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Overland  Monthly 
and  Out  West  Magazine 


Bret  Harte,  Anton  Roman 


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10  Cents  Per  Copy.  $1.00  Per  Year. 

ESTABLISHED  1868. 


Overland  Monthly  "-^      ^ 


./o 


C>  .V/......JJ  ^^ 

AN   ILLUSTRATED  MAGAZINE  OF  THE  WEST.  '^i  !^ '^ 


Vol.  XXXVII.         SECOND  SERIES. 

JANUARY-JULY,        ....       1901. 


1  /. 


f.-v 


FREDERICK  MARRIOTT,  Publisher,  -  -  -  San  Francisco,  Cal. 


INDEX. 

Adjournment  Sine  Die,  An Story.     By  William   Wassell 772 

Adventures   of   Shunyakclah,   The Illustrated.  By  Frances  Knapp 602 

After-Life    Poem.     By  Park  Bamltz 595 

Aloft    Poem.     By  Elizabeth  Gtorberding 622 

Industrial    Innovation,   An By  Fairfield  Jones 1146 

Answered    Poem.    By  Blinor  Merrill 693 

Arrov^ead,  The Illustrated.    By  Bugene  Elton 625 

Aztec  Calendar  Stone,  The Illustrated.    By  Adelia  H.  Tafflnder.  .695 

Bettina  the  Redemptioner Story.     By  Jeannette  H.  Walworth .. 6d5 

Big   Yellow  Stag,  The Story,  ni.  By  R.  B.  Townsend 825 

Birds  of  Prey Story.    By  Blizabeth  Haight  Strong.  .593 

Birth  of  the  Winds,  The. Poem.     By  Maud   Dunkley 584 

Books:  To  Read  or  Not  to  Read 654,  727,  1047,  1140 

California Poem.     By  Annette   Kohn 629 

California  Indian,  The V. Illustrated.    By  Alfred  V.  La  Motte.  .831      - 

Cascades,  MlirValley,  The Illustration    669 

Chinese    Jews By  A.  Kingsley  Glover 692 

Chinese    Misalliance,    A Story.    By  A.  B.  Westland 611 

City  Hall  Park  and  U.  S.  PostofRce,  San  Jose, Frontispiece 1060 

Qfiffee  Culture   in   Mexico Illustrated.    By  Lawrence  M.  Terry.  .703 

Cross      Roads Story,    ni.    By  Mary  Harding .lOOe^ 

Cy  Warman  and  His  Boys Illustrated.    By  Elizabeth  Vore 674 

D.  Cupid,  Hack  Writer Poem.     By  Wallace   Irwin 684 

Daughter  of  the  Mayflower,  The Poem.     By   Charlotte    Leech 610 

Discontent    Poem.    By  Ina  Wright  Hanson 643 

Diary   Habit,  The Essay.     By  Gelett  Burgess 596 

Easter    Lilies Poem.     By  Blanche  M.  Burbank 824 

Francesca:  A  Tale  of  Fishemuin's  Wharf.  .Illustrated.  By  Jans  Van  Dusen 659 

Qirl  from   Noumea,  The Story.    HI.    By  J.  F.  Rose-Soley 809 

Glimpse   of    Belvedere,   A Illustration    680 

Haidah  Indians,  The lU.  Margaret  Wentworth  Leighton.  .1083 

Home    Shot,    The Story.     By  Helen  Shafter 1101 

Homing  Pigeons  in  Local  Lofts Illustrated.    By  Theodore  Oontz 1093 


Index. 

Indians  of  the  Hoopa  Reservation Illustrated.     By  Theodore  Qonta....6ao 

Kamako Story,    ni.    By  Hester  A.  Benedict. .  .779 

Killing  of  Joslah  Rockman,  The Story.     By  Elisabeth  Duttim .Wl 

Land  of  William  Tell,  The Illustrated.    By  Jane  Nearlein 710 

Lawyer-Poet's  High  Play  at  the  National 

Capital,  A By  George  Selwyn «23 

Life  on  the  Gilbert  Islands Illustrated.    By  Arthur  Inkersley . . .  1006 

Light  that  Blinded,  The^ Story.    By  Lou  Rodman  Teeple 609 

Lion  as  Game,  The Adventure.    By  Fred  Harvey  Major.  .719 

\loss  of  the  Rio  de  Janiero,  The niustrated.    By  Alexander  Wolff 847 

Mad  Patrol,  The Story,    m.    By  Lucy  Baker  Jerome.  .1019 

Matter  of  Opinion,  A Editorial. . .  .657,  730,  804,  852,  1048,    136 

Marg    S^tpry.    By  Alma  Martin  Bstabrook.  .776 

Mariposa  Lilies Poem.    By  L.  Craigham  600 

Matilija's    Daughter Story.    By  H.  M.  Love 1081 

\Mexloo's  Greatest  Festival  Illustrated.   Clara  Spalding  Brown.  .1027 

Nwexican  Indian  Passion  Play,  The Illustrated.    By  L.  M.  Terry 817 

New  Wonder  of  the  World,  A Illustrated.   By  Joaquin  Miller 787 

Northern  California: 
The  Sacramento  Valley: 

Its  Resources  and  Industries Illustrated.    By  Oen.  N.  P.  Chipman.  .887 

Off  Mile  Rock Poem.     By  Isidore  Baker 1086 

Old  Indian  Paintings  at  Los  Angeles Illustrated.    By  Blizabeth  T.  Mills 776 

Oregon  Ruffed  Grouse,  The By  Herbert  Bashford  1098 

Pan-American  Exposition,  The Illustrated.    By  Henry  Beever 644 

Picturesque    Guanajuato Illustrated.  B.  Clara  Spaulding  Brown..617 

Presented   Poem.    By  Amelia  W.  Truesdell 774 

Princess  Ronhllda  and  the  Princess 

Laluaba,  The Story.  By  Wardon  Allan  Curtis. ..'..  .676 

Red,  Black  and  Yellow,  The Essay.    By  John  T.  Bramhall 722 

Rune  of  the  Riven  Pine,  The Poem.    By  Aldis  Dunbar 771 

Rose  Carnival  and  Santa  Clara  Valley.. niustrated.    By  H.  L.  Wells 1102 

Saved  by  a  Mosquito  Adventure.    By  Fred  Harvey  Major.  .637 

Scorn  of  Women,  The Illustrated.    By  Jack  London 979 

Sea  Change  Poem.     By  Herman  Scheffauer 690 

Sister  Fllomena  Story.    By  J.  F.  Rose-Soley 598 

"1600"    Story.    By  Helen  B.  Wright 666 

Some  Reminiscences  of  Early  Days Recorded  by  Oeorge  Selwyn 842 

Sparrows,  The Poem.    By  Lou  Rodman  Teeple 1034 

Story  of  San  Juan  Capistrano,  A Illustrated.   By  Harry  R.  P.  Forbes.  .681 

Tattler,  The Story.    By  Maurice  Gradwohl 840 

Tahiti    '. Illustrated.    By  Arthur  Inkersley 1074 

Theosophy  and  Theosophists Illustrated.    By  H.  S.  Olcott 992 

To  the  Mona  Lisa  of  Da  VlncI Poem.    By  Park  Bamitz 790 

Trail  In  the  Redwoods,  The niustrated.    By  W.  G,  Bonner 1061 

Two  Poems Poem.    By  Eleanore  F.  Lewis 1025 

Umatilla  Cradle  Song Poem.     111.     By  Mary  H.  Coates 837 

Varney  Sykes'  Little  Phil By  Helen  M.  Wright 1087 

War  Correspondents  of  To-day,  The Illustrated.  By  James  F.  J.  Archlbald..791 

Winter  Sunset  at  Santa  Barbara,  A Poem.    By  S.  E.  A.  Higglns 777 

With  Whips  and  Scorns Story.    By  Edward  F.  CahiU 670 

With   John  James  Ingalls Sketch.    By  James  Matlock  Scovel..716 

Welcoming  the  Buddha's  Most  Holy 

Bones Illustrated.    By  D.  Brainard  Spooner .  .585 

Woman  Who  Has  Lived  History,  A By  Margaret  Coy  Kendall 640 

Yosemite Poem.    By  Irving  Outcalt 1006 

Yosemlte  Legends Poem.    HI.    By  g^n^^d^^tSOOgld^^ 


90 1 38 


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Overland  Monthly 


.OL.  XXXVII 


January,    1901 


No.  I 


\  0,. 


Welcoming   tKe    BuddKet's    Most  Holy    Bones. 

By  D.  Brainerd  Spooner.     (Tutor  at  the  Siamese  Legation,  Tokyo.) 


ROBABLY  in  benighted  Christendom 
it  is  not  grenerally  known  that  an  an- 
( }  cient  dagaba  was  opened  on  the  border 
^  of  Nepal  a  year  or  two  ago,  wherein 
were  found,  I  think,  five  urns,  containing 
Tarious  relics  of  Gotama  Buddha,  even  to 
&  portion  of  his  most  Holy  Bones.  The  gol- 
den trinkets  and  the  urns  themselves,  I  am 
toM  on  high  authority,  found  an  unworthy 
last  resting  place,  some  in  the  Calcutta, 
some  in  the  British  museum;  but  the  Bones 
were  presented  by  the  British  (Government 
to  the  King  of  Siam,  as  the  only  Buddhist 
Domirch  in  the  world.  Thereupon  the 
representatives  in  Bankok  of  the  various 
countries  where  Buddhism  is  a  popular,  tho' 
Bot  the  State  religion,  prayed  His  Majesty 
for  fragments,  among  them  as  was  natural, 
the  mfaiister  of  the  Mikado.  His  Majesty 
sraeioasly  granting  this  request,  a  depu- 
tation of  Japanese  Buddhist  priests  was 
itraightway  chosen,  with  Lord  Otani,  son  of 
the  Most  Rev.  Count  Otani  of  the  Higashi 
fioo^eoanji,  Kyoto,  at  its  head,  and  the  com- 
luy,  eighteen  in  all,  set  out  to  receive  the 
H0I7  ReUcs. 
Meanwhile  the  Siamese  Minister  in  Tokyo 
»w  busy  writing  letters  and  preparing  the 
'^y  for  this  delegation,  which  was  possibly 
•e  reason  why  they  were  received  so  roy- 
•fiy,— which  adverb  will  stand  a  literal  in- 
t»pretatlon.  They  were  in  Siam  one  week; 
I  ttned  with  the  King,  went  to  Ayuthia  in 
*»  private  train,  saw  the  "sacred"  white 
^Muuits,  had  dinners  and  theatre  parties 
9hn.  In  short,  it  was  a  delightful  and 
feeaorable  experience.  With  fitting  cere- 
•■les  they  received  the  Holy  Relics  in  a 
'•■el  of  pure  gold  and  sailed  away  for  home 
^firing  safely  and  in  due  time  at  Nagasaki, 
^*ere.  as  at  other  cities  between  there  and 

90138 


the  ancient  capital  they  rested  a  day  or  two, 
thereby  giving  the  people  an  opportunity 
to  worship. 

Of  all  this  the  Marquis  had  been  kept 
informed  by  telegraph,  (and.  I  by  him)  and 
he  thought  it  would  be  a  neat  bit  of  courtesy 
to  go  to  Kyoto,  where  the  Bones  are  to  rest 
temporarily,  to  welcome  the  priests  on  their 
return,  and,  merely  Incidentally,  see  uie 
Gion  Matsuri. 

His  Excellency  very  kindly  insisting  that  I 
should  go  with  him,  we  started  out,  we  two 
alone,  and  imsuspectingly  existed  through 
the  weary  hours  and  worse  heat  until  we 
reached  Nagoya,  where,  to  my  unspeakable 
surprise  and  embarrassment  (I  chose  that 
word:  I  had  to  be  interpreter)  we  found 
a  group  of  priests  who  had  been  sent  those 
hundred  miles  to  meet  His  Excellency.  And 
from  there  on  the  stations  were  picturesque 
with  littie  knots  of  reverend  gentlemen. 

The  situation  began  to  dawn  on  us,  which 
was  indeed  fortunate,  else  what  should  we 
have  done  on  reaching  Kyoto?  The  plat- 
form was  packed.  Jammed  with  priests. 

"Bishop  and  abbot  and  prior  were  there; 
Many  a  monk,  and  many  a  friar. 
Many  a  knight  and  many  a  squire. 

With  a  great  many  more  of  lesser  degree. 

In  sooth,  a  goodly  company." 

And  not  a  soul  spoke  English.  Woe  was 
me!  Policemen,  however,  straightway  took 
us  in  charge,  struck  a  path  through  the 
crowd  with  their  swords,  and  escorted  us 
triumphantly  to  the  waiting-room,  where 
each  of  the  "goodly  company"  paid  his  re- 
spects and  his  compliments  to  the  Minister. 
It  was  an  occasion.  Of  course  I  could  not 
understand  their  titles,  and  could  only  guess 
which  was  which  by  the  gorgeousness   of 


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their  robes  and  the  hush  of  the  others  on 
the  approach  of  certain  ones. 

After  I  had  collected  a  few  hundred  huge 
cards  inscribed  in  unintelligible  Chinese 
characters,  the  policemen  cut  another  path 
through  the  by  this  time  seemingly  im- 
penetrable forest  of  people,  and  we  were 
ushered  to  His  Grace's  carriage.  The  hettos 
started  shrieking  up  the  street,  and  we  were 
off  for  the  hotel.  This,  too,  seemed  some- 
thing triumphal,  for,  as  has  already  been 


to  see,  full  of  that  peace  which  the  world 
cannot  give.  Courtesy  to  him  was  instinct- 
ive, and  I  bowed  very  low  before  I  learned 
he  was  the  Archbishop  of  the  Myohoin,  the 
temple  where  the  Holy  Relics  now  rest. 

And  I  must  tell  you  of  the  present  he  sent 
the  Marquis.  A  large  box,  r.bont  two  an^  a 
half  by  four  feet,  carried  in  on  a  stand  with 
handles,  and  full  of  the  most  artistic  confec- 
tions man  ever  saw,  perfect  roses  in  full 
bloom  and  of  all  colors,  morning  glories. 


A  View  of  the  Procession  in   Kyoto. 


said,  it  was  the  eve  of  the  Zion  Matsuri,  and 
the  streets  were  well  filled.  But  in  compari- 
son to  what  came  later  it  was  as  solitude. 
It  would  make  an  article  in  itself  to  ade- 
quately describe  the  reception  at  the  hotel. 
The  costumes,  the  profound  bows,  the  Ori- 
ental compliments,  and  all.  One  old  gentle- 
man was  particularly  striking  in  a  long- 
sleeved  gown  of  purple  gauze  over  white, 
a  red  brocade  arrangement  on  his  left  side, 
white  gloves  and  digitated  socks,  and  with 
the  sweetest,  kindliest  face  one  could  wish 


pine  cones  and  needles,  conventional  sea- 
waves,  delicate  petals  of  the  pink  lotus  scat- 
tered over  a  mass  of  their  own  green  leaves, 
— a  sight  for  goddesses  to  weep  at  with  envy. 

Now  we  had  to  come  to  Kyoto  one  day  ear- 
ly to  see  the  matsuri,  but  unfortunately  for 
our  plans,  the  next  day  the  priests  were  due 
to  reach  Osaka,  and  those  in  Kyoto  politely 
insisted  on  our  going  thither  to  witness  the 
ceremonies,  which  we  did:  and  therby  hang 
several  tales. 

We   were   the   only   guests   at   the   large 


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Welcoming   the   Buddha's   Most   Holy   Bones. 


587 


Osaka  Club  Hotel,  and  after  a  peaceful  tiffin, 
which  was  the  last  peace  In  hours,  went 
down  to  the  station  to  meet  the  Bones, 
which  came  at  last  amid  the  prostrate  multi- 
tudes and  the  richly  robed  priests,  his  Lord- 
ship at  their  head  In  delicate  brown  with 
a  shimmer  of  purple  somewhere.  After  a 
deal  of  heedlessness  on  somebody's  part  the 
procession  started  out  for  the  Tennojl,  a 
very  ancient  temple  said  to  have  been  found- 
ed by  Shotoku  Talshl  as  long  ago  as  the 
year  600;    and  In  the  first  coach  rode  the 


nese  lettering,  are  marching  solemnly 
through  the  narrow,  sometimes  covered 
streets,  something  like  those  pictures  we 
used  to  have  in  our  geographies  of  a  ''street 
in  Canton."  And  everywhere  are  crowds  of 
devout  spectators.  Considerably  ahead  of 
the  shrine  containing  the  Holy  Bones  comes 
our  coach,  surrounded  by  priests,  and 
whether  the  populace  took  us  for  the  Relics 
to  be  adored,  or  simply  limbs  of  Satan  to 
be  appeased,  Is  not  clearly  stated  in  the 
text;   but  whatever  the  cause,  the  fact  re- 


in. Full  Array. 


Siamese  Minister  and  his  English  tutor. 

I  think  anyone  at  home  would  have  deemed 
it  worth  considerable  to  see  that  coach. 
It  must  have  been  nearly  as  old  as  the  tem- 
ple, blue  brocaue  Inside  and  out,  gilded  with 
tassles  and  long  gold  fringe — a  sight  to  be- 
hold. But  funnier  still,  omitting  mention  of 
the  steed,  was  an  old  three-foot  organ  that 
faced  our  seat — "a  yard  of  music." 

The  long  line  of  dignified  priests  in  their 
flowing  robes,  the  fantastic  standard  bearers 
with  long  and  narrow  fiags  inscribed  in  Chi- 


mains  that  they  worshiped  us  as  we  passed 
by!  Actually  put  their  hands  together  in- 
side their  rosaries,  bowed  as  only  Orientals 
can,  and  in  pious  accents  murmured  their 
musical  Eastern  prayer,  "Namu  Amlda 
Butsu,  Namu  Amlda  Butsu,"  (usually  trans- 
lated, "I  adore  thee,  O  Eternal  Buddha.") 
until  the  Marquis  and  I  could  not  stand  It 
any  longer,  and  fairly  shed  tears — of  laugh- 
ter. And  it  was  so  hot!  Then  he  got  in- 
dignant; sat  bolt  upright,  shook  his  fist  and 
expostulated  with  them,  "No,  no!   No,  no! 


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I'm  not  a  bone!  I'm  not  a  bone!" — but  it 
was  in  vain.  In  desperation  he  opened  the 
organ,  and  while  I  pumped,  played  snatches 
of  Siamese  songs  on  those  keys  that  had  not 
yet  reached  Nirvana.  Vanity  of  vanities! 
They  seemed  to  think  them  the  strains 
of  heavenly  harps,  for  they  only  bowed  the 
lower,  and  mumbled  faster  and  faster,  till 
all  the  air  was  one  loud  hum  of  "Namwami- 
dabu" — until  we  were  too  weak  to  play  or 
laugh  any  more,  and  simply  lay  back  ex- 
hausted. About  this  time  I  looked  out  the 
gold-fringed  window  on  my  side,  and  caught 
the  eye  of  a  youth  just  putting  his  hands 
together  for  prayer — and  I  felt  sorry  for 
him;  his  astonishment,  his  dumb  amaze  at 
seeing  me  was  very  touching.  He  was  one 
of  my  old  students  at  Obsu,  ringleader  in  a 
"strige"  there  was. 

We  finally  reached  the  temple,  after  three 
mortal  hours  of  being  worshiped  in  that 
brocade  organ  coach,  and  rested  awhile, 
sipping  tea  with  the  high-priests,  after 
prayers  in  the  temple,  and  afterwards  car- 
ried away  our  boxes  of  cake,  Japanese  fash- 
ion. We  were  wholesale  dealers  by  the  end 
of  the  week. 

A  sail — or  whatever  you  call  it  when  a 
man  shoves  you  along  with  a  pole — ^up  and 
down  the  river  alive  with  lanterned  pleas- 
ure boats  full  of  gay  Orientals  singing  to 
their  tinkling  samisens  or  their  lugubrious 
shakuhachis  ended  that  day's  incongruities, 
and  we  rested  for  the  morow. 

On  that  day  the  Governor  very  kindly  sent 
his  carriage,  and  we  went  to  see  the  queer 
old  sacred  dances  at  the  Tennoji,  which  were 
given  despite  the  rain  on  an  uncovered  stage 
between  two  ponds  simply  crawling  with 
tortoises.  The  rich  old  costumes  of  the 
dancers  against  the  huge  upright  temple 
drums,  with  the  pagoda  towering  in  the 
background,  made  a  truly  weird  and  East- 
ern picture.  The  dancers  themselves  were 
not  at  all  exciting,  being  merely  dignified, 
but  to  the  unregenerate,  meaningless  panta- 
mimes,  yet  interesting  withal  and  quite  im- 
pressive, especially  at  the  part  where  the 
ofTerings  were  made,  two  priests  standing 
in  the  center  of  the  stage,  each  with  a  huge 
red  umbrella  held  over  his  head,  and  a  wee 
little  boy  in  attendance,  while  young  men 
hurried  across  with  stands  or  trays  of  vari- 
ous kinds  of  foods,  which  were  received  by 
the  priests  at  the  top  of  the  temple  steps 
and  placed  before  the  altar. 


That  night  we  returned  to  Kyoto  so  as  to 
be  there  to  meet  the  Bones  again,  which 
we  did  early  the  next  morning,  and  fell 
back  of  His  Lordship,  or  rather  tried  to, 
for  the  crowd  was  perfectly  unmanageable. 
We  were  separated  long  before  we  got  to 
the  little  wicket  leading  in  from  the  plat- 
form,  and  where  the  crush  was  terrific; 
no  superlative  is  adequate.  Of  course  it  was 
mostly  a  reverent  crowd,  but  not  wholly. 
The  inevitable  pickpocket  was  abroad,  I  dis- 
covered, on  looking  later  for  my  watch. 

It  is  but  a  little  way  from  the  station  to 
the  Higashi  Hougwanji,  and  after  getting 
through  the  jam,  and  with  the  help  of  one 
of  the  priests,  who  had  met  us  at  Nagoya, 
rejoining  the  Minister,  is  was  only  a  few 
minutes  before  we  turned  in  between  the 
two  huge  bronze  lanterns  into  the  great  yard 
of  the  temple,  filing  between  lines  of  nearly 
prostrate  priests.  It  was  a  wonderful  pic- 
ture. The  temple  is  one  of  the  largest  in 
the  Empire,  with  a  massive  double  Oriental 
roof  whose  countless  beams  were  hoisted 
into  place  by  ropes  of  human  hair,  which 
was  the  only  offering  the  peasant  women 
could  make.  On  either  side  of  the  broad 
and  high  steps  stood  a  line  of  temple  musi- 
cinans  in  pale  grey  silk,  the  one  with  green, 
the  other  with  purple  scarfs,  playing  the 
weirdest  of  music  on  queer  instruments — 
dies  of  pipes  of  unequal  lengths  bound  to- 
gether and  held  straight  up  in  the  air  in 
playing.  To  these  really  solemn  strains  the 
little  case  with  its  covering  of  gold  bro- 
cade was  carried  up  the  steps,  across  the 
spacious  hall,  and  deposited  on  the  central 
altar;  the  white  folding  doors  of  the  chancel, 
long  and  narrow  paneled  with  frames  of 
gold,  were  quickly  closed,  and  the  Marquis 
and  I  withdrew  to  an  inner  room  finished  in 
natural  woods  with  plain  gold  walls,  and 
tnere  we  waited. 

We  had  visited  this  temple  once  before, 
the  morning  we  went  to  Osaka,  when  the 
Minister  had  an  audience,  so  to  speak,  with 
His  Grace  the  Archbishop,  a  most  charming 
gentleman,  who  for  dignity  of  rank  and  per- 
son is  certainly  surpassed  by  few.  And  yet 
the  Americanism  in  me  is  so  strong  that 
I  could  scarcely  accustom  myself  in  all  the 
days  we  were  there  to  the  sight  of  the 
other  priests,  who  in  any  ordinary  presence 
might  be  counted  high  kneeling  on  the  fioor 
when  addressing  him.  His  robes  were 
of  course  gorgeousness  itself,  but  his  bro- 


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Welcoming   the   Buddha's    Most   Holy   Bones. 


589 


cade  was  especially  worthy  of  mention  as 
a  gift  from  the  Mikado  (His  Grace  is  a 
kinsman  of  the  Empress)  and  was  figured 
in  the  Imperial  chrysanthemum  crest,  which 
1  believe  he  said  no  other  priest  might  wear. 
In  shape  it  was  the'  same  as  that  of  any 
priest's;  a  piece  about  two  feet  wide  sus- 
pended from  the  left  shoulder  by  a  strap  of 
the  same  material,  and  encircling  the  body 
without  meeting  at  the  right — a  curious 
thing,  whose  name  I'm  sure  I  do  not  know. 
They  call  it  "kesa,"  and  on  ordinary  occa- 


nalia  of  Buddhism  glittering  before  it,  and 
beautifully  reflected  in  the  black  lacquer 
floor,  as  are  the  gold  walls  at  the  back, 
painted  in  enormous  lotuses.  Above  the 
chancel  runs  a  wide  frieze,  a  solid  mass 
of  intricate  and  exquisite  carving,  all  in 
the  brightness  of  new  gilt,  for  this  is  the 
newest,  as  well  as  one  of  the  grandest  of 
Buddhist  temples,  having  been  erected  in 
1895  at  enormous  expense,  almost,  if  not 
quite  all,  being  raised  by  popular  subscrip- 
tion. 


Buddhist  Priests. 


sions  wear  it  carefully  folded  quite  as  the 
Episcopal  clergy  do  their  stoles. 

While  we  are  waiting  let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing about  the  interior  of  this  temple, 
whose  main  hall  is  the  largest  room  in  Japan 
(something  of  Milton's  vagueness,  perhaps, 
but  I  trust  not  obsolete),  and  whose  ceil- 
ing is  supported  by  great  three-foot  pillars 
of  teak  wood.  The  chancel  is  enclosed  by 
the  narrow  white  doors  above-mentioned, 
which  usually  stand  open,  showing  the  three 
altars,  the  central  and  main  one  a  perfect 
blaze  of  gold  with  all  the  shining  parapher- 


Now,  I  know  I  am  a  failure  at  descrip- 
tion, but  were  I  the  master  of  it  par  excel- 
lence, it  would  still  be  impossible  to  show 
the  beauty  of  a  Buddhist  temple,  its  wealth 
of  gold  and  carving,  to  one  unfamiliar  to 
Oriental  extravagance  of  decoration.  But 
i**  you  could  have  seen  that  hall  as  we  pres- 
ently saw  it,  from  our  vantage  point  within 
the  chancel,  filled  with  countless  numbers  of 
high-priests  from  all  over  the  Empire,  clad 
ia  the  most  gorgeous  of  silks  and  brocades 
o^  every  conceivable  shade — you  would  agree 
that  mortal  eyes  have  seldom  seen  anythinir 


Digitized  by  VjOO^  IC 


590 


Overland  Monthly. 


surpassing  It  in  spendor.  Certainly  few, 
if  any  courts,  could  compare  with  it  in  msL& 
nificence   of   coloring. 

After  a  priestly  tiffin  of  inedible  vegeta- 
bles, the  Holy  Relics,  wii:ch  had  been  placed 
in  an  ornate  golden  shrine  newly  made,  took 
their  place  in  the  procession  which  had 
started  hours  before,  and  we  were  off  again. 
First  came  the  shrine,  then  Lord  Otanl,  and 
two  other  high-priests  returned  from  Bang- 
kok, then  a  man  in  stiff  white,  with  a  peaked 
black  cap,  bearing  aloft  a  Siamese  flag 
whose  elephant  was  fearfully  and  wonder- 
fully made,  with  claws  like  a  Bengal  tiger's. 
In  the  shadow  of  this  marvelous  creature 
walked  the  Siamese  Minister,  with  me  at  his 
shoulder;  then  his  official  interpreter,  who 
long  since  rescued  me,  and  from  there  on 
an  endless  line  of  priests. 

Like  all  summer  days  in  Kyoto,  it  was  hot. 
We  had  waited  four  hours,  had  had  prac- 
tically no  tiffin,  and  to  walk  through  those 
miles  of  sweltering  people  was  a  test  of 
one's  faith;  and  I  alone  of  all  that  multi- 
tude had  none  to  test.  But  fortunately  they 
had  spent  something  like  seven  thousand 
yen  on  a  covering  of  white  cloth  which  ex- 
tended from  the  Hongwanji  clear  to  the 
Myohoin,  and  save  for  which  we  had  surely 
given  out. 

The  astonishment  of  the  people  on  seeing 
me  among  those  thousands  of  priests  was 
amusing — ^that  is,  until  I  discovered  the 
truth,  which  was — can  you  guess?  They 
were  taking  me  for  the  Siamese  Minister, 
me  with  my  red  cheeks  and  redder  beard! 
Yes,  the  Marquis  passed  by  unnoticed,  and 
they  saved  their  bows  and  benedictions  for 
insignificant  me.  People  nudged  their  wor- 
shiping neighbors  that  they  should  look  at 
me,  and  thus  was  many  a  prayer  left  half 
unsaid.  The  sacrilege  I  caused!  I  began  to 
be  alarmed  lest  His  Excellency  blame  me 
for  it,  and  yet  I'm  sure  it  was  not  my  fault 
that  the  populace  could  not  distinguish  be- 
tween a  Southern  noble  and  his  Northern 
slave.  Gradually  I  dropped  back  and  back, 
however,  until  I  was  between  priests  whose 
flowing  silks  eCFectually  screened  me  from 
my  worshipers. 

I  think  it  took  us  fully  three  hours  to 
reach  the  Myohoin,  and  never  was  saint 
or  sinner  so  glad  of  rest  and  tea.  They  have 
a  very  neat  way  of  serving  tea,  those  priests. 
The  cups  are  a  little  larger  than  the  ordi- 
nary  Japanese    ones,    and    are    served    on 


little  lacquer  stands  like  elevated  saucers, 
and  every  cup  is  covered  with  a  tiny  lacquer 
lid. 

After  the  Minister  and  I  had  worshiped — 
I  not  knowing  at  the  time  the  full  signi- 
ficance of  bowing  before  the  idol  and  scat- 
tering powdered  incense  over  the  glowing 
coals  in  the  censer — we  were  allowed  to 
go  home;  I  say  this  for  the  hotel  seemed  a 
very  home,  we  were  so  tired. 

But  the  next  day  brought  the  most  en- 
joyable experience  of  all,  a  tiffin  at  Count 
Otani's,  given  in,  or  next,  the  Mikado's 
apaitments  in  the  retiring  villa  of  the  Lord 
Abbot,  opening  wide  on  what  are  rightly 
famed  as  the  most  beautiful  gardens  in  the 
ancient  capital.  The  banquet  (we  had  of 
course  a  delicious  French  menu  and  the  best 
of  wines)  lasted  fully  four  hours,  during 
which  on  the  one  side  geese  kicked  antics 
in  the  pond  and  storks  raced  up  and  down 
the  lawns  and  on  the  other  some  famous 
actors  especially  hired  for  the  occasion  pre- 
sented three  comic  pieces  from  the  Japan- 
ese theatre.  After  the  tiffin  the  whole  party, 
eight  in  all,  rode  around  the  pretty  ponds  in 
a  little  boat  festooned  with  purple;  in  and 
out  the  tiny  pine-clad  islets,  under  the  semi- 
circular bridges,  up  and  down  the  grassy 
bank;  watched  the  gold-fish  crowd  for  food, 
admired  the  parrots  and  the  peacock,  then 
took  our  jinrlkishas  and  were  trundled  back 
to  the  hotel. 

The  following  days  were  spent  in  tiffins 
at  the  different  temples  (though  as  flesh  is 
forbidden  in  most  of  the  Buddhist  sects,  our 
reverend  hosts  were  usually  unable  to  join 
us)  and  in  witnessing  the  ceremonies  at 
the  Myohoin. 

Did  you  ever  see  a  Buddhist  ceremony? 
They  are  very  beautiful  and  very  interesting, 
although  a  total  ignorance  of  the  meaning 
o^  what  is  being  said  and  done  inevitably 
detracts  from  the  solemnity.  The  urn  con- 
taining the  Holy  Relics  had  been  taken  from 
the  portable  shrine  and  placed  on  the  central 
altar,  directly  in  front  of  which  was  a 
raised  seat  for  the  Archbishop,  the  other 
priests  sitting  around  the  room.  And  over 
all  floated  the  perfumed  clouds  of  Incense 
from  the  censer  on  the  altar.  After  numer- 
ous ceremonies,  prostrations,  and  mystic 
finger  signs  on  the  part  of  the  Archbishop, 
tbey  all  arose  and  circled  round  the  room, 
bowing  low  each  time  they  passed  the  altar 
as   is   done   in   certain   Christian   churches. 


Digitized  by 


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Welcoming   the   Buddha's   Most   Holy   Bone^^  Oc   ..  ^^   "591 


all  this  time  chanting  In  slow  and  solemn 
strains  from  what  I  took  to  be  hymnals  or 
breviaries,  held  on  round  metallic  plates 
from  which  depended  long  silken  cords  of  a 
sombre  hue,  and  from  time  to  time  dropping 
little  round  pieces  of  dark  paper  which 
zigzagged  lightly  to  the  matted  floor.  It 
was  very  effective.  Gradually  the  Arch- 
bishop moved  in  toward  his  throne,  the 
others  back  to  their  original  positions;  once 
more  all  were  seated  and  the  metal  plates 
removed.  After  a  seeming  repetition  of  what 
had  preceded  the  marching  (or  should  I  say 
processional)  the  Archbishop  rose  and  slowly 


lowed  bones,  the  size  of  a  finger's  end.  But 
small  and  yellowed  though  they  be  they 
have  a  golden  resting  place,  and  millions 
of  pious  heads  bow  down  to  them. 

We  broKe  the  journey  back  at  Nagoya,  and 
at  one  other  place,  so  small  as  not  to  be 
mentioned  in  Murray's  Guide;  a  little  place 
called  Fukuroi,  where  is  the  temple  of  one 
of  the  high-priests  of  the  delegation  to 
Siam.  Our  long  line  of  jinrickishas,  for  sev- 
eral priests  accompanied  us,  wended  its 
meandering  way  through  low-lying  rice- 
fields  and  stretches  of  bamboo  forests  until 
we  reached  the  stone  steps  of  the  temple. 


Tennoji-Temple  at  Osaka. 


very  slowly,  withdrew  from  the  room,  while 
the  others  touched  their  foreheads  to  the 
fioor,  not  rising  till  he  had  crossed  the 
threshold. 

The  last  grand  ceremony  came  on  the 
twenty-fourth  of  July,  when  the  urn  was 
opened  and  the  Holy  Relics  reverently 
shown.  I  myself  was  not  allowed  to  be 
present,  as  only  the  heads  of  the  different 
sects  were  admitted,  but  the  Minister  tried 
to  console  me  by  saying  that  looked  at 
merely  as  a  sight  they  were  perhaps  a  little 
disappointing,  being  simply  three  little  yel- 


which  nestles  high  up  on  a  hillside  far  above 
the  surrounding  country.  Here  we  found 
the  priests  and  acolytes  drawn  up  to  receive 
us,  and  filing  between  them  climbed  up  to 
our  neat  little  open  room,  where  we  were 
provided  with  cool  kimonas  and  then  shown 
to  our  perfumed  baths. 

About  seven  o'clock,  I  think  it  was,  prob- 
ably about  sunset,  we  were  called  to  wor- 
ship, and  whether  or  not  it  was  because  this 
V'  a  temple  lo  the  god  of  fire,  I  do  not  know, 
but  the  ceremony  was  very  different  from 
anything  we  saw  in  Kyoto.  The  chancel 
Digitized  by  VjOO^  LtT 


592 


The  Shrine  in  which  the  Holy  Relics  were 
carried  from  the  Higashi  HongwanjI  to 
Mijohoin. 


itself,  deep  and  narrow,  and  nearly  filled 
with  the  great  altar,  is  somewhat  raised 
above  the  level  of  the  chapel  in  which 
we  sat  on  a  raised  mat  in  the  center  of  the 
floor,  a  boy  industriously  fanning  off  the 
mosquitoes  from  our  devoted  persutis,  tne 
rest  of  the  ''audience"  squatting  on  tnelr 
heels  around  the  room.  At  the  left  of  the 
chancel  stood  the  upright  drum,  which 
boomed  incessantly,  in  unison,  however, 
with  the  deep-toned  gong  upon  the  right. 
Behind  these  sat  the  priests,  in  two  rows, 
two  by  two,  the  Bishop  in  the  center  on  a 
mat  somewhat  similar  to  our  own,  placed 
in  front  of  the  altar  in  which  reposed  instead 
of  the  Buddha's  Bones,  a  photograph  of  the 
Siamese  King.  The  most  interesting  part 
of  the  service,  which  was  very  long,  was  the 
opening  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  which  was 
done  to  dispel  all  evil  spirits,  we  were  told. 
The  books  are  not  like  ours,  but  are  without 
backs,  simply  long  and  narrow  covers,  be- 
tween which  are  folded  back  and  forth  long 
strips  of  paper,  so  that  when  you  lift  one 
cover  the  pages  stretch  out  and  fall  back 
a;jain  like  the  sides  of  an  accordeon.  I  have 
forgotten  how  many  volumes  there  were; 
each  priest  had  a  pile  of  trays  full  of  them, 
and  at  a  given  sibnal  took  one,  raised  it  rev- 


Overland  Monthly. 

erently  to  his  forehead  and  while  all  chan- 
ted, opened  it,  first  to  the  left,  then  to  the 
right,  and  so  on,  the  pages  falling  after  one 
another  just  as  water  falls. 

At  that  point  in  their  prayer-book  -where 
special  petitions  are  inserted,  the  Bishop 
raised  his  aged  voice  and  in  tremulous  ac- 
cents invoked  the  blessings  of  his  God  on 
King  Chulaloukoru,  in  words  I  could  not 
understand,  and  upon  the  Marquis  in  tho 
following  strange  formula:  "Shyam  koshl 
kakka,  Banzai,,'*  "Shyam  koshi  kakka. 
Banzai y'  which  is  at  least  something  equiva- 
lent to  "Three  cheers  for  His  Excellency,  the 
Siamese  Minister,  hip,  hip,  hurrah!" 

Our  beds  that  night  were  spread  upon 
the  floor,  great  piles  of  quilts  (they  sleep 
on  one  themselves)  with  rolls  of  chaff  for 
pillows,  and  all  the  night  two  priests  walked 
to  guard  their  honored  guest!  But  beds 
were  not  important  after  ah;  we  were 
late  to  them  in  the  first  place,  and  by  three 
o'clock  the  next  morning  the  reverberations 
of  their  matutinal  devotions  expelled  the 
possibility  of  sleep.  At  three  o'clock!  After 
a  very  early  and  still  more  frugal  meal,  al- 
though they  served  a  banquet  for  a  priest, 
we  followed  the  purple-robed  Bishop  up 
the  mountain  side,  around  his  little  shrines 
and  teahouses,  and  while  the  cocks  were 
still  a-crowing,  were  off  for  Tokyo. 


A  Typical  Pose  and  Costume^ 


Digitized  by  V^OO^  LtT 


M 


ARIA  LUCERO  lay  dying  in  her  tiny 
bea-ioom  over  the  restaurant  she 
had  kept  for  thirty  years.  Equal 
to  the  emergency  of  death  as  she 
had  been  to  every  need  of  life,  she  had  pur- 
chased her  cofQn  over  a  month  ago,  and 
locked  it  in  the  little  room  opening  into  the 
one  in  which  she  was  passing  away.  Why 
she  kept  that  door  locked  her  nephews  An- 
gelo  and  Guilio  could  not  imagine.  They 
surely  did  not  wish  her  gastly  purchase 
for  themselves,  but,  on  the  contrary,  were 
more  than  content  that  it  should  be  put  to 
the   use  for  which   she  selected   it. 

It  would  soon  be  needed,  they  thought,  as 
they  watched  with  repressed  interest,  the 
fight  between  life  and  death  for  the  tired 
body  in  the  wide,  old-fashioned  bed.  She 
lay  on  her  bed  with  her  eyes  half-closed,  her 
right  hand  and  arm  extended  at  her  right 
side.  The  left  hand  was  pressed  over  her 
heart.  They  tried  to  move  it,  but,  weak  as 
she  was,  she  ottered  resistance.  The  neph- 
ews then  withdrew  to  the  narrow  balcony 
with  its  pots  of  scarlet  geraniums,  to  wait 
until  the  struggle  was  over. 

In  a  low  chair  beside  her  sat  the  friend 
she  had  known  for  over  ten  years,  Captain 
Simi,  of  the  schooner  Dancing  Wave.  He 
had  told  her  that  he  would  close  her  eyes, 
and  he  was  present  to  fulfill  his  promise. 
Death  advanced  steadily,  and  for  every  min- 
ute she  fought  him  determinedly. 

Sounds  of  the  busy  world  came  to  them 
like  an  echo.  Heavy  trucks  rumbled  through 
the  narrow  streets,  milk  wagons  clattered 
by,  peddlers  straggled  past,  half  calling, 
half  singing;  the  penetrating  screams  of 
children  at  their  play;  all  these  sounds, 
jumbled  and  muffled  by  the  distance,  floated 
up  to  the  watchers  of  the  dying.  Then  the 
rattling  of  dishes  followed  the  blowing  of 


»re 
ed 
ed 

BC- 

eir 
eager  nostrils  from  La  Buena  Mesa  under- 
neath. Pablo  Salazar  was  taking  their 
aunt  s  place  in  the  little  back  kitchen,  where 
for  thirty  years  she  had  leaned  over  the  stove 
and  cooked  for  her  patrons.  She  had  passed 
more  than  one-third  of  her  life  amidst  its 
fumes,  getting  up  at  sunrise  and  going  to 
bed  at  midnight  in  the  stuffy  bed-room  over- 
head, the  very  walls  of  which  reeked  with 
the  pungent  odor  of  her  cooking. 

"She  must  be  very  rich,"  Angelo  and  Gui- 
lio thought,  for  she  had  lived  economically, 
almost  to  miserliness,  and  never  given  them 
any  money,  sometimes  refusing  them  even 
a  meal  in  La  Buena  Mesa.  Now  all  her  ac- 
cumulations of  years  would  soon  be  theirs, 
and  they  might  walk  in  and  out  of  the  res- 
taurant whenever  they  pleased.  They  held 
their  breaths  as  they  tried  to  imagine  the 
exact  amount.  There  it  was  in  the  small 
iron  chest  in  the  corner,  which  the  old 
aunt  used  for  a  seat  morning  and  evening, 
when  she  put  on  and  pulled  off  the  red 
stockings  she  always  worr. 

They  had  never  seen  the  inside  of  the 
chest,  for  the  key  to  it  hung  from  a  ribbon 
about  her  neck.  The  cold  hard  metal  lay 
on  the  withered  breast,  in  which  had  died 
all  passion  save  the  one  of  possession.  It 
was  her  scapula.  She  kept  It  constantly 
warmed  with  the  faint  heat  of  her  shrunken 
bosom.  Many  a  time  during  the  last  month 
Angelo  and  Guilio  looked  at  that  ribbon, 
calculating,  enviously,  and  thought  how  lan- 
guidly beat  the  pulse  in  the  wrinkled  throat, 
and  how  easily  its  feeble  throbs  could  be 
made  to  cease.  But  it  was  safer  to  wait, 
for  Maria  Lucero  grew  weaker  every  day. 
The  odors  of  her  hard-working  life  seemed 
closing    round    her,    smothering    her. 

As  though  she  could  read  their  thoughts, 
the  figure  in  the  bed  moved  restlessly.  The 
Captain  moistened  her  lips  with  ^^^^Ifcter, 


594 


Overland  Monthly. 


and  then  resumed  his  seat.  It  made  his 
great  heart  ache  to  see  how  helpless  had  be- 
come the  active  frame  of  his  strange  friend. 
Never  had  he  seen  her  still  before;  not  since 
the  first  time  he  met  her,  over  ten  years 
ago. 

He  had  landed  in  the  strange  port  of 
San  Francisco,  one  rainy  afternoon,  and  had 
not   even    an    acquaintance    in   the    place. 

He  found  his  way  like  a  homing  pigeon  to 
this  Mexican  settlement  in  the  heart  of  a  for- 
eign city,  and  his  foot-steps  sirayed  to  La 
Buena  Mesa,  where  the  hot  savory  dishes  re- 
minded him  of  home  and  the  kindly  ways  of 
Maria  Lucero  won  his  friendship. 

After  that,  whenever  his  schooner  was 
in  port,  he  lived  at  the  little  restaurant, 
and  they  always  made  a  gala  time  of  it. 
He  promised  to  take  her  out  on  the  bay, 
and  she  planned  the  trip  with  all  the  eag- 
erness of  a  child.  How  surprised  her  cus- 
tomers would  be  when  they  found  La  Buena 
Mesa  closed  at  high-noon,  and  what  good 
things  to  eat  she  would  cook  to  take  with 
them! 

She  was  to  have  the  trip  at  last,  but  it 
would  make  no  difference  to  her  if  the  day 
was  calm,  or  a  stift  breeze  blowing,  tufting 
the  waters  with  white  caps.  She  would 
never  return  from  it.  Neither  would  they 
take  the  Captain's  favorite  frijoles  with 
them,  nor  the  tortillas  for  which  she  was 
famed.  Instead,  she  would  go  on  board  the 
schooner  in  the  coffin  she  had  kept  strangely 
locked  in  the  little  back  room  for  the  lc«st 
month,  and  he  would  bury  her  at  sea,  as 
she  had  made  him  promise  to  do.  The  worth- 
less nephews  would  then  squander  in  a  few 
months  the  money  she  had  worked  hard  for 
years  to  earn,  and  denied  herself  to  save. 

A  sound  made  him  turn  toward  the  bed. 
Death  had  won  the  fight.  He  arose,  removed 
the  pillows,  lowered  the  head,  and  pressed 
down  the  lids.  Then  he  joined  Angelo  and 
Guilio  on  the  rickety  balcony,  and  saw  their 
exulting  countenances  and  the  low  gray 
houses  opposite  as  through  a  mist. 

After  a  little  while  he  returned,  untied 
the  faded  ribbon  about  the  brown  throat, 
and  removed  the  key  that  she  held  in  her 
left  hand.  As  he  crossed  the  limp  hands 
on  the  still  breast,  he  noticed  that  she 
had  pressed  the  key  so  tightly  to  her,  it 
left  an  impression  above  her  heart.  He 
put  the  key  in  his  pocket  to  give  the  lawyer 
as  she  wished,  for  it  was  not  to  be  used 


until  after  the  funeral.  The  nephews  '•'*- 
turned  to  the  room  with  him,  and  their  eyes 
followed  his  movements  as  hiingry  dogs 
watch  a  bone. 

On  the  day  after  the  waters  of  the  bay  re- 
ceived the  body  of  Maria  Lucero,  Angelo, 
Guilio,  Captain  Slmi,  and  the  lawyer  gath- 
ered together  in  the  room  in  which  the  old 
Mexican  woman  passed  away.  The  chest 
stood  on  the  floor  in  front  of  them,  sym- 
bolical of  its  dead  owner;  small,  secret- 
ive, and  its  four  sides  of  iron  were  no  more 
unyielding  than  had  been  her  will.  The 
lawyer,  thin-lipped,  cold-eyed,  came  slowly 
forward  with  a  key  in  his  hand  to  unlock 
the  chest.  Angelo,  Guilio,  and  Captain  Siml 
saw  that  it  was  not  the  one  Maria  Lucero 
had  worn  about  her  neck.  The  key  that 
she  held  even  in  death?  To  what  had  that 
belonged?  The  shadow  of  a  fear  crept 
into  the  heart  of  the  nephews. 

The  lawyer  stooped  and  inserted  the  key. 
The  nephews  drew  their  chairs  closer.  They 
might  have  been  vultures  hovering  over 
carrion.  At  last  they  could  thrust  their 
hands  into  the  pieces  of  money. 

The  lock  resisted.  The  chest  seemed  like 
a  creature  at  bay.  The  two  boys  leaned 
over  it  as  though  they  expected  it  to  strug- 
gle. The  lawyer  took  a  firmer  hold,  a  faint 
pink  tingeing  his  pale  cheeks  from  the  ex- 
ertion. 

Finally  the  key  turned,  reluctantly  as 
though  it  was  a  sacrilege  to  yield  to  any 
hands  save  those  withered  ones  with  the 
brown  spots  and  broken  nails.  The  lawyer 
pulled  up  the  ring  on  the  top  of  the  chest, 
and  then  inserting  the  fingers  of  his  left 
hand  in  it  slowly  raised  the  lid.  A  hollow 
sound  like  a  mocking  laugh  came  forth. 
Angelo  and  Guilio  left  their  chairs  and 
stooped  greedily  beside  the  lawyer.  Captain 
Simi  peering  over  their  shoulders.  Two 
papers  were  the  contents  of  the  chest; 
one,  a  legal-looking  document,  the  other 
a  letter.  The  man  of  law  opened  tne 
document  first,  then  handed  it  to  the  birds 
Oi.  prey  for  inspection.  Eagerness  gave 
way  to  dismay.  She  had  sold  the  restau- 
rant and  the  building  in  which  she  lived. 
This  was  the  receipt  made  out  a  month  ago. 
Pablo  Salazar  owned  La  Bueiia  Mesa,  Why, 
then,  had  he  permitted  them  to  take  their 
meals  there  free  of  charge,  as  they  had  done 
in  their  aunt's  time?  What  had  become  of 
the   money   she   hoarded,   and   which   they 


Digitized  by  V^OO^  Lt^ 


After-Lifc. 


595 


thought  she  kept  in  the  chest?  Could  it 
be  possible  that  they  were  to  lose  that  for 
which  they  had  waited  so  long? 

The  lawyer  cleared  his  throat.  Angelo 
and  Guilio  turned  eagerly  in  his  direction. 
He  had  the  letter  in  his  hand.  The  other 
paper  had  contained  such  a  surprise  for 
the  nephews  they  had  forgotten  the  ex- 
istence of  this  one.  They  subsided  instantly 
and  waited  impatiently  for  it  to  be  read. 
The  lawyer's  tone  had  the  sharpness  of  a 
knife  to  the  excited  imaginations  of  the 
boys.  Every  word  of  that  bitter  letter  T^as 
like  the  thrust  of  a  stiletto  into  their  covet- 
ous hearts. 

TO  MY  NEPHEWS,  Angelo  and  Guilio 
Cassini, 

To  be  read  them  by  my  lawyer,  and  in 
the  presence  of  my  friend,  Captain  Simi: 

You  know  well  that  I've  good  cause  for 
hating  you  both;  but  my  real  reason  dates 
father  back:  before  you  were  bom. 

Your  mother  was  my  younger  sister,  but 
very  unlike  me.  I  was  plain,  quiet,  dull. 
She  never  worked,  never  saved.  Where  was 
the  need?  All  that  could  be  spared  from 
th3  household  we  gave  her,  that  she  might 
wear  bright  ribbons.  I  worK^-  hard,  and 
learned  to  hoard.  When  I  was  nearly  thirty 
I'd  saved  almost  enough  to  buy  a  little  res- 
taurant. Then,  one  day,  your  father,  Enrica 
Cassini,  came  between  me  and  my  drudgery. 
The  little  blood  left  in  my  old  body  grows 
hot  again,  when  I  think  what  a  fool  he  made 
of  me.  I  began  to  spend  my  hard-earned  sav- 
ings for  gay  ribbons  like  my  sister's,  and  I 
even  oought  a  little  gold  brooch  to  wear  at 
my  throat.     I  told  him  my  plans.     He  said 


he  would  put  what  little  he  had  to  mine,  and 
together  we  could  buy  out  a  friend  of  his. 
With  Enrica  to  manage  and  me  to  do  the 
cooking,  we  would  soon  grow  rich.  Then  we 
could  go  back  to  Mexico  and  live  among 
our  own  people. 

The  wedding  day  came.  Enrica  Cassini 
and  my  sister  could  not  be  found. 

Well,  I  began  all  over  again,  and  now  for 
thirty  years  I've  worked  steadily.  The  only 
time  I  gave  a  holiday  a  thought  was  when 
I  planned  a  trip  on  the  bay  with  Captain 
bimi. 

Father  Biggio  brought  you  to  me  fifteen 
years  ago.  Your  mother  died  after  giving 
birth  to  Guilio.  'Tis  small  wonder.  Your 
father  was  stabbed  by  a  man  to  whom  he 
owed  money.  I've  clothed  and  fed  you  both 
as  I  promised  Father  Biggio.  You've  repaid 
me  with  selfishness  and  greed.  I've  seen 
your  hands  clutch  and  unclutch  as  you 
thought  of  my  savings.  Your  eyes  devour  me 
as  I  grow  weaker  and  weaker  day  by  day. 
But  I've  outwitted  you.  I  vowed  over  thirty 
years  ago  that  never  again  would  anyone 
have  a  cent  of  my  savings,  and  so,  my  heirs- 
at-law,  I'll  take  them  with  me.  I  ordered  a 
coffin  made  over  a  month  ago,  as  you  both 
well  know.  The  only  worry  of  your  idle 
lives  is  that  it  has  not  yet  been  put  into 
use.  Between  the  folds  of  the  cloth  inside, 
I've  sewed  the  money  from  the  sales  of  the 
restaurant  and  building,  and  also  the  sum 
I  managed  to  accumulate  by  stern  economy 
and  hard  work.  The  key  that  locks  thaToom 
it  is  in  hangs  about  my  neck.  When  Cap- 
tain Simi  lowers  me  into  the  bay,  the 
waters  will  close  over  my  money,  too;  so 
my  death  will  cost  you  a  few  tears  after 
all,   my  nephews. 

I  thank  your  father  and  your  mother,  An- 
gelo and  Guilio  Cassini,  for  sharpening  the 
wits  of  your  aunt, 

MARIA  LUCERO. 


AFH^ER-LIFE. 

BY    PARK   BARNITZ. 


I   leave  the  sound,   the  sorrow,   and  the  strife; 

Long  long  ago 
I   lived  within   the   hopeless  world  of  life; 
Now  on  my  heart  forever  stilled  from   strife 

Slow  falls  the   snow. 

My  heart  is  still  at  last,  mine   eyes  no  more 

Their  lids  unclose; 
I   lie   low   in  the   house  without  a  door; 
While   I   forever  sleep,   my  spirit  sore 

Grows  in   a  rose. 


Digitized  by 


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FOR  seven  years  I  have  kept  my  diary 
scrupulously,  without  missing  a  day, 
and,  now,  at  the  beginning  of  a 
new  century,  I  am  wondering 
whether  I  should  maintain  or  renounce  it. 
There  are  certain  good  habits,  it  would 
seem,  as  hard  to  break  as  bad  ones, 
and  if  the  practice  of  keeping  a  daily 
Journal  is  a  praiseworthy  one,  it  derives 
no  little  of  its  virtue  from  sheer  inertia. 
The  half-filled  book  tempts  one  on;  there  is 
a  pleasure  in  seeing  the  progress  of  the  vol- 
ume, leaf  by  leaf;  like  sentimental  misers 
we  hoard  our  store  of  memories;  we  end 
each  day  with  a  definite  statement  of  fact 
or  fancy — and  it  grows  harder  and  harder 
to  abstain  from  the  self-enforcea  duty.  Yet 
it  is  seldom  a  pleasure,  when  one  is  fatigued 
with  excitement  or  work,  to  transmit  our 
affairs  to  writing.  Some,  it  is  true,  love  it 
for  its  own  sake,  or  as  a  relief  for  pent-up 
emotions,  but  in  one  way  or  another  most 
autobiographical  Journalists  consider  the  oc- 
cupation as  a  prudent  depositor  regards  his 
frugal  savings  in  the  bank.  Sometime, 
somehow,  they  think,  these  coined  memories 
will  prove  useful. 

Does  this  time  ever  come,  I  wonder?  For 
me  it  has  not  come  yet,  though  I  still  pic- 
ture a  late  reflective  age  when  I  shall  en- 
Joy  recalling  the  past  and  live  again  my 
old  sensations.  But  life  is  more  strenuous 
than  of  yore,  and  even  at  seventy  or  eighty 
nowadays,  no  one  need  consider  himself  too 
old  for  a  fresh  active  interest  in  the  world 
about  him.  Your  old  gentleman  of  to-day 
does  not  sit  in  his  own  corner  of  the  fire- 
place and  dote  over  the  lost  years,  he  reads 
the  morning  papers  and  insists  upon  going 
to  the  theatre  on  wet  evenings.  Have  I, 
then,  been  laying  up  honey  for  a  winter 
that  shall  never  come?    It  would  be  better 


were  this  true,  I  am  sure,  yet  the  mania 
nolds  me. 

Besides  this  distrust  of  my  diaries,  I 
am  awakening,  after  seven  years  to  the  fact 
that,  as  an  autobiography,  the  books  are 
strangely  lacking  in  interest  They  are  not 
convincing.  I  thought,  as  I  did  my  clerkly 
task,  that  I  should  always  be  I,  but  a  cursory 
glance  at  these  naive  pages  shows  that  they 
were  written  by  a  thousand  different  per- 
sons, no  one  of  whom  speaks  the  language 
of  the  emotions  as  I  know  it  to-day.  It  is 
true,  then,  my  diary  has  convinced  me,  that 
we  do  become  different  persons  every  seven 
years.  Here  is  written  down  rage,  hate,  de- 
light, affection,  yearning,  no  word  of  which 
is  comprehensible  to  me  now.  I  am  reading 
the  adventures  of  some  one  else,  not  my 
own.  Who  was  it?  I  have  forgotten  the 
dialect  of  my  youth. 

Ah,  indeed  the  boy  is  father  of  the  man! 
I  will  be  indulgent,  as  a  son  should,  to  pa- 
ternal indiscretions. 

And  yet,  for  the  bare  skeleton  of  my 
history,  these  volumes  are  useful  enough. 
Ihe  pages  which,  while  still  wet  with  ink 
and  tears,  I  considered  lyric  essays,  have 
fallen  to  a  merely  utilitarian  value. 
I  am  thankful,  on  that  account,  for  them, 
and  for  the  fact  that  my  bookkeeping  was 
well  systematized  and  indexed.  As  outward 
form  goes,  my  diaries  are  models  of  manner. 
So,  for  those  still  under  the  old-fashioned 
spell,  who  would  adopt  a  plan  of  entry,  let 
me  describe  them. 

The  especial  event  of  each  day,  if  the  day 
held  anything  worthy  of  remark  or  remem- 
brance, was  boldly  noted  at  the  top  of  the 
page,  over  the  date.  Whirring  the  leaves, 
I  catch  many  sugestive  pharses:  "Dinner  at 
Madame  Qui-Vive's,"  (it  was  there  I  first 
Digitized  by  VjOO^  Lt^ 


The  Diary  Habit. 


697 


tasted  champagne!) — Henry  Irving  as  Shy- 
lock"  (but  it  was  not  the  actor  who  made 
that  night  famous — ^I  took  Kitty  Carmine 
home  in  a  cab!) — "Broke  my  arm"  (or 
else  I  would  never  have  read  Marlowe,  I 
fear!) — ^and  "Met  Sally  Maynard"  (this  was 
an  event,  it  seemed  at  that  time,  worthy  of 
being  chronicled  in  red  ink!)  So  they  go. 
They  are  the  chapter  headings  in  the  book 
of  my  life. 

In  the  lower  left-hand  coinor  of  each,  page 
I  noted  the  advent  of  letters,  the  initials 
of  the  writers  inscribed  in  little  squares,  and 
in  the  opposite  right  hand  comer,  a  compli- 
mentary hlerogflyph  kept  account  of  every 
letter  sent.  So,  by  running  over  the  pages, 
I  can  note  the  fury  of  my  correspondence. 
(What  an  industrious  scribbler  "S.  M."  was, 
to  be  sure!  I  had  not  thought  we  went 
it  quite  so  hard — and  "K.  C",  how  often  she 
appears  in  the  lower  ^eft,  and  how  seldom 
in  the  lower  right!  I  was  a  brute,  uu  doubt, 
and  small  wonder  she  married  Flemingway). 

Perpendicularly,  along  the  inner  margin, 
I  wrote  the  names  of  those  to  whom  I  had 
been  introduced  that  day,  and  on  the  back 
page  I  kept  a  chronological  list  of  the  same. 
(I  met  Kitty,  it  seems,  on  a  Friday — per- 
l&aps  that  accounts  for  our  not  hitting  it 
off!)  Most  of  these  are  names,  and  nothing 
more,  now,  and  it  gives  my  heart  a  leap  to 
come  across  Sally  in  that  list  of  nonentities. 
(To  think  that  there  was  ever  a  time  when 
I  didn't  know  her!) 

Besides  all  this,  the  books  are  extra- 
illustrated  in  the  most  significant  manner. 
There  is  hardly  a  page  that  does  not  con- 
tain some  trifling  memento;    here  a  thea- 


tre coupon  pasted  in,  or  a  clipping  from 
tne  programme,  an  engraved  card  or  a 
penciled  note — ^there  a  scrap  of  a  photo- 
graph worn  out  in  my  pocket-book.  Some- 
body's sketched  profile,  or  at  rare  intervals, 
a  whisp  of  Someone's  hair!  (This  reddish 
curl — was  it  Kitty's  or  from  Dora's  brow? 
Oh,  I  remember.  It  was  Myrtle  gave  it  me! 
No!  I  am  wrong;  I  stole  it  from  Nettie!) 
I  pasted  them  in  with  eager  trembling  fin- 
gers, but  I  regard  them  now  without  a  tre- 
mor. There  are  other  pages  being  filled 
which  interest  me  more. 

Occasionally  I  open  a  book,  "1896,"  per- 
haps, and  consult  a  date  to  be  sure  that 
Millicent's  birthday  is  on  November  12th,  or 
to  determine  just  who  was  at  Kitty's  coming- 
out  dinner.  Here  is  a  diagram  of  the  table 
with  the  places  of  all  the  guests  named. 
(So  I  sat  beside  Nora,  did  I?  And  Who  was 
Nora,  then?  I  have  forgotten  her  name. 
Now    she   is    Mrs.   Alfred    Fortunatus!) 

Sometimes  I  think  it  would  be  better  to 
write  up  my  diary  in  advance  to  fill  in  the 
year's  pages  with  what  I  would  like  to  do, 
and  attempt  to  live  up  to  the  prophecy.  And 
yet,  I  have  had  too  many  unforseen  pleas- 
ures in  my  life  for  that — ^I  would  rather  trust 
Fate  than  Imagination.  So,  chiefly  because 
I  have  kept  the  books  for  seven  years,  I 
shall  probably  keep  them  seven  years  more. 
It  gratifies  my  conceit  to  chronicle  my  small 
happenings,  and,  somehow,  written  down  in 
fair  script,  they  seem  important.  And  be- 
sides— I  am  a  bit  anxious  to  see  Just  how 
many  times  a  certain  name,  which  has  lately 
begun  to  make  itself  prominent,  will  appear 
at  the  top  of  the  pages.  I  promise  to  tell 
you,  next  year! 


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.) 


WAS  **general  man"  at  St.  Bridget's  and 
the  sisters  made  rather  a  pet  of  me. 
It  may  seem  strange  that  they  should 
JL  have  indulged  in  a  man. at  all,  but  St. 
Bridget's  is  the  hospital  by  the  wharves 
overlooking  San  Francisco  bay,  and  a  nurs- 
ing sisterhood  is  not  like  others.  Con- 
tact with  the  rough  outside  world  necessi- 
tates some  laxity  of  rules  and  there  are 
times  when  male  help  is  desirable  in  kit- 
chen and  ward.  Anyway  the  Sisters  seemed 
to  think  me  desirable  .  You  see  I  was  a  kind 
of  scamp,  a  brand  to  be  plucked  from  the 
burning,  and  there  is  nothing  Sisters  love 
so  much  as  trying  to  save  a  soul.  I  had 
to  be  watched  lest  I  should  cut  mass — which 
I  usually  did — or  take  a  glass  too  much, 
which  happened  now  and  again;  or  gener- 
ally prove  unworthy  of  the  interest  Mother 
Cnurch  took  in  me.  I  was  a  foreigner,  too, 
far  from  my  native  land,  and  good  old  Sis- 
ter Clarissa  used  to  say  it  was  her  busi- 
ness to  see  that  I  did  not  forget  my  mother's 
teachings. 

I  Hked  it  well  enough,  too;  the  Sisters 
were  gentle,  kindly-spoken  ladies,  easy  to 
work  for.  To  be  sure  Sister  Clarissa  had 
a  terrible  temper,  with  eyes  all  round  her 
head.  She  superintended  the  kitchen,  and 
the  scrap 2S  I  got  into  for  not  washing  my 
boards  and  my  potatoes  clean,  were  a  cau- 
tion. Bless  you,  I  have  known  her  go  down 
on  her  old  knees  and  scrub  the  floor  her- 
self Just  to  shame  me.  Yet  she  had  a  good 
warm  heart,  and  always  made  up  for  a  scold- 
ing with  some  indulgence.  But  at  one  time 
I  was  not  in  the  kitchen  at  all.  I  was  night 
wardman,  expected  to  keep  my  eye  on  ty- 
phoid and  other  patients  who  might  go  off 
their  heads.  That  was  the  work  I  hated. 
It  made  me  creep  all  over  to  look  down  the 
rows  of  white  beas  in  the  dim  light,  listen- 
ing to  the  mutterings  of  sick  men.  and  think- 


ing about  all  who  had  died  in  those  same 
beds.  I  was  young,  too,  and  a  terror  to 
sleep;  and  it  was  hara  work  not  to  drop 
off  when  I  ought  to  be  running  round  put- 
ting cold  compresses  on  hot  heads.  And  as 
sure  as  ever  I  did  drop  off  I  was  caught. 

There  were  other  things,  too;  patients 
whose  ways  gave  you  goosefiesh.  There  was 
one  fellow  who  kept  me  in  a  perpetual  fever. 
He  was  the  cigarette  fiend.  Now,  I  was 
on  the  way  to  being  a  cigarette  fiend  myself, 
and  though  smoking  was  forbidden  I  al- 
ways managed  to  indulge  on  the  sly;  but 
I  had  to  be  careful,  I  tell  you,  because  of 
the  smell,  and  there  was  a  little  tin  box 
into  which  I  shoved  my  cigarette  when  I 
heard  a  step.  As  sure  as  I  did,  I  would  feel 
a  hand  close  over  mine  and  a  white  figure 
would  glide  away  with  my  property.  "I'll 
tell,  if  you  don't  let  me  have  it — I'll  expose 
you,"  he  would  whisper  aiong  the  ward; 
and  I  didn't  dare  to  say  a  word,  though  my 
hair  would  stand  up  stiff  with  terror  at 
the  thought  of  that  fool  smoking  his  cigar- 
ette unaerneath  the  sheets. 

Then  there  was  the  morphine  fiend  who 
used  to  steal  on  me  unawares,  bribe  me 
to  get  his  poison  for  him,  and  threaten 
me  with  exposure  if  I  refused.  You  see, 
they  all  knew  of  something  I  did  and  ousht 
not  to  do,  and  between  them  I  didn't  seem 
to  have  the  ^iie  of  a  cat  I  hated  that  night 
work;  but  it  was  then  that  I  first  noticed 
Sister  Filomena. 

She  was  not  beautiful,  poor  young  thins, 
but  she  was  so  pale  and  thin  and  wistful, 
with  large  hollow  eyes  that  seemed  to  look 
into  your  very  soul,  that  I  took  a  fancy 
to  her  at  once.  "She's  not  long  for  this 
world,"  I  said  to  myself  the  first  time  I 
saw  her  glide  along  the  v/ard,  and  I  wonder- 
ed at  her  being  allowed  to  do  such  heavy 
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Sister  Fllomena. 


599 


work  as  nurjlng;  but  tuere  was  some  fever 
in  her  blood  that  made  her  eyes  bum  and 
sometimej  i^ut  a  patch  of  red  on  her  cheek, 
and  I  don't  suppose  she  would  have  rested 
even  though  they  had  wished  her  to.  How- 
ever, there  isn't  much  notion  of  resting  in 
a  convent;  you  are  there  to  do  your  duty 
and  bear  your  pain. 

Well,  I  helped  that  poor  wraith  of  a  girl 
all  I  could,  and  I  suppose  she  took  a  kindly 
fancy  to  me  in  return;  many's  the  scrapes 
she  saved  me  from  by  rousing  me  out  of 
sleep  in  the  nick  of  time.  It  used  to  give 
me  a  scare,  too,  to  start  awake  and  see 
her  standing  over  me  with  her  white  veil 
— she  was  s Jll  a  novice — ^looking  for  all  the 
world  like  a  ghost  from  the  other  side. 
One  night,  however,  things  went  too  far; 
I  clapped  the  ice-bag  on  a  rheumatic  patient 
and  was  sent  back  to  the  kitchen  as  a  hope- 
less nuisance;  but  I  used  to  wonder  how 
Sister  Fllomena  got  along  without  me. 
I  had  guessed  her  secret,  poor  girl,  one  time 
that  I  found  ner  kneeling  by  a  dying  pa- 
tient, prayin  *  and  sobbing  fit  to  break  her 
heart;  the  doctors  might  call  her  illness 
what  they  liked,  I  knew  she  was  dying  for 
love,  and  there's  no  remedy  for  that  once 
you  have  taken  the  veil.  By  and  bye  Ehe 
took  to  coming  down  to  the  kitchen  at  night 
for  the  broths  and  poultices  and  arrowroot 
she  wanted  for  her  bad  cases,  and  we  often 
had  a  five  minutes'  talk  while  I  heated 
things;  for  I  had  to  stay  up  and  attend  to 
the  night  extras.  That  was  how  I  learned 
her  story.  Just  the  poor  little  common  story 
of  a  girl  going  into  a  convent  to  please  her 
parents  and  leaving  her  heart  outside  in  a 
man's  keeping.  "It  is  very  wrong  of  me, ' 
she  used  to  say,  "but  I  can't  quite  forget 
him;  I  do  so  long  to  know  how  he  is  getting 
on." 

So  the  end  of  it  was  that  I  hunted  him 
up  one  day,  told  him  all  about  her  and  took 
her  news  of  him.  Perhaps  it  was  not  right, 
but  anyway  it  brought  a  little  peace  back 
to  her  worn  young  face.  I  never  could  get 
her  to  let  me  take  a  message  to  him,  though. 
"No,"  she  said  one  night,  "it  would  be  wick- 
ed of  me  to  do  that;  I  must  send  him  no  mes- 
sage while  I  am  alive." 

I  turned  round  from  the  arrow-root  I  was 
sUrring  to  stare  at  her. 

"Well,"  I  cried,  "you  don't  expect  to  send 
one  after  you  are  dead,  do  you?" 
She  looked  at  me  gravely:  "If  I  am  worthy, 


perhaps;  when  God  is  very  good  to  the  dead 
he  lets  them  return." 

She  was  so  like  one  who  had  "returned" 
that  I  turned  hot  and  cold  as  she  spoke; 
it  seemed  to  me  as  if  she  were  already 
a  spirit  watching  over  the  man  she  loved. 

Two  days  after  that  Sister  Clarissa  was 
extra  cranky,  and  I  left  in  a  huff,  and  never 
thought  of  poor  Sister  Fllomena  for  months. 
Then  I  got  into  bad  health  myself,  not 
ill  enough  to  lay  up,  but  too  ill  for  real 
hard  work.  So  I  bethought  myself  once 
more  of  Sister  Clarissa.  She  was  sour 
enough  when  I  showed  myself  at  St.  Brid- 
get's and  asked  to  be  taken  on  again. 
**I  don't  want  any  more  lazy  featherbrains," 
she  answered  in  her  sharp  way.  But  when 
she  heard  my  cough  and  my  story  she 
changed  her  tune.  "I'll  be  glad  of  an  extra 
hand  with  the  paddings,"  she  said,  and 
gave  me  the  work  at  once.  I  believe  the  old 
lady  was  really  pleased  to  have  someone 
she  could  bully  about  mass  and  confession. 
Well,  that  night,  about  twelve  o'clock,  when 
I  was  pottering  round  trying  to  get  into  my 
old  ways,  Sister  Fllomena  glided  in,  dressed 
all  in  white,  with  a  tuberose  in  her  hand, 
and  a  perfume  of  tuberoses  floating  round 
her.  She  looked  more  like  a  spirit  than 
ever,  and  I  was  so  startled  at  her  coming 
in  without  any  noise  that  I  forgot  to  ask  if 
it  was  arrow-root  or  beef-tea  she  wanted. 

"Have  you  seen  him  lately?"  she  asked. 
Her  voice  was  like  a  faint  breath  and  I 
noticed  that  her  lips  never  moved. 

I  hesitated  and  stammered,  for  I  did  not 
like  to  tell  what  I  had  heard. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "he  is  married;  it  is 
quite  right;  I  would  not  have  him  spoil  his 
life  for  me;  but  I  want  you  to  tell  him 
that  I  watch  over  him.  Give  him  this  flower 
and    bid   him    be   happy,   but   not   forget" 

She  slipped  the  tuberose  in  my  hand 
and  an  icy  shiver  went  through  me,  so 
that  for  a  moment  I  turned  quite  faint; 
when  I  recovered,  she  was  gone. 

Next  morning  Sister  Clarissa  was  as  brisk 
as  a  bee,  and  while  she  clattered  round  I 
kept  wondering  and  wondering  about  Sis- 
ter Fllomena,  and  not  liking  to  ask.  You 
see,  I  thought  the  poor  thing  had  gone  out 
of  her  mind,  and  had  no  business  to  be  down- 
stairs the  night  before.  At  last  I  summoned 
up  courage  to  say: 

"I  suppose  Sister  Filomena's  pretty  bad 
by  this  time?" 


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600  Overland  Monthly.  i^*" 

"Sister  Filomena?  Bless  my  heart,  didn't  i  "We  only  buried  ^^5^  the  day  before  yea- 
tell  you?    Why.  she's  dead."  terday;    poor  girl,  she  looked  so  sweet  in 

The  tray  I  was  carrying  fell  from  my  hand.  her  coffin,  with  tuberoses  lying  all  about 
Sister  Clarissa  was  too  busy  bewailing  ner 


mince  pies  to  notice  my  scare. 
"How  long  since  she  died?"  I  asked  at  ^^  *  ^^^^  cupboard '.liiiad  hidden  Sister 


last.  Filomena's  tuberose. 


her.    I  almost  fancy  I  can  smell  them  now." 


MARIPOSA     LILIES. 

BY    L.    CRAIGHAM. 

RMONG  the  grasses,  motionless, 
A  trinity  of  wings. 
Are  you  akin  to  butterflies, 
Those  airy,  restless  things? 

Perhaps  you  grew  aweary 

Of  wandering  and  unrest; 
Perhaps  you  knew  that  tranquil  hearts 
And  folded  wings  are  best; 
And,  fluttering  softly  downward, 
You  took  root  in  the  ground 
And  so,  from  wind  tossed  roving  held, 
A  deep  contentment  found. 

High  in  the  mountain  solitudes 
A  purple  dress  you  wear; 
Upon  dry,  browning,  hillsides 
Your  robes  are  creamy,  rare; 
But  on  the  withered,  wind-scorched  plain 
Where  dancing  whirlwinds  play, 
Where  flying  sands  and  silence  tense 
Where  flying  sands  and  silence  tense 
And  glaring  suns  hold  sway, 
You  lift  bright  crowns  of  shining  gold 
Out  of  a  parching  soil  ; 
So  saints,  in  life's  sad  fainting  waste 
Are  born   of  drought    and  toil. 

Within  a  quiet  resting  place 
That  crowns  a  lonely  height, 
Among  the  graves,  like  sentinels 
You  gather,  straight  and  white; 
Uprising  toward  the  blue  still  deep, 
You  cast  the  earth  away 
And,  bursting  from  your  chrysalis 
Take  wings  to  meet  the  day. 


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THE 


KNAPR 

lUSr  in  the  rear  of  the  Ex- 
cutive  Mansion  and  the  lit- 
-•le  Presbyterian  Church  of 
Sitka,  where  the  curve  of  the  bes^ch  winds  to 
the  westward,  there  nestles  cosily  an  Indian 
village,  the  so-called  Ranch  where  dwelt  a 
century  or  so  back  the  famous  medicine  man 
kiiown  as  Shunyakclah.  The  old  log  house 
which  was  his  home  was  torn  down  years 
ago  to  make  way  for  one  grander;  but 
though  the  house  is  gone  and  the  relics  of 
Shunyakclah  are  scattered,  many  of  them 
in  the  possession  of  the  curio  collector,  a 
very  aged  Thlinket  dame  still  lives  near  the 
further  end  of  the  Ranch  (or  did  a  short  time 
since)  who  remembers  well  the  old  home 
stead,  and  the  gossip  about  Shunyakclah 
which  was  common  about  her  father's  fire- 
place. 

From  her  the  scribe  gleaned  this  story 
of  Shunyakclah's  boyhood  and  the  curious 
adventure  which  brought  him  fame  and 
pcwer. 

This  is  a  tradition,  but  for  the  reason 
that  it  concerns  so  recent  a  day,  a  tradi- 
tion more  than  ordinarily  attractive.  Shun- 
yakclah lived  not  much  further  back  than  our 
own  great-grandfathers  and  his  experiences, 
if  true,  were  remarkable  enough  to  interest 
Et  cry'  lovers  of  any  age.  Whether  true  or 
not  they  have  a  legendary  interest. 

The  truth  hinges  on  the  assumption  that 
animals,  birds,  and  fishes  have  like  needs 
and  passions  with  men  and  women.  This 
Mas  formerly,  and  is  now  to  some  extent, 
the  belief  of  the  Thlinkets.    It  is  not  thought 


that  animals  will  harm  mortals  if  the  lat- 
ter show  them  consideration;  rather,  that 
they  will  give  them  friendly  assistance,  but 
they  are  known  to  keenly  resent  a  slight 
though  the  slight  be  unintentional.  Dozens 
of  stories  have  for  their  theme  the  swift 
vengeance  which  has  followed  a  disrespect- 
ful word  spoken  of  an  animal. 

As  just  now  said,  Shunyakclah  was  a  fa- 
mous medicine  man,  and  medicine  men  were 
regarded  a  century  ago  by  the  Alaskan  In- 
dians with  superstitious  awe.  It  was  said 
of  them  that  they  consorted  familiarly  with 
the  spirits,  good  and  bad,  and  from  this  un* 


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The   Adventures   of   Shunyakclah. 


603 


holy  intimacy  possessed  not  only  a  mysterious  power 
over  mortals  but  could  dominate  demons. 

Every  one  who  has  read  anjrthing  of  witchcraft 
knows  that  sickness  is  commonly  supposed  by  sav- 
ages   to    be    brought   about   by   the    machinations 
of  an  enemy.     They  also  believe  that  the  way  to 
banish    sickness    is    to    exorcise    the    evil 
spirit  which  has  possession  of  the  body, 
and  that  this  can  be  done  by  making  the 
t  ody  so  odious  to  the  spirit  that  the  spirit 
will  find  in  uninhabitable  and  leave. 

It  was  as  exorcist  that  the  Alaskan  sha- 
uan  won  his  laurels.  Whenever  he  set  forth 
on   professional  Journeys  he  carried   with 
k  chest  containing  a  number  of  masks,  batons 
ittles  carved  to  represent  the  heads  of  animals 
iiese  were  claimed  to  put  his  spirit  en  rapport 
1   deities.     The   masks    certainly    were    ugly 
in  all  probability  the  noise  made  with  the  rat- 
Qg  enough  to  frighten  away  any  spirit,  how- 
bold,  without  the  intervention  of  animal  dei- 


cine  men  of  Shunyakclah's  day  were  of  two 
one  attained  his  degree  by  fasting  and  by  the 
I  of  certain  strange,  mysterious  rites  in  the 
e  forest.  The  other  was  elected  by  the  spirits, 
providence  bringing  him  against  his  own  voli- 
nmunication  with  animal  life.    A  doctor  thus 

supposed  to  have  peculiar  claims  upon  his 
ends  in  tne  animal  kingdom  and  to  have  splr- 

denied  to  one  who  earned  his  degree, 
ah's  power  and  fame  came  to  him  without  the 
ort  on  his  part.  He  was  a  lazy  boy,  having 
3  nor  ambition,  unpopular  with  his  playmates, 
his  selfishness  and  with  his  elders  because 
snce. 

ig  point  in  the  boy's  life  came  when  he  was 
lars  old.  His  own  mother  could  not  have  told 
I  exactly,  for  she  had  no  Bible  in  which  to  keep 
ds,  nor  would  have  known  how  to  keep  them 


inning  of  the  salmon  run,  which  took  place  in 

it  had   been   for  years   the  family  custom 

Ate<//c/77e  f^n.  ^  ^^  ^^  ^^^  fishing  grounds  at  Nequashinsky  Bay. 


^yy^y'fi^^n!^ 


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'^-.y 


bowed  from  the  scorching  sun,  knelt  In  a  cir- 
clt»  on  the  beach.  The  sea-gulls  were 
flying  gaily  about  over  their  heads.  Now  one 
descended,  kissing  the  crest  of  the  waves 
and  coquetting  fearlessly  within  the  radius 
of  the  traps,  but  rose  again  as  suddenly  and 
with  swift  triumphant  grace,  floated  away. 
The  sun  meanwhile  mounted  higher,  and 
as  the  dinner  hour  approached  Shunyakclah 
tnought  regretfully  of  the  fresh  salmon  roe 
which  he  had  wasted  as  bait.  For  some 
minutes  he  impatiently  kicked  the  pebbles 
with  his  bare  toes,  then,  rising  slowly,  said: 
"Boys,  I'm  going  to  the  house  for  some- 
thing to  eat.  Look  out  for  my  trap,  will 
you?  Not  that  much 
good  will  come  of  it," 
he  added,  peevishly. 
^^   ^<-:ifc--4ii...^7^  rpjjg    gcowl    of    disap- 

Tl  ^  -  polntment  in  Shunyak- 

clah's  face  deepened  as 

he  turned  away  and  the 

further    he    went    the 

more   vexed    he    grew, 

rhen   he   reached 

me  he  was  in  a 

igly  temper.     He 

only   his   mother 

le. 


''Give  me  something  to  eat,  mother.  I  am 
hungry,"  he  said  to  her  crossly,  without  as 
much  as  an  "if  you  please.'' 

"Yes,  my  son,"  the  old  woman  responded 
k;ndly,  and  she  handed  him  a  bit  of  ut-kee- 
shee  (dried  salmon),  supposing  it  to  be 
fresh. 

"What  is  this?  I  should  like  to  know,' 
Shunyakclah  demanded  angrily.  "Mouldy 
stuff!  Do  you  give  me  dirty  fish  to  eat?" 
sniffing  it  with  great  disgust.  "Bah!  I 
will  not  touch  it!"  And  the  boy  flung  the 
ut-kee-shee  in  his  mother's  face  and  stamped 
out  of  the  house  in  a  rage. 

Night  came  on  and  yet  he  nursed  his 
wrath.  His  long-suftering  mother  again  of- 
fered him  ut-kee-shee,  but  he  thrust  her 
roughly  aside  and  went  sullenly  to  bed. 

When  morning  broke,  still  in  a  temper, 
he  dressed  himself  and  shambled  down  to 
the  beach;  where  for  some  hours  he  paced 
the  sands,  hunger  battling  with  pride. 

Suddenly  his  face  lighted,  for  behold  a 
sea-gull  struggling  in  his  trap!     In  an  in- 


'■J..'.  '-.;.,^; 


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The   Adventures   of   Shunyakclah. 


605 


stant  he  was  at  the  rope  and  pull- 
ing with  might  and  main,  but, 
alack,  the  rope  gave  way,  and  to 
Shunyakclah's  dismay,  both  trap 
and  gull  drifted  seaward.  Utter- 
ing a  shrill  cry  of  vexation,  for 
with  all  his  faults  the  boy  was  no 
coward,  he  threw  himself  into  the 
water  and  waded  boldly  out  in  the 
rectlon  of  his  prize  which  floated  further 
and  further,  almost  within  hia  grasp,  and 
yet  ever  just  a  little  beyond  it.  He 
reached  the  trap  at  last,  and  his  fingers 
closed  triumphantly  upon  the  broken  string, 
but  in  this  very  act  he  lost  his  balance,  his 
hands  clutched  the  air  wildly,  and  down  he 
went,  the  waves  closing  over  him  with  a 
mocking  gurgle. 

Day  after  day  the  mother  of  Shunyakclah 
stood  upon  the  beach  and  shading  her  eyes 
w:th  her  hands  gazed  sorrowfully  across 
the  dark  depths  of  the  ocean.  Her  son  was 
drowned;  that  she  could  not  doubt;  and  his 
bcdy  eaten  by  the  fishes.     Sadly  she  and 


her  husband  returned  to  their  winter 
home  in  the  Sitka  village  and  there 
called  together  their  friends  and  gave 
a  great  potlach  burial  feast,  tearing 
up  and  distributing  many  blankets  and 
deerskins  in  memory  of  the  dead. 

Where  was  Shunyakclah?  Was  he 
really  dead? 

When  the  dark  waters  closed  upon 
him  he  lost  consciousness.  Presently, 
however,  he  felt  a  curious  tingling  of 
his  body,  his  pulses  quickened,  and  he 
sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  He  rub- 
bed them  harder!  He  was  in  a  strange 
country,  quite  unlike  any  he  had  ever 
seen  before.  Little  by  little,  as  his 
eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  unusual 
light  and  surroundings,  his  thoughts 
traveled  back  to  home  and  mother.  He 
recalled  how  he  had  flung  the  ut-kee- 
shee  in  his  mother's  face.  Ah,  he  knew 
where  he  was.  He  had  insulted  the 
Haat  Quanee  (Salmon  tribe)  by  refusing 
to  eat  stale  salmon,  and  now  he  was  in 
their  village  and  at  their  mercy.  What 
would  become  of  him? 

Thus  reminded  of  his  long  fast  and 
of  the  hunger  gnawing  at  his  vitalp 
with  a  mighty  effort  he  summoned  back 


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i.u.vrueu.w.u«A^  • 


his  fleeUng  courage  and  stepped  boldly  to 
the  door  of  the  nearest  house,  rapped  loud 

ly. 

"I  am  a  stranger  and  very  hungry,"  he 
said,  in  explanation. 

"You  have  chosen  a  bad  place  for  your 
begging.  We  have  only  moldy  salmon 
here,"  was  the  taunting  reply. 

So  Shunyakclah  tried  the  next  house  and 
the  next,  but  to  meet  over  end  over  again 
with  the  same  mocking  laughter  and  scorn- 
ful refusal. 

"Ha!  ha!  nothing  but  moldy  salmon  here. 
Ha!  ha!" 

The  poor  boy  felt  that  he  was  indeed  in  the 
Land  of  his  enemies.  He  couiu  have  cried 
with  fear  and  hunger.  Did  they  mean  to 
starve  him?  He  would  try  once  more  and 
only  once,  choosing,  for  luck's  sake,  the  last 
house  in  the  village. 

He  knocked  softly  and  timidly,  expecting 
the  same  cruel  answer.  But  there  were  hu- 
man ones  even  among  the  Haat  Quanee.  A 
little  old  woman  appeared  and  spoke  kindly 
and  invited  him  in  to  rest  and  refresh  him- 
self. 

Shunyakclah  remained  with  these  new 
friends  an  entire  year.  His  first  suspicions 
were  forgotten,  and  he  thought  of  them  as 
men  and  women  who  had  befriended  him. 
In  the  meantime  a  strange  thing  happened. 
Though  Shunyakclah  never  dreamed  it,  he 
had  himself  become  a  fish.  He  accepted  his 
new,  under-water  life  as  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world,  ate  as  did  his  compan- 
ions and  accompanied  them  to  the  rivers 
and  creeks,  nor  once  thought  of  home  or  his 
Indian  playmates. 

One  day  the  little  old  woman,  who  from 
the  day  of  his  coming  had  shown  him  kind- 
ness, said  to  him  privately: 

"Poor  Shunyaklah!  Do  you  know  where 
you  are?  You  are  among  fishes  and  are 
yourself  a  fish.    You  must  be  very  careful." 

"I  knew  I  was  with  some  strange  people," 


And   from   that    day 
all    his    joyousness    left    him.      The 
spell  was  broken  and  he  longed  for 
father  and  mother. 

But  he  had  not  learned  obedience 
and  the  salmon  would   not  let  him 

In  the  springtime  the  gay  little 
herring,  who  lived  close  by,  started 
o^  for  their  spawning  grounds.  On 
they  came,  dancing  up  the  bay. 

"Look    out!"    cautioned    Shunyak- 
lah's     kind     friend.       "Keep 
away  from  the  herring.  Their 
silvery    scales    will    fl> 
into  your  eyes." 

But  Shunyakclah 
was  foolish  and  obsti- 
nate, and  full  of  curi- 
osity. At  his  first  op- 
portunity he  looked 
upon  the  passing  herring, 
and  as  the  old  woman  had 


boughs  which  overhung  the  water.     When 
his  companions  perceived  him  eating  these 
vith  relish,  they  laughed  and  said  mockingly, 
Digitized  by  VjOO^  Lt^ 


The   Adventures   of   Shunyakclah. 


607 


^  *cr 


"What  a  dirty  fellow  you  are.    You  would  not  eat  nice, 
slean  salmon,  and  now  you  are  eating  old  eggs." 
Shunyakclah  turned  from  them  in  a  rage^  but  when  the  lit- 
Ic  old  woman  heard  the  matter  she  saw  differently,  and  re- 
)uked  him. 

"Served  you  right  exactly,"  she  said.  "You  do  not  like 
t  that  the  salmon  should  call  you  'dirty  fellow,'  and  yet 
his  is  the  very  thing  you  said  of  the  fish  your  kind  mother 
gave  you.     Will  you  never  learn  your  lessons?" 

After    this    Shunyakclah    was 


Shunyakclah,"  cautioned  the  sal- 
mon. As  they  journeyed  they 
met  the  herring  returning  home- 
ward dancing  and  jumping  along 
the  way. 

"You  seem  very  happy  about 
getting  back,"  called  the  salmon 
derisively.  "A  great  fuss  you 
are  making.  What  do  you  think 
you  amount  to,  anyway?" 

"We  spawn  for  the  people  and 

they    are    benefited.      There    is 

"        it  on 

.bout 


ered 

o  on 

but 

>rted 

go, 
ping 
iger- 

lash- 

nber 
r  f  a- 
nder 


I  -^ 


J 


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-  .^^:;.!?:i 


Shunyakcleh  gave  a  glad  Jump,  which  brought  him  close  to  the  side  of  the  boat. 
''O  Jump  again,  pretty  fish!"  the  woman  cried,  and  turning  to  her  husband  added, 
**What  a  beautiful  salmon!" 
''Yes.    There  are  to  be  plenty  of  fish  this  year,"  the  husband    answered   absently. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  events  of  the  previous  summer, 
and  of  the  death  of  their  only  son.  He  had  little  heart  this 
year  either  for  sport  or  for  work. 

Their  camp  lay  to  the  right  of  the  settlement.  Just  across 
from  the  spot  where  Shunyakclah  had  been  drowned.  Day 
after  day  the  poor  boy  watched  them  walking  lonely"  and 
sorrowful  up  and  down  the  sandy  beach.  He  longed  to  Jump 
the  river  and  throw  himself  at  their  feet.  But  his  wise  lit- 
tle friend,  the  old  woman,  said  no. 

"Not  yet.  Abide  your  time  and  opportunity.  Let  the 
others  first  go  up  the  stream;  then  you  may  do  as  you  will. 
Shake  your  tail  and  be  brave." 

So  Shunyakclah  waited  for  a  night  when  his  mother  was 
sitting  alone  at  the  water's  edge,  preparing  fish  for  the 
evening  meal.     Then  he  swam  softly  near. 

"Come  hither,  husband,"  and  Shunyakclah  could  hear  the 
trembling  of  her  voice.  "That  beautiful  fish  is  here  again, 
and  close  to  the  shore." 

"Is   that  so?"   the   father  questioned   indifferently. 

"Come  quickly,"  the  woman  urged  in  great  excitement, 
"and  bring  your  spear." 

The   man   obeyed,   but   so   half-heartedly   that   Shunyak- 
clah without  difficulty  avoided  his  thrust,  and  before  he  had 
time  to  poise  himself  for  a  second  effort,  the  fish  of  its  own 
accord — fiung  itself  upon  the  beach. 

The  Indians  of  that  day  dressed  their  fish  with  sea-shells. 
The  use  of  cutlery  came  in  with  a  later  period.  So  Shunyak- 
clah's  mother  picked  up  with  one  hand  the  fish  which  she 
had  so  much  admired,  and  with  the  other  hand  a  sharp- 
edged  sell,  and  proceeded  to  run  the  shell  along  the  fish's 
bock.  Poor  Shunyakclah,  racked  with  suffering,  was  help- 
less. Suddenly  the  shell  met  with  resistance  and  the  woman 
paused.  The  fiesh  fell  back  from  the  neck  of  the  fish, 
and  there  was  revealed  a  copper  wire,  the  same  those  doting 
parents  had  hung  about  the  neck  of  their  lost  son  when 


I 


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he  was  but  an  infant. 

"Husband,"  the  woman  caught  her 
breath  and  spoke  scarcely  above  a  whisper, 
"a  most  wonderful  thing  has  happened.  Our 
son  has  been  given  back  to  us." 

The  man  looked  over  his  wife's  shoulder. 
'*It  is  indeed  our  son,"  he  answered,  for 
he  too  recognized  the  chain. 

With  swift,  deft  fingers  he  braided  a  mat 
out  of  cedar  bark,  laid  the  suffering  fish 
tenderly  thereon  and  carried  it  to  the  roof 
of  his  house. 

Then  they  called  to  their  friends  across 
the  stream  and  told  them  the  glad  tidings. 
First  the  women  came  together  and  put  the 
house  to  rights,,  and  when  they  had  with- 
drawn, from  thirty  to  forty  men  entered  and 
squatted  about  the  fire-place.  For  three 
days  and  nights  they  remained  there,  with- 
out food  or  drink,  singing  their  weird  chants 
and  invoking  the  aid  of  the  spirits.  Mean- 
time their  wives  gathered  the  Alaskan  this- 
tle known  as  devirs-club,  scraped  ofP  its 
rough  outer  bark,  and  brought  it  to  them  to 


chew.  We  may  suppose  that  this  was  the 
substitute  for  tobacco. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  just  be- 
fore the  croaking  of  the  raven,  a  slight 
sound  issued  from  the  roof.  The  singing 
multitude  listened.  There  followed  a  rat- 
tling and  shoving  of  boards  and  above  them 
stood  Shunyakclah,  talking  and  singing  of 
the  spirits. 

The  father  climbed  to  the  roof  and  brought 
him  down  in  his  arms. 

"Shunyakclah!"  the  people  called  with 
one  voice. 

"Yes,"  Shunyakclah  answered. 

They  listened  spell-bound  while  he  told 
them  all  that  had  befallen  him.  Little  by 
little  incredulity  giving  place  to  awe  and 
wondering  admiration,  each  one  drawing  a 
long  breath  as  the  recital  ended. 

It  was  this  experience  which  made  Shun- 
yakclah a  great  doctor.  During  the  rest 
of  his  life  he  held  frequent,  friendly  inter- 
course with  the  spirits.  The  salmon,  herring 
and  even  the  sea-gull  retained  their  interest 
in  him  and  gave  him  advice  and  assistance. 


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i  t  i#t*»*»ii»*t#n  nf  i  I  n  I  tm  1 11 1 1  iimt  nu  1 1  itifitu  u  If  !»♦> 


THE     DAUGHTER     OF    THE     ''MAYFLOWER." 

BY   CHARLOTTE    LEECH. 

i  *♦»»»♦  i'*»»*f  41  in  fa  »§f  #ti  ft  11  n  I  >♦♦♦♦»♦♦<  n  1 1 1  n  n  1 1  lit  ♦♦♦»< 


HER  name  if  "Mindwell,"  or  "Submit," 
Was  far  less  farcicai  than  fit, 
For,  mark  you,  she  lived  up  to  it. 

And  that  sublimely. 
To  serve  her  spouse,  her  only  art. 
He  to  her  tombstone  would  impart 
Praises  that  might  have  warmed  her  heart. 
Had  they  been  timely. 


She  lay  down  late  and  early  rose. 
Her  manners  had  not  the  repose 
Blue  blood  confers,  one  must  suppose. 

Yet  own  her  merit. 
At  sweet  saints,  rapturous  in  a  niche. 
She'd  rail  and  turn  her  nose  up,  which 
Fixed  there,  mayhap,  the  vocal  pitch 

Her  sons  inherit. 


Through  pioneer  vicissitude 

She  scrimped  and  scraped,  and  bakedjand  brewed 

With  unremitting  fortitude 

That  shames  the  sages. 
Scripture  she  read  and  almanac 
With  nought  beside — ^unless  alack! 
And  (as  it  were  behind  her  back) 

Hudibras'  pages. 


But  all  things  come  to  those  who  wait. 
Such  an  arch-satirist  is  fate. 
Aiming  its  arrows,  soon  or  late 

No  marksman  bolder. 
The  Pilgrim  Puritan,  ah  me. 
Surviving  in  her  progeny 
As  flower  of  our  plutocracy 

To-day  behold  her! 


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E  were  ncKt-door  neighbors,  the  Mis- 
sionary and  I,  a  proximity  that  had 
existed  for  over  six  months.  But 
this,  of  itself,  was  no  excuse  for  even  a  nod- 
I  ding  acquaintance  in  a  strait-laced  colony 
like  Hongkong.  By  the  lows  of  social  usage 
we  were,  to  each  other,  technically  non  eal; 
we  bad  not  been  introduced. 

It  was  otherwise  with  our  Chinese  serv- 
ant, though  his  were  Christian  converts  and 
mine  were  pagans.  Secular  recreations 
were  not  tolerated  on  the  Missionary's 
premises,  so  they  fraternized  in  my  servants' 
quarters  to  gamble  and  smoke  opium,  see- 
ing no  sin  in  tainting  an  unsanctified  at- 
mosphere. 

Fate,  however,  which  has  some  sense  of 
humor  and  utter  disregard  for  cenventional- 
ities,  decreed  that  the  Missionary  and  I 
should  be  introduced.  This  was  brought 
about  with  unusual  ceremony  during  the 
festival  of  the  first  moon,  in  which  our 
Christians  and  pagans  were  participating. 

They  had  foregathered  in  my  cookhouse 
to  play  the  noisy  game  of  count  finger — a 
most  un-Christian  pastime,  inasmuch  as  the 
loser  wins  the  drinks.    Fortune  and  saving 


<^^1 


^ 


yj^ 


grace,  it  appeared,  had  been  vouchsafed  to 
the  heathens  of  my  household;  the  Mis- 
sionary's converts  got  as  drunk  as — Chris 
tians. 

Specific  effects  have  been  attributed  to 
Ihe  various  kinds  of  spirituous  refresh- 
ments, and  national  drinks  may  have  had 
some  influence  in  molding  national  charac- 
teristics. Irish  whisky  nurtures  wit  and 
pugnacity.  Champagne  inspires  the  gayety 
of  France.  Beer  breeds  obstinate  races — 
the  patient,  tenacious  Englishman,  the 
plodding,  metaphysical  German. 

Sam  sue  has  a  line  of  its  own;  it  imbues 
the  Celestial  with  exalted  notions  of  his 
worth.  He  rarely  reaches  the  staggering 
stage  of  intoxication;  when  primed  to  the 
sticking  point  he  moves  and  gestures  with 
the  stately  pose  of  a  marionette,  he  is  prone 
to  argument  and  bursts  of  oratory,  he  lies 
without  scruple  on  his  own  account  and 
quotes  the  eternal  truth  and  wisdom  of  the 
sages — on  their  account,  for  he  certainly 
has  no  intention  of  making  their  maxims 
part  of  his  conduct.  But  he  loves  the  dead 
virtues    of   his    ancestors,    in    the   abstract, 


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and  feels  that  it  is  a  high  and  holy  thing  to 
be  a  Chinaman. 

Wo  Hing,  the  Missionary's  cook,  was  ap- 
proximately in  the  above  condition  when 
the  row  began;  he  was  a  loquacious  cook, 
and  pedantic,  when  wet  in  his  inside  with 
sam  sue,  and  he  knew  many  maxims.  These 
he  recited  with  flippancy  and,  as  a  guest, 
with  undue  monopoly  of  attention;  this, 
according  to  the  Chronicles  of  Lo  Tiz,  *"is 
a  mark  of  pride."        a 

Hoh  Cheung,  my  household  manager,  who 
was  a  scholar  and  a  devout  heathen,  quoted 
the  passage. 

Wo  Hing,  nothing  abashed,  but  full  of 
ambition  to  swap  quotations,  replied  with 
the  hortation  of  Confucius:  "Let  the  voice 
of  wisdom  have  precedence  at  gatherings." 
Then  Hoh  Cheung  arose  in  his  wrath  and 
stated — not  briefly — in  many  unmentionable 
words  that  "Confucian  quotations  from  the 
double  face  of  a  mission  school  bastard  was 
an  offense  unto  the  gods." 

Theology,  that  wedge  of  discord,  had 
found  a  line  of  cleavage  in  their  Rock  of 
Ages;  when  that  ancient  fabric  is  rent  and 
falling  let  the  well-meaning  stand  from  un- 
der.   There  will  be  a  crash. 

From  the  peace  of  a  pleasant  dream  I 
awoke  to  sounds  of  conflict,  the  clatter  of 
pots  and  pans,  the  breaking  of  kitchen  delf, 
and  the  rattle  of  bamboo  poles  wielded  in 
quarterstafP  encounters,  mingled  with  fierce 
yells  and  choice  epithets  from  the  combat- 
ants. I  hastened  to  the  fray  by  the  back 
door,  but  found  it  locked.  My  next  course 
was  to  climb  the  wall  of  the  compound,  in 
the  middle  of  which  stood  the  outhouses  of 
the  Missionary  and  myself;  this  I  did,  sorely 
bruising  my  knees  througn  my  thin  pajamas. 
It  was  dark,  but  I  could  dimly  see  a  tall, 
white-clad  specter  pursuing  a  short,  white- 
clad  specter  at  full  speed  across  the  com- 
pound. When  the  short  figure  was  within 
six  feet  of  the  cookhouse  he  threw  himself 
flat  on  the  ground,  tripping  the  tall  one, 
who  fell  heavily  against  the  cookhouse  door, 
bursting  it  open. 

Like  a  flash  the  short  figure  was  on  his 
feet,  and  disappeared  around  the  corner. 
His  adversary  arose  and  looked  around  in 
bewildered  silence.  Seeing  a  short,  white- 
clad  figure  near  by,  he  seized  me  by  the 
shoulders  and  pushed  me  inside  amongst 
the  fighting  Chinamen,  shouting  **Tim  tongl 
tint   fangV*    (light  the  lamp).     Our  appear- 


ance had  startled  the  crowd  into  sudden  si- 
lence, and  some  one,  with  the  instinct  of 
obedience,  lit  a  rush  pith  in  a  peanut  oil 
chatty,  which  threw  a  ghostly  flicker  over 
a  scene  of  mingled  rage  and  panic.  Bruised 
and  bleeding  faces,  disordered  hair,  twitch- 
ing, shifty  eyes  flashing  with  hate  and  men- 
ace, some  with  dread,  at  the  thought  of  dis- 
grace and  police  court  in  the  morning. 

"Who  is  this?"  asked  the  tall  man  who 
held  me  fr6m  behind,  speaking  in  Chinese. 
Wo  Hing  stepped  forward  and  peered  into 
my  face. 

'Wyahy  he  gurgled.  "A'd/t  li  quV  (next- 
door  devil). 

My  captor  released  his  hold  and  stepped 
back  into  the  darkness  in  evident  surprise. 
"And  who  is  that?"  I  asked,  pointing  to 
the  tall  specter. 

Hoh  Cheung  waved  his  hand  with  intro- 
ductory grace,  saying:  "Ja  su  QuaV  (Jesus 
devil). 
It  was  the  Missionary. 
The  rushlight  flared  up  with  sudden  vigor- 
showing  us  dressed  in  pajamas,  slipshod 
and  disheveled.  Mechanically  we  bowed; 
words  were  wanting  to  flt  the  occasion. 

For  several  seconds  we  regarded  each 
other  with  solemn  interest.  Gradually  an 
expression  of  suppressed  amusement  gath- 
ered in  my  captor's  eyes,  then  slowly 
spread  to  his  lower  features;  then  his 
smooth,  glum  face  lit  up  with  a  smile  of 
inflnite  humor.  On  a  face  so  stamped  with 
the  hereditary  gloom  of  his  Puritan  fore- 
fathers that  smile  seemed  a  momentary 
lapse  to  the  levity  of  some  prehistoric  an- 
cestor. 
I  loved  that  Missionary  on  the  spot. 
Five  minutes  later  we  were  seated  on  my 
verandah,  holding  a  court  of  inquiry  Into 
the  cause  of  disturbance.  The  missonary's 
face  had  assumed  its  usual  look  of  sol- 
emnity, which  deepend  into  an  expression 
of  sad,  long-suffering  weariness,  as  we 
listened  to  the  maxims  of  Ananias  which 
our  witnesses  quoted  with  gusto. 

Our  search  for  truth  continued  for  half 
an  hour,  with  results,  I  fear,  that  added  con- 
siderably to  the  sum  of  the  world's  in- 
iquity. Finding  ourselves  sinking  deeper 
and  deeper  in  a  slough  of  mendacious  con- 
tradictions, we  closed  the  Inquiry  with  the 
usual  admonitions. 

I  was  gratifled  to  flnd  that  the  missionary 
had  a  fraternal  vice;    he  smoked. 


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Stretched  in  long  chairs,  we  wreathed  the 
verandah  with  the  incense  of  peace  and 
good-fellowship,  feeling  calm  and  forgiving. 

Of  such  are  thy  blandishments,  my  Lady 
NicoUne! 

To  all  foreign  residents  in  the  Orient  the 
shortcomings  of  their  native  servants  is  a 
perennial  subject  for  conversation;  the  most 
heat-worn,  liver-depressed  individual  will 
brighten  to  the  occasion  and  blackguard  the 
menial  brotherhood  with  cheerful  zeal. 

On  this  particular  night  the  missionary 
and  I  had  certainly  legitimate  excuse  to 
drift  into  this  well-worn  channel.  The  sub- 
ject was  avoided,  however,  for  delicate  rea- 
sons on  both  sides. 

Though  the  missionary  was  not  the  kind 
of  man  to  believe  his  converts  exempt  from 
original  sin,  I  presumed  that  his  feelings 
would  be  tender  on  points  that  impugned 
the  results  of  his  mission. 

Besides  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  my 
own  amateur  efforts  in  the  line  of  pagan 
reformation  had  slipped  a  notch  when  1  saw 
my  visitor  tripped  through  the  cookhouse 
door  by  a  certain  short,  white-clad  figure 
that  disappeared  around  the  corner. 

It  was  too  dark  to  identify  the  figure  with 
certainty,  but  I  had  a  discreet  suspicion 
that  the  missionary  had  been  chasing  Ghee 
Afat,  my  house  boy.  The  young  rascal  had 
overthrown  his  pursuer  so  neatly  in  the 
darkness  that  when  the  latter  arose  he 
evidently  thought  that  I  was  tne  person 
he  had  been  after. 

No  doubt  the  devil  arranged  the  whole 
complication.  I  wanted  to  deal  with  Chee 
Afat  in  my  own  way,  and  I  had  a  decidedly 
wicked  impression  that  explanations  would 
mar  the  humor  of  the  situation. 

After  the  first  cigar  our  efforts  at  conver- 
sation became  mere  expedients  in  the  in- 
terest of  common  decorum.  It  was  evident 
that  each  expected  the  other  to  explain  the 
events  that  led  up  to  our  introduction.  Half 
an  hour  and  another  good  cigar  were  wasted 
In  polite  fatuities.  Then  my  reverend  friend 
arose  to  go.  When  half-way  down  the 
verandah  steps  he  turned  partly  around, 
dropped  the  butt  of  his  cigar  into  a  flower 
pot  and  said: 

"The  next  time  you  wish  to  talk  with  Mui 
Tan,  my  ama  (native  nurse) ,  don't  go  to  the 
back  window.  Come  to  the  front  door. 
Good  night." 

I  was  too  astonished  to  do  more  than  raise 


myself  on  my  elbow  and  gaze  blankly  at 
the  tall  man  retreating  down  the  pathway. 
A  flush  of  indignation  was  the  first  instinct 
to  follow  the  shock.  My  mind  worked  cha- 
otically, and  muttered  maledictions  arose 
in  the  void.  Ah,  I  see  it  now!  The  fim  of 
tne  thing  laid  me  prostrate,  and  the  wrathful 
bang  of  my  neighbor's  door  added  to  the 
discord  of  a  long,  loud  laugh  that  unhal- 
lowed the  peace  of  midnight. 

I  went  to  bed,  but  nocturnal  reflections 
brought  trouble.  Inordinate  mirth  usually 
reacts  in  gloom.  I  could  see  now  that  my 
senseless  reluctance  to  explain  matters  had 
placed  the  missionary  and  myself  on  a 
farcical  level  with  the  puppets  in  a  French 
comedy;  that  was  bad. 

Chee  Afat,  my  paragon  house  boy,  had 
fallen  from  grace;  that  was  worse.  He  had 
been  brought  to  me,  a  boy  of  ten,  from  a  far 
inland  village  by  Hoh  Cheung,  his  uncle 
and  guardian.  For  six  years  I  had  trained 
that  boy  by  an  ethical  regime  that  Herbert 
Spencer  would  have  doted  on.  My  theory 
was  entirely  new.  I  hoped  to  prove  that 
the  instinctive  aversion  to  truth  and  honesty 
in  the  Asiatic  race  was  a  post-natal  acquire- 
ment.   I  am  older  now,  and  have  no  theories. 

For  several  years  my  task  was  difficult. 
I  found  him  apt  in  all  things  but  in  learning 
to  speak  the  truth.  He  learned  pidgin  Eng- 
lish with  ease,  and  in  six  months  his  vi- 
tuperative vocaoulary  was  appalling.  His 
uncle  when  taxed  on  the  subject  assured 
me  that  the  boy's  diction  was  exemplary 
when  he  spoke  in  his  own  language.  This 
inclined  me  to  doubt  if  the  English  language 
was  a  fit  medium  for  the  training  of  youth, 
and  I  decided  to  speak  to  him  in  Chinese 
only.  The  moral  improvement  was  marked. 
By  the  time  he  was  sixteen  his  honesty, 
veracity  and  other  Sunday  virtues  were  fuU- 
fiedged  and  operative,  and  I  gloried  in  my 
handiwork. 

Next  morning  Chee  Afat  was  called  be- 
fore me  and  charged  with  night  prowling  on 
the  missionary's  premises,  making  love  to  a 
Christian  hand-maiden  and  bringing  indig- 
nity and  hurtful  contusion  to  the  said  mis- 
sionary against  my  cookhouse  door. 

Evidence  of  his  sudden  contact  with  the 
sharp  gravel  when  he  tripped  up  my  neigh- 
bor could  be  seen  on  his  bruised  hands  and 
face.  Otherwise  he  looked  calm  and  inno- 
cent. 

I  expected  a  confession  In  character  with 


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the  high  standard  of  his  training,  but  in  this 
I  was  sadly  disappointed;  he  denied  the 
accusations  serially  and  in  block. 

He  was  summarily  sent  to  his  work  till 
I  could  think  the  matter  over.  Patience 
had  always  been  part  of  my  policy. 

This  was  the  first  step  in  the  degeneration 
in  Chee  Afat.  First  steps  at  the  forked 
roads  of  destiny  are  always  interesting,  and 
most  of  you,  if  you  look  back,  will  find  a 
woman  there. 

His  unexpected  drop  from  stainless  virtue 
to  the  maculate  conventionality  of  his  race 
was  a  rude  wrench  to  my  vanity.  This  was 
probably  why  I  settled  myself  with  cold- 
blooded interest  to  watch  his  decline  and 
fall. 

He  continued  to  perform  his  duties  with 
the  usual  efficiency,  and  I  assumed  in  my 
manner  toward  him  a  lofty  air  of  suffering 
charity,  which,  be  it  known,  is  the  becoming 
mien  of  those  who  stoop  beneath  "the  white 
man's  burden." 

A  few  weeks  later  I  awoke  one  morning 
to  find  Chee  Afat  squatting  on  my  bedroom 
floor,  my  bath  towels  in  one  hand,  my  shav- 
ing water  in  the  other,  weeping  lustily. 

I  lay  still  hlled  with  wonder,  for  he  was  a 
staunch,  untearful  youth  and  hitherto  free 
from  weak  emotion.  As  the  tears  continued 
to  mix  with  my  shaving  water  and  my  bath 
towels  were  used  to  mop  the  flow,  I  arose 
to  remonstrate. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 
"I'm  going  to  be  married,"  he  sobbed  in 
anguish. 

Now,  marriage  is  a  serious  matter,  we  all 
^know,  but  we  rarely  realize  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  calamity  till  afterward.  It  was 
different  with  Chee  Afat;  his  premonitions 
were  creditable,  and  his  grief,  though  some- 
what premature,  aroused  my  sympathy. 

When  calmer  he  was  able  to  explain  "that 
in  the  village  of  San  Ki  Wan,  Hoh  Cheung, 
his  uncle,  had  a  debtor  who  had  a  daughter, 
fair  and  marriageable;  after  the  manner  of 
his  people.  Hoh  Cheung  had  employed  a 
go-between  to  ask  his  debtor's  daughter  in 
marriage  for  his  nephew  —  and  call  it 
square."  Hoh  Cheung  was  a  man  of  busi- 
ness. 

He  had  ordered  Chee  Afat  to  hold  himself 
in  readiness  to  be  married  within  a  week, 
and  the  latter  implored  pathetically  that  I 
should  use  my  influence  with  his  uncle  to 
delay  or  stop  the  marriage. 


It  was  vanity  that  prompted  me  to  inter- 
cede on  his  behalf.  In  those  days  I  had  the 
faith  of  the  frothy  reformer  in  forceful 
argument,  not  knowing  that  forceful  habit 
sways  the  world.  I  had  likewise  a  healthy 
belief  (now  dead)  in  the  possibility  of  cor- 
recting the  wayward  ways  of  the  hide-bound 
heathen. 

I  found  Hoh  Cheung  in  the  compound, 
haggling  with  the  pork  butcher  and  the 
marriage  undertaker  over  costs  and  furnish- 
ings for  the  feast. 

I  began  at  once,  charging  that  cross- 
grained  old  pagan  with  blasting  the  bloom  of 
youth  with  the  curse  of  early  marriage,  fos- 
tering the  production  of  immature  human- 
ity, abetting  over-population  and  famine,  in- 
creasing the  struggle  for  existence,  and  de- 
nying the  promise  of  free,  unmarried  man- 
hood to  an  ungrown  youth.  I  enlarged  upon 
the  wisdom  of  the  Western  world,  where 
advanced  minds  had  begun  to  look  upon 
marriage  as  one  of  the  follies  of  youth, 
where  couples  when  they  came  to  their 
senses  usually  got  divorced. 

Hoh  Cheung  was  obdurate;  he  was  also 
rude  when  he  implied  "that  the  system  I 
advocated  would  soon  stop  the  supply  of 
advanced  minds  in  the  Western  world." 

"Early  marriage,"  he  insisted,  "was  en- 
joined by  the  sages,  that  children  might  be 
bom  in  fllial  respect  to  make  offerings  at 
the  graves  of  their  fathers.  He  was  chilJ- 
less,  and  looked  to  Chee  Afat  and  his  poster- 
ity to  fulfill  the  rites  of  homage  to  his  spirit 
in  the  Vast  Unseen.  He  had  heard  rumors, 
too,  that  smote  his  heart  with  a  great  fear. 
It  was  whispered  amongst  the  wives  of  his 
fellows  that  one,  Mui  Tan,  a  Christian  maid 
in  the  service  of  the  missionary,  had  con- 
jured the  spirit  devils  of  her  foreign  faith 
to  cast  a  spell  upon  Chee  Afat  that  he  might 
love  her  to  the  desire  of  marriage.  What 
if  the  boy  should  turn  from  the  teachings  of 
his  fathers  and  marry  the  girl  by  the  here- 
sies of  the  foreign  temple?  Of  a  surety  she 
would  turn  his  heart  from  the  worship  of 
ancestors.  Who,  then,  would  bring  offerings 
to  the  grave  of  Hoh  Cheung  when  his  spirit 
had  need  of  such?    Answer  me  that." 

Having  no  wish  to  get  mixed  with  Hoh 
Cheung  in  the  quicksands  of  controversy  on 
matters  theological,  I  closed  the  discussion, 
giving  Chee  Afat  the  advice  of  the  feudal 
Scotchwoman  to  her  husband  when  he  was 
about  to  be  hanged:    "Put  your  head  in  the 


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loop,  Sandy,  and  no  anger  the  guid  Laird." 
During  the  next  few  days  Chee  Afat  be- 
came dull  and  listless;  he  slept  much  during 
the  day  and  was  absent  from  his  quarters 
part  of  the  night.  He  had,  as  I  afterward 
learned,  taken  to  the  excitement  of  gamb- 
ling to  offset  the  dreary  prospect  of  mar- 
riage. 

Two  nights  before  the  wedding  the  heat 
fiends  of  Purgatory,  who  choose  Hongkong 
for  their  dwelling  place  during  the  summer 
months,  had  deprived  me  of  sleep  till  past 
midnight.  I  wandered  out  into  the  bright 
moonlight,  seeking  respite  from  torments 
that  afflict  the  unjust,  in  unfair  measure  and 
before  their  time.  I  strolled  quietly  down  a 
by-path  that  led  to  a  deep  nullah  shaded 
with  huge,  gnarled  banian  trees,  piously 
decorated  on  trunk  and  limb  with  joss- 
sticks,  transcripts  of  wise  sayings  from  the 
sages,  and  patches  of  red  and  gold  splashed 
papers  that  are  known  to  propitiate  the  spir- 
its that  abide  in  the  trees. 

As  I  approached  I  could  hear  the  murmur 
of  voices  in  the  deep  shadow  before  me;  the 
voices  swelled  to  a  weird,  monotonous 
chant,  then  rose  In  fitful  wails  to  the  high 
falsetto  notes  that  attune  the  Celestial  soul 
when  he  llfteth  up  his  voice  in  song. 

I  stepped  quietly  behind  a  bush  and  looked 
through  the  branches.  A  moonbeam  filtered 
through  the  tree  tops,  casting  a  diffused 
light  on  two  figures  bending  hand  in  hand 
before  a  rude  altar  that  stood  in  the  cavity 
of  an  ancient  banian. 

They  chanted  and  kowtowed  in  simule, 
serious  devotion  for  full  five  minutes  before 
a  battered  assortment  of  offering  cups, 
withered  flowers  and  tinseled  paper  that 
covered  the  altar. 

They  passed  me  almost  within  touch.  It 
was  Chee  Afat  and  Mui  Tan.  The  girl  was 
sobbing  quietly  and  the  boy  appeared  to  be 
whispering  words  of  manly  consolation. 

I  went  to  bed  propounding  problems  on 
moral  duty. 

The  missionary  and  I  were  now  fast 
friends;  that  little  misunderstanding  on  the 
night  of  the  rumpus  In  my  cookhouse  had 
been  explained,  and  our  intercourse  was 
cordial  and  free  as  beseemed  good  neigh- 
bors. 

He  was  sorely  grieved  at  the  time  to  learn 
that  his  young  Christian  ama  had  tolerated 
the  attentions  of  my  pagan  house  boy,  and 
measures  of  reproval  were  becomingly  ap- 


plied. Could  I  tell  him  of  the  scene  I  had 
just  witnessed?  It  might  be  right,  I  rea- 
soned, but  it  would  not  be  kind  to  inform 
the  good  man  that  his  convert  was  seen 
worshipping  false  gods  with  her  heathen 
lover,  who  was  about  to  be  married  to  a 
maid  of  his  own  class. 

Regarding  the  duplicity  of  Chee  Afat  I 
decided  to  say  nothing.  Hoh  Cheung  was  a 
worthy  man  in  his  way,  and  he,  too,  would 
be  sady  afflicted  by  the  proof  of  his 
nephew's  surrender  to  the  wiles  of  the  hated 
Christian. 

Two  days  more,  and  revelry  reigned  in  the 
compound^  there  was  beating  of  tomtoms, 
screeching  of  catgut  fiddles,  clangs  of  cym- 
bals and  the  skirl  of  chanters,  till  the  hot 
night  quaked  in  the  throes  of  pandemonium. 
Chee  Afat  had  been  married  to  the  girl 
of  his  uncle's  choice. 

Hoh  Cheung  was  a  happy  man,  and  had 
handed  over  the  bulk  of  his  savings  to  his 
nephew  immediately  after  the  wedding. 

He  told  me,  in  his  pompous  way,  that  "he 
had  done  his  duty  to  himself,  and,  according 
to  Confucius,  had  linked  together  the  acces- 
sories of  life,  that  his  spirit  might  be  glori- 
fied in  death.  Were  not  those  the  mandates 
of  wisdom?" 

Next  morning  there  was  blue  consterna- 
tion in  the  Champ.  The  bride  told  the  story. 
"After  retiring  to  the  bridal  chamber  her 
husband  asked  to  be  excused  for  a  short 
time.  He  took  off  his  wedding  garments, 
dressed  in  ordinary  clothes  and  went  out  by 
a  back  window,  not  wishing  to  encounter 
the  guests,  who  were  in  merry  mood  and 
boisterous.  She  waited  and  waited,  but  he 
did  not  return.  She  could  not  call  or  dare 
to  be  seen  by  those  outside  on  a  night  so 
momentous;  that  would  have  put  her  to 
shame.  Weary  with  waiting,  she  cried  her- 
self to  sleep  dnd  awoke  in  the  morning  to 
find  the  bridegroom  still  absent."  That  was 
all. 

Across  the  way  the  missionary's  house- 
hold was  equally  agitated.  Mui  Tan  had 
disappeared;  her  money  box  and  clothes 
chest  were  empty. 

The  last  trace  of  the  fugitives  was  found 
at  the  steamer  office,  where  a  couple  answer- 
ing the  description  of  Chee  Afat  and  Mui 
Tan  had  taken  the  evening  boat  for  Canton 
and  were  lost  'mid  the  millions  of  the  Em- 
pire of  Night.  Digitized  by  ^^OOglt: 


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KHE  majority  of  tourists  speed  from 
El  Paso  to  the  city  of  Mexico,  a  dis- 
tance of  1,225  miles,  and  remain  in 
-.-  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  they  are 
passing  by  a  town  of  unsurpassed  charm 
and  great  peculiarity.  Guanajuato  has  been 
pronounced  the  most  picturesque  city  in  the 
world  by  those  travelers  who  have  been  so 
fortunate  as   to   see   it. 

Situated  high  up  among  the  emountains, 
it  is  fifteen  miles  off  the  line  of  the  Mexi- 
can  Central   railway,   and   250   miles   north 
I       of  the  ecapital  of  the  republic.     It  is  the 
I      capital  of  the  State  of  Guanajuato.     This 
I       State,    though    small,    is    the    most    thickly 
populated  one  in  Mexico,  and  ranks  second 
in  wealth,  for  it  contains  the  richest  silver 
miaing   district   in  the   country.     The   city 
has  a     population    of  60,000,    and     is    still 
thoroughly  Mexican,  scarcely  a  word  of  Eng- 
lish being  heard  within  its  limits. 

To  reach  it  you  stop  over  at  thestation  of 
Sliav,  and  easily  fancy  yourself  transported 
to  Bible  lands  as  you  note  the  equalnt  flat- 
roofed  houses  and  narrow  lanes,  unchang- 
ed for  more  than  300  years.  You  take  the 
train  to  Marfil,  up  a  heavy  grade  eleven 
miles,  and  compass  the  erest  of  the  eclimb 
in  a  little  car  drawn  by  six  mules.  Mar- 
ftl  bears  similarity  to  a  hamlet  of  medieval 
times,  with  its  solid  stone  buildings  perched 
like  fortresses  on  the  hillsides.  The  road, 
a  causeway  whose  construction  occupied 
many  years,  follows  the  course  of  a  narrow 
river,  up  a  ravine  which  has  no  outlet  ex- 
cept at  the  lower  end.  It  passes  through, 
over  and  under  great  haciendas  or  silver 
reduction  works,  and  is  probably  the  most 
interesting  street-car  line  on  the  face  of 
the  globe.  A  wall  of  masonry  outlines  the 
bank  of  the  river  for  the  entire  dis*:ance. 

No  one  would  expect  to  find  a  large,  pros- 


perous and  handsome  city  hidaen  away  at 
the  head  of  the  ravine,  the  buildings 
crowded  close  on  the  various  levels  of  the 
streets  that  wind  around  and  ascend  the 
mountain  side.  In  places  the  houses  are 
built  almost  perpendicularly  above  each 
other,  so  that  one  wonders  by  what  means 
of  locomotion  their  occupants  reach  them. 
The  scarcity  of  level  spots  may  be  under- 
stood from  the  fact  that  it  cost  $100,000  to 
grade  the  site  for  a  prominent  church. 

Guanajuato  was  founded  by  the  Spanish 
invdaers,  rich  silver  ore  having  been  dis- 
covered i  nthe  vicinity  as  early  as  1548. 
From  that  time  until  the  present  day,  over 
one  thousand  millions  of  dollars  have  been 
produced  by  the  mines  of  the  district.  Many 
claims  are  now  being  worked  by  American 
and  English  capitalists.  They  have  reached 
a  depth  of  from  1200  to  1590  feet,  and  show 
no  signs  of  exhaustion,  forming  as  they  do 
a  part  of  the  wonderful  Veta  Madre,  the 
"mother  vein"  which  underlies  Zacatecas, 
Catorce,  El  Oro,  and  other  large  mining  dis- 
tricts of  Mexico.  Portions  of  the  vein  at 
Guanajuato  bear  a  profitable  per  cent,  of 
gold,  in  addition  to  the  silver.  The  peons 
who  work  in  the  mines  climb  four  times  a 
day  to  the  surface,  each  bearing  a  load  of 
250  pounds  of  ore  on  his  back,  and  thereby 
earning  from  fifty,  to  seventy-five  cents 
Mexican  currency.  It  seems  a  hard  life  and 
poorly  requited  toil,  yet  there  are  no  hap- 
pier people  in  the  world  than  the  common 
laborers  of  Mexico.  Their  faces  are  bright 
with  simple  good  humor,  their  hearts  know 
not  ambition,  their  daily  fare  of  tortillas 
and  frijoles,  washed  down  with  copious 
draughts  of  pulque,  is  more  satisfactory  to 
them  than  any  other  diet  would  be,  and  they 
cherish  no  envy  for  those  whom  fortune  has 
stationed  above  them.  They  must  not  be  de- 
prived of  certain  superstitions  and  religious 


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privileges,  however.  Riding  one  day  a  mile 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  on  a  car  drawn 
along  a  tunnel  by  a  mule,  we  came  to  a  re- 
ces  in  which  tapers  were  burning,  and  found 
an  altar  adorned  with  garlands  of  flowers 
and  cheap  ornaments.  The  Superintendent 
explained  that  the  lights  were  kept  burning 
day  and  night,  and  that  the  miners  alwa'^^s 
knelt  in  prayer  at  the  shrine  before  begin- 
ning their  work.  "If  we  should  take  the  al- 
tar away,"  he  said,  *'athe  men  would  not 
come  into  the  mine." 

Guanajuato,  though  so  isolated,  has  an  ele- 
elegant  theatre,  surpassing  any  other  play- 
in  Mexico,  and  equaled  by  but  few  in  the 
United  States.  The  building  is  chaste  and 
artistic  in  design  and  comstructed  of  a  beau- 
tiful green  stone  quarried  near  the  city, 
which  takes  on  the  polish  of  marble.  The 
magnificent  auditorium  is  expensively  de- 
corated; the  scenery  is  from  the  brush  of 
Herrera,  Mexico's  most  talented  scenic  art- 
ist, and  the  splendid  foyer,  sumptuous  par- 
lors and  retiring  rooms  would  be  creditable 
to  any  city  in  the  world.  The  Jardin  de  la 
Union,  on  which  the  theater  fronts,  is  a  tiny 
three-cornered  plaza,  (there  is  room  for 
naught  else),  around  which  stand  the  Gov- 
ernor's   palace,    the    leading    hotel,    State 


buildings,  an  old  church,  and  other  substan- 
tial edifices  in  the  Moorish  style  of  archi- 
tecture, with  wide,  heavy  portals,  grated 
lower  windows,  and  wrought  iron  bals'iaes. 
Sitting  in  a  second  story  ventana  on  a  Sun- 
day evening,  one  looks  down  on  auiithe'' 
world  than  that  viewed  from  any  seccioii  of 
our  own  country,  and  realizes  that  it  is  not 
necessary  to  cross  the  ocean  to  anotJio  •  con- 
tinent in  order  to  behold  distinctly  foreign 
scenes.  Few  countries  of  Europe  present  so 
much  of  novelty  and  of  the  conservatism 
which  clings  to  the  traditions  and  customs 
cf  the  past  as  Mexico  does.  No  stage  could 
portray  a  more  vivid  picture  In  coloring, 
quaint  costumes,  strking  individualities,  nni 
charm  of  setting,  than  is  afforded  by  this 
central  breathing  place  of  the  populace  in 
a  mountain  town  of  "our  sister  Republic. ' 
A  military  band,  well-trained  by  the  gov- 
ernment, occupies  a  pretty  kiosk,  and  plays 
airs  dear  to  the  Mexican  heart  and  entranc- 
ing to  the  ear,  as  only  those  can  play  who 
are  born  with  music  in  them.  Electric 
lights  sparkle  amid  the  semi-tropical  foliage, 
for  thus  does  modern  science  hobnob 
with  the  primitiveness  that  has  withstood 
the  advance  of  ages.  A  broad  flagged  walk 
surrounds   the   plaza,   and   this   is   crowded 


The  Theater. 


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Picturesqe  Guanajuato. 


619 


Mining  in  Mexico. 

with  promenaders  in  two  meeting  lines,  the 
men  in  one,  the  women  in  the  other.  Many 
are  the  speaking  looks  interchanged  as  they 
met  and  pass  and  meet  again,  chatting  all 
the  while  in  the  soft  language,  laughing 
and  jesting.  Rich  and  poor  are  intermingled, 
the  latter  in  no  wise  daunted  by  defects  of 
toilet,  wearing  their  conical  straw  hats 
and  coarse,  but  gay  zarapes  as  jauntily  as 
if  the  sombrero  were  a  fifty-dollar  felt  heavy 
with  gold  cord,  and  the  zarape  a  hand-woven 
thing  of  beauty  akin  to  the  indestructible 
Navajo  blanket.  Poverty  does  not  distress 
the  uneducated  Mexican,  nor  lessen  his 
quiet,  gentle  dignity.  He  can  content  him- 
self until  better  times  come — manana;  and 
if  they  do  not  come,  it  is  the  will  of  the 
blessed  saints!  Always  he  has  the  adora- 
ble climate  and  the  delightful  music,  as 
much  for  him  as  for  the  grand  senor;  and 
ever  the  sacred  churches,  noble  piles  filled 
with  treasure,  at  whose  altars  he  may  kneel 
any  hour  of  the  day,  in  all  his  dirt  and  rags, 
as  welcome  as  the  richest  parishioner  of  the 
house  of  worship  in  the  land  to  the  North 
whose  doors  are  closed  nine-tenths  of  the 
week  and  never  open  willingly  to  the  pau- 
per. 

A  twilight  service  in  one  of  the  old  Mexi- 
can churches  is  deeply  impressive.  The 
clanging,  moss-covered  bells  calling  to  wor- 


ship, the  falling  dusk  in  the  stately  building 
for  which  Charles  V.  and  Phillip  II.  of  Spain 
contribued  paintings  and  vessels  of  solid 
silver;  the  kneeling  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, with  devout  and  often  rapt  faces;  the 
grand  peal  of  the  organ  and  the  chorus  of 
male  voices — are  all  inspiring.  One  by  one 
the  candles  at  the  altar  are  extinguished, 
the  worshipers  cross  themselves  and  slip  out 
into  the  semi-darkness,  bending  to  kiss  he 
bio  d-stai  -d  i.eet  of  the  martyred  Christ  as 
they  pass  the  image. 

It  is  worth  while  to  climb  up  the  narrow 
streets,  full  of  curves  and  angles,  catching 
glimpses  of  crumbling  court-yards,  stair- 
ways, and  arches,  with  now  and  then  a  bevy 
of  white-robed,  dark-haired  senoritas  lean- 
ing over  their  balconies,  until  **La  Presa"  is 
reached,  the  aristocratic  residence  portioi 
of  the  city,  where  one  looks  down  on  roof- 
tops in  terraces,  and  sees  the  horizon  shut 
in    on    every   side    by   rugged    mountains. 

Here  is  another  plaza,  converted  into  a 
luxuriant  garden  among  the  rocks  by  infin- 
ite pains.  Several  band  concerts  are  given 
within  it  every  week.  Around  it,  wherever 
a  foothold  could  be  secured,  sometimes 
built  half  over  the  pretty  stream,  are  the 
attractive  homes  of  the  well-to-do,  covered 
with  vines  and  musical  witn  birds.  "La 
Presa"  is  the  name  of  a  dam  which  closes 


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A  Street  in  Guanajuato. 

the  lowest  of  a  series  of  reservoirs.  Oace 
a  year  a  festival  is  held  at  this  dam,  when 
throngs  gather  to  witness  the  opening  of  the 
gates  and  flooding  of  the  river  channel.  It 
is  made  the  occasion  of  ceremonies  and 
feasting  which  continue  for  two  or  three 
days. 

In  earlier  times  there  was  a  tragic  ele- 
ment connected  with  the  event.  Prisoners 
under   sentence  of   death   were   detailed    to 


manage  the  clumsy  contrivances  of  that  jer- 
iod,  letting  out  the  water  at  great  risk  to 
life,  with  the  understanding  that  those  who 
e:3caped  harm  should  be  pardoned.  Below 
the  city,  where  the  sands  of  the  river  c.re 
full  of  the  waste  from  large  reduction 
works,  laborers  earn  a  few  cents  a  day  by 
sluicing  the  dry  bed  and  obtaining  the  modi- 
cum of  silver  remaining  after  miil  treat- 
meat. 

"Do  you  wish  to  go  to  the  cemetery?"  one 
is  asked  on  the  street  by  mozos  or  guides 
who  hope  to  earn  a  fee,  but  it  is  easy  to  find 
the  way  unassisted  to  the  panteon,  the  only 
replica  of  the  catacombs  of  Rome -on  this 
continent.  The  one  broad  street  of  the  city 
leads  up  a  steep  hill  to  a  cemetery,  inclosed 
by  a  wall  about  ten  feet  thick.  The  dead 
are  placed  Within  these  walls  in  tiers,  each 
receptacle  being  hired  for  a  term  of  years 
commensurate  with  the  means  of  the  renter ; 
it  may  be  for  five,  ten,  twenty,  or  fifty 
years;  in  some  cases  of  opulence,  forever. 
After  the  cofiin  has  been  placed  within  the 
niche,  the  opening  is  sealed,  numbered,  and 
inscribed  with  the  name  and  date  of  death 
of  its  occupant.  At  the  expiration  of  the 
time  for  which  the  tomb  was  engaged,  it  is 
opened  and  made  ready  for  another  term 
of    usefulness.    What    becomes    of    the    re- 


Catacombs. 


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621 


"La  Presa." 

The  Dam  at  Guanajuato. 

mains?    Ah,   that  is   the   most   remarkable 
thing  in  this  altogether  unique  city. 

Proffer  doe  rcales  to  the  man  in  charge 
of  the  cemetery  and  he  will  show  you  some- 
thing which  cannot  be  found  anywhere  else 
in  America.  He  lifts  a  trap-door  in  the 
ground,  and  motions  you  to  precede  him 
down  a  spiral  stairway.  Soon  you  find 
yourself  in  a  long  passage  about  ten  feet 
wide,  and  see  at  your  feet  a  mighty  heap  of 
bones,  reaching  far  back  and  upward  to  the 
ceiling.  Skulls,  arms,  thighs,  hands,  and 
feet  are  promiscuously  thrown  together,  and 
you  turn  shuddering  from  the  sight  to  find 
ycurself  confroned  by  a  double  row  of  grin- 
ning, mummified  relics  of  beings  that  were 
once  as  human  as  yourself.  They  stand 
against  the  walls  of  the  subterranean  apart- 
ment, the  men  on  one  side,  ihe  women  oppo- 
site, as  if  ranged  for  a  horrible  dance  of 
death.  It  is  almost  inconceivable  that  the 
distorted  visages  were  ever  fair  to  look 
upon — one  and  all  are  hideous  now.  While 
you  gaze  in  shrinking  curiosity  the  guide 
explains  that  there  is  something  in  the  pure, 
dry  air  of  that  altitude  (7000  feet)  which 
sometimes  partially  preserves  the  bodies. 
WTien  this  is  found  to  have  occurred,  the 
skeleton,  with  its  parchment  covering,  is 
idded  to  the  grewsome  assembly  below;  if 
lot  intact,  the  bones  are  merged  with  those 


of  the  mammoth  charnel  heap.  Although 
this  custom  is  peculiar  to  Guanajuato,  the 
system  of  renting  graves  is  in  vogue  every- 
where in  Mexico,  and  interment  in  family 
lots  is  a  thing  unknown. 

An  impregnable  appearing  building  in  the 
heart  of  the  city,  rising  high  above  its  neign- 
bors,  is  called  the  Alhondiga,  or  Castilla  de 
Granaditas.  It  was  constructed  more  than 
a  century  ago  and  has  played  an  important 
part  in  the  history  of  the  city.  It  was  in- 
tended for  a  Chamber  of  Commerce,  but  is 
now  used  for  a  jail.  Hidalgo,  the  "Washing- 
ton of  Mexico,"  captured  it  from  the  royal- 
ists in  1810,  when  the  first  blow  for  liberty 
was  struck  by  the  republicans  of  New  Spain; 
later,  after  he  had  met  with  defeat  and  death 
at  Chihuahua,  his  head  was  brutally  exposed 
upon  a  spike  at  one  corner  of  the  roof,  while 
the  heads  of  threfe  of  his  Generals — Al- 
lende,  Aldama,  and  Jimenez — were  exhibited 
on  the  other  corners.  The  bones  of  these 
patriots  now  repose  in  the  grand  cathedral 
of  the  city  of  Mexico,  and  are  objects  of  rev- 
erence, particularly  on  each  anniversary  of 
the  execution,  when  the  relics  are  covered 
with    flowers,    amid    appropriate    exercises. 

The  Mexican  dearly  loves  a  hero,  and  is 
enthusiastically  patriotic.  *"\ira  Mexicol 
Vira  la  RepublieV*  is  his  cry 

The  mint  at  Guanajuato  coins  more  money 
than  any  other  in  the  country.  The.  process 
is  whe  same  as  in  the  mints  of  the  United 
States;  but  Indians,  some  of  whom  have 
grown  white  haired  in  the  service,  handle 


The  Aiiondiga. 

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622 


Overland  Monthly. 


the  coins  with  an  expertness  which  never 
fails  to  detect  and  throw  out  a  defective 
piece  or  one  that  Is  not  exactly  true  to  the 
standard  weight. 

At  the  market,  as  in  every  Mexican  town, 
one  finds  a  conglomeration  of  indescrib- 
able scenes:  it  is  the  place  par  excellence, 
for  the  study  of  the  lower  classes.  The 
roomy  building  is  crowded  with  booths 
where  every  thing  produced  or  manufac- 
tured in  the  vicinity  is  offered  for  sale. 
Fruit  or  vegetables  are  arranged  in  little 
piles  and  pyramids,  the  size  varying  ac- 
cording to  the  number  of  centavos  charged. 
Sandals  of  sole  leather  are  made  while 
you  wait  Awkwardly  shaped  shoes,  the 
blue  or  orown  rebosos  which  form  the  head 
covering  of  women,  zarapes  in  bright  colors 
and  varied  designs,  wide-brimmed  som- 
breros, baskets,  pottery,  images,  and  toys 
which  would  fill  an  American  child  with 
wonder,  dulces  (sweets),  bread  in  fancy 
shapes  crowd  every  available  space, 
overflowing  the  streets  alongside  the  market 


or  mercador.  The  plump  little  saleswoman 
who  smilingly  answers  your  "CuantoV  (how 
much),  very  likely  is  puffing  a  cigarette 
with  the  nonchalance  that  is  bom  of  long 
practice,  for  Mexican  women  of  both  high 
and  low  degree  smoke,  though  the  aristo- 
crat does  not  do  so  publicly. 

Altogether,  Guanajuato  is  fascinating- 
The  church  bells,  brought  from  over  the 
seas,  untiringly  calling  to  prayer  and  praise ; 
the  plaintive  strains  of  "La  Golondrina",  the 
Mexican's  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  pulsating 
through  the  air;  the  lignt-hearted,  brown- 
skinned  men  and  women  who  seem  almost 
to  live  in  the  streets,  envious  of  none,  cour- 
teous to  all;  the  wild  environment  of  na- 
ture, forbidding  any  future  change  from 
the  seclusion  which  hides  its  manifoia 
charms;  the  striking  contrast  to  the  con- 
ditions of  life  in  the  land  from  which  Mex- 
ico is  divided  by  only  an  invisible  line 
combine  to  cast  a  spell  over  the  place  which 
holds  the  visitor  until  he  can  no  longer 
tarry,  and  lingers  In  his  memory  always. 


ALOFT. 


ELIZABETH    GERBERDING. 


MOUNTAIN  top,   could   I   meet  death 
Sn\  Upon  thy  friendly  breast, 

J  With  upturned  face   and  bated  breath 
Await  my  promised  rest! 


(?) 


This  drifting  Earth  and  I  must  part 
Upon   an  unknown   sea: 

And  all  are  mute  as  my  own  heart 
To   show  the  course  to  me. 


It  seems  that   I   could  see  my  way — 

To  soar,   to  meet,  to  stop — 
From  thy  masthead  the  call  obey, 

O,   friendly  mountain  top ! Digitized  by  Google 


J^  jCawyer^tPoei' s  Jif/yA  ^laj/  ai  the  T/aiional  Capital 


BY    GEORGE    SELWYN. 


FARO  was  king  at  the  national  capital 
during  James  Buchanan's  term.  The 
most  pretentious  gambler  of  them  all 
was  Joe  Hall,  whose  midnight  suppers 
LucuUus  would  have  made  haste  to  envy 
could  he  have  tasted  the  canvas-back  duck 
stuffed  with  chestnuts,  and  the  side  dishes 
of  Virginia  hominy  done  brown,  in  butter, 
^ramished  with  bacon  from  Accomac  fed  on 
acorns. 

There  were  no  club-houses,  so-called,  in 
the  ante-bellum  days  of  Washington.  And 
here  up  to  the  fall  of  Sumner,  the  South 
am  North,  no  matter  how  acrid  the  day's 
debate  in  Congress,  when  the  members  met 
before  Joe  Hall's  or  Geo.  Pendleton's  green 
baize  table,  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  all 
on  pleasure  bent,  they  ''let  silence  like  a 
poultice  lall  and  heal  the  blows"  of  political 
strife. 

Joe  Hall,  who  died  very  poor,  in  Balti- 
more, during  the  war,  was  in  the  last  gen- 
•eratlon  the  most  munificent,  and  most  con- 
tinuously successful  "high-roller"  among  the 
"gambollers"  of  America.  His  horses,  with 
gold-tipped  harness,  were  the  cynosure  of 
all  eyes,  and  the  admiration  of  the  golden 
jrouth  of  Baltimore. 

In  Philadelphia  he  ran  a  gambling  house 


over  Dr.  McClellan's  office  in  Walnut,  above 
Eleventh,  North  Side,  (now  the  Sunday 
School  Times  office),  from  1856  till  the  war 
broke  out.  Here  Thaddeus  Stevens,  the  great 
commoner  of  Pennsylvania,  hobnobbed  with 
James  A.  Bayard  of  Delaware,  and  the  hand- 
some Ellis  Schnable,  who  with  "Bill"  Wltte, 
was  the  best  all-round  stump  orator  of  whom 
the  Keystone  Democracy  ever  boasted. 

Here  a  young  attorney  who  had  never  seen 
a  card  table  before,  introduced  by  Mr. 
Whiteley,  an  accomplished  member  of  Con- 
gress from  Delaware,  won  |6,000  in  a  single 
night,  and  in  ten  months  lost  that  and  |30,- 
000  on  top  of  it  trying  to  make  another  win- 
ning from  the  false  and  fickle  goddess  of 
faro. 

An  old  habitue  of  Joe  Hall's  saw  that 
game,  in  which  the  tyro  at  gaming  won  nfty 
straight  bets  without  losing  one,  and  said 
such  luck  was  so  phenomenal  that  he  had 
never  witnessed  anything  like  it  in  forty 
years'  full  practice  before  the  green  baize. 

Joe  Hall  had  another  game  (with  the 
two  stone  dogs  before  the  door)  in  Broad- 
way, New  York  city,  nearly  opposite  the 
Metropolitan  Hotel,  from  1853  to  1860.  This 
spot  was  the  favorite  club-house  of  youth- 
ful Southern  sporting  gentlemen  politicians. 


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who  set  the  pace  among  the  jeunesse  dorc 
of  New  York  City. 

Such  a  thing  as  a  limit  was  unknown,  as 
Joe  Hall  was  prepared  for  all  comers  up 
to  150,000.  The  limit  at  Monaco  is  10,000 
francs  (|2,000),  but  any  gentleman  in  good 
standing  could  write  his  check  for  $20,000 
on  a  double  card  or  a  case  card,  and  it  would 
go  like  current  coin  of  the  realm.  I  have 
seen  General  Ward  B.  Burnett,  who  was  the 
recipient  of  General  Jackson's  gold  snuff- 
box given  by  his  will  "to  the  bravest  man," 
when  the  "blear-eyed  gambler"  would  turn 
the»  silver  box  over  and  close  the  game  for 
the  night — ^generally  about  3  a.  m. — open 
a  "snap"  game,  the  General  becoming  ban- 
ker, and,  putting  up  |500  as  the  bank  roll, 
play  till  daylight. 

Faro  and  cotton  were  in  these  days  both 
kings.  Albert  Pike,  whose  "Hymns  to  the 
Gods,"  first  published  in  Blackwood's  Mag- 
azine in  Edinburgh  and  translated  into 
a  dozen  languages,  was  an  habitue  of  Joe 
Hall's  Washington  game. 

Albert  Pike  once  received  a  million  dol- 
lars, when  he  lived  at  Little  Rock,  Ark., 
and  practiced  law,  as  a  single  fee,  in  the 
Cherokee  land  case;  but  most  of  this  the 
poet-lawyer  poured  out  as  a  willing  libation 
to  the  fickle  goddess  of  lortune  at  Joe  Hall's 
and  George  Pendleton's  faro  rooms  in  Wash- 
ington. There  was  only  the  most  friendly 
rivalry  between  Hall  and  Pendleton;  the 
latter  was  the  real  arbiter  elegantiarum 
among  the  faro  kings  of  this  country.  He 
was  a  Virginian  and  a  cousin  of  "Gentleman 
Creorge,"  as  George  H.  Pendleton,  the  Demo- 
cratic candidate  for  Vice-President,  was 
called. 

The  last  game  I  ever  saw  at  Pendleton's 
was  a  memorable  one.  A  few  nights  before 
Sergeant  S.  Prentiss,  that  brilliant  and  lov- 
able Whig  orator  and  member  of  Congress, 
a  New  England  man,  resident  of  Mississ- 
ippi, and  a  life-time  enemy  of  Jeff  Davis, 
had  first  won  $40,000 ;  then  In  one  night,  with 
half  a  basket  of  champagne  under  his  shirt, 
he  kept  on  playing  till  the  man  behind  the 
table,  the  dealer,  had  recouped  the  $40,000 
and  had  in  his  coat  pocket  deeds  for  four 
warehouses  In  Natchez,  Miss.,  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi River,  late  the  property  of  the 
great  Whig  orator.  That  was  Prentiss's 
last  great  game.  He  removed  to  New  Or- 
leans, had  an  Immense  and  royally  lucra- 
tive bar  practice;  at  a  great  banquet  when 


full  of  wine,  he  broke  a  champagne  glass 
with  his  teeth,  from  which  he  died. 

Albert  Pike,  who  died  at  eighty-five,  was 
a  man  of  great  physical  pulchritude,  and 
always  wore  an  immense  gray  beard.  He 
looked  like  a  Norse  king.  Thadeus  Stevens 
was  playing  moderately  at  the  same  table; 
so  was  James  A.  Bayard;  but  these  states- 
men only  played  for  amusement,  and  I  have 
known  "Thad"  Stevens  to  go  away  with 
$1,400  won  at  a  single  sitting  with  a  stake 
of  only  $20  gold. 

But  men  like  Prentiss  and  Pike  of  Arkan- 
sas and  Senator  Green  of  Missouri,  as 
Wolcott  of  Colorado  used  to  be,  were 
always  "plungers"  at  the  faro  table.  It  was 
at  Pendleton's  game  that  Pike  found  the 
original  tvpe  of  his  "fine  old  Arkansas  gen- 
tleman," who  played  away  his  cotton  crop 
at  the  faro  bank  at  Washington  and  New 
Orleans  every  winter  unless  "the  fiy  or  some 

other  d d  contingency"  ate  up  h*s  cotton 

fields  before  the  staple  got  to  market. 

Pike  came  in  humming  his  own  song 
about  "The  Fine  Old  Arkansas  Gentleman," 
and  was  very  much  amused  to  see  Senator 
Green  place  a  bet  of  $1,000,  blue  chips,  on 
the  "pot,"  as  the  space  Is  called  between 
the  six,  seven,  and  eight  spots.  Green  rer- 
mltted  his  pile  of  "blue  fish"  so-called,  to 
remain  on  the  table  till  the  $1,000  had  in- 
creased to  $4,000  In  two  turns.  "I  reckon 
I've  got  enough  for  one  night,"  said  the 
saturnine  Missouri  Senator,  cool  as  a  cu- 
cumber, as  he  cashed  In  his  chips  and  placed 
four  crisp  new  $1,000  bills  In  his  Inside 
pocket. 

"I  can  beat  that,  I  think,"  said  the  author 
01  "The  Hymn  to  the  Gods,"  as  Albert  Pike 
laid  down  a  $1,000  bill  between  the  slx^ 
seven  and  eight  spots.  This  was  only  per- 
mitted to  favorite  players,  usually;  chips 
must  be  bought  before  the  gambler  made  his 
"turn."  The  (anaille  had  to  buy  chips,  a 
fish  blue  or  white;  white,  $1;  blue,  $5;  yel- 
low, $25. 

Pike,  with  nonchalance,  laid  his  $1,000 
bill  down  In  the  "pot."  Everybody  stopped 
playing,  as  It  was  plainly  a  game  of  "make 
or  break"  between  the  gambler  at  the  box 
and  the  gentleman  gambler  before  the  table. 

Pike,  six  feet  two  Inches,  tall,  In  the  very 
prime  of  an  adventurous  life,  looked  like  a 
Greek  god,  his  aplomb  was  magnificent, 
Achilles  could  not  match  him.  Not  a  word 
escaped  anybody's  lips.     The  silence  could. 


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have  been  cut  with  one  of  Harden's  carv- 
ing knives.  The  six  spot  showed  up  first. 
"Pay  in  cash,"  said  Pike.  Pike  was  $2,000 
to  the  good.  A  thousand  dollars  was  placed 
on  the  bet.  Pike  won.  "It  all  goes,"  said 
Pike  nonchalantly.  "I  go  you,"  said  the 
owner  of  this  particular  tiger,  hopefully 
smiling.  T^-e  seven  spot  showed  its  face. 
"Pike  wins,"  shouted  Senator  Green.  Two 
thousand  dollars  in  bills  were  added  to  the 
pile  on  the  table.  There  were  $4,000  there 
now. 

Mr.  Dealer  grew  white  about  the  "gills." 
He  looked  at  Pike.  The  latter  nodded.  Si- 
lence grew  intense — more  than  intense. 
Slowly  the  dealer  pulled  a  card.  An  eight 
spot  showed  its  face.  Pike  had  won  $8,000. 
"Pleasant  call,"  said  the  dealer.  Four  cards 
left  in  the  box,  and  the  winning  caller,  who 
called  successfully,  got  four  for  one. 

"I  call  it  six-eight  for  eight  thousand," 
sid  Pike  without  changing  a  muscle.  The 
cards  appearing  were  six-eight.  The  six 
spot  first,  then  the  eight. 

The  dealer  rose  to  his  feet  at  a  nod  from 
Pendleton,  declared  the  game  closed,  and 
the  suave  king  pin  of  that  faro  game  sat 
down  and  gave  Albert  Piice  his  check  then 
and   there   for  $32,000. 

And  this  is  said  to  be  the  largest  "call" 
ever  made  in  the  city  of  Washington. 
It  is  needless  to  add  there  resulted  a  hal- 
cyon day  and  vociferous  night. 

The  war  demoralized  a  good  many  profes- 


sions, and  the  "son  of  a  gambolier"  did 
not  escape.  Pendleton  died  rich,  but  left 
his  entire  fortune  to  his  valet,  who  lives  to 
enjoy  it  yet.  Joe  Hall  was  supported  till 
he  died  by  the  largess  of  his  old  proteges. 
Harry  Cleveland,  a  gambler  with  a  national 
reputation,  who  left  $150,000  to  his  wife  in 
Cape  May  County,  played  a  faro  duel  in 
Pendleton's  house  in  1856  with  Pettlbone, 
the  great  Tennessee  gambler,  and  paid  the 
$100,000  he  lost  in  one  night  in  paper  money 
before  he  left  Pendleton's  palatial  lair,  the 
tiger's  jungle  home. 

They  are  gone — the  old  familiar  faces! 

A  treasury  clerk  during  Garfield's  ad- 
ministration "conveyed"  $40,000  out  of  the 
treasury  and  spent  it  in  riotous  living  among 
the  haunts  of  the  Washington  tiger. 

President  Arthur,  always  a  gentleman, 
thought  with  Burke  that  "vice  in  losing  all 
its  evil  loses  half  its  grossness,"  banished 
the  faro  dealers  across  the  Potomac,  and 
only  furtive  games  of  Congressional  poker 
lurk  around  the  hotels  and  first-class  board- 
ing houses  at  the  nation's  capital.  And  the 
relics  of  the  ancient  regime  of  the  faro 
kings  in  Washington  are  George  Parker, 
amiable  and  obese,  who  is  now  a  gambler  no 
more,  but  a  repuatble  real  estate  dealer, 
and  "Coal"  Martin,  suave  and  robust,  who  is 
suspected  of  making  an  occasional  shy  at 
poker  with  Senator  Pettigrew,  of  South  Da- 
kota, or  wander  off  to  take  a  Christian 
eve  game  with  John  Daly  of  New  York. 


Tjho    J^rrowhead. 


By    EUGENE    ELTON. 


We  have  heard  it  called  the  lost  art — the 
making  of  arrowheads.  Could  we  look 
back  through  the  gloom  of  unrecorded  ages, 
when  the  Red  Man  was  master  of  this 
Western  world,  when  the  strength  of  his 
arm  was  measured  with  the  strength  of  his 
bow,  when  on  the  keenness  of  his  eye  and 
i^e  swiftness  of  his  arrows  depended  his  ex- 
istence, we  would  not  wonder  that  he 
wrought  with  marvelous  patience  the  sharp 
points  of  his  arrows   from  the  hardest  of 


stones  and  carefully  bound  his  bow  with  the 
strongest  of  sinews;  and  then,  as  a  talis- 
man, feathered  the  shaft  with  his  favorite 
color  or  tasseled  It  with  the  gaudy  scalp  of 
the  woodpecker. 

At  a  very  remote  period,  ages  before  Ob- 
sidius  brought  from  Ethiopia  specimens  of 
what  the  Roman  geologists  honorably  named 
obsidian,  the  primeval  inhabitants  ol  Cali- 
fornia were  putting  this  same  substance  to 
various  uses,  principally  as  spear  and  arrow 


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iMade  With  Deadly  Intent. 


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^me  finer  native  specimens. 


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heads.  The  tribes  dwelling  in  the  valleys 
within  whose  domain  were  none  of  the  great 
lava  flows  secured  either  by  barter  or  con- 
quest. 

Yet  they  often  resorted  to  the  use  of  slate, 
float  quartz  and  even  commoner  stones. 
This,  no  doubt,  was  done  during  troublous 
times.  None  of  the  specimens  I  have  seen 
that  were  made  of  any  other  material  repre- 
sented the  care  in  workmanship  that  was 
preferably  given  to  obsidian.  (No.  15, 
which  is  of  slate,  is  an  example.) 

Many  of  the  greater  tribes  had  regular 
guilds;  the  bowyers  were  men  of  great  es- 
teem, and  so  were  the  weavers,  the  stone, 
shell  and  bone  workers;  but  the  bowyers 
most  of  all.  Often  at  great  peril  of  their 
lives  they  journeyed  far  and  returned  laden 
with  skins  fllled  with  the  coveted  obsidian. 
By  reason  of  having  but  very  little  if  any 
cleavage,  and  being  deposited  in  a  compact 
state,  it  is  difficult  to  secure  much  of  it 
without  resorting  to  strenuous  measures; 
but  after  sufficiently  heating  and  throwing 
cold  water  upon  It  the  aborigines  speedily 
overcame  its  tenacity.  By  this  means 
chunks  and  flakes  of  it  were  rent  asunder, 
many  of  the  pieces  being  used  as  knives,  the 
edges  of  which  were  sharp  enough  to  shave 
a  man's  beard.  Of  course  the  edges  would 
not  hold.  Among  the  Aztecs  often  as  many 
as  a  dozen  of  these  blades  were  used  when 
it  was  desired  to  shave  an  aristocratic  head 
without  bringing  condemnation  upon  the 
artist. 

It  is  said  that  by  this  same  means  of  heat 
and  cold  water  which  was  dropped  from  a 
straw,  arrowheads  were  made.  It  is  certain 
tnat  obsidian  points  were  not  wrought  in 
this  way,  because  the  action  of  water  upon 
the  heated  glass  tends  to  crystallize  it,  thus 
making  it  brittle  and  destroying  its  adapt- 
ability. If  other  stones  were  worked  in  this 
way,  the  process  would  do  credit  to  the 
lapidaries  of  Amsterdam. 

The  best  specimens,  however,  were  made 
by  chipping.  A  piece  of  obsidian,  after  be- 
ing firmly  placed  in  a  wooden  groove  to  pre- 
vent its  breaking  by  being  struck  between 
two  hard  substances,  was  dressed  down  to 
suit  the  artisan's  idea.  Many  of  the  arrow- 
heads made  in  this  way  represent  admirable 
skill.  I  found  that  with  a  pen  I  could  not 
represent  on  paper  the  delicacy  and  uni- 
formity of  the  teeth  which  adorn  the  edges 


oi  Nos.  14  and  16  of  the  Illustrations. 

The  prevailing  opinion  that  the  aboriginal 
«^alifomians  were  devoid  of  genius  is  in  a 
measure  disproved  by  the  variety  of  arrow- 
heads he  made  and  the  purpose  for  which  he 
made  them. 

Also  the  belief  that  his  bestial  laziness 
prevented  the  exercise  of  reason  is  modified 
when  we  contemplate  the. deadly  vengeance 
with  which  he  made  Nos.  17,  18  and  10.  No. 
1^  is  the  kind  of  arrowhead  general  among 
the  Indians  of  the  Northwest;  as  for  size 
and  shape  No.  14  is  most  frequently  met 
with  in  California.  Nos.  4  and  5  are  a  pecu- 
liar kind,  the  points  being  nearly  round  and 
smooth,  while  the  thick  bulbs  which  take 
the  place  of  barbs  leave  us  to  surmise  that 
it  was  intended  for  the  weight  of  the  shaft 
to  free  the  arrow.  Nos.  7,  8  and  9  are  in  the 
rough. 

The  illustrations  are  all  of  arrowheads 
taken  from  a  village  site  in  Central  Califor- 
nia, and  represent  the  originals  as  nearly 
as  my  ability  premits.  In  looking  at  a  pile 
of  obsidian  arrowheads  they  all  appear  to  h9 
of  the  same  glossy  blackness,  but  when  held 
to  the  light  are  found  to  be  of  different  col- 
ors; some  are  still  jet  black,  others  yellow, 
blue,  green,  brown  or  surprisingly  transpar- 
ent. The  effect  of  the  artificial  added  to  the 
natural  beauty  of  an  arrowhead  cannot  be 
realized  until  a  perfect-colored  specimen  is 
tnus  examined. 

Nowhere  in  the  New  World,  even  from  the 
ruins  of  the  ancient  kingdoms  of  Mexico  and 
Central  America,  are  to  be  found  arrowheads 
more  perfectly  made,  nor  a  greater  variety 
OI  them,  than  could  be  taken  from  the  pre- 
historic mounds  and  village  cities  of  Califor- 
nia. This  fact  alone  is  of  great  value  to 
archaeological  students,  because  it  is  as- 
serted— not  upon  official  authority,  however 
— that  the  bows  and  arrows  of  the  Callfor- 
nians  were  of  an  inferior  quality.  Whateyer 
the  opinion  of  those  most  capable  of  Judg- 
ing, it  must  be  admitted  that  some  of  those 
bad  arrows  were  fitted  with  excellent  heads. 

Many  of  the  early  writers  noted  princi- 
pally those  peculiarities  which  added  charm 
to  their  accounts;  thus,  to-day  we  are  driven 
to  the  only  reliable  source  of  information — 
careful  research,  the  tracings  of  which  are 
likely  to  lead  to  surprising  and  far  greater 
results  than  anything  thus  far  attained. 


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California. 


BY   ANNETTE    KOHN. 

rT7 HOU   blandest   in  ihe  siin*s  last  glow, 
«>=|=(,     And  ere   that  monarch  goes   to  rest, 
^  He  stoops  down  low, 

And  in   his  great  arms  holds  thee   pressed^ 
And   with   his  own    warmih   fills  thy  breast. 
He  loves   thee  so, 
Thou  golden-land, 
Thou  tieasure-land. 

With   all  his  splendors  thou  ait  decked 
In  beauty,  like  a  stainless   bride; 

Thine  eyes  are  flecked 
With  his  broad  rays,   and  o.en  wide; 
Thy   lich  red  lips  are  glorified 

With  smiles  unchecked, 

Thou  treasure -land, 

Thou  golden-land. 

The   sapphiie  sea  thy  robe  doth   hem — 
That  wondrous  robe  of  woven  gold. — 

With   priceless  gem 
Sown  thickly   on  its  ev'ry   fold, 
And   all   the   wealth   the   world   doth   hold 

Shining  in   them, 

Thou  golden-land. 

Thou  treasure-land. 

The  tasselled   corn   waves  in   thy  hair. 
And   ete'rald   sandals   bind  thy  feet; 

And  thou  dost  wear 
A  ruby  girdle  at  the  pleat 
Of  thy    full   waist,   of  grapes  most  sweet, 

And   thy    arms  bare, 

Thou  treasure-land, 

Thou   golden-land. 

Thou  standest  'gainst  a  giant  tree- 
Above  thee  mountains  skied  by  snow; 

The  m>stery 
Of   canyons,  round  and  deep   below; 
Thy   heart  afire,   thy  soul  aglow 

With   rhapsody. 

Thou  golden-land. 

Thou  tieasure-land. 

For  thou  canst   know   an  empress'  pride. 
In  having   wealth   the   earth  to  dow'r; 

Thy   hands  stretched  wide 
In  love,  to  fling  thy  golden  shower. 
Thou  art  thy   country's  queen   and  flow'r, 

Thou  treasure-land. 

Thou  golden-land. 


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White  Deerskin  Dance  at  Hoopa  Valley,  Cal. 


Sndians  of  the   J^oopa   Reservation. 


BY    THEODORE    GONTZ. 


@F  more  than  ordinary  interest  to  the 
anthropologist  and  the  student  of 
ethnology  are  the  tribes  of  North- 
ern California  Indians  gathered  to- 
gether in  the  Hoopa  Valley  Reservation, 
which  was  established  in  1864.  The  strip 
reserved  contains  1,200  acres  of  arable  land, 
which  lies  on  both  sides  of  the  Trinity  River, 
eight  miles  above  its  junction  with  the  Klam- 
ath. The  tribes  now  enclosed  in  this  area 
are  the  remnant  of  many  of  those  uncounted 
peoples  who  at  an  earlier  date  wandered 
through  the  woods  and  valleys  of  Northern 
California;  and  these  are  from  some  quarter 
of  a  hundred  primeval  tribes,  once  dwelling 
side  by  side  and  speaking  each  a  language 
so  entirely  different  from  the  others  as  to 
stump  philologists  of  to-day  for  any  theory 
as  to  their  common  origin. 

Principal  among  these  are  the  Hoopa  In- 


dians, said  by  the  eminent  ethnologist.  Pow- 
ers, to  have  possessed  in  former  times  a 
rugged  virility  and  talent  far  superior  to 
that  of  the  neighboring  peoples.  "They  were 
the  Romans  of  Northern  California  in  valor 
and  the  French  in  language,"  he  says.  "They 
hold  in  a  state  of  semi-vassalage  (I  speak 
always  of  aboriginal  acts)  most  of  the  tribes 
around  them,  except  their  two  powerful 
neighbors  on  the  Klamath,  exacting  from 
them  annual  tribute  in  the  shape  of  peltry 
and  shell  money." 

While  most  of  the  members  of  the  various 
tribes  now  wear  for  every  day  the  nonde- 
script rags  of  civilization,  during  the  feast 
days  and  tribal  dances,  primitive  costumes 
are  still  worn,  gaudy  fillets,  shell-money 
necklaces,  moccasins  and  deerskin  tunics, 
all  decorated  with  the  barbaric  gaudiness 
which  is  wont  to  delight  the  savage  heart. 
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Grotesque  designs  in  pitch-pafnt  adorn  their 
faces  on  these  occasions.  The  strings  of 
shell,  worn  about  the  neck,  as  shown  by 
the  accompanying  cut,  stand  in  lieu  of 
money  belts  and  purses,  for  the  shell  beads 
or  wafers  which  hang  on  the  string  consti- 
tute the  only  coin  which  passes  current 
among  the  tribesmen.  Among  ti^e  Hoopas 
shell  money  is  measured  in  the  following 
manner:  Each  tribesman  has  ten  lines 
tattooed  across  the  inside  of  his  forearm, 
about  half  way  between  his  wrist  and  elbow, 


wealth,   which   they   exhibit  as   adornment 
on  all  state  occasions. 

Not  so  long  ago  (and  still  occasionally,  it 
is  rumored),  the  shells  were  given  as  blood 
money  to  hired  assassins,  and  death  of  rela- 
tives, too,  was  expiated  for  by  a  payment 
(generally  of  one  string)  to  the  heirs  of  the 
deceased.  This  was  considered  a  legitimate 
business  transaction,  looked  upon  somewhat 
in  the  light  of  a  life-insurance  policy,  the 
murderer  acting  at  once  in  the  capacity  of 
Fate  and  the  company  standing  responsible 


Redhead  Woodpecker  Dance  at  Peewon  Creek,  Klamath  River,  Cal. 


and  in  measuring  shell  money  he  takes  the 
string  in  his  right  hand,  draws  one  end  over 
his  left  thumb  nail,  and  reaches  the  oppo- 
site end  toward  the  tattoo  lines.  If  the 
uppermost  tattoo  line  is  reached  the  string 
is  worth  $25.  As  a  string  by  tribal  law  is 
only  allowed  five  shells,  one  valued  at  $25, 
or  $5  the  shell,  is  of  extreme  rarity,  the 
usual  shell  being  worth  about  $2.  The  men 
are     exceedingly     proud     of    their     private 


for  the  act  of  Fate.  Marketable  wives  are 
purchased  at  prices  varying  from  five  to 
fifteen  strings  of  shell-money. 

Gambling  among  all  Indian  tribes  has  crys- 
tallized into  an  institution,  but  among  the 
peoples  of  the  reservation  it  is  more;  it 
partakes  of  the  nature  of  a  religious  rite. 
Let  me  quote  from  the  Smithsonian  Report 
of  1886:  "For  gambling  they  have  a  bunch 
Oi^  small  wands,  one  of  which  has  a  black 


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Group  of  Klamath  Indians  at  Redwood  Creek,  Cal. 


Hoopa   Valley    Indian    Reservation,    Humboldt   County,   Cal. 

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Man  and  Soul  at  Truiidad:   Man  100  years,  and  Soul  about  70  years. 


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Indian   Kah-Hah,  Witchpuk,  Cal.,  100  years  old  or  over. 


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Overland  Monthly. 


X 


band  around  tlfe  center.  The  game  is  played 
by  any  number  that  wish  to  engage  In  bet- 
ting. Two  dealers  sit  opposite  each  other  on 
a  blanket,  each  backed  by  two  or  more 
singers,  and  a  drummer,  and  the  game  com- 
mences by  one  of  the  dealers  taking  the 
sticks  in  both  hands,  about  equally  divided 
and  holding  them  behind  his  back,  shuffling 
them  from  hand  to  hand,  after  which  he 
brings  them  in  front  of  his  body  with  both 


and  sings  as  long  as  he  holds  the  deal.'' 
It  is  an  interesting  sight  to  witness  one 
of  these  gambling  bouts,  so  naively  de- 
scribed above.  The  game  is  the  occasion  for 
the  gathering  of  factional  parties  from  far 
and  near,  and  during  the  progress  of  play 
feeling  runs  high  and  violence  is  not  un- 
common. The  duty  of  the  hired  musicians 
is  a  sacred  one,  no  less  a  task  than  invoking 
the  deities  of  the  tribe  to  bring  luck  to  the 


Indian    Sweat    House. 


Photos  by  A.  W.  Ericson. 


hands  extended  and  the  sticks  grasped  so 
the  players  cannot  see  the  centers.  The  op- 
posite dealer  clasps  his  hands  together  two 
or  three  times  and  points  towards  the  hand 
which  he  thinks  holds  the  stick  with  the 
black  center.  Should  he  guess  correctly,  he 
takes  the  deal,  and  holds  it  imtil  his  oppo- 
nent wins  it  back  in  like  manner.  For  each 
failure  a  forfeit  is  paid,  and  one  is  also  de- 
manded when  the  dealer  loses  the  deal. 
Friends  of  each  party  make  outside  bets  on 
the  dealers,  ana  each   dealer's   band   plays 


player  who  pays  for  the  music.  For  once 
is  gambling  sanctioned  by  Church  and  State! 
As  to  diet  these  Indians  are  (like  most  of 
the  coast  peoples)  none  too  scrupulous. 
Like  all  aborigines  the  Hoopa  tribes,  of 
course,  rely  more  or  less  upon  hunting  and 
fishing  for  their  sustenance,  being  skilled 
salmon  fishers;  but  aside  from  reliance  on 
these  and  the  occupations  now  offered  by  civ- 
ilization, they  have  many  other  and  hum- 
bler methods  of  obtaining  food  than  from 
tne  use  of  the  rifle  or  harpoon.     On  clear 


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mornings  after  rains  squaws  may  be  seen 
setting  oat  with  six-foot  poles,  known  as 
*'woman  sticks,"  to  find  a  moist  patch  of 
rich  earth  where  angle- worms  abound.  The 
pole  is  thrust  deep  into  the  soil  and  turned 
and  twisted  until  the  worms,  rendered  un- 
comfortable, crawl  to  the  surface,  where 
they  are  gathered  and  carried  home,  there 
to  be  cooked  into  a  thick  oily  broth.  This, 
while  perhaps  not  tempting  to  us  of  the 
higher  civilization,  is  considered  a  great 
delicacy  among  the  Northern  tribes.  We 
have  it  on  the  authority  of  Purcell  and  Pow- 
ers that  the  same  species  of  worm  is  fre- 
quently eaten  by  the  Hoopa  clans  before 
they  have  undergone  the  process  of  cook- 
ing,  but  I  have  never  seen  any  cases  to  war- 
rant this  assertion. 

In   an   accompanying   cut   is   a   group   of 


Klamath  Indians  in  the  dress  provided  by 
the  Reservation.  The  women  in  the  center 
are  wearing  the  beautiful  basket-work 
headdresses  of  which  they  are  expert 
weavers.  The  photograph  taken  of  an  In- 
dian sweathouse,  shows  one  of  the  curative 
methods  employed,  summer  and  winter.  The 
patient  is  first  put  in  the  little  dug-out  cel- 
lar, which  has  been  heated  to  a  high  tem- 
perature, and  allowed  to  perspire  freely, 
then,  when  well-nigh  exhausted,  is  taken 
outside  and  dipped  into  the  icy  currents 
of  the  river.  That  this  method  does  not  al- 
ways kill  is  shown  by  the  pictures  here 
given  of  Indians  who  have  passed  the  cen- 
tury mark,  and  there  is  a  wonderful  number 
of  these  on  the  Hoopa  Reservation — ^speak- 
ing well  for  the  benefits  of  a  savage  life  as  a 
health-preserver. 


♦  »H  I  ■m'f^***^'!^**^  »♦*#<»»>  ^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦*'|i»4'<i*#»*»»»**>»*>»»»»»»4 


Saved  6y  a  9/fosquito. 


A  Recollection  of  West  Africa. 


By  FRED  HARVEY  MAJOR. 


#  1 1  H  I  lit »<"t»lf  ♦»■>♦»♦♦<■<■>♦>  »».Hi».|.<'t'|p»l"H»»*'»»»*'i"l»fi*»i  <»».|.*»» 


HT  a  time  when  scientific  men  are 
gathering  evidence  which  confirms 
the  theory  some  time  ago  propounded 
that  mosquitoes  are  active  agents  in 
the  matter  of  disseminating  malarial  af- 
fections among  residents  of  the  tropics 
and  semi-tropics,  I  recall  vividly  to  my  mind 
an  incident  which  happened  during  my  stay 
in  West  Africa  a  good  many  years  ago, 
when  the  persistent  and  repeated  attacks  of 
the  little  gray  torments  upon  my  by  no 
means  delicate  cuticle,  one  night,  were  the 
means  of  saving  me  from  a  terribly  sudden 
and  violent  death. 

I  was  at  the  time  agent  in  Bonny  River 
for  a  large  English  firm,  and  my  business 
was  to  purchase,  by  barter  from  the  natives, 
palm  oil,  kernels  and  ebony. 

My  trading  station  or  factory  was  an  old 
East  Indiaman  ship,  hulked  down  and  an- 
chored in  the  river  at  a  convenient  distance 
from  the  shore.  All  her  top-hamper  was 
cleared  away  with  the  exception  of  the  three 
lower  masts,  which  assisted  in  supporting 
a  roof  made  of  corrugated  iron  sheets  and 


stretching  from  stem  to  stern.  The  poop  of 
the  ship  was  arranged  as  a  general  living 
place  for  myself  and  my  white  clerk,  a 
dining  table  in  the  center,  with  a  number  of 
cane  chairs  and  sofas  around  the  sides, 
the  "break"  of  the  poop  being  hidden  by 
a  small  wooden  structure  which  served  as 
office,  leaving  room  only  for  a  couple  of 
narrow  companion  ladders,  one  at  each  side 
of  the  house,  leading  down  on  to  the  main 
deck.  On  the  starboard  or  right-hand  side 
of  the  poop,  right  aft,  I  had  a  small  cot,  cov- 
ered in  by  a  mosquito  bar,  and  in  this  I 
usually  slept,  secure  from  the  little  swift- 
winged  pests  that  kept  high  carnival  out- 
side during  the  silent  watches  of  the  night. 
In  a  corresponding  position  on  the  port  or 
opposite  side  of  the  poop  was  stretched  a 
canvas  hammock  between  two  of  the  roof 
stanchions.  What  had  originally  been  the 
"saloon"  of  after  cabin  of  the  ship  was  con- 
verted into  the  "shop,"  wherein  I  transacted 
my  business  with  the  head  man  of  the  trad- 
ing parties  of  natives  who  brought  me  their 
produce. 


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This  "shop"  contained  stocks  of  many  de- 
scriptions of  goods — cloth  of  various  kinds, 
from  fine  silk  to  the  commonest  cotton  "ro- 
mals";  kegs  of  flints,  guns,  hats,  cutlery, 
beads,  small  wares,  shirts,  and  even  scented 
soaps. 

The  door  was  alongside  the  starboard  com- 
panion ladder,  and  at  one  side  of  it  there 
was  a  window  without  any  glass,  but  cov- 
ered with  a  rough,  coarse  trellis  work  of 
hoop  iron. 

Of  course  the  "shop,"  like  the  hatches, 
was  always  kept  locked  unless  I  was  about 
to  keep  my  eyes  on  things  generally,  for  the 
Krooboys  who  formed  my  staff  of  servants 
and  laborers,  and  who  were  imported  for  a 
term  from  the  Kroo  country,  about  1,500 
miles  higher  up  the  coast,  are  incorrigible 
thieves,  and '  it  is  not  safe  to  trust  them 
with  anything  less  portable  than  a  ship's 
anchor,  and  a  big  one  at  that. 

My  work  was  pretty  well  cut  out  for  me 
at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  for  I  had  up- 
ward of  eighty  Krooboys  on  board,  and  my 
clerk  had  unfortunately  been  stricken  down 
with  fever,  which  had  left  him  so  weak  that 
I  had  been  compelled  to  send  him  home; 
hence  I  was  entirely  without  assistance. 

One  evening  I  had  been  dining  aboard  an- 
other trading  ship  and  did  not  return  until 
nearly  midnight.  The  lantern  burning  on 
top  of  the  gagway  ladder  cast  a  glare  upon 
the  "shop"  window,  and  as  I  was  about  to 
pass  I  noticed  that  the  hoop-iron  bars  ap- 
peared to  be  out  of  place.  I  stopped  to  ex- 
amine them,  when  I  found  that  several  were 
loose  at  one  end  and  could  be  moved  suffi- 
ciently to  permit  of  a  man  passing  through. 
I  at  once  called  for  a  light,  opened  the  shop 
door  and  went  inside  for  a  round  of  inspec- 
tion, and  was  rewarded  by  finding  hidden 
among  some  piles  of  cloth  the  worst  man 
I  had  on  board  the  ship,  and  that's  saying  a 
great  deal,  for  I  had  about  the  toughest 
crew  of  Kroobos  on  the  river — not  a  dozen 
of  them  that  would  have  stopped  short  of 
committing  murder  for  the  value  of  a  Ma- 
dras handkrechief. 

His  name  was  Nimley,  and  I  had  had  a 
good  deal  of  trouble  with  him  on  other  oc- 
casions; but  as  retribution  had  generally 
followed  quickly  upon  the  heels  of  his 
crimes  I  did  not  think  he  would  have  ven- 
tured upon  such  a  serious  offense  as  the 
forcible  entry  of  the  shop.  His  detection 
entailed,  as  he  well   knew,  severe  punish- 


ment; not  with  the  light  whip  used  for  or- 
Qiuary  offenses,  but  with  the  heavy,  twisted 
rhinoceros-hide  wnip,  a  fearful  weapon  when 
properly  wielded,  capable  of  cutting  strips 
of  flesh  out  of  a  man's  back  at  every  stroke. 

At  first  thought  it  may  be  considered 
cruelty  upon  the  part  of  a  wn.«.e  man  to 
apply  flogging  as  a  means  of  punishment, 
but  be  it  understood  that  the  white  man 
stood  absolutely  alone  amongst  as  treacher- 
ous and  bloodthirsty  a  lot  of  savages  as  can 
bo  found  in  the  wide  world,  who  could  only  be 
ruled  by  the  strong  arm  of  force,  and  upon 
whom  kindness  with  a  view  to  inspiring  feel- 
ings of  gratitude  was  utterly  thrown  away. 
In  time  to  come  civilization  as  introduced 
by  continued  commercial  intercourse  will, 
no  doubt,  gradually  modify  this  state  of 
things,  but  I  am  not  writing  of  the  time  to 
come. 

I  had  Nimley  brought  out  on  deck,  and, 
telling  him  to  clasp  his  arms  around  one  of 
the  stanchions,  gave  him  a  moderate  flog- 
ging with  a  light  whip,  and  then,  instead  of 
putting  him  in  irons,  as  I  ought  to  have  done, 
told  him  he  might  join  his  fellows  in  the 
fo'csl  for  the  night  and  come  to  me  to  be 
properly  flogged  at  four  bells  (6  o'clock) 
in  the  morning. 

I  then  went  on  the  poop,  changed  my 
clothes  for  a  pajama  suit,  poured  out  a 
glass  of  sherry,  lit  a  pipe  and  dismissed  the 
small  boys  wno  act  as  body  servants,  for 
tne  night,  and  prepared  to  turn  in.  There 
was  very  little  breeze,  and  in  consequence 
the  mosquitoes  were  rather  troublesome; 
so,  still  smoking,  I  tucked  myself  up  in  the 
cot,  but,  flnding  the  bar  would  not  allow 
the  smoke  to  escape,  I  came  out  again  to 
flnish  my  pipe.  When  that  was  done  I 
once  more  turned  in,  this  time  with  the  In- 
tention of  going  to  sleep.  In  vain,  however, 
I  sought  rest,  for  one  solitary  little  mosquito 
had  found  his  way  under  the  bar;  and,  how- 
ever much  his  society  might  have  been  CLp- 
preciated  by  an  entomologist,  I  was  not  my- 
self inclined  to  make  an  exhaustive  noc- 
turnal study  of  his  habits  just  then.  I 
made  frantic  efforts  to  bring  his  gay  career 
to  a  close  as  he  flitted  about,  now  alighting 
familiarly  upon  my  nose  and  now  humming 
aggressively  around  my  ear.  But  it  was  all 
no  use.  Do  as  I  might,  I  was  always  too  late 
to  hit  the  spot  that  I  aimed  for,  and  after 
I  had  carried  on  the  war  for  fully  ten  min- 
utes I  decided  to  get  out  and  have  another 


Digitized  by  V^jOO^  LtT 


Saved  by  a  Mosquito. 


63» 


smoke.  I  therefore  lit  a  pipe  and  threw  my- 
self into  the  hammock  for  a  swing,  first 
placing  a  revolver  which  had  been  lying 
upon  the  table  in  the  sash  which  was  folded 
loosely  around  my  waist.  Why  I  did  this  I 
have  never  been  able  to  determine,  for 
though  I  always  had  weapons  at  hand  I  sel- 
dom wore  one  upon  my  own  ship.  It  has 
been  suggested  that  I  must  have  had  a  pre- 
sentiment that  danger  was  impending,  but 
I  cannot  agree  with  this  view  of  the  case, 
unless  such  a  feeling  could  be  induced  ut- 
terly unknown  to  myself,  for  I  can  say  posi- 
tively that  I  had  no  more  fear  of  danger 
at  the  time  than  I  have  now  while  sitting 
at  my  desk. 

I  had  been  lazily  swinging  with  the  easy 
motion  of  the  ship  until  my  pipe  was 
smoked  out,  and  I  was  just  dozing  off  into 
a  comfortable  sleep  when  I  suddenly  came  to 
myself  with  all  my  faculties  alert. 

A  dark,  shadowy  form  was  stealthily  mov- 
inging  from  the  "break"  of  the  poop  on  the 
side  furthest  from  me,  in  the  direction  of 
the  cot,  the  interior  of  which  was,  of  course, 
hidden  by  the  mosquito  bar.  As  the  figure 
emerged  into  the  dim  light  cast  by  the  one 
candle  burning  upon  the  table  it  stood  erect, 
and  I  saw  that  it  was  Nimley.  His  face  was 
the  very  picture  of  demoniacal  rage  and 
hatred  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  malignant 
fury.  In  his  right  hand  he  carried  a  heavy, 
long-handled  felling  ax.  As  he  approached 
the  Bide  of  the  cot  he  grasped  the  ax  with 
both  hands,  lifted  it  high  above  his  head, 
carefully  measured  his  distance  and  then 
with  a  yell  of  triumph  brought  it  down. 
Crash!  it  went  through  the  top  of  the  cur- 
tain, through  the  cot  and  into  the  deck  be- 


neath. Had  I  been  in  my  usual  sleeping 
place  I  should  never  have  known  what 
struck  me,  for  the  blow  was  so  well  meas- 
ured that  my  chest  would  literally  have 
been  smashed  to  pieces. 

Nimley  stopped  to  remove  the  wreckage,, 
with  the  expectation  of  feasting  his  gaze 
upon  my  mangled  remains  just  at  the  mo- 
ment that  I  pulled  the  trigger.  I  aimed  to 
break  his  right  shoulder,  but  his  downward 
movement  caused  the  bullet  to  enter  hia 
head  about  half  an  inch  above  his  right  ear,, 
and  he  fell  without  a  groan. 

I  immediately  leaped  from  the  hammock,, 
seized  another  revolver  and  shouted  for  all 
hands  on  deck.  From  the  alacrity  with 
which  the  order  was  responded  to  I  have  no 
doubt  that  every  man  on  board  the  ship 
knew  of  the  intended  tragedy. 

There  happened  to  be  a  British  gunboat 
in  the  river  with  the  Consul  on  board,  and 
I  at  once  sent  a  note  requesting  the  Consul 
and  captain  to  come  over.  This  they  did^ 
and  I  placed  myself  under  formal  arrest,  and 
the  next  day  a  meeting  of  the  Court  of 
Equity,  which  was  formed  by  all  the  white 
traders  on  the  river,  was  called  on  board  the 
gunboat,  and  I  stood  my  trial  and  was  hon- 
orably acquitted,  the  Consul  remarking  to 
me  as  we  went  below  to  crack  a  bottle  after 
the  event:  "Why  the  deuce  you  didn't  pot 
a  few  more  of  them  when  you  had  such  a 
good  excuse  is  a  puzzle  to  me,  old  man." 

I  must  always  have  a  tender  feeling  for 
mosquitoes  (and  I  think  they  know  it,  too), 
for  certainly  the  little  plague  who  appropri- 
ated my  cot  for  his  peregrinations  that  night 
saved  my  life. 


^. 


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WiWHi^tititititititV*  *****************************************************************  ******^^^ 

i  ^  Woman  Who   jf^aa  jCived  Jfisiory. 

\  BY    MARGARET    COY    KENDALL 

* 
» 

******««***9«  ****^******:i%  *************  **********^^*  *************  ********n************ 


About  the  women  of  history  writers  have 
woven  a  veil  of  romance  through  which  we 
view  them  with  a  fascination  in  striking  con- 
trast to  the  plain,  honest  homage  we  accord 
to  the  great  men  of  history.  From  the  fair 
Helen  of  Troy  down  to  our  own  sturdy  Major 
Molly  Pitcher  these  heroines  stand  out  in 
the  pages  of  history  with  an  alluring  charm 
tnat  few  of  their  famous  brothers  can  com- 
pass. 

Perhaps  in  no  country  in  the  world  has  the 
rapid  shifting  of  scenes  and  the  stage  set- 
ting for  strong  dramatic  action  been  so  per- 
fect as  in  California  in  its  early  days.  For 
romances  that  read  like  tales  from  a  wonder- 
Dook  those  are  the  days  to  search  in. 

The  rapid  transition  from  poverty  to  un- 
told wealth,  from  lawlessness  to  civilization, 
afforded  opportunities  for  romances  seldom 
equaled. 

There  is  living  now  in  Los  Angeles  a 
woman  who  for  variety  and  picturesqueness 
of  career  might  compare  with  any  of  the 
heroines  of  either  history  or  fiction.    From 


life  on  an  unexplored,  savage-infested  fron- 
tier to  life  in  the  gay  courts  of  Europe;  from 
roughing  it  in  the  mountain  mining  camps 
and  prairie  cattle  ranges  to  being  honored 
and  feted  by  kings  and  queens;  from  society 
as  it  was  found  on  the  Mexican  rancheros 
of  California  to  the  exclusive  circles  of  the 
White  House,  are  but  a  few  of  the  swiftly 
changing  pictures  in  her  life. 

The  story  of  Jessie  Benton  Fremont, 
widow  of  General  John  C.  Fremont,  if  pen 
might  catch  it  as  it  falls  from  her  own  lips, 
would  make  a  romance  that  for  absorbing 
interest  and  quick  action  would  surpass  any 
of  the  numerous  swashbuckling  tales  of  co- 
lonial life  that  have  so  lately  sprung  into 
popularity. 

Had  some  fairy  godmother  whispered  in 
the  ear  of  the  babe  that  opened  its  eyes 
eighty  years  ago  of  the  amazing  changes  it 
would  be  her  fortune  to  see— of  the  steam  en- 
gine, the  telegraph,  the  telephone  and  all 
kab  buzzing  swarm  of  electrical  wonders  that 
followed  and  still  follow  in  their  wake — it 


Home  of  Mrs.  Fremont.  Presented  to  Her  by  Ladies  of  Southern  California. 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


A  Woman  Who  Has  Lived  History. 


641 


would  seem  fairy  promise  in  abundance. 
But  to  add  to  that  adventure,  honor,  wealtu 
and  fame  would,  seem  heaping  the  gifts  in 
too  lavish  a  prodigality  for  one  wee  babe. 
Yet  all  that  and  more  was  the  portion  set 
to  Jessie  Benton  when  she  saw  light  at 
the  family  seat  of  her  grandfather,  Colonel 
McDowell  of  Virginia. 

Surrounded  by  the  ceremonious  courtesy 
that  is  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  best  of 
tne  old  Southern  homes,  she  could  scarcely 
have  grown  to  other  than  the  gracious 
womanhood  that  distinguished  her.  It  was 
this  very  graciousness  more  than  her  beauty 
and  name  that  won  her  first  favors  among 
the  ladies  of  the  White  House,  and  after- 
ward, when  added  the  fame  of  her  heroic 
husband,  opened  to  her  the  doors  of  the  most 
exclusive  circles  in  all  Europe. 

That  all  occufred  years  and  years  ago. 
Now  she  lives  as  quietly  as  any  old  lady  of 
eighty  you  might  meet.  She  no  longer  takes 
part  in  the  social  life  around  her.  A  fall  a 
year  ago  crippled  her,  and  she  will  never 
walk  again. 

Her  beautiful  home,  presented  to  her  by 
a  number  of  patriotic  ladies  of  Southern  Cal- 
ifornia, is  one  of  the  standard  objects  of  in- 
terest to  the  hundreds  of  sight-seeing  tour- 
ists that  fiock  to  Los  Angeles  yearly.  They 
come.  They  gaze  at  its  vine-covered  walls. 
They  photograph  it.  Then  they  go  away 
and  say  they  have  seen  the  home  of  the  fam- 
ous General  Fremont. 

But  it  is  only  the  fortunate  few  who  are 
admitted  behind  those  red  walls  who  see  in 
truth  the  home  of  these  celebrated  old  people, 
it  is  within  that  the  things  of  real  interest 
are  always  found. 

Looking  down  from  the  walls  of  the  dimly 
lighted  drawing-room  is  a  life-sized  portrait 
of  a  white-haired  man.  The  rugged  face  and 
keen,  alert  eyes  bespeak  the  undaunted 
spirit  that  brooked  no  opposition.  This  is 
the  hero  of  '46.  Facing  it  is  the  portrait  of 
a  girl  with  soft  brown  hair,  drawn  with  a 
Madonna  sweep  over  the  oval  cheeks,  fram- 
ing full  red  lips  and  deep,  serious  eyes. 
This  was  the  young  wife,  now  an  octogenar- 
ian. 

It  gives  one  a  feeling  of  unreality  to  sit  in 
that  great,  shaded  room  beforfe  that  vivid 
portrait  of  youth  and  listen  while  its  aged 
original  tells  without  vanity  of  the  honors 
that  have  been  hers;  of  her  presentation  to 
•the  queen;  of  the  gowns  she  wore  in  those 


Mrs.  John  C.  Fremont. 

gay  times;  of  her  tour  over  Europe  with  her 
husband;  of  the  many  people  of  honored 
and  distinguished  name  they  met. 

Their  trip  all  through  Europe  was  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  triumphal  tour. 
Everywhere  social  attentions  were  lavished 
upon  them.  In  England  they  were  received 
by  the  Queen.  The  true  democratic  love  of 
simplicity  speaks  out  in  Mrs.  Fremont's  sum- 
ming up  of  this  interesting  experience: 
"The  Queen's  drawing-room  was  a  splendid 
dumb  show;  not  a  word,  not  a  breath 
scarcely;  only  form,  strict  and  unques- 
tioned." 

One  of  the  most  cherished  memories  of  all 
of  the  great  host  to  Mrs.  Fremont  is  of  her 
meeting  with  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  It 
was  but  a  few  months  before  his*  death,  and 
he  was  very  feeble.  His  niece  presented 
Mrs.  Fremont,  and  she  claims  it  a  happy 
privilege  to  have  touched  the  hand  of  the 
conqueror  of  Napoleon. 

Another  who  showed  high  nonor^to  this 
distinguished  couple  was  the  Queen  of 
Denmark,  the  beautiful  mother  of  the  Prin- 
cess of  Wales.  It  is  not  every  one  who  is. 
invited  to  make  morning  calls  on  Royalty, 
but  they  were  so  honored  by  being  in- 
vited to  visit  the  Queen  informally  at  the 


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Winter  Palace.  They  afterward  attended 
the  "ball  of  welcome,"  at  which  all  royalty 
and  the  highest  Danish  nobility  were  pres- 
ent, and  then  a  breakfast  given  to  General 
Fremont  by  the  Minister  of  *State,  Count 
Fries. 

But  memories  are  not  all  that  are  left  of 
those  harvest  days  of  fame.  There  are 
things  more  tangible,  more  comprehensible, 
perhaps,  to  the  unimaginative.  There  are  tro- 
phies from  all  corners  of  the  earth — souve- 
nirs as  priceless  as  the  pearls  of  Antoinette. 
There  is  a  miniature  that  connoisseurs 
would  travel  across  the  world  to  see.  It  is 
of  Napoleon,  painted  on  ivory  by  Isabey  in 
lbJ4.  Then  there  is  the  album  containing 
the  famous  collection  that  Napoleon  III. 
tried  so  hard  to  gain.  And  it  is  only  due 
to  Mrs.  Fremont's  quick  American  wit  that 
he  failed  and  the  album  was  brought  to  this 
country. 

It  is  a  collection  of  authentic  Bonaparte 
souvenirs  which  was  bequeathed  to  General 
and  Mrs.  Fremont  by  their  old  friend,  the 
Count  de  la  Garde,  who  made  his  collection 
in  Paris  from  the  days  of  the  First  Consul- 
ate. The  Count's  will  provided  that  in  case 
the  Fremont  family  failed  to  claim  the  album 
within  one  year  it  should  go  to  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  III,  to  whom  was  left  all  the  rest 


of  the  Bonaparte  collection.  The  album  con- 
tains various  souvenirs  of  this  historic  fam- 
ily, together  with  autographic  letters  and 
many  portraits  at  different  epochs  in  the  life 
oi  Napoleon,  Josephine  and  others  of  that 
line. 

The  executor  sent  a  letter  saying  that  the 
Emperor  wishea  to  keep  unbroken  all  sou- 
venirs of  his  family  and  would  like  what  the 
Count  de  la  Garde  had  bequeathed  to  Gen- 
eral Fremont  and  his  wife. 

The  Fremonts  at  once  sent  vigorous  objec- 
tions, but  with  no  avail.  The  year  of  delay 
thac  was  to  cause  the  legacy  to  lapse  to  the 
Emperor  was  drawing  to  a  close.  Then  it 
was  that  Mrs.  Fremont  hit  upon  a  plan  that 
was  at  once  simple  and  to  the  point. 

She  carried  her  correspondence  to  Wells, 
Fargo  &  Co.  and  explained  the  situation. 
They  agreed  to  get  the  package  on  her  order. 
This  they  did.  So  in  a  simple  American 
business  way  a  task  was  accomplished  which 
neither  diplomacy  nor  the  power  of  an  em- 
peror could  bring  about. 

And  never  did  Napoleon  III  treasure  more 
highly  or  hold  as  a  more  sacred  trust  the 
souvenirs  of  his  family  than  does  this  old 
gentlewoman  of  a  bygone  age  treasure  the 
mementoes  of  the  greatness  of  her  soldier 
husband.    The  sword  and  belt  presented  to 


Arbor  House,  Corner  Main  and  Fourteenth  Streets. 
Said  to  Have  Been  the  Headquarters  of  Gen.  Fremont  in  1847. 


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aim  at  Charlestown  on  his  return  from  his 
historical  achievements  in  California  are 
guarded  as  Jealously  as  ever  was  the  cele- 
brated jeweled  sword  of  the  Galkwar  of 
Baroda.  It  is  a  rich  and  elaborately  ex- 
ecuted piece  of  workmanship,  gold  and  silver 
mounted.  On  the  gold  scabbard  are  two  sil- 
ver shields,  with  the  words:  "California" 
and  "1846."  Engraved  below  are  the  cus- 
tomary inscription  and  dedication. 

These  are  but  a  few  of  the  many  souve- 
nirs of  one  of  the  most  striking  and  romantic 


characters  in  California  history.  Many  oth- 
ers are  there,  kept  with  loving  reverence 
by  the  woman  who  shared  his  almost  me- 
teoric career  from  the  obscurity  of  a  lieu- 
tenant in  a  corps  where  promotion  was  slow 
and  the  pay  small  to  the  dazzling  honors  of 
a  conqueror  and  explorer  of  world-wide 
fame.  In  these,  the  last  days  of  a  long  and 
varied  life,  she  waits  with  placid  content, 
knowing  that  in  His  own  good  time  she  will 
be  called  to  rejoin  her  hero. 


7)iSConieni. 


BY    INA   WRIGHT    HANSON. 


There   is  no  grandeur   in   the   cliffs,   to-day, 

There   is  no  beauty   in   the   shining   sand; 

The  breakers'   dirges  grow   monotonous — 

My   heart   is   out  of  tune  with   sea  and  land. 

The   king   is   on   a  journey   and   no   more 

His  presence  brightens  sea,   and  sky,   and^  shoreQ^      |^ 


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iMMI**»l»f  l^^f^^tfH  nil  ♦♦♦♦II 1 1 1  i  If  1 1  l*i*»i»»4»**tl»»»»<i»*i 


ZfAe  ^an^J^merican  {Exposition. 

BY    RICHARD    GIBSON 
Sn  M  1 1 1  U  11 1 1  >  ♦♦♦♦♦€  1 1  ♦It  !■  ■♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦i 


'-riHB  Pan-American  Exposition  which 
j^^.is  to  be  opened  at  Buffalo,  New  York, 
this  year,  promises  if  the  indications 
are  not  altogether  misleading,  to  be 
one  of  the  most  comprehensive  and  impos- 
ing exhibitions  of  the  industrial  progress, 
the  scientific  achievements  and  the  artistic 
spirit  of  modem  civilization  that  have  ever 
taken  place  anywhere,  i  It  is  to  be  noted,  as 
a  curious  if  not  significant  fact,  in  this  con- 
nection, that  the  last  great  exposition  of  the 
old  century  took  place  in  Paris,  which  has 
been  for  centuries  the  center  of  much  of 
the  old  world's  social,  political  and  commer- 
cial activity;  while  upon  the  other  hand, 
the  first  exposition  of  the  new  century  is 
to  be  held  in  one  of  the  new  world's  bustling 
cities  that  was  scarcely  more  than  a  frontier 
Tillage  when  the  first  Napoleon  was  making 
and  unmaking  dynasties  and  threatening  to 
change  the  entire  map  of  Europe.  Does  this 
mean  that  we  are  accustomed  to  style,  in 
generic  terms,  that  the  old  world  has  had  its 
day  as  the  leader  of  human  activity  and  that, 
in  the  century  which  is  just  opening  up, 
and  to  a  still  greater  extent  in  the  cen- 
turies that  will  succeed  it,  the  sturdy  new 
world   that  Columbus  discovered   will   step 


who  watch  with  thoughtful  interest  the  pro- 
gress of  events,  and  the  unfolding  of  those 
incidents  that  in  time  become  history,  will 
surely  find  in  this  query  suggestions  that 
are  worthy  of  careful  study. 

The  Buffalo  Exposition  has  been  planned 
upon  a  most  comprehensive  scale.  While  it 
will  be,  in  its  management  and  organization, 
an  essentially  American  enterprise  stamped 
with  those  characteristics  that  have  become 
our  national  identification  marks,  still,  in  a 
broader  sense  it  will  be  a  display  of  univer- 
sal character — a  gathering  of  everything  of 
interest  that  is  to  be  found  in  the  known 
world  that  is  capable  of  exhibition.  Many 
of  the  departments  will  aim  at  a  degree  of 
completeness  that  has  never  been  achieved 
by  any  previous  exposition.  The  exhibits 
in  the  department  of  Mines  and  Mining  for 
instance,  have  been  arranged  for  upon  an 
imposing  scale  and  the  display  in  this  line 
will  be  one  in  which  the  people  of  California 
and  the  Pacific  Coast  should,  because  of 
their  relation  to  the  industry,  take  an  es- 
pecially strong  interest.  The  Mines  and 
Mining  Building  will  be  one  of  a  group  of 
three  which  have  been  arranged  in  the  gen- 
eral form  of  a  horse  shoe.     In  the  group  it 


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(which  occupies,  in  the  group,  the  position 
of  toe  calk)  by  means  of  one  of  two  hand- 
some conservatories  that  flank  the  Horticul- 
tural Building,  north  and  south.  The  Mines 
and  Mining  Building  is  one  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  square  and  has  four  comer  pavil- 
ions each  reaching  to  the  height  of  one  hun- 
dred feet.  Material  for  the  mining  exhibit 
will  be  distinctively  American  and  will  be 
drawn  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States, 
from  every  country  in  Central  and  South 
America,  from  Canada,  from  Mexico,  and 
from  the  islands  of  the  sea.  While  in  gen- 
eral the  exhibits  will  be  made  under  the 
auspices  of  the  various  governments,  still 
many  individuals  and  companies  will  be 
represented  by  special  displays  of  their 
own  properties  and  products. 

The  list  of  minerals  that  will  be  repre- 
sented comprises  almost  every  useful  or 
ornamental  ore  known  to  metallurgy.  There 
will  be  exhibits  of  ores  and  their  treatment, 
illustrating  to  the  uninformed  how  valuable 


metals  are  derived  from  what  appears  to  be 
very  commonplace  material.  It  is  also  intend- 
ed to  make  the  exhibition  of  machinery  for 
the  reduction  and  manipulation  of  refractory 
ores  an  unusually  interesting  one.  There 
will  be  a  large  and  very  important  collection 
of  specimens  of  mineral  deposits  gathered 
from  all  the  great  beds  of  valuable  substan- 
ces to  be  found  upon  this  hemisphere. 
Some  of  these  will  uncover  surprises  that 
will  be  sensational  in  their  character.  For 
instance.  Southern  California  will  contribute 
specimens  of  a  vast  bed  of  asphaltum,  of 
superior  quality,  the  quantity  of  which  is 
computed  to  be  sufficient  for  the  paving  of 
every  important  street  in  every  city  in  the 
United  States.  Other  deposits  of  great 
value — such  as  coal  and  its  allied  mineral 
connections,  building  stones,  marble,  prec- 
ious stones  of  the  nature  of  onyx,  agate, 
jasper,  corundum,  asbestos,  graphite,  mica, 
kaolin,  lime,  cement,  gypsum,  sulphur,  man- 
ganese, aluminum,  and  clays,  will  be  in- 
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eluded  in  the  display.  There  will  also  be  a 
very  complete  exhibit  of  machinery  for  quar- 
rying, cutting  and  carving  stone,  mineral 
rock,  etc.,  as  well  as  a  valuable  collection  of 
tunneling  and  lifting  machinery.  In  the  ap- 
pliances for  underground  work,  such  as  bor- 
ing, drilling,  blasting,  lighting,  and  tele- 
phoning, there  will  be  nothing  missing,  and 
even  the  best  informed  visitor  will  scarcely 
be  able  to  pass  through  this  department 
without  meeting  many  things  he  never  met 
with  before. 

One  feature  of  the  tan- American  Expo- 
sition will  be  an  electric  tower,  three  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  feet  high.  A  picture 
of  the  steel  frame  of  this  tower,  at  «l  height 
of  two  hundred  feet  accompanies  this  arti- 
cle. Those  who  ascend  this  tower  will  truly 
be  able  to  say  that  they  are  "out  of  sight." 

Another  department  which  cannot  but 
interest  the  people  of  California  and  the 
Coast  is  that  of  Forestry.  Something  new 
in  the  building  line  is  hard  to  imagine,  for 
architectural  ingenuity  appears  to  have  been 
long  since  exhausted.  Nevertheless,  the 
Forestry  Building  in  the  Pan-American  Ex- 
position Appears  to  be  unique,  and  if  any- 
thing like  it  has  ever  been  produced  before 
no  record  of  the  fact  has  been  kept.  The 
general  plan  of  the  structure  is  that  of  a 
floor  enclosed  with  a  rail  fence.  Stake  and 
rider  form  no  feature  of  the  structure,  but 
tne  locked  ends  of  fence  corners  which,  are 
formed  by  the  worm  will  lend  themselves 
to  the  formation  of  artistic  lodges  and  com- 
fortable seats.  Hickory,  being  a  represen- 
tative American  wood,  will  be  displayed  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  illustrate  why  Ameri- 
can vehicles  are  now  preferred  in  every 
country  in  which  they  are  known  and  also 
why  early  shipments  of  American  vehicles 
to  Europe  could  not  be  sold.  People  who 
were  accustomed  to  ride  over  polished  road 
surfaces  in  vehicles  that  were  usually 
mounted  on  wheels  that  were  as  substantial 
as  those  used  for  freight  wagons  refused  to 
risk  their  lives  on  an  inch  spoke  and  a  hub 
that  was  scarcely  visible  to  the  naked  eye 
until  they  learned  of  the  properties  of  a  well 
seasoned  piece  of  hickory  wood.  Since  then 
people  who  know  the  difference  take  ofC 
their  hats  to  the  American  vehicle  and  the 
American  hickory  tree.  Petrified  woods 
from  Arizona  will  also  be  made  a  feature  at 
Buffalo,  though  such  exhibits  are  curious  and 


of  scientific  interest  rather  than  of  practical 
and  utilitarian  value.  In  the  nature  of 
things  there  could  be  no  exhibit  of  the  for- 
estry and  lumber  interests  of  the  United 
States  that  would  not  include  the  Big  Trees 
and  great  redwood  groves  of  California. 
The  Western  people  cannot,  therefore,  but 
be  deeply  interested  in  this  department  of 
the  Buffalo  Exposition. 

The  Agricultural  Building,  a  picture  of 
which  accompanies  this  article,  will  contain 
a  feature  that  cannot  but  interest  everybody. 
It  will  be  an  exhibition  of  a  new  process  for 
preserving  eggs.  It  is  that  of  hermetically 
sealing  eggs  in  cans.  It  is  based  upon  the 
same  principal  as  obtains  in  the  canning  and 
preservation  of  meats,  vegetables  and  other 
food  products,  though  the  details  are  differ^ 
ent.  Of  the  importance  of  this  industry 
some  idea  may  be  gathered  when  it  is  borne 
in  mind  that  during  the  spring  and  summer 
months  the  city  of  New  York  alone  receives 
about  five  million  eggs  per  day,  while  the 
consumption  of  the  city  is  only  about  three 
million.  Obviously  it  is  a  matter  of  great 
economic  importance  that  this  surplus  be 
taken  care  of.  This  is  done  in  this  way: 
Sound  shells  containing  wholesome  yolks 
and  whites  are  limed  and  packed  away  for 
winter.  All  good  eggs  whose  shells  are 
cracked  or  slightly  broken  are  canned  for 
confectioners,  while  eggs  that  are  cloudy 
or  in  any  way  spoiled  are  likewise  canned 
for  tanners'  use.  The  latter  employ  them  for 
giving  to  kids  and  other  fine  leathers  that 
subtle  gloss  which  so  catches  the  eye.  So 
carefully  is  the  economic  feature  of  this 
business  looked  after  that  the  shells  of  the 
canned  eggs  are  saved  and  employed  in  the 
manufacture  of  poultry  foods.  In  canning 
eggs  when  the  product  is  intended  for  con- 
fectioners' use,  as  is  generally  the  case, 
the  yolks  are  separated  from  the  whites. 
Where  the  product  is  intended  for  general 
purposes  the  yolks  and  whites  are  canned 
together,  just  as  soups,  meats,  and  vegeta- 
bles, are  canned.  This  is  not  a  new  busi- 
ness, but  new  methods  of  carrying  it  on 
have  been  developed  and  it  is  these  new 
methods  that  will  be  on  exhibition  at  the 
Buffalo  Exposition. 

That  art,  in  any  of  its  forms,  will  not  be 
neglected  at  the  Pan-American  Exposition 
may  be  gathered  from  an  examination  of  the 
picture  of  the  Graphic  Art  building.  Temple 

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of  Music,  and  Machinery  building,  which  is 
included  in  the  Water  Garden  view  that  ac- 
companies this  article.  The  band  stand  and 
plaza,  which  are  also  the  subject  of  an  ac- 
companying illustration,  call  to  mind  the 
fact  that  the  management  promises  to  pre- 
sent the  very  best  orchestral  music  to  the 
patrons  of  the  Exposition. 

Still  another  feature  of  the  Buffalo  dis- 
play which  should  attract  attention,  more 
particularly  in  the  southern  end  of  Califor- 
nia, is  the  honey-making  exhibit.  It  has  been 
decided  to  construct  a  special  building  for 
the  proper  display  of  the  colonies  of  bees  and 
the  great  variety  of  bee  keepers'  supplies 
that  will  be  on  exhibition.  It  is  intended 
and  expected  that  this  will  be  the  most  ex- 
tensive bee  exhibit  ever  made  anywhere. 
Comparatively  few  people  understand  what 
the  value  of  this  industry  is  to  the  United 
States.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  estimated 
that  two  hundred  thousand  people  are  en- 
gaged in  bee  culture  in  this  country,  and  the 
value  of  honey  and  wax  produced  is  esti- 
mated to  be  in  excess  of  twenty  million  dol- 
lars annually.  There  are  one  hundred  and 
ten  societies  devoted  to  the  study  and  pro- 
motion of  bee  culture,  and  eight  public  jour- 
nals are  sustained  by  the  industry.  Fifteen 
steam  power  factories  are  employed  through- 
out the  country  in  producing  supplies  of 
various  kinds  for  the  use  of  bee  keepers. 


The  industry  is  only  partially  developed. 
It  is  estimated  that  the  flora  of  the  United 
States  could  sustain  ten  times  as  many  bees 
as  are  now  in  existence  in  the  country,  and 
that  nearly  every  farm  could  maintain  an 
apiary  of  profitable  size.  Obviously  the 
subject  is  one  that  deserves'  attention;  and 
the  bee  exhibit  at  Buffalo  will  be  worthy 
of  study.  It  is  intended  to  so  arrange  the 
exhibit  that  the  bees  may  enter  their  hives 
from  the  exterior  of  the  building  and  carry 
on  their  work  of  honey  collecting  undisturbed 
by  visitors,  yet  in  full  view  of  all  who  wish 
to  watch  them.  The  bee  exhibit  indeed, 
will  illustrate  to  all  the  operation  of  an 
apiary,  and  will  show  the  common  honey 
producing  flora  in  a  way  to  impress  it  upon 
the  minds  of  all  investigators. 

These  are  but  few  of  the  general  fea- 
tures of  the  Pan-American  Exposition  picked 
out  indiscriminately.  But  they  show  that 
it  is  a  display  which  it  will  pay  both  the  in- 
dividual business  man  and  the  people  of 
every  State  as  an  organized  body  to  look 
after.  There  will  be  much  to  see  at  the 
Buffalo  Exposition,  and  what  is  often  of 
still  greater  importance,  there  will  be  a  great 
chance  to  be  seen  at  the  Buffalo  Exposi- 
tion. As  indicated  by  the  picture  of  the 
Machinery  and  Transportation  building,  the 
project  has  been  boldly  designed  and  is  be- 
ing  carried   out   in    a   substantial    manner. 


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»*««•##***  ««••**••*•****•  ««••••••««««**•«««********«**«  *****•*•••*•••*  ***•*•****••••• 


Tjhe   Jif^illin£^  of  ^osiah   bookman. 


BY    ELIZABETH    SUTTON. 


#««••••***«•******««****************««*«*•*******•****«********«**««««***«***********$ 


rr?  HEY    sat  in  a  corner  of  the  old  Del- 
^±4  monico  Caf6  one  evening,  three  well- 
I       known  newspaper  men  and  told  stor- 
ies   over  their  wine  and  cigars.     It 
was   the   very  quiet-looking   man's  turn   to 
spin  a  yam,  and  his  was  the  following: 
"You've  heard  of  Boisville?" 
His  listeners  nodded. 

"I  was  born  and  raised  there.  The  richest 
man  in  the  place  was  Josiah  Rockman. 
Owned  a  big  silk  ribbon  factory  that  em- 
ployed the  town.  Every  Sunday  morning, 
exactly  five  minutes  after  services  had  be- 
gun, Josiah  walked  up  the  aisle  of  St.  Mary's 
to  his  seat.  If  any  one  occupied  it  he  put 
him  out,  and  then  sat  at  the  outermost  edge 
and  twisted  his  neck  to  stare  over  at  the 
stained-glass  window  he  had  presented  to 
the  church  in  a  spasm  of  generosity  that 
astounded  those  who  knew  him  best.  If 
Josiah  Rockman  was  the  wealthiest  man  in 
Boisville  he  was  also  the  closest  in  money 
matters.  Astounding  stories  were  in  circu- 
lation as  to  his  niggardliness,  some  of  which 
I  will  tell  you  another  time. 

"One  morning  after  church  services,  when 
Rockman  reached  home,  his  sister  met  him 
at  the  door  and  announced  that  a  woman 
waited  in  the  parlor  to  see  him.  Josiah  hung 
his  hat  on  the  hall  rack,  patted  affectionately 
several  minutes  the  large  Newfoundland  dog 
that  bounded  up  to  greet  him,  then  went  in 
o  meet  his  visitor,  the  animal  jumping  at  his 
leels.  A  shabbily  dressed  little  woman  with 
weary  eyes  and  a  twitching  mouth  rose  im- 
mediately from  her  seat  near  one  of  the  win- 
dows. She  twisted  and  twisted  the  handker- 
chief she  held  in  her  hands,  and  not  at  once 
could  she  find  courage  to  speak  to  the  cold- 
faced  man  before  her. 

"At  last  she  began,  in  faltering  tones: 
'Mr.  Rockman,  I  am  one  of  your  tenants  at 
18  Elm  street — Mrs.  Gibson.  We  have  had 
sickness  among  the  children  all  winter  long, 
and  I  am  back  three  months  in  my  rent.' 
Her  voice  broke.  *Now — now  my  husband 
is  down  with  pneumonia,  and  your  agent 
insists  that  we  must  get  out  by  the  first  of 
the  month  if  we  cannot  pay  up.     I  dbn't 


know  what  we  will  do.  I  cannot  get  the 
money,  and  we  have  no  friends  to  take  us 
in.  Mr.  Rockman — I  thought — perhaps — 
when  you  knew  of  our  case  you  would  be 
willing  to  leave  us  in  a  little  while  longer — 
until,  at  least  my  husband  had  recovered. 
I  know  we  will  be  able  to  pay  up  all.' 

''Josiah  Rockman  stiftened  up  visibly.  He 
gave  a  dry,  throaty  cough.  His  eyes  turned 
from  the  woman's  and  settled  on  the  bronze 
figure  of  Marguerite  plucking  at  a  daisy, 
adorning  the  marble  mantel. 

"  'I  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  matters, 
my  good  woman,  nothing  whatever,*  he  said. 
He  folded  his  arms.  'My  agent  sees  to  all 
that,  so  I  can  do  nothing  for  you;  nothing 
at  all.  I  am  sorry,  I  assure  you,  but  I  cannot 
interfere  in  the  matter.    Talk  to  the  agent.' 

"His  arms  dropped  to  his  sides.  He  led 
the  way  to  the  front  door.  Mrs.  Gibson  fol- 
lowed, too  stunned  and  crushed  by  her 
abrupt  dismissal  to  say  another  word.  The 
man  opened  the  door  for  her  and  she  passed 
out  while  he  stood  there,  looking  after  her 
and  repeating:  'I  am  sorry,  my  good  woman, 
but  I  can  do  nothing  for  you — nothing.'  Then 
ne  slammed  the  door  shut,  went  upstairs  to 
nis  own  private  room  and,  sitting  down  to 
his  desk,  wrote  a  letter  to  his  agent,  threat- 
ening to  discharge  him  if  he  (Rockman) 
was  annoyed  any  more  with  troublesome 
tenants. 

"That  evening  Josiah  had  another  visitor, 
this  time  a  gaunt,  wasted  man  with  blazing 
eyes  and  a  burning  red  spot  upon  each 
sunken  cheek.  It  was  John  Gibson,  who  in 
some  way  had  managed  to  escape  from  his 
sick  bed  and  was  now  here  to  plead  with 
Rockman  to  grant  him  and  his  family  a  stay 
of  another  month  in  their  home.  The  horror 
of  it  the  manufacturer  did  not  seem  to  grasp. 
It  was  not  terrible  to  him  that  this 
man,  mortally  ill,  perhaps,  with  pneumonia, 
should  have  deliberately  left  his  bed  and 
risked  almost  certain  death  from  exposure, 
to  beg  not  to  be  put  out  in  the  street.  Rock- 
man was  just  angry  through  and  through 
that  these  people  should  dare  attempt  to 


Digitized  by  V^jOO^  LtT 


652 


Overland  Monthly. 


bend  his  will  to  theirs.  He  insisted,  as  he 
had  done  to  the  wife  in  the  morning,  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  tenants.  The  agent 
must  see  to  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He  did 
not  care  to  interfere;  no,  he  would  not  in- 
terfere. 

"When  John  Gibson  understood  at  last 
that  his  landlord  was  flint  he  almost  col- 
lapsed. He  managed  to  pull  himself  to- 
gether, though,  and  with  his  death-smitten 
eyes  blazing  into  Rockman's  he  moaned:  'I 
am  dying,  I  know.  And  when  I  am  dead  I 
will  kneel  before  God  and  ask  Him  to  let 
me  come  back  again,  that  I  may  work  you 
some  of  the  misery  you  have  worked  me  and 
mine.' 

"Josiah  Rockman  believed  not  in  threats 
from  either  living  or  dying  men.  So  he 
called  for  his  coachman  and  ordered  him  to 
get  Gibson  out  of  the  house  to  his  own  home. 

"The  next  morning  at  breakfast  Josiah's 
sister  told  him  'the  man  Gibson  who  was 
here  last  evening  is  dead.  He  died  during 
the  night.  Josiah' — Mary's  voice  was  firm — 
'I  think  you  might  have — * 

"Rockman  bent  his  eyes  upon  her,  and 
there  was  enough  in  them  to  dissipate  at 
once  Mary's  firmness.    She  did  not  go  on. 

"One  week  later  Rockman  and  his  sister 
were  in  the  cosy  little  library  of  their  home. 
The  woman  was  reading  and  Josiah  sat  in 
an  armchair  by  the  open  fireplace  and  stared 
down  at  Rex,  the  great  Newfoundland,  who 
lay  at  his  feet. 

"Rockman  had  been  extremely  reticent  for 
many  days,  and  Mary,  who  knew  his  moods, 
was  aware  that  something  annoyed  and  wor- 
ried him. 

"All  the  evening  he  had  remained  in  the 
one  position,  staring  unceasingly  at  the  dog, 
and  the  few  questions  his  sister  addressed  to 
him  were  unanswered. 

"When  it  struck  ten  Mary  closed  her  book, 
arose  and  said  good-night  to  her  brother. 
He  gave  no  sign  that  he  heard,  and  then, 
when  she  reached  the  door,  he  suddenly 
called  out  to  her:  'Mary!  Mary!*  She  stood 
on  the  threshold  a  second,  then  came  back 
into  the  room.  Josiah  motioned  her  to  come 
near  him.  'Do  you  notice  anything  peculiar 
about  that  dog's  eyes?'  he  said,  pointing  to 
Rex,  who  raised  his  head  at  the  sound  of 
the  voice  he  knew  and  loved,  and  wagged 
his  tail  with  vigorous  thumps  against  the 
floor. 

"Mary  stared  from  Rockman  to  the  animal 


in  astonishment.     'Why,  no,'  she  finally  re- 
sponded. 

"  'Well,  I  do!'  Josiah  burst  out  Then  his 
tones  sank  to  a  whisper.  'Mary,  they  are 
John  Gibson's  eyes  now!  Can't  you  see  it?' 
And,  grasping  her  arm,  he  pulled  her  over 
in  front  of  the  dog.  'Look  at  him!'  Mary 
lost  every  vestige  of  color.  Her  lips  disap- 
peared in  the  deathlike  hue  of  her  face. 
'There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  Rex's 
eyes,  Josiah,'  she  gasped.  'You  are  nervous 
and  unstrung.  Do  go  to  your  room  and  to 
bed';  and  she  tried  to  pull  him  away  from 
the  Newfoundland.  But  Rockman  still  stared 
at  the  dog  in  a  fascinated  way,  and  Rex  re- 
turned the  look  calmly.  'Did  our  Rex  have 
blue  eyes?'  he  insisted.  'Never;  they  were 
always  black,  but  now  they  are  blue — blue, 
just  like  Gibson's,  I  tell  you.  Mary,  do  you 
think' — his  voice  trailed  almost  to  indistinct- 
ness— 'do  you  think  the  man's  spirit  could 
have  passed  into  Rex's  body,  to  do  me  some 
horrible  harm?  Two  or  three  times  lately 
I  felt  sure  that  he  was  going  to  jump  at  me. 
He  will  do  it  yet  if  he  gets  the  chance.  My 
God!  He  looks  at  me  always  now  with  John 
Gibson's  unforgiving,  malignant  eyes.  It  is 
terrible.'  Great  drops  of  sweat  stood  out 
upon  Rockman's  brow  and  his  jaw  dropped 
in  a  most  sickening  way. 

"A  second  or  so  he  remained  thus,  then  he 
recovered  himself,  and  his  sister's  look  of 
horror  and  of  fright  was  not  lost  to  him.  He 
pulled  out  his  handkerchief,  mopped  his  face 
slowly  and  smiled  with  visible  effort.  'There, 
Mary,'  he  said,  'I  have  startled  you  to  death. 
Don't  mind  me.  I  am  a  little  upset  about 
Gibson;  that  is  all.  I  am  sorry  now  that  I 
was  not  a  trifle  more  lenient  with  the  man.' 

"  'If  you  go  right  to  bed  and  try  to  sleep, 
perhaps  you  will  feel  all  right  in  the  morn- 
ing,' Mary  tremblingly  suggested.  Her  eyes 
were  wide  with  the  anxiety  tugging  at  her 
heartstrings. 

"  'I  will  do  as  you  say,'  her  brother  re- 
sponded. 'I  will  go  to  bed  now.  But  I'm 
all  right.'  He  fixed  her  with  a  fierce  look. 
'I  am  not  crazy,  you  know.  You  understand, 
eh?' 

"'They  all  say  that — all,'  Mary  moaned. 
'Of  course  I  know  that  you  are  not  crazy,' 
she  told  him  gently,  laying  her  hand  upon 
his  arm.  Then,  'We  shall  get  rid  of  Rex, 
Josiah.' 

"  'Yes,  I  will  shoot  him  to-morrow.  We 
will  close  this  door  now  and  leave  him  shut 


Digitized  by  VjOO^  Lt^ 


The  Killing  of  Josiah  Rockman. 


653 


up  in  the  library  all  night.  Then,  to-mor- 
row I  shall  put  an  end  to  him.  It  will  be 
best.  Otherwise  I  should  always  have  this 
terrible  fear  hanging  over  me.' 

"  'Yes,  shoot  the  animal,  Josiah.'  Mary 
carefully  fastened  the  library  door  after  her, 
leaving  the  Newfoundland  sleeping  before 
the  fire.  She  saw  Rockman  to  his  apart- 
ment, then  fled  to  her  own,  Just  across  the 
hall,  and  hastily  donned  hat  and  wrap.  She 
was  going  out  to  the  family  physician  to  beg 
him  to  come  at  once  to  see  her  unfortunate 
brother.  After  waiting  awhile  until  she  felt 
sure  he  had  retired  she  went  softly  out  into 
the  hall,  fearful  of  making  the  slightest 
noise;  for,  to  reach  the  stairs,  she  had  to 
pass  his  room.  She  gained  the  top  of  the 
stairway  and  had  descended  just  one  step 
when  her  brother's  voice  rang  sharply  out: 
'Mary,  where  are  you  going/  She  stopped 
short;  her  heart  fluttered  up  in  her  throat 
and  trembled  there  until  she  felt  she  would 
choke.  Rockman  was  standing  at  the  door 
of  his  bedroom,  fully  dressed,  staring  at  her 
with  burning,  angry  eyes.  Neither,  spoke. 
Then  at  last  the  man  said :  'So  you  believed 
me  mad,  after  all?  Well,  I  am  not.  At  any 
rate,  you  will  have  to  postpone  the  examina- 
tion as  to  my  sanity  until  to-morrow.  You 
do  not  leave  this  house  to-night  to  go  after 
a  doctor.'  Mary  turned  and  came  back.  She 
whimpered  out  a  lie:  *I  was  not  going  for 
a  physician,  Josiah;  I — I — I — ' 

"  *I  want  none  of  your  excuses,'  he  cut  her 
short,  and  disappeared  into  his  room.  Mary 
went  to  her  own  apartment  and  there  gave 
way  to  a  hysterical  outburst  of  tears.  This 
over,  she  took  off  her  hat  and  wrap,  then  sat 
for  several  hours  brooding  over  the  terrible 
misfortune  that  had  come  to  her;  for  a  mad- 
man she  felt  sure  Rockman  was.  Once, 
when  quite  certain  he  had  retired,  she  crept 
stealthily  to  his  room  and  looked  fearfully 
in.  A  light  burned  there,  and  she  could  see 
that  the  man  was  sleeping  peacefully  and 
soundly  as  a  babe.  Finding  it  impossible  to 
go  to  bed,  Mary  went  downstairs  to  the  par- 
lor, lit  all  the  gasjets,  drew  up  a  chair  before 
the  half-dead  fire  striving  for  life  upon  the 
hearth  and  sat  down  to  remain  there  the 
rest  of  the  night.  Two  sounded  by  the  large 
black  clock  on  the  mantel;  two  chimed  out 
by  all  the  bells  in  town.  Their  last  echo 
had  scarcely  died  away  when  a  shrill,  blood- 
stilling  shriek  rang  through  the  house.  Mary 
clutched   the   arm   of  her   chair.     She   re- 


mained unable  to  stir,  paralyzed  with  dread. 
Again  that  awful  scream  rang  out,  wild, 
piercing,  and  then  died  away  in  a  horrible, 
gurgling  wail.  Now  there  was  the  noise  of 
hurrying  footsteps,  the  murmur  of  excited 
voices;  the  servants  of  the  house  were 
aroused.  Mary  attempted  to  shake  off  the 
terror  encoiling  her.  She  tried  to  rise,  but 
her  trembling  knees  gave  way  and  she  fell 
back  in  her  chair  again  and  huddled  there, 
half-dead  with  fear,  listening  acutely  to 
every  movement  from  above.  The  coach- 
man was  the  first  to  reach  Rockman's  room, 
whence  he  felt  sure  the  cries  had  issued. 
He  entered,  the  other  servants  following  at 
his  heels.  Then  they  all  fell  back  into  the 
hall  again  and  some  of  the  women  began  to 
scream  as  only  women  can  in  hysterical 
fright.  Surely  it  was  an  awful  sight  that 
had  met  their  gaze.  Rockman  lay  on  the 
bed,  his  throat  torn  to  bloody  rags,  and 
over  him,  with  his  muzzle  and  breast  and 
paws  all  dripping  blood,  stood  Rex,  the  big 
Newfoundland.  He  lifted  his  great  head 
and  growled  savagely  at  the  intruders,  mur- 
der in  his  almost  human  eyes.  There  was  a 
wild  scram  Die  from  the  room,  but  the  coach- 
man returned.  His  face  was  as  chalk,  a 
blue  vein  swelled  out  to  bursting  on  his 
sweat-covered  forehead;  but  he  got  out  the 
revolver  he  always  carried.  His  hand  trem- 
bled awkwardly,  still  he  took  the  best  aim 
he  could  and  fired.  The  shot  went  home, 
clear  through  the  brute's  brain,  who  went 
down  in  a  quivering  heap  upon  his  master's 
body.  They  dragged  the  dog  off.  The  man 
beneath  was  a  dreadful  sight.  His  eyes 
were  unclosed,  bulging  from  their  sockets, 
an  awful  horror  in  their  depths;  his  mouth 
was  open,  contracted  to  a  circle,  and  pushed 
through  it  was  his  tongue,  bitten  almost  in 
half;  and  there  was  no  neck  left.  One  hand 
grasped  a  revolver  that  had  not  been  used. 

The  quiet-looking  man  stopped.  "Finis," 
he  said,  and  flicked  off  the  ashes  at  the  end 
of  his  cigar. 

The  youngest  of  the  trio  bent  forward. 
"My  GrOd!  no  animal  could  have  committed 
such  a  crime  without  human  intelligence 
backing  him.  Do  you  suppose — do  you  think 
— ^John  Gibson's  spirit  really  dominated  the 
dog?    Was  that  possible?" 

The  narrator  smiled,  showing  beautifully 
even  teeth.  "I  myself  take  no  stock  in  non- 
sense of  that  sort,"  he  said.    "I  will  give  you 


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654 


Overland  Monthly. 


my  little  theory:  Rockman  was  flinty,  but 
he  had  a  conscience,  just  the  same.  This 
conscience  annoyed  him  a  little  too  much 
after  Gibson's  death.  Something  in  his 
brain  gave  way  before  the  worry.  His  hal- 
lucination took  the  form  that  Gibson's  spirit 
had  entered  Rex's  body  and  that  the  animal 
was  sure  to  work  him  some  dire  harm.  The 
night  of  the  tragedy  he  slept  with  a  loaded 
revolver  within  grasp.  By  some  strange 
fatality  Rex  got  out  of  the  library — door 
opened  by  one  of  the  servants,  perhaps — and 
wandered  up  to  his  master's  room.  It  might 
be  that  he  attempted  to  Jump  into  bed. 
Rockman  awoke,  wild  with  fear,  and,  sure 
that  Rex  was  going  to  murder  him,  he  at- 
tempted to  use  his  weapon.  His  eyes  gave 
him  away  to  the  dog.    The  animal  knew  that 


his  master  was  about  to  slay  him.  A  dog  is 
very  intelligent,  believe  me.  He  is  as  ob- 
servant as  a  human.  Take  one  into  a  room 
some  day  and  try  making  grimaces  at  him. 
He  will  first  show  every  symptom  of  aston- 
ishment, then  either  run  whimpering  away 
or  Jump  at  you.  Try  it  some  time.  You  will 
see.  Rex  read  his  doom  in  Rockman's  face, 
then  sprang  at  the  man.  He  reached  for  the 
throat,  found  it,  and — well,  the  taste  of  blood 
encouraged  him.  That  is  all  there  is  to  the 
killing,  believe  me." 

"It  was  a  strange  thing,"  one  of  the  men 
said. 

"Very,"  the  quiet  man  answered;  "but  I 
know  one  or  two  happenings  stranger  still. 
Some  day  I  shall  tell  you  them." 


"HINTS  for  Home  Reading"  is  a  plain 
shell  for  a  good  nut,  or  an  unpretentious 
title  for  eleven  un- 
commonly good  essays 

Eminent    Essayists    on   the   formation   of 

On  Home  Libraries,  a  library,  by  M.  F. 
Sweetser,  Gha  r  1  e  a 
Dudley  Warner,  Fred 
B.  Perkins,  Cyrus  Hamlin,  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  (interview),  Hamlin  W.  Mabie, 
Edward  Everett  Hale,  Joseph  Cook,  and  Ly- 
man Abbott,  the  last-named  being  the  editor 
of  the  work. 

No  department  of  the  home  is  of  so  much 
importance  to  domestic  refinement  as  is 
the  library,  and  none  is  so  difficult  of  per- 
fection. A  dozen  common-sense  papers  by 
eminent  scholars  cannot  come  amiss  with 
a  few  hints  for  the  aid  of  those  who  would 
collect  serviceable,  readable  books  at  small 
cost.  Mont  valuable  among  the  suggestions 
are  the  warnings  against  bad  choice  which 
dees  so  much  to  mar  the  shelves  of  our 
larger  libraries.  Speaking  of  bad  fiction  Mr. 
Sweetser  says:  "The  titles  of  the  stories 
are  viciously  sensational,  and  the  situa- 
tions are  of  the  most  impossible  character. 


with  a  high  spice  of  hair-breadth  adven- 
ture, pruriant  description  and  scandalous 
suggestion.  Picturesqueness,  aelicacy,  pur- 
ity, are  all  alien  to  these  blood-curdlmg  fic- 
tions, and  the  normal  and  healthy  condi- 
tions   of    life    are    not    considered." 

Charles  Dudley  Warner,  in  an  essay  on 
"Why  Young  People  Read  Trash,"  explains 
— and  none  should  know  better — that  the 
Americans  share  with  the  Chinese,  German, 
English,  and  a  few  other  races,  t^e  only 
real  reading  public  in  the  world.  And  yet, 
he  says,  "Unless  a  book  by  some  good  luck 
becomes  the  fashion  and  is  recommended 
in  fashion,  few  see  it.  ♦  •  ♦  When  a  story  be- 
comes the  fashion  everybody  reads  it;  but 
who  is  everybody?  Why,  a  new  novel  is 
to  have  a  'run'  if  ten  thousand  copies  of 
it  are  published — ^ten  thousand  copies  for 
sixty  millions  of  people." 

That  is  a  good  word  of  Frank  B.  Perkins, 
"Read  the  great  books,  if  you  can  (it  is 
not  everyone  who  can  do  it  the  first  time 
he  tries!)  Anyone  who  has  well-read  the 
masterpieces  (to  read  well  a  masterpiece  Is 
nearly  to  deliberately  study  it)  has  the  prin- 
cipal  material   for  a  well-furnished   mind.'' 


Digitized  by  V^OO^  Lt^ 


Books:     To  Read  or  Not  to  Read. 


655 


"Read  periodicals/'  he  goes  on,  "not  idly 
and  wastefuUy  but  so  as  to  keep  up  with 
the  truth  of  the  present  as  well  as  to  learn 
the  truth  of  the  past/'  and  again,  "Amusing 
reading,  use  with  moderation.  *  ♦  ♦  Select, 
therefore,  for  amusement,  something  that 
amuses  you;  a  comic  almanac,  if  it  amuses 
you;  and  from  that  upward  to  the  thoughts 
Oi  Joubert  or  Pascal  or  Antonlus." 

An  exact  stenographic  report  of  a  con- 
versation with  Henry  Ward  Beecher  gives 
his  methods  of  reading,  with  probably  more 
sincerity  than  an  essay  would  have  done. 
"An  English  scientist  learned  a  language  in 
the  time  his  wife  kept  him  waiting  for  the 
completion  of  his  evening  toilettes,"  says 
Hamilton  W.  Mabie,  in  an  essay  following, 
"and  at  the  dinner  given  to  Mr.  Froude  in 
this  city  (New  York)  some  years  ago,  Mr. 
Beecher  said  that  he  had  read  through 
the  author's  brilliant,  but  somewhat  lengthy 
history  in  the  intervals  of  dinner." 

Appended  to  the  work  is  a  Book  Buyer's 
Guide,  a  list  of  nearly  3,000  volumes  based 
on  the  American  Library  Association's  se- 
lection for  the  model  library  exhibited  at 
the  Columbian  Exposition  at  Chicago  in 
1893.  A  Book  Record  leaves  space  for  mem- 
oranda on  useful  books  desired. 

The  book  as  a  whole  is  a  work  of  eminent 
value  to  cultured  people,  and  one  that  every 
lover  of  book-lore  should  read  and  profit  by. 

(Hints  for  Home  Reading,  edited  with 
an  introduction  by  Lyman  Abboct.  Charles 
L.  Bowman,  New  York.) 

IN  the  light  of  science  the  baby  was  dis- 
covered somewhat     later     than     the     tele- 
graph, and  it  was  on- 
ly in  the  present  de- 
Child  cade  that  the  young 
and  Scientist.             of    the    human    race 
began   to  assume  to 
the    systematic    stu- 
dent so  great  an  importance  as  the  larvae 
of  the  bee  or  ant.    So  it  is  not  strange  that 
Milicent  W.  Shinn  in  the  opening  chapter 
of  her  "Biography  of  a  Baby,"  explains  that 
her   book    is    one    among    a    meagre    half- 
dozen  similar  works  devoted  to  a  careful 
study  of  the  developing  traits  of  the  human 
child  from  the  day  of  his  first  awakening. 
The  baby  In  the  work  at  hand  is  not  the  soft 
heaven-sent  bundle  of  mother's   sentiment 
of  the  ordinary,  unclassified  infant.    In  fact, 
her  early  gestures  are  of  no  less  a  dignity 


than  evolutionary  manifestations  of  an  "on- 
togenic  series,"  while  even  her  most  heart- 
touching  goo-goo  is  merely  an  illustration 
of  the  early  use  of  gutterals.  Yes,  the  baby, 
as  seen  by  the  author,  is  indeed  a  matter  of 
great  seriousness,  with  a  trait  of  heredity 
or  development  manifested  in  her  every 
sound  and  action — and  such  she  should 
be  in  a  book  of  research,  whose  aim  is  the 
noble  one  of  throwing  light  on  the  ever-wo]i- 
derful  mystery  of  the  growing  soul  of  man. 

The  ontogenic  series  (quick  evolution  in 
growing  child-life  similar  to  that  through 
which  the  race  has  passed)  is  the  phenom- 
enon most  closely  watched  by  the  author; 
and  as  a  woman,  she  believes,  she  is  in  her 
proper  sphere  in  experimenting  along  vhis 
special  line.  "Probably  women  are  more 
skillful  than  men,"  she  says,  "in  quietly  fol- 
lowing the  course  of  the  child's  mind,  even 
leading  him  to  reveal  himself  without  at 
all  meddling  with  him  or  marring  his  sim- 
plicity. ♦  ♦  *  Any  one  who  has  not  good 
Judgment  will  find  plenty  of  ways  to  spoil 
a  child  more  potent  than  observing  him." 

Among  the  first  experiments  tried  on  the 
scientific  infant  are  strength  tests,  and  it 
is  found  that  the  grip  and  the  forearm 
of  a  child  but  a  few  hours  old  is  proportion- 
ately much  greater  than  that  of  a  grown 
man,  while  the  lower  part  of  the  body  is 
in  a  helpless  state  of  semi-paralysis.  The 
baby  is  at  this  stage  merely  an  automaton 
moved  entirely  by  refiex  actions.  "He  is  an 
automaton  in  the  sense  that  he  has  practi- 
cally neither  thought  nor  wish  nor  will; 
but  he  is  a  living,  conscious  automaton,  and 
that  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world." 
The  sense  of  touch  is  the  first  to  be  devel- 
oped, then  a  dim  sense  of  sight  and  hearing, 
with  taste  and  smell  much  slower  to  show 
themselves.  It  was  several  weeks  before 
touch  earned  anything  but  a  vague  response 
from  the  child  studied.  "The  first  smile  i 
could  consciously  record  occurred  a  day  be- 
fore the  baby  was  a  month  old,  and  it  was 
provoked  by  a  touch  of  a  finger  on  the  lip." 

Taste  and  smell  are  experimented  with  at 
great  length,  while  the  child  is  less  than  a 
month  old.  "Physiologists/'  the  author  ex- 
plains, "have  had  the  daring  to  make  care- 
ful test  of  smell  and  taste  in  the  new-born, 
putting  a  wee  drop  of  quinine,  sugar,  salt, 
or  acid  solution  on  the  babies'  tongues,  and 
strong  odors  to  their  nostrils,  and  have  been 
made  certain  by  the  resulting  behavior  that 


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the  senses  do  exist  from  the  first."  All  of 
which  would  go  to  prove  that  the  life  of  the 
scientific  baby  is  not  one  of  unmixed  Joy. 

Not  till  the  middle  of  the  fourth  month 
does  the  child  begin  to  appreciate  exterior 
objects,  and  it  is  shortly  after  this  that 
the  first  articulate  sounds  are  made.  "In 
the  early  weeks  of  the  fifth  month  she  (the 
baby)  would  begin  to  think  suddenly  of  her 
little  sounds,  and  dash  at  it,  bringing  it  out 
witn  a  comical  doubling  up  of  the  body." 

Thus,  through  the  first  twelve  months  of 
being,  is  the  thought-evolution  followed  care- 
fully step  by  step,  "and  so  the  story  of  the 
swift,  beautiful  year  is  ended,  and  our  wee, 
soft,  helpless  baby  had  become  this  darling 
thing,  beginning  to  toddle,  beginning  to 
talk,  full  of  a  wide-awake  baby  intelligence, 
and  rejoicing  in  her  mind  and  body." 

Did  I  say  that  the  book  was  lacking  in  sen- 
timent? Let  me  correct  myself.  The  book 
is  about  a  baby  and  it  is  written  by  a  woman. 

(The  Biography  of  a  Baby,  by  Milicent 
W,  Shinn.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston 
and  New  York. 

THAT  is  a  poor  war  which  does  not  make 
romance  as  well  as  history,  and  the  only 
wonder  is  that  our 
late  unpleasantness 
Romance  of  with  Spain  has  not 

Cuban  War.  done  more  for  the 

publishers  than  it 
has.  A  little  time 
for  prospective, 
however,  is  what  we  want;  meanwhile  an 
occasional  Cuban  romance  with  a  touch  of 
melodrama  and  a  spice  of  hairbreadth  ad- 
venture already  assails  the  market  to  please 
the  adventurous.  This  time  it  is  "Rita,"  by 
Laura  B.  Richards,  and  an  entertaining  little 
book  it  is  to  make  a  few  hours*  reading  for 
those  not  over-old  or  grave. 

Scene,  the  Spanish-American  war  in  Cuba. 
Senorita  Margarita  de  San  Real  Montfort, 
a  pampered  younger  daughter  of.  an  aristo- 
cratic Havanan,  becomes  possessed  of  a  ro- 
mantic, girlish  patriotism  which  prompts 
her  to  escape  from  her  luxuriant  surround- 
ings and  flee  to  the  mountains  to  join  the 
patriot  forces,  of  which  her  brother,  Don 
Carlos,  is  already  a  captain.  Hardship 
improves  the  character  of  the  rather  spoiled 
child.  A  romance  with  a  young  American 
leader  of  patriots  ends  the  story.  There  is 
a  liberal  sprinkling  of  Rough  Riders,  recon- 
centrados,   amigos,   guerrillas   and    Spanish 


soldiery  to  add  color  to  the  book.  The  au- 
thor's translation  of  the  stilted  Spani^ 
rhetoric  are  full  of  humor  and  realism. 

("Rita."  Bu  Laura  E.  Richards.  Dana, 
Estes  &  Co.,  Boston.) 

A   PATHETIC,   elfin,   grown-up    child   ro- 
mance is  "Snow  White;  or,  A  House  in  the 
Wood,"    by     Laura 
E.  Richards.     It  is 
Another  by  naively  told  in  her 

Laura  E.  Richards.  daintiest  style  and 

in  a  fairyland  set- 
ting which  well  ac- 
cords with  its  title. 
"Snow  White"  is  just  a  little  girl  who  runs 
away  into  the  woods  to  find  the  seven 
dwarfs  in  the  real  fairy  tale.  She  finds  a 
sure-enough  dwarf  who  lives  all  alone  in  the 
wood.  The  monster  proves  to  be  one  Mark 
Ellery,  who  has  been  jilted  by  the  mother 
of  Snow  White  and  has  resolved  to  live  and 
die  a  misogynist  among  the  forest  trees. 
The  dwarf  is  confronted  by  the  problem 
of  whether  he  shall  return  the  child  to  its 
parents,  but  he  weakens  into  keeping  her  in 
his  company  till  her  sweet  companionship 
has  somewhat  mitigated  the  bitterness  of 
his  life. 

Snow  White  is  a  real  child  a  great  deal 
of  the  time,  and  only  occasionally  does  her 
prattle  become  conscious  and  her  whim 
strained.  The  story  is  charming  and  recalls 
the  early  romance  of  Hawthorne. 

("Snow  White;  or.  The  House  in  the 
Wood."  By  Laura  E.  Richards.  Dana,  Estes 
&  Co.,  Boston.) 

A  TITLE  that  reminds  immediately  (and 
not  entirely  with  pleasure)  of  the  old  hick- 
ory  songs   of   Will 
Carleton  is  "Scenes 
The  Muse  of  Riley  of   My   Childhood," 

Invoked.  under      which      go 

a  half-hundred  lit- 
tle pastorals  by 
Charles  Elmer  Jen- 
ney.  Mr.  Jenney  has  invoked  the  nature- 
muse  of  Riley  in  the  collection,  and  not 
without  success,  for  his  meters  are  often 
pleasantly  musical  although  his  rhymes  and 
feet  are  at  times  beyond  my  comprehension. 
Commemorative  of  "The  Old  Oaken  Bucket," 
the  author  entitles  his  first  three  lyrics, 
respectively,  "The  Orchard,"  "The  Meadow" 
and  "The  Deep-Tangled  Wildwood."  "Pris- 
cilla"  is  a  pretty  tribute  to  the  Pilgrim 
Mothers,  and  "The  Bumble  Bee"  is 
sung   in   stanzas   not   unworthy   the    Muse. 


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THE  modern  player  like  the  modern  play- 
wiiter  is  responsible  for  many  responsible 
things.      The  manners, 
modes,  costumes  of  the 
Should  the  Player     present  generation  and 
Set  the  Pace?        of     other    generations, 
the     pronunciation     of 
words,  the  handling  of 
a  fan,  of  a  walking  stick,  of  a  sword, — ^these 
are  supposed  to  receive  their  proper  repre- 
sentation from  the     people  of     the     stage. 
From  its  favorite  actors  and  actresses  the 
general  public  takes  its  tip  on  the  lighter 
graces  and  elegances  of  life.    As  John  Drew 
or  Henry  Miller  wears  his  frock  coat,  so  do 
the  most  of  the  insecurely  fashionable  men 
about  the  towns  wear  theirs.    Miss  Manner- 
ing.  Miss  Nethersole,  Miss  Adams  can  set  a 
fashion   in   the   carrying  of  one's   handker- 
chief.     It  would  seem  that  the  player,  in  this 
particularity,  is  the  mentor  as  well  as  the 
mirror. 

And  now  comes  the  question.  Are  actors 
and  actresses  the  right  models  for  deport- 
ment and  dress,  not  to  forget  the  pronuncia- 
tion of  words?  As  a  general  thing.  No. 
While  it  is  true  that  to-day  there  are  more 
gentlemen  and  gentlewomen  (in  the  most  lib- 
eral sense  of  the  word,  please)  on  the  stage 
than  have  been  at  any  other  time  in  the 
world's  history;  that  good  girls  have  by 
consent  of  their  parents  left  good  homes  to 
take  up  the  histrionic  craft;  that  splendid 
fellows  fresh  from  college  and  of  good  blood 
and  breeding  have  elected  to  become  actors 
— yet  the  player  in  the  general  run  is  not 
the  best  human  token  of  civilization.  The 
players  amuse  us,  thrill  us,  annoy  us,  disgust 
us,  or  merely  please  us;  but  in  spite  of  all 
the  good  things  that  Henry  Irving  and  other 
eminent  actors  have  written  on  the  subject, 
the  player  has  yet  to  convince  us  that  he  has 
real  dignity.  Theoretically  his  craft  is  an  art, 
but  he  conspires  to  make  of  it  a  trade.  'Tis 
true  the  modern  player  is  almost  helpless 
without  the  aid  of  the  modern  press  agent. 
But  this  is  only  because  so  many  illustrious 
mummers  have  fallen  into  the  cheap  habit  of 
self-glorification.  An  absurd  notice  from  a 
gushing  critic,  a  picture  in  the  public  print 


and  their  heads  are  turned.  Then  follow 
the  painful  details  of  the  player's  private 
life.  You  have  read  them,  we  have  all  read 
them,  page  by  page,  until  the  sickness  of  the 
sea  is  nothing  by  comparison.  Writers  have 
recently  been  exploited  in  the  same  redicu- 
lous  fashion,  but  this  has  been  a  hindrance 
rather  than  a  help  to  the  world  of  letters. 
Does  it  really  matter  how  many  eggs  Rich- 
ard Mansfield  or  Rudyard  Kipling  or  Nat 
Goodwin  eats  for  breakfast?  Do  we  really 
care  whether  Ada  Rehan  wears  flannel  or 
silk?  Does  the  fact  that  Maude  Adams  is 
a  virtuous  American  girl  justify  a  few  soft- 
hearted and  softer-headed  critics  in  saying 
that  she  is  a  better  actress  than  Bernhardt? 
These  people  of^the  stage  live  in  another 
world  from  our  own.  We  make  their  sun- 
shine, their  rain,  their  clouds,  according  to 
our  applause  and  hisses.  And  even  in  as 
simple  a  matter  as  dress,  or  manner,  or  the 
pronunciation  of  a  word,  they  should  come 
to  us  rather  than  we  should  go  to  them, 
should  follow  rather  than  lead.  In  flattering 
the  mere  person  and  personality  of  the  player 
we  bid  fair  to  lose  his  art. 

IT  IS  Dr.  David  Starr  Jordan  whom  the 
West  is  fondest  of  quoting,  for  this   Poor 
Richard  of  the  present 
time   has   found    pause 
The  Egotism  enough  from  his  books 

of  Schoolmasters,  and  laboratories  to 
look  with  a  fairly  broad 
vision  upon  humanity 
itself  (a  study  often  considered  beneath 
notice  by  men  professionally  wise),  and 
from  his  observations  upon  the  philosophy 
of  life,  Stanford's  president  has  originated 
a  vast  number  of  saws  not  unworthy  the 
Philosopher  of  Philadelphia  himself.  Dr. 
Jordan  is  known  among  his  confreres  as  "a 
remarkably  broad"  scholar.  It  is  from  this 
man,  then,  if  from  any  of  his  profession,  that 
we  would  expect  to  hear  an  expression  of  the 
largest  views,  not  alone  on  zoology  and  the 
evolution  of  species,  but  upon  the  works  and 
character  of  men,  from  one  who,  profes- 
sedly, has  found  in  man  the  proper  study  of 
mankind. 
Now  what  are  we  to  say  of  scholars  and 


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their  ability  to  weigh  values  in  view  of  Dr. 
Jordan's  utterances  concerning  the  selection 
recently  made  of  illustrious  men  worthy  a 
seat  in  the  Temple  of  Fame?  Dr.  Jordan's 
opinion  was  substantially  as  follows:  "The 
name  of  Thomas  Edison  should  not  be  crys- 
tallized among  the  great  nam^s  of  America, 
because  Edison  is  not  essentially  a  great 
scientist.  Edison  is  rather  a  'popular  scien- 
tist' and  the  works  of  his  life  have  added 
very  little  to  the  exact  knowledge  of  the 
world." 

In  making  this  statement  Dr.  Jordan  spoke 
rather  as  a  pedagogue  than  as  a  man;  but 
to  the  layman's  mind  it  is  a  debatable  ques- 
tion whether  a  scientist  ever  lived  to  ac- 
complish any  work  comparable  with  the  in- 
ventions of  Edison.  It  is  questionable 
whether  even  Darwin,  whose  demonstration 
of  the  evolution  of  species  is  unsurpassed 
in  the  history  of  thought,  has  done  so  much 
for  the  race  as  Edison  has  done  in  the  in- 
vention of  the  electric  'light  alone.  But 
Edison's  name,  according  to  Dr.  Jordan,  is 
unworthy  of  remembrance,  because,  for- 
sooth, he  has  not  contributed  to  the  "exact 
science"  of  the  world!  That  same  world 
is  broad  enough  to  acknowledge  the  debt 
which  it  owes  to  schoolmasters;  then  why 
are  not  schoolmasters  broad  enough  to  ack- 
nowledge the  debt  they  owe  to  the  world? 

Not  so  long  ago  in  a  college  class-room  a 
lecturing  professor  said:  "We  scholars  are 
not  working  for  the  money  there  is  in  it, 
but  for  the  love  of  the  work  to  which  we 
are  called.  There  is  not,  I  dare  say,  a  pro- 
fessor in  this  University  but  what,  did  he 
care  to  cast  his  talents  upon  the  marts  of 
the  outside  world,  would  be  making  to- 
day a  salary  three  times  as  great  as  the  one 
his  present  profession  pays  him." 

The  good,  unworldly  gentleman  who  vent- 
ed this  utterance  was  receiving  a  comfort- 
ble  salary  of  some  |3,000  a  year,  by  common 
report,  and  there  was  a  good  share  of  sopho- 
moric  skepticism  at  the  time  as  to  his  boast- 
ed ability  as  a  wage  earner.  What  could 
this  particular  L.  L.  D.  have  done,  had  he 
been  cast  out  into  the  wide  world  with  all 
the  academic  gates  of  the  land  locked 
against  him?  Gould  he  have  turned  his 
talents  toward  journalism,  or  literature  or 
law,  or  medicine,  or  finance,  or  engineering, 
or  farming,  or  navigation  or  even  preaching 
at  a  salary  of  $9,000  a  year?  The  idea  is 
absurd.    This    particular    gentleman    could 


not  literally,  have  earned  his  salt  in  the 
strenuous  profession  of  journalism,  which 
requires  an  alert  world  knowledge  which 
the  savant  has  not;  nor  at  the  craft  of  trade, 
nor  the  professional  application  of  law,  med- 
icine or  engineering;  neither  had  he  the  ex- 
ecutive ability  necessary  to  farming  nor  the 
eloquence  by  which  the  pulpit  orator  con- 
vinces and  prospers. 

The  professor  is  a  child  of  the  cloister, 
and  to  the  cloister  he  is  doomed  and  des- 
tined. In  the  modern  ultra-specialization  of 
learning  one  must  spend  his  best  years  of 
self -thought  locked  away  from  the  clamor 
of  activity,  poring  over  the  books  that  are  to 
become  his  life.  His  ideas  of  the  world, 
then,  are  bound  to  be  more  or  less  out  of 
perspective,  his  view  narrowed  down  to  the 
limits  of  his  college  walls.  And  it  Is  but 
natural  that  he  should,  for  the  very  reason 
of  his  limited  view,  become  possessed  of 
that  egomania  common  to  all  classes  and 
tribes  shut  away  from  the  great,  pulsating 
world  outside.  As  a  recorder,  as  a  man  of 
figures  and  symbols,  the  schoolmaster  is  in- 
dispensable to  civilization,  but  by  no  manner 
of  means  is  he  all  of  civilization,  or  the  most 
important  factor  of  civilization  as  he  would 
have  us  believe.  Outside  the  cloister  are 
the  iron-masters  of  the  world  who  forge 
Destiny;  inside  are  the  secretaries  who  re- 
cord, but  seldom  act. 

WITH  the  opening  of  the  new  century  the 
world  has  been  "taking  stock"  in  all  of  its 
departments.       Editors 
have  listed  our  mechan- 
Only  One  for        ical  achievements,  from 
Ibsen  and  Wagner,  the  needle  threader  to 
the  airship;  our  famous 
manufactures  have  been 
exploited,  and  even  the 
authors  have  not  been  forgotten.    The  editor 
of  The  Outlook  gave  out  the  simple  question. 
What  ten  books  have  had  the  greatest  influ- 
ence on  the  nineteenth  century? 

And  President  Hall  of  Clark  University 
alone  mentioned  the  works  of  Wagner  and 
Ibsen.  This  difference  of  opinion  does  not 
tend  to  disturb  the  modern  notion  that  even 
critical  thought  has  become  specialized  and 
must  reflect  the  mind  of  a  specialist.  If 
music  and  drama  have  any  place  in  the 
achievements  of  the  nineteenth  century,  why 
should  but  one  of  six  critics  mention  Ibsen 
and  Wagner?  ^  ^ 

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Vol.  XXXVII 


February,    1901 


No, 


Francesca,    a    Tale    of    Fisherman's     Wharf. 


BY    JANS    VAN    DUSEN. 


rr-lHE  sat  on  the  end  of  a  stringer  and 
U-i   dangled  her  bare  feet  over  the  edge 

I  of  the  long,  ill-smelling  wharf,  watch- 
ing with  childish  interest  her  reflec- 
tion in  the  blue  waters  rippling  against 
the  piles  under  her. 

A  stiff  breeze  blew  in  through  the  Golden 
Gate,  sending  the  smaller  craft  scudding 
along  over  the  white-caps  that  bordered 
each  wave. 

The  wind  played  havoc  with  the  dust 
piles  and  loose  splinters  along  the  water 
front,  sending^  them  in  every  direction. 

It  blew  on  Francesca's  bare  brown  feet. 
It  tossed  her  long,  black  hair  about  her  face. 
The  salty  sting  of  it  brought  the  tears  into 
her  big  Italian  eyes. 

She  was  a  pretty  fifteen-year-old  girl,  this 
daughter  of  the  wharf.  Her  father  was 
Pepito,  one  of  the  fishermen  who  live  on 
the  edge  of  the  famous  North  Beach.    Down 


among  the  canneries  and  machine  shops,  and 
boat  building  yards,  they  live  and  find  life 
dull  if  the  wind  does  not  blow,  or  the  dust 
fly,  or  the  fish  smell. 

Pepito  with  many  others  moored  his  smack 
at  Fisherman's  wharf.  He  mended  his  net 
with  the  rest  of  them,  squatting  on  the  rough 
planks  and  sending  the  lively  shuttle  in  and 
out,  in  and  out,  to  the  tune  of  the  lapping 
waves  among  the  bobbing  boats. 

Francesca  was  his  eldest  child.  At  home 
was  a  brood  of  black-eyed,  dark-skinned 
youngsters  forever  clinging  to  their  mother's 
skirt  like  so  many  barnacles  on  some  good 
ship. 

Pepito's  wife  worked  in  the  cannery  some 
days;  some  days  she  did  scrubbing  to 
help  feed  the  hungry  flock  of  healthy  ap- 
petites. Pepito  was  not  to  be  depended  upon, 
for  most  of  his  earnings  went  for  bad  wine 
and  worse  entertainment. 

So  Francesca  spent  her  lazy  days  on  the 

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wharf  in  the  sun  watching  the  men  with  the 
boats  come  and  go.  Her  busy  days  were 
filled  with  the  cries  and  bickerings  of  her 
little  brothers  and  sisters,  and  the  odor  of 
garlic  and  fish,  for  she  was  nurse  and  cook 
while  mother  went  out  to  work. 

Down  at  the  wharf  was  a  swarthy,  devil- 
may-care  young  fisherman,  who  had  a  smack 
of  his  own.  He  was  a  desperate  character; 
quarrelsome  and  crafty,  a  man  to  be  feared. 
In  his  heart,  if  he  had  one,  lay  an  intense 
hatred  for  i'epito,  and  a  desire  for  Fran- 
cesca. 

Her  fearless  nature  held  an  attraction 
tlon  for  him,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  get 
her  even  if  he  must  steal  her. 

There  coursed  in  his  veins  some  of  the 
blood  of  the  banditti  of  Corsica,  just  enough 
to  make  of  him  a  vicious  man. 

Nothing  but  civilized  American  law, 
kept  him  from  breaking  loose.  Indeed,  he 
had  barely  escaped  imprisonment  on  more 
than  one  occasion  for  viciously  attacking 
his  enemies,  and  he  had  many. 

"Mind  your  sail  there,"  he  shouted  gruffly 
to  Pepito,  who  was  not  as  quick  as  he  used 
to  be. 

"Mind  your  business,"  was  the  reply  he 
got  for  his  trouble. 

"Holy  Mother!"  gasped  Francesca,  as  her 
father,  light  of  head,  nearly  toppled  over 
the  side  of  his  boat. 

Her  brief  anxiety  was  soon  dispatched, 
and  her  restless  thoughts  busy  with  some 
plan  to  help  her  to  escape  from  the  life 
she  led  at  home.  Her  sodden  father  contin- 
ually beating  and  growling.  The  squawk- 
ing babies  and  the  scolding  mother.  The 
idle  hours  spent  down  on  the  wharf  afforded 
plenty  of  opportunity  to  develop  the  restless 
longings  which  Francesca  was  beginning 
to  harbor.  She  wanted  to  be  oft  and  away, 
so  far  away! 

Pepito's  cursing  reached  her  girlish  ears. 
How  it  grated  on  the  woman's  soul,  awak- 
ing in  her  being.  She  was  tired  of  curses. 
Why  didn't  he  sing  sometimes? 

"Luis  sings  so  grand!"  thought  this 
budding  woman. 

"Bah!"  she  muttered  as  Pepito  swore  at 
Luis. 

The  boats  were  making  for  jthe  open  bay, 
and  she  wished  she  could  go  too. 

"Oh,  how  grand,  how  beautiful  to  get 
away!  Out  on  the  big  ocean;  to  see  the 
world;   and  never  another  baby  to  mind!" 


Oh!  she  held  her  breath  in  an  ecstacy  of 
anticipation. 

"Ah,  Luis,  Luis!"  she  called  to  her 
father's  enemy,  "take  me!  take  me!" 

He  ceased  his  pulling  at  the  sail  and 
turned  to  her.    His  boat  had  yet  to  pass  her. 

"Where  to,  Francesca?  Not  outside!"  he 
asked,  with  a  significant  grin  and  a  jerk 
of  his  grimy  thumb  out  towards  the  Heads. 

"Yes,  yes,  away  from  here,"  she  pleaded 
eagerly.     "O!    do  please    Francesca!" 

Her  father  saw  them  conversing  and  made 
for  a  nearer  place. 

"Get  off,  girl!  go  home!"  he  roared  shak- 
ing his  fist  at  them;  and  swore  to  Luis 
that  if  he  did  not  let  his  girl  alone  there 
would  be  one  fisherman  less  in  the  fieet. 

"Not  me,"  sneared  Luis,  and  he  pointed 
his  finger  at  .'epito  in  derision. 

"Grood,  good,"  then  v;hispered  Luis  to 
Francesca,  as  he  leaned  over  the  boat's  side 
and  she  holding  up  a  hawser  on  the  wharf 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"Sometime,"   he   said,   "will   you   come?" 

"When  do  you  come  in  again?"  she  asked. 

"Next  Friday.  Good  Friday.  No  nets 
to  mend  on  Sunday;  for  that's  Easter  day," 
he  added. 

"Piccola  is  confirmed  this  time,  Luis," 
she  told  him. 

"You  are  confirmed,  too?"  he  asked  her,  as 
his  boat  began  to  slip  away. 

"Yes,  last  year.  When  will  you  take  me?" 
and  she  ran  to  the  end  of  the  wharf  to  get 
his  answer  as  he  passed.  There  was  her 
father's  boat  bobbing  about. 

"Didn't  I  say  to  go?"  he  thundered. 
"Why  do  you  hang  around  here?  There  is 
no  good  to  come  to  you,  you  vixen,  go 
home!" 

Luis's  boat  came  alongside  and  he  had  just 
time  to  dodge  a  blow  from  Pepito's  muscu- 
lar and  horny  fist  swearing  revenge  as 
only  an  angry  Italian  in  his  native  tongue 
can  swear. 

"Ha!  ha!"  Luis  mocked  him,  and  kissed 
his  fingers  to  the  girl,  whose  black  eyes 
snapped  in  anger  at  Pepito.      • 

"Next  Sunday,  Francesca,  come  down," 
called  Luis. 

A  vigorous  nodding  of  the  head  was  her 
answer.  She  waved  her  hand  to  him  as  he 
went  sailing  away  toward  the  big  Pacific 
to  help  gather  the  Good  Friday  supply. 

"Holy  mother!  Fill  the  nets  and  bring 
them  back,"  she  breathed,  as  she  skipped 


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Luis. 


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662 


Overland  Monthly. 


along  the  wharf  on  her  way  to  the  miserahle 
tenement  she  knew  as  home,  where  the 
numerous  family  of  the  rough  Pepito  were 
crowded  into  three  squalid,  flshy-smelling 
room. 

"You  lazy  girl!  Been  dow::  to  the  wharf 
again,  eh!" 

It  was  her  mothr's  scolding  voice  that 
greeted  the  girl.  Just  another  link  It  made 
in  the  chain  that  was  driving  her  from  home. 

The  angry  woman  caught  Francesca  and 
beat  her  until  she  screamed  with  pain. 

"I'll  teach  you,  you  good  for  nothing!  Til 
show  you!  And  this  Holy  Week,  too!  Go! 
Gro  to  the  church  and  be  at  your  prayers, 
you  lazy  bones!  Down  there  with  that 
young  ruffian,  Luis!  go!" 

The  tired  and  over-worked  woman  poured 
forth  her  rage  in  cruel  vituperation  on  her 
child. 

She  turned  to  see  the  frightened  girl 
cowering  in  a  recess. 

"Go!"  she  shrieked,  pointing  with  a  venge- 
ful, grimy  finger.  "Go!  ask  on  your  knees 
the  good  Saint  Francis  to  pray  for  you. 
The  deviril  get  you  yet.  Yes,  you  and  Luis, 
too.    Bah!  Go!" 

Francesca  went.  With  a  child's  notion 
of  duty,  and  with  a  woman's  love  and  hatred 
in  her  young  heart,  she  climbed  the  stone 
steps  leading  into  Saint  Francis  church; 
a  venerable  pile  of  brick  and  masonry  not 
many  squares  from  the  County  Jail  and  close 
to  the  borders  of  Barbary  Coast. 

A  popular  boot-black  on  the  "coast" 
cocked  his  heaa  to  one  side  and  knowingly 
admired  the  dark  girl  as  she  went  slowly 
up  the  steps. 

Her  listless  manner  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  good  padre  who  knelt  reverently 
before    the  main  altar. 

He  knew  her  to  be  the  daughter  of  Pepito. 
As  she  knelt  before  the  shrine  of  the  Holy 
Mother  the  tears  were  coursing  down  her 
girlish  cheeks  and  her  heart  was  full  of  an- 
guish. She  wondered  why  her  mother 
was  so  cross.  Why  did  she  frown  so?  The 
Holy  Mother  never  frowned  so. 

But  Francesca  did  not  pray.  She  could 
not.  She  could  only  kneel  and  stare  before 
her.  Only  dream,  and  wonder,  and  sob. 
When  Francesca  put  on  her  shoes  and  the 
faded  hat  and  dress  to  go  to  the  church  she 
did  not  go  to  pray,  but  to  get  away  from 
her  angry  parent.  Her  mind  was  filled  with 
plans  to  find  a  way  out  of  the  strife.    She  was 


heartily  tired  of  the  noisy,  unkempt  babies 
and  kept  thinking  how  nice  it  would  be  to 
go  away,  out  on  the  big  water  and  never 
come  back  any  more.  And  Luis  had  said  he 
would  take  her.  Joy!  Joy  swelled  in  her 
heart.  It  was  almost  as  if  the  great  organ 
up  above  her  in  the  gallery  had  pealed  out 
the  glorious  Easter  hymn. 

Still  she  knelt  there  dutifully  enough,  even 
if  no  prayers  came  itno  her  heart.  Her 
eyes  rested  on  the  holy  vessels  and  bright 
candelabra.  They  even  searched  the  walls 
for  the  pictures  of  the  stations.  One  of  the 
crucifixion  impressed  her  most.  It  awed 
her;  and  unconsciously  she  breathed  the 
"Ave"  with   bent  head   and   beating  heart. 

When  Sunday  came  Francesca  ran  down 
to  the  wharf,  in  her  shoes,  her  faded  dress 
and  hat.  Luis  was  there,  with  his  sail  ready 
to  hoist,  when  she  should  jump  in. 

It  was  only  a  few  moments  and  they 
headed  for  the  other  side  of  the  bay. 

But  Pepito  had  spied  the  run-away,  and 
shouted  after  them  from  the  landing:  "Come 
back  here,  you  devils!"  he  called  angrily. 

In  his  rage  he  would  have  jumped  into  the 
water   had    not   his    companion    held    him. 

"To  the  boat!"  he  cried.  "Paul!  Gaetano! 
Help!  Catch  them!"  But  Luis  only  steered 
his  craft  the  steadier.  He  held  little  Fran- 
cesca close  to  him  as  he  grinned  defiance  at 
the  threatening  fishers  on  the  wharf. 

"My  boat,  Dio!  Cut  her  loose!  And  to-day 
Easter  Sunday!  Kill  him!"  Pepito  roared, 
brandishing  a  vicious  dirk  above  his  head. 
"Cut  out  his  heart!  Curse  him!  Here,  Gae- 
tano, cut  it!  cut  it!"  and  he  broke  the  knife 
in  his  wild  effort  to  cut  his  boat  loose. 

The  breeze  blew  briskly  and  the  dull 
clouds  hung  low  as  Luis  boat  made  good 
time  around  a  curve  of  the  seawall. 

And  more  good  luck  to  Luis,  for  Pepito's 
boat  capsized  and  Paul  and  Gaetano  must 
fish  out  the  old  man  for  he  was  full  of 
new  wine  and  light  in  the  head.  His  cele- 
bration began  the  previous  night. 

They  got  away  to  sea  out  of  sight. 
Francesca  so  young,  and  Luis,  well,  he  was 
young,  too,  but  a  Fury,  with  his  lowering 
brow,  his  dark  look. 

"You're  mine,  now,  Francesca,"  he  said, 
roughly,  knowing  full  well  the  girl  was  at 
his  mercy.  She  looked  up  at  him  fright- 
ened. "Yes,"  she  whispered,  "where  are 
we  going?     Out  to  the  Sunset  Sea,  Luis?" 


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Francesca:    A   Tale   of   Fisherman's   Wharf. 


663 


and  she  pointed  a  trembling  finger  to  the 
west. 

'*Sunset!  Bah!"  he  growled.  "We'll  go 
around    by    the    wharf    and    home    again." 

"Oh,  not  there,  not  there,"  she  pleaded. 

"No?  Where  then?  With  me?  Do  you 
mean  it?" 

Francesca  nodded  her  head  vehemently. 

"Not  if  I  know  myself,  and  this  a  holy 
day,"  he  said.  Then  added,  "We'll  get  mar- 
ried next  time,  Francesca,  when  Pepito  gets 


his  fierce  ways  and  dark  looks. 

They  returned  before  the  drenched  Pepito 
had  sufficiently  dried  out  to  make  his  way 
back  again.  Great  was  his  anger  at  behold- 
ing his  child  sitting  listlessly  staring  up  at 
the  speck  of  blue  sky  to  be  seen  from  the 
dingy  window. 

He  would  have  abused  her  roundly,  but 
she  slipped  away  and  went  again  to  the 
church  of  St.  Francis,  this  time  to  pray,  for 
she    was    thoroughly   frightened    by    Luis's 


"You're  mine  now,  Francesca,  he  said." 


straight.  He  don't  want  us  to,  but  he  must 
now.  Must!  Do  you  hear?"  he  hissed 
roughly. 

"Yes,  Luis."    She  was  meek  enough  now. 

"Don't  cry,  girl.  You  can't  back  out  now. 
I'll  kill  you  first." 

"No.  no,  I  will,  Luis.    I  will." 

"Not  a  word  then." 

"Not  a  word,"  she  answered,  frightened 
but  comforted  in  the  wild  hope  of  getting 
away  from  home,  from  the  fishy  smelling 
hovel,  even  if  it  were  to  come  to  Luis  with 


black  looks,  his  threats,  and  her  father's 
sodden  anger.  The  same  reverend  padre 
saw  her  again,  and  this  time  addressed  her. 
She  told  him  her  story,  omitting  how  cruel 
and  wicked  was  Luis.  She  was  afraid 
even  to  whisper  that. 

But  Luis  happened  to  call  on  the  same 
priest,  and  told  his  version  of  the  esca- 
pade. He  was  penitent.  O,  very!  He  beg- 
ged the  padre  to  marry  them.  But  the  priest 
had  opinions  of  his  own.  He  refused.  He 
told   Luis  the  girl  was  too  young.     "Wait, 


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He  mends  his  nets  with  the  rest  of  them, 
squatting  on  the  planks. 


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o 


Francesca:    A   Tale   of   Fisherman's   Wharf. 


my  son,  wait,"  he  said  in  his  earnest  way, 
"until    she    is   a   woman." 

To  the  same  priest  went  Pepito,  injured 
pride  in  his  voice,  revenge  in  his  manner, 
bad  wine  on  his  breath. 

"Yes,  signor,  they  must  marry.  It  is  bet- 
ter. We'll  see  to  it,"  said  the  good  priest, 
after  hearing  Pepito's  speech.  "But  keep 
your  counsel,  my  man,"  and  after  a  sound 
lecture  on  fresh  vintages,  he  bade  the  fiery 
Pepito  good-day. 

It  was  a  plain  case  and  he  would  do  his 
best  for  the  girl. 

"Ah,  ha,  Luis!  You  don't  think  I  will. 
rU  fix  you."  And  with  a  wicked  leer  on  his 
ugly  countenance  he  sauntered  down  to  the 
wharf  making  trouble  for  Luis  as  he  went. 

Francesca,  the  fragile  girl,  to  be  the  hu- 
man  sacrifice  of  two  blood-thirsty  men! 

Some  years  later.  A  massive,  black-whis- 
kered, swarthy  Italian  stands  behind  the 
zinc  counter  in  his  fish  stall.  He  takes  un- 
bounded pleasure  in  slicing  the  great  pink 
salmon  with  a  vicious-looking  knife  just 
taken  from  h^s  belt. 

In  a  little  stuffy  back  room  roll  two 
chubby  boys;  dark  eyed  Italians.  Unkempt 
they  are  and  busily  playing  with  a  pile  of 
mussel  and  oyster  shells.  These  are  the 
boys   of   Luis   and   EYancesca. 

To  this  did  she  escape:  a  hovel  back  of  the 
fish  market.  She  lives  as  she  has  ever  lived, 
a  miserable  existence,  and  yet  Luis  is  not 
all  bad.  He  loves  his  boys.  Francesca  is 
still  pretty,  but  not  over-clean. 

Luis  watches  her  as  she  places  a  lot  of 
crabs  and  lobsters  on  the  zinc  counter. 

He  leers  darkly  at  her  as  he  gives  his 
long  rubber  boots  a  pull  on  his  great  legs. 

"Mind  your  tongue,  FYancesca.  I'll  not 
have  that  Gaetano  here  when  I'm  away!" 

His  wife  only  nods  and  tries  not  to  hear 


the  rough  threat.  She  is  accustomed  to 
his  jealous  way;  still  she  knows  he  would 
not  care  overmuch  did  she  cease  to  breathe 
the  next  moment.  She  found  that  out  long, 
long  ago. 

Luis  growled  good-bye  to  his  boys  and  cuf- 
fed one  to  make  him  understand. 

"Holy  week  again!  Saints!  how  it  gets 
here.  And  no  nets  to  mend  next  Sunday," 
he  said  as  he  went  down  the  passage.  He 
turned  and  came  back  again  to  see  what 
Francesca  was  about.  No  stranger  being 
there,  he  went  away  again,  this  time  making 
the  mooring  place. 

Francesca  stood  in  the  back  room  and 
gazed  up  at  the  cloud-flecked  sky  through 
the  grimy  window. 

"How  stormy  it  gets,"  she  murmured. 
"God  fill  the  nets  and  bring  my  Luis  home 
again."  Then  she  went  to  the  front  of  the 
shop  to  watch  from  there  the  departure  of 
the  fleet,  and  not  the  least  to  her,  Luls's 
boat. 

Far  out  in  the  bay  it  bobbed,  and  up  and 
down  riding  each  wave  gracefully  as  a  gull. 
It's  brown  sail  filled  with  the  wind;  it 
looked  a  huge  moth  sailing  out,  out  into  the 
open  sea,  with  Luis's  red  shirt  making  a 
bright  speck  of  color  against  the  dull  green 
of  the  tide. 

Francesca  watched  until  it  was  a  mere 
speck,  then  blessed  herself  with  her  soiled 
and  neglected  hands. 

The  fresh  breeze  tossed  her  dark  hair 
loose  from  the  knot  on  the  nape  of  her  neck, 
and  blew  the  faded  shawl  from  her  shoul- 
ders. 

Unconsciously  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
him  as  she  did  on  that  day  so  long  ago, 
and  in  her  deep  eyes  shone  the  longing  that 
was  in  her. 

"Luis,"  whispered  the  lonely  woman, 
"Luis!     Take  me!" 


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1 600." 


By  HELEN    E.  WR  GHT. 


¥HE  afternoon  freight  train  was  creep- 
ing like  a  long  brown  centepede  up 
the  canyon,  and  Tom  Berryman,  the 
engineer,  leaned  from  the  cab  of  1600  to 
look  eagerly  up  the  track. 

On  the  side  next  the  river,  just  at  the 
mouth  of  the  snow  shed,  stood  Mary  Foster, 
the  teacher  of  Dunstan  District.  She  waved 
her  lunch  basket. 

"Flag  station?"  laughed  the  fireman,  and 
the  engineer  nodded.  He  reached  into  his 
pocket  and  drew  out  a  piece  of  waste  to 
wipe  the  well-worn  leather  seat;  then  he 
rubbed  his  grimy  hands  vigorously.  By  that 
time  the  engine  was  at  a  standstill,  and  the 
girl  climbed  up  beside  him. 

"1600  knows  when  to  stop,"  said  Tom  as 
he  released  the  air  brakes  again.  "She  was 
on  the  lookout  half  a  mile  below  the  school- 
house." 

The  little  teacher  laughed,  and  her  hand 
slipped  almost  unconsciously  down  beside 
the  seat  to  a  package  that  she  knew  would 
be  there.  She  fingered  it  lightly  without 
looking  that  way. 

"What  is  it,  Tom?"  she  asked.  "It's  too 
big  for  berries,  it's  oh,  Tom,  it's  peachesl 
I  smell  them ! "  She  drew  them  out  with  the 
delight  of  a  child,  her  cheeks  as  pink  as 
theirs,  with  pleasure.  The  engineer  watched 
her  as  he  began  to  eat  them,  and  there  was 
a  great  content  in  his  eyes. 

"Down  to  the  dance  last  night?"  he  asked 
presently. 

"Of  course!"  answered  the  girl,  "and who 
do  you  guess  was  there?    Ralph  Powers!" 

The  man's  face  darkened,  and  he  took  a 
long  look  up  the  track  before  answering. 

"So  he's  come  back,  has  he?"  he  asked 
slowly. 

"Yes,  he's  come  back  again,"  she  ans- 
wered, "and  he's  handsomer  than  ever! 
He's  working  for  some  big  firm  down  below; 
they've  given  him  two  weeks'  vacation." 


The  engineer  was  examining  the  brake- 
valve  thoughtfully.  "Took  you  home,  I  sup- 
pose?" he  interrogated  at  last. 

"Why — yes,"  answered  the  girl  a  little 
shyly. 

"Humph!"    said    Tom. 

They  rode  on  in  silence.  The  man's  keen 
eyes  narrowed  themselves  into  little  slits 
as  he  looked  along  the  shining  rails;  the 
girl  was  watching  the  snow-hooded  moun- 
tain top  beyond.  At  last  1600  gave  a  long, 
panting  breath  and  stopped.  Mary  started 
almost  guiltily,  put  the  peaches  on  the  seat, 
and  gathered  up  her  books. 

"Don't  you  want  'em?"  asked  the  engin- 
eer, with  a  surprised  nod  towards  the  fruit. 

"Oh,"  she  laughed  confusedly,  "I'd  for- 
gotten ! "  She  clambered  down  from  the  cab, 
and  the  man  watched  her  till  the  engine 
rounded  the  curve. 

"Hang  Ralph  Powers!"  he  said  aloud. 

"A  pretty  smooth  sort  of  a  chap,  isn't  hef '" 
queried  the  fireman. 

"Slippery  as  a  water  dog,"  answered  Tom. 
"A  bad  penny  if  there  ever  was  one  to  my 
notion." 

The  next  day  was  Saturday.  Sunday- 
came  and  went,  but  Monday  found  Berrsnnan 
on  the  lookout.  The  freight  engine  puffed 
aifd  panted,  preparing  to  stop,  but  there  waa 
no  waiting  figure  at  the  snow  shed.  Tom 
sighed  involuntarily  as  he  looked  towards  a 
little  brown  package  in  the  comer  of  the 
seat. 

"Guess  she's  lound  somethin'  sweeter  than 
candy,"  said  the  fireman  with  a  grin,  but  the 
engineer  was  silent. 

The  following  day  they  passed  the  snow- 
shed  as  before,  but  down  at  the  river,  on  a 
big  gray  rock  among  the  saxifrage,  sat  Mary 
Foster.  A  tall,  young  fellow  was  trimming 
her  hat  with  lilies.  The  engineer  set  hia 
teeth  hard.  A  box  of  black  raspberries  was 
waiting  in  the  comer  of  the  cab,  but  he 
slipped  them  quietly  out  of  the  window  inta 


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'1600." 


eer 


the  darkness  of  the  next  tunnel.  After  that 
there  were  no  more  packages. 

The  two  weeks  passed,  and  still  Ralph 
Powers  llngerea  In  the  mountains.  His  firm 
had  extended  the  time,  he  said.  Business 
was  dull,  and  there  was  really  no  need  of 
his  immediate  return. 

Tom  Berryman,  meeting  Mary  alone,  one 
evening,  was  stopped  by  the  shy,  glad  light 
in  her  eyes.  She  held  out  both  hands  to 
him. 

"I've  wanted  you,"  she  said  reproachfully. 
"You  never  stayed  away  so  long  before!" 

They  walked  on  a  little  in  silence.  The 
girl  was  twisting  her  handkerchief  ner- 
vously. 

"Tom,"  she  began  at  last,  "do  you  re- 
member when  I  was  a  tiny  girl,  and  you 
used  to  carry  me  because  I  got  too  tired  to 
walk?" 

The  man  nodded;  something  hurt  his 
throat  so  much  that  he  could  not  speak. 

"I  think  I  got  tired  on  purpose  some- 
times," she  went  on  musingly.  "You  always 
were  so  big  and  strong!  And  do  you  re- 
member how  you  used  to  do  my  sums  at 
school,  and  bring  me  bird's  eggs,  and  spruce 
gum,  and  Monkshood  flowers?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  man  huskily. 

"And  Tom,"  she  went  on  with  a  little 
laugh,  "when  you  got  on  the  road,  I  hated 
that  big  engine,  because  you  seemed  to  love 
it  most!  But  you  didn't;  you  were  my  big 
brother  just  the  same!" 

The  engineer's  face  was  very  white;  he 
opened  his  lips,  but  closed  them  again  reso- 
lutely. 

"I  never  had  to  tell  you  of  the  things  that 
made  me  glad,"  she  continued,  "because  you 
somehow  seemed  to  know.  Well — "  she 
went  on  hesitatingly,  "there's  something 
that  makes  me  very  glad  to-day," — her  voice 
was  almost  inaudible, — ^"and  I  guess  you 
know?"  She  smiled  up  archly  at  him,  but 
her  eyes  were  misty  with  happy  tears. 

The  man  turned  his  head  suddenly  away; 
his  face  worked  convulsively  for  a  moment, 
then  he  said,  steadily  enough,  "Yes,  little 
sister,  I  know." 

That  night  a  man  crept  into  the  cab  of  an 
idle  engine  in  the  round-house.  For  a  long 
time  he  crouched  silently  in  the  darkness, 
with  his  cheek  against  the  worn  leather 
seat;  then  he  rose  slowly  and  patted  the 
huge  iron  thing  as  he  would  a  dog. 

"I  think  you  and  I  will  have  to  make  our 


runs  alone,  1600,"  he  said. 

The  days  dragged  themselves  slowly  by. 
To  Tom  the  road  deemed  unendurable; 
every  bend  held  fast  a  memory.  From  this 
turn  he  could  catch  the  glimpse  of  the 
school-house.  There,  beside  that  black- 
an  armful  of  pentstemon.  Down  at  the 
river,  near  the  swinging  bridge,  was  the 
trunked  Douglas  fir,  she  was  seen  once  with 
very  gnarled  old  stump  that  she  used  to 
climb  and  wave  from,  when  he  first  got  his 
run, — and  Tunnel  13 — and  the  snow-shed. 
His  mind  went  wearily  over  it  all,  only  to 
begin  at  the  beginning  and  do  it  all  again. 

Even  the  great  throbbing  heart  of  160(^ 
seemed  to  feel  that  there  was  something 
wrong,  and  wheezed  and  panted  up  the  long 
grade  as  if  she  scarce  had  strength  or 
courage  to  draw  up  her  load. 

They  came  in  one  night  and  found  a 
group  of  men  in  the  roundhouse.  Tully» 
who  fired  on  the  regular,  was  talking  ex- 
citedly. Tom  would  have  passed  listlessly 
by,  but  Tully  had  seen  him.  "Hi,  Berry- 
man!"  he  called,  "here's  news!"  then  he 
stopped  awkwardly. 

Dave  Morton,  a  tall,  sandy-haired  messen- 
ger, slipped  his  arm  through  Tom's,  "Goin*^ 
up  town?"  he  asked  easily,  "come  along 
then." 

"You  remember,"  he  began  when  they 
were  alone,  "the  man  that  skipped  with  so 
much  cash  from  down  below?  Well, — he's 
in  these  parts,  it  seems;  takin'  mountain 
air  an'  rest  cure  for  his  nerves.  There's 
been  a  special  up  here  lookin'  round,  and 
h  '8  spotted  him  all  right.  It's—"  he 
coughed  uneasily,  "They  think  it's  Powers.'* 

"Powers!"  Tom  repeated  mechanically. 

"Yes,"  said  the  other  man,  "An'  the  ras- 
cal's hid.  There's  no  one  seen  him  for  the 
last  two  days  unless  it's  that  girl  Mary. 
But  he's  here  all  right,  an'  they'll  dig  him 
out  like  a  gopher  in  a  hole." 

Perhaps  he  said  other  things  beside,  but 
Tom  did  not  hear.  Half  an  hour  later  he 
was  hurrying  down  the  track.  A  hundred 
feet  from  town  he  branched  into  a  wood 
trail,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  at  the  gate 
ot  a  little  white  cottage. 

Mary  herself  opened  the  door  at  his  ^.^nock. 
She  seemed  scarce  a  shadow  of  herself,, 
taough  she  welcomed  him  in  her  usual  way. 

"Mother,"  she  said  to  a  woman  in  the 
next  room,  "it's  Tom,  and  we  are  going  on 
the  porch, — the  moon  is  so  bright!" 


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Once  outside,  the  restraint  was  gone,  and 
she  was  a  trembling,  helpless  girl. 

"Oh,  Tom,"  she  whispered  piteously,  "you 
know?"  and  unconsciously  he  answered  her 
as  he  had  done  once  before. 

"Yes,  little  sister,  I  know." 

Then  they  were  silent.  To  him  she  was 
the  child  again  that  he  had  loved  and  pro- 
tected so  long,  and  she — well,  she  was  a 
woman. 

"You  know  where  he  is?"  Tom  questioned 
at  last. 

"Yes,"  she  said  falteringly;  "up  in  the  ola 
jsmoke-house  on  the  ridge." 

"And  you  love  him — still?"  he  asked. 
His  voice  sounded  strange  and  deep. 

"Oh,  yes,  Grod  help  me,  yes!"  she  moaned. 

Tom  shook  her  roughly  from  him. 

"Then  we  must  work,  Mary,"  he  said. 
^'There's  not  a  moment  to  lose!" 

Two  hours  later  Mary  Foster  csune  in  and 
kissed  her  mother  good-night.  "We've  had 
a  long  talk,  Tom  and  I,  and  Tm  so  tired!" 
Bhe  said.  Her  face  was  radiant  with  con- 
tent 

Late  that  night  two  men  entered  the 
round-house,  Berryman,  the  engineer,  and 
a  tall  young  fireman  with  a  stained,  grimy 
face.  1600  had  been  getting  up  steam,  but 
the  watchman  was  sleepy. 

"Poor  devils!"  he  muttered,  "a  night  call 
down  the  road;"  and  he  opened  his  dinner 
pail  to  keep  awake. 

The  big  engine  pushed  her  way  slowly, 
majestically  out  into  the  air,  headed  for 
Everett.  The  fireman  seemed  ill  at  ease; 
his  smooth  slight  hands  grasped  the  heavy 
shovel  convulsively  and  let  it  go  again,  but 
the  engineer  was  very  calm. 

The  semaphore  showed  a  white  light, 
meaning  a  clear  track  ahead,  and  he  re- 
leased the  air  brakes  to  their  fullest.  The 
engine  gave  a  long  shudder  of  freedom  and 
sprang  forward. 

Just  then  there  was  a  cry.  A  man  on 
horseback  came  clattering  down  the  main 
street,  followed  by  a  mob  of  men  and  boys. 

"Stop  them!  Stop  them!"  he  yelled.  "It's 
Powers  you  idiots!  Ifs  Powers!"  but  the 
engine  was  under  way.  Straight  across  the 
yards  he  rode,  the  horse  panting,  and  stum- 
bling against  the  rails.  The  man  leaned  for- 
ward and  dug  in  his  spurs,  but  "1600"  was 


bounding  like  a  live  thing  on  before;   the 
throttle  valve  was  open  wide. 

Three  bullets  came  whistling  past  the  cab. 
The  fireman  crouched  in  a  moaning,  trem- 
bling heap  on  the  floor;  Tom  Berryman  sat 
erect  and  still.  A  fourth  shot  sang  like  an 
angry  wasp  in  their  ears,  and  a  fifth, — but 
the  song  of  the  fifth  was  suddenly  dulled. 
The  engineer  never  moved,  and — ^they  were 
running  alone  in  the  night. 

Far  below,  the  noisy,  rushing  river  frothed 
in  the  moonlight  like  beaten  cream;  above, 
beyond  the  ragged  outline  of  the  firs,  rose 
the  snow-hoodevi  mountain,  a  solemn,  silent- 
sentinal.  Again  and  again  three  long  pierc- 
ing whistles  told  the  sleeping  canyon  that 
the  engine  had  the  right  of  way. 

Ralph  Powers,  moved  by  some  sudden  im- 
pulse, leaned  forward  and  touched  the  en- 
gineer, then  sprang  backward  with  an  oath; 
his  hand  was  bathed  in  something  warm. 
He  looked  intently  at  the  man  opposite  him, 
and  saw  a  tiny  dark  stream  oozing  through 
his  fiannel  shirt. 

"Berryman!"  he  cried,  "Not  youV 

"Keep  still — curse  you!"  gasped  the  en- 
gineer, "leoo—ain't  doin'  this— for— you — 
it's  for  Jierr 

They  rushed  into  Everett  just  as  the  over- 
land passenger  train  was  starting.  A  sleepy 
porter  helped  on  a  tall  young  fellow  with  a 
stained  grimy  face  and  swung  up  behind 
him. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  station  agent 
climbed  into  the  cab  of  the  light  engine. 
"Berryman!"  he  called,  shaking  him  roughly 
by  the  shoulder,  "Berryman  wake  up  here! 
You're — my  Gk)d,  man!"  he  said,  bending 
closer.  But  the  engineer  looked  up  ahd 
smiled. 

"We — made  it — Mary" — he  said. 

It  was  nearly  daylight  when  he  moved 
again.  The  doctor  pressed  a  fiask  of  brandy 
to  his  lips,  but  there  was  no  recognition  in 
the  tired  eyes  that  opened. 

"You'd  better — fire  up,"  he  whispered, 
"It's  most  time — ^to  be  pulling  out!" 

The  sun  was  gilding  the  mountain  tops 
when  the  north-bound  express  whistled  for 
the  station.  The, dying  man  heard  it  and 
struggled  to  rise. 

"I'm  coming,"  he  called,  but  strong  arms 
were  holding  him,  "Let  me  go — ^boys,"  he 
said  feebly,  "It's— 1600." 


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WITH  WHIPS  AND  SCORNS. 


By  EDWARD  F.  CAHILL. 


HERE  ye  limb,  take  this  box  of 
paper  an*  if  ye  don't  bring  me  back 
fifty  cents  for  it  to-night.  I'll 
whale  ye  black  an'  blue."  So 
spoke  Shorty  Kilbride  to  his  offspring  Cecil, 
whom  his  playmates  were  wont  to  call  Sissy 
Kilbride,  because  of  his  slow  speech  and  in- 
trospective eyes  that  seemed  made  for 
tears  rather  than  lightning.  His  mother 
named  him  out  of  a  novel,  and  when  she 
died  of  the  sordid,  grinding  work  of  a  house- 
hold where  the  husband  did  ward  politics 
for  a  living  she  left  the  child  no  inheritance 
save  those  big  blue  eyes — those  eyes  which, 
in  the  mother  had  caught  the  brief  fancy 
of  Shorty  Kilbride  at  the  picnic  of  the 
Blooming  Ryesters — a  band  of  cheerful 
toughs  associated  for  politics  and  festivity. 
There  had  been  a  time  when  Shorty  Kil- 
bride could  swing  the  vote  of  the  club 
which  way  he  pleased,  and  then  money  had 
been  plenty,  but  like  many  a  better  man, 
he  could  uot  stand  prospertity.  The  Rye- 
sters soured  on  Shorty  partly  because  he 
had  taken  to  wearing  on  one  side  bf  his  head 
a  high  silk  hat,  which  they  called  "putting 
on  dog,"  but  chiefly  because  he  failed  to 
come  to  the  relief  of  Rubber-neck  Quinlan 
when  that  statesman  got  into  trouble.  When 
Mr.  Quinlan  got  out  of  jail  he  had  a  knife  as 
long  as  an  umbrella  for  Shorty — a  politcal 
and  social  knife — and  hence  these  tears. 
Somebody  had  to  suffer,  and  it  was  natural 
in  the  Kilbride  philosophy  that  the  weaker 
should  be  the  sufferer.  The  boy  was  in  the 
way — ^a  useless  expense.  It  was  time  he  did 
something  for  his  father.  Now  there  was 
that  old  fly-blown  box  of  stationery  that 
his  wife  had  left  behind  untouched.  Shorty 
Kilbride  had  little  use  for  stationery.  His 
clerical  accomplishments  reached  their 
highest  expression  when  he  had  mastered 
the  art  of  killing  a  vote  with  a  double  cross 
furtively  affixed  while  he  was  counting  the 
ballots  of  a  great  and  free  people. 

He  thrust  the  frowsy  box  in  the  boy's 
hand,  and  bade  him  get  out  and  sell  it, 
with  the  promise  of  a  beating  if  he  came 
back  without  the  money.  The  little  fellow  said 


nothing.  To  this  vague  and  childish  sense 
the  dominant  idea  of  a  father  gathered  from 
experience,  was  that  of  a  big  man  with  a  red 
face,  inflamed  with  liquor,  and  shouting 
curses  the  while  he  laid  a  biting,  hissing 
strap  on  the  child's  writhing  body.  The 
boy  gave  one  gulp,  and  tucked  the  box  un- 
der his  arm.  At  least  it  was  safer  out  of 
doors. 

To  peddle  stationery!  How  was  he  to  go 
about  it?  To  be  sure  there  was  Mrs.  Hub- 
bard— old  mother  Hubbard,  the  boys  called 
her — who  lived  across  the  way.  Possibly 
she  might  want  to  buy  a  box  of  assorted 
note  paper  adroned  with  a  gaudy  image  of 
a  crimson  gryphon — rampant  gules — claw- 
ing the  air  on  every  letter  head.  The  boy 
hardened  his  heart  and  stole  up  the  steps. 
He  rang  the  bell.  Presently  he  heard  the 
old  woman  come  shuffling  and  grumbling 
along  the  hallway  and  the  door  was  opened. 
Wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron,  a  towel 
around  her  head,  swaddled  in  an  old  wrap- 
per reminiscent  of  the  kitchen,  angry  and 
sour  of  visage,  she  gazed  at  the  boy  with- 
out a  word. 

"Please  *m  don't  you  want  to  buy  some 
paper?"  with  pleading  eyes  he  stood. 

"Ye  little  brat!  Maybe  ye  think  I've  got 
nuthin'  to  do  but  answer  the  bell  for  the 
likes  o'  you  an'  me  scrubbing  the  kitchen, 
cleaning  day  and  all.  G' wan ! "  and  she 
slammed  the  door  with  a  bang  that  sounded 
like  a  wooden  imprecation. 

The  boy  sat  down  on  the  steps  and  cried 
a  little  quietly  and  thought  of  the  beating 
in  store.  Then  it  came  to  him  that  it  was 
little  use  trying  to  sell  things  to  poor  peo- 
ple. He  would  go  to  some  of  the  fine 
houses  on  the  hill  where  folk  might  be  sup- 
posed to  live  who  could  afford  to  indulge 
in  note  paper  embellished  with  pictures  of 
a  red,  impossible  cat.  He  plucked  up  heart 
and  trudged  on  his  way  up  the  hill.  Yonder 
was  a  big  double  house  with  a  cast  iron 
stag  at  gaze  on  the  green  lawn.  Surely  the 
dwellers  in  an  abode  so  splendid  and  so  fine 
would  want  his  paper.  Timidly  he  opened 
the  gate  a  little  way  and  sidled  in  fright- 


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671 


ened  as  it  slammed  back  into  place  with 
a  bang.  He  stole  up  the  steps  and  rang. 
There  was  no  answer.  Would  he  go  away? 
He  was  a  trespasser  on  the  silent,  solemn 
precincts  of  the  high  and  mighty.  The  very 
balk  of  the  house  was  oppressive.  Noiseless- 
ly he  was  turning  to  slip  oiit  when  the  door 
vu  opened  sharply  by  a  maid  servant.  He 
tamed  again  with  a  guilty  look  and  then 
more  in  justification  of  his  intrusion  than 
from  any  hope  of  selling  his  stock  in  trade, 
he  held  up  his  box.  The  girl  broke  out 
resentfully. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  Didn't  you 
see  the  sign  'No  peddlers?'  Can't  you 
read?"  and  without  waiting  an  answer  to 
her  volleying  questions  the  door  came  to 
with  a  slam. 

Evidently  it  was  not  a  profitable  under- 
taJdng  to  bring  people  to  their  front  doors. 
He  would  try  the  rear  the  next  time.  He 
crossed  the  street  to  a  handsome  place  on 
the  other  side  of  the  way  and  slipped 
around  to  the  back  door.  A  big  dog  was 
lying  on  the  stoop.  The  brute  came  at  him 
.open  mouthed.  He  was  as  tall  as  the  child, 
I  and  the  vast,  red  cavern  of  jaws  yawned 
full  of  glistening,  horrid  teeth.  Cecil  ran 
acreanung.  A  stout  woman  came  out  on 
'the  stoop  and  stood  with  arms  akimbo — ^the 
Jag  with  two  handles — and  she  laughed, 
ft  was  a   good   joke. 

i  "He  won't  hurt  you,  boy — wouldn't  harm 
a  kitten,"  she  cackled  and  chuckled. 

How  should  the  boy  know  whether  the 
bnite  would  hurt  him  or  not.  If  those 
lleaming,  vicious  teeth  meant  anything 
they  meant  the  tearing  of  his  flesh.  The 
voman  called  off  the  dog  and  Cecil  slunk 
|«it,  too  much  frightened  to  say  a  word. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  boy  could 
^hick  up  courage  to  try  once  more.  It  was 
Pit  midday  now.  He  was  hungry.  It  was 
WfiBning  to  rain.  Then  he  saw  what 
teemed  to  his  childish  imagination  a  vision 
^  the  most  beautiful  and  the  grandest  lady 
^  all  the  world — so  fine  were  her  clothes 
ttd  so  gracious  her  aspect  as  she  stood 
taied  in  a  window  set  around  with  twisted 
T^Ma.  She  was  giving  orders  to  her  gar- 
^eoer  through  the  open  sash.  It  was  Mrs. 
I^iBk  Weldon,  whose  devotion  to  scientific 
{Parity  has  bona  sa  often  the  subject  of 
am  in  the  columns  of  an  enlightened 
that   appreciates  the  virtues  of  the 


wealthy.  The  boy  crept  up  in  some  degree 
encouraged  by  the  kindly  look  in  the  lady's 
eyes. 

"Please  'm — "  he  began,  holding  up  his 
frayed  and  tattered  box. 

**I  am  afraid  I  can't  encourage — "  inter- 
rupted Mrs,  Weldon,  and  then  broke  off,' 
hesitating  at  the  ungracious  word  "beg- 
gary." These  cases  must  be  dealt  with  on 
principle,  and  yet  the  mute  appeal  of  the 
boy's  confiding  eyes  was  hard  to  bear.  Ob- 
viously the  pretence  of  selling  frowsy  sta- 
tionery was  merely  a  form  of  beggary,  and 
the  encouragement  of  beggary,  she  had  been 
warned  by  Professor  GilfiUan  must  inevit- 
ably sap  the  manhood  of  a  nation.  The 
Professor's  lecture  had  been  delivered  at  an 
afternoon  tea  given  by  the  Amalgamated 
Society  of  Charitable  Effort,  concerning 
which  she  had  a  tiff  with  her  husband  only 
that  morning. 

*'I  missed  you  yesterday  afternoon,  dear. 
I  wanted  to  take  you  for  a  drive  in  the 
park,"  Frank  Weldon  had  said  to  her  at 
breakfast. 

"Yes,  dear,  I  was  at  the  tea  of  the  Amal- 
gamated Society. 

"The  Amalgamated  Society! — a  sort  of 
woman's  club  isn't  it?  Old  Gandercleugh 
at  the  Cosmos  calls  them  the  Crowing 
Hens." 

"I  wish  you  would  not  speak  of  women  in 
that   tone." 

"Well,  it  seems  to  me  a  very  short  time 
between  teas." 

"They  are  trying  to  do  good." 

"Good  for  whom?  For  the  secretary  and 
his  help?  I  regard  your  Society  as  an 
ingenious  device  for  converting  a  fad  into 
terms  of  salaries." 

"If  it  was  a  man's  society  or  club  where 
you  spend  the  time  drinking  and  gambling 
and  gossiping  it  would  be  all  right.  Tou 
show  in  your  true  colors  whenever  you 
hear  of  women  trying  to  do  anything  but 
look  pretty." 

"Not  that,  dear;  not  that.  When  a  man 
is  discovered  in  his  true  colors  by  his  wife 
or  his  friends,  you  may  be  sure  he  is  a 
most  unpleasant  sort  of  chromo." 

The  necessary  sequence  of  this  frank 
domestic  brutality  was  to  fasten  Mrs.  Wel- 
don's  intellectual  hold  on  Profesor  Gilfillan's 
principles.  She  must  not  be  one  to  assist 
in   pauperizing   a   nation.    She   took   up   a 


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Overland  Monthly. 


card  and  handed  it  to  the  boy  with  direc- 
tions to  present  it  to  the  Secretary  of  the 
Society.  He  would  inyestigate  and  make  a 
report.  Hastily  she  turned  away  fearful 
lest  her  heart  overcome  her  principles.  Mr. 
GilflUan's  warning  against  the  treachery  of 
the    emotions    had    been   most   impressive. 

The  boy  took  the  card  mechanically.  He 
did  not  quite  know  what  it  meant,  but  it 
was  clear  that  the  thing  would  not  buy 
whisky  for  his  father,  nor  would  it  save  his 
own  little  body  from  stripes.  His  heart 
was  heavy,  but  the  terrors  of  the  whistling 
trunk  strap  haunted  his  young  imagination. 
He  would  try  once  more.  Tucking  the 
wretched  box  under  his  ragged  jacket, 
where  the  rain  now  pouring  down  might 
not  damage  its  merchantable  qualities,  he 
trudged  along.  He  had  tried  the  rich  and 
he  had  tried  the  poor,  and  found  no  comfort 
in  either.  This  time  he  selected  an  every- 
day sort  of  house,  one  of  the  undistin- 
guished, everlasting  fiat-faced  order,  in  which 
people  who  are  not  anybody  in  particular 
may  be  supposed  to  dwell — the  sort  of 
house  that  looks  as  if  it  had  been  made 
by  machinery  at  so  much  a  dozen.  A  sharp 
featured  woman  answered  the  bell. 

"Want  to  sell  stationery,  eh?  Le'mme 
look  at  the  box." 

She  took  it  and  tossed  and  tumbled  the 
miserable  sheets,  and  turned  the  box  in- 
side out  while  the  boy  looked  on  fearfully, 
too  much  overawed  to  protest  against  this 
unkindly  handling  of  his  wares. 

"How  much  you  want  for  it?" 

"Fifty   cents    'm,   please." 

"Fifty  cents!"  she  screamed.  "Fifty 
cents  fer  that  thing!  I  ought  to  have  ye* 
arrested  an'  I  will  if  you  don't  git  out 
quick,"  and  she  chucked  him  the  box,  which 
he  failed  to  catch.  The  fluttering  sheets 
scattered.  The  boy  made  a  despairing  grab 
for  some  of  them,  but  it  was  useless:  On 
the  muddy  steps,  in  the  gutter,  everywhere 
tossed  by  the  gusty  wind,  smudged  by  the 
sooty  rain  lay  the  wreck  of  his  stock  in 
trade. 

Now  he  must  go  home  whatever  might 
befall.  He  was  wet  through  and  shivering. 
He  slouched  along  the  drabbled  streets,  his 
head   sunk   on   his   shoulders. 

Therefore  it  is  written  that  it  has  been 
from  the  beginning  and  so  it  shall  be  until 
the   end   that  the  weak   shall   grind   their 


faces  on  the  stony  breasts  of  the  blind  in- 
exorable city  whether  they  tread  the  prim- 
rose path  from  choice  or  by  necessity,  the 
via  dolorosa  tiiat  leads  to  despair,  learning 
with  bloody  sweat  the  lesson  of  the  bitter 
beatitude,  "Blessed  are  the  strong  for  none 
may  choose  whether  his  seed  fall  on  stony 
places  or  among  thorns  or  on  fruitful  ground 
to  return  an  hundred  fold,  his  lot  and  art 
and  part  in  life,  the  creature  of  an  idle  wind 
that  men  call  fate." 

It  was  growing  dark  and  Cecil  Kilbride 
was   nearly   home   now. 

As  he  passed  the  house  of  Kyran  Car- 
mod  y,  the  eminent  street  contractor,  the 
door  opened  and  a  flood  of  light  shone  out 
across  the  greasy  pavement.  The  comfort- 
able person  of  Mrs.  Carmody  fliled  most  of 
the  opening,  but  not  so  fully  as  to  confine 
the  seraphic  penetrating  odor  of  fried 
onions  that  gushed  forth  and  wrapped 
around  the  hungry,  shivering  lad  as  he 
hung  on  the  gate  wistfully. 

Mrs.  Carmody  looked  up  and  down  the 
streets.  Mr.  Carmody  was  something  ir- 
regular in  his  habits  albeit  as  his  wife  said 
a  good  provider.  Dinner  was  ready,  but 
where  was  the  man  to  eat  it?  The  boy 
almost  forgot  his  miseries  as  he  soaked  his 
sinces  in  the  grateful  smell  of  the  onions. 

"Here  me  b'ye,  what  you  doin'  there?" 
senses  in  the  grateful  smell  of  the  onions. 

"Nothin'  'm." 

"Run  up  to  the  corner  grocery  and  see 
if  Carmody's  there.  Tell  him  I'm  waiting 
an'  dinner's  ready." 

Cecil  soon  returned  with  the  news  that 
Carmody  had  not  been  at  the  comer  since 
the  forenoon.  Mrs.  Carmody  looked  the  boy 
over,  his  dripping  clothes  and  pinched 
cheeks. 

"Sure  its  the  Kilbride  b'ye,"  she  remarked 
reflectively,  and  then  went  on,  "Child  o' 
grace,  what  you  doin'  out  in  the  rain  and 
soppin'  wet,  too?  Come  in  an'  take  an  air 
o'  flre.  I'm  waltin'  for  Carmody.  Dhrunk 
again  I  guess.  Tain't  his  fault  d'ye  mind. 
Its  all  in  the  business,  and  he's  the  good 
man.  Set  down  an'  warm  yerself,  child. 
Shure  he's  perished  with  the  cowld.  Had 
your    supper    yet?" 

No,  Cecil  had  not  had  his  dinner  nor  his 
supper,  and  he  was  not  at  all  particular 
how  the  meal  might  be  called.  His  hungry 
little  stomach  ached  for  some  of  that  steak 


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673 


and  onions.  Mrs.  Oarmody  was  that  com- 
fortable sort  of  woman — ^may  their  tribe 
increase  and  their  patient,  sympathetic 
elbows  never  grow  weary — whose  heart  Is 
large  and  Indulgent  for  the  Inner  man,  its 
weaknesses.  Its  fallings  and  Its  wants. 
With  such  as  she  the  quality  of  pity  is  not 
strained,  and  finds  Its  first,  Instinctive  ex- 
pression In  meat  and  drink,  confident  In  Its 
anlversal  efficacy  whether  to  minister  to  a 
mind  diseased  or  ai  broken  leg,  with  a  beef- 
steak. She  caught  the  hungry  eyes  of  the 
child  fixed  on  the  sputtering  pan. 

"Shure  I  b'lieve  the  child  is  starved,"  and 
she  rattled  out  a  plate  and  heaped  It  with 
the  savory,  steaming  food.  "It's  no  use 
lettln'  the  good  mate  spile  an'  Garmody  not 
here  for  want  of  somebody  to  ate  It,"  and 
she  watched  the  famished  boy  as  she  went 
on  reflectively: 

"Maud  Kilbride's  b'ye.  Them's  her  eyes 
sure  enough,  an'  hain't  ye  got  none  to  look 
afther  ye?  B'yes  are  a  peck  o'  trouble,  an' 
shure  enough  I  wisht  I  had  wan  meself." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Mrs. 
Carmody  opened  it,  and  the  generous  pro- 
portions of  Policeman  Rafferty  stood  framed 
in  the   light. 

"Mrs.  Carmody,  your  service,  ma'am! 
You  hain't  seen  the  Kilbride  boy  around, 
have  ye?" 

"The  Kilbride  b'ye,  is  it?  Shure  he's 
here." 

"Hus's  s'  h,"  ejaculated  the  policeman  In 
a  loud   whisper. 

"The  Lord  betune  us  an'  harm!  What  is 
it   Mr.   Rafferty?" 


"His  father!"  he  whispered  again.  "He's 
dead,  or  as  good  as  dead." 

"Shure,  I  seen  him  alive  an'  dhrunk  not 
two  hours  ago." 

"Hush!  That's  It.  Smashed  by  a  trolley 
car." 

"Oh  Lord  save  us  an'  the  child!" 

"I  guess  I've  got  to  take  him  down  to  the 
hospital.    The    man's    dying." 

"May  the.  heavens  be  his  bed  if  he  was 
no  good.     I'll  go  down  wld  ye." 

"Sissy,"  she  said  to  the  boy,  "your 
father" — The  child  started  to  his  feet,  fear 
in  his  face. 

"I  must  go  home,"  he. said  with  a  shiver 
in  his  voice. 

"No,  come  wld  me  an'  Mr.  Rafferty.  Your 
father   is   hurted." 

The  boy  did  not  understand,  but  it  was 
his  habit  to  obey.  Mrs.  Carmody  bundled 
him  up  in  an  old  coat  that  Carmody  had 
discarded.  All  three  together  hurried 
down  to  the  hospital.  There  on  the  oper^ 
atlng  table  lay  Denis  Kilbride. 

"He's  gone',,  said  the  surgeon. 

It  was  some  time  before  Cecil  understood, 
and  then  he  tooK  the  rough,  hairy  hand  and 
burled  his  face  In  the  mud-stained  sleeve, 
weeping  with  a  sense  of  desolation. 

"He  was  all  the  father  I  had,"  he  sobbed. 

Mrs.  Carmody  tenderly  and  as  if  caress- 
ingly twisted  her  hand  in  the  boy's  rough 
shock  of  tumbled  hair,  and  she  said: 

"Come  home  wld  me,  me  b'ye,  and  I'll 
take  care  o'  ye." 

"GrOd  is  good  to  the  Irish,"  said  Policeman 
Rafferty. 


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The  Boys  of  "Sweet  Marie/' 


Cy    Warman    and    His    Boys. 


BY    ELIZABETH    VORE. 


"Every  daisy  in  the  dell 

Knows  my  secret,  knows  it  well — 
And  yet  I  dare  not  tell 

Sweet  Marie." 

It  was  very  funny,  and  a  smile  was*  irre- 
pressible, for  the  duett  was  rendered  in  a 
sweet  childish  treble — the  lusty  young 
voices  belonging  to  the  small  sons  of  "Sweet 
Marie"  herself  and  ilr.  Cy  Warman,  the 
author  of  the  song  which  touced  the  hearts 
of  several  milions  of  people. 

They  were  coming  down  the  steps  hand 
in  hand,  each  precocious  young  head  sur- 
mounted by  an  immense  hat,  evidently  bor- 
rowed boldly  from  the  hall  hat-rack,  and  the 
unmistakable  property  of  their  disting- 
uished father,  who  has  obliged  me  with  a 
snap-shot  of  them  as  they  looked  on  that 
occasion. 


When  one  has  met  "Sweet  Marie,"  the 
fair  young  wife  of  the  author,  one  cannot 
imagine  anyone  as  standing  greatly  in  awe 
of  her,  certainly  not  these  merry-faced 
youngsters,  who  impart  the  wonderful 
"secret"  of  their  love  to  her  a  dozen  times 
a  day.  And  it  only  takes  half  an  eye  to  see 
that  the  author  of  the  song  has  gotten 
bravely  over  his  own  bashfulness  in  this 
particular  direction.  Perhaps  the  daisies 
told  it,  or  a  little  bird  whispered  it — ^anyway 
it  is  a  patent  fact  to  everybody  fortunate 
enough  to  visit  this   charming  home. 

The  author  is  exceedingly  proud  of  his 
happy  trinity  of  boys,  the  youngest  quite  too 
small  to  be  reproduced  in  black  and  white. 

"They  take  up  a  good  deal  of  my  time," 
he  acknowledged,  "but  they  are  their 
mother's  life  work.     She  cares  nothing  for 


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Cy    Warman  and     His     Boys. 


675 


society  but  devotes  herself  entirely  to  her 
home  and  children." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  life  work,"  I  remarked, 
and  anyone  else  would  have  coincided  with 
me  in  this  opinion.  For  they  are  remark- 
ably handsome  little  lads,  combining  the 
glorious  eyes  of  "Sweet  Marie"  with  their 
father's   robust,    stalwart   physique. 

Mr.  Warman's  fame  began  with  the  publi- 
cation of  this  song.  For  some  years  he 
had  been  a  struggling  Western  writer  mak- 
ing his  home  In  Denver.  Charles  Dana  of 
the  New  York  Sun,  ever  on  the  lookout  for 
genius,  thought  he  had  discovered  it  in 
the  young  poet  of  the  West.  "Sweet  Ma- 
rie" was  first  published  in  the  Sun,  and 
▼hen  set  to  music  made  for  him  both  name 
and   independence. 

The  author  describes  his  feelings  while 
cashing  the  big  checks  that  fortune  so  un- 
expectedly thrust  upon  him. 

'The  cashier  was  humming  a  bar  of 
*Swe€t  Marie,'  "  said  he,  "while  he  pushed 
oyer  the  gold  pieces,  piling  them  up — heaps 
and  heaps  of  them — $75,000  in  gold — I 
laughed.    It  was  time  to  laugh,"  he  added. 

He  is  thoroughly  a  Western  man,  and  al- 
though, to  quote  his  own  words,  has  become 
the  "most  inveterate  globe-trotter  alive," 
his  heart  is  still  loyal  to  the  West.  "I  am 
glad  you  are  in  tl^e  West"  he  said,  "its 
people  are  my  people — their  hopes  are  as 
high  as  the  hills." 

Some  little  time  ago  Mr.  Warman  left  his 
home  in  the  West  to  reside  In  New  Tendon, 
a  picturesque  Canadian  town,  from  which 
he  runs  over  to  the  States  frequently. 
"There  are  several  reasons,"  said  he,  "why 
I  like  to  have  my  home  in  this  peaceful 
Canadian  town.  First  and  above  all  it  is 
my  wife's  girlhood  home.  She  is  happier 
here  than  anywhere  else,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing so  conducive  to  a  man's  happiness  as  a 
contented  wife.  The  climate  affords  four 
seasons,  and  I  like  change.  Again,  it  is 
but  a  short  journey  to  New  York,  Ottawa 
and  Chicago — it  Is  really  only  a  jump  to 
the  border.  So  I  am  still  under  the  shadow 
of  "the  Eagle's  wings." 


Cy  Warman. 

It  is  a  sunny  spot  in  which  this  cosmopol- 
itan story-writer  has  pitched  his  tent.  The 
house  planned  for  themselves,  is  all  nooks 
and  angles  with  broad  windows  in  every 
room  to  catch  the  sun.  There  is  a  large 
conservatory,  but  if  one  expects  to  find 
rare  exotics  blossoming  there  one  is  doomed 
to  disappointment,  for  it  was  built  expressly 
for  certain  hardy  plants  which  have  blos- 
somed out  in  diminutive  trousers  and  is  the 
winter  playground  of  Masters  Dana  and 
Bryan;  the  former  named  for  his  father's 
old  friend  of  the  Sun — the  latter  for  their 
friend  for  many  years,  the  "silver  king." 

Mr.  Warman  gives  us  little  poetry  in 
these  days,  he  has  been  so  phenominally 
successful  as  a  story  writer  that  almost 
his  entire  attention  has  been  turned  in  that 
direction.  Of  his  many  books  his  railroad 
stories  have  been  most  successful.  During 
the  last  five  years  he  has  traveled  in 
nearly  every  continent  on  the  globe,  but 
is  now  at  his  Canadian  home  getting  a  new 
book  ready  for  his  publishers.  His  resi- 
dence in  London,  Ontario,  has  given  him  a 
decided  English  appearance,  both  in  man- 
ner and  dress. 


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The  Princess  Ronhilda  and  the   Princess    Laluaba. 


By  WARDON  ALLAN  CURTIS. 


PRINCE  OLAF  was  coming  to  the  court 
of  King  Roderick  to  woo  the  Princess 
.  Ronhilda.  The  tribute  which  the 
Gothic  kings  of  the  Asturian  realms 
had  paid  to  the  Norse  sea  rovers  was  to  be 
paid  no  more,  and  all  harryings  of  the  shores 
were  to  cease.  When  the  Norse  had  first 
appeared  on  the  Spanish  coasts,  the  great- 
grandfather of  Roderick  had  boasted  that 
one  Goth  could  put  to  flight  two  Norse.  And 
now  one  Goth  was  to  conquer  all  of  the 
Norse  and  put  an  end  of  their  forays.  For 
four  generations  the  subjects  of  the  Astur- 
ian kingdom  had  warred  with  the  Vikings 
that  descended  from  out  the  Northland, 
with  but  ill  success.  The  Norse  had  not 
been  overcome,  but  the  boast  of  the  old  king 
was  not  thereby  proven  a  vain  one,  for  few 
of  the  Asturians  were  Goths.  Beyond  the 
royal  family,  the  nobility,  and  some  few 
thousand  men  at  arms — blonde  crowned  all 
— the  nation  was  of  swarthy  aboriginals, 
the  autochthonous  inhabitants  of  northern 
Spain. 

The  Princess  Ronhilda  was  the  most 
beautiful  princess  in  the  world.  So  said  the 
Asturian  prisoners  of  the  Norse  and  sang 
love  songs  in  praise  of  her  beauty,  songs  in 
which  breathed  the  warmth  and  fervor  of 


the  South,  and  the  Vikings  carried  back 
legends  of  her  beauty.  At  length  in  the 
wake  of  this  fame,  to  Drontheim  came  cap- 
tive Spanish  minstrels  who  sang  before 
Prince  Olaf,  and  their  hyperboles  and  sweet 
metaphors  inflamed  his  imagination  with 
love  for  the  unseen  queen  of  beauty.  So 
he  took  ship  and  from  the  Asturian  coast 
sent  inland  to  King  Roderick  to  arrange  a 
treaty  of  amity.  War  henceforth  was  to 
cease.  The  marriage  of  Ronhilda  and  Olaf 
was  to  seal  an  everlasting  peace.  King 
Roderick  rejoiced.  With  no  Norse  to  fight, 
he  could  hope  to  add  to  his  dominions  the 
neighboring  realms  of  Navarre  and  Galicia. 
The  heart  of  the  princess  swelled  with  pride. 
To  rule  the  dreaded  warriors  of  the  North, 
to  go  back  a  queen  to  the  lands  from  which 
her  race  had  poured  forth  generations  be- 
fore to  conquer  the  South,  stirred  all  the  love 
of  mystery  and  race  pride  within  her. 
Queen  over  a  nation  of  men,  not  a  little  pre- 
torian  guard  of  blonde  soldiers  holding  in 
order  a  horde  of  swarthy  serfs. 

The  Princess  Ronhilda  was  the  most 
beautiful  princess  in  the  world.  Tall  and  of 
heroic  mould,  divinely  fashioned,  yellow  of 
hair,  blue-eyed  and  with  skin  of  alabaster, 
the  Spaniards  sighed  their  hearts  out  when- 


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The  PrinceM  Ronhllda  and  the  Princess  Laluaba. 


677 


ever  they  beheld  her.  But  the  Goths,  be 
It  said,  gazed  more  warmly  at  the  black 
hair,  rayen-tressed  women  of  the  aboriginal 
races  and  one  after  another  of  the  great 
terrltorrial  lords  whom  Roderick  had  looked 
upon  as  possible  sons-in-law,  had  taken  to 
themselves  Spanish  wives.  Never  denied 
a  Goth  that  Ronhllda  was  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  world,  but  her  blonde  love- 
liness, her  magnificent  presence  stired  them 
not  More  often  did  they  gaze  at  her  maid 
servant,  the  Princess  Laluaba. 

Some  Berber  raiders,  creeping  across  the 
Sahara  to  the  rain-blessed  regions  beyond, 
had  seized  the  Princess  Laluaba  as  she  rode 
in  the  outskirts  of  the  capital  of  the  Follah- 
Jattons.  It  was  their  intent  to  hold  her  for 
a  ransom.  But  the  fierce  old  King,  her 
father,  disdaining  all  parley  with  them,  had 
slain  their  envoy  and  sent  an  army  after 
the  rest,  who  fled  back  across  the  Sahara 
to  the  Atlas.  There  the  Princess  Laluaba 
being  sold  as  a  slave,  passed  from  th^  hands 
of  one  slave  dealer  to  another,  across  the 
straits  of  Gibraltar,  through  Spain,  and  into 
the  possession  of  the  Princess  Ronhilda.  The 
Princess  Laluaba  was  no  negress.  She 
was  of  that  Strange  dark  nation  which  in  the 
dim  regions  of  the  Senegal  and  the  Niger 
preserves  the  religion,  the  architecture,  and 
even  the  race  of  old  dead  Egypt.  Not  finer 
formed  was  Ronhilda  herself  than  Laluaba, 
nor  taller  and  more  queenly.  Black  was 
Laluaba,  and  yet  not  black.  In  the  black  of 
her  skin  shone  a  wondrous  red,  such  as  one 
sees  when  the  crimson  beams  of  the  dying 
sun  fall  on  a  hanging  of  black  velvet.  Thick 
masses  of  black  hair  were  bound  in  a  knot 
behind  her  regal  head,  black  hair  that 
shone  with  a  blue  and  green  irides- 
cence. 

The  Princess  Ronhilda  pitied  her  slave 
and  was  fond  of  hearing  of  the  great  em- 
pire by  tbe  Niger  and  the  Senegal,  so  much 
vaster  than  the  little  kingdom  of  the  Astur- 
ias.  She  granted  every  indulgence,  every- 
thing except  freedom,  and  that  she  would 
not  grant,  for  Laluba  was  a  foil  to 
her  beauty,  as  the  setting  to  a  jewel.  How 
everyone  exclaimed  when  they  beheld  the 
Princess  Ronhilda  seated  on  her  throne  with 
Laluaba  standing  at  her  back.  More  bright- 
ly by  far  shone  the  Northern  beauty  of  Ron- 
hilda for  the  contrast  with  the  African 
beauty  of  Laluaba,  and  so  though  Ronhilda 
sometimes  wept  at  the  longing  of  her  slave 


for  her  native  land,  she  never  would  set 
her  free. 

Prince  Olaf  entered  the  audience  hall  of 
King  Roderick.  Blonde,  and  big  of  limb 
was  he.  Albeit  that  his  hair  was  of  so  pale  a 
yellow  that  it  was  almost  white  and  his  eyes 
the  blue  of  a  misty  sky,  he  was  yet  of  a 
goodly  and  comanding  presence.  At  the  end 
of  the  hall  sat  the  Princess  Ronhilda.  She 
wore  a  robe  of  silk,,  blue  as  a  sapphire. 
White  leather  incased  her  feet.  Jtcegal 
bands  of  silver  encircled  her  splendid  arms. 
Over  her  stately  shoulders  hung  a  robe  of 
snowy  ermine.  Where  was  there  such  a 
queen?  Nowhere,  unless  back  of  her  chair, 
where  stood  the  Princess  Laluaba.  Above 
a  dress  of  scarlet  silk  rose  Laluba's  dark 
shoulders.  Broad  bands  of  gold  gleamed 
against  the  crimson-black  of  her  great  arms, 
while  across  her  shoulder  hung  a  leopard's 
skin,  orange  with  ebon  spots. 

Prince  Olaf  gazed.  Now  his  pale  eyes 
fell  on  the  Princess  Ronhilda,  now  on  the 
Princess  Laluaba.  The  afternoon  sun  glim- 
mered softly  on  the  blue  and  silver  and 
white  and  the  blonde  hair  of  the  Princess 
Ronhilda,  but  it  seemed  like  the  noonday 
where  it  glittered  and  shone  on  the  gold 
and  crimson  and  the  iridescent  green  and 
blue  of  the  Princess  Laluaba.  The  prince 
.  gazed.  The  interpreter  stood  by  his  side, 
ready  to  convey  to  the  Princess  Ronhilda 
any  word  of  compliment,  but  never  a  word 
had  he  spoken  when  he  retired  from  the 
hall.  The  King  fumed,  but  the  Princess 
Ronhllda  was  calm  and  undisturbed. 

"He  was  too  much  dazzled  and  overcome 
by  my  beauty  to  be  able  to  speak,"  said  she. 

That  night  the  din  of  amis  thundered  in 
the  Palace  courtyara.  .  The  false  North- 
men were  upon  them,  the  treaty  of  mar- 
riage was  merely  a  treacherous  ruse  to  take 
them  unawares,  thundered  the  King  as  he 
marshalled  his  men.  But  wonder  sat  on 
his  countenance  when  the  dawn  broke. 
Nothing  had  been  taken,  no  one  had  been 
hurt,  everjrthing  was  as  it  had  been  the  day 
before.  Everything  but  the  Princess  La- 
luaba. She  had  been  carried  off  by  the 
Northmen. 

The  gales  of  winter  came  and  went,  and 
spring,  the  season  of  the  coming  of  the  birds 
from  the  South  and  the  Vikings  from  the 
North,  came,  and  with  it  the  birds,  but  not 
the   Northmen. 

"They  are  keeping  to  their  agreement  not 


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"Prince  Olaf  was  coming  to  the  court  of  King  Rodericlt  to 
woo  the  Princess  Ronhilda/' 


to  attack  us,  even  though  Olaf  hasn't  Ron- 
hilda/'   said   Roderick. 

Then  came  the  young  King  of  Portugal 
wooing.  He  was  tall  and  dark,  chestnut- 
haired,  hazel-eyed,  and  Ronhilda  felt  her 
heart  leap  out  to  him  the  moment  she  be- 
held his  dark  beauty.  How  much  hand- 
somer he  was  than  the  Norse  prince,  she 
said  to  herself. 

But  the  dream  of  going  back  to  rule  In 


the  ancestral  home  of  the  Goths  sat  upon 
her,  a  very  obsession,  and  she  sent  the 
handsome  Portuguese  away  and  awaited 
the  return  of  the  Northmen. 

Another  winter,  another  spring,  ana  "once 
more  Roderick's  castle  resounded  to  the  din 
of  arms.  It  was  the  Northmen  and  Ron- 
hilda found  herself  bound  over  the  sea  for 
Norway,  the  only  spoil  taken  from  her 
father's    kinkdom.     The    Vikings    accorded 


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The   Princess   Ronhilda  and   the   Princess   Laluaba. 


679 


her  every  royal  honor  and  she  treated  them 
graciously,  her  future  subjects.  It  was 
plain  that  Olaf  could  not  live  without  her 
and  had    sent  tor  her. 

The  bells  did  not  ring  and  there  was  no 
royal  welcome  as  she  entered  Drontheim 
harbor  and  the  guards  did  not  turn  out  as 
she  made  her  way  toward  the  habitation  of 
logs  that  was  the  royal  palace.  The  cus- 
tom of  the  country,  she  said  to  herself. 
Within  the  great  smoky  hall,  Olaf  sat  on  his 
throne  and  he  did  not  rise  to  greet  her 
when  she  entered.  As  she  stood  astonished, 
awaiting  this  courtesy,  she  saw  there  was 
another  throne  by  his  side  and  that  upon 
It  sat  a  woman,  a  woman  with  a  crown  of 
gold,  habited  in  scarlet  and  with  a  robe  of 
leopard  skin. 


So  now  thereafter  stooa  the  Princess  Ron- 
hilda in  blue  and  silver  and  ermine,  royal 
ermine,  behind  the  throne  of  Queen  Lalu- 
aba. There  were  blonde  maidens  enow  in 
Norway  but  none  that  so  foiled  the  beauty  of 
the  queen.  So  had  spoken  Olaf  and  therefore 
had  sent  his  men  once  more  to  Roderick's 
coasts.  Sometimes  the  queen  mingled  her 
tears  with  those  of  her  slave  when  tales  of 
Spain  were  told  and  every  indulgence  was 
granted   her,  everything  except  freedom. 

In  the  South  they  knew  of  it  and  the  young 
king  of  Portugal  meditated  an  invasion  of 
Norway  and  the  rescue  of  the  Princess 
Ronhilda,  but  his  subjects,  they  shivered 
when  they  thought  of  the  cold,  terrible 
wnds,  the  cold,  terrible  winter,  and  the 
Northmen. 


GREAT    SALT    LAKE. 


BY    MARIAN    WARNER   WILDMAN. 


So  Still  it  lies,  it  seems  a  pictured  dream, 
Left  over  from  an  unremembered  past; 
On  it  no  flying  clouds  their  shadows  cast, 

Nor  ripple  stirs  nor  hovYing  sea  gulls  scream. 


More  blue  it  Is  than  is  the  azure  sky 
That  bends  above  its  smooth,  upheaving  breast, 
And  far  across  its  waters,  to  the  west 

Dim,  purple  hills  along  the  distance  lie. 


Still  as  the  world  was  ere  it  felt  God's  breath, 
Mid  salt  grey  deserts  far  as  eye  can  see. 
It  sleeps  in  utter  lifeless  mystery. 

As  strange  and  bright  and  beautiful  as  Death. 


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3 
O 

O 


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A  Story  of  San  Juan  Capistrano. 


BY    HARRY    R.    P.    FC  RBES. 


\    I   /   HE   ruin   of   the   once-grand    mission 
J-M    of  San  Juan  Capistrano  was  to  be  re- 

I  stored  *to  the  Padres.  At  a  parish 
church,  Capistrano  had  been  a  fail- 
ure; the  broad  lands,  the  extensive  herds, 
the  thousands  of  Indian  proselytes  and  the 
wealth  of  the  mission  had  been  scattered — 
had  been  divided  and  had  passed  into  other 
hands.  There  was  nothing  left  of  the  grand- 
eur and  power  but  a  heap  of  magnificent 
ruins  and  a  handful  of  enthusiastic  believ- 
ers. These  men  rejoiced  that  even  the  tum- 
bled down  walls  of  grand  old  Capistrano 
were  to  be  returned  to  their  rightful  owners. 

It  was  in  the  year  1843  that  Governor 
Micheltorena  ordered  the  Mission  restored 
to  the  Padres.  A  call  was  made  to  the  In- 
dians to  once  again  gather  together  within 
the  sacred  grounds  and  join  in  giving 
thanks  to  the  Holy  One  for  His  goodness. 
Many  proved  their  love  and  devotion  to  the 
men  who  had  guided  them  in  the  past  by 
Joyfully  responding  to  the  call,  and  thus 
hundreds  of  dark  men  were  again  in  the 
quadrangle  of  San  Juan  Capistrano  to  hold 
a  camp-meeting  while  they  re-dedicated  the 
Slorious  old  Mission. 

To  these  men  it  was  as  a  whisper  from 
the  past,  and  with  fast  beating  hearts  many 
of  them,  as  well  as  the  gay  sefioritas,  had 
prepared  for  the  journey  to  Capistrano.  To 
Carina,  the  beautiful  half  Indian,  half  Span- 
ish girl,  it  seemed  the  event  of  her  life.  She 
had  been  raised  by  a  kind-hearted  couple 
who  thought  or  cared  for  little  else  aside 
from  the  Church  and  a  few  tortillas.  Her 
iTuardian,  the  good  duenna,  sat  nodding  in 
the  doorway  of  the  most  picturesque  of  all 
little  adobe  huts,  content  with  the  thought 
of  once  again  going  to  the  Mission,  and  this 
time  taking  Carina,  while  she,  pretty  maid- 
en, slyly  stole  through  the  waving  and  low- 
spreading  pepper  branches,  looking  for 
some  one. 

When  far  enough  away  from  the  hut  to  be 
sure  that  her  footsteps  would  not  arouse 
the  woman,  the  girl  ran.  She  hoped  to 
reach  the  turning  in  the  lane  before  her  ab- 
sence was  discovered  or  before  Benito,  her 


gay,  handsome  lover,  should  make  his  ap- 
pearance. 

The  turn  in  the  road  and  the  swaying 
branches  hid  her  from  view  as  she  was 
caught  in  the  open  arms  of  Benito,  who  had 
watched  her  coming.  A  low  cry  almost  be- 
trayed her,  but  the  sound  was  smothered  in 
kisses,  while  the  lovers  turned  down  the 
lane  and  made  good  their  escape.  "Oh,  Be- 
nito, I  have  such  news." 

"What,  mia  Carl»sima;  tell  me  quickly, 
will  you  go  now?" 

"No,  no,  no,  must  I  repeat  so  often?  But 
listen,  there  is  to  be  a  grand  camp  meeting 
at  San  Juan  Capistrano,  and  duenna  and  Pe- 
dro are  going.  Then  shall  I  go.  You  who 
scorn  the  Church  will  not  be  expected  to  go, 
and  then — do  you  see?" 

"Ah — yes,  sweet  one,  I  will  be  there,  and 
then  we  will  find  some  one  who  will  marry 
us." 

"Ah — no,  ah  no,  Benito;  though  I  love  you 
well  and  even  steal  these  meetings,  no  true 
marriage  can  be  between  unbelievers  and 


The  Bells  of  San  Juan  Capistrano. 

true  ones  of  the  Holy  Church.  I  have 
been  sworn  and  am  sworn  to  the  Holy 
Mother  Churcu,  and  you  must  come  to  the 
Church  to  get  me," 

"I  will,  I  will  come  to  San  Juan,"  he  said. 
Had  Carina  seen  the  look  m  his  handsome 
eyes  she  would  have  lost  faith  in  him. 

The  journey  to  Capistrano  was  hot  and 
dusty,  for  the  picturesque  old  Mission  lies 
in  the   basin   of  low,   barren  hills.    These 


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hills  were  once  a  mass  of  golden  grain  or 
vineyards  and  orchards,  while  the  entire 
landscape  was  flecked  with  thousands  of 
cattle;  everywhere  was  reflected  thrift  and 
industry.  Now,  alas,  there  were  nothing 
but  naked  tracts  of  ruggedness.  The  ter- 
rible earthquake  of  1812  transformed  the 
proudest  of  the  Spanish  missions  of  Cali- 
fornia into  a  pile  of  desolation. 
San  Juan  was  never  re-constructed;   but 


The  Inner  Garden. 

secularization  completed  the  awful  devas- 
tation. The  half  civilized  Indians  were  not 
in  a  condition  to  be  handed  over  to  parish 
priests.  They  needed  greater  care  and  more 
teaching  than  these  simple  vicars  were  will- 
ing or  able  to  give.  The  padres,  who  had 
journeyed  from  Spain  to  teach  the  love 
and  life  of  Christ  in  order  that  aboriginal 
man  might  be  brought  to  redemption, 
grieved  their  disappointed  hearts  out  to  find 
that  after  years  of  arduous  labor,  when 
every  acre  reflected  toU  and  success, 
their  cherished  herds  of  cattle,  acres  of 
land  and  thousands  of  neophites  should  be 
separated  and  divided  into  small  bands  with 
no  leader,  and  thus  allowed  to  return  to 
their  original  state.  Ten  years  had  effected 
the  complete  disorganization  and  retrogres- 
sion of  the  once  prosperous  Mission. 

The  spiritual  state  was  but  reflected  in 
the  debris  and  eloquent  ruins  that  occu- 
pied the  site  of  the  once  noble  ediflcio. 
The  original  structure,  with  its  graceful 
arches  and  lofty  towers,  was  begun  Feb- 
ruary 2,  1797,  and  on  the  seventh  of  Sep- 
tember, 1806,  Padre  Presidente  Tapis,  in 
the  presence  of  curious  Indians  and  a  few 
faithful  co-workers,  dedicated  with  solemn 
mass  the  splendid  temple  of  stone  and  mor- 
tar. 


It  is  a  grand  tribute  to  the  Indian  race 
that  a  building  of  such  grace  and  majesty- 
should  have  been  constructed  almost  entire- 
ly by  their  hands,  with  but  one  or  two 
Spanish  over-seers  and  instructors.  They 
learned  all  from  the  Padres.  Grand  teach- 
ers and  receptive  pupils. 

Across  the  naked  hills  where  the  scanty 
vegetation  could  not  hide  the  gullied,  water- 
worn  ridges,  there  now  and  then  arose 
clouds  of  dust  that  gave  a  softening  touch 
to  the  glaring  tones  that  were  reflected 
upon  these  barren  hills  by  the  noon-day's 
sun.  Each  dust  cloud  announced  another 
party  of  the  faithful  approaching,  and  to 
the  artistic  eye  of  the  Padres,  each  cloud 
mercifully  cast  a  veil  that  cheated  mother 
earth  of  her  severity,  and  through  half- 
closed  eyes  the  good  men  saw  a  fitting  back- 
ground for  the  tumbled  adobe  walls,  and  the 
beauty  of  the  picture  was  a  solace  to  their 
aching   hearts. 

The  cloisters  were  once  complete  and  the 
entrance  was  through  a  massive  gateway — 
now  the  quadrangle  was  but  a  heap  of  ruins 
wherein  a  brindled  calf  was  staked.    As  It 


The   Quadrangle. 

fretted  at  the  end  of  its  rope,  a  Padre  in 
pretense  of  preparing  for  the  coming  multi- 
tude led  the  significant  stranger  away  to 
other  pastures. 

Already  hundreds  had  arrived,  and  as 
the  shades  of  night  appeared,  preparations 
for  camping  were  in  active  progress  and  the 
desolate  quadrangle  became  a  scene  of  ac- 
tivity. Tepees  were  pitched  and  many  a 
bright  camp  fire  lightened  up  and  beautified 
the  ruined  walls.  Grave  Indians  and  gayer 
Mexicanos  met  in  harmony  on  mutual 
ground.  The  quaint  little  village  swarmed 
with  life  and  the  dark-eyed   sefioritas  and 


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A  Story  of  San  Juan  Capistrano. 


083 


bare-footed  children  added  beauty  and  inter- 
est to  the  long,  low  adobe  buildings. 

Benito  had  made  early  his  coming  and 
was  now  searching  for  his  friends,  Juan 
and  Tomas,  for  he  had  need  of  them.  Late 
in  the  waning  twilight  he  spied  coming  over 
the  soft  grey  hills  old  Pedro,  the  duenna 
and  the  charming  Carina.  Never  had  the 
girl  appeared  so  radiant,  so  beautii  i).  Her 
dark,  olive  skin  was  flushed  with  sunxlsses 
and  deepened  by  the  rich  red  scarf  that  was 
wound  around  her  head  and  shoulders,  re- 
vealing  her  throat  and  disclosing  the  rise 
and  fall  as  she  fearlessly  sang  aloud  the 
sacred  hymns  taught  her  by  the  casual 
visiting  padres.  The  campers  were  silenced 
by  the  sound  of  the  music.  She  knew  not 
that  her  voice  reached  out  on  the  evening 
air  until  all  listened. 

The  intensely  blue  sky,  the  departing  sun 
sunk  low  in  the  west,  the  soft  breeze  and 
the  deep  hush  that  had  followed  the  tumult, 
filled  the  quiet  hamlet  with  its  usual  air  of 
rest  and  repose.  Nearer  and  nearer  the 
rich  voice  came  until  the  words  fell  plainly 
upon  the  waiting  people,  when,  as  with 
one  accord,  they  rose  and  Joined  in  the 
evening  hymn.  So  lost  in  her  own  happi- 
ness and  in  the  delight  of  the  night.  Carina 
heeded  not  the  singing  throng,  but  advanced 
with  her  guardians  thinking  that  she  had 
arrived  just  in  time  for  the  evening  ves- 
pers. 


Down  in  the  village  Benito  had  watched 
the  girl's  approach  with  guarded  care,  and 
her  coming  impressed  him  more  than  he 
would    have    admitted. 

The  evening  was  spent  in  religious  cere- 
monies, chanting  and  song.  All  was  quiet; 
the  blue  sky  and  purple  hills  of  the  day  were 
turned  into  black,  and  all  the  rich  hues  were 
blotted  out  in  the  darkness.  Carina  sat 
watching  and  waiting  for  some  sign  that 
her  lover  was  near.  In  her  heart  she  had  no 
misgivings,  but  had  the  reposeful  feeling 
of  certainty  that  Benito  would  arrange  all 
matters   properly   and   that   their   marriage 


Ruins  of  the  Old  Chapel. 


More   Ruins. 

was  at  hand.  An  oriole  sang  near  her  tent. 
It  sang  and  sang,  but  always  the  same  note, 
sometimes  softly,  sometimes  almost  a 
scream.  Finally  she  smilingly  noticed  it, 
arose  and  passed  out. 

Duenna  had  felt  so  relieved  and  secure, 
now  that  the  ungodly  Benito  was  not  near. 
Carina  made  but  a  turn  outside  the  old 
ruins  when  the  handsome  Benito  threw  his 
serape  about  her,  slipped  his  arm  under- 
neath, and  her  joy  was  complete. 

"What  is  it,  Benito,  what  have  you  done?" 

"Ah,  sweetheart,  I  could  not  find  Juan  or 
Tomas,  and  I  have  done  naught  save  come 
to  kiss  you  and  again  say  that  I  love  you. 
I  will  find  some  one  to  marry  us,  my  darling, 
or  say  but  the  word  and  we  will  go  away 
without  it." 

Her  heart  fairly  stood  still.  After  all, 
was  old  duenna  right?  Carina  felt  no  more 
joy  that  evening  with  Benito  and  was  con- 
tent to  soon  seek  her  pallet.  She  was  quite 
weary  she  said,  herself  but  half  knowing  the 
cause  of  her  depression. 

The  day  had  been  fatiguing,  but  she  could 
not  sleep.  All  night  she  lay  watching  the 
stars  and  forming  spectres  form  the  shad- 


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OW8  that  were  cast  on  the  fallen  arches. 
Could  it  be  that  Benito  would  do  her 
wrong?  Then  she  must  be  true  to  herself. 
Only  once  more  would  she  meet  him  in 
secret,  and  then  she  would  tell  him,  she  re- 
she  resolved  before  she  slept. 

As  the  sun  rose  it  was  her  voice  that  led 
the  morning  song.  All  day  the  Indians 
rejoiced  that  glorious  San  Juan  Capistrano 
was  to  be  rebuilt,  rehabilitated,  recon- 
structed. Mass,  baptisms,  and  marriages 
were  performed.  The  bells  were  rung  and 
the  old  chapel  resounded  with  sweet  music. 
The  picturesque  cloisters  were  a  scene  to* 
be  remembered,  as  the  Indians  knelt  with 
upturned  faces  to  receive  the  blessings  of 
their  old  faithful  Padres  and  teachers. 

Evening  mass  attracted  all  the  villagers, 
for  it  had  become  known  that  handsome 
Benito's  sweetheart  was  the  singer  who  led 
the  assembled  choir. 

Benito  found  his  friends  and  arranged 
with  them  that  two  swift  ponies  should  be 
waiting  Just  outside  the  ruined  walls  of  the 
old   mission.     Grown  bolder  with  Carina's 


praises,  Benito  dared  to  Join  the  party  of 
happy  sefioritas  in  the  inner  garden  of  the 
mission,  and  when  twilight  mass  began  he 
stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  arch,  close  to 
Carina,  and  as  he  sang,  his  voice  blended 
with  hers  until  even  the  Padres  were 
struck  with  the  heavenly  music  that  the 
lovers   made. 

As  the  last  notes  died  away  and  the  soft 
breeze  swept  over  Carina's  cheek,  she 
looked  into  the  face  of  Benito  and  whis- 
pered, "Why,  Benito,  you  sang  the  words." 

"Yes,  mia  cariasima,  and  to-morrow  we  will 
publish  the  bans,"  he  said. 

Juan  and  Tomas  waited  long  for  Benito 
and  Carino,  for  they  knew  the  heart  of  the 
man  who  led  them.  They  learned  that 
Carina  had  won  only  when  the  bans  were 
announced  upon  the  following  morning. 

The  marriage  of  the  sweet  singer  was  the 
crowning  event  of  the  camp  meeting.  The 
bells  rang,  the  dusty  old  ruins  were  gay  with 
wild  blossoms,  and  blessings  were  freely 
offered  for  the  happiness  of  Carina,  and  for 
the  future  glory  of  San  Juan  Capistrano. 


D.     CUPID,     HACK    WRITER. 


BY   WALLACE    IRWIN. 

Little  Dan  Cupid,  write  me  a  verse — 

Listen,  for  I  would  have  fair  speech  with  thee- 
While  I  the  charms  o*  my  fair  rehearse, 

Write  me  a  valentine,  Cupid,  I  prithee. 

Tell  me  thy  price  for  a  flattering  line — 

Why  dost  thou  pout  so?  Answer  me,  stupid! — 

What  dost  thou  charge  for  a  valentine 

Unto  the  light  o'  my  heart,  Sir  Cupid? 

Pouted  unsmiling  the  baby  knave. 

Answered  full  surly,  nor  looked  my  way, 
'*  This  will  I  charge  if  I  write  thee  a  stave: 

Peace  o'  thy  heart  for  a  year  and  a  day." 


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BETTINA    THE    REDEMPTIONER. 


i 


BY   JEANNETTE    H.    WALWORTH. 


^1 


OHN  MOSBR,  having  breakfasted, 
looked  at  his  big  silver  watch;  hav- 
ing looked  at  his  big  silver  watch, 
he  unfolded  the  Pennsylvania  Mes- 
senger, which  had  bulged  out  his  side  coat 
pocket  while  he  ate;  having  unfolded  the 
Messenger  according  to  custom,  he  should 
have  remained  motionless  and  invisible 
behind  it  for  at  least  the  next  fifteen  min- 
utes. John  Moser  was  a  methodical  man, 
and  parceled  off  each  moment  of  the  twenty- 
four  hours  of  each  day  precisely  and  profit- 
ably. 

His  wife,  a  bustling,  red-cheeked  frau,  with 
sufficient  executive  ability  to  clear  off  the 
breakfast  table,  nurse  an  infant  from  Na- 
ture's fountain  and  keep  an  intelligent  eye 
upon  her  husband's  movement  simultane- 
ously, could  generally  tell  you  exactly  what 
John  would  be  about  at  any  given  moment  of 
the  fourteen  hundred  and  forty  which  went 
to  make  up  his  day. 

Therefore,  when  John  Moser,  almost  im- 
mediately after  opening  the  Messenger,  laid 
it  across  his  knee,  and  by  the  aid  of  his 
pen-knife  extracted  a  paragraph  from  its 
columns,  Mrs.  Moser  felt  warranted  in  ask- 
ing a  question: 

••Well,  what  is  it,  John?" 

•'Something  I  thought  Peter  Ormsby  might 
like  to  see.  It  might  help  him  out  of  one 
of  his  troubles." 

Mrs.  Moser  flattened  the  baby's  nose 
against  her  plump  breast  as  she  reached 
across  the  table  for  the  extended  paragraph. 

"Ah,  poor  Peter  Ormsby,  what  good  to 
be  helped  out  of  one  trouble  when  swarms 
of  black  pests  remain?  As  well  tell  him 
to  kill  one  mosquito  and  submit  to  be  stung 
by  the  rest  of  the  swarm." 

"Not  so,  not  so,"  her  husband  said  with 
asperity,  'this  may  lead  Peter  into  pleas- 
anter  paths.  Tou  have  not  read  it,"  he 
alanced  at  the  slip  in  his  wife's  hand.  She 
restored  it  to  him  with  a  blush. 

"Read  it  to  me,  John.  Tou  have  learned 
Baster  than  I  have.  If  there  is  pleasantness 
hi  it  for  Peter  I  should  like  to  hear  about  it. 
Poor  lad,  he  is  treading  but  a  thorny  path 
low." 

And  John  complied,  by  reading  the  ex- 
B»rpt  from  the  Messenger: 


••GERMANS. — ^We  are  now  offering  a  num- 
ber of  German  men  and  women  and  children 
Redemptioners.  They  can  be  seen  at  the 
Golden  Swan,'  kept  by  the  widow  Letznow. 
A  full  lot  of  schoolmasters,  artisans,  peas- 
ants, strong  and  healthy  laborers  of  all 
sorts.  Some  with  three  and  some  with  flve 
years  to  serve  in  payment  of  passage  money. 
Will  dispose  of  them  reasonably.  A  num- 
ber of  strong  women  and  young  girls  in  the 
lot" 

Mrs.  Moser  shook  her  head  dubiously. 
••I  don't  know  about  that,  John.  Tou  see  if 
Peter  was  by  himself " 

••Then  he  would  not  be  poor  Peter  Orms- 
by. It  is  being  saddled  with  that  hunch-back 
girl  that  makes  things  so  bad." 

••She  is  his  niece,  John  Moser.  He  is  all 
there  is  left  to  her.  Gott  in  Heimmel!  how 
those  Ormsbys  have  died  off  since  we  all 
started  together  from  old  Amsterdam,  as 
Jolly  a  crowd  as  ever  filled  an  emigrant 
ship!  Only  ten  years  and  now  look  at  poor 
Peter  Ormsby." 

•'Mother,  brother,  and  two  sisters  gone." 

"Leaving  a  grand  lot  of  household  stuff 
on  his  hands." 

••Mother  Ormsby  made  him  promise  never 
to  sell  the  feather  beds  they  brought  from 
the  old  country  with  them." 

••Nor  the  porcelain  stove." 

•'The  oak  chest  nor  the  pewter  dishes." 

'•And  that  grand  old  clock." 

"Oh,  Peter  is  well-to-do.  He  ought  to  get 
married." 

•'But  for  that  liunch-back  girl  he  might." 

•'He  ought  to  take  her  back  to  the  old 
country  where  she  has  two  aunta  on  the 
mother's  side.'.' 

••That  takes  money." 

•'Peter  Ormsby  had  more  than  any  man 
in  our  crowd  when  he  left  home." 

••He  has  put  every  dollar  of  his  life's  sav- 
ings into  Pennsylvania  coal  lands." 

••The   imbecile!" 

••Don't  be  too  hard  on  Peter,  Lena.  He  was 
ill-advised  by  those  rogueish  land  agents 
who  beguiled  us  all  from  our  homes." 

••We  have  not  done  so  badly,  John  Moser." 

••Peter  brought  over  with  him  a  sickly 
and  troublesome  family.  I  had  a  trade  to 
fall  back  upon  and — ^I  had  you." 


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Mrs.  Moser  smiled  her  appreciation  of 
this  tribute. 

"Ah,  well,  poor  Peter  Onnsby.  If  there 
is  any  comfort  to  be  extracted  out  of  one 
of  those  redemption  women  let  him  try  the 
experiment.  By  all  means  do  you  draw  his 
thoughts  that  way.  He  needs  some  sort  of 
womankind  to  look  after  things  While  he  is 
at  work.    Poor  Peter  Ormsby,  I  do  pity  him." 

John  Moser  reached  for  his  hat,  Which  al- 
ways hung  on  the  same  peg  behind  the  din- 
ing room  door.  "I  pity  him,  too,  and  I  shall 
go  by  his  house  and  show  him  this  advertise- 
ment. He  may  nbt  think  it  worth  a  thought" 

"Tell  him  I  say  it  is,"  said  Lena  with  fem- 
inine arrogance.  "But,  John,  he  must  see 
to  it  carefully  that  he  does  not  buy  one 
young  enough  to  scandalize  the  neighbors, 
nor  too  old  to  be  of  any  service." 

"Peter  Ormsby  is  not  a  fool." 

"He  is  a  man — ^a  handsome  one,  and  not 
an  old  one.  Three  things  which  make  for 
foolishness,  oohn  Moser." 

John  Moser  laughed  and  went  his  way. 
His  Lena  had  a  sharp  tongue.  There  was  no 
denying  that.  But  she  was  a  good  wife,  and 
he  was  a  happy  husband.  Poor  Peter 
Ormsby! 

He  found  Peter  Ormsby  giving  the  hunch- 
back girl  her  breakfast  in  bed.  Dirt  and 
desolation  reigned  where  spotless  clean- 
liness had  once  made  a  home  of  the  little 
cottage.  Ormsby  flung  out  his  hands  with 
a  gesture  of  despair.  His  blue  eyes  were 
full  of  gloom. 

"Ah,  Moser,  what  a  hovel  for  you  to  en- 
ter. A  mere  shelter  for  two  unfortunates. 
Why  could  not  Death  have  made  a  cleaner 
sweep  and  taken  the  child  and  me,  too? 
If  you  can  find  a  chair  with  nothing  on  it 
that  should  be  elsewhere,  sit  down  and  pres- 
ently we  will  smoke  a  pipe  together." 

"No,  I  did  not  come  to  sit  down  nor  to 
smoke.  I  stopped  by  to  show  you  this." 
He  handed  the  slip  to  Ormsby.  "Lena  says 
it  is  worth  looking  into." 

To  quote  Lena  as  endorsing  it  was  always 
to  give  a  proposition  its  strongest  possible 
backing.  John  Moser  turned  towards  the 
bed  with  a  big  red  apple  in  his  hand.  "And 
this  my  Lena  sends  to  Freeda." 

Peter  Ormsby  read  the  paragraph  over 
several  times,  rumpling  his  curly  hair  up 
the  wrong  way  in  his  abstraction.  Presently 
he  turned  his  perplexed  face  on  his  friend. 

"Perhaps  frau  Moser  is  right.    She  gener- 


ally is.  Things  cannot  go  on  this  way  much 
longer.  I  lose  a  Job  of  work  every  time 
Freeda  gets  so  that  I  cannot  leave  her. 
I  must  get  some  one  to  look  after  the  chUd 
and  this  hovel  while  I  am  at  work.  I  will 
look  into  this." 

"My  Lena  says  she  must  not  be  yoimg 
enough  to  scandalize  the  neighbors." 

"Nor  too  old  to  be  a  companion  to  my 
poor  little  Freeddr.*' 

"Lena  says  you  are  to  look  for  strength 
before  beauty."  And  then  Moser  went 
away. 

Having  concluded  that  it  was  worth  look- 
ing into,  Peter  Ormsby  directed  his  steps 
towards  the  Golden  Swan  that  very  morn- 
ing. He  hoped  the  widow  Letznow,  who  had 
these  redemptioners  on  exhibition  would  be 
good  enough  to  help  him  in  making  a  selec- 
tion. 

She  must  not  be  too  old  nor  too  young. 
He  should  rather  have  a  plain  one  than  a 
pretty  one.  She  must  be  strong  and  good- 
natured  above  all  things.  Above  aU  things 
good-natured,  for  Freeda  would  be  at  her 
mercy   all   the   time   he   was    at   work. 

As  he  neared  the  Race  street  wharf  he 
began  to  look  about  him  for  the  Golden 
Swan.  Ten  years  ago,  when  he  and  his 
friends,  the  Mosers,  and  his  family  of  five, 
had  found  it,  a  hungry,  laughing  group 
bent  on  making  the  best  of  their  strange 
surroundings,  they  had  liked  the  widow 
Letznow,  because  her  house  was  clean  and 
her  smile  a  welcome  in  a  strange  land. 

He  remembered  especially  how  clean  the 
front  entrance  had  looked  .  As  if  the  scrub 
woman  had  but  that  minute  gone  away  with 
her  suds  and  mop.  And  then  Peter  Ormsby 
laughed  aloud. 

"They're  at  it  yet." 

He  had  just  sighted  the  Golden  Swan. 
Some  one  was  down  on  her  knees  making 
the  entrance-way  shine  with  cleanliness. 
Peter  scrutinized  the  stooping  figure  as  he 
approached  it.  It  was  round  and  plump  and 
girlish.  The  scrubber  had  drawn  her  skirts 
away  from  her  ankles  with  a  fastidiousness 
not  common  to  the  average  chore  woman. 
Her  tucked  up  draperies  left  in  evidence  a 
neat  ankle  and  a  foot  to  match  it.  As  she 
plied  her  mop  with  spiteful  energy  two 
shining  braids  of  yellow  hair  swayed  about 
the  scrubber's  shoulders.  And  that  was  all 
that  Peter  could  see. 

But,  as  he  came  immediately  behind  her, 


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he  heard  sobs — ^hard,  choking  sobs.  There 
was  no  mlstaldng  them.  Were  not  his  own 
ears  attuned  to  all  sorrowful  Bounds? 

The  girl  was  in  trouble.  Perhaps  she, 
too,  had  buried  something  near  and  dear  to 
her,  since  reaching  this  great  bewildering, 
decelYing  America.  He  stopped  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps.  He  did  not  care  to  push  by 
her  in  search  of  the  widow  Letznow.  So  he 
spoke  very  gently: 

"My  poor  child,  you  are  in  trouble.  Can 
I  help  you  in  any  way?" 

The  stooping  figure  straightened  itself 
into  quite  a  commanding  height.  The  girl 
with  the  mop  faced  fiercely  toward  him, 
showing  a  pair  of  clear  gray  eyes,  glis- 
tening with  tears.  Something  in  Peter's 
face  checked  the  tart  words  trembling  on 
her  red,  ripe  lips.  The  gathering  tears  fell 
slowly  over  her  white  lawn  bodice  as  she 
sobbed  out: 

"In  trouble!  Of  course  I  am  in  trouble, 
trouble  that  will  never  end.  Does  any  one 
supposed  I  crossed  the  wide  ocean  Just  to 
scrub  an  old  woman's  front  steps  for  her? 
But  everybody  hates  me.  I  have  no  friends. 
My  last  and  only  friend  died  on  board  the 
ship  that  brought  me  to  this  terrible  Amer- 
ica. Oh,  if  he  could  only  have  lived  until 
I  got  used  to  this  unfriendly  country,  my 
uncle,  my  uncle!" 

She  spoke  to  him  as  he  had  to  her,  in  their 
own  language.  Peter  Ormsby  stood  aghast 
at  the  torrent  of  words  he  had  evoked. 
While  the  girl  was  sobbing  out  her  story  in 
a  perfect  abandon  of  grief  he  was  repeating 
to  himself  Lena  Moser's  warning:  ''She  must 
not  be  young  enough  to  scandalize  the  neigh- 
bors." 

He  had  himself  decided  that  his  redemp- 
tioner must  not  be  pretty. 

This  gray-eyed  Niobe  could  scarcely  be 
more  than  eighteen,  and  he  ws^  quite  sure 
emigrant  ship  had  never  imported  anything 
prettier.     • 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Letznow?"  he  asked,  al- 
most violently. 

Instead  of  answering  his  question  the  girl 
bounded  down  the  few  steps  that  separated 
them,  and  looked  into  his  face  searchingly. 

'Is  it  that  you  have  come  here  to  look 
for  a  redemptioner?" 

"Yes,  but " 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  appealed  to 
him  in  their  mother  tongue; 

"Then  take  me,  ah,  take  me.     Tou  look 


kind  and  patient.  Tou  are  sorry  for  me,  I 
see  it  in  your  eyes.  I  do  not  know  much 
but  I'll  learn.  Oh,  I  will  try  so  hard  to  learn 
the  things  you  want  me  to  learn.  I  never 
expected  to  come  to  this" — with  a  vicious 
shake  of  the  mop — "but  I  am  being  pun- 
ished. I  ran  away  because  they  wanted  to 
make  me  marry  a  man  I  hated.  Uncle  Hans 
thought  I  was  right.  He  told  me  I  might 
go  to  America  with  him,  and  be  his  little 
housekeeper,  and  he  was  to  pay  my  passage- 
for  n^e,  but  Uncle  Hans  died  on  shipboard, 
and  somebody  must  have  robbed  him  and 
cheated  me,  for  her  I  am  a  redemptioner 
doomed  to  work  five  years  for  that  monster 
of  a  ship's  captain.  And  then  because  I 
cry  people  get  tired  of  me  and  send  me 
back  here.  They  think  I  ought  to  know  every- 
thing, and  I  know  nothing,  excepting  that  I 
am  the  most  miserable  girl  on  earth.  Ah, 
you  have  so  kind  a  face  and  if  you  have  ever 
known  trouble " 

Peter  Ormsby  interrupted  her  with  a  bit- 
ter little  laugh.  "If  I  had  ever  known  trou- 
ble? I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  out  of 
it." 

"Then  you  should  know  how  to  feel  for 
a  broken-hearted  girl.  What  did  you  want 
your  redemptioner  to  do?  See,  I  know  it 
all  has  to  be  managed.  Tou  will  have  to 
see  the  captain  of  the  Wild  Duck,  and  he  wiU 
sell  my  time  to  yeu.  He  ought  not  to  sell  it 
at  a  very  high  figure,  for  I  am  such  a  good- 
for-nothing  redemptioner.  That  Is  what  two 
mistresses  have  told  me  that  I  am.  And  you 
will  make  out  indentures  and  I  will  sign 
them  saying  that  I,  Bettina  Grune,  go  to 
you  of  my  own  free  will  to  be  your  faithful 
bond-maiden  until  I  have  paid  you  back  all 
that  you  have  paid  the  captain.  Only," — 
she  smiled  shyly  up  into  his  kind  face, 
"before  I  sign  my  indentures  I  should  make 
sure  that  I  could  render  you  the  sort  of  ser- 
vice you  need.  I  should  not  like  to  make  a 
promise  to  any  one  that  I  could  not  keep." 

Mute,  flushed,  perplexed,  Peter  Ormsby 
stood  staring  down  into  the  upturned  plead- 
ing face  with  its  lovely  eyes  and  its  lips 
quivering  like  a  little  child's. 

"Say,  good  sir,  what  would  I  have  to  do?" 

"I   have    a   little   hunch-back   niece " 

"I  would  be  very  good  and  patient  with 
her." 

"And  a  house  that  has  gone  to  ruin  since 
all  my  womankind  have  left  me." 

"Dead?" 


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"AU  dead!" 

"Then  you  too  know  what  the  heart-ache 
means." 

"No  one  knows  better." 

"Well,  Peter  Ormsby!" 

Glancing  towards  an  open  window  behind 
Bettina,  Peter  saw  the  laughing  face  and 
heard  the  sharp  tongue  of  the  widow  LiCtz- 
now.  He  ran  up  the  steps  and  Into  the  house 
as  if  he  were  fleeing  from  some  overmaster- 
ing temptation.  Bettina  stood  Just  where 
he  had  left  her  twining  nervous  fingers  in 
and  out  of  her  yellow  plaits.  Drawing  the 
widow  backward  into  her  little  dining  room 
Ormsby  spoke  right  to  the  point  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  excited  voice: 

"I  want  you  to  help  me.  Tou  advertise 
a  lot  of  redemptioners.  I  want  a  strong, 
capable  woman.  Some  one  who  will  be  good 
to  my  little  Freeda  when  I  am  at  work." 

The  mistress  of  the  Golden  Swan  laughed. 
"Bettina  might  suit  you.  She  is  strong  and 
the  girl  does  not  lack  sense." 

"She  is  too  young." 

"And  then  she  is  a  shrew." 

"Ah,  no,  not  with  that  face.  She  is  un- 
happy." 

"So  am  I.  She  has  come  back  from  two 
places  already  where  she  was  sent  on  pro- 
bation. She  does  not  want  to  scrub  floors. 
What  do  you  think  of  that?  If  you  took 
Bettina  you  would  have  to  carpet  all  your 
floors  with  Brussels  because  she  would  not 
scrub  them.    A  good  Joke  that" 

Then  Peter  spoke  up  boldly,  but  the  flush 
did  not  leave  his  face. 

"I  want  her  for  my  little  Preeda.  Freeda 
must  have  some  one  not  too  old  to  sym- 
pathize with  her  childish  troubles.  What 
is  her  passage  money?  What  the  length  of 
her  Ume?" 

"The  captain  holds  her  stlflly.  You  see, 
she  is  young  and  strong.  She  should  have 
years  of  good  work  in  her.  Moreover,  Bet- 
tina Grune  is  handsome  and  looks  count  for 
something." 

"I  want  her  for  Freeda,"  Peter  repeated 
stubbornly.  "The  child  must  have  someone 
young  enough  to  be  companionable." 

The  widow  Letznow  smiled  broadly. 

"Yes,  of  course,  we  understand  that  per- 
fectly. You  want  her  for  Freeda.  The  cap- 
tain wants  fifty  pounds  for  her." 

"Fifty  pounds?" 

"Not  a  shilling  less." 


Peter  Ormsby  dropped  his  head  and  brood- 
ed. Fifty  pounds — ^two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars.  Where  was  it  to  come  from?  Sick- 
ness and  death  had  not  only  ravaged  his 
home — ^it  had  emptied  his  purse.  There 
were  those  senseless  Pennsylvania  barrens, 
acres  upon  acres  of  them.  But  who  would 
give  him  fifty  pounds  of  good  money  for  as 
many  acres  of  bad  land?  He  had  already 
learned  to  dread  the  smile  that  the  mention 
of  his  real  estate  evoked. 

But  he  still  had  faith  in  the  future  of  those 
same  unpromising  knobs  and  hillocks.  The 
point  was  to  find  some  moneyed  man  to  share 
that  faith.  He  fiung  his  head  back  almost 
defiantly.  The  widow  Letznow  halted  her 
clicking  knitting  needles  to  smile  into  his 
handsome  face. 

"Well,  Peter  Ormsby?" 

"Give  me  a  week,  half  a  week,  three  days. 
I  think  I  can— I  will  get  the  money  by  that 
time.  I  must  get  it.  You  see  Bettina  would 
exactly   suit  Freeda." 

The  widow  gave  him  a  level  glance  over 
her  glasses. 

"Yes,  Bettina  would  suit  Freeda  exactly. 
You  will  find  her  here.  It  is  not  likely  she 
will  be  snapped  up.  She  is  not  the  sort  to 
go  off  well.  Women  do  not  know  how  to 
treat  her.  There  is  a  lamb  and  a  Hon,  a 
shrew  and  a  saint  all  rolled  into  one  in  that 
girl." 

^  Peter  laughed  aloud.  It  must  have  been 
that  his  heart  was  lightened  by  finding 
some  one  who  would  suit  Freeda.  "I'll  take 
the  four  in  a  lump  for  fifty  pounds." 

When  he  got  outside  he  found  Bettina  Just 
where  he  had  left  her.  She  turned  wistful 
eyes  on  him  as  he  came  down  the  steps.  He 
took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  between  both 
his  own. 

"My  child,  I  am  going  to  fetch  the  money 
for  your  passage.  You  are  going  to  become 
my  own  little  redemptloner.  That  is,  you 
are  going  to  take  charge  of  Freeda  for  me. 
I  may  not  be  back  tomorrow,  nor  the  next 
day.  Perhaps  not  for  a  whole  week.  But 
I  will  cQme.  Do  you  believe  that  I  will  keep 
my  word?" 

"I  believe  in  you  and  I  will  wait  for  you. 
You  look  kind  and  true.  They  shall  not  sell 
my  time  to  anybody  else.  They  call  me  a 
shrew.  I  will  show  them  that  I  can  be  one 
If  they  try  to  make  me  take  another  mas- 
ter. But  I  will  be  good  to  the  little  hunch- 
back.  Indeed   I  wlU." 


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Bettlna,  the  Redemptloner. 


Peter  dropped  her  hands  and  walked  has- 
tily away.  He  was  anxious  to  find  a  pur- 
chaser for  those  lands.  Freeda  needed  Bet- 
tina. 

Not  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  the  next 
could  he  find  in  all  the  goodly  city  of  broth- 
erly love  one  business  man  "fool  enough" 
to  take  any  of  his  knobs  and  hillocks  as 
security  for  hard  cash.  But  finally  the  one 
wise  man  was  found,  and  Peter  made  happy. 

It  was  in  Mrs.  Letznow's  little  parlor  that 
he  and  Bettlna  met  for  the  second  time. 

"I  haye  come/'  he  said. 

"I  knew  you  would,"  she  said. 

"And  I  have  brought  your  indenture  with 
me.    Shall  I  read  it  to  you?" 

"It  would  be  tiresome  and  would  do  no 
good.  I  am « not  afraid  you  will  make  me 
serve  over  my  five  years.  Tell  me  where  to 
sign  my  name.    That  is  all  I  have  to  do." 

"But  I  insist  upon  you  hearing  it." 

She  looked  at  him  sadly.  "Very  well, 
then,  if  I  must  listen.  I  know  it  will  call 
yon  my  master  and  me  your  servant.  It 
sounds  ugly  and  I  did  not  want  to  hear  it, 
but  my  master  has  a  right  to  command." 

"It  ci^n  wait  until  we  can  get  home," 
said  Peter  very  gently.  "And  then,  Bettlna, 
if  you  do  not  like  the  sound  of  it  you  shall 
not  sign  it." 

"That  is  only  fair.  I  should  like  to  see 
Freeda  first.  If  she  does  not  like  me,  I  will 
not  sign  it." 

When  Peter  Ormsby  showed  Bettlna  into 
his  little  parlor  it  looked  as  If  the  good 
fairies  had  been  at  work  upon  it.  Freeda 
was  dressed  in  festive  white,  and  the  Mosers 
were  on  hand.  Also,  the  old  white-haired 
minister,  who  had  entered  the  Ormsby  cot- 
tage only  on  sad  errands  heretofore.  Bet- 
tlna looked  startled  at  the  array  of  strange 
faces  and  curious  eyes  confronting  her. 
She  turned  to  Peter  with  trembling  fear. 

"The  indenture  now,  my  master.  I  am 
ready  to  sign  it." 

The  old  Lutheran  priest  stepped  forward 
with  the  momentous  paper  in  his  hand  and 
read  sonorously: 

"This  indenture  bearing  date  the  six- 
teenth day  of  July,  Anno  Domini,  one  thou- 
sand eight  hundred  and  seventeen,  in  the 
dty  of  Philadelphia,  SUte  of  Pennsylvania, 
Witnesseth,  that  Bettlna  Qrune,  of  her  own 
free  will,  hath  bound  herself  servant  to 
Peter  Ormsby  of  the  same  city,  in  considera- 


tion of  the  sum  of  fifty  pounds,  to  be  paid 
to  Captain  Franz  Briel,  of  the  good  ship 
Wild  Duck,  in  compensation  for  the  passage 
of  the  said  Bettlna  Grune.  The  said  Bettina 
doth  bind  herself  unto  the  said  Peter  Orms- 
by for  the  term  of " 

"Wait!" 

Peter  stepped  forward,  seized  the  inden- 
ture, made  an  erasure  and  an  insertion,  and 
held  It  before  Bettina's  eyes  with  his  own 
hand. 

"Bettina,  will  you  sign  it  of  your  own 
accord  and  free  will  with  those  alterations 
in  it?" 

Bettina  glanced  at  the  paper,  blushed  and 
dropped  her  eyes. 

"Say,  my  dear  one,  will  you  sign  it,  now 
that  I  have  written  'wife*  for  'servant,'  and 
made  the  terms  for  life?" 

And  Bettlna,  lifting  clear  trusting  eyes 
to  his  said  firmly: 

"Of  my  own  free  glad  will." 

It  was  in  the  handsomely  equipped  dining 
room  of  some  dear  Philadelphia  friends,  a 
year  or  two  ago  that  this  true  story  was  told 
me. 

I  found  my  fascinated  gaze  turning  again 
and  again  toward  the  portrait  of  a  very  beau- 
tiful woman  dressed  richly  and  heavily 
bejeweled  after  the  fashion  of  a  by-gone 
day. 

"And  that  beautiful  dame  with  the  snowy 
neck  and  the  priceless  pearls?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  that  is  Mrs.  Peter  Ormsby's  portrait. 
When  her  husband's  barren  lands  developed 
into  the  richest  coal  fields  in  the  State  of 
Pennsylvania,  Peter  was  a  made  man,  and 
the  man  who  loaned  him  the  money  to 
invest  in  a  wife  was  a  made  man,  too." 

"And  it  was  your  grandfather?" 

My  friend  laughed.  "No,  my  grandfather 
was  one  of  the  sapient  ones  who  declined  to 
be  a  lender  on  the  knobs.  When  Ormsby's 
own  faith  was  justified  by  events  he  had 
portraits  of  his  beautiful  spouse  in  her  cost^ 
liest  vesture  painted  and  sent  to  every  man 
who  had  snubbed  him  in  that  little  trans- 
action*of  investing  in  a  wife.  It  was  a  neat 
bit  of  sarcasm.  That  is  the  way  our  walls 
came  to  be  decorated  by  a  picture  of  the 
beautiful  redemptloner.  If  only  our 
father's  father  had  not  been  such  a  wise 

man!" 

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CHINESE  JEWS 


BYA.KINCSlEfCLOyER 


Y  N  their  wide  wanderings  over  the  face 
\  of  the  earth  the  Jews,  at  an  early  day, 
^ '  settled  as  colonists  In  China.  According 
to  some  large  marble  tablets,  discovered 
In  the  year  1850,  at  Kal-fung-fu  by  two 
agents  of  the  London  Mission,  the  Jews 
must  have  arrived  in  the  Flowery  Kingdom 
at  about  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era. 
Their  first  settlement  did  not  number  over 
five  thousand  souls,  but  during  the  succeed- 
ing thousand  years  their  numbers  were 
continually  augmented  by  arrivals  of  Jew- 
ish merchants  from  the  West,  especially 
from  Persia,  Samarkand  and  Bokhara,  in 
which  places  the  Jews  have  always  been 
very  numerous. 

All  through  what  Is  nominally  the  vast 
Chinese  Empire,  embracing  the  whole  ex- 
tent of  territory  from  the  Pacific  Ocean  on 
the  east  to  the  confines  of  Turkestan  on 
the  west,  from  Hindustan  on  the  south 
to  Russian  Siberia  on  the  north,  the  Jews 
were  scattered  in  large  colonies  from  a  re- 
mote day.  They  became  the  principles  of 
international  commerce  in  the  far  East,  and 
it  was  through  the  Jews  that  the  merchan- 
dise of  China,  especially  its  costly  silks, 
found  a  ready  market  in  Rome  and  other 
parts  of  the  West  Marco  Polo  saw  Jewish 
merchants  on  the  borders  of  China  in  the 
thirteenth  century,  Just  north  of  Peking, 
laden  with  the  commodities  of  the  Western 
world. 

But  the  Jews  that  interest  us  most  were 
those  who  settled  at  Kai-fung-fu,  in  the  heart 
of  China,  at  the  very  early  day  above  men- 
tioned. By  royal  permission  they  became 
full  citizens  of  the  Middle  Kingdom,  with 
freedom  to  worship  according  to  their  own 
ideas  and  religious  principles,  provided  they 
acknowledged  the  Emperor  as  their  ruler, 
and  obeyed  the  laws  of  the  land.  At  a  much 
later  day  a  Jewish  synagogue  or  temple  was 
erected  at  Kai-fung-fu  by  royal  patent,  and 


this  building,  though  frequently  damaged 
by  fire  and  fiood,  lasted  down  to  very  recent 
days.  The  whole  story  of  this  colony  is  told 
in  very  profuse  language  on  the  two  above- 
mentioned  stone  tablets,  erected  respect- 
ively in  the  years  1488  and  1511.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  these  records  in  stone  were  first 
discovered  by  the  Jesuit  missionary  Gozani 
in  1704,  but  the  Western  world  never  heard 
much  about  them  or  learned  of  their  con- 
tents until  rediscovered  in  1850  by  the 
agents  of  the  London  Mission  at  Shang-Hai, 
at  which  time  they  were  both  transcribed 
and  translated  by  two  English  missionaries. 
They  show  us  that  the  Jews  readily  con- 
formed to  the  prevalent  ancestor-worship 
of  the  Chinese  people.  In  fact,  it  was  their 
well-known  reverence  for  their  own  ances- 
tors like  Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob  that 
moved  the  heart  of  the  Emperor  to  allow 
the  Jews  to  settle  in  his  domains.  The  tab- 
lets also  tell  us  that  in  course  of  time  the 
Israelites  were  greatly  honored  by  the  Em- 
peror, many  of  them  having  been  raised  to 
the  rank  of  mandarins  of  the  Empire. 
Some  became  State  and  army  officers,  great 
scholars  and  physicians,  not  to  speak  of 
rich  and  infiuential  merchants.  The  Chinese 
Jews  have  always  been  loyal  to  the  lawful 
government,  and  during  the  Mongol  dynasty 
in  the  fourteenth  century,  they  were  found 
fighting  for  the  native  "Ming"  family  in 
its  uprising  against  the  foreign  usurpers 
of  the  present  Tartar  dynasty. 

The  city  of  Kai-fung-fu,  where  the  first 
large  Jewish  colony  fixed  their  residence, 
is  situated  on  the  Hwang-Ho,  or  Yellow 
River,  about  three  hundred  miles  south  of 
the  capital,  Pe-Klng.  It  lies  in  a  very  rich 
portion  of  the  Empire,  though  it  has  been 
the  frequent  victim  of  the  overfiow  of  this 
great  river  of  North  China,  on  the  embank- 
ments of  which  the  Emperors  for  ages  have 
spent  millions  of  dollars,  with  a  sacrifice 


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693 


of  uncounted  millions  of  human  lives,  in 
their  vain  attempts  to  control  its  ravages. 
It  was  in  this  city  that  Jewish  activity 
was  the  greatest,  although  other  cities,  like 
Ning-Po,  on  the  sea-coast,  had  other  Jewish 
merchants. 

The  Jews  of  Kai-fung-fu  in  time  became  so 
identified  with  the  native  Chinese  popula- 
tion as  to  practically  lose  their  racial  iden- 
tity. They  intermarried  with  the  Chinese 
to  some  extent,  and  at  last  lost  all  knowl- 
edge of  the  Hebrew  language.  Just  before 
the  arrival  of  the  agents  of  the  London  mis- 
sion these  sons  of  Abraham  had  become  so 
reduced  in  numbers  and  wealth  that  they 
were  obliged  to  sell  the  materials  of  their 
partially  ruined  synagogue  in  order  to  buy 
bread. 

At  present  there  are  no  more  than  three 
or  four  hundred  Jews  at  Kai-fung-fu,  and 
beyond  a  few  traditions  they  have  no  knowl- 
edge  of  themselves  as  a  distinct  people. 
They  look  and  dress  like  the  native  Chinese, 
although  possessing  a  more  Semitic  cast 
of  face,  and,  like  all  subjects  of  the  reign- 
infiT  lianchu  royal  house  they  wear  the  Man- 
cha  pig-tail.  This  remnant  of  the  origi- 
nal settlers  now  hold  no  religious  services, 
their  last*  rabbi  having  died  about  fifty  years 
ago,  while  they  have  also  forgotten  the  old 
Hebrew  prayers.  The  Kai-fung-fu  Jews  live 
in  a  kind  of  community,  as  in  the  old  Euro- 
pean ghettos,  where  they  carry  on  various 


trades,  and,  as  in  other  parts  of  the  world, 
enter  largely  into  the  business  of  money- 
changing  and  money-lending.  They  still 
possess  some  sacred  books  which  are  kept 
in  a  safe  place  and  duly  reverenced,  though 
not  understood.  In  the  center  of  the  syna- 
gogue enclosure  stands  to-day  a  large  stone 
with  an  inscription  on  it,  a  part  of  which 
reads  "Ichabod" — ^i.  e.,  "the  glory  is  de- 
parted!" All  around  is  now  desolation — a 
scene  of  fallen  pillars,  broken  cornices,  and 
blocks  of  masonry. 

The  little  colony  still  dwelling  in  the  heart 
of  this  great  metropolis,  know,  of  course, 
that  they  are  not  Chinamen,  but  tnat  is 
about  all  they  realize,  although  they  still 
cling  to  their  belief  in  One  Only  Qod. 

Perhaps  by  means  of  the  present  vast 
uprising  in  China,  the  Jews  still  there  may 
come  into  contact  with  the  West,  and  be 
again  communicated  with  as  in  the  days  of 
old,  when  they  carried  on  the  vast  trade 
across  Asia  to  Burope.  Surely  a  "pig-tailed" 
Jew  would  ue  a  personage  worth  seeing. 

Modem  Jewish  settlements  have  taken 
place  in  the  coast  cities,  some  of  the  great 
commercial  houses  engaged  in  Oriental 
and  European  trade  being  wholly  Jewish. 
In  the  coming  resurrection  of  the  commerce 
of  China  with  America  and  Europe,  Gentiles 
must  not  forget  that  it  will  be  necessary  to 
reckon  with  the  sons  of  Israel  in  the  various 
lines  of  competition. 


ANSWERED. 


BY    ELINOR    MERRILL. 


A  poet,  learned  in  the  tricks  of  rhyme 
And  rhythm;  one  whose  practised  touches  played 
On  language  as  on  bells  that  peal  or  chime, 
Unsatisfied  besought  the  gods  for  aid. 

Death  smote  a  dear  one,  more  to  him  than  fame 
Or  life  itself,  and  then  before  his  art 
The  whole  world  rose,  to  greet  with  mad  acclaim 
The  words  that  Grief  brought  quivering  from  his  brain. 

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i    . 


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18 

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THE    AZTEC    CALENDAR    STONE. 


BY   ADELIA    H.    TAFFINDER. 


I 


UMARRAGA,  the  first  archbishop  of 
Mexico,  and  the  missionaries,  in  the 
16th  century,  in  their  fanatical  zeal  to 
establish  Chlristlanity  in  the  New 
World,  considered  the  presence  of  the  Az- 
tec hieroglyphs  and  monuments  as  an  In- 
Yincible  obstacle  to  the  abolition  of  Idola- 
!  try.  Consequently  they  destroyed  every  rec- 
ord and  every  idol  that  came  in  their  reach 
or  under  their  power. 

Later  the  kings  of  Spain  and  the  vice- 
roys of  Mexico  endeaveored  to  protect  the 
remaining  records,  and  gathered  together 
in  the  viceregal  archives  whatever  of  this 
nature  was  Judged  to  be  of  interest.  Thus, 
some  of  the  antiquities  are  preserved,  and 
can  be  seen  in  the  National  Museum  in  the 
City  of  Mexico.  The  majority  of  the  grand 
monuments  of  Aztec  antiquity  have  been 
unearthed  in  that  city. 

1^1521,  Cortez  concluded  the  conquest  of 
Mexico  by  pulling  down  the  Aztec  temples. 
The  Calendar  Stone  and  many  large  idols, 
and  other  objects  of  worship,  were  buried 
in  the  surroimding  marshes  of  the  city  by 
order  of  the  Christian  monks  to  hide  them 
from  the  eyes  of  the  heathen. 

In  1551,  the  Stone  was  discovered  and 
was  reinterred  in  1558.  It  is  chronicled  that 
after  the  second  interment  it  was  entirely  for- 
^tten  until  December,  1790,  when.  In  lower- 
ing the  grade  of  the  ancient  pavement  of  the 
Great  Plaza  In  front  of  the  Cathedral,  this 
notable  monument  was  re-discovered. 

The  wardens  of  the  cathedral  begged  it  of 
the  viceroy,  who  promised  that  it  should  be 
preserved  and  exposed  in  a  public  place. 
They  built  it  into  the  base  of  the  southwest 
em  tower  of  the  cathedral,  and  there  it  re- 
nuUned  until  August,  1885. 

It  has  always  been  considered  the  property 
of  the  National  Museum,  where  after  weeks 
of  laborious  moving,  it  reached  its  present 
roBtlng  place. 

Alexandar  von  Humboldt  calculated  that 
H  weighed  53,792  pounds  avoirdupois.  It 
1>  U  feet  8  inches  in  diameter,  and  is  fine- 
rained  basalt.  From  a  painting  in  the 
Codex-Mendocino,  the  Calendar  Stone  is  rep- 


resented to  have  been  moved  by  means  of 
a  long  file  of  men,  who  dragged  it  with  ropes 
over  great  wooden  rollers. 

Tezozomoc,  the  native  Indian  historian,  in 
1564  describes  the  purpose,  and  securing  of 
this  stone.  He  states  that  in  1478,  two  years 
before  the  death  of  King  Axayacatl  "who 
in  that  epoch  ruled  the  world,"  that  the 
temple  in  which  great  sacrifices  were  to  be 
made,  was  nearing  completion.  The  King 
sent  forth  a  decree:  "I  will  give  food  and 
raiment  to  the  laborers  that  will  bring  me 
a  great  rock,  and  I  will  give  gold,  choco- 
late, and  painted  cloths  to  the  sculptors  who 
will  engreave  upon  it  the  image  of  the  sun 
surrounded  with  our  zodiacal  signs."  This 
Indian  historian  describes  quite  graphically 
how  the  laborers  sallied  forth  to  the  moun- 
tains and  broke  off  a  "great  fragment  of  a 
rock,  5,000  men  dragged  it  along."  When 
they  reached  a  bridge,  alas,  the  beams  were 
broken  into  a  thousand  pieces,  and  the  rock 
fell  into  the  water.  \ 

Then  the  King  was  very  wroth  and  said: 
"Make  a  new  bridge  with  double  beams  and 
stages,  and  tear  me  out  a  new  fragment  from 
the  mountains  of  Coyoacan;  bring  also  an- 
other rock  and  make  of  it  a  vase  in  which 
shall  be  caught  the  blood  that  will  issue 
from  the  sacrificial  stone,  as  an  offering  of 
reconciliation  to  our  god. 

"The  rocks  were  torn  out  of  the  mountain 
side,  dragged  to  Tenochtitlan  (City  of  Mex- 
ico), passed  the  bridge  of  Zoloc  safely,  and 
were  duly  dedicated  with  great  festivities, 
and  sacrifices.  King  Axayacatl  invited  the 
rulers  of  all  the  neighboring  friendly  nations 
to  be  present  at  the  ceremonies  of  its  dedi- 
cation, which  took  place  in  the  year  Two 
House,  or  1481  A.  D.  The  thirteen  priests 
of  the  thirteen  principal  gods  of  Mexico, 
armed  with  their  obsidian  knives  for  the 
sacrifice,  ascended  the  stone  before  dawn 
of  the  day  of  its  inauguration.  Seven  hun- 
dred and  twenty-eight  captives,  reserved 
from  those  taken  in  the  battle  of  Tliluh- 
tepec,  decked  with  gay  plumage,  were  placed 
near  the  stone.  At  sun-rise  a  priest  with  a 
pot  of  smoking  Incense  marched  four  times 
around  the  stone,  and  then  threw  the  pot 


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696  Overland  Monthly. 

upon  it  to  be  shattered  to  pieces."    Imme-  excess,  and  that  this  debauch  was  the  cause 

diately  the  king  ascended  to  the  rock  and  be-  of  his  death. 

gan  the  sacrifice  by  tearing  out  the  hearts  This  unique  calendar  can  be  better  under^ 
of  the  victims,  throwing  them  into  the  stone  stood  by  a  brief  narration  of  the  Aztec 
yase  mentioned  by  the  historian  Tezozo-  method  of  computing  time.  Clarigero,  in 
moc,  and  now  in  the  National  Museum  in  his  Historia  Antigua  de  Mexico,  published  in 
Mexico.  When  the  King  had  thus  sacri-  1780,  says  that  in  respect  to  civil  Gk>Tem- 
flced  fifty-two  men,  he  was  followed  by  the  ment,  the  Aztecs  divided  the  month  into  four 
thirteen  priests  in  succession,  until  seven-  periods  of  five  days,  and  the  year  was  corn- 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  prisoners  were  prised  of  eighteen  months, 
slain.  Tt^e  historian v  states  that  the  King  Each  day  had  its  name,  to  wit:  Ist,  Dawn; 
drank  and  ate  of  the  flesh  of  the  victims  to  2d,  Wind;  8d,  House;  4th,  Lizard,  5th,  Ser- 


Aztec  Calendar  Stone. 

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The  Aztec  Calendar  Stone. 


697 


pent;  6th,  Death;  7th,  Deer;  8th,  Rabbit, 
and  80  on.  The  6th,  10th,  16th,  and  20th 
were  fair  or  great  market  daya. 

To  represent  month  they  painted  a  cir- 
cle or  wheel,  divided  into  twenty  figures, 
signifying  twenty  days.  The  year  was  repre- 
sented by  a  larger  wheel,  divided  into 
eighteen  figures  of  the  eighteen  months,  and 
the  image  of  the  moon  was  frequently 
painted    within    this    wheel.  ^ 

The  number  13  was  held  in  high  esteem 
by  these  ancient  Mexicans.  The  four 
periods  of  which  the  century  consisted  were 
each  of  thirteen  years.  They  were  the 
Babbit,  Reed,  Flint,  and  House.  They  like- 
wlM  reckoned  thirteen  periods  of  four  years 
emfk,  at  the  expiration  of  each  of  which 
made  extraodrinary  festivals. 

scholarly  historian  states  that  when 
t^OKoess  of  a  few  hours  in  the  solar  above 
tlitr.  dTll  year  was  discovered,  intercalary 
di9P  were  used  to  form  an  equality.  The 
ice  in  regard  to  the  method  estab- 
by  Julius  Caesar  in  the  Roman  Calen- 
that  they  did  not  interpose  a  day 
four  years,  but  thirteen  days  every 
o  years,  which  produced  the  exact 
r^gAlation  of  time. 
j^  the  expiration  of  the  century  all  the 
of  that  empire  participated  in  a 
celebration.  The  sacred  fire  of  all 
Um  temples  and  hearthstones  was  eztin- 
girfMhed.  Every  vessel,  earthen  pot,  or  kit- 
dMl  ntensil,  was  broken  into  fragments,  in 
pnparation  for  the  end  of  the  world,  which 
at  fMe  termination  of  each  century  was  ex- 
ps^tod  with  terror.  The  priests,  clothed 
in  Twrlous  dresses  and  ensigns  of  their  gods, 
aoinnpanied  by  a  vast  crowd  of  people,  is- 
anM  from  the  temple  out  of  the  city,  direct- 
ing their  way  towards  the  mountain  of 
Pdfocatapetl.  Their  Journey  was  regulated 
by  otMiervation  of  the  stars,  in  order  that 
they  might  arrive  at  the  mountain,  a'  little. 
before  midnight,  on  the  top  of  which  the 
new  fire  was  to  be  kindled. 

During  this  solemn  Journey  thousands  of 
human  beings  were  waiting  in  utmost  sus- 
penae  and  solicitude,  hoping  on  the  one  hand 
to  find  from  the  new  fire  a  ne^  century 
granted  to  mankind,  and  fearing  on  the  other 
hand  the  total  destruction  of  mankind,  if 
the  fire,  by  divine  interference,  should  not 
be  permitted  to  kindle. 

The  faces  of  little  children  were  covered 
with  the  leaves  of  the  aloe,  to  prevent  their 


being  transformed  into  mice.  Those  who 
were  able,  mounted  terraces  and  houses 
to   observe   the   ceremony. 

The  grand  priest  had  exclusive  right  to 
kindle  this  hoi^e-restoring  fire.  The  instru- 
ments for  this  purpose  were  two  pieces  of 
wood,  and  the  place  on  which  the  fire  pro- 
duced from  them  was  the  breast  of  some 
brave  prisoner  whom  they  sacrificed. 

As  soon  as  the  fire  was  kindled  they  all  at 
once  exclaimed  with  Joy,  and  a  huge  fire 
was  made  on  the  mountain  that  it  might 
be  seen  from  a  gr^at  distance;  in  which 
they  afterwards  burned  the  victim  whom 
they  had  sacri^ced.  Immediately  they  took 
up  portions  of  the  sacred  fire,,  and  strove 
with  each  other  who  shold  carry  it  most 
speedily  to  their  houses.  The  priests  car- 
ried it  to  the  greater  temple  of  Mexico,  from 
whence  all  the  inhabitants  of  that  capital 
were  supplied. 

During  the  thirteen  aays  which  followed 
the  renewal  of  the  fire  (which  were  inter- 
calary days,  interposed  between  the  past  and 
ensuing  century,  to  adjust  the  year  with 
the  course  of  the  sun),  they  employed  them- 
selves in  repairing  and  whitening  the  public 
and  private  buildings,  and  in  furnishing 
themselves  with  new  dresses  and  domes- 
tic utensils,  in  order  that  everything  might 
be  new,  or  have  that  appearance,  upon  the 
commencement  of  the  new  century.  On 
the  first  day  of  the  new  year,  and  new  cen- 
tury,, it  was  unlawful  to  taste  water  before 
mid-day.  At  that  hour  the  sacrifices  began, 
the  number  of  which  was  suited  to  the  gran- 
deur of  the  festival. 

Every  place  resounded  with  the  voice  of 
gladness  and  mutual  congratulation  on 
account  of  the  new  century,  which  heaven 
had  granted  to  them. 

Ancient  historians  state  that  the  first 
intercalation  in  the  Aztec  Calendar  took 
place  sixteen  centuries  previous  to  the  ar- 
rival of  the  Spaniards.  Huehuetlapallan, 
an  Aztec  city,  is  recorded  to  have  had  the 
honor  of  this  event.  The  Aztecs  com- 
menced using  their  calendar  483  years  be- 
fore the  ultimate  adoption  of  the  Julian 
calendar  at  Rome. 

In  studying  the  evolution  of  the  system 
of  computing  time,  used  by  the  various  Ori- 
ental nations,  we  find  a  striking  resem- 
blance. 

The  Asiatics  and  the  Aztecs  indicated  the 
year  by  its  sign,  as  the  year  of  the  House, 


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or  Flint.  The  Chinese  had  sixty  years  in 
their  cycle,  in  five  divisions  of  twelve  years 
each,  giving  the  name  of  a  familiar  animal 
to  each  year:  1,  Mouse;  2,  Ox;  3,  Leopard, 
etc.  The  Thibetans,  Tartars,  and  Japanese 
have  nearly  the  same  as  the  Chinese. 
The  lunar  calendar  of  the  Hindoos  corre- 
sponds very  closely  with  that  of  the  Aztecs, 
viz.,  Serpent,  Reed,  Monkey,  Flint  Knife, 
Path  of  the  Sun,  Dog,  and  House. 

Two  things  seem  strange  in  regard  to  the 
Mexican  system :  the  one  is  that  they  did  not 
regulate  their  months  by  the  changes  of 
the  moon;  the  other  that  they  used  no 
particular  character  to  distinguish  one  cen- 
tury from  another. 

The  Aztecs  were  very  superstitious  in 
reard  to  Zodaical  signs,  and  predicted  the 
good  or  bad  fortune  of  infants  from  the 
signs  under  which  they  were  bom. 

The  happiness  or  misfortune  of  marriages, 
the  success  of  wars,  and  of  every  other  thing 
in  fact,  was  predicted  from  the  day  on 
which  they  were  undertaken  or  put  into  exe- 
cution. 

For  instance,  if  a  merchant  wished  to 
undertake  a  Journey,  he  endeavored  to  begin 
it  on  some  day  of  that  period  during  which 
the  sign  Coatl  (serpent)  ruled,  and  then  he 
was  promised  success  in  his  commercial 
transactions.  Those  who  were  born  under 
the  sign  of  the  eagle  were  suspected  to  prove 
mockers  and  slanderers,  if  they  were  males; 
if  females,  loquacious  and  impudent. 

Of  the  hours  the  third  and  seventh  in  the 
daytime  were  good  omens;  the  4th,  5th, 
6th,  and  8th  of  the  day,  and  the  1st  of  the 
night  were  bad;  and  the  others  indifferent. 
Their  influence  varied  according  to  their  cor- 
respondence with  the  signs  of  the  day. 
The  hours  were  announced  from  the  heights 
of  temples  by  means  of  conch  shells  blown 
by  priests.  There  was  no  month  in  which 
the  Mexicans  did  not  celebrate  some  festi-  ' 
val  or  other,  and  Indeed  that  custom  of 
fiesta  days,  occurring  so  frequently,  exists 
at  the  present  time  in  Mexico.  The  ancient 
festivals  were  dedicated  to  the  gods.  On  the 
second  day  of  the  first  month  they  made 
a  great  festival  to  TIaloc,  accompanied  with 
sacrifices  of  children,  who  were  pur- 
chased for  that  occasion.  These  children 
were  not  sacrificed  all  at  once,  but  succes- 
sively, in  the  course  of  three  months, 
which  corresponded  to  those  of  March  and 
April,  to  obtain   from  this   god   the  rains 


which  were  necessary  for  their  maize. 

Clarigero,  minutetly  describes  these  baiv 
barous  festivals  of  each  month  of  the  year. 
The  fifth  month  was  given  entirely  to  these 
feasts  and  human  sacrifices  to  the  sods. 
Those  years  which  had  the  Rabbit  for  their 
denominative  character,  were  called  "di- 
vine years,"  and  were  solemnly  celebrated. 
"The  sacrifices  were  on  such  occasions  more 
numerous,  the  obligations  more  abundant, 
and  the  dances  more  solemn." 

The  entire  face  of  "The  Aztec  Calendar" 
was  painted  red  to  indicate  that  it  was  dedi- 
cated to  the  sun.  It  received  its  name  from 
the  celebrated  Mexican  archaeologist,  Don 
Antonio  Leon  y  Gama,  who  described  it  in 
1792.  The  native  inhabitants  of  the  city  of 
Mexico  call  it  "El  Relox  de  los  Indies," 
or  the  "Indian  Clock."  Senor  Alfredo  Chav- 
ero,  the  most  distinguished  modern  archae- 
ologist of  Mexico,  has  re-christened  it  "The 
Rock  of  the  Sun."  He  has  made  an  exhaustive 
study  of  this  wonderful  stone,  which  is  avail- 
able in  his  "Mexico  a  Traves  de  los  Siglos." 
The  stern  face  with  its  grotesque  ear-adorn- 
ments, massive  necklace,  and  protruding 
tongue — symbolizes  the  Aztec  representa- 
tion of  the  sun. 

The  hieroglypn  on  the  forehead  is  the  sign 
of  the  year  Two  Reeds.  The  four  parallelo- 
grams contained  in  the  second  large  circle, 
according  to  Aztec  mythology,  indicate  that 
the  sun  had  died  four  times. 

The  chronographic  signs  of  the  Aztetcs 
were:  Ist,  Age  of  the  Water;  2d,  Age  of  the 
Air;  3d,  Age  of  the  Fire;  4th,  Age  of  the 
Earth.  They  have  been  interpreted  in  this 
manner:  Age  of  Water,  submerging  of  the 
continent  of  Atlantis;  Age  of  Air,  the  glacial 
epoch;  Age  of  Fire,  eruptions  of  volcanoes; 
Age  of  the  Eartn,  beginning  4431  B.  C,  and 
ending  1312  A.  D.  These  four  large  squares 
above  mentioned  as  "Deaths  of  the  Sun," 
include  these  four  great  ages.  The  four 
squares,  also  represent  the  four  seasons 
which  correspond  to  those  of  our  own. 

In  1312,  in  commemoration  of  the  found- 
ing of  the  City  of  Mexico,  the  people   de- 
cided  that  they  were  worthy  of  a  fifth  Sun,    j 
which  should  pertain  to  them  alone.    They    \ 
selected  the  eagle  as  the  symbol,  because 
one  of  their  prophets  had  in  a  vision  be<)n 
told  that  "where  an  eagle  poised  upon  the 
cactus,  with  the  serpent  in  its  claws,  with 
the  blue  sky  above,  and  the  blue  waters    i 
beneath,"  there  they  should  build  this  great 


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city.  The  two  lateral  characters,  therefore,  at 
each  Bide  of  the  central  face  are  eagle  talons, 
representing  that  the  Sun  of  the  Fifth  Age 
is  soaring  in  the  Zenith.  Each  claw  con- 
tains five  hieroglyphs  and  four  dots,  repre- 
senting the  eighteen  months  of  the  year. 

The  dots  and  glyphs  in  the  central 
figure  amount  to  seventy-two  in  number, 
which  is  the  number  of  priests'  years  that 
equal  the  cycle  of  fifty-two  civil  years. 
The  third  circle 'contains  the  twenty  signs 
of  the  days  of  the  month. 

The  twelfth  day.  Herb,  is  strikingly  pecul- 
iar, as  it  is  represented  by  a  convoloulus 
twined  around  a  death's  head  in  the  manner 
in  which  the  heroes  slain  in  battle  were 
crowned. 

Around  the  days  of  the  month  is  a  border 
of  graduates — each  one  with  five  dots  and 
a  smaller  border  of  glyphs.  Eight  V-shaped 
rays  spring  from  this  border,  representing 
the  eight  "hours"  of  the  Aztec  day,  and 
eight  triple-headed  arches  representing  the 


eight  hours  of  the  Aztec  night.  The  diurnal 
period  was  divided  into  sixteen  hours,  each 
hour  containing  ninety  minutes  in  our  reck- 
oning of  time.  These  hours,  according 
to  the  hieroglyphs  on  other  monuments, 
were  subdivided  into  halves  and  quarters. 
It  is  interesting  to  note  some  of  the  suggest- 
ive names  given  to  the  hours.  The  first 
hour  was  at  6  a.  m.,  the  Rising  Sun;  2d, 
the  Fading  Moon;  3d,  the  Goddess  of 
Water;  4th,  the  Path  of  the  Sun;  6th,  Ve- 
nus; 6th,  (which  corresponds  to  our  1.30 
p.  m.)  to  the  God  of  the  Dead,  on  whom  the 
sun  went  to  shine  at  night;  7th,  the  Earth; 
8th,  the  Thunder  God.  The  hours  of  the 
night   were   as   beautifully   named. 

From  the  open  mouth  of  the  serpents,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  rock,  two  faces  issue. 
They  are  crowned  with  plumes  of  stars. 
The  face  on  the  left,  archaeologists  aver, 
is  the  Sun,  and  the  one  on  the  right  is  the 
planet  Venus.  On  the  apparent  movements 
of  these  two  planets  were  based  the  chrono- 
logical combinations  of  the  Aztecs. 


The    Light    That    Blinded. 


BY    LOU    RODMAN    TEEPLE. 


of 


T  was  very  dark,  and  Slugging  Sam  Was 
glad  of  the  darkness.  He  had  re- 
joiced in  the  absence  of  light  before, 
when  he  wanted  to  *'go  through"  some 
Jay  who  had  been  decoyed  to  that  row 
ill-favored  buildings  that  huddled  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  docks.  Then,  too,  he 
had  objected  to  a  light  when  he  helped  to 
unload  the  little  sloop  whose  cargo  usually 
escaped  the  attention  of  the  revenue  offi- 
cers. But  never  was  the  darkness  so  wel- 
come as  to-night,  when  Pauline  stole  down 
to  where  he  waited,  and  shoved  the  child 
Into  the  boat  with  him. 

"I'll  wait  up  for  you  with  something  warm 
to  drink,"  she  whispered,  and  for  one  mo- 
ment her  lips  touched  his  dry,  parched 
mouth,  sending  a  thrill  through  every 
nerve,  that  made  him  almost  lift  the 
boat  from  the  water  with  his  mighty  strokes. 


He  would  do  it.  Just  as  he  had  done  every- 
thing the  girl  had  asked  of  him  since  he 
stepped  into  the  little  den  where  she  was 
selling  temperance  drinks  that  made  men 
drunk  and  an  easy  prey  to  the  card  sharps 
who  paid  Pauline  a  bonus  on  each  victim. 
But  even  the  fieeced  men  returned  again  and 
again  to  gaze  on  the  woman's  dazzling 
beauty,  to  be  maddened  by  the  Oriental  soft- 
ness of  her  black  eyes,  the  seductive 
curve  of  her  lips,  the  marble  beauty 
of  her  throat  and  arms,  and,  more  than  all, 
by  the  ripple  of  her  laughter,  the  witchery 
of  her  words.  That  was  in  the  days  when 
her  little  Irish  step-mother  lay  dying  in  the 
back  room,  telling  everyone  who  took  the 
time  to  listen,  that  little  Maggie  "wad  be 
ayeress  to  five  hunerd  pound,  gin  the  saints 
purtict  her  'tell  she  be  av  age."  And  when 
the  mother  died  she  had  made  a  legal  will 


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that  left  the  five  hundred  pounds  to  Pauline 
if  she  were  kind  to  her  little  half-sister,  and 
the  child  should  not  attain  her  majority.  No 
one  enquired  whether  Pauline  were  kind  to 
the  child  or  not,  but  the  whole  row  knew 
when  she  fell  in  love  with  Slugging  Sam. 

Something  in  his  great  strength  and  mas- 
terful vehemence  caught  the  girl's  ungov- 
emed  fancy,  and  she  would  have  gone  to  the 
scaffold  witn  him  sooner  than  to  a  throne 
with  any  other  man.  It  was  more  for  him 
than  for  herself  that  she  wanted  the  five 
hundred  pounds  to  start  a  beer  garden. 
She  could  see  herself  in  a  red  dress  with 
bracelets  on  her  beautiful  arms,  admired 
by  all,  but  always  most  admired  by  her  great 
strong  man,  who  had  fiung  the  bully  of  the 
docks  over  his  head,  and  could  toss  a  barrel 
of  ale  as  a  boy  would  a  ball. 

So  it  came  to  be  a  daily  thought  with  her 
that  little  Maggie  was  to  fall  off  the  docks 
and  drift  lifeless  and  cold  among  '^he  weeds 
and  ropes  that  the  tide  brought ) 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  make  Sam  will- 
ing to  do  his  part; he  had  always  a  kind  word 
for  the  little  orphan,  and  shrank  from  Pau- 
line's request,  though  she  explained  over  and 
over  again  that  it  was  only  a  row  out  far 
enough  so  no  frightened  scream  would  reach 
the  shore,  and  throw  the  child  out  of  the 
boat.  She  would  do  it  herself  only  she 
would  be  missed  from  the  bar  at  night.  At 
last  she  was  forced  to  call  him  a  coward, 
and  to  threaten  to  marry  the  Captain  of  the 
Raven,  who  courted  her  so  boldly.  A  fierce 
desire  to  slug  the  wily  Captain  rose  in  the 
thing  that  did  duty  for  the  big  boatman's 
heart;  but  he  saw  that  he  would  be  no 
nearer  winning  Pauline  even  if  he  gratified 
this  desire,  as  she  promised  to  wed  him  as 
soon  as  little  Maggie  was  buried,  but  fiatly 
refused  to  do  so  on  any  other  conditions. 

After  all,  it  was  an  easy  thing  to  do,  and 
there  was  no  danger  of  discovery,  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  rowed  swiftly  away  from 
the  red  harbor  lights  that  leered  through 
the  darkness  like  great  blood-shot  eyes. 

"Be's  you  tired  Sam?"  the  low  childish 
voice  boomed  on  his  ears  like  the  sound  of  a 
cannon. 

"No,"  but  how  strangled  and  imnatural 
his  voice  sounded.  *The  child  slipped  from^ 
the  seat  and  crept  to  his  side.  Deftly  dodg- 
ing the  hand  with  whlcAi  he  was  pulling  the 
oar,  she  climbed  to  his  knee,  and  putting  her 
littie  cheek  against  his,  she  said,  "Ton  be's 


tryin'  not  to  cry,  Sam;  I  often  does  that; 
then  it  chokes  in  here,"  laying  her  littie  fin- 
gers softly  on  his  bull  throat.  "I  know  Pau- 
line hurts  you  with'  the  hard  stick  and  with 
her  eyes  as  she  does  with  me;  but  don't  cry, 
Sam,  I  loves  you  and  I'se  your  own  littie 
Maggie." 

He  tried  to  put  her  away,  but  she  clung  to 
him  with  the  loving  faith  of  childhood;  but 
he  was  only  trying  to  hide  his  tears,  and  by- 
and-bye  he  let  the  oars  drop  and  sat  still 
listening  to  her  childish  prattie.  The  dark- 
ness drew  still  thicker,  the  black  water  lap- 
ped hungrily  at  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  the 
child  shivered  with  cold.  Mechanically  he 
took  off  his  coat  and  wrapped  her  in  it;  he 
felt  the  littie  head  nestiing  above  his  heavily 
beating  heart,  the  soft  dimpled  hands  strok- 
ing his  face  as  she  told  him  how  lonely  she 
was  without  her  sick  mamma,  and  how  she 
had  no  one  but  Sam  to  love  her  now.  Then 
the  moon  rose  suddenly  from  the  black 
water  and  glowed  like  a  great  white  fire, 
that  lighted  up  the  child's  face  with  a 
pale  radiance  as  she  cried  out  that  her 
dead  mother  was  looking  at  her  from  the 
sky.  The  boatman  set  her  in  the  bottom  of 
the  boat  and  pulled  doggedly  back  to  the 
shore.  It  was  long  past  midnight  when 
Pauline  opened  the  door  for  him,  and  when 
she  saw  the  chixd  in  his  arms  her  rage  knew 
no  bounds.  She  threatened  to  denounce  him 
for  past  crimes  to  the  officers  of  the  law; 
she  vowed  she  would  give  a  favorable  an- 
swer to  the  Captain,  and  she  stood  at  the  bar 
of  the  "Shady  Side"  next  day,  laughing  as 
she  drank  mild  ale  against  the  Captain's 
whiskies,  while  he  chucked  her  under  the 
chin.  In  her  heart  she  hated  him  for  his 
assurance,  and  resolved  that  Sam  should 
beat  him  for  it  on  another  day;  but  now  she 
knew  that  the  boatman  was  watching  them 
through  the  dirty  window,  and  she  paased 
him  on  her  return  without  a  look.  He  fol- 
lowed her  gloomily,  and,  when  they  were  at 
the  door,  she  asked  him  with  cutting  scorn 
if  he  wanted  her  help  in  a  fight  with 
a  child. 

"I'll  kill  that  Captain,"  he  said,  breathhig 
heavily. 

"You  kill  him?"  she  laughed  scornfully; 
"Tou  dare  not  toss  a  kitten  out  of  a  boat," 
but  she  drew  him  into  the  house  and  closed 
the  door.  An  hour  later  when  he  came  out 
he  was  saying: 

"Get  your  wedding  finery,  an'  speak  to  fid- 


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dling  Billy,  for  there'll  be  no  fllnchin'  this 
time;  she'll  be  a  corpse  when  the  tide 
fetches  in  its  bodies  again." 

Neither  of  them  spoke  when  she  put  the 
child  in  his  bo2:t  that  night,  but  when  she 
pressed  his  hand  she  shivered  because  it  was 
like  the  clammy  coldness  of  the  drowned. 
He  did  not  look  back  at  the  harbor  lights 
to-night;  he  stared  straight  ahead  and  pulled 
with  a  desperate  energy  that  brought  the 
sweat  in  great  drops  upon  his  low  forehead. 

He  did  not  see  the  child  leave  her  seat; 
he  did  not  know  she  was  coming  till  she 
crept  under  the  oars  and  nestled  in  his 
breast. 

"Be's  you  goin*  to  take  me  to  wide  every 
night,  Sam,  mavoumeen?"  she  asked  as  she 
pressed  her  cheek  to  his.  The  little  cheek 
was  wet  with  tearsr  and  the  little  mouth 
that  tried  to  still  its  quivering  as  she  kissed 
him,  made  something  in  his  soul  stir  into 
the  first  life  it  had  ever  felt. 

"Sam,"  she  said,  with  pretty  confidence  in 
his  interest  in  her,  "Sister  Pauline  doesn't 
want  me;  I  knows  she  doesn't  and  only  for 
you  I'd  have  no  one  but  my  guardian  angel 
to  care  for  me." 

"Your  what?"  he  remembered  to  have 
heard  something  about  angels,  but  he  had 
never  supposed  they  approached  the  docks. 

Softly  the  child  told  him  the  story  of  the 
guardian  angels  that  her  little  Irish  mother 
had  so  often  related  to  her,  and  with  a  faith 
that  carried  conviction  to  his  mind,  she  ex- 
plained that  he,  too,  was  watched  and  wept 
over  by  a  faithful  angel. 

He  could  not  help  listening,  and  in  his  ig- 
norant way  he  felt  that  his  shrinking  from 
murder  was  the  restraining  touch  of  some 
mighty  spirit;  and  all  the  while  he  knew 
that  he  must  do  it,  for  he  saw  no  way,  no  life 
except  that  of  the  docks,  and  life  without 
Pauline  was  worse  than  any  death.  He  tried 
to  understand  what  the  child  was  telling  of 


the  spirit  that  never  dies,  but  his  mind 
could  not  take  it  in.  Then  the  moon  rose 
and  looked  upon  them  with  a  blinding  white 
light  that  seemed  to  show  the  murderous 
deed  in  his  heart  to  a  thousand  watching 
angels  who  whispered  that  the  child  would 
not  be  dead  though  he  drowned  her  each 
night  for  ages.  He  let  the  boat  drift  with- 
out knowing  when  he  dropped  the  oars; 
the  moonlight  and  the  thought  of  immor- 
tality blinded  him,  while  the  sense  of  hurry 
maddened  him,  as  it  came  with  the  insistent 
thought  that  Pauline  was  watching  for  his 
return,  wondering  why  he  staid  so  long.  All 
round  him  stretched  the  mysterious  white- 
ness of  the  moon-lit  water;  but  close  to  the 
boat  where  his  shadow  fell  it  was  black 
as  ink.  Not  the  throbbing  of  a  steam-tug 
or  dip  of  an  oar  broke  the  breathless  still- 
ness. The  child's  head  sank  on  his  shoulder 
and  she  slept.  He  pressed  his  rough,  beard- 
ed cheek  fp  her  innocent  face  and  rose, 
swaying  in  the  boat  as  he  stood.  He  had 
no  definite  purpose — ^all  was  confusion  in 
his  mind;  he  could  clearly  grasp  but  one 
condition — he  could  not  face  Pauline  with 
the  deed  undone,  and — he  could  not  do  It. 
He  drew  the  coat  over  the  child's  face  that 
the  moonlight  made  so  white,  and  holding 
her  close  to  his  bosom,  sprang  Into  the 
dark  water.  It  closed  over  his  head  as  a 
cloud  passed  over  the  moon;  when  the  cloud 
passed,  the  moonlight  touched  with  silver 
some  bubbles  that  were  rising  to  the  surface 
of  the  water. 

When  the  tide  came  in  again,  a  girl  with 
wild,  agonized  eyes,  tore  her  long  black 
hair  and  shrieked  as  the  dock-hands  lifted 
Slugging  Sam's  heavy  dead  body  from  the 
drift  and  laid  it  on  the  dripping  boards. 

"He  was  c  strong  swimmer,"  they  said. 
"But  then,  what  chance  had  he  with  little 
Maggie  clasped  so  close  in  his  arms?" 


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Coffee  tree  and  berries. 

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COFFEE    CULTURE    IN    MEXICO. 


BY    LAURENCE    M.    TERRY. 


^  yr  EXico 
\  /    noffee 
(»^  world, 


EXICO,  while  one  of  the  greatest 
producing  countries  in  the 
oddly  enough  furnishes  only 
small  proportion  of  her  coffee-crop 
to  native  consumers,  the  greater  part  of  it 
being  shipped  as  fast  as  grown  and  cured 
to  her  neighboring  Republic ,  the  United 
States  of  America. 

The  Mexicans  themselves  have  never  been 
coffee-drinkers, — this  is  partly  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  aromatic  oean  has  been  grown 
by  them  for  only  about  a  hundred  years: 
besides  they  have  for  so  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  the  use  of  atole,  chocolate,  and 
pulque,  that  coffee  does  not  appeal  to  them 
as  it  does  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  and  the  vari- 
ous European  and  Asiatic  peoples,  all  of 
whom  consume  it  in  large  quantities. 

Chocolate,  which  Mexicans  as  a  rule  drink 
in  preference  to  coffee,  is,  unlike  that  latter, 
indigenous  to  Mexico,  from  whence  it  was 
first  introduced  into  Europe  in  the  year 
1770.  Long  before  the  Spanish  Conquest 
of  Mexico,  the  Aztecs  and  those  other  pre- 
historic races  of  Mexico,  prepared  the  bev- 
erage by  mixing  the  ground  seeds  of  the 
cacao  with  'certain  spices"  and  fine  corn 
meal:  the  resultant  drink  they  called 
**chocolatl,"  a  name  which  has  since  been 
corrupted  into  the  present  day  "chocolate." 
And  even  to  this  day,  the  high-class  Mex- 
icans, the  "hot  country"  people  of  Mexico, 
and  even  the  half-civilized  Indian  of  the  re- 
mote Interior  places,  remain  faithful  to 
their  "choclatl." 

Pulque,  the  fermented  product  of  the  ma- 
guey plant,  wi-*ch  is  imbibed  very  largely 
by  the  Mexicans  of  the  table  lands,  can 
hardly  be  classed  as  a  "beverage" — rather 
is  it  an  "intoxicant."  For,  while  it  cheers, 
it  also  inebriates  to  an  alarming  extent,  and 
to  its  inordinate  use  is  largely  attributed 
the  almost  brutalized  condition  of  its  peon 
imbibers,  whose  moral,  mental  and  physical 
stamina  is  of  the  very  lowest. 

Foreigners  traveling  in  the  peon-popu- 
lated portions  of  the  Mexican  Republic 
are  often  puzzled  over  their  inability  to 
obtain  a  cup  of  cofFee,  even  though  they 
may  at  the  time  be  in  the  midst  of  extensive 


coffee  regions.  Chocolate  one  can  always 
have,  no  matter  how  small  or  poor  tlxe  In- 
dian meson  may  be:  atole,  (also  a  beverage 
of  the  Aztecs)  is  generally  to  be  found  any 
and  everywhere,  while  tc  dc  ojas  or  orange 
leaf  tea  (made  by  pouring  hot  water  on 
orange  leaves)  can  be  purchased  in  both 
the  "hot"  and   "cold"  countries  of  Mexico. 

As  has  been  stated,  coffee  is  not  indigen- 
ous to  Mexico:  the  aromatic  bean  had  never 
been  seen  there  until  about  the  year  1800, 
when  a  rich  Spanish  planter  who  had  grown 
coffee  in  the  West  Indies,  conceived  the 
idea  of  trying  it  in  Mexico.  His  experiment 
turned  out  to  be  more  than  successful:  other 
Mexican  hacendados  or  planters  became 
imbued  with  the  coffee-growing  enthusiasm, 
and  the  cultivation  of  coffee  in  Mexico  has 
so  developed  during  the  last  ninety  years 
that  to-day  it  forms  one  of  the  Republic's 
principal  industries— an  Indnsti-y,  muilOver, 
which  is  a  very  profitable  one. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  encouraging  fea- 
tures in  coffee  growing  is  that,  in  Mexico, 
the  shrub  flourishes  almost  equally  well  at 
different  altitudes,  and  in  varying  climes, 
from  the  temperate  plains  of  Puebla  to 
the  hot,  damp  lowlands  of  Vera  Cruz, 
Oaxaca,  Tabasco,  and  even  the  Isthmus. 
However,  in  the  extreme  Northern  States 
of  Chihuahua,  Coahuila  and  Nuevo  Leon, 
coffee  would  not  be  apt  to  thrive,  owing  to 
the  cold  weather,  frosts  and  snows  frequent 
there,  and  which  are  almost  unknown  in 
the  more  tropical  Southern  Mexican  States. 

In  Mexico  are  grown  two  different  vari- 
eties of  coffee,  according  to  the  varying  alti- 
tudes and  climes.  That  which  thrives  best 
in  the  temperate  or  table-lands  is  the  "coffea 
arabica,"  which  Is  something  like  Mocha. 
It  is  a  hardy,  shrubby  evergreen,  varying  in 
height  from  five  to  seven  feet,  and  is  rather 
less  easily  affected  by  adverse  weather  or 
other  contingencies  than  the  hot-country 
variety,  which  is  similar  to  the  Java  coffee- 
shrub.  The  later  particularly  flourishes 
well  In  the  hot  moist  climate  of  Vera  Cruz 
and  the  Isthmus,  whero  the  trees  grow  to 
a  considerable  height,  and  where  danger 
from   blight,   from   insects   or   frosts   being 


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eliminated,  the  returns  from  its  cultivation 
are  particularly  remunerative  and  gratify- 
ing. 

Possibly  the  greatest  drawback  to  coffee- 
growing  lies  in  the  fact  that,  where  a  plan- 
tation is  newly  cleared  and  cultivated,  from 
four  to  five  years  is  needed  for  the  entire 
process.  And  where  a  man  is  impatient 
for  results,  or  wishes  to  realize  more  quick- 
ly from  his  labors,  this  one  fact  would  prove 
prohibitive.  On  already  established  plan- 
tations, which  are  in  full  bearing,  this  draw- 
back naturally  does  not  figure  at  all. 

However,  to  "begin  at  the  beginning": 

In  Mexico,  coffee  plants  are  mostly  propa- 
gated by  seeds,  and  the  seedlings  are  either 
raised  in  smaxi  beds  or  nurseries,  or 
planted  under  the  shade  of  cultivated  trees. 
These  seedlings  are  never  transplanted 
into  their  patches  until  they  are  at  least 
eight  months  old,  at  which  time  they  are 
generally  strong  and  hardy.  When  trans- 
planted, they  are  placed  at  certain  set  dis- 
tances from  each  other,  so  that  the  trees, 
upon  reaching  their  full  growth,  will  not  en- 
croach upon  one  another's  territory.  Gener- 
ally, the  little  plants  are  set  from  six  to  ten 
feet  apart. 

Once  having  been  transplanted,  the  only 
necessary  caution  is  to  keep  the  treelets 
free  from  weeds,  shading  them  upon  occa- 
sion from  the  too  hot  rays  of  the  sun,  also 


topping  and  pruning  them  (but  this  only 
at  the  option  of  the  grower,  since  coffee- 
growers  do  not  approve  of  the  pruning  and 
topping  process)  in  order  to  confine  the  sap 
to  the  parent  bush  and  lower  limbs,  thereby 
preventing  the  "running  to  weed"  which 
would  otherwise  be  the  case. 

Coffee  trees  rarely  fiower  before  they  have 
been  transplanted  for  twenty  months,  they 
being  then  from  three  to  four  years  old.  At 
that  time,  their  foliage  is  a  vivid,  lustrous 
green,  the  blooms  and  subsequent  berries 
growing  along  the  twigs  sometimes  in  small 
clusters,  though  oftener  in  single  blooms 
and  berries.  It  is  generally  during  the 
months  of  January,  February  and  March 
that  the  coffee  bushes  begin  to  break  out 
into  small  fragrant  white  blooms,  which 
in  turn  (about  July  or  later)  are  superseded 
by  the  small  green  berries.  In  September 
these  berries  begin  to  mature:  by  the  end 
of  October  and  November,  they  are  quite 
ripe;  then  the  picking  and  harvesting  begins. 

When  ripe,  the  coffee  berries  are  a  deep 
red,  or  reddish-brown  in  color,  and  their 
picking  is  perforce  a  slow  and  tedious  pro- 
cess, since  each  berry  must  be  picked  by 
hand,  one  at  a  time,  each  one  being  dropped 
as  it  is  picked,  into  the  basket  which  the 
picker — ^generally  a  peon  woman  or  child — 
wears  suspended  from  the  neck.  For  such 
work  the  picker  in  paid  at  the  rate  of  twen- 


A  coffee   plantation. 


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705 


Drying  berries. 


ty-five  cents  per  basket  of  berries  (about 
twelve  cents  United  States  currency)  each 
basket  containing  from  ten  to  fifteen  pounds 
of  coffee. 

The  first  yield  of  a  coffee  tree  is  gener- 
ally from  two  to  four  ounces  per  year:  the 
second  crop  yields  twice  as  much,  and  the 
third  crop,  when  it  is  in  full  bearing,  is 
double  the  yield  of  the  previous  year,  run- 
ning as  high  as  1.5  pounds.  Coffee  planters 
consider  that  one  pound  of  berries  per  tree 
in  an  average  return.  This,  however,  is  a 
very  conservative  estimate,  since  in  most 
cases  and  particularly  in  the  tropical 
States  of  Oaxace,  Chiapas  and  Vera  Cruz, 
reports  very  often  show  a  yield  of  five 
pounds  of  coffee  to  the  tree! 

The  picking  of  a  coffee  crop  being  con- 
cluded, the  next  process  is  to  dry,  hull  and 
prepare  it  for  marketing.  This,  when  car- 
ried out  in  the  native  fashion,  is  of  necessity 
a  lengthy  proceeding.  Many  foreign-owned 
coffee  plantations  in  accessible  regions,  such 
as  Jalapa,  Coatapec,  Cordoba,  and  even  on 
the  Isthmus,  where  there  are  penetrating 
railway  and  steamboat  lines,  employ  modem 
machinery  for  the  cleaning,  hulling  and  pre- 
Wring  of  coffee.  In  other  more  remote  dis- 
tricts, where  there  are  no  railways  or 
steamer  lines,  freight  rates  per  pack  mules 


and  burros  are  so  high  as  to  be  absolutely 
prohibitive:  in  these  cases,  up-to-date 
methods  are  perforce  let  alone,  and  the  old- 
fashioned  processes  of  drying,  hulling,  and 
fanning,  are  used. 

In  the  preliminary  drying,  all  berries  gath- 
ered during  one  day  are  placed  on  petatea  or 
straw  mats,  on  which  they  are  spread  in 
thin  layers,  none  of  them  being  allowed  to 
pile  up.  Next  day,  when  the  sun  is  fully  up, 
these  berries  are  removed  from  the  mats 
to  the  drying  yard  or  patio,  where  they  are 
again  spread  out  in  thin  layers.  While 
on  this  drying  patio,  the  berries  are  con- 
stantly stirred  about  and  turned  over  many 
times,  so  as  to  render  them  quite  dry. 
Afterwards  follows  flailing,  or  threshing  in 
the  native  fashion,  in  which  the  peons 
merely  tread  on  the  coffee  with  their  bare 
feet,  thereby  roughly  separating  the  chaff 
or  outer  husk  from  the  berry. 

In  the  last  and  final  cleaning,  the  natives 
place  the  berries  in  a  large  stone  mortar. 
After  being  well  pounded  therein,  the  husk 
is  separated  from  the  berry  by  being  poured 
from  a  basket  poised  on  the  cleaner's 
shoulder  on  to  a  mat  below,  the  chaff  being 
fanned  from  the  stream  of  coffee  while  it  is 
pouring  slowly  to  the  ground,  both  by  the 
breeze,  and  by  the  rapid  fanning  of  a  palma 


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Laborer's  hut  in  plantation. 


or  fan  held  in  the  cleaner's  other  hand. 

Naturally,  the  up-to-date  coffee-planters 
who  use  instead  of  the  above  primitive 
methods,  modern  pulpers,  hullers,  and  fan- 
ners, get  the  requisite  cleaning  and  hulling 
accomplished  about  ten  times  as  rapidly 
and  satisfactorily,  with  none  of  the  damage 
to  the  berrico  which  almost  always  accrues 


from   pursuing  the  rude  native  method. 

Now  that  the  coffee  is  cleaned,  it  is 
placed  in  storage,  where  it  is  classified  and 
sacked  for  market.  Generally  put  up  in 
"bultos"  or  sacks,  weighing  from  150  to  200 
pounds,  the  coffee  is  ready  to  be  transported 
to  the  nearest  shipping  station.  For  coffee 
plantations    surrounding    and    near    .Talapa, 


A   plantation   corner. 


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Coffee  Culture  in  Mexico. 


707 


Cordoba,  and  Coatapec,  the  station  is  al- 
ways Vera  Cruz,  whence  Mexican  coffee 
is  sent  to  many  different  parts  of  the  world. 
By  way  of  the  American  Ward  Line  of 
steamers  the  berry  is  freighted  to  New 
York,  to  Baltimore,  and  to  other  parts  of  the 
United  States;  the  French  Transatlantique 
Line,  plying  between  Vera  Cruz  and  the  dif- 
ferent French  ports,  takes  over  many  tons 
of  coffee  to  France;  the  Liverpool  and  other 
English  vessels  carry  large  shipments  to 
the  British  Isles,  while  the  numerous  tramp 
vessels  constantly  to  be  found  in  Vera  Cruz 
harbor  load  up  with  coffee  to  any  port  de- 
sired. 

Many  planters  of  coffee  in  Mexico,  while 
waiting  the  maturity  of  their  first  crop,  de- 


So  far  as  Mexican  labor  is  concerned,  it 
is  hardly  probable  that  cheaper  labor  can 
be  found  anywhere  in  the  world — China  ex- 
cepted. And,  in  spite  of  his  cheapness,  the 
Mexican  peon  is  often  very  tractable,  willing, 
and  physically  very  strong.  Beginning  work 
on  the  plantations  early  in  the  morning, 
with  only  a  slight  intermission  at  noon, 
in  which  to  partake  of  their  tortillas  and  fri- 
joles,  the  peons  will  labor  steadily  until 
night-fall,  when  in  payment  of  their  day's 
toil  they  receive  sums  varying  from  thirty- 
five  to  fifty  cents  Mexican  money,  (or  from 
seventeen  to  twenty-five  cents  in  United 
States  money)  which  to  them  is  a  small 
fortune. 

To  a  planter  familiar  with  the  peons  of 


Native  Sorters  at  work. 

vote  themselves  in  the  interim  to  the  grow- 
ing of  other  tropical  crops,  which  readily 
flourish  and  mature  along  with  the  coffee 
crop.  For  all  of  Mexico's  tropical  fruits, 
such  as  pineapples,  oranges,  bananas,  cacao, 
vanila,  or  even  tobacco,  corn  and  sugar-cane, 
there  is  a  constantly  increasing  demand,  and 
a  very  good  feature  of  coffee  growing  is 
the  fact  that  right  along  with  the  coffee 
trees  almost  any  of  the  above  enumerated 
crops  can  be  planted  and  advantageously 
raised,  thus  enabling  a  progressive  planter 
to  "kill  several  birds  with  one  stone,"  and 
thereby  largely  add  to  the  already  good 
profits  to  be  derived  from  his  crop  of  coffee. 


Ceylon  or  Indian  tea-plantations,  the  black 
of  the  Southern  States  of  America,  or  of  the 
West  Indies,  the  Mexican  peon  is  a  more 
or  less  acceptable  laborer;  others,  who  have 
been  used  to  only  the  skilled  labor  of  white 
people,  in  whatever  part  of  the  world,  will 
never  have  much  success  with  the  peon. 
He  is,  to  begin  with,  a  very  tender  plant, 
and  you  have,  in  order  to  get  any  results 
whatever  out  of  him,  a  great  deal  of  cod- 
dling, persuading,  and  brow-beating,  to  go 
through  with.  He  has,  and  always  will  have, 
a  great  notion  of  his  own  dignity,  and  more 
or  less  suspicion  of  the  "Gringo,"  or  white 
man  who  employs  him. 


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It  is  rarely  that  a  peon  trusts  the  foreign 
"Gringo" — at  this  one  can  scarcely  wonder! 
For,  from  the  time  of  Hernan  Cortez,  three 
hundred  years  ago,  the  peon  has  been 
banged  about  from  pillar  to  post,  employed 
in  the  worst  kind  of  slavery,  and  generally 
treated  like  a  dog  by  his  heartless  Spanish 
taskmaster.  Little  wonder,  is  it  then,  that 
he  distrusts  the  white  man,  no  matter  of 
what  nationality — "all  coons  look  alike  to 
him" — and  this  very  attitude  of  his  toward 
the  foreign  planters  in  Mexico,  coupled  with 
his  own  lazy  and  dolce  far  niente  "manana" 
methods  combine  to  render  him,  in  spite 
of  his  cheapness,  a  very  undesirable  and 
inadequate  employee. 

The  Mexican  peon  is,  usually  the  most 
independent  being  in  existence;  he  may  be 
without  a  centavo,  or  a  place  in  which  to 
lay  his  head,  yet  he  would  far  rather  loaf 
in  the  warm  sunshine,  half  starving  and  half 
clad,  than  to  work  on  a  feast  day,  or  deal 
with  a  personally  distasteful  master. 

Particularly  is  this  true  of  the  Oaxaca 
Indian,  the  purest-blooded,  most  industrious 
and  least  manageable  tribe  of  Indians  in 
Mexico.  Even  though  offered  extraordinar- 
ily good  wages  by  desperate  coffee-planters 
— whose  entire  crop  may  be  decaying  un- 
picked before  their  eyes,  for  want  of  labor- 
ers— the  independent  "Mixteca"  or  "Ser- 
rano"   Indian    will    emit   a    scornful    grunt, 


and  then  proceed  stolidly  with  the 
planting  of  the  small  crop  of  com,  beans, 
or  alfalfa,  and  the  tending  of  a  small  grove 
of  orange  or  coffee  trees.  Many  of  these 
Oaxaca  Indians,  it  may  be  said,  make  quite 
a  little  sum  out  of  their  own  humble  coffee 
transactions. 

Living  in  their  own  small,  almost  inacces- 
sible mountain  pueblos,  where  they  have 
their  own  sub-government,  rude  printing- 
presses,  minor  law-makers  of  their  own 
choosing,  and  where  they  can  raise  and  bar- 
ter as  they  please  their  small  coffee-crops, 
it  is  hardly  .remarkable  that  these  Oaxaca 
"Serranos"  prefer  to  "run  their  own  show" 
in  preference  to  laboring  on  the  foreigners' 
coffee  "fincas."  Many  of  these  same  Indians 
by  the  way,  are  very  wealthy;  they  live 
frugal  lives,  work  hard  in  the  open  air,  and 
partake  of  no  alcoholic  drinks  (alcohol  be- 
ing as  poison,  where  Indians  are  concerned.) 
They  are  often  known  to  live  to  a  green  old 
age,  from  one  hundred  years  to  one  hun- 
dred and  fifteen;  and  as  fighters  and  "Cain- 
raisers"  (as  also  coffee-raisers)  they  are  not 
by  any  manner  of  means  to  be  despised. 

Often  you  will  notice  these  vendors  of 
coffee,  in  Oaxaca — capital  of  the  great  coffee- 
growing  State  of  the  same  name — carrying 
heavy  bags  of  the  far-famed  Oaxaca  coffee, 
they  trudge  into  town,  always  conspicuous 
by  reason  of  their  splendid   physique   and 


Sacking  for  shipment. 


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Coffee  Culture  in  Mexico. 


709 


pure  white  manta  garments — even  their  wo- 
men wearing  solely  white  rebozos  (or 
scarfs)  instead  of  the  generally  accepted 
one  of  pretty  blue.  Few  of  these  Indians 
speak  or  understand  Spanish,  and  their  traf- 
fic with  the  shopkeepers,  to  whom  they  will 
trade  a  large  sack  of  coffee,  taking  in  ex- 
change cloth,  ammunition,  teads,  and  other 
trinkets,  is  amusing  to  witness. 

Of  late,  some  of  the  largest  coffee-plant- 
ers in  Mexico  are  solving  the  labor  ques- 
tion by  the  importation  from  China  of 
coolies  or  laborers.  This,  if  entered  into  to 
any  great  extent,  will  probably  prejudice 
the  native  peon  laborer's  chances,  but  it 
cannot  well  be  helped — as  a  Westerner 
would  say,  "He  must  either  put  up  or  shut 
up." 

In  the  case  of  Chinese  laborers,  the  Celes- 
tial, by  reason  of  his  energy,  industry,  and 
desire  to  amass  money,  is  as  good  a  servant 
as  one  can  ask;  he  is  perfectly  content  to 
work  steadily  year  in  and  year  out,  with 
never  a  day  off,  or  a  fiesta  to  observe; 
he  is  cheap,  and,  above  all,  he  has  none  of 
the  exalted  ideas  of  his  own  dignity  and 
importance  which  are  only  too  common 
among  the  Mexican  peons. 

The  question  of  labor,  then,  being  satisfac- 
torily arranged,  coffee-planting  in  Mexico 
will  doubtless  prove  more  profitable  and  eas- 
ily carried  on  than  it  has  in  the  past.  Lands 
are  cheap  and  easily  obtained;  the  laws  of 
Mexico  are  thought  to  be  as  good  as  those 
of  any  other  Republic;  the  climate  is  as 
nearly  perfect  as  one  can  find  on  this  terres- 
trial globe;  and  take  it  all  in  all,  a  coffee- 
plantation  in  the  tropics  is  no  bad  abiding 
place,  always  provided  one  doesn't  object 
to  loneliness. 

In  regard  to  the  quality  of  Mexican  coffee, 

'the  demand  for  it,  the  amount  of  it  exported 

particularly  to  the  United  States  of  America, 

and  the  profit  to  be  made  on  its  cultivation, 

statistics  will  easily  give  one  accurate  and 


satisfactory  answers  to  the  above  questions. 

It  may  not  come  amiss  here  to  state  that 
the  coffee  of  Mexico,  and  particularly  that 
of  Uruapam,  and  Oaxaca,  is  admitted  to  be 
quite  as  good  as  coffee  raised  anywhere 
else  in  the  world,  many  coffee-drinkers,  in- 
deed, preferring  Uruapam  coffee  to  any 
other,    Java    and    Mocha    not    excepted. 

Ever  since  Mexico  became  recognized  as 
a  grower  of  coffee,  and  her  product  fully 
equal  in  quantity  and  quality  to  that  of  Bra- 
zil, the  Indies,  and  other  coffee-raising  coun- 
tries, there  has  been  a  steady  demand  for 
"caf§  Mexicana";  often,  indeed,  the  supply 
has  not  been  equal  to  the  demand. 

Prices  have  always  been  held  very  firm, 
and  the  United  States  in  particular  has 
imported  tremendous  quantities  of  Mexican 
coffee.  In  the  year  1899,  for  example,  Mex- 
ico's shipments  of  coffee  to  the  United  States 
more  than  doubled  in  quantity  and  value 
those  for  the  same  period  of  the  preceding 
year. 

In  one  month  alone  of  the  year  1898  coffee 
shipments  amounted  to  808,000  pounds,  val- 
ued at  $73,962,  and  in  the  same  month  of 
1899  they  had  increased  to  2,358,225  pounds, 
valued  at  $205,218. 

Finally,  as  to  the  question  of  profit  from 
coffee-planting,  this  depends  almost  alto- 
gether on  the  ability,  the  energy,  and  the 
steadiness  of  the  planter.  Coffee-growing, 
like  gold-mining,  cotton-growing,  and  news- 
paper running,  has  to  be  backed  by  a  certain 
amount  of  judgment  and  brain  power.  How- 
ever, it  is  a  fact  that  men  who  have  failed 
in  newspaper  running  and  gold  mining  have 
made  money  in  Mexico  through  the  growing 
of  coffee.  And  after  all,  even  though  one 
may  not  make  a  large  and  extensive  fortune 
out  of  it,  there  is  not  the  chance  to  lose  a 
great  amount  of  money  in  the  business. 
And  this  is  certainly  a  qualifying  feature 
which  is  not  to  be  sneezed  at. 


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THE    LAND    OF    WILLIAM    TELL. 


BY   JANE    NEARLEIN. 


rT~7  HE  Swiss  are  a  great  people.  Of  that 
J=|^,  I  think  every  one  is  convinced,  and 
I  he  who  visits  Switzerland  for  the 
first  time  cannot  fail  to  observe 
their  matchless  handicraft.  They  not  only 
keep  the  best  hotels  in  the  world,  and  make 
the  best  cheese,  clocks,  and  watches,  but 
they  show  themselves  artists  in  the  super- 
iority of  their  wood  carving  and  in  the  mas- 
sive, but  pleasing,  style  of  their  architec- 
ture. Frugal,  plodding,  progressive,  indus- 
trious, honest,  and  ambitious,  are  adjectives 
that  apply  to  the  "Switzers,"  who  occupy  the 
pisturesque  Swiss  cantons  among  the  Alps. 

While  a  great  deal  has  already  been  writ- 
ten of  Switzerland  and  its  beautiful  lakes 
and  mountains,  there  is  still  a  great  deal 
more  to  be  said,  and  I  sigh  that  my  pen 
is  not  a  brush,  for  I  could  then,  perhaps, 
give  a  series  of  pictures  of  the  lovely  coun- 
try and  its  people,  which  would  bring  you  in 
touch  with  the  life,  customs,  and  surround- 
ings of  the  fair-haired  race  who  boast  of 
a  descent  that  dates  back  to  the  time  of  the 
fascinating  and  mysterious  Lake  Dwellers; 
to  a  sturdy  homely,  ingenious  people,  keenly 
alive  to  this  progressive  age,  to  a  brave, 
loyal  race  who  now  so  thoroughly  enjoy  the 
peace  and  prosperity  which  the  cantonal 
system  affords  them. 

Switzerland  is  as  rich  in  legend  and  folk- 
lore as  it  is  in  its  unrivaled  scenery,  and 
every  city,  town,  lake  and  mountain  pass 
has  associated  with  its  history  a  fairy-like 
legend,  often  startlingly  improbable,  but  so 
interwoven  with  the  surroundings,  so 
naively  told  as  to  be  believed  in  toto,  and 
always  associatea  in  memory's  archives  with 
some  charming  spot.  In  Switzerland  the 
historian,  painter,  and  writer  can  never 
lack  for  material,  and  the  geologist  must 
find  plently  to  occupy  his  time  and  atten- 
tion in  describing  the  character  of  the  high 
and  lofty  rocks,  the  glaciers  and  the  moun- 
tains. 

From  Milan  to  Lucerne  by  the  great  St. 
Gotthard  line  is  a  charming  trip,  and  with 
one  exception  the  most  picturesque  and  va- 
ried line  in  Europe.  From  Milan  to  Chiasso, 
the   frontier,   the   ride   through   the   Italian 


lake  section  is  ideal,  for  Como  is  seen  in 
all  of  its  loveliness.  Then  on  to  Lugano,  and 
close  at  hand  towers  the  lofty  and  impres- 
sive Generoso,  the  Italian  Rigi.  In  this  lo- 
cale are  the  vast  wine  districts  of  the  coun- 
try, and  at  Bellinzona,  another  locomotive 
is  taken  on  for  the  ascent  of  the  snow-clad 
Alps.  So  much  is  there  to  see  upon  all 
sides  that  Airolo  and  the  entrance  to  the 
great  tunnel  are  all  too  quickly  reached. 
Slowly  the  train  has  climbed  up  the  rugged 
mountains,  through  the  gorge  of  Dazio 
Grande,  one  of  the  most  awe-inspiring  of 
ravines,  and  through  which  the  Ticino 
rushes  down  in  a  series  of  pretty  cascades. 

Airolo,  then  presto !  and  you  are  in  the  tun- 
nel for  twenty  minutes,  coming  out  at  Gos- 
chenen,  having  covered  nine  and  a  quarter 
miles,  6076  feet,  below  the  Kastelhorn,  under 
which  it  passes.  All  the  world  is  familiar 
with  this  great  feat  of  railway  engineering, 
for  at  the  opening,  in  1882,  the  details  of 
the  work  were  heralded  from  pole  to  i)ole, 
and  the  ten  years  of  hard  labor  rewarded. 
So  accurate  was  the  plan  that  the  boring, 
which  took  over  seven  years,  and  which  was 
carried  on  simultaneously  from  either  end, 
met  to  almost  an  inch  at  the  finish.  Most 
deplorable  was  it  that  the  engineer,  M. 
Louis  Favre,  could  not  have  lived  to  witness 
this,  the  culminating  triumph  of  his  skill, 
but  fate  had  decreed  otherwise,  and  he  died 
suddenly  one  day  of  apoplexy  in  the  tunnel 
just  eight  months  before  his  gigantic  under- 
taking was  successfully  tetrminated.  And 
yet  I  am  sure  that  had  he  been  permitted* 
to  choose  the  place  in  which  to  bid  good-bye 
to  this  world  he  would  have  selected  this 
same  St.  Gotthard  tunnel  as  a  fitting  spot 
in  which  to  lay  aside  all  care  and  trouble 
for  eternal  rest. 

From  Goschenen  to  Erstfeld  the  ride  down 
the  mountains  by  means  of  the  many  spiral 
tunnels  is  exciting  and  fascinating,  and  you 
are  in  a  constant  state  of  perplexity  and 
doubt  as  to  just  where  you  came  from  and 
just  where  you  are  going,  for  it  is  impossible 
to  trace  the  way.  Often  you  emerge  from 
the  tunnel  directly  below  the  spot  where 
you  entered  it  but  a  few  moments  before. 


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The   Land   of  William   Tel 


711 


and  there  is  a  wondrous  multiplicity  of  turns 
and  twists;  on  and  on,  each  and  every  pic- 
ture more  lovely  until  the  little  village  of 
Altorf  is  reached,  and  you  are  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  Tell  district,  for  Altorf  is  cele- 
brated as  the  scene  of  the  well-known  story 
in  the  life  of  the  hero,  William  Tell,  who,  at 
the  command  of  the  tyrant  Gessler  shot  an 
apple  from  the  head  of  his  idolized  son.  The 
spot  where  the  lad  stood  is  now  marked  by 
a  handsome  fountain,  the  tree  against  which 
he  leaned  having  been  blown  down  in  1567, 
while  the  spot  where  the  father  stood  is 
marked  by  a  colossal  statue  of  the  hero  in 
plaster,  erected  by  the  riflemen  of  Zurich. 
About  a  mile  from  Altorf  is  Burglen,  the 
birth-place  and  home  of  Tell.     Here  stands 


by  shrieks  in  the  old  tower,  from  which  the 
ghost  of  the  baron  is  seen  flying,  pursued 
by  a  maiden  all  in  white,  until  with  a  wild 
yell  of  terror  he  plunges  into  the  lake  and 
disappears. 

Lucerne  is  one  of  the  most  attractive 
spots  to  tourists  in  all  Switzerland,  and  the 
hotels  are  always  crowded  the  entire  season. 
It  is  an  ancient  walled  city,  taking  its  name 
from  a  tower,  in  which  in  olden  days  a  light 
was  always  kept  burning.  It  is  built  upon 
both  sides  of  the  river  Keuss,  and  connected 
by  bridges,  four  in  all.  The  two  old  ones, 
the  Kapell  Brucke,  and  the  Muhl  Brucke,  be- 
ing most  curious  and  interesting,  the  first 
being  open  at  the  sides,  but  covered  with  a 
quaint  roof,  to  the  beams  of  which  are  hung 


The  Rigi. 


a  quaint  little  chapel,  with  frescoes  of 
events  in  the  life  of  Tell,  and  near  the  bridge 
over  the  Schachenbach  is  the  spot  where 
the  hero  lost  his  life  trying  to  save  a  child 
who  was  being  swept  down  the  stream  dur- 
ing a  flood. 

Some  twenty-five  miles  before  Lucerne  is 
reached  is  the  little  Lowerzer  See,  and  on 
a  small  island,  called  Schwanau,  is  a  ruined 
castle  which  tradition  tells  us  was  the  home 
In  1508  of  a  wicked  baron.  To  this  castle 
he  one  day  brought  a  beautiful  peasant  girl, 
whom  he  kept  imprisoned  in  a  tower.  Her 
enraged  relatives  and  friends  stormed  the 
castle,  burnt  it  to  the  ground,  and  killed  the 
baron.  Every  year  since,  it  is  said,  on  the 
anniversary  of  his  death,  a  terrific  clap  of 
thunder  is  heard  among  the  ruins,  followed 


triangular  pictures,  some  one  hundred  and 
fifty  in  all,  representing  scenes  from  the 
lives  of  St.  Leger  and  St.  Maurice,  and  from 
Swiss  history.  The  Muhl  Brucke,  also  cov- 
ered, is  similarly  decoratea  with  paintings 
depicting  "The  Dance  of  Death." 

From  Lucerne  there  are  many  delightful 
excursions,  the  ascent  of  the  Rigi,  offering, 
as  it  does,  a  magnificent  panorama  of  the 
Alps,  some  three  hundred  miles  in  circum- 
ference, being  especially  attractive.  The  as- 
cent is  made  from  Vitznau  on  Lake  Lucerne, 
or  Arth-Goldau  near  Lake  Zug,  the  former 
being  the  most  convenient  and  popular  route 
affording  finer  views.  The  railway,  run  on 
the  "rack  and  pinion"  system,  attains  a 
maximum  gradient  of  one  in  four  and  cov- 
ers about  four  miles.    The  speed  of  running 


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Overland  Monthly. 


Rigl   Car. 


never  exceeds  this.  Between  the  main  rails 
there  is  a  heavy  notched  rail  which  is 
gripped  by  powerful  cog-wheels  under  the 
engine,  and  both  engines  and  carriages  have 
enormously  powerful  brakes  which  can  in- 
stantaneously stop  the  train  if  required.  The 
engine  is  placed  behind  the  car  as  in  the 
ascent  of  Mt.  Washington,  and  the  carriages 
are  open  upon  the  sides,  so  as  not  to  in  any 
way  obstruct  the  view,  a  simple  roofing 
protecting  the  heads  of  travelers  from  the 
hot  sun.  Leaving  Vitznau  the  train  creeps 
straight  up  the  steep  slope,  and  the  view 
of  the  lake  begins  to  open  up,  while  far 
above  is  seen  the  Hotel  Rigi-Kaltbad.  Stops 
are  made  at  several  stations  before  Kaltbad 
is  reached,  some  4728  feet  above  the  sea. 
Here  many  tourists  stop  over  for  a  day,  for 
it  is  a  much  frequented  health  resort,  shel- 
tered as  it  is  from  the  winds.  Here  is  a 
pretty  chapel,  St.  Michaels,  and  close  by  it 
is  a  spring  issuing  from  a  solid  rock  called 
Schwesternbom,  from  the  old  legend  that 
three  handsome  sisters  were  brought  to 
the  spot  by  an  angel  to  find  refuge  from  the 
disagreeable  and  unwelcome  addresses  of 
a  rich  old  Austrian  bailiff  who  lived  in  the 
time  of  Tell.  The  chapel  is  hung  with 
votive  offerings  of  quaint  pictures.  On  the 
left  wall  the  Dean  of  Westminster  has 
placed  a  marble  tablet  in  memory  of  his  sis- 


ter, Mary  Stanley.  On  the  summit  Rigl- 
Kulm,  the  views  are  superb  and  unfold  them- 
selves in  a  series  of  never  to  be  forgotten 
pictures.  At  Rigl-Kulm,  the  highest  point, 
there  is  a  large  and  comfortable  hotel,  and 
one  should  pass  the  night  there  if  possible, 
for  the  sunrise,  if  seen  in  all  of  its  beauty, 
is  a  sight  that  is  inspiring.  An  alpine  horn 
is  blown  half  an  hour  before  sunrise,  and 
its  warning  notes  should  be  heeded,  despite 
the  temptation  to  take  another  forty  winks, 
for  the  first  breaking  of  the  dawn  is  not  to 
be  overlooked.  Some  are  fortunate  enough 
to  see  that  curious  phenomenon  called  the 
spectre  of  the  Rigi,  when  the  sun  throws 
on  the  mist,  rising  up  from  the  valley 
beneath,  in  clear  and  defined  outline 
the  shadows  of  the  mountain,  and  those 
who  may  be  on  its  summit,  sometimes 
encircling  them  with  a  halo  of  prismatic 
colors.  But  whether  this  phenomenon  is 
vouchsafed  or  not  the  panorama  is  beyond 
words,  and  must  be  seen  if  Switzerland  is 
visited.  As  early  as  the  beginning  of  the 
last  century  there  have  been  hotels  on  the 
Rigi,  for  the  accommodation  of  the  pilgrims 
who  fiock  there  yearly  to  pray  at  the  shrine 
of  St.  Marie  zum  Schnee — St.  Mary  of  the 
Snow — erected  in  1690,  ana  supposed  to 
have  a  most  miraculous  healing  power. 
Another  pleasant  mountain  trip  is  the  as- 


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The   Land   of  William   Tell. 


713 


cent  of  Mt.  Pilatus,  which  takes  its  name 
from  a  legend  of  Pontius  Pilate,  who,  the 
story  goes,  being  banished  from  Palestine, 
after  wandering  all  over  Gaul,  took  refuge 
here,  and  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  remorse,  threw 
himself  into  the  lake  below.  The  views 
are  finer  than  those  from  the  Rigi,  and  the 
ascent  now  quite  safe.  The  mountain  is 
looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  huge  barometer 
by  the  Lucemers,  for  if  it  is  hid  by  clouds 
in  the  morning,  they  know  that  the  weather 
will  be  fine,  but  if  the  summit  stands  out 
bold  and  clear,  rain  will  most  likely  follow. 

Brunnen,  a  fascinating  village,  with  its 
old  Rathaus  and  its  curious  frescoes,  and 
the  Kurhaus  Axenstein  perched  high  above 
the  village  on  the  Brandli;  Gutsch,  a  hill 
behind  the  town  with  lovely  lake  views; 
Grutll,  where  at  midnight  1307  thirty  Swiss 
patriots  met  from  the  three  cantons  and 
took  a  solemn  oath  to  free  their  country 
from  the  oppressions  of  the  Austrians;  Kuss- 
nacht  and  the  Hohle  Gasse,  where  Tell  shot 
Gessler  after  his  escape  from  Tell's  chapel, 
and  Immensee,  are  but  a  few  of  the  charm- 
ing trips  out  from  Lucerne. 

Zurich,  with  its  fine  situation  on  the  lake 
of  Zurich,  is  most  modem  and  imposing. 
Its  streets  are  regularly  laid  out,  its  build- 
ings massive  and  handsome,  and  its  shops 


quite  like  those  found  in  Paris,  London  or 
Milan.  There  is  not  very  much  to  see,  but 
the  city  in  itself  is  attractive,  the  walks 
and  drives  delightful,  and  the  environs  pic- 
turesque. It  is  in  this  city  that  the  traveler 
is  more  than  ever  impressed  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  Swiss  are  as  a  class  awkward 
and  plain  of  face  and  figure.  Soldiers,  aristo- 
crats, artisans,  and  peasants  lack  grace  and 
comliness,  and  are  strikingly  out  of  harmony 
with  the  architecturally  beautiful  buildings, 
and  prettily  laid  out  parks  and  squares. 
Rich  silks  and  brocades,  made  strictly  a  la 
mode,  help  the  general  appearance,  but  the 
fact  that  they  are  plain  is  undeniable,  and 
though  the  eyes  look  out  at  you  from  under 
masses  of  soft,  fiuffy  golden  hair,  and  a  skin 
that  is  peach-liKe,  the  features  are  inclined 
to  be  coarse  ana  the  carriage  lacking  in  ele- 
gance. More  honest  faces  there  are  not  all 
Europe  over. 

They  are  blest  with  a  sense  of  humor  on 
occasions,  as  the  following  story  will  illus- 
trate. It  was  in  Zurich  that  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  an  exceedingly  bright  waiter. 
One  day  it  rained  heavily,  and,  kept  in  doors, 
I  determined  to  spend  the  day  writing  home 
letters.  I  rang  for  the  waiter  on  our  fioor, 
and  requested  pen,  ink,  and  paper.  I  gave 
the  order  in  my  best  French,  and  sat  down 


Chapel  of  William  Tell. 


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Hotel   RIgi-Kuim. 


and  waited.  In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
he  came  back  with  the  ink  and  pen  and  one 
sheet  of  paper  and  one  envelope.  I  wrote 
my  letter  and  then  rang  and  asked  for  more 
stationery.  This  time  he  brought  me  two 
sheets  and  two  envelopes.  My  letters  were 
long,  and  I  was  soon  out  of  paper,  but,  not 
liking  to  ask  again,  I  waited  until  after 
lunch  and  then  rang  and  told  him  to  bring 
me  a  dozen  sheets  and  put  them  on  my  ac- 
count. When  he  appeared  he  had  three 
sheets  of  paper  and  no  envelopes,  though 
I  did  not  discover  the  fact  until  he  had  dis- 
appeared, so  that  I  was  forced  to  ring  again 
for  envelopes.-  My  patience  was  about  ex- 
hausted, and  I  W!is  sure  that  my  French  was 
wrong,  when  the  gong  sounded  for  supper, 
and  I  resolved  to  wait  until  the  next  day  and 
then  buy  some  stationery  at  one  of  the 
shops.  I  went  to  bed  early  and  was  soon 
asleep.  It  i  id  not  seem  more  than  half  an 
hour  when  I  was  awakened  by  a  loud  knock- 
ing at  my  door,  and  half  asleep  I  crawled 
out  of  bed  and  stumbling  around  the  room, 
for  it  was  quite  dark,  found  my  bath  robe 
and  opened  the  door,  expecting  to  find  a 
cablegram  recalling  me  to  America.  There 
stood  the  long-suffering  waiter  of  the  day 
before,  and  in  his  hand  a  sheet  of  paper  and 
an  envelope.  "Did  you  ring  for  paper  and 
envelopes,"  he  asked  in  French  with  a  polite 
bow  as  he  handed  me  the  stationery,  and  I 


am  sure  that  I  detected  a  twinkle  in  his  eye 
as  the  candle-light  flickered  on  his  face. 
"Yes,"  I  said,  alive  to  the  situation,  and 
slamming  the  door  I  got  back  into  bed  just 
as  the  tower  clock  close  by  struck  four. 
Before  going  over  to  Berne  I  paid  a  visit 
to  Binsideln  to  see  the  great  annual  Roman 
Catholic  pilgrimage,  which  takes  place  Sep- 
tember 14,  and  I  saw  one  hundred  thousand 
pilgrims  congregated  there.  The  little  vil- 
lage is  often  spoken  of  as  "Notre  Dame 
Des  Brmites,"  and  is  made  up  almost  entire- 
ly of  inns  for  the  sole  accommodation  of  the 
pilgrims.  The  origin  of  this  great  gathering 
of  people  is,  ^hat  during  the  reign  of  Charle- 
magne, a  rich  Count  of  Sulgen,  named  Mein- 
rad,  and  a  member  of  the  renowned  Hohon- 
zollern  family,  becoming  weary  of  the  world 
and  its  vanities,  left  his  palace  on  the  Nec- 
kar,  and  came  to  Einsiedeln,  then  a  wilder- 
ness, to  spend  the  closing  days  of  his  life 
in  fasting  and  prayer,  and  in  the  worship 
of  a  small  image  of  the  blessed  Virgin,  given 
him  by  St.  Hildei;arde,the  lovely  Abbess  of 
the  church  of  Notre  Dame  at  Zurich.  Two 
brigands,  learning  of  his  retreat,  and  think- 
ing that  gold  and  jewels  might  be  con- 
cealed in  his  hut  muredered  him  in  this 
lonely  spot  in  the  year  861.  They  fled  at 
once,  and  woul:.  have  escaped  undiscovered 
had  not  two  pet  ravens  of  the  murc'.ered 
Count    followed    and    hovered    over    them. 


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The   Land   of  William   Tell. 


715 


croaking  most  accursingly  ai  far  as  Zurich, 
where  the  attention  of  the  citizens  was  at- 
tracted to  the  unusual  sight,  and  the  vil- 
lains were  arrested  and  finally  executed.  This 
miracle  invested  the  spot  where  the  Saint 
had  lived  with  such  an  odor  of  sanctity 
that  a  Benedictine  abbey  was  founded  on 
the  site  of  his  lonely  hut.  On  the  l4th  of 
September,  948,  when  the  abbey  was  about 
to  be  dedicated  by  the  Bishop  of  Constance, 
a  radiant  vision  of  the  Savior,  surrounded 
by  angels,  is  said  to  have  appeared  to  him 
at  midnight,  and  heavenly  voices  told  him 
that  the  consecration  had  already  been  per- 
formed by  Christ  himself.  Pope  Leo  VIII 
issued  a  bull  accepting  the  miracle,  and  giv- 
ing plenary  indulgence  to  all  who  should 
thereafter  make  pilgrimages  to  the  shrine 
of  our  *'Lady  of  the  Hermit."  The  offer- 
ings of  the  pilgrims  made  the  abbey  one 
of  the  richest  in  Switzerland,  and  the  abbots 
W3re  created  Princes  of  the  Empire  by  Ru- 
dolph of  Hapsberg,  which  title  they  still 
bear  in  the  Roman  Catholic  cantons.  Dur- 
ing the  revolution  of  1798  the  invading 
French  army  carried  away  many  of  the  most 
costly  treasures  to  Paris,  but  the  monkd 
saved  the  sacred  image  of  the  Virgin  which 


had  been  so  devoutly  worshiped  by  St.  Mein- 
rad.  For.  several  years  they  took  refuge 
in  the  mountains  of  the  Tyrol,  returning  to 
the  abbey  in  1803,  and  in  1861,  the  one  thou- 
sandth anniversary  of  the  death  of  the  Saint 
was  celebrated.  The  abbey  has  been  par- 
tially destroyed  by  fire  several  times,  but  al- 
ways restored. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Virgin,  protected  by  an 
iron  railing,  and  illuminated  by  constantly 
burning  lamps,  is  the  shrine  in  which  is 
kept  the  little  figure  of  the  Virgin  that  be- 
longed to  St.  Meinrad.  It  is  richly  dressed 
in  gold  brocade,  and  fairly  glitters  with 
gold  and  rare,  precious  stones.  Round  the 
chapel  walls  are  hung  grotesque  votive 
tablets  depicting  every  conceivable  ill  that 
human  flesh  is  heir  to.  Here  on  the  14th 
of  September  tne  pilgrims  assemble,  many 
of  them  of  the  poorer  classes,  who,  for  a 
fee,  make  the  pilgrimage  for  their  richer 
brethren.  In  front  of  the  abbey  is  a  foun- 
tain of  black  marble  with  fourteen  jets, 
where,  according  to  tradition,  our  Savior 
drank  after  appearing  to  the  Bishop  cf  Con- 
stance. Here  all  of  the  pilgrims  drink  in 
commemoration  of  the  blessed  consecration. 


Lucerne,  showing  Mt.  Pilatus. 


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With    John    James    Ingalls. 


BY  JAMES  MATLOCK  SCOVEL. 


,) 


SPENT  two  hours  at  dinner  at  Cham- 
berlain's with  the  late  John  J.  Ingalls 
X  before  he  went  to  Kansas  on  his  quest 
for  Senatorial  re-election.  He  was  not 
averse  to  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  but 
being  by  no  means  robust  he  indulged 
sparingly.  A  couple  of  spring  lamb  chops, 
a  salad  of  Florida  tomatoes,  two  glasses  of 
claret,  and  a  cup  of  black  coffee  constituted 
his  entire  dinner.  But  he  enjoyed  it  The 
Senator  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  bright 
sayings,  coments  upon  public  men  and  meas- 
ures, from  the  President  down  to  Senators 
and  members  of  Congress,  most  of  which 
cannot  be  repeated  without  betrayal  of  con- 
fidence. 

"I  was  bom,"  he  said,  "in  the  town  of 
Midleton,  Essex  county,  Mass.,  on  December 
29,  1833.  My  original  ancestor  In  America 
on  my  father's  side  was  Edmund  Ingalls,  or 
'Ingall,'  as  it  was  then  written,  who,  with 
his  brother  Francis,  removed  from  West 
England  in  1828  and  founded  the  city  of 
Lynn  in  Essex  county.  His  mother,  bom 
Eliza  Chase,  was  a  descendant  of  Aquila 
Chase,  who  settled  in  New  Hampshire  in 
1630,  so  that  on  both  sides  I  come  from  an 
unboken  strain  of  Puritan  blood  without  any 
intermixture. 

"My  parents  were  in  a  middle  condition  of 
life.  My  father  was  a  man  of  unusual  in- 
telligence, who  was  intended  for  one  of  the 
learned  professions,  but  on  account  of  fail- 
ing health  entered  the  mercantile  business 
as  a  wholesale  manufacturer  of  boots  and 
shoes.  He  continued  in  business,  but  with 
varying  success,  until  about  1861,  when  he 
retired   from   active   life. 

"I  am  the  oldest  of  nine  children,  of  whom 
six  besides  myself  now  survive,  two  sisters 
having  died  in  infanacy.  They  said  I  was 
a  delicate  child  and,  my  father  says,  proco- 
cious  in  my  intellectual  development,  and 
able  to  read  intelligently  when  I  was  two 
years  old.  I  can  hardly  believe  it,  but  he 
informs  me  that  my  disposition  was  exces- 
sively sensitive,  shy,  and  diffident,  and  I 
certainly  did  not  then  give  promise  of  that 
•virility   and   audacity'   which   my   enemies 


say  I  have  displayed  in  the  Senate.  I  stud- 
ied at  the  public  schools  until  the  age  of  16, 
and  began  my  .study  preparatory  for  college 
under  a  private  tutor. 

"I  come  from  a  long-lived  stock.  My 
mother's  father  died  in  1870  at  the  age  of 
90,  and  some  of  his  ancestors  reached  the 
century  line.  My  father,  bom  in  1810,  and 
my  mother,  bom  in  1812,  are  both  living  in 
the  city  of  Haverhill,  Mass.  My  earliest 
intellectual  activity  found  expression  in 
verse.  I  commenced  keeping  a  journal 
when  I  was  13  years  of  age  and  continued 
it  for  a  great  many  years.  When  I  was  14 
years  of  age  i  was  an  occasional  contributor 
to  many  local  and  metropolitan  newspapers, 
but  always  anonymously.  I  contributed  some 
poetical  articles  to  a  paper  published  by 
B.  P.  ShiUaber  (Mrs.  Partington),  called 
the  "Carpet  Bag,"  and  subsequently  for  that 
most  delightful  periodical  the  Knicker- 
bocker Magazine,  published  by  Lewis  Qay- 
lord  Clark,  long  since  deceased.  I  contri- 
buted to  the  Boston  Transcript  and  to  the 
local  papers  of  Haverhill. 

"When  I  acquired  the  necessary  knowl- 
edge of  Greek  and  Latin  and  higher  mathe- 
matics I  was  admitted  to  the  freshman 
class  in  Williams  College  in  September,  1851 
Dr.  Mark  Hopkins  was  then  the  president. 
Many  of  my  fellow  student  at  this  institu- 
tion afterwards  achieved  distinction  and 
even  prominence  in  political  and  other  walks 
of  life.  Dr.  Hopkins  showed  his  most  con- 
spicuous intellectual  activity  from  1845  to 
1860.  Among  my  schoolmates  were  Phineas 
W.  Hitchcock,  sometime  United  States  Sena- 
tor from  Nebraska;  Charles  Elliott  Fitch, 
nephew  of  Elliott,  the  celebrated  painter; 
Norman  Seaver,  afterwards  a  famous  prea- 
cher of  Boston,  who  exhibited  extraordinary 
Intellectual  powers,  and  was  a  Doctor  of 
Divinity,  it  is  said,  at  the  earliest  age  at 
which  any  clergyman  ever  received  that 
degree  in  the  United  States;  Charles  A. 
Stoddard,  who  married  a  daughter  of  Dr. 
Prime  and  became  associate  editor  of  the 
New  York  Observer;  the  Rev.  Abbott  Kit- 
tredge,  since  famous  as  a  leading  clergy- 
man of  the   Presbyterian   denomination   in 


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with"  John  Jamet  Ingalls. 


717 


Chicago;  ahd»  perhaps  the  most  famous  of 
all,  James  A.  Garfield,  who  was  a  distant 
kinsman  of  mine,  as  was  Qenerkl  Rufus 
Ingalls,  Quartermaster  of  the  United  States 
Army,  and  a  life-long  and  faithful  friend 
of  (General  Orant.  I  met  Hitchcock  for 
the  first  time  after  graduation  in  the  marble 
room  of  the  Senate  in  1873,  the  former  liav- 
ing  preceded  me  as  a  member  of  that  body 
by  two  years.  I  corresponded,  after  our 
graduation,  with  Garfield,  but  we  did  not 
meet  again  until  eighteen  years  later,  when 
I  sought  him  on  the  fioor  of  the  House  of 
Representatives  for  the  purpose  of  renew- 
ing our  acquaintance.  Garfield  had  changed 
beyond  recognition.  At  the  college  he  was 
an  awkward  boy,  a  youth  of  large  stature, 
with  very  light,  tnough  exceedingly  bright 
blue  eyes,  a  sparse  yellow  beard  that  dis- 
closed the  peculiar  protrusion  of  his  mouth, 
which  is  a  characteristic  in  all  his  portraits. 
When  a  college  boy,  in  dress  and  appearance 
he  was  extremely  rustic,  and  with  a  voice 
and  air  which  were  thought  to  betoken  a 
devout  and  successful  country  clergyman, 
rather  than  to  give  promise  of  the  extraor- 
•  dlnary  elevation  which  he  attained  in  after 
life.  But  when  I  met  him  in  Congress  his 
beard  had  thickened,  his  complexion  had 
become  more  opaque,  his  stature  was  heav- 
ier,  and  his  shoulders  were  rounded  and 

j  drooped.  But  the  same  efTusive  and  warmly 
demonstrative  manner  remained  in  him,  and 
he  greeted  me  with  as  much  enthusiasm 
and  pleasure  as  if  we  were  boys  again  on 
the  old  college  campus.  Our  intercourse 
and  friendship  continued  until  Garfield's 
death.  If,  as  they  tell  me,  my  childhood 
was  marked  by  unusual  difildence,  I  got 
over  it  early,  and  displayed  a  pugnacious 
disposition  which  seems  to  have  gained  upon 

\  me  steadily.  When  I  was  about  to  graduate 
I  delivered  a  scathing  review  of  the  faculty 
of  our  college,  taking  as  my  subject  "Mum- 
my Liife,"  and  I  treated  it  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  horrify  my  own  mother,  who  had  come 
to  see  me  graduate,  as  well  as  the  entire 
faculty.  The  college  professors  thought  to 
head  me  off  by  revising  my  oratory,  and 
cutting  the  heart  out  of  it.  But  when  I 
came  to  speak  I  added  all  they  had  omitted 
and  paid  my  respects  to  the  faculty  in  some 
trenchant  words  of  criticism.  They  debated 
for  some  time  whether  they  should  hold 
my  diploma,  but  they  said  that  my  oration 
had  so  much  wit  and  pith  to  it  that,  while 


it  cut  deeply,  they  admitted  a  great  deal  of 
it  was  true.  I  got  my  diploma  in  1864,  and 
Williams  College  has  since  honored  me  by 
conferring  on  me  the  degree  of  LL.  D. 
Like  Alexander  Hamilton,  I  have  been  com- 
pelled to  fight  the  battles  of  my  country  and 
the  struggles  of  fortune  at  the  same  time. 
I  suppose  I  was  worth  $50,000  when  I  came 
to  the  Senate  nearly  eighteen  years  ago. 
But  the  most  prudent  Senator  with  a  large 
family  of  children  cannot  well  do  more 
than  live  respectably  and  keep  up  with  the 
exigencies  of  a  Senatorial  position  and 
the  exacting  demands  of  Washington  so- 
ciety on  his  $5,000  salary.  I  never  believed, 
as  others  do,  in  arguing  cases  before  the 
United  States  Supreme  Court  on  questions 
which^  are  likely  to  come  before  the  Senate 
to  be  voted  on  by  the  members  of  that  body. 

"Living  so  far  from  my  constituents  in 
Kansas,  I  have  been  compelled  practically 
to  abandon  for  the  public  service  the  prac- 
tice of  my  profession,  the  law,  which  before 
I  entered  the  public  service  yielded  me  a 
handsome  sum  every  year.  I  had  just  fin- 
ished my  house,  which  burned  down,  entail- 
ing on  me  a  loss  of  some  |20,000,  and  some 
unfortunate  endorsements  cost  me  |40,000 
worth  of  property  to  pay  notes  on  which  I 
was  simply  an  accommodation  endorser. 
Another  loss  which  I  feel  more  deeply  than 
the  loss  of  my  house  was  the  manuscript  of 
a  semi-political  novel,  which  was  destroyed 
in  the  mansion,  and  upon  which  I  had  spent 
two  years  of  faithful  labor;  and  I  do  not 
think  that  eminent  Scotchman,  Thomas  Car- 
lyle,  could  have  groaned  or  sorrowed  .any 
more  over  the  total  destruction  by -fire  of 
one  of  his  volumes  of  the  French  Revolvttan 
than  I  did  over  my  first-bom  novel.  I;h%Ye 
been  offered  by  one  publisher  $50,000  to  re- 
produce it,  and  as  soon  as  I  have  time  I  ex- 
pect to  find  a  publisher  for  this  work.  I 
have  already  had  offers  from  Lippincott  ft 
Co.  and  other  publishers,  but  will  wait  until 
I  finish  the  book." 

When  asked  about  the  number  of  million- 
aires in  the  Senate,  the  Senator  replied: 

"The  popular  impression,  as  in  many  other 
things,  is  clearl  wrong,  that  the  members 
of  the  United  States  Senate  are  principally 
millionaires.  The  Southern  Senators,  as  a 
class,  are  not  rich  men,  and  are,  as  a  rule, 
dependent  on  their  salaries.  Outside  of  Ice- 
land Stanford,  Jones  of  Nevada,  Hearst  of 
California,  Sawyer  of  Wisconsin,  McMillan 


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718 


Overland     Monthly 


of  Michigan,  McPherson  of  New  Jersey,  Don 
Cameron  of  Pennsylvania,  and  one  or  two 
others,  I  do  not  now  recall  any  other  mil- 
lionaires in  the  history  of  the  Senate.  Quay 
may  be  a  rich  man,  but  nobody  seems  to 
know  how  much  the  silent  man  from  Beaver 
is  worth.  Edmunds  of  Vermont  is  not  worth 
over  1200,000,  all  of  which,  I  suppose,  he  has 
earned  by  the  law,  which  is  no  more  than 
any  brilliant  lawyer  may  naturally  expect 
to  accrue  from  a  life-time  devotion  to  that 
profession." 

I  dined  not  long  ago  with  a  Senator  who 
has  served  twelve  years  consecutively  with 
the  senior  Senator  from  Kansas.  After  a 
generous  bottle,  a  broiled  North  Carolina 
shad,  and  an  entree  of  frog's  legs,  the  Sena- 
tor proceeded  to  talk  about  Ingalls* 

''There  were  many  men,"  he  said,  "in  this 
'cloud-capped  arena  of  th6  gods,'  as  Oregon 
Nesmith  (once  a  Senator)  called  this  au- 
gust body,  closer  to  Senator  Ingalls  than  I 
was.  But  I  regarded  him  as  a  man  of  re- 
markable genius.  Since  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  died,  no  man  known  to  me  pos- 
sessed such  an  admirable  and  scholarly 
command  of  the  English  language  as  the 
Senator  from  Kansas.  He  never  hesitated 
for  the  reluctant,  hiding,  best  word,  and  his 
diction  was  apt  and  ornate,  and  he  never 
lacked  for  what  William  Wirt,  the  greatest 
lawyer  of  Maryland,  called  'the  ready  use 
of  the  blood-letting  personality  in  debate.' 

"Senator  McPherson  of  New  Jersey,  in 
talking  of  Ingalls,  once  said:  'In  the  cor- 
rect and  scholarly,  use  of  language  I  never 
knew  Ingalls's  superior.  He  is  an  ideal  pre- 
siding officer  of  the  Senate,  and  while  I 
think  his  politics  execrable,  I  have  the  ut- 
most respect  for  the  courage,  the  absolute 
fearlessness  with  which  he  states  his  con- 
victions on  the  great  questions  of  the  day. 
He  is,  from  my  standpoint,  as  often  wrong 
in  his  political  views  as  any  man  in  the  Sen- 
ate, but  there  is  a  frankness  and  naivete 
about  the  man  which  disarms  Senatorial 
criticism.' 

"Senator  Wade  Hampton,  the  soul  of  hon- 
or and  the  lover  of  courtesy,  while  he  called 
Ingalls  a  'phrase  maker,'  admitted  that  he 
was  a  man  of  rare  genius  and  one  of  the 
most  companionable  of  men. 

"One  of  the  most  bitter  among  the  Senate 
Democrats  said  tne  day  he  heard  of  Ingalls's 
defeat:  'I  will  miss  the  Senator  from  Kan- 
sas more  than  any  other  man  who  may  drop 


out  of  the  ranks.  His  speech  when  last 
elected  President  of  the  Senate  answered 
the  French  definition  of  eloquence,  which  is 
to  say  'just  that  which  ought  to  be  said  and 
no  more.'  And  I  can  say  of  Ingalls,  as 
Madame  de  Stael  aptly  said,  'there  are 
those  with  whom  we  differ  in  opinion,  with 
whom  we  are  in  happy  accord  in  senti- 
ment.' " 

"I  am  one  of  those,"  said  my  old  Senator- 
ial friend,  "who  take  no  stock  in  the  hebe- 
tudinous  cranks  who  call  themselves  mem- 
bers of  a  Farmers'  Alliance.  God  forbid  I 
should  criticise  with  injustice  the  men  who 
till  the  soil.  But  I  would  as  lief  encourage 
a  lawyers'  alliance  or  an  alliance  of  preach- 
ers of  the  ijospei,  and  these  organizations 
would  be  about  as  sensible  and  as  enduring 
as  any  alliance  of  agriculturists,  who  seek 
to  elect  a  President  in  '92  and  control  the 
legislation  of  ooth  Houses  of  Congress.  No! 
This  tremendous  alliance  is  passing  away 
like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision.  The 
farmer  is  discovering  that  he  cannot  corral 
the  earth  and  the  fullness  thereof  simply 
because  he  is  a  tiller  of  the  soil. 

"What  I  liked  most  about  Ingalls  was  his 
absolute  personal  and  Senatorial  integrity. 
A  fee  of  a  million  dollars  could  not  tempt 
this  man  to  argue  a  case  before  the  Su- 
preme Court  if  there  was  any  possibility 
that  the  questions  involved  might  come  be- 
fore the  Senate  for  adjudication. 

"It  is  a  historical  fact  that  Ingalls'  first 
election  was  a  triumph  of  the  honest  yeo- 
manry of  Kansas  against  Subsidy  Pomeroy, 
the  leader  of  tne  alleged  Christian  states- 
men element  Ingalls  was  trying  a  case  at 
Topeka,  without  a  thought  of  the  Senate, 
when  Dr.  York's  friends  came  to  him  the 
night  before  the  election  for  United  States 
Senator  to  say  that  Senator  York  had  la  his 
pocket  $7,000  in  cash  of  Pomeroy's  money 
for  his  vote.  Ingalls  was  asked  to  permit 
his  name  to  be  used,  and  the  result  was  the 
downfall  of  Subsidy  Pomeroy  ana  the  unani- 
mous election  of  John  James  Ingalls. 

"During  his  first  term  of  six  years  there 
were  four  other  Senators  sent  from  Kan- 
sas to  Washington,  and  more  than  one  of 
tne  four  were  'bounced'  out  of  the  Senate 
for  'ways  that  were  dark  and  tricks  tliat 
were  vain*  in  the  methods  resulting  in  their 
election. 

"Ingall's  integrity  was  never  questioned. 
I  knew  him  to  be  as  honest  as  he  was  able, 


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The  Lion  as  Game. 


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and  I  predicted  that  John  J&mes  Ingalls' 
absence  from  public  life  would  be  brief. 
He  stood  for  a  square  deal  in  politics,  and 
was  a  man  four  square  to  every  wind  that 
blew. 

"Politics  was  only  one  side  of  this  many- 
sided  man.  He  was  a  ripe  and  ready  law- 
yer. I  have  heara  him  argue  cases  in  the 
highest  tribunal  in  America,  and  I  found 
him  totus,  teres,  atque  rotundus,  round  and 
perfect  as  a  star. 

"There  was  long  a  coolness  between  the 
White  House  and  i.^e  Kansas  Senator,  and 
that  bright  and  accomplished  woman,  Anne 
Louise  Cheeseborough  Ingalls,  the  Senator's 
wife,  who  would  be  herself  an  ornament  to 
the  White  xiouse,  has  been  known  to  criti- 
cise the  freedom  with  which  the  McKees, 
under  President  Harrison,  issued  their  cards 
for  entertainments  in  the  White  House,  at 
which  the  McKees  were  only  guests. 

"Ingalls  never  denied  saying  that  Harri- 
son had  no  friends  in  Kansas.  It  occurred 
thus:  Ingalls  patiently  waited  for  a  Post- 
master's appointment  in  an  outlying  county 
of  Kansas.  He  waited  in  vain.  On  Ingalls' 
nineteenth  call  at  the  White  House,  Elijah, 
—the  Private  Secretary,  now  a  paymaster 
In  the  army — said  to  him:  'Mr.  Ingalls,  I 
regret  to  say  that  the  President  has  appoint- 
ed a  friend  of  his  in  Kansas  to  that  vacant 
PoBtofBce." 

"'My  God!'  replied  Ingalls,  'Elijah,  tell 
me  his  name.    I  didn't  know  President  Har- 


rison had  a  friend  in  the  State  of  Kansas!' 

"Ingalls  is  a  prompt  man.  One  morning 
he  was  late  at  the  meeting  of  his  Committee 
on  the  District  of  Columbia. 

"'Ah,'  said  a  New  England  Senator, 
'Spotted  Tail,  ain't  you  a  little  late  this 
morning?'  'No,  Sitting  Bull,'  answered  In- 
galls.   'Aren't  you  a  trifle  early?' 

"A  newspaper  correspondent  had  written 
an  elaborate  sketch  of  the  senior  Senar 
tor  from  Kansas,  which  was  very  gratify- 
ing to  the  Kansas  orator  and  statesman. 

"Ingalls  wrote  to  the  correspondent:  'I 
am  pleased  with  your  able  and  picturesque 
sketch.'  But  the  newspaper  had  omitted 
his  excoriation  of  Orover  Cleveland,  in 
which  Ingalls  said:  'I  will  now  endeavor  to 
speak  of  the  so-called  statesman  in  the 
White  House  vOrover  Cleveland).  His 
colossal  egotism  is  already  distended  be- 
yond its  natural  and  normal  proportions, 
and  it  is  still  feu  by  the  incense  and  the  adu- 
lation   of    h.s    emasculated    idolaters!' 

"When  the  same  correspondent  requested 
George  H.  Edmunds,  the  Senator  from  Ver- 
mont, to  contribute  from  memory  some 
reminiscences  of  Ingalls'  Senatorial  life, 
Edmunds  answered  with  a  faintly  perceptp 
ible  twinkle  in  his  eye,  'I  do  not  Keep  a 
diary.' 

"In  my  opinion,"  concluded  my  Senatorial 
friend,  "John  James  Ingalls  was  facile 
princeps  the  foremost  man  in  Elansas." 


THE     LION    AS    GAME. 


By    FRED    HARVEY    MAJOR. 


w 


ELL,  old  fellow,"  said  Jem  Pin- 
nock,  taking  his  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth,  and  reaching  across  the 
table  for  the  brandy  bottle,  "what's 
the  verdict?    To  be  or  not  to  be — eh?" 

The  time  was  nearly  twenty  years  ago, 
and  we  were  sitting  in  the  cool  of  the  even- 
ing in  big  comfortable  Madeira  cane  chairs, 
on  the  poop  of  my  trading  hulk  in  Old 
Calabar  River,  on  the  west  coast  of  Africa. 
Mr.  James  Pinnock  was,  and  is  now,  one 
of  the  leading  English  merchants  trading  in 


the  oil  rivers  of  West  Africa,  and  was  in  Old 
Calabar  for  a  friendly  visit  to  me,  from  his 
factories  In  the  Benin  river  and  up  the 
Niger,  and  being  on  pleasure  bent,  and  of 
an  adventurous  turn  of  mind,  was  anxious 
to  tjike  advantage  of  any  oportunity  that 
came  in  his  way  for  adding  to  his  already 
well    stocked    store   of   experiences. 

The  subject  matter  unaer  consideration 
was  whether  or  not  we  should  undertake 
a  trip  up  the  river  to  a  village  called  .eu^rika, 
some  thirty  miles  away,  to  try  our  luck  at 


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Overland  Monthly. 


ridding  the  district  of  the  presence  of  a  lion, 
which  we  were  told  was  creating  great 
havoc,  not  only  among  the  cattle,  but  even 
among  the  people  themselves,  a  night  sel- 
dom passing  without  some  unfortunate  na- 
tive being  carried  off. 

Though  I  had  successfully  hunted  a  vari- 
ety of  big  game,  including  leopards  and  pan- 
thers, I  had  never  been  fortunate  enough  to 
meet  in  his  forest  home  the  king  of  all 
game,  the  lordly  lion;  and  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  I  had  my  hands  full  of  business 
through  the  arrival  out  of  a  large  ship 
from  Liverpool,  with  a  general  cargo  con-* 
signed  to  me  for  trading  purposes,  the  temp- 
tation was  too  great  to  be  resisted;  so  I 
consented  to  accompany  my  friend  Pinnock, 
and  as  we  were  selfish  enough  to  desire  all 
the  honor  for  ourselves  we  decided  to  say 
nothing  of  our  intentions  to  the  other 
traders,  but  to  start  the  following  morn- 
ing before  daybreak,  merely  leaving  word 
with  my  men  that  we  were  going  for  a  day's 
shooting. 

Our  arms,  from  the  ordinary  nature  of 
our  surroundings,  were  generally  kept  in 
good  order,  but  that  night  we  paid  special 
and  personal  attention  to  them  to  make  as- 
surance doubly  sure  that  they  would  not 
fail  us.  Mine  were  a  Martini-Henry  rifle, 
Colt's  45  revolver,  and  long  hunting  knife — 
a  similar  armament  to  that  carried  by.  Pin- 
nock, except  that  his  rifle  was  a  Westley- 
Richards;  and,  in  addition,  I  cleaned  up  a 
heavy  muzzle-loading,  single-barreled  ele- 
phant rifle  carrying  four-ounce  bullets, 
which,  with  a  score  or  two  rounds  of  anunu- 
nition,  had  been  given  to  me  some  time  be- 
fore by  a  friend  on  his  departure  for  Eng- 
land. This  weapon  I  had  never  seen  used — 
in  fact,  I  do  not  think  its  late  owner  had 
ever  used  it,  but  I  thought  it  might  prove 
useful  if  we  intrenched  ourselves  in  a  pit, 
as  I  expected  we  should  do  while  lying  in 
ambush  for  our  formidable  quarry  at  one 
of  the  usual  drinking  places. 

By  flve  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  got  well 
away  in  an  eight-oared  double-banked 
launch,  and  when  the  sun  in  all  his  tropical 
glory  peeped  above  the  horizon  about  an 
hour  afterwards,  we  were  fully  six  miles 
away  from  the  shipping  and  in  a  bit  of  com- 
paratively open  country.  On  the  left  bank, 
amidst  some  trees,  were  a  large  number  of 
monkeys,  which  would,  under  other  circum- 


stances, have  aiforaed  us  pleasant  sport; 
but,  thanks  to  our  enthusiasm  in  the  matter 
of  the  noble  game  we  were  in  quest  of,  the 
lictie  creatures  were  permitted  to  continue 
their  innocent  gamboling  without  interfer- 
ence. 

We  reached  our  destination  at  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  at  once  made 
our  way  to  the  King's  house,  a  ramshackle, 
wattle  and  daub  structure,  where  we  were 
regaled  by  the  dusky  monarch  in  person 
upon  the  inevitable  "palm  oil  chop"  and  "fu- 
fu"  (fowls  very  highly  seasoned,  stewed  in 
palm  oil,  and  mashed  plantain)  washed 
down  with  copious  draughts  of  minifick,  or 
tumdo,  the  native  palm  wine.  Such  a  re- 
past would  appear  most  uninviting  to  the 
average  Anglo-Saxon;  but,  when  once  the 
taste  for  "palm  oil  chop"  and  its  accompani- 
ments is  acquired,  the  native  dish  is  much 
appreciated,  anc^,  we  being  thoroughly  huh- 
gry  after  our  journey,  did  ample  justice  to 
our  regal  entertainer's  hospitality. 

After  dinner  we  walked  round  the  out- 
skirts of  Akrika,  and  were  shown  a  hut 
standing  alone,  from  which  a  woman  had 
been  taken  a  week  before.  Nothing  had 
been  heard  of  the  attack,  but  one  morning 
the  door  was  found  to  be  open,  and  from  the 
fresh  blood  splattered  about  the  entrance  it 
was  presumed  that  the  lion  had  lain  in  wait 
until  his  victim  had  arisen  to  commence  her 
daily  duties,  and  that  the  tragedy  had  then 
taken  place. 

The  natives  were  in  such  a  terror-stricken 
state  of  mind  as  to  be  utterly  incapable  of 
organizing  any  proper  means  of  killing  their 
visitor,  and  they  hailed  our  coming  with  the 
greatest  joy,  ana  were  profuse  in  the  most 
rash  and  extravagant  promises  as  to  how 
they  would  reward  us  in  the  event  of  suc- 
cess. 

As  it  was  nearly  sundown  and  too  late  to 
go  into  the  busn  without  having  our  plans 
settled,  we  arranged  to  remain  in  the  de- 
serted hut  that  night,  and,  in  order  to  entice 
our  leonine  friend  to  pay  us  the  compliment 
of  a  visit,  a  kid  just  taken  from  its  mother 
was  tied  up  in  the  open  doorway,  while  we 
kept  watch  from  the  inside. 

The  poor,  desolate  little  bait  bleated  away 
in  a  heart-broken  fashion  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  nighc,  but  morning  dawned  with- 
out anything  having  taken  place. 

The  next  day,  after  breakfast  with   the 


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King,  we  walked  down  to  a  watercourse 
about  two  miles  from  the  Tillage,  where 
most  of  the  depredations  of  the  man-eater 
had  been  carrieu  out;  and,  selecting  a  likely 
spot  on  a  little  hillock  overlooking  a  stretch 
of  sandy  beach  which  bore  numerous  traces 
of  the  visit  of  animals,  we  set  some  of  the 
natives  to  work  preparing  a  rifle  pit. 

The  pit  was  about  four  feet  deep,  and  at 
the  side  nearest  to  the  water  was  hidden  by 
bushes  carefully  placed  in  such  a  manner 
that  we  could  keep  a  good  lookout  and  bring 
our  weapons  to  bear  pretty  nearly  all  round. 
Across  the  back  of  the  pit  several  good-sized 
logs  were  thrown  in  order  to  afford  some 
protection  in  case  we  should  be  charged 
from  the  rear. 

Everjrthing  being  prepared,  just  before 
night-fall  we  took  possession  o.  our  quar^ 
ters  and  when  the  natives  had  said  good-bye 
proceeded  to  make  ourselves  as  comfortable 
as  circumstances  would  permit. 

Our  rifles  we  placed  in  readiness  on  the 
front  of  the  pit,  I  giving  first  place  to  the 
big  elephant  gun,  for  though  I  knew  that  the 
use  of  it  would  probably  damage  the  skin  of 
our  prospective  game,  I  thought  that  it 
would  prove  to  be  a  decidedly  effective 
weapon  at  a  short  range. 

We  nursed  our  impatience  as  well  as  we 
could,  until  the  moon  rose,  and  allowed  us 
to  see  around  with  tolerable  clearness. 

For  several  hours  nothing  disturbed  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  except  the  occasional 
crying  of  a  Jackal,  and  we  were  beginning  to 
think  that  our  chances  were  over  when  a 
slight  rustling  in  the  bushes  to  the  left  of 
our  position  attracted  our  attention,  and  im- 
mediately afterwards  a  magnificent  full- 
grown  buffalo  came  into  view,  and,  after 
looking  round  to  see  if  the  coast  was  clear, 
made  his  way  to  the  water's  edge. 

Instead  of  simply  quenching  his  thirst,  he 
plunged  into  the  stream  until  the  water  was 
nearly  up  to  his  belly,  and  then  splashed 
about,  apparently  with  great  enjoyment 

I  was  about  to  suggest  that  we  should  bag 
him,  when  suddenly  he  raised  his  head  high 
up  in  the  air  and  began  to  sniff  suspiciously. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation  he  returned  to 
the  bank,  but  with  every  indication  of  being 
In  a  state  of  great  alarm,  for  we  could  actu- 
ally see  him  trembling,  and,  appearing  not 
to  know  which  way  to  go,  he  kept  slowly 
taming  round  and  round. 


I  felt  PinnocK  place  his  hand  upon  my 
arm  wamingly,  but  did  not  look  at  him,  as 
I  knew  that  the  moment  was  at  hand.  The 
buffalo  was  not  more  than  twenty  yards 
away,  and  I  rightly  judged  that,  assuming 
his  fear  to  be  caused  by  his  instinctive 
knowledge  of  the  pro^mity  of  his  terrible 
foe,  he  would  fall  a  victim  where  he  stood; 
so,  quietly  taking  up  my  big  gun,  I  held  my- 
self in  readiness. 

Almost  at  the  instant,  from  a  point  not 
more  than  half  a  dozen  yards  on  our  right, 
came  a  terrific  roar,  and  with  a  rush  like  a 
whirlwind,  an  enormous  lion  sprang  across 
the  intervening  space,  and  in  a  moment  the 
buffalo  was  down  with  his  throat  torn  open, 
the  lion's  great  muzzle  being  almost  buried 
in  the  gaping  wound. 

I  carefully  brought  the  elephant  rifle  to 
bear,  and,  getting  at  the  moment  a  fair 
sight  of  the  lion's  broad  chest,  pulled  the 
trigger. 

The  effect  was  utterly  unexpected. 

The  recoil  was  so  great  that  I  was  instant- 
ly knocked  over,  upsetting  Pinnock  in  my 
fall,  and  before  I  could  recover  myself  the 
huge  body  of  the  lion  came  tumbling  down 
on  top  of  us. 

I  felt  the  Jaws  of  the  animal  close 
over  my  left  thigh,  and  in  less  time  than 
it  has  taken  to  tell  it,  I  was  lifted  out  of 
the  pit  by  the  monster  and  carried  with 
the  utmost  seeming  ease  into  the  bush,  my 
clothes  and  flesh  being  considerably  torn 
by  the  undergrowth. 

Strange  to  say  I  felt  no  pain  where  the 
beast  had  hold  of  me,  heavy  hippopotamus- 
hide  boots  preventing  his  teeth  penetrating 
my  flesh,  and  by  brain  was  perfectly  clear, 
so  that  I  was  able  quite  deliberately  to 
weigh  up  the  position  of  affairs,  and  felt 
that  if  I  was  not  at  once  finished  off  there 
was  still  a  chance  of  my  rescue,  as  I  knew 
Pinnock's  cool  nerve  from  previous  hunting 
and  fighting  experiences  with  him. 

Unfortunately  my  revolver  had  slipped 
from  my  sash,  but  I  could  feel  that  my  knife 
was  safe  in  its  place,  though  I  could  not 
as  yet  get  at  it 

Oh,  the  agony  and  terror  of  that  moment! 
I  was  face  downward,  and  could  not  see 
my  foe. 

I  could  feel  his  hot  breath  on  the  back 
of  my  neck,  and  expected  to  receive  the  fatal 
stroke  from  him  every  instant 

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Overland  Monthly. 


However,  I  slowly  reached  for  my  knife, 
tile  slight  movement  of  my  hand  eliciting 
an  angry  growl,  and  had  almost  grasped  it, 
when — ^bang! — the  report  of  a  rifle,  and  sim- 
ultaneously the  dull  "thud"  so  dear  to  a 
sportsman's  ear,  which  told  that  the  bullet 
had  struck  home,  and  my  fell  foe  rolled  over 
on  his  side.  Before  I  could  arise  another 
report  sounded,  and  so  lucky  was  the  shot 
that  it  efTectually  gave  the  struggling  ani- 
mal its  quietus,  and  I  was  saved. 

It  appeared  that  Pinnock  had  scarcely 
lost  sight  of  me,  so  quickly  had  he  followed 


and  he  was  even  more  surprised  than  I  iras 
to  find  that  I  was  almost  uninjured. 

My  thigh  was  crushed  a  little  and  pained 
me  for  some  time  after,  and  I  was  bruised 
and  scratched  by  being  dragged  along,  but 
I  had  no  serious  hurt. 

There  were  great  rejoicings  at  Akrlka 
when  the  success  of  our  enterprise  was 
learned,  and  the  King  and  chiefs  pressed 
several  presents,  principally  valuable  as 
curiosities  upon  us,  and  in  return  I  made 
a  present  to  his  sable  majesty  of  my  ele- 
phant gun. 


THE   RED,    BLACK    AND    YELLOW. 


BY   JOHN    T.    BRAMHALL. 


w 


^cpT^HEN  Rudyard  KlpUng  wrote  "The 
White  Man's  Burden,"  was  it  a  co- 
incidence that  the  Americans  were 
just  going  into  the  Philippines,  and 
that  we  were  confronted  at  the  same  time 
with  the  necessity  of  furnishing  employ- 
ment to  our  red  men,  and  of  solving  the 
negro  problem  in  the  South?  If  we  choose 
to  accept  the  message  as  one  addressed  to 
ourselves  it  is  one  of  merciless  severity, 
and   profound   altruism: 

"Take    up   the    white    man's    burden — 
Ye  dare  not  stoop  to  less — 
Nor  call  too  loud  on  Freedom 
To  cloke  your  weariness. 

By  all  ye  will  or  whisper; 
By  all  ye  leave  or  do. 

The  silent  sullen  peoples 
Shall  weigh  your  Gk)d  and  you." 

The  white  man's  burden  is  his  dark- 
skinned  brother.  We  in  America  begin  to 
feel  that  we  have  our  share  of  these  "wards 
of  the  nation"  Just  as  England,  if  not,  in- 
deed, in  such  great  numbers,  yet  enough  to 
worry  and  perplex  us  sadly.  We  have,  in 
the  first  place,  the  remnant  of  our  aboriginal 
races,  whose  lands  we  took  by  conquest  or 
by  treaty,  and  whom  we  have  thoroughly  de- 
moralized by  a  policy  of  enforced  idleness. 
These,  exclusive  of  Alaska,  number  about  a 
quarter  of  a  million  souls.    Then  we  have 


tne  negroes,  that  our  forefathers  brous:ht 
over  from  Africa  to  be  hewers  of  wood  and 
drawers  of  water,  numbering,  including 
those  ol  mixed  blood,  nearly  ten  millions. 
Our  war  with  Spain  has  added  another  ele- 
ment of  Malays,  Negretos,  and  mixed  bloods 
to  the  number  of  about  ten  millions.  All 
this  gives  us  a  combination  of  red,  black, 
and  yellow  that  strangely  complicates  all 
our  old-time  theories  of  republicanism,  as 
enunciated  by  the  little  band  of  colonial 
aristocrats  of  Philadelphia,  most  of  whom 
occupied  lands  wrested  from  the  Indians, 
and  who  also  held  negro  slaves,  but  who  did 
not  include  either  the  red  or  the  black  in 
their  scheme  that  "all  men  are  created 
equal,"  and  that  "governments  derive  their 
Just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  gov- 
erned." As  our  few  thousands  of  uncounted 
blacks  have  grown  into  millions  of  citizens, 
and  the  red  foeman  of  the  forest  is  now 
throwing  aside  his  tribal  blanket  and  asking 
for  similar  rights,  while  many  more  millions 
of  yellow  men  are  anxiously  enquiring  what 
fate  the  Yankees  have  reserved  for  them, 
we  begin  to  realize  that  we  have  a  burden 
which,  noblesse  oblige,  we  cannot  lay  down, 
but  which  we  must  bear  with  what  grace 
we  may,  as  a  trial  to  our  faith  and  our  man- 
hood. We  realize,  too,  that  we  have  come 
of  age  as  a  nation;  that  we  are  no  longer 
in  the  swaddling  clothes  of  a  cis-appala- 
chian  confederacy,  but  have  girded  on  the 


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The  Red,  Black,  and  Yellow. 


723 


armor  of  the  old  Teutonic-Anglo-Saxon 
stock,  to  do  our  share  in  the  world's  work. 
Our  own  home  burden  is  a  heavy  one,  and 
has  taxed  the  wisdom  of  our  ablest  states- 
men for  over  a  century,  and  as  yet  without 
satisfactory  solution.  The  status  of  our 
Indian  brothers  (to  use  an  old  and  not  in- 
appropriate term),  is  most  peculiar,  and  af- 
ter two  and  a  half  years  of  occupation,  is 
atill  unsettled.  He  is  neither  independent, 
nor  subject,  nor  citizen.  He  has  been  called 
"ward,"  and  the  Government  has  accepted 
the  obligations  of  guardian.  We  feed  him; 
we  educate  him  where  we  can;  we  convert 
him  as  we  can,  but  we  do  not  employ  him. 
We  have  taken  away  his  old  occupations, 
and  we  have  not  admitted  him  to  our  own. 
We  have  altered  our  Constitution  to  give 
citizenship  to  the  blacks,  some  of  whom 
were  the  red  men's  slaves,  but  the  original 
owners  of  the  land  we  occupy  are  still  de- 
barred by  rules  which  make  tribal  rela- 
tions greater  obstacles  to  citizenship  than 
foreign  birth.  To  the  learned  pale-faces  who 
gaze  upon  the  great  serpent-mound  upon  the 
banks  of  the  Ohio,  the  question  comes,  as 
from  an  American  sphjmx,  "What  will  you 
do  with  the  red  man?" 

The  Indian  question,  however,  pales  into 
comparative  insignificance  before  the  more 
pressing  negro  problem.  In  the  five  "black" 
States,  Alabama,  Georgia,  Louisiana,  South 
Carolina,  and  Mississippi,  there  was  a  popu- 
lation, in  1890,  of  3,632,000  negroes  and  only 
3,377,000  whites.  At  their  rate  of  increase 
for  the  past  decade,  16  per  cent,  there  would 
now  be  about  4,000,000  blacks  in  the  five 
States  named.  It  is  unnecessary  here  to  dis- 
cuss the  negro  question  in  the  South  fur- 
ther than  to  recite  the  fact  that  the  numeri- 
cal preponderance  of  an  inferior  and  socially 
degraded  race,  endowed  by  the  law  of  the 
land  with  the  rights  of  citizenship,  is  a 
constant  menace  to  the  whites,  and  is  so 
felt  by  them  to  a  degree  which  the  people 
of  the  North  are  unable  to  appreciate.  There 
is  to-day  a  reign  of  terror  in  the  South,  ter- 
ror to  whites  as  well  as  blacks,  and  this 
condition  will  remain  as  long  as  the  black 
'  race  is  in  the  preponderance,  or  has  any  de- 
gree of  political  importance  in  any  consider- 
able region  within  our  borders.  And  so  we 
have  another  question  imperatively  demand- 
ing solution:  "What  will  you  do  with  the 
negro?" 

The  military  offers  the  best  employment 


we  can  give  the  Indian  and  the  black  man. 
It  is  congenial  to  his  habits,  his  love  of  dis- 
play and  his  bravery.  It  is  an  occupation 
that  does  not  degrade,  but  on  the  contrary, 
elevates  the  character  of  the  service  man. 
Agriculture,  although  the  natural  successor 
of  hunting  in  the  growth  of  a  race,  has  been 
found  generally  unsuccessful  in  the  case 
of  the  Indian,  and  only  offers  the  barest  livli- 
hood  to  the  negro.  It  is  an  art  which  has 
been  systematized  and  capitalized  to  such 
an  extent  that  the  primitive  grower  of  a  sin- 
gle crop  has  little  chance  in  the  competition : 
the  ignorant  and  indolent  red  and  black  men 
who  engage  in  it  would  eventually  lapse 
into  a  hopeless  state  of  bondage. 

The  acquisition  of  the  Philippines  and  the 
"little  war"  now  in  progress  there,  with  our 
enlarged  activities  as  a  world  power,  seems 
to  offer  a  timely  solution  of  the  problem  in 
appropriate  and  honorable  occupation  of 
the  Indians  and  blacks,  as  well  as  large  num- 
bers of  the  native  races.  Not  as  "savage 
butchers,"  as  some  timid  people  affect  to  be- 
lieve, but  guardians  of  the  peace;  a  constab- 
ularly  force,  to  maintain  the  dignity  of  the 
law,  to  protect  the  peaceable  peasantry 
from  the  dacoits,  and  everywhere  when  call- 
ed upon  to  uphold  the  honor  of  the  flag  of 
their  country.  Despite  the  arguments  of 
a  well-meaning  but  impracticable  peace 
party,  the  profession  of  armies  is  one  of 
honor,  and  has  been  shorn  of  so  many  of  its 
ancient  abuses  that  it  may  with  no  great 
exaggeration  be  styled  a  mission  of  mercy. 

To  glance  at  the  present  situation  in  the 
Philippines,  we  flnd  an  imperative  need  of 
the  employment  of  that  policy  which  from 
domestic  considerations  seems  so  desira- 
ble. Order  is  to  be  restored  in  the  islands — 
alas!  when  has  there  been  order?  Say, 
rather  that  order  is  to  be  created  out  of 
chaos,  and  law  is  to  take  the  place  of  tyr^ 
anny  in  all  lands  where  lioats  the  Ameri- 
can flag.  In  Luzon  and  Panay,  our  brave  but 
inexperienced  farmer  boys  are  engaged  in 
the  difficult  task  of  reducing  to  obedience 
a  semi-civilized  tribe,  who,  inoculated  with 
the  Spanish  virus  of  revolution,  are  endeav- 
oring to  bring  the  agricultural  tribes  and 
a  hundred  peaceful  cities  under  their  rapa- 
cious rule.  We  have,  in  fact,  to  keep  guard 
over  a  great  and  growing  trade,  to  protect 
a  score  of  races  and  religions  against  each 
other,  while  across  the  China  sea  we  have 
also  great  trade  interests,  as  well  as  peace- 


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ful  missionaries  lu  nore  need  ,pf  the  watch- 
ful care  of  a  strong  and  zealous  .Government, 
We  want  no  wars;  no  strife;  but  to  win  re- 
spect and  to  preserve  the  peaqe  we  crave, 
we  require  a  strong  military  force,  even 
as  we  need  a  small  army  of  police  and  con- 
stabulary in  our  Christian  lands  at  home. 
Why,  then,  should  not  the  rac<B8  that  we 
have  aforetime  oppressed  and  misused,  take 
a  share  in  this  work,  first  in  bringing  under 
subjection,  and  .  then  in  policing  our  new 
lands  and  peoples? 

It  scarcely  needs  argument  to  demonstrate 
the  fitness  of  the  negro  race  for  this  duty. 
As  a  soldier  he  has  been  tried  and  proved. 
A  writer  in  the  United  Service  Magazine, 
(1884),  says  of  the  four  regiments  of  colored 
troops  (the  9th  and  10th  cavalry,  and  the 
24th  and  25th  Infantry) : 

"These  colored  regiments  have  passed  all 
this  time  (since  the  close  of  the  Civil  War) 
with  but  little  exception  In  places  far  from 
popular  view  and  amid  dangers  as  great 
and  hardships  as  severe  as  have  been  shared 
by  any  part  of  the  army.  In  this  dull  and 
trying  service  they  have  been  carefully 
weighed  in  the  balance  of  usefulness,  and 
the  general  testimony  of  those  whose  words 
are  entitled  to  special  weight  is  that  they 
have  not  been  found  wanting.  In  encoun- 
ters with  robbers  and  Indians  they  have 
manifested  both  skill  and  bravery,  so  that 
out  of  the  ninety-three  medals  and  certifi- 
cates won  for  gallantry  by  the  enlisted 
strength  of  the  army,  twelve  were  won  by 
colored  men,  which  is  one-third  more  than 
their  share.  Generally  quite  as  hardy'  as 
white  troops,  their  record  in  the  surgeon- 
general's  reports  for  1892  presents  the  two 
following  noteworthy  facta:  The  death  rate 
among  the  white  troops  was  8.16  to  the  thou- 
sand, and  among  the  colored  troops  7.11 
The  admissions  to  the  hospital  for  alcohol- 
ism among  the  white  troops  were  44.91  to 
the  thousand,  and  among  the  colored  troops 
only  4.36." 

These  statements  and  figures  speak  for 
themselves.  No  comment  is  necessary,  and 
no  contradiction  is  possible.  The  testi- 
mony which  Colonel  Roosevelt  paid  to  the 
bravery  and  soldierly  qualities  of  the  color^ 
ed  troops  that  supported  the  Rough  Riders 
at  El  Caney,  is  too  recent  to  need  repeating, 
but  of  even  greater  value  are  the  words 
of  the  more  experienced  campaigner  (him- 


self a  graduate   of  West   Point),   Greneral 
Wesley  Merritt,  written  in  1894: 

"I  take  great  pleasure  in  bearing  unequivo- 
cal testimony  to  the  efficiency  of  the  colored 
troops  in  all  conditions  of  the  service.  My 
experience  in  this  direction  since  the  war  is 
beyond  that  of  any  officer  of  my  rank  in  the 
army.  For  ten  years  I  have  had  the  honor 
[mark  that :  the  Brigadier-General  com- 
manding says  "the  honor"]  of  being  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel of  the  9th  cavalry  and 
during  that  service  I  commanded  garrisons 
composed  of  the  9th  cavalry  and  other 
colored  organizations  of  pavalry  and  infan- 
try. I  have  always  found  the  colored  race 
as  represented  in  the  army  intelligent  and 
zealous  in  the  discharge .  of  duty,  brave  in 
battle,  easily  disclplineid,  and  most  efficient 
in  the  care  of  their  horses,  arms  and  equip- 
ments. The  non-comissloned  officers  have 
habitually  showed  the  qualities  for  control 
in  their  positions  which  marked  them  as 
faithful  and  sensible  in  the  discharge  of 
their  duties."     . 

As  for  the  graduate  of  Hampton  and  Car^ 
lyle,  the  bright  young  Indian  cadet  who  has, 
under  the  existing  disorder  of  things,  no  pro- 
per place  either  in  the  camps  of  the  ruling 
whites  or  on  the  reservation  of  his  people: 
why  should  he  not  take  up  the  duties  of 
an  American  citizen?  General  Crook's 
Apache  scouts  in  the  Arizona  and  Chihua- 
hua campaigns  against  old  Geronimo,  were 
regarded  with  panicky  fear  by  the  theorists 
at  the  North,  and  even  with  the  many  mis- 
givings by  the  war  department,  but  they 
had  the  entire  confidence  of  every  white 
officer  in  the  expedition  and  their  unstinted 
praise  at  the  close  of  the  perilous  campaign. 
It  was  indeed  a  most  exacting  and  thorough 
trial  of  the  red  man  as  an  auxiliary  of  the 
whites  in  a  campaign  against  men  of  their 
own  blood  and  tribe.  In  that  expedition  there 
were  just  forty-six  white  men  and  one  hun- 
dred and  ninety-three  Indian  scouts,  but 
when  Cteneral  Crook  finally  rounded  up  the 
hostiles  in  their  own  mountain  fastnesses 
without  the  loss  of  a  man  by  the  enemy,  he 
demonstrated  the  correctness  of  his  judg- 
ment, and  proved  the  military  value  of  the 
red  man.  "The  longer  we  knew  the  Apache 
scouts,"  wrote  Captain  Burke,  one  of  Gen- 
eral Crook's  officers,  "the  better  we  liked 
them."  Captain  Crawford,  who  commanded 
tnem,  gave  them  the  fullest  praise,  and  fin- 
ally resigned  when  he  found  it.  difficult  to 


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defend  his  faithful  Indians  from  the  injas- 
tlce  of  the  old  system  of  bureaucracy  and 
frontier  aggression. 

General  Miles  himself,  in  1886,  reported 
as  follows:  "I  recommend  that  Congress 
be  requested  to  authorize  the  enlistment  of 
a  larger  number  of  Indians  as  soldiers.  I 
have  had  them  under  my  command  for 
years,  have  found  them  of  great  value,  and 
have  never  known  one  to  desert."  In  the 
same  year  General  Schofleld  reported  as 
follows:  "A  large  number  of  Indian  warriors 
should  be  permanently  enlisted  in  the  army, 
and' stationed,  with  a  proper  proportion  of 
white  troops,  in  the  immediate  presence  of 
the  tribes  under  military  control.  Many  of 
the  American  Indians  are  the  best  natur 
ral  soldiers  in  the  world,  and  their  fidelity 
when  employed  by  the  Government,  even 
against  kindred  tribes,  or  as  a  police  force 
against  their  own  people,  is  very  remark- 
able." Generals  Sibley,  Terry,  and  others 
well  known  for  their  service  among  the  In- 
dians (in  their  protection  as  well  as  their 
punishment)    have  given  similar  opinions. 

Turning  to  the  Philippines,  we  find  the 
testimony  of  the  war  correspondents  strongly 
on  the  side  of  the  negro  troops.  It  is  not 
that  they  are  "as  good"  as  the  white  sol- 
diers, but  better.  They  are  perfectly  at 
home  under  the  scorching  suns  and  in  the 
torrential  rains  of  the  tropics,  and  do  not 
feel  those  spasms  of  home-sickness  that  are 
so  prejudicial  to  the  white  soldiers  every- 
where in  the  east.  Sent  out  at  midnight 
upon  some  dangerous  or  disagreeable  duty, 
they  go  singing  to  their  work,  as  though  it 
were  to  a  raccoon  hunt  or  a  barbecue  in 
Georgia  or  Carolina,  and  on  the  firing  line 
they  are  as  steady  as  the  oldest  regulars 
we  have.  I  have  heard  it  stated,  too,  ^'  at 
while  some  white  soldiers,  under  the  mad- 
ness from  the  like  of  which  Mulvaney  once 
rescued  Ortheris,  have  actually  gone  over 
to  the  Filipinos,  not  a  single  case  of  deser- 
tion has  been  known  of  our  black  soldiers, 
than  whom,  with  our  Indian  scouts,  more 
faithful  guardians  of  the  flag  do  not  exist 

A  word  about  the  imperial  army  of  India, 
which  may  properly  be  taken  as  some  exam- 
ple for  America  to  study  in  dealing  with  her 
various  subject  tribes  in  the  East.  The  four 
divisions  of  the  Indian  army  comprise  73,000 
white  soldiers  and  146,000  natives,  while 
added  to  the  latter  may  be  counted  over 
sixteen  thousand  well-drilled  "imperial  ser^ 


vice  troops"  of  the  native  states  at  the 
service  of  the  empire  in  time  of  war.  The 
armies  of  the  independent  and  feudatory 
states  are  included  in  the  above  estimate. 
England  has  not  forgotten  that  the  Sikhs 
saved  India  in  the  "mutiny,"  and  the  exam- 
ple of  Hodsoa's  "Guides"  is  now  seen  in  the 
splendid  regiments  of  Sikhs,  Goorkhas  and 
Pathans  that  uphold  the  dominion  of  the 
English  raj.  The  eighteen  battalions  of 
Soudanese,  and  Fellaheen,  with  ten  squad- 
rons of  native  cavalry  and  batteries  of  artil- 
lery under  English  officers,  composing  the 
army  of  Egypt,  have  shown  at  Firkeh,  At- 
bara,  Omderman,  and  many  other  bloody 
fields  what  the  despised  native  troops  can 
do  with  English  training. 

Briefly,  then,  from  considerations  of  hu- 
manity as  well  as  military  expediency,  it 
is  advisable  to  employ  both  the  negro  and 
the  Indian  in  the  army.  To  civilise  the  In- 
dian, make  him  a  soldier.  To  elevate  the 
black,  take  him  into  the  service  of  his 
country.  Clothe  each  in  the  honorable 
uniform  of  the  United  States  army,  and 
teach  him  that  he  has  a  country  to  defend 
and  a  flag  to -uphold. 

From  the  250,000  Indians  now  living  on 
reservations  five  regiments  could  easily  be 
raised,  which  would  take  only  about  one- 
eighth  of  the  men  of  military  age.  The  ad- 
vantages of  giving  employment  (with  an 
education  and  a  career)  to  the  young  men 
of  the  tribes;  the  "bucks,"  who  out  of  mere 
idleness  now  give  the  Government  no  end 
of  trouble,  need  not  be  dwelt  upon;  it  is  a 
proposition  too  clear  for  argument.  We  have 
our  own  Sikhs  and  Croorkhas  in  our  Sioux 
and  Apaches;   an  aboriginal  military  caste. 

We  have  now  a  black  population  in  the 
United  States  of  about  8,780,000,  which 
would  give  a  million  and  a  half  of  men  for 
militia  duty.  The  word  "white,"  ^t  should 
be  remembered,  was  stricken  out  of  the 
statute  relating  to  the  militia  in  1867.  And 
this  militia  could  furnish  a  dozen,  a  hundred 
if  necessary,  regiments  of  volunteers  if 
called  for.  Is  it  not,  then,  the  height  of 
folly  for  Americans  of  white  skin  to  ignore 
the  existence  of  such  a  mass  of  good  mili- 
tary material,  at  a  time,  too,  when  it  is 
so  urgently  needed?  Illinois,  Ohio,  Kansas, 
and  Texas  each  gave  a  black  regiment  of 
volunteers  to  the  Spanish  war.  The  South- 
em  States  would  easily  give  a  couple  of 
regiments  apiece. 


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But  to  put  the  matter  on  higher  grounds, 
should  we  not  advocate  the  employment  of 
the  Indian  and  the  negro  in  the  army  as 
a  humanitarian  measure,  as  a  means  of  mak- 
ing them  useful  citizens,  and  taking  from 
them,  in  large  degree,  the  stigma  of  infer- 
iority? The  colored  race  have  the  same 
rights  and  the  same  responsibilities  in  the 
defense  of  the  State  that  devolves  upon 
the  white  race.  They  should  furnish,  there- 
fore, their  due  proportion  of  the  militia 
and  of  the  enlisted  force,  which  would  give 
them  ten  full  regiments  in  the  army,  on  the 
present  strength  of  100,000  men,  and  these 
should  be  officered,  as  far  as  their  abilities 
Justify,  by  men  of  their  own  race. 

We  have,  then,  among  the  results  to  be 
obtained  from  employing  the  red  and  black 
Americans  and  the  loyal  Filipinos,  Suloos, 
Hawaiians,  and  Samoans,  in  the  military 
service  in  our  new  possessions,  the  follow- 
ing: 

1.  The  moral  and  political  elevation  of 
the  races. 

2.  The  strengthening  of  the  army  by  the 
addition  of  a  body  of  the  best  fighting  ma- 
terial in  the  country,  peculiarly  well-fitted 
for  campaigning  in  a  tropical  country. 

3.  The  relief  of  the  white  race  from  an 
undue  share  (nearly  the  whole)  of  the  bur- 
den of  military  service,  and  the  release 
of  a  large  number  of  young  white  men  who 
are  better  fitted  for  administrative  duties 
or  productive  occupation. 

4.  The  withdrawal  from  the  congested 
"black  belt"  of  the  South,  through  volun- 
tary emigration,  of  the  excess  of  blacks, 
thus  removing  from  the  remainder  the  reign 
of  terror  which  the  white  minority  has  es- 
tablished over  them,  through  their  own 
fear  of  "negro  supremacy." 


As  to  the  last  argument,  while  experience 
has  shown  that  the  black  cannot  be  induced 
to  emigrate  in  any  great  numbers  for  mere 
emigration's  sake,  he  has  attempted  numer- 
ous migrations  for  the  purpose  of  bettering 
his  condition,  and  lives  in  the  enduring  hope 
of  a  better  land.  The  negro  is  naturally 
a  farmer,  in  a  region  where  agriculture  re- 
turns a  living  with  almost  as  little  labor 
as  in  the  tropics.  Our  islands,  therefore » 
offer  the  Inducements  of  a  congenial  cli- 
mate and  an  opportunity  to  live  in  honor- 
able independence.  Puerto  Rico  is  already 
sufficiently  populated,  but  Cuba  and  Hawaii 
could  easily  take  several  million  more  and 
only  enter  on  the  beginning  of  their  develop- 
ment, while  the  Philippines,  as  they  are 
brought  under  our  control,  will  be  found 
capable  of  supporting  more  than  double 
their  present  population.  As  our  black  sol- 
Qiers  begin  to  learn  the  value  of  the  new 
country  and  its  suitability  as  a  permanent 
home,  with  the  important  fact  that  they  can 
live  in  full  enjoyment  of  their  civil  rights; 
in  fact,  as  Americans — ^their  American  citi- 
zenship and  military  service  giving  them 
the  status  of  the  Roman  legionaries  of  old — 
they  would  naturally  send  for  their  families 
and  settle  down  as  colonists  of  the  new 
lands. 

Our  new  possessions  are  making  us 
broader-minded  and  less  provincial  than  we 
were  before  1898.  We  are  learning  our  re- 
sponsibilities as  well  as  our  powers  as  a 
world-empire.  And  we  are  beginning  to  find 
our  weaknesses  also.  Let  us,  then,  break 
down  the  narrow  prejudices  of  race  and  ad- 
mit, though  late,  our  red  and  yellow  wards 
and  our  black  fellow  citizens  to  equal  rights 
and  equal  glory  as  American  soldiers. 


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AT  THIS  time  when  the  popularity  of  the 
"book-plays"  is  yet  in  the  ascendency,  and 
the    spectacular    ele- 
ments of  Biblical  ma- 
A  Drama  terial    used    success- 

or  David.  fully    in    "Ben    Hur" 

are  yet  fresh  in  mind, 
it   occurs   to   one   to 
question  why  so  few 
indefatigable    delvers    after    dramatic    ma- 
terial have  remembered  the  wealth  of  story 
and  incident  in  the  Old  Testament. 

The  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  the  Scrip- 
tures still  shared  by  the  public  at  large  may 
not  entirely  account  for  this  immunity  from 
pilferers  enjoyed  by  "The  Book"  alone;  for 
the  Passion  Play  at  Oberammagau  witnesses 
year  after  year,  in  what  reverential  spirit 
such  plays  could  be  given.  Is  the  task  too 
large  a  one,  the  obstacles  to  be  overcome 
in  taking  such  ancient  material,  protected 
as  it  is  by  memory  and  association,  too 
great  to  lure  the  selfish  (or  unselfish)  play- 
wright from  his  Roman  loggias  and  frescoed 
Christian  maidens?  Undoubtedly  it  would 
be  a  difficult  task  to  present  some  of  the  old 
Kings  of  Israel,  with  their  numberless  wives, 
in  such  a  way  to  a  modem  audience  as  to 
arouse  its  sympathy,  yet  there  are  beautiful 
stories  there,  and  dramatic  situations,  and 
strong  self-sacrifices,  which  could  be  culled 
and  woven  into  a  fabric,  which  would  be 
none  too  great  a  strain  upon  our  sense  of 
forbearance  and  courtesy  toward  creatures 
of  a  very  different  time  and  civilization. 

Augustus  George  Heaton  has  endeavored 
in  his  "Heart  of  David,  the  Psalmist  King," 
to  g^ive  us  a  dramatic  version  of  one  of  the 
greatest  biographies  of  the  Old  Testament, 
and  inevitably  we  are  ungrateful.  As  a 
drama  it  is  impossible  from  first  to  last. 
Most  of  the  action  takes  place  in  lengthy 
monologues,  during  which  the  other  charac- 
ters driven  unavoidably  from  the  centre  of 
the  stage  would  find  themselves  rather  de 
trop.    Mr.   Heaton   has   also   presented   his 


noble  central  character  in  the  role  in  which 
moderns  must  needs  have  the  least  sym- 
pathy, in  the  successive  courtship  of  his 
four  principal  wives.  The  work,  entirely  in 
monotonous  and  undeviating  iambics,  is 
divided  into  four  books:  1,  David,  and 
Michal,  the  proud  daughter  of  Saul,  whom 
he  loved  in  his  youth  and  prosperity;  2, 
David  and  Abigail,  who  befriended  him  in 
the  days  of  his  misfortunes;  3,  David  and 
Bathsheba,  wife  of  Uriah,  who  by  her  beauty 
tempted  him  into  sin  at  the  height  of  his 
power,  and,  4,  David  and  Abishag,  the  girl 
who  cared  for  him  at  the  time  of  his  death, 
when 

"His  work  is  ended.     Now  the  shepherd's 

crook. 
The  harp,  the  sling,  the  spear,  the  sword, 

the  crown 
And    sceptre    are    but    playthings    for    his 

dreams; 
And  woman's  love  and  victory's  delight. 
And  love  of  men — save  Jonathan's  alone — 
Are  fading  as,  in  peace  and  faith  and  Joy 
He  moves  upheld  by  God." 

Mr.  Heaton  has  kept  closely  to  the  in- 
cidents of  the  Biblical  narrative  and  the 
book  is  interesting  reading.  Saul's  charac- 
ter is  given  lines  of  real  grace  and  power, 
and  the  dissatisfaction  of  David's  soul  with 
material  pleasures  is  seldom  lost  sight  of. 

We  prefer,  however,  the  figure  of  David 
given  in  the  first  book  when  he  is  the  young 
shepherd  and  the  modest  soldier  coming  to 
the  court,  to  meet 

"Saul's  proud  daughter  coming  unto  him 
When  he  shall  read  his  station  in  her  eyes." 

There  is  a  dignity  and  youthfulness  of 
sentiment  in  the  "David  and  Michal"  which 
might  hold  an  audience  after  i^ey  had  once 
committed  themselves,  even  if  it  might  be 
somewhat  against  their  wills.    Some  gootf 


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lines  are  given  Saul,  but  after  all,  Browning 
had  his  say  first,  and  the  sombre-browed 
King,  on  the  stage,  could  scarcely  do  him- 
self, (or  Browning)  justice.  David  was  a 
stirringly  active  figure,  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, as  hero,  and  warrior  as  well  as  gener- 
ous hearted  musician — ^why  not  have  pre- 
sented him  in  camps  or  temples,  while 
wandering  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  wilder- 
ness, or  as  the  friend  of  Jonathan,  rather 
than  in  the  women's  quarter  of  the  palace? 

The  object  of  the  book,  we  are  told  in  the 
modest  preface,  is  only  to  give  readers  a 
higher  appreciation  of  a  brave  and  chival- 
rous character.  It  is  intended  for  private 
reading,  so  luckily  not  CKpecting  to  be 
foisted  into  the  crucial  test  of  stage-presen- 
tation. Tet  the  question  remains,  the  ma- 
terial is  undeniably  dramatic,  naturally 
treated  as  such,  and  why  have  not  more 
of  the  dramatists  yet  sought  the  well-tilled 
ancient  fields  of  the  Old  Testament,  for  book 
material  for  a  new  and  impressive  play? 

("The  Heart  of  David,  the  Psalmiat  iving," 
by  Augustus  George  Heaton.  The  Neale 
Company,  Publishers,  Washington. 

WHEN  ONB  picks  up  William  Griffith's 
"Excursions"  one  expects,  by  the  size  of  the 
volume    which     con- 
tains   the     Kansan's 
Small  Poems  on  latest     metrical     ef- 

Many  Pages.  forts,  to  find  at  best 

a  good  two  hours' 
reading  in  solid  stan- 
zas and  comfortably 
filled  pages.  But  when  one  finds  a  bookful 
of  great  pages  of  fine  thick  paper  containing 
on  an  average  of  four  lines  to  a  page,  the 
effect  of  perusal  is,  to  say  the  least,  a  mixed 
one.  The  reader  cannot  but  conclude  that 
the  author  has  either  purposely  taken  a 
great  space  to  say  a  very  little  say,  or  that 
he  has  fallen  Into  the  hands  of  experimental 
publishers;  which  is  not  impossible  in  this 
hour  of  wickedness. 

"Excursions"  are  well  named  as  the  whim- 
sical, not  always  purposeful  efforts  of  a 
mind  which  has  occasional  originality  in  its 
favor.  A  great  many  of  the  stanzas  are 
unworthy,  or  incoherent,  or  aimless,  or  in- 
artistic or  redundant.  Many  recall  too 
vividly  things  which  greater  men  have  said 
better.  But  verses  there  are  which  swing 
into  true  poetry  and  reveal  the  spots  where 
Mr.  Griffith  has  dipped  into  the  well  of  real 


inspiration.  These  lines  are  worthy  the 
effort,  breathing  as  they  do,  real  emotion, 
pictorial  symbolism  and  melody.  That 
which  I  quote  below  Mr.  Griffith  prints  under 
the  title  of  "Crisis"  in  a  group  of  quatrains 
descriptive  of  a  hospital: 

"The  surgeon  tells  me  death  is  very  near; 

The  feeble  pulse  still  flutters  with  the  same 
Dim  human  fire — while  one  may  almost  hear 

The  moving  finger  searching  for  the  name." 

The  book  contains  perhaps  a  dozen  such 
poems  as  this,  worthy  the  effort,  I  repeat, 
but  scarcely  worthy  the  pretentious  pages 
that  inclose  them.  It  would  have  been 
more  to  the  point  if  the  author  had  selected 
this  dozen  and  published  them  in  more  ac- 
cessible shape. 

("Excursions,"  by  William  Griffith.  The 
Hudson  Klmberly  Publishing  Company, 
Kansas  City.) 

CHARLOTTE  Perkins  Oilman   (Stetson) 
is  nothing  it  not  "new,"  and  her  latest  book 
of  essays,  "Concern- 
ing  Children,"    does 
Essays  on  Children      not  fail  to  keep  pace 
by    Mrs.    Qllman.        with       her       former 
works    in    point    of 
newness.    A    few   of 
the  creeds  set  forth 
I  will  give  below  in  condensed  form. 

"Children,  do  not  obey  your  parents,  for 
obedience  to  your  elders  saps  your  indi- 
viduality and  makes  you  none  the  better." 
"Do  not  respect  old  age,  for  there  is  no 
reason  to  believe  that  the  aged  are  more 
able  or  wise  than  you."  "Parents,  provide 
your  children  with  scientifically  hygienic 
nurseries,  for  the  child  has  as  much  right  to 
a  house  to  suit  his  needs  as  you  have." 

These,  however,  are  among  the  most  pe- 
culiar theories  advanced  by  the  author. 
There  is  sound  sense  and  practical  sugges- 
tion on  every  other  page  and  many  things 
that  mothers  and  nurse-maids  might  know 
to  advantage.  Children  are  the  profession 
of  women  and  all  books  pertaining  ser- 
iously to  the  care  and  culture  of  the  human 
young,  and  written  by  women,  may  be 
"new,"  but  their  newness  is  a  wholesome 
one. 

("Concerning  Children,"  .  by  Charlotte 
Perkins  Oilman.  Small,  Maynard  &  Ck>., 
Boston,    Publishers.) 


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"IN  THE  LQve  of  Nature"  Is  a  modest 
little  volume,  modestly  printed  and  gotten 
up.    Inside,  are   sev- 
eral bits  of  verse  hj 
mil     J.     Meredith, 
Nature  at  who  writes  musically 

Second  Hand.  but  not  always  with 

inspiration.  One  sus- 
pects him  of  getting 
his  inspiration  sec- 
ond hand.  The  poems  are  quiet  and  occa- 
sionally successful,  but  the  author  lacks 
the  genius  of  human  nature  necessary  to 
make  nature  verse  other  than  bleak. 

(Metropolitan  Printing  &  Binding  Com- 
pany, Seattle.) 

GEORGE  Wharton  James  has  written  a 
book   entitled   "In  and   Around  the  Grand 
Canyon   of   the   Col- 
orado,"  and   no   one 
Vivid  Bootc  on  is     more     eminently 

Grand  Canyon.  fitted  to  tell  of  that 

enchanted  region 
than  is  Mr.  James, 
who  has  spent  the 
greater  part  of  his  summers  for  the  past 
ten  years  observing,  studying  and  photo- 
graphing among  the  dizzy  red  towers  of  the 
Grand  Canyon.  Perhaps  it  is  partly  due  to 
propinquity  (for  the  author  tells  us  that  he 
wrote  many  pages  of  his  book  close  to  the 
spots  described)  that  so  much  of  vividness 
has  been  set  before  our  eyes,  such  fascin- 
ating impressions  of  that  grim,  marvellous 
realm  of  the  desert  genii. 

Certain  it  is  that  for  variety  of  subjects 
and  handling  the  wealth  of  half-tones  given 
surpasses  any  other  illustrations  of  the 
Grand  Canyon  yet  published.  By  way  of  a 
frontispiece  a  magnificent  cut  entitled 
"Temples  and  Buttes  of  the  East  from  the 
Great  Scenic  Divide,"  is  given  and  the  vol- 
ume includes  a  folded  panorama  of  the  Can- 
yon looking  across  the  Vishnu  Temple  which 
is  no  less  than  startling  in  its  effect. 

The  author  bases  his  description  on  the 
ten  accessible  trails  whereby  the  Canyon  is 
reached  from  the  outside  world,  and  in  plac- 
ing the  number  at  ten  he  names  and  de- 
scribes several  more  trails  than  are  gener^ 
ally  accounted  for  by  travelers.  The  first 
part  of  the  book  is  devoted  to  a  brief  history 
of  those  early  expeditions  of  perilous  dis- 
covery that  scattered  so  many  bones  and 


timbers  along  uie  treacherous  rapids  of  the 
Colorado. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  Grand 
Canyon,  but  nothing  I  have  yet  seen  is  more 
comprehensive,  and  coi^prehendable  than 
the  present  work. 

("In  and  Around  the  Grand  Canyon," 
by  George  Wharton  James.  Little,  Brown 
&  Co.,  Boston,  Publishers.) 

IT  IS  no  inconsiderable  work  that  Charles 

Franklin     Carter    has    undertaken    in    his 

"Missions   of    Nueva 

California,"    a    work 

History  for  Gal  if  or-       eminently    necessary 

nians  to  Read.  to    Califomians    and 

Instructive  to  the 
world  at  large;  for 
this  book,  exclusive 
of  the  general  California  histories  of  Ban- 
croft and  Hittell,  is  the  first  historical  treat- 
ise on  those  Spanish  ecclesiastical  pioneers 
who,  lovingly  and  in  the  fear  of  God,  sowed 
the  good. seed  of  civilization  from  Oregon  to 
the  Gulf. 

Mr.  Carter,  in  preparing  his  history  has 
drawn  his  information  both  from  common 
sources  and  from  the  documents  of  the  early 
settlers  and  he  has  found  the  task  a  fascin- 
ating one  as  he  admits.  "For  the  wonderful 
rapid  growth,"  he  says,  "in  prosperity  and 
power  of  the  great  Missions  established  at 
various  points  from  San  Diego  to  San  Fran- 
cisco; for  picturesque  scenes  of  Mission, 
Mexican  and  Indian  life  during  a  period  of 
more  than  half  a  century;  ♦  ♦  •  ♦  f or  the  sad, 
pajthetic  death  of  the  Mission  system  after 
its  glorious  spiritual  career, — for  all  these 
things  the  history  of  this  State  forms  a 
chapter  second  to  none,  In  interest  and  plc- 
turesqueness,  of  all  our  State  histories." 

The  book  is  divided  into  three  general 
parts,  the  first  of  which,  in  three  long  chap- 
ters, deals  respectively  with  the  inception^ 
growth  and  decline  of  the  Mission.  The 
second  part  is  devoted  to  the  early  inhabi- 
tants of  the  Missions  and  surrounding 
pueblos  while  Part  III  describes  the  ruined 
Missions  of  the  present  time. 

The  book  is  beautifully  and  profusely  il- 
lustrated from  water  colors  by  the  author, 
old  cuts  and  photographs. 

("The  Missions  of  Nueva  California,"  by 
Charles  Franklin  Carter.  The  Whltaker  & 
Ray  Co.,  San  Francisco.) 


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A  Christmas 
institution. 


THE  publication  "Chatterbox"  has  many 
things  in  common  with  Siinta  Glaus.    It  is 
Just    as     much     a 
Christmas     Institu- 
tion,  Just   as   wel- 
come  to   the   chil- 
dren,  and,   withal. 
Just  about  as  old- 
fashioned     as     the 
Jolly  saint  of  the  Yuletide.     "Chatterbox" 
is,  as  usual,  profusely  illustrated  and  chock- 
full  of  adventures  and  travel,  among  which 
may  be  mentioned  "Vasco  Island"  and  "Beg- 
gie's  Reminiscences."    There  are  some  fas- 
cinating little  sketches  on  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
heroes,  and  pages  of  interesting  natural  his- 
tory. 

("Chatterbox."     Dean,  Estes  &  Co.,  Bos- 
ton.) 

AN   "Amusing   Geography,"   Just  off   the 
press  of  the  Whitaker  &  Ray  Company  has  in- 
genuity on  its  side, 
whatever  you  may 
say  against  it.    The 
book  is  largely  an 
aid   to   map   draw- 
ing from  memory, 
suggesting  the  con- 
tour of  various  maps  by  means  of  pictures 
of    objects    bearing    an    imaginary    resem- 
blance.   For  instance,  Georgia  is  represented 
as  a  long-faced  man,  bearing  the  inscription. 


instructive 
While  Amusing. 


"Fm  Georgie";  Wisconsin,  as  a  squatting 
badger;  North  America  (poor  patriotism), 
as  a  skull.  "Memory  songs"  are  given  with 
every  lesson,  like  the  following,  to  the  tune 
of  "My  Country,  'Tis  of  Thee,"  which  is 
supposed  to  be  descriptive  of  a  map  of 
South  Carolina: 

"Cut  one  large  square  in  four; 
Start  in  the  second  one. 

Quite  near  the  top. 
Stop  o'er  the  first  cross-line. 
Draw  past  the  south  cross-line 
And  through  the  west  cross-line. 

But  do  not  stop." 

It  is  a  question  whether  such  doggerels 
as  these  are  an  aid  to  geography.  Certain 
it  is  that  they  are  no  aid  to  rhetoric  and 
versification. 

("Schultze's  Amusing  Geography  and  Sys- 
tem of  Map-Drawing."  The  Whitaker  & 
Ray  Company,  San  Francisco.) 

Story  of  the  South. — "The  Young  Bach- 
elor," by  Camm  Patterson,  is  rather  an  un- 
promising title  for  a  somewhat  too  argumen* 
tatlve  war  story  of  the  Old  Dominion.  The 
book  is  fundamentally  a  novel  with  a  pui> 
pose,  its  object  being  to  show  the  disaster 
into  which  the  civil  war  plunged  the  popu- 
lation of  the  South,  both  white  and  black. 
The  story  takes  John  Halifax,  a  young  Vir- 
ginian, through  the  Civil  War. 


The  American  Drama 
That    is    Not. 


IT  HAD  been  hoped  that  the  new  century 
would  reveal  at  least  a  symptom  of  what 
the       prophets       are 
pleased    to    call    the 
Great       American 
Drama.   But  even  the 
symptom  has  not  ap- 
peared.   We   are  still 
having  our  big  plays 
made  in  London  and  in  Paris.  The  big  mana- 
gers make  no  bones  about  the  source  of  their 
dramatic  goods;    when  accused  of  national 


pride  and  patriotism  they  merely  say: 
"Every  production  costs  so  many  thousands 
of  dollars  before  the  first  curtain  is  lifted — 
we  cannot  aftord  to  take  chances.  The  suc- 
cesses of  London  and  Paris  are  certainly 
safer  than  the  untried  eftorts  of  our  own 
authors,  to  say  nothing  of  the  advertising 
value   of   the   author's   name." 

The  American  manager  is  not  an  artist, 
does  not  pretend  to  be  an  artist;  he  is 
simply  a  busy  business  man  with  a  large 
talent  for  what  we  Americans  call  "hustle." 


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He  would  like  (so  he  says)  to  be  a  patriot 
and  producer  of  home  products,  but  he  can- 
not see  his  way  to  take  the  chance  Just  yet 
80  he  gives  the  playwriters  of  London  and 
Paris  all  sorts  of  pecuniary  inducements 
and  gets  the  modish  plays.  Is  the  manager 
right?  Well,  that  is  a  delicate  question. 
After  we  have  discovered  the  Great  Ameri- 
can l>ramatist  it  will  be  easier  to  answer. 
Meantime  those  fellows  over  in  London  are 
turning  out  pretty  good  plays.  There  are 
Pinero  and  Jones  and  young  Esmond  and 
that  surpassing  Irish  cynic,  Bernard  Shaw, 
and  a  host  of  others  who  have  not  only 
something  to  say  but  who  know  just  how 
to  put  it  in  dramatic  form;  while  we  have 
to  ofter  in  comparison  a  drama  that  is  either 
hopelessly  local  or  hopelessly  strenuous. 
I  In  eccentric  comedy  we  are  far  ahead  of 
Great  Britain  if  not  of  France;  in  melo- 
drama we  have  a  "Secret  Service"  at  least 
which  taught  Sardou  a  lesson  in  direct  dram- 
atic expression.  But  we  have  no  social 
drama  to  picture  ourselves  as  we  are  to-day. 
And  this  condition,  mind,  in  this  supreme 
land  of  the  reporter  and  the  camera!  We 
have  the  sock,  kitchen  and  nose-blowing 
dramas  of  Denman  Thompson,  Augustus 
Thomas  and  James  A.  Heme  that  are  fairly 
diverting  exaggerations  of  the  commonplace; 
but  we  have  no  play  that  reflects  our  actual 
urban  life.  In  the  United  States  there  is 
a  social  structure  as  definite  and  as  rich 
in  dramatic  material  as  that  of  Great  Brit- 
ain— but  no  play  that  mirrors  it.  We  have 
applied  the  camera  to  the  eccentric  phases 
of  our  life  and  ignored  the  real  thing.  We 
have  yet  to  be  adequately  represented  on 
the  stage.  FYom  England,  from  France, 
from  Germany,  from  Norway,  we  have 
dramas  that  give  us  a  definate  notion  of  the 
manners,  passions  and  beings  of  these  peo- 
ples. In  all  the  literature  of  the  American 
stage  is  there  a  single  play  whose  charac- 
ters definately  reflect  the  national  spirit 
and  person?    No! 

The  drama  has  long  been  lagging  behind 
the  other  departments  of  fiction.  The  novel 
is  BO  far  ahead  of  it  in  this  country  that  we 
are  compelled  to  go  to  second-rate  stories 
to  make  an  adaptation  that  will  be  called 
a  first  rate  play.  The  grit,  enterprise  and 
spirit  of  America  have  yet  to  be  evidenced 
in  a  play.  And  we  are  the  most  generous 
playgoers  in  the  world. 


Among  Journalists  of  the  old  school  there 
was  not  so  long  since  a  great  degree  of  pre- 
judice    against     col- 
legians as  newspaper- 
Modern  College  men.    Of  late  years, 
Journalism  however,    our    great 
universities       have 
been  graduating  more 
and   more   men   into 
metropolitan    dailies,    weeklies    and    maga- 
zines.   And  these  college  aiumnl  are  pretty 
well  proving,  too,  that  the  man  equipped 
with  a  "higher"    education    is,    all    things 
being  considered,  usually  as  well-fitted  to 
make  his  own  way  in  the  capacity  of  writer 
or  newsgatherer  as  others  specially  trained 
to   the   profession.    As   a   consequence,   in 
most  editorial  rooms  to-day  where  once  the 
name  of  college  graduate  was  a  mock  and 
a  byword,  the  bachelor  of  arts  degree  may 
now  serve  as  a  mild  recommendation,  and 
to  an  extent,  as  a  promise  of  elBciency. 

This  change  of  heart  among  the  news- 
paper executives,  may  be  largely  traced  to 
the  vastly  improved  conditi(m  of  college 
journalism  during  the  past  few  years.  Ten 
years  ago  a  college  daily  was  a  rara  avis 
indeed,  and  college  literary  weeklies  and 
monthlies  were,  with  a  bright  exception  here 
and  there,  as  unattractive  to  the  eye  as  to 
the  intellect.  To-day  in  the  American  uni- 
versities there  are,  perhaps,  a  dozen  daily 
newspapers  being  published  by  the  student 
bodies  with  a  reasonable  profit  for  both 
editors  and  business  managers.  The  major- 
ity of  these,  containing  from  four  to  six 
pages,  stick  to  the  news  concerning  under- 
graduates and  college  alumni,  furnish  per- 
suasive editorials  on  local  affairs,  and  give 
a  truthful  bulletin  of  the  day's  doings  sensi- 
bly and  in  small  space.  The  editor-in-chief 
holds  an  honorable  and  influential  position 
in  student  affairs  and  has  under  his  orders 
a  small  staff  of  reporters  whose  "news 
sense"  would  do  credit  to  the  gleaners  of 
the  professional  press. 

Concerning  the  college  magazines  of  a 
purely  literary  character,  praise  can  be  given 
in  like  degree.  It  is  of  course  ridiculous 
to  measure  the  quality  of  student  prose  and 
verse  according  to  the  standards  of  the  out- 
side world,  for  student  writings  are  of  a 
necessity  experimental  and  raw,  bombastic 
where  they  should  be  forceful,  clumsy  where 
they  should  be  adroit  and  solemn  where  they 


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should  be  serious.  It  is  not,  however,  the 
purpose  of  these  publications  to  face  the 
world  on  their  own  merits.  They  are  pub- 
lished to  encourage  rather  than  to  exhibit 
student  thought  and  this  end  they  accom- 
plish very  well.  There  are  not  a  few  of  the 
younger  generation  of  literati  who  read  Iot- 
ingly  the  pages  of  their  college  magazines, 
remembering  the  crude  little  efforts  that 
were  the  first  incentive  toward  the  creation 
of  something  worth  while. 

Easily  the  most  commendable,  because 
the  most  nearly  professional  of  all  our  col- 
lege publications,  are  the  humorous  papers. 
In  this  class  of  literature  the  American 
press  is  remarkably  behind  the  march  of 
progress,  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
those  who  publish  the  comic  weeklies  of  the 
United  States  might  get  some  noteworthy 
suggestions  from  such  papers  as  the  Har- 
vard Lampoon,  Yale  Record,  and  Stanford 
Chapperal.  There  is  something  in  the  col- 
lege atmosphere  which  makes  the  lighter 
form  of  matter  particularly  spontaneous  and 
easy  of  production,  and  the  Ingenuity 
of  lampoon  and  satire  is  often  commendable. 
The  humorous  papers  are  usually  illustrated 
by  undergraduates  and  the  excellence  of 
art  work,  of  course,  varies  considerably.  The 
fact  that,  in  several  known  cases  students 
are  paying  their  way  through  college  by 
contributions  to  professional  funny  papers, 
would  go  to  prove  that  the  college  satirist 
has,  in  some  instances,  at  least,  first-class 
illustrations  to  embellish  his  efforts. 

From  an  economic  standpoint  it  is  nothing 
short  of  wonderful  that  a  college  colony, 
numbering  In  all  less  than  2,000  souls, 
should  be  able  to  support  profitably  a  daily 
paper,  two  weeklies,  a  monthly,  and  an  an- 
nual bound  volume;  yet  such  a  feat  is  being 
accomplished  not  alone  in  the  largest  col- 
leges in  the  country.  Such  a  feat  is  a  credit 
to  student  enterprise,  and,  more  than  this, 
the  fact  that  each  particular  branch  of  col- 
lege Journalism  is  so  good  of  its  kind,  is  a 
credit  to  the  finer  talents  of  American  under- 
graduates. It  would  be  well  if  every  or- 
ganized course  of  study  trained  its  disci- 
ples as  wisely  and  as  well  as  do  the  unpre- 
tentious college  papers,  which,  in  their  inde- 
pendent way,  are  doing  better  for  their 
editors  and  writers  than  many  a  law  or 
medical  school  is  doing  for  its  physicians 
and   barristers;    they   are   throwing  to  the 


winds  that  mass  of  theory  which  so  often 
proves  only  a  stumbling  block,  and,  in  a 
smaller,  narrower  sense,  showing  to  the 
novice  what  will  be  required  of  him  in  the 
wide  world. 

Weighed  with  regard  to  educative  value* 
modem  college  Journalism  may  be  classed 
among  the  chief  blessings  of  the  new 
thought  that  has  so  changed  the  aspect  of 
our  almae  matres  In  the  past  decade,  causing 
the  conservative  parents  of  wisdom  to  open 
their  eyes  at  the  strange  doings  of  the  more 
recent  college-mothers  who  first  out- 
stretched their  arms  to  the  busy  outside 
world  and  admitted  to  their  curricula  inno- 
vations that  must  have  made  some  fine  olJ 
scholastics  turn  uneasily  in  their  graves. 

VERDI  is  dead,  and  the  world  is  asking 
Who  shall  take  the  place  of  Verdi?  just 
as   the   world    asked 
Who   shall   take    the 
The  Passing  place     of     Wagner? 

of  Verdi.  when   Wagner    died. 

Verdi  lived  a  long 
life  that  was  full  of 
honor  and  accom- 
plishment. When  Italian  opera  was  In  the 
"Trovatore"  and  "Favorita"  stage  it  was 
Verdi  who  wrote  the  "Trovatore"  and  the 
"Favorita";  when  the  sterner  dramalsms  of 
Germany  had  made  themselves  felt  In  the 
world  of  opera.  It  was  Verdi  who  composed 
"Alda,"  "Otello,"  and  "Falstaff."  Guiseppe 
Verdi  was  the  man  that  toward  the  end  of 
the  Nineteenth  Century  saved  "Italian 
opera"  from  becoming  a  term  of  reproach. 
He  was  the  father  of  all  the  Mascagnls^ 
Leoncavallos  and  Puccinls  that  made  mel- 
ody for  the  newer  Italy.  He  was  a  great 
man  and  much  of  his  music  will  live. 
"Aida"  cannot  die;  apart  from  its  dramatic 
worth  there  are  strains  In  it  that  are  abso- 
lutely inspirational.  In  "Otello"  are  genu- 
ine fire  and  music  that  to  the  last  note  Il- 
lustrates the  text.  In  sheer  reckless  tune- 
fulness "II  Trovatore"  is  a  record  opera. 
It  is  our  proud  whim  to-day  to  despise  its 
melodies,  to  associate  them  with  hand  organ 
and  beggar  band.  But  who  is  there  left  In 
all  the  land  to  write  such  melody?  A  great 
voice  that  made  music  for  us  all  has  been 
silenced  and  not  a  nation  alone  but  all  the 
civilized  world  shares  the  loss  and  sorrows. 


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SNAP-SHOTS    IN    GOLDEN    GATE    PARK^*^^ 
Affiliated  Colieae. 


Overland  Monthly 


Vol.  XXXVII 


March,    1901 


No.  3 


GOLDEN  GATE  PARK, 


By    RICHARD    M.    GIBSON. 


,1' 


N  all  the  authentic  and  recorded  his- 
tory of  the  rise  and  development  and 
expansion  of  civilization  of  which 
our  organized  society  and  its  in- 
stitutions are  a  product  and  part,  there 
are  no  more  picturesque  and  unique 
chapters  than  those  which  tell  the 
story  of  the  carving  of  a  mighty  em- 
pire out  of  the  rough  wilderness  which 
confronted  our  forefathers,  as,  step  by 
step,  they  pushed  their  way  across  this 
western  hemisphere  from  the  bleak  Mas- 
sachusetts shores  on  which  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  landed,  through  the  primeval  for- 
ests of  the  Atlantic  States,  into  the  vast 
prairies  of  the  middle  west,  over  the 
great  divide  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
and  down  the  sunlit  slopes  of  these  Pa- 
cific States,  until  their  farther  progress 
was  stopped  by  the  waters  of  the  ocean. 
And,  in  this  story,  the  creation  and  de- 
velopment of  the  Golden  Gate  Park,  which 
has  been  termed  San  Francisco's  breath- 
ing place,  and  which  is  rapidly  working 
itb  way  to  the  front  as  one  of  the  great 
'sights  of  the  world,  forms  a  detail  that 
ii  characteristic  of  the  energy  and  in- 
genuity with  which  our  people  attack 
and  overcome  obstacles  which  stand  be- 
tween them  and  the  attainment  of  their 
desires. 

TJiirty-flve  years  ago  the  site  which  is 
now  Golden  Gate  Park  was  mainly  a  ser- 
ies of  desolate  sand  dunes,  barren  of 
vegetation  of  any  kind,  save  a  small 
fringe  of  chaparral  and  weak  soil  at  the 
eastern  end.  It  was  then  known  as 
a  part  of  what  were  termed,  in  the  mu- 


nicipal parlance  of  the  day,  the  outside 
lands.  These  outside  lands  had  originally 
been  the  pueblo  lands  of  the  old  pueblo 
of  Yerba  Buena  as  it  existed  in  the  days 
of  the  Spanish  and  Mexican  dominion. 
These  lands  were  held  in  trust  by  the 
Alcalde  for  the  benefit  of  subjects  and 
citizens,  each  of  whom  had  the  right, 
after  complying  with  certain  legal  re- 
quirements, to  have  a  site  for  a  home- 
stead set  apart  and  transferred  to  him. 
When  the  sovereignty  over  California  was 
ceded  to  the  United  States  by  Mexico, 
and  before  the  municipality  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, as  created  under  the  Americanized 
California  law,  obtained  a  title  from  Con- 
gress to  these  lands,  they  became,  it 
was  contended  by  some,  a  part  of  the  pub- 
lic domain  of  the  United  States,  and  as 
such,  subject  to  appropriation,  under  the 
pre-emption  laws,  by  all  citizens.  Much 
of  the  area  upon  which  San  Francisco 
now  stands  was  taken  up  in  this  way. 
Still  another  class  of  questionable  titles 
were  founded  upon  a  claim  of  succession 
to  the  grantees  under  old  Spanish  and 
Mexican  grants.  Many,  if  not  most,  of 
these  claims  of  title  were  little  better 
than  assertions  of  what  has  been  desig- 
nated squatter  sovereignty;  but  it  was 
an  era  of  confusion  and  self-assertion 
in  which  squatter  sovereignty  was  a  rec- 
ognized institution,  and,  as  the  commun- 
ity settled  down  upon  a  more  orderly  and 
methodical  basis  it  was  thought  advis- 
able in  the  interests  of  harmony  to  par- 
tially recognize  and  compromise  with 
what  may  be  termed  the  claims  of  vested 


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Golden  Gate  Park. 


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rights  that  had  grown  out  o£  this  squat- 
ter sovereignty.  At  the  same  time  an 
effort  was  made  to  save  as  much  as  pos- 
sible for  the  city.  It  was  in  the  course 
or  following  out  this  policy  that  the  mu- 
nicipal authorities,  under  the  leadership 
ol  the  late  Mr.  Frank  McCoppin,  succeed- 
ed in  getting  possession  of  the  lands  upon 
which  the  Golden  Gate  Park  now  stands. 
Id  1864  Mr.  JusUce  Field,  in  the  United 
States  Circuit  Court,  rendered  a  decision 
in  favor  of  the  city's  claim  to  four  square 
leagues  of  land  upon  the  San  Francisco 
peninsula.  This  decree  was  approved 
of  by  a  confirmatory  act  of  Congress 
passed  in  1866.  But  the  squatters,  or 
settlers,  as  they  termed  themselves,  were 
still  in  possession  of  their  lands,  and  it 
was  an  open  question  whether  they  would 
not  be  able  in  the  end  to  maintain  their 
titles.  The  legal  battle,  indeed,  was  only 
begun,  not  ended.  The  city  had  gained 
little  more  than  a  good  standing  In  court 
and  an  interminable  litigation  seemed  be- 
fore it.  Besides  this,  the  squatters  or 
settlers,  in  addition  to  having  a  good  le- 
gal position,  had  certain  equities  which 
everybody  recognized.  In  this  condition 
of  affairs  the  municipal  authorities,  with 
Mr.  McCoppin  at  their  head,  held  a  con- 
ference with  the  squatters  or  settlers — 
among  whom  were  such  able  and  influ- 


ential men  as  John  B.  Felton,  Eugene  Cas- 
serly,  Bugene  Sullivan,  John  H.  Baird, 
Eugene  Lies,  Thomas  U.  Sweeny,  who  has 
since  donated  to  the  Park  the  Observa- 
tory on  Strawberry  Hill,  and  many 
others — at  which  the  latter  were  asked 
if  they  would  be  willing  to  surrender 
ten  per  centum  of  their  holdings  to  the 
city,  for  the  purpose  of  creating  a  Park, 
if  the  city  authorities  would  join  with 
them  in.  procuring  State  legislation  con- 
firming their  titles  and  thus  settling  for- 
ever the  existing  dispute.  They  all 
agreed  to  this.  Some  of  them,  indeed, 
offered  to  give  up  an  even  higher  percent- 
age. John  B.  Felton,  who  was  a  large- 
minded,  open-handed  man,  offered  to  give 
twenty-five  per  centum.  Thereupon  an 
ordinance  was  passed  by  the  Board  of 
Supervisors  embodying  this  agreement 
and  a  committee  was  appointed  to  ap- 
praise the  value  of  all  the  outside  lands, 
and  also  to  fix  a  price  for  that  portion 
required  for  Park  purposes.  This  com- 
mittee found  that  the  value  of  the  out- 
side  lands   was   something   over   twelve 


Rustic  Stairs. 

millions  of  dollars,  and  that  the  portion 
to  be  taken  for  Park  purposes  was  worth 
something  under  thirteen  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  An  assessment  of  ten  and 
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three-fourths  per  centum  was,  therefore, 
sufficient  to  pay  for  the  Golden  Gate  Park 
lands,  as  well  as  for  the  Avenue  Park, 
commonly  know  as  the  Panhandle,  and 
Buena  Vista  Park,  which  were  acquired 
ar  the  same  time  and  are  now  a  part  of 
the  territory  under  the  immediate  juris- 
diction of  the  Park  Commissioners.  While 
the  ordinance  embodying  the  compromise 
was  before  the  Supervisors,  and  while 
the  confirmatory  acts  were  before  the 
legislature,  a  fierce  opposition  to  the 
whole  project  was  maintained.  Writing 
upon  this  phase  of  the  subject,  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Hammond  Hall  says: 

"The  .battle  which  was  waged  against 
the  location  of  a  park  where  Golden  Gate 
Park  now  is,  and  the  men  who  fought  the 
**dreary  desert"  location,  as  Colonel  W. 
H.  L.  Barnes  has  since  fittingly  called  it, 
should  not  be  forgotten.  It  was  a  strug- 
gle before  the  Legislature  and  Board  of 
Supervisors  in  the  settlement  of  outside 
land  titles.  I  remember  well  and  my 
file  otf  newspaper  clippings  reminds  me 
of  details  of  the  attack  made  on  the 
proposal  for  a  park  in  the  "Western  Ad- 
dition" and  "Outside  Lands,"  and  how 
every  one  prominently  connected  with 
the  "job,"  as  It  was  called,  was  hauled 
over   the   coals,   both   reportorially   and 


editorially.  The  proposed  site  was  con- 
demned as  worthless  for  the  purpose.  It 
was  written  and  declaimed  and  published 
that  nothing  could  be  made  to  grow  on 
the  "wild  sand  drift"  without  covering 
it  in  with  loam  and  manure,  that  for  this 
purpose  it  would  have  to  be  graded  down 
to  an  approximately  level  plain,  that  the 
cost  would  be  fabulous,  that  water-supply 
sufficient  to  serve  it  could  not  be  obtained 
OP  the  peninsula  of  San  FYancisco,  that 
the   advance   of   sands   from   the   beach 


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Golden  Gate  Park. 


741 


would  rapidly  cover  in  and  obliterate 
all  improvements  thus  made,  at  any  cost, 
and  that  this  could  not  be  averted  ex- 
cept by  building  a  massive  sea-wall  of 
concrete  and  stone,  located  well  outside 
of  the  low-water  line  and  for  the  full 
length  of  the  beach — from  Seal  Rocks 
1  Cliff  House)  point  to  the  creek  three 
miles  south.  To  controvert  these  opin- 
ions in  those  days  was  to  be  branded  as 
an  "Outside  Land  Jobber."  I  have  often 
been  amused  since  to  see  how  prominent 
people  have  been  converted  to  belief  in 


of  the  city — who  wanted  the  park  located 
over  there.  Nothing  was  too  severe  for 
them  and  their  newspaper  champions 
to  say  of  the  Outside  Land  desert.  And 
there  was  the  "North  Beach  Clique,"  who 
advocated  the  use  of  the  Presidio  as  a 
park.  Their  plan  was  to  get  Congress 
to  dedicate  this  Military  Reserve  to  use 
a«  a  park  to  be  improved  by  the  city; 
and  they  had  in  a  gentleman  who  after- 
wards figured  as  a  controlling  Golden 
Gate  Park  Commissioner  and  as  a  bril- 
liant newspaper  editor,  a  champion  who 


personal  and  political  esorts 
were  strenuous  to  defeat  the  location  of 
Golden  Gate  Park  and  afterwards  to  pre- 
vent Its  improvement,  men  who  con- 
demned the  place  and  all  connected  with 
itf-  selection  and  betterment,  have  since 
come  to  the  front  as  beneficiaries  and 
even  guardians  of  this  people's  play- 
ground, and  have  their  names  more 
prominently  linked  with  it  in  public  sight 
than  those  who  really  secured  and  im- 
proved it  for  the  people. 

"There  was  what  was  known  as  the 
"Mission  Crowd"— influential  property- 
owners  and  business  men  of  that  quarter 


Bridge  in  Tea  Garden. 

newspaper  manager  to  write  up  the 
proposed  improvement  "job,"  came  to  my 
camp  in  the  little  valley  where  now  the 
Halleck  monument  stands,  to  get  matter 
for  an  item.  The  result  was  that  he  wrote 
pleasingly  of  myself  as  the  young  sur- 
veyor Vho  had  a  good  job  at  the  tax- 
payers' expense,  but  he  roundly  con- 
demned, from  his  afternoon's  personal 
examination,  any  attempt  to  make  a  park 
on  the  drifting  sands  or  on  the  lands  to- 
wards which  the  drift  was  coming.  I 
afterwards    wondered    whether    he    had 


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First    Band   Stand.  Park  Lodge. 

dpreckels'  Band  Stand.  Corner  of   Museum. 

Colonial  Room  Museum.  C^ r^r\rs]r> 

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Golden  Gate  Park. 


743 


written  what  he  really  thought,  for  he 
left  me  under  the  impression  that  I  had 
converted  him  to  believe  in  my  own  idea 
that  the  sands  presented  the  best  park 
lands  on  the  peninsula — ^the  warmest  and  - 
most  susceptible  to  bright  and  enliven- 
ing treatment.  It  were  useless  to  say 
more  in  this  strain  or  to  mention  names 
o**  those  who  opposed ;  most  of  them  are 
dead,  and  doubtless  all  have  acknowl- 
edged their  erro;*.  It  is  more  pleasing  to 
say  something  of  those  who  were  right 
In  the  struggle  and  to  whose  memory 
or  towards  whom  San  Franciscans  should 


for  reasons  which  afterwards  transpired 
I  can  have  no  warmth  of  recollection  for 
Mr.  McCoppin,  as  a  San  Franciscan  I 
cannot  forget  that  it  was  he  who  as 
Mayor  did  much  to  secure  the  location 
of  our  Park  where  it  is — the  most  suit- 
able site  which  could  have  been  selected 
— ^and  that  he  did  it  in  the  face  of  abuse 
and  denunciation  of  himself  and  the  place 
alike.  He  honestly  believed  in  the  loca- 
tion, and  was  one  of  those  who  in  the 
earlier  years  of  improvement  upheld  the 
drsf  Park  Commissioners  in  that  belief 
and  advocacy.    But  behind  him  were  the 


Conservatory. 


specially  turn  with  feelings  of  kindness 
and  gratitude. 

**Foremost  among  these  were  John 
Nightingale,  E.  Ewald,  Abraham  Selig- 
man,  Eugene  L.  Sullivan,  Eugene  Lies, 
Dr  .  Beverly  Cole,  and  others  whose 
names  do  not  now  occur  to  me,  as  West- 
em  Addition  and  Outside  Land  property- 
owners,  and  Frank  McCoppin  as  Super- 
visor and  in  the  Mayor's  chair.    Although 


original  champions  of  the  truth  we  af- 
terwards demonstrated.  These  were  the 
six  whose  names  I  have  just  mentioned. 
John  Nightingale  and  E.  Ewald,  with 
that  great  counsellor  and  advocate,  John 
B.  Felton,  were  more  than  any  others  in- 
strumental in  bringing  about  the  legisla- 
tion, both  Federal  and  State,  which  re- 
sulted in  the  settlement  of  the  early  Out- 
side  Land   disputes  and   Squatter  wars. 


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Golden  Gate  Park. 


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Natural  Stone  Steps. 


and  in  the  acquirement  of  the  Golden 
Gate  Park  site  almost  without  cost  to  the 
dty.  Abraham  Seligman,  Dr.  Cole  and 
Eugene  L.  Sullivan,  together  with  Eu- 
gene Liies  as  attorney  for  the  latter,  were 
foremost  among  those  who  pressed  for 
the  Park  reservation  feature  being  intro- 
duced in  the  settlement  to  be  made. 
Paul  Rousset,  a  Frenchman,  who 
knew  what  had  been  accomplished  by 
way  of  reclamation  and  foresting  sand 
dunes  in  his  own  and  other  countries, 
was  the  well-informed  champion  of  the 
suitableness  of  the  site,  who  tried  the 
first  experiments  in  establishing  growths 
ot:  our  sands  and  provided  the  others 
with  the  arguments  in  favor  of  the  place 
for  a  park.  There  ought  to  be  a  monu- 
ment erected  in  honor  of  these  men,  for 
they  waded  through  a  slough  of  ridicule 
and  abuse  to  give  San  Francisco  her  Park 
Kite.  Doubtless  there  were  others  en- 
titled to  much  credit,  whom  I  did  not  so 
well  know  of. 

The  necessary  legislation  was  finally 
enacted.  Speaking  of  this  compromise  at 
tke  opening  of  the  Sweeny  Observatory, 
or  Amphitheatre,  on  Strawberry  Hill, 
tventT'three  years  later,  Mr.  Frank  Mc- 
Coppin  said: 


"And  now.  after  a  lapse  of  twenty-three 
years,  looking  at  it  dispassionately  I  do 
not  know  that  I  would  change  that  set- 
tlement in  any  particular  save  one — I 
wish  the  Park  could  have  been  made 
larger  than  it  is.  But  when  we  consider 
the  time  in  which  the  thing  was  done,  the 
absence  of  public  sentiment  upon  the  sub- 


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Ject  of  parks,  the  greed  of  individuals  and 
the  general  want  of  education  among  the  • 
people  in  regard  to  public  grounds,  it  is 
really   a   matter   of   congratulation    that 
so  much  was  accomplished." 

That  covers  the  situation.  No  person 
can  examine  the  Park  to-day  and  not  re- 
gret that  the  hills  to  the  south  of  it,  with 
their  magnificent  possibilities  for  sublime 
woodland  and  other  scenic  effects,  are 
not  included  in  its  area;  but  upon  the 
other  hand,  no  student  of  San  Francisco's 
history,  who  is  intelligent  enough  to  un- 
derstand the  conditions  prevailing  at  the 
time  of  the  compromise  and  settlement, 
can  fail  to  realize  how  close  we  were  to 
having  no  Park  at  all. 

The  Park  site  being  acquired,  the  Legis- 
lature proceeded  to  pass  a  bill  creating 
a  Park  Commission  and  authorizing  the 
Supervisors  to  appropriate  money  for 
the  reclamation  of  the  land.  In  the 
thirty-two  years  that  have  since  elapsed 
that  work  has  been  carried  forward  stead- 
ily and  energetically.  Mr.  William  Ham- 
mond Hall,  the  eminent  engineer,  laid  out 
1  broad  plan  of  reclamation  and  designed 
an  appropriate  system  of  roadways  for 
the  Commissioners.  While,  of  course, 
it  has  been  elaborated  in  detail,  to  an 
extent  and  in  ways  that  probably  its 
designer  never  thought  of,  the  general 
lines  of  Mr.  Hall's  plan  have  been  carried 
out  and  the  artistic  and  enduring  nature 
of  the  scheme  bears  testimony  to  his 
judgment  and  taste.  A  picture  of  Mr. 
Hall  accompanies  this  article.  He  was  the 
Park's  first  Superintendent.  At  first 
the  Commissioners  were  a  good  deal 
embarrassed  for  the  want  of  funds  com- 
mensurate with  the  extent  of  the  under- 
taking for,  as  Mr.  McCoppin  said,  there 
was  at  that  time  no  public  sentiment 
upon  the  subject  of  Parks,  and  there  was 
a  widespread  ignorance  among  the 
masses  as  to  the  value  of  public  recre- 
ation grounds,  while,  upon  the  other  hand, 
the  Supervisors  were  always  anxious  to 
have  the  appearance  of  giving  a  very 
economic  administration.  But  as  the 
Park  work  began  to  develop  into  pictur- 
esque lawns  surrounded  by  fringes  of 
forest,  well-made  drives,  and  walks 
running  through  exquisite  gardens  and 
charming  landscapes,  its  importance  was 


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accorded  a  growing  recognition.  Of  late 
years,  therefore,  while  the  Commission- 
ers could  no  doubt  have  usefully  em- 
ployed more  money  than  has  been  set 
apart  for  them,  they  have,  as  a  rule,  been 
fairly  well  supplied.  This  has  been  es- 
pecially so  since  the  improved  system 
of  street  railroad  transportation  brought 
the  Park  practically  to  every  man's 
doorstep.  Twenty-five  years  ago  no  one 
without  a  horse  and  buggy  or  other 
vehicle  could  reach  the  Park  with  any 
comfort;  to-day  nine  or  ten  street  car 
lines  (with  a  five-cent  fare)  terminate 
there,  and  these  lines  transfer  with  nearly 
every  other  line  in  the  city. 

When  the  work  of  reclamation  was 
first  begun,  the  Park  Commissioners  were 
confronted  with  one  of  the  most  dis- 
couraging tasks  that  men  have  ever 
faced.  Commencing  with  the  eastern 
boundary  line  of  the  Panhandle  and  end- 
ing at  the  ocean  beach,  they  had  a  terri- 
tory four  and  a  quarter  miles  long,  by 
half  a  mile  wide,  and  consisting  mainly 
o'  dry,  shifting  sand  dunes,  to  improve 
and  make  beautiful.  The  vastness  of 
the  undertaking  was  equalled  by  the  ap- 
parently unsurmountable  difficulties  that 
had  to  be  overcome.  All  sorts  of  devices 
were  tried  for  the  reclamation  of  the 
shifting  sand  dunes.  Grain  crops  were 
put  in  and  nearly  all  varieties  of  grass 
were  cultivated  with  but  little  success. 
Yellow  lupin  was  tried  but  did  not  fully 
produce  the  results  desired.  Finally  the 
sea  bent  grass  was  experimented  with, 
and  its  strong  fibrous  roots  were  found 
to  accomplish  the  purposes  desired.  This 
grass  held  the  sand  in  place,  and  under 


its  shelter  stronger  plants  and  shrubs 
were  set  out  and  grew  up.  After  four 
years  of  effort  that  which  had  been  a 
barren  waste  began  to  clothe  itself  in  a 
rough  and  dingy  verdure  that  inspired  the 
hope  of  future  and  more  perfect  achieve- 
ments. Subsoiling.  tree  planting,  flower 
sowing,  shrub  setting,  road  making  and 
water-pipe  laying,  were  soon  inaugurated, 
and  in  a  little  time  the  eastern  end  of  the 
area  up  as  far  as  the  present  Conserva- 
tory began  to  present  a  most  attractive 
appearance.  Writing  of  the  difficulties 
of  the  early  Park  improvement,  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Hammond  Hall  says: 

"The  first  Board  of  Park  Commission- 


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ers  had  a  lot  of  trouble  on  its  hands  re- 
garding the  general  character  to  be  given 
the  improvement  and  how  the  work  was 
to  be  carried  out.  Many  crude  ideas 
were  advanced  and  pressed  upon  the 
Commission,  and  many,  I  fear,  from  inter- 
ested motives,  sought  to  influence  the 
Commission  in  these  regards.  A  big 
grading  company  was  then  in  eicistence, 
operating  "steam  paddys"  in  loading 
trains  of  railway  cars  from  the  sand-hills 
in  the  quarter  east  of  the  Park,  and  its 
tracks  extended  to  the  Mission  Bay 
dumping  grounds.  There  were  rumors 
that  the  Golden  Gate  Park  improvement 
was  to  be  a  job  in  the  interest  of  this 
company,  whose  paddys  were  to  tear 
down  the  hills  of  the  reservation  at  the 
city's  expense  and  dump  their  sands  onto 
bay  lots  at  further  cost  to  their  owners. 
There  certainly  was  opportunity  for  a 
job,  as  the  Park  grading  would  not  have 
been  embarrassea  by  official  grade  ele- 
vations previously  fixed,  and  any  quan- 
tity of  spare  sands  could  have  been  ac- 
quired by  fixing  grades  low  enough,  there- 
by providing  aoundance  for  the  Mission- 
fiats  filling. 

"Within  a  month  after  I  had  been  made 
Engineer  and  Superintendent  a  proposal 
came  up  informally  to  let  a  great  contract 
to  the  grading  company  for  the  general 
grading  of  the  Park.  The  idea  was  to 
cut  things  down  to  a  plane  like  a  pub- 
li'^  square.  Hills,  valleys,  iindulations, 
were  to  be  done  away  with.  There  was 
1  hot  time  in  the  inner  circles.  One  of  the 
Commission  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
President  of  the  grading  company.  The 
Commission  thought  the  plan  of  improve- 
ment was  all  right,  and,  innocently,  was 
ii.  favor  of  the  contract,  as  it  would  re- 
lieve the  Commission  of  much  detail 
of  administration  work.  Another  per- 
son had  different  ideas,  and  confided  the 
proposal  to  me,  and  I  poured  the  account 
into  General  Alexander's  ears.  The  old 
gentleman  lost  no  time  in  putting  him- 
self in  the  way  of  members  of  the  Com- 
mission, explaining  that  parks  were  not 
improved  that  way — that  all  the  hills 
and  valleys  ought  to  be  retained.  I  took 
the  same  ground  when  asked,  and  so  the 
matter  was  killed  before  it  ever  got  for- 
mally to  the  Board.  But  this  action  made 
trouble  afterwards,  and  was  a  principal 


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cause  for  the  trouble  made  over  Park 
matters  before  the  litigation  several 
years  later.  Those  who  were  disappointed 
never  forgot  nor  forgave. 


drives  have  been  constructed  which  will 
soon  be  thrown  open  to  the  public,  be- 
cause to  the  pleasure-seeking  public  the 
approach  is  so  inconvenient  that  it  may 


"Curiously  enough  there  were  extrem- 
ists of  the  exact  reverse  idea  of  Park 
improvement — those  who  were  opposed 
to  almost  any  grading  or  opening  up  of 
the  ground  at  all.  These  people  were 
represented  by  members  of  a  horticul- 
tural society,  and  by  a  horticultural  jour- 
nal. In  February,  1872,  an  edition  of 
this  magazine  roundly  condemned  the 
Commissioners  and  all  engaged  under 
them  for  having  done  any  grading  at 
all.  Here  are  some  extracts  from  the 
"HorUculturist": 

"  'Unfortunately  a  piece  of  land  has 
been  forced  upon  the  good  people  of 
San  Francisco  as  a  Park  reservation, 
which  nature  had  reserved  for  other  pur- 
poses, the  masses  have  not  been  con- 
sulted, and  our  authorities  have  exhibit- 
ed no  particular  desire  to  obtain  a  popu- 
lar expression  on  this  and  similar  pro- 
jects. If  the  people  had  been  permitted 
to  exercise  their  prerogative,  there  would 
certainly  be  no  Park  reservation  under 
the  ostentatious  title  of  ''Golden  Gate 
Park." 

"  *  It  is  evident  somebody  wanted  a 
Park  there,  and,  the  city  owning  the  land, 
authority  was  obtained  to  expend  a  cer- 
tain sum  of  money  in  the  Improvement 
of  this  desert. 

"  *  What  we  require  for  a  Park  are, 
trees,  shelter,  and  some  kind  of  vegeta- 
tion to  cover  a  barren  and  unsightly  sur- 
face.   It  is  sheer  nonsense  to  tell  us  that 


bij  said  to  be  virtually  inaccessible — and 
if  reached,  it  possesses  no  attractions, 
nothing  to  induce  a  second  visit,  and  a 
drive   in   that   direction   must   result   in 


Dore  Vase. 


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disappointment  and  disgust  to  anyone 
seeking  park  scenery.  And  we  stoutly 
maintain,  that  no  Park  can  ever  be  inau- 
gurated on  that  site  that  will  be  worth 
seeing  or  having,  without  establishing  in 
the  first  place  a  good  and  sufficient 
growth  of  trees  and  shrubs.  There  was 
really  no  necessity  for  grading,  and  the 
entire  money  should  have  been  expended 
in  covering  the  reservation  with  vegeta- 
tion and  such  trees  and  shrubs  as  are 
adapted  to  the  locality." 

"The  Horticultural  Society  appointed  a 
committee  to  look  into  the  matter,  and 
the  engineer  who  saved  the  Park  (though 


one  could  now  suppose,  and'  the  material 
was  used  in  filling  a  lot  of  frog  ponds 
scattered  over  the  area  where  now'  the 
greatest  lawn  is  spread  before  the  main 
entrance  drive.  This  work  was  unquali- 
fiedly condemned  and  a  system  of  drives 
was  advocated  which  would  have  been 
nowhere  over  thirty  feet  wide  and  located 
iv  tortuous  windings  under  lea  of  the 
ridges  and  hills  only.  The  Park  could 
never  have  been  a  driving  park  under 
such  a  plan,  but  the  engineer  has  seen  his 
ideas  upheld  by  the  work  of  every  Park 
Commission  from  that  day  to  this,  for 
each  has  opened  wider  and  still  more  di- 


A  Glimpse  of  Stow  Lake  and  Conservatory. 


the  public  knew  nothing  of  this),  from 
the  introduction  of  the  steam  paddy  and 
the  leveling  process  of  the  grading  com- 
pany, at  the  expense  of  incurring  enmi- 
ties which  followed  him  for  years,  was 
by  the  Horticulturists  roundly  castigated 
in  their  reports,  practically  for  having 
done  any  grading  at  all,  and  for  laying 
out  such  wide  and  direct  roads.  The  chief 
fault  found  was  with  several  cuttings  that 
were  made  in  opening  roads — notably 
that  through  the  ridge  just  north  of  the 
Halleck  monument,  to  get  from  the  en- 
trance valley  to  the  conservatory  valley. 
Much  more  of  a  cutting  was  made  than 


rect  drives  in  modification  of  his  original 
plans." 

Soon  after  the  work  of  improving  the 
Park  had  begun  to  take  shape  and  form 
men  of  means  also  began  to  assist  the 
development  by  creating  special  fea- 
tures at  their  own  expense.  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Alvord,  President  of  the  Bank  of 
California,  led  the  way  in  this  direction 
b>  presenting  the  lakelet,  which  bears 
his  name,  at  the  Haight  street  entrance, 
where  the  daily  life  of  curious  species 
o*  water  fowl  have  for  years  past  inter- 
ested children  as  well  as  adults.  Later 
OP  Mr.  Alvord  headed  the  syndicate  which 


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erected  the  Conservatory.  The  material 
of  which  tne  Conservatory  was  originally 
constructed  was  brought  to  this  coast 
by  the  late  Mr.  James  Lick  for  the  pur- 


William  Alvord. 

pose,  it  is  believed,  of  erecting  a  sani- 
tarium at  San  Jose.  Upon  Mr.  Lick's 
death  Mr.  Alvord  saw  the  opportunity  to 
get  material  for  a  Park  Conservatory 
and  he  induced  a  number  of  others  to 
join  him  in  the  project.  As  a  result  the 
Conservatory  was  soon  built  and  stocked. 
In  1880  it  was  nearly  destroyed  by  fire. 
After  this  catastrophe  the  late  Mr.  Chas. 
Crocker,  one  of  the  famous  builders  of 
the  Central  Pacific  Railroad,  stepped  to 
the  front  and  restored  the  structure  at 
a  cost  to  himself  of  about  fourteen  thou- 
sand dollars.  Next  in  point  of  import- 
ance, if  not  in  time,  came  the  gift  of  the 
Observatory  on  Strawberry  Hill  by  Mr. 
Thomas  U.  Sweeny.  This  Observatory 
now  commands  a  natural  panorama  of 
views  which  for  picturesque  interest  and 
soul-stirring  grandeur  have  no  superiors 
anywhere  in  the  known  world.  Several 
o*  the  illustrations  which  accompany  this 
article  present  glimpses  of  the  Observa- 
tory and  views  of  its  immediate  surroun- 
ings.  The  creation  of  the  Children's 
Playground  with  money  left  by  the  late 
Senator  Sharon,  was  another  Individual 
contribution  to  the  Park  that  adds  much 


to   its   completeness   as  a   place   for  re- 
creation. 

The  Huntington  Water  Fall  on  Straw- 
berry Hill  is,  perhaps,  the  most  important 
gift  ever  made  to  the  Park.  Its  import- 
ance does  not,  however,  grow  out  of  itself 
so  much  as  it  does  out  of  the  improve- 
ments to  which  it  has  led — the  creation 
of  Stow  Lake  in  its  present  form  and  of 
the  innumerable  scenic  effects  in  the  im- 
mediate neighborhood.  The  Huntington 
Water  Fall  was  built  with  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  contributed  by  the  late 
Mr.  C.  P.  Huntington  at  the  solicitation 
of  the  late  Mr.  W.  W.  Stow.  Strawberry 
Hill  in  its  present  condition  is  one  of 
the  most  charming  bits  of  park  effect  to 
be  found  in  the  world.  Surrounded  by 
a  lake  which  makes  it  an  elevated  island, 
its  sides  present  delightful  bits  of  scen- 
ery no  matter  what  point  it  is  viewed 
from.  While  everything  is  artificial  the 
visitor  would  never  for  a  moment  suspect 
that  that  which  so  delights  his  eye  is 
not  a  creation  of  nature  in  one  of  her 
most  generous  moods.  Amid  rocks  grace- 
fully-drooping ferns  thrive  luxuriously, 
their  delicate  green  colors  forming  a 
picturesque  contrast  to  the  darker  shades 
of  the  pines  and  acacias  with  which  the 
hill  is  covered.  By  a  well-formed  drive- 
way that  reminds  one  of  some  remark- 


W.  W.  Stow. 

ably  nice  piece  of  mountain  road,  as  well 
as  by  numerous  paths  leading  through  de- 
lightful grottos  and  shady  places,  the 
summit  is  reached.    And  there  is  the  Ob- 


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servatory.  Below  lies  the  Park,  its  wind- 
ing drives  and  walks  bordered  with  noble 
trees,  its  forests  of  pine  and  other  trees, 
itfi  undulating  slopes  covered  with  rich 
verdure,  its  lake  glistening  in  the  sun- 
light, and  its  romantic  cascade.  Away 
off  to  the  west  the  great  Pacific  Ocean 
tosses  in  fretful  Impatience,  while  its 
waves  break  with  a  dull  and  ceaseless 
roar  on  the  sandy  beach.  Still  farther  off, 
faintly  outlined  against  the  horizon,  one 
can,  on  clear  days,  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
Farallone  Islands — ^twenty-one  miles 
away.    To  the  northwest  lies  the  entrance 


Mr.  M.  H.  de  Young  and  his  associates 
in  the  Midwinter  Fair  enterprise,  as  a 
memorial  of  the  success  of  that  great 
undertaking.  This  is  one  of  those  im- 
provements which  grow  with  age.  It  Is 
now  one  of  the  principal  attractions  in 
the  Park.  Near  the  Children's  Playground 
at  the  entrance  to  what  is  known  as 
Concert  Valley,  a  magnificent  statue  to 
the  memory  of  the  author  of  the  Star 
Spangled  Banner  has  been  erected  by 
money  provided  by  the  late  Mr.  James 
Lick.  Numerous  other  works  of  statuary, 
personal  and  allegorical,  have  been  con- 


Children's  Playground. 

to  the  bay  of  San  Francisco,  and  its  fa- 
mous Golden  Gate.  Beyond  are  the  light- 
houses on  Points  Bonita  and  Arena.  To 
the  east  the  quiet  households  of  Sausa- 
lito  can  be  seen  nestling  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  rugged  hills  on  the  Marin 
shore,  while  Mount  Tamalpais  rises  in 
colossal  grimness  toward  the  blue  sky 
above.  Across  the  lower  bay  are  seen 
the  towns  of  Oakland,  Berkeley,  and  Ala- 
meda standing  out  in  relief  from  the 
dark  background  of  hills  that  rise  in  grad- 
ual undulations  until  they  blend  with 
the  towering  form  of  Mount  Diablo. 

Another  gift  of  great  value  was  that 
of  the   Museum   which  was  erected,   by 


tributed  by  individuals  and  associations. 
Among  these,  are  a  statue  of  General  Hal- 
leck,  another  of  President  Garfield,  an- 
other of  General  Grant,  and  another  of 
the  Rev.  Thomas  Starr  King.  Further 
contributions  of  a  like  nature  are  expect- 
ed from  time  to  time.  Some  time  before 
his  death  the  late  Mr.  George  W.  Childs 
of  the  Philadelphia  Ledger,  contributed 
a  Prayer  Book  Cross,  in  the  Runic  style 
of  architecture,  which  is  in  commemora- 
tion of  the  first  Episcopal  prayer  offered 
up  on  this  coast.  The  prayer  was  uttered 
by  the  chaplain  of  Sir  Francis  Drake, 
when  that  famous  leader  landed  on  the 
shores  of  Drake's  Bay,  June  24.  1579. 


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Another  generous  gift  that  now  con- 
stitutes one  of  the  principal  attractions 
of  Qolden  Gate  Park  is  that  of  the  new 
Music  Stand  in  the  Musical  Concourse. 
This  was  contributed  by  Mr.  Claus 
Spreckels.  It  is  designed  in  the  Italian 
Renaissance  style  and  executed  in  Colusa 
sandstone.  In  elevation,  the  new  stand 
presents  itself  as  a  central  feature,  with 
a  frontage  of  fifty-five  feet  and  a  height 
of  seventy  feet.  This  central  feature  is 
flanked  on  each  side  with  Corinthian 
columns.  Extending  from  these  columns 
on  each  side  are  colonnades  fifty-two  feet 
long  by  fifteen  feet  wide,  each  of  which 
supports  sixteen  Ionic  columns.  Taken 
as  an  entirety  the  structure  is  massive 
and  artistic  yet  charmingly  simple. 

So  far,  in  their  work  of  improvement, 
the   Park   Commissioners   have   devoted 
pal   attention  and   expended 
•esources  on  the  eastern  half 
:,  as  far  out  as  Strawberry 
w  Lake,  and  they  have  creat- 
ficent  series  of  broad  lawns 
ul  garden  spots,  embroidered, 
with  sufficient  woodland  and 
;o  produce  the   most  ornate 
a  scenic  point  of  view.    The 
lis  territory  has  been  thor- 
1  for  irrigation,  and  presents 
m   appearance   all   the   year 
far  as  possible  the  natural 
and  general  topography  of 
}  been  followed.    Artifice  has 
used  to  aid  nature  and  give 
i  health  to  that  which  was 
barren  and  unproductive.    An  elaborate 
Aviary  has  been  constructed  on  the  hill 
across  from  and  to  the  southwest  of  the 
Conservatory.    It  is  stocked  with  a  very 
large  assortment  of  rare  birds  from  all 
countries.    Close  to  it  an  enclosure  for 
squirrels   has   been   created    where   the 
little  animals  can  live  just  as  they  do 
when  at  large.    Judging  from  the  num- 
ber of  people  who  linger  round  these  two 
places  they  constitute  one  of  the  most 
popular  features  in  the  Park.    There  is 
also  a  deer  glen  stocked  with  a  goodly 
•collection  of  representatives  of  the  var- 
ious species.    This  glen  is  unfailing  as 
a  centre  of  attraction.    The  animals  are 
not  caged   but  live  as  if  wild    (except 
Ihat  they  are  supplied  with  food),  roam- 


Claus  Spreckels. 

ing  at  will  through  a  large  enclosure. 
There  is  a  buffalo  paddock  where  a  small 
herd  of  these  almost  extinct  animals  offer 
a  chance  to  the  curious  to  study  the 
ways  of  those  who  were  the  principal 
iniiabitants  of  Chicago  before  the  pale- 
face came.  A  number  of  other  strange 
animals  and  birds,  including  a  grizzly 
bear,  are  scattered  around  in  various 
suitable  places.  The  menagerie  feature 
is  constantly  being  added  to  and  made 
the  subject  of  contributions.  In  a  valley 
to  the  south  of  Strawberry  Hill  some  five 
wells  have  been  sunk  and  a  complete 
plant  of  pumping  machinery  erected.  It 
ii«  believed  that  these  wells  tap  a  sub- 
terranean channel  and  that  an  inexhaus- 
tible supply  of  water  is  now  assured  for 
all  time.  The  cost  of  pumping  only 
amounts  to  about  six  thousand  dollars  a 
year.  The  entire  water-works  plant  is 
enclosed  in  an  artistic  concrete  building, 
in  the  Moorish  style  of  architecture,  and 
the  valley  surrounding  it  has  been  so 
ornately  developed  that  it  bears  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  old  time  fairy  dell  rather 
than  the  home  of  an  intricate  twentieth 
century  piece  of  steam  machinery. 


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Overland   Monthly. 


At  the  entrance  to  the  Park  a  stone 
Lodge  has  been  erected  which  furnishes 
the  Commissioners  with  office  accommo- 
dations, and  the  Superintendent,  who 
needs  to  be  always  on  the  ground,  with 
n  residence.  It  is,  comparatively  speak- 
ing, a  small  and  unpretentious  building 
but  it  is  elegant,  artistic  and  refined  in 
its  appearance.  Mr.  John  McLaren  has 
been  the  Superintendent  for  a  long 
stretch  of  years   past,  and   it  has  been 


into  view  lo  charm  the  eye  and  elevate 
the  mind.  There  is  an  extensive  speed 
track  for  horsemen  and  another  for  bi- 
cycle riders.  The  Commissioners  are 
now  seeking  to  make  arrangements  for 
the  special  accommodation  of  those  who 
take  pleasure  in  the  automobile.  Mr. 
Martin,  one  of  the  Commissioners,  is 
a  champion  of  the  automobile  cause.  An 
Arboretum  is  being  created  a  little  to  the 
southwest  of  the  Musical  Concourse.    It 


Miles  T.  Baird's  Road  Cart. 


He  has  shown  himself  to  be  a  man 
of  consummate  judgment,  as  well  as  a 
landscape  gardener  of  faultless  taste. 

The  Park  at  present  contains  what 
may  be  roughly  estimated  at  between 
twenty  and  thirty  miles  of  roadway  well 
built  and  as  smooth  as  the  proverbial 
billiard  table.  The  extent  of  the  walks 
and  pathways  designed  for  persons  on 
foot  can  scarcely  be  computed.  These 
pathways  are  full  of  delightful  surprises; 
full  of  exquisite  bits  of  coloring  and 
scenic    effects    that    unexpectedly    come 


be  cultivated  in  our  climate  and  soil. 
Already  there  are  scattered  throughout 
the  Park  trees  and  plants  indigenous  to 
many  soils  and  many  climates.  There 
are,  for  instance,  the  Australian  tea  fern, 
the  New  Zealand  tea  tree  and  "toute" 
(the  latter  bearing  a  fruit  the  eating  of 
which  drives  cattle  crazy),  the  passion 
vine  from  Lebanon,  the  Norway  spruce, 
the  Scotch  broom,  the  Eastern  barberry, 
the  Douglas  fir,  the  juniper  tree,  the  Ore- 
gon pine,  Chinese  trees,  Eastern  elms, 
maples  and  basswood,  plants  from  Japan,^ 


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Golden  Gate  Park. 


759 


Reuben   Lloyd,  Commissioner. 

South  America,  Chili,  South  Africa,  Spain, 
various  specimens  of  trees  from  the 
Pyrenees  Mountains  and  the  Alps,  and 
varieties  of  the  Kauri  pine  from  New  Zea- 
land. 

West  of  Strawberry  Hill  it  is  intended 
that  an  entirely  different  line  of  im- 
pi-ovement  and  Park  development  shall 
be  followed.  Already  the  foundation  of 
this  has  been  laid.  The  land  has  been  re- 
claimed and  a  hardy  forest  of  trees 
planted.  This  forest  is  to  be  the  main 
feature  of  the  western  end  of  the  Park. 
The  resources  of  the  Commissioners  are 
soon  to  be  put  forth  in  its  improvement. 
Subsoiling  is  to  be  undertaken  in  a  large 
way  and  irrigation  appliances  introduced. 
The  trees  are  to  be  fed  with  appropriate 
fertilizing  materials  for  the  promotion 
of  their  growth.  Winding  pathways  are 
to  be  constructed,  and  wherever  nature 
suggests  the  creation  of  a  picturesque 
grotto  or  dell,  the  suggestion  will  be 
aided.  The  general  aim  and  purpose  of 
the  Commissioners  will  be  to  attain  wild 
sylvan  effects,  coupled  with  luxuriance 
Oi  foliage  and  fragrant  aroma — to  create, 
in  short,  such  a  forest  as  will  be  calcu- 
lated to  inspire  the  mind  of  a  poet  or  an 
artist  Other  and  minor  features  may 
be  added  to  this  plan.  For  instance  Mr. 
Jasper    McDonald,    one    of    the    present 


Park  Commissioners,  is  an  enthusiastic 
advocate  of  the  creation  of  an  Aquarium, 
[f  this  idea  is  carried  out,  its  appropriate 
location  would  be  near  the  ocean  beach. 
Mr.  McDonald  is  an  active  and  influential 
man  and  it  is  possible  that  before  he 
leaves  office  he  may  induce  some  rich 
man  to  contribute  seventy-five  or  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  to  carry  out  this 
project.  Mr.  R.  H.  Lloyd,  another  of  the 
Commissioners,  would  like  to  see  about 
ten  acres  of  the  Park,  near  the  ocean, 
turned  into  a  place  for  real  salt  water 
bathing.  Mr.  Lloyd  is  also  a  man  of  en- 
ergy and  influence,  and  it  is  possible  that 
he  may  induce  some  rich  client  to  fumis:i 
the  means  of  fructifying  his  idea.  But 
these  will  be  subsidiary  attractions. 
Just  as  the  chain  of  lakes  which 
have  already  been  constructed  are 
subordinate  to  the  general  idea  that  the 
Park  from  Strawberry  Hill  to  the  beach 
i3  to  be  a  grand  forest.  The  Commission- 
ers control  the  beach  from  the  rocks  at 
the  foot  of  the  Cliff  House  to  the  county 
line.  No  plan  for  its  permanent  im- 
provement has  yet  been  adopted,  but  it 
is   scarcely   possible   that  they   will    do 


William  Hammond  Hall. 


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Overland   Monthly. 


otherwise  than  grade  it,  subsoil  it,  and 
plant  it  with  trees  from  the  roadway 
down  to  the  edge  of  the  littoral.  Indeed 
the  only  wonder  is  that  they  have  not 
done  so  already,  for  it  is  an  improvement 
that  would  produce  a  maximum  of  superb 
results  for  a  minimum  expenditure 
of  money.  The  beach  thus  improved 
would  be  a  glorious  lounging  place  as  well 
as  a  uniquely  picturesque  stretch  of  the 
shore  line.  Probably  nothing  like  it 
could  be  found  on  the  ocean  shore  of  the 
world  though  many  choice  bits  of  that 
nature  can  be  found  on  bay  shores. 

When  this  entire  conception  is  carried 
out  the  Golden  Uate   Park  will  be  the 


smell  of  flowers  and  the  eye  is  charmed 
with  picturesque  combinations  of  the 
physically  beautiful  in  nature;  passing 
on  he  may  bury  himself  in  a  forest  as 
dense  as  those  which  Fenimore  Cooper 
has  taken  us  all  througn  and  in  solitude 
join  the  worship  of  nature- at  her  own 
shrine,  or  he  may  pass  on  to  the  ocean 
beach  where  he  may  lie  and  listen  to 
"the  voice  of  the  great  Creator  that 
speaks  in  that  awful  sound"  as  the  long 
roll  of  the  Pacific  breaks  with  a  mingled 
roar  and  moan  on  the  sandy  shore.  Re- 
lieved, he  may  Jump  on  board  a  passing 
electric  car  and  in  an  hour's  time  be  back 
again  in  the  midst  of  the  crush  and  hurry 


Kelly  &  Sons'  Four  in  Hands. 
Pride,  Prejudice,  Pastime,  Pleasure. 


grandest  one  thousand  and  forty  acres  of 
land  ever  seen  outside  of  the  Garden  of 
Eden.  The  exception  is  made  without 
prejudice  to  any  claim  of  complete  super- 
iority that  may  be  made  for  Golden  Gate 
Park.  When  that  time  comes  it  will 
be  possible  for  the  worried  man  of  busi- 
ness to  tear  himself  away  from  the  mad- 
dening throngs  that  crush  and  jostle  and 
crowd  through  the  heated  streets  in  their 
wild  worship  of  the  modern  god — Money 
— and  in  thirty  minutes  to  enter  upon  a 
stretch  of  nearly  two  miles  of  foiling 
lawns,  where  the  air  is  redolent  with  the 


and  confusion  where  the  wild-eyed  devo- 
tees of  the  god  Money  never  cease 
throughout  the  livelong  day  from  throw- 
ing themselves  in  front  of  his  grinding 
Juggernaut. 

Thus  far  tnis  article  has  dealt  princi- 
pally with  its  subject  from  what  may  be 
termed  the  inanimate  point  of  view.  But 
there  is  an  animate  point  of  view  from 
which  it  may  be  regarded  that  is,  perhaps, 
even  more  interesting.  The  Park  is  now 
and  has  been  for  years  past  a  center 
of  attraction  that  is  visited  every  day  by 
hundreds  of  people.    Probably  there  is  no 


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761 


Henry  J.  Crocker's  1st  Prize  Winners,  Tanforan  Horse  Show. 


pleasant  day  on  which  the  visitors  num- 
ber less  than  a  thousand.  On  Sundays 
and  other  holidays  this  number  runs  up 
to  from  ten  to  thirty  thousand  and  up- 
wards, according  to  the  weather.  A 
glimpse  on  a  pleasant  Sunday  afternoon 
in  the  Park  presents  an  impressive  spec- 
tacle as  well  as  a  field  for  the  thoughtful 
study  of  some  phases  of  life  in  a  great 
metropolitan  city. 

An  exquisite  and  characteristic  view  of 
Park  scenery  and  Park  life  is  gained  from 
the  stairway  overlooking  the  Conservatory 
The  wintry  sun  of  February  glistens  on 
the  glass  conservatory,  and  around  it  in 


every  direction  lie  undulating  lawns  of 
green  grass  and  artistic  beds  of  flowers 
and  shrubbery,  while  groves  and  fringes 
of  trees  relieve  the  landscape  of  any  sug- 
gestion of  monotony.  Away  ofT  in  the  dis- 
tance the  Star  Spangled  Banner  monu- 
ment stands  out  in  relief  against  an  um- 
brageous background  In  which  one  can 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  solid  Sharon  Play- 
ground Building.  Out  in  the  open  stands 
the  Garfleld  monument,  and  well-kept 
pathways  run  in  all  directions.  The  main 
driveway  passes  through  the  center  of 
this  view,  and  both  it  and  the  surround- 
ing pathways  are  alive  with  people  mov- 


Qeorge  A.  NewhalTs  Four-in-Hands. 


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Overland   Monthly. 


ing  briskly  about.  Teams  of  all  kinus 
dash  backward  and  forward,  up  and  down 
the  driveway.  Passing  by  the  Conser- 
vatory, not  because  its  tropical  contents 
are  without  an  interest  that  justifies  the 
steady  procession  of  visitors  that  arc 
passing  in  and  out  of  it,  but  because  time 
and  space  are  going  rapidly,  let  us  take 
a  position  near  the  first  music  stand,  and 
watch  the  equestrian  procession  rush 
past.  First  comes  a  man  on  horseback. 
His  arms  are  spread  out  like  the  cropped 
wings  of  a  barnyard  fowl  attempting  to 


afternoon.  Mr.  George  A.  Newhall,  Presi- 
dent of  the  Police  Commission  leads  the 
procession  with  a  magnificently  equipped 
four-in-hands.  Nothing  more  stylish 
can  be  seen  in  Central  Park,  New  York, 
or  Hyde  Park,  London,  during  the  season. 
He  is  followed  by  Mr.  Miles  F.  Baird  of 
the  Hotel  Pleasanton,  in  a  jaunty  single- 
horse  cart  drawn  by  a  well-set  nag.  Next 
comes  a  swell  stranger,  from  the  Palace, 
with  a  four-in-hands  from  the  stables  of 
Thomas  Kelly  &  Sons,  the  California- 
street   liverymen.      This    turn-out    is    as 


J.  C.  KIrkpatrlck's  Our  Dick:  2:Wy^;   Harvey  Mack,  2:09i/2- 


fly.  He  rises  briskly  up  and  down  in  the 
saddle  to  the  motion  or  an  awkward- 
gaited  horse.  He  is  a  clerk  in  an  Eng- 
lish Insurance  office,  and  labors  under  the 
delusion  that  he  cuts  a  good  figure  on 
horseback.  A  sedate-looking  German  cor- 
ner groceryman  comes  next.  He  is  giv- 
ing his  family  a  Sunday  airing  In  the 
wagonette  which  he  uses  for  delivering 
his  goods  on  week  days.  Then  there 
comes  a  crowd  of  more  stylish  rigs.  As  a 
rule  the  real  swell  set  do  not  turn  out  on 
Sundays,  but  some  of  them  are  here  this 


perfect  in  all  its  appointments  and  de- 
tails as  any  private  equipage  could  be. 
Then  a  fast-stepping  trotter  drawing 
a  light  buggy  comes  whirling  past.  It 
is  driven  by  a  handsome  blonde  who  is 
accompanied  by  a  female  friend.  The 
blonde  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
city — a  mystery  of  a  type  that  is  to  be 
found  in  all  great  cities.  She  lives  with 
her  husband  in  a  swagger  hotel.  He  is 
a  fiash  man-about-town,  and  has  no 
known  business  nor  source  of  income. 
Neither  has  she;  but  they  both  live  well 


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Golden  Gate  Park. 


763 


and  never  seem  short  of  money.  There 
ii  a  momentary  pause  in  the  cavalcade, 
and  then  comes  one  of  John  Nolan 
&  Sons',  the  California-street  livery 
stable  keepers,  well-appointed  four-in- 
hands.  It  is  driven  by  a  down-town  mer- 
chant and  cuts  a  swell  figure  as  it  goes 
prancing  by.  Next  comes  Terence  Mulla- 
ney.  There  is  no  pretense  of  style  about  his 
equipage.  For  the  accommodation  of  his 
family  he  has  just  put  a  couple  of  ex- 
tra seats  into  the  express  wagon  with 
which  he  makes  his  daily  bread.  Next 
comes  a  spirited  horse  turned  vicious 
through  bad  driving.  Young  Doppel- 
kroutz,  who  is  driving  it,  is  a  grocer's 
clerk  with  a  salary  of  thirty  dollars  per 
month  and  board.  He  is  only  two  years 
out  from  Germany,  and  is  anxious  to 
show  people  that  he  is  a  blood.  The  spec- 
tator heaves  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  passes 
from  sight,  and  Mr.  Henry  J.  Crocker's 
swagger  four-in-hands  comes  clatter- 
ing past,  the  coats  of  its  well-groomed 
horses  shining  like  a  piece  of  finished  vel- 
vet This  is  one  of  the  most  stylish  turn- 
outs on  the  Coast,  and  one  watches  with 
pleasure  the  skillful  ease  and  grace  with 
which  its  owner  manages  it,  until  it  dis- 
appears from  sight.  Its  place  is  taken 
by  a  quiet  rockaway  occupied  by  a  young 
married  couple  who  are  so  engrossed  in 
each  other  that  their  team  is  a  menace 
t'i  the  public  safety. 

One  might  watch  this  procession  with 
interest  and  amusement  all  the  after- 
noon, for  it  never  ceases;  but  there  are 
other  sights  to  be  seen,  and  if  one  would 
take  in  the  salient  features  of  a  Sunday 
afternoon  in  the  Park,  one  must  be  up 
and  moving — moving  across  the  drive- 
way and  up  a  romantic  pathway  to  where 
a  crowd  of  people  are  watching  the  squir- 
rels in  the  large  cage  and  the  birds  in  the 
great  aviary  building.  From  here  a  short 
pathway  leads  down  past  the  Starr  King 
monument  to  the  Musical  Concourse.  Th(^ 
harmony  of  discord  is  in  the  air  to  greet 
one's  arrival  at  this  place,  but  in  a  mo- 
ment or  two  from  out  of  these  classical 
variations  come  the  simpler  notes,  one 
might  almost  say  words,  of  "Nearer  My 
God  to  Thee."  There  are  probably  five 
or  six  thousand  people  sitting  around 
listening  to  this  open  air  sacred  concert. 
They  come  from  all   classes  of  society 


Adolph    B.    Spreckels, 

President  Board  of  Park  Commissioners. 

and  are  of  all  religions  and  of  the  relig- 
ion of  no  religion.  No  city  in  the  world 
could  gather  a  better  conducted  or  more 
genteel-appearing  audience.  But  one  must 
not  linger  even  here,  in  this  place  of  mel- 
ody, for  the  afternoon  is  passing.  A  sharp 
turn  to  the  right  brings  one  to  a  well- 
made  roadway,  and  a  brisk  five  minutes' 
walk  down  this  lands  one  in  the  Chil- 
drens'    Playground.     Here    hundreds    of 


John    l^cLaren,   Superintendent. 


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o 


> 
O 

9 
9 


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Golden  Gate  Park. 


765 


little  ones  are  rushing  about  in  all  direc- 
tions while  mothers  and  nurses  keep 
watch  and  ward.  Some  are  riding  on 
the  docile  donkeys'  backs,  and  others  are 
driving  in  goat  carriages;  some  are  in 
the  swings  and  others  are  whirling  about 
on  the  merry-go-round.  All  are  enjoy- 
ing themselves,  and  one  watches  their 
enjoyment  with  a  pleasure  that  is  per- 
haps even  keener  than  theirs,  until  a 
wild  shout  a  little  way  to  the  east  arouses 


out,  they  have  two  men  on  bases,  and  a 
third  batsman  is  just  taking  his  place. 
It  is  a  critical  moment.  The  ball  flies 
toward  the  plate  and  the  striker  makes 
a  futile  blow  at  it.  "Strike  one,"  cries 
the  umpire.  Again  the  ball  flies  toward 
the  striker,  who  stands  immovable.  "Ball 
one!"  calls  the  umpire.  Again  the  ball 
flies  toward  the  plate,  and  the  striker's 
bat  hits  out  strong  and  true.  There  is  a 
sharp  report  as  the  ball  goes  flying  into 


J.  C.  Kirkpatrick  with  "Azalia/'  2.221/2. 

a  curiosity  that  must  be  gratifled.  That 
shout  comes  from  the  boys'  baseball 
ground,  where  a  champion  match  for 
six-bits  a  side  is  in  progress  between 
the  Telegraph  Hill  nine  and  the  Minna 
street  nine.  The  game  is  in  its  ninth 
innings  and  the  score  is  a  tie.  The  Hill 
boys  are  all  out,  and  the  Minna  street 
boys  are  at  the  bat.     Two  of  them  are 


the  outfleld  for  a  home  run.  Then  another 
wild  yell,  a  yell  of  exultation  and  victory, 
arises  on  the  evening  air.  People  begin 
moving  toward  the  cars,  a  blue  mist 
sweeps  over  the  tree-tops  into  the  lawns 
beneath,  the  lights  of  the  city  begin  to 
glimmer  and  dance  in  the  distance,  and 
the  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  Park  is 
over.  Yet  one  has  not  seen  one-half  of 
what  was  to  be  seen. 


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Old   Indian  Paintings  at   Los   Angeles. 


By    ELIZABETH    T.    MILLS. 


'^^S^    f^   A    R    y 
or    TMK 

UNivrn^rTY 


Y  N  that  historical  old  church,  "Our 
K  IjSLdy  of  the  Angels/'  in  the  quaint 
T^  Spanish  section  of  the  city  of  Los 
Angeles,  are  still  preserved,  a  dozen 
interesting  and  in  many  ways  re- 
maricable  native  paintings  done  by  Indian 
artists  of  the  San  Fernando  Mission  over 
one  hundred  years  ago.  Valueless,  of 
course,  as  works  of  art,  these  pictures 
are  yet  remarkable  studies  for  the  his- 
torian and  the  ethnologist,  presenting 
as  they  do  rare  examples  of  that  blend 
of  savagery  and  civilization,  common  in 
Assyrian  and  Egyptian  paintings,  and 
bas-reliefs,  but  remarkable  in  produc- 
tions of  so  late  a  date.  To  the  work  of 
the  Egyptian,  indeed,  these  bear  no  lit- 
tle resemblance  in  pose,  perspective,  and 
color  effect.  One  might,  in  fact,  forget 
the  sacred  character  of  the  subjects 
treated  by  these  devoted  converts,  and 
imagine  himself  to  be  gazing  upon  a  ser- 
ies of  restorations  from  the  halls  of  The- 
bes or  Memphis. 

The  strange  mixing  of  colors — colors 
which  the  Indians  made  from  the 
wild  herbs  and  roots  around  them — the 


*>^ 


r  ^  , 


FY  I 


odd  arrangement  of  figures  on  the  can- 
vas and  their  eccentric  notions  of  se- 
curing the  effect  of  distance,  make  their 
work  a  most  interesting  and  profitable 
study.  Added  to  this  the  idea  that  an 
untrained  mind  would  have  of  the  sub- 
ject that  they  chose  to  represent;  the 
notion  that  the  Native  Man  would  get 
of  the  life  and  work  of  Jesus  Christ,  and 
of  his  last  days  in  particular;  is  a  theme 
for  most  careful  and  thoughtful  attention. 
In  these  paintings  are  revealed  all  the 
pent-up  passion  of  sympathy,  which  both 
by  training  and  nature  lay  concealed 
under  the  stolidity  of  a  most  dignified 
face  and  mien;  all  the  hatred  of  injus- 
tice, and  all  the  conception  that  the  In- 
dian had  of  the  most  mysterious  relation 
of  spiritual  kinship  between  God  and 
man. 

The  Indian  had  his  own  idea  of  how  the 
work  ought  to  look.  He  chose  his  colors 
to  suit  himself;  and  this  fact,  together 
with  the  large  number  of  figures  repre- 
sented on  the  canvas,  is  the  first  one  to 
impress  the  observer.  Such  a  bright  and 
"pastey"  eftect;  every  object  stands  out 


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rigidly  by  means  of  the  strength  and 
warmth  of  its  colors.  Men's  faces  are 
either  a  deep  pink  or  a  dark  brown; 
women's  almost  white,  that  of  the  Savior 
also  pale.  Qreen,  red,  and  brown  predom- 
inate; and  it  is  interesting  to  note  how 
each  figure  is  set  over  against  the  other 
by  a  difference  in  the  color  of  garments. 
Their  ideas  of  perspective  were  also 
equally  absurd;  the  persons  who  were 
supposed  to  be  standing  farthest  from  the 
observer  were  not  smaller  in  size,  nor  di- 
minished by  shadow  nor  dimness,  they 
stood  out  in  bold  relief,  and  were  placed 
one  above  the  other  on  the  canvas,  till 
they  reached  clear  to  the  top  thereof. 
A  man  standing  by  the  side  of  a  mountain 


the  equilibrium  as  to  destroy  that  condi- 
tion entirely. 

There  is  a  rich  diversity  shown  in  the 
management  of  facial  expression;  here 
the  Indian  tried  to  excel  all  his  other 
efforts;  such  a  variety  in  smiles,  the 
placid,  the  hilarious,  the  ingenuous,  and 
the  scoffing — all  grades  from  beneficent 
love  down  to  that  of  the  most  vindictive 
malefactor — and  all  set  in  a  line,  ready 
for  inspection.  In  some  cases  the  smile 
iii  effected  with  a  simple  elevation  of 
the  upper  lip,  others  with  the  mouth  wide 
open;  others,  again,  with  both  chin  and 
lips  drawn  in  as  if  tasting  something 
good  and  about  to  smack  the  lips.  In 
many   cases  these   effects   were   almost 


was  taller  than  the  mountain  itself. 
The  figure  of  the  Christ  was  always  rep- 
resented as  being  smaller  than  the  other 
men;  and  in  some  cases  less  than  those 
of  the  women  also.  In  one  situation  He 
i^  represented  as  lying  dead  across 
Mary's  lap,  and  the  image  when  compared 
with  others  standing  near  was  only  equal 
in  size  to  that  of  a  young  boy  of  per- 
haps fourteen. 

They  had  very  peculiar  notions  about 
the  anatomy  of  the  body:  an  arm  would 
be  longer  than  a  leg,  or  set  at  impossible 
angles  to  the  rest  of  the  body.  Legs 
also  were  taken  similar  liberties  with; 
and  frequently  set  at  such  relations  to 


outrivaled  by  those  of  the  expression 
given  to  the  eyes:  the  round  and  wonder- 
ing, the  straight  and  cruel;  both  haughty 
and  imploring;  all  were  given  with  a 
fidelity  that  was  most  unexpected  and 
startling  to  behold. 

Horses  were  introduced  on  every  pos- 
sible occasion;  and  the  animal  always 
seemed  to  be  a  most  interested  and  atten- 
tive spectator.  His  eyes  and  frequently 
his  mouth,  too,  open:  his  face,  with  great 
breadth  between  the  eyes — greater  by 
far  than  is  natural — turned  always 
towards  the  center  of  action;  and  to  add 
life  and  vivacity  to  the  scene,  regard- 
less of  the  close  proximity  to  spectators, 


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one  foot  was  always  raised  a  little  above 
the  other.  Sometimes  the  color  of  the 
horse  was  brown  and  sometimes  white, 
but  he  was  always  represented  with  a 
rider. 

In  all  of  the  paintings  there  is  action, 
immediate  and  interesting  to  all  the  fig- 
ures concerned;  this  is  strongly  marked 
over  the  whole  canvas.  There  is  nothing 
hazy  about  that.  They  meant  to  make 
the  pictures  full  of  meaning,  replete  with 
life,  and  well  worth  the  observer's  atten- 
tion; and  in  this  last  respect — with  ah 
due  consideration  made  for  their  lack 
of  artistic  ability — ^they  certainly  have 
not  failed. 

In  the  scene  before  Pilate,  the  latter 


washing  his  hands.  His  hair  is  black, 
and  from  the  crown  of  thorns  down  all 
over  His  body  there  are  streaks  of  blood. 
The  attitude  in  which  He  stands  is  one 
of  complete  weariness  and  dejection; 
and  bears  a  striking  contrast  to  the  firm 
upright  bearing  and  haughty  mien  of 
those  who  stand  about.  The  guardsmen 
stand  with  spears  and  whips,  and  hands 
upraised.  In  the  appearance  of  those 
approaching  Pilate  there  is  painted  what 
is  unmistakably  intended  for  reveren- 
tial respect  and  awe.  This  is  depicted 
by  one  man  placing  his  finger  at  the  side 
of  his  nose,  and  turning  one  eye  in,  show- 
ing much  of  the  white;  and  in  the  other 
by    a    most    impossible    stretch    of    the 


is  represented  as  a  fat,  richly-clad  Jew, 
with  a  shrimp-pink  complexion;  a  heavy 
green  and  white  turban  or  tiara;  his  legs 
crossed  and  his  feet  encased  in  brown 
slippers  surmounted  by  white  stockings. 
Added  to,  and  completing  this  gorgeous 
costume,  are  a  red  waistcoat,  a  brown 
overcoat  and  blue  trowsers.  Over  his  head 
Ip  a  rich  red  canopy  with  a  heavy  cord 
and  tassel.  The  chair  in  which  he  sits, 
on  the  side  visible,  seems  to  be  pasted 
to  the  body  of  Pilate. 

In  the  center,  possibly  nearer  to  the 
back,  the  Savior  stands.  He  is  represen- 
ted as  being  much  less  of  stature  than 
those  surrounding  Him.  He  wears  a  white 
breech-cloth,  and  stands  at  the  lavatory 


anatomy  in  looking  and  pointing  with 
both  body  and  limbs  toward  Pilate  in 
front  of  him,  and  at  the  Savior  to  the 
rear,  both  at  the  same  time.  Pilate's  arm, 
hand,  and  index  finger  are  extended.  Ac- 
tion is  especially  strong  In  this  scene. 

In  all  the  pictures  the  figures  are  num- 
erous; men,  women,  and  horses,  all 
crowded  together;  to  the  Indian  the  more 
the  better. 

The  bearing  of  the  cross  to  Calvary  was 
a  favorite  theme,  forming  a  chief  feature 
in  the  majority  of  the  work.  Everywhere 
U  apparent  deep  sympathy  and  pity  for 
the  Sufferer;  His  wounds  are  always  in 
evidence;  His  face  pale  with  pain,  hands 
in   pitiful    position,   and    head    drooping 


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dejectedly.  The  smaller  size  of  body 
shows  the  conception  of  injustice  done  to 
Him  by  those  who,  in  complete  contrast 
of  brawny  limb  and  dark-hued  skin  are 
ever  leading  the  Lamb  to  the  slaughter. 

In  nearly  all  of  the  scenes  of  the  cross, 
however,  there  is  generally  one  person — 
and  this  frequently  a  woman — ^who  is 
represented  as  trying  to  lift  the  burden 
from  His  shoulders,  trying  to  help  carry 
the  heavy  load.  In  one  she  is  of  large 
size,  with  deep  pink  shoulders,  bared  in 
the  back  to  the  waist.  She  wears  a  light 
blue  tiara,  and  a  green  shoulder-cape, 
which  hangs  loosely  from  her  broad 
shoulders.  She  has  taken  a  violent  hold 
on  the  back  of  the  cross,  her  facial  ex- 


of  genuine  approval  about  their  lips. 
Even  at  the  most  inopportune  moments, 
such  as  at  the  crucifixion  of  the  Savior, 
this  appearance  of  vanity  is  visible. 

The  scene  at  the  Crucifixion  is  the  best 
executed  of  any.  The  two  thieves  on 
either  side  are  thrown  into  a  good  per- 
spective by  dimming  their  outlines,  sub- 
dued to  a  very  respectable  degree;  and 
there  is  something  truly  wonderful  in  the 
face  of  the  Crucified  Savior.  The  atti- 
tude is  quite  perfect;  the  body  downward 
drawn,  and  the  head  drooping;  the  hair, 
face,  expression  and  all  are  excellent; 
and  more  especially  so  when  compared 
with  some  of  the  other  work. 

Yet  it  is  the  apparent  incongruities  and 


presslon  being  one  of  mingled  resolution 
and  sorrow.  Another  and  smaller  female 
figure  stands  in  front  of  the  bowed  form 
of  the  Savior;  a  fragile  creature,  stretch- 
ing out  her  hands  in  pity  and  love,  as  If 
to  supply  strength  thereby  to  His  falter- 
ing steps  and  tottering  form. 

Some  of  the  figures  bear  marks  of  the 
Spanish  Court,  both  In  the  tall  and  state- 
ly carriage  of  the  men  together  with  their 
long  and  well  trimmed  beards;  the  court 
dresses  in  which  the  ladies  are  arrayed 
also  recall  vividly  the  Spanish  regime. 
These  latter  seem  not  at  all  unmindful  of 
the  beauty  of  their  wearing  apparel,  if 
one  may  judge  by  the  look  of  self-com- 
placency on  their  faces  and  the  marks 


ludicrous  phases  of  the  work  that  gives  the 
strongest  evidence  of  the  true  state  of 
mind  of  those  who  wrought  their  feelings 
upon  the  canvas.  This  fact  is  the  one 
that  makes  the  paintings  of  value  to  pos- 
terity. Greater  works  of  art  have  come 
down  to  us,  and  from  more  ancient  per- 
iods of  time;  yet  there  are  none  that  more 
thoroughly  reveal  depth  of  sympathy,  pas- 
sion and  pity,  than  do  these. 

What  could  have  given  us  a  clearer 
Idea  of  the  red  man's  sense  of  the  in- 
justice of  tue  occasion,  the  righteous 
indignation  of  feeling  at  the  cruel  wrongs 
heaped  upon  the  Sorrowing  One,  as  He 
bore  his  cross  through  the  streets,  than 
the  looks  and  actions  of  the  woman  who 


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strove  to  remove  the  burden  from  His 
shoulders?  It  was,  indeed,  an  indigna- 
tion strong  enough  to  have  slain  the  per- 
secutors on  tne  spot — every  one  of  them; 
and  leaves  no  doubt  of  that  intention  in 
the  portrayal. 

In  the  pleased  looks,  on  the  other  hand, 
of  the  female  figures,  we  may  see,  no 
doubt,  the  satisfaction  that  it  gave  them 
to  serve  Him;  no  service  is  too  great,  no 
attire  too  splendid;  and  nothing  can  give 
them  greater  honor  and  glory  than  to 
be  allowed  the  privilege  of  kneeling  at 
His  cross.    It  is  possible,  too,  that  there 


of  speech  in  the  universal  language  of 
the  world,  and  by  every  means  of  por- 
trayal that  lay  within  the  Indian's  power, 
all  the  brutish  instinct  of  an  unregener- 
ate  heart.  As  spectators  they  seem  in- 
terested, but  only  in  such  manner  as 
those  of  most  savage  natures  in  the  bait- 
ing of  the  bull  or  bear.  They  long  to 
see  a  disturbance,  they  are  thirsting  for 
a  turbulent  scene — ^and  wanting  this, 
their  evil  natures  will  be  sated  with  noth- 
ing less  than  the  torture  of  the  unresist- 
ing and  forsaken  victim. 
It  was  reserved,  however,  for  the  pic- 


is  a  sense  of  their  own  importance  to  be 
shown  necessarily  in  their  looks  and  ac- 
tions, and  this  with  all  due  regard  for 
the  lack  of  perfect  power  of  portrayal 
takes  on  the  poise  of  self-admiration, 
reaching  to  the  guise  or  appearance  of 
an  almost  fulsome  vanity. 

The  men,  who  were  permitted  to  be 
near  the  Lord,  are  imbued  with  a  similar 
spirit,  though  their  looks  are  somewhat 
toned  down,  as,  certainly,  becomes  the 
dignity  of  their  personages.  In  this  re- 
spect, however,  their  faces  are  in  contrast 
to  those  of  the  hard-looking  persecutors 
—upon  these  are  written  in  the  plainest 


turing  of  the  One  Great  Figure,  the  Lamb 
that  was  to  be  slain,  that  the*€an  Fernan- 
do Indian  has  shown  his  greatest  power 
of  feeling.  This  is  most  realistic,  pathetic, 
strangely  attractive,  and  filled  always  with 
a  dramatic  sense  of  the  dreadful  tragedy 
that  is  about  to  be  enacted.  In  it  one  can 
hear  a  great  wail  of  pity,  a  deep  sob  of 
agony,  going  through  every  phase  of  the 
work;  a  wail  that  bowed  their  strong  na- 
tures in  pity  to  the  very  earth. 

Their  conception  of  Jesus  was  not  great 
— not  in  the  sense  of  His  most  wonderful 
and  far-reaching  power — it  was  only  the 
personal    attributes    that    moved    them. 


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only  the  human  being  of  His  nature;  it 
was  the  man,  and  not  the  Savior. 

They  were  deeply  sensed  by  His  great 
forbearance,  in  showing  no  resentment 
at  the  cruel  and  unjust  treatment  that  he 
received,  as  well  as  by  the  patient  bear- 
ing of  the  cross,  so  frequently  depicted. 
His  great  love,  in  making  the  sacrifice 
of  Himself  for  all  mankind  is  intensified 
with  much  stress  by  the  ever  present  re- 
minders of  the  pains  that  He  bore.  Al- 
ways sufTering,  always  blood-stained,  the 
crown  of  thorns  ever  upon  His  brow ;  pale, 
thin,  small  of  stature  and  borne  to  the 
ground  with  the  weight  of  the  cross — 
these  are  always  and  ever  apparent.  His 
«head,  hands,  and  whole  attitude  show 
deep  mental  anguish,  as  well  as  bodily 
Buffering.  He  is  the  central  theme  of 
their  work;  He  the  great  moving  power 
of  their  imagination;  upon  Him  all 
things  are  centered. 

They  are  gone — yet  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  that  moved  them  remain;    and 


he  who  reads  upon  the  simple  inscription 
in  the  old  church  vestry — "Stations  of  the 
Cross.  Painted  by  the  San  Fernando 
Indians  in  the  year  1800*':  and  looks  well 
upon  their  work,  cannot  fail  to  read  the 
whole  heart  history  of  that  noble  nation 
— and  read  it  more  truly  than  ever  he 
could  by  the  word  of  any  writer  or  his- 
torian. 

Will  there  ever  again  be  any  such 
theme  as  this  to  move  the  breasts  of  men. 
Ages  may  come  and  go,  yet  the  spectacle 
of  the  perfect  revelation  of  the  heart's 
best  passion,  shown  so  plainly  to  the 
world  in  these  crude  paintings,  may  never 
be  repeated.  Treasure  them  long;  they 
win  serve  as  deep  wells  in  a  dry  and 
dusty  theology,  a  religion  of  desert-like 
philanthropy  yet  to  come;  and  will  fill  the 
hearts  of  a  coming  generation  with  sym- 
pathy for  the  wealth  of  feeling  that  they 
portray.  Such  pity,  such  longing;  so 
much  that  transcends  human  reason;  on 
these  poor  bits  of  rudely  painted  canvas. 


THE     RUNE     OF    THE     RIVEN     PINE. 

BY   ALOIS    DUNBAR. 

Here  lies  its  carpet,  soft  and  fine. 

Spread  on  the  hillside  that  you  may  rest. 

High  in  the  air  is  the  mighty  crest; 
Far  beneath  it  the  strong  roots  twine. 

Stretching  wide  in  the  warm  sunshine, 
Sway  the  branches  to  greet  their  guest. 
Turn  your  eyes  to  the  golden  west, 

And  hear  the  rune  of  the  riven  pine. 


*  He  who  rests  where  the  shadows  fall, 
Under  the  boughs  of  deepening  green, 
Loving  their  breath  of  incense  pure, 
E'er  to  return  his  heart  shall  call. 
Charms  that  the  pine  trees  weave  unseen, 
Unto  the  end  of  Time  endure." 

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AN  ADJOURNMENT  SINE  DIE. 


By   WILLIAM    WASSELL. 


t  I  I  HE  day  was  one  of  May's  love- 
j  I  /   liest.    West  Point,  classic  in  scen- 

I  ery  and  association,  and  teeming 
■^  with  the  memories  of  soldier  he- 
roes and  soldier  sweethearts,  had 
never  appeared  more  quaint,  never 
more  charming.  But  for  all  the  wealth 
of  history,  despite  the  store  of  romance, 
in  sheer  disregard  of  the  interwoven 
loves  of  war  and  women,  three  cadets' 
heads  protruded  from  a  barracks  window, 
and  gaped  and  stared  wonderingly  be- 
cause on  the  stone  sidewalk  below  were 
a  brother  first-classman  and — a  girl. 

"Dickey  Miner  walking  with  a  girl!" 
gasped  one  of  the  heads. 

"Perhaps  it's  a  sister,"  said  Dickey's 
chum,  extenuatingly. 

"He  hasn't  a  sister,"  answered  the  first 
head. 

"Or  an  aunt,  or  a  cousin." 

"It  isn't  a  relative,"  persisted  the  first 
head.    "I  tell  you  it's  just  a  girl." 

Then  as  Dickey  and  the  girl,  and  the 
parasol,  disappeared  around  the  corner 
of  the  academic  building,  the  three  heads 
were  withdrawn. 

To  outward  appearances,  Dickey  should 
have  been  the  surprised  one,  wondering 
to  himself  why  his  three  most  intimate 
friends  were  not  following  the  good  exam- 
ple he  set  them.  But  appearances  are 
proverbially  deceitful.  Had  Dickey  seen 
the  three  heads  he  would  have  under- 
stood their  astonished  looks.  Earlier  in 
the  afternoon  he  had  given  fleeting 
thoughts  to  what  the  three  heads  would 
think  of  his  conduct.  But  as  the  walk 
lengthened,  the  last  lingering  qualms  of 
conscience  disappeared.  He  gave  no  more 
thought  to  the  fact  that  his  afternoon's 
pleasure  was  costing  him  his  membership 
in  the  Bachelors'  Club. 

Back  in  the  eighties,  every  self-respect- 
ing class  at  the  military  academy  had 
its  bachelors'  club.  The  members  fore- 
swore the  society  of  all  girls.  They  never 
walked  with  them,  nor  talked  with  them. 


nor  danced  with  them,  nor — horror  of  hor- 
rors! made  love  to  them.  Even  to  know 
a  girl  was  sufficient  to  prevent  a  member 
from  reaching  high  standing  in  his  club. 

Although  the  constant  presence  of  girl- 
ish beauty  made  their  martyrdom  a  hard 
one,  the  members  were  faithful  to  their 
vows.  Works,  as  well  as  faith,  were  re- 
quired; for  at  times  a  bachelor  would  be 
asked  out  to  dinner — so  strict  were  the* 
club  rules  that  at  once  he  had  to  break 
some  cadet  regulation — ^go  out  with  one 
button  of  his  coat  unbuttoned,  pretend 
to  fall  asleep  in  church — in  order  to  bring 
on  a  punishment  that  would  conflne  him 
to  barracks  and  prevent  acceptance  of  the 
invitation. 

They  were  weak  numerically,  but 
strong  in  principle.  Disdainfully  they 
looked  upon  the  fellow  who  had  a  Sun- 
day engagement  to  walk  with  a  girl  from 
twelve  to  one,  a  second  engagement  to 
walk  with  a  second  girl  from  four  to  five, 
a  third  engagement  to  walk  with  a  third 
girl  from  seven  to  seven-thirty.  They  never 
worked  for  hours  making  out  a  hop  card 
for  a  pretty  girl.  They  never  had  jew- 
elers' bills  for  bangles  made  from  bell 
buttons.    Oh,  no;  not  they. 

Therefore  when  Dickey  Miner  walked 
and  talked  in  broad  daylight  with  a  girl 
to  whom  he  was  tied  by  no  bond  of  rela- 
tionship, and  thus  showed  the  whole 
corps  of  cadets  that  he  preferred  one 
smile  from  the  girl's  pretty  lips  to  life 
membership  in  his  club — then  were  the 
hearts  of  the  three  remaining  members 
sad  indeed. 

As  Dickey  and  the  girl  and  the  parasol 
disappeared  from  view,  the  faithful  mem- 
bers  withdrew  from  the  open  window. 

"I  bet  he  takes  her  to  the  hop  to-night," 
said  Blacky  Tomlins. 

"And  to-morrow  he'll  walk  with  her 
after  church,"  echoed  Fresh  Allen. 

"And  hereafter,  every  time  he  goes 
out,"  groaned  Blinky  Baker,  the  ofTend- 


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An   Adjournment  Sine   Die. 


773 


ing  Dickey's  room-mate,  ''he  will  ask  me 
if  his  trowsers  hang  evenly." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  room 
gradually  filled  with  smoke. 

"We  haven't  enough  for  a  little  game," 
said  a  voice  from  the  haze.  "Three  can't 
play." 

More  silence;  more  smoke. 

"He  was  carrying  her  parasol  like  a 
base-ball  bat." 

More  smoke,  more  silence. 

From  the  clouded  room  came  snatches 
of  wisdom — ^the  Bachelors'  Club  indulging 
in  a  day  dream  of  the  future. 

"Girls  are  all  right  in  their  places.  ♦  ♦  * 
But  if  a  fellow  runs  with  them,  sooner 
or  later  he  will  be  married  to  one  of  them. 

•  •  *  And  when  a  fellow  is  married,  all 
his  liberty  is  gone.  ♦  *  ♦  He  has  to  do 
this  and  that  just  to  please  his  wife. 
«  *  «  And  he  has  to  stop  this  and  that 
because  Uus  and  that  do  not  suit  his 
wife  ♦  •  ♦  She  objects  to  dogs  *  •  • 
She  objects  if  he  smokes  all  over  the 
house  •  •  •  And  she  gets  mad  if  he  stays 
out  late  at  night  •  •  *  Ugh! I  think  that 
after  graduation,  when  I'm  sent  to  some 
western  post,  my  house  will  be  run  by 
me  and  not  by  a  woman.  Then  I'll  do 
just  what  pleases  me  •  *  ♦  You  bet.  You 
bet!  •  •  ♦  ru  have  my  rooms  full  of 
pipes  and  tobacco  *  •  *  ril  have  three 
or  four  dogs  •  •  •  m  have  a  little  side- 
board ♦  ♦  •  And  a  bottle  or  two  on  the 
mantel  •  •  ♦  And  a  shot-gun  and  foils 
and  boxing  gloves  on  the  wall  *  *  ♦ 
And  if  I  don't  want  the  rooms  swept,  they 
won't  be   swept,  they  won't   be   dusted 

•  *  •  I'll    litter    the    floor    with    papers 

•  •  •  That  is  my  idea  of  happiness  •  *  ♦ 
And  mine  •  *  *  and  mine  *  *  *  mine, 
too  *  •  ♦  And  there  isn't  a  woman  living 
who  shall  interfere  •  *  •  You  bet  there 
isn't  ♦  •  •  So  say  I!  " 

After  painting  this  picture  of  future 
Iiappiness,  the  mature,  widely-experien- 
ced twenty-one  year  old  minds  declared 
the  meeting  adjourned. 

In  the  army  time  passes  quickly. 

Dickey  Miner  and  the  girl  with  the 
parasol  were  married  shortly  after  grad- 
uation, but  the  three  bachelors,  each  at 
a  different  western  post  were  happily  liv- 
ing out  realization  of  their  cadet  dreams. 


Blacky  Tomlins  had  his  pack  of  hounds; 
Fresh  Allen  kept  pipes  all  over  his  house; 
Blinky  Baker  stayed  out  late  at  nights — 
all  of  which  is  a  round-about  way  of 
saying  that  the  three  members  of  the 
Bachelors'  Club  remained  single.  As  the 
years  rolled  by,  their  regiments  and  the 
ladies  of  their  regiments  lost  interest 
in  them;  they  were  regarded  as  con- 
firmed bachelors. 


San  Juan — ^Bl  Caney — ^July  1st — ah,  the 
regular  army  of  the  United  States  will 
always  remember  the  day  of  July  1st, 
eighteen  hundred  and  ninety-eight.  It 
is  the  red  letter  day  for  the  regular  army, 
because  on  that  day  the  regular  forces 
quietly,  patiently  and  determinedly  did 
what  none  save  an  Anglo-Saxon  force 
can  ever  do,  when,  without  artillery,  they 
drove  a  strongly-intrenched,  stubbornly 
fighting  foe  from  its  own  strong,  earth- 
works. 

The  Bachelors'  Club  met  at  Caney.  Not 
that  they  sat  and  smoked  and  talked  of 
future  plans — before  the  day  closed  it 
looked  as  though  the  future  of  the  mem- 
bers was  the  future  of  the  great  here- 
after. But  they  were  made  of  strong  stuff 
and  three  days  later  they  met  in  the  hos- 
pital at  ghastly  Siboney.  They  were 
weak  and  badly  wounded,  but  they  lay 
on  their  cots  ana  laughed  at  the  pain 
and  put  strength  in  each  other's  hearts. 
Of  course  they  sailed  homeward  on  the 
same  transport. 

On  shipboard  the  club  fell  into  its  old 
habit  of  regular  meetings.  One  night 
as  they  lay  on  the  deck,  a  quietness  fell 
upon  them. 

Finally  Fresh  Allen  spoke. 

"Let  us  have  a  regular  meeting  of 
our  old  Bachelors'  Club,'*  he  said.  "You, 
Blinky,  are  still  President.  Kindly  take 
the  chair." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"No,"  answered  Blinky.  "You  take  the 
chair;  I  want  to  make  a  speech.  Fellows," 
continued  he,  "fellow  class-mates,  I  mean, 
we  had  many  a  good  time  in  the  old  days 
of  the  Bachelors'  Club.  I  hope  I  made 
you  a  good  president."  Blinky  was  up  in 
the  air  and  talking  in  jerks.  "I  was  al- 
ways true  to  the  club.  I  never  worked 
in  another  fellow's  sister  as  a  cousin  of 


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774  Presented. 

my  own.  1  never  stretched  the  aunt  present,  you  will  have  to  buy  me  one, 
limit.  I— I— but  I  can't  take  that  chair,  too,  and  'Here's  to  Her.'  Yes,  Fresh,  you 
You  will  have  to  elect  another  president,  keep  the  chair,  old  man.  You  are  the 
because, — well,  well — up  in  the  north,  you  last  president  of  the  club." 
know-I  met  her  last  summer  when  I  was  «Qentlemen,"  said  Fresh,  "fellow  class- 
on  leave,  and-Here's  to  Her.  And  you,  ^^^^^^  ^^jj^^  members  of  the  Bachelors' 
Fresh,  had  better  keep  that  chair.  I  ciub,  if  you  two  idiots  have  tears  to  shed, 
can't  be  president,  because  I'm  going  ^^^  ^^^^y  ^^  ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^1^^  ^1^ 
to  be  married  just  as  soon  as  this  arm  ,^j^^^  ^^  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^p^^  this  life.  Gen- 
gets  well."  tlemen,"   and   his   voice  was   mockingly 


In  the  darkness  no  one  could  cee  an- 


sad,    "gentlemen,    the    Bachelors'    Club 


other's  face.    BUnky  wondered  why  the  ^j^^  ^^^j^^^     j  ^^  gentlemen.-Here's 

two  remaining  members  of  the  club  did  .     tj^-*. 
not  speak. 

"Yes,  Fresh,"  at  last  said  Blacky,  "you  And  then  three  crippled  warriors  sat 

keep  that  chair.     In  fact — ^that  is — ^well,  out  in  the  darkness  and  laughed  merrily 

you  will  have  to  be  president  and  mem-  at  the  ship,  and  at  the  sea,  and  at  the 

bers,  too.    For  you  see,  I — ^that  is — ^well,  moon.     In    fact,    they    laughed    merrily 

it  will  come  hard  on  you,  old  man.    For  at  everything,  because  to  them  this  lit- 

my  leg  will  be  well  as  soon  as  Bllnky's  tie  world  was  the  happiest  little  world 

arm;  and  when  you  buy  Blinky  a  wedding  in  the  universe. 


PRESENTED. 

BY   AMELIA   W.    TRUESDELL. 

The  earth  is  full  of  tears!     ''The  Queen  is  dead!" 
Ye  men,  with  crape  upon  your  kings'  array, 
Why  make  ye  pageant  over  weary  clay? 

If  ye  have  loved  her,  do  the  things  she  said. 

She  rests  from  strifes  which  broke  her  heart  at  last; 
That  heart — in  love  with  peace — stunned  by  the  roar 
Which  crashed  upon  the  Imperial  Island's  shore; 

She  sees  God's  purpose  now,  with  view  more  vast. 

Sing  hallelujah!  let  the  requiems  cease! 
As  angels  are,  all  young  of  form  and  fair. 
So  she,  to-day;  half  wondering  to  be  where 

War  blazons  not,  and  life  abides  in  peace. 

Tear  off  the  purple  bands!  cast  them  away! 

Hushed  is  love's  parting  sob — the  years'  refrain; 

She  who  was  widowed,  walks  in  white  again ; 
Stain  not  with  grief,  your  Lady's  nuptial  day. 

Hark  ye!  the  angel  of  the  Presence  calls! 

Love's  crown  is  laid  upon  Victoria's  brow; 

The  words  "Well  done,"  she  bears  for  sceptre  now, 
And  enters  regally  the  upper  halls. 

Ye  passing  bells!  a  Jubilate  ring! 

Sound,  bugles,  sound!     Ye  heralds,  cry  the  hour! 

Your  Queen  approaches  now  the  Gracious  Power. 
Received  into  the  Presence  of  The  King. 


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MARG, 


By   alma    martin    ESTABROOK- 


M 


ARG  was  a  piece  of  driftwood 
cast  with  other  human  wreck- 
age upon  the  precarious  shoals 
of  a  mining  camp.  A  part  of 
the  nondescript  mass  had  about  it  enough 
o'  the  historical  to  save  it  from  nonen- 
tity, but  neither  tradition  nor  romance 
quickened  about  Marg.  She  was  an  old 
woman,  and  no  human  being  is  of  so  lit- 
tle interest  to  her  fellow  creatures  as 
she  whose  youth  has  fled  and  upon  whom 
the  gentle  dignity  of  age  has  forgotten 
to  descend.  She  had  about  her  no  lin- 
gering trace  of  charm  or  grace. 

Before  the  panic  she  had  had  a  little 
money  and  had  lived  at  a  cheap  down- 
town boarding  house,  after  it  she  had 
none,  and  pre-empted  a  deserted  cabin 
on  the  mountain.  She  also  possessed 
herself  of  Nan,  a  forsaken  waif  of  large 
eyes  and  slim  legs,  who  in  the  fruitless 
bobbing  of  the  driftwood  somehow  got 
jostled  against  her. 

"There  is  not  a  soul  to  give  her  a 
home,  nor  a  chick  nor  child  to  put  into 
mine,  bo  we  have  struck  a  partnership," 
Blarg  explained  to  Dandy  Bob,  who  ran 
a  policy  shop  in  the  back  of  White's  laun- 
dry. 

Nan  was  young,  with  unformed  ideas 
about  most  things,  housekeeping  in  par- 
ticular, but  she  was  neither  hindered, 
nor  helped  with  suggestions  from  her 
mistress.  Marg  left  her  to  do  exactly 
as  she  pleased,  so  it  followed  that  close 
ciK>n  those  days  when  she  was  a  fierce 
young  zealot  in  her  devotion  to  domes- 
ticity, there  came  long  periods  filled  with 
dust  and  grease,  and  the  perennial  flow 
of  Esther  Lubby's  neighborly  gossip. 

Marg  had  no  time  for  her  neighbors 
and  their  affairs — it  took  eight  of  the 
twenty-four  hours  for  her  to  attend  to 
business.  She  played  policy  for  the  Lit- 
tle Nugget  district.  When  she  was  not 
trotting  about  gathering  gigs  or  waiting 
at  the  shop  back  of  the  laundry  for  a 
drawing,  she  was  busy  over  the  dream 


book  that  was  as  large  a  part  of  her 
stock  in  trade  as  her  native  shrewdness 
and  her  rare  luck  at  playing.  After  the 
book  was  put  away  at  night  she  would  sit 
in  front  of  the  cabin  for  hours  gazing  at 
the  mountains,  but  she  never  noticed 
their  changes,  although  neither  fatigue 
nor  the  nicotine  of  her  pipe  ever  made 
her  small  sharp  eyes  grow  heavy.  The 
subject  of  these  musings  used  to  be  one 
of  the  deepest  speculation  to  little  Nan. 

The  child  came  home  one  evening  white 
and  breathless — she  had  grown  to  be  al- 
most chronically  so,  a  condition  induced 
by  the  marvelous  tales  that  dripped  into 
her  credulous  ears  from  the  ready  fount 
of  Lubby  wisdom;  but  this  was  worse 
than  usual.  Marg  instantly  perceived 
it. 

"Well,  out  with  it,"  she  said. 

"We're  goin'  to  be  shut  down,"  moaned 
Nan,  sinking  to  the  steps  with  a  limpness 
indicative  of  the  fact  that  the  shutting 
down  process,  whatever  it  might  be,  had 
already  been  begun  upon  her. 

"You've  been  to  Lubby's  again." 

"But  it's  him  said  it.  They  told  him 
in  town.  The  mayor  is  goin'  to  stop 
everything — everything,"  the  words  trail- 
ed into  a  sob. 

"Let  him,"  said  Marg  with  no  emotion 
whatever. 

Nan  sat  still  and  swung  her  legs;  when 
she  was  busy  in  the  absorption  of  an 
impression  those  slim  members  always 
dangled  themselves  frantically.  The  fear- 
lessness of  her  mistress  was  not  to  be 
easily  comprehended.  After  a  few  min- 
utes she  began  to  smile,  and  wriggling 
off  the  steps  sped  Lubby-ward,  her  ej'es 
big  with  defiance. 

The  next  evening  Judge  Romer,  the 
philanthropic  old  gentleman  who  owned 
a  good  slice  of  the  Little  Nugget,  and 
who  took  an  active  interest  in  the  morals 
of  the  camp,  came  to  see  Marg.  She 
was  sitting  at  the  front  door  smoking 
and  she  did  not  rise  to  greet  him.     Nan 


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Overland   Monthly. 


had  cooked  cabbage  for  supper,  and  in  a 
fit  of  devotion  to  the  Maharry  baby 
had  fled  to  it  immediately  after  partaking 
of  that  loud-smelling  vegetable,  leaving 
the  remains  to  simmer  on  the  stove. 
A  smell  of  burned  cabbage,  therefore, 
hung  heavily  about  the  place.  The  Judge 
stood  before  Marg.  He  had  a  good  deal 
to  say  to  her,  and  he  said  it  gently  in 
a  flrm  but  altogether  reasonable  way. 
He  talked  of  the  responsibility  of  age, 
and  the  influence  it  exerted  merely  be- 
cause it  was  age.  He  dwelt  on  the  harm- 
fulness  of  policy-playing,  and  he  appealed 
to  her  in  the  name  of  the  wives  and  chil- 
dren of  the  men  to  give  up  her  avocation. 

"It's  not  a  matter  of  sentiment  with  me. 
I  can't  afford  to  make  it  that.  When  I 
can  I  will  be  ready  to  give  it  up,"  she 
said. 

The  decision  was  final;  he  understood 
that.  Marg  minced  no  words.  And  he 
went  away.  Several  days  after  she  met 
him  on  the  path  to  the  mine.  She  would 
have  passed  by  without  speaking  to  him, 
but  he  stopped  her. 

"I  was  going  to  see  you  later  in  the 
day,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "Steps  have  been 
taken  to  suppress  vice  in  the  camp. 
This  means  that  an  Immediate  end  will 
be  put  to  gambling  in  every  form.  I 
understand  you  have  no  other  means  oi 
a  livelihood  than  from  your  gig  gathering, 
and  I  have  been  trying  to  formulate  some 
plan  by  which  you  can  support  yourself 
legitimately  and  comfortably." 

She  waited — aside  from  that  there  was 
no  indication  of  interest  in  her  attitude. 

"So  many  of  the  men  in  the  camp  are 
wifeless  and  buttonless,"  the  old  gentle- 
man continued  pleasantly,  "that  you 
would  be  serving  them  as  well  as  yourself 
if  you  would  tidy  them  up  a  bit.  They  are 
liberal  fellows  who  would  pay  well  for 
the  service." 

Her  shoulders  lifted  themselves  out 
of  their  habitual  droop  with  something 
pathetically  like  pride,  and  her  fingers 
in  tipless  old  gloves  fluttered  in  their 
clasp  of  the  dream  book:  "Some  women 
were  brought  up  to  mend,  and  scrub, 
and  drudge.  I  was  not.  And  I  will  not 
begin  now  on  miners'  dirty  rags.  As  for 
their  morals,  they  are  in  worse  tatters 
than  their  clothes,  but  one  old   woman 


going  out  of  their  lives  won't  mend  them." 

Marg  went  on  her  way. 

There  followed  a  month  of  enforced 
idleness  among  "chance  operators,"  dur- 
ing which  Nan  chafed  and  stinted,  and 
Marg  smoked  more  than  usual.  Then  the 
city  election  occurred  and  immediately 
after,  as  the  old  gig  gatherer  had  fore- 
seen, the  wide-open  policy  again  prevail- 
ed with  all  it's  feverish  activity.  As  if 
from  the  effects  of  their  involuntary  vir- 
tue Marg's  patrons  displayed  a  univer- 
sal eagerness  to  cast  themselves  again 
into  the  vortex  of  exciting  uncertainty 
that  policy  playing  afforded  them,  and 
she  and  the  dream  book  were  in  im- 
mense favor. 

Nan,  relieved  that  the  end  had 
come  to  the  bread  and  butter  regime, 
yielded  herself  to  housewifery  with  un- 
swerving favor.  She  wrestled  with  an 
old  cook  book  Esther  Lubby  loaned  her 
with  startling  results.  One  night  she 
made  crumpets  for  supper,  but  they 
withered  in  their  moulds  like  blighted 
crocuses  before  her  mistress  came  home 
to  eat  them. 

It  was  snowing  when  Marg  came  out 
of  the  little  shop  back  of  the  laundry. 
The  first  snow  of  the  winter  is  gentle 
and  insidious  in  the  valley,  but  on  the 
backbone  of  the  Rockies  it  buffets  merci- 
lessly: one  must  be  strong-lunged  and 
firm-sinewed  with  something  of  the  in- 
stinct of  the  primeval  pathfinder  to  make 
his  way  against  it.  Marg  was  none  of 
these  things  and  she  promptly  tumbled 
off  a  high  board  sidewalk  into  the  ditch, 
and  lay  there,  after  the  first  stunned 
moment,   trying  to   centralize   her   pain. 

A  man  who  had  seen  her  fall  came  to 
her  rescue  and  led  her  to  a  cottage  near, 
for  relief.  She  knew  before  the  light 
fell  on  him  that  it  was  Judge  Romer. 
Her  arm  was  injured,  but  when  they 
would  have  ripped  back  the  sleeve  to 
care  for  it,  she  protested  vigorously,  in- 
sisting upon  waiting  until  the  doctor  ar- 
rived to  have  it  touched.  She  was  as 
sharp  in  her  insistence  as  she  was  about 
everything  else,  so  they  let  her  have  her 
way.  Little  Mrs.  Kamp  insisted  on  giv- 
ing her  a  steaming  toddy,  and  Marg  ac- 
cepted it  without  a  protest.  Then  she 
lay  back  in  her  chair  and  waited. 


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A  Winter  Sunset  at  Santa  Barbara. 


777 


After  a  little  the  figures  before  the  fire 
faded  slowly,  the  pain  dulling  her  senses 
temporarily,  but  they  were  there  when 
she  came  back  to  herself  and  gradually 
what  they  said  became  intelligible  to  her. 
They  were  speaking  of  an  accident  that 
had  happened  to  some  friend  of  the 
Judge's.  An  accident  different  in  its  na- 
ture but  with  similar  results.  The  old 
Judge  said: 

••We  were  having  a  race  in  the  moon- 
light down  what  was  called  Echo  Canyon. 
We  should  have  known  better,  but  we 
were  young,  and  the  night  and  our 
mounts  were  fine.  She  was  ahead  when 
her  horse  fell,  with  her  beneath  him. 
I  never  knew  how  she  was  spared.  It 
seemed  nothing  could  save  her.  But  only 
her  arm  was  injured.  That,  however, 
was  fearfully  mangled.  It  has  been  forty 
years  now,  but  I  can  see  those  scars  yet. 
I  have  always  felt  the  blame  for  them." 

"And  she — the  woman?" 

'*She  married  the  other  man  the  year 
following.  I  never  saw  her  afterward. 
It  Is  probable  I  shall  not  now.  If  I 
did "  He  paused,  his  eyes  on  the  fire. 

"Yes." 

"I  should  yield  her  the  homage  I  yield- 
ed her  then,"  he  declared  with  his  fine 
old-fashioned  fervor. 

"But  the  years  change  women  so 
cruelly " 


"Not  the  perfect  woman,  my  dear;  they 
neither  take  from  nor  add  to  her  graces." 

The  doctor  stamped  the  snow  off  on  the 
front  step,  and  the  Judge  moved  toward 
the  door  to  admit  him. 

"The  doctor  has  come,"  Mrs.  Kamp  said 
gently. 

Marg  got  to  her  feet.  "I'm  going,"  she 
said,  and  without  explanation  she  stum- 
bled through  a  door  into  an  inner  room. 
Mrs.  Kamp  followed,  and  the  door  swung 
between  them  and  the  men  just  enter- 
ing the  front  room. 

"You  must  come  back.  The  doctor  is 
very  gentle.  Don't  be  afraid.  Come, 
please."  She  laid  a  hand  on  the  other's 
uninjured  arm. 

Marg  fiung  herself  about.  "Leave  go," 
she  entreated,  but  the  hold  tightened; 
Mrs.  Kamp  had  faced  the  delirium  of  pain 
before. 

The  old  woman  hesitated  a  moment; 
sounds  of  surprise  came  from  the  other 
room,  and  a  step  approached  the  door. 
She  made  a  sudden  movement  and  thrust 
something  scarred  and  maimed  before 
the  younger  woman's  eyes.  "Now  you 
understand,  don't  you?"  she  cried.  "In 
mercy's  name  let  me  go." 

And  having  seen,  Mrs.  Kamp  stood 
irresolute,  with  pity  upon  her  face,  and 
let  her  go. 


A     WINTER     SUNSET    AT     SANTA     BARBARA. 

BY    S.    E.    A.    HIGGINS. 

Where  sky  and  sea  and  mountain  meet 

In  one  enrapt  embrace, 
Old  ocean  kisses  Rincon's  feet 

Till  blushes  hide  its  face. 

The  crimson  tide  then  flushes  slow 
Each  spur  and  mountain  crest, 

Till  Capitan  in  indigo 
Invites  it  there  to  rest. 


Thence  brightly  down  the  western  slope 

That  stretches  out  to  sea, 
The  golden  hues  of  sunset  glow 

And  linger  lovingly. 


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'  In  the  light  of  a  hundred  lanterns  stroking  Kamako." 


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KAMAKO 


By    HESTER    A.    BENEDICT. 


rT~7HE  wheels  of  a  jinrikisha  crunched 
^^4a  ^^®  gravel  at  the  side  entrance  of 

I  the  Captain's  compound,  and  simul- 
taneously the  Captain's  cat,  Ka- 
mako,  crept  from  among  the  silken  cush- 
ions in  the  shadiest  corner  of  the  veran- 
da, stretched  himself,  blinked  knowing- 
ly at  his  master,  and  then  with  a  few 
quick  bounds  was  sitting  upright  on  the 
velvet  seat  of  the  Jinrikisha,  ready  to 
be  trundled  back,  as  was  his  daily  wont. 

Once,  Just  beyond  the  azaleas  and  un- 
der the  sleeping  tree  that  hid  him  from 
the  house  and  the  sunshine,  Jiro,  the  Cap- 
tain's kurumaya  (Jinrikisha  man)  stopped 
for  a  moment,  dried  his  forehead,  and 
eyeing  the  cat  viciously,  shook  a  brown 
flat  at  him,  muttering: 

"HI,  hi — you  long-haired  foreign  devil! 
You  bring  good  to  the  master,  eh?  Al- 
ways heap  good,  plenty  ships,  plenty 
houses — but  Onigasan  never!  My  Oniga- 
san  never! — You — beast \"  which  was  the 
nearest  to  an  oath  of  any  word  in  his  vo- 
cabulary. 

Then  again  he  dried  his  forehead  and 
his  wrists  and  trotted  on,  the  soles  of 
his  straw  sandals  striking  his  loin-cloth 
vigorously  at  every  step — a  feat  attained 
only  after  much  practice — bringing  the 
small  carriage  in  short  order  under  the 
asagaos  that  sheltered  the  veranda. 

The  Captain  lighted  a  fresh  Manila,  and 
boarding  the  Jinrikisha,  with  Kamako  in 
his  arms,  was  whirled  down  the  road 
leading  from  the  BlufT  to  the  Settlement 
beyond  which  lay  the  Bund  with  ship- 
ping full  in  sight. 

For  six  years  Captain  Gluck  had  lived 
upon  the  Bluft  overlooking  the  Yoko- 
hama Settlement,  and  though  it  is  said 
a  sailor  likes  not  the  shore,  the  handsome 
Captain  seemed  always  content.  Each 
year  he  had  added,  none  but  himself  and 
the  Compradore  knew,  how  many  yen  to 
his  bank  account;  his  houses  were  the 
best  upon  the  BlufT;  his  compound  boast- 
ed the  finest  shade  and  flora  of  the  em- 


pire; and  though  only  his  widowed  sis- 
ter, Augusta,  lived  with  him  in  the  big 
square  house  whose  upper  veranda  look- 
ed upon  snow-clad  Fujiyama  and  the 
mountain  range  of  which  it  forms  a  part, 
its  appointments  and  service  were  in 
strict  accord  with  the  most  fastidious 
European  taste,  and  his  frequent  enter- 
tainments were  lavish  In  the  extreme. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  Cap- 
tain's expressed  opinion,  in  his  secret 
heart  all  his  good  luck,  and  the  uncom- 
mon serenity  and  happiness  of  his  life, 
were  attributed  to  his  ownership  of  Kam- 
ako. The  cat  had  been  given  to  him  by 
a  Persian  whom  he  had  saved  from  ship- 
wreck in  the  Indian  Ocean,  and  to  whom 
he  had  ministered  with  his  own  hands, 
caring  for  him  as  if  he  had  been  a 
brother,  until  his  complete  recovery  and 
transference  to  a  home-bound  ship. 

"He  will  bring  you  good,  and  warn  you 
of  evil,"  the  Persian  had  said  at  parting, 
"for  such  is  the  spirit  of  his  kind  toward 
those  who  are  beloved.  I  had  warning 
on  board  our  fated  ship,  and  though  it 
was  ill-fortune  to  be  wrecked,  it  was  good 
to  be  saved — and  by  you.  And  I  knew 
we  were  to  be  rescued,  for,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  you  found  us,  Kamako 
climbed  upon  my  shoulder  and  thrice 
tapped  my  cheek  with  his  velvet  paw, 
his  eyes  a-gleam  with  superhuman  in- 
intelligence;  while  before  the  storm  he 
had  thrice  tapped  each  cheek,  crying 
piteously.  Such  has  been  the  habit  of 
his  breed  since  the  time  of  the  poet 
DJami,  back  to  whose  possession  tradi- 
tion traces  the  direct  progenitor  of  Ka- 
mako. His  life  and  mine  I  owe  to  you. 
Mine  belongs  to  a  little  woman  who  prays 
for  me  beyond  the  hills  of  Laristan, 
but  his  I  give  into  your  keeping,  and  may 
Mahomet  of  Iran,  O  Captain  the  Merci- 
ful— deal  with  thee  as  thou  dost  with 
my  good  Kamako! 

"Draw  a  little  blood  upon  your  hand," 
continued  the  Persian.    "Let  the  cat  but 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


780 


Overland   Monthly. 


taste  it,  and  ever  after  he  will  be  your 
faithful  servant.  Such  is  the  usage  In 
my  country,  adopted  from  India  centur- 
ies ago." 

The  Captain  did  so.  The  Persian 
pressed  Kamako's  lips  upon  the  bright 
red  drop,  which  the  cat  licked  softly,  then 
climbing  to  his  new  owner's  shoulder 
thrice  tapped  his  paw  against  the  bronzed 
cheek  of  the  master,  nestling  down  then 
contentedly  in  his  arms. 

There  were  tears  in  the  Persian's  eyes 
as  he  waved  a  quick  adieu,  passing  out 
toward  the  "hills  of  Laristan." 

A  year  later  Captain  Gluck  gave  up  his 
sea-faring  life,  and  in  the  Land  of  the 
Rising  Sun  made  for  his  sister  and  him- 
self the  only  home  they  had  ever  known. 
And  the  years  passed  all  too  swiftly. 
If  ever  a  longing  for  the  free  life  of  the 
sea  came  back  to  him  he  made  no  men- 
tion of  it,  even  to  his  sister.  He  looked 
after  his  rapidly  increasing  property  with 
the  vigilance  of  a  miser — ^which  he  was 
not;  was  bountiful  to  the  poor;  found 
the  same  god  to  pray  to  in  Buddhist  tem- 
ple as  in  Mission  church;  and  wherever 
he  went,  there,  too,  went  Kamako,  his 
presence  in  holy  places  always  ignored 
because  of  the  Captain's  gold. 

Everybody  loved  Captain  Gluck,  though 
many  there  were  who  envied  him  and 
marveled  that  no  bride  had  ever  been 
taken  to  his  house  to  be  mistress  of  his 
heart  and  mother  of  his  kind.  There  were, 
too,  in  the  settlement,  some  who  were 
beginning  to  say  that  the  Captain  had 
his  little  secret  as  well  as  they,  and  that 
Onigasan,  the  handsomest  geisha  that 
ever  led  a  foreign  heart  astray,  knew 
more  of  the  Captain's  plans  than  even 
his  stately  sister.  No  rumor  of  all 
this  ever  reached  Augusta's  beautiful  se- 
clusion, nor  would  she  have  believed 
anything  of  the  kind  unless  the  Captain's 
own  lips  had  said  it,  his  honest  eyes  look- 
ing straight  and  fondly  into  hers. 

All  the  same  in  the  dreams  of  the 
excellent  Captain  a  fair  young  bride  in 
soft  kimono  and  silken  zori — a  bride  with 
scented  hair  and  voice  like  sweetest  sami- 
sen — shone,  star-like,  in  his  home  and 
made  the  whole  world  radiant. 

The  Captain's  call  in  Honchodoro  had 
been  very  brief  that  soft  June  morning 


of  which  I  write.  The  geisha  of  his 
dreams,  in  silken  crepe  so  fine  that  her 
kimono  could  easily  have  been  drawn 
through  the  ring  upon  her  finger,  flut- 
tered smilingly  about,  practicing  all 
beguiling  arts  of  which  her  class  is  mis- 
tress, for  the  Captain's  swift  enthrall- 
ment,  but  Kamako  was  so  unusually 
restless,  and  growled  so  belligerently  at 
Onigasan,  that  his  master  deeming  dis- 
cretion the  better  part  of  valor,  took  the 
cat  in  his  big,  strong  arms,  where  Oni- 
gasan had  never  been,  and  hurried  laugh- 
ingly away. 

He  did  not  notice  the  anxious  look 
in  his  kurumaya's  eyes — whoever  thinks 
of  a  coolie? — ^a  look  which  deepened  to 
anger  and  then  to  wickedness  as  in  ans- 
wer to  the  Captain's  "Jicky,  jicky"  he 
hurried  down  the  street. 

For  Jiro,  too,  loved  Onigasan.  For 
years,  with  her  dear  approval,  he  had 
hoarded  his  small  wages  to  build  her  a 
little  house  that  should  be  her  very  own 
— a  little  house  with  mats  exceedingly 
fine  and  white;  a  kakemono  bordered 
with  cloth  of  gold  and  beautiful  with 
storks;  a  little  garden  fair  with  flowers, 
where  at  least  one  little  stone  bridge 
should  arch  above  a  fairy  stream.  Poor 
Jlro!    But  a  coolie  may  have  his  dreams. 

And  all  this  for  Onigasan,  who  smiled 
upon  the  Captain  as  she  had  never  smiled 
for  him.  No  wonder  his  heart  grew  heav- 
ier day  by  day.  Even  his  well-fllled 
charm-bag  embroidered  with  gold  braid 
and  hidden  in  his  obi  (girdle)  availed 
him  nothing.  Tradition  had  lied!  His 
teaching  had  been  false!  O,  if  he  but 
owned  Kamako:  If  he  could  but  own  or 
kill  him!  Curse  the  cat  and  his  master! 
Poor  Jiro!  He  was  desolate,  despairing, 
desperate. 

Never  had  the  Captain  had  so  wild 
a  ride  as  upon  that  day  long  to  be  remem- 
bered. Little  children  with  babies  on 
their  backs,  blind  beggars  who  were  sup- 
posed to  see  with  their  ears,  kurumayas 
lightly  or  heavily  tasked,  everything, 
every  one,  made  room  for  the  wild-eyed 
runner  who  heeded  nothing — not  even 
his  master's  "Sukocha  mata!  Jiro! 
Jiro!"  until  he  stopped  breathlessly  at 
the  shop  of  an  old  dealer  in  curios  at  the 
far  end  of  Isezakicho,  or  Main  street. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean?"  shouted 


Digitized  by  VjOO^  Lt^ 


Kamako. 


781 


the  Captain,  picking  himself  up  from  the 
Itama  where  he  had  fallen  when  the  Jin- 
rikiaha  came  to  so  sudden  a  halt.  "Are 
you  mad!" 

But  Jiro  made  no  answer;  and  Mrhen  his 
master  had  passed  out  of  sight  behind 
the  screens  at  the  rear  end  of  the  room 
where  choicest  bric-a-brac  and  Satsuma 
were  hoarded,  he  entered  a  tea-house  a 
few  yards  distant  and  fell  half-fainting 
against  a  fusuma  (screen),  breaking  it 
to  atoms. 

Five  minutes  later,  in  answer  to  his 
master's  call,  he  was  again  on  duty,  ap- 
parently the  same  quiet,  well-behaved 
fellow  that  for  six  years  had  served  faith- 
fully the  most  envied  man  in  Yokohama, 
perhaps  the  best-beloved. 

"To-night  at  nine,  then?"  inquired  the 
Captain.  "You  are  very  sure,  are  you?" 
"Yes,  sure,"  answered  the  dealer,  bow- 
ing profoundly  before  his  wealthy  cus- 
tomer. "Prom  the  sacred  go-downs  in 
Tokyo  a  messenger  came  this  morning. 
The  fine  Satsuma  vases  and  the  silks 
from  Nishigin  will  be  for  honorable  Cap- 
tain Oluck  at  nine  o'clock,  and  the  Cap- 
tain's honorable  sister  shall  have  good 
day  to-morrow." 

To-morrow  will  be  the  birthday  of  his 
adored  Augusta,  the  only  living  human 
being  in  whose  veins  flowed  his  own  good 
blood,  and  he  meant  to  make  it  the  hap- 
piest of  all  her  happy  life.  For  though 
a  widow  at  sixteen,  Augusta  had  not 
grieved  o'erlong,  and  a  little  later  was 
rather  pleased  than  otherwise  that  she 
was  to  belong  only  and  always  to  her 
brother.  With  him  she  had  visited 
strange  countries,  learned  to  like  strange 
peoples,  led  altogether  a  happy,  care- 
free life,  and  loved  the  sea,  as,  later, 
she  loved  her  home  upon  the  Bluff  in  the 
Land  of  the  Rising  Sun. 

To-morrow  will  be  her  birthday,  God 
bless  her.  But  Kamako,  ill  at  ease, 
climbed  to  the  Captain's  breast,  and  with 
his  velvet  paw  struck  each  cheek  thrice, 
crying  piteously. 

At  nine  o'clock  precisely  Captain  Gluck 
received  from  the  dealer  in  curios  at 
No.  1  Isezakicho,  the  coveted  and  costly 
treasures  that  were  to  be  his  sister's  on 
the  morrow.  He  had  an  important  en- 
gagement with  his  consul  for  ten  that 


evening,  and  so  hurried  away,  leaving 
the  merchant  behind  the  screen,  bending 
low  over  a  box  of  filmy  things  which, 
with  one  knee  upon  the  floor,  he  was  re- 
arranging carefully.  So  solicitous  was 
he  for  these  that  he  forgot  his  customary 
courtesy,  and  allowed  Captain  Gluck  to 
pass  out  unattended,  followed  only  by  a 
half -heard  "Sayonarl"  (good-night).  No 
one  else  was  in  the  room. 

Out  on  the  itama  the  Captain  blew  his 
whistle,  but  as  the  kurumaya  did  not  ap- 
pear he  stood  in  the  light  of  a  hundred 
lanterns  stroking  Kamako,  who  was 
struggling  to  reach  his  shoulder  and 
moaning  low,  as  one  who  has  not  learned 
endurance. 

Once  he  thought  he  heard  a  faint  cry 
from  somewhere  in  the  building,  but 
turning  quickly  saw  only  the  face  of  the 
merchant's  wife,  Okusan,  against  the 
half-closed  shutters,  her  almond  eyes 
flxed  full  upon  the  cat  that  still  cried 
humanly  and  would  not  be  comforted. 
Then,  from  round  a  corner,  came  the 
coolie,  breathing  heavily  as  if  from  long 
running,  out  needing  not  the  Captain's 
command  to  "hurry"  as  he  whirled  the 
Jinriklsha  along  the  Honchidori,  across 
the  bridge,  and  up  the  steep  hill  leading 
to  the  Bluff. 

Two  hours  later  Captain  Henri  Gluck 
was  arrested,  charged  with  the  attempted 
murder  of  Miyano,  curio  merchant  at 
No.  1  Isezakicho.  At  9.10  Okusan,  wife 
of  Miyano,  had  found  him  lying  half-dead 
in  the  rear  room,  his  face  pressed  in 
among  the  silks  that  lay  in  a  glittering 
heap  upon  the  floor,  and  a  hara-kiri  knife 
still  sticking  in  the  wound  in  his  side. 
Upon  examination  the  knife  was  found 
to  have,  in  flnest  engraving  upon  its 
two-edged  blade. 

Presented  to  Captain  Henri  Gluck 
By  his  friend  Toyoda. 
The  knife,  together  with  the   fact  of 
the   Captain's   presence   in   the   shop   at 
about  nine  o'clock,  once  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  police,  the  Captain's  arrest 
followed  and  he  was  conflqed  in  the  con- 
sulate with  guards. 
That  night  Kamako  disappeared. 

•       •         *  ♦         ♦         ♦         « 

Under  the  special  provisions  of  the  ex- 
tra-territorial clause  in  the  Japanese  Trea- 
ty with   Foreign   Nations,   first  demand- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ  IC  — 


Into  the  breast  of  the  prisoner  flew  Kamako.'' 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Kamako. 


783 


«d  and  enforced  by  Great  Britain  and  af- 
terwards accorded  to  other  Governments, 
Captain  Gluck,  being  a  German  subject, 
could  only  be  tried  by  the  German  Con- 
8ul-General,  whose  decision  was  irrevo- 
cable, except  by  the  German  Emperor. 

Under  this  arrangement  Captain  Gluck 
being  charged  with  the  crime  of  assault 
with  intent  to  murder,  was  brought  be- 
fore the  German  Consul-General,  acting 
as  Judge. 

The  excitement  was  intense.  The  Jap- 
anese merchant  was  a  great  favorite 
among  his  people,  and  his  possible  tak- 
ing ofT  had  aroused  the  natives  to  a  high 
pitch  of  excitement,  while  the  great  popu- 
larity of  the  prisoner  brought  him  the 
sympathy  and  moral  support  of  the  for- 
eign element,  not  one  of  whom,  especially 
among  the  Germans,  believed  that  aught 
but  the  shadow  of  Somebody's  crime 
rested  temporarily  upon  their  favorite. 

The  newspapers,  native  and  foreign, 
fanned  the  flame  of  excitement  to  furious 
heat,  and  long  before  the  hour  set  for 
the  examination  hundreds  crowded  the 
space  in  and  about  the  court  room;  a 
motley,  clamorous,  half-mad  throng  fill- 
ing the  streets  as  far  as  eye  could  see. 

Augusta,  the  Captain's  sister,  occupied 
a  seat  close  to  the  prisoner's,  and  when 
he  entered,  proudly  erect,  between  his 
guards  she  half  rose  from  her  chair  with 
a  smile  upon  her  lips  that  seemed  to  say, 
''Though  all  the  world  condemn  thee 
yet  will  not  I,"  and  when  he  had  taken 
his  seat  she  nestled  close  up  to  the  rail- 
ing and  slid  her  small  hand  into  his  with 
soft,  assuring  nressure. 

The  principal  witness  at  the  examina- 
tion  was   Okusan,  the  merchant's  wife. 

"I  saw  the  prisoner's  face  distinctly," 
Okusan  testified.  "I  was  by  the  window. 
I  saw  the  cat;  all  Japanese  know  the  cat 
of  the  honorable  Captain.  He  waited 
for  the  kuruma-runner,  Jiro.  I  heard  the 
voice  of  my  husband — I  thought  :'  was 
his  voice,  and  he  sometimes  talks  just  to 
himself  alone.  Yes,  the  honorable  Cap- 
tain stood  on  the  itama  when  I  think  1 
hear  my  teishiu  (husband).  Souii  he  go 
away  in  the  kuruma.  He  often  buy 
bfr'autiful    taings." 

"riwW  kxn  after  Captain  Gluck  went 
away  l.i  the  kuruma  did  you  go  to  your 


teishiu?"  asked  the  Judge. 

"Only  a  few  minutes." 

"Had  ansrthing  been  taken  from  the 
room — ^anything  stolen,  I  mean?" 

"No,  oh,  no!"  Here  the  witness  broke 
down  and  was  excused. 

The  police  officer  who  had  been  called 
into  No.  1  by  the  cry  of  Okusan  testified 
to  the  position  of  the  wounded  man  upon 
the  fioor,  anu  to  the  finding  of  the  hara- 
kiri  knife  still  sticking  in  his  side. 

"Is  this  the  knife?"  lifting  the  small 
sword  from  the  desk,  and  handing  it  to 
the  witness. 

"It  is." 

"Do  you  recognize  this  knife,  Captain 
Gluck?"  turning  suddenly  upon  the  pris- 
oner. 

"I  should  like  to  examine  the  knife 
before  answering,  if  your  Honor  will  per- 
mit." 

"Certainly,"  and  the  knife  was  passed 
to  the  prisoner's  hand. 

"Yes,  it  is  mine,"  he  said. 

"You  recognize  your  name  upon  the 
blade?" 

"Yes,  your  Honor,  it  is  my  name.  The 
knife  has  been  in  my  cabinet  for  three 
years.  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  it; 
the  knife  is  mine." 

"Where  were  you  at  nine  o'clock  last 
evening?" 

"At  No.  1  Isezakicho." 

"Why  were  you  there?" 

The  accused  told  his  story  quietly,  in 
9  stillness  that  was  as  death  is. 

"Did  you,  while  waiting,  hear  any  sound 
unusual  from  the  room  you  had  left?" 
continued  the  Judge. 

"i  thought  I  heard  a  faint  cry,  but  when 
I  turned  to  listen  ever3rthing  was  quiet. 
I  had  left  no  one  in  the  room  but  Mlyano, 
the  merchant." 

"And  then ?" 

"My  jlnrikisha  came  almost  immediate- 
ly, and  I  rode  at  once  to  the  Consulate, 
where  I  remained  for  an  hour." 

"And  thence  to  your  home,  where  you 
were  taken  into  custody?" 

"That  is  all  as  it  occurred." 

"Now,  Captain  Gluck.  how  do  you  ac- 
count for  your  knife — for  the  presence 
of  your  hara-kari  knife  in  the  wounded 
side  of  Miyamo  at  No.  1  Isezakicho,  a 
few  minutes  after  you  left  there?" 

"I  cannot  account  for  it,  your  Honor.  It 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


784  Overland    Monthly. 


"Among   the   silks  *  *  *  and   a    hara-kiri 
knife  *  *  *  sticking    in    his   side." 


might  have  been  stolen  long  ago.     I  do 
not  recall  having  seen  it  lately." 

At  this  Juncture  there  was  a  little  stir 
near  the  street  entrance  to  the  court- 
room, a  quick  parting  to  right  and  left 
of  the  eager,  panting  crowd,  and  straight 
up  the  narrow  aisle — up  the  platform 
steps,  across  the  knees  of  Augusta  and 
into  the  breast  of  the  prisoner,  like  a 
wild  thing,  flew  Kamako. 

For  an  instant  no  one  seemed  to 
breathe.  The  beautiful  creature  touched 
thrice  with  nis  delicate  paw  the  pale  cheek 
of  his  master,  then  made  of  his  own  lithe 
body  a  glittering  boa  that  coiled  and 
curled  and  crept  about  the  beloved  neck 
and  over  the  breast  where  his  home  was, 
his  cries  of  delight  like  music  in  the  still- 
ness, and  minding  nothing  save  the  one 
presence  that  was  all  of  earth  to  him. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  Somewhere,  and 
before  the  Judge,  stood  Jiro,  while  behind 
the  coolie — her  forehead  in  the  dust — 
lay — could  it  be? — Onigasan! 

No,  no!  Not  Onigasan  of  the  Captain's 
dreams.  Site  was  a  darling,  dainty  girl, 
bewitching  in  the  grace  of  her  manner, 
her  beauty,  her  soft,  sweet  gentleness. 
Her  kimonos  were  of  delicate  silken 
crepe,  their  wide  sleeves  falling  to  her 
little  feet — always  flowing,  dancing,  shin- 
ing, like  things  of  mist  or  fantasy.  Oh, 
this  could  not  be  she!  This  woman  In 
cotton  kimono  and  sandals  of  straw — 
this  woman  so  apparently  of  the  kuru- 
maya's  class  and  so  prostrate  with  sor- 
row and  shame. 

"Courage,  Jiro!"  whispered  the  girl 
behind  him,  .and  almost  in  the  same 
breath  the  kurumaya  criec^: 

"It  was  I — it  was  I,  O  Judge  most  hon- 
orable! Your  mercy  for  my  master — it 
was  I!" 

"Rise,  Doth  of  you,"  commanded  his 
Honor.  The  crowd  swayed  as  one  man 
toward  the  prostrate  pair.  "Rise  im- 
mediately. Now,  what  is  it  that  you 
wish?" 

"Courage,  Jiro — teishiu,"  whispered  the 
girl,  lifting  her  drowned  eyes  once,  not 
to  the  Judge  but  to  the  prisoner  as  in 
prayer  for  pardon  and  for  pity. 

God!  They  were  inleed  the  eyes  of 
Onigasan. 


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Kamako. 


785 


"It  was  1,  Jiro  the  debased.  My  master 
i$^  innocent.  L.et  him  go,  O  Judge  most 
merciful,  let  him  go!" 

A  cheer  started,  but  was  silenced.  The 
prisoner  clutching  the  hand  of  Augusta, 
and  white  to  the  lips  leaned  toward  the 
witness,  his  eyes  on  Onigasan. 

The  cat  purred  audibly. 

"Tell  us  about  it,"  his  Honor  com- 
manded. 

"Yes,  yes.  I  have  promised.  I  do  not 
lie.  Years,  many,  I  love  Onigasan.  She 
would  be  my  wife.  The  honorable  Cap- 
tain, my  master,  he  too — well,  I  do  not 
know.  It  was  Kamako,  I  think — Kamako, 
the  Buddha-cat.  He  knows  all  things. 
I  want  him "  The  coolie's  voice  fal- 
tered. 

"Courage,  courage,  my  teishiu.  'Twill 
soon   be  over,"   whispered   Onigasan. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  "I  took  the  hara- 
kiri — I  was  mad.  I  would  be  avenged. 
I  quick  crept  in  through  the  rear  amado 
and  struck  Miyano  once,  but  I  did  not 
mean  so  hard.    I  would  be  avenged." 

Jiro  paused  and  looked  imploringly  at 
his  master. 

"Have  you  anything  more  to  say?" 
asked  the  Judge. 

"Yes,  I  have  promised,"  bowing  low. 
"I  stole  the  cat;  he  would  give  me  plenty 
fortune,  all  the  same  as  the  master's. 
I  take  him  to  Onigasan.  I  tell  her  all. 
She  cry  and  cry.  By'n  by  she  say:  'You 
tell    all    ihls   to   the    honorable    Judge! 


You  free  your  master.  You  will  find  pun- 
ishment, little  while,  but  we  shall  to- 
morrow drink  from  the  kettle  two-spout- 
ed and  I  will  be  faithful  always.'  So  i 
promised.  I  now  will  give  myself  to 
Japanese  officer.  I  know  I  shall  be  pun- 
ished, but  for  punishment  I  care  nothing. 
Onigasan  is  my  wife,  and  I  am  happi- 
ful." 

"The  case  against  Captain  Gluck  is 
dismissed,"  quietly  said  the  Judge. 

The  Captaia's  friends  thronged  around 
him  eager  to  press  his  hand,  and  they 
who  did  so  noticed  how  cold  it  was,  and 
that  his  lips  had  no  color. 


Owing  wO  the  quick  recovery  of  Miyano 
— for  he  had  indeed  been  little  hurt,  and 
had  fainted  wholly  from  fear — possibly, 
because  of  a  wholesome  foreign  in- 
fluence judiciously  exerted,  Jiro's  crime 
was  visited  with  but  fifty  days'  penal 
servitude — without  penalties.  And  the 
little  house  with  fine  white  mats,  a  kake- 
mono bordered  with  cloth  of  gold  and 
bright  with  many  storks;  a  garden  with 
flowing  stream  and  arched  bridge  of 
stone — with  more  than  all,  a  wife  with 
smiling  lips  and  a  heart  that  held  its 
secret  faithfully — a  little  house  that  had 
been  Augusta's  gift  to  Onigasan,  welcom- 
ed Jiro  not  only  at  the  close  of  his  prison 
term,  but  through  years  and  years  that 
followed. 


m 


ZA 


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''Temples,  towers,  and  battlements  of  red  which  burst  here 
and  there  above  the  thunder  clouds." 


A  NEW  WONDER  OF  THE  WORLD. 


By    JOAQUIN    MILLER. 


^  T  IS  old,  old,  this  Grande  Canyon,  and 
\  yet  so  new  it  seems  almost  to  smell 

5 '  of  paint,  red  paint,  pink,  scarlet.  Left 
and  right  up  and  down,  more  than 
half  a  mile  deep  in  the  earth,  every  shade 
and  hue  of  red,  as  far  as  eye  can  com- 
pass. It  is  a  scene  of  death-like  silence, 
a  dead  land  of  red,  a  burning  world. 
We  had  Arroyo  Grande  in  California,  the 
Yosemite  canyon  also.  Idaho,  Washing- 
ton, Montana,  New  Mexico,  Utah,  each 
and  all  have  their  grand  canyon,  yet 
there  is  only  one  Grande  Canyon  on  the 
globe.  Canon  Grande  de  Colorado,  the 
burning  hues  of  which  gave  name  to  a 
great  river  and,  centuries  later,  to  a 
great  State. 

It  is  written  that  the  Spanish  cavalier 
and  explorer,  in  quest  of  the  seven  cities 
of  gold,  pushed  the  prow  of  his  boat 
so  far  into  the  waters  of  this  fearful 
chasm  of  colors  that  on  looking  up  at 
midday  he  could  see  the  stars;  and  it  is 


written  that,  overcome  with  religious  awe, 
fearing,  perhaps,  that  he  was  daring  to 
approach  the  gates  of  Paradise  before  his 
time,  he  raised  the  cross,  bared  his  head, 
gave  this  color  world  its  name  and  drew 
back  and  away,  to  come  again  no  more. 
But  still  the  tradition  was  that  at  least 
one  of  the  cities  of  gold  lay  within  and 
under  the  protection  of  these  fearful  walls 
of  flaming  red. 

And  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  tra- 
dition still  lives.  Only  last  summer  the 
stage  driver  told  me,  as  we  rolled  through 
the  knee-deep  dust  that  he  knew  almost 
to  a  certainty  where  lay  the  ruins  of  a 
great  city  in  the  red  canyon,  and  that  so 
soon  as  the  weather  grew  cool  enough  to 
make  life  tolerable  in  the  blazing  gorge 
he  and  his  partner  were  going  to  find  it. 

Now  this  driver  is  a  man  of  good  char- 
acter, of  repute  for  truth,  was  one  of 
Roosevelt's  Rough  Riders,  has  honor- 
able mention  in  Colonel  Roosevelt's  re- 


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787 


ports  and  certainly  believes  in  the  ex- 
istence of  the  lost  city;  and  although 
I  do  not  believe  anything  of  the  sort,  I 
set  this  down  to  show  that  the  story  has 
ciedence  in  the  minds  of  good  men  even 
to  this  day,  and  not  all  without  evidence. 
There  is  scarce  a  canyon  to  be  found, 
^eat  or  small,  for  days  of  travel  round 
about  but  has  ruins  of  ancient  battle- 
ments hanging  from  its  cliffs;  and  we 
pillage  these,  when  accessible  to  the 
approach  of  the  seeker,  for  curios  for 
tourists,  much  as  the  tombs  and  temples 
of  the  Nile  have  been  pillaged.  But  I 
must  not  wander  too  far  frpm  the  grand 
canyon  of  color,  Colorado. 

This  canyon,  or  sabre  thrust  in  the  r^ch 
red  bosom  of  Mother  Earth,  is  about 
eighty  miles  long  and  more  than  5,000 
feet  deep.  It  is  very  tortuous  and 
of  almost  uniform  splendor — glory,  ter- 
ror, as  you  please  to  term  it.  A  National 
Reserve,  sixty  by  sixty  miles,  covers  the 
major  part  of  its  magnificence. 

I  first  looked  down  into  this  then  com- 
paratively inaccessible  wonder  world  of 
color  in  the  early  seventies,  when  a  party 
of  us  were  trying  to  learn  something  of 
the  Moqui  (pronounced  Moke-i)  Indians 
said  at  that  time  to  be  worshippers  of 
the  rattlesnake.  We  approached  the  pre- 
cipitous red  sides  from  the  south,  where 
the  narrow  granite  gorge  of  the  smaller 
river  is  more  narrow,  yet  almost  as  deep, 
and  is  comparatively  colorless  as  I  remem- 
ber it.  Yet  the  absence  of  sunlight  in  its 
fearful  and  narrow  depths  may  have 
much  to  do  with  the  absence  of  color. 
We  were  fortunate  enough  to  find  a 
storm  raging  at  sudden  intervals  at  our 
feet,  in  the  greater  canyon,  fifteen  miles 
wide,  perhaps,  and  more  than  half  a  mile 
deep.  The  interrupted  battles  of  the  ele- 
ments roared  far  below  us,  and  all  the 
time,  as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  the  white 
clouds  curled,  drifted,  drooped,  died  then 
arose  again. 

We  were  covered  with  the  dust  of  the 
descent,  our  horses  suffered  from  heat 
and  thirst,  and  we  could  not  share  our 
scant  supply  of  water,  yet  far  down  yon- 
der a  mighty  river  thundered  through  its 
granite  walls  and  the  wide  open  red  lips 
above  the  gurgling  throat  of  granite 
drank  a  deluge  from  broken  cloud-bursts 
at  our  feet.     The  thunder,  at  intervals, 


was  fearfully  impressive.  We  felt,  at 
one  time,  that  the  temples,  towers,  and 
battlements  of  red  which  burst  here  and 
there  above  the  thunder  clouds  must  be 
crumpled  to  dust,  so  terrible  was  the  tu- 
mult. The  lightning  almost  continually 
wrote  the  autograph  of  God  on  and 
through  the  clouds  at  our  feet.  But  when 
the  clouds  would  part  and  pass  for  a  time 
find  stillness  and  sunlight  come  again, 
all  would  be  as  before. 

Here,  at  a  dozen  times  that  day,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  saw  a  rain- 
bow in  a  circle,  a  complete  and  perfect 
circle.  Years  later  I  saw  the  phenome- 
non in  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  *  where, 
I  was  told,  it  is  counted  nothing  so  very 
strange.  On  inquiry  here  at  the  red  lips 
of  the  Grande  Canyon,  in  these  early  days 
of  June,  I  find  that  the  circular  rainbow 
is  no  new  thing.  Indeed,  dozens  have  been 
here  with  their  cameras,  watching  for  a 
storm,  in  the  hope  of  photographing  this 
halo  of  the  heavens.  The  nearest  I  have 
been  able  to  get  to  this  wonder  is  a  few 
white  clouds  resting  lazily  in  the  red 
world  below.  Yet  it  is  not  all  red  here. 
The  dim  ruin  of  the  remote  side  of  the 
canyon  is  a  perpendicular  wall  of  about 
a  thousand  feet  of  cream-colored  lime- 
stone. The  walls  of  Jerusalem,  Gates  of 
Gaza,  Solomon's  temple — pick  them  out 
in  the  picture,  if  you  please  and  where 
you  please,  and  magnify  them  ten  thou- 
sand times,  and  all  in  red.  The  tower  of 
Solomon's  temple  at  sunset  is  red  with 
the  redness  of  blood.  ^ 

The  river  here  rolls  in  its  narrow  bed 
of  granite  quite  a  thousand  feet  out  of 
sight.  Water,  water,  a  world  of  water 
away  down  there.  Yet  the  water  here 
at  the  hotel,  the  terminus  of  the  new  rail- 
road, is  hauled  nearly  two  hundred  miles. 
Five  hundred  men  and  more  than  a  thou- 
sand horses  at  work,  and  all  the  water 
must  be  hauled  all  that  distance.  What 
a  man  is  the  American! 

Looking  down  more  than  half  a  mile 
into  this  fifteen  by  eighty  mile  paint  pot 
I  continually  ask,  is  any  fifteen  miles  of 
Mother  Earth  that  I  have  known  as  fear- 
ful, or  any  part  as  fearful,  as  full  of  glory, 
as  full  of  God?  And  one  constantly  ques- 
tions, how  did  it  happen  that  earth 
opened  right  here  in  this  inaccessible  and 
savage  land  of  savages,  her  wide  red  lips 


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Overland   Monthly. 


Photo    by    Maude,    Los    Angeles. 


Grand  Canyon.    On  Bright  Angel  Trail  to  River.    Temple  of 
Buddha   and   Zoroaster.     Cliff   Dwellings  to  the   Left. 


to  tell  of  the  marvels  forever  under  our 
feet? 

I  think  it  came  about  in  this  way. 
There  was  an  under  or  buried  river. 
Take  the  limestone  river  in  the  Mammoth 
Cave  as  a  feeble  illustration.  You  know 
the  story  was  |or  centuries  that  the  Colo- 
rado river  flowed  in  part  underground. 
We  never  knew  certainly  the  tradition 
or  fiction  of  the  Indian  story  that  the 
river  entirely  disappeared  in  places  till 
the  intrepid  Lieutenant  Powell,  the  first, 
and  now  that  the  matter  is  cleared  up, 
let  us  hope  that  he  may  be  the  last  to 
set  out  to  descend  into  this  wonderful 
river.  What  divine  sanctity!  The  wonder 
is  not  that  he  lost  half  his  force,  but  that 
he  saved  even  himself  to  modestly  tell 
the  story! 

The  tradition  of  an  underground  river 
is  no  wonder  at  all,  even  though  there 
never  had  been  such  things.  For,  stand- 
ing almost  where  you  will,  on  either  side 
of  the  eighty  miles  of  canyon,  you  will 
find  places  where  the  river  as  entirely 
and  suddenly  disappears,  apparently,  as  if 


it   was   a   train   of  cars   passing   into   a 
tunnel. 

But  we  know  that  this  wonder  was  not 
made  from  the  surface,  because  the  river 
has  made  its  way  through  the  highest 
place.  Standing  on  either  bank,  you  can 
see  that  the  surface  of  the  land  recedes 
gradually  back  and  down.  If  the  work 
had  been  done  from  the  surface  the  water 
would  have  made  its  course  down  the 
lower  places. 

It  is  clear  that  here  was  a  crack  in  the 
earth,  an  upheaval,  breaking  a  long  crack 
toward  the  west  in  the  earth  below, 
breaking  it  right  and  left,  as  breaking 
a  looking  glass,  opening  the  Little  Colo- 
rado, and  cross  canyons  and  arroyos,  and 
so  on.  And  thus  the  waters  find  their 
course  to  the  sea  away  down  under  the 
earth  for  ages,  drying  up  empires,  leav- 
ing populous  cities,  hundreds  of  little 
cities  of  little  brown  tillers  of  the  soil, 
hanging  on  the  inaccessible  hillsides 
where  the  unchronicled  little  cliff-dwel- 
ler sits  to-day  in  his  sealed-up  home  of 


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stone,  with  his  simple  story  unwritten, 
awaiting  the  Judgment  Day. 

We  can  well  understand  that  after  ages 
on  ages  rolled  by,  after  a  desert  of  sand 
had  been  buiit  at  the  head  of  the  Sea  of 
Cortez,  from  the  debris  of  the  under- 
ground river,  from  this  crack  in  the  crust 
of  earth  made  in  some  mad  upheaval 
and  confusion,  the  surface  gradually  fell 
in  and  the  buried  river  at  last  lay  bare 
to  the  sun.  But  the  symmetry,  the  fashion- 
ing of  the  walls,  the  towers,  the  temples, 
the  pagodas,  so  like  as  done  by  the  hand 
of  man,  who  can  dare  try  to  account  for 
the  perfect  forms?  We  only  know  from 
the  deserted  cities  and  dried-up  water 
ways,  irrigating  ditches,  that  the  land 
was  once  densely  populated.  We  also 
may  guess  from  the  petrified  forests 
that  great  trees  once  grew  where  now  we 
find  only  sand  and  dust,  horned  toads, 
and  Gila  monsters. 

Even  here  in  the  aperture  of  the 
Orande  Canyon  hanging  on  the  side  of 
the  Chinese  pagoda  over  against  the 
Temple   of  Buddha  twenty   miles   away. 


you  can,  with  the  aid  of  a  glass,  count 
the  stones,  neat  bits  of  masonry,  in  a  few 
of  these  silent  and  inaccessible  dwellings. 
But  these  must  be  new,  comparatively 
new,  the  little  people  coming  like  the 
martlet,  to  hang  on  this  wall  of  vantage, 
long  after  the  water  had  dried  up  in  the 
canyon  of  his  fathers;  long  after  this 
grand  canyon  had  opened  its  red  lips 
to  welcome   them. 

The  one  most  startling  yet  most  pleas- 
ing thing,  as  Grande  Canyon  bursts  .upon 
you,  or  rather,  as  you  burst  upon  it,  and 
look  down,  is  the  sympathetic  symmetry, 
let  me  say  the  homogeniety  of  it  all.  Put- 
ting aside  the  soft,  flesh-and-blood  color, 
you  cannot  help  a  sudden  and  glowing 
heart-beat  at  the  human  fashioning  of  it 
all.  Here  is  a  photograph  from  what 
may  be  called  Panorama  Point.  Here, 
there,  almost  everywhere,  you  see  the 
symmetry,  the  form,  the  fashioning,  as 
perfect  as  a  growing  flower;  and  it  takes 
no  imagination  at  all  to  see  the  hand  of 
man,  the  mind  of  man  here  in  this  grand- 
est work  of  Grod   that  I  have  yet  seen 


View  from   Panorama   Point. 


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Overland   Monthly. 


under  the  path  of  the  sun.  And  this  is 
to  say  nothing  of  the  color,  which  is 
also  as  perfect  as  the  color  of  the  most 
highly  and  perfectly-colored  flower  ever 
considered. 

Bear  in  mind,  as  said  before,  that  this 
eighty  miles  of  color  and  grandeur  has 
no  special  points  of  view,  as  a  rule.  A 
thousand  views  would,  perhaps,  have 
nearly  as  many  prominent  points  of  view. 
Every  famous  temple,  tower,  or  place 
in  history  or  song  or  story  seems  to  have 
its  counterpart  here,  only  a  thousand  or 
ten  thousand  times  magnified. 

The  heat  is  oppressive,  away  down 
deep.  Despite  the  roaring  river,  the 
water  is  warm,  and  the  color  of  the  Nile. 
But  all  life  is  absent  from  it.  Spending 
a  night  here,  to  get  the  soft  moonlight, 
as  if  in  some  cathedral  fashioned  when 
"there  were  giants  in  the  land,"  I  found 
the  heat  and  silence  fearful.  Here  in  the 
depths  of  the  canyon  is  neither  tree  nor 
shrub,  but  trees  and  flowers  of  a  strange, 
wild  kind  drawn  from  the  rocky  ruins. 
Yet  here  in  the  deepest  deeps  is  at  least 
some  life.  I  heard  a  whip-poor-will  away 
up  in  the  wUderness  on  a  little  trout 
stream  that  tumbles  from  the  opposite 
wall.    And  then  a  bat  came,  snapping  its 


little  breath  in  my  very  ears,  as  he  busily 
gathered  the  mosquitoes  that  had  begun 
to  torment  me.  Even  here,  in  all  this 
majesty,  this  weight  of  silence,  this  riot, 
this  orderly  riot  of  color,  the  battle  for 
life  goes  on;  the  mosquito  and  the 
bat,  both  after  blood;  but  the  bat  has  ic 
all  his  own  way — the  survival  of  the 
fittest. 

And  now  a  little,  .pretty,  pathetic  fact, 
a  touch  of  tenderness,  humanity.  All  the 
red  colors  of  the  flower-kind  in  Christen- 
dom, and  they  are  many,  seem  to  come 
here  and  look  down  from  the  dusty  brick 
of  the  canyon,  with  this  riotous  yet  most 
orderly  world  of  red.  The  scarlet  cactus, 
the  Indian  pink,  the  Painter's  brush,  the 
red  currant,  indeed,  about  a  dozen  bits,, 
dots  and  dashes  of  red  that  I  cannot 
name,  look  down,  away  yonder,  into  that 
mighty  arena  of  red,  as  if  surely  a  part 
of  it  all;  as  one  life  may  be  a  part  of  the 
Infinite. 

Color  is  king  here.  Take  the  grand- 
est, sublimest  thing  the  world  has  ever 
seen,  fashion  it  as  if  the  master  minds 
from  the  "beginning"  had  wrought  here, 
paint  it  as  only  the  masters  of  old  could 
paint,  and  you  have  El  Cafion  Grande  del 
Colorado. 


TO    THE     MONA    USA    OF     DA   VINCI. 

BY    PARK    BARNITZ. 

Anguish  and  Mourning  are  as  gold  to  her; 
She  weareth  Pain  upon  her  as  a  gem, 
And  on  her  head  Grief  like  a  diadem ; 
And  as  with  frankincense  and  tropic  myrrh, 
Her  face  is  fragrant  made  with  utter  Woe ; 
And  on  her  purple  gorgeous  garment's  hem, 
Madness  and  Death  and  all  the  ways  of  them 
Emblazoned  in  strange  carroussel  show. 

Within  her  delicate  face  are  all  things  met, 
And  all  the  sad  years  and  the  dolorous  days 
Are  but  as  jewels  round  her  forehead  set; 
Add  but  a  little  glory  to  her  face, 
A  little  langour  to  her  half-closed  9yes, 
That  smile  so  strangely  under  the  far  skies. 


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The  War  Correspondents  of  To-Day. 


By   JAMES    F.  J.  ARCHIBALD. 


w 


AR  correspondents  are  an  essen- 
tial part  of  every  army  in  active 
service,  and  consequently  every 
Government  makes  regular  pro- 
vision to  facilitate  their  accompanying 
the  force  in  the  field,  and  they  are  given 
credentials  allowing  them  to  accompany 
any  column  when  their  presence  is  not 
ii'compatable  with  military  operations. 
It  is  almost  as  difficult  for  a  correspond- 
ent to  obtain  his  first  credentials  to  fol- 
low a  European  army  as  it  would  be  to 
secure  a  commission  as  an  officer  in  the 
same  force,  but  once  having  been  recog- 
nized as  a  war  correspondent  the  future 
is  easy.  The  British  war-office  is  particu- 
larly careful  never  to  send  a  man  to  the 
front,  to  criticise  or  report  the  operations, 
who  has  not  had  considerable  previous 
experience  in  military  matters.  A  man 
who  has  held  a  commission  in  some  mili- 
tary organization  and  who  has,  therefore, 
some  technical  knowledge,  is  generally 
favored.  In  fact,  war-correspondence  is 
as  distinct  a  profession  in  Europe  as 
medicine,  law,  or  any  other  of  the  profes- 
sions of  ancient  memory.  A  man's  char- 
acter and  standing  are  all  considered 
just  the  same  as  that  of  an  officer  of 
the  service,  and  should  he  overstep  the 
bounds  of  propriety  in  any  manner  he 
would  be  held  to  account  just  as  rigidly 
as  though  he  held  a  commission,  and 
once  proven  guilty  of  ungentlemanly  con- 
duct or  breach  of  faith  he  could  never 
accompany  that  army  in  the  field  again. 
Where  the  British  are  continually  in  the 
field  in  active  service,  they  can  control 
this  matter  much  better  than  could  a 
Government  like  our  own,  where  a  war 
13  only  the  matter  of  two  or  three  times 
Ir   a   century. 

During  the  war  with  Spain  our  Gov- 
emment  issued  innumerable  passes  to 
correspondents,  and  in  consequence  there 
were  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  writers 
gathered  at  Tampa,  when  the  Fifth  Corps 


embarked  for  Santiago.  Only  about  one 
hundred  and  sixty-five  really  went  to 
Cuba,   and   although   this   was   an   enor- 


Jamet  F.  J.  Archibald. 

mous  number  it  was  really  a  small  por- 
tion of  those  who  had  the  proper  author- 


Digitized  by  ^^jOO' 


gle 


792 


Overland   Monthly. 


ity  from  the  Secretary  of  War.  Every 
paper  in  the  country  and  many  European 
journals  seemed  to  be  represented,  and 
I  remember  seeing  the  "special"  for  a 
monthly  agricultural  paper.  Correspond- 
ents for  religious  weeklies  were  quite 
common. 

Hardly  a  score  in  the  entire  lot  knew 
a  spare  wheel  from  a  cavalry-brigade,  and 
yet  they  were,  in  many  cases,  the  best 
writers  from  thefr  respective  journals. 
But  it  hardly  seems  just  to  the  military 
authorities  to  send  bright  writers  with  no 
military  knowledge,  to  criticise  the  opera- 


how  interesting  it  might  be  to  follow 
some  cavalry  advance  or  particular  ex- 
pedition. If  he  represents  a  weekly  or 
monthly  he  is  more  at  liberty  to  go  as 
he  pleases  and  watch  only  the  interesting 
features  of  the  campaign.  In  this  man- 
ner of  following  the  dictates  of  his  fancy 
he  sees  much  more  of  the  action  and 
more  of  the  real  work.  He  is  not  ham- 
pered with  lists  of  dead  and  wounded,  nor 
of  small  detail,  but  looks  upon  the  whole 
as  a  great  picture  to  be  described  from 
a  general  point  of  view. 

Some   of  the   most   clever   work   sent 


James  Barnes         Bennett  Burleigh     Lord   Roberts. 


tions.  This  would  not  have  been  allowed 
with  European  armies. 

The  same  men  go  year  after  year, 
and  on  their  blouses  are  seen  the  ribbons 
of  all  the  campaign  medals  worn  by  the 
soldiers  of  the   different  nations. 

The  most  diificult  problem  to  be  solved 
by  the  war-correspondent  is  that  of  where 
he  shall  go  and  with  what  particular 
command  he  shall  cast  his  lot.  Of  course, 
this  depends,  to  a  great  extent,  upon  the 
character  of  his  work,  and  upon  the 
journal  he  is  representing. 

If  he  is  doing  cable  work  he  must 
keep  in  touch  with  the  wire  no  matter 


to  London  journals  was  done  by  a  man 
who  rarely  left  his  comfortable  quarters 
in  the  Mt.  Nelson  Hotel  in  Cape  Town, 
but  who  simply  used  what  information 
came  back  over  the  line  of  communica- 
tion. Men  who  work  for  London  dailies 
ne^er  have  the  worry  of  looking  out  for 
illustrations,  as  those  journals  publish 
no  pictures;  but  the  weekly  and  maga- 
zine writers  must  be  actually  at  the 
very  advance  to  make  their  sketches  and 
take  their  photographs. 

All  telephone  lines,  railways  and  supply 
stations  for  miles  about  the  theatre  of 
war  are  certain  to  be  under  the  control  of 


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'ihe  War  Correspondents  of  To-Day. 


793 


A   London   Correspondent's   Outfit. 


the  military  authorities,  bo  whatever  is 
done  regarding  the  distribution  of  news 
or  the  slathering  of  supplies  for  personal 
subsistence  must  be  done  through  the 
officers  in  charge.  The  difficulty,  there- 
fore, experienced  in  obtaining  privileges 
depends  entirely  upon  the  good  nature 
of  the  officer  in  immediate  command.  If 
a  correspondent  is  agreeable  and  of  good 
presence  he  is  generally  asked  to  join  the 


mess  of  some  General  in  command,  and 
really  becomes  his  companion  throughout 
the  campaign,  and  is,  in  this  manner, 
given  an  opportunity  for  comfort  and  a 
source  of  news  that  would  be  obtainable 
In  no  other  way. 

Many  correspondents,  however,  prefer 
to  mess  themselves,  and  not  be  attached 
to  any  particular  headquarters.  They 
buy  a  wagon  or  two,  three  or  four  horses. 


Correspondent's  Camp  and  Wagons. 


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794 


Overland   Monthly. 


hire  a  couple  of  servants,  and  follow  the 
army  independently.  They  live  with  their 
own  outfit  when  it  is  convenient,  making 
expeditions  to  the  front  when  necessary. 
A  representative  of  the  London  Chroni- 
cle during  the  Boer  war  lived  in  a  baker's 
wagon.  It  was  a  large  wooden  affair 
with  doors  at  the  back.  The  occupant 
had  cut  a  hole  in  the  top  for  the  stove 
pipe  and  cooked  and  slept  inside  in  a 
most  comfortable  manner  in  all  kinds  of 
weather. 


its  value.  If  there  are  plenty  of  mounts 
in  the  command  the  oificers  always  mount 
a  correspondent;  but  in  actual  war  horses 
are  generally  very  scarce.  A  couple  of 
good  mounts  are  as  essential  to  a  corre- 
spondent as  the  very  food  he  eats.  Much 
time  must  be  spent  in  obtaining  sufficient 
forage  for  all  his  animals,  and  at  times 
it  is  a  very  serious  problem  to  keep  them 
supplied.  When  the  column  is  near  the 
base  of  supplies,  or  near  the  line  of  com- 
munication, it  is  a  simple  matter.     Not 


Hugh  Sutherland.        Mr.   Atkins.      Baden-Powell. 
General  Baden-Poweil  Arriving  at  Pretoria. 


Many  of  the  writers  used  the  two- 
wheeled  "Cape  cart"  to  carry  their  extra 
baggage,  these  vehicles  being  made  for 
just  such  work,  and  formerly  used  on 
the  veldt  by  the  Boers  or  Cape  colonists. 
The  cart  is  a  light,  handy  affair,  and  well 
suited  to  the  character  of  the  country. 

The  matter  of  horses  is  no  small  item 
during  a  war,  for  the  army  takes  all 
animals  to  be  found,  and  when  an  indi- 
vidual wishes  to  purchase  a  mount  he 
is  generally  compelled  to  pay  many  times 


so  at  the  head  of  a  rapid  advance  of  a 
flying  cavalry  column  or  a  wide  flanking 
infantry  division,  when  every  ounce  of 
forage   is   worth   its   weight  in   gold. 

All  war-correspondents  are  attached 
to  an  army  as  part  of  it,  liable  to  the 
commanding  officer  for  their  acts,  Just  as 
much  as  though  they  were  actually  en- 
listed in  the  fighting  force  and  subject 
to  all  the  rules  and  articles  of  war.  They 
are  entitled  to  draw  officers'  rations,  and 
in  the  British  service  are  also  allowed  ra- 


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The  War  Correspondents  of  To-Day. 


795 


tions  for  one  servant  and  forage  for  three 
horses.  It  is  more  difficult  when  with  an 
irregular  force  like  that  of  the  Boers,  who 
have  no  regular  commissary. 

The  cost  of  maintaining  a  special  cor- 
respondent at  the  front  is  very  great,  and 
newspapers  never  welcome  the  prospect 
of  a  war.  Many  times  a  single  dispatch 
will  cost  from  one  thousand  to  five  thou- 
sand dollars.  The  correspondent  must 
have  sufficient  funds  for  any  emergency, 
he  must  be  able  to  hire  assistance,  char- 
ter a  train,  and  in  fact  be  ready  for  any 
contingency.  In  some  campaigns  the 
value  of  money  to  the  correspondent  is 


Burr  Mcintosh.  Harrison  Fisher. 

War  Correspond^nt^and  Artist. 

a  country  where  there  was  plenty  to  be 
had,  although  at  times  we  were  compelled 
to  pay  very  high  prices.  Afterwards,  when 
I  was  with  the  British  force,  the  matter 
of  supplies  was  very  simple.    Their  Army 


Winston  Spencer  Churchiil. 

greater  than  in  others,  as  in  the  Japanese 
and  Chinese  war,  when  money  was  of 
very  little  use  except  to  the  "cable  cor- 
respondents." During  the  Santiago  cam- 
paign I  did  not  have  an  opportunity  of 
spending  any  money  after  arriving  on 
Cuban  soil,  but  in  South  Africa  plenty  of 
cash  was  absolutely  essential  to  the 
maintenance  of  life.  All  of  the  corre- 
spondents and  attaches  who  cast  their 
lot  with  the  Boer  forces  were  compelled 
Uy  skirmish  for  their  own  food  and  for- 
age.    We,  however,  were  continually  in 


James  O'Shaughnessy,  Jr.,  Correspondent. 


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Overland   Monthly. 


Service  Corps  Is,  fortunately  for  them, 
the  most  efficient  branch  of  their  service. 

Most  of  the  correspondents  in  the  field 
carry  their  funds  in  cash,  in  a  belt.  A 
letter  of  credit  or  drafts  are  as  worthless 
as  so  much  paper.  Even  though  the 
column  may  be  quartered  in  a  town  or 
city  the  chances  are  that  the  banks  have 
all  suspended  operations. 

There  are  a  few  regular  war-corre- 
spondents who  are  almost  sure  to  meet 
in  every  campaign.     New  faces  join  the 


oZ  the  leaders  of  all  the  civilized  armies 
of   the    world. 

One  of  the  younger  men  who  has  made 
a  great  success  is  Winston  Churchill.  I 
do  not  suppose  there  are  many  men  with 
as  few  years  to  their  credit  who  have 
experienced  more  than  this  young  man, 
who  is  still  under  twenty-five.  He  served 
with  the  Spanish  army  in  Cuba,  in  the 
Soudan  with  Kitchener,  in  China,  in  In- 
dia, in  Africa,  and  is  now  a  Member  of 
Parliament.    It  took  this  last  war  in  the 


Hugh  Sutherland  Writing  Dispatches. 


ranks  and  disappear,  but  a  few  of  the 
veterans  are  always  there,  and  are  well 
acquainted  with  every  army  of  the  world. 
The  dean  of  the  corps  is  at  present  Ben- 
net  Burleigh  of  the  London  Daily  Tele- 
graph. He  began  his  service  in  our  civil 
war,  during  which  he  held  a  commission 
ii'.  the  Confederate  army.  Since  then  he 
has  participated  in  every  campaign  that 
has  been  fought.  He  has  the  confidence 
of  the  English  people  and  the  friendship 


Cape  to  bring  him  before  the  public. 
When  he  was  captured  and  taken  into 
Pretgria  a  prisoner,  it  looked  as  thoug^h 
his  career  had  been  checked  for  the  time 
being,  but  instead,  it  was  apparently  Just 
opening.  He  had  not  been  confined  in  tlie 
Staats  Model  Schoolhouse  but  a  short 
time  when  he  made  his  escape,  and  then 
made  his  way  through  to  Delagoa  Bay, 
a  distance  of  many  hundred  miles,  really 
without  food  of  any  sort  except  a  little 


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797 


Dr.  Conan  Doyle  and  five  other  corre- 
spondents on  board  the  transport  Briton. 
Dr.  Doyle  on  the  extrenne  right. 


are  sure  to  be  in  the  field  at  every 
call  to  arms.  Every  one  of  these  men 
"look  the  part,"  and  that  means  every- 
thing. A  war  correspondent  must  keep- 
himself  well-groomed  at  all  times  in  the 
field,  because  his  good  appearance  means 
much  to  nim  when  he  wishes  to  talk  to 
any  officer  of  high  rank.  I  knew  one 
American  correspondent  in  South  Africa 
who  went  about  unshaven,  with  a  slov- 
enly-looking suit  of  khaki,  a  blue  flannel 
shirt,  and  a  most  disreputable  felt  hat. 
He  never  could  understand  why  he  was 
always  met  with  rebuffs  from  the  Brit- 
ish Generals.  It  was  all  due  to  his  appear- 
ancQ.  A  man  must  appear  as  a  gentleman 
would  anjrwhere,  and  even  though  it  is 
a  great  deal  of  trouble,  it  pays  in  the  long 
run. 

British,  and  in  fact,  all  European  offi- 
cers, look  much  better  groomed  in  the 
field   than   do   our  American   officers   of 


chocolate.  When  it  is  considered  that 
Mr.  Churchill  was  the  only  one  of  over 
eight  hundred  officers  to  make  his  escape 
it  certainly  reflects  great  credit  on  his 
nerve  and  courage.  Many  papers  tried 
to  show  that  the  Boer  authorities  allowed 
Churchill  to  escape,  but  I  myself  made 
careful  inquiry,  and  I  do  not  believe  that 
such  was  the  case,  but  that  he  escaped 
purely  on  his  own  nerve.  There  was 
little  hope  of  escape  by  exchange,  for 
the  only  prisoner  who,  to  my  knowledge, 
was  exchanged,  was  Lady  Sarah  Wilson, 
the  special  correspondent  of  the  London 
Graphic. 

I  think  the  most  typical  war-corre- 
spondents I  have  ever  met  are  Frederick 
,Villiers,  Richard  Harding  Davis,  George 
W^  Stevens,  John  T.  McCutcheon,  Bennett 
Burleigh,  Winston  Churchill.  George 
W.  Stevens  gave  his  life  to  his  work, 
but    the    rest    are    all    still    active    and 


Richard  Harding  Davis. 


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American  Army  Credentials  for  a 
War  Correspondent. 


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799 


like  rank.  It  is  of  course  a  fact  that  they 
also  carry  about  five  times  the  amount  of 
baggage,  and  are  therefore  able  to  make 
an  elaborate  toilet;  but  it  is  a  fact,  never- 
theless, that  a  correspondent  who  does 
not  keep  well  shaven  and  clean  does  not 
receive   any   cordial   attention. 

Julian  Ralph  is  the  one  American  who 
has  become  so  British  that  even  the  Eng- 
lish people  make  fun  of  him.    He  started 


for  his  account  of  Cronje's  surrender. 
Instead  of  seeing  the  noble  side  of  that 
twelve  day's  stand  of  less  than  three 
thousand,  including  men  and  women, 
against  over  forty  thousand  British 
troops,  with  a  couple  of  hundred  guns, 
he  viciously  attacked  them  for  being 
dirty.  Not  a  single  English  correspondent 
saw  that  dirt,  but  only  saw  the  noble 
helplessness  of  their  fight — and  saw  only 


American  District  Messenger,  James  Smith,  who  carried  the 
message  of  sympathy  from  30,000  Philadelphia  school  boys 
to  President  Krueger..  .Taken  in  front  of  the  Presidential 
residence,  Pretoria. 


out  for  a  London  paper,  writing  an 
American's  views  of  the  war,  but  he  is  by 
far  more  vicious  in  his  accounts  than 
the  most  prejudiced  Englishman,  and  he 
has  incurred  the  disgust  of  all  the  English 
people.    He  was  most  severely  criticised 


enough  to  praise — but  it  remained  to  this 
one  American  to  cast  slurs  upon  these 
people  for  their  uncleanly  appearance. 
Ralph  devoted  a  large  part  of  his  space 
to  ridiculing  Mrs.  Cronje  because,  for- 
sooth, she  wore  a  false  switch  in  her  hair! 


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Col.  Lee  Brlttinattader,  Richard  Harding  Davis,    Mr.  Akers,  Poultney  Bigelow. 
Correspondents  at  Tampa. 


Almost  immediately  after  the  occupa- 
tion of  Pretoria  the  foreign  attaches  and 
correspondents  were  informed  that  the 
war  was  over,  and  that  they  could  leave. 
In  substance  it  was  a  command.     Some 


did  not  care  to  leave,  but  they  were  told 
that  they  would  not  be  allowed  to  send 
any  matter.  Even  the  mail  was  sub- 
ject to  the  approval  of  Lord  Stanley,  the 
chief    censor    of    Lord     Roberts'    staff. 


Ill  the  party  are:     Duke  of  Norfolk,  Sir  Chas.  Ross,  Capt,   Ford  Barclay,  Lord  Talbot 
Mr.  Battersby,  Lady  Arthur  Grosvenor,   Lady  Sarah  Wilson. 

Going  Home  from  South  Africa. 


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801 


Nearly   all  of  the   correspondents   came 
out  at  this  time. 

I  came  up  the  West  Coast  on  the 
"Briton,"  and  there  were  many  of  the 
correspondents  on  board.  Among  them 
were  Dr.  Conan  Doyle,  Mr.  Battersley  of 
the  Daily  Mail,  Mr.  Johnson  of  the  Ex- 
press, Mr.  Nevison  of  the  Chronicle,  Mr. 
Hartford  Hartland  of  the  Army  &  Navy, 
and  Mr.  Atkins  of  the  Manchester  Guar- 


sonally  Mr.  Doyle  is  a  most  agreeable 
man,  ever  ready  for  any  entertainment 
for  others.  He  went  to  the  war  as  a 
surgeon,  but  has  given  some  of  his  best 
writings  to  the  public  on  the  subject 
of  the  campaign.  Dr.  Doyle  is  a  strange 
contrast  to  Kipling,  who  is  intensely  un- 
popular with  the  officers  and  cordially 
hated  by  the  men  of  the  entire  British 
service.    His  writings  about  the  soldiers 


Lady   Sarah   Wiisor., 

War  Correspondent — London  Graphic. 


dlan,  who  was  in  Cuba  with  the   Fifth 
Army  Corps. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  have  this  oppor- 
tunity of  reviewing  the  various  parts 
of  the  campaign  in  the  Cape.  Conan 
Doyle's  severe  criticisms  of  the  British 
officers  has  caused  a  great  deal  of  com- 
ment, but  It  win  undoubtedly  do  the  ser- 
vice an  immense  amount  of  good.     Per- 


are  seemingly  taken  as  personal  Insults 
by  every  man  in  the  British  service.  His 
crude  personality  is  undoubtedly  In  part 
responsible  for  his  unpopularity. 

Hartford  Hartland  is  one  of  the 
younger  writers  who  went  to  the  front 
a:  the  commencement  of  the  war  and  wit- 
nessed the  horrors  of  Spion  Kop,  Colenso, 
and  the  crossing  of  the  Tugela  River. 


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Among  the  American  correspondents  on 
the  Boer  side  in  South  Africa,  Allan 
Sangeree  of  Ainsley's  Magazine,  Hugh 
Sutherland  of  the  Philadelphia  North 
American,  who  accompanied  Jimmie 
Smith,  the  messenger  boy,  Howard  Hille- 
gas,  and  Richard  Harding  Davis,  were 
among  the  most  prominent.  Even  Jimmie 
Smith,  who  carried  the  message  of  sym- 
pathy to  President  Kruger  from  the  Phila- 
delphia schoolboys,  did  some  correspond- 
ence, and  wrote  some  description  from 
his  own  standpoint  that  was  exceedingly 
interesting.  Now,  he  says,  his  one  ambi- 
tion in  life  is  to  go  to  West  Point  and  be 
an  army  officer,  or,  failing  in  that,  to 
be  a  war  correspondent. 


mean  that  it  takes  the  special  writer  to 
bring  their  deeds  and  value  before  the 
public.  If  it  depended  upon  the  official 
dispatches  and  reports  to  make  them  fa- 
mous they  would  go  to  their  last  rest 
without  any  special  reward.  Sheridan's 
ride  would  have  been  given  to  posterity 
as,  ''I  arrived  on  the  field  at  Cedar  Creek 
at  10  a.  m."  There  would  be  few  Medals 
of  Honor  or  Victoria  Crosses  won,  were  it 
not  for  the  correspondents.  During  the 
war  with  Spain,  Lieutenant  Henry  Ward 
of  the  navy  was  sent  into  Spain  to  secure 
some  important  information,  and  for 
many  weeks  that  brave  officer  faced  death 
at  every  turn ;  the  smallest  mistake  would 
have  betrayed  him  into  the  hands  of  the 


Lord   Roberts. 
Lord  Kitchener.       Bennett  Burleigh.  liord  Stanley. 

Lord  Roberts'  Entry  into  Pretoria. 


It  is  only  through  the  medium  of  the 
correspondents'  dispatches  that  the  pub- 
lic gathers  its  knowledge  and  makes  its 
estimate  of  the  worth  of  the  officers  in 
command,  and  consequently  it  is  in  the 
power  of  any  correspondent  to  make  or 
mar  the  professional  reputation  of  them. 
Most  of  the  newly  appointed  general 
officers  of  the  American  army  owe  their 
advance  to  the  reports  of  the  correspond- 
ents. They  could  not  have  received  the 
appointment  without   the   ability,   but   I 


enemy,  to  have  shared  a  fate  like  that  of 
Nathan  Hale.  On  the  official  roll  of  the 
Navy  Department,  Lieutenant  Ward's  war 
record  would  simply  show  him  as  "on 
special  duty."  The  public  never  heard 
of  his  deeds  of  daring,  simply  because 
there  was  no  correspondent  to  tell  the 
story;  he  received  no  reward  because  the 
wise  men  at  Washington  have  not  seen 
his  name  fiaring  in  the  headlines  as  the 
hero  of  the  hour.  Lieutenant  Ward  was 
not  advanced  any  ten  numbers  as  Hobson 


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803 


Lady  Arthur  Grosvenor,  Mr.  Battersby— Daily  Mall. 

Duke  of  Marlborough. 
Returning  from  the  Cape. 


was,  although  he  risked  his  life  to  a  far 
greater  extent.  He  succeeded  in  the  task 
set  before  him,  where  Hobson  practically 
failed.  The  dangers  around  him  were 
like  poison  lurking  in  a  cup,  while  the 
work  of  his  brother  officer  was  carried 
with  the  dash  of  fire  and  shell.  The  one 
officer  f^ted,  lionized,  and  promoted,  all 
because  a  few  correspondents  happened 
to  see  him  do  an  act  of  duty;  the  other 
forgotten. 

All  this  to  show  the  part  war-corre- 
spondents play  in  making  national  heroes. 

No  better  explanation  of  the  dangers 
incurred  by  war  correspondents  can  be 
given  than  to  simply  state  that  in  this 
present  campaign  in  South  Africa  thirty- 


three  per  cent  of  the  correspondents, 
have  been  killed  or  wounded,  or  have 
died  of  disease  incurred  in  the  line  ot 
their  duty.  This  is  many  times  greater 
than  the  death  rate  among  officers  or. 
men,  and  merely  shows  that  these  men 
who  go  into  the  battles  at  their  own 
volition  stand  the  same  chances  of  los- 
ing their  lives  as  do  the  men  who  wear 
a  uniform.  They  are  in  more  battle^, 
than  any  one  officer  or  man,  they  suffer 
the  same  privations,  and  when  the  read-, 
ers  of  the  daily  papers  glance  at  that 
little  line  at  the  head  of  a  dispatch  "from 
our  own  correspondents  at  the  front,"  they 
rarely  consider  what  it  costs  in  privations, 
and  perseverance  to  get  that  diispatch^ 
into  print. 


Great  Britain  and 
her  friends  mourn 
a  dead  Queen  and 
The  Mother  Queen     a  dead  song.  Vic- 
of  Britain.  toria  is   no   more 

and  "God  Save 
the  Queen"  is  on- 
ly a  memory  un- 
til another  woman  monarch  shall  recall 
it.  There  is  a  King,  Edward  VII,  whose 
wild  oats  are  supposed  to  have  been 
planted  these  several  years;  but  his 
greatness  is  yet  to  be  adjudged  by  the  in- 
vincible opinion  of  the  people.  The  dead 
Queen  leaves  a  record  that  is  without 
equal  in  the  history  of  Great  Britain. 
She  was  not  great,  she  had  no  personal 
ambitions,  but  she  was  good — and  never 
before  in  the  history  of  the  world  has 
one  woman  for  so  long  a  time  and  with 
such  good  results  maintained  an  influ- 
ence over  so  many  millions  of  intelli- 
gent, law-abiding  subjects.  Victoria  was 
first  of  all  an  ideal  mother — then  an  ideal 
wife  and  an  ideal  widow.  It  was  she, 
who,  with  the  simplicity  of  a  true  heart, 
wrote  to  a  dead  soldier's  wife,  "From  a 
widow  to  a  widow."  The  utter  ingenu- 
ousness and  humanness  of  Victoria  en- 
deared her  to  many  Americans,  who  by 
all  natural  token  were  opposed  to  Mon- 
archs,  Monarchies,  and  a  Throne.  Vic- 
toria made  her  throne  a  simple  bit  of  the 
furniture  of  office.  She  gave  sympathy 
always,  for  that  was  in  her  nature;  she 
gave  counsel  when  it  was  within  her 
wisdom,  and  when,  as  was  more  fre- 
quently the  case,  she  needed  counsel, 
then  it  was  her  habit  to  ask  of  those  wiser 
heads  whom  a  Government  had  appointed 
t")  advise  her.  But  it  is  after  all  the  mem- 
ory of  the  Woman  rather  than  the  Queen 
that  the  English-speaking  peoples  will 
treasure — a  simple-minded,  plain,  honest- 
hearted  gentlewoman,  who,  when  in  error, 
always  erred  in  favor  of  Honesty  and  Vir- 


tue. She  had  a  mother's  tears  for  every 
soldier  of  her's  that  fell  fighting  for  her; 
and  she  had  the  woman's  tear  for  every 
sincere  foeman  whose  bones  bordered 
the  path  of  Imperialism.  England's 
Mother  Queen  lived  a  long,  honorable  life, 
and  all  civilization  is  the  sadder  for 
her  loss. 

CREMATION  as  at  present  practiced  is 
surrounded  by  so  much  misrepresentation 
that  a  few  facts  in 
connection  with  the 
The  Cruelty  of  custom  may  be  of  in- 

cremation, terest  to  those  who 

believe  in  that  me- 
thod of  disposal  of 
the  dead.  A  visit  to  the  crematories  of 
San  Francisco,  and  also  to  a  number  of 
those  located  in  the  Eastern  States,  and 
a  close  inspection  of  the  various  methods 
in  use  at  different  places  leads  to  only 
one  conclusion,  and  that  is,  that  very 
few,  if  any  cremationists,  realize  what  cre- 
mation really  is. 

In  the  attractive  literature  published  by 
the  crematories  we  are  told  "that  after 
the  funeral  services,  the  body  or  casket 
is  wrapped  in  a  sheet  soaked  in  alum 
water  and  put  in  a  retort,  heated  to  a 
cherry  red,  and  that  the  stored  heat  ab- 
sorbs the  moisture  of  the  body,  which 
is  95  per  cent  of  the  whole,  and  leaves  the 
balance,  5  per  cent,  in  a  clear  and  beauti- 
ful pearly  white  ash,  and  that  every  par- 
ticle is  gathered  and  put  in  a  receptacle, 
sealed  and  given  to  the  relatives  to  dis- 
pose of  as  they  see  fit." 

A  visit  to  seven  different  crematories 
demonstrates  the  real  facts,  however,  to 
be  as  follows:  The  body  or  casket  is 
wrapped  in  a  cloth,  saturated  with  alum 
water  to  prevent  the  body  from  taking 
fire  before  the  eyes  of  the  relatives,  be- 
fore the  furnace  could  be  closed.  The 
furnace  is  heated  to  about  2000  degrees 


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Fahrenheit,  and  this  heat  is  so  intense 
that  it  causes  the  body  to  immediately 
ignite  and  burn  and  sizzle  in  the  same 
manner  as  a  piece  of  fat  thrown  in  a  red 
hot  fire.  Imagine  this  of  some  loved  one! 
In  most  of  the  crematories  the  actual 
flame  that  heats  the  retort  is  turned  on 
tAe  body,  making  the  process,  if  possible, 
still    more   horrible. 

Now,  as  to  the  pearly  white  ash.  It 
is  a  fact  that  the  flesh  is  consumed  and 
the  bones  calcined,  and  most  of  the 
smaller  ones  crumble  quite  easily;  but 
the  larger  ones  have  either  to  be  ground 
in  a  machine  made  for  that  purpose,  or 
crushed  in  a  mortar.  Could  you,  reader, 
permit  this  to  be  done  to  any  one  for 
whom  you  had  the  slightest  feeling  of 
affection?  Better  by  far  let  us  lay  our 
dead  ones  back  in  mother  earth  from 
whence  they  came,  and  where,  amidst 
trees  and  flowers,  and  covered  by  a  beau- 
tiful mantle  of  God's  green  earth  they 
may  forever  rest.  We  often  hear  people 
say  that  they  do  not  see  any  difference 
between  decaying  in  the  ground  or  having 
the  body  destroyed  by  flre,  accomplishing 
in  a  few  hours  by  burning  what  it  takes 
years  to  do  by  earth  burial.  We  will  illus- 
trate the  difference  by  asking  you  to 
think  of  the  most  beautiful  bit  of  land- 
scape you  ever  saw.  In  the  center  there 
U  a  noble  oak  surrounded  by  beautiful 
shrubs  and  flowers.  Perchance  at  one 
side  there  is  sugar  maple  and  at  the 
other  a  sumac  or  dogwood  which,  in 
the  fall  of  the  year  have  delighted  every 
passer-by  with  their  brilliant  coloring, 
before  the  leaves  die  and  fall  to  the 
ground.  If  left  there  to  decay  in  the  nat- 
ural way  these  leaves  will  enrich  the  soil 
and  make  the  next  year's  growth  lovelier 
than  ever  before.  Instead  of  following 
ii*  nature's  way,  apply  the  torch  and  the 
result  is  the  complete  destruction  of  all 
those  tender  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  even 
the  old  oak  itself  is  burned  and  scarred  be- 
yond recognition.  So  it  is  with  the  hu- 
man body.  If  it  is  buried,  and  in  nature's 
own  way  allowed  to  decay,  the  softening, 
refining  and  comforting  influence  of  the 
grave  of  a  loved  one  will  be  felt  by  all 
who  are  left  behind.  Those  of  us  who 
have  been  separated  from  our  loved  ones 
know  the  sweet  pleasure  of  a  visit  to  the 


cemetery  and  the  placing  of  a  flower  on 
that  sacred  grave.  The  communion  with 
the  beloved  dead  has  enriched  us  and 
made  us  better  people,  better  fathers, 
better  mothers,  better  children.  Many 
a  son  can  attribute  his  finer  conception 
of  life  and  duty  to  a  visit  to  his  mother's 
grave.  But  cremation  is  the  complete 
destruction  of  all  the  sweet  memories  of 
the  departed,  the  total  annihilation  of 
reverence  for  the  sacred  plot  in  the  ceme- 
tery where  our  beloved  dead  and  revered 
ancestors  have  been  buried,  some  of  them 
for  ages;  the  searing  as  with  fire  of  that 
ever  present  wish  to  do  something  for  the 
one  that  has  left  us. 

In  lieu  of  all  this,  cremation  gives 
UB  a  can  containing  a  part  of  the 
crushed  bones  of  child,  or  mother,  to- 
gether with  the  ashes  of  the  coffin,  which 
we  place  in  a  depository  devoted  to  the 
purpose,  yet  by  no  effort  of  imagination 
can  we  realize  that  our  loved  ones  are 
there.  Perchance  we  take  this  ghastly 
can  home,  and  see  if  we  can  bring  our- 
selves to  believe  its  contents  are  all  the 
mortal  remains  of  our  departed.  In  a 
very  short  time  it  becomes  an  object  of 
jest,  and  after  a  time  finds  its  way  to  the 
ash  barrel  as  if  the  violence  of  the 
method,  or  the  sudden  change  in  a  few 
short  hours  of  a  form  we  love,  into  a  hand- 
ful of  meaningless  ashes  by  means  of 
a  furnace,  severed  forever  the  bonds  of 
affection.  The  entire  lack  of  solemnity 
which  surrounds  cremation  is  frequently 
remarked.  Instead  of  a  feeling  of  respect 
or  affection,  we  find  instead  an  air  of 
levity  or  cold  indifference.  In  fact  it 
is  not  unusual  to  hear  in  the  "Ash-room" 
of  any  of  the  crematories  such  remarks 
as  "it  is  better  to  take  the  old  man's 
ashes  home  and  use  them  to  clean  the 
kitchen  tinware  than  to  leave  him  rot  in 
the  ground,"  or  "the  kid's  ashes  will  make 
good  tooth-powder,"  or  "well  we  have  got 
her  where  she  can't  kick  now."  You  no 
doubt  will  say  that  the  people  who  would 
say  such  things  would  speak  as  grossly 
of  their  own  dead.  No,  they  would  not! 
The  hardest  criminal  or  the  most  worldly 
woman  is  affected  at  the  solemn  moment 
when  the  casket  containing  the  remains 
o!  one  loved  in  life  is  being  lowered  in 


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the  grave;  and  forever  after,  that  grave 
ir.  held  in  reverence. 

The  practice  of  cremation  is  degrad- 
ing and  deprives  us  of  all  that  is  beau- 
tiful In  life  and  reduces  us  to  the 
level  of  the  Animal  Kingdom.  In  mak- 
ing this  statement  we  are  aware  that  very 
few  will  credit  it  until  they  have  made  a 
study  of  the  effects  of  cremation  upon 
those  who  have  had  their  dead  crema- 
ted, and  have  seen  the  moral  degen- 
eracy of  those  that  are  left  behind. 
Cremation  destroys  all  sentiment,  and 
what  is  there  in  life  that  keeps  us  above 
the  brute  creation  but  sentiment?  What 
is  sentiment?  'Those  complex  determin- 
ations of  the  mind  which  result  from  the 
co-operation  of  our  rational  powers  and 
our  moral  feelings.**  The  love  of  God,  the 
love  of  country,  the  love  of  home,  parents 
and  children,  the  love  of  honor,  virtue, 
and  all  that  makes  life  beautiful,  but  the 
most  holy  of  them  all  is  the  love  and  re- 
spect for  the  dead,  which  cremation  com- 
pletely destroys,  and  by  so  doing  in  a 
measure   affects   every   other  sentiment. 

It  should  be  opposed  by  those  of  the 
Jewish  race,  as  the  old  Hebrew  law  pre- 
scribes the  mode  of  burial  in  the  earth, 
and  the  Jew  that  favors  cremation  is 
not  faithful  to  the  traditions  of  his  race, 
for  It  has  been  the  consistent  observance 
of  their  ancient  customs,  sustained  by 
sentiment,  that  has  preserved  the  integ- 
rity of  the  Jewish  people,  and  cremation 
annihilates  this  sentiment.  It  is  the 
sentiment  of  the  universal  brotherhood 
of  man  that  is  the  corner-stone  of  the 
noble  order  of  Masonry,  with  its  lodges 
ic  every  part  of  the  habitable  globe,  and 
whose  origin  dates  back  to  the  building 
of  King  Solomon's  Temple.  The  wise 
men  of  discretion  In  this  great  order  have 
wisely  foreseen  that  the  practice  of  cre- 
mation would  be  the  destruction  of  their 
organization,  and  many  of  the  grand 
lodges  have  forbidden  the  Masonic  rites 
at  a  cremation,  as  it  is  not  a  Christian 
burial,  and  detracts  from  tne  sacrednesa 
of  the  ceremony. 

As  an  aid  to  crime  ana  a  means  of  des- 
troying evidence  in  criminal  practice, 
cremation  is  perfect.  It  became  so  ap- 
parent to  the  officers  of  one  of  San  Fran- 


cisco's crematories  that  cremation  was 
being  used  to  cover  up  the  evidence  of 
criminal  operations,  that  the  Board  of 
Health  was  induced  to  pass  a  law  pro- 
hibiting cremation  within  forty-eight 
hours  after  death,  and  that  there  should 
be  an  inspection  as  to  the  cause  of  death, 
etc.,  by  an  officer  of  the  Board.  This 
law,  however,  is  only  partially  observed 
as  to  the  time  limit,  but  not  as  to  the  la- 
spection. 

In  the  interest  of  Justice,  and  as  an  ad- 
ditional precaution  against  criminal  prac- 
tices, which  are  all  too  common,  it  should! 
be  the  duty  of  all  citizens  to  have  such: 
legislation  adopted  and  enforced  as  wllL 
prevent  the  destruction  of  evidence  in 
the  case  of  murder.  Let  the  officers  ot 
the  law  have  every  opportunity  to  provO' 
crime  and  not  place  a  premium  on  its 
commission  by  the  encouragement  of 
cremation.  Let  every  clergyman  froni: 
the  pulpit  preach  against  cremation  as  it 
tends  to  destroy  the  good  influences- 
the  clergy  tries  to  inculcate.  It  would* 
be  well  if  they  would  even  refuse  to  offic- 
iate at  a  cremation,  as  the  beautiful 
,  services  of  the  church  over  a  body  toi 
be  committed  to  the  flames  seems  incon- 
sistent and  out  of  place.  Let  every  Chris- 
tian be  flrmly  against  this  relic  of  pagan-- 
ism.  Let  the  press  investigate  the  pro* 
cess  and  the  effects  of  cremation,  and' 
they  will  soon  convince  the  public  that*. 
it  is  only  a  "fad"!  Let  every  good  citi- 
zen speak  against  this  relic  of  barbar- 
ism and  cremation  would  be  abandoned: 
for  all  time. 


In  "California's  Transition  Period" 
Samuel  H.  Willey  has  written  an  inter- 
esting work  on  the  early  history  of  the* 
State.  By  "The  Transition  Period,"  the 
author  means  that  stage  in  the  State's 
growth  when  the  Mexican  flag  came  down 
in  California,  and  the  American  colors 
took  its  place.  The  building  up  of  a 
great  commonwealth,  the  substitution  of 
the  more  progressive  American  customs^ 
and  the  more  Just  American  laws  for 
those  of  mediaeval  Mexico,  make  a  fas- 
cinating story,  not  alone  to  the  Calif  or- 
nian.  Such  history  it  is  necessary  for 
the  world  to  know.  Mr.  Willey  is  a. 
thorough  student  of  the  State's  history^, 
and  he  has  given  us  a  useful  book. 


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The  girl  from  Noumea  was  the  only  one  who  had  anything  to  leave  behind. 

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Overland  Monthly 


Vol.  XXXVII 


April,    1 90 1 


No.  4 


THE   GIRL   FROM   NOUMEA. 


BY   J.    F.    ROSE-SOLEY. 


w 


HEN  she  came  on  board  our 
steamer  we  thought  at  first  it  was 
a  wedding  party,  and  had  it  not 

been  for  the  conspicuous  absence  of  a 
bridegroom,  the  supposition  would  have 
been  tenable.  There  was  the  Mamma, 
portly  and  well  faring,  the  stout  sister, 
already  a  matron,  and  the  slim  young 
sister  whose  turn  at  matrimony  had  yet 
to  come.  They  bustled  down  to  the 
wharf  with  much  ceremony,  and  the 
crowd  of  black  boys,  gathered  together 
from  all  parts  of  the  Pacific,  gazed  de- 
lisbtly  as  they  passed.  For  were  they 
not  clad  in  the  gayest  of  colors  which 
man — or  rather  woman — taking  the  rain- 
bow as  a  guide,  could  devise,  and  does 
not  the  soul  of  the  Kanaka  delight  in 
brilliant  hues?  If  he  can  get  nothing  bet- 
ter, he  sticks  a  gaudy  parrot's  feather  in 
liis  hair,  and  this,  with  a  bright  red  sulu 
or  waist  cloth,  constitutes  his  principal 
clothing.  Half  the  population  of  the  lit- 
tle French  settlement,  male  and  female, 
was  down  to  see  us  tread  our  way  out 
of  the  reef-enclosed  harbor,  but  none 
could  compare  in  attire  with  the  girl 
and  her  weeping  relatives. 

We,  the  privileged  passengers  on  the 
poop,  watched  the  new  arrivals  with  a 
natural  feeling  of  Jealousy.  We  had  al- 
ready, .by  living  a  week  or  so  on  the 
steamer,  acquired  a  sense  of  possession; 
we  all  knew  each  other's  names  and  busi- 
ness, and  gossiped  freely,  behind  their 
backs  of  course,  about  our  fellow  pas- 
sengers' affairs.  Therefore  the  girl  was 
necessarily  an  intruder,  an  uninvited  ad- 


dition to  our  little  community,  and  it  be- 
came our  duty  to  consider  whether  we 
would  accept  her  on  a  footing  of  equality. 
So  we  leaned  lazily  over  the  rail,  and 
watched  the  almost  perpendicular  rays 
of  the  mid-day  sun  waking  up  the  little 
striped  fish  which  darted  hither  and 
thither  amid  the  branching  coral  at  the 
bottom. 

Our  time  was  nearly  up,  the  steam 
whistle  was  doing  its  best  to  arouse  the 
sleepy  echoes  of  the  town,  and  to  recall 
the  passengers  who  were  finishing  their 
dejeuner  at  the  caf6  ashore.  The  edge 
of  the  wharf  was  lined  with  a  row  of  grin- 
ning, laughing  natives,  who  were  waiting, 
with  child-like  curiosity,  to  see  the  screw 
go  round.  Therefore  the  parting  be- 
tween the  girl  from  Noumea  and  her  fe- 
male relatives  was  something  hurried. 
There  were  dozens  of  au  revoirs,  and  as 
much  sobbing  and  weeping  as  the  dis- 
cussion of  a  parting  bottle  of  wine  would 
permit.  Male  friends  crowded  around, 
and  one  Frenchman,  more  venturesome 
than  the  rest,  tried  to  snatch  a  parting 
kiss.  She  shook  him  ofT  with  a  light  ges- 
ture and  a  laughing:  "Call  this  time  to- 
morrow." Then  the  steamer  gently  drew 
away  from  the  wharf,  we  felt  the  breath 
of  the  fresh  trade-wind  on  our  faces  as  we 
cleared  the  point,  and  a  chaos  of  waving 
handkerchiefs  and  fluttering  gauzy  skirts 
was  the  last  we  saw  of  the  crowd  on  the 
quay. 

The  girl  from  Noumea  was  the  only  one 
amongst  us  who  had  anything  to  leave 
behind.  We  had  done  the  little  town 
thoroughly   in   two    days,    we    had    ex- 


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hausted  the  Cathedral,  and  the  flagstaff, 
whilst  the  sight  of  the  grey  clad  convicts 
working  in  the  street  had  growri  weari- 
some to  us.  So  we  were  Klad  t^  get  away 
from  the  heat  and  the  dust,  to  be  once 
core  on  the  coo!  tree  Pacific.  But  the 
girl  lingered  aft,  ieani*ig  over  ?ne  poop 
rail  near  the  cabin  liirder.  heedless  of 
the  fact  that  the  tLi  pantryman  was  al- 
ready extracting  various  cold  joints  for 
the  mid-day  luncheon.  To  the  other  pas- 
sengers this  was  a  good  omen,  a  sign 
which  betokened  the  pleasantest  meal 
of  the  day.  The  girl,  with  her  embroid- 
ered handkerchief  still  in  her  hand, 
never  moved,  though  we  had  cleared  the 
entrance  to  the  harbor,  and  the  rocky 
peaks  of  the  Island  were  beginning  to  lose 
their  distinctness  of  outline.  Then  we 
went  down  to  luncheon,  and  when  we 
came  up  half  an  hour  later,  I  was  pleased 
to  note  that  the  girl  from  Noumea,  who 
declined  to  eat  below,  had  got  through 
a  goodly  slice  of  chicken  wing,  as  well  as 
a  small  bottle  of  Lafitte.  And  with  char- 
acteristic French  vim  she  recovered  her 
spirits  from  that  hour,  the  gaudy  shore 
dress  was  exchanged  for  a  neat  blue 
serge  yachting  costume,  and  she  was  for- 
mally welcomed  as  a  fellow  passenger 
by  the  old  hands. 

Of  course  the  reader,  noticing  the  at- 
tention I  have  bestowed  upon  this 
little  personage,  will  at  once  assume  that 
she  was  a  most  beautiful  angelic  crea- 
ture and  I  am  loth  to  disappoint  him. 
I  cannot,  in  strict  truth,  say  that  she  was 
beautiful  or  even  pretty.  But  she  was 
petite,  and  had  the  ineffable  charm  of 
chic,  a  gift  which  only  Parisian  women 
possess  in  perfection.  Thus,  in  less  than 
half  an  hour  all  the  single  men  had  fallen 
violently  in  love  with  her,  and  the 
married  ones,  had  it  not  been  for  the  re- 
straining presence  of  their  spouses,  would 
have  liked  to  do  the  same.  The  stout 
commercial  traveler  and  the  dapper  lit- 
tle civil  servant  vied  in  paying  her  at- 
tention, and  before  the  afternoon  was 
over  she  was  the  recognized  Queen  of  the 
quarter-deck. 

Two  days'  experience  sufficed  to  con- 
vince us  that  the  commercial  was — ^to 
use  his  own  phraseology — the  only  one 
able  to  make  the  running.     All  the  rest 


o'  the  passengers,  the  uoctor,  and  even 
the  handsome  chief  officer,  were  hopeless- 
1/  ou*^  tl  I'..  Kenry  D.  Moran,  represent- 
'-^  Ajeesr.-:.  Software  and  Hardgoods,  as 
Ue  styled  himself  on  his  business  cards, 
was  a  genuine  specimen  of  the  genus 
Bagman  Australiensis,  fluent,  much-be- 
Jeweled,  and  by  reason  of  good  living, 
over-fat.  Hardly  a  chair  on  the  ship 
would  bear  his  weight  as  he  lolled  lazily 
on  the  quarter-deck.  His  brains  varied 
ir  inverse  ratio  to  his  bulk,  and  yet  be, 
though  his  conversation  betrayed  no 
trace  of  intellectual  development,  was 
counted  a  good  business  man  by  those 
who  knew.  It  may  have  been  his 
ready  tongue  which  did  it:  certainly  it 
was  not  his  looks,  but  in  the  space  of  two 
days  it  befell  that  if  he  ever  occupied 
the  chair  by  the  girl's  side,  all  other  ri- 
vals had  to  keep  their  distance.  It  was 
ill  trifling  with  a  man  of  his  size  and 
determination. 

The  three  days  of  our  passage  before 
the  breezy  trade-wind  and  the  ever-fol- 
lowing sea  passed  smoothly  enough,  and 
we  neared  the  little  savage  isle  to  which 
the  girl  was  bound.  There  was  a  mystery 
about  her  voyage.  Some  said  she  was 
going  to  seek  out  and  wed  an  absent 
lover;  others  that  she  was  after  an  er- 
rant husband,  who  had  married  only  to 
desert  her.  Whatever  the  object  of  her 
traveling,  she  took  none  of  us  into  her 
confldence,  unless  it  were  the  commercial 
traveler,  and  he,  though  talking  freely 
and  not  over  respectfully  about  her  in 
the  smoking  room,  was  discreetly  silent 
on  this  one  point.  It  was  not  like  him 
to  be  silent  about  anything;  the  little  he 
knew  he  always  blurted  out,  and  there- 
fore his  reticence  was  all  the  more  sur- 
prising. 

At  night,  in  the  little  steward's  room, 
which  served  as  a  bar,  office  and  sleep- 
ing  berth  combined,  the  male  passengers 
would  meet  after  the  ladies  had  gone 
to  bed,  and  while  the  portly  steward 
served  out  the  whisky,  discuss  the  events 
of  the  day.  This  topic,  being  somewhat 
limited  in  extent,  the  conversation  nat- 
urally turned  on  the  little  girl  from  Nou- 
mea, and  the  mystery  which  attached  to 
her.  For  we  had  all  made  up  our  minds 
that  there  was  a  mystery,  though  there 


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was  no  apparent  Justification  for  the  as- 
sumption. Passengers  at  sea  are  very 
apt  to  fall  into  the  evil  ways  of  idle  gos- 
sip. 

A  little  dried-up  Frenchman  was  the 
only  person  who  refrained  from  express- 
ing an  opinion  as  to  the  reason  of  his  com- 
patriot's presence.  "C'est  une  vraie  Par- 
isienne,  elle  connait  les  hommes  comme 
sa  poche,"  was  all  he  would  say  when  ap- 
pealed to  for  advice,  in  the  best  French 
we  could  muster  among  us.  He  would  sit 
quietly  sipping  his  vermouth  for  an  hour, 
pretending  that  he  did  not  understand 
English.  Then,  exactly  as  six  bells 
sounded  from  the  bridge,  he  would  get  up, 
politely  make  his  bow,  and  disappear 
with  a  "bon  soir.  Messieurs."  There  was 
quite  as  much  mystery  about  him  as 
about  the  girl,  no  one  knew  the  reason  of 
his  journeying  to  the  Savage  Isles,  but 
then,  as  he  was  only  a  man,  we  did  not 
care  to  be  curious. 

It  was  hot,  below,  on  the  last  night  of 
our  voyage,  and  the  glories  of  the  tropi- 
cal moon  tempted  me  on  deck  long  after 
the  other  passengers  had  gone  to  their 
berths.  Contrary  to  all  rules  and  regu- 
lations, which  on  board  ship  are  only 
made  to  be  broken,  I  took  my  cigar  with 
me  on  the  poop,  and  presently  found  a 
comfortable  lounge  on  the  skylight.  It 
was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  flat-topped 
affairs,  which  lift  up  at  each  end,  and  we 
had  long  since  discovered  that  the  mov- 
able part,  inclined  at  the  proper  angle, 
made  a  luxurious  resting  place.  As  we 
were  nearing  land,  they  were  steering 
the  ship  from  the  bridge,  so  there  was  no 
helmsman  to  take  into  consideration,  and 
there  was  not  a  soul  in  sight  to  disturb 
my  meditations.  I  lay  and  smoked  calmly 
with  my  face  to  the  stem,  dreamily 
watching  the  curling  glistening  wake  of 
white  foaming  water,  which  grew  ever 
as  we  went  along,  only  to  vanish  in  the 
hazy  distance. 

Perhaps  I  went  to  sleep;  I  don't  know, 
but  I  must  have  been  there  a  long  time 
when  the  sound  of  voices  awoke  me,  for 
I  felt  quite  chilled  with  the  night  air. 
They  were  behind  the  raised  sky-light, 
the  pair,  and  had  evidently  not  seen  me 
in  the  darkness  of  the  awning-shrouded 
deck.    I  knew  their  voices  well,  and  did 


not  need  to  look  around.  Had  I  done  so, 
my  eavesdropping  must  have  been  de- 
tected, and  I  did  not  care,  single-handed, 
to  face  the  mighty  commercial  traveler's 
wrath. 

"Why  did  you  bring  me  up  here  at  this 
hour  of  the  night?"  said  the  young  girl 
from  Noumea;  "it  is  not  proper,  you 
know." 

"Then  why  did  you  come?"  responded 
Moran  impertinently.  "You  know  I  don't 
care  a  scrap  for  propriety  when  I've  got 
you  with  me." 

There  was  a  slight  scrimmage,  two  or 
three  angry  "Don'ts"  and  something 
which  sounded  audibly,  though  It  was 
neither  a  word  nor  a  blow. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  the  girl 
went  on,  as  calmly  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  want — 
it's   you,"   was  the   blunt  reply. 

"Listen,"  she  continued  quietly,  evad- 
ing the  direct  question.  "I  will  tell  you 
something.  I  am  not  used  to  many  words 
like  you  men  who  talk  much  to  make  the 
business.  Will  you  swear  to  help  me  and 
to  keep  the  secret?" 

"Swear,  I  should  think  so!"  replied  the 
Colonial,  "I'd  swear  the  leg  off  an  iron 
pot  if  it  would  bring  me  any  nearer  to 
you." 

She  laughed.  "No,  no,  that  would  be 
too  awful.  Just  listen  quietly.  You  won- 
der why  I  am  on  board  this  ship,  why  1 
am  all  alone  making  the  passage  to  the 
Savage  Isles?  Well,  it  is  this  way.  I 
go  in  search  of  my  brother.  He  was  al- 
ways a  good  brother  to  me,  and  I  love 
him  much.  But  he  is  French,  and  too 
much  given  to  the  politics.  My  father 
keeps  a  hotel  in  Noumea,  and  my  brother 
and  myself  helped  him.  But  my  brother 
would  always,  when  talking  to  the  cus- 
tomers, be  after  one  political  agitation 
or  the  other,  and  at  last  he  got  up  a  plan 
for  turning  New  Caledonia  into  an  inde- 
pendent commune;  he  had  talked  much 
with  the  exiles  who  came  from  Paris. 
It  was  a  beautiful  plot.  There  were  lots 
of  big  men  in  it,  and  I  think  it  would  have 
succeeded,  had  it  not  been  found  out. 
You  know  the  little  gray  man  who  is  on 
board?  Well,  he  is  a  detective,  but  he 
pretended  to  be  one  of  the  conspirators, 
and  then  denounced  my  brother  to  the 


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The  Girl  From  Noumea. 


813 


Governor.  They  did  not  dare  to  try  him; 
it  would  have  made  too  much  scandal. 
So  the  Governor  sent  him  away  quietly 
to  the  Isle  of  Pines,  and  nobody  in  Nou- 
mea but  ourselves  knew  anything  about 
it  The  detective  used  to  come  much 
to  our  hotel,  and  made  love  to  me  across 
the  bar,  and  because  I  refused  to  be  his 
mistress  he  had  my  brother  arrested." 

"The   brute,"   exclaimed   the   traveler. 
"I'd  like  to  punch  his  head ! " 

"So  you  shall,  if  you  will  only  help  me. 
Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  my 
brother  escaped.  I  need  not  tell  you  how 
we  managed  it,  but  we  got  him  away  in 
a  boat  to  the  Savage  Isles.  He  is  there 
now,  and  the  detective  has  found  out." 
"So  that's  what  he's  after!  But  how 
can  the  detective  arrest  him  there?  Why, 
there's  no  government  to  give  him  up." 

"It  is  all  arranged.    There's  a  French 
man-of-war  in  the  harbor,  and  the  detec- 
tive has  a  letter  to  the  captain,  ordering 
him  to  bring  the  fugitive  a  prisoner  to 
Noumea.    Then  my  brother  will  be  locked 
up  safely  on  the  Isle  Nou,  and  I  do  not  be- 
Ueve  he  will  ever  be  able  to  escape  again. 
Now  you  know  all,  will  you  help  me  to 
get  my  brother  away?" 
"Of  course  I  will,  but  how?" 
"I  have  a  plan.    To-morrow  I  will  tell 
you." 
"And  my  reward?" 

"All  in  good  time.  Monsieur;  let  us 
first  succeed." 

She  glided  away  silently,  and  I  only 
knew  of  her  absence  through  a  sotto- 
voce  remark  of  the  travelers,  who  was 
left  alone  with  his  cigar.  "Fine  girl  that; 
blest  if  I  don't  believe  I'm  in  love  with 
her." 

The  next  day  all  was  bustle  and  excite- 
ment on  board.  The  sailors  were  busy 
getting  the  ship  ready  for  the  discharge 
and  receipt  of  Savage  Isles  cargo,  and  the 
few  passengers  who  were  leaving  us 
had  packing  to  do.  But  the  girl  from 
Noumea  did  not  pack,  and  at  luncheon 
she  took  the  opportunity  of  ostentatious- 
ly asserting  that  she  was  not  going  to  get 
off  at  the  Savage  Isles  after  all ;  she  had 
decided,  since  the  voyage  had  done  her 
health  so  much  good,  to  go  on  to  the  next 
port  of  call  at  Fiji. 
The  commercial  traveler  also  amazed 


us,  in  the  ;^moking  room,  by  telling  a 
long  story  about  an  elderly  invalid,  the 
wife  of  a  planter  on  the  group,  whom  he 
had  promised  to  escort  to  Samoa,  and  to 
see  safely  stowed  on  board  the  steamer 
for  New  Zealand.  "Nice  job,  isn't  it," 
he  said,  "having  to  take  charge  of  an 
old  party  like  that,  who's  got  to  go  to 
the  colonies  for  her  health?  Now,  if 
she  was  a  young  and  pretty  girl  I  would 
not  mind.    Might  do  a  mash  then." 

I  marveled  secretly  why  he  hadn't 
mentioned  the  matter  earlier  in  the  voy- 
age, though  I  kept  my  own  counsel,  un- 
derstanding something,  but  not  all,  of 
the  little  comedy  which  was  being  played 
out. 

It  was  dark  when  we  got  into  the  lit- 
tle port,  the  one  harbor,  worthy  of  the 
name,  which  the  Savage  Isles  can  boast 
of.  With  only  a  single  light  ashore  for 
our  guidance,  we  treaded  our  way 
through  the  dangerous  reefs  which  guard 
the  entrance.  The  people  of  the  village, 
who  had  not  seen  a  ship  for  months, 
flocked  to  greet  us,  the  native  outrigger 
canoes  bustled  hither  and  thither  on  the 
smooth  water,  and  a  huge  raft-like  ves- 
sel, laden  with  native  laborers,  came  to- 
ward us,  lighting  up  the  harbor  with  bun- 
dles of  flaring  torches,  and  attracting 
shoals  of  gay-colored  flsh. 

We  soon  had  a  score  of  people,  plan- 
ters, merchants,  and  agents,  on  board, 
demanding  the  latest  news  from  Aus- 
tralia, and  telling  us  all  about  the  splen- 
did banana  crop  which  was  to  make  the 
fortune  of  the  Islands.  It  was  a  great 
night  for  the  residents  on  this  lonely 
spot;  the  steward's  cabin  became  the 
scene  of  a  symposium  which  lasted  far 
into  the  early  morning  hours.  The  com- 
mercial traveler  seemed  wonderfully  pop- 
ular amongst  these  men.  One  and  all  they 
greeted  him  efTuslvely,  and  sought  to 
detain  him  to  take  part  In  their  revels. 
Their  blandishments  were,  however, 
thrown  away;  the  young  man  indicated 
that  the  path  of  duty  lay  elsewhere. 
He  had  become  a  reformed  character, 
and  armed  with  a  large  valise,  he  In- 
sisted on  going  ashore  as  soon  as  the 
anchor  was  down.  He  had,  he  explained, 
to  travel  far  and  fast  to  fetch  the  old  lady 
who  had  been  placed  under  his  care.    She 


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The  Girl  From  Noumea. 


815 


vas  on  a  distant  plantation,  and  as  the 
steamer  sailed  at  noon  on  the  morrow, 
there  was  no  time  to  be  lost 

The  girl  from  Noumea,  leaning  grace- 
fully over  the  rail,  waved  him  a  careless 
adieu,  just  as  if  he  were  a  new  acquaint- 
ance passing  out  of  sight  for  a  few  hours. 
And  then  his  canoe,  with  its  couple  of 
native  paddlers,  vanished  into  the  zone 
of  darkness  which  surrounded  the  ship. 

There  was  little  sleep  that  night  for 
anyone  on  board.  Through  the  long  hours 
the  rattle  of  the  steam  winches  went  on 
unceasingly,  to  the  accompaniment  of 
shrill  native  cries  and  broad  English 
oaths.  For  the  copra  was  there,  the  local 
trading  vessels  were  full  of  the  greasy 
ill-smelling  stuff,  and  come  what  would, 
the  whole  of  it  must  be  on  board  by  the 
next  mid-day.  The  detective,  after  sat- 
isfying himself  that  the  girl  from  Nou- 
mea was  not  going  ashore,  went  off  in 
a  boat  to  the  French  man-of-war  which 
lay  a  few  cable-lengths  away.  Appar- 
ently he  found  much  to  interest  him  there 
for  we  saw  no  more  of  him  until  just 
before  we  sailed. 

All  through  the  night  the  girl  walked 
anxiously  up  and  down  the  poop  deck, 
assuring  the  stewardess  that  she  could 
not  possibly  sleep,  and  would  sooner  re- 
main on  deck.  But  now  and  again  she 
cast  longing  glances  toward  the  shore. 

With  the  dawn  the  expected  came. 
The  commercial  traveler  had  evidently 
made  quick  work  of  his  journey,  for  there 
he  was  in  a  canoe,  and  squatting  by  his 
side  on  the  reed  platform  was  an  elderly 
lady.  She  certainly  was  elderly;  I  could 
tell  by  her  feeble  walk  and  nervous  hands 
even  though  her  face  was  thickly  veiled. 
The  girl  from  Noumea  smiled,  but  not  too 
eagerly,  as  she  came  up  the  ladder,  darting 
a  quick  anxious  glance  at  the  French 
gun-boat,  whose  spars  were  now  visible 
in  the  rapidly  growing  light.  The  intro- 
duction which  followed  was  quite  per- 
fectly formal,  Mrs.  and  Mademoiselle. 
The  girl  only  bowed  slightly,  and  said 
how  happy  she  would  be  to  help  Mr. 
Moran's   friend. 

She  certainly  kept  her  word,  and  at 
noon,  when  our  steamer  shook  the  cluster 
of  trading  boats  from  her  sides,  and  head- 
ed for  the  open  sea,  the  girl  was  talking 


quite  afCably  to  the  old  laay.  dtill  closely 
veiled,  the  elderly  woman  leaned  help- 
lessly on  her  young  companion's  arm, 
and  somehow,  as  they  moved  slowly  up 
and  down  the  deck,  the  pressure  seemed 
mutual.  Moran  skirmished  round  in  the 
rear,  and  strove  now  and  again  to  get  in 
a  word  with  his  inamorata.  The  girl 
only  smiled  cheerfully,  and  said  loudly, 
so  that  the  other  passengers  might  hear: 
"Poor  dear  old  lady,  how  weak  she  is; 
she  needs  help,  and  I  really  cannot  leave 
her  alone." 

We  were  just  clearing  the  harbor  when 
we  noticed  we  were  pursued.  A  smart- 
ly manned  gig  from  the  gunboat  was  com- 
ing toward  us  with  all  the  speed  which 
five  oars  and  ten  strong  arms  could  give 
her.  Naturally  we  wondered  what  it  was 
all  about,  and  the  situation  was  excitedly 
discussed  on  the  poop,  to  the  visible  an- 
noyance of  the  commercial  traveler,  who 
looked  anxious  and  worried.  Our  oblig- 
ing skipper  slowed  down  to  let  the  boat 
come  alongside,  and  then  we  saw  the 
little  detective  in  the  stem  sheets,  ac- 
companied by  a  much-gold-laced  French 
lieutenant. 

*Want  to  come  on  board?"  asked  the 
captain  from  the  bridge. 

"No,"  replied  the  detective  in  perfect 
English;    "got  any  new  passengers?" 

"Yes,  an  old  lady  from  Smith's  planta- 
tion.   There  she  is  on  the  poop." 

The  old  lady,  still  closely  veiled,  leaned 
calmly  over  the  rail  and  gazed  down  at 
the  detective,  whilst  a  little  farther  on, 
the  girl  from  Noumea  watched  the  scene 
with  a  half-formed  smile  on  her  lips. 
The  detective  was  apparently  satisfied, 
the  lieutenant  shouted  something  in 
French,  and  the  men  bent  to  their  oars. 
The  electric  bell  rang  in  the  engine 
room,  and  away  we  went  into  the  long 
even  swell  of  the  Pacific.  The  commer- 
cial traveler  executed  a  kind  of  subdued 
hornpipe  on  the  deck,  and  invited  us  all 
down    to    have    drinks    at   his    expense. 

The  girl,  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage, 
watched  over  the  old  lady  like  a  daugh- 
ter. We  were  all  rather  glad,  for  though 
we  fully  recognized  that  the  young  com- 
mercial traveler  had  hopelessly  outdis- 
tanced us  in  the  matter  of  love-making, 
still  we  were  secretly  jealous  of  his  suc- 


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cess.  And  now  the  girl,  with  a  patience 
worthy  of  an  angel,  gave  her  whole  at- 
tention to  the  old  lady.  It  was  rarely  that 
the  commercial  could  get  a  five  minutes' 
tete-a-tete.  The  old  lady  was  sure  to  come 
up  and  interrupt  the  conversation.  For- 
tunately she  never  appeared  at  meals, 
but  at  table,  of  course,  the  talk  was  strict- 
ly conventional  in  its  character.  A  week 
of  this  treatment  visibly  lessened  the 
bulk  of  the  young  man,  the  jokes  with 
which  he  used  to  enlighten  the  smoking 
room  grew  fewer  and  more  circumspect 
in  their  tone,  and  he  only  brightened  up 
when  we  entered  Suva  harbor,  and  he  had 
before  him  the  prospect  of  an  uninter- 
rupted interview  with  his  lady  love. 

It  was  all,  as  I  found  out  afterwards, 
carefully  planned.  The  mail  steamer  foi- 
Auckland  was  to  sail  on  the  day  of  our 
arrival,  and  as  the  old  lady  was  too 
weak  and  ill  to  be  trusted  ashore,  the 
captain  was  induced  to  transfer  her  di- 
rectly to  tne  New  Zealand  boat.  The  girl 
from  Noumea  went  also,  as  well  as  the 
commercial  traveler,  and  myself.  Per- 
sonally, I  did  not  go  from  motives  of  curi- 
osity, for  I  had  no  idea  of  the  things 
which  were  to  happen,  but  simply  be- 
cause the  skipper  of  the  outgoing  boat 
was  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  I  wanted 
to  have  a  chat  with  him  before  I  left. 
On  board  the  steamer  the  old  lady  at 
once  disappeared  into  her  cabin,  accom- 
panied by  her  young  and  inseparable  com- 
panion. This  was  the  last  glimpse  I 
had  of  the  mysterious  and  much  veiled 
person.  I  had  a  quiet  hour's  talk  with 
the  captain  in  his  cabin,  but  our  recount- 
al  of  old  time  experiences  on  the  dig- 
gings was  suddenly  checked  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  first  ofllcer  at  the  door- 
way   "Mails  on  board,  sir,"  he  said. 


"All  right,  get  the  anchor  up." 

The  dull  rumble  of  the  capstan,  for- 
ward, showed  us  that  his  orders  were  be- 
ing obeyed. 

Alongside  I  found  the  boat  waiting 
patiently  to  take  us  back  to  our  own 
ship.  The  commercial  traveler  was  al- 
ready seated  in  the  stem. 

"Where's  the  girl  from  Noumea?"  I 
asked,  as  I  joined  him. 

"She's  still  with  the  old  woman,"  he 
growled.  "Can't  get  her  to  leave  till  the 
last  moment." 

"Wonderfully  kind  of  her,"  I  said  some- 
what mischievously. 

"Too  fond  altogether,"  he  angiily  as- 
serted. 

Then  the  whistle  blew  its  farewell 
blast.  "Can't  wait  any  longer,  sir,"  said 
the  coxswain  of  our  boat.  "Shove  that 
boat  off  there,"  came  the  gruff  order 
from  the  bridge,  "and  haul  up  the  com- 
panion ! " 

Half  a  dozen  strong  arms  brought  the 
heavy  ladder  up  to  its  davits,  the  screw 
began  to  revolve,  and  the  great  ship 
slowly  forged  ahead.  As  we  dropped 
astern,  we  saw,  right  over  our  heads,  the 
smiling  face  of  the  girl  from  Noumea. 
The  old  lady  was  no  longer  there,  but  the 
girl  leaned  familiarly  on  the  arm  of  a 
bronzed  young  Frenchman. 

"Come  back,"  shouted  the  traveler  an- 
grily, forgetting  the  space  of  water  which 
divided  him  from  his  love. 

The  girl  waved  her  handkerchief  airily. 
"Au  revoir,"  she  laughed,  "call  this  time 
to-morrow." 

The  commercial  traveler  gazed  gloom- 
ily after  the  fast  disappearing  ship  and 
muttered : 

"Blessed  if  I  believe  he  was  her  brother 
after  all!" 


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THE  MEXICAN  INDIAN  PASSION  PLAY, 


BY    L.    M.    TERRY 


M: 


EARLY  four  hundred  years  ago, 
the  Franciscan  monks  crossed  the 
ocean  to  the  land  of  **New  Spain," 
for  the  purpose  of  converting  and 
preaching  to  the  idolatrous  savages  found 
there  by  Cortes,  and  whom,  for  want  of 
a  better  name,  we  have  always  known  as 
"Aztecs." 

Christianity,  as  preached  by  the  friars, 
did  not  "take"  with  these  idol-worshiping 
savages;  it  was  too  tame,  and  the  spec- 
tacular effects  were  not  sufficiently 
striking.  Far  above  all  things,  the  sav- 
age must  have  color,  and  plenty  of  it, 
in  his  religious  and  civil  rites.  So  that 
the  Dominicans  and  Franciscans  had 
their  work  cut  out  for  them  in  civilizing 
and  Christianizing  these  tawny  children 
of  the  sun. 

Many  of  them,  as  was  natural,  dis- 
trusted the  white  man;  more  of  them 
were,  like  Ephraim,  joined  to  their  idols, 
and  would  have  none  of  the  religion  of 


Christ.  And  it  was  only  after  years  of 
patient  labor,  and  the  grafting  on,  as 
it  were,  of  Romanist  features  to  their 
own  idolatious  rites,  that  the  Indians  of 
Old  New  'Spain  were  won  over  to  the 
Church. 

Of  these  crude  and  oftentimes  gro- 
tesque ceremonials,  many  still  survive 
in  Mexico,  even  in  these  days  of  rail- 
roads and  Protestant  missionaries.  And 
of  these  certainly  the  quaintest,  most 
grotesque,  and  at  the  same  time  terri- 
ble, is  the  representation  given  yearly, 
during  Holy  Week,  of  the  Passion  Play, 
or  the  "Three  Falls  of  Christ." 

Originally  given  by  the  old  friars  in  all 
spirit  of  reverence  and  sanctity,  with  the 
object  of  presenting  the  Passion  and 
suffering  of  our  Lord,  so  that  the  skepti- 
cal Indians  might  see,  and  seeing,  believe, 
the  Passion  Play  of  to-day  has  degener- 
ated into  a  semi-religious,  semi-rowdy  oc- 
casion, which  the  present  year  will  see 


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for  the  very  last  time — that  is  to  say, 
in  and  near  the  City  of  Mexico.  Already 
the  Archbishop  has  ordered  its  cessation, 
on  the  ground  that  it  is  sacrilegious,  as 
nowadays  presented;  and  it  is  certain 
that  to-day's  Passion  Play,  to  be  given 
at  Coyoacan  and  Ixtacalco,  is  the  last  one 
that  will  ever  be  seen  in  the  ola  Valley 
of  Tenochtitlan,  where  it  has  been  known 
for  over  350  years. 

For  many  days,  elaborate  preparations 
have  been  going  on  among  the  faithful, 
looking  to  the  successful  carrying-out  of 
the  Tres  Caidas  (or  "Three  Falls")  of 
tc-day.     Magnificent  old  walls  and  but- 


sandals,  and  is  newly  garlanded  with 
flowers,  while  the  many  small  saints  and 
cherubs  are  resplendent  in  white  and 
blue,  picked  out  in  places  with  many  bits 
of  lace,  gilt,  and  whatever  else  in  the  way 
of  adornment  the  "Varnishing  and  Deco- 
rating Committee"  could  lay  their  hands 
upon. 

Therefore,  it  is  in  the  fear  of  seeing 
many  sacrilegious  things,  and  the  sure 
certainty  of  witnessing  many  droll  and 
comical  sights,  that  we,  very  early  on  the 
morning  of  Good  Friday,  trust  ourselves 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  unwashed 
who  are  making  their  way  toward  Coyoa- 


In  the  Ixtacaico  Churchyard. 


tresses  of  the  Moorish-domed  churches, 
which  date  back  to  the  days  of  Cortes, 
have  been  white-washea  and  perhaps 
painted  rose-pink,  or  Nile  green,  accord- 
ing to  the  individual  taste  of  the  Indian 
who  handles  the  paint-pot.  Priceless 
screens  and  bits  of  wood  carving  have 
been  rubbed  and  scrubbed,  if  not  totally 
cast  out  of  the  sanctum,  and  few  are  the 
Saints  and  images  who  do  not  flaunt 
themselves  in  gay  new  attire.  "San  Pe- 
dro," otherwise  Saint  Peter,  has  a  new 
red  robe,  and  even  the  cock  clasped  under 
his  arm  has  been  rubbed  up  and  seeming- 
ly varnished,  so  boldly  do  his  feathers 
shine;    San  Juan    (St.  John)   wears  new 


can,  where  one  ceremony  is  to  be  held; 
and  to  the  fine  old  church  of  Ixtacaico,  on 
the  Viga  Canal,  where  especially  good 
ceremonies  are  to  be  given — according 
to  the  decrepid,  toothless,  yet  rejoicing 
old  Indian,  who  sits  uncomfortably  near 
one  in  the  Viga  car. 

At  the  head  of  La  Viga — otherwise 
known  as  the  "Embarcadero"  or  embark- 
iiig-point — the  scene  beggars  description. 
So  thick  is  the  crowd  of  Indians,  Mexi- 
cans, and  foreigners,  that  one  can  barely 
get  through  to  the  boats,  which,  lined 
up  along  the  banks  of  the  canal,  will  do 
lA  thriving  business  to-day,  even  though 
there  is  plenty  of  tram-car  competition. 


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An  Overflow  During  Holy  Week. 

Double  prices  are  ruling:  the  peon  boat-  Not  being  tourists,  and  being  blessed 

man,  in  his  clean  white  manta  garments  moreover   with  a  certain   knowledge   of 

and  gay  sombrero,  is  in  the  zenith  of  his  the    Spanish   tongue,    we    finally   secure 

glory,  and  great  is  the  fleecing  of  the  unto  ourselves  a  flat-bottomed  boat,  the 

wily    tourist,    who,    armed    with    lunch-  which  is  gaily  festooned  with  red,  white 

basket,  note-book,  and  camera,  is  abroad  and  green  (Mexico's  national  colors),  our 

in  the  land,  and  fairly  clamoring  to  be  Charon  gives  a  few  vigorous  pushes  with 

fleeced.  the  long  pole  which  serves  him  for  an 


Following  the  Procession. 

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oar,  and  off  we  go. 

On  all  sides  of  us  are  other  well-laden 
boats,  carrying  out  numerous  passengers 
to  Ixtacaico,  while  various  empty  craft 
are  racing  back  to  secure  new  customers. 
Whole  families  fill  some  of  the  boats  to 
overflowing:  there  is  feasting  and  music- 
making  galore,  with  the  twang  of  guitars 
and  mandolins,  while  all  along  the  banks 
of  the  canal.  Good  Friday  is  being  gaily, 
if  not  riotously,  observed. 

Many  are  the  booths  wherein  various 
flesta  commodities  are  displayed;  many 
monte  and  roulette  places  are  in  full 
blast,  and  decimo8  and  quarters  by  the 
dozen  are  changing  hands — mostly  into 


high-pitched  sound  of  the  lottery-ticket 
vender: 

"8eis  Clentos  pesos  para  la  tarde!  Para 
la  tarde  Seis  Cientos  pesos!" 

(Eveiy  one  who  has  ever  been  to  Mex- 
ico will  remember  the  cry,  one  is  sure: 
and  few  (alack!)  there  are  who  have 
not  endeavored  with  might  and  main 
to  strike  the  lucky  number  enticling  him 
or  her  to  the  loudly-advertised  IScis  Cien- 
tos, (six  hundred.) 

So  occupied  do  we  become  watching 
these  sights  of  fiesta-time  that  we  have 
forgotten  all  about  the  Passion  Play  and 
the  Three  Falls;  it  is  with  both  a  mental 
and    physical   bump,   therefore,  that   we 


"The  car  containing  the  stooped  velvet-ciad  figure  of  the  Christ." 


the  hands  of  the  "bank,"  needless  to  say! 
All  sorts  of  good  things  to  eat  can  be 
found  here:  "baked  or  boiled  or  stewed 
in  rum."  from  the  festive  tamale  down  to 
queerly  and  wonderfully  made  dulces 
(or  sweetmeats)  the  coloring  matter  of 
which  one  will  find  it  perilous  to  inquire 
into.  There  are  poppies  and  forget-me- 
nots,  and  everywhere  you  see  incredibly 
large  red  and  white  radishes,  cut  and 
curled  into  quaint  and  pretty  shapes,  and 
Icoking  for  all  the  world  like  big  rose- 
pink  orchids!  In  and  out  of  these  various 
booths  and  gambling  places,  surge  the 
holiday  makers,  while  high  above  the 
other   voices  is   raised   the  monotonous. 


finally  bring  up  at  the  crowded  landing 
place  at  Ixtacalco. 

From  there  we  are  not  long  In  making 
our  way  to  the  fine  old  church,  from 
which  the  procession  will  start.  So 
densely  packed  is  the  crowd  that  it  is 
more  or  less  difficult  to  get  through  it, 
and  into  a  coign  of  vantage  in  the  huge 
churchyard,  which  is  also  thoroughly 
filled  with  the  fiesta  observers.  Yet  per- 
haps one  is  not  warranted  in  calling 
these  people  "holiday-makers,"  for  there, 
now,  is  no  levity  to  be  seen  about  them. 
Very  little  talking  are  they  doing:  all  are 
quiet  and  orderly,  many  very  grave,  while 
the  great  majority,  who  are  telling  their 


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beads  and  reciting  quiet  and  seemingly 
devout  "Padre  Nuestros/'  are  evidently 
in  thorough  earnest.  Many  of  them  are 
kneeling,  with  faces  hidden  in  rebosos  and 
tilmas,  until  the  procession  shall  come 
out  of  the  church;  others,  whose  ragged 
garments,  bruised  and  trembling  forms, 
and  crowns  of  thorns,  proclaim  them  as 
Penitentes  who  have  travelled  for  many 
weary  miles,  occupy  themselves  also  in 
devout  prayer;  while  we,  more  lucky, 
pass  the  Intervening  hour  of  waiting  com- 
fortably seated  on  the  high  old  Spanish 
wall,  whence  we  have  a  thoroughly  good 
view  of  all  that  goes  on. 

Fully  two  hours  past  the  time  set  for 
the  moving  of  the  procession  comes  the 
quiet  steady  pressing  forward  which  de- 
notes that  at  last  it  is  on  the  move;  as 
we  cast  a  quick  glance  over  the  crowd 
we  see  that  all  of  the  men  stand  bare- 
headed, the  women  with  heads  covered 
and  hands  crossed  on  their  bosoms, 
while  even  the  numerous  children  and 
dogs  are  pretematurally  quiet,  for  the 
passing  of  the  "Cristo." 

Now,  there  is  a  sudden  shrill  yet  sweet  * 
piping  of  the  Indian   flute   or  chirimia, 
which,  Joined  in  a  moment,  by  loud  trum- 
pet blasts,  and  the  dull  pounding  of  a 
rude  native  drum,  denotes  that  the  pro- 
cession is  on  the  point  of  issuing  from 
the  church.    Everyone  presses  forward, 
elbowing  for  room,  while  the  great  door 
of  the   church   is   opened,   and   the   car 
which  holds  the  Christ  and  His  Cross- 
bearer,  passes  out.  There  is  utter  silence, 
save  for  the  piping  of  the  chirimia;   no 
one  speaks,  though  many  of  the  people 
kneel  and  cover  their  faces  as  the  great 
heavy  car  lumbers  along,  and  the  silence 
is  intense.    No  one  speaks — no  one  seems 
to  breathe  as  a  queerly  attired,  motley 
procession   of  men,   women   and    people 
on  horseback  pour  out  of  the  church  and 
follow  close  behind  the  car;  the  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  quiet  shrill  Indian « 
music,  becomes  oppressive,  and  one  be- 
gins to  feel  nervous.    It  is  a  relief,  and 
yet  not  a  relief,  to  turn  the  eyes  away 
from  this  silence-stricken  crowd  of  kneel- 
ing Indians  to  the  heavy  car,  drawn  by 
bareheaded  men,  which  is  now  very  near 
us — ^the  car  on  which  stands  the  figure 
of  Christ,  and  the  peon  who  acts  as  St. 
Simon  of  Cyrene. 


Up  to  the  last  year  or  so,  living  In- 
dians have  taken  the  part  of  the  Christy 
many  of  whom  never  survived  the  ter- 
rible and  too  realistic  nailing  of  spikes^ 
through  their  hands;  now.  Church  rules, 
have  prohibited  people  from  taking  this, 
part  in  the  Passion  Play,  and  images  of 
Our  Lord  are  always  used  instead. 

This  one,  (of  which  our  picture  is  very- 
poor),  is  a  pallid  weary-faced  representa- 
tion; clad  in  a  long  robe  of  red  velvet,, 
trimmed  with  much  gilt  and  lace,  a 
crown  of  sharp  thorns  transfixes  the- 
white  brow,  over  which  hangs  matted 
black  hair.  The  eyes,  in  their  sad  mourn- 
ful gaze,  fairly  make  one's  heart  ache^ 
while  the  blood-stained  hands  and  feet,, 
and  the  bent  figure,  under  Its  heavy- 
cross,  thrills  one  through  and  through 
with  memories  of  that  Great  Tragedy,, 
acted  two  thousand  years  ago,  on  Calvary* 
It  is  awful;  crude  as  the  representation 
is,  there  is  something  terrible  in  it,  and 
one  understands  now  why  the  Friars  of 
old  sought  through  the  giving  of  this, 
same  Passion  Play  to  bring  home  the  suf- 
ferings of  Our  Crucified  Lord  to  an  un^ 
knowing  and  unbelieving  people! 

Behind  the  stooping  Figure,  bearinsr 
Its  heavy  wooden  cross,  stands  the  youner 
peon  who  is  taking  the  part  of  St.  Simon. 
He  is  a  good-looking  boy  of  perhaps 
twenty,  and  the  serious  expression  or 
his  face  leads  one  to  believe  that  he,  at 
least,  is  going  through  his  part  with  only 
reverent  and  non-sacrilegious  feeling.  Yet. 
his  attire  is  so  grotesque  that  one  hardly 
knows  whether  to  laugh  or  weep.  His 
coat  and  trowsers  of  bright  red  cotton 
cloth  are  topped  off  with  white  lace  cuffs, 
collar  and  veil,  while  quaint  and  primi- 
tive white  lace  pantalettes  dangle  from 
his  knees,  and  a  fiat  red  turban  sur- 
mounts his  very  solemn  countenance. 
For  a  St.  Simon  of  Cyrene,  it  is  certainly 
an  original  and  unsuitable  get-up! 

Behind  this  car, — ^which  we  are  glad 
not  to  look  at  again, — follow  various 
women.  Centurions,  Scribes,  Pharisees, 
Roman  soldiers,  and  others,  and  a  pass- 
ing wonderful  collection  they  are,  at 
that. 

The  women,  in  long  black  robes,  fol- 
low close  to  the  car,  their  faces  muffled 
in  rebosos  or  scarfs;  then  come  the* 
musicians,  piping  and  drumming  with  all 


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tbeir  might,  while  prancing  about  in  the 
rear  (when  their  poor  horses  have  a 
prance  left  them)  come  the  '*Noble  Ro- 
mans" and  Centurions. 

In  their  motley  garments  of  vivid  red 
and  purple,  with  helmets  of  tin,  and  gar- 
D'shed  with  peacocks'  feathers,  these 
soldiers  no  doubt  fancy  themselves  more 
Roman  than  the  noblest  Roman  of  them 
all,  and  after  all,  "where  ignorance  is 
bUss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise!"  Yet  their 
tout  ensemble,  and  above  all  their  grave- 
ly satisfied  faces,  provoke  one's  risibility 
to  an  almost  uncontrollable  pitch. 

Soon  the  intense  quiet  is  broken; 
there  is  a  murmuring  of  voices;  people 
coase  their  press  forward,  and  the  Cen- 
tarions  back  their  horses  into  the  mass 
of  people  who  may  be  blocking  the  path 
of  the  car.  Ah,  the  first  of  the  "Trea 
Caidasl" 

Under  a  small  tree  the  car  is  halted, 
carried  forward  to  meet  it  is  a  large  image 
of  the  Virgin  Mary,  clothed  all  in  black; 
it  is  placed  at  the  feet  of  the  Christ,  and, 
in  a  circle  aoout  the  group,  kneeling  In- 
dians place  themselves,  holding  lighted 
candles,  rosaries  and  other  sacred  em- 
blems in  their  hands.  Then,  Just  before 
the  priest  in  lace  cotta  ascends  the 
small  tree,  in  which  a  queer  thing  in 
the  order  of  a  bird  cage,  being  really  a 
pulpit,  awaits  him,  the  first  of  Christ's 
three  falls  occurs.  This  is  brought  about 
by  attendants  so  working  on  ropes  wound 
about  the  figure  that  It  suddenly  falls 
forward  prone  in  the  car,  and  so  lies 
while  the  padre  begins  a  short  and  very 
earnest  discourse.  This  finished,  St.  Si- 
mon, (who  needs  to  be  a  man  of  muscle) 
lifts  the  heavy  cross  and  the  figure  of 
Cfhrist;  the  bearers  of  the  car  once  more 
resume  their  places;  the  chirimia  and  the 
dmm  once  more  sound  forth;  the  image 
nf  the  Virgin  is  brought  into  line,  and  the 
whole  procession  moves  forward  again 
for  perhaps  fifty  yards,  where  the  Second 
Fall  occurs. 

And  so  on,  until  the  first,  second  and 
third  Falls  have  all  been  accomplished, 
the  priest  accompansring  the  procession, 
ftnd  giving  at  the  place  of  each  Fall  a 
disconrse  upon  the  Passion  and  Cruci- 
fixion of  the  Lord.  In  many  places,  the 
procession  is  finally  directed  to  a  small 
^oU,  whereon  the  Cross  is  erected  and 


the  image  of  Christ  placed;  then  the  Cru- 
cifixion, with  all  its  accompanying  terri- 
lle  scenes,  is  crudely  represented,  after 
which  the  Passion  Play  is  pronounced 
fit  an  end. 

As  the  scene,  comical,  yet  wonderful- 
ly grotesque  and  terrible,  approaches  its 
end,  one  cannot  fail  to  see  the  strange 
picturesqueness  of  it  all.  The  Cross  it- 
self has  been  placed  under  the  old  gnarl- 
ed, wide-spreading  olive  tree,  planted 
here  four  hundred  years  ago  by  Spanish 
monks;  in  the  background  towers  the  old 
gray,  broken,  stone  church,  builded  by 
those  same  devout  men,  the  last  rays  of 
the  setting  sun  glinting  on  its  Moorish 
tJles;  the  great  churchyard  itself  is  full 
to  overfiowing  with  subdued,  serious- 
faced  people,  who  listen  intently  to  their 
priest's  address,  while  the  flat  roofs  of 
neighboring  houses,  the  tops  of  walls, 
and  even  the  surrounding  trees,  are  oc- 
cupied by  spectators  who  could  not  find 
room  in  a  crowded  churchyard. 

But  soon  the  priest's  outspread  hands 
pronounce  a  benediction;  the  car  once 
more  is  ready  to  move:  the  Marys, 
Disciples,  Pharisees,  and  Soldiers,  fall 
into  somewhat  disorderly  line;  the  gal- 
loping Centurions  charge  about  in  the 
crowd  until  room  is  made  for  the  car  and 
its  attendants,  while  once  more  the 
music  strikes  up.  The  padre,  struggling 
out  of  his  cotta,  disappears  into  the 
church,  and  we  are  left  to  watch  the  rap- 
idly retreating  procession  on  its  way  to 
shelter  and  disbandment. 

Half  an  hour  later  we  ourselves  are 
on  our  way  back  to  the  city  in  the  same 
boat  of  the  morning.  But  the  spirit  of 
things  has  meanwhile  changed.  You  see 
now  no  serious  faces — no  one  is  subdued, 
and  no  one  tells  beads,  or  says  Padre 
Nuestros.  To  the  contrary,  men,  women, 
and  children  are  talking  eagerly  and 
gaily,  if  not  loudly,  while  the  omnipres- 
ent pariah  cur  barks  and  leaps  and  yaps 
ti  the  fullest  extent  of  his  always  power^ 
ful  lungs.  Hundreds  of  people  trail 
homeward,  on  foot,  along  the  banks  of 
the  canal,  discussing  as  they  go  the  day's 
"Passion"  and  to-morrow's  "Bursting  of 
Judas"; others  travel  back  in  the  cars 
that  run  from  Ixtalapa  to  the  city,  while 
many  more  "take  a  boat  and  go  to  sea," 
in  approved  "Little  Billee"  style. 


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From  these  boats,  as  they  glide  along 
in  the  soft  dusk,  come  the  tinkling  of 
stringed  instruments;  the  sound  of  laugh- 
ing voices  and  now  and  then  some  queer 
barbaric  Indian  song  is  half  chanted,  half 
sung,  in  its  queer,  lazy,  droning  accom- 
paniment. Also  there  is,  I  grieve  to  say, 
opening  and  imbibing  of  pulque  and  tequi- 
la, not  to  mention  the  wily  and  far  too  po- 
tent oataUM  and  mescal,  while  torch- 
lights from  the  canal  banks  show  many 
roulette  and  monte  booths  in  full  sway. 
From  many  of  the  small  cantinas  (drink- 
ing places)  along  our  route  the  sound 
of  dancing  feet  is  heard;  there  are  many 
Indian  youths  and  maidens  feasting  and 
making  love  gaily  in  their  fiesta  garments 
and  heads  poppy-crowned.  In  short,  it 
It  is  all  pure  Indian — the  Indian  of  three 
hundred  or  four  hundred  years  agone — 


and  you  feel  a  queer,  half-superstitious 
thrill,  as  you  see  it  from  your  boat.  For 
so  were  those  Indians  of  Cortes'  time — 
who,  while  they  did  not  hold  a  so-called 
"Christian"  Passion  Play,  nevertheless 
maybe  celebrated  in  this  same  manner 
the  death  or  sainthood  of  their  own  pagan 
gods  and  idols — "who  knows?" 

However  this  may  be,  we  are  glad 
when  our  boat  grates  against  the  boards 
of  the  Embarcadero,  and  we  see  the  wel- 
come city  lights  in  the  distance.  For, 
as  an  old  writer  of  by-gone  days  has  said, 
"there  is  nothing  comic  or  light  in  these 
Indian  representations  of  the  Passion. 
but  rather  something  terrible."  One 
would  not  wish  to  see  more  than  one  Pas- 
sion Play,  methinks.  Which  is  well,  since 
the  Archbishop  has  forbidden  the  giving 
of  another  one  in  the  valley  of  Mexico. 


EASTER    LILIES. 

BY    BLANCHE    M.    BURBANK. 

Early  on  Easter  morn  the  Father  woke, 
And,  in  the  Mission  garden,  where  the  dew 
Lay  soft  upon  the  flowers  opening  new, 

He  walked,  God's  holy  blessing  to  invoke; 

And  mused  what  message  to  his  simple  folk 
Would  be  most  meet.     When  lo!  upon  his  view 
A  theme  inspired,  rose  where  the  lilies  grew, 

And  later  from  the  chancel  thus  he  spoke: 

"Gracious  the  season  when  each  wakening  clod 
Thrills  with  new  life  that  blindly  upward  gropes 
Toward  the  sweet  light.     Then  let  our  larger  hopes 

New  courage  take,  and,  reaching  up  to  God, 

Send  forth  the  lilies  of  our  faith  and  love. 

The  soul's  white  blossom  in  worlds  we  know  not  of/' 


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H— H— H,  Charley.  Fetch  up  that 
last  lot  of  steers  Tor  the  crush- 
pen,  will  you!"  shouted  Jimmy 
Murray  making  a  speaking  trumpet  of 
his  hands  as  he  sat  there  on  bis  buck- 
8km  pony  outside  the  bars  of  my  big 
corral.  The  buckskin  pony  was  a  yellow 
dun  with  black  bars  on  his  legs  and  a 
broad  black  stripe  down  his  back. 

We  were  just  finishing  off  the  job  of 
branding  the  Strong  &  Starbuck  herd 
of  Texas  cattle,  and  Jimmy  Murray  the 
foreman  of  the  herd  bossed  the  job.  He 
had  brought  the  herd  all  the  long  three 
months  journey  over  the  Goodnight  trail 
from  Texas,  and  now  he  and  his  weary 
cowpunchers  were  keen  to  make  an  end 
of  their  labors  and  find  their  way  back  to 
their  beloved  sunny  South  before  snow 
began  to  fly  on  the  bleak  plains  of  Colo- 
rado. 

The  Texas  men  didn't  like  Colorado. 

"What  do  you  wear  shaps  for  in  this 
fountry?"  I  heard  Bill  Means,  my  youth- 
ful Colorado  cowpuncher,  innocently  en- 


THe 

BELLOW 
B.   STAG 

13.  B.  TOWNSEND 
AUTHOR  OF- 
''LO^s[E  PINE^ 

ire   of  Jimmy   at  their   first  meeting. 

aps  were  a  sort  of  cowhide  armour  that 
cowboys  were  compelled  to  wear  ia 

Kas  to  protect  them  from  the  terrible 

squite  thorn,  a  defence  which  seemed 

'dly  necessary  on  our  treeless  plains. 

What  for?"  retorted  Jimmy  scornfully. 

hy,  to  keep  me  from  freezing  to  death 

a  climate  where  it's  nine  months  win- 
and  three  months  very  late  in  the 

1." 

mi  Means  had  wilted  right  there,  and 
after  that  none  of  us  wondered  that 
Jimmy  Murray  should  look  so  pleased 
over  the  prospect  of  bringing  the  brand- 
ing job  to  an  end  as  soon  as  Charley 
and  the  boys  fetched  up  the  last  lot  of 
steers.  Tall,  gaunt,  long-horned  brutes 
the  Strong  &  Starbuck  steers  were, 
bred  in  the  thickets  of  the  Nueces  and 
the  Palo  Verde.  They  had  been  wild  as 
hawks  when  they  first  started,  but  the 
long  journey  had  tamed  those  wild  hearts 
of  theirs  a  little,  and  a  horseman  could 
drive  them  now  readily  enough  anywhere 
on  the  open  prairie;  yet  the  inside  of  a 
corral  was  strange  and  alarming  to  them; 
some  of  them  had  never  seen  the  inside 
cl  a  corral  but  once  before  in  their  lives 
when  they  were  rim  in  from  the  brush 
to  endure  the  branding  iron  and  the  knife 
before  starting  over  the  trail. 

Hunched  close  together  in  their  fear, 
excited  and  snorting,  the  last  lot  were 
brought  up  to  the  bars,  Jimmy  Murray 
on  the  buckskin  pony  circling  round  be- 
hind them  to  assist  Charley  and  the 
others.  Under  pressure  from  the  horse- 
men  in   their   rear  they  were   squeezed 


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through  the  entrance;  the  bars  were 
nastily  put  in  place,  and  we  had  the  last 
lot  of  steers  safe  in  the  corral,  the  horse- 
men entering  with  them. 

The  next  move  was  to  draft  them  from 
the  big  corral  through  a  gate  into  the 
ante-chamber  of  the  crush  pen. 

The  wild,  scarey  creatures,  finding 
themselves  trapped  in  the  big  corral, 
ran  blindly  in  a  circle,  smelling  at  the 
fence  and  feeling  for  a  way  out,  until 
they  came  to  the  open  gate.  There  they 
paused,  snorting  once  more  their  dis- 
trust Was  this  really  a  way  out? — 
or  was  it  the  entrance  to  a  second  trap? 

Close  on  their  heels  with  shouts  and 
cries  the  horsemen  pressed;  with  a  leap 
and  a  bound  the  leading  steer,  hardening 
his  heart,  sprang  through  the  opening, 
and  after  him  sprang  the  rest,  all  but 
one  who  roared  an  angry  refusal  and 
broke    resolutely   back;    he   was   a   big 
bull-necked  "stag,"  the  terror  of  the  herd. 
Stag  is  the  Texas  name  for  a  steer  who 
has  escaped  the  attentions  of  the  cow- 
boys during  his  youth,  and  this  particular 
one  had  run  wild  as  a  bull  In  the  Nueces 
thickets  till  he  was  six  or  seven  years 
old;  his  sides  still  showed  the  scars  of 
many  a  pitched  battle  with  his  rivals, 
and  he  had  the  heart  of  a  warrior  In  him 
still.     He  was  built  for  a  warrior  too. 
He  stood  fully  seventeen  hands  to  the 
top   of   his   huge   buffalo-like    shoulders 
while  his  formidable  horns  were  as  thick 
as  a  man's  arm  and  as  sharp  as  daggers. 
'  When  the  stag  whirled  and  broke  back 
Jimmy  Murray  whirled  too,  and  chased 
him  round  the  big  corral,  sending  the 
buckskin  pony  fljring  up  to  his  quarter 
and  calmly  slashing  the  fugitive  across 
the  loins  with  the  end  of  his  la&so. 
It  was  a  treat  to  see  Jimmy  Murray  ride. 
The  easy  seat,  a  little  far  back  in  the  sad- 
dle, with  the  body  perfectly  upright  but 
giving   freely   to    every    motion   of   the 
quick-twisting  cowpony,  was  simply  the 
perfection  of  balance.    The  pony,  guided 
by  hand  and  heel  turned  and  twisted, 
stopped  or  started,  exactly  as  if  It  was 
a  part  of  him.    One  might  almost  have 
been  looking  at  a  Centaur,  the  man  and 
horse  were  so  completely  one. 

Centaur-like  though  they  were,  I  fully 
expected  to  see  the  big  yellow  stag  turn 
on  them  when  he  felt  the  blow  of  the 


lasso  and  send  the  pair  of  them  flying 
together  through  the  air  with  a  toss  of 
those  tremendous  horns;  but  no,  he  was 
not  fighting  mad  yet;  his  most  press- 
ing desire  so  far  was  only  to  find  a  way 
of  escape.  He  found  none,  however, 
though  twice  he  made  the  circle  of  the 
big  corral;'  and  then,  as  he  caught  sight 
once  more  of  his  fellows  in  the  little  cor- 
ral, gregarious  instinct  got  the  better  of 
his  fears  and  he  suddenly  bolted  in  after 
them.  In,  too,  along  with  him  went 
Jimmy  Murray  and  the  pony,  the  gate 
was  shut  behind  them,  and  the  last  act 
began. 

The  other  horsemen  brought  their 
steeds  out  of  the  big  corral  and  quickly 
hitching  them  ra!h  to  the  side  of  the 
crush-pen  into  which  Jimmy  with  voice 
and  lasso  end  was  forcing  as  many  of 
the  reluctant  steers  as  it  would  hold. 
As  soon  as  it  was  jammed  full,  strong 
poles  were  stuck  across  it  behind  the  last 
animal  so  that  none  could  back  out;  then 
the  branding  irons  were  fetched,  and  in 
another  minute  there  arose  a  strong 
odor  of  burnt  hide  and  of  frizzling  lialr, 
and  the  air  rang  with  frantic  bellowings, 
until  finally  the  end-gate  of  the  crush- 
pen  was  opened  and  the  tortured  beasts 
were  suffered  one  by  one  to  escape. 
Colonel  Strong  and  I  sat  up  on  some 
boards  laid  across  the  top  of  the  pen, 
carefully  tallying  each  animal  as  it 
emerged. 

No  sooner  were  they  all  tallied  than 
the  door  of  the  crush-pen  was  closed,  and 
Jimmy  Murray  shoved  the  other  half  of 
the  bunch  in  to  share  the  fate  of  their 
predecessors,  a  fate  to  which  all  went 
gaily  in  but  the  big  yellow  stag.  That 
gentleman's  suspicions  had  been  aroused 
by  the  odor  of  the  branding  process  and 
the  bellowings  of  the  sufferers.  He  hrmg 
back. 

Round  and  round  the  little  corral  he 
hurried,  his  head  close  to  the  ground,  as 
'.f  he  were  smelling  at  the  bottom  of  the 
fence  to  find  a  weak  place  to  burst  ont 
at,  and  from  his  throat  there  came  a  suc- 
cession of  low,  short,  ominous  roars. 
He  blew  from  his  nostrils  such  strong 
blasts  upon  the  ground  that  the  pul- 
verized dung  which  formed  the  fioor  of 
the  corral  sprang  up  in  Jets  before  him 
cs  he  went. 


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Quite  unmoved,  Jimmy  and  the  buck- 
skin pony  jogged  round  close  behind  his 
tall,  Jimmy  gently  swinging  his  lariat 
and  cheerfully  chirruping  to  the  monster. 
Jimmy's  head  was  carried  the  least 
thing  more  proudly  than  ever;  caged  In 
here  with  this  savage  brute,  alongside 
which  his  pony  looked  like  a  toy  horse, 
and  almost  within  arm's  length  of  those 
tremendous  horns,  one  stab  from  which 
could  have  impaled  horse  and  rider, 
Jimmy  did  not  deign  to  show  the  faintest 
trace  of  anxiety.  There  was  something 
almost  ostentatious  In  the  way  In  which 
bis  eye  seemed  to  disregard  the  threat- 
ening terror  Just  before  him,  and  to  be 
busily  engaged  in  overseeing  the  whole 
business  of  the  branding,  as  he  took 
careful  note  how  far  each  of  the  hands 
was  doing  his  work  Just  right. 

"Look  out  there,  Jimmy,"  cried  Colonel 
Strong,  "that  big  stag  '11  fight  in  a  holy 
minute." 

Jimmy,  whose  steady  chirrup  never 
ceased  as  he  jogged  round,  whether  his 
eye  were  on  the  stag  or  not,  at  last 
condescended  to  Intermit  his  watch  on 
the  branders  and  observe  his  adversary 
closer. 

"I  reckon  he's  not  red-hot  yet,"  he  re- 
marked carelessly,  "he's  only  blowing  off 
steam  a  bit,"  and  he  touched  up  the  stag 
lightly  with  a  swing  of  the  lariat,  at 
which  the  big  brute  bounded  forward  and 
fiung  his  head  round  threateningly;  but 
though  he  threatened  he  did  not  charge. 

"Just  fly  around  there  and  open  that 
gate,"  called  out  Colonel  Strong  to  the 
branders;  "hurry  up,  one  of  you,  and  let 
him  back  into  the  big  corral." 

He  spoke  loudly,  but  the  branders, 
conscious  that  Jimmy  Murray's  eye  was 
on  them,  and  Intent  each  man  on  keeping 
his  hot  iron  steadily  pressed  upon  his 
particular  victim  so  as  to  avoid  making 
a  blotch  instead  of  a  brand,  seemed  not 
io  hear.  The  stag  had  once  more  resumed 
his  sulky  circuit  of  the  fence,  but  those 
ominous  short  roars  were  coming  quicker 
and  quicker.  Jimmy's  face  was  as  im- 
passable as  ever. 

"HI  there,  you,  Charlie,"  shouted  Col- 
onel Strong  again,  "don't  stand  there  like 
a  wooden  man.    Jump,  will  you!" 

"Don't  you  talk  like  that  to  me.  Col- 
onel Strong,  "  'cos  I  ain't  a-goln'  to  stand 


it,"  retorted  Charlie  sharply,  removing 
his  iron  from  a  steer  and  looking  up. 
"I'm  a  white  man,  I  am,  and  I  don't  allow 
no  man  to  talk  to  me  like  I  was  anybody's 
dog-goned  nigger." 

Jim  Murray's  chirrup  ceased  for  a 
moment,  and  his  cool  voice  turned  the 
Insiplent  dispute*  aside. 

"Dry  up,  Charlie,"  said  he,  "that'U 
keep.  Best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  let 
some  of  them  branded  ones  out  In  the 
front  of  the  crushpen,  and  make  a  bit 
more  room,  so  as  to  give  me  the  chance 
to  cram  this  joker  in  behind  the  others." 

But  to  me  it  looked  as  if  before  all 
this  could  be  done,  the  big  yellow  stag 
would  surely  be  spilling  Jimmy  Murray's 
heart's  blood  on  the  floor  of  that  corral. 
The  Colonel's  plan  seemed  the  quickest. 
I  jumped  down  and  ran  and  opened  the 
gate  between  the  two  corrals.  The  big 
stag  Instantly  went  through  with  a  bound, 
turning  his  head  and  giving  a  snort  like 
a  fog-horn  as  he  detected  me  where  I 
stood  behind  the  gate. 

"That's  a  warrior,  Jimmy,"  I  called  out 
to  him  as  I  climbed  back  to  my  exalted 
perch  so  as  to  be  ready  to  help  to  tally 
out  the  branded  lot.  "You're  mighty  well 
quit  of  him." 

Jimmy's  flrm-set  mouth  relaxed  as  he 
looked  up  at  me  with  a  friendly  smile. 
"He'll  likely  fight  now,"  said  he;  "i  doubt 
if  we'll  get  him  so  near  the  branding  pen 
again;  but  we'll  flx  him  yet  one  way  or 
another;  we're  bound  to  get  him  branded 
and  tallied,  and  if  he  won't  come  to  the 
crushpen,  I'd  like  jes'  to  show  you  for 
once  the  way  we  set  about  tackling  such 
fellers  as  him  down  in  Texas." 

It  proved  to  be  as  Jimmy  said.  No 
persuasion  now  could  induce  him  to  enter 
the  little  corral  a  second  time.  As  soon 
ar.  some  of  us  tried  to  go  around  him  on 
foot  he  turned  to  flght  in  an  instant,  and 
hunted  us  to  the  fence  and  then  stood 
at  bay  on  the  far  side  of  the  big  cor- 
ral. 

By  this  time  the  last  lot  in  the  crush- 
pen  had  been  duly  branded  and  tallied, 
and  there  remained  only  the  big  stag. 
We  all  gathered  at  the  bars  of  the  big  cor- 
ral, and  the  Coloradans  looked  forward 
with  interest  to  see  how  the  Texas  man 
would  work  it.  All  this  took  place  in  the 
early  seventies,    and    the    Texans    were 


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the  crack  cowboys  of  that  day.  We  hoped 
to  see  a  really  scientific  display  of  lasso- 
ing, an  art  at  which  they  were  past 
masters. 

"Your  cow-punching  's  done,  little  buck- 
skin," said  Jimmy  Murray  to  his  horse, 
BS  he  dismounted  outside  and  slackened 
the  cinch.  '"Rah  for  the  back-trail  to 
Texas  is  what  you  can  sing  now.  No  more 
dry  old  bunch-grass  in  yours.  'Rah  for 
growing  fat  again  on  pea  vines  and  mes- 
quite."  The  sweating  pony  shook  him- 
self all  over  as  if  he  understood  his  mas- 
ter. It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard 
Jimmy  speak  caressingly  to  a  horse.  He 
was  as  brave  as  they  make  them,  but 
he  was  as  hard  as  the  nether  mill-stone. 

Bill  Means  felt  disappointed  to  see 
the   cinch   being   slackened. 

"Why,  ain't  you  going  to  try  and  rope 
that  stag  on  the  little  buckskin?"  said  he 
to  Murray,  who  was  standing  with  his 
lariat  coiled  over  his  arm.  "Or  was  you 
meaning  to  rope  him  on  foot?  I  guess 
when  you  get  to  trying  to  hold  him  it'll 
be  like  snubbing  an  iron-clad." 

•I'll  see  if  I  can't  show  you  a  trick 
worth  two  of  that,"  said  Jimmy,  and  leav- 
ing his  horse  to  stand  he  walked  round 
the  outside  of  the  corral,  till  he  was  in 
sight  of  Colonel  Strong's  wagon,  which 
was  encamped  a  little  way  off  down  by 
the  creek.  He  put  his  hands  funnel-wise 
to  his  mouth  and  called  aloud  in  high 
musical  notes,  "Yo— i,  yo—i,  yo— i,  there! 
Smiler,  Sweetllps,  'Possum,  you  'Possum! 
Come  along  then,  come  along!" 

With  a  Joyful  chorus  of  answering  cries 
all  the  dogs  of  the  Texas  camp  came 
rushing  over  to  his  well-known  voice. 
They  were  a  motley  pack,  tykes  of  all 
sorts,  black  and  tan  foxhounds  mostly, 
with  a  fierce  bloodhound  cross  in  some 
cf  them,  and  there  was  one,  a  mighty, 
deep-Jowled,  half-bred  Cuban  mastiff, 
old  'Possum,  the  champion  of  them  all. 
They  crowded  around  Jimmy's  leather- 
guarded  legs,  their  red  mouths  and  slav- 
ering lips  welcoming  the  summons,  their 
eager  muzzles  snuffling  the  fray;  at  his 
call  they  seemed  game  to  go  at  anything 
from  a  rabbit  to  a  man-hunt;  we  Colo- 
radans  wondered  if  they  were  really 
used  for  hunting  negroes  in  Texas. 

Rope  in  hand,  Jimmy  stepped  through 
the  bars  into  the  corral,  his  pack  crowd- 


ing in  alongside.  "S — sick  him  then,"  he 
cried,  pointing  to  the  big  stag  over  by 
the  far  fence.  Full  speed  across  the  corral 
streamed  the  pack,  giving  tongue  in  short 
joyous  yelps,  and  with  one  thundering 
rear  the  great  brute  lowered  his  head 
and  rushed  headlong  to  meet  them.  As 
tbey  encountered  I  saw  Jimmy  dart  for- 
ward, single-handed,  to  take  part  in  the 
mel6e.  The  dogs  divided  as  they  met 
the  stag,  who,  with  rapid  lunges  of  his 
powerful  horns  struck  out  at  them  to 
right  and  left;  but  the  pack  were  too 
nimble  for  him;  his  fierce  thrusts  missed 
their  aim,  and  the  next  instant  they 
were  hanging  on  him  in  festoons,  and 
'Possum's,  old  'Possum's,  jaws  were  fas- 
tened like  a  vice  in  the  very  tenderest 
part  of  his  fiank.  At  that  sharp  pinch 
and  the  mastiff's  mighty  pull,  the  great 
stag's  loins  sagged  and  gave,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment Sweetlips  had  him  by  the  ear,  and 
Smiler  by  the  cheek;  he  yielded  to  their 
united  strain,  and,  with  a  resounding 
thump,  came  sidelong  to  the  ground;  the 
dogs  had  fairly  pulled  him  down.  In  a 
second  Jimmy  was  alongside  and  slipped 
the  noose  around  his  hindlegs,  and  then 
the  other  herders  came  up  and  tied  him 
fast,  dragging  off  as  quickly  as  they  could 
the  infuriated  hounds. 

Gasping,  roaring,  and  struggling,  but 
all  in  vain,  the  terror  of  the  herd  lay 
helpless  as  a  nei^ly-bom  calf;  the  hot 
iron  was  brought  and  pressed  upon  his 
hide,  an  outrage  to  which  he  could 
only  reply  by  a  bellow  of  impotent  rage. 
Then  he  was  duly  ticked  off  the  list 
and  tallied,  and  the  transfer  of  the  whole 
Strong  &  Starbuck  herd  was  complete. 
Now  at  last  Jimmy  Murray's  task  was 
ended,  or  at  the  least  it  was  all  but  ended, 
for  only  one  thing  remained  to  make  it 
complete;  the  bound  and  prostrate  stag 
had  yet  to  be  turned  loose. 

Jimmy  stood  by  the  bacK  of  his  fallen 
foe  with  one  foot  planted  on  his  heaving 
side.  "Look  out  there,"  he  cried,  "you 
*u  better  clear  out  of  the  corral  all  of 
you.  And  don't  forget  to  put  up  them 
bars,   somebody." 

The  man  who  was  carrying  the  brand- 
ing iron  retired  at  a  run  and  put  up 
the  bars;  the  rest  of  us  climbed  the  high 
corral  fence  and  sat  on  top  to  see 
what  the  stag  would  do. 


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With  the  end  of  his  rope  Jlmmie  bent 
a  clove  hitch  round  the  stag's  hind  fet- 
locks and  pulled  it  taut.  Then  stoop- 
ing cautiously  over  him  he  untied  and 
slackened  the  rest  of  his  bonds  till  they 
"Were  all  loose;  the  stag  lay  quiet  but 
breathing  hard  till  he  suddenly  became 
aware  that  the  cords  had  been  relaxed, 
whereupon  he  made  a  violent  convulsive 
eftort  that  half  raised  him  from  the 
ground.  Lightly  Jimmy  rose  up  and  with 
rapid  strides,  reached  the  fence  and  laid 
his  hand  on  the  top  of  it  just  beside 
where  I  was  perched;  then  he  stood  a 
moment  looking  back  to  see  if  the  stag 
needed  further  aid  in  getting  clear. 

Not  much  aid  did  he  require.  Bal- 
ancing himself  with  his  forefeet  strad- 
dled well  apart  but  his  hind  feet  still  In 
the  grip  of  the  clove  hitch,  by  a  few 
hard  kicks  he  loosened  the  hitch  until  it 
dropped  off,  and  instantly  with  a  savage 
roar  he  rushed  at  Jimmy  tail  up  and  head 
down.  But  Jimmy  vaulted  lightly  up 
beside  me  and  the  baffled  monster  vainly 
vented  his  fury  below.  Prom  our  vantage 
we  mocked  at  the  shattering  blasts  that 
came  from  his  throat  like  blares  from  a 
trumpet,  while  his  hot  breath  seemed  to 
scorch  our  hands;  unable  to  reajh  us  he 
lowered  his  head  and  pawed  the  ground 
in  impotent  fury  till  the  dust  and  dirt 
rained  back  in  showers  both  on  himnelf 
and  on  the  mockers  above. 

"He'd  be  the  boy  to  clear  the  plaza 
at  a  Mexican  bull-flght,"  cried  Charley, 
who  was  squatted  up  on  the  top  rail  of 
the  fence  on  the  other  side,  and  with 
that  he  dropped  monkey-like  to  the 
ground  inside  the  corral,  waving  in  his 
hand  an  old  gunny  sack  "para  llamar  el 
toro" — "to  call  the  bull" — ^as  the  Spanish 
phrase  has  it. 

"Oh,  quit  your  monkeying,"  called  out 
Jimmy  angrily;  "leave  him  alone  to  cool 
off."  But  the  infuriated  stag  had  spotted 
the  intruder  and  he  went  for  him  on  the 
instant  like  a  tiger. 

Back  flew  Charley  like  lightning  on  to 
the  top  rail,  turning  there  to  mock  at  his 
pursuer  as  we  had  done.  But  the  stag 
had  got  up  steam  in  his  charge  across 
the  corral;  as  he  neared  the  fence  we 
saw  him  collect  himself  for  a  spring, 
then  his  great  body  rose  grandly  at  the 
leap,  and  though  he  hit  the  top  rail  hard 


with  both  hind  legs  he  alighted  fair  and 
square  on  his  feet  on  the  outside. 

"Look  out  for  your  horses/'  yelled 
Jimmy,  springing  to  the  ground,  also  on 
the  outside,  and  starting  for  the  buck- 
skin pony  who  was  standing  in  the  open. 
Alas,  the  big  yellow  stag  had  started 
for  him  too.  Burning  to  wreak  his  ven- 
geance on  something,  he  chose  for  his 
victim  the  horse  rather  than  the  man. 
I  saw  Jimmy's  hand  go  down  to  his  belt 
for  the  ever  handy  revolver,  but  even 
as  he  did  so  those  awful  horns  were 
thrust  half  a  yard  into  the  body  of  the 
pony  and  the  great  stag  flung  him  over  his 
back  ten  feet  into  the  air.  The  death- 
stricken  horse  screamed  as  the  horns 
went  in;  the  life  was  out  of  him,  I  hope, 
before  he  hit  the  ground. 

The  stag  whirled  round  with  his  head 
aloft,  and  still  breathing  slaughter  looked 
for  another  victim.  Jimmy  Murray  was 
within  five  yards  of  him  with  levelled 
pistol. 

Crack!  a  jet  of  smoke  burst  from  the 
muzzle;  the  knees  of  the  stag  bent  sud- 
denly under  him;  then  the  solid  earth 
shook  with  the  thud  of  his  fall  as  he 
dropped  in  his  tracks  and  lay  kicking 
convulsively.  The  ball  had  taken  him 
in  the  butt  of  the  ear  and  found  the 
brain. 

Out  flashed  Jimmy's  long  gleaming 
knife,  and  catching  hold  of  one  of  those 
red-dyed  horns  in  his  left  hand  he  stooped 
and  drove  the  double-edged  point  deep 
into  the  base  of  the  throat.  Swiftly  he 
rose  again  and  planted  his  left  foot  on 
the  heaving  flank  of  the  carcase  and 
stood  erect,  aiding  with  regular  rsrthmical 
pushes  the  pulses  of  the  streaming  blood 
ap.  it  pumped  itself  from  the  heart 
through  the  severed  arteries. 

Charley  came  up  to  mumble  some  apol- 
ogy for  having  unwittingly  brought  about 
the  death  of  the  buckskin  pony. 

"Can't  be  helped,"  said  Jimmy  grimly. 
"No  use  now  to  cry  over  spilt  blood.  You 
run  over  to  the  wagon  and  tell  the  cook 
to  make  a  roaring  flre  and  get  out  the 
spits.  We'll  have  a  real  old-time  bar- 
becue to-night  before  we  hit  the  trail 
for  Texas  in  the  morning." 

And  that  was  the  end  of  the  big 
yellow  stag,  but  the  buckskin  pony  never 
saw  Texas  again. 


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Indian  Hut. 


THE    CALIFORNIA    INDIAN. 


BY    ALFRED    V.    LA    MOTTE. 


\  I  ;  HE  tourist  who  views  from  the 
J-M    window  of  his  Pullman  the  groups 

I  of  Indians  squatting  on  the  plat- 
forms of  the  railway  stations  along 
the  route  of  his  travels  in  California, 
forms  but  a  limited  idea  of  the  indigen- 
ous article  in  his  primitive  state. 

The  bucks  clad  in  flannel  shirts  and 
overalls,  and  the  squaws  in  bright-col- 
ored calicos  (more  or  less  soiled,  but  gen- 
erally the  former)  present  to  his  mind  a 
new  type  of  life  with  which  he  is  not 
familiar,  and  thus  far  create  a  new  inter- 
est. But  could  he  go  back  a  few  years 
and  familiarize  himself  with  the  genu- 
ine article  "in  puris  naturalibus/'  he 
would  open  up  a  field  of  interesting  inves- 
tigation that  is  rapidly  passing  away  un- 
der the  march  of  civilization,  and  will 


in  the  near  future  be  so  totally  obliter- 
ated and  lost  as  to  be  but  a  memory  of 
the  past. 

Their  tribal  legends,  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation  beside 
their  camp  fires  and  their  tribal  councils, 
are  becoming  lost  and  obscure,  even 
amongst  themselves;  as  the  coming  and 
present  generations  will  assume  the  con- 
ditions of  their  semi-civilized  surround- 
ings, and  lose  their  aboriginal  identity. 

In  years  gone  by,  when  the  Indian  was 
wholly  dependent  on  his  own  resources 
to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  it  de- 
veloped in  him  the  ingenuity  necessary 
to  gain  a  precarious  living.  But  as  none 
of  the  primitive  peoples  of  the  world 
were  noted  for  a  display  of  energy  great- 
er than  was  necessary  to  gain  a  liveli- 


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hood,  they  invariably  accommodated 
themselves  to  their  surroundings,  espec- 
ially when  they  could  escape  physical 
exertion  by  so  doing.  Thus  we  see, 
day  by  day,  that  their  old  arts  are  dying 
out,  as  they  find  it  possible  to  adopt  a 
substitute  with  less  exertion.  This  is 
observable  in  the  manufacture  of  their 
baskets,  which  they  make  in  great  vari- 
ety to  answer  all  purposes  of  domestic 
use,  and  of  all  shapes  and  sizes;  many  of 
them  beautifully  decorated  with  Inter- 
woven feathers  of  all  colors,  and  pen- 
dants of  abalone  shell  and  wampum 
beads;  some  no  larger  around  than  a  half 
dollar,  and  others  as  much  as  a  yard 
across.  The  finest  weave  and  the  great- 
est variety  were  made  by  the  Indians  of 
Mendocino  County,  California — who  un- 
doubtedly excelled  in  the  art  of  basket 
making.  At  the  present  day,  tourists 
are  offered  baskets  made  by  the  Indians 
woven  in  high  colors,  by  the  use  of  dia- 
mond or  analine  dyes,  but  they  are 
poor  substitutes  for  the  original  ar- 
ticle, in  manufacture,  utility,  and  appear- 
ance. They  possessed  the  art  of  making 
baskets  (so  closely  woven  as  to  hold 
water)    in   which   to    cook   their   food — 


not  (as  many  writers  have  asserted)  by 
putting  them  on  the  fire,  but  by  placias 
them  beside  the  fire  and  heating  stones, 
and  putting  them,  while  hot,  in  the  food, 
repeating  the  process  until  it  is  cooked, 
removing  each  stone  as  xt  cools,  replac- 
ing it  with  a  freshly-heated  one.  In  this 
manner  they  boil  water  and  cook  all  of 
their  food  that  is  boiled  or  stewed.  At 
the  present  date,  however,  none  of  these 
baskets  are  made,  for  the  reason  that  a 
squaw  would  much  rather  prowl  around 
the  settlements  and  steal  an  old  coal- 
oil  tin,  than  spend  several  months  in  the 
construction  of  a  water-tight  basket.  This 
has  been  the  case  for  so  many  years  now, 
that  nearly  all  of  the  older  generation 
who  understood  the  art,  have  died  out 
and  the  younger  ones  have  not  learned  it, 
because  of  lack  of  necessity.  What  is 
true  of  the  basket  manufacture,  extends 
itself  to  most  of  their  other  arts,  and  the 
Indian  of  to-day  would  furnish  very  poor 
material  for  a  new  series  of  Cooper's 
Novels. 

Through  the  efforts  of  the  Government, 
in  establishing  reservations  for  the  In- 
dians, where  they  are  taught  the  arts 
of  civilization,  very  few  tribes  now  re- 


Making  Money  (wampum)  from  abalone  shell. 


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Indian  Women  Making  Baskets. 


main  in  their  normal  and  tribal  savag- 
ery. Hence  their  ancient  habits  and  cus- 
toms are  only  known  to  a  few  who  were 
thrown  amongst  them  in  early  days,  be- 
fore civilization  had  changed  them. 

Before  the  advent  of  the  stock  raiser 
throughout  the  mountains,  the  open  hill- 
sides were  covered  with  wild  oats,  which 
the  Indians  gathered  in  great  quantities, 
to  make  bread  from.  This  work  (and 
nearly  all  other),  was  performed  by  the 
squaws,  who  would  sally  forth  "v/ith  their 
large  baskets  hung  at  the  left  side,  be- 
neath the  arm,  and  tilted  forward  by 
the  left  hand,  while,  with  a  fan-like  bas- 
ket in  the  right  hand,  they  would  beat 
the  ripe  oats  into  the  large  basket,  which 
when  full,  they  would  empty  into  a  larger 
cone-shaped  basket,  holding  about  two 
bushels.  As  these  latter  were  filled,  they 
were  fastened  up  to  the  leaves  of  trees, 
and  securely  thatched  with  straw  to 
protect  them  against  the  rain.  They  were 
left  in  that  condition  until  needed.  When 
required  for  use,  they  would  be  carried  to 
the  "Rancharia"  where,  by  putting  a 
small  quantity  into  a  flexible  basket, 
nearly  flat,  with  some  live  coals  from  the 


fire  (which  they  keep  in  constant  rotary 
motion  at  the  same  time  blowing  the  coals 
to  keep  them  bright)  until  the  oats  is 
roasted,  when  they  grind  it  up  in  a  stone 
nortar,  and  make  bread  of  it,  which  they 
bake  in  the  hot  ashes,  sometimes  mixing 
ii  with  toasted  grasshoppers,  I  presume 
to  improve  the  flavor,  as  well  as  add 
to  its  nutritive  qualities. 

Their  method  of  catching  the  grass- 
hopper was  similar  to  the  gathering  of 
the  oats — by  fanning  them  out  of  the 
grass  into  a  basket,  with  a  bunch  of  straw 
in  it,  under  which  the  grasshoppers  would 
hide  until  quite  a  quantity  were  collected 
at  the  bottom  beneath  the  straw.  The 
SQuaw  would  then  set  fire  to  the  straw 
ic  the  basket  to  singe  their  legs,  and 
wings,  to  prevent  escape. 

In  his  primitive  state,  the  Indian  wore 
but  little  clothing  In  California,  and  what 
he  did  wear  consisted  chiefly  of  rabbit 
and  fox  skins,  which  he  softened  by 
rubbing  and  scraping.  The  rabbit  skin, 
being  thin  and  easily  torn,  was  cut  into 
strips  about  two  inches  wide,  then  the 
strips  stitched  together  with  fibre  and 
twisted  with  the  fur  on  the  outside;  these 


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ropes  or  twisted  bands  of  fur  were  woven 
together  into  a  blanket  or  robe,  both 
strong  and  warm,  which  he  wore  around 
his  hips  and  shoulders. 

In  these  days  the  Indian  wore  no  head 
ccvering,  except  on  gala  occasions,  then 
decking  himself  out  with  feathers  galore, 
and  performing  the  exercises  suitable 
to  the  occasion,  generally  dances  around 
the  fire  with  appropriate  pantomimic 
gesticulations,  interlarded  with  the  in- 
evitable grunt.     These  dances  and  con- 


sometimes  several  miles  in  length,  and 
diverging  from  the  starting  point  in  V 
shape;  at  the  point  or  apex,  a  strong  pen 
of  brush  and  poles  was  built,  from  which 
the  animals  could  not  escape.  The  en- 
tire tribe  would  then  turn  out  and  form 
a  line  around  the  open  ends  of  the  drive- 
way, closing  in,  beating  the  brush  and 
shouting,  driving  the  frightened  deer 
and  rabbits  before  them  until  the  pen 
was  reached,  where  with  spears  and  clubs 
they  killed  the  empounded  game,  many 


The  Brizard  Collection  of  Baskets,  Arcada,  Cal. 


tortious  are  always  gone  through  with 
the  utmost  seriousness  and  stolidity  by 
the  Indians,  but  are  very  laughable  to 
the  whites  who  witness  them. 

Their  usual  method  of  capturing  ani- 
mals for  food  or  raiment  was  by  driving 
or  snaring. 

In  the  drive,  they  cut  with  their  stone 
Knives  (made  of  obsidian,  or  volcanic 
glass)  small  brush  which  they  interlaced 
with  the  standing  bushes  in  such  manner 
as  to  make  two  lines   of   brush   fence, 


t^mes  getting  large  numbers. 

After  a  division  of  the  spoils,  a  feast 
dance  was  sure  to  follow  to  celebrate  the 
occasion. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year,  when  wild 
clover  was  luxuriant,  the  Indians  would 
eat  in  large  quantities;  In  fact,  to  such 
an  extent  that  they  reminded  one  of 
o\erfed  cattle,  so  aldermanic  were  their 
proportions,  especially  the  children  who 
appeared  almost  as  broad  as  they  were 
long. 


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Their  villages  (or  "rancharias  as  they 
are  called)  were  usually  built  on  the  bank 
of  seme  river  or  stream,  from  which  they 
also  drew  largely  for  their  food,  driving 
the  fish  before  them  into  open-work  bas- 
kets, which  they  set  beneath  the  rapids. 
They  also  caught  great  quantities  by 
pounding  up  certain  herbs,  such  as  the 
"soaproot"  and  "muUen",  which  when 
placed  in  the  water,  has  the  effect  of 
poisoning  or  stupifying  the  fish,  which 
drift  down  with  the  current  and  lodge 
against  the  brush  fences  thrown  across 
the  stream  in  shallow  places,  where  they 


each   placed   a  token. 

Every  family  had  one  of  these  baskets, 
and  as  far  as  my  knowledge  goes,  all  were 
made  very  similar,  being  decorated  with 
certain  signs  in  weaving  to  represent 
the  moon  and  sun,  and  other  symbols 
relating  to  the  journey  which  their  friend 
and  relation  was  supposed  to  make  to 
the  "happy  hunting  grounds."  When  the 
pyre  was  lighted,  the  mourners  (who 
were  always  women)  would  place  tar  or 
pitch  on  their  heads  and  sitting  around 
on  the  ground,  would  beat  their  breasts, 
rocking  back  and  forth,  chanting  in  dole- 


Coarse  Houaehold  Baskets  and  Fish  Trap.     Hudson  Collection. 


are  gathered  by  the  women  and  children, 
cleaned  and  dried  ip  the  sun  for  future 
use. 

The  Indians  of  California  formerly 
bamed  their  dead  upon  a  funeral  pyre, 
bttilt  up  of  inflamable  material  and  wood, 
to  the  height  of  five  or  six  feet,  upon  the 
top  of  which  the  dead  body  was  placed, 
wrapped  up  -in  his  personal  belongings, 
with  his  bows,  arrows,  spears,  fish-hooks, 
and  such  things,  by  his  side,  and  a  fun- 
eral basket  placed  upon  his  breast,  into 
which  his  family  and  immediate  friends. 


ful  chorus,  varied  every  little  while  by 
fearful  howls  that  could  be  heard  at  a 
great  distance.  This  rite  Is,  however,  no 
longer  followed.  They  bury  their  dead 
now,  and  no  longer  have  medicine  men  to 
aid  them  to  "shuffle  off  this  mortal  coll." 

An  Indian  has  no  idea  of  taking  care 
cf  his  health  to  prevent  sickness — hence 
they  are  now  subject  to  diseases  brought 
on  by  exposure,  such  as  consumption  and 
pneumonia. 

For  cheerless  and  uncomfortable  sights 
commend  me  to  an  Indian  nearly  naked. 


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Overland  Monthly 


Yo  Ki   Indian  In  Dance  Costume. 

sitting  on  the  wet  ground  of  a  frosty 
morning,  eating  a  water  melon,  while  his 
teeth  chatter  with  the  cold.    The  Indians, 


like  the  Chinese,  are  very  superstitious 
about  having  their  pictures  taken,  be- 
lieving that  a  part  of  their  souls  go  forth 
each  time  to  make  the  picture,  making  it 
difficult  to  persuade  them  to  stand  still 
long  enough  to  get  a  picture — so  that  the 
snap-shot  camera  is  about  the  only 
chance. 

A  few  years  since,  a  friend  of  the 
writer,  who  was  travelling  through  the 
country  to  get  subjects  for  his  studio, 
being  attracted  by  a  group  of  Indians 
selling  water  melons,  took  with  his  large 
camera  a  snap-shot  at  a  big  fellow  with 
a  water  melon  in  his  arms,  which  he 
was  trying  to  sell.  When  the  Indian 
caught  his  eye  and  approached  him  to 
sell  his  melon,  he  told  him  "No,  I  don't 
want  to  buy;  I  have  both  you  and  the 
melon  in  my  box  here."  Opening  the 
box  he  held  up  to  the  light  for  the  In- 
dian's inspection  a  picture  of  him  taken 
the  day  before  while  vending  his  melons. 
When  he  saw  a  picture  of  himself  and  the 
melon,  he  was  so  frightened  that  he  let 
It  fall  and  ran  away  as  fast  as  his  legs 
would  carry  him. 

Between  the  primitive  human  and*  the 
animal  there  are  many  points  in  common, 
markedly   in  the   matter   of   food.     The 


Fine  Woave,  Decorated,  and  Water-tlg!it  Baskets.    Hudson  C    ollectlon. 

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The  California  Indian. 


837 


fish  of  the  stream,  the  animals  of  the  for- 
est and  the  berries  and  roots  of  the  field 
furnish  them  with  ample  food  to  sustain 
life  in  spite  of  their  inert  and  improvi- 
dent natures.  The  Indian,  with  his  few 
wants  and  animal  instincts  flourishes  and 
fattens  where  his  more  intellectual  and 
ciTllized  brother  would  starve,  and  what 


v/ould  be  a  "bonjie  bouche"  to  one,  would 
te  nauseating  to  the  other. 

Here  again,  the  "survival  of  the  fittest" 
obtains,  as  the  intellectual  advances,  the 
animal  recedes,  and  in  a  few  short  years 
the  Indian  will  disappear,  and  be  but  a 
memory  of  the  past. 


UMATILLA  CRADLE  SONG.         By    Mary   H.   Coates. 


«iafe  in  tliy  cradle  of  buckskin  and  beads 

Nan-ich  sleep,  my  baby,  sleep; 
Thy  mother  embroidered  with  wampum 

and  reeds 
A  chieftain's  plume  and  a  charm  that  leads 
Down  the  path  of  the  bee  where  the  mow- 
ich  feeds; 
Nan-ich  sleep,  my  baby,  sleep. 

Gone  are  the  moons  of  beating  snows, 
Nan-ich  sleep,  my  baby,  sleep; 


From  over  the  mountains  the  south  wind 

blows. 
Pink  on  the  ridges  the  spat'lum  shows, 
Blue  on  the  prairies  the  camas  grows 
Nan-ich  sleep,  my  baby,  sleep. 

Green  is  the  grass  and  warm  are  the  skies, 

Nan-ich  sleep,  my  baby,  sleep; 
Afar  in  the  forest  the  wildcat  lies. 
Singing  aloft  the  yeilow  bird  files. 
Then  homeward  bring  thy  wandering  eyes 
And  find  thee  sleep,  my  baby,  sleep. 


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A 
A 

A 
h 

^ 

V 


c 

nis  gnsiy  lace  agnn. 


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THE    TATTLER 


BY    MAURICE    GRADWOHL. 


^  N  the  early  sixties  there  was  gath- 
1  ered  about  a  large,  oval,  sheet-iron 
X  stove  in  the  office  of  a  "hotel"  in  Vir- 
ginia City,  Nevada,  a  group  of  men 
earnestly  discussing  politics,  as  an  elec- 
tion was  soon  to  be  held  and  the  many 
candidates  had  their  respective  adher- 
ents and  zealous  advocates.  While  one 
who  was  really  gifted  with  eloquence 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  harangue,  the 
belated  stage  drove  up  to  the  entrance 
and  the  crowd  without  ceremony  rushed 
out  to  see  who  had  arrived,  get  the  lat- 
est news  from  "below,"  and  ascertain 
the  reason  for  delay. 

"Held  up!"  said  Billy  Sisson,  the 
stage-driver,  laconically. 

"The  h — ^1  you  say,"  remarked  Lee 
Mathews,  the  County  Sheriff.  And  then 
he  proceeded  to  get  all  the  information 
possible,  preliminary  to  a  hunt  for  the 
highwaymen. 

After  the  crowd  had  heard  the  various 
tales  of  the  passengers,  it  resumed  its 
sitting  around  the  stove  and  adopted 
"hold-ups"  as  its  theme,  relegating  poli- 
tics to  the  background.  From  facts, 
the  statements  grew  into  fiction  and  the 
adventures  related  usually  had  the 
speaker  for  a  hero.  During  a  short  lull 
Id  the  conversation  a  young  tender-foot, 
who  had  been  about  town  a  few  days, 
addressed  himself  to  him  who  seemed 
to  be  the  master-hand  in  the  group  and 
asked  if  he  could  speak  to  him  privately. 
''Certainly,"  was  the  reply  from  Tom 
Fitch. 

The  two  adjourned  to  the  bar  in  the 
adjoining  room  and  after  being  served 
with  drinks,  entered  a  small  compart- 
ment used  for  gambling  and  which, 
strange  to  say,  was  just  then  vacant. 
"Mr.  Fitch,"  said  the  tenderfoot,  "I've 
been  here  almost  a  week.  I  came  from 
Boston  where  my  father  Is  a  rich  and 
prominent  man.  He  gave  me  five 
thousand  dollars,  told  me  to  go  out  into 
the  world  and  make  a  man  of  myself. 


Now,  I've  heard  about  these  stage  rob- 
beries and  don't  want  to  lose  my  money 
that  way.  I  know  you  are  well-known 
in  these  parts  and  I'd  like  to  ask  you 
fox  a  pass,  so  that  these  fellows  won't 
bother  me." 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,"  replied  Fitch, 
and  tearing  out  a  leaf  from  a  small 
blank-book,  he  wrote  as  follows:  Mr. 
Highwayman.  Please  pass  bearer,  and 
oblige  Tom  Fitch." 

With  many  thanks  and  another  treat 
en  the  tender-foot's  part,  the  two  sep- 
arated. The  laughter  which  greeted 
Fitch's  relation  of  the  Interview  to  the 
group  gave  conclusive  evidence  that  his 
hearers  were  gifted  with  strong,  sound 
lungs,  and  many  jokes  were  indulged  in 
at  the  young  fellow's  expense. 

About  a  week  later  a  message  was 
brought  to  Fitch  requesting  him  to  do 
some  stumping  at  Dogxown,  seventy 
miles  away,  and  he  was  handed  one 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  "expenses". 
The  day  following,  Fitch  was  one  of 
four  passengers  on  the  stage,  the  others 
being  the  tenderfoot,  a  young  lady  who 
had  taught  school  for  a  year  and  was 
returning  to  her  Eastern  home,  and  a 
middle-aged,  full  bearded,  taciturn  man 
who  was  dressed  in  a  coarse  suit  and 
had  his  pantaloons  stuffed  into  a  rough 
pair  of  boots. 

For  some  time  the  passengers  main- 
tained strict  silence.  Eventually,  the 
schoolmarm  opened  a  conversation  by  ex- 
pressing the  hope  that  their  journey 
would  be  a  peaceful  one  and  not  dis- 
turbed by  stage  robbers.  She  became 
loquacious  and  informed  her  fellow  pas- 
sengers that  "anyhow"  she  felt  quite  se- 
cure as  to  her  possessions  because  she 
had  them  secreted  in  the  upper  part  of 
her  dress  and  no  one  would  molest  her 
to  her  financial  detriment.  She  had  no 
sooner  ceased  speaking,  when  came  the 
ominous  word  "Halt!"  and  the  stage 
came  to  a  sudden  stop.    At  the  head  of 


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The  Tattler. 


841 


the  horses  stood  a  masked  man  with  a 
shot-gun  pointed  at  the  driver,  who 
promptly  complied  with  a  request  to 
''throw  out  that  express  box/'  while  his 
partner  ordered  the  passengers  to  alight. 
They  were  then  directed  to  stand  in  line 
with  arms  raised.  First  was  the  tender- 
foot 

"Shell  out/'  commanded  the  robber. 

"But,  Mr,  Highwayman,  I've  got " 

at  the  same  time  reaching  for  his  inside 
breast  pocket. 

"Hands  up,  you  fool,"  said  the  robber, 
''I'll  shoot  you,  if  you  make  another 
move." 

The  man  did  not  seem  to  comprehend 
the  danger  of  his  position  for  he  again 
quickly  lowered  his  hand  and  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  piece  of  paper  which  he 
handed  out  to  the  stage-robber,  who  read: 

"Mr.  Highwayman.  Please  pass  bearer 
and  oblige, 

Tom   Fitch." 

"Step  over  there,  young  feller,"  said 
the   robber;    then   turning   to   the   full- 
bearded  man  he  continued,  "Pungle  up, 
pard." 

The  man  replied  that  it  had  absorbed 
ail  his  means  to  pay  his  fare  to  Dog- 
town;  that  beyond  five  dollars,  he  was 
penniless,  and  if  he  would  leave  him, 
that  he  would  tell  him  where  a  large 
sum  was  secreted.  The  nod  of  approval 
from  the  highwayman  was  followed  with 
the  information  that  the  school-teacher 
had  her  money  hid  in  her  dress.  He 
was  then  directed  to  step  aside  and  the 
woman  commanded  to  produce  her  money 
^without  delay  else  force  and  violence 
would  be  used.  Amidst  tears  and  protest- 
ations, the  poor  woman  handed  over  her 
savings  which  had  been  destined  to  pay 
off  half  of  the  mortgage  on  her  aged 
father's  farm.  Next,  Tom  Fitch  received 
attention,  and  having  noted  the  respect 
^ven  to  the  pass  he  had  furnished  the 
tenderfoot,  he  felt  fully  assured  of  cour- 
teous and  generous  treatment,  so  in  re- 
sponse to  the  order  to  produce  his  money, 
he  smilingly  said,  "I'm  Tom  Fitch." 

"The  h ^1  you  are;  shell  out,  and  be 

quick  about  It  too." 

He  meekly  delivered  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  The  passengers  were  then 
allowed  to  resume  their  seats  and  the 
stage   proceeded   to   its   destination. 


Not  until  several  miles  had  been  tra- 
versed were  the  victims  in  a  condition 
to  discuss  their  mishap.  The  teacher 
was  in  a  state  bordering  on  hysteria, 
the  tenderfoot  pensive,  the  older  man  ex- 
tremely reserved  and  thoughtful,  while 
Fitch  sought  to  console  the  woman,  good- 
naturedly  making  light  of  his  own  loss. 

At  length,  Dogtown  was  reached.  Then 
it  was  that,  after  placing  the  teacher 
In  the  care  of  the  hotel-keeper's  wife, 
the  vials  of  wrath  were  poured  out 
on  the  head  of  the  old  man  who  had 
caused  the  teacher's  loss.  The  assembled 
crowd  became  indignant,  excited,  and 
murmurs  of  vengeance  were  muttered. 
Out  from  the  crowd  came  a  cry,  "Let's 
lynch  the  cuss!"  The  old  man  was  jostled 
about  and  over-ready  hands  were  placed 
upon  his  shoulders  and  he  was  pushed 
cp  toward  a  convenient  tree. 

"Hold  on!"  said  the  culprit,  "before  you 
hang  me,  will  you  let  me  have  a  word 
with  Mr.  Fitch  and  the  landlord?  I  am 
unarmed  and  will  not  attempt  to  escape." 

After  a  brief  consultation  his  request 
was  granted.  He  and  Fitch  then  entered 
the  hotel. 

"Landlord,"  said  he,  "these  men  outside 
want  to  hang  me.  I  want  you  and  Mr. 
Fitch  and  the  lady  and  man  who  were 
my  fellow  passengers  to  let  me  say  a 
word  in  private.  This  is  my  only  re- 
quest." The  host  led  the  way  to  a  room 
where,  in  the  presence  of  the  five  per- 
sons, the  man  quickly  locked  the  door. 
"Madam,"  he  asked  beamingly,  "how 
much  is  your  loss?" 

"Eight  hundred  dollars,  you  contempt- 
ible wretch,"  she  answered  tearfully. 

"And  yours,  Mr.  Fitch?" 

"Hundred  and  fifty." 

The  stranger  drew  his  pantaloons  from 
his  boots  and  extracted  two  rolls  of  bills. 

"These  rolls  contain/*  said  he,  "fifty 
thousand  dollars.  To  you.  Madam,  I  give 
one  thousand  six  hundred  dollars.  It 
will  pay  off  that  mortgage  in  full.  I  can 
afford  it,  as  you  saved  my  money.  Here, 
Mr.  Fitch,  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars. Tell  the  boys  I'm  straight,  Mr. 
Fitch,  and  set  'em  up  all  around.  Shall 
I  return  to  that  tree?" 


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SOME    REMINISCENCES   OF  EARLY  DAYS 


RECORDED    BY    GEORGE    SELWYN. 


r-^  ENERAL  William  Humphreys  Is  a 
I  ^  well-preserved  gentleman  of  66. 
IJT  His  sandy  hair  is  cut  close  to  his 
head,  he  wears  his  beard  in  a 
pointed  Vandyke  style,  and  he  gives  to 
the  casual  observer  the  general  impres- 
c<ion  that  he  is  a  man  of  the  world,  for 
T^hom,  as  Emerson  expresses  it,  ''No 
eurprises  await."  The  General  is  a  brother 
of  General  A.  A.  Humphreys  of  the  regu- 
lar army,  and  both  brothers  were  born  in 
Philadelphia,  their  parents  removing  to 
Alexandria,  Va.,  whence  they  departed 
to  seek  their  fortunes,  overland,  on 
the  golden  slope  in  the  memorable  days 
of  '49. 

Sitting  by  an  open  fire  in  his  comfort- 
&ble  room  at  the  Continental,  General 
Humphreys  was  unconsciously  drawn  in- 
to conversation  about  California  and  the 
forty-niners.  He  said:  "I  had  not  been 
in  San  Francisco  a  year  before  I  was 
made  City  Surveyor,  and  for  the  twenty- 
five  years  thereafter  I  can  say  of  the 
great  events  that  interested  or  con- 
vulsed society  or  politics  on  the  golden 
slope,  *all  of  which  I  saw,  part  of  which 
I  was.'  The  real  history  from  the  inside 
of  that  splendid  country  in  its  young 
prime,  its  sunburst  into  fame,  the 
character,  the  crime,  the  speculation, 
and  wonderful  expansion  of  San  Fran- 
cisco from  the  sand  lots  into  a  massive 
and  magnificent  city,  beautiful  exceed- 
ingly, may  yet  be  written  by  some  writer 
of  'imagination  all  compact,'  but  no  dull 
and  prosy  story  tisller  need  enter  the  list. 
The  story  and  the  essential  romance  of 
that  mad  rivalry  and  the  rush  of  all 
races  and  nationalities  down  to  'Frisco 
to  get  rich,  and  the  fierce  struggle  of 
lawlessness  by  criminal  procedure,  to 
get   the   upper   hand    of   civilized    force, 


must  yet  be  written.  And  if,  as  is  seri- 
ously asseited,  the  New  England  people 
once  prayed  for  somebody  to  write  a 
dictionary,  then  some  oid  Californian 
ought  to  pray  for  some  'forty-niner'  men- 
tally equipped,  who  saw  the  transfotma- 
tion  from  poverty  to  splendor,  to  rise  up 
and  give  a  true  abstract  and  brief  chioni- 
cle  of  the  dear  remembered  days  when 
the  'forty-niners'  first  went  gypsying 
p long  the  golden  shores  of  the  Pacific. 
"Wealth  had  begun  to  pour  into  'Frisco 
from  the  auriferous  hills  about  the 
lime  Buchanan's  administration,  in  1856, 
was  in  full  swing.  The  foundations 
of  the  largest  fortunes  were  laid  between 
J849  and  1860.  If  every  man  is  said 
to  have  a  wild  beast  in  him,  a  California 
politician  of  that  period  must  have  had 
two  wild  beasts  in  him.  If  a  man  was 
killed  on  the  street  and  there  was  any 
semblance  of  a  fair  fight,  nothing  was 
paid  about  it.  But  the  midnight  assas- 
sin began  to  get  his  fine  worK  in  regard- 
less of  law;  and  when  the  lawless  element 
which  generally  controlled  the  Mayor's 
office,  in  San  Francisco,  got  so  rampant 
that  it  would  no  longer  brook  honest  criti- 
cism, in  the  daily  papers,  when  editor 
James  King  of  William  was  shot  dead 
near  his  own  newspaper  office  by  Jim 
Casey,  the  gambler,  then  the  sober  sec- 
ond thought  of  the  people  made  the  Vigi- 
lance Committee  a  necessity.  And  when 
it  came  to  stay,  and  its  dissolving  view 
left  both  law  and  order  lords  paramount. 
The  two  interesting  figures  in  Califor- 
nia politics,  when  I  began  to  take  any 
interest  in  public  affairs,  were  Judge 
Terry  and  Senator  Broderick.  My  office 
was  not  a  political  one,  and  I  was  brought 
into  daily  contact  with  the  politicians 
of  both  sides.    Both  these  men  had  great 


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843 


and  lovable  qualities,  and  ought  to  have 
lived  out  their  days  in  peace;  but  both 
met  tragic  deaths:  Broderick  by  Terry's 
pistol,  and  Judge  Terry  at  the  hands  of 
Judge  Field's  United  States  Marshal. 
Both  men  were  singularly  gifted  with 
the  fascination  of  personal  magnetism. 
Terry  was  the  net  result  of  Southern 
culture  and  the  best  Southern  training 
In  scholarship.  He  was  a  delightful  con- 
versationalist, a  graceful  and  forceful 
orator,  not  unlike  the  brilliant  and  gifted 
United  States  Senator,  Ed.  Baker,  who 
met  his  heroic  death  at  Ball's  Bluff.  In 
that  action,  it  is  said  of  Baker  that  when 
the  bullets  came  like  rain,  the  boys  asked 
him  to  lie  down.  "No,"  he  replied,  "a 
United  States  soldier  cannot  lie  down  in 
face  of  the  foe."  It  is  said  that  Terry 
never  lost  a  friend  once  made,  but  he  was 
a  veritable  Hotspur  in  temper,  and  it  was 
but  a  slight  provocation  that  caused  him 
to  draw  his  'bowle*  or  seek  his  hip  pocket 
for  his  ready  revolver. 

"Broderick,  before  he  became  a  Sena- 
tor from  California,  was  a  fire  laddie 
from  New  York,  but  developed  fast  in  the 
hot  house  of  California  politics.  He  was 
a  manly  man,  faithful  to  his  friends;  a 
direct,  positive,  and  aggressive  charac- 
ter; a  nature  that  could  not  and  would 
not  brook  opposition.  The  laws  of  Cali- 
fornia as  then  administered,  could  not 
stop  two  such  men  from  shooting  each 
other;  that  one  or  both  should  die  was 
the  natural  outgrowth  of  the  California 
idea  of  'reciprocity'  in  mortal  combat. 
A  mistaken  idea  prevails  in  the  North, 
first,  that  Broderick  did  not  want  to  fight, 
and  second,  that  he  was  unfamiliar  with 
the  code,  and  ignorant  of  the  proper  use 
of  duelling  pistols.  This  was  not  so; 
Broderick  had  graduated  In  a  good  school 
in  the  Bowery,  New  York  City,  where 
fighting  was  as  natural  to  him  as  eating 
his  breakfast.  He  well  knew  that  Cali- 
fornia was  not  big  enough  for  Terry  and 
himself.  That  he  was  perfectly  an  fait 
^.vlth  duelling  methods  was  shown  in  the 
first  duel.  He  was  killed  in  the  second. 
'Extra  Billy  Smith.'  once  in  ante-bellum 
ffays  Governor  of  Virginia,  had  a  bright 
ton  in  California,  who  was  an  ardent  ad- 
vocate of  Buchanan,  and  young  Smith, 
full  of  the  fire  of  "Old  Virginny,"  chal- 
lenged Broderick  to  fight  a  duel,  the  occa- 


sion growing  out  of  one  of  Broderick's 
speeches  attacking  James  Buchanan.  The 
fight  came  off  at  the  edge  of  a  beautiful 
grove  near  San  Francisco,  in  the  presence 
of  2,000  people.  The  distance  had  been 
paced  off,  the  principals  stood  facing 
each  other  when  Broderick  tried  to  hand 
me  his  gold  watch. 

**I  waved  my  hand,  saying,  'Keep  your 
watch  on — it  may  be  of  service.'  And 
sure  enough,  it  was.  Smith's  bullet  struck 
square  the  open  face  of  Broderick's 
watch.  He  reeled  and  was  about  to  fall 
when  caught  in  the  arms  of  his  second. 
He  was  unhurt,  being  stunned  momentar- 
ily by  the  force  of  the  bullet,  which 
lodged  and  flattened  against  the  gold  case 
of  the  time  piece.  Both  parties  shook 
hands,   and   that  duel   ended. 

"It  was  intended  that  the  Broderick- 
Terry  duel  should  take  place  in  public, 
and  in  the  same  spot  that  witnessed  the 
Smith-Broderick  duel,  but  the  high  con- 
tending parties  to  that  tragic  affair  were 
both  arrested  by  the  city  police  and  held 
under  $10,000  bonds  to  keep  the  peace. 
This  did  not  stop  the  duel,  but  it  put  an 
end  to  publicity.  I  forgot  to  say  that 
after  Broderick  rose  up  in  the  Smith- 
Broderick  duel  he  fired  three  times  at 
Smith  without  hurting  him.  It  was  not 
because  Broderick  was  a  bad  shot  that 
he  was  killed  in  his  fatal  duel  with  Judge 
Terry.  He  simply  had  a  presentiment 
that  he  was  going  to  be  killed;  he  was 
always  superstitious;  he  was  so  nervous 
that  his  pistol  went  off  before  the  word 
'fire,'  and  Broderick's  bullet  falling  harm- 
lessly at  Terry's  feet,  the  bullet  of  the 
fiery  Judge  sped  in  its  unerring  aim 
straight  to  the  vital  spot  in  the  body  of 
the  big  Senator.  His  alleged  dying  ex- 
clamation. They  have  killed  me  because 
I  opposed  the  extension  of  slavery  and  a 
corrupt  Administration,'was  always  said 
to  be  the  'air-drawn  dagger'  of  a  Cali- 
fornia reporter's  brain.  Those  who  ought 
to  know  say  that  this  sentence,  which 
soon  rang  through  the  North  like  a  bugle 
call  to  arms,  was  born  of  the  brilliant 
pen  of  John  W.  Forney  of  Philadelphia, 
who  was  a  devoted  personal  friend  of 
Senator  Broderick.  The  Burr-Hamilton 
duel  did  not  create  a  profounder  sensa- 
tion in  America  than  did  the  killing  of 
David  Broderick;  it  changed  the  face  of 


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California  politics,  and  Terry,  still  the  cen- 
ter of  an  admiring  and  devoted  coterie  of 
friends  (for  lie  was  the  most  charming 
of  men)  received  a  wound  in  the  public 
estimation  from  which  he  never  recov- 
ered/ 

"The  feverish  desire  to  gain  weaiih 
swiftly  made  the  early  settlers  of  Cali- 
fornia a  community  of  gamblers.  Every 
saloon  of  magnitude  had  a  faro  bank  at- 
tachment or  annex.  The  bar  was  usu- 
ally on  the  street,  and,  as  now  in  Chey- 
enne or  Denver,  the  back  room»  ap- 
proached through  the  bar-room,  was  a 
faro  bank,  with  many  poker  and  roulette 
tables,  and  here  the  whirr  of  the  wheel 
and  the  click  of  the  ivory  chips  could  be 
heard  every  night  till  Aurora  walked  the 
eastern  skies.  The  most  famous  gambler 
in  my  time  was  'Judge'  Jones.  It  was 
only  known  of  him  that  he  mysteriously 
dropped  down  from  Texas,  and  came  in 
as  a  forty-niner  with  the  title  of  'Judge;' 
he  was  a  slender  little  fellow,  with  nerves 
tempered  like  Bessemer  steel;  when 
sober,  of  Chesterfleldian  manners,  but 
ready  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  any  man 
when  'three  sheets  in  the  wind.'  Judge 
Jones  was  the  best-dressed  man  in  San 
Francisco;  all  his  clothes  came  from  Lon- 
don, and,  while  natty  in  appearance,  no- 
body had  the  temerity  to  tempt  the 
Judge's  wrath  by  the  slightest  allusion 
to  his  passion  for  dress.  Fortune  changed 
hands  rapidly  in  those  days.  I  have 
known  rough  men  to  come  down  from 
the  mines  with  $50,000  in  gold  dust  and 
'blow'  it  all  in  at  Judge  Jones's  faro  pal- 
ace inside  of  two  days;  frequently  these 
cheerful  losers  would,  without  a  murmur, 
borrow  a  grub  stake  and  flee  away  to  the 
mountains,  and  before  a  year  elapsed, 
they,  ten  to  one,  would  dig  up  another  for- 
tune in  gold,  and'  mayhap,  have  sense 
enough  to  pull  up  stakes,  go  East,  and 
keep  it. 

While  the  proprietor  of  a  faro  bank, 
Judge  Jones  had  a  burning  desire  to  take 
his  own  'bad  medicine,'  that  is,  to  'buck* 
against  a  faro  bank,  and  the  result  was 
that  about  one-half  the  Judge's  time  he 
was  flat  broke,  and  at  such  periods  an 
extremely  dangerous  man  to  tackle.  Bil- 
ly Owens,  who  had  a  saloon  rivalling  in 
splendor  Ed.  Stokes's  Hoffman  House 
tar-room  in  New  York  city,  was  the  fast 


friend  of  the  Texas  gambler.  When 
Jones  went  broke  Owens  would  stake  him 
again. 

Bad  blood  ran  in  Jones's  veins  toward 
Belcher  Key,  an  English  pugilist,  wlio 
was  then  the  local  John  L.  Sullivan  of 
'Frisco,  and  whose  bunch  of  flves  earned 
for  the  prize  flghter  a  respect  his  bad 
manners  did  not  entitle  him  to  win  or 
wear.  Key  was  quarrelsome  and  so  was 
the  Texas  Judge.  Both  met  in  the  Bl 
Dorado,  near  Billy  Owen's  saloon  and 
gambling  place,  when  Key,  who  was 
reasonably  full  of  liquor,  proceeded  di- 
rectly to  where  Judge  Jones  was  stand- 
ing and  slapped  him  in  the  face.  Jones 
was  game,  and  though  much  inferior  in 
pize,  put  up  his  flat  and  let  drive  at  the 
burly  prize-fighter  with  his  right,  draw- 
ing first  blood  freely.  This  was  more 
than  Fighter  Key  expected,  and  he  let 
fly  with  his  left — ^he  was  left-handed, 
and  fioored  the  little  gambler,  who 
quickly  rose  from  tne  marble  fioor,  pulled 
his  revolver  and  shot  Belcher  Key 
through  the  heart.  The  Coroner  had  no 
time  to  waste  on  the  result  of  Judge 
Jones's  fatal  facility  with  his  pistol.  He 
was  not  even  arrested,  and  that  night  he 
received  an  ovation  which  might  have 
gratified  the  last  of  the  Caesars.  Judge 
Jones  was  the  hero  of  the  hour,  and  bore 
his  honors  as  meekly  as  any  great  victor 
should. 

"The  business  and  sporting  life  of  the 
pioneers  on  the  golden  shore  and  in  the 
glorious  climate  of  California  was  a  fev- 
erish one.  To  the  forty-niners  the  old 
things  of  the  effete  East  had  passed 
sway  and  all  things  had  become  new. 
It  was  not  an  unusual  thing  at  Billy 
Owen's  back  room  to  see  a  man  walk  in 
and  lay  down  a  certificate  of  deposit  for 
$10,000  on  the  ace,  having  first  asked 
the  banker  to  cover  his  bet,  and  without 
a  change  of  muscle  banker  and  player 
would  abide  the  coming  out  of  the  ace. 
If  the  bank  won  the  dealer  quietly  raked 
in  his  $10,000  certificate  of  deposit,  laid 
it  in  his  left  hand  drawer,  and  the  man 
in  front  of  the  table  went  out  a  wiser  and 
a  poorer  man  to  begin  prospecting  again 
at  Poverty  Flat. 

"I  once  saw  a  man  come  in,  and,  tiring 
of  'piking'  along  with  $500  bets  on  a  sin- 
gle card,  he  nonchalently  tapped  on  the 


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high  card  with  his  pencil  as  he  said: 
'Mr.  Dealer,  Fll  just  go  you  on  the  high 
card  my  three-story  brick  house  on  Fol- 
nom  street  against  your  $20,000,  and 
drawing  out  of  his  pocket  his  deed,  the 
hettor  laid  it  on  the  ace  spot  'Done,' 
&aid  the  dealer,  who  had  a  $10,000  roll 
of  bank  bills  in  his  pocket  and  a  reserve 
fund  of  $100,000  in  a  small  safe  in  the 
comer  of  the  gambling  hell.  Quietly  the 
outside  betting  went  on,  and  nearly  all 
the  cards  were  out,  the  ace  being  the 
'soda'  card,  and  three  aces  still  in  the 
box.  The  deed  still  lay  on  the  ace.  At 
last,  when  king,  queen,  jack,  and  three 
aces  were  the  only  cards  in  the  box,  the 

better   said:    'Hold,   dealer;    Fm   d d 

tired  of  that  ace;  it's  going  to  split  I 
want  to  put  my  brick  house  on  the  king. 
Are  you  agreed?'  'Cert!'  exclaimed  the 
dealer.  He  pulled.  Out  came  the  king, 
falling  at  the  right  of  the  dealer.  The 
bank  lost.  The  man  with  the  brick  house 
won  $20,000.  'How  will  you  have  your 
money?'  said  Mr.  Dealer.  'Check,'  laconi- 
cally answered  the  lucky  gambler.  The 
dealer's  side  partner  filled  out  a  check 
for  the  winner  while  the  game  went  on. 

"As  I  have  said,  Billy  Owens  and  Judge 
Jones  were  as  close  as  Damon  and  Pyth- 
ias; the  bond  that  bound  them  was  a 
friendship  that  only  ended  with  the  life 
cf  Judge  Jones,  who  died  with  his  boots 
on  in  his  own  faro  bank,  killed  by  a  cow- 
boy who  got  the  'drop'  on  him  in  a  flght 
over  a  disputed  bet.  One  night  in  the 
month  of  May,  the  beautiful  springtime 
of  California,  when  the  game  'run  light,' 
as  gamblers  say,  and  Judge  Jones  had 
played  in  a  good  streak  of  luck  for  a 
month,  BjUy  Owens,  flushed  with  'Old 
Otard,'  came  back  to  the  faro  layout  from 
his  sumptuous  palace  of  gin  and  sin. 
Walking  up  to  his  chum,  he  said: 'Judge 
Jones,  this  is  a  mighty  mean  game,  with 
these  hundred  dollar  pikers  around  the 
board.  How  much  you  got  in  that  big 
safe  over  yonder?'  'Just  $32,000  in  thar, 
old  man,'  replied  the  Judge,  'and  that's 
just  $32,000  more'n  you've  got  the  sand 
in  your  craw  to  try  and  win.' 

"  'Ah,  that's  your  little  game,  is  it,  old 
Texas  never  tire,'  exclaimed  Billy  Owens, 
just  full  enough  for  a  'flyer.'  'I'll  just 
go  you  my  check  for  32,000  cold  plunk- 
c*rs.'    'Put  up  or  shut  up,  Billy,'  senten- 


Uously  answered  the  Texas  Judge,  as 
his  steel-gray  eyes,  expanding  wide, 
shone  like  two  white  diamonds  in  a  jew- 
eler's tray.  Billy  Owens,  as  blithe  and 
debonair  as  a  wild  mountain  goat  skip- 
ping over  the  Sierra  Nevada  ranges, 
walked  over  to  the  gambler's  escritoire 
(and  a  well-regulated  gambling  place  is 
never  without  a  table  called  a  'secretary') 
where  pen  and  ink  are  ready,  and  bank 
checks,  without  any  particular  bank's 
name,  can  always  be  found.  The  saloon- 
keeper filled  up  a  check  for  $32,000  and 
signed  it  and  walked  back  to  Judge 
Jones. 

"Up  to  this  moment  Jones  thought 
Billy  was  'foolin.'  He  was  mistaken. 
'I'll  bet  this  in  'the  pot' — ^the- cards  6,  7, 
8 — against  your  safe  and  contents,'  said 
Owens.  'It  is  well,'  said  Jones,  without 
a  smile,  pulling  out  a  big  safe  key  from 
bis  side  pocket  and  slapping  it  down  hard 
on  top  of  Billy's  check  in  the  pot.  'That 
represents  my  wealth,'  said  Dealer  Jones. 
All  the  other  players  ceased  playing  to 
watch  the  game.  The  third  turn,  as  the 
key  lay  hugging  the  check  between  the 
six,  seven  and  eight  spots,  came  out  of 
the  box  'king,  six,'  the  dealer  called,  very 
white   about  the   'gills.' 

"  'Busted !  By  the  everlasting  jumping 
jingo!'    yelled    the    Texas    Judge;     'but 

d ^n  my  eyes,  Billy,  you  are  the  very 

man  I  want  to  have  win,  if  I  must  lose.' 

"The  bank  was  broke,  and  till  daylight 
Billy  Owens  made  it  lively  for  the  boys. 
The  Judge  closed  the  game,  but  within 
a  week  he  struck  it  rich  in  a  placer  mine 
and  opened  up  a  new  and  palatial  faro 
bank,  more  gorgeous  than  the  first,  in 
spite  of  his  landlord  calling  the  turn  on 
his  safe  key. 

"The  California  Theatre  in  Bush  street 
was  built  for  actor  John  McCullough. 
He  was  a  lion  of  the  first  magnitude. 
From  the  first  night  he  started  the  'gal- 
lery gods'  and  the  'pit'  rose  to  him.  His 
muscular  rendering  of  Spartacus  and  his 
sublime  patriotism  in  Virginius  took  Cali- 
fornia by  storm.  The  great  tragedian 
was  very  proud  of  his  California  boom. 
Mackay  of  the  Nevada  Bank  and  mines, 
took  to  him  from  the  first  night,  and  soon 
opened  the  way  for  one  deal  out  of  which 
McCullough  realized  $70,000  in  the  rise 
of  Ophir  stock,  but,  while  able  to  spend 


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money  with  easy  magnificence,  the  ac- 
tor was  entirely  destitute  of  the  passion 
cf  avarice  or  the  ordinary  inspirations 
of  thrift,  or  desire  to  save.  He  was  like 
the  little  girl  who  wondered  'why  God  had 
made  the  silver  dollar  round  unless  it 
was  so  that  it  would  go  round.'  If,  as 
Napoleon  said,  'The  great  heart  makes 
the  great  soldier,'  then  John  McCullough 
would  have  been  a  great  man  to  lead  an 
army  in  the  field.  Barton  Hill,  his  mana- 
ger, told  me  that  the  great  actor,  while 
starring  at  the  California  Theatro,  during 
the  eight  years  of  his  management,  had 
expended  $250,000  to  supernumeraries, 
personal  friends,  and  needy  people  in 
and  around  the  place,  whose  services 
were  more  a  matter  of  grace  or  charity 
than  of  necessity.  Hill  remonstrated,  but 
John  McCullough  with  his  big  heart, 
stood  firm.  He  said,  'Yes,  Bart,  I  admit 
this  money  is  not  needed  to  run  this  play, 
but  think  of  the  good  it  does  every  week 
to  these  poor  people.  Leave  the  salary 
list  alone.     You  may  cut  down  the  sal- 


aries when  I  go  East,  but  not  till  then.' 
And  the  pay  rolls  at  that  theatre  were 
not  'cut'  while  McCullough  remained  in 
San  Francisco.  The  last  year  McCul- 
lough played  at  the  California  Theatre 
Lis  net  income  was  $68,000,  but  when  he 
died  his  entire  estate  did  not  realize 
$25,000,  when,  in  fact,  he  earned  outside 
of  his  several  successful  adventures  m 
mining  stock,  under  Mackay's  fruitful 
management,  over  half  a  million  dollars. 
Noblesse  oblige  was  John  McCullough's 
motto,  and  in  the  days  of  his  greatest 
prosperity  he  lavished  money  with  prince- 
ly generosity  in  kindly  yet  unostenta- 
tious charity.  He  drank  little,  and  was 
sparing  in  enjoyment  of  gastronomical 
pleasures.  His  funeral  at  St.  George's 
Hall,  Philadelphia,  with  the  diapason  of 
soulful  and  exquisite  music,  the  multi- 
tudinous fiowers,  and  the  heart-warm 
tears  of  many  thousands  who  wept  over 
the  bier  of  the  great-hearted  actor,  re- 
called to  me  the  beautiful  sentence  of 
Scripture,  'Behold  how  they  loved  him.' " 


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THE   LOSS   OF   THE   RIO   DE   JANEIRO 


By   Alexander  Woolf. 


T  cp  T  HEN  the  lucfclf  ss  naviga1;or, 
\  Ay  through  over-canfldencQ,  «e'gli-,  - 
X  X  gence  or  incapacity,  is  unfortu- 
nate enough  to  pile  up  his  ship 
on  the  rocks,  or  the  beach,  he  immediate- 
ly sets  about  finding  some  excuse  for 
himself,  or  some  way  to  blame  somebody 
or  something  else  for  his  mishap.  The 
most  common  of  these  excuses  are:  er- 
ratic currents,  deviation  of  the  compass, 
unknown  rocks,  faulty  charts,  mute  fog 
boms  or  bells,  dim  or  extinguished 
lights  on  lighthouses,  and  many  others 
too  numerous  to  mention.  Of  these  the 
unknown  current  is  easily  the  favorite. 
The  real  cause  of  the  disaster  is  seldom 
given.  Now,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  cur- 
rents in  San  Francisco  bay  and  adjacent 
waters  are  well  known,  not  only  on  the 
surface,  but  at  all  depths,  at  all  times, 
and  at  all  stages  of  the  tides.  The  in- 
fluence of  the  Sacramento  river  on  the 
tides  is  inconsiderable.  For  further  infor- 
mation on  this  subject  the  reader  is  re- 
ferred to  the  Reports  of  the  United 
States  Coast  and  Geodetic  Survey,  and  to 


the  Pacific  Coast  Pilot. 

The  most  frequent  cause  of  shipwreck 
on  this  coast  is  the  neglect  of  taking 
soundings  in  thick  and  foggy  weather; 
and  this  was  the  cause  of  the  unfortunate 
wrecking  of  the  Rio.  During  the  several 
official  inquiries  that  have  been  made  into 
the  cause  of  the  Rio's  disaster,  and  the 
subsequent  great  loss  of  life,  this  ques- 
tion of  soundings  has  been  studiously 
slighted  or  ignored  altogether.  Mate 
Coghlan  was  asked  if  soundings  were 
taken  after  the  vessel  left  the  anchorage 
outside  the  Heads.  His  answer  was: 
*'No,  you  could  not  take  soundings  with 
the  handline,  and  it  would  have  done  no 
?:ood  anyhow."  This  was  a  strange  and 
Fuggestive  reply  to  come  from  a  pros- 
pective ship's  master.  At  the  Coroner's 
inquest  the  question  was  put  to  the  pilot, 
and  his  answer  was:  "No,  you  couldn't 
find  bottom  with  a  thousand  fathoms  of 
line."  Now,  as  a  simple  matter  of  fact, 
the  deepest  spot  in  the  channel  is  sixty- 
three  fathoms,  but  the  Coroner,  not  being 
a  nautical  man,  did  not  know  the  differ- 


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ence,  and  had  to  abandon  that  line  of  in- 
quiry. At  the  inquiry  before  the  inspect- 
ors of  Hulls  and  Boilers,  the  question 
again  bobbed  up,  and  was  answered  with 
a  simple  "No."  This  was  probably  suf- 
ficient for  both  the  Pilot  and  the  Inspect- 
ors, as  Captain  Bolles,  one  of  the  In- 
spectors, is  a  nautical  man. 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  writing  of  this 
article,  the  official  data  is  not  at  hand,  but 
enough  testimony  has  been  obtained  to 
serve  as  a  foundation  for  the  following 
statements:  The  morning  of  February 
21, 1901,  found  the  P.  M.  S.  S.  Go's  steam- 
ship Rio  de  Janeiro,  anchored  off  the  en- 
trance to  San  Francisco  bay,  in  mid-chan- 


to  the  Pilot.  The  course  the  ship  went 
ever  is  not  known,  and,  finally,  neither 
the  Pilot  nor  anybody  else  knows,  to  this 
day,  on  what  rock  the  ill-fated  ship  was 
torn  open. 

But,  to  return  to  the  anchorage:  Short- 
ly after  4  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  ship 
got  under  weigh  on  a  N.  E.  course, 
and  at  an  estimated  speed  of  8  or  9  miles 
an  hour.  The  weather  at  this  time  was 
clear,  but  soon  a  fogbank  rolled  down  and 
enveloped  the  ship  in  darkness.  FYom 
this  time  on  no  man  on  board  knew  the 
exact  position  of  the  ship.  Now,  in  this 
condition  of  affairs,  there  was  one  of  two 
things  for  those  in  ch'arge  of  the  vessel 


The  Steamship   Rio  de  Janeiro. 


nel,  and  three  and  one-half  nautical  miles 
from  the  place  where  she  was  lost.  The 
location  of  the  anchorage  was  fixed  dur- 
ing the  night  from  bearings  taken  from 
Point  Bonita  Light  and  the  Cliff  House, 
and  from  the  depth  of  water  surround- 
ing the  vessel,  which  was  found  to  be 
thirteen  fathoms.  This  much  is  known 
positively.  The  length  of  time  it  took 
the  ship  to  make  the  3^  miles  varies, 
according  to  testimony,  from  45  minutes 
to  1  hour  and  5  minutes.  The  speed  of 
the  ship  is  not  known,  as  no  readings  of 
the  log  were  taken.  The  direction  and 
velocity  of  the  currents  were  not  known 


to  do — either  to  return  to  their  anchor- 
age or  feel  their  way  in  with  the  lead; 
but  neither  of  these  things  was  done.  The 
ship  was  kept  on  her  uncertain  course, 
struck  a  rock,  was  ripped  open  from  stem 
to  stem,  and  sank  in  deep  water.  At  the 
time  of  this  writing  the  wreck  has  not 
been  found,  nor  have  the  bodies  of  any  of 
the  131  victims  that  went  down  with  the 
ship — except  those  who  were  found  in  the 
water  at  the  time  of  the  wreck — been  re- 
covered. The  Pilot  claims  that  he  was 
on  his  course  all  the  time,  but  that  the 
ever-convenient  current  set  him  on  the 
rocks.    What  business  had  he  to  be  so 


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Overland   Monthly. 


near  the  rocks?  If  he  had  used  the  lead 
he  would  have  been  warned  of  the  danger 
long  before  his  position  had  become  crit- 
ical. 

As  it  has  been  necessary  to  mention  the 
Pilot  so  often,  it  may  t)e  proper  to  say 
that  this  article  is  not  intended  as  a 
criticism  of  the  gentleman  personally, 
but  is  merely  directed  against  a  slip- 
shod system  of  navigation  and  a  criminal 
disregard  of  the  most  simple  safeguards 
against     disaster.      On    examining    the 


after  leaving  her  first  anchorage.  The 
deepest  water  over  which  the  vessel 
passed  was  probably  30  fathoms.  In  con- 
nection with  the  identity  of  the  rock  on 
which  the  ship  struck,  the  testimony  of 
Quartermaster  Lindstrom  sliows  a  curi- 
ous discrepancy.  He  has  testified  that, 
as  the  vessel  struck,  he  saw  a  red  flash — 
presumably  the  light  on  the  fort — "over- 
head and  in  front."  The  ship  at  this  time 
v/as  heading  N.  by  E.  If  this  is  correct, 
it  must  have  been  some  rock  to  the  south 


The  Golden  Gate,  San  Francisco,  where  the  Rio  de  Janeiro  Sank. 


chart,  the  reader  will  find  that  the  deep- 
est water  runs  in  a  practically  straight 
line  through  mid-channel  from  N.  E.  to 
S.  W.  From  this  mid-channel  the  bottom 
slopes  upwards  on  both  sides.  This  is 
an  ideal  condition  for  taking  soundings 
to  determine  the  ship's  position.  It  will 
also  be  seen  that  to  the  westward  of  Fort 
Point  the  shoal  water  runs  out  far  enough 
to  give  timely  warning.  Mate  Coghlan 
has  also  admitted  that  he  thought  the 
vessel  could  have  anchored  at  any  time 


ward    of    the    Fort    on    which    the    ship 
struck. 

It  has  been  asserted  by  the  Pilot  and 
others  that  soundings  could  not  have 
been  taken;  that  the  taking  of  soundings 
v/ould  have  necessitated  the  stopping  of 
the  ship — that  the  water  was  too  deep 
and  the  time  too  short  to  get  any  sound- 
ings. There  was  on  board  the  ship  a 
patent  sounding  machine  that  will  give 
correct  soundings  in  100  fathoms  of 
water  every  fifteen  minutes  from  a  ves- 


Digitized  by  V^jOO^  LtT 


The    Loss   of   the    Rio   de    Janeiro. 


851 


I -A 
1-B 


sel  going  at  the  rate  of  fifteen  or  sixteen 
knots  (miles)  an  hour.  As  the  depth  of 
the  course  over  which  the  Rio  passed  was 
probably  never  more  than  30  fathoms  and 
the  speed  not  over  9  knots,  it  will  be  seen 
that  soundings  could  have  been  taken 
easily  every  five  minutes  or  less.  The 
result  of  taking  these  soundings  would 
have  been  to  alarm  the  pilot  and  to  cause 
the  ship  to  be  slowed  down  or  stopped 
and  anchored;  or  it  might  have  been  that 
the  Pilot  would  have  gone  in  search  of 
deeper  water,  which  would  not  have  been 
difficult,  with  the  ebb-tide  running. 
The  lead  has  been  called  the  sailor's  best 
friend,  and  the  patent  sounding  machine 
(Lord  Kelvin's)  is  the  best  device  that 
has  yet  been  invented  for  the  handling  of 
it.  The  principal  parts  of  the  machine 
are:  300  fathoms  (1800  feet)  of  steel 
wire,  the  lead,  and  the  recorder — at- 
tached to  the  lead.  The  recorder  is  a 
brass  cylinder  with  a  piston  and  pistou- 
lod.  The  upper  end  of  the  cylinder  is 
water-tight  and  may  be  called  the  air- 
chamber.  As  the  lead  descends,  the  in- 
creasing pressure  of  water  forces  the 
piston  upwards.  As  the  lead  is  wound 
in,  a  spiral  spring  in  the  lower  end  of  the 
cylinder  pulls  the  piston  back  gradually. 
On  the  graduated  piston-rod  is  a  sliding 
pointer  which  brings  up  against  the  cy- 
linder head  when  the  piston  moves  up- 
wards, but  remains  stationary  on  the  rod 
as  the  piston  moves  back.  The  result 
is  that  when  the  lead  and  recorder  are  re- 
covered, the  pointer  will  be  somewhere 
down  on  the  rod  and  will  show  the  depth 
to  which  the  lead  has  descended.  There 
is  also  a  stand  and  reel,  with  a  brake  ar- 
rangement connected  with  the  machine, 
but  it  is  unnecessary  to  describe  them. 
The  main  advantage  of  this  machine 
is  that  it  obviates  the  necessity  of  stop- 
ping the  ship  in  order  to  get  soundings. 
R».2  Another  advantage  is  that  the  lead  will 

t  Depth  go  down  quicker  and  is  hauled  in  quicker 
Korder.  and  easier  than  by  any  of  the  old  meth- 
ods. If  one  of  the  many  officers  on  the 
Rio's  bridge,  who  were  trying  to  locate 
the  ship's  position  by  the  fog  whistles 
and  echoes,  had  been  detailed,  with  two 
seamen,  to  work  this  machine,  the  ship 
would  probably  have  been  afloat  to-day. 
Prom  investigations  pursued  on  the  At- 
lantic coast,  some  years  ago,  it  has  been 


proved  that  steam  whistles  and  bells  are 
not  be  relied  on  in  foggy  weather.  The 
distance  from  a  ship  to  a  fog  signal  can- 
not be  determined  at  all,  and  the  direc- 
tion is  very  uncertain.  They  serve  as  a 
warning,  but  cannot  be  depended  upon  as 
a  guide. 

This  is  the  second  large  steamship 
lost  within  the  Heads  through  a  gross  neg- 
lect to  obey  the  promptings  of  sound  sea- 
manship. What,  with  the  flimsy  excuses 
of  Pilots  and  superflcial  official  "investi- 
gations," the  impression  is  apt  to  go 
abroad  that  the  harbor  of  San  Francisco 


Sounding    Mschine. 

is  dangerous.  This  is  far  from  the  truth. 
With  ordinary  precautions  taken,  the  har- 
bor can  be  entered  by  steamers,  as  Is 
done  dally,  at  all  times,  and  In  all  weath- 
ers. The  channel  is  straight,  wide,  and 
deep.  No  outlying  sandbars  or  rocks  ob- 
struct the  passage.  The  tides  and  cur- 
rents are  known  absolutely,  and  the  only 
serious  obstruction  — the  Mile  Rocks — 
are  well  off  towards  the  south  shore. 
With  a  steam-whistle  on  Fort  Point  and 
a  bell  buoy  of  modern  construction  near 
the  Mile  Rocks,  an  entrance  to  the  har- 
bor can  be  made  with  perfect  safety  even 
in  foggy  weather,  provided  the  lead  is 
kept  going. 


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Hail  and  Farewell. 


Years  ago  a  man 
who  was  endowed 
with  a  small  gift,  in 
the  way  of  versifica- 
tion, wrote  that: 


Death  is  the  only  deathless  one, 
All  things  must  end  as  all  begun. 


And  no  thoughtful  observer  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  universe  of  which  we  are 
a  part  can  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the 
great — yet,  in  some  respects,  unpalatable 
truth — ^that  is  embodied  in  those  lines. 
Human  life  is  a  transient  affair;  and,  in 
its  transiency,  human  life  is  but  a  part 
of  the  general  scheme  of  a  universe 
whose  flora  and  fauna  and  reptilia  come 
into  being,  mature  and  die  away  in  end- 
less and  regular  procession  though  sub- 
ject always  to  those  mutations  of  chance 
wjiich  may  either  accelerate  the  end  or 
abruptly  terminate  the  existence  that 
has  Just  begun.  But,  though  death  is  as 
old  as  the  animal  world,  though  it  is 
all  around  us,  at  all  times  and  every- 
where, though  it  is  inevitable,  yet  some- 
how one  never  gets  used  to  it  in  the  way 
of  rising  above  that  longing  for  the  clasp 
of  the  hand  that  is  cold  and  the  sound  of 
the  voice  that  is  forever  dumb.  The  va- 
cant chair,  in  the  freshness  of  its  lack  of 
p  tenant,  always  does  and  always  will, 
bring  a  feeling  of  bereavement  and  lonli- 
ness  that  no  philosophy  will  ever  enable 
the  human  mind,  so  long  as  it  is  either 
influenced  or  controlled  by  the  human 
heart,  to  rise  superior  to. 

One  falls  naturally  into  this  train  of 
reflection  by  contemplating  the  fact  that 
within  the  past  month,  two  members  of 
the  Overland  Monthly's  former  staff  have 
— one  in  the  fullness  of  years  and  honors, 
and  the  other,  while  yet  on  the  threshold 
of  a  career  that  gave  promise  of  bril- 
liant achievements — ^Joined  the  "innumer- 
able caravan,"  as  Bryant  put  it,  that  is 


John  S.  HIttell. 

ever  pressing  on  to  what  some  say  is  eter- 
nal rest  and  others  say  is  a  great  white 
judgment  seat,  where  Mercy  and  Truth 
and  Love  are  the  dominating  powers. 
The  gentlemen  to  whom  reference  is 
made  are  Mr.  John  S.  Hittell  and  Mr. 
Rounsevelle  Wildman. 

Mr.  Hittell  was  born  in  Jonestown, 
Pennsylvania,  in  1825,  and  received  his 
education  in  the  schools  of  and  adjacent 
to  the  place  of  his  nativity.  He  was  in 
the  flrst  flush  of  young  manhood  when 
gold  was  discovered  in  California,  and 
in  common  with  so  many  of  the  adven- 
turous spirits  of  that  time,  he  made  his 
77ay  across  the  plains  to  where  fortune 
was  dealing  out  favors  to  the  chosen  few. 
He  arrived  here  is  1849,  and  immediately 
proceeded  to  the  mines  where  he  spent 
a  year  or  two,  but  without  any  particu- 
lar success.    Finding  that  he  was  not  one 


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A  Matter  of  Opinion. 


853 


of  fortune's  favorites  as  a  miner,  he 
turned  his  attention  to  the  semi-literary 
pursuit  of  journalism,  and  for  a  long  time 
was  one  oi  the  editors  of  the  Alta-Cali- 
fornia.  He  also  became  one  of  the  early 
contributors  to  the  Overland.  In  addition 
he  published  a  number  of  books  that 
ranked  high  in  serious  literature.  Among 
them  were:  "Reform  or  Revolution";  "A 
History  of  San  Francisco";  "A  Brief  His- 
tory of  Culture";  "The  Evidences  Against 
Christianity";  "The  Resources  of  Cali- 
fornia." Mr.  Hittell,  as  a  historian,  was 
conspicuous  for  his  care  and  accuracy. 
It  was  he  who  first  unearthed  and  demon- 
strated the  fact  that  a  mistake  had  been 
made,  and  was  still  being  adhered  to,  in 
regard  to  the  date  of  the  discovery  of 
g:oId  by  Marshall,  'ihe  matter  was  fully 
discussed  by  him  in  the  Overland.  Mr. 
Hittell  lived  a  studious  and  blameless 
life,  and  held  the  warm  esteem  of  a  large 
circle  of  friends,  as  well  as  the  more  dis- 
tant respect  of  the  world  at  large,  when 
Le  passed  away. 

Mr.  Rounsevelle  Wildman  belonged  to 
a  more  recent  epoch  than  did  Mr.  Hittell. 
Upon  entering  man's  estate  he  drifted  in- 
to journalism,  and  soon  attracted  atten- 
tion to  himself.  As  a  result  he  was  ap- 
pointed to  a  position  in  the  consular 
service  in  Europe.  Later  he  was  trans- 
ferred to  a  similar  position  in  the  far 
Cast.  A  change  in  the  national  adminis- 
tration retired  him  from  the  public  ser- 
vice at  that  time,  and__he_came  to  San 
Francifco  with  his  family  and  made  his 
liome  here  for  awhile.  It  was  at  this 
period  that  he  purchased  an  interest  in 
the  Overland  Monthly,  and  became  its 
editor.  "His  work  in  these  columns  is 
CTifflciently  near  to  be  within  the  reader's 
recollection.  Later  on  he  was  appointed 
to  the  position  of  Consul-General  at  Hong 
Kong — which  office  he  was  holding  at 
the  time  of  his  death.  By  reason  of  the 
43pani8h  war,  and  the  outbreak  in  the 
Philippine  Islands,  it  became  a  station 
of  great  responsibility  and  importance — 
and  he  proved  himself  to  be  fully  equal 
to  the  exigencies  of  the  occasion.  Mr. 
Wildman  wrote  considerable  fragmentary 
fiction  that  was  favorably  received,  and 
a  recent  book  of  his,  relating  to  China, 
-will  probably  be  given  a  place  in  the  per- 
jnanent  literature  of  the  world.    The  man- 


ner of  his  death  was  pathetic.  With  his 
wife  and  two  little  children  he  was  a 
passenger  on  the  ill-fated  Rio  de  Janeiro, 
which  ground  itself  to  pieces  on  the  rocks 
at  Fort  Point.    Exactly  what  became  of 


A  New  Age  and  a 
New  Literature. 


Rounsevelle  Wiidman. 

them  is  not  known  and  probably  never 
will  be — until  that  time  when  the  sea  will 
give  up  its  dead,  and  the  waves  cease 
singing  requiems  for  the  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  sailor  boys  who  sleep  softly  in 
the  bed  of  old  ocean. 

Here  in  democra- 
y  tic  America  in  this 

latter  age  of  liter- 
ary commercialism 
it  is  somewhat 
hard  for  us  to  con- 
ceive how  much  the  literature  and  art 
of  an  age  may  be  stifled  or  encouraged 
through  the  inclination  of  an  individual. 
The  "many-headed  monster"  is  the  only 
Mecaenas  which  the  American  author 
knows,  and  his  financial  success  and 
world  upbuilding  depend  entirely  on  his 
value  to  the  public  and  publisher.  Over 
in  England,  however,  it  is  somewhat  dif- 
ferent. True,  an  Englishman,  being  prac- 
tically free,  does  not  have  to  apply  in 


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854 


Overland  Monthly 


person  to  the  reigning  sovereign  or  a 
gieat  lord  of  the  royal  house,  as  was  the 
necessity  in  the  days  of  good  Queen  Bess, 
and  as  our  Shakespeare  was  constrained 
to  do,  in  order  that  he  may  obtain  a  hear- 
ing and  a  bid  for  patronage;  but  just 
the  same,  the  ideas  and  personal  tastes 
of  King  or  Queen  still  exert  a  deal  of 
influence  on  the  literary  output  of  the 
British  man  of  letters. 

The  late  Victoria,  the  Good,  of  Great 
Britain,  none  can  deny  was  responsible 
for  considerable  of  the  glory  of  the  Vic- 
torian age  of  literature.  Nothing  in  the 
line  of  artistic  effort  gained  less  than  her 
approval,  and  whatever  faults  her  own 
pen  may  have  had,  the  loving  care  with 
which  she  edited  her  "Leaves  from  the 
Journal  of  our  Life  in  the  Highlands," 
and  the  unaffected  humility  with  which 
she  submitted  it  for  criticism  to  the 
fe-reat  Tennyson,  was  more  than  patron- 
age to  literature — it  was  an  example. 
It  is  true  that  even  a  Victoria  could  not 
make  an  Alfred  Austin  great;  but  his 
laureateship  certainly  did  not  make  him 
smaller.  Not  so  much  the  patronage  she 
gave,  but  the  atmosphere  she  created 
made  possible  a  scope  of  genius  for  Al- 
freo  Tennyson  to  Rudyard  Kipling,  from 
Thomas  Hardy  to  Oscar  Wilde.  "Never 
was  the  Queen  more  sensible,  more  gra- 
cious, more  human,  than  in  her  inter- 
course with  the  great  men  of  her  time 
marked  out  by  intellect." 

And  now,  since  the  mantle  has  fallen 
on  the  shoulders  of  Edward,  the  world 
is  asking:  "Will  the  change  of  scepter 
effect  a  change  in  English  thought?  Is 
monarchy  still  strong  enough  in  England 
to  make  or  break  the  genius  of  the  age? 
Perhaps  not.  It  can  certainly  change  the 
manners  of  the  time,  the  fashion  and  de- 
sire of  public  patronage ;  and  without  any 
direct  act,  can  still  alter  the  level  of  na- 
tional thought.  Edward,  like  his  mother, 
is  not  a  person  of  pre-eminent  talent,  but 
like  his  mother  he  can  adopt  the  encour- 
agement of  sane  principles  in  art  and  let- 
ters as  a  part  of  his  royal  policy.  In  lit- 
erature, as  in  politics,  the  world  is  ear- 
nestly regarding  lue  age  of  Edward, 
ready  to  compare  its  output  with  the  no- 
ble showing  made  during  the  long  reign 
of  the  late  good  Queen  of  Britain. 


In  this  month's  number  of  the  Over- 
land we  publish  an  elaborate  and  graphic 
description  of  the  counties  embraced  in 
what  is  known  as  the  Sacramento  Val- 
ley of  this  State.  The  article  was  pre- 
pared by  General  N.  P.  Chipman,  now 
one  of  our  Supreme  Court  commissioners. 


D.  O.  Mills. 

and  embraces  something  like  fony  pagea 
of  reading  matter,  and  about  a  similar 
number  of  pages  of  illustrations.  In  ita 
scope  it  deals  with  the  development  of 
the  resources  of  the  territory  in  ques- 
tion, so  far  as  they  have  been  developed, 
and  with  the  possibilities  it  contains  and 
presents  to  those  who  are  seeking  a  field 
for  the  establishment  of  new  homes.  Aa 
regards  the  past  it  deals  with  the  things 
accomplished  rather  than  with  the  men 
who  accomplished  them;  but  we  are  in- 
clined to  the  opinion  that,  even  a  semi- 
historical  review  of  the  development  of 
the  Sacramento  Valley  will  be  regarded 
as  incomplete  if  it  does  not  make  some 
mention  of  Mr.  D.  O.  Mills,  who,  although 
he  is  now  a  leading  New  York  financier, 
was  for  a  long  stretch  of  years,  a  Sacra- 
mento banker.  In  that  capacity  he  not 
merely  did  much  to  make  Sacramento  the 
city  it  is  to-day,  but  he,  also,  took  a  lead- 
ing part  in  financiering  the  operations 
which  have  made  the  valley  counties 
the  prosperous  and  progressive  section 
of  the  State  that  they  are  at  the  pres- 
ent moment. 


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nO^  p^f^^  S      777.  S^t  Yi^ 


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8&4  Overland  Monthly 


In  this  month's    number  of  the  Over- 


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lyrjf^  pitg^  S      ^77.  VS  /  Ti^ 


^?^.• 


Northern  California   Oranges. 


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RGCOGNIZING  the  renewed  interest 
now  shown  for  information  concern- 
ing California,  particularly  North- 
ern California,  and  realizing  the  ne- 
cessity for  united  effort  in  order  that  this 
region  may  become  better  known,  certain 
enterprising  citizens  recently  formed  The 
Sacramento  Valley  Development  Asso- 
ciation. The  organization  embraces  the 
twelve  counties  of  Nevada,  Placer,  Sacra- 
mento, Tolo,  Solano  (the  south  tier  of 
counties  at  the  foot  of  the  valley),  Yuba, 
Batter,  Butte,  Colusa,  Glenn,  Tehama,  (in- 
termediate), and  Shasta  on  the  north 
boundary,  or  at  the  head  of  the  valley. 
It  is  at  the  request  of  the  Association 
tbat  these  pages  have  been  written. 

Obviously,  I  can  go  into  no  very 
treat  detail  as  to  any  individual 
county,  for  it  would  occupy  all  the 
■pace  given  me  to  describe  the  entire  re- 


gion. However,  with  some  not  very  im- 
portant variations,  a  description  of  the 
whole  is  a  description  of  each  part.  DifTer- 
ent  industries  exist  in  different  counties; 
a  greater  development  will  be  found  in 
some  than  in  others;  some  are  devoted  to 
agriculture,  fruit  growing,  mining,  and 
lumbering  enterprises;  others  to  general 
agriculture  and  stock  raising,  with 
some  fruit  growing;  still  others  to 
f'-uit  growing  and  general  agriculture. 
The  agricultural  possibilities,  while 
differing  in  degree,  are  much  the 
same  in  all.  The  photographic  illustra- 
tions will  aid  the  reader  to  some  ex- 
tent to  understand  the  dominant  indus- 
try in  each  of  the  counties,  and 
these  pictures,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will 
give  some  idea  of  the  vast  variety 
of  scenic  effects  throughout  the  valley. 
I  count  it,  indeed,  among  the  greater  ad- 
vantages of  any  country  that  one  may 


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live  in  the  perpetual  presence  of  grand 
mountains  and  diversified  and  charming 
landscape  effects.  It  develops  the  spirit- 
ual and  better  elements  of  character  and 
gives  to  labor  an  ennobling  motiye  and 
relieves  it  of  its  depressing  monotony. 
One  may  look  the  world  over  in  vain  for 
a  region  of  like  extent  (outside  of  Cali- 
fornia) combining  greater  natural  at- 
tractions to  the  permanent  resident,  in 
the  direction  hinted  at,  than  are  every- 
where abundant  in  the  Sacramento  Val- 
ley. 

It  is  assumed  that  the  romantic  history 
0'  California,  which  has  added  so  much 
to  its  renown  is  too 
well  known  to  need 
Some  Things  Taken  repetition;  it  is  also 
for  Granted  assumed     that     the 

reader  is  familiar 
with  most  of  the  uni- 
que characteristics 
cf  the  earlier  and  later  development  which 
has  taken  place  in  the  State,  and  is  con- 
versant with  the  general  facts  which  jus- 
tify the  claim  that  California  is,  in  many 
respects,  unmatched  by  any  State  of  the 
American  Union.  No  other  commonwealth 
is  so  widely  known  abroad,  for  none  has, 
by  the  wonderful  variety  and  quality  of 
ita  products,  so  attracted  the  public  at- 
tention, and  no  State,  judging  by  the  un- 
equaled  progress  California  has  made  in 
the  past  fifty  years,  has  in  its  favor  so 
much  of  hope,  so  much  of  brilliant  proph- 
ecy. 

It  is  now  universally  conceded  that  the 
territorial    changes    which    have    taken 
place   as  the  result 
of   the   Spanish-Am- 
The   Dawning   of  a  lean  war  portend  a 
New    Era.  new  era  for  the  Pa- 

cific Coast,  and  that 
rapid  and  perman- 
ent growth  must 
soon  begin  here.  No  one  at  all  familiar 
with  existing  conditions  can  doubt  that 
the  Pacific  Coast  State  to  which  intelli- 
gent men  are  now  looking,  is  California, 
and  that  the  commercial  emporium  which 
is  to  dominate  the  vast  trade  and  com- 
merce, that  is  to  fiow  to  and  from  this 
Coast,  is  the  city  of  San  Francisco.  There 
was  never  in  the  history  of  the  State  a 
more  opportune  time  than   the   present 


for  the  homeseeker  to  come  among  us 
or  for  the  business  man  to  enter  upon 
a  new  field  of  enterprise  in  this  promis- 
ing land. 

The  artist,  the  poet, 
the  writer  of  glowing 
The  Period  of         prose,  have  all  done 
Romance  their  part,  and  done 

and  Poetry  has        it  well,  in  painting 
Passed  Away.  the    glories    of   our 

mountains  and  val- 
leys, our  matchless  landscapes,  the  ro- 
mance of  *'the  days  of  old,  the  days  of 
gold."  All  this  has  thrown  a  glamor  and 
charm  around  everything  Califomian,  and 
has  directed  attention  to  our  State  and 
given  us  a  warm  place  !n  the  hearts  of 
thousands  who  are  looking  this  way  and 
hoping  for  a  time  when  they  may  them- 
selves become  Califomians.  But  the  days 
of  romance  and  romantic  conceptions 
of  the  Grolden  West  have  passed  away. 
Inquirers  now  need  facts  which  will  con- 
vince their  judgment  and  not  appeals  to 
their  imagination;  they  desire  specific 
information,  not  generalization  nor  highly 
colored  description. 

The  genius  and  enterprise  and  persist- 
ent  advertising   of   Southern    California 
have     given     wide- 
spread knowledge  of 
that     part     of     the 
A  False  impression  State,  but  the  North 
Corrected.  is  not  yet  known  nor 

understood.  Some- 
how, the  impression 
has  gone  abroad  that  the  distinctive  fea- 
tures which  give  uniqueness  to  our  cli- 
mate and  products  are  peculiar  to  South- 
ern California,  and  are  absent  in  North- 
em  California;  "Southern"  has  meant  the 
California  which  has  so  attracted  at- 
tention, while  "Northern"  has  designated 
a  country  not  unlike  other  portions  of  the 
United  States  on  similar  parallels  of  lati- 
tude. No  conception  of  the  actual  facts 
could  be  wider  from  the  truth.  The  same 
general  climatic  conditions  exist  in  the 
Sacramento  Valley  as  are  found  in  the 
valleys  of  Central  and  Southern  Califor- 
nia; parallel  lines  of  latitude  have  but 
little  significance  in  the  interpretation  of 
conditions  of  temperature. 

The    copious    illustrations    found    on 
these   pages   give   the   highest   proof  of 


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891 


what  I  have  said.  The  orange,  lemon, 
olive  and  the  palm  do  not  grow  in  cold 
countries.  Look  at  the  photographs  (a 
splendid  specimen  of  the  palm  in  Solano 
County  growing  in  the  open,  and  also 
a  palm  tree  40  feet  high  in  Shasta  County 
planted  in  1852.)  To  the  intelligent 
mind  the  range  or  possible  diversity  of 
a  country's  products  is  a  true  index  of  its 
climate,  and  proclaims  unerringly  the 
economic  advantages  of  that  country.  No 
matter  who  denies,  nor  with  what  per- 
sistency is  the  denial  made,  the  truth 
of  nature  rises  and  confronts  the  error 
and  should  forever  set  at  rest  all  doubt- 
ing minds.  It  is  the  testimony  of  God 
Himself;  and  it  would  seem  sacrilegious 
to  attempt  corroboration  by  official  tables 
oi  temperatures  and  statistics  of  reported 
products  elsewhere  given  in  this  article. 
I  shall  spend  no  further  time  in  combat- 
ting the  false  impression  that  the  term 
"Northern,"  when  applied  to  the  valleys 
of  Northern  California,  means  "cold."  It 
i«i  a  term  used  only  geographically,  and 
has  no  climatic  significance  whatever.  It 
may  be  said  here  once  and  finally  that 
"altitude"  in  California  is  the  only  con- 
vertible term  for  "cold."  Perpetual  snow 
lies  on  Mount  Shasta  and  Mount  Lassen, 
and  refiects  its  light  on  the  valleys  be- 
low, where  is  almost  perpetual  summer. 
iTi  the  higher  mountain  elevations  are 
deep  snows  and  very  low  temperatures, 
while  at  the  same  time  a  few  hours  travel 
bring  one  into  orange  groves  in  the  low- 
er altitudes;  and  this  is  true  from  Shasta 
to  San  Diego,  practically  the  whole  length 
of  the  State.  Let  us,  then,  dismiss  the 
false  implications  which  have  arisen  from 
using  the  term  "Northern"  as  applied 
to  the  Sacramento  Valey. 

Entering  California  in  Nevada  County, 
l>y  way  of  the  Central  Pacific  Railroad, 
the    visitor    comes    quickly    down    from 
the  great  height  of 
Mevada  County,  the    Sierra    Nevada 

A  Gate-Way  to  Mountains     to     the 

California.  foot-hills      of      Pla- 

cer County,  through 
the  orchards  and 
vineyards  covering  the  country  around 
Auburn,  Newcastle,  Penryn,  Loomis, 
Rocklin,  Roseville,  to  the  city  of  Sac- 
ramento, where  he  finds  himself  in  the 


center  of  the  Great  Interior  Valley  of  the 
State,  at  the  State  Capital,  and  where 
tide-water  once  ebbed  and  fiowed. 

A  few  hours  from  snow-covered,  heavily 
forested  mountains  into  regions  of  luxu- 
riant, semi-tropical  verdure,  is  a  trans- 
formation bewildering  but  altogether  de- 
lightful. A  glance  at  the  accompanying 
map  will  show  where  the  visitor  now 
stands  relatively  to  San  Francisco,  and 
the  counties  comprising  the  Sacramento 
Valley,  a  description  of  whose  resources 
and  industries  is  the  purpose  of  this  arti- 
cle. Nevada  County  is  the  Eastern  gate- 
way to  this  land  of  sunshine,  fruit  and 
fiowers  and  agricultural  prodigality. 

A  line  drawn  east  and  west  through  the 
southern  boundary  of  Solano  County  at 
Vallejo,  would  pass  near  Richmond,  Va.; 
drawn  along  the  northern  boundary  of 
Shasta  County  it  would  strike  the  Atlan- 
tic coast  near  New  York  City.  The  fioor 
of  the  valley  proper  narrows  and  termin- 
ates at  Red  Bluff,  Tehama  County.  But 
many  stretches  of  rich  river  bottom,  val- 
ley lands,  occur  in  Shasta  County,  below 
Redding,  and  for  many  miles  east  of  RecK 
ding  and  west  of  Anderson  and  Cotton- 
wood, are  fertile  plains  and  rolling  foot* 
hills  and  creek  valleys  of  fine  agricultural 
land,  a  characteristic  of  most  of  the  coun- 
ties reaching  into  the  mountains;  indeed, 
it  may  be  properly  said  that  the  valley 
terminates  at  Redding.  The  valley  widens 
as  it  extends  south,  and  follows  the  south- 
em  boundary  of  part  of  Placer  and  Sacra- 
mento, Yolo,  and  Solano  Counties,  and 
brings  the  valley  to  San  Pablo  Bay,  (an 
arm  of  the  great  Bay  of  San  Francisco)  at 
Vallejo.  The  general  direction  of  the 
valley  is  north  and  south.  A  line  drawn 
north  and  south  through  Suisun,  on 
Suisun  Bay,  would  pass  near  Willows, 
Red  BlufT,  and  Redding.  On  the 
east,  the  valley  is  bounded  by  the 
Sierra  Nevada  Mountains,  and  on  the 
west  by  the  Coast  Range.  The  Sacra- 
mento River  rises  in  the  vicinity  of  Mt. 
Shasta,  and  courses  south,  bisecting  the 
valley  and  emptying  into  Suisun  Bay. 
It  is  navigable  and  is  navigated  by  steam- 
boats to  Red  BlufT.  By  some  improvement 
of  the  river  it  may  be  navigated  to  the 
town  of  Redding,  Shasta  County.  Rising 
i!i  the  Sierras  are  numerous  tributaries 


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Overland   Monthly, 


of  the  Sacramento  River,  which  find 
their  inexhaustible  supply  in  the  springs, 
subterranean  reservoirs,  and  snow  banks 
of  the  mountains.  The  land  situated  on 
the  east  side  of  the  Sacramento  in  all 
the  counties  is  blessed  with  one  or  more 
of  these  ever-living  streams,  the  utility 
and  value  of  which  will  be  referred  to 
later  on.  The  portion  of  the  valley  on 
the  west  side  of  the  river  is  not  so  highly 
favored,  although  not  wanting  in  the 
means  to  procure  every  needed  supply. 
Unlike  the  creeks  and  rivers  rising  on  the 


southern  slope  of  the  valley  will  be  seen 
from  the  elevations  of  the  river — at  Sac- 
ramento, thirty  feet  above  sea  level; 
at  Colusa,  60  feet;  at  Red  Bluff,  220 
feet.  A  canal  is  projected  and  partly 
built,  which  takes  water  directly  from 
the  river  on  the  north  line  of  Glenn 
County,  and  brings  it  as  far  west  as 
Willows,  and  thence  to  practically  all 
the  valley  land  south  and  east  of  the  ca- 
nal. 

A  margin  of  no  gre&t  extent  along  the 
river  banks  is  wooded,  and  the  lands  on 


The  Clothea  we  wear  In   November,  Yuba  County. 


west  slope  of  the  Sierras,  which  flow  on 
perpetually,  the  characteristic  of  the 
streams  rising  on  the  east  side  of  the 
Coast  Range  is  that  they  carry  the  flood 
waters  to  the  river  and  continue  to  flow 
until  about  June  or  July,  and  then  begin 
to  recede,  ceasing  at  varying  distances 
from  the  river  in  the  foot-hills,  but  con- 
tinue in  quantity  to  points  whence  their 
waters  are  taken  by  ditches  to  the  land 
below.     Some  impression  of  the  general 


the  east  side  have  growing  upon  them 
scattered  oaks,  giving  a  park-like  aspect 
to  the  landscape.  This  feature  continues 
in  Yolo  and  Solano  Counties,  but  in  Co- 
lusa and  Glenn  the  plain  lands  are  desti- 
tute of  timber;  the  rolling  hill  lands  and 
mountains  are  wooded.  The  great  body 
of  agricultural  lands  of  the  valley  do  not 
overflow;  some  of  the  river  bottoms  are 
subject  to  flood  waters  but  exposed  lands 
are  mostly  protected  by  levees. 


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The  population,  extent  and   character 
of  the  Industries  will  be  given  In  connec- 
nection    with  a    de- 
scription    of     each 
Industries,  Extent,     county.     Accurately 
and  Character.         speaking,    we    have 
Population.  but  little  waste  land. 

The  untlllable  foot- 
hills and  lower 
mountain  elevations 
furnish  rich  winter  pasture  for  thousands 
of  sheep  and  cattle  and  the  mountains  are 
not  only  the  scene  of  large  lumber  enter- 
prises, but  afford  extensive  ranges  for 
summer  pasture  of  these  same  flocks  and 
herds.  In  Tehama  County  alone  there 
are  two  hundred  thousand  sheep  that 
are  moved  in  the  spring  to  the  mountain 
ranges  and  return  in  the  autumn  to 
the  valleys  and  foot-hills  for  winter  pas- 
turage. Twelve  thousand  head  of  cattle 
are  similarly  handled.  And  so  in  a  great- 
er or  less  degree  in  most  of  the  counties 
are  the  lands  utilized. 

It  has  been  intimated  that  there  is  no 
practical  difTerence  between  the  climate 
of    the    valleys  J,  of 
Northern   California 
Climate:  and   Southern    Call- 

Its  Peculiarities.  fornia.  Perhaps  a 
word  further  should  • 
be  said.  I  quote 
from  my  annual  report  to  the  California 
State  Board  of  Trade  for  1899,  a  general 
statement  which  fairly  gives  the  facts 
and  perhaps  as  well  as  I  could  again  give 
them:  "Much  has  been  written  of  the 
unique  character  of  the  climate  of  Cali- 
fornia, and  while  ic  is  widely  known  in  a 
general  way,  its  highest  and  best  inter- 
pretation is  exhibited  in  the  marvelous 
range  of  products  of  the  soil.  There  is 
no  single  country  nor  principality  on  the 
globe  where  there  can  be  found,  growing 
in  perfection,  all  the  varied  products  of 
which  this  report  treats.  Why  this  is 
true  has  never  been  satisfactorily  ex- 
plained, but  the  fact  cannot  be  disputed. 
It  is  not  due  to  the  soil  alone,  for  other 
countries  have  rich  soil;  it  is  not  due  to 
temperature  alone,  for  the  seasons  are 
propitious  in  the  south  of  Italy  and  in 
Spain;  yet  the  results  we  have  here  are 
not  attainable  there;  it  is  not  in  the  re- 
currence of  a  wet  and  dry  season — a  per- 


iod of  rain  and  a  rainless  period — for 
this  peculiarity  is  found  in  the  Medit- 
erranean basin;  nor  is  it  in  any  peculiar- 
ity of  the  atmosphere  of  which  we  have 
any  knowledge.  And  yet  there  is  some 
subtle  influence  in  the  combination  of 
all  these — an  alchemy  of  nature  we  do 
not  understand — which  has  maae  the  cli- 
mate of  California  unique — phenomenal* • 
Latitude  cuts  but  little  flgure  here,  al- 
though it  marks  zones  of  heat  and  cold 
on  the  Atlantic  Coast.  While  I  am  writ- 
ing (March  4th-6th,  1899),  there  is  a  bliz- 
zard raging  in  the  East  and  West.  Rail- 
road trains  are  tied  up,  and  snow  is  four 
feet  deep  in  the  city  of  New  York.  On 
the  same  parallels  of  latitude  here  the 
orchards  are  bursting  into  full  bloom, 
vegetables  are  taKen  from  open  gardens; 
the  flrst  crop  of  alfalfa  is  nearly  ready 
for  the  mower;  young  lambs  are  playing 
on  the  hillsides;  farm  operations  are 
most  active,  and  all  nature  is  clad  in 
verdure." 

Attention  is  then  called  to  the  fact 
elsewhere  shown  that  oranges  are  being 
shipped  from  Butte  County,  150  miles 
north  of  San  Francisco,  and  over  500 
miles  north  of  San  Diego,  and  that  ele- 
vation has  more  to  do  with  temperature 
than  has  lititude.    The  report  continues: 

"I  will  not  stop  to  give  the  causes,  so 
far  as  they  are  determined,  for  it  is 
enough  to  know  the  fact  and  that  the 
causes  are  permanent.  We  have  no  re- 
corded history  and  no  traditions  (and 
they  run  back  to  the  days  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  and  to  Ferdinand  and  Isabella) 
that  tell  a  different  story." 

The  climate  of  the  immediate  coast  Is 
most  Invigorating  and  stimulating,  cool, 
bracing,  and  delight- 
ful ;       the      laborer 

Healthful,  knows  no  fatigue  ex- 

Invlgorating.  cept    from    physical 

e  X  n  a  u  s  1 1  on,  pro- 
duced by  over-taxed 
muscles.  The  man  who  works  with  his 
brain  yields  only  to  failure  of  mental 
power.  In  the  interior  valleys,  in  mid- 
summer, the  temperature  is  higher,  and 
there  is  discomfort  in  working  in  the  har- 
vest flelds,  at  the  desk,  and  behind  the 
counter.  But  the  air  is  dry,  and  no  such 
suffering  is  experienced  as  in  the  more 
humid   climates,  where  the  temperature 


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SHASTA  COUNTY—].  City  of  Redding,  pop.    3500.     2.    Lumbering    scene    at    Mt.    Clouds 
2.     Traction  engrine  hauling  logs.    4.    Pear  orchard    near    Shingletown. 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries. 


896 


l.t  lower.  We  have  no  such  thing  as 
sun-stroke.  It  Is  the  universal  experience 
that  persons  coming  to  any  part  of  the 
State  Increase  In  weight  and  strength,  are 
less  subject  to  nervous  troubles,  sleep 
and  eat  well,  and  Improve  In  health  If 
ailing  from  any  cause.  In  fact,  California 
18  an  universal  sanitarium." 

"One  cannot  find  a  region  of  the  State 
devoid    of   scenic   beauty,   and   in   most 
parts  one  is  surroun- 
Source  of  ded  by  an  Inspiring 

Happiness.  and  elevating  combi- 

natlon  of  val- 
ley and  mountain  landscape.  He  can 
radically  change  his  immediate  surround- 
ings in  a  few  hours,  if  he  lives  in  the 
sreat  valley,  by  going  into  the  mountains 
or  journeying  to  the  coast.  Thousands 
of  families  do  this  in  the  summer,  and 
have  most  delightful  camping  out  exper- 
iences. 

"But  after  all,  the  toiler  cannot  live  on 
scenery  nor  on  climate  alone.  It  is  the 
advantages  which 
climate  brings  to 
Economic  Value,  him  in  the  strug- 
gle for  existence 
that  most  concerns 
him.  And  here  is  where  resides  the 
glory  of  California:  namely,  the  economic 
value  of  its  climate.  Our  climate  is  usu- 
ally put  forward  as  an  attraction;  it  is 
most  of  all  a  resource  of  incalculable 
value;  and  it  is  a  resource  because  by 
its  influence  we  are  enabled  to  so  marvel- 
ously  diversify  and  increase  the  number 
of  our  products.  It  is  a  resource,  because 
man's  labor  can  be  made  profitable  every 
day  in  the  year,  and  because  there  is  no 
month  when  vegetation,  in  some  form, 
Is  not  growing.  There  is  no  season  when 
all  nature  is  at  rest  or  locked  in  the  icy 
embrace  of  a  zero  temperature,  and  the 
harvests  of  summer  eaten  into  by  the 
long,  weary,  consuming  months  of  winter. 
In  the  field,  orchard,  garden,  factory;  on 
the  stock  farm  and  in  the  dairy,  rrery  day 
in  a  (Jay  of  productive  labor.  We  com- 
mence shipping  fresh  deciduous  fruits 
to  the  markets  of  the  East  in  May,  ^nd 
there  is  no  cessation  until  December; 
and  In  November  we  begin  to  ship 
citrus  fruits  and  they  overlap  the  ship- 


ments of  deciduous  fruits  beginning  in 
May." 

This  general  picture  finds  its  counter- 
part in  the  region  I  am  now  bringing  to 
the  public  attention.  I  wish  to  remind  the 
home^seeker  of  a  fact,  not  commonly  un- 
derstood, that  there  are  about  20  degrees 
difference  between  the  "sensible  '  temper- 
ature, and  the  actual  reading  of  tne  ther- 
mometer. For  example,  the  thermometer 
i[«  the  valley  may  read  110  degrees,  but 
owing  to  the  dryness  of  the  atmosphere, 
the  effect  upon  the  body  produces  less 
discomfort  than  would  be  felt  in  a  humid 
atmosphere  where  the  reading  is  90  de- 
grees. 

While  I  am  writing  (February  18th, 
1901),  all  Europe  is  experiencing  a  bliz- 
zard of  great  severity.  All  parts  of  Eng- 
land, Germany,  Italy,  Austria,  and  Rus- 
sia are  having  severe  snow  storms  and 
very  low  temperature.  Throughout- 
Spain  the  weather  is  reported  as  intense- 
ly cold,  the  thermometer  registering 
eight  degrees  below  zero  in  Madrid,  and 
a  heavy  snow  storm  is  raging  in  Rome. 
Ip.  Algiers,  several  natives  have  frozen 
to  death.  In  my  garden  we  are  pick- 
ing violets,  roses,  and  other  fiowers; 
we  gather  oranges  from  day  to  day  as  we 
need  them;  our  live  stock  are  living  on 
our  green  pastures;  orchard  pruning  is 
over;  almond  trees  are  blooming  and 
apricot  buds  are  nearly  ready  to  burst. 
Californians  are  wont  to  attest  our  cli- 
mate by  comparison  with  that  of  Italy 
and  Spain.  Is  it  not  about  time  to  set 
up  In  the  climate  business  for  ourselves 
and  rely  on  our  own  record? 

The  practical  situation  is  that  one  can 
labor  here  in  the  summer's  sun  without 
suffering,  where  he  would  be  driven  to 
the  shade  in  other  climates.  It  should 
be  added  that  our  warm,  cloudless  and 
rainless  summer  months  are  just  what 
we  want  to  mature  our  crops  and  pre- 
pare our  fruits  for  market.  The  prevail- 
ing winds  are  from  north  and  south,  the 
latter  always  cool  and  delightful,  as  it 
comes  from  the  ocean,  tempered  in  its 
journey  inland.  The  north  wind  Is 
warmer,  and  is  a  dry,  sometimes  disa- 
greeable, wind,  but  it  serves  a  most  valu- 
able office  and  adds  to  the  general  health- 
fulness  of  the  valley. 


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Q. 

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8 


Overland  Monthly. 


Industries     relating     to     agriculture 
are     the     grrowing     of     wheat,     barley, 
oats,       hay,       some 
rye,   and   some,   but 
not  much  corn.    For 
Leading  many   years   Colusa 

Industries.  was      the      banner 

wheat  growing  coun- 
ty in  the  State.  For- 
age plants  are  quite  extensively  grown. 
Hemp  has  been  and  is  being  successfully 
and  profitably  grrown  in  Butte  County. 
The  soil  in  many  counties  has  been  found 
adapted  to  the  sugar  beet,  and  a  con- 
siderable acreage  is  planted,  the  pro- 
duct going  to  the  sugar  factories;  this  in- 
dustry must  soon  have  much  importance 
in  the  valley.     I  may  mention  in  this 


Waterfall  near  Oroville,  Cal. 


connection  the  advantages  of  sugar  beet 
growing  in  this  State.  Briefly  summar- 
ized, they  are:  Earlier  maturity  of  the 
beet;  earlier  opening  of  the  sugar-mak- 
ing campaign;  longer  season  for  harvest- 
ing; longer  run  of  the  factory;  greater 
yield  per  acre  than  in  other  States; 
greater  per  cent  of  saccharine;  immun- 
ity from  frost  and  from  rain  at  critical 
periods.  These  are  some  of  the  cli- 
matic advantages  which  experience  and 
scientific  experiments  have  established. 
Some  extensive  hop  fields  are  in  the 
Sacramento  Valley.  Live  stock  is  a  large 
industry,  especially  hogs,  sheep  and 
horned  cattle.  Many  horses  and  mules 
are  bred  on  the  larger  ranches.  The 
dairying  interests  are  quite  large,  but  not 
nearly  so  fully  developed  as  they  should 
be  or  could  be  made  profitable.  The 
poultry  inaustry  is  almost  wholly  neglec- 
ted. Large  bands  of  turkeys  are  seen, 
but  they  are  produced  separate  from  the 
farm,  and  have  a  sort  of  nomadic  exist- 
ence, being  herded  and  driven  about 
from  place  to  place  for  feed,  much  the 
same  as  a  band  of  sheep.  Many  farm- 
ers (be  it  to  their  discredit  said)  buy 
their  chickens  and  eggs  and  butter  at  the 
town  stores,  and  not  infrequently  these 
come  from  Kansas,  Iowa,  and  Nebraska, 
or  from  our  sister  State,  Oregon. 

The  possible  diversity  of  agricultural 
products  in  this  great  valley  is  its  chief 
distinguishing   char- 
acteristic.   The  rich- 
Agricultural  ness  of  the  soil  and 
Possibilities  of         the     prevailing     cli- 
the  Valley.  matic   infi  u  e  n  c  e  s 
make     it     possible, 
with    irrigation,     to 
grow  almost  anything  that  man  or  beast 
may   require,   and   without   irrigation,    a 
much   greater   agricultural   development, 
in  possible  than  has  yet  been  attained. 

The    Sacramento    Valley    is    the   most, 
abundantly  watered  portion  of  the  State. 
The  large  rainfall  in 
the    valley,  coupled 
Water  for  with    the    fact    that 

Irrigation.  great     areas     have 

been  in  single  hold- 
ings, devoted  chiefly 
to  wheat  growing  or  stock  raising,  has 
in  former  years  not  only  retarded  diver- 
versity  of  products  but  has  contributed 


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Mining    in    Shasta    County. 

1.  Hydraulic  Mine  near  Igo.  2.  Cleveland  Consolidated  Mine.  3.  Roasters  at  Kes^ 
wick.  4.  Cleveland  Cons.  Mine  Ledge.  5.  Smelters  at  Keswick.  6.  Iron  Moun* 
<ain    Mine   near   Redding. 


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900 


Overland   Monthly. 


Banana  trees  at  Red  Bluff — ^225  miles  north   of  San    Francisco. 


to  the  erroneous  belief  that  irrigation 
vfSiS  neither  desirable  nor  necessary, 
and  irrigation  has  not  been  much 
resorted  to.  Wheat  growing,  having  be- 
come less  profitable,  attention  is  being 
directed  to  more  intensive  and  more  di- 
versified culture,  and  plans  for  more  gen- 
eral irrigation  are  being  considered,  since 
it  has  been  found  that  even  on  our  best 
lands  water  is  a  distinctive  source  of 
greater  production  and  makes  agriculture 
more  profitable,  by  adding  many  new  pro- 
ducts to  the  farm.  The  Central  Irrigation 
District  Canal  will  bring  water  directly, 
without  any  head  dam,  from  the  Sacra- 
mento River  onto  all  the  lands  south  and 
east  of  Willows — an  immense  area,  rich 
and  productive.  On  the  west  side  of  the 
river  north  of  this  canal  there  is  abund- 
ant water  by  taking  it  irom  points  high 
up  on  the  creeks  a.Tid  conducting  it  by 
ditches  to  the  land  below.  Ditches  are 
now  constructed  which  bring  water  from 
Thomes  Creek  to  lands  at  Corning,  Teha- 
ma County;  at  Orland,  Glenn  County, 
from  Stony  Creek;  and  at  Woodland, 
Yolo  County,  from  Cache  Creek.  On 
the  east  side,  commencing  in  Shasta 
County,  large  creeks  flow  into  the 
river  from  the  Sierras,  at  conven- 
ient intervals,  through  all  the  counties 
on  that  side,  untu  the  American  River 
in  Sacramento  County  is  reached.  The 
map  shows  the  frequency  of  these 
streams.  There  is  ample  water  for  the 
most  complete  irrigation  of  all  the  lands. 
Water  underlies  the  valley  everywhere. 


Power 
Possibilities. 


ai  varying  depths  of  from  fifteen  to  fifty 
feet. 

A  striking  and  most  valuable  feature 
of  these  mountain  creeks  and  rivers  is 
the  latent  forces 
within  them  that 
may  be  cheaply,  and 
are  being  largely 
set  free  by  electri- 
cal plants.  These 
streams  above  the  valley  have  a  fall  of 
from  50  to  100  feet  per  mile;  often 
much  greater,  'inis  power  may  be  util- 
ized and  yet  restore  the  water  to  the  beds 
of  the  streams  before  reaching  the  val- 
ley, where  it  may  be  used  for  irrigation. 
Electric  power  plants  are  now  in  opera- 
tion in  Shasta,  Tehama,  Butte,  Yuba,  Pla- 
cer, Nevada,  and  Sacramento  Counties,  of 
which  mention  will  again  be  made.  This 
power  is  being  used  for  mining  and  mill- 
ing purposes;  for  lighting  towns  and  cit- 
ies; operating  machinery;  pumping 
water;  operating  farm  nnplements,  and 
various  other  uses.  I  know  of  no  region 
so  highly  favored  in  the  respects  last 
mentioned. 

In  the  Sierras,  from  Siskiyou  County  to 
the  American  River,  are  the  finest  and 
most  extensive  for- 
ests of  sugar  and 
yehow  pine,  spruce 
and  fir  timber  exist- 
ing in  the  State,  and 
some  of  the  largest 
lumber  and  mining 
enterprises  are  carried  on  in  these  moun- 


Mining   and 
Lumber  Industries. 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  industries. 


901 


Peach    Orchard    Sacramento    Valley. 


tains.  The  forests  of  California  are  her 
crowning  glory,  not  as  sources  of  lum- 
ber for  market,  but  as  the  great  con- 
servers  of  moisture  and  as  the  mother 
of  our  creeks  and  rivers.  Intelligent  use 
of  this  great  blessing  will  give  us  assur- 
ance of  unchanging  climatic  conditions 
and  ample  supply  of  timber  for  all  pos- 
sible purposes.  Shasta  County  is  the 
largest  mineral  producer  in  the  State. 
The  annual  output  in  1899  was  |4,661,980, 
since  greatly  increased,  and  Nevada 
comes  next  with  |2,231,898. 

The  two  terminal  points  of  shipments 
of  fruit  by  rail  from  this  valley  to  other 
States    are     Marys- 
viUe  and  Sacramen- 
Magnitude  of  the      to.    All  points  have 
Fruit,  Wine  and       the    same     car-load 
Brandy  Industry,      rates,    but    the    ac- 
count is  kept  from 
these  two  points.    I  have  prepared  a  table 
foi  1899  which  will  explain  the  magnitude 
o^  the  export  trade  in  fruits.    Much  fruit 
is  sent  to  San  Francisco  and  other  points 
in  the  State  for  local  consumption,  which 
is     not     Included     in     the     table.      As 


oranges  ripen  earlier  in  Northern  Cali- 
fornia than  in  the  Southern  part  of  the 
State  (another  of  our  climatic  peculiari- 
ties), the  table  is  not  a  fair  index  of  the 
extent  of  the  citrus  culture  in  the  Sacra- 
mento Valley  for  tne  reason  that  much  of 
this  fruit  is  consumed  in  the  State. 

To  move  this  fruit  a  car  must  depart 
every  hour  of  every  day  in  the  year. 

Statistics  for  1899  show  that  26,283 
car-loads  of  the  above  named  articles 
were  shipped  out  of  the  State  by  rail 
from  Northern  California  (including  the 
region  north  of  Tehachapi  Moimtains; 
i.  e.,  outside  of  what  is  known  as  South- 
em  California).  Over  one-third  of  the 
whole  went  from  the  Sacramento  Valley. 
When  it  is  remembered  that  the  fruit 
shipments  from  the  San  Joaquin  Valley 
(where  the  bulk  of  our  raisins  are  grown) 
from  the  extensive  and  highly  developed 
Santa  Clara  Valley  (where  probably  70 
per  cent  of  our  prunes  are  grown),  and 
from  the  Sonoma  and  Napa  Valleys,  are 
included  in  the  total  of  26,283  car-loads, 
it  will  be  seen  that  fruit  culture  in  the 
Sacramento   Valley   has    attained    large 


Shipments  of  Fruit  out  of  the  State  bt  Rail,  1899. 


Tons  of  2000  Ponnds. 

Place  of  Sbipm't 

Green 
Deoidnoas 

Citms          D  led 

1 

RaisiDB 

Nuts     1 

1 
Canned 

All    Kinds 

Marysville 

RacmmeDto 

Total 

6,423 
53.951 
60  374 

6,037.4 

1.967             7377       ' 
874             9  485 

2841           16862 
234.1    ',      1.6862 

366 
619 
984 
98.4 

162 
867 
1.049 
104.9 

7.W7 
7,828 
14.835 
1.488.5 

23  801 
72  644 
96  445 

Carloads 

9.644  5 

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902 


Overland   Monthly. 


proportions,  and  yet  the  orchards  occupy 
but  a  small  part  of  its  arable  lands. 

It  should  be  observed  that  of  zhe  wine 
and  brandy  shipped  out  of  the  State  by 
rail  in  1899,  there  were  6,173  carloads 
of  wine  (ten  tons  each)  from  Northern 
California,  and  only  278  carloads  from 
Southern  California.  Of  brandy  made 
irom  grapes,  354  carloads  from  North- 
ern California  and  five  from  Southern 
California.  Besides,  there  was  shipped 
by  sea  from  San  Francisco  1679  carloads 
of  wine  and  34  of  brandy,  and  147  car- 
loads of  wine  and  brandy  not  segregated 
on    way    bills. 

One  of  the  great  drawbacks  to  North- 
ern California  in  the  past  has  been  the 
large  individual  land 
holdings.    For  exam- 
ple,   nearly   the    en- 
tire   river    frontage 
in  Colusa  and  Glenn 
Counties,       running 
back  from  the  river  also  many  miles,  was 
owned   by  two   men — one   having   40,000 


Land  no  Longer 
Monopolized. 


acres  devoted  entirely  to  wheat,  and  but 
one  family  residing  on  this  vast  domain. 
Other  large  tracts  were  held,  not  only  m 
tnese  counties  but  in  nearly  all  the 
others.  About  the  beautiful  town  of 
Chico  lie  some  of  the  richest  lands  in 
the  world,  which  have,  like  those  referred 
to,  and  others,  for  all  these  years, 
been  under  the  blight  entailed  upon  the 
State  everywhere  by  the  confirmation  of 
Mexican  grants.  The  owners  of  these 
great  ranchos  were  proud  of  their  pos- 
sessions, and  were  unwilling  in  their 
life  time  to  yield  them  up.  It  is  perhaps 
not  to  be  marveled  at,  for  these  were 
principalities  good  to  look  upon,  and 
gratified  a  not  altogether  unworthy  ambi- 
tion. But  it  was  against  nature  and 
against  the  law  of  progress  that  this  con- 
dition should  continue  uninterrupted.  In 
Southern  California  the  first  breaking 
up  of  the  great  ranches  began,  and  be- 
hold! beautiful  towns  and  cities  and 
colonies  of  happy  homes  on  small  areas 
have  taken  their  place.     In  the  San  Joa- 


r 


Mt  Lassen,  a0,400  ft.)  and  Manzanita  Lake  (5,400  ft.),  Shasta  County.    The  lake  is  half 
a  mile  long,  a  quarter  wide,  and  80  feet  deep. 


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A  GROUP  PROM  NEVADA  CITY.-l.  A.  D.  Town's     Residence.      2.     Methodist    Church. 
3    Residence  of  Supervisor  W.   H.   Martin.     4.   Sutton's  Dairy.     5.   Dr.  Hunt's  Residence. 


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904. 


Overland   Monthly. 


quin  Valley,  about  the  flourishing  city  of 
Fresno,  immense  sheep  walks  have  been 
turned  into  shady  boulevards,  which 
form  the  boundaries  of  the  extensive 
raisin  vineyards  that  have  made  Fresno 
County  famous.  In  the  charming  Santa 
Clara  Valley,  in  the  picturesque  Vaca 
Valley  of  the  Sacramento,  and  other 
places  I  might  mention,  a  like  transfor- 
mation has  occurred.  This  is  what  is  soon 
to  happen  throughout  the  Sacramento 
Valley.  The  decline  in  wheat  growing, 
and  the  consequent  unprofitableness  of 
farming  on  a  large  scale;  the  scythe  of 
the  Great  Reaper;  the  mortgage  and  the 
Probate  Court;  have  done  or  are  doing 
their  perfect  work.  Land  which  in  for- 
mer years  could  not  be  purchased  at  any 
price,  is  now  on  the  market  in  any  sized 
tracts  desired,  and  at  prices  not  much 
above  the  value  assessed  for  taxation. 
Notably  the  forty-thousand  acre  Glenn 
ranch  in  Glenn  County;  the  world-famous 
Bid  well  ranch  near  Chico;  the  Wilson 
ranch  in  the  same  vicinity.  In  all  the 
counties,  particularly  the  counties  north 
of  the  south  tier,  fine,  productive  land, 
in* proved  and  unimproved,  is  now  on  the 
market  at  prices  no  greater  than  similar 
lands  sell  for  in  settled  portions  of  the 
Middle  West. 

There  has  never  existed  in  this  valley 
what  may  properly  be  termed  a  boom 
in  land  prices.  When 
the  wonderful  move- 
Opportune  Time       ment  took  place  in 
to  Purchase  Land.     Southern  California, 
and    land    went    to 
enormous        figures, 
land  prices  advanced  here  in  sympathy 
with  the  high  prices  asked  in  the  South, 
and   naturally,    because   the   advantages 
ht-re  were  in  every  way  equal  to  those 
ir  the  South.    The  effect  was  to  retard 
purchases  here,  and  this,  added  to  the 
incubus  of  large  land  holdings,  resulted 
in  slow  growth  at  the  north.    Again,  suc- 
cessful orchard  planting  here  had  a  ten- 
dency to  advance  prices  of  unimproved 
contiguous  land.    This  had  a  depressing 
effect.     These   conditions   have   entirely 
changed,  and  the  time  is  now  most  oppor- 
tune for  investment  in  the  Sacramento 
Valley.    The  presence  of  an  orchard  does 
not  give  a  fictitious  value  to  adjacent 
land.     To  show  that  there  is  room  for 


as  many  as  may  come,  statistics  show 
that  we  have  a  population  of  191,i>01,  oc- 
cupying 17,995  square  miles,  which  is 
nearly  eleven  persons  to  each  section  of 
640  acres,  and  not  less  than  60  per  cent  of 
these  reside  in  the  cities  and  towns. 

Much  of  the  literature  relating  to  the 
earlier  phases  of  social  life  in  Califor- 
nia gave  a  very 
false  impression    of 

Educational,  the  existing  state  of 

Churches,  civilization,      which 

Fraternal  Societies,  still  exists  to  some 
degree.  I  know  from 
the  questions  asked 
me  by  inquirers  who  write  for  informa- 
tion about  California,  that  there  is  much 
doubt  in  the  minds  of  many  whether 
we  have  yet  emerged  from  the  state  of 
semi-barbarism  erroneously  supposed  to 
prevail  during  the  exclusively  gold-hunt- 
ing period. 

Presumably  the  citizens  of  a  State 
that  is  the  home  of  two  great  universi- 
ties, whose  public  school  system  has  re- 
ceived highest  praise  for  liberality  and 
advanced  methods;  in  which  are  five 
State  Normal  schools;  where  free  tuition 
is  offered  through  all  grades  to  the  High 
School  and  through  the  State  University, 
must  have  some  conceptions  of  what  is 
essential  to  a  self-respecting  and  broad- 
minded  people,  and  must  tnemselves  pos- 
sess some  of  the  attributes  they  would 
inspire  in  the  youth.  Sufficient  to  say 
that  all  the  advantages  which  liberal 
appropriations  of  money  and  an  intelli- 
gent selection  of  teachers  can  give,  we 
possess  in  all  parts  of  the  State.  In  the 
establishment  and  support  of  church  or- 
ganizations, the  Sacramento  Valley  has 
kept  pace  with  other  portions  of  the 
State.  In  all  our  towns  and  cities 
churches  of  the  principal  denominations 
are  found.  The  charming  out-door  life 
keeps  many  away  from  active  attendance 
at  service,  and  no  doubt  this  is  notice- 
able by  the  visitor;  but  the  church  never- 
theless has  generous  support. 

I  think  our  population  gives  greater 
encouragement  to  fraternal  societies  than 
in  most  States.  These  organizations  have 
a  sound  moral  basis,  are  charitable  in 
their  operation,  and  no  one  can  doubt 
their  helpful  influence  upon  Society. 

I  have  been  frequently  asked  if  Califor> 


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NATURE  IN  MOUNTAIN  AND  VALLEY.— 1.  Bald  Rock,  Butte  County.  2.  Canon  at 
North  Fork  of  Feather  River,  Butte  County.  3.  Ravine  at  Fair  Oaks,  Cal.  4.  American 
River  at  Fair  Oaks.    5  View  of  Fair  Oaks,  Cal. 


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906 


Overland   Monthly. 


The  Piece  for 
Young  i-^ople. 


nia  offers  inducements  to  young  men  an(^       'counsel,  young  men  for  all  the  great  ac- 
women.        Emphai  W!?]  .vities  of  life."    I  have  a  right  to  say  this 
•     •     cally  I  answer,  \e.       •    ecause  1  mygelf  fall  under  the  ban. 

Having  given  a  general  description  of 
che  valley  and  presented  facts  applicable 
alike  to  nearly  the 
entire  region,  let  us 
Industries  make    an    excursion 

by  Counties.  into      the      several 

counties  and  remain 
long  enough  in  each 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  prevailing  or 
distinctive  industries  there  to  be  found. 
Obviously  this  sketch  must  be  brief  and 
wholly  inadequate  as  a  detailed  descrip- 
tion. We  will  enter  the  counties  by  the 
Southern  Pacific  lines  of  railroad  that  ap- 
proach us  from  the  east,  and  confine  our 
excursions  to  places  thus  reached,  with 
occasional  mention  of  regions  off  these 
lines  of  travel. 

Nevada  County  does  not  exactly  stand 

on  end,  but  its  eastern  boundary,  where 

we  enter  the  State, 


It  is  not  necessary 
to  say  moie  as  to 
young  women  thaii 
that  young  men  can- 
not succeed  ia  this  worll  without  them, 
and  where  young  mei  go,  there  also 
should  go  young  women.  In  a  word, 
the  region  of  tne  State,  of  whose  re- 
sources and  industries  I  am  endeavoring 
to  give  some  adequate  description,  offers 
almost  every  industrial  occupation  which 
can  appeal  to  an  aspiring  or  ambitious 
young  man.  The  country,  though  a  half 
century  old,  is  practically  virgin,  when 
its  future  possibilities  are  considered. 
Whether  the  young  man  whom  I,  for  the 
moment  address,  desires  to  engage  in 
some  one  or  more  of  the  many  forms  of 
agriculture  open  to  him  here — fruit  grow- 
ing, gardening,  stock  raising,  dairying, 
or  general  farming — whether  he  may 
prefer  the  alluring  but  somewhat  illusive 
occupation  of  mining,  or  has  the  neces- 
sary capital  and  inclination  to  enter  upon 
lumbering  enterprises,  or  prefers  mer- 
chandising and  general  business,  or 
may  wish  to  be  in  at  the  genesis  of  manu- 
facturing soon  to  take  high  place  among 
our  industries,  or  is  to  be  among  the  for- 
tunate ones  to  share  the  profits  of  pe- 
troleum discoveries  believed  to  be  Immi- 
nent in  this  valley — in  short.  If  this  young 
man  desires  to  begin  his  career  in  a  most 
promising  but  comparatively  undevel- 
oped country,  and  begin,  too,  on  equal 
terms  with  those  who  have  borne  the 
heat  and  burden  of  the  day,  past  and 
gone,  and  who  are  anxious  to  turn  over 
t^  a  younger  and  more  vigorous  manhood 
the  great  work  before  the  Inhabitants  of 
one  of  the  richest  regions  of  the  earth, 
let  him  come,  and  come  quickly,  and  if 
he  is  possessed  of  good  American  pluck 
and  genius,  he  will  find  in  his  cnlondar 
no  such  word  as  fail.  The  world  is  look- 
ing to  the  young  men  of  the  country 
as  the  leaders  of  great  enterprises;  all 
the  large  combinations  of  capital  turn 
to  young  men  for  managers;  young  men 
are  the  active  forces  in  the  largo  rail- 
road and  industrial  corporations  of  the 
present  day.  The  aphorism — "Old  men 
for  counsel,  younrr  men  for  war,"  may  be 
justly     paraphraserl  —  "Old      men      for 


— the  summit  of  the 
Hevada   County.      Sierras  —  is      8.000 
feet  above  sea-level, 
while     its     western 
and  southern  boundary  has  an  elevation 
of  only  600  feet.    The  population  of  this 
county  is  17,789  and  the  area  958  square 
miles,  of  which   200,000   acres  are  agri- 
cultural, 60,000  grazing,  and  350,120  for- 
est land.  I  appropriate  an  excellent  de- 
scription given  by  the  Grass  Valley  Morn- 
ing Union: 

"Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  Nevada 
County  presents  a  varied  and  rugged  sur- 
face, extending  from  the  sandy  plains  of 
the  Sacramento  Valley  to  the  snow- 
crowned  crests  of  the  Sierra  Nevadas. 
The  county  Is  divided  by  the  South  Yuba 
River  which  crosses  It  in  the  northern 
central  part,  uniting  with  the  middle 
Yuba  near  the  western  boundary.  The 
western  central  portions  of  the  county 
contain  excellent  agricultural,  horticul- 
tural, and  grazing  land,  and  this  section 
presents  a  pleasing  scene  to  the  tour- 
ist or  home  seeker.  These  sections  are 
dotted  with  small  valleys,  containing  the 
very  finest  of  farming  lands  and  wooded 
hillsides,  with  a  large  supply  of  fuel  and 
fine  rolling  land,  adapted  to  dairj'ing  and 
cattle  raising.  Along  the  western  boun- 
dary citrus  fruits  grow  to  perfection,  and 
the  olive  and  other  sub-tropical  plants 
thrive  well,  and  produce  excellent  crops 
Through  the  central  portion,  where  are 
located  Nevada  City  and  Grass  Valley,- 
the  fruits  of  the  temperate  zone  reach 


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CITRUS  FRUIT  GROWING  IN  BUTTE  COUNTY.-l.  Orange  and  Olive  Orchard  at 
Tliermalito,  Showing  Table  Mountain  In  distance.  2.  Picking  oranges  at  Palermo.  3.  Pick- 
ing lemons  from  young  trees  at  Palermo.  4.  Orange  packing  house  at  OrovUle.  5.  Irri- 
gation ditch  bringing  water  from  the  mountains.     6.  Banana  palm  at  Palermo. 


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the  highest  deyelopment  in  flavor.  Es- 
pecially is  this  true  of  the  Bartlett  pear. 
At  an  elevation  (t  three  thousand  flve 
hundred  feet,  as  at  Lower  Hill,  the  apple 
attains  a  superiority  not  excelled  in  the 
world.  The  western  section  of  the  county 
is  well  provided  with  timber.  The  higher 
mountain  regions  are  heavily  timbered 
with  forests  of  spruce,  cedar,  white  and 
yellow,  and  sugar  pine.  The  eastern  por- 
tion of  the  county,  or  the  Truckee  basin, 
is  where  tne  timber  wealth  lies.  Some 
of  the  largest  saw  mills  on  the  coast  are 
located  in  this  basin.  The  temperature  is 
comparatively  mild  during  the  year,  in 
the  middle  portion,  although  from  the 
different  altitudes,  extremes  of  tempera- 
ture may  be  witnessed  at  all  seasons. 
Thus,  when  summer  days  are  warmest  at 
the  southwestern  end  of  the  county,  the 
nights  will  be  extremely  chilly  at  the  east 
end,  where  the  bleak  Sierras  raise  their 
snowy  peaks.  The  nights  are  always  cool 
and  agreeable,  even  during  the  warmest 
days  of  summer.  In  Nevada  City  and 
Qrass  Valley  there  are  but  few  days  when 
the  thermometer  registers  over  80  deg., 
and  in  winter  it  seldom  falls  below  the 
freezing  point.  On  the  eastern  side  in 
the  Truckee  Basin,  the  thermometer 
often  falls  blow  zero,  at  times  register- 
ing 40  deg.,  thus  making  the  harvesting 
of  ice  profitable.  It  is  the  infinite  variety 
of  climate,  difference  of  elevation  and 
picturesqueness  of  the  landscapes  that 
Nevada  County  presents,  which  make 
it  particularly  inviting  as  a  home,  and 
attractive  to  tourists." 

The  chief  sources  of  the  county's 
wealth  are  neither  its  ice-ponds  nor  its 
timber  lands  nor  its  agricultural  pro- 
ducts, but  its  mining  actualities  and 
possibilities.  It  is  curious  to  note  that  in 
one  end  of  the  county  natural  ice  is  fro- 
zen for  market  while  oranges  are  grown  in 
the  other  end.  An  estimate  of  the  gold 
product  from  1849  to  1880  gives  a  yield 
of  1159,800,000,  of  which  105  millions 
came  from  the  placer  or  gravel  mines  and 
the  balance  from  quartz  ledges.  The  ag- 
gregate to  the  present  time  is  not  far 
from  215  millions.  Legislation  and  liti- 
gation have  greatly  interfered  with 
placer  mining  in  recent  years,  but  it  has 
resulted  in  increasing  development  of 
quartz  mining,  which  is  always  the  more 
permanent  source  of  wealth.  There  are 
many  beautiful  lakes  in  the  mountains, 
and  charming  summer  resorts.  Enter- 
ing the  county  by  the  Central  Pacific's 
overland  railroad,  the  track  winds  around 
the  mountain  slopes  in  full  view  of  Don- 
ner  Lake,  the  scene  of  one  of  the  most 


pathetic   tragedies   attending  the   strug- 
gles of  the  argonauts  of  '49.     Passini; 
Truckee  you  are  not  long  in  arriving  at 
Colfax,  where  you  must  stop  and  take  the 
Narrow  Gauge  road  to  Nevada  City,  the 
ccunty  seat     You  are  then  within  two 
or  three  miles  of  the  neighboring  city  of 
Qrass  Valley.  These  are  both  flourishing 
cities    of    several   thousand    inhabitants 
each.    The  two  principal  mining  districts 
take  the  names  of  these  cities.     Some 
idea  may  be  formed  of  their  extent  and 
importance  when  I  tell  you  that  in  the 
edition  of  the  paper  to  which  I  have  re- 
ferred, there  is  a  description  given   of 
fifty-four  quartz  mines  in  the  Grass  Val- 
ley District,  some  of  which  are  large  pro- 
ducers and   are   known   throughout    the 
mining  world,  and  all  worthy  of  notice. 
In  the  Nevada  City  District,  thirty-one 
are    catalogued,   and    among   these    are 
some  famous  mines.     Many  drift  gravel 
mines  are  also  in  this  district,  making 
excellent  returns.     The  other  principal 
towns  are  Truckee,  Boca,  North  Bloom- 
field,  Graniteville,  North  San  Juan,  and 
many  other  more  or  less  important  towns 
the  centers  of  other  mining  districts  and 
mining  enterprises.     Chicago  Park  is  a 
modem  place,  on  the  Narrow  Gauge  road, 
where  is  located  an  Eastern  colony,  en- 
gaged in  fruit  growing.    All  parts  of  the 
county  are  finely  watered;    mining  and 
irrigation  ditches  are  seen  everywhere, 
winding    like     serpents     around     rocky 
bluffs  and  along  sunny  slopes,  at  Inter- 
vals furnishing  extensive  power  plants. 
Returning  to  Colfax,  and  resuming  our 
journey  on  the  Central  Pacific,  we  are 
soon  at  Auburn,  the 
county-seat    of    Pla- 
cer County,  elevation 
Placer  County.       1360    feet.      Popula- 
tion of    the    county, 
15,786;     agricultural 
lands,  298,000  acres; 
grazing,    200,000;    forest,    250,000.      Like 
Nevada  County,   Placer  has  its  eastern 
boundary  in  the  high  Sierras,  and  em- 
braces the  northern  arm  of  the  wonder- 
fully beautiful  Lake  Tahoe,  and  the  west- 
em  boundary  is  well  down  in  the  Sacra- 
mento Valley.     The  railroad  enters  the 
county  at  Summit — elevation  7,000  feet — 
and  in  seventy  miles  Auburn  is  reached 
by  a  grade  of  nearly  100  feet  to  the  mile. 


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f 

I 

I  IRRIGATION    IN    NORTHERN    CALIFORNIA. 


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910 


Overland   Monthly. 


It  is  a  wonderful  ride  down  this  noble 
mountain,  and  some  marvelous  engineer- 
ing problems  have  found  their  early  so- 
lution in  the  construction  of  the  road 
at:  it  winds  in  and  out  of  great  canyons 
and  ^long  the  mountain  slopes,  where,  on 
the  lower  sides  are  steep  declivities  hun- 
dreds of  feet  below.  A  famous  instance 
is  Cape  Horn,  overlooking  the  Grand 
Canyon  of  the  American  River.  As  one 
descends  the  scenery  becomes  more 
rugged  and  the  towns  more  numerous. 
The  quaint  old  mining  towns,  with  their 
healthful  climate  ana  sparkling  mountain 
water,  are  yearly  becoming  more  noted  as 
summer  resorts,  while  the  mining  indus- 
try continues  a  prosperous  one.  A  lit- 
tle lower  and  one  enters  the  fruit  belt, 
where  citrus  and  deciduous  fruits,  nuts 
and  grapes  flourish  to  a  remarkable  de- 
gree, and  mining  is  also  a  source  of 
wealth.  Going  still  further,  the  travel- 
er will  leave  the  foothills  and  find  more 
sandy  soil,  rock  quarries,  and  wheat 
fields,  while  interspersed  are  numerous 
thrifty  orchards  and  vineyards.  The 
"Promised  Land"  described  in  Deutero- 
nomy had  many  of  the  characteristics 
of  Placer  County,  if  we  may  judge  by 
the  following:  "For  the  Lord  thy  God 
bringeth  thee  into  a  good  land;  a  land  of 
brooks  of  water,  of  fountains,  and  depths 
that  spring  out  of  valleys  and  hills;  a 
land  of  wheat  and  barley,  and  vines  and 
fig  trees,  and  pomegranates;  a  land  of 
olive  oil  and  honey;  a  land  wherein  thou 
Shalt  not  lack  anything  in  it;  a  land 
whose  stones  are  iron,  and  out  of  whose 
hills  thou  mayest  dig  brass."  A  writer 
id  the  Sacramento  Record-Union  has 
truthfully  said:  "The  County  of  Placer 
is  probably  the  most  favorably  situated 
of  any  foot-hill  county  in  California.  The 
peculiar  advantages  this  section  pos-' 
sesses  over  all  others  consist  in  these: 
It  has  a  soil  that  will  raise  all  kinds  of 
temperate  and  some  kinds  of  tropical 
fruits.  It  has  granite  quarries  containing 
a  character  of  rook  in  point  of  solidity 
and  lasting  permanency  unequaled  in  the 
State.  Its  timber  belt  in  the  northern 
part  is  practically  inexhaustible.  It  has 
potter-clay  beds  at  Lincoln,  which  make 
the  best  quality  of  terra-cotta  ware,  and 
the  most  substantial  bricks  are  made 
here.    The  mining  field  Is  extensive,  and 


a  large  portion  of  it  has  scarcely  been 
prospected.  In  size.  Placer  County  is 
somewhat  larger  than  the  State  of  Rhoae 
Island.  As  to  its  resources  the  State 
Mineialogist  tersely  says:  'The  whole 
Atlantic  sea-board  can  hardly  equal  the 
endless  variety  to  oe  found  within  the 
borders  of  this  small  county,  which 
rivals  Florida  in  the  quality  of 
its  oranges,  excels  New  Jersey  in 
peaches,  equals  the  New  England  States 
ia  its  granite  quarries,  and  compares 
favorably  with  Maine  in  the  quality  of 
its  lumber.' "  Characteristic  of  Placer 
County  around  Newcastle,  Auburn,  and 
Penryn,  is  the  early  ripening  of  fruit. 
This  region  and  Vaca  Valley,  Solano 
County,  are  competitors  for  first  fruit 
shipments,  'i^e  Newcastle  oranges  have 
a  distinct  reputation  East.  I  recently 
met  a  gentleman  residing  in  Lincoln,  Ne- 
braska, who  told  me  that  so  long  as  he 
could  get  them,  he  bought  no  oranges  ex- 
cept from  Newcastle.  As  indicating  the 
diversity  of  Placer's  productions,  the 
Assessor's  office  shows  a  considerable 
quantity  of  cereals,  live  stock  (30,000 
head  of  sheep  and  7,000  head  of  cattle 
among  them),  large  acreage  in  fruit  trees 
of  all  kinds,  of  which  10,000  acres  are  in 
peaches;  1,200  in  plums  and  prunes; 
260  in  olives;  220  in  oranges;  1,200  in 
table  and  raisin  grapes,  etc.;  hops,  50 
acres.  The  Assessor's  figures  are  gener- 
ally below  the  maximum.  Extensive  lum- 
ber operations  are  carried  on,  and  so 
c^*  mining.  At  Lincoln  are  large  pottery 
works,  where  are  turned  out  quantities 
oi  drain  and  sewer  pipe,  flower-pots,  tile, 
ornamental,  pressed  and  glazed  brick, 
terra  cotta  work  of  all  description,  and 
i!)  short  nearly  every  design  ornamental 
and  useful,  that  comes  from  a  well- 
equipped  pottery  supplied  with  ample 
means  and  exceptionally  flne  quality  of 
clay.  The  granite  quarries  are  an  impor- 
tant source  of  wealth  to  the  county. 

Indications  lead  to  the  opinion  that 
petroleum  will  be  found  in  Western  Pla- 
cer, and  wells  are  now  being  bored- 
There  are  several  large  electrical  plants 
in  the  county.  Irrigation  is  generally- 
resorted  to  in  the  orchards.  As  a  health 
resort.  Auburn  has  great  favor,  espec- 
ially with  those  who  suffer  from  kidney 
or  pulmonary  troubles.     The  city  is  slt- 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries. 


911 


uated  on  hills  and  vales — the  latter  1000 
feet  elevation;  the  former  1,200  to  1,300. 
No  more  picturesque  situation  can  any- 
where be  found.  An  eminent  German 
writer,  a  resident  of  Minnesota,  visited 
the  county  not  long  since,  and  being  so- 
licited to  give  his  unbiased  impressions 
replied  in  terms  not  only  applicable  to 
Placer  County,  but  substantially  to  the 
whole  valley.  He  said:  "Once  a  year,  in 
the  spring-time,  every  country  in  the 
world  has  a  few  weeks  of  beauty;  with 


portunity  to  move  into  a  winterless  cli- 
mate, and,  my  word  for  it,  many  of  them 
will  be  citizens  of  this  State  before  an- 
other year  rolls  round.  Why  should  a 
man,"  he  very  pertinently  asks,  "who 
has  small  means,  and  is  striving  to  rear 
and  educate  a  family  of  children,  live  in 
Minnesota,  Wisconsin,  or  Dakota,  when 
the  same  investment  here  would  add 
twice  as  much  prosperity  and  happiness? 
Why  should  he  pass  a  four-months*  win- 
ter    in-doors,     burning    expensive    fuel. 


Floating  Pumping  Plant.     Pumping   for  Ir    rigatlon  on  the  Sacramento  River. 


you,  however,  it  seems  to  be  one  per- 
petual spring  and  summer,  the  distin- 
guishing characteristics  of  the  seasons 
blend  together  In  such  a  manner  that 
they  come  and  go  imperceptibly.  I  am 
satisfied  that  my  people  will  be  satis- 
fied with  this  country.  They  never  have 
lived  in  such  a  climate,  they  have  never 
had  such  opportunity  to  secure  a  cheap 
home,  they  never  before  have  had  an  op- 


when  at  the  same  time  h^  could  be  plow- 
ing and  sowing  his  grain  in  this  section 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  his  stock,  instead 
o£  being  housed  and  fed  frozen  vegeta- 
bles, be  grazing  on  your  green  hillsides  r 
This  seems  like  an  over-drawn  picture. 
It  is,  you  will  admit,  not  overdrawn  on 
your  side,  and  if  you  will  spend  next  win- 
ter with  me  in  St.  Paul,  I  will  prove  to 
you  that  I  am  not  putting  it  too  strongly 


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Overland   Monthly. 


about  my  own  section.  Your  lands  are 
cheap,  your  railroad  facilities  good,  and 
still  extending,  your  fruits  delicious,  ana 
your  climate  delightful."  I  invite  careful 
consideration  of  the  points  made  by  this 
gentleman,  for  they  must  come  home  to 
thousands  of  people  in  the  East  whom 
we  invite  to  come  among  us. 

To  show  the  distribution  of  the  or- 
chards in  the  county  and  the  shipments 
of  fresh  fruit  in  a  single  year,  it  has 
been  ascertained  that  for  the  season  of 
1900  there  were  sent  East  1,640  car-loads 
of  26,000  pounds  each.  In  small  lots  by 
local  freight  and  express,  134  cars  addi- 
tional, making  in  all  1,774  car-loads,  or 
28,062  tons.  Of  the  car-load  shipments, 
6  went  from  Lincoln,  11  from  Roseville, 
14  from  Dutch  Flat,  56  Colfax,  80  Auburn, 
219  Penryn,  334  Loomis,  and  920  from 
Newcastle.  But  we  must  not  longer  re- 
main In  picturesque  Placer. 

A  few  hours  from  Auburn  brings  us  co 
the  city  of  Sacramento,  State  capital,:— 
population  of  the 
county,  45,915;  of 
Sacramento  County,  the  city,  29,282.  Of 
the  619,520  acres  of 
land  in  the  county, 
about  t)00,000  are  re- 
ported as  agricultural,  the  largest  pro- 
portion of  any  county  in  the  group.  The 
land  is  generally  level,  excepting  the 
eastern  and  northeastern  parts,  which 
are  somewhat  rolling.  The  Sacramento 
river,  the  largest  water-course  in  the 
State,  forms  the  west  boundary  from 
north  to  south;  the  American  River 
crosses  the  upper  portion  of  the  county 
from  east  to  west;  the  Cosumnes  River 
runs  through  the  eastern  part,  and  on  the 
south  is  the  Mokelumne  River.  It  will 
be  seen  that  unlimited  water  supply  is 
given  to  this  county;  its  utilization  is 
shown  in  part  by  the  fact  that  10,000 
acres  are  in  alfalfa  (a  plant  requiring 
plenty  of  water).  About  40,000  acres  In 
the  county  are  under  irrigation.  The  di- 
versified agricultural  products  are  at- 
tested by  the  following  facts,  as  shown 
by  official  reports:  Cereals — wheat,  acres, 
108,000;  barley,  13,800;  oats,  92,000;  com 
980;  hay,  62,000.  Oilier  Products— Ho^b, 
1,800;  asparagus,  1,000.  TAve  Stock — 
Sheep,  23,300;  cattle,  13,680;  horses, 
8,100;    mules,  590;    large  dairying  inter- 


ests, including  two  creameries.  Fruit — 
Acres,  apples,  72;  apricots,  660;  cherries, 
141;  figs,  41;  peaches,  1,622;  pears,  1,270; 
prunes,  1,900;  almonds,  640;  walnuts, 
33;  oranges,  370;  lemons,  41;  wine  grapes 
11,470;  raisin  grapes,  700;  table  grapes, 
7,200.  Poultru — One  of  the  few  counties 
in  the  valley  in  which  poultry  raising  has 
assumed  any  proportions;  it  is  a  large 
and  profitable  industry;  there  are  about 
one  million  fowls  in  the  county.  Irriga- 
tion is  practiced  on  much  of  the  fruit 
lands,  both  upland  and  river  bottoms. 
The  rivers  and  creeks  run  the  whole  year; 
land  is  irrigated  largely  also  by  pump- 
ing from  wells;  water  in  abundance  is 
found  at  the  depth  of  20  to  50  feet.  Cost 
ol  water  per  annum  per  acre  by  ditch  or 
pipe  line  is:  Vines,  |3.00;  deciduous  trees, 
14.00;  citrus  trees,  |5.00.  Lake  Tahoe  is 
the  chief  mountain  resort,  133  miles  by 
rail.  All  our  mountain  streams  abound 
la  trout,  and  fine  shooting  is  found  in 
all  the  counties — both  large  and  small 
game.  In  the  Sacramento  River  are  found 
many  food  fishes — salmon  being  chief, 
and  running  to  its  head-waters.  Some 
years  ago  shad  were  planted,  and  now 
as  high  up  as  Red  Bluff  this  delicious  fish 
may  be  had  In  quantities  greater  and  at 
prices  cheaper  than  in  the  waters  of 
the  Atlantic.  In  Sacramento  county  are 
two  thriving  colonies — ^Pair  Oaks  and 
Orangevale,  where  about  6,000  acres  are 
subdivided  in  small  tracts.  Small  tracts 
in  other  parts  of  the  county  are  obtain- 
able. Prices,  owing  to  the  central  loca- 
tion and  quicker  and  larger  local  mar- 
kets, are  somewhat  higher  than  in  the 
counties  further  north  or  than  in  Placer 
or  Nevada.  Unimproved  land  is  reported 
to  me  at  the  following  prices:  Upland, 
126.00  per  acre;  but  land  under  water- 
pipe  system  and  possessing  other  advan- 
tages sells  for  $50.00  to  $150.00  per  acre. 
Fruit  packing  and  canning  is  carried 
on  to  a  large  extent  in  this  county,  prin- 
cipally at  Sacramento.  In  1900  there  were 
packed  in  the  county,  230,000  dozen  cans 
of  fruit  and  90,000  dozen  cans  of  aspara- 
gus. The  growing  of  asparagus  is  ex- 
ceedingly profitaole.  There  are  three 
lines  bringing  electrical  power  to  the 
Capital  City,  furnishing  city  lights  and 
supplying  nearly  all  the  industries  in 
the  city.     The  horse-power  generated  is 


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BUTTE  COUNTY.— 1.  Flour  mill.    2.  Grain  Warehouse.    3.  Dynamos.    4.  Sawmill.    5.  Paint 
MUl. 


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914 


Overland   Monthly. 


10,000.    I  quote  from  a  pamphlet  describ- 
ing the  resources  of  the  county: 

*'Water  Power — On  the  American  River, 
2J  miles  northeast  from  the  city  of  Sac- 
ramento, is  built  a  great  dam,  which  is 
the  first  attempt  to  introduce  the  use  of 
water-power  upon  a  large  scale  within 
the  State.  The  dam  is  constructed  en- 
tirely of  granite  blocks,  having  a  width 
at  the  top  of  24  feet,  at  the  bottom  87 
feet,  a  height  of  89  feet,  and  650  feet 
long;  stability,  7,979  tons.  The  power- 
house to  utilize  this  great  force  of  nature 
has  six  immense  turbine  wheels.  This 
power  is  transmitted  to  the  city  of  Sac- 
ramento  as   a   propelling   power   for   its 


long-distance  transmission,  and  supplies 
arc  and  incandescent  lights  and  day- 
power.  The  rates  for  electric  current  are 
probably  lower  at  the  present  time  in  Sac- 
ramento than  anywhere  else  in  the 
world." 

Natural  gas  has  been  developed  and  is 
now  being  used  in  Sacramento  for  light 
and  fuel;  indications  of  petroleum  also 
exist. 

The  Southern  Pacific  Company  has  ex- 
tensive shops  in  this  city,  employing 
three  thousand  men.  Sacramento  is  the 
largest  city  in  the  valley,  and  is  a  place 
of  much  commercial  importance,  and  as 
the   Capital   of  the   State   is  a   political 


A  Summer  Camp  near  summit  of  Coast  Range.  Altitude  6,500  feet. 


street-car  system,  and  has  been  substi- 
tuted for  steam-power  in  mills  and  factor- 
ies wherever  available  and  desirable.  An- 
other source  of  power  is  the  immense 
storage  system  of  che  South  Yuba  Water 
Company,  in  whose  thirty-one  reservoirs 
oji  the  Divide  and  In  the  foot-hills  of  the 
Sierra  Nevadas,  two  billion  cubic  feet 
of  water  are  stored  during  the  rainy  sea- 
son. Certain  drops  in  altitude  on  the 
canals,  in  the  towns  of  Auburn  and  New- 
castle, are  utilized  to  develop  power,  by 
pressure  pipe  lines  and  tangential  wheels. 
Of  this  the  Central  California  Electrical 
Company  brings  in  1,500  horse-power  by 


ctnter.  It  is  called  the  "Convention 
City,"  on  account  of  its  central  location 
making  it  popular  as  a  place  for  holding 
large  assemblages.  The  State  has  at 
the  Capitol  building  an  extensive  miscel- 
laneous library,  and  one  of  the  best 
law  libraries  in  the  Union.  The  public 
buildings  rank  high  architecturally,  and 
fairly  express  the  civilization  of  our 
State.  The  park  surrounding  the  Capi- 
tol is  of  great  beauty,  and  is  the  pride 
of  the  city.  A  large  wholesale  business 
is  done  in  the  city,  which  is  also  the  cen- 
ter of  a  large  general  trade,  and  the  city 
is   growing  steadily  in  importance   and 


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r 


1      ^ 


f 


TEHAMA  COUNTY.— 1.  Transporting  Logs.  2.  Loading  logs  on  a  truck.  3.  Donkey  en- 
Rlne  chutlng  up  logs.  4.  Combined  Harvester.  5.  Picking  peaches  In  Maywood  Colony. 
<?.  Cattle  Raising.    7.  A  band  of  full-blooded  Marino   bucks. 

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916 


Overland   Monthly. 


wealth.  Manufacturing  is  also  carried  on 
here,  probably  more  than  in  any  other 
city  in  the  State,  outside  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. It  has  an  art  gallery  containing 
a  collection  of  paintings  and  other  works 
of  art  valued  at  over  half  a  million  dol- 
lars, and  with  the  gallery  is  connected  a 
school  of  design.  Tne  art  gallery  was  the 
gift  of  Mrs.  E.  B.  Crocker. 

The  social,  religious,  and  educational 
advantages  of  the  city  are  all  that  need  be 
desired.  The  general  Government  has 
a  building  here  which  is  a  handsome  edi- 
fice, containing  accommodations  for  the 
Post-office  Department,  XT.  S.  Land  Office, 
Internal  Revenue  Department,  and  Uni- 


ted States  Weather  Bureau.  The  loca- 
tion of  Sacramento  (practically  on  tide- 
water), the  center  of  our  railroad  ays- 
tom,  in  the  neart  of  the  most  productive 
region  of  the  State,  convenient  for  the 
cheap  utilization  of  electrical  power,  with 
ample  local  capital  and  an  enterprising 
population — ^these  combine  to  give  rea- 
sonable assurance  that  the  city  will  be- 
come one  of  the  chief  commercial  and 
manufacturing  marts  of  the  State.  The 
climate  of  Sacramento  is  substantially 
the  same  as  that  of  other  parts  of  the 
valley.  James  A.  Barwick,  Weather  Bu- 
reau Observer  at  this  place,  prepared  the 
following  illustrative  table  for  a  long 
period  of  years,  including  1898: 


Averag* 
Winter 
Temp 


Average 
Hpring 
Temp. 


AverafT^ 
Snni'er 
Temp. 


A  verage 
Ant'mn 
T.  mp. 


FloreDce 

Pisa 

Genoa 

Ban  Remo 

Mentone 

Nice 

Oannes 

AveraRe  in  Italy 

Average  in  Sacramento 
Goumy 


443 

46.4 
449 

48  9 

49  0 
47  8 
49  5 

560 
57.2 
5«6 
57.3 
58  3 

56  2 

57  4 

74.0 
75  2 
75  0 

72  4 

73  9 

72  3 

73  1 

60.7 
62.8 
63.0 
61.9 
62.5 
61  6 
61.0 

58.8 
60.4 
604 
60.1 
609 
59  5 
602 

85 

■  "26 
23 

218 
214 
229 

85 

20 

47.3 

57.3 

73  7 

61.9 

60.0 

85 

20 

220 

47.0 

60.0 

75  0 

61.0 

61.0 

tiio 

'19 

238 

tOccurred  but  once  in  fifty-five  year». 

'Occurred  but  twice  in  fifty  years— once  in  January,  1854.  and  once  in  January,  1888. 

Aw  showing  what  preponderance  of  clear  sunshiny  days  is  here  enjoyed  over  the  places 
named  below,  reprpaenting  the  climite  of  e1ev<»n  States'  situated  on  the  same  I<ne  of  latitnde.  as 
also  the  record  of  lowest  temperatures,  the  following  table,  compiled  from  official  sources,  has 
been  prepared : 


Places. 


It 

5? 


p  a 
3  9 


c 


^2. 


50 


O 

-•c 

:  a. 


So 


> 

1  33Q 


^: 


» •  5 


3  5  2 
ft  —2 


Sacramento,  Cal  . 
WaHbingmn,  D.  G. 
New  Y..rk.  N.  Y... 

Colunbn*',  O 

Chicago.  Ill 

St.  Louis.  Mo 

Cincinnati  O 

Philadelphia.  Pa... 

Baltimore,  Md 

llenipbi««,  Tenn 

Yicksburg.  Miss... 

Savannah.  Oa 

Louisville.  Ky 

Atlanta,  Oa. 


48 

74 

19 

39 

28 

23 

1185 

238 

68 

35 

78 

—  5 

21 

38 

31 

9  52 

H15 

126 

32 

(i9 

—  6 

22 

.W 

32 

10  2.% 

104 

126 

32 

72 

-20 

13 

32 

4.'> 

11.00 

97 

150 

28 

68 

-21 

21 

36 

33 

6  56 

108 

186 

34 

74 

-22 

25 

as 

32 

7  74 

122 

115 

36 

73 

-17 

18 

31 

41 

1151 

90 

141 

33 

75 

—  6 

20 

36 

34 

-  9  21 

107 

118 

36 

78 

—  7 

22 

39 

29 

9f;4 

108 

133 

43 

79 

-9 

25 

29 

36 

15  77 

129 

122 

50 

K3 

—  1 

24 

31 

35 

16  f« 

126 

107 

53 

80 

8 

32 

28 

30 

1000 

121 

120 

37 

78 

-14 

19 

31 

40 

13  44 

106 

121 

46 

74 

-  8 

26 

32 

32 

19  16 

122 

141 

20 


A  ddsh,  thus  (— ),  before  a  tlgure  iudtoaies  temperature  below  zero. 

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NATURAL  SCENERY  :   TEHAMA  COUNT  V  —1.    Scene    on    Sacramento    River    (ferry). 
2   Mill  Creek  Power  Site.    3.  Mill  Creek  Power  Site.  4.   Mill  Creek  Power  Site. 


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918 


Overland   Monthly. 


It  will  interest  the  intending  fruit  grow- 
er to  know  the  rates  of  transportation  to 
the  East.  The  carload  rate  is  uniform 
from  all  railroad  points  of  shipment.  I 
give  the  figures  in  this  connection  once 
for  all: 

Dried  Fruit,  minimum  weight  24,000 
pounds,  Chicago,  New  York  and  Boston: 

In  boxes,  $1.00  per  hundred  pounds 

In  sacks,  $1.20  per  hundred  pounds. 

Deciduous  Fresh  Fruits,  carloads.  Mini- 
mum weight,  26,000  pounds: 
To  Chicago,      $1.25  per  hundred  pounds 
New  York,    1.50  per  hundred  pounds 
Boston,  l.b6  per  hundred  pounds 

Resuming  our   journey   westward,   we 
cross   the   Sacramento   River   on   a   fine 
steel       combination 
railroad  and  wagon 
Yolo  County.       bridge,  and  find  our- 
selves   at    once    in 
Yolo    County.      For 
several  miles  we  pass  through  what  are 
known  as  tule  lands,  of  which  there  are 
about  100,000  acres  in  this  county.    These 
lands  are  exceedingly  rich  and  produc- 
tive naturally,  but  being  subject  to  the 
overflow   of  the   Sacramento   River   are 
used  mainly  for  grazing  when  the  water 
Is  off.     Plans   for  reclamation  are   pro- 
jected, and  doubtless  ere  long  this  fine 
body  of  land  will  be  added  to  the  400,000 
rich    agricultural    lands    of    the    county, 
and  will  add  many  millions  to  its  wealth 
and  thousands  to  its  population.  Add  150,- 
000  acres  of  hill  and  mountain  grazing 
lands,  and  we  have  the  area  of  the  county 
about  1017  square  miles.    Yolo  is  an  ex- 
ceptionally  fine   county.     Let   me   cata- 
logue some  of  its  productions: 

Wheat,  2o0,000  acres;  barley  and  oats, 
C0,000;  hay,  20,000.  Irrigation  is  prac- 
ticed, as  the  25,000  acres  of  alfalfa  will 
attest. 

Hops,  1,000  acres;  vegetables  (includ- 
ing the  celery  and  asparagus  beds),  5,000 
acres. 

Fruit  Trees — 22,000  acres,  of  which  5,000 
acres  are  almonds,  probably  much  more 
than  in  any  other  one  county  in  the 
State;  4,000  acres  of  oranges,  lemons, 
and  olives,  each  of  which  thrives  especi- 
ally In  Capay  Valley;  2.500  acres  vine- 
yard, about  equally  divided  between 
wine,  raisin,  and  table  grapes. 

Live  fifforA-— Sheep,   30,000;    cattle,   15,- 


000;  horses  and  mules,  8,500. 

Dairy  Industry — This  industry  is  the 
growth  of  about  five  years,  a  fact  which 
shows  how  reluctant  our  farmers  have 
been  to  adopt  new  methods  of  utilizing 
soil  and  climate.  Conditions  here  a:e 
most  favorable.  Water  is  available  for 
irrigation,  and  alfalfa  grows  most  lux- 
uriantly, and  yet  through  a  long  period 
of  depression  in  the  prices  of  wheat  the 
Yolo  farmer,  as  in  all  the  other  counties, 
has  been  slow  to  adopt  some  substitute 
for  wheat  culture.  The  growth  of  the 
dairy  industry  has  been  greater  around 
Woodland  than  elsewhere  in  the  county, 
although  an  extensive  creamery  has  been 
found  necessary  at  Knight's  Landing.  The 
daily  supply  of  milk  at  Woodland  is  20,- 
000  pounds  and  is  increasing  gradually. 
A  skimming  station  five  miles  north  at 
Cacheville  has  become  an  established  in- 
dustry, and  here  forty  patrons  deliver 
their  milk.  In  one  year  the  Woodland 
Creamery  turned  out  257,876  pounds  of 
butter,  which  averaged  22  cents  per 
pound  for  the  year.  I  have  not  the  figures 
for  the  Knight's  Landing  Creamery,  but 
it  is  a  close  second  to  Woodland.  To 
illustrate  the  situation  in  the  Sacramento 
Valley,  I  frequently  purchase  Woodland 
Creamery  butter  in  Red  Bluff,  Tehama 
County,  where  we  should  export,  not  im- 
port, this  article  of  home  consumption. 
Yolo  is  exceptional  also  in  its  attention 
to  the  poultry  industry,  which  is  quite 
extensive  around  Woodland  and  Winters. 
There  are  about  2000  bee  hives  in  the 
county.  Here  again  is  one  of  the  econ- 
omies of  the  farm  greatly  neglected  by 
farmers.  With  every  condition  favorable 
most  of  our  honey  comes  from  Southern 
California. 

Strawberries  are  becoming  one  of  the 
chief  productions  (in  a  limited  way)  and 
are  furnished  to  the  market  as  late  as 
the  middle  of  November.  About  5,00u 
acres  of  land  suitable  for  fruit  culture 
are  reported  as  available  in  small  tracts 
a*-  from  $20  to  $150  per  acre,  unimproved. 
Most  of  this  land  is  near  Winters  (see 
map),  some  in  Capay  Valley,  and  other 
parts  of  Western  Yolo. 

Average  winter  temperature  atthispoipt 
i9  48.3  deerrees;  summer.  77.7  degrees; 
annual,  62.8  degrees;  highest,  102  de- 
grees;  lowest,  20  degrees.    Lowest  rain- 


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PUBLIC  BUILDINGS.— 1.  Hall  of  Records,  Yolo  County.  2.  Convent  at  Colusa.  3.  High 
School.  Placer  County.  4.  Court  House,  Placer  County.  5.  High  School  left,  Grammar 
Bchool    right,    Vacavllle,    Solano    County. 


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920 


Overland  Monthly 


fall  here  in  last  ten  years,  10.26  inches; 
highest,  26.75;  average.  16.59 — less  here 
than  at  Sacramento  or  the  upper  valley. 
This  portion  of  the  county  feels  the  in- 
fluence of  trade  winds  from  the  ocean — 
hence  the  high  temperature  is  less.  In 
Woodland  there  is  a  winery,  an  olive  oil 
pickling  plant,  and  many  fruit  packing 
establishments.  The  first  raisins  were 
produced  for  the  markets  abroad,  near 
here,  by  Dr.  R.  B.  Blowers — gone  to  his 
rest,  but  of  precious  memory  to  all  who 


foity-five  sections  of  land  in  the  vicinity 
of  Woodland.  A  concrete  dam  across 
Cache  Creek  is  contemplated  which  will 
greatly  increase  the  supply.  Excellent 
sites  for  storage  of  water  in  reservoirs 
have  been  located  on  the  headd  of  the 
streams.  Pumping  plants  operating  wells 
for  water  are  also  resorted  to  with  suc- 
cess. In  Capay  Valley  a  large  portable 
pumping  plant  moves  from  point  to  [K)int 
and  raises  water  to  the  orchards  from 
Cache  Creek.     In  this  valley  is  located 


A  Date  Palm,   Butte  County. 


had   the   happiness    to    personally   know 
him. 

Irrigation  is  practiced  in  this  county 
though  not  to  the  extent  possible  or 
profitable.  There  is  enough  water  in 
Cache  Creek  and  in  other  streams 
in  the  county,  taken  from  this  source, 
to  irrigate  100,000  acres  of  land.  The 
chief  irrigation  system  is  the  Moore's 
Ditch,  which  passes  through  and  touches 


the  Esparto  Colony,  fourteen  miles  west 
of  Woodland,  reached  by  macadamized 
roads  and  rail  from  Elmira.  These  lands 
pre  what  was  formerly  known  as  the 
Bonynge  tract  (about  2000  acres  of  the 
Rancho  Canada  de  Capay  Grant).  The  lo- 
cation is  on  Cache  Creek,  an  important 
stream,  which  is  the  only  outlet  of  Clear 
Lake.  The  lake  country  was  formerly 
volcanic,  and  the  soil  is  composed  of  tne 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries. 


921 


richest  materials  thrown  out  and  mixed 
together  by  heat  and  other  forces  of  na- 
ture— as  we  are  told  by  an  article  writ- 
ten by  one  of  a  party  of  scientists  in  the 
employ  of  the  United  States  Government 
several  years  ago.  This  rich  detritus  has 
been  brought  down  by  the  spring  floods 
for  ages  through  the  narrow  canyons  of 
the  river,  and  as  soon  as  the  waters  es- 
caped from  their  confinement,  spread  out, 
and  this  rich  material  has  settled  here, 
and  formed  land  that  has  no  superior 
for  strength  and  productiveness. 

The  places  sold  have  been  planted  with 
all  kinds  of  deciduous  fruits.  The  orange 
and  lemon. make  as  good  a  showing  as 
the  best  localities  in  the  State.  Early 
frosts  are  rare  in  the  country  around  Es- 
parto, so  that  the  products  are  marketed 
mnch  earlier  than  in  some  other  parts 
of  the  valley.  Clear  Lake,  of  which  Cache 
Creek  is  the  outlet,  about  forty  miles  dis- 
tant from  Esparto,  at  an  elevation  above 
that  point  of  1640  feet  (about  thirty-eight 
feet  fall  to  the  mile),  is  a  large  body 
of  water  ten  miles  wide  and  thirty-five 
miles  long.  This  great  water  and  elec- 
tric power  cannot  long  remain  undevelop- 
ed, and  when  the  real  development  com- 
mences, this  part  of  the  county  will  be 
specially  benefited.  The  Capay  Valley 
lies  near  the  Coast  Range  of  mountains, 
along  Cache  Creek,  and  is  an  extremely 
beautiful  region.  Perhaps  this  outline 
sketch  is  as  much  as  should  be  given 
space  to  show  the  general  conditions 
of  Yolo's  industries. 

We  have  many  counties  yet  to  visit, 
and  cannot  linger  in  beautiful  Yolo, 
charming  as  nature  has  made  it.  Wood- 
land is  the  county  seat;  the  other  towns 
are  Yolo.  Winters,  Blacks,  Capay,  and 
Washington. 

Resuming  again  our 
Journey  westward  at 

Solano  County.  Davisville,  we  enter 
Solano  County  upon 
crossing  Putah 
Creek,  pass  through  Tremont,  the  brisk 
town  of  Dixon,  Bat  a  via,  and  are  shortly 
at  Elmira.  Before  going  on  further  to 
the  bay  cities  of  Vallejo,  Benicia,  Fair- 
field, and  Suisun,  we  must  make  a  short 
excursion  to  Vaca  Valley  by  a  branch  rail- 
road line  which  leads  through  Vacaville, 
Solano  County,  and  on  northwest  through 


Winters,  Capay,  terminating  at  Rumsey, 
on  Cache  Creek,  Yolo  County.  Look  at 
the  map  and  notice  the  relation  of  this 
country  to  this  creek  and  to  Clear  Lake 
(whose  outlet  is  Cache  Creek),  not  far 
away,  in  Lake  County,  the  Switzerland  of 
California.  In  many  respects  Solano 
County  possesses  exceptional  advantages, 
chief  among  which  are  rich  lands  and 
nearness  and  accessibility  to  the  metrop- 
olis of  the  Pacific  Coast.  It  has  tide- 
water navigation  at  Suisun  and  Vallejo. 
The  principal  towns  are  Vallejo,  8,000  in- 
habitants; Benicia,  3,200;  Vacaville, 
1,350;  Fairfield  (the  county-seat),  and 
Suisun.  The  county  contains  24,143  in- 
habitants. It  will  be  seen  from  the  map 
that  it  has  a  frontage  on  San  Pablo  Bay 
and  Suisun  Bay  of  many  miles.  Area  of 
county,  911  square  miles,  of  which  are 
reported:  93,060  in  wheat;  800  oats; 
41,730  barley;  290  flax.  Sugar  beets, 
2,750   acres. 

The  Fniit  Industry  is  given  in  trees, 
which,  calculated  at  100  to  the  acre, 
gives:  3,086  acres  of  apricots;  379  cherry; 
5?  flgs;  3,087  peaches;  2,035  pears;  2,559 
prunes;  984  plums;  973  almonds;  65 
walnuts;  820  wine  grapes;  raisin  and  ta- 
ble grapes,  318. 

Live  Stock — Given  in  values:  Sheep, 
$48,108;  cattle,  $202,965;  horses,  $51,812; 
mules,  61,333;  hogs,  $10,580.  Dairying 
industry  is  somewhat  developed  along 
the  Sacramento  River,  and  is  increasing. 
Poultry  interests  valued  at  $6,258.  These 
flgures  are  taken  from  the  assessment 
rcll,  and  fall,  I  think,  much  short  of  ac- 
tual facts.  Irrigation  is  not  very  much 
practiced.  There  is  a  large  body  of  tide 
or  tule  lands  in  the  county,  used  for  cat- 
tle grazing.  Incidentally  it  may  be  men- 
tioned that  the  game  preserves  on  these 
lands  furnish  flne  shooting.  There  are 
several  packing  houses  at  Suisun,  Vaca- 
ville, and  Benicia;  a  cannery  at  Vaca- 
ville; a  tannery  and  extensive  works  for 
manufacture  of  agricultural  machinery 
at  Benicia,  and  here  also  are  the  Govern- 
ment arsenal,  and  a  military  post.  Most 
of  the  storage  warehouses  for  grain  ship- 
ments by  sea  are  at  Port  Costa,  opposite 
Benicia.  Fishing  is  quite  an  industry — 
the  salmon  catch  and  other  fishing  in  the 
bays  and  along  the  Sacramento  River  am- 
ounting to  a  considerable  sum.    The  Gov- 


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1.   Palms  below  Redding,  265  miles  from  San     Francisco.      2.     Vallejo     Public     School. 
X   Church   in  Chico.  4.   Court  House.   PlScerville.     5.   State  Normal  School,  Chico,  Butte 
County.     6.    High   School   at   Orovllle,    Butte  County,  where  school  children  have  oranges. 
.   Roman   Catholic  Church  of  St.   Vincent.  Vallejo.   8.   I.   O.   O.   F.   Home,   Thermalito. 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries. 


923 


einment  Navy  Yard  at  Mare  Island  is  in 
tills  county,  and  many  of  the  artisans 
there  employed  reside  in  Vallejo.  This 
splendid  Governmental  establishment, 
constantly  increasing  in  importance,  is 
a  source  of  positive  strength  and  wealth 
to  Solano  County,  and  gives  employment 
to  several  thousand  skilled  artisans. 

The  Bay  of  San  Francisco  and  its  ac- 
cessory bays,  is  of  such  magnitude  and 
possesses  so  much  interest  to  anyone 
who  is  looking  toward  California  as  a  fu- 
ture home,  that  I  have  given  in  these 
pages  a  very  fine  representation  of  it. 

The  Bay  Counties  Power  Company  have 
just  made  a  successful  test  at  Vallejo 
of  its  long  line  for  transmitting  electri- 
city, which  is  hereafter  to  be  lighted 
and  furnished  with  power  through  this 
means.  The  source  of  this  power  is 
Yuba  River,  120  miles  distant  from  Val- 
lejo. The  line  will  be  extended  to  the  city 
of  Oakland,  crossing  the  Straits  of  Car- 
quinez  at  Benicia. 

There  are  some  delightful  sub-valleys 
in  this  county,  where  the  fruit  industry 
in  highly  developed  and  which  furnish 
the  earliest  fruit  for  market.  These  val- 
leys are  openings  in  the  rolling  hills, 
which  constitute  a  distinctive  feature  of 
the  county.  Suisun  Valley  is  one  of  these, 
but  Vaca  Valley  is  an  especially  notable 
example.  Not  many  years  ago  this  charm- 
ing nook  of  some  5,000  acres  looking  south- 
east on  to  San  Pablo  Bay,  but  sheltered 
by  a  range  of  hills  on  the  west  and 
southwest,  was  a  grain  and  stock  farm. 
It  has  undergone  the  same  transformation 
which  occurred  at  Riverside,  Fresno,  and 
some  other  places  in  the  State,  and  now 
there  is  a  population  of  two  or  three  thou- 
sand, and  hundreds  of  happy  and  pros- 
perous families  enjoy  comfort  and  ease, 
and  many  of  them  the  luxuries  of  afflu- 
ence, where  cattle  and  sheep  once  roamed 
unvexed.  There  are  some  lands  in  the 
county  open  to  purchase  in  small  tracts 
at  $25  to  $150  per  acre. 

We  will  now  retrace  our  steps.    Return- 
ing to  Sacramento,  we  take  the  cars  for 
Yuba   County,   pass- 
ing through  Lincoln, 
Yuba  County.       in     Placer     County, 
and    Wheatland,    in 
Yuba  County,  and  we  shall  see  near  Reed 
as  we  go  a  large  flourishing  orange  grove 


of  about  100  acres.  Just  coming  into  bear- 
ing.   We  arrive  at  the  city  of  Marysville, 
the  County-seat  and  one  of  the  oldest  and 
most  widely  know  cities  in  this  part  of 
this   State,   with   a   population   of   3,397» 
more  than  one-third  that  of  the  county. 
The  other  principal  towns  of  the  county 
are    Wheatland,    on    the    railroad,    1,200 
population;    Smartsville,    500;    Campton- 
ville,  500;   and  Brown's  Valley,  250,  all 
in  the  eastern  part  of  the  county.  Marys- 
ville is  at  the  Junction  of  the  Yuba  River 
with  the  Feather  River,  the  latter  being 
the  west  boundary  of  the  county.     This 
city,   in   its   history,   is   associated   with 
some  of  the  most  striking  incidents  of 
the  earlier  life  in  California,  and  has  been 
the  home  of  many  of  the  most  prominent 
men  in  the  State.    It  has  always  had  and 
still  has  a  commanding  Influence  in  the 
affairs  of  the  Upper  Sacramento  Valley.  It 
has  controlled  quite  an  extensive  Jobbing 
trade  in  the  mining  regions,  and  in  more 
recent  years  has  been  the  storm  center 
of  the   struggle   between   the   hydraulic 
miners  and  the  farmers  in  the  valley — 
a  struggle  the  bitterness  of  which  I  am 
happy  to  say  has  in  a  large  measure,  if 
not  entirely  passed  away,  and  never  in- 
volved, I  am  also  glad  to  state,  any  very 
large   portion  of  the  valley   people.     It 
i3  to  the  credit  of  our  citizenship  that  in 
spite  of  the  great  losses  to  the  gravel 
miner  by  the  ultimate  decisions  of  the 
courts,  he  submitted  to  the  mandate  of 
the  law  with  a  loyalty  and  grace,  under 
most  trying  circumstances,  which  must 
challenge  the   admiration  of  his   adver- 
saries as  it  has  had  the  commendation  of 
all  good  citizens.    For  many  years  there 
has  been  in  successful  operation  in  Marys- 
ville one  of  the  best  equipped  woolen  fac- 
tories on  the  coast.    Its  output  has  found 
sale  in  all  parts  of  the  Union,  and  to  some 
extent  abroad.    There  are  here  two  sash 
and  door  factories;  a  cold  storage  plant 
— capacity,  4,500  tons  of  ice  per  annum; 
one  fruit  cannery,  with  an  annual  pack 
of  150,000  cases;  one  flour  mill,  capacity 
600  barrels  per  day;  one  foundry  and  two 
machine  shops.    Population  of  the  county. 
8,620;  area,  625  square  miles.    It  Is  boun- 
ded on  the  north  by  Honcut  Creek;   on 
the  east  by  the  high  Sierras;  on  the  south 
by  Bear  River,  and  on  the  west  by  the 
Feather.     Yuba  River  and  several  of  its 


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NEVADA  COL'NTY.  CAI.  — 1.  Quartz  Mine.    2.   View   Nevada  City.    3.   Source  of  Water 
Supply.     4.    UndergToimd   Mining. 


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tributaries  traverse  and  drain  the  center 
of  the  county.  Water  navigation  is  good 
to  Mary svi lie  by  Feather  River  from  the 
Sacramento.  This  advantage  has  made 
the  city  a  terminal  point  on  the  raFi- 
road,  which  fact  accounts  in  large  part 
for  its  commercial  importance. 

The  low  or  bottom  lands  of  the  county 
comprise  about  one-ninth  of  the  county's 
area.  The  plains  stretch  out  to  the  foot- 
hills, comprising  a  little  over  one-half 
the  whole  area,  the  foot-hills  about  one- 
sixth.  Joining  the  mountains  which  make 
ur  the  balance,  or  two-ninths.  The  ridges 
of  the  foot-hills  run  north  and  south, 
nearly  parallel  with  the  mountain  chain: 
and  are  interspersed  with  beautiful  and 
fertile  valleys  and  slopes.  The  lands  may 
bo  approximately  classified  as  follows: 
45,000  acres  bottom  agricultural  land; 
221,000  plain  agricultural  land;  35,000 
acres  foot-hill,  also  agricultural;  total 
agricultural,  301,000  acres;  60,000  acres 
grazing  land  and  39,000  acres  forest  and 
mining  land.  Wheat,  barley,  and  oats 
approximate  180,000  acres;  two-thirds 
wheat,  one-sixth  barley,  and  one-sixth 
oats;  field  corn,  2,000  acres;  alfalfa,  4,000 
acres;  hops,  1,000  acres;  potatoes,  600 
acres;  vegetablie  gardens,  300  acres. 

Fruit  Industry — About  2,000  acres  de- 
ciduous fruits,  besides  many  acres  of 
nuts — ^almonds  and  walnuts.  There  is 
room  for  great  expansion  in  fruit  culture 
in  this  county.  There  are  600  acres  of 
orange  and  lemon  groves  and  300  acres 
of  olives.  Orange  culture  has  reached 
the  point  of  providing  a  considerable 
export  trade  in  car-load  lots.  There  are 
about  500  acres  of  wine  grapes  in  the 
county. 

Lire  Stock — 40,000  sheep;  9,000  horses; 
4,000  mules.  Stock  run  on  the  grazing 
lands  throughout  the  winter  months, 
with    no   other   food   and    no   protection. 

Dnit'tfinp — One  creamery  at  Marysville 
and  one  at  Wheatland,  and  one  cheese 
factory  at  the  latter  place.  As  in  most 
other  counties,  poultry  is  neglected,  the 
farmer  and  dweller  in  the  towns  looking 
abroad    for   chickens   an'l   eggs. 

The  bottom  lands  along  the  rivers  are 
not  irrigated,  being  very  moist,  rich  land. 
Hifrher  lands  are  irrigated  to  consider- 
able extent.  There  are  four  large  irri- 
gating systems  in  the   county:    Brown's 


Valley  Irrigation  District  has  water  for 
20,000  acres;  irrigates  3,000  acres.  The 
Excelsior  Ditch  about  the  same  capac- 
ity and  irrigates  about  the  same  acre- 
age. The  Campbell  Ditch,  capacity  5,000 
acres,  and  irrigates  500  acres.  The  South 
Feather  vv^ater  Company,  capacity  10,000 
acres;  irrigates  1,000  acres.  It  will  be 
seen  that  the  ditch  systems  in  this  county 
are  quite  extensive,  and  their  capacity 
much  greater  than  any  usq  made  of  them. 

When  we  witness  the  scramble  for 
water  in  the  lower  part  of  the  State, 
and  observe  how  every  gallon  is  carefully 
conserved  and  used  in  the  most  efficient 
manner,  it  is  amazing  that  so  little  heed 
i^  paid  to  Irrigation  in  the  north,  where 
water  is  so  abundant,  and  the  lands  gen- 
erally strong  and  rich,  and  so  capable 
o?  producing  much  more  valuable  crops 
than  they  do  now.  In  Yuba  County  water 
can  be  had  for  $2.50  to  $5.00  per  acre, 
for  the  irrigating  seasoii.  There  are  re- 
ported 20,000  acres  at  present  open  to 
purchase  in  small  tracts,  at  prices  from 
$15   to   $40   per   acre. 

There  is  a  saw  mill  at  CamptonvlUe — 
capacity,  100,000  feet  per  day.  Another 
at  Oregon  Hill — capacity,  40,000  feet  per 
day. 

At  Brown's  Valley  there  are  quartz 
mines  whose  gold  output  is  about  $20,000 
per  month,  with  an  operating  expense  of 
about  $8,000.  Quartz  mills  are  also  In 
operation  at  Smethurst's  Place,  at  Indi- 
ana Ranch,  Brownsville,  and  other  places. 
Some  hydraulic  mining  is  carried  on  at 
Smartsville,  and  some  sluice  and  drift 
mining.  Dredger  mining  also  on  Bear 
River. 

Crossing  the  Feather  River  at  Marys- 
ville, you  pass  me  boundary  line  between 
Yuba  County  and 
Sutter  County,  and 
Sutter  County,  enter  Yuba  City,  the 
county-seat,  the  twin 
of  its  companion, 
Marysville,  separated  only  by  the  Feather 
River,  but  bound  together  by  a  fine 
bridge,  by  a  street-car  line,  and  by  so- 
cial and  business  ties  even  stronger. 
These  two  cities  and  counties  are 
F^o  closely  allied,  and  their  interests 
are  so  interwoven  that  we  think  and 
speak  of  them  as  one.  The  railroad  runs 
through  the  northeastern  portion  of  Sut- 


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Placer  County.— 1.   New  Method  of  Haulin  g  Logs.     2.    Old   Method.     3.    Lioading  Loe^ 


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ter,  passing  the  towns  of  Lomo  and  Live 
Oaks,  after  crossing  to  the  west  side  of 
the  Feather.  The  Marysville  Buttes  rise 
abruptly  out  of  the  middle  of  the  valley, 
at  the  northern  part  of  the  county,  about 
midway  between  the  Feather  and  the  Sac- 
ramento, and  present  one  of  the  most 
striking  and  interesting  features  of  the 
general  landscape.  They  reach  a  height 
ol  1,200  feet.  The  slopes  furnish  fine 
pasture,  and  around  the  base  lie  the  rich 
lands  of  Sutter.  The  county  is  bounded 
on  the  west  by  Butte  Creek  and  the  Sac- 
ramento Kiver,  and  on  the  east  by  the 
Feather.  Butte  County  is  the  north  boun- 
dary, and  at  the  south  the  east  and  west 
county  boundaries  converge  at  the  junc- 
tion of  the  Sacramento  and  Feather 
Rivers.  The  area  is  611  square  miles — 
about  the  same  as  its  twin — Yuba  County. 

Sutter  county  is  the  only  one  lying 
wholly  in  the  Sacramento  Valley,  and  ex- 
cepting the  Buttes  all  the  land  is  level. 
Of  the  391,000  acres,  about  125,000  acres 
are  tule,  or  lands  which  overflow,  but 
when  reclaimed  by  levees  are  of  nearly 
Inexhaustible  fertility.  These  tule  lands 
lie  between  the  Feather  and  Sacramento 
at  the  south  end  of  the  county.  Some 
ten  or  fifteen  thousand  acres  of  these 
lands  in  the  northern  portion  have  been 
reclaimed,  and  are  exceedingly  produc- 
tive. Irrigation  is  deemed  unnecessary 
on  most  of  the  lands  in  Sutter,  and 
successive  crops  of  alfalfa  each  year  are 
produced  without  applying  water  arti- 
ficially— the  roots  reaching  sub-surface 
moisture  in  abundance.  The  population 
of  the  County  is  5,886,  and  generally  the 
lands  are  not  in  large  holdings. 

Wheat  growing  is  more  profitable  here 
than  in  most  counties,  on  account  of  the 
yield  per  acre  and  less  expense  in  plant- 
ing— 40  to  50  bushels  being  not  an  unus- 
ual yield. 

Large  quantities  of  vegetables  are  pro- 
duced on  the  rich  lands  of  Sutter,  and 
hops  are  largely  grown. 

Horticulture — which  means  fruit  grow- 
ing with  us — has  become  of  leading  im- 
portance, tne  crop  being  quite  certain 
and  very  abundant.  The  Briggs  peach 
orchard  is  celebrated  throughout  the  fruit 
mowing  world,  and  it  was  here  that 
fruit  growing  for  market  was  early  intro- 
duced.    In  Sutter  County  the  celebrated 


Thompson  seedless  grape  was  propa- 
gated, from  which  the  best  seedless  rai- 
sins are  made.  This  is  one  of  the  most 
prolific  bearers  of  all  grape  vines,  and  at 
tbis  time  probably  the  most  profitable.  It 
is  a  small  white  grape,  entirely  seedless, 
growing  in  huge  clusters,  very  compact 
on  the  stem;  matures  early  and  evenly; 
yields  from  ten  to  fifteen  tons  to  the  acre, 
easily  cured,  making  a  pound  of  raisins 
from  three  and  one-half  pounds  of  grapes; 
the  fruit  is  delicious  to  eat  fresh  from  the 
vine. 

Much  of  the  fruit  grown  in  the  County 
goes  to  the  Marysville  canneries;  large 
shipments  are  made  of  fresh  fruit  to  the 
Eastern  States  and  to  San  Francisco, 
and  a  large  quantity  dried.  Estimated 
acres  in  cereals,  120,000;  acres  in  fruit, 
5,000;  hops,  125;  garden,  2,000;  oranges, 
25;    grapes,   500. 

Live  stock  raising  is  also  among  the  in- 
dustries of  the  county  and  is  conducted 
more  on  the  system  in  vogue  in  the 
Eastern  States  than  in  other  counties, 
and  the  animals  are  generally  of  a  su- 
perior quality. 

Sutter  is  the  only  county  in  the  group 
where  local  option  has  banished  the  liq- 
uor traffic.  The  few  people  in  Sutter  who 
have  the  lingering  appetite  for  strong 
drink,  must  go  to  Marysville  for  their 
tipple.  Whether  this  fact  adds  to  the 
business  of  the  street  car  line  I  am  un- 
able to  say — probably, — well  I  will  not 
guess. 

All  in  all,  this  is  a  county  whose  popu- 
lation  compares  favorably   with   any   in 
the    State,    socially    and    morally.      The 
schools   are   good    and   the   people   law- 
abiding,  industrious  and  progressive.  The 
tax-rate  is  among  the  lowest  in  the  State, 
and  there  are  few  delinquent  tax-payers. 
For  an  examination  of  Butte  County, 
the  visitor  should  lirst  see  Oroville,  going 
by  rail  from  Marys- 
ville,   passing    thro' 
•  Butte  County.     Honcut  and  Palermo. 
He  may  then  return 
to      Marysville      by 
rail,  resuming  his  journey  by  the  South- 
ern  Pacific   Company's   line,   leading   to 
Portland,     Oregon,     which     takes     him 
through  the  towns  of  Gridley,  Biggs,  Nel- 
son,  Durham,  to  the   beautiful   town   of 
Chico.     He   will   find   much   to   interest 


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PLACER   COUNTY.— 1.    Pottery   Works   at  Lincoln.  2.  American  River  Canon  from  Au- 
t'lirn.    3.  Drive  near  Auburn.  4.  Orange  Tree  fit  Newcastle.     5.   Orchards   near  Newcastle. 


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him  in  this  county — ranking  fifth  of  the 
group  we  are  examining  in  population, 
tliird  in  assessed  valuation.  Area,  1773 
square  miles,  ranking  third  after  Shasta 
and  Tehama  in  size.  Population,  17,117. 
Principal  towns,  Chico,  2,640,  with  a  sub- 
urban population  of  1,000,  where  is  loca- 
ted a  State  Normal  School;  Oroville,  the 
county-seat,  2,237;  Biggs,  estimated,  850; 
Giidley,  850;  Palermo,  500;  Honcut,  400; 
Cherokee,  400;  Forbestown,  400;  Ther- 
malito,  500. 
The    State    Normal    School    at    Chico 


ninety  per  cent  are  known  to  have  been 
in  the  employ  of  the  State  and  over 
seventy-five  per  cent  are  now  so  em- 
ployed. The  school  offers  a  four  year 
course  for  graduates  of  the  ninth  grade, 
a  two  year  course  for  graduates  of  ac- 
c^'edited  High  Schools,  and  a  two  year 
course  for  preparation  of  kindergarten- 
ers. It  is  essentially  a  school  for  the 
training  of  teachers. 

The  Normal  building  is  situated  a  few 
rods  from  a  mountain  stream,  near  the 
center  of  a  campus  of  eight  acres.  The 
campus  is  ornamented  with  a  magni- 
ficent growth  of  trees  and  flowers  and 
equalled    by    only    a    few    of    the    vast 


A  Summer  Camp  near  Summit  of  Coast  Range,  altitude  6500  feet. 


deserves  more  than  passing  mention,  as 
it  is  the  principal  educational  institu- 
tion in  the  Sacramento  Valley.  It  was 
established  by  act  of  Legislature  in 
1887,  and  opened  in  September,  1889, 
ec rolling  a  total  of  110  pupils  the  first 
year.  I  quote  from  a  letter  by  Presi- 
dent C.  C.  Van  Liew: 

"The  enrollment  in  1899-1900  was  377. 
During  the  past  four  years  there  has 
been  an  increase  in  the  total  work  of 
the  institution  of  over  fifty  per  cent. 
Up  to  January,  1901,  the  school  had 
graduated   366  teachers.     Of  these  over 


l)roperties  owned  by  the  State.  The 
building  is  a  fine  modern  structure  of 
twenty-eight  rooms,  finished  in  white 
cedar  and  equipped  with  physical,  chem- 
ical and  biological  laboratories,  librar- 
ies, apparatus  and  materials  for 
thorough  and  efficient  work  in  all  de- 
partments. 

In  addition  to  its  functions  as  a  re- 
pository for  scientific  and  historical  col- 
lections the  museum  at  this  normal  is 
both  a  laboratory  and  a  workshop.  It 
is  a  place  in  which  a  large  share  of  the 
microscopic  work,  dissecting,  science, 
reading,  study,  and  recitations  are  car- 
ried on.     It  contains  six  alcoves  nearly 


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30  feet  square,  and  a  corridor  between 
the  cases,  80  feet  for  dissecting  tables. 
The  alcoves  ate  used  for  recitation 
rooms,  workshops,  offices,  library,  and 
study  tables.  One  room  has  been  es- 
pecially fitted  up  for  projection  work, 
photo-microscopy,  and  photo-micro- 
graphy. 

The  museum  already  contains  a  large 
number  of  valuable  specimens  In  all 
lines  of  science,  a  large  share  of  which 
were   mounted   by   students. 

The  library  consists  of  over  8,900  vol- 
umes selected,  classified  and  arranged 
for  the  convenience  of  the  work  in  the 
various  departments,  free  access  to 
the  shelves  is  allowed,  with  the  object 
Ic  view  of  encouraging  students  to  be- 
come familiar  with  books  and  methods 
of   library   investigation. 

The  "Normal  Record"  is  a  monthly 
Journal  managed  by  the  students.  Its 
contents  are  largely  contributed  by  the 
students,  and  its  business  management 
rests  in  their  hands,  so  that  it  offers 
eiLcellent  opportunities  for  training  in 
journalism  and  the  conduct  of  business. 
In  addition  to  this,  it  aims  to  serve  its 
readers  with  reading  matter  of  value, 
and  to  be  a  medium  of  thought-exchange 
between   students,   alumni,   and   faculty. 

There  are  a  Young  Men's  and  a  Young 
Woman's  Normal  Debating  Society, 
which  are  doing  very  active  and  effic- 
ient work  in  practical  training  of  their 
members  for  public  speaking.  During 
the  spring  of  1900,  a  series  of  medal- 
contests  were  held,  which  greatly  stim- 
ulated tlie  growth  and  interest  in  the 
work  of  these  societies.  These  will 
probably  be   continued   in  the   future. 

Finally  the  students  maintain  two  re- 
ligious organizations, — ^the  Young  Wo- 
men's Christian  Association,  and  the 
Young  People's  Christian  Temperance 
Union.  The  character  of  the  school  is 
ic  part  sustained  by  the  spirit  of  these 
associations. 

The  Training  School  Is  open  to  the 
children  of  Chico  and  vicinity,  or  to  any 
who  wish  to  make  special  preparation 
for  the  Normal   course. 

About  two  miles  from  Chico  the  State 
maintains  a  Forestry  Station  of  forty 
acres,  a  donation  from  General  Bidwell. 
For  the  past  ten  years  experiments  have 
been  made  in  the  planting  of  trees  to 
determine  what  varieties  are  best  suited 
to  this  soil." 

Butte  County  lies  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  Sacramento  valley,  and  upon  the 
western  slope  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  moun- 
tains— extending  from  the  Sacramento 
River  on  the  west  to  the  summit  of  the 
most  westerly  range  of  the  Sierras  oh 
the  east,  and  Is  divided  Into  level  valley, 
rolling  foot-hill  land,  and  rugged  moun- 


tains, about  equal  parts.  The  valley  por- 
tion is  level,  devoted  mainly  to  growing 
grain.  The  central  portion,  rolling  land» 
rises  gradually  into  low  foothills,  the  rise 
continuing  graduany  toward  the  high 
mountains  on  the  east.  The  characteris- 
tics of  these  mountains  as  elsewhere  is 
that  they  are  deeply  cut  by  canyons, 
where  swift  streams  plunge  madly  over 
rocky  beds  with  innumerable  water-falls. 
The  scenery  of  Eastern  Butte  is  grand 
and  beautiful  beyond  description,  and  on 
these  mountains  coniferous  foresta 
abound.  The  principal  mountain  stream 
1 3  the  Feather  River,  with  which  we  be* 
came  acquainted  In  Yuba  and  Sutter 
counties,  and  which  is  altogether  one  of 
the  most  important  rivers  in  the  State» 
draining  as  It  does,  with  its  tributaries^ 
about  4,000  square  miles,  and  carrying 
in  its  bed  to  the  valley  at  its  lowest  stage^ 
water  estimated  at  100,000  miners'  inches^ 
(A  miner's  inch  is  that  quantity  of  water 
which  will  flow  through  an  aperfure  one 
inch  square  under  a  four-inch  pressure 
each  minute — ^about  nine  and  one-half 
gallons.)  Butte  and  Chico  Oreeka 
are  also  important  streams  in  this  county,, 
and  furnish  water  for  irrigation  and  for 
developing  electrical  power.  Probably 
two-thirds  of  the  land  in  the  County  may 
be  classed  as  agricultural,  and  in  many 
parts  of  the  mountains  there  is  more^ 
or  less  land  under  cultivation.  Timothy 
grass  is  a  valuable  crop  in  mountain  val^ 
leys,  and  the  lumbering  and  other  opera- 
tions in  that  region  furnish  ready  mar- 
ket at  good  prices  for  mountain  products. 
Over  one-third,  and  less  than  one-half^ 
of  the  land  in  the  county  is  under  culti^ 
vation,  and  nearly  all  the  land  not  culti- 
vated is  grazed.  The  mountains  are- 
heavily  forested — the  commercial  wooda 
growing  at  elevations  between  2,000  feet 
and  5,000  feet. 

Cereals — About  320,000  acres  are  de- 
voted to  grain  growing;  Alfalfa — lOOO 
acres;  Hemp— 500  acres,  very  profitably 
grown  on  the  Feather  River  bottom  landa 
near  Biggs  and  Gridley.  The  hemp  plant 
grows  luxuriantly,  attaining  a  height 
of  from  12  to  14  feet,  and  the  fibre  is  ex- 
cellent. Specimens  may  be  seen  in  the 
exhibition  rooms  of  the  State  Board  ot 
Trade  in  San  Francisco.  There  are 
thousands  of  acres  adapted  to  the  sugar- 


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SACRAMENTO  COUNTY.— 1.  American  River   Foothills.    2.    Live   Oak.    3.    Orange   Or- 
chard. 6  years  old.     4.  The  largest  gold  dred^ei    in   the  world,    Fair  Oak   Bluffs. 


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932 


Overland  Monthly 


beet  in  this  county,  as  ia  many  others, 
but  as  yet  attention  has  not  been  given 
to  this  valuable  production. 

Live  Stock— Cattle,  11,035;  hogs,  6,041; 
mules,  2.604;  horses,  3,783;  sheep,  33.319; 
goats,  919.  (Figures  taken  from  assess- 
ment books.) 

Mr.  W.  A.  Beard  of  Oroville  has  ans- 
wered my  formulated  questions  sent  out 
to  all  the  counties.  I  quote  him  as  fol- 
lows upon  matter  not  already  mentioned : 

"Area  devoted  to  fruit  estimated  at 
20,000  acres.  Deciduous  fruits  are  grown 
both  in  the  valley,  foothill  and  mountain. 
Several  thousand  acres  are  devoted  Xo 
these  fruits  along  the  Feather  River  be- 
low Oroville,  near  Biggs  and  Gridley,  and 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Chico  and  Dur- 
ham. 

Smaller  orchards  ranging  from  a  few 
acres  to  some  hundreds  of  acres  are 
found  in  the  foothill^  region.  In  the 
higher  mountains  orchards  are  usually 
of  a  few  acres  each,  and  the  apple  is 
the  staple  crop.  Paradise,  situated  high 
enough  to  be  considered  in  the  moun- 
tains, has  an  extensive"  area  devoted  to 
fruit,  which  include  the  olive,  prune  and 
peach.  Acres  of  oranges  and  lemons,  es- 
timated, 5,000;  acres  of  olives,  estimated, 
1,000.  Oroville,  Palermo,  and  Therma- 
lito  are  the  principal  orange  and  olive 
growing  districts.  Shipments  from  Oro- 
ville and  Palermo  depots  from  which  very 
nearly  all  of  the  oranges  are  shipped, 
for  the  present  season  up  to  this  date, 
December  27th,  are  about  375  car-loads. 
The  total  shipments  for  the  season  will 
probably  be  450  carloads.  Grape 
industry  is  not  extensive.  We  import 
butter.  Several  car-loads  of  poultry, 
principally  turkeys,  shipped  each  year. 
Few  bees  are  kept  for  commercial  pur- 
poses; we  import  honey. 

Irrigated  area  estimated  at  8,000  acres, 
as  follows:  By  ditch,  6,000  acres;  by 
pumping  from  river,  2,000  acres;  by  wells, 
40  or  50  acres.  •  ♦  ♦  Irrigation  by  water 
pumped  from  wells  is  used  but  little,  prin- 
cipally in  the  neighborhoods  of  Honcut, 
Biggs,  and  Gridley.  Wells  are  from 
twenty  to  thirty  feet  deep.  The  flow 
of  water  is  generous.  Water  is  pumped 
by  steam  and  gasoline  engines  and  by 
electrical  power.  Irrigation  is  practiced 
most  largely  in  connection  with  fruit 
growing,  but  other  crops  are  also  grown 
by  this  meaqs,  especially  in  the  foot- 
hills. Alfalfa  is  grown  both  with  and 
without  irrigation.  •  ♦  ♦  Ditch  compan- 
ies charge  for  their  water  from  ten  to 
twelve  and  one-half  cents  per  miner's 
irch.  Where  land  is  irrigated  by  the 
acre  the  charge  is  $3.00  per  season. 


Butte  nas  one  health  resort,  Richard- 
son's Springs,  situated  near  Chico.  These 
natural  springs  have  been  found  to  be 
veiy  beneficial  to  those  suffering  from 
many  chronic  complaints.  Near  Oroville. 
Judge  John  C.  Gray  has  a  spring  of 
mineral  water,  the  waters  of  which  are 
bottled  and*  sold  in  Oroville  and  else- 
where. From  estimates  and  Information 
gathered  from  various  sources,  I  judge 
there  are  about  12,000  acres  of  good 
land  now  on  the  market  in  lots  of  from 
five  to  eighty  acres,  at  prices  ranging 
from  $15.00  to  $100.00  per  acre,  accord- 
ing to  location.  Much  of  this  land  is 
uEder  existing  ditch  systems,  and  some 
of  the  cheapest  is  very  desirable  land, 
Suitable  for  growing  oranges,  olives  and 
deciduous  fruit,  the  distance  from  the 
railroad  being  its  only  drawback. 

Lumbering  Is  an  important  industry 
in  Butte  and  will  be  for  many  years  to 
come.  Vast  forests  of  fine  timber  clothe 
the  slopes  of  the  Sierras.  The  largest 
sawmill  in  the  county  is  that  of  the 
Sierra  Lumber  Company  near  West 
Branch.  Lumber  is  flumed  from  this  mill 
to  Chico,  where  the  company  h^s  exten- 
sive yards  and  planing  mills.  Two  hun- 
dred and  ufty  men  are  employed  by  the 
company.  Total  cut  of  the  season  just 
closed  was  12,000,000  feet.  There  are  a 
number  of  smaller  mills  in  the  county, 
and  total  cut.  of  past  season  was  prob- 
ably near  20,000,000  feet.  ♦  •  •  The  plan- 
ing mill  and  box  factory  at  Chico  does  a 
big  business  In  fruit  boxes  and  trays  both 
for  local  market  and  for  shipping  to  other 
parts  of  the  State. 

The  Chico  Cannery,  the  only  one  on 
which  I  have  figures,  did  not  run  to  its 
full  capacity  this  year,  but  it  employed 
at  busiest  time  543  people,  a  large  pro- 
portion of  whom  were  women  and  child- 
ren, and  packed  during  the  season 
1,128  tons  of  fruit.  This  cannery  paid  out 
during  the  season  just  closed:  for  labor, 
$20,470.24;  for  fruit,  $38,152.62. 

Olive  pickling  is  an  extensive  industry. 
There  are  a  number  of  pickling  plants 
at  Oroville,  Palermo,  Thermalito,  Biggs, 
and  Wyandotte,  ranging  in  capacity  from 
a  few  hundred  to  many  thousands  of 
gallons,  The  greater  part  are  owned  by 
orchardlsts,  a  few  by  people  who  make 
the  curing  of  olives  their  business.  The 
output  of  pickled  olives  this  year  will 
be  in  the  neighborhood  of  100.000  gallons. 
All  these  olives  are  pickled  in  their 
ripe  state  and  are  all  sold  and  consumed 
In  the  State. 

Olive  oil  is  manufactured  to  a  consider- 
able extent.  Several  mills  are  owned  by 
orchardists  who  grind  their  own  berries 
an 'I  extract  the  oil,  and  there  are  custom 
mills  at  Oroville  and  Palermo.  The  out- 
put for  1900  was  about  2,500  gallons 


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SACRAMENTO  COUNTY.— 1.  Four  year  o  d  olive  tree.    2.  Under  the  mistletoe.    3.  Ap- 
lU  tree  21  feet  high  and  four  years  old.    4.  P  .ur  year  old  apricot  tree.    5.  Pampas  plumes. 


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934 


Overland  Monthly 


There  are  three  flour  mills  in  the 
county,  at  Chico,  Oroville  and  Durham. 
The  Chico  plant  is  one  of  the  largest  and 
finest  in  the  valley.  It  has  a  capacity 
of  200  barrels,  and  it  is  operated  by  elec- 
tricity, generated  by  water  power  fifteen 
miles  away.  The  Oroville  fiour  mills 
are  operated  by  water  power  applied 
direct  and  have  a  capacity  of  130  barrels 
per  day. 

Butte  has  a  paint  mine  and  paint  mill. 
*  •  •  Yellow  ochre,  Venetian  red,  brown 
metallic,  umbre  and  sienna  are  produced. 
The  ore  carries  free  gold  in  sufficient 
quantities  to  pay  the  expenses  of  mining. 

Cement  has  been  discovered  near 
Pentz  and  tested  by  experts  who  pro- 
nounce it  equal  to  the  best  Portland  ce- 
ment. 

The  oil-mining  excitement  has  reached 
Butte  County  and  two  wells  are  being 
bored  at  the  present  time,  one  near  Chico, 
and  the  other  near  Oroville. 

The  mountain  streams  afford  excellent 
opportunities  for  establishing  power 
plants.  The  Butte  County  Electric  Power 
and  Lighting  Company,  with  its  plant  on 
Butte  Creek,  is  now  generating  daily  1,200 
horse  power,  and  is  selling  its  power  to 
mining  dredgers  on  Feather  River  below 
Oroville  and  furnishing  power  to  light 
the  city  of  Chico,  to  run  the  Chico  flour 
mill  and  other  machinery  in  that  vicin- 
ity. The  company  is  now  disposing  of 
about  800  horse  power,  and  will  shortly 
furnish  to  the  Biggs  &  Colusa  Power 
Company  600  horse  power  to  be  used  in 
propelling  machinery,  pumping  water  for 
irrigation  and  drainage  and  lighting  pur- 
poses. Contracts  have  been  let  for  ad- 
ditional dynamos  and  generators  to  gen- 
erate 2,000  additional  horse  power.  The 
machinery  is  expected  to  be  installed 
and  in  active  operation  by  May  1,  1901. 
Companies  using  this  power  to  operate 
their  dredgers  speak  of  it  in  the  highest 
terms.  Power  from  the  Bay  Counties 
Power  Company's  plant  is  also  used  to 
operate  dredgers  near  Oroville.  The 
plant  is  situated  in  Yuba  County. 

Mining  has  always  been  one  of  the  im- 
portant industries  of  this  county. 

The  greatest  interest  is  being  taken 
just  now  in  the  mining  dredgers  oper- 
ating on  Feather  River  near  Oroville. 
The  first  successful  gold  dredge  began 
In  the  spring  of  1898.  The  company 
which  built  the  first  machine  now  has 
three  in  operation.  There  are  nine  dred- 
gers at  work  at  the  present  time;  two 
are  building  and  almost  complete,  while 
four  more  have  beeil  planned  for  and  will 
probably    be    under    construction    soon. 

Good  common  schools  under  one  of  the 
best  State  systems  in  the  Union.  Num- 
ber of  public  school  districts,  76;  number 
of  teachers,  114;  number  of  school  child- 


ren, school  age,  4348;  two  high  schools; 
cne  State  Normal  School  at  Chico. 

Orange  groves  are  in  all  valley  parts 
of  the  county,  and  up  to  an  altitude  ot 
1,000  feet. 

The  olive  grows  in  the  valley  and  foot- 
hill portions,  and  as  high  as  ISOO  feet 
above  sea  level.    It  bears  heavily. 

There  are  three  creameries,  one  each 
at  Chico,  Oroville  and  Biggs,  all  idle 
because  farmers  will  not  patronize  them. 

Good  land  can  be  had  at  $15  per  acre, 
five  or  six  miles  from  the  railway  under 
ditch.  (This  must  be  foothills  more  or 
less  covered  with  timber  and  chaparral. 
No  good  bottom  land  can  be  bought  at 
this  price.— N.  P.  C.) 

Snow  falls  in  the  mountain  regions 
sometimes  to  a  depth  of  ten  or  twelve 
feet  at  the  higher  altitudes.  Within 
twenty  miles  of  the  orange  orchards  at 
Oroville  snow  falls  every  year,  and 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  greater  the 
snow-fall  the  better  for  the  orang^e  in- 
dustry. To  the  heavy  snow-fall  is  due  in 
part  the  abundant  summer  supply  of 
water.  Along  the  lower  edge  of  the  snow 
line  it  melts  rapidly,  but  at  higher  alti- 
tudes, it  lies  on  the  ground  much  of  the 
summer,  and,  melting  gradually,  adds 
to  the  water  supply. 

To  home-seekers  Butte  County  offers 
all  the  advantages  of  cheap  land,  abun- 
dant water  already  diverted  and  ready 
for  use,  of  equitable  climate,  good  schools 
and  social  advantages.  The  opportuni- 
ties she  offers  to  those  who  would  till  the 
soil  or  delve  for  minerals  are  unsur- 
passed." 

Mr.  Beard's  enthusiasm  for  his  county 
is  characteristic  of  Californians,  but  it  is 
fully  Justified.  What  he  says,  however^ 
applies  not  alone  to  Butte  County,  but  is 
equally  true  with  slight  variations  in  all 
the  counties.  It  is  because  in  describing 
Butte  he  is  describing  other  portions  of 
the  valley  that  I  have  quoted  from  him 
so  fully. 

It  should  be  added  that  the  large  and 
beautiful  rancho,  near  Chico,  formerly 
belonging  to  General  Bidwell  (now  de- 
ceased), is  being  sub-divided  into  small 
tracts  for  sale  to  settlers,  and  so  also  is 
the  Wilson  rancho  next  north  of  the  Bid- 
well  property. 

The  west  side  of  the 

valley  is  bisected  by 

Colusa  County.        the  Southern  Pacific 

Company's    railroad 

which     leaves      the- 

main  line  at  Davisville,  Yolo  County,  and 

unites  with  the  road  traversing  the  east 


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YOLO  COUNTY.— 1.  Dairy  cows.  2.  Strawberry  patches  near  Woodland.  3.  Moore's 
Ditch,  chief  irrigating  system  of  Yolo  County.  4.  Scene  on  Sacramento  River. 
5.  Naval  Orange  Orchard,  Capay  Valley,  Cal.  Trees    four    years    old.      6.    Creamery. 

7.  Spanish  Merino  rams.    8.  Irrigating  alfalfa  field   near  Woodland. 


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936 


Overland  Monthly 


side,  at  Tehama,  and  thence  continues  to 
Oregon. 

Colusa  County  lies  nearly  west  of 
Sutter  County.  Some  of  its  lands 
are  on  the  east  side  of  the  river.  Popu- 
lation, 7,346.  Chief  towns:  Colusa,  the 
county-seat,  situated  on  the  Sacramento 
River,  reached  by  narrow  gauge  line  from 
Colusa  Junction,  has  population  of  1490, 
and  with  its  extensions,  2200;  Maxwell, 
400;  Williams,  500;  Arbuckle,  550,  on 
main  line  of  railroad.  From  Colusa  Junc- 
tion, the  narrow  gauge  railroad  runs  west 
to  the  foothill  town  of  Sites.  Area  of 
county  1,150  square  miles.  The  eastern 
portion  of  the  county — a  little  over  one- 
half  its  area — lies  along  the  western  bor- 
der of  the  Sacramento  Valley,  and  is  rich 
in  natural  resources  and  beautiful  in  its 
scenery.  The  western  portion  consists 
o*  foothills  and  mountains,  interspersed 
with  small  lovely  valleys  for  which  na- 
ture has  done  much  and  man  but  little. 
Agricultural  land,  450,000  acres;  grazing, 
256,000,  and  mountain,  30,000.  The  agri- 
cultural lands  are  devoted  to:  Wheat, 
180,000  acres;  barley,  59,500;  oats,  1,000; 
corn,  1,500;  hay,  8,000;  alfalfa,  3,000; 
sugar  beets,  1,000,  showing  high  per  cent 
of  sugar  and  purity;  vegetables,  500 
acres. 

Fruit  Industry — ^Not  greatly  developed; 
about  1,500  acres  of  deciduous  fruits;  cit- 
rus fruits,  40  acres;  oranges  apparently 
do  well.  500  acres  raisin  grapes;  40 
acres  wine  and  20  acres  table  grapes. 

Live  Stock— Cattle,  8.150;  hogs,  20,350; 
sheep,  17,000;  angora  goats,  1,000;  mules, 
3,250;  jacks,  27;  horses,  4,286,  as  shown 
on  assessment  roll. 

Dairying — 3  creameries.  Poultry  inter- 
ests considerably  developed. 

The  bottom  lands  along  the  river  are 
protected  from  overflow  by  levees,  and 
these  in  turn  furnish  opportunity  for 
winter  irrigation  from  the  river  when 
above  its  natural  banks.  Probably  5,000 
acres  are  thus  treated.  Several  creeks 
flow  into  the  county  from  the  Coast 
Range  during  part  of  the  year,  on  the 
heads  of  which  storage  reservoirs  could 
be  constructed.  Water  can  be  had  by 
digging  at  depths  from  12  to  20  feet  along 
the  river,  and  from  20  to  80  feet  along 
the  plains,  and  in  the  foothills.  The 
cheapest  irrigation  is  from  the  river  as 


above  described,  costing  about  10  oen 
per  acre;  by  pumps  the  cost  is  from  ^±A 
t)  $5.00  per  acre.  In  this  county  ai 
several  healing  springs,  which  are  a^ls 
used  more  or  less  as  summer  resort 
Blanks'  Sulphur  Springs,  27  miles  soul] 
west  from  Williams;  temperature  < 
water,  108  degrees,  and  about  X,5C 
feet  elevation;  Wilbur  Hot  Sulptiv 
Springs,  one  mile  from  Blank's  Spring 
temperature,  140  degrees,  used  locally  fo 
medicinal  purposes;  both  these  spring 
highly  recommended  for  rheumatisix 
catarrh,  etc.;  Frost's  Springs  in  the  nortt 
western  part  of  the  county,  35  miles  f  ron 
Sites;  excellent  for  stomach  troubles 
elevation,  1,700  feet;  Cook*B  Springs,  2i 
miles  from  ;b.^es  in  Indian  Valley,  middle 
western  part  of  county,  1,500  feet  eleva 
tion.  The  water  is  charged  with  sulphur 
carbonic  acid  gas,  carbonates  of  soda 
magnesia,  iron  and  calcium  and  has  a  tem- 
perature of  60  to  70  degrees.  100.000  gal- 
lens  of  this  water  are  shipped  away  an- 
nually to  all  parts  of  the  world.  It  is  bot- 
tled  at   the   spring. 

In  the  county,  there  are  about  2,000 
acres  reported  suitable  for  fruit  or  any 
other  crop,  purchasable  in  small  tracts 
at  $30  to  $50  per  acre,  improved.  At  Co- 
lusa is  a  large  roller  flour  mill;  one  snoial] 
saw  mill  in  western  part  of  county.  The 
east  slope  of  the  Coast  Range  does  not 
contain  much  commercial  timber, 
though  it  is  heavily  forested.  Large 
and  valuable  stone  quarries  are  in  the 
foothills,  from  which  all  parts  of  the 
State  draw.  The  new  ferry  depot  and 
the  band  stand  in  Golden  Gate  Park, 
San  Francisco,  are  built  from  this  stone, 
taken  from  the  quarries  of  the  Colusa 
Sandstone  Company,  and  are  both  monu- 
ments of  architectural  beauty.  The  prin- 
cipal mineral  product  (other  than  stone) 
is  quicksilver.  Strong  indications  exist 
Ot  petroleum  in  the  southwestern  por- 
tion of  the  county,  and  two  oil  wells  at 
this  time  are  being  sunk. 

Wages  do  not  differ  much  throughout 
the  valley.  The  rates  given  for  this 
county  are  not  far  from  the  wages  paid 
elsewhere,  and  may  be  given  here  once 
for  all:  Farm  hands,  $25  to  $30  per  month, 
1*1  harvest  time,  $1.50  to  $4  per  day;  oi> 
chard  hands,  $25  to  $30  per  month:  per 
day,  $1.25;   all  the  above  with  board,  or 


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YOLO  COUNT  v. —1.  Fruit  Packing.  2.  Large  almond  trees  In  March.  3.  Reservoir 
and  pumping  plant  sub-Irrigation  used  on  orchard  and  vineyard.  4.  Main  street,  look- 
ing west.  Woodland,  Cal.  5.  Old-style  power  almond  huller,  Davlsville.  6.  Sled  and 
fibeet  combined  for  gathering  almonds,  Davlsville.  7.  Scene  on  Cache  Creek,  near  Es- 
parto,   Yolo    County,    Cal. 


>.-Oo«,^  ' 


938 


Overland   Monthly. 


$1.75  in  orchards  without  board.  Picking 
and  canning  fruits  for  drying  are  paid  for 
by  the  box,  and  the  operators,  generally 
women  and  children,  for  cutting,  earning 
from  $1.00  to  $2.00  per  day.  Mechanics 
get  $2.50  to  $4.00;  masons,  $4.00  to  $5.00; 
plasterers,  $4.00  to  $5.00;  blacksmiths, 
$2.00  to  $3.50;  printers,  union  wages; 
machinists  and  engineers,  $3.50  to  $5.00; 
stone  cutters,  $4.50  to  $5.00  (union) ;  gen- 
eral laborers,  $1.50  to  $2.00;  all  above 
board  themselves.  Highest  temperature, 
at  Colusa,  105  degrees;  lowest,  21  de- 
grees; average  number  clear  days,  242; 
fair  days,  74;  cloudy,  49.2;  rainfall,  low- 
est, 10.5  inches;  highest,  33.8;  average, 
19.67.  Inches. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  foothill 
region  of  this  and  Glen  County,  next  north, 
are  parallel  valleys  formed  by  streams 
coursing  north  and  south,  but  shut  off 
from  the  main  valley  by  ranges  of  rolling 
hills.  Examples :  Bear  Creek  has  its  source 
in  the  western  portion  of  the  valley, 
flows  south,  and  empties  into  Cache  Creek 
in  Yolo  County.  Along  its  course  is  Bear 
Valley,  ten  miles  long  and  nearly  two 
miles  wide,  elevation  1500  feet  Here 
i«  room  for  many  attractive  homes;  the 
soil  is  very  productive.  Indian  Valley, 
next  in  Importance,  lies  alofig  Indian 
Creek,  which  rises  in  the  southern  end 
of  the  county,  runs  north  and  empties 
into  Stony  Creek  in  Glenn  County.  Fine 
crops  of  all  kinds  of  grain  and  fruits  are 
raised  in  this  valley.  In  this  valley  are 
Cook's  Springs.  Antelope  Valley  lies 
east  of  Indian  Valley,  and  courses  north 
and  south,  and  terminates  near  Sites.  The 
land  will  produce  anything  that  grows  in 
California;  a  valuable  salt  lake  or  de- 
posit was  discovered  here  by  General 
Bldwell  in  1843.  These  valleys  lie  west 
of  the  main  body  of  valley  land,  and  can- 
not be  seen  from  the  railroad,  as  they 
are  shut  out  by  intervening  parallel  hills. 

The  oil  industry  in  this  county,  though 
it  is  as  yet  only  partially  developed, 
eeems  to  be  a  very  promising  one.  Par- 
alfine  is  the  base  of  the  oil  product  of 
Colusa,  and,  as  the  fields,  so  far  as  they 
have  been  discovered,  are  only  twenty 
miles  from  river  transportation,  and  half 
that  distance  from  the  railroad,  they  may 
be  said  to  be  right  in  the  market.     Oil 


lands  so  favorably  situated  are  exception- 
&bly  valuable. 

Glenn  County  was  tak- 
en from  tne  north  side 
Glenn  County,    of    Colusa    County,    a 
few   years   since,   and 
its   county-seat   estab- 
lished at  Willows,  a  busy  town  of  1,480 
inhabitants.      Colusa    lost    1,248    square 
miles     by     Glenn's     secession.       Other 
towns  in  the  county  besides  Willows  are: 
Orland,  530,  and  Germantown  on  the  rail- 
road north  of  Willows;   Elk  Creek,  300, 
on  Stony  Creek;  Butte  City,  160,  on  the 
Sacramento  River;    Fruto,  on  a  branch 
railroad  west  of  Willows.     The  county 
has  an  area  of  1,248  square  miles,  and  a 
population  of  5,510.    I  am  indebted  to  Mr. 
Frank     S.     Reager,     superintendent     of 
schools  at  Willows  for  a  report  which  I 
copy  as  giving  a  succinct  statement  of 
general  facts  relating  to  the  county: 

"The  western  portion  of  Glenn  County 
is  in  the  high  mountains,  the  summit 
-being  the  boundary;  next  to  these  comes 
about  fifteen  miles  of  foothills  thickly 
set  with  little  valleys  of  wonderful  fer- 
tility; then  comes  the  valley  proper, 
whicii  is  about  twenty  miles  wide  from 
hills  to  river.  Glenn  County  has  about 
45,000  acres  of  very  rich  land  on  the  east 
side  of  the  river  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Butte  City.  The  valley  land  is  level,  ex- 
cept for  the  general  slope  to  the  south- 
east. The  elevation  of  these  valley 
"plains"  is  about  2b0  feet  on  the  northern 
boundary,  and  about  115  on  the  southern, 
28 V^  miles  farther  south. 

About  500,000  acres  of  agricultural  land, 
175,000  acres  of  grazing,  and  124.000 
acres  of  forest  land.  Wheat.  400,000 
acres;  barley,  100,000  acres;  alfalfa,  400 
acres;  about  100  acres  are  devoted  to 
market  gardening.  700  acres  are  devoted 
to  deciduous  fruit  trees,  about  half  to 
prunes,  one-fourth  to  peaches,  and  bal- 
ance to  apricots,  pears,  and  almonds. 
Oranges,  lemons,  and  olives  are  to  be 
found  in  door-yards  in  every  part  of  the 
county.  About  100  acres  in  orchard  have 
been  set  to  these  trees  about  Orland. 
Table  grapes,  50  acres. 

Live  Stock — 50,000  sheep;  7,000  cattle; 
3.000  horses;  3,500  mules,  and  10,000 
hogs. 

Conditions  for  dairying  are  very  fa- 
vorable, but  there  are  not  enough  cows 
milked  to  supply  the  local  demand.  There 
is  a  creamery  at  Willows,  but  it  has 
never  operated,  as  it  was  impossible  to 


Digitized  by  V^OO^  Lt^ 


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1 


SOLANO  COUNTY.— L  Vacavllle  from  Colege  Park.    2.  Old  peach  and  flg  trees;  peach 
tree  thirty-one  years  old.  3.   Scene  In  Vaca  Valley.      4.    Orchard    scene,    Vaca    Valley 
b.  Property  of  J.  M.  Bassford.    6.  Pear  tree  at  Lagulnita,  37  years  old;  600  pounds  this      ^ 
year.  Digitized  by  ^^jOOQ IC 


940 


Overland  Monthly 


get  the  milk.  (What  a  commentary!  7,000 
cattle  in  this  rich  county,  and  the  farmer 
buying  his  butter  elsewhere! — N.  P.  C). 
About  3,000  chickens  are  kept  on  the 
farms.  About  40  tons  of  turkeys  are  an- 
nually shipped,  principally  from  Orland 
and  Fruto.  No  bees  are  kept  except  a  few 
stands  at  various  farms.  Opportunities 
are  splendid  in  this  line. 

During  the  summer  of  1900  about  600 
acres  were  irrigated  by  ditches  from 
Stony  Creek,  about  100  acres  by  pump- 
ing from  Sacramento  River,  and  about 
40  acres  by  pumping  from  wells.  About 
one-third  of  the  deciduous  fruit  orchards 
are  irrigated,  and  all  the  orange  and 
lemon.  All  the  lands  of  the  county  are 
excellent  for  irrigation.  Stony  Creek 
is  the  only  stream  from  the  mountains 
flowing  through  the  county  to  the  river. 
In  the  late  fall  it  has  furnished  but  little 
water  to  the  irrigators  on  the  plains,  al- 
though those  in  the  foothill  valleys  along 
its  course  have  had  water  enough,  as 
has  everybody  in  the  spring  and  early 
simimer.  However,  a  great  deal  of  work 
is  now  being  done  on  the  lower  ditches, 
and  we  expect  better  results  hereafter. 
Few  streams  anywhere  offer  better  facili- 
ties for  the  storage  of  water  than  this 
one  does.  The  Geological  Survey  has 
just  completed  its  investigations  along 
Stony  Creek,  and  reports  many  excel- 
lent reservoir  sites,  three  of  which  were 
carefully  measured  with  the  following 
results:  Briscoe  reservoir,  with  a  capac- 
ity of  14,630  acre-feet,  can  be  constructed 
at  a  total  cost  of  $122,000;  East  Park, 
capacity  25,000  acre-feet,  cost  $165,400; 
Millsite,  capacity  45,750  acre-feet,  cost 
$698,000.  This  cost  includes  a  liberal  es- 
timate for  land  damages. 

There  is  an  inexhaustible  supply  of 
water  underground,  at  a  depth  of 
from  twelve  to  thirty  feet  in  all  parts 
of  the  valley  lands.  At  Orland,  one  well 
in  which  the  water  stands  at  20  feet, 
furnishes  18,000  gallons  per  hour  through- 
out the  irrigating  season.  There  are 
several  other  wells  there  that  furnish 
smaller  pumps.  The  water  is  raised  by 
wind-mill,  horse-power,  and  gasoline 
engines.  By  wind-mill  is  about  as 
cheap  as  buying  from  the  ditch,  but  the 
small  element  of  uncertainty  has  caused 
several  more  expensive  plants  to  be  in- 
stalled. 

By  gasoline  the  cost  is  about  double 
that  of  buying  from  the  ditch  company, 
which  charges  $2.50  per  acre  for  the  sea- 
son. 

The  mountains  on  the  west  abound 
with  delightful  camping  grounds,  and  are 
filled  with  summer  visitors.  Alder 
Springs  is  the  only  one  that  is  fitted  for 
the    accommodation    of    guests    without 


tents  and  camping  outfits.  Many  of  the 
Glenn  County  people  prefer  to  cross  the 
summit  into  Mendocino  and  Lake  coun- 
ties. Tuscan  Springs,  Bartlett  Springs, 
Cook's  Springs,Wilber  Springs,  ana  Rich- 
ardson's Springs,  wnile  not  in  the  county, 
are  in  easy  reach  of  its  inhabitants,  and 
are  very  popular  with  them.  The  Sacra- 
mento River  on  the  east  furnishes  ex- 
cellent fishing,  and  good  sport  shooting 
ducks  and  geese.  The  mountains  on  the 
west  are  fined  with  deer,  and  the  more 
ambitious  hunter  can  easily  find  bear 
and  panther.  Foxes  and  coyotes  furnish 
some  exciting  chases,  as  many  stockmen 
in  the  western  part  of  the  county  keep 
valuable  kennels  to  combat  these  enemies 
of  their  herds. 

About  6,000  acres,  suitable  for  decidu- 
ous fruits,  citrus  fruits,  or  alfalfa,  are 
now  offered  xu  tracts  of  from  five  to  forty 
acres.  About  fifty  thousand  acres  of  the 
choicest  land  are  offered  in  tracts  of  160 
acres  or  more.  The  best  of  it  will  grow 
anything.  The  small  tracts  are  held 
at  $35  to  $65.  The  larger  at  from  $20 
TO  $40  per  acre,  unimproved.  (By  unim- 
proved land  is  meant  land  under  culti- 
vation but  without  buildings. — N.  P.  C.) 

One  small  saw-mill  in  the  western 
mountains  is  in  operation.  It  supplies 
part  of  the  local  demand.  There  are  many 
excellent  opportunities  to  Install  electri- 
cal plants  operated  by  the  waters  of  Stony 
Creek. 

Farming  and  stock-raising  are  the  prin- 
cipal industries.  Fruit-growing,  etc.,  is 
as  yet  in  its  infancy. 

Rainfall  in  a  period  of  years:  Lowest 
annual^  7.16  for  season  from  September 
1,  1897,  to  September  1,  1898;  Highest 
annual,  25.98  for  season  from  September 
1,  1892  to  September  1,  1893;  Average 
annual,  17.05.  Tne  Weather  Bureau  con- 
siders 16.60  inches  normal  for  Orland. 
For  1899  the   rainfall  was   22.41  inches. 

Copper  and  silver  have  been  discovered 
in  refractory  ores  in  quantities  too  small 
to  pay  for  working.  Coal  has  been  found 
in  vein,  too  narrow  to  work.  Great  quan- 
tities of  chrome  exist  and  have  been 
mined  to  some  extent,  but  the  cost  of 
transporting  to  railroad  caused  opera- 
tions to  cease.  Splendid  indications  exist 
for  oil.  The  Glenn  Co.  Oil  and  Coal  Co., 
The  Great  Northern  Oil  Co..  the  Briscoe 
Oil  and  Mineral  Co.,  The  Stony  Creek 
Oil  Co.,  are  some  of  the  companies  pre- 
paring to  develop  these  fields.  The  Glenn 
County  Oil  and  Coal  Co,  has  a  well 
down  100  feet  at  present,  and  Is  rapidly 
pushing  the  work.  The  Great  Northern 
has  its  well  down  185  feet,  and  claims  to 
have   splendid   indications." 

I  received  later  the  following  letter, 
which  I  deem  of  sufficient  importance  to 
reproduce  it  here: 


Digitized  by  V^jOO^  Lt^ 


SOLANO  COUNTY.— 1.  Special  service  squadron,  1*92.  at  Mare  Island.  2.  Mare  Island 
l.iigrht  House.  3."  Ferry  boat  •'Vallejo* ;  workin^men  returning  from  Mare  Island.  4.  Mo- 
nadnock— first  Iron  warship  built  (at  Vallejo)  In  California.  5.  Mare  Island  Dry  Dock.  In 
cse  for  fifteen  years  without  expenditure  of  $1.00  for  repairs. 


Digitized  by  V^jOOQIC 


942 


Overland  Monthly 


"In  submitting  the  answers  to  ques- 
tions I  find  I  overlooked  one  industry 
that  is  fast  coming  to  the  front  in  west- 
ern Glenn  County  (and  southwestern  Te- 
hama as  well);  that  is,  the  goat  business. 
I  copy  the  following  letter  that  has  Just 
reached  me  from  that  section: 

"  '  Less  than  15  years  ago  the  Angora 
goat  was  a  rarity  in  Olenn  County.  Now 
between  the  North  Fork  of  Stony  Creek 
and  the  South  Fork  of  Elder  Creek,  there 
are  more  than  15,000.  The  portion  of 
the  country  devoted  to  their  production 
is  immediately  along  the  base  of  the 
Coast  Range,  or  of  foothills,  a  country 
that  is  unfit  for  anything  else  but  wild 
animals. 

" '  The  Angora  is  by  nature  fitted  to 
climb  over  rocks,  and  in  brush  and  rough 
mountainous  localities  to  procure  food, 
where  other  domestic  animals  would  not 
succeed  in  even  living. 

'*  *  The  long  silky  mohair  is  valuable 
for  various  purposes,  and  is  coming  into 
use  more  and  more  each  year. 

" '  Angora  mutton  or  venison  is  far 
superior  to  the  Mexican,  or  old  American 
goat,  and  by  many  is  considered  better 
than  sheep  mutton.  It  has  sold  in  the 
markets  for  the  past  two  years  at  about 
the  same  price  as  sheep. 

"  *  It  is  the  practice  of  Angora  owners 
to  keep  them  on  the  foothills  for  about 
eight  months — from  October  to  June — 
then  move  them  to  the  summit  of  the 
mountains  for  about  four  months,  during 
the  hot  season.  By  so  doing  the  herds 
have  green  growing  food  the  year 
through,  and  the  cool  climate  of  the 
higher  altitudes  tends  to  increase  the 
length  and  fineness  of  the  mohair.  This 
industry  is  a  growing  one,  and  as  the  An- 
goras are  located  where  the  land  without 
them  would  be  a  total  waste,  it  is  greatly 
to  the  advantage  of  the  county.  There 
is  room  for  many  more  as  soon  as  they 
can  be  procured.  The  demand  for  stock 
goats  is  greater  than  the  supply  at  pres- 
ent. 

CONKLIN  BROTHERS,  Pioneers  of  the 
Angora  business  in  Glenn  County.' " 

An  enterprising  effort  is  being  made  to 
develop  the  orange  industry  around  Or- 
land,  and  so  far  it  promises  success. 

We    now    approach 

the  converging  boun- 

Tehama  County,     daries   of   the   great 

Sacramento    Valley. 

At  its  base  I  have  described  five  large 

counties — ^Nevada,     Placer,     Sacramento, 

Yolo,   and    Solano — stretching   from    the 

Sierra  mountain  top  to  the  Bay  of  San 

Francisco.     In  the  middle  it  was  three 

counties  wide,  Yuba,  Sutter  and  Colusa. 

One  county  (Tehama)  now  stretches  from 


the  top  of  Mt.  Lassen  and  the  high  alti- 
tudes of  the  Sierras  to  the  summit  of  the 
Coast  Range,  b landing  on  Lassen,  10,- 
400  feet  elevation,  which  has  its  name 
from  Peter  Lassen,  wno  first  opened  a 
trail  to  California  south  of  this  monument 
to  his  memory,  and  thence  looking  down 
Deer  Creek  to  what  is  now  the  town  of 
Vina,  the  site  of  Governor  Stanford's 
great  vineyard,  one  has  laid  before  him 
d  panorama  of  the  entire  valley  below, 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  discern  anything  in 
the  glimmer  of  the  sunlight  reflected 
from  the  golden  fields  of  grain.  South 
and  east  lies  in  full  view  this  stupendous 
mountain  range  wnich  protects  us  from 
the  cold  winds  that  sweep  from  the  north 
down  the  desert.  Looking  north  the  range 
broadens,  finding  its  apex  at  Mt.  Shasta, 
14,440  feet  elevation,  and  blends  with  the 
Siskiyou  Mountains,  which  latter,  to- 
gether with  the  Sierras,  form  the  con- 
necting link  with  the  noble  Coast  Range, 
thus  raising  a  barrier  on  north,  east  and 
west  against  the  Arctic  blasts,  seven  and 
eight  thousand  feet  high,  heavily  tim- 
bered along  its  western  sides  and  in  the 
middle,  nearly  the  width  of  the  entire 
State.  Little  wonder,  when  the  soft 
trade  winds  of  the  ocean  are  considered, 
which  find  their  way  into  the  great  valley, 
that  this  sheltered  region  is  the  "land  of 
sunshine,  fruit  and  flowers."  At  the 
base  of  Lassen's  cone,  on  the  southeast 
Siue  in  Plumas  County,  and  on  the  south- 
west side  in  Tehama  County,  are  manifes- 
tations of  volcanic  action  on  an  extensive 
scale,  but  little  known  even  to  Califor- 
nians,  and  of  great  interest  to  the  scien- 
tist. 

Geysers,  hot  springs,  hot  mud  lakes,  im- 
mense deposits  of  decomposed  mineral 
substances,  out  of  which  most  delicate 
pigments  are  made,  cover  large  terri- 
tory, and  form  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing and  instructive  objects  among  all  the 
many  wonders  of  nature  in  California. 
But  let  us  descend  from  these  enchanting 
mountain  heights;  the  home  seeker  does 
not  want  to  abide  among  perpetual  snow 
drifts. 

Tehama  County  has  a  population  of  10,- 
996.  Its  chief  towns  are  Red  Bluff,  the 
county-seat,  2,750  inhabitants;  Corning, 
1,020.  There  are  several  suburban  addi- 
tions to  Corning,  which  would  more  than 


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double  the  old  town:  the  population  of 
the  adjacent  picturesque  and  promising 
Maywood  Colony  is  about  1,800;  Tehama, 
350;  Vina,  235.  Area  of  the  county,  3,125 
square  miles — about  2,000,000  acres. 

Agricultural  land  is  given  at  700,000 
acres;  grazing  800,000;  timbered  or  for- 
est 500,000.  In  wheat,  32,900  acres;  oats, 
1,900;  barley,  20,850;  hay,  19,340;  corn, 
12;  vegetable  gardens,  230;  alfalfa,  1,600; 
sugar  beets  1,000  to  be  planted  this 
year.  These  figures  were  furnished  me 
from  the  Assessor's  books.  The  acreage 
ot  wheat  in  1900  was  smaller  than  the 
average,  owing  to  early  and  continuous 
rains  in  November. 

Table  grapes,  327  acres;  wine  grapes, 
2,990  acres;    raisin   grapes,   325  acres. 

Fruit  trees,  bearing  and  non-bearing, 
ld,013  acres,  of  which  there  are  7,451 
acres  of  peaches,  2,bo7  acres  olives,  1,120 
acres  prunes;  the  remaining  the  usual 
varieties  of  deciduous  trees.  Olive  plant- 
ing is  the  favorite  with  the  Maywood 
Colony  people  near  Corning. 

Live  Stock,  as  shown  by  the  Assessor's 
roll:  Sheep,  175,771;  cattle,  all  kinds, 
12,955;  horses,  4,513;  mules,  1,561;  jacks, 
19. 

I  have  not  mentioned  a  fact  interesting 
ti  investors;  to  wit,  the  rate  of  taxation. 
In  this  county  it  is  $1.60  on  the  $100.  In 
some  of  the  counties  it  is  a  little  more 
and  in  some  a  little  less.  The  rate  gener- 
ally is  not  high. 

The  healthfulness  of  this  county  is 
excellent,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of 
the  entire  valley.  The  county  is  well 
watered,  especially  on  the  east  side  of 
the  Sacramento  River.  On  the  west  fa- 
cilities exist  for  irrigation  as  I  have  al- 
ready pointed  out,  by  taking  ditches  from 
upper  points  on  the  streams  coming  from 
the  Coast  Range.  Irrigation  is  extensively 
practiced  on  the  Deer  Creek  orchards, 
near  Vina,  and  on  the  alfalfa  fields  and 
vineyards  of  the  Stanford  estate,  and  on 
the  lands  of  the  Cone  estate,  east  of  Red 
Bluff. 

Large  tracts  of  land  have  been  subdi- 
vided in  the  vicinity  of  Corning,  where  is 
situated  the  Maywood  and  Rltchfield  Col- 
onies. Probably  10.000  acres  are  in  the 
market  near  Corning,  in  the  hands  of 
various  enterprising  citizens,  and  at  rea- 
sonable  prices.     Steps   are   being  taken 


tc  bring  water  to  these  lands,  and  water 
i-».  easily  attainable  by  wells.  Around 
Red  BlufT  are  some  desirable  lands  offer- 
ee', in  small  subdivisions  at  fair  prices. 
A  few  orchards  in  bearing  in  Berrendos, 
east  side  of  the  river,  opposite  Red  Bluff, 
on  good  bottom  lands,  can  be  purchased 
at  the  price  of  unimproved  land  plus 
the  cost  of  building  the  orchard.  Prices 
of  land  in  the  county,  suitable  for  agri- 
culture and  fruit  growing,  range  from 
$15  to  $60  per  acre. 

The  surface  of  Tehama  County  consists 
first  of  a  section  of  the  Sacramento  Val- 
ley, which,  south  of  Red  Bluff,  expands 
into  a  broad  and  level  plain,  divided  by 
the  Sacramento  River.  To  the  west  this 
plain  swells  into  low,  level  table  lands 
or  prairies  that  farther  on  lift  into  broken 
hills  and  the  steep  slope  of  the  Coast 
Range  mountains. 

In  these  mountains  numerous  streams 
have  their  source  and  fiow  easterly 
at  irregular  intervals  from  each  other 
through  the  western  half  of  the  county, 
into  the  Sacramento  River,  the  prin- 
cipal of  which  are  Cottonwood,  Dib- 
ble, Reed's,  Red  Bank,  Elder,  Thomes, 
and  Stony  Creek.  On  the  east  of  this  val- 
ley is  a  lava  flow  which  extends  for  sev- 
eral miles  up  the  western  slope  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada  mountains  to  what  is 
known  as  tne  pine  timber  belt;  above 
these  lava  beds  the  Sierras  become  more 
precipitous  and  are  heavily  covered  with 
sugar  pine,  yellow  pine  and  fir  timber 
ot  excellent  merchantable  quality.  Be- 
tween the  high  ridges  are  numerous  fruit- 
ful little  valleys  well  watered  by  the 
streams  which  flow  westerly  into  the  Sac- 
ramento; these  streams  or  creeks  are 
Battle,  Digger,  Payne's,  Antelope,  Mill, 
Deer,  and  Pine  Creeks.  Battle,  Deer 
and  Mill  Creeks  furnish  almost  unlimited 
opportunities  for  electrical  power  plants. 

The  scenery  in  this  county  is  not  sur- 
passed elsewhere  in  California;  the  beau- 
tiful, the  picturesque,  and  the  grand  are 
so  blended  as  at  once  to  challenge 
admiration  and  delight  the  beholder. 
One  hundred  and  forty  miles  to  the  north 
Mount  Shasta  rears  its  majestic  form, 
is  covered  with  perpetual  snow  from  its 
summit  to  the  base  of  the  cone. 

The  dark  green  of  the  coniferous  for- 
ests that  cover  the  lower  slopes  of  the 


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Sierras,  contrasts  strongly  with  their 
snow-covered  tops.  The  landscapes  are 
charming  expressions  of  rural  loveliness; 
parks  of  great  oaks  dotting  the  hills  and 
scattered  over  the  plains;  the  long  lines 
of  sycamore,  cottonwood  and  elder  that 
fringe  the  streams;  the  thousands  of 
acres  of  orchard  and  vineyard;  the  fields 
of  alfalfa  with  their  perpetual  verdure; 
the  large  flocks  of  sheep,  herds  of  cattle, 
and  hands  of  horses  here  and  there  to 
ha  seen  and  the  vast  fields  of  grain  stret- 


put  is  about  20  million  feet.  There  is  a 
large  fruit  packing  house  at  Red  Bluff; 
a  cold  storage  plant  and  an  ice  plant  of 
15  tons  capacity  per  day.  It  remains 
only  to  notice  the  healing  springs  of  the 
ccunty — Colyear's,  about  30  miles  from 
Red  Bluff,  in  the  Coast  Range;  Morgan's, 
la  the  Sierras,  about  50  miles  distant 
Both  of  these  are  large  camping  re- 
sorts. The  most  notable  of  the  healing 
waters  are  found  at  Tuscan  Springs, 
nine   miles   east   of   Red    Bluff.     Ample 


Transportation  Blockading  the  Sacramento  River. 


ching  for  miles  away,  present  a  picture 
that   few   other   localities   can   match. 

The  principal  manufacturing  enter- 
prize  is  that  of  the  Sierra  Lumber  Com- 
pany. It  has  a  large  sash  and  door  fac- 
tory at  Red  Bluff.  There  is  here,  also, 
a  well-equipped  fiour  mill.  In  the  moun- 
tains the  S.  L.  Co.  conducts  large  lumber- 
ing operations,  bringing  the  rough  lum- 
ber down  the  mountain  sides  and  across 
the  valley  to  its  plant,  on  the  river,  for 
forty  miles  in  a  V  fiume.    Its  annual  out- 


accommodations  are  here  for  inva- 
lids, and  thousands  of  the  lame  and 
halt,  and  otherwise  unfortunate,  yisit 
Tuscan  in  the  course  of  the  year,  com- 
ing from  all  parts  of  the  State,  and  from 
other  States.  For  the  special  curative 
properties  of  these  springs,  inquiry 
should  be  made  of  the  proprietor,  Mr. 
E.  B.  Walbridge,  Tuscan  Sprinf^  P.  O. 
Strong  indications  of  petroleum  are 
found  near  the  foothills  on  both  sides 
of  the  river  in  this  county. 


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YUBA  COUNTY.— 1.  Hydraulic  Mine,  Smartsvllle.     2.    Yuba    River.     3.    Freighting    to 
the  mine.    4.  Moving  machinery  from  railroad  to  power  house.    5.  Stacking  hay. 


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YUBA   COUNTY.— Fruit    Packing   on    Feather  USver  Orchard.    2.  Olive  grove.    3.  Hop 
field.    Hop  pickers  weighing  in  their  pick.    4.    Hop  yard  aid  drying  kiln. 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries.  949 


YUBA  COUNTY.— House   of  Oranges,    Cit  rus  Pair. 

We  have  now  reach-  county-seat  of  Shasta  County,  we  are  im- 

ed    the    end  of    our  pressed  by  the  changed  appearance  of  val- 

Shasta  County.      journey,    in    Shasta  ley  and  mountain.  We  are  nearer  now  to 

County,  having  tra-  these  giant  ranges,  and  their  carved  and 

versed     an    Empire  jagged    surfaces   begin   to   reveal   them- 

where  a  million  peo-  selves.     Looking  from  the  lower  end  of 

plo  may  find  happy  homes  and  profitable  the  valley  at  Woodland,  for  example,  the 

employment     Approaching  Redding,  the  mountains   on   either   side   are   mantled 


Almond  Orchard  in  the  Sacramento  Valley. 

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with  an  exquisitely  delicate  ultramarine 
blue,  ever  changing  with  the  degrees 
and  slant  of  the  sun's  rays  and  cloud 
shadows;  at  this  distant  point  of  view 
the  anatomy  of  the  mountains  is  not  un- 
folded. Lassen  looms  up  on  the  east; 
the  Trinity  and  Yalla  Balla  Peaks,  in  the 
upper  Coast  Range,  on  the  west,  and  the 
dome  of  noble  Mt.  Shasta,  rises  dimly 
at  the  northern  horizon.  All  these  fea- 
tures become  more,  and  more  beautiful 
as  we  approach  the  head  of  the  valley. 
The  mountain  slopes  which  were  spread 
before  the  eye,  as  upon  a  canvas,  now 


em  slope  of  the  Sierras,  from  foot  to 
summit,  stretches  out  Before  you,  with 
Lassen  towering  over  all,  at  this  point 
seemingly  more  majestic  than  proud 
Shasta  itself.  One  now  can  look  into  the 
canyons,  that  open  on  the  mountain  de- 
clivities, their  profound  depths  enshroud- 
ed in  a  blue  semi-translucent  atmosphere 
that  delicately  veils  their  ragged  and 
rock-ribbed  sides.  It  Is  worth  a  trip  on 
the  west  side  to  Redding  (not  the  east 
side,  for  the  effects  are  not  there  so  pro- 
nounced) to  view  the  enhanced  beauties 
of  the  landscape  In  the  stretches  of  the 


Camping    In    the    Sierras,    Northern    California. 


have  life  and  distinct  form  and  individu- 
ality, and  one  begins  to  feel  their  pres- 
ence. The  views  from  Red  Bluff  are  en- 
chanting, but  I  have  often  felt  that  at 
Redding  we  have  the  culmination  of 
nature's  effort  in  this  marvelously  beau- 
tiful valley.  The  great  white  cone  of 
Shasta  is  visible  down  to  its  base,  and 
seems  to  rise  out  of  a  vast  forested  hori- 
zon, the  mountain  range  on  which  it 
rests  being  shut  out  by  intervening  roll- 
ing, wooded  hills. 

Looking  east  from  the  elevated  plateau 
on  which  the  town  is  situated,  the  west- 


upper  portion  of  the  valley. 

As  heretofore  indicated,  the  Coast 
Range  and  the  Sierras  approach  at  the 
north  of  Redding,  and  surround  the  coun- 
ty on  all  sides  except  that  of  the  south. 
Enclosed  by  them  is  a  semi-circle  of  val- 
ley and  foothills,  and  plateaus  forming 
the  head  of  tne  Sacramento  Valley,  and 
containing  about  500,000  acres,  with  an 
elevation  of  from  500  to  2,500  feet.  The 
central  and  southern  portions  consist 
o'  table  lands  of  about  700  feet  elevation. 
Along  the  Sacramento  are  some  rich 
river    bottom    lands.      The    valley    soils 


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SUTTER  COUNTY.— 1.  Ice  house  and  fruit   shed,   Yuba   City.     2.   Raisin  drying.     3.   A 
full  packing  house.  Digitized  by 


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SUTTER  COUNTY.— 1.   A  residence  in  Yu  la  City.     2.  Making  good  roads. 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries. 


953 


Anerora  goat  and  kid,   Glenn   County. 

are  alluvium,  largely  intermixed  with  dis- 
integrated rock  and  gravel;  color,  light 
red  or  reddish  brown.  The  mesa,  or  table- 
lands, are  a  sandy  loam,  with  a  large 
percentage  of  clay,  while  to  the  south- 


Redding,  the  county-seat,  population, 
2,940;  Keswick  (a  town  recently  brought 
into  existence  by  tne  Mountain  Copper 
Company),  2,000;  Anderson,  estimated, 
625;  Cottonwood,  450;  French  Gulch,  450; 
Shasta  (formerly  the  county-seat,  and  fa- 
mous in  the  early  mining  history  of  the 
State),  450.  In  area,  Shasta  is  the  largest 
county  in  the  group — 6,906  square  miles. 
About  one-sixth  of  the  land  is  reported 
suitable  for  farmmg  operations,  and 
about  three-quarters  for  grazing,  includ- 
ing herein  a  part  of  the  forested  land. 
Nearly  one-half  is  covered  with  good  tim- 
ber belts  and  the  entire  county  is  well 
watered.  About  4,000  acres  are  culti- 
vated in  wheat;  10,000  in  hay;  500  in  al- 
falfa; 150  in  hops.  Livestock  industry  is 
quite  extensive:  20,000  sheep,  20,000 
cattle,  4,500  horses  and  mules.  The  county 
is  well  adapted  to  stock  raising,  as  ample 


A  Butte  County  Cannery. 

west  the  soil  is  adobe.  All  of  these  soils 
are  generally  rich  and  productive  for 
grain,  grasses,  vines  and  fruits.  In  Bur- 
ney  Valley,  over  the  crest  of  the  Sierras, 
is  a  plateau  which  extends  throughout 
this  range  up  into  Eastern  Oregon.  This 
plateau,  having  an  elevation  of  3,500  feet, 
has  valleys,  reclaimed  swamp  lands,  and 
rolling  highlands.  The  principal  rivers 
and  creeks  are  Fall  River,  Pitt,  Hat 
Creek,  McCloud  River  and  the  Sacra- 
mento. 

The  population  of  Shasta  County  is  17,- 
318,  showing  an  increase  of  5,135  in  ten 
years — ^the  greatest  per  cent  of  increase, 
I  think,  in  any  of  the  twelve  counties, 
due  largely  to  the  awakened  interest  in 
the  mining  industry  and  somewhat  to 
the  greater  development  of  the  lumber 
enterprises.     The    principal   towns   are: 


grazing,  winter  and  sunmier,  are  afforded. 
The  local  markets  are  excellent,  owing  to 
the  large  population  engaged  in  non-agri- 
cultural pursuits.     There  is  a  fine  field 


Angora   Fleeces,    Glenn   County. 


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THE  OLIVE  INDUSTRY  IN  BIJTTE  COUNTY.— 1.  Olive  and  orangre  orchard  at 
Therraallto.  2.  Olive  and  Fig  Orchard  at  Wyandotte.  3.  Olive  Pickling  tanks  at  Oroville. 
4.  Bottling  pickled  olives.    5.  Olive  oil  mill  at  Oroville. 


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MINING  SCENES  IN  BUTTE  COUNTY.— 1.    Hoist   at   Gold   Bank   Mine.     2.    Primitive 
mfninff.    3.  A  gold  dredge.    4.  Prospecting  party.     5.   Hydraulic  mine. 


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COLUSA  COUNTY.— 1.  Quicksilver  mine.    2    Fruit  drying  yard.     3.   First  oil  derrick  In 
Northern  California.    4.  Prune  orchard.    5.  Transportation   on    Sacramento    River. 


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Ferry  Building,  San  Francisco.    Built  of  Colusa  sandstone. 


here  for  bee  culture;  thousands  of  acres 
are  covered  with  manzanita  and  other 
flowering  snrubs,  affording  the  best  of 
feed  for  bees.  About  5,000  acres  are  un- 
der irrigation.  The  people  are  happily 
situated  in  the  matter  of  summer  resorts, 
foi  a  half  day  brings  them  into  lovely 
mountain  retreats.  The  mineral  springs 
In  the  vicinity  of  Castle  Crags — giving  us 
the  world-renowned  Shasta  water — are 
known  by  the  traveling  public  every- 
where, and  Shasta  Retreat,  near  by,  is 


p.  favorite  summer  resort  for  thousands 
ol  people  There  are  reported  to  be  20,000 
acres  of  available  and  desirable  land  for 
sale  In  small  tracts  at  prices  ranging  from 
$10  to  $40  per  acre.  The  lumber  output 
is  20,000.000  feet  annually.  A  branch 
railroad  leads  from  Anderson  to  Bella 
Vista,  on  the  east  side  of  the  river,  the 
terminus  of  a  lumber  flume,  and  here 
a  box  factory  is  operated.  Large  electri- 
cal power  plants  are  being  erected — one 
on  the  McCloud  River  and  one  on  Battle 


drain  warehouses  and  transportation.    Sacramento   river,   Colusa   County. 


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Creek,  near  Shingletown.  The  mining  in- 
dustry is  quite  large — ^the  county  stand- 
ing at  the  head  of  the  list  in  the  State — 
copper,  gold,  silver,  iron,  limestone,  sand- 
stone, kaolin,  chromite,  and  cinnabar,  be- 
ing among  the  mineral  products.  Crop- 
pings  of  coal  have  been  found,  but  none 
yet  developed  in  commercial  quantities. 
Recent  years  have  brought  into  great 
prominence  the  copper  ore  deposits  in 
this  county,  which  alone  are  destined  to 


The  smelters  now  in  operation  and  under 
construction  will  have  a  wide  influence 
on  the  mining  inaustry  of  the  State. 
Fruit  grown  in  this  county  attains  a  high 
flavor,  and  is  rich  in  saccharine.  The  or- 
chards are  principally  near  Anderson  on 
the  river  bottoms,  and  in  Happy  Valley 
(P.  O.  Ollnda)  west  of  Anderson.  An  im- 
portant enterprise  is  projected — no  less 
than  building  a  railroad  from  Redding 
to  Eureka,  Humboldt  Bay.     Should  this 


Young     Banana     Palm    at     Oroville,     Butte  County,  Cal. 


greatly  enlarge  its  importance  and 
wealth.  The  Mountain  Copper  Company, 
near  Keswick,  on  west  side  of  river,  is 
producing  not  far  from  five  million  dol- 
lars worth  of  copper  annually.  On  the 
east  side  even  greater  properties  are  pre- 
dicted, and  immense  sums  are  being  ex- 
pended  in   the   establishment  of   plants. 


long-talked-of  enterprise  become  accom- 
plished, it  will  bring  into  commercial  re- 
lations two  of  the  leading  regions  of  the 
State,  now  almost  as  completely  separ- 
ated as  if  *n  different  States  widely 
apart. 

There  are  two  United  States  fisheries 
ii;  Shasta  County.    To  cap  the  climax  of 


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GLENN  COUNTY.— 1.  A  band  of  Angora  Goats  in  their  summer  range  at  an  altitude  of 
7,000  feet.  2.  Angora  goat.  3.  Goat  ranch  two  miles  west  of  Orland.  4.  Irrigation  ditch 
west  of  Orland.    5.  "The  Start"— A  Glenn  County  race. 


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960 


Overland  Monthly 


Polnt8  of  General 
Information. 


An  oak  tree  in  Yolo  County. 

Shasta's  attractions  to  the  business  world 
it  is  now  claimed  on  high  authority  that 
petroleum  exists  within  a  few  miles  of 
Redding.  Two  exploration  wells  are  now 
being  driven  on  the  faith  of  opinion  ex- 
pressed by  the  experts.  In  fact,  it  is  now 
believed  that  petroleum  will  be  found  in 
all  the  counties  I  have  described,  which 
will  add  enormously  to  their  wealth. 

As  the   purpose 
of  this  article  is  to 
give       information 
and  to  anticipate  as 
far  as  posp*ble  the 
inquiries    naturally 
arising  in  the  mind  of  an  intending  set- 
tler, I  give  here  a  specimen  letter  re- 
cently received,  hundreds  of  which  come 
to  the  State  Board  of  Trade,  and  also 
the   answer  sent   by  the   secretary   and 
manager,  J.  A.  Filcher. 

J.  A.  Filcher,  San  Francisco,  Cal. — Dear 
Sir:  I  recently  received  a  copy  of  the 
book  entitled  "California,"  published  by 
the  State  Board  of  Trade  which  was  sent 
to  me  by  your  body  on  request  for  litera- 
ture regarding  your  State.  Please  ac- 
cept my  thanks  for  the  same. 

The  book  I  received  says  that  for  spe- 
cial information  as  to  localities  I  can 
apply  to  you  as  secretary  and  manager  of 
the  State  Board  of  Trade.  I  have  long 
been  anxious  to  go  to  a  warmer  climate, 
but  have  not  been  able  to  do  so  for  the 
want  of  means  to  travel  with,  and  by  rea- 
son of  family  ties,  but  now  I  see  my  way 
clear  to  realize  my  hopes  in  the  near  fu- 
ture. 

I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  to  what  part  of 


your  great  State  to  go  to,  for  I  am  sure 
tbat  with  a  family  and  small  means  it 
would  be  inconvenient  to  travel  around 
much  after  I  got  there.  I  would  like, 
therefore,  to  know  what  are  the  attrac- 
tions and  drawbacks  to  tne  following 
sections;  viz.,  the  extreme  south,  the  cen- 
tral section  and  the  northern  section  of 
California  and  of  Humboldt  County.  I 
would  like,  also,  to  be  informed  in  regard 
to  the  following  questions:  First,  Is  there 
any  United  States  Government  land  in 
California  subject  to  homestead  law? 
Second:  If  not,  what  are  the  general 
prices  of  land  in  the  sectioas  referred  to? 
Third:  What  are  the  products  of  those 
places?  Fourth:  Can  good  apples  be 
raised  in  California?  If  so,  where?  Fifth: 
Can  a  sober,  industrious  man  get  land 
that  is  improved  to  work  on  shares?  If 
so,  on  what  terms?  Sixth:  Could  a  poor 
man  with  a  family,  and  a  stranger,  come 
to  your  State,  and  readily  get  work  on 
farms?  Seventh:  What  are  the  usual 
wages  for  farm  hands? 

I  have  no  great  fault  to  find  with  my 
own  State,  except  that  we  have  about 
six  months  winter,  during  which  time 
we  eat  up  what  we  have  raised  during  the 
summer.  I  always  dread  the  winter  when 
we  have  to  keep  busy  feeding  stock  to 
keep  it  alive  and  cutting  wood  to  keep 
us  warm. 

Could  you  put  me  in  communication 
with  some  honest  and  reliable  farmer  and 
stock-raiser  in  Humboldt  Cou'ity,  or  in 
some  of  the  other  parts  of  tne  State  here 
referred  to,  that  would  need  a  hired  man, 
or  that  would  have  a  farm  to  let  to  be 
worked  on  shares? 

I  fear  I  will  tire  you  with  so  many  ques- 
tions, but  if  you  put  me  In  the  way  of  the 
desired  information  I  will  be  very  grate- 
ful. I  will  enclose  my  picture  so  you  can 
get  some  Idea  how  this  Inquisitive  New 
York  farmer  looks,  and  bees  to  remain. 
Yours  respectfully, 

THOMAS   G.   STOCKWBLL. 

Thomas  G.  Stockwell,  Esq.,  West  Wind- 
sor, New  York — Dear  Sir:  I  have  your  fa- 
vor of  January  10th,  making  Inquiry  re- 
garding California  in  general,  and  certain 
localities  in  particular.  The  pamphlet 
we  mail  you  to-day  will  answer  your  in- 
quiries lareely  in  regard  to  Humboldt 
County.  ^^Tiat  you  say  about  your  height 
and  weipht  is  interesting  but  your  eco- 
nomic traits,  business  management  and 
industrial  propensities  are  more  likely 
to  lead  to  success  than  your  physical 
qualifications.  VTiile  you  say  that  you  do 
not  care  to  travel  around  much  after  you 
get  here,  my  advice  to  new  comers  gen- 
erally is  to  inspect  the  country  some  be- 
fore locatins:.  I  would,  therefore,  sucrgest 
that  in  event  you  immigrate  to  California 
that  you  quarter  your  family  temnorarily 
in  some  city  in  the  central  interior  and 


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ORANGES.  OLIVES  AND  LEMONS  AT  ORLAND,  GLENN  COUNTY.— 1.  Drying  al- 
monds. 2.  Hulling  almonds.  3.  The  gatherer<  4.  Four-year-old  orange  and  olive  orchard. 
5  Six-year-old  orange  grrove  (result  of  irrigation.)  C.  Ten-year-old  lemon  trees.  7.  Four- 
year-old  lemon  grove. 

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spend  a  few  dollars  looking  up  and  down 
the  country.  I  believe  that  what  money 
such  a  personal  Inspection  might  cost 
would  be  more  than  saved  to  you  in  your 
final  investment. 

You  ask  for  the  attractions  and  draw- 
backs of  certain  sections;  viz.,  the  ex- 
treme south,  the  central  portion  of  Cali- 
fornia, the  northern  portion  and  Hum- 
boldt County. 

The  attractions  of  the  South  are  a  mild 
climate,  an  enterprising  community,  and 
a  fairly  good  market  for  their  stable  pro- 
ducts. The  drawbacks  consist  of  a  com- 
parative shortage  of  water,  an  item  es- 
sential to  the  successful  cultivation  of 
diversified  products  in  nearly  all  parts 
of  California.  By  a  shortage,  I  do  not 
mean  that  they  have  no  water;  on  the 
other  hand,  they  have  a  great  deal,  but 
the  average  rainfall  is  less  than  in  the 
regions  further  north. 

In  the  central  portions  of  the  State 
at  the  same  altitude,  the  winter  climate 
is  very  similar  to  southern  portions,  while 
the  summers  in  the  interior  valleys  aver- 
age some  warmer.  With  irrigation  all 
the  staple  fruits,  vegetables,  and  cereals, 
including  oranges  and  lemons,  in  favored 
localities,  can  be  grown  as  successfully 
as  in  any  other  portion  of  the  State.  The 
land  and  water  rights  are  easily  obtained 
and  at  fair  figures  in  proportion  to  what 
can  be  produced. 

In  the  northern  portion  at  the  same 
altitude,  conditions  are  very  similar  to 
the  central  portion,  except  that  there 
is  a  greater  amount  or  rain-fall  and  a 
lower  average  summer  temperature,  and 
less  irrigation  is  necessary.  The  mini- 
mum temperature  in  the  Sacramento  Val- 
ley and  San  Joaquin  Valleys  average 
about  the  same,  land  values  do  not  dif- 
fer materially  and  the  range  of  pro- 
ducts is  similar. 

For  climatic  conditions  I  would  refer 
you  to  our  table  of  temperatures  in  the 
different  parts  of  California,  published  on 
page  46  of  the  pamphlet  which  we  have 
sent  you.  The  average  annual  tempera- 
ture varies  very  little,  indeed,  for  a  dis- 
tance of  five  or  six  hundred  miles  north 
and  south,  or  say  from  Redding  on  the 
north  to  Riverside  on  the  south.  A  study 
of  the  lines  of  temperature  on  the  official 
map  under  the  cover  of  the  Government 
pamphlet  sent  you  by  this  mail  will  con- 
vince you  of  this  fact.  By  reason  of  the 
japan  current  which  strikes  the  coast 
of  California  almost  at  a  right  angle, 
temperature  is  maintained  at  about  the 
same  degree  throughout  almost  the  en- 
tire length  of  California,  regardless  of 
latitude,  while  rain-fall  varies  according 
to  latitude  about  as  your  temperature 
varies  as  you  go  from  north  to  south. 
The  farther  you  go  south  on  the  Atlantic 
Coast  the  warmer  you  find  the  weather; 
the  farther  you  go  south  in  California  the 
less  you  find  the  average  amount  of  rain- 


fall; otherwise  conditions  here  at  the 
same  altitude  are  very  similar.  The  soil, 
of  course,  varies  in  different  localities, 
but  this  variation  has  more  to  do  with  the 
locality  and  local  physical  conditions 
than  latitude. 

Humboldt,  on  the  coast,  has  a  very 
mild  summer  climate  and  Is  not  cold  in 
the  winter,  but  is  subject  to  fogs,  espe- 
cially near  the  sea.  This  is  mainly  a 
lumber  county,  though  stock  raising, 
dairying,  agriculture  and  some  horticul- 
ture is  carried  on.  Apples  do  very  well 
in  this  county.  Its  principal  drawback 
is  its  remoteness  from  markets,  as  access 
to  the  county  is  only  convenient  by  coast 
vessels,  and  products  for  export  either 
go  direct  from  Humboldt  harbor  or  by 
re-shipment  from  San  Francisco.  ,  There 
is  a  prospect  at  present,  however,  that 
Humboldt  will  soon  be  connected  by  rail- 
road with  the  rest  of  the  world.  I  send 
you  a  publication  on  Humboldt  County 
which  will  give  you  some  detailed  infor- 
mation. 

In  regard  to  the  questions  which  you 
ask  in  numerical  order,  I  will  say,  first: 
there  is  no  United  States  Government 
land  in  California  subject  to  the  home- 
stead law,  that  under  present  conditions 
of  altitude  and  accessibility,  will  make  a 
desirable  home;  second,  land  is  reason- 
able both  in  price  and  terms,  varying,  of 
course,  according  to  quality  and  distance 
from  market.  Good  land  in  the  central 
sections,  with  water  right,  can  be  had 
for  |40  an  acre  and  upwards.  Third, 
products  of  the  different  sections  you  re- 
ferred to  include  all  the  cereals,  staple 
fruits,  and  citrus  fruits  of  the  country. 
Southern  California  makes  more  of  a 
specialty  of  citrus  fruits,  though  It  pro- 
duces good  grain  and  deciduous  fruits 
and  good  vegetables  of  all  staple  varieties. 
The  central  and  northern  valleys  make 
more  of  a  specialty  of  cereals  and  de- 
ciduous fruits  and  vegetables,  though  as 
far  north  as  Redding  citrus  fruits  are  suc- 
cessfully and  profitably  grown.  In  some 
localities  in  the  northern  and  central 
region  good  money  is  being  made  out  of 
oranges  and  lemons.  Fourth,  apples  are 
raised  successfully  in  nearly  all  portions 
of  California,  though  the  best  apples 
come  from  near  the  coast,  or  from  the 
mountain  counties.  From  one  to  three 
thousand  feet  altitude,  along  the  entire 
western  slope  of  the  Sierras,  seems  to  be 
the  natural  apple  belt  of  the  State,  in- 
cluding certain  sections  of  San  Diego  and 
other  southern  counties  that  have  a  high 
altitude;  fifth,  I  think  a  good,  sober  and 
industrious  man  would  have  little  trouble 
in  finding  a  desirable  place  to  work  on 
shares,  as  leases  of  improved  places  are 
very  common,  and  it  is  reasonable  to  as- 
sume that  as  some  expire  others  will  be 
made.  The  terms  vary  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  crop  and  the  extent  and 
condition  of  the  place  and  its  productive 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries. 


963 


capability.  If  you  should  not  rent  easily 
you  would  nave  no  difficulty  in  finding  a 
desirable  piece  of  land  which  you  could 
buy  on  very  easy  terms,  on  which  you 
could  build  a  comfortable  home.  Indus- 
trious men  with  small  capital  have  done 
this  in  California  in  thousands  of  instan- 
ces, and  what  one  has  done,  others  can 
do;  sixth,  I  think  a  good  steady  man 
should  easily  obtain  employment;  if  he 
proved  himself  apt  in  caring  for  and 
pushing  the  interests  of  his  employer,  he 
would  have  no  difficulty  in  retaining  his 
job.  Wages  for  farm  hands  very  from 
$25  and  upwards  in  the  winter  months  to 
$35  and  upwards  in  the  summer  months. 
Apt  and  reliable  men  who  develop  a 
faculty  for  managing  others  obtain  cor- 
respondingly better  salaries. 

I  believe  I  have  pretty  fully  answered 
your  questions.  Your  letter  interests  me, 
and  if  I  can  be  of  further  service,  feel  per- 
fectly free  to  ask  any  other  questions 
which  you  desire  to  be  informed  upon. 
In  the  meantime  I  remain. 

Yours   very  truly, 
J.    A.    FILCHER, 
Secretary  and  Manager. 

In  taking  leave  of  the  Sacramento  Val- 
ley, I  can  recommend  all  parts  of  it  un- 
hesitatingly to  the  home-seeker, 
"Wherever  he  may  be.  One  of  the  great 
embarrassments  he  will  experience  will 
be  to  decide  where,  in  this  vast  section 
of  desirable  country,  to  select  his  home. 
1  have  endeavored  to  lighten  the  task 


and  expense  to  him  of  ascertaining  where 
10  go  by  stating  facts  as  to  the  valley  gen- 
erally, and  as  to  the  counties  somewhat 
particularly.  Intelligent  inquiry  will  in 
most  cases  lead  to  satisfactory  results; 
and  wherever  he  may  determine  to  make 
his  abiding  place,  he  will  find  so  much  to 
charm  and  delight  him  that  contentment 
is  sure  to  follow. 

In  conclusion,  I  desire  to  express  my 
thanks  to  the  gentlemen  in  the  several 
counties  who  were  designated  by  the  Sac- 
ramento Valley  Development  Association 
to  furnish  me  with  specific  information, 
and  upon  whose  reports  the  main  facts 
relating  to  individual  counties  are  stated. 
As  the  object  of  tnis  article  is  not  only 
to  convey  reliable  information  to  intend- 
ing settlers,  but  also  to  put  them  in  com- 
munication with  sources  of  accurate 
knowledge  concerning  the  valley  it  would 
seem  proper  to  give  the  names  of  the  offi- 
cers of  the  Association,  who  will  cheer^ 
fully  respond  to  all  questions,  and  will 
give  the  names  of  persons  in  each  county 
to  whom  inquirers  may  write.    They  are: 

W.  S.  GREEN,  Colusa,  President. 
F.   E.   WRIGHT,   Colusa,   Secretary. 
FRANK  MILLER,  Sacramento,  Treasurer 


1 


Picturesque  Placer  County. 


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OUR  SICILY.— PALERMO. 

L   Naval  orange.  Ave  years  from  the  bud.  2.   Side  view  of  a  home  garden.  3  Palermo* 
orange  grove  ready  for  irrigation. 


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\ 


PALERMO. 

1.  Golden  oranges  ready  for  the  harvest.    2.   Manager's   residence,   Palermo 
cny.    3.  A  shady  corner,  manager's  homeplace.  Digitized  by 


Kboglc 


966 


Overland  Monthly. 


The   historic   wheat 
fields  of  the  Sacra- 
Our  Sicily.  mento    Valley    may 

be  compared  to  the 
granary  of  Italy. 
But  for  our  specific  purpose,  we  may  com- 
pare it  to  the  ever  picturesque  Sicily — 
whose  capital,  Palermo,  is  the  site  of  un- 
failing gardens  of  the  most  delicious 
fruits  in  Europe. 

Is  there  anything  in  California  at  all 
resembling  that  historic  spot?  Certainly. 
We  have  a  Palermo  in  the  Sacramento 
Valley  that  can  show  you  sky  as  serenely 
blue,  a  range  of  Sierras  as  grandly  pic- 
turesque, a  history  as  full  of  romance 
and  miles  of  gardens,  whose  products 
will  hold  their  own  in  any  horticultural 
show  In  the  world. 

Palermo  of  California  has  everything 
that  Sicily  possesses.  The  great  Mt.  Las- 
sen peak,  once  sent  its  ashes  over  this 
district,  and  its  disintegrating  lava  beds 
furnish  us  now  with  most  excellent  nour- 
ishment for  our  vineyards  and  orchards. 
That  is  what  happened  at  Palermo,  Sicily, 
as  well.  So  you  observe  the  town  comes 
honestly  by  the  name. 

In  a  table  of  statistics  we  have  before 
us,  it  is  seen  that  the  varieties  of  fruits 
tow  growing  at  Palermo  comprise  or- 
anges, lemons,  table  grapes,  wine  grapes, 
raisin  grapes,  peaches,  pears,  nectarines, 
quinces,  apples,  French  prunes,  silver 
prunes,  olives,  pomegranates  and  al- 
monds. Oranges  and  lemons  are  planted 
100  trees  to  an  acre  and  the  average 
weight  of  fresh  fruit  is  20  tons.  Grapes  av- 
erage 7  tons;  prunes  from  8  to  13%  tons, 
peaches  10%  tons,  pears  13%  tons,  nec- 
tarines 9%  tons  and  almonds  5,400 
pounds.  Raisin  grapes  average  about  435 
pounds  to  the  acre  and  dried  French 
prunes  9,000  pounds.  Even  dried  pears 
from  seven  year  old  trees  average  5,400 
pounds  to  the  acre.  Our  oranges  packed 
with  an  average  weight  of  70  pounds  have 
brought  as  high  as  17.50  per  box.  Lem- 
ons, packed  in  the  same  manner,  with  an 
average  weight  of  80  pounds  to  the  box 
have  sold  for  |3.50.  Dried  fruits  packed 
Ir;  half  crates  of  20  pounds  each  have 
produced  |2.50  per  half  crate.  When 
shipped  in  50-pound  boxes  with  no  waste 
and  no  packing  nor  culling,  they  have 
produced  from  |48.42  to  183.90  per  acre. 


These  are  figures  that  talk  and  can  be 
verified  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Palermo  has  a  mean  average  temper- 
ature of  64  degrees,  an  average  temper- 
ature of  53  degrees  during  the  winter 
months,  and  less  than  79  degrees  for  the 
summer  season. 

Comparative  Climate  Tables. 
— Mean  for — 

Place.  Year.    Winter.    Cold'at 

Rome 60.06        46.07         45.00 

Madrid    58.03        45.02         43.02 

Jerusalem    ...         62.06        49.06         47.04 
Marseilles    ...         58.03         40.02         43.02 

Algiers    64.08        61.12         53.02 

Palermo,  Butte 

County,  Cal...         64.09        53.00        52.25 

On  the  principle  of  "sending  coals  to 
Newcastle''  many  carloads  of  oranges 
were  sent  to  Florida  during  the  recent 
disastrous  freeze  in  that  State. 

If  you  come  to  Palermo  in  the  winter, 
you  can  lie  down  in  the  midst  of  an 
orange  grove  and  luxuriate.  Tou  can 
stretch  your  hand  above  your  head,  pluck 
a  luscious  orange  from  one  of  the  clusters 
and  taste  Its  health-giving  meat  and  Juice. 
You  can  do  tnis  in  the  middle  of  January. 
Where  else  under  the  blue  canopy  of 
Heaven,  in  latitude  39  4-10  degrees,  can 
you  do  the  same  thing? 

The  above  only  tells  half  the  tale.  Pal- 
ermo is  a  place  where  life  is  worth  living 
and  where  that  living  will  be  prolonged. 

Lands  in  this  district  are  very  acces- 
sible, being  offered  by  the  Palermo  Land 
and  Water  Company  at  $75  per  acre.  An 
estimate  of  $16  per  acre  is  perhaps  a 
maximum  estimate  of  the  cost  of  culti- 
vating this  land.  Fencing  may  be  dis- 
pensed with  In  many  cases,  due  to  the 
rtrict  enforcement  of  the  pound  law. 

The  Bay  Countiet 
Power      Company 
The  Bay  Counties     is  the  result  of  a 
Power  Company,    consolidation       of 
two        companies, 
which     previously 
owned  power  plants  and  supplied  power 
in  Yuba  and  Nevada  Counties,  viz.,  the 
Yuba  Electric  Power  Company  and  the 
Nevada    County    Electric    Power    Com- 
pany.    This   company,   by   means  of   a 
seemingly  inexhaustible  supply  of  ingen- 
uity and  enterprise,  has  pushed  its  pro- 


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o 
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o 
E 


Q. 


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*.«^»*  /^  .yiZl. 


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Bay  Counties  Power  Company's  Power  House. 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries. 


jects  through  with  remarkable  success, 
and  is  now  supplying  to  the  towns,  com- 
mercial centers,  farms,  and  mines  of 
Northern  California  an  amount  of  power 
almost  beyond  human  belief.  It  has  done 
wonders  for  the  development  of  North- 
em  California,  and  judging  by  the  plans 
it  la  now  making  for  further  advance- 
ment, it  promises  to  do  much  more  in  the 
future.  The  work  carried  out  by  this 
company  is  one  of  the  largest  transmis- 
sion undertakings  in  California — not  to 
say  in  the  world,  despite  the  fact  that 
comparatively  few  have  recognized  its 
magnitude.  On  the  first  of  April, 
it  completes  a  double  140-mile  pole  line 
to  deliver  power  to  Oakland  and  the 
eastern  shores  of  San  Francisco  bay,  pre- 
paratory to  imparting  the  bulk  of  power 
to  that  city.  The  transmission  line  and 
apparatus  is  designed  for  60,000  volts, 
line   pressure. 

This  month  the  company  completes 
the  introduction  of  Its  lines  into  the 
Northern  Counties  of  Butte,  Colusa, 
Yuba,  Nevada,  Sutter,  Yolo,  Placer,  So- 
lano, Napa,  Sacramento,  Contra  Costa 
and  Alameda.  Electricity  for  ihe  above 
counties  is  nothing  short  of  an  unquali- 
fied blessing,  as  it  furnishes  a  power  in- 
finitely cheaper  than  that  given  by  steam, 
and  it  obviates  much  superfiuous  labor 
in  cases  of  both  small  and  large  install- 
tion.  Electricity  in  these  cases  is  a  great 
saver  of  power,  as  the  direct  application 
to  motors  does  away  with  the  losses  al- 
ways incurred  through  the  medium  of 
bulk  transmission.  Some  slight  idea  of 
the  variety  of  industries  which  depend 
on  the  power  furnished  by  the  Bay  Coun- 
ties Power  Company  can  be  gained  from 
the  following  facts: 

The  company  is  supplying  power  for 
mining  in  all  its  methods  and  branches 
in  the  counties  of  Yuba  and  Nevada;  for 
the  operating  of  gold  dredgers  In  Butte 
County;  for  the  running  of  street  cars 
and  stationary  machinery  in  Sacramento 
and  Marysville,  and  in  the  counties  of 
Solano,  Contra  Costa,  and  Alameda;  for 
the  operating  of  important  industries 
such  as  Selby's,  California  Powder 
Works,  and  the  Consolidated  Railroad  in 
Oakland;  and  in  all  the  towns  reached 
by  Its  500  miles  of  pole  line,  for  the  sup- 
plying of  electric  light.     Twenty  towns 


and  cities  in  all  get  their  currents  from 
this  company's  line,  as  supplied  by  its 
four  immense  power  houses. 

The  company  has  developed  a  hydrau- 
lic capacity  of  30,000  horse-power  and  an 
electric  capacity  of  15,000  horse-power. 
This,  great  as  it  is,  is  soon  to  be  added 
to.  During  the  present  year  it  has  been 
increased  by  6,000  horse-power.  As  a  feat 
of  engineering,  nothing  has  ever  sur- 
passed the  company's  remarkable  trans- 
mission across  the  Straits  of  Carquinez. 
This  is  done  with  a  span  4,700  feet  long, 
and  is  the  longest  in  the  world. 

This  latter  achievement  is  characteris- 
tic of  the  Bay  Counties  Power  Company, 
which,  in  the  boldness  of  its  conceptions 
and  its  success  in  carrying  them  out, 
is  peculiar  in  commercial  history.  It 
has  done  many  things  never  dreamed  of 
elsewhere,  and  the  number  of  its  inno- 
vations and  the  length  of  its  lines  is  the 
marvel  of  the  scientific  world.  The 
length  of  its  transmission  is  unique  of  its 
kind.  In  size,  it  is  second  only  to  Niag- 
ara, which  it  surpasses  in  the  amount  of 
territory  which  it  covers. 

The  Sacramento  Valley  benefits  direct- 
ly from  the  introduction  of  electricity 
to  its  farming  secdons  as  furnished  by 
the  Bay  Counties  Power  Company.  Elec- 
tricity is  the  best  power  known  for  the 
irrigating  of  farms  and  orchards,  and  for 
the  pumping  in  winter  of  surface  water 
from  low  lands. 

The  Northern  California  farmers  and 
miners  may  congratulate  themselves 
that  they  have  at  hand,  ready  to  aid  their 
work  and  nourish  their  crops,  a  greater 
force  than  mythology  ever  dreamed  of 
—the  Genii  of  Electricity  to  turn  their 
wheels  and  move  their  streams,  and  light 
their  villages,  and  to  aid  by  Its  beneficent 
influence  in  making  the  Sacramento  Val- 
ley one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world  for 
fertility  and  resource,  enterprise  and 
commercial  prosperity. 

The  company's  office  is  at  324  Pine 
street,  San  Francisco.  The  officers  are: 
E.  J.  de  Sabla  Jr.,  President  and  General 
manager;  Wm.  M.  Pierson,  vice-presi- 
dent; C.  A.  Grow,  secretary  and  treas- 
urer; F.  M.  Ray,  assistant  manager; 
T.  M.  Hancock,  general  superintendent; 
T.  E.  Theberath  and  R.  H.  Sterling,  divis- 
ion superintendents. 


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The  Sacramento  Valley:     Its  Resources  and  Industries. 


97t 


This  enterprise  has  opened  up  a  new 
industry  throughout  the  valley  of  the  Sac- 
ramento. The 
.  conditions  there 

Gold  Dredging  in  the  are  more  favor- 
Sacramento  Valley,  able  for  gold 
dredging  than  in 
any  other  part 
of  the  United  States,  mainly  owing  to  the 
dcKsomposed  lava  ash  bed  rock,  which  we 
find  throughout  the  foothills  in  this  val- 
ley. The  Yuba  River,  Bear  River,  and 
Feather  River  are  the  three  principal 
fields,  the  latter  presenting  the  largest 
dredging  area  opened  up  in  the  United 
States. 

On  the  Feather  River  for  five  miles 
below  the  town  of  Oroville,  on  both 
sides  of  the  stream  and  on  the  interior 
ground,  are  running  twelve  massive  gold 
dredges,  handling  in  the  neighborhood 
of  20,000  cubic  yards  of  gravel  each 
24  hours,  the  tailings  being  piled  up  as 
shown  in  the  accompanying  illustration, 
behind  the  dredge. 

The  exploration  and  development  of 
gold  dredging  in  this  State  is  largely  due 
to  the  efforts  of  one  of  our  leading  en- 
gineering concerns,  viz.:  the  Risdon  Iron 
and  Locomotive  Works,  of  this  city.  Some 
five  years  ago,  they  made  a  thorough  in- 
vestigation of  this  dredging  field,  pros- 
pecting the  ground;  they  discovered  that 
the  values  would  pay,  and  then  proceeded 
to  design  machinery  suitable  for  the 
handling  of  the  gravel. 

To-day  the  scene  of  activity  in  gold 
dredging  throughout  the  Sacramento 
Valley  is  entirely  due  to  the  impetus 
given  this  industry  by  this  concern.  On 
the  Bear  and  the  Yuba  River,  we  find  the 
same  character  of  bed  rock  existing,  and 
the  study  of  the  economic  conditions 
governing  the  operation  of  the  various 
fields,  shows  that  with  the  system  of 
dredging  used— on  the  Feather,  Yuba, 
and  Bear  Rivers — ground  can  be  handled 
for  four  and  one-half  cents  per  yard, 
including  all  wear  and  tear,  and  depre- 
ciation. 

To  show  the  great  advantage  in  oper- 
ating this  class  of  mining,  we  show  the 
cost  of  operation  and  the  returns  from 
a  dredging  proposition  of  100  acres  of 
land,  which  can  be  purchased  in  many 
parts  of  the  State  as  low  as  |100  per 


acre.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  acres 
are  available  throughout  the  river  val- 
leys in  this  State,  which  should  be  opened 
up  and  developed  by  this  means.  From 
all  parts  of  tne  United  States,  inquiries 
are  directed  to  California,  and  demands 
are  made  from  time  to  time  as  to  what 
the  returns  from  the  ordinary  dredging 
plant  will  be,  and  for  the  purpose  of  lay- 
ing before  intending  investors,  the  writer 
has  made  up  the  following  schedule  as 
to  what  might  be  expected  from  a  dredg- 
ing proposition,  working  under  the  local 
conditions  in  California.  Electric  power 
Is  available  throughout  the  Valley  of  the 
Sacramento,  the  Bay  Counties  Electric 
Power  Co.  having  stations  in  Nevada  and 
Yuba  Counties,  and  having  hundreds  of 
miles  of  wires  stretching  throughout  all 
parts  of  the  dredging  section,  furnishing 
power  at  a  rate  of  approximately  $5  per 
H.  P.  per  month,  which  is  a  remarkably 
low  rate  for  a  24-hour  day. 

The  basis  of  figuring  is  from  results 
as  to  capacity  attained  on  the  Feather 
River  field,  below  Oroville,  during  the 
first  three  years: 

100  acres  of  land  at  $100 $10,000  00 

1  dredge,  5  foot  buckets 50,000  00 

Boarding     house,     blacksmith- 
shop,  and  tools 2,500  00 

Cash  on  nand 12.500  00 


Cost  per  acre — $750.    Total ..  $75,000  00 

Cost   of   Operating   per    Month. 

Power,  75  H.  P.  at  $5  00 1  375  00 

Dredge  Master 130  00 

3  Winch  Men,  |90 270  00 

3  Deck  Men,  $75 225  00 

Repairs  and  Depreciation 400  00 


$1,400  00 
Say — 117,500  00  per  year. 

Ten  acres  per  year,  30  ft.  deep, 

worked,   say,   500,000   yards 

per   year,   20    cents 1100,000  00 

Expenses,  |1,500  x  12.  .|17,500 

l-J  acres  land,  |750. . . .     7,500     25,000  00 


Profit  per  year $75,000  00 

Say — Capital,  100.000  shares  at  75  cts., 


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Overland   Monthly. 


175,000.     Divid 

end 

175,000, 

100  per  cent 

per  year,  and 

return  of  10 

per  cent  on 

capital    per    year. 

Per  Cent 

1   year     capital, 

$75,000 

profit. .100 

O                             l< 

67,500 

"     ..111 

3 

60,000 

"     ..125 

4 

52,500 

"     ..142 

5 

45,000 

"     ..166 

6 

37,500 

"     ..200 

7 

30,000 

"     ..250 

8 

22,500 

"     ..333 

9 

15,000 

•'     ..500 

10 

7,500 

"     .1000 

The  repairs  and  depreciation  account  of 
14,800  per  year  should  keep  everything 
up  in  first-class  condition,  and  before  the 
end  of  ten  years  should  have  enough 
money  on  hand  together  with  last  install- 
ment of  capital,  viz.:  $75,000,  to  purchase 
some  more  land.  It  will  be  noted  that  the 
cash  on  hand,  $12,500,  will  provide  in  ad- 
dition to  working  capital,  |1,250  per  year 
for  extraordinary  expenses. 

The  Risdon  Iron  Works  publish  a  pam- 
phlet regarding  this  class  of  mining. 


The  Satire  of  Our 
Friend  Mark. 


If  that  secretly- 
written  book  of 
Mark  Twain's, 
which  is  to  be 
published  some 
too  many  years 
after  his  death, 
is  anything  like 
as  vigorous  as  his  utterances  in  the  Feb- 
ruary North  America*  Review,  we 
can  envy  the  longevity  of  the  Wan- 
dering Jew.  Under  the  coaxing  title  of 
"The  Person  Sitting  in  Darkness,"  our 
friend  Mark  is  delivered  of  one  of  the 
most  biting  bits  of  satire  in  his  whole  ca- 
reer. With  the  rapier  Mr.  Clemens  starts 
in  just  where  Mr.  Dooley  and  his  dialect 
quit.  Never  quite  so  funny  as  when  deal- 
ing in  facts,  Mr.  Clemens  says,  as  he  ex- 
pounds the  facts  to  the  Sitter  in  Dark- 
ness: 

"There  have  been  lies;  yes,  but  they 
were  told  in  a  good  cause.  We  have  been 
treacherous;  but  that  was  only  in  order 
that  real  good  might  come  out  of  appar- 
ent evil.     True,  we  have  crushed  a  de- 


ceived and  confiding  people;  we  have 
turned  against  the  weak  and  the  friend- 
less who  trusted  us;  we  have  stamped 
out  a  just  and  intelligent  and  well-ordered 
republic;  we  have  plabbed  an  ally  in  the 
back  and  slapped  the  face  of  a  guest; 
we  have  bought  a  Shadow  from  an  enemy 
that  hadn't  it  to  sell;  we  have  robbed 
a  trusting  friend  of  his  land  and  his  lib- 
erty; we  have  invited  our  clean  young 
men  to  shoulder  a  discredited  musket  and 
do  bandit's  work  under  a  flag  which  ban- 
dits have  been  accustomed  to  fear,  not  to 
follow;  we  have  debauched  America's 
honor  and  blackened  her  face  before  the 
world;  but  each  detail  was  for  the  best. 
We  know  this.  The  Head  of  every  State 
and  Sovereignty  in  Christendom  and  nine- 
ty per  cent  of  every  legislative  body  in 
Christendom,  including  our  Congress  and 
our  fifty  State  Legislatures,  are  members 
not  only  of  the  Church,  but  also  of  the 
Blessings-of-Civilization  Trust.  This 
world  girdling  accumulation  of  trained 
morals,  high  principles,  and  justice,  can- 
not do  an  unfair  thing. 


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973 


It  knows  what  it  Is  about.    Give  yourself 
no  uneasiness;  it  is  all  right." 

Satire  was  invented  by  a  Just  God  to 
make  the  Other  Man  feel  small  when 
neither  argument  nor  abuse  would  touch 
him  in  the  seat  of  his  unwisdom.  Far 
be  it  from  ourselves,  whose  aims  are  lit- 
erary rather  than  political,  and  whose 
vote  is  a  secret  of  the  ballot-box,  to  take 
sides  for  or  against  Mr.  McKinley.  But 
we  are  admirers  of  Mr.  Clemens;  we  be- 
lieve his  to  be  one  of  the  great  minds 
ot  the  time  in  which  this  magazine  has 
lived;  and  in  sure  truth  we  are  of  the 
notion  that  a  barbed  Joke  of  this  kind 
from  the  pen  of  one  of  the  greatest  liv- 
ing writers  of  English  will  have  more 
weight  with  the  world  than  all  the  hot- 
mouthed  orations  that  have  been  shouted 
and  all  the  fiery-penned  editorials  that 
have  been  written.  Mark  Twain  is  per- 
haps the  one  living  American  whose  au- 
dience is  the  world.  It  is  well  for  those 
who  take  themselves  seriously,  and  ill  for 
those  who  love  the  best  of  their  native 
humor,  that  Mark's  book  is  to  be  pub- 
lished for  a  posterity  that  doubtless  will 
appreciate  it  half  as  much  as  we  would. 


TO   THE   romancer,   the   West  offers 
great  stretches  of  yet  unused  "material." 
And     in    popularity 
scenes    of    western 
life,  at  this  time  out- 
Western  Stories  by  vie    the    phases    of 
Western  Writers.  New     England     life, 
which    ground    has 
been    rather   thoro- 
ughly gone  over)  or 
the   Southern  novels  which  seemed  not 
long  ago  to  be  in  the  ascendency.     On 
the  Eastern  coast  there  is  to  be  sure  a 
civilization    to    depict,    somewhat    more 
settled   than   ours,   and   a   more   thickly 
populated  country;   but  in  the  West  we 
have   still   new   conditions,   undeveloped 
country,   the   freedom   from    convention- 
ality, and  the  great  hope  for  the  future, 
which  has  always  stood  as    pure  Ameri- 
canism.   The  West  is  the  home  ot  adven- 
ture, and  unrestrained  enjoyment  of  out- 
door   life.     And    California   herself   lies 
along  the  eastern  boundary  of  the  ocean 
which   washes   the   very   shores   of  the 
Orient,  teeming  with  the  spirit  of  mystery 


and  poetry.  No  writer  has  known  better 
how  to  show  the  people  of  the  East  what 
life  in  the  West  means  than  has  Mary 
Hallock  Foote.  Her  books  seem  filled 
with  the  bracing,  and  daring  spirit  of  the 
western  plains  and  mountains.  Whether 
she  treats  of  the  life  of  miners,  or  of  that 
of  the  educated  eastern  settler  on  arid 
lands,  or  the  cowboy  of  the  ranges,  her 
touch  is  both  true  and  loving  of  her  sub- 
ject, and  people  who  have  lived  "out 
West,"  recognize  in  her  characters  and 
descriptions  the  very  amplitude  and 
warmth  which  makes  the  charm  of  the 
Land  of  Sunshine.  The  scene  of  her 
latest  book  "The  Prodigal,"  is  laid  in 
San  Francisco.  However,  it  is  not  the 
city  of  to-day  but  "The  Stranger  City," 
(as  she  calls  it)  of  almost  twenty  years 
ago.  "An  August  fog,"  the  tale  begins, 
"was  drifting  inland  from  the  bay.  In 
thin  places  the  blue  Contra  Costa  hills 
showed  through,  and  the  general  gray- 
ness  was  tinged  with  pearl.  San  Fran- 
cisco dripped  and  steamed  along  her 
water-front;  derricks  loomed  black,  and 
yards  and  topmasts  reddened,  as  a  fringe 
of  winter  woodland  colors  up  at  the  turn 
of  the  year."  "The  Prodigal"  himself  is 
an  aggressive,  big  hearted,  faulty,  charm- 
ing young  Englishman,  from  far  away 
Australia,  who  is  "another  gentleman 
wool-gatherer,  come  back  shorn."  It  would 
have  been  natural  .to  guess  this  tale 
written  by  a  masculine  hand,  as  Steven- 
son and  Kipling  ideals  have  prevailed  in 
its  writing  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
heroine  says  only  twelve  words  through- 
out the  book.  The  main  interest  is  con- 
densed in  the  words  of  one  Bradshaw, 
a  ship-owner — "you  can't  lead  a  wild  colt 
with  a  long  halter.  So  you  will  just  keep 
track  of  the  festive  Clunie  as  well  as  you 
can,  but  don't  meddle  with  him.  It's  his 
own  fight  now.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  in- 
terfere when  Mother  Nature  takes  him 
across  her  knee.  She  gave  him  a  fore- 
taste down  at  the  Cape,  but  it's  nothing 
to  what  she  has  in  soak  for  him  if  I  know 
this  city."  But  the  neatest  bit  of  literary 
workmanship  in  this  little  book  is  where 
Miss  Foote  tries  her  far  from  "apprentice 
hand"  on  a  concise  description  of  the 
sinking  of  an  over-loaded  steamer  while 
going  through  the  Golden  Gate. 
"Wind  and  tide  opposing  and  a  strong 


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Overland   Monthly. 


tide  running  out,  and  the  white-caps,  as 
it  looked  from  shore,  were  great  combers 
on  the  bar.  Already  the  Parthenla  was 
far  out  beyond  help.  Her  passengers 
were  thinking  of  their  luncheon.  The 
two  spectators  watched  her  come  nosing 
around  the  cliffs.  They  marked  how  she 
wallowed  and  settled  by  her  stem  quar- 
ter. They  were  letting  the  air  out  of  her 
then;  she  was  part  in  air  and  part  In 
water  ballast  when  she  met  the  Bar.  A 
beast  of  a  Bar  it  was  that  morning.  It 
clapped  paw  upon  her,  rolled  her  to  star- 
broad,  as  a  cat  tumbles  a  mouse  and  the 
play  was  over.  Her  stem  went  under 
sideways,  her  staggering  bow  shot  up,  and 
she  sank,  like  a  coffin,  with  all  on  board. 
So  sudden  and  silent  and  prepared  it  was, 
she  might  have  walked  out  there,  a  de- 
liberate suicide,  and  made  away  with 
herself.  And  so  strong  was  the  ship's 
personality  that  it  was  quite  a  moment 
before  the  two  witnesses  of  her  fate 
could  gather  the  sense  that  she  was  not 
perishing  alone,  but  was  digging  the 
grave  of  living  men  and  women." 
..("The  Prodigal,"  by  Mary  Hallock 
Foote.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Pub- 
lishers.) 

NO  other  writer  on  Western  themes 
is  so  well  known  by  his  work  as  Hamlin 
Garland,    who    first 
wrote  of    the    main 
travelled  roads  of  11- 
"The  Eagle's  Heart."   linois  and  Minneso- 
ta, forging  west  by 
way  of  Colorado,  to 
Wyoming    and    the 
unregenerate    cowDoy    life    at    "Wagon 
Wheel."    He  has  the  greatest  sympathy 
for  the  free,  wild  life  of  the  plains,  and 
the  untamed  but  not  evil  heart  of  the  good 
natured  "cow-puncher."    His  love  of  na- 
ture sweeps  through  his  books,  like  the 
flower-laden  wind  off  the  prairies,  or  off 
the  rugged  mountain  peaks  of  the  Rock- 
ies in  sight  of  which  one  "has  room  to 
become  a  man."    One  of  his  latest  wes- 
tern romances,  "The  Eagle's  Heart,"  (Ap- 
pleton  &  Company)  follows  its  hero  (the 
inevitable  preacher's  son)  from  an  East- 
em   village   out   through   the   gradually 
developing  country,  west  of  the  Missouri 
to  the  Cheyenne  County  pioneer  stmg- 
gles  of  some  forty  years  ago.     The  de- 
velopment of  the  smooth-faced  but  fiery 


hearted  young  preacher's  son,  into  "Black 
Mose,"  the  dreaded  fire-eater  of  the  Wy- 
oming district,  still  saddled  with  a  repu- 
tation thrust  upon  him  rather  than 
earned,  is  carefully  depicted,  involving 
a  number  of  strong  situations  and  moving 
incidents.  The  boy  from  the  first,  "had 
no  care  or  thought  of  cities  or  the  East. 
He  dreamed  of  the  plains  and  horses  and 
herds  of  buffalo  and  troops  of  Indians 
filing  down  the  distant  slopes.  Every 
view  of  the  range,  every  word  of  the 
wild  country,  every  picture  of  the  fron- 
tier remained  in  his  mind."  And  we  are 
not  surprised  when  we  find  him  a  num- 
ber of  years  later  standing  in  the  streets 
of  Wagon  Wheel,  the  most  famous  dead- 
shot  in  the  State.  The  love  story  is 
convincing  and  interesting.  Altogether 
the  book  shows  a  deeper  sentiment,  with 
perhaps  a  less  pleasing  conciseness  than 
marked  Mr.  Garland's  earlier  work. 

("The  Eagle's  Heart,"  by  Hamlin  Gar- 
land.   D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 

For   society   veraifi- 
ers,    French    forms 
are,  in  certain  cases. 
Good  Poetry  from      good  enough.    They 
Lane  Press.         are  sufficiently   fur- 
nished with  metrical 
mechanism   to    con- 
ceal   from    the    un- 
thinking whatever  the  author  might  have 
lacked  in  thought  or  art,  and  to  give  a 
certain  degree  of  pleasure  to  the  ear, 
while  saying  very  little  or  nothing  at  all. 
But  when  the  serious  English  versifier 
attempts  to  confine  his  good  Anglo-Saxon 
words  in  these  imported  garments,  his 
results  can  never  hope  to  be  more  fortu- 
nate than  not  to  be  entirely  unfortunate. 
Alexander  Blair  Thaw  has  written  a  book 
of   verses — ^mostly   sonnets   and    French 
forms — ^and  his  results,  in  the  latter  ef- 
forts, cannot  but  remind  us  that  he  has 
attempted  what  even  an  Austin  Dobson 
could  not  do  with  the  King's  English — 
compel   it  to   sing   successfully   with    a 
French    accent.    Mr.  Thaw  has  a  daring 
talent  and  no  lack  of  originality.     Too 
bad  he  should  not  have  selected  better. 
Plenty  of  the  verse  Is  alive  and  timely. 
"To  a  Laureate  of  Empire"  is  obviously 
written  to  Kipling. 
"To  an  Unknown  Goddess"  is  the  sym- 


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975 


boUc  dedication  of  "Ad  Astra,"  a  poem 
of  some  two  hundred  and  thirty  long 
stanzas  by  Charles  Whitworth  Wynne. 
The  poem  is  of  a  religious  nature,  and,  as 
the  work  of  a  young  author,  is  more  a 
promise  than  a  fulfillment.  The  author, 
Id  describing  the  manifold  aspects  of 
Love,  writes  not  infrequently  in  a  lofty 
strain  that  gives  tone  to  the  poem;  but 
his  pen  is  a  rash  one,  and,  by  the  drift 
of  many  of  his  stanzas,  one  cannot  but 
conclude  that  his  verse  is  better  than 
his  politics  or  religion.  There  is,  how- 
ever, in  the  tone  of  the  verse,  an  echo 
of  Tennyson,  and  a  serious  regard  of  life 
and  nature,  none  too  common  to  the 
jingling  modern  Muse.  When  the  author 
has  learned  to  put  a  little  closer  bridle 
on  his  inspiration  he  will  recognize  the 
mistakes  of  ''Ad  Astra,"  and  Improving 
on  the  gifts  the  peom  has  revealed  to 
ufi,  fulfill  its  promise. 

("Poems,"  by  Alexander  Blair  Thaw, 
and  "Ad  Astra,"  by  Charles  Whitworth 
Wynne.  John  Lane,  Publisher,  New 
York.) 

It  is  not  the  events 
of  history  that  make 
Interesting  history  dull;  nay.  It 

Coast    History      Is   rather  the  manner 
of  the  setting  forth 
of       history       that 
makes     the     reader 
ilgh  and  turn  him  to 
the  historical  novel  for  his  diluted  Infor- 
mation.   It  is  not  histories,  but  historians, 
that   are   at   fault.     And    so,   when   we 
Bay  that  Eva  Emery  Dye's  "McLoughlln 
and  Old  Oregon,"reads  like  a  novel,  we 
mean  that  the  author  has  so  selected  the 
facts  concerning  the  early  Coast  settle- 
ments as  to  make  us  feel  and  live  the  ad- 
ventures of  our  early  pioneers. 

The  author  has  vividly  portrayed  the 
circumstances  of  Oregon's  founding,  so 
far  as  those  circumstances  surrounded 
her  central  figure,  Dr.  John  McLoughlln 
— and  what  can  be  more  worthy  a  tale 
than  the  adventures,  day  by  day,  and  year 
by  year,  of  that  knot  of  missionaries, 
soldiers,  traders,  trappers,  and  gentle- 
men adventurers  who  dared  Providence, 
a  handful  of  men  against  the  million  sav- 
age horrors  that  lurked  among  the  pri- 


meval Northwestern  forests  which  fringed 
the  Columbia?  And  what  can  be  more 
romantic  than  a  mere  truthful  chronicle 
of  the  life  and  works  of  that  leader  of 
men  and  queller  of  nature.  Chief  Factor 
McLoughlln,  later  Governor  of  Oregon? 
The  book  has  some  of  the  charm  of  Irving 
about  It,  and  combines  the  knack  of  ad- 
ministering Information  without  letting 
you  know  that  you  have  swallowed  that 
bitter  pill.  It  has  now  appeared  in  Its 
second  edition,  and  merits  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  West. 

(''McLoughlln  and  Old  Oregon,  a  Chron- 
icle," by  Eva  Emery  Dye.  A.  C.  McClurg 
&  Co..  Chicago.) 

FREDERICK  S.  Dellenbaugh,  a  veteran 
anthropologist,  whose  experience  (Includ- 
ing explorations  with 
Major    John    Wesley 

Concerning  Powell  In  the  second 

the  American  Colorado  River  expe- 

indian  dltlon)  has  fitted  him 

perhaps  more  emi- 
nently than  any  other  living  Amerin- 
dian expert,  to  discuss  and  describe 
the  history,  written  and  unwritten,  which 
the  American  aborigine  has  left  behind 
him,  has  compiled  a  volume  entitled  "The 
North  Americans  of  Yesterday."  The  vol- 
ume, a  little  less  than  five  hundred  pages 
l/i  length,  discusses  thoroughly  the  relics 
of  the  old  possessors  of  America  from 
Alaska  to  Yucatan,  and  the  book  as  a 
whole  is  a  pretty  thorough  resume  of 
what  has  been  done  by  scientists  toward 
unearthing  the  evidences  of  past  life 
under  our  feet  and  on  every  hand. 

So,  In  attempting  the  book,  Mr.  Dellen- 
baugh has  undertaken  a  colossal  task, 
no  less  a  task  than  that  of  describing 
a  whole  forgotten  race  from  the  few 
fragmentary  relics  they  have  left  behind 
them.  Although  he  has  not  succeeded 
in  doing  this,  for  no  one  man  nor  no  one 
book  can  begin  to  accomplish  such  a  feat, 
yet  he  has  pretty  well  summed  up  the 
work  which  American  anthropologists 
have  accomplished  up  to  the  present  day, 
and  he  has  presented  In  a  fascinating 
style  a  history  of  the  researches  made, 
since  the  discovery  of  the  Continent,  and 
a  comprehensive  reading  of  the  records 
which  the  departed  nations  have 
graven  In  curious  Inscriptions.    The  book 


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is  elaborately  illustrated  with  several 
hundred  pictures  of  Indian  hieroglyphs, 
utensils,  and  weapons,  and  with  half- 
tones of  ruins  and  excavations.  The 
cover,  which  is  drawn  by  the  author,  has 
for  its  central  figure  a  sketch  of  a  stone 
head  of  prehistoric  workmanship. 

("The  North  Americans  of  Yesterday," 
by  Frederick  S.  Dellenbaugh.  G.  P.  Put- 
nam's Sons,  Publishers,  New  York  and 
London.) 


The  "White  Flame"  is  a  psycho-relig- 
ious novel  by  Mary  A.  Cornelius.  It  deals 
with  a  haunted  chair  which  stood  as  an 
advisory  friend  to  the  heroine  through 
402  not  always  interesting  pages.  The 
story  is  over-smug  and  platitudinous,  and 
too  long,  to  sustain  interest,  though  the 
plot  is  occasionally  original  and  might 
please  if  better  told. 

("The  White  Flame,"  by  Mary  A.  Cor- 
nelius. The  Stockham  Publishing  Com- 
pany, Chicago.) 

A  good  sized  volume  on  the  subject  of 
ethics  of  the  work  of  Professor  S.  E. 
Mezes  of  the  University  of  Texas.  "The 
purpose  of  the  present  book,"  the  author 
begins,  "is  to  give  as  adequate,  critical, 
and  methodical  an  account  as  possible  of 
what  morality  and  immorality  are,  •  *  * 
This  does  not  mean  that  moral  and  im- 
moral conduct  will  be  examined  as  phys- 
ical phenomena.  ♦  *  This  book,  then,  is 
an  attempt  to  conduct  a  positive  or  purely 
scientific  theory  of  ethics."  The  reader 
can  judge  of  the  contents  by  these  ex- 
cerpts from  the  introduction.  The  re- 
viewer leaves  an  estimate  of  the  book's 
value  to  those  specialists  for  whom  it 
is  written. 

("Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory," 
by  S.  E.  Menzes,  Ph.  D.  The  i.iacmillan 
Co.,  New  York.) 

In  the  line  of  economic  study  "Munici- 
i«al  Service  Industries"  is  a  valuable 
work.  Allan  Ripley  Foote,  the  author, 
has  already  gained  considerable  repu- 
tation in  his  "Discussion  of  the  Economic 
Principles  Involved  in  'The  Law  of  In- 
corporated Companies  Operating  Under 
Municipal  Franchises.'  "  The  present 
volume  includes  three  discussions  coming 
under  the  heads  of  ownership,  operation 


and  proper  regulation  of  municipal  en- 
terprises. The  book  will  be  a  valuable 
addition  to  the  library  of  those  who  think 
along  the  line  of  municipal  ownership. 

("Municipal  Public  Service  Industries," 
by  Allan  Ripley  Foote.  The  Other  Side 
Publishing   Co.,    Chicago.) 

"Introductory  Lessons  in  English  Lit- 
erature," by  I.  C.  McNeill  and  S.  A.  Lynch 
IS  a  well  selected  advanced  reader  for 
High  schools  and  academies.  The  book 
contains  some  of  the  best  prose  and  verse 
in  the  language,  and  will  doubtless  be- 
come a  standard  text  book. 

("Introductory  Lessons  in  English  Lit- 
erature," by  I.  C.  McNeill  and  S.  A. 
Lynch.  American  Book  Company,  Pub- 
lishers) 

James  Ball  Nay  lor  has  written  a  re- 
alistic novel  of  the  Middle  West  which 
makes  interesting  reading  in  parts  and 
rather  dreary  plodding  in  others.  The 
author  has  attempted  a  line  of  character 
eketches  of  the  "Samantha  at  Saratoga'^ 
order  which  is  more  newspaper  writing 
than  literature.  The  scene  of  the  book 
is  the  not  over  attractive  town  of  Baby- 
ion  where  a  young  druggist  (not  even 
disguised  as  an  apothecary)  goes  to  ply 
his  profession  and  study  the  natives.  The 
book  is  loosely  written  and  will  bear  a 
deal  of  trimming. 

("Ralph  Marloe,"  by  James  Ball  Nay- 
lor.  The  Saalfield  Publishing  Company, 
Akron,   Ohio.) 

In  the  way  of  Pacific  Coast  literature 
D.  A.  Shaw,  a  notable  California  pioneer, 
has  made  a  valuable  addition  by  an  ac- 
count of  his  personal  experiences  among 
the  early  Argonauts,  in  a  little  book  en- 
titled, "El  Dorado."  Mr.  Shaw  was  among 
those  first  to  be  touched  with  the  gold 
fever,  and  forging  ahead,  among  the  ear- 
lier enthusiasts,  was  in  the  State  almost 
in  the  van  of  history.  The  author's  ad- 
ventures are  many,  and  are  realistically 
told  in  a  reminiscent  vein.  Coming  as  it 
does  from  one  who  has  helped  to  live 
our  State  history,  the  book  is  of  double 
value  to  students  of  Western  lore.  The 
volume  contains  several  illustrations  of 
notable  persons  and  events  in  the  history 
of  California. 

("El  Dorado,"  by  D.  A.  Shaw.  B.  R. 
Baumgardt,  Publisher,  Los  Angeles.) 


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"She  stood  in  the  snow  at  the  Greek  girl's  door." 

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Overland   Monthly 


Vol.  XXXVII 


May,    1901 


No.  5 


THE    SCORN    OF    WOMAN. 


BY   JACK    LONDON. 


@ 


NCE  Freda  and  Mrs.  Eppingwell 
clashed.  Now,  Freda  was  a  Greek 
girl  and  a  dancer.  At  least  she 
purported  to  be  Greek;  but  this 
was  doubted  by  many,  for  her  classic 
face  had  over-much  strength  in  it,  and 
the  tides  of  hell  which  arose  in  her 
eyes  made  at  rare  intervals  her  ethnology 
the  more  dubious.  To  a  few — men — ^this 
sight  had  been  vouchsafed,  and  though 
long  years  may  have  passed,  they  have 
not  forgotten,  nor  will  they  ever  forget. 
She  never  talked  of  herself,  so  that  it 
were  well  to  let  it  go  down,  that  when 
in  repose,  expurgated,  Greek  she  certain- 
ly was.  Her  furs  were  the  most  maf^nifi- 
cent  in  all  the  country  from  Chilcoot  to 
8t.  Michaels,  and  her  name  was  common 
on  the  lips  of  men.  But  Mrs.  Eppingwell 
was  the  wife  of  a  captain;  also  a  social 
constellation  of  the  first  magnitude,  the 
path  of  her  orbit  marking  the  most  select 
coterie  in  Dawson — a  coterie  captioned 
by  the  profane  as  the  '^official  clique." 
Sitka  Charley  had  traveled  trail  with 
her,  once,  when  famine  drew  tight  and 
a  man's  life  was  less  than  a  cup  of  flour, 
and  his  judgment  placed  her  above  all 
women.  Sitka  Charley  was  an  Indian;  his 
criteria  were  primitive;  but  his  word 
was  flat,  and  his  verdict  a  hall-mark  in 
every  camp  under  the  circle. 

These  two  women  were  man-conquer- 
ing, man-subduing  machines,  each  in  her 
own  way,  and  their  ways  were  different. 
Mrs.  Eppingwell  ruled  in  her  own  house, 
9.nd  at  the  Barracks,  where  were  younger 
Bons  galore,  to  say  nothing  of  the  chiefs 
of  the  police,  the  executive,  and  the  judi- 
ciary. Freda  ruled  down  in  the  town; 
but  the  men  she  ruled  were  the  same  who 
functioned   socially   at   the   Barracks   or 


were  fed  tea  and  canned  preserves  at  the 
hand  of  Mrs.  Eppingwell  in  her  hill- 
side cabin  of  rough-hewn  logs.  Each 
knew  the  other  existed;  but  their  lives 
were  apart  as  the  Poles,  and  while  they 
must  have  heard  stray  bits  of  news  and 
were  curious,  they  were  never  known  to 
ask  a  question.  And  there  would  have 
been  no  trouble  had  not  a  free  lance  in 
the  shape  of  the  model-woman  come  into 
the  land  on  the  flrst  ice,  with  a  spanking 
dog-team  and  a  cosmopolitan  reputation. 
Loraine  Lisznayi — alliterative,  dramatic, 
and  Hungarian — precipitated  the  strife, 
and  because  of  her  Mrs.  Eppingwell  left 
her  hillside  and  Invaded  Freda's  domain, 
and  Freda  likewise  went  up  from  the 
town  to  spread  confusion  and  embarrass- 
ment at  the  Governor's  ball. 

All  of  which  may  be  ancient  history  so 
tar  as  the  Klondike  is  concerned,  but  very 
few,  even  in  Dawson,  know  the  inner 
truth  of  the  matter;  nor  beyond  those 
few  are  there  any  fit  to  measure  the  wife 
of  the  captain,  or  the  Greek  dancer.  And 
that  all  are  now  permitted  to  understand, 
let  honor  be  accorded  Sitka  Charley. 
From  his  lips  fell  the  main  facts  in  the 
screed  herewith  presented.  It  ill  beflts 
that  Freda  herself  should  have  waxed 
confidential  to  a  mere  scribbler  of  words, 
or  that  Mrs.  Eppingwell  made  mention 
of  the  things  which  happened.  They  may 
have  spoken,  but  it  is  unlikely. 
II. 

Floyd  Vanderlip  was  a  strong  man, 
apparently.  Hard  work  and  hard  grub 
had  no  terrors  for  him,  as  his  early  his- 
tory in  the  country  attested.  In  danger 
he  was  a  lion,  and  when  he  held  in  check 
half  a  thousand  starving  men,  as  he  once 
did,  it  was  remarked  that  no  cooler  eye 


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ever  took  the  glint  of  sunshine  on  a  rifle- 
sight.  He  had  but  one  weakness,  and 
even  that,  rising  from  out  his  strength, 
was  of  a  negative  sort.  His  parts  were 
strong,  but  they  lacked  co-ordination. 
Now  It  happened  that  while  his  amatlve- 
ness  was  pronounced.  It  had  lain  mute 
ond  passive  during  the  years  he  lived 
on  moose  and  salmon,  and  chased  glow- 
ing Eldorados  over  chill  divides.  But 
when  he  flnally  blazed  the  comer-posts 
and  center-stakes  on  one  of  the  richest 
Klondike  claims,  it  began  to  quicken;  and 
when  he  took  his  place  in  society,  a  full- 
fledged  Bonanza  King,  it  awoke  and  took 
charge  of  him.  He  suddenly  recollected 
a  girl  in  the  States,  and  it  came  to  him 
quite  forcibly,  not  only  that  she  might 
be  waiting  for  him,  but  that  a  wife  was 
a  very  pleasant  acquisition  for  a  man 
who  lived  some  several  degrees  north 
of  63.  So  he  wrote  an  appropriate  note, 
enclosed  a  letter  of  credit  generous 
enough  to  cover  all  expenses,  including 
trousseau  and  chaperon,  and  addressed 
it  to  one,  Flossie.  Flossie?  From  the 
connotation  one  could  Imagine  the  rest. 
However,  after  that  he  built  a  comfort- 
able cabin  on  his  claim,  bought  another 
in  Dawson,  and  broke  the  news  to  his 
friends. 

And  just  here  is  where  the  lack  of  co- 
ordination came  into  play.  The  waiting 
was  tedious,  and  having  been  long  denied 
the  amative  element  could  not  brook 
further  delay.  Flossie  was  coming;  but 
Loralne  Llsznayi  was  here.  And  not  only 
was  Loralne  Llsznayi  here,  but  her  cosmo- 
politan reputation  was  somewhat  the 
worse  for  wear,  and  she  was  not  exactly 
so  young  as  when  she  posed  in  the  studios 
of  artist  queens  and  received  at  her  door 
the  cards  of  cardinals  and  princess.  Also 
her  finances  were  unhealthy.  Having 
run  the  gamut  in  her  time,  she  was  now 
not  averse  to  trying  conclusions  with  a 
Bonanza  King  whose  wealth  was  such 
that  he  could  not  guess  It  within  six 
figures.  Like  a  wise  soldier  casting  about 
after  years  of  service  for  a  comfortable 
billet,  she  had  come  into  the  Northland 
to  be  married.  So,  one  day,  her  eyes 
flashed  up  into  Floyd  Vanderlip's  as  he 
was  buying  table  linen  for  Flossie  in  the 
P.  C.  Company's  store,  and  the  thing  was 
settled  out  of  hand. 


When  a  man  Is  free  much  may  go  un- 
questioned, which,  should  he  be  rash 
enough  to  cumber  himself  with  domestic 
ties,  society  will  instantly  challenge. 
Thus  it  was  with  Floyd  Vanderllp.  Flos- 
sie was  coming,  and  a  low  buzz  went 
up  when  Loralne  Llsznayi  rode  down  the 
main  street  behind  his  wolf-dogs.  She  ac- 
companied the  lady  reporter  of  the  "Kan- 
sas City  Star"  when  photographs  were 
taken  of  his  bonanza  properties,  and 
watched  the  genesis  of  a  slx-colunm 
article.  At  that  time  they  were  dined 
royally  in  Flossie's  cabin  on  Flossie's 
table  linen.  Likewise  there  were  com- 
ings and  goings  and  Junketings,  all  per- 
fectly proper  by  the  way,  which  caused 
the  men  to  say  sharp  things  and  the 
women  to  be  spiteful.  Only  Mrs.  Epping- 
well  did  not  hear.  The  distant  hum  of 
wagging  tongues  rose  faintly,  but  she  was 
prone  to  believe  good  of  persons  and  to 
close  her  ears  to  evil;  so  she  paid  no 
heed. 

Not  so  with  Freda.  She  had  no  cause 
to  love  men,  but  by  some  strange  alchemy 
of  her  nature  her  heart  went  out  to 
women — ^to  women  whom  she  had  less 
cause  to  love.  And  her  heart  went  out 
to  Flossie,  even  then  traveling  the  Long 
Trail  and  facing  into  the  bitter  North  to 
meet  a  man  who  might  not  wait  for  her. 
A  shrinking,  clinging  sort  of  a  girl,  Freda 
pictured  her,  with  weak  mouth  and  pretty 
pouting  lips,  blow-away  sun-kissed  hair, 
and  eyes  full  of  the  merry  shallows  and 
the  lesser  Joys  of  life.  But  she  also  pic- 
tured Flossie,  face  nose-strapped,  and 
frost-rimed,  stumbling  wearily  behind  the 
dogs.  Wherefore  she  smiled,  dancing 
one  night,  upon  Floyd  Vanderlip. 

Few  men  are  so  constituted  that  they 
may  receive  the  smile  of  Freda  unmoved; 
uor  among  them  can  Floyd  Vanderlip  be 
counted.  The  grace  he  had  found  with 
the  model-woman  had  caused  him  to  re- 
measure  himself,  and  by  the  favor  In 
which  he  now  stood  with  the  Greek  dan- 
cer he  felt  himself  doubly  a  man.  There 
were  unknown  qualities  and  depths  in 
Mm,  evidently,  which  they  perceived. 
He  did  not  know  exactly  what  those  qual- 
ities and  depths  were,  but  he  had  a  hazy 
idea  that  they  were  there,  somewhere, 
and  of  them  was  bred  a  great  pride  in 
himself.     A  man   who  could   force  two 


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women  such  as  these  to  look  upon  him  a 
second  time  was  certainly  a  most  re- 
markable man.  Some  day,  when  he  had 
the  time,  he  would  sit  down  and  analyze 
Lis  strength;  but  now.  Just  now,  he  would 
take  what  the  gods  had  given  him.  And 
a  thin  little  thought  began  to  lift  itself, 
and  he  fell  to  wondering  whatever  under 
the  sun  he  had  seen  in  Flossie,  and  to 
regret  exceedingly  that  he  had  sent  for 
her.  Of  course  Freda  was  out  of  the  run- 
ning. His  dumps  were  the  richest  on 
Bonanza  Creek,  and  they  were  many, 
while  he  was  a  man  of  responsibility  and 
position.  But  Lioraine  Lizsnayi — she  was 
just  the  woman.  Her  life  had  been  large; 
she  could  do  the  honors  of  his  establish- 
ment and  give  tone  to  his  dollars. 

But  Freda  smiled,  and  continued  to 
smile,  till  he  came  to  spend  much  time 
with  her.  When  she,  too,  rode  down  the 
street  behind  his  wolf-dogs,  the  model- 
woman  found  food  for  thought,  and  the 
next  time  they  were  together  dazzled 
him  with  her  princes  and  cardinals  and 
personal  little  anecdotes  of  courts  and 
kings.  She  also  showed  him  dainty 
perfumed  missives,  superscribed,  "My 
dear  Loraine,"  and  ended  ''Most  affect- 
ionately yours,"  and  signed  by  the  given 
name  of  a  real  live  queen  on  a  throne. 
And  he  marveled  in  his  heart  that  the 
great  woman  should  deign  to  waste  so 
much  as  a  moment  upon  him.  But  she 
played  him  cleverly,  making  flattering 
contrasts  and  comparisons  between  him 
and  the  noble  phantoms  she  drew  mainly 
from  her  fancy,  till  he  went  away  dizzy 
with  self-delight  and  sorrowing  for  the 
world  which  had  been  denied  him  so 
long,  Freda  was  a  more  masterful  woman. 
If  she  flattered,  no  one  knew  it.  Should 
she  stoop,  the  stoop  were  unobserved. 
If  a  man  felt  she  thought  well  of  him, 
BO  subtly  was  the  feeling  conveyed  that 
he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  say  why 
or  how.  So  she  tightened  her  grip  upon 
Floyd  Vanderlip  and  rode  daily  behind 
his  dogs. 

And  just  here  is  where  the  mistake 
occurred.  The  buzz  rose  loudly  and  more 
definitely,  coupled  now  with  the  name  of 
the  dancer,  and  Mrs.  Eppingwell  heard. 
She,  too,  thought  of  Flossie  lifting  her 
moccasined  foot  through  the  endless 
hours;  and  Floyd  Vanderlip  was  Invited 


up  the  hillside  to  tea,  and  invited  often. 
This  quite  took  his  breath  away,  and  he 
became  drunken  with  self-appreciation. 
Never  was  man  so  mal-treated.  His 
soul  was  a  thing  for  which  three  women 
struggled,  while  a  fourth  was  on  the  way 
to   claim   it.     And   three   such   women! 

But  of  Mrs.  Eppingwell  and  the  mistake 
she  made.  She  spoke  of  the  affair,  tenta- 
tively, to  Sitka  Charley,  who  had  sold 
dogs  to  the  Greek  girl.  But  no  names 
were  mentioned.  The  nearest  approach 
to  it  was  when  Mrs.  Eppingwell  said, 
"this — er — horrid  woman,"  and  Sitka 
Charley  with  the  model-woman  strong  in 
his  thought,  had  echoed,  "this — er — hior- 
rid  woman."  And  he  agreed  with  her 
that  it  was  a  wicked  thing  for  a  woman  to 
come  between  a  man  and  the  girl  he  was 
to  marry.  "A  mere  girl,  Charley,"  she 
said,  "I  am  sure  she  is.  And  she  is  com- 
ing into  a  strange  country  without  a 
friend  when  she  gets  here.  And  we  must 
do  something."  Sitka  Charley  promised 
his  help,  and  went  away  thinking  what 
a  wicked  woman  this  Loraine  Lisznayi 
must  be,  also  what  noble  women  Mrs. 
Eppingwell  and  Freda  were  to  interest 
themselves  in  the  welfare  of  the  un- 
known Flossie. 

Now,  Mrs.  Eppingwell  was  open  as  the 
day.  To  Sitka  Charley,  who  took  her 
once  past  the  Hills  of  Silence,  belongs  the 
glory  of  having  memorialized  her  clear- 
searching  eyes,  her  clear-ringing  voice, 
and  her  utter  downright  frankness.  Her 
lips  had  a  way  of  stiffening  to  command, 
and  she  was  used  to  coming  straight  to 
the  point.  Having  taken  Floyd  Vander- 
lip's  measurement,  she  did  not  dare  this 
with  him;  but  she  was  not  afraid  to  go 
down  into  the  town  to  Freda.  And  down 
she  went,  in  the  bright  light  of  day,  to 
the  house  of  the  dancer.  She  was  above 
silly  tongues,  as  was  her  husband,  the 
captain.  She  wished  to  see  this  woman 
and  to  speak  with  her,  nor  was  she  aware 
of  any  reason  why  she  should  not.  So 
she  stood  in  the  snow  at  the  Greek  girl's 
door,  with  the  frost  at  sixty  below,  and 
parleyed  with  the  waiting-maid  for  a  full 
five  minutes.  She  had  also  the  pleasure 
of  being  turned  away  from  that  door,  and 
of  going  back  up  the  hill,  wroth  at  heart 
for  the  indignity  which  had  been  put 
upon  her.    Who  was  this  woman  that  she 


Digitized  by 


Google        


''She  was  in  little  haste  to  begin." 


should  refuse  to  see  her?  she  asked  her- 
self. One  would  think  it  the  other  way 
round,  and  she  herself  but  a  dancing  girl 
denied  at  the  door  of  the  wife  of  a  cap- 
tain. As  it  was  ,  she  knew  that  had  Freda 
come  up  the  hill  to  her, — no  matter  what 
the  errand, — she  would  have  made  her 
welcome  at  her  fire,  and  they  would  have 
sat  there  as  two  women,  and  talked, 
merely  as  two  women.  She  had  over- 
stepped convention  and  lowered  herself, 
but  she  had  thought  it  different  with  the 
women  down  in  the  town.  And  she  was 
ashamed  that  she  had  laid  herself  open 
to  such  dishonor,  and  her  thoughts  of 
Freda  were  unkind. 

Not  that  Freda  deserved  this.  Mrs. 
Eppingwell  had  descended  to  meet  her 
who  was  without  caste,  while  she,  strong 
in  the  traditions  of  her  own  earlier  status, 
had  not  permitted  it.  She  could  worship 
such  a  woman,  and  she  would  have  asked 
no  greater  joy  than  to  have  had  her  into 
the  cabin  and  sat  with  her,  just  sat  with 
her  for  an  hour.  But  her  respect  for 
Mrs.  Eppingwell,  and  her  respect  for  her- 


self who  was  beyond  respect,  had  pre- 
vented her  doing  that  which  she  most 
desired.  Though  not  quite  recovered 
from  the  recent  visit  of  Mrs.  McFee,  the 
wife  of  the  minister,  who  had  descended 
upon  her  in  a  whirlwind  of  exhortation 
and  brimstone,  she  could  not  imagine 
what  had  prompted  the  present  visit 
She  was  not  aware  of  any  particular 
wrong  she  had  done,  and  surely  this 
woman  who  waited  at  the  door  was  not 
concerned  with  the  welfare  of  her  soul. 
Why  had  she  come?  For  all  the  curiosity 
she  could  not  help  but  feel,  she  steeled 
herself  in  the  pride  of  those  who  are 
without  pride,  and  trembled  in  the  inner 
room  like  a  maid  on  the  first  caress  of  a 
lover.  If  Mrs.  Eppingwell  suffered  going 
up  the  hill,  she  too,  suffered,  lying  face 
downward  on  the  bed,  dry-eyed,  dry- 
mouthed,  dumb. 

Mrs.  Eppingwell's  knowledge  of  human 
nature  was  great.  She  aimed  at  univer- 
sality. She  had  found  it  easy  to  step 
from  the  civilized  and  contemplate  things 
from    the    barbaric    aspect.      She    could 


Digitized  by 


Google 


The  Scorn  of  Woman. 


983 


ccmprehend  certain  primal  and  analogous 
cliaracteristics  in  a  hungry  wolf-dog  or  a 
starving  man,  and  predicate  lines  of 
action  to  be  pursued  by  either  under  like 
conditions.  To  her,  a  woman  was  a 
wonaan,  whether  garbed  In  the  royal 
purple  or  the  rags  of  the  gutter;  Freda 
was  a  woman.  She  would  not  have  been 
surprised  had  she  been  taken  into  the 
dancer's  cabin  and  encountered  on  cqpi- 
mon  ground;  nor  surprised  had  she  been 
taken  in  and  flaunted  in  prideless  arro- 
gance. But  to  be  treated  as  she  had 
been  treated,  was  unexpected  and  disap- 
pointing. Ergo,  she  had  not  caught 
Freda's  point  of  view.  And  this  was 
good.  There  are  some  points  of  view 
which  cannot  be  gained  save  through 
much  travail  and  personal  crucifixion, 
and  it  were  well  for  the  world  that 
Mrs.  Bppingwells  should,  in  certain  ways, 
fall  short  of  universality.  One  cannot 
understand  defilement  without  laying 
hands  on  pitch,  which  is  very  sticky, 
while  there  be  plenty  willing  to  under- 
Uike  the  experiment.  All  of  which  is  of 
small  concern,  beyond  the  fact  that  it 
gives  Mrs.  Eppingwell  ground  for  griev- 
ance, and  bred  for  her  a  greater  love  in 
the  Greek  girl's  heart. 

Ill 

And  in  this  way  things  went  along  for 
a  month — Mrs.  Eppingwell  striving  to 
withhold  the  man  from  the  Greek  dancer's 
blandishments,  against  the  time  of  Flos- 
sie's coming;  Flossie  lessening  the  miles 
ecch  day  on  the  dreary  trail;  Freda  pit- 
ting her  strength  against  the  model- 
woman;  the  model-woman  straining  her 
every  nerve  to  land  the  prize;  and  the 
man  moving  through  it  all  like  a  flying 
shuttle,  very  proud  of  himself  whom  he 
believed  to  be  Don  Juan  come  to  earth 
again. 

It  was  nobody's  fault,  except  the  man's, 
that  Loraine  Lisznayi  at  last  landed  him. 
The  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid  may  be 
too  wonderful  to  know,  but  the  way  of  a 
woman  with  a  man  passeth  all  concep- 
tion; whence  the  prophet  were  indeed 
unwise  who  would  dare  forecast  Floyd 
Vanderllp's  course  twenty-four  hours  in 
advance.  Perhaps  the  model-woman's  at- 
traction lay  in  that  to  the  eye  she  was  a 
handsome  animal;  perhaps  she  fascin- 
ated him  with  her  old-world  talk  of  pal- 


aces and  princes.  Leastwise  she  dazzled 
him  whose  life  had  been  worked  out  in 
uncultured  roughness,  and  he  at  last 
agreed  to  her  suggestion  of  a  run  down 
the  river  and  a  marriage  at  Forty  Mile. 
In  token  of  his  intention  he  bought  dogs 
from  Sitka  Charley, — more  than  one  sled 
is  necessary  when  a  woman  like  Loraine 
Lisznayi  takes  to  the  trail, — ^and  then 
went  up  the  creek  to  give  orders  for  the 
superintendence  of  his  Bonanza  mines 
during  his  absence. 

He  had  given  it  out,  rather-  vaguely, 
that  he  needed  the  animals  for  sledding 
lumber  from  the  mill  to  his  sluices,  and 
right  here  is  where  Sitka  Charley  demon- 
strated his  fitness.  He  agreed  to  furnish 
dogs  on  a  given  date,  but  no  sooner  had 
Floyd  Vanderlip  turned  his  toes  up-creek, 
than  Charley  hied  himself  away  in  great 
perturbation  to  Loraine  Lisznayi.  Did 
she  know  where  Mr.  Vanderlip  had  gone? 
He  had  agreed  to  supply  that  gentleman 
with  a  big  string  of  dogs  by  a  certain 
time,  but  that  shameless  one,  the  German 
trader,  Meyers,  had  been  buying  up  the 
brutes  and  skimped  the  market.  It  was 
very  necessary  he  should  see  Mr.  Vander- 
lip, because  of  the  shameless  one  he 
would  be  all  of  a  week  behind  hand  in 
filling  the  contract.  She  did  know  where 
he  had  gone?  Up  creek?  Good!  He 
would  strike  out  after  him  at  once  and 
fnform  him  of  the  unhappy  delay.  Did 
h*^  understand  her  to  say  that  Mr.  Van- 
derlip needed  the  dogs  on  Friday  night? 
that  he  must  have  them  by  that  time? 
It  was  too  bad,  but  it  was  the  fault  of 
the  shameless  one  who  had  bid  up  the 
prices.  They  had  jumped  fifty  dollars  per 
head,  and  should  he  buy  on  the  rising 
market  he  would  lose  by  the  contract. 
He  wondered  if  Mr.  Vanderlip  would  be 
willing  to  meet  the  advance.  She  knew 
he  would?  Being  Mr.  Vanderlip's  friend, 
she  would  even  meet  the  difference  her- 
self? And  he  was  to  say  nothing  about 
it  ?  She  was  kind  to  so  look  to  his  inter- 
ests. Friday  nieht.  did  she  say?  Good! 
The  dops  would  be  on  hand. 

An  hour  later.  Freda  knew  the  elope- 
ment was  to  be  nulled  off  on  Friday 
night:  also.  Floyd  Vanderlip  had  gone  up- 
creek  and  her  hands  were  tied.  On  Fri- 
day morning.  Devere^ux,  the  official  cour- 
ioi.  bearing  dispatches  for  the  Governor, 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


984 


Overland  Monthly 


airived  oyer  the  ice.  Besides  the  dis- 
patches, he  brought  news  of  Fiossie.  He 
has  passed  her  camp  at  Sixty  Mile; 
humans  and  dogs  were  in  good  condition; 
and  she  would  doubtless  be  in  on  the 
morrow.  Mrs.  Eppingwell  experienced  a 
great  relief  on  hearing  this;  Floyd  Van- 
derllp  was  safe  up-creek,  and  ere  the 
Greek  girl  could  again  lay  hands  upon 
him  his  bride  would  be  on  the  ground. 
But  that  afternoon  her  big  St.  Bernard, 
valiantly  defending  her  front  stoop,  was 
downed  by  a  foraging  party  of  trail- 
starved  Malemutes.  He  was  buried  be- 
neath the  hirsute  mass  for  about  thirty 
seconds,  when  rescued  ny  a  couple  of 
axes  and  as  many  men.  Had  he  remained 
down  two  minutes,  the  chances  were 
large  that  he  would  have  been  roughly 
apportioned  and  carried  away  in  the 
respective  bellies  of  the  attacking  party; 
but  as  it  was,  it  was  a  mere  case  of  neat 
and  expeditious  mangling.  Sitka  Charley 
came  to  repair  the  damages,  especially 
a  right  fore-paw  which  had  inadvertently 
been  left  a  fraction  of  a  second  too  long 
in  some  other  dog's  mouth.  As  he  put 
on  his  mittens  to  go,  the  talk  turned 
upon  Flossie  and  in  natural  sequence 
passed  on  to  the  " — er — ^horrid  woman." 
Sitka  Charley  remarked  incidentally  that 
she  intended  jumping  out  down  river  that 
night  with  Floyd  Vanderlip,  and  furthes 
ventured  the  information  that  accidents 
were  very  likely  at  that  time  of  year. 

So  Mrs.  Eppingweirs  thoughts  of  Freda 
were  unkinder  than  ever.  She  wrote  a 
note,  addressed  it  to  the  man  in  question, 
and  intrusted  it  to  a  messenger  who  laid 
in  wait  at  the  mouth  of  Bonanza  Creek. 
Another  man,  bearing  a  note  from  Freda, 
also  waited  at  that  strategic  point.  So 
it  happened  that  Floyd  Vanderlip,  riding 
his  sled  merrily  down  with  the  last  day- 
light, received  the  notes  together.  He 
tore  Freda's  across.  No,  ne  would  not  go 
to  see  her.  There  were  greater  things 
afoot  that  night.  Besides,  she  was  out  of 
the  running.  But  Mrs.  Eppingwell!  He 
would  observe  her  last  wish, — or  rather, 
— the  last  wish  it  would  be  possible  for 
him  to  observe, — and  meet  her  at  the 
Governor's  ball  to  hear  what  she  had  to 
say.  From  the  tone  of  the  writing  it 
was  evidently  important;  perhaps — he 
smiled   fondly,   but   failed  to   shape   the 


thought  Confound  it  all,  what  a  lucky 
fellow  he  was  with  the  women  anyway! 
Scattering  her  letter  to  the  frost,  he 
•'mushed"  the  dogs  Into  a  swinging  lope 
and  headed  for  his  cabin.  It  was  to  be  a 
masquerade,  and  he  had  to  dig  up  the 
costume  used  at  the  Opera  House  a 
couple  of  months  before.  Also,  he  had 
to  shave  and  to  eat.  Thus  it  was  that  he, 
alone  of  all  interested,  was  unaware  of 
B'lossie's  proximity. 

"Have  them  down  to  the  water-hole  off 
the  hospital,  at  mid-night,  sharp.  Don't 
fail  me,"  he  said  to  Sitka  Charley,  who 
dropped  in  with  the  advice  that  only  one 
dog  was  lacking  to  fill  the  bill,  and  that 
that  one  would  be  forthcoming  In  an  hour 
or  so.  "Here's  the  sack.  There's  the 
scales.  Weigh  out  your  own  dust,  and 
don't  bother  me.  I've  got  to  get  ready 
for  the  ball." 

Sitka  Charley  weighed  out  his  pay  and 
departed,  carrying  with  him  a  letter  to 
Loraine  Lisznayi,  the  contents  of  which 
he  correctly  imagined  to  refer  to  a  meet- 
ing at  the  water-hole  off  the  hospital,  at 
mid-night,  sharp. 

IV 
Twice  Freda  sent  messengers  up  to 
the  Barracks  where  the  dance  was  in 
full  swing,  and  as  often  they  came  back 
without  answers.  Then  she  did  what 
only  Freda  could  do — put  on  her  furs, 
masked  her  face,  and  went  up  herself  to 
the  Governor's  ball.  Now  there  hap- 
pened to  be  a  custom, — ^not  an  original 
one  by  any  means,--to  which  the  official 
clique  had  long  since  become  addicted. 
It  was  a  very  wise  custom,  for  it  fur- 
nished protection  to  the  womankind  of 
the  officials  and  gave  greater  select- 
ness  to  their  revels.  Whenever  a  mas- 
querade was  given,  a  committee  was 
chosen,  the  sole  function  of  which  was 
to  stand  by  the  door  and  peep  beneath 
each  and  every  mask.  Most  men  did  not 
clamor  to  be  placed  upon  this  committee, 
while  the  very  ones  who  least  desired  the 
honor  were  the  ones  whose  services  were 
most  required.  The  chaplain  was  not 
v/ell  enough  acquainted  with  the  faces 
and  places  of  the  townspeople  to  know 
whom  to  admit  and  whom  to  turn  away. 
In  like  condition  were  the  several  other 
worthy  gentlemen  who  would  have  asked 
nothing  better  than  to  so  serve.  To  fill 
Digitized  by  VjjOOQLC:^ 


The  Scorn  of  Woman. 


985 


the  coveted  place  Mrs.  McFee  would 
have  risked  her  chance  of  salvation,  and 
did,  one  night,  when  a  certain  trio  passed 
in  under  her  guns  and  muddled  things 
ccnsiderably  before  their  identity  was 
discovered.  Thereafter  only 'the  fit  were 
chosen,  and  very  ungracefully  did  they 
respond. 

On  this  particular  night  Prince  was  at 
the  door.  Pressure  had  been  brought 
to  bear,  and  he  had  not  yet  recovered 
from  amaze  at  his  having  consented  to 
undertake  a  task  which  bid  fair  to  lose 
him  half  his  friends,  merely  for  the  sake 
of  pleasing  the  other  half.  Three  or  four 
of  the  men  he  had  refused  were  men 
whom  he  had  known  on  creek  and  trail, — 
good  comrades,  but  not  exactly  eligible 
for  so  select  an  afTair.  He  was  canvass- 
ing the  expediency  of  resigning  the  post 
there  and  then,  when  a  woman  tripped 
in  under  the  light.  Freda!  He  could 
swear  it  by  the  furs,  did  not  he  know  that 
poise  of  the  head  so  well.  The  last  one 
to  expect  in  all  the  world,  ne  had  given 
her  better  judgment  than  to  thus  venture 
the  ignominy  of  refusal,  or,  If  she  passed, 
the  scorn  of  women.  He  shook  his  head, 
without  scrutinizing;  he  knew  her  too 
well  to  be  mistaken.  But  she  pressed 
closer.  She  lifted  the  black  silk  ribband 
and  as  quickly  lowered  it  again.  For  one 
flashing,  eternal  second  he  looked  upon 
her  face.  It  was  not  for  nothing,  the 
saying  which  had  arisen  in  the  country, 
that  Freda  played  with  men  as  a  child 
with  bubbles.  Not  a  word  was  spoken. 
Prince  stepped  aside,  and  a  few  moments 
later  might  have  been  seen  resigning, 
with  profuse  incoherence,  the  post  to 
which  he  had  been  unfaithful. 

A  woman,  flexible  of  form,  yet  rhyth- 
mic of  strength  in  every  movement,  now 
pausing  with  this  group,  now  scanning 
that,  urged  a  restless  and  devious  course 
among  the  revelers.  Men  recognized  the 
furs,  and  marveled — men  who  should 
have  served  upon  tne  door  committee; 
but  they  were  not  prone  to  speech.  Not 
so  with  the  women.  They  had  better 
eyes,  for  the  line  of  the  flgure  and  tricks 
of  carriage,  and  they  knew  this  form  to 
ba  one  with  which  they  were  unfamiliar; 
likewise  the  furs.  Mrs.  McFee  emerging 
from  the  supper-room  where  all  was  in 
readiness,  caught  one  flash  of  the  blazing. 


questioning  eyes  through  the  silken 
mask-slits,  and  received  a  start.  She 
tried  to  recollect  where  she  had  seen 
the  like,  and  a  vivid  picture  was  recalled 
of  a  certain  proud  and  rebellious  sinner 
whom  she  had  once  encountered  on  a 
fruitless  errand  for  the  hord. 

So  it  was  that  the  good  woman  took 
the  trail  in  hot  and  righteous  wrath, 
a  trail  which  brought  her  ultimately  into 
the  company  of  Mrs.  Eppingwell  and 
Floyd  Vanderlip.  Mrs.  Eppingwell  had 
just  found  the  opportunity  of  talking 
with  the  man.  She  had  determined,  now 
that  Flossie  was  so  near  at  hand,  to  pro- 
ceed directly  to  the  point,  and  an  incisive 
little  ethical  discourse  was  titillating  on 
the  end  of  her  tongue  when  the  couple 
became  three.  She  noted,  and  pleasur- 
ably,  the  faintly  foreign  accent  of  the 
"Beg  pardon"  with  which  the  furred 
woman  prefaced  and  excused  her  imme- 
diate appropriation  of  Floyd  Vanderlip; 
and  she  courteously  bowed  her  abdica- 
tion and  permission  for  them  to  draw 
a  little  apart. 

Then  it  was  that  Mrs.  McFee's  right- 
eous hand  descended,  and  accompanying 
it  in  its  descent  was  a  black  mask  torn 
fr('m  a  startled  woman.  A  wonderful 
face  and  brilliant  eyes  were  exposed 
to  the  well-bred  curiosity  of  those  who 
looked  that  way,  and  they  were  every- 
body. Floyd  Vanderlip  was  rather  con- 
fused. The  situation  demanded  instant 
action  on  the  part  of  a  man  who  was  not 
beyond  his  depths,  while  he  hardly  knew 
where  he  was.  He  stared  helplessly  about 
him.  Mrs.  Eppingwell  was  perplexed. 
She  could  not  comprehend.  An  expla- 
nation was  forthcoming,  somewhere,  and 
Mrs.  McFee  was  equal  to  it. 

"Mrs.  Eppingwell,"  and  her  Celtic 
voice  rose  shrilly,  "it  is  with  great  pleas- 
ure I  make  you  acquainted  with  Freda 
Moloof,  Miss  Freda  Moloof,  as  I  under- 
stand." 

Freda  involuntarily  turned.  With  her 
own  face  bared,  she  felt  as  in  a  dream, 
naked,  upon  her  turned  the  clothed  fea- 
tures and  gleaming  eyes  of  the  masked 
circle.  It  seemed,  almost,  as  though  a 
hungry  wolf-pack  girdled  her,  ready  to 
drag  her  down.  It  might  chance  that 
some  felt  pity  for  her,  she  thought,  and 
at   the   thought,   hardened.     Sbe   would 

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by  far  prefer  their  scorn.  Strong  of  heart 
was  she,  this  woman,  and  though  she 
had  hunted  the  prey  into  the  midst  of 
the  pack,  Mrs.  Eppingwell  or  no  Mrs. 
Eppin^^well,  she  could  not  forego  the  kill. 

But  here  Mrs.  Eppingwell  did  a  strange 
thing.  So  this,  at  last,  was  Freda,  she 
mused  to  herself,  the  dancer  and  the  de- 
stroyer of  men;  the  woman  from  whose 
door  she  had  been  turned.  And  she,  too, 
felt  the  imperious  creature's  nakedness 
as  though  it  were  her  own.  Perhaps  it 
was  this,  her  Saxon  disinclination  to 
meet  a  disadvantaged  foe,  perhaps,  for- 
sooth, that  it  might  give  her  greater 
strength  in  the  struggle  for  the  man, 
and  it  might  have  been  a  little  of  both; 
but  be  that  as  it  may,  she  did  do  this 
strange  thing.  When  Mrs.  McFee's  thin 
voice,  vibrant  with  malice,  had  raised, 
and  Freda  turned  involuntarily,  Mrs.  Ep- 
pinsw^ell  also  turned,  removed  her  mask, 
and  inclined  her  head  in  acknowledgment. 

It  was  another  flashing,  eternal  sec- 
ond, during  which  these  two  women  re- 
garded each  other.  The  one,  eyes  blazing, 
meteoric;  at  bay,  aggressive;  suffering 
in  advance  and  resenting  in  advance  the 
scorn  and  ridicule  and  insult  she  had 
thrown  herself  open  to;  a  beautiful,  burn- 
Ins*  bubbling,  lava  cone  of  flesh  and 
spirit  And  the  other,  calm-eyed,  cool- 
browed,  serene;  strong  in  her  own  integ- 
rity; with  faith  in  herself,  thoroughly  at 
ease;  diapaBsioned,  imperturbable;  a  fig- 
ure chiseled  from  some  cold  marble 
quarry.  Whatever  gulf  there  might  exist, 
she  recognized  it  not.  No  bridging,  no 
descending;  her  attitude  was  that  of  per- 
fect equality.  She  stood  tranquilly  on 
the  ground  of  their  common  womanhood. 
And  this  maddened  Freda.  Not  so,  had 
she  been  of  lesser  breed;  but  her  soul's 
plummet  knew  not  the  bottomless,  and 
she  could  follow  the  other  into  the  deeps 
of  her  deepest  depths,  and  read  her 
aright.  Why  do  you  not  draw  back  your 
garment's  hem?  she  was  fain  to  cry  out, 
aJl  in  that  flashing,  dazzling  second.  Spit 
upon  me,  revile  me,  and  it  were  greater 
mercy  than  this.  She  trembled.  Her  nos- 
trils distended  and  quivered.  But  she 
drew  herself  in  check,  returned  the  in- 
clination of  head,  and  turned  to  the 
man. 


"Come  with  me,  Floyd,"  she  said  simp- 
ly    **I  want  you  now." 

"What  the "  he  began  explosively, 

and  quit  as  suddenly,  discreet  enough  to 
not  round  it  off,  but  not  discreet  enough 
to  have  suppressed  it  in  the  first  place. 
Where  the  deuce  had  his  wits  gone,  any- 
way? Was  ever  a  man  more  foolishly 
placed?  He  gurgled  deep  down  in  his 
throat  and  high  up  in  the  roof  of  his 
mouth,  heaved  as  one  his  big  shoulders 
and  his  indecision,  and  glared  appealingly 
at  the  two  women. 

"I  beg  pardon,  just  a  moment,  but  may 
I  speak  first  with  Mr.  Vanderlip?"  Mrs. 
Epplngweirs  voice,  though  fiute-like  and 
low,  predicated  will  in  its  every  cadence. 

The  man  looked  his  gratitude.  He,  at 
least,  was  willing  enough. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  from  Freda.  "There 
isn't  time.  He  must  come  at  once." 
The  conventional  phrases  dropped  easily 
from  her  lips,  but  she  could  not  forbear 
to  smile  inwardly  at  their  inadequacy 
and  weakness.  She  would  much  rather 
heve  shrieked. 

"But  how  comes,  it.  Miss  Moloof  ?  Who 
are  you  that  you  may  possess  yourself 
of  Mr.  Vanderlip  and  command  his  ac- 
tions?" 

Whereupon  relief  brightened  his  face, 
and  the  man  beamed  his  approval. 
Tiust  Mrs.  Eppingwell  to  drag  him  clear. 
Freda  had  met  her  match  this  time. 

"I— I ".  Freda  hesitated,  and  then 

her  feminine  mind  putting  on  its  harness 
"and  who  are  you  to  ask  this  ques- 
tion?" 

"I?  I  am  Mrs.  Eppingwell,  and " 

"There!"  the  other  broke  in  sharply. 
"You  are  the  wife  of  a  captain,  who  is 
therefore  your  husband.  I  am  only  a 
dancing  girl.  What  do  you  want  with  this 
man?" 

"Such  unprecedented  behavior!"  Mrs. 
McFee  ruffled  herself  and  cleared  for 
action,  but  Mrs.  Eppingwell  shut  her 
mouth  with  a  look,  and  developed  a  new 
attack. 

"Since  Miss  Moloof  appears  to  hold 
claims  upon  you,  Mr.  Vanderlip,  and  is 
too  obdurate  to  grant  me  a  few  seconds 
of  your  time,  I  am  forced  to  appeal  direct- 
ly to  you.  May  I  speak  with  you,  alone, 
and  now?" 

Mrs.   McFee's   jaws   brought   together 


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with  a  snap.    That  settled  the  disgrace- 
ful situation. 

"Why,  er — ^that  is,  certainly/*  the  man 
stammered.  "Of  course,  of  course," 
growing  more  effusive  at  the  prospect  of 
deliverance. 

Men  are  only  gregarious  vertebrates, 
domesticated  and  evolved,  and  the 
chances  are  large  that  it  was  because  the 
Greek  girl  had  in  her  time  dealt  with 
wilder  masculine  beasts  of  the  human 
sort;  for  she  turned  upon  the  man  with 
hell's  tides  afiood  in  her  blazing  eyes, 
much  as  a  bespangled  lady  upon  a  lion 
which  has  suddenly  imbibed  the  perni- 
cious theory  that  he  is  a  free  agent.  The 
beast   in   him   fawned   at   the   lash. 

"That  is  to  say,  ah,  afterward.  To- 
morrow, Mrs.  Eppingwell;  yes,  to-mor- 
row. That  is  what  I  meant."  He  solaced 
himself  with  the  fact,  should  he  remain, 
that  more  embarrassment  awaited.  Also, 
ho  had  an  engagement  which  he  must 
keep  shortly,  down  by  the  water-hole  off 
the  hospital.  Ye  Gods !  he  had  never  given 
Freda  credit.     Wasn't  she  magnificent! 

"I'll  thank  you  for  my  mask,  Mrs.  Mc- 
Fee." 

That  lady,  for  the  nonce,  speechless, 
turned   over  the   article  in   question. 

"Good-night,  Miss  Moloof."  Mrs.  Ep- 
pingwell  was  royal,  even  in  defeat. 

Freda  reciprocated,  though  barely 
downing  the  impulse  to  clasp  the  other's 
knees  and  beg  forgiveness — no,  not  for- 
giveness, but  something,  she  knew  not 
what,  but  which  she  none  the  less  great- 
ly desired. 

The  man  was  for  her  taking  his  arm; 
tut  she  had  made  her  kill  in  the  midst 
of  the  pack,  and  that  which  led  kings 
to  drag  their  vanquished  at  the  chariot- 
tail,  led  her  toward  the  door  alone,  Floyd 
Vanderlip  close  at  heel  and  striving  to 
re-establish  his  mental  equilibrium. 

It  was  bitter  cold.  As  the  trail  wound, 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  brought  them  to  the 
dancer's  cabin,  by  which  time  her  moist 
breath  had  coated  her  face  frostily,  while 
his  had  massed  his  heavy  moustache  till 
the  conversation  was  painful.  By  the 
greenish  light  of  the  aurora  borealis,  the 
quicksilver  showed  itself  frozen  hard  in 
the  bulb  of  the  thermometer  which  hung 
outside  the  door.  A  thousand  dogs,  in 
pitiful     chorus,     wailed     their     ancient 


wrongs  and  claimed  mercy  from  the  un- 
heeding stars.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was 
raoving.  For  them  there  was  no  shelter 
from  the  cold,  no  shrewd  crawling  to 
leeward  in  snug  nooks.  The  frost  was 
everywhere,  and  they  lay  in  the  open, 
ever  and  anon  stretching  their  trail- 
stiffened  muscles  and  lifting  the  Ions- 
wolf-howl. 

They  did  not  talk  at  first,  the  man  and 
the  woman.  While  the  maid  helped 
Freda  off  with  her  wraps  Floyd  Vanderlip 
replenished  the  fire,  and  by  the  time  the 
maid  had  withdrawn  to  an  inner  rooni, 
his  head  over  the  stove,  he  was  busily 
thawing  out  his  burdened  upper  lip. 
After  that  he  rolled  a  cigarette  and 
watched  her  lazily  through  the  fragrant 
eddies.  She  stole  a  glance  at  the  clock. 
It  lacked  half  an  hour  of  midnight.  What 
was  his  mood  ?  What  mood  of  hers  could 
meet  his  best?  Not  that  she  doubted 
herself.  No,  no.  Hold  him  she  could, 
if  need  be  at  pistol  point,  till  Sitka  Char- 
ley's work  was  done,  and  Devereaux's, 
too. 

There  were  many  ways,  and  with  her 
knowledge  of  this,  her  contempt  for  the 
man  increased.  As  she  leaned  her  head 
on  her  hand,  a  fleeting  vision  of  her  own 
girlhood,  with  its  mournful  climateric 
and  tragic  ebb,  was  vouchsafed  her,  and 
for  the  moment  she  was  minded  to  read 
him  a  lesson  from  it.  God!  It  must  be 
less  than  human  brute  who  could  not  be 
held  by  such  a  tale,  told  as  she  could  tell 

it,  but ^bah!  he  was  not  worth  it,  nor 

worth  the  pain  to  her.  The  candle  was 
positioned  just  right,  and  even  as  she 
thought  of  these  things,  sacredly  shame- 
ful to  her,  he  was  pleasuring  in  the 
transparent  pinkiness  of  her  ear.  She 
noted  his  eye,  took  the  cue,  and  turned 
her  head  till  the  clean  profile  of  the  face 
was  presented.  Not  the  least  was  that 
profile  among  her  virtues.  She  could 
not  help  the  lines  upon  which  she  had 
been  builded,  and  they  were  very  good; 
but  she  had  long  since  learned  those  lines 
and  though  little  they  needed,  was  not 
aT)Ove  advantaging  them  to  the  best  of 
her  ability.  The  candle  Degan  to  flicker. 
She  could  not  do  anything  ungracefully, 
but  that  did  not  prevent  her  improving 
upon  nature  a  bit,  when  she  reached  forth 
and  deftly  snuffed  the  red  wick  from  the 


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midst  of  the  flame.  Again,  she  rested 
head  on  hand,  this  time  regarding  the 
man  thoughtfully.  Any  man  is  pleased 
when  thus  regarded  by  a  pretty  woman; 
Floyd  Vanderlip  was  any  man;  and  It 
happens  the  syllogism  is  lusty  enough  to 
stand    on   its   own   legs. 

She  was  in  little  haste  to  begin.     If 
dalliance  were  to  his  liking,  it  was  to 
hers.     To  him  it  was  very  comfortable, 
soothing    his    lungs    with    nicotine    and 
gazing  upon  her.    It  was  snug  and  warm 
here,  while  down  by  the  water-hole  be- 
gan   a   trail   which   he   would    soon    be 
hitting  through  the  chilly  hours.    He  felt 
he  ought  to  be  angry  with  Freda  for  the 
scene  she  had  created,  but  somehow  he 
didn't  feel  a  bit  wrathful.     Like  as  not 
there  wouldn't  have  been  any  scene  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  that  McFee  woman.    If 
he  were  the  Governor  he  would  put  a 
poll  tax  of  a  hundred  ounces  a  quarter 
upon  her  and  her  kind,  and  all  gossip 
sharks   and    sky   pilots.     And    certainly 
Freda  had  behaved  very  lady-like — ^held 
her  own  with  Mrs.  Eppingwell  besides. 
Never  gave  the  girl  credit  for  the  grit. 
He  looked  lingeringly  over  her,  coming 
back  now  and  again  to  the  eyes,  behind 
the  deep  earnestness  of  which  he  could 
not  guess  lay  concealed  a  deeper  sneer. 
And  Jove,  wasn't  she  well  put-up!    Won- 
der why  she  looked  at  him  so?    Did  she 
want  to  marry  him,  too?     Like  as  not. 
But  she  wasn't  the  only  one.    Her  looks 
were  in  her  favor,  weren't  they?     And 
young — ^younger  than   Loraine   Lisznayi. 
She  couldn't  be  more  than  twenty-three 
or  four,  twenty-five  at  most.     And  she'd 
never  get  stout.     Anybody  could  guess 
that  the  first  time.     He  couldn't  say  it 
ol  Loraine,  though.     She  certainly  had 
put  on  fiesh  since  the  days  she  served 
ae  model.    Huh!  Once  he  got  her  on  the 
trail  he'd  take  it  off.     Put  on  the  snow- 
shoes  to  break  ahead  of  the  dogs.    Never 
knew  it  to  fail  yet.     But  his  thoughts 
leaped   ahead   to  the   palace  under  the 
lazy  Mediterranean  sky — and  how  would 
I*  be  with  Loraine,  then?     No  frost,  no 
trail,  no  famine  now  and  again  to  cheer 
the  monotony,  and  she  getting  older  and 
piling  it  on  with  every  sunrise.     While 
this   girl    Freda — ^he    sighed    his   uncon- 
scious regret  that  he  had  missed  being 


born  under  the  fiag  of  the  Turk,  and  came 
beck  to  Alaska. 

"Well?"  Both  hands  of  the  clock 
pointed  perpendicularly  to  midnight,  and 
it  was  high  time  he  was  getting  down  to 
the  water-hole. 

"Oh!"  Freda  started,  and  she  did  it 
prettily,  delighting  him  as  his  fellows 
have  ever  been  delighted  by  their  woman- 
kind. When  a  man  is  made  to  believe 
that  a  woman,  looking  upon  him  thought- 
fully, has  lost  herself  in  meditation  over 
him,  that  man  needs  be  an  extremely 
cold-blooded  individual  in  order  to  trim 
his  sheets,  set  a  lookout,  and  stear  clear. 

"I  was  just  wondering  what  you  wanted 
to  see  me  about,"  he  explained,  drawing 
his  chair  up  to  hers  by  the  table. 

"Floyd,"  she  looked  him  steadily  in  the 
eyes.  "I  am  tired  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness. I  want  to  go  away.  I  can't  live  it 
out  here  till  the  river  breaks.  If  I  try 
I'll  die.  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  want  to  quit 
it  all  and  gcr  away,  and  I  want  to  do  it  at 
once." 

She  laid  her  hand  in  mute  appeal  upon 
the  back  of  his  (which  turned  over  and 
became  a  prison).  Another  one,  he 
thought,  just  throwing  herself  at  him. 
Guess  it  wouldn't  hurt  Loraine  to  cool 
her  feet  by  the  water-hole  a  little  longer. 

"Well?"  This  time  from  Freda,  but 
scftly  and  anxiously. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  he  hasten- 
ed to  answer,  adding  to  himself  that  it 
was  coming  along  quicker  than  he  had 
expected. 

"Nothing  I'd  like  better,  Freda,  you 
know  that  well  enough."  He  pressed  her 
hand,  palm  to  palm. 

She  nodded.  Could  she  wonder  that 
she  despised  the  breed? 

"But  you  see,  I — Fm  engaged.  Of 
course  you  know  that.  And  the  girl's 
coming  into  the  country  to  marry  me. 
Don't  know  what  was  up  with  me  when  I 
asked  her,  but  it  was  a  long  while  back 
and  I  was  all-fired  young." 

"I  want  to  go  away,  out  of  the  land, 
anywhere,"  she  went  on,  disregarding 
the  fable  obstacle  he  had  reared  up  and 
apologized  for.  "I  have  been  running 
over  the  men  I  know,  and  reached  the 
conclusion    that that " 

"I  was  the  likeliest  of  the  lot?" 

She  smiled  her  gratitude  for  his  having 


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saved  her  the  embarrassment  of  confes- 
sion. He  drew  her  head  against  his 
shoulder  with  the  free  hand  and  somehow 
the  scent  of  her  hair  got  into  his  nos- 
trils. Then  he  discovered  that  a  com- 
mon pulse  throbbed,  throbbed,  where 
their  palms  were  in  contact.  This  phe- 
nomenon is  easily  comprehensible  from 
a  physiological  standpoint,  but  to  the 
man  who  makes  the  discovery  for  the 
first  time,  it  is  a  most  wonderful  thing. 
Floyd  Vanderlip  had  caressed  more 
sbovel-handles  than  women's  hands  in 
his  time,  so  this  was  an  experience  quite 
new  and  delightfully  strange.  And  when 
Freda  turned  her  head  against  his 
shoulder,  her  hair  brushing  his  cheek 
till  his  eyes  met  hers,  full  and  at  close 
range,  luminously  soft,  aye,  and  tender — 
why,  whose  fault  was  it  that  he  lost  his 
grip  utterly?  False  to  Flossie,  why  not 
to  Loraine?  Even  if  the  woman  did  keep 
bothering  him,  that  was  no  reason  he 
should  make  up  his  mind  in  a  hurry. 
Why,  he  had  slathers  of  money,  and 
Freda  was  just  the  girl  to  grace  it.  A 
wife  she'd  make  him  for  other  men  to 
envy.  But  go  slow.  He  must  be  cau- 
tious. 

"You  don't  happen  to  care  for  palaces, 
do  you?"  he  asked  in  pursuance  thereof. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  I  had  a  hankering  after  them 
myself,  till  I  got  to  thinking,  a  while 
back,  and  I've  about  sized  it  up  that  one'd 
get  fat  living  in  palaces,  and  soft  and 
lazy." 

"Yes,  it's  nice  for  a  time,  but  you  soon 
grow  tired  of  it,  I  imagine,"  she  hastened 
to  reassure  him.  "The  world  is  good, 
but  life  should  be  many-sided.  Rough 
and  knock  about  for  awhile,  and  then 
rest  up  somewhere.  Off  to  the  South 
Seas  on  a  yacht,  then  a  nibble  of  Paris, 
a  winter  in  Soutn  America  and  a  summer 
in  Norway,  a  few  months  In  England " 

"Good  society?" 

"Most  certainly — ^the  best,  and  then 
heigho!  for  the  dogs  and  sleds  and  the 
Hudson  Bay  country.  Change,  you 
know.  A  strong  man  like  you,  full  of  vi- 
tality and  go,  could  not  possibly  stand 
a  palace  for  a  year.  It  is  all  very  well 
for  effeminate  men,  but  you  weren't 
made  for  such  a  life.  You  are  mascu- 
line, intensely  masculine." 


"Think  so?' 

"It  does  not  require  thinking.  I  know. 
Have  you  ever  noticed  that  it  was  easy 
to  make  women  care  for  you?" 

His  dubious  innocence  was  superb. 

"It  is  very  easy.  And  why?  Because 
you  are  masculine.  You  strike  the  deep- 
est chords  of  a  woman's  heart  You  are 
something  to  cling  to — ^big — ^muscled, 
strong  and  brave.  In  short,  you  are  a 
man." 

She  shot  a  glance  at  the  clock.  It  was 
half  after  the  hour.  She  had  given  a 
margin  of  thirty  minutes  to  Sitka  Char^ 
ley;  and  it  did  not  matter,  now,  when 
Devereaux  arrived.  Her  work  was  done. 
She  lifted  her  head,  laughed  her  genuine 
mirth,  slipped  her  hand  clear,  and  rising 
to  her  feet  called  the  maid. 

"Alice,  help  Mr.  Vanderlip  on  with  hi& 
parka.  His  mittens  are  on  the  sill  by 
the  stove." 

The  man  could  not  understand. 

"Let  me  thank  you  for  your  kindness, 
Floyd.  Your  time  was  invaluable  to  me, 
and  it  was  indeed  good  of  you.  The  turn- 
ing to  the  left,  as  you  leave  the  cabin, 
leads  the  quickest  to  the  waterhole. 
Good-night.    I  am  going  to  bed." 

Floyd  Vanderlip  employed  strong  lan- 
guage to  express  his  perplexity  and  dis- 
appointment. Alice  did  not  like  to  hear 
men  swear,  so  dropped  his  parka  on  the 
floor  and  tossed  his  mittens  on  top  of  it. 
Then  he  made  a  break  for  Freda,  and  she 
ruined  her  retreat  to  the  inner  room  by 
tripping  over  the  parka.  He  brought  her 
up  standing  with  a  rude  grip  on  the 
wrist.  But  she  only  laughed.  She  was 
not  afraid  of  men.  Had  they  not  wrought 
their  worst  with  her,  and  did  she  not  still 
endure? 

"Don't  be  rough,"  she  said  finally. 
"On  second  thought,"  here  she  looked  at 
his  detaining  hand,  "I've  decided  to  not 
go  to  bed  yet  awhile.  Do  sit  down  and 
be  comfortable  instead  of  ridiculous. 
Any  questions?" 

"Yes,  my  lady,  and  reckoning,  too.'* 
He  still  kept  his  hold.  "What  do  you 
know  about  the  water-hole?  What  did 
you  mean  by — no,  never  mind.  One  ques- 
tion at  a  time." 

"Oh,  nothing  much.  Sitka  Charley 
had  an  appointment  there  with  somebody 
you  may  know,  and  not  being  anxious 


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The  Scorn  of  Woman. 


991 


lor  a  man  of  your  known  charm  to  be 
present,  fell  back  upon  me  to  kindly 
help  him.  That's  all.  They're  off  now, 
and  a  good  half  hour  ago." 

"Where?  Down  river  and  without  me? 
And  he  an  Indian: 

"There's  no  accounting  for  taste,  you 
kuow,   especially   in   a  woman." 

"But  how  do  I  stand  in  this  deal? 
I've  lost  four  thousand  dollars  worth  of 
dcgs  and  a  tidy  bit  of  a  woman,  and  noth- 
ing to  show  for  it.  Except  you,"  he 
added  in  an  afterthought,  "and  cheap  you 
are  at  the  price." 

Freda  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"You  might  as  well  get  ready.  I'm 
going  out  to  borrow  a  couple  of  teams  of 
dogs,  and  we'll  start  in  as  many  hours." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  but  I'm  going  to  bed." 

"You'll  pack  if  you  know  what's  good 
for  you.  Go  to  bed  or  no  go  to  bed,  when 
I  get  my  dogs  outside,  so  help  me,  onto 
the  sled  you  go.  Mebbe  you  fooled  with 
me,  but  I'll  Just  see  your  blufC  and  take 
you  In  earnest.    Hear  me?" 

He  closed  on  her  wrist  till  it  hurt,  but 
on  her  lips  a  smile  was  growing,  and  she 
seemed  to  listen  intently  to  some  out- 
side sound.  There  was  a  jingle  of  dog 
bells,  and  a  man's  voice  crying,  "Haw!"' 
as  a  sled  took  the  turning  and  drew  up  at 
the  cabin. 

"Now  will  you  let  me  go  to  bed?" 

As  Freda  spoke  she  threw  open  the 
door.  Into  the  warm  room  rushed  the 
frost,  and  on  the  threshold,  garbed  in 
trail-worn  furs,  knee-deep  in  the  swirl- 
ing vapor,  against  a  background  of  flam- 
ing borealis,  a  woman  hesitated.  She 
removed  her  nose-strap,  and  stood  blink- 
ing blindly  in  the  white  candle-light. 
Floyd  Vanderlip  stumbled  forward. 

"Floyd!"  she  cried  and  met  him  with 
a  tired  bound. 

What  could  he  do  but  kiss  the  armful 
of  furs  and  flesh?  And  a  pretty  armful 
it  was,  nestling  against  him  wearily,  but 
happy. 

"It  was  good  of  you,"  spoke  the  arm- 
ful, "to  send  Mr.  Devereaux  with  fresh 
dogs  after  me,  else  I  would  not  have 
been  in  till  to-morrow." 

The  man  looked  blankly  across  at 
Freda,  then  the  light  breaking  in  upon 
him,  "and  wasn't  it  good  of  Devereaux 
to  go?" 

"Couldn't  wait  a  bit  longer,  could  you. 


dear?"     Flossie  snuggled  closer. 

"Well,  I  was  getting  sort  of  impatient," 
he  confessed  glibly,  at  the  same  time 
drawing  her  up  till  her  feet  left  the  floor, 
and  getting  outside  the  door. 

That  same  night  an  inexplicable  thing 
happened  to  the  Reverend  James  Brown, 
missionary,  who  lived  among  the  natives 
several  miles  down  the  Yukon,  and  saw 
to  it  that  the  trails  they  trod  led  to  the 
white  man's  paradise.  He  was  roused 
from  his  sleep  by  a  strange  Indian,  who 
gave  into  his  charge  not  only  the  soul 
but  the  body  of  a  woman,  and,  having 
done  this,  drove  quickly  away.  This 
woman  was  heavy,  and  handsome,  and 
saisry,  and  in  her  wrath  unclean  Words 
fell  from  her  mouth.  This  shocked  the 
worthy  man,  but  he  was  yet  young  and 
her  presence  would  have  been  pemici- 
cus  (in  the  simple  eyes  of  his  flock)  had 
she  not  struck  out  on  foot  for  Dawson 
with  the  flrst  gray  of  dawn. 

The  shock  to  Dawson  came  many  days 
later,  when  the  summer  had  come  and 
the  population  honored  a  certain  royal 
lady  at  Windsor  by  lining  the  Yukon's 
bank  and  watching  Sitka  Charley  rise 
up  with  flashing  paddle  and  drive  the 
fiist  canoe  across  the  line.  On  this  day 
of  the  races,  Mrs.  Eppingwell,  who  had 
learned  and  unlearned  numerous  things, 
saw  Freda  for  the  flrst  time  since  the 
night  of  the  ball.  "Publicly,  mind  you," 
as  Mrs.  McFee  expressed  it,  'without  re- 
gard or  respect  for  the  morals  of  the  com- 
munity," she  went  up  to  the  dancer  and 
held  out  her  hand.  At  flrst,  it  is  re- 
membered by  those  who  saw,  the  girl 
shrank  back,  then  words  passed  between 
the  two,  and  Freda,  great  Freda,  broke 
down  and  wept  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
Captain's  wife.  It  was  not  given  to  Daw- 
son to  know  why  Mrs.  Eppingwell  should 
crave  forgiveness  of  a  Greek  dancing 
girl,  but  she  did  it  publicly,  and  it  was 
unseemly. 

It  were  well  not  to  forget  Mrs.  McFee. 
She  took  a  cabin  passage  on  the  flrst 
steamer  going  out.  She  also  took  with 
her  a  theory  which  she  achieved  in  the 
silent  watches  of  the  long  dark  nights; 
it  is  her  conviction  that  the  Northland 
is  unregenerate  because  it  is  cold  there. 
Fear  of  hell-fire  cannot  be  bred  in  an  ice- 
box.    This  may  appear  dogmatic,  but  it 

is  worthy  of  speculation.  r^^^^^T^ 

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THEOSOPHY    AND    THEOSOPHISTS. 


BY    H.    S.    OLCOTf. 


H.  S.  Olcott. 


¥' 


HEN  a  society  has  had  an  un- 
broken career  of  a  quarter  of 
a  century,  and  at  the  end  of  that 
time  finds  its  prospects  as  good 
us  could  be  desired,  with  its  usefulness 
increasing,  and  its  members  devoted, 
there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  it  was 
bcm  at  the  right  time.  Such  is  the  situa- 
tion as  regards  the  Theosophical  Society, 
of  which  I  have  the  honor  to  be  the 
President-Founder.  The  society  cele- 
brated, in  December  last,  its  twenty-fifth 
anniversary,  and  from  the  official  re- 
port any  one  can  trace  the  history  of  the 
rise  and  spread  of  this  notable  sociologi- 
cal movement.  The  unpretentiousness  of 
its  beginnings  makes  all  the  more  strik- 
ing contrast  with  its  rapid  growth  and 
the  influence  it  has  exercised  upon  con- 
temporary literature  and  thought.  The 
formation    of   the    society   was    heralded 


with  no  parade  or  clamor.     No  celestial 
portends    appeared,    nor    did    the    earth 
show  by  seismatic  tremors  that  she  was 
giving  birth  to  another  great  evolution- 
ar3     agency.      There    was    just    an    im- 
promptu meeting  in  a  private  drawing- 
room  in  New  York  of  a  handful  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  to  listen  to  a  discourse 
on   the   Egyptian   Canon   of   Proportion, 
which  resolved  itself  finally  into  an  as- 
semblage  which   adopted   a   proposition 
to  form  a  society  for  specific  purposes — 
In  short,  that  known  as  the  Theosophical 
Society.    I  was  the  proposer  of  the  reso- 
lution, and  my  motive  was  the  following: 
At  that  time — 1875 — ^there  was  a  very 
much  more  decided  drift  of  the  mind  of 
the  educated  class  toward  atheism,  and 
religious  scepticism  of  a  variety  of  forms 
than    at    present.      The    intelligent    and 
broad-minded  class  of  the  day  were  under 
the    influence    of   the    newly    announced 
Darwinian   theory  of  evolution,   and   all 
the  old  theological  foundations  were  be- 
ing rudely  shaken.     Colonel   Robert  In- 
ge rsoU,  Mr.  Bradlaugh,  and  Mrs.  Besant 
were   triumphantly    battling    against   or- 
thodoxy; and  the  axes  of  Herbert  Spen- 
cer,   Huxley,    Tyndall,    Haeckel,    Renan, 
Bain,  and  the  other  leaders  of  the  army 
of  Progress,  were  being  laid  to  the  root 
of  the  tree  of  Dogma.     It  was  becoming 
as  fashionable  to  disbelieve  in  religion 
as  it  was  at  the  time  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, when  the  barber  boasted  that  he 
had  no  more  religion  than  his  lordship. 
Not  only  was  the  Church  in  danger,  but 
the  very  ground  upon  which  it  stood  w^as 
imperiled.    The  irruption  of  Modern  Spir- 
itualism had.   it  is  true,  done  much  to 
counteract    this    materialistic    tendency, 
but  still  it  lacked  organization.    Its  phe- 
nomena was  seldom  given  to  competent 
scientific   experts  under  test  conditions, 
and    its    philosophy   was   too   optimistic 
and  emotional  to  win  the  sympathies  of 
the  best  educated  class.     True,  we  must 


Digitized  by^^OO^  Lt^ 


Theosophy    and 

except  such  leading  men  of  science  as 
Professor  Robert  Hare,  Mr.  Crookes,  Mr. 
Alfred  R.  Wallace,  Proressor  Zollner,  of 
Leipsic,  Professor  Boutleroff,  of  Russia, 
Camilie  Flaminarion,  and  a  few  others. 
But  the  number  was  not  large  enough 
to  peisuade  the  great  body  of  their  con- 
temporaries, who,  being  indisposed  to 
take  tioubie  in  the  matter,  contented 
themselves  with  questioning  their  sanity. 
£t  occurred  to  me  that  a  society  of  an  im- 
dogmatic  and  eclectic  character  which 
could  win  the  sympathy  and  aid  of  the 
learned  men  of  the  East,  who  were  the 
custodians  of  the  ancient  classical  litera- 
ture, which  should  plant  itself  upon  the 
recognition  of  an  essential  human  broth- 
erhood, and  which  should  promote  scien- 
tific inquiries  into  the  nacure  of  human 
consciousness  and  the  origin  and  destiny 
of  man  and  things,  might  do  much  good 
to  the  friends  of  religion.  So,  as  above 
said,  I  proposed  at  the  meeting  in  ques- 
tion that  we  should  organize  ourselves 
irto  such  a  society.  The  idea  proved 
acceptable;  it  was  determined  to  form 
the  society;  I  was  chosen  temporary 
chairman,  and  a  committee  on  by-laws 
Vf&s  chosen.  In  due  course  of  time  the 
persons  interested  were  called  together, 
the  by-laws  adopted,  officers  chosen,  and 
on  the  17th  of  November,  1875,  I  deliv- 
ered my  first  Presidential  Address,  at 
Mott  Memorial  Hall,  New  York  City. 

When  the  first  enthusiasm  had  worn 
off,  the  movement  dragged,  a  good  many 
old  spiritualists,  who  had  joined  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  Madame  Blavatsky  make 
miracles  that  should  exceed  in  weird- 
ness  anything  that  they  were  accustomed 
to  see  in  the  seance-room,  were  disap- 
pointed and  dropped  out,  and  the  nucleus 
dwindled  to  a  mere  handful.  All  the 
while,  however,  Madame  Blavatsky  and  I 
carried  on  an  active  propaganda  and  pole- 
mic in  the  press  of  America  and  England, 
and  she  undertook  the  colossal  task  of 
writing  a  great  book,  in  two  volumes,  of 
about  700  pages  each,  in  which  the  evolu- 
tion of  modern  science  and  religion  was 
traced  back  to  their  source  in  the  occult 
schools  of  the  Orient.  She  called  it  "Isis 
Unveiled."  The  first  edition  was  ex- 
hausted within  ten  days;  it  at  once  be- 
came a  classic  and  its  popularity  has  been 
maintained  up  to  the  present  time.  Our 
press    articles    and    correspondence    re- 


Theo8ophi8t8..  993 

vealed  to  us  the  existence,  in  various 
English-speaking  countries,  of  many  per- 
sons who  were  deeply  interested  in  these 
branches  of  research,  especially  in  Lon- 
don, where  early  in  1878  our  first  branch 
was  organized  under  the  name  of  the 
"British  Theosophicai  Society."  Its  mem- 
bers were  all  well-educated  persons,  with 
whom  it  was  an  honor  and  privilege  to  be 
associated. 

In  1877  our  correspondence  with  India 
and  Ceylon  began,  and  a  desire  grew  up 
i?i  the  minds  of  Madame  Blavatsky  and 
myself  to  go  to  India  and  take  up  resi- 
ence  in,  what  to  all  students  of  Oriental 
philosophy  and  occult  science,  is  a  sort 
of  "Holy  Land."  By  the  end  of  1878 
things  had  so  shaped  themselves  that  we 
were  able  to  carry  out  this  scheme,  and 
by  the  beginning  of  February,  1879,  we 
had  installed  ourselves  at  Bombay.  Un- 
til then  no  white  man  had  come  forward 
as  the  ardent  champion  of  their  ancestral 
religion  and  philosophy,  so  that  when  it 
became  known  that  such  a  society  as 
ours  had  been  formed,  and  that  its  two 
chief  officers  had  come  to  India,  we  were 
thrust  into  a  troublesome  popularity 
which  forced  us  to  emerge  from  our  in- 
tended life  of  privacy  to  champion  our 
views  on  the  platform  and  in  the  press. 

After  a  time  the  second  branch  of  our 
Society  was  organized  at  Bombay,  and 
at  about  this  time  our  second  in  Europe, 
at  Corfu,  Ionian  Islands,  was  chartered. 
The  burden  of  correspondence  becoming 
at  last  insupportable,  we  founded  in  Octo- 
ber, 1879,  the  first  Theosophicai  maga- 
zine, the  Theosophist,  which  has  continu- 
ously appeared  up  to  the  present  time, 
and  is  now  in  its  22nd  volume. 

The  Buddhists  of  Ceylon,  excited  by 
our  arrival  at  Bombay,  invited  Madame 
Blavatsky  and  myself  to  go  to  the  Island 
and  allow  them  to  give  us  public  greet- 
ings. This  we  did  in  1880,  receiving 
everywhere  throughout  the  Maritime 
Provinces  popular  welcomes,  such  as  are 
usually  given  to  royalty  only.  Eight 
branches  of  the  Society  were  formed, 
and  in  my  public  addresses  I  laid  the 
foundation  for  an  eiucational  movement 
among  the  Buddhists,  which  has  been  so 
supported  that  at  the  present  date  more 
than  two  hundred  schools,  containing 
some  23,000  pupils  are  in  existence. 
These  have  all  been  founded  and  are  sup- 


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Theosophy    and    Theosophists.. 


995 


ported  by  the  Sinhalese  Buddhists,  and, 
of  course,  are  receiving  grant-in-aid  from 
the  Government  under  the  provisions  of 
the  Education  Code. 

The  same  blighting  influence  upon  the 
religious  spirit  of  the  educated  Sinha- 
lese prevailed  as  we  have  seen  spreading 
throughout  our  western  countries.  In 
going  from  village  to  village,  I  found,  on 
questioning  the  village  children,  that 
scarcely  any  of  them  knew  anything 
about  the  fundamental  basis  of  their  re- 
ligion; so  I  suggested  to  the  High-Priest 
Sumangala  and  other  priests  the  policy 
of  a  catechism  on  the  lines  of  those  used 
by  our  Christian  sects  for  the  instruction 
of  the  young.  But  I  was  met  everywhere 
with  the  objection  that  they  knew  noth- 
ing about  such  literary  work,  and  a  re- 
qrest  that  I  myself  should  undertake  the 
task.  So  in  1881  I  brought  out  the  first 
edition  of  the  "Buddhist  Catechism,"  a 
summary  digest  of  the  contents  of 
southern  Buddhism,  a  little  brochure 
which  could  be  read  through  in  a  couple 
of  hours,  but  which  cost  me  the  reading 
of  more  than  10,000  pages  of  Buddhist 
literature.  The  work  received  the  im- 
primatur of  Samangala,  and  it  was  pub- 
lished simultaneously  in  English  and  the 
vernacular  of  the  Islands.  So  rapidly 
did  it  win  popularity  that  two  presses 
were  kept  continuously  at  work  to  get 
out  edition  after  edition,  and,  in  point 
of  fact,  it  found  admission  into  nearly 
every  household.  Within  a  month  it 
was  admitted  in  Court  as  authority  to  de- 
cide a  question  as  to  the  provisions  of 
the  Buddhists  Canon.  It  was  translated 
into  a  number  of  European  languages  as 
well  as  those  of  the  Orient,  and  up  to  the 
present  time  has  appeared  in  about 
twenty  translations  and  reached  its  33rd 
edition.  Branches  of  our  Society  sprang 
up  throughout  India  and  also  in  Europe. 
The  movement  has  gone  on  unchecked, 
reaching  country  after  country,  as  is 
shown  in  the  following  memorandum, 
which  I  quote  from  the  twenty-flfth  an- 
nual address  of  the  President,  delivered 
before  the  annual  convention  of  the  So- 
ciety in  December  last: 

"The  Society  was  founded  at  New 
York,  U.  S.  A.,  in  1875.  and  its  member- 
ship has  spread  throughout  the  world 
as  follows: 

1875-1880:     England,     Greece,    Russia, 


India,  Ceylon,  Scotland. 

1880-1885:  United  States  of  America 
(charters  from  India),  Ireland,  Java, 
British  Borneo. 

1885-1890:  Sweden,  Japan,  Australian 
Continent,  Philippine  Islands,  Austria, 
Tasmania. 

1890-1895:  New  Zealand,  Holland,  Nor- 
way, Denmark,  Spain,  Germany,  Argen- 
tine Republic,  France,  Dominion  of 
Canada,  Hawaiian  Islands,  Bohemia,  Can- 
ary Islands,  Bulgaria,  China. 

1895-1900:  Switzerland,  Italy,  Belgium, 
South  Africa,  British  Columbia,  British 
West  Indies,  Nicaragua,  C.  A.,  Cuba,  Mex- 
ico, Egypt,  Finland,  Algeria. 

This  makes  in  all  42  countries.  The 
geographical  boundaries  of  the  move- 
ment are  as  follows:  From  Latitude  66  5 
N.  to  Latitude  46  S.,  and  all  around  the 
globe.  In  English  miles  the  distance  be- 
tween the  northern  and  southern  boun- 
daries is  7,919  miles." 

It  has  been  my  practice  to  append  to 
my  official  addresses,  among  other  official 
documents,  memorandum  giving  the  num- 
ber of  branch  charters  issued  from  the 
beginning  down  to  the  close  of  the  cur- 
rent year,  and  perhaps  I  can  offer  no  bet- 
ter indication  of  the  importance  of  the 
movement  than  by  citing  the  following 
statistics: 

Charters  issued  by  the  T.  S.  from  1878 
to  the  close  of  1900: 

1878.  1;  1879,  2;  1880,  10;  1881,  25; 
1882,  52;  1883,  95;  1884,  107;  1885,  124; 
1886,  136;  1887.  158;  1888,  179;  1889, 
206;  1890.  241;  1891,  279;  1892,  304;  1893, 
352;  1894,  394;  1895,  408;  1896.  428;  1897. 
492;  1898,  542;  1899,  570;  1900,  607. 

Deducting  lapsed  charters,  there  are, 
ot  the  present  time,  in  existence  more 
than  500  living  ones.  We  have  done  so 
little  towards  advertising  ourselves  and 
our  doings,  that  the  general  public  has 
scarcely  any  conception  of  what  the 
Society  has  actually  achieved  in  the  way 
of  practical  results.  From  the  first  we 
have  been  bandied  and  derided  by  ignor- 
ant writers  and  speakers,  and  treated 
with  contemptuous  patronage,  as  though 
we  were  a  party  of  mere  fanatics  and 
charlatans.  In  self-defense,  therefore.  I 
must  state  that  the  leaders  of  the  Society 
have  received  no  salaries,  and  some  of 
us  not  even  the  cost  of  our  daily  bread: 
nor  have   we   accepted  any  presents   of 


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996 


Overland  Monthly. 


money,  or  other  recompense,  for  our  own 
use — the  facts  giving  fiat  contradiction 
to  the  theory  that  we  have  been  working 
from  interested  motives.  I  think  we  have 
the  right  to  have  this  known,  and  also 
the  fact  that  we  have  outlived  all  oppos- 
ition, overcome  all  obstacles,  built  up 
in  an  incomparably  short  time,  a  socio- 
logical movement  of  the  first  rank,  which 
to-day  embraces  people  of  all  classes  and 
most  nationalities.  Long  since  we  passed 
the  stage  of  experiment,  and,  if  we  may 
Judge  from  present  appearances,  there 
Btretches  before  us  a  career  of  great  good 
fortune. 

Let  me  make  a  calm  and  dispassionate 
survey  of  what  the  Society  and  its  mem- 
bers have  accomplished  since  1880;  that 
is  to  say,  since  the  beginning  of  our  ac- 
tive operations,  after  the  transfer  of  our 
headquarters  to  India.  I  will  divide  it 
mto  seven  categories: 

Firstly,  then:  We  have  spread  through- 
out the  world  the  teachings  of  the  ancient 
Sages  and  Adepts  about  the  universe,  its 
origin  and  its  laws,  showing  its  intimate 
agreement  with  the  latest  discoveries  of 
Science;  and  about  man,  his  origin,  evo- 
lution, manifold  powers  and  aspects  of 
consciousness,  and  his  planes  of  activity. 

Secondly:  We  have  won  thousands  of 
the  most  cultured  and  religiously  in- 
clined people  of  the  day  to  the  percep- 
tion of  the  basic  unity  and  common 
source  of  all  religions. 

Thirdly:  In  loyalty  to  our  declared 
object  of  promoting  human  brotherhood, 
we  have  created  in  Western  lands  among 
our  members  a  kindlier  feeling  towards 
colleagues  of  other  nationalities;  and,  far 
more  wonderful  than  that,  we  have  ef- 
fected a  fraternal  agreement  between  the 
Northern  and  Southern  schools  of  Budd- 
hism to  accept  a  platform  of  fourteen 
statements  of  belief  as  common  to  both; 
thus  bringing  about  for  the  first  time 
in  history  such  a  feeling  of  common  re- 
lationship. 

Fourthly:  We  have  been  the  chief 
agents  in  bringing  about  this  revival 
of  Hinduism  in  India  which,  we  are  told, 
by  the  highest  Indian  authorities,  has 
revolutionized  the  beliefs  of  the  cul- 
tured class  and  the  rising  generation.  An 
outcome  of  this  is  the  revival  of  Sanskrit 
literature,  much  of  the  credit  for  which 
was  given  us  by  the  late  Professor  Max 


Miiller,  and,  so  far  as  India  is  concerned, 
has  been  conceded  by  the  whole  native 
press  and  the  pandit  class.  Another  evi- 
dence is  the  foundation  of  the  Central 
Hindu  College  at  Benares,  which,  within 
the  past  two  years,  has  received  gifts 
in  cash  of  140,000  rupees  and  in  real 
estate  of  80,000  rupees.  After  only  this 
short  time  we  see  success  achieved,  for 
the  College,  contributions  of  money  flow- 
ing in,  and  every  augury  of  a  grand  future 
career  of  beneficence  before  it. 

Fifthly:  We  have  revived  Buddhism 
in  Ceylon  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
situation  as  regards  the  relations  be- 
tween the  Sinhalese  and  Missionaries  has 
been  completely  changed;  the  people 
generally  are  now  familiar  with  the  fun- 
damentals of  their  religion,  and  their 
children,  previously  ignorant  of  even  the 
smallest  feature  of  it,  are  now  being 
taught  it  in  every  respectable  household. 

Sixthly:  We  have  started  an  educa- 
tional movement  in  Ceylon,  which  has 
already  led  to  the  opening  of  150  schools, 
attended  by  18,400  pupils,  under  the  man- 
agement of  our  Society  members  in  Cey- 
lon, and  some  fifty  other  Buddhist  schools 
under  private  management,  whose  pupils 
would  bring  up  the  above  registered 
attendance  to  about  twenty-four  thousand. 

Seventhly:  An  attempt  to  educate  and 
uplift  the  distressfully  down-trodden  Par- 
iahs of  Southern  India  is  promising  the 
most  gratifying  results.  Not  only  Miss 
S.  E.  Palmer,  B.  A.,  B.  Sc,  the  General 
Superintendent.  Mr.  P.  Krishnasawmy 
and  his  subordinate  teachers,  all 
Pariahs  themselves  by  caste,  deserve 
credit  for  this  showing.  Miss  Palmer  is 
a  graduate  of  Minnesota  University,  both 
in  Arts  and  Sciences,  as  her  titles  show 
and  had  had  an  experience  of  sixteen 
years  in  teaching  in  Minnesota  and  Cali- 
fornia when,  in  answer  to  my  appeal  for 
help,  she  offered  herself  most  generously 
to  work  with  me  for  the  Pariahs,  without 
salary.  On  arriving  at  Madras  she  set 
herself  to  work  to  learn  the  Tamil  vernac- 
ular, so  as  to  fit  herself  for  the  work,  and 
has  rendered  invaluable  services  to  the 
poor  community  whose  welfare  has  be- 
come so  very  dear  to  her. 

In  1886  I  opened,  with  appropriate 
ceremonies,  the  Adyar  I^ibrary,  which 
has  already  grown  into  two  sections;  one 
tor  Western  and  the  other  for  Oriental 


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Theosophy    and    Theosophists.. 


997 


The   Headquarters  in   India. 

literature.  The  latter  comprises  a  col- 
lection of  palmleaf  manuscripts  number- 
ing 4,000  volumes,  and  about  as  many 
more  printed  books  In  Sanskrit,  Siamese, 
Burmese,  Sinhalese,  Persian,  Arabic,  Chi- 
nese, Japanese,  and  Pali  languages. 
There  are  in  the  collection  more  than 
200  important  Sanskrit  works  which  are 
not  to  be  found  in  any  other  library  in 
the  world,  not  even  excepting  the  Brit- 
ish Museum,  the  French  National  Li- 
library  at  Paris,  or  the  Bodleian  at  Oxford 
These  have  cost  us  nothing,  but  are  worth 
much  money  from  a  commercial  point  of 
view.  Among  many  curios  in  this  section 
we  have  a  copy  of  what  is  called  "the 
smallest  book  in  the  world,"  a  little 
bound  volume  smaller  than  a  postage 
stamp,  containing  verses  from  the  Sacred 
Scriptures  of  the  Sikhs,  which  was  given 
me  by  the  custodian  of  the  Golden  Tem- 
ple, at  Amritsar;  and  three  religious 
paintings  on  single  grains  of  dry  rice, 
made  with  a  camel-hair  pencil  by  a  Jap- 
anese priest,  without  the  aid  of  a  magni- 
fying glass. 

Although,  as  above  stated,  the  growth 
of  our  Society  has  been  progressive  and 
uninterrupted,     we,     naturally     enough, 


when  one  considers  the  incongruous  ele- 
ments included  in  our  membership, — 
people  of  all  races,  colors,  and  creeds, — 
have  had  our  internal  frictions,  and  a 
genuine  secession  after  the  old  pattern, 
which  we  survivors  of  the  rebellion  knew 
so  well.  One  of  the  founders,  an  Irish- 
man named  Judge,  who  began  his  active 
work  eleven  years  after  the  Society's 
foundation,  but  who,  thenceforward,  was 
most  active,  intelligent,  and  devoted  in 
the  building  up  of  the  movement  in  the 
United  States,  conceived  the  unfortunate 
idea  of  making  himself  the  successor  of 
Madam  Blavatsky  in  the  department  of 
occult  science,  but  without  her  qualifica- 
tions. The  result  was  the  detection  of 
his  trickeries,  and  his  withdrawal  from 
the  Society,  in  view  of  the  prospect  of 
his  speedy  expulsion.  So  active  had  been 
fcis  labors,  so  practical  his  talent,  and  so 
genial  his  personality  that  he  drew  with 
him  90  out  of  the  102  branches  of  our 
Society  which  had  been  chartered  in  the 
United  States,  and  which  had,  as  mem- 
bers, some  of  our  most  respected  and  able 
colleagues.  The  seceders  took  possess- 
ion of  our  title,  records,  seal,  stationery, 
and  other  oflacial  property,  and  even  went 


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to  the  ridiculous  length  of  declaring  that 
the  Society  had  never  really  existed  out- 
side the  little  group  which  Madam  Bla- 
vatsky  and  I  left  behind  us  in  New  York 
on  leaving  for  India.  This,  despite  the  fact 
that  during  the  whole  time  every  charter 
and  diploma  had  oeen  issued  by  me;  that 
Mr.  Judge  had  accepted,  successively,  the 
offices    of    "General    Secretary"    in    our 


There  are  other  little  groups  which 
have  seceded  from  the  seceders;  natur- 
ally, since  the  elements  of  secession  were 
in  their  blood,  they  couldn't  expect  to 
remain  long  without  disruption.  Long 
before  their  day  there  had  been  a  little 
schism  caused  by  the  vain  giorious  prom- 
ises of  a  small  party  headed  by  an  Eng- 
lish convict  going  under  the  alias  of  Bur- 


Madame   H.   P.   Blavatsky. 

American  Section,  and  "Vice-President" 
of  the  Society,  and  had  throughout  acted 
as  an  official  of  a  perfectly  legal  and  con- 
stitutional body.  Poor  Judge  didn't  live 
to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  treason,  for 
about  a  year  later  he  died,  and  into  his 
vacant  shoes  stepped  a  woman  who  has 
for  some  time  past  been  figuring  as  the 
"Supreme  Head  of  the  Theosophical 
Movement    throughout    the    World." 


goyne,  to  show  a  short-cut  to  the  attain- 
ment of  divine  wisdom.  It  called  itself 
the  "Hermetic  Brotherhood  of  Luxor." 
But  this  did  not  make  even  a  ripple  upon 
the  surface  of  our  calm  waters.  The  sum 
total  of  all  the  little  splits  has  been  to 
leave  us  untouched,  our  strength  un- 
diminished, and  the  zeal  of  our  members 
as  warm  as  ever.  And,  so  we  face  the 
future  with  full  confidence. 


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GREATER    TEXAS 


BY    JOAQUIN    MILLER. 


¥EXAS  will  be  a  greater  surprise  to 
the  world  in  the  next  five  years 
than  Japan  has  been  in  the  past 
ten.  She  is,  ev«n  now,  a  wonder 
ful  surprise  to  all  who  pass  that  way. 
Texas  is  a  big  thing.  Texas  is  the  biggest 
and  the  best  thing,  at  this  hour,  under 
the  path  of  the  sun. 

Once  a  famous,  or  infamous,  man  said: 
"If  I  owned  Hell  and  Texas,  I  would 
rent  out  Texas  and  live  in  Hell."  May- 
l>e  this  great  man  acted  on  his  grand 
idea,  for  he  is  not  living  in  Texas  now. 
The  man  has  gone,  gone  far,  far  away, 
and  has  not  left  his  address  behind  him. 
Another  very  smart  man  from  Ohio  is 
reported  to  have  said  long  ago  in  the 
Senate  that  Texas  was,  perhaps,  a  very 
£:ood  country,  if  only  it  had  water  and  a 
little  good  society.  "But,"  added  this 
eminent  blackguard,  "the  same  thing 
might  be  said  of  Hell."  I  only  refer  to 
these  coarse  expressions,  in  line  with  so 
many  such,  to  show  what  this  brave, 
broad  land  had  to  endure  at  the  hands 
of  hard  and  cruel  politicians,  who  feared 
this  baby  Hercules,  even  as  he  lay  in 
blB  cradle. 

Texas  has  water  now.  It  has  more 
than  any  two  States  in  the  Union,  ex- 
cept Oregon  and  Washington.  As  for 
"good  society,"  this  may  not  be  measured 
as  you  measure  water,  but  if  churches, 
school-houses  and  the  best  public  build- 
ings in  the  United  States  mean  civili- 
zation, Texas  is  on  horseback  and  right 
at  the  head  of  the  procession.  It  may 
not  mean  much,  but  Texas  is  the  great- 
est church-going  State  in  which  I  ever 
attended  church.  Possibly  it  is  because 
they  have  no  great  diversions,  as  in  Mex- 
ico or  New  York,  but  I  should  say  that 
Texas  attends  church  because  "it  is  good 
to  be  there." 

First,  then,  of  material  things,  and 
about  water.  To  say  nothing  of  the  Sa- 
bine and  Rio  Grande  rivers,  that  flank 


Texas  right  and  left,  there  are  quite 
half  a  dozen  lesser  streams  flowing 
nearly  the  full  breadth  of  this  broadest 
of  all  the  States,  pouring  their  floods  for- 
ever into  the  sea.  Water  enough,  when 
Texas  cares  to  lay  strong  hands  on  them 
and  bridle  them  as  California  is  doing. 
But  Texas  thinks  she  can  do  better  by 
bringing  the  waters  up  from  below.  And 
this  the  newest  and  greatest  of  all  great 
r.ew  things  of  Greater  Texas.  Only  last 
year  did  this  punching  of  holes  down  into 
the  earth  become  general;  now  Texas 
is  getting  to  be  like  a  pin  cushion.  The 
King  Ranch,  of  more  than  a  million  acres, 
has  two  complete  outfits  boring  all  the 
time.  You  see  the  spouting  waters  flash- 
ing in  the  sun  a  few  miles  out  from 
Corpus  Christi,  on  the  gulf,  any  day, 
and  a  full  day's  ride  down  the  way  that 
General  Taylor  led  his  men  and  hauled 
water  for  his  thousands  of  horses  and 
mules  at  the  time  when  we  "expanded," 
away  back  in  the  morning,  aye,  before 
the  dawn  of  California.  Millions  on  mil- 
lions of  cattle  perished  here  of  thirst 
first  and  last,  but  such  things  will  never 
happen  any  more.  This  bringing  to  the 
surface  of  so  much  water  has  moistened 
the  air  and  made  the  "still,  small  rain" 
to  frequent  that  all  the  Houston  region, 
re-lnforced  by  this  added  moisture  in  the 
air,  has  opened  an  inaustry  that  pays 
best  of  all  things  that  grow,  better  than 
cotton;  fifty  dollars  to  the  acre,  profits 
on  rice,  men  say.  But  profit,  more  or  less, 
is  detail.  It  is  this  added  industry,  this 
feeding  of  the  world  at  our  own  doors 
and  keeping  the  cash  at  home  that 
counts.  Land,  of  course,  is  getting  away 
up  in  the  air,  but  is  not  nearly  so  high 
(IS  in  California,  and  as  there  are  mil- 
lions on  millions  of  idle  acres,  the  lift 
upward  is  ponderous  and  will,  of  course, 
he  not  in  great  haste.  The  capital  for 
the  rice  fields  is  from  California. 
And  here  is  something  newer  still.  The 


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Rio  Grande  coal  mines  are  towards  Mex- 
ico. I  clip  this  official  report  of  Jan.  17, 
as  to  the  kind  and  quality  of  the  coal: 

"The  coal  is  light  and  black  in  appear- 
ance, has  a  conchoidal  fracture,  and  for 
a  lignite  bears  transportation  well;  in 
fact,  as  well  as  the  black  coals  of  Indi- 


v/hich  it  closely  resembles,  both  in  ap- 
pearance and  in  combustion.  It  does  not 
roll  the  fingers  in  handling,  kindles  read- 
ily, and  makes  a  bright  and  cheerful  fire, 
being  very  high  in  volatile  matter. 

"Following  is  an  analysis  of  the  coal: 
Moisture,    2.50;     volatile    matter,    51.05; 


Rincon  de  Tio  Pancho  Well.     Mr.  Sam  Ragland  admiring  it. 


ana,  Ohio,  and  Pennsylvania.  It  does  not 
slack  by  exposure  to  the  weather,  and  but 
for  the  fact  that  it  is  met  in  the  creta- 
ceous strata,  would  be  mistaken  by  ex- 
perts for  a  carboniferous  deposit  of  the 
better  class  of  black  coals. 

"It  ought  to  be  classed  as  a  semi-cannel 


fixed  carbon,  39.10;  ash,  7.35;  total,  100; 
sulphur,  1.50. 

"The  mines  of  the  Rio  Grande  Coal 
Company  are  drift  openings,  situated  on 
the  Texas  front  of  the  river,  the  mouth 
of  the  drift  being  fifty  feet  above  the  bed 
of  the  stream." 


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Greater  Texas. 


1001 


Years  ago  1  went  to  that  region  to  look 
at  some  .land.  it  was  held  at  sixty-five 
cents  an  acre.  But  this  was  when  Texas 
T/as  oaiy  Texas,  and  was  used  malniy 
?is  a  background  by  "blood  and  thunder" 
writers  of  books.  They  point  out  a  station 
away  down  in  this  part  of  Texas  where 
fifteen  hundred  car-loads  of  water  melons 
were  shipped  last  year;  they  show  you 
miles  and  miles  of  green  fields  on  either 
side  as  you  bowl  away  from  the  gulf 
toward  the  Rio  Grande,  alfalfa  ana 
"green  truck,"  only  made  possible  by 
the  new  discovery  of  artesian  water  in 
such  generous  fiows.  Twelve  hundred 
car-loads  of  cabbages  from  Corpus  Christi 
alone.  But  besides  coal,  cabbage  and  cat- 
tle, here  is  the  newest  and  strangest  of 
all  things.  The  Rothschilds  will  have  to 
open  their  vaults  if  half  of  what  one 
hears  about  Texas  cinnabar  be  true. 
Here  is  the  Government  report,  half 
Greek  to  me: 

"The  deposits  are  located  in  Brew- 
ster county,  about  sixty-eight  miles  in  a 
direct  line,  southwest  from  the  station 
of  Marathon  on  the  Southern  Pacific 
Hallroad.  The  deposits  of  cinnabar  are 
found  in  massive  caprina  limestone  of 
the  cretaceous  formation  and  in  a.  si- 
liceous state  and  in  a  white  earthy, 
clay-like  rock;  also,  in  part,  in  a  true 
breccia  of  grayish  white  siliceous  shale, 
dense  and  compact,  embedded  and  cemen- 
ted in  a  red  and  chocolate  colored  fer- 
ruginous mass  also  dense  and  hard.  The 
cinnabar  is  more  generally  crystalline 
than  amorphous  and  is  found  in  distinct- 
ly separate  grains  and  small  but  bril- 
liant rhomboidal  crystals,  having  the  bril- 
liant red  color  characteristic  of  vermil- 
l!on.  In  addition  to  these  crystalline 
granules  which  occur  in  the  brecciated 
ehale,  and  in  the  more  massive  white 
rock,  there  are  amorphous  bunches  of 
cinnabar  found  in  the  shales  and  in  the 
limestone  and  breccia.  Mr.  H.  W.  Turner 
cf  the  United  States  geological  survey, 
visited  the  region  in  the  spring  of  1900 
and  at  that  time  a  considerable  amount 
of  development  work  had  been  done, 
and  the  ore  extracted  had  yielded  about 
1000  flasks  of  quicksilver." 

"It  never  rains,"  so  runs  the  old  saw. 
The  great  deluge  of  artesian  water  was 
hardly    discovered    when    the    wondrous 


Beaumont  oil  "gusher"  was  pouring  out 
dally  a  flood:  20,000  barrels  of  oil.  But 
as  all  the  world  went  there  to  see,  this 
on  industry  is  fairly  well-known  abroad 
as  well  as  at  home. 

However,  I  must  not  leave  the  impres- 
nion  that  all  the  active  artesian  wells 
are  entirely  new.  They  drove  three  wells 
in  Taylor  county  some  time  ago,  2,700 
feet  each,  and  up  out  of  ail  the  water 
poured  and  still  pours  with  great  force. 
One  of  these  furnishes  water  for  the  en- 
tire town  and  flows  in  quite  a  stream 
for  miles.  The  Texas  of  to-day  is  a 
land  of  water.  But  the  wonder  of  all 
these  new  things,  the  newest,  and,  per- 
haps, in  a  national  sense,  the  most  im- 
portant and  lasting,  is  a  flood  of  hot 
sulphur  water  foimd  by  accident  near 
the  asylum,  a  mile  south  of  San  Anto- 
nio. It  is  called  Hot  Wells.  The  water 
was  struck  more  than  2,000  feet  below, 
Rnd  boils  up,  away  up  sixty  feet  in  the 
air,  when  not  controlled,  and  all,  visitors 
e.nd  residents,  doctors  and  patients, 
seem  to  vie  with  one  another  in  prais- 
ing its  medicinal  qualities.  The  baths 
were  opened  only  a  few  months  back. 
A  stream  of  people  is  coming  and  going 
all  the  time.  The  water  is  leased  from 
the  State.  The  baths  are  very  incomplete 
as  yet.  A  company  is  building  an  im- 
mense hotel.  I  hesitate  to  report  all  of 
what  is  said  in  praise  of  this  hot  water 
that  boils  up  bigger  than  a  sluice  head, 
for  fear  of  being  misunderstood,  but  here 
is  a  paragraph  from  "one  having  author- 
ity"  on   this   theme   of   Greater   Texas: 

"I  have  been  stopping  for  the  past  ten 
days  at  the  Hot  Sulphur  Baths  with  a 
patient  I  brought  here  from  Chicago, 
stopping  en  route  at  Hot  Springs,  Arkan- 
ras.  I  am  interested  in  the  study  of  re- 
sorts of  this  character,  as  I  want  to  know 
where  to  send  my  patients,  where  the 
best  results  can  be  obtained.  I  have  in- 
vestigated and  am  familiar  with  the 
baths  of  Hot  Springs,  Ark.,  of  West  Ba- 
('.en,  Ind.,  of  Mt.  Clemens,  Mich.,  of  South 
Dakota,  and  of  Carlsbad,  Germany,  and 
from  my  personal  association  and  in- 
quiry among  guests  of  the  various  re- 
ports I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that 
the  results  accomplished  at  the  Hot  Sul- 
phur Baths  of  San  Antonio  far  surpass 
those  of  the  other  resorts  named — in  fact, 


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they  astonish   me   beyond   words   to  ex- 
press." 
Perhaps  the  next  newest  and  most  curi- 


mountains  of  New  Mexico  men  go  in 
bathing  in  these  warm  springs  every  day 
of  the  year.  So  this  warm  water  makes 
y/arm  soil,  and  such  things  as  melons, 
squashes,  fruits  of  all  sorts,  and  "garden 
truck"  can  be  grown  on  this  side  of  Texas 
weeks  before  we  can  hs&ve  them  in  Cali- 
fornia. The  apples  here  are  extraordin- 
ary; they  are  as  heavy  and  watery  as 
the  juicy  red  apples  of  Japan,  where  the 
little  women  water  their  fruit  trees  each 
day  by  pouring  water  on  the  roots.  There 
j<«  a  standing  otter  of  fifty  dollars  each 
every  year  at  the  Fair  for  worm  holes. 
Let  some  enterprising  Oregonian  or  Cali- 
fomian  bring  down  a  pocketful  of  worm- 
holes  into  Pecos  valley  and  make  a  for- 
tune selling  worm  holes  to  the  Fair, 
The  biggest  reservoir  for  irrigating  in 
the  world,  except  one  in  India,  is  here  at 
the  head  of  the  Pecos  River.  The  next 
biggest  town  at  Wichita,  Wichita 
Falls,  right  against  the  Indian  Territory, 
314  miles  west  of  Fort  Worth,  on  the  Fort 
Worth  and  Denver  road.  Wichita  county 
grows     more     wheat     than     any     other 


Geronimo,  before  civilization. 


ous  of  all  curious  artesian  wells  are  those 
of  Roswell,  not  strictly  in  Texas,  yet 
tributary  to  Texas,  and  against  the  south- 
ern wall  of  New  Mexico.  This  is  a  very 
new  country.  You  can  see  antelope  any 
day  on  the  rounded  hills,  and  you  are  told 
that  the  buffalo  held  this  place  last — died 
here  on  his  native  heath.  He  could 
not  retreat,  oeing  entirely  surrounded 
by  settlers  and  railroads.  A  great  big- 
hearted  man  of  fortune  has  a  buffalo 
ranch  not  far  from  here,  on  the  Texas 
Sride,  where  the  antediluvian  cow,  a  queer 
creature  of  ancient  days,  of  whatever 
date,  still  is  made  to  feel  at  home.  You 
read  now  and  then  that  the  buffalo 
crosses  with  cattle.  Not  so.  There  is 
a  calf  sometimes,  but  sexless  as  a  mule. 
What  would  you  think  of  a  thousand 
acre  cantaloupe  patch?  Here  there  are 
plenty  of  •  such  things.  Men  expect  to 
ship  several  car-loads  a  day  to  the  north. 
This  can  be  done  to  great  profit,  because 
the  artesian  water  all  along  the  line 
of  the  Pecos  valley  is  warm,  as  warm  as 
milk.     Right  here  in  sight  of  the  snow 


Geronimo,  after  civilization. 

county  in  Texas.  The  irrigation  dam  now 
being  constructed   is  six   miles  west  of 


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1003 


'  the  town  and  is  one  and  a  half  miles  long. 
When  filled  it  will  cover  2,500  acres  of 

^  land.  It  is  being  constructed  by  I.  H. 
Kempner,  of  Galveston,  and  H.  M.  Sayles, 

:  of  Abiline;  and  the  contractor  is  Mr.  A. 
H.  Johnson,  once  foreman  for  Lucky 
Baldwin  in  California.  Ten  thousand 
acres  of  land  will  be  put  under  irriga- 
tion from  this  reservoir,  and  planted  to 
cotton.     The  Indian  is  only  across  the 

-  river,  but  he  is  quiet.     The  last  of  the 
'    once   dreaded   Comanches   are   as   close 

-  to  their  old-time  empire  as  they  can  get, 

-  is  if  they  crossed  the  Red  River,  still 
looking  back,  like  the  Moor  of  the  Alham- 
bra.    The  chief  is  half  white.    The  story 

'  of  his  mother  is  pitiful.  Taken  prisoner 
when  a  child,  the  chief  of  the  Comanches, 
in  the  course  of  time,  made  her  his  wife. 
In  the  last  great  fight  the  chief  and  Cap- 
tain Ross,  afterwards  Governor  of  Texas, 
met  in  hand  to  hand  fight;  the  chief  fell 
and  his  white  wife  and  her  boy,  the  pres- 
ent chief,  were  taken  home  to  her  people. 
She  pined  away,  and  said  she  would  not 
stay.  Taking  her  boy  she  stole  away  at 
night  and  Joined  the  Comanches,  where 
i^he  lived  and  died,  leaving  her  son  still 
chief  of  the  savages.  He  has  a  fine  house, 
but  prefers  to  sleep  out  on  the  grass  un- 
der the  trees.  The  once  terrible  Geron- 
imo  is  his  close  friend.  He  is  bound  for 
Geronimo's  good  behavior.  The  great 
Apache  savage,  who  will  live  in  story 
while  Miles,  Crook  and  King  live,  is  still 
a  savage.  The  other  day,  when  the  Co- 
manche chief  and  Geronimo  were  in  a 
pretty  town  named  after  the  Comanche 
chief,  a  certain  man  wished  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  Arizona  savage.  The  Co- 
manche chief  was  all  politeness,  but  the 
other  chief  turned  his  back  short  about, 
rtilf  as  a  post,  and  looked  steadily  the 
other  way.  He  is  not  a  bit  oent,  nor  does 
he  seem  broken  in  any  way.  He  is  a  fine 
figure  to  look  upon.  He  might  write 
a  book  or  lecture  on  scalps,  and  how  to 
raise  hair;  for  you  see  hair  is  about  the 
only  thing  you  can  trust  poor  Mr.  Lo  to 
even  attempt  to  raise.  The  Indian  has 
loo  many  dogs.  Long  ago  when  I  trav- 
eled through  a  certain  part  of  the  Union, 
X  found  that  nearly  every  man  had  a  pack 
cf   dogs.     I  read  these  honest  but  mis- 

taken  people  a  short  lecture,  the  sub- 


stance of  which  was:  "Plough  up  your 
dogs  and  plant  turkeys." 

As  you  pass  on  from  the  line  of  the  In- 
dian Territory  toward  the  gulf,  you  come 
upon  classic  land,  sacred  to  story  and 
song  of  other  days.  At  La  Grange,  you 
t.ee  a  noble  shaft  in  the  Court  House 
square  to  the  memory  of  "The  black  bean 
men."  One  hundred  and  seventy  Texan 
prisoners  were  taken.  Santa  Ana  de- 
creed that  every  tenth  man  should  be 
shot  Who  were  the  tenth  men  was  to 
be  decided  by  putting  seventeen  black 
beans  in  a  gourd,  along  with  white  beans. 
The  men  being  blindfolded,  each  put  in 
bis  hand  and  drew  out  a  bean.  One  old 
man  with  a  family,  on  finding  he  had  a 
black  bean,  went  away  in  a  comer  with 
Ms  face  to  the  wall  and  wept  in  silence. 

"Look  here,"  said  a  boy,  "I  have  a 
white  bean.  Let's  swap,  i  have  no  fam- 
ily." They  swapped  beans.  The  boy  di§d 
with  a  smile  on  his  face. 

Of  course  you  have  heard  about  the 
miraculous  fields  of  cotton  throughout 
Texas.  "Millions  in  it,  miUions!"  as 
Mark  Twain  would  say.  I  have  no  time 
to  tell  you  here,  and  then  you  might  won- 
der what  in  the  world  Texas  is  going  to 
do  with  all  her  money.  I  don't  know, 
but  I  have  not  been  out  of  sight  of  a  new 
house  or  something  of  that  sort  for  two 
months'  travel  up  and  down  Texas,  ex- 
cept when  in  the  desert.  One  example 
of  cotton  growth  must  answer.  The 
county  of  Guadalupe  (look  out  for  the 
wolf)  has  a  tax  roll  of  only  about  five 
millions.  Tet  the  crop  alone  this  year 
is  about  six  million  dollars.  But  this  is 
the  banner  cotton  county,  as  Wichita  is 
the  banner  wheat  county.  At  Gonzales 
I  went  down  to  the  river  bank,  and  stood 
with  bared  head  where  old  Sam  Hous- 
ton had  rolled  his  cannon  into  the  river, 
great  General  that  he  was,  and  set  out 
en  his  Immortal  retreat  before  Santa  Ana. 
And  what  a  trap! 

Here  is  the  old  home  of  Jack  Hayes, 
our  first  sheriff  of  San  Francisco.  The 
banker  and  editor  took  me  out  to  Santa 
Ana's  mound.  We  had  a  gentle  old  man 
with  us  who  has  been  here  in  Gonzales 
ever  since  1828.  His  father  was  one  of 
those  who  fell  in  the  Alamo  with 
Crockett,  and  the  others  of  this  modern 
Thermopylae.      The    boy    was    with    his 


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Greater  Texas. 


1005 


mother  heie  when  Houston  burned  the 
town  ana  ordered  a  retreat  en  masse  to- 
ward New  Orleans.  But  after  the  first 
day's  retreat  the  boy  and  mother  went 
back  and  got  a  cow  and  a  calf,  the  cow 
waiting,  watching,  and  the  little  caif 
so  glad  to  see  them.  The  boy  put  his 
arms  about  the  calfs  neck.  Silly?  Well, 
some  one  choked  up  and  could  not  speak 
as  the  old  man  told  how  he  left  the  cow 
and  calf  with  his  mother  and  went  on 
Into  the  battle  of  San  Jacinto  by  the  side 
of  Sam  Houston.  But  this  is  ancient  his- 
tory. The  world  wants  to  know  of  new 
Texas,  rather  than  the  old.  Yet  Greater 
Texas  never  would  have  been  great  Texas 
but  for  these  little  things,  these  boys  of 
J^a  Grange  and  Gonzales. 

For  truly,  the  most  beautiful  and  the 
best  crop  in  this  prolific  land  re- 
mains unmentioned:  big  boy  babies,  and 
some  of  them  big  girl  babies,  too.  Their 
cheeks  are  as  the  rose  or  the  rising  sun; 
and  such  health,  such  quiet  manners! 
And  to  me  it  seems  strange  that  they  are 
not  dusky  or  tawny  from  the  fervid  sun. 
I  should  have  thought  they  would  at  least 
be  dark-haired.  Not  so.  Looking  over 
a  hallful,  a  thousand  boys  and  girls 
grathered  from  the  school-rooms,  is  like 
looking  over  a  field  of  ripening  grain. 
They  are  in  this  quite  like  the  boys  and 
g:irls  of  California,  but  they  are  more 
numerous  than  with  us,  it  seems  to  me; 
thicker  on  the  ground.  And  there  are 
people,  people!  The  cars  are  crowded, 
crowded  as  never  before.  Never  were 
nearly  so  many  people  in  Texas  as  to- 
day. Texas  has  just  now,  for  the  first 
time  in  all  her  stormy  history,  been  about 
half-discovered.  The  talk  is  of  new  rail- 
roads all  the  time,  all  along,  from  one 


end  of  the  vast  empire  to  the  other;  and 
t^ey  will  be  built.  At  this  very  hour  two 
big  railroad  promoters  are  in  San  An- 
tonio. Up  and  down  they  have  been  trav- 
eling, inspecting,  directing;  energetic 
George  Gould  at  the  head  of  the  T.  P., 
and  Presiaeat  nays  of  the  great  S.  P. 
Well,  ao  you  think  the  presence  of  these 
two  abiesi  builders  and  generators  here 
now,  along  with  the  unusual  rush  of  tour- 
ists, means  nothing?  Read  a  lot  between 
the  lines  here.  The  fact  is,  new  roads 
must  be  built  and  old  ones  reorganized; 
for  the  roads  are  not  strong  enough  or 
long  enough  or  broad  enough  to  handle 
the  tremendous  traffic.  Even  the  staid 
old  S.  P.  is  often  crowded  to  suffocation, 
and,  a  new  thing  for  this  solid  road,  she 
is  now  and  then  away  behind  time.  But 
the  question,  "Why?"  "Cannot  handle 
the  stuff  on  time."  Wells,  Fargo's  Ex- 
press seems  to  be  the  bother;  at  least 
I  am  told  that,  although  they  put  on  ex- 
tra cars,  they  cannot  get  the  goods  in 
and  out  of  the  cars  in  time.  People  are 
sending  so  many  things  by  express. 
You  see,  Texas  sold,  during  the  past 
lew  months,  about  one  hundred  million 
dollars  worth  of  mules  and  horses,  and 
she  is  spending  her  money.  Texans,  like 
Oalifornians,  are  not  given  to  burying 
their  money  in  napkins. 

"That  train  there  has  been  side-tracked 

lor  days,"  said  a  railroad  man,  nodding 

"  through  the  window  as  we  dashed  past. 

"What's  her  freight?" 

"Furniture." 

"What  sort  of  furniture?" 

"Well,  planners,  and  little  things  like 
that,   I   s'pose." 

San  Antonio,  Texas. 


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YOSEMITE 


BY    IRVING   OUTCALT. 


A  shadowy  vale,  vrhere  many  fountains  meet; 
A  sunlit  vale,  where  airs  from  Heaven  are  sweet 

With  earthly  bloom ;  while  through  the  gloom  is  felt 
A  mighty  pulse's  slow,  majestic  beat. 

The  waters,  pour'd  from  many  a  distant  rill, 
Some  dreaming,  others  fierce  from  battle  still, 
Forget  themselves  in  this  unruffled  stream, 
And  soon  are  one  in  knowledge — one  in  will. 

The  self-same  Voice  that  rent  the  rock  asunder, 
Whose  echo  was  the  riven  mountain's  thunder, 

Now  whispers  in  the  pinetops,  and  distils 
Clear  harmony  throughout  the  realm  of  wonder. 

From  cliff  and  woodland  many  voices  start; 
They  mingle,  and  as  from  a  common  heart 

The  praise  ascends;  and  angels,  leaning,  hear 
A  spirit  singing  to  its  God  apart. 

Up  to  Half-Dome  the  happy  valley  sings; 
Thence  to  the  Light  the  chasten'd  anthem  rings; 

And  Heaven,  responsive,  on  the  mountain's  face,. 
Kindles  a  thousand  blessed  beckonings. 

The  granite  sentinels  stand  night  and  day. 
And  by  no  sign  to  mortals  would  betray 

The  beauties  that  they  guard.     The  skies  are  free : 
The  Angels  ever  find  an  open  way. 

We  hoped — then  fear'd — the  Heav'n  we  dimly  sought 
Was  that  low  sky,  of  earthy  vapors  wrought. 

That  spann'd  the  plain.    Ascend  this  mount     How  pure- 
How  far  away  is  Heav'n.     Hopes,  fears,  are  nought! 

Here  Mirror  Lake  yearns  for  the  mountain's  crest. 
Or  sighs  for  Heaven's  bluer,  deeper,  rest; 

Then  calms  herself, — and  lo,  the  peaks  and  skies, 
The  lights  and  shadows  all — are  in  her  breast! 

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Yosemite.  lOQT 

Behold  the  dawn !    The  peaks  are  all  agleam 
And  Half-Dome's  face  is  dusky  through  the  stream 

Of  light.     The  Lake?     Her  spirit  lingers  yet 
Among  the  shadowy  vistas  of  her  dream. 

The  weaver  brook  hath  caught  in  passing  by 
The  thousand-tinted  threads  of  earth  and  sky; 

And  by  his  wondrous  art  he  weaves  the  Veil, 
Pure  white,  that  streams  from  yonder  mountain  high! 

The  granite  cliff  ne'er  gave  Nevada  birth! 

A  summer  cloud,  she  wept  o'er  human  dearth. 

Till — ever  whiter  in  her  purity — 
She  gave  up  Heaven  for  her  love  of  earth. 

The  sun  has  left  the  valley.     Swiftly  turns 
The  shadow.     Yet  a  dying  glory  burns 

Long  on  Half-Dome ;  for  though  the  God  of  day 
Must  pass,  he  fondly  backward  looks,  and  yearns. 

Look!     From  the  crag  a  rosy  cloud  mounts  high. 
And  lights  the  deep  serene  of  evening  sky, — 
Warm-tinted,  like  a  dream  of  earthly  love. 
That  drifts  along  an  Angel's  reverie. 

To  shoulder  now  the  dusky  Sentinel 
Raises  the  silver-gleaming  shield  to  tell 

Diana's  coming;  and  all  sounds  are  blent 
In  echoes  of  the  -Huntress'  distant  shell. 

O'er  crag  and  seam  the  gentle  moonbeams  creep; 
The  ruin'd  mount  is  heal'd,  and,  sooth'd  to  sleep. 

Forgets  the  thousand  agonies,  in  dreams 
Of  fragrant  vales  where  silvery  waters  leap. 

Serene  El  Capitan !     Upon  thy  brow 

The  smiles  and  frowns  of  heav'n  have  rested.    Thou 

Art  chasten'd  and  thy  will  is  one  with  God's, 
The  ruins  at  thy  feet — what  are  they  now! 


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Making  Kava. 

LIFE    ON    THE    GILBERT    ISLANDS 


BY    ARTHUR    INKERSLEY. 


HWAY  down  in  the  Pacific  Ocean — 
so  far  to  the  westward  of  Hawaii 
that  Honolulu  is  called,  by  the  mas- 
ters of  sailing  vessels,  the  half- 
way house  between  San  Francisco  and 
tie  coral  reefs  I  am  about  to  describe — 
is  a  group  of  a  score  or  more  islands, 
sometimes  called  the  Kingsmills  or  Bish- 
ops, but  more  commonly  the  Gilberts, 
stretching  a  few  degrees  to  the  north 
and  south  of  the  equator.  The  principal 
ioland,  Butaritari,  is  in  latitude  30  deg. 
8  min.  north,  and  longitude  172  deg.  48 
min.  east.     It  is  shaped  like  an  isosceles 


triangle,  with  sides  about  fourteen  miles 
ill  length,  and  its  apex  to  the  south. 
The  southeastern  side  of  Butaritari  is  a 
cGutinuous  grove  of  cocoanut  and  pan- 
danus  trees,  with  some  undergrowth.  On 
the  two  other  sides  is  a  reef,  over  which, 
except  at  its  northwestern  end,  where 
there  is  a  small  inlet,  the  sea  constantly 
breaks. 

The  soil  of  the  Gilberts  is  but  a  few 
inches  deep,  and  is  made  up  of  vegetable 
mould  and  coral  sand,  through  which 
the  rain  water  percolates  till  it  reaches 
the  coral  rock  beneath.    The  trees  chiefly 


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Life  on  the  Gilbert  Islands. 


1009 


cultivated  are  cocoanut  and  pandanus, 
for  these  are  the  principal  sources  of 
vegetable  food,  and  the  former  also  yields 
copra,  the  only  export  of  the  Gilbert 
Islands.  Copra  is  the  flesh  of  the  cocoa- 
nut,  which,  after  being  cut  from  the  nut 
ana  dried  in  the  sun,  is  put  Into  sacks 
ind  conveyed  in  canoes  to  Butaritari, 
where  it  is  exchanged  with  the  traders 
for  merchandise.  Thence  vessels  char- 
tered in  the  Australian  colonies  carry 
it  to  Europe:  on  the  voyage  it  generally 
loses  four  or  five  per  cent  of  its  weight 
by  drying  and  from  the  depredations  of 
rats  and  cockroaches.  The  oil  is  ex- 
tracted by  crushing;  the  refuse,  which 
is  still  so  rich  that  it  burns  like  a  candle, 
being  compressed  into  cakes  and  sold  as 
feed  for  pigs  and  other  animals.  The 
shipments  of  copra  are  increasing  every 
yc-ar,  and  in  a  group  of  islands  where  the 
cocoanut  is  indigenous  and  requires  very 
little  labor  to  cultivate,  a  highly  remu- 
nerative trade  may  be  built  up  on  this 
one  product.  At  present  the  trade  is  en- 
tirely in  the  hands  of  the  Germans  and 
of  an  enterprising  Chinese  firm,  which 
has  its  head  office  in  Sydney,  N.  S.  W. 


Another  product  of  the  islands  is  taro, 
a  species  of  which  is  grown  with  great 
care  in  trenches  dug  round  the  lagoon. 
It  is  a  plant  somewhat  resembling  rhu- 
barb in  appearance,  but  very  much  larger 
in  size,  having  leaves  averaging  about 
five  feet  in  length,  while  the  stalk  some- 
times reaches  a  height  of  more  than 
twelve  feet.  Taro  is  to  South  Sea  Is- 
landeis  what  bread  is  to  Europeans,  and 
when  roasted  is  by  no  means  unpalatable. 
Besides  taro,  cocoanut  and  pandanus 
fruit,  the  natives  eat  almost  every  pro- 
duct of  the  sea,  from  the  whale  to  the 
sea-slug.  Great  quantities  of  fish  are 
token  in  weirs  on  the  coral  reefs,  and  tur- 
tles are  caught  on  the  beaches  during  the 
season:  shell-fish,  with  the  sea-slug, 
commonly  called  beche-de-mer,  are  ob- 
tained by  diving.  The  natives  of  the  South 
Sea  islands  are  fond  of  catching  fish 
by  exploding  submerged  charges  of  dy- 
namite, which  stun  the  fish  and  cause 
them  to  float  on  the  surface  of  the  water, 
so  that  they  are  easily  picked  -up.  Since 
the  annexation  of  the  Gilberts  by  Great 
Britain,  the  use  of  dynamite  has  been 
prohibited,  and  it  has  been  made  a  penal 


b 


A  descriptive  dance. 


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Overland   Monthly. 


i 


Warrior  in  armor  and  helmet. 

offense  for  any  trader  to  supply  the  na- 
tives with  it. 

The  natives  of  the  Gilberts  are  gener- 
ally darker  and  coarser  in  appearance 
than  those  of  other  islands  in  the  West- 
em  Pacific.  They  are  also  of  larger  and 
heavier  build,  some  of  the  chiefs  being 
very  corpulent.  This  is  somewhat  re- 
markable for  the  Gilberts  are  the  most 
barren  of  South  Sea  islands,  and  are,  be- 
sides, so  thickly  populated  that  the  pres- 
sure of  the  population  on  the  food  supply 
is  often  quite  severe.  The  average  height 
of  the  men  is  about  five  feet  ten  inches, 
and  the  women  are  proportionately  tall; 
but  in  intelligence  they  are  far  inferior 
to  the  natives  of  the  Society  Islands,  and 
other  groups  in  the  Pacific.  In  disposi- 
tion they  display  a  curious  mixture  of 
miserliness  and  wastefulness,  of  cruelty 
and  affection.  The  preaching  of  the 
missionaries  (who,  poor  as  is  the  opinion 
entertained  and  expressed  of  them  by 
most  travelers,  are  sometimes  sincere 
and  hard  working),  and  the  example  of 
white  traders  have  not  yet  brought  about 
any  radical  change  in  their  characters. 
A  curious  proof  of  their  yielding  temper- 


ament is  found  in  the  fact  that,  however 
much  an  islander  may  prize  his  gun,  his 
canoe  or  his  cocoanuts,  persistent  beg- 
gmg  will  cause  him  to  give  them  up  with- 
out payment.  A  more  creditable  trait 
is  their  strong  recognition  of  the  claims 
of  hospitality.  When  an  islander  is  at 
his  meal,  he  is  bound  to  ask  any  native 
who  may  pass  his  hut,  no  matter  how  bit- 
ter may  be  the  enmity  between  them,  to 
enter  and  eat  with  him.  While  the  meal 
is  in  progress,  hostilities  are  laid  aside. 
The  first  missionaries  who  visited  the 
Gilbert  Islands  were  those  of  the  Ameri- 
can Missionary  Society,  which  has  its 
headquarters  in  Boston,  Mass.  When  they 
arrived  about  twenty-five  years  ago,  they 
found  the  natives  addicted  to  cannibal- 
ism. Even  at  the  present  day  it  is  not 
unlikely  that  the  taste  for  human  flesh 
survives  among  the  natives  of  the  south- 
eily  islands  of  the  Gilbert  group,  but  they 
are  so  closely  watched  that  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  them  to  get  an  opportunity 
of  gratifying  their  desires.  In  the  last 
twenty  years  only  one  or  two  cases  of 
cannibalism  have  been  heard  of.  A  few 
years  ago  the  Roman  Catholics  establish- 
ed in  the  Gilbert  Islands  a  mission  under 


1 


In  gay  attire. 


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1011 


the  auspices  of  the  Society  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  of  Bourges,  in  France.  So  far  their 
labors  have  met  with  but  little  success, 
owing  to  the  king's  dislike  to  what  he 
terms  innovation.  Neither  Catholic  nor 
Protestant  missionaries  have  accom- 
plished much.  In  the  presence  of  the 
white  man,  the  islanders  express  an  en- 
thusiasm for  religion,  but  when  away 
by  themselves  tuey  teach  weird  dances 
and  incantations  to  their  children,  offer- 
ing as  their  excuse  the  necessity  of  re- 
lieving the  monotony  of  life  on  their 
coral  islands.  While  the  teachings  of 
the  missionaries  is  accepted  outwardly, 
the  native  heart  still  clii^gs  to  the  cus- 
toms practiced  and  beliefs  entertained 
tb  rough  by-gone  centuries. 

The  present  king  of  the  Gilberts  is 
Tlbureimoa,  who  succeeded  to  power 
about  eight  years  ago,  after  his  brother, 
Napatukia's  death.  The  Kingdom  over 
which  he  reigns  comprises  the  islands  of 
Butaritari  and  Makiu,  which  together 
contain  a  population  of  eighteen  hundred. 
His  revenue  is  derived  partly  from  the 
tax  of  one  hundred  dollars  per  annum 
upon  each  of  the  thirteen  traders  on  the 
two  islands,  and  partly  from  the  taxes 
levied  upon  his  own  subjects:  one  dollar 
on  each  man,  fifty  cents  on  each  woman, 
and  twenty-five  cents  on  each  child.  In 
former  days,  when  he  received  the  fines 


Policemen. 


Digging  tare. 

imposed  for  trifiing  ofCenses  against  his 
dignity  or  the  peace  of  his  subjects,  his 
total  revenues  reached  the  respectable 
sum  of  eight  thousand  dollars  per  an- 
num. But  since  the  British  annexation, 
these  have  been  diminished  by  more  than 
one-half,  for  the  head-tax  hitherto  paid 
has  been  abolished  altogether,  and  the 
fines  for  minor  offenses  committed  by  the 
natives  now  go  to  the  crown,  to  be  ex- 
pended upon  public  works.  But  the  king 
still  owns  a  good  deal  of  land,  from  which 
ho  derives  a  regular  income.  Tiburei- 
moa's  palace,  situated  on  the  beach  on 
the  south  side  of  tne  island,  is  a  large, 
balconied  house,  constructed  at  consid- 
erable expense  after  a  European  design. 
It  is  roofed  with  zinc,  but  still  remains 
unfurnished.  Close  by  are  the  barracks 
where  the  bodyguard  is  quartered.  The 
guard  consists  of  twenty  drilled  men  de- 
tailed from  each  village  in  turn;  they  are 
on  duty  for  a  week  at  a  time,  and,  though 
they  are  in  constant  attendance  upon 
the  king,  receive  no  pay. 

Tibureimoa's  table  Is  always  well-sup- 
plJed  with  the  choicest  fish  taken  by  his 
subjects  from  the  adjacent  sea;  and 
whenever  the  king  thinks  fit  to  do  so. 


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1012 


Overland   Monthly. 


he  serves  notice  upon  a  native  that  he 
wants  his  crop  of  cocoanuts,  and  it  is 
at  once  made  over  to  him.  Tibureimoa 
usually  takes  nis  meals  by  himself,  un- 
less he  has  a  visitor  to  whom  he  wishes 
to  show  hospitality.  He  sits  on  the 
ground  on  a  mat,  and  for  a  table-cloth 
the  leaves  of  trees  are  spread.  The  nu- 
merous attendants  having  placed  the  va- 
rious dishes  before  him  in  baskets  of 
leaves,  and  having  filled  cocoanuts  with 
fresh  and  salt  water,  seat  themselves 
round  him.  According  to  the  invariable 
custom  in  the  Soutn  Seas,  the  king  be- 


orders  for  the  construction  of  a  mole 
or  breakwater  at  Butaritari.  It  is  four- 
teen feet  wide,  eight  feet  above  high 
water  mark,  and  more  than  one  thou- 
sand feet  long.  The  work  was  accom- 
plished entirely  by  natives  undergoing 
punishment  for  various  offenses,  and  cost 
many  years  of  toil  and  pains,  for  the  la- 
borers had  to  transport  blocks  of  coral, 
of  which  it  is  built,  on  their  backs  from 
various  parts  of  the  island. 

On  the  mole  is  situated  the  "Moriapa," 
or  parliament  house,  where  trials  are 
held,  and  where  sits  the  council  of  old 


The  challenge  to  combat. 

gms  and  ends  his  meal  by  washing  his 
hands  and  rinsing  his  mouth.  Taking 
it  altogether  Tibureimoa  contrives  to 
lead  a  jolly  life,  and  one  that  is  wholly 
typical  of  his  race.  He  is  Christian  or 
hir-athen  as  may  best  suit  his  purpose,  and 
does  not  hesitate  to  swear  like  a  trooper, 
lie  like  a  politician,  or  pray  like  a  priest 
whenever  it  may  seem  to  be  to  his  inter- 
est to  do  so.  But,  though  he  is  jovial, 
Tibureimoa  is  by  no  means  idle,  being 
constantly  busy  about  something  or  an- 
other.    When  he  became  king,  he  gave 


men,  presided  over  by  the  king.  When  a 
subject  of  special  importance  is  to  be 
discussed,  all  the  chiefs  are  summoned 
to  attend.  The  council  is  called  the 
Kaiburi,  and  consists  of  one  high  chief, 
from  six  to  twelve  minor  chiefs,  a  masis- 
trate  and  a  scribe.  The  last  two  are  mod- 
em additions  to  a  very  old  institution. 

In  the  early  part  of  1892,  Tibureimoa 
came  to  San  Francisco,  his  intention  be- 
ing to  visit  the  President  at  Washing- 
ton, and  negotiate  with  him  for  a  treaty 
of  amity  and  commerce  between  the  Gil- 


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1013 


bert  Islands  and  the  United  States,  and 
for  the  establishment  of  a  protectorate 
over  his  kingdom.  Tibureimoa  wished 
to  prevent  foreign  aggression,  especially 
ou  the  part  of  Great  Britain  and  Ger- 
many, the  action  of  these  two  powers 
in  Samoa  having  made  him  apprehensive 
lest  his  own  people  should  be  forced  by 
them  to  become  their  subjects.  Tiburei- 
moa saw  the  sights  of  the  metropolis  of 
California,  rode  out  on  cable  or  electric 
cars  to  some  of  tne  suburbs,  but  never 
reached  the  National  Capital.    Being  very 


Royalist,  hoisted  the  Union  Jack  at  Bu- 
taritari,  and  placed  the  islands  under 
f.  British  protectorate.  In  1893,  H.M.S. 
Rapid  arrived,  bringing  Sir  John  Thurs- 
ton, High  Commissioner  for  the  Western 
Pacific,  under  whose  jurisdiction  the  Gil- 
bert group  had  been  placed.  The  High 
Commissioner's  headquarters  are  at  Fiji, 
but  he  paid  his  personal,  though  neces- 
sarily brief,  visit  to  the  Gilberts,  because 
he  wished  to  form  an  independent  opinion 
upon  the  general  condition  of  the  group. 
As  a  result  of  his  observations,  he  recom- 


Catamarans. 


corpulent  (he  weighed  nearly  three  hun- 
dred pounds)  and  having  lived  for  forty- 
five  years  continuously  under  the  equa- 
torial sun,  he  was  peculiarly  liable  to  pul- 
monary complaints.  In  less  than  six 
weeks  it  became  necessary  for  him  to 
abandon  the  idea  of  going  to  Washington 
and  to  return  to  his  island  home.  Though 
very  ill  when  he  left  San  Francisco,  he 
recovered  during  the  voyage,  and  reached 
Butaritari  safely  during  the  latter  part 
of  June.  In  July,  Captain  Ed.  H.  M.  Davis 
of  the  Royal  Navy,  commanding  H.M.S. 


mended  that  a  deputy  commissioner,  with 
the  powers  of  a  Governor  and  Chief 
Magistrate,  should  permanently  reside  in 
the  Gilberts.  The  name  of  the  present 
permanent  resident  is  C.  R.  Swalne,  by 
whom  all  matters  affecting  white  men 
are  tried. 

In  former  days  the  king  had  absolute 
control  over  the  lands  of  his  subjects, 
and  could  confiscate  them  for  certain 
offenses,  but  he  no  longer  possesses  this 
power.  The  boundaries  of  property  are 
marked  by  little  piles  of  coral,  and  the 


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1014 


Overland   Monthly. 


owners  grow  so  familiar  with  their  hold- 
ings that  they  know  every  tree  in  the 
dense  grove,  and  to  whom  it  belongs; 
not  infrequently  can  tell  at  once  by  the 
appearance  of  a  cocoanut  the  very  tree 
on  which  it  grew.  Gocoanuts  are  a  uni- 
versal medium  of  exchange,  their  value 
for  barter  in  all  the  islands  being  one 
cent  each,  or  one  hundred  to  the  dollar. 
The  cocoanut  tree  is  all  important  to  the 
islander;  it  supplies  him  with  meat,  drink 
and  clothing,  and  a  home  on  land,  and  a 
boat  on  sea.  The  cocoanut  is  eaten  green; 


vary  in  size  according  to  the  use  to  which 
they  are  applied.  Everything  employed 
in  their  construction  is  of  native  mana- 
facture,  and  in  workmanship  they  sarpaas 
all  the  canoes  of  the  South  Seas,  being 
built  of  pieces  of  wood  sewn  together  so 
neatly  with  cocoanut  fibre  that  it  is 
difficult  on  the  outside  to  see  the  Joints. 
All  the  fastenings  are  inside,  and  pass 
through  kants,  or  ridges,  wrought  on  the 
edges  -and  ends  of  the  boards  composing 
the  vessel.  Several  thwarts  are  usually 
laid  from  side  to  side,  and  are  securely 


Jack  fruit. 


also  dried,  reduced  to  a  paste  and  cooked. 
The  Juice  tapped  from  the  tree  makes 
*toddy,"  which  when  boiled  down,  fur- 
nishes sugar  of  a  highly  sweetening  qual- 
ity. From  the  trunk  of  the  tree  are 
fashioned  the  native's  canoe,  and  the 
walls  of  his  house,  while  its  bark  and 
leaves  supply  the  thatched  roof,  the  mats 
for  the  beds,  and  material  for  clothing. 
The  Gilbert  Islanders  take  great  pride 
in  their  canoes,  which  are  long,  narrow, 
and  very  sharp  at  stem  and  stern;  they 


lastened,  to  strengtnen  the  craft  and 
make  it  seaworthy.  The  ordinary  canoes 
are  about  thirty  feet  long,  and  are  decked 
all  over;  at  the  side  is  an  opening  of 
about  six  inches,  through  which  water 
may  be  bailed  out.  Both  stem  and  stem 
being  alike,  they  are  steered  by  a  paddle. 
As  they  are  not  more  than  fifteen  or 
eighteen  inches  broad,  they  have  outrig- 
gers, which  are  shaped  and  fitted  with 
great  ingenuity.  They  are  very  simply 
rigged,  having  only  one  mast,  and  a  tri- 


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1015 


angular  or  lanteen  sail,  mast  and  sail  be- 
ing moved  fore  or  aft  as  occasion  may 
require,  for  the  outrigger  must  always 
be  on  the  weather  side.  They  can  run 
before  the  wind  with  great  speed. 

The  Gilbert  Islanders  dispiay  less 
skill  in  the  construction  of  their  houses 
tnan  of  anything  else  belonging  to  them. 
They  congregate  in  villages,  but  there 
is  no  uniformity  in  the  size  of  their  dwel- 
lings, some  of  which  are  large  and  com- 
n>odious,  while  others  are  mere  hovels. 
The  frame  of  a  house  is  made  of  light 
sticks,  and  the  walls  and  roof  are  of  dry 
grass  firmly  knit  together.  The  door 
is  only  an  oblong  hole  at  either  end 
or  on  the  side;  no  light  enters  the  house 
except  at  this  opening,  and  though  such 
close  habitations  may  afCord  comfortable 
retreats  in  bad  weather,  they  seem  but 
ill-adapted  to  a  warm  climate.  They  are, 
however,  remarkably  clean,  their  floors 
being  covered  with  dry  grass,  over  which 
are  spread  mats  for  sitting  or  sleeping  up- 
on. The  only  furniture  is  a  camphor-wood 
chest  for  their  clothes,  tools,  and  other 
belongings. 

The  church  or  meeting  house  Is  a  build- 
ing one  hundred  feet  long  by  forty-eight 
wide,  and  is  constructed  entirely  of  na- 
tive material,  the  walls  and  roof  being 
of  dried  grass.  At  each  end  are  doors, 
the  southerly  one  being  used  only  for 
the  king  and  his  family,  and  a  flne  of 
five  dollars  being  imposed  on  any  unau- 
thorized native  who  dares  to  pass  through 
it.  The  interior  of  the  building  has  the 
appearance  of  having  been  left  unfin- 
ished, for  it  is  entirely  devoid  of  fur- 
niture, with  the  exception  of  an  enclo- 
sure in  the  center  for  the  king  and  his 
suite. 

The  king  invariably  attends  the  prin- 
cipal service  at  nine  o'clock,  on  Sunday, 
going  to  the  church  in  state,  preceded  by 
his  body-guards,  who  form  in  line  at  the 
door  and  present  arms  as  he  and  his 
suite  enter.  Not  until  Tibureimoa  and 
his  retinue  are  all  within  are  his  sub- 
jects permitted  to  go  inside.  When  all 
are  seated,  the  national  anthem,  which 
is  composed  to  the  tune  of  "God  Save 
the  Queen,"  is  sung.  There  is  no  regu- 
lar preacher,  but  the  old  men  get  up  and 
talk  whenever  the  spirit  moves  them. 
so  that  during  the  service,  which  usually 


Interior  of  house. 

lasts  two  hours,  several  persons  offer 
their  private  interpretations  of  Scripture, 
often  strangely  mixing  worldly  with  heav- 
enly things,  and  making  much  noise  and 
wild  gesticulations  to  arouse  the  interest 


r 


Canoe   under  sail. 


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1016 


Overland   Monthly. 


Making  tappa  cicth. 


of  the  audience.  As  there  are  no  benches 
each  native  brings  his  mat,  and  at  the 
evening  service  his  lantern  also,  for  if 
he  did  not,  the  church  would  be  in  dark- 
ness. Previous  to  the  British  annexation, 
the  attendance  at  these  services  was 
very  large,  for  a  fine  of  five  dollars,  pay- 
able in  cocoanuts  or  their  equivalent,  was 
imposed  on  every  absentee  of  either  sex. 
During  the  hours  of  service  the  police 
patrolled  the  village  and  its  outskirts, 
entering  the  houses,  taking  the  names 
of  any  found  therein  to  the  Chief.  The 
Chief  thereupon  summoned  the  absentees 
10  appear  before  the  king  next  morning, 
prepared  to  pay  the  fine.  Attendance  at 
divine  service  is  no  longer  enforced  In 
tnis  violent  and  arbitrary  manner. 

Each  village  is  governed  by  a  chief, 
who  in  turn  is  directly  accountable  to 
the  king  for  his  actions.  The  district  is 
patrolled  by  two  men,  appointed  by  the 
Chief,  who  receive  no  remuneration  what- 
ever, but  are  charged  with  the  duty  of 


maintaining  order  within  its  precincts. 
Almost  the  only  thing  they  do  is  to  par- 
ade through  the  village  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  sounding  the  reville  on 
a  native  shell-horn.  They  repeat  this 
hideous  noise  at  8:30  p.  m.,  and  any  na- 
tive found  out  of  doors  between  the  lat- 
ter hour  and  the  former  is  fined  five 
dollars  for  the  first  offense,  and  for  the 
recond  is  sentenced  to  hard  labor  as  well 
as  a  fine.  At  daybreak  on  an  ordinary 
working  day  a  third  of  the  men  in  a  vil- 
lage are  told  off  by  the  Chief  to  fish  in 
tne  lagoon,  and  to  gather  enough  taro 
to  last  a  day  or  two.  While  these  are  ab- 
sent others  are  preparing  an  oven,  and 
the  rest  may  be  carrying  thatch  or  en- 
gaged in  some  other  work,  but  most 
probably  are  either  smoking  or  sleeping. 
An  oven  is  made  by  building  a  fire  in  a 
hole  dug  in  the  ground  and  lined  with 
stones.  When  the  stones  are  hot  enough, 
the  dust  and  ashes  are  cleared  away, 
leaves   thrown   in,   and   the   food  to   be 


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Life  on  the  Gilbert  Islands. 


1017 


cooked  laid  on  them.  The  ordinary  bill  of 
fare  consists  of  fresh  or  dried  fish,  and 
poi-poi — a  native  pudding  of  taro  and  co- 
coanut,  which  is  more  agreeable  to  the 
ta£te  than  its  appearance  suggests.  On 
feast-days,  which  occur  often,  a  suck- 
ling pig  is  added  to  the  list  of  dishes. 
Neither  tea  nor  coffee  is  drunk,  but  a 
liquor  named  karafee  or  toddy.  It  is  the 
juice  of  the  cocoanut  tree,  from  which  it 
IS  drawn  daily  at  sunrise  and  sunset.  To 
obtain  it  the  natives  climb  up  the  tall 
trees,  and  while  extracting  it,  keep  up 
a  constant  yelling  to  let  those  below 
know  that  they  are  at  work.  The  sap 
when  fresh  is  a  harmless  and  delicious 
bever.ige,  but  after  it  has  been  kept  a 
day  or  two,  fermentation  sets  in,  and  it 
becomes  intoxicating.  Karafee  does  not. 
however,  fly  to  the  head,  but  a  man  who 
drinks  it  to  excess  loses  the  control  of  his 
legs.  However,  when  this  befalls  a  na- 
tive, he  has  sense  enough  to  remain  in 
doors,  and  show  his  face  to  no  one,  lor, 
if  his  Chief  should  ever  hear  of  it,  lie 
would  be  tried  and  sentenced  to  hard  la- 
bor and  a  heavy  fine.  In  former  days  a 
native   found  intoxicated   was  tied  to  a 


tree,  and  received  a  hundred  lashes,  the 
blood  fairly  streaming  down  his  back. 
Besides  this,  all  his  lands  were  confis- 
cated to  the  king  forever.  Since  Brit- 
ish <innexatlon,  a  trader  who  gives  or 
supplies,  directly  or  indirectly,  any  in- 
toxicating beverage  to  natives  or  persons 
not  of  European  descent,  is  liable  to  a 
fine  of  ten  pounds  sterling  for  the  first 
ofTe^ise  and  for  the  next  to  a  larger  fine 
Nvith  Imprisonment. 

The  Gilbert  Islanders  are  a  very  clean- 
ly race,  it  being  their  habit  to  bathe  sev- 
eral times  a  day.  The  women  anoint 
their  bodies  with  oil,  perfumed  with  wild 
fiowers,  but  tue  oil  is  often  rancid  and  far 
from  agreeable. 

The  children  of  both  sexes  up  to  five 
or  six  years  of  age  dispense  with  apparel 
altogether,  but  adults  ordinarily  wear  a 
primitive  garment  called  a  rere  or  lava 
lava,  made  of  leaves,  and  about  ten  in- 
ches in  length  for  a  man,  and  about 
twelve  for  a  woman.  On  Sundays  and 
feast  days  the  men  put  on  trousers  and 
white  shirts,  while  the  women  wear  print 
gowns  of  pretty  designs  and  very  decided 
colors.     The  king  and  the  heir  apparent 


Making  copra. 


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wear  frock  coats,  but  their  feet,  like 
those  of  their  attendants,  are  bare.  The 
ornaments  of  both  sexes  are  wreaths, 
necklaces  and  bracelets  of  shells,  bones 
and  beads.  Men  and  women  alike  have 
holes  bored  in  their  ears,  and  stretch 
them  until  they  are  large  enough  to  ad- 
mit a  finger;  bones,  pieces  of  cloth  or 
wood,  the  teeth  of  dogs  or  whales,  and 
tobacco  pipes  are  inserted  in  them.  Both 
men  and  women  are  inveterate  smokers, 
and  would  sooner  go  without  food  than 
give  up  their  pipes.  Many  of  the  island- 
ers, especially  those  of  rank,  are  tat- 
tooed from  the  middle  of  the  thigh  to 
above  the  hips;  the  women  having  the 
tattoo  marks,  and  these  but  slight  ones, 
on  their  arms  and  fingers  only.  Both 
sexes  have  remarkably  good  teeth,  which 
they  retain  to  an  advanced  age.  Women 
being  regarded  merely  as  cattle  or  any 
other  property,  the  matrimonial  knot 
is  easily  tied,  and  Just  as  easily  untie^l 
If  a  man  fancies  a  girl  he  sefzes  her  by 
the  hair  of  the  head,  wherever  she  may 
be,  despite  her  protestations,  and  drags 
her  away  to  his  home.  Her  resistance  is 
not  often  serious,  the  pretense  of  refusal 
being  due  to  the  coquettishness  inherent 
in  the  r.ex.  When  the  couple  reach  the 
house  of  the  groom,  a  wedding  feast  is 
furnished  forthwith,  to  which  all  the  Im 
mediate  friends  of  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom are  invited.  But  an  acceptance  of 
the  invitation  inplies  the  contribution  of 
seme  viands  to  the  entertainment.  Mat- 
rimony is  attended  by  no  further  cere- 
mony than  this.  When  a  husband  grows 
weary  of  his  wife,  he  simply  orders  her 
to  leave  him,  and  if  she  does  not  he  turns 
her  out  of  doors. 

The  population  of  the  little  kingdom 
is  decreasing,  for  the  rough  treatment 
that  a  mother  receives  at  her  accouche- 
ment, and  the  practice  of  plunging  the 
new-bom  infant  into  the  ocean,  tend  di- 
rectly to  discourage  large  families.  Yet 
mothers  display  much  affection  towards 


their  infants,  and  the  men  readily  tend 
and  amuse  them.  But  this  kindness  does 
not  extend  itself  to  the  aged,  who  must 
provide  for  their  own  wants  or  starve. 

Nor  does  their  treatment  of  the  sick 
show  much  gentleness.  The  patient  hav- 
ing been  carried  out  at  sunset,  and  placed 
on  a  mat  at  the  edge  of  the  sea,  the  na- 
tive "doctor"  marches  three  times  around 
him  waving  slowly  in  measure  with  his 
step  a  fiaming  brand  made  of  the  split 
bark  of  the  cocoanut  tree,  and  at  the 
same  time  chanting  in  a  low  tone.  This 
mummery  is  repeated  at  intervals  antil 
the  patient  recovers  or  is  happily  re- 
leased by  death  from  the  physician's  min- 
istrations. 

Little  regard  is  paid  to  the  old  while 
living,  but  no  sooner  has  the  spark  of 
life  quitted  the  body  than  the  neighbors 
rush  about  to  scrape  together  enough 
rice,  fish,  pol-poi,  and  other  native  deli- 
cacies to  furnish  a  funeral  feast.  The 
dead  body  is  neither  buried,  nor  cast 
mto  the  sea,  nor  burned,  but  is  pre- 
served as  an  object  of  ardent  veneration. 
During  the  night  it  lies  on  a  mat  in  the 
hut,  but  every  morning  It  is  carried  out 
into  the  open  air,  where  it  remains  until 
sunset,  being  then  taken  inaoors.  This 
goes  on  until  the  flesh  has  entirely  per- 
ished and  only  the  skeleton  remains. 
The  bones  are  then  stuck  up  in  cracks 
round  the  house,  and  like  imperial  Cae- 
sar's clay,  stop  holes  to  keep  the  wind 
away. 

The  islanders  fear  the  shades  of  the 
departed  more  than  any  living  person 
or  animal.  Those  who  wander  along  the 
beach  or  penetrate  the  thick  tropical 
darkness  at  night,  carry  rifles  with  them, 
and  when  asked  why  they  do  so,  answer 
'•ghosts."  To  their  minds  the  islands 
are  peopled  with  ghosts,  which,  though 
they  believe  them  to  be  the  spirits  of 
their  dead  friends  and  relatives,  fill  them 
with  terror. 


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THE     MAD     PATROL 


BY    LUCY    BAKER    JEROME. 


i 


" "  IMM Y  was  the  driver  of  the  patrol- 
wagon.  He  was  short,  and  fat,  and 
had  a  chubby,  freckled  face,  sur- 
rounded by  a  shock  of  rough,  red 
hair.  His  daily  duty  was  the  picking  up 
of  certain  objects,  in  different  localities, 
to  whom  he  was  directed  through  the  tele- 
phone, and  the  subsequent  endeavor  to 
escort  them  safely  to  the  prison  tanks. 
Jimmy  was  used  to  picking  up  objects, 
and  rather  liked  the  business.  Some  of 
the  older  offenders  against  the  law,  were 
accustomed  to  salute  Jimmy  on  his  fre- 


quent appearances  on  the  scene  of  ac- 
tion, with  sundry  ancient  and  savorless 
jokes,  to  which  pleasantries  Jimmy  re- 
plied with  a  broadly  humorous  smile, 
conveying  his  appreciation  of  the  situa- 
tion. To  the  loud-voiced  complaints  and 
revilings  of  the  less  philosophical  class, 
he  turned  a  stony  face,  and  a  deaf  ear. 
He  was  particular,  too,  about  the  degree 
and  quality  of  the  misdemeanor  commit- 
ted, and  relegated  the  unwilling  occu- 
pants of  the  van  to  their  proper  position, 
by   mysterious    and    unalterable    decrees 


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of  his  own.  In  addition  to  these  char- 
acteristics, he  possessed  the  fighting  grit 
of  a  buii-terrior,  as  Mulligan,  the  police- 
officer  of  the  Eleventh  Ward,  had  cause 
to  remember.  About  the  time  that  Jimmy 
made  up  his  mind  to  the  necessity  of  be- 
coming driver  of  the  patrol  van.  Mulligan 
was  casting  covetous  eyes  in  the  same 
direction.  They  settled  it  one  night, 
in  a  convenient  blind  alley,  when  Mulli- 
gan was  ofC  duty,  and  after  a  short  but 
heated  argument,  Jimmy  had  emerged 
victorious.  After  this  event  Mulligan 
had  agreed  to  let  him  alone,  but  his 
smouldering  wrath  sought  in  vain  for 
an  opportunity  for  revenge.  When  re- 
quired by  the  exigencies  of  the  situation 
to  stand  on  the  footboard  of  the  prison 
vehicle  as  it  swayed  and  rocked  over  the 
cobblestones,  he  felt  his  unsatisfied  wrath 
becoming  distinctly  pugnacious  at  the 
sight  of  Jimmy's  broad  back  comfortably 
ensconsed  on  the  roomy  seat,  for  which 
he  secretly  longed.  On  this  particular 
occasion,  some  three  weeks  after  his 
defeat.  Mulligan  had  been  told  ofC  to 
handle  a  case  on  Sixth  street,  on  a  charge 
of  disturbing  the  peace,  and  Jimmy  hap- 
pening to  be  in  the  yard  at  the  time,  the 
two  men  started  together.  It  was  not  a 
long  distance,  but  the  crowd  in  the  vicin- 
ity would  have  been  discernible  for  a 
much  greater  one.  The  door  of  a  rough 
shanty,  one  of  several,  was  thrown  wide 
open,  and  as  the  officer  made  his  way 
through  the  mob  surrounding  it,  shrill 
curses,  mingled  with  wailings,  met  his 
ears. 

"Mag's  at  it  again,  officer,"  volunteered 
a  woman  who  stood  by,  a  baby  poised 
lightly  and  strongly  on  her  hip,  in  an 
unconsciously  striking  pose.  "They  say 
she's  done  for  the  old  villain  this  time." 

The  crowd  waited  breathlessly,  while 
the  policeman  entered.  Jimmy,  the  reins 
held  loosely  in  one  powerful  hand,  leaned 
unconcernedly  back,  and  waited,  too. 
Familiarity  with  these  scenes  had  blunted 
Jimmy's  sense  of  expectation.  There  was 
a  stir  and  movement  in  the  center  of  the 
throng,  as  the  officer  pushed  and  thrust 
his  way  toward  the  waiting  vehicle. 
Jimmy  caught  a  glimpse  of  whirling  rag- 
ged skirts,  of  two  bony  arms  shaken  wild- 
ly in  the  air,  and  heard  Mulligan's  grufC 
tones  as  he  slammed  the  door. 


"A  woman?"  he  called  back  to  the  offi- 
cer. 

*A  woman?  A  uger-cat,  1  should  say," 
answered  Mulligan,  indignantly,  adding 
in  a  lower  tone  to  those  about  him. 

"What's  her  name':" 

"McGrath,"  answered  a  dozen  voices. 

A  volley  of  objurgations  issuing  from 
the  interior  of  the  vehicle  caused  Jimmy 
to  whip  his  horses  to  a  lively  trot  Mulli- 
gan, in  the  rear,  holding  with  both  hands 
to  the  reeling  van,  felt  a  sudden  intui- 
tive thrill.  "McGrath!"  he  repeated 
aloud.  "To  be  sure.  'Tis  Jimmy's  own 
name,  and  that  she  devil  in  there  might 
be  a  relation." 

He  fairly  glowed  with  the  possibility 
of  the  thought.  He  tried  hard  to  recall 
what  Jimmy  had  told  him  of  his  early 
life,  before  their  relations  had  become 
as  strained  as  they  were  now.  He  re- 
membered that  Jimmy  had  said  that  he 
had  run  away  from  a  home  that  was  no 
home  about  five  years  ago,  and  that  he 
had  never  heard  from  It  since.  Jimmy 
had  admitted  vaguely  that  he  had  had 
parents,  and  that  there  had  been  lots 
of  kids,  "always  keepin'  a  feller  awake 
nights,"  he  had  said.  The  more  Mulligan 
thought  of  it,  the  stronger  his  conviction 
grew.  He  brought  his  hand  down  on 
the  brass  railing  with  an  emphatic  thump. 
"  'Tis  his  mother,  sure,"  he  muttered. 
"We'll  see  what  my  cock  o'  the  walk 
will  say  to  this?" 

He  wanted  very  much  to  arrive  at  the 
police  station.  He  pictured  the  scene  to 
himself.  To  a  mind  like  Mulligan's  there 
is  but  one  conceivable  happiness — the 
pleasure  of  witnessing  the  discomfiture 
of  others.  In  anticipation,  he  saw  the 
old  woman  descending  from  the  van, 
Jimmy  lounging  uninterestedly  near,  he 
saw  the  start,  the  recognition,  and  then — 
the  sudden  closing  of  the  prison  doors. 
Jimmy  had  been  fond  of  his  mother,  too, 
he  remembered.  He  recalled  the  remark 
that  Jimmy  had  made  on  the  occasion 
of  a  young  boy  being  sent  to  prison  for 
swearing  falsely  to  save  his  mother. 
"Right  or  wrong,"  Jimmy  had  said,  "I'll 
stand  by  the  ould  lady  Ivery  time.  She 
means  right  enough,  and  that  squares  her 
with  me."  Now,  Mulligan  saw  his  chance 
for  his  long  deferred  revenge.  In  his 
eagerness  he  leaned  forward. 


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"Can't  ye  drive  a  little  faster?"  he 
called. 

The  woman  in  the  van  was  now  very 
still.  At  the  moment  of  her  entrance  she 
had  sought  to  wreak  vengeance  on  Mulli- 
gan's stalwart  form,  but  finding  the  door 
closed,  and  Mulligan  on  the  outside,  she 
had  thrust  a  hand  through  the  opening 
in  the  front,  and  had  clutched  wildly  at 
Jimmy's  red  thatch  of  hair.    However,  as 


instant  till  the  flap  dropped,  but  Jimmy 
had  seen  as  the  prisoner  had  meant  that 
he  should  see,  and  she  was  apparently 
satisfied. 

"Hivens  above!"  groaned  Jimmy  on 
the  outside.  "  'Tls  the  ould  woman  her- 
self. Wonder  what  she's  in  fer,"  he 
thought,  abstractedly  voicing  the  words. 

"Fer  fighten'  the  ould  man,"  said  the 
well  remembered  voice  close  behind  him. 


^She   made   her  way  through   the   little  alleyway,   and   disappeared." 


soon  as  Jimmy  had  felt  the  tug  he  was 
immediately  released,  and  the  sudden 
silence  which  followed,  proved  to  Jimmy, 
well  versed  m  such  matters,  the  occur- 
rence of  the  unusual.  He  wondered,  but 
Inyolutarlly  quickened  his  horses'  pace. 
At  the  junction  of  Fourth  and  Market 
streets,  he  felt  a  light  tug  again.  He 
instinctively  turned,  and  saw  before  him, 
looking  directly  into  his  own,  the  face  of 
the  woman  in  the  van.     It  was  but  an 


Jimmy  turned  sympathetic  eyes  upon 
the  concealing  tarpaulin  cover. 

"Was  he  as  bad  as  iver,  mother?"  he 
asked. 

"Arrah,  Jimmy,  be  alsy.  Bad  isn't  the 
worrud.  'Tis  meself  had  all  of  it  a  body 
cud  stand.  Fifteen  years  whin  ye  were 
there  Jimmy,  an  five  afther  ye  left,  was 
too  much  fer  anny  dacent  body.  So  whin 
he  begun  agin  this  momin  I  jist  tapped 
him  on  the  head  wid  the  flre  shovel  an 


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left  him.     He  hadn't  got  up  yit,  when  1 
left!" 

She  glanced  quickly  at  the  closed  door, 
as  if  expecting  the  officer's  entrance  at 
any  moment,  and  placing  her  lips  close 
to  the  crack  in  the  tarpaulin  resumed 
hurriedly, 

"W'isht,  now  Jimmy,  its  niver  yerself 
wud  be  takin'  me  to  jail  now  is  it? 
Think  of  the  poor  childer  at  home  all 
lookin'  to  their  fine  big  brother  to  help 
thim  now." 

"Yis,  yis,"  assented  Jimmy  uncertainly, 
his  mind  in  a  whirl.  "Kape  still  now,  an 
let  me  think." 

He  had  five  minutes  in  which  to  lay 
his  plan  of  action.  He  could  see  the 
looming  towers  of  the  City  Hall  and  he 
knew  that  it  behooved  him  to  act  quickly. 
Suddenly  inspiration  came  to  his  aid. 

"Arrah  now  mother,"  he  whispered. 
'*If  the  cop  sees  us  we're  done  fer.  Keep 
still  now,  and  mind  yer  eye  whin  I  tell 
ye." 

At  the  corner  of  Eighth  and  Market 
Jimmy  began  to  drive  slowly:  so  slowly, 
in  fact,  that  the  impatient  officer  pro- 
tested. 

"See  here,  Jimmy!  We  haven't  got 
next  week  before  us.  Whip  up  lively, 
can't  ye?" 

Jimmy  relieved  himself  by  appropriate 
vociferations  at  the  surging  throng  of 
vehicles  and  foot  passengers,  which 
threatened  to  blockade  the  way,  but  the 
smile  on  his  genial  face  broadened,  and 
the  speed  of  his  vehicle  did  not  appreci- 
ably increase.  A  block  farther  on,  an 
itinerant  vendor's  stand,  occupied  by  a 
tall,  tattered  person  gesticulating  wildly, 
and  vehemently  haranguing  the  motley 
assemblage,  completely  blocked  the  way. 
Jinmiy  brought  his  team  to  a  sudden  halt. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  yelled  the 
officer.  "What's  the  matter  wid  ye  anny- 
how?    Drive  on,  can't  ye?" 

Jimmy  looked  around  the  corner  of  the 
van  and  looked  back.  He  looked  squarely 
into  Mulligan's  red  excited  face,  and 
noticed  that  he  held  by  one  hand  to  the 
railing,  and  that  one  foot  was  dangling 
in  the  air.  Jimmy's  smile  deepened  still 
further.  He  leaned  close  to  the  tar- 
paulin. 

"Hould  tight,  now,"he  whispered.  "  'Tis 
yer  last  chanst." 


The  lash  descended  with  lightning 
suddenness  on  the  broad  backs  of  the  sur- 
prised horses,  and  they  leaped  forward 
with  a  sickening  lurch  of  the  heavy 
vehicle.  Jimmy  heard  the  cries  and 
increasing  commotion  behind  him,  which 
told  him  that  his  improvised  plan  had 
been  so  far  successful,  and  applied  the 
lash  judicially,  to  both  straining  animals. 

"The  b'ye  ye  are,"  chuckled  a  voice 
exultantly,  in  his  ear.  "'Tis  yer  ould 
mother  is  proud  of  ye  this  day." 

Plunging,  and  galloping  unevenly  in  the 
traces,  the  horses  tore  through  the  panic- 
stricken  streets  at  a  rattling  pace.  People 
rushing  from  all  directions,  stood  aghast 
in  safe  places,  watching  for  the  disaster 
which  seemed  certain  to  occur.  Shops, 
big  and  little,  disgorged  their  customers, 
and  added  to  the  din  and  general  con- 


"The  lady!  may  she  live  a  thousand  years" 


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fusion.  Shopkeepeis  who  but  a  moment 
before  had  been  smoking  an  afternoon 
pipe,  and  mentally  calculating  their  gains, 
rushed  bare  headed  into  the  street,  ready 
to  exclaim  and  stare  with  the  rest,  but 
no  man  moved  to  arrest  the  threatened 
danger.  On  they  dashed,  just  grazing 
and  avoiding,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  collisions 
with  numberless  teams  and  equipages, 
whose  owners  looked  back  with  white 
frightened  faces  at  the  sound  of  the 
deafening  clatter  approaching  them  from 
behind.  Foot  passengers  scurried  out  of 
the  way  like  scared  rabbits,  and  through 
it  all,  Jimmy  sat  well  back  in  the  shadow, 
his  spirits,  always  mercurial,  risen  to 
fever  heat  at  the  signs  of  danger,  his 
hands  clenched  on  the  reins,  and  his  keen 
eyes  noting  the  pitfalls  ahead.  Urging 
the  horses  with  hand  and  voice,  the  City 
Hall  was  passed  like  a  flash,  and  still 
the  horses  swept  up  the  broad  spaces 
of  Market  street,  straight  on.  The  crowds 
were  lessening,  and  at  this  point  the 
street  was  comparatively  deserted.  Jim- 
my began  imperceptibly  to  lessen  speed. 
The  reins  were  taut,  now,  and  the  horses 
feeling  the  steady  pull,  instinctively  re- 
sponded. Jimmy  cast  a  hurried  glance 
around.  Only  a  solitary  pedestrian  was 
eyeing  the  van.  Jimmy  drove  on.  Op- 
posite the  entrance  to  a  narrow  side 
street,  he  pulled  up  hastily.  The  team 
stood  still  sweating  in  every  pore,  and 
Jimmy  turned  to  his  passenger. 

"Now,  mother!  Now's  yer  time,"  he 
said  quickly. 

The  look  of  intelligence  in  the  old 
woman's  face  was  not  belied  by  her 
actions.  She  slipped  from  the  van  like 
a  descending  shadow,  and  without  again 
turning,  made  her  way  through  the  little 
alleyway   and   disappeared. 

Jimmy  drawing  a  long  breath,  spoke 
gently  to  the  horses,  soothing  them  by 
word  and  touch.  Then  he  turned  the  team 
and  proceeded  slowly  to  retrace  his 
course.  Half  way  down  the  broad 
thoroughfare,  he  encountered  Mulligan. 
That  ofllcer's  face  was  red  and  excited, 
and  he  handled  his  club  in  a  way,  that  to 
Jimmy's  experienced  eye,  meant  mis- 
chief. 

He  walked  straight  up  to  Jimmy,  brand- 
ishing his  club. 


Mulligan 

**I  arrest  ye!  I  arrest  ye,  in  the  name  of 
the  law!"  he  roared. 

"What  fer?"  demanded  Jimmy  calmly. 

The  oflacer  hurried  around  to  the  back 
of  the  van,  and  looked  anxiously  inside. 

"She's   gone,"   he   ejaculated. 

"Gone!"  said  Jimmy  derisively.  "D'ye 
mane  to  tell  she  got  out  of  it,  with  them 
horses  runnin'  a  race  to  git  ahead  of 
thimselves?" 

The  oflacer  lifting  the  flap,  peered  again 
into  the  dark  recesses  of  the  van. 

"She's  gone  all  right,"  he  announced 
doggedly.  "I  arrest  ye  in  the  name  of 
the  law,"  he  reiterated  coming  around  to 

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glare  at  Jimmy,  cool,  and  apparently  un- 
concerned. 

"Wat  fer?"  asked  Jimmy  again. 
"Sure,"  he  continued,  fixing  the  glower- 
ing officer  with  an  impenitent  eye,  and 
a  withering  glance  of  scorn,  for  his  hope- 
less density,  "Couldn't  you  see  the  horses 
was  runnin'   away?"  he   demanded. 

"I  saw  ye  lashin'  them,"  foamed  Mulli- 
gan furiously. 

"  'Twas  thin  I  lost  me  head,"  declared 
Jimmy  mendaciously.  "I  tho't  of  the  pris- 
oner and  the  disgrace  we'd  be  in,  fer  not 
bringin'  her  In  safe,  and  I  had  a  rush  of 
blood  to  the  head.  'Twas  all  a  blank,  like, 
afther  that." 

"I  don't  belave  ye,"  raved  Mulligan 
suspiciously,  as  he  saw  his  bright  visions 
of  revenge  rapidly  fading.  "I  don't  be- 
lave  ye,  and  I'll  report  ye  to  the  sergeant 
as  soon  as  we  git  there." 

"Do,"  rejoined  Jimmy  imperturbably. 
"Do,  If  ye  think  ye'd  injoy  it."  His  voice 
took  on  a  solemn  tone,  but  the  twinkle 
in  his  eye  would  have  betrayed  him  had 
the  officer  been  able  to  interpret  it. 

"Ye  know,  ikiulligan,"  he  said  leaning 
forward,  and  looking  that  discomfited 
official  squarely  in  the  eyes,  "Ye  know  a 
runaway  is  a  mighty  serious  thing,  an'  I 
must  tell  ye.  Mulligan,  that,  under  the 
circumstances,  an'  considering  all  things, 
yer  friend,  Jimmy  McGrath,  belaves  that 
he  behaved  most  uncommon  well." 

Late  that  night,  Mulligan,  on  duty  in 
the  unsavory  district  bounded  by  Sixth 
street  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other,  by 
the  great  gleaming  hotel  with  the  line 
of  rickety  shanties  at  its  back,  stopped 
measuring  his  paces,  by  the  big  blocks 
of  asphalt  In  the  pavement,  and  looked 
doubtfully  about  him.  The  doubt  became 
certainty,  as  he  plunged  into  a  side  alley, 
and  paused  before  a  tenement  half  way 
up  the  row.  Cautiously  approaching  the 
shutterless  window,  his  eyes  bulged  with 
astonishment  at  the  scene  within.  At  the 
head  of  a  long  table  improvised  from 
drift-boards  and  a  barrel  or  two,  sat 
Jimmy,  every  feature  sharing  in  an  ex- 
pansive grin,  and  Joining  hilariously  in 
the  derisive  shouts  that  came  from  the 
dozen  listeners  gathered  around  the 
board.  In  the  short,  sturdy  figure  nearest 
him,  Mulligan  recognized  his  lately  es- 
caped prisoner,  and  shook  his  fist  vin- 


dictively at  her  unconscious  face.  Jimmy, 
wholly  ignorant  of  the  danger  outside, 
rose  to  his  feet  at  this  juncture,  and  ap- 
preached  the  old  man,  who,  with  his 
countenance  adorned  with  sundry  strips 
of  plaster,  and  his  head  surmounted  by  a 
crown  of  bandages,  sat  at  the  other  end. 

Mulligan  laid  one  ear  against  a  crack 
in  the  wall,  and  listened  attentively. 

"Here's  to  Mulligan,"  Jimmy  was  say- 
ing. "Mulligan  foriver!  'Twas  he  that 
saved  us,  for  if  he  hadn't  been  such  a 
blunderin'  omadhaun,  we'd  been  com- 
fortin'  our  bones  in  jail  this  blissed  night. 
'Tis  a  raal  pity  he  couldn't  attind  this 
cilebration,"  he  finished  cheerfully.  "It's 
welcome  he'd  have  bin." 

With  a  howl  of  savage  rage,  and  a  crash 
of  splintered  glass.  Mulligan  burst 
through  the  window.  Choking  with  wrath, 
he  glared  speechlessly  at  the  conscience- 
less Jimmy,  who  executing  a  neat  hand- 
spring over  the  boards  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  circus  veteran,  backed 
into  a  convenient  corner,  and  regarded 
Mulligan  unabashed. 

"I  arrest  ye!  I  arrest  ye!  In  the  name 
of  the  law,"  bawled  Mulligan  for  the  sec- 
ond time  that  day,  brandishing  his  club 
like  a  war  weapon,  and  bearing  down 
upon  the  astonished  group  like  an  engine 
of  destruction. 

"What,  agin?"  asked  Jimmy,  composed- 
ly. 

Scenting  combat,  the  lady  of  the  van 
rushed  in  to  lend  her  aid,  but  Jimmy's 
unfailing  sense  of  humor  was  again  equal 
to  the  occasion. 

"We  was  just  drinkin'  yer  health.  Mul- 
ligan," he  said  politely.  "Sure,  an'  'tisn't 
that  honor  ye'd  lose  us  now?  There's 
pllnty  in  the  keg,  an'  if  ye'd  jine  us.  Mulli- 
gan, on  this  occasion,  we'd  be  proud  In- 
dade." 

Before  this  appeal  Mulligan  visibly 
relented.  Then  he  glanced  at  the  clock 
and  at  the  beer  keg,  which  his  experi- 
enced eye  told  him  was  not  more  than 
two-thirds  empty,  at  the  group  of  grin- 
ning fkces  all  beaming  with  hearty  good- 
will, and  slowly  permitted  a  similar  grin 
to  appear  on  his  own  countenance,  which 
gradually  broadened  like  a  full  moon, 
until  he  buried  it  below  the  edge  of  a 
foaming  rim  of  beer. 

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Two  Poems.  1025 

"Mulligan/'    said    Jimmy,    giving    his  his  lost  prisoner,  gave  his  toast  stand- 
toast  with  an  uncontrollable  wink.  ing,  with  uplifted  glass,  and  a  hand  on 

"Mulligan    foriver!"    piped    the  shrill  his  heart, 

chorus,  and  Mulligan,  red  and  flattered,  "The  lady!     May  she  live  a  thousand 

bowed  magnificently  in  the  direction  of  years,  and  her  shadow  never  grow  less." 


TWO    POEMS 

ELEANORE    F.    LEWIS. 

She  wrote  in  verse  for  him  alone,  that  seemed 

Unlike  the  common  lot: 
A  strange,  eccentric  phantasy,  he  deemed, 

And  understood  it  not. 

She  wrote  for  public  praise,  a  trivial  thing 

Unworthy  of  her  name : 
Yet  it  appealed  to  him,  who  was  her  king, 

And  brought  her  fame. 

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MEXICO'S    GREATEST    FESTIVAL 


BY    GLARA    SPALDING    BROWN. 


MEXICO  is  a  country  of  wonderful 
interest  and  charm.  All  the  na- 
tives, from  the  idle  members  of 
"^  ^the  wealthy  class,  with  their 
luxurious  lives,  down  to  the  humblest 
I>eons,  who  trot  contentedly  about  their 
tasks,  with  sandaled  feet,  are  proud  of 
it.  Visitors  are  enchanted  with  the  pic- 
turesqueness  of  the  scenery  and  people, 
and  every  day  that  is  spent  in  the  quaint 
land  adds  to  its  peculiar  fascination.  It 
is  a  "sister  republic,"  easily  reached 
without  braving  the  discomforts  and  dan- 
gers of  an  ocean  voyage,  and  is  as  dis^ 
tinctively  foreign  as  any  country  of  Eu- 
rope or  Asia,  y6t  it  is  a  terra  incognitq. 
to  the  majority  of  Americans,  many  of 
whom  think  nothing  of  taking  a  trip 
across  the  Atlantic  every  year. 

Holidays  and  festivals  are  many  in 
Mexico,  as  numerous  Saint's  days 
are  observed.  Birthdays  are  occasions 
of  merry-making,  and  a  number  of  na- 
tional events  are  duly  commemorated. 
The  greatest  of  all  these  celebrations 
occurs  on  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth 
of  September  of  each  year,  and  then,  in 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  you 
will  scarcely  find  a  Mexican  at  work. 
The  one  thought,  in  every  city,  town  and 
hamlet,  is  to  glorify  the  struggle  for  in- 
dependence, which  began  in  1810,  to  hon- 
or the  loved  President  of  the  present 
prosperous  Republic,  and  to  have  a  good 
time  along  with  the  exuberant  patriot- 
ism. General  Porfirio  Diaz,  the  ruler  of 
the  nation,  was  born  on  the  fifteenth  of 
September.  The  sixteenth  is  the  Mexi- 
can's Fourth  of  July,  beginning  at  11 
o'clock  the  night  previous,  for  reasons 
that  will  be  related.  It  is  fitting  that 
these  anniversaries  should  be  celebrated 
together,  for  closely  interwoven  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people  are  love  of  country 
and  loyalty  to  the  wise  ruler  who  is  likely 
t"»  be  retained  in  office  so  long  as  he 
lives,  though  the  constitution  of  Mexico 


is  modeled  largely  after  that  of  the 
United  States,  and  a  Presidential  elect- 
ion is  held  every  four  years. 

The  writer  was  in  the  City  of  Mex- 
ico at  the  time  of  this  great  double 
celebration  a  year  ago,  and  was  pro- 
foundly impressed  by  it.  The  cgj:fimon- 
ie;j  began  on  the  afternoon  of^he  14th, 
with  congratulations  tendered  the  Presi- 
dent by  a  delegation  from  his  native 
State,  Oaxaca,  in  the  extreme  southern 
part  of  Mexico,  near  the  Isthmus  of  Te- 
huantepec.  All  classes  were  repre- 
sented: Congressmen,  judges,  army  of- 
ficers, artisans,  and  day  laborers,  each  of 
whom  he  grasped  by  the  hand  as  he  stood 
i;i  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors.  The  body 
of  proud  Oaxacans  was  followed  by  the 
Governors  of  the  various  States,  (there 
are  twenty-eight  in  the  Republic)  and 
in  response  to  their  compliments  the 
President  said  that  if  it  had  been  his  good 
fortune  to  establish  a  good  administra- 
tion it  was  because  his  people  were  as 
apt  In  toil  as  they  were  ardent  in  bat- 
tle and  they  had  made  their  own  govern- 
ment. 

The  next  day  a  b^mitidil  nllPfTArl^fll 
parade  passed  through  the  elaborately- 
decorated  streets,  and  under  arches  that 
had  been  erected  by  the  different  States 
in  honor  of  the  occasion.  Every  van- 
tage point  was  thronged  and  all  business 
was  at  a  standstill.  For  several  days, 
long  trains  on  the  railway  lines  center- 
ing in  the  city  had  brought  visitors  from 
points  far  and  near.  No  pen  can  describe 
the  crowd,  with  its  diversity  of  costumes, 
its  gay  colors,  its  sharply  defined  degrees 
of  caste,  (the  rich  and  poor  mingling 
together  with  one  common  spirit)  its 
simple  good  nature  and  child-like  enjoy- 
ment. Side  by  side  were  ladies  in  deli- 
cate silks  and  muslins,  such  as  in  our 
country  would  seem  appropriate  only 
for  indoor  evening  wear,  and  ragged, 
unkempt  Indian  women,  with  a  big  pack 

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Mexico's  Greatest  Festival. 


1029 


or  a  baby,  often  both,  on  their  backs, 
bare-footed,  with  skirts  ending  at  the 
knees  and  brown  shoulders  rising  from 
loose  chemisettes,  or  perhaps  the  dainty 
senoritas  and  their  immaculately  clad 
escorts  were  laugningly  jostled  by  a  bevy 
of  half-breed  girls  in  plain  calico  gowns 
and  blue  rehosos  drawn  over  their  heads, 
more  than  one  of  them  whiffing  a  cigar- 
ette. The  laboring  men  wore  blouses 
and  loose  trousers  of  white  cotton,  and 
around  their  shoulders  were  draped  the 
red  or  striped  zarapes  which  are  so  pic- 


The  President  reviewed  the  procession 
from  the  national  palace.  During  the  day 
he  received  congratulations  from  the 
army,  the  departments  of  administration, 
the  children  of  the  public  schools,  and 
the  diplomatic  corps,  headed  by  General 
Powell  Clayton,  the  United  States  Am- 
bassador. At  night  the  arches,  each  of 
which  was  made  typical  of  the  State 
contributing  it,  were  ablaze  with  electric 
lights,  turning  the  streets  into  fairyland. 
When  the  writer,  chaperoned  by  the  good 
Mexican    family   with    whom    she    had 


Gen.  Portririo  Diaz,  President  of  Mexico. 


turesque  and  form  the  overcoat  of  the 
Mexican.  The  finishing  touch  to  the  cos- 
tume was  the  universal  conical-crowned, 
wide-brimmed  sombrero,  whose  texture 
and  adornment  varies  with  the  means  of 
the  wearer.  Coches  and  private  carriages 
rolled  to  and  fro,  while  in  and  out  among 
them  and  the  eager  people,  waiting  to 
see  the  parade,  pranced  the  cahalleros, 
horsemen  in  elaborately  braided  leather 
costumes,  with  silver-mounted  saddles 
and  bridles. 


made  her  home,  started  at  9  p.  m.  for 
the  central  plaza  of  the  city — the  Zocalo 
— on  which  the  national  palace,  the  mag- 
nificent cathedral  and  other  prominent 
buildings  front,  the  streets  had  become 
impassable  for  either  cars  or  carriages. 
From  curb  to  curb  they  were  filled  with 
a  mass  of  surging,  yelling  human  beings, 
unrestrained  in  their  abandonment  to 
mingled  patriotism  and  hilarity.  On  this 
one  night  of  the  year  license  prevails 
for    everything    except    such    crimes    as   j 

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1030 


Overland   Monthly. 


Arch  in  honor  of  President  Dictz,  erected 
by  State  of  Guanajuata. 

murder,  robbery,  or  arson.  The  saloons, 
ordinarily  closed  at  an  early  hour,  are 
permitted  to  remain  open  all  night,  and 
no  arrests  are  made  for  drunkenness. 
The  result  is  bacchanalian,  but  marvel- 
ously  free  from  any  serious  conse- 
quences. The  intoxication  caused  by  the 
national  drink  of  pulque  is  not  vicious 
or  quarrelsome  unless  the  beverage  has 
been  badly  adulterated;  it  increases  the 
naturally  volatile  spirits  of  these  chil- 
dren of  a  Latin  race,  ending  in  a  stupor 
which  lasts  a  few  hours. 

It  required  patience  and  strength  to 
push  one's  way  for  half  a  mile  to  the  cen- 
ter of  attraction  on  this  memorable  night. 


Arch  of  State  of  Oaxaca. 


and  many  were  the  amusing  scenes  wit- 
nessed. 'Vivas"  filled  the  air,  as  mock 
processions  waved  aloft  all  sorts  of 
rudely  improvised  banners,  cornstalks, 
palm  leaves,  etc.,  blowing  horns  and 
whistles,  and  beating  on  anything  obtain- 
able. The  Zocalo  was  a  solid  mass  of 
equally  noisy  ana  happy  people.  Foot 
by  foot  our  party  advanced  until  a  cor- 
don of  soldiers  was  reached,  guarding  an 
inclosed  space  in  front  of  the  palace  in 
which  were  chairs  for  those  by  favor  or 
entitled  by  position  to  the  courtesy.  As 
one  of  our  number  was  connected  with 
the  Japanese  legation  we  secured  seats 
before  the  main  entrance  to  the  palace, 
and  there  awaited  the  ceremony  of  the 
"Grito."  The  palace  covers  an  immense 
area,  having  a  frontage  of  700  feet.     It 


Arch  erected  by  State  of  Puebia,  Mexico. 

was  illuminated  with  incandescent  lights 
all  along  the  cornices  and  its  many  little 
turrets,  as  were  other  large  buildings 
surrounding  the  open  square.  Every  win- 
dow, portal,  and  roof  top  was  occupied 
b/  the  fashionables  of  the  city,  and  sev- 
eral military  bands  combined  enlivened 
the  period  of  waiting  with  their  inspiring 
stiains.  Once  there  \t  was  impossible 
to  get  away  before  the  movement  of  the 
crowd  to  depart.  In  all  the  throngs  of 
the  World's  Fair  at  Chicago,  and  of  the 
great  American  cities,  the  writer  has 
never  seen  quite  such  a  Jam  of  humanity 
ab  congested  the  principal  streets  of  the 
city  of  Mexico  on  that  night. 

In  order  that  what  follows  may  be  un- 
derstood, it  is  necessary  to  explain  that 


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Mexico's  Greatest  Festival. 


1031 


the  first  call  of  the  people  to  arms 
against  the  tyranny  and  extortion  of 
Spain  was  made  at  11  o'clock  on  the 
night  of  the  15ih  of  September,  1810, 
bj-  a  priest  named  Hidalgo,  in  the  small 
town  of  Dolores,  near  the  rich  mining 
city  of  Guanajuato.  The  good  Father, 
now  known  as  "The  Washington  of  Mex- 
ico," had  long  been  in  sympathy  with 
the  suppressed  feeling  of  revolt  against 
ai  oppressive  rule.  On  this  night  he 
rang  the  bell  of  his  little  church  to  call 
his  parishioners  together,  and  they  sup- 
posed it  a  summons  to  a  special  late 
service,  until  his  brave  cry  for  liberty 
greeted  their  ears  instead  of  the  accus- 
tomed prayers,  and  fired  them  with  zeal 
to  follow  him  in  what  proved  to  be  a  long 
and  bloody  struggle.  The  memory  of 
the  patriot-priest  is  revered  by  all  Mexi- 
cans, and  the  bell  was  long  since  re- 
moved to  the  nation's  capital  and  hung 
over  the  main  portal  of  the  palace.  It  is 
used  only  on  the  anniversary  of  inde- 
pendence, and  the  President's  hand  is 
the  only  one  that  pulls  the  rope. 

A  few  minutes  before  11  o'clock  the 
crowd  became  quiet  and  expectant,  and 
the  air  seemed  charged  with  electricity. 
The  peculiar  sensation  of  something 
momentous  about  to  occur,  held  every 
stranger  in  thrall.  Promptly  on  the  hour. 
President  Diaz  stepped  to  the  front  of 
an  alcove  over  the  main  entrance,  accom- 
panied by  members  of  his  cabinet.  He 
held  the  banner  that  Hidalgo  carried  in 
his  campaign  for  liberty,  and  waved  it 
over  the  balustrade,  then  pulled  a  rope 
communicating  with  the  rusty  bell  above. 
At  the  moment  when  the  President  ap- 
peared, the  alcove  was  illuminated  by  a 
framework  of  electric  lights  surrounding 
it  as  a  picture,  and  above  the  bell 
gleamed  a  portrait  of  Hidalgo.  The  sound 
0/  the  bell  brought  forth  a  mighty  cry 
from  the  populace  below,  and  then  the 
crowd  went  wild.  "Viva  Mexico,"  "Viva 
K^  Republica,"  "Viva  Diaz,"  they  yelled, 
and  the  bands  struck  up  the  national 
hymn.  Simultaneously  the  entire  front 
and  mighty  towers,  200  feet  high,  of  one 
of  the  largest  catnedrals  in  the  world, 
burst  into  a  blaze  of  glory,  and  from 
their  lofty  stations  the  fifty  bells  of  the 
cathedral  pealed  forth  the  full,  deep 
tones  of   "Santa    Maria   de    Guadalupe," 


the  great  bell  that  is  heard  only  on  State 
occasions  underlying  all  the  others.  This 
bell  is  nineteen  feet  high,  and  exceeded 
in  size  only  by  the  famous  one  of  Mos- 
cow. Then  from  all  over  the  city  came 
the  sound  of  ringing  bells,  and  for  half 
an  hour  the  exultant  peal  was  kept  up. 
The  whole  thing,  occurring  in  less  time 
than  it  has  taken  to  tell  it,  was  intensely 
thrilling.  The  bells,  the  illumination 
that  formed  a  picture  of  almost  more 
than  earthly  beauty  against  the  darkness 
of  the  night;  the  harmonious  strains  of 
the  bands;  the  stirring  call  of  200  bug- 
lers; the  cries  from  thousands  of  lusty 
throats;  the  rockets  and  red  lights;  the 
stately  form  of  the  President  standing 
in  bold  relief  against  the  grim  walls  of 
the  old  palace,  combined  to  produce  an 
effect  which  can  never  be  erased  from  the 
memory  of  those  who  witnessed  it  for 
the  first  time.  The  aristocracy  were  as 
enthusiastic  as  the  masses  and  stood  on 
their  chairs,  crying  "Vive  Mexico,"  until 
tears  ran  down  their  cheeks.  'Thrills 
ran  over  the  writer  from  head  to  foot, 
and  it  was  easy  to  understand  the  emo- 
tion of  natives  to  the  country. 

The  "grito"  (defined  in  Spanish  dic- 
tionaries as  "yell,  scream,  howl")  is  prob- 
ably the  most  powerful  national  cere- 
menial  in  the  world  in  its  action  on  the 
emotions,  occurring  as  it  does  late  at 
night,  in  the  presence  of  multitudes  gath- 
ered in  the  open  air,  and  in  a  country 
whose  government,  though  nominally  re- 
publican, is  virtually  imperialistic,  and 
free  from  widely  opposed  political  par- 
ties. The  lights  covering  the  facade  of 
the  cathedral  were  red,  white  and  green, 
the  national  colors  of  Mexico.  In  the  cen- 
ter appeared  the  eagle,  snake  and  cac- 
tus, which  are  imprinted  on  the  coins 
of  the  country,  and  all  national  emblems, 
in  accordance  with  a  legend  handed  down 
from  the  Aztecs  to  the  early  settlers  in 
the  capital  city.  As  the  excitement  be- 
gan to  subside,  the  question  of  how  to 
get  home  confronted  the  upper  classes, 
who  did  not  propose  to  join  the  rabble 
in  spending  the  night  in  the  streets.  It 
is  no  uncommon  thing  for  several  people 
to  be  killed  in  the  crush  of  independence 
night.  We  were  almost  carried  by  the 
moving  throng  and  recked  not  whether 
we  took  the  sidewalks  or  the  middle  of 


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Mexico's  Greatest  Festival. 


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die  streets.  Everyone  was  good-tempered, 
ready  to  give  or  take  jests.  When  sober 
men  tripped  over  some  obstruction  In  the 
wild  rush,  and  measured  their  length  in 
the  mud  (for  it  had  been  raining),  the 
halMrunken  frollckers  shouted  ''Bor- 
racho  limplo";  and  the  joke  was  the  fact 
that  borracho  means  a  drunken  man,  and 
limplo,  clean.  All  night  the  revelers 
drove  sleep  away  from  the  weary  in  the 
heart  of  the  city,  and  one  might  reason- 
ably have  expected  disorderliness  to  be 
manifest  the  next  day,  as  the  result  of 
80  much  license,  but  there  was  no  trou- 
ble or  turmoil  whatever. 

A  civic  ceremony  occurred  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  sixteenth,  at  the  Alameda,  a 
beautiful  pleasureground  of  forty  acres 
where  concerts  are  given  two  or  three 
times  a  week,  and  rich  and  poor  promen- 
ade beneath  the  great  trees,  or  rest 
on  the  numerous  stone  benches,  while 
the  children  romp  in  the  broad  paths. 
Here,  under  a  canvas,  the  President  stood 
arrayed  in  full  uniform,  and  wearing  all 
his  orders.  With  him  were  his  Ministers 
and  the  Mayor  of  the  city.  The  De- 
claration of  Independence  was  read,  a 
commemorative  address  delivered,  and 
the  President  bestowed  medals  and  deco- 
rations on  persons  who  had  distinguished 
themselves  at  different  periods  of  the 
country's  history,  by  service  in  time  of 
war.  Among  these  were  five  proud  labor- 
ing men  who  had  taken  part  in  the  storm- 
ing of  Puebla,  April  2, 1867.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  social  scale  were  generals  and 
colonels,  who  saluted  with  drawn  swords 
as  they  received  the  tribute  of  honor. 
The  President  was  then  driven  to  the 
national  palace,  where  he  reviewed  the 
military  parade,  which  is  always  a  fea- 
ture of  the  day.  This  was  a  pageant  of 
more  picturesqueness  than  is  usually 
seen  on  the  American  continent.  First 
came  the  Governor  of  the  military  acad- 
emy at  Chapultepec — ^the  West  Point  of 
Mexico — ^accompanied  by  his  staff,  splen- 
didly mounted.  They  were  followed  by 
a  squad  of  gendarmes  (policemen),  the 
cadets  of  the  academy,  a  battery  of  im- 
proved Mondragon  mountain  cannon,  and 
several  divisions  of  infantry,  each  bri- 
gade headed  by  its  officers,  on  superb 
horses,  and  a  band.  Batteries  of  ma- 
chine guns  and  heavy  artillery,  with  com- 


pact battalions  of  men,  were  Interspersed 
with  more  Infantry,  the  division  closing 
with  an  exhibition  of  the  field  hospital 
service.  Three  brigades  of  cavalry  made 
a  fine  appearance;  but  the  cynosure  of  all 
eyes  was  the  Incomparable  company  of 
Rurales,  three  regiments  strong. 

The  Rurales  are  the  country  police  of 
Mexico,  and  their  like  does  not  exist 
la  any  other  country.  Their  organiza- 
tion was  a  stroke  of  diplomacy  on  the 
part  of  President  Diaz.  It  was  in  the 
seventies,  when  the  country  had  been  in- 
fested for  years  with  banditti,  that  he 
offered  amnesty  to  all  these  highway 
robbers  who  would  enlist  in  his  service, 
and  guaranteed  them  a  salary  larger 
than  that  received  by  cavalrymen  in  any 
other  part  of  the  world.  They  knew 
every  nook  and  comer  of  the  country, 
were  fearless,  and  expert  in  horseman- 
ship and  the  use  of  fire  arms.  The  Presi- 
dent wisely  discerned  that  such  quali- 
ties could  be  of  peculiar  value  to  him,  if 
rightly  directed.  The  bait  tempted  them, 
for  It  was  more  reliable  than  their  pre- 
carious way  of  gaining  a  livelihood,  and 
offered  honor  instead  of  the  constant 
danger  of  Imprisonment  and  death  that 
had  been  their  portion.  They  accepted 
the  proposition  unanimously,  and  have 
served  the  administration  so  zealously 
and  efficiently  that  brigandage  through- 
out Mexico  is  almost  entirely  a  thing  of 
the  past,  and  crime  in  general  is  much 
less  frequent  than  before.  The  Rurales 
have  permission  to  deal  summarily  with 
suspected  criminals,  and  often  shoot  at 
sight  persons  whom  they  think  have  out- 
raged the  law.  Sometimes  they  make 
a  mistake  and  kill  an  Innocent  man,  but 
on  the  whole  the  plan  has  worked  for 
the  benefit  of  the  country.  The  pres- 
ent members  of  the  Rurales  are  not  all 
ex-bandits.  They  number  5,000,  and  the 
organization  has  become  so  popular  that 
young  men  of  good  family  await  their 
turn  to  join  the  ranks.  Bach  man  owns 
his  horse  and  its  equipments,  and  the  out- 
fit is  made  as  expensive  and  showy  as  the 
owner's  purse  will  permit.  The  every- 
day suit  is  of  dark  grey,  with  leather  leg- 
gings; but  on  dress  parade  a  suit  of  soft 
leather  is  worn,  the  pantaloons  and  short 
Jacket  ornamented  with  gold  and  silver 
bullion,  and  the  wide-brimmed  felt  som- 


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1034 


The  Sparrows. 


brero  heavily  corded.  The  finely  moun- 
ted men  thus  attired  form  the  most  strik- 
ing feature  of  a  procession  such  as  that 
of  Independence  Day. 

The  Mexican  army  consists  of  about 
26,000  men,  exclusive  of  generals,  colo- 
nels, majors,  and  petty  officers.  The 
country  is  under  admirable  military  rule, 
and  one  can  scarcely  get  out  of  sight  of 
a  soldier  or  a  Rurale,  while  every  town 
has  its  barracks,  where  reveille  and  the 
various  other  military  calls  are  heard 
regularly  every  day  and  add  to  the  fas- 
cination of  the  picturesque  life  for  the 
visitor.  The  President  opens  Congress 
on  the  evening  of  the  sixteenth,  deliv- 
ering a  message  which  reviews  all  de- 
partments of  the  administration.  At  the 
time  of  which  I  write,  he  spoke  of  Mex- 
ico's friendship  with  the  nations  of  the 


civilized  world  having  grown  closer;  ot 
her  having  taken  part  in  the  Peace  Con- 
gress at  The  Hague;  of  education,  jus- 
tice, and  municipal  affairs;  of  public 
works,  the  progress  of  mining,  army  mat- 
ters. State  elections,  the  financial  condi- 
tion of  the  country,  and  many  other 
important  questions.  This  remarkable 
man,  born  of  a  Spanish  father  and  Indian 
mother,  poor  in  his  boyhood  and  obliged 
to  work  his  way  through  school,  has  risen 
steadily  from  one  position  of  responsibil- 
ity to  another,  until  he  ranks  among  the 
great  rulers  and  statesmen  of  the  world. 
The  country  that  he  governs  is  making 
rapid  progress  in  all  that  constitutes  a 
powerful  and  prosperous  nation,  and  Is 
worthy  of  fuller  recognition  and  a  more 
comprehensive  acquaintance  on  the  part 
of  her  northern  neighbors  than  is  now 
the  case. 


THE    SPARROWS 

BY    LOU    RODMAN    TEEPLE. 

The  robin  may  trill,  and  borrow 
For  his  breast  the  rich,  red  gold; 

But  I  love  best  the  sparrow, 
That  staid  when  the  days  were  cold. 

The  lark  may  sing  to-morrow, 
The  swallow  his  tryst  may  keep; 

But  dear  to  me  is  the  sparrow 
That  staid  when  the  snow  was  deep. 


And  fortune's  gilded  starling 
May  hover  round  my  door, 

But  I  love  you  best,  my  darling, 
For  you  staid  when  I  was  poor. 


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Golden  Jubilee   of    the   University  of  the  Pacific 


BY    ROCKWELL    D.    HUNT.    PH.    D. 


Rev.  Isaac  Owen  of  Indiana.  Founder  of 
Santa  Clara  University.  (Crossed  tlie 
Plains   In   1849. 


four  years  ago  the  Franciscan  padres 
founded  Mission  Santa  Clara,  and  almost 
simultaneously  fourteen  families  settled, 
only  a  few  miles  distant,  at  the  Pueblo 
de  San  Jose  de  Guadalupe.  Indeed,  the 
valley  had  attracted  attention  as  early  as 
1769.  The  California  State  Qovemment 
was  organized  in  San  Jose  in  December. 
1849.  The  oldest  Roman  Catholic  college 
in  the  State  also  celebrates  this  year,  at 
Santa  Clara,  its  golden  jubilee. 

The  University  of  the  Pacific  is  a  mis- 
sionary child  of  a  zealous  Methodism. 
Long  before  California  was  admitted  into 
the  Union,  the  Central  Missionary  Board 
of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  church,  sit- 
ting at  New  York,  had  become  impressed 
with  the  golden  opportunities  for  spirit- 
ual conquest  on  the  shores  of  the  Pacific. 
As  early  as  1834,  Messrs.  Jason  and  Dan- 


ryiHB  University  of  the  Pacific,  pio- 
J-M  neer    Protestant    college    of    this 

I  State,  celebrates  this  year  and  this 
month  the  semi-centennial  of  its 
foundation.  Since  the  inception  of  this 
institution  of  learning  dates  back  to  the 
days  of  gold,  and  since  its  life  and  Infiu- 
ence  run  parallel  with  the  history  of 
the  commonwealth  of  California,  it  is 
fitting  that  there  should  be  presented 
some  review  of  its  actual  foundation  and 
its  history,  together  with  a  brief  state- 
ment of  the  principles  which  underlie 
it,  the  work  it  seeks  to  do,  and  its  hopeful 
attitude  as  it  passes  this  noteworthy  mile- 
stone. 

Santa  Clara  Valley,  the  lovely  home 
of.  the  University  of  the  Pacific,  is  excep- 
tionally rich  in  early  California  history. 
Here  it  was  tnat  one  hundred  and  twenty- 


Rev.  A.  S.  Gibbons  at  45. 


iel  Lee  were  sent  to  Oregon,  and  the  fol- 
lowing year,  Messrs.  Samuel  Parker  and 

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Overland   Monthly. 


Marcus  Whitman  were  sent  by  the  Pres- 
byterians as  missionaries  to  that  country. 

In  October,  1848,  Rev.  Isaac  Owen  was 
commissioned  Missionary  to  California 
by  the  Central  Board  of  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  church,  in  New  York,  and  Rev. 
William  Taylor  was  appointed  assistant 
Missionary  to  the  same  field.  Pacific 
Coast  Methodism  was  organized  under 
the  name  of  the  Oregon  and  California 
Mission  Conference,  of  which  Rev.  Wil- 
liam Roberts  was  Superintendent.  Taylor 
reached  San  Francisco  aDout  September 
20,  1849,  and  there  entered  at  once  upon 
his  labors.  Mr.  Owen  reached  the  Sacra- 
mento Valley  overland  on  the  first  of  Oc- 
tober of  the  same  year,  and  made  Sacra- 
mento city  his  headquarters. 

In  any  account  of  Christian  education 
in  California  the  names  of  Messrs.  Tay- 
lor and  Owen  call  imperatively  for  pause. 
Bishop  William  Taylor  is  known  every- 
where as  "one  of  the  grandest  figures 
that  has  walked  across  the  pages  of  Meth- 
odist history."  Not  California  alone,  nor 
the  African  continent  but  the  whole  world 
has  been  blessed  by  his  heroic  career, 
and  the  nineteenth  century  has  been  en- 
riched by  his  noble  toil.  Bishop  Taylor 
is  still  in  our  midst,  having  retired  from 
active  service  and  now  quietly  dwelling 
with  his  relatives  in  Palo  Alto.  Rev. 
Isaac  Owen,  a  native  of  Indiana,  was  a 
devoted  and  life-long  laborer  in  the  pio- 
neer work  of  the  church.  Stern  and  un- 
compromising against  all  wrong,  he  was 
"an  example  of  Christian  heroism  and 
self-devotion  worthy  of  the  best  and 
purest  ages  of  the  Church."  He  conceived 
an  interest  for  the  mission  work  in  Cali- 
fornia early  in  1848.  Before  emigrating 
to  California  he  served  for  five  years  with 
signal  success  as  financial  agent  of  Indi- 
ana Asbury  University,  now  known  as 
De  Pauw.  The  initial  dlfllculties  that  be- 
set him  at  Sacramento  are  best  described 
in  his  early  letters  to  his  superiors  in 
the  Eastern  States.  In  a  communication 
to  the  Missionary  Secretary,  Dr.  J.  P. 
Durbin,  dated  February  27,  1852,  he  says: 

"On  arriving  at  Sacramento  City  I 
found  myself  and  family  houseless  and 
moneyless  (except  $150).  The  cheapest 
and  only  arrangement  I  could  make  for 
myself  and  family  was  to  pay  $100  per 
month  for  an  unfinished  adobe  room  in 


Sutter's  Fort.  I  moved  into  this  room 
and  remained  about  one  week;  and  my 
wife,  true  to  the  missionary  cause,  chose 
rather  to  live  in  a  tent  to  putting  the 
church  to  the  expense  of  hiring  r^  house 
at  so  high  a  rent.  So  in  compliance 
with  her  request,  I  went  to  work  and  con- 
structed a  tent  out  of  the  remains  of 
our  old  wagon  covers,  and  a  few  bed 
quilts.  When  completed  it  covered  an 
area  of  eight  by  ten  feet.  ♦  ♦  ♦  Here  we 
lived,  eight  in  number,  for  about  four  or 
five  weeks,  during  which  time  my  wife 
supported  the  family  mostly  by  the  pro- 
ceeds of  the  milk  of  two  cows  which  we 
had  worked  in  the  yoke  while  crossing 
the  plains,  rather  than  make  our  wants 
known  to  the  church.  ♦  ♦  ♦  While  my 
wife  was  thus  providing  for  herself  and 
family,  I  devoted  all  my  time  to  the  erec- 
tion of  a  parsonage  and  to  the  putting 
up  of  the  church  sent  to  us  by  our  friends 
in  Baltimore." 

It  will  be  remembered  that  at  this  time, 
as  Mr.  Owen  stated  in  his  first  official 
oommunication  from  California  dated 
January  11,  1850,  prices  were  extremely 
high.  A  few  staples  may  be  noted :  Flour, 
from  $30  to  $40  per  barrel;  salt  pork  from 
$30  to  $40  per  barrel;  potatoes,  25  cents  to 
40  cents  per  pound;  garden  vegetables, 
60  cents  to  75  cents  per  pound;  butter,. 
$1.25  to  $1.50  per  pound;  fresh  pork,  $1 
to  $1.25  per  pound;  milk,  $1  per  quart. 
In  the   same   communication   he   wrote: 

"Any  house  that  would  have  barely 
accommodated  my  family  on  my  arrival 
here  would  have  cost  me  at  least  $300* 
a  month  rent,  and  the  least  amount  my 
family  could  subsist  upon,  embracing  pro- 
visions, fuel,  and  other  incidental  ex- 
penses, is  from  $6  to  $10  per  day;  and 
when  we  dare  to  live  as  we  used  to  do  in 
the  States,  a  great  deal  more  than  this." 

Such  were  the  conditions  facing  the  chief 
founder  of  the  University  of  the  Pacific,, 
the  heroic  man  whose  name  appears  &s. 
number  one  on  the  first  subscription  ever 
circulated  in  the  interest  of  the  projected 
Institution,  while  opposite  the  name- 
stands  the  pledge  for  $1000.00. 

In  October,  1850,  three  additional  mis- 
sionaries came  to  the  aid  of  young 
Methodism  in  California.  These  were: 
Messrs.  S.  D.  Simonds,  M.  C.  Briggs.  and 
Edward  Bannister.  In  May.  1851,  three 
others  arrived,  namely:  Messrs.  Charles 
Maclay,  D.  A.  Dry  den,  and  a.  L.  S.  Bate- 
man.    In  his  instructions  to  Mr.  Owen^ 


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Golden    Jubilee    of   the    University   of   the    Pacific. 


1037 


dated  May  21,  1850,  Secretary  Durbln 
offers  certain  advice  and  suggestions  con- 
cerning a  contemplated  Institution  of 
learning,  but  reminds  him  that  chief 
reliance  must  rest  "on  the  judgment  and 
prudence  of  Brother  Roberts  and  your- 
self, in  consultation  with  other  friends 
and  brethren."  It  was  urged  that  build- 
ings of  proper  size  and  arrangements  be 
erected,  that  great  care  be  exercised 
in  finding  the  best  location,  that  "debt 
be  avoided  as  much  as  may  be,"  and 
that  the  work  should  go  forward  "prompt- 
ly, but  very  prudently."  Acting  upon 
the  request  of  the  Missionary  Board,  sec- 
onded by  Superintendent  Roberts,  Rev. 
Isaac  Owen  appointed  an  educational 
convention,  to  consist  of  an  equal  num- 
ber of  traveling  preachers  and  intelli- 
gent laymen.  The  convention  assembled 
in  the  Methodist  Church  at  Pueblo  de 
San  Jose,  January  6,  1851,  the  following 
members  being  present:  Mr.  Isaac  Owen, 
chairman;  Mr.  Edward  Bannister,  Secre- 
tary; Messrs.  James  M.  Brier,  H.  S.  Love- 
land,  William  Morrow,  C.  P.  Hester, 
James  Corwin,  M.  C.  Briggs,  and  W. 
Grove  Deal.  Suitable  committees  were 
appointed  to  facilitate  the  business  of  the 
convention,  and  among  the  very  first 
decisions  reached  was  that  recommend- 
ing the  "founding  of  an  institution  of  the 
grade  of  a  university."  It  was  voted  to 
continue   educational   operations   in   San 


Rev.  M.  C.  Briggs. 


Rev.  Edward  Bannister,  1866. 

Jose  for  the  present,  while  a  sub-commit- 
tee should  make  inquiry  and  negotiate 
with  reference  to  location  and  grounds. 
Messrs.  C.  P.  Hester,  I.  Owen,  William 
Morrow,  and  E.  Bannister  were  consti- 
tuted a  committee  to  bring  the  subject 
before  the  California  Legislature,  then 
sitting  in  San  Jose,  and  secure  necessary 
action  looking  toward  chartering  the 
projected  institution;  and  Mr.  Owen  was 
appointed  financial  agent. 

At  the  San  Jose  convention  three  ses- 
sions were  held,  the  forenoon  session 
January  6,  and  the  forenoon  and  after- 
noon sessions  of  January  7.  At  these  ses- 
sions the  decisive  initial  steps  in  organi- 
zation were  taken;  hence,  while  the  sub- 
ject of  this  sketch  did  not  receive  its 
charter  at  the  hands  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  California  for  some  months, 
the  sixth  day  of  January,  1851,  may,  in 
important  respects,  be  regarded  as  the 
natal  day  of  the  University  of  the  Pacific. 

It  should  be  observed  that  even  before 
the  establishment  of  the  University,  early 
California  Methodism  had  chartered  or 
received  under  conference  patronage  a 
number  of  seminaries  of  lower  than  colle- 
giate rank,  one  of  the  first  having  been 
opened  at  Santa  Cruz  by  Mr.  H.  S.  Love- 
land   in   the   fall   of   1849.    Others   were 


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Overland   Monthly. 


opened  in  San  Jose,  Sacramento,  Stock- 
ton, and  San  Francisco. 

On  May  i4,  1851,  the  committee  on  edu- 
cation met  at  the  house  of  Rev.  William 
Taylor,  in  San  Francisco,  to  hear  reports 
from  the  sub-committees  and  so  far  as 
possible,  to  complete  the  work  of  organi- 
zation. The  location  of  the  University 
was  a  question  that  received  much  earn- 
est consideration.  Land  was  offered  for 
a  site  on  various  conditions  at  the  Mis- 
sion San  Francisco,  San  Jose,  and  Santa 
Clara.  The  advantages  of  Vallejo  were 
also  discussed.  The  importance  of  secur- 
ing the  best  location  appeared  eo  great 
that  the  final  decision  was  delayed  for 
the  following  meeting.  The  most  impor- 
tant action  of  the  May  session  was  the  ap- 
pointment of  the  first  Board  of  Trustees, 
the  list  when  completed  by  a  few  subse- 
quent nominations  Including  the  follow- 
ing names:  Rev.  Isaac  Owen,  D.  L.  Ross, 
Esq.,  Rev.  S.  D.  Simohds,  Hon.  C.  P.  Hes- 
ter, W.  Grove  Deal,  M.  D.,  Rev.  Wm.  Tay- 
lor, F.  B.  Kellogg,  Esq.,  Rev.  J.  W.  Brier, 
Hon.  D.  O.  Shattuck,  Captain  Joseph 
Aram,  J.  T.  McLean,  M.  D.,  Rev.  Elihu 
Anthony,  Annis  Merrill,  Esq.,  Benjd.min 
Plerson,  M.  D.,  Rev.  M.  C.  Briggs,  Rev. 
E.  Bannister,  J.  B.  Bond,  Esq.,  Rev.  Wm. 
Morrow,  Mr.  James  Rogers,  Mr.  Warner 
Oliver,  Mr.  James  Corwine,  Mr.  Charles 
Maclay,  Mr.  David  A.  Dryden,  and  Mr.  A. 
L.  S.  Bateman. 

The  third  meeting  of  the  educational 
committee,  the  last  before  the  actual 
grant  of  the  charter,  occurred  at  the 
home  of  Mr.  Isaac  Owen  in  Santa  Clara, 
June  24,  1851.  The  question  of  location 
arising,  strong  representations  were 
made  in  favor  of  Santa  Clara.  Mr.  Owen 
was  able  to  report  valid  subscriptions 
to  the  amount  of  $27,500  made  on  condi- 
tion "that  said  college  or  university  is  lo- 
cated on  a  lot  of  20  acres  more  or  less 
adjacent  to  the  town  of  Santa  Clara,  in 
Santa  Clara  County,  and  State  of  Cali- 
fornia." And  although  Revs.  Briggs  and 
Simonds  (who  were  absent  from  the  meet- 
ing) had  urged  objections,  the  proposed 
site  was  unanimously  chosen  by  those 
present. 

What  should  be  the  name  of  the  pio- 
neer institution  of  higher  learning?  Af- 
ter consideration  of  several  names  sug- 
gested,  the    "California   Wesleyan    Uni- 


versity" was  agreed  to;  but  since  there 
was  at  that  time  no  statute  authorizing 
the  charter  of  a  university,  the  first  of- 
ficial title  of  the  corporation  vas  "Presi- 
dent and  Board  of  Trustees  of  Califomi£ 
Wesleyan  College."  Thus  the  sub-com- 
mittee on  charter,  consisting  of  Messrs. 
Owen,  Bannister,  and  Heister,  through 
their  attorney,  Hon.  Annis  Merrill,  and 
in  accordance  with  an  act  of  the  Legis- 
lature dated  April  20,  1850,  secured  from 
the  Supreme  Court  of  California  the  first 
charter  ever  granted  in  our  Common- 
wealth for  an  educational  institution  of 
college  grade.  The  charter  itself  is  dated 
July  10,  1851,  and  signed  by  E.  H.  Sharp, 
clerk  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  California. 
The  first  name  proved  to  be  unsatis- 
factory, and  was  extremely  short  lived. 
At  the  first  meeting  of  the  regularly 
constituted  Board  of  Trustees,  held  in 
Powell  street  Church,  San  Francisco. 
August  15,  1851,  "it  was  resolved  that 
the  executive  committee  be  authorised 
to  petition  the^iext  Legislature  to  alter  ' 
the  name  of  our  Institution  to  that  of 
the  University  of  the  Pacific."  As  a  ! 
response  to  the  petition  we  read  the  fol-  I 
lowing  statute,  approved  March  29,  1862:     , 

"The  name  of  the  corporation  Imown 
as  the  'California  Wesleyan  College,'  is  \ 
hereby  changed  to  that  of  'The  Unive^ 
sity  of  the  Pacific,'  and  by  that  name 
shall  said  corporation  be  hereafter  known 
in  all  courts  and  places,  and  in  that  name 
it  shall  do  all  its  business  and  exercise 
its  corporate  powers  as  fully  as  it  could 
do  or  exercise  the  same  in  and  by  its 
original  name." 

Rev.  S.  D.  Simonds  was  elected  Presi- 
dent and  Professor  Bannister  Secretary 
of  the  charter  Board  of  Trustees.  On 
motion  of  Rev.  I.  Owen,  it  was  "Resolved, 
That  the  college  shall  be  open  to  such 
females  as  may  desire  to  pursue  a  col- 
lege course."  This  was  very  advanced 
ground  on  the  subject  of  co-education; 
but  it  should  be  noted  that  regular  in- 
struction of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  the 
same  college  classes  was  not  actually 
carried  on  until  1869,  when  the  institu- 
tion was  about  to  be  removed  to  its 
present  site  at  College  Park.  Meanwhile, 
Professor  Bannister,  who  had  been  spec- 
ially sent  to  California  to  assume  charge 
of  the   educational   department,  opened 


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early  in  1851,  in  the  town  of  San  Jose, 
"a  school  of  higher  grade  than  any  in 
existence  in  California  at  that  time/'  oc- 
cupying for  the  purpose  a  building  at 
the  comer  of  Second  and  San  Fernando 
streets,  later  known  as  the  "What  Cheer 
House."  Mrs.  Bannister  assisted  her  hus- 
band, and  by  December,  1851,  the  school 
numbered  about  fifty  pupils.  Professor 
Edward  Bannister  must  be  regarded  as 
one  of  the  principal  founders  of  the 
University  of  the  Pacific.  In  all  the 
early  councils  his  words  carried  much 
weight,  for  he  was  rightly  recognized 
not  only  as  a  faithful  minister  but  also 
as  an  educator  of  sincere  devotion  and 
great  promise.  A  graduate  of  Wesleyan 
University,  and  a  teacher  of  experience 
before  sailing  for  California,  his  services 
both  as  Principal,  and  later  as  President, 
won  repeated  recognition  of  the  most 
complimentary  and  substantial  character. 
I  find  the  following  memorandum  of  the 
opening  of  the  first  term  in  Santa  Clara, 
in  Mr.  Owen's  report  to  Secretary  Durbin, 
dated  June  14,  1852: 

"University  of  the  Pacific. — Brother 
Bannister  opened  the  primary  department 
on  the  first  Monday  in  May.  The  school 
has  opened  with  more  promise  than  was 
anticipated.  A  small  class  has  been  or- 
ganized which  will  graduate.  They  have 
flfty-four  students.  Professor  Bannister 
is  Principal.  Sister  Bannister  has  charge 
of  the  female  department,  and  Brother 
Robins  of  the  primary.  A  music  teacher 
has  been  engaged." 

Delay  in  building  was  occasioned  by 
the  then  very  common  difficulty  experi- 
enced in  obtaining  a  perfect  title  to  the 
land.  It  was  not  long,  however,  till  the 
Female  Institute  building  and  the  col- 
lege building  for  the  male  department 
were  completed:  the  estimated  value  of 
these  edifices  were  $5,000  and  $12,000 
respectively,  the  former  being  a  two-story 
wooden  structure  and  the  latter  a  three- 
story  brick  structure.  Thus  the  insti- 
tution was  divided  into  two  associated 
schools,  the  Male  Department  and  the 
Female  Department,  both  under  the  same 
Board  of  Trustees  and  yet  entirely  inde- 
pendent of  each  other  in  government  and 
instruction.  The  Female  Institute  build- 
ing still  stands,  almost  adjoining  the 
Santa  Clara  M.  B.  Church,  and  is  now  the 


President  E.  McCiish. 

residence  of  Mr.  H.  H.  Slavens,  an  alum- 
nus of  the  University. 

In  February,  1854,  the  resignation  of 
Professor  Bannister  as  Principal  of  the 
Preparatory  Department,  was  reluctantly 
accepted,  and  Rev.  M.  C.  Briggs  was  duly 
elected  first  President  of  the  University, 
although  he  seems  never  to  have  fully 
entered  upon  the  duties  of  that  office. 
Associated  with  the  President  were  Mr. 
A.  S.  Gibbons,  Professor  of  Pure  and 
Mixed  Mathematics,  and  Mr.  Wm.  J.  Ma- 
clay,  Professor  of  Latin  and  Greek  Lan- 
guages. Not  long  afterwards  Professor 
James  M.  Kimberlin,  Greek  and  Modem 
Languages,  was  added  to  the  faculty. 
Of  these  stanch  foundation  builders  it 
is  indeed  worthy  of  remark  that  Dr. 
Briggs  is  at  the  present  time  residing  at 
pacific  Grove;  Dr.  Gibbons  is  still  in  the 
active  ministry  of  California  Methodism, 
serving  for  the  sixth  year  the  charge  at 
Byron;  and  Professor  Kimberlin  lives  In 
the  quiet  enjojrment  of  his  beautiful  home 
in  Santa  Clara.  Dr.  Maclay  died  at  Napa 
in  1879.  It  is  an  honor  to  any  institution 
to  have  had  as  its  first  President  such 
a  man  as  Dr.  M.  C.  Briggs.  Men^  mna  in 
corpore  sano  fitted  him  admirably.  All  up 
and  down  this  fair  land  his  stalwart  form 
is  a  familiar  and  precious  memory;  but 
his  mind  was  greater  than  his  body,  while 


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the  largeness  of  his  heart  is  not  to  be 
measured. 

The  new  organization  of  the  University 
was  effected  and  the  second  charter  re- 
ceived in  1855,  In  accordance  with  a  re- 
cent amendatory  act  of  the  State  Legis- 
lature. The  second  charter  is  dated  July 
9,  1855,  and  bears  the  signatures  of  John 
Bigler,  Governor;  S.  H.  Martell,  Surveyor- 
General;  and  Paul  R.  Hubbs,  Superinten- 
dent of  Public  Instruction.  The  follow- 
ing are  named  as  Trustees:  Gov.  J.  Bigler, 
Messrs.  Isaac  Owen,  Wm.  Taylor,  S.  D. 
Simonds,  M.  C.  Briggs,  E.  Bannister,  C. 
Maclay,  J.  D.  Blain,  Joseph  Aram,  Annis 
Merrill,  J.  T.  McLean,  S.  S.  Johnson,  Asa 
Vestal,  B.  F.  Headen,  Geo.  S.  Phillips, 
Henry  Gibbons,  and  John  Buffiington. 

A  perusal  of  the  official  records  of  the 
University  during  its  first  years  and  of 
such  correspondence  touching  its  foun- 
dation as  may  now  be  discovered  cannot 
fail  to  impress  one  with  the  sincere  de- 
votion, purposeful  and  far-seeing  plans, 
self-forgetful  spirit  in  the  midst  of  avar- 
ice, and  withal  the  deep  solicitude  for 
the  permanency  and  welfare  of  the  insti- 
tution for  Christian  education,  that  char- 
acterized those  most  intimately  connected 
with  the  initial  stages  of  its  development, 
whether  as  teachers,  trustees,  or  patrons. 

The  regular  classical  course  given  ex- 
tended over  four  years  and  was  similar 
to  the  corresponding  course  in  the  best 
Eastern  colleges  of  the  time.  Great  stress 
was  laid  upon  Greek  and  Latin.  The 
degree  of  B.  A.  was  conferred  upon  those 
who  completed  the  full  course,  while  for 
a  number  of  years  students  not  desiring 
to  study  the  ancient  languages  "were  en- 
titled to  the  degree  of  B.  S.  if  they  satis- 
factorily completed  all  the  other  studies. 
The  course  in  the  Female  Department 
extended  over  three  years.  The  dip- 
loma carried  with  it  the  degree  of 
Mistress  of  Science,  which  in  effect 
was  only  another  name  for  the  B.  S. 
degree.  The  first  regular  graduation 
occurred  in  1858,  under  the  presidency  of 
Professor  Gibbons,  when  five  young  men 
took  their  baccalaureate  degrees:  a  like 
number  of  young  ladies  completed  the 
work  of  the  Institute  and  are  recognized 
as  alumni  of  the  University.  In  all 
sixty-four  students  were  graduated  be- 
fore the  institution  was  removed  to  its 


present  location  in  1871.  A  high  standard 
of  student  morality  and  conduct  was 
maintained,  a  condition  due  in  part  to 
the  prudent  vigilance  of  those  in  author- 
ity and  in  part  to  the  fact  that  the  stu- 
dents themselves  were  almost  uniformly 
representatives  from  the  best  homes. 
We  find  the  following  in  the  Catalogue 
for  1857-58: 

'•The  one  rule  of  the  Institute  will  be 
the  'Rule  of  Right.'  We  cumber  not  the 
memory  with  a  variety  of  regulations,  but 
endeavor  to  cultivate  the  moral  sense,  as 
a  universal   governing  principle.  | 

"We  would  have  the  pupils  habituated      ' 
to  contemplate  and  appreciate  all  their 
varied   relations   and    responsibilities    to 
their    friends,    their    country    and    their 
God." 

The  constant  endeavor  has  been  "to  in- 
culcate right  moral  principles,  and  to 
cultivate  the  moral  feelings  and  that 
delicate  regard  for  a  good  reputation 
which  is  always  a  quality  of  a  virtuous 
mind." 

There  have  been  no  fewer  than  thirteen 
presidential  incumbencies  during  the 
fifty  years  of  history  if  we  include  Pro- 
fessor Bannister's  administration  as  Prin- 
cipal and  Dr.  Sawyer's  as  Acting  Presi- 
dent. William  J.  Maclay  was  elected 
May,  1856,  when  in  turn  he  was  succeeded 
by  Rev.  A.  S.  Gibbons  in  1857.  The  long- 
est single  encumbency  was  that  of  Presi- 
dent Stratton,  who  served  for  the  decade 
1877-87.  A  complete  list  would  show 
the  following  Presidents  with  their  re- 
spective years  of  service: 

Edward  Bannister    (Principal) . .  .1852-54 

M.  C.  Briggs  (First  President) 1854-56 

William    J.    Maclay 1856-57 

A.   S.   Gibbons 1857-59 

Edward  Bannister  (President) 1859-67 

Thomas  H.  Sinex 1867-72 

A.  S.  Gibbons 1872-77 

C.   C.   Stratton 1877-87 

A.  C.  Hirst 1887-91 

Isaac  Crook 1891-93 

W.  C.  Sawyer  (Acting  President) .  .1893-94 

J.  N.  Beard 1894-96 

Eli  McClish 1896-i^.  ^^ 

On  September  22,  1858,  the  Board  of 
Trustees  accepting  a  proposition  made 
by  R.  Beverly  Cole,  M.  D.,  of  San  Fran- 


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1041 


Cisco,  adopted  resolutions  establishing 
in  San  Francisco  a  Medical  Department 
of  the  University  of  the  Pacific.  In  this 
again  the  University  of  the  Pacific  was 


us  to  proceed  without  pecuniary  means  to 
enable  us  to  liquidate  indebtedness  that 
we  have  been  compelled  to  incur  in  the 
past  and  to  meet  present  demands,  and 
we,  therefore,  hope  that  in  your  wisdom, 
you  will  take  measures  that  will  afford 
us  relief  from  present  pecuniary  embar- 
rassments/' 

(Signed)  J.  M.  KIMBERLIN. 

E.  BANNISTER. 

June  11,  1862. 

Extract  from  a  letter  of  W.  S.  Turner, 
agent,  to  the  Board  of  Trustees,  dated 
June  4,  1862: 

"Not  more  than  half  of  the  ministers 
give  me  a  cordial  welcome  to  their  fields; 
so  that  I  find  it  intolerably  discouraging. 
But  one  or  two  ministers  of  all  who  sub- 
scribed last  Conference  have  paid  any- 
thing, and  those  were  small  sums.  The 
cry  is  'hard  times!'  with  ministers  and 
people,  and  most  I  call  on  advise  me  to 
postpone  it  till  times  get  better.  I  fear  I 
shall  not  get  enough  between  this  and 
Conference  to  meet  anything  like  my  sal- 
ary and  traveling  expenses,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  large  deficiency  from  the  first 
of  the  year  up  to  this  time.  I  would  pre- 
fer to  drop  the  agency  at  the  close  of 
my  present  trip  with  the  consent  of  the 
Trustees." 


West  Hall.     Erected  1871. 


Debts  and  divisions  have  perhaps  been 
the  greatest  obstacles  in  the  pathway 
which  leads  to  the  complete  realization 
of  the  wise  and  ample  plans  of  the  found- 
ers. But  these  are  the  very  obstacles 
that  a  militant  Methodism  has  trium- 
phantly overcome  under  adverse  circum- 
stances and  on  all  continents.  In  1865 
the  debt  of  the  University  was  about 
$10,000;  and  in  view  of  the  serious  pecun- 


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iary  embarrassment  of  the  following  year 
the  trustees  voted  it  impossible  "to  con- 
tinue the  support  of  a  Faculty  of  instruc- 
tion at  present,"  and  therefore  resolved 
"that  further  instruction  at  the  expense 
of  the  Board  in  the  male  department, 
preparatory  and  collegiate,  be  suspended 
until  the  necessary  relief  can '  be  ob- 
tained." It  is  due  the  professors  to  say 
that  as  a  body  they  have  been  men  of 
sterling  principle  and  self-sacrificing 
character.  Instances  might  be  cited 
where  teachers  have  voluntarily  donated 
as  high  as  four-fifteenths  of  their  meager 
salary  to  the  University. 

Rev.  G.  R.  Baker,  agent  for  the  Uni- 
versity, conceived  the  plan  of  purchas- 
ing a  tract  of  land  on  the  Stockton 
Rancho,  lying  between  Santa  Clara  and 
San  Jose,  which,  reserving  about  twenty 
acres  for  a  campus,  should  be  subdivided 
and  sold  for  the  benefit  of  University 
endowment.  On  motion  of  Mr.  E.  Thomas, 
made  March  13,  1866,  the  trustees  pro- 
ceeded to  purchase  the  land,  agreeing  to 
pay  for  the  whole  tract — ^about  435  acres 
—approximately  the  sum  of  $72,000.  The 
land  was  surveyed  in  April  of  the  same 
year,  subdivided  into  blocks  and  lots,  and 
offered  for  sale  at  an  advance  of  one 
hundred  per  cent  on  cost.  The  University 
survey  fronts  on  the  Alameda,  which  is 
the  beautiful  driveway  between  San  Jose 
and  Santa  Clara,  and  extends  back  to 
the  Guadaloupe  river.  The  streets  bound- 
ing the  tract  on  the  north  and  south  were 
named  Newhall  and  Polhemus  respect- 
ively, after  the  former  owners;  while 
between  these  the  parallel  streets  were 
named  after  the  bishops  of  the  M.  E. 
Church.  The  removal  of  the  University 
to  the  new  location  was  now  earnestly 
considered,  and  in  1868  it  was  recom- 
mended "that  the  Annual  Conference  take 
measures  for  the  raising  of  funds  for  the 
erection  of  suitable  buildings  on  the  new 
campus."  In  November  of  that  year  a 
subscription  was  started,  anl  the  corner- 
stone of  West  Hall  was  laid  with  appro- 
priate ceremonies,  September  10,  1870. 
The  structure  was  completed  and  fur- 
nished at  a  cost  of  $30,000,  and  first  occu- 
pied in  the  spring  of  1871. 

Meanwhile  a  committee  consisting  of 
Messrs.  Saxe,  Headen,  and  Baker,  had 
been  planting  trees  and  otherwise  beau- 


tifying the  campus.  The  fruits  of  their 
toil  have  been  apparent  in  later  years. 
The  location  of  the  University  is  ideal. 
The  campus  of  eighteen  acres  is  taste- 
fully laid  out  in  lawns,  shaded  walks,  and 
flower  beds,  and  is  easily  capable  under 
adequate  irrigation  and  the  gardener's 
art  of  taking  rank  with  the  most  attrac- 
tive college  homes  in  any  land.  Quiet, 
home-like,  and  rural,  with  the  perfection 
of  California  climate  and  an  environment 
of  loveliness  which  has  made  the  Santa 
Clara  Valley  famous,  the  campus  is  yet 
within  easy  access  of  all  the  cultured  ad- 
vantages of  the  progressive  city  of  San 
Jose. 

A  brief  mention  of  the  principal  build- 
ings erected  since  1871  must  suffice. 
South  Hall  is  the  comfortable  home  of  the 
young  women  boarding  students.  One 
of  the  largest  structures  is  East  Hall, 
which  is  156  feet  deep  by  84  feet  wide, 
and  four  stories  high;  it  was  erected 
primarily  for  the  Academy,  and  contains, 
besides  numerous  recitation  rooms  and 
laboratories,  suitable  accommodations 
for  a  large  number  of  male  boarding  stu- 
dents. Central  Hall,  so  named  because 
situated  between  the  East  and  South 
halls,  contains  the  University  dining 
room.  The  newest  of  the  group  is  the 
Conservatory  of  Music  building,  erected 
in  1890,  and  justly  admired  for  its  beauty 
and  considered  a  model  in  its  appoint- 
ments for  students  pursuing  music  and 
art  courses.  The  splendid  auditorium 
capable  of  seating  1000  persons  has  been 
year  after  year  thronged  with  cultured 
audiences  to  the  literary  and  musical 
programmes  there  rendered.  The  Jacks- 
Goodall  Observatory  has  for  years  made 
it  possible  to  carry  on  practical  work  in 
astronomical  science  in  the  regular  cur- 
riculum. 

The  opening  years  at  College  Park 
were  in  reality  one  of  the  most  critical 
periods  in  the  history  of  the  University; 
indeed,  to  some  the  end  of  its  career 
seemed  at  hand.  At  its  meeting  held 
June  6,  1871,  the  Board  of  Trustees 
adopted  the  following: 

"Resolved,  that  we  elect  a  President  of 
the  University  to  conduct  the  Institution 
for  the  academic  year  next  ensuing,  to 
meet  all  of  the  expenses  out  of  his  own 
funds,  paying  the  taxes  on  building  and 


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Autumn   Scene  on  the  Campus. 


East  Hall.     Academy  Building. 


June  5,  1878.  During  his  administration 
of  ten  years  the  zenith  of  prosperity  and 
power  hitherto  was  reached.  Regular 
professorships  increased  from  six  to 
ten;  students  from  166  to  423.  Degrees 
were  conferred  to  the  number  of  197. 
To  the  Collegiate,  Preparatory,  and  Com- 
mercial departments  were  added  Art, 
Music,  Elocution,  Education,  and  Law. 
Professor  F.  L.  King,  now  of  San  Jose, 
should  be  given  large  credit  for  building 
up  an  excellent  musical  department.  The 
success  of  the  financial  administration  is 
evidenced  by  the  facts  that  all  indebted- 
ness was  wiped  out  and  three  important 
buildings  constructed,  namely:  South 
Hall,  East  Hall,  and  the  Observatory. 
This  material  prosperity  was  due  in  great 
measure  to  the  generosity  of  such  patrons 
as  Captain  Charles  Goodall,  Mr.  David 
Jacks,  Mr.  Justus  Greeley,  Mr.  John  Wid- 
ney.  Mr.  James  A.  Clayton,  Mr.  E.  W. 
Playter,  Mr.  Peter  Bohl,  Mr.  J.  W.  Whit- 
ney, Senator  Stanford,  Dr.  M.  C.  Briggs, 
Mr.  J.  E.  Richards,  Judge  Annis  Merrill, 
M.  C.  H.  Afflerbach,  and  President 
Stratton  himself. 

Dr.  Stratton  presented  his  resignation 
December  8,  1886;  but  the  trustees,  being 
very  unwilling  to  lose  so  successful  and 
competent  an  administrator,  prevailed 
upon  him  to  withdraw  it  by  agreeing 
to  certain  conditions  submitted  by  him. 
On  March  14,  1887,  however,  the  Presi- 
dent's resignation  was  again  in  the  hands 
of  the  board,  and  this  time  it  was  ac- 
cepted to  go  into  effect  at  the  close  of  the 
academic  year.  Dr.  A.  C.  Hirst  was  called 
to  be  the  successor  of  President  Stratton. 


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Unfortunately  there  arose  a  combi- 
nation of  circumstances  that  introduced 
with  alarming  suddenness  another  criti- 
cal period — a  period,  indeed,  of  a  life 
and  death  struggle.  During  the  years 
1887-90  the  attendance  of  students  in  all 
departments  was  large,  the  faculty  was 
stronger  than  ever  before,  and  tokens  of 
prosperity  were  to  be  found  on  all  sides. 
Unhappily  for  the  University  perfect  har- 
mony was  wanting.  The  crisis  came  in 
the  spring  of  1891,  when  differences  arose 
on  questions  of  student  discipline  which 
in  the  end  jeopardized  the  very  existence 
of  the  college.  As  an  upshot  of  the  diffi- 
culty Professors  T.  C.  George,  Chas.  E. 
Cox,  W.  W.  Thoburn,  and  D.  A.  Hayes, 
four  of  the  most  popular  teachers  in 
the  University,  tendered  their  resigna- 
nations.  The  difficult  situation  was 
rendered  more  grave  since  the  Stanford 
University  was  first  opened  to  students 
in  the  fall  of  that  year,  and  the  great 
majority  of  the  membership  of  the  regu- 
lar college  classes  sought  honorable  dis- 
missal in  order  that  they  might  complete 
their  courses  at  Palo  Alto.  In  the  midst  of 
the  difficulties  President  Hirst  himself  re- 
signed, and  upon  the  trustees  was  thrust 
the  arduous  task  of  securing  a  successor. 

President  Hirst  gained  recognition  as 
one  of  the  most  classic  pulpit  orators 
on  the  Pacific  Coast,  and  since  leaving 
the  University  ne  has  served  some  of  the 
most  prominent  Methodist  churches  in 
San   Francisco  and   Chicago. 

The  next  President  of  the  University 
was  Dr.  Isaac  Crook,  a  man  of  great  abil- 
ity, excellent  spirit,  and  large  experience 
as  an  educator.  He  had  come  into  a 
task  at  once  exceptionally  arduous  and 
extremely  delicate.  He  labored  inces- 
santly, but  in  less  than  two  years  he 
deemed  it  his  duty  to  resign,  and  thus 
the  future  was  still  problematical.  No 
President  was  elected  at  once  on  the 
departure  of  Dr.  Crook,  but  Professor  W. 
C.  Sawyer  served  during  1893-94  as  Act- 
ing-President. In  the  meantime  a  move- 
ment to  consolidate  the  educational  inter- 
ests of  the  California  Conference  of  the 
M.  E.  Church,  consisting  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  the  Pacific  and  Napa  College,  had 
been  acquiring  considerable  momentum. 
Of  this  movement  it  is  necessary  to 
speak. 


In  1870  a  corporation  known  as  Napa 
Collegiate  Institute  had  been  formed, 
and  in  the  course  of  time  there  had 
grown  up  in  Napa  City  an  excellent 
school.  In  1885  a  re-incorporation  was 
effected,  the  name  was  changed  to  Napa 
College,  and  the  curriculum  correspond- 
ingly extended.  There  was  thus  presen- 
ted the  somewhat  anomalous  situation  of 
two  colleges,  separated  by  less  than 
ninety  miles,  offering  parallel  courses, 
under  the  same  general  control,  but  gov- 
erned by  entirely  separate  and  distinct 
Boards  of  Trustees.  Both  institutions 
were  rendering  a  high  grade  of  service; 
but,  when  the  affairs  of  the  University  of 
the  Pacific  became  unfavorably  involved, 
and  when  the  competition  of  other  insti- 
tutions began  to  be  more  keenly  felt, 
the  natural  subject  of  the  consolidation 
of  interests  was  broached.  At  its  session 
in  September,  1892,  the  Conference  of 
the  Church  took  steps  toward  unifying 
the  two  colleges.  Other  steps  were  taken 
very  cautiously,  and  in  September,  1894, 
the  consolidation  was  virtually  comple- 
ted. The  final  and  complete  unification, 
however,  was  signalized  by  vote  of  the 
trustees,  January,  1896,  a  statement  con- 
cerning which  is  found  in  the  Catalogue 
for   1895-1896. 

"At  a  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Trust- 
ees in  January,  1896,  it  was  decided  to 
discontinue  the  work  of  Napa  College  per- 
manently at  the  end  of  the  current  aca- 
demic year,  and  to  concentrate  all  the 
forces  of  the  University  at  College  Park. 
Accordingly,  while  this  issue  of  the  An- 
nual Catalogue  includes  the  statistics 
of  both  Napa  College  and  San  Jose  Col- 


Conservatory  of  Music.    South  End. 


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lege,  for  the  scholastic  year  beginning 
iu  August,  1895,  and  ending  in  May,  1896, 
the  announcements  for  the  ensuing  year 
pertain  wholly  to  the  University  of  the 
Pacific,  as  thus  reconstituted  by  the  ac- 
tion of  the  trustees,  the  several  depart- 
ments of  the  University  being  located, 
without  exception,  at  College  Park,  Cali- 
fornia." 

The  patrons  of  Napa  College,  together 
with  its  alumni  and  entire  student  body, 
deeply  regretted  the  necessity  of  discon- 
tinuing work  there,  and  one  still  hears 
sincere  expressions  of  the  deep  sense 
of  loss  sustained  by  the  citizens  of  Napa. 

Dr.  J.  N.  Beard,  who  had  served  with 
conspicuous  ability  as  President  of  Napa 
College  since  1887,  was  elected  first  Presi- 
dent of  the  consolidated  University  of  the 
Pacific.  Associated  with  him  was  the 
late  Dr.  F.  F.  Jewell  (as  Chancellor) 
whose  efforts  in  behalf  of  unification  had 
proved  most  effective.  President  Beard 
is  a  natural  educator,  possessing  marked 
executive  ability,  a  teacher  and  preacher 
of  commanding  personality,  an  indefati- 
grable  student,  a  man  of  rigidly  moral 
principle  and  profound  conviction.  It  is 
believed  that  he  entertained  for  the  Uni- 
versity certain  far-reaching  plans  not 
wholly  in  accord  with  the  wishes  of  the 
trustees.  During  the  process  of  consoli- 
dation it  was  thought  by  many  that  the 
central  University  should  be  located  in 
San  Francisco;  but  the  local  sentiment 
at  San  Jose  proved  too  strong.  The  work 
of  unification  having  been  accomplished. 
Dr.  Beard  sought  release  from  active 
service  and  sailed  for  an  extended  Euro- 
pean trip  early  in  1896,  leaving  the  ad- 
ministrative work  In  charge  of  Vice-Presi- 
dent M.  S.  Cross.  Returning  to  Califor- 
nia, Dr.  Beard  re-entered  the  pastorate, 
and  has  since  been  serving  most  accept- 
ably Grace  M.  E.  Church,  San  Francisco. 
Curiously  enough,  the  former  pastor  of 
Grace  Church  succeeded  Dr.  Beard  as 
President  of  the  University.  Rev.  Eli 
McClish,  D.  D.,  had  been  offered  the 
Presidency  in  1891,  but  having  recently 
come  to  the  Coast  he  deemed  it  unwise 
to  accept.  In  1896,  however,  after  the 
consolidation  with  Napa  College,  he  was 
induced  to  accept.  President  McClish 
is  one  of  the  most  popular  men  in  the 
California  Conference.  He  is  much  sought 
after  as  lecturer  and  preacher,  and  is  at 


Rockwell   D.  Hunt,  Professor  of  History 
and   Political   Science. 

present  supplying  Dr.  E.  R.  Dille's  large 
Oakland  church. 

Through  the  strenuous  efforts  of  Dr. 
McClish  as  President,  Dr.  H.  B.  Heacock 
as  Financial  Agent,  and  Mr.  Jere  Leiter 
as  Treasurer,  assisted  by  a  host  of  friends 
and  patrons,  the  burdensome  debt  of  $60,- 
000  has  been  fully  provided  for.  While 
large  numbers  of  generous-spirited 
friends  have  rendered  valuable  assist- 
ance in  this  heroic  work,  the  liquidation 
of  the  indebtedness  has  been  made  possi- 
ble largely  through  the  special  efforts 
and  gifts  of  the  Ladies'  Conservatory  As- 
sociation, and  such  men  as  Mr.  O.  A. 
Hale,  chairman  of  the  Citizens'  Commit- 
tee of  San  Jose,  Bishop  J.  W.  Hamilton, 
Judge  J.  R.  Lewis,  Rev.  A.  M.  Bailey, 
and  Messrs.  T.  C.  MacChesney,  J.  H. 
Brush,  J.  O.  Hestwood,  George  D.  Kellogg, 
J.  F.  Forderer,  J.  Sheppard,  C.  H.  Holt, 
Th.  Kirk,  A.  Benedict,  and  John  Crothers. 

Professors  are  selected  with  great  care. 
In  addition  to  the  usual  equipment  of 
advanced  and  specialized  training  and 
successful  experience,  moral  fitness  and 
helpfulness  as  a  companion  of  youth  are 
deemed  prime  qualifications.  The  Uni- 
versity of  the  Pacific  has  enjoyed  par- 
ticular distinction  in  the  field  and  work 
of  literary  and  debating  societies.  Hun- 
dreds of  alumni  representing  all  walks  of 


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Overland   Monthly. 


life  testify  to  the  great  value  of  this 
feature  of  college  life  and  training.  There 
are  now  in  the  University  six  such  socie- 
ties of  long  and  honorable  standing,  4  for 
gentlemen,  and  2  for  ladies,  which  furnish 
excellent  opportunity  for  parliamentary 
and  forensic  practice.  Archania  is  the 
oldest  college  literary  society  in  Califor- 
nia, being  organized  in  1854.  For  many 
years  the  college  Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  Y.  W. 
C.  A.  have  maintained  strong  organiza- 
tematic  Christian  work  at  the  University. 
Their  steady  influence  has  been  a  potent 
factor  for  the  moral  and  religious  uplift 
of  the  institution.  The  alumni  number 
upwards  of  500,  and  include  many  who 
have  attained  distinction  in  the  honorable 
professions.  Rev.  A.  J.  Hanson,  73,  also 
a  trustee,  has  for  several  years  served  as 
President  of  the  Association  with  marked 
ability.  The  alumni  will  have  a  prom- 
inent place  in  the  Semi-Centennial  Cele- 
bration occurring  this  month. 

The  University  of  the  Pacific  is  distinct- 
ively a  Christian  college,  but  not  a  narrow 
or  sectarian  or  illiberal  institution.  It 
recognizes  the  religious  factor  in  human 
life  and  seeks  to  make  the  whole  man  the 
object  of  culture.  As  integrity  and  virtue 
possess  higher  worth  than  mere  knowl- 
edge, so  "genuine  education  is  that  which 
trains  to  godliness  and  virtue,  to  truth- 


Mr.  O.  A.  Hale. 


H.  B.  Heacock,  D.  D.,  Financial  Agent  of 
University  of  the  Pacific. 

fulness  and  the  love  of  spiritual  beauty." 
The  feeling  tnat  there  is  no  room  In  Cal- 
ifornia for  a  Christian  college  appears  to 
be  waning;  ripest  present-day  scholar- 
ship seems  to  be  re-discerning  the  trath 
uttered  long  ago  by  Guizot  that  "in  order 
to  make  education  truly  good  and  socially 
useful,  it  must  be  fundamentally  relig- 
ious." A  recent  writer  puts  the  case 
thus  strongly:  "Perhaps  the  falsest  value 
is  that  which  we  set  on  mere  book  learn- 
ing. Without  religion  it  only  qualifies 
the  thief  to  be  more  expert  in  his  thiev- 
ing. If  it  is  not  assimilated  into  a  man's 
life,  and  made  a  part  of  his  every-day 
work,  it  becomes  a  deadly  alien  weight 
on  both."  It  is  no  disparagement  to  the 
brilliant  work  of  our  great  universities, 
which  are  such  a  spur  to  all  smaller  in- 
stitutions, to  suggest  that  from  their 
inherent  nature  they  allow  certain  ten- 
dencies which  need  the  persistently  cor- 
rective, restraining,  softening  infiuences 
of  the  Christian  college. 

The  Golden  Jubilee  finds  "Old  U.  P." 
upon  a  vantage  ground  of  enlarged  out- 
look which  brings  within  easier  reach  an 
adequate  realization  of  the  hopes  and 
prayers  of  those  far-seeing  pioneers  who 
laid  so  well  the  foundations  of  Christian 
civilization  half  a  century  ago  In  this 
new  empire. 

College  Park,  California. 


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ONE  of  the  most  practical  and   most 
promising  ideas  that  have  been  presented 
to  the  consideration 
of   the    public    in    a 
A  Novel  and        long  time  is  embod- 
Promising    Idea,     led  in  a  proposition 
to  establish  a  float- 
ing exposition  to  car- 
ry samples  of  American  merchandise  on 
shipboard   around  the  world,  and   place 
them  on  exhibition  at  every  port  worth 
called  at.     The  idea  comes  from  a  Mr. 
O.  P.  Austin,  chief  of  the  United  States 
Bureau   of    Statistics.      The    proposition 
in  one  which  has,  as  it  should,  attracted 
the   immediate   and    favorable   attention 
of  business  iflen  throughout  the  Pacific 
States.     There  is,  it  is  to  be  observed, 
no  country  in  the  world   which   has  so 
much  to  gain  by  generously  advertising 
its  resources  and  products  as  the  United 
States;  and  no  section  of  our  country  is 
more  interested  in  the  matter  than  that 
which  lies  on  the  western  side  of  the 
Great  Divide.    We  have  a  vast  territory 
which   nature   has   generously   endowed, 
and  to  make  that  endowment  a  thing  of 
value  all  that  is  now  needed  is  an  ex- 
panding market — a  growing  demand  for 
our  wares.     In  the  securement  of  this, 
the   proposed   exposition   appears   to   be 
both  utilitarian  and  unique.    Exhibitions 
of  the  products  of  industrial  development, 
whether  in  the  form  of  the  old-time  fair 
or  the  more  modern  and  more  elaborate 
exposition,    have    always    proven    them- 
selves to  be  of  marked  benefit  to  trade. 
But  the   influence   of  these  methods   of 
aiding  commerce  are  limited  by  their  ca- 
pacity to  attract  visitors  to  their  doors 
as  well  as  by  the  ability  of  the  curious  to 
spare  the  money  and  the  time  lequired 
in  order  to  view  them.     These  methods 
of   attracting   attention   have   also   been 
reinforced    by   the    efforts   of   travelling 
salesmen  who  represented   single  estab- 
lishments, by  commercial  missions  which 
gathered  information  regarding  the  wants 
of  distant  markets   but  were  unable  to 
show  the  people  whose  trade  was  sought 


examplars   of   the    goods,    and    by    com- 
mercial museums  which  appealed  to  the 
abstract  and  academic  side  of  life  rather 
than  to  the  concrete  and  bustling  factors 
which  surge  around  and  give  vitality  to 
commercial    exchanges    and    boards    of 
trade.    Now  it  is  claimed  by  Mr.  Austin, 
and  the  claim  seems  to  be  founded  on 
reason,  that  the  most  valuable  features 
in   all   these   aids   to   commerce   can   be 
combined    in    the    floating    exposition — 
which   will   bring   the   buyer   and   seller 
into    personal    contact,    with    elaborate 
samples  of  the  goods  at  hand  for  Inspec- 
-tion  and  discussion,  at  the  former's  door- 
step, and,  at  the  same  time  give  the  seller 
or   his   agents   an   opportunity   to   study 
the  market  conditions,  possibilities  and 
prospects  at  close  range.  An  exposition  of 
this  sort  would  call  for  the  employment  of 
a  fleet  consisting  of  several  ships.     If  it 
made  a  tour  of  the  world  it  would  create 
a  sensation   at  every  port  it  called   at. 
In  addition  to  awakening  the  commercial 
element  to  the  possibilities  of  profitable 
trade  that  we  are  offering,  it  would  make 
our  country  known  to  the  peoples  of  the 
globe  to  an  extent  and  in  a  way  that  it 
never  has  been  known  before.    The  main 
exposition  should,  of  course,  be  a  national 
affair,    but   there   is   no    reason    why   it 
should  not  be  accompanied  by  additional 
ships    containing    special    exhibits    from 
such  States  as  think  they  have  something 
especially    worth    exhibiting.      There    is 
no  reason,  for  instance,  why  California 
and  Washington  and  Oregon  should  not 
each   be   represented   in   this   exposition 
fleet   by   ships    bearing   special    exhibits 
of  their  wines,  their  fruits,  their  cereals, 
their  woods,  their  minerals,  and,  in  short, 
all   that  makes   them    rich.     And    these 
ships  and  the  staffs  of  ofilcials  by  which 
they  should  be  accompanied  would  serve 
a    double    purpose.     The    States    of   the 
Pacific   Coast   are  only  sparsely  settled 
and  developed.     They  can  carry  popula- 
tions of  twenty-five  times  their  present 
number   without    being    overcrowded    or 
even  filled  up;  and  they  are  all  seeking 


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to  attract  dealrable  immigration— they 
are  all  eadeavorins  to  call  the  attention 
o(  the  homeseeker  and  the  investor  to 
their  resonrces.  Special  exposition  ships 
accompanying  the  fleet  of  a  national  float- 
big  exposition  would  be  a  better  immi- 
gration agency  than  anything  that  has 
yet  been  tried.  This  would  be  addi- 
tloiial  and  subsidiary  to  their  function 
u  a  mercantile  influence.  And  the  cost, 
comparatively  speaking,  would  not  be 
great  Fifty  thousand  dollars  should 
keep  a  special  State  exposition  ship 
afloat  for  a  year.  A  few  million  of  dol- 
lars would  keep  a  national  exposition 
fleet  on  the  ocean  for  a  long  time.  These 
millions  would  be  as  bread  cast  upon  the 
waters,  and  would  return  after  many  days. 
THB  practical  nullification  of  the  Fif- 
teenth Amendment  to  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States  by  a 
number  of  the  Southern 
A  Problenfi  States,  within  the  past 
of  Races.  year  or  so,  serves  to 
bring  up  for  discussion 
the  whole  question  of 
the  negro's  status,  both  political  and  so- 
cial, in  the  United  States — and  to  bring 
it  Qp  under  conditions  of  calmness  and 
fhimess  of  mind  which  did  not  exist,  and 
were  Impossible  of  creation,  at  the  time 
the  Fifteenth  Amendment  was  adopted. 
It  may  be  remarked  at  the  outset  that  the 
adoption  of  that  amendment  at  the  time 
it  was  forced  into  the  organic  law  was 
a  mistake  from  a  political  as  well  as  from 
a  aoclological  standpoint.  It  was  an  at- 
tempt to  regulate  and  establish,  by  an 
arbitrmry  enactment  of  municipal  law  and 
in  a  hurry,  social  and  political  conditions 
that  in  the  very  nature  of  things  prudent 
men  would  have  allowed  to  regulate  them- 
selves through  tne  softening  influence  of 
time.  But  prudence  was  not  a  character- 
istic of  the  reconstruction  era — ^an  era 
of  force  and  prejudice  through  which 
reverberated  the  sharp  crack  of  musketry 
and  the  dull  boom  of  cannon  from  the 
near-by  battle-flelds  of  the  civil  war. 
That  its  schemes  have  failed,  and  that 
the  status  of  the  negro  is  worse  instead 
of  better  than  it  was  when  the  surrender 
of  General  Lee  at  Appomatox  developed 
his  freedom  from  the  tentative  stage  into 
an  absolute  and  unchangeable  fact,  can 
surprise  no  thoughtful  student  of  history. 


That  which,  if  left  to  itself  some  thirty- 
five  years  ago,  would  probably  have  work- 
ed out  by  natural  processes  of  evolution 
a  plan  for  its  own  adjustment  and  regula- 
tion threatens  to  become  a  chronic  prob- 
lem that  defies  solution.  It  is  an  admitted 
fact  that  the  South  would  divide  upon 
modern  questions  of  public  policy  if  it 
were  not  for  the  race  question;  it  is  an 
admitted  fact  that  the  South  is  solidly 
democratic  for  no  other  or  better  reason 
than  that  the  Republican  party  is  by 
tradition  opposed  to  the  attitude  of  the 
white  people  of  the  South  on  the  race 
question;  it  is  a  fact  that  in  the  South 
the  race  question  dominates  and  dwarfs 
all  other  considerations.  But  how  long 
is  this  condition  to  continue?  It  does 
not  seem  possible  than  any  community 
can  thrive  or  develop  one-half  of  its  pos- 
sibilities when  a  large  proportion  of  the 
population  upon  which  it  relies  for  energy 
and  vitality  is  under  a  ban  that  robs  life 
of  the  sweetness  of  ambition  and  hope. 
Such  a  situation  as  that  is  possible  only 
in  connection  with  the  existence  of  sla- 
very. But  it  is  to  be  noted  in  this  rela- 
tion that,  although  the  population  of  the 
United  States  Is  made  up  of  a  curious 
jumble  of  all  nationalities,  racial  difficul- 
ties are  more  accentuated  among  us  than 
among  any  other  people  in  the  world. 
In  the  British  West  Indies  the  negroes 
were  once  bondsmen  and  are  now  free, 
but  there  is  no  such  conflict  between 
them  and  the  white  people  of  the  islands 
as  exists  in  our  Southern  States.  Another 
fact  that  should  be  observed  in  this  con- 
nection is  that  our  institutions  of  Gov- 
ernment, though  they  are  supposed  to 
be  the  most  liberal  and  most  plastic  of 
any  in  the  world,  seem  to  utterly  fail  of 
their  purpose  when  brought  into  contact 
with  racial  peculiarities.  The  San  Fran- 
cisco authorities  have  never  been  able 
to  properly  govern  or  discipline  their 
Chinatown.  Yet  the  British  in  Hongkong 
and  in  India  flnd  little  difficulty  in  govern- 
ing and  controlling  and  preserving  good 
order  among  the  teeming  Asiatic  popula- 
tion with  which  they  are  brought  into 
contact.  There  is  something  beneath  all 
this  that  is  worthy  of  study.  Perhaps  an 
explanation  of  it  might  be  worked  out 
of  the  suggestion  that  the  American  mind 
needs  to  cultivate  a  spirit  of  tolerance. 


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Tolstoi  succinctly,  if 
somewhat  dogmatically. 
An  Epic  of  says:  "The  art  of  our 
Wheat.  time  can  be  and  is  of 
two  kinds — 1,  art  trans- 
mitting feelings  flowing 
from  a  religious  perception  of  man's  po- 
sition in  the  world  in  relation  to  Qod 
and  to  his  neighbor — religious  art  In  the 
limited  meaning  of  the  term;  and  2,  art 
transmitting  the  simplest  feelings  of  com- 
mon life,  but  such,  always  as  are  accessi- 
ble to  all  men  in  the  whole  world — ^the  art 
of  common  life — the  art  of  a  people — uni- 
VenRl  a.rtr  R  Is  to  this  latter  standard 
tha't  Mr.  Frank  Norris'  latest  book,  "The 
Octopus,"  conforms.  It  Involves  a  great 
idea.  It  carries  the  Yltan-llke  shadow  of 
human  outlines  such  as  moves  In  the 
works  of  the  great  Frenchmen,  Zola  or 
Hugo,  or  in  Millet's  peasant  pictures, 
smacking  of  the  life  of  the  soil.  It  treats 
of  those  qualities  of  human  nature  which 
are  not  erclusive  .properties  of  one  class, 
but  are  common  alike  to  the  nature  of 
the  club  man  and  the  laborer.  Following 
after  the  Zolaesque  trlology  Idea,  "The 
Octopus"  is  only  the  flrst  of  a  projected 
series  of  novels  forming  together  "The 
Epic  of  the  Wheat."  They  are  not  to  con- 
flict with  one  another,  the  flrst  involving 
a  story  of  the  production  of  wheat,  the 
second,  "The  Pit,"  a  story  of  Chicago,  will 
relate  to  the  distribution,  and  the  third, 
"The  Wolf:  A  Story  of  Europe,"  to  the 
consumption  of  American  wheat.  The 
encircling  plot  in  the  book  is  "The  Octo- 
pus"— the  "Paclflc  and  Southwestern 
Railroad"— -the  "Road"  of  which  Shelgrin. 
its  President,  says,  sitting  in  his  city 
office:  "Control  the  road!  Can  I  stop  it? 
I  can  go  Into  bankruptcy  if  you  like. 
But  otherwise  If  I  run  my  road  as  a 
business  proposition,  I  can  do  nothing.  I 
can  not  control  It.  It  is  a  force  bom  out 
of  certain  conditions,  and  I — no  man— -can 
stop  it  or  control  It.  Can  your  rancher 
stop  the  wheat  growing?  He  can  bum 
his  crop,  or  he  can  give  it  away,  or  sell  It 
for  a  cent  a  bushel — ^Just  as  I  could  go 
into     bankmptcy — ^but     otherwise     his 


Wheat  must  grow.  Can  anyone  stop  the 
Wheat?  Well,  then,  no  more  can  I  stop 
the  Road."  Ground  under  the  merciless 
heel  of  this  force,  Mr.  Norris*  characters 
live  life  as  we  alljcnow  it — love  simply 
and  strongly,  carry  on  the  ceaseless, 
world-old  struggle  ot  the  male  for  main- 
tenance of  the  family,  flght,  weep,  sin, 
die,  hate.  The  medium  of  observation 
|n  the  novel  is  the  eye  of  one  Presley, 
an  Eastern  college  graduate,  who  had 
an  insatiable  ambition  to  write  a  poem 
of  "the  West,  that  world's  frontier  of  Ro- 
mance, where  a  new  race,  a  new  people — 
hardy,  brave  and  passionate — were  VUild- 
ing  an  empire;  where  the  tumultnons 
life  ran  like  flre  from  dawn  to  dark,  and 
from  dark  to  dawn  again,  primitive,  bru- 
tal, honest,  and  without  fear."  Bnt  his 
enjoyment  of  the  vast  beauty  of  the  grain 
flelds  is  continually  broken  into  and 
roughly  Jarred  by  the  thunder  of  the 
hideous  locomotives  hurtling  their  domi- 
nating way  across  the  ranchmen's  acres. 
"He  searched  for  the  True  Romance,  and 
in  the  end,  found  grain  rates  and  unjust 
freight  tariffs."  Here  is  what  the  author 
also  found,  but  to  him  they  spelled  the 
poetry  of  realism. 

Two  sub-plots  hold  our  interest:  the 
delicate  love  idyll  of  Vanamee  anfl^An- 
gtte  Varian,  touching  upon  phaaea.  ot  the 
most  modem  psychological  Jhonght,  the 
shadowy  world  of  the  mind,  and  the 
wholesome  romance,  fresh,  simple,  ji^rong. 
natural,  between  "Buck"  Annister  and 
Hllma  Tree.  He  is  an  aggreaslT^j 
masculine,  youthful,  obstinate,  healthy 
animal,  reclaimed  througfi  his  love  for 
her  beauty,  purity,  and  good  sense.  In 
Hllma,  Mr.  Norris  shows  again  how  well 
he  can  portray  a  beautiful  woman.  In 
this  he  is  easily  the  peer  of  Kipling.  In 
fact,  we  doubt  if  that  great  writer  of 
short  stories  will  ever  write  a  novel 
which  in  the  handling  of  complex  forces 
in  modem  life^  creation  of  character,  or 
realism,  will  equal  "The  Octopus." 
•  Shelgrlm,  the  President  of  the  Rond. 
playing  the  part  of  spider  in  his  den  In 
the  midst  of  the  system  he  has  created. 


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though  remarkable  appears  only  in  a  very 
small  portion  of  the  story:  which  is  for 
the  most  part  placed  in  a  region  of 
"ranches,  of  which  the  largest  is  called 
Loo  Muestos,  down  in  the  San  Joaquin 
Valley,  not  more  than  a  day  away  from 
San  Francisco.  The  life  on  the  ranches 
until  consumed  by  the  Octopus,  is  of  an 
eaay-going,  out-door,  good-natured  sort. 
Annlster  lies  in  a  hammock  on  his  porch 
eating  prunes  and  reading  David  Copper- 
field;  he  marries  the  daughter  of  his 
dairy  keeper;  the  big  dance  he  gives  in 
his  great  bam  is  a  tremendous  rollicking 
affair,  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a 
farm-hand  on  horseback,  who  fights  a 
duel,  there  and  then,  with  the  proprietor, 
and  which  is  enlivened  by  a  punch  so 
strong  as  to  be  popularly  dubbed  "the  fei^ 
UUser.**  "But  Presley."  Mrs.  Derrick  mui^ 
mured  when  he  explained  to  her  his 
"Song  of  the  West,"  whose  truth,  sav- 
agery, nobility,  heroism,  and  obscenity 
bait  revolted  her,  "that  is  not  literature." 
"No,"  he  had  cried  between  his  teeth, 
"no,  thank  God,  it  is  not."  But  it  is  life, 
we  add.  There  is  life  in  the  personality 
of  Hilma  Tree,  from  which  "there  was 
disengaged  a  vibrant  note  of  gaiety,  of 
exuberant  animal  life,  sane,  honest, 
strong."  There  is  life  in  the  unscrupu- 
looB,  ambitious,  fashionably  garbed  figure 
<^  Lyman  Derrick,  the  young  San  Fran- 
cisco lawyer.  "His  office  was  on  the  tenth 
floor  of  the  Exchange  Building  ^  ^  ^  be- 
low him  the  city  swarmed  ^  ^  ^  around 
Lotta's  fountain  the  baskets  of  the  flower 
sellers  *  *  *  set  a  brisk  note  of  color 
•  «  •  But  to  Lyman's  notion  the  general 
Impression  of  this  center  ol  the  city's  life 
was  not  one  of  strenuous  business  activ- 
ity. It  was  a  continuous  interest  in  small 
things,  a  people  ever  willing  to  be  amused 
at  trifles,  refusing  to  consider  small  mat- 
ten— good  naltured,  allowing  themselves 
to  be  imposed  upon,  taking  life  easily — 
l^nerous,  companionable,  enthusiastic; 
living,  as  it  were,  from  day  to  day,  in 
a  place  where  the  luxuries  of  life  were 
had  without  eflPort;  in  a  city  that  ofTered 
to  oonilderation  the  restlessness  of  a  New 
York,  without  its  earnestness;  the  seren- 
ity of  a  Naples  without  its  languor;  the 
romance  of  a  Seville,  without  its  pictur- 
ssqneness."  And  here  live  the  famUies 
of  the  unregenerate  rich,  dining  in  lux- 


ury, while  unfortunates  starve  on  the 
streets — of  the  book:  The  situations  as 
depicted  in  Mr.  Norris'  virile,  trenchant, 
galvanised  phrase,  is  well  worth  serious 
attention.  Whether  or  not  one  agrees 
with  Presley's  conclusion  that  "men  were 
naught,  death  was  naught,  life  was 
naught;  Force  only  existed — Force  that 
brought  men  into  the  world.  Force  that 
crowded  them  out  of  it  to  make  way  for 
the  succeeding  generation.  Force  that 
made  the  wheat  grow.  Force  that  garner- 
ed it  from  the  soil  to  give  place  to  the 
succeeding  crop." 

("The  Octopus,"  by  Frank  Norris.    The 
Doubleday  Page  Co.,  New  York.) 

"THE  HeriUge  of  Unrest,"  which  Miss 
Gwendolen  Overton  uses  as  a  title  to  her 
first  long  novel,  seems 
to    be    the    savagery 
Her  First  Big    which  still  lives  in  the 
Work.  educated   and   suppos- 

edly civilised  hearts  of 
her  hero  and  heroine. 
Felipa  Cabot,  the  daughter  of  a  Muscalero 
squaw  and  a  drunken  private,  and  Charles 
Morely  Caimess,  bom  in  Sydney,  (when 
Sydney  was  a  convict  settlement),  of 
roving  English  olood,  meeting  in  the  wild 
Arisona  country,  love  at  first  sight,  yet 
strangely  enough  hold  their  passion  in 
leash  through  ten  civilised  years.  In  the 
book,  the  natural  reason  for  this  conti- 
nence seems  to  lie  in  the  characteristics 
of  gratitude  and  faithfulness,  which  Fe- 
lipa has  inherited  from  her  Indian  mother. 
She  is  married  to  Captain  Landor,  U.  S. 
A.,  who  has  been  her  guardian  before  he 
becomes  her  husband.  And  in- this  man's 
personality  we  get  at  the  bone  and  sinew 
of  the  story.  He  is  a  complete,  well- 
drawn  character,  simply  presented — ^the 
figure  of  an  American  army  officer,  whose 
stem,  modest  devotion  to  duty  is  his 
watch-word.  From  the  first  pages  to  the 
chapter  Which  tells  the  story  of  his  self- 
sacrificing  death,  our  main  interest  is 
with  the  short-spoken  cavalry  Captain; 
whether  he  is  at  the  head  of  his  troop 
on  a  raid  after  hostile  Indians,  enduring 
the  hardships  of  marches  through  a 
parched,  ragged  country,  or  routed  out 
of  bed  at  night  to  quell  a  disturbance,  in 
the  army  post,  his  is  the  voice  of  author- 
ity, and  when  his  baldly  simple  soldier's 
burial  has  taken  place,  we  feel  the  curtain 


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is  down  and  the  UghU  oiit.  The  lew  chap- 
ters which  foliow  seem  to  have  lost  their 
savor.  However,  the  author  herself  ap- 
pears to  have  conceived  a  less  convincing 
admiration  of  the  cow-boy  Englishman, 
who  has  become  an  Indian  scout.  We 
cannot  sympathize  with  these  thoughts 
of  Felipa  after  Landor's  ueath:  **8he 
stood  by  the  mound  for  a  little  while 
thinking  of  him,  of  how  well  he  had 
lived  and  died,  true  to  his  standard  of 
duty,  absolutely  true,  but  lacking  after 
all  that  spirit  of  love  without  which  onr 
actions  profit  so  little,  and  die  with  ouf 
death.  It  came  to  her  that  Charles  Cair- 
ness's  life,  wandering,  aimless,  disjointed, 
as  it  was,  and  her  own,  though  It  fell 
tar  below  even  her  own  not  impossibly 
high  ideals,  were  to  more  purpose,  had 
in  them  more  of  the  vital  force  of  crea- 
tion, were  less  wasted  than  his  had  been. 
To  have  known  no  enthusiasms — which 
are  but  love  in  one  form  or  another — ^Is 
to  have  fkiled  to  give  that  Impulse  to  the 
course  of  events  which  every  man  born 
into  the  world  should  hold  himself  bound 
to  give,  as  the  human  debt  to  the  etei^ 
nal."  This  is  too  bad.  Miss  Overton!  To 
have  created  such  a  man  and  not  to  recog- 
nise him!  Is  there  no  enthusiasm  ex- 
pressed in  devotion  to  duty,  or  giving 
one's  life  for  another?  The  character 
of  the  educated  half-breed  with  her  re- 
markable strength  and  courage,  her  faith- 
fulness, and  animal  cruelty,  is  also  drawn 
with  a  firm  touch.  The  Indian  question, 
involving  the  Apache  uprisings  of  the 
early  eighties,  is  treated  with  a  realism, 
quite  refreshing,  after  the  needless  sen- 
timentality often  wasted  upon  "Lo,  the 
poor  Indian."  Miss  Overton  has  gleaned 
her  knowledge  from  Indian  fighters  at 
first  hand,  or  from  her  own  opportunities 
of  observation  at  army  posts,  and  while 
doing  Lo  full  Justice,  does  not  weep  over 
him  when  he  is  crucified  for  his  crimes. 
There  Is  a  danger  In  the  insularity  of 
opinion  at  a  small  army  post  which  shows 
itself  in  the  almost  snobbish  contempt 
with  which  she  draws  all  mere  white  men, 
who  are  not  "Of  the  army" — and  also 
in  the  Inartistic  bitterness  with  which 
she  refers  to  the  Government  at  Wash- 
ington, politicians,  and  other  mundane 
powers,  who  threaten  to  take  advice 
from  other  sources  than  "The  Army."  We 


are  tempted  to  believe  tliat  the  cormpt- 
ness  of  Indian  agents  at  large  is  Mme- 
what  overdrawn,  the  general  meaaliness 
of  the  Arisonian,  a  trifle  colored  by  Bast- 
ern  prejudice,  and  Felipa  entirely  too 
nice  for  a  squaw.  But  we  believe  In 
LAndor — who  "would  have  been  sufllclent- 
ly  content  could  he  have  been  let  alone — 
the  one  plea  of  the  body  military  from 
all  Ume." 

Local  color  is  a  vague  term,  and  yet 
it  sells  more  books— to  publishers  than 
any  other  one  thing  in  this  country. 
Throw  in  a  few  palm  trees,  cow-boys, 
burros,  and  bandanas  In  yonr  Western 
verses,  and  it  counts  for  more  In  the  mar- 
ket than  musical  rhythms  or  a  beautiful 
thought.  Western  writers  are  urged  by 
implication  to  keep  to  their  Indians  and 
oUas,  and  adobes,  even  if  they  feel  a 
vagrant  interest  in  some  settler  wlio 
"lives  quite  like  other  people,"  or  some 
plot  which  doesn't  involve  a  stock-ranch. 
This  is  probably  because  we  are  still 
linked  to  the  Bast  by  the  tourist,  stream, 
and  "something  new,"  is  always  the  cry 
equally  to  publishers  or  to  gum-peddlen. 
However,  the  result  has  been  a  good 
deal  of  poor  work  avldiously  read  be- 
cause it  contained  a  few  Mexican  words. 
But  now  and  chen  a  writer  known  hia 
Western  country  so  well  that  it  would 
be  rank  heresy  to  translate  his  tale  into 
any  other  terms.  And  the  local  color 
of  "The  Heritage  of  Unrest"  fits  It  like 
a  glove.  Gila  Valley  mosquitoes  sing  In 
its  pages,  papooses  bawl,  "coyotes  fill  the 
night  with  their  weird  bark,"  It  Is  over 
hot — ^but'this  is  not  local  color  shOTel^d 
In,  but  Arisona  herself,  that  desert  coun- 
try which  gets  into  the  blood  so  that ' 
one  cannot  wander  tar  from  it,  and  must 
return  again  to  ride  over  the  dreary 
mesquite  hills,  and  sink  Into  the  stultify- 
ing dream  of  an  Indian  life.  That  Is  what 
happens  to  Caimess  and  Felipa  after  Lan- 
der's death.  They  live  on  a  ranch  in  the 
wilds,  at  a  distance  from  their  kind.  In  a 
house  furnished  with  an  almost  Oriental 
appeal  to  the  lif^  of  the  senses.  And 
after  two  years  nave  passed  Felipa  grows 
back  more  and  more  into  the  Indian,  be- 
ing idle.  lasy.  dreamy,  slatternly,  liking 
to  see  the  bulls  fight,  and  to  rove  In  the 
warm  moonlight.  But  Galmess,  being 
more  Anglo-Saxon,  is  aroused  now  and 


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then  from  the  lethargy  into  which  his 
surroundings  are  drawing  him,  and  knows 
the  desire  again  for  the  company  of  his 
own  sort  But  just  as  the  possibility 
of  another  tragic  situation  in  this  fact 
awakens  our  expectation,  the  author  with 
a  Arm  hand  sends  Felipa  out  to  die,  in 
the  act  of  averting  danger  from  her  hus- 
band. The  curtain  is  rung  down  Just  in 
time.  We  are  left  both  with  a  last  pic- 
ture of  the  Arizona  roadway  in  our  minds, 
and  a  desire  to  forgive  Felipa,  her  In- 
dian pleasure  in  a  tortured  kitten,  as 
long  as  we  have  been  allowed  to  witness 
her  in  an  act  quite  as  characteristically 
Indian — ^an  act  of  utter  devotion. 

(•The  Heritage  of  Unrest,"  by  Gwendo- 
lyn Overton.  The  Macmillan  Co.,  Pub- 
lishers, New  York.) 

POOR  Arizona  has  been  blamed  with 

some  terrible  things,  but,  I  take  it,  "The 

New  Don  Quixote"  i^  a 

bit  too  strong  for  even 

Arizona  Not    the  land  of  drought  and 

To  Blame,      the  Gila  monster.    Many 

novels  have  been  melo- 

dramatlzed,    but    it    is 

scarcely  straining  a  point  to  say  that 

"The  New  Don  Quixote"  is  a  melodrama 

novelized — and  with  not  over  interesting 

lines  for  the  actors.    To  support  which, 

witness  the  following: 

Dangerfield  (I  did  not  catcl^  his  first 
name)  is  a  dark-browed  villain  with  a 
guilty  love  for  a  timid  Mexican  girl,  who 
adores  him.  In  the  first  chapter  (scene, 
shall  I  call  it?)  he  plays  profusely  to  the 
gallery  and  precipitates  a  bloody  knife- 
to-knife  duel  with  a  Jealous  Mexicano. 
Vane,  the  hlgh-souled  hero,  nobly  inter- 
cedes and  bandies  insults  with  the  villain 
ad  lib.  Dangerfield,  who  is  English,  and 
an  aristocrat,  taunts  Vane  of  his  common 
birth,  and  that  gentleman  gets  revenge 
by  waiting  two  or  three  chapters  before 
falling  conveniently  heir  to  an  English 
earldom.  Scenery  is  then  shifted  to 
noble  English  castles,  where  the  hero, 
proud  in  his  new  title,  continues  to  foil 
the  villain  and  to  win  the  hand  of  the 
lovely  Lady  Edith  Grandcourt,  as  every 
self-respecting  melodrama  hero  should 
do.  There  are  dark  pasts  galore  and  "la- 
dies and  gentlemen"  are  all  carefully 
paired  off,  and  are  properly  married  in 
the  last  act,  for  aught  I  know  (I  did  not 


have  the  patience  to  sit  out  the  play). 
Mary  Pacheco,  the  authoress,  has  evi- 
dently  been   reading   "The   Duchess." 

("The  New  Don  Quixote,"  by  Mary 
Pacheco.  The  Abbey  Press,  Publishers, 
New  York.) 

WilUam  Neidig, 
already     known 
A  Poem  of  Religion     for     his     prose, 
and  Art.  has     issued     in 

pamphlet  form, 
a  piece  of  care- 
ful verse  entitled  "The  First  Wardens." 
The  poem  deals  with  a  legendary  band 
of  religionists,  who  held  the  cavern  of 
Christ's  sepulchre  till  the  basilica  of  Ck>n- 
stantine  was  raised  over  the  spot.  The 
poem,  I  repeat,  is  "careful,"  because  it 
shows  evidence  of  polishing  in  every  line. 
Although  the  work  of  an  unseasoned  poet 
it  is  not  amateurish  except  when  the  au- 
thor falls  into  such  bookish  tricks  of 
alliteration  as  "soul,  sense,  and  mind; 
faith  hath  such  sure  surcease".  The  ques- 
tion raised  by  the  author  is  the  old  one  of 
the  art-thought  as  opposed  to  the  god- 
thought— the  beautiful  work  of  Constan- 
tine  standing  over  the  unlovely  spot 
where  the  religionists  had  prayed  away 
their  tranquil  lives.  The  verse  as  a  whole 
is  sound  and  chaste,  not  always  inspired, 
but  wholly  scholarly.  It  is  an  effort  of 
the  brain  rather  than  of  the  heart,  but 
an  effort  well  worth  going  into  print — 
if  only  as  a  forerunner. 

("The  First  Wardens,"  by  William  Nei- 
dig, Stanford  University  Press.) 

HENRY  WOOD,  who  has  made  some 
not  inconsiderable  additions  to  serious 
literature      in      his 
"Studies      in      the 
Economics  and     Thought         World" 
Sociology.  and   "Ideal    Sugges- 

tions," which  have 
borne  the  test  of 
several  editions,  has  given  us  "The  Politi- 
cal Science  of  Humanism,"  as  his  latest 
work.  The  book  cannot  be  termed  en- 
tirely new,  since  it  is,  in  a  manner,  a 
compilation  and  revision  from  his  well- 
known  treatise  entitled  "The  Political 
Economy  of  Natural  Law."  The  present 
work,  like  those  which  have  gone  before, 
is  replete  with  the  author's  sound  con- 
servatiem,  courage  and  entertaining  origi- 
nality.    The  author,  while  dealing  with 


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such  weighty  subjects  as  labor,  capital, 
values  and  returns,  does  so  in  a  purely 
intellectual  light — in  a  modem  light — so 
that  we  read  his  words  not  as  facts  alone 
but  as  the  philosophy  of  facts.  With  the 
eyer-current  topic  of  Trusts  he  deals 
candidly  but  entirely  without  the  cant 
which  is  wont  to  be  enwrapped  about 
that  fayorite  campaign  subject.  In 
speaking  of  competition  he  says: 

"Perhaps  the  most  extreme  instance  of 
successful  competition  may  be  found  in 
that  great  organization,  the  Standard  Oil 
Company.  By  its  rare  combination  of 
skill,  capital  and  executive  ability,  it 
has  driven  a  hundred,  more  or  less,  com- 
peting companies  out  of  the  business  of 
refining  petroleum.  These  non-compe- 
tents  sufter — ^though  as  a  rule  they  have 
sold  their  plants  to  their  gigantic  competi- 
tor at  good  prices — but,  as  a  consequence, 
sixty  million  of  people  get  better  and 
cheaper  light." 

The  book  discusses  both  sides  conser- 
vatively. 

("The  Political  Economy  of  Human- 
ism," by  Henry  Wood.  Lee  &  Shepard, 
Publishers,  Boston.) 


"A  woman  to  become  a  trained  nurse 
should  have  exceptional  qualifications. 
She  must  be  strong  mentally,  morally, 
and  physically;  she  must  go  through 
practical  work;  she  must  have  infinite 
tact,  which  is  another  word  for  cultured 
common  sense.  She  should  be  one  of  the 
women  of  the  Queen's  Garden  in  Ruskin's 
"Sesame  and  Lilies,"  or  such  an  one  as 
Olive  Schrelner  describes."  Isabel  Hamp- 
ton Robb,  the  author  of  "Nursing  Ethics" 
above  quoted  has  written  therein  a  great 
deal  that  is  good  for  the  professional 
nurse  to  know;  and  she  has  written  it 
from  the  standpoint  of  a  professional, 
for  there  is  probably  no  trained  nurse 
living  who  has  had  more  active  or  re- 
sponsible practice  than  has  the  author. 
The  book  is  of  value  in  the  capacity  of  a 
text  book,  teaching  ethics  in  its  literal 
sense — its  application  as  to  right  and 
wrong.  The  author  holds  that  no  trained 
nurse  can  hope  for  success  in  her  work 
unless  she  appreciates  the  power  she 
holds  for  good,  the  responsibility  of  her 
every  act;  and  this  sense  of  responsibil- 


ity, she  furthermore  holds,  is  all  too  un- 
oonmion  in  the  profession.  The  book 
is  divided  Into  eleven  chapters  and  an 
introduction  dealing  respectively  with: 
Nursing  as  a  Profession;  Qualifications; 
The  Probationer;  The  Junior  Nurse; 
Health;  Uniform;  Night  Duty;  The  Sen- 
ior Nurse;  The  Head  Nurse;  The  Gradu- 
ate Nurse;  and  The  Care  of  the  Patient 
("Nursing  Ethics,"  by  Isabel  Hampton 
Robb.  J.  B.  Savage,  Publisher,  Cleveland. 
Ohio.) 


Wallace  E.  Nevill  has  printed  a  pam- 
phlet which  he  calls  "The  Science  of  So- 
ciology," and  in  which  he  quotes  a  little 
of  everybody  from  Horace  and  Archi- 
medes to  Ella  Wheeler  Wllcor  and  David 
Starr  Jordan,  to  prove  that  democracy 
is  unsatisfactory,  and  that  the  average 
citizen  is  unable  to  govern  himself.  Some 
of  the  author's  points  are  well  taken,  but 
the  work  as  a  whole  Is  ill-balanced  and 
verbose.  The  book  is  printed  in  a  kind 
of  typographical  "rag  time"  (slang  is  par- 
donable here)  wherein  every  third  sen- 
tence is  double  leaded  and  furnished  with 
one  or  more  exclamation  points.  The 
work  shows  a  considerable  range  of  read- 
ing, and  is  worth  looking  over  for  the 
sake  of  argument;  but  taken  as  literature 
it  is  unconvlncingly  ambitious. 

("The  Science  of  Sociology,"  by  Wal- 
lace E.  Nevill.  Walter  N.  Brunt,  Printer. 
San  Francisco.) 


"Nazareth  or  Tarsus?"  is  on  the  face 
of  it  a  book  written  with  a  purpose,  but 
whether  that  purpose  is  a  sufficient  one 
in  the  eye  of  rationalism  is  a  debatable 
question.  Like  books  of  its  kind  the 
one  at  hand  is  written  in  a  semi-fictional 
form;  just  enough  of  a  story  to  act  as 
a  peg  whereon  the  author  may  hang  a 
great  weight  of  disputation.  To  the  cen- 
tral figure  comes  the  theological  ques- 
tion: "Shall  I  follow  the  simple  teach- 
ings of  Christ  or  the  more  complex  or- 
thodoxy of  his  apostle  Paul?"  Tue  man's 
soul  is  much  torn  by  subsequent  ques- 
tionings which  (the  author  seems  to  for- 
get) have  been  all  written  and  reasoned 
out  by  established  churches  of  our  day. 

("Nazareth  or  Tarsus?"  The  J.  S.  Ogil- 
vie  Company.  Publishers,  New  York.) 


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Overland   Monthly 


Vol.  XXXVII 


June,    1 90 1 


No.  6 


THE    TRAIL    IN    THE    REDWOODS 


BY    W.    G.    BONNER. 


s 


DRIPPING  fog  enveloped  us,  as  we 
rode  down  Into  the  little  valley,  ob- 
scuring even  the  near-by  foliage. 
Here  and  there  a  rabbit  wobbled  across 
the  dusty  road,  disappearing  among  the 
ferns  and  bushes  only  to  be  seen  again 
at  the  next  turn — like  the  magician's 
toy;  now  you  see  it,  now  you  don't.  The 
bluejay's  rasping  alarm-note  was  heard 
on  every  hand,  and  occasional  bevies  of 
quail  were  surprised  at  their  morning 
dust-bath.  This  was  about  the  market 
hour  in  bird  land,  and  every  feathered 
thing  seemed  to  be  discussing  the  mar- 
ket's condition — ^whether  because  of  a 
scanty  or  an  over  supply  is  still  matter 
for  conjecture.  We  could  see  nothing; 
and  even  the  bird  voices  seemed  feeble 
and  far  away,  so  muffled  was  everything 
by  the  dense,  grey,  bush-entangled  cloud. 
The  road  had  been  cut  by  the  lumbermen 
long  ago.  It  followed  the  natural  grades, 
and  led  ever  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
redwoods.  Here  and  there  side-roads 
led  off  to — anywhere;  and  one  must 
know,  mainly  by  instinct,  which  one  to 
follow.  This  instinct  is  the  salient  faculty 
of  the  woodsman  and  guide.  Without  it 
no  man  is  qualified  to  be  at  large  in  this 
vast  California  woodland.  Some  men 
not  so  endowed  do  go  into  and  escape 
from  the  mazes  of  this  wilderness;  but 
this  is  mainly  chance.  When  your  com- 
panion is  by  profession  both  guide  and 
woodsman  you  are  in  the  best  of  good 
luck.  He  not  only  knows  "where  he  is 
at,"  but  he  is  also  good  company — hunter, 
hustler,  story-teller  (in  a  wide  sense), 
and,  withal,  a  close  sympathizer  with  na- 
ture in  most  of  her  moods. 


On  this  particular  morning  John  had 
been  astir  at  four  o'clock.  Horses  must 
be  fed  as  well  as  men.  Provision  must 
also  be  made  for  two  or  three  days'  ab- 
sence. This  meant  breadbaking  and 
packing,  as  well  as  arranging  comforts 
for  the  stay-at-homes — ^the  housekeeper 
and  the  poultry.  The  housekeeper  was 
Ben,  the  big  faithful  dog,  whose  chief 
duty  would  be  to  guard  the  place  in  our 
absence  from  hawks  and  other  tramps. 
We  had  left  him  at  the  gate,  not  a  wag 
of  his  tail  to  indicate  approval  of  the 
arrangement.  An  hour's  ride  had  brought 
us  to  the  end  of  the  road;  at  least,  to 
the  end  of  that  branch  of  it  which  we 
had  followed,  and  to  the  first  crossing  of 
the  stream.  The  fog  was  thinning  per- 
ceptibly; occasional  short  vistas  opened 
into  the  timber.  Everywhere  about  us 
were  evidences  of  the  warfare  that  had 
been  waged  against  the  sylvan  giants. 
Here  was  the  "landing,"  to  which  the 
great  logs  had  been  hauled  from  the 
hillsides,  and  from  which  they  had  been 
rolled  into  the  little  stream  to  await  the 
winter  freshets  which  had  floated  them 
to  tide-water  in  times  past.  Of  course 
this  had  been  before  the  day  of  railroad 
and  bull-donkey  logging — days  when  the 
six-yoke  ox  team,  the  artistically  profane 
bull-puncher,  and  the  nimble  raftsman 
had  made  logging  a  picturesque,  if  labor- 
ious, occupation.  The  half-bare  hillsides 
and  bleaching  stumps  testified  to  the 
work  of  the  destroyers.  The  occasional 
stranded  log,  half  buried  in  sand  and 
gravel,  or  concealed  by  the  driftwood  and 
brambles  which  had  found  lodgment  at 
its  sides;  the  great  prostrate  tree-trunks 


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''it  was  not  a  serviceable  highway/' 

shattered  by  their  own  weight  when  fall- 
ing; the  small  trees  crushed  or  splintered 
by  the  irresistible  sweep  of  some  mon- 
arch in  his  earthward  career — these  told 
of  the  profit  and  loss  account  in  the  mill 
company's  ledger.  But  the  woods  are 
deserted  now;  the  lumberman  has  trans- 
ferred his  destructive  efforts  to  some 
more  accessible  point  in  the  forest.  No 
sound  is  heard  but  the  ripple  of  the 
waters,  the  whirr  of  wings,  and  the 
songs   and   chirping  of   birds. 

From  this  point  down  the  little  val- 
ley all  the  choice  timber  had  long  ago 
been  turned  into  American  dollars 
and  English  pounds  sterling.  We  had 
passed  through  only  thickets  of  alder 
and  soft  maple,  and  Jungles  of  fern  and 
berry  bushes — the  aftercrop  of  the  de- 
nuded forest  land.  Before  us  was  the 
virgin    forest. 

"Surely  the  fog  is  clearing  away — lift- 
ing or  dissipating  under  the  influence  of 
the  rising  sun,"  I  ventured  to  say,  partly 
as  a  spoken  thought,  partly  as  a  query. 


"The  trees  is  drinkin'  it,"  shouts  John, 
from  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  caravan, 
as  his  horse  splashed  through  the  water. 
"That's  whut  they  live  on  mostly.  When 
they  git  done  oreakfast  you'll  get  warm 
enough ! " 

And  so  it  turned  out.  It  had  been  a 
chilly,  not  to  say  damp,  ride  on  that  June 
morning,  though  not  an  unpleasant  one. 
But  now,  as  the  trail  brought  us  by  steep 
and  frequent  pitches  to  higher  ground, 
the  air  became  warmer  and  the  i/rospect 
much  more  cheering. '  Presently  a  halt 
was  made,  ostensibly  to  "breathe"  the 
horses,  but  we  embraced  the  opportunity 
to  lash  our  coats  to  the  saddles.  We  had 
climbed  perhaps  a  hundred  and  fifty 
feet,  by  zigzags  and  turnings,  and  now 
stood  upon  a  projecting  shoulder  of  the 
hills  (the  Coast  Range),  overlooking  two 
branches  of  the  stream  we  had  lately 
crossed.  Below,  on  either  side,  were 
broad-leaved  maples,  with  their  pictur- 
esque— almost  burlesque — angularity  of 
trunk  and  limb.  They  belong  to  the 
stream;  but  some  of  them  had  wandered 
away  up  the  steep  hillsides,  to  which  they 
seemed  to  be  clinging  with  their  long, 
spreading  arms.  Not  a  straight  one  was 
discernible,  and  not  one  with  a  body 
worth  mentioning.  "The  bodies  is  mostly 
limbs,"  as  the  guide  expressed  it.  Fancy 
suggested  a  likeness  to  the  devil  fish 
of  the  sea.  The  tree  drops  an  arm  here 
and  there  to  the  ground,  takes  root,  and 
sends  up  a  new  growth,  thus  feeding 
wherever  its  tentacles  are  rn  contact  with 
the  rich  soil.  Over  these  swaying  and 
prostrate  arms,  as  over  the  stunted  body, 
a  yellowish-green  moss  finds  growth,  and 
from  the  moss  a  generous  garden  of 
mountain  pink  and  Indian  licorice,  the 
waving,  fern-like  leaves  lending  grace 
and  beauty  to  the  quaint  awkwardness  of 
the  tree.  There  is  a  prodigious  growth 
of  plant  life  everywhere.  Indeed,  be- 
wilderment sets  in  when  one  stops  to 
consider  the  vast  variety  of  form  and 
color  and  kind  which  Nature  has  pro- 
vided. Ferns  and  brakes  higher  than 
one's  head,  with  brambles  and  bushes  and 
grasses  and  flowers  interwoven  among 
the  rocks  and  logs  and  upturned  roots 
as   only   Nature    can   arrange   them — an 

interminable    variety;    yet    tK^r^/ * i?^  no 

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1063 


effect  of  crowding.  To  the  eye,  all  is  per- 
fect harmony  of  grouping  and  of  color; 
just  the  right  patches  of  sunshine;  just 
the  cool,  twilight  shadows  one  longs  to 
explore,  reaching  away  and  away,  ever 
more  beautiful,  like  one's  memory  of 
childhood.  The  maple  and  alder  and 
dogwood  and  pigeonberry  occasionally 
wander  into  this  mountain  forest  with  the 
oak  and  the  spruce;  the  pine  and  fir  and 
yew  and  manzanita  and  many  more  be- 
long to  the  hillsides.  But  the  eye  or  the 
memory  is  not  impressed  by  any  of  these. 
What  is  seen  and  carried  away  by  one's 
consciousness  is  the  superlative  grandeur 
of  the  redwoods.  There  is  no  room  in  the 
mental  storehouse  for  the  accessories — 
they  are  seen  only  as  the  background  of  a 
beautiful  picture  is  seen.  True,  if  one 
goes  many  times  to  the  forest  the  details, 
too,  may  become  familiar;  but  then  one 
has  a  picture,  or  the  memory  of  a  picture, 
which  is  too  vast,  too  intricate,  too  ex- 
quisite for  either  brush  or  pen. 

The  guide  had  said  we  were  to  follow  a 
trail;  and  there  surely  had  been  a  trail 
up  to  this  point.  We  could  see  it;  we 
could  have  followed  it  ourselves  perhaps. 
And  in  truth  there  were  glimpses  of  a 
trail  here  and  there  as  we  rounded  pro- 
jecting rocks,  or  followed  close  beside 
the  prostrate  form  of  some  old  tree  over 
whose  huge  trunk  we  could  not  see  even 
from  tbe  horses'  backs.  But  it  was  not 
a  serviceable  highway  to  any  but  a  four- 
footed  citizen  of  the  precinct,  or  to  an 
adopted  one  as  our  guide  seemed  to  be. 
It  was  like  unto  a  string  that  had  been 
cut  into  many  pieces  and  tossed  to  the 
four  winds.  One  would  know  it  was  a 
string,  if  one  could  only  happen  to  find 
it.  In  this  case,  however,  the  string 
seemed  to  have  been  blown  with  a  pur- 
pose, for  It  brought  us  finally  to  our  des- 
tination— at  least  John  said  it  was  our 
destination — a.  certain  cross-roads  (minus 
the  roads)  established  by  some  surveyor 
of  the  past,  and  oflQcially  known  in  Wash- 
ington as  "Three  North,  One  East."  But 
the  trail  was  of  little  consequence  after 
all,  perhaps.  The  consensus  of  opinion 
was  that  the  guide  could  have  gone  there, 
or  anywhere  on  earth,  even  without  a 
trail.  But  he  seemed  to  follow  something, 
and  our  horses  followed  him.    This  habit, 


among  the  horse  kind,  of  following  a 
leader  is  a  rare  convenience  for  one  who 
is  interested  in  his  surroundings.  We 
were  never  called  upon  to  steer  the 
beasts,  but  had  free  opportunity  to  see 
the  things  we  had  come  to  see;  to  note 
the  huge  boles  reaching  away  toward 
heaven,  or  at  least  toward  the  mountain 
tops — two  hundred,  three  hundred,  per- 
haps three  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  most 
of  them  straight  as  arrows  and  of  perfect 
symmetry;    a  hundred   feet  or   more   of 


"Thn 

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M?e   East.' 


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"In  ease  and  Idleness." 

clear  trunk,  and  then  a  crown  of  light 
green  foliage,  interlacing  from  tree  to 
tree,  subduing  or  wholly  shutting  out  the 
sunlight  and  wrapping  their  grey-brown 
bodies  in  eternal  shadow.  Every  tree 
seemed  larger  and  taller  and  more  sym- 
metrical than  its  neighbor,  and  the  eye 
grew  tired  in  its  search  for  what  one 
feels  must  be  hidden  away  in  some  recess 
— that  mythical  big  tree  of  the  forest. 
The  fellow  is  there,  certainly,  but  one's 
power  of  comparison  is  gone,  and  the 
real  height  and  girth  of  the  monsters  is 
not  apprehended.  At  this  stage  one  is 
apt  to  recall  his  local  geography  and  to 
remember  that  this  marvelous  forest 
stretches  away  for  hundreds  of  miles 
along  the  coast;  that  it  dips  into  the 
deepest  canyons  and  climbs  the  highest 
mountains.  He  realizes  that  he  has  rid- 
den— how  far?  Twenty  miles?  Not  as 
the  crow  flies,  to  be  sure;  but  as  the  trail 
runs.  He  has  seen,  and  sees  now  as  he 
sits  in  contemplation,  enough  of  forest 
grandeur  and  forest  wealth  to  supply  the 
longing  world,  so  he  thinks.  What,  then, 
must  be  the  possibilities  of  such  a  forest! 
"This  is  Three  North,  One  East!"  calls 
John,  as  he  slides  from  the  saddle — 
"Three  North,  One  East!"  he  repeats 
like  the  human  enunciator  on  a  local 
passenger  train.  We  drop  out  of  the 
tired  saddles,  and  the  horses  pick  greed- 
ily at  the  wild  pea-vines  as  we  relieve 
them  of  packs  and  saddles.  The  sun  has 
also  got  well  along  on  his  day's  journey, 
and  he  is  peeping  under  and  through  the 
great  tree  tops.  He  is  actually  staring 
at  us,  for  the  spot  chosen  for  the  night's 
bivouac  is  a  comparatively  open  hillside. 


with  a  clear,  gurgling  stream  a  hundred 
yards  below.  For  the  first  time  during 
the  day  we  are  aware  of  tne  compass 
points.  We  had  not  doubted  that  the  sun 
was  to  set  in  the  west  as  usual,  but  we 
should  never  have  looked  for  the  west 
where  he  was  likely  to  go  down.  There 
is  no  questioning  on  this  point,  however. 
We  are  in  the  sunlighted  depths  of  the 
forest;  the  delicate  shadings  of  foliage, 
the  deep,  intense  silence  of  all  this  pon- 
derous display  of  Nature  which  for  the 
time  fixed  the  attention. 

As  the  fatigue  from  the  saddle  and 
from  the  kaliedoscopic  changes  of  the 
day  wore  away  the  mind  settles  down  to 
inspection.  One  of  the  first  impressions 
is,  the  utter  helplessness  of  one  in  this 
limitless  mass  of  foliage,  where  no  paths 
are  visible,  where  even  the  trail  by  which 
you  have  come  is  a  matter  of  much  doubt 
One  feels  so  ^ittle  in  the  vastness  of  his 
surroimdings!  Even  the  ferns  are  large 
enough  to  hide  a  horse  or  a  grizzly;  and 
one  feels  sure  that,  should  he  call  ever 
so  loud,  his  voice  would  be  swallowed  up 
within  the  space  of  a  hundred  feet.  But 
there  is  no  sense  of  depression;  rather, 
of  exuberance,  of  freedom;  a  feeling 
that  here,  at  least,  one  is  beyond  the 
range  of  man's  bickerings.  Except  for 
the  familiar  screaming  of  the  bluejay  one 
might  easily  forget  that  he  was  in  the 
same  old  work-a-day  world  through  which 
he  has  been  hunting  his  way  for  some 
fraction  of  a  century.  As  I  sat  quietly 
absorbing  "the  beautiful,"  so  richly 
spread  before  me,  I  recalled  the  fact — ^till 
now  unnoticed — that 'nowhere  in  the  for- 
est had  there  been  any  display  of  bird 


"Wonderfully  bright  and   beautiful." 


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life;  that,  excepting  the  querulous  blue- 
jay  and  a  tiny  bird  of  the  treetops,  too 
small  and  too  busy  and  too  far  aloft  to  be 
identified,  absolutely  no  feathered  thing 
had  been  seen.  Nor  had  any  four-footed 
denizen  crossed  our  path  since  we  left 
the  grey  rabbits  by  the  little  river.  Was 
this  because  of  the  murderous  rifle  at 
John's  saddle  bow?  No.  Subsequent 
excursions  bore  out  the  fact  that  winged 
folks  generally  do  not  dwell  here.  But 
hoofs  and  claws?  Yes,  these  people  are 
here  in  abundance,  and  many  a  noble 
elk  and  antlered  buck  has  made  his  last 
leap  along  the  trail  we  have  passed;  the 
lion  and  panther  and  bear  have  often 
been  over  familiar  with  the  white  as 
well  as  the  red  man's  personality,  and 
one  or  the  other — ^man  or  beast — has  paid 
the  penalty.  But  the  lion  and  the  grizzly 
are  no  more,  and  the  panther  and  the 
puny  black  bear  no  man  feareth.  Sud- 
denly the  horses  throw  up  their  heads 
and  stand  motionless,  with  cocked  ears! 
Yonder  from  the  bushes  a  head  appears 
— two!  three!  They  are  only  deer,  and 
I  am  glad  John  has  gone  to  prospect 
the  brook  for  trout.  Bacon,  with  a  pro- 
mise of  trout  on  the  side,  seems  a  good 
enough  supper  for  idle  wanderers. 

Just  as  the  sun  rests  for  a  moment 
on  the  far  hills  the  forest  depths  become 
wonderfully  bright  and  beautiful.  Every 
bush  and  twig  seems  rimmed  with  his 
golden  light.  Then,  almost  within  the 
space  of  a  breathing,  the  shadows  assert 
themselves,  and  one  gladly  responds  to 
the  supper  call,  and  to  the  after-Joy  of 
the  camp-flre  pipe.  For  an  hour  the  guide 
rehearses  his  mountain  trips,  filling  up 
the  intervals  with  such  fantasies  as  may 
occur  to  him  on  the  instant.  It  is  ours 
to  listen,  his  to  tell  the  story  and  to 
answer  straggling  questions.  When  he 
affirms  that  the  trees  on  a  given  acre 
around  us  contain  a  million  feet  of  lum- 
ber; that  the  time  is  near  at  hand  when 
this  hill  country  will  all  be  wanted  for 
orchard  and  vineyard  and  plowland;  that 
railroads  will  shortly  flnd  their  way  into 
these  hidden  places,  and  the  habitations 
of  man  will  take  the  place  of  the  pan- 
ther's lair  and  the  bear  wallow — when  he 
asserts  these  things  there  seems  no  oc- 
casion for  argument.     I  blow  the  smoke 


"The  Old  Way." 

wreathes  into  the  still  night  air,  kick  the 
smouldering  fire  into  a  shower  of  sparks, 
and  relapse  into  a  state  of  drowsy  in- 
difference alike  to  John's  wisdom  and 
the  future  possibilities  of  this  land  of 
marvels.  The  horses  feed  quietly  near 
at  hand,  John  snores,  and  I  know  the  day 
is  done.  One  after  another  the  great  trees 
creep  out  of  the  darkness,  their  tall 
crowns  faintly  silhouetted  against  the 
sky;  the  grotesque  shapes  which  had 
danced  in  the  evening  firelight  become 
ferns  and  bushes  and  rocks  and  upturned 
roots  again;  the  horses  call  in  low  whin- 
neys  as  we  stir  in  our  uncovered  couches ; 
the  bluejays  scold  from  their  perches 
overhead,  and  we  arise  to  welcome  the 


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new  day  and  the  coffee  and  bacon  and 
such  other  dainties  as  John  may  have  in 
store. 

John  had  come  to  look  for  a  certain 
"corner"  and  trace  a  certain  "line."    He 
might  be  an  hour;  he  might  be  all  day. 
Upon  this  depended  the  time  of  our  re- 
turn.    I   could   "hunt   the   corner"   with 
him    or    remain    in    camp.     The    horses 
would   do   very   well   where   they   were. 
The  "hunt"  was  uncertain  and  sure  to  be 
laborious;   the  camp  promised  ease  and 
idleness.      I    remained.      The    plaintive 
chee-ch-e-e!    of  the   feathered  midget  of 
the  treetops,  and  the  rasping  voice  of  the 
jay — these  were  the  sounds  that  broke 
the  stillness.    The  midget  is  unsociable; 
but  the   bluejay  is  a  neighborly  fellow 
and  a  good  liver,  coming  freely  to  sample 
the   cheese-rinds   and   bacon   and    bread 
scraps  and  other  tid-bits  from  the  break- 
fast table.    Nothing  in  the  shape  of  food 
seems  to  go  amiss  with  him  or  his  family. 
There   was   some   regret   that   a   cup   of 
coftee  had  not  been  set  aside  for  him.    As 
he  took  possession  of  the  camp  I  made 
short  excursions  up  and  down  the  ridge, 
across    gulches    and    along    the    creek. 
Everywhere  it  was  the  same — masses  of 
foliage  which  would  delight  the  artist's 
eye;  lichen-grown  rocks  and  logs;  mossy 
banks  and  flowery  dells  and  rank-grown, 
impenetrable  masses  of  salal  and  briar 
and  fern  through  which  even  the  wild 
animals  had  never  found  their  way.     In 
every  direction  were  the  huge  logs  where 
decay  or  storm  had  strewn  them,  some 
bearing  the  marks  of  extreme  age — decay 
and  the  overgrowth  of  great  trees  shoot- 
ing   up    from    their    still    living    hearts 
within.     In  one  place  the  half-buried  re- 
mains of  an  old  redwood,  the  root  and 
top  of  which  had  disappeared  in  the  sur- 
rounding mold,  gave  life  and  support  to 
four  stately  ofitspring  of  from  four  to  six 
feet    girth.      Elsewhere    in    the    logging 
woods  may  be  seen  the  new  as  well  as  old 
stumps  and  logs   sending  out  abundant 
green  shoots — like  the  orchard  tree  which 
has  been  grafted.    Left  to  Nature's  care, 
these   develop    into    considerable    trees; 
often,  in  fact,  forming  clusters  of  stalwart 
trunks  about  and  upon  the  original  root. 
In  one  case  a  huge  fellow  of  thirty-five 


or  forty  feet  girth  had  grown  as  a  cork- 
screw— twisted  from  root  to  top,  even  the 
larger  limbs  partaking  of  the  corkscrew 
pattern.  Another  had  great  wart-like 
protuberances — burls,  as  they  are  called. 
These  as  well  as  the  curly  or  wavy  speci- 
mens are  sought  for  by  cabinet-makers, 
and  are  turned  into  the  most  exquisitely 
beautiful  table  tops  and  thin  veneers. 
Many  of  the  great  trees  have  a  grain  so 
free  from  knot  or  blemish,  and  so  straight 
that  the  woodsman  can  split  them  into 
rough  shakes  and  shingles  and  boards  of 
almost  any  desired  length  or  thickness. 
Many  a  house  and  barn  was  built  of  this 
split  lumber  in  the  early  days.  A  case 
has  been  pointed  out  where  the  lumber 
for  house,  barn,  sheds  and  fencing  for  a 
farm  was  taken  from  a  single  tree  of  this 
"rift"  description.  It  is  mentioned  as  an 
incident  of  the  case  that  enough  of  the 
tree  remained  to  furnish  the  farmer's 
wife  with  firewood  for  a  generation. 

"Ho-o-o-hoo!"  John's  big  voice  comes 
floating  under  the  tree-tops.  The  "cor- 
ner" has  been  located,  and  we  are  soon 
on  the  trail  again;  that  is,  we  are  making 
for  home.  John  has  certain  things  to  say 
of  a  black  bear  he  had  "scared  the  life 
out  of,"  during  his  comer  hunt  (the  rifle 
was  standing  against  the  tree  by  the 
saddles),  and  of  the  remains  of  a  deer 
where  a  "pahntha"  had  lunched  during 
the  night.  He  also  calls  attention  to 
many  beautiful  shrubs  and  flowers  and 
fern  patches  as  we  ride  along,  not  for- 
getting an  occasional  myrtle  tree  with 
its  wealth  of  pale  blue  flowers,  or  a  dog- 
wood, with  its  snowy  plumes,  overhang- 
ing some  canyon  side.  John  is  a  versa- 
tile fellow,  his  "sense  o'  things"  ranging 
from  "bar  sign"  to  Nature's  delicate  pen- 
cilings. 

The  sun  is  still  an  hour  high  as  we 
wiggle  and  slide  down  the  last  pitch  and 
make  our  way  to  the  little  stream  of  the 
morning.  Once  more  among  the  alders. 
and  maples,  we  fall  in  with  the  robina 
and  sparrows,  the  blackbirds  and  swal- 
lows, the  thrushes,  and  all  the  feathered 
songsters  of  the  region,  and  presently 
flnd  the  faithful  Ben,  now  with  a  joyous 
wag  of  tail  and  deep  bay,  as  welcome  for 
our   return. 


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A  Roadway  Through  the  Redwoods  in  Msndocino  County. 

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1068  Overland    Monthly. 

YOSEMITE    LEGENDS 


¥' 


BY    C.    A.   VIVIAN. 
The    Valley. 

'  HERE  the   Sierras,  peak  on   peak, 
ascend, 
As  thougn  like  Babel's  tower  they 
aspire 

Wherever  battling  elements  contend, 
Frost,    flood    and    earthquake    and 
volcanic  fire; 
Where    the    Great    Spirit    walks    when  'his 
desire 
To  make  men  happy  brings  him  down  to 
earth 
Or  when  their  wicked  deeds  arouse  his  ire. 
Here  winds  and  clouds  and  rivers  have 
their  birth, 
And  gods,  to  wreak  strange  marvels  walk 
the   earth. 
Deep  in  the  bosom  of  this  rugged  range. 
Sunk   lower   than   the   ocean's   level   wave. 
Is    hid    a    dwelling    wrought    in    manner 
strange, 
A  mountain  walled,  a  beauteous  sky-roofed 
cave. 
'Twas  for  a  tribe  most  virtuous  and  brave 
The  red  man's  god  hewed  out  this  wondrous 
place 
Them  from  their  wanderings  and  want  to 
save. 
Then  he  unlocked  the  treasures  of  the  snow. 
Their   fetters   melted   in   the   spring-time 
sun. 
And  then  he  bade  the  loosened  rivers  flow, 
And  to  the  cavern's  margin  swiftly  run. 
He  made  them  leap  as  rivers  ne'er  had  done; 
All  dashed  to  foam  and  spray  with  rain- 
bows spun, 
Cholock,  Wiwyack,   and   Pohono  all. 
To  form  each  thundering,  dashing,  glor- 
ious   fall. 
But    men    still   prone   to   love   the    fruitful 
earth, 
That  satisfies  their  carnal  needs  so  well. 
Quick  to  forget  the  gods  who  gave  it  birth. 
In    mortal    clay    forever    wish    to    dwell. 
So  the  Great  Spirit  thus  to  break  the  spell 
And  lure  men  to  the  happy  hunting  ground 
Permits  the  griefs  that  cause  our  tears  to 
swell ; 
Suffers  on  earth  fell  demons  to  abound 
Opposing  bliss  wherever  man  is  found. 
Thus  he   allows   Pohono   and   his   league 


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Yotemite   Legends.  1009 


To  haunt  this  vale  with  their  immortal 
hate, 
With  treachery  and  cunning's  dark  intrigue 

And  gloating  cruelty  insatiate, 
The  which  no  mortal  power  can  placate. 
And  yet  that  pain  might  not  o'ershadow 
Joy, 
Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah,   from   his   high   estate, 
Let    mortal    good    his    heavenly    powers 
employ, 
Until  Tis-sa-ack  did  his  peace  destroy. 

Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah    and  Tis-sa-ack. 

That   lovely    maid   as    white   as    mountain 
snow. 
With  golden  ringlets  glittering  bright  as 
day. 
Whence  did  she  come  and  whither  did  she 

go? 
On  the  South  Dome  one  summer  mom  she 
lay. 
And  moved  the  gorgeous  bows  that  arch 
the  spray, 
Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah  saw,  and  loved  and  lost — 
When  he  approached  Tis-sa-ack  flew  away, 
She  spread  her  wings  as  white  as  autumn 
frost. 
And    snowy   down   was    earthward   from 
them  tossed. 

The  wild  white  violets  sprang  at  once  in 
bloom. 
Where     these      far-fluttering     feathers 
touched  the  mead. 
And  filled  the  air  with  redolent  perfume. 
Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah  now  forgot  the  need 
Of  the  fair  valley  nor  for  weeks  did  heed, 
(While  eagerly  the  goddess  he  pursued) 
The  swelling  acorn  nor  the  sprouting  seed; 
No    summer   showers   the    thirsty    earth 
bedewed. 
With  fallen  buds  and  ¥rithered  plants  'twas 

strewed. 
jL»ut  fair  Tis-sa-ack  loved  the  Indian  race, 
She  would  not  have  their  maze  and  acorns 
fail. 
Ton   stream,  whose  devious   windings  you 
may  trace. 
She  rent  South  Dome  to  let  into  the  vale, 
(At  least  so  runs  the  ancient  Indian  tale.) 
The  northern  half  dissolved  like  melting 
snow. 
To  save  the  crops  this  watering  did  avail. 
Behold  the  corn-sprouts  lift  and  spread 
and  grow, 


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That  fair  Tis-sa-ack's  tribe  no  want   shall 
know. 

Tis-sa-ack  is  the  goddess  of  the  spring, 

O'er  earth  she  flies  as  swift  as  season's 
roll. 
To  open  buds  and  teach  the  birds  to  sing. 

And  scatter  joy  and  life  from  pole  to  pole. 
Yoeemlte  is  dearest  to  her  soul. 

Though  scorned  Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah's  home 
is  here. 
tie  carved  his  portrait  on  a  giant  scrolK 

And  followed  fair  Tis-sa-ack  far  and  near. 
Tending  no  more  the  crops  nor  herded  deer. 

Pohono. 

Knowest  thou  the   Bridal  Veil? 

That  soft,  fair  mist  that  shines  and  sways? 
A  thousand  feet  drops  to  the  vale 

And  o'er  the  clilf  forever  plays? 
In  splendor  falls  o'er  granite  walls. 

From  rugged  summits  seamed  and  hoary. 
And  diamonds  flash  at  every  dash. 

And  rainbows  span  its  sprays  in  glory. 
Flow,    waters,   flow,    send   the   wild    white 
foam   nying. 

Flow,  waters,  flow,  maiden's  tears  ne'er 
dying,  dying,  dying! 

And  hast  thou  felt  the  chilly  wind 

That  sways  its  waters  to  and  fro? 
The  sighs  of  maidens  fair  and  kind 

Imprisoned  long  ago. 
Its   zephyrs   play  the   live-long  day. 

And  waft  the  waters  hither,  thither. 
It  tears  the  veil  with  fltful  gale 

And  scatters  tear-drop — whither,  whither? 
Blow,  zephyrs,  blow !    Set  the  tall  pine  trees 
sighing. 

Blow,  zephyrs,  blow,  maiden's  breath  ne'er 
dying,  dying,  dying! 

Thou  knowest,  then,  Pohono's  fall 

That  leaps  and  leaps  a  thousand  years. 
Forever  streaming  down  the  wall? 

'Tis  fed  by  Indian  maidens'  tears. 
Long  years  they  lie,  hid  from  the  sky, 

A  rocky  cavern  is  their  prison, 
They  weep  and  sigh,  but  cannot  die 

Until  Pohono's  curse  is  risen. 
Mourn,    maidens,    mourn,    in    your    dark 
dungeon  lying! 

Mourn,  maidens,   mourn,  your   sad  tears 
never   drying,   drying,   drying! 


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(n  thiB  fair  spot  malign  Pohono  dwells, 

The  cruel  evil  genius  of  the  place, 
Forever  spreading  snares  and  laying  spells, 

Forever  hostile  to  the  Indian  race. 
That  verdure  on  the  precipice  you  trace, 
A  treacherous  path  of  slippery  moss  he 
laid. 
There  o'er  the  cliff  where  sweeping  currents 
chase; 
To   tempt   the   venturous,   happy    Indian 
maid, 
Tnat  he  may  lure  her  far  from  human  aid. 

Hum-moo.      (The    Lost    Arrow). 
1.  The    Tryst. 

The  day  has  brightly  dawned — a  fair  June 
morn. 
The  rivers  sparkle  'neath  a  cloudless  sky. 
The  mists  arise  on  glittering  sunbeams  bom 
And  naught  but  beauty  waits  the  opening 
eye. 
And  with  the  dawn  does  young  Ko-soo-kah 
fly. 
With  chosen  friends  as  youthful  and  as 
brave. 
To  chase  the  deer  till  evening  shadows  lie. 

All  purple  gloom  down  in  Tis-8a-ack*s  cave 
And  golden  floods  the  clifts  in  sunshine  lave. 

Tet  ere  he  turns  to  climb  the  dangerous  trail 

He  pauses  and  his  friends  proceed  alone. 
Among  the  maidens   in   the   flowery   vale. 

He  marks  Teheneh  his  beloved,  his  own, 
With  wild  dove  note  he  makes  his  presence 
known, 

"Teheneh,  when  the   day  begins  to  fail 
And  hunting  's  over — on  the  mountain  lone, 

111  pause  where  Cholock  leaps  into  the 
vale. 
To  send  thee  on  this  arrow  love's  sweet  tale. 

•*Well  is  it  feathered,  swift  will  be  its  flight. 
From  the  high  clift  where  I  shall  bend  the 
bow. 
Thus  shall  I  greet  thee  in  the  sweet  twilight 
Long  ere  our  train  shall  reach  the  camp 
below, 
(At   even   we   shall   weary   be   and   slow). 
Taheneh,  my  sweet  bride,  to  thee  farewell, 
I  needs  must  lead  my  braves  where'er  they 
go. 
At  sunset  seek  this  arrow  that  shall  tell 
The  love  and  longing  that  I  feel  so  well." 


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The  fiercest  hate  Pohono's  jealous  heart. 

In  all  its  cruel  depths  can  feel  or  know. 
Extends  to  lover,  and  their  lives  to  part. 
His  ever  evil  thoughts  with  schemes  o'er^ 
flow. 
When  up  the  trail  he  saw  Ko-soo-kah  go. 
He   called   the   rattle-snake   with   poiscmed 
dart, 
And  bade  him  "Lie  in  wait  for  yonder  foe." 
To  him  replied  the  snake:  "I  must  depart. 
I  cannot  do  thy  will,  chief  though  thou 
art. 

*'Long  have  I  shunned  him  and  I  dare  not  try. 
In  all  but  this  thy  mandates  I  obey. 
Who  could  deceive  his  quick,  his  fearless 
eye? 
I  know  too  well  that  I  should  fall  his  prey. 
My  head  in  darkest  crevice  I  shall  lay. 
And    tremble    till     Ko-soo-kah     passes." 
"Then, 
Gk)  coward,"  cried  Pohono,  "hide  away." 
He  called  the  treacherous  wild  cat  from 
his   den. 
And  pointed  out  Ko-soo-kah  to  his  ken. 

Yet  none  so  fierce  but  quailed  to  hear  the 
name, 

Ko-soo-kah  chief  of  the  Yoeemites. 
Pohono  called;  each  slinking  creature  came 

Pohono's    friends,    Ko-soo-kah's    enemies. 
Not  one  would  join  him  in  his  deviltries. 

Nor  tawny  cougar  nor  strong  grizzly  bear. 
"Thou  biddest,  Pohono,  that  we  do  not  dare," 

Each  cried  and  hid  him  in  his  secret  lair. 

The  wicked  wizzard  stormed  and  stormed 
in  vain. 
The  Indians  beat  the  forest  far  and  wide. 
In  every  contest  victory  they  gain. 
Their  youthful  hearts  are  filled  with  hun- 
ters'   pride; 
Crafty  the  game  that  from  their  sight  can 
hide. 
But  fell  Pohono,  riding  on  the  wind. 
Keeps  ever  at  the  young  Ko-soo-kah's  side. 
Who  knows  not  any  god's  intent  unkind 
For  nought  but  joy  and  triumph  fill  his  mind. 

In  golden  splendor,  day  has  reached  Its  close. 

The  summer  sun  begins  to  sink  and  sink. 
The    braves    who've    toiled    and    struggled 
since  it  rose. 
Rich  from  the  chase,  have  reached  the 
valley's  brink. 


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Ko-Boo-kah   stoops   at  Cholock's  stream  to 

drink 
And  motions  for  his  train  to  move  along. 
Teheneh's  voice  is  ringing  in  his  heart, 
And  mingling  with  the  ¥rild  bird's  evening 

song, 
The  promised  arrow  to  let  fly  ere  long. 

Where  Cholock  makes  his  first  tremendous 
leap, 
Ko-BOO-kah   paused    a   space   and    looked 
below. 
He  searched  with  eager  eye  the  chasm  deep, 

His  freighted  arrow  fitting  to  the  bow. 
He  hears  the  gentle  wood  dove  calling  low, 

Fondly  he  gazes  on  the  distant  scene. 
Like  tiny  ants  his  fellows  come  and  go. 

"There  is  the  tepee  where  the  wise  old  men 
Smoke  pipes  and  ponder  on  the  things  of 
state." 
(For  many  tribes  had  come  together  then 

To  barter,  feast,  and  on  his  pleasure  wait. 
Next  day  they  would  attend  his  wedding 
fete)— 
"Yosemite!  O  thou  art  very  dear! 
The  other  tribes  must  wander  soon  or  late, 

With  loveliest    reheneh  ever  near. 
My  heart,  my  tribes,  my  hope  are  gathered 
here." 

ThQB  mused  the  youthful  chieftain.    On  the 
verge, 
Of  a  most  awful  precipice  he  knelt. 
When  of  a  sudden  with  a  fearful  surge 
The   solid  granite  seemed   to   sway   and 
melt. 
And  slipping  rocks  beneath  his  feet  he  felt — 
The   treacherous   landslide   did   Pohono's 
wUl. 
Such  Budden  blow  the  evil  spirit  dealt. 

Leaving  the  noble  warrior  limp  and  still. 
Upon  a  granite  ledge  below  the  hill. 

Ine  brillant  light  is  slowly  fading  now; 
On  vale  and  cliff  the  deepening  shadows 

rest. 
The  gloaming  gathers  on  the  mountain's 

brow. 
And    darkness    hovers    round    its    mighty 

breast. 
The  little  song  bird  flutters  to  his  nest. 
Still   Cholock   bids   the   thundering   echoes 

ring. 


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1074  Jverland   Monthly. 


The  weary  sun  at  last  has  sunk  to  rest. 
The  wood  dove's  head  is  put  beneath  his 
wing, 
Night's  spangled  tepee  covers  everything. 

Teheneh  lingers  in  the  vale  below, 
"Why  is  thy  messenger  so  very  slow? 
Has  aught  befallen  thee  my  absent  love?" 
(Her  heart  is  fluttering  like  a  wounded  dove) 
"Why  tarry,  brave  Ko-soo-kah,  oh,  so  long? 
The  deer  is  swift,  the  grizzly  bear  is  strong, 
O  tremble  not  with  apprehensive  fear. 
His  arrow,  foolish  heart,  is  surely  near, 
I'll  seek  it  hidden  in  the  meadow  grass 
There  where  the  foamy  waters  swiftly  pass." 

Sae  seeks  in  vain  while  there  is  light  to  see. 

Blue  shadows  mingle  rock  and  shrub  and 
tree, 

The  camp  grows  silent  and  the  fires  bum 
low; 

The  pine  trees  sigh,  the  ceaseless  waters 
flow; 

'Tis  midnight     On  the  gloom  cast  moun- 
tain's brow. 

The  pale,  cold,  moon  is  whitely  gleaming 
now. 
And  now  Teheneh  leaves  the  slumbering 
vale 

To  find  Ko-soo-kah  she  ascends  the  trail. 

The   Recovery  of  Ko-soo-kah. 

The  day  has  dawned  again,  and  rosy  mom. 
With  breath  all  perfume  and  a  smiling  sky 
>\afts  clinging    mists    away    with    joyous 
scorn. 
As  though  all  earth  contained  no  weeping 
eye. 
Where  is  the  loveliest  of  the  Indian  girls, 
Teheneh,  gentle  as  the  mild  wood  dove? 
Ah,  see!    On  Ctiolock's  brow  the  dark  smoke 

curls! 
Teheneh  signals.    She  has  found  her  love. 

With  rawhide  ropes  and  litter  quickly  made. 
The  young  men  haste  their  fallen  chief  to 
flnd 
And  on  the  cliff  Teheneh,  unafraid 
Bids  them  with  thongs  her  slender  waist  to 
bind. 
Then  the  young  braves  with  careful  hands 
and  slow, 
Lower  the  maiden  o'er  the  granite  edge 
Where    the   still    Ko-soo-kah,    far    depths 
below. 


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Yosemite   Legends. 


1075 


hangs  like  a  shred  upon  the  dizzy  ledge. 

Teheneh  lifts  his  form  as  in  a  dream, 

So  cold,  so  strange,  so  lifeless  to  its  place. 
With  thongs  she  ties  it  to  the  rough  hewn 
beam, 

And  in  his  silent  bosom  hides  her  face. 
The  braves  above,  at  signal  understood, 

Raise  the  rough  litter  to  the  summit  high. 
And  bear  it  gently  to  a  sheltering  wood. 

There  lovingly  the  knotted  ropes  untie. 

Tutock-ah-nu-lah  the  good  demi-god. 

Invisible  to  every  human  eye 
Wag  resting  on  the  flowery  cushioned  sod, 

When  thus  they  bore  their  double  burden 
by. 
Unseen,  unheard,  by  even  those  so  near, 

Teheneh's  drooping  head  he  kindly  raised. 
And  stooping,  gently  whispered  in  her  ear, 

And   her   sweet   constancy   and   love   he 
praised. 

"My  eyes  for  thee  are  dimmed  with  mortal 
tears, 
I  feel,  I  feel,  sweet  maiden  for  thy  woe. 
How  canst  thou  face  life's  many  weary  years 
Without  thy  dear  Ko-soo-kah?  No,  ah,  no! 
Thou  Shalt  not  live  and  bear  a  broken  heart. 
My  breast  is  warmed  with  tenderest  sym- 
pathy, 
I  cannot  see  such  faithful  lovers  part. 


"The  smoke  of  but  one  funeral  pyre  shall  rise 
(Pohono's  evil  rage  was  all  in  vain). 

To  waft  both  happy  spirits  to  the  skies. 
Haste!    Sweet    Teheneh,    join    thy    chief 
again!"  ,. 

He  seized  the  arrow  from  the  slackened  bow, 
Ko-soo-kah's  stiffened  fingers  had  let  go. 
Its  feathered  shaft  descending  in  the  sand. 
Its  head  toward  heaven  the  Indians  see  it 

stand. 
All   marveling  that  the  thing  could   stand 

alone. 
It  swells  and  towers  a  monument  of  stone. 
In  simple  symbols  of  the  Red  Man's  art 
Is  carved  love's  message  on  the  giant  dart. 

The  years  roll  on,  the  seasons  come  and  go. 
The  summer  sun  drinks  Cholock;   but  the 

snow 
Refills  his  never  failing  cup  again 
And  down  the  cliff  he  rushing  roars  amain. 
The  fiowers  bloom  and  fade  upon  his  banks. 
Spring  decks  the  trees  and  autumn  strips 

their  ranks, 
New  birds  and  new  still  sing  the  evening 

songs; 
The  valley  to  another  race  belongs. 
But  Hum-moo,  all  unchanged  points  to  the 

sky, 
To  teach  how  happily  the  good  may  die. 


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A  native  bamboo  house.    Native  dancer  in  foreground. 


TAHITI 


BY    THEO.    B.    SEVERSON. 


RS  the  attention  of  the  people  on  this 
Coast  is  being  directed  to  the 
chances  and  possibilities  of  the  is- 
lands of  the  Pacific,  it  would  be 
well  to  study  the  islands  south  of  the 
equator  with  which  we  are  now  connected 
by  a  regular  monthly  steamer.  There  are 
many  of  these  islands  divided  into  groups 
owned  by  different  nations.  Particularly 
interesting  at  the  present  time  are  the 
Society  islands,  Paumoto,  and  the  Mar- 
quesas. The  largest  and  most  important 
island  is  Tahiti,  which  is  in  direct  com- 
munication with  San  Francisco. 

For  many  years  small  sailing  vessels 
carried  the  small  trade,  and  the  venture- 
some traveler  who  cared  to  endure  forty 
days   or   more   on   the   vast   expanse   of 


ocean,  often  becalmed  in  torrid  latitudes, 
for  days  without  moving  a  mile;  but, 
with  steamship  transportation  the  voyage 
is  now  made  in  eleven  or  twelve  days. 
By  a  few,  this  new  line  is  hailed  with 
joy.  By  the  many  much  speculation  is 
indulged  in  regarding  its  wonderful  poB- 
sibilities. 

Tahiti  is  situated  170  degrees  south 
of  the  equator,  and  about  1100  miles  al- 
most due  south  from  Honolulu.  The  is- 
land is  35  miles  long,  nearly  as  wide,  and 
has  an  area  of  over  600  square  miles, 
with  a  population  of  about  ten  thousand. 
It  presents  the  appearance  of  two  nearly 
circular  islands,  united  by  a  very  low 
and  narrow  neck  of  land,  each  of  which  is 
of  volcanic   origin,  and  very  mountain- 


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ous,  rising  in  a  succession  of  bold  cir- 
cular terraces  towards  the  central  peaks, 
and  having  a  broad  plain  all  around  the 
seaboard,  which  is  practically  the  only 
inhabited  part.  The  first  discovery  of 
this  island  was  made  by  a  Spanish  buc- 
caneer, Fernando  de  Quirros,  in  1606, 
but  for  a  long  time  it  was  lost  sight  of, 
until  re-discovered  by  Wallis,  an  English- 
man, in  1767.  Captain  Cook  gave  it  the 
name  by  which  it  is  now  known,  and  it 
was  on  Tahiti  that  the  transit  of  Venus 
was  observed  by  him  in  1769,  which  was 
of  so  much  value  to  science.  The  island 
formed  one  of  the  earliest  posts  of  the 
London  Missionary  Society  whose  repre- 
sentatives began  work  in  1797.  To-day 
Bibles  in  the  Tahitian  language  may  be 
found  in  many  homes,  and  the  numerous 
churches  to  be  found  all  over  the  island, 
give  evidence  of  a  high  standard  of  moral- 
ity in  former  years.  In  1872  some  diffi- 
culty between  the  Catholic  priests  and 
natives  caused  the  French  to  make  war, 
and,  after  four  years  of  Intermittent 
fighting,  the  islanders  were  compelled  to 
submit  to  the  inevitable.  The  French 
administration  combines  all  the  groups  of 
islands  with  the  city  of  Papeete  in  Tahiti 
as  its  center  of  official  business.  Here 
are  stationed  soldiers  in  barracks  of 
substantial  brick,  also  an  arsenal,  besides 
the  iiovernor's  residence  and  all  the  cot- 
tages necessary  for  officers  and  clerks. 
There  are  about  one  thousand  whites  on 
the  island,  most  of  whom  are  French. 
A  large  cruiser  is  generally  stationed  in 
the  harbor  and  adds  to  the  military  as- 
pect. 

Picture  an  island  set  in  a  reef  of  coral 
of  myriad  hues.  The  lagoon  of  a  light 
green,  outside  the  white  foaming  break- 
ers the  vast  ocean  of  intense  blue.  On 
shore  are  great  bunches  of  cocoa-nut 
palms  lifting  their  plumes  in  stately 
magnificence,  then  there  are  lanes  of 
trees  blossoming  in  red  and  yellow 
flowers,  and  nestling  in  their  midst  are 
the  low  thatched  nouses  of  the  natives. 
The  delightful  and  healthy  climate  of  the 
island  brings  to  maturity  all  the  products 
of  the  tropics,  which  are  nowhere  found 
in  greater  fullness  and  perfection  than 
here.  The  wayfarer  is  soothed  by  the 
fragrance  of  sweet  smelling  flowers,  and 


delighted  with  the  abundance  of  oranges, 
bananas,  breadfruit  and  cocoa-nut  which 
give  a  perennial  supply  of  food  to  the 
natives.  The  guava  introduced  at  the 
beginning  of  the  last  century,  has  run 
wild  in  such  quantities  as  to  have  become 
a  troublesome  pest.  The  heliotrope  grows 
almost  rank  in  its  profusion,  fllling  the 
air  with  fragrance  as  though  it  had  rained 
perfume.  The  beauty  of  the  island  has 
been  extolled  by  almost  every  traveller 
who  has  visited  Tahiti.  In  Captain  Cook's 
description  he  says:  "Perhaps  there  is 
scarcely  a  spot  in  the  universe  that 
affords  a  more  luxuriant  prospect  than 
the  southeast  part  of  Otaheite.  The  hills 
are  high  and  steep  and  in  many  places 
craggy;  but  they  are  covered  to  the  very 
summit  with  trees  and  shrubs  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  spectator  can  scarcely 
help  thinking  that  the  very  rocks  possess 
the  property  of  producing  and  supporting 
their  verdant  clothing.  The  flat  land 
which  bound  those  hills  towards  the  sea 
and  the  Interjacent  valleys  also,  teem 
with  various  productions  which  grow 
with  the  most  exuberant  vigor  and  at 
once  fill  the  mind  of  the  beholder  with 
the  idea  that  no  place  upon  earth  can 
outdo  this  in  the  strength  and  beauty 
of  vegetation." 

Tahiti  may  be  rightly  termed  the  "Par- 
adise of  the  Pacific,"  or  even  the  world, 
as  in  no  other  place  is  there  ^o  much 
variety  of  scenery.  The  Government  has 
constructed  a  good  road,  over  80  miles 
in  length,  nearly  circling  the  island. 
At  every  turn  the  constant  surprises 
keep  the  traveler  in  a  delirium  of  de- 
light. Sometimes  the  sea  lies  before  him, 
the  waves  wreathed  in  a  foam  of  white 
breaking  the  silence  in  a  continuous  roar; 
on  the  other  side  the  high  steep  moun- 
tains in  forms  of  towers,  domes  and 
steeples,  pierce  the  fieecy  clouds.  Now 
and  then  a  silvery  band  of  water  falls 
from  perpendicular  heights  to  the  turbu- 
lent stream  below.  Then  you  pass  under 
the  sheltering  shadows  of  tall  interlacing 
trees  which  excel  even  the  grandeur  of 
our  elm.  Farther  on  you  pass  through 
lanes  lined  with  banana,  mango,  and 
groves  of  cocoa-nut.  In  their  midst  nestle 
little  thatched  houses  of  bamboo,  whose 
owners  dressed  in  gay  colors  with  their 


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Tahiti. 


1079 


bronze-like  bodies  harmonize  beautifully 
against  the  deep  mass  of  green  foliage. 
This  terrestrial  Eden  is  peopled  by  one 
of  the  finest  races  in  the  world,  whose 
slightly  veiled,  or  even  fully  displayed 
symmetrical  proportions  did  not  fail  to 
excite  the  admiration  of  the  first  Europ- 
ean discoverers.  Recent  opinions  are  less 
enthusiastic  on  the  subject,  but  so  far  as 
they  have  deteriorated  their  deterioration 
is  due  partly  at  least  to  civilization  and 
strong  drink.  Notwithstanding  this  the 
natives  are  still  a  fine,  well-proportioned 
people,  tall  and  robust,  with  dark  brown 
complexion,    broad    nose,    slightly    pro- 


Tropical  growth. 

truding  lips,  beautiful  teeth,  raven  black 
hair,  often  curly  or  wavy,  but  with 
sparse  beard.  Aside  from  these  charac- 
teristics a  few  possess  features  of  real 
beauty.  Noticeabl  at  once  is  the  ex- 
pression of  kindness  and  tenderness  sel- 
dom seen  in  savage  races.  No  restraint 
is  now  placed  upon  the  natives  who  in- 
dulge in  unbridled  licentiousness.  For- 
merly, in  the  time  when  the  infiuence  of 
the  London  Missionary  Society  held  sway, 
morals  were  at  a  high  standard,  but 
since  the  advent  of  the  French,  who 
rather   encourage   looseness   of  life,   we 


Natives  of  Tahiti. 

find  a  state  of  awful  moral  corrup- 
tion. There  are  no  marriage  laws  re- 
spected and  enforced;  the  custom  is  to 
have  as  many  wives  as  convenient  to 
yourself,  consequently  there  is  scarcely 
a  native  of  pure  blood,  and  more  than 
two-thirds  of  the  entire  population  suffer 
with  the  pollution  of  Europeans  and 
Chinese.  Another  cause,  probably,  of  the 
decreasing  number  of  the  people  is  the 
prevalence  of  habits  of  intoxication  in 
which  they  indulge  as  a  substitute  for 
the  dance  and  song  and  varied  amuse- 
ments so  injudiciously  forbidden  by  early 
missionaries.  Most  fatal  gift  of  all,  they 
have  been  taught  to  ferment  the  juice 
of  the  orange,  so  abundant  and  delicious 
in  their  island  home,  and  thus  produce  a 
liquor  with  which  to  obtain  the  pleasures 
and  penalties  of  intoxication,  which  men, 
women  and  children  alike  enjoy  and 
suffer.  The  orange  has  been  for  these 
people  as  the  forbidden  fruit  of  the  gar- 
den of  Eden — the  tree  of  good  and  evil. 

In  the  Society  islands,  as  in  many  other 
places  in  the  Pacific,  are  to  be  found  a 


Natives  In  the  Marquesas  Islands. 

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number  of  buildings  which  testify  to  the 
existence  In  former  times  of  a  people  of 
a  higher  development  They  are  gener- 
ally in  the  form  of  terraces  or  platforms, 
placed  in  elevated  spots,  and  formed  of 
hewn  blocks  of  stone  which  are  often  of 
great  size.  In  the  center  is  placed  a  sort 
of  massive  altar.  A  very  large  building 
of  this  kind  exists  at  Papawa  in  Tahiti. 
From  a  base  measuring  270  feet  by  94 
feet  rise  ten  steps  or  terraces,  each 
about  six  feet  in  height.  The  object  of 
these  morias,  as  they  are  termed,  is  not 
very  clear.  They  were  in  many  cases  no 
doubt  of  a  monumental  if  not  sepulchral 
nature,  but  sacrifices  were  apparently 
offered  upon  them  in  some  instances,  and 
it  seems  that  they  served  on  occasions 
as   forts   or   strongholds. 

Tahiti  is  exceedingly  healthful  and  the 
climate  is  delightful  the  greater  part  of 
the  year.  In  the  months  of  December  to 
April  it  is  rather  warm  and  rains  almost 
continuously,  but  the  other  months  are 
ideal,  the  cool  winds  blowing  landward  in 
the  day  and  seaward  at  night.  It  would 
seem  that  fever  should  thrive  here,  but 
there  are  no  prevalent  illnesses  except  a 
mild  form  of  la  grippe  known  here  as 
dang;  blood  diseases,  however,  exist 
among  the  natives;  in  many  places  you 
see  men  and  women  with  arms  and  legs 
swollen  to  huge  size,  showing  evidence 
of  fei-fei  or  elephantiasis.  Although  not 
fatal  this  ailment  is  painful  and  linger- 
ing. It  is  very  seldom  that  a  white  per- 
son contracts  the  disease,  unless  he  lives 
the  same  as  the  native  in  low  wet 
places  and  is  too  lazy  to  exercise,  which 
is  primarily  the  cause.  Leprosy  prevails 
to  a  lesser  degree,  but  not  to  any  alarm- 
ing extent 

Aside  from  the  wonderful  beauty  of 
Tahiti  it  offers  no  inducement  other  than 
from  a  touristic  point  of  view.  The  agri- 
cultural outlook  is  not  promising  owing 
to  several  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  the 
Government  does  not  encourage  planting, 
and  no  inducement  is  offered  to  either  the 
native  or  the  colonist  to  cultivate  any- 
thing. On  the  contrary  anything  like  in- 
dustry is  rather  hampered.  The  land 
owner  is  not  taxed,  therefore  a  native 
holds  his  land  and  does  not  need  to  work; 
all  he  has  to  do  is  to  gather  his  fruit  from 


what  grows  wild  all  about  him  and  money 
is  no  object  whatever.  A  colonist  cannot 
buy  land  because  the  native  will  not  sell, 
knowing  that  he  will  not  be  able  to  lead 
such  an  easy  life  if  he  parts  with  his 
property.  Then  too,  should  a  colonist 
attempt  to  grow  anything  the  native  will 
steal  it  from  him  and  unless  he  has  a 
strong  guard  to  protect  his  property,  he 
will  lose  all  he  has.  The  Government 
affords  no  protection.  Its  officials  will 
tell  you  that  the  native  is  but  an  innocent 
child,  and  cannot  be  prosecuted.  Some 
years  ago  an  effort  was  made  to  establish 
a  plantation  on  a  large  scale.  An  Eng- 
lish company  bought  10,000  acres  of  rich 
land,  and  imported  1600  Chinese  coolies 
to  cultivate  it.  The  forest  was  cleared 
away  and  the  land  planted  with  sugar- 
cane, cotton  and  coffee,  while  broad  roads 
traversed  it  In  every  direction.  The 
establishment  of  this  gigantic  farm 
formed  a  small  town  picturesquely  sit- 
uated near  the  sea,  and  the  undertaking 
promised  to  be  very  successful,  but  reck- 
less management  caused  its  failure  and 
the  land  now  lies  in  waste. 

The  Chinamen  have  complete  control 
of  the  vanilla  business  which  is  the  lead- 
ing industry  among  the  natives.  The 
Chinese  buy  the  vanilla  from  the  natives, 
often  in  a  very  green  condition  and  cure 
it  themselves.  This  makes  an  inferior 
grade  of  vanilla.  The  price  per  pound  is 
much  lower  now  on  this  account.  The 
Chinamen  also  control  the  retail  grocery 
and  drygoods,  selling  to  the  natives  much 
cheaper  than  a  white  man  is  able  to  do. 
The  only  business  carried  on  to  any  great 
extent  among  the  whites  is  the  buying  of 
copra,  the  dried  cocoanut  There  is  also 
a  considerable  trade  in  pearls  and  shells 
carried  on  by  San  Francisco  capitalists. 

At  the  present  time  there  is  no  call  for 
either  laboring  men,  tradesmen,  or  pro- 
fessional men,  owing  largely  to  the  lim- 
ited number  of  whites  and  the  ignorance 
of  the  natives.  There  is  no  doubt,  how- 
ever, that  in  the  course  of  a  few  years 
there  will  be  a  great  change  and  Tahiti 
will  become  a  place  of  commercial  im- 
portance.. All  it  needs  is  better  laws  and 
the  enlightenment  of  modem  ideas  in 
regard  to  progression. 


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MATILIJA'S    DAUGHTER 


BY    H.    M.   LOVE. 


W 


TmT  HILE  in  Southern  California  last 
summer,  I  accepted  an  invitation 
to  hunt  in  the  Ojai  Valley,  and 
while  wandering  alone  along  the 
foothills,  followed  the  course  of 
a  small  stream  up  a  large  wedge-shaped 
<»nyon  cut  from  the  long,  gradual  slope 
of  the  mountain.  The  uncovered,  broken, 
and  twisted  strata  of  the  walls  gave  the 
canyon  a  fascinating  weirdness  which  led 
me  to  continue  on.  Accidentally  I  came 
upon  a  path  which  led  up  the  almost  per- 
pendicular walls  of  the  canyon,  and,  from 
mere  curiosity,  climbed  to  the  top  and 
looked  down  upon  the  creek  some  five 
hundred  feet  below.  I  walked  almost  a 
mile  along  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  when  I 
came  upon  two  circular  pillars,  built  of 
large  boulders.  Their  shape  and  ar- 
rangement in  such  a  deserted  place  at- 
tracted my  attention.  I  sat  down  upon  a 
stone  which  had  fallen  from  place,  and 
was  filling  my  pipe  when  an  old  Mexican 
mounted  on  a  pony  rode  down  the  moun- 
tain. Having  hailed  him  in  Spanish,  he 
rode  over  to  me,  and  seeing  my  tobacco, 
asked  for  a  cigarette.  While  he  was  roll- 
ing it  I  asked  him  about  the  pillars. 
Blowing  a  great  cloud  of  smoke  through 
hlB  nostrils,  he  asked  in  wonder  if  I  had 
not  heard  the  legend  of  Matilija's  daugh- 
ter. Having  assured  him  that  I  had  not, 
2ie  drew  another  long  breath,  exhaled  the 
«moke,  and  began  the  tradition  which  for 
centuries  had  been  handed  down  from 
lip  to  ear  among  the  people. 

Before  the  Spanish  occupation  the  hills 
about  the  canyon  were  the  home  of  a 
«mall  remnant  of  a  forgotten  race,  more 
civilized  than  their  neighbors,  upon  whom 
they  levied  tribute.  At  the  time  when  a 
Spanish  party,  under  Menendez,  came 
from  Mexico,  searching  along  the  coast 
tor  a  lost  vessel  from  across  the  sea, 
Matilija  was  chief,  and  his  daughter, 
Hueneme,  a  girl  of  twenty,  comely  and 
€air  of  face,  was  the  most  attractive 
maiden  of  her  tribe. 


Padre  Ortega,  of  the  searching  party, 
had  fallen  ill,  and  Menendez,  returning 
from  the  coast  to  rest  his  men  and  await 
the  good  priest's  recovery,  found  a  rest- 
ing place  among  Matilija's  people. 

The  chief  was  anxious  for  the  comfort 
of  his  sick  guest,  and  left  at  his  disposal 
his  own  rude  home  in  the  canyon.  While 
there  attentively  waiting  upon  the  priest, 
Hueneme  met  Juan  Sanchez,  a  young  of- 
ficer under  Menendez.  Her  beauty,  so 
far  surpassing  that  of  all  other  Indian 
maidens,  took  the  fancy  of  his  impulsive 
heart,  while  from  the  emotional  mind  of 
the  maiden  his  soldierly  figure  and  dark 
handsome  face  drove  away  all  thoughts 
of  the  tall  young  braves  of  her  own  tribe. 
Long  Padre  Ortega  laid  ill,  and  while 
Matilija  with  his  bow  and  arrows  and  Me- 
nendez with  his  match-lock,  hunted  the 
wild  game  of  the  hills,  Juan  and  Hue- 
neme, left  to  their  fancy's  will,  spent 
most  of  their  time  wandering  together 
along  the  top  of  the  canyon's  high  walls, 
or  among  the  rocks  of  the  stream  below, 
and  their  affection  matured  into  a  love 
which  both  knew  would  make  their  sepa- 
ration unendurable.  Often  they  talked 
of  the  time  when  Juan  would  have  to  con- 
tinue on  his  way  with  the  expedition. 
At  last,  wnen  the  Padre's  condition  al- 
lowed Menendez  to  renew  his  search  to 
the  northward,  and  actual  preparation 
for  departure  had  commenced,  they  went 
together  to  Matilija,  Juan  asking  that  he 
be  allowed  to  make  Hueneme  his  wife, 
and  she  vowing  i.er  love  for  him.  The 
old  chief's  anger  knew  no  bounds,  and 
his  sense  of  hospitality  alone  prevented 
him  from  ending  then  and  there  the 
search  for  the  lost  vessel.  So  it  was 
upon  Hueneme,  for  having  dared  to  re- 
ciprocate the  love  of  the  stranger,  that 
all  his  anger  turned.  High  up  in  the  can- 
yon wall  was  a  secret  cave,  and  in  this, 
vowing  never  again  to  look  upon  her  face, 
he  ordered  her  confined  under  the  guard 
of  a  loyal  old  tribesman  and  his  wife. 


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1082 


Overland   Monthly. 


All  the  following  day,  while  prepara- 
tions for  departure  were  being  completed, 
Sanchez  tried  in  vain  to  find  the  maiden, 
but  no  trace  of  her  could  he  discover, 
till  an  old  hag  came  to  him  late  in  the 
evening,  and  by  signs  made  him  follow 
her  up  the  steep  path  to  the  cave.  Bvi- 
dently  counting  upon  assistance  from  the 
old  woman,  they  arranged  that  Juan 
should  leave  on  the  morrow  with  Menen- 
dez,  but  in  the  evening  should  return  with 
an  extra  horse  and  if  Hueneme  could  es- 
cape they  would  overtake  the  expedition 
and  have  Padre  Ortega  marry  them. 
The  next  night  while  preparing  the  even- 
ing meal  for  her  husband  on  guard  at  the 
cave,  the  old  crone  mixed  in  his  food  a 
stuplfying  herb,  and  in  a  short  time  he 
was  sleeping  soundly.  Hueneme,  having 
climbed  the  remainder  of  the  path  to  the 
bluff  above,  hurried  down  to  the  mouth 
of  the  canyon,  and  found  Juan  awaiting 
her.  Mounting  in  haste  they  rode  all 
night  and  late  in  the  morning  came  to  the 
seashore.  So  exhausting;  had  been  their 
ride  that  Hueneme  was  entirely  wearied 
and  they  dismounted  to  rest  themselves 
and  their  tired  horses.  While  Juan 
staked  the  horses  along  the  hill  side, 
Hueneme  prepared  their  small  stock  of 
provisions,  and,  after  a  scant  meal,  they 
laid  themselves  down  on  the  soft  dry 
sand,  Hueneme  with  her  head  pillowed 
against  Juan's  cheek;  and  soon  the  gentle 
rolling  of  the  waves  upon  the  beach 
lulled   them   into   deep   slumber. 

Too  long  they  slept.  When  it  was  dis- 
covered in  the  early  morning  that  Hue- 
neme was  gone,  Matilija  killed  the  guard, 
who  had  slept  while  she  escaped,  with 
his  own  bronze-headed  lance.  Leaving 
the  weapon  sticking  in  the  wound,  he 
mounted  the  nearest  horse,  ordered  a  few 
well  mounted  tribesmen  to  follow,  and 
went  in  Immediate  pursuit.  All  day  they 
rode  under  the  broiling  sun,  and  finally. 


just  as  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  Santa 
Cruz  Island,  the  old  chief  still  in  advance 
of  his  men  saw  his  daughter  resting 
quietly  in  the  arms  of  the  sleeping  Juan. 
Shaking  with  anger,  thinking  of  nothing 
but  disobedience  and  treachery  he  halted, 
and  keeping  his  vow  never  to  look  again 
upon  his  daughter's  face,  he  turned  his 
eyes  to  the  sea.  The  low  tide  had  left 
bare  the  large  damp  rocks  beyond  the 
edge  of  the  breakers.  Seeing  these  he- 
dismounted  and  walked  down  to  the  edge- 
of  the  water,  picked  up  an  immense  stone^ 
and  staggered  under  its  weight  towards, 
the  sleeping  couple.  As  he  neared  them 
he  raised  the  rock  at  arms'  length,  closed 
his  eyes,  and  dropped  it  upon  their  heads. 

When  the  others  of  the  pursuing  party^ 
came  up  they  found  the  old  chief  gazing 
fixedly  at  the  stone,  but  at  last  fatherly^ 
feeling  rose  above  his  anger,  he  pushed 
away  the  blood  stained  rock  and  took 
his  daughter's  crushed  head  in  his  arms.. 
Long  he  remained  seated  on  the  sands,, 
and  when  the  day  broke  again,  he  ordered 
her  body  carried  back  to  the  old  canyon, 
home. 

Upon  the  bluff  above  the  cave  shcT.was. 
laid  to  rest,  and  as  the  last  tribal  rite 
was  ended,  Matilija  ordered  his  men  to* 
build  a  pillar  of  large  boulders  above  her 
grave  as  a  reminder  of  the  manner  in 
which  she  met  her  death,  and,  as  the  last, 
stone  was  put  in  place,  he  walked  com- 
posedly over  the  edge  of  the  bluff.  Down 
among  the  rocks  of  the  stream  below 
they  found  his  mangled  body,  and  rever-- 
entlally  buried  him  beside  his  daughter, 
marking  his  grave  with  a  second  pillar 
overlooking  the  scene  of  his  former  rule. 

As  the  Mexican  finished  his  story  I 
looked  incredulously  at  the  pillars.  He^ 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  mounted  his  pony 
and  with  a  farewell,  *'Adios,  Senor,"  rode- 
away  down  the  mountain. 


^  16i^  ., 


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THE    HAIDAH    INDIANS 


Mama  Thiontona. 
(The  humming  bird.) 


BY    MARGARET   WENTWCRIH    LEIGHTON. 


UEBN  Charlotte's  Islands  lie 
from  seventy  to  one  hundred 
miles  off  the  coast  of  British  Co- 
lumbia in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  In 
1787  they  were  taken  possession  of  in  the 
name  of  King  Qeorge  III  and  named  for 
his  Queen  Consori. 

The  first  white  man  to  dwell  upon 
these  islands,  Francis  Poole  by  name, 
thus  enthusiastically  describes  them  in 
his  diary:  "This  is  a  land  of  enchantment. 
As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  either  way 
is  a  picture  of  loveliness,  such  varied 
and  magnificent  landscapes,  such  match- 
less timber,  such  a  wealth  of  vegetation, 
such  verdure  and  leafage  up  to  the  very 
crests  of  its  highest  hills."  He  further 
rapturously  describes  the  many  fine  har- 
bors, the  splendid  yellow  cedars  and 
pines,  growing  straight  as  arrows  to  a 
height  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  or  three 
hundred  feet,  the  delightful  climate,  so 
mild  that  the  snow  falling  on  the  coldest 
winter  day  melts  as  it  touches  the 
ground,  the  abundance  of  wild  game, 
from  black  bears  to  ducks  and  snipe,  the 
quantities  of  fish  in  the  surrounding 
waters,  the  untold  mineral  wealth  locked 
In  the  earth's  recesses. 

Such,  then,  was  the  home  of  the  Hai- 
dah  Indians  over  a  hundred  years  ago. 
It  is  little  changed  to-day.  The  Haidahs 
far  excel  all  other  Pacific  Coast  Indians 
in  war-like  spirit,  physique  and  ingenu- 
ity. They  are  lighter  In  color  than  the 
tribes  living  to  the  southward.  Their 
skill  in  carving  upon  stone,  wood,  silver, 
and  copper  is  wonderful.  Their  work 
resembles  that  of  the  Aztecs  of  ancient 
Mexico.  It  is  supposed  that  after  the 
tragic  fall  of  Tenochtitlan  (the  Aztec 
capital  of  Mexico),  some  of  the  fugitives 
found  their  way  to  the  west  coast  and 
thence   northward,    finally   reaching   the 


islands  now  occupied  by  the  Haidahs, 
their  descendants.  To  these  Indians  the 
woods  and  the  waters,  the  sky,  the  earth, 
and  the  air  are  filled  with  spiritual  be- 
ings. Every  Haidah  has  a  guardian 
spirit  embodied  in  the  form  of  some  bird 
or  animal.  In  front  of  the  lodges  of  the 
chiefs  totem  poles  are  erected.  If  the 
owner  of  the  house  is  rich  he  has  a  very 
tall  pole,  perhaps  fifty  or  sixty  feet  In 
height.  It  is  elaborately  carved  with  the 
totems,  of  heraldic  designs,  of  the  occu- 
pants of  the  lodge,  often  consisting  of 
several  fammes.  The  cost  of  this  carv- 
ing is  many  blankets.  The  pole  is  set 
firmly  in  the  earth  close  to  the  lodge, 
and  a  circular  opening  through  it  near 
the  ground  forms  the  entrance  to  the 
house. 

Upon  a  characteristic  totem  pole  a 
beaver  crouches  Just  above  the  door, 
and  on  its  head  sits  the  legendary  mother 
of  the  Haidahs  holding  a  young  crow 
in  her  arms.  An  old  crow  rests  on  her 
head,  holding  in  his  beak  the  new  moon. 
Crowning  the  pillar  sits  Hoorts  (the 
bear).  There  are  legends  connected 
with  each  pole  and  every  representation 
upon  it.  The  story  of  this  one  is  that 
the  beaver  has  eaten  the  moon  and  sent 
the  crow  out  to  find  a  new  moon,  which 
he  brings  home  in  his  bill.  It  is  the  duty  of 
the  bear  sitting  at  the  top  to  see  that  all 
goes  well.  Many  of  the  poles  are  gaily 
painted  red,  yellow,  green  and  black, 
giving  the  villages  a  startling  appear- 
ance. 

Each  Indian  has  tatooed  upon  the  body, 
usually  on  the  hand  or  arm,  a  curious  fig- 
ure representing  his  or  her  family  name. 
The  head  man  who  owns  the  lodge  has 
tatooed  upon  himself  all  the  figures  of 
his  lodge  mates,  showing  his  connection 
with    the    members    of    his   household. 


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Some  of  these  designs  are  true  to  na- 
ture, while  others  are  strange  mytho- 
logical creatures.  The  frog,  the  crow, 
a  laughing  bear,  the  humming  bird,  and 
squid  are  tatoo  designs.  One  klootchman 
(woman)  had  upon  her  body  the  figure 
of  a  halibut,  with  a  picture  of  the  chief 
of  her  tribe  drawn  on  its  tail.  This  she 
believed  would  protect  her  and  her  peo- 
ple  from   drowning   forever. 

The  belief  in  the  thunder  bird  is  com- 
mon to  all  northwestern  Indians.  This 
is  a  creature  of  human  form  and  gigantic 
size  which  lives  in  the  mountains.  When 
it  is  hungry  it  dons  a  cloak  of  feathers 
and  sails  forth  in  search  of  prey.  Its 
enormous  body  darkens  the  heavens  and 


from  their  wild  fiords  on  quests  of  discov- 
ery and  gain. 

There  is  a  peculiar  kind  of  date  on 
the  islands  which  is  quite  soft  when  first 
quarried.  The  Indians  carve  miniature 
totem  poles,  exquisite  plates,  imitation 
fiutes,  etc.,  from  this.  After  these  are 
exposed  to  the  air  they  harden  and  are 
then  rubbed  with  oil  until  they  look  like 
polished  black  marble.  They  are  taken 
on  the  expeditions  to  the  coast  towns 
upon  the  mainland  and  sold  as  curiosi- 
ties. Some  of  the  spoons  carved  of 
black  horn  are  veritable  works  of  art, 
and  a  pipe  in  my  possession  is  wonder- 
fully made.    It  is  cut  from  a  solid  block 


A  Haldah  Dish  (The  Crow). 


The  Haidahs  believe  that  their  ances- 
tors were  crows,  and  they  never  kill  one 
•of  those  dark-hued  birds.  When  the 
Indians  paint  themselves  black  it  is  in 
remembrance  of  their  ancestors.  When 
walking  over  the  ice  they  tread  carefully, 
that  they  may  not  offend  the  ice  spirit. 

The  Haidahs  possess  great  skill  in 
many  ways.  From  a  single  log  of  one  of 
the  giant  cedars  they  hollow  a  canoe 
•capable  of  carrying  a  hundred  men.  Some 
•of  these  boats  have  graceful  curved 
prows  wonderfully  carved.  To  see  one 
•of  these  immense  canoes  starting  out  on 
a  sea  voyage  witn  its  complement  of  a 
hundred  rowers  all  paddling  In  exact 
time  to  their  weird  song  takes  us  back 
to  the  days  of  the  Vikings,  setting  forth 


of  wood  and  consists  of  two  lizards,  the 
smaller  one  resting  upon  the  back  of  the 
larger.  The  teeth  and  eyes  are  made  by 
inlaying  bits  of  greenish  pearl  cut  into 
suitable  shapes.  The  tobacco  is  put  in- 
to a  little  iron  lined  apperture  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  lizard's  back,  and  the  Ions 
stem  comes  out  in  place  of  a  tail.  Dishes 
in  the  form  of  beavers,  gulls,  and  crows 
are  carved  from  wood  and  then  painted 
in  gay  colors.  The  fineness  of  much  of 
this  work  is  marvelous  when  we  remem- 
ber that  the  only  tool  used  is  a  coarse 
knife.  The  baskets  which  they  weave 
from  roots  and  fibres  are  of  such  close 
texture   that   they   hold   water. 

The  Haidahs  share  the  inveterate  love 
of  gambling  common  to  all  the  Western 


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Haidah    Indians 


1085 


Indians.  The  playing  cards  of  these  In- 
dians are  little  round  sticks  about  six 
inches  long  made  of  yew  wood  and  pol- 
ished until  they  have  a  satiny  sheen. 
Each  stick  has  its  individual  mark.  Many 
are  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl  in  the 
form  of  squaws,  triangles  and  even  per- 
fect representations  of  tiny  fishes.  This 
form  of  gambling  is  almost  identical  with 
the  old  Greek  game  Odd  or  Even.  Each 
player  has  forty  or  fifty  sticks.  These 
are  shuffled  beneath  fine  cedar  bark. 
The  game  Is  finished  when  one  player 
has  won  all  the  others  sticks.  So  ab- 
sorbing is  this  play  that  it  is  often  con- 
tinued for  days  without  intermission  for 
food  or  rest.  One  old  man  gambled  stead- 
ily for  three  days,  continually  losing  until 
his  last  possession,  the  blanket  on  his 
back,  was  gone.  A  devoted  female  of  his 
household  then  offered  him  her  only 
blanket.  This  he  took,  and  with  it  his 
luck  seemed  to  turn,  for  he  not  only  re- 


Hoorts. 
(The  Bear.) 


Hooyeh. 
(The  Crow.) 

Koong. 

(The  New  Moon.) 


The  Mother  of  the  Haidahs. 

Keetkie. 

(The  Young  Crow.) 


Tsching. 
(The  Beaver.) 


Entrance  to  The  Lodge. 


TOTEM    POLE. 


Hargo  (Halibut)— A  tattoo  design. 

gained  all  his  own  property  but  every- 
thing which  his  opponent  possessed. 

The  Haidahs  have  many  feasts  during 
the  year.  In  preparation  for  these  they 
wash  off  all  their  old  paint,  besmear 
themselves  with  grease,  over  which  they 
spread  a  lavish  coat  of  scarlet  paint. 
Sometimes  this  is  made  to  roughly  repre- 
sent birds,  fishes,  or  other  animals.  The 
last  thing  is  to  sprinkle  the  body  well 
with  fine  down,  which  takes  kindly  to  the 
paint  and  oil.  The  men  then  seat  them- 
selves in  circles  and  make  a  rude  kind 
of  music  by  beating  sticks  for  the  women 
to  dance  by.  The  dancing  consists  of 
contorting  the  body  in  different  ways 
with  now  and  then  a  sudden  spring,  the 
legs  being  used  very  little  if  at  all. 

There  are  two  stories  in  the  Haidah 
houses;  the  lower  one  excavated  beneath 
the  ground  is  for  winter  use,  and  the 
other,  the  floor  of  which  is  level  with 
the  ground,  built  of  stout  poles  and 
planks,  is  for  the  summer.  In  the  roof 
is  a  large  square  hole  through  which  the 
smoke  passes  out,  and  daylight  and  moon- 
light enter. 

One  of  the  principal  characters  among 
all  the  Indians  is,  as  with  the  Haidahs, 
the  medicine  man.  When  a  person  falls 
sick  it  is  supposed  that  evil  spirits  have 
entered  his  body.    The  medicine  man  is 


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1086  Off  Mile  Rock. 

called.    He  paints  himself  red  and  black,  and  fierce  looking  teeth.    Thus  equipped 

and  dons  either  a  buckskin  cape  on  which  he    seizes   his    rattle    and    proceeds   to 

are  strange  drawings  of  the  thundeivbird  frighten  away  the  evil  spirits,  howling 

and  the  lightning-fish,  or  a  wolf  skin,  and  wailing  and  yehemently  brandishing 

He  hangs  charms  about  himself  in  the  the  rattle.     If  he  is  successful  and  the 

form  of  carved  bones  and  teeth,  eagle's  sick  person  recovers,  it  is  well,  and  he  is 

claws,    distended    fish    bladders,    shells,  given  a  fee;  but  if  the  victim  dies,  the 

and  tails  of  animals.     Next  he  dons  a  luckless  doctor  is  often  put  to  death  for 

hideous  wooden  mask  with  protruded  lip  his  "bad  medicine." 


OFF    MILE    ROCK 

(The  Rio  do  danelroi  February  fl2f\d.) 


BY    ISIDORE    BAKER. 


The  fog  lay  white  as  cerement 

Upon  the  bay  upborn, 
It  held  the  sea  in  wide  embrace 

That  fearsome  winter  morn. 

No  signal  beam  athwart  the  ship 

From  isle  or  harbor  near, 
Bonita  light  loomed  palely-wan 
Through  the  thick  atmosphere. 

From  Orient  port,  through  danger  vast. 
Of  tempest,  wind  and  wave, 

This  vessel  sailed  o'er  leagues  of  space 
To  an  unfathomed  grave. 

0  stately  ship,  with  freight  of  life, 

Of  joy  and  human  love. 
Was  there  no  portent  of  thy  fate 

On  sea,  or  sky  above? 

No  warning  voice  to  bid  thee  pause 

Or  pilot's  hand  to  stay 
Thy  course  from  off  the  hidden  reef 

That  lurked  beneath  thy  way? 

Off  Golden  Gate  the  sun  is  clear. 
The  great  ships  come  and  go, 

And  round  the  base  of  Mile  Rock  point 
The  tides  hold  ebb  and  flow. 

No  echo  of  that  fearsome  morn 
Is  heard  on  shore  or  sea, — 

It  dwells  within  the  hearts  of  men 
A  dirge — a  threnody. 


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Varney    Sykes'    Little    Phil. 


BY   HELEN    E.  WRIGHT. 


¥HBN 
Rosin 
gaunt. 


HBN  Varney  Sykes  came  to 
with  a  puny  child  and  a 
grizzled  boar-hound  in  his 

"outfit,"  the  men  shrugged 
their  shoulders.  It  was  none  of  their 
business,  of  course,  but  what  could  be 
done  with  a  boy  like  that,  and  only  three 
women  in  the  camp?  As  to  the  dog, 
Mose,  well — ^there  was  no  accounting  for 
tastes,  anyway. 

The  three  moved  into  a  deserted  cabin 
on  the  plateau  and  Varney  started  pros- 
pecting. The  men  passed  occasionally, 
and  saw  the  child  lying  close  against 
the  earth,  in  the  sunshine,  or  watching 
the  sky  with  wide,  wondering  eyes, 
touched  their  foreheads  significantly  and 
smiled;  but  little  Phil  made  friends. 
Mose  followed  him  everywhere.  The 
chipmunks  and  the  red  tree  squirrels  chat- 
tered a  great  deal  at  first,  but  ended  by 
giving  Phil  their  confidence,  and  once 
Varney  Sykes  found  a  snake  with  seven 
rattles  and  a  button,  coiled  up  against 
him,  fast  asleep.  Nor  were  these  alL 
Seth  Maroux  mended  one  of  the  pockets 
in  his  waistcoat,  and  laid  therein  a  store 
of  peppermint  candies  and  fennel  seed. 
Seth's  record  in  Rosin  was  not  altogether 
good.  There  were  those  who  preferred 
not  to  meet  him  after  dark,  but  the  child 
would  climb  up  and  lay  his  cheek  against 
the  man's  broad  breast,  and  say:  "Now 
lock  the  doors,  please,  all  tight."  Then 
as  the  rough  arms  folded  close  about  him, 
he  would  sigh  contentedly,  and  whisper: 
"My  mamma  used  to  do  like  that;  he 
don't  know  how!"  "He"  always  meant 
his  father. 

One  night  the  boy  was  taken  ill,  and 
Varney  Sykes  went  down  to  the  camp  for 
help,  but  none  of  the  women  could  come. 
One  had  a  toothache,  one  had  bread  to 
set,  and  the  other  was  busy.  Maroux, 
seated  on  an  empty  beer  keg  in  the  store, 
was  having  a  forcible  argument  with  an- 
other lounger,  but  he  jumped  down  and 
followed  Varney  without  a  word  when 
ho  heard  what  the  trouble  was.  In  the 
cabin  a  little  figure  lay  moaning  on  the 
bed,  .and  the  grizzled  head  of  Mose 
rested  on  the  coverlet.  The  dog  whined 
joyously  when  Seth  came  in,  and  the  boy 
held  up  his  arms. 


"My  mamma  used  to  sing,"  he  said  at 
'ast.    "You  sing,  please,  Seth." 

Seth  Maroux  knew  only  a  few  songs, 
and  those  were  hardly  lullabys,  but  he 
did  his  best,  and  the  child  fell  asleep. 

Summer  lingered  long  in  the  mountains 
that  year.  The  sumac  had  turned  a  vivid 
scarlet  before  the  last  warm  days  had 
fled.  When  the  rain  did  come  it  fell  in 
an  even  steady  downpour  for  three  days. 
The  mails  were  delayed;  the  roads  were 
heavy,  and  the  horses  mired  above  their 
fetlocks  with  each  step  in  the  yellow 
clay.  On  the  fourth  day  there  was  a 
stir  in  Rosin.  Men  in  high  rubber  boots 
and  grotesque  rain-hats  stood  in  groups 
cbout  the  store,  talking  excitedly.  The 
three  women  of  the  camp  discussed  the 
matter  with  little  shivers  and  shrill  ex- 
clamations, for  the  Blixville  stage  had 
been  held  up  three  miles  down  the  road. 
Rob  Dom,  the  messenger,  was  shot,  and 
Johnson,  the  driver,  had  been  nearly 
blinded  with  sulphur  in  his  eyes.  Travel 
was  light  Just  then,  and  the  only  pas- 
senger was  a  Chinese  cook  on  his  way  to 
the  Bobolink  mine,  but  the  treasure  box 
was  empty,  and  three  thousand  dollars 
m  bullion  was  gone. 

The  Sherift  was  lookingly  anxiously  for 
Seth  Maroux.  Ihere  was  no  tangible  evi- 
dence, but  the  man  was  missing  and  those 
who  knew  his  record  drew  their  own  con- 
clusions. A  week  passed  by.  Varney 
Sykes,  coming  up  the  trail  one  afternoon, 
saw  the  pinched  face  of  little  Phil 
pressed  against  the  window  pane.  The 
child  met  him  at  the  door. 

"Why  don't  my  Sethie  come?"  he 
asked  tremulously.    "I  wan't  him." 

The  man  pushed  roughly  by,  then  sud- 
denly he  stopped  afid  stood  looking  down 
at  the  little  fellow.  He  dropped  heavily 
into  a  chair,  and  drew  the  child  between 
his  knees. 

"Look  here,  Phil,"  he  said,  "Seth's 
gone!  gone!      Do  you  understand?" 

The  boy  looked  half  vacantly  at  him. 
"1  want  my  Sethie,"  he  repeated  slowly. 
The  man  shook  him  almost  fiercely.  "I 
tell  you  he's  gone,"  he  said  in  a  louder 
voice,  "and  he  won't  come  back  again! 
Do  you  hear?    He  won't  come  back!" 

The  boy's  face  was  quivering  pitifully,  j 

Digitized  by  ^^OOQ IC 


1088 


Overland   Monthly. 


His  eyes  were  wide  with  pain. 

**No  whimpering  now,"  said  the  man, 
with  an  oath.  "I've  had  enough  of  it." 
He  brought  his  hand  across  the  boy's 
face  with  a  resounding  blow,  and  walked 
cut  of  the  house. 

There  was  an  old  sheepskin  in  front 
of  the  little  bed;  the  boy  dropped  down 
on  it,  and  Mose  licked  his  face  in  sym- 
pathy. Slowly  the  darkness  came,  but 
tne  child  did  not  move.  The  pale  Nov- 
ember moon  struggled  through  the  break- 
ing clouds,  and  sent  long  shimmering 
rays  down  through  the  pines  and  ma- 
dronos. The  boy  lay  with  his  head  pil- 
lowed on  the  dog,  listlessly  watching 
(he  patch  of  clear  cold  light  that  fell 
through  the  window  to  the  cabin  floor. 
Suddenly  a  shadow  crept  across  it,  and 
disappeared  again.  Mose  saw  it,  and 
growled  uneasily.  Just  then  a  man's  head 
rose  above  the  window  casing.  He 
shielded  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and 
peered  cautiously  into  the  room.  Mose 
lifted  his  long  muzzle;  his  nostrils  quiv- 
ered and  dilated,  then  he  gave  a  low 
whine,  and  his  tail  wagged  a  welcome. 
The  face  vanished,  but  the  door  opened 
and  closed  behind  Seth  Marouz. 

"Phil,"  he  said. 

The  boy  sprang  forward  and  clung  to 
him  desperately,  and  Mose's  warm  tongue 
caressed  his  hand.  They  stood  so  for 
pome  seconds,  then  Seth  drew  the  child 
into  the  broad  band  of  moonlight  and 
looked  at  him  anxiously.  "Poor  little 
chap ! "  he  said,  passing  his  hand  over  the 
toy's  hair;  "poor  little  chap!"  The 
man's  own  face  was  almost  ghastly,  it 
was  so  thin  and  sunken.  On  his  left  cheek 
there  was  a  long,  angry-looking  scar,  as 
though  some  flying  bullet  had  seared  the 
flesh  and  gone  its  way.  The  child  raised 
his  finger  and  touched  it. 

"What  hurted   you,  Seth?"  he  asked. 

"Me?"    asked    the    man,    evasively. 
"Why — why — see    here,    Phil,"    he  said, 
abruptly,    "I'm    hungry.    Is    there    any- 
thing to  eat?" 

"Bread,"  said  the  boy,  "and  cold  bacon 
and  some  beans.  Father  left  a  lot  for  me, 
but  I  don't  want  to  eat  when  you're  away 
— it  hurts  me  here,"  putting  his  .hand 
to  his  throat. 

Together  they  walked  to  the  low-swung 
f afe.    There  was  a  rude  ladder  beside  it. 


that  led  to  an  unfurnished  room  above. 
The  man  half  leaned,  half  sat  upon  it  and 
ate  ravenously,  filling  his  pockets  with 
what  was  left. 

"Now,  Phil,"  lie  said,  drawing  the  boy 
to  him.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you — to  talk 
just  as  if  you  were  a  man.  Will  you  try 
hard  to  understand?"    The  child  nodded. 

"Well,"  continued  Maroux,  "I'm  going 
away  to-night,  and  I  came  here  to  say 
good-bye.  But  you  mustn't  let  anyone 
know  I've  been  here,  Phil.  You  hear, 
don't  you?  You  mustn't  let  anybody 
know.  If  you  did — "  he  shivered  a  little. 
The  boy  clung  to  him  without  a  word. 
"They  are  looking  for  me  now,"  the  man 
went  on.  "They  want  to  hurt  me,  but, 
Phil,"  he  said,  laying  his  rough  cheek 
against  the  little  face;  "you'll  always 
love  me,  won't  you?" 

"Always,"  sobbed  the  child;  "oh,  Seth- 
le,  always!" 

Just  then  a  faint,  strange  cry  broke  the 
stillness.  It  sounded  a  mile  away.  The 
man  sprang  to  his  feet,  straining  the  boy 
to  his  breast.  Mose,  too,  heard  it,  and 
was  on  the  alert  in  a  moment.  Again 
and  again  it  came,  each  time  a  little  more 
distinct. 

"My  God,"  cried  the  man,  "Not  that!" 

He  hastened  to  the  window,  still  hold- 
ing the  child  convulsively.  On  the  trail 
to  the  plateau  lights  danced  like  fireflies 
among  the  trees,  and  the  low  coyote-like 
cry  of  the  hound  came  ever  nearer. 

"Phil,"  cried  the  man  in  a  spasm  of 
dread,  "don't  you  understand  what  It  is?" 
In  his  helplessness  he  turned  to  the 
child.  "What  shall  I  do,  Phil?  Where 
ran  I  hide?"  He  shook  the  little  fellow 
roughly.    "Tell  me,  where  can  I  hide?" 

"You  hided  in  the  big-leafed  tree,  when 
wo  played,"  said  the  boy  slowly;  then  he 
and  Mose  were  alone. 

A  heavy,  low  hung  cloud  had  swuns 
across  the  moon,  and  a  night  wind  shiv- 
ered along  the  plateau.  The  baying  of 
the  hound  was  very  near  now;  it  had  a 
strange  thirsty  sound,  and  the  flickerlns 
ifghts  of  the  torches  showed  dark  mount* 
'^d  flgures  on  the  trail.  The  glossy 
leaves  of  the  madronos  rustled  a  little, 
and  one  tiny  ray  of  light  filtered  Its 
way  through  the  branches,  and  rested  on 
a  pair  of  fierce,  wide  eyes.  Morgan,  the 
sheriff,  was  the  first  to  reach  the  cabin. 


Digitized  by  V^OO^  Lt^ 


Varney  Sykes'   Little   Phil. 


1089 


He  rode  slowly  round  it,  but  Brandy,  a 
eatin-coated  dog,  gave  one  triumphant 
yelp,  and  tracked  straight  to  the  door. 

"Um-humph!"  said  the  Sheriff,  "1 
thought  so!"  He  swung  off  from  his 
horse  and  tied  him  to  the  madrono  tree, 
then  leaned  carelessly  against  the  smooth 
rec  trunk  and  waited  for  the  others.  A 
hand  crept  through  the  leaves;  one  finger 
rested  lightly  on  a  slim  trigger  and  a 
steel-rimmed  mouth  was  pressed  almost 
to  the  Sheriff's  head,  and  drawn  back 
again.  Just  then  the  other  men  came 
up;  there  were  four  of  them. 

"We've  got  him,  easy  enough,"  laughed 
Morgan,  with  a  sideways  motion  of  his 
head  toward  the  house.  ''You  take  the 
door,  Ralston,"  he  went  on,  "and  Roberts 
and  Frank  the  window.  Casey  will  come 
T/ith  me,  though  I  don't  Imagine  we'll 
have  much  trouble;  we're  too  many  for 
him.  And  that  half-witted  kid—"  his 
voice  softened — ^*'poor  little  shaver!" 

He  drew  out  a  pair  of  handcuffs  and 
passed  them  to  his  deputy,  felt  mechani- 
cally for  his  revolver,  and  sauntered  to- 
wards the  cabin.  The  door  was  unfast- 
ened and  yielded  easily.  Brandy,  with 
an  impatient  whine,  pushed  his  way  in 
ahead,  and  stood  sniffing  a  moment  in 
perplexity.  The  light  that  Morgan  car- 
ried revealed  a  cheerless  little  room, 
bare  save  for  a  few  homely  necessaries. 
On  the  strip  of  sheepskin  before  the  bed 
sat  Phil,  with  his  arms  about  his  dog. 

"Where's  Seth  Maroux?"  asked  the 
Sheriff,  abruptly. 

The  child  rubbed  his  eyes  in  a  fright- 
ened, sleepy  way,  and  began  to  cry. 

"None  of  that,  now!"  said  the  man. 
"We  won't  hurt  you;  we  want  Seth 
Marouz;  where  is  he?" 

"You  can't  get  brains  out  of  an  Idiot," 
muttered  Casey. 

Brandy  was  making  frantic  circles 
round  the  room,  with  his  nose  to  the 
floor,  and  giving  intermittent  yelps  of 
rage.  Mose  had  risen,  and  his  lithe, 
wolfish  figure  slunk  among  the  shadows 
to  the  door.  He  was  very  quiet;  his 
bristly  gray  hair  stood  erect  along  his 
back  and  neck;  his  eyes  grew  small  and 
red,  but  nobody  observed  him. 

"Look  here,  boy,"  said  Morgan,  "we 
know  Maroux  is  here.  Tell  us  where — 
that's  a  good  little  chap."    He  held  out 


a  silver  quarter  invitingly.  Brandy  was 
sniffing  in  excitement  at  the  safe, 
and  a  look  of  cunning  crept  into  the 
child's  eyes. 

"He  hided  from  me  once  up  there,"  he 
said  meditatively,  pointing  to  the  ladder. 

"Why,  of  course,"  chuckled  the  Sheriff. 

The  two  men  climbed  cautiously  up.  It 
was  very  still  in  the  little  room  below,  ex- 
cept for  the  yelping  of  the  hound  in  his 
vain  efforts  to  follow.  When  they  came 
down  again,  Casey  was  in  advance;  his 
dark  face  was  livid  with  anger.  "You 
young  blackguard,"  he  cried,  "you  ugly 
half-witted  brat!"  and  he  brought  his 
hand  across  the  boy's  face  with  a  sting- 
ing blow.  "I've  a  notion  to  thrash  you 
till  you  can't  stand!  When  did  Marouz 
go  away?" 

The  boy  was  quivering  with  pain,  but 
he  looked  defiantly  up  into  the  man's 
face. 

"My  Sethle  told  me  not  to  tell,"  he 
said. 

Just  then  Brandy  gave  a  long  tremu- 
lous bay,  and  started  for  the  door.  At 
the  threshold  a  gray  object  leaped  from 
the  shadow,  and  Mose's  white  fangs  were 
fastened  in  the  bloodhound's  throat. 
Over  and  over  they  rolled,  hissing  and 
frothing  in  rage.  Roberts  and  Frank 
left  their  posts  at  the  windows;  Ralston 
left  his  at  the  door,  and  nobody  knew 
that  a  figure  had  dropped  from  the  ma- 
drono tree,  nor  that  Morgan's  horse  was 
untied  and  was  threading  his  way  up 
through  the  manzanita  to  the  open, 
thence  to  speed  away  over  the  mountain. 
In  the  cabin  all  was  excitement,  for  Mose 
was  getting  the  best  of  it. 

"Shoot  the  cur!"  yelled  Ralston,  and 
Casey  leveled  his  revolver. 

"Oh,  Mosie,  Mosie!"  cried  the  child, 
running  toward  him.  Then  two  hot-tem- 
pered bullets  whined  in  the  air,  and  some- 
thing fell. 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  the  Sheriff,  "it's 
the  kid!" 

The  smoke  cleared  and  the  men  drag- 
ged the  dogs  apart,  but  the  child  lay  with 
a  warm  red  stream  soaking  one  little 
sleeve.  Morgan  picked  him  up,  and  laid 
him  gently  on  the  bed.  The  boy's  lips 
moved,  and  the  man  bent  close  to  him. 
"You  hurted,"  he  said,  "but  I  didn't 
tell!" 


Digitized  by 


Google 


CROSS    ROADS 


BY.  MARY    HARDING. 


^  T  took  a  great  length  of  time  for 
i  people  to  decide  that  the  Harringtons 
< '  had  separated,  but  when  Jack  Har- 
rington cruised  on  his  yacht  for 
months  and  months,  and  Mrs.  Jack  pro- 
longed her  stay  on  the  continent  Indefin- 
itely, "society"  began  to  think  that  there 
was  some  truth  In  the  rumor  after  all. 
Finally,  "poor  Jack,"  as  his  friends 
for  some  occult  reason  always  dubbed 
him,  went  oft  with  a  friend  to  India — 
"tiger  hunting,"  he  said,  but  those  who 
knew  of  the  dangerous  epidemic  of  fever 
that  was  raging  there  at  the  time  sur- 
mised that  if  there  was  any  hunting  to 
be  done,  he  would  be  the  one  to  be 
caught,  and  Death  would  be  the  tiger. 

It  was  then  that  little  pink  and  white 
blondes,  attired  in  frills  and  lace,  would 
sit  and  nibble  cake  and  drink  weak  tea 
from  tiny  Dresden  cups,  and  murmur 
to  their  dearest  friends  that  the  truth 
was  out  at  last — ^the  Harringtons  had 
separated.  How  dreadful!  Their  mam- 
mas said  that  it  was  a  discreet  way  of  do- 
ing it.  What  was  the  use  of  scenes?  And 
still  worse  it  was  to  live  In  the  same 
house  and  yet  be  thousands  of  miles 
apart,  and  call  each  other  "My  dear"  at 
teas.  Going  abroad  indefinitely  or  cruis- 
ing or  hunting,  was  so  much  better;  truly 
they  had  behaved  admirably  to  the  end. 
The  truth  was  that  the  rupture  in  the 
Harrington's  career  of  true  love  was  due 
to  a  mere  trifie,  but  it  was  as  damning 
as  sworn  evidence  could  ever  be.  There 
are  some  things  a  wife  can  explain  to  her 
husband,  and  then,  there  are  others  that 
not  all  the  inventive  genius,  of  which 
some  women  are  capable  on  occasions, 
could  explain  or  construe  into  an  appear- 
ance of  Innocence.  It  happened  in  this 
wise.  Harrington  had  a  "best  friend." 
Now,  in  books  or  sermons,  a  "best  friend" 
seems  to  be  a  thing  greatly  to  be  coveted, 
but  in  real  life,  when  one  has  a  handsome 
wife,  they  do  not  always  prove  to  be  such 


a  boon.  Reynolds'  name  was  whispered 
about  at  the  club  in  connection  with 
Mrs.  Jack's,  no  one  knew  exactly  why. 
Of  course,  being  a  particular  friend  of 
her  husband's  he  was  there  more  often 
than  the  rest,  but  he  was  no  more  atten- 
tive to  her  than  any  man  should  be  to 
a  married  woman — that  Is,  according  to 
the  ethics  of  the  "smart  set"  to  which 
they   belonged.     Harrington   knew   that 


Digitized  by 


Google 


CroM  Roads. 


1091 


Reynolds  admired  his  wife,  but  who  could 
help  doing  that.  He  was  used  to  having 
men  admire  her.  She  was  always  such 
a  vision  of  loveliness,  with  her  heavy 
gold  hair,  violet  eyes,  and  pouting  rose- 
bud mouth.  Truly  it  was  always  a  marvel 
to  him  that  such  an  angel  of  loveliness 
and  beauty  should  ever  have  cared  for 
him;  to  be  sure,  he  was  rich  and  good- 
looking,  and  a  few  other  things,  but 
what  was  that  in  comparison — ^to  her. 
Ho  could  hear  his  friends  gush  about  her 
with  a  certain  tolerance,  for  he  felt  per- 
fect confidence  and  security  in  her  love, 
and  why  not?  She  was  a  model  wife. 
But  the  tabbies  at  the  club  whispered 
over  their  high  balls,  and  awaited  de- 
velopments. 

He  remembered  once,  not  so  very  long 
ago,  how  foolish  he  had  been.  He  had  re- 
turned rather  earlier  than  usual,  and, 
glad  at  the  thought^  of  spending  a  few 
delicious  moments  with  her,  had  hurried 
up  stairs.  The  little  luxurious  nest,  with 
its  divan  piled  up  with  cushions  of  rose 
and  white,  and  the  palest  of  nile  green 
satin,  was  empty.  He  was  about  to  enter 
the  adjoining  room,  when  Mrs.  Jack 
opened  the  door.  She  held  her  skirt 
a  bit  high  about  the  daintiest  of  high- 
heeled  slippers;  her  hair  was  rakishly 
tumbled;  flushed,  smiling,  with  a  loving 
look  of  welcome  in  her  eyes,  she  present- 
ed a  charming  picture,  but  his  attention 
was  centered  elsewhere  for  once,  for 
on  top  of  one  of  the  dainty  white  cush- 
ions was  a  little  heap  of  gray  ashes,  and 
the  room  was  strangely  redolent  of  to- 
bacco—not so  very  stale  either.  With 
a  laugh,  Mrs.  Jack  came  forward  and 
flecked  them  oft  with  her  finger.  "A 
confession,  my  dear.  A  habit  I  have  re- 
cently learned.  There  is  a  fad  just  now 
among  us  women  for  these  entrancing 
Russian  cigarettes,  and  so  I  indulge;  not 
very  often.  Just  once  in  a  while  when 
I  am  nervous  and  distrait— waiting  for 
you!"  His  relief  was  so  sudden  and 
overwhelming  that  it  had  almost  seemed 
to  him  as  if  he  had  been  t)om  again  af- 
ter centuries  of  torture.  He  took  her  in 
bis  arms,  and  choking  something  back 
In  his  throat,  kissed  her.  He  had  sworn 
then  that  he  would  never  defile  her  again 
hr  so  much  as  a  thought,  and  he  had 
kept  his  word.     It  was  the  first  time 


that  suspicion  had  entered  his  soul,  and 
it  had  seared  and  scorched  him,  but  he 
had  fiung  it  from  him  with  loathing,  and 
had  killed  it,  so  he  thought. 

It  was  at  a  hunt  breakfast  a  few  weeks 
after  that  "poor  Jack"  was  made  to  real- 
ize that  a  certain  reptile,  credited  with 
emerald  eyes,  was  a  very  hard  thing  to 
kill,  and  that,  try  as  he  wotUd,  it  hissed 
and  surged  and  tossed  him  about  like 
sea-wrack  in  a  storm.  One  of  Mrs.  Jack's 
cat-like  enemies  had  taken  him  to  one 
side  and  had  spoken  of  strange  things — 
of  a  rose  and  a  kiss  that  were  given  to 
Reynolds  at  a  certain  dance.  She  got 
no  further.  He  longed  that  she  might 
have  been  a  man,  so  he  could  have  struck 
her;  as  it  was,  he  could  only  Inform  her 
oX  his  implicit  confidence  and  trust  in 
his  wife,  and  of  his  immeasurable  con- 
tempt for  such  women  as  she.  It  was  a 
somewhat  bitter  revenge  for  the  lady  In 
question.  She  had  hoped  for  better 
things.  A  few  years  back,  before  he  had 
met  the  present  Mrs.  Jack,  she  had  been 
very  much  in  love  with  him,  and  had 
let  him  know  it,  to  no  purpose.  How  ex- 
quisite it  would  have  been  to  have  caused 
him  to  find  out  that  his  marriage  was 
not  quite  such  a  success.  On  the  way 
home,  he  spoke  of  the  occurrence  to  his 
wife.  "It  was  one  of  that  idiotic,  spiteful 
Mrs.  Van  Alston's  stories,"  she  said. 
When  they  reached  home,  Reynolds  was 
there.  "Just  fancy,"  Mrs.  Jack  cried 
in  her  pretty  little  drawl,  "what  a  dread- 
ful story  my  old  enemy,  Mrs.  Van  Alston, 
has  seen  fit  to  tell  Jack."  Then  followed 
a  presentation  of  the  episode  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  professional  humor^ 
Ipt. 

Jack  smiled,  and  Reynolds  laughed 
lightly.  "Of  such  are  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven,"  he  said,  and  then,  changing 
the  subject,  he  drew  something  out  of 
his  pocket.  "What  do  you  think  of  my 
latest  possession?  I  picked  it  up  at  a 
curio  store.  It's  the  oddest  pipe  I  think 
I  ever  saw,  and  the  inscription  on  it  is 
beyond  me.  See  if  you  can  make  it  out," 
he  said,  handing  It  to  them.  Mrs.  Jack 
gave  a  little  shudder  of  disdain,  and 
turned  away.  "It's  a  horrible  looking 
thing,"  she  said,  "and  it  smells  like  a 
whole  pipe  factory.  I  wouldn't  have  It 
near  me  for  worlds."    It  was  ugly.    The 


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bowl  represented  a  skull,  there  were 
cross-bones  all  over  it,  and  it  was  stained 
and  yellow  with  age.  "You  surely  don't 
intend  to  smoke  it/'  Jack  said.  "Why 
not?  That's  what  I  bought  it  lor.  It's  a 
first  rate  pipe,  and  I'm  rather  f  ind  of  it. 
You  know  how  I  like  odd  th  ngo.  1  am 
going  to  take  it  home  with  n.  :d  clean 
it;  and  have  it  with  me  as  my  inseparable 
companion,  a  sort  of  guardian  angel," 
he  concluded,  as  he  laughingly  put  it 
away. 

Next  morning,  Jack  was  waiting  in 
the  hall,  writing  a  few  lines  of  memo- 
randa, when  he  heard  his  wife's  name 
mentioned.  The  voice  was  her  maid's, 
the  recipient  the  coachman.  "If  I  was 
Mr.  Jack,"  it  said,  "I'd  just  look  out  for 
that  lean,  lank  friend  of  his."  He  could 
not  hear  the  man's  answer,  it  was  too 
low,  but  her  reply  was  loud  enough — ^it 
seemed  like  a  bombshell  to  his  ears. 
"Yes  she  does.  I  know  it,  I  tell  you. 
Why,  she's  going  to  see  him  this  very  af- 
ternoon. I  heard  her  say  so."  There 
was  a  slight  scuffling  sound,  a  smothered 
exclamation  of  supposed  wrath,  the  sound 
of  a  kiss,  and  an  exit.  But  of  these  things 
he  heard  nothing.  He  put  his  hat  on  un- 
steadily like  a  man  under  the  Influence 
of  opium  or  drink.  Mrs.  Jack  received 
a  telegram  that  morning  saying  he 
would  be  detained  until  late  that  night — 
important  business. 


At  four  o'clock  there  was  a  light  hur- 
ried step  on  the  stairs.    It  rose  and  fell 


in  quick  agitation — and  then  Jack  stood 
at  his  wife's  door,  his  heart  stiii,  almost 
lileless.  She  was  reclining  on  a  divan 
reading  the  latest  oook  that  he  had 
given  her,  a  stirring  tale  of  adventure. 
He  had  never  seen  her  look  so  lovely. 
The  excitement  of  the  story  had.  whipped 
a  most  becoming  shade  of  rose  in  her 
cheek;  her  hair  was  in  tangled  disarray, 
like  a  sea  of  gold  In  a  storm;  an  adorable 
little  lace  petticoat  fell  beneath  the  loose 
dressing  Jacket.  She  looked  up  and 
smiled.  "Dear  Jack,"  she  murmured,  "how 
good  of  you  to  come  home.  I  thought, 
from  your  telegram  that  horrid  old  busi- 
ness was  going  to  keep  you  away  all  af- 
ternoon." 

He  was  a  brute.  He  cursed  himself 
for  his  vile  suspicions.  How  could  he 
suspect  the  dearest,  truest,  most  charm- 
ing little  woman  in  the  world.  She 
reached  her  hand  V)ut  to  him,  and  he 
started  forward  ready  to  cover  it  with 
kisses,  but  as  he  passed  the  door  that 
led  into  his  wife's  bedroom,  he  stumbled 
over  a  small  object  on  the  floor.  With 
a  muttered  imprecation  he  kicked  it  to 
one  side,  and  It  fell  directly  between 
them.  His  eyes  unconsciously  followed 
it.    They  both  glared. 

"That's  only  your  pipe,  Jack,"  she  said 
and  she  laughed  nervously,  "you  should 
not  get  into  such  a  rage  about  It — come 
and  kiss  me." 

He  seemed  to  have  become  a  living 
statue. 

"It  isn't  my  pipe,"  he  said;  "it's  Rey- 
nold's." 


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Lady  Ray. 


HOMING    PIGEONS    IN    LOCAL    LOFTS. 


BY    THEODORE    GONTZ. 


¥ 


HEN  Morse  so  improved  the 
electric  telegraph  as  to  bring  it 
into  common  use,  it  was  gener- 
ally supposed  that  he  had  given 
a  more  or  less  useful  appliance  to  the 
world;  and  in  the  light  of  recent  history, 
the  unbiased  observer  cannot  but  admit 
that  the  world's  snap  judgment  on 
Morse's  invention  erred  on  the  side  of 
conservatism,  if  it  erred  at  all.  Yet 
it  will  surprise  that  gifted  person,  the 
"average  reader,"  when  I  tell  him  that 
burghers  of  Leyden  in  the  16th  century 
saved  their  city  by  means  of  an  appliance 
which,   in   its  simplicity,   puts  the   tele- 


graph to  tne  blush,  which  runs  less  risk 
of  destruction  at  the  hand  of  a  watchful 
enemy,  and  which  will  actually  convey 
news  to  print  in  less  time  than  the  latest 
improved  "ticker"  at  the  railroad  station. 
This  is  a  sweeping  assertion,  but  facts 
have  proved  it  in  a  measure,  and  if  my 
statements  do  not  carry  sufficient  weight 
to  convince,  ask  the  viziers  of  Uncle 
Sam  why  carrier  pigeons  are  kept  so 
carefully  against  some  fearful  emergency 
at  our  naval  stations  on  Mare  Island,  at 
Key  West,  at  Norfolk,  at  Annapolis,  at 
Newport,  and  at  Portsmouth.  By  this, 
of  course,  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  tele- 


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The  "Detention  Shed." 


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Homing  Pigeons  In  Local  Lofts. 


1095 


graph  lines  should  be  torn  down,  post  and 
wire,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific 
seaboard,  and  pigeon  lofts  erected  in 
their  stead,  but  I  maintain  that  even  in 
our  advanced  age  there  may  be  times  of 
stress  when  the  primitive  instinct  of  a 
home-bound  dove  may  save  the  American 
Republic  as  it  saved  the  Dutch  Republic 
of  yore;  that  the  bird  which  bore  the 
green  branch  to  Noah's  ark  may  prove 
of  more  actual  benefit  to  a  distressed 
people    than    all    the    artificial    devices 


a  number  of  smaller  towns  each  owning 
its  model  cotes,  with  a  plentiful  number 
of  homers  of  fine  breed.  Some  years  ago 
the  Chamber  of  Commerce  of  San  Fran- 
cisco voted  to  maintain  a  regular  pigeon 
post  between  the  city  and  the  Farallone 
Islands — a  wise  precaution  in  case  of 
emergency. 

Among  local  lofts  are  George  Q.  Gauld's 
"Presidio  Lofts,"  and  E.  G.  Koenig's  "Sun- 
set Cote,"  both  of  which  are  stocked  with 
birds  of  fine  pedigree  and  fitted  out  with 


The  electric  trap. 


which  our  great  age  has  originated. 

For  many  years  past  the  breeding  of 
homing  pigeons  has  been  popular  in  Cali- 
fornia. The  birds  were  first  introduced 
among  us  by  the  Germans  who,  not  for- 
getting the  story  of  their  cousins,  the 
Dutch,  are  nationally  great  fanciers  of  the 
beautiful  birds.  Of  late  the  number  of 
fanciers  has  increased  until  to-day  good 
lofts  are  numerous  in  our  State,  San 
Francisco,  Sacramento,  Los  Angeles  and 


the  latest  improvements  for  timing  and 
breeding.  An  up-to-date  pigeon  loft  is 
no  simple  matter.  The  house  must  be 
airy  but  free  from  draught,  since  even 
California  pigeons  are  prone  to  consump- 
tion. Mated  pigeons  are  given  their 
separate  nests  with  numbers  to  corres- 
pond with  that  of  the  aluminum  band 
which  every  high-born  pigeon  has  placed 
about  his  ankle  at  babyhood.  The  nests 
are    well    bedded    with    tobacco    stalks. 


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At  the  finish  of  a  race. 


left  the  Wells  Fargo  depot  in  San  Jose 
in  a  rain  storm  with  a  high  wind  blowing 
head  on.  The  bird  was  released  at  1 
p.  m.  and  was  recorded  as  arrived  at  2 :  17. 
In  1899  several  birds  were  released  as 
an  experiment  from  Shell  Mound  picnic 
grounds,  bearing  to  a  San  Francisco 
daily  newspaper  the  results  of  a  race. 
Ten  minutes  after  the  sending  of  the 
message  the  news  was  printed  and  in  the 
hands  of  newsboys.  Those  who  have 
cursed  the  slowness  of  the  American 
messenger  boy  may  appreciate  such 
promptness.  On  May  25,  1898,  at  the 
memorable  departure  of  the  First  Cali- 
fornia Volunteers,  the  same  famous 
homer,  "Lady  Ray,"  was  sent  with  the 
following  message  to  a  San  Francisco 
newspaper: 

"On  Board  the  U.  S.  Transport  City  of 
Peking,  off  Point  Bonito. — San  Francisco 
has  done  herself  credit.  No  troops  de- 
parting for  war  have  ever  received  such 
an  ovation;  I  would  thank  you  to  send 
to  my  wife  a  copy  of  the  issue  describing 


which  answer  all  purposes  and  effect- 
tively  prevent  the  encroachment  of  those 
vermin  which  prey  upon  domestic  fowls. 

But  most  marvellous  among  the  con- 
veniences which  I  have  seen  is  the  elec- 
tric trap,  the  tell-tale  device  which  re- 
cords the  entrance  of  the  birds  and  tells 
instantly  the  result  of  a  race.  The  trap 
as  shown  in  the  illustration  accompany- 
ing this  article,  is  composed  of  some  half- 
dozen  metal  bars  hung  by  hinges  at  the 
top  to  the  inside  of  a  small  oblong  win- 
dow. At  the  beginning  of  a  race  all  the 
birds  not  concerned  are  shut  away  in  a 
small  compartment  at  the  back  of  the 
loft  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  the  racers. 
All  free  entrances  to  the  loft  are  shut, 
leaving  no  opening  but  that  over  which  the 
small  hinge  bars  hang.  The  pigeons 
immediately  make  for  the  trap  and,  pass- 
ing in,  swing  up  the  wire  bars  which 
stand  in  their  way.  The  swinging  of  the 
bars  creates  an  electric  current  which 
passes  over  the  wire  to  the  residence  of 
the  owner,  simultaneously  ringing  a  bell 
and  stopping  the  hands  of  a  patent  clock. 

The  speed  and  persistence  of  a  homing 
pigeon  is  almost  beyond  belief.  In  1897 
"Lady  Ray,"  belonging  to  a  local  fancier. 


Stop  clock  and  electric  bell. 


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Homing  Pigeons  in   Local   Lofts. 


M^7 


the  departure  of  the  transports.  Her 
address  is  Mrs.  W.  C.  Gibson,  62  Cam- 
bridge Place,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  The  First 
California  is  as  yet  raw,  but  in  a  short 
time  will  be  in  good  shape  to  meet  the 
Dons.  No  finer  material  for  making  good 
soldiers  ever  enlisted  under  our  flag. 
Everything  is  working  finely.  The 
weather  is  fine,  the  omens  are  propitious. 
We  expect  to  make  a  good  run  to  Hono- 
lulu. 

W.  C.  GIBSON, 
Commander  U.  S.  N." 

The  message  was  written  on  a  sheet  of 
tissue  paper,  rolled  and  thrust  into  a 
quill  which  was  tied  to  the  bird's  tail. 
In  25  minutes  from  the  departure  the  mes- 
sage was  in  the  hands  of  the  printer. 

Late  in  April,  this  year,  some  remark- 
able records  were  made  in  San  Francisco 
during  the  first  race  of  the  season  held 
by  the  California  Pigeon  and  Homing  So- 
ciety. A  large  number  of  birds  were  re- 
leased at  Redding,  their  course  to  be  a  lit- 
tle over  194  miles  to  San  Francisco.  The 
birds  were  released  at  7:01  a.  m.,  and  the 
winning  homer — a  bird  belonging  to 
J.  S.  Barnes'  lofts — arrived  at  10:08  a.  m., 
the  course  being  covered  in  three  hours, 


Shipping  basket,   (l-loming  pigeons.) 


Catching  birds  for  shipment. 

seven  and  a  quarter  minutes.  A  pigeon 
only  four  months  and  twelve  days  old 
covered  1732  yards  a  minute  in  the  same 
race. 

Racing  pigeons  are  shipped  to  the 
starting  point  in  shipping  baskets  which 
are  generally  entrusted  to  local  Wells 
Fargo  agents.  The  pigeons  are  freed 
through  a  small  lid  in  the  roof,  a  stop- 
watch recording  the  time.  An  accom- 
panying illustration  shows  a  pigeon  fan- 
cier preparing  to  ship  a  bird  which  he  has 
caught  in  the  net  he  holds. 

The  home  life  of  these  high-bred  birds 
is  an  interesting  one.  Passionately  fond 
of  their  nests,  their  young,  their  mates 
and  all  things  that  pertain  to  home,  it  is 
interesting  to  note  how  strongly  the  rul- 
ing instinct,  that  will  carry  them  un- 
erringly through  miles  of  space,  is  mani- 
fested in  the  domestic  retreat.  Mated 
pigeons  are  "married"  for  life,  and  any 
deviation  from  faithfulness  on  the  part 
of  the  birds  is  practically  unknown  to 
breeders.  The  hatching  of  eggs  is  not 
left  selfishly  to  either  husband  or  wife, 
as  among  so  many  other  species  of  birds, 
but  is  generally  shared  by  both  parties 
to  the  contract.    It  is  interesting  to  note 


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The  Oregon  Ruffed  Grouse. 


with  what  regularity  "shifts"  are  changed 
during  the  sixteen  days  of  Incubation. 
From  10  till  3  o'clock  dally,  the  mother 
bird  sits  on  the  eggs,  and  at  the  latter 
hour  the  father  takes  his  turn  and  gives 
the  wife  a  chance  for  an  outing. 

As  a  staple  of  diet  wheat  Is  fed  regular- 
ly, only  the  cleanest  and  most  perfect 
grains  being  allowed.  Unclean  wheat 
causes  "canker,"  a  prevalent  disease 
among  pigeons.  Marble  dust  Is  kept 
always  on  hand,  not  as  food,  but  as  a 
"grinder"  to  be  taken  Into  the  crop.  The 
average  pigeon  consumes  about  a  pound 
of  marble  dust  each  year.  Hemp-seed 
Is  fed,  but  only  sparingly.  It  Is  considered 
a  great  delicacy  among  the  dwellers  of  the 
lofts,  and  on  the  occasions  when  this 
seed  Is  fed  the  pigeons  behave  much 
like  children  enjoying  a  Christmas  dinner. 

Herewith  is  given  an  Illustration  of  a 
"detention  shed"  In  a  local  loft.  The 
pigeons  confined  behind  the  screen  were 


not  bom  In  this  loft,  but  were  imported 
at  an  early  age  from  various  cotes  about 
the  State.  The  prisoners  in  this  shed 
are  only  kept  for  breeding  purposes  and 
are  never  entered  Into  a  race  or  allowed 
a  moment's  liberty,  for  should  any  of 
them  be  freed,  even  after  years  of  resi- 
dence away  from  their  native  lofts,  they 
would  return  instantly  to  their  first  home. 
Of  late  years  the  uses  of  the  homing 
pigeon  have  Increased.  To-day  every 
Isolated  light  house  or  signal  station 
along  the  Coast  has  its  loft  to  bear  sig- 
nals of  distress  or  to  transact  necessary 
business.  Many  remote  wheat  and  sheep 
ranches  in  California  and  New  Mexico 
have  also  used  pigeons  to  advantage  as 
a  means  of  Inter-communlcatlon  and  the 
raising  of  h(»ulng  stock  has  become  a 
pleasant  vocation  as  well  as  a  mere  hobby 
to  the  lonely  ranchers  whom  necessity 
has  removed  far  from  the  noisy  centres 
of  modem  life. 


THE  OREGON  RUFFED  GROUSE. 


BY   HERBERT   BASHFORD 


A  lover  of  dim  ways  in  woodland  shade 
Is  he  whose  martial  music  shakes  the  still, 
Cool  air  where  lilacs  drowse  and  silver  rill 

Alone  draws  light  adown  the  gloomy  glade, 

And,  deep  within  the  hush,  dark  moss  is  laid 
That  Solitude  may  roam  from  hill  to  hill 
With  soundless  tread,  and,  where  no  bird's  glad  trill 

Ere  breaks  the  iron  silence  God  has  made. 

To  haunt  the  ancient  wood  is  his  delight. 
Beneath  low-drooping  boughs  that  shadow  all 
The  dreamy  pools,  and  when,  care-worn,  we  come 

To  where  the  wilderness  makes  of  the  night 
A  dusky  slave  forever  held  in  thrall, 
How  sweet  to  hear  the  throbbing  of  his  drum! 


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THE    HOME    SHOT 


BY    HELEN    SHAFTER. 


CROSS  the  Potrero  the  first  cool 
light  of  early  morning  sought  to 
penetrate  the  dark  border  of  pines. 
In  the  open  an  occasional  green 
shrub  gave  character  to  the  colorless 
level  of  sun-dried  brake.  Toward  the 
middle  of  the  slope,  two  does  suddenly 
made  their  appearance  from  the  forest, 
stepping  through  the  ferns  with  dainty 
tread,  in  search  of  the  fresh  green  food 
beneath.  Once  they  raised  their  heads 
and  stood  intent,  but  soon  dropped  them 
again  to  their  interrupted  repast.  A 
young  woman,  standing  in  the  border  of 
pines  to  the  left,  raised  her  gun  at  their 
appearance,  but  seeing  the  dearth  of 
horns,  let  it  drop  to  a  level  again.  To  the 
right  a  man  hidden  behind  a  bush,  gazed 
intently  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
does  had  come.  Suddenly  a  dark  head, 
crowned  with  a  graceful  pair  of  antlers, 
rose  sharply  against  the  green  of  the  for- 
est. With  one  report,  two  shots  rang 
out  on  the  morning  air,  and  the  buck, 
with  a  start  and  a  bound,  fell  forward  on 
his  knees,  then  keeled  over  into  the  fern. 
A  cry  of  surprise  issued  from  the  lips  of 
the  man,  but  the  girl  rushed  forward  with 
eager  delight,  until  she  had  reached  the 
fallen  beauty  of  the  forest.  Her  gaze 
of  mingled  triumph  and  pity,  changed 
suddenly  to  amazement  when  a  man  ap- 
peared in  the  bracken  opposite  her. 
There  was  nothing  very  alarming  about 
his  looks,  however,  as  he  seemed  per- 
fectly civilized,  in  an  up-to-date  corduroy 
hunting  suit.  Notwithstanding  the  look 
of  astonishment  on  his  face,  he  smilingly 
took  off  his  hat,  and  said: 

"Not  a  baa  shot  for  my  second  deer — do 
you  think  so?" 

At  this  the  young  lady  reddened  slight- 
ly. 

"But  for  my  first  shot,  I  think  it  was 
better,"  and  she  darted  a  defiant  glance 
in  his  direction. 


Well,  this  was  a  fix  to  be  in  and  Warren 
saw  a  bet  of  twenty  dollars  at  the  club 
fade  slowly  away,  beneath  the  gaze  of 
this  scornful  druidess. 

"Oh,  undoubtedly,  if  you  can  add  a  Q. 
B.  D.  to  that  remark,"  he  ventured,  in  a 
faint  hope  of  confounding  her  through 
unaccustomed  channels. 

For  a  second  she  looked  doubtfully  at 
the  animal  at  her  feet,  then  suddenly 
turned  to  him  with  a  brightened  ex- 
expression. 

"I  never  was  good  in  mathematics — 
no  doubt  you,  with  your  knowledge,  can 
solve  the  problem  much  better  than  I." 
An  expression  of  some  interest  came  over 
his  face  at  the  saucy  impudence  of  the 
retort,  which  was  deepened  by  a  better 
view  of  the  young  lady  herself.  She  had 
very  frank,  blue  eyes,  and  carried  her 
brown  head  with  a  certain  haughty  grace 
that  fitted  in  very  well  with  the  freedom 
of  the  scene.  She  was  evidently  worth 
placating. 

"I  would  not  be  the  one  to  gainsay  you, 
Fm  sure,"  he  answered.  Stooping  over 
the  prostrate  buck,  he  turned  its  head  to 
one  side,  and  showed  a  wound  through 
the  temple. 

"And  where  is  your  shot?  Didn't  you 
hit  him  at  all?"  she  asked  quickly,  with 
a  defiant  air,  but  down-cast  eyes. 

"Evidently  not;  I'm  not  in  luck  to-day, 
it  would  seem,"  he  remarked  with  quiet 
sarcasm. 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  and  the  young 
lady  looked  a  little  nettled.  After  a 
short  silence  she  remarked:  "Fm  really 
very  sorry  you  should  be  so  unlucky."  As 
he  did  not  deign  an  answer,  she  contin- 
ued: "Are  you  really  so  awfully  cut  up 
about  it?" 

"If  I  measured  my  sorrow  by  your  sym- 
pathy, it  would  be  truly  heart-rending,  I 
am  sure,"  he  answered  in  his  former 
tone. 


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"And  if  I  should  liken  sympathy  to 
pearls,  I  should  feel  as  if  I  were  wasting 
them  awfully,  just  now,"  was  the  quick 
retort. 

He  flushed  slightly — ^then  deliberately 
seated  himself  beside  the  fallen  buck, 
touching  its  silken  hide  gently  with  one 
hand. 

"Two  victims,  slain  by  your  cruel  darts. 
My  place  shall  be  by  my  brother  in  mis- 
fortune," he  replied. 

"But  you  have  the  power  to  arise," 
she    said,    smiling    hopefully. 

"Not  until  Circe  lifts  her  spell,"  and  he 
crossed  his  arms  and  gazed  at  her  with 
mock  gallantry. 

A  fallen  log  lay  near,  and  on  this  she 
perched  herself,  resting  her  face  on  her 
hand. 

"I  could  almost  make  up  my  mind  to 
spend  the  whole  morning  here — I  often 
do,  and  it  is  lovely — only  this  morning 
there  seems  to  be  something  that  takes 
away  the  usual  charm,"  she  remarked, 
meditatively. 

They  sat  there  in  uninterrupted  silence 
for  several  minutes.  He  thought  this 
wasn't  suca  a  bad  sort  of  way  to  spend 
a  holiday — by  the  side  of  a  very  charm- 
ing, if  somewhat  headstrong  young  wo- 
man. The  experience  was  really  worth 
the  buck,  but  there  was  no  hurry  about 
retiring  from  his  position.  The  morning 
was  still  young,  and — well,  they  were 
young,  too.  His  complacency  was  soon 
destroyed,  however,  by  a  sharp  pain  that 
darted  through  his  arm.  Looking  down, 
to  his  great  surprise  he  noticed  a  tiny 
stream  of  blood  trickling  down  his  wrist. 
He  glanced  quickly  at  the  girl,  but  saw 
she  had  not  observed  his  movement.  Just 
thefi  she  arose  with  a  little  yawn,  and 
said  she  thought  she  would  go  on  and  get 
her  horse,  as  he  must  be  restless,  stand- 
ing in  the  bush  so  long.  With  an  agility 
that  betokened  familiarity  with  tramping 
over  rough  ground,  she  made  her  way 
through  the  brake  in  the  direction  of  the 
woods. 

Warren  pulled  up  his  sleeve  as  far  as 
it  would  go,  ana  found  a  wound  that  ap- 
peared to  have  broken  a  blood  vessel. 
Like  a  flash  he  realized  the  truth.  The 
young  woman's  bullet  had  grazed  his 
arm.    This   was   conclusive   proof  as   to 


the  merits  of  their  dispute,  anyway.  But 
with  the  certainty  of  success,  all  desire 
for  the  buck  seemed  to  desert  him  en- 
tirely.  "If  I  let  her  know  about  this,  it 
will  distress  her  needlessly.  I'll  say 
nothing  about  it,"  he  thought.  Fasten- 
ing his  handi^erchief  roughly  about  his 
arm  with  the  help  of  his  teeth,  he  pulled 
his  sleeve  into  place  again. 

Across  the  open  the  girl  came,  canter- 
ing over  stumps  and  ferns,  riding  astride, 
as  is  the  fashion  of  the  west,  in  short 
skirts  and  leggings.  She  rode  up  beside 
the  deer,  and  stood  there  looking  down 
upon  it,  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  you  are  thinking 
about?"  he  asked  with  a  smile. 

"As  I  am  very  conscious  of  the  weight 
of  my  thoughts,  I  would  not  have  you 
burdened  unnecessarily,"  she  answered, 
with  a  sly  glance  at  his  face. 

"You  are  really  charming,"  he  thought, 
"and  I  am  going  to  take  you  by  surprise." 

"But  you  will  allow  me  to  help  you  up 
with  the  weight  of  that  deer,  at  any  rate, 
will  you  not?" 

She  gave  him  one  dazzling  look  of 
thanks,  and,  as  she  dropped  her  gaze 
again,  he  thought  he  saw  her  lip  tremble 
slightly. 

"You  are  very  kind,  I'm  sure.  I  don't 
know  whether  I  ought  to  accept  it  or  not, 
under  the  circumstances,"  she  ventured. 

He  laughed  lightly,  and  jumped  from 
his  seat  on  the  ground.  As  he  did  so, 
his  head  seemed  a  little  dizzy,  and  for  a 
second  he  did  not  feel  quite  sure  of  his 
footing.  Nevertheless,  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  her,  and  she  sprang  lightly  to  the 
ground. 

"He's  an  awfully  big  fellow,  and  quite 
a  load  for  one  man  and  a  girl  to  lift," 
she  said.  "I  make  it  a  consideration  that 
you  take  half  of  the  venison  home — 
— please,"  she  added,  wistfully. 

"Why,  and  is  venison  so  precious?"  he 
laughed. 

"Oh,  I  see,  it's  the  honor  you  value," 
and  she  drew  her  brows  together  in  deep 
thought. 

"Oh,  I  have  a  splendid  plan,"  she  cried* 
suddenly,  her  face  full  of  mischief.  "You 
take  half  the  deer,  and  tell  your  expect- 
ant friends  that  in  an  excess  of  gallantry 
you  gave  the  other  half  to  a  young  lady 


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The   Home  Shot. 


1101 


— ^whom  you  know — ^and  I  will  tell  my 
people  that  I  met  a  poor  young  man  who 
looked  hungry  and  miserable,  and  I  gave 
half  of  my  deer  to  him.  How  does  that 
strike  you?" 

"Well,  let  me  think — I  will  on  one  con- 
dition, and  that  is  that  you  go  with  me 
as  a  surety  to  my  tale." 

"Why,  will  you  need  one?"  she  an- 
swered, doubtfully. 

"Well,  if  you  must  know — it  pains  me 
to  tell  you — ^they  would  never  believe  me 
capable  of  such  generosity,  unless  they 
saw  you.    You  would  be  convincing." 

She  blushed  and  turned  her  head  away 
as  she  answered: 

"We  can  settle  that  question  later.  It 
is  a  mere  detail." 

Warren  felt  satisfied — ^that  meant  her 
company  on  the  way  home.  Meantime, 
his  head  did  not  feel  any  steadier,  and 
he  lifted  the  deer  with  some  qualms  as  to 
his  strength.  As  he  gave  it  the  final 
lunge  onto  the  horse,  he  felt  something 
in  his  arm  give  way.  He  felt  a  hot  flood 
Sush  down  his  hand,  and  before  he  knew 
what  had  happened,  his  senses  sank  into 
nothingness.  Ten  minutes  later  he  felt 
a  soft  hand  pushing  back  his  hair,  and  a 
sound  of  suppressed  sobs  close  to  his 
ears. 

"Oh,  I  have  killed  him— killed  him— 
and  all  the  time  he  never  let  me  know," 
she  sobbed. 

Consciousness  came  back  very  quickly, 
but  he  kept  his  eyes  closed,  as  he  felt  the 
thrill  of  the  cool  hands  on  his  face.  How- 
ever, a  light  kiss  on  his  brow  left  him  no 
choice  but  to  glance  up  quickly  and  meet 
two  startled  blue  eyes  looking  into  his 
own. 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  were  dead,"  she 
whispered,  faintly. 

"Please  don't  explain;  I  am  all  too  sure 
of  that,"  he  answerecl. 

"Does  it  pain  you  very  much?"  she 
asked,  anxiously.  "I've  done  It  up  with 
a   handkerchief   twisted   around   with   a 


stone  in  it,  and  1  don't  think  it  can  bleed 
any  more." 

"I'm  all  right,  only  don't  take  your 
hand  away;  I  might  faint  again,  you 
know,"  he  answered,  meekly. 

She  immediately  drew  it  away.  "I 
think  you  will  live  this  time — ^long 
enough  to  shoot  your  third  deer,"  she 
added,   demurely. 

His  expression  wnn  such  that  she  rose 
precipitately,  and  asked  him  if  he  would 
like  a  drink  of  water.  Without  waiti^ 
for  an  answer,  she  untied  a  tin  cup  from 
the  saddle,  and  ran  off  through  the  ferns 
toward   the   forest. 

When  she  returned,  sedately  carrying 
the  cup  of  water,  he  had  arisen  to  a  sit- 
ing posture,  but  looked  very  pale  and 
wan.  She  gave  him  the  water,  and 
watched  him  with  a  sober  face  while  he 
drank  it. 

"Now,  I  suppose  I  had  better  hurry 
home  and  send  somebody  up  for  you," 
she  said. 

"And  leave  me  to  keel  over  again,"  he 
answered  in  an  abused  tone,  internally 
making  up  his  mind  to  make  the  most  of 
this    unexpected    thaw. 

"Oh,  then  I  won't,  but  how  will  you  get 
back?"  she  asked,  anxiously.  "Perhaps 
with  my  help  and  the  horse — why  can't  I 
dump  the  deer  off?"  she  cried  with  a  look 
of    inspiration. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eyes,  while  she  colored  vividly. 

"That  precious  deer  is  finally  ousted,  it 
would  seem,"  he  remarked  with  satisfac- 
tion— but  strictly  to  himself.  "That  is  a 
sacrifice  that  I  could  not  possibly  ac- 
cept," he  answered  aloud.  "I  think  that 
by  proceeding  slowly,  with  your  kind  as- 
sistance and  the  horse's,  I  will  have  no 
trouble  in  walking  home." 

The  trip  home  would  not  have  been  a 
record-breaker,  but  it  was  eventually  ar- 
ranged that,  to  prevent  accidents  in  the 
future,  they  would  stand  on  the  same  side 
of  the  Potrero  when  they  went  hunting. 


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Driveway    in   foothiils,   Santa    Clara    County. 


Rose   Carnival   and   Santa  Clara  Valley 


BY    H.    L.    WELLS. 


PROM  ocean  to  ocean  in  his  recent 
tour  of  the  country,  and  from 
South  to  North  along  the  entire 
coast  line  of  the  Pacific,  President  Mc- 
Kinley  must  have  failed  to  find  a  spot 
that  appealed  so  much  to  his  sense  of 
beauty  and  suggested  to  him  so  much  of 
comfort  and  prosperity  and  happiness  of 
the  people  as  the  lovely  valley  of  Santa 
Clara.  His  train  descended  into  it  from 
the  redwood  forests  of  the  Santa  Cruz 
Mountains,  ushering  him  suddenly  into 
a  perfect  garden  of  Eden,  a  garden  of 
fruits  and  flowers  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see,  of  grassy  meadows  and  parks  of  live 
oak  trees,  of  vineyards,  of  towns  and  cit- 
ies, and  schools  and  churches,  and  pros- 
perous and  happy  people;  of  bright  and 
sunny  skies  and  cool  ocean  breezes;  the 
very  garden  spot  of  California,  and  repre- 
sentative of  all  for  which  that  name 
stands  the  world  over. 


Not  content  with  showing  the  Presi- 
dent the  wonderful  natural  beauties  of 
the  valley,  the  people  prepared  for  his 
delectation  a  carnival  of  roses,  a  ffite  of 
flowers,  in  which  millions  of  the  beauti- 
ful blooms  that  make  the  scene  bright 
the  whole  year  round,  but  in  which  na- 
ture especially  revels  in  the  springtime, 
were  displayed  in  numerous  ways  for  his 
enjoyment.  The  streets  were  gayly  and 
profusely  decorated  with  redwood  boughs 
and  palm  leaves  and  flowers,  and  huns 
with  national  flags  and  carnival  flags 
of  gold  and  crimson;  enormous  and  beau- 
tiful floral  arches  were  constructed  in 
the  public  park,  and  especially  made  for 
the  astonishment  and  delight  of  the 
President  was  a  huge  bouquet  twenty 
feet  high  and  a  hundred  feet  in  circum- 
ference, and  containing  more  than  a  ton 
of  flowers.  There  was  a  floral  parade  of 
half  a  hundred  floats,  representative  of 
Digitized  by  V^OO^  Lt^ 


i 
i 

i 
^ 
i 

t 
It 

$ 

\ 
% 

,  1.  Almond  orchard  in  February.  3.  10,000  roses  blooming  on  a  single  bush. 

«fi.  St.  James  Park,  San  Jose. 


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j 


1.  Prune  orchard  in  bloom.  Hill  Photo. 

2.  Prune  drying,  Santa  Clara  County. 

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Ro8e   Carnival   and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1105 


many  beautiful  conceptions,  most  of 
them  prepared  by  the  public  schools, 
with  illuminations  and  illustrated  con- 
certs at  night,  an  illuminated  parade,  a 
battle  of  flowers,  and  numerous  other 
carnival  features  that  continued  three 
days  and  nights.  Not  the  least  enjoy- 
able must  have  been  the  drive  through 
the  orchards  and  over  the  splendid  high- 
ways and  along  the  shaded  avenues  lead- 


mer  nights,  is  to  be  found  concentrated 
in  the  lovely,  valley  of  the  Santa  Clara. 
Here  the  orange  and  the  lemon  and  the 
flg  grow  by  the  side  of  the  prune,  the 
pear  and  the  cherry;  here  the  eye  at 
times  rests  upon  a  mantle  of  snow  on 
the  summit  of  the  encircling  mountains, 
and  at  the  same  time  upon  the  equally 
white  calla  lily  growing  by  thousands  in 
the   valley,   with   geraniums,   roses,   and 


Artesian  well   near  San  Joae. 


ing  to  them.  The  many  distinguished  vis- 
itors who  took  this  drive  in  the  enforced 
absence  of  the  President  may  well  have 
fftllen  captive  to  the  charms  of  the  val- 
ley and  the  floral  greeting  extended  to 
them. 

All  that  the  word  "California''  stands 
for  in  fruits  and  flowers,  sunshine  and 
balmy  breezes,  mountain  and  valley, 
field  and  meadow,  trees  and  running 
streams,  delightful  winters  and  cool  sum- 


palm  trees  to  keep  them  company;  here 
the  temperate  zone  and  the  tropic  mingle 
their  climate  and  their  products;  here 
may  be  found  the  delights  of  every 
special  section  of  the  State,  unaccompan- 
ied by  the  drawbacks  to  be  found  in  the 
regions  where  those  delights  are  the 
special  and  only  attractive  features;  here 
one  may  literally  live  under  his  own  vine 
and  flg  tree  without  the  climatic  dis- 
comforts associated  in  the  mind  with  the 


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1.  St.  James   Park.  Tucker  Photo 

2.  Alum  Rock  Park. 


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1107 


habitat  of  those  tropic  growths;  here  one 
may  be  comfortable  both  In  summer  and 
winter,  and  enjoy  life  in  its  fullest  meas- 
ure, with  the  beauties  of  nature  en- 
hanced by  the  skilled  and  loving  hand  of 
art,  with  a  veritable  horn  of  plenty  pour- 
ing into  his  lap  the  bountiful  products  of 
the  soil,  the  tree,  and  the  vine;  here  is 
the  ideal  home  of  the  man  who  has 
fought  the  strenuous  battle  of  life  and 
desires  to  pass  its  afternoon  and  even- 
ing in  quiet  enjoyment  of  all  that  nature 
can  provide  of  beauty  and  bounty  for  his 
delectation;  here,  too,  the  man  who  still 
must  struggle  for  the  rewards  of  toil  that 
may  bless  him  and  his  family,  finds  in  or- 
chard, vineyard,  and  garden  a  golden  op- 
portunity, amid  surroundings  of  comfort 
and  facilities  for  enjoyment  of  life  not 
found  elsewhere  in  this  broad  expanse  of 
the   Union. 

The  Santa  Clara  Valley  lies  at  the  head 
of  San  fYancisco  bay  and  around  and  to 
the  South  of  it,  and  is  enclosed  by  the 
Mount  Hamilton  and  Santa  Cruz  Moun- 
tains, portions  of  which  are  embraced 
with  the  valley  in  the  limits  of  Santa 
Clara  county.  Within  these  limits  is  an 
area  of  a  million  acres,  most  of  which  is 
under  such  a  high  state  of  cultivation 
that  the  assessed  valuation  of  property 
reaches  the  enormous  total  of  $51,000,000 
on  a  very  low  percentage  of  valuation,  as 
compared  to  the  actual  market  value  of 
the  property.  Within  this  area  lives  a 
population  of  60,216,  nearly  one-half  of 
them  outside  the  limits  of  any  city  or 
town,  while  of  property  valuations  more 
than  two-thirds  are  outside  municipal 
limits.  These  figures,  eloquent  as  they 
are  of  rural  prosperity,  fall  utterly  to 
convey  an  adequate  impression  of  the 
wealth,  contentment  and  comfort  of  the 
thousands  who  live  in  the  beautiful  rural 
homes  that  line  the  splendid  thorough- 
fares ramifying  the  county,  and  gain  a 
livelihood  from  the  cultivation  of  the 
soil,  the  vine  and  the  tree. 

This  state  of  prosperity,  of  high  culti- 
vation of  the  soil,  of  high  development 
of  the  comforts,  the  arts,  the  productive- 
ness and  graces  of  advanced  civilization, 
has  been  the  work  of  but  half  a  century 
of  American  enterprise,  in  startling  con- 
trast with  a  longer  period  of  stagnation 


and  arrestea  development  under  the  rule 
of  the  Spaniard  and  Mexican.  In  17 6d 
the  first  missionary  explorers  of  Spain 
gazed  upon  the  valley  from  the  crest  of 
the  encircling  mountains.  It  was  then 
one  vast  meadow  of  waving  grass  and 
blooming  wild  fiowers,  with  thousands 
of  beautiful  oak  trees  dotting  it  and  con- 
verting it  into  a  mighty  park,  such  as  the 
hand  of  art  would  try  in  vain  to  imitate. 
A  few  years  later  a  mission  was  estab- 
lished in  the  valley  among  the  simple 
natives  that  occupied  it,  and  in  1787  the 
pueblo  of  San  Jose  was  founded,  a  mere 
collection  of  adobe  huts,  where  the  indo- 
lent Spaniard  idled  away  his  time  and 
made  only  such  exertion  as  was  neces- 
sary to  win  from  the  bountiful  earth  the 
meagre  sustenance  he  required.  Thus  it 
remained    for    half   a    century,    growing 


Mammoth  roae  tree  near  San  Jose. 


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Methodist   Episcopal   Church.  St.  Joseph's  Cathedral. 

Tucker  Photo.  Unitarian  Church,  8an  Jose. 


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Ro8e   Carnival    and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1109 


somewhat  in  population  and  the  number 
of  its  habitations,  while  great  herds  of 
cattle  grazed  on  its  grassy  meadows  and 
foothills.  Then  came  a  change,  grad- 
ually at  first,  and  finally  with  a  rush  like 
the  sweep  of  an  avalanche.  In  1830  the 
first  Americans  straggled  into  this  coun- 
try and  saw  that  it  was  good.  They  set- 
tled down  to  live.  Each  year  thereafter 
a  few  more  came,  until,  in  1846,  when 
Fremont  raised  the  standard  of  the 
United  States  and  began  his  conquest, 
there  were  enough  in  this  valley  and 
other  portions  of  the  State  adjacent  to  it 
to  form  the  small  battalion  with  which  he 
fought  the  Mexican  rulers  of  the  State. 
In  1848  the  treaty  was  signed  with 
Mexico    which    gave    California    to    the 


that  sprang  up,  or  were  engaged  in  trans- 
porting supplies  to  and  from  the  mines. 
Then  it  was  that  the  value  of  the  valley 
grapes  and  fruit,  already  demonstrated 
through  a  long  series  of  years  in  a  small 
way  by  the  Spaniards,  was  recognized 
and  the  foundation  was  laid  for  the  won- 
derful development  of  the  present  time. 
Since  that  time  the  history  of  the  valley 
has  been  one  of  cumulative  American 
enterprise  nnd  energy,  with  such  results 
as  have  not  been  accomplished  elsewhere 
through  many  generations  of  cultivation 
of  tree  and  vine  in  the  most  favored  re- 
gions of  the  earth. 

One  of  the  oldest  and  best-known  resi- 
dents of  the  valley,  the  late  Judge  Bel- 
den,  a  few  years  ago  gave  the  following 


Insane    Asylum,    Agnews,    Santa    Clara    County. 


United  States,  and  the  same  year  was 
made  that  era-making  discovery  of  gold 
at  Sutter's  Mill  in  the  foothills  of  the 
Sierras.  Then  came  the  avalanche.  In 
a  year  thousands  of  gold-hunters  poured 
into  California,  and  in  another  year  the 
State  was  admitted  into  the  Union  as  a 
full-fledged  commonwealth,  without  un- 
dergoing the  usual  preliminary  period  of 
territorial  government.  Then  it  was  that 
the  genial  climate  and  the  prolific  soil 
of  Santa  Clara  Valley  drew  thousands 
of  these  new-comers,  who  took  up  land 
and  began  cultivating  it  to  feed  the  other 
thousands  who  were  engaged  in  the  fev- 
erish search  for  gold  in  the  mountains 
and  foothills,  or  had  embarked  in  busi- 
ness in  San  Francisco  and  other  cities 


eloquent  tribute  to  its  charms: 

"To  the  visitor  approaching  the  Santa 
Clara  Valley  each  mile  traversed  ushers 
in  some  delightful  surprise,  introduces 
a  new  climate.  If  his  advent  be  from 
the  north,  the  hills  of  scanty  verdure 
which  encircle  the  bay  recede  upon  either 
hand,  and  assume  a  softer  contour  and 
richer  garb.  The  narrow  roadway  that 
skirts  the  salt  marsh  has  widened  to  a 
broad  and  fertile  valley  that  stretches 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  in  luxuriant 
fields  of  grass  and  grain,  and  miles  upon 
miles  of  thrifty  orchards.  Bordering 
this  verdant  plain,  in  hues  and  splendors 
all  their  own,  come  the  hills,  and  into 
the  recesses  of  these  hills  creep  the  little 
valleys,  and  as  they  steal  away  in  their 

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o 

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Rose   Carnival    and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1111 


festal  robes,  they  whisper  of  beauties 
beyond  as  yet  unseen.  In  full  keeping 
with  the  transformed  landscape  is  the 
change  of  climate.  The  harsh,  chill  winds 
that  pour  in  through  the  Golden  Gate, 
and  sweep  over  the  peninsula,  have 
abated  their  rough  vigor  as  they  spreal 
over  the  valley,  and,  softened  as  they 
mingle  with  the  currents  from  the  soatic. 
meet  as  a  zephyr  in  the  widening  plain. 

"If   the   approach   be   from   the   south 
the    traveler    wearied    with    the    desert 


fruit,  while  the  first  rain  brings  again 
the  verdure  and  the  beauty  of  spring. 
*An  ocean  of  beauty!'  exclaims  the 
charmed  beholder!" 

A  drive  through  the  orchard  region, 
such  as  was  so  recently  enjoyed  by  the 
members  of  the  President's  party  and 
those  accompanying  Governor  Nash  of 
Ohio,  is  one  of  continued  charm  and 
enjoyment,  whether  it  be  taken  in 
the  early  spring,  with  the  orchards 
laden    with    the    beautiful    and    scented 


Auditorium,  Victory  Theatre,  San  Jose. 

and  its  hot,  dry  air,  is  conscious  of  a 
sudden  change.  The  sterile  desert  has 
become  a  beautiful  plain,  and  the  air 
that  comes  as  balm  to  the  parched 
lungs  is  cool  and  soft  and  moist  with 
the  tempered  breath  of  the  sea.  If  it 
be  spring  or  early  summer,  miles  upon 
miles  stretches  the  verdant  plain;  over 
it  troops  sunshine  and  shadow;  across 
it  ripple  the  waves.  Summer  but 
changes  the  hue  and  heaps  the  plains 
with    abundant    harvests    of    grain    and 


Uill  Photo. 

blooms,  or  during  the  long  sea- 
son of  fruitage,  which  lasts  from  May 
until  October.  Yet  it  is  in  the  springtime, 
when  the  orchards  constitute  one  vast 
garden  of  flowers  and  the  balmy  spring 
air  is  in  the  nostrils  and  the  rich  golden 
hue  of  the  California  poppy  tints  the 
waysides  and  meadows,  that  such  a  drive 
yields  its  keenest  delights.  Imagination 
fails  to  conjure  up  the  picture  of  a  more 
delightful  scene  or  supply  the  substance 
of  more  perfect  enjoyment  of  the  handi- 


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1.  Sweet   Peas.  3.  Onion  field  in  bloom. 

2.  Sallsfy  or  oyster  plant. 


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Rose   Carnival    and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1113 


work  of  nature  aided  and  developed  by 
the  labor  of  man.  The  roads  are  broa(fN 
and  well-kept  boulevards  leading  through 
the  very  heart  of  the  orchards,  which 
border  them  for  miles  on  either  hand. 
One  continuous  mass  of  bloom  etretches 
beyond  the  range  of  vision,  while  the 
air  is  laden  with  the  perfume  they  ex- 
hale. The  bright  pink  blossoms  of  the 
peach  mingle  with  the  pure  white  of  the 
cherry,  made  warm  by  the  reddish  brown 
tint  of  the  bare  limbs  behind  them,  while 
the    smaller    prune    blossoms    amid    the 


two  months,  and  during  all  that  period 
its  delights  may  be  experienced,  though 
it  is  during  the  month  of  March  that 
nature  riots  the  most  in  the  orchards, 
because  of  the  predominance  of  the 
prune,  peach,  apricot  and  cherry. 

Not  the  least  interesting  feature  of  the 
drive  through  the  orchard  region  is  the 
numerous  ornamental  trees  that  line  the 
driveways  here  and  there,  making  ave- 
nues of  date  and  fan  palms,  of  walnut 
trees,  of  pepper  trees  and  of  the  giant 
and   graceful   eucalyptus,   or   Australian 


Residence  of  J.  H.  Campbell,  San  Jose. 

budding  green  leaves  of  the  trees  give 
to  the  miles  of  prune  orchards  a  charac- 
teristic gray  effect  that  dominates  all. 
Earlier  come  the  white  blossoms  of  the 
almond,  and  later  the  pink  and  white 
apple  blossoms,  the  most  beautiful  of 
all,  companion  with  the  pear  blossoms 
to  keep  this  orchard  carnival  for  many 
weeks.  From  the  time  the  almond  trees 
whiten  early  in  February  until  the  last 
of  the  apple  blossoms  disappear,  there 
is   a   continuous   blossoming   for   nearly 


gum  trees.  Many  such  avenues  as  these 
lead  from  the  main  roads  up  to  the  tree- 
embowered  homes  of  the  orchardists. 
These  are  not  the  typical  rural  homes 
of  the  ordinary  agricultural  districts,  but 
resemble  more  the  well-kept  residences 
and  grounds  of  the  suburbs  of  a  city,  as 
in  fact  they  are.  Ornamental  shade 
trees,  magnolias,  palms,  peppers,  elms,, 
lindens,  and  conifers,  with  well-kept 
lawns  and  a  profusion  of  flowers,  carriage 
ways  and  graveled  walks,  all  bear  wit- 


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President    McKinley    and    Presentation    Bouquet.  Bushnell   Photo, 


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Prominent   members   of    Executive    Committee,    Rose    Carnival,    San    Jose : 

1.  A.   Qreeninger,   Director   General.     2.  Mayor    C.    J.     Martin.      3.  James    D. 
Miner.  4.  Captain  A.  B.  Cash,  Grand   Marshal.    5.  Dr.    H.    C.    Brown.     6.  W.    C.  qT^ 
Crossman.  Bmhnell   Photo  c> 


1116 


Overland   Monthly. 


Greeting  Arch. 

ness  to  the  presence  of  culture,  refine- 
ment  and   prosperity.     At  the   gate   of 
each,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  are  to 
he   found   the   mail   box   of   the   United 
^tates  rural  delivery  and  the  paper  box 
of   the    San   Jose    daily   papers.     Every 
morning  before  breakfast  for  a  distance 
of  thirty  miles  the  papers  are  placed  in 
those  boxes  by  a  corps  of  bicycle  carriers, 
and   again  in  the   evening,  this   perfect 
distribution  being  rendered  possible  by 
/the    splendid    macadamized    roads    that 
^.cover  the  county  like  a  gridiron.    What 


these  roads  are  and  what  they  mean  to 
the  orchardist  and  the  pleasure  driver 
may  be  realized  when  it  is  known  that 
they  are  better  than  unpaved,  but  im- 
proved, city  streets,  and  that  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  are  expended  every  year 
to  keep  them  sprinkled  and  in  good  con- 
dition for  comfortable  travel.  Ejach 
road  is  named  and  the  name  is  plainly 
painted  on  a  sign  board  at  each  inter- 
section, like  the  streets  of  a  city.  Were 
it  not  for  the  blooming  or  fruiting  or- 
chards and  the  acres  of  green  leaved 
vines  one  would  have  the  impression  that 
he  was  driving  in  the  residence  suburbs 
of  a  large  city. 

But  these  orchards  and  roads  mean 
more  than  mere  pleasure  to  the  people  of 
Santa  Clara  Valley,  for  the  orchards  are 
the  life  fountain  and  the  roads  the  arter- 
ies of  the  system  through  which  the  life 
fluid  courses,  giving  prosperity  to  all. 
It  is  difficult  to  make  one  who  has  not 
seen  this  orchard  region  comprehend 
its  immensity  and  the  tremendous  out- 
put of  fruit  that  goes  from  it  annually. 
Statistics  are  dull  things  and  convey^ 
to  the  mind  but  a  faint  impression  with- 
out some  mental  standard  by  which  to 


Mission  Arch,  St.  James  Park. 


Hill  and  Tucker   Phoio^ 
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Rose   Carnival    and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1117 


Mountain    View   Arch,    St.    James    Park. 


mn  and  Tucker  Photo. 


measure  them,  yet  here  are  some.  There 
are  in  the  county  3,975,180  prune  trees 
that  have  been  in  bearing  a  year  or  more 
and  are  therefore  on  the  assessment  roll, 
with  at  least  half  a  million  more  not  yet 
in  full  bearing.  There  are  also  530,000 
apricot  trees,  127,905  cherry  trees,  485,- 
100  peach  trees,  16,000  olive  trees,  15,300 
almond  trees,  10,000  English  walnut 
trees,  5,000  fig  trees,  10,000  pear  trees 
and  20,000  apple  trees,  besides  orange, 
lemon  and  many  other  kinds  of 
fruit  and  nuts  not  grown  commercially 
on  a  large  scale.  Particularly  is  this 
true  of  oranges,  lemons  and  limes,  which 
grow  in  the  valley  and  foothills  to  per- 
fection, but  are  not  cultivated  for  market, 
the  attention  of  orchardists  being  given 
.  entirely  to  those  classes  of  fruit  specially 
adapted  to  this  valley,  as  well  as  to  grape 
culture  and  wine  making,  to  which  cer- 
tain proportions  of  the  valley,  and  par- 
ticularly the  foothills  of  both  the  Mount 
Hamilton  and  the  Santa  Cruz  ranges,  are 
especially  adapted. 

As  is  shown  by  the  statistics  of  trees, 
prune  culture  is  the  chief  business  of  the 
orchardists,  there  being  four  times  as 
many  prune  trees  in  the  county  as  all 


other  trees  combined,  and  it  is  therefore 
upon  the  prune  industry  the  valley  chiefly 
depends.  The  fruit  crop  of  the  county 
approximates  15,000,000  in  value  annu- 
ally, two-thirds  of  which  is  represented 
by  prunes,  of  which  there  were  grown 
in  the  county  100,000,000  pounds  when 
cured  last  season.  There  are  prunes 
grown  elsewhere  in  the  State,  and  in 
Oregon,  Washington,  Idaho  and  Arizona, 
but  all  the  acreage  elsewhere  does  not 
equal  that  of  this  county  alone,  and  the 
prunes  of  the  Santa  Clara  valley  bring 
a  higher  price  in  the  market  per  pound 
than  those  of  any  other  portion  of  this 
State  or  any  other  State.  Conditions 
.of  soil  and  climate  combine  here  more 
perfectly  for  prune  culture  than  else- 
where, and  this  is  the  reason  why  they 
are  grown  here  in  larger  quantities  and 
of  the  best  quality.  There  are  several 
varieties  of  soil  in  the  county,  in  some  of 
which  the  prune  will  not  flourish,  as 
some  growers  have  learned  to  their  cost, 
yet  in  most  of  them  it  does  well  and  in 
some  flourishes  mightily.  This  is  a  tech- 
nical matter  which  every  purchaser  of  an 
orchard  or  planter  of  a  new  one  pru- 
dently inquires  into  before  investing,  yet 

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1118  Overland   Monthly. 


^ 


Ladies'   Band    Float.  Bill  and  Tucker  Phata. 

generally  speaking,  the  prune  thrives  so  desirable  as  a  place  of  residence, 
throughout  the  valley,  and  its  thriftiness  The  Eastern  farmer,  particularly  one 
may  be  ascribed  more  to  the  favoring  from  the  great  prairie  region  of  the  Mis- 
climate  than  to  any  special  excellence  sissippi  valley,  is  not  accustomed  to  the 
of  the  soil.  It  is  this  climate  so  excel-  idea  that  there  is  a  wonderful  difference 
lently  adapted  to  the  culture  of  decid-  in  the  climate  of  districts  but  a  few  miles 
uous  fruits  that  also  renders  the  valley  distant  from  each  other,  yet  in  California 


University  of  the  Pacific  Float.  Hill  and  Tucker  Phoi^ 

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Rose   Carnival    and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1119 


Normal   School   Float. 


Hill  and  Tucker  Photo, 


with  her  mountains  and  valleys,  her 
coast  line  open  to  the  gentle  influences  of 
the  warm  current  of  the  ocean  and  ex- 
posed at  times  to  its  cold  fogs,  her  coast 
valleys  still  open  to  those  warm  in- 
fluences but  protected  by  intervening 
mountains  from  the  fog  and  winds,  her 
great  interior  plane,  swept  by  the  hot 
winds  from  the  north,  and  her  Sierra 
foothills  and  mountain  valleys,  there  is 
to  be  found  a  wonderful  variety  of  clim- 
ate within  comparatively  short  distances. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  one  district 
may  be  especially  adapted  to  the  culture 
of  one  variety  of  fruit  and  another  to 
others,  and  it  is  this  which  makes  the 
valley  of  Santa  Clara  and  the  encircling 
foothills  so  especially  adapted  to  the 
culture  of  deciduous  fruits,  particularly 
the  prune,  and  the  wine-making  grapes 
that  love  the  sunny  hillsides.  Protected 
from  the  raw  winds  and  cold  fogs  of 
the  ocean  by  the  intervening  Santa 
Cruz  mountains,  there  is  yet  sufficient 
communication  with  the  sea  by  the  bay  of 
San  Francisco  to  admit  the  summer  mois- 
ture so  necessary  for  the  full  develop- 
ment of  the  fruit.  On  the  East  also  the 
valley  Ts  hemmed  in  by  the  Mount  Hamil- 


ton mountains  and  is  thus  protected  from 
the  parching  influence  of  the  hot  winds 
that  sweep  down  the  Sacramento  and 
San  Joaquin  valleys,  as  well  as  the  cold 
winds  of  the  dominating  Sierra  Nevada 
mountains.  Sheltered  as  it  is  it  pos- 
sesses the  genial  warmth  without  ex- 
cessive heat,  the  ocean  moisture  with- 
out the  cold  and  disagreeable  fogs,  hav- 
ing neither  extremes  of  heat  or  cold  at 
any  season  of  the  year,  and  exposed  only 
to  occasional  spring  frosts  which  seldom 
do  more  than  save  the  orchardist  the 
trouble  and  expense  of  thinning  the  fruit 
upon  the  too  thickly  bearing  trees  in 
order  to  prevent  them  from  breaking 
down  or  producing  an  Inferior  quality 
of  fruit. 

These  are  the  climatic  conditions  which 
have  settled  the  Santa  Clara  valley  as 
the  natural  home  of  the  prune  and  have 
concentrated  here  two-thirds  of  the  prune 
orchards  of  the  State  and  more .  than 
half  those  of  the  entire  United  States. 
No  wonder  that  a  few  acres  of  prune 
orchard  are  worth  a  good  sum  and  no 
wonder  that  by  prudent  cultivation  those 
few  acres  may  make  their  owner  inde- 
pendent  in   a   few   years,   paying   their 


z: 


\_ 


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1120 


Overland    Monthly. 


Kindergarten  Float. 


Hill  and  Tucker  Photo, 


original  cost  and  giving  him  a  good  in- 
come. The  valley  contains  hundreds  of 
orchards  of  but  ten  to  thirty  acres,  whose 
owners  have  cultivated  them  from  the 
day  of  first  planting  until  they  came  into 
full  bearing  and  have  paid  the  entire 
cost  with  a  few  years  of  crops,  having 
now  their  orchards  free  from  debt  and 
bringing  them  in  a  comfortable  income. 
This  is  why  the  valley  is  dotted  with 
beautiful  homes  whose  surroundings  tes- 
tify to  the  prosperity  and  culture  of  their 
owners. 

It  is  readily  understood  that  horticul- 
ture on  such  a  large  scale  means  work 
for  a  great  many  people  during  the  pick- 
ing, drying,  and  canning  season,  for  be  it 
known  that  in  the  valley  are  located  some 
of  the  largest  canning  establishments 
in  the  State,  canneries  which  put  up 
half  a  million  cases  of  canned  fruit  each 
year.  Much  fresh  fruit,  also,  particu- 
larly cherries,  apricots,  peaches  and 
pears,  is  shipped  by  the  car  load,  aggre- 
gating some  20,000,000  pounds  annually. 
All  this  means  work,  not  only  for  men, 
but  for  women  and  boys  and  girls.  So 
urgent  is  it  and  so  much  does  the  hand- 
ling of  the  fruit  crop  enter  into  the  life 
of  the  entire  community,  that  the  opening 
of  the  fall  term  of  school  throughout  the 


county  is  postponed  several  weeks  be- 
yond the  opening  in  some  other  counties, 
in  order  to  permit  the  children  to  aid 
in  saving  the  fruit  crop  and  incidentally 
to  earn  a  neat  liitle  sum  in  wages. 

When  the  picking  season  comes  the 
towns  have  a  deserted  look,  while  the 
whole  country  seems  to  be  alive  with 
people.  Entire  families  go  out  into  the 
orchards  to  work,  many  of  them  camping 
for  a  few  weeks  near  the  scene  of  their 
labors.  Others  go  to  and  from  their  work 
morning  and  evening  on  bicycles  or  in 
wagons  specially  run  for  the  purpose. 
Thousands  are  at  work  picking  the  fruit, 
putting  it  into  boxes,  hauling  it  to  the 
dryers  or  canneries,  cutting  it  up  and 
spreading  it  out  upon  wooden  drying 
trays,  which  are  in  turn  spread  out  upon 
the  ground  for  the  warm  rays  of  the  sun 
to  do  the  drying  that  in  less  genial  climes 
is  done  by  artificial  heat,  or  putting  it 
into  cans  for  preserving.  A  dryer  or  a 
cannery  is  a  busy  place.  The  people 
work  with  feverish  activity  and  yet  with 
cheerfulness  and  in  comfort,  as  though 
each  one  realized  the  necessity  for  haste 
in  saving  the  crop.  Yet  with  all  the 
hurry  ever3^hing  is  systematic  and  clean 
and  the  fruit  is  kept  in  perfect  condition, 
thus  preserving  the  reputation  for  quality 


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Rose   Carnival    and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1121 


that  California  canned  and  dried  fruits 
have  so  rightly  earned. 

While  many  orchardists  dry  their  own 
fruit  the  majority  of  them  belong  to 
unions  or  exchanges,  where  the  work 
is  done  on  the  co-operative  plan,  thus 
reducing  the  Individual  expense.  Fruit 
is  delivered  to  these  union  dryers  and  the 
producer  credited  with  it  according  to 
quantity  and  quality.  It  is  then  handled 
with  the  other  fruit  received  and  when 
dried  it  is  all  graded  together  and  when 
sold,  after  the  expense  of  operation  has 
been  deducted,  each  member  of  the  union 
is  paid  a  dividend  in  proportion  to  the 
fruit  delivered.  There  are  half  a  dozen 
such  fruit  unions  in  the  county,  all  of 
them  prosperous  and  saving  their  mem- 
bers considerable  in  the  expense  of  cur- 
ing and  selling  their  fruits. 

Cooperation  has  gone  a  long  step  far- 
ther than  this  in  the  prune  industry,  as 
the  growers  have  organized  a  prune  asso- 
ciation which  embraces  more  than  three- 
fourths  of  the  prune  acreage  in  the  State 
and  numbers  more  than  3,700  individuals. 
All  the  fruit  unions  and  their  members 
belong  to  the  larger  association,  which 
is   known  as  the  California  Cured  Fruit 


Association  and  handles  the  prune  crop 
only.  Other  fruits  handled  by  the  unions 
are  not  united  with  the  prunes  in  this 
larger  combination.  The  object  of  the 
association  is  to  prevent  the  unnecessary 
low  price  paid  the  growers  for  their 
prunes  when  they  go  into  open  market  in 
competition  with  each  other,  each  one 
endeavoring  to  sell  his  crop  and  get  his 
money  first.  It  is  realized  that  a  good 
price  can  be  had  for  the  entire  crop  if  it 
is  not  all  crowded  upon  the  market  at 
once.  By  handling  the  crop  through  the 
association  and  all  growers  sharing 
equally  the  dividends  paid  from  time  to 
time,  there  is  no  necessity  for  the  cutting 
of  prices  in  order  to  make  sales,  and  thus 
a  good  price  can  be  maintained.  This 
is  the  first  year  of  this  association,  and 
like  all  new  things  on  a  large  scale  it 
has  not  been  as  successful  as  it  promises 
to  be  in  the  future  with  the  benefit  of  the 
valuable  experience  it  has  acquired.  By 
these  various  unions  and  associations 
the  orchardists  show  their  appreciation 
of  the  money  saving  value  of  co-operation 
and  testify  to  their  own  high  intelli- 
gence and  knowledge  of  business  con- 
ditions. 


Hester  School   Float. 


Bttahnell   PhoU 

Digitized  by 


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1122  Overland    Monthly. 


Longfellow  School  Float.  Hill  and  Tucker  Photo. 

But  there  is  much  besides  fruit  to  In-  these  vines  last  year,  besides  the  market 
terest  the  traveler  who  rides  through  the  grapes,  there  were  made  330,000  gallons 
valley  of  Santa  Clara  and  observes  the  of  brandy,  and  5,430,000  gallons  of  wine, 
factors  combining  to  make  her  prosperity,  (Ke  sees  some  60,000  acres  of  wheat, 
whether  he  drives  along  the  excellent  barley,  and  hay.  He  sees  many  hundreds 
highways  or  passes  more  rapidly  through  (fof  acres  of  vegetables  and  flowers  grow- 
on  the  train.  He  sees  thousands  of  acres  ing  for  their  seed,  the  Santa  Clara  Val- 
of  vineyards,  both  in  the  valley  and  ley  being  one  of  the  chief  producing 
climbing  the  graceful  sloping  sides  of  the  sections  of  flower  and  vegetable  seeds  in 
encircling   hills.     From   12,000   acres   of  the  United  States,  (^e  sees  dairies  that 


Lincoln  School  Float  "Emancipation."  . .  Hill  and  Tucker  Photo. 

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Rose   Carnival    and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1123 


/ 


Franklin  Grammar  School   Float. 

handle  the  milk  of  12,000  cows.  If  he 
gets  into  the  foothills  he  also  sees  thou- 
sands of  grazing  cattle  and  angora  goats, 
Santa  Clara  county  being  famous  in  the 
United  States  for  its  high  grade  animals 
vrith.  the  long  wool.  He  also  sees  some 
splendid  stock  farms,  where  some  of  the 
most  famous  horses  in  the  country  have 
been  bred.  He  might  also  by  a  special 
effort,  the  making  of  which  would  be  well 
rewarded,  see  at  New  Almaden  in  the 
mountains  the  most  famous  quicksilver 
mine  in  the  United  States  and  the  third 
largest  in   the  world. 

One  thing  especially  the  traveler  can 
not  fail  to  notice,  and  that  is  the  numer- 
ous and  splendid  school  houses  that  dot 
the  rural  districts.  These  are  not  the 
famous  "little  red  school  houses"  from 
which  so  many  of  our  great  men  have 
come,  but  are,  except  in  the  most  remote 
districts,  graded  schools  and  in  general 
appearance  resemble  the  school  build- 
ings of  towns.  The  character  of  the 
school  houses  alone  is  a  splendid  index 
to  the  nature  and  density  of  the  popu- 
lation of  the  valley.  Education  receives 
the  attention  to  be  expected  from  such  a 
community.  More  educational  institu- 
tions are  located  in  the  valley  than  in  any 
other  portion  of  the  State  or  any  like 


Hill  and  Tucker  Photo, 

territory,  probably,  in  the  Union.  There 
are  268  public  schools  maintained  in  the 
county,  six  of  them  high  schools,  at  a  cost 
of  1288,887  a  year,  the  school  buildings 
being  valued  at  |801,650.  Teachers  re- 
ceive an  average  salary  of  f81.67  a 
month.  In  addition  to  the  public  schools 
there  are  the  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  Uni- 
versity at  Palo  Alto,  The  University  of 
the  Pacific  at  San  Jose,  the  Santa  Clara 
College  at  Santa  Clara,  the  College  of 


Gus  Llon'8  Phaeton. 


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Prominent   Members   of   Merchants'   Athletic  Ciub. 


_  J 


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City    Hall,    San    Jose,    Cat.  Normal  School,  San  Jose,  Cat. 


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Rose   Carnival    and   Santa   Clara   Valley. 


1127 


Notre  Dame  and  St.  Joseph's  College 
at  San  Jose,  and  the  California  State 
Normal  School  at  San  Jose.  In  addition 
to  these  educational  facilities  there  are  a 
public  library  at  San  Jose,  which  will 
soon  have  a  splendid  new  building,  the 
gift  of  Andrew  Carnegie,  and  the  famous 
Lick  Observatory  on  Mount  Hamilton — 
the  drive  to  this  is  one  of  the  finest  in 
the  State,  the  road  costing  the  county 
$96,000 — besides  several  business  col- 
leges, art  schools  and  conservatories  of 
music.  Allied  with  these  in  their  edu- 
cational work  are  98  churches,  valued  at 
1300,000. 

If  Santa  Clara  County  is  one  of  rural 
homes  it  is  one  of  strong  business  com- 
munities also,  where  the  same  culture 
and  intellectual  life  find  expression  in 
public  buildings,  private  residences, 
churches  and  social  and  charitable  organ- 
izations. San  Jose,  the  capital  and  me- 
tropolis, is  a  city  of  30,000  people  within 
the  metropolitan  area.  It  is  distant  from 
San  Francisco  fifty  miles,  being  connected 
with  it  by  twenty-eight  daily  trains  over 
three  lines  of  railroad  and  by  a  line  of 
steamers  on  the  bay,  and  having  the  pros- 
pect of  an  electric  line  also.  Its  own 
electric  roads  give  it  ample  street  service 
and  a  steam  motor  line  connects  it  with 
a  beautiful  public  park  belonging  to  the 
city  and  lying  in  a  canyon  of  the  Mount 
Hamilton  range.  Alum  Rock  Park,  as 
it  is  named,  contains  among  its  attrac- 
tions thirteen  developed  mineral  springs 
of  hot  and  cold  water,  and  sulphur  baths, 
and  is  a  delightful  spot.  In  the  center 
of  the  city  is  St.  James  Park,  a  charming 
spot  thickly  grown  with  trees  of  many 
kinds.  Two  other  parks  are  also  within 
the  city  limits.  The  city  is  supplied  with 
splendid  water  from  the  mountains  and 
is  lighted  by  both  electricity  and  gas. 
A  large  and  efficient  paid  fire  department 
and  a  good  police  department  contribute 
to  public  safety  and  order.  The  public 
buildings  are  handsome  and  imposing, 
particularly  the  court  house  and  hall  of 
records,  the  city  hall,  the  postofflce,  the 
high  school  and  the  normal  school.  The 
streets  are  wide,  and  those  in  the  busi- 
ness part  of  town  have  fine  bituminous 
pavements  kept  in  good  condition.  Shade 
and  ornamental  trees  of  pepper,  eucalyp- 


tus, elm,  linden,  magnolia,  maple  and 
various  varieties  of  palm  trees  beautify 
both  streets  and  yards,  while  from  one 
year's  end  to  another  roses,  callas,  ger- 
aniums and  other  fiowers  combine  with 
the  perennially  green  grass  to  make 
the  scene  one  of  continuous  summer.      -. 

Summer  it  is  indeed  in  the  daytime  all     \ 
the   year  round.     It  is   the  cool  nights       \ 
which   bring   down   the   average   of  the 
winter  temperature,  which  is  41  degrees, 
with  29  degrees  as  the  minimum.     The  . 

winter  days  are  warm  and  sunny,  as  they  ^j 
must  be  indeed  to  keep  the  geraniums, 
roses  and  callas  in  constant  bloom.  As 
for  the  summer  temperature,  the  ten- 
dency is  the  same.  In  the  extreme  heat 
of  day  the  highest  point  for  the  ther- 
mometer is  92  degrees,  and  as  soon  as 
the  sun  goes  down  a  delightful  coolness 
steals  in  from  the  ocean  that  reduces 
the  average  summer  temperature  to  68 
degrees.  Warm  sunny  days  and  cool 
nights  are  thus  the  climatic  character- 
ictic  the  entire  year  round,  thus  con- 
ducing to  comfort  and  enjoyment  in  the 
day  time  and  to  refreshing  sleep  at  night. 
It  is  an  ideal  climate  and  combines  with 
the  productiveness  and  beauty  of  the  val- 
ley and  nearness  to  the  metropolitan 
city  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  to  make  this  the 
most  favored  residence  section  of  the 
State. 

Besides  San  Jose  there  are  numerous 
other  towns  in  the  county,  all  delightful 
as  places  of  residence.  Santa  Clara 
almost  adjoins  it  on  the  north  and  is 
connected  by  an  electric  line.  Palo  Alto 
lies  in  the  valley  toward  San  Francisco; 
Gilroy  is  near  the  head  of  the  valley  to 
the  South,  and  Los  Gatos  is  a  charming 
town  in  ihe  foothills  of  the  Santa  Cruz 
mountains.  Other  villages  are  Alma, 
Almaden,  Alviso,  Berryessa,  Campbell, 
Evergreen,  Mayfield,  Madrone,  Morgan 
Hill,  Milpitas,  Mountain  View,  Rucker, 
San  Ysidor,  Saratoga,  Sunny  Vale,  West 
Side  and  Wright's. 

The  Santa  Clara  valley  is  one  of  those 
rare  places  where  natural  beauty  com- 
bines with  a  charming  climate  to  render 
life  both  comfortable  and  pleasing,  while 
it  possesses  the  potentiality  to  supply 
a  livelihood  to  thousands  of  people  in 
pleasant  and  agreeable  ways. 

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^A 


Santa  Clara  County  officials  :  1.  Lewis  Spitzes  Assessor.  2.  A.  G.  Col,  Auditor. 
3.  H.  A.  Pflster,  County  Clerk.  4.  J.  A.  Lotz,  Treasurer.  5.  J.  Y.  McMillan, 
Surveyor.  Bushnell   Photo. 


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1130 


Overland   Monthly. 


St.   James    Hotel,   San 
Jose,  is  the  starting  point     r 
for  the  journey    to    the     i 
Lick  Observatory,  on  Mt. 
Hamilton.     No   one   has 
really  seen  California  if     | 
Mt.  Hamilton    has    been 
left  out  of  the  itinerary. 
It  is  one  of  the  wonders 
of  the  world.    The  Obser-     j 
vatory  is  the  best  equip- 
ped    on    the     continent. 
Aside  from  this  Ihe  view     , 
is  magnificent,  overlook- 
ing  the   beautiful   Santa     | 
Clara  Valley  at  its  feet. 
There  is  a  view  of  moun- 
tain ranges,  foothills,  for- 
est, rivers  and  ocean  that 
is   inspiring.    The   drive 
to  the  top  is  over  a  pic- 
turesque mountain  road, 
each   turn   of   which   re- 
veals new  beauties  of  na- 
ture    to     the     traveler. 
Stages    leave     the     St. 
James  Hotel  daily  for  the 
top     of     Mt.     Hamilton, 
making  the  journey  con- 
venient for  guests  of  the 
hotel,  which  is  situated 
in  the  heart  of  San  Jose, 
convenient   to   car   lines 
and  to  the  business  por- 
tion of  the  city.    It  faces 
St.  James  Park,  the  most 
beautiful  in  San  Jose. 

This  hotel  has  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  rooms, 
most  of  which  have  pri- 
vate baths  attached.  The 
chef  employed  by  Mr. 
George  M.  Murphy,  the 
proprietor,  has  achieved 
a  reputation,  and  all  his 
assistants  are  artists  in 
their  line. 

Special  provisions  have 
been  made  at  the  St. 
James  for  commercial 
travelers.  Sample  rooms 
are  at  their  disposal  and 
the  hotel  has  become  the 
recognized  headquarters 
for  the  "knights  of  the 
grip"  who  visit  San  Jose. 


J 


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rA.6TERH.5;vo^- 


Board  of  Supervisors,  Santa  Clara  County,  Cal. 

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Prominent  Attorneys,  San  Jose,  Cal. 

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Rose  Carnival   and   Santa  Clara  Valley. 


1133 


Though  the  Floral  Carnival  held  in  San 
Jose  during  the  President's  visit  was 
marred  somewhat  by  Mrs.  McKinley's 
illness,  which  a^a  not  allow  him  so  much 
time  in  our  sister  city  as  had  been  ar- 
ranged for,  it  was  a  great  success.  The 
Santa  Clara  Valley  in  May  is  one  great 
mass  of  bloom  and  this  was  freely  drawn 
upon  in  the  desire  to  do  honor  to  our 
Chief  Bzecutiye.  Tons  and  tons  of  flow- 
ers, in  quantities  that  made  the  Eastern 
yisitors  gasp  in  astonishment,  were 
brought  to  San  Jose.  Floats  of  gorgeous 
color  and  fragrant  almost  to  suffocation 


though  the  President  could  not  attend, 
the  members  of  the  Cabinet  and  other 
distinguished  yisitors  were  present.  It 
was  the  most  brilliant  aftair  ever  held  in 
San  Jose.  Those  who  had  the  Garden 
City's  celebration  in  charge  made  a  won- 
derful showing,  and  their  efforts  to  en- 
tertain their  yisitors  will  neyer  be  for- 
gotten by  either  hosts  or  guests. 


One  and  a  quarter  miles  from  Menlo 
Park  Station,  San  Mateo  County,  Cali- 
fornia, and  three  miles  from  Stanford 
University,  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful 


Holtt's  School,  San  Mateo  County. 


passed  through  the  streets — ^great  masses 
of  bud  and  bloom  that  held  even  the  resi- 
dents, those  acquainted  with  California's 
great  iioral  wealth,  in  breathless  delight. 
Schools  and  other  institutions  wore  rep- 
resented. The  illustrations  we  present 
give  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  splendor  of 
the  display.  A  huge  bouquet  containing 
a  ton  of  flowers  was  presented  to  the 
President  by  a  group  of  beautiful  young 
ladies  arrayed  in  white. 

A  reception  and  ball  were  held  and 


spots  in  the  State,  is  located  a  Justly 
famous  preparatory  school  for  boys.  The 
school  was  established  in  1891  by  Dr. 
Ira  G.  Hoitt,  who  up  to  that  time  was 
State  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruc- 
tion. It  is  now  known  as  one  of  the  fore- 
most schools  of  its  kind  west  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains. 

When  the  patronage  of  the  school  out- 
grew its  facilities,  the  Atherton  place, 
near  San  Mateo,  was  purchased  and  fltted 
up  at  large  expense,  thus  securing  larger 


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1134 


Overland   Monthly. 


and  more  permanent  quarters.  The 
school  took  possession  on  January  1, 
1899. 

The  grounds,  consisting  of  over  forty 
acres,  are  possessed  of  great  natural  and 
artificial  beauty.  An  orchard,  a  vineyard, 
an  olive  grove  and  an  abundance  of  pure 
water  are  among  the  attractions  and 
utilities  of  the  place.  The  school  pos- 
sesses a  well-furnished  gymnasium,  ball 
court,  tennis  court,  croquet  ground,  ball 
groimd,  football  field  and  running  track. 
Much  attention  is  paid  to  the  care  and 
instruction  of  the  boys  in  all  these  sports, 
but  never  to  such  an  extent  as  to  in- 
terfere with  their  school  work. 

The  teaching  force  is  large  and  first- 
class.  The  course  of  study  extends  from 
the  primary  to  the  college  course.    It  is 


pervision  or  more  thorough  training  than 
at  Hoitt's  school.  This,  together  with 
the  charming  location,  the  healthful  sur- 
roundings, the  opportunity  for  outdoor 
exercise  and  the  home  influences,  easily 
place  Hoitt's  in  the  front  rank  of  schools 
for  boys. 


The  University  of  the  Pacific  was  rep- 
resented in  the  Rose  Festival  by  one  of 
the  most  artistic  fioats  in  the  procession. 
This  university  was  chartered  in  1851, 
and  celebrated  its  Golden  Jubilee  during 
its  commencement  week  in  May.  FVom 
its  halls  during  the  last  fifty  years  have 
gone  about  five  himdred  graduates  as 
clergymen,  lawyers,  physicians,  teachers, 
merchants  and  aggressive  workei-s  in  the 
various  honorable  vocations  of  life.     On 


Conservatory  of  Music,  University  of  the   Pacific. 


the  aim  of  the  school  to  contribute  vigor 
to  the  boy's  physical  development, 
quicken  and  strengthen  his  manly  im- 
pulses and  his  sense  of  duty  and  moral 
courage,  and  help  him  to  the  acquisition 
of  such  mental  training  as  to  fit  him  for 
the  best  universities  or  for  business. 

The  number  of  pupils  is  limited  to  fifty 
boarders  and  a  few  day  pupils.  In  this 
way  the  school  is  made  strong  in  its  work 
by  a  large  amount  of  individual  atten- 
tion to  each  pupil.  The  graduates  of  the 
school  are  admitted  to  the  University  of 
California,  Stanford  University  and  Dart- 
mouth College  on  the  recommendation  of 
the  principal.  It  is  believed  that  no- 
where do  boys  receive  more  careful  su- 


its beautiful  campus  are  found  a  college 
with  classical,  philosophical,  scientific, 
and  literary  courses,  each  leading  to  the 
bachelor's  degree,  and  a  conservatory  of 
music  which  offers  students  of  music  op- 
portunities unrivalled  on  this  coast.  Its 
professors  in  both  instrumental  and  vocal 
music  received  training  from  the  masters 
in  musical  centres  in  Europe.  The  conser- 
vatory conferred  the  degree  of  bachelor 
of  music  on  twelve  graduates  at  its  last 
commencement.  Many  of  its  gn^aduates 
secure  remunerative  employment  as 
music  teachers.  The  Academy  of  the 
university  is  on  the  campus  and  offers 
excellent    advantages    for    young   ladies 

and  gentlemen  to  prepare  tor  , the   best 
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Rose  Carnival   and   Santa  Clara  Valley. 


1135 


imlyerBities.  In  addition  to  the  above 
there  are  opportimities  for  the  comple- 
tion of  courses  in  art,  elocution,  and 
business. 

The  institution  is  open  to  both  sexes, 
and  ladies  and  gentlemen  associate 
freely  with  professors  at  the  same  tables 
in  the  common  dining  hall.  The  general 
control  is  under  the  Methodist  Episcopal 
church,  and  the  constant  aim  of  the 
management  is  to  stimulate  and  foster 
Christian  sentiments  and  ideals  among 
faculty   and   students. 

The  vigorous  life  and  popularity  of  the 
university  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that 
this  year  it  is  freeing  itself  from  a  debt 
of  160,000. 


On  the  summit  of  Pine  Ridge,  at  the 
altitude  of  from  twenty-five  hundred  to 
three  thousand  feet,  the  long  leafed 
Southern  pine  trees  attain  the  height  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  and  a  diameter 
as  great  as  six  feet  and  often  thirty  feet 
to  the  lowest  branches.  Here  on  the 
table  summit  the  air  has  a  peculiar  dry- 
ness, warm  nights,  equable  temperature 
and  remarkable  freedom  from  frost.  It 
overlooks  the  beautiful  Santa  Clara 
Valley.  Near  the  summit  are  hot  and 
cold  mineral  water  springs  of  valuable 
medicinal  properties.     Th^e  conditions 


Pine  trees  at  Coe  Bros.'  Hill  Photo. 

Pine  Ridge  Ranch,  Santa  Clara  County. 

combine  to  make  Pine  Ridge  in  more  than 
one  respect  a  freak  of  nature. 


Hotel  Vendome,  San  Jose,  Cal. 


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WHBN   California   was   in    swaddling 
clothes  gold  was  plenty  and  people  were 
few.     A    combina- 
tion of  these  con- 
Our  Traditions  of    ditions  engendered 
Hospitality.  the  hospitality 

which  made  the 
State  famous. 
Though  conditions  have  been  changed  to 
some  extent  and  the  second  generation 
rules,  the  latch-string  still  hangs  out  and 
pilgrims  are  still  given  royal  welcome  to 
our  land. 

This  open,  free-handed  spirit  made  the 
recent  Western  trip  of  President  Mc- 
Kinley  essentially  a  visit  to  California. 
Other  States  were  visited  and  all  gave 
him  fitting  welcome — but  California  gave 
him  an  ovation  such  as  none  of  the  oth- 
ers attempted.  From  Redlands  to  the 
end  of  his  itinerary  the  way  was  flower- 
strewn,  and  everjrwhere  that  he  went 
lavish  entertainment  was  the  order. 
Regardless  of  party  feeling  or  political 
division  the  people  of  California  Joined 
hands  in  an  endeavor  to  make  the  Presi- 
dent's visit  something  to  be  remembered 
and  talked  about  for  years  to  come.  In 
spite  of  Mrs.  McKinley's  illness  the  re- 
ception accorded  him  made  an  ineftace- 
able  impression  upon  President  McKin- 
ley  and  the  members  of  his  party. 

Then,  too,  outside  of  our  attitude  to- 
ward them,  the  people  and  conditions  of 
life  were  something  of  a  surprise.  The 
idea  that  California  is  still  wild  and 
woolly  has  almost  disappeared  from  the 
minds  of  Eastern  people;  still,  to  those 
who  have  not  visited  us  we  are  yet  looked 
upon  as  somewhat  primitive  people,  re- 
taining many  of  the  customs  and  manners 
of  pioneer  days  and  far  behind  the  East- 
erners in  most  things  modem.  Very  lit- 
tle of  that  impression  now  remains  among 
those  who  have  visited  us.  They  found 
a  modem,  progressive  community,  up  to 
date  in  everything  and   retaining  very 


few   marks   of   early   days,   and    among 
them  hospitality. 

As  regards  our  own  condition,  no  betr 
ter  time  could  have  been  chosen  for  the 
visit.  California  is  more  prosperous  now 
than  it  has  been  for  years.  Workmen  are 
scarce  and  wages  correspondingly  good. 
Everything  points  to  bounteous  crops, 
good  prices  and  a  consequent  plentitude 
of  money.  A  feeling  of  contentment  and 
prosperity  is  generally  noticeable.  Such 
things  could  not  help  making  an  Impres- 
sion upon  those  who  came  among  us. 
Let  us  hope  that  they  carried  away  with 
them  a  pleasant  remembrance  and  will 
always  talk  of  their  trip  to  California  as 
a  Joiimey  to  a  land  of  contentment  and 
plenty,  where  nature  smiled,  where  flow- 
ers bloomed  and  fruit  ripened  in  May, 
and  where  the  people  lavished  upon  them 
entertainment   in    generous    abundance. 

Commercially  this  visit  has  been  of 
more  importance  than  we  yet  realize. 
The  visitors  found  a  far-reaching  empire 
here,  every  diversity  of  landscape  and 
climate,  and  natural  resources  of  which 
they  hardly  dreamed.  The  launching 
while  they  were  here  of  the  new  battle- 
ship Ohio  called  their  attention  to  our 
magnificent  facilities  for  turning  out 
huge  fighting  machines  and  our  possibili- 
ties in  the  way  of  trade  with  the  Orient 
was  brought  forcibly  to  their  view.  Every 
man  in  the  party — and  they  were  all  men 
to  whom  such  revelations  mean  much  to 
us — ^took  away  with  him  some  new  ideas 
regarding  California. 

President  McKinley  was  with  us  some 
twenty  years  ago  as  a  private  citiien. 
California  has  gone  ahead  wonderfully 
since  then — so  has  he.  We  were  then 
Just  beginning  to  call  attention  to  our 
possibilities  outside  of  gold  producing — 
were  Just  beginning  to  make  ourselves 
felt  in  the  markets  of  the  world  as  pro- 
ducers of  grain,  fraita  and  wine.  Now 
our  products  go  to  all  p^rts  of  the  world. 


A  Matter  of  Opinion. 


1137 


A  man  with  the  President's  powers  of 
memory  and  observation  cannot  have 
failed  to  notice  all  these  things  or  to  be 
impressed  by  them.  We  have  been  glad, 
too,  to  see  the  stride  forward  that  he  has 
made  in  this  score  of  years.  He  was  al- 
most imknown  when  he  first  came  among' 
OS.  He  came  the  last  time  as  our  ruler — 
came  in  a  state  that  befitted  his  position 
as  President  of  this  Republic,  and  was 
welcomed  as  royally  as  any  man  was  ever 
welcomed.  California  was  proud  to  re- 
ceive him  and  hopes  that  he  feels  a  par- 


nesB.  But  the  fates  were  kind  and  the 
latest  and  greatest  addition  to  the  Ameri- 
can Navy  slid  into  the  water  under  the 
eye  of  the  Nation's  Chief  Executive. 
Many  other  distinguished  men  were 
present,  and  the  Ohio  was  christened 
under  the  most  auspicious  circumstances. 
The  Ohio  is  three  hundred  and  eighty- 
eight  feet  long  and  seventy-two  feet,  two 
and  one-half  inches  in  breadth.  Her 
armament  excels  that  of  any  other  boat 
in  the  Navy  and  her  hull  is  amply  pro- 
tected from  the  onslaught  of  any  enemy. 


U.  8.  Battleship  Ohio. 


From  the  designer's  drawing. 


donable  pride  In  the  welcome  accorded 
him. 

THE   laimching   of  the   Ohio   at  San 
Francisco   on   the   seventeenth    of   May 
was  a  success  from 
every  standpoint.   It 
Our  Latest  Battle-  was  thought  during 
ship.  the  week  that  Presi- 

d  e  n  t     McK  i  n  1  e  y 
would  not  be  a  spec- 
tator on  account  of  Mrs.  McKinley's  ill- 


She  is  a  credit  to  the  Nation,  to  Cali- 
fornia, to  San  Francisco,  and  to  the  Scotts, 
who  built  her. 


ABOUT  the  time 
when  that  very  tall 
American,  Mark 
Twain,  was  smiling 
sharply  down  on 
that  very  small 
American,  the  Rev.  Ament,  exposing  the 
while  with  an  honest  Yankee  twang  the 


On  Qlving  Things 
Away. 


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1138 


Overland   Monthly. 


"Christian"  methods  of  exacting  blood 
money  from  The  Person  Sitting  in  Dark- 
ness, our  lion  of  satire  was  incidentally 
finding  time  to  pen  a  few  seasonable  let- 
ters to  his  friends,  among  them  Mr.  An- 
drew Carnegie,  who  was  written  to  as 
follows: 

"My  Dear  Carnegie — I  see  by  the 
papers  that  you  are  prosperous.  I  want 
to  get  a  hymn  book;  it  costs  |1.50.  If 
you  will  send  me  this  hymn  book  I  will 
bless  you.'  Ood  will  bless  you  and  it 
will  do  a  great  deal  of  good.  Yours 
truly,  MARK  TWAIN. 

"P.  S. — ^Don't  send  the  hymn  book; 
send  me  $1.50." 

As  is  the  custom  with  our  friend  Mark, 
he  uttered  a  great  many  more  syllables 
in  that  short  squib  than  were  ever  set 
into  type,  for  when  he  wrote  he  placed 
himself  (for  the  sake  of  satire)  in  the 
place  of  the  ubiquitous  canting  leech  who 
preys  upon  the  foolishness  of  wise  men. 

Of  late  Mr.  Andrew  Carnegie  has  been 
increasing  his  worldly  store  at  the  rate 
of  a  million  or  so  a  day,  and  being  a 
Scotchman  and  a  good  man  at  heart,  has 
been  confronted  with  the  grave  problem 
of  returning  to  earth  that  which  he  has 
taken  therefrom.  In  his  declining  years 
Mr.  Carnegie  has  been  impressed  with 
the  truth  that  it  is  more  blessed  to  give 
than  to  receive,  but  with  equal  force  the 
truth  has  come  to  him  that  it  is  easier  to 
receive  profitably  than  to  give  wisely. 
If  the  steel  king  were  content  to  scatter 
gold  sinfully  after  the  manner  of  the 
mushroom  millionaire  from  the  Klondyke 
or  to  lavish  bread  and  combats  like  a 
Roman  parvenu,  it  is  possible  that  with 
a  few  added  years  of  life  and  consider- 
able industry  he  might  be  able  to  die 
happy — and  a  pauper.  The  same  reasons, 
however,  which  prevent  Mr.  Carnegie 
from  holding  on  to  that  which  fortune 
has  given  him,  also  prevents  him  from 
wasting  the  same  riotously;  so  the  prob- 
lem is  still  hanging  over  the  head  of 
one  poor,  flesh-ridden  human  being — how 
to  endow  his  fellow  men  with  a  multitude 
of  millions  and  to  give  them  their  money's 
worth. 

It  is  easier  to  say  where  Mr.  Carnegie 
should  not  give  his  money  than  where  he 
should.     It   is   written   in   the   volumes 


of  Sociology  that  it  is  unlawful  to  give 
to  the  drunkard,  the  thief  or  the  habitnal 
mendicant:  and  by  the  same  token  it  is 
unlawful  for  a  man  of  wealth  to  sign  the 
endowment  list  of  any  institution  which 
is  unworthy  to  thrive.  Missions,  chari- 
ties, colleges  we  have  in  abundance,  a 
majority  of  which  no  amount  of  endow- 
ment can  render  beneficial.  From  these 
arise  the  greatest  danger,  since  among 
men  and  institutions  the  most  unworthy 
are  invariably  the  most  persistent  beg- 
gars. Public  and  private  institutions, 
then,  he  should  investigate  before  en- 
dowing and  no  less  should  he  be  cautious 
in  his  patronage  of  the  sculptor  and  the 
architect.  The  endowing  of  public  stat- 
uary is  a  benevolence  that  has  done  no 
end  of  harm  in  this  broad  land,  and  un- 
less Mr.  Carnegie's  taste  equals  his  for- 
time,  we  cannot  but  accept  such  gifts 
with  a  degree  of  hesitancy. 

So  far  as  he  has  gone  Mr.  Carnegie 
seems  to  be  moving  along  the  right  track, 
but,  if  he  be  not  wary,  he  will  find  him- 
self at  the  threshold  of  death  with  UtUe 
more  than  the  interest  of  his  wealth  given 
away.  Meanwhile  California  has  been 
the  grateful  recipient  of  several  splendid 
public  libraries  and  can  point  out  a  mul- 
titude of  equally  worthy  objects  for  the 
good  millionaire's  future  generosity.  San 
Francisco  needs  an  aquarium  and  a 
bathing  beach  in  Golden  Qate  Park.  A 
municipal  opera  house  in  any  of  our 
great  Coast  cities;  an  increase  of  library 
accommodations  at  Stanford  Univer- 
sity; an  aid  to  Berkeley  in  the  comple- 
tion of  her  new  University  site;  a 
thoroughly  equipped  school  of  sculpture 
or  design  in  the  West — in  all  these  direc- 
tions the  Carnegie  gold  could  find  an 
easy  outlet  while  doing  an  inestimable 
amount    of    good.  ' 

THE  unfortunate  illness  of  Mrs.  Mc- 

Kinley  while  she  was  in  San  Francisco 

was    alleviated    to    a 

large    extent    by    her 

An  Act  of        surroundings.       When 

Courtesy.         the  Journey  was  first 

decided  upon  Mr.  and 

Mrs.   Henry   T.   Scott 

courteously  offered  to  the  cemmittee  in 

charge  of  San  Francisco's  celebration  of 


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The  Executive  Mansion  in  San  Francisco. 


The  Cabinet   Room   in  the  Scott  Residence. 


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1140 


Overland   Monthly. 


the  event,  the  use  of  their  entire  house, 
Benrants  and  stables.  I'he  offer  was  ac- 
cepted, and  when  Mrs.  McKinley  was 
brought  here  ill  two  days  in  advance  of 
the  time  scheduled  for  her  arrival,  she 
was  immediately  taken  there  and  made 
as  comfortable  as  though  at  home. 

Her  pleasant  and  homelike  surround- 
ings undoubtedly  had  much  to  do  with 
her  recovery.  The  Scott  mansion  is  sit- 
uated in  one  of  the  best  parts  of  the  city, 
at  the  comer  of  Clay  and  Laguna  streets, 
and  as  will  be  seen  from  the  illustrations 
herewith,  is  handsome  and  luxurious  in 
its  appointments. 

Mrs.   McKinley's  room,  the  most  ad- 


vantageously situated  in  the  house,  over- 
looks Lafayette  Square.  Its  windows 
command  a  fine  view  of  Mt.  Tamalpais 
and  the  Marin  hills,  with  San  Francisco 
Bay  in  the  foreground.  Much  of  the  best 
part  of  the  city  can  be  seen  from  it 

Then,  too,  the  house  has  the  advantage 
of  quietness,  something  that  could  not 
have  been  secured  in  a  public  place. 
The  comfort  of  the  first  lady  in  the  land 
in  her  deplorable  illness  is  a  matter  of 
moment  to  everybody.  The  public  owes 
a  lasting  debt  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Scott  for 
this  act  of  courtesy,  which  did  so  much 
toward  lessening  Mrs.  McKinley's  suffer- 
ing. 


Bret  Harte  In  Early 
San  Francisco. 


THE  short  story  is  a  form  of  art  which 
is  as  modem  as  the  invention  of  the  tele- 
phone. It  serves 
in  two  cases  the 
same  purpose. 
For  it  precludes 
a  circuitous 
route  and  it 
necessitates  one's  sticking  to  his  busi- 
ness. It  is  like  modem  life  itself — ^in  that 
it  has  no  time  for  non-essentials.  A  short 
story  has  rightly  no  room  for  extraneous 
description,  sub-plot  or  lengthy  conver- 
sation. Hence  it  is  the  most  popular 
form  of  literature  to-day.  Whereas  poetry 
is  said  to  be  practically  a  dmg  in  the 
market,  too  delicate  for  the  leviathan 
digestion  of  \he  Great  American  Public, 
the  short  story  is  its  antidote,  for  it  is 
all  the  G.  A.  P.  has  time  to  read.  A  tale 
of  the  proper  measurements  to  be  called 
"short"  should  be  at  the  same  time  terse, 
perspicuous  and  unencumbered.  One 
episode,  one  situation  will  do,  but  it  must 
suggei^t,  pique  continually  the  curiosity, 
be^mplete.  Can  we  forgive  the  writer 
who  falls  to  keep  us  mystified  until  the 
very  last  stick  for  the  final  conflagration 


is  laid?  This  is  what  Bret  Harte's  stories 
evince.  He  must  always  (to  use  a  slang 
phrase)  finish  ofT  with  a  "snapper,"  and 
he  delights  in  surprising  us  into  ad- 
miration. His  plots  are  never  common- 
place. This  may  be  perhaps  because  he 
had  the  new  West  in  his  youth  as  a  mine 
of  material,  and  far  away  over  there  in 
England  he  still  startles  us  with  the 
strange,  wild,  "woolly,"  if  you  will,  doings 
in  California.  But  the  Califomla  and  the 
San  Francisco  of  which  he  writes  and 
romances  in  his  "Under  the  Redwoods" 
are  depicted  as  they  were  in  the  early 
fifties.  The  characters  which  move  to  a 
lively  measure  in  these  pages  are  a 
motley,  Bohemian  gathering,  including 
Indians,  Chinamen,  gamblers,  miners  and 
children.  Bret  Harte  is  always  at  his 
best  when  depicting  the  touching  effect 
of  children  upon  the  otherwise  hardened 
"man  of  the  world."  Thus  in  this  later 
volume,  "Jimmy's  Big  Brother"  and 
"Three  Vagabonds  of  Trinidad"  have 
more  than  have  the  others  of  that  deeply 
touching  fidelity  to  human  nature  which 
made  "The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp"  one 
of  the  greatest  short  stories  ever  written. 


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1141 


His  "Heathen  Chinee"  Is  also  almost  In- 
variably drawn  from  a  ylyid  memory  if 
in  no  way  "peculiar."  But  to  read  of  a 
white  Indian  squaw  with  red  halr»  en- 
camped near  the  Golden  Gate,  even  early 
in  the  fifties,  fills  us  with  misglying; 
though  without  doubt  it  is  the  sort  of 
thing  about  America  which  the  British 
still  receive  with  an  enthusiastic 
"Reallyr  In  this  story  of  the  white 
squaw  there  is  something  of  that  ultimate 
romance  with  which  French  writers  al- 
ways picture  the  American  Indian,  and 
the  ending  is  as  sudden  and  stinging  as 
the  unexpected  cut  of  a  whip.  )t  is  the 
stroke  of  realism  which  restores  the  bal- 
ance of  the  tale'.  Bret  Harte's  humor  is 
also  of  a  most  convincing  sort,  and 
clothes  situations  which  might  otherwise 
appear  almost  melodramatic  with  a  recog- 
nizable Western  air.  The  "Youngest  Miss 
Piper"  drawls  in  a  good  natured  Cali- 
fomian  way  and  says  independent,  keen 
things  in  a  manner  funny  enough  to  make 
us  forgive  such  Southern  expressions  of 
hers  as  "I  admire  to  hear"  and  "So  I 
reckon  ru  go."  "Under  the  Redwoods" 
though  she  blooms,  she  has  some  of  the 
flowering  speech  of  an  Alabama  girl. 
But  her  manners  are  not  soft;  they  par- 
take rather  of  the  unregenerate  sharp- 
ness of  a  mountain  pine  cone.  Tet  we 
suspect  her  right  along  of  that  Western 
big  heartedness  with  which  her  master 
endowed  his  famous  Miggles — ^to  her  im- 
mortality. "A  Widow  of  Santa  Ana  Val- 
ley," around  whom  the  hearts  of  a  whole 
community  throb,  and  who  became  a 
helpless,  religious  centre  at  parties  of 
deacons  and  Sunday-school  teachers,  is 
a  blonde.  Hence  mourning  is  becoming 
to  her.  Hence  she  has  adventures.  In 
her  timidity  she  is  unconsciously  humor- 
ous. This  humorous  view  of  her  is  what 
saves  her,  we  feel  sure,  from  the  other- 
wise impending  fate  of  all -blonde  hero- 
ines— ^to  become  lachrymose  and  insipid. 
As  it  is,  she  lives  a  weak,  charming,  but 
somewhat  trying  woman.  The  last  chapter 
of  all  is  entitled  "Bohemian  Days  in  San 
Francisco,"  which  involves  some  of  the 
old-time  horrors  of  Chinatown,  mysteries 
in  Italian  caf6s  along  the  water  front  and 
wanderings  along  the  wharves.  The  book 
is    altogether    interesting    and    a    good 


volume  to  take  on  your  vacation  trip  this 
summer. 

("Under  the  Redwoods,"  by  Bret  Harte, 
Houghton,  Mifllln  &  Co.,  New  York.) 

PBRHAPS  the  most 
interest!  n  g  book 
An  Englishman's  which  has  yet  been 
Opinion  of  Us.  written  on  Cali- 
fornia is  Mr.  Va- 
cheirs  "Ufe  and 
Sport  on  the  Pacific  Slope."  Its  value 
lies  in  the  fact  that  its  comments  are  on 
the  California  of  to-day  instead  of  the 
past,  and  in  the  fact  that  it  takes  a  dis- 
cursive and  inclusive  view  of  the  varied 
and  interesting  life  on  the  shores  of  the 
Pacific— not  sifting  the  subject  matter  for 
the  needs  of  the  novelist,  nor  mincing 
matters  for  purposes  of  flattery.  Mr. 
Vachell's  book  is  a  volume  of  chatty  es- 
says written  in  an  almost  conversational 
style,  full  of  anecdote  and  incident,  never 
too  lengthy  and  always  entertaining. 
Many  Englishmen  have  written  books  of 
American  notes  but  not  like  this,  for  Mr. 
Vachell  has  stayed  long  enough  with  us 
for  this  to  become  for  a  time  the  land 
of  his  adoption,  and  he  understands  us 
as  well  as  an  Englishman  can.  His  topics 
are  such  as  are  likely  to  appeal  to  the 
visitor:  "The  Women  of  the  West," 
"Ranch  Life,"  "Anglo-Franco-Americans," 
"The  Side  Show,"  "Ethical,"  "Big  Game 
Shooting,"  "Small  Game  Shooting,"  "Sea 
Fishing,"  "Fresh  Water  Pishing,"  "Busi- 
ness Life,"  "The  Land  of  To-morrow," 
"The  Englishman  in  the  West."  He  also 
adds  seasonable  appendices,  including 
"A  Few  Statistics"  and  notes  on  Horti- 
culture, Beet  Culture,  Irrigation,  Hints 
to  Sportsmen. 

Mr.  Vachell  has  a  way  of  hitting  from 
the  shoulder  in  the  typical  British  way 
of  stating  an  opinion.  "Mrs.  Eddy,"  he 
says,  "bottles  the  wine  of  Christ  and  sells 
it  under  her  own  label."  "The  same  spirit 
that  makes  men  build  false  fronts  to 
their  houses,  forces  them  to  Iceep  up  ap- 
pearances' in  everything  else.  They  pay 
the  price  of  lies— the  word  is  too  harsh 
perhaps — by  being  constrained,  as  the 
poet  tells  us,  to  lie  on  still.  Finally  the 
lie  masquerades  as  truth;  the  liar  be- 
comes convinced  that  he  is  an  honest 
man."  "The  good  qualities,"  he  says,  "of 


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Overland  Monthly. 


the  children  of  the  Pacific  Slope  are: 
Originality,  Inuependence,  pluck  and  per- 
spicuity. They  are  extraordinarily  quick- 
witted and  plastic,  full  of  quips  and  odd 
turns  of  speech,  and  blessed  with  the 
strongest  Imaginations."  With  great  en* 
Joyment  he  tells  the  story  of  a  Callfomlan 
youth  who  was  selling  books.  He  "had 
heard  that  at  a  certain  bank  the  clerks 
had  agreed  to  hustle  any  book  agent  who 
Invaded  their  premises.  Our  young 
friend  took  his  own  line.  Rushing  into 
the  bank  he  exclaimed  excitedly,  'Boys, 
have  you  seen  him?' 

"  'Seen  whomr'  repeated  the  clerks  In 
chorus. 

"  'That  book  agent.' 

'"No.  We  want  to  see  him!  We're 
fixed  for  him.  The  last  fellow  made  us 
weary.  We're  going  to  skin  the  next  one 
alive.    Where  Is  he?' 

"  'He  is^-here!'  said  the  youth  dramat- 
ically. 'Start  right  In,  boys,  and  enjoy 
yourselves.  When  you  get  through  I'll 
sell  you  some  books.'    He  sold  his  books." 

("Life  and  Sport  on  the  Pacific  Coast," 
by  Horace  Annesley  Vachell.  Dodd, 
Mead  &  Co.,  N.  T.) 

"THIS  Is  not  an  his- 
torical novel,"  says 

Irish  Experiences   Kate  Douglas    Wlg- 

of  a  California      gin    of   her   "Pene- 

Woman.  lope's  Irish  Experl- 


e  n  c  e  s," 


"but 


'chronicle  of  small 
beer.'"  She  has  a  merry  way  with  her 
at  the  end  of  her  pen-point,  this  charm- 
ing and  cultured  woman,  and  a  draught 
of  her  brewing,  be  It  wine  of  Burgundy 
or  small  beer.  Indeed,  has  a  way  of  set- 
ting you  up  in  fine  style.  She  Is  In  no 
sense  a  novel-writer:  her  characters  are 
rather  tjrpes  than  Individuals,  arousing  In 
the  breast  of  the  ever  gentle  reader  no 
stronger  emotion  than  that  experienced 
on  making  a  pleasant  new  acquaintance, 
In  the  conventional  drawing  room  of 
every  day  life.  The  qualities  of  her 
charm  are  rather  those  of  an  ^essayist 
or  letter-writer,  consisting  of  condiment 
such  as  a  pure  literary  style,  the  dash 
and  humor  of  a  woman  of  the  world,  the 
observation  of  a  keen  and  sympathetic 
eye,  and  always  the  wee  bit  of  fun.  What 
could  promise  better  for  a  book  of  travel? 
"Penelope's  Irish  Bxperlences,"  like  her 


"Scotch  and  Bngllsh  Itineraries,"  could 
no  more  bore  you  than  could  meeting  a 
fascinating  woman,  and  ten  to  one  you 
close  the  book  quite  daft  over  her,  and 
meditate  selling  the  farm  In  order  to  fol- 
low In  the  care-free  way  of  one  Molra 
O'NeUl— 

"Sure  a  terrible  time  I  was  out  o'  the 
way. 

Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea. 
Tin  I  come  to  Ireland  one  sunny  day, — 

Betther  for  me,  betther  for  me: 
The  first  time  me  fut  got  the  feel  o'  the 
ground 

I  was  stroUin'  along  In  an  Irish  city 
That  hasn't  Its  aqull  the  world  around. 

For  the  air  that  is  sweet  an'  the  girls 
that  are  pretty." 

This  merry  yet  melancholy  Isle,  where 
Tom  Moore  sung  his  matchless  melodies, 
where  Goldsmith,  Steele  and  Samuel 
Lover  wrote,  peopled  as  It  is  with  Nora 
Crelnas,  Sweet  Peggies  and  Pretty  Girls 
Milking  Their  Cows,  shows  Itself  off  at 
its  very  best,  in  the  dainty  habiliments 
of  Mrs.  Wlggln's  raillery  and  unquench- 
able ardor.  Even  the  elves,  fairies  and 
legends,  realities  bom  of  the  dreamy, 
lazy  souls  of  the  life  loving  Irish,  are 
treated  with  a  respect  at  her  hands  (quite 
out  of  the  ordinary  way  of  the  practical 
American  tourist),  which  must  have  de- 
lighted their  irresponsible  souls.  It  is 
all  on  a  par  with  her  charming  courtesy. 

"A  modem  Irish  poet,"  she  says,  "ac- 
cuses the  Scots  of  having  discovered  the 
fairies  to  be  pagan  and  wicked,  and  of 
denouncing  them  from  the  pulpits,  where- 
as Irish  priests  discuss  with  them  the 
state  of  their  souls,  or  at  least  they  did, 
until  it  was  decided  they  had  none,  but 
would  dry  up  like  so  much  bright  vapor 
at  the  last  day.  Of  course  it  is  an  age  of 
incredulity,  but  I  have  not  come  to  Ire- 
land to  scoff,  and  whatever  I  do,  shall 
not  go  to  the  length  of  doubting  the 
fairies;  for  as  Bamey  O'Mara  says,  'They 
stand  to  raison.'" 
"Loughareema,  Loughareema, 

Stars  come  out  and  stars  are  hldln'. 
The  wather  whispers  on  the  stone. 

The  fiittherln'  moths  are  free. 
Onest  before  the  momln'  light. 

The  Horseman  will  come  ridln' 
Roun'  an'  roun'  the  Fairy  Lough, 

An'  no  one  there  to  see." 


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One  of  the  most  valuable  pleasures  of 
the  book  is  the  frequent,  inimitable 
lilt  of  the  Irish  melodies^  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  chapters,  starting  you  off  in 
a  rollicking  mood,  as  it  were. 

The  Irish  experiences  are  diyided  neat- 
ly into  five  parts,  Leinster,  Ulster,  Mun- 
ster,  Connaught  and  Royal  Meth.  Nor 
need  you  fear  that  in  the  author's  amus- 
ing Junketing  you  will  be  called  upon  to 
miss  any  more  castles,  cities  or  villages 
of  importance  than  if  you  went  by  the 
more  staid  guide  book.*  As  a  book 
of  travel,  the  Irish  experiences  of 
"Penelope"  are  outdone  by  nothing 
unless  it  be  Mark  Twain's  "Tramps 
Abroad,"  and  the  former,  we  have  faith, 
is  the  more  reliable  if  the  less  humorous. 
Being  feminine  it  is  conscientious. 

To  tne  average  person  Ireland  means 
just  Paddy,  the  Merry  Andrew  of  the 
Bnglish  speaking  world;  and  in  the  south 
of  the  isle  Penelope  finds  him — ragged, 
lazy.  Jovial,  whimsical.  "A  clock  is  an 
over-rated  piece  of  furniture,  to  my  mind, 
ma'am.  A  man  can  ate  whin  he's  hun- 
gry," says  Paddy  (only  she  calls  him  Mr. 
Brodigan),  "go  to  bed  whin  he's  sleepy 
and  get  up  whin  he's  slept  long  enough; 
for  faith  and  its  thim  clocks  he  has  inside 
of  himself  that  don't  need  anny  winding! " 

And  at  the  time  of  Queen  Victoria's 
visit  to  Dublin  this  voice  is  heard :  "Look 
at  the  size  of  her  now,  sittin'  in  that 
grand  carriage,  no  bigger  than  me  own 
Kitty,  and  always  in  the  black,  the 
darlin*.  Look  at  her,  a  widdy  woman, 
raring  that  large  and  heavy  family  of 
children;  and  how  well  she's  married  off 
her  daughters  (more  luck  to  her!), 
though  to  be  sure  they  must  have  been 
well  fortuned!  They  do  be  sayin'  she's 
come  over  because  she's  plazed  with 
seein'  estated  gintlemin  lave  iverything 
and  go  out  find  be  shot  by  them  bloody 
Boers,  bad  scran  to  thim!  Sure  if  I  had 
the  sons,  sorra  a  wan  but  I'd  lave  go! 
Who's  the  iligant  sojers  in  the  silver 
stays,  Thady?" 

Mrs.  Wiggin's  literary  career  had  its 
commencement  while  she  was  still  a  resi- 
dent of  San  Francisco,  although  she  has 
never  written  upon  any  distinctively 
Western  subjects.  However,  she  is 
proudly  claimed  as  another  star  of  the 
first  magnitude  in  the  galaxy  of  Cali- 


fomian    litterateurs    whose    work    has 
drawn  them  "back  East." 

("Irish  Experiences  of  a  California 
Woman,"  by  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 
Houghton,  Mifllin  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 

THB  early  history  of  California  is  full 
of  romance  and  charm.     To  the  novel- 
writer  in  search  qf  in- 
teresting material  it 
Good  California    offers  a  field  scarcely 
Romance.  equaled    for    adven- 

turous episode  and 
picturesque  Bltuation, 
and  perhaps  the  years  when  California 
lay  under  Spanish  rule  and  the  life  was 
one  unrestrained  pleasure,  appeal  most 
to  the  modem  reader,  who  is  always  on 
the  lookout  for  a  tale  full  of  action  and 
ruled  by  the  rules  of  melodrama.  And  if 
you  are  looking  for  another  such  swash- 
buckler romance  (there  are  so  many  of 
them)  you  will  enjoy  "John  Charity,"  by 
Horace  Annesley  Vachell. 

It  is  a  story  of  Monterey,  placed  about 
1837,  told  by  a  young  Englishman  who 
seeks  his  fortunes  in  the  new  Alta  Cali- 
fornia, where  ranchos  and  senoritas  are 
in  abundance.  The  character  drawing  is 
simple  but  vivid,  involving  a  Spanish 
villain  who  would  do  credit  to  the  stage 
and  a  passion-ruled  little  Spanish  heroine 
who  is  less  stereotyped.  The  interest  in 
the  tale  never  flags  and  it  is  decidedly 
well  told.  In  fact,  we  are  rather  of  the 
opinion  that  Mr.  Vachell  (an  English 
resident  of  Southern  California,  we  are 
told)  is  to  be  numbered  among  the  "bom 
story  tellers,"  who  are  bound  to  be  read 
and  enjoyed,  whatever  their  subject 

("John  Charity,"  by  Horace  Annesley 
Vachell,  Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.,  New  York.) 

A  FEW  months  ago  there  appeared  a 
small  volume  dubbed  "The  Love  Letters 
of    an    English- 
woman."   I  will 
NeedleM  Answers  to    say  that  it  was  a 
a  Silly  Book.  literary    event 

whose  impor- 
tance was  some- 
what overrated,  but  there  were  two  rea- 
sons which  caused  the  inane  attempt  to 
be  widely  read: — it  was  published  an- 
onymously and  it  contained  a  mystery. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  bundle  we  came 


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upon  the  sudden  separation  of  the  episto- 
lary lovers.  The  man  never  explained, 
at  least  to  the  maddened  and  victimised 
public;  the  woman — died.  There  was  no 
one  to  tell  us  what  had  happened.  Forth- 
with appears  a  sequel,  "The  BCissing 
Answers  to  an  Bnglishwoman's  Love  Letr 
ters."  And  the  author  of  this  volume  also 
quakes  under  the  mantle  of  "anonymous- 
ly." Filled  with  a  misguided  and  trusting 
gratitude  I  hastened  to  possess  myself 
of  the  little  cardinal  book,  and  waded 
through  its  listless  pages  with  but  one 
purpose.  But  the  secret  is  not  divulged. 
In  this  book  also  occurs  the  factitious 
parting,  for  which  no  reason  is  given. 
Here  also  occurs  the  unreasonable  act 
of  the  hero  (?).  for  which  we  have  no 
redress.  We  would  suggest  now  the 
writing  of  a  yellow  volume  entitled  "The 
Missing  Answer,  to  the  Missing  Answers, 
to  an  Englishwoman's  Love  Letters." 

It  has  been  suggested  by  a  member  of 
the  tribe  of  reviewers  that  the  man  to 
whom  the  Bnglishwoman  wrote  simply 
dropped  out  of  sight  through  utter  bore- 
dom. We  feel  quite  sure  that  any  girl 
who  was  the  recipient  of  these  "Ans- 
wers" would  be  driven  into  violent 
hysterics  at  least  once  a  day. 

These  letters  are  not  only  dull  beyond 
description,  but  are  heartless  beyond  the 
usual  bounds  of  masculinity.  They  urge 
the  girl  again  and  again  to  curb  her 
ardor  and  consider  the  delights  of  un- 
selfish love,  by  which  he  means  to  pre- 
pare the  soul  for  some  such  pleasures  as 
Peter  Ibbetsen  knew  when  he  met  his 
lady,  in  dreams  alone.  This  strangely 
bloodless  creature  likes  "unco*  weel"  to 
lie  on  his  back  and  discourse  with  pad 
and  pencil  upon  the  delights  of  soul  meetr 
ing  soul,  the  mysteries  of  one's  "aura," 
the  lustfulness  (he  calls  it)  of  Browning's 
poetry,  against  which  he  feelingly  warns 
her  as  being  of  the  earth  earthly.  On 
the  other  hand  he  advises  that  Swin- 
burne is  the  most  spiritual  poet  England 
has  produced.  He  descants  continually 
upon  the  selfless  joys  of  love,  bids  her 
"lose  herself  in  his,"  until  she  can  reach 
his  high  spiritual  point  of  not  caring  if 
the  "earthly  marriage  (which  is  merely 
to  be  seen  of  men)  is  delayed."  There 
is  so  much  in  this  strain  that  we  have 


dire  suspicions  of  him.  Is  he  not  already 
preparing  her  ardent  and  earthly  soul 
for  the  final  catastrophe,  when  his  high- 
ly spiritual  love  is  to  be  withdrawn  for- 
ever? With  fine  ingenuity  he  appeases 
her  with  a  new  name  for  every  day — 
"My  Joy  of  Life,"  "My  Star  and  Goddess," 
"Light  of  the  Age,"  "Dear  Witch's  Curve," 
"Peach  Blossom,"  "Querida  BCia,"  "Dear 
Bird  of  Paradise,"  "O  Fond  Dove,"  "Twin 
Soul  of  Me,"  "Sweet  Spirit,"  "Dearest 
Dulcinea" — when  all  she  wanted  was 
"Wife!"  Oh,  well,  by  the  terms  of  the 
mystery  we  are  supposed  to  feel  he  was 
not  to  blame  when  he  gave  her  up,  but 
it  is  just  what  we  expected  of  the  weak- 
kneed,  cloud-gazing  charmer  all  along. 

We  must  own,  however,  in  justice  to 
the  case,  that  a  love  letter  is  a  difficult 
thing  to  write.  The  Brownings  made  a 
tremendously  fine  thing  out  of  it,  but 
they  were  rare  souls.  Yet  five  out  of  six 
readers  even  of  the  Browning  love  let- 
ters are  sure  they  have  nicer  ones  in  that 
trunk  in  the  attic  at  home.  Nevertheless 
every  one  who  is  a  failure  at  other  forms 
of  literature  opines  he  can  write  letters. 
There  is  such  entertainment  in  racking 
one's  brain  for  the  hundredth  beginning 
and  closing  term  of  endearment.  It  is 
like  the  "parlor  game,"  my  love  begins 
with  A,  with  B,  etc.,  but  in  which  yonr 
disgusted  audience  are  not  at  close 
enough  range  to  catch  you — and  lock  you 
up.  These  "Love  Letters"  have  only  one 
theme,  one  situation— on  249  pages  we 
listen  to  the  same  changes  rung  on  the 
same  hazy  idea.  The  pursuit  of  the  "se- 
cret" was  all  that  made  us  read  it.  Do 
thou  not  go  and  be  taken  in  likewise! 

("The  Missing  Answers  to  an  Engliah- 
woman's  Love  Letters,"  Frank  F.  Lovell 
Book  Company,  New  York.) 


'The  Last  Man/'  a  novel  by  N.  Monroe 
McLaughlin,  is  a  love  story  of  the  times 
during  and 'following  the  Civil  War,  and 
contains  a  prologue  with  an  optimistic 
forecast  of  our  country's  conditions  and 
circumstances  in  1926.  Its  literary  value 
is  not  great  ("The  Last  Man,"  by  Mon- 
roe McLaughlin.  The  Neale  Company, 
Publishers,  Washington.) 


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AN    INDUSTRIAL    INNOVATION 


BY   FAIRFIELD   JONEa 


¥ 


ITH  her  manufacturing  inter- 
ests California  places  her  best 
hopes  for  the  future,  since  in 
this  direction  she  is  the  least 
developed.  She  is  Just  entering,  as  it 
were,  the  age  of  manufacturing,  and  in 
this  age  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
California  will  find  herself  in  her  greatr 
est  era.  Though  limited  as  yet,  our 
manufactured  products  are  the  best  of 
their  kind,  as  exemplified  by  the  recent 
shipbuilding  triumphs  of  the  Union  Iron 
Works.  Our  present  achievements,  how- 
ever great  they  may  be,  are  yet  more  in 
the  line  of  prophecy  than  accomplish- 
ment, pointing  to  the  day  when  California 
shaiKlead  the  world  in  manufacture  as 
well  as  production. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury the  Pacific  Coast  looks  to  her  capital- 
ists to  put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel 
of  progress  and  aid  the  working  classes 
in  sending  our  material  development  for- 
ward with  mighty  impetus.  In  the  past 
when  they  have  been  appealed  to  it  has 
often  been  in  vain,  and  the  promoters  of 
legitimate  enterprises  have  turned  Bast- 
ward  for  funds.  Happily  this  feeling  is 
rapidly  passing*  away,  and  it  only  needs 
the  wealth,  brains  and  energy  of  our 
Coast,  properly  applied  to  its  resources, 
to  give  us  the  greatest  decade  of  material 
progress  we  have  ever  had. 

Under  Just  economic  conditions,  our 
fertile  soil,  our  rich  mines,  our  flowing 
wells  and  our  large  forests*  combined 
with  the  establishment  of  great  factories 
and  the  accumulated  wealth  of  the  peo- 
ple, will  produce  the  happiest  land  the 
world  has  yet  seen. 

Soon  the  din  and  noise  of  a  great  man- 
ufacturing plant  will  be  heard  and  the 
shrill  sound  of  factory  whistles  will  echo 
and  re-echo  on  the  shore  and  hillsides 
of  West  Berkeley.  The  contract  for  one 
of  the  greatest  enterprises  on  the  Pacific 
Coast  has  been  let.  It  is  for  the  con- 
struction of  the  buildings  that  are  to  be 


occupied  by  the  Pacific  Coast  Lumber 
and  Furniture  Manufacturing  Company, 
an  enterprise  of  such  magnitude  that  it 
is  destined  to  inaugurate  a  new  era  in 
the  industries  of  the  Coast  and  turn  the 
tide  of  purchasers  westward.  The  plant 
is  to  be  built  in  West  Berkeley,  on  the 
line  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad,  and 
facing  the  Bay,  with  a  water  frontage  of 
nearly  one  mile.  The  company  has  ac- 
quired by  purchase  thirty  acres  of  land. 
The  plant  will  occupy  three  acres.  In 
the  cluster  of  buildings  will  be  four  prin- 
cipal structures  of  two  stories  each, 
situated  in  the  block  bounded  by  Oilman, 
Harrison,  Second  and  Third  streets. 
These  structures  will  have  basements 
for  machinery  600x286  feet.  The  raw  ma- 
terial will  be  delivered  at  the  water  front 
of  the  factory,  pass  through  the  vari- 
ous processes  of  manufacture,  and  the 
finished  article  will  be  shipped  to  the 
markets  of  the  world  from  the  opposite 
frontage  of  the  plant.  In  the  dry  kiln  the 
lumber  will  be  seasoned,  thence  taken  to 
the  machinery  building,  where  all  kinds 
of  furniture,  household  and  office  fixtures, 
utensils  and  ornaments  will  be  manu- 
factured; thence  to  finishing  departments, 
and  then  shipped  to  all  parts  of  the  world 
where  these  articles  are  used.  The 
greatest  office  buildings  and  the  most 
costly  residences  In  San  Francisco  will 
bear  evidences  of  the  excellent  work 
made  by  the  company. 

The  idea  of  this  new  company  is  mod- 
em in  the  extreme,  and  in  the  way  of  a 
corporation  is  unique.  It  stands  in  no 
danger  of  being  dominated  by  either  trust 
or  labor  union,  since  its  shares  will  be 
held  by  its  workmen.  The  company  was 
organised  purely  on  the  industrial  plan. 
Bvery  employe  must  be  a  shareholder. 
The  system  works  admirably,  as  it  makes 
strikes,  boycotts,  lockouts  and  similar  dif- 
ficulties impossible.  Bvery  employe  feels 
that  he  is  working  for  his  own  interest. 

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and  gives  to  the  company  his  beat  talent 
and  energy. 

This  plan  is  less  Utopian  than  it  ap- 
pears. It  has  been  tried  in  several  no- 
table Instances  in  the  Bast  and  where 
the  trial  has  been  fair  has  succeeded. 
It  stands  to  reason  that  a  workman  will 
give  more  conscientious  effort  to  a  work 
with  which  he  thinks  he  himself  is  iden- 
tified as  a  personal  shareholder.  He  feels 
himself  to  be  one  of  the  firm,  not  a  hire- 
ling, and  his  earnest  desire  will  always 
be  for  the  well  being  of  the  undertaking. 
To  convey  an  idea  of  the  magnitude  of 
the  enterprise  and  the  beneficent  results 
•  which  must  of  necessity  accrue  from  it, 
it  only  needs  to  be  said  that  the  plant 
includes  the  completion  of  the  first  great 
concrete  wall,  1,770  feet  long,  three  and 
one-half  feet  broad,  and  five  and  one- 
half  feet  high.  All  the  machinery  and 
shafting  will  be  in  the  basement,  work- 
ing and  resting  on  concrete  foundations; 
every  machine  will  have  a  concrete  base 
of  its  own,  thus  removing  danger  to  life 
and  limb  of  employes. 

The  company  owns  4,000  acres  of  the 
very  best  timber  land  near  Corbin, 
Oregon,  and  practically  controls  all  the 
available  oak  for  the  purposes  intended. 
The  raw  material  will  be  brought  to  the 
factory  in  the  company'^  own  steamers 
and  sailing  vessels.  One  steamer  and 
one  sailing  vessel  are  now  in  contem- 
plation. The  company  owns  the  mills  and 
store  at  Corbin,  which  are  in  full  oper- 
ation, and  has  over^  1,000,000  feet  of  the 
finest  lumbiar  ready  for  shipment  The 
material  will  cost  |16  per  1,000  feet  landed 
at  the  factory,  when  Eastern  manufactur- 
ers have  to  pay  |75  per  1,000.  One  item, 
that  of  wheelbarrows,  of  which  thousands 
are  used  each  year:  not  one  has  hereto- 
fore been  manufactured  on  this  Coast. 
This  company  will  manufacture  at  Cor- 
bin all  the  wheelbarrows  required  on  this 
Coast,  and  many  thousands  more  to  be 
sent  Bast,  which  will  be  a  great  saving 
and  enable  it  to  compete  successfully 
with  all  factories  of  the  wortd. 

In  the  way  of  first-class  building  ma- 
terial the  West  is  entirely  independent. 
Instead  of  depending  on  the  East  for  the 
best  quality  of  oak  for  furniture  and 
interior  finish,  the  Pacifla  CJoas^  %n^  <i8- 

r*        ..    . 


sumed  the  lead,  for  it  has  in  its  controi 
all  the  material  available.  All  it  needed 
was  the  factory.  Besides  the  oak,  the 
company  owns  an  almost  Inexhaustible 
supply  of  fir,  maple,  white  cedar  and 
other  valuable  timber. 

The  investments  in  land  and  buildings 
and  machinery  at  West  Berkeley  amount 
to  1160,000,  and  will  give  employment 
to  160  persons  at  the  start,  though  that 
number  is  likely  to  be  increased  in  a 
short  tin^e  to  1,600.  The  value  of  the 
timber  land,  mills,  store,  wharf,  shops* 
railroad  and  other  assets  aggregate  over 
11,000,000.  The  net  profits  per  annum, 
at  a  conservative  estimate,  are  figured 
at  1300,000,  or  30  per  cent  on  an  invest- 
ment of  11,000,000. 

The  output  of  this  great  plant  is  by  no 
means  limited  to  the  home  market  and 
the  Pacific  Coast,  for  the  Western  States 
cannot  fail  to  avail  themselves  of  the  best 
and  cheapest  market.  There  is  also  a 
growing  demand  for  the  best  class  of 
these  manufactured  articles  from  Mexico, 
Central  and  South  America,  Au£tralia, 
the  Hawaiian  Islands,  and  a  demand  is 
being  created  in  the  Philippines  and  the 
trans-Pacific  countries,  as  Western  civtti- 
zation  reaches  these  Oriental  regions  and 
Western  commodities  become  known  to 
the  inhabitants.  The  company  enjoys 
every  facility  and  advantage  of  owning 
the  raw  material,  the  means  of  carrying 
it,  manufacturing  it  and  sending  it  to 
market,  and  has  its  factory  where  ship 
and  rail  are  brought  together  at  its  very 
doors. 

The  officers  are:  Mr.  William  Corbin, 
president  and  treasurer;  Mr.  R.  A.  Bog- 
gess,  vice-president;  Mr.  D.  Gilbert  Dex- 
ter, secretary;  Mr.  C.  J.  Bruschke,  man- 
ager furniture  department;  Mr.  A.  B. 
Rudell,  assistant  secretary,  and  Dr.  Jo- 
seph O.  Crawford. 

Considering  the  company's  million  dol- 
lar capital  stock,  the  sensible  lines  upon 
which  it  is  founded  and  the  unparalleled 
advantages  which  our  Coast  offers  to  the 
manufacture  of  furniture,  there  appears 
no  reason  why  the  Pacific  Coast  Lumber 
and  Furniture  Manufacturing  'Company 
should  not  open  a  new  future  to  us,  both 
industrially,  sociologically  and  finan- 
cially. ^^ 

■  %  ^ 


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