colonial days every de- 
partment of public life was bound up with 
the church; for instance, public-houses 
were licensed for the express purpose of 
promoting the worship of God, and the 
ordinary was often next door to the meeting- 
house — quite a contrast to the present 
laws. The half-frozen churchgoers found 
the inn "a cheerful place in which to thaw 
out between the cold drive and the chilly 
service." The reciprocal benefit was during 
the noon rest for refreshment. They were 
sure to sell many a mug of the potent flip 
"invaluable for raising spirits which had 
been depressed by dreary discourses on 

A tavern was sometimes used as a meet- 



Whipple House, Ipswich 

ing-house, and a meeting-house was occa- 
sionally turned into a tavern. 

Excessive drinking was punished by the 
stocks, and in extreme cases the sinner was 
" disfranchizd " and forced to wear, " and 
outwards" a big red D about his neck. 

Madame Knight, who travelled alone 
from Boston to New York in 1704, kept a 
diary of daily happenings and her own 
sharp comments. 

" New York impressed Madame Knight as 
a less desirable place of residence than Bos- 
ton, for she found that its inhabitants were 
not so strict in keeping the Sabbath. At this 
time Boston had a population of ten thou- 
sand as against New York's five thousand. 

"Auctions of human beings and public 
whippings were other occasions at the New 
England tavern. Paupers were also bid off, 
and only eight years ago, in Pennsylvania, 
signs were posted, 'A Woman for Sale,' 
and Mrs. Elmira Quick, seventy-seven 
years old, was put up at a hotel to be sold to 
the lowest bidder for keep for a year." 

Among the inns of old Boston was the 
" Blew Anchor," which stood on the ground 
now occupied by the Globe newspaper. 
From a bill of an election banquet we find 
that 204 diners consumed 72 bottles of 
Madeira, 28 of Lisbon, 17 of port, 10 of 
claret, 18 of porter, and 50 "double-bowls" 
of punch, in addition to cider. 

At the Bunch of Grapes the guests were 
called to a two o'clock dinner, by the ringing 
of a bell in the street ; a dinner varied and 
abundant as to fish, fowl, and other meat; 
each had his pint of Madeira set before him; 
each carved for himself, and after a delicious 
pudding had but five shillings per day to 
pay for such excellent fare. 

The tavern was the breeding-place par 
excellence of the Revolution. A lot of men 
sitting by a blazing fire and discussing their 
wrongs drinking flip, and then and again 
more flip, would soon exclaim, "Let us 

No doubt the Greenville Tavern, Smith- 
field, Rhode Island, was a representative 
hostelry as regards the drinks served. 

An ancient rhyme gives a graphic picture 
of a jolly time: 

"Landlord, to thy bar room skip, 
Make it a foaming mug of flip — 
Make it of our country's staple, 
Rum, New England sugar maple, 
Beer that's brewed from hops and Pumpkins 
Grateful to the thirsty Bumpkins. 
Hark! I hear the poker sizzle 
And o'er the mug the liquor drizzle, 
And against the earthen mug 
I hear the wooden spoon's cheerful dub. 
I see thee, landlord, taste the flip; 
And fling thy cud from under lip, 
Then pour more rum, the bottle stopping, 
Stir it again and say it's topping; 
Come, quickly bring the humming liquor, 
Richer than ale of British vicar."- 

An extraordinary 
those days in many 

wedding-custom in 
of the colonies was 

Monument to the Housatonic Indians, "th< 
Friends of our Fathers." 




the "shift marriage," where a widow was 
married "stark naked save only her shift," 
to escape all debts of her late husband (who, 
I presume, was often shiftless!). 

The taverns where Washington was en- 
tertained are mentioned, also the Wayside 
Inn at South Sudbury, where Lafayette 
slept on his way to Boston in T824. 

Mr. Lemon, the present owner, having 
a great enthusiasm for old houses and their 
interiors, has made this "most fascinating 
of all old taverns" a delightful place to dine, 
or sleep, or spend a week. And the pat- 
ronage he receives shows that his labors are 

On my first visit to the Wayside I became 
puzzled as to the right road. I asked an 
old farmer, who with his wife was jogging 
along, this foolish question, "Can you 
please tell me how the Wayside Inn looks?" 
He stared; then said, "Jest as it allers has," 
and drove on. 

There must have been a deal of heavy 
drinking both at home and abroad in those 
times. I remember hearing my father say 
that when the minister called, he, a little 
fellow, was always sent cross-lots for a 
quart of New England rum. And I know of 
some severe and dignified teachers and 
deacons who went under (literally) from 
too much rum and hard cider. 

It was at the Eagle Tavern, East Poult- 
ney, Vermont, that Captain Williams deliv- 
ered his famous toast: "The enemies of our 
country, — may they have cobweb breeches, 
a porcupine saddle, a hard trotting horse, 
and an eternal journey." 

You must see, even from these most su- 
perficial snatches, that Miss Crawford's 
story of Old New England Inns is crammed 
with interesting reading from first to last. 
It is published by L. C. Page, Boston. Price, 

In "Walled In," Mrs. Phelps-Ward (a 
New England .woman of the grandest stock) 
has created a dramatic novel as strong and 
engrossing as anything she has ever done. 
There is always a tragic element in her work, 
but the ending is usually happy, as in this 

As in "The Fruit of the Tree," by Mrs. 
Wharton, the principal characters are a 
man, his wife, and a trained nurse; in both 
stories the marriage proved unhappy, and 
in both the nurse becomes the second wife. 
The plots are absolutely unlike, but it is not 

From " Walled In" 
Copyright, 1907, by Harper & Brothers 

fair to reveal what you will prefer to get 
as you read. As always, you find that 
this hyper-sensitive artistic genius can de- 
scribe nature so that you read and reread 
what she depicts; her characters must be 
real to her or she could not make them live 
and suffer or rejoice as she does, and her 
epigrams are never too generously given. 
Here are two quotations which are no more 
striking than many others. 

"It is one of the overlooked conclusions 
in human experience that heaven requires 
two, but hell needs only one." 

This paragraph closes the story: "Ferris 
and Honoria stand between the Doric pil- 
lars and listen to the song — he with his 
blurring memories, she with her indomita- 
ble hope. For love is either memory or 
hope. If it fail of the alternative, it ceases 
to be. Joy is a royal guest, but love is a 
divine host, and pain is the servant that 
waits on both." 

The book is published by Harper and 
Brothers. Price, $1.50. 

Have you noticed how plots and titles 
have a run of similarity, all unconsciously 
to the several authors? 

Not long since the preposition "of" was 
a catchword: The Visits of; The Misde- 
meanors of; Rejuvenation of, and a dozen 
more. Then every other seller was a 



From " The Fair Lavinia " and Others. Copyright, 100G, by Harper & Brothers. 

"Call:" of the Wild, or of the Blood, and 
so on. Next the Road: "Long," "Open," 
"Unbroken," "Country," and "Beaten." 
The trained nurse and the automobile have 
done valiant duty. There is a class of dainty 
and refined stories which to the average re- 
viewer always suggest Cranford, old lace, 
pressed roses, and never omit lavender. 

Mrs. Mary E, Wilkins Freeman's latest 
collection of stories, "The Fair Lavinia 
and Others," is thus labelled: "These well- 
nigh faultless stories have the perfume of 
lavender and rosemary; each has its special 

I heartily endorse the last charm, and 
could give higher praise if Mrs. Freeman's 
stories needed any praise, but that permea- 
ting odor eludes me. 

Harper and Brothers now publish all her 
books. I prefer this to some of her recent 
efforts. Price, $1.25. 

By the way, what a long and brilliant, 
list could be made of our New England 

story-tellers, men and women! Too many 
by far to enumerate at the close of a book- 
chat, but that would be a good theme for 
later on. But just now, while looking at a 
clipping regarding the revision of his earlier 
work by Henry James, I notice on the other 
side a most depressing criticism of New 
Hampshire people of the present day. The 
writer declares that childless marriages, 
divorces, drunkenness, decadence in lit- 
erary work, and a general deterioration are 
alarmingly frequent! The Church is losing 
its power and is a waning influence in the 
life of the majority. The congregations are 
small, interest in church work meagre, and 
the outside looks with scorn upon the church. 

If this be true, the optimist must fall 
back on the mountains, which nothing can 
spoil; the trees, which wise men are doing 
their best to save; and that gloriously pure 
air which can never be polluted. 

At any rate, it gives us something to think 

Baker Falls, 

Upper Kennebec Valley 

Photo bj L. F C 

A "River Mwan&er" 

in Maine 

A Source oj Power 

in the Mountains- 

Photo by L. F. Cutter 

Photo by L. F. Cutter 

Cold Biook, in the 

Presidential Rangt 

Always Cool, 

A Ivjci us Refreshing 

Cascade above 

the Flume 


New England Magazine 


APRIL, 1908 

Number 2 


The First of a Series of Articles on " The Gentleman Farmer in New England" 

Wherein Are Pointed Out the Right and Wrong Tendencies 

in Country and Suburban Living 


THE most inspiring estate in New 
England, and indeed in the United 
States, is that of Professor Charles 
Sprague Sargent, at Brookline, Mass. Yet it 
has no specialty; it has nothing for show; it 
has no complete collection of anything; and 
I doubt if it has ever taken any important 
prize for cattle, fruits, or plants of any kind. 
On the other hand, it is the best specimen 
of landscape-gardening in America, because 
every department of country life is here rep- 
resented in due proportion, without extrava- 
gance or faddism, and all are blended into a 
beautiful and useful picture which is nothing 
short of exquisite. The place is great be- 
cause it mirrors a life which represents the 
highest ideal any American country gen- 
tleman can have. And, in particular, it has 
a stirring message for the rising generation 
that has inherited wealth. 

It is not my ideal of life to make a for- 
tune in business and have the best stock 
farm in New England. I have no quarrel 
with the business life or with the owning of 
several abiding-places, but I maintain that 
it is only by devoting one's life to pure sci- 
ence or to humanity that a man can develop 
the highest reaches of his nature. The only 
man whose life I can compare with that of 
Professor Sargent is Charles Darwin. Dar- 
win used his inherited wealth for nothing 
that Americans seem to care for. His for- 
tune and his working hours were devoted 

to pure science. He never aimed at revolu- 
tionizing thought. The fact that his dis- 
coveries have been of great practical value 
was wholly incidental. So, too, with Pro- 
fessor Sargent. His life-work is " The 
Silva of North America," which nobody but 
libraries and millionaires can afford, for it 
costs $350 a set. Yet it is fundamental to 
the study of forestry, for it describes and 
pictures every kind of tree that grows wild 
north of Mexico. 

Forty summer homes, costing more than 
a quarter of a million each, they tell me, 
were built in the Berkshire Hills within a 
period of fourteen years. Yet twenty years 
from now, if I live, I expect to see most of 
them in a melancholy condition. I would 
not shoulder a gun to protect a $900,000 
house at Lenox, Newport, or Tuxedo, no 
matter how perfect an example of archi- 
tectural art it may be, if I felt that it per- 
sonified ill-gotten wealth and tendencies 
subversive of our republic; but I would 
gladly give my life, if necessary, to help 
save what the Sargent estate stands for. The 
grandchildren of the present owners of most 
American estates will probably not have 
money enough to keep them up, and the 
next crop of millionaires will not want to 
live on them either. It is more "fun" to 
make your own home. A man wants to 
live his own life. And everybody feels in- 
stinctively that these palatial summer homes 




as a class are not the "real thing," as the 
Sargent estate is. 

There are two reasons why the children 
who inherit great American estates do not, 
as a rule, love them: they run too exclu- 
sively to specialties, and the spirit which 
animates them is SHOW. But no one can 
see the Sargent estate without feeling that 
here is a priceless treasure that ought to 
belong to the people forever, as a perpet- 
ual source of inspiration to painters, po- 
ets, and landscape designers; as a rural park 
for the refreshment of those who are ground 
down by a great city; and as a memorial of 
a man who has done much to make the 
metropolitan park system of Massachu- 
setts the best in the world. 

We shall get right to the heart of this 
matter by examining the picture on page 
138. The important thing is not the house, 
the lake, or the flowers; it is the great stretch 
of lawn, of which we here get only a tantal- 
izing glimpse. There are at least three great 
open spaces which are, roughly speaking, as 
long as one or two city blocks and twice as 
wide. There are no trees scattered in these 
meadows, but on every side they are bound- 
ed by masses of woods that completely shut 
out the world. Cattle graze peacefully here 
within the limits of a city which, with its 
suburbs, harbors a million souls. It is not 
the bigness of these vistas or the high price 
per square foot that is significant. The les- 
son for us is that the restfullest scene on 
earth for a city man is a stretch of green 
grass bordered by trees. This means more 
to the average person than rocks, water, 
mountains, or seashore, because it epito- 
mizes the farm life of the millions. It sug- 
gests the whole thing, — freedom, youth, 
those who are gone, the hope of the future. 

There is nothing showy about a lawn or 
meadow — only peacefulness. No wonder 
our newly rich find it slow! They prefer 
formal gardens, pergolas, Italian well- 
curbs, marble fountains, geometrical flower- 
buds full of intense color, or twenty miles 
of fancy white fencing, with a Crimson 
Rambler and a hydrangea at each alter- 
nate post. But you have only to visit such 
places to see that their owners do not know 
what life is. Their mansions, their armies 
of dependents, the vast structures in which 
they breed prize-winning horses, cattle, 
sheep, dogs, and poultry — it is too much 
like business, too much like the city. A 

city man needs for the refreshment of his 
soul something as different as possible from 
the city. That thing is an ample rural 
scene, and the essence of that is a broad, 
open stretch of grass bounded by shrubbery 
and trees. 

This idea is in fact the fundamental prin- 
ciple of landscape gardening, and it is as 
true of the 25 x 100 foot city lot as of the 
country gentleman's estate. Yet the begin- 
ner almost invariably spoils his place by 
scattering trees and shrubs over his front 
lawn. His first idea is to make his home 
grounds look as different as possible from 
the wild, and the nurseryman or cheap 
botcher who calls himself a landscape- 
gardener encourages him to fill his yard 
with cut-leaved, weeping, and variegated 
plants such as never appear upon the 
face of nature — Tea's weeping mulberry, 
Wier's cut-leaved maple, purple beech, 
and golden elder. These things are not 
wrong in themselves. Neither is spice. But 
a place composed largely of them is as ridic- 
ulous as the appendix to "Lord" Timothy 
Dexter's book, which, you remember, was 
composed wholly of punctuation-marks! 

To a botanist Professor Sargent's place 
is of extraordinary interest because of its 
great variety of rare species. But if you 
were to drive casually through the place 
you might never suspect its botanical value. 
The rare things are in the background, or 
used only when needed to enliven a scene. 
Everywhere the native vegetation is dom- 
inant. I do not believe there is a conspic- 
uous " double" flower or a solitary gaudy 
althea on the estate. Professor Sargent 
wants nothing on his place that is not har- 
monious with a New England landscape. 
Frederick Law Olmsted and Charles 
Sprague Sargent impressed that idea upon 
the people of Boston in connection with 
their parks, and that is why the Boston park 
system is the best in the world, — because 
its spirit is restfulness, not show; a repro- 
duction of a New England landscape, not 
a tropical landscape or a conventional 
scene composed of cosmopolitan elements. 
The other parks, with a few notable ex- 
ceptions, tend to look alike, because they 
use chiefly tender bedding-plants which are 
costly, ephemeral, loud, garish — not the 
simple, homely, permanent trees and shrubs 
that grow in the neighborhood. 

The newly rich alway want to change 














the face of nature. There is a Pittsburg son 
on Long Island who is spending a fortune 
destroying all the natural contours that 
make his place distinctive and lovable, in 
order to get the biggest level field in the 
neighborhood. Contrast the water picture 
on page 136. Professor Sargent made that 
pond, but you would never know it. Na- 
ture suggested it, for there was a wet, low 
place there. Anybody can transform such 
a menace to health into a beauty-spot by 
excavating it and using the muck fertilizer. 
But "anybody" prefers a cement basin 
with its rim sticking up a foot above the 
ground; water higher than the earth-level; 
dying gladiators spouting forth a fountain; 
a Japanese tea-house; or forty kinds of 
water-lilies with a large label standing up 
above each. 

"Wild gardening" suggests to the busi- 
ness man only a border of wild-flowers 
without a background, an idea which nat- 
urally does not excite him. It is the spirit 
of wildness that is important; whether the 
plants are native or exotic is of no conse- 
quence, provided they are permanent, cheap, 
interesting, and planted in such a way that 
they look like wild flowers. Those flowers 
beside the lake (pages 136 and 138) are the 
poet's narcissus, which are naturalized in 
the grass and increase without care. Every 
May their fragrant white flowers appear in 
myriads, so that Wordsworth's vision of the 
daffodils is here realized, albeit in white in- 
stead of yellow. 

" Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance." 

And what do such pictures cost as com- 
pared with formal gardens? These bulbs 
you can buy for only five dollars a thousand ! 
By the time you want to mow the long grass 
you can do so without harming the bulbs, 
for their foliage has ripened and fallen prone 
upon the ground. I stood last summer at 
Tuxedo's famous sunken garden, where I 
saw every kind of vivid bedding-plant blend- 
ed in a color-scheme and geometrical de- 
sign of the utmost brilliance and complexity. 
The only thoughts aroused were sordid or 
sad, — the cost of it and the folly of it, for 
the soul of the thing was show. But in 
nature-like surrounding, like those of the 
Sargent estate, 

"The meanest flower that blows can stir 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears " 

Formal gardening is necessary about a 
great house, but the moment it spreads 
over the landscape and becomes dominant 
or pretentious it ministers to pride and be- 
gins to starve the spirit. "If I had but two 
loaves of bread in the world," said Moham- 
med, "I would sell one and buy narcissi to 
feed my soul." 

I do not think specializing is wrong. It is 
the spirit of the age, and Americans seem 
to have a genius for it. I would not dis- 
courage any one who wants an Italian gar- 
den where it fits, or an establishment to 
produce certified milk, or a farm for breed- 
ing trotting-horses or anything that he 
likes. But remember this, ye builders of 
country homes, your children will not pre- 
serve them unless they are lovable, and they 
will not be lovable unless they have that 
vague something I alluded to — that spirit 
we vainly try to set forth by talking of 
"balance," "proportion," "harmony," and 
the like. 

Nor do I make a demigod of Sargent. 
Some botanists do not like his system of 
nomenclature. Many gardeners believe 
he has helped to cripple the Massachusetts 
Horticultural Society by giving it an in- 
efficient and inappropriate building. A 
street-car conductor once told me he was 
a traction magnate and the "boss" of 
Brookline. I know nothing about such 
things, but this I do know: everything about 
his place rings true. If I need to see him, 
I do not look for him in the market, for I 
am reasonably sure of finding him at the 
Arnold Arboretum, peacefully picking a 
flower to pieces under a magnifying-glass 
and writing a book on shrubs for the people, 
like his "Manual of Trees," which pic- 
tures every kind that grows wild in North 
America. I have no doubt he is a good 
citizen, — his park record shows me that, — 
but I know his mind is not on public office . 
He would rather be looking for a hardy 
persimmon in the backwoods of China, 
where he found a peach that extended 
the range of peach-culture several hun- 
dred miles northward in America. On his 
grounds you may see the first specimen of 
the Japanese barberry ever planted in 
America, yet I do not believe he touched a 
dollar of the fortunes that have been made 
in distributing this and other trees and 
shrubs from Japan — a country that has 
probably enriched our gardens with per- 



manent plants more than all the rest of the 
world put together. He would rather write 
a book on the trees of Japan, which you 
never heard of and only scientists will 

I know I have n't given you any idea of 
what the Sargent estate is like. But who 
can? Life is greater and more interesting 
than any account of it. I want you to see 
the Sargent estate for yourself. Watch the 
newspapers in late May, or when azaleas 
are about to bloom. Perhaps the estate 
will be open again this year on one or two 
Sundays. It is worth a trip from the farthest 

corners of New England to see his rhodo- 
dendrons in bloom. But even if the papers 
are silent, go anyhow to Jamaica Plain, 
when the lilacs or viburnums are in bloom, 
and see the Arnold Arboretum, for that will 
give you the spirit of Professor Sargent and 
of his estate. It will illustrate all that I am 
contending for better than any book of 
pictures. You are sure to see many beauti- 
ful trees and shrubs you never dreamed of, 
and their names are there, if you want them. 
And, no matter what your fortune, or style 
of living, you can find something there 
worth bringing into your life. 

[Editor's Note. The next article will show what a wonder- 
ful transformation can be wrought in the wooded hill country of 
New England by anybody who can afford to put even as little as 
$1,500 into a summer home, house and all. It will contain a prac- 
ticable scheme for week-end commutation, showing how to take an 
abandoned farm of ten-dollar -an-acre land and make it the basis of 
a delightful, new type of country living^ 

A stream on the north slope of the Presidential Range, hitherto steady. With the removal 
of the forest, the past winter, it will become alternately a torrent and a dry bed 



Forester of the Society for the Protection of the New Hampshire Forests 
and of the Dartmouth College Grant 

" The hills whence cometh our strength " 

THE water-powers of New England 
are the centre of her life and influ- 
ence. Whether considered com- 
mercially or historically, the harnessing of 
New England's rivers has proven the source 
of her strength. At a conservative estimate 
two hundred and fifty millions of dollars 
have been expended in the construction of 
dams and factories on the rivers that flow 
from the White Mountain region alone, and 
nearly two millions of people are dependent 
upon these factories as wage-earners or in 
tilling the farms which supply food to the 
wage-earning population. The commerce 
of New England finds its basis in her man- 
ufactures. It is not too much to say, there- 
fore, that the whole social structure rests 
primarily upon the power that comes down 
from the mountains. The water-powers of 

New England are by far her most important 
natural resource. 

Steam-power in the United States has 
marched forward with the strides that 
characterize our American growth. Great 
as it is to-day, to-morrow it is many times 
greater, and the figures march away faster 
than the mind can follow them. We live 
in an age of steam-power, dependent upon 
coal. But New England is far from the coal- 
fields, and derives her power primarily from 
another source, which is the conserving 
power of the mountain forests, from which 
flow the streams that make the rivers that 
turn the wheels and produce the goods. 
Water-power is cheaper than steam-power, 
and because of this New England has main- 
tained her commercial importance, though 
far from the cotton belt, far from the wheat - 


i 4 6 


fields, without mines or other natural re- 
sources, save her forests and her quarries, 
and having, besides, a vigorous climate. 

The White Mountains are the great wa- 
tershed of New England. On the mountain- 
slopes the forest shades the soil, keeps it 
moist and ready to absorb the falling rain, 
and holds back into May and even into 
Tune the collection of winter snows. This 

freeze at all. This accounts for the almost 
tropical growth that one finds in the under- 
growth of mountain forests in very early 
summer. The mosses, ferns, and trailing 
vines are ready to spring into active life 
almost at a single day's notice. The soft 
earth, not having been frozen, absorbs the 
rain and snow, which find their way slowly 
through it into the springs and streams. The 

Photo by H. K. Barrows 

Third Lake, covered with logs to be floated down the Connecticut in the spring- 

is not possible in those rapidly increasing 
areas that are stripped clean. Here the sun 
dries out the soil, fire consumes it,— for 
the mountain-soils are largely of vegetable 
origin and therefore inflammable, — and 
erosion carries it off to fill up the rivers and 
harbors and make big bills for Congress- 
men to work for. When the forest is stripped 
off, leaving the ground unprotected, it 
freezes so that when the rain falls or the 
snow melts, the water runs off quickly in- 
stead of sinking into the ground. On the 
other hand, in the dense forest, even at 
high elevations, the soil is protected until 
the deep snow covers it so that it does not 

striking contrast between the virgin forests 
and the cleared areas in this respect may 
be seen by any one who climbs the moun- 
tains in March. He finds the snow still 
two or three feet deep in the woods, and 
bare ground where the sun has melted the 
snow, that runs off in torrents. 

The streams from the mountains are the 
basis of navigation as well as the source of 
power. Each of the rivers rising in the 
White Mountain region is navigable at its 
mouth, the Connecticut for fifty miles. 
Upon these rivers, as upon others through- 
out the country, Congress has expended 
large sums of money in the River and Har- 



bor bills. For navigation on the New Eng- 
land rivers the sums thus spent are more 
than two millions and a half of dollars — 
partly to clear out the sand and silt that 
comes down from denuded mountain- 
slopes, for it is in the mountains that ero- 
sion is greatest. There are, besides, cities, 
like Lawrence in Massachusetts, which get 
not only the power that runs the mills, but 
also drinking-water, from the river. When 
Lawrence sent to Washington a delegation 
made up of its most prominent citizens to 
urge upon Congress the national forest re- 
serve in the White Mountains the president 
of the Board of Trade said to the Congress- 
ional Committee, "Gentlemen, we merely 
ask of you our existence." 

Four of the great rivers of New England 
rise in the White Mountain region, — the 
Connecticut, the Merrimac, the Saco, and 
the Androscoggin. A fifth river, the Ken- 
nebec, is so intimately associated in its 
sources with the Androscoggin in the 
heavily forested hills of Northwestern Maine 
that it may properly be included in the 
White Mountain group, and has been so 

classified by the government foresters in 
their surveys for the proposed national for- 
est. The whole region is a wild one. Be- 
yond the high mountains of the Presidential 
and Franconia ranges and the country 
about the Rangeley Lakes the vast woods 
are unbroken for the most part by high- 
ways, save the rough lumber-roads leading 
down to the streams whence the logs are 
floated out, and a series of scattered trails 
across the mountain-ridges which are used 
by log-drivers in going from one stream to 
another, and by the more adventurous spir- 
its in the mountains who love the wilderness. 
Mountain succeeds mountain in long ranges 
against the sky, unnamed, except as their 
local characteristics appeal to the lumber- 
men — such as Black Mountain, of which 
there are many, Crystal Mountain, Half- 
moon Mountain, Windy Hill, and the like, 
the last named pronounced with a long i be- 
cause the mountain winds down Long Val- 
ley. The whole region includes, by the gov- 
ernment survey, 2,157,000 acres. Seventy- 
four peaks reach a height of over three 
thousand feet, and of these eleven are over 

Plioto by L. F. Cutter 

The Presidential Range from the Pond of Safety. The source of the Upper or Wild Ammonoosue 



Photo by L. F. Cutter 

The Carter-Moriah Range from Mt. Madison, showing the watershed of the Peabody River. 
The forests have been heavily cut away in the last five years 

five thousand feet. . The bill now before 
Congress proposes to include in the forest 
reserve 668,000 acres, which cover the 
steepest slopes and most important water- 
sheds. Few regions are more copiously 
watered, for the rainfall, forty-five inches 
annually, is one of the heaviest in the United 
States, surpassed only in the Southern 
Appalachian Mountains and on portions of 
the Pacific coast. Owing to the granite 
foundation and the sandy soil, the streams 
have that limpid clearness and purity that 
makes every little rill a source of charm. 
The general elevation of the region is two 
thousand feet, and the top edge of the wa- 
tershed in each case stretches away for 
many miles at an elevation ranging from 
three to more than four thousand feet. At 
five thousand feet, almost a mile above the 
sea, a little evergreen spring flows out from 
under the summit of Mt. Lafayette. Its 
waters join those of other high springs in 
five small lakes varying in altitude from 
two thousand, which is the lowest one, to 

four thousand, which is the highest one, and 
these together make the headwaters of 
the Pemigewasset River, which later joins 
the Winnepesaukee stream at Franklin, 
forming the Merrimac River. Scarcely one 
hundred feet away from the high spring on 
Mt. Lafayette one finds the sources of La- 
fayette Brook, which flows into the Gale 
River, a branch of the lower Ammonoosuc, 
which flows into the Connecticut River at 

A similar continuity of source occurs on 
the north slopes of the Presidential Range. 
The Madison Spring, also five thousand 
feet high, flows through Moose River into 
the Androscoggin. During the three or 
four miles that this stream is known as 
Snyder Brook it dashes over a series of 
falls, quite steady hitherto in its downward 
course through the unbroken forest, which 
this winter is being swept off under the axes 
of a contractor and sixty men. Not far 
from the Madison Spring, in the crevices of 
the Great King's Ravine, where snow lingers 



even in midsummer, Cold Brook gathers 
itself together before dashing down the 
mountain, also into Moose River. The 
dramatic forest at the mouth of King's Ra- 
vine, where, in the high, rare atmosphere, 
every tree-trunk had a personality, has now 
been swept away. The path is obliterated, 
and the mouth of the Ravine is choked with 
debris. A deserted lumber-camp tells the 
story. Near to these, high up on the Presi- 

several hundred acres an impenetrable mass 
of tops and branches are drying in the sun, 
ready for the match of a careless fisherman 
to set the whole mountain-side ablaze, and 
prevent a useful forest growth for two or 
three centuries. After repeated fires the 
productive power of the soil is gone forever. 
In the mountain valleys beaver were 
formerly abundant. In many a flat mead- 
ow their work is still visible. These were 

Logs on the upper Connecticut gathered on the sand-bars 

Photo by H. K. Barrows 

dential Range, are the sources of Cascade 
Brook, which fall over seven precipices in 
two miles, forming the falls of the Seven 
Sisters. This brook empties into Israel's 
River, that joins the Connecticut. Israel's 
River and John's River, the latter draining 
Mt. Jefferson and the Waumbeck Range, 
are named from Israel and John Glines, 
brothers, who in early days had hunting- 
camps upon them. The region of the Cas- 
cade Brook, up to the falls, and entirely 
covering its junction with the Castles 
Brook, has been completely cut over. On 

the first to erect their "works" upon the 
streams, sometimes diverting their course 
to prevent an overflow from carrying out 
their dams and huts in a manner not unlike 
that of the modern engineer. The little ani- 
mals are still found very rarely in the far- 
thest wilderness. In the summer of 1906 
a pair built their nest in the bank of the 
Magalloway River on the Dartmouth tract, 
and cut down by their teeth a few poplar- 
trees, in order to feed on the bark; but in 
the following winter a trapper in that vicin- 
ity illegally captured them, and sold their 



pelts. Because he was alone when the ani- 
mals were taken, his guilt could not be 

A picturesque feature of the mountain 
streams is the life of the log-drivers. Hardy, 
quiet men, combining agility with judg- 
ment in their work, — for a slip means a 
cold bath, if not a permanent one,— these 
men begin their work at two in the morning, 
and continue until five in the afternoon. 
They work all day with feet in the rushing 

million feet of timber on either stream have 
been floated out every spring for many 
years. Across the Rangeley Lakes the rafts 
of logs are towed by steamers, and driven by 
the men down the Androscoggin to the 
paper-mills and saw-mills at Berlin Falls 
and Rumford Falls. 

Descending from the high mountains, 
three of the five rivers named above — the 
Merrimac, the Androscoggin, and the Ken- 
nebec — spread out in large lakes which 

One winter's supply of pulp-logs at Milinoket — 21,000,000 feet of timber. Two hundred and ten 
thousand logs are in the piles. Three thousand acres were culled, or stripped, to secure them 

water, shoving the logs into the current, 
jumping from one log to another, and blast- 
ing out the log jambs; yet so active is their 
life in the open air that they are seldom ill. 
From April until June, while the "head" 
of water is strong at the upper dams, a 
thousand young men in Northern New 
England put the short nails, " caulks," points 
downward, in the soles of their shoes, to 
help them to walk on logs floating in the 
water, and with pipe in hand, they keep the 
annual timber-crop moving down stream. 
These men are above the average in trust- 
worthiness and capability. On the Con- 
necticut and the Androscoggin some sixty 

serve as vast storage-reservoirs of water. 
Dams have been constructed at the outlets 
of these lakes, so that the water may be 
permitted to flow out when most needed at 
the mills. This adds much to the value of 
the rivers for manufacturing purposes by 
helping to overcome the evil effects of low 
water; for a modern mill may be so con- 
structed as to suffer very little from floods, 
but nothing can overcome the evil effects of 
an absence of water. The mill-wheels must 
then cease, or run by steam-power at great 
expense both in constructing the plant and 
in bringing coal from distant States. And 
with the best construction freshets sometimes 




do an extraordinary damage, the Amoskeag 
Company at Manchester, N. H., alone 
having lost from freshets in two years be- 
tween $400,000 and $500,000, — a sum 
more than enough to put a smaller com- 
pany entirely out of business. The Connec- 
ticut and Saco Rivers have no large lake 
reservoirs, except that the waters of Ossipee 
Lake find their way by a separate channel 
into the Saco near its mouth. The Kenne- 
bec River is regulated by Moosehead Lake, 
w T hose wide expanse includes one hundred 
and twenty square miles, the largest body 
of fresh water in New England. Dams at 
the east and west outlets of this lake, which 
empties into both the Kennebec and the 
Penobscot, have raised its level or given an 
available "head" of seven and a half feet. 
Think what power in one hundred and 
twenty square miles of water, seven and a 
half feet deep, that can be drawn off at 
will! Of this the log-drivers use half in 
early spring, and the remainder is used by 
the manufacturers when low water threat- 
ens to stop the mills. 

The RangeleyLakes ; including Umbagog, 
which is thought by many to be the most 
attractive of them all, steady the flow of 
the Androscoggin. One- seventeenth of the 
entire watershed of this river is lake sur- 
face. Its general elevation also is the highest 
among New England rivers, the Rangeleys 
averaging about two thousand feet. Conse- 

PhOtO from ('. S. Forest S'Trice 

River-drivers rafting- logs on the Penobscot 

On the Rocky Rips above Lake Chesuncook, 
in Maine 

quently, its water-powers are the best in 
New England, its available horse-power be- 
ing 160,000, or double that of the Merrimac. 
Winnepesaukee, said to be the Indian equiv- 
alent for "smiling water," and Squam and 
Newfound Lakes steady the flow of the 
Merrimac. All these lakes are of utmost 
consequence to the mills on the rivers be- 
low. While they have little effect in pre- 
venting floods, they greatly lessen the par- 
alyzing effect of low water. At least they 
lessen this effect — they 
cannot prevent it, for it 
takes vast quantities of 
water to supply the even 
flow of a great river. Only 
the forests, whose storage 
capacity is many times 
greater than the largest 
lakes, and greater than all 
of the lakes combined, can 
do this. It has been es- 
timated that the humus un- 
der the forest on the moun- 
tain-sides holds five times 
its weight of water. Disas- 
ster appears to follow any 
disturbance of the balance 
of nature. 

Their rarely beautiful 
setting among the moun- 
tains has attracted to the 
shores of these lakes the 
camps and summer cottages 



of a large summer population. And now 
there is war in a thousand camps, for when 
the water companies drain the lakes in 
summer below their normal low water 
gauge, channels become too shallow for 
boats to pass through, rocks and sand-bars 
appear, wharves, built at much expense, 
are rendered useless, mail-boats cease to 
land, and supplies are difficult to bring in. 
On every large lake in New England there 
has been trouble of this kind, resulting in 

running nearly parallel to the sea. The 
rivers, having gathered force from wide 
extending watersheds and having grown 
steady and calm after their descent from the 
high hills, flow over these granite ridges, 
causing a large body of water to descend 
rapidly within a short distance. On no other 
streams in the country is this equally true, 
except at Niagara. When the descent is 
gradual, or when the fall is spread over a 
mile or two, as on many Southern rivers, in- 

Plioto by H. K. B; 

The power at Holyoke runs forty factories, employing fifteen thousand wage-earners 

several instances in lawsuits, which in New 
Hampshire have compelled the companies 
to observe nature's levels. In Maine con- 
cessions were sought by the water compa- 
nies through the State Legislature, last win- 
ter, in one of the most strongly contested 
events of the session, aimed chiefly at the 
Rangeley Lakes; but the cottagers, with the 
aid of the hotel people, came out ahead. 

On the rivers in New England the great 
water-powers are near the sea. The reason 
for this is that long granite ridges occur in 
New England, bounding the coastal plain, 

stead of over only a few hundred feet, it 
becomes far more difficult to use the power. 
The granite ledges afford also excellent 
foundation for solid dams, far different 
from the soft banks of other streams. Cer- 
tainly in the character of waterfalls New Eng- 
land manufacturers have great advantage. 

Let us examine some of these falls. Take, 
for instance, the Connecticut River, called, 
a century ago by Timothy Dwight, in his 
" Travels in New England," the Beautiful 
River. Few streams are more delightfully 
picturesque in their origin. A little pool 



known as Fourth Lake, because fourth 
from the settlements below, lies 2,550 feet 
high on the south side of Mt. Prospect, that 
divides New Hampshire from Quebec. It 
is only a few square acres in extent, hidden 
in the forest. The rivulet that flows from 
it, gathering many like itself, falls one 
thousand feet in ten miles, including in its 
course Third, Second, and First Lakes, 
upon which it is difficult not to linger. 
Then in fifteen miles more it falls another 
five hundred feet to the Vermont boundary, 

the Upper and Lower Ammonoosuc Rivers 
from the tops of the steep mountain-slopes in 
New Hampshire. All of these and the main 
stream have extensive undeveloped powers 
not used hitherto on a large scale, partly 
because the proximity of the mountains 
makes the flow more variable than at the 
falls lower down, but more because the 
great powers below have proved sufficient 
for the needs, and have the advantage of 
being developed at points to which the rail- 
ways are convenient. The Valley of the 

Photo by H. K. Barrows 

A two-million-dollar paper-mill just completed at Berlin, N. H. Presidential Range at the right 

where at one thousand feet elevation it 
turns into its southward course, and ceases 
to be a torrent. Dams at the several towns 
in the next sixty miles along the river make 
power available for many local manufac- 
turing enterprises, saw-mills, grist-mills, 
and small factories. There is much un- 
used power in the Fifteen-Mile Falls below 
Lancaster, so named because for nearly 
twenty miles the river flows over a rocky 
spur of the Dalton Mountain range. In 
this stretch of the river, known as the Upper 
Coos, said to mean " crooked stream," im- 
portant tributaries flow in from both sides, 
— the Passumpsic River in Vermont, and 

Upper or Wild Ammonoosuc is too little 
known. It is traversed in part by the Grand 
Trunk Railway, and from some of its towns, 
as at Stark, a thousand feet above the sea, 
views of the Pilot Range entice the moun- 
tain-climber. Littleton, a thriving and 
charming town, on the Lower Ammonoosuc, 
uses the water-power for a dozen manu- 
facturing establishments. But it is not until 
the Connecticut reaches Mclndoe's Falls, 
just above Wells River, more than one 
hundred miles from its source and two hun- 
dred from its mouth, that the great powers 
begin. Here the river flows over ledges of 
the Gardner Mountains. 



A logging-camp on the Presidential Range, cutting to feed the mill shown in the opposite picture 

At seven points from the mouth of Wells 
River to the sea the otherwise smooth 
course of the Connecticut is broken by 
sharp falls. As the river gains in volume 
these falls gain in power, and while the dams 
that have been constructed do not utilize 
the full power of the water, yet so great is 
the power utilized, and so extensive and 
varied are the plants, that the mind can 
hardly realize what this one river does for 
New England. The falls at Wilder, just 
north of White River in Vermont, yield an 
average of seven thousand horse-power, 
used by a great pulp and paper plant. At 
Bellows Falls, seventeen thousand horse- 
power are used in factories of many kinds; 
at Turner's Falls, in Massachusetts, thirty- 
one thousand horse-power; at Holyoke, 
thirty-five thousand; and at Windsor Locks, 
in Connecticut, twenty-one thousand. Are 
these figures meaningless? Here is the 
translation: At Holyoke alone there are 
one hundred and seventy-nine factories of 
one kind or another, in which more than 

thirty-seven million dollars are invested. 
These employ nearly fifteen thousand 
wage-earners, who receive upwards of six 
million dollars annually in wages, and turn 
out an annual product valued at thirty mil- 
lion dollars. Four of these factories, with a 
capital of nearly seven million dollars in- 
vested, are devoted to the manufacture of 
cotton goods; four others, with a capital of 
nearly two millions, to woollen goods; four- 
teen establishments, with a capital of three 
millions, turn out foundry and machine-shop 
products; and nineteen mills, with seven- 
teen millions invested, produce paper and 
wood pulp. The basis on which this busi- 
ness has been built up is the water-power 
of the river, which has not only made Hol- 
yoke, but also developed the farms and 
lesser towns, besides forming the basis of 
much prosperity in Springfield, ten miles 

What does it mean to have the water 
coming down from the sources of the Con- 
necticut disturbed in its even flow? Aside 


J 57 

from all the other rivers, if there were no 
powers on the Merrimac, Androscoggin, or 
Kennebec, this question for the Connecticut 
alone would be supremely important for 
all New England. Take Holyoke again for 
instance. The canals that bring water to 
the mills are at three different levels. At low 
water the power of these canals varies from 
that at high water. To some companies 
power is sold guaranteeing a minimum 
horse-power throughout the year; to others 
it is sold subject to the flow of water. To 
these latter a long-continued drought means 
either closing the mills throwing many out 
of employment, or the substitution of steam- 
power, with its attendant expenses. There 
are heavy losses in either case. Agents of 
the water company controlling the canals 
at Holyoke watch the Connecticut in its 
upper courses with the utmost care and 
telephone all changes immediately to the 
central office, in order that every factor may 
be taken into account before the power is 
denied to the contracting manufacturers. 
In forest preservation we have a question 
more vital than the tariff, and one for the 
very proper consideration of the Home 
Market Club. 

The story of Holyoke is typical. Besides 
the other towns on the Connecticut, there 
are larger cities like Lowell and Lawrence 
on the Merrimac. Twelve cities have 
gathered about the falls of the Merrimac, 
from Laconia to the sea, and at Manches- 
ter one finds the largest cotton-mills in the 
world, — those of the Amoskeag Company, 
which run five hundred thousand cotton 
spindles, thirty-five thousand worsted spin- 
dles, and employs about twenty-five thou- 
sand wage-earners. As an officer of the 
company has said recently, with one hun- 
dred and ten acres of floor-space, and only 
ten or twelve years' supply of hardwood in 
sight for the whole country, "it is a serious 
question where we are going to get the wood 
for floorings alone in our mills! " In Maine, 
the State of unsurpassed water-powers, 
where great forests and great cities are in 
close proximity, one can but name some of 
the larger manufacturing centres created by 
the falls on four noble rivers. Lewiston, 
on the Androscoggin, has eleven million 
dollars invested in manufactures, of which 
eight million are in five cotton-factories; 
Biddeford, on the Saco, with seven million 
dollars invested ranks second. Madison, 

Skowhegan, Waterville, and Augusta, on 
the Kennebec, and Oldtown, Orino, and 
Webster, on the Penobscot, — these are 
but synonyms for prosperity. As long as 
these great natural powers are preserved, the 
future of Maine is beyond question secure. 
Exceeding anything thus far mentioned 
the paper and pulp business in Northern 
New England has gone beyond all others. 
The plants are located in many places, al- 
ways using the powers of the streams, but 
the three largest ones are at Millinocket and 
Rumford Falls, in Maine, and at Berlin 
Falls, in New Hampshire. These cities 
have sprung into being in the last fifteen 
years like mining-towns in the gold-fields. 
Millinocket, on the upper waters of the Pen- 
obscot which has the largest paper-mill in the 
world, enjoys a fall of water one hundred 
and ten feet high, obtained by running a 
canal one mile up the river. Its full force 
of twenty-thousand horse-power is never 
fully utilized by the mills, and the gates, 
having a flow of eleven thousand cubic feet 
per second, are never fully open. At Rum- 
ford Falls the city has grown like magic, 
and so has Berlin, in New Hampshire. 
Banks and libraries, hotels and theatres, 
clubs and business, all appear to be ad- 
mirably housed. There is an air of energy 
and enthusiasm, together with a fresh con- 
tact with the woods, about these growing 
places, not unlike the rushing waters in the 
turbulent streams that produced them. 
Maine and New Hampshire together now 
have invested in forty-one paper and pulp 
plants upwards of seventy million dollars, — 
a little less than two million dollars each, — 
a capital that has doubled in the last five 
years. It uses almost entirely spruce and 
fir timber from the mountains. Sticks 
down to six inches in diameter are used. 
This leads to clean cutting, and as the val- 
leys are already partially exhausted the 
rapid sweep of some thousands of axemen 
quickly denudes the mountains one after 
another. On the high slopes of the White 
Mountains the years that the forest will 
last can be counted on the fingers of one 
hand. Add to this the annual cut of timber 
for building, and all other purposes, and to 
this that the hardwood supply in the coun- 
try at large is very limited, so that heavy 
inroads are suddenly making in the moun- 
tains in this direction also which the pulp 
men have not taken hitherto, and the re- 



Falls on the Kennebec at Lewiston. Upon falls like this Maine's prosperity chiefly depends 

suit on the forest and on the flow of streams 
does not require a vivid imagination in 
order to be seen. 

The largest mills in New England have 
supplemented the water-power by steam 
plants at enormous expense. These are put 
into operation when the river fails. The 
distance from the coal-fields makes steam 
operation cost high, as the result of which 
one set of mills a few years ago removed 
from New England to the South, and several 
others run branch establishments in the 
South in order to meet the sharp competi- 
tion arising from mills established within 
the cotton belt. Here, then, we are face to 
face with one of the great problems that con- 
cerns New England's wealth. With competi- 
tion from the mills that are nearer to the 
cotton-fields and the coal-mines, the cost of 
production in New England is rendered 
greater by the uneven flow of the great 
power-giving streams. Is this flow likely to 
be more uneven, requiring the longer con- 

tinued use of the steam plants or the longer 
shutting down of these plants which de- 
pend upon water alone ? It is not surprising 
that in this matter of stream flow which 
strikes at the very centre of New England's 
life some of her most prominent business 
men are interested, and that the governors 
of Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Con- 
necticut, as well as those of the Northern 
New England States, have sent strong del- 
egations to Washington to urge the estab- 
lishment of a national forest reserve. The 
strongest commercial bodies in the several 
States have taken similar action. The re- 
moval of the forests from the mountains is 
more far-reaching in its consequences than 
might at first be supposed. 

In one noteworthy respect the future of 
New England water-powers may be much 
greater than their past. By means of elec- 
tricity it is no longer necessary to locate the 
factory at the waterfall; the power can be 
taken many miles, even hundreds of miles 


Falls on the Kennebec at Lewiston. In the several factories 6,000 wage-earners are employed 

away, and can be distributed into all sorts 
of minor powers for the running of large 
and small machines, for the creation of heat 
and the creation of light. If it is true that 
the coal supplies of the United States are 
limited, and that in a few years, perhaps 
even a half a century, our great coal supplies 
will be near their end, then the future of 
electricity, which can be converted into light 
or heat or power at will, must become a very 
great factor in our life, depending in turn 
upon the water-powers and the forests. Al- 
ready a number of important plants for the 
development of electric power have been 
established, yielding in Maine eighteen thou- 
sand horse-power, and supplying light and 
street-car service to Bangor and other large 
cities; and in all New England more than 
one hundred and twenty thousand horse- 
power, a vast and growing source of energy. 
Its increase in five years has been more than 
one hundred and seventy-five per cent. The 
president of an electric power company 
using one of the falls of the Merrimac has 
recently said: 

"There is no question in my mind that 
the removal of the forests in the mountain 
region, especially when followed by burn- 
ing over the ground, has a most harmful 
effect. The economic value of water-power 
depends primarily upon maintaining the 
average low-water flow. Anything which 
reduces this minimum correspondingly 
diminishes the value of the power, with the 
result that the value of the investment in 
hydraulic works is to a large extent reduced. 

"It is obvious that a water-power electric 
station can carry only the business which it 
can accommodate at its lowest capacity. 
The water flowing at other times is value- 
less without expensive steam relays, which 
are becoming more and more expensive to 
operate as prices of coal advance. Our 
companies thus find themselves between 
two fires, — on the one hand, the dimin- 
ished supply of water, and, on the other, 
the increasing price of coal. The preserva- 
tion of our water supply is the only solution 
of our difficulties." 

All of the rivers rising in the White Moun- 



tain region are navigable from ten to fifty 
miles at their mouths. On each the com- 
merce is of great value to the cities affected, 
especially on the Kennebec and the Con- 
necticut. On each Congress has spent 
large sums to clean out the silt washed 
down from above. Erosion is greatest, of 
course, on the steepest slopes. The follow- 
ing telling statement, made before a Con- 
gressional Committee by Mr. C. C. Good- 
rich, for more than thirty years manager 
of the Hartford and New York Transpor- 
tation Company, will serve as an example 
of the situation on the other rivers: 

"In my first experience the vast forests 
on the mountains in the New Hampshire re- 
gion were dense with evergreen. They were 
damp and cool and full of springs, full of 
lichen and full of moss. The snow lay un- 
melted in those forests until the last of May 
and oftentimes into June. We had a steady 
feed from the melting of this snow far into 
the summer. Years went by and the lumber- 
ing of the first growth commenced. The 
large timber was swept from this great sec- 
tion, and we thought that with the disap- 
pearance of that our suffering, which had 
been quite severe, had ceased. But within a 
very short time the paper-pulp industry 
followed, and the smaller timber, which had 
at this time begun to reclothe the mountains 
and to give shelter and shade and a chance 
for the moisture, began to be taken away. 
That was followed by forest fires, which 
took away the original great roots that had 
then become dry; and when these forest 
fires swept over any portion of the moun- 
tains they burned not only all that was on 
top of the soil, but burned deep into the soil. 
They destroyed everything beyond the pos- 
sibility of ever reproducing a crop again. 

"When this effect was felt we were 
obliged to stop our steamers. The steamer 
leaving Hartford on Sunday evening was 
obliged to be shifted until Monday evening. 
The great Holyoke dam, which had always 

before been full along in June, July, and 
August, became full by the first of May. 
The vast accumulation of snow had dis- 
appeared; it had gone a month earlier. The 
sponge and lichens and moss were all gone, 
and by the time June, July, and August 
came there was a great dearth of water." 

From every point of view, therefore, our 
consideration leads back to the forest. 

The bill for national forest reserves in 
the White Mountains and in the Southern 
Appalachian Mountains is now pending be- 
fore two committees of the House of Repre- 
sentatives at Washington, the Judiciary 
Committee and the Committee on Agri- 
culture. Both have given public hearings at 
which some of the strongest men from the 
North and the South, appointed by the 
Governors of the several States, presented 
ably the economic necessity for this meas- 
ure. Favorable reports are expected from 
both committees when the measure will 
come before the House for action. In a 
previous Congress the same measure, hav- 
ing passed the Senate, and having been 
favorably reported to the House, was not 
permitted to come to a vote, owing to the 
opposition of the Speaker. The slightest in- 
dication of approval on his part would have 
established these reserves two years ago! 
Mr. Cannon has now been nominated by 
the forces in his State as a candidate for 
the presidency of the United States. New 
England respectfully appeals to Illinois to 
urge her favorite son to examine more 
closely this measure before it is again post- 
poned, either by himself or the committees 
through which he controls legislation. The 
forests are disappearing very rapidly, and 
the damage wrought is irreparable. 

Every reader of the New England 
Magazine is asked to help by writing to 
his Congressmen, both Senators and Repre- 
sentatives, asking that this bill be passed 
without further delay. 



IT was half after five of an April day and 
the sun looked mistily down through 
bare branches, lighting without warm- 
ing the umber carpet of Uncle Peter's 
fields — unable even to moisten the edges 
of the broad patches of snow that would 
defiantly hold their own for many days to 

Still, there were signs of spring abroad. 
The bluebirds had seen and believed, 
and were pouring out their delight, while 
old Towser, frantic with the press of busi- 
ness occasioned by the reappearance of the 
woodchucks and the chipmunks, was do- 
ing his best, with the assistance of his tail, 
to be everywhere at once. In spite of the 
frost, an imperceptible moisture in the air 
drew forth and filled the air with rich, 
woodsy odors. 

Uncle Peter raised himself on one elbow 
and glanced toward the window. Earth 
and sky had signed a covenant that it 
should be a fine day. The air was athrob 
with the call of the grouse-cocks. The 
woodshed door creaked heavily and Adam 
appeared, staggering kitchenward with a 
monstrous armful of stovewood. It was 
time to "git up." 

Uncle Peter sighed, rubbed his grizzled 
old chin with his knuckles, and blinked at 
the window. Inch by inch he pulled him- 
self out of the deep hollow in the feather 
bed where he had passed the night for all 
the world like a rabbit in its form. Slowly 
and awkwardly he wriggled himself into 
his heavy blue woollen shirt and drawers 
and drew on his socks. These were fol- 
lowed by his best pantaloons and a clean 
and starchy shirt, and Uncle Peter gave his 
suspenders an extra hitch that lifted the 
bottom of his trousers at least two inches 
from the floor and made him so short- 
waisted that he looked like some great, 
grotesque pair of tongs. Then he reseated 
himself on the edge of the bed and reached 
for his cow-hide boots. 

"By cracky," he muttered, "Adam must 
'a' done it." There they stood side by side 

at stiff attention, as if proud of the unwonted 
coat of polish which had been so liberally 
applied. The old man grinned broadly and 
even chuckled a little as he tugged at the 
straps and wiggled his toes into place. 

His toilet advanced to this stage of com- 
pletion, Uncle Peter sought the hospitable 
warmth of the kitchen,, negotiating the stair- 
way cautiously and bending his joints slowly 
and tentatively, as one lifts the lid of a 
time-worn casket with an eye to the hinges. 
"Makes me feel like Sunday mornin', 
Sarah," he grinned, displaying to his house- 
keeper the clean shirt and polished boots. 

"Well," snapped that faithful lady, "see 
that you tuck your napkin up under your 
chin. 'T ain't no joke a-doin' up of them 
shirts," and she squinted her eye a moment 
at a lump of lard to see if it was " the size of 
a walnut" before dropping it into the hot 
skillet. There it sputtered like a mad-house, 
successfully driving Uncle Peter from the 
stove to the sink, where he paid his sacrifice 
to cleanliness. Soon he reappeared with 
his long hair combed back in parallel streaks 
as the wet comb had furrowed through it. 

"Haow's the city boarders?" inquired 
Adam, with a grin. 

"I hain't hed the latest advices yit, but 
I reckin they're some smarter now than 
they will be bimeby. 

"It was raal sort er kind of 'em to come 
so fur, with the roads all a-breakin' up, 
jest to enjoy the sight of their uncle's long- 
jevity," he added. 

Adam continued to grin, and Mrs. Mark- 
ham snorted, impatiently. " Ef you want to 
know my opinion about them two precious 
old humbugs ez calls themselves your 
nephews, I'll tell you." 
"There, there, Sarah!" 
"Well, I'll tell you, anyhow. They're 
sizin' up their chances, and tryin' to im- 
prove 'em a mite." 

"Now, now, Sarah, vou alius was a leetle 

Adam pulled a shining silver quarter 
from his breeches pocket and held it up. 




" That's fur shinin' up their shoes for 'em 
after they'd stuck 'em outside the door." 
"That's haow mine come to git a extry 

Adam nodded. "Hed to do somethin' to 
work out the time. Bige told me he soaked 
'em seventy-five cents apiece fur stagin' 'em 

Uncle Peter chuckled. "They hev lots 
of money, so they say." 

"So they say," ejaculated Aunt Sarah, 
"but I reckin they're willin' to take a leetle 
more if it comes handy. They want to 
know how long Uncle Peter's goin' to live 
and haow much he's got, and to show him 
their great affecshun. Thet's my opinion." 

"There, there, Sarah!" 

Half an hour later they were all gath- 
ered about the mountain of buckwheat- 
cakes that Aunt Sarah had so deftly piled 
on the big blue platter, and for a few min- 
utes only the scraping of knives and the 
odor of melting butter and hot maple- 
syrup told of what was in progress. The 
two visitors were the first to reach their 
limit, and leaned back watching Adam and 
Uncle Peter, who were still attacking the 
platter with steady persistency. The visit- 
ors glanced at one another. There were no 
signs of imminent decay in Uncle Peter's 

"Purty busy season down your way, I 
expec'?" at last ventured Uncle Peter. 

"Oh, very, very," replied Mr. William 
Sutton. "I hardly knew how to leave my 
desk; but I said to myself, 'It is n't right. I 
must see Uncle Peter once more.' Orders 
are piling up so the boys hardly know what 
to do with them." 

"I want to know! You must hev to hev 
a deal of help." 

"Most a hundred men, I cal'late," in- 
terpolated Adam, eying the remaining 
buckwheats meditatively. 

"Alomost that, young man," said Mr. 
Sutton, condescendingly, and smilingly as if 
at the rural simplicity which confronted 

" Must make a heap of money, I reckin." 

"Well, son, they probably would call it 
going some up here in the woods. What do 
you say, Cousin Will?" 

"I am sorry you brought up the matter 
of business, Eben. I like to leave its cares 
behind me when I come up into the beauti- 
ful simplicity and honesty of these noble 

solitudes. I am here to see Uncle Peter, 
regardless of my business interests." 

"It's very kind of you both," said Uncle 
Peter, " and I 'm sorry I hev a urrund that'll 
take me an' Adam away from your com- 
pany for a leetle while. I'm hopin' you 
won't think it ain't perlite." 

"Why, Uncle Peter! Don't let us inter- 
fere with you. We will find enough about 
the dear old place to interest us for days, 
if we could only stay so long." 
"Yes, indeed." 

"Well, now, I'm hopin' you'll make your- 
selves to hum. If you hev any writin' to do 
there's a old desk in the settin'-room. 
Thought maybe you might want to write 
some letters. Hep yourselves to anything 
you need. Only be kind er keerful of thet 
top drawer. It's got a few papers of my 
own in it that I don't like to hev disturbed. 
Just a old man's papers, you know, an' I 
kind er like to keep 'em private. Some 
memorandums abaout my will, an' sich like, 
as would n't interest you nohow." 

"Surely, Uncle Peter, you don't imagine 
we would disturb any private papers." 

"Sut'nly not! Not if you knew they was 
there. That's why I told you. You can 
use anything else in the desk that you need. 
Adam, I reckin we better be goin'. You 
can't swaller them buckwheats a-lookin' at 
'em. By the way, I'd be pleased if one of 
you gentlemen would step daown to the 
corner with this letter. Thought you'd 
want a leetle walk, most likely." 

"Certainly, Uncle Peter, Cousin Eben 
will go. I have an unaccountably lame 
foot this morning." 

"Thank you, Eben, I won't fergit it." 

"Oh, don't mention it, Uncle William," 
said his nephew, glancing sarcastically at 
Mr. William Sutton. "I rather think," he 
added, under his breath, as the old man 
turned away, " that we tackle that desk 
together. Do you understand?" 

When Uncle Peter and Adam returned, 
in the course of an hour or two, they were 
met at the door by Mrs. Markham, her ex- 
citement visible from a considerable dis- 

"They've gone! Both on 'em, and sud- 
dint-like! They comes on me in the kitchen 
with their overcoats and hats on and their 
grips in their hands, and they sez I was to 
tell you thet they wished to be very affec 
shunately remembered to you, but they had 



to go to once, and right away at that. 'Most 
took my breath out er my body." 
"They did, hey? Pressin' bizniss?" 
"So they sez." 

" Orders comin' in too fast, most likely. 
Come in, Adam, and cast your eye over this 
'ere. I writ it last night. It's my last will 
and testermunt — or it reads like it was. 
I hope you won't mind any personal re- 
flections on yourself, considerin' thet it 's 
got us clean shet on 'em. " 

Adam read the document which Uncle 
Peter held forth. 

"Hevin' no worldly goods to leave in this 
ere vale of tears, I, Peter Wilkinson, de- 
ceased, bein' in my right mind, do will, 
devise, and bequeath the care of my imbe- 
cile nephew Adam Wilkinson to my most 
affectionate nephews William Sutton and 
Eben Bartlett, they to pay off the mortgage 
and intrust on the old farm and to care 

tenderly fer him r all the days of his nateral 
life out of the great wealth thet Providence 
hez guv to them." 

"I reckin they did n't tech it, you know. 
They would n't disturb a old man's papers, 
an' it hurt 'em fer me to mention it, tumble! 
Throw it in the fire when you're done grin- 
nin' at it, Adam. You say they left kind er 
sudden-like, Sarah?" 

"They sez they hed been summoned." 
"I reckin maybe they was summoned. 
But the old man hain't been — not yit, not 
yit! I reckin, Adam, bein' ez I ain't de- 
ceased and the farm and anything else I 've 
got is as good as yours, as hez worked as 
hard fur it as I hev myself, maybe you'd 
better go down to the lot and take a look at 
them sheep. It's purty near to lambin'- 
time. Hope you did n't throw out them 
buckwheats, Sarah. I could n't seem to en- 
joy my breakfast until I got shet on 'em." 



Love sang a song at morning, — 
Young Love, with lips aflame, — 

Draining Joy's golden chalice, 
Playing Mirth's merry game. 

Love sang a song at noonday, — 
Brave Love, with tireless feet, — 

Bearing another's burden, 
Finding Life's service sweet. 

Love sang a song at evening, — 
Pale Love, with ebbing breath, — 

Lo! Heav'n was filled with music, 
For Love had conquered death! 




IWAS in the bleak fall of 1755 
that mariners three and a cask of 
rum were blown ashore at San- 
koty, off the east coast of Nantucket, whiles 
the good ship Sister Anne was churned to 
splinters against the treacherous sands. A 
fair cask, indeed, full from head to head, 
stout, and nobly hooped, and sound so that 
not a drop of brine penetrated and mingled 
with its contents, precious beyond gold and 
gems. No wonder, therefore, that the lusty 
mariner with the massive beard, standing wet 
and shaking on the meagre cliff that o'er- 
looked the sea, felt his soul grow warm 
within him and that he gave frank utterance 
in gratitude for the tender mercies of a 
mysterious Providence. 

"Ahoy, ahoy, and well-away, me mates!" 
says he, merrily, as he broached the cask 
with a touch gentle as that of a wench. 
"Here's to the cooper, the brave, bonny 
cooper, that hath fashioned this cask as a 
man should do!" And they drank. 

And he of the quaint pigtail quoth 

" Belay and stand by, me hearties! Here 's 
to the ship that hath borne the cask in safety 
o'er the sea!" And they drank. 

"Heave ho and avast!" quoth he of the 
beaked nose, and yet of the piercing eye. 
"Here's to the sea that hath borne the ship 
that hath brought the cask in safety to 
these shores!" And they drank. 

A tempestuous night grew on apace, and 
the mariners three sealed up their cask and 
rolled it o'er the sward before them, they 
seeking shelter in the quaint and tranquil 
town of Nantucket, lying to the westward 
two leagues and a half. 

Now, 't was in Nantucket that Ananias 
Tobey, a stout friend with a humble heart, 
walked in the paths of righteousness and 
virtue, setting good examples with great 
clearness, having put off all human infirmi- 
ties; — and also where he moved about 
diligently with a brassy bell, he being town- 
crier, and sonorously shattered the silence 
of that tranquil town by vociferating to the 

peaceful inhabitants thereof the latest in- 
telligence. True, indeed, that friend To- 
, bey's pronouncements usually took the form 
and effect following, to wit: 

"'T is Tuesday night, with a fair breeze 
from the windward, and God prospering 
the morrow will be Wednesday." For sure 
it was no fault of his that the news was 
scant, since the isle of Nantucket was in 
fact a quiet isle, lying peaceful and undis- 
turbed at the edge of Ocean Stream. 

But this very eve, as friend Tobey ascend- 
ed the seven-foot hill whereon rested the 
ancient mill that ground the grain for winter 
fodder, and scanned the circular horizon, 
perchance to view some incoming whaler, 
he observed, faintly limned against the 
sad gray moors, a shadowy three, toiling 
like Sisyphus with some unknown cylin- 
drical substance, and ever and anon dis- 
porting themselves in an unseemly and un- 
churchly fashion; for they seized hands and 
danced round said substance in a manner 
that was of evil consequence, well calcula- 
ted to draw away the mind from heavenly 
things. For which reason, as friend Tobey 
well knew, all persons godly disposed 
should shun such practices as engines of 

Therefore, having offended his eyes for 
a space sufficient to satisfy his soul's ab- 
horrence and curiosity, friend Tobey laid 
heavy grip on his bell, and made haste 
back to the town, fraught and important 
with these tidings of moment. 

"'Tis Tuesday!" he sang loud to the 
tune of the bell — "the third day — and 
three sinful strangers approach in the offing, 
bearing east, northeast, one point south. 
Strangers are come, possessed of the Evil 
One. Let all beware!" 

'T was at Moor's End, at the edge of the 
town, that the mariners three made pause, 
and further broached their cask before 
seeking the solace of strange entertainment. 

"Heave plucky, me hearties," says he of 
the massive beard. "Here's to the cooper 
that fashioned the cask!" And they drank. 



And he of the quaint pigtail quoth 

" Steady, oh, steady, me messmates! And 
here's to the ship that bore the cask in 
safety o'er the sea!" And they drank. 

"Luff, luff to the loo'ard, me laddies!" 
quoth he of the beaked nose, and yet of the 
piercing eye. "Here 's to the sea that bore 
the ship that hath brought the cask to this 
island on the lee!" And they drank. 

"Whoopee!" cried they all, in fraternal 
accord, with rising inflections and accents 

The wind howled and the snow had be- 
gun to sweep athwart the horizon when the 
mariners three and their cask of rum at- 
tained the centre of the village square. 
Knotty souls were they, and thirsty, as they 
sat by their cask. And they were encircled 
by friends of the tranquil isle, who had been 
shorn of their early repose by these rude 
sounds of riotous glee. 

'T was he of the massive beard who stood 
on the cask of rum and would make sweet 
speech with these upright men of the quaint 
little isle; but friend Jepthro Swayne, Se- 
lectman and worker in the paths of right- 
eousness, with heavy spectacles bridging his 
nose, read by the light of a lanthorn as fol- 
lows from the archives of the town to those 
evil men of the sea: 

"Be it known that Drink is the Soul of 
the Devil, that it leadeth to an evil Life and 
Conversation, and that as a Benefit and 
Warning to all great Lovers of Wine and 
strong Liquors — " 

"Whoopee!" cried the mariners three. 

"As a Benefit and Warning to all great 
Lovers of Wine and strong Liquors it hath 
been declared that all Wines, Liquors, 
heavy Draughts, Hollands, Grog, Rum 
and evil Waters of whatever ; sort be 
eschewed — " 

"Whoopee!" cried the mariners three. 

"Be eschewed, banished, forbidden, ex- 
orcised, and forever exiled from the Island 
of Nantucket, and that any Persons who 
shall introduce any of said strong Waters 
to said Island shall be deemed Miscreants 
and evil Persons, moved by the Voice of 
the Devil, and shall forthwith be incarcer- 
ated in the Town Gaol by the strong Arm 
of the Law, and said strong Waters shall 
be confiscated. Blessed be the Virtuous, and 
they that strive for Rectitude." 

Whereupon, in the exercise of the strong 

arm of the law, there followed a blithe and 
soul-easing contest between those mariners 
three and the cask of rum as parties of the 
first part, and those sober friends of the 
isle as parties of the second part. There 
was much bickering and scuffling, aye, and 
even sundry crackings of craniums; but the 
mariners three, though valiant, were weak 
as to numbers and had perforce to contend 
also against the enfeebling effects of divers 
devoted libations of rum, which, as the 
kind friend had truly said, is the soul of the 
Devil and does grievous hurt to all that im- 
bibe thereof to excess. 

Thus it was that the mariners three were 
haled to the county gaol — a modest struc- 
ture, forsooth, that had fallen into some 
disrepair through lack of employment; — 
it being recorded that it had last been used 
to accommodate a minister of a different 
faith, as having no visible means of support, 
and therefore a godless miscreant and va- 
grant. And the gaol stood on the bleak edge 
of the moor. And Ananias Tobey, town- 
crier, county gaoler, auctioneer, ringer of 
curfew, and custodian of confiscated goods, 
brought up the rear with the cask of rum. 

Now, 't is no rare hardship for buffeted 
seamen who have rolled a full cask of rum 
two leagues against the wind and made 
zestful brawl with sturdy burgesses to sleep 
on a hard bed in tempestuous weather. 
Nor did these mariners three make moan 
when they were shown to couches of uncov- 
ered boards. Nay, soon they were buried 
deep in restful slumber, which comes at 
times alike to the ungodly and eke to those 
who walk in the strait path of the righteous. 
Yet they had not recked of the sheep. 

'T was indeed a turbulent night, and the 
sheep that nibbled the scant pastures by 
day, fleeing before the restless blasts that 
ever swept o'er the sandy moors, sought 
shelter in that spot which appeared to them 
most convenient, most hospitable, and most 
humane. What wonder, then, that, spy- 
ing this friendly gaol from afar, they filed 
gently through its open door, and disposed 
themselves in crowded comfort, free from 
the piercing blasts that blew tireless in from 
the sea? 

But 't was long since he of the massive 
beard had slept on a windy moor in an open 
gaol, overwhelmed with curious sheep, and 
in good season he awoke and peered about 
in the grateful gleam of the lanthorn that 



had been placed on the cask of rum by 
Ananias Tobey, town-crier. And when he 
perceived the nature of this billowy, fleecy 
sea by which he was sore hard pressed, he 
rose from his bed of board in stalwart rage. 

"Avast and belay, me messmates!" he 
shouted with raucous vigor. "Avast and 
belay yet once again!" And there awoke 
also he of the quaint pigtail, and he of the 
beaked nose, and yet of the piercing eye, 
and looked about them, and were amazed. 

'T was he of the massive beard who ad- 
vanced to the corner where Ananias Tobey, 
town-crier, county gaoler, and custodian of 
confiscated goods, was seated on the floor, 
his head reclining at a fond angle against 
the cask of rum. 

He of the massive beard thrust his boot 
generously into the sides of the gaoler and 
caused him thereby to sway pendulously 
for a moment, and then to sink gently to 
the floor, his arms falling tenderly in a pos- 
ture of affection about the base of the cask 
of rum. 

"Well, shiver me toplights!" quoth he of 
the massive beard. 

"Heave ho and avast!" cried he of the 
quaint pigtail. 

"Blow me and blast me!" said he of the 
beaked nose, and yet of the piercing eye. 

Whereupon these mariners three rushed 
out to the tempestuous moors and back into 
the placid town; and they roared right lus- 
tily — yea, they did shatter that holy calm 
as it had ne'er been shattered before, by 
town-crier, auctioneer, or clangorous bell 
that rang curfew in tower of Old South 

"Ahoy!" they shouted with vast good 
will, and abundantly well together. 

"Ahoy, ahoy, and yet again, ahoy!" 

Nor was it long ere lights shone in the 
sundry windows of these domiciles of tran- 
quillity, for truly the evocations were dread- 
ful to hear; and presently there appeared 
in the square, equipped with lanthorns and 
armed with muskets, against these horrid 
bodements, Jepthro Swayne, Selectman 
and worker in the paths of righteousness, 
together with divers and sundry of the God- 
fearing natives of the tranquil isle. 

There was no utterance from the mari- 
ners three and them of the isle until they 
had reached the county gaol, whither all 
were led by him of the massive beard. 
Thereupon he spake, whiles they of the isle 

glanced down at the sheep, and also at him 
who yet embraced the cask of rum. 

"A gaol!" quoth he, with a weight of 
scorn in his voice; "a gaol, a pretty gaol, 
forsooth! And a gaoler — a pretty gaoler, 
forsooth! Behold now, thy gaoler, — he of 
the lanthorn and the brassy bell, who snores 
athwart our cask of rum!" 

They looked, and they saw, and they 
marvelled much to see. 

And then he of the massive beard made 
speech in thunderous tones, so that they of 
the isle who stood there in the shadowy 
lights of their lanthorns quaked fearfully to 

"Blast me, blow me, shiver me, and 
avast ! And do ye imagine this a gaol ? We 
be mariners three, and we have roamed 
and buffeted the main, and travelled wide 
in distant climes. Aye, and we have lodged 
in many a gaol, but never in such an one as 
this. Shiver me! Blow me! We will not 
bide in thy gaol, an ye do not fasten the 
door and keep out the sheep!" 

'T was in faltering tones that Jepthro 
Swayne spoke when he of the massive beard 
had done. 

"We have had peace and satisfaction in 
our gaol," he said, "for it hath afforded a 
comfort and refuge for the sheep in the 
night season. But thou sayest truly 't is 
right that we should fasten the door;" 
and here he looked with puzzled mien at 
him who grasped the cask of rum, and 
presently continued, in sorrow and amaze: 
"It appeareth that our worthy town-crier 
hath fallen from grace and hath sold him- 
self to the Prince of Darkness. 5 T is proper, 
then, that he also should be confined in the 

There was a nodding of heads by the 
friends of the isle, and a hum of approval, 
for they plainly saw that the sin of the town- 
crier was great, and merited due penalty. 

"Yet," pursued Jepthro Swayne, as he 
again glanced in much perplexity at him 
who lay caressing the cask of rum, "yet it 
surpasseth my wit how we may safely in- 
carcerate him, for, be it known, our county 
gaoler, whom we would with justice deprive 
of his liberty, hath the key of the gaol in his 
sagathy breeches!" 

And here it was that a buzzing of sym- 
pathy passed around among those bearded 
friends of the isle, but he of the massive 
beard smote the gaoler athwart the thick of 



the thigh so that the sound cracked forth 
very like unto the harsh snapping of a faggot 
in the flame. 

"What ho, thou shameless dullard!" 
quoth the mariner, "what ho, and yet again, 
what ho! Wouldst deprive us of a hard- 
earned repose, aye, and thyself also, by 
slumbering on the key? Come, come," he 
said, "what of the key, man; what of the 

And he who cherished the cask even as a 
woman cherishes her child opened a slit in 
his eyes and, smiling with the content of 
the ever-blessed, made languid utterance: 


A mighty oath tore from the lips of him 
of the massive beard, and he pounced upon 
that gaoler and seized the key from the 
dark depths of his sagathy breeches. 

"There, in God's sooth," he said, ten- 
dering the key to Jepthro Swayne, "there 
is the key. Now, out with the sheep, and 
lock us up that we may have repose." 

Saying the which, he reclined again upon 
his board of pine, as did likewise he of the 
quaint pigtail, and he of the beaked nose, 
and yet of the piercing eye. And ere the 
last sheep had been ousted from the county 
gaol those mariners three slept, and snored 
— aye, and eke snortled in rich union and 

But they of the tranquil isle tarried yet 
a while and stood about in a circle and 
looked with the eye of pity tinctured with 
scorn upon the figure of him who fondled 
close that cask of rum. 'T was Jepthro 
Swayne who spake at length in words of 

"Thou hast erred grievously, Ananias, 
in that thou hast seen fit to tamper with the 
Engine of the Devil. Behold, thou art 
overtaken and arrested in the grim Terri- 
tories of Drunkenness, which is a sin beyond 
all. And thou hast brought Shame upon 
us, Ananias, in that thou hast openly em- 
braced a cask of Rum." 

Here, however, friend Jepthro paused, 
and a new light of doubt and hope shone 
through his heavy spectacles: 

"And yet, brethren," he added, "I mis- 
give me much that friend Ananias should 
trifle with this horrid enemy of the soul; — 
't were not his custom; mayhap this is not, 
indeed, rum, of which he hath partaken. 
Mayhap 't is some innocent liquor, and he 
be overcome with excess of zeal to duty. 

"Friends and brothers," he continued, 
turning to those who surrounded him eager- 
ly in the murky light of the lanthorns, 
"I have a great concern and exercise on my 
mind to taste of the cask and see verily 
whether this be rum, and whether or no we 
have vainly and arrogantly maligned our 
dear brother Ananias." 

And from all that circle of hearers there 
was not one word of dissent. 

Gently disengaging a pannikin from the 
feeble grasp of the gaoler, friend Jepthro 
tipped over the cask and drew for himself 
a modicum of the contents thereof. This 
modicum he held to his lips and swallowed 
with a gurgle of righteousness, while the 
circle of bearded friends of the tranquil isle 
gazed on with a painful anxiety. And they 
saw a heavenly light steal into the eyes of 
Jepthro Swayne behind the heavy specta- 
cles that bridged his nose. 

"It hath," he said, "somewhat of the 
taste of rum, yet as I have but imperfect 
knowledge of this matter I shall ask Brother 
Hofnn to try if it be really rum or no." 

So Brother Hoffln tasted, and in an agony 
of doubt passed on the burden to Brother 
Bolger. And Brother Bolger tasted; and 
Brother Cardner tasted; and they ail tasted; 
but such was the innocence and unwisdom 
of those men of the isle that though they 
tried and they tried, in humble endeavor, 
never were they quite able to quiet their 
souls whether or no 't was a cask of rum. 

'T was he of the massive beard who first 
awoke when the sad gray dawn made its 
way through the generous chinks in the 
easterly wall of the county gaol. And as he 
cast his wary eye about he rubbed it in keen 
amaze and stared yet once again, the whiles 
he gave soft utterance to words that apper- 
tain to a life on the sea. And then he prodded 
him of the quaint pigtail, and likewise him 
of the beaked nose, and yet of the piercing 
eye. And they also did look, and stare, and 
swear with sweet accord. 

Peradventure 't were meet they did, for 
there, still in a circle surrounding that cask 
of rum, were they of the tranquil isle; but 
no longer erect and scornful, and full of 
righteous wrath against the vessels of in- 
iquity, but low and humble, reclining in 
divers and sundry poses on the barren floor 
of that gaol. And all of those virtuous 
friends were wrapped in the slumber of the 

1 68 


innocent, — some soundless, some snoring, 
some wheezing, some gasping catchily, 
some groaning, some sighing even as the 
wind soughed and sighed through the gen- 
erous chinks in the easterly wall. 

"Shiver me!" softly crooned he of the 
massive beard. 

" Blast me!" whispered he of the quaint 

"Alas and ahoy," murmured he of the 
beaked nose, and yet of the piercing eye. 

And again 't was he of the massive beard 
that crept with cunning stealth to where 
Tepthro Swayne lay nigh the cask of rum — 
aye, even nigher than he of the brassy bell 
— and, removing the key from his hand, 
made progress back to his mates of the sea, 
pushing the cask before him with tender 

"'T is a Christian act we do," he quoth, 
as he gently oped the door and again laid 
the cask on the freedom of the moor. "I 
wot not of the habits of sheep, — their in- 
comings and outgoings, — but 't is only a 
deed of charity to lock the door of the gaol 
against them, that these worthy brethren of 
the isle be not disturbed in their slumber." 

Whereupon, having carefully locked the 
door, he and his mariner mates made off 
through the dawning day toward the harbor, 
ever rolling before them the faithful com- 
panion of their adventures, that well-hooped 
cask of rum. 

In a staunch whaleboat it was that they 
embarked, setting a fair good sail, and with 
a favoring breeze and a restful sea 't was 
soon that they could gaze o'er the stern and 
observe the spires of the quaint old town 

rise nobly above the roofs, while o'er the 
lea, on the bleak edge of the moor, could 
still be discerned the modest lines of the 
county gaol, wherein slumbered and snored, 
and gurgled and groaned, the humble, the 
chaste, the upright sons of the tranquil 

And still again 't was he of the massive 
beard who broached the cask and cried: 

"Ahoy, ahoy, and well away, me mates! 
We '11 drink to the cooper, the brave, bon- 
ny cooper, that hath fashioned this cask as 
a man should do!" 

And he of the quaint pigtail quoth 

" Belay and stand by, me hearties! We'll 
drink to the ship that hath borne the cask 
safely o'er the sea!" 

"Heave ho and avast!" quoth he of the 
beaked nose, and yet of the piercing eye. 
"We'll drink to the sea that hath borne the 
ship that hath brought this cask in safety 
to yon hospitable shore!" 

Thereupon it was that they up-ended that 
cask, and tilted it, and moved it from side 
to side, and shook it, and pressed it, and 
squeezed it, and spoke to it in terms of 
hearty rage. But not a drop issued there- 

"Shiver me toplights!" quoth he of the 
massive beard. 

"Blast me forehatches!" quoth he of the 
quaint pigtail. 

"Alas, alas, and yet again alas!" quoth 
he of the beaked nose, and yet of the piercing 

And they drank not. 

So these mariners three sailed o'er the 
sea, with an empty cask of rum. 



The Sportsman Lecturer 


Mr. Beane in his "den" 

OVER there in the corner of the 
lounging-room of the West End, a 
Portland angler and two visiting 
brethren from the far West are swapping 
yarns, producing pictures in proof of their 
contentions, and waxing hot and eager in 
their metamorphosis of a modicum of fact 
into a mountain of fiction, to the apparent 
amusement of the seasoned veterans who do 
there daily congregate. 

In the embrace of a big couch to one side 
of the office, the portly figure of ''The Sage 
of Moxie Lake" is enthroned. He appears 
at times inert, again alert, but all the time 
his half-shrouded eyes, with an altogether 
too innocent guilelessness to fool an old 
acquaintance, take in all that transpires. 

George, at the desk, endeavors to appear 
entirely taken up with multifarious duties 
to the utter exclusion of the wonderful 


H i \ 

. .•-.. :& 





scaley stories that come swimming in his 
direction; but a queer little smile that won't 
come off denotes his appreciation of the 
scientific processes brought to bear as the 
fishing cranks get busy. 

Here is the familiar group of our politi- 
cians, oracles of wisdom, mulling over the 
latest sidelights on local celebrities and 
regulating the world's affairs to a nicety in 
accordance with the Maine point of view. 
A coterie of "angels of the road" eagerly 
listens with mirthful comment: first to the 
wise man with hand-made fly-rod as he 
lands tremendous fish so often he really 
believes himself, then to the poetically in- 
clined master of oil-paints, who clinches his 
argument, digresses to deliriously recite 
"The clink of the ice in the pitcher the boy 
brings down the hall," and switches to a 
consideration of the local baseball prob- 

"Natty" has a number of railroad men 
roaring as he tells the latest on "the Ma- 
jor" and harks back to the good old days 
of conductor rivalry on the Western Di- 

Jack hears without listening while mood- 
ily turning four close-written letter-sheets 
of liberal size, and he thoughtfully scans 
an envelope bearing the "Big Town" 
postmark of several days ago, wondering 
with a far-away look, "What next?" 

His has been a precipitous return from 
the magnificent displays of New Hamp- 
shire's up-tumbled mountain ranges, where 
he would have been willing almost to swear 
that he had seen the skyward-mounting 
summits sprout and reach their limit. Only 
this very noon a period has been put to a 
busy business program by the transcrip- 
tion of an electric flash to a piece of yellow 
paper that read, "Meet Jim and me — 
Union Station to-night. Clyde." 

This is Jack's first warning that his glow- 
ing descriptions of the grand life close to 
nature at New York smoke-talks have pre- 
cipitated the coming of two untrained ad- 
venturers within the mystic portals sepa- 
rating the real life from the unreal, and dis- 
concerting enough is this to induce indiffer- 
ence to all surroundings and work his brain 
overtime in the attempt to meet the require- 
ments of the case. 

Two would-be-sportsmen, well attuned 
to the ways of Broadway and the Bowery, 
Wall Street and Chinatown, but honestly 

ignorant regarding all things woodsy and 
piscatorial, will soon be en route with him 
for two weeks' sojourn among the sighing 

If, in your anxiety to create a sensation, 
you should be painfully conscious that you 
have "drawn the long bow" occasionally, 
and now must stand in imminent danger of 
getting "called" and ordered to "make 
good" by two young men who have heard 
you, only half believing that you are safely 
outside "the Ananias Club," how would 
you feel? A series of clever pictures alone 
has stood between him and the "in bad" 
people, "the nature fakirs," and Jack faces 
the present crisis with shivers of apprehen- 
sion lest the Fates be unkind. 

Before the mind's eye he sees a natty, 
tow-headed, everlastingly "kidding" Clyde, 
an expert A. P. telegraph operator on a 
metropolitan daily, ready-witted and orig- 
inal in his utterances, whose last words at 
the Grand Central were, "I will squeeze 
your Adam's apple until you taste cider if 
you don't take time off and go into the 
woods with Jim and me this year." Another 
figure is that of a slight-built, four-eyed 
financier in the office of a leading New 
York broker, who takes the world seriously, 
enjoys a joke when it is on the other fellow 
rather more than when the point is turned 
his way, a royal entertainer with romantic 
notions enough to set the clock back thirty 
minutes on an express-train. A talented 
but very odd individual is Jim, and as bru- 
nette as Clyde is blonde. 

Jack wonders if he really knows them 
well enough to warrant taking chances 
with them in the big woods. What shall the 
harvest be after two weeks of life in the open 
have scrubbed off the veneer and laid bare 
the true timbre of their character ? 

You know your ' friend — perhaps — if 
you have summered and wintered him, 
sung and wept with him, sported and 
toiled with him; but, final test of all, have 
you tented and tramped with him far from 
the centres of business activity, where the 
paddle and canoe are the locomotive and 
Pullman, your own bare hands replace chef 
and waiter, and the hoot of the owl sounds 
afar instead of the peal of the curfew ? No 
room for pretense and frills in that life, for 
there true values find their level, known for 
what they are, as all worship at nature's 



Contrasting pleasant hospitalities with- 
out limit in Manhattan, our friend is be- 
set with anxieties touching the question of 
location in the midst of the "standing- 
room only" season, August in the State of 
Maine. Conning the conditions in camp 
after camp, not one of them can take three 
men at short notice. He must locate his 
friends near good fishing. What then? 

Speculation is rudely interrupted by a 
yell and a jolt, — both familiar, — his cap 
is torn from his head, sent spinning across 
the room, and a hearty "Hello, old scout" 
brings Jack back to earth with both arms in 
danger of dislocation from the tremendous 
twisting and pumping only two live New 
Yorkers understand how to cut loose. 

"You look good to me — right down 
good," declares Clyde, and Jim adds, 
"None better." 

"In Maine at last, eh? You are more 
than welcome; but why so late? Can't 
you Knickerbockers ever learn to get in on 

" Grease on the rail — wheels turned the 
wrong way — went back two feet for every 
one ahead till we turned the train end for 
end and finally arrived," says Clyde, with 
a grimace. " Hungry — I could eat a copy 
of the prohibition law if I had it now; and 
you want to go slow on that welcome busi- 
ness, for I opine you will soon be climbing 
the tallest timber to escape the questions 
we have ready to fire. What we donH know 
about roughing it is enormous, but we 
know we donH know, and that will help 
some. It's entirely up to you." 

"Cut it — you have stirred this partic- 
ular puddle long enough for a curtain- 
raiser, and we'll eat." 

After an especially satisfying sit-down 
to a good meal, the party is lost to the world 
for a time in one of those heart-to-heart 
smoke-talks such as only men can have who 
sit in easy-chairs with feet on a mantel and 
unload for each other's benefit the accumu- 
lated spice of many days. 

"Where are your rod - cases ? " asks 

"Not born — everything we have is in 
those two suit-cases." 

" I suppose you received my letter regard- 
ing proper outfit?" 

"Yep; too late, though. We had the 
whole thing before we heard from you — 
sporting-goods man on 25th Street told us 

what we needed. All there, — hook, bob, 
line, sinker — and corkscrew." 

Out comes the kit from each grip. Such 
truck ! Rods in short sections, good enough 
for trolling, but worthless for fly-casting; 
reels up to date a hundred years ago; line 
good for perch or sucker fishing only; flies 
— unheard of things no one could ever use; 
an entire rigging unfit, its purchase-money 
worse than burned. 

"How in the name of the Statue of Lib- 
erty would we have known the difference 
even if we had your letter?" demanded 

"I don't know a Parmacheenee Belle 
from a Matabooloo chief or a Skowhegan 
clam," chimes in Jim. 

They stood a vast amount of chaffing 
that night, and the next day with the best 
grace possible bought new rigging, while 
swearing vengeance on the man who had 
sold them a gold brick. Five-ounce rods, 
multiplying-reels, enamelled line, landing- 
nets, and flies were of the very best in the 
market, for nothing is ever saved in cheap 
tackle and the money left by the two young 
fellows in Portland stores was very respect- 
able. As they took their seats in the Pull- 
man bound for the Rangeleys they hove a 
sigh of relief and expressed their satisfac- 
tion with life in no uncertain terms. 

"Where do we light?" 

"Ask me something easier; for to tell the 
simple truth and lie not, I have n't the 
slightest idea where I'll stow you cherubs, 
but we are on our way to Cupsuptic and 
Billy Soule's." 

" Sounds good to me," says Clyde. " Sure 
you have the name straight, or is that one 
of your grand inventions?" 

Jack's assertion that he would take no 
greater license with the truth than would 
Ed Grant arouses a suspicion that it will be 
as well if they do not pry too closely into 
the matter, and they heroically resign them- 
selves to the inevitable. 

Several sportsmen two seats away are 
telling stories that have fins and tails, each 
member of the party endeavoring to outdo 
the other; and as yarn after yarn is matched 
and discounted, smiles grow broader, 
nudges of elbows more frequent and vig- 
orous, until the irrepressible Clyde remarks 
to the Pullman conductor, "This is de- 
cidedly refreshing to me, sir. Now I know 
I am in the State Jack4iails from, and near 



Where no care lingei 

good fishing, for I have heard all those tales 
from him." With an air of utter abandon 
he assumes the role of a martyr to a good 
cause, pulls his soft hat over his eyes, and 
breathes with long sighs. 

"After five hours and twenty-five min- 
utes' battle I landed that salmon, and he 
weighed just thirty -five pounds — not so 
bad for a Labrador fish," relates one of the 
sportsmen. Jim softly murmurs, "Me too, 
Clyde," and in a state of green envy they 
wonder if there is a possibility that "All 
men are liars." 

So it runs until out of one eye a glimpse 
of striking scenery sets them up with a jerk, 
and from that time throughout the ride to 
Rumford Falls they never tire of expressing 
their delight in their surroundings, declar- 
ing they have gone far enough and would 
be contented to stop at any of the beautiful 
little towns along the line for their vacation- 

"Can you beat it?" The Androscoggin 
flows beside the track. 

"By a thousand miles. You fellows just 
stay on earth and keep your feet down until 

the real thing gets along. This river is the 
outlet of the Rangeley chain of lakes; wait 
to get a peek at the head-waters." 

The train crawls up the grade past Sum- 
mit, and the boys are too intent upon the 
changing environment to do much talking. 
Wilder and wilder appear the distant hills, 
and from the train very few marks of the 
steady encroachment upon forest treasures 
can be noted. 

"Here is Bemis, where the first camps in 
this section were located, and Captain Bar- 
ker is. still catering to the public, with in- 
creasing popularity from year to year. How 
is that for a bunch of wetness? You are 
fifteen hundred feet above sea-level, as high 
as the notch of the White Mountains of 
New Hampshire, and through those open- 
ing vistas you are looking across Moose- 
lookmaguntic Lake." 

"By the jumping Gasooks of Hoboken, 
what a dream!" With this exclamation at- 
tention is given most flatteringly to a word- 
picture drawn of the far-reaching expanse 
of gleaming silver. 

Mooselookmaguntic accepts contributions 



from Seven Ponds, Kennebago Lakes both 
little and big, that come to it through the 
Kennebago River and Cupsuptic stream 
and lake, and, plunging through the gates 
at Upper Dam, circles the famous pool there 
located. With volume still further aug- 
mented by the waters from Richardson's 
Pond, Molechunkemunk welcomes its vis- 
itor. They unite in Welokennebacook's 
flood, that goes tearing through Middle 
Dam near Angler's Retreat, and, between 
heavily wooded banks, emerge at Sunday 
Cove and join hands with Umbagog in 
turning myriad wheels along the Andros- 
coggin River, before the final long, smooth 
glide with unruffled bosom into a welcom- 
ing embrace in wedlock with the restless 
waves of the mighty deep. 

All along the way of the waters, kaleido- 
scope changes dazzle the eye with sublime 
scenery, hard to rival and impossible to 
surpass, go where you will. 

There is never enough of any peculiar 
phase of the general beauty to tire one with 
its continuity. The general setting of em- 
erald about crystal is always present, but 
broken everywhere, except where the heights 
afar are so blended by their great distance 
from the eye as to present a perspective of 
perfect oneness. 

In the nearer view, the shore-line breaks 
sharply where the waters, raised when their 
onward flow was retarded by engineering 
science, lave the roots of the marginal tim- 
ber that spreads back upon the eminences 
forming the sides of giant bowls of irreg- 
ular shapes, while in the distance along the 
water-level broken forest-lines denote the 
passages from one lake to another, which 
in several places — Haine's Landing, Up- 

Why not try a cast! 

per Dam, and Middle Dam — are negoti- 
ated by stage or buckboard overland. 

Cupsuptic and Mooselookmaguntic, Mole- 
chunkemunk, and Welokennebacook (Upper 
and Lower Richardson) are merged into one 
body by the dams below them. Rushing tor- 
rents from the other connecting links are 
navigable with canoe if one is willing to 
make a short carry. 

Good hotels or camps are everywhere, 
and from long experience their proprietors 
cater most acceptably to the pleasure of 
their patrons. 

"Fine, fine. How much do you get to 
boost this territory? " demands Clyde. 
"Come back to Bemis — what's on this 

Passing South Rangeley, the softened 
rays of the fast-declining sun gold-tint the 
outline of the encircling shores of Oquossoc 
Lake, and arrival at the station of the same 
name is greeted by a large number of peo- 
ple who manifest deep interest in all who 
enter this Eden. 

A short ride to Mountain View, and by 
dint of close calculation a rearrangement 
of help's quarters provides accommodation 
"for one night only." 

Up Cupsuptic to see the first, last, and 
only Billy Soule, at Pleasant Island Camps, 
introduces the New Yorkers to a prince of 
good fellows, who mourns that "there is no 
room at all unless you can sleep out-of- 

With mutual regrets, Pleasant Island 
fades from view as the puffing little launch 
returns the party to Haine's Landing, pass- 
ing en route the spot from which was taken 
the record square-tail trout of the world, — - 
eleven and three-quarters pounds' weight. 

Bald Mountain Camps can make no bet- 
ter proposition than Billy's. 

"Hard luck, pals; the phone for ours." 
For a half-hour, with monotonous regu- 
larity, discouraging answers are returned, 
until even the most buoyant of spirits be- 
gin to droop. 

The perfect amazement of Clyde and 
Jim at this unwelcome corroboration of 
Jack's stories regarding the popularity of 
the Rangeleys knocks all spirit of chaffing 
to the four winds, and they are very docile. 

"Chirk up before you take the train 
home — one more try." 

"Hello, Kennebago. Got any room there 
for three husky men for two weeks?" 



"Not an inch. H-e-1-l-o! Wait a minute. 
What did you say, sir?" (The man on the 
Kennebago end of the line is carrying on a. 
conversation with a party in his own camp.) 

For five minutes Jack, at the Oquossoc 
end, hears a babel of voices talking over 
some issue, and with bated breath awaits 
the verdict. Finally it comes. " One of our 
guests has just received an important letter 
calling him back to Philadelphia, and you 
can have his cabin." 

Jim delivers a straight left that sends 
Clyde up against the wall, and he retaliates 
by rolling Jim over the office floor. Both, 
rising, joyously wring Jack's hand until 
he commands, "Quit your monkey-shines, 
get your traps in a hurry, and we will try 
and catch the buckboard at Rangeley and 
get into Kennebago to-night." 

Their good genius is faithful, and by a 
great piece of driving they arrive at the 
cross-road before the "buck," and then con- 
tinue into the village nestling at the head of 
the big lake, with time sufficient to get a 
line on the place and a wash-up at the 
Rangeley Lake House, which they find 
crowded to capacity. 

Several people, who are there waiting for 
an opening in camps further along in the 
forest, envy the good fortune of the party, 
and the actual start for the woods finds two 
very happy chaps serenely bobbing on the 
back seat of a real buckboard, waving their 
caps in farewell to starched linen and pol- 
ished boots. 

"Now for the wild woods, free life, and 
free air," sings Clyde. 

"Not so fast — I reckon there's a sign of 
civilization, and all to the good for you, 
boy," laughs Jim. 

The team had halted on the highway 
while the driver secured a strap in the har- 
ness, when a "just plain drunk" uncer- 
tainly rose to his feet and staggered to- 
ward the party. He was much the worse 
for wear, and as he approached, Clyde 
groaned, "He'll pick me out of the bunch 
and bore me to death — they always do. 
If there is a 'souse' within a mile he gets 
me sure, just as these fish liars up here have 
me cornered. It's always to me. I must 
look like a 'josh.'" The team is off on a 
sharp trot, leaving a disappointed man 
"saying things" as he sees a beaming face, 
grinning over the back of the seat, rapidly 
disappear in the distance. 

Kennebago stream borders fairyland 

"Thought that was an impossibility in 
this State." 

"Some New Yorker must have dropped 
a quart," chuckles the driver. 

As good progress is made over the very 
fair road into Loon Lake, many comments 
are heard upon its condition, until in one 
place several large rocks directly in the 
wheel-rut shake up the party. 

"Too bad,"* says Jack; "the street com- 
missioner must have overlooked that place 
in the run of summer business. I hope he 
fixes it before we come back." 

"Oh, that's not bad at all," returns Jim. 
"I never thought to find so good a road 
here in the wilderness." 

The driver chokes and coughs unnoticed. 

Several other rough spots arouse new 
protests against the dereliction of the ab- 
sent commissioner, but he always finds an 
able champion in Jim, who is tacitly given 
to understand that present conditions pre- 
vail the entire ten miles. 

After passing Loon Lake the road rap- 
idly assumes its roughest aspect. Boulder 
upon boulder, washout after washout, and 
stretches of corduroy appear unexpectedly, 
over which persons must pass in a buck- 
board amid great discomfort, even at the 



best, unless the knack is acquired of per- 
mitting the body to sway easily with every 
jolt and swing. 

The first sure-enough bad place burst 
upon Jim without warning, and he stiffened 
up and held on with grim resolution de- 
picted in every feature, making heavy 
weather of it, but expecting the storm 
would soon pass, and determined to stick 
bv his friend the commissioner. As the 

I get the licking of my life. Paste that in 
your hat." 

"A deer just crossed here." 

By the side of a living spring Jack stands 
waiting for them to come up. They look 
about, but see nothing other than the pros- 
pect of a refreshing drink. 

"That doe got out of sight mighty 

"Gee whiz, what an atmosphere this is 

When we had neighbors, they, too, caught fish 

moments flew and smooth waters never re- 
turned, his good ship was well-nigh wrecked, 
and he blurted out, "I like liars, but some 
folks suit me too well." 

When Jack tore a branch from the foli- 
age above his head and, holding it in his 
hand, said he did it to ascertain when the 
road was rough enough to shake the leaves, 
the limit was reached and Jim thundered, 
"Street commissioner! The blazes! If I ever 
get to a spot where I can let go one hand- 
hold I will take a fall out of you, Jack, if 

for the imagination! That might go in New 
York, but you've got to show us here." 

Their attention is called to places where 
the animal has stood and pawed the earth, 
fed and drank; and two delighted fellows 
fairly rave over the first tangible sign that 
they are really in touch with the children 
of the woods. 

" I would give a fiver to see that deer run- 
ning wild," ejaculates Jim, but refuses to 
promise that money for each glimpse he 
may have coming to him. 



Clyde makes an abortive attempt to play 
a game of jolly for Jim's benefit by declar- 
ing he knows a bear is somewhere near, but 
collapsed when his pal dryly remarks, 
"S'pose you smell one, eh? You've been 
doing that in your dreams for the last three 
weeks, ever since we decided to come east." 

"No," retorts his friend, "but I heard 
him blow his nose when you lit that bum 
cheroot you're smoking." 

Jack decides they have had enough buck- 
board for one day, tells the driver to go 
along, joints up his fly-rod, and electrifies 
his charges by the announcement, "I am 
going to whip a small pond not a hun- 
dred miles from this trail. Want to come 

" Do we? Would a duck swim? Lead 
us to it. Do we take our rods ? " 

"Surest thing you ever knew." 

Cupsuptic just at daybreak 

"You're a tenderfoot," contemptuously 
answers Jim. " It will be many years before 
you can smoke a man's cigar." 

" Just as I thought — that one you are 
smoking must have been left for a 'swipe' 
a long time ago by some strong man. Smells 
like a cabbage to me." 

"If you don't like this room go up on the 
next floor with the other children and play 

Regarding his companions thoughtfully, 

With eagerness born of long anticipation 
of the moment, they overhaul their outfit, 
bend leader and three flies. Carefully 
watching to see if they have well learned the 
lesson of the previous evening in the proper 
adjustment of the lures, Jack is gratified to 
see selections made with a good combination 
of color, and they are off through a narrow 
trail that fifty out of a hundred at least 
would pass unnoticed. 

Pushing aside the bushes that line the 


road, and plunging through the under- 
growth, a plain path lies before them after 
they have traversed about fifty yards, and 
Clyde declares some one must have taken 
the pains to hide all traces of its existence. 

''Right you are. There is no question 
about the painstaking, and very few people 
hereabouts know of the place I am going to 
show you. I stumbled upon it by accident 
one day when I turned aside at the drum- 
ming of a partridge. I think you will say it 
was a lucky find." 

Very soon the small body of water is 
seen among the trees, covering not more 
than a half-acre, and all around where they 
stand is poplar growth. 

" Some cheap woodsman did that cut- 
ting," says Jim. "I can't swing an axe any 
too well, but if I could n't beat that I 'd never 
try again." 

"You can't beat that, Jim, nor can any 
one, for the woodsman does n't live who is 
equipped with such tools. That work was 
done by beaver, and down there you will 
see their dam. Notice how clever these 
wonderful animals are. Here is a tree that 
fell the • wrong way when they had cut 
around it, and you will see the amount of 
work it must have taken to do all that 
gnawing, as it is over eight inches in diam- 
eter. Because it fell away from the pond 
they abandoned it and cut this one right 
beside it, which fell as they had planned, 
and parts of it are now in that dam, sunk 
very cleverly into place at the bottom." 

"Mighty clever work. Let's keep quiet 
and we may see one," suggests Jim. 

" No danger of that, after all the noise we 
have made coming in. Catch on here and 
give me a lift! To the surprise of both his 
charges, Jack pulls aside some trees, reveals 
a small canoe, well hidden from casual 
gaze, and in a minute more it is resting on 
the water. 

"Right here I want to remark that you 
are both under orders. I am captain of this 
ship, and don't care to take a wetting so 
soon. Get in, Clyde; you weigh next to me, 
and I want you in the bow. Steady there! 
Don't grab the sides when she rocks or 
you are in it for fair. Sit still right in the mid- 
dle, and on the bottom — not on that cross- 
stick. Now you, Jim. Careful, old chap; 
this is n't a ferryboat. We are off." And with 
a powerful shove Jack sends the light craft 
well out from the shore. 

Nervously the boys reach for their rods, 
but Jack says, "Wait until we get to the 
other end. No use casting with the sun be- 
hind you out here in the open and no wind 
to ruffle the surface. I '11 have the shadows 
working the other way and give them a try. 
Better wait till you catch the idea of getting 
out line." 

Slowly paddling to the upper end of the 
little pond, Jack turns back, sets the canoe 
across the outlet of the small stream that 
feeds the body, and carefully starts his 

Once, twice, with no results; the flies 
settle each time a few yards further away 
from the canoe. A third try — a boil in the 
water near those pads. Back come the flies 
with nothing doing. 

"I'll have him this time, sure." 

Out go the flies again in a straight line 
over the place that showed signs of life. 
They drop on the surface at exactly the 
right spot and start back with a skip. 

Splash I A sharp snap of the wrist and 
forearm, and there is a lot of life at the other 
end of the line. 

"You've got him, by thunder!" and in 
a moment a very pretty trout is making the 
rod bend. 

" Must weigh two pounds," asserts Clyde. 

"Not more than a quarter of that," 
laughs Jack. "A half-pound square-tail 
kicks up a fuss all out of proportion with 
his size." 

In a couple of minutes Jim impulsively 
seizes the line as it circles his end of the 
canoe and drops, just back of him, a speck- 
led darling that weighs three-quarters of a 

"Be careful how you do that stunt, Jim, 
old boy. He is n't a big one, but they have 
to be handled a little different from a scul- 
pin. It's mighty easy to lose one if he hits 
the side of this craft when you lift him in 
that way. You see he is off the hook now, 
and it was sheer good luck that he fell into 
the canoe instead of the water." 

After a couple more fish averaging about 
the same size have been landed and one or 
two misses at the "strike" have been made, 
Jim tries his hand at getting out the flies, 
but tangles his line in a near-by tree on the 
bank. With an impatient exclamation he 
jerks the rod back and snaps his tip near 
the joint. In utter dismay he says a few very 
interesting things, and as he has left the 



rest of his rod on the shore he sits back 
dejectedly while Clyde tries his luck. 

First he drops the tip too low and thrashes 
the water. On the next attempt at a cast he 
snaps his loose line back as far as he can 
and puts all his strength into the forward 
swing, nearly capsizing the canoe and catch- 
ing his flies firmly into Jim's cap. 

"You are a regular old woman. What 
the devil do you think you are doing — 

landing while you practise, which will be 
safer and easier. I'll risk my life with one 
at a time, but this world is n't big enough 
for you both to work at once just at present." 
Back to the shore and, hiding the canoe 
again, they start for the road, when right 
under foot a ruffled-up little body appears, 
making a curious plaint and dodging back 
and forth across the path, always leading 
off to the left of it as thev advance. 

Maine wood roads are charming- 

making a home run at the bat?" yells that 
individual. "I want to get back to town 
and take a life-insurance policy along with 
I me if I stay in a boat with you, you mucker." 
"Keep your shirt on. I didn't break 
my rod, anyway." 

!i "We will call this a day's work, my lads, 
and to-morrow at Kennebago I will give 
lyou lessons in the proper way to cast with- 
out using all the strength in your bodies. 
jit is a neat little trick of the forearm, just 
as easy when you know how, and I rather 
guess we will stand on the float at the boat- 

" What is it, and what is it trying to do?" 

"A mother partridge or ruffed grouse 
trying to toll you off this side into the woods 
away from her brood. Don't go over there. 
Come this way and I will show you her 

Stealing along carefully while the cries 
of the little mother grow more and more 
insistent and her advances more bold, Jack 
pauses and peers about. "There is one, 
and I'll try to catch it." 

He sneaks over to a low tree where a 
little brown puffball is sitting on a limb. 



" Flatiron " amid the sighing- pines 

The parent bird fairly goes daffy with so- 
licitude, but just as he reaches toward the 
fuzzy object it unfolds a tiny pair of wings 
and flies into the underbrush, where the 
combined efforts of the three fail to locate 
him. To the great relief of the mother they 
decide they must push along the road to 
Kennebago or lose their supper. 

An hour and a half later the glorious 
"Long Water Place" of the Abenakis lies 
at their feet, and Clyde recalls the lines, 

"None of thy sisters may usurp thy place, 
Of all the lakes, thou fairest sylvan sea." 

"Maule had been here before he wrote 
those lines," quoth Clyde. "And I believe 
I have at last found one man who has told 
the truth beside you, Jack." 

"Thank you, old fellow. I am going to 
wring the same confession from you at each 
new step and compel you to settle with your 
Manhattan friends in full for all their un- 
belief by paying this tribute to Maine's 

" 'To those who know thee not, words fail to paint. 
To those who know thee, all words are faint.' 

"You are now considered a convert, and 

have but to go on learning the creed, ' I be- 
lieve Maine is the fairest spot in this wide, 
wide world.'" 

After supper of broiled trout, some of the 
beauties caught that afternoon, the three 
partners canoe along the shore of the lake. 
Smooth as a mirror is its bosom under the 
soft radiance of the full moon, and they 
dreamily float just beyond the shadow cast 
by the tall trees of the heavily wooded banks. 

Voices are heard, seemingly very near, but 
coming from camps at least four hundred 
feet away. Presently the sweet voice of a 
singer steals across the water, and the fa- 
miliar air "In the evening by the moon- 
light" tempts Clyde's vibrant tenor, with 
which is joined Jack's rich baritone. 

The air changes to "Old Black Joe," 
and then to many others, with frequent 
encores from unknown friends, until some 
one on the shore starts "Take me back to 
New York town," when Jim yells, "Not on 
your life," so suddenly that he breaks the 
spell, and amid laughter and joke the ca- 
noe speeds back to the hotel, where a guide 
shows the party its quarters. 

Away from the large house, a little cabin 



Well worth the twenty-minute battle 

is fitted with two beds in opposite corners 
from the open fireplace, and with a last 
happy chorus, "Home, Sweet Home," 
tired New Yorkers rest "in the arms of 

The next morning, as the sun's first rays 
kiss the surface of the lake, Jack hauls his 
pals out of bed and they take a refreshing 
eye-opener in the shape of a plunge from 
the float into sparkling depths. 

Breakfast — and such a breakfast — fit 
to tempt the appetite of an epicure; and 
with kit of cooking-tools, a couple of slices 
of pork for the frying-pan, three lunches, 
and their outfit, they are off for the day. 

A landing is made on a diving-float away 
up the lake, where, unobserved, the rudi- 
ments of fly-casting are learned. It is slow 
work, but patiently they persist until a 
short cast is a possibility, and the next les- 
son is work with the paddle. Clad in their 
birthday suits, Clyde at the stern and Jim 
at the bow, with Jack seated in the middle, 
they pass a hilarious hour, at the end of 
which time circles appear less and less and, 

changing ends, they get on very well with 
the art of steering from the stroke. 

So the forenoon passes, until "When do 
we eat?" is answered, "When we have 
caught some fish." 

Pushing over into Big Inlet, they pass 
upstream a little way to where the fringing 
bushes are thick, and Jack says conditions 
are good for results. Fish always come to 
the fly in Kennebago, and to-day is no ex- 
ception. So do the flies and mosquitoes — 
who ever had good fishing without them? 

Too busy and too delighted at the discovery 
that they can hook one out of twenty rises 
to pay attention to the small pests in the air, 
Jim and Clyde have the time of their lives. 
They catch many fish, but kill only those of 
fair size, some of the best fry fish that ever 
graced a pan. When a sufficient number to 
appease their hunger is assured, off they 
go into the woods and along a high ledge of 
rocks. Against a big boulder a fire is built, 
and the first meal in the open is pronounced 
the peer of any they ever enjoyed. 

"Talk about Reisenweber's and Mar- 



tin's — Jack has their best chefs skun to a 
finish, and I vote him a raise in salary," 
suggests Clyde. 

''Granted. You charge it up to me and 
pay the bill." 

At the close of the afternoon they slowly 
paddle back "home," and, after supper 
and their evening pipe, play three-handed 
crib until the question of an owl up the 

tion to eating in an endeavor to appear un- 
concerned; but as the meal progresses, in 
answer to some banter from Clyde, Jim ap- 
peals to the bridegroom for his opinion be- 
fore he remembers he has not the honor of 
his acquaintance. A laughing reply, in 
which both bride and groom join, breaks 
the ice and conversation becomes general. 
The new arrivals hail, from New York, 

Toward evening at Loon Lake 

lake is taken seriously by Jim. "He wants 
to know who will be first in bed. I will." 

A wild scramble ensues as Clyde and 
Jack try to beat him out, but with a cry, 
"Lubber last, put out the light," "Flatiron 
Camp" is in darkness; but sleep comes with 
leaden wings only after sundry twistings 
and turnings and much vigorous scratch- 
ing tells how industriously the long-billed 
natives of the lower end of Kennebago got 
in their work. 

At the morning meal two new-comers are 
seated opposite our party, a young couple 
on their honeymoon, who pay strict atten- 

and Clyde, with the air of an experienced 
guide, takes them under his wing at once. 
Sitting on the broad veranda they discover 
they have many things in common, inclu- 
ding a few acquaintances, and by mutual 
consent are included among Jack's charges. 

"We went out yesterday afternoon and 
never got a bite," says Mrs. Tea. 

"That would have been our luck with- 
out Jack," avers Clyde. "Better go with 
him to-day." 

Anxious to make a good impression and 
show some of his newly acquired knowl- 
edge, Clyde invites Jim to a canoe-ride in 



Jack's absence, and he accepts without 
much deliberation. Off they go from the 
float grandly, up the lake for a quarter of a 
mile. Their success dazzling them a little, 
for they are doing very well for their first 
trip alone, they attempt to make a grand 
finish with a burst of speed and come along 
in fine style. Almost at the float, Clyde 
tries back-paddling, Jim is caught off hie 
balance by the sudden change, and an 
instant later both are floundering in the lake, 
the objects of jollying for full forty people. 
Quite unnecessary to state, the stock of 
the two as canoe experts takes a sudden 
drop, but the incident serves well the pur- 
pose of driving home a lesson they never 
afterward forget, — that with life in a canoe 
eternal vigilance is the price of dry skins. 

The day is spent about camp and off on 
walks through the woods with their new 
friends, a game of quoits "for the cham- 
pionship of the world; nothing less," and 
an evening of "bridge" closing the day. 

The course of a few days has pretty well 
divorced "the innocents" from city ways 
and they are feeling much at home in the 
woods. One proud morning Jack delights 
Clyde by telling him he can handle a canoe 
well enough now to undertake a trip as skip- 
per of a craft. Mrs. Tea believes him, and 
an early start is made for Little Kennebago 
under his escort, while the other parties 
elect to go by trail. 

Passing along the buckboard road lead- 
ing to Seven Ponds, they suddenly cease 
their loud talking, for there in a little clear- 
ing stands a good-sized buck. Not in the 
least alarmed; for he knows it is close time, 
the beauty stands and innocently surveys 
the party; finally, coming out into the road 
and deliberately taking a few steps in their 
direction, he stops, turns to one side, and 
leisurely goes off into the woods. 

"Where, in heaven's name, were our wits 
that we left our kodaks in camp? One of 
the greatest essentials to a perfect outing 
never should be forgotten. Just think of 
the fun we '11 lose with the boys because we 
can't show his picture." 

Before the day is over three more deer 
are seen, and Jack declares Jim owes him 
twenty dollars for the day's show. On the 
return trip Mrs. Tea and Clyde return by 
land with Tea, and Jim and Jack bring the 
canoe around to the lake. 

Along the shore of the stream, Jack 

pushes onto a sandy beach, calls his com- 
panion's attention to some fresh tracks, and 
briefly says, "Bear." 

Just before leaving the narrow waterway 
they come upon a young doe standing in 
the stream, and, as she has not observed 
their approach, get very near and laugh 
heartily as she goes flying shoreward when 
she catches a glimpse of them out of the 
tail of her eye. 

" Go it, you little beauty. I would n't 
stop you if I could — and 1 can't," is Jim's 
comment. "No man with a heart other 
than a gizzard could ever shoot one of 

"Wait till the proper season, and then 
say," answers Jack, with a smile. "You'll 
get into the game in time." 

"Never — not in a million years," em- 
phatically rejoins Jim; but in after-times 
he finds his ideas radically changed. 

Arrived at the foot of Kennebago, the 
other members of the party are awaiting 
them, and side by side two canoes float 
toward home and supper. Unseen by the 
rest, Jack notes big black clouds piling up 
in the west, and now a few rain-drops pat- 
ter down. Clyde remarks, "Hully gee, 
we're in for a good soaking this trip, and 
no mistake." 

"Not so sure of that." Jack's canoe, 
under the combined strokes of himself in 
the stern and Jim in the bow, is fairly leap- 
ing through the water toward the shore, 
distant a quarter of a mile. 

The other canoe follows at slightly less 
speed, and arrives at the chosen landing- 
place to find its predecessor hauled high and 
dry and turned bottom up, its ends resting 
on two big rocks; and from underneath this 
improvised roof the two J's are resting com- 
fortably, pulling away at their pipes. While 
the thunder rolls and the lightening flares, 
the second crew, following the example of 
the first, accepts the situation philosophi- 
cally, and a few minutes later are on their 
way to camp, none the worse for battle with 
the elements. 

The next day, a canoe trip to Kennebago 
Falls and a long stroll along the river below 
with dinner together among the trees, fills 
the hours to the limit with unalloyed delight. 

Day succeeds day with ever-changing 
program, during the working-out of which 
Jack's charges throw their first awkward- 
ness to the shades of the past and hit the 

i8 4 


trail for Rangeley at length with many a 
long look backwards and expressed regrets 
that they must turn a deaf ear to the call of 
the wild until another season. Mr. and 
Mrs. Tea decide to accompany them, de- 
claring that even life at Kennebago would 
be spoiled by the breaking of the party, a 
most convincing proof of Jack's oft-repeated 
assertion, " People thrown together in the 
Maine woods will surely bunch up and 

It's a small world after all, for as they 
pass through the street toward the Range- 
ley Lake House a gay crowd of people yell 
recognition, and Brooklyn friends who are 
the guests of a New Yorker at Pickford's 
Camps go by on the rush for a visit to 
Haine's Landing. 

"Had the measles? You're all blotched 

"Nix. Some of Jack's pets up in the 

A typical Rangeley vista 

form strong friendships, or treat each other 
as though smallpox is prevalent." 

Arrived at Rangeley, a loud hail from a 
group of men in front of the Post-Office, 
and Jim, off the seat of the buckboard in 
a flash, has a man by the hand whom he 
introduces as one of his customers "on 

"That means he changes his money for 
Jim's experience, and it's costly business," 
volunteers Clyde. 

The party referred to smiles and says, 
"I've never been bitten very hard." 

woods made love to us," is the answer to 
the clerk's inquiry, as, dressed for the trip 
over the baby railroad to Farmington, they 
reappear in the office; and after an excep- 
tionally hearty meal at a table famous for 
its cuisine, the quintet board the up-to-date 
little Pullman car, and say "Au revoir but 
not good-by" to those who linger in one of 
the fairest spots on earth. 

At Dead River station a noisy party of 
seven young people from Dead River Pond 
Camps under the escort of a chaperone pass 
through the car, take seats near our group, 



and are hardly settled before they begin 
telling grand things about their camping- 
place and its proprietor. 

Clyde listens long enough to learn they 
hail from New York, and in an instant is 
bowing beside the fairest young lady in the 
lot, swapping stories of Kennebago for those 
of Dead River Pond. 

Along the line of the Sandy River at- 
tractive scenes abound, and Jack is not at 
all surprised when Jim holds forth from 
the depths of a big chair in a Farmington 
hotel office, "I have heard that saying, 
'The best of the wine for the last of the 
feast,' and I think you must have had that 
in mind, Jack, when you brought us back 
this way. Beside this tiny railroad extends 
a natural park that for rare loveliness 
and variety is in a class all by itself. That 
river down there, those curves, that rich 
meadow-land with its encompassing heights 
dotted with prosperous looking farms, — 
just look at them, — these neat, well-cared- 
for villages where so many people make 
their summer homes — a paradise; nothing 
short. What a beauty this town is! You tell 
me they had a big fire here years ago when 
you were a resident? Well, all I have to 
say is that disasters are frequently mixed 
with blessings; for the old town could never 

have been as attractive as this even with 
the splendid foliage of those days. If I ever 
get married— and I shall some day— I'm 
going to take one whole summer and spend 
every minute of it in and around this ideal 

"Well said, Jim, and we will come and 
live on you while you are here, so Mrs. Jim 
can pile up experience in the cooking- 

"You're on; shake." 

At Portland, as the twilight merges into 
a Maine coast evening, two young fellows, 
their arms and faces showing dark brown 
from the kiss of the sun on open waters, 
stand by the rail of a fast-receding steam- 
ship, New York bound, while near-by pas- 
sengers wonder what they mean by that 
last call across the widening waters between 
them and a lonely figure standing on the 
dock: "Farewell, old scout. From. 'Flat- 
iron' north to 'Flatiron' south is but a 
span, and your children await your coming 
with steins bubbling and pipes alight to live 
again amid the soft brushing of the pines 
and the cry of the whippoorwill." 

They note regret deep and true ringing 
in each voice, and hear the answering hail, 
"Another year, another place, and the best 
bunch that ever was." 



I know two narrow byways: 

One is a city street, 
Noisome and dark and wretched, 

Where houses almost meet. 
Here cries of children, oaths of men, 

Smite the soul as with a blow — 
A place of sordid passions, 

A place of children's woe. 

I know two narrow byways: 

One in a woodland sweet, 
Where upper stories of the trees, 

Busy with birds' nests, meet. 
From old time here the songsters 

Praise God with swelling breast — 
Ever for him who enters 

A place of ancient rest. 



THE Honorable Samuel Parsons was 
aware of eager heads at various win- 
dows as he drove his car rapidly up 
the village street. He smiled grimly as he 
reflected what thoughts, suggested by this 
return to his native place after an absence 
of twenty years, must be working inside 
those heads. For the "ne'er-do-weel" of 
the town to disappear and come back at the 
end of twoscore years a millionaire with a 
prefix to his name was calculated to create 
something of a sensation. 

"They'll begin to realize the change bet- 
ter, seein' me comin' along like this," he 
said to himself. "I thought the thunderin' 
goin' would never be settled enough for me 
to take out the machine, and I was bound 
not to go to call on Mary Lowe till I had 
it; that's mostly what I got it for." 

He turned down a narrow side street and 
presently stopped before a small house, un- 
painted and stained by the weather to that 
neutral tint which somehow suggests patient 
poverty and meagre living. He noted with 
some annoyance that his heart was beating 
rapidly as he clanged the small bell. 

"I don't know why I should be afraid of 
Mary Lowe now," he reflected, defiantly; 
"I ain't doin' her father's chores any longer. 
Gorry, I used to dread that girl's eye wors'n 
the heels of that kicking Holstein cow. I 
never knew why; maybe 't was her bein' so 
still; a woman that don't talk is enough to 
scare the powers o' darkness. But it ought 
to be different now. Old man Lowe 's gone 
to work and lost everythin' he had, they 
say, and Mary has to give music lessons to 
support the two of 'em. It'll be quite a 
change for her when — " 

His reflections were interrupted by the 
opening of the door, and Mary Lowe stood 
before him in the little entry. Their eyes 
met, and the Honorable Samuel Parsons 
felt twenty successful years crumble to 
dust. He might as well have been shuffling 
in from the barn in overalls and jumper; 
he fairly seemed to feel the weight of a full 
milk -pail tugging at either hand. 

tk How do you do, Sam?" said Mary, 

"I — I didn't think you'd know me, 
Mary," he stammered; "folks say I've 
changed a good deal." 

"You haven't," returned Mary, with 
gentle promptness; "you're big and black, 
just as you always were. Come in and tell 
me all about yourself; the village is buzzing 
with stories of you, and I want my share 
first-hand. Here's father — and we're 
both ready to hear all those wonderful do- 
ings out West." 

This was the Honorable Sam's oppor- 
tunity. He had worked for it twenty years, 
but for a minute he did not seem to know 
what to do with it, now that it had come. 
He told himself it was Mary's voice that 
was taking the nerve out of him. There is 
nothing like a voice to stir old memories, 
and Mary's, soft as the fluting of a thought- 
ful bird, had a peculiar searching quality 
he had never heard the like of in any one 
else. However, he recovered himself under 
their friendly questioning, and when he be- 
gan to tell the story of his winning battle 
with fortune he became inspired with some- 
thing of the glow of the struggle. It was a 
story a man could hardly tell without some 
elation, and he was conscious of being some- 
what flushed and triumphant when he had 

It seemed to him that what he had called 
to say must come easier now, and he turned 
promptly to Mary when her father left the 
room. The Honorable Samuel had acquired 
a habit of promptness, and he spoke 
briskly, in his best business manner — which 
was all the manner he had. His air was 
that of a man who proposes a square deal. 

"Mary," he said, "I've come back to 
ask you to marry me. I'll build you a 
handsome house anywhere you say, and 
give you more money than you can spend 
in a lifetime for the flummydiddles women 
are always wanting." 

Mary's voice came back pleasantly from 
the shadows of the dim little room: 



"Thank you, Sam; I don't think I'm suf- 
fering especially for flummydiddles, what 
ever they are." 

"You won't have to work so hard," per- 
sisted Sam; "you'll have all kinds of hired 
girls and a private car — " 

"To transport them with, or to escape 
from them?" put in Mary. 

"And the house," he went on; "women 
folks always like a fine house — and this 
one ain't much to look at, if you'll excuse 
my sayin' so." 

Mary's eyes went around the plain little 

"No, it is n't much to look at," she ad- 
mitted; "but it has its recommendations, 
Sam, and one of them is — it's mine; I 
paid for it." 

The blue light of her gaze shone straight 
in the eyes of the puzzled millionaire. 

He stared frowningly at the floor for a 

"I ain't stylish enough for you," he said, 

Mary's silver laugh chimed like a bell in 
the dimness. 

"O Sam! — and you with an auto- 
mobile and a railroad and a silk hat!" 

"I know I ain't so well educated as you," 
he said, moodily. 

"Why not? We went to the same school 
in the village, and I've never been any- 
where else except when I went into the 
public library on my music-lesson days in 
the city." 

"Then will you have me?" demanded 
the man of business. 

"No." The answer came with convinc- 
ing force. 

"I should like to know why not," he 

"Because I'm doing so well just as I am 
that I really don't see why I should con- 
sider any annexation schemes," retorted 
Mary, gently. 

The Honorable Samuel Parsons was de- 
cidedly glum as he made his way back to 
the boarding-place he had chosen, — the 
old post-road tavern which looked exactly 
as it had for a hundred years, but which had 
lately begun to call itself "Hotel Bascom" 
and put French w T ords into its menu with 
reckless liberality. At present it was con- 
vulsed internally with effort to provide 
something good enough for its millionaire 
guest, who received all attentions with a 

lofty indifference that made a deep im- 

He went up to his room and, sitting on 
the side of the bed, looked wrathfully at his 
boots as if they might have had something 
to do with his downfall — an obvious ab- 
surdity, since they were in a state of shining 
perfection. Then he snapped open the 
case of his handsome gold repeater and 
looked at the face that gazed calmly back 
at him. It was Mary's face, a faded half- 
tone cut from an old newspaper where it 
had accompanied an account of a concert 
by "local talent." He shut the case at 
length, and, going over to his trunk, took 
out another and a larger picture, a wash 
drawing with the edges worn as if by much 
handling. The central figure was that of a 
woman standing at the entrance of a church, 
an open book in her hands, her slightly lifted 
gaze fixed upon two angel shapes floating 
before her in the open portal, their hands 
outstretched as if they beckoned her with- 
in saying, "Here is peace." A soft mystic 
light touched the haloed heads and shining 
wings of the heavenly messengers and fell 
over the woman's floating draperies of 

The Honorable Sam suddenly realized 
that he had before him a wonderful likeness 
of Mary as he had just seen her, though the 
half-tone from which according to his direc- 
tion the artist had reproduced the face had 
been taken twenty years ago. 

"Yes, that's Mary," mused the Honora- 
ble Sam, sitting on the trunk with the draw- 
ing in his hand, "and a confounded lot o' 
trouble she's made me in her life. She 
looks next of kin to them angels, but she 
ha'nts and persecutes a man as if she was 
relation to — what business has a woman 
to look like that and be as contrary as a 
Georgy mule ? Here I 've worked for twenty 
years and stayed single because whenever I 
thought of the woman I 'd have wanted for 
a wife I could n't make her look like any- 
body but Mary Lowe. I wish I 'd married 
that red-headed ranchman's widow that 
got after me out in Colorado." 

He threw the picture savagely on the bed, 
but picked it up presently and put it care- 
fully away before he went down to dinner. 

The next day was Sunday, and, having 
ascertained that Mary Lowe sang in the 
choir just as she used to do, he electrified 
the church-going population of his native 


town by walking into the little old meeting- 
house, taking a rear seat, and remaining 
deaf and blind to the blandishments of four 
deacons who would have wafted him to the 
very front pew. It was the same obscure 
seat into which he used to shuffle sheepishly 
and, gluing his eyes to the hymn-book, let 
that mystic voice do what it would with him. 
He was not in the least prepared, how- 
ever, for the effect it now produced. The 
girl's voice had been full of mystery and 
charm, like a voice out of dreamland; the 
woman's was all this, with an added power. 
When the first low, sure notes floated out 
upon the hush of the old church Sam's 
hands closed firmly upon the thing that was 
nearest, as if he feared to be swept away. 
It was a strange and moving voice; at its 
call there stirred in the souls of the listeners 
things latent, long asleep; the hidden pas- 
sion and pain of life heaved like a sea in the 

The next morning the distinguished guest 
at Hotel Bascom rent the heart of the estab- 
lishment by picking up his belongings and 
brusquely demanding his bill. He explained 
that, desiring greater quiet (the tavern was 
almost as still as the Keniston graveyard), 
he had secured board in a private family; 
and forthwith he went and settled himself 
in a house where there were five children, 
and a phonograph, a small menagerie of 
dogs and cats, and a man learning to play 
the piccolo. Also, it was next door to old 
man Lowe's residence, and the windows of 
the Honorable Sam's down-stairs sitting- 
room opened within three yards of Mary's 
little parlor where she taught her music 

Sam took a certain amount of pains in 
fitting up this sitting-room. Chairs, tables, 
and such trifles were left to the landlady, 
but he spent some time contriving a little 
alcove for his picture by taking out the 
door of a small cupboard in the wall. When 
the picture was placed he screwed up at 
one side a tiny bracket-lamp which, when 
lighted, illumined only the drawing, leav- 
ing the room in shadow. Here of an eve- 
ning he would sit, smoking and meditating 
on the problem that had baffled him for 
twenty years, while the pictured Mary 
turned her face to her angel visitants and 
the real Mary near-by labored with her last 
class. Usually when the strumming stopped 
she would begin to sing; she was practising 

her music for Easter Sunday. Sam, with 
his eyes on the picture, would sit without 
stirring until she had finished, and then 
fling his cigar angrily into the grate. 

" Witches had n't ought to be allowed to 
sing," he would say, sulkily. 

Old man Lowe, who, by reason of age 
and infirmity, had attained to an authority 
almost as unquestioned as that of a brand- 
new baby, had taken a violent fancy to the 
society of the millionaire (whom he still ap- 
peared to consider his chore -boy) and often 
compelled Sam's presence in the little house 
by sending him a peremptory summons to 
come over and play chess. They spent 
many hours at the game while Mary went 
about her work, giving them now and then 
the indulgent glance and smile of a grown 
person who, busy with the serious affairs of 
life, is relieved to see the children safely 
amusing themselves. She was always at 
work, coming and going in the shabby gray 
gown that would have made her look color- 
less but for the blue shine of her eyes and the 
subdued light of her face, like the glow of a 
white-curtained window with a lamp shi- 
ning behind it. 

It was evident that the means of the lit- 
tle household were of the scantiest, and that 
it required constant toil on Mary's part to 
make both ends meet. Sam almost gloated 
over the signs of her poverty. He felt that it 
served her right, since she had refused to 
avail herself of such an excellent way out 
of it. Aside from his personal feelings, it 
offended his business sense that she should 
have done so. He lived on the waning hope 
that she would come to see her mistake. He 
had thought that if anything could bring 
her to him it would be those long hours of 
drudgery, with relief so plainly awaiting 
her acceptance. But he had to admit that 
he saw no signs of weakening, and he be- 
gan to consider whether there were any 
other means he could use. 

She was making herself a white waist for 
Easter Sunday one day when he was loung- 
ing in the little sitting-room after the chess 
was finished. 

"You ought to have a silk dress, Mary," j 
he said, as he watched her turning and try- 
ing the flimsy breadths of an old muslin 
skirt which she was using for material; 
"that looks like a cheese-bag." 

Mary laughed. " Wait till I 'm done with 
it," she retorted. 


Sam made no rejoinder, but a few days 
later a box with Mary's name on it came 
from New York, and inside was a heavy 
white silk made and trimmed in a fashion 
quite foreign to the imagination of Kenis- 
ton. Sam had insisted on the material, but 
had left everything else to the makers. 

The recipient of the gift gasped at the 
sight of it, and then fell into a helpless 
paroxysm of laughter. 

"Sam, you are a humorist! To think I 
never discovered it before! But don't you 
know that a gown like that introduced into 
the Keniston meeting-house would break 
up the congregation? You'll either have to 
send it back or wear it yourself. I have n't 
the courage." 

Sam carried the box away and studied the 
subject for a while in the seclusion of his 
own room. 

" Either the sayings about women are all 
lies or Mary 's different. I always supposed 
they were all daft about clothes. But maybe, 
as she says, it ain't suitable for a place like 
this. I'll try and think of something else." 

He went down street and looked hard at 
some gorgeous hats in the window of the 
village milliner, but, realizing that he was 
facing perils possibly worse than any yet 
encountered, he went home empty-handed. 

The next time he visited the Lowe house 
the muslin waist was finished and laundered 
to a thing of beauty and Mary was trimming 
a hat, a dainty shell-shaped affair of dark 
blue velvet, with a slender blue wing at the 

"Ain't you afraid it's too gay an' expen- 
sive, Mary?" he inquired, with sulky sar- 

Mary held it up on her hand. 

"Why, the bluejay's wing is a trifle flashy, 
but the cat had killed the poor thing before 
I got there, and I thought I might as well 
use it; and the velvet has been in the house 
for a number of years in the form of a pho- 
tograph-case. So it is n't really so extrava- 
gant as it seems." 

It was that same afternoon that Sam's 
automobile, apparently seized with a spirit 
of adventure, undertook to climb Jonathan 
Bascom's stone wall, and, overturning in 
the act, left its owner by the roadside with 
a badly twisted ankle. For the next few 
days, therefore, he stayed in his sitting- 
room, fending off the attentions of his land- 
lady and obstinately making his hurt worse 

by limping from the lounge to the rocking- 
chair in a fever of restlessness. The rest- 
lessness passed at length, and a kind of 
apathy settled upon him — a heavy, bitter 
mood that grew like a creeping disease. 

For many things had gradually become 
clear to Sam during these weeks. 

In his Western town he had been a dom- 
inant figure, a power, a success. He had 
come back flushed with it, like the conqueror 
who expects to find the best good of all, the 
honor of his own people, awaiting him. The 
honor of his own people — that had really 
meant only Mary Lowe. 

"I ain't her equal," he said to himself. 
"I always knew that, of course, but I 
thought the money would even things up. 
I worked till I reckoned I had something 
worth while to offer her. Well, she don't 
want it; that's all there is to it. I've wasted 
twenty years and things ain't evened up. 
Folks used to tell me money could do every- 
thing. It ain't so. And it might as well 
not do anything at all if it can't do the thing 
you want most." 

Easter fell late this year; it dawned upon 
a world that had almost the radiance and 
warmth of summer. Sam heard the first 
bell from the old meeting-house and remem- 
bered what day it was, but he would not 
raise the shade to let in the glory of the 
golden morning. He had even shut the 
blinds outside two of the three windows of 
his sitting-room, and the gloom in which he 
sat was almost that of night. Only a pencil 
ray of sunshine crept in to touch the picture 
in the alcove. 

"It's all I've got left out o' that twenty 
years," he muttered looking up at the an- 
gelic group that would hereafter stand for 
the unrealized ideal of his life. A book lay 
on the shelf beneath it, a little worn book 
his baby fingers had crumpled when he sat 
in his mother's lap listening to her voice as 
she read the beautiful old stories. On a 
small stand below the shelf he had placed a 
recent gift from Mary, the only one she had 
ever offered him — an Easter lily from her 
window-garden. It had one closely folded, 
rather obstinate looking bud that reminded 
him strongly of the giver. 

"The price o' my railroad would n't open 
that bud," thought Sam, "any more than it 
would bribe Mary. It wants something be- 
sides a railroad for a job like that. What 's 
a poor devil to do when he ain't got any- 



thing except a railroad ? I '11 start back West 
to-morrow. I sha'n't let her know that I've 
bought back her old homestead; she'd 
think it was another bribe, and I've offered 
her enough already. Out there in the shack 
way up in the mountains I used to think and 
plan how I'd take her back there and tell it 
was her own again. I might have known it 
couldn't ever have come true." 

There was a knock at his door. Sam ut- 
tered a gruff "Come in," muttering some- 
thing under his breath about the meddle- 
someness of landladies. 

The door opened and Mary came into 
the room. She had dressed early for church 
in the white waist and a well-brushed dark 
skirt, over which, for her last few household 
duties, she had tied a big white apron. In 
the dimness of the room she glimmered as 
if the figure in the picture had suddenly 
stepped down. 

"Sam," she began, wonderingly, "what- 
ever is the matter with you? You're scar- 
ing Mrs. Hobbs to death. She says you 
don't eat nor speak, and that you sit all day 
in the dark like this. She thinks you're 
coming down with something — " 

Sam moved impatiently. " I ain't coming 
down- — I'm down" he said, in a tone 
meant to be grimly humorous. 

"Are you sick?" demanded Mary. 

' ' No. ' ' The answer fell sullenly, weighted 
with something that sounded like despair. 
It frightened Mary. She came near enough 
to see his face in the gloom, and as she 
looked at it a low exclamation broke from 

"Sam," she said, "you look like death! 
Something dreadful has happened, and 
you would n't tell us! What is it?" 


"Then you are sick?" persisted Mary, in 
a frightened voice. 

She laid her cool hand on his wrist. He 
took it in both of his and laid his face against 
it, without speaking. Then he felt her trem- 
ble, and looked up. Her eyes had strayed 
to the alcove and were wonderingly scanning 
the picture of herself. 

"You must n't mind about my havin' it, 
Mary," he said, heavily. "I'm going to 
take it back to Colorado, and that's so far 
away you won't care. I can't part from it 
now; it has stood by me a good many years. 
Look, the artist made it from this; it was his 
fancy to fix it up with the church door and 

the angels, and I thought it made it look all 
the more like you." 

He opened his watch-case and held up the 
old picture to the one ray of sunlight. 

Mary stared at it as if she were reading a 
revelation, as she was, — the revelation of 
the waiting and dreaming of those long, 
lonely years of which Sam had never yet 
told her a word! There was a tremble in 
her voice when she spoke again, an unstead- 
iness that might mean either laughter or 

"Sam," she said, "when you were offer- 
ing me private cars and automobiles and 
railroads and hired girls, did n't it ever 
come into your head to offer me just you — 

Sam was honestly perplexed at the ques- 
tion and the look that accompanied it. 

"No, Mary," he answered. "I thought 
I 'd better offer you something that amount- 
ed to more. I 've loved you ever since I can 
remember, but it was dumbed impudence 
to do it, let alone talkin' about it. And I 
did n't think there was any need of men- 
tionin' it; of course you always knew that 
I did." 

"How could I know it," burst out Mary, 
"when you always proposed to me as if 
you were bargaining for new rolling-stock 
for that railroad? It actually sounded as 
if you wanted to buy me, and I could n't 
even tell whether you were doing it because 
you wanted to, or because you were kindly 
bent on giving me a good trade." 

She broke off, quivering. 


He reached back and pulled the curtain- 
ring sharply, so that the shade flew to the 
top of the window, letting in a flood of sun- 
light in which the white-clad figure beside 
him seemed to waver and float. 

One look made words superfluous. He 
clasped the fluttering hands and drew her 
close. From the golden outer world the 
sound of bells came faintly in, and from 
somewhere near, a delicate breath of fra- 
grance touched them like an invisible 

"Your lily has blossomed," said Mary, 
bending forward to look at the white marvel 
poised, wing-like, on its tall stem. 

"I see it has," rejoined Sam, looking up 
into the blue eyes above him, "just when I 
thought it was going to die without blossom- 
ing at all." 




ON May Day, 1637, the General 
Court of Connecticut — which had 
been founded by the immortal 
Thomas Hooker only the year before, and 
boasted but three tiny settlements, at Hart- 
ford, Windsor, and Wethersfield — held one 
of the most memorable meetings in all its 
history. It was a meeting called to consider 
the situation created by the persistent at- 
tacks of the Pequot Indians, a fierce and 
warlike tribe that had been harassing the 
settlers almost from the time of their first 
arrival in the fertile Connecticut Valley. 
Aid had been begged from the parent col- 
onies of Plymouth and Massachusetts, but 
no aid had been received; and now the 
men of Connecticut were confronted with 
the alternative of giving battle on their 
own account or abandoning their log-cabin 
homes and fleeing to the older and more 
populous settlements to the north. 

All told, they did not have among them 
more than two hundred and fifty men fit to 
bear arms, while the Pequots could easily 
put into the field nine hundred or a thou- 
sand warriors. But not a voice was raised 
in favor of retreat. Embittered by the 
memory of loved ones treacherously shot 
down or carried into a terrible captivity, 
the cry was all for war. And knowing this, 
the General Court soon reached a decision. 
It would send against the Pequots all the 
men who could be spared from garrison 
duty, and it would trust to them to deal a 
blow that should ensure a lasting peace. 
Hartford it called on to provide forty-two 
soldiers; Windsor, thirty; and Wethersfield, 
eighteen — in all, a force of ninety. 

Ninety against nine hundred! But the 
ninety were men of no common mold, and 
they were given for leader the best com- 
mander the General Court could possibly 
have chosen for the work in hand. This 

was Captain John Mason, a rugged, sturdy, 
cool-headed, and lion-hearted citizen of 
Windsor. He was still a young man, little 
more than half-way through his thirties, 
but he had already proved his worth. He 
had been trained to a soldier's life, and in 
the early stages of the Thirty Years War 
had seen service in the Netherlands. Com- 
ing to America, and settling at Dorchester, 
he found occupation to his fancy in hunting 
down pirates and planning fortifications 
for Boston. Later, such was the esteem he 
enjoyed, he was chosen to represent Dor- 
chester in the General Court of Massachu- 
setts Bay. But, tiring perhaps of the theo- 
cratic atmosphere of Massachusetts, he 
joined in the Hooker migration to the coun- 
try about the Connecticut, and there he 
took root and flourished. 

What was most advantageous for the 
undertaking in which he now engaged, he 
had a thorough knowledge of the Indian 
and his ways, and he was in a position to 
secure Indian allies for the campaign against 
the Pequots. When he first came to Wind- 
sor he had fallen in with a native chieftain 
named Uncas, who, though a full-blooded 
Pequot, had seceded from his tribe with 
a small following and settled on the banks 
of the Connecticut. It was Uncas's ambi- 
tion to overthrow Sassacus, the grand 
sachem of the Pequots, and win for himself 
supreme control of the Connecticut Indians; 
and in the coming of the English he saw his 
opportunity. He was careful to refrain 
from hostilities against them, he denounced 
the outrages committed by his kinsfolk, 
and he cultivated the acquaintance of the 
colony's leading men. He became partic- 
ularly intimate with Mason, and Mason 
for his part worked hard to persuade Uncas 
and his Mohegans, as the seceders styled 
themselves, that their wisest course would 




be to enter into an active alliance with the 
whites. So successful was he that Uncas 
readily consented to serve under him in the 
projected expedition. This meant only a 
small numerical addition to the pathetically 
diminutive Connecticut army, but it gave 
it something that was greatly needed — 
experienced guides who knew every inch 
of the Pequot country. And in the end it 
meant far more than that to the Connecti- 
cut English, for it was the beginning of a 
league for mutual defence that lasted many 
years and more than once saved the settlers 
from fearful disaster. 

However, not being able to lift the veil 
of the future, there were few light hearts in 
the colony the day that Mason and his men 
started on their campaign. It was felt that 
theirs was indeed a forlorn hope, and that 
if they failed utter annihilation would be 
the fate of the settlements. Some feared, too, 
that Mason was making a mistake in en- 
listing the services of the Mohegans — 
that they would betray the brave ninety 
into the hands of their enemies. But Ma- 
son, who knew how bitterly Uncas hated 
Sassacus, was confident that he had no 
thought of treachery. Grimly he assured 
the men and the weeping women who 
crowded about the departing soldiers that 
they might make their minds easy on that 
score; and then, having listened to a fare- 
well and solemn exhortation by Hooker, 
embarked his troops and set sail in three 
vessels down the Connecticut. 

At the mouth of that river the settlers had 
built a fort, Fort Saybrook, and had placed 
in it a small garrison, commanded by a 
Lieutenant Gardiner. According to the 
plan of campaign laid down by the General 
Court, Mason was to hasten to Saybrook, 
and thence sail up the Sound to the Pequot 
River, better known to us of to-day as the 
Thames. It was in the country between 
the Pequot and the Mystic that the enemy's 
strongholds were located, and Mason car- 
ried peremptory orders to lose no time in 
landing and attacking them. Circum- 
stances soon convinced him, however, that 
if the expedition were to be a success this 
programme would have to be considerably 

Although it was early May, the water in 
the Connecticut was very low, and the 
heavily laden vessels — described in the 
quaint language of the times as a pink, a 

pinnace, and a shallop — repeatedly ground- 
ed. Such were the delays from this cause 
that it took a full week to make the short 
journey from Hartford to Saybrook. Mean- 
time the Mohegans, grumbling at the slow- 
ness of the voyage, insisted on being put 
ashore, and marched overland to the fort. 
There they met with a cold reception from 
Gardiner, who refused to admit them unless 
they could produce satisfactory evidence 
that they meant to act in good faith with 
the English. Rightly interpreting this as a 
request for some Pequot scalps, Uncas 
and his braves surprised a small party of 
Pequots, killed half a dozen, and brought 
one as a prisoner to Saybrook, where he was 
tortured to death. As Mason realized when 
he arrived at the fort, no surer means could 
have been found for putting the Pequots 
on guard against a surprise. 

On the other hand, he learned with de- 
light that, thanks to the diplomacy of Roger 
Williams, the Pequots had been unsuccess- 
ful in an intrigue to induce the Narragansett 
Indians of Rhode Island to unite with them 
against the English. And he also rejoiced 
at finding at Saybrook twenty Massachu- 
setts men, the advance guard of reinforce- 
ments that were now being raised in the 
Bay Colony. Their leader, Captain lohn 
Underhill, was, like Mason, a veteran of 
the Thirty Years' War, and a gallant and 
dashing soldier. But it was his opinion, as 
he frankly told the Connecticut commander, 
that it would be madness to attack the Pe- 
quots with the troops in hand, and he 
strongly advised delay until more soldiers 
should arrive from Massachusetts. This 
was Gardiner's opinion too, but it met 
with a blunt veto from Mason. He had 
come to fight the Pequots, and fight them 
he would, with or without Underbill's aid. 
And more than that, he purposed sending 
back twenty of his own men, who were not 
in condition for a hard campaign. 

Both points he carried after a stormy 
controversy; and in another and more im- 
portant matter he demonstrated his mas- 
terfulness. Underhill and Gardiner, once 
the decision to fight had been reached, 
were for following out the instructions of 
the General Court and making a direct at- 
tack on the Pequots. Mason argued, on 
the contrary, that this would indeed be sui- 
cidal, as the enemy were undoubtedly pre- 
pared for them and would overwhelm them 



by sheer numbers. He proposed, instead, 
to sail up the Sound to the Narragansett 
country, land there, and make a rapid 
march back to the Pequot forts. The Pe- 
quots would see the ships sailing past their 
coast, would imagine the campaign had 
been abandoned, and would be lulled into 
a false feeling of security. After-events 
proved how well he had calculated. Under- 
hill and Gardiner, however, objected that 
he had no right to depart from the orders of 
the General Court. For hours they wran- 
gled in angry debate. Then, and nothing 
could throw into more striking relief the 
profound religious convictions of the pio- 
neers of early New England, they decided 
to leave the matter with God. "Good 
Master Stone," said Mason, to the chap- 
lain he had brought with him from Hart- 
ford, "commend our condition to the Lord 
this night, to direct how and in what man- 
ner we shall demean ourselves." Next 
morning Chaplain Stone reported that it 
was God's will they should sail for the 
Narragansett country, and off they put 
without further ado. 

It was Friday, the seventeenth of May, 
when the journey was resumed, Gardiner 
and his men being left at Saybrook Fort, 
and Underbill's twenty taking the place of 
the twenty Mason had sent home. Head 
winds so delayed the vessels that it was not 
until Saturday night that they entered Nar- 
ragansett Bay. It was then too late to make 
a landing, and the next day, precious as 
every hour was, Mason would not let his 
men go ashore, because it was the Sabbath. 
Monday morning a tremendous northwest 
storm set in, continuing until Tuesday sun- 
set, when a landing was finally made at a 
point not far from where Narragansett Pier 
now welcomes summer visitors. Leaving 
thirteen men aboard, with instructions to 
keep the ships at anchor until late in the 
week and then drop down to meet the ex- 
pedition at the mouth of the Pequot River, 
Mason hurriedly marched his troops to a 
near-by Indian village, the home of Canon- 
icus, the grand sachem of the Narragansetts. 

"I do not come to make war against 
you," he told Canonicus, "but to punish the 
Pequots, who have cruelly slain and cap- 
tured the English. I ask you, therefore, 
for permission to pass through your country, 
that I may punish the Pequots, your own 
enemies, as they deserve." 

It was a masterly move, and if all the 
Indian fighters of New England had been 
gifted with Mason's genius for statecraft 
and warcraft some of the tales that will find 
a place in this series would never have had 
to be told. Canonicus greeted Mason kind- 
ly, entertained him overnight, gave a hearty 
approval to his intentions, but warned him 
that, with so small an army, he was courting 
almost certain disaster. Unshaken in his 
resolution, the stout-hearted man from 
Windsor roused his followers at dawn, and, 
after a hasty breakfast, started them on 
their overland journey for the Pequot coun- 
try. All day they travelled with scarcely a 
halt, and by nightfall reached a Narragan- 
sett fort on the Niantic River, the boundary- 
line between the dominions of Canonicus 
and those of Sassacus. Here they found 
fully two hundred Narragansetts, who 
flatly refused them admission and acted 
generally in so suspicious a way that Ma- 
son set a strong guard around the fort, fear- 
ing that some of its inmates might try to 
carry a warning to the Pequots. 

In the morning he was awakened by a 
loud shouting, and springing to his feet saw 
that it was occasioned by the approach of 
a large body of Indians. His first thought, 
doubtless, was that they were Pequots in- 
tent on surprising him; but to his great re- 
lief he soon learned that they were Narra- 
gansetts who had been sent by their sachem 
to aid the English. Seeing how the case 
stood, the Indians in the fort now came out 
with smiling faces, and begged that they 
too might be taken along, vehemently pro- 
claiming their hatred for the Pequots and 
boasting of the valiant deeds they would 
perform. It must have been a striking 
scene, — the palisaded fort in the back- 
ground, the English and Mohegans in the 
foreground, and between them and the fort 
some four hundred Narragansetts, swing- 
ing around in a great circle and chanting 
their war-songs. 

Gladly Mason accepted the assistance 
thus unexpectedly tendered, and without 
more delay began the second day's march. 
Just before starting, a runner came in with 
news that a body of troops from Massa- 
chusetts had arrived at Providence, and 
that their commander wanted Mason and 
Underhill to await his coming. It was felt, 
though, that after so many delays there was 
greater need for haste than ever, if the Pe- 



quots were to be caught at a disadvantage. 
So the order was given to advance. It was 
then about eight o'clock in the morning of 
a day that gave promise of being unseason- 
ably warm. As the hours passed, and the 
sun rose higher, the soldiers in their heavy 
buff coats suffered intensely from the heat. 
To add to their troubles, the country which 
they now entered was exceptionally wild 
and rough, stretches of miry swamp alter- 
nating with barrens of bristly rock. Several 
of the men fainted outright, overcome with 
the heat and lack of food, the provisions 
having given out; but, on being revived, 
they pluckily struggled forward again. Not 
so with the Narragansetts. The nearer they 
approached the Pequot strongholds the 
more rapidly did their valor ooze away. 
Some, in fact, complaining that the heat 
was too great, refused to proceed farther. 
In great anxiety, Mason called Uncas to him. 

"What does this mean?" he demanded. 
"Do they intend to leave us? You heard 
them boast, brother, that we durst not look 
a Pequot in the face, whereas they them- 
selves would do great things." 

"That," said the Mohegan sachem, 
"was but their talk. They are great cow- 
ards. They fear the Pequots and will never 
fight them. I warn you, brother." 

"And will you, too, desert us, Uncas?" 

"Not though all others should. Nor I 
nor my braves will leave you. Brother, you 
may trust me." 

Satisfied, Mason and Underhill exhorted 
the soldiers to quicken their weary steps. 
"We must sleep to-night," they told them, 
"within striking-distance of the foe." The 
immediate objective was a large, stockaded 
village, just across the Mystic River, and 
situated within the limits of the modern 
Connecticut town of Groton. This "fort," 
as it was called, was one of the two princi- 
pal Pequot strongholds. Here, according 
to reports brought in by Mohegan scouts, 
some hundreds of warriors were gathered, 
celebrating the fancied retreat of the Eng- 
lish up the Sound. Mason smiled grimly 
at the news, but relaxed not a jot the cau- 
tion that had characterized his movements 
ever since the departure from Canonicus's 
village. Marching stealthily until one hour 
after sunfall, he encamped in a little valley 
"between two hills" — supposed to be at 
Porter's Rocks — and threw out sentinels 
to guard against a possible surprise. Then, 

anxious though they must have been about 
the events of the morrow, he and his sol- 
diers pillowed their heads on the stones and, 
completely worn out, fell into a dreamless 

It was scarcely dawn when they were 
astir again, their carbines and muskets 
ready for action, and their one desire an in- 
tense longing to get at and be through with 
the ugly business that lay before them. 
The previous night the Mohegans had 
pointed out a narrow path which they said 
led directly to Mystic Fort. Along this the 
troops now made their way in single file. 
For two miles the path ran through a 
swampy thicket; then it came to a sudden 
end at a corn-field. Peering forward in the 
dim light of the early morning, Mason saw 
a long, circular structure just ahead, on the 
top of a difficult hill. "That is the fort," 
whispered Uncas. 

The Indians had built about their village 
a stout stockade of logs, ten and twelve feet 
high, loopholed at a fighting-height, and en- 
closing an area of some two acres. There 
were only two entrances, on opposite sides, 
and each of these had been barricaded by 
tree-tops, with the boughs turned outward. 
The taking of the village, even if the assail- 
ants gained the top of the hill without alarm- 
ing the Pequots, would undoubtedly be no 
easy matter. Still, Mason did not hesitate to 
arrange a plan of attack. Then, for the first 
time, he noticed that no Narragansetts were 
in sight. He motioned Uncas to him. 

"Where are the Narragansetts?" he 

"Many have fled," was the answer;; 
"others are back in the forest, making 
ready to flee." 

"Go, then, and bid them not to flee, but 
to remain until they see whether English- 
men can fight or not." 

To Underhill he gave other orders, in 
quick, incisive language. He was to lead 
his Massachusetts men against the south 
entrance. Mason himself, with a party of 
fifteen or sixteen, would try to force his way 
in through the entrance on the north side of 
the stockade. The rest of the English, to- 
gether with the Mohegans, were to surround 
the fort as reserves. It was a daring, reck- 
less scheme, but it appealed to the spirit of 
the men who had followed him those weary 
miles of sea and land. Silently but rapidly, 
the little storming-parties started up the hill. 


Suddenly, the barking of a dog was heard, 
followed instantly by the cry, "The Eng- 
lish!- The English!" With ready wit, Ma- 
son turned and signalled to the soldiers who 
were still standing in the corn-field. " Come 
up," he shouted, "come up, all of you, and 
fire at them through the palisade." At 
the first volley there rose a chorus of shrieks 
and groans, mingled with the dread Pequot 
war whoop. Racing madly forward, Mason 
and his stormers flung themselves at the 
north entrance and, before the Indians fully 
realized their purpose, were through it. 
UnderhilPs party were less fortunate. When 
they reached the top of the hill they were 
thrown into some confusion by the stout- 
ness of the leafy barrier opposed to them, 
and this gave the Pequots time to rally to 
the defense. One, at close range, drove an 
arrow through the arm of the first Massa- 
chusetts man to show himself, a young 
soldier named Hedge. Wounded as he was, 
Hedge cut the Indian down, and in quick 
succession dispatched three others. By his 
side, Underhill slashed and thrust; and, the 
barrier now giving way completely, the 
stormers and the reserves poured in with a 
fury that would not be denied. Breaking, 
the Pequots fled to their wigwams, which 
stretched along both sides of a wide lane 
through the centre of the village. 

Forming anew at Mason's command, 
the soldiers now charged against the wig- 
wams, to be repelled by the shower of ar- 
rows which met them from every side. Right 
and left the winged missiles flew, one find- 
ing its billet in Captain UnderhilPs thigh. 
Two men fell dead; others dropped with 
ugly wounds. Outside they could hear the 
Narragansetts shouting like madmen, but 
keeping well beyond the danger-line. Clear- 
ly, they were fighting a losing fight, yet one 
which admitted of no retreat. Mason, re- 
sourceful as ever, took a sudden resolution. 

"Look, you," he cried to Underhill, "we 
must burn them out." 

And, before Underhill could make re- 
ply, he had plunged into the nearest wig- 
wam, sword in hand. When he emerged, 
a moment later, his sword was dripping * 
with blood, and he carried a blazing brand 
plucked from the wigwam fire. Next in- 
stant, as he touched it to the dry matting 
with which the wigwam was roofed, a pil- 
lar of flame shot towards the sky. 

No pen can adequately describe the scene 
that followed, as the fire, with lightning- 
like rapidity, spread through the fort. The 
English and the Mohegans, carrying their 
wounded with them, retreated outside the 
stockade, and massed themselves at t he- 
two entrances to prevent the escape of the 
tortured Pequots. At a little iurther distance 
the Narragansetts, now brave enough, threw 
themselves about the fort in a vast circle, to 
cut off any fugitives who might evade the 
bullets and swords of the inner guards. 
Many — men, women, and wailing chil- 
dren — perished miserably in the flames. 
Others, who burst from their blazing homes 
and rushed blindly to the stockade open- 
ings, were slain without regard to sex or 
age. Those who hoped to find safety by 
leaping the stockade and disappearing in 
the forest were mercilessly hunted down by 
the Narragansetts. There were some, the 
braver warriors, who mocked at foe and 
flame alike, discharging their arrows 
through the stockade loopholes until, if 
the old records are to be believed, the very 
strings were burned from their bows by the 
all-consuming fire. 

In a word, the slaughter was thorough 
and complete. In its upshot, it was 
nothing less than a massacre, and some 
historians have been unsparing in their 
condemnation of Mason and Underhill 
and their mates. Yet their terrible course 
was not without its justification. It was 
either the Pequot's lives or theirs, and with 
their fate was bound up the fate of the Con- 
necticut settlements. The firing of the wig- 
wams was the only thing that could possibly 
have saved the little army from annihila- 
tion, and in the slaughter that followed they 
were guided by the certain knowledge that 
every Pequot who survived would be the 
tireless and vengeful foe of the white man. 
In fact, the march from the ruins of the 
smoking fort to the mouth of the Pequot 
River was a succession of fights with the 
remnants of the tribe; and not until a year 
afterwards, when a series of reverses had 
completely broken the power of the Pequots, 
was the safety of the colony fully assured. 
In this later and less dramatic fighting, 
Captain John Mason was again prominent, 
and Connecticut is well warranted in ac- 
counting him, as she does, among the really 
notable figures in her history. 



CL 1 

mQ i 







Famous New England Artists Series 



PHILIP L. HALE paints well, writes vigorously, fights aggressively in behalf 
of professional ideas shared by the dominant group of Boston artists, and trusts 
to have already gained a reputation not helped adventitiously by the fortunate cir- 
cumstance of his being a son of Edward Everett Hale. His genre -portrait of four 
young men from one of his classes at the Museum of Fine Arts merits the critical 
adjectives which mean simply that it makes a favorable impression because the 
painter has been enthusiastic in trying to "make it like" — in the catch-phrase of 
the studios — and has succeeded in what he undertook. Seekers after subjectivity, 
whatever that is, may conceivably find the work lacking in idealism; though a 
very competent opinion holds that straightforward technical accomplishment offers 
the only means by which a painter has ever yet been able adequately to reveal the 
character of a person or an aspect of nature. 

As a sympathetic and faithful representation, at all events, the portrait of these 
lads, seated before a snack of cold bottles and their accompaniments, takes high 
rank among Mr. Hale's exhibited works, which have included such interesting 
canvases as the gray portrait of his wife, shown at the Copley Society's summer ex- 
hibition of 1906; the maiden denominated " Glitter," who lit up a corner of the 
same association's summer exhibition of the year following; the "Portrait of My 
Mother," delicate and subtle; "The Wrestlers," bone and muscle rendered with 
a serious draftsman's pleasure in accurately defining planes and attachments; 
"The Arbor," two maidens in thin gowns catching the shimmer from noonday 
sunlight; "The Spirit of Antique Art," a severely rendered female nude, posed 
amidst classical accessories. 

Mr. Hale should now be approaching the best years of an artist's life. He was 
born in 1865, and was trained in drawing and painting at the school of the Boston 
Museum of Fine Arts, the Art Students' League of New York, and at Julian's in 
Paris. He has lived in Boston during his entire professional career. His work at 
the outset showed the effects of the prevailing theories of impressionism. His large 
one-man exhibition, indeed, which was shown at Durand-Ruel's in New York 
about ten years ago, displayed canvases in which the game of imitating sunlight 
with unjoined taches of pigment was played with remarkable consistency. Of late 
years, like many of the so-called impressionists in Boston, Mr. Hale has painted 
mainly indoors, where there is no need of making the sacrifices incidental to the 
methods of the plein-air school. As instructor in drawing at the school connected 
with the Museum of Fine Arts he has influenced hundreds of prospective painters 
and illustrators, while as art critic of the Boston Advertiser, the Journal, and more 
lately of the Herald, he has had something to say to the general public. 




Henry B. Blackwell 



~F* ~F~AS Roosevelt made good? 

I I A thousand voices have been shouting that question into the ears of the people, 
•*■ ■*■ and without waiting for the inevitable answer the same voices have replied to 
themselves. These were not the voices of the people. They were the voices of that class of 
newsmongers and politicians who make their livelihood not by what they think or do but by 
what they say. 

A big man makes a better target than a little man. One whose activities ramify into a 
dozen different fields is open to a fire of criticism from a dozen different directions. After all, 
criticism is good fortune, for it is opposition that makes the world go round. 

Roosevelt's critics were noisy a few months ago, very noisy. Now that the third term 
talk is over, they are quieter. Groundless as many of the attacks upon him were, the defence 
of him by his friends was not made as vigorous as the facts deserve, partly because of the 
subleties of politics, and partly because his best defence was himself and his record. 

Now that his name is not a presidential issue, circumspect men are more outspoken. 
Now, also, that attention is being concentrated on a dwindling few presidential possibilities, 
it is not amiss for us to gather the opinions of representative men on Roosevelt, not as a can- 
didate for any position whatever, but as a man who has without doubt carried on more great 
activities (for weal or woe) than any former President. 


By Winston Churchill, Reform Leader in New Hampshire 

It is a striking fact, to those who look When the calm history of this eventful 

back over the history of the United States, period in which we live Is written, when the 

that the hour has never failed to produce strife has died down and the wounds have 

exactly the type of man needed to carry on healed, it will be seen clearly that Theo- 

the nation towards the great destiny which dore Roosevelt is one of our greatest men 

is undoubtedly hers. Lincoln came from of destiny. We were drifting into precari- 

the people, from a geographical section ous waters. It had been for many years 

that was neither North nor South, and he the custom of the National Committee, 

had the understanding of the supremely controlled by the interests who contributed 

great of both North and South. The open- largely to the campaign funds, to dictate 

ing of the Civil War found General Grant nominations. Mr. Roosevelt suddenly found 

in St. Louis, standing on the sidewalk with himself in the White House, untrammelled 

his carpet-bag, wistfully watching the Union by promises or obligations, and he did not 

troops as they marched to Camp Jackson; hesitate for a moment to face and fight the 

and Sherman was thought by many, until evils which existed in the nation, and which 

he indubitably proved the contrary by his threatened its destruction. The magnificent 

great victories, to be a person whose judg- courage of this act, the gigantic scale of the 

ment, to put it mildly, could not be relied contest which followed, has challenged the 

upon. The things he saw were too vast for admiration of the world, 
common eyes to grasp. 




to riot and anarchy, and Mr. Roosevelt 
saw this more clearly than any of his fel- 
low citizens. 

Let those who would criticize his utter- 
ances remember that the moment he ceases 
to take the public into his confidence the 
fight is lost; let them remember, as Mr. 
Roosevelt himself says, that the ethical side 
of the struggle is the more important side; 
let them weigh the words of his messages 
for themselves rather than contentedly take 
the newspaper extracts without the con- 
text. If Mr. Roosevelt preaches, so have 
all the greatest leaders of nations. Lincoln 
preached, with what effect we know. 

I was reminded in a speech which I re- 
cently made at Manchester, of a quotation 
from the writings of the late Bishop Phillips 

"Politics, as an application of great prin- 
ciples, as the securing of the operation of 
eternal laws, is God's work, and he who 
works in it must work with God." 

I can think of no more appropriate text 
than that for the work of Theodore Roose- 
velt in this nation. 

William DeWitt Hyde 

Mr. Roosevelt had but one weapon — 
public opinion. He knew, with the sure 
instinct of the statesman and the genius, 
that the people of the United States would 
support him in this contest. He believed 
that the heart of the nation was sound; 
and he was right. By temperament he is 
a fighter, as Cromwell was, and it was ap- 
parent to impartial observers that a fight 
was necessary at this time. But Mr. Roose- 
velt is more than a fighter. Looking with a 
clear eye into the future, he saw the rocks 
ahead, and he evolved the policies which 
will go down to posterity as the Roosevelt 
policies, and no candidate has arisen or can 
arise who will add to those policies by one 
jot. On the other hand, many prominent 
men who at first opposed the chief of these 
policies have since, very much to their cred- 
it, come out openly in favor of them, be- 
cause they tend alike to the safety and wel- 
fare of business enterprises and the safety 
and welfare of the public at large. They 
tend towards contentment and an equal 
opportunity for all. Any condition of affairs 
which gives the impression that the law 
will not act alike to all must lead in the end 

George C. Chase 


20 1 


By Wm. De W. Hyde, President of Bowdoin College 

Theodore Roosevelt is the President of 
the whole nation, North, South, East, 
West; of all classes, black and white, farmer 
and manufacturer, miner and ranchman, 
soldier and sailor, employer and employee. 
He has a vigorous and ardent personality 
which speaks straight to the hearts of the 
people. He has done things when obstacles 
to doing them, and excuses for not doing 
them, abounded. 

He has prepared for war; promoted 
peace; and maintained "the most cordial 
good will with all other nations." He has 
contended for Federal regulation of natural 
and artificial monopolies — as against rad- 
ical, inconsistent, and confiscatory legisla- 
tion by the separate States on the one hand, 
and the exploitation of stockholders, pa- 
trons, employees, and the public, through 
rebates, discriminations, juggled book- 
keeping, complicated security issues, manip- 
ulation, and inflation by directors respon- 
sible to no one but themselves, on the other 

He has defended the fair competition of 
thrift, industry, and enterprise against the 
efforts of monopoly to first kill competition 
and then force the public to pay dividends 
on fictitious capital, reckless management, 
and extravagant expenditure. 

He has stood for the protection by law 

of all the innocent, and the punishment by 
law of all the guilty. 

He is binding our two coasts together by 
the Panama Canal. He is protecting our 
forests, developing our waterways, foster- 
ing irrigation, and defending the actual 
home-maker against the land-speculator. 

On the tariff alone he has followed his 
party instead of leading the country; and 
here expediency probably required post- 
ponement of this issue if he was to have a 
united party to grapple with the newer issues 
he has raised. 

He has vaccinated the business interests 
of the country, producing local and tem- 
porary inflammation; and he has saved us 
from what Plato calls the worst evil that 
can befall man or state — to have a dis- 
ease and escape paying the penalty to the 

He has so impressed these principles on 
the people that if his own party adopts them 
heartily under the leadership of a progres- 
sive statesman like Taft, or a conservative 
reformer like Hughes, it will easily win the 
coming election; but, if the Republicans 
turn away from these principles to a stand- 
pat opportunist like Cannon or a non-com- 
mittal figurehead like Fairbanks, these prin- 
ciples, and power and victory with them, 
will become the property of the Democrats. 


By De. Henry B. Blackwell, Lifelong and Staunch Republican 

The unexampled popularity of President 
Roosevelt is due to faith in his sincerity and 
honesty of purpose and still more to a hearty 
approval of his effort to curb and control 
the hydra-headed monopolies which have 
grown up since the Civil War. 

The American people find themselves in 
danger of being subjected to a new form of 
feudalism, in the shape of great aggrega- 
tions of capital built up upon special priv- 
ileges conferred by State and national legis- 
lation. By consolidations, alliances, tariffs, 

patents, and trade agreements, the powers of 
corporate monopolies have been enlarged 
and competition eliminated until to-day 
"malefactors of wealth" disregard govern- 
ment regulation, put law at defiance, cor- 
rupt legislators, and seek to compel political 
parties to do their bidding. 

The eyes of the public have lately been 
opened by Ida Tarbell's detailed exposure 
of the dishonest methods whereby the 
Standard Oil Company has been enabled 
to absorb or crush its competitors and to 



levy tribute on the entire country. This has 
been followed by a revelation of the colossal 
frauds in the management of Life Insur- 
ance Companies, Trust Companies, Sugar 
Trust, Beef Trust, Steel Trust, Shoe- 
Machinery Trust, Cotton-Mill-Machinery 
Trust, and a hundred other organized con- 
spiracies in restraint of trade. 

The railroads of the country have been 
merged into great continental systems con- 
trolled by a few men, who have thereby es- 
tablished artificial prices of food and fuel, 
have built up some towns and cities and 
ruined others, have granted secret rebates 
to favored customers, and by issue of wa- 
tered stocks and fictitious capitalizations 



oppress the industries they were created to 

Accompanying the accumulation of enor- 
mous wealth by the fortunate possessors of 
special privileges, an expanded paper cur- 
rency, nominally based upon gold, but act- 
ually upon evidences of national debt, has 
enabled speculators to corner the markets 
on coal, iron, petroleum, cotton, grain, 
sugar, lumber, and everything we eat 
drink, wear, and use. As a result the cost 
of living has increased forty per cent within 
ten years, without corresponding advance 
in wages, and the average standard of liv- 
ing has steadily declined. 

All our great fortunes have been the work 
of the past seventy-five years. In 1832 
there was only one man in America worth 
a million dollars. To-day millionaires are 
so numerous as to be no longer objects of 
remark. Even multi-millionaires are nu- 
merous. But the great body of the com- 
munity does not share in this .surface pros- 
perity. The growth of population in the 
East and Middle West is almost wholly in 
cities and manufacturing towns, where 
hundreds of thousands are herded in tene- 
ment and apartment houses, under con- 
gested conditions inconsistent with health 
and morals. No nation is really prosperous 

where the extremes of wealth and poverty 
exist side by side, and where it becomes 
every year harder to achieve a moderate 

President Roosevelt, by his determina 
tion to compel the great corporations to 
obey the law, by his sympathy with labor 
and opposition to every form of monopoly, 
has saved his party from impending defeat. 
It can only continue in power by accepting 
his leadership. By his prosecution of viola- 
tors of law he has incurred the envenomed 
hatred of the monied interests of the coun- 
try. They cannot defeat him, but they hope 
to do so, indirectly, by setting aside the 
candidate who enjoys his confidence and is 
pledged to carry out his policies. But the 
effort of the stand-patters to unite upon a 
reactionary candidate will be futile. The 
people want no back steps. The battle 
against special privileges will be fought to a 
finish. In view of the President's resolute 
refusal to serve for a third term, the practi- 
cal good sense of his supporters will accept 
his advice in the choice of his successor. In 
the election of 1908 the logical alternative 
will be Taft or Bryan (both opposed to ret- 
rogression), with a possible third candi- 
date in the interest of plutocracy, and a 
fourth in that of socialism. 


By Joseph H. Soliday, Chairman of the Judiciary Committee of the 
Massachusetts Legislature 

The subject is one upon which much has 
been said and written. A character pos- 
sessing in such an unusual degree the ele- 
ments of indomitable enthusiasm and phys- 
ical and mental energy would attract atten- 
tion in any walk of life, and must necessarily 
be a most conspicuous figure as the Presi- 
dent of a great nation. 

We are living in an age when every de- 
partment of human activity is apt to be 
highly specialized. The man whose work 
is largely muscular is likely to neglect the 
cultivation of his intellect, and in too many 
cases the mental worker comes to an un- 
timely end because of his failure to recog- 
nize the importance of looking to his phys- 

ical welfare. Both classes have to a greater 
or less extent at times lapsed into a state of 
moral indifference. In view of the intense 
struggle necessary on the part of the great 
majority of the people in order to maintain 
present-day standards of living, it becomes 
a serious question with many whether it is 
practically possible to reach that all-round 
development w T hich all believe desirable. 

By his consistent and enthusiastic ad- 
herence to an ideal which recognizes the 
necessity of placing proper emphasis upon 
each of these great essentials, Roosevelt has 
undoubtedly exerted a wonderful influence 
along the line of a higher standard of Amer- 
ican manhood. It has been said that Roose- 



Everett J. Lake 

velt has made honesty popular. The state- 
ment may be too broad, but if by his life 
and work he has been of material assistance 
in inaugurating and carrying forward the 
great revival in civic virtue which has been 

sweeping over the country, and of which 
we see unmistakable signs, then, even admit- 
ting the justice of the adverse criticisms of 
his official acts, he will deserve and receive 
the gratitude of a thankful people. 



E. H. Deavitt 

T. C. Cheney 

His appeals to the people have always 
been based upon broad and substantial 
foundations, which all right-thinking peo- 
ple, regardless of party, must recognize as 
fundamentally sound. His favorite themes 
have been along the lines of the sanctity of 
the home and family, honesty in public life 
and in private dealing, obedience to law, 
and the absolute equality of all men before 
the law, — and the civic responsibility of 
the individual. 

Certainly there is nothing particularly 
new or startling in any of these doctrines. 
The fact that their promulgation causes so 
much comment is the most convincing 
proof of its practical necessity. 

Space will not permit a technical consid- 
eration of the question as to whether the 
President has shown a disposition to exer- 
cise an arbitrary power not wholly war- 
ranted by the provisions of the Constitu- 
tion, but it may be fairly suggested that the 
conditions of modern social and business 
life, phases of which extend over many 
States, make it impracticable, if not im- 
possible, to meet the needs of the situation 

by State legislation and control, which may 
have been entirely adequate a generation 
ago, and earlier, when existing precedents 
were established. 

The cry of "government interference" 
has always been popular with those whose 
conduct has not measured up to govern- 
ment standards. The inmates of penal in- 
stitutions throughout the country would un- 
doubtedly be unanimous and enthusiastic in 
their advocacy of the " let-alone" policy, but 
it will be a sad day for the republic when 
a majority of its people agree with them. 

Great constitutional scholars may succeed 
in making themselves and a few others be- 
lieve that the exercise by one man of such 
great power and influence is inconsistent 
with the theory of our government, but it is 
probably true that the great majority of the 
law-abiding citizens of our country, having 
chosen an honest and fearless man to ad- 
minister the affairs of the presidential office, 
are quite content to have him exercise, dur- 
ing the term for which he is elected, all the 
power and authority which their suffrages 
could bestow. 




By Elmer C. Potter, State Senator from Worcester. Member of Judiciary Constitu- 
tional Amendments and Railroad Committees 

Time alone can prove the permanent 
value of the services rendered to his coun- 
try by Theodore Roosevelt. Men of the 
present day are too prejudiced, too blind to 
what they ought to see but do not wish to 
see, to estimate his work correctly and im- 
partially. This applies both to his enemies 
and to his friends; for the force of his char- 
acter is so tremendous, and his activity so 
incessant, that practically all the people are 
either in the camp of his ardent supporters 
or that of his bitter enemies. It is, there- 
fore, to the future that we must look for an 
accurate judgment of the man who is play- 
ing so large a part in the history of the 
world to-day. 

To me President Roosevelt has partic- 
ularly appealed as the right man for the 
time. A condition had developed in this 
country which was not sound, which was 
detrimental to the highest interests of our 
citizenship, and the supporters of that con- 
dition were so powerful that no ordinary 
man might be able to withstand them and 
bring about a needed change. It required 
a man of unlimited courage, of great polit- 
ical sagacity, and of wonderful energy to 
make a successful fight. But a little longer, 
as matters were progressing, and a few men, 
by unfair means, would have obtained a 
practically complete financial domination 
over this country. Their enormous influ- 
ence is felt at the present time, and will be 
felt for some time to come; but the prospect 
is brightening, the end they have sought 
they cannot now attain, the methods of the 
past can no longer be used, and Theodore 
Roosevelt is the man who, more than all 
other influences, has brought about the 
needed reform. 

It is in his activity against unfairness on 
the part of the powerful that Roosevelt has 
met the most determined opposition, and 
aroused the greatest bitterness. So-called 
vested interests have come to believe that 
their rights are paramount to the interests of 
the people, and that it is their privilege to 
do as they please with their own. The free 

right to contract must be retained, they cry, 
even if that means contracting for lower 
freight-rates than are given their compet- 
itors. Nothing must be done in the way of 
legislation that will cause stock-values to 
be decreased in any instance, for that means 
a loss to many innocent stockholders. Let 
nothing be done to show up the iniquities of 
the meat-packing business, for if that is 
done we shall lose the foreign trade. Finally 
the cry comes that Roosevelt shoud have 
the guilty officers of corporations punished 
and the corporations escape any penalties, 
lest some innocent stockholder may suffer 
from a diminution in his dividend. 

The most malicious lie is the one that is 
now being given so much circulation; name- 
ly, that the President is warring against 
business. The opposite is the truth. He 
is fighting in behalf of the business inter- 
ests of the country — of those industries, 
those commercial activities, which can be 
crushed out of existence by the use of the 
unfair methods of the past, and on whose 
prosperity our prosperity hinges far more 
than on the prosperity of the Standard Oil 
Company, or any other huge corporation 
which has made itself great by means sim- 
ilar to those of that company. The rail- 
road-rate law, which was enacted chiefly 
because of the tremendous energy of the 
President in its behalf, seeks not in the 
least to reduce rates to a level inconsistent 
with proper maintenance and operation of 
the roads and proper dividends to stock- 
holders, but to prevent those discrimina- 
tions in rates and service which build up 
one town and blight another, which enable 
one industry to profit at the expense of 

Our railroad presidents, who opposed 
the law at first, are fast coming to believe 
in its wisdom. They are being joined in 
their support of Roosevelt's policies by the 
more far-seeing of the great leaders of the 
industrial world, who are becoming at last 
convinced that the confidence of the people 
is the greatest asset a great corporation can 

Elmer C. Potter 



have. They perceive that it is no longer 
profitable to be reckless of public opinion, 
and they are seeking to have it on their side. 
The wisdom of greater publicity of the cor- 
poration methods and operations is being 
accepted by many who but a short time 
ago bitterly resented the idea that the af- 
fairs of their companies were anybody's 
business but their own. The change is of 
course being gradually worked out, but it is 
coming along faster than we sometimes 

There are, of course, a very large number, 
in the aggregate, who believe the President's 
methods to be destructive and his policies 
ruinous to the country. Many of these es- 
timate the prosperity of the country by their 
own. These now denounce the President 
as the worst demagogue in public office or 
out, and, blaming him for the natural re- 
sults of their own methods, call him a direct 
menace to our country's prosperity. It 

must be a matter of great satisfaction to 
every man who appreciates the magnitude 
of the fight Roosevelt is engaged in that he 
has not allowed himself to be silenced or 
driven from his position of attack upon the 
forces of evil by the cry that he must give 
business a chance. In a great moral move- 
ment such as Roosevelt is now leading 
there can be no halting, no backward steps 
because of incidental losses. We had come 
to think that wealth could do anything, but 
we have in the last few years had the fact 
excellently demonstrated that wealth can- 
not control either our executive, legislative, 
or judicial branches of government. We 
shall better appreciate our President's work 
in bringing this change about after the lapse 
of a few years. Then we shall reap the fruits 
of his victories, and in a new and greater 
prosperity show to the world that the lesson 
of the "square deal" has been well learned, 
and will hereafter be our care to follow. 


By Senator William O. Faxon, Chairman of the Railroad Committee 

So far as the President's policies toward 
corporations are concerned, I am heartily 
in favor of them. There is no doubt in the 
public mind that many of the corporations 
have been wielding their power on the prin- 
ciple that might made right. For my own 
part, I consider that the men interested in 
these corporations thought that they were 
doing only just what they were entitled to 
do at the time. In other words, the powers 
developed by these men, through courts and 
through the exercise of special privileges, 
grew upon them so gradually that they 
thought they were doing what was best for 
the public welfare. Since attention has been 
called to the abuses which have grown out 
of the use of great wealth, and since the 
evils have been emphasized in the public 
mind through the energy of President 
Roosevelt, many of these men have come 
to concur with him in his attitude. 

His activity has special reference to the 
railroads and to transportation, as it con- 
cerns the prosperity of the entire country. 
This transportation problem, not only in 
this State of Massachusetts, but also in the 
whole United States, has been in a transi- 

tory state of development. This has made 
it impossible for the men managing many 
of the corporations to keep abreast of the 
needs of the times in the operation and care 
of their railroad properties, for the simple 
reason that all of their energies, both per- 
sonal and corporate, have been absorbed 
in the extensive, rather than in the careful, 
conservative management of the transpor- 
tation lines. In our own State, at the pres- 
ent time, the consolidation and merging of 
railroads is the prime question before the 
people. In its wisdom, last year, the Legis- 
lature postponed all action till the first of 
July this year. Since that time men inter- 
ested in the common good have been ed- 
ucating the people both for and against the 
merger, so that this Legislature, which 
must necessarily act soon, will have all the 
benefits that will accrue from the agitation 
of this subject. The great question of the 
development of the ports of Massachusetts 
hinges upon the decision of the Legislature 
in regard to this matter. Transportation 
facilities are the key which will unlock the 
door of prosperity. Therefore it is neces- 
sary that this question be given the great- 

William Otis Faxon 



est publicity, and that all the people should 
interest themselves that a public expression 
may be given to sustain the men upon 
whose shoulders rests this highly important 
question of the subordination of the trans- 
portation interests to the prosperity of the 
entire country. 

President Roosevelt, to my mind, repre- 
sents the progressive ideas of this country. 

His policies and his methods of government 
have been and probably will be criticized. 
But that he is honest, earnest, and compre- 
hensive in his activity for the general wel- 
fare of these United States, that he stands 
for the best ideas of government, both as re- 
gards policies of public morals and political 
standards, and that the people believe in 
him thoroughly is evident to all. 


By Everett J. Lake, Lieutenant-Governor of Connecticut, a business man whose large 
interests give him a view-point by no means based altogether on his official position 

The people in this State — and, I be- 
lieve, the country over — know that he is 
right and honor him for the firm stand he 
has taken for the enforcement of the laws. 
That there should be in this nation any 
single man or corporation that feels above 
the law is a positive danger to our entire 
national structure, and in recognizing this 
Theodore Roosevelt has done the American 
people a service which cannot be overlooked 
and will not be forgotten. Nor can his real 
policy and basic principles be weakened by 
the criticisms of the moment whether they 
come from those personally concerned or 

This is a Roosevelt State. Ninety per 
cent of the people of this State believe in 
the President as firmly to-day as they ever 
did. And I make that statement advisedly. 
Of late I have taken some pains to inform 
myself of the sentiment of the general pub- 
lic in Connecticut, which three or four years 
ago was so enthusiastic in support of Roose- 
velt and his policies as to give him a tre- 
mendous majority for the term which he is 
now serving. Down deep in their hearts 
the mass of the people have n't changed. 
Perhaps ten per cent now feel differently 
toward him because of the occurrences of 
the past few months. Others do not en- 
tirely approve all of what he says, it may 
be, but down in their hearts the people of 
Connecticut are firm in their belief in the 

We are not hysterical in Connecticut. 
We have been affected by the conditions of 
recent months, very seriously affected, and 
the effects have not yet gone; but in this 

State we weigh events and watch their 
course in a conservative, careful way. And 
men who do that cannot fail to realize the 
real value of the services of President Roose- 
velt. Prosperity had carried us to a point 
beyond which lay grave danger, if, indeed, 
we had not already passed the danger-line, 
and it took courage to pursue a course 
which in setting a clearly defined line be- 
tween right and wrong must mean more or 
less upsetting of conditions. Connecticut 
gives Roosevelt credit for this courage. 

Nor do the people of this State blame 
the President for this upsetting, either. In 
the course of the fall and winter men have 
arisen in Connecticut to attempt to do this, 
but they have found it impossible to touch 
a responsive chord outside a limited num- 
ber of those who held similar views to their 
own. Even they have been forced to find 
fault with the laws rather than with the 
principle that they should be enforced. It 
is trite to say that no man can occupy the 
White House and not engender bitter crit- 
icism, but the truth of that is more and 
more apparent as our social structure be- 
comes more complex. 

No, Connecticut long since formed her 
judgment of the President, and has not yet 
felt called upon to alter it in any serious 
way. No wrong was ever righted without 
disturbing somebody, and quite often the 
disturbance includes the innocent, and that 
fact is realized in Connecticut. This State 
remains stable in its confidence in the man 
who does n't hesitate to take up a duty 
which is in his path and act like a man re- 
garding it. 




By Frank L. Dingley, Editor of the "Lewiston (Me.) Journal" brother of Nelson 
Dingley, author of the Dingley Tariff Bill 

It is not incredible that the remote North 
European ancestors of Theodore Roose- 
velt drank their brew out of the skulls of 
their foes. No American President has 
made so good use of his enemies as the pres- 
ent incumbent of the White House. The 
messages are a new proclamation of emanci- 
pation. To the attack of malignity the 
President responds in a demand for more 
light on the physical valuation of railways 
and on the relation of high finance to wages. 
To those who sneer at the Big Stick Roose- 
velt rejoins by citing the peace of anthra- 
cite and the peace of Portsmouth. To the 
contention of a railway president that an- 
other message will thoroughly demoralize 
business, the President replies with a con- 
clusive plea for canalization, waterways, and 
forestry. To the plea that he is an enemy of 
corporations the President rejoins that the 
trusts, exploiting the people, are robbing 
corporations and that law must be vindi- 

Hon. Fletcher D. Proctor 

C. J. Bell 

cated if we would successfully arrest feu- 
dal privilege and revolutionary passion. 

Governor Hughes recently remarked 
that the people no longer tolerate "govern- 
ment by mere astuteness." The Amen 
corner has the information. Nor is the 
world saved without astuteness. The only 
Republican candidate elected in the last 
imperial landslide in New York State was 
the only Republican candidate who previ- 
ously had made good. The merely rhe- 
torical Republican has recently been iso- 
lated and insulated in Ohio. Conscience and 
culture sharpen the fighting-edge of the 
presidency. "We must now shackle cun- 
ning; in the past we have shackled force." 
Senator Piatt was astute when he secured 
the nomination of Roosevelt to be Vice- 
President in order that he might be perma- 
nently side-stepped. The Senator from 
New York now sees the difference between 
astuteness and Wisdom. They who potter 



over Brownsville, over red tape in the navy, 
and over paltry postmasterships; they who 
outlaw the pure-food Congressman from 
the political hierarchy, are known and read 
of the rank and file. Political dangers 
gather about the heads of those who op- 
pose the Roosevelt policy after they are 
elected and plead with us to vote for them 
when they are candidates for reelection. 

Theodore Roosevelt's fundamental na- 
tional idea is that of Washington and of 
Lincoln. He is a Federalist. Under the 
lead of Abraham Lincoln the nation elim- 
inated the heresy that we are a loosely 
jointed confederation of States. The strong 
hand, the Big Stick, law, order, and good 
government are nationalized. The men- 
ace of the corporation and of capital is the 
trust, a loosely jointed corporate confeder- 

An idealist by nature, Roosevelt gives 
points to the Peace Society as well as to the 
Jingoes. Equally he divines the subtle 
dangers of anarchy, embodied in the nulli- 
fications of Rockefeller and Harriman, on 
the one hand, and of Shea and Haywood, 
on the other hand. For government by law- 
suit the President would substitute govern- 
ment preventive of lawsuit. Special privilege 
he regards to be fostered by the spoils sys- 
tem in federated trusts as well as in feder- 
ated bureaus of public officials. Society, in 
his judgment, is imperilled by illegal mon- 
opolies of land and of other public utilities. 
The perverted dollar is the almighty nui- 
sance. The President sees what is below the 
horizon and about to emerge. He would 
ward off dangers invited by the persecution 
of the rich and of the poor, through special 
privilege. He would create a bulwark of 
authority, law, reason, and conscience. 

Theodore Roosevelt's service to the first 
decade of the twentieth century is remark- 
able because his lively conscience is illumi- 
nated by unusual culture and by knowl- 
edge of economic and social conditions. 
Such is his insight of underlying causes, he 
discovers public opinion before it is form- 
ulated in speech. He interprets the people 
to themselves. He has a genius for political 
proportion. He hammers away at one vital 
issue, knowing that subsidiary problems will 
be best solved as a logical consequence. 

Roosevelt and Hughes have successfully 
invoked a new system for the restoration of 
representative government, seriously per- 

verted by the heresy of Andrew Jackson. 
Much is said of the " popular initiative and 
referendum," but the President has led in 
the promotion of "what's in the air" a new 
type of the popular initiative through mes- 
sages and addresses which at one time have 
the force of a popular initiative and at 
another time the vitality of a referendum. 
Messages and addresses forced the enact- 
ment of the Hepburn Bill and of the pure- 
food bill largely because they interpreted 
public opinion. The right of petition goes 
of itself. The right to interpret the silent 
political prayer before it is offered is the 
privilege of culture in the White House. 
The most constitutional President is the 
President who governs in harmony with 
constitutional forms, because he is most in 
harmony with representative institutions. 

The immediate function of the Roose- 
velt presidency is to bridge the chasm be- 
tween class and mass, and its remote pur- 
pose is to obliterate that chasm by arrest- 
ing and by eliminating the causes of eco- 
nomic exploitation. Grave perils confront 
us, due to duties ignored, rights perverted, 
privileges misapplied, laws nullified, consti- 
tutions betrayed in their own name. If the 
President is the last man to surrender to 
aristocratic caprice, he is the first to capit- 
ulate to a man, poor or rich, who has an 
absolute grievance. He insists that the 
Harriman system be properly compensated 
for what it has done on behalf of the Col- 
orado River, and that he be properly pun- 
ished for looting Chicago & Alton. 

If perchance he shoots high the Presi- 
dent does not abandon the pursuit of big 
game. If he relieves offending colored 
soldiers of disabilities incurred in logic 
rather than in law, he hangs onto the flag 
though he loses the halyards. He is a plain 
man plus humanity. He is only himself, 
and he would be less than himself if he 
affected to be other than Teddy. Another 
great President was called Uncle iVbe. 
There is dignity that will wash. The Amer- 
ican people love dare and dash, whether in 
Sheridan's ride or in Roosevelt's hunt. All 
things human interest him, and all humans 
are interested in him. The good man must 
first be a good animal. 

A devoted civil-service reformer, he de- 
clines to break with Congress over fishes 
and loaves. If his messages empty the 
Senate, they crowd the platform. No higher 

Frank L. Dingley 



tribute can be paid the Roosevelt policy 
than that the unwilling disciples of the Sys- 
tem lick the hand of the White House on 
the stump, while they denounce its voice in 
the lobby. Theodore Roosevelt has done 
more to ward off revolution through evolu- 
tion than any man of his age in this or in 
any other land. His contempt for political 
quackery is his noblest passion. He has 
carefully thought out the problems of pro- 
duction, of distribution, and of community- 
interest on lines broader than technical 
socialism because more in harmony with 
the nature of man. Such presidential equip- 
ment was never more needed than when 
economic specialists in Congress are con- 
spicuous by their absence. 

If Theodore Roosevelt seems at times to 
be overcharged with moral indignation it 
is because he sees the State is more endan- 
gered by sophistry and hypocrisy than by 
miseducation and prejudice. In him heat 
and light are correlative. This is the age of 
voltage. The idealist is of little moment 
when handicapped by the weight of his ar- 
mor. His fighting-edge is neither dulled by 
resentment nor turned by excess of heat. 
Americans love the natural man who fights 
fair, hard, and handy. 

It remains to reincarnate representative 
government in the national Legislature as 
it is incarnated in the presidency and in 
such Governors as Folk, Deneen, and 
Hughes. The scholar has returned to pol- 
itics. Presidents Eliot, Tucker, and Hyde 
have recently spoken to the point. The 
subordination of culture to comfort and of 
science to accumulation is resented not 
only by those in overalls, but also by those 
in broadcloth. Roosevelt's voice is a pro- 
longation of Lincoln's; it is not an echo, 
but a development. 

It is not incredible that later the people 
again may call for Theodore Roosevelt. 
He will yet be young when the Panama 
Canal is completed. 

Renouncing the presidency but not re- 
nouncing the policies of a presidency thrice 
endorsed in federal elections, Theodore 
Roosevelt will, on March 4, 1909, quit the 
White House, but he may not quit it for- 
ever. He will not be a candidate in 1908, 
but he will dominate the campaign. And 
this domination will be scientific, economic, 
and wholesome, because he will bequeathe 
to the nation the largest literature of the 
presidency, the most words made flesh be- 
fore they were made ink. 


By George Colby Chase, President of Bates College 

For more than six years Theodore Roose- 
velt, to adopt a recent phrase of his War 
Secretary, has "filled the measure of the 
public eye" to a degree attained by no 
other man of his time. Probably the think- 
ing men of all lands would unite in saying 
that, during this time, he has exerted a 
greater and wider influence than any other 
man in the world; and his activities have 
been as intense and varied as they have 
been far-reaching. His efforts cover the 
entire gamut of human thought and en- 
deavor. Improved spelling, bear-hunting, 
beast and bird lore, race suicide, questions 
social, ethical, political, judicial, home, 
foreign, planetary, — nothing of human in- 
terest seems to escape the thought of this 
vigorous and versatile mind. 

Without question he is the greatest of 

living peacemakers. His bold and success- 
ful plans for terminating war between 
Russia and Japan and the unchallenged 
conferring of the Nobel Prize in recogni- 
tion of his achievement are sufficient proofs 
of this. Scarcely less noteworthy has been 
his role as a peacemaker between the clash- 
ing forces of labor and capital. Few Amer- 
icans, at least, have forgotten that terrible 
coal famine and its threatenings of disaster. 
The sudden and daring diplomacy that 
prepared the way for the Panama Canal, 
and the energy now pushing this enterprise 
so rapidly toward completion, would alone 
render his administration conspicuous. 
What other President has undertaken en- 
terprises on so vast a scale and of such ! 
economic importance to our country as 
those involved in President Roosevelt's 



great plans for irrigation, improvement of 
internal waterways, preservation of forests, 
the retention by our government of great 
coal and oil areas, and the fearless meting- 
out of justice to the serene and dignified 
perpetrators of land frauds ? 

But great and substantial as have been 
the results secured in the directions enumer- 
ated, undoubtedly he has concentrated his 
best and most persistent energies upon the 
correction of what he believes to be the 
abuses of corporate wealth. To his mind 
these evils, unless promptly and thoroughly 
eliminated, threaten destruction to our en- 
tire social and political fabric. He avows 
that he is not an enemy to wealth or to 
wealthy men, not an enemy to combinations 
of capital, but, on the contrary, a sincere be- 
liever in the economic necessity and advan- 
tage of those great industrial and commer- 
cial organizations known as trusts. These, 
he affirms, he would not destroy, but reg- 
ulate and subject to statesmanlike and 
judicial supervision. Unregulated, he is 
convinced that they are as deadly a menace 
to our free institutions as was American 
slavery. In this judgment it is evident that 
he has the concurrence and support of the 
wisest and most patriotic men in our coun- 
try. This cannot be questioned in view of 
such legislation as that creating the Inter- 
state Commerce Commission and the pure- 
food laws. These met with intense oppo- 
sition, but are now conceded to have been 
wise and necessary. 

So far, thoughtful men of all parties are 
in substantial agreement. But it is affirmed 
that the President has been rash in his meth- 
ods; that he has sought to glorify himself as 
a reformer at the expense of the prosperity 
of the country; that he enjoys the exercise of 
power for its own sake; and that, in partic- 
ular, he has precipitated a financial crisis 
injurious alike to labor and capital, and 
harmful to all our people; that he has em- 
ployed the methods of a demagog; that he 
is a shrewd and unprincipled politician; 
that he is appealing to the baser feelings of 
our working men, and is arraying class 
against class, — thus playing into the hands 
•of Socialism and hazarding the safeguards 
of individual effort and reward. 

These are serious charges. Is it reason- 
able to believe them ? It may help us in an- 
swering this question to observe who are 

still the supporters of the President and of 
his measures. It is generally admitted that 
the great body of the plain people of the 
country still believe in their chief magis- 
trate — ■ in the purity of his motives, and in 
the efficacy of his measures. It has thus 
far generally been held to be axiomatic that 
the home-loving and home-keeping people 
of our country have an instinct for recog- 
nizing and honoring the true leader. Many 
good men, to be sure, honestly believe that, 
wittingly or unwittingly, our President has 
developed into a dangerous man who must 
be checked, silenced, or superseded at all 
hazards. Some of these were once admirers 
of the man whom they now mourn as "the 
lost leader." But every reader knows that 
Washington and Lincoln, whom we now 
canonize, were at times subjected to the 
same experiences. Recall, for example, 
how severely Lincoln was denounced by 
such former friends and admirers as Horace 
Greeley and Thaddeus Stevens; how the 
well-known aims and, in some cases, even 
the proclamation of Lincoln were treated 
by a hostile Congress. 

In one respect Roosevelt has not been so 
unfortunate as Lincoln: he seems to have 
had continuously from the beginning the 
confidence and support of the members of 
his cabinet, — the men who must know bet- 
ter than all others his real purposes, the 
men best capable of passing upon his acts. 
When such statesmen as Root and Taft, 
not to mention Cortelyou, Garfield, Bona- 
parte, and other members of the Presiden- 
tial Cabinet, past and present, live in daily 
intimacy with their chief and cannot be 
swerved by tricks, flattery, or promises of 
political favor from their loyalty to him, it 
is not reasonable or easy for the fair-minded 
to believe that our President is a demagog 
or a fool. Doubtless these men see, as do 
multitudes of other less distinguished cit- 
izens, that our chief magistrate has made 
his full share of blunders, that he is intensely 
human and, as such, liable to err; but of the 
essential honesty of the man and the general 
wisdom of his policy they are not uncertain. 
With the common people, they believe that 
at worst the President has only precipitated 
results that, without him, would have issued 
in calamities far more serious and lasting 
than the sudden and paralyzing halt that 
has been called in our industrial life. 

Rathbone Gardner 




By Fletcher D. Proctor, Governor oj Vermont 

Vermont endorses the President, and in 
my opinion the State Convention will en- 
dorse him formally. President Roosevelt 
has a tremendous hold upon the people, 
and, despite considerable frank and friendly 
criticism of his methods, Vermont believes 
that his policies are right. 

[Inasmuch as a great deal of Vermont's 
progressive legislation of the past two years 
has been initiated by Governor Proctor, es- 
pecially the laws against railroad discrim- 
ination, rate-cutting, free passes, grade- 
crossings, etc., the statement of the Gover- 
nor takes on considerable significance.] 

By Edward M. Deavitt, Treasurer oj the State of Vermont 

Excessive liquidation of corporation 
bonds by foreign bondholders was one of 
the fruitful causes of the money panic, and 
this may happen from one or many causes. 
Business had been too good. Promoters 
had mortgaged their futures, and the in- 
evitable day of reckoning found them with 
paper instead of real money. 

Vermont is for Roosevelt because Ver- 
mont likes a fighter. She has produced 
fighters, and likes the President because he 
has the courage to attack wrong wherever 
he finds it. I think the railroads have merely 
gotten their just deserts, and, while the 

stockholders, who are innocent of any 
wrong-doing, may feel chagrin at the low 
price of their property on the stock-market, 
the value is still there and the investors will 
lose nothing in the end. 

The President's policy of the same law 
and the same protection for the weak and 
the powerful has filled Vermont with his 
admirers. I should say positively that this 
is a Roosevelt State. Certainly no President 
within my knowledge has ever had such 
strong hold upon the popular heart and the 
popular esteem as Theodore Roosevelt. 


By Thomas C. Cheney, Speaker oj Vermont House oj Representatives 

While some of us might wish that the 
President would refrain from using the Big 
Stick quite so much, we believe he is right 
and that history will endorse him. As a 
lawyer, I might question the legal propriety 
of the Standard Oil fine of twenty-nine mil- 
lions, but I believe in the Roosevelt doctrine 
of the same law for the rich as for the poor. 
I don't think the President had any more to 
do with the money panic than I had. He 
simply turned on the light. He was not to 
blame for the rotten finance it exposed. We 
Vermonters believe in his sort of railroad 
legislation. Our new railroad law shows 
it. Yes, you can quote me as endorsing the 

President every time. [To Mr. Cheney 
has fallen much of the detail of "administra- 
tion" law-making in this State. It is notable 
that Vermont's railroad legislation has fol- 
lowed with remarkable fidelity the models 
laid down by the National Congress, and in 
the make-up of the House committees Mr. 
Cheney did a great deal to carry out and 
make practicable the administration plans. 
The same condition prevailed in the whole- 
sale "house-cleaning" that Vermont, per- 
formed during the session of 1906, and in 
this Mr. Cheney freely admits the influence 
of the fine, courageous example of President 




By C. J. Bell, ex-Governor and former master of the State Grange 

The farmers admire Roosevelt because 
he is the first President to stand out against 
the trusts, whose operations affect the farmer 
keenly. The farmers admire him for his hon- 
esty and courage, and they support him be- 
cause he insists upon legislation for the poor 
man, the same as for the rich. They like his 
program in regard to the parcels-post, and 
they like his outspoken, fearless messages. 
Yes, I think the farmers of the State are 

heartily endorsing President Roosevelt to 
a man. 

[Mr. Bell is perhaps nearer the plain 
people of Vermont than any other man in 
public life. The " farmer Governor," as he 
was called, is outspoken in his praise of 
Roosevelt. He travels about the State con- 
siderably and comes into touch with the 
people, and finds that the agricultural Ver- 
monter is emphatically behind the President.] 


By Hon. John O. Tilson, of New Haven, Speaker of the Connecticut 
House of Representatives 

President Roosevelt's course must receive 
the endorsement of thinking men because 
he stands so steadfastly for the right, both 
by way of seeing, as far as he may, that 
good, helpful legislation is passed, laws that 
place all men on the same level as to right 
and wrong, and in pointing the way for 
their enforcement on great and small, rich 
and poor, alike, and surely supporting those 
to whom is given the direct enforcing of 
them. When the still, small voice goes un- 
heeded and the strenuous activities of life 
to-day tend so generally to blunt the sensi- 
bilities to right and wrong it needs a Roose- 
velt to bring the nation to realize where it 
is going. 

His sincerity, his earnestness of purpose, 
his forcefulness, which will not be turned 
aside from the real trouble, all combine to 
give him a place in the hearts of the people 
that he cannot be robbed of by superficial 
matters and will set him high in the roll of 
our Presidents when history is written in the 
future. 'Way down in the heart of human- 
ity there is that moral sentiment that right 
is bound to win in the long run. Roosevelt 
appeals to that sense, and on the basis of 
that appeal lies the confidence in him which 
is solid in Connecticut. 

There are those in this State who blame 
the President for the financial and business 
conditions of recent months, but I doubt if 

even they really hold him at fault down 
deep. The pocket-book nerve is a tender 
one, and when it is touched the victim waits 
for few subtleties of logic; he wants to place 
the blame on somebody quick. It is easy 
to blame as shining a mark for this as is 
Roosevelt. Yet the mass of the people, who 
are sufficiently outside the centre of the sit- 
uation to look at it more calmly, are thought- 
ful and do come to a judicial consideration 
of it. They still have that regard for the 
President that was long ago given him be- 
cause he meets abuses squarely, looks keenly 
into them, and insists that those who are 
breaking the law must stop. 

Much of the popular hurrah over Roose- 
velt formerly heard in this State has died 
away, and in its place there is a clear-headed 
belief in him and his policies. He places all 
men on the same footing before the law, 
where they must be for the success of a re- 
publican form of government. Connecticut 
is close to New York City. The talk of Wall 
Street is circulated in this State almost as 
quickly as it goes over that city. Yet I doubt 
if many of our people have been influenced 
by anything derogatory to the President, 
and the fact that they have not shows how 
well grounded is their view of him and how 
accurately Connecticut sizes up his real 
purpose and how thoroughly understands 
the necessity for the work he has done. 

Frederick H. Jackson 




By Rathbone Gardner, of the Rhode Island State Senate 

State Senator Rathbone Gardner, one of 
the receivers of the Union Trust "Company, 
and the most respected Rhode Islander in 
public life to-day, speaks of President 
Roosevelt in this way: 

Roosevelt has done more for this gener- 
ation than any other man. A higher stand- 
ard of business morality has been raised 
throughout the country during the last few 
years, and he has been responsible for it. 
Whatever temporary distress has come upon 
the country has been small payment for the 
good that the new order is sure to bring. It 
looks to me as if we were already prepared 

to build on the firmer foundations a more 
enduring structure. 

The President has given us blessings that 
we can scarcely be grateful enough for. The 
young men of the present generation will 
find business and politics cleaner for his 
efforts; their opportunities for success with 
honor have been multiplied. A gift of this 
kind to a nation is beyond all measuring. 
It might have come without Roosevelt, but 
no one knows how long we should have had 
to wait for it or what evils would have be- 
fallen us while we were patiently waiting. 
The future will give President Roosevelt far 
higher honor than he has yet received. 


By Frederick H. Jackson, Former Lieutenant-Governor of Rhode Island, and 
Republican Candidate for Governor in the last election 

He has done a big work for the country, 
and he did it none too soon. If he had n't 
done it much worse results than we have 
had so far would have occurred. Those 
financiers who had been conducting their 
brutal operations without thought of their 
victims have been compelled to reform their 
practices. Such careers as theirs will never 
again be possible with honor. 

The chief good that the President has 
done has been to the man in the street. He 
has been encouraged to believe that the law 
that he must obey will be evoked against 
the rich and the powerful. A new era of 

justice has begun in the country. As time 
goes by I believe Mr. Roosevelt's services 
will be more and more highly prized. It 
is impossible to appraise them at their full 
value now. 

And yet I would be fearful of a third term 
for Mr. Roosevelt. He has been working at 
high tension for so long that there is dan- 
ger of nervous collapse. In my opinion it 
would not be safe for him to be President 
again. But in saying that I do not wish in 
any way to seem to detract from him any 
credit or honor that is due him for his great 
services to the countrv. 

A wealth of woods, air, and freedom 



SOME things, like religion, have to be 
experienced to be understood. This 
is particularly true of a visit to the 
deep woods of northern Maine, where the 
deer and the moose perambulate the forests 
and skim the edges of the hill-sheltered, 
sparkling stretches of lakes and ponds; 
where, too, the variegated trout, secure in 
their gravel-bottomed homes, venture forth 
to combat the allurements of the wily ang- 
ler. As a sound must be heard, a color 
seen, or a feeling experienced to transmit to 
the brain a clear, definite idea, so the subtle 
charms of this great, wild, rugged, yet 
peacefully harmonious region must be im- 
bibed before becoming a part of one's real 
consciousness. No language can describe 
the emotions stirred by coming into personal 
contact with nature as we see it here. The 
quiet solitude, broken only by human in- 
trusion and the rightful heirs of the forest; 
the perfumed, buoyant atmosphere, can- 
opied with the bluest of blue skies; the deep 
and refreshing green of the tree-clad hills; 
and the delightful interchange of happy 
thoughts round the great camp fire-place 
where life seems a mellow poem; — all this 
is indescribable except to those fortunate 

people who have tasted the ecstasies of life 
in the great Northern playground. 

And like the religionists, the first impulse 
of the Maine woods' devotee is to convey to 
his fellowmen the secret of his supreme joy, 
fervently desiring to attract those who, 
having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear 
not, so to share this simple, peaceful, quiet, 
primeval life of the forest. He has no con- 
cern for the experienced; for, once initiated, 
you find yourself forever wedded to the 
woods; the call becomes simply uncontrol- 
lable. But the woods are vast, and, like all 
other opportunities in life, there is a choice; 
one part suits you better than another. 
Your personal desires may demand some- 
thing entirely different from that which your 
dearest friend delights in. Y r ou may wish to 
go out into the wilderness to live as the red 
man lived, without shelter and with only the 
bare necessities of life; while your friend 
may prefer a canvas shelter or even the lux- 
ury of a log cabin, with some of the com- 
forts of life. Then, again, you may desire 
to become a nomad of the wilderness, to 
follow canoe-routes through the rivers and 
lakes, pitching your tent where an invi- 
ting spring, a sandy beach, or a neglected 



trout-stream invites you, and remaining as 
long as your personal inclinations decide. 
As a diversion, you may penetrate the path- 
less woods and satisfy your ambition for 
rugged exploration, or you may tramp to 
the top of some bold mountain. Indeed, 
one year you may prefer this happy, wan- 
dering life — and an ideal one it is — while 
the following year the assurance of a log 
cabin with a good spring bed may just meet 
your fancy. Or, forsooth, your innate desire 
for variety may lead you to combine both 
these experiences. 

This was exactly my situation last year 
when the irresistible call transported me in 
fancy to my beloved Maine woods. Fresh 
in my mind was the canoe-trip of the year 
before through the West Branch of the Pe- 
nobscot, the wildest, noblest, and most 
tragic river in all the woods, offering the 

Where the rivers join 

..- S ' :; M^ 

Small, but with ample room 

most varied views of forests, mountains, 
savage rocks, and lovely winding vistas. 
Yes, I decided that I must see the West 
Branch again! But still I wanted the com- 
forts of the log cabin and the spring bed. 
How to make this combination — ■ that was 
the question. The plan was not far to 
seek. I took down from the shelf the 
guide-book, " In the Maine Woods," and 
searched through the camp advertisements. 
"Try Hunt's this year, in the famous 
Sourdahunk moose section," stood out in 
large, bold letters. "Twenty-three fine 
trout-ponds close by. New trail to Mt. 
Katahdin. Best of camp accommoda- 
tions; table-fare includes fresh milk, eggs, 
vegetables, etc." Could anything be more 
attractive! Trout-ponds galore! That was 

just what I wanted. "New trail to Mt. 
Katahdin." That puzzled me a little; but 
I had decided to climb that rugged old 
mountain this year, and a new trail 
sounded attractive. "Fresh milk!" Well, 
I thought that must mean a cow, but how 
to get a cow up into the Sourdnahunk moose 
section I could not quite make out. " Eggs," 
of course, meant hens. Well, they might 
fly there; but the "vegetables," that was 
enough for me, for if there is any one thing 
you long for in the summer-time it is good, 
fresh garden sauce. "Write or telegraph for 
dates," continued the advertisement; and 

On Sourdnahunk, above Kidney Pond 



Sourdnahunk Falls 

immediately I wrote, and promptly received 
the assurance of a log cabin, spring bed, 
open fire, and all the comforts that go to 
make camp life so luxurious. 

An eager impatience seized me the mo- 
ment I really decided to take the canoe-trip 
into Kidney Pond. The combination of the 
water-route and camp life make this one of 
the grandest outings in all the great north 
wilderness. You can take your sleeper in 
Boston at ten in the evening, and at six the 
next morning are welcomed to South Twin 
by Captain Willey, the proprietor of South 
Twin House. He assigns you to a room 
where you put on your camp outfit, leaving 
your city clothes in your trunk, to remain 
until you turn your face again toward the 
civilization you are leaving. Breakfast 
over, you board the steamer which arrives 
at Norcross in time to pick up the ten o'clock 
arrivals. Off again, Captain Willey pilots 
you over that fourteen-mile ride across 
North Twin, Pemadumcook, and Amba- 
jejus Lakes. Do not the very names make 
your mouth water for a glimpse? The 
wooded stretches along the shore; the fresh, 
invigorating air, reflected in that vast ex- 
panse of crystal nature; the constant watch- 
ing for some new variation in the sky or 

lake; — no, the uninitiated cannot under- 
stand the meaning of this! It must be ex- 
perienced to be understood. 

At high noon you reach the head of Am- 
bajejus, the upper point of steamboat navi- 
gation, the entrance to the West Branch 
region. Awaiting your arrival is Mr. Hunt, 
the genial host of Kidney Pond, and the 
skilful canoeman of the Maine woods. After 
a good dinner at a comfortable camp here, 
you make another start. As your canoe 
rounds the bend you find yourself in the 
West Branch, while no time elapses before 
you are gliding through Passamagamic 
deadwater right to the very edge of the 
falls. Then comes the carry to Debscon- 
neag deadwater, across which you tramp as 
slowly or as fast as you like; but when you 
reach the other side you will find that the 
guides have already carried the wangan over 
and loaded it into the canoe. "Carrying 
round" is one of the charms of the trip. The 
expectation of meeting a fellow seeker after 
happiness, the restful saunter which stops at 
every ripe berry, and the constant lookout 
for game make the walk round the falls a 
delightful respite from the canoe. 

Putting in again, you paddle to Debs- 
conneag deadwater to the falls, then another 
carry, and you proceed to Pockwockamus 
deadwater, arriving at Davis's camp about 
three o'clock, where you will get what is 
universally called the most magnificent view 
of the bold and lofty Katahdin, that un- 
tiring sentinel of Northern Maine. Here 
you will be tempted to stay over night, in 
appreciative response to the simple hospi- 
tality; but if you are bent on reaching Kid- 
ney Pond that night you will be content 

Will Tracy, guide 


Typical camps in Paradise 

with a handshake and a good-by, and push 
on to Pockwockamus Falls. A little later 
you come to Abol Falls, after which you go 
up the river three miles to the mouth of 
Sourdnahunk Stream. That trip from 
Ambajejus Lake through deadwaters, rap- 
ids, across carries, past wild and barren and 
densely wooded shores, to this rocky, roar- 
ing, foaming stream, is the most fascinating, 
absorbing, and alluring trip you can en- 
counter anywhere in the Maine woods. 

Now you are ready for the three-mile 
tramp into Kidney Pond. Walking over 
this romantic trail, stopping for a drink of 
that refreshing spring-water that bubbles 
up just at the side of the path; constantly 
listening to the rushing, tumbling, splashing 
water of Sourdnahunk Stream; standing 
on the dam, half way up the trail, to watch 
perhaps a lone fisherman cast his success- 
ful fly in the cold pool below; — you will 
not wonder why so many people find them- 
selves allured into this region. Finally, you 
cross the stream over a rustic foot-bridge, 
and after a few minutes you come in sight 

of Kidney Pond, that glittering sheet of 
water tucked away among the towering 
ridges of the Sourdnahunk preserve. A 
paddle across the pond and you are landed 
at as comfortable, well-managed, and at- 

Where labor is joy 



Another group of camps 

tractive set of camps as the Maine woods 
can boast. 

And the next morning at breakfast, when 
you find fresh cream for your cereal, you 

will be convinced that the cow story is real, 
after all; you will find that the hens are 
there; and I am sure you will lose no time 
in exploring the garden. Your expecta- 
tion will be satisfied when Nellie serves you 
at dinner one of those generous portions of 
the most delicious green peas and new po- 
tatoes you ever tasted. More than all, 
Kidney Pond boasts of her cook. If any- 
body can make better blueberry-pies or 
cream-cakes than Mrs. McGrath, or cook 


let him 

At Kidney Pond 

trout in as many appetizing 
stand up and be counted. 

You will not be long at Kidney Pond be- 
fore you will begin to look about for the 
"twenty-three fine trout-ponds close by. n 
They are all here, although probably you 
will not have time to visit them all. But do 
not fail to go to Harrington, Beaver, Jack- 
son, Rocky, Little Rocky, Draper, Dacey, 
Lost, Slaughter, and Polly. These are 
reached by delightful trails, and you will find 
one of Mr. Hunt's canoes on almost all of 
them, ready to lend itself to the closest ap- 
plication of the Waltonian art, or to a lazy 



sun-bath in the sunshine of these liquid 
waters. One can act his pleasure here. 
The handsomest string of trout I ever 
caught was taken from Polly just at twi- 
light. By actual count there were sixty- 
three, weighing from three quarters of a 
pound to a pound and three quarters. The 
sight of these captured beauties accelerated 
my pace in the walk home from Slaughter 
next day, as I pictured this display before 
the professional fishermen in camp; but 
alas, mortal is ever doomed to disappoint- 
ment! The first thing I beheld when I came 
through the garden gate was a string of one 
hundred Kidney Pond trout, taken that day 

by Dr. of Pennsylvania! Where else 

can you find such fishing in August ? 

But the moose and the deer, where are 
they? Kidney Pond has a moose of her 
own, and almost every guest at the camp 
makes her acquaintance. As for myself, I 
never saw her during my whole month's 
stay at Kidney Pond, although all the cam- 
era-fiends snapped her, and everybody did 
his best to inform me when she was to be 
seen. I paddled to her haunts many times 
— sometimes in the forenoon, sometimes in 
the afternoon, and again at twilight (I con- 
fess I once got up at four o'clock in the morn- 
ing to get a glimpse of that exclusive moose) ; 
but all in vain. One afternoon, just as I 
had returned to camp after a lone search 
for this fickle creature, I beheld a canoe 
with three passengers starting from the 

Two good sports — and a pair of boots 

The Carry 

landing. New-comers, they were. I watched 
the course of the canoe, and saw that it was 
heading for the cove. The reason was plain; 
that exasperating moose had made her ap- 
pearance as soon as my back was turned! 

No such personalities, however, were in- 
dulged in by the other game in this region. 
During my twilight fishing at Polly I was 
treated to as interesting a sight as I ever 
saw in the Maine woods. Two handsome 
bucks stalked out of the forest down to the 
very edge of the pond. One put his head 
down to drink, then suddenly raised it, and 
for half a second stood perfectly still, ap- 
parently trying to locate some scent or 
sound. Then, as if fully notified of danger, 
the two deer snorted, and with heads up 
and white flags raised, bounded along the 
water's edge in full view for more than three 
hundred yards; till suddenly, with almost 
incredible leaps and jumps, they disap- 
peared into the woods. It was indeed a 
pretty sight to see these wild, fleet-footed 
animals surprised and alarmed in their na- 
tive heath. 

You will find more moose than deer in 
this region. More than once I have sat on 
Little Rocky and watched an ungainly 
moose stride the whole length of the oppo- 
site shore, leisurely feeding as she uncon- 
cernedly came into full view, or disappeared 
for a moment behind some little hillock or 
clump of trees, till finally she wended her 
course through the thick underbrush. Go- 
ing to Slaughter one day, we met a moose 
face to face in the tote-road, as round and 
sleek and handsome a creature as the moose 
tribe can produce. But the funniest sight 



was the cow moose and calf, feeding knee 
deep in Elbow, whom we saw when we were 
walking home from Katahdin. No side- 
wheeler ever made such a splashing and 
churning as these awkward-legged creatures, 
frantically seeking the shore after they had 
caught sight of us. Yes, you will find plenty 
of game in this region; it is rightly named 
the "famous Sourdnahunk moose section." 
If you go to Kidney Pond do not fail to 
climb Katahdin over Hunt's "new trail." 
It is the shortest and easiest of any yet laid 
out. Take your short tramps first, by way 
of preparation, then your longer ones; but 
by all means wind up with the triumphant 
satisfaction of ascending the rugged slopes 
of the grandest and most picturesque moun- 
tain in Maine. You can make the trip in a 
day, but we preferred to take it leisurely, 
starting from Kidney Pond shortly after 
lunch and arriving at the camping-ground 
about four. Here we spent the night, and 
indeed it was a novel experience to sleep 
in a tent two-thirds up Katahdin, with a 
great camp-fire lighting up the giant, virgin 
timber. Making an early start in the morn- 
ing, we reached the summit about nine 
o'clock; but to our great disappointment 
we found the whole landscape enveloped in 
dense, impenetrable fog. "That may rise," 
said Mr. Hunt by way of encouragement; but 
before he had fairly got the words out of his 
mouth we beheld light patches dotting that 

vast, gray lake of fog. Then, suddenly, we 
recognized the contour of the valley below, 
and the next moment, what seemed to be a 
winding, silvery ribbon on a background of 
green. "The West Branch!" we shouted. 
And lying at the left an intensely white 
patch fastened our gaze, — foaming Sourd- 
nahunk Falls! It seemed as if we could 
hear them roar! And then, as if the spell 
had been broken, myriads of sparkling 
gems, one after another, appeared on the 
landscape. All the old landmarks were 
there, — Moosehead, Chesuncook, Harring- 
ton, Debsconneag, — and we could see 
Kidney Pond, nestled away among the 
green ridges. We could even discern the 
red canoe, making its passage from the 
landing to the camp. From this lofty van- 
tage-ground the whole panorama of Maine's 
rugged splendors stood out in bold relief, 
hemmed in on the north by the towering 
ridges of Canada. Don't fail to get this 
elevated impression of Maine glory. 

The next morning, as we looked up at this 
imperial giant from our log cabin at Kid- 
ney Pond, we seemed to be greeting an old 
acquaintance; and many times as we re- 
luctantly wended our way back to civiliza- 
tion down the West Branch and over the 
stretches of lakes, instinctively we turned 
our faces to the grim countenance of Ka- 
tahdin, — a picture that will always remain 
fresh in our memories. 


The Sowers," by Millet 



THE exact use to which my words to 
you can be put is yet somewhat 
vague to me. A general discourse 
from any one interested in his own ideas 
must always have a certain general value 
for a general public. But the reading of 
such discourse may carry little of serious 
value in so far as being of use in storage or 
to be handed out. 

Still, all conversation, all honest talk on 
any subject, carries something with it. It 
may confirm what we know, it may give us 
some ideas, and those ideas may come to 
us as much by contradiction as by assent. 
And it may be also, that conversations and 
discursive considerations may both lift us 
away from the things that interfere and may 
lead us absolutely into something important. 
The type of such results from loose talk we 
have in a few of the grear monuments of lit- 
erature; and the name of an artist is es- 
pecially connected with one of them. The 
methods of the studio, the discursive ques- 
tioning, the after-dinner rhapsody are all 
there. You will recognize at once the name 
to which I refer, that of the sculptor, Soc- 

The teaching of artists in other forms by 
words which belong to the art of literature 
is rare. It is naturally so. It is evident to 
us that if the Greek sculptor I mention had 
remained steadily in the studio at work on 
his marble — supposing that he had enough 
orders — we should not have had the break 
into human thought which his loose conver- 
sation brought about. We do not know how 
much in this we owe to his wife, whose 
steadier mind must have noticed and re- 
proved his absent-mindedness. And there 
is no doubt that the slightest abandonment 
of the artist in form, whom for convenience 
I shall call the artist, the slightest turning 
out of his path for others, must take away 
from the absolute dedication of mind and 
body to the art which demands, as Dela- 
croix said, "the entire man." Hence, we 
shall rarely find artists explaining their art 
in any but a slight way — sometimes in epi- 
gram, often in exaggeration or repartee, or 
self-defense, or thinking of some objection 
or some opposition, not really present in the 

Nor have we a right to expect much justice 
and consideration from them. They are in 




the field and on a campaign, absorbing all 
their vitality. To analyze self, and to con- 
nect what they do with general laws, may 
be for others, but not for their part. And, 
unlike the scientific man or investigator, 
the personal equation is the fact which it 
has to be their care to cultivate and see that 
it increases and flourishes. Impartiality, 
therefore, is difficult. 

It is not impossible, because some sense 
of justice never abandons us. We are all 
never without means of seeking justice or 
keeping it before us. But that difficulty of 
disinterested view is one found in all classes 
and divisions of life. The theologian is es- 
pecially accused of yielding to it; we say, 
"The odium iheologicum" The scientific 
man, devoted to abstraction or pure re- 
search, has had it badly. I need not say 
that it belongs to what I was thinking of; 
but the real difficulty is the question of 
time and place. "Everything is paid for" 
("Tout se pate"), said Napoleon, who 
knew. That is to say that only so much 
power is turned on, and it can be used for 
this or for that. And we are often, and 
naturally, unjust to certain critics in this 
manner of reproach to them condensed in 
the formula that a critic is a man who has 
failed somewhere else. 

All this is said not to depreciate the frag- 
ments of instruction and explanation that 
a large public can get from artists. A great 
part of what in fragments has been given to 
us is of full value. 

This brings me to the question of my 
own talk to you. I have no doubt that here 
in New England there are artists who could 
as well as myself, and sometimes better, ex- 
plain the manners and the intentions of 
painting. Evidently, if some of them took 
that trouble they must do better in some 
special form, which they would know more 
completely than myself. The reason of 
whatever confidence I have in myself, so as 
to allow me to ask you to think along with 
me, is the length of time during which I 
have been interested in painting, and the 
fact also that some of my earliest influences, 
some of my earliest acquaintances with the 
art, have been derived from minds educated 
in the ideas of further back than the nine- 
teenth century, — the manners and the ideas 
that were prevalent and had been estab- 
lished for a time when Sir Joshua himself 

In writing, therefore, of the art of paint- 
ing, I can resume within my experience the 
ways of looking at the art which have pre- 
vailed and disappeared, and come again, 
for fully a century and a half. And this 
last century, the nineteenth, has so worked, 
sometimes in a blundering, sometimes in an 
enlightened, manner, at this art of painting 
that, notwithstanding the deficiency of 
many of its results, the various theories, the 
various manners of painting, are pretty 
well known to any one who wishes. We 
can to-day cover the entire globe, so that 
even within the last few years the paintings 
of the mysterious, inaccessible Thibet can 
show to us their manners and connect their 
origins. There can be little more for us to 
know about. Of course, the details have to 
be filled up; the intentions and manners of 
thought, and especially the critical views 
of all this territory of art, are to be given to 
us, even if we understand fairly well what 
they are to be. 

"Painting," says Delacroix (or he says 
something like it), "is an art in which we 
use the picture of a reality as a bridge to 
something beyond it." Or we might say, if 
we were "realists," to a greater enjoyment 
of the thing we represent. This art of 
painting as it has come to us through ages 
means something so vast that we might take 
it in a way as the report of the eye on all 
that there is. And that report, used for its 
own pleasure, ought to carry the mind to 
something further, to imply what it does 
not say, to bring up memories that are not 
there expressed, and often to bring up 
memories of other expressions which we 
have liked and which we wish to see ap- 
plied again to some different motive. And 
as all is memory, so this report of the eye 
applies to what we imagine as well as to 
what we see with others. For our imagina- 
tion, of course, is an arrangement of our 
memories — just as our sight is. We see 
through our memory. We have learnt 
what these things are, or may be, and how 
to use our machinery to find them. There- ! 
fore, by the by, we see the fallacy of the 
well-meaning artists — let us quote Cour- I 
bet — who would not paint goddesses, or 
angels, or ideal landscapes, because they 
had not seen them. But for others the paint- 
ing of goddesses and so forth was and is 
just as well a rendering of what has been 



Portrait of Mrs. Palk, by Sir Joshua Reynolds 

So that to-day a survey of this art, of 
what it has done and how it has done it, 
would run from, let us say, the vase-paint- 
ings of the Greeks and the black-and-white 
of China to frescoes, — mediaeval or of the 
new Italian path, — to discoveries of meth- 
ods, — such as that of oils, — to the Titians 
and the Rubenses; and finally, through the 
conquests of light and air in what we have 
called chiaro-oscuro, to the use of the vision 
of the open eye, as Sir Joshua called it, or 

the record of continuous successive differ- 
ent facts brought together; over beautiful 
surfaces, soothing to the eye, or over the 
polished hardness of Gerome and similar. 
And in this last century, with the accom- 
paniment, the influence, the mastering di- 
rection of the photograph, and finally the 
application of methods more or less derived 
from the scientists to the use of pigments, as 
representing light, we could close with our 
last developments — the wild arrangements 

23 2 


of impressionist color, which already begin 
to look a little tame. This seems a fairly 
long list of rather a. long statement of places 
and marks within the historical space im- 
plied; but even then we are perhaps falling 
short of what at any moment may be cov- 
ered. Still more, we do not know how 
much further the future will carry us in the 
representation of all that there is — either 
for itself, that is to say one's pleasure in it, 
or for a language to express feelings and 
meanings. None of us can feel that the rep- 
resentations so far of nature are adequate, 
except perhaps in some few cases, and those 
perhaps chosen out because of some special 
love. Even for me, as I go along, I see every 
day millions upon millions of pictures of 
nature, not recorded yet either in their facts, 
if I may so call them, or the light and air in 
which they are enveloped. 

This point to which we have come of 
looking at painting and its methods as not 
merely a habit accepted, but a history which 
we can record, is foreseen to some extent 
in the saying of Constable that "Painting 
is a science and should be pursued as an in- 
quiry." We are also forced into a position 
of inquiry, and a position of teaching in a 
scientific way, because we are more or less 
the dependents of academic teaching, which 
replaced some centuries ago the best of all 
teaching: I mean the hand-to-hand teaching 
of the guilds — of the painters whose work 
was partly done by their assistants or their 
partners, and who taught by example in a 
still more direct way than a painter can to- 
day, in the usual practice of our now more 
selfish and secluded profession. 

Sir Joshua, who was placed at the head 
of the Royal Academy, seemed to believe 
that an academy would furnish able men 
to direct a student, and that an academy 
would be a repository for the great exam- 
ples of the art. We know that the reverse 
has been the story, as compared to the teach- 
ings of the guilds or of men working to- 
gether on some practical end; and Sir 
Joshua saw some deficiency in his claim, 
for he says, "Rafaelle, it is true, had not 
the advantage of studying in an academy; 
but all Rome, and the works of Michel 
Angelo in particular, were to him an acad- 
emy." We of course know that the men of 
that time had on the contrary worked to- 
gether, in what they called a school, or 
shop, or something in which to help or to 

be employed, and consequently, Sir Joshua 
comes back to what we know, the ordinary- 
teaching of schools of to-day, let us say in 
Paris, and that is this: "That a youth more 
easily receives instructions from the com- 
panions of his studies, whose minds are 
nearly on a level with his own, than from 
those who are much his superiors; and it is 
from his equals only that he catches the 
fire of emulation." 

This is the way still. At the Paris stu- 
dios the master has a set of pupils who 
carry out the programme under other and 
better-drilled disciples. That must be the 
general plan for most cases. The master 
can hardly take his pupils into his confi- 
dence, and yet that is the most precious of 
all that can be given. When Rude dis- 
charged his class because they had gone to 
an execution, the moral brace for Carpeaux, 
the sculptor, was strong enough for him to 
remember its effort late in life. When 
Ingres got one of his two helpers to take the 
red stockings off the legs of the famous 
"La Source" (which our boys and French 
boys are taught to admire and reverence), 
and to rearrange the feet, and put them in 
correct perspective, before he repainted the 
whole in two weeks, he had given a lesson 
of methods and views which, to greater 
minds, would have been a life of teaching. 
When Ingres himself painted David's 
"Madame Recamier" for him (I mean the 
one in the Louvre), what precious practice 
under one of the most serious of masters! 
But the contrary has to rule for a long time, 
and the want of knowledge of what there is 
outside must prevail for a time, until a 
larger education fills the crannies of the 

It is only a little while ago that a clever 
youngster insisted with me in the avoidance 
of any belief that the stupendous men of 
earlier days underpainted their pictures or 
prepared them in special tones of color. 
(We call preparation the first laying out in 
some manner of a painting ■ — sometimes 
with much color, sometimes with less.) 
Even the blue underpainting of Van der 
Mer of Delft in the New York Museum 
had no effect on him. Sir Joshua himself, 
rising out of the grave, or showing his faded 
or cleaned pictures and his very note-books, 
proved nothing to the closed mind of the 
youth. He was taught something up-town 
in the average academy school, and that 



The Lion Hunt," by Delacroix 

was enough for all time and history. The 
trouble is, then, that the youth shut up in 
such boxes of ignorance is suddenly a prey 
to some fad outside, against which he is 

But this is outside of what I wish most to 
consider, and that is, in a loose way, a sort 
of survey of what painting has been for the 
last century. My belief would be that the 
more various forms of development might 
be known to the student, who may be a 
teacher. The more we meet the question of 
the future, which is forced upon us, the 
more we see that we have no longer the ad- 
vantages of narrowness in the worship of a 
single method. For there are advantages 
in narrowness, as in breadth, and perhaps 
there are greater. We do not yet know. 
But the narrowness I refer to is not that of 
the Academy, but of the old schools — of 
the method which calls a method by its 
real name and practises that, recognizing 
that there are others known and un- 

As for instance, there is perhaps no harm 
now done to French architects, in that they 
are, or the public for them, aware that their 

nation once had the glory of the develop- 
ment of an art which rivalled any that ever 
lived, — the art of the Middle Ages. 

The Academy of France, of course, tried 
to kill that knowledge, and as in the art of 
painting it tried to ignore the eighteenth 
century and the examples of Rembrandt, 
Rubens, and Velasquez. That eighteenth 
century which they turned away from 
seemed to the first founders of the nine- 
teenth-century Academy conventional, ef- 
feminate, and especially aristocratically 
affected. There is no democracy in the man- 
ner, let us say, of Sir Joshua. There is a 
mannerism formed on great and reasonable 
admiration of the manners of certain pre- 
vious artists. And he studied and rec- 
ommended those mannerisms. But never 
thereby did he mean that all other studies 
should not be recommended and carried 
out. Indeed, he has left us his strongest 
statements of admiration and respect for 
forms of art which seem at the other pole 
from his own. That general making-up of 
a picture as a definite and recognized piece 
of beauty, based on nature, was an idea 
that shocked, later, the puriste, full of su- 



Landscape, by Rousseau 

perficial virtue, who opened the century in 

I have looked through some of the sketch- 
books of Sir Joshua, filled during his Ital- 
ian experience. Had I had better luck with 
me, I might myself have made some copy 
of them. But you may know how he noted 
on a page, in a curious loose pattern, just 
what he thought must be the amount of 
dark and light and middle light of some of 
the pictures he especially studied. Natur- 
ally, they are those of the men of "chiaro- 
oscuro" and balance, the makers of the 
oil-picture within a frame, if one can so 
say. These pictures Sir Joshua looked for 
and studied, but they had their limits of 
choice from their nature. 

Even to-day, or at least last week, such 
a study-book of a student might look rep- 
rehensible, for it is all surface memoranda; 
a circle here, a queer space elsewhere, tells 
Sir Joshua again what he saw of these 
proportions of light and dark spaces. I 
remember so wishing I could compare them 
with photographs of the originals. 

Just to think (and it is all-important for 

our comprehension of history) that Sir 
Joshua had no photographs which now, 
more or less well (usually less well), give 
us some of these facts in an authentic, im- 
personal manner! 

All things connect, and we see how these 
inquiries into the method of placing the 
facts of a picture within its frame brings us 
to the last efforts of the last experimenters 
in painting of a few years ago — the day 
before yesterday. 

I am considering the framed picture. 
Please remember that there was a time 
without it, and that this little matter of a 
frame, or edge, even a line, is an important 
discovery, like the steam-engine. The ultra- 
modern scientific folly of the rendering of 
nature even adequately, nature which has 
no edge and is all lop-sided to the eye, and 
then putting a rectangular frame around 
it, is enough to show how sane an idea was 
the institution of the old way of joining the 
picture to its frame. 

Of course it is possible to make a study 
of nature, or a representation intended to be 
an adequately luminous equation, using the 


2 35 

frame to represent a window -opening. I 
have so studied myself, carefully, observing 
that I did not see further out than what my 
frame represented. But such a careful ob- 
servance is not the usual one of the realist, 
pursuer of the full rendering of color and 
light, and we feel it badly — I say we feel 
it badly; no, we ought to feel it, if we reason 
like the artist experimenter himself. No, 
we so adjust our eyes and mind that almost 
anything seen is accepted, which is partly 
conventional. Conventions we need; we 
need to be reminded that this is art we are 
treated to. We need to be confronted; we 
do not wish for inquiry, we, the lookers-on 
— inquiry beyond something that we are 
broken into. Otherwise, every real inno- 
vation or special delivery would be hailed 
at once, instead of being condemned or 
doubted as it usually is. 

The makers of pictures, then, pictures 
with frames, discovered the necessity of 
humoring the edges, of bringing the sky 
over, and making the ground to meet. To 
have accomplished all this Fromentin 
praises the great Ruysdael's works, u lis font 
si Men dans I'or." And it is only yesterday 
that, looking at a copy of Rembrandt, 
which I finished fifty years ago, on his 
memorial week, and which I have only 
just seen again, I recognize how wise, how 
artistic, how merely conventional, the dread 
realist had been in painting within and 
around his picture part of a black frame to 
meet another real one, either black or gold. 
The artifice helped the reality, which, 
after all, was to be a thing represented as 
seen. And every help should be given to 
the eye of the looker-on, which asks, as it 
does, in perspective arrangements, a little 
ease, a little inaccuracy, such as the real eye 
always gives us — for we see as inaccu- 
rately as we wish or we need. 

For example, a man, or a horse, or a 
house, is big or little as we may wish at a 
distance — as he was and is in the pictures 
of early masters. 

Now, to-day, we can even smile kindly at 
the mad prophet, William Blake's indig- 
nation concerning the devilishness of chiaro- 
oscuro ; "that infernal machine called chiaro- 
oscuro, in the hands of the Venetian and 
Flemish demons, whose enmity to the 
painter himself (Blake), and to all artists 
who studied in the Florentine and Roman 
schools, may be removed by an exhibition 

and exposure of their vile tricks. They 
cause that everything in art shall become 
a machine. They cause that the execution 
shall be blocked up with brown shadows. 
.... Rubens is a most outrageous de- 
mon. . . . Though the original conception 
was always fire and animation, he loads it 
up with hellish brownness, and blocks all 
of its gates of life except one. Correggio 
is a soft and effeminate, and consequently 
a most cruel, demon, whose whole delight 
is to cause endless labor to whoever suffers 
him to enter his mind." 

He himself used a form of chiaro-oscuro, 
in his own way, when he chose — in the 
most astonishing and marvellous fairy- 
land of color-prints; but the theologian 
within him was too strong. 

And also there is this, — that the use of 
machinery as principle is often annoying, 
and that the cheap disciple repeating in his 
way the best form is disheartening, and 
yet — and yet, Blake might have seen that 
art and nature are sometimes the same, and 
that the imitation of the work of the man 
is also a use of the highest manifestation. 
The desire for something more than the 
picture, for some flight of the soul in a 
drama of history (or, with Blake, of the- 
ology), went no further in England; but, 
later, in France, Delacroix takes this up 
for us once again. He who so admired 
Turner and later the pre-Raphaelites (who 
did not at first understand him), — we 
might like to know what he thought of 
Blake. There are occasionally, of course, 
at vast distances, some reminders and some 
connections; but Delacroix, of whom more 
later, brings up the question of the new 
investigations into the color and light, both 
of which we use as a means and as an end. 
But Delacroix is as reasonable and 
guarded against himself interiorly as Blake 
is not. He is not an enthusiast, and there 
is nothing he hates so much as the confu- 
sion of ideas. Solitary even more than 
Blake could possibly be, misunderstood by 
his admirers, right-minded, a gentleman, 
clean-handed from the world, — there is to 
me no more touching figure in the history 
of the nineteenth century. This loneliness 
is recorded in the simplicity of his journal, 
which is nothing but a fragmentary record. 
There is there no self-pity, no complaint; 
rather a belief at being able to be absorbed 
in the lovely life of the artist, that life of 



Portrait of an Old Man, by Rembrandt 

art which St. Thomas has defined — put- 
ting thereby aside the follies of moral doubt 
which have worried the clergy. " Locus 
innocentia'" — the land of the continued 
privileges of Eden — the "Land of Inno- 
cence," he says. 

Delacroix was to represent, to be the im- 
age of, the more or less successful reaction 
against the school or influences headed by 
David, which hardened and purified, but 

in the manners of the Revolution, the paint- 
ing of the eighteenth century, already be- 
ginning to correct itself and certainly need- 
ing in its progression no such violent cure 
as David's false Greek preachments. Al- 
ready Sir Joshua has spoken, even inihis 
lectures, of the greater rigidity of the French- 
men whom he knew. So confused, so en- 
tangled, is anything that we have to con- 
sider in this manifestation of personality 



which we call painting that we must stop a 
moment to breathe and ask ourselves, 
"Watteau — where is there any stiffness in 
him?" And "yet there probably is in some 
studies. There is some wire or iron to hold 
up the loose soft clay of the statue which 
he has erected. One can understand why 
the pupils coming out from David's class 
threw their waste bread and odds and ends 
at the great Watteau, "The Embarkment 
for Cythera." 

The fierce republican desire to be the 
only monarchs went on in France, and is 
scarcely breaking up to-day before the social 
changes, and the scientific studies, and the 
practical money questions, which are be- 
ginning to change the face of the making of 
pictures everywhere. 

The acceptance of the rule of David al- 
lowed escape and evasion on its edges; and 
we have such a case as that of Prudhon, 
who brings back that terrible chiaro-oscuro 
of Correggio into the frigid domain of ac- 
curate, narrow, studio light. And, more- 
over, he saves from the past the methods of 
underpainting which make this beautiful 
draughtsman still a real painter; while 
David and his inheritors, later, are to make 
for the French school a hard surface-paint- 
ing without the merit of the actual bas- 
relief. This has prevailed until to-day, and 
has in the various forms of accepted paint- 
ers given us those tedious spaces of oil- 
painting which are so near the method and 
the texture and the grave solemnity of the 
oilcloth of the bathroom. 

Gros, of course, an official painter, also 
accepts and rejects the domination. He 
prepares, both in his methods and in the 
heroic breadth of his panegyrics of Napo- 
leon's battles, in their accuracy and in 
their conventional poetry, in their reminis- 
cence of the older warmth, the future Ge- 
ricault who will be both an accurate and 
anxious draughtsman and a wild and fiery 
innovator and sensationalist — to live a 
few brief years of youthful promise and to 
hand that future to Delacroix. Meanwhile, 
the Academic school continues. It has for 
its nominal head Ingres. And then we 
come again to the difficulty of classifica- 
tion — a difficulty for writing and arguing 
in the way that I follow this moment. But 
a good thing if, as I hope, — for I hope for 
the bigger future, — our teaching will in- 
clude the contradictions in art as we are 

learning to accept and insist upon in his- 
torical analyses. For Mr. Ingres — and I 
say Mr. Ingres, Monsieur Ingres — repre- 
sented in my early time the Academy in its 
full integrity. But Mr. Ingres, the real 
man, wrote a pamphlet against the estab- 
lishment of schools of painting at the School 
of Beaux-Arts. He maintained that the 
process of painting could be taught to any 
one in a week, And my older accraaintances 
in France, in the France of fifty or sixty 
years ago, still felt in Mr. Ingres a senti- 
mental innovator, who allowed himself lib- 
erties that a stricter and more correct view 
of draughtmanship would not approve of. 
And yet this very draughtmanship is what 
pleases us most to-day in his work. His 
studies from nature carry him a little out- 
side the line, as he himself admits, saying 
that "in the matter of truth I prefer to go 
a little beyond, at whatever risk, for I 
know that the truth may seem improbable. 
There is often," he continues, "only the 
thickness of a hair between right and 
wrong." His portrait of himself gives us 
the clue to these views of the establishment 
of a rigid theology in art, more or iess cen- 
tered in himself and in his admiraaon for 
Raphael, from whom nobody could be fur- 
ther. And yet in some of the details of 
his drawings, where he indulges a man- 
ner of his own,— a way, for instance, of 
seeing hands, a manner of rendering the 
soft form of woman, — there is something 
of poetry which may recall the work of the 
divine master. Gericault, who knew him 
in Rome at the Academy, admired his draw- 
ings and saw little in his paintings, much 
as he desired to do so. His record I have to 
use: inaccuracy, a commonplace soul in a 
highly cultured mind, perhaps the usual 
teacher man. We have to dwell on this 
name because of the preponderance of 
French art in the world of the nineteenth 
century; and the life of Ingres covers a 
great part of that century's teaching. His 
name, also, serves to represent that closed 
door which has been a mark of French cul- 
ture in art during a part of the nineteenth 
century, whatever efforts France's very best 
men have made to keep open doors and 
windows to the influences of outside. 

The name of the great opponent, not a 
conscious one, of Ingres, Delacroix, opens 
these doors; and even here, with this inim- 
ical authority pressing him, the more gener- 


ous man, Delacroix, had pleaded the part 
of Ingres as against a public that did not as 
yet understand him. But Ingres hated the 
painter side of Delacroix, which brought in 
the dreadful question of color and of light 
and the possibility of there being something 
different from the imitators of Raphael. 

This open door opens on landscape art. 
Of course it is an exaggeration to maintain 
that the influence of Constable determined 
that French landscape school which defi- 
nitely covered the most of continental Eu- 
rope. Already the influence of England had 
reached France through Gericault, through 
Delacroix, and the idea of landscape was 
brought up again by the suggestion of the 
older painters of far back. It seems strange 
and unfortunate, perhaps, as ideal develop- 
ment, that the paintings of Turner did not 
reach France and serve to encourage and 
widen the great return to nature, as well as 
to the habits of painting, which together 
make the great landscapists both of France 
and England. Rousseau and Corot and so 
forth, and even Millet, are both students of 
art and students of nature in an impassioned 
way. Their names can serve for many 

But only occasionally are the students of 
nature in connection with color and light 
studied both as a means and an aim. They 
did not need these new studies to state what 
they liked and what they chose to see. In 
fact, we see in Millet the gradual withdrawal 
from so much of nature as may interfere 
with the main sentiment that filled his vision. 
There is even the story (as I remember, a 
true one) of Rousseau's injuring one of his 
great paintings because he had just come 
across Japanese art in the color-prints of 
the later men. 

He had discerned what has been used very 
little, — the representation of some laws of 
the opposition of tones; the manner by 
which, to quote a rough instance, a pink 
sunset implies a related opposition against 
it. We know that the friendship and admi- 
ration common to several of these men has 
grouped them more together than should 
appear from their works and the tendencies 
behind their works, so that Delacroix on 
one side separates from them. He is a pre- 
cursor in his wish to find general laws of 
color which he can use in derived manner, 
which still shall be laws. Such ideas influ- 
ence also the gigantic development of Tur- 

ner, who carried out as well the continuance 
of the old forms of the picture, so that to 
some extent he is a type of what one might 
hope for the entire future. But of course 
with Millet, or a similarly directed mind, 
the opposing question is quite as valuable. 
Any means, however contradictory to one's 
other loves, are right to secure an impas- 
sioned statement of great likings, great 
memories, noble thoughts — all the higher 
side of man which can be included in the 
art of painting, as well as in any of the other 

Of course, over my shoulder the devil 
whispers, "But here's what Mr. Whistler 
has said: 'As music is the poetry of sound, 
so is painting the poetry of sight, and the 
subject-matter has nothing to do with har- 
mony, or sound, or color. The great mu- 
sicians knew this. Beethoven and the rest 
wrote music, simply music; Symphony in 
this key, Concerto or Sonata in that.'" 
Nothing could be more untrue, for Beetho- 
ven has carefully explained just the reverse. 
As we first saw, the artists argue against 
some unseen enemy, and, like lawyers or 
theologians, defend their personal positions 
at all hazards. And still, in the history of 
our art, in the education of a student or a 
teacher, one should not miss including the 
statements of Mr. Whistler as part of the 
training for understanding the full history 
of art. Wisely taken, almost all that he has 
said is worth listening to, especially as bal- 
ancing certain other statements, also ex- 
aggerated, but not so keen and naughty. 

And between Mr. Whistler and the Del- 
acroix whom I am trying to consider we 
shall have placed the pre-Raphaelites of 
England, partly poets, partly Philistines. 
Their protest must in its day have had its 
value, and I personally am too much in- 
debted to them for influences and for 
pleasure to do otherwise than speak hand- 
somely of their love of the past, however 
mistaken; of their painting, not always good, 
but sometimes at its finest just then, as we 
see with Rossetti for instance; or we may 
remember the combinations of intention 
and picture-making, an astonishing pur- 
suit of problems of color, in Mr. Holman 
Hunt, or the deliberate artificialities of 
Burne-Jones, not forgetting the apparent 
founder of them all, — I say, apparent, — 
Maddox Browne, whose early works terri- 
fied my boyhood, as I told him, for they 



Little Rose of Lyme Regis, by Whistler 

were both so German, as I remember the 
ballads, and French, as Delacroix trans- 
lated the Middle Ages, and yet so fiercely 

This was the moment when Mr. Ruskin 
broke into English literature and bullied 
and directed and helped the cause, ex- 
plaining the Middle Ages to a Philistine 
audience, but still more so to young enthu- 
siasts, who, like myself or my Oxford 

teacher, were already living in the wonder- 
ful past which opened out as an explana- 
tion of our origins, an incentive to greater 
religious emotion, and finally, but not 
through Mr. Ruskin, to perceiving the unity 
of the mediaeval and the Greek. 

The colder studies of such students as 
Viollet-le-Duc and ever so many others 
whose statements do not return against 
themselves as with the rather blasphemous 



user of the Bible, for the Anglo-Saxon, as 
once for the Latin, is a manner of appeal to 
something else than reason. 

"At any rate," if Mr. Henry James will 
forgive my English, we shall have no more 
such talk as Mr. Ruskin dared to give to 
Oxford thirty-seven years ago: 

"In closing this first course of lectures, I 
have one word more to say respecting the 
possible consequence of the introduction 
of art among the studies of the University. 
What art may do for scholarship I have no 
right to conjecture; but what scholarship 
may do for art I may in all modesty tell 
you. Hitherto, great artists, though al- 
ways gentlemen, have yet been too exclu- 
sively craftsmen. Art has been less thought- 
ful than we supposed; it has taught much, 
but much also falsely. Many of the great- 
est pictures are enigmas; others, beautiful 
toys; others, harmful and corrupting toys. 
In the loveliest there is something weak; 
in the greatest there is something guilty. 
And this, gentlemen, if you will, is the new 
thing that may come to pass, — that the 
scholars of England may resolve to teach 
also with the power of the arts; and that 
some among you may so learn and use them 
that pictures may be painted which shall 
not be enigmas any more, but open teach- 
ings of what can no otherwise be so well 
shown; which shall not be fevered or broken 
visions any more, but shall be filled with 
the indwelling light of self-possessed imagi- 
nation; which shall not be stained or en- 
feebled any more by evil passions, but glo- 
rious with the strength and chastity of no- 
ble human love; and which shall no more 
degrade or disguise the work of God in 
heaven, but testify of him as here dwelling 
with men, and walking with them, not 
angry, in the garden of the earth." 

This is accurately quoted, though one 
can scarcely believe it. The self-sufficiency, 
the insolence of addressing Oxford with 
such claptrap! As if we here together pro- 
posed to correct the English of Shake- 
speare or the Bible, the Greek of Homer, 
the Italian of Dante! 

And then the vulgar lugging-in of Biblical 
imagery to justify folly, as if by a retreat 
behind the railing of the sanctuary — in a 
wording not so far from the country bump- 
kin's recorded by Mr. Thomas Hardy: 
"With Holy Hosea — in my scripture 
manner, which is my second nature." 

"And a bystander said, 'Hear, hear!' 
A man who can talk like that ought to be 
heard," etc., etc. 

That is over, I believe, and in our stud- 
ies of Mr. Ruskin and Mr. Whistler let us 
hope to avoid those confusions of ideas 
which are allowed before a jury in lower 
courts, but which have nothing to do with 
that clearness of mind and sweetness of 
temper which must flow from the teacher 
to the pupil. But we cannot forget that 
Mr. Ruskin considered questions of light 
and color as law at an early moment, 
though not so early as our great Frenchmen. 
As this part of my relations to Ruskin's 
writings is more deficient, I do not know how 
far he knew of the studies of Chevreul, 
which are said to be antedated by the ex- 
perience of Delacroix. But for us who be- 
gan to study between fifty and sixty years 
ago these first teachings were all-important. 
Personally, I the painter have never ceased 
obedience to what I could understand of 
them. Here in Boston, before the day of 
the Impressionists, my friend Mr. Ban- 
croft and myself struggled to establish con- 
nection between painting and what science 
could help us in with regard to that light 
and color which was both our means and 
our end. The recent history of continental 
art tells us of its following of the spectral 
palette and of optical mixture, which is all 
so recent that I need not tell you how the 
ground has been largely covered. These 
influences must continue. I believe they 
round out our general connection with the 
arts of sight. We shall perhaps in our 
teachings connect more and more sculpture 
and painting. It was only a few days ago 
that Rodin, trying to explain and also to 
amuse himself, said that he had bought 
a certain Greek statue without unboxing it, 
merely feeling through the chinks the sur- 
face of a leg which he knew must delight 
his eye with color, in opposition to the 
miseries suffered from French official sculp- 
ture that afflicted him as dedicated to form 
existing without the sensation of the eye. 
And the master also, a little while ago, still 
with some malice, insisted that art and 
nature were the same thing. We might de- 
rive some help from this strenuous manner 
of bringing them together in a larger teach- 
ing, which, as it should leave nothing of the 
past without some harmonizing record and 
explanation, could take up the entire future 


An Illustrated Monthly. Founded 1758 


SPOKEN words of commendation are 
ever a source of encouragement. Early 
in life we are taught that "kind words can 
never die." When those words are written 
they have even greater power. Though 
they may perhaps be no more genuine than 
the oral expressions, the mere deliberation 
of writing seems to give added assurance 
of sincerity and permanence. 

In the midst of these reflections we are 
overwhelmed with letters — letters of many 
sorts and from many sorts of people, but 
letters which may all be grouped under the 
single heading "Inspiration Letters." Au- 
thors, artists, editors, publishers, news- 
paper men, executives, legislators, — pub- 
lic servants and private citizens both in and 
out of New England, — have written their 
good wishes and pledged their support to 
The New England Magazine for New 
Englanders. As fast as the hours in the 
day will permit we are replying to these 
many letters, expressing our appreciation 
of the hearty support accorded our efforts 
thus far. We are more and more led to be- 
lieve that we shall have the people more 
and more with us. 

One letter let us here publish, as being 

Washington, Feb. 27, 1908. 
My Dear Mr. Snod grass: I have received the 
copy of The New England Magazine, and I 
wish to thank you for sending it to me. I think 
the number is very well made up, and the cur- 
rency question is well set forth. 
With many thanks, I am, 

Very truly yours, 

H. C. Lodge. 

Better Business 

UP and down through the country mills 
are resuming operations, and thou- 
sands of idle men and women are return- 

ing to work. Each morning paper tells of 
a few; the aggregate is many. 

Of all the financial panics, there has never 
been one in which so many men so per- 
sistently said at the very beginning, "It 
must not, it shall nqt, continue long." In 
offices and factories were placed printed 
signs such as these: 

"No panic here." 

"Exit for business depression." 

"Fine! How's yours?" 

"Peddlers and panic-criers not ad- 

So from the first of his onslaught Major 
Hard Times had to fight every inch of his 
slow progress against stouter defences 
than he had yet encountered in this coun- 

As the Major now retreats, heads nod 
and wise folks say, " Of course; the con- 
ditions have not been right for a long siege." 
Other folks, just as wise, tell us with equal 
emphasis that a panic was due, and due to 
be long and severe, but that business men 
absolutely refused to give in to it. Whether 
concerted optimism has been the cause or 
the effect of the actual conditions would be 
difficult to say accurately. But we believe 
that common sense and business judgment 
deserve the credit of having prevented a 
more serious depression. Panics are only 
matters of psychology — at first. As in- 
dividuals we train our minds to have mas- 
tery over matter; shall not the mass of men 
make some progress toward mastery over 
the mass of matter? We seem to be pro- 

Now you may say that it is too soon to 
exult, that the worst may be yet ahead of 
us. Don't say it. Don't think it lest you 
be a drag to progress. Good times will 
never come by loafing around the grocery- 
store speculating on the chances of things 
getting better or worse; but 'by thinking, 
believing, and working for prosperity. 




Denatured Alcohol 

UTILITY" is a fine motto for 
thrifty people. If kept within its 
proper proportion it does much to make 
life worth living. New Englanders as a 
class are thrifty. They put common things 
to practical use. Probably it is this trait, 
more than any other, that is accountable 
for a scale of living in New England more 
modest than is found in most localities and 
yet accompanied by more pleasure in the 
every-day of life. Our people seem to have 
learned how to get the most units of en- 
joyment per dollar of expense. 

It was not strange, then, that New Eng- 
landers were among the most vigorous 
movers for the act which made possible 
the adaptation of alcohol to practical use. 
Nor is it odd that New England should im- 
mediately apply alcohol to actual use, for 
fuel, for manufacturing, and for the pur- 
poses of home and farm. 

The entire country used over three million 
gallons of denatured alcohol during the 
year 1907. The mere fact of this enormous 
product is of itself justification for the new 
law. It is estimated that a large percentage 
of this output was used for purposes for 
which alcohol could not possibly have been 
used subject to the old tax. Denatured 
alcohol thus becomes, by the simple pass- 
ing of a simple law, a tremendous national 
resource. It is further estimated that the 
use of denatured alcohol during the year 
actually saved about $6,000,000. 

It is now proposed to encourage the al- 
cohol industry still further by an act to re- 
move the tax from pure alcohol for use 
in manufacturing, for export, perfumeries 
and certain medicinal compounds for which 
only pure (not denatured) alcohol can be 
used. At present pure alcohol can be im- 
ported free of duty for use in the manu- 
facture of goods for export. Thus, im- 
ported alcohol is much cheaper than do- 
mestic alcohol with the tax. The removal 
of the tax in this case would enable domestic 
alcohol to compete favorably with the im- 
ported, and thus encourage our own al- 
cohol manufacture. This law seems en- 
tirely just and practical, and there should 
be no doubt of its enactment. 

Even with so large an output of the de- 
natured product last year, the use of alco- 
hol is not yet really begun. We have now 

in preparation an article on the many sim- 
ple ways of making alcohol and the many 
valuable ways of using it, particularly the 
domestic uses. We are told that a few 
years will see every farmer in New England 
with his own alcohol still, making the 
"power-juice" from materials otherwise 
wasted, and using it for a hundred purposes 
about the farm. Our article will be prac- 
tical, free from technical stumbling-blocks, 
telling plainly what the layman can do with 
denatured alcohol — and how. 

In the meantime, if some one does not 
publish a small hand-book on this same 
subject, but treating it more fully than can 
be done in a condensed magazine article, 
we shall be tempted to do so. The gospel 
of denatured alcohol is well worthy of 
much consideration. 

To Prevent Decay in Wood 

THE campaign on behalf of the trees 
(which means on behalf of the people) 
is not without much encouragement. Here 
and there we learn of men who are taking 
measures to prevent the destruction of their 
own forest lands, and of others who offer 
tracts to the Government Forest Service to 
be preserved and regulated for the general 

Without doubt one of the large factors to 
the threatening forest-famine is prodigality 
in the use of wood. The Forest Service has 
commenced an active campaign against the 
idle waste of timber, and even the selfish 
will find it a valuable campaign, for its 
effect is to save money for the individual. 

One of the most interesting and valuable 
details of this campaign is a circular re- 
cently published by the government, offi- 
cially designated as Circular 139 of the 
Forest Service, "A Primer of Wood Pres- 
ervation." (Incidentally, copies of this 
circular may be had free by writing to the 
Forest Service at Washington.) This cir- 
cular tells how farmers, manufacturers, 
and everybody else may preserve wood and 
by the same process preserve money. 

It is estimated that a fence-post, which j 
under ordinary circumstances will last for| 
perhaps two years, will, if given preserva 
tive treatment costing about ten cents, last 
eighteen years. The service of other tim- 
bers, such as railroad-ties, telephone poles, 


2 43 

and mine props, can be doubled and often 
trebled by inexpensive preservative treat- 
ment. To-day, when the cost of wood is a 
big item to every farmer, every stockman, 
every railroad manager — to every one, in 
fact, who must use timber where it is likely 
to decay — this is a fact which should be 
carefully considered. 

It is easy to see that if the length of time 
timbers can be used is doubled, only half as 
much timber will be required as before and 
only one-half as much money will need to 
he spent in the purchase of timber. More- 
over, many woods which were for a long 
time considered almost worthless can be 
treated and made to last as long as the 
scarcer and more expensive kinds. 

Of the actual saving in dollars and cents 
through preservative treatment, a fence- 
post such as was mentioned at the beginning 
might serve as one example. The post is of 
loblolly pine, and costs, untreated, about 
eight cents, or, including the cost of setting, 
fourteen cents. It lasts about two years. 
Compounding interest at five per cent, the 
annual charge of such a post is 7.53 cents; 
that is, it costs 7.53 cents a year to keep the 
post in service. Preservative treatment cost- 
ing ten cents will increase its length of life 
to about eighteen years. In this case the 
total cost of the post, set, is twenty-four 
cents, which, compounded at five per cent, 
gives an annual charge of 2.04 cents. Thus 
the saving due to treatment is 5.49 cents a 
year. Assuming that there are two hundred 
posts per mile, there is a saving each year 
for every mile of fence of a sum equivalent 
to the interest on $219.60. 

In the South the cheap and abundant 
loblolly pine, one of the easiest of all woods 
to treat, can by proper preparation be made 
to take the place of the high-grade longleaf 
pine for many purposes. Black and tupelo 
gums and other little-used woods have a 
new and increasing importance because of 
the possibility of preserving them from de- 
cay at small cost. In the Northeast are 
tamarack, hemlock, beech, birch, and ma- 
ple, and the red and black oaks, all of 
which by proper treatment may help to re- 
place the fast-diminishing white oak and 

To be sure, the preservation of wood will 
not of itself prevent the dearth of lumber 
which threatens to come within a few years. 
But it will help. And in the meantime it 

has the not objectionable possibility of dol- 
lars for all who read and see and act. 

Inexpensive Summer Homes 

VIEWED superficially, our plan to 
publish matter pertaining to outdoor 
play between the same covers with mat- 
ter for serious indoor consideration might 
seem a trifle inharmonious. Upon second 
thought it will appear no more discordant 
than that Oliver Wendell Holmes should 
have been a crack oarsman. It all depends, 
on the point of view. 

A magazine of baseball may well restrict 
its contents to the things and people of 
baseball. A magazine of pure literature 
will do well to keep within that realm. We 
prefer not to view this magazine from any 
one specialized department of thought or 
activity, but from the broad consideration 
of man — ■ the New Englander. Our space 
and your time forbid publishing all the 
things of the New Englander, but we shall 
aim to choose from the inexhaustible sup- 
ply of material such things as will appeal 
to the diverse moods of the average New 

Now a subject of pretty general appeal 
is the problem of a summer home. Every 
man, woman, and child is better in health 
and energy for an annual change of air and 
scene. For families of means the prob- 
lem is easier of solution. But how to have 
a comfortable summer place with the lim- 
itations of low cost and probably nearness 
to some city is not so easily answered. 

In our May issue we purpose publishing 
an article on summer camps costing from 
$500 to $1,500 which will satisfy all the 
practical requirements and yet be cozy if 
not artistic. Of course one can always live 
in a tent through the summer, by tolerating 
a thousand privations. But to have a per- 
manent cottage at a low price is so desira- 
ble that we feel justified in spending con- 
siderable pains to gather plans, photos, and 
details of some very successful places al- 
ready built. As some of the most capable 
architects have devoted much thought to 
the solution of this problem, the examples 
which we shall show embody skill in ar- 
rangement as well as economy of space and 

William Thomas Green Morton, from the painting by W. Hudson, Jr., 1845 



WE give great and just praise to 
the men who have annihilated 
space and time and made possible 
the communication of ideas in an instant 
over continents and oceans; to the men 
who have harnessed electricity and made it 
a servant of wonderful power and useful- 
ness; to the man who found the giant 
Steam and set him to work in the steam- 
engine, in whose train have followed a multi- 
tude of discoveries and inventions. 

A host of claimants for honor rise up all 
about us as we summon those who have 
benefited society by 
their patient search- 
ing for the hidden 
laws and forces of 

It is a brilliant 
and notable com- 
pany, and our own 
land can claim 
many of them as 
her own. These 
may be styled con- 
querors; for all 
have overcome, in 
some degree, diffi- 
culties which barred 
the way of progress. 

Among them 
should be reckoned 
the one who showed 
us that even pain, 
that great enemy of 
man, classed so of- 
ten with death itself, 
might be driven 
away and held in 
abeyance at the will 
of man; for, after 
all, is there any dis- 
covery in the won- 
derful list that can 
outrank that of 
practical anaesthe- 
sia ? Yet, how many 
can speak the name 

Monument to Dr. Morton in Mt. Auburn Ceme- 
tery, erected by citizens of Boston 

of the man who revealed the possibility of 
lying down in sweet forgetfulness while the 
surgeon performs his necessary task — to 
save the life and health endangered by acci- 
dent, war, or disease? 

Who was he? We shall see. 
We of the present generation can only 
imagine, happily not realize, what old-time 
surgery was. A few veterans of medicine 
and surgery remain to tell us. Then, they 
say, strong men had to hold the shrieking, 
suffering patient to the torture of the oper- 
ation, as bad as that of the ancient Spanish 
Inquisition. Imag- 
ine delicate women 
undergoing treat- 
ment under such a 
trying ordeal. 

Evidently it would 
be impossible for 
language to express 
the suffering of 
those pre-anaesthet- 
ic days. And such 
was surgery until 
1846. Is it any won- 
der that all shrank 
from it and pre- 
ferred anything to 
its horrors? 

Will there ever 
be a time when 
surgery will not be 
necessary? We ask 
ourselves this in the 
line of many men's 
thinking of to-day, 
and say, Would that 
surgery might b e 
unnecessary! But 
so long as people 
are mangled by ac- 
cidents, so long as 
war and disease en- 
dure, so long will 
the surgeon be un- 
doubtedly needed. 
While possibly un- 




necessary surgical operations are performed, 
it is undeniable that very many lives are pro- 
longed by skilful surgery; and nearly all of 
this would be impossible without anaesthesia. 

Many and varied had been the means 
tried before the day of practical anaesthesia 
for causing insensibility to pain during sur- 
gical operations. In a very few cases, scat- 
tered over a great lapse of time, these had 
been successful. Various drugs were used; 
carbonic-acid gas was inhaled; the juice of 
mandragora, poppy, Indian hemp, and 
other substances were also found to deaden 
pain or divert the mind from it by stupefac- 
tion or exhilaration. 

We have all read in the sacred record of 
the "wine mingled with myrrh" given to 
our Lord on the cross, as was the custom, 
with the intent, undoubtedly, to lessen the 

The Chinese are reported in an ancient 
medical work of theirs, translated two cen- 
turies ago into French, to have used a prep- 
aration of hemp called ma-yo to produce 
insensibility, during which operations other- 
wise painful could be performed without the 
slightest pain. 

This preparation of hemp seems to have 
been used by Orientals quite generally to 
produce exhilaration or intoxication. But 
the use of it was very dangerous and uncer- 
tain, producing generally injury, and often 
being fatal. 

Writers of four hundred years ago 
speak of decoctions of drugs being given 
to condemned criminals and persons about 
to undergo torture, which enabled them to 
bear pain better through stupefaction. 

The world searched for hundreds of 
years for something sure and safe to dom- 
inate pain, and did not find it. Records ex- 
ist, it is true, of wonderful things being done 
here and there in the prevention of pain by 
the use of remedies known to only a few. 
During later years extreme cold, alcoholic 
intoxication, compression, mesmerism, and 
even inhalation of carbonic-acid gas were 
all used in the desperate attempt at painless 
surgery. Opium seems to have been the 
favorite means, however, up to the time of 
the great change. 

What was the result of all this searching, 
and what was the general attitude toward 
the subject just before the day when it was 
proved that the quest of centuries had been 
ended ? 

The result of all the experimenting from 
the earliest days to 1846 was fruitless as far 
as producing any means sure and safe by 
which insensibility to pain during surgery 
was possible. In spite of statements made 
to the contrary, the world was still waiting. 

The sentiment of this darkness just before 
the dawn of discovery seems to have been 
fitly expressed by the celebrated French 
surgeon Velpean in 1839, when he wrote: 
"To escape pain in surgical operations is 
a chimera which we are not permitted to 
look for in our day." And yet, the man 
who was to draw aside the veil of mystery 
and reveal the method of painless surgery 
to an anxious world had, even as these 
words were written, reached man's estate, 
and commenced the search which was to 
end in the application of ether, the wonder- 
ful thing which was to bless every race of 

William Thomas Green Morton, the re- 
vealer of painless surgery, was born Aug. 
19, 18 19, among the hills of the south-cen- 
tral part of Massachusetts, in the country 
town of Charlton, small in population, but 
beautiful for situation; nurtured in an old- 
fashioned, square, big-chimneyed house, 
which was shaded by great trees and vine- 

Here, with the best of environment, as a 
country boy and amid scenes common to 
New England lads of that time, he lived, 
until,— - with the exception of academy 
days at Oxford, Northfield, and Leicester, 
covering four years, — at the age of seven- 
teen, he left his home for Boston, to become 
a bookseller. 

From very early years young Morton had 
said he would be a physician. Apparently, 
his hope was never to be realized, for his 
father was not able, through business re- 
verses, to give him the means for a medical 
education. About the time of the com- 
mencement of his career in Boston, how- 
ever, dentistry was becoming a profession 
by itself. Being denied the pursuit of the 
study for which he longed, Morton's atten- 
tion was attracted to this as allied to the 
study of medicine, and possible of attain- 
ment by him. In Baltimore, in 1840, the 
American Society of Dental Surgeons had 
been organized. So, becoming acquainted 
with men prominent in this new movement, 
he commenced his studies there, and in 
1842 was ready to establish himself in busi- 



Dr. John C. Warren, who performed the first operation under ether 

ness. This he did in Boston, with Horace 
Wells, afterward a contestant for the honor 
of discovering anaesthesia, as partner. But 
their business venture proved unprofitable, 
and they separated. 

Later, Morton, by perseverance, study, 
and skill, built up a very profitable business, 
and established also a successful manufac- 
tory of artifical teeth. He was considered, 
so good authority states, superior in his 

In 1844 he married Miss Elizabeth Whit- 
man, of Connecticut. In the same year he 
enrolled his name as a medical student, de- 
termined, as it seems, to realize his old cher- 
ished hope, and obtain the knowledge 
needed now in the investigations which he 
had begun. His wife reported also another 
reason for this study, which was the aver- 

sion of her mother to Morton's business of 
dentistry, which was, strange as it seems to 
us now, looked down upon by very many. 

Later on, when he had made the great 
discovery, some enemies of his sought to 
detract from his abilities, and argue that he 
could not have done this because he was 
only a dentist. The fact is that he had 
nearly completed his second year at the 
Harvard Medical School. The duties which 
then came to him in connection with the 
discovery prevented his continuance, but 
he was no doubt as well fitted for the title 
of M.D. as many who received it after 
completing the four years' course. Indeed, 
another university conferred on him this 
honorary title. 

These investigations just spoken of were 
the germ of the wonderful discovery, inno- 

2 4 8 


vation, or presentation he was soon to make, 
and commenced in the following way. He 
had found an improved method for adjust- 
ing artificial teeth in the mouth, which he 
hoped would prove profitable. This, how- 
ever, required the extraction of all roots re- 
maining in the gums. At once it was found 
that the great pain of doing this would keep 
nearly every one from having the new 
mounting. The need of something to pre- 
vent this pain thus came to him as a busi- 
ness problem, and led him to commence the 
search for it. 

To accomplish his object he commenced 
to experiment with various substances, and 
seek information upon any method that 
seemed promising. One of the things he 
used was common ether. 

The fact that the inhaling of ether was a 
relief in bronchial troubles was applied in 
medical practice. And it had also been 
known for a great many years that it would 
produce stupefaction, exhilaration, or in- 
toxication. This knowledge of it was only 
experimental and often made use of in 
medical lectures. The benumbing effect of 
ether locally applied was known also, and 
this fact was used by Morton. He rubbed 
the ether on the exceedingly sensitive gums 
of a patient he was treating and found that 
she felt less pain when he was working on 
her teeth. 

This observation and his study gave rise 
to the theory that the whole body, if brought 
under this influence, at once would be sim- 
ilarly affected. To test this the experiments 
took the form of administering ether to 
small animals, as birds, fishes, and large 

Morton naturally found difficulties at 
first, and failures. He confided to some of 
his friends his hopes of finding a way to ex- 
tract teeth without pain. 

His first experiments were in the main 
unsuccessful; but he persevered, believing in 
his theory, using as a subject for his experi- 
ments this time a large spaniel owned by 
him. Many times he sent the dog into com- 
plete insensibility, from which no injury 
appeared on returning consciousness. He 
thus demonstrated that ether could be re- 
peatedly inhaled to insensibility by an ani- 
mal with safety. 

Mrs. Morton, in relating in McClure's 
Magazine of September, 1896, the story of 
her husband's life, says that on one occa- 

sion he came along after one of these ad- 
ministrations leading the dog, which walked 
rather unsteadily, and said, " Poor Nig ! 
I've had him asleep a long time. I was 
afraid I had killed him." 

Morton was confident that he had found 
something of great value. He was so sure 
of it that he turned over his dental practice 
to a friend, and determined to devote his 
whole time to experiments. He had reached 
the stage of experimenting in which inhala- 
tion of the ether by some person or persons 
was needed to test it still further. Every 
one was afraid of it. He found it impossi- 
ble to induce any one outside of his office 
to submit to the test, though he offered a 
reward of money. 

In all previous experiments with ether, 
nitrous oxide, and other benumbing influ- 
ences the patient had not been allowed to 
go into complete unconsciousness, and the 
general impression was that such a state, if 
allowed, might, probably would, result 

At length his assistants consented to let 
him try its effects on them. Though no bad 
result came from these experiments, the 
effect produced was one of more incredulity 
on the part of those taking the ether, for 
they were only imperfectly placed under its 
influence, making them intoxicated, and 
causing much trouble, as force was required 
to restrain them. Morton found out that 
this was due to impure ether. It contained 
a large proportion of adulterating matter. 
Ridicule for him and his pretended use- 
ful preparation was the only outcome of 

Finally, desperate in his desire for proof, 
and believing in the safety of his discovery, 
he resolved to administer the ether to him- 
self, having obtained some that was pure. 

Through the help of Mr. Joseph M. 
Wightman, a maker of scientific instru- 
ments, he had obtained an apparatus for 
administering the ether, which was a glass 
globe, having two openings, or necks, in 
which was placed a sponge saturated with 
ether. Many other more elaborate forms 
for the purpose were afterward made, but, 
in principle, the one now used after more 
than sixty years is almost the same. 

Morton afterward used these words for 
describing the experiment upon himself, in 
his Memoir addressed to the French Acad- 
emy of Arts and Sciences at Paris. He said: 



/****?> /" 



<»at. e£*. 

Letter from Daniel Webster to Dr. Morton, acknowledging* him (on behalf of the Committee 
of the House) as the discoverer of ether as applied to surgery 

"Taking the tube and flask, I shut my- 
self up in my room, seated myself in the 
operating-chair, and commenced inhaling. 
I found the ether so strong that it partially 
suffocated me, but produced no decided 
effect. I then saturated my handkerchief 
and inhaled it from that. I looked at my 
watch and soon lost consciousness. As I 
recovered I felt a numbness in my limbs, 
with a sensation like nightmare, and would 
have given the world for some one to come 
and arouse me. I thought for a moment I 
should die in that state, and the world 
would only pity or ridicule my folly. At 
length I felt a slight tingling of the blood in 
the end of my third finger, and made an 
effort to touch it with my thumb, but with- 
out success. At a second effort, I touched 
it, but there seemed to be no sensation. I 
gradually raised my arm and pinched my 
thigh, but I could see that sensation was 
imperfect. I attempted to rise from my 
chair, but fell back. Gradually I regained 
power over my limbs, and full conscious- 
ness. I immediately looked at my watch, 
and found that I had been insensible be- 
tween seven and eight minutes." 

Morton was criticized for the daring 
spirit he showed in his experiments, and in 

the first public application of ether, and 
called reckless. Terrible things were 
prophesied as resulting from this spirit, 
particularly by Jackson, his greatest oppo- 
nent, until after the danger was all over. 
Would less daring have brought to the 
world the priceless gift of painless surgery ? 
Was n't it necessary for some one to dare ? 
Did not Morton, from experiments he had 
already dared to perform, have a logical 
reason for the final and crucial tests ? 

Having thus demonstrated to himself 
the safety of inhaling ether to unconscious- 
ness, and that it prevented pain, his joy was 
great. His wife mentions his excitement 
that night, and his intense desire for an op- 
portunity to administer the ether to some 
person about to endure a painful operation. 
Strangely enough, the opportunity came 
that very evening after his experiment on 

Sometime after the usual office hours a 
man came to the office with his face band- 
aged and told Dr. Morton that he must 
have a tooth drawn, though, from pro- 
longed inflammation and pain, it was so 
very sensitive that he dreaded to let the 
doctor touch it. Morton recognized the 
opportunity hoped for. The man (he was 



House where Dr. Morton was born 

Mr. Eben H. Frost, a musician, living at 
42 Prince Street in Boston) said, " Can't 
you mesmerize me, Doctor? It is so sensi- 

Dr. Morton assured him that he had 
something better than mesmerism, and, 
seating Mr. Frost in the operating-chair, he 
wet his handkerchief in ether and applied 
it to the patient's nose. He immediately 
became unconscious, and Dr. Morton ex- 
tracted the tooth, which was a hard one to 
pull. Not a sign indicated that there was 
the least pain. When Mr. Frost recovered 
consciousness he was so surprised and de- 
lighted that the dreaded ordeal was all over, 
and so easily, that he shouted, "Glory! 

This was on Sept. 30, 1846, at the office 
of Dr. Morton, 19 Tremont Row, and Mr. 
Frost gave Dr. Morton a certificate stating 
his experience, and that no unpleasant ef- 
fects followed his inhalation of the ether. 
This was also signed as witnessed by two 
who assisted Morton at the time. 

Following this, the ether was used in 
many other cases by Morton in the practice 
of dentistry, and with equal success. How- 
ever, no one but him knew what was used 
to put the patient to sleep; and only com- 
paratively few knew of it at all. A new era 
was dawning, but the great truth was still 

clouded. x\lthough it is reported to have 
been well known among many of the den- 
tists that Morton had something that 
would deaden pain, and even reported that 
the preparation, as it was then called, was 
used in surgery, it is also very certain that 
the physicians and surgeons were as a class 
entirely ignorant of its existence or sceptical 
of the effects claimed for it. With Dr. Mor- 
ton remained the secret of its composition 
and use. No one else had made any suc- 
cessful pretensions to anything of the kind, 
and no one at that time was, so far as known, 
trying any experiments along that line. 

At this stage of the experimentation it was 
proved that not only could this preparation 
be inhaled safely to insensibility, but that, 
while under its influence, persons did not 
feel the extraction of teeth or other opera- 
tions said to have been performed. 

In dentistry it was no doubt valuable. 
Would it render surgery painless? To an- 
swer this in the affirmative was the goal 
toward which the young discoverer now 
pressed. Yet, how was he, a common den- 
tist, working at a business scarcely yet 
called a profession, to convince all the 
learned surgeons, who were, almost to a 
man, sceptical of the possibility of what he 
knew to be a fact? They had seen things 
tried before for which equally great results 



had been confidently predicted, but all had 
ended in ignominious failure. Surely a 
crucial and public test of Morton's discov- 
ery must be made. And how ? 

Here, again, Morton's faith in his idea, 
his earnestness and courage, did not fail 
him. He sought an interview with Dr. J. 
C. Warren, then the senior surgeon at the 
Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston, 
and asked that an opportunity might be 
given him to try the new substance in a case 
of capital surgery at the hospital. To his 
honor let it be said, Dr. Warren listened 
attentively, kindly saying, at the close of 
Morton's statements and request, that he 
had long wished for something of the kind 
Dr. Morton had described, but never found 
it, and should do all he could to further his 

Shortly after this interview Morton re- 
ceived this note: 

"Dear Sir, I write at the request of Dr. 
J. C. Warren, to invite you to be present on 
Friday morning, at 10 o'clock, at the hos- 
pital, to administer to a patient who is then 
to be operated upon the preparation which 
you have invented to diminish the sensi- 
bility to pain. 

Yours respectfully, 

C. F. Heywood, 
House Surgeon to the General Hospital. 

Oct. 14, 1846. 
Dr. Morton, Tremont Row." 

Dr. Morton realized that the momentous 
time had arrived, and worked steadily dur- 
ing the next two days to get ready for the 
experiment, the exceeding importance of 
which to the world even he himself could 
not then have estimated. 

The place in which this demonstration, 
destined to confer such a blessing on man- 
kind, was to occur was the circular opera- 
ting-room at the Massachusetts General 
Hospital in Boston. Situated in the dome 
of the hospital, far from the wards, so that, it 
was said, the screams of the poor, tortured 
patients of ante-anaesthetic days might not 
be heard by the other patients. How soon 
was all this unnerving agony to be replaced 
by peaceful slumber, giving the surgeon lib- 
erty to use his utmost skill undisturbed! 
The room has been materially unchanged 
since that eventful day. The furniture, 
cases of instruments, seats, statue, mum- 

my-case, have remained. Clinics are now- 
held in the place. 

Grouped on the terraced seats of this 
amphitheatre of pain were, this morning in 
October, 1846, an unusual number of med- 
ical men and students, attracted by the 
word which had gone around that Morton 
the dentist would administer to the patient 
of that morning his preparation for making 
painless the impending operation. The 
patient came in: a young man, Gilbert Ab- 
bott by name. From his neck was to be 
removed a tumor. Around him, as he took 
his place in the operating-chair, gathered 
the surgeons, the most skilful in New Eng- 

Dr. J. C. Warren, the senior surgeon of 
the hospital, who was to perform the oper- 
ation was the grandfather of Dr. J. Collins 
Warren, prominent as a Boston physician 
to-day; his grandfather was Dr. Joseph 
Warren, the patriot general killed at Bun- 
ker Hill. Dr. Isaac F. Galloupe, of Lynn, 
Mass., who is the only living witness of 
this scene, says that Dr. Warren waited 
a half-hour for Morton. There were many 
sneering remarks and looks during this 
time, and the students anticipated the fun 
of Morton's failure. Finally, looking 
around on the assembled company, Dr. 
Warren said, "Dr. Morton has not come; 
perhaps he has another engagement. We 
will proceed with the operation." At this 
very moment Morton entered, breathless, 
and red in the face from his great hurry. 

The cause of his tardiness was his delay 
in preparing the inhaler, which may now 
be seen in the old operating-room at the 
hospital. On the previous day, October 
15, Dr. Gould, a friend of Morton's, had 
suggested, says Dr. Galloupe, that valves 
be put into the inhaler to aid the elimina- 
tion of expired air. At midnight, Morton 
had thought out the way of doing it; he 
then went to the house of Mr. Drake, a 
philosophical instrument-maker, rang him 
out of bed, hurried him to his shop, and 
induced him to make the required alter- 
ations, which took well into the next fore- 

As Morton appeared with this glass in- 
strument in his hand filled with the myste- 
rious preparation, Dr. Warren said, "Your 
patient is ready." Without delay, and with 
no words, except a few of encouragement 
to Abbott, Morton proceeded to the in- 


halation. The contents of the inhaler ap- 
peared bright red, he having used coloring- 
matter at first in his preparation. 

It is probable that few present believed 
in the complete success of what he saw 
Morton use. Very soon, however, the young 
dentist had the great satisfaction of seeing 
the man pass into complete insensibility. 
Then he turned to Dr. Warren in his laconic 
way and said, simply, " Your patient is ready, 

Incredulity in the faces of the beholders 
had given place now to expressions of inter- 
est, which were intensified as Dr. Warren 
proceeded with the operation. The stu- 
dents and doctors were thunderstruck at 
what they saw. The silence was perfect. 
They got up on the backs of the seats, and 
those nearest were on their knees leaning 
over the rail in front. When he had finished 
the operation Dr. Warren turned to the 
company and said, impressively, his words 
intensified by the perfect stillness of the 
room, " Gentlemen, this is no humbug!" 

Abbott declared, on fully recovering con- 
sciousness, that he had felt no pain what- 
ever, and but little sensation toward the 
last of the operation, caused probably by 
the removal of the tube from his mouth. 
Congratulations for Morton followed, and 
it must have been a happy moment for the 
young dentist. He was only twenty-seven 
years old at this time. Dr. Galloupe de- 
scribes Morton as tall, straight, dignified, 
and rather solemn in manner, with supreme 
self-control, laconic in speech, using fewest 
words possible. 

Over the platform in John Ware Hall, in 
the Medical Library Building on the Fen- 
way in Boston, hangs a large painting of 
this remarkable scene. It was executed by 
Mr. Robert Hinckley, the well-known artist 
of Washington, D. C. By him it was pre- 
sented to the Medical Library. This was 
painted after the most careful study by Mr. 
Hinckley, many interviews with living wit- 
nesses, correspondence, and inspection of 
the place. Of course, the operation was 
before the days of photography, and only 
daguerreotypes were known then. A da- 
guerreotype made later, with those partici- 
pating in it as subjects and in about the 
same positions, has been many times repro- 
duced. It has the merit of being made very 
soon after the operation, and the faces are 
actual portraits. Naturally, the element of 

surprise and intense interest belonging to 
the actual scene could n't be reproduced. 
Mr. Hinckley has endeavored to bring this 
out in his picture, as well as to make the 
portraits lifelike. They have been pro- 
nounced good by some of those who knew 
the men concerned. In this painting are 
also to be seen the terraced seats, just as 
they remain to-day, filled with the eager 

The news of the discovery of a way to 
render surgery painless spread quickly. 
Two of the papers of Boston, the Post and 
Journal, noted it. 

[From Boston Daily Journal, Oct. 17, 1846.] 
Successful Operation. Yesterday morning 
Dr. Morton, Dentist, No. 19 Tremont Row, at the 
invitation of Dr. Haywood, visited the McLean 
Hospital and administered his preparation to 
produce sleep to a person about to undergo the 
operation of the extraction of a tumor from the 
neck. We learn from a gentleman who conversed 
with one of our oldest and most respected physi- 
cians, who witnessed the operation, that the success 
of Dr. Morton's experiment was complete. The 
patient, sitting in a chair with everything made 
ready by Dr. Warren, who extracted the tumor, 
inhaled the preparation for a very brief space of 
time when he fell into a quiet slumber, and the 
surgeon proceeded to extract the tumor. The 
patient did not manifest the slightest symptoms 
of suffering, and no muscular action whatever. 
He appeared to be totally insensible to what was 
going on till very near the close of the operation, 
which was quite protracted, when he drew a long 
sigh. It is quite as much for the interest of the 
surgeon as for the patient that this preparation 
should be administered; for while it renders the 
latter insensible to the pain attending severe sur- 
gical operations, it affords the former the means of 
doing his work freed from all interruptions on the 
part of the patient, and gives him facilities for 
performing operations in the most expeditious 

After the momentous sixteenth of Octo- 
ber, 1846, several other successful oper- 
ations at the hospital under ether settled 
more firmly the fact of the discovery. In 
spite of all this, suddenly, however, the 
surgeons refused to use it, on the ground 
that, according to their rules, they could 
not use any secret remedies. As they did 
not know the composition of the red liquid 
used by Morton, and which had the smell 
of ether, they must decline its use in the 

So, for three weeks, the previous torture 
method of operation was carried on. Then 
Morton, having by letter and in person sat- 
isfied the rigid professional etiquette by his 


2 53 

Massachusetts General Hospital (1846-47) 

explanation that the agent used was simple 
sulphuric ether, only colored by harmless 
matter, was allowed to use it in a case of 
the amputation of a leg of a young woman 
named Alice Mohan, Nov. 7, 1846. The 
success of this operation was greater than 
that of the first in the complete and contin- 
ued insensibility to all feeling. 

Although now publicly demonstrated be- 
yond all possibility of doubting, to those 
who witnessed the operation, the news that 
at length painless surgery was at hand was 
received with incredulity in many quarters. 
Some of the leading medical papers of the 
country ridiculed it, and accused the Boston 
surgeons of being victims of a trick. 

A meeting of the dentists of Boston was 
called, and a committee of seven appointed 
to take "measures to suppress the growing 
evil" (?) of painless surgery. Other den- 
tists and physicians made war on this 
" quackery," as they called it. And these 
men held high places in their professions, 
too. Even religious scruples were advanced 
against it, to the effect that pain should be 
borne as discipline. But, of course, the 
great discovery became known more and 
more, and its use was everywhere successful. 

Dr. Galloupe states that soon after Octo- 
ber 16 Morton's preparation was used in a 
case of cautery in which no pain whatever 

was felt. Dr. Warren said that this was the 
severest test possible, and proved the com- 
plete success of the fluid as effecting pain- 
less surgery. Dr. Cotting, one of those 
students present at the first operation, re- 
lates that, as the young men left the opera- 
ting-room that morning of Oct. 16, 1846, 
one of the foremost of them called to him 
and said, "This is a big thing. Whoever 
gets astride of this horse first may ride 
around the world! I'm going to try it." 

Of course the new method won its way 
over all opposition. It was n't long in get- 
ting over the ocean to Europe. 

Such is the story of the discovery, and 
introduction to the world, of the way to 
overcome pain. Morton called the fluid he 
used "Letheon," at first. But Dr. Oliver 
Wendell Holmes suggested the word " anaes- 
thetic" for the means which produced in- 
sensibility, and "anaesthesia" as the name 
of the state produced — terms now in com- 
mon use. 

Does it not seem that the man who re- 
vealed this great truth to the world should 
be rewarded generously, and his discovery 
received with gratitude ? It would be pleas- 
ant to so record it. Such was not the case 
while he lived. 

The wife of Dr. Morton has left her testi- 
mony that her husband never lived a happy 



life after his discovery was given to the 
world. He spent the rest of his days in the 
endeavor to establish his claim to the name, 
and remuneration from the government, 
for the knowledge he had made universal. 
Advised by two of the most prominent 
lawyers of the day, Cushing and Choate, 
to patent his discovery, he did so, but not 
with the idea of withholding such a gift 
from man, to whom it belonged. His idea 
was the regulation of it. But in after-years 
this was misconstrued and used as an in- 
strument against him. It is a fact that even 
almost at the issuance of the patent ether 
became general in its use, and the govern- 
ment disregarded its own patent in the use 
of it in the Mexican War. 

It is the purpose of this article to state 
the practical history of anaesthesia, not to 
reopen the intensely bitter controversy 
which involved and ruined Morton. It is 
only necessary to remember that up to 
Oct. 16, 1846, the world did not know what 
Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes named " anaes- 
thesia." However, very soon after the 
promulgation of the fact by Morton, Oct. 
16, 1846, claimants sprang up and asserted 
that they knew all about it, and to them 
belonged the honor of discovery. Chief of 
these were Dr. Horace Wells, of Hartford, 
Conn., and Dr. Charles T. Jackson, of 
Boston — the former, a dentist; the latter, a 
chemist, physician, and scientist of ability. 
Both had been associated with Morton for 
a time. 

As a consequence of the specious reason- 
ing advanced by these, the public became 
confused, and even medical societies, both 
here and abroad, were divided in their opin- 
ions. Entering into the struggle of many 
years to prove his claim, Morton lost all and 
became poor. 

Although the government of his own 
country persistently refused him recogni- 
tion, and remuneration for the patent it had 
given him, and which had been continually 
violated by the use of ether in the army and 
navy, the governments of other countries 
did confer upon him decorations and med- 
als. From Russia he received the cross of 
the Order of St. Vladimer; from Norway, 
and Sweden, the Cross of the Order of 

The French Academy of Arts and Sci- 
ences sent him the Montyon prize, which 
was a gold medal. 

The Massachusetts General Hospital has 
always acknowledged him as the discoverer 
of anaesthesia, and its surgeons were fore- 
most in attempts to secure for him proper 
recognition from the government, and re- 
muneration. From the hospital he received 
a silver casket containing one thousand 
dollars. In 185 1 a memorial and petition 
was presented to Congress on Morton's 
behalf. This memorial was signed by over 
three hundred of the most eminent physi- 
cians of Boston and Massachusetts. Though 
ineffective, it shows who gave to Morton 
proper credit for his discovery. 

Committee after committee of Congress, 
six in all, reported in his favor; but each 
time opposition and other business delayed 
action before adjournment. 

Dr. Morton was stricken with apoplexy 
and died in New York, July 15, 1868, at 
the age of forty-eight. His wife tells, in her 
article, of his suddenly losing consciousness 
as they rode toward Washington Heights 
that evening. As soon as possible he was 
carried to St. Luke's Hospital, where the 
physicians unsuccessfully used their skill to 
revive him. The chief surgeon recognized 
him at once, and, turning to some students 
who were present, said, " Young gentlemen, 
you see lying before you a man who has done 
more for humanity, and for the relief of 
suffering, than anv man who has ever 

A suitable monument to this public bene- 
factor stands over his grave in Mt. Auburn 
Cemetery, Cambridge, Mass. It was erected 
by citizens of Boston. On it is the following 

William T. G. Morton 

Inventor and revealer of anesthetic 

Before whom, in all time, surgery was 

By whom pain in surgery, was avert- 
ed and annulled 

Since whom science has control of 

Dr. Morton's name is on the Boylston 
Street side of the Boston Public Library 
Memorial Tablets; it is also in the list of the 
fifty-three most famous citizens of Massa- 
chusetts, whose names appear upon the 
base of the dome of the Representatives' 
Chamber in the State-house at Boston. 
These were selected " in such a way that 
they shall either mark an epoch, or desig- 



The first operation with ether, at the Massachusetts General Hospital, Oct. 16, 
Painting by Robert Hinckley 


nate a man who has turned the course of 

On the silver box containing the gift of 
the Massachusetts General Hospital to him 
are these words: "He has become poor in a 
cause which has made the world his debtor." 
Dr. William James Morton, his son, says: 
" The discovery of surgical anaesthesia, 
while a boon to the world, was a tragedy to 
its author, and to his family." 

At the semi-centennial celebration of 
anaesthesia held at the Massachusetts Gen- 
eral Hospital, Oct. 16, 1896, Dr. S. Weir 
Mitchell read a poem, a stanza of which 
expresses Morton's reception by the world: 

How did we thank him? Ah! no joy -bells rang, 

No paeans greeted, and no poet sang, 

No cannon thundered from the guarded strand 

This mighty victory to a grateful land! 

We took the gift, so humbly, simply given, 

And, coldly selfish, left our debt to heaven. 

How shall we thank him? Hush! a gladder hour 
Has struck for him; a wiser, juster Power 
Shall know full well how fitly to reward 
The generous soul that found the world so hard. 

Since this first celebration every returning 
October 16 has been marked at this hospi- 
tal by some celebration. And it is the in- 
tention to continue this; moreover, the au- 
thorities of the Massachusetts General 
Hospital suggest to and urge upon those in 
charge of hospitals everywhere, the cele- 
bration of October 16 as " Ether Day," the 
day on which Morton proclaimed freedom 
from the awful, indescribable horrors of 
old-time surgery. 

To enter into detail here of the bitter 
controversy which engrossed twenty years 
of Morton's life, wrecking the happiness, 
prospects, and fortune of himself and fam- 
ily, would be impossible and unnecessary. 

The great fact is that he revealed to all 



mankind the truth that ether, when in- 
haled, safely produces insensibility, during 
which surgical operations can be performed 
deliberately and without pain. Now that the 
battle of the claimants is over and the smoke 
has cleared away, 
the world is gener- 
ally awarding to him ! 
the honor which is 
his due, and pro- 
nouncing him 

In regard to those 
who disputed Mor- 
ton's claim, it is true 
that they were stu- 
dents and investiga- 
tors, and as such 
deserve credit. But 
doubtless others, 
never heard of, de- 
serve as much. 
They claimed previ- 
ous knowledge of 
the effects of ether. 
But the world did 
not know it, and it 
is very certain never 
would have known 
it from their efforts. 

Burton says: 

To know a thing and not to express it 
Is all one as if he knew it not. 

Dr. Henry J. Bigelow, of Boston, a very 
prominent surgeon, who was at the first 
operation and probably Morton's best 
friend in his efforts says in his book, 
"Ether and Chloroform," published in 
1848, that "he who verifies the suggestion 



Ether Monument, Public Gardens, Boston 

is the real discoverer. Dr. Morton did 
verify the suggestion, from whatever source 
it emanated. He assumed the responsi- 
bility of danger. He first conclusively de- 
monstrated of ether (1) that it would always 
produce insensi- 
bility to pain; (2) 
that it was safe. 
These two points 
constitute the dis- 
covery. Dr. Morton 
demonstrated these 
two points, and no 
one else did." And 
Dr. Bigelow goes 
on to say that this 
knowledge, thus de- 
monstrated, had 
not been preestab- 

The monument 
in the Boston Public 
Gardens bears no 
name except that 
of the donor of it. 
But it does com- 
memorate Dr. Mor- 
ton's deed, if not 
his name, in the in- 
scription: "First 
proved to the world at the Massachusetts 
General Hospital in Boston, October, 1846." 
Let us hope that public opinion will some 
day force the placing of Morton's name, as 
well as the record of his deed, here. 

The monument also bears this inscrip- 
tion and scriptural prophecy: "Neither 
shall there be any more pain." 

To the fulfilment of this on earth, William 
Thomas Green Morton gave his life. 


An inviting spot in which to rest 

Where waters murmur pleasantly 


The great wileow throws a friendly shade on the dusty highway 


Where the branches meet above the quiet water 

Timothy E. Byrnes 

New England Magazine 


MAY, 1908 

Number 3 

What New England Says on the 
Proposed Railroad Merger 

A Symposium by T. E Byrnes, Louis D. Brandeis, Norman H. White, Hon. Rollin O. 

Woodruff, Hon. William E. Chandler, William T. Haines, 

Dr. Fenner H. Peckham, and Howard O. Sturges 


By Timothy K. Byrnes 

Vice President N. Y., N. H. 6- H. R. R. Co. 

THERE is an old proverb which 
advises the cobbler to stick to his 
last. An early modern economist, 
Adam Smith, offered like sagacious 
counsel to whole peoples; and since the 
canny Scotchman's day what really 
original improvements have the pro- 
fessors added to that fundamental 
thought? Let each nation, taught the 
author of " The Wealth of Nations," 
engage, like each craftsman, in the occu- 
pation in which his natural advantages 
fit him to excel. Through specialization 
excellence comes, through excellence, 
markets, through markets, wealth and 

In contemplating the material aspects 
of New England, I am struck by nothing 
more than the necessity of heeding the 
proverb-maker and the father of modern 
political economy. I yield to no one in 
rosy hopefulness as to the possible in- 
dustrial and commercial future of New 
England. But success here and now, as 
everywhere and always, imposes con- 
ditions. And it seems to me clear that 
the prime essential is a practical recogni- 
tion of what our advantages are, as well 
as our limits, to the end that we may 
engage in such pursuits as our situa- 

tion and our environment foreordain 
us to. 

It was my good fortune a short time 
ago to break bread with a distinguished 
Massachusetts scholar, the grandson of 
one president and the great-grandson of 
another, Mr. Brooks Adams. Rome fell, 
Mr. Adams tells us in his searching work, 
" The New Empire," not because of her 
social vices, but because the mines gave 
out, and the people were too " intel- 
lectually rigid " to develop manufactures 
and commerce. New England's mine — 
which has been the American market in 
certain coarse and medium grade staples 
— has not given out, but she has lost 
her monopoly of it. Sappers can be 
heard drilling through on the other side 
of the hill. The Carolinas and Georgia 
and Missouri and Tennessee have staked 
claims and are smelting some of the ore. 
This is disturbing; it portends flux; old 
purposes and methods no longer suffice 
to meet conditions of the new era. Yet 
the only real danger of permanent em- 
barrassment lies in our own minds. If 
we prove intellectually flexible, or, as the 
typewriter salesman says, " resilient," 
there will be more people within a fifty- 
mile radius from Boston in twenty years 




than from Chicago, just as there are 
to-day, and people unspeakably richer 
and more enlightened than any similar 
number of inhabitants in the world. 

We are to " live by our wits." In the 
production of any complex commodity 
there is one last finishing touch which is 
" the most particular " of all, which 
requires the most highly skilled artisan, 
and for which the largest item of the 
final cost is added. It is for New 
England to put on such finishing touches. 
It is for our people to collect from the 
ends of the earth " completed raw 
material," apply a little deftness and 
taste, add hot salesmanship, and serve. 
Our mine, field, and forest is the world, 
our market the globe. Does Charleston 
produce the sailcloth formerly our pride? 
We will sell dimities for shirtwaists to the 
South Carolina weaver maids. Does 
South Carolina learn to weave dimities? 
Then her people will be rich enough 
to buy figured silks and brocaded 
satins "designed and made in Massa- 

On a hill in the southern part of this 
Commonwealth I found not long ago a 
factory producing more optical goods 
than any other in the world. What 
advantages has Southbridge for making 
optical goods? Skill, habit, experience, 
and good results. In many little towns 
of New England industries of exclusive 
and special type are waiting for somebody 
to come along and give them a lift, to 
tell them perhaps something about mar- 
kets, routing, and modern methods of 
competition. Do you know how Pennsyl- 
vania came to go into the silk-weaving 
business? The women and girls in the 
families of the iron and steel operatives 
wanted a light and agreeable employ- 
ment. One was found for them. Many 
New England towns are in need of in- 
dustries to employ a partly unused labor 
market and thus supplement crafts 
already there. If the Secretary of Agri- 
culture searches the jungles for seed 
which will sprout on Uncle Sam's 
prairies, valleys, and hillsides, who shall 
hunt the wide earth for materials which 
can be profitably carried to Boston, con- 
verted into something tasteful which 
will fetch a high price, and wafted 

abroad again like the fluff of the thistle 
ball, to spread the name and style of New 
England to all peoples? 

Whom do you find doing any task? 
He, to be sure, who can make the most 
out of doing it. It has come to be 
recognized in regions where the fight for 
existence has been harder than New 
England's that the scatterer of fer- 
tilizer, the big brother to infant indus- 
tries, the helping hand in general, is the 
railroad; for the transportation company, 
like the real estate agent and the builder, 
thrives only if business is expanding. 

Some time ago we learned that a large 
establishment at Walpole contemplated 
removal. Upon inquiry it was found that 
a simple readjustment of routing would 
keep the plant where it was. Incident- 
ally our company was able to sell the mill 
land, which it needed for an extension, 
and the capacity has since then been 
doubled. New Bedford, by specializing 
in cotton goods of the finest grades, has 
built up a score of the most successful 
industrial concerns in the country. The 
mill managers requested the New Haven 
to construct an industrial track running 
past all establishments. Our company 
acceded with enthusiasm, and the neces- 
sary elimination of grade crossings pre- 
liminary to the improvement is now 
going forward. 

On every part of the system there are 
doubtless opportunities to help producers 
increase their output, thus enriching the 
community, fostering wholesale trade for 
Boston, and benefiting the railroad. 
Enterprising manufacturers deserve help, 
others need it. To both the railroad 
extends the use of its resources. 

Two or three years ago the representa- 
tive of a financial house asked Mr. Mellen 
how he would view a Cape Cod canal — 
that project which I suppose was first urged 
by Captain Myles Standish and has been 
opposed ever since by rival carriers. " If 
it will help New England business, and I 
believe it will," said Mr. Mellen, "lam 
in favor of it." This is the golden text. 
If anything will help New England 
business the New Haven railroad is in 
favor of it; and this is a policy of the 
highest selfishness, not one of altrurian 




By Eouis D. Brandeis 

The three main objections to the mer- 
ger are these : 

It would create a monopoly of all 
transportation in New England, — rail- 
road, electric, and steamship. It would 
create a system too large to be efficiently 
and economically managed. It would 
create a corporation so large as to be 
dangerous to the 
political integrity 
of Massachusetts. 

The dangers of 
monopoly are gen- 
erally appreciated, 
but the loss of effi- 
ciency attendant 
upon our monster 
business organiza- 
tions is commonly 
overlooked. r ^» -^ 

For every busi- 
ness concern there 
must be a limit of 
greatest efficiency. 
What that limit "is 
differs under vary- 
ing conditions; but 
it is clear that an 
organization may 
be too large for effi- 
cient and economi- 
c a'l managemen t , 
just as it may be 
too small. The dis- 
advantages attendant upon size may out- 
weigh the advantages. 

Man's works have in many instances 
outrun the capacity of the individual 
man. For no matter how good the 
organization, the capacity of an indi- 
vidual man must ordinarily determine 
the success of a particular enterprise, 
not only financially to the owners, but 
in service to the community. Organiza- 
tion can do much to make possible larger 
efficient units; but organization can 
never be a substitute for initiative and 
for judgment. These must be supplied 
I by the chief executive officers, and nature 
I sets a limit to their possible accom- 

plishment. Any transportation system 
which is called upon not merely to oper- 
ate, but to develop its facilities, makes 
heavy demands upon its executive officers 
for initiative and for the exercise of 
sound judgment. And New England 
needs most emphatically development 
of its transportation facilities. 

To aid in this 
development, we 
need more minds, 
,«. not fewer. 

fj^ Massachusetts 

> m fz has had and is 

having a lesson on 
the evils of too 
large units, which 
should not readily 
be overlooked, 
namely, the 
wretched service 
of the Boston & 
Albany Railroad. 
Even in mere op- 
eration that rail- 
road has failed 
egregiously as com- 
pared with its con- 
dition prior to its 
lease to the New 
York Central. The 
Boston & Albany, 
which ten years 
ago was recognized 
as the model railroad, so that the Chicago, 
Rock Island & Pacific had emblazoned 
upon its banner, "The Boston & Albany 
of the West," has under this mania for 
consolidation reached such a degree of 
deterioration that hardly a man in Mas- 
sachusetts has escaped the consequences. 
And what is the cause of this fall? Not, 
I submit, intentional neglect on the part 
of the New York Central officials, of the 
interests of Massachusetts or the comfort 
of its patrons; not a settled purpose on 
the part of the management to prefer 
other communities to our own. The 
wretched service is due, in the main, at 
least, to the fact that the New York 

Louis D. Brandeis 




Central system is greater than the ad- 
ministrative capacity of its executive 
officers. From that overgrowth, its 
finances, its service, and its patrons have 
alike suffered. And we may be sure that 
if we spread the ability of the New 
Haven management over a larger field, 
we shall get, not better, but worse 
service throughout the whole territory. 

We must not be misled by the idea 
that this is an age of consolidation, and 
that the manifest destiny is to be all 
consolidated. If Mr. Byrnes's arguments 
were true and sound, they should prevail 
equally for the whole of the United 
States. We might as well have one 
railroad system for the whole country. 
We should always remember this : A con- 
solidation may be a good thing or it may 
be a bad thing. A combination may 
grow more efficient, or it may grow less 
efficient, by growing larger. 

Let us not imagine either that the 
obvious evil attendant upon a monopoly 
of all transportation and an overgrown 
concern can be prevented by regulation. 
The limits of effective regulation are soon 
reached; and in no event can there be 
efficient regulation where there is not 
an efficient instrument to be regulated. 
Our Massachusetts Railroad Commission 
has long had the reputation of being the 
best Railroad Commission in the country, 
as it was the first to be inaugurated. 
But our Commission has been absolutely 
powerless to prevent in the case of the 
Boston & Albany Railroad even con- 
tinuing deterioration. To prevent de- 
terioration ought not to be a very serious 
problem. But the mere prevention of 
deterioration is not what we want, — we 
want improvement; we must have con- 
tinuous development of transportation 
facilities; we want men to think, and 
think hard and continuously how they 
may help develop Massachusetts, — and 
not have their thoughts and interests 
primarily in Connecticut or New York. 

Mr. Byrnes says that the New Haven is 
a Massachusetts road; that we own forty 
per cent of the stock and sixty per cent of 
its other securities. To my mind there is 
nothing so humiliating in this whole 
situation as that fact which he mentions. 
For, although we do own sixty per cent of 

the securities and forty per cent of the 
stock, nearly, we are absolutely powerless 
to control or seriously influence the 
management of the New Haven. There 
are twenty-four directors of the company; 
Massachusetts, with its great ownership 
of stock and bonds, has two, and the 
influence of those two on the Board of 
twenty-four, is, I venture to say, quite 
in proportion to their number. 

It is sought to support this transporta- 
tion monopoly by referring to certain 
existing well-operated local monopolies 
in lighting or gas or street railways. 
But this analogy is delusive. In the 
first place a local gas company may have 
a monopoly of gas, but it has not a 
monopoly of lighting. It has the com- 
petition of electric light and the compe- 
tition of oil. But there is, furthermore, 
this marked difference : A local monopoly, 
like a gas company or electric light 
company or a street railway company, 
is simply a servant of the state, its creature, 
wholly subject to the control of the state 
within which it is situated, wholly de- 
pendent for its prosperity upon the par- 
ticular community which it serves, and in 
Massachusetts subject at all times to 
being terminated by the authority which 
created it. 

The street railways of Massachusetts, 
and the gas and electric light companies 
of Massachusetts, so far as they are 
monopolies, are performing practically, 
as agents of the state, public functions 
during good behavior. If they do not 
properly serve the community, the com- 
munity may at any time terminate their 
franchises without even paying com- 
pensation. The right to run street 
railways in our public streets, the right 
to lay gas pipes or electric light wires, is a 
license merely, and is subject at all times 
to termination by the state and municipal 
authorities. There is no resemblance 
between such a monopoly of service 
covering a specific agency and the pro- 
posed New Haven monopoly of all trans- 
portation, a monopoly which claims 
rights under the laws of other states, and 
has asserted, though operating only in 
Massachusetts, that it is free from the 
restrictions imposed by the Massachusetts 
law. As its business is largely interstate 



commerce, it is, moreover, free to a great 
extent from all state control. Further- 
more, even in respect to these local ser- 
vice monopolies, Massachusetts recog- 
nized long ago that legislation was 
necessary to protect our people from the 
abuses incident to their being controlled 
by foreign corporations. 

The officials of the New Haven seem 
very loath to admit that they are seeking 
a monopoly for New England of all trans- 
portation. They say that what they 
desire is to find some way in which that 
company as a large stockholder of the 
Boston & Maine may exert the influence 
which a large or a majority stockholder 
should exert. But see what that really 
means. It means for northern New 
England what has happened in southern 
New England. Practically every rail- 
road in Connecticut and Rhode Island, 
every trolley line in Connecticut and 
Rhode Island, every steamship line which 
in any way connects New England with 
any point on the Atlantic coast, with the 
exception of one now in the hands of a 
receiver, — every one of those lines has 
passed into the control of the New 
Haven, — not by accident, not because 
wicked and designing bankers have 
" held up " the company, but because 
the New Haven has with the deliberate 
and persistent purpose of extinguishing 
at any cost any competition in trans- 
portation, gone forward to overcome 
competition by buying where they could 
buy, and destroying where they could 
not buy. 

We who oppose the merger propose 
legislation which shall compel the New 
Haven to dispose of the Boston & Maine 
stock which it has acquired without 
authority under our law, and shall also 
prevent such a disposition of that stock 
as would result in Massachusetts losing 
control of the Boston & Maine system. 

The New Haven officials argue the 
impotency of New England in regard to 
what exists west of the Hudson River. 
If the New Haven had spent upon a line 
west of the Hudson River one half of the 
money which it has spent and the obliga- 
tions which it has incurred in subjecting 
to absolute monopoly all of southern New 
England we could in New England be 

independent of the trunk lines. One 
hundred and fifty and more millions of 
dollars of the New Haven money have 
gone into forging the chains of monopoly 
in southern New England. It was not 
necessary to acquire all the trolleys in 
Rhode Island and Connecticut and in 
southern Massachusetts and in southern 
New York State. 

The New Haven was so eager for these 
trolleys that their latest trolley acquisi- 
tions in Connecticut stand at $153,000 a 
mile of track, — that their Rhode Island 
trolleys stand at $142,000 per mile of 
track, — while we in Massachusetts can- 
not earn reasonable dividends upon roads 
similarly situated constructed at a cost 
of $48,000 per mile of track. The money 
that has gone into those acquisitions, and 
into the steamship lines, would have 
built us a trunk line, not to Buffalo, but 
to Chicago, and the whole of the West 
would have been open to us. But the 
New Haven had no desire so to free New 
England. Its desire has been to control 
all transportation in the New England 

Mr. Mellen promises, if he effects a 
merger, to give us better rates between 
northern and southern New England. 
We have heard just that sort of siren song 
before. I say, in the first place, that we 
may judge the future by the past. For 
instance, before the New Haven con- 
trolled southern New England, as it con- 
trols it now, we had a differential, not of 
five cents, but of ten cents, and the New 
Haven compelled the differential roads 
to reduce their differential from ten 
cents to five cents. 

The New Haven officials state that if 
they do not get the Boston & Maine 
they fear for the independence of the 
New Haven. We fear that this move- 
ment to acquire the Boston & Maine is a 
device of the trunk lines, not to get the 
New Haven on which they already exert 
an extraordinary influence, but by getting 
the Boston & Maine to deprive us of that 
little independence which we have. That 
independence is due wholly to the exist- 
ence of two Canadian lines, the Grand 
Trunk and the Canadian Pacific, which 
these gentlemen, by community of in- 
terest, who control the trunk lines, are 



trying, through the New Haven, to 
obliterate. That independence is all 
that is left to us since the New Haven 
has taken control of the Merchants' & 
Miners' Transportation Company. 

We must ask ourselves: Is there hope 
of industrial development from such a 
monopoly? Is there prospect in it of 
relief from our present unsatisfactory 
situation? The only safeguard against 
the evils of monopoly which is proposed 
is that the railroads may be trusted for 
their enlightened "self-interest" to do 
what is best for the community. If that 
were a safeguard there would not to-day 
be a " Railroad Problem." 

We in America have found out that in 
spite of the extraordinary ability of the 
railroad managers, the community must 
look out for itself, just as the community 
must look out for itself in other ways. It 
had to look out for itself in the matter of 

insurance, and the insurance company 
officials said that the community knew 
nothing about insurance. The politicians 
thought the civil service reformers knew 
nothing about political organization. 
Still the community must protect itself 
if it is to find salvation ; and the situation 
to-day is such that the people of northern 
New England must refuse to abdicate to 
the railroad officials their right to reason 
concerning their own welfare. 

We must not be misled by specious 
arguments and fair promises. We must 
remember the past of the New Haven, 
its political past, and bear in mind that 
if this monopoly is once perfected, Mas- 
sachusetts cannot control under any 
circumstances; that Massachusetts will be 
a state within a corporation, as Connecti- 
cut is now a state within the New Haven, 
and as New Hampshire has been a state 
within the Boston & Maine. 


By NORMAN H. WHITE, Representative for Brookline 

I believe that immediate action should 
be taken by the people of Massachusetts 
through their representatives in the 
legislature to prevent the control of all 
our transportation systems from falling 
into the hands of people alien to our New 
England interests and traditions. Under 
the " Cole bill," unless legislation shall 
be passed before the first of July of the 
present year inhibiting further acquisi- 
tion of the stock of Massachusetts steam 
and electric railroads by outsiders, and 
compelling the restitution of such proper- 
ties as have been acquired in violation 
of the law, the merger of the New Haven 
and the Boston & Maine systems will be 
an accomplished fact, and New England's 
entire transportation falls into the lap of 
the New Haven. This means control 
of all transportation, trolleys, coastwise 
steamships, and steam railroads. 

Thus will have been formed, largely in 
defiance of existing statutes, one of the 
most gigantic monopolies this country 
has known — one which cannot be ade- 
quately regulated by any one American 

state and which in many of its depart- 
ments cannot be regulated by the national 
government under the interstate com- 
merce laws. Issues concerning Massa- 
chusetts will be decided by a directorate 
whose interests lie outside of Massachu- 

The resulting consolidation of enter- 
prises will be so large that hardly any 
one personality, however powerful, can 
properly grasp the details to the end of 
efficient management. The risk of de- 
terioration of service as a consequence of 
the physical impossibility of competent 
and interested leadership will therefore 
be imminent, if the merger is permitted. 
This great consolidation, further, will 
start on its career so burdened by over- 
capitalization as a consequence of ex- 
cessive prices paid for subsidiary proper- 
ties that a permanent tax must be placed 
for many years to come upon the earning 
capacity of every man, woman, and child 
in New England. To sanction the merger 
means parting with our birthright in 
return for — if not " a mess of pottage," 



let us at least say a bowl of Mellen's food 
for babes and sucklings! 

No more vital question, it has rightly 
been said, has come up for the decision 
of the people of Massachusetts since the 
Civil War than this matter of the merger. 
Irrespective of their party affiliations or 
their general philosophies of life all 
honest and patriotic citizens, it seems to 
me, should see it to be their immediate 
duty to oppose the program of consoli- 
dated inefficiency. 

Those who, ac- 
cepting the present 
conditions of com- 
merce and indus- 
try believe that 
there has been and 
still is a certain 
virtue in having 
business units so 
small that a single 
personality can ef- 
fectively dominate 
each unit — who 
think, in other 
\^ords, that it is 
good to let a man 
take in hand a 
small enterprise 
and work his hard- 
est in building it 
up — must look 
with keenest regret 
upon the passing of 
all the transporta- 
tion lines of New 
England into the 
jurisdiction of an 
autocrat. I main- 
tain that there is 

a natural limit of efficiency upon the 
size of every enterprise. This limitation 
in the case of the national government 
may be somewhat overcome by the use 
jof the departmental system, but it is 
often painfully in evidence as the inertia 
of governmental agencies is contrasted 
iwith the celerity of private enterprise. 
Now if the proposed merger should be 
established a proposition bigger than the 
national government was a few years ago, 
would be created, with very few protec- 
tive checks except such as imposed by 

Norman H. Whitk 

" enlightened self-interest " - too often 
proved an ineffectual motive these days 
when jobs have been created too big for 
any man to fill adequately! 

Even those socialistically inclined, 
who hold that social progress in the di- 
rection of organized unity should run 
along ethical rather than mechanical 
lines, must believe that to permit the 
merger would be putting^ premium upon 
unethical conduct. Against the pro- 
posed consolidation 
may be alleged pri- 
marily the under- 
hand manner in 
which negotiations 
and arrangements 
have been effected 
— the persistent 
violations of the 
plain intent of laws 
on the statute 
books, the use of 
subterfuges de- 
signed by clever 
lawyers for evad- 
ing the spirit of the 
law and contraven- 
ing the letter of it, 
with a secrecy with 
which real purposes 
have hidden under 
apparent frank- 
ness, and a policy 
of non-interference 
and bravado! 

The thing to be 
reiterated is that 
the fight has not 
been conducted ' 'on 
the square" by 
President M ell en 
and his subordinates. A policy of violent 
aggression and devious subterfuge rather 
than of dispassionate argument and of 
openly announced action has prevailed. 

During three years, for example, prior 
to June, 1906, in plain violation of laws 
of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, 
the New Haven, without even asking 
permission, acquired some five hundred 
miles of trolley lines in Massachusetts. 
Apart from questions of exorbitant pur- 
chasing prices paid and of the business 
efficiency of managements thus created 



the fact stands out that chances were 
taken on the possibility that the law 
covering such acquisitions might be 
declared not to apply to a Connecticut 
corporation! Possession, as in the old 
adage, is nine points of the law in the 
sight of the New Haven directors! 

Legislation designed to permit steam 
railroads to absorb trolley systems was 
refused by the Massachusetts legislatures 
of 1905 and 1906, with the great and 
evident approval of Governor Curtis 
Guild, Jr., who wrote: 

' ' I congratulate you on the defeat of a 
measure that would have sanctioned the 
possible consolidation of all transporta- 
tion in Massachusetts under the control 
of a single corporation. The present 
railroad situation, however, is most 
unjust and inequitable. Our steam rail- 
road system is forbidden to meet the 
competition of electric street car lines by 
purchase or control of their stock, but 
another controlled by men who are not 
citizens of Massachusetts is not only per- 
mitted to exercise that privilege, but is 
exerting it to-day to such an extent that 
healthy competition in western Massa- 
chusetts is already throttled. 

" Slowly, surely, the control of our 
own railroads, the control of the passage 
to market of every Massachusetts pro- 
duct, the control of the transportation 
to and from his work of every Massa- 
chusetts citizen is passing from our hands 
to those of aliens. 

" I therefore urge upon you with all 
the strength that is in me the passage of 
some legislation giving relief from this 
grave injustice. Let Massachusetts an- 
nounce that transportation within her 
borders is in the future to be controlled 
by the people of Massachusetts, and not 
by men beyond the reach of her law and 
the inspiration of her ideals." 

The rest of the story of the New 
Haven's breach of faith with the state of 
Massachusetts will bear brief rehearsal. 
Assurance was given that the manage- 
ment of the corporation had no intention 
whatsoever of disobeying the laws, but 
that believing a Connecticut corporation 
not to be subject to such regulations as 
applied to the Boston & Maine, a Massa- 
chusetts corporation, it should welcome 

a suit brought by the attorney-general 
to test the validity of the statute. 

So that members of the legislature and 
others interested might be certain of a 
policy of inaction on the New Haven's 
part during the period in which the 
matter was still unsettled, the following 
letter was written by the counsel of the 
New Haven company to the chairman of 
the legislative committee in charge of 
the negotiations: 

June 27, 1906. 
Representative Joseph Walker, Esq. 

My dear Mr. Walker: I have communicated 
with Mr. Mellen by telephone and got from him 
the following : 

"Mr. Mellen authorizes Mr. Choateto state to 
the legislature that he will not enter upon further 
acquisitions in Massachusetts other than those 
already contracted for, or build any trolley lines 
except such as are now under actual construc- 
tion, until such time as the merger question has 
been settled. 

"Mr. Mellen is willing, if the Committee desires 
it, to furnish a list of properties already con- 
tracted for or under construction, to avoid any 
future misunderstanding." 

Yours truly, 
(Signed) Charges F. Choate, Jr. 

This could only be understood as a 
solemn promise. Did the New Haven 
Company live up to it? On the contrary, 
regardless of Mr. Mellen's promises the 
company subsequently bought directly 
four street railway companies in Massa- 
chusetts and indirectly acquired still 
others through the Providence Securities 
Company. All this while it was busily 
obtaining a stock interest in the Boston 
& Maine Railroad, and this acquirement 
was made in face of above conditions with 
greatest secrecy, and entirely beyond the 
knowledge or suspicion of the legislature! 

These persistent infractions of the law 
as well as the persistent disregard which 
has been shown of inquiries and state- 
ments made by reputable citizens of the 
Commonwealth constitute in my mind 
one of the most powerful arguments 
against this particular merger, even if 
one were inclined to look with favor upon 
the general conception of a merger under 
well-meaning and straightforward man- 

The Massachusetts Anti-Merger League, 
the observant citizen will note, includes 
in its management and membership men 



of the highest business and profes- 
sional standing, men whose good will 
and co-operation the New Haven road, 
if it felt itself absolutely right in its 
undertakings, should seemingly wish to 
conciliate in every way possible. At the 
head of the organization is Charles H. 
Jones, president of the Commonwealth 
Shoe and Leather Company, a director 
in the First National Bank of Boston and 
prominent in a number of important 
commercial enterprises. The secretary 
of the League is ex-representative 
George L. Barnes, of South Weymouth, 
a lawyer of excellent professional reputa- 

On the statistical and investigating 
side the greatest contribution to the 
Anti-Merger movement has been made 
by Louis D. Brandeis, Boston attorney. 
The story of Mr. Brandeis' work for the 
welfare of the community in which he has 
lived since his graduation from the 
Harvard Law School, in 1877, is too well 
known to need more than bare reference. 
His power of constructive mind sug- 
gested the practical plan in accordance 
with which the city of Boston owns its 
subways, now leased to the Boston 
Elevated Railway Company on terms 
advantageous both to the municipality 
and to the company. The complicated 
tangle involving the gas plants of greater 
Boston was a short time ago straightened 
out by Mr. Brandeis's scheme for the 
adaptation of the sliding scale principle. 
The law just become operative, as lately 
described in the New England Maga- 
zine, under which Massachusetts savings 
banks may undertake industrial life in- 
surance and annuities, was the direct 
outgrowth of Mr. Brandeis's investiga- 
tion into the excessive cost of industrial 
policies as issued by the great life in- 
surance companies. 

Now precisely as his arrays of figures 
egarding the possibilities of the sliding 
cale, regarding the charges for life in- 
urance, as originally presented, seemed 
bsolutely convincing to readers and 
udiences, so, according to general testi- 
ony, Mr. Brandeis's analyses of the 
resent financial condition of the New 
laven railroad have appeared to great 
umbers of hard-headed business men 

to lead to but one possible conclusion, 
and that one adverse to the merger. 
Many who had thought of the consolida- 
tion as a good thing in theory have said 
frankly, upon study of Mr. Brandeis's 
figures, that whatever the general merits 
of the case the New Haven road is ob- 
viously in no position to take on the 
proposed responsibilities but that, in 
their opinion, it can be rescued from the 
situation in which it finds itself only by 
the closest attention on the part of the 
management to the details of its present 

Now the findings of this statistical 
expert, whose every conclusion is based 
upon figures taken out of authoritative 
reports, are deemed of so little importance 
in New Haven that no analysis in re- 
buttal or contradiction has yet been put 
forth. One wonders why. 

Possibly for the simple reason that the 
arguments are unanswerable no refuta- 
tion has been attempted. The statistics, 
at all events, upon which the conclusion 
is based that the New Haven for its own 
sake ought not to add to its financial 
and administrative burdens under which 
it is now staggering, have been published 
and may be had on application to the 
Secretary of the Massachusetts Anti- 
Merger League, Old South Building, 
Boston. Whether or not one agrees with 
all the general propositions advanced by 
Mr. Brandeis, his facts have not been im- 
pugned. They deserve the most careful 
possible study on the part of citizens, 
not only of the Commonwealth, but of 
every New England state. They have 
seemed to thousands of intelligent people 
to demonstrate that the net financial 
result of the expansion which has been in 
progress since Mr. Mellen brought western 
methods into the management of a great 
eastern property has been to acquire all 
sorts of properties at an excessive valua- 
tion and to perpetuate a strain which 
month by month approaches the breaking 

Meantime, there is still with us the 
Boston & Maine, undoubtedly needing 
to be improved in many directions, but 
offering a good foundation upon which 
to build by local initiative. One of the 
greatest needs to-day, in my opinion, is 



for Massachusetts business men to get 
together and secure for this great 
railroad system which still makes its 
headquarters in Boston that cordial 
support and co-operation that will easily 

render it in every essential respect the 
model railroad corporation of the United 
States. Thus we should be carrying 
out the spirit of Governor Guild's wise 


By Hon. Roujn S. Woodruff, Governor of Connecticut 

Thf unification of the railroad interests 
of New England by the merging of the 
Boston & Maine with the New York, 
New Haven & Hartford is possibly of 
more importance to Connecticut through 
its sentimental side and because of what 
may in the future come from it than on 
account of the immediate advantages 
that might accrue to the people of this 
state. There is, however, keen interest 
in the situation regarding the merger on 
the part of Connecticut people because 
the New York, New Haven & Hartford 
road is, as President Mellen has so often 
said, a Connecticut institution, the child 
of our state legislature, and the successful 
growth and development of our children 
is always watched with no little concern. 
As a piece of railroad strategy, the ac- 
quirement of President Tuttle's road by 
President Mellen's is a matter not readily 
discussed by any but railroad men, who 
have some conception of what it means 
in this way, which knowledge those of us 
who are not concerned in railroad 
activities do not have. 

That there should be built up one great 
New England railroad system is probably 
only to be expected. It is simply a 
manifestation of the tendency of the 
times towards consolidation, a tendency 
which the natural outgrowth of the 
changing conditions of life, and only 
dangerous in that the confusion incident 
to the readjustments necessary some- 
times takes out of the control of the 
people the combinations they have per- 
mitted to come into being. Sentiment- 
ally, it is a fine thing that we should have 
a comprehensive New England railroad 
system. The New England states ought 
to stand together. They must stand 
together. The way in which neighboring 

states in other sections of the country 
stand together forces this upon New 
England, the birthplace of the nation, ij 

Some there are who think that New 
England is on the defensive, but that is 
not so. No other section of the country 
can claim the palm over Yankee brains 
and genius. We are small territorially — 
and therefore hardly able to compete 
with other sections as to agricultural and 
mineral wealth — and we are far from 
the base of production of raw materials 
in general, but we have the capital and 
the ability without which these other 
advantages are with great difficulty 
made to count. It will be many years 
yet before New England is really on the 
defensive, if it ever is. 

Practically it is likely that the benefits 
that will come to Connecticut or that 
part of New England, south of Boston, 
from this merger are not great — the 
present benefits, anyway. Connecticut 
ships comparatively little of her manu- 
factured goods over the Boston & Maine 
road. The rest of the country takes the 
great volume of her output, just as it 
supplies the great quantity of her raw 
material — such as is not brought into 
the country from outside. To those 
shippers who are sending freight to 
Boston and on over the Boston & Maine's 
lines the opportunity to ship the entire 
distance over one system would doubtless 
be appreciated. This is but a limited 
phase of the subject, however. Of far 
more importance is the possibility of, 
aiding New England's position railway- j 

Without trenching upon the technical,' 
wisdom, or the opposite, of President I 
Mellen's tactics — which the state that, 1 
has fathered the road he is conducting) 

Hon. Rollin S. Woodruff, Governor of Connecticut 

r 6 


certainly hopes to see prove itself — one 
caneasily realize of what moment it may 
be to have the great trunk lines of the 
country forced to recognize a united New 
England railway system as one important 
factor in the general railroad situation. 
The New England states, as a whole, 
form a terminal point in the transconti- 
nental railway business of this country 
and of that vast amount which is less 
than transcontinental, but quite as im- 
portant. With several interests dividing 
this terminal territory there is just that 
much less chance of united effort or of 
effort with a single purpose to force 
attention to New England's rights as to 
rates and all the thousand and one 
matters that make up the business of 

In another practical way this merger 
can be of great advantage. It will in- 
crease the borrowing power of the New 
York, New Haven & Hartford road, and 
enable it to go forward with schemes of 
improvement of the railway facilities of 
New England as neither of the two roads 
which are parties to the merger could 
perhaps do alone. There again one 
meets the combination idea, and looking 
it squarely in the face will dispel most of 
the doubts about it, though, to be sure, 
there is always in the problem the ele- 
ment of human nature — and human 
nature is fallible. It is not so many 
years since combinations of smaller roads 

were distinctly unpopular, not to say 
condemned, and the word merger still 
has a sinister sound to many. That the 
joining of small railroads into one great 
system, as has been done by both the New 
York, New Haven & Hartford and the 
Boston & Maine, is very far from in- 
jurious in the broad results gained is, 
however, beyond argument. 

The successful carrying out of the 
merger by what Connecticut claims as 
her road will be the source of no little 
satisfaction, even among those very 
unlikely to be personally concerned, 
one way or the other. Of course this 
satisfaction would be materially weakened 
if it should ever happen that the main 
offices and the central directing power 
of the new system should leave Connec- 
ticut for some other point on the system. 

At the same time there will be much 
pleasure in the further linking of the New 
England states together, joining them in 
common interests and welding them into 
one for offense and defense, one for all 
and all for one. The railroad is the 
commercial artery of most importance, 
and unless it be strong and stalwart the 
business life upon which our social struc- 
ture is founded cannot sustain that 
structure in its best form or New Eng- 
land's accomplishments of the present 
measure up to that splendid series of past 
achievements of which we New Eng- 
enders are properly proud. 


By Ex-Senator Wm. E- Chandler, of New Hampshire 

For Massachusetts to allow the merger 
would be extreme folly. It will utterly 
destroy all railroad competition within 
New England and between Boston and 
the West, and transfer the present rail- 
road power of Boston to New York City. 
Mr. Mellen avowed that he desired to 
acquire the Boston & Maine system so 
that it might not get into unfriendly 
hands; that is, in order that there should 
not be from Boston to the West any 
competition by way of Albany and the 
New York Central lines, with the New 
Haven line through New York City and 
the Pennsylvania system. Does Boston 

wish to help on this plan? If not, it 
should stop the merger. On December 5, 
1907, I called the subject to the attention 
of Attorney-General Bonaparte — part of 
my letter being as follows: 

" The Boston & Maine Company has lines j 
extending from Boston, west to Northampton! 
on the Connecticut River, which are north of; 
the New York & New Haven lines and parallel i 
thereto. It has lines further north going) 
west by the Hoosac Tunnel across the Hudson 
River and joining the New York Central linesi 
at Rotterdam Junction, N. Y. At Albany! 
this line connects with the Delaware and 
Hudson lines by which come east, coal from! 
the mines of Pennsylvania. By the Westj 


Hon. William E. Chandler, Ex-Governor of New Hampshire 

Shore road the'Boston & Maine has friendly 
connection with Jersey City. The result is 
that the Boston & Maine and its allies can com- 
pete with the New York and New Haven road 
for a large miscellaneous business between the 
Hudson River and Massachusetts. Moreover, 
it is in a position to actively compete with the 
New York & New Haven in transporting coal, 
not only to central and northern Massachusetts, 
but also to Vermont, New Hampshire, and. 
Maine. Undoubtedly the principal object of 
the New York, New Haven & Hartford company 
is to stifle this competition in coal transporta- 
tion. Its lines, including the New York, On- 
tario & Western, are continuous from Boston 
to Scranton, Pennsylvania. It controls water 
lines from New York toward Boston. It is 
unquestionably its purpose to monopolize the 
traffic in coal from the great coal regions to 
New England. 

All these facts appear very clearly from the 
records of the government. The attempt of 
the New York & New Haven to so control the 

Boston & Maine by purchasing its securities as 
to accomplish a restraint of trade and transpor- 
tation is so plain that I cannot doubt that the 
Department of Justice will take steps to prevent 
the consummation of the illegality which is in 
progress in order to destroy the last vestige of 
railroad competition in New England. 
Very respectfully, 

Wm. E. Chandler." 

On December 10 the attorney-general 
replied that he had forwarded my letter 
to U. S. Attorney French, at Boston, for 
" careful consideration." But the de- 
partment of justice is not likely to reach 
a conclusion prior to June 16th. 

The only reason of any importance 
that I have seen for allowing the New 
Haven road to seize the Boston & Maine 
is that the New Haven is better able to 



borrow the money with which to make 
needed improvements to the Boston & 
Maine lines. The mistake in such a 
notion is clearly exposed by Mr. Brandeis 
in his elaborate and convincing state- 
ment of December, 1907. It is weakness 
inconceivable for Boston to admit that 
she cannot finance her own system of 
roads, but must go to New York for the 
money. Boston can do it twice over 
with its own capital. 

It has been distasteful enough to the 
people of Maine and New Hampshire to 
surrender all their railroad lines to the 
powers at Boston. To now see Boston 
transfer those lines and all the Massa- 
chusetts lines to the New Haven road, so 
that if a New Englander wishes to seek 
its managers he must travel to New York 
or Philadelphia, would be intolerable. 
Will Boston deliver itself to such slavery? 

Must New England meekly submit to 
such a blow? 

Governor Guild well said in his message 
of January 2 : 

" I believe it is worth trying by new legisla- 
tion not merely to escape the surrender of the 
relics of New England control, which we at 
present possess, but to recover the control that 
we have already lost, that not merely New 
England legislatures but New England railroads 
may strike at the shackles about New England 
commerce, and stimulate New England in- 

" Nor is this Massachusetts of ours unworthy 
the Massachusetts of Andrew and Sumner, of 
Hancock and Adams, of Endicott and Win- 

" Let us strive to be worthy the ideals of our 
forefathers in past centuries. Let us be not 
less worthy the achievements of our brothers 
of to-day." 


By Hon. Wm. T. Haines, of Waterville 

The merger of the Boston & Maine 
with the New York, New Haven & 
Hartford Railroad seems to be exciting a 
wide interest, and, if we can judge from 
the press, has become in Massachusetts 
a political and economic question 
of great moment. In Maine we know 
little about it, and are more interested in 
good service, at reasonable rates, for 
transportation of freight and passengers, 
than in any other question pertaining 
to railroads. 

Our railroad system is made, up from 
the consolidation of a large number of 
small roads as originally chartered. We 
had our experience with connecting lines 
and all the annoyances that went with 
them, and the consolidation which has 
given us through transportation with- 
out stop overs and delays has been hailed 
with satisfaction by all of our citizens, 
and as shippers of freight and as travelers 
we shall be glad of the day when we can 
go to New York without being held up 
in Boston by the Armstrong Transfer 
Company with an even chance of losing 
our connecting train. 

The people of Maine will hail the day 
when they can go to New York on one 
mileage book and make a claim for lost 
or gone astray freight to one company, 
and not be referred to two or three con- 
necting companies, upon whom blame 
may be laid in successive relation, and 
work a practical excuse for all. 

The railroads are the greatest proper- 
ties in our modern industrial life, and 
overshadow every other business in 
multiplicity of effects on the general 
public, and the puzzling question of the 
hour seems to be that of how they shall 
be controlled in their operation and the 
form of their ownership. Nothing could 
be more unsafe and unfair than the fixing 
of arbitrary schedules of mileage rates 
for passengers and of freight rates by 
legislative bodies, where politics and 
prejudice necessarily enter into their 
determination; and yet nothing would 
be more unwise than to say that they 
should not be under proper governmental 
supervision and control. Reasonable 
rates and fares are as necessary to correct 
business relations between the railroads I 



and the public as is the steel over which the 
traffic passes. The ideal way of at- 
taining the desired end, of reasonable 
control, seems to be through the agency 
of the commission. Only trained and 
scientific men are equal to the intelligent 
solution of such problems, men of ex- 
perience, undoubted integrity, and con- 
versant with the needs of both the rail- 
roads and the public, and with eyes 
single to justice 
for both. A rail- 
road starts with 
a governmental 
charter or per- 
mit, by which 
the public makes 
over to the cor- 
poration certain 
of its natural 
rights, not pri- 
marily for the 
benefit of the 
railroad corpor- 
ation alone, but 
for the mutual 
advantage of all. 
The money 
with which the 
railroads are 
built comes from 
the public 
through the sale 
of stock and 
bonds. The 
stock controls 
the whole and 
is generally con- 
trolled by a few 
individuals, and 
their actions 

should necessarily be under the rea- 
sonable control of the public through 
a proper governmental agency. The 
bonds furnish the greater part of the 
capital used in these properties and they 
find their market largely through the 
instrumentality of the savings banks 
and insurance companies, where the 
people's savings are deposited and held. 
Without these savings, our great railroad 
systems would have been impossible; 
but the card holders have little or no 
voice in the management of the roads. 
Hence, there is all the more need for 

Hon. Wiujam 

reasonable governmental control. In- 
deed, it may truthfully be said at the 
present time that the people have always 
owned the railroads. In the State of 
Maine, out of $85,000,000 deposited in 
our savings banks, $41,000,000 is in- 
vested in railroad securities. About 
two hundred and twenty thousand of our 
people have their money in these proper- 
ties, and about five million people in the 
savings banks of 
New England 
have about five 
billion dollars in 
railroad securi- 
ties; while eigh- 
teen million 
people holding 
insurance poli- 
cies in America 
have an interest 
in our railroads 
to the extent of 
$800,000,000, so 
that it is not 
only the charter 
but also the cash 
that is furnished 
by the public for 
these great in- 
dustrial develop- 
ments, and the 
life and prosper- 
ity of every 
great and small, 
are all depend- 
ent upon them. 
Legislators, in 
T. Haines the rush of busi- 

ness, prompted 
by the political demagogue, can never 
solve the problem of railroad control 
and operation. It must be a matter 
of wise and cool-headed statesman- 
ship, inspired by good business judg- 
ment, by scientific and skilled finan- 
cial talent. The term "reasonable con- 
trol and regulation " covers the case. 
A system of separate roads, with poor 
connections, does not, in any way, meet 
the demands of the hour. It matters 
little to the average citizen who owns 
the railroads or who controls them. It 
is rather what they can do for him and 



what the service costs. The best service 
should be the most profitable. Reason- 
able profits must be expected, and the 
public must know that the railroads must 
have reasonable profits in order to be 

Enterprises that do not pay are, as a 
rule, of but little advantage to any one. 
The public needs more education of a 
wholesome kind in regard to railroad 
properties and railroad duties. The 
public should stop looking at the railroad 
as something they should try to beat, or 
as something that is always trying to 
beat them, and railroad managers should 
learn that they are under the greatest 
obligations to all the people to work for 
the greatest good of the greatest number; 
and all the people should learn that every 
dollar invested in a railroad is entitled to 
as fair a return as though it were invested 
in any other business enterprise. Juries 
and courts should guard the rights of the 
railroads as jealously as those of the 
individual. The traveling public should 
understand that it is as much of a sin to 
steal a ride on a railroad as it is to steal an 
equal amount in value of merchandise 
from a store. There is no reason for 
the continuance of hostile sentiment 
between the railroads and the public. 
Such a sentiment can only lead to a low 

moral tone with regard to the rights of 
railroad properties, and it will thereby 
weaken the moral tone of public senti- 
ment relative to all other property 
rights. The one thing needed is a broader 
education, a clearer conception of the 
rights of all concerned. Prejudice and 
envy with regard to railroad property 
and other large accumulations of capital 
in any one business enterprise, if allowed 
to continue, can only lead to the greatest 
bitterness and hatred, and must result 
in an impassable gulf of class distinction 
in our economic relations, which has 
heretofore, in the history of the world, 
led to revolution. By a liberal educa- 
tion of the masses relative to these 
matters, this chasm can be bridged, and 
the public made to understand matters in 
their true relations. Massachusetts, with 
all her wise men and experienced states- 
men and economists, with her past record 
of having helped wisely to solve so many 
great and important questions, should 
have no difficulty in coping with this 
industrial proposition. 

The people of Maine are most interested 
in having the best possible service to the 
markets to which they go, — and the great- 
est market is New York, — and they do 
not care who owns the railroads, if they 
get good service at reasonable rates. 


By Dr. FennER H. Peckham 

Dr. Fenner H. Peckham, for purposes 
of discussion, divides himself into two 
persons, one a stockholder of the New 
Haven road, the other a member of the 
body politic. As a stockholder he is 
inclined to oppose the merger. As a 
citizen he favors it. 

Dr. Peckham speaks with considerable 
authority on the subject, and his views 
will receive careful attention throughout 
Rhode Island. He has owned stock in 
nearly all the railroads in Rhode Island 
that now form part of the Hew Haven 
system. Through him was made the 
exchange of shares between the absorbing 
Connecticut corporation and the Paw- 
tuxet Valley Railroad, among other 

small companies in which he was in- 
terested. He is president of the Hope 
Webbing Company, vice president of the 
Providence Telephone Company, di- 
rector of the Mechanics' National Bank,, 
and the Narragansett Electric lighting 
Company, and president of the Metro- 
politan Park Commission. 

These are his views : 

"It seems to me that the acquisition of I 
the Boston & Maine road is too much of j 
an undertaking. In my opinion the 
New Haven system has all it can do to 
attend to the business it finds to do in! 
southern New England. With a corpora- 
tion away off in Maine added to thej 
company there would surely be leaks. 


28 1 

" I believe in careful attention to a 
limited field rather than a less careful 
attention to a wide field. In the days 
of the old Providence & Stonington Px>ad 
that company paid ten per cent dividends 
year after year. I can remember the 
report of old Jeremiah B. Gardiner, which 
used to run something like this : ' We are 
pleased to announce that there will be 
the regular dividend of ten per cent, not 
a passenger has been injured, and not a 
wheel left the track.' 

' ' There comes a point where further ex- 
pansion is undesirable from an economic 
point of view. It is a great deal easier to 
manage a business that is confined to 
Providence than to manage one that is 
scattered all over New England, and there 
should be less loss. 

"Railroads are paying too much at- 
tention to the future. They are spending 
too much money for things that cannot 
be foreseen with perfect accuracy. Just 
because we have been having continued 
fair weather it is no sure sign that we 
shall always have it. Rainy days may 
come. The ten per cent dividend of the 

old vStonington Railroad has been reduced 
to eight, and if Mr. Brandeis, of Boston, 
is authority it will some day be cut to six. 

"It was the old-fashioned, carefully 
managed short road that yielded the 
largest returns on the stockholders' 
investments. Of course there is an 
argument against the continuation of 
that policy, and that is that then there 
was not nearly the volume of business 
there is now. That is true enough, but 
we have not given those careful methods 
a fair trial. Anyway, there is a point 
where expansion means waste, and I 
believe that point is about reached in the 
New Haven development of the New 
Haven system. 

" That is my opinion as a stockholder. 
As a citizen interested in the welfare of 
the public I am in favor of the merger. 
It would mean through service and better 
accommodations. The New Haven road 
would not take advantage of its monop- 
oly to injure the public, but would do all 
it could to benefit it. From the point of 
view of the disinterested citizen the 
merger seems eminently desirable." 


By Howard O. Sturgks 

Mr. Howard O. Sturges, a member of 
the firm of Gammell & Sturges, a leading 
Rhode Island cotton manufacturer, and 
a citizen who takes an unusually intel- 
ligent view of political and economic 
questions, believes that the merger would 
benefit New England, particularly that 
part of it which is now served by the 
Boston & Maine Railroad. He states his 
opinion in this way: 

" In the beginning Mr. Mellen acquired 
Boston & Maine stock, it is my belief, 
to prevent some other railroad from se- 
curing it. If the New York Central 
should control the Maine road neither 
the acquired road nor New England 
would be benefited, judging by the way 
in which the Boston & Albany has been 
managed. For the protection of New 
England and, therefore, of the New 
Haven road, which depends upon the 
prosperity of New England for its 
dividends, President Mellen had to make 

sure that the system which operates in 
the northern part of New England was 
not acquired by an outside corporation. 

" Now as for the positive advantages 
that such a merger would bring to New 
England, they cannot easily be deter- 
mined beforehand, except, perhaps, by 
experts in railroad transportation. But 
it is safe to say offhand that in general 
New England would gain by a consolida- 
tion of the two railroads under a man like 
Mr. Mellen. He is an astonishingly 
generous spender. He believes in 
pouring out money to improve the 
property under his charge. We are 
seeing the effects of that policy here in 
Providence in the tunnel under College 
Hill. If he should ever have the control 
of the Boston & Maine he would make a 
vast change in that antiquated system. 
There cannot be any question but what 
that corporation would be made into a 
modern railroad, something it is far from 



Dr. Fenner H. Peckham 

being at present. The benefits could 
not help being enormous to that property. 
And I don't see why they would not 
have a good effect upon Boston business. 
They surely ought to make that city 
more important as a terminus of New 
England railroads and as a seaport. 

" The good effects of the merger in 
other parts of New England would also 
tend to this same end — the development 
of Boston. I am a great believer in 
railroad monopoly. Through the mono- 
poly which the New Haven road has in 
Connecticut it has been able to accom- 
plish much good for the state. Railroads 
are not foolish enough to overcharge for its 
service and provide poor accommoda- 
tions. That would simply destroy their 
own business. The New Haven has a 
monopoly in transportation between 
Providence and Worcester, and yet it has 

voluntarily reduced its freight rates. 
At Berkeley, we are charged fifteen 
cents a ton less than we were before the 
New Haven acquired the Providence & 
Burrillville Road. Another reason why 
railroads will not oppress the public is 
that legislatures can easily take away 
their privileges or seriously curtail them. 

" Rhode Island should have its show 
in the benefits of the merger. The 
enlargement of Wilkesbarre Pier, in 
Providence Harbor, indicates that the 
New Haven Road believes that this city 
is to grow as a port. That does not mean 
that we shall take business away from 
Boston, but that trade and commerce will 
expand all along the line of the merged 

" In general, it seems to me that a 
union of the two roads would be much to 
the benefit of all parts of New England." 

A New Way of Enjoying Country Life 

A Plan for a Summer Home in New England that is Especially Suited for Large Families 
in Large Cities: Water Sports, Woodcraft, Wild Gardening, and a Farm for $2,000 

By Nathaniel Coit Greene 

I WANT to point out a new use for the 
wooded hill farms of New England. 
The delightful possibilities of this 
region are sufficiently obvious to the rich 
(witness the Lenox, Cornish, and other 
colonies), but it is not always clear how a 
family with a yearly income as small as 
$2,000 can be justified in investing as 
much as that in a summer home. Yet I 
believe that the hill country of New Eng- 
land offers the best opportunity in this 
line of any part of the United States. 
The plan here proposed is especially 
suited to city families with two or more 
children — the more the merrier. 

Has it ever occurred to you that with 
the money you are planning to spend 
during the next five years on summer 
boarding-houses and vacation schools for 
your children you could buy a New Eng- 
land farm in the midst of inspiring scenery 
with a livable house, a chance to grow 
vegetables, and an educational oppor- 
tunity such as no modern school can give? 
And this without the worry of any labor 
problem, without the necessity of master- 
ing the theory of farming, and without 
the drudgery and responsibility of the 
old-time New England farm life? 

There are hundreds of farms in the hilly 
districts of New England, amid beautiful 
scenery, that can never be made to pay. 
It was a mistake ever to try to make 
farms of them. Practically the only 
abandoned farms now left in New Eng- 
land belong to this class. Such places 
are almost sure to be converted into 
summer homes, because city life is dom- 
inant in New England and along the 
Atlantic coast, whereas in the West farm 
life is dominant. The ten dollar an acre 
farms of New England are practically all 
of this type — too steep and stony for 

profitable farming, but all the more in- 
teresting for summer homes. They are 
five to ten miles from a railroad station, 
which is a great hindrance in real farming, 
but no serious objection to many summer 
residents. You can buy fifty acres of 
such land with some sort of a house on it 
for $1,500, and $500 more will usually 
make the house livable. It would be too 
bleak for winter; it is just wild enough 
for summer. 

I am not advocating such farms as an 
insurance against old age. Better land is 
needed for that purpose, and some one to 
stay on the place the year round. But a 
little figuring will soon convince you that 
such a home will justify itself if it is used 
only ten weeks every year for ten years, 
after which it should still be salable. 

There is one serious drawback to this 
plan, — the man cannot, as a rule, see his 
family more than once a week. Naturally 
such a scheme does not appeal to young 
married people or to couples without 
children. But after your days of rough- 
ing it are over and you have sickened of 
summer boarding-houses where dogs and 
children are not wanted, when the prob- 
lem of bringing up young children looms 
up as the greatest duty of life and you 
realize that a big city is no place for chil- 
dren in summer, you are willing to make 
a good many sacrifices if you can find a 
place where your children may live out- 
doors and become healthy, strong, useful, 
and good-natured. 

In all this there is nothing particularly 
new, but the life above sketched may 
seem dull and lonely to many people and 
there is a way of overcoming this objec- 
tion which will be new to most of my 
readers. There never was a boy who 
didn't like the woods, nor a child who 




didn't like to play with water, and the 
plan I am about to unfold unites the 
charms of both in an informal scheme of 
education and pleasure that ought to 
banish monotony and loneliness. 

The first part of the plan is to make 
some sort of pond or lake, so that all may 
enjoy boating, fishing, and bathing. 
Nothing is easier or cheaper in New 
England. Every hill country whose 
landscape is composed of trees and grass 
rather than rocks, sand, or alkali, is full 
of little brooks and streams that have no 
commercial value as water- powers but are 
invaluable for home use. All you have 
to do is to dam one of them to transform 
it into a pleasure lake or water garden. 
The whole job may be the sort of thing 
a man could do during a two weeks' 
vacation, or it could be done under the 
wife's supervision by the farm laborers of 
the neighborhood. 

If you want to see how simple the 
process is and what glorious possibilities 
it has you should get permission to see 
the lake made by General S. M. Weld at 
his home at Dedham, Mass., where the 
pictures that illustrate this article were 
taken. In this case the artificial lake 
was made by a wealthy man in the su- 
burbs of a great city, but the principle 
is perfectly applicable to people of mod- 
erate means. The only costly element 
in these pictures is the gorgeous mass of 
rhododendrons. The important point is 
that the expense of damming a brook at 
the lower end of a little valley is insignifi- 
cant compared with the excavation of an 
artificial lake in a flat country. A rough 
stone wall about twenty feet long and 
five feet high at the deepest spot has en- 
abled General Weld to transform a 
mosquito-breeding marsh into a beautiful 
two-acre lake in which the mosquitoes 
can always be controlled by means of 

The next great attraction is wild 
gardening. I should like no better job 
than transforming an uninteresting wood- 
lot composed of half-grown trees, too 
crowded and too much alike, with no 
flowers at their feet — only burs and 
briers — into a fairyland that has the 
enchantment of the primeval forest. I 
should do this by cutting out the dying 

and crooked trees and giving the longest- 
lived and most interesting ones a chance 
to grow; and every week or so I should 
bring in a wagonload of maidenhair fern, 
or a wagonload of hepaticas, and mass 
these in colonies where they could multi- 
ply without further care. And to do this 
no knowledge of botany is necessary. 
You merely bring home from your jaunt 
in some neighboring woods the one wild- 
flower which pleased you most. You 
take it up tenderly, root, stem, and all, 
and no matter what the time of year the 
chances are that it will live, because your 
own woods supply the conditions it 
needs, — the partial shade, the coolness, 
the perpetual moisture in the soil, and 
the leaf mold. I do not mean that you 
should take things without asking per- 
mission, and if you collect ferns by the 
wagonload you should pay for them. 
Even if you cannot afford the luxury of 
a horse, you can accomplish wonders by 
getting a basketful of plants at a time, 
provided you do not yield to the tempta- 
tion of collecting a little of everything, 
but keep resolutely before you the central 
thought of wild gardening, which is not 
plants, but colonies. It takes at least 
a dozen plants of a kind to make a colony. 
A hundred is better. And when these 
multiply to thousands you have nature 
at her best. 

Perhaps you think wild gardening a 
very dull proposition for a rather rough 
and noisy boy of fourteen with a healthy 
contempt for the merely beautiful. Yet 
I will guarantee that such a boy will be 
eager to walk for a half a day to gather a 
few waterlilies. Why not direct this 
natural impulse? Suggest that he. bring 
the roots home and plant them in your 
own lake? Will he not be glad to scour 
the country for sweet flag or calamus root 
to plant beside the brook, or seeds of wild 
rice in the hope of attracting the wild 
ducks? And there are certain wild 
things that every boy is greedy for, — 
lady slippers, cardinal flower, pitcher 
plant. It is sheer vandalism to pluck j 
these flowers or to bring the plants into 
ordinary city gardens, but now you have 
the conditions where these treasures will 
grow and where your children's energies 
can be easily diverted from destroying j 













into protecting and multiplying these 
lovely flowers. 

But even if wild gardening should not 
appeal to your boy to the extent of an 
hour a week, I am confident that he 
would like woodcraft. One of the first 
things I should do would be to organize 
the boys of the neighborhood into a camp 
of Seton Indians. You may laugh at 
that, but I want to tell you that one of 
the books in my library that I value most 
highly is a little fifteen-cent pamphlet of 
thirty pages called "The Red Book; or, 
How to Play Indian," by Ernest Thomp- 
son Seton. Spend five minutes on that 
and you will be convinced that Mr. Seton 
has made an important contribution to 
education. Have you not seen the evo- 
lution of a "gang"? Some boys get 
together in a cave or shanty, read dime 
novels, get to gambling, smoking, drink- 
ing, stealing fences for firewood, and 
finally hold up some one on the highway, 
or set fire to barns or houses. Mr. Seton 
shows how to give this gang spirit a 
legitimate expression. It is hard to 
imagine a better scheme of rewards than 
the decorations of a Seton Indian, which 
tell at a glance the story of a boy's 
prowess, how many coups he has won, 
and how many grand coups. There are 
red honors for athletics, white ones for 
campercraft, and blue ones for nature 

For instance, it counts a coup to come 
to camp through strange woods from a 
point a mile off in twenty minutes; to 
know and name ten star groups; to 
measure the height of a tree without 
climbing, within ten per. cent of error; 
to name twenty-five trees, fifty wild 
flowers, or fifty birds ; to draw unmistak- 
able pictures of twenty-five tracks of 
four-footed animals; to shoot so fast as 
to have six arrows in the air; to light a 
fire with rubbing sticks. Surely this sort 
of thing must appeal to every normal boy ! 

The rules of the Seton Indians are as 
follows: "Don't rebel. Don't kindle a 
wildfire. Don't harm songbirds. Don't 

break the game laws. Don't cheat. 
Don't bring firearms into camp. Don't 
make a dirty camp. No smoking. No 
fire-water." Surely, this must appeal 
to parents. The Seton Indians are sure 
to be a failure unless some one wise, tact- 
ful adult starts the movement properly 
and watches it. The same is, of course, 
true of any other game or occupation for 
children. But this life of the woods and 
the open is the heritage of children. We 
have no right to deny our children this 
privilege. But we ought not to let our 
children or any children roam the woods 
uncontrolled. We ought to purify and 
direct their natural tendency and make 
it count towards character-building and 
towards knowledge that will enrich the 

I claim very little for the plan above 
outlined. I dare say it was worked out, 
with improvements, long ago. I do not 
say it is better than the vacation school, 
or as good. And, of course, it is not like 
the stern old school of New England farm 
life, for the element of hard necessity is 
absent. And I must repeat the warning 
that such a country place can never 
become a self-supporting farm. It is 
merely a summer home for pleasure and 
education, which is especially adapted to 
people of moderate means in New Eng- 
land. Perhaps this sort of thing is utterly 
hackneyed to New England readers, but 
I can assure you that it is the sort of 
thing a New Yorker prays for and dreams 
about and struggles for years to realize; 
for even a humble New Yorker who knows 
he will never be rich can afford a summer 
home oh these terms in the Berkshires or 
anywhere in the wooded hill country of 
New England, provided his purse will 
stand the week-end journeys. 

Next month I hope to point out a plan 
whereby this same man and his family 
may enjoy all the privileges above men- 
tioned and still lay the foundations of a 
self-supporting farm home that will be 
an insurance against death or misfortune 
and an honorable retreat for old age. 


Is New England^ Wealth In Danger? 



Forester of the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests 
and of the New Hampshire College Grant 

NEW ENGLAND has few natural 
resources. Her forests, water 
powers, and quarries constitute 
the list. Without coal, far from the 
cotton belt and from the grain fields, the 
forests and the water powers dependent 
upon them are her sources of strength and 
influence. The great manufacturing en- 
terprises have been built up, as a rule, 
around the water falls, to whose even 
flow the forests are essential. 

Each of the New England states has 
begun to recognize the importance of the 

forests. There are regulations for the 
control of forest fires, the worst enemy 
of the forest, some of them efficient and 
some of them inefficient. Consideration 
has been given to taxing forests, for a 
high annual tax causes forests to dis- 
appear prematurely. Three of the states 
have given special attention to forest 
planting, and have distributed seedling 
forest trees among the land owners as a 
matter of experiment. Three have state 
forest reserves which serve as a beginning 
of a broad state policy in which some of 






In the Connecticut State Forest. The birches that serve as nurse trees for pine 

on an abandoned farm 

the states outside of New England, New 
York, Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Cali- 
fornia, have already attained eminence. 

The question arises, is this action on the 
part of the several states adequate? 
Is the present machinery actually pre- 
serving the forests in New England on a 
scale that will meet the growing needs, 
especially in view of the fact that the 
great timber supplies of the country are 
nearly exhausted, the hardwood supply 
having been estimated by the Forest 
Service at Washington as likely to last 
only fifteen years and the conniferous 
timber from thirty to thirty-five years? 
The answer is an emphatic No. The 
people in the New England states do not 
realize how important the timber supply 
will be to them in the near future. Pub- 
lic opinion is not mature on this subject, 
although there is a growing recognition 
of its importance. Even the leaders in 
the movement are only beginning to 

grasp the far-reaching consequences of 
their action. It has been pointed out by 
Mr. Gifford Pinchot, the chief forester of 
the United States, and his words have 
been given wide circulation by the 
President, that we are in the beginning 
of a timber famine in this country in 
comparison with which the annoyance 
and distress of the recent coal scarcity 
are hardly a circumstance. The prices 
of nearly everything made of wood 
have doubled. These prices are up 
to stay, as any one may see who de- 
sires to look into this subject, by reading 
the government bulletins. Two of these 
deserve especial mention: "The Waning 
Hardwood Supply," by William Iy. Hall, 
and " The Drain upon the Forests," by 
Royall S. Kellogg, both of the Forest 
Service. They may be had for the 

The object of this article is to describe 
what the New England states are doing 



In the Connecticut State Forest. Showing condition of the woods after thinning 

for their forests, and to outline a plan of 
action which, to the writer, appears to be 
adequate to the situation. It should be 
kept in mind that in the eastern moun- 
tains of the Appalachian chain the 
timber supply must be found to meet the 
requirements of the concentrated and 
ever growing population of the east. 
The great forest reserves west of the 
Mississippi River are barely sufficient 
to meet the growing needs of the west, 
and it is already seen that the supposedly 
inexhaustible resources of the far west 
in Oregon and Washington will come to an 
end within a definitely short period, just 
as the white pine has disappeared as a 
great commercial asset from New Eng- 
land. The action of New York state, 
which has purchased 1,500,000 acres 
of forest land in the Adirondack and 
Catskill mountains, protecting the head- 
waters of the Hudson River, should 
stimulate the New England states. It is 
reported as about to purchase another 
one million acres. Pennsylvania has 
purchased nearly a million acres in her 

mountain regions. In both these states 
efficient state foresters are doing work of 
great value for the future. Michigan is 
reported to have a state forest area of 
nearly half a million acres. Wisconsin, 
Minnesota, and California have forest 
departments under state foresters who 
are leading the forward movement. 


Fire is the greatest enemy of the forest. 
To its control the states must give at- 
tention before private owners can be 
expected to expend money on their 
woodlands. Eire is far more destructive 
than the axe. It follows cutting and 
licks up the slash left by the lumbermen, 
but extends far beyond them, both in 
extent and complete destructiveness. 
Forest fires very often are set by the 
sparks from locomotives; very often also 
by the pipes and camp fires of careless 
hunters and fishermen. Few who tra- 
verse the woods realize that the hundreds 
of thousands of dollars' worth of property 



a soil sufficient to grow large trees 

covered^the rocks. flre and erosion 

made them permanently barren. 

New Hampshire 

through which they are passing is in- 
flammable. In the mountains where the 
soil |is | made up largely of vegetable 
matter, permeated by the resinous roots 
of the cone-bearing trees, a forest fire 
often sweeps away both forest and soil, 
over large areas, leaving the bare rocks 
exposed and setting back the return of 
any valuable forest growth from one to 
three centuries. In places the soil is 
rendered permanently barren. On high 
mountain slopes where the growing season 
is short and cold the forest at best has to 
contend against great odds. The weather 
elements are all against it and but for the 
marvelous and almost imperishable energy 
of the soil, a vast unseen force that 
surrounds us and feeds and clothes us, the 
mountain forests would fail. The energy 
of the soil lifts the forests into the sky 
against the mountain winds and storms, 
but fire can destroy it, and when fire and 
erosion combine, their adverse influence 
is triumphant. 

No estimate can be given of the extent 
of forest fires in New England, for the 

reason that only one state, Connecticut, 
and that very recently, is properly 
equipped to secure adequate reports. 
Maine secures adequate reports from the 
unorganized townships, but not from the 
state as a whole. It is known from the 
United States Government reports that 
in the White Mountains eighty-foui 
thousand acres burned over in -the single 
dry season of 1903 when from the fifth 
of April to the seventh of June no rain 
fell throughout the mountains. In that 
same year two hundred thousand acres 
were burned over in the state of New 
Hampshire. Forests, like other forms of 
inflammable property, should be protected 
by the public authorities, but this 
principle has not yet found complete 
legal recognition in any of the New 
England states. Connecticut has fol- 
lowed it more closely than the other 
states. Maine and Massachusetts have 
adopted it partially. 


A high annual tax is, like fire, an 
enemy of the forest, and the practice 
of taxing annually a growing forest 
which can yield a revenue only after a 
period of years at the time of felling is 
one of very doubtful utility, although 
it is followed in each of the New England 
states. The present system taxes not 
only the land, but also the growing crop. 
A farmer's wheat crop is not taxed while 
it is growing ! An orchard or a vineyard 
yields returns after a period of years, 

Katahdin Brook in the proposed State 
Forest Reserve, Maine 



Wiel HlI/TON, forest fire; watchman on 
Squaw Mountain, Maine. Overlooks 


Reported forty fires one season 

but a woodland is taxed repeatedly at 
an | increasing rate. A fairer principle 
would seem to be that the accumulated 
tax should be paid at the time of felling 
when the product for the first time 
yields returns. The actual practice is to 
leave the matter to the discretion of the 
local assessors, with this consequence, 
that taxation varies from the highest to 
the lowest extreme, not only among the 
several states but also among the several 
towns in the same state. There is no 
element of fairness in it. Fortunately 
the assessors, as a rule, realize that an 
excessive rate of taxation will cause the 
forest to disappear, leaving nothing to 
tax, and the valuation, therefore, is 
usually entered, like that of other forms 
of property, at a sum known to be less 
than the true value. This gives to the 
assessor the power of favoritism and 
unjust discrimination, which, indeed, 
may be said to be usually exercised to- 
ward non-resident owners; but the as- 
sessor has but little more opportunity for 
unfairness in this than in all other 
assessments. This difficult and im- 

portant subject needs attention in all the 
states. Massachusetts has considered it, 
but thus far without practical result. 
The New Hampshire Forestry Commis- 
sion now has an agent collecting data 
on taxation of forests. His report will 
be read with interest in all the states. 

Young planted forests having a certain 
required number of trees to an acre are 
exempted from taxation for a period of 
years in all of the states, except Maine, 
but although this privilege is granted by 
the laws of these states the writer knows 
no single instance in which they have 
been put into operation. The habit of 
the local town authorities is against such 
exceptions, and plantations are so small 
in most instances that the owner would 
derive too little benefit from the ex- 
emptions to go to the trouble of securing 
them. Such measures are popular with 
those who want to make a record in the 
legislature, and being entirely harmless 
they are easily secured. 

Telephone at the forest fire station, 
top of Squaw Mountain, Maine 




Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Ver- 
mont have state forest nurseries from 
which seedlings are distributed at low 
cost to land owners, usually in small 
quantities and for experimental pur- 
poses. This is a practice that has been 
carried out very extensively by the 
Canadian Government, which besides 
supplying seedlings sends out agents 
throughout the Canadian West to teach 
the farmers how to plant the trees and 
what species to use. The result is ex- 
cellent, many millions of trees having 
been successfully planted. The kingdom 
of Norway has five stations for the pro- 
duction of seedling material to be thus 
distributed among land owners at low 
prices; but in the United States such 
nurseries are hardly beyond the experi- 
mental stage, except in New York state. 

The method of starting a young forest 
from seed requires a moderate amount of 
technical knowledge and skill, which the 
average farmer who is earning his living 
by growing other crops is not likely to 
give. The seedlings are easily grown in 
large quantities. A state forester can 
be especially useful, therefore, in this 
way. White pine, which is our most 
rapid-growing tree in New England, 
affords an excellent example. It seeds 
only occasionally, once in three or four or 
even seven years. Two brown, winged 
seeds form under each cone-scale, and 
while it is the most common of seeds 
distributed by nature with a lavish hand 
throughout the length and breadth of 
New England, few persons have ever 
seen any white pine seed. The reason 
is that the cones open in the latter part 
of September and the brown seeds fall 
and are distributed by the wind before the 
cones fall. When the storms later beat 
the cones off they are empty. To gather 
pine seed, therefore, one must either fell 
the trees in the latter part of September, 
or climb up and gather the cones after 
the seed is ripe and before nature dis- 
tributes it. 

The pine seed is usually sown in beds, 
and covered very lightly, for it is easy to 
bury instead of to plant it. After it 
germinates, in three weeks, it is protected 

from the sun by a half shade of some 
kind, usually lath frames, for full light 
kills the little seedlings. They need 
conditions that approximate the cool, 
damp floor of the forest. After two 
summers' growth the seedlings are trans- 
planted into nursery rows in the open 
sunlight, from which, after a third sum- 
mer's growth and sometimes after the 
fourth, if especially strong plants are 
needed, they are transplanted to their 
permanent location. White pine trees 
are usually planted five feet apart each 
way, in order that growing thick to- 
gether for a number of years and yet not 
too thick for development they may 
shade off all lower limbs while small, and 
produce smooth trunks that will make 
good lumber for the houses, furniture, 
and tools that serve us all. 

Connecticut and Massachusetts are in 
the chestnut belt of New England, which 
lies, in general, south of Take Winnipe- 
saukee. In the nurseries of these states, 
therefore, chestnut seedlings are grown. 
White and red oak have nearly the same 
northern range, but extend from ten to 
twenty miles beyond that of chestnut. 
On the other hand certain trees find 
their southern limit in northern New 
England, the white spruce and the 
white cedar, which are northern trees, 
extending only a short distance below 
Moosehead and the Connecticut Takes. 
At the Vermont state nurseries, there- 
fore, which are located at Burlington, 
these species are properly included. 


Each New England state employs at 
least one forest officer. In Maine, Ver- 
mont, and Rhode Island this is a forest 
commissioner. In New Hampshire there 
is a forestry commission composed of 
four persons, two of whom, under an 
absurd clause in its law, must be Re- 
publicans and two Democrats, thus 
compelling the governor who appoints 
them to take account of politics. In 
Connecticut and Massachusetts there are 
state foresters who are active trained 
men. It is a satisfaction to be able to 
present their portraits. Each of these 
states has a forest service of its own, 



Austin F. Hawks 
State Forester oe Connecticut 

It will therefore become necessary in 
New England, if the forest problem is 
to be met as a whole, for the state 
governments to extend very largely this 
public ownership of non-agricultural land. 
The state alone can afford to wait for 
returns. It can secure money also at 
low rates of interest and can therefore 
better afford to purchase forest lands. 
It is very encouraging that forests thus 
acquired and intelligently managed will 
in the long run yield large returns and 
reduce the general tax rate. The town 
of Orson, in Sweden, which a number 
of years ago acquired about forty thou- 
sand acres of forest land, is now said to be 
supported entirely without taxation, 
deriving from the forest a revenue 
sufficient to pay its entire municipal 
expenses, including public schools, public 
libraries, and public concerts. Had these 
lands been owned by private persons 
they would almost necessarily have been 
cut for the temporary advantage to the 

including technical and clerical assistants, 
forming a nucleus about which the 
forest work of the state may grow. 
May the other states soon follow their 


Connecticut and Massachusetts have 
state forest reserves acquired by purchase. 
New Hampshire has two small parcels 
; of state land acquired by gift. These 
reserves mark the beginning of state 
policies which have been * extensively 
developed already in other | American 
j states, and with very large profits in 
European states, such as Prussia, Saxony, 
France, and Switzerland. It takes about 
fifty years for a state forest to become 
profitable, after which its regular annual 
income may be depended upon.;, Owing 
to the long time element required in the 
production of a crop of trees it is very 
difficult for individuals to engage in the 
business profitably on a large scale. 
Capital is too long tied up without re- 
turn and there is a constant expenditure 
for taxes and fire protection, upon which 
the interest charges accumulate from 
year to year as well as upon the principal. 

F. Wm. Rane 
State Forester of Massachusetts 



owners during their lives, without refer- 
ence to any future growth. It appears 
inevitable that under private manage- 
ment, which fosters unwise cutting on the 
large areas, a goodly portion of soil energy 
is wasted either in competition among 
the trees in the production of undesir- 
able species which are merely weeds. 
This does not apply, however, to farmers' 
wood lots, which are the most valuable 
forest holdings that any state can possess. 
These are usually small areas. 

Let us now consider, very briefly, what 
forest work each state in New England 
is doing. 


Connecticut has led the other New 
England states in several important 
directions. It was the first to employ a 
state forester, the first to acquire state 
forest reserves by purchase, the first to 
work out a satisfactory system of local 
forest fire-wardens, responsible to the 
state forester, which experience has 
proven to be the only means by which 
forest fires can be satisfactorily controlled. 
Furthermore, Connecticut was the first 
of the New England states to establish 
a state nursery for the growing of forest 
seedlings, the first to make experimental 
plantations to prove what species and 
what combination of species are best 
suitable to the soil, and the first to dis- 
tribute forest seedling trees for experi- 
mental purposes among citizens of the 
state. The natural forest area of Con- 
necticut has been more abused than 
that of any other New England state by 
indiscriminate cutting, without reference 
to the future and without consideration 
of the soil conditions and the succeeding 
crop. Progress, therefore, in Connecticut 
has been like that in the European states, 
worked out of her bitter experience. 
Because of its southern location, Con- 
necticut has a wider variety of natural 
trees than any other New England state, 
but here, as elsewhere, south of the White 
Mountains, white pine and chestnut are 
the most rapid growing and valuable 

The Yale Forest School, at New 
Haven, has been an important factor in 

the development of forest work in Con- 
necticut, especially in calling attention 
to the depleted condition of woodlands 
in the state and the means by which it 
was possible for the state to improve 
them. The Connecticut Forestry Asso- 
ciation, a small group of vigorous, 
practical people, have had much to do in 
promoting the necessary legislation. 

The Connecticut state forests consist 
of two parcels of land, the Portland 
forest, containing eleven hundred acres, 
purchased at an average cost of $1.75 
per acre, and the Union forest, which 
consists of three hundred acres of aban- 
doned farms, purchased at an average 
cost of $3.50 per acre. The former is 
located on the west slope of Meschomasick 
Mountain, a much cut-over tract of 
sprout land, excellent to show what 
results can be obtained from intelligent 
thinning. The present trees are about 
twenty-five years old and an average of 
five to six cords of wood per acre has 
already been taken out and sold. These 
were the poorer trees which interfered 
with the development of the others. 
The Union forest was purchased subject 
to the right of the former owners to 
remove during three years a certain 
amount of lumber, but seed trees and 
groups of half-grown pine were to be left. 
Most of the old fields have now been 
planted at an average cost of $1.66 for 
one thousand trees. Connecticut ap- 
propriates $1,000 annually for the ex- 
tension of its state forests, and it is the 
hope of the forester to establish a demon- 
stration forest in each county of the 

The state forester is also state fire- 
warden. Upon his request and with his 
approval the selectmen appoint one or 
more local fire-wardens in each town. 
There is, therefore, now a force of some 
four hundred men responsible for the 
protection of the woodlands of the state 
from fire. The feeling of increased 
protection from fire resulted last year in 
much more forest planting by private 
owners, so that about a half million trees 
were set out in 1907. During seasons of 
drought the town fire-warden may be 
called upon to establish a fire patrol, in 
order to take all necessarv means to 



In the Massachusetts State Forest Nursery at Amherst. White pine seedlings 


prevent fires as well as to extinguish 
them before they get beyond control. 
It is estimated that the first year of this 
system as compared with the preceding 
year saved to the state from one hundred 
and twenty thousand dollars to one 
hundred and sixty thousand dollars. In 
dealing with forest fires wise prevention 
is infinitely better than the most heroic 

In three other directions the forest 
service of Connecticut has rendered 
valuable assistance to citizens of the 
state. The experimental plantations at 
Rainbow have proved beyond question 
that the trees best adapted for planting 
are white, Scotch, Norway, and pitch 
pines, and of the deciduous trees, chest- 
nut, red oak, and black locust. Forest 
seedlings to the number of six hundred 
and thirty-five thousand trees in the last 
two years have been distributed to a large 
number of woodland owners at cost. 
The educational work of the service has 
consisted of addresses, numerous bulle- 

tins, and reports of a high order of merit, 
and much direct advice to owners in their 
woodlands, including sometimes exten- 
sive maps and plans of work for a series of 
years. Any farmer or woodland owner 
in the state may secure this advice, 
merely paying the necessary traveling 
expenses of the forester or his trained 


The splendid Commonwealth of Massa- 
chusetts has suffered, like Connecticut, 
from the indiscriminate and reckless 
waste of her forest resources. In the 
eastern part of the state, in towns along 
the coast that have a sandy soil, where 
pines grow to the exclusion of most other 
trees, devastating forest fires have oc- 
curred with particular frequency; and yet 
the fire law is not up to the standards of 
neighboring states, either of Connecticut, j 
Maine, or New York, whose examples I 
are near at hand. The towns of Massa- 1 



chusetts have forest fire-wardens, but 
these are appointed by the local authori- 
ties and are not controlled by the state 
forester, so there is no co-operation among 
them, no responsible head, no efficient 
instruction nor direction. A bill before 
the present legislature proposes the 
changes necessary for efficient action 
and enlarges the appropriation for the 
state forest service to this end. It ought 
to pass without delay. 

Citizens of Massachusetts have long 
been interested in the subject of forestry 
and in years gone by have planted many 
experimental forests on private estates. 
There is excellent sentiment on the sub- 
ject throughout the Commonwealth and 
particularly in Boston. This has found 
expression in the establishment of the 
Harvard Forest School, which has re- 
cently received a grant of between two 
and three thousand acres of forest land 
at Petersham, for experimental purposes, 
and in the organization several years 

ago of the Massachusetts Forestry 
Association, a body of earnest men and 
women who are directly responsible for 
securing the present state forest service 
and the state forester. No forestry 
society has done better work. The in- 
fluence of the Appalachian Mountain 
Club and its sixteen hundred members 
has been felt strongly in all movements 
for scientific forestry. There is much 
growing enthusiasm among the agri- 
cultural societies and the granges of the 
state. When this public sentiment shall 
be aroused and concentrated upon the 
forest needs of the state, a forest policy 
adequate to the future needs of Massa- 
chusetts may be looked for, with wider 
powers given to the state forester's 
office, and a more prompt and generous 
support from the legislature. An ex- 
cellent beginning is being made by the 
state forester, whose activities on the 
educational side in making addresses 
and in printing and distributing literature 

In "the Massachusetts State Forest Nursery at Amherst. White ash seedlings 

ready for distribution 



Mother seed trees of white pine and 
their progeny. new hampshire 

are not less commendable than his 
practical work in examining woodlands 
throughout the state, and in his manage- 
ment of the state nurseries at the Agri- 
cultural College, at Amherst. He gives 
instruction also at the State College. 
As in Connecticut, any woodland owner 
may secure the advice of the state 
forester, or his trained assistants, by 
simply paying traveling expenses. 

In 1905 Massachusetts began to ac- 
quire state forest reserves and now has 
the following commendable record : 


Mt. Wachusett 1,300 acres, 1905 

Mt. Tom 1,600 acres, 1905 

Mt. Greylock 8,144 acres, 1906 

Mt. Sugarloaf 81 acres, 1907 

Middlesex Fells ^ 

Blue Hill 1 1a . ao1 inrw 

Stony Brook 10 > 081 acres ' 1907 

Beaver Brook J 

Total, 21,206 acres 
The first four of these reserves are 
managed by local commissioners in the 
counties in which they are situated. 
The last four were created and are con- 
trolled by the Metropolitan Park Com- 
mission. All are state property, and all, 
except those held primarily for park 
purposes, will probably come in time 
under the general direction of the state 
forester. It is absurd for a state to 
employ a state forester without giving 
him charge of the state forests. There 

are, for instance, no reports to the state 
on the condition and value of these re- 
serves. The several county commis- 
sioners return only a financial statement 
of wood sold. Presumably the thinnings, 
are wisely done. Who is to judge? 

One hundred and twenty-one woodland 
owners availed themselves of the forest- 
er's offer last year to send a selected 
group of seedlings at cost to those who 
would plant and care for them. Six 
hundred thousand trees are ready for 
distribution this spring. An offer to 
send seeds and seedling trees to schools 
for planting by the children was ac- 
cepted by forty-seven teachers. Mas- 
sachusetts is the first state to use the 
schools as a means of extending forest 
planting, a system well developed in 
some European countries, particularly 
in Norway. 


Maine surpasses the other New England 
states in one important direction. [j^Her 
fire laws for unorganized territory, which 


Thinnings were sold for sixty-five 

doeears per acre. twice that 

vaeue remains 



include the vast woods of northern Maine, 
are both original and adequate. The 
law passed in the spring of 1903, just 
before the dry summer came on. It put 
a system of paid district fire wardens 
under the control of the state forestry 
commissioner, and under the district 
wardens local wardens to patrol the 
woods, warn campers and fishermen, 
follow them up when necessary, and 
extinguish any fires left by them. These 
men were just getting into action when 
two months without rain caused the 
woods to become like tinder, so that every 
passing locomotive left scores of fires 
behind it, and every camp fire was likely 
to become a conflagration. The presence 
of these men at this time was not unlike 
that of the Monitor in Hampden Roads, 
in the Civil War. They seemed raised 
up to prevent the damage by fire from 
which the other states, and particularly 
the White Mountains, in New Hamp- 
shire, suffered most severely. At a cost 
of $10,000 many hundreds of thousands 
of dollars' worth of property was saved. 

The unique part of Maine's fire service 
consists in the location of six stations on 
the tops of high mountains, each of which 
overlooks three or four hundred thousand 
acres. Each is connected by telephone 
with the nearest district fire warden. 
An intelligent watchman is on guard in 
dry season, who by means of field glasses 
and maps is able to locate incipient 
fires, even at great distances, and to send 
to them immediate material and men in 
order to extinguish them. Although the 
experiment has been tried only two 
summers, each station has to its credit a 
fine record. Again, the cost is small 
and the property saved very large. Seven 
hundred and fifty dollars equips a station. 
The following mountain tops are thus used : 

Squaw Mountain, four thousand feet 
high, at the southern end of Moosehead 
Lake. The observatory is a log cabin 
structure from which the operator makes 
his observations every hour in the day. 

Attean Mountain, on the south shore 
of Moose River, twenty miles west^of 





White; pine trees four years old, set out five feet apart each way. 

New Hampshire 

Mt. Bigelow, a high hill in Skinner- 
town, commanding the headwaters of 
the Moose and Dead rivers. 

Spencer Mountain, ten miles east of 
Moosehead Lake. 

Whitecap Mountain, from which three 
hundred thousand acres of the head- 
waters of the Kennebec and Penobscot 
rivers can be seen. 

More than one million acres are thus 
under observation. Hon. Edgar E. Ring, 
forestry commissioner, has brought about 
Maine's fire laws and put them into 

Three years ago the state college at 
Orono established a department with a 
professor of forestry, through whom 
valuable studies of conditions in Maine 
have been made, in co-operation with the 
United States Forest Service at Wash- 
ington. Legislative action in Maine has 
been guided almost entirely by the great 
lumber interests, who are now more and 
more realizing that the efforts of the 
state to protect the forests from fire and 
to educate the people upon the subject 

are both directly in their interest. The 
situation now is such that if the state 
appropriation were suddenly to cease, its 
work might be continued, as happened 
in the state of Washington two or three 
years ago, by contributions directly from 
the lumbermen. 


Rhode Island enjoys the interesting 
distinction of having a forest area larger 
in proportion to her total area than any 
other state in the Union. As the urban 
population is very large, practically the 
entire wooded part of the state is needed 
to supply drinking water. Sooner or 
later this is likely to be acquired by the 
state. Quite recently a forestry com- 
missioner has been appointed to report 
upon conditions. Already he has done 
much useful work in advising woodland 
owners how best to care for their property. 
Rhode Island, like Massachusetts, has a 
Metropolitan Park Commission to pre- 
serve and beautify the natural advan- 



tages of Greater Providence. Forest 
reserves are within its program. Thus 
a valuable beginning has been made, and 
public sentiment is growing. 

One of the best incentives to state 
action occurs at Potonatomuh Neck, 
where thirty years ago there was a 
barren, wind-swept expanse of sand 
dunes and stubby fields, which is now an 
attractive woodland covered with trees 
of considerable size. The exposed loca- 
tion of the Neck, swept by the winds 
from the bay, made the experiment one 
that was considered very doubtful at 
the time. It was planted with seedlings 
of two or three inches' growth, and the 
result shows very happily what can be 
done with all the other waste land in the 


Vermont has an active forestry com- 
missioner doing excellent educational 
work throughout the state, giving advice 
to owners; also a forest nursery located 
at the State University in Burlington. 
There are experimental plantations also, 
in the vicinity of Burlington. Forest 
seedlings are distributed to land owners 
who fulfill the simple conditions necessary 
to secure them. A pamphlet is issued 
each spring and widely circulated, de- 
scribing the seedlings that the state has 
for distribution. With an appropriation 
of only five hundred dollars a year for 
this purpose, results likely to be far 
reaching are already apparent. 

The progress of forestry in Vermont is 
almost entirely due to the work of the 
State Forestry Association which is 
actively at work under the leadership of 
Professor L. R. Jones, of the State Uni- 
versity. Its program is definite, and 
larger results are expected. The State 
Experiment Station has secured the 
co-operation of New York state foresters 
from neighboring plantations in the 
Adirondack Mountains, and has printed 
two excellent pamphlets on what the 
state should stand for in forest work. 


In order to win the co-operation of the 
Forest Service, at Washington, in making 
a survey of the White Mountains, for the 

purpose of securing a national forest 
reserve, the state of New Hampshire 
appropriated $5,000 in 1903. The work 
was placed in charge of Mr. Alfred 
Chittenden, of the Forest Service. It was 
made to cover the entire northern part 
of the state, where the watersheds of the 
great rivers of New England lie, and 
the work was done so economically that 
only half of the appropriation was used. 
At a later session of the state legislature 
the Forest Service was invited to com- 
plete the survey for the entire state, 
which was done. New Hampshire is 
the first state in the Union, therefore, to 
have a fairly complete statement of its 
forest resources made by experts. 

The state has taken progressive action 
in another direction. Mr. Robert E. 
Faulkner, of Keene, Secretary of the 
State Forestry Commission, has given 
the salary attached to that office. One 
thousand dollars is now being used to 
make a special study in the state of 
forest fires and forest taxation. Again 
the co-operation of the Forest vService has 
been secured, which means that at any 
reasonable cost the study will be com- 
plete and thorough. 

The fire law in New Hampshire, like 
that in Massachusetts, provides for local 
fire wardens, but without central di- 
rection or co-operation. The provisions 
for unorganized townships are cumber- 
some and inoperative, and the whole 
needs revision to make it effective, like 
the forest fire laws of Connecticut and 
Maine. Because the White Mountains, 
which form the watersheds of the most 
important rivers in New England, lie 
within the borders of New Hampshire, 
her fire laws are very important. Whether 
or not a national forest is established, 
large areas on these watersheds must 
necessarily remain under state care. 

The state forest land in New Hamp- 
shire consists of two pieces of approxi- 
mately five hundred acres each, presented 
to the state by citizens and summer 
visitors. The first of these is the White 
Horse and Cathedral ledges, at North 
Conway, which were about to be de- 
stroyed by quarrymen. The forest at 
the foot and at the top of the ledges is 
under the care of the State Forestry 



Commission. The other piece, covered 
with spruce and hardwood timber, lies 
on Monadnock Mountain, sloping down 
toward the village of Jaffrey. It was 
soon to be stripped off, when a group of 
nature-loving people in the neighborhood 
tried to buy it, but without success, 
because the owner asked an unreasonable 
sum. They then formed the Monadnock 
Forestry Association and called upon the 
State Forestry Commission, which in 
New Hampshire has the power to con- 
demn land and make it the property of 
the state, provided it is paid for without 
cost to the state. The state merely used 
its right of eminent domain in the in- 
terest of a group of citizens. 

The state of New Hampshire granted 
to Dartmouth College nearly a hundred 
years ago a township consisting of 
twenty-six thousand acres in the extreme 
northern part of New Hampshire. The 
college has had the wisdom to hold this 
property which is now valuable, not- 
withstanding the fact that large quantities 
of timber were cut from it by lumber 
companies under contracts which the 

college authorities could not control. 
These contracts were terminated three 
years ago and the college is now seeking 
to put the tract into such shape that it 
can demonstrate to the state what 
can be done to improve forest lands not- 
withstanding severe inroads. 


No account of state forest operations 
in New England would be complete 
without including the public reservations 
of the Appalachian Mountain Club, of 
which there are two in Massachusetts, 
seven in New Hampshire, and one in 
Maine, aggregating nearly one thousand 
acres. These are held as public forest 
reserves, freely open to all. The two in 
Massachusetts, and in New Hampshire 
all but one, have been exempted from 
taxation. As they are located in places 
of especial beauty the broad policy of 
the club, shown in its public manage- 
ment of these reserves, has won deserved 

Mt. Monadnock from Jaffrey, New Hampshire. Five hundred acres for forest were 
paid for by citizens and taken under eminent domain by the state 



Primeval spruce near Mt. Katahdin, in Maine, in the proposed 
state forest reserve 


In view of the advancing scarcity of 
timber throughout the United States, 
with ever-increasing demands upon our 
state forest resources, and with the cer- 
tainty that the mountain forests of the 
east in the near future must supply, not 
only the states in which the forests stand, 
but also other states, particularly those 
devoted primarily to agriculture east of 
the Mississippi River, the question 
presses forcibly, what is an adequate 

state forest policy? It should include 
among other things the following: 

1. The education of the people. A 
state forest service should be adequately 
equipped for the distribution of literature 
showing conditions, needs, and oppor- 
tunities for forest growth throughout 
the state, besides having a well-equipped 
lecture service with photographs and 
lantern slides to be used at all kinds of 

2. Adequate provision for giving help- 
ful suggestions and advice to woodland 
owners. Every farm should have its 



proportion of woodland, and there should 
be provision for showing every farmer 
how to manage it for the best results. 
By far the larger portion of the state 
forest area should always be in such 
hands, and there can be no intelligent 
state policy which does not give earnest 
attention to these holdings. 

3. A system of fire protection based 
upon the principle that the state is 
responsible for the preservation of pro- 
perty and that here, as in medicine, 
prevention is infinitely better than cure. 
There should be local town fire wardens, 
properly instructed and directed by 
proper central authority. 

4. An equitable and just system of 
taxation of forest lands. 

5. An executive department of trained 
men whose chief should be the state 

6. The acquisition by the state of 
non-agricultural land in large holdings, 
to be controlled either by the state or 
the towns in the state, as public forest 
land, for the reason that neither in this 
country nor abroad has the management 
of this class of land by private owners 
been other than detrimental to the pub- 
lic interest. 

It is a matter for much congratulation 
that Connecticut and Massachusetts have 
already taken steps to put this program 
into actual operation. The other New 
England states are some distance behind, 
but the need in them, particularly in 
Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont, 
is much greater because they contain 

such large areas of mountain land which 
is covered with natural forest. The well- 
being of New England depends primarily 
upon such forest preservation as shall in- 
sure no t only a timber supply for the future, 
but also the protection of the great 
rivers in the interests of manufacture and 
navigation. Even if the national forest 
reserve in the White Mountains shall be 
established, it will be comparatively 
valueless without the widespread co- 
operation of the states in the preserva- 
tion of forest-covered areas. As yet 
none of the states have a true conception 
of the task to be accomplished. Few 
people realize that the beginning of a 
timber famine is upon us, and that al- 
ready the prices of nearly everything 
made of wood have doubled. Nothing 
can more encourage state action than 
the establishment by the government of 
the White Mountain forest. 

The bill for the proposed National 
Forest in the White Mountains is still 
pending before both the Agricultural and 
Judiciary Committees of the House of 
Representatives. The leaders of the 
House appear to be determined to ad- 
journ without passing any but the 
regular appropriation bills. With the 
forests of the White Mountain region 
vanishing at the rate of three hundred 
acres daily or thirty-five thousand acres 
annually, a year's delay causes great and 
irreparable damage. It is politics, not 
statesmanship, that thwarts the will of 
the people. How long shall we submit 
to this form of dictation in government? 

i I 

The Life-Saving Service 


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Rescuing human life through icy seas 

A MATTER that is presented to 
Congress perennially, and that, 
according to reports, is being 
pressed vigorously this season, concerns 
the needs of the life-saving service. To 
guard Atlantic and Pacific coasts and the 
shores of the Great Lakes now costs about 
what is expended annually upon the 
Boston Fire Department. Life-saving 
stations to the number of two hundred 
and seventy-eight, together with half- 
way houses and the House of Refuge in 
Florida, are maintained on a budget 
that comes well within two million dollars. 
It appears to be generally agreed among 
shipping-men that this amount is in- 
sufficient, and that the equipment of a 
service which since its inception in 1871 
has saved 19,741 lives, as against 1,127 

lives lost in wrecks, and rescued property 
valued at $192,024,512, as against a loss 
of $50,659,087, is in many essential 
respects distinctly more meager than is 
right. Various improvements are de- 
sired, such as the introduction of mechan- 
ical power in the lifeboats, which can be 
installed only as funds for the purpose 
become available. At present rigid 
economy has to be practiced to keep 
within the appropriation at all. 

Above all, the efficiency of the service is 
liable to be seriously impaired if provi- 
sion is not made for more adequate com- 
pensation of the life-savers themselves, 
men who live on a scanty wage without 
hope of finding their old age secured in 
case they escape the perils of one of the 
most hazardous of callings. On Cape 




Cod one hears this spring that the ques- 
tion of the future supply of surfmen and 
station keepers is becoming serious. 
Heroism has never been traded in as an 
ordinary labor commodity, but even 
heroes have to exact a living-wage. The 
surfmen at present receive fifty dollars 
a month for ten months' work. They 
take a summer vacation of two months 
without pay — at a time when it is not 
always easy to find temporary employ- 
ment. The keepers of the stations are 
paid $800 a year for twelve months' 
service, — a very small salary, surely, 
when the responsibilities which they 
assume are considered. 

Despite the small pay, it was easily 
possible as late as twenty or even fifteen 
years ago — at least along this New 
England coast — to fill vacancies in the 
service with hardy and competent native 
seamen and fishermen. The calling, by 
its nature, is attractive to men of the 
heroic type; it is more dignified than 
most of the occupations that are open to 

them if they forsake the sea]altogether. 
The New England stations are still full 
of employees who have been in the ser- 
vice continuously for a long time, and 
who will not willingly leave it, however 
the plaints of their families may cause 
them now and then to grumble over the 
inadequacy of the compensation. At 
the most dangerous point on Cape Cod 
is a keeper who has presided over launch- 
ings of the lifeboat for twenty-six years. 
At the angle which stands second in the 
list of casualties is a keeper who was 
trained by the former captain in the 
duties of his position more than twenty 
years ago. At almost any station mess- 
table one meets surfmen who have 
walked the beaches for fifteen or twenty 
years. The service in its present estate 
is young, and it contains a number of 
men who took jobs almost simultaneously 
at a time when it was still possible to 
pick and choose among some of the 
sturdiest specimens of New England 

Copyright 1906. C B. Webster & Co. 

The most perilous or ale labors 



Copyright 1906. C. B. Webster & Co. 


Very many of these veterans will 
inevitably be mustered out in the next 
few years. Whence can the district 
superintendents secure younger surfmen 
as intelligent, honest, and competent as 
the appointees of a quarter of a century 
ago? No longer in our seaports are there 
so many native seafaring men as there 
once were — fellows who from infancy 
are accustomed to handle ropes, to launch 
boats through the surf, to watch and 
work in the face of blinding sand or sleet. 
The sons of old-time Yankee families, 
whose members for generations have 
gone to sea, nowadays go to school and 
thereafter qualify for employment in the 
cities. Fewer and fewer young men look 
forward to ownership of a sailing vessel 
as the crowning achievement of a useful 
career. Even the fishing industry tends 
more and more into the hands of the 
alien, Portuguese and others, — hardy 
seafarers, but unless the prejudice of 
natives against foreigners has given them 
an undeserved reputation, not the equals 
of the Anglo-Saxons in physical prowess 
or capacity for heroic self-sacrifice. 

Even for those of the younger genera- 
tion who are willing to consider entering 

the life-saving service the inducements are 
not what they were. Wages in other 
local pursuits have advanced, and the 
cost of living more than correspondingly. 
A successful fisherman at Provincetown 
will average better than the fifty dollars 
a month which Uncle Sam vouchsafes; 
and there may be a competence ahead 
for the "smart" young man who com- 
bines business capacity with his knowl- 
edge of the industry, for money is to be 
made in refrigerating fish, if not always in 
catching them. Then count in always 
the lure of industrial corporations in the 
large cities, which offer a husky man 
better pay than Superintendent Kimball 
can give, and, many of them, the prospect 
of an old age pension. On the platforms 
of street cars in Boston are scores of Cape 
Cod boys drawn from the very class out 
of which life-savers have been selected 
up to now. Aside from compensation 
it is doubtless found more entertaining 
by most men of native stock to work 
and live among urban attractions than 
solitarily to patrol the beaches in the 
ni^ht watches, and in the off-duty period 
to sit drowsily at cards in the mess-room 
against the bedtime hour at noon. 

Profile Lake; and the "Old Man of the Mountain" 

Our New England Alps as a National 

Health Resort 


[Mt. Washington and the Presidential Range dominate everything 

WHEN, in these halcyon days of 
outdoor life and study, we speak 
of America' s summer playground 
we know it is New England that is meant, 
for that is precisely what New England 
has come to be. 

Marvelous, indeed, has been the devel- 
opment of what, for want of a more de- 
scriptive term, may be called the summer 
vacation industry of this highly special- 
ized section of our common country. 

With every recurring summer, tens of 
thousands of people, representing every 
State and Territory of the Union, several 
of the provinces of Canada, and a few 
ountries of Europe and Asia added for 
?ood measure, flock to the six New Eng- 
'and commonwealths to enjoy their fine 

air, their incomparable scenery, and their 
restful life ; and ere the last of them have 
departed for their homes many millions 
of dollars have been contributed to the 
New England stockings and savings 

Everybody gets his " rake-off," — the 
landlord, the railroad shareholder, the 
professional guide, the farmer, the stable- 
keeper, the corner grocer, the boat owner, 
the " college waiter," the bellboy, even 
the magazine artist and the journalistic 
space writer. 

Railroad and steamboat fares, carriage 
and boat hire, salaries, wages, board bills, 
" tips," receipts for telegrams, postage 
stamps, supplies, fishing tackle, guns, 
newspapers, and souvenir postcards all 




The Flume is one of the region's most 
famous features 

figure, with many other items on the 
credit side of the summer vacation season 
ledger; and even marriages, the cancella- 
tion of mortgages and the erection of 
monumental shafts in the family burial 
lot are predicated upon this unfailing and 
ever increasing income from the thrice 
welcome " summer boarder." 

From the purely commercial point of 
view the annual influx of " regular " and 
" transient " summer visitors to Maine, 
New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachu- 
setts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut 
represents a tendency of modern Ameri- 
can life that is well worthy a careful 
analysis, but only one of its several 
phases will be considered here. 

In a general way, the outdoor summer 
life of New England is differentiated into 
three distinct departments — the sea- 
shore, the mountains, and the lakes. 

Humanity has its individualistic traits, 
even in the matter of holiday outings; 
and while there are some, with the neces- 
sary time and means at their disposal, 
who impartially divide their vacation 
among all three of these physical sub- 
divisions of the summer playground, the 
majority after a while pin their faith to 
one of them, and even the persuasive 
eloquence of Burton Holmes or Elmen- 
dorf would not suffice to make them 
change their allegiance. 

It matters little what ratio the number 
of those who have permanently given 
their heart and mind to the mountains 
bears to the number of those who " swear 
by" the seashore and the lakes — the 
fact stands out with the distinctness of 
Mt. Chocorua against a cloudless sky 
that in no part of the great vacation field 
of New England has there been such a 
remarkable and interesting development 
as in that section of it occupied by the 
White and Franconia Mountains. 

Rip Van Winkle, awaking from his 
twenty years' slumber in the Catskills, did 
not rub his eyes with half as much vigor 
and surprise as would Abel and Ethan 
Crawford, could they arise to-day from 
their long sleep and see the miraculous 
changes that have taken place in their 
beloved White Hills, of whose great army 
of summer and winter visitors they were 
the pioneers. 

Not that the mountains themselves 
have changed. They cannot change, 
save as the destroying hand of the lumber- 
man or of the fire demon can change 
them; but the change that has taken place 
in the social life that is lived amid their 
slopes and valleys, even during the last 
two decades, is something to make those 
of a later day than Abel Crawford marvel. 

Ever since the days when Starr King, 
Samuel Adams Drake, Whittier, Sweetser, 
and the other loyal literary subjects of 
Mt. Washington and his great family first 
stirred the interest of the public in New 
Hampshire's peerless highlands, the pop- 
ularity of the White and Franconia region 
has been constantly growing, until to-day 
the mountains possess a social life such as 
no other part of the world can furnish 
the exact duplicate of. 

Within their confines, or in their near 



Crawford Notch is Alpine* and impressive in its beauty 

vicinity, 1 ! have grown up something like 
forty different communities which are dis- 
tinctively known as vacation centers, and 
each of these has from one to thirty hotels 
and boarding-houses. At least one of 
them — Bethlehem — has expanded into 
a veritable summer city, and to its hos- 
pitable embrace no less than two thousand 
hayfever victims fly at stated periods 
every summer, serenely confident that 
there, if nowhere else on the planet, they 
will find relief from their affliction. 
i $The total population of this altitudi- 
nous sanatorium will at times during the 
summer reach ten thousand, its members 
having at their disposal all the long list of 
outdoor pastimes and indoor gayeties for 
which the White and Franconia moun- 
tains are famed. 

A lot of other resorts where real estate 
valuations and census figures have alike 

expanded, such as North Conway, Inter- 
vale, North Woodstock, Littleton, and 
Holderness, might be mentioned; but the 
most remarkable manifestation of the 
mountains has been not so much the 
growth and multiplication of individual 
centers as the evolution of the mountain 
hotel itself. 

The mountain region is democratic. 
There is a welcome there for the mechanic 
and the millionaire, but there are places 
in it which the mechanic is quite content 
to leave to the millionaire for his exclusive 

These are the centers where, appropri- 
ately enough, the million dollar hotel has 
upreared its castle-like proportions, and 
where the kings of finance of Wall Street, 
the captains of industry of Pittsburg, and 
the merchant princes of Chicago or Kan- 
sas City roll up big weekly bills in sump- 



Goef and tennis are favorite outdoor pastimes 

tuous five-room suites, or disport them- 
selves in $10,000 motor cars. 

There is at least one great hostelry, The 
Mount Washington, in the very heart of 
the White Mountains, erected six years 
ago, the cost of which is not far from 
$1,500,000. Wealthy guests who have 
been coming to the mountains regularly 
for a generation, and who themselves are 
used to every luxury at home, have not 
even yet been able to convince themselves 
that their primitive summer resting-place 
has actually been invaded by a hotel such 
as they have always associated with St. 
Augustine or Pasadena, rather than with 
the White Mountains of New Hampshire. 

But there it stands, however, with its 
stately facade, its accommodations for 
half a thousand guests, its four hundred 
retainers, its swimming pool, its eighteen- 
hole golf course, its squash and tennis 
courts, its bicycle path, its automobile 
garage, its fine livery, its hundreds of 
electric lights, and, above all, its incom- 
parable view of mountain top, ravine, and 
plateau — typical of the newer summer 
social life in the grand old mountains, the 

life of ease and luxury and prodigal 
twentieth-century expenditure. 

Take an airship for another part of|the 
•mountain region — and you will be doing 
that ere you realize it — not so many 
miles removed, and there in the widened- 
out part of a remarkable defile that is one 
of the mountain region's plenitude of 
natural wonders, you will discover yet 
another palatial new hostelry, with an 
echo-invested lake hard by, a great stone 
face looking soberly down from a thou- 
sand-foot cliff just around the corner, and 
a wonderful " Flume" not many minutes' 
journey away. 

But more interesting than all to the 
student of modern American tendencies 
is the score or more of cozy private 
cottages clustered around the great hotel, 
like a flock of gay-colored chickens 
hovering near their giant mother. 

Here is yet another phase of summer 
vacation life in the mountains. In one of 
these cottages you will find the family of a 
noted New York banker; in another, a 
famous writer of books and poems; in yet! 
another, an illustrious college president, j 


a 17 

The coaching parade 

Physicians, lawyers, artists, manufac- 
turers fill out the list. It is a thoroughly 
representative vacation colony of Ameri- 
cans in the higher walks of business and 
professional life. For the most part they 
and their families and guests take their 
meals at the big hotel, enjoying private 
home life, without its more disagreeable 
features in the cottages. 

Each different summer center, of 
course, has its own characteristics of 
scenery or life. Holderness, for instance, 
which is more a lake center, is quite the 
antithesis of Jefferson or Gorham, and 
there is about North Conway but little 
that suggests North Woodstock. 

The mountains, as every one knows, 
cover an area of several hundred square 
miles, and they have all the diversity of 
physical characteristic that mountains 
might be expected to possess. They are 
truly the Alps of New England in a geo- 
graphical as well as a social sense, lacking 
little but glaciers and alpine-hatted guides 
to make them the real Swiss article. They 

have a beauty and charm that is all their 
own. In the Canadian Rockies and in 
the Sierras there are loftier peaks and 
sublimer outlooks, but after he has gazed 
down into the emerald depths of Lake 
Louise, stood tremblingly upon the brink 
of Glacier Point overlooking the Yosemite 
Valley three thousand feet below, or 
looked awe-struck across the swimming 
depths of the Grand Canyon, the average 
American, after he has come back and 
once again enjoyed the marvelous vista 
from the summit of Mt. Washington or 
adown the Crawford Notch somehow or 
other instinctively feels that this picture 
the more nearly spells for him the word 
" Home." 

In the steadily lengthening summer 
" season," and in the fact that nowadays 
it has grown to be a popular winter resting 
and recreation ground for city folk, is 
found another significant change in the 
life of the mountains. Formerly, where 
the regular summer season was confined 
to a period of less than two months, to- 



advent in the mountain fastnesses through 
which Pioneer Crawford laboriously cut 
his first trails a century ago was distinctly 
epochal, not to say sensational. 

Old-time permanent dwellers in the 
White Hills have not yet been quite able 
to grasp the truth that a few years ago 
there was a race between automobiles up 
the stiff and dangerous slopes of Mt. 
Washington, and that similar miracles 
have taken place since. It has been 
almost too much for the natives to be- 
lieve, and an event that many of the 
veteran visitors had never classed within 
the range of probability. 

Coaching is one of the chief delights 
or mountain life 

day it opens around the first of July and 
does not close until mid-September. 
Even the larger houses, in some cases, are 
likely to be well supplied with guests 
around the period of the Glorious Fourth, 
and of late years the habitues of the 
mountains have come to better appre- 
ciate the wonderful beauty of the 
autumnal foliage of September and linger 
in the region for the purpose of enjoying 
it. Even California, with all its prodi- 
gality of scenery, has nothing that 
matches the gold and crimson glories of 
the Crawford Notch in autumn. 

The inventive genius of man, ever con- 
spiring to change our customs and shatter 
our traditions, has been responsible for 
yet another revolution in White Moun- 
tain life. The introduction of the palace 
hotel, the golf course, the swimming- 
pool, the bicycle path, together with the 
improvement of roads and trails, has 
had a noticeable effect upon the material 
prosperity of the mountain region as a 
vacation center, and the extension of the 
telephone and telegraph service, the 
augmentation of mails, and the issuance 
of daily newspapers have also been factors 
of some importance in shaping its 

The most remarkable manifestation of 
all, however, has been the entirely modern 
introduction of the automobile. Even in 
the cities the motor carriage brought in 
its train a series of far-reaching effects 
upon our urban civilization, but its 

Winter visitors 

And yet it is a fact that automobiles, 
no matter how Frenchified their designa- 
tions or how pungent the trail of gasoline 
they leave behind them in the rarefied air, 
nowadays ascend or descend the steepest 
mountain roadways at will, and in a few 
hours can make a grand circuit of the hills 
and valleys that would have required old 
Abel Crawford days to perform. 

Good roads, fine scenery, bracing ozone, 
and comfortable hotels, indeed, have 
combined to make the White and Fran- 
conia mountains a veritable paradise for 
automobilists, and their advent is yet 
another proof that no longer are coaching 
and croquet the principal pastimes of the 
region, as some one has aptly said. 

In the ancient days the piazza conver- 
sation at the mountain hotels was largely 
of stocks and railroad deals and sunsets. 
Now it is more likely to be of chauffeurs, 



carburetters, motors, and tonneaus, with 
a liberal flavoring of gasoline. The sun- 
sets and the cloud effects come in quite 

When the automobile first made its ap- 
pearance on the not too broad mountain 
highways its name was anathema with 
the natives, and especially with the own- 
ers of liveries. Depressing visions of 
bankrupt stables and of a summer popu- 
lation daily decimated as the result of 
runaway accidents directly traceable to 
the dangerous " buzz-wagons " were con- 
jured up by many, and even some of the 

An ideal way of " doing : 


hotel managers looked upon the appari- 
tion with a none too friendly eye. 

Like the popular opposition to most of 
the other of the world's innovations, how- 
jever, all this antipathy has now died 
away. The livery-keepers have not gone 
into insolvency, the death rate among the 
summer colony has not been noticeably 
[increased, and from no one do the auto- 
mobilists receive the glad hand with 
greater fervor than from the landlords. 
|If any one has been damaged in pocket- 
wok or feelings by the irruption of autos 
tin the mountains, it has been the rail- 
[roads; but even they are not complaining ; 
In fact, they take a broadminded view 
bf the situation and rather rejoice in the 

fact that such a large and important 
addition to the wealthier class of White 
Mountain patrons has been made through 
this means. 

Indeed, the arrival of a big touring car 
containing the family and guests of some 
New York or Boston millionaire is a 
matter of some consequence to the aver- 
age hotel manager, even though they are 
due to remain but a few hours. It means 
much to him in both a financial and 
social sense. 

As a matter of fact, it is quite the thing 
in these days for the owner of a big auto- 
car to travel to the White Mountains in 
this way. This is the exalted privilege 
of the millionaire, and he undoubtedly 
displays good sense in taking advantage 
of it. For the million, the parlor car or 
the day coach will continue to be the pop- 
ular medium of transportation, however, 
until Abel and Ethan Crawford have been 
dead a good many more years. 

To tour to the mountains, en famille, 
from New York, Philadelphia, Boston, 
and other large cities is quite the thing in 
these days, and it is difficult to conceive 
of a more delightful way of spending one's 
money and time. It is a sort of exalted, 
aristocratic gipsy's life, for the partici- 
pants may travel where they list, and 
may stop for luncheon at roadside or in 
leafy forest as the spirit moves. It is 
more exciting than houseboating, and for 

Off for a ten-mile canter 



bona fide, ten per cent dividend enjoy- 
ment is equaled only by the California 
pastime of traveling to the Yosemite 
Valley and other popular vacation places 
in a house on wheels. 

A favorite route from New York is 
through the lovely Berkshires, and thence 
northerly into the Green Mountains of 
Vermont and across to the particular ob- 
jective point in the mountains. The 
Connecticut railroad route offers easier 
grades but less variety of scenery. Motor 
car tourists from Boston — New Eng- 
land's great summer vacation clearing- 
house — have a choice of enticing routes. 
A popular one is along the far-famed 
North Shore of Massachusetts, taking in 
Manchester, Magnolia, and perhaps 
Gloucester and Anisquam, and thence 
through Newburyport and Portsmouth 
and up through North Conway and In- 
tervale into the heart of the green and 
white hills. Another delightful highway 
lies along the banks of the lovely Merri- 
mac Valley and past glorious Lake 

Winnepesaukee into the Pemigewasset 
Valley and Franconia Notch. 

After " doing" the mountains, many 
of the automobilists keep on into parts 
of the great Maine wilderness, in order to 
get a taste of even more primitive New 
England scenery and life. Some include 
in their itinerary the famous Rangeley 
Lakes, — described elsewhere in this issue, 
— reaching this delightful fishing and 
vacation resort via the wild and pictur- 
esque Dixville Notch. From Rangeley 
they continue to Brunswick, Portland, 
and Old Orchard, and back to Boston by 
way of the seashore. In what other part 
of America could a more diversified and 
delightful auto tour be enjoyed ? 

On the whole, the roads in the moun- 
tain region are in excellent condition, and 
they are being improved all the time; for 
New Hampshire is quite wideawake to 
the importance of the " good roads " 
propaganda, just as it is sitting up and 
taking notice of the necessity of pre- 
serving its forests. This, of course, con- 

4 l; '->^'- 


Echo Lake is one of New England's scenic views 



Picturesque cascades everywhere greet the eye 

tributes much to the comfort and con- 
venience of the automobilists, and it also 
helps to give New Hampshire a good 
name outside of the state. 
_The annual " Glidden tour," held 
under the auspices of the American 
Automobile Association, usually includes 
the White Mountains in its itinerary, and 
this is always accounted one of the most 
interesting parts of the famous outing. 
There are a number of stated local tours, 
including one from Bretton Woods to 
Profile House, returning by way of Beth- 
lehem, a distance of forty-eight miles, 
and another of seventy-two miles, en- 
circling the Presidential Range. These, 
however, are mere before-breakfast spins, 
and the one that begins to look a little 
like a real tour takes in the grand circuit 
of the White Mountains, and covers a 
distance of one hundred and forty-eight 
miles. It includes the Franconia Notch, 
Pemigewasset Valley, Lake Winnepe- 
saukee, Mt. Chocorua, and Crawford 
Notch. Life is well worth living when 
one can enjoy a treat like this. 

A favorite sixty-mile endurance run 
takes the contestants from Bretton Woods 
to Twin Mountain, Littleton, Lancaster, 
Franconia, Sugar Hill, Profile House, and 
Bethlehem, and from there back to the 
starting point. 

The great gold-medal test of nerve and 
skill comes, however, when the ascent of 
Mt. Washington by way of its carriage 
road is essayed. In August, 1861, the 
first coach to ascend to the summit was 
drawn thither laboriously by eight horses, 
with George W. Lane handling the rib- 
bons. In these days it is not an uncom- 
mon thing for an automobile to make the 
ascent over the stiff carriage road, with 
its five to twenty per cent grades, in less 
than fifty minutes. What must the grim 
Old Man of the Mountains over in yonder 
Notch think of all this when Washington, 
Madison, Monroe, and the other " Presi- 
dents " sent him the news by wireless 
telegraph ? 

So firmly entrenched is the automobile 
in the mountains, indeed, that there is 
already a project for building a broad 



boulevard extending twenty-five miles 
from the Crawford House, at the head of 
the Crawford or White Mountain Notch, 
to Maplewood, Bethlehem, and Littleton, 
passing the Mount Washington, Mount 
Pleasant, Fabyan, and Twin Mountain 
houses in the earlier part of its course. 
The plan is to have a separate roadway 
for automobiles and carriages, with a cen- 
tral reservation for equestrians, these 
three to be flanked on either side by paths 
for pedestrians. It will be noted that the 
rights of the tramper are always kept in 
mind in the mountains, and for his par- 
ticular benefit many thousands of dollars 
have been expended in breaking out trails 
through the highland fastnesses. Walk- 
ing has always been, and always will be, 
one of the best and most popular of 
mountain pastimes. 

Other " modern improvements " are 
also in prospect for the mountains, and it 
is quite possible that before many years 
the famous cog railway to the summit of 
Mt. Washington will have^a rival on the 
slopes of Mt. Kear- 
sarge, standing se- 
rene and symmet- 
rical in the North 
Conway - Intervale 
country. The air- 
ship will not seem 
such a novelty 
when it comes, 
after all. 

Not only does 
the swift-flying 
auto daily drop its 
group of begoggled 
and dust-covered 
enthusiasts at the 
porte-cochere of 
every large hotel 
in the mountains, 
but frequently the 
private car of the 
railroad magnate 
or the "matador of 
finance" is likewise 
noticed to dis- 
charge its precious 
freight of aristoc- 
racy and opulence 
at one or the other 
of the mountain 

Even Sailing is Possible on the 
Mountain Lakes 

hotel stations. Not as many of these[rolI 
up through the Notch during a season as 
you might count at St. Augustine or 
Monterey, perhaps, but their number is 
increasing all the time, and before we 
know it another million and a half dollar 
hotel, with its five hundred guests, its 
four hundred attaches, and its five thou- 
sand electric lights will be figuring in 
the summer social columns of the Sun- 
day newspapers. 

Meanwhile, the clerk and the " sales^ 
lady " at Bethlehem are having a pretty 
good time themselves, thank you. 

So many important factors combine to 
give the mountain region its vogue as a | 
vacation resort one is led to marvel that a 
single section of country should have been 
treated so liberally by the Great Archi- 
tect. There is the high altitude with its 
pure and crisp air that makes the tourist 
feel as if he must have landed on Mars, or 
some planet equally remote, when he 
emerges from his train and first fills his 
lungs with its ozone; the solemn grandeur 
of the mountain 
scenery itself, the 
outdoor pastimes, 
the indoor com- 
forts, and last, but 
not least, the de- 
lightful social life. 
There are other 
attributes, too, 
that appeal to this 
one or that: the 
solitude that in- 
spires the pen or 
palette, the oppor- 
tunities for ama- 
teur photography 
and for geologizing 
and botanizing, 
and the wonderful 
prodigality of na- 
tural wonders with 
which the moun- 
tain section 

In this latter cat- 
egory there is, first 
of all, the famous 
Profile, Echo Lake, 
the remarkable 
Flume, Lost River, 



The Incomparable Cathedral Woods at Intervale 

he ice gorge at Randolph, the Crawford 
otch itself, and various waterfalls, 
xmlders, ravines, caverns, potholes, and 
listoric landmarks far too numerous to 
esignate here. 

Add the physical charms and mysteries 
f the region to its kaleidoscopic social 
fe, and one has enough to make for a 
tisfactory vacation outing, even if the 
ir and the general surroundings were not 
ssentially different from the lowland 
pun try. 

If you want to ascertain just what 
ffect this mountain life has upon the 
ody and mind of man or woman, just 
ok up the pedigree of any member of 
le famous Appalachian Mountain Club 
Boston, and the real truth will be re- 
aled to you. There are none that 
ow the mountains and their virtues 
e the Appalachians, not even the 
ountain landlords. They are the first 
visit their fastnesses in early summer 
d usually among the last to bid them 
rewell. Eor many years they have 
en holding annual field meetings in the 
hite and Franconia mountains, gather- 
t( |g sometimes at Intervale, at others at 

Jackson, Littleton, Gorham, or Bethle- 
hem, as the case may be. 

They are the climbers of New England 
(not the society kind) par excellence, and 
when they pronounce judgment on a 
mountain view or a mountain policy the 
final word has been said. They climb, 
with ease and nonchalance, Mt. Washing- 
ton and Madison, tramp in Indian file 
over the spinal column of the Presidential 
Range, camp out in Tuckerman's Ravine, 
look with disdain upon the cog railway 
and its tenderfoot occupants, and per- 
form more stunts of an outdoor kind in a 
given period of time than any one but a 
squad of Swiss guides could possibly hope 
to emulate. They have constructed or 
inspired the construction of trails over 
the mountains here, there, and every- 
where. They have erected huts of refuge 
for the benefit of those who may be caught 
in rainstorm or blizzard; they have writ- 
ten and published profound essays on 
the flora, fauna, and geology of the 
mountains; and in a general way they 
have been the intellectual and social 
pioneers of the entire region. The pres- 
ent age owes much, and posterity will 



Mt. Chocorua and Bear Camp — a beautiful gateway to the mountain paradise 

owe still more, to the progressive, nature- 
loving members of the Appalachian 
Mountain Club. All New England ought 
to apply for membership in the club. 

It was the Appalachians who first 
taught our people that winter vacations 
in the New England country are a delight 
and benefit rather than a horror. For 
years their hardy " snowshoe sections" 
have been invading the mountain region 
during the months when usually the en- 
tire landscape lies buried under several 
feet of snow. 

Making their headquarters at Jackson, 
Intervale, or some other favorite spot, 
they spend several delightful days ex- 
ploring the surrounding hills and valleys 
on snowshoes or skees, sometimes varying 
the programe with tobogganing, bob- 
sledding, or sleigh riding, and with skat- 
ing if the conditions are favorable. 
Women as well as men participate in this 

rare exercise, and many a set of feminine 
cheeks that left the North Station \ in 
Boston with a pallor akin to that of the 
snow itself have returned to the " Hub " 
with the color scheme radically changed 
and highly suggestive of rouge. 

The Passenger Department of the Bos- 
ton & Maine Railroad — the transporta- 
tion company which virtually controls 
the destiny of the mountains — quick- to 
appreciate the value of the lesson the 
Appalachians had been teaching, took 
hold of the matter in a systematic way, 
with the result that winter vacations are 
no longer confined to the South or to 
California or the West Indies. To-day 
the company makes this New England 
winter vacation idea a prominent feature 
of its regular advertising, and everywhere 
throughout the mountain section land- 
lords are beginning to keep their houses, 
or a part of them, open all the year round. 



Out for a bag of woodcock 

In some of them steam or hot water 
heating, as well as the traditional open 
fires, is supplied, and not only are heavy 
fur garments provided for the use of 
guests who like to go sleigh riding or 
snowshoeing, but the cuisine is especially 
adapted to cold weather needs. 

It has finally dawned upon many of our 
people that the proper way to take a mid- 
winter rest away from the damp and 
bleak seacoast is not to run down South 
for a couple of weeks and then rush home 
into the embrace of a Northern blizzard, 
but to get back into the cold, still high- 
lands of New England and there build up 
health and strength amid natural climatic 
conditions. Many physicians are ad- 
vising their patients to do this very thing. 

New England, therefore, has come to be 
an all the year round vacation resort. In 
some ways this winter outing idea is a 
more remarkable phase of evolution in 
the mountains than the advent of the 
palace hotel and the automobile. 

An interesting feature of summer life in 
the mountains is the good-natured rivalry 
in athletics that exists between the guests 
of the different large hotels. This is 
chiefly manifested in baseball matches 
between teams representing the honor and 

glory of various hostelries. Bowling, 
billiards, ping pong, shuffle- board, pro- 
gressive whist, and euchre are all in- 
dulged in, in addition to the pastimes 
already mentioned. Horseback riding 
is, of course, exceedingly popular. 

Of the more intellectual enjoyments 
there may be mentioned musicales and 
lectures, many of which are given. Fre- 
quently an amateur drama is presented, 
and one of the newer hotels has even 
provided a regularly equipped stage, with 
dressing-rooms and other accessories," on 
which dramatic performances of no mean 
order are given. The Boston Symphony 
Orchestra and vocalists equally famous 
frequently are heard at the big hotels, 
for the mountain region is a great fore- 
gathering place for noted singers and 
musicians. Thoroughly enjoyable and 
inspiring are the Sunday preaching and 
musical services that are usually held at 
the large hotels. At these services some 
of the country's most noted divines some- 
times officiate. 

On an eighteen-holE course 



One likes to dwell upon the subject of 
the altitudes of these various resorts, for 
that, of course, is largely what has made 
them. Their elevations above the sea 
range from 525 feet, as in the case of 
North Conway, to 1,900 and 1,904 feet 
respectively at the Crawford and Profile 
houses. The Mount Washington Hotel has 
an elevation of 1,610 feet, and that of the 
M a pie wood, 1,498. 

The four great notches giving ingress 
and egress to the great stream of tourist 
travel in the mountains are, Crawford 
Notch, 1,900 feet ; Franconia Notch, 1,974 
feet; Pinkham Notch, 2,018 feet; and 
Dixville Notch, 1,650 feet. The moun- 
tains themselves, as all the world knows, 
range in altitude from 6,293 feet for Mt. 
Washington, down to 3,251 for Kearsarge, 
and even lower elevations; for the less 
important peaks, Adams, Jefferson, Clay, 
Monroe and Madison, Lafayette, Lincoln, 
and Twin all come within the five thou- 
sand feet class. Yes, these are real and not 
toy mountains that we go into verbal and 
printed ecstasies over and proudly desig- 
nate " the New England Alps." 

A fairly complete list of the various 
White Mountain tourist centers, alpha- 
betically arranged, according to the 
non-discriminating Australian ballot sys- 
tem, is as follows: Bartlett, Bath, Berlin, 
Bethlehem, Bretton Woods (formerly 
Mount Pleasant), Campton, Campton 
Village, Colebrook, Dixville Notch, Fran- 
conia, Franconia Notch (including the 
Profile and Flume houses), Gorham, 
Groveton, Haverhill, Intervale, Jackson, 
Jefferson, Kearsarge Village, Lancaster, 
Lisbon, Littleton, North Conway, North 
Stratford, North Woodstock, Plymouth, 
Randolph, Rumney, Shelburne, Sugar 
Hill, Twin Mountain, Warren, Water- 
ville, Wentworth, West Campton, West 
Thornton, Whitefield, Wildwood, Wood- 
stock, and Woodsville. 

It will be interesting to watch the 
development of these attractive and 
restful resorts during the next quarter 
of a century. 

Taken as a whole, they already absorb 
a goodly percentage of the 125,000 
" regular " and 175,000 " transient " 
summer guests who flock to the Granite 
vState every season. In all New Hamp- 

shire there are less than a score of towns 
out of a total of 218 in which the " sum- 
mer boarder" is not entertained, and in 
the mountain resorts just enumerated 
much of the nearly $9,000,000 that has 
been invested in New Hampshire hotels 
and boarding-houses is represented. Like- 
wise, the landlords in these places get a 
fair-sized share of the $7,500,000, or 
thereabouts, that is annually contributed 
by summer guests in that remarkable 

It must not be assumed that all this 
wealth is flowing into the strong boxes of 
the hotel people without any effort what- 
ever on their part to make it do so. Water 
does not run up hill, and tourists and 
rest seekers do not always ascend into 
mountain regions, however beautiful, 
unless something is done to turn their 
thoughts and their feet in that direction. 

The mountain section, as a whole, and 
particularly the more prominent resorts, 
has been for years systematically ad- 
vertised at a cost of many thousands of 
dollars. Newspaper and magazine ad- 
vertising, and booklets most seductively 
written and illustrated, are utilized not 
only by the hotels but by the transporta- 
tion companies interested in building up 
this part of the New England summer 

Along this line the local hotel pro- 
prietors and business men have done a 
sane and progressive thing in organizing 
a White Mountain Board of Trade for 
the purpose of " booming" and improv- 
ing the White and Franconia region as a 
whole. This is the modern way of ex- 
ploiting a resort locality, — a general 
pooling of a percentage of the total in- 
dividual advertising of appropriations in 
the interests of the section as an entity. 
It is a policy that pays in the case of al- 
most any vacation community. 

It is to be assumed, of course, that at 
least three fourths of those who visit the 
White Mountain go thither with the hope 
or expectation of ascending to the sum- 
mit of grand old Mt. Washington, and, 
standing there on the wind-swept ridge- 
pole of New England, look out upon that 
marvelous cyclorama of mountain, valley, 
river, lake, and forest which so many 
thousands, and among them some of our 



most illustrious Americans, have viewed 
with varied emotions. 

Lucy Larcom well described that won- 
derful picture when she wrote: 

■" Our own familiar world, not yet half known, 
Nor loved enough, in tints of Paradise 

Lies there before us, now so lovely grown, 

We wonder what strange film was on our eyes 

Ere we climbed hither." 

There are many one-day summer ex- 
cursions that are widely advertised, at 
much expense, as the best ever; but 
surely that which takes the tourist up the 
slopes of Mt. Washington on the famous 
cog railway (which has never contributed 
anything to the much discussed railroad 
mortality of America), deposits him at a 
■comfortable hotel standing nearly 6,300 
feet above the sea, in ample time for 
always-welcome lunch, permitting him 
to feast his senses upon that wide- 
spreading and indescribable picture of 
land and sea and cloud, then sending him 
home to, his hotel by way of the Mt. 
Washington carriage road, Pinkham 
Notch, and the White Mountain Notch, 
is one that for variety and inspiration can 
scarcely be compared with any other in 
the land. 

Many have had the lifelong ambition to 
enjoy this experience; and once it has 
been fulfilled, nothing can ever displace 

Erom the summit of Mt. Washington 
one begins to get an understanding of the 
wonderful extent and variety of the New 
England and Canadian summer vacation 
section, for not only are Lake Winnepe- 
saukee, Squam Lake, and Sunapee Lake, 
with their important social life, revealed 
in their vernal setting, but the Atlantic 
Ocean, the Green Mountains of Vermont 
(a delightful part of our highlands that 
deserve a separate chapter) , and even 
some of the mountains of Maine and 
Canada are disclosed. 

Out in California the tourists make 
nocturnal visits to lofty Mt. Hamilton to 
view the stars through the great Lick 
telescope. In the White Mountains they 
ascend Mt. Washington to stay over 
night and pick out the distant cities of 
Portland, Lewiston, and Laconia, made 
visible by their glittering electric lights. 
This is another case in which they have 
the advantage of the Crawfords; but 
these sturdy pioneers at least had one 
thing in common with those of the present 
progressive generation, — the incompar- 
able sunrise and sunset effects from the 
summit of old Agiochook. 

With the further improvement of its 
roads, the multiplication of its hotels, the 
increase in number of its cottagers, the 
augmentation of its annual conventions, 
the still further refinement of its social 
life, and the preservation for all time of 
its forests, the White Mountain region 
will ultimately grow to be a second 
Switzerland; and, like Switzerland itself, 
it already has developed into an all the 
year round rest resort. 

The various summer centers will grow 
larger and more prosperous, the big hotels 
will grow even bigger, the toot toot! of 
the automobile whirling its dusty pas- 
sengers from point to point with rocket 
speed will be heard at more frequent 
intervals, and from the mansions of 
merchants, manufacturers, and bankers 
in every part of America and the palaces 
of European nobility will come a steadily 
increasing stream of those summer guests 
whom enterprising landlords love best 
to greet. 

And in equal ratio will increase the 
number of sojourners from the great 
middle class of American citizens, to 
whom will be extended with equal 
hospitality the " glad hand." 

As a summer vacation section, the 
mountains are merely upon the threshold 
of their vogue and prosperity. 







Famous New Engla nd Artists Series 

III. Frank W. Benson's "Portrait of 
My Daughters" 


THE decorative quality for which Frank W. Benson seems always to work is 
frequently coupled with peculiar witchery of technique, as in his "Portrait of 
My Daughters," awarded the Temple Gold Medal at the exhibition of this 
season at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. The canvas is unquestion- 
ably among the best things done by a very competent painter. The fascinating 
disposition of dark accents, the good understanding of the facts of form under the 
sparklingly painted draperies, the sense of ease of brushwork, give the artist and art 
student something to be enthusiastic about. The general public, concerned with 
non-technical considerations, likes the feeling of the joy of childhood and of outdoors 
in the picture. 

Theories of composition and pure design do not especially interest Mr. Benson, 
it is said. His temperament leads him to paint spontaneously, improvising good 
design as he works. Regarding his facility a story is told in the studios of an occasion 
when Mr. Benson and a brother painter talked over a motive for a picture. Each 
went away determined to put the idea into execution. The other man, being 
deliberate, took a few days to consider the subject, when to his surprise he read in a 
newspaper that Mr. Benson had captured the gold medal at one of the important 
exhibitions with a rendering of the very subject suggested. 

Whether apochryphal or not the anecdote illustrates the decision, ease, and 
gracefulness of execution which have stood Mr. Benson in good stead during his 
professional career. A long series of honors has come to the painter since his return 
from Paris in the middle eighties — prizes and medals of the World's Columbian 
Exposition and the Carnegie Institute of Pittsburg, the Shaw Fund of the Society 
of American Artists, Clark Prize and Hallgarten Prize of the National Academy of 
Design, Lippincott Prize, Philadelphia, gold medals at the St. Louis Exposition and 
many more. The first large showing of his works in Boston was in a two-man 
exhibition with Edmund C. Tarbell, at the St. Botolph Club in March, 1891. Decora- 
tions for the Library of Congress a few years after added to his national reputation. 

In the winter of 1898 Mr. Benson was one of the group who seceded from the 
Society of American Artists and began to exhibit together under the designation 
of Ten American Painters. To the annual art shows of this society he has con- 
tributed a series of strong, individual works. Among canvases of recent years 
which we have all liked are the subtle portrait of Judge Robert Grant displayed at 
the St. Botolph Club some time ago; the virile and solid likeness of Isaac Bates, of 
Providence, shown at the Copley Society's summer exhibition of 1906, "Three 
Sisters," and "Coasters in Harbor," at the 1906 exhibition of Ten American 
Painters; "Sylvia," belonging to the exhibition of the Ten of last year, "Pomona," 
seen at the Twentieth Century Club's exhibition of 1906, and the portrait of a veiled 
young woman blown by the wind, which won the first prize at the 1907 exhibition 
of the Corcoran Gallery of Art, Washington. 

Living at Salem, teaching at the school of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and 
advancing steadily in professional capacity, Mr. Benson at the age of forty-six is one 
of the foremost of the New England painters who are achieving international 
reputation. 329 

Down in Maine 


How's this for Friday? 

I SAY, Distch, — can't you hang that 
sign some other place? I'll be doing 
things to it in another day like this — 
it's giving me the jim-jams." 

Sitting at his desk just behind " Boss," 
the city editor, and leaning far out over 
a persistently clamoring ticker, a young 
chap calls to an enterprising merchant, 
on Fulton Street, Brooklyn, who gazes 
heavenward at a disheveled mop of a 
blonde wig, about which a pair of wildly 
gesticulating arms beckon his attention to 


above the door of his shop, just on a 

level with the line of vision from the win- 
dow aloft. 

The apparition is collarless, open- 
shirted at the neck, and unsuspendered, 
in an attempt to find comfort in the 
ninety-degree atmosphere of a pulsating 
editorial room in a big city, one very hot 
day during the last week in May. 

" Look at this — and this — and that! 
Size up this room and then gaze that sign 
in the face all day ! I shall go mad — 
raving mad! " and while reporters crowd 
around him, Clyde wildly turns the pages 
of an outing magazine, points to a half 
dozen fine illustrations of glorious fishing 
scenes, and shakes his fist at the laughing 
face on the sidewalk below. 



" Jack, you sinner, if I had you here 
I'd muss you up until you became am- 
bidextrous, and make you eat this letter 
inviting me to the impossible, when I am 
roped, thrown, and branded until 

" COPY," yells " Boss"— " do you call 
that news? " He glances sarcastically 
at a young reporter. " Here's a dog bit 
a man and you give such ordinary stuff 
a column of rot! Make it half a stick. 
When you get a story of a man biting a 
dog I'll put you on the front page and 
make it a bulletin. Fade away. What 
you got on the wire there, Poeski?" 

" Nothing but a fire in Manhattan, 
loss half a million, and another suicide 
from the bridge. Tunnel just busted 
again near this side, and here's some 
cheap political talk. No news at all. 
Yes — here's some. A Brooklyn man 
caught an eighteen-pound ' laker ' at 
Moosehead last week." 

" Crazy as a bedbug - — all in up here." 
and "Boss" taps his forehead pityingly. 
" Why don't you get Tom to come on 
your job and you dig out for Maine? 
Perhaps you can't later on, after that 
' angel ' of yours has you down to Coney 
a few more trips." 

" Don't you dare suggest such a 
thing or I'll be stretching the rubber in 
my neck looking for the forest till it can 
be used for a fiddle string. Jim can't 
go until July and he'd black hand me 
if I went alone." 

"You're in right now, Bq, What's the 
fuss? " and the last named individual 
strides through the door and joins the 
group. " Got a letter from the ' Old 
Scout,' eh? Right end up, of course. 
Anything new? " 

"Says he is going to Labrador in July, 
and if we get him in Maine it must be 
in June or September. There you are 
all balled up." 

" Where is he now? " 

" In the woods, of course, up in Dead 
River, wherever that may be, place 
called Stratton. Listen to this: ' From 
my table in this dining room where I am 
waiting a moment between the courses 
of a fine Maine dinner, such as we have 
often had together, I will dash off a line 
to you, while Mt. Bigelow towers in 

full view along the eastern horizon, his 
sides changing dark and bright as the 
clouds pass. Just at the door the 
thrashing waters of a goodly sized stream 
sing of trout awaiting my coming and 
the boys are yelling to me to pull myself 
away from a mighty pleasant occupation 
and get on the wagon. The air is 
fragrant with the piney burden from the 
all-encompassing hills and ' " 

"For heaven's sake, cut it out. You 
are on my limit. This room is stifling, 
I want free life and I want fresh air and 
I want things to eat that are eatable. 
I'm off for Maine if I never work another 
day. Where is Jack next? " 

" Belgrade Lakes the first week in 

" Me for that place. Are you on? " 

" Boss, are you serious? Will you 
help me to get away? " 

" And mighty glad to see you go. 
You're like a measle patient in a bunch 
of young workmen, no good to yourself 
or any one else till you get the stuff out 
of your blood. I've heard so much 
about woods every day that my locals 
smell of pitch. If you don't get out of 
here I'll fire you." 

" I won't wait for it — I'll chuck my 
mazuma in a Saratoga and meet you at 
the boat to-morrow night, Jim." 

" Too quick. Make it Monday." 

" Two long days and nights — oh, 
Lord," groans Clyde, to which Jim 
replies, " That allows but three minutes 
each for a farewell to your lady friends," 
and dodges a heavy baseball guide as he 
ducks through the doorway to the 

" Boss," noting after a half hour's hard 
work the unusual quiet at his back, peers 
over Clyde's shoulder to observe a slow 
tracing finger on the map of Maine 
following a line across country from a 
Maine Central railroad station marked 
" Belgrade." He turns away with a 
mysterious gurgle that sounds suspi- 
ciously like a smothered laugh, yells 
" COPY," and the hours fly along until 
the paper goes to press. 

The third of June and a lovely day it is. 
No man with red blood in his veins can 
deny the urging fever set humming by 




the caress of the lake breezes and glint of 
gold on dancing waves. 

The piazza rail of one of the most 
famous of Maine's hostelries supports a 
supply of fly rods and a landing net 
within convenient reaching distance of 
a young man who sits sorting over a book 
of gaily feathered lures. This old friend 
of ours glances often and eagerly toward 
the big doorway, until a young man 
emerges from the office bearing several 
familiar-shaped bundles. 

" Give me some of those, Walter, and 
pull your throttle, or we will never get out 
to the fishing grounds." 

" Steady, old chap. Mind those eggs — 
they ain't warranted not to crack under 
a strangle hold. You're in too good 
training for ordinary stunts and just 
keen for an hour's hard paddling, eh? " 

The canoe glides along the western 
shore of a lake rivaling Killarney in its 
beauty, and fairly rips the water apart 

under the sweeping strokes of two good 

At the turn of a point of land edged 
with thick bushes, they catch strongly 
accented and liberally punctuated sen- 
tences from the other side, that stop their 
strenuous efforts, and their frail craft 
shoots around into a little cove, where an 
irate individual makes untamed cuss 
words sit up and fairly beg for mercy. 

A peculiar looking figure he presents, 
standing to his hips in the lake, water 
streaming from his soaked garments, 
while at a little distance a canoe floating 
serenely away tells the story of a clumsy 
attempt to shove off from shore as one 
would in a heavy boat. End over end 
had taken place so suddenly that a much 
bewildered Hebrew hardly knew how 
it all happened. At sight of the new- 
comers the air clears a little and the 
smell of sulphur drifts away. 

Assisting the crestfallen fisherman to 

Jl K 



recover his canoe and gather up his ship- 
wrecked outfit, Jack and his mate pursue 
their course, bursting with merriment as 
the former remarks, "It was com- 
paratively a cinch for you to mount the 
big whale in your workshop, Walter, but 
a commission to perpetuate that specimen 
we have just left would mean your fortune 
if you did as good a job. Ought to put 
him under convex glass, paint in a back- 
ground of rocks, and stick on a label, 
" Jerusalem, what a dampness." 

" Looks good to me right here — got 
a match? " 

Close inshore a deep, dark eddy, where 
a small stream enters the lake, looks 
trouty, and a few casts of good combina- 
tions produce results in the shape of fair- 
sized fish, the largest of which weighs a 
little over two pounds. 

"Too tame — the big ones are out 
hunting; let's hit the trail." 

From that island a bar makes over to 
another for a distance of about five 
hundred yards, and the canoe sneaks 
slowly across, thirty feet to windward 
and down the sun. Long, graceful 
sweeps of the enameled line, always 
clearing the water until after the flies 
have settled lightly, provoke no respon- 
sive rush and inspiring splash of hungry 
square tails. 

"Wait a minute till that cloud gets 

The water darkens, and now a double 
cast from each end of the canoe. A strike! 

Walter's rod buckles until tip touches 
butt under the " set " of a strong wrist, 
and an instant later Jack has troubles of 
his own. Two big fish on at once and 
the problem is to keep the issue of fight 
distinct in each case. Familiar with all 
the rules of trout strategy, the finny 
beauties put up a most interesting fight. 

Walter's antagonist races along on a 
parallel with the canoe, turning suddenly 
to come straight toward the angler with 
a rush, and the shriek of a multiplying 
reel tells the tale of frantic haste as the 
slack line comes in. Under the canoe 
darts the fish, and a sweep of tip about 
the bow transfers the scene of operations 
to the other side of the craft, where a 
back fin, just breaking the surface, marks 
a little line of foam. 

Jack's trout is behaving badly, going 
to deep water for a sulking spell, during 
which little alarming wiggles away down 
at the rocky bottom warn of efforts to 
rub out the hook. Giving him all the 
spring of the rod, Jack feels him slowly 
rising, and instantly rush after rush, first 
one way, then another, tells of the be- 
ginning of the end. 

The other fish is coming in well, when 
he suddenly transfers the fighting ground 
to Jack's end of the canoe, and in an 
instant the lines have crossed and ensues 
an anxious moment, 

" Hold hard, old man, — give him all 
the bamboo there is to it, we've got to 
keep them coming now." 

For a full minute the strain is steady 
and tense, then Waltejr slowly brings his 
captive to net under Jack's line, and one 
worry is past, but when all seems to be 
going well for the second capture, a 
sudden heavy tug of surprising strength 
carries Jack's tip under water, and the 
weight of his fish is decidedly increased. 

" He sure enough swallowed a small 
boulder or got a toe hold on bottom, that 
trip," remarks the fisherman. " That's 
the craziest acting red-spot I ever 
tackled. Pipe that — he's clean gone 
' nutty.' " 

A bewildering swirl near the surface 
with immediate savage tugs deeper down, 
and Jack declares he must have two 
gamey creatures on at once. 

A moment later Walter gets a hold on 
the line, and handling carefully so he 
can let it run through his fingers at an 
instant's warning, slowly secures foot 
after foot, while Jack reels in the slack. 

" A double and beauts at that," ejacu- 
lates Walter. " First time I ever saw a 
big trout and black bass on the same cast." 

By careful work and skilful handling 
of the net and gaff they are taken into 
the canoe, and a sharp blow on the back 
of the neck of each sends them into 

" There's a catch that should warm the 
cockles of any man's heart, unless he 
wants the moon fenced in with gold 
barbed wire. You're dead lucky you 
didn't have a ' split ' that trip, old chap. 
Can't do it again, bet you five." 

" Luck and a mighty good hand-tied 



The pine-bordered Moosehead at West Outlet 

leader, with a few other fine qualities if 
you please, Bo, — but what a trio." 

Walter's victim is found to be the 
heaviest — five pounds and an eighth. 
Jack's trout an even five pounds and the 
bass three pounds and a half. 

" Murder! " " Murder! " " Fire! " 
"Police! " 

The cries come from behind some thick 
bushes within twenty feet of the canoe. 

" Highwaymen." " Yeggs." " Fish- 

Determined to uncover the jokers, the 
successful fishermen paddle ashore and 
run up the bank to be suddenly con- 
fronted by two wild men from New York, 
who pounce upon Jack and wrestle him 
to earth, where they roll over and over 
with him in a catch-as-catch can, while 
Walter, surmising the truth, roars with 
laughter at his pal's sorry appearance. 

" Clyde, you beggar, and Jim, you holy 
terror, when did you drop in and what 
good planet ever let you break away? 

You have been in my mind all day and I 
have been pitying you away there in a 
sweatbox this glorious weather. Shake 
hands with Hinds — you know him; no 
good kind of a hobo, but he'll do, now 
he's in good society. Walter, these are 
the ' Innocents, who invaded the 
Maine woods with me last year, the two- 
softest marks in the wilds you ever got 
up against, rank interlopers without a. 
redeeming feature other than their self- 
confessed ignorance, but good students, 
who became fair woodsmen, all of that 
knowledge lost, of course, since last year." 

" Got another guess, old Scout, here we 
are with our own canoe, came out alone 
and took these in while we were watching 
for you — pretty good, eh? (holding up 
a fine string of good-sized fish). But 
what do you mean by hiking down the 
pike skimming the cream off this lake?" 

"Can't help it — got the habit. No 
hoodoos in the canoe and mind at rest 
with the idea that I had no trouble com- 



ing to me until you made me wake up, 
but come over here and roost on this log, 
while Walter and I get dinner and you 
and Jim can talk to us about New York." 

" No such place on the map. Forget 
it. Your letter was the spark to dyna- 
mite and it blew us clear down here 
before we anchored. Came by the air 
Jine, as it were. Reminds me of when I 
was working on the B. & O. " 

11 Clyde, if you don't shake that stale 
old gag, I'll choke you, and that goes. I 
haven't come down here to be smothered 
with jokes from the Garden of Eden. 
Tumble up and we'll show Jack and his 
pal that we haven't lost the idea of 
cooking in the open." 

11 Score a strike for Jim," laughs Jack. 
; ' You got 'em all down in your alley. 
Get going, you slaves. Never mind them 
Walter, they're very young and feel their 
oats more than they will a week from now. 
Naturally lazy. It'll be up to me later." 

" Good pupils and that's no pipe," 
declares his friend a few minutes later, 
when with Jack he is handed a liberal 
supply of broiled trout, fried potatoes, 
boiled eggs, bread, and tea, cooked to a 

An hour passes and lying on the flat 
of his back with face to the sky, Clyde, 
acting as spokesman, gives a good recital 
of events since their last meeting, 
punctuating his narrative with puffs of 
perfect contentment. A silence of a 
moment and Jim stretches out his arms 
lazily toward the gleaming silver of 
spreading waters, sweeps them up toward 
the firmament, and exclaims, " Heaven- 
canopied Maine, ELYSIUM." 

With a bound Walter springs to his 
feet. " Quick — back to Belgrade — no 
man can tell what the next spasm of 
Maine fever will do for you — may tear 
you all up and scatter you to the four 
winds. It's safer to take it in small 
doses;" and with a roar of laughter 
canoes are manned as the declining sun 
permits the lowering of a twilight curtain 
on the first scene of the new year's outing. 

" That's an interesting story you have 
foeen telling of the Indian massacre at 

Norridgewock. Queer little town it is 
to-day, and looks mighty pleasant from 
the car window. What place is this? " 

11 Madison. How's that for water 
power? Can't say I like the odor of that 
pulp mill when the wind's just right to 
tie one up to it, but there is a fine country 
about here, some very beautiful drives 
and easy communication across country. 
Here is Solon, and under us are the Falls 
of the Carratunk." 

"But look here, chief, this don't look 
like new country. You tell us you are 
taking us into a sporting region just 
opened by a new line of railroad, some- 
thing crispy and unbranded." 

" Did I ever depart from the path of 
strict veracity, Jim? I never promised 
you a new country, but a. new way of 
getting into an old country, new to most 
sportsmen, because the best places used 
to be difficult of access. Personally I 
always considered that one of it's great 
charms, for a long walk and much 
' toting' of a fair-sized pack through 
the woods never feazed me in the least 
in this or any other country from Maine 

On the way in 



to Newfoundland, but nowadays 
sportsmen have so little time for traveling 
and are so anxious to put in every minute 
with rod and reel, they must start and 
■arrive the same day." 

11 Well, when I was working on the 
B. & O. " 

" SHUT UP." 

" Bingham — change for Rowe and 
Carry Ponds, Pleasant, Otter, and Pierce 
Ponds, and the Forks of the Kennebec." 

" Come down, Jack, come down. Do 
we get off here? This must be a ' blind 
run,' starting nowhere and ending in the 
same place." 

" Just a little side trip over night so 
Jim can see what a real buckboard trail 
is like. Kennebago road isn't in the 
same class, but at the end you will meet 
one of the best fellows hereabouts, and 
get some good fry-pan candidates. Over 
there at the end of a six-mile drive is 
Healey's — fine place for headquarters 
during the hunting season, and two miles 
tramp through a mighty pretty forest trail 
brings you to a quintet of good lakes, 
near Rowe Pond camps, where there is 
fine fishing if one is satisfied with small 
fish. We are going to see my old friend 
Lane at Carry Pond and we might as 
well make up our minds to stay over Sun- 
day, for Henry won't have it otherwise." 

Along the winding banks of the beauti- 
ful Kennebec there is much rich meadow 
land, well watered by the swift- flowing 
tide, where shoals, alternating with 
deeper places, fret and pacify the flood 
in turn, presenting a continually changing 
fore and back ground, to the delight of 
the occupants of the buckboard. When, 
after a strenuous drive, the fourteen cozy 
cabins about the head of the placid pond 
lie at their feet, and the unmistakably 
hearty welcome of mine host is received, 
the Manhattanites throw themselves on 
the greensward before the door of a 
little cabin set apart for them, await the 
call to supper and declare no fairer sight 
could be spread than that upon which 
they admiringly gaze. 

The distant heights, now shaded deep in 
the twilight, are tipped by the last rays 
of the orb of day stealing over them, upon 
the quiet waters with a kiss of unbroken 

Just in the foreground three canoes 
drift lazily to the landing, where forms 
indistinctly outlined lend assistance, and 
mingled with the deep tones of the gentle- 
men of the party, several ladies are keep- 
ing up a constant trilling to friends 
farther out on the pond, the harmony of 
it all coming to the ear in a well-balanced 

To the delight of the late arrivals their 
places are set at the table of the pro- 
prietor, and during an interesting hour 
conversation runs upon the best fishing in 
the vicinity, with a suggestion that the 
salmon of Pierce Pond afford tempting 

Much controversy has been excited 
as to the exact classification of these 
particular salmon, some authorities as- 
serting their identity with Pacific Coast, 
Quinnat, and one has declared " he 
would know those ' bad tempered bull 
dogs ' with a face like a crocodile in 
distress anywhere he found them." 
Be that as it may, Pierce Pond salmon 
prove next day that they are no mean 

Early in the morning our party is off 
for a five-mile tramp across the trail to 
Otter Pond, and from there, by mutual 
consent, they push along until a mile 
further lands them on the shore of the 
salmon's home waters. 

Fates are unkind throughout the fore- 
noon, and at dinner time nothing worth 
mentioning has rewarded patient effort. 

Rather disgusted with the failure in 
the face of such glowing tales as those 
with which they were regaled the evening 
before, Jim and Clyde freely express 
their opinion that some one has pre- 
varicated without a license, but Jack 
insists there must be fire where there is 
so much smoke, and after-events prove 
his words. 

As soon as lunch is over, Jim is hot 
after a chance to try his luck again, but 
Clyde lingers in the shade smoking his 
pipe. "Go on up the pond, and when 
I have my smoke out I'll take the other 
boat and join you." 

After trying the flies for an hour or 
more, live bait and trolling are resorted 
to with no better success, and as Clyde 
has joined them, they adjust good bait 



Come in — you're out 

on the spinners and row slowly toward 
the camps. 

Among those who sought the pond 
that day was a greenhorn at fishing, who 
had been made the butt of much chaffing 
by his own party. Just as our friends 
arrive, several fishermen, intending a 
good sell, fix up a troll no one ever heard 
of before, the most outrageous-looking 
mess that ever dragged water. 

With many assurances that he is now 
properly outfitted, they push the boat 
from the shore as the poor dupe picks 
up his oars and strikes out. They have 
tied a strong line to the seat in front of 
him, and as he gets well away from the 
shore he follows instructions and throws 
over the troll. Jokes that are cracked 
at the expense of the lone fisherman go 
on without limit, and he rows along 
blissfully unconscious of the entertain- 
ment he is affording. 

Suddenly the onlookers see him spring 
to his feet and grab at the line trailing 
over the stern of his boat, and as he begins 
to pull it in, the water fifty yards away 
is torn open again and again as a frantic 
fish fights to shake himself clear from 
the stinging thing in his mouth that 
drags him relentlessly along. Hand over 
hand the excited fisherman hauls away, 
unmindful of adjurations without number 
from his anxious spectators to " Give him 
line!" " Play him careful!" "Take your 
time! " etc., etc. 

Tumbling end over end in his mad 
dashes out of water, Mr. Salmon is taken 
like a sucker, and to the amazement of the 
crowd finally lands in the bottom of the 
boat at his conqueror's feet, who proudly 

rows ashore and holds up an eight-pound 
trophy, not of skill, but of bull luck. Nj 

A "sicker" crowd of sportsmen it would 
be hard to find, as one remarks, " Aint 
that the worst you ever saw? Just 
imagine the fun a good fisherman would 
have had with that salmon on a light 
rigging." And as our friends who have 
been witnesses quote, " Hoist with his 
own petard," the would-be jokers get the 
grand laugh, and turn away sheepishly, 
remarking, " Guess it's on us this time." 

There is no doubt left, however, about 
the fighting qualities of Pierce Pond 
salmon, for a wilder struggle for freedom 
never was witnessed. 

For many days the incident was the'all- 
absorbing theme of conversation, and the 
upshot was the publishing of a little 
poem, " Fool's luck," the closing lines of 
which were: 

" They were men of science most uncommon; 
He was just a fool — -but he caught the 

"It is funny how things happen to 
some people," remarked Clyde the next 
morning, as the party walked along a 
trail toward the highway on the road out 
to Bingham. " When I first came to 
Maine I expected unusual things would 
rush in on me from all quarters, but so 
far our trips have come along in fine style,, 
as though we were taking a course in a 
university. I have a colossal idea that 
our way wouldn't have been such a bed of 
roses if we had to go it alone like the 
other fellows. We owe you a big debt 
of gratitude for many a good tip at the 
right time, Jack, old man." 

" Do you know I have been thinking 



a lot about that recently and almost 
believe it's doing dead wrong to put you 
wise to things before they hit you. I'm 
not so sure you will thank me for this in 
the future, and I guess I must let you get 
' up against it ' just for a change. What 
do you say, Jim? " 

" Oh, we're no infants and should take 
our medicine like the rest, I suppose, but 
I have no grouch at all. I have a notion 
that it would be a trifle harder to fool us 
now than when we first came into the 
woods, but there are still some wrinkles 
we don't savvey." 

" Just a few," dryly remarks Jack, and 
that very evening he finds a way to assist 
in their initiation to unknown things. 

Upon their return to town several 
friends of Jack's drop into the hotel office 
in the afternoon, and he notes a few 
mysterious conversations between Clyde 
and Jim and some new-found acquaint- 

Quite casually he mentions the matter 
to one of the local guides, and with a smile 
he lets him into the secret. Chancing to 
Overhear two men talking about "jacking 
dear," their curiosity ,,has been aroused, 
and knowing Jack's ideas regarding game 
laws and their observance, they deter- 
mine to get away with one of the men and 
try their- hand at potting a buck. Plans 
are laid for that very evening, the details 
of which are made known to him by an 
eavesdropper, and Jack takes steps to 
teach them a good wholesome lesson. In 
an out-building he finds an old box in 
which he bores two holes about the 



proper distance apart for eyes, secures a 
candle, and secretes the apparatus. 

Along after supper Jim yawns and 
remarks, " Never was so tired out in all 
my born days. The lily whites for mine, 
and don't you make a fuss when you 
come to bed, Clyde." 

" Hold on, Jim, I'll go with you. Jack 
wants a chance to chum with his old 
cronies here, and I'll bet the warrior has 
something good and husky up his sleeve 
for to-morrow. Good night, Jack." 

" So long, boys, hit it up hard, for 
we're off to Pleasant Pond in the morn- 
ing early." 

With ostensible noise the pair clatter 
along to their room, which is up one 
flight just over the piazza on the front of 
the house, and stationing himself where 
he can observe from a distance, in an 
hour's time their partner sees them sneak 
down the street, meet a man at the next 
corner, and cross lots toward the distant 
trees bordering a large tract of meadow 
land. In possession now of the whole 
secret, he secures his outfit and cuts off 
distance at right angles with their course. 

It is a perfectly still evening, dark as a 
pocket, and as he reaches the edge of the 
clearing and scans the open country, 
there is no sign of life. For a full hour 
he waits until, thinking they have 
changed their plans, he is about to re- 
turn to the village, when a flash of light 
travels across the edge of woods coming 
into view about midway of the meadow. 

" Making for the turnip patch, sure 
as fate," mutters Jack, and stooping low 
to clear the sky-line, he runs swiftly along 
until his feet strike ploughed land. 
Pausing just at a point of woods, he turns 
into the forest, strikes a match and 
lights his candle in the box, closes the 
door, and places it upon a stump in such 
a position that it cannot be seen from 
the direction of their approach until they 
turn the clump of trees, after which he 
retires into the middle of the open and 
lies upon his face to await developments. 

Slowly the light comes spreading across 
the field, crosses at the head of the 
opening and advances toward the turnip 
patch. Steadily it approaches like a big 
eye in the night, and he can imagine Jim 
and Clyde crouching under the ''jack," 




carefully shielding themselves behind 
Steve's burly figure, and watching eagerly 
for "two spots of fire about two inches 
apart." He hears Jim again, " Show me 
a fair shot with a rifle, and if I don't hit 
it, I'll eat it." 

Now they are near the turn where he 
can see the two holes in his box gleaming 
so naturally they almost deceive him 
at the distance. His trio turn the corner, 
the light halts, jerks ahead two or three 
feet at a time, as though stealing upon 
a victim. 

Crash! A stream of fire leaps toward 
the woods. The eyes gleam brightly. 

Crack! Crack! Two shots in quick 
succession and he rolls about in a par- 
oxysm of laughter to see the flame from 
the rifle barrel shoot into the air instead of 
on a level toward the box. Jim is evi- 
dently rattled, because the deer did not 
fall at first fire, and is now shooting with- 
out looking at the sights. 

A pause, the light shifts about, and 

shots ring out twice more, but with a 
certainty of flash and aim that tells the 
presence of Steve's finger at the trigger. 
Jack sees two more firey eyes gleaming 
from the box. 

A smothered oath, the light advances 
quickly, and the "eyes" disappear into 
the woods propelled by a powerful kick. 
The jack-light flashes about in all di- 
rections in search of possible spectators, 
and is extinguished. 

Bounding along to the highway, Jack 
arrives home ahead of the mighty hunters 
and stuffs the bedquilt into his mouth to 
smother his laughter as he hears two 
people come stealing down the hallway, 
pause at his door to listen, gently try the 
handle, and after a whispered consulta- 
tion, move off down the corridor. 

A softly closing door and the night's 
jacking party has become history, the 
first attempt of the New Yorkers to 
"go it alone." 

At break of day Jack beats a tattoo on 



their door, and two very sleepy voices 
respond to his summons, " Tumble out 
there lively, or the freight won't wait. 
Breakfast is cooling on the table, and here 
you are pounding your pillows for more 
sleep after ten hours in bed. Hustle up." 

In a few minutes they appear in the 
dining-room with a decided air of forced 
buoyancy, glancing surreptitiously out 
of the corners of their eyes as they eat, 
attempting to discover whether Jack 
had anything to do with last night's 
strange events, but his immobile counte- 
nance tells no tales, as with easy uncon- 
cern he does the honors. 

" How long did you sit up last night, 
old Scout? I'll bet the ' wee sma' hours ' 
arrived long before you turned in," 
suggests Jim. 

" Yep, you do look sleepy this morning, 
Jack," chimes in Clyde. 

" Black under the eyes, perhaps." 

" I say, Jack, did you hear those rifle 
shots over to the westward last night? 
Some reckless pot hunters evidently 
forgot it is close time on deer, and before 
they remembered it tried to sneak one 
of the state's cattle. Game warden 
from down the line is out investigating 
this morning, and it'll go hard with any 

Where the canoe just glided 

one he gets next to, for ' jacking ' is too 
common nowadays," says big Joe, a 
native guide. 

"Thought I did hear shots," answers 
Jack, " but paid no attention to them. 
Supposed some one might be hanging up 
a few skunks. If the warden gets on the 
track of any one for illegal shooting I 
hope he pushes 'em hard, for big game is 
one of the best assets of Maine, and as a 
sportsman, who has an idea that the 
greatest good of the greatest number, in- 
stead of the personal satisfaction of one 
man, should rule I will do my best at all 
times to uphold the law. It's pretty 
cheap tin-can sports who will kill game 
out of season." 

During the remainder of the meal hour, 
silence, not loud, but deep, distinguishes 
the bearing of t'he contrite sinners, who 
for the first time fully realize what a 
predicament they have placed them- 
selves in, and are apparently so willing 
to be forgiven and so apprehensive that 
the game warden may interfere with 
their outing, that Jack, smiling behind 
his hand, appreciates the long sigh^of 
relief that escapes them when the freight 
pulls out of Bingham, and safely ensconced 
upon the top of a box car they can 
breathe freely once more and devote their 
entire attention to the changing scenery. 
" Any overhead bridges on this line,. 
Jack? " 

" Not one from here to Kineo, for this 
is the new extension of the Somerset 
railway, now the property of the Maine 
Central, and no roads cross the tracks 
requiring bridges. I wish you could 
have come over this road when it was 
being pushed through by that hustling 
friend of mine you have heard me speak 
of so often, ' Billie ' Ayer. He was 
general manager of the Somerset and 
used to don his heavy clothing in dead of 
winter and come up here to boost the 
work along by the very contagion of his 
presence and never-say-die example. He 
has more irons in the fire than any man 
in Maine of my acquaintance, and lets 
none of them burn. 

"There's some fine stuff." The train 
winds around many curves following the 
valley of Austin Stream, until Jack calls, 
" Look down." 



" Ye gods! the bottom's dropped out." 

" Not quite that, but this trestle over 
Gulf Stream is the highest in New England 
and I call it a work of art." 

" Amen to that same." 

" Gee, I'd like to fish that brook. I can 
smell trout way up here," and Clyde 
leans over and looks up and down one 
of the loveliest valleys in the Pine Tree 
state, which is equivalent to saying, " in 
the world," for you can't beat Maine. 

" Look what's here! " The train 
reaches Deadwater and all about are the 
evidences of hasty occupancy and de- 
sertion, for this place was headquarters 
for the " extension crew " for a consider- 
able period, but when the road was com- 
pleted interest moved on. 

Up the line, across the Austin and 
then over the steel bridge at Baker 
Stream, Moxie Bog is alongside the rail, 
and Jack points out good trouting places 
for early morning and late evening at cer- 
tain seasons when the fish seek still 

" There's Jo Hole, not pretentious, 
but full of good ones." 

" What's in from Bald Mountain? " 

" Austin Pond and Bald Mountain 
Sporting Lodge, two miles from the 
railroad. Sorry to say a mighty good 
fellow, Henry Washburn, who kept the 
place, has gone the way of all the world. 
There's a man missed to-day by a host of 
friends and by every sportsman who ever 
came here, a jovial, whole-hearted fellow. 
A mile and a half beyond Lake Austin is 
Bald Mountain Pond — good fishing." 

" ' LANDERS — all change.' Just to 
show you a lovely sheet of water I am 
going to take you into Pleasant Pond 
over night. Five miles of good trail and 
I'll bring you to a jewel." 

After a good supper in camps two 
thousand feet above sea level, a paddle 
around the wonderfully beautiful pond 
shows no inlet worthy the name, as the 
waters are fed by innumerable springs 
in the white bottom. At a depth of 
fifty feet rocks away down below can be 
distinctly seen, with goodly trout slowly 
moving in and out and over them. 

" Do vou know any others like this, 
Jack? " 

" A few — not many." 

Fine: for open-air treatment 

" What's the matter with hanging up 
here a few days? " 

" Can't spend the time this year, too 
much to show you up the line. You and 
Jim are like two kids — never think 
there is anything beyond the present." 

" You are a sage of the deepest dye, 
Jack, this country is all to the velveteen, 
and such fishing as this will live in our 
memory even after we have buried you 
among these pine-clad hills." 

" Don't make any plans after that 
period, my dear Gaspipe, you must re- 
member I'm storing up vitality all the 
time, summer and winter, while you get a 
little now and peddle it out in small 
packages at late dinners in Manhattan. 
I'm thinking it will be up to me to ask 
what music you like best." 

It is the day following the visit to 
Pleasant Pond, and greeted with open 
arms by the two Jones boys, the camps 
at Mosquito Narrows look inviting and 
prove their looks. Fishing is good from 
the start in waters that have never known 
abuse, and the big square tails come to 
the fly morning and evening with charm- 
ing regularity. 

Sitting about the open fire on the first 
evening in camp, while the rain falls 
softly and the glow of the blazing logs 
gives life to grotesquely dancing shadows, 
tales are told of big trout that lie at the 
outlet of Mosquito Stream where the new 
hatchery is located. In the early spring 
it is no unusual adventure to have eight- 
pounders, with their noses up stream, 
cast an eye up at you and tantalizingly 
ask what you would do if they should 



fasten onto one of your casts a little 

Our party never quite lands the biggest 
ones — no man ever does — but three, 
five, and six pound beauties reward the 
first morning's fishing. When they come 
that size it isn't necessary to catch a 
million to make a showing, and they 
quit casting when Jack says very quietly, 
" Any man who kills more fish than he 
can use ought to have a life sentence to 
the middle of Sahara." 

Much time is spent in cruising about 
Moxie Lake in a small motor boat, the 
property of "the big man, John," and 
well worth attention it is. Shaped like 
the three links of Odd ^Fellowship is 
Moxie. Jo Hole to Mosquito Narrows; 
Mosquito Narrows to Black Narrows 
(private camps) , and from here to Caribou 
Narrows make almost equal subdivisions 
when above Jo Hole and below Caribou 
Narrows is taken out, for the sake of 
symmetry in the links. 

The entire lake is eight miles long and 
a mile and a half measures its widest 
part. The outlets of Little Sandy Stream 
and about Pine Island on the west, 
Mountain and Bear brooks and Sandy 
Stream on the east side, are fine fishing- 
grounds in the upper section. Below 
Mosquito Narrows, down to Little Island 
in the second link and about Birch 
Point, Burnt Jacket, Cedar Island, and 
Wet Rock, and especially in Alder Stream 
well down to Caribou Narrows in the last 
link, grand returns are yielded as the 
crown to a splendid day's sport. All 
about this territory innumerable small 
bodies afford good fishing. 

During the hottest of the summer 
weather, Moxie trout — there are no 
salmon — seek the deepest places where 
only "plugging" will reach them, but 
the first of September fly fishing is again 
on and continues fine until close time, — 

Leaving Mosquito Narrows with regret, 
for everything possible has been done to 
make the stay delightful in this very 
nicely managed resort, the express for 
Kineo is found crowded with passengers 
bound for Moosehead Lake. In the 
smoker, poring over a map of the country, 
a big fellow approaches, brings his hand 

down with a resounding crash on Jack's 
shoulder, and he finds himself gazing into 
the good-natured countenance of Mike 

" What luck, Mike, we are just going 
to your place, and I want to introduce you 
to a couple of roosters who crow loud 
on the Bowery, but want you to teach 
them a few new notes at Indian Pond. 
Frightful eaters and kickers from way 

" Something new for you, Jack, no 
friends of yours ever tallied with that 
description," chuckles Mike. " If they 
have any bad habits, I'll bet they are all 
the other side of the New England line. 
I've a cabin all ready for you and you can 
take it apart and see what makes it tick 
if you have an idea you'd like to." 

" Not quite so bad as that, Mike, I've 
got them tamed a little; eh, Jim? " 

" Mr. Marr can take my word for it, 
we'll stand without hitching. Clyde is a 
trifle tough, but a good pounding makes 
him fit to eat." 

A half mile walk and the party arrives 
at Indian Pond camps, picturesquely 
situated at the head of Indian Pond, 
where the West Outlet of Moosehead 
Lake comes into the pond after its twelve 
mile run down from Moosehead. Stately 
Squaw Mountain, in its majestic green 
robes, is very near, its ascent being the 
first pleasure indulged in by the party. 
The view to be had from the summit is 
entrancingly beautiful, and the combi- 
nation of woods and water scenery is 
charming in the extreme. 

Several lakes and ponds are seen from 
the lofty vantage ground, while the 
wanderings of the interlacing brooks and 
streams can be distinctly traced through 
the great green canopy of forest. To the 
east is seen Kineo and the Spencer 
Mountains, the Lily Bay chain farther 
toward the south, with several lesser 
eminences still, to the south and west, 
each lending added grandeur and beauty 
to the panoramic scene. 

If one drops an attractive fly or baited 
hook into the famous fishing waters of 
this region, it will be unusual indeed if 
he does not catch a fish. Turn in almost 
any direction from Indian Pond camps 
and one comes upon well-trouted waters. 




Courtesy of Boston & Maine Railroad 

Big fish there just under the banks 

The West Outlet of Moosehead Lake, 
which runs into Indian Pond close by the 
camps, broadens out into no fewer than 
seven 'good sized ponds in the twelve 
miles of its course between Moosehead 
Lake and Indian Pond, and there is rare 
good trout fishing all along the way. 
The East Outlet makes away from the 
lake at Moosehead station about seven 
miles below the West Outlet, sending its 
waters into Indian Pond, about half a 
mile from camp. 

Indian Pond itself is seven miles long, 
its waters clear and cold from the 
tremendous volume continually passing 
through. Big and Little Indian streams, 
and the waters of the Kennebec River 
itself may be fished with fine success 
from' canoe, after short carries. Many 
delightful canoe trips are here enjoyed as 
the days speed along, and after a long 
day's tramp or paddle the abundant 

table, bearing vegetables right from 
Indian Farm, always offers something to 
look forward to with keen appreciation. 

Nothing could surpass the unalloyed 
delights of the week at Mike Marr's, and 
the fishing proved so good every day that, 
as Clyde remarked, "It seems like 
1 rubbing it in ' to impose upon the good 
nature of the fish in this particular place 
any longer." 

One fine morning, after waving a good 
by to friends they have thoroughly 
tried out during several never to be for- 
gotten days, who declare they already feel 
lonely at the prospect of losing the splen- 
did evenings enjoyed with the aid of 
bridge, crib, musicals, etc., Jack leads- 
his pals into the office of the Kineo House, 
under the shade of " the giant moose." 

It is later in the day, when a moun tain- 
climb and fine dinner are past events, 
that they are lounging back on the broad! 



verandahs, watching myriad guests seek- 
ing pleasure according to individual 

There a crowd of merry young people 
are playing doubles at tennis; here the 
golfers drive off on the start of the ex- 
cellent links; there goes a riding party, 
on horseback, bound for the heights; 
steam launches and " spitting" power 
boats dart here and there; gliding canoes 
with guide and lone fishermen seek 
promising coves, and now our friends are 
asked, " Do any of you play baseball? " 

In a red hot game on the "yannigans" 
against the hotel team, Jack and Clyde 
prove their merit as a battery, by holding 
the sluggers down to six hits, losing the 
game by the narrow margin of one run, 
and Jim, as umpire, claims he figures 
in the deal. 

After supper, a long line of bright lights 
across the lake attracts attention and to 
Jim's inquiry comes the information that 
they front Gilbert and Coombs West 
Outlet Camps. 

Sitting in silence for a time, Clyde 
suddenly asserts, " I don't know how you 
fellows feel, but I'm not quite ready for 
these rags just yet." He glances down 
at his outing suit. "At some time in 
the near future I would like to make up a 
party for a good long stay at this hotel, 
it's a beauty and' sets a fine table with 
excellent service, but there are too many 
here for me to feel just like throwing 
away my city manners and cutting loose. 
That looks good to me over there and I 
move we go ' to 

"Clyde, you 
are > an inspired 
member. I had 
the same thing in 

"Well, boys, I 
am of the opinion 
that Kineo should 
have an entire 
season of its own 
later on. It's too 
big for a casual 
visit of a few days 
and I suggest we 
reserve it for an- 
other trip." 

The meadow 

As the upshot of this conversation, 
West Outlet Camps receive them as 
guests the following day, and half way up 
Moosehead Lake, with twenty miles of 
sparkling waters to the north and twenty 
more to the south, their cabin, facing 
Kineo, four hundred miles of shore line 
about them, they render hearty assent to 
this description: 

" One of the most beautiful spots along 
the shores of old Moosehead Lake, where 
at night you can watch the sun in its 
various moods sink to its bed behind 
rugged old Kineo, and where after you 
have retired for the night, the waters lick- 
ing up the shore almost at your feet lull 
you to sleep, is the famous West Outlet 
camping ground, a point making out 
into the very head waters of the Kenne- 
bec, where now stand some of the finest 
log cabins ever erected in Maine. 

" Two years ago there was nothing on 
this point save a hut or two, where guides 
and their parties "ducked in" out of the 
rain whenever it caught them fishing for 
square tails in that vicinity. But now all 
has prestoed, so to speak. It is a minia- 
ture village of clean, wholesome, pealed- 
log buildings, where every comfort and 
convenience can be had for the asking — 
better still, you don't have to ask, for 
they look after your wants, unsolicited, 
while you are doing something else for 
your own pleasure." 

" That's this place all right, all right. 
Look at the mountains. Kineo, Little 
Kineo, Lobster, and the two Spencers, 
Boar Stone and 
Blue Ridge — a 
grand panorama. 
These are the big- 
gest camps you 
have shown us yet, 
Jack, fifty-three 
rooms in all and a 
"whopper" of a 
dining room. Tele- 
phone and tele- 
graph service, hot 
and cold water, 
gas light — say, I 
expect to send my 
mail out of here 
by pneumatic tube, 
then go up that 




mountain in an express elevator and hear a 
"lift boy" calling, ' No stop between here 
and the sixth ledge. Express from there 
to the summit. Flying machine leaves 
every fifteen minutes.' " 

Here, cosily housed within the ever- 
green border of Maine's proudest inland 
sea, surrounded by everything to delight 
the lover of God's great out of doors, 
delving deep into nature's treasures and 
drinking heavy draughts at the fountain 
of new life, let us steal away and leave 
our friends to the enjoyment of the few 
days that remain, before the beck of duty 
must ring the curtain and call the change 
of scene to that of strenuous rivalry and 
business competition, where men struggle 
in the grind of routine, shoulder to shoul- 

der, and brain against brain, for the 
rapid accumulation of the great 

As we turn away we rest assured of 
three men at least who will thus contest 
with eyes the brighter and nerve and 
sinew made ready for the fray, because 
of whole-hearted surrender to influences 
lying about the best sources of physical 
and as a natural consequence, intellectual 

All men should take the time for rel- 
axation and building up of shattered 
tissue, or the day will surely come when 
they must leisurely obey doctors' orders 
in their own beds, upon rising from 
which he will probably command a 
departure for " down in Maine." 


How strange to live in houses so 

And watch the Spring go by, 

When we would with the grasses grow 

And with the bluebirds fly, 

When we would fain be only one 

Of countless insect things 

That crowd beneath their splendid sun 

And preen their wet gold wings ! 

When we would gladly bud and blow 

And with fulfillment die, — 

How strange, sealed up in houses so, 

To watch the Spring pass by! 

The Conquest of the Mitten 

By Mabel S. Merrill 

PHILLIS, formidable in youth, 
beauty, and a white lace dinner 
gown, regarded the spectacled law- 
yer with some indignation. 

"If people will make wills without 
asking me they must take the conse- 
quences," she averred haughtily. 

"But they're dead, my dear young 
lady, and the consequences will fall en- 
tirely upon you. If you refuse to com- 
ply with the terms of your great-aunt's 
will you forfeit your claim to the house 
and land she left you. And though the 
property may seem small to you now, it 
is in a location that may increase decidedly 
in value if the tide of summer travel 
should set that way. As to the condi- 
tions they are peculiar, perhaps, but 
surely not impossible. They are merely 
that you should knit or cause to be knit 
each year one hundred pairs of double 
mittens to be distributed among the poor 
of Boody's Landing." 

He looked mildly over his spectacles 
at the radiant vision in the white gown. 

"How can I cause anybody to knit 
double mittens, Aunt Laura?" demanded 
Phillis, turning to an elaborately dressed 
lady who stood waiting to hear the out- 
come of the conversation. "It seems to 
be a lost art or nearly so, and Mr. Spauld- 
ing says the only person he can find down 
there that knows how to do it is an ex- 
hired girl of my great-aunt's and she is 
seventy-two years old and has lost the 
use of her fingers by rheumatism." 

"Well, really, Phillis, I'd try some- 
thing, for it seems a pity to lose even a 
little property when you haven't any," 
observed Aunt Laura, who prided herself 
on her clear head for business. "You 
know your uncle George can't do as much 
for you as we should like on account of 
having two girls of our own to settle 
within a year. Why don't you run down 
to Noodle's Landing or Wherever it is, 
and see for yourself what can be done? 

You've always had a crazy fancy to see 
the ocean in the winter." 

"The ocean!" cried Phillis, with a long 
breath. "Oh, it never occurred to me that 
the ocean was there. But of course it is 
— else why Landing. I'll go! I'll go!" 

She whirled out of the room regardless 
of her best dinner gown, while Aunt 
Laura, somewhat alarmed at the effect 
of her advice, followed her with words 
of anxious warning. 

"Of course you won't stay long, 
Phillis? You must positively be back 
for the Emerson's musicale, for that Dr. 
Caswell that everybody's dying to see 
will be there. He's just returned from 
abroad with medals and degrees an inch 
deep all over him. It seems he made 
some sort of a scientific discovery, such as 
they make a great to-do over in Germany, 
and they conferred something on him, 
and then a rich old German hausfrau, 
whose grandchild he cured of some disease 
nobody knows how to pronounce unless 
they've taken degrees at Berlin, — she 
left him a mint of money. Altogether 
he's a most interesting and remarkable 
man and it's the chance of a lifetime to 
meet him." 

"I'll bring him a pair of double 
mittens," cried Phillis joyously. 

It was sunset of a November day when 
Phillis, stepping off the little steamer, 
set upon Boody's Landing the foot of its 
future conqueror. The place was a mere 
hamlet tucked away in the shadow of a 
great headland. It looked lonesome and 
eerie in the yellow afterglow, but when 
she turned to look back from the porch 
of the little house that had been her 
great-aunt's home there flashed upon her 
ken the wide dark glory of the sea, quiet 
and clear in the low light. She stood 
still to look, and a vagrant wind out of the 
vast silent places touched her like the 
breath of freedom. Her mind flew back 
to the city home which she had just left, 




and to the coming festivities of various 
sorts in which she was expected to share. 
" I do believe I am well out of it," she 
said, not stopping to explain more clearly 
what she meant. 

The house she found was in charge of 
the seventy-two year old hired girl, who 
after the mistress' death had been in- 
stalled as caretaker. This official re- 
ceived Phillis rather crisply at first, not 
being used, as she explained, to city folks, 
but that young person, with her usual 
charming ' disregard of other people's 
whims, proceeded to make herself in- 
stantly and completely at home. To 
subjugate a hired girl of seventy- two 
sounds an incredible feat in the telling, 
but Phillis had pretty well accomplished 
it before she slept, and in a few days had 
actuallv reduced Aunt Polly, as she 
called her, to such an abject state that she 
beamed with pleasure at the sound of her 
tyrant's foot on the stairs. It fared no 
better with an ancient mariner whom 
Aunt Polly called Cap'n Rollins and who 
turned out (when Phillis inquired into 
the terms of his apparent life-lease of the 
chimnev corner) to be her husband. In- 
deed he even outdid his partner in render- 
ing delighted homage to the usurper. 

They held an anxious council at once 
on the subject of the double mittens. It 
appeared that the outlook was not so bad, 
after all, for a good angel named Sally 
Prout, who lived near by, sent in word that 
she had knit fifty pairs ''in case they was 
wanted." Aunt Polly could do nothing 
with her poor crumpled hands, but the 
captain who had learned the art during 
some of the long voyages of his youth 
sturdily declared he was good for twenty- 
five pair if they didn't call on too fast. 

Phillis pondered the matter for a while. 

"Can a commonplace person of average 
intelligence — or nearly so — learn to 
knit double mittens?" she queried. "Or 
do you have to be born inspired, or pos- 
sibly bred up to the profession as one is 
bred up to the church?" 

"La, I can show you how in two shakes 
of a lamb's tail," declared Polly. "But 
it's tough work for fingers that ain't used 
to it." 

"My fingers have survived a course of 
piano practice that any kind of knitting- 

work would be a fool to," retorted 

So began a series of lessons in which 
Aunt Polly and the captain were joint 
teachers and Phillis the pupil. An apt 
one she proved to be, and she was so 
proud of her first completed pair of 
double mittens that she wanted to lay 
them away in lavender in the great chest 
of drawers. But she found the demand 
for them was getting too urgent to allow 

It seemed that a certain young^sailor 
who happened to be spending the winter 
ashore, and who looked like a viking, 
Phillis said, rather than a disburser of 
double mittens, had undertaken to dis- 
tribute those useful articles in quarters 
where they were most needed. At least 
he was always appearing with a harrow- 
ing tale of some ancient fisherman who 
had frozen his thumbs going out to his 
trawls, or some wood chopper who suf- 
fered for want of a covering for his hands. 
Now it was the oldest Whitney boy who 
had to row his five little brothers across 
the cove to school every morning ; then it 
was the five little brothers, one after the 
other. And it always was divers old men 
whose hands were knotted with rheu- 
matism and whose work called loudly for 
a pair of double mittens. 

"Thad knows all the poor folks in 
town," explained Aunt Polly. "It was 
his mother's way afore him. You see 
that old house up on the ledge? — that's 
where she lived and in her time it was a 
regular refuge for the lame, the halt, an' 
the blind. She used to help your aunt 
knit for the whole town, so it comes 
natural to Thad to be interested in 
double mittens." 

"Of course the poor people ought to 
have them now or never, with winter so 
near," sighed Phillis, straightening her 
cramped fingers. "It's for the honor of 
the house, cap'n dear, and that young 
viking is going to see to it that there is 
no rest for the wicked until the hundred 
pairs are finished. But I do wish he'd 
stay away one whole day at a time and let 
the supply get a little ahead of the de- 
mand. There's the Storm Warning 
coming up the path this minute. Of 
course he wants another pair." 



The Storm Warning, so named by 
Phillis because his appearance always 
heralded a frenzied outbreak of knitting, 
was a nondescript boy often employed 
by Thad as messenger. He presented 
himself forthwith to demand in the name 
of his chief four pairs to give to four 
"Canucks" — so the Storm Warning desig- 
nated them — who were camped in a 
timber lot at the other end of the town. 
Phillis and the captain worked late that 
night and Phillis dreamed that a giant 
double mitten carrying a pirate's flag 
was coming after her across the dark 
expanse of sea before her window. While 
she shrank from it, it turned into Thad, 
who threateningly informed her that the 
Storm Warning was cast away in a mitten- 
less condition on a distant coast and that 
Phillis must go at once to his rescue in a 
dory with only her knitting needles for 
oars. <s ■■■\ ij ; . -| ■ • 

However, the work grew easier day by 
day, and the distraught knitters soon saw, 
as the captain expressed it, ''land ahead." 
The hundred pairs were all finished but 
two, and the demand had slackened. The 
Storm Warning stumbled in one night 
at dusk to say that Thad knew of only 
two needy cases — one young 'un at 
school who had burnt up both mittens 
tending a brush fire, and old Sam Cassidy 
"what had hired out to cut cord wood for 
Bill Yates." The captain was even then 
nearing the end of a full-grown pair which 
would do for old Sam, and Phillis had 
just finished one of a smaller pair which 
might be taken to replace those accident- 
ally sacrificed by the owner. 

She made a small fire in her room 
that night, and finished that hundredth 
pair to the tune of her own jubilant 
thoughts and the long wash of the tide 
at the foot of the rocks below her window. 

"What a holiday I'll have to-morrow," 
she said. "Why, I have hardly had 
time to look at the sea, I've been so 
tyrannized over by the viking and double 
mittens. I'll stay as long as ever I 
please and enjoy myself. Don't I own 
a house and lot at Boody's Landing? I 
think I shall settle down and live here. 
Just think, — no bridge partners to please 
and no gowns to fix up; just long days 
in the open with the wind and spray in 

my face. I'll borrow — or steal — some- 
body's boat — the viking's, maybe; I'm 
no longer in terror of that autocrat." 

She went down to breakfast next 
morning, with a double mitten on either 
hand, to find a letter from Aunt Laura. 
Phillis must come home at once, it ran, 
for Harriet and Ethel, as she knew, were 
no better than yardsticks dressed up to 
entertain anybody at dinner. Besides, 
they were both engaged, which wouldn't 
be at all amusing to Dr. Caswell, who had 
positively promised to come, and who 
during a call at the house had displayed 
marked interest in a portrait of Phillis 
herself which hung in the library. There 
was no knowing what might come of it 
unless Phillis turned fractious, which 
would be the height of ingratitude, for 
Aunt Laura had freshened up the white 
lace gown with her own hands till it 
looked like new, and the six-ten train 
got into town just in time to dress for 

" I hope it will enjoy being taken down 
to the table in a white lace gown by Dr. 
Caswell," commented Phillis, throwing 
the letter in the woodbox. "As for me 
I'm going rowing. Hurrah, I'm free! 
The conquest of the Double Mitten is 
complete. Shall I quench the joy of 
my triumph at a mere ordinary dinner 
party? Not if I know it. " 

Phillis's feet were winged as she went 
down over the rocks by the rough path 
that led to the landing. The whole 
glorious winter world was calling her, and 
the gypsy strain that lives always in the 
blood of the race answered with a thrill 
of pure joy. The December sky was 
almost as blue as that of June, for the 
winter was setting in with unusual mild- 
ness. The dark brilliance of the sea was 
a wonder that drew the eyes again and 
again. The black curving line of coast 
was besieged with creaming breakers and 
the places of the outer islands of the 
harbor far up the shore were marked by 
distant upshooting columns of white 
spume that sprang continuously like 
giant flowers from the deep. 

Phillis stood still to gaze with growing 
wonder and delight. 

"And to think I live here!" she cried. 
"Yes, I'm actually a citizen of Boody's 



Landing, and an inheritor of all this rich- 
ness. Oh, I don't envy the six- ten train 
in that white lace gown! And there's 
the viking at the boat landing." 

The viking greeted her curtly, but im- 
mediately offered his boat and himself 
for anv expedition she wished to under- 

"You mustn't go out fooling 'round 
by yourself in this sea," he explained 

Phillis resented the slighting tone, but 
accepted the offer with alacrity. With 
the help of an able seaman she could 
venture further than she thought prudent 
to go alone and she had long desired to 
row out to an oddly shaped rock which 
she could see from the window of her 

"I want to go out to Death's Foot- 
stool," she announced, unshipping one 
pair of oars. "Yes, of course I'm going 
to row; I shall be cold if I sit still, and 
besides, I don't think it's fair for you to 
have all the fun." 

"I suppose you mean you want to go 
out to the Devil's Perch," rejoined the 
viking, unshipping the other pair of oars 
and setting a stroke that sent the dory 
shooting through the clouds of stinging 
spray. ' ' That's what they call that black 
hummock of rock out there." 

"I dare say!" retorted Phillis severely; 
"you people along the coast are disgrace- 
fully familiar with the aforementioned 
personage. But I'm not bound to be 
hampered by your nomenclature. I call 
it Death's Footstool, because I can see 
him out there on a stormy night brooding 
over the tumult that beats against his 
House of Quiet." 

"Are you planning to break into his 
house? I guess the door to it opens 
pretty near that rock and I don't think 
you'd have to knock long to be let in," 
suggested the viking. 

And then he quoted half mockingly, 
half earnestly: 

" There shall be neither moon nor star, 
But the wave would make music above us afar, 
Low thunder and light in the magic night; 
Neither moon nor star." 

"Oh, I might have known you were a 
poet," sighed Phillis, "though I never 
heard you talk about anything but double 

mittens before. But you were born here. 
Tennyson didn't write that for a day like 
this, though ; he wrote it for the summer 
when the water is all green and amber 
under the boat keel and the waves just 
breathing in their sleep. I've felt the 
fascination he means, though I still prefer 
the top of the wave that makes music. 
When you are away on your voyages 
don't you always feel the sea call drawing 
you back?" 

"The sea isn't generally very far off 
when you're on a voyage," the sailor 
reminded her. "But I always do feel a 
drawing back to this place. Whenever 
I shut my eyes I could always see it — ■ 
the beach and the big rock out there and 
the waves tumbling in the sun. I should 
come back here at last if I traveled up 
and down the world for a lifetime. The 
home call and the sea call together could 
mighty near bring a man back from 
heaven, I reckon." 

"I know it," cried Phillis; "I've got 
it in my blood, if I was born in a city. All 
through the winter (which is the real silly 
season) I keep my courage up by thinking 
of the summer when I can get back to the 
sea. When I'm old and rich and can do 
as I please I shall settle down here and 
stay all winter. I suppose in time — 
ten years or so — Aunt Laura would 
leave off writing for me to come back and 
help get up dinner parties. Then I can 
sit down in peace and knit double 

The viking laughed at this in what 
Phillis would have considered a very 
irreverent manner if she had not been too 
busy to notice it. She was looking with 
awe at the vast black mass of rock to 
which they were now drawing near. She 
had to take the tiller while Thad brought 
the boat as near as it was safe to approach. 
To a nervous person it would not have 
seemed very safe, for the stout dory was 
like an eggshell in the fretted sea, and 
every lift of the ground swell threatened 
to fling them against the ledge. They 
hung there as long as they could, watch- 
ing the terrible sea tear at the portals of 
Death's "House of Quiet," then they 
got the boat out of its uncertain position 
and were soon speeding landward under 
the impetus of two pairs of oars. 



"Why didn't you fetch Thad in to 
dinner?" asked Aunt Polly, who had 
watched their ascent from the landing. 
"I mistrust the poor boy's in need of a 
square meal by this time. The cookin' 
he gits at home would starve out a mouse; 
he wouldn't be able to eat enough of it to 
keep him alive." 

"Oh, dear, it never occurred to me that 
a poet and a sea king could be hungry. 
Send him some ham and eggs, Aunt 
Polly, do, for he's going to show me the 
way to Diamond Cove this afternoon, and 
to-morrow I'm going out to the net with 
him, so his strength must be recruited at 
any cost. It would be extremely incon- 
venient to have him die on the way." 

"Wall, I hope to holler!" observed 
Aunt Polly enigmatically. But she 
beamed at the captain over Phillis's 
shoulder and remarked apropos of noth- 
ing, a few minutes later, that Thad's 
house was the best one at the Landin' ; 
though it did need clapboardin', and that 
he must be havin' a dog's life of it with 
that old housekeeper and her slab-sided 

"Thad's got considerable book learnin', 
too," she added after a thoughtful pause. 
"He was goin' to the High School over 
to Herrick's Mills when the other young 
fellers round here was readin' in the 
Fourth Reader an' cipherin' in fractions. 
And as for reel downright goodness there 
ain't a better boy in the world, if he is a 
mite sassy with his tongue sometimes." 

The weather continued to be wonder- 
fully mild for winter, and Phillis made 
the most of it. Even a stormy gray day 
when she could scarcely keep her feet 
on the wind-swept shore seemed to fill 
her with delight. She would come back 
from her walks with the salt spray cling- 
ing in drops upon her dress, her bright 
hair fluttering all about her face like the 
sunshine the skies had lost, and a sparkle 
in her eyes like the gleam on winter seas 
at sunset. 

Thad walked and rowed with her when 
he could leave his work. It had not 
occurred to Phillis that a poet and a sea 
king could have work, but she accepted 
his absences with equanimity (since he 
left her the dory) and hailed his return 
with glee, since with his help she could 

accomplish expeditions she could not have 
undertaken alone. As for Thad he made 
fun of her seamanship, and quoted Ten- 
nyson's sea songs and laughed at her 
accounts of life in the city to which he 
always listened as a grown-up person 
listens to a whimsical nursery tale. 
Phillis complained that he was unim- 
pressionable and didn't take her pictures 
of life out in the great world with becom- 
ing seriousness. 

" I guess we needn't worry about losing 
her, ma!" opined the captain, who was 
already knitting away contentedly at 
next year's supply of double mittens. 
"And why in creation shouldn't she settle 
down an' live here when she's got a good 
house of her own and another one that 
she can have for the takin' unless all 
signs fail ? ' ' 

In truth Phillis herself began to believe 
that she was born for no other life than 
this. The old life in the city was getting 
faint and far away. Everything per- 
taining to it looked dim and shadowy in 
her memory, as if she had dreamed it. 
The things around her were the real 
things — this vivid stretch of sea and 
sky, the rocking dory, the lonely shore, 
the weird world of waters and the dark 
face of her boatman that seemed to rise 
out of the tumbling waves like something 
that belonged to them. Had she ever 
had any other home but this house on the 
rocks, or any housemates but Aunt Polly 
and the captain? Aunt Laura, when 
she thought of her, seemed to be in her 
mind only a fashionably dressed shade 
with a disagreeable habit of discoursing 
volubly in the watches of the night about 
things Phillis wished to forget, and a 
troublesome fancy for writing letters, 
a vice to which no inhabitant of the spirit 
world should be addicted. 

Phillis read the letters that fell like 
rain from the void where shades are sup- 
posed to dwell, and wondered vaguely 
at her aunt's apparently inexhaustible 
supply of words and ink. 

" Phillis, you are standing in your own 
light in a perfectly maddening manner," 
ran the burden of these epistles. "Dr. 
Caswell is flying about as fidgety and 
uncertain as the weather in April, and 
everybody thinks it so strange — your 



spending the winter down in that out- 
landish place. With everything else I 
am slowly dying of Ethel's trousseau, 
the burden of which falls entirely on me ; 
you know what the girls are — they've 
no more judgment than canary birds. I 
really think the poor child will have to 
die an old maid if you don't come home 
and help. And you'll ruin your com- 
plexion and become a melancholiac — I 
think that's the word — staying down 
in that dreary hole." 

To this Phillis replied that she thought 
she should like being a melancholiac by 
the sound of it, and didn't Aunt Laura 
know that complexions were out of 
fashion years ago? Furthermore, how 
did she suppose those hundred pairs of 
double mittens were going to get them- 
selves knit for next year unless she — 
Phillis — stayed to help? 

Replies of this sort gradually goaded 
Aunt Laura to a kind of genteel frenzy. 

"If you don't come home in time for 
my reception next Thursday," she wrote, 
"I shall wash my hands of you, you un- 
grateful girl, and so will everybody else. 
Dr. Caswell has fairly demanded a meet- 
ing with you, and what am I to tell him? 
For mercy's sake, write me whether 
you'll come, and I'll show him your an- 
swer if he pesters me any more. He has 
actually become quite intimate at the 
house, Phillis, — think what an honor. 
I'm sure I never expected it, but it came 
about somehow after a chance meeting 
with your uncle. I think your picture 
in the library had a good deal to do with 
it, for I told him weeks ago you were 
coming home directly, and I believe he 
haunts the house in hope of your arrival. 
He and your uncle George have got as 
thick as thieves; you'd think they were 
a couple of boys to hear them laughing 
over their pipes in your uncle's den. It 
isn't often such a learned man as Dr. 
Caswell is so companionable and lively; 
at least, I always supposed that dis- 
tinguished scientists went about look- 
ing at things through microscopes and 
were liable to appear at the dinner 
table with bones sticking out of their 
coat pockets. 

"But hurry home and get me out of 
this. And write at once — a plain yes, 

or no, — whether you'll be here for 

Phillis answered this in one word, for 
she was tired of the subject and the tide 
was right to get around the point to the 
"Dragon's Cave," a wonder of the shore 
she had not yet seen. After that letters 
ceased and she forgot all about the world 
that was so busily washing its hands of 

And then very quietly the predestined 
end of it all came. 

The viking met her one evening as she 
climbed up the path from the shore in 
the glow of a brilliant winter sunset, and 
asked in abrupt sailor fashion as he helped 
her up the last steep steps of the way : 

"Could you be contented to stay here 
with me always, Phillis, in that old house 
up on the ledge?" 

And she answered severely : 

"Nobody but a poet would be mad 
enough to ask such a question of a girl he 
had known only a few weeks. It's lucky 
I've got sense enough for two — though 
as to the house, it's a better one than 
mine and quite good enough for — no, 
no, Thad, you mustn't say another word; 
people will think we are demented and 
we should be if we allowed ourselves to 
think of such a thing." 

And the viking had the grace to ac- 
quiesce for that time, as he could afford 
to do, since a fleeting glimpse of a pair of 
blue eyes had told him all he wanted to 
know. It was like his impudence, 
Phillis said afterwards. 

Aunt Polly, too, seemed inclined to 
take a great deal for granted when they 
came into the house; she had seen them 
come up together from the rocks and was 
looking very wise about nothing, as 
Phillis observed to herself. She took oc- 
casion to whisper as the girl passed her: 

"You couldn't do better for yourself, 
Phillis ; I knew all his folks afore him, and 
I know jest what stuff he's made of. 
And his vy'a'ging in foreign parts so much 
ain't done him no hurt as I can see." 

Thad stayed to supper that night and 
sat in the chimney corner beside the 
captain, his eyes following Phillis as she 
moved about the little room helping 
Aunt Polly, with very much the same 
look which in Adam's eyes might have 



followed Eve through the lights and 
shadows of paradise. 

The summer was cleared away and 
Thad was popping corn — the captain 
felt something in the air which called for 
some mild form of festivity — when the 
door opened and a portly, pleasant, but 
hopelessly citified gentleman walked in 
among them. 

"Don't mind me, folks," he said. 
"I'm only Uncle George. Look here, 
Phillis, your aunt's developing symptoms 
of brain storm and I can't tell her the 
joke till that rascal Caswell — huh ! here 
he is now. I might have known it! 
Young man, you look like a light of 
modern science and an ornament to the 
medical profession ! You do indeed ! " 

He indicated Thad derisively with a 
gloved forefinger, but the viking rose to 
his feet with beautiful dignity. 

"Phillis has promised to be my wife." 

"No, I didn't!" gasped Phillis, sinking 
upon Aunt Polly's copperplate lounge. 
"I never in my life promised anybody I 
would be any such thing — and if I did 
it was Thad Castle — that's what every- 
body called him." 

"That's merely the vernacular of 
Boody's Landing for Theodore Caswell," 
explained the viking. "They pro- 
nounced my family name that way 
around here before I was born, and when 
I got big enough to reform them I was 
too busy to attend to it. You called me 
that yourself, you know, and it wasn't 
for the likes of me to correct the language 
of a young lady from the city." 

"But he's been in town for a month," 
argued Phillis. "Aunt Laura kept writ- 
ing a lot of stuff about you — I mean — 
Dr. Caswell." 

"So I was there, but I always managed 
to get back before you had time to miss 
me much," explained the poet brazenly. 
" If you were so very incurious about my 
movements as not to ask a single question 
when I came back after a two days' 
absence, why should I enlighten you? 
I hated to go, but I had to get around and 
do the civil to a lot of folks. Then I 
happened to fall in with Uncle 
George" — that relative-elect acknowl- 
edged this open bestowal of his title by a 
friendly poke in the speaker's ribs — 

"and after that things got livelier, for 
when I found out that he was uncle to 
the picture in the library I up and told 
him all about meeting you down here. 
We felt obliged to conceal it from Aunt 
Laura for state reasons; but I did 
assure her of my interest in the original 
of the picture and the date of your com- 
ing home. And I must admit I begged 
the answer to her latter about your com- 
ing to the jamboree Thursday just to 
see if you were interested in Dr. Caswell. 
I can't say just how I should have dis- 
posed of that gentleman if you had been, 
but it was all right as it turned out." 

He drew from his pocket a dainty sheet 
of note paper which, being unfolded, dis- 
played only a very big "No!" with a 
vicious-looking exclamation mark jabbed 
deep into the paper at the end. 

Phillis sighed and Uncle George ob- 
served in a didactic vein: 

"This teaches us, Phillis, that when- 
ever we hear of a big toad in the puddle, 
even if it's as far away as Germany, it's 
safe at least to investigate to see whether 
he didn't come from an obscure country 
town somewhere in little old New 
England. In case he did, let us re- 
member that, ten to one, the obscure 
country town doesn't care a rap for his 
fame, supposing they've heard of it at 
all, but thinks of him as Tom, Dick, or 
Harry who used to steal their apples and 
raise the deuce generally. If you bear 
these points in mind, my young lady, you 
may not be taken in a second time." 

" I'll never trust a human being again," 
mourned Phillis. "And to talk about 
living in that dear old house on the ledge 
when you're only a bemedalled humbug 
of a scientist ! " 

She looked unutterable things at the 
viking who hastened to say : 

' ' Why, of course we'll live in it ; it shall 
be our castle by the sea, and we'll make 
it a regular air castle materialized. 
We'll have a coat of arms and a motto 
and you shall choose a device for our 
shield " 

The captain who had been a quiet but 
appreciative listener in his snug corner 
suddenly held up his knitting work. 

"How would a pair o' double mittens 
do?" he suggested with a chuckle. 



•Andrew D. White, formerly United States Minister to Germany, chairman United States 
Delegation to the Hague Conference, 1899 

The World's Legislature Is Here 

By R. L. Bridgman 

JOSEPH H. CHOATE, one of the 
delegates of the United States to 
the second Peace Conference at 
The Hague, when addressing the Har- 
vard Union on the evening of March 6, 
last, in company with his colleague, 
General Horace Porter, told of the unani- 
mous agreement of the conference in 
recommending a third conference. That 
such third conference be held was urged 
upon the delegates of the United States 
and upon the conference as a whole, from 
various sources. This urging was a 
consequence of the United States move- 
ment to secure, as a development of the 
Hague Conference, a regular congress or 
parliament of the nations. Action to 
this end had been taken repeatedly by 
the Mohonk Arbitration Conference, and 
that action was the outgrowth of previous 
activities. It was a phase of the move- 
ment to secure the organization of all the 
world as a single political body. 

So incredible has been the rapidity and 
success of the movement that even the 
uninterested cannot but wonder at it 
when it is compared with the failure of 
other progressive efforts which have 
enlisted many more supporters and have 
commanded the sinews of far larger 
financial support. It is a wonderful 
story of a very few years of nominal 
activity. But it has been abundantly 
shown that the ripeness of the world for 
the movement was far in advance of the 
watchfulness of even the acutest states- 
men, and that it was merely necessary to 
topple over the first brick to set the whole 
row falling. Personal initiative counts 
for little in the presence of these mighty 
world forces. 

At a meeting of the directors of the 
American Peace Society, in Boston, 
March 27, 1906, Dr. Benjamin F. True- 
blood, the secretary, said: "The move- 
ment for a world congress, as a practical 
proposition, originated right here on 

Beacon hill." He also said that he was 
a member of the committee of the Inter- 
parliamentary Union at St. Louis, in 
September, 1904, which drew the resolu- 
tion which was presented to the President 
by a delegation from the Union, asking 
him to call a second peace conference. 
It was at his suggestion that the clause 
favoring a world congress was made a 
part of the resolution. The advance of 
the movement has been distinct. It is 
brief and the success it has attained has 
been remarkable. Indeed, most of our 
people are doubtless not aware how 
much has already been accomplished. 

In 1902 a petition for aid in promoting 
"a world legislature" was presented to 
the Massachusetts legislature. In March, 
1903, was published an article, under 
that title, setting forth, step by step, the 
way in which the beginnings of world 
legislation might be made. It was- 
premised that the invitation to a gather- 
ing of delegates of the nations should be 
issued by the president of the United 
States, setting forth the object of the 
meeting, mentioning the principles of 
world unity upon which the movement 
was based, and having these words: 
" The invitation might further say that 
the people of the United States recog- 
nized that there was a true limit to the 
nominal sovereignty of so-called sovereign 
nations, and that they were ready to 
surrender formally their conceded right to 
control their own course upon certain 
matters which might better be placed 
under the jurisdiction of a world legis- 
lature." r — - ^iti.b:^ 

Other details were named. The second 
step was to be the acceptance of the in- 
vitation by such as chose to accept it, 
with the probable reservation of right to 
adopt or reject any proposition sub- 
mitted by the conference. Third was 
to come the organization of the con- 
ference, to be followed by recognition of 


Joseph H. Choate, formerly United States ambassador to Great Britain, member United 
States Delegation to The Hague Conference in 1907 



the sovereignty of mankind as supreme 
over national sovereignty, and then the 
practical world legislation, or the prepara- 
tion of propositions by the conference 
for submission to the respective home 
governments for ratification, which step, 
the fourth, would complete the process 
and make the world legislation complete. 
From such a session regular sessions 
would follow, and mankind, as far as 
included by the nations represented, 
would be brought into an organic whole. 

This forecast, setting forth the probable 
form of what was to develop into a true 
legislative body, was so nearly followed 
that it is pertinent to note the similarity 
and the difference in the process as it is 
now recorded as a matter of history. 
Upon the initiative of the Interparlia- 
mentary Union, taken at the meeting in 
St. Louis, in 1904, President Roosevelt 
called a second peace conference. Sub- 
sequently, in order that the Czar of 
Russia, who called the first, might call 
the second, President Roosevelt waived 
his invitation. But the subsequent steps, 
with the exception of the waiving of claim 
to absolute sovereignty, were followed by 
the Hague Conference of 1907. That 
is, various propositions, involving, when 
complete, the affirmation of the nations, 
and therefore a true expression of the 
will of the world, or world legislation, 
were compared and submitted to the 
respective home governments for ratifi- 
cation. The source of the invitation 
was a minor matter, considering the far 
more important steps which followed in 
the very form in which they were pro- 
jected as a probable line of action by a 
delegate body acting as the germ from 
which would be developed the true 
world legislature. 

These steps set forth in that article 
were also set forth, in the very same 
words, in an address at the Greenacre 
school, on July 13, 1902, following the 
petition to the Massachusetts legislature 
named above, for the promotion of a 
world legislature. That petition was 
referred to the legislature of 1903. To 
that legislature was also presented a 
petition of the American Peace Society for 
the promotion of a regular international 
congress. Upon those two petitions the 

Massachusetts legislature adopted unani 
mously resolutions for " an international 
congress, to meet at stated periods to 
deliberate upon questions of common 
interest to the nations and to make 
recommendations thereon to the govern- 
ments." Out of that grew the clause in 
the resolution of the Interparliamentary 
Union in 1904, for such a congress, which 
was included in the invitation by Presi- 
dent Roosevelt. 

In 1905, when the Universal Peace 
Congress was in session at Lucerne, 
there was sent to one of the delegates 
from the United States, a forecast, 
setting forth the probability and the 
fitness that The Hague Conference would 
be the germ from which the world legis- 
lature would develop, and urging that an 
expression to that effect be secured from 
the congress. In 1906 and 1907 the 
Mohonk Arbitration Conference, and in 
1907, the National Arbitration and Peace 
Congress, in New York City, adopted 
resolutions looking to the development 
of The Hague Conference into a regular 
international congress. 

Now, regarding this Hague Conference 
of 1907, which was heralded over our 
country, only a few days before its con- 
clusion as a "fiasco" and "failure," and 
which was condemned freely in England, 
especially by the London Times, as Mr. 
Choate mentioned in his address, this 
proposition is here maintained: that in 
the history of the world there was never a 
more important political gathering, and 
that there will never be a more important 
one in the centuries to come. Here are 
reasons for this affirmation, which is 
made with all possible positiveness. 
This second conference was the first of- 
ficial gathering of delegates of the nations 
where the self-consciousness of mankind 
as a political unity came to the point of 
definite expression. At the first Hague 
Conference the inspiring and unifying 
idea, as set forth in the call by the czar, 
was mitigation of the horrors of war and 
effort to reduce the burdens of national 
armaments. That conference favored a 
second conference in order to complete 
action proposed at the first, but for which 
the nations were not then ready. Now, 
before the second Hague Conference 



was called there had grown up into per- 
ceptible activity this self-consciousness of 
all mankind, this firm conviction that 
there is a political world unity which 
demands and will secure recognition. 
In consequence of that demand, which 
was strongly pressed upon the second 
conference and influenced its action, 
the second conference recommended the 
calling of the third. There was a world- 
wide difference in quality between the 
recommendation of the first conference 
that a second be called, and the recom- 
mendation of the second that the third 
be called. Somewhere, outside of The 
Hague Conference, there was a voice from 
the mass of mankind. There was a cry 
of self-consciousness. That cry was in 
the form of rational language. It was 
clear. It was intelligible. It was defi- 
nite. It was brief and urgent. It asked 
the conference to recognize the unity of 
all races, of all nations, and of all creeds, 
and to take steps to make that unity 
formal and actual. 

That cry naturally encountered the 
conservatism of ages. The members of 
the conference were there to act as prac- 
tical, but progressive men, not as theor- 
ists. The conference did not commit 
itself to the whole program which was 
urged upon it and to which its members 
might assent in their personal capacity. 
But it did the very and the only thing it 
could have done, practically, if it had 
indorsed the whole program. It recom- 
mended the calling of a third conference. 
Here is the historic language of the 
recommendation : 

" The conference recommends to the 
powers the convocation of a third con- 
ference within a period similar to that 
which elapsed between the former con- 
ferences, leaving the exact date to be 
fixed in common accord by the powers. 
The conference calls the attention of the 
powers to the necessity of having the 
work of the conference prepared a 
sufficient time before its meeting, so that 
its deliberations may be taken with 
indispensable authority and rapidity. 
To attain this object the conference 
thinks it very desirable that about two 
years before the probable date of convo- 
cation a preparatory committee be in- 

trusted by the governments with the 
collection of different propositions to be 
submitted to the conference and the 
gathering of matters susceptible of being 
embodied in international regulations, 
and that the committee prepare a pro- 
gram about which the governments will 
agree early enough to have it earnestly 
studied in each country. The conference 
recommends that this committee be also 
intrusted to propose a system of organiza- 
tion and procedure for the conference." 

That is the form in which it was re- 
ceived in this country by cable. Mr. 
Choate said that the word "analagous" 
was used where the word "similar" 
appears above. Now, there cannot be 
the slightest doubt that such a con- 
ference will be held, nor that it will be 
followed by a fourth, and so on. Nor 
can there be any doubt that these suc- 
cessive conferences will formulate propo- 
sitions which will be ratified by the na- 
tions, like the propositions formulated by 
the first and second conferences. So the 
will of the world will have formal, official, 
and universal expression. This is true 
legislation. Whether or not it shall be 
reached in the routine with which the 
nations have hitherto been familiar is not 
to the point, and is of no consequence to 
the main truth. World legislation will 
have been accomplished. The body 
through which the propositions were 
formulated, even though its function is 
not yet complete like that of fully de- 
veloped legislative bodies, is clearly on 
its way to complete development and is 
entitled to the name of the world legis- 
lature. Now see where this truth brings 
us, where it brings the world, as a self- 
conscious unit. 

The world legislature is here. As an 
institution, it has already arrived. Be- 
fore the meeting of this second con- 
ference there was unconscious action 
toward this end through many successive 
international congresses and conferences 
leading up to the first Hague Conference, 
and what that conference did has become 
unifying action of the world in the self- 
conscious light of the second Hague Con- 
ference. That self consciousness will in- 
crease, and recognition of the unity of 
mankind as a political body will spread 



wider and wider till every nation and 
every person who thinks on these things 
shall see the truth beyond question. 

The world has moved in this matter far 
faster than could possibly have been 
anticipated. Not only that, but it has 
moved far faster than any one seems to 
have realized in the presence of the 
momentous and historic facts. Very few 
have paid any attention whatever to this 
marvelous development. We are actually 
in the most wonderful period of human 
history, politically, which the world has 
ever seen or ever will see, and no other 
era, with the exception of the beginning 
of the Christian religion, ever has or ever 
will approximate it in importance. 
Future growths and changes will be 
outcomes of the present, but in a way of 
less importance for any few years than 
the few years in which we are now living. 

Yet this great cause has found it utterly 
impossible to get a hearing in many 
circles, even here in the United States, 
where it would be supposed that it would 
be welcomed with prompt appreciation. 
It is needless to specify the many details 
now, but they can be mentioned when the 
time comes for retrospect over this phase 
of the movement. 

That this second Hague Conference 
will stand out in history as the most 
important of all political gatherings in the 
development of the race will appear from 
the fact that in it the self -consciousness of 
mankind, as a political unit, was felt and 
shown, and, also, — and it is no small 
matter, — that there was a distinct be- 
ginning of the development of the world 
judiciary. Whatever may have been 
possible in way of developing the judiciary 
from the Hague Court of Arbitration, 
here is the fact that the proposition to 
establish a regular international prize 
court, put before the nations by the 
conference as the recommendation of a 
positive proposition to be ratified by 
them, presents the true germ of a world 
judicial department. When this court 
shall have been constituted and a case 
brought before it, then, in the decision 
of that case, there will be the formulation 
of certain principles of world law by the 
court as the basis of its action. Hitherto 
there has been nothing higher than 

international law, with the lack of world 
authority for its principles and its failure 
in way of official statement. Here will 
be a formal utterance by an official world 
court, lifting certain principles out of the 
realm of international law into the higher 
realm of world law, and the formal ex- 
pression of the world code will have 
begun. This will be judge-made law, 
but it will be world law, for all that. 

Whatever follows this second con- 
ference will be an unfolding from the 
self -consciousness developed there. It is 
a reasonable expectation that before the 
third conference shall meet, about 1915, 
there will have been a marked develop- 
ment of this world self -consciousness and 
that the meeting will be under far dif- 
ferent international conditions of friend- 
liness, appreciation, and disposition to 
go forward than prevailed at the con- 
ferences of 1899 and of 1907. By that 
time the statesmen of the nations will 
have become more familiar with the idea 
of world legislation and the steps by 
which it is to be accomplished. There 
will be a historic perspective for the first 
and the second conferences. Forces will 
be more strongly active, situations will 
be clearer, duties will be plainer than 
they have been hitherto. It will be seen 
that the new era is already here, and that 
the political organization of mankind 
into one body is so far advanced that 
tie different organs are visibly taking 

Already it is the fact that, by the action 
of the second conference, self-conscious 
world legislation has been proposed, as 
world legislation had been unconsciously 
proposed by the first conference of The 
Hague and by many previous inter- 
national conferences and congresses. 
Already several separate germs of the 
world executive department have been 
exercising official and formal action 
under authority of the nations. Now 
the world judiciary is added to the official 
list. Taking all these developments to- 
gether, it is not only timely and true to 
say that the world legislature is here and 
that mankind has come into a partial 
self-consciousness of political unity, but 
it seems to show lack of a discerning 
mind to hold otherwise. We are right 



in the thick of these momentous develop- 
ments before we realize it. 

Again, the actual development of 
world forces has outrun the observation 
of mankind in the matter of arbitration 
of international difficulties. For years, 
yes, for centuries, there have been pro- 
positions of more or less definite interna- 
tional action for the settlement of dif- 
ferences between nations. In recent 
years foremost in this endeavor has been 
the Mohonk Conference. At the second 
Hague Conference there was an unsuccess- 
ful effort for the establishment of a world 
court of arbitration. But the world 
judicial system, which that conference 
inaugurated, will make a special court of 
arbitration needless. Out of the body 
of international law, and still higher, 
out of the world's sense of justice, will 
develop the world code under which the 
world judiciary will practice. It will be 
as much higher than a world court of 
arbitration as a state court is higher than 
a state board of arbitration. Such a 
court of arbitration will be an inferior 
and needless body under the natural 
development of the world judiciary. 
That is, before men have been able to 
work out their inferior device, the 
magnificent forces of all mankind, run- 
ning ahead faster than we have realized, 
will make our labors vain, just as the 
return of the summer sun makes hotbeds 
superfluous. All honor to the men who 
have worked for international arbitration 
and who have consecrated their efforts 
for the peace of the world. Without 
them this development would have been 
retarded. But the real forces in mankind 
have been broader and stronger than any 
man has dreamed. World unity is nearer 
than had been supposed. What seemed 
at the beginning of this century to be 
perhaps hundreds of years in the future 
is now proved to be right at our doors 
as we count time in the progress of the 

These world forces are constantly and 
powerfully in action. Not by spasms do 
they advance, dependent upon meetings 
of world conferences at The Hague. 
Before the third conference shall meet a 
great change will have occurred from the 
status which existed when the second 

conference ended. We are justified in 
predicting this because of the rapid ad- 
vance which was made during the years 
between the first and the second con- 
ferences. Great as was the gain then, 
greater may be expected during the 
succeeding eight years, because now the 
world is in the enjoyment of a partial 
self -consciousness of political unity which 
did not exist then. There will be all the 
difference between intelligent effort to- 
ward a particular end and a blind groping 
in obedience to an instinct which does not 
foresee the end and which has no definite 
plan of advance. That, in itself, will 
bring great gain. 

But during these coming eight years 
there will be operative, with doubled 
efficiency, all the forces of commerce, of 
travel, and of social intermingling which 
contributed to the advance of the previous 
years. Never before was the missionary 
spirit as widespread as it is to-day. 
Never before were local populations 
learning so fast from all the remainder 
of the world in order that they may the 
better conduct their own affairs. World 
unity is being promoted in a hundred 
other ways than by conscious, intelligent 

Therefore, considering this intelligent 
and unintelligent operation of mighty 
forces, all making to the organic unity of 
the nations as one, it is fair to forecast a 
totally different atmosphere for the third 
world conference from that at either the 
first or the second. Most surely there 
will be a better realization of what world 
unity means in itself and of what it carries 
with it. When the third conference shall 
meet there will be far wider trust in the 
friendly motives and unselfish purposes 
of other nations than has ever existed in 
any international conference hitherto. 
In the delegate sitting on the other side 
of the table will be recognized a true 
brother. Mutual trust will supplant, to a 
degree till then impossible, even if it is 
not perfectly developed, the suspicion 
with which every act of another nation 
has been received. On this basis of 
trust there will be a readiness to advance 
to higher relations and an acceptance at 
face value of promises of friendship which 
has been impossible hitherto. It will be 


30 1 

easier than ever to carry measures Of 
progress, and the momentum of world 
faith in mankind will catch even the 
backward and the distrustful. 

Then, without formal persuasion, or 
much argument, it is fair to expect that 
the desired progress toward disarma- 
ment, more than the limitation of 
armaments, will be secured. With a 
true world court in operation, with a 
body of world law sufficient for the pur- 

pose of covering international differences, 
there will be no more need of armaments 
than the states of the United States need 
armaments when they have the courts of 
the nation for the enforcement of their 
rights. All this will come about at some 
subsequent conference, in due, easy, and 
natural process of development. Condi- 
tions will then be ripe, and the fruit will 
fall into the hands of mankind. It is no 
discouragement that it has not ripened. 



A robin, a robin. Oh, I heard him sing, 
Saw the red on his breast and the brown of his wing. 
He came from the blue sky, there over the hills, 
And thrilled all the air with his passionate trills. 

A robin, a robin, just bursting with song ; 
Caressingly warbling, while winging along; 
An answering call from some hidden retreat, 
A rapturous greeting, the song is complete. 

A robin, a robin. 'Tis springtime, I ween, 
I saw his bright shadow a glint in the stream, 
As kissed by the sunshine he paused on his way 
To trill forth a promise of blossoms and May. 

Architecture and the Public 


THE present condition of architec- 
ture is peculiar and new. It has 
in past ages been the dominant art; 
to-day it is so no more. Among the Greeks, 
Egyptians, Romans, and the civilized 
races of the middle ages, most of their 
productive labor went into it. It was the 
embodiment of religious aspirations and 
civic splendor, the symbol of military 
power and imperial dominion. The other 
arts were nursed by it, and brought up 
in subservience to it. In each of these 
periods a single style prevailed, in which 
all the arts were assimilated to facile com- 
bination, and the people at large, used to 
seeing that style in all things about them, 
were in the best position for appreciating 
it in large works as well as small, for 
judging buildings and their adornments 
of painting and sculpture all in one light. 
Now we have changed all this. It has 
been reserved for our time, and chiefly for 
our country, to build streets in which 
buildings of every style we know jostle 
each other like jugs on the shelves of a 
china shop. Nothing could have been 
less fortifying to a safe professional taste 
or more upsetting to popular judgment 
than the experiments in style that our 
country has gone through within a cen- 
tury. We began with our inherited 
Colonial, of many good qualities if no 
great ones, which we must needs throw 
away to try new fashions ; then came the 
Greek revival; then the Downing period, 
leading up to the so-called Vernacular; 
then the Gothic revival and the French 
Romantic, with its accompanying Man- 
sards; the Queen Anne, an excursion into 
Romanesque; and at last a revival of 
Italian and Classic forms leading back to 
Colonial, till we are near where we started, 
but encumbered with an enormous quan- 
tity of baggage picked up en route. 
What wonder that people come to assume, 
not only that one style is as good as 
another, but that all together are as good 

as one? What wonder that architects 
themselves not only lose that familiar 
sensitiveness to special forms and their 
due combinations that approaches an 
instinct and is the technical secret of their 
best work, but fail to agree on any archi- 
tectural language, and so lose much of the 
mutual help and common impetus due 
to people who work on the same lines? 
And if the architect is at such disadvan- 
tage under our eclectic habit, the public 
is still worse off, for it takes its lesson 
only from what the architect sets before 
it. If this lacks consistency and har- 
mony, or that subtle quality which we 
call style, how are people to learn what 
harmony is, or style? How conceive any 
standard of judgment by which to esti- 
mate what they see? The architect has all 
the architecture of past ages to chasten 
his judgment and refine his perceptions; 
the public has none of this. Therefore 
our public is no guide to the architect. 
The most he can expect from it is to 
follow his work with intelligent interest, 
to line his pocket — rather gingerly — 
with fees, perhaps encouraging him when 
it is good, but hardly helping to restrain 
him when he goes wrong. 

A dozen years ago or more the exhibi- 
tion at Chicago gave us an opportunity, 
which architects accepted with delight, of 
putting together in one large area a great 
group of buildings — amounting to a 
town — in a single style and of uniform 
material. They were arranged with a 
careful eye to combined effect on skilfully 
planned lines, with due provision for both 
continuity and contrast and with a great 
variety of position and vista. Leading 
architects were called from all over the 
country. One or two wayward brothers 
insisted on designing in styles of their 
own choosing, but almost all held loyally 
to the conditions. The result was mar- 
velously successful. The individual 
buildings were designed with great skill 




and variety within the limits of the classic 
or neo-classic manner that was prescribed. 
But the illuminating success, as had been 
hoped, was in the great consistent scheme 
of architecture, ably conceived, and 
carried out with complete harmony of 
parts. It was such a thing as home- 
keeping Americans had never imagined, 
and as travelers could not find anywhere. 
I remember that some critics were so im- 
pervious to its teaching as to lament that 
the buildings claimed attention that 
should have been saved for their contents 
■ — as if American architecture and sculp- 
ture were not as important and as worthy 
of exhibition as American soap and cook- 
stoves. We hoped that it would be a 
lesson in largeness of design, in harmony 
of composition, and unity of style, that 
would not be forgotten in spite of its 
perishableness. At least, after it the 
confusion among us was somewhat abated. 
One thing which has influenced, I 
think, the public's way of regarding 
architecture is an unconscious substitu- 
tion of the painter's view of it for the 
architect's. This is modern, a thing of 
the last generation or two. Within that 
time a new art of landscape painting has 
been developed, and with it the pictur- 
esque painting of buildings. Now the 
painter's way of looking at a building is 
very different from the architect's. The 
architect looks for the designer's idea, the 
shape he has given it in all its parts; that 
is, the human quality in it: to him the 
work is first and last a work of art. It 
interests the painter mainly as a work of 
nature, especially if it is more or less 
ruinous, as from the painter's point of 
view every building ought to be. He 
looks for the natural color, the texture, 
the stains, the weathering, the accidental 
lights and shadows. Every mark of 
decay is precious to him ; for the carefully 
studied proportions, the delicate adjust- 
ments of line, the character of details, he 
does not care. They would even be im- 
pediments to him, diverting his attention 
from things he does care for. Therefore, 
though painters sketch buildings, it is a 
rare thing to find a painter who will draw 
one as it looks to its creator. His draw- 
ing, conceived as a sketch, remains a 
sketch to the end, however far he carries 

it. But architecture does not accom- 
modate itself to sketching. Buildings 
are good material for sketching, like other 
things in a view, but architecture is not. 
If you want to sketch a building well you 
must leave out most of the architecture, 
unless it is very simple; and this the 
painter does. 

Painting being now the dominant art, 
the public is inclined to take its views of 
art from the painter, as the master in art, 
and learns to look at buildings as he does. 
The great pictorial magazines, which are 
the average reader's school of art, enforce 
this habit. They print many good draw- 
ings of architecture, but they also shine 
with painter's drawings which are carica- 
tures of the buildings they represent. Let 
the amateur of architecture, then, be on 
his guard against the picturesque view. 
A drawing of architecture must be a por- 
trait. Its truth, its value, depend on its 
details as much as music does. Once in 
studying a statue to be set up in a public 
place I was criticizing the crude details 
of the pedestal. "Oh, well," was the 
answer, "so long as the general movement 
of the line is right, the details don't 
matter." It was a musician who spoke; 
but what would she have said at hearing 
a nocturne of Chopin or symphony of 
Mozart shorn of its details — its har- 
monies reduced to their rudiments, the 
melodies shaved down to scales and 
arpeggios, the figured passages simplified , 
and only the tone coloring of the piano, 
or of violins, horns, and bassoons left to 
it? So it is